by John Aubrey
To Cure the Tooth-ach, Aubrey jots down elsewhere, Take a new Nail, and make the Gum bleed with it, and then drive it into an Oak. This did Cure William Neal, Sir William Neal’s Son, a very stout Gentleman, when he was almost Mad with the Pain, and had a mind to have Pistott’d himself. For in the dreadful days before the discovery of anæsthetics or analgesics, even the simplest treatment was to be feared. The Duke of Southampton (who was a most lovely Youth) had two fore-teeth, that grew out very unhandsome, wrote Aubrey about Charles II’s son by Barbara Villiers. His Cruel Mother caused Him to be bound fast in a Chaire, and had them draw’n-out; which has caused the want of his understanding. To show that such a disastrous result was not unique, Aubrey mentions another case of which he had personal knowledge. At Broad-Chalke is a Cottage-Family, that the Generation hath two Thumbes. A poore Womans Daughter in Westminster, being born so, the Mother gott a Carpenter to amputate one of them with his Chizel and Mallet. The Girl was then about seven yeares Old: and was a lovely Child. Immediately after the Thumbe was struck-off: the fright and Convulsion was so extreme; that she lost her understanding, even her Speech: she lived till seventeen in that Sad condition. And more serious operations were so rarely successful that Aubrey recorded with especial interest that a Mariner (1688) of Bristowe having the Stone in his Kidney did adventure the cutting of it: The Surgeon took it out: and the Man recovered. Mr. Cole of Bristowe sent this account to the Royal Societie: I think he sent the stone too.
One can see, therefore, why Aubrey congratulated himself so strongly on having outwitted death so many times during his childhood, for in this he was more fortunate than his brothers and sisters, none of whom survived infancy, until William was born, in 1643, when John was already an undergraduate at Oxford.
When a Boy, Aubrey was bred at Eston, an Eremeticall Solitude, which he much resented. ’Twas a great disadvantage to me in my childhood, he said later, to be bred up in a kind of Parke, far from Neighbours and no Child to converse withall: so that I did not speake till late. My father had one to teach me in the house, and I was pent-up in a Roome by my selfe melancholy. But because of this loneliness, the main lines of his character were laid down very early. He was very curious, he says of himself, his greatest delight to be continually with the artificers that came there (e.g. Joyners, carpenters, coupers, masons) and understood their trades. So soon appeared that indiscriminate curiosity about other people’s business, which was to plague him throughout his life, and already it was combined with a corresponding inability to concentrate upon his own work. About Priorie St. Maries, and in the Minchin-meadowes there, he says, but especially at Brown’s-hill which is opposite to the house where, in an unfortunate hour, I drew my first breath, there is infinite variety of plants; and it would have tempted me to be a botanist had I had leisure, which is a jewell I could never master of.
This solitary childhood forced Aubrey to rely for companionship on the country people who lived round about, and here he imbibed the second mainstay of his character—superstition. When I was a child (and so before the Civill Warres), he says, the fashion was for old women and mayds to tell fabulous stories nightimes, of Sprights and walking of Ghosts, &c. This was derived down from mother to daughter, from the Monkish Ballance which upheld Holy Church, for the Divines say, Deny Spirits, you are an Atheist. When the warres came, and with them Liberty of Conscience and Liberty of inquisition, the phantoms vanished. Now children feare no such things, having heard not of them; and are not checked with such feares. But Aubrey, in his isolation, was surrounded by these tales. Our Country-people would talke much of Faeries, he said. They swept-up the Harth cleane at night: and did sett their shoes by the fire, and many times should find a threepence in one of them. In this belief the rustics were not alone, for later in life Aubrey reported that Mris. Markey (a daughter of Serjeant Hoskyns the Poet) told me, that her mother did use that Custome and had as much money as made her a little Silver-cup of thirtie shillings value. Elias Ashmole sayes: there was in his time, a Piper in Lichfield that did know what Houses were Faiery-ground: and that the Piper had oftentimes seen them. All Aubrey’s early education, in fact, seemed purposely designed to encourage his gullibility, for he points out that in the old ignorant times, before woomen were Readers, the history was handed down from Mother to daughter: and W. Malmesburiensis pickt up his history from the time of Ven. Bede to his time out of Old Songs: for there was no writer in England from Bede to him. So my Nurse had the History from the Conquest down to Carl I. in Ballad. And it was upon this unsure foundation that Aubrey’s historical knowledge was based, for his later education, still in those days entirely classical, did nothing to counteract the superstitions of his childhood.
A further element of his character, a strong and early impulse to Antiquitie, was also present long before he went to school. I was inclin’d by my Genius, from my Childhood to the Love of Antiquities, he reports, and my Fate dropt me in a Country most suitable for such Enquiries. His taste for historical gossip appeared early too, for he mentions that, when a Boy, he did ever love to converse with old men, as Living Histories, and it was particularly to his mother’s parents, Isaac and Israel Lyte, that he turned for information. I was alwayes enquiring of my grandfather of the Old time, the Rood-loft, etc., ceremonies of the Priory, etc., he says, and in one of these conversations his grandfather told him a story that sums up the whole difference between the seventeenth century and the twentieth: My Grand Father Lyte told me that at one Lord Majors shew there was the Representation of the Creation of the World, and writt underneath AND ALL FOR MAN.
