The Closet of Sir Kenelm Digby Knight Opened | Page 4

the secret of the Powder of Sympathy, which cured wounds without contact. The friar who had refused to divulge the secret to the Grand Duke confided it to him--of which more hereafter.
From Florence he passed to Spain; and his arrival was happily timed--probably by his ever anxious kinsman; for a few days later Prince Charles and Buckingham landed, on the Spanish Marriage business; and so agreeable was young Digby that, in spite of Buckingham's dislike of his name, he became part of the Prince's household, and returned with the party in October, 1623. Court favours seemed now to open out a career for him. King James knighted him, in what might have proved a fatal ceremony; for so tremblingly nervous of the naked steel was the royal hand, that Buckingham had to turn the sword aside from doing damage instead of honour. He was also made Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Prince Charles. But no other signal favours followed these. For all his agreeableness he was not of the stuff courtiers are made of--though James had a kindness for him, and was entertained by his eagerness and ingenuity. Bacon, too, just before his death, had come across this zealous young student of the experimental methods, and had meant, Digby said, to include an account of the Powder of Sympathy in an appendix to his Natural History.
In Spain, Kenelm had flirted with some Spanish ladies, notably with the beautiful Donna Anna Maria Manrique, urged thereto by gibes at his coldness; but Venetia was still the lady of his heart. Her amorous adventures, in the meanwhile, had been more serious and much more notorious. His letters had miscarried, and had been kept back by his mother. Venetia pleaded her belief in his death. Aubrey's account of her is a mass of picturesque scandal. "She was a most beautiful desirable creature.... The young eagles had espied her, and she was sanguine and tractable, and of much suavity (which to abuse was great pittie)." Making all allowance for gossip, the truth seems to be that in Kenelm's absence she had been at least the mistress of Sir Edward Sackville, afterwards the fourth Earl of Dorset; that Dorset tired of her; and on Digby's return she was more than willing to return to her old love. But, alas! Sackville had her picture, which seemed to her compromising. Digby, therefore, having accepted her apologies and extenuations, challenged Sackville to a duel; whereupon the faithless one proved at least magnanimous; refused to fight, gave up the picture, and swore that Venetia was blameless as she was fair. A private marriage followed; and it was only on the birth of his second son John that Sir Kenelm acknowledged it to the world. To read nearly all his Memoirs is to receive the impression that he looked on his wife as a wronged innocent. To read the whole is to feel he knew the truth and took the risk, which was not very great after all; for the lady of the many suitors and several adventures settled down to the mildest domesticity. They say he was jealous; but no one has said she gave him cause. The tale runs that Dorset visited them once a year, and "only kissed her hand, Sir Kenelm being by."
But Digby was a good lover. All the absurd rhodomontade of his strange Memoirs notwithstanding, there are gleams of rare beauty in the story of his passion, which raise him to the level of the great lovers. His Memoirs were designed to tell "the beginning, progress, and consummation of that excellent love, which only makes me believe that our pilgrimage in this world is not indifferently laid upon all persons for a curse." And here is a very memorable thing. "Understanding and love are the natural operation of a reasonable creature; and this last, which is a gift that of his own nature must always be bestowed, being the only thing that is really in his power to bestow, it is the worthiest and noblest that can be given."
But, as he na?vely says, "the relations that follow marriage are ... a clog to an active mind"; and his kinsman Bristol was ever urging him to show his worth "by some generous action." The result of this urging was Scanderoon. His object, plainly stated, was to ruin Venetian trade in the Levant, to the advantage of English commerce. The aid and rescue of Algerian slaves were afterthoughts. King James promised him a commission; but Buckingham's secretary, on behalf of his master absent in the Ile de Ré, thought his privileges were being infringed, and the King drew back. Digby acted throughout as if he had a "publike charge," but he was really little other than a pirate. He sailed from Deal in December, 1627, his ships