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Vol 39: The Classics
Prefaces and Prologues
TO FAMOUS BOOKS
With Introductions and Notes
V o/ume 39
P. F. Collier & Son Corporation
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1909
By LITTLE, BROWN & COMPANY
Copyright, 1910
By P. F. COLLIER & SON
MANUFACTURED IN U. S. A.
AY 1 9 1953
CONTENTS
PAGE
TITLE, PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUES TO THE RECUYELL OF THE HIs-
TORIES OF TROY WILLIAM CAXTON 5
EPILOGUE TO DICTES AND SAYINGS OF THE PHILOSOPHERS
WILLIAM CAXTON 9
PROLOGUE TO GOLDEN LEGEND
PROLOGUE TO CATON .
EPILOGUE TO AESOP
PROEM TO CHAUCER'S CANTERBURY TALES.
PROLOGUE TO MALORY'S KING ARTHUR.
PROLOGUE TO VIRGIL'S ENEYDOS .
WILLIAM CAXTON 13
WILLIAM CAXTON 15
WILLIAM CAXTON 17
WILLIAM CAXTON 18
WILLIAM CAXTON 20
WILLIAM CAXTON 24
DEDICATION OF THE INSTITUTES OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION
JOHN CALVIN 27
TRANSLA TED BY JOHN ALLEN
DEDICATION OF THE REVOLUTIONS OF THE HEAVENLY BODIES
NICOLAUS COPERNICUS 52
PREFACE TO THE HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION IN SCOTLAND'
JOHN KNOX 58
PREFATORY LETTER TO SIR WALTER RALEIGH ON THE FAERIE QUEENE
EDMUND SPENSER 61
PREFACE TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD
SIR WALTER RALEIGH 66
PROCEMIUM, EPISTLE DEDICATORY, PREFACE, AND PLAN OF THE
INSTAURATIO MAGNA, ETC. . FRANCIS BACON 116
TRANSLATION EDITED BY J. SPEDDING
PREFACE TO THE NOVUM ORGANUM. FRANCIS BACON 143
PREFACE TO THE FIRST FOLIO EDITION OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS
HEMINGE AND CONDELL 148
PREFACE TO THE PHILOSOPHIAE NATURAUS PRINCIPIA MATHEMATICA
SIR ISAAC NEWTON 150
TRANSLATED BY ANDREW MOTTE
I
2
CONTENTS
PREFACE TO FABLES, ANCIENT AND MODERN
PREFACE TO JOSEPH ANDREWS.
PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH DICTIONARY
PREFACE TO SHAKESPEARE .
INTRODUCTION TO THE PROPYLAEN
PAGE
JOHN DRYDEN 153
HENRY FIELDING 176
SAMUEL JOHNSON 182
SAMUEL JOHNSON 208
. J. W. VON GOETHE 251
PREFACES TO VARIOUS VOLUMES OF POEMS. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 267
ApPENDIX TO LYRICAL BALLADS WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 29 2
ESSAY SUPPLEMENTARY TO PREFACE WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 311
PREFACE TO CROMWELL . . VICTOR HUGO 337
PREFACE TO LEAVES OF GRASS . WALT WHITMAN 388
INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE
H. A. T AINE 410
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
No part of a book is so intimate as the Preface. Here, after the long
labor of the work is over, the author descends from his platform, and
speaks with his reader as man to man, disclosing his hopes and fears,
seeking sympathy for his difficulties, offering defence or defiance, accord-
ing to his temper, against the criticisms which he anticipates. It thus
happens that a personality which has been veiled by a formal method
throughout many chapters, is suddenly seen face to face in the Preface;
and this alone, if there were no other reason, would justify a volume
of Prefaces.
But there are other reasons why a Preface may be presented apart from
its parent work, and may, indeed, be expected sometimes to survive it.
The Prologues and Epilogues of Caxton were chiefly prefixed to trans-
lations which have long been superseded; but the comments of this frank
and enthusiastic pioneer of the art of printing in England not only tell
us of his personal tastes, but are in a high degree illuminative of the
literary habits and standards of western Europe in the fifteenth century.
Again, modern research has long ago put Raleigh's "History of the
World" out of date; but his eloquent Preface still gives us a rare picture
of the attitude of an intelligent Elizabethan, of the generation which
colonized America, toward the past, the present, and the future worlds.
Bacon's "Great Restoration" is no longer a guide to scientific method;
but his prefatory statements as to his objects and hopes still offer a lofty
inspiration.
And so with the documents here drawn from the folios of Copernicus
and Calvin, with the criticism of Dryden and Wordsworth and Hugo,
with Dr. Johnson's Preface to his great Dictionary, with the astounding
manifesto of a new poetry from Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass"-
each of them has a value and significance independent now of the work
which it originally introduced, and each of them presents to us a man.
PREFACES AND EPILOGUES
BY WILLIAM CAXTON
THE RECUYELL OF THE HISTORIES OF TROY
TITLE AND PROLOGUE TO BOOK I
H ERE beginneth the volume entitled and named the Recuyell
of the Histories of Troy, composed and drawn out of
divers books of Latin into French by the right venerable
person and worshipful man, Raoul Ie Feure, priest and chaplain unto
the right noble, glorious, and mighty prince in his time, Philip,
Duke of Burgundy, of Brabant, etc., in the year of the Incarnation of
our Lord God a thousand four hundred sixty and four, and trans-
lated and drawn out of French into English by William Caxton,
mercer, of the city of London, at the commandment of the right
high, mighty, and virtuous Princess, his redoubted Lady, Margaret,
by the grace of God Duchess of Burgundy, of Lotrylk, of Brabant,
etc.; which said translation and work was begun in Bruges in the
County of Flanders, the first day of March, the year of the Incarna-
tion of our said Lord God a thousand four hundred sixty and eight,
and ended and finished in the holy city of Cologne the 19th day of
September, the year of our said Lord God a thousand four hundred
sixty and eleven, etc.
And on that other side of this leaf followeth the prologue.
When I remember that every man is bounden by the command-
ment and counsel of the wise man to eschew sloth and idleness,
William Caxton (I422?-1491), merchant and translator, learned the art of
printing on the Continent, probably at Bruges or Cologne. He translated "The
Recuyell of the Histories of Troy," between 1469 and 1471, and, on account of the
great demand for copies, was led to have it printed-the first English book to be
reproduced by this means. The date was about 1474; the place, probably Bruges. In
1476, Caxton came back to England, and set up a press of his own at Westminster.
In 1477, he issued the first book known to have been printed in Eng-Iand, "The
Dictes and Sayings of the Philosophers." The following Prefaces and Epilogues from
Caxton's own pen show his attitude towards some of the more important of the works
that issued from his press.
5
6
WILLIAM CAXTON
which is mother and nourisher of vices, and ought to put myself
unto virtuous occupation and business, then I, having no great
charge of occupation, following the said counsel took a French book,
and read therein many strange and marvellous histories, wherein I
had great pleasure and delight, as well for the novelty of the same
as for the fair language of French, which was in prose so well and
compendiously set and written, which methought I understood the
sentence and substance of every matter. And for so much as this
book was new and late made and drawn into French, and never had
seen it in our English tongue, I thought in myself it should be a
good business to translate it into our English, to the end that it might
be had as well in the royaume of England as in other lands, and
also for to pass therewith the time, and thus concluded in myself
to begin this said work. And forthwith took pen and ink, and began
boldly to run forth as blind Bayard in this present work, which is
named "The Recuyell of the Trojan Histories." And afterward
when I remembered myself of my simpleness and unperfectness that
I had in both languages, that is to wit in French and in English, for
in France was I never, and was born and learned my English in
Kent, in the Weald, where I doubt not is spoken as broad and rude
English as in any place of England; and have continued by the space
of 30 years for the most part in the countries of Brabant, Flanders,
Holland, and Zealand. And thus when all these things came before
me, after that I had made and written five or six quires I fell in
despair of this work, and purposed no more to have continued there-
in, and those quires laid apart, and in two years after laboured no
more in this work, and was fully in will to have left it, till on a time
it fortuned that the right high, excellent, and right virtuous princess,
my right redoubted Lady, my Lady Margaret, by the grace of God
sister unto the King of England and of France, my sovereign lord,
Duchess of Burgundy, of Lotryk, of Brabant, of Limburg, and of
Luxembourg, Countess of Flanders, of Artois, and of Burgundy,
Palatine of Hainault, of Holland, of Zealand and of Namur, Mar-
quesse of the Holy Empire, Lady of Frisia, of Salins and of Mechlin,
sent for me to speak with her good Grace of divers matters, among
the which I let her Highness have knowledge of the foresaid begin-
ning of this work, which anon commanded me to show the said five
HISTORIES OF TROY 7
or six quires to her said Grace; and when she had seen them anon
she found a default in my English, which she commanded me to
amend, and moreover commanded me straitly to continue and make
an end of the residue then not translated; whose dreadful command-
ment I durst in no wise disobey, because I am a servant unto her
said Grace and receive of her yearly fee and other many good and
great benefits, (and also hope many more to receive of her High-
ness), but forthwith went and laboured in the said translation after
my simple and poor cunning, also nigh as I can follo\ving my
author, meekly beseeching the bounteous Highness of my said Lady
that of her benevolence list to accept and take in gree this simple
and rude work here following; and if there be anything \vriuen or
said to her pleasure, I shall think my labour well employed, and
whereas there is default that she arette it to the simpleness of my
cunning which is full small in this behalf; and require and pray
all them that shall read this said work to correct it, and to hold me
excused of the rude and simple translation.
And thus I end my prologue.
EPILOGUE TO BOOK II
Thus endeth the second book of the Recule of the Histories of
Troy. Which bookes were late translated into French out of Latin
by the labour of the venerable person Raoul Ie Feure, priest, as afore
is said; and by me indigne and unworthy, translated into this rude
English by the commandment of my said redoubted Lady, Duchess
of Burgundy. And for as much as I suppose the said t\VO books be
not had before this time in our English language, therefore I had the
better will to accomplish this said work; which work was begun in
Bruges and continued in Ghent and finished in Cologne, in the time
of the troublous world, and of the great divisions being and reign-
ing, as well in the royaumes of England and France as in all other
places universally through the world; that is to \vit the year of our
Lord a thousand four hundred seventy one. And as for the third
book, which treateth of the general and last destruction of Troy, it
needeth not to translate it into English, for as much as that \vorship..
ful and religious man, Dan John Lidgate, monk of Bury, did trans-
8
WILLIAM CAXTON
late it but late; after whose work I fear to take upon me, that am
not worthy to bear his penner and ink-horn after him, to meddle
me in that work. But yet for as much as I am bound to contemplate
my said Lady's good grace, and also that his work is in rhyme and
as far as I know it is not had in prose in our tongue, and also,
peradventure, he translated after some other author than this is; and
yet for as much as divers men be of divers desires, some to read in
rhyme and metre and some in prose; and also because that I have
now good leisure, being in Cologne, and have none other thing to
do at this time; in eschewing of idleness, mother of all vices, I have
delibered in myself for the contemplation of my said redoubted
lady to take this labour in hand, by the sufferance and help of
Almighty God; whom I meekly supplye to give me grace to accom-
plish it to the pleasure of her that is causer thereof, and that she
receive it in gree of me, her faithful, true, and most humble servant,
etc.
EPILOGUE. TO BOOK III
Thus end I this book, which I have translated after mine Author
as nigh as God hath given me cunning, to whom be given the laud
and praising. And for as much as in the writing of the same my pen
is worn, my hand weary and not steadfast, mine eyne dimmed with
overmuch looking on the white paper, and my courage not so prone
and ready to labour as it hath been, and that age creepeth on me
daily and feebleth all the body, and also because I have promised to
divers gentlemen and to my friends to address to them as hastily as
I might this said book, therefore I have practised and learned at my
great charge and dispense to ordain this said book in print, after
the manner and form as ye may here see, and is not written with
pen and ink as other books be, to the end that every man may have
them at once. For all the books of this story, named "The Recule
of the Histories of Troy" thus imprinted as ye here see, were begun
in one day and also finished in one day, which book I have pre-
sented to my said redoubted Lady, as afore is said. And she hath
well accepted it, and largely rewarded me, wherefore I beseech
Almighty God to reward her everlasting bliss after this life, praying
her said Grace and all them that shall read this book not to disdain
HISTORIES OF TROY 9
the simple and rude work, neither to reply against the saying of the
matters touched in this book, though it accord not unto the transla-
tion of others which have written it. For divers men have made
divers books which in all points accord not, as Dictes, Dares, and
Homer. For Dictes and Homer, as Greeks, say and write favorably
for the Greeks, and give to them more worship than to the Trojans;
and Dares writeth otherwise than they do. And also as for the proper
names, it is no wonder that they accord not, for some one name in
these days have divers equivocations after the countries that they
dwell in; but all accord in conclusion the general destruction of
that noble city of Troy, and the death of so many noble princes, as
kings, dukes, earls, barons, knights, and common people, and the
ruin irreparable of that city that never since was re-edified; which
may be example to all men during the world how dreadful and
jeopardous it is to begin a war and what harms, losses, and death
followeth. Therefore the Apostle saith: "All that is written is written
to our doctrine," which doctrine for the common weal I beseech God
may be taken in such place and time as shall be most needful in
increasing of peace, love, and charity; which grant us He that
suffered for the same to be crucified on the rood tree. And say we
all Amen for charity!
DICTES AND SAYINGS OF THE PHILOSOPHERS
FIRST EDITION (1477). EPILOGUE
HERE endeth the book named The Dictes or Sayings of the
Philosophers, imprinted by me, William Caxton, at Westminster, the
year of our Lord 1477. Which book is late translated out of French
into English by the noble and puissant Lord Lord Antony, Earl of
Rivers, Lord of Scales and of the Isle of Wight, defender and
director of the siege apostolic for our holy father the Pope in this
royaume of England, and governor of my Lord Prince of Wales.
And it is so that at such time as he had accomplished this said work,
it liked him to send it to me in certain quires to oversee, which
forth\vith I saw, and found therein many great, notable, and wise
sayings of the philosophers, according unto the books made in
10
WILLIAM CAXTON
French which I had often before read; but certainly I had seen none
in English until that time. And so afterward I came unto my said
Lord, and told him how I had read and seen his book, and that he
had done a meritorious deed in the labour of the translation thereof
into our English tongue, wherein he had deserved a singular laud
and thanks, &c. Then my said Lord desired me to oversee it, and
where I should find fault to correct it; whereon I answered unto his
Lordship that I could not amend it, but if I should so presume I
might apaire it, for it was right well and cunningly made and
translated into right good and fair English. Notwithstanding, he
willed me to oversee it, and shewed me divers things, which, as
seemed to him, might be left out, as divers letters, missives sent
from Alexander to Darius and Aristotle, and each to other, which
letters were little appertinent unto dictes and sayings aforesaid, foras-
much as they specify of other matters. And also desired me, that
done, to put the said book in imprint. And thus obeying his request
and commandment, I have put me in devoir to oversee this his said
book, and behold as nigh as I could how it accordeth with the
original, being in French. And I find nothing discordant therein,
save only in the dictes and sayings of Socrates, wherein I find that
my said Lord hath left out certain and divers conclusions touching
women. Whereof I marvel that my Lord hath not written them, ne
what hath moved him so to do, ne what cause he had at that time;
but I suppose that some fair lady hath desired him to leave it out of
his book; or else he was amorous on some noble lady, for whose
love he would not set it in his book; or else for the very affection,
love, and good will that he hath unto all ladies and gentlewomen, he
thought that Socrates spared the sooth and wrote of women more
than truth; which I cannot think that so true a man and so noble
a philosopher as Socrates was should write otherwise than truth.
For if he had made fault in writing of women, he ought not, ne
should not, be believed in his other dictes and sayings. But I per-
ceive that my said Lord knoweth verily that such defaults be not
had ne found in the women born and dwelling in these parts ne
regions of the world. Socrates was a Greek, born in a far country
from hence, which country is all of other conditions than this is,
and men and women of other nature than they be here in this
DICTES AND SAYINGS
II
country . For I wot well, of whatsoever condition women be in
Greece, the women of this country be right good, wise, pleasant,
humble, discreet, sober, chaste, obedient to their husbands, true,
secret, steadfast, ever busy, and never idle, attemperate in speaking,
and virtuous in all their works-or at least should be so. For which
causes so evident my said Lord, as I suppose, thought it was not of
necessity to set in his book the sayings of his author Socrates touch-
ing women. But forasmuch as I had commandment of my said
Lord to correct and amend where I should find fault, and other
find I none save that he hath left out these dictes and sayings of the
women of Greece, therefore accomplishing his commandment-
forasmuch as I am not certain whether it was in my Lord's copy or
not, or else, peradventure, that the wind had blown over the leaf at
the time of translation of his book-l purpose to write those same
sayings of that Greek Socrates, which wrote of the women of Greece
and nothing of them of this royaume, whom, I suppose, he never
knew; for if he had, I dare plainly say that he would have reserved
them specially in his said dictes. Always not presuming to put and
set them in my said Lord's book but in the end apart in the
rehearsal of the works, humbly requiring all them that shall read
this little rehearsal, that if they find any fault to arette it to Socrates,
and not to me, which writeth as hereafter followeth.
Socrates said that women be the apparels to catch men, but they
take none but them that will be poor or else them that know them
not. And he said that there is none so great empechement unto a
man as ignorance and women. And he saw a woman that bare fire,
of whom he said that the hotter bore the colder. And he saw a
woman sick, of whom he said that the evil resteth and dwelleth with
the evil. And he saw a woman brought to the justice, and many
other women followed her weeping, of whom he said the evil be
sorry and angry because the evil shall perish. And he saw a young
maid that learned to write, of whom he said that men multiplied
evil upon evil. And he said that the ignorance of a man is known
in three things, that is to wit, when he hath no thought to use
reason; when he cannot refrain his covetise; and when he is
governed by the counsel of women, in that he knoweth that they
know not. And he said unto his disciples: "Will ye that I en seign
12
WILLIAM CAXTON
and teach you how ye shall now escape from all evil?" And they
answered, "Yea." And then he said to them, "For whatsoever thing
that it be, keep you and be well ware that ye obey not women." Who
ans,vered to him again, "And what sayest thou by our good
mothers, and of our sisters?" He said to them, "Suffice you with
that I have said to you, for all be semblable in malice." And he said,
"Whosoever will acquire and get science, let him never put him in
the governance of a woman." And he saw a woman that made her
fresh and gay, to whom he said, "Thou resemblest the fire; for the
more wood is laid to the fire the more will it burn, and the greater
is the heat." And on a time one asked him what him semed of
women; he answered that the women resemble a tree called Edelfla,
which is the fairest tree to behold and see that may be, but within it
is full of venom. And they said to him and demanded wherefore he
blamed so women? and that he himself had not come into this
world, ne none other men also, without them. He answered, "The
woman is like unto a tree named Chassoygnet, on which tree there
be many things sharp and pricking, which hurt and prick them that
approach unto it; and yet, nevertheless, that same tree bringeth forth
good dates and sweet." And they demanded him why he fled
from the women? And he answered, "Forasmuch as I see them flee
and eschew the good and commonly do evil." And a \voman said
to him, "Wilt thou have any other woman than me?" And he
answered to her, "Art not ashamed to offer thyself to him that
demandeth nor desireth thee not?"
So, these be the dictes and saying of the philosopher Socrates,
which he wrote in his book; and certainly he wrote no worse than
afore is rehearsed. And forasmuch as it is accordant that his dictes
and sayings should be had as well as others', therefore I have set it
in the end of this book. And also some persons, peradventure, that
have read this book in French would have arette a great default in
me that I had not done my devoir in visiting and overseeing of my
Lord's book according to his desire. And some other also, haply,
might have supposed that Socrates had written much more ill of
women than here afore is specified, wherefore in satisfying of all
parties, and also for excuse of the said Socrates, I have set these said
dictes and sayings apart in the end of this book, to the intent that if
GOLDEN LEGEND 13
my said lord or any other person, whatsoever he or she be that shall
read or hear it, that if they be not well pleased withal, that they with
a pen race it out, or else rend the leaf out of the book. Humbly re-
quiring and beseeching my said lord to take no displeasure on me so
presuming, but to pardon whereas he shall find fault; and that it
please him to take the labour of the imprinting in gree and thanks,
which gladly have done my diligence in the accomplishing of his
desire and commandment; in which I am bounden so to do for the
good reward that I have received of his said lordship; whom I beseech
Almighty God to increase and to continue in his virtuous disposition
in this world, and after this life to live everlastingly in Heaven.
Amen.
GOLDEN LEGEND
FIRST EDITION (1483). PROLOGUE
THE Holy and blessed doctor Saint Jerome saith this authority,
"Do always some good work to the end that the devil find thee not
Idle." And the holy doctor Saint Austin saith in the book of the
labour of monks, that no man strong or mighty to labour ought to
be idle; for which cause when I had performed and accomplished
divers works and histories translated out of French into English at
the request of certain lords, ladies, and gentlemen, as the Recuyel
of the History of Troy, the Book of the Chess, the History of Jason,
the history of the Mirror of the World, the IS books of Metamor-
phoses in which be contained the fables of Ovid, and the History
of Godfrey of Boulogne in the conquest of Jerusalem, with other
divers works and books, I ne wist what work to begin and put forth
after the said works to-fore made. And forasmuch as idleness is so
much blamed, as saith Saint Bernard, the mellifluous doctor, that she
is mother of lies and step-dame of virtues, and it is she that over-
throweth strong men into sin, quencheth virtue, nourisheth pride,
and maketh the way ready to go to hell; and John Cassiodorus saith
that the thought of him that is idle thinketh on none other thing but
on licorous meats and viands for his belly; and the holy Saint Ber-
nard aforesaid saith in an epistle, when the time shall come that it
shall behove us to render and give accounts of our idle time, what
14 WILLIAM CAXTON
reason may \ve render or what answer shall we give when in idleness
is none excuse; and Prosper saith that whosoever liveth in idleness
liveth in manner of a dumb beast. And because I have seen the
authorities that blame and despise so much idleness, and also know
well that it is one of the capital and deadly sins much hateful unto
God, therefore I have concluded and firmly purposed in myself no
more to be idle, but will apply myself to labour and such occupation
as I have been accustomed to do. And forasmuch as Saint Austin
aforesaid saith upon a psalm that good work ought not to be done
for fear of pain, but for the love of righteousness, and that it be of
very and sovereign franchise, and because me-seemeth to be a sover-
eign weal to incite and exhort men and women to keep them from
sloth and idleness, and to let to be understood to such people as be
not lettered the nativities, the Ii ves, the passions, the miracles, and
the death of the holy saints, and also some other notorious deeds and
acts of times past, I have submised myself to translate into English
the legend of Saints, which is called Legenda Aurea in Latin, that is
to say, the Golden Legend; for in like wise as gold is most noble
above all other metals, in like wise is this legend holden most noble
above all other works. Against me here might some persons say that
this legend hath been translated before, and truth it is; but foras-
much as I had by me a legend in French, another in Latin, and the
third in English, which varied in many and divers places, and also
many histories were comprised in the two other books which were
not in the English books; and therefore I have written one out of
the said three books, which I have ordered otherwise than the said
English legend is, which was so to-fore made, beseeching all them
that shall see or hear it read to pardon me where I have erred or
made fault, which, if any be, is of ignorance and against my will;
and submit it wholly of such as can and may, to correct it, humbly
beseeching them so to do, and in so doing they shall deserve a singu-
lar laud and merit; and I shall pray for them unto Almighty God
that He of His benign grace reward them, etc., and that it profit to
all them that shall read or hear it read, and may increase in them
virtue, and expel vice and sin, that by the example of the holy saints
amend their living here in this short life, that by their merits they
and I may come to everlasting life and bliss in Heaven. Amen.
CATON
15
CATON (1483)
PROLOGUE
HERE beginneth the prologue of proem of the book called Caton,
which book hath been translated into English by Master Benet Burgh,
late Archdeacon of Colchester, and high canon of St. Stephen's at
Westminster, \vhich ful craftily hath made it in ballad royal for the
erudition of my lord Bousher, son and heir at that time to my lord
the Earl of Essex. And because of late came to my hand a book of
the said Cato in French, which rehearseth many a fair learning and
notable examples, I have translated it out of French into English,
as all along hereafter shall appear, which I present unto the city of
London.
Unto the noble, ancient, and renowned city, the city of London,
in England, I, William Caxton, citizen and conjury of the same, and
of the fraternity and fellowship of the mercery, o\ve of right my serv..
ice and good will, and of very duty am bounden naturally to assist,
aid, and counsel, as far forth as I can to my power, as to my mother
of whom I have received my nurture and living, and shall pray for
the good prosperity and policy of the same during my life. For, as
me-seemeth, it is of great need, because I have kno\vn it in my young
age much more wealthy, prosperous, and richer, than it is at this day.
And the cause is that there is almost none that intendeth to the com-
mon weal, but only every man for his singular pronto Oh! ,vhen I
remember the noble Romans, that for the common weal of the city
of Rome they spent not only their moveable goods but they put their
bodies and lives in jeopardy and to the death, as by many a noble
example we may see in the acts of Romans, as of the two noble
Scipios, African and Asian, Actilius, and many others. And among
all others the noble Cato, author and maker of this book, which he
hath left for to remain ever to all the people for to learn in it and to
know how every man ought to rule and govern him in this life, as
well for the life temporal as for the life spiritual. And as in my j udge-
ment it is the best book for to be taught to young children in school,
and also to people of every age, it is full convenient if it be well
understood. And because I see that the children that be born within
16 WILLIAM CAXTON
the said city increase, and profit not like their fathers and elders, but
for the most part after that they be come to their perfect years of
discretion and ripeness of age, how well that their fathers have left
to them great quantity of goods yet scarcely among ten two thrive,
[ whereas] I have seen and know in other lands in divers cities that
of one name and lineage successively have endured prosperously
many heirs, yea, a five or six hundred years, and some a thousand;
and in this noble city of London it can unneth continue unto the
third heir or scarcely to the second,-O blessed Lord, when I remem-
ber this I am all abashed; I cannot judge the cause, but fairer ne
wiser ne better spoken children in their youth be nowhere than there
be in London, but at their full ripening there is no kernel ne good
corn found, but chaff for the most part. I wot well there be many
noble and wise, and prove well and be better and richer than ever
were their fathers. And to the end that many might come to honour
and worship, I intend to translate this said book of Cato, in which
I doubt not, and if they will read it and understand they shall much
the better con rule themselves thereby; for among all other books
this is a singular book, and may well be called the regiment or gov-
ernance of the body and soul.
There was a noble clerk named Pogius of Florence, and was secre-
tary to Pope Eugene and also to Pope Nicholas, which had in the
city of Florence a noble and well-stuffed library which all noble
strangers coming to Florence desired to see; and therein they found
many noble and rare books. And when they had asked of him which
was the best book of them all, and that he reputed for best, he said
that he held Cato glosed for the best book of his library. Then since
that he that was sOl1oble a clerk held this book for the best, doubtless
it must follow that this is a noble book and a virtuous, and such one
that a man may eschew all vices and ensue virtue. Then to the end
that this said book may profit unto the hearers of it, I beseech Al-
mighty God that I may achieve and accomplish it unto his laud and
glory, and to the erudition and learning of them that be ignorant,
that they may thereby profit and be the better. And I require and
beseech all such that find fault or error, that of their charity they
correct and amend it, and I shall heartily pray for them to Almighty
God, that he reward them.
ÆSOP
17
AESOP. (1483)
EPILOGUE
Now then I will finish all these fables with this tale that followeth,
which a worshipful priest and a parson told me lately. He said that
there were dwelling in Oxford two priests, both masters of art, of
whom that one was quick and could put himself forth, and that other
was a good simple priest. And so it happened that the master that
was pert and quick, was anon promoted to a benefice or twain, and
after to prebends and for to be a dean of a great prince's chapel, sup-
posing and weening that his fellow the simple priest should never
have been promoted, but be alway an Annual, or at the most a parish
priest. So after long time that this worshipful man, this dean, came
riding into a good parish with a ten or twelve horses, like a prelate,
and came into the church of the said parish, and found there this
good simple man sometime his fellow, which came and welcomed
him lowly; and that other bad him "good morrow, master John,"
and took him slightly by the hand, and asked him where he dwelt.
And the good man said, "In this parish." "How," said he, "are ye
here a soul priest or a parish priest?" "Nay, sir," said he, "for lack
of a better, though I be not able ne worthy, I am parson and curate
of this parish." And then that other availed his bonnet and
said, "Master parson, I pray you to be not displeased; I had sup-
posed ye had not been beneficed; but master," said he, "I pray
you what is this benefice worth to you a year?" "F orsooth," said
the good simple man, "I wot never, for I make never accounts thereof
how well I have had it four or five years." "And kno\v ye not," said
he, "what it is worth? it should seem a good benefice." "No, for-
sooth," said he, "but I wot well what it shall be worth to me."
"Why," said he, "what shall it be worth?" "Forsooth," said he, "if
I do my true diligence in the cure of my parishioners in preaching
and teaching, and do my part longing to my cure, I shall have heaven
therefore; and if their souls be lost, or any of them by my default, I
shall be punished therefore, and hereof am I sure." And with that
word the rich dean was abashed, and thought he should do the better
and take more heed to his cures and benefices than he had done. This
18
WILLIAM CAXTON
was a good answer of a good priest and an honest. And herewith I
finished this book, translated and printed by me, William Caxton,
at Westminster in the Abbey, and finished the 26th day of March,
the year of our Lord 1484, and the first year of the reign of King
Richard the Third.
CHAUCER'S CANTERBURY TALES
Second Edition. (1484)
PROEM
GREAT thanks, laud, and honour ought to be given unto the clerks,
poets, and historiographs that have written many noble books of
wisedom of the lives, passions, and miracles of holy saints, of his-
tories of noble and famous acts and faites, and of the chronicles since
the beginning of the creation of the world unto this present time, by
which we be daily informed and have knowledge of many things of
whom we should not have known if they had not left to us their
monuments written. Among whom and in especial before all others,
we ought to give a singular laud unto that noble and great philos-
opher Geoffrey Chaucer, the which for his ornate writing in our
tongue may well have the name of a laureate poet. For to-fore that
he by labour embellished, ornated, and made fair our English, in
this realm was had rude speech and incongruous, as yet it appeareth
by old books, which at this day ought not to have place ne be com-
pared among, ne to, his beauteous volumes and ornate writings, of
whom he made many books and treatises of many a noble history,
as well in metre as in rhyme and prose; and them so craftily made
that he comprehended his matters in short, quick, and high sentences,
eschewing prolixity, casting away the chaff of superfluity, and she\v..
ing the picked grain of sentence uttered by crafty and sugared elo-
quence; of whom among all others of his books I purpose to print, by
the grace of God, the book of the tales of Canterbury, in which I find
many a noble history of every state and degree; first rehearsing the
conditions and the array of each of them as properly as possible is
to be said. And after their tales which be of nobleness, wisdom,
gentleness, mirth and also of very holiness and virtue, wherein he
CANTERBURY TALES 19
lì.nisheth this said book, which book I have diligently overseen and
duly examined, to that end it be made according unto his own mak-
ing. For I find many of the said books which writers have abridged
it, and many things left out; and in some place have set certain
verses that he never made ne set in his book; of which books so
incorrect was one brought to me, 6 years past, which I supposed had
been very true and correct; and according to the same I did so im-
print a certain number of them, which anon were sold to many and
divers gentlemen, of whom one gentleman came to me and said that
this book was not according in many place unto the book that
Geoffrey Chaucer had made. To whom I answered that I had made
it according to my copy, and by me was nothing added ne minished.
Then he said he knew a book which his father had and much loved,
that was very true and according unto his own first book by him
made; and said more, if I would imprint it again he would get me
the same book for a copy, howbeit he wist well that his father would
not gladly depart from it. To whom I said, in case that he could get
me such a book, true and correct, yet I would once endeavour me to
imprint it again for to satisfy the author, whereas before by ignorance
I erred in hurting and defaming his book in divers places, in setting
in some things that he never said ne made, and leaving out many
things that he made which be requisite to be set in it. And thus we
fell at accord, and he full gently got of his father the said book, and
delivered it to me, by which I have corrected my book, as hereafter,
all along by the aid of Almighty God, shall follow; whom I humbly
beseech to give me grace and aid to achieve and accomplish to his
laud, honour, and glory; and that all ye that shall in this book read
or hear, will of your charity among your deeds of mercy remember
the soul of the said Geoffrey Chaucer, first author and maker of this
book. And also that all we. that shall see and read therein may so
take and understand the good and virtuous tales, that it may so
profit unto the health of our souls that after this short and transitory
life we may come to everlasting life in Heaven. Amen.
By WILLIAM: CAXTON
20
WILLIAM CAXTON
MALORY'S KING ARTHUR. (1485)
PROLOGUE
AFTER that I had accomplished and finished divers histories, as
well of contemplation as of other historical and worldly acts of great
conquerors and princes, and also certain books of ensamples and
doctrine, many noble and divers gentlemen of this realm of England
came and demanded me many and oft times wherefore that I have
not done made and printed the noble history of the Saint Graal, and
of the most renowned Christian King, first and chief of the three
best Christian and worthy, Arthur, which ought most to be remem-
bered among us Englishmen before all other Christian Kings. For
it is notoyrly known through the universal world that there be nine
worthy and the best that ever were; that is to wit three Paynims,
three Jews, and three Christian men. As for the Paynims, they were
to-fore the Incarnation of Christ, which were named-the first, Hec-
tor of Troy, of whom the history is come both in ballad and in prose
-the second, Alexander the Great; and the third, Julius Caesar, Em..
peror of Rome, of whom the histories be well known and had. And
as for the three Jews, which also were before the Incarnation of our
Lord of whom the first was Duke Joshua, which brought the chil-
dren of Israel into the land of behest; the second, David, King of
Jerusalem; and the third Judas Maccabæus; of these three the Bible
rehearseth all their noble histories and acts. And since the said
Incarnation have been three noble Christian men, installed and
admitted through the universal world into the number of the nine
best and worthy, of whom was first the noble Arthur, whose noble
acts I purpose to write in this present book here following. The
second was Charlemagne, or Charles the Great, of whom the history
is had in many places both in French and English; and the third and
last was Godfrey of Boulogne, of whose acts and life I made a book
unto the excellent prince and king of noble memory, King Edward
the Fourth. The said noble gentlemen instantly required me to print
the history of the said noble king and conqueror, King Arthur, and
of his knights, with the history of the Saint Graal, and of the death
and ending of the said Arthur, affirming that I ought rather to print
,
MALORY S KING ARTHUR 21
his acts and noble feats than of Godfrey of Boulogne or any of the
other eight, considering that he was a man born within this realm,
and king and emperor of the same; and that there be in French
divers and many noble volumes of his acts, and also of his knights.
To whom I answered that divers men hold opinion that there was
no such Arthur, and that all such books as be made of him be but
feigned and fables, because that some chronicles make of him no
mention, ne remember him nothing ne of his knights; whereto they
answered, and one in special said, that in him that should say or
think that there was never such a king called Arthur, might well be
aretted great folly and blindness; for he said that there were many
evidences of the contrary. First ye may see his sepulchre in the
monastery of Glastonbury; and also in 'Polychronicon,' in the fifth
book, the sixth chapter, and in the seventh book, the twenty-third
chapter, where his body was buried, and after found and translated
into the said monastery. Ye shall see also in the history of Boccaccio,
in his book 'De casu principum,' part of his noble acts and also of
his fall. Also Galfridus in his British book recounteth his life, and
in divers places of England many remembrances be yet of him, and
shall remain perpetually, and also ot his knights. First in the Abbey
of Westminster at Saint Edward's shrine remaineth the print of
his seal in red wax closed in beryl, in which is written 'Patricius
Arthurus, Britanniae Galliae Germaniae Daciae Imperator.' Item,
in the castle of Dover ye may see Gawain's skull and Caradoc's man-
tle; at Winchester the round table; in other places Lancelot's sword,
and many other things. Then all these things considered, there can
no man reasonably gainsay but here was a king of this land named
Arthur; for in all places, Christian and heathen, he is reputed and
taken for one of the nine worthy, and the first of the three Christian
men. And also he is more spoken of beyond the sea; more books
made of his noble acts than there be in England, as well in Dutch,
Italian, Spanish, and Greek as in French; and yet of record remain
in witness of him in Wales in the town of Camelot the great stones
and marvellous works of iron lying under the ground, and royal
vaults, which divers now living hath seen. Wherefore it is a marvel
why he is no more renowned in his own country, save only it accord-
eth to the word of God, which saith that no man is accepted for a
22 WILLIAM CAXTON
prophet in his own country. Then all these things aforesaid alleged,
I could not well deny but that there was such a noble king named
Arthur, and reputed one of the nine worthy, and first and chief of
the Christian men; and many noble volumes be made of him and
of his noble knights in French, which I have seen and read beyond
the sea, which be not had in our maternal tongue, but in Welsh be
many, and also in French, and some in English, but nowhere nigh
all. Wherefore such as have lately been drawn out briefly into
English, I have, after the simple cunning that God hath sent to me,
under the favour and correction of all noble lords and gentlemen,
emprised to imprint a book of the noble histories of the said King
Arthur and of certain of his knights, after a copy unto me delivered,
which copy Sir Thomas Malor:y did take out of certain books of
French and reduced it into English. And I, according to my copy
have down set it in print, to the intent that noble men may see and
learn the noble acts of chivalry, the gentle and virtuous deeds that
some knights used in those days, by which they came to honour, and
how they that were vicious were punished and oft put to shame and
rebuke; humbly beseeching all noble lords and ladies and all other
estates, of what estate or degree they be of, that shall see and read in
this said book and work, that they take the good and honest acts in
their remembrance and to follow the same, wherein they shall find
many joyous and pleasant histories and noble and renowned acts of
humanity, gentleness, and chivalry. For herein may be seen noble
chivalry, courtesy, humanity, friendliness, hardyhood, love, friend-
ship, cowardice, murder, hate, virtue and sin. Do after the good and
leave the evil, and it shall bring you to good fame and renown. And
for to pass the time this book shall be pleasant to read in; but for to
gi ve faith and believe that all is true that is contained herein, ye be
at your liberty. But all is written for our doctrine, and for to beware
that we fall not to vice ne sin, but to exercise and follow virtue, by
which we may come and attain to good fame and renown in this
life, and after this short and transitory life to come unto everlasting
bliss in heaven; the which He grant us that reigneth in Heaven, the
Blessed Trinity. Amen.
Then to proceed forth in this said book which I direct unto all
noble princes, lords and ladies, gentlemen or gentlewomen, that
,
MALORY S KING ARTHUR 23
desire to read or hear read of the noble and joyous history of the
great conqueror and excellent king, King Arthur, sometime King
of this noble realm then called Britain, I, William Caxton, simple
person, present this book following which I have emprised to im-
print. And treateth of the noble acts, feats of arms, of chivalry,
prowess, hardihood, humanity, love, courtesy, and very gentleness,
with many wonderful histories and adventures. And for to under-
stand briefly the contents of this volume, I have divided it into 21
books, and every book chaptered, as hereafter shall by God's grace
follow. The first book shall treat how Uther Pendragon begat the
noble conqueror, King Arthur, and containeth 28 chapters. The
second book treateth of Balyn the noble knight, and containeth 19
chapters. The third book treateth of the marriage of King Arthur
to Queen Guinevere, with other matters, and containeth IS chapters.
The fourth book how Merlin was assotted, and of war made to King
Arthur, and containeth 29 chapters. The fifth book treateth of the
conquest of Lucius the emperor, and containeth 12 chapters. The
sixth book treateth of Sir Lancelot and Sir Lionel, and marvellous
adventures, and containeth 18 chapters. The seventh book treateth
of a noble knight called Sir Gareth, and named by Sir Kay 'Beau-
mains,' and containeth 36 chapters. The eighth book treateth of the
birth of Sir Tristram the noble knight, and of his acts, and containeth
41 chapters. The ninth book treateth of a knight named by Sir Kay,
'Le cote mal taillé,' and also of Sir Tristram, and containeth 44
chapters. The tenth book treateth of Sir Tristram, and other mar-
vellous adventures, and containeth 83 chapters. The eleventh book
treateth of Sir Lancelot and Sir Galahad, and containeth 14 chapters.
The twelfth book treateth of Sir Lancelot and his madness, and con..
taineth 14 chapters. The thirteenth book treateth how Galahad came
first to King Arthur's court, and the quest how the Sangreal was
begun, and containeth 20 chapters. The fourteenth book treateth of
the quest of the Sangreal, and containeth 10 chapters. The fifteenth
book treateth of Sir Lancelot, and containeth 6 chapters. The six-
teenth book treateth of Sir Boris and Sir Lionel his brother, and
containeth 17 chapters. The seventeenth book treateth of the San-
greal, and containeth 23 chapters. The eighteenth book treateth of
Sir Lancelot and the Queen, and containeth 25 chapters. The nine-
24 WILLIAM CAXTON
teenth book treateth of Queen Guinevere, and Lancelot, and con-
taineth 13 chapters. The twentieth book treateth of the piteous death
of Arthur, and containeth 22 chapters. The twenty-first book treateth
of his last departing, and how Sir Lancelot came to revenge his death,
and containeth 13 chapters. The sum is 21 books, which contain the
sum of five hundred and seven chapters, as more plainly shall follow
hereafter.
ENEYDOS (1490)
PROLOGUE
AFTER divers work made, translated, and achieved, having no
\vork in hand, I, sitting in my study whereas lay many divers
pamphlets and books, happened that to my hand came a little book
in French, which lately was translated out of Latin by some noble
clerk of France, which book is named Aeneidos, made in Latin by
that noble poet and great clerk, Virgil. Which book I saw over, and
read therein ho\v, after the general destruction of the great Troy,
Aeneas departed, bearing his old father Anchises upon his shoulders,
his little son Iulus on his hand, his wife with much other people
follo\ving, and how he shipped and departed, with all the history of
his adventures that he had ere he came to the achievement of his
conquest of Italy, as all along shall be shewed in his present book.