Besides this love of history, Aubrey had developed a practical side. At 8, he tells us, I was a kind of Engineer; and I fell then to drawing, beginning first with plaine outlines, e.g. in draughts of curtaines. Then at 9 (crossed herein by father and schoolmaster) to colours, having no body to instruct me: copied pictures in the parlour in a table booke.
When he was eight years old, Aubrey entred into his Grammar at the Latin schoole at Yatton Keynel, in the Church: where the Curate Mr. Hart taught the eldest Boyes, Virgil, Ovid, Cicero etc., and where the eldest boys taught the new pupil a lesson in morality. I was 8 yeares old before I knew what theft was, he says with understandable bitterness, scilicet, I had a fine Box top which was stolen from me. His grandfather Lyte had also studied here as a child, for Aubrey had heard him say that when he went to Schools in this Church, in the S. Windowe of the chancell, were severall escutcheons, which a herald that passed by tooke note of: which window, the future antiquary was quick to note, is now dammed up with stones, and now no memorie left of them. The loss of their stained glass made the authorities no more careful of the relics of the past that still survived, however, for Aubrey says, the fashion then was to save the Ferules of their Bookes with a false cover of Parchment, sc. old Manuscript, which I was too young to understand; but I was pleased with the Elegancy of the Writing, and the coloured initiall letters. I remember the Rector here (Mr. Wm. Stump, great grand Son of Stump the Cloathier of Malmesbury) had severall Manuscripts of the Abbey. He was a proper Man and a good Fellow, and when He brewed a barrell of Speciall Ale, his use was to stop the bung-hole (under the clay) with a Sheet of Manuscript; he sayd nothing did it so well; which me thought did grieve me then to see. So early did Aubrey come to regret that wanton destruction of antiquities, which was to trouble him till he died.
In the next year, 1634, Aubrey was transferred to a school in the neighbouring parish, which he described as a mile’s fine walke, although he was careful to point out later to Anthony Wood, I had then a fine little horse and commonly rode (but this is impertinent) i.e. I was not a vulgar boy and carried not a Satchell at my back. Sed hoc inter nos. At this new school, where was the like use of covering of Bookes, Aubrey was entred in his Latin Grammar by Mr. R. Latimer, Rector of Leigh de-la-mere, who had an easie way of teaching: and every time we askt leave to goe forth, we had a Latin word from him which at our return we were to tell him again—which in a little while amou
nted to a good number of Words. ’Twas my unhappiness in halfe a yeare to loose this good Enformer by his death, Aubrey added, for he was old and wore a Dudgeon, with a knife, and bodkin, as also my old grandfather Lyte and Alderman Whitson of Bristowe, which I suppose was the common fashion in their young dayes. But before he died, Robert Latimer was responsible for a meeting which was to influence his young pupil’s whole life. This summer, Aubrey says, I remember ’twas in Venison season (July or August) Mr. Thomas Hobbes came into his Native Country to visitt his Friends, and amongst others he came to see his old school-master, Mr. Robert Latimer, at Leigh de-la-mer, where I was then at Schoole in the church. Here was the first place and time that ever I had the honour to see this worthy, learned man, who was then pleased to take notice of me, and the next day visited my relations. His conversation about those times was much about Ben: Jonson, Mr. Ayton, etc. He was then a proper man, briske, and in very good habit: his hayre quite black, and with moist curies. He stayed at Malmsbury and in the neighbourhood a weeke or better. ’Twas the last time that ever he was in Wiltshire. This friendship, so pleasantly begun between the fifty-five year old philosopher and a little youth of eight, was to last for nearly forty years and was only to be broken then by death.
After Robert Latimer’s death, Aubrey complains that he was under severall ignorant rest-in-house teachers, and for this he lays the blame upon his father, who was not educated to learning, but to Hawking. However, in 1638, he was transplanted to Blandford Schoole in Dorset, to William Sutton, B.D., who was ill-natured, and although Aubrey refers proudly to the fact that Blandford was the most eminent Schoole for the education of Gentlemen in the West of England, his solitary upbringing left him at a sad disadvantage with the other boys. I was like a Bird that was gott-out of his cage amongst the free Citizens of the aire, he complained. ’Twas the first time I knew the world, and the wickedness of Boies. The boies mockt me, and abused me, that were stronger then my selfe; so I was faine to make friendship as a strong line to protections. Amongst his tormentors seem to have been Walter and Tom Raleigh, the great Sir Walter’s grand-nephews, for although Aubrey admits that they had excellent tuneable voices, and playd their parts well on the violl, he summed them up as ingeniose, but all proud and quarrelsome.
Here, he says, I recovered my health, and gott my Latin and Greeke best of any of my contemporaries. Our Usher, Thomas Stephens, a very good and ingeniose person, by whom I reap’t much information, had (by chance) a Cowper’s Dictionary, which I had never seen before. I was then in Terence. Perceiving his method, I read all in the booke where Terence was, and then Cicero—which was the way by which I gott my Latin. ’Twas a wonderfull helpe to my phansie, my reading of Ovid’s Metamorphy in English by Sandys, which made me understand the Latin the better. Also, I mett accidentally a booke of my Mothers, Lord Bacon’s Essaies, which first opened my Understanding as to Moralls (for Tullie’s Offices was too crabbed for my young yeares) and the excellence of the Style, or Hints and transitions. It seems from this that Aubrey was still a rather serious child, and he confirms that he cared not for play, but on play-dayes he gave himselfe to Drawing and Painting, or to visiting the shop, and furnaces of Old Harding, the only Country-glasse-painter, that ever I knew