ROBYN GOES ABROAD
O ye windes of God, blesse ye the Lord: praise him and magnifie
him for ever.
...
O ye fire and heat, blesse ye the Lord: praise him and magnifie
him for ever.
...
O ye ice and snow, blesse ye the Lord: praise him and magnifie
him for ever.
...
O ye lightnings and clouds, blesse ye the Lord: praise him and
magnifie him for ever.
...
O ye Children of men, blesse ye the Lord: praise him and
magnifie him for ever.
_Benedicite omnia opera: Black Letter Prayer Book of 1636._
The little party—five in all—Francis and Robert, and M. Marcombes, with
their two French servants, “took post for Rye in Sussex; and there,
though the sea was rather rough, they hired a ship,” and “a prosperous
puff of wind did safely, by next morning, blow them into France.”[78]
They were a day and night at sea, and “a little tossed att night”; they
had escaped the perils of the deep and of “yᵉ Donkirks”; and after
stopping for a short refreshment at Dieppe, they set off towards Rouen
and Paris.[79] They enjoyed the company of several French gentlemen on
the road, of which they were glad; for a robbery had been “freshly
committed in a wood” between Rouen and Paris, through which the
travellers would be obliged to pass by night. Marcombes sensibly observed
that the very next day after the robbery would be the very safest time to
ride through the wood; and accordingly they continued their journey. At
Rouen, Robyn was fascinated by the great floating bridge, which rose and
fell with the tide water; and in one of his “pretty conceits,” such as
had so amused Sir Henry Wotton at Eton, the boy compared this bridge at
Rouen to the “vain amorists of outward greatnesse, whose spirits resent”
(_i.e._ rise and fall with) “all the flouds and ebbs of that fortune it
is built on.” And this so soon after Frank’s gay wedding in Whitehall!
Arrived in Paris on November 4, unmolested by brigands on their journey,
Marcombes and the two boys spent some days in “that vast chaos of a
city,” where they were shown most of the “varieties,” and met several
English friends—among them one whom M. Marcombes heartily disliked,
Frank’s new brother-in-law, Tom Killigrew, with the honeyed tongue,
brother of the little bride who had been left behind in the House of the
Savoy. They also called on the English Ambassador; but the great event of
their visit to Paris has been described in Marcombes’s first letter to
the Earl.[80]
Mr. Francis, he says, had been so troubled at the moment of his departure
from the Savoy on account of his father’s anger against him, that he had
quite forgotten where he had put his own sword and the case of pistols
which the Earl had given the boys; and Marcombes had been obliged, when
they arrived at Paris, to buy them “a kaise of pistolles a piece”, not
only because of the dangerous state of the roads in France (witness the
robbery freshly committed in a wood), but because it was “yᵉ mode” in
France for every gentleman to ride with pistols; and people would “Laugh
att” the Earl’s hopeful sons if they were without them. A sword also
had been bought for Mr. Francis, and “when Mr. Robert saw it he did so
earnestly desire me to buy him one, because his was out of fashion, that
I could not refuse him that small request.”
They left Paris, with their new swords and pistols, a little company,
“all well-horsed,” numbering some twenty altogether, and including
two delightful “Polonian” Princes, who were “Princes by virtue and
education as well as birth.” It was a nine days’ journey to Lyons, and
on the way they rested, among other places, at Moulins, which the future
experimentalist remembered for its “fine tweezes.” But romance was at
this time nearer to the boy’s heart than chemistry; their way had lain
through a part of the French Arcadia, “the pleasant _Pays de Forest_,
where the Marquis d’Urfé had laid the scene of the adventures and amours
of that Astrea with whom so many gallants are still in love, long after
both his and her decease.”[81]
Lyons itself, where they stayed for a time, seemed to Robert Boyle
“a town of great resort and trading, but fitter for the residence of
merchants than of gentlemen.” They crossed the mountains that had
formerly belonged to the Duke of Savoy, but were now in the territory of
the French king, and they saw the Rhone in its narrowest part, between
the rocks, “where it is no such large stride to stand on both his banks”;
and after three days’ journey from Lyons, they reached Geneva, a little
Commonwealth whose quick and steady prosperity under the “reformed
religion” had made it the theme “not only of discourse but of some degree
of wonder.” There, for nearly two years, the boys were to board with M.