In which book I had great pleasure because of the fair and honest
terms and words in French; \vhich I never saw before like, ne none
so pleasant ne so well ordered; which book as seemed to me should
be much requisite to noble men to see, as well for the eloquence as
the histories. How well that many hundred years past was the said
book of Aeneidos, with other works, made and learned daily in
schools, especially in Italy and other places; which history the said
Virgil made in metre. And when I had advised me in this said
book, I delibered and concluded to translate it into English; and
forthwith took a pen and ink and wrote a leaf or twain, which lover..
saw again to correct it. And when I saw the fair and strange terms
therein, I doubted that it should not please some gentlemen which
late blamed me, saying that in my translations I had over curious
terms, which could not be understood of common people, and desired
,
VIRGIL S ENEYDOS 25
me to use old and homely terms in my translations. And fain would
I satisfy every man, and so to do took an old book and read therein,
and certainly the English was so rude and broad that I could not
well understood it. And also my Lord Abbot of Westminster did do
show to me lately certain evidences written in old English, for to
reduce it into our English now used. And certainly it was written
in such wise that it was more like to Dutch than English, I could
not reduce ne bring it to be understood. And certainly our language
now used varieth far from that which was used and spoken when I
\vas born. For we Englishmen be born under the domination of the
moon, which is never steadfast but ever wavering, waxing one sea..
son and waneth and decreaseth another season. And that common
English that is spoken in one shire varieth from another, insomuch
that in my days happened that certain merchants were in a ship in
Thames for to have sailed over the sea into Zealand, and for lack
of wind they tarried at Foreland, and went to land for to refresh
them. And one of them named Sheffield, a mercer, came into a house
and asked for meat, and especially he asked after eggs; and the good
wife answered that she could speak no French, and the merchant
was angry, for he also could speak no French, but would have had
eggs, and she understood him not. And then at last another said,
that he would have "eyren"; then the goodwife said that she under..
stood him well. Lo, what should a man in these days now write, eggs
or eyren? Certainly it is hard to please every man because of diver..
sity and change of language. For in these days every man that is
in any reputation in his country will utter his communication and
matters in such manners and terms that few men shall understand
them. And some honest and great clerks have been with me and
desired me to write the most curious terms that I could find; and
thus between plain, rude and curious I stand abashed. But in my
judgment the common terms that be daily used be lighter to be
understood than the old and ancient English. And forasmuch as this
present book is not for a rude uplandish man to labour therein ne
read it, but only for a clerk and a noble gentleman that feeleth and
understandeth in feats of arms, in love and in noble chivalry. There..
fore in a mean between both I have reduced and translated this said
book into our English, not over-rude ne curious; but in such terms
26
WILLIAM CAXTON
as shall be understood, by God's grace, according to my copy. And
if any man will intermit in reading of it, and findeth such terms that
he cannot understand, let him go read and learn Virgil of the pistles
of Ovid, and there he shall see and understand lightly all, if he have
a good reader and informer. F or this book is not for every rude and
uncunning man to see, but to clerks and very gentlemen that under-
stand gentleness and science. Then I pray all them that shall read
in this little treatise to hold me for excused for the translating of it,
for I acknowledge myself ignorant of cunning to emprise on me so
high and noble a work. But I pray Master John Skelton, late created
poet laureate in the University of Oxenford, to oversee and correct
this said book, and to address and expound, wherever shall be found
fault, to them that shall require it.
For him I know for sufficient to expound and English every diffi-
culty that is therein; for he hath lately translated the Epistles of
Tully, and the book of Diodorus Siculus, and divers other works out
of Latin into English, not in rude and old language, but in polished
and ornate terms craftily, as he that hath read Virgil, Ovid, Tully,
and all the other noble poets and orators to me unknown. And also
he hath read the nine Muses, and understands their musical sciences,
and to whom of them each science is appropred. I suppose he hath
drunken of Helicon's well. Then I pray him and such others to
correct, add, or minish whereas he or they shall find fault; for I
have but followed my copy in French as nigh as to me is possible.
And if any word be said therein well, I am glad; and if otherwise,
I submit my said book to their correction. Which book I present
unto the high born, my to-coming natural and sovereign lord Arthur,
by the grace of God Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall and Earl of
Chester, first-begotten son and heir unto our most dread natural and
sovereign lord and most Christian King, Henry the VII., by the
grace of God King of England and of France, and lord of Ireland;
beseeching his noble Grace to receive it in thank of me his most
humble subject and servant. And I shall pray unto Almighty God
for his prosperous increasing in virtue, wisedom, and humanity, that
he may be equal with the most renowned of all his noble progeni-
tors; and so to live in this present life that after this transitory life
he and we all may come to everlasting life in Heaven. Amen.
DEDICATION
OF THE INSTITUTES OF THE
CHRISTIAN RELIGION
BY JOHN CALVIN (1536)
To His Most Christian Majesty, FRANCIS, King of the French, and
his Sovereign, John Calvin wi sheth peace and salvation in Christ.
W HEN I began this work, Sire, nothing was further from
my thoughts than writing a book which would afterwards
be presented to your Majesty. My intention was only to
lay down some elementary principles, by which inquirers on the
subject of religion might be instructed in the nature of true piety.
And this labour I undertook chieBy for my countrymen, the French,
of whom I apprehended multitudes to be hungering and thirsting
after Christ, but saw very few possessing any real knowledge of him.
That this was my design, the book itself proves by its simple method
and unadorned composition. But when I perceived that the fury of
certain wicked men in your kingdom had grown to such a height,
as to leave no room in the land for sound doctrine, I thought I should
be usefully employed, if in the same work I delivered my instructions
to them, and exhibited my confession to you, that you may know
the nature of that doctrine, which is the object of such unbounded
rage to those madmen who are now disturbing the country with
fire and sword. For I shall not be afraid to acknowledge, that this
treatise contains a summary of that very doctrine, which, according
to their clamours, deserves to be punished with imprisonment, banish-
ment, proscription, and Barnes, and to be exterminated from the face
John Calvin was born at Noyon, Picardy, France, in 1509, and died at Geneva in
1564. He joined the Reformation about 1528, and, having been banished from Paris,
took refuge in Switzerland. The "Institutes," published at Basle in 1536, contain a
comprehensive statement of the beliefs of that school of Protestant theology which bears
Calvin's name; and in this "Dedication" we have Calvin's own summing up of the
essentials of his creed.
27
28 JOHN CALVIN
of the earth. I well know with what atrocious insinuations your ears
have been filled by them, in order to render our cause most odious
in your esteem; but your clemency should lead you to consider that,
if accusation be accounted a sufficient evidence of guilt, there will be
an end of all innocence in words and actions. If anyone, indeed,
with a view to bring odium upon the doctrine which I am endeavour-
ing to defend, should allege that it has long ago been condemned
by the general consent, and suppressed by many judicial decisions,
this will be only equivalent to saying, that it has been sometimes
violently rejected through the influence and power of its adversaries,
and sometimes insidiously and fraudulently oppressed by falsehoods,
artifices, and calumnies. Violence is displayed, when sanguinary
sentences are passed against it without the cause being heard; and
fraud, when it is unjustly accused of sedition and mischief. Lest
anyone should suppose that these our complaints are unfounded,
you yourself, Sire, can bear witness of the false calumnies with
which you hear it daily traduced; that its only tendency is to wrest
the sceptres of kings out of their hands, to overturn all the tribunals
and judicial proceedings, to subvert all order and governments, to
disturb the peace and tranquillity of the people, to abrogate all laws,
to scatter all properties and possessions, and, in a word, to involve
every thing in total confusion. And yet you hear the smallest por-
tion of what is alleged against it; for such horrible things are circu-
lated amongst the vulgar, that, if they were true, the whole world
would justly pronounce it and its abettors worthy of a thousand fires
and gibbets. Who, then, will wonder at its becoming the object of
public odium, where credit is given to such most iniquitous accusa..
tions? This is the cause of the general consent and conspiracy to
condemn us and our doctrine. Hurried away \vith this impulse, those
who sit in judgment pronounce for sentences the prej udices they
brought from home with them; and think their duty fully discharged
if they condemn none to be punished but such as are convicted by
their own confession, or by sufficient proofs. Convicted of \vhat
crime? Of this condemned doctrine, they say. But with what justice
is it condemned? Now, the ground of defence was not to abjure the
doctrine itself, but to maintain its truth. On this subject, however,
not a word is allowed to be uttered.
TO THE INSTITUTES 29
Wherefore I beseech you, Sire,-and surely it is not an unreason-
able request,-to take upon yourself the entire cognizance of this
cause, which has hitherto been confusedly and carelessly agitated,
without any order of law, and with outrageous passion rather than
judicial gravity. Think not that I am now meditating my own
individual defence, in order to effect a safe return to my native
country; for, though I feel the affection which every man ought to
feel for it, yet, under the existing circumstances, I regret not my
removal from it. But I plead the cause of all the godly, and conse..
quently of Christ himself, which, having been in these times perse-
cuted and trampled on in all ways in your kingdom, now lies in a
most deplorable state; and this indeed rather through the tyranny
of certain Pharisees, than with your knowledge. How this comes
to pass is foreign to my present purpose to say; but it certainly lies
in a most afflicted state. For the ungodly have gone to such lengths,
that the truth of Christ, if not vanquished, dissipated, and entirely
destroyed, is buried, as it were, in ignoble obscurity, while the poor,
despised church is either destroyed by cruel massacres, or driven
away into banishment, or menaced and terrified into total silence.
And still they continue their wonted madness and ferocity, pushing
violently against the wall already bent, and finishing the ruin they
ha ve begun. In the meantime, no one comes forward to plead the
cause against such furies. If there be any persons desirous of appear-
ing most favourable to the truth, they only venture an opinion, that
forgiveness should be extended to the error and imprudence of
ignorant people. For this is the language of these moderate men,
calling that error and imprudence which they know to be the certain
truth of God, and those ignorant people, whose understanding they
perceive not to have been so despicable to Christ, but that he has
favoured them with the mysteries of his heavenly wisdom. Thus all
are ashamed of the Gospel. But it shall be yours, Sire, not to turn
away your ears or thoughts from so just a defence, especially in a
cause of such importance as the maintenance of God's glory unim..
paired in the world, the preservation of the honor of divine truth,
and the continuance of the kingdom of Christ uninjured among us.
This is a cause worthy of your attention, worthy of your cognizance,
worthy of your throne. This consideration constitutes true royalty,
3 0 JOHN CALVIN
to acknowledge yourself in the government of your kingdom to be
the minister of God. For where the glory of God is not made the
end of the government, it is not a legitimate sovereignty, but a
usurpation. And he is deceived who expects lasting prosperity in
that kingdom which is not ruled by the sceptre of God, that is, his
holy word; for that heavenly oracle cannot fail, which declares that
"where there is no vision, the people perish."l Nor should you be
seduced from this pursuit by a contempt of our meanness. We are
fully conscious to ourselves how very mean and abject we are, being
miserable sinners before God, and accounted most despicable by
men; being (if you please) the refuse of the world, deserving of the
vilest appellations that can be found; so that nothing remains for us
to glory in before God, but his mercy alone, by which, without any
merit of ours, we have been admitted to the hope of eternal salvation,
and before men nothing but our weakness, the slightest confession
of which is esteemed by them as the greatest disgrace. But our doc-
trine must stand, exalted above all the glory, and invincible by all
the power of the world; because it is not ours, but the doctrine of
the living God, and of his Christ, whom the Father hath constituted
King, that he may have dominion from sea to sea, and from the
river even to the ends of the earth, and that he may rule in such a
manner, that the whole earth, with its strength of iron and with its
splendour of gold and silver, smitten by the rod of his mouth, may be
broken to pieces like a potter's vessel;2 for thus do the prophets fore-
tell the magnificence of his kingdom.
Our adversaries reply, that our pleading the word of God is a
false pretence, and that we are nefarious corrupters of it. But that
this is not only a malicious calumny, but egregious impudence, by
reading our confession, you will, in your wisdom, be able to judge.
Yet something further is necessary to be said, to excite your attention,
or at least to prepare your mind for this perusal. Paul's direction,
that every prophecy be framed "according to the analogy of faith,"3
has fixed an invariable standard by which all interpretation of Scrip-
ture ought to be tried. If our principles be examined by this rule of
faith, the victory is ours. For what is more consistent with faith than
to acknowledge ourselves naked of all virtue, that we may be clothed
1 Prov. xxix. 18. 2 Daniel ii. 34. Isaiah xi. 4. Psalm ii. 9. 3 Rom. xü. 6.
TO THE INSTITUTES 3 I
by God; empty of all good, that we may be filled by him; slaves to
sin, that we may be liberated by him; blind, that we may be enlight-
ened by him; lame, that we may be guided; weak, that we may be
supported by him; to divest ourselves of all ground of glorying, that
he alone may be eminently glorious, and that we may glory in him?
When we advance these and similar sentiments, they interrupt us
with complaints that this is the way to overturn, I know not what
blind light of nature, pretended preparations, free will, and works
meritorious of eternal salvation, together with all their supereroga-
tions; because they cannot bear that the praise and glory of all
goodness, strength, righteousness, and wisdom, should remain en-
tirely with God. But we read of none being reproved for having
drawn too freely from the fountain of living waters; on the con-
trary, they are severely upbraided who have "hewed them out cis-
terns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water.,,4 Again, what is more
consistent with faith, than to assure ourselves of God being a pro-
pitious Father, where Christ is acknowledged as a brother and
Mediator? than securely to expect all prosperity and happiness from
Him, whose unspeakable love towards us went so far, that "he
spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for US?"5 than to rest
in the certain expectation of salvation and eternal life, when we
reflect upon the Father's gift of Christ, in whom such treasures are
hidden? Here they oppose us, and complain that this certainty of
confidence is chargeable with arrogance and presumption. But as we
ought to presume nothing of ourselves, so we should presume every
thing of God; nor are we divested of vain glory for any other reason
than that we may learn to glory in the Lord. What shall I say more?
Review, Sire, all the parts of our cause, and consider us worse than
the most abandoned of mankind, unless you clearly discover that we
thus "both labor and suffer reproach, because we trust in the living
God,"6 because we believe that "this is life eternal, to know the only
true God, and Jesus Christ whom he hath sent."7 For this hope some
of us are bound in chains, others are lashed with scourges, others
are carried about as laughing-stocks, others are outlawed, others are
cruelly tortured, others escape by flight; but we are all reduced to
extreme perplexities, execrated with dreadful curses, cruelly slandered
4 Jer. ii. 13. 5 Rom. viii. 32. 6 I Tim. iv. 10. 7 John xvii. 3.
3 2 JOHN CALVIN
and treated with the greatest indignities. Now, look at our adver-
saries, (I speak of the order of priests, at whose will and directions
others carryon these hostilities against us,) and consider a little with
me by what principles they are actuated. The true religion, which
is taught in the Scriptures, and ought to be universally maintained,
they readily permit both themselves and others to be ignorant of,
and to treat ,vith neglect and contempt. They think it unimportant
what anyone holds or denies concerning God and Christ, provided
he submits his mind with an implicit faith (as they call it) to the
judgment of the Church. Nor are they much affected, if the glory
of God happens to be violated with open blasphemies, provided no
one lift a finger against the primacy of the Apostolic See, and the
authority of their holy Mother Church. Why, therefore, do they
contend with such extreme bitterness and cruelty for the mass, pur-
gatory, pilgrimages, and similar trifles, and deny that any piety can
be maintained without a most explicit faith, so to speak, in these
things; whereas they prove none of them from the word of God?
Why, but because their belly is their God, their kitchen is their reli-
gion; deprived of which they consider themselves no longer as Chris-
tians, or even as men. For though some feast themselves in splen-
dour, and others subsist on slender fare, yet all live on the same pot,
which, without this fuel, would not only cool, but completely freeze.
Everyone of them, therefore, who is most solicitous for his belly,
is found to be a most strenuous champion for their faith. Indeed,
they universally exert themselves for the preservation of their king-
dom, and the repletion of their bellies; but not one of them discovers
the least indication of sincere zeal.
Nor do their attacks on our doctrine cease here; they urge every
topic of accusation and abuse to render it an object of hatred or
suspicion. They call it novel, and of recent origin,-they cavil at
it as doubtful and uncertain,-they inquire by what miracles it is
confirmed,-they ask ,vhether it is right for it to be received con-
trary to the consent of so many holy fathers, and the custom of the
highest antiquity,-they urge us to confess that it is schismatical in
stirring up opposition against the Church, or that the Church was
\vholly extinct for many ages, during which no such thing \vas
known.-Lastly, they say all arguments are unnecessary; for that its
TO THE INSTITUTES 33
nature may be determined by its fruits, since it has produced such a
multitude of sects, so many factious tumults, and such great licen-
tiousness of vices. It is indeed very easy for them to insult a deserted
cause with the credulous and ignorant multitude; but, if we had also
the liberty of speaking in our turn, this acrimony, which they now
discover in violently foaming against us with equal licentiousness
and impunity, would presently cool.
In the first place, their calling it novel is highly injurious to God,
whose holy word deserves not to be accused of novelty. I have no
doubt of its being new to them, to whom Jesus Christ and the Gospel
are equally new. But those who know the antiquity of this preach-
ing of Paul, "that Jesus Christ died for our sins, and rose again for
our justification," 8 will find no novelty among us. That it has long
been concealed, buried, and unknown, is the crime of human im-
piety. Now that the goodness of God has restored it to us, it ought
at least to be allowed its just claim of antiquity.
From the same source of ignorance springs the notion of its being
doubtful and uncertain. This is the very thing which the Lord com-
plains of by his prophet; that "the ox knoweth his owner, and the
ass his master's crib," 9 but that his people know not him. But how-
ever they may laugh at its uncertainty, if they ,vere called to seal their
own doctrine with their blood and lives, it would appear how much
they value it. Very different is our confidence, which dreads neither
the terrors of death, nor even the tribunal of God.
Their requiring miracles of us is altogether unreasonable; for \ve
forge no new Gospel, but retain the very same whose truth was con-
firmed by all the miracles ever wrought by Christ and the apostles.
But they have this peculiar advantage above us, that they can confirm
their faith by continual miracles even to this day. But the truth is,
they allege miracles which are calcu]ated to unsettle a mind other-
wise well established, they are so frivolous and ridiculous, or vain
and false. Nor, if they were ever so preternatural, ought they to have
any ,veight in opposition to the truth of God, since the name of God
ought to be sanctified in all places and at all times, ,vhether by
miraculous events, or by the common order of nature. This fallacy
might perhaps be more specious, if the Scripture did not apprize us
8 Rom. iv. 25. I Cor. xv. 3. 17. 9 Isaiah i. 3.
34 JOHN CALVIN
of the legitimate end and use of miracles. For Mark informs us, that
the miracles which followed the preaching of the apostles were
wrought in confirmation lO of it, and Luke tells us, that ll "the Lord
gave testimony to the word of his grace," when "signs and wonders"
were "done by the hands" of the apostles. Very similar to which is
the assertion of the apostle, that "salvation ,vas confirmed" by the
preaching of the Gospel, "God also bearing witness with signs, and
wonders, and divers miracles."12 But those things which we are told
were seals of the Gospel, shall we pervert to undermine the faith
of the Gospel? Those things which were designed to be testimonials
of the truth, shall ,ve accommodate to the confirmation of falsehood?
It is right, therefore, that the doctrine, ,vhich, according to the
evangelist, claims the first attention, be examined and tried in the
first place; and if it be approved, then it ought to derive confirmation
from miracles. But it is the characteristic of sound doctrine, given
by Christ, that it tends to promote, not the glory of men, but the
glory of God. 13 Christ having laid down this proof of a doctrine,
it is wrong to esteem those as miracles which are directed to any
other end than the glorification of the name of God alone. And we
should remember that Satan has his wonders, which, though they
are juggling tricks rather than real miracles, are such as delude the
ignorant and inexperienced. Magicians and enchanters have always
been famous for miracles; idolatry has been supported by astonish-
ing miracles; and yet we admit them not as proofs of the superstition
of magicians or idolaters. With this engine also the simplicity of
the vulgar was anciently assailed by the Donatists, who abounded in
miracles. We therefore give the same answer now to our adversaries
as Augustine 14 gave to the Donatists, that our Lord hath cautioned
us against these miracle-mongers by his prediction, that there should
arise false prophets, who, by various signs and lying ,vonders, "should
deceive (if possible) the very elect.,,15 And Paul has told us, that
the kingdom of Antichrist would be "with all power, and signs, and
lying wonders.,,16 But these miracles (they say) are wrought, not
by idols, or sorcerers, or false prophets, but by saints; as if we were
ignorant, that it is a stratagem of Satan to "transform" himself "into
10 Mark xvi. 20. 11 Acts xiv. 3. 12 Heb. ii. 3-4. 13 John vii. 18, viii. 50.
14 In Joan. tract. 13. 15 Matt. xxiv. 24. 16 2 Thess. ii. 9.
TO THE INSTITUTES 3S
an angel of light.,,17 At the tomb of Jeremiah,18 who was buried in
Egypt, the Egyptians formerly offered sacrifices and other divine
honours. Was not this abusing God's holy prophet to the purposes
of idolatry? Yet they supposed this veneration of his sepulchre to be
rewarded with a cure for the bite of serpents. What shall we say,
but that it has been, and ever will be, the most righteous vengeance
of God to "send those who receive not the love of the truth strong
delusions, that they should believe a lie?" 19 We are by no means with-
out miracles, and such as are certain, and not liable to cavils. But
those under which they shelter themselves are mere illusions of
Satan, seducing the people from the true worship of God to vanity.
Another calumny is their charging us with opposition to the
fathers,-I mean the writers of the earlier and purer ages,-as if those
writers were abettors of their impiety; whereas, if the contest were
to be terminated by this authority, the victory in most parts of the
controversy-to speak in the most modest terms-would be on our
side. But though the writings of those fathers contain many wise
and excellent things, yet in some respects they have suffered the
common fate of mankind; these very dutiful children reverence
only their errors and mistakes, but their excellences they either over-
look, or conceal, or corrupt; so Ñ1at it may truly be said to be their
only study to collect dross from the midst of gold. Then they over..
whelm us with senseless clamours, as despisers and enemies of the
fathers. But we do not hold them in such contempt, but that, if it
were consistent with my present design, I could easily support by
their suffrages most of the sentiments that we no,,, maintain. But
while we make use of their writings, we always remember that "all
things are ours," to serve us, not to have dominion over us, and that
"we are Christ's,,20 alone, and owe him universal obedience. He
who neglects this distinction will have nothing decided in religion;
since those holy men were ignorant of many things, frequently at
variance with each other, and sometimes even inconsistent with
themselves. There is great reason, they say, for the admonition of
Solomon, "not to transgress or remove the ancient landmarks, which
our fathers have set.,,21 But the same rule is not applicable to the
17 2 Cor. xi. 14. 18 Hierom. in praef. Jerem. 19 2 Thess. ii. 10, I I.
20 I Cor. iii. 21, 23. 21 ProVo xxii. 28.
3 6 JOHN CALVIN
bounding of fields, and to the obedience of faith, which ought to be
ready to "forget her own people and her father's house." 22 But if
they are so fond of allegorizing, why do they not explain the apostles,
rather than any others, to be those fathers, whose appointed land-
marks it is so unlawful to remove? For this is the interpretation of
Jerome, whose works they have received into their canons. But if
they insist on preserving the landmarks of those whom they under-
stand to be intended, why do they at pleasure so "freely transgress
them themselves? There were two fathers,23 of whom one said, that
our God neither eats nor drinks, and therefore needs neither cups
nor dishes; the other, that sacred things require no gold, and that
gold is no recommendation of that which is not purchased with
gold. This landmark therefore is transgressed by those who in sacred
things are so much delighted with gold, silver, ivory, marble, jewels,
and silks, and suppose that God is not rightly worshipped, unless all
things abound in exquisite splendour, or rather extravagant profu-
sion. There was a father 24 who said he freely partook of flesh on a
day when others abstained from it, because he was a Christian. They
transgress the landmarks therefore when they curse the soul that
tastes flesh in Lent. There were two fathers,25 of whom one said,
that a monk who labors not with his hands is on a level with a cheat
or a robber; and the other, that it is unlawful for monks to live on
what is not their own, notwithstanding their assiduity in contempla-
tions, studies, and prayers; and they have transgressed this landmark
by placing the idle and distended carcasses of monks in cells and
brothels, to be pampered on the substance of others. There was a
father 26 who said, that to see a painted image of Christ, or of any
other saint, in the temples of Christians, is a dreadful abomination.
Nor was this merely the sentence of an individual; it was also decreed
by an ecclesiastical council, that the object of worship should not be
painted on the walls. They are far from confining themselves ,vithin
these landmarks, for every corner is filled with images. Another
father 27 has advised that, after having discharged the office of human-
22 Psalm xlv. 10.
23 Acar. in lib. I I, cap. 16. Trip. Hist. Amb. lib. 2, de Off. c. 28.
24 Spiridion. Trip. Hist. lib. I, c. 10.
25 Trip. Hist. lib. 8, c. I. August. de Opere Mon. c. 17.
26 Epiph. Episr. ab Hier. verso Con. Eliber. c. 36. 27 Amb. de Abra. lib. I, c. 7.
TO THE INSTITUTES 37
ity towards the dead by the rites of sepulture, we should leave them
to their repose. They break through these landmarks by inculcating
a constant solicitude for the dead. There was one of the fathers 28
who asserted that the substance of bread and wine in the Eucharist
ceases not, but remains, just as the substance of the human nature
remains in the Lord Christ united with the divine. They transgress
this landmark therefore by pretending that, on the words of the Lord
being recited, the substance of bread and wine ceases, and is tran-
substantiated into his body and blood. There were fathers 29 who,
while they exhibited to the universal Church only one eucharist, and
forbade all scandalous and immoral persons to approach it, at the
same time severely censured all who, when present, did not partaÄe
of it. How far have they removed these landmarks, when they fill
not only the churches, but even private houses, with their masses,
admit all who choose to be spectators of them, and everyone the
more readily in proportion to the magnitude of his contribution,
however chargeable with impurity and wickedness! They invite
none to faith in Christ and a faithful participation of the sacraments;
but rather for purposes of gain bring forward their own \vork instead
of the grace and merit of Christ. There were two fathers,30 of \vhom
one contended that the use of Christ's sacred supper should be
wholly forbidden to those who, content with partaking of one kind,
abstained from the other; the other strenuously maintained that
Christian people ought not to be refused the blood of their Lord,
for the confession of whom they are required to shed their o\vn.
These landmarks also they have removed, in appointing, by an
inviolable law, that very thing which the former punished \vith
excommunication, and the latter gave a powerful reason for disap-
proving. There was a father 31 who asserted the temerity of deciding
on either side of an obscure subject, without clear and evident testi-
monies of Scripture. This landmark they forgot when they made
so many constitutions, canons, and judicial determinations, without
any aurhority from the word of God. There was a father 32 who
28 Gelas. Pap. in Cone. Rom.
29 Chrys. in 1 Cap. Ephes. Calix. Papa de Cons. dist. 2.
30 Gelas. can. Comperimus de Cons. dist. 2. Cypr. Epist. 2, lib. I, de Laps.
31 August. lib. 2, de Pee. Mer. cap. ult.
32 ApolIon, de quo Eecl. Hist. lib. 5, cap. II, 12.
3 8 JOHN CALVIN
upbraided Montanus with having, among other heresies, been the
first imposer of laws for the observance of fasts. They have gone far
beyond this landmark also, in establishing fasts by the strictest laws.
There was a father 33 who denied that marriage ought to be forbidden
to the ministers of the Church, and pronounced cohabitation with
a wife to be real chastity; and there were fathers who assented to his
judgment. They have transgressed these landmarks by enjoining
on their priests the strictest celibacy. There was a father who thought
that attention should be paid to Christ only, of whom it is said,
"Hear ye him," and that no regard should be had to what others
before us have either said or done, only to what has been commanded
by Christ, who is preeminent over all. This landmark they neither
prescribe to themselves, nor permit to be observed by others, when
they set up over themselves and others any masters rather than Christ.
There was a father 34 who contended that the Church ought not to
take precedence of Christ, because his judgment is always according
to truth; but ecclesiastical judges, like other men, may generally be
decei ved. Breaking down this landmark also, they scruple not to
assert, that all the authority of the Scripture depends on the decision
of the Church. All the fathers, with one heart and voice, have de-
clared it execrable and detestable for the holy word of God to be
contaminated with the subtleties of sophists, and perplexed by the
wrangles of logicians. Do they confine themselves within these land-
marks, when the ,vhole business of their lives is to involve the
simplicity of the Scripture in endless controversies, and ,vorse than
sophistical wrangles? so that if the fathers were now restored to
life, and heard this art of wrangling, which they call speculative
divinity, they would not suspect the dispute to have the least refer-
ence to God. But if I would enumerate all the instances in which
the authority of the fathers is insolently rejected by those who would
be thought their dutiful children, my address would exceed all rea-
sonable bounds. Months and years would be insufficient for me. And
yet such is their consummate and incorrigible impudence, they dare
to censure us for presuming to transgress the ancient landmarks.
Nor can they gain any advantage against us by their argument
33 Paphnut. Trip. Hist. lib. 2, C. 14. Cypr. Epist. 2, lib. 2.
34. Aug. cap. 2, contr. Cresc. Grammatic.
TO THE INSTITUTES 39
from custom; for, if ,ve were compelled to submit to custom, we
should have to complain of the greatest injustice. Indeed, if the
judgments of men were correct, custom should be sought among the
good. But the fact is often very different
What appears to be prac-
ticed by many soon obtains the force of a custom. And human
affairs have scarcely ever been in so good a state as for the majority
to be pleased ,vith things of real excellence. From the private vices
of multitudes, therefore, has arisen public error, or rather a common
agreement of vices, which these good men would now have to be
received as la\v. It is evident to all who can see, that the world is
inundated with more than an ocean of evils, that it is overrun with
numerous destructive pests, that every thing is fast verging to ruin,
so that we must altogether despair of human affairs, or vigorously
and even violently oppose such immense evils. And the relnedy is
rejected for no other reason, but because we have been accustomed to
the evils so long. But let public error be tolerated in human society;
in the kingdom of God nothing but his eternal truth should be
heard and regarded, which no succession of years, no custom, no con-
federacy, can circumscribe. Thus Isaiah once taught the chosen
people of God: "Say ye not, A confederacy, to all to whom this peo-
ple shall say, A confederacy:" that is, that they should not unite in
the ,vicked consent of the people; "nor fear their fear, nor be afraid,"
but rather "sanctify the Lord of hosts," that he might "be their fear
and their dread."35 Now, therefore, let them, if they please, object
against us past ages and present examples; if we "sanctify the Lord
of hosts," we shall not be much afraid. For, whether many ages
agree in similar impiety, he is mighty to take vengeance on the third
and fourth generation; or whether the whole world combine in the
same iniquity, he has given an example of the fatal end of those who
sin with a multitude, by destroying all men with a deluge, and pre-
serving Noah and his small family, in order that his individual faith
might condemn the whole world. Lastly, a corrupt custom is noth-
ing but an epidemical pestilence, which is equally fatal to its objects,
though they fall \vith a multitude. Besides, they ought to consider
a remark, somewhere made by Cyprian,36 that persons \vho sin
through ignorance, though they cannot be wholly exculpated, may
35 Isaiah viii. 12, 13. 36 Epist. 3, lib. 2, et in Epist. ad. Julian. de Hacrct. baptize
4 0 JOHN CALVIN
yet be considered in some degree excusable; but those who obsti-
nately reject the truth offered by the Divine goodness, are without
any excuse at all.
Nor are \ve so embarrassed by their dilemma as to be obliged to
confess, either that the Church was for some time extinct, or that
we have now a controversy with the Church. The Church of Christ
has lived, and will continue to live, as long as Christ shall reign at
the right hand of the Father, by whose hand she is sustained, by
whose protection she is defended, by whose power she is preserved
in safety. For he will undoubtedly perform what he once promised,
to be with his people "even to the end of the world."37 We have no
quarrel against the Church, for with one consent we unite \vith all
the company of the faithful in worshipping and adoring the one
God and Christ the Lord, as he has been adored by all the pious in
all ages. But our opponents deviate widely from the truth when they
ackno\vledge no Church but \vhat is visible to the corporeal eye,
and endeavour to circumscribe it by those limits within which it is
far from being included. Our controversy turns on the two follow-
ing points:-first, they contend that the form of the Church is always
apparent and visible; secondly, they place that form in the see of the
Roman Church and her order of prelates. We assert, on the contrary,
first, that the Church may exist without any visible form; secondly,
that its form is not contained in that external splendour which they
foolishly admire, but is distinguished by a very different criterion,
t/iz. the pure preaching of God's word, and the legitimate admin-
istration of the sacraments. They are not satisfied unless the Church
can always be pointed out with the finger. But how often among the
Jewish people was it so disorganized, as to have no visible form left?
What splendid form do we suppose could be seen, when Elias de-
plored his being left alone ?38 How long, after the coming of Christ,
did it remain without any external form? How often, since that
time, have wars, seditions, and heresies, oppressed and totally ob-
scured it? If they had lived at that period, would they have believed
that any Church existed ? Yet Elias was informed that there were
"left seven thousand" \vho had "not bowed the knee to Baal." Nor
should we entertain any doubt of Christ's having always reigned on
37 Matt. xxviii. 20. 38 I Kings xix. 14, 18.
TO THE INSTITUTES 4 1
earth ever since his ascension to heaven. But if the pious at such
periods had sought for any form evident to their senses, must not
their hearts have been quite discouraged? Indeed it was already
considered by Hilary in his day as a grievous error, that people were
absorbed in foolish admiration of the episcopal dignity, and did not
perceive the dreadful mischiefs concealed under that disguise. For
this is his language: 39 "One thing I advise you-beware of Anti-
christ, for you have an improper attachment to walls; your venera-
tion for the Church of God is misplaced on houses and buildings;
you wrongly introduce under them the name of peace. Is there any
doubt that they will be seats of Antichrist? I think mountains,
woods, and lakes, prisons and whirlpools, less dangerous; for these
were the scenes of retirement or banishment in which the prophets
prophesied." But what excites the veneration of the multitude in the
present day for their horned bishops, but the supposition that those
are the holy prelates of religion whom they see presiding over great
cities? Away, then, with such stupid admiration. Let us rather leave
it to the Lord, since he alone "knoweth them that are his," 40 some-
times to remove from human observation all external knowledge of
his Church. I admit this to be a dreadful judgment of God on
the earth; but if it be deserved by the impiety of men, why do we
attempt to resist the righteous vengeance of God? Thus the Lord
punished the ingratitude of men in former ages; for, in consequence
of their resistance to his truth, and extinction of the light he had
given them, he permitted them to be blinded by sense, deluded by
absurd falsehoods, and immerged in profound darkness, so that
there was no appearance of the true Church left; yet, at the same
time, in the midst of darkness and errors, he preserved his scattered
and concealed people from total destruction. Nor is this to be won-
dered at; for he knew how to save in all the confusion of Babylon,
and the flame of the fiery furnace. But how dangerous it is to esti-
mate the form of the Church by I know not what vain pomp, which
they contend for; I shall rather briefly suggest than state at large, lest
I should protract this discourse to an excessive length. The Pope,
they say, who holds the Apostolic see, and the bishops anointed and
consecrated by him, provided they are equipped with mitres and
39 Contr. Auxent. 40 2 Tim. ii. 19.
4 2 JOHN CALVIN
crosiers, represent the Church, and ought to be considered as the
Church. Therefore they cannot err. How is this?-Because they
are pastors of the Church, and consecrated to the Lord. And did not
the pastoral character belong to Aaron, and the other rulers of Israel?
Yet Aaron and his sons, after their designation to the priesthood, fell
into error when they made the golden calf. 41 According to this mode
of reasoning, why should not the four hundred prophets, who lied
to Ahab, have represented the Church?42 But the Church remained
on the side of Micaiah, solitary and despised as he was, and out of
his mouth proceeded the truth. Did not those prophets exhibit both
the name and appearance of the Church, who with united violence
rose up against Jeremiah, and threatened and boasted, "the law shall
not perish from the priest, nor counsel from the wise, nor the word
from the prophet?" 43 Jeremiah is sent singly against the whole
multitude of prophets, with a denunciation from the Lord, that the
"law shall perish from the priest, counsel from the wise, and the
word from the prophet." 44 And was there not the like external
respectability in the council convened by the chief priests, scribes,
and Pharisees, to consult about putting Christ to death ?45 Now, let
them go and adhere to the external appearance, and thereby make
Christ and all the prophets schismatics, and, on the other hand, make
the ministers of Satan instruments of the Holy Spirit. But if they
speak their real sentiments, let them answer me sincerely, what na-
tion or place they consider as the seat of the Church, from the time
when, by a decree of the council of Basil, Eugenius was deposed and
degraded from the pontificate, and Amadeus substituted in his place.
They cannot deny that the council, as far as relates to external forms,
was a lawful one, and summoned not only by one pope, but by two.
There Eugenius was pronounced guilty of schism, rebellion, and
obstinacy, together with all the host of cardinals and bishops who had
joined him in attempting a dissolution of the council. Yet after-
wards, assisted by the favour of princes, he regained the quiet pos-
session of his former dignity. That election of Amadeus, though
formally made by the authority of a general and holy synod, vanished
into smoke; and he was appeased with a cardinal's hat, like a bark-
ing dog with a morsel. From the bosom of those heretics and rebels
41 Exod. xxxii. 4. 42 I Kings xxii. 6, 11-23. 43 Jer. xviii. 18. 44 Jcr. iv. 9.
4:> Matt. xxvi. 3, 4.
TO THE INSTITUTES 43
have proceeded all the popes, cardinals, bishops, abbots, and priests
ever since. Here they must stop. For to which party \vill they give
the title of the Church? Will they deny that this was a general
council, which wanted nothing to complete its external majesty,
being solemnly convened by two papal bulls, consecrated by a pre-
siding legate of the Roman see, and well regulated in every point
of order, and invariably preserving the same dignity to the last?
Will they acknowledge Eugenius to be a schismatic, with all his
adherents, by whom they have all been consecrated? Either, there-
fore, let them give a different definition of the form of the Church,
or, whatever be their number, we shall account them all schismatics,
as having been knowingly and voluntarily ordained by heretics. But
if it had never been ascertained before, that the Church is not con-
fined to external pomps they would themselves afford us abundant
proof of it, who have so long superciliously exhibited themselves to
the world under the title of the Church, though they were at the
same time the deadly plagues of it. I speak not of their morals, and
those tragical exploits with which all their lives abound, since they
profess themselves to be Pharisees, who are to be heard and not imi-
tated. I refer to the very doctrine itself, on which they found their
claim to be considered as the Church. If you devote a portion of your
leisure, Sire, to the perusal of our writings, you will clearly discover
that doctrine to be a fatal pestilence of souls, the firebrand, ruin, and
destruction of the Church.
Finally, they betray great want of can dour, by invidiously repeat-
ing what great commotions, tumults, and contentions, have attended
the preaching of our doctrine, and what effects it produces in many
persons. For it is unfair to charge it with those evils which ought
to be attributed to the malice of Satan. It is the native property of the
Divine word, never to make its appearance without disturbing Satan,
and rousing his opposition. This is a most certain and unequivocal
criterion by which it is distinguished from false doctrines, which are
easily broached when they are heard with general attention, and
received with applauses by the world. Thus, in some ages, when all
things were immerged in profound darkness, the prince of this world
amused and diverted himself with the generality of mankind, and,
like another Sardanapalus, gave himself up to his ease and pleasures
in perfect peace; for what would he do but amuse and divert him-
44 JOHN CALVIN
self, in the quiet and undisturbed possession of his kingdom? But
when the light shining from above dis
ipated a portion of his dark-
ness-when that Mighty One alarmed and assaulted his kingdom-
then he began to shake off his wonted torpor, and to hurry on his
armour. First, indeed, he stirred up the power of men to suppress
the truth by violence at its first appearance; and when this proved
ineffectual, he had recourse to subtlety. He made the Catabaptists,
and other infamous characters, the instruments of exciting dissen-
sions and doctrinal controversies, with a vie\v to obscure and finally
to extinguish it. And now he continues to attack it both ways; for
he endeavours to root up this genuine seed by means of human force,
and at the same time tries every effort to choke it with his tares, that
it may not grow and produce fruit. But all his attempts will be
vain, if we attend to the admonitions of the Lord, who hath long
ago made us acquainted with his devices, that we might not be
caught by him unawares, and has armed us with sufficient means
of defence against all his assaults. But to charge the word of God
with the odium of seditions, excited against it by wicked and rebel-
lious men, or of sects raised by imposters,-is not this extreme
malignity? Yet it is not without example in former times. Elias was
asked whether it was not he "that troubled IsraeL,,46 Christ was
represented by the Jews as guilty of sedition. 47 The apostles were
accused of stirring up popular commotions. 48 Wherein does this
differ from the conduct of those who, at the present day, impute to
us all the disturbances, tumults, and contentions, that break out
against us? But the proper answer to such accusations has been
taught us by Elias, that the dissemination of errors and the raising
of tumults is not chargeable on us, but on those who are resisting
the power of God. But as this one reply is sufficient to repress their
temerity, so, on the other hand, we must meet the \veakness of some
persons, who are frequently disturbed with such offences, and be-
come unsettled and wavering in their minds. Now, that they may
not stumble and fall amidst this agitation and perplexity, let them
know that the apostles in their day experienced the same things that
now befall us. There were "unlearned and unstable" men, Peter says,
who "wrested" the inspired writings of Paul "to their own destruc-
46 I Kings xviii. 17. 47 Luke xxiii. 2, 5. 48 Acts xvii. 6, xxiv. 5.
TO THE INSTITUTES 45
tion."49 There were despisers of God, who, when they heard that
"where sin abounded grace did much more abound," immediately
concluded, Let us "continue in sin, that grace may abound." When
they heard that the faithful were "not under the law," they imme-
diately croaked, "We will sin, because we are not under the law, but
under grace." 50 There were some who accused him as an encourager
of sin. Many false apostles crept in, to destroy the churches he had
raised. "Some preached" the gospel "of envy and strife, not in sin-
cerity," maliciously "supposing to add affliction to his bonds." 51 In
some places the Gospel was attended with little benefit. "All were
seeking their own, not the things of Jesus Christ." 52 Others returned
"like dogs to their vomit, and like swine to their \vallowing in the
mire." 53 Many perverted the liberty of the spirit into the licentious-
ness of the flesh. Many insinuated themselves as brethren, who after-
\vards brought the pious into dangers. Various contentions were
excited among the brethren themselves. What was to be done by the
apostles in such circumstances? Should they not have dissembled
for a time, or rather have rejected and deserted that Gospel which
appeared to be the nursery of so many disputes, the cause of so many
dangers, the occasion of so many offences? But in such difficulties
as these, their minds were relieved by this reflection that Christ is the
"stone of stumbling and rock of offence," 54 "set for the fall and rising
again of many, and for a sign which shall be spoken against;" 55 and
armed with this confidence, they proceeded boldly through all the
dangers of tumults and offences. The same consideration should
support us, since Paul declares it to be the perpetual character of the
Gospel, that it is a "savour of death unto death in them that perish," 56
although it was rather given us to be the "savour of life unto life,"
and "the power of God to" the "salvation" of the faithful; 57 which
we also should certainly experience it to be, if we did not corrupt
this eminent gift of God by our ingratitude, and prevert to our
destruction what ought to be a principal instrument of our salva-
tion.