Marcombes and his wife and family, and to find themselves in a little
ready-made circle of friends; for Barrymore and Kynalmeaky had been
there together, and boarded at the Villa Diodati. Philip Burlamachy, the
former Lord Mayor of London, who did so much business with the Earl of
Cork, and who, it will be remembered, had recommended Marcombes to the
Earl, belonged to Geneva, and was related by marriage to the Diodati
family there; and Mr. Diodato Diodati, the banker, and Dr. John Diodati,
the famous Italian Protestant preacher, were among the chief Genevan
residents. “The church government,” wrote John Evelyn about Geneva, only
a year or two later, “is severely Presbyterian, after the discipline of
Calvin and Beza, who set it up; but nothing so rigid as either our Scots
or English sectaries of that denomination.”
Geneva was, as Marcombes had pointed out to the Earl when he took the
boys there, not only a very convenient place for himself—for his home
and family were there—but “by reason of the pure air and the notable
Strangers always passing through it, and the conveniences for all kinds
of Learning there, a very good place for the two boys to be educated
in.” They would be among those who though “farr from puritanisme” were
very orthodox and religious men, and they would be in no danger from
conversation with “Jesuits, friars, priests, or any persons ill-affected
to their religion, king or state.” In a word, Frank and Robyn were to be
bred in a commonwealth of educated toleration; and its fine influences
were to remain with Robert Boyle—who lived there a little longer than his
brother—all through his life.
From time to time, Marcombes wrote comfortable letters to the Earl in
London. Supplies of money had, so far, come regularly; but as yet no
letters had arrived from the Earl of Cork, who was, as will be seen
later, beset by family cares and public anxieties. Marcombes and the
boys had settled down to regular lessons at set hours. The lessons were
to include rhetoric and logic, arithmetic and Euclid, geography, the
doctrine of the spheres and globe, and fortification. They were to take
lessons with a fencing-master and a dancing-master, and they played at
mall and tennis—this last a sport that Robert Boyle “ever passionately
loved.” And they read together in a “voluminous but excellent work”
called _Le Monde_; but above all Robyn, if not Frank, was indulged in the
reading of romances, which not only “extreamely diverted” him, but also
taught him French. And as they talked no English, but “all and allwayes
French,” Robert became very soon “perfect” in the French tongue, while
Frank could “express himself in all companies.”[82]
Marcombes was evidently very proud of having a second batch of the Earl
of Cork’s sons put under his care; and Frank and Robyn proved pupils
more to his taste than Kynalmeaky and Broghill had been. For one thing,
they had come to him fresh from school; and he found the very young
bridegroom and the younger philosopher, “noble, virtuous, discreet
and disciplinable.” “I think”, he wrote to the Earl, “I neede not much
Rhetorike for to persuade your Lordship that Mr. Robert Loves his booke
with all his heart.” And Robert also danced extremely well; and so
anxious was he to excel in fencing, that the good-natured Marcombes was
“almost afraid yᵗ he should have left a quarell unperfect in England.” As
for Frank, he was taking to his lessons with a “facilitie and passion”
that surprised Marcombes, seeing that the boy had “tasted a little drope
of yᵉ Libertinage of yᵉ Court.” Francis had been well provided with
clothes in London; but Master Robert had been furnished in Geneva with a
complete black satin suit, the cloak lined with plush; and Marcombes gave
the boys every month “a piece yᵉ value of very neare two pounds sterlings
for their passe time.”
That first winter in Geneva was an exceptionally cold one, and a great
deal of snow had fallen “on yᵉ grounde.” The Governour’s letters to
the Earl reported the boys to be growing apace. Mr. Francis’s legs and
arms were considerably bigger than when he left England. The mountain
air and the dancing and fencing were doing both boys good, though Mr.