But I return to you, Sire. Let not your Majesty be at all moved by
those groundless accusations with which our adversaries endeavour
49 2 Pet. iii. 16. 50 Rom. v. 20, vi. I, 14, 15. 51 Phil. i. IS, 16. 52 Phil. ii. 21.
53 2 Pet. ii. 22. 54 1 Pet. ii. 8. 55 Luke ii. 34.
56 2 Cor. ii. 15, 16. 57 Rom. i. 16.
4 6 JOHN CALVIN
to terrify you; as that the sale tendency and design of this new
Gospel-for so they call it-is to furnish a pretext for seditions, and
to gain impunity for all crimes. "For God is not the author of
confusion, but of peace;" 58 nor is "the Son of God," who came to
"destroy the works of the devil, the minister of sin." 59 And it is unjust
to charge us with such motives and designs, of which we have never
given cause for the least suspicion. Is it probable that we are medi-
tating the subversion of kingdoms ?-we, who were never heard to
utter a factious word, whose lives were ever known to be peaceable
and honest while we lived under your government, and who, even
now in our exile, cease not to pray for all prosperity to attend yourself
and your kingdom! Is it probable that we are seeking an unlimited
license to commit crimes with impunity? in whose conduct, though
many things may be blamed, yet there is nothing \vorthy of such
severe reproach! Nor have we, by Divine Grace, profited so little
in the Gospel, but that our life may be an example to our detractors
of chastity, liberality, mercy, temperance, patience, modesty, and
every other virtue. It is an undeniable fact, that we sincerely fear
and worship God, whose name we desire to be sanctified both by
our life and by our death; and envy itself is constrained to bear testi-
mony to the innocence and civil integrity of some of us, who have
suffered the punishment of death for that very thing which ought
to be accounted their highest praise. But if the Gospel be made a
pretext for tumults, which has not yet happened in your kingdom;
if any persons make the liberty of divine grace an excuse for the
licentiousness of their vices, of \vhom I have known many,-there
are laws and legal penalties, by which they may be punished accord-
ing to their deserts; only let not the Gospel of God be reproached
for the crimes of wicked men. You have now, Sire, the virulent
iniquity of our calumniators laid before you in a sufficient number of
instances, that you may not receive their accusations with too
credulous an ear.-I fear I have gone too much into the detail, as
this preface already approaches the size of a full apology; whereas I
intended it not to contain our defence, but only to prepare your mind
to attend to the pleading of our cause; for, though you are now
averse and alienated from us, and even inflamed against us, we
58 I Cor. xiv. 33. 59 I John iii. 8. Gal. ii. 17.
TO THE INSTITUTES 47
despair not of regaining your favour, if you will only once read
with calmness and composure this our confession, which we intend
as our defence before your Majesty. But, on the contrary, if your
ears are so preoccupied with the whispers of the malevolent, as to
leave no opportunity for the accused to speak for themselves, and
if those outrageous furies, with your connivance, continue to perse-
cute with imprisonments, scourges, tortures, confiscations, and flames,
we shall indeed, like sheep destined to the slaughter, be reduced to
the greatest extremities. Yet shall \ve in patience possess our souls,
and wait for the mighty hand of the Lord, which undoubtedly will
in time appear, and show itself armed for the deliverance of the
poor from their affliction, and for the punishment of their despisers,
who now exult in such perfect security. May the Lord, the King of
kings, establish your throne with righteousness, and your kingdom
with equity.
Basil, 1st August, 1536.
GENERAL SYLLABUS
THE design of the Author in these Christian Institutes is twofold,
relating, First to the knowledge of God, as the way to attain a blessed
immortality; and, in connection with and subservience to this, Sec...
ondly, to the knowledge of ourselves.
In the prosecution of this design, he strictly follows the method of
the Apostles' Creed, as being most familiar to all Christians. For
as the Creed consists of four parts, the first relating to God the
Father, the second to the Son, the third to the Holy Spirit, the fourth
to the Church; so the Author distributes the whole of this work into
Four Books, corresponding respectively to the four parts of the
Creed; as will clear! y appear from the following detail:-
I. The first article of the Creed relates to God the Father, and to
the creation, conservation, and government of all things, which are
included in his omnipotence.
So the first book is on the knowledge of God, considered as the
Creator, Preserver, and Governor of the universe at large, and every
thing contained in it. It shows both the nature and tendency of the
true knowledge of the Creator-that this is not learned in the schools,
but that every man from his birth is self-taught Ãt- Yet that the
4 8 JOHN CALVIN
depravity of men is so great as to corrupt and extinguish this knowl-
edge, pardy by ignorance, partly by wickedness; so that it neither
leads him to glorify God as he ought, nor conducts him to the attain-
ment of happiness-And though this internal knowledge is assisted
by all the creatures around, which serve as a mirror to display the
Divine perfections, yet that man does not profit by it-Therefore:
that to those, whom it is God's will to bring to an intimate and sav-
ing knowledge of himself, he gives his written word; which intro-
duces observations on the sacred Scripture-That he has therein
revealed himself; that not the Father only, but the Father, Son, and
Holy Spirit, united, is the Creator of heaven and earth; whom neither
the knowledge innate by nature, nor the very beautiful mirror dis-
played to us in the world, can, in consequence of our depravity, teach
us to know so as to glorify him. This gives occasion for treating of
the revelation of God in the Scripture, of the unity of the Divine
Essence, and the trinity of Persons.- To prevent man from attribut-
ing to God the blame of his own voluntary blindness, the Author
shows the state of man at his creation, and treats of the image of
God, free-will, and the primative integrity of nature.-Having fin-
ished the subject of creation, he proceeds to the conservation and
government of all things, concluding the first book with a full dis-
cussion of the doctrine of divine providence.
II. But since man is fallen by sin from the state in which he was
created, it is necessary to come to Christ. Therefore it follows in the
Creed, "And in Jesus Christ, his only Son our Lord," &c.
So in the second book of the Institutes our Author treats of the
knowledge of God as the Redeemer in Christ: and having shown
the fall of man, leads him to Christ the Mediator. Here he states
the doctrine of original sin-that man possesses no inherent strength
to enable him to deliver himself from sin and the impending curse,
but that, on the contrary, nothing can proceed from him, antecedently
to reconciliation and renovation, but what is deserving of condemna-
tion- Therefore, that, man being utterly lost in himself, and incap-
able of conceiving even a good thought by which he may restore
himself, or perform actions acceptable to God, he must seek redemp-
tion out of himself, in Christ-That the Law was given for this
purpose, not to confine its observers to itself, but to conduct them to
TO THE INSTITUTES 49
Christ; which gives occasion to introduce an exposition of the Moral
Law-That he was known, as the Author of salvation, to the Jews
under the Law, but more fully under the Gospel, in \vhich he is
manifested to the world.-Hence follows the doctrine of the similar
ity and difference of the Old and New Testament, of the Law and
Gospel.-It is next stated, that, in order to the complete accomplish-
ment of salvation, it was necessary for the eternal Son of God to
become man, and that he actually assumed a real human nature:-
it is also shown how these two natures constitute one person-That
the office of Christ, appointed for the acquisition and application of
complete salvation by his merit and efficacy, is sacerdotal, regal, and
prophetical.-Next follows the manner in which Christ executed his
office, or actually performed the part of a Mediator, being an exposi-
tion of the Articles respecting his death, resurrection, and ascension
to heaven.-Lastly, the Author shows the truth and propriety of
affirming that Christ merited the grace of God and salvation for us.
III. As long as Christ is separate from us, he profits us nothing.
Hence the necessity of our being ingrafted into him, as branches into
a vine. Therefore the doctrine concerning Christ is followed, in the
third part of the Creed, by this clause, "I believe in the Holy Spirit,"
as being the bond of union between us and Christ.
So in the third book our Author treats of the Holy Spirit, who
unites us to Christ-and consequently of faith, by which we embrace
Christ, with his twofold benefit, free righteousness, which he im-
putes to us, and regeneration, which he commences within us, by
bestowing repentance upon us.-And to sho\v that \ve have not the
least room to glory in such faith as is unconnected with the pursuit
of repentance, before proceeding to the full discussion of justification,
he treats at large of repentance and the continual exercise of it, which
Christ, apprehended by faith, produces in us by his Spirit.-He next
fully discusses the first and chief benefit of Christ when united to
us by the Holy Spirit that is, justification-and then treats of prayer,
which resembles the hand that actually receives those blessings to be
enjoyed, which faith knows, from the word of promise, to be laid
up with God for our use.-But as all men are not united to Christ,
the sole Author of salvation, by the Holy Spirit, \vho creates and
preserves faith in us, he treats of God's eternal election; \vhich is the
50 JOHN CALVIN
cause that we, in whom he foresaw no good but what he intended
freely to bestow, have been favored with the gift of Christ, and
united to God by the effectual call of the Gospel.-Lastly, he treats
of complete regeneration, and the fruition of happiness; that is, the
final resurrection, towards which our eyes must be directed, since
in this world the felicity of the pious, in respect of enjoyment, is
only begun.
IV. But as the Holy Spirit does not unite all men to Christ, or
make them partakers of faith, and on those to whom he imparts it
he does not ordinarily bestow it without means, but employs for
this purpose the preaching of the Gospel and the use of the sacra-
ments, with the administration of all discipline, therefore it follows in
the Creed, "I believe in the Holy Catholic Church," whom, although
involved in eternal death, yet, in pursuance of the gratuitous election,
God has freely reconciled to himself in Christ, and made partakers
of the Holy Spirit, that, being ingrafted into Christ, they may have
communion with him as their head, whence flo\vs a perpetual remis-
sion of sins, and a full restoration to eternal life.
So in the fourth book our Author treats of the Church-then of
the means used by the Holy Spirit in effectually calling from spiritual
death, and preserving the church-the word and sacraments-bap-
tism and the Lord's supper-which are as it were Christ's regal
sceptre, by which he commences his spiritual reign in the Church
by the energy of his Spirit, and carries it forwards from day to day
during the present life, after the close of which he perfects it with-
out those means.
And as political institutions are the asylums of the Church in this
life, though civil government is distinct from the spiritual kingdom
of Christ, our Author instructs us respecting it as a signal blessing
of God, which the Church ought to acknowledge with gratitude of
heart, till we are called out of this transitory state to the heavenly
inheritance, where God will be all in all.
This is the plan of the Institutes, which may be comprised in the
following brief summary:-
Man, created originally upright, being afterwards ruined, not
partially, but totally, finds salvation out of himself, \vholly in Christ;
to whom being united by the Holy Spirit, freely besto\ved, without
TO THE INSTITUTES 5 I
any regard of future works, he enjoys in him a twofold benefit, the
perfect imputation of righteousness, which attends him to the grave,
and the commencement of sanctification, which he daily increases, till
at length he completes it at the day of regeneration or resurrection
of the body, so that in eternal life and the heavenly inheritance his
praises are celebrated for such stupendous mercy.
DEDICATION OF THE REVOLUTIONS
OF THE HEAVENLY BODIES
BY NICOLAUS COPERNICUS (1543)
TO POPE PAUL III
I CAN easily conceive, most Holy Father, that as soon as some
people learn that in this book which I have written concerning
the revolutions of the heavenly bodies, I ascribe certain motions
to the Earth, they will cry out at once that I and my theory should
be rejected. For I am not so much in love with my conclusions as
not to weigh what others will think about them, and although I
know that the meditations of a philosopher are far removed from
the judgment of the laity, because his endeavor is to seek out the
truth in all things, so far as this is permitted by God to the human
reason, I still believe that one must avoid theories altogether foreign
to orthodoxy. Accordingly, when I considered in my own mind how
absurd a performance it must seem to those who know that the
judgment of many centuries has approved the view that the Earth
remains fixed as center in the midst of the heavens, if I should, on
the contrary, assert that the Earth moves; I was for a long time at a
loss to know whether I should publish the commentaries which I
have written in proof of its motion, or whether it were not better to
follow the example of the Pythagoreans and of some others, who
Nicolaus Copernicus was born in 1473 at Thorn in 'Vest Prussia, of a Polish father
and a German mother. He attended the university of Cracow and Bologna, lectured
on astronomy and mathematics at Rome, and later studied medicine at Padua and
canon law at Ferrara. He was appointed canon of the cathedral of Frauenburg, and
in this town he died in 1543, having devoted the latter part of his life largely to
astronomy.
The book which was introduced by this dedication laid the foundations of modern
astronomy. At the time when it was written, the earth was believed by all to be the
fixed centre of the universe; and although many of the arguments used by Copernicus
were invalid and absurd, he was the first modern to put forth the heliocentric theory
as "a better explanation." It remained for Kepler, Galileo, and Newton to establish
the theory on firm grounds.
52
DE REVOLUTIONIBUS S3
\vere accustomed to transmit the secrets of Philosophy not in writing
but orally, and only to their relatives and friends, as the letter from
Lysis to Hipparchus bears witness. They did this, it seems to me, not
as some think, because of a certain selfish reluctance to give their
views to the \vorld, but in order that the noblest truths, \vorked out
by the careful study of great men, should not be despised by those
\vho are vexed at the idea of taking great pains with any forms of
literature except such as would be profitable, or by those who, if
they are driven to the study of Philosophy for its own sake by the
admonitions and the example of others, nevertheless, on account of
their stupidity, hold a place among philosophers similar to that of
drones among bees. Therefore, when I considered this carefully, the
contempt which I had to fear because of the novelty and apparent
absurdity of my view, nearly induced me to abandon utterly the
\vork I had begun.
My friends, however, in spite of long delay and even resistance on
my part, withheld me from this decision. First among these was
Nicolaus Schonberg, Cardinal of Capua, distinguished in all
branches of learning. Next to him comes my very dear friend, Tide-
mann Giese, Bishop of Culm, a most earnest student, as he is, of
-sacred and, indeed, of all good learning. The latter has often
urged me, at times even spurring me on with reproaches, to pub-
lish and at last bring to the light the book which had lain in my
study not nine years merely, but already going on four times nine.
Not a few other very eminent and scholarly men made the same
request, urging that I should no longer through fear refuse to
give out my \vork for the common benefit of students of Mathe-
matics. They said I should find that the more absurd most men
now thought this theory of mine concerning the motion of the
Earth, the more admiration and gratitude it would command after
they saw in the publication of my commentaries the mist of
absurdity cleared away by most transparent proofs. So, influenced
by these advisors and this hope, I have at length allowed my friends
to publish the work, as they had long besought me to do.
But perhaps Your Holiness will not so much wonder that I have
ventured to publish these studies of mine, after having taken such
pains in elaborating them that I have not hesitated to commit to
54 COPERNICUS
WrItIng my views of the motion of the Earth, as you will be
curious to hear how it occurred to me to venture, contrary to the
accepted view of mathematicians, and well-nigh contrary to com-
mon sense, to form a conception of any terrestrial motion whatso-
ever. Therefore I would not have it unknown to Your Holiness, that
the only thing which induced me to look for another way of
reckoning the movements of the heavenly bodies was that I knew
that mathematicians by no means agree in their investigations
thereof. For, in the first place, they are so much in doubt concerning
the motion of the sun and the moon, that they can not even
demonstrate and prove by observation the constant length of a
complete year; and in the second place, in determining the motions
both of these and of the five other planets, they fail to employ
consistently one set of first principles and hypotheses, but use
methods of proof based only upon the apparent revolutions and
motions. For some employ concentric circles only; others, eccentric
circles and epicycles; and even by these means they do not com-
pletely attain the desired end. For, although those who have
depended upon concentric circles have shown that certain diverse
motions can be deduced from these, yet they have not succeeded
thereby in laying down any sure principle, corresponding indis-
putably to the phenomena. These, on the other hand, who have
devised systems of eccentric circles, although they seem in great
part to have solved the apparent movements by calculations which by
these eccentrics are made to fit, have nevertheless introduced many
things which seem to contradict the first principles of the uniformity
of motion. Nor have they been able to discover or calculate from
these the main point, which is the shape of the world and the fixed
symmetry of its parts; but their procedure has been as if someone
were to collect hands, feet, a head, and other members from various
places, all very fine in themselves, but not proportionate to one body,
and no single one corresponding in its turn to the others, so that a
monster rather than a man would be formed from them. Thus in
their process of demonstration which they term a "method," they
are found to have omitted something essential, or to have included
something foreign and not pertaining to the matter in hand. This
certainly would never have happened to them if they had followed
DE REVOLUTIONIBUS 55
fixed principles; for if the hypotheses they assumed were not false,
all that resulted therefrom would be verified indubitably. Those
things which I am saying now may be obscure, yet they will be
made clearer in their proper place.
Therefore, having turned over in my mind for a long time this
uncertainty of the traditional mathematical methods of calculating
the motions of the celestial bodies, I began to grow disgusted that
no more consistent scheme of the movements of the mechanism of
the universe, set up for our benefit by that best and most law
abiding Architect of all things, was agreed upon by philosophers
\vho otherwise investigate so carefully the most minute details of
this \vorld. Wherefore I undertook the task of rereading the
books of all the philosophers I could get access to, to see \vhether
anyone ever was of the opinion that the motions of the celestial
bodies were other than those postulated by the men who taught
mathematics in the schools. And I found first, indeed, in Cicero, that
Niceta perceived that the Earth moved; and afterward in Plutarch
I found that some others were of this opinion, \vhose \vords I have
seen fit to quote here, that they may be accessible to all:-
"Some maintain that the Earth is stationary, but Philolaus the
Pythagorean says that it revolves in a circle about the fire of the
ecliptic, like the sun and moon. Heraklides of Pontus and Ekphantus
the Pythagorean make the Earth move, not changing its position,
however, confined in its falling and rising around its own center
in the manner of a wheel."
Taking this as a starting point, I began to consider the mobility
of the Earth; and although the idea seemed absurd, yet because I
knew that the liberty had been granted to others before me to
postulate all sorts of little circles for explaining the phenomena of
the stars, I thought I also might easily be permitted to try whether
by postulating some motion of the Earth, more reliable conclusions
could be reached regarding the revolution of the heavenly bodies,
than those of my predecessors.
And so, after postulating movements, which, farther on in the
book, I ascribe to the Earth, I have found by many and long observa-
tions that if the movements of the other planets are assumed for
the circular motion of the Earth and are substituted for the revolu-
S6 COPERNICUS
tion of each star, not only do their phenomena follow logically
therefrom, but the relative positions and magnitudes both of the
stars and all their orbits, and of the heavens themselves, become so
closely related that in none of its parts can anything be changed
without causing confusion in the other parts and in the whole
universe. Therefore, in the course of the work I have follo,,,ed
this plan: I describe in the first book all the positions of the orbits
together with the movements which I ascribe to the Earth, in order
that this book might contain, as it '''ere, the general scheme of the
universe. Thereafter in the remaining books, I set forth the motions
of the other stars and of all their orbits together with the movement
of the Earth, in order that one may see from this to what extent
the movements and appearances of the other stars and their orbits
can be saved, if they are transferred to the movement of the Earth.
Nor do I doubt that ingenious and learned mathematicians will
sustain me, if they are willing to recognize and weigh, not super-
ficially, but with that thoroughness which Philosophy demands above
all things, those matters which have been adduced by me in this ,,,ork
to demonstrate these theories. In order , however, that both the
learned and the unlearned equally may see that I do not avoid
anyone's judgment, I have preferred to dedicate these lucubrations
of n1ine to Your Holiness rather than to any other, because, even
in this remote corner of the ,vorId ,,,here I live, you are considered
to be the most eminent man in dignity of rank and in love of all
learning and even of mathematics, so that by your authority and
judgment you can easily suppress the bites of slanderers, albeit the
proverb hath it that there is no remedy for the bite of a sycophant.
If perchance there shall be idle talkers, who, though they are
ignorant of all mathematical sciences, nevertheless assume the right
to pass judgment on these things, and if they should dare to
criticise and attack this theory of mine because of some passage of
Scripture which they have falsely distorted for their own purpose,
I care not at all; I will even despise their judgment as foolish. For
it is not unkno,vn that Lactantius, otherwise a famous writer but
a poor mathematician, speaks most childishly of the shape of the
Earth when he makes fun of those who said that the Earth has the
form of a sphere. It should not seem strange then to zealous
DE REVOLUTIONIBUS 57
students, if some such people shall ridicule us also. 1vfathematics
are written for mathematicians, to whom, if my opinion does not
deceive me, our labors will seem to contribute something to the
ecclesiastical state whose chief office Your Holiness now occupies;
for \vhen not so very long ago, under Leo X, in the Lateran Council
the question of revising the ecclesiastical calendar was discussed,
it then remained unsettled, simply because the length of the years
and months, and the motions of the sun and moon were held to have
been not yet sufficiently determined. Since that time, I have given
my attention to observing these more accurately, urged on by a very
distinguished man, Paul, Bishop of F ossombrone, who at that time
had charge of the matter. But vvhat I may have accomplished herein
I leave to the judgment of Your Holiness in particular, and to that
of all other learned mathematicians; and lest I seem to Your I-Ioliness
to promise more regarding the usefulness of the \vork than I can
perform, I now pass to the work itself.
PREFACE TO THE HISTORY
OF THE REFORMATION
IN SCOTLAND
BY JOHN KNOX (C. 1566)
To the gentill readar, grace and peace from God the Father of our Lord
Jesus Christ, with the perpetuall encrease of the Holy Spreit.
I T is not unknowen, Christeane Reader, that the same clud of
ignorance, that long hath darkened many realmes under this
accurssed kingdome of that Romane Antichrist, hath also
owercovered this poore Realme; that idolatrie hath bein manteined,
the bloode of innocentis hath bene sched, and Christ Jesus his
eternall treuth hath bene abhorred, detested, and blasphemed. But
that same God that caused light to schyne out of darknes, in the
multitud of his mercyes, hath of long tyme opened the eis of some
evin within this Realme, to see the vanitie of that which then was
universally embrased for trew religioun; and hes gevin unto them
strenth to oppone 1 thame selfis unto the same: and now, into
these our last and moist 2 corrupt dayis, hath maid his treuth so to
triumphe amonges us, that, in despyte of Sathan, hipochrisye is
disclosed, and the trew wyrshipping of God is manifested to all the
inhabitantis of this realme who eis Sathan blyndis not, eyther by
thair fylthy lustes, or ellis by ambitioun, and insatiable covetousness,
which mack them repung t0 3 the power of God working by his
worde.
John Knox (1505-1572), the leader of the Scottish Reformation and its historian,
was educated at Glasgow University; was pastor to English congregations at Frank-
fort-on-Main and at Geneva, where he met Calvin; returned to Scotland in 1559; and
from that time till his death was active in the establishment of the Presbyterian
organization, through which his powerful personality has continued to influence the
Scottish national character to the present day. His preface, which is printed here in
the original Scottish spelling, gives some indication of the sternness, not to say viru-
lence, of his temper towards the Roman Church.
1 Oppose. 2 Most. 3 Resist.
58
TO THE HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION 59
And becaus we ar not ignorant what diverse bruittis 4 \var dispersed
of us, the professoures of Jesus Christ within this realme, in the
begynnyng of our interprise, ordour \vas tackin, that all our pro-
ceidingis should be committed to register; as that thei war, by such
as then paynfullie travailled boith by toung and pen; and so was
collected a just volume, (as' after \vill appeir,) conteanyng thingis
done frome the fyftie-a wght 5 year of God, till the arri vall of the
Quenis Majestie 6 furth of France, with the which the Collectour and
Writtar for that tyme was content, and never mynded 1 further to
have travailled in that kynd of writting. But, after invocatioun of
the name of God, and after consultatioun with some faythfull, what
\vas thought by thame expedient to advance Goddis glorie, and to
edifie this present generatioun, and the posteritie to come, it was
cond uded, that faythfull rehersall should be maid of such person-
ages as God had maid instrumentis of his glorie, by opponyng
of thame selfis to manifest abuses, superstitioun, and idolatrie; and
albeit thare be no great nomber, yet ar thei mo then the Collectour
\vold have looked for at the begynnyng, and thairfoir is the volume
somewhat enlarged abuif his expectatioun: And yit, in the begyn-
nyng, mons we crave of all the gentill Readaris, not to 100k 9 of us
such ane History as shall expresse all thingis that have occurred
\vithin this Realme, during the tyme of this terrible conflict that hes
bene betuix the sanctes lO of God and these bloody wolves who dame
to thame selves the titill of clargie, and to have authoritie ower the
saules of men; for,. with the Pollicey, 11 mynd we to meddill no
further then it hath Religioun mixed with it. And thairfoir albeit
that many thingis which wer don be omitted, yit, yf we invent no
leys/2 we think our selves blamless in that behalf. Of one other
(thing) we mon 8 foirwarne the discreat Readaris, which is, that thei
be not offended that the sempill treuth be spokin without partialitie;
for seing that of men we neyther hunt for reward, nor yitt for vane
glorie, we litill pass by the approbatioun of such as seldome judge
weill of God and of his workis. Lett not thairfoar the Readir
wonder, albeit that our style vary and speik diverslie of men, accord-
4 Rumors. 51. e., 155 8 .
6 Mary, Queen of Scots, arrived in Scotland, Aug. 19, 1561.
1 Intended. 8 Must. 9 Expect. 10 Saints.
11 Civil or State politics. 12 Lies.
60 JOHN KNOX
ing as thei have declared thameselves sometymes ennemymes and
sometymes freindis, sometymes fervent, sometymes cold, sometymes
constant, and sometymes changeable in the cause of God and of his
holy religioun: for, in this our simplicitie, \ve suppoise that the
Godlie shall espy our purpose, which is, that God may be praised
for his mercy schawin,13 this present age may be admonished to be
thankfull for Goddis benenuis offerred, and the posteritie to cum
may be instructed how wonderouslie hath the light of Christ Jesus
prevailled against darkness in this last and most corrupted age.
13 Shown.
PREFATORY LETTER
TO SIR WALTER RALEIGH ON
THE FAERIE QUEENE
BY EDMUND SPENSER (1589)
A LETTER OF THE AVTHORS
EXPOrXDING HIS WHOLE INTENTION IN THE COURSE OF THIS
'VORKE: \VHICH FOR THAT IT GIVETH GREAT LIGHT TO THE
READER, FOR THE BETTER UNDERSTANDING IS
HEREUNTO ANNEXED
To the Right Noble, and Valorous, Sir Walter Raleigh, Knight, Lord
Wardein of the Stanneryes, and Her Majesties Liefetenaunt of the
County of Cornewayll
S IR, kno\ving ho\v doubtfully all allegories may be construed,
and this booke of mine, which I have entituled the Faery
Queene, being a continued allegory, or darke conceit, I have
thought good, as \vell for avoyding of gealous opinions and miscon-
structions, as also for your better light in reading thereof, (being so
by you commanded,) to discover unto you the general intention
and meaning, \vhich in the \vhole course thereof I have fashioned,
without expressing of any particular purposes or by accidents therein
occasioned. The generall end therefore of all the booke is to fashion
a gentleman or noble person in vertuous and gentle discipline: \vhich
for that I conceived shoulde be most plausible and pleasing, being
coloured \vith an historicall fiction, the \vhich the most part of
men delight to read, rather for variety of matter then for profite of
Edmund Spenser was born in London about 1552, and died there in 1599. He was
the greatest of the non-dramatic poets of the age of Elizabeth; and the "Faerie Queene"
is the longest and most famous of his works. The first three books were published
in 1590, the second three in 1 596; of the remaining six which he had planned some
fragments were issued after his death. The poem is a combination of allegory and
romance; and in this prefatory letter to Raleigh the poet himself explains the plan
of the work and its main allegorical signification.
61
62
EDMUND SPENSER
the ensam pIe, I chose the historye of King Arth ure, as most fitte
for the excellency of his person, being made famous by many mens
former ,vorkes, and also furthest from the daunger of envy, and
suspition of present time. In which I have follo,ved all the antique
poets historicall: first Homere, ,vho in the persons of Agamemnon
and Ulysses hath ensampled a good governour and a vertuous man,
the one in his Ilias, the other in his Odysseis; then Virgil, whose
like intention was to doe in the person of Æneas; after him Ariosto
comprised them both in his Orlando; and lately Tasso dissevered
them againe, and formed both parts in t,vo persons, namely that
part which they in philosophy call Ethice, or vertues of a private
man, coloured in his Rinaldo; the other named Politice in his
Godfredo. By ensample of which excellente poets, I labour to pour-
traict in Arthure, before he was king, the image of a brave knight,
perfected in the twelve private morall vertues, as Aristotle hath
devised, the ,vhich is the purpose of these first nvelve bookes: which
if I finde to be well accepted, I may be perhaps encoraged to frame
the other part of polliticke vertues in his person, after that hee
came to be king. To some, I kno,v, this methode will seeme dis-
pleasaunt, which had rather have good discipline delivered plainly
in way of precepts, or sermoned at large, as they use, then thus
clovvdily enwrapped in allegoricall devises. But such, me seeme,
should be satisfide ,vith the use of these dayes, seeing all things
accounted by their sho,ves, and nothing esteemed of, that is not
delightfull and pleasing to commune sence. For this cause is
Xenophon preferred before Plato, for that the one, in the exquisite
depth of his judgement, formed a commune ,veith such as it should
be, but the other in the person of Cyrus and the Persians fashioned
a governement, such as might best be: so much more profitable and
gratious is doctrine by ensample, then by rule. So have I laboured
to doe in the person of Arthure: whome I conceive, after his long
education by Timon, to whom he ,vas by Merlin delivered to be
brought up, so soone as he was borne of the Lady Igrayne, to have
seene in a dream or vision the Faery Queen, with ,vhose excellent
beauty ravished, he a,vaking resolved to seeke her out, and so being
by Merlin armed, and by Timon thoroughly instructed, he went to
seeke her forth in F aerye Land. In that Faery Queene I meane
TO THE FAERIE QUEENE 63
glory in my generall intention, but in my particular I conceive the
most excellent and glorious person of our soveraine the Queene, and
her kingdome in Faery Land. And yet, in some places els, I doe
otherwise shadow her. F or considering she beareth two persons,
the one of a most royall queene or empresse, the other of a most
vertuous and beautiful lady, this latter pan in some places I doe
expresse in Belphæbe, fashioning her name according your owne
excellent conceipt of Cynthia, (Phæbe and Cynthia being both
names of Diana.) So in the person of Prince Arthure I sette forth
magnificence in particular, which venue, for that (according to
Aristotle and the rest) it is the perfection of all the rest, and con-
teineth in it them all, therefore in the whole course I mention the
deedes of Arthure apply able to that vertue which I write of
in that booke. But of the xii. other vertues I make xii. other
knights the patrones, for the more variety of the history: of which
these three bookes contayn three. The first of the Knight of the
Redcrosse, in \vhome I expresse holynes: The seconde of Sir Guyon,
in whome I sette fonh temperaunce. The third of Britomartis, a
lady knight, in \vhome I picture chastity. But because the beginning
of the \vhole \vorke seemeth abrupte and as depending upon other
antecedents, it needs that ye know the occasion of these three knights
severall adventures. For the methode of a poet historical is not
such as of an historiographer. For an historiographer discourseth
of aftayres orderly as they were donne, accounting as \vell the times
as the actions; but a poet thrusteth into the middest, even where
it most concerneth him, and there recoursing to the things fore-
paste, and divining of thinges to come, maketh a pleasing analysis
of all.
The beginning therefore of my history, if it were to be told by an
historiographer, should be the twelfth booke, \vhich is the last; \vhere
I devise that the Faery Queene kept her annuall feaste xii. dayes,
uppon which xii. sever all dayes, the occasions of the xii. several
adventures hapned, \vhich being undertaken by xii. severall knights,
are in these xii. books severally handled and discoursed. The first
was this. In the beginning of the feast, there presented him selfe
a tall clownish younge man, \vho, falling before the Queen of Faries,
desired a boone (as the manner then was) which during that feast
64
EDMUND SPENSER
she might not refuse: which was that hee might have the atchieve-
ment of any adventure, which during that feaste should happen:
that being graunted, he rested him on the floore, unfitte through his
rusticity for a better place. Soone after entred a faire ladye in mourn-
ing weedes, riding on a \vhite asse, \vith a dwarfe behind her leading
a \varlike steed, that bore the armes of a knight, and his speare in the
dwarfes hand. Shee, falling before the Queene of Faeries, com-
playned that her father and mother, an ancient king and queene,
had bene by an huge dragon many years shut up in a brasen castle,
\vho thence suf1red them not to yssew: and therefore besought the
Faery Queene to assygne her some one of her knights to take on
him that exployt. Present! y that clo\vnish person, upstarting, desired
that adventure: whereat the Queene much wondering, and the lady
much gainesaying, yet he earnestly importuned his desire. In the end
the lady told him, that unlesse that armour \vhich she brought
would serve him (that is, the armour of a Christian man specified
by Saint Paul, vi. Ephes.), that he could not succeed in that enter-
prise: which being forth\vith put upon him with de\ve furnitures
thereunto, he seemed the goodliest man in al that company, and was
well liked of the lady. And eftesoones taking on him knighthood,
and mounting on that straunge courser, he went forth with her on
that adventure: \vhere beginneth the first booke vz.
A gentle knight was pricking on the playne, &c.
The second day ther came in a palmer bearing an infant with
bloody hands, whose parents he complained to have bene slayn by
an enchaunteresse called Acrasia: and therfore craved of the Faery
Queene, to appoint him some knight to performe that adventure;
\vhich being assigned to Sir Guyon, he presently went forth with that
same palmer: which is the beginning of the second booke and the
whole subject thereof. The third day there came in a groome, who
complained before the Faery Queene, that a vile encha unter, called
Busirane, had in hand a most faire lady, called Amoretta, whom he
kept in most grievous torment, because she would not yield him the
pleasure of her body. Whereupon Sir Scudamour, the lover of that
lady, presently tooke on him that adventure. But being unable to
performe it by reason of the hard enchauntments, after long sorrow,
TO THE FAERIE QUEENE 6S
in the end met with Britomartis, who succoured him, and reskewed
his love.
But by occasion hereof, many other adventures are intermedled,
but rather as accidents then intendments: as the love of Britomart,
the overthrow of Marinell, the misery of Florimell, the vertuousnes
of Belphæbe, the lasciviousnes of Hellenora, and many the like.
Thus much, Sir, I have briefly overronne, to direct your under-
standing to the wel-head of the history, that from thence gathering
the \vhole intention of the conceit, ye may, as in a handful, gripe al
the discourse, which otherwise may happily seeme tedious and
confused. So humbly craving the continuance of your honourable
favour towards me, and th' eternall establishment of your happines,
I humbly take leave.
23. January, 15 8 9.
Yours most h umbl y affectionate,
Ed. Spenser.
PREFACE TO THE
HISTORY OF THE WORLD
BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH (1614)
H OW unfit and how unworthy a choice I have made of
myself, to undertake a \vork of this mixture, mine own
reason, though exceeding weak, hath sufficiently resolved
me. For had it been begotten then with my first dawn of day, \vhen
the light of common knowledge began to open itself to my younger
years, and before any wound received either from Fortune or Time,
I might yet well have doubted that the darkness of Age and Death
would have covered over both It and Me, long before the perform-
ance. For, beginning \vith the Creation, I have proceeded \vith the
History of the World; and lastly purposed (some few sallies
excepted) to confine my discourse with this our renowned Island
of Great Britain. I confess that it had better sorted with my
disability, the better part of whose times are run out in other
travails, to have set together (as I could) the unjointed and scat-
tered frame of our English affairs, than of the universal: in whom,
had there been no other defect (\vho am all defect) than the time of
the day, it \vere enough; the day of a tempestuous life, drawn on to
the very evening ere I began. But those inmost and soul-piercing
wounds, which are ever aching while uncured; \vith the desire to
satisfy those few friends, \vhich I have tried by the fire of adversity,
the former enforcing, the latter persuading; have caused me to make
my thoughts legible, and myself the subject of every opinion, wise
or weak.
A sketch of the life of Raleigh will be found prefixed to his "Discovery of Guiana"
in the volume of "Voyages and Travels." His "History of the \Vorld" was written
during his imprisonment in the Tower of London, which lasted from 1603 to 1616.
The Preface is interesting not only as a fine piece of Elizabethan prose, but as ex-
hibiting the attitude toward history, and the view of the relation of history to religion
and philosophy, which characterized one who represented with exceptional vigor the
typical Elizabethan man of action and who was also a man of thought and imagination.
66
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 67
To the world I present them, to which I am nothing indebted:
neither have others that were, (Fortune changing) sped much
better in any age. For prosperity and adversity have evermore
tied and untied vulgar affections. And as we see it in experience,
that dogs do always bark at those they know not, and that it is their
nature to accompany one another in those clamors: so it is with
the inconsiderate multitude; who wanting that virtue which we
call honesty in all men, and that especial gift of God which we call
charity in Christian men, condemn without hearing, and wound
without offence given: led thereunto by uncertain report only;
which his Majesty truly acknowledgeth for the author of all lies.
"Blame no man," saith Siracides, "before thou have inquired the
matter: understand first, and then reform righteously. 'Rumor, res
sine teste, sine judice, malign a, fallax'; Rumor is without witness,
without judge, malicious and deceivable." This vanity of vulgar
opinion it was, that gave St. Augustine argument to affirm, that he
feared the praise of good men, and detested that of the evil. And
herein no man hath given a better rule, than this of Seneca; "Con-
scientiæ satisfaciamus: nihil in famam laboremus, sequatur vel
mala, dum bene merearis." "Let us satisfy our own consciences,
and not trouble ourselves with fame: be it never so ill, it is to be
despised so we deserve well."
For myself, if I have in anything served my Country, and prized
it before my private, the general acceptation can yield me no other
profit at this time, than doth a fair sunshine day to a sea-man after
shipwreck; and the contrary no other harm, than an outrageous
tempest after the port attained. I know that I lost the love of many,
for my fidelity towards Her/ whom I must still honor in the dust;
though further than the defence of her excellent person, I never
persecuted any man. Of those that did it, and by what device they
did it, He that is the Supreme Judge of all the world, hath taken
the account: so as for this kind of suffering, I must say with Seneca,
"Mala opinio, bene parta, delectat." 2
As for other men; if there be any that have made themselves
fathers of that fame which hath been begotten for them, I can
neither envy at such their purchased glory, nor much lament mine
1 Queen Elizabeth. 2 "An ill opinion, honorably acquired, is pleasing.))
68
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
own mishap in that kind; but content myself to say \vith Virgil,
"Sic vos non vobis," 3 in many particulars. To labor other satisfaction,
were an effect of frenzy, not of hope, seeing it is not truth, but
opinion, that can travel the \vorld without a passport. For \vere it
otherwise; and were there not as many internal forms of the mind,
as there are external figures of men; there \vere then some possi-
bility to persuade by the mouth of one advocate, even equity alone.
But such is the multiplying and extensive virtue of dead earth, and
of that breath-giving life which God hath cast upon time and dust,
as that among those that were, of whom we read and hear; and
among those that are, whom we see and converse \vith; everyone
hath received a several picture of face, and everyone a diverse
picture of mind; everyone a form apart, everyone a fancy and
cogitation differing: there being nothing wherein Nature so much
triumpheth as in dissimilitude. From \vhence it cometh that there is
found so great diversity of opinions; so strong a contrariety of
inclinations; so many natural and unnatural; \vise, foolish, manly,
and childish affections and passions in mortal men. For it is not the
visible fashion and shape of plants, and of reasonable creatures, that
makes the difference of working in the one, and of condition in the
other; but the form internal.
And though it hath pleased God to reserve the art of reading
men's thoughts to himself: yet, as the fruit tells the name of the
tree; so do the outward works of men (so far as their cogitations
are acted) give us \vhereof to guess at the rest. Nay, it were not hard
to express the one by the other, very near the life, did not craft in
11lany, fear in the most, and the world's love in all, teach every
capacity, according to the compass it hath, to qualify and make over
their inward deforrnities for a time. Though it be also true, "Nemo
potest diu personam ferre fictam: cito in naturam suam residunt,
quibus veritas non subest": "No man can long continue masked
in a counterfeit behavior: the things that are forced for pretences
having no ground of truth, cannot long dissemble their own
natures." Neither can any man (saith Plutarch) so change himself,
but that his heart may be sometimes seen at his tongue's end.
In this great discord and dissimilitude of reasonable creatures, if
3 "So you not to yourselves."
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD
69
we direct ourselves to the multitude; "omnis honestæ rei malus
judex est vulgus": "The common people are evil judges of honest
things, and whose wisdom (saith Ecclesiastes) is to be despised":
if to the better sort, every understanding hath a peculiar judgment,
by which it both censureth other men, and valueth itself. And
therefore unto me it will not seem strange, though 1 find these my
worthless papers torn with rats: seeing the slothful censurers of all
ages have not spared to tax the Reverend Fathers of the Church,
\vith ambition; the severest men to themselves, with hypocrisy;
the greatest lovers of justice, with popularity; and those of the truest
valor and fortitude, \vith vain-glory. But of these natures which lie
in wait to find fault, and to turn good into evil, seeing Solomon
complained long since: and that the very age of the \vorld renders it
every day after other more malicious; 1 must leave the professors to
their easy ways of reprehension, than which there is nothing of
more facility.
To me it belongs in the first part of this Preface, following the
common and approved custom of those who have left the memories
of time past to after ages, to give, as near as I can, the same right to
history which they have done. Yet seeing therein 1 should but
borro\v other men's \vords, 1 will not trouble the Reader \vith the
repetition. True it is that among many other benefits for which it
hath been honored, in this one it triumpheth over all human
knowledge, that it hath given us life in our understanding, since
the world itself had life and beginning, even to this day: yea,
it hath triumphed over time, which besides it nothing but eternity
hath triumphed over: for it hath carried our knowledge over the
vast and devouring space of many thousands of years, and given
so fair and piercing eyes to our mind; that we plainly behold living
now (as if we had lived then) that great world, "Magni Dei sapiens
opus," "The wise work (saith Hermes) of a great God," as it was
then, when but new to itself. By it (I say) it is, that we live in the
very time when it was created: we behold how it was governed: ho\v
it was covered with waters, and again repeopled: ho\v kings and
kingdoms have flourished and fallen, and for what virtue and
piety God made prosperous; and for what vice and deformity he
made wretched, both the one and the other. And it is not the least
70 SIR WALTER RALEIGH
debt which we o\ve unto history, that it hath made us acquainted
with our dead ancestors; and, out of the depth and darkness of the
earth, delivered us their memory and fame. In a \vord, we may
gather out of history a policy no less wise than eternal; by the com..
parison and application of other men's fore-passed miseries with our
own like errors and ill deservings. But it is neither of examples
the most lively instruction, nor the words of the wisest men, nor the
terror of future torments, that hath yet so wrought in our blind
and stupified minds, as to make us remember, that the infinite eye
and wisdom of God doth pierce through all our pretences; as to
make us remember, that the justice of God doth require none
other accuser than our own consciences: which neither the false
beauty of our apparent actions, nor all the formality, \vhich (to pacify
the opinions of men) we put on, can in any, or the least kind, cover
from his kno\vledge. And so much did that heathen wisdom confess,
no \vay as yet qualified by the knowledge of a true God. If any (saith
Euripides) "having in his life committed wickedness, thinks he can
hide it from the everlasting gods, he thinks not well."
To repeat God's judgments in particular, upon those of all degrees,
which have played with his mercies would require a volume apart:
for the sea of examples hath no bottom. The marks, set on private
men, are with their bodies cast into the earth; and their fortunes,
written only in the memories of those that lived with them: so as
they who succeed, and have not seen the fall of others, do not fear
their own faults. God's judgments upon the greater and greatest
have been left to posterity; first, by those happy hands which the
Holy Ghost hath guided; and secondly, by their virtue, who have
gathered the acts and ends of men mighty and remarkable in the
world. Now to point far off, and to speak of the conversion of
angels into devils; for ambition: or of the greatest and most glorious
kings, who have gna\vn the grass of the earth with beasts for pride
and ingratitude towards God: or of that wise working of Pharaoh,
when he slew the infants of Israel, ere they had recovered their
cradles: or of the policy of J ezebel, in covering the murder of N aboth
by a trial of the Elders, according to the Law, with many thousands
,_ of the like: what were it other, than to make an hopeless proof, that
a t-
L/8 oofar-off examples would not be left to the same far-off respects, as
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TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 7 1
heretofore? For who hath not observed, what labor, practice, peril,
bloodshed, and cruelty, the kings and princes of the world ha ve
undergone, exercised, taken on them, and committed; to make
themselves and their issues masters of the world? And yet hath
Babylon, Persia, Syria, Macedon, Carthage, Rome, and the rest,
no fruit, no flower, grass, nor leaf, springing upon the face of the
earth, of those seeds: no, their very roots and ruins do hardl y
remain. "Omnia quae manu hominum facta sunt, vel manu homi-
num evertuntur, vel stando et durando deficiunt": "All that the
hand of man can make, is either overturned by the hand of man,
or at length by standing and continuing consumed." The reasons
of whose ruins, are diversely given by those that ground their
opinions on second causes. All kingdoms and states have fallen (say
the politicians) by outward and foreign force, or by inward negli-
gence and dissension, or by a third cause arising from both. Others
observe, that the greatest have sunk down under their own weight;
of which Livy hath a touch: "eo crevit, ut magnitudine laboret sua":4
Others, That the divine providence (which Cratippus objected to
Pompey) hath set down the date and period of every estate, before
their first foundation and erection. But hereof I will give myself a
day over to resolve.
F or seeing the first books of the following story, have undertaken
the discourse of the first kings and kingdoms: and that it is impos-
sible for the short life of a Preface, to travel after, and overtake far-
off antiquity, and to judge of it; I will, for the present, examine what
profit hath been gathered by our own Kings, and their neighbour
princes: who having beheld, both in divine and human letters, the
success of infidelity, injustice, and cruelty; have (notwithstanding)
planted after the same pattern.
True it is, that the judgments of all men are not agreeable; nor
(which is more strange) the affection of anyone man stirred up
alike with examples of like nature: but everyone is touched most,
with that which most nearly seemeth to touch his own private, or
otherwise best suiteth with his apprehension. But the judgments of
God are forever unchangeable: neither is He wearied by the long
process of time, and won to give His blessing in one age, to that
4 "He increased, with the result that he is oppressed by his greatness."
7 2 SIR WALTER RALEIGH
which He hath cursed in another. \Vherefor those that are wise,
or whose wisdom if it be not great, yet is true and well grounded,
will be able to discern the bitter fruits of irreligious policy, as well
among those examples that are found in ages removed far from
the present, as in those of latter times. And that it may no less appear
by evident proof, than by asseveration, that ill doing hath always
been attended with ill success; I will here, by way of preface, run
over some examples, which the work ensuing hath not reached.
Among our kings of the Norman race, we have no sooner passed
over the violence of the Norman Conquest, than we encounter with
a singular and most remarkable example of God's justice, upon the
children of Henry the First. For that King, when both by force,
craft, and cruelty, he had dispossessed, overreached, and lastly made
blind and destroyed his elder brother Robert Duke of Normandy,
to make his o\vn sons lords of this land: God cast them all, male
and female, nephews and nieces (Maud excepted) into the bottom
of the sea, with above a hundred and fifty others that attended them;
whereof a great many were noble and of the King dearly beloved.
To pass over the rest, till we come to Edward the Second; it is
certain, that after the murder of that King, the issue of blood then
made, though it had some times of stay and stopping, did again
break out, and that so often and in such abundance, as all our
princes of the masculine race (very few excepted) died of the same
disease. And although the young years of Edward the Third made
his knowledge of that horrible fact no more than suspicious; yet
in that he afterwards caused his own uncle, the Earl of Kent, to die,
for no other offence than the desire of his brother's redemption,
whom the Earl as then supposed to be living; the King making
that to be treated in his uncle, which was indeed treason in himself,
(had his uncle's intelligence been true) this I say made it manifest,
that he was not ignorant of what had past, nor greatly desirous to
have had it otherwise, though he caused Mortimer to die for the
same.
This cruelty the secret and unsearchable judgment of God
revenged on the grandchild of Edward the Third: and so it fell out,
even to the last of that line, that in the second or third descent they
were all buried under the ruins of those buildings, of which the
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 73
mortar had been tempered with innocent blood. For Richard the
Second, ,vho sa\v both his Treasurers, his Chancellor, and his Ste\v-
ard, with divers others of his counsellors, some of them slaughtered
by the people, others in his absence executed by his enemies, yet he
always took himself for over-wise to be taught by examples. The
Earls of Huntingdon and Kent, Montagu and Spencer, who thought
themselves as great politicians in those days as others have done in
these: hoping to please the King, and to secure themselves, by the
murder of Gloucester; died soon after, with many other their
adherents, by the like violent hands; and far more shamefully than
did that duke. And as for the King himself (\vho in regard of many
deeds, unworthy of his greatness, cannot be excused, as the disavow-
ing himself by breach of faith, charters, pardons, and patents): he
was in the prime of his youth deposed, and murdered by his cousin-
german and vassal, Henry of Lancaster, afterwards Henry the
Fourth.
This King, whose title ,vas weak, and his obtaining the Cro\vn
traitorous; who brake faith with the lords at his landing, protesting
to intend only the recovery of his proper inheritance, brake faith
with Richard himself; and brake faith with all the kingdom in
Parliament, to whom he swore that the deposed King should live.
After that he had enjoyed this realm some few years, and in that
time had been set upon all sides by his subjects, and never free from
conspiracies and rebellions: he saw (if souls immortal see and
discern any things after the bodies' death) his grandchild Henry the
Sixth, and his son the Prince, suddenly and without mercy, mur-
dered; the possession of the Crown (for which he had caused so
much blood to be poured out) transferred from his race, and by
the issues of his enemies worn and enjoyed: enemies, whom by his
own practice he supposed that he had left no less powerless, than
the succession of the Kingdom questionless; by entailing the same
upon his own issues by Parliament. And out of doubt, human
reason could ha ve judged no otherwise, but that these cautious
provisions of the father, seconded by the valor and signal victories of
his son Henry the Fifth, had buried the hopes of every competitor,
under the despair of all reconquest and recovery. I say, that human
reason might so have judged, were not this passage of Casaubon also
74
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
true; "Dies, hora, momentum, evertendis dominationibus sufficit,
quae adamantinis credebantur radicibus esse fundatae:" "A day, an
hour, a moment, is enough to overturn the things, that seemed to
have been founded and rooted in adamant."
Now for Henry the Sixth, upon whom the great storm of his
grandfather's grievous faults fell, as it formerly had done upon
Richard the grandchild of Edward: although he was generally
esteemed for a gentle and innocent prince, yet as he refused the
daughter of Armagnac, of the House of Navarre, the greatest of the
Princes of France, to whom he was affianced (by which match he
might have defended his inheritance in France) and married the
daughter of Anjou, (by which he lost all that he had in France)
so in condescending to the unworthy death of his uncle of Gloucester,
the main and strong pillar of the House of Lancaster; he drew on
himself and this kingdom the greatest joint-loss and dishonor, that
ever it sustained since the Norman Conquest. Of whom it may truly
be said which a counsellor of his own spake of Henry the Third of
France, "Qu'il estait une fort gentile Prince; mais son reigne est
advenu en une fort mauvais temps:" "He was a very gentle Prince;
but his reign happened in a very unfortunate season."
It is true that Buckingham and Suffolk were the practicers and
contrivers of the Duke's death: Buckingham and Suffolk, because the
Duke gave instructions to their authority, which otherwise under
the Queen had been absolute; the Queen in respect of her personal
wound, "spretaeque injuria formae," 5 because Gloucester dissuaded
her marriage. But the fruit was answerable to the seed; the success
to the counsel. For after the cutting down of Gloucester, York grew
up so fast, as he dared to dispute his right both by arguments and
arms; in which quarrel, Suffolk and Buckingham, with the greatest
number of their adherents, were dissolved. And although for his
breach of oath by sacrament, it pleased God to strike down York:
yet his son the Ear I of March, following the plain path which his
father had trodden out, despoiled Henry the father, and Edward the
son, both of their lives and kingdom. And what was the end now of
that politic lady the Queen, other than this, that she lived to behold
the wretched ends of all her partakers: that she lived to look on,
5 "The insult done in scorning her beauty."
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 7S
while her husband the King, and her only son the Prince, were hewn
in sunder; while the Crown was set on his head that did it. She
Ii ved to see herself despoiled of her estate, and of her moveables: and
lastly, her father, by rendering up to the Crown of France the Earl-
dom of Provence and other places, for the payment of fifty thousand
crowns for her ransom, to become a stark beggar. And this was the
end of that subtility, which Siracides calleth "fine" but "unright-
eous:" for other fruit hath it never yielded since the world was.
And now it came to Edward the Fourth's turn (though after many
difficulties) to triumph. For all the plants of Lancaster were rooted
up, one only Earl of Richmond excepted: whom also he had once
bought of the Duke of Brittany, but could not hold him. And yet
was not this of Edward such a plantation, as could any way promise
itself stability. For this Edward the King (to omit more than many
of his other cruelties) beheld and allowed the slaughter which
Gloucester, Dorset, Hastings, and others, made of Edward the
Prince in his own presence; of which tragical actors, there was not
one that escaped the judgment of God in the same kind. And he,
which (besides the execution of his brother Clarence, for none other
offence than he himself had formed in his own imagination)
instructed Gloucester to kill Henry the Sixth, his predecessor;
taught him also by the same art to kill his own sons and successors,
Edward and Richard. For those kings which have sold the blood of
others at a low rate; have but made the market for their own
enemies, to buy of theirs at the same price.
To Edward the Fourth succeeded Richard the Third, the greatest
master in mischief of all that fore-went him: who although, for
the necessity of his tragedy, he had more parts to play, and more to
perform in his own person, than all the rest; yet he so well fitted
every affection that played with him, as if each of them had but
acted his own interest. For he wrought so cunningly upon the affec-
tions of Hastings and Buckingham, enemies to the Queen and to all
her kindred, as he easily allured them to condescend, that Rivers and
Grey, the King's maternal uncle and half brother, should (for the
first) be severed from him: secondly, he wrought their consent to
have them imprisoned: and lastly (for the avoiding of future incon-
venience) to have their heads severed from their bodies. And having
7 6
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
no,v brought those his chief instruments to exercise that common
precept which the Devil hath written on every post, namely, to
depress those whom they had grieved, and destroy those whom they
had depressed; he urged that argument so far and so forcibly, as
nothing but the death of the young King himself, and of his
brother, could fashion the conclusion. For he caused it to be ham-
mered into Buckingham's head, that, whensoever the King or his
brother should have able years to exercise their power, they would
take a most severe revenge of that cureless wrong, offered to their
uncle and brother, Rivers and Grey.
But this was not his manner of reasoning ,vith Hastings, whose
fidelity to his master's sons was without suspect: and yet the Devil,
who never dissuades by impossibility, taught him to try him. And
so he did. But when he found by Catesby, who sounded him, that
he was not fordable; he first resolved to kill him sitting in council:
wherein having failed with his sword, he set the hangman upon
him, with a weapon of more ,veight. And because nothing else
could move his appetite, he caused his head to be stricken off, before
he ate his dinner. A greater judgment of God than this upon Hast-
ings, I have never observed in any story. For the selfsame day that
the Earl Rivers, Grey, and others, were (without trial of la\v, of
offence given) by Hastings' advice executed at Pomfret: I say Hast-
ings himself in the same day, and (as I take it) in the same hour, in
the same lawless manner had his head stricken off in the Tower of
London. But Buckingham lived a while longer; and with an
eloquent oration persuaded the Londoners to elect Richard for their
king. And having received the Earldom of Hereford for re\\Tard,
besides the high hope of marrying his daughter to the King's only
son; after many grievous. vexations of mind, and unfortunate
attempts, being in the end betrayed and delivered up by his trustiest
servant; he had his head severed from his body at Salisbury, without
the trouble of any of his Peers. And ,vhat success had Richard
himself after all these mischiefs and murders, policies, and counter-
policies to Christian religion: and after such time as with a most
merciless hand he had pressed out the breath of his nephews and
natural lords ; other than the prosperity of so short a life, as it took
end, ere himself could well look over and discern it? The great
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 77
outcry of innocent blood, obtained at God's hands the effusion of
his; who became a spectacle of shame and dishonor, both to his
friends and enemies.
This cruel King, Henry the Seventh cut off; and was therein (no
doubt) the immediate instrument of God's justice. A politic Prince
he was if ever there were any, who by the engine of his wisdom, beat
dovln and overturned as many strong oppositions both before and
after he ,vore the Crown, as ever King of England did: I say by his
wisdom, because as he ever left the reins of his affections in the hands
of his profit, so he always weighed his undertakings by his abilities,
leaving nothing more to hazard than so much as cannot be denied it
in all human actions. He had well observed the proceedings of
Louis the Eleventh, whom he followed in all that was royal or
royal-like, but he was far more just, and begun not their processes
whom he hated or feared by the execution, as Louis did.
He could never endure any mediation in rewarding his servants,
and therein exceeding wise; for whatsoever himself gave, he himself
recei ved back the thanks and the love, knowing it well that the affec-
tions of men (purchased by nothing so readily as by benefits) were
trains that better became great kings, than great subj ects. On the
contrary, in whatsoever he grieved his subjects, he wisely put it off
on those, that he found fit ministers for such actions. Howsoever the
taking off of Stanley's head, who set the Crown on his, and the death
of the young Earl of Warwick, son to George, Duke of Clarence,
shows, as the success also did, that he held somewhat of the errors
of his ancestors; for his possession in the first line ended in his
grandchildren, as that of Edward the Third and Henry the Fourth
had done.
Now for King Henry the Eighth; if all the pictures and patterns
of a merciless prince were lost in the world, they might all again b
painted to the life, out of the story of this king. For how many
servants did he advance in haste (but for what virtue no man could
suspect) and with the change of his fancy ruined again; no man
knowing for what offence ? To how many others of more desert
gave he abundant flowers from whence to gather honey, and in the
end of harvest burnt them in the hive? How many wives did he cut
off, and cast off, as his fancy and affection changed? How many
78 SIR W ALTER RALEIGH
princes of the blood (whereof some of them for age could hardly
crawl towards the block) with a world of others of all degrees (of
whom our common chronicles have kept the account) did he exe-
cute? Yea, in his very death-bed, and when he was at the point to
have given his account to God for the abundance of blood already
spilt, he imprisoned the Duke of Norfolk the father; and executed
the Earl of Surrey the son; the one, whose deservings he knew not
how to value, having never omitted anything that concerned his own
honor, and the King's service; the other never having committed
anything worthy of his least displeasure: the one exceeding valiant
and advised; the other no less valiant than learned, and of excellent
hope. But besides the sorrows which he heaped upon the fatherless
and widows at home: and besides the vain enterprises abroad, where-
in it is thought that he consumed more treasure than all our
victorious kings did in their several conquests; what causeless and
cruel wars did he make upon his own nephew King James the First?
What laws and wills did he devise to cut off, and cut down those
branches, which sprang from the same root that himself did? And
in the end (notwithstanding these his so many irreligious provisions)
it pleased God to take away all his own, without increase; though,
for themselves in their several kinds, all princes of eminent virtue.
For these words of Samuel to Agag King of the Amalekites, have
been verified upon many others: "As thy sword hath made other
women childless, so shall thy mother be childless among other
women." And that blood which the same King Henry affirmed,
that the cold air of Scotland had frozen up in the North, God hath
diffused by the sunshine of his grace: from whence his Majesty now
living, and long to live, is descended. Of whom I may say it truly,
"That if all the malice of the world were infused into one eye: yet
could it not discern in his life, even to this day, anyone of these foul
spots, by which the consciences of all the forenamed princes (in
effect) have been defiled; nor any drop of that innocent blood on the
sword of his justice, with which the most that fore-went him have
stained both their hands and fame. And for this Crown of England;
it may truly be avowed: that he hath received it even from the hand
of God, and hath stayed the time of putting it on, howsoever he were
provoked to hasten it: that he never took revenge of any man, that
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 79
sought to put him beside it: that he refused the assistance of Her
enemies, that wore it long, with as great glory as ever princess did:
that his Majesty entered not by a breach, nor by blood; but by the
ordinary gate, which his own right set open; and into which, by a
general love and obedience, he was received. And howsoever his
Majesty's preceding title to this Kingdom was preferred by many
princes (witness the Treaty at Cambray in the year 1559) yet he
never pleased to dispute it, during the life of that renowned lady his
predecessor; no, notwithstanding the injury of not being declared
heir, in all the time of her long reign.
Neither ought we to forget, or neglect our thankfulness to God
for the uniting of the northern parts of Britain to the south, to wit,
of Scotland to England, which though they were severed but by
small brooks and banks, yet by reason of the long continued war,
and the cruelties exercised upon each other, in the affections of the
nations, they were infinitely severed. This I say is not the least of
God's blessings which his Majesty hath brought with him unto this
land: no, put all our petty grievances together, and heap them up to
their height, they will appear but as a molehill compared with the
mountain of this concord. And if all the historians since then have
acknowledged the uniting of the Red Rose, and the White, for the
greatest happiness (Christian Religion excepted), that ever this
kingdom received from God, certainly the peace between the two
lions of gold and gules, and the making them one, doth by many
degrees exceed the former; for by it, besides the sparing of our
British blood, heretofore and during the difference, so often and
abundantly shed, the state of England is more assured, the kingdom
more enabled to recover her ancient honor and rights, and by it
made more invincible, than by all our former alliances, practices,
policies, and conquests. It is true that hereof we do not yet find the
effect. But had the Duke of Parma in the year 1588, joined the arn1Y
which he commanded, with that of Spain, and landed it on the south
coast; and had his Majesty at the same time declared himself against
us in the North: it is easy to divine what had become of the liberty
of England, certainly we would then without murmur have bought
this union at far greater price than it hath since cost us. It is true,
that there \vas never any common weal or kingdom in the world,
80
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
wherein no man had cause to lament. Kings live in the world, and
not above it. They are not infinite to examine every man's cause, or
to relieve every man's wants. And yet in the latter (though to his
own prejudice), his Majesty hath had more comparison of other
men's necessities, than of his own coffers. Of whom it may be said,
as of Solomon,6 "Dedit Deus Solomoni latitudinem cordis": Which if
other men do not understand with Pineda, to be meant by liberality,
but by "latitude of knowledge"; yet may it be better spoken of His
Majesty, than of any king that ever England had; who as well in
divine, as human understanding, hath exceeded all that fore-\vent
him, by many degrees.
I could say much more of the King's majesty, \vithout flattery:
did I not fear the imputation of presumption, and withal suspect, that
it might befall these papers of mine (though the loss were little)
as it did the pictures of Queen Elizabeth, made by unskilful and
common painters, which by her own commandment were knocked
in pieces and cast into the fire. For ill artists, in setting out the beauty
of the external; and weak writers, in describing the virtues of the
internal; do often leave to posterity, of well formed faces a deformed
memory; and of the most perfect and princely minds, a most defec-
tive representation. It may suffice, and there needs no other dis-
course; if the honest reader but compare the cruel and turbulent
passages of our former kings, and of other their neighbor-princes (of
whom for that purpose I have inserted this brief discourse) \vith his
Majesty's temperate, revengeless and liberal disposition: I say, that
if the honest reader weigh them justly, and \vith an even hand;
and withal but bestow every deformed child on his true parent; he
shall find, that there is no man that hath so just cause to complain,
as the King himself hath. Now as we have told the success of the
trumperies and cruelties of our own kings, and other great person-
ages: so we find, that God is everywhere the same God. And as it
pleased him to punish the usurpation, and unnatural cruelty of
Henry the First, and of our third Edward, in their children for
many generations: so dealt He with the sons of Louis Debonnaire,
the son of Charles the Great, or Charlemagne. F or after such time
as Debonnaire of France, had torn out the eyes of Bernard his
6 "God gave to Solomon largeness of heart."-I Kings iv. 29.
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 81
nephew, the son of Pepin the eldest son of Charlemagne, and heir of
the Empire, and then caused him to die in prison, as did our Henry
to Robert his eldest brother: there followed nothing but murders
upon murders, poisoning, imprisonments, and civil war; till the
whole race of that famous Emperor was extinguished. And though
Debonnaire, after he had rid himself of his nephew by a violent
death; and of his bastard brothers by a civil death (having inclosed
them with sure guard, all the days of their lives, within a monastery)
held himself secure from all opposition: yet God raised up against
him (which he suspected not) his own sons, to vex him, to invade
him, to take him prisoner, and to depose him; his own sons, with
whom (to satisfy their ambition) he had shared his estate, and given
them crowns to wear, and kingdoms to govern, during his own life.
Yea his eldest son, Lothair (for he had four, three by his first wife,
and one by his second; to wit, Lothair, Pepin, Louis, and Charles),
made it the cause of his deposition, that he had used violence towards
his brothers and kinsmen; and that he had suffered his nephevl
(whom he might have delivered) to be slain. "Eo quod," saith the
text/ "fratribus, et propinquis violentiam intulerit, et nepotem suum,
quem ipse liberare poterat, interfici permiserit": "Because he used
violence to his brothers and kinsmen, and suffered his nephew to
be slain whom he might have delivered."
Yet did he that which few kings do; namely, repent him of his
cruelty. For, among many other things which he performed in the
General Assembly of the States, it follows: "Post haec autem palam
se errasse confessus, et imitatus Imperatoris Theodosii exemplum,
poenitentiam spontaneam suscepit, tam de his, quam quae in
Bernardum proprium nepotem gesserat": "After this he did openly
confess himself to have erred, and following the example of the
Emperor Theodosius, he underwent voluntary penance, as well
for his other offences, as for that which he had done against Bernard
h . h "
IS own nep ew.
This he did; and it was praise-worthy. But the blood that is
unjustly spilt, is not again gathered up from the ground by repent-
ance. These medicines, ministered to the dead, have but dead
rewards.
7 Step. Pasquiere, Recherches, lib. v. cap. 1.
82 SIR WALTER RALEIGH
This king, as I have said, had four sons. To Lothair his eldest
he gave the Kingdom of Italy; as Charlemagne, his father, had
done to Pepin, the father of Bernard, who was to succeed him in the
Empire. To Pepin the second son he gave the Kingdom of Aqui-
taine: to Louis, the Kingdom of Bavaria: and to Charles, whom he
had by a second wife called Judith, the remainder of the Kingdom
of France. But this second wife, being a mother-in-Iaw 8 to the rest,
persuaded Debonnaire to cast his son Pepin out of Aquitaine, thereby
to greaten Charles, which, after the death of his son Pepin, he prose-
cuted to effect, against his grandchild bearing the same name. In
the meanwhile, being invaded by his son Louis of Bavaria, he dies
for grief.
Debonnaire dead, Louis of Bavaria, and Charles afterwards called
the Bald, and their nephew Pepin, of Aquitaine, join in league
against the Emperor Lothair their eldest brother. They fight near
to Auxerre the most bloody battle that ever was stroken in France:
in which, the n1arvellous loss of nobility, and men of war, gave
courage to the Saracens to invade Italy; to the Huns to fall upon
Almaine; and the Danes to enter upon Normandy. Charles the
Bald by treason seizeth upon his nephew Pepin, kills hÃm in a
cloister: Carlon1an rebels against his father, Charles the Bald; the
father burns out the eyes of his son Carlo man; Bavaria invades the
Emperor Lothair his brother, Lothair quits the Empire, he is
assailed and \vounded to the heart by his own conscience, for his
rebellion against his father, and for his other cruelties, and dies in a
n1onastery. Charles the Bald, the uncle, oppresseth his nephews
the sons of Lothair, he usurpeth the Empire to the prejudice of
Louis of Bavaria his elder brother; Bavaria's armies and his son
Carloman are beaten, he dies of grief, and the usurper Charles is
poisoned by Zedechias a Jew, his physician, his son Louis le Bègue
dies of the same drink. Bègue had Charles the Simple and two
bastards, Louis and Carloman; they rebel against their brother, but
the eldest breaks his neck, the younger is slain by a \vild boar; the
son of Bavaria had the same ill destiny, and brake his neck by a fall
out of a window in sporting with his companions. Charles the
8 Step-mother.
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 83
Gross becomes lord of all that the sons of Debonnaire held in
Germany; wherewith not contented, he invades Charles the Simple:
but being forsaken of his nobility, of his wife, and of his under-
standing, he dies a distracted beggar. Charles the Simple is held in
wardship by Eudes, Mayor of the Palace, then by Robert the brother
of Eudes: and lastly, being taken by the Earl of Vermandois, he is
forced to die in the prison of Peron. Louis the son of Charles the
Simple breaks his neck in chasing a wolf, and of the two sons of this
Louis, the one dies of poison, the other dies in the prison of Orleans;
after whom Hugh Capet, of another race, and a stranger to the
French, makes himself king.
These miserable ends had the issues of Debonnaire, who after he
had once apparelled injustice with authority, his sons and successors
took up the fashion, and wore that garment so long without other
provision, as when the same was torn from their shoulders, every
man despised them as miserable and naked beggars. The wretched
success they had (saith a learned Frenchman) shows, "que en ceste
mort il y avait plus du fait des hommes que de Dieu, ou de la
justice": "that in the death of that Prince, to wit, of Bernard the son
of Pepin, the true heir of Charlemagne, lllen had more meddling
than either God or justice had."
But to come nearer home; it is certain that Francis the First, one
of the worthiest kings (except for that fact) that ever Frenchmen
had, did never enjoy himself, after he had commended the destruc-
tion of the Protestants of Mirandol and Cabrieres, to the Parliament
of Provence, which poor people were thereupon burnt and mur-
dered; men, women, and children. It is true that the said King
Francis repented himself of the fact, and gave charge to Henry his
son, to do justice upon the murderers, threatening his son with God's
judgments, if he neglected it. But this unseasonable care of his,
God was not pleased to accept for payment. For after Henry himself
was slain in sport by Montgomery, we all may remember what
became of his four sons, Francis, Charles, Henry, and Hercules. Of
which although three of them became kings, and were married to
beautiful and virtuous ladies: yet were they, one after another, cast
out of the world, without stock or seed. And notwithstanding their
84 SIR WALTER RALEIGH
subtility, and breach of faith; with all their massacres upon those of
the religion,9 and great effusion of blood, the crown was set on his
head, whom they all labored to dissolve; the Protestants remain
more in number than ever they were, and hold to this day more
strong cities than ever they had.
Let us now see if God be not the same God in Spain, as in England
and F rance. Towards whom we will look no further back than to
Don Pedro of Castile: in respect of which Prince, all the tyrants of
Sicil, our Richard the Third, and the great I van Vasilowich of
Moscow, were but petty ones: this Castilian, of all Christian and .
heathen kings, having been the most merciless. For, besides those
of his own blood and nobility, which he caused to be slain in his
own court and chamber, as Sancho Ruis, the great master of Cala-
trava, Ruis Gonsales, Alphonso Tello, and Don John of Arragon,
whom he cut in pieces and cast into the streets, denying him
Christian burial: I say, besides these, and the slaughter of Gomes
Mauriques, Diego Peres, Alphonso Gomes, and the great commander
of Castile; he made away the two infants of Arragon his cousin
germans, his brother Don Frederick, Don John de la Cerde, Albu-
quergues, Nugnes de Guzman, Cornel, Cabrera, Tenorio, Mendes
de Toledo, Guttiere his great treasurer and all his kindred; and a
world of others. Neither did he spare his two youngest brothers,
innocent princes: whon1 after he had kept in close prison from their
cradles, till one of them had lived sixteen years, and the other
fourteen, he murdered them there. Nay, he spared not his mother,
nor his wife the Lady Blanche of Bourbon. Lastly, as he caused the
Archbishop of Toledo, and the Dean to be killed of purpose to enjoy
their treasures; so did he put to death Mahomet Aben Alhamar,
King of Barbary, with thirty-seven of his nobility, that came unto
him for succor, with a great sum of money, to levy (by his favor)
some companies of soldiers to return withal. Yea, he would needs
assist the hangman with his own hand, in the execution of the old
king; in so much as Pope Urban declareth him an enemy both to
God and n1an. But what was his end? Having been formerly
beaten out of his kingdom, and re-established by the valor of the
English nation, led by the famous Duke of Lancaster: he was
9 1. e., Protestantism.
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 8S
stabbed to death by his younger brother, the Earl of Astramara, who
dispossessed all his children of their inheritance; which, but for the
father's injustice and cruelty, had never been in danger of any such
thing.
If we can parallel any man with this king, it must be Duke John
of Burgogne, who, after his traitorous murder of the Duke of
Orleans, caused the Constable of Armagnac, the Chancellor of
France, the Bishops of Constance, Bayeux, Eureux, Senlis, Saintes,
and other religious and reverend Churchmen, the Earl of Gran
Pre, Hector of Chartres, and (in effect) all the officers of justice, of
the Chamber of Accounts, Treasury, and Request, (with sixteen
hundred others to accompany them) to be suddenly and violently
slain. Hereby, while he hoped to govern, and to have mastered
F rance, he was soon after struck with an axe in the face, in the
presence of the Dauphin; and, without any leisure to repent his
misdeeds, presentl y l0 slain. These were the lovers of other men's
tniseries: and misery found them out.
Now for the kings of Spain, which lived both with Henry the
Seventh, Henry the Eighth, Queen Mary, and Queen Elizabeth;
Ferdinand of Arragon was the first: and the first that laid the
foundation of the present Austrian greatness. For this King did not
content himself to hold Arragon by the usurpation of his ancestor;
and to fasten thereunto the Kingdom of Castile and Leon, which
Isabel his wife held by strong hand, and his assistance, from her own
niece the daughter of the last Henry: but most cruelly and craftily,
wi thout all color or pretence of right, he also cast his own niece out
of the Kingdom of Navarre, and, contrary to faith, and the promise
that he made to restore it, fortified the best places, and so wasted
the rest, as there was no means left for any army to invade it. This
KiiIg, I say, that betrayed also Ferdinand and Frederick, Kings of
Naples, princes of his own blood, and by double alliance tied unto
him; sold them to the French: and with the same army, sent for
their succor under Gonsal va, cast them out; and shared their king-
dom with the French, whom afterwards he most shamefully be-
trayed.
This wise and politic King, who sold Heaven and his own honor,
10Instancly.
86
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
to make his son, the Prince of Spain, the greatest monarch of the
world; saw him die in the flower of his years; and his wife great
with child, \vith her untimely birth, at once and together buried.
His eldest daughter married unto Don Alphonso, Prince of Portugal,
beheld her first husband break his neck in her presence; and being
with child by her second, died with it. A just judgment of God
upon the race of John, father to Alphonso, now wholly extinguished;
who had not only left n1any disconsolate mothers in Portgual, by the
slaughter of their children; but had formerly slain with his own
hand, the son and only comfort of his aunt the Lady Beatrix,
Duchess of Viseo.
The second daughter of Ferdinand, married to the Arch-Duke
Philip, turned fool, and died mad and deprived. l1 His third daugh-
ter, bestowed on King Henry the. Eighth, he saw cast off by the
King: the mother of many troubles in England; and the mother of
a daughter, that in her unhappy zeal shed a world of innocent blood;
lost Calais to the French; and died heartbroken without increase. To
conclude, all those kingdoms of Ferdinand have masters of a new
name; and by a strange family are governed and possessed.
Charles the Fifth, son to the Arch-Duke Philip, in whose vain
enterprises upon the French, upon the Almains, and other princes
and states, so many multitudes of Christian soldiers, and renowned
captains were consumed; who gave the while a most perilous
entrance to the Turks, and suffered Rhodes, the Key of Christendom,
to be taken; was in conclusion chased out of France, and in a sort
out of Germany; and left to the French, Mentz, Toule, and Verdun,
places belonging to the Empire, stole away from Inspurg; and scaled
the Alps by torchlight, pursued by Duke Maurice; having hoped to
s\vallow up all those dominions wherein he concocted nothing save
his own disgraces. And having, after the slaughter of so many
millions of men, no one foot of ground in either: he crept into a
cloister, and made himself a pensioner of an hundred thousand
ducats by the year, to his son Philip, from whom he very slowly
recei ved his mean and ordinary n1aintenance.
His son again King Philip the Second, not satisfied to hold
Holland and Zeeland, (wrested by his ancestors from Jacqueline
II Dispossessed.
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 87
their lawful Princess) and to possess in peace many other provinces
of the Netherlands: persuaded by that mischievous Cardinal of
Granvile, and other Romish tyrants; not only forgot the most
remarkable services done to his father the Emperor by the nobilities
of those countries, not only forgot the present made him upon his
entry, of forty millions of florins, called the "Novaile aide"; nor
only forgot that he had twice most solemnly sworn to the General
States, to maintain and preserve their ancient rights, privileges, and
customs, which they had enjoyed under their thirty and five earls
before him, Conditional Princes of those provinces: but beginning
first to constrain them, and enthrall them by the Spanish Inquisition,
and then to impoverish them by many new devised and intolerable
impositions; he lastly, by strong hand and main force, attempted to
make himself not only an absolute monarch over them, like unto the
kings and sovereigns of England and France; but Turk-like to
tread under his feet all their natural and fundamental laws, privi-
leges, and ancient rights. To effect which, after he had easily obtained
from the Pope a dispensation of his former oaths (which dispensa-
tion was the true cause of the war and bloodshed since then;) and
after he had tried what he could perform, by dividing of their own
nobility, under the government of his base sister Margaret of Austria,
and the Cardinal Granvile; he employed that most merciless Span-
iard Don Ferdinand Alvarez of Toledo, Duke of Alva, followed
with a powerful army of strange nations: by whom he first slaugh-
tered that renowned captain, the Earl of Egmont, Prince of Gavare:
and Philip Montmorency, Earl of Horn: made away Montigue,
and the Marquis of Bergues, and cut off in those six years (that Alva
governed) of gentlemen and others, eighteen thousand and six
hundred, by the hands of the hangman, besides all his other bar-
barous murders and massacres. By whose ministry when he could
not yet bring his affairs to their wished ends, having it in his hope to
work that by subtility, which he had failed to perform by force;
he sent for governor his bastard brother Don John of Austria, a
prince of great hope, and very gracious to those people. But he,
using the same papal advantage that his predecessors had done, made
no scruple to take oath upon the Holy Evangelists, to observe the
treaty made with the General States; and to discharge the Low
88
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
Countries of all Spaniards, and other strangers therein garrisoned:
towards whose pay and passport, the Netherlands strained them-
selves to make payment of six hundred thousand pounds. Which
monies received, he suddenly surprised the citadels of Antwerp and
Nemours: not doubting (being unsuspected by the
tates) to have
possessed himself of all the mastering places of those provinces. For
whatsoever he overtly pretended, he held in secret a contrary counsel
,vith the Secretary Escovedo, Rhodus, Barlemont, and others, min-
isters of the Spanish tyranny, formerly practised, and now again
intended. But let us now see the effect and end of this perj ury and of
all other the Duke's cruelties. First, for himself, after he had
murdered so many of the nobility; executed (as aforesaid) eighteen
thousand and six hundred in six years, and most cruelly slain man,
,voman, and child, in Mechlin, Zutphen, N aerden, and other places:
notwithstanding his Spanish vaunt, that he would suffocate the
Hollanders in their own butter-barrels, and milk-tubs; he departed
the country no otherwise accompanied, than with the curse and
detestation of the whole nation; leaving his master's affairs in a
tenfold worse estate, than he found them at his first arri val. For Don
John, whose haughty conceit of himself overcame the greatest diffi-
culties; though his judgment were over-weak to manage the least:
what wonders did his fearful breach of faith bring forth, other than
the King his brother's jealousy and distrust, with the untimely death
that seized him, even in the ßo\ver of his youth? And for Escovedo
his sharp-witted secretary, who in his own imagination had con-
quered for his master both England and the Netherlands; being sent
into Spain upon some new project, he was at the first arrival, and
before any access to the King, by certain ruffians appointed by
Anthony Peres (though by better warrant than his) rudely murdered
in his own lodging. Lastly, if we consider the King of Spain's
carriage, his counsel and success in this business, there is nothing
left to the memory of man more remarkable. For he hath paid
above an hundred millions, and the lives of above four hundred
thousand Christians, for the loss of all those countries; which, for
beauty, gave place to none; and for revenue, did equal his West
Indies: for the loss of a nation which most willingly obeyed him;
and who at this day, after forty years \var, are in despite of all his
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 89
forces become a free estate, and far more rich and powerful than
they were, when he first began to impoverish and oppress them.
Oh, by \vhat plots, by what forswearings, betrayings, oppressions,
imprisonments, tortures, poisonings, and under what reasons of
state, and politic subtlety, have these forenamed kings, both strangers,
and of our own nation, pulled the vengeance of God upon them-
selves, upon theirs, and upon their prudent ministers! and in the
end have brought those things to pass for their enemies, and seen an
effect so directly contrary to all their own counsels and cruelties; as
the one could never have hoped for themselves; and the other never
have succeeded; if no such opposition had ever been made. God
hath said it and performed it ever: "Perdam sapientiam sapientum";
"I will destroy the \visdom of the wise."
But \vhat of all this? and to \vhat end do we lay before the eyes of
the living, the fall and fortunes of the dead: seeing the world is the
same that it hath been; and the children of the present time, will
still obey their parents? It is in the present time that all the wits of
the world are exercised. To hold the times we have, we hold all
things la\vful: and either \ve hope to hold them forever; or at least
\ve hope that there is nothing after them to be hoped for . For as we
are content to forget our own experience, and to counterfeit the
ignorance of our own knowledge, in all things that concern our-
selves; or persuade ourselves, that God hath given us letters patents
to pursue all our irreligious affections, with a "non obstante" 12 so
\ve neither look behind us what hath been, nor before us \vhat shall
be. It is true, that the quantity which we have, is of the body: we are
by it joined to the earth: we are compounded of earth; and we
inhabit it. The Heavens are high, far off, and unsearchable: we
have sense and feeling of corporal things; and of eternal grace, but
by revelation. No marvel then that our thoughts are also earthly:
and it is less to be wondered at, that the words of worthless men can
not cleanse them: seeing their doctrine and instruction, whose under-
standing the Holy Ghost vouchsafed to inhabit, have not performed
it. F or as the Prophet Isaiah cried out long ago, "Lord, \vho hath
believed our reports?" And out of doubt, as Isaiah complained then
for himself and others: so are they less believed, every day after
12 "Nothing hindering."