Robert still preferred sitting by himself, “with some book of history
or other”—the romances are not mentioned—and required some persuasion
“to playe at tennisse and to goe about.” He was, however, in excellent
health. “I never saw him handsomer,” wrote Marcombes to the Earl; “for
although he growes so much, yet he is very fatt and his cheeks as red as
vermilion.” The frosty air had brought them “to such a stomacke that your
Lordship should take a great pleasure to see them feed.
“I doe not give them Daintys,” he wrote: “but I assure your Lordship that
they have allwayes good bred and Good wine, good beef and mouton, thrice
a week, good capons and good fish, constantly disches of fruit and a Good
piece of cheese: all kind of cleane linen twice and thrice a weeke, and a
Constant fire in their chamber, where they have a good bedd for them and
another for their men.”
Marcombes describes in detail the order of their days in the Genevan
household. Every morning during their first months in Geneva he taught
them rhetoric and Latin; and after dinner they read two chapters of the
Old Testament—with “expositions” from Marcombes on those points they did
not understand; and before supper they read Roman history in French,
and repeated “yᵉ catechisme of Calvin with yᵉ most orthodox exposition”
of difficult points; and after supper they read two chapters of the New
Testament. And they said their prayers morning and evening, and twice a
week they went to church. “There is, my Lord,” ended Marcombes, with a
little flourish of self-satisfaction, “a Compendium of our employment!”
But all these months no answers to their various letters had come from
the Earl in London. They had left London on October 28, and it was
apparently the middle of February before the boys heard from their
father; and then two packets of his long-expected letters, both written
in January, arrived together. The formal, reverential little letters
which the boys were in the habit of penning to the Earl were letters
chiefly remarkable for their beginnings and endings. They usually began
“My most honoured Lord and Father,” and ended with some such peroration,
as “with my dayly prayers to God for your Lordship’s long life, health
and happiness, and with the desire to be esteemed all my life, My Lord,
your most dutiful and obedient Son and humblest Servant.”
A modern reader would scarcely credit, from such a peroration, the
existence of a deep natural affection; and there was certainly not the
kind of untrammelled love of the modern child for the modern parent. And
yet the ornate solemnity of these little seventeenth-century letters only
cloaked the tender humanity beneath. It was but a literary form; and
under it, in spite of the foster-parentage of babyhood, the subservience
of youth, and the rigour of parental authority, the strong human love
was there in the seventeenth century as now. When the long-expected
packets arrived at M. Marcombes’s house in Geneva, and the boys gathered
about their governour to receive their father’s letters, so overjoyed
and excited was the “Spiritay Robyn” that his hesitation of speech—which
had almost disappeared—returned in full force; and for some minutes he
stammered and stuttered so atrociously that Frank and Marcombes could
scarcely understand what he was saying, and had much ado to “forbeare
Laughing.”
And what was the Earl’s news? Much had been happening in London, both
inside and outside the House of the Savoy, since October 1639; but
evidently only an abridged edition reached Marcombes and the boys in
Geneva.
Lady Barrymore had been very ill, but was recovering. Lady Dungarvan,[83]
whose second little girl had died at Salisbury House, in London, before
the boys left London, had a little son at last; but “lyttle Franck,” the
Dublin-born daughter, remained the old Earl’s pet. The heir was born
on November 17 in the House of the Savoy, and christened in the Savoy
Chapel by the name of “Charles,” the King himself standing sponsor,
while the Countess of Salisbury was godmother, and the other godfather
was the Marquis of Hamilton. But the great news of all was the news of
Kynalmeaky’s marriage—a very splendid marriage it had been—with the Lady
Elizabeth Fielding, one of the ladies of the Queen’s privy chamber, and
daughter of the Earl and Countess of Denbigh. Their other daughter was
married to the Marquis of Hamilton, and the Countess of Denbigh herself
was a sister of the King’s favourite, the murdered Buckingham.
The marriage of Lord Kynalmeaky and the Lady Elizabeth Fielding had
been arranged under royal auspices. The King had dowered the lady, and
the wedding, like Frank’s, had been in the Royal Chapel of Whitehall.