9 0 SIR WALTER RALEIGH
other. For although religion, and the truth thereof be in every man's
mouth, yea, in the discourse of every woman, \vho for the greatest
number are but idols of vanity: what is it other than an universal
dissimulation ? We profess that we know God: but by works we
deny him. F or beatitude doth not consist in the knowledge of
divine things, but in a divine life: for the Devils know them better
than men. "Beatitudo non est divinorum cognitio, sed vita divina."
'And certainly there is nothing more to be admired, and more to be
lamented, than the private contention, the passionate dispute, the
personal hatred, and the perpetual war, massacres, and murders for
religion among Christians: the discourse whereof hath so occupied
the world, as it hath well near driven the practice thereof out of the
world. Who would not soon resolve, that took knowledge but of the
religious disputations among men, and not of their lives which
dispute, that there were no other thing in their desires, than the
purchase of Heaven; and that the world itself were but used as it
ought, and as an inn or place, wherein to repose ourselves in passing
on towards our celestial habitation? when on the contrary, besides
the discourse and outward profession, the soul hath nothing but
hypocrisy. We are all (in effect) become comedians in religion: and
while we act in gesture and voice, divine virtues, in all the course of
our lives we renounce our persons, and the parts we play. For
Charity, Justice, and Truth have but their being in terms, like the
philosopher's Materia prima.
Neither is it that wisdom, which Solomon defineth to be the
"Schoolmistress of the knowledge of God," that hath valuation in the
world: it is enough that we give it our good word: but the same
which is altogether exercised in the service of the world as the
gathering of riches chiefly, by which we purchase and obtain honor,
with the many respects which attend it. These indeed be the marks,
which (when we have bent our consciences to the highest) we all
shoot at. For the obtaining whereof it is true, that the care is our
own; the care our own in this life, the peril our own in the future:
and yet when we have gathered the greatest abundance, we ourselves
enjoy no more thereof, than so much as belongs to one man. For
the rest, he that had the greatest wisdom and the greatest ability that
ever man had, hath told us that this is the use: "When goods increase
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 9 1
(saith Solomon) they also increase that eat them; and what good
cometh to the owners, but the beholding thereof with their eyes?
As for those that devour the rest, and follow us in fair weather: they
again forsake us in the first tempest of misfortune, and steer away
before the sea and wind; leaving us to the malice of our destinies.
Of these, among a thousand examples, I will take but one out of
Master Danner, and use his own words: "Whilest the Emperor
Charles the Fifth, after the resignation of his estates, stayed at
Flushing for wind, to carry him his last journey into Spain; he con-
ferred on a time with Seldius, his brother Ferdinand's Ambassador,
till the deep of the night. And when Seldius should depart, the
Emperor calling for some of his servants, and nobody answering
him (for those that attended upon him, were some gone to tbeir
lodgings, and all the rest asleep), the Emperor took up the candle
himself, and went before Seldius to light him down the stairs; and
so did, notwithstanding all the resistance that Seldius could make.
And when he was come to the stair's foot, he said thus unto him:
"Seldius, remember this of Charles the Emperor, when he shall be
dead and gone, that him, ,,,ham thou hast known in thy time en-
vironed with so many mighty armies and guards of soldiers, thou
hast also seen alone, abandoned, and forsaken, yea even of his own
domestical servants, &c. I acknowledge this change of Fortune to
proceed from the mighty hand of God, which I will by no means
go about to withstand."
But you will say, that there are some things else, and of greater
regard than the former. The first is the reverend respect that is held
of great men, and the honor done unto them by all sorts of people.
And it is true indeed: provided, that an inward love for their justice
and piety accompany the outward worship given to their places and
power; without which what is the applause of the multitude, but
as the outcry of an herd of animals, who without the knowledge of
any true cause, please themselves with the noise they make? For I
seeing it is a thing exceeding rare, to distinguish Virtue and Fortune:
the most impious (if prosperous) have ever been applauded; the
most virtuous (if unprosperous ) have ever been despised. For as
Fortune's man rides the horse, so Fortune herself rides the man; \1
,,,ho when he is descended and on foot, the man taken from his \
92 SIR WALTER RALEIGH
beast, and Fortune from the man, a base groom beats the one, and
a bitter contempt spurns at the other, \vith equal liberty.
The second is the greatening of our posterity, and the contempla-
tion of their glory whom we leave behind us. Certainly, of those
which conceive that their souls departed take any comfort therein,
it may be truly said of them, which Lactantius spake of certain
heathen philosophers, "quod sapientes sunt in re stulta." 13 For when
our spirits immortal shall be once separate from our mortal bodies,
and disposed by God; there remaineth in them no other joy of their
posterity \vhich succeed, than there doth of pride in that stone, which
sleepeth in the wall of the king's palace; nor any other sorrow for
their poverty, than there doth of shame in that, which beareth up a
beggar's cottage. "Nesciunt mortui, etiam sancti, quid agunt vivi,
etiam eorum filii, quia animae mortuorum rebus viventium non
intersunt": "The dead, though holy, know nothing of the living, no,
not of their own children: for the souls of those departed, are not
conversant with their affairs that remain.,,14 And if we doubt of St.
Augustine, we can not of Job; who tells us, "That we know not if
our sons shall be honorable: neither shall we understand concerning
them, whether they shall be of low degree." Which Ecclesiastes also
confirmeth: "Man walketh in a shadow, and disquieteth himself in
vain: he heapeth up riches, and can not tell who shall gather them.
The living (saith he) know that they shall die, but the dead know
nothing at all: for who can show unto man what shall be after him
under the sun?" He therefore accounteth it among the rest of
worldly vanities, to labor and travail in the world; not knowing
after death whether a fool or a wise man should enjoy the fruits
thereof: "which made me (saith he) endeavor even to abhor mine
own labor." And what can other men hope, whose blessed or sorrow-
ful estates after death God hath reserved? man's knowledge lying
but in his hope, seeing the Prophet Isaiah confesseth of the elect,
"That Abraham is ignorant of us, and Israel knows us not." But
hereof we are assured, that the long and dark night of death (of
whose following day we shall never behold the dawn till his return
that hath triumphed over it), shall cover us over till the world be
13 "That they are wise in a foolish matter."-Lactantius, Dc falsa sapientia, 3, 29.
14 Augustine, Dc cura pro mortc.
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD
93
no more. After which, and when we shall again recei ve organs
glorified and incorruptible, the seats of angelical affections, in so
great admiration shall the souls of the blessed be exercised, as they
can not admit the mixture of any second or less joy; nor any return
of foregone and mortal affection towards friends, kindred, or chil-
dren. Of whom whether we shall retain any particular kno\vledge,
or in any sort distinguish them, no man can assure us; and the wisest
men doubt. But on the contrary, if a divine life retain any of those
faculties which the soul exercised in a mortal body, we shall not at
that time so divide the joys of Heaven, as to cast any part thereof
on the memory of their felicities which remain in the \vorld. No, be
their estates greater than ever the world gave, we shall (by the
difference known unto us) even detest their consideration. And
whatsoever comfort shall remain of all forepast, the same will consist
in the charity which we exercised living; and in that piety, justice,
and firm faith, for which it pleased the infinite mercy of God to
accept of us, and receive us. Shall we therefore value honor and
riches at nothing? and neglect them, as unnecessary and vain? Cer-
tainly no. For that infinite wisdom of God, which hath distinguished
his angels by degrees; which hath given greater and less light and
beauty to heavenly bodies; which hath made differences between
beasts and birds; created the eagle and the fly, the cedar and the
shrub; and among stones, given the fairest tincture to the ruby, and
the quickest light to the diamond; hath also ordained kings, dukes,
or leaders of the people, magistrates, judges, and other degrees among
men. And as honor is left to posterity, for a mark and ensign of the
virtue and understanding of their ancestors: so (seeing Siracides
preferreth death before beggary: and that titles, without propor-
tionable estates, fall under the miserable succor of other men's pity)
I account it foolishness to condemn such a care: provided, that
worldly goods be well gotten, and that we raise not our own build-
ings out of other men's ruins. For, as Plato doth first prefer the
perfection of bodily health; secondly, the form and beauty; and
thirdly, "Divitias nulla fraude quaesitas":ls so Jeremiah cries, "Woe
unto them that erect their houses by unrighteousness, and their
chambers without equity": and Isaiah the same, "Woe to those that
IS "Wealth acquired without fraud."
94
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
spoil and \vere not spoiled." And it was out of the true wisdom of
Solomon, that he commandeth us, "not to drink the wine of violence;
not to lie in \vait for blood, and not to swallow them up alive, ,vhose
riches \ve covet: for such are the ways (saith he) of everyone that is
greed y of gain."
And if \ve could afford ourselves but so much leisure as to consider,
that he which hath most in the world, hath, in respect of the world,
nothing in it: and that he which hath the longest time lent him to
live in it, hath yet no proportion at all therein, setting it either by that
which is past, when we were not, or by that time which is to come,
in \vhich we shall abide forever: I say, if both, to wit, our proportion
in the world, and our tin'le in the world, differ not much from that
\vhich is nothing; it is not out of any excellency of understanding,
that we so much prize the one, which hath (in effect) no being: and
so much neglect the other, which hath no ending: coveting those
mortal things of the world, as if our souls were therein immortal;
and neglecting those things which are immortal, as if ourselves
after the world were but mortal.
But let every man value his own wisdom, as he pleaseth. Let the
rich man think all fools, that cannot equal his abundance: the
revenger esteem all negligent, that have not trodden down their
opposites; the politician, all gross that cannot merchandise their
faith: yet when we once come in sight of the port of death, to which
all winds drive us, and when by letting fall that fatal anchor, which
can never be weighed again, the navigation of this life takes end;
then it is, I say, that our own cogitations (those sad and severe cogi-
tations, formerly beaten from us by our health and felicity) return
again, and pay us to the uttermost for all the pleasing passages of
our lives past. It is then that we cry out to God for mercy; then when
our selves can no longer exercise cruelty to others; and it is only
then, that we are strucken through the soul with this terrible sen-
tence, "That God will not be mocked." For if according to St.
Peter, "The righteous scarcely be saved: and that God spared not
his angels"; where shall those appear, who, having served their
appetites all their lives, presume to think, that the severe command-
ments of the all-powerful God were given but in sport; and that
the short breath, which we draw when death presseth us, if we can
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD
95
but fashion it to the sound of mercy (\vithout any kind of satisfac-
tion or amends) is sufficient? "0 quam multi," saith a reverend
father, "cum hac spe ad aeternos labores et bella descendunt!" 16 I
confess that it is a great comfort to our friends, to have it said, that
we ended well; for we all desire (as Balaam did) "to die the death
of the righteous." But what shall we call a disesteeming, an oppos.
ing, or (indeed) a mocking of God: if those men do not oppose Him,
disesteem Him, and mock Him, that think it enough for God, to
ask Him forgiveness at leisure, with the remainder and last draw-
ing of a malicious breath? For what do they otherwise, that die
this kind of well-dying, but say unto God as followeth? "We be-
seech Thee, 0 God, that all the falsehoods, forswearings, and treach.
eries of our lives past, may be pleasing unto Thee; that Thou wilt
for our sakes (that have had no leisure to do anything for Thine)
change Thy nature (though impossible, and forget to be a just God;
that Thou wilt love inj uries and oppressions, call ambition wisdom,
and charity foolishness. For I shall prejudice my son (which I am
resolved not to do) if I make restitution; and confess myself to have
been unjust (which I am too proud to do) if I deliver the oppressed."
Certainly, these wise worldlings have either found out a new God,
or made one: and in all likelihood such a leaden one, as Louis the
Eleventh wore in his cap; \vhich when he had caused any that he
feared, or hated, to be killed, he would take it from his head and kiss
it: beseeching it to pardon him this one evil act more, and it should
be the last; which (as at other times) he did, when by the practice
of a cardinal and a falsified sacrament, he caused the Earl of Arma-,
gnac to be stabbed to death: mockeries indeed fit to be used towards
a leaden, but not towards the ever-living God. But of this composi.
tion are all devout lovers of the world, that they fear all that is
dureless l7 and ridiculous: they fear the plots and practises of their
opposites,18 and their very whisperings: they fear the opinions of
men, which beat but upon shadows: they flatter and forsake the
prosperous and unprosperous, be they friends or kings: yea they
dive under water, like ducks, at every pebblestone, that is but thrown
toward them by a po\verful hand: and on the contrary, they sho\v
16 "0 how many go down with this hope to endless labors and wars."
17 Transient. 18 Opponents.
9 6
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
an obstinate and giant-like valor, against the terrible judgments of
the all-powerful God: yea they show themselves gods against God,
and slaves towards men; towards men whose bodies and consciences
are alike rotten.
Now for the rest: If we truly examine the difference of both con-
ditions; to wit, of the rich and mighty, whom we call fortunate; and
of the poor and oppressed, whom we account wretched: ,ve shall
find the happiness of the one, and the miserable estate of the other,
so tied by God to the very instant, and both so subject to interchange
(witness the sudden downfall of the greatest princes, and the speedy
uprising of the meanest persons) as the one hath nothing so certain,
\vhereof to boast; nor the other so uncertain, whereof to bewail itself.
F or there is no man so assured of his honor, of his riches, health, or
life; but that he may be deprived of either, or all, the very next hour
or day to come. "Quid vesper vehat, incertum est," "\Vhat the
evening will bring with it, it is uncertain." "And yet ye cannot tell
(saith St. James) what shall be tomorrow . Today he is set up, and
tomorro\v he shall not be found; for he is turned into dust, and his
purpose perisheth." And although the air which compasseth adver-
sity be very obscure; yet therein we better discern God, than in that
shining light which environeth worldly glory; through which, for
the clearness thereof, there is no vanity which escapeth our sight.
And let adversity seem what it will; to happy men ridiculous, who
make themselves merry at other men's misfortunes; and to those un-
der the cross, grievous: yet this is true, that for all that is past, to the
very instant, the portions remaining are equal to either. For be it that
we have lived many years, "and (according to Solomon) in them all
\ve have rejoiced;" or be it that \ve have measured the same length
of days and therein have evermore sorrowed: yet looking back from
our present being, we find both the one and the other, to wit, the
joy and the woe, sailed out of sight; and death, which doth pursue
us and hold us in chase, from our infancy, hath gathered it. "Quic-
quid aetatis retro est, mors tenet:" "Whatsoever of our age is past,
death holds it." So as whosoever he be, to whom Fortune hath been
a servant, and the Time a friend; let him but take the account of his
memory (for we have no other keeper of our pleasures past), and
truly examine what it hath reserved either beauty and youth, or
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 97
foregone delights; what it hath saved, that it might last, of his
dearest affections, or of whatever else the amorous springtime gave
his thoughts of contentment, then unvaluable; and he shall find that
all the art which his elder years have, can draw no other vapor out
of these dissolutions, than heavy, secret, and sad sighs. He shall find
nothing remaining, but those sorrows, which grow up after our fast-
springing youth; overtake it, when it is at a stand; and overtopped it
utterly, when it begins to wither: in so much as looking back from
the very instant time, and from our no\v being, the poor, diseased,
and captive creature, hath as little sense of all his former miseries
and pains, as he, that is most blessed in common opinions, hath of
his fore-passed pleasure and delights. For whatsoever is cast behind
us, is just nothing: and what is to come, deceitful hope hath it:
"Omnia quae eventura sunt, in incerto jacent."19 Only those few
black swans, I must except: who having had the grace to value
worldly vanities at no more than their own price; do, by retaining
the comfortable memory of a well acted life, behold death without
dread, and the grave without fear; and embrace both, as necessary
guides to endless glory.
For myself, this is my consolation, and all that I can offer to others,
that the sorrows of this life are but of two sorts: whereof the one
hath respect to God, the other, to the world. In the first we com-
plain to God against ourselves, for our offences against Him; and
confess, "Et Tu justus es in omnibus quae venerunt super nos."
"And Thou, 0 Lord, are just in all that hath befallen us." In the
second we complain to ourselves against God: as if he had done us
\vrong, either in not giving us worldly goods and honors, answering
our appetites: or for taking them again from us having had them;
forgetting that humble and just acknowledgment of Job, "the Lord
hath given, and the Lord hath taken." To the first of which St.
Paul hath promised blessedness; to the second, death. And out of
doubt he is either a fool, or ungrateful to God. or both, that doth not
acknowledge, how mean soever his estate be, that the same is yet
far greater than that which God oweth him: or doth not acknowl-
edge, how sharp soever his affiictions be, that the same are yet far
less, than those \vhich are due unto him. And if an heathen wise
19 "Everything which is to come lies in uncertainty."
9 8
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
man call the adversities of the world but "tributa vivendi," "the
tributes of living;" a wise Christian man ought to know them, and
bear them, but as the tributes of offending. He ought to bear them
manlike, and resolvedly; and not as those whining soldiers do, "qui
gementes sequuntur imperatorem.,,2o
F or seeing God, who is the author of all our tragedies, hath written
out for us and appointed us all the parts we are to play: and hath
not, in their distribution, been partial to the most mighty princes of
the world: that gave unto Darius the part of the greatest emperor,
and the part of the most miserable beggar, a beggar begging water
of an enemy, to quench the great drought of death: that appointed
Bajazet to play the Grand Signior of the Turks in the morning, and
in the same day the footstool of T amerlane (both which parts
Valerian had also played, being taken by Sapores) : that made Beli-
sarius play the most victorious captain, and lastly the part of a blind
beggar: of which examples many thousands may be produced: why
should other men, who are but as the least worms, complain of
wrong? Certainly there is no other account to be made of this ridic-
ulous world, than to resolve, that the change of fortune on the great
theatre, is but as the change of garments on the less. For when on
the one and the other, every man wears but his own skin, the players
are all alike. Now, if any man out of weakness prize the passages
of this world otherwise (for saith Petrarch, "Magni ingenii est
revocare mentem a sensibus"21) it is by reason of that unhappy
phantasy of ours, which forgeth in the brains of man all the miseries
(the corporal excepted) whereunto he is subject. Therein it is, that
misfortunes and adversity work all that they work. For seeing
Death, in the end of the play, takes from all whatsoever Fortune or
Force takes from anyone; it were a foolish madness in the ship-
wreck of worldly things, where all sinks but the sorrow, to save it.
That were, as Seneca saith, "Fortunae succumbere, quod tristius est
omni fato:" "To fall under Fortune, of all other the most miserable
destiny."
But it is now time to sound a retreat; and to desire to be excused
of this long pursuit: and withal, that the good intent, which hath
2Ó "Who follow their commander with groans."
21 "It takes great genius to call back the mind from the senses."
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 99
moved me to draw the picture of time past (which we call History)
in so large a table, may aiso be accepted in place of a better reason.
The examples of divine providence, everywhere found (the first
divine histories being nothing else but a continuation of such exam..
pIes) have persuaded me to fetch my beginning from the beginning
of all things: to wit, Creation. For though these two glorious
actions of the Almighty be so near, and (as it were) linked together,
that the one necessarily implieth the other: Creation inferring Provi..
dence (for what father forsaketh the child that he hath begotten?)
and Providence pre-supposing Creation: yet many of those that have
seemed to excel in worldly wisdom, have gone about to disjoin this
coherence; the epicure denying both Creation and Providence, but
granting the world had a beginning; the Aristotelian granting
Providence, but denying both the creation and the beginning.
Now although this doctrine of faith, touching the creation in time
(for by faith we understand, that the world was made by the word
of God), be too weighty a work for Aristotle's rotten ground to bear
up, upon which he hath (notwithstanding) founded the defences
and fortresses of all his verbal doctrine: yet that the necessity of
infinite power, and the world's beginning, and the impossibility of
the contrary even in the judgment of natural reason, wherein he
believed, had not better informed him; it is greatly to be marvelled
at. And it is no less strange, that those men which are desirous of
knowledge (seeing Aristotle hath failed in this main point; and
taught little other than terms in the rest) have so retrenched their
minds from the following and overtaking of truth, and so absolutely
subjected themselves to the law of those philosophical principles; as
all contrary kind of teaching, in the search of causes, they have con-
demned either for phantastical, or curious. Both doth it follow,
that the positions of heathen philosophers are undoubted grounds
and principles indeed, because so called? Or that ipsi dixerunt, doth
make them to be such? Certainly no. But this is true, that where
natural reason hath built anything so strong against itself, as the
same reason can hardly assail it, much less batter it down: the same
in every question of nature, and infinite power, may be approved
for a fundamental law of human knowledge. For saith Charron in
his book of wisdom, "Toute proposition humaine a aut ant d'authorite
100
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
quel'autre, si la raison n'on fait la difference;" "Every human propo-
sition hath equal authority, if reason make not the difference," the
rest being but the fables of principles. But hereof how shall the
upright and impartial judgment of man give a sentence, where
opposition and examination are not admitted to give in evidence?
And to this purpose it was well said of Lactantius, "Sapientiam sibi
adimunt, qui sine ullo judicio inventa maiorum probant, et ab aliis
pecudum more ducuntur:" "They neglect their own \visdom, who
without any judgment approve the invention of those that fore\vent
them; and suffer themselves after the manner of beasts, to be led
by them;" by the advantage of which sloth and dullness, ignorance
is now become so powerful a tyrant, as it hath set true philosophy,
physics, and divinity in a pillory; and written over the first, "Contra
negantem principia;"22 over the second, "Virtus specifica;,,23 over
the third, "Ecclesia Romana." 24
But for myself, I shall never be persuaded, that God hath shut
up all light of learning within the lanthorn of Aristotle's brains: or
that it was ever said unto him, as unto Esdras, U Accendam in corde
tuo Lucernam intellectus":25 that God hath given invention but to
the heathen, and that they only invaded nature, and found the
strength and bottom thereof; the same nature having consumed all
her store, and left nothing of price to after-ages. That these and these
be the causes of these and these effects, time hath taught us; and not
reason: and so hath experience without art. The cheese-wife kno\v-
eth it as well as the philosopher, that sour rennet doth coagulate her
milk into a curd. But if we ask a reason of this cause, why the
sourness doth it? whereby it doth it? and the manner how? I think
that there is nothing to be found in vulgar philosophy, to satisfy.this
and many other like vulgar questions. But man to cover his igno-
rance in the least things, who can not give a true reason for the grass
under his feet, why it should be green rather than red, or of any
other color; that could never yet discover the way and reason of
nature's working, in those which are far less noble creatures than
himself; \vho is far more noble than the heavens themselves: "Man
(saith Solomon) that can hardly discern the things that are upon
22 "Against him who denies the principles."
23 "Specific virtue, or power." 24 "The Roman Church."
25 "I shaH light a lamp of understanding in thine heart. "-I V. Esdras xiv. 25.
TO THE HISTORY OF THE \VORLD 101
the earth, and with great labor find out the things that are before
us"; that hath so short a time in the world, as he no sooner begins
to learn, than to die; that hath in his memory but borrowed knowl-
edge; in his understanding, nothing truly; that is ignorant of the
essence of his own soul, and which the wisest of the naturalists (if
Aristotle be he) could never so much as define, but by the action
and effect, telling us what it works (which all men knew as well
as he) but not what it is, which neither he, nor any else, doth know,[
but God that created it; ("For though I were perfect, yet I know not
my soul," saith Job). Man, I say, that is but an idiot in the next
cause of his own life, and in the cause of all actions of his life, will
(notwithstanding) examine the art of God in creating the world;
of God, who (saith Job) "is so excellent as we kno\v him not"; and
examine the beginning of the work, which had end before mankind
had a beginning of being. He will disable God's power to make a
world, without matter to make it of. He will rather give the motes
of the air for a cause; cast the work on necessity or chance; bestow
the honor thereof on nature; make two powers, the one to be the
author of the matter, the other of the form; and lastly, for want of
a workman, have it eternal: which latter opinion Aristotle, to make
himself the author of a new doctrine, brought into the world: and
his Sectators 26 have maintained it; "parati ac conjurati, quos sequun-
tur, philosophorum animis invictis opiniones tueri."27 For Hermes,
,vho lived at once with, or soon after Moses, Zoroaster, Musaeus,
Orpheus, Linus, Anaximenes, Anaxagoras, Empedocles, Melissus,
Pherecydes, Thales, Cleanthes, Pythagoras, Plato, and many other
(whose opinions are exq uisitel y gathered by Steuchi us Eugubin us )
found in the necessity of invincible reason, "One eternal and infinite
Being," to be the parent of the universal. "Horum omnium sententia
quam vis sit incerta, eodem tamen spectat, ut Providentiam unam
esse consentiant: sive enim natura, sive aether, sive ratio, sive mens,
sive fatalis necessitas, sive divina lex; idem est quod a nobis dicitur
Deus": "All these men's opinions (saith Lactantius) though uncer-
tain, come to this; That they agree upon one Providence; whether
the same be nature, or light, or reason, or understanding, or destiny,
26 Followers.
27 "Prepared and sworn to protect with unconquered minds the opinions of the
philosophers whom they follow."
102
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
or divine ordinance, that it is the same which we call God." Cer-
tainly, as all the rivers in the world, though they have divers risings,
and divers runnings; though they sometimes hide themselves for a
while under ground, and seem to be lost in sea-like lakes; do at last
find, and fall into the great ocean: so after all the searches that
human capacity hath, and after all philosophical contemplation and
curiosity; in the necessity of this infinite power, all the reason of
man ends and dissolves itself.
As for the others; the first touching those which conceive the
matter of the world to have been eternal, and that God did not create
the world "Exnihilo,"28 but "ex materia praeexistente" :29 the supposi-
tion is so weak, as is hardly worth the answering. For (saith Euse-
) bius) "Mihi videntur qui hoc dicunt, fortunam quoque Deo annec-
I tere," "They seem unto me, which affirm this, to give part of the
I work to God, and part to Fortune": insomuch as if God had not
found this first matter by chance, He had neither been author nor
father, nor creator, nor lord of the uni versal. For were the matter
or chaos eternal, it then follows, that either this supposed matter
did fit itself to God, or God accommodate Himself to the matter.
For the first, it is impossible, that things without sense could
proportion themselves to the workman's will. For the second: it
were horrible to conceive of God, that as an artificer He applied
himself, according to the proportion of matter which He lighted
upon.
But let it be supposed, that this matter hath been made by any
power, not omnipotent, and infinitely wise; I would gladly learn
how it came to pass, that the same was proportionable to his inten-
tion, that was omnipotent and infinitely wise; and no more, nor no
less, than served to receive the form of the universal. For, had it
wanted anything of what was sufficient; then must it be granted,
that God created out of nothing so much new matter, as served to
finish the work of the world: or had there been more of this matter
than sufficed, then God did dissolve and annihilate whatsoever re-
mained and was superfluous. And this must every reasonable soul
confess, that it is the same work of God alone, to create anything
out of nothing, and by the same art and power, and by none other,
28 "Out of nothing." 29 "Out of pre-existing matter:'
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 10 3
can those things, or any part of that eternal matter, be again changed
into nothing; by which those things, that once were nothing,
obtained a beginning of being.
Again, to say that this matter was the cause of itself; this, of all
other, were the greatest idiotism. For, if it were the cause of itself
at any time; then there was also a time when itself was not: at which
time of not being, it is easy enough to conceive, that it could neither
procure itself, nor anything else. F or to be, and not to be, at once,
is impossible. "Nihil autem seipsum praecedit, neque; seipsum COl'n-
ponit corpus": "There is nothing that doth precede itself, neither do
bodies compound themselves."
For the rest, those that feign this matter to be eternal, must of
necessity confess, that infinite cannot be separate from eternity. And
then had infinite matter left no place for infinite form, but that the
first matter was finite, the form which it received proves it. For
conclusion of this part, whosoever will make choice, rather to believe
in eternal deformity, or in eternal dead matter, than in eternal light
and eternal life : let eternal death be his reward. For it is a madness
of that kind, as wanteth terms to express it. For what reason of man
(whom the curse of presumption hath not stupefied) hath doubted,
that infinite power (of which we can comprehend but a kind of
shadow, "quia comprehensio est intra terminos, qui infinito repug-
nant" 30) hath anything wanting in itself, either for matter of form;
yea for as many worlds (if such had been God's will) as the sea hath
sands? For where the power is without limitation, the work hath no
other limitation, than the workman's will. Yea reason itself finds it
more easy for infinite power to deliver from itself a finite world,
without the help of matter prepared; than for a finite man, a fool and
dust, to change the form of matter made to his hands. They are
Dionysius his words, "Deus in una existentia omnia praehabet" :31
and again, "Esse omnium est ipsa divinitas, omne quod vides, et
quod non vides" :32 to wit, "causaliter,33 or in better terms, "non
tanquam forma, sed tanquam causa universalis."34 Neither hath the
world uni versal closed up all of God : "For the most part of hi5
30 "Because comprehension is between limits, which are opposed to infinity."
31 "God exhibits all things in one existence."
32 "The essence of all things, visible and invisible, is divinity itself."
33 "Causally." 34 "Not as form, but as universal cause."
104 SIR W ALTER RALEIGH
works (saith Siracides) are hid." Neither can the depth of his
wisdom be opened, by the glorious work of the world: which never
brought to knowledge all it can; for then were his infinite power
bounded and made finite. And hereof it comes; That we seldom
entitle God the all-showing, or the all-willing; but the Almighty,
that is, infinitely able.
I But now for those, who from that ground, "that out of nothing,
nothing is made," infer the world's eternity; and yet not so savage
,therein, as those are, which give an eternal being to dead matter:
it is true if the word (nothing) be taken in the affirmative; and the
making, imposed upon natural agents and finite power; that out of
nothing, nothing is made. But seeing their great doctor Aristotle
himself confesseth, "quod omnes antiqui decreverunt quasi quodal'n
rerum principium, ipsumque infinitum:" "That all the ancient de-
cree a kind of beginning, and the same to be infinite"; and a little
after, more largely and plainly, "Principium eius est nullum, sed
ipsum omnium cernitur esse principium, ac omnia complecti ac
regere" :35 it is strange that this philosopher, with his followers,
should rather make choice out of falsehood, to conclude falsely; than
out of truth, to resolve truly. For if we compare the world universal,
and all the unmeasureable orbs of Heaven, and those marvellous
bodies of the sun, moon, and stars, with "ipsul'n infinitum": it
may truly be said of thel'n all, which himself affirms of his imaginary
"Materia prima,"36 that they are neither "quid, quale," nor "quan-
tum"; and therefore to bring finite (which hath no proportion with
infinite) out of infinite ("qui destrui't Ol'nnem proportionem" 37) is
no wonder in God's power. And therefore Anaximander, Melissus,
and Empedocles, call the world universal, but "particulal'n univer-
sitatis" and "infinitatis," a parcel of that which is the universality
and the infinity itself; and Plato, but a shadow of God. But the
other to prove the world's eternity, urgeth this maxim, "that, a suffi-
cient and effectual cause being granted, an answerable effect thereof
is also granted": inferring that God being forever a sufficient and
effectual cause of the world, the effect of the cause should also have
been forever; to wit, the \vorld universal. But what a strange mock-
35 "It [i. e.. the infinite] has no beginning, but itself is perceived to be the beginning
of all things, and to embrace and govern all things."
36 "Primal matter." 37 "Which destroys all proportion."
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD IDS
ery is this in so great a master, to confess a sufficient and effectual I
cause of the world, (to ,vit, an almighty God) in his antecedent; and
the same God to be a God restrained in his cond usion; to make God {
free in power, and bound in will; able to effect, unable to determine;
able to make all things, and yet unable to make choice of the time
when? For this \vere impiously to resolve of God, as of natural
necessity; which hath neither choice, nor will, nor understanding;
which cannot but work matter being present: as fire, to burn things
combustible. Again he thus disputeth, that every agent which can
work, and cloth not work, if it aftenvard work, it is either thereto
moved by itself, or by somewhat else: and so it passeth from power
to act. But God (saith he) is immovable, and is neither moved by
himself, nor by any other: but being always the same, doth always
work. Whence he concludeth, if the world were caused by God, that
he was forever the cause thereof: and therefore eternal. The answer
to this is very easy, for that God's performing in due time that which
he ever determined at length to perform, doth not argue any altera-
tion or change, but rather constancy in him. F or the sarne action of
his will, which made the world forever, did also withhold the effect
to the time ordained. To this answer, in itself sufficient, others add
further, that the pattern or image of the world may be said to be
eternal: which the Platonics call "spiritualem mundum" ;38 and do in
this sort distinguish the idea and creation in time. "Spiritualis ille
mundus, mundi huius exemplar, primumque Dei opus, vita aequali
est architecto, fuit semper CUlTI ilIo, eritque semper. Mundus autem
corporalis, quod secundum opus est Dei, decedit iam ab opifice ex
parte una, quia non fuit semper: retinet alteram, quia sit semper
futurus": "That representative, or the intentional world (say they)
the sampler of this visible world, the first work of God, was equally
ancient with the architect; for it was forever with him, and ever
shall be. This material world, the second work or creature of God,
doth differ from the worker in this, that it was not from everlasting,
and in this it doth agree, that it shall be forever to come." The first
point, that it was not forever, all Christians confess: the other they
understand no otherwise, than that after the consummation of this
world, there shall be a new Heaven and a new earth, without any
38 "The spiritual world."
106
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
new creation of matter. But of these things we need not here stand
to argue: though such opinions be not unworthy the propounding, in
this consideration, of an eternal and unchangeable cause, producing
a changeable and temporal effect. Touching which point Proclus the
Platonist disputeth, that the compounded essence of the world (and
because compounded, therefore dissipable) is continued, and knit
to the Divine Being, by an individual and inseparable power, flow-
ing from Divine unity; and that the world's natural appetite of
God showeth, that the same proceedeth from a good and under-
standing divine; and that this virtue, by which the world is continued
and knit together, must be infinite, that it may infinitely and ever-
lastingly continue and preserve the same. Which infinite virtue, the
finite world (saith he) is not capable of, but receiveth it from the
divine infinite, according to the temporal nature it hath, successively
every moment by little and little; even as the whole material world
is not altogether: but the abolished parts are departed by small
degrees, and the parts yet to come, do by the same small degrees
succeed; as the shadovv of a tree in a river seemeth to have continued
the same a long time in the water, but it is perpetually renewed, in
the continual ebbing and flowing thereof.
But to return to them, which denying that ever the world had
any beginning, withal deny that ever it shall have any end, and to
this purpose affirm, that it was never heard, never read, never seen,
no not by any reason perceived, that the heavens have ever suffered
corruption; or that they appear any way the older by continuance;
or in any sort other,vise than they were; which had they been subject
to final corruption, some change would have been discerned in so
long a time. To this it is answered, that the little change as yet per-
ceived, doth rather prove their newness, and that they have not
continued so long; than that they will continue forever as they are.
And if conjectural arguments may receive answer by conjectures; it
then seemeth that some alteration may be found. For either Aris-
totle, Pliny, Strabo, Beda, Aquinas, and others, were grossly mis-
taken; or else those parts of the world lying within the burnt zone,
were not in elder times habitable, by reason of the sun's heat, neither
were the seas, under the equinoctial, navigable. But we know by
experience, that those regions, so situate, are filled with people, and
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 107
exceeding temperate; and the sea, over which we navigate, passable
enough. We read also many histories of deluges: and how in the
time of Phaeton, divers places in the world \vere burnt up, by the
sun's violent heat.
But in a word, this observation is exceeding feeble. For we know
it for certain, that stone walls, of matter mouldering and friable,
have stood two, or three thousand years; that many things have been
digged up out of the earth, of that depth, as supposed to have been
buried by the general flood; without any alteration either of sub-
stance or figure: yea it is believed, and it is very probable, that the
gold which is daily found in mines, and rocks, under ground, was
created together with the earth.
And if bodies elel'nentary, and compounded, the eldest times have
not invaded and corrupted: what great alteration should \ve look for
in celestial and quint-essential bodies? And yet \ve have reason to
think, that the sun, by whose help all creatures are generate, doth
not in these latter ages assist nature, as heretofore. We have neither
giants, such as the eldest world had; nor mighty men, such as the
elder world had; but all things in general are reputed of less virtue
which from the heavens receive virtue. Whence, if the nature of a
preface would permit a larger discourse, we might easily fetch store
of proof; as that this world shall at length have end, as that once it
had beginning.
And I see no good answer that can be made to this objection: if
the world were eternal, why not all things in the world eternal? If
there \vere no first, no cause, no father, no creator, no incomprehen-
sible wisdom, but that every nature had been alike eternal; and man
more rational than every other nature: why had not the eternal rea-
son of man provided for his eternal being in the world? For if all
were equal why not equal conditions to all? Why should heavenly
bodies live forever; and the bodies of men rot and die?
Again, who was it th
t appointed the earth to keep the center, and
gave order that it should hang in the air: that the sun should travel
between the tropics, and never exceed those bounds, nor fail to per-
form that progress once in every year: the moon to live by borrowed
light: the fixed stars (according to common opinion) to be fastened
like nails in a cartwheel; and the planets to wander at their pleasure?
108 SIR WALTER RALEIGH
Or if none of these had power over other: was it out of charity and
love, that the sun by his perpetual travel within these two circles,
hath visited, given light unto, and relieved all parts of the earth, and
the creatures therein, by turns and times? Out of doubt, if the sun
have of his own accord kept this course in all eternity, he may justly
be called eternal charity and everlasting love. The same may be
said of all the stars; who being all of them most large and clear
fountains of virtue and operation, may also, be called eternal virtues:
the earth may be called eternal patience; the moon, an eternal bor-
rower and beggar; and man of all other the most miserable, eternally
mortal. And what were this, but to believe again in the old play
of the gods ? Yea in more gods by millions, than ever Hesiodus
dreamed of. But instead of this mad folly, we see it well enough with
our feeble and mortal eyes; and the eyes of our reason discern it
better; that the sun, moon, stars, and the earth, are limited, bounded,
and constrained: themselves they have not constrained nor could.
"Omne determinatum causam habet aliquam efficientem, quae illud
determinaverit:" "Everything bounded hath some efficient cause, by
which it is bounded."
Now for Nature; as by the ambiguity of this name, the school of
Aristotle hath both commended many errors unto us, and sought
also thereby to obscure the glory of the high moderator of all things,
shining in the creation, and in the governing of the world: so if the
best definition be taken out of the second of Aristotle's "Physics," or
"primo de Coelo," or out of the fifth of his "Metaphysics"; I say that
the best is but nominal, and serving only to difference the beginning
of natural motion from artificial: which yet the Academics open
better, when they call it "a seminary strength, infused into matter by
the soul of the world": who give the first place to Providence, the
second to Fate, and but the third to Nature. "Providentia" (by
which they understand God) "dux et caput; Fatum, medium ex
providentia prodiens; Natura postremum." 39 But be it what he will,
or be it any of these (God excepted) or participating of all: yet that
it hath choice or understanding (both which are necessarily in the
cause of all things) no man hath avowed. For this is unanswerable
39 "Providence, leader and head; Fate, in the middle and proceeding from Provi-
dence; Nature, last."
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 109
of uctantius, "Is auten1 facit aliquid, qui aut voluntatem faciendi
habet, aut scientiam:" "He only can be said to be the doer of a
thing, that hath either \vill or knowledge in the doing it."
But ,the \vill and science of Nature, are in these words truly ex-
pressed by Ficinus: "Potest ubique Natura, vel per diversa media,
vel ex diversis materiis, diversa facere: sublata vero mediorum
materiatumque diversitate, vel unicum, vel similimum operatur,
neque potest quando adest materia non operari"; "It is the power
of Nature by the diversity of means, or out of diversity of matter, to
produce divers things: but taking away the diversity of means, and
the diversity of matter, it then works but one or the like work;
neither can it but work, matter being present." Now if Nature made
choice of diversity of matter, to 'work all these variable works of
heaven and earth, it had then both understanding and will; it had
counsel to begin; reason to dispose; virtue and knowledge to finish,
and power to govern: without which all things had been but one
and the same: all of the matter of heaven; or all of the matter of
earth. And if we grant Nature this will, and this understanding,
this course, reason, and po\ver: "Cur Natura potius quam Deus
nominetur?" "Why should we then call such a cause rather Nature,
than God?" "God, of whom all men have notion, and give the first
and highest place to divine power": "Omnes homines notionem
deorum habent, omnesque suml'num locum divino cuidam numini
assignant." And this I say in short; that it is a true effect of true
reason in man (were there no authority more binding than reason)
to acknowledge and adore the first and most sublime power . "Vera
philosophia, est ascensus ab his quae fluunt, et oriuntur, et occidunt,
ad ea quae vera sunt, et semper eadem": "True philosophy, is an
ascending from the things which flow, and arise, and fall, to the
things that are forever the same."
For the rest; I do also account it not the meanest, but an impiety
monstrous, to confound God and Nature; be it but in terms. For
it is God, that only disposeth of all things according to His own will
and maketh of one earth, vessels of honor and dishonor. It is Nature
that can dispose of nothing, but according to the will of the matter
wherein it worketh. It is God that commandeth all: it is Nature
that is obedient to all: it is God that doth good unto all, knowing
110
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
and loving the good He doth: it is Nature, that secondarily doth also
good, but it neither knoweth nor loveth the good it doth. It is God,
that hath all things in Himself: Nature, nothing in itself. It is God,
which is the Father, and hath begotten all things: it is Nature, which
is begotten by all things, in which it liveth and laboreth; for by itself
it existeth not. For shall we say, that it is out of affection to the
earth, that heavy things fall towards it? Shall we call it reason,
which doth conduct every river into the salt sea? Shall we term it
knowledge in fire, that makes it to consume combustible matter?
If it be affection, reason, and knowledge in these; by the same affec-
tion, reason, and knowledge it is, that Nature worketh. And therefore
seeing all things work as they do, (call it by Form, or Nature, or by
what you please) yet because they work by an impulsion, which they
cannot resist, or by a faculty, infused by the supremest power; we
are neither to wonder at, nor to worship, the faculty that worketh,
nor the creature wherein it worketh. But herein lies the wonder:
and to him is the worship due, who hath created such a nature in
things, and such a faculty, as neither knowing itself, the matter
wherein it worketh, nor the virtue and power which it hath; do yet
work all things to their last and uttermost perfection. And therefore
every reasonable man, taking to himself for a ground that which is
granted by all antiquity, and by all men truly learned that ever the
world had; to wit; that there is a power infinite, and eternal (which
also necessity doth prove unto us, without the help of faith, and
reason; without the force of authority) all things do as easily follow
which have been delivered by divine letters, as the waters of a
running river do successfully pursue each other from the first
fountains.
This much I say it is, that reason itself hath taught us: and this is
the beginning of knowledge. "Sapientia praecedit, Religio sequitur:
quia prius est Deum scire, consequens colere"; "Sapience goes be-
fore, Religion follows: because it is first to know God, and then to
worship Him." This sapience Plato calleth "absoluti boni scientiam,"
"the science of the absolute good": and another "scientiam rerum
primarum, sempiternarum, perpetuarul'n." 40 For "faith (saith Isi-
dore) is not extorted by violence; but by reason and examples per-
40 "The science of things first, eternal, perpetual."
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD
III
suaded": "fides nequaquam vi extorquetur, sed ratione et exemplis
suadetur." I confess it, that to inquire further, as to the essence of
God, of His power, of His art, and by what means He created the
world: or of His secret judgment, and the causes, is not an effect of
reason. "Sed cum ratione insaniunt," but "they grow mad with
reason," that inquire after it. For as it is no shame, nor dishonor
(saith a French author) "de faire arrest au but qu'on nasceu sur
passer," "for a man to rest himself there where he finds it impossible
to pass on further": so whatsoever is beyond, and out of the reach
of true reason, it acknowledgeth it to be so; as understanding itself
not to be infinite, but according to the name and nature it hath, to
be a teacher, that best knows the end of his own art. For seeing both
reason and necessity teach us (reason, which is "pars divini spiritus
in corpus humanum mersi,,41) that the world was made by a power
infinite; and yet how it was made, it cannot teach us: and seeing the
same reason and necessity make us know, that the same infinite
po\ver is everywhere in the world; and yet how everywhere, it can
not inform us: our belief hereof is not \veakened, but greatly
strengthened, by our ignorance, because it is the same reason that
tells us, that such a nature cannot be said to be God, that can be in
all conceived by man.
I have already been over-long, to make any large discourse either
of the parts of the following story, or in mine own excuse: especially
in the excuse of this or that passage; seeing the whole is exceeding
weak and defective. Among the grossest, the unsuitable division of
the books, I could not know how to excuse, had I not been directed
to enlarge the building after the foundation was laid, and the first
part finished. All men know that there is no great art in the dividing
evenly of these things, which are subject to number and measure.
For the rest, it suits well enough with a great many books of this
age, which speak too much, and yet say little; "Ipsi nobis furto
subducimur"; "Weare stolen away from ourselves," setting a high
price on all that is our own. But hereof, though a late good writer
make complaint, yet shall it not lay hold on me, because I believe as
he doth; that who so thinks himself the wisest man, is but a poor and
miserable ignorant. Those that are the best men of war against all
41 "Part of the divine spirit immersed in the human body."
112
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
the vanities and fooleries of the world, do ahvays keep the strongest
guards against themselves, to defend them from themselves; from
self-love, self-estimation, and self-opinion.
Generally concerning the order of the work, I have only taken
counsel from the argument. F or of the Assyrians, \vhich after the
downfall of Babel take up the first part, and \vere the first great
kings of the \vorld, there came little to the vie\v of posterity: some
few enterprises, greater in fame than faith, of Ninus and Semiramis,
excepted.
It was the story of the Hebrews, of all before the Olympiads, that
overcame the consuming disease of time, and preserved itself, from
the very cradle and beginning to this day: and yet not so entire, but
that the large discourses thereof (to which in many Scriptures we
are referred) are no\vhere found. The fragments of other stories,
with the actions of those kings and princes \vhich shot up here and
there in the same time, I am driven to relate by way of digression:
of which we may say with Virgil: "Apparent rari nantes in gurgite
vasto"; "They appear here and there floating in the great gulf of
time."
To the same first ages do belong the report of many inventions
therein found, and from them derived to us; though most of the
authors' names have perished in so long a navigation. For those
ages had their laws; they had diversity of government; they had
kingly rule; nobility; policy in ,var; navigation, and all, or the most
of needful trades. To speak therefore of these (seeing in a general
history we should have left a great deal of nakedness, by their omis-
sion) it cannot properly be called a digression. True it is, that I have
made also many others: which if they shall be laid to my charge,
I must cast the fault into the great heap of human error. For seeing
we digress in all the ways of our lives: yea, seeing the life of man is
nothing else but digression; I may the better be excused, in writing
their lives and actions. I am not altogether ignorant in the la\vs of
history and of the kinds.
The same hath been taught by many, but no man better, and \vith
greater brevity, than by that excellent learned gentleman, Sir Fran-
cis Bacon. Christian la \vs are also taught us by the prophets and
apostles; and every day preached unto us. But \ve still make large
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 113
digressions: yea, the teachers themselves do not (in all) keep the
path which they point out to others.
F or the rest, after such time as the Persians had wrested the En1-
pire from the Chaldeans, and had raised a great monarchy, produc-
ing actions of more importance than were elsewhere to be found;
it was agreeable to the order of the story, to attend this Empire;
whilst it so flourished, that the affairs of the nations adjoining had
reference thereunto. The like observance was to be used towards
the fortunes of Greece, when they again began to get ground upon
the Persians; as also towards the affairs of Rome, \vhen the Romans
grew more mighty than the Greeks.
As for the Medes, the Macedonians, the Sicilians, the Carthagin-
ians, and other nations who resisted the beginnings of the former
empires, and afterwards became but parts of their composition and
enlargement; it seemed best to remember \vhat was known of them
froin their several beginnings, in such times and places as they in
their flourishing estates opposed those monarchies, which in the end
swallowed them up. And herein I have followed the best geogra-
phers: who seldom give names to those small brooks, whereof many,
joined together, make great rivers: till such times as they become
united, and run in main stream to the ocean sea. If the phrase be
weak, and the style not every\vhere like itself: the first shows their
legitimation and true parent; the second will excuse itself upon the
variety of matter. For Virgil, who wrote his Eclogues, "gracili
avena," 42 used stronger pipes, when he sounded the wars of Aeneas.
It may also be laid to my charge, that I use divers Hebrew words in
my first book, and elsewhere:in which language others may think and
I myself acknowledge it, that I am altogether ignorant: but it is true,
that some of them I find in Montanus, others in Latin ch:uacters in
S. Senensis; and of the rest I have borrowed the interpretation of
some of my friends. But say I had been beholding to neither, yet
\vere it not to be \vondered at, having had an eleven years' leisure,
to attain the knowledge of that, or of any other tongue; howsoever,
I know that it will be said by many, that I might have been more
pleasing to the reader, if I had written the story of mine own times,
having been permitted to draw water as near the well-head as an-
42 "With delicate pipe."
114 SIR WALTER RALEIGH
other. To this I answer, that whosoever in writing a modern history,
shall follow truth too near the heels, it may haply strike out his teeth.
There is no mistress or guide, that hath led her followers and servants
into greater miseries. He that goes after her too far off, loseth her
sight, and 10 seth himself: and he that walks after her at a middle
distance: I know not whether I should call that kind of course, tem-
per/ 3 or baseness. It is true, that I never travelled after men's opin..
ions, when I might have made the best use of them: and I have now
too few days remaining, to imitate those, that either out of extreme
ambition, or of extreme cowardice, or both, do yet (when death hath
them on his shoulders) flatter the world, between the bed and the
grave. It is enough for me (being in that state I am) to write of the
eldest times: wherein also why may it not be said, that in speaking
of the past, I point at the present, and tax the vices of those that
are yet living, in their persons that are long since dead; and have it
laid to my charge? But this I cannot help, though innocent. And
certainly, if there be any, that finding themselves spotted like the
tigers of old time, shall find fault with me for painting them over
anew, they shall therein accuse themselves justly, and me falsely.
For I protest before the Maj esty of God, that I malice no man
under the sun. Impossible I know it is to please all; seeing few or
none are so pleased with themselves, or so assured of themselves, by
reason of their subjection to their private passions, but that they seem
divers persons in one and the same day. Seneca hath said it, and so do
I: "U nus mihi pro populo erat" ;44 and to the same effect Epicurus,
"Hoc ego non multis sed tibi";45 or (as it hath since lamentably fallen
out) I may borrow the resolution of an ancient philosopher, "Satis
est unus, satis est nullus.,,46 For it was for the service of that inesti-
mable Prince Henry, the successive hope, and one of the greatest of
the Christian world, that I undertook this work. It pleased him to
peruse some part thereof, and to pardon what was amiss. It is no\v
left to the world without a master: from which all that is presented,
hath received both blows and thanks: "Eadem probarnus, eadem
reprehendimus: hic exitus est omnis judicii, in quolis secundum
43 Moderation. 44 "To me one man stood for the people."
45 "I [have done] this not for many, but for thee."
46 "One is enough, none is enough."
TO THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD 115
plures datur."47 But these discourses are idle. I know that as the
charitable will judge charitably: so against those, "Qui gloriantur in
malitia," 48 my present adversity hath disarmed me. I am on the
ground already, and therefore have not far to fall: and for rising
again, as in the natural privation there is no recession to habit; so
it is seldom seen in the privation politic. I do therefore forbear to
style my readers gentle, courteous, and friendly, thereby to beg their
good opinions, or to promise a second and third volume (which I
also intend) if the first receive grace and good acceptance. For that
which is already done, may be thought enough, and too much: and
it is certain, let us claw the reader with never so many courteous
phrases, yet shall we evermore be thought fools, that write foolishly.
For conclusion, all the hope I have lies in this, that I have already
found more ungentle and uncourteous readers of my love towards
them, and well-deserving of them, than ever I shall do again. For
had it been otherwise, I should hardly have had this leisure, to have
made myself a fool in print. I
47 "We approve the same things, we blame the same things: this is the result in
every case in which the verdict is rendered according to the majority."
48 "Who glory in malice."
PROffiMIUlvI, EPISTLE
DEDICATORY, PREFACE,
AND PLAN OF THE INSTAURATIO
MAGNA, ETC.
BY FRANCIS BACON
FRANCIS OF VERULAM REASONED THUS WITH
HIMSELF,
And Judged it to be for the Interest of the Present and Future Genera-
tions That They Should be Made Acquainted with His Thoughts
B EING convinced that the human intellect makes its own diffi-
culties, not using the true helps which are at man's disposal
soberly and judiciously; whence follows manifold ignorance of
things, and by reason of that ignorance mischiefs innumerable; he
thought all trial should be made, whether that commerce between
the mind of man and the nature of things, which is more precious
than anything on earth, or at least than anything that is of the earth,
might by any means be restored to its perfect and original condition,
or if that may not be, yet reduced to a better condition than that in
which it now is. Now that the errors which have hitherto prevailed,
and which will prevail forever, should (if the mind be left to go its
own way), either by the natural force of the understanding or by
help of the aids and instruments of Logic, one by one correct them-
sel ves, was a thing not to be hoped for: because the primary notions
of things which the mind readily and passively imbibes, stores up,
A sketch of Bacon's life will be found prefixed to his "Essays" in another volume
of the Harvard Classics. His "Instauratio Magna" or "Great Renewal," the great
work by which he hoped to create a scientific revolution and deliver mankind from
Aristotelianism, was left far from complete; but the nature of his scheme and the scale
on which it was planned are indicated in these Prefaces, which are typical both of the
man and the age in which he lived.
II6
INSTAURATIO MAGNA 117
and accumulates (and it is from them that all the rest flow) are
false, confused, and overhastily abstracted from the facts; nor are the
secondary and subsequent notions less arbitrary and inconstant;
whence it follows that the entire fabric of human reason which \ve
employ in the inquisition of nature, is badly put together and built
up, and like some magnificent structure without any foundation.
For while men are occupied in admiring and applauding the false
powers of the mind, they pass by and throwaway those true powers,
which, if it be supplied with the proper aids and can itself be content
to wait upon nature instead of vainly affecting to overrule her, are
within its reach. There was but one course left, therefore,-to try
the whole thing anew upon a better plan, and to commence a total
reconstruction of sciences, arts, and all human knowledge, raised
upon the proper foundations. And this, though in the project and
undertaking it may seem a thing infinite and beyond the powers
of man, yet when it comes to be dealt with it will be found sound
and sober, more so than \vhat has been done hitherto. For of this
there is some issue; whereas in what is now done in the matter of
science there is only a whirling round about, and perpetual agita-
tion, ending where it began. And although he was well aware ho\v
solitary an enterprise it is, and how hard a thing to win faith and
credit for, nevertheless he was resolved not to abandon either it or
himself; nor to be deterred from trying and entering upon that one
path which is alone open to the human mind. For better it is to make
a beginning of that which may lead to something, than to engage
in a perpetual struggle and pursuit in courses which have no exit.
And certainly the two ways of contemplation are much like those
two ways of action, so much celebrated, in this-that the one, ardu-
ous and difficult in the beginning, leads out at last into the open
country; while the other, seeming at first sight easy and free from
obstruction, leads to pathless and precipitous places.
Moreover, because he knew not how long it might be before these
things would occur to anyone else, judging especially from this,
that he has found no man hitherto who has applied his mind to the
like, he resolved to publish at once so much as he has been able to
complete. The cause of which haste was not ambition for himself,
but solicitude for the ,vork; that in case of his death there might
118
FRANCIS BACON
remain some outline and project of that which he had conceived,
and some evidence likewise of his honest mind and inclination
towards the benefit of the human race. Certain it is that all other
ambition whatsoever seemed poor in his eyes compared with the
work which he had in hand; seeing that the matter at issue is either
nothing, or a thing so great that it may well be content with its own
merit, without seeking other recompence.
EPISTLE DEDICATORY
TO THE INSTAURATIO MAGNA
TO OUR
IOST GRACIOUS AND MIGHTY PRINCE AND LORD
JAMES
BY THE GRACE OF GOD
OF GREA T BRITAIN, FRANCE AND IRELAND
KING, DEFENDER OF THE FAITH, ETC.
Most Gracious and Mighty King,
Y OUR Majesty may perhaps accuse me of larceny, having
stolen from your affairs so much time as was required for
this work. I know not what to say for myself. F or of time
there can be no restitution, unless it be that what has been abstracted
from your business may perhaps go to the memory of your name and
the honour of your age; if these things are indeed worth anything.
Certainly they are quite new; totally new in their very kind: and
yet they are copied from a very ancient model; even the world itself
and the nature of things and of the mind. And to say truth, I am
wont for my own part to regard this work as a child of time rather
than of wit; the only wonder being that the first notion of the thing,
and such great suspicions concerning matters long established, should
have come into any man's mind. All the rest follows readily enough.
And no doubt there is something of accident (as we call it) and luck
as well in what men think as in what they do or say. But for this
accident which I speak of, I wish that if there be any good in what
I have to offer, it may be ascribed to the infinite mercy and goodness
of God, and to the felicity of your Majesty's times; to which as I have
been an honest and affectionate servant in my life, so after my death
I may yet perhaps, through the kindling of this new light in the
darkness of philosophy, be the means of making this age famous
119
120
FRANCIS BACON
to posterity; and surely to the times of the \visest and most learned
of kings belongs of right the regeneration and restoration of the
sciences. Lastly, I have a request to make-a request no way un-
worthy of your Majesty, and which especially concerns the work in
hand; namely, that you who resemble Solomon in so many things-
in the gravity of your judgments, in the peacefulness of your reign,
in the largeness of your heart, in the noble variety of the books which
you have composed-would further follow his example in taking
order for the collecting and perfecting of a Natural and Experimental
History, true and severe (unincumbered with literature and book-
learning), such as philosophy may be built upon,-such, in fact, as I
shall in its proper place describe: that so at length, after the lapse of
so many ages, philosophy and the sciences may no longer float in
air, but rest on the solid foundation of experience of every kind, and
the same well examined and weighed. I have provided the machine,
but the stuff must be gathered from the facts of nature. May God
Almighty long preserve your Majesty!
Your Majesty's
Most bounden and devoted Servant,
FRANCIS VERULAM,
Chancellor.
PREFACE
TO THE INSTAURATIO MAGNA
That the state of kno\vledge is not prosperous nor greatly advancing;
and that a way must be opened for the human understanding en-
tirely different from any hitherto known, and other helps provided,
in order that the mind may exercise over the nature of things the
authority which properly belongs to it.
I T SEEMS to me that men do not rightly understand either their
store or their strength, but overrate the one and underrate the
other. Hence it follo\vs, that either from an extravagant esti-
mate of the value of the arts which they possess, they seek no further;
or else from too mean an estimate of their own powers, they spend
their strength in small matters and never put it fairly to the trial in
those which go to the main. These are as the pillars of fate set in
the path of kno\vledge; for men have neither desire nor hope to
encourage them to penetrate further. And since opinion of store is
one of the chief causes of want, and satisfaction with the present
induces neglect of provision for the future, it becomes a thing not
only useful, but absolutely necessary, that the excess of honour and
admiration with which our existing stock of inventions is regarded
be in the very entrance and threshold of the work, and that frankly
and without circumlocution, stripped off, and men be duly warned
not to exaggerate or make too much of them. For let a man look
carefully into all that variety of books with which the arts and
sciences abound, he will find everywhere endless repetitions of the
same thing, varying in the method of treatment, but not ne\v in
substance, insomuch that the \vhole stock, numerous as it appears
at first view, proves on examination to be but scanty. And for its
value and utility it must be plainly avowed that that wisdom which
we have derived principally fron1 the Greeks is but like the boyhood
of knowledge, and has the characteristic property of boys: it can
talk, but it cannot generate; for it is fruitful of controversies but
121
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FRANCIS BACON
barren of works. So that the state of learning as it now is appears to
be represented to the life in the old fable of Scylla, who had the head
and face of a virgin, but her womb was hung round with barking
monsters, from which she could not be delivered. For in like manner
the sciences to which we are accustomed have certain general posi-
tions which are specious and flattering; but as soon as they come to
particulars, which are as the parts of generation, when they should
produce fruit and works, then arise contentions and barking dispu-
tations, which are the e.nd of the matter and all the issue they can
yield. Observe also, that if sciences of this kind had any life in them,
that could never have come to pass which has been the case now
for many ages-that they stand almost at a stay, without receiving
any augmentations worthy of the human race; insomuch that many
times not only what was asserted once is asserted still, but what was
a question once is a question still, and instead of being resolved by
discussion is only fixed and fed; and all the tradition and succession
of schools is still a succession of masters and scholars, not of inventors
and those who bring to further perfection the things invented. In
the mechanical arts ,ve do not find it so; they, on the contrary, as
having in them some breath of life, are continually growing and
becoll1ing more perfect. As originally invented they are commonly
rude, clumsy, and shapeless: afterwards they acquire new powers and
more cOll1modious arrangements and constructions; in so far that
men shall sooner leave the study and pursuit of them and turn to
something else, than they arrive at the ultimate perfection of which
they are capable. Philosophy and the intellectual sciences, on the
contrary, stand like statues, worshiped and celebrated, but not moved
or advanced. Nay, they sometimes flourish most in the hands of the
first author, and afterwards degenerate. For when men have once
made over their judgments to others' keeping, and (like those sena..
tors wholl1 they called Pedarii) have agreed to support some one
person's opinion, from that time they make no enlargement of the
sciences themselves, but fall to the servile office of embellishing cer-
tain individual authors and increasing their retinue. And let it not
be said that the sciences have been growing gradually till they have
at last reached their full stature, and so (their course being com-
pleted) have settled in the works of a few writers; and that there
INSTAURATIO MAGNA 123
being now no room for the invention of better, all that remains is to
embellish and cultivate those things which have been invented
already. Would it were so! But the truth is that this appropriating
of the sciences has its origin in nothing better than the confidence of
a few persons and the sloth and indolence of the rest. For after
the sciences had been in several parts perhaps cultivated and handled
diligently, there has risen up some man of bold disposition, and
famous for methods and short ways which people like, who has in
appearance reduced them to an art, while he has in fact only spoiled
all that the others had done. And yet this is what posterity like,
because it makes the work short and easy, and saves further inquiry,
of which they are weary and impatient. And if anyone take this
general acquiescence and consent for an argument of weight, as
being the judgment of Time, let me tell him that the reasoning on
which he relies is most fallacious and weak. For, first, we are far
from knowing all that in the matter of sciences and arts has in
various ages and places been brought to light and published; much
less, all that has been by private persons secretly attempted and
stirred; so neither the births nor the miscarriages of Time are entered
in our records. Nor, secondly, is the consent itself and the time it
has continued a consideration of much worth. For however various
are the forms of civil politics, there is but one form of polity in the
sciences; and that always has been and always will be popular. Novv
the doctrines which find most favour with the populace are those
which are either contentious and pugnacious, or specious and empty;
such, I say, as either entangle assent or tickle it. And therefore no
doubt the greatest wits in each successive age have been forced out
of their own course; men of capacity and intellect above the vulgar
having been fain, for reputation's sake, to bow to the judgment of
the time and the multitude; and thus if any contemplations of a
higher order took light anywhere, they were presently blown out by
the winds of vulgar opinions. So that Time is like a river, which
has brought down to us things light and puffed up, while those
which are weighty and solid have sunk. Nay, those very authors
who have usurped a kind of dictatorship in the sciences and taken
upon them to lay down the law with such confidence, yet when from
time to time they come to themselves again, they fall to complaints
12 4 FRANCIS BACON
of the subtlety of nature, the hiding-places of truth, the obscurity of
things, the entanglement of causes, the weakness of the human
mind; wherein nevertheless they show themselves never the more
modest, seeing that they \vill rather lay the blame upon the com-
mon condition of man and nature than upon themselves. And then
whatever any art fails to attain, they ever set it down upon the
authority of that art itself as impossible of attainment; and how can
art be found guilty when it is judge in its own cause? So it is but a
device for exempting ignorance from ignominy. Now for those
things which are delivered and received, this is their condition:
barren of works, full of questions; in point of enlargement slow and
languid; carrying a show of perfection in the whole, but in the parts
ill filled up; in selection popular, and unsatisfactory even to those
who propound them; and therefore fenced round and set forth with
sundry artifices. And if there be any who have determined to make
trial for themselves, and put their own strength to the work of
advancing the boundaries of the sciences, yet have they not ventured
to cast themselves completely loose from received opinions or to seek
their knowledge at the fountain; but they think they have done
some great thing if they do but add and introduce into the existing
sum of science something of their o\vn; prudently considering ,vith
themselves that by making the addition they can assert their liberty,
while they retain the credit of modesty by assenting to the rest. But
these mediocrities and middle ways so much praised, in deferring
to opinions and customs, turn to the great detriment of the sciences.
For it is hardly possible at once to admire an author and to go be-
yond him; knowledge being as water, which \vill not rise above the
level from which it fell. Men of this kind, therefore, amend some
things, but advance little; 'and improve the condition of knowledge,
but do not extend its range. Some, indeed, there have been who have
gone more boldly to work, and taking it all for an open matter and
giving their genius full play, have made a passage for themselves
and their own opinions by pulling down and demolishing former
ones; and yet all their stir has but little advanced the matter; since
their aim has been not to extend philosophy and the arts in substance
and value, but only to change doctrines and transfer the kingdom
of opinions to themselves; \vhereby little has indeed been gained,
INSTAURATIO I"\1AGNA 125
for though the error be the opposite of the other, the causes of erring
are the same in both. And if there have been any who, not binding
themselves either to other men's opinions or to their o\vn, but loving
liberty, have desired to engage others along with themselves in
search, these, though honest in intention, have been weak in en-
deavour. For they have been content to follow probable reasons, and
are carried round in a \vhirl of arguments, and in the promiscuous
liberty of search have relaxed the severity of inquiry. There is none
who has dwelt upon experience and the facts of nature as long as is
necessary. Some there are indeed who have committed themselves to
the \vaves of experience, and almost turned mechanics; yet these
again have in their very experiments pursued a kind of \"andering
inquiry, \vithout any regular system of operations. And besides they
have mostly proposed to themselves certain petty tasks, taking it
for a great matter to ,,,ork out some single discovery;-a course of
proceeding at once poor in aim and unskilful in design. For no man
can rightly and successfully investigate the nature of anything in
the thing itself; let him vary his experiments as laboriously as he will,
he never comes to a resting-place, but still finds something to seek
beyond. And there is another thing to be remembered; namely, that
all industry in experimenting has begun with proposing to itself
certain definite ,,,orks to be accomplished, and has pursued them
with premature and unseasonable eagerness; it has sought, I say,
experiments of Fruit, not experiments of Light; not imitating the
divine procedure, ,vhich in its first day's work created light only
and assigned to it one entire day; on which day it produced no
material work, but proceeded to that on the days following. As for
those who have given the first place to Logic, supposing that the
surest helps to the sciences were to be found in that, they have
indeed most truly and excellently perceived that the human intellect
left to its own course is not to be trusted; but then the remedy is
altogether too \veak for the disease; nor is it without evil in itself.
For the Logic which is received, though it be very properly applied
to civil business and to those arts which rest in discourse and opinion,
is not nearly subtle enough to deal with nature; and in offering at
what it cannot master, has done more to establish and perpetuate
error than to open the ,yay to truth.
126 FRANCIS BACON
Upon the \vhole therefore, it seems that men have not been happy
hitherto either in the trust which they have placed in others or in
their own industry with regard to the sciences; especially as neither
the demonstrations nor the experiments as yet kno\vn are much to
be relied upon. But the universe to the eye of the human under-
standing is framed like a labyrinth; presenting as it does on every
side so many ambiguities of way, such deceitful resemblances of
obj ects and signs, natures so irregular in their lines, and so knotted
and entangled. And then the way is still to be made by the uncertain
light of the sense, sometimes shining out, sometimes clouded over,
through the woods of experience and particulars; \vhile those who
offer themselves for guides are (as was said) themselves also puzzled,
and increase the number of errors and wanderers. In circumstances
so difficult neither the natural force of man's judgment nor even any
accidental felicity offers any chance of success. No excellence of wit,
no repetition of chance experiments, can overcome such difficulties as
these. Our steps must be guided by a clue, and the whole way from
the very first perception of the senses must be laid out upon a sure
plan. Not that I would be understood to mean that nothing what-
ever has been done in so many ages by so great labours. We have
no reason to be ashamed of the discoveries \vhich have been made,
and no doubt the ancients proved themselves in everything that turns
on wit and abstract meditation, wonderful men. But as in former
ages when men sailed only by observation of the stars, they could
indeed coast along the shores of the old continent or cross a few
small and mediterranean seas; but before the ocean could be trav-
ersed and the new world discovered, the use of the mariner's needle,
as a more faithful and certain guide, had to be found out; in like
manner the discoveries which have been hitherto made in the arts
and sciences are such as might be made by practice, meditation,
observation, argumentation,-for they lay near to the senses, and
immediately beneath common notions; but before we can reach the
remoter and more hidden parts of nature, it is necessary that a more
perfect use and application of the human mind and intellect be
introduced.
For my own part at least, in obedience to the everlasting love of
INSTAURATIO MAGNA 127
truth, I have con1mitted myself to the uncertainties and difficulties
and solitudes of the ways, and relying on the divine assistance have
upheld my mind both against the shocks and embattled ranks of
opinion, and against my own private and inward hesitations and
scruples, and against the fogs and clouds of nature, and the phantoms
Bitting about on every side; in the hope of providing at last for the
present and future generations guidance more faithful and secure.
Wherein if I have made any progress, the way has been opened to
me by no other means than the true and legitimate humiliation of
the human spirit. For all those who before me have applied them-
selves to the invention of arts have but cast a glance or two upon facts
and examples and experience, and straightway proceeded, as if
invention were nothing more than an exercise of thought, to invoke
their own spirits to give them oracles. I, on the contrary, dwelling
purely and constantly among the facts of nature, \vithdraw my intel-
lect from them no further than may suffice to let the images and
rays of natural objects meet in a point, as they do in the sense of
vision; whence it follows that the strength and excellency of the \vit
has but little to do in the matter. And the same humility which I
use in inventing I employ likewise in teaching. For I do not
endeavour either by triumphs of confutation, or pleadings of an-
tiquity, or assumption of authority, or even by the veil of obscurity,
to invest these inventions of mine with any majesty; which might
easily be done by one who sought to give lustre to his own name
rather than light to other men's minds. I have not sought (I say)
nor do I seek either to force or ensnare men's judgments, but I lead
them to things themselves and the concordances of things, that they
may see for themselves \vhat they have, what they can dispute, what
they can add and contribute to the common stock. And for myself,
if in anything I have been either too credulous or too little awake
and attentive, or if I have fallen off by the way and left the inquiry
incomplete, nevertheless I so present these things naked and open,
that my errors can be marked and set aside before the mass of
knowledge be further infected by them; and it will be easy also for
others to continue and carryon my labours. And by these means I
suppose that I have established for ever a true and lawful marriage
128
FRANCIS BACON
between the empirical and the rational faculty, the unkind and
ill-starred divorce and separation of which has thrown into confu-
sion all the affairs of the human family.
Wherefore, seeing that these things do not depend upon myself,
at the outset of the work I most humbly and fervently pray to God
the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, that remem-
bering the sorrows of mankind and the pilgrimage of this our life
\vherein vve wear out days few and evil, they \vill vouchsafe through
my hands to endo\v the human family with new mercies. This like-
\vise I humbly pray, that things human may not interfere with things
divine, and that from the opening of the ways of sense and the in-
crease of natural light there may arise in our minds no incredulity
or darkness with regard to the divine mysteries; but rather that the
understanding being thereby purified and purged of fancies and
vanity, and yet not the less subject and entirely submissive to the
divine oracles, may give to faith that which is faith's. Lastly, that
knowledge being now discharged of that venom which the serpent
infused into it, and which makes the mind of man to swell, \ve may
not be wise above measure and sobriety, but cultivate truth in
charity.
And now having said my prayers I turn to men; to whom I have
certain salutary admonitions to offer and certain fair requests to
make. My first admonition (which was also my prayer) is that
men confine the sense within the limits of duty in respect to things
divine: for the sense is like the sun, \vhich reveals the face of earth,
but seals and shuts up the face of heaven. My next, that in flying
from this evil they fall not into the opposite error, which they will
surely do if they think that the inquisition of nature is in any part
interdicted or forbidden. For it was not that pure and uncorrupted
natural knowledge whereby Adam gave names to the creatures
according to their propriety, which gave occasion to the fall. It was
the ambitious and proud desire of moral knowledge to judge of
good and evil, to the end that man may revolt from God and give
laws to himself, which was the form and manner of the temptation.
Whereas of the sciences which regard nature, the divine philosopher
declares that "it is the glory of God to conceal a thing, but it is the
glory of the King to find a thing out." Even as though the divine
INSTAURATIO MAGNA 129
nature took pleasure in the innocent and kindly sport of children
playing at hide and seek, and vouchsafed of his kindness and good-
ness to admit the human spirit for his play-fellow at that game.
Lastl y, I would address one general admonition to all; that they
consider what are the true ends of knowledge, and that they seek
it not either for pleasure of the mind, or for contention, or for
superiority to others, or for profit, or fame, or power, or any of these
inferior things; but for the benefit and use of life; and that they
perfect and govern it in charity. For it was from lust of power that
the angels fell, from lust of knowledge that man fell; but of charity
there can be no excess, neither did angel or man ever come in danger
by it.
The requests I have to make are these. Of myself I say nothing;
but in behalf of the business which is in hand I entreat men to
believe that it is not an opinion to be held, but a work to be done;
and to be well assured ,that I am labouring to lay the foundation,
not of any sect or doctrine, but of human utility and power. Next,
I ask them to deal fairly by their o,vn interests, and laying aside all
emulations and prejudices in favour of this or that opinion, to join
in consultation for the common good; and being now freed and
guarded by the securities and helps which I offer from the errors and
impediments of the way, to come forward themselves and take part
in that which remains to be done. Moreover, to be of good hope, nor
to imagine that this Instauration of mine is a thing infinite and be-
yond the po\ver of man, when it is in fact the true end and termi-
nation of infinite error; and seeing also that it is by no means
forgetful of the conditions of mortality and humanity, (for it does
not suppose that the work can be altogether completed within one
generation, but provides for its being taken up by another); and
finally that it seeks for the sciences not arrogantly in the little cells
of human wit, but with reverence in the greater world. But it is the
empty things that are vast: things solid are most contracted and lie
in little room. And now I have only one favour more to ask (else
inj ustice to me may perhaps imperil the business itself)-that men
will consider well how far, upon that which I must needs assert (if
I am to be consistent with myself), they are entitled to judge and
decide upon these doctrines of mine; inasmuch as all that premature
13 0 FRANCIS BACON
human reasoning ,vhich anticipates inquiry, and is abstracted from
the facts rashly and sooner than is fit, is by me rejected (so far as
the inquisition of nature is concerned), as a thing uncertain, con-
fused, and ill built up; and I cannot be fairly asked to abide by the
decision of a tribunal which is itself on its trial.
THE PLAN OF THE INSTAURATIO MAGNA
THE work is in six Parts:-
I. The Dz'visions of the Sciences.
2. The New Organon; or Directions concerning the Interpretation
of Nature.
3. The Phenomena of the Universe; or a Natural and Experimental
History for the foundation of Philosophy.
4. The Ladder of the Intellect.
5. The Forerunners; or Anticipations of the New Philosophy.
6. The New Philosophy; or Active Science.
The Arguments of the several Parts
It being part of my design to set everything forth, as far as may
be, plainly and perspicuously (for nakedness of the mind is still, as
nakedness of the body once was, the companion of innocence and
simplicity), let me first explain the order and plan of the work. I
distribute it into six parts. .
The first part exhibits a summary or general description of the
knowledge which the human race at present possesses. For I thought
it good to make some pause upon that which is received; that thereby
the old may be more easily made perfect and the new more easily
approached. And I hold the improvement of that which we have
to be as much an object as the acquisition of more. Besides which
it will make me the better listened to; for "He that is ignorant (says
the proverb) receives not the words of knowledge, unless thou first
tell him that which is in his own heart." We will therefore make
a coasting voyage along the shores of the arts and sciences received;
not without importing into them some useful things by the way.
In laying out the divisions of the sciences however, I take into
account not only things already invented and known, but likewise
things omitted which ought to be there. For there are found in the
intellectual as in the terrestrial globe waste regions as well as culti-
vated ones. It is no wonder therefore if I am sometimes obliged to
13 1
13 2 FRANCIS BACON
depart from the ordinary divisions. For in adding to the total you
necessarily alter the parts and sections; and the received divisions of
the sciences are fitted only to the received sum of them as it stands
now.
With regard to those things which I shall mark down as omitted,
I intend not merely to set down a simple title or a concise argument
of that which is wanted. For as often as I have occasion to report
anything as deficient, the nature of which is at all obscure, so that
men may not perhaps easily understand what I mean or what the
work is which I have in my head, I shall always (provided it be
a matter of any worth) take care to subjoin either directions for the
execution of such work, or else a portion of the work itself executed
by myself as a sample of the whole: thus giving assistance in every
case either by work or by counsel. F or if it were for the sake of my
reputation only and other men's interests were not concerned in it,
I would not have any man think that in such cases merely some
light and vague notion has crossed my mind, and that the things
which I desire and offer at are no better than wishes; when they
are in fact things which men may certainly command if they will,
and of which I have formed in my own mind a clear and detailed
conception. For I do not propose merely to survey these regions in
my mind, like an augur taking auspices, but to enter them like a
general who means to take possession.-So much for the first part
of the work.
Having thus coasted past the ancient arts, the next point is to
equip the intellect for passing beyond. To the second part therefore
belongs the doctrine concerning the better and more perfect use of
human reason in the inquisition of things, and the true helps of the
understanding: that thereby (as far as the condition of mortality and
humanity allows) the intellect may be raised and exalted, and made
capable of overcoming the difficulties and obscurities of nature. The
art which I introduce with this view (which I call Interpretation of
Nature) is a kind of logic; though the difference between it and the
ordinary logic is great; indeed immense. For the ordinary logic
professes to contrive and prepare helps and guards for the under-
standing, as mine does; and in this one point they agree. But mine
INSTAURATIO MAGNA 133
differs from it in three points especially; viz. in the end aimed at;
in the order of demonstration; and in the starting point of the
Inq ulry .
For the end \vhich this science of mine proposes is the invention
not of argun1ents but of arts; not of things in accordance with prin-
ciples, but of principles themselves; not of probable reasons, but of
designations and directions for works. And as the intention is differ-
ent, so accordingly is the effect; the effect of the one being to over-
come an opponent in argument, of the other to command nature in
action.
In accordance \vith this end is also the nature and order of the
demonstrations. F or in the ordinary logic almost all the work is
spent about the syllogism. Of induction the logicians seem hardly
to have taken any serious thought, but they pass it by with a slight
notice, and hasten on to the formulæ of disputation. I, on the con-
trary, reject demonstration by syllogism, as acting too confusedly,
and letting nature slip out of its hands. For although no one can
doubt that things which agree in a middle term agree with one
another (which is a proposition of mathematical certainty), yet it
leaves an opening for deception; which is this. The syllogism con-
sists of propositions; propositions of words; and words are the
tokens and signs of notions. Now if the very notions of the mind
(\vhich are as the soul of words and the basis of the whole structure)
be improperly and over-hastily abstracted from facts, vague, not
sufficiently definite, faulty in short in many ways, the whole edifice
tumbles. I therefore reject the syllogism; and that not only as re-
gards principles (for to principles the logicians themselves do not
apply it) but also as regards middle propositions; which, though
obtainable no doubt by the syllogism, are, when so obtained, barren
of works, remote from practice, and altogether unavailable for the
active department of the sciences. Although therefore I leave to the
syllogism and these famous and boasted modes of demonstration
their jurisdiction over popular arts and such as are matter of opinion
(in which department I leave all as it is), yet in dealing with the
nature of things I use induction throughout, and that in the minor
propositions as well as the major. For I consider induction to be
that form of demonstration which upholds the sense, and closes
134
FRANCIS BACON
with nature, and comes to the very brink of operation, if it does not
actually deal \vith it.
Hence it follows that the order of demonstration is likewise
inverted. For hitherto the proceeding has been to fly at once from
the sense and particulars up to the most general propositions, as
certain fixed poles for the argument to turn upon, and from these
to derive the rest by middle terms: a short way, no doubt, but pre-
cipitate; and one which will never lead to nature, though it offers
an easy and ready way to disputation. Now my plan is to proceed
regularly and gradually from one axiom to another, so that the most
general are not reached till the last: but then when you do come to
them you find them to be not empty notions, but well defined, and
such as nature would really recognise as her first principles, and such
as lie at the heart and marrow of things.
But the greatest change I introduce is in the form itself of
induction and the judgment made thereby. For the induction of
which the logicians speak, which proceeds by simple enumeration,
is a puerile thing; concludes at hazard; is always liable to be upset
by a contradictory instance; takes into account only what is known
and ordinary; and leads to no result.
Now what the sciences stand in need of is a form of induction
which shall analyse experience and take it to pieces, and by a due
process of exclusion and rejection lead to an inevitable conclusion.
And if that ordinary mode of judgment practised by the logicians
was so laborious, and found exercise for such great \vits, how much
more labour must we be prepared to bestow upon this other, which
is extracted not merely out of the depths of the mind, but out of the
very bowels of nature.
Nor is this all. For I also sink the foundations of the sciences
deeper and firmer; and I begin the inquiry nearer the source than
men have done heretofore; submitting to examination those things
which the common logic takes on trust. F or first, the logicians
borrow the principles of each science from the science itself; secondly,
they hold in reverence the first notions of the mind; and lastly, they
receive as conclusive the immediate informations of the sense, when
well disposed. Now upon the first point, I hold that true logic ought
INSTAURATIO MAGNA 135
to enter the several provinces of science armed with a higher
authority than belongs to the principles of those sciences themselves,
and ought to call those putative principles to account until they are
fully established. Then with regard to the first notions of the intel-
lect; there is not one of the impressions taken by the intellect when
left to go its own way, but I hold it for suspected, and no way
established, until it has submitted to a new trial and a fresh judg-
ment has been thereupon pronounced. And lastly, the information
of the sense itself I sift and examine in many ways. For certain it
is that the senses deceive; but then at the same time they supply the
means of discovering their own errors; only the errors are here, the
means of discovery are to seek.
The sense fails in two ways. Sometimes it gives no information,
sometimes it gives false information. For first, there are very many
things which escape the sense, even when best disposed and no way
obstructed; by reason either of the subtlety of the whole body, or
the minuteness of the parts, or distance of place, or slowness or else
swiftness of motion, or familiarity of the object, or other causes.
And again when the sense does apprehend a thing its apprehension
is not much to be relied upon. For the testimony and information
of the sense has reference always to man, not to the universe; and it
is a great error to assert that the sense is the measure of things.
To meet these difficulties, I have sought on all sides diligently and
faithfully to provide helps for the sense-substitutes to supply its
failures, rectifications to correct its errors; and this I endeavour to
accomplish not so much by instruments as by experiments. For
the subtlety of experiments is far greater than that of the sense
itself, even when assisted by exquisite instruments; such experiments,
I mean, as are skilfully and artificially devised for the express pur-
pose of determining the point in question. To the immediate and
proper perception of the sense therefore I do not give much weight;
but I contrive that the office of the sense shall be only to judge of the
experiment, and that the experiment itself shall judge of the thing.
And thus I conceive that I perform the office of a true priest of the
sense (from which all knowledge in nature must be sought, unless
men mean to go mad) and a not unskilful interpreter of its oracles;
136 FRANCIS BACON
and that while others only profess to uphold and cultivate the sense,
I do so in fact. Such then are the provisions I make for finding
the genuine light of nature and kindling and bringing it to bear.
And they would be sufficient of themselves, if the human intellect
were even, and like a fair sheet of paper with no writing on it.