The King had given away the bride, and “put about her neck” the Queen’s
gift of a rich pearl necklace, “worth £1500.” There was much revelling,
dancing and feasting afterwards, and the King and Queen “did the young
couple all honour and grace.” The Earl of Cork, always a strange mixture
of generosity and thrift, had supplied £100 for Kynalmeaky’s wedding
garments, and lent him “my son Franck’s wedding shoes” for the occasion.
Broghill also was to be married. “Your friend Broghill,” the Earl wrote
to Marcombes, “is in a fair way of being married to Mrs. Harrison, one of
the Queen’s maids of honour, about whom a difference happened yesterday
between Mr. Thomas Howard, the Earl of Berkshire’s son and him, which
brought them into the field; but thanks be to God, Broghill came home
without any hurt, and the other gentleman was not much harmed; and now
they have clashed swords together they are grown good friends. I think
in my next I shall advise you that my daughter Mary is nobly married, and
that in the spring I shall send her husband to keep company with my sons
in Geneva.”[84]
The old Earl, when he wrote to Marcombes in January 1640, did not guess
the sequels to these two little romances. For though the wedding clothes
were making, Broghill was never to marry Mrs. Harrison, whom he, like
many other gallants, had “passionately loved.” On the contrary, it was
Mr. Thomas Howard, “not much harmed,” who was to be the happy man; and
the lady whom Broghill was presently to marry was the Lady Margaret
Howard, the beautiful daughter of the Earl and Countess of Suffolk, and a
cousin of Mr. Thomas Howard. The two young men had clashed swords to some
purpose; but Lord Broghill’s marriage with Lady Margaret Howard comes
into another chapter.
Nobody exactly knows who was the noble suitor that was to marry
Mary Boyle and be packed off to Geneva like a schoolboy immediately
afterwards. For Mary Boyle had once more expressed her “very high
averseness and contradicon” to the Earl’s counsels and commands. She had
again refused Mr. James Hamilton, though all her brothers and sisters
and several of her brothers-in-law, and all her best friends—poor
little unruly Mary!—“did entreat and persuade,” and the old Earl “did
command.” Vanquished for once, the Earl of Cork had been in treaty with
more than one other youthful suitor for Mary’s hand. But Mary Boyle has
told her own story.[85] “Living so much at my ease,” she says, “I was
unwilling to change my condition.” After Frank’s marriage, his wife
Betty lived with the Earl in the House of the Savoy, where she and Mary
Boyle became close friends and “chamber fellows.” Betty obtained “a
great and ruling power” over Mary, “inticing her to spend” (as she did)
“her time in seeing and reading plays and romances, and in exquisite
and curious dressing.” Betty Boyle had many of the young gallants of
the Court at her beck and call, and one of them was Mr. Charles Rich,
second son of the Earl of Warwick. Charles Rich was “a very cheerful and
handsome, well-bred and fashioned person, and being good company, was
very acceptable to us all, and so became very intimate in our house,
visiting us almost every day.” Charles Rich also had been in love with
Mrs. Harrison, but not so deeply as to prevent his acting as Mr. Thomas
Howard’s second in the duel; and after that for a time he had considered
it only civil to absent himself from the House of the Savoy. When he
did come again it was to transfer his attentions to the Lady Mary; and
Frank’s wife played go-between. “A most diligent gallant to me,” says
Mary of Charles Rich, many long years after their forbidden love-making
and runaway marriage; “applying himself, when there were no other
beholders in the room but my sister, to me; but if any other person came
in he took no more than ordinary notice of me.” And every night when Mary
laid her little unruly head upon the pillow she resolved that Charles
Rich must be given his dismissal, and that Betty must be told never again
to mention him to her as a husband. And somehow every morning it seemed
impossible to carry out her resolution; and she made her toilet, and
put on her most exquisite and curious dress, and looked the proud and
charming little lady that she was.