But since the minds of men are strangely possessed and beset, so
that there is no true and even surface left to reflect the genuine
rays of things, it is necessary to seek a remedy for this also.
Now the idols, or phantoms, by which the mind is occupied are
either adventitious or innate. The adventitious come into the mind
from without; namely, either from the doctrines and sects of
philosophers, or from perverse rules of demonstration. But the
innate are inherent in the very nature of the intellect, which is far
more prone to error than the sense is. For let men please themselves
as they will in admiring and almost adoring the human mind, this
is certain: that as an uneven mirror distorts the rays of objects
according to its own figure and section, so the mind, \vhen it
receives impressions of objects through the sense, cannot be trusted
to report them truly, but in forming its notions mixes up its own
nature with the nature of things.
And as the first two kinds of idols are hard to eradicate, so idols
of this last kind cannot be eradicated at all. All that can be done is
to point them out, so that this insidious action of the mind may be
marked and reproved (else as fast as old errors are destroyed ne\v
ones will spring up out of the ill complexion of the mind itself,
and so we shall have but a change of errors, and not a clearance);
and to lay it down once for all as a fixed and established maxim, that
the intellect is not qualified to judge except by means of induction,
and induction in its legitimate form. This doctrine then of the
expurgation of the intellect to qualify it for dealing with truth, is
comprised in three refutations: the refutation of the Philosophies;
the refutation of the Demonstrations; and the refutation of the
Natural Human Reason. The explanation of which things, and of
the true relation between the nature of things and the na.ture of the
mind, is as the strewing and decoration of the bridal chamber of the
Mind and the Universe, the Divine Goodness assisting; out of which
marriage let us hope (and be this the prayer of the bridal song)
there may spring helps to man, and a line and race of inventions
INSTAURATIO MAGNA 137
that may in some degree subdue and overcome the necessities and
miseries of humanity. This is the second part of the work.
But I design not only to indicate and mark out the \vays, but also
to enter them. And therefore the third part of the ,vork embraces
the Phenomena of the Universe; that is to say, experience of every
kind, and such a natural history as may serve for a foundation to
build philosophy upon. For a good method of demonstration or
form of interpreting nature may keep the mind from going astray
or stumbling, but it is not any excellence of method that can supply
it ,vith the material of knowledge. Those however who aspire not
to guess and divine, but to discover and kno\v; who propose not to
devise mimic and fabulous ,vorlds of their o,vn, but to examine and
dissect the nature of this very world itself; must go to facts them-
selves for everything. Nor can the place of this labour and search
and worldwide perambulation be supplied by any genius or medita-
tion Of argumentation; no, not if all men's wits could meet in one.
This therefore we must have, or the business must be for ever
abandoned. But up to this day such has been the condition of men
in this matter, that it is no wonder if nature will not give herself
into their hands.
F or first, the information of the sense itself, sometimes failing,
sometimes false; observation, careless, irregular, and led by chance;
tradition, vain and fed on rumour; practice, slavishly bent upon its
work; experime
t, blind, stupid, vague, and prematurely broken
off; lastly, natural history, trivial and poor;-all these have contrib-
uted to supply the understanding with very bad materials for
philosophy and the sciences.
Then an attempt is made to mend the matter by a preposterous
subtlety and \vinnowing of argument. But this comes too late,
the case being already past remedy; and is far from setting the
business right or sifting a\vay the errors. The only hope therefore of
any greater increase or progress lies in a reconstruction of the
sCiences.
Of this reconstruction the foundation must be laid in natural
history, and that of a new kind and gathered on a ne\v principle.
For it is in vain that you polish the mirror if there are no images to
be reflected; and it is as necessary that the intellect should be sup-
13 8
FRANCIS BACON
plied with fit matter to work upon, as with safeguards to guide its
working. But my history differs from that in use (as my logic does)
in many things,-in end and office, in mass and composition, in
subtlety, in selection also and setting forth, with a view to the
operations which are to follow.
For first, the object of a natural history which I propose is not so
much to delight with variety of matter or to help with present
use of experiments, as to give light to the discovery of causes and
supply a suckling philosophy with its first food. For though it be
true that I am principally in pursuit of works and the active depart-
ment of the sciences, yet I wait for harvest-time, and do not attempt
to mow the moss or to reap the green corn. F or I well know that
axioms once rightly discovered will carry whole troops of works
along with them, and produce them, not here and there one, but in
clusters. And that unseasonable and puerile hurry to snatch by way
of earnest at the first works which come within reach, I utterly
condemn and reject, as an Atalanta's apple that hinders the race.
Such then is the office of this natural history of mine.
Next, with regard to the mass and composition of it: I mean it to
be a history not only of nature free and at large (when she is left
to her own course and does her work her own way)-such as that of
the heavenly bodies, meteors, earth and sea, minerals, plants, animals,
-but much more of nature under constraint and vexed; that is to
say, when by art and the hand of man she is forced out of her
natural state, and squeezed and moulded. Therefore I set down at
length all experiments of the mechanical arts, of the operative part
of the liberal arts, of the many crafts which have not yet grown
into arts properly so called, so far as I have been able to examine them
and as they conduce to the end in view. Nay (to say the plain truth)
I do in fact (low and vulgar as men may think it) count more upon
this part both for helps and safeguards than upon the other; seeing
that the nature of things betrays itself more readily under the vexa-
tions of art than in its natural freedom.
Nor do I confine the history to Bodies; but I have thought it my
duty besides to make a separate history of such Virtues as may be
considered cardinal in nature. I mean those original passions or
desires of matter which constitute the primary elements of nature;
INSTAURATIO MAGNA 139
such as Dense and Rare, Hot and Cold, Solid and Fluid, Heavy
and Light, and several others.
Then again, to speak of subtlety: I seek out and get together a
kind of experiments much subtler and simpler than those which
occur accidentally. For I drag into light many things which no
one who was not proceeding by a regular and certain \vay to the
discovery of causes would have thought of inquiring after; being
indeed in themselves of no great use; which sho\vs that they were
not sought for on their own account; but having just the same
relation to things and works which the letters of the alphabet have
to speech and words-which, though in themselves useless, are the
elements of which all discourse is made up.
Further, in the selection of the relation and experiments I con-
ceive I have been a more cautious purveyor than those who have
hitherto dealt with natural history . For I admit nothing but on the
faith of eyes, or at least of careful and severe examination; so that
nothing is exaggerated for wonder's sake, but what I state is sound
and without mixture of fables or vanity. All received or current
falsehoods also (which by strange negligence have been allowed for
many ages to prevail and become established) I proscribe and brand
by name; that the sciences may be no more troubled with them. For
it has been ,veIl observed that the fables and superstitions and follies
which nurses instil into children do serious injury to their minds;
and the same consideration makes me anxious, having the manage-
ment of the childhood as it were of philosophy in its course of natural
history, not to let it accustom itself in the beginning to any vanity.
Moreover, whenever I come to a new experiment of any subtlety
(though it be in my o\vn opinion certain and approved), I never-
theless subjoin a clear account of the manner in which I made it;
that men knowing exactly how each point was made out, may see
whether there be any error connected with it, and may arouse
themselves to devise proofs more trustworthy and exquisite, if such
can be found; and finally, I interpose everywhere admonitions and
scruples and cautions, with a religious care to eject, repress, and as
it were exorcise every kind of phantasm.
Lastly, knowing how much the sight of man's mind is distracted
by experience and history, and how hard it is at the first (especially
140 FRANCIS BACON
for minds either tender or preoccupied) to become familiar with
nature, I not unfrequently subjoin observations of my own, being
as the first offers, inclinations, and as it were glances of history
towards philosophy; both by way of an assurance to nlen that they
,vill be kept for ever tossing on the waves of experience, and also
that when the time comes for the intellect to begin its work, it
may find everything the more ready. By such a natural history
then as I have described, I conceive that a safe and convenient
approach may be made to nature, and matter supplied of good
quality and well prepared for the understanding to \vork upon.
And now that we have surrounded the intellect with faithful helps
and guards, and got together with most careful selection a regular
army of divine works, it may seem that \ve have no more to do but
to proceed to philosophy itself. And yet in a matter so difficult and
doubtful there are still some things \vhich it seems necessary to
premise, partly for convenience of explanation, partly for present use.
Of these the first is to set forth examples of inquiry and invention
according to my method, exhibited by anticipation in some particular
subjects; choosing such subjects as are at once the most noble in
themsel ves among those under inquiry, and most different one
from another; that there may be an example in every kind. I do
not speak of those examples which are joined to the several precepts
and rules by way of illustration (for of these I have given plenty
in the second part of the work) ; but I mean actual types and models,
by which the entire process of the mind and the whole fabric and
order of invention from the beginning to the end, in certain subjects,
and those various and remarkable, should be set as it were before
the eyes. For I remember that in the mathematics it is easy to follow
the demonstration when you have a machine beside you; whereas
\vithout that help all appears involved and more subtle than it
really is. To examples of this kind,-being in fact nothing more
than an application of the second part in detail and at large,-the
fourth part of the work is devoted.
The fifth part is for temporary use only, pending the completion
of the rest; like interest payable from time to time until the principal
INSTAURATIO MAGNA 14 1
be forthcoming. For I do not make so blindly for the end of my
journey, as to neglect anything useful that may turn up by the way.
And therefore I include in this fifth part such things as I have
myself discovered, proved, or added,-not however according to the
true rules and methods of interpretation, but by the ordinary use of
the understanding in inquiring and discovering. For besides that
I hope my speculations may in virtue of my continual conversancy
with nature have a value beyond the pretensions of my wit, they will
serve in the meantime for wayside inns, in which the mind may rest
and refresh itself on its journey to more certain conclusions. Never..
theless I wish it to be understood in the meantime that they are
conclusions by which (as not being discovered and proved by the
true form of interpretation) I do not at all mean to bind myself. Nor
need anyone be alarmed at such suspension of judgment, in one
who maintains not simply that nothing can be known, but only that
nothing can be known except in a certain course and way; and yet
establishes provisionally certain degrees of assurance, for use and
relief until the mind shall arrive at a knowledge of causes in which
it can rest. For even those schools of philosophy which held the
absolute impossibility of knowing anything were not inferior to
those which took upon them to pronounce. But then they did not
provide helps for the sense and understanding, as I have done, but
simply took avvay all their authority: which is quite a different thing
-almost the reverse.
The sixth part of my work (to which the rest is subservient and
ministrant) discloses and sets forth that philosophy which by the
legitimate, chaste, and severe course of inquiry which I have
eXplained and provided is at length developed and established.
The completion ho\vever of this last part is a thing both above my
strength and beyond my hopes. I have made a beginning of the
work-a beginning, as I hope, not unimportant :-the fortune of the
human race will give the issue;-such an issue, it may be, as in the
present condition of things and men's minds cannot easily be con-
cei ved or imagined. For the matter in hand is no mere felicity of
speculation, but the real business and fortunes of the human race,
and all power of operation. For man is but the servant and inter..
142 FRANCIS BACON
preter of nature: what he does and what he knows is only what he
has observed of nature's order in fact or in thought; beyond this he
knows nothing and can do nothing. For the chain of causes cannot
by any force be loosed or broken, nor can nature be commanded
except by being obeyed. And so those twin objects, human Knowl-
edge and human Power, do really meet in one; and it is from
ignorance of causes that operation fails.
And all depends on keeping the eye steadily fixed upon the
facts of nature and so receiving their images simply as they are.
For God forbid that we should give out a dream of our o\vn imagina-
tion for a pattern of the world; rather may he graciously grant to us
to write an apocalypse or true vision of the footsteps of the Creator
imprinted on his creatures.
Therefore do thou, 0 Father, who gavest the visible light as the
first fruits of creation, and didst breathe into the face of man the
intellectual light as the crown and consummation thereof, guard
and protect this work, which coming from thy goodness returneth
to thy glory. Thou when thou turnedst to look upon the works
which thy hands had made, sawest that all was very good, and didst
rest from thy labours. But man, when he turned to look upon the
work which his hands had made, saw that all was vanity and
vexation of spirit, and could find no rest therein. Wherefore if we
labour in thy works with the sweat of our brows thou wilt make us
partakers of thy vision and thy sabbath. Humbly we pray that this
mind may be steadfast in us, and that through these our hands, and
the hands of others to whom thou shalt give the same spirit, thou
wilt vouchsafe to endow the human family with new mercies.
PREFACE
TO THE NOVUM ORGANUM
T HOSE who have taken upon them to lay down the law of
nature as a thing already searched out and understood,
whether they have spoken in simple assurance or profes-
sional affectation, have therein done philosophy and the sciences
great injury. For as they have been successful in inducing belief,
so they have been effective in quenching and stopping inquiry; and
have done more harm by spoiling and putting an end to other men's
efforts than good by their own. Those on the other hand who have
taken a contrary course, and asserted that absolutely nothing can be
known,-whether it were from hatred of the ancient sophists, or
from uncertainty and fluctuation of mind, or even from a kind of
fulness of learning, that they fell upon this opinion,-have certainly
advanced reasons for it that are not to be despised; but yet they have
neither started .from true principles nor rested in the just conclusion,
zeal and affectation having carried them much too far. The more
ancient of the Greeks (whose writings are lost) took up with better
judgment a position between these two extremes,-between the
presumption of pronouncing on everything, and the despair of com..
prehending anything; and though frequently and bitterly complain-
ing of the difficulty of inquiry and the obscurity of things, and like
impatient horses champing the bit, they did not the less follow up
their object and engage with Nature; thinking (it seems) that this
very question,-viz. whether or no anything can be known,-was
to be settled not by arguing, but by trying. And yet they too, trusting
entirely to the force of their understanding, applied no rule, but
made everything turn upon hard thinking and perpetual working
and exercise of the mind.
Now my method, though hard to practise, is easy to explain; and it
is this. I propose to establish progressive stages of certainty. The
evidence of the sense, helped and guarded by a certain process of
143
144
FRANCIS BACON
correction, I retain. But the mental operation which follows the
act of sense I for the most part reject; and instead of it I open and
layout a new and certain path for the mind to proceed in, starting
direct! y from the simple sensuous perception. The necessity of this
,vas felt no doubt by those who attributed so much importance to
Logic; showing thereby that they were in search of helps for the
understanding, and had no confidence in the native and spontaneous
process of the mind. But this remedy comes too late to do any
good, when the mind is already, through the daily intercourse and
conversation of life, occupied with unsound doctrines and beset on
all sides by vain imaginations. And therefore that art of Logic,
coming (as I said) too late to the rescue, and no way able to set
matters right again, has had the effect of fixing errors rather than
disclosing truth. There remains but one course for the recovery
of a sound and healthy condition,-namely, that the entire work of
the understanding be commenced afresh, and the mind itself be
from the very outset not left to take its own course, but guided at
every step; and the business be done as if by machinery. Certainly
if in things mechanical men had set to work with their naked hands,
without help or force of instruments, just as in things intellectual
they have set to work with little else than the naked forces of the
understanding, very small would the matters have been which, even
with their best efforts applied in conjunction, they could have
attempted or accomplished. Now (to pause while upon this example .
and look in it as in a glass) let us suppose that some vast obelisk
were (for the decoration of a triumph or some such magnificence) to
be removed from its place, and that men should set to work upon
it with their naked hands; would not any sober spectator think
them mad? And if they should then send for more people, thinking
that in that way they might manage it, would he not think them all
the madder? And if they then proceeded to make a selection, putting
away the weaker hands, and using only the strong and vigorous,
would he not think them madder than ever? And if lastly, not con-
tent with this, they resolved to call in aid the art of athletics, and
required all their men to come with hands, arms, and sinews ,vell
anointed and medicated according to the rules of art, would he not
cry out that they were only taking pains to show a kind of method
NOVUM ORGANUM 145
and discretion in their madness ? Yet just so it is that men proceed
in matters intellectual,-with just the same kind of mad effort and
useless combination of forces,-when they hope great things either
from the number and cooperation or from the excellency and acute-
ness of individual wits; yea, and when they endeavour by Logic
(which may be considered as a kind of athletic art) to strengthen
the sinews of the understanding; and yet with all this study and
endeavour it is apparent to any true judgment that they are but
applying the naked intellect all the time; whereas in every great
work to be done by the hand of man it is manifestly impossible,
without instruments or machinery, either for the strength of each
to be exerted or the strength of all to be united.
Upon these premises two things occur to me of which, that they
may not be overlooked, I would have men reminded. First it falls
out fortunately as I think for the allaying of contradictions and
heart-burnings, that the honour and reverence due to the ancients
remains untouched and undiminished; while I may carry out my
designs and at the same time reap the fruit of my modesty. For if
I should profess that I, going the same road as the ancients, have
something better to produce, there must needs have been some com-
parison or rivalry between us (not to be avoided by any art of words)
in respect of excellency or ability of wit; and though in this there
would be nothing unlawful or new (for if there be anything misap-
prehended by them, or falsely laid down, why may not I, using a
liberty common to all, take exception to it?) yet the contest, however
just and allowable, would have been an unequal one perhaps, in
respect of the measure of my own powers. As it is however,-my
object being to open a new way for the understanding, a way by
them untried and unknown,-the case is altered; party zeal and
emulation are at an end; and I appear merely as a guide to point
out the road; an office of small authority, and depending more upon
a kind of luck than upon any ability or excellency. And thus much
relates to the persons only. The other point of which I would have
men reminded relates to the matter itself.
Be it remembered then that I am far from wishing to interfere
with the philosophy which now flourishes, or with any other philoso-
phy more correct and complete than this which has been or may
146 FRANCIS BACON
hereafter be propounded. F or I do not obj ect to the use of this
received philosophy, or others like it, for supplying matter for
disputations or ornaments for discourse,-for the professor's lecture
and for the business of life. Nay more, I declare openly that for
these uses the philosophy which I bring forward will not be much
available. It does not lie in the way. It cannot be caught up in
passage. It does not flatter the understanding by conformity with
preconceived notions. Nor will it come down to the apprehension
of the vulgar except by its utility and effects.
Let there be therefore (and may it be for the benefit of both)
two streams and two dispensations of knowledge; and in like man-
ner two tribes or kindreds of students in philosophy-tribes not
hostile or alien to each other, but bound together by mutual
services ;-let there in short be one method for the cultivation,
another for the invention, of knowledge.
And for those who prefer the former, either from hurry or from
considerations of business or for want of mental power to take in
and embrace the other (which must needs be most men's case), I
wish that they may succeed to their desire in what they are about,
and obtain what they are pursuing. But if any man there be who,
not content to rest in and use the knowledge which has already
been discovered, aspires to penetrate further; to overcome, not an
adversary in argument, but nature in action; to seek, not pretty and
probable conjectures, but certain and demonstrable knowledge;-l
invite all such to join themselves, as true sons of knowledge, with
me, that passing by the outer courts of nature, which numbers have
trodden, we may find a way at length into her inner chambers. And
to make my meaning dearer and to familiarise the thing by giving it
a name, I have chosen to call one of these methods or ways Anticipa-
tion of the Mind, the other Interpretation of Nature.
Moreover I have one request to make. I have on my own part
made it my care and study that the things which I shall propound
should not only be true, but should also be presented to men's minds,
how strangely soever preoccupied and obstructed, in a manner not
harsh or unpleasant. It is but reasonable however (especially in so
great a restoration of learning and knowledge) that I should claim
of men one favour in return; which is this; If anyone would form
NOVUM ORGANUM
147
an opinion or judgment either out of his own observation, or out
of the crowd of authorities, or out of the forms of demonstration
(which have now acquired a sanction like that of judicial laws),
concerning these speculations of mine, let him not hope that he can
do it in passage or by the by; but let him examine the thing
thoroughly; let him make some little trial for himself of the way
which I describe and layout; let him familiarise his thoughts with
that subtlety of nature to which experience bears witness; let him
correct by seasonable patience and due delay the depraved and deep-
rooted habits of his mind; and when all this is done and he has
begun to be his own master, let him (if he will) use his own
judgment.
PREFACE TO THE
FIRST FOLIO EDITION
OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS
( 162 3)
To THE GREAT V ARIETY OF READERS
F ROM the most able, to him that can but spell: There you
are number'd. We had rather you were weighd. Especially,
when the fate of all Bookes depends vpon your capacities:
and not of your heads alone, but of your purses. Well! it is now
publique, & you wil stand for your pri uiledges wee know: to read,
and censure. Do so, but buy it first. That doth best commend a
Booke, the Stationer saies. Then, how odde soeuer your braines be,
or your wisedomes, make your licence the same, and spare not.
ludge your sixe-pen'orth, your shillings worth, your fiue shillings
worth at a time, or higher, so you rise to the iust rates, and welcome.
But, what euer you do, Buy. Censure will not driue a Trade, or
make the lacke go. And though you be a Magistrate of wit, and sit
on the Stage at Black-Priers, or the Cock-pit, to arraigne Playes
dailie, know, these Playes haue had their triall alreadie, and stood
out all Appeals; and do now come forth quitted rather by a Decree
of Court, then any purchas'd Letters of commendation.
It had bene a thing, we confesse, worthie to haue bene wished,
that the Author himselfe had liu'd to haue set forth, and ouerseen his
owne writings; But since it hath bin ordain'd otherwise, and he by
Little more than half of Shakespeare's plays were published during his lifetime; and
in the publication of these there is no evidence that the author had any hand. Seven
years after his death, John Heminge and Henry Condelt, two of his feltow-actors,
coltected the unpublished plays, and, in 1623, issued them along with the others in
a single volume, usually known as the First Folio. When one considers what would
have been lost had it not been for the enterprise of these men, it seems safe to say
that the volume they introduced by this quaint and not too accurate preface, is the
most important single book in the imaginative literature of the world.
14 8
HEMINGE-CONDELL 149
death departed from that right, we pray you do not envie his Friends,
the office of their care, and paine, to haue collected & publish'd them;
and so to haue publish'd them, as where (before) you were abus'd
with muerse stolne, and surreptitious copies, maimed, and deformed
by the frauds and stealthes of iniurious imposters, that expos'd them:
euen those, are now offer'd to your view cur'd, and perfect of their
limbes; and all the rest, absolute in their numbers, as he conceiued
them. Who, as he was a happie imitator of Nature, was a most
gentle expresser of it. His mind and hand went together: And what
he thought, he vttered with that easinesse, that wee haue scarse re-
ceiued from him a blot in his papers. But it is not our prouince, who
onely gather his works, and giue them you, to praise him. It is yours
that reade him. And there we hope, to your diuers capacities, you
will finde enough, both
o draw, and hold you: for his wit can no
more lie hid, then it could be lost. Reade him, therefore; and againe,
and againe: And if then you doe not like him, surely you are in
some manifest danger, not to vnderstand him. And so we leaue
you to other of his Friends, whom if you need, can bee your guides:
if you neede them not, you can leade your selues, and others. And
such Readers we wish him.
IOHN HEMINGE.
HENRIE CONDELL.
PREFACE TO THE
PHILOSOPHIAE NATURALIS
PRINCIPIA MATHEMATICA
BY SIR ISAAC NEWTON. (1686)
S INCE the ancients (as we are told by Pappus) made great
account of the science of mechanics in the investigation of
natural things; and the moderns, laying aside substantial
forms and occult qualities, have endeavored to subject the phe-
nomena of nature to the laws of mathematics, I have in this treatise
cultivated mathematics so far as it regards philosophy. The ancients
considered mechanics in a twofold respect; as rational, which pro-
ceeds accurately by demonstration, and practical. To practical
mechanics all the manual arts belong, from which mechanics took
its name. But as artificers do not work with perfect accuracy, it
comes to pass that mechanics is so distinguished from geometry,
that what is perfectly accurate is called geometrical; what is less so
is called mechanical. But the errors are not in the art, but in the
artificers. He that works with less accuracy is an imperfect me-
chanic: and if any could work with perfect accuracy, he would be
the most perfect mechanic of all; for the description of right lines
and circles, upon which geometry is founded, belongs to mechanics.
Geometry does not teach us to draw these lines, but requires them
to be drawn; for it requires that the learner should first be taught to
describe these accurately, before he enters upon geometry; then it
shows how by these operations problems may be solved. To describe
Sir Isaac Newton, the great English mathematician and physicist, was born at
W oolsthorpe in 1642, and died at Kensington in 1727. He held a professorship at
Cambridge, represented the University in Parliament, as master of the mint reformed
the English coinage, and for twenty-five years was president of the Royal Society.
His theory of the law of universal gravitation, the most important of his many
discoveries, is expounded in his "Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica,"
usually known merely as the "Principia," from which this Preface is translated.
15 0
TO THE PRINCIPIA 151
right lines and circles are problems, but not geometrical problems.
The solution of these problems is required from mechanics; and by
geometry the use of them, when so solved, is shown; and it is the
glory of geometry that from those few principles, fetched from with-
out, it is able to produce so many things. Therefore geometry is
founded in mechanical practice, and is nothing but that part of
universal mechanics which accurately proposes and demonstrates
the art of measuring. But since the n1anual arts are chiefly conversant
in the moving of bodies, it comes to pass that geometry is commonly
referred to their magnitudes, and mechanics to their motion. In this
sense rational mechanics will be the science of motions resulting
from any forces whatsoever, and of the forces required to produce
any motions, accurately proposed and demonstrated. This part of
mechanics was cultivated by the ancients in the fi. ve powers which
relate to manual arts, who considered gravity (it not being a manual
power) no otherwise than as it moved weights by those powers. Our
design, not respecting arts, but philosophy, and our subject, not
manual, but natural powers, we consider chiefly those things which
relate to gravity, levity, elastic force, the resistance of fluids, and
the like forces, whether attractive or impulsive; and therefore we
offer this work as mathematical principles of philosophy; for all the
difficulty of philosophy seems to consist in this-from the phenomena
of motions to investigate the forces of nature, and then from these
forces to demonstrate the other phenomena; and to this end the
general propositions in the first and second book are directed. In
the third book we give an example of this in the explication of the
system of the World; for by the propositions mathematically demon-
strated in the first book, we there derive from the celestial phenomena
the forces of gravity with which bodies tend to the sun and the
several planets. Then, from these forces, by other propositions which
are also mathematical, we deduce the motions of the planets, the
comets, the moon, and the sea. I wish we could derive the rest of the
phenomena of nature by the same kind of reasoning from mechanical
principles; for I am induced by many reasons to suspect that they
may all depend upon certain forces by which the particles of bodies,
by some causes hitherto unknown, are either mutually impelled
towards each other, and cohere in regular figures, or are repelled
152 SIR ISAAC NEWTON
and recede from each other; \vhich forces being unknown, philoso-
phers have hitherto attempted the search of nature in vain; but I
hope the principles here laid down will afford some light either to
that or some truer method of philosophy.
In the publication of this work, the most acute and universally
learned Mr. Edmund Halley not only assisted me with his pains in
correcting the press and taking care of the schemes, but it was to
his solicitations that its becoming public is owing; for when he had
obtained of me my demonstrations of the figure of the celestial orbits,
he continually pressed me to communicate the same to the Royal
Society, who afterwards, by their kind encouragement and entreaties,
engaged me to think of publishing them. But after I had begun to
consider the inequalities of the lunar motions, and had entered upon
some other things relating to the la\vs and measures of gravity, and
other forces; and the figures that would be described by bodies
attracted according to given laws; and the motion of several bodies
moving among themselves; the motion of bodies in resisting medi-
ums; the forces, densities, and motions of mediums; the orbits of
the comets, and such like; I put off that publication till I had made
a search into those matters, and could put out the whole together.
What relates to the lunar motions (being imperfect) I have put all
together in the corollaries of proposition 66, to avoid being obliged
to propose and distinctly demonstrate the several things there con-
tained in a method more prolix than the subject deserved, and inter-
rupt the series of the several propositions. Some things, found out
after the rest, I chose to insert in places less suitable, rather than
change the number of the propositions and the citations. I heartily
beg that what I have here done may be read \vith candor; and that
the defects I have been guilty of upon this difficult subject may be
not so much reprehended as kindly supplied, and investigated by
new endeavors of my readers.
Cambridge, Trinity College, ISAAC NEWTON.
May 8, 1686.
PREFACE TO FABLES,
ANCIENT AND MODERN
BY JOHN DRYDEN. (1700)
T IS \\Tith a poet, as with a man who designs to build, and is
very exact, as he supposes, in casting up the cost beforehand;
but, generally speaking, he is mistaken in his account, and
reckons short of the expense he first intended. He alters his mind
as the work proceeds, and will have this or that convenience more,
of which he had not thought \vhen he began. So has it happen'd to
me; I have built a house, where I intended but a lodge; yet with
better success than a certain nobleman, 1 who, beginning with a dog
kennel, never liv'd to finish the palace he had contriv'd.
From translating the first of Homer's Iliads (which I intended as
an essay to the whole work) I proceeded to the translation of the
twelfth book of Ovid's Metamorphoses, because it contains, among
other things, the causes, the beginning, and ending, of the Trojan
war. Here I ought in reason to have stopp'd; but the speeches of
Ajax and Ulysses lying next in my way, I could not balk 'em. When
I had compass'd them, I was so taken with the former part of the
fifteenth book, (which is the masterpiece of the whole Metamor-
phoses,) that I enjoin'd myself the pleasing task of rend'ring it into
English. And now I found, by the number of my verses, that they
began to swell into a little volume; which gave me an occasion of
looking backward on some beauties of my author, in his former
books. There occurr'd to me the Hunting oj the Boar, Cinyras and
John Dryden (1631-1700), the great dramatic and satirical poet of the later seven-
teenth century, whose translation of Virgil's "Æneid" appears in another volume of
the Harvard Classics, deserves hardly less distinction as a prose writer than as a poet.
The present essay, prefixed to a volume of narrative poems, is largely concerned with
Chaucer; and in its genial and penetratin
criticism, expressed with characteristic
clearness and vigor, can be seen the ground for naming Dryden the first of English
literary critics, and the founder of modern prose style.
t Scott suggests that the allusion is to the Duke of Buckingham, who was often
satirized for the slow progress of his great mansion at Cliefden.
153
154 JOHN DRYDEN
Myrrh a, the good-natur'd story of Baucis and Philemon, with the
rest, which I hope I have translated closely enough, and given them
the same turn of verse which they had in the original; and this, I
may say without vanity, is not the talent of every poet. He who has
arriv'd the nearest to it, is the ingenious and learned Sandys, the
best versifier of the former age; if I may properly call it by that
name, which was the former part of this concluding century. For
Spenser and Fairfax both flourish'd in the reign of Queen Elizabeth;
great masters in our language, and who saw much farther into the
beauties of our numbers than those who immediately follow'd them.
Milton was the poetical son of Spenser, and Mr. Waller of Fairfax,
for we have our lineal descents and clans as well as other families.
Spenser more than once insinuates that the soul of Chaucer was
transfus'd into his body, and that he was begotten by him two
hundred years after his decease. Milton has acknowledg'd to me
that Spenser was his original, and many besides myself have heard
our famous Waller own that he deriv'd the harmony of his numbers
from the Godfrey of Bulloign, which was turn'd into English by
Mr. Fairfax. But to return. Having done with Ovid for this time,
it came into my mind that our old English poet, Chaucer, in many
things resembled him, and that with no disadvantage on the side
of the modern author, as I shall endeavor to prove ,vhen I compare
them; and as I am, and ahvays have been, studious to promote the
honor of my native country, so I soon resolv'd to put their merits to
the trial, by turning some of the Canterbury Tales into our language,
as it is now refin'd; for by this means, both the poets being set in
the same light, and dress'd in the same English habit, story to be
compar'd with story, a certain judgment may be made betwixt them
by the reader, without obtruding my opinion on him. Or, if I seem
partial to my countryman and predecessor in the laurel, the friends
of antiquity are not few; and besides many of the learn'd, Ovid has
almost all the beaux, and the whole fair sex, his declar'd patrons.
Perhaps I have assum'd some\vhat more to myself than they allow
me, because I have adventur'd to sum up the evidence; but the
readers are the jury, and their privilege remains entire, to decide,
according to the merits of the cause, or if they please, to bring it to
another hearing before some other court. In the mean time, to
TO FABLES 155
follow the thrid of my discourse, (as thoughts, according to Mr.
Hobbes, have always some connection,) so from Chaucer I was led
to think on Boccace, who was not only his contemporary, but also
pursued the same studies; wrote novels in prose, and many works in
verse; particularly is said to have invented the octave rhyme,2 or
stanza of eight lines, which ever since has been maintain'd by the
practice of all Italian writers, who are, or at least assume the title of,
heroic poets. He and Chaucer, among other things, had this in com-
mon, that they refin'd their mother tongues; but with this difference,
that Dante had begun to file their language, at least in verse, before
the time of Boccace, who likewise receiv'd no little help from his
master Petrarch. But the reformation of their prose was wholly
owing to Boccace himself, who is yet the standard of purity in the
Italian tongue; tho' many of his phrases are become obsolete, as in
process of time it must needs happen. Chaucer (as you have formerly
been told by our learn'd Mr. Rymer) first adorn'd and amplified
our barren tongue from the Provençal,3 which was then the most
polish'd of all the modern languages; but this subject has been
copiously treated by that great critic, who deserves no little commen-
dation from us his countrymen. For these reasons of time, and
resemblance of genius in Chaucer and Boccace, I resolv'd to join
them in my present work; to which I have added some original
papers of my own; which, whether they are equal or inferior to my
other poems, an author is the most improper judge, and therefore
I leave them wholly to the mercy of the reader. I will hope the best,
that they will not be condemn'd; but if they should, I have the excuse
of an old gentleman, who mounting on horseback before some ladies,
when I was present, got up somewhat heavily, but desir'd of the fair
spectators that they would count fourscore and eight before they
j udg'd him. By the mercy of God, I am already come within twenty
years of his number, a cripple in my limbs; but what decays are in
my mind, the reader must determine. I think myself as vigorous as
ever in the faculties of my soul, excepting only my memory, which
is not impair'd to any great degree; and if I lose not more of it, I
have no great reason to complain. What judgment I had, increases
2 Boccaccio did not invent this stanza, which had been used in both French and
Italian before his day, but he did constitute it the Italian form for heroic verse.
3 Rymer misled Dryden. There is no trace of Provençal influence on Chaucet.
156 JOHN DRYDEN
rather than diminishes; and thoughts, such as they are, come crowd-
ing in so fast upon me, that my only difficulty is to choose or to
reject; to run them into verse, or to give them the other harmony of
prose. I have so long studied and practic'd both, that they are grown
into a habit, and become familiar to me. In short, tho' I may lawfully
plead some part of the old gentleman's excuse, yet I will reserve it
till I think I have greater need, and ask no grains of allowance for
the faults of this my present work, but those which are given of
course to human frailty. I will not trouble my reader with the short-
ness of time in which I writ it, or the several intervals of sickness.
They who think too well of their own performances are apt to boast
in their prefaces how little time their works have cost them, and
what other business of more importance interfer'd; but the reader
will be as apt to ask the question, why they allow'd not a longer
time to make their works more perfect, and why they had so despic-
able an opinion of their judges as to thrust their indigested stuff upon
them, as if they deserv'd no better.
With this account of my present undertaking, I conclude the first
part of this discourse; in the second part, as at a second sitting, tho'
I alter not the draught, I must touch the same features over again,
and change the dead coloring 4 of the whole. In general, I will only
say that I have written nothing which savors of immorality or pro-
faneness; at least, I am not conscious to myself of any such intention.
If there happen to be found an irreverent expression, or a thought
too wanton, they are crept into my verses thro' my inadvertency; if
the searchers find any in the cargo, let them be stav'd or forfeited,
like counterbanded goods; at least, let their authors be answerable
for them, as being but imported merchandise, and not of my own
manufacture. On the other side, I have endeavor'd to choose such
fables, both ancient and modern, as contain in each of them some
;instructive moral; which I could prove by induction, but the way
is tedious, and they leap foremost into sight, without the reader's
trouble of looking after them. I wish I could affirm, with a safe
conscience, that I had taken the same care in all my former writings;
for it must be own'd, that supposing verses are never so beautiful
or pleasing, yet if they contain anything which shocks religion, or
4 The foundation la}Oer of color in a painting.
TO FABLES 157
good manners, they are at best what Horace says of good numbers
without good sense, Versus inopes rerum, nugæque canoræ. 5 Thus
far, I hope, I am right in court, without renouncing to my other
right of self-defense, where I have been wrongfully accus'd, and my
sense wiredrawn into blasphemy or bawdry, as it has often been by
a religious lawyer,6 in a late pleading against the stage; in which he
mixes truth with falsehood, and has not forgotten the old rule of
calumniating strongly, that something may remain.
I resume the thrid of my discourse with the first of my translations,
which was the First Iliad of Homer. If it shall please God to give me
longer life, and moderate health, my intentions are to translate the
whole Ilias,o provided still that I meet with those encouragements
from the public which may enable me to proceed in my undertaking
with some cheerfulness. And this I dare assure the world before-
hand, that I have found by trial Homer a more pleasing task than
Virgil, (tho' I say not the translation will be less laborious). For
the Grecian is more according to my genius than the Latin poet. In
the works of the two authors we may read their manners and natural
inclinations, which are wholly different. Virgil was of a quiet, sedate
temper; Homer was violent, impetuous, and full of fire. The chief
talent of Virgil was propriety of thoughts, and ornament of words;
Homer was rapid in his thoughts, and took all the liberties, both
of numbers and of expressions, which his language, and the age in
which he liv'd, allow'd him. Homer's invention was more copious,
Virgil's more confin'd; so that if Homer had not led the way, it was
not in Virgil to have begun heroic poetry; for nothing can be more
evident than that the Roman poem is but the second part of the Ilias,o
a continuation of the same story, and the persons already form'd; the
manners of Æneas are those of Hector superadded to those which
Homer gave him. The adventures of Ulysses in the Odysseis are
imitated in the first six books of Virgil's Æneis; and tho' the acci-
dents are not the same, (which would have argued him of a servile,
copying, and total barrenness of invention,) yet the seas were the
same, in which both the heroes wander'd; and Dido cannot be denied
to be the poetical daughter of Calypso. The six latter books of Vir-
S "Verses without content, melodious trifles."-Ars Poet. .322.
6 Jeremy Collier, in his Short View oj tl,c Immorality and Profaneness of the
Stagc, 1698.
15 8 JOHN DRYDEN
gil's poem are the four and twenty Iliads contracted: a quarrel occa-
sion'd by a lady, a single combat, battles fought, and a town besieg'd.
I say not this in derogation to Virgil, neither do I contradict any-
thing which I have formerly said in his just praise: for his episodes
are almost wholly of his own invention; and the form which he has
gi ven to the telling makes the tale his own, even tho' the original
story had been the same. But this proves, however, that Homer
taught Virgil to design; and if invention be the first virtue of an
epic poet, then the Latin poem can only be allow'd the second place.
Mr. Hobbes, in the preface to his own bald translation of the Ilias
(studying poetry as he did mathematics, when it was too late)-Mr.
Hobbes, I say, begins the praise of Homer where he should have
ended it. He tells us that the first beauty of an epic poem consists
in diction, that is, in the choice of words, and harmony of numbers:
now the words are the coloring of the work, which in the order of
nature is last to be consider'd. The design, the disposition, the man-
ners, and the thoughts, are all before it: where any of those are
wanting or imperfect, so much wants or is imperfect in the imitation
of human life; which is in the very definition of a poem. Words,
indeed, like glaring colors, are the first beauties that arise and strike
the sight: but if the draught be false or lame, the figures ill dispos'd,
the manners obscure or inconsistent, or the thoughts unnatural, then
the finest colors are but daubing, and the piece is a beautiful monster
at the best. Neither Virgil nor Homer were deficient in any of the
former beauties; but in this last, which is expression, the Roman poet
is at least equal to the Grecian, as I have said elsewhere; supplying
the poverty of his language by his musical ear, and by his diligence.
But to return: our two great poets, being so different in their tem-
pers, one choleric and sanguine, the other phlegmatic and melan-
cholic; that which makes them excel in their several ways is that
each of them has follow'd his own natural inclination, as well in
forming the design as in the execution of it. The very heroes shew
their authors: Achilles is hot, impatient, revengeful, Impiger, iracun-
dus, inexorabilis, acer,7 &c.; Æneas patient, considerate, careful of his
people, and merciful to his enemies; ever submissive to the will of
7 "Energetic, irascible, unyielding, vehement."-Horace, Ars Poet. 121.
TO FABLES 159
Heaven-Quo lata trahunt retrahuntque sequamur. 8 I could please
myself with enlarging on this subject, but am forc'd to defer it to a
fitter time. From all I have said I will only draw this inference, that
the action of Homer being more full of vigor than that of Virgil,
according to the temper of the writer, is of consequence more pleas-
ing to the reader. One warms you by degrees: the other sets you on
fire all at once, and never intermits his heat. 'Tis the same difference
which Longinus makes betwixt the effects of eloquence in Demos-
thenes and Tully. One persuades; the other commands. You never
cool while you read Homer, even not in the second book (a graceful
flattery to his countrymen); but he hastens from the ships, and
concludes not that book till he has made you an amends by the vio-
lent playing of a new machine. From thence he hurries on his
action with variety of events, and ends it in less compass than two
months. This vehemence of his, I confess, is more suitable to my
temper; and therefore I have translated his first book with greater
pleasure than any part of Virgil; but it was not a pleasure without
pains. The continual agitations of the spirits must needs be a weak'-
ning of any constitution, especially in age; and many pauses are
requir'd for refreshment bet\vixt the heats; the Iliad of itself being
a third part longer than all Virgil's works together.
This is what I thought needful in this place to say of Homer. I
proceed to Ovid and Chaucer, considering the former only in rela-
tion to the latter. With Ovid ended the golden age of the Roman
tongue; from Chaucer the purity of the English tongue began. The
manners of the poets were not unlike: both of them were well bred,
well natur'd, amorous, and libertine, at least in their writings, it
may be also in their lives. Their studies were the same, philosophy
and philology. Both of them were knowing in astronomy, of \vhich
Ovid's books of the Roman feasts, and Chaucer's treatise of the
Astrolabe, are sufficient witnesses. But Chaucer was likewise an
astrologer, as were Virgil, Horace, Persius, and Manilius. Both writ
with wonderful facility and clearness: neither were great inventors;
for Ovid only copied the Grecian fables; and most of Chaucer's
stories were taken from his Italian contemporaries, or their predeces-
8 "Whithersoever the fates drag us to and fro, let us folIow."-Virgil, Æneid, v. 709.
160 JOHN DRYDEN
sors.!J Boccace his Deca1neron was first publish'd; and from thence
our Englishman has borrow'd many of his Canterbury Tales; yet
that of Palamon and Arcite was written in all probability by some
Italian wit in a former age, as I shall prove hereafter. The tale of
Grizild was the invention of Petrarch; by him sent to Boccace; from
whom it came to Chaucer. T roilus and Cressida was also written
by a Lombard author; but much amplified by our English trans-
lator, as well as beautified; the genius of our countrymen, in general,
being rather to improve an invention, than to invent themselves; as
is evident not only in our poetry, but in many of our manufactures.
I find I have anticipated already, and taken up from Boccace before
I come to him; but there is so much less behind; and I am of the
temper of most kings, who love to be in debt, are all for present
money, no matter how they pay it afterwards: besides, the nature of
a preface is rambling; never wholly out of the way, nor in it. This
I have learn'd from the practice of honest Montaigne, and return at
my pleasure to Ovid and Chaucer, of ,,,ham I have little more to say.
Both of them built on the inventions of other men; yet since Chaucer
had something of his own, as The Wife of Bath's Tale, The Cock
and the FOX,lO which I have translated, and some others, I may justly
give our countryman the precedence in that part; since I can remem-
ber nothing of Ovid which was wholly his. Both of them understood
the manners, under which name I comprehend the passions, and, in
a larger sense, the descriptions of persons, and their very habits; for
an example, I see Baucis and Philemon as perfectly before me, as if
some ancient painter had drawn them; and all the pilgrims in the
Canterbury Tales, their humors, their features, and the very dress,
as distinctly as if I had supp'd with them at the Tabard in South-
wark; yet even there too the figures of Chaucer are much more
lively, and set in a better light: which tho' I have not time to prove,
yet I appeal to the reader, and am sure he will clear me from par-
tiality. The thoughts and words remain to be consider'd in the
comparison of the two poets; and I have sav'd myself one half of
that labor, by owning that Ovid liv'd when the Roman tongue was in
its meridian, Chaucer in the dawning of our language; therefore
9 The statements that follow as to Chaucer's sourCes are mostly not in accord with
the results of modern scholarship.
10 The plot of neither of these poems was original with Chauc
r.
TO FABLES
161
that part of the comparison stands not on an equal foot, any more
than the diction of Ennius and Ovid, or of Chaucer and our present
English. The words are given up as a post not to be defended in our
poet, because he wanted the modern art of fortifying. The thoughts
remain to be consider'd, and they are to be measur'd only by their
propriety; that is, as they flow more or less naturally from the per-
sons describ'd, on such and such occasions. The vulgar judges, which
are nine parts in ten of all nations, who call conceits and jingles wit,
who see Ovid full of them, and Chaucer altogether without them,
will think me little less than mad, for preferring the Englishman to
the Roman: yet, with their leave, I must presume to say that the
things they admire are only glittering trifles, and so far from being
witty, that in a serious poem they are nauseous, because they are
unnatural. Would any man who is ready to die for love describe
his passion like Narcissus ? Would he think of inopem me copia
fecit,l1 and a dozen more of such expressions, pour'd on the neck of
one another, and signifying all the same thing? If this were wit,
was this a time to be witty, when the poor wretch was in the agony
of death? This is just John Liulewit in BartholometlJ Pair}2 who
had a conceit (as he tells you) left him in his misery; a miserable
conceit. On these occasions the poet should endeavor to raise pity;
but instead of this, Ovid is tickling you to laugh. Virgil never made
use of such machines, \vhen he was moving you to commiserate the
death of Dido: he would not destroy what he was building. Chaucer
makes Arcite violent in his love, and unjust in the pursuit of it; yet
when he came to die, he made him think more reasonably: he re-
pents not of his love, for that had alter'd his character; but acknowl-
edges the inj ustice of his proceedings, and resigns Emilia to Palamon.
What would Ovid have done on this occasion? He would certainly
have made Arcite witty on his deathbed. He had complain'd he was
farther off from possession by being so near, and a thousand such
boyisms, which Chaucer rejected as below the dignity of the subject.
They who think otherwise would by the same reason prefer Lucan
and Ovid to Homer and Virgil, and Martial to all four of them. As
for the turn of words, in \vhich Ovid particularly excels all poets,
they are sometimes a fault, and sometimes a beauty, as they are us'd
11 "Plenty has made me poor."- 'Aleta. iii. 466. 12 By Bcn Jonson.
162 JOHN DRYDEN
properly or improperly; but in strong passions always to be shunn'd,
because passions are serious, and will admit no playing. The French
have a high value for them; and I confess, they are often what they
call delicate, when they are introduc'd with judgment; but Chaucer
writ with more simplicity, and follow'd nature more closely, than
to use them. I have thus far, to the best of my knowledge, been an
upright judge betwixt the parties in competition, not meddling with
the design nor the disposition of it; because the design was not their
own, and in the disposing of it they were equal. It remains that I
say somewhat of Chaucer in particular.
In the first place, as he is the father of English poetry, so I hold
him in the same degree of veneration as the Grecians held Homer or
the Romans Virgil. He is a perpetual fountain of good sense, learn'd
in all sciences, and therefore speaks properly on all subjects: as he
knew what to say, so he knows also when to leave oft, a continence
which is practic'd by few writers, and scarcely by any of the ancients,
excepting Virgil and Horace. One of our late great poets 13 is sunk
in his reputation, because he could never forgive any conceit which
came in his way, but swept like a dragnet, great and small. There
was plenty enough, but the dishes were ill sorted; whole pyramids
of sweetmeats for boys and women, but little of solid meat for men.
All this proceeded not from any want of knowledge, but of judg-
ment; neither did he want that in discerning the beauties and faults
of other poets; but only indulg'd himself in the luxury of writing;
and perhaps knew it was a fault, but hop'd the reader would not find
it. For this reason, tho' he must always be thought a great poet, he
is no longer esteem'd a good writer; and for ten impressions, which
his works have had in so many successive years, yet at present a
hundred books are scarcely purchas'd once a twelvemonth: for, as
my last Lord Rochester said, tho' somewhat profanely, "Not being
of God, he could not stand."
Chaucer foUow'd Nature everywhere, but was never so bold to go
beyond her; and there is a great difference of being poeta and nimis
poeta/ 4 if we may believe Catullus, as much as betwixt a modest
behavior and affectation. The verse of Chaucer, I confess, is not har-
monious to us; but 't is like the eloquence of one whom Tacitus
13 Cowley. 14 "Too much a poet."-Martial üi. 44 (not Catullus).
TO FABLES
16 3
commends, it \vas auribus Ùtius temporis accommodata: 15 they who
Ii v' d with him, and some time after him, thought it musical; and it
continued so even in our judgment, if compar'd with the numbers
of Lydgate and Gower, his contemporaries: there is the rude sweet-
ness of a Scotch tune in it, which is natural and pleasing, tho' not
perfect. 'T is true, I cannot go so far as he who publish'd the last
edition of him;16 for he would make us believe the fault is in our
ears, and that there were really ten syllables in a verse where we find
but nine: but this opinion is not worth confuting; 't is so gross and
obvious an error, that common sense (which is a rule in everything
but matters of faith and revelation) must convince the reader that
equality of numbers in every verse which we call heroic was either
not known, or not always practic'd, in Chaucer's age. It were an
easy matter to produce some thousands of his verses, which are lame
for want of half a foot, and sometimes a whole one, and which no
pronunciation can make otherwise. We can only say, that he liv'd
in the infancy of our poetry, and that nothing is brought to perfec-
tion at the first. We must be children before we grow men. There
was an Ennius, and in process of time a LuciIius and a Lucretius,
before Virgil and Horace; even after Chaucer there was a Spenser,
a Harrington, a Fairfax, before Waller and Denham were in being:
and our numbers were in their nonage till these last appear'd. I need
say little of his parentage, life, and fortunes;17 they are to be found
at large in all the editions of his works. He was employ'd abroad
and favor'd by Edward the Third, Richard the Second, and Henry
the Fourth, and was poet, as I suppose, to all three of them. In
Richard's time, I doubt, he was a little dipp'd in the rebellion of the
commons, and being brother-in-law to John of Ghant, it was no
wonder if he follow'd the fortunes of that family, and was well with
Henry the Fourth when he had depos'd his predecessor. Neither is
it to be admir' d, 18 that Henry, who was a wise as well as a valiant
prince, who claim'd by succession, and was sensible that his title was
not sound, but was rightfully in Mortimer, who had married the
heir of York; it was not to be admir'd, I say, if that great politician
should be pleas'd to have the greatest wit of those times in his inter-
15 "Suited to the ears of that time."
16 Speght, whom modern scholarship has shown to be right in this matter.
17 What follows on Chaucer's life is full of errors. 18 Wondered at.
164 JOHN DRYDEN
ests, and to be the trumpet of his praises. Augustus had given him
the example, by the advice of Mæcenas, who recommended Virgil
and Horace to him; whose praises help'd to make him popular while
he was alive, and after his death have made him precious to posterity.
As for the religion of our poet, he seems to have some little bias
towards the opinions of Wycliffe, after John of Ghant his patron;
somewhat of which appears in the tale of Piers Plowman.I 9 Yet I
cannot blame him for inveighing so sharply against the vices of the
clergy in his age; their pride, their ambition, their pomp, their
avarice, their worldly interest, deserv'd the lashes which he gave
them, both in that and in most of his Canterbury Tales: neither has
his contemporary Boccace spar'd them. Yet both those poets liv'd
in much esteem with good and holy men in orders; for the scandal
which is given by particular priests reflects not on the sacred func-
tion. Chaucer's Monk, his Canon, and his Friar, took not from the
character of his Good Parson. A satirical poet is the check of the
laymen on bad priests. Weare only to take care that we involve
not the innocent with the guilty in the same condemnation. The
good cannot be too much honor'd, nor the bad too coarsely us'd: for
the corruption of the best becomes the worst. When a clergyman is
whipp'd, his gown is first taken off, by which the dignity of his
order is secur'd: if he be wrongfully accus'd, he has his action of
slander; and 't is at the poet's peril if he transgress the law. But
they will tell us that all kind of satire, tho' never so well deserv'd
by particular priests, yet brings the whole order into contempt. Is
then the peerage of England anything dishonor'd, when a peer
suffers for his treason? If he be libel'd or any way defam'd, he has
his scandalum magnatum 20 to punish the offender. They who use
this kind of argument seem to be conscious to themselves of some-
what which has deserv'd the poet's lash, and are less concern'd for
their public capacity than for their private; at least there is pride
at the bottom of their reasoning. If the faults of men in orders are
only to be judg'd among themselves, they are all in some sort par-
ties: for, since they say the honor of their order is concern'd in every
member of it, how can we be sure that they will be impartial judges?
19 A spurious "Plowman's Tale" was included in the older editions of Chaucer.
20 A law term for slander of a man of high rank, involving more severe punish-
ment than ordinary slander.
TO FABLES 165
How far I may be allow'd to speak my opinion in this case, I know
not; but I am sure a dispute of this nature caus'd mischief in abun-
dance betwixt a king of England and an archbishop of Canterbury;21
one standing up for the laws of his land, and the other for the honor
(as he call'd it) of God's Church; which ended in the murther of
the prelate, and in the whipping of his Majesty from post to pillar
for his penance. The learn'd and ingenious Dr. Drake 22 has sav'd
me the labour of inquiring into the esteem and reverence which the
priests have had of old, and I would rather extend than diminish any
part of it: yet I must needs say, that when a priest provokes me
without any occasion given him, I have no reason, unless it be the
charity of a Christian, to forgive him: prior læsit 23 is justification
sufficient in the civil law. If I answer him in his own language, self-
defense, I am sure, must be allow'd me; and if I carry it farther,
even to a sharp recrimination, somewhat may be indulg'd to human
frailty. Yet my resentment has not wrought so far, but that I have
follow'd Chaucer in his character of a holy man, and have enlarg'd
on that subject with some pleasure, reserving to myself the right, if
I shall think fit hereafter, to describe another sort of priests, such as
are more easily to be found than the Good Parson; such as have
given the last blow to Christianity in this age, by a practice so con...
trary to their doctrine. But this will keep cold till another time. In
the mean while I take up Chaucer where I left him. He must have
been a man of a most wonderful comprehensive nature, because, as
it has been truly observ'd of him, he has taken into the compass of
his Canterbury Tales the various manners and humors (as we now
call them) of the whole English nation, in his age. Not a single
character has escap'd him. All his pilgrims are severally distinguish'd
from each other; and not only in their inclinations, but in their very
physiognomies and persons. Bapista Porta 24 could not have describ'd
their natures better, than by the marks which the poet gives them.
The matter and manner of their tales, and of their telling, are so
suited to their different educations, humors, and callings, that each
of them would be improper in any other mouth. Even the grave
21 Henry II. and Thomas à Becket.
22 Dr. James Drake wrote a reply to Jeremy Collier's Short View.
23 "He did the first injury."
24 A Neapolitan physician who wrote on physiognomy.
166 JOHN DRYDEN
and serious characters are distinguish'd by their several sorts of
gravity: their discourses are such as belong to their age, their calling,
and their breeding; such as are becoming of them, and of them only.
Some of his persons are vicious, and some virtuous; some are un-
learn'd, or (as Chaucer calls them) lewd, and some are learn'd. Even
the ribaldry of the low characters is different: the Reeve, the Miller,
and the Cook are several men, and distinguish'd from each other, as
much as the mincing Lady Prioress and the broad-speaking gap-
tooth'd Wife of Bath. But enough of this: there is such a variety
of game springing up before me, that I am distracted in my choice,
and know not which to follow. 'Tis sufficient to say, according to
the proverb, that here is God's plenty. We have our fore-fathers
and great-grandames all before us, as they were in Chaucer's days;
their general characters are still remaining in mankind, and even
in England, tho' they are call'd by other names than those of Monks
and Friars, and Canons, and Lady Abbesses, and Nuns: for man-
kind is ever the same, and nothing lost out of nature, tho' everything
is alter'd. May I have leave to do myself the justice-since my
enemies will do me none, and are so far from granting me to be a
good poet, that they will not allow me so much as to be a Christian,
or a moral man-may I have leave, I say, to inform my reader that
I have confin'd my choice to such tales of Chaucer as savor nothing
of immodesty. If I had desir'd more to please than to instruct, the
Reeve, the Miller, the Shipman, the Merchant, the Sumner, and
above all, the Wife of Bath, in the prologue to her tale, would have
procur'd me as many friends and readers, as there are beaux and
ladies of pleasure in the town. But I will no more offend against
good manners: I am sensible, as I ought to be, of the scandal I have
given by my loose writings; and make what reparation I am able,
by this public acknowledgment. If anything of this nature, or of
profaneness, be crept into these poems, I am so far from defending
it, that I disown it. T otum hoc indictum tJolo. 25 Chaucer makes
another manner of apology for his broad speaking, and Boccace
makes the like; but I will follow neither of them. Our countryman,
in the end of his characters, before the Canterbury Tales, thus ex-
cuses the ribaldry, which is very gross in many of his novels:
25 ccI wish all this unsaid."
TO FABLES
But first, I pray you of your courtesy,
That ye ne arrete 26 it nought my villany,
Though that I plainly speak in this mattere
To tellen you her 27 words, and eke her chere:
Ne though I speak her words properly,
For this ye knowen as well as I,
Who shall tellen a tale after a man,
He mote rehearse as nye as ever he can:
E verich word of it been in his charge,
All speke he never so rudely ne large.
Or else he mote tellen his tale untrue,
Or feine things, or find words new:
He may not spare, altho he were his brother,
He mote as well say 0 word as another.
Christ spake himself full broad in holy writ,
And well I wote no villany is it.
Eke Plato saith, who so can him rede,
The words mote 28 been cousin to the dede. 29
16 7
Yet if a man should have enquir'd of Boccace or of Chaucer, what
need they had of introducing such characters, where obscene words
were proper in their mouths, but very undecent to be heard; I know
not what answer they could have made: for that reason such tales
shall be left untold by me. You have here a specimen of Chaucer's
language, which is so obsolete that his sense is scarce to be under-
stood; and you have likewise more than one example of his unequal
numbers, which were mention'd before. Yet many of his verses con-
sist of ten syllables, and the words not much behind our present
English: as for example, these two lines, in the description of the
carpenter's young wife:
Wincing she was, as is a jolly colt,
Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.
I have almost done with Chaucer, when I have answer'd some
objections relating to my present work. I find some people are
offended that I have turn'd these tales into modern English; because
they think them unworthy of my pains, and look on Chaucer as a
dry, old-fashion'd wit, not worth reviving. I have often heard the
26 Reckon. 27 Their. 28 Must.
29 The corrupt state of the text of this passage is enough to explain why Dryden
found Chaucer rough.
168 JOHN DRYDEN
late Earl of Leicester say that Mr. Cowley himself was of that opin-
ion; who having read him over at my lord's request, declar'd he had
no taste of him. I dare not advance my opinion against the judgment
of so great an author; but I think it fair, however, to leave the deci-
sion to the public: Mr. Cowley was too modest to set up for a
dictator; and being shock'd perhaps with his old style, never exam-
in'd into the depth of his good sense. Chaucer, I confess, is a rough
diamond, and must first be polish'd, ere he shines. I deny not, like-
wise, that, living in our early days of poetry, he writes not always
of a piece, but sometimes mingles trivial things with those of greater
moment. Sometimes also, tho' not often, he runs riot, like Ovid,
and knows not when he has said enough. But there are more great
wits, beside Chaucer, whose fault is their excess of conceits, and
those ill sorted. An author is not to write all he can, but only all he
ought. Having observ'd this redundancy in Chaucer, (as it is an
easy matter for a man of ordinary parts to find a fault in one of
greater,) I have not tied myself to a literal translation; but have
often omitted what I judg'd unnecessary, or not of dignity enough
to appear in the company of better thoughts. I have presum'd
farther, in some places, and added somewhat of my own where I
thought my author was deficient, and had not given his thoughts
their true luster, for want of words in the beginning of our language.
And to this I was the more embolden'd, because (if I may be per-
mitted to say it of myself) I found I had a soul congenial to his, and
that I had been conversant in the same studies. Another poet, in
another age, may take the same liberty with my writings; if at least
they live long enough to deserve correction. It was also necessary
sometimes to restore the sense of Chaucer, which was lost or mangled
in the errors of the press. Let this example suffice at present; in the
story of Palamon and Arcite, where the temple of Diana is describ'd,
you find these verses, in all the editions of our author:
There saw I Danè turned unto a tree,
I mean not the goddess Diane,
But Venus daughter, which that hight Danè;
which after a little consideration I knew was to be reform'd into
this sense, that Daphne, the daughter of Peneus, was turn'd into a
TO FABLES 16 9
tree. I durst not make thus bold with Ovid, lest some future Mil-
bourne should arise, and say I varied from my author, because I
understood him not.
But there are other judges, who think I ought not to. have trans-
lated Chaucer into English, out of a quite contrary notion: they
suppose there is a certain veneration due to his old language; and
that it is little less than profanation and sacrilege to alter it. They
are farther of opinion that somewhat of his good sense will suffer in
this transfusion, and much of the beauty of his thoughts will in-
fallibly be lost, which appear with more grace in their old habit.
Of this opinion was that excellent person whom I mention'd, the
late Earl of Leicester, who valued Chaucer as much as Mr. Cowley
despis'd him. My lord dissuaded me from this attempt, (for I was
thinking of it some years before his death,) and his authority pre-
vail'd so far with me as to defer my undertaking while he liv'd, in
deference to him: yet my reason was not convinc'd with what he
urg'd against it. If the first end of a writer be to be understood, then
as his language grows obsolete, his thoughts must grow obscure:
Multa renascentur quæ nunc cecidere; cadentque,
Quæ nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus,
Quem penes arbitrium est et jus et norma 10quendi. 30
When an ancient word for its sound and significancy deserves to
be reviv'd, I have that reasonable veneration for antiquity, to restore
it. All beyond this is superstition. Words are not like landmarks, so
sacred as never to be remov'd; customs are chang'd, and even statutes
are silently repeal'd, when the reason ceases for which they were
enacted. As for the other part of the argument, that his thoughts
will lose of their original beauty, by the innovation of words; in the
first place, not only their beauty, but their being is lost, where they
are no longer understood, which is the present case. I grant that
something must be lost in all transfusion, that is, in all translations;
but the sense will remain, which would otherwise be lost, or at least be
maim'd, when it is scarce intelligible; and that but to a few. How
few are there who can read Chaucer so as to understand him per-
30 "Many words which have now fallen out of use shall be born again; and others
which are now in honor shan fall, if custom wills it, in the force of which lie the
judgement and law and rules of speech."-Horace Ars Poet. 70-72.
17 0 JOHN DRYDEN
fectly! And if imperfectly, then with less profit and no pleasure.
'Tis not for the use of some old Saxon friends that I have taken
these pains with him: let them neglect my version, because they have
no need of it. I made it for their sakes who understand sense and
poetry as well as they, when that poetry and sense is put into words
which they understand. I will go farther, and dare to add, that what
beauties I lose in some places, I give to others which had them not
originally; but in this I may be partial to myself; let the reader judge,
and I submit to his decision. Yet I think I have just occasion to com-
plain of them, who, because they understand Chaucer, would deprive
the greater part of their countrymen of the same advantage, and
hoard him up, as misers do their grandam gold, only to look on it
themselves and hinder others from måking use of it. In sum, I
seriously protest that no man ever had, or can have, a greater venera-
tion for Chaucer, than myself. I have translated some part of his
works, only that I might perpetuate his memory, or at least refresh
it, amongst my countrymen. If I have alter'd him anywhere for
the better, I must at the same time acknowledge that I could have
done nothing without him: facile est inventis addere,31 is no great
commendation; and I am not so vain to think I have deserv'd a
greater. I will conclude what I have to say of him singly, with this
one remark: a lady of my acquaintance, who keeps a kind of corre-
spondence with some authors of the fair sex in France, has been
inform'd by them, that Mademoiselle de Scudéry, who is as old as
Sibyl, and inspir'd like her by the same God of Poetry, is at this
time translating Chaucer into modern French. From which I gather
that he has been formerly translated into the old Provençal (for how
she should come to understand old English I know not). But the
matter of fact being true, it makes me think that there is something
in it like fatality; that, after certain periods of time, the fame and
memory of great wits should be renew'd, as Chaucer is both in
France and England. If this be wholly chance, 't is extraordinary,
and I dare not call it more, for fear of being tax'd with super.
stition.
Boccace comes last to be consider'd, who living in the same age
with Chaucer, had the same genius, and follow'd the same studies:
31 "It is easy to add to what is already invented."
TO FABLES 171
both writ novels, and each of them cultivated his mother tongue.
But the greatest resemblance of our two modern authors being in
their familiar style, and pleasing way of relating comical adventures,
I may pass it over, because I have translated nothing from Boccace
of that nature. In the serious part of poetry, the advantage is wholly
on Chaucer's side; for tho' the Englishman has borrow'd many tales
from the Italian, yet it appears that those of Boccace were not gen-
erally of his own making, but taken from authors of former ages,
and by him only model'd; so that what there was of inveption in
either of them may be judg'd equal. But Chaucer has refin'd on
Boccace, and has mended the stories which he has borrow'd, in his
way of telling; tho' prose allows more liberty of thought, and the
expression is more easy when unconfin' d by numbers. Our country-
man carries weight, and yet wins the race at disadvantage. I desire
not the reader should take my word, and therefore I will set two of
their discourses on the same subject, in the same light, for every man
to judge betwixt them. I translated Chaucer first, and, amongst the
rest, pitch'd on The Wife of Bath's Tale; not daring, as I have said,
to adventure on her prologue, because 't is too licentious: there
Chaucer introduces an old woman of mean parentage, whom a
youthful knight of noble blood was forc'd to marry, and consequently
loath'd her; the crone being in bed with him on the wedding night,
and finding his aversion, endeavors to win his affection by reason,
and speaks a good word for herself (as who could blame her?) in
hope to mollify the sullen bridegroom. She takes her topics from
the benefits of poverty, the advantages of old age and ugliness, the
vanity of youth, and the silly pride of ancestry and titles without
inherent virtue, which is the true nobility. When I had clos'd
Chaucer, I return'd to Ovid, and translated some more of his fables;
and by this time had so far forgotten The Wife of Bath's Tale, that,
when I took up Boccace, unawares I fell on the same argument of
preferring virtue to nobility of blood, and titles, in the story of
Sigismonda; which I had certainly a voided for the resemblance of
the two discourses, if my memory had not fail'd me. Let the reader
weigh them both; and if he thinks me partial to Chaucer, 't is in him
to right Boccace.
I prefer in our countryman, far above all his other stories, the
17 2 JOHN DRYDEN
noble poem of Palamon and Arcite, which is of the epic kind, and
perhaps not much inferior to the Ilias or the Æneis: the story is more
pleasing than either of them, the manners as perfect, the diction as
poetical, the learning as deep and various, and the disposition full as
artful; only it includes a greater length of time, as taking up seven
years at least; but Aristotle has left undecided the duration of the
action; which yet is easily reduc'd into the compass of a year, by a
narration of what preceded the return of Palamon to Athens. I had
thought for the honor of our nation, and more particularly for his,
whose laurel, tho' unworthy, I have worn after him, that this story
\vas of English growth, and Chaucer's own; but I was undecei v' d
by Boccace; for, casually looking on the end of his seventh Giornata,
I found Dioneo (under which name he shadows himself) and
Fiametta (who represents his mistress, the natural daughter of
Robert, King of Naples), of whom these words are spoken: Dioneo
e Fiametta gran pezza cantarono insieme d' Arcita, e di Palamone :32
by which it appears that this story was written before the time of
Boccace; but, the name of its author being wholly lost, Chaucer is
now become an original; and I question not but the poem has re-
ceiv'd many beauties by passing thro' his noble hands. Besides this
tale, there is another of his own invention, after the manner of the
Provençals, call'd The Flower and the Leaf,33 with which I was so
particularly pleas'd, both for the invention and the moral, that I
cannot hinder myself from recommending it to the reader.
As a corollary to this preface, in which I have done justice to
others, I owe somewhat to myself: not that I think it worth my time
to enter the lists with one M_,34 or one B_,35 but barely to take
notice, that such men there are who have written scurrilously against
me, without any provocation. M-, who is in orders, pretends
amongst the rest this quarrel to me, that I have fallen foul on priest-
hood: if I have, I am only to ask pardon of good priests, and am
afraid his part of the reparation will come to little. Let him to satis-
fied that he shall not be able to force himself upon me for an adver-
sary. I contemn him too much to enter into competition with him.
32 Dioneo and Fiametta sang together a long time of Arcite and Palamon.
33 Not by Chaucer. 34 Rev. Luke Milbourne, who had attacked Dryden's Virgil.
35 Sir Richard Blackmore, who had censured Dryden for the indecency of his
writings.
TO FABLES
173
His own translations of Virgil have answer'd his criticisms on mine.
If (as they say he has declar'd in print) he prefers the version of
Ogleby to mine, the world has made him the same compliment: for
't is agreed on all hands, that he writes even below Ogleby: that,
you will say, is not easily to be done; but what cannot M- bring
about? I am satisfied, however, that while he and I live together,
I shall not be thought the worst poet of the age. It looks as if I had
desir'd him underhand to write so ill against me; but upon my honest
word I have not brib'd him to do me this service, and am wholly
guiltless of his pamphlet. 'T is true, I should be glad if I could per-
suade him to continue his good offices, and write such another critique
on anything of mine: for I .find by experience he has a great stroke
with the reader, when he condemns any of my poems, to make the
world have a better opinion of them. He has taken some pains with
my poetry, but nobody will be persuaded to take the same with his.
If I had taken to the Church, (as he affirms, but which was never in
my thoughts,) I should have had more sense, if not more grace,
than to have turn'd myself out of my benefice by writing libels on
my parishioners. But his account of my manners and my principles
are of a piece with his cavils and his poetry; and so I have done with
him for ever.
As for the City Bard, or Knight Physician, I hear his quarrel to
me is that I was the author of Absalom and Achitophel, which, he
thinks, is a little hard on his fanatic patrons in London.
But I will deal the more civilly with his two poems, because noth-
ing ill is to be spoken of the dead; and therefore peace be to the
manes of his Arthurs. I will only say that it was not for this noble
knight that I drew the plan of an epic poem on King Arthur, in my
preface to the translation of Juvenal. The guardian angels of king-
doms were machines too ponderous for him to manage; and there-
fore he rejected them, as Dares did the whirlbats of Eryx, when they
were thrown before him by Entellus. Yet from that preface he
plainly took his hint: for he began immediately upon the story, tho'
he had the baseness not to acknowledge his benefactor but, instead
of it, to traduce me in a libel.
I shall say the less of Mr. Collier, because in many things he has
tax'd me justly; and I have pleaded guilty to all thoughts and ex-
174 JOHN DRYDEN
pressions of mine which can be truly argued of obscenity, profane-
ness, of immorality; and retract them. If he be my enemy, let him
triumph; if he be my friend, as I have given him no personal occasion
to be otherwise, he will be glad of my repentance. It becomes me not
to draw my pen in the defense of a bad cause, when I have so often
drawn it for a good one. Yet it were not difficult to prove that in
many places he has perverted my meaning by his glosses, and inter-
preted my words into blasphemy and bawdry, of which they were
not guilty. Besides that, he is too much given to horseplay in his
raillery, and comes to battle like a dictator from the plow. I will not
say: "The zeal of God's house has eaten him up;" but I am sure it
has devour'd some part of his good manners and civility. It might
also be doubted whether it were altogether zeal which prompted him
to this rough manner of proceeding: perhaps it became not one of
his function to rake into the rubbish of ancient and modern plays;
a divine might have employ'd his pains to better purpose than in the
nastiness of Plautus and Aristophanes; whose examples, as they
excuse not me, so it might be possibly suppos'd that he read them
not without some pleasure. They who have written commentaries
on those poets, or on Horace, Juvenal, and Martial, have eXplain'd
some vices which, without their interpretation, had been unknown
to modern times. Neither has he judg'd impartially betwixt the
former age and us.
There is more bawdry in one play of Fletcher's, call'd The Custom
of the Country, than in all ours together. Yet this has been often
acted on the stage in my remembrance. Are the times so much more
reform'd now than they were five and twenty years ago? If they
are, I congratulate the amendment of our morals. But I am not to
prejudice the cause of my fellow poets, tho' I abandon my own
defense: they have some of them answer'd for themselves, and neither
they nor I can think Mr. Collier so formidable an enemy that we
should shun him. He has lost ground at the latter end of the day,
by pursuing his point too far, like the Prince of Condé at the battle
of Seneffe: from immoral plays to no plays, ab abusu ad usum I non
valet consequenÛa. 36 But being a party, I am not to erect myself
into a judge. As for the rest of those who have written against me,
36 "The argument from abuse to use is not valid."
TO FABLES 175
they are such scoundrels that they deserve not the least notice to be
taken of them. B- and M- are only distinguish'd from the
crowd by being remember'd to their infamy:
- Demetri, teque Tigelli 37
Discipulorum inter jubeo plorare cathedras.
37 "You, Demetrius and Tigellius, I bid lament among the chairs of your scholars."
Blackmore had once been a schoolmaster.-Noyes.
PREFACE TO
JOSEPH ANDREWS
BY HENRY FIELDING (1742)
THE COMIC EPIC IN PROSE
A IT is possible the mere English reader may have a different
idea of romance with the author of these little volumes; and
may consequently expect a kind of entertainment, not to be
found, nor which was even intended, in the following pages; it may
not be improper to premise a few words concerning this kind of
writing, which I do not remember to have seen hitherto attempted
in our language.
The EPIC, as well as the DRAMA, is divided into tragedy and
comedy. HOMER, who was the father of this species of poetry,
gave us the pattern of both these, tho' that of the latter kind is entirely
lost; which Aristotle tells us, bore the same relation to comedy which
his Iliad bears to tragedy. And perhaps, that we have no more
instances of it among the writers of antiquity, is owing to the loss
of this great pattern, which, had it survived, would have found its
imitators equally with the other poems of this great original.
And farther, as this poetry may be tragic or comic, I will not
scruple to say it may be likewise either in verse or prose: for tho'
it \vants one particular, which the critic enumerates in the con-
stituent parts of an epic poem, namely, metre; yet, when any kind
of writing contains all its other parts, such as fable, action, characters,
sentiments, and diction, and is deficient in metre only, it seems, I
Henry Fielding, dramatist, novelist, and judge, was born near Glastonbury, Somer-
sets hire, April 22, 1707, and died at Lisbon, October 8, 1754. Though seldom spoken
of as an essayist, Fielding scattered through his novels a large number of detached or
detachable discussions which are essentially essays, of which the preface to "Joseph
Andrews," on the "Comic Epic in Prose," is a favorable specimen. The novel which
it introduces was begun as a parody on Richardson's "Pamela," and the preface gives
Fielding's conception of this form of fiction.
176
TO JOSEPH ANDREWS 177
think, reasonable to refer it to the epic; at least, as no critic hath
thought proper to range it under any other head, nor to assign it a
particular name to itself.
Thus the Telemachus of the archbishop of Cambray appears to
me of the epic kind, as well as the Odyssey of Homer; indeed, it is
much fairer and more reasonable to give it a name common with
that species from which it differs only in a single instance, than to
confound it with those which it resembles in no other. Such are
those voluminous works, commonly called Romances, namely Clelia,
Cleopatra, Astræa, Cassandra, the Grand Cyrus, and innumerable
others which contain, as I apprehend, very little instruction or enter-
tainment.
Now, a comic romance is a comic epic-poem in prose; differing
from comedy, as the serious epic from tragedy: its action being more
extended and comprehensive; containing a much larger circle of
incidents, and introducing a greater variety of characters. It differs
from the serious romance in its fable and action, in this: that as in
the one these are grave and solemn, so in the other they are light and
ridiculous; it differs in its characters, by introducing persons of
inferiour rank, and consequently of inferiour manners, whereas the
grave romance sets the highest before us; lastly in its sentiments and
diction; by preserving the ludicrous instead of the
ublime. In the
diction I think, burlesque itself may be sometimes admitted; of
which many instances will occur in this work, as in the description
of the battles, and some other places not necessary to be pointed out
to the classical reader; for whose entertainment those parodies or
burlesque imitations are chieBy calculated.
But tho' we have sometimes admitted this in our diction, we have
carefully excluded it from our sentiments and characters; for there
it is never properly introduced, unless in writings of the burlesque
kind, which this is not intended to be. Indeed, no t\vo species of
writing can differ more widely than the comic and the burlesque:
for as the latter is ever the exhibition of what is monstrous and unnat-
ural, and where our delight, if we examine it, arises from the sur-
prising absurdity, as in appropriating the manners of the highest to
the lowest, or è converso; so in the former, we should ever confine
ourselves strictly to nature, from the just imitation of which, will
17 8 HENRY FIELDING
flow all the pleasure we can this way convey to a sensible reader.
And perhaps, there is one reason, why a comic writer should of all
others be the least excused for deviating from nature, since it may
not be ahvays so easy for a serious poet to meet with the great and
the admirable; but life everywhere furnishes an accurate observer
with the ridiculous.
I have hinted this little, concerning burlesque; because I have
often heard that name given to performances, which have been
truly of the comic kind, from the author's having sometimes ad-
mitted it in his diction only; which as it is the dress of poetry, doth
like the dress of men establish characters, (the one of the whole poem,
and the other of the whole man), in vulgar opinion, beyond any of
their greater excellences: but surely, a certain drollery in style, where
characters and sentiments are perfectly natural, no more constitutes
the burlesque, than an empty pomp and dignity of words, where
everything else is mean and low, can entitle any performance to the
appellation of the true sublime.
And I apprehend, my Lord Shaftesbury's opinion of mere bur-
lesque agrees with mine, when he asserts, "There is no such thing
to be found in the writings of the antients." But perhaps I have less
abhorrence than he professes for it: and that not because I have had
some little success on the stage this way; but rather as it contributes
more to exquisite mirth and laughter than any other; and these are
probably more wholesome physic for the mind, and conduce better
to purge away spleen, melancholy, and ill affections, than is gen-
erally imagined. Nay, I will appeal to common observation, whether
the same companies are not found more full of good-humour and
benevolence, after they have been sweetened for two or three hours
with entertainments of this kind, than soured by a tragedy or a grave
lecture.
But to illustrate all this by another science, in which, perhaps, we
shall see the distinction more clearly and plainly: let us examine the
works of a comic history-painter, with those performances which the
Italians call Caricatura, where we shall find the greatest excellence
of the former to consist in the exactest copy of nature; insomuch, that
a judicious eye instantly rejects anything outré; any liberty which
the painter hath taken with the features of that alma mater. Where-
TO JOSEPH ANDREWS 179
as in the Caricatura we allow all licence. Its aim is to exhibit mon-
sters, not men; and all distortions and exaggerations whatever are
within its proper province.
Now what Caricatura is in painting, Burlesque is in \vriting; and
in the same manner the comic \vriter and painter correlate to each
other. And here I shall observe, that as in the former, the painter
seems to have the advantage; so it is in the latter infinitely on the
side of the writer: for the Monstrous is much easier to paint than
describe, and the Ridiculous to describe than paint.
And tho' perhaps this latter species doth not in either science so
strongly affect and agitate the muscles as the other; yet it will be
owned, I believe, that a more rational and useful pleasure arises to
us from it. He who should call the ingenious Hogarth a burlesque
painter, would, in my opinion, do him very little honour: for sure
it is much easier, much less the subject of admiration, to paint a
man with a nose, or any other feature of a preposterous size, or to
expose him in some absurd or monstrous attitude, than to express the
affections of men on canvas. It hath been thought a vast commenda-
tion of a painter to say his figures seem to breathe; but surely it is
a much greater and nobler applause, that they appear to think.
But to return. The Ridiculous only, as I have before said, falls
within my province in the present work. Nor will some explanation
of this word be thought impertinent by the reader, if he considers
how wonderfully it hath been mistaken, even by writers who have
profess'd it: for to what but such a mistake, can we attribute the
many attempts to ridicule the blackest villainies; and what is yet
worse, the most dreadful calamities? What could exceed the absurd-
ity of an author, who should write the comedy of Nero, with the
merry incident of ripping up his mother's belly; or what would give
a greater shock to humanity than an attempt to expose the miseries
of poverty and distress to ridicule? And yet, the reader will not want
much learning to suggest such instances to himself.
Besides, it may seem remarkable, that Aristotle, who is so fond
and free of definitions, hath not thought proper to define the Ridicu-
lous. Indeed, where he tells us it is proper to comedy, he hath
remarked that villainy is not its object: but that he hath not, as I re-
member, positively asserted what is. Nor doth the Abbé Bellegarde,
180
HENRY FIELDING
who hath \vriuen a treatise on this subject, tho' he shows us many
species of it, once trace it to its fountain.
The only source of the true Ridiculous (as it appears to me) is
affectation. But tho' it arises from one spring only, when we consider
the infinite streams into which this one branches, we shall presently
cease to admire at the copious field it affords to an observer. Now
affectation proceeds from one of these two causes; vanity, or hypoc-
risy: for as vanity puts us on affecting false characters, in order to
purchase applause; so hypocrisy sets us on an endeavour to avoid
censure by concealing our vices under an appearance of their oppo-
site virtues. And tho' these two causes are often confounded, (for
they require some distinguishing;) yet, as they proceed from very
different motives, so they are as clearly distinct in their operations:
for indeed, the affectation which arises from vanity is nearer to
truth than the other; as it hath not that violent repugnancy of nature
to struggle with, which that of the hypocrite hath. It may be like-
wise noted, that affectation doth not imply an absolute negation of
those qualities which are affected: and therefore, tho', when it pro-
ceeds from hypocrisy, it be nearly allied to deceit; yet when it comes
from vanity only, it partakes of the nature of ostentation: for
instance, the affectation of liberality in a vain man, differs visibly
from the same affectation in the avaricious; for tho' the vain man is
not what he would appear, or hath not the virtue he affects, to the
degree he would be thought to have it; yet it sits less awkwardly on
him than on cthe avaricious man, who is the very reverse of what he
would seem to be.
From the discovery of this affectation arises the Ridiculous-which
always strikes the reader with surprize and pleasure; and that in a
higher and stronger degree when the affectation arises from hypoc-
risy, than when from vanity: for to discover anyone to be the exact
reverse of what he affects, is more surprizing, and consequently
more ridiculous, than to find him a little deficient in the quality he
desires the reputation of. I might observe that our Ben Jonson, who
of all men understood the Ridiculous the best, hath chiefly used
the hypocritical affectation.
Now from affectation only, the misfortunes and calamities of life,
or the imperfections of nature, may become the objects of ridicule.
TO JOSEPH ANDREWS I8I
Surely he hath a very ill-framed mind, who can look on ugliness,
infirmity, or poverty, as ridiculous in themselves: nor do I believe
any man living who meets a dirty fellow riding through the streets
in a cart, is struck with an idea of the Ridiculous from it; but if he
should see the same figure descend from his coach and six, or bolt
from his chair with his hat under his arm, he would then begin to
laugh, and with justice. In the same manner, were we to enter a
poor house and behold a wretched family shivering with cold and
languishing with hunger, it would not incline us to laughter, (at
least we must have very diabolical natures, if it would): but should
we discover there a grate, instead of coals, adorned with flowers,
empty plate or china dishes on the side-board, or any other affectation
of riches and finery either on their persons or in their furniture; we
might then indeed be excused, for ridiculing so fantastical an appear-
ance.