But Marcombes and the boys in Geneva knew nothing of all this; and for
that matter neither as yet did the old Earl. The noble suitor about
whom he was in treaty when he wrote to Geneva was certainly not Charles
Rich—who was only a second son, “with £1300 or £1400 a year at the most”;
and who, if he dared to pay his court to the Earl of Cork’s youngest
daughter, must do it clandestinely with the connivance of Betty Boyle.
The spring and summer of 1640 passed uneventfully in the Marcombes
household. Spring and summer in Geneva; the peaceful little Calvinist
town, basking under a hot sun and a blue sky; the bluer waters of the
Lake with the big-winged boats upon it; the vivid greens of the middle
distances, and the far-away mountain-peaks white with the everlasting
snows! And the lessons went on as usual, the boys giving their governour
“all yᵉ satisfaction of yᵉ worlde”.... “I would I was as able to teache
as Mr. Robert is able to conceave and to Learne.” It is true that the
witty and wicked Tom Killigrew came down on them from Paris, and favoured
them with a little of his “sweet and delectable conversation”; but
Marcombes told the Earl that he did not think Mr. Killigrew would stay
long in Geneva, “which perhaps will be yᵉ better for your Sons.” When he
did depart, he left with Marcombes a fine watch and some ruby buttons to
be sent to his sister Betty in London. And the little household settled
down again—rhetoric and logic to be succeeded by mathematics, history
and geography, the chief points of religion, and more dancing-lessons.
Mr. Francis was learning to vault. He and Marcombes had received the
Sacrament at five o’clock on Easter morning; but Mr. Robert would not
receive it, “excusing himself upon his yonge age,” though Marcombes
assured the Earl he did not abstain “for want of good instruction upon yᵉ
matter.” In June they had gone a little jaunt into the Savoy country. “We
were two days abroad,” wrote Marcombes to the Earl, “and were never so
merry in our lives.”
But were the boys so merry? Frank, influenced perhaps by Tom Killigrew
and the letters which came from his little wife at home, was beginning to
be restive, and begging his father to allow them to go on into Italy, and
so be the sooner home again. And Robert Boyle?
It was in the very heat of that summer of 1640 that there happened
to Robert Boyle “an accident which he always used to mention as the
considerablest of his whole life.”
“To frame a right apprehension of this,” he says in his _Philaretus_,
“you must understand that though his inclinations were ever virtuous,
and his life free from scandal and inoffensive, yet had the piety he was
master of already so diverted him from aspiring unto more, that Christ,
who long had lain asleep in his conscience (as he once did in the ship)
must now, as then, be waked by a storm.”[86]
About the dead of night, after a long, hot summer day, he had suddenly
wakened to find himself in the midst of one of those thunderstorms so
indescribably grand and terrible among the Alps. He “thought the earth
would owe an ague to the air,” and every clap was both preceded and
attended with flashes of lightning so frequent and so dazzling that he
began to imagine them “the sallies of that fire that must consume the
world.”[87]
The winds almost drowned the noise of the thunder. The rains almost
quenched the flashes of lightning. The Day of Judgment seemed at hand;
and the consideration of his “unpreparedness to welcome it, and the
hideousness of being surprised by it in an unfit condition,” made the boy
“resolve and vow that if his fears were that night disappointed, all his
further additions to his life should be more religiously and watchfully
employed. The morning came, and a serener cloudless sky returned, when he
ratified his determination so solemnly that from that day he dated his
conversion; renewing, now he was past danger, the vow he had made whilst
he believed himself to be in it.”
Afterwards, Robyn blushed to remember that the vow had been made only
in fear; but he comforted himself by thinking that “the more deliberate
consecration of himself to piety had been made when the earth and sky had
regained their equanimity, and with no less motive than that of its own
excellence.” The hour of terror had been also the hour of realisation.
This trembling child, already a student of Nature, had begun amidst
the winds and lightnings to realise dimly the existence of Elemental
Mysteries which made the whole world tremble too. And yet, did not even
these atmospheric exacerbations flash and thunder out the command to
praise Him and magnify Him for ever? Were not the deepest, most terrible
of Elemental Mysteries but part of a Universal Benedicite?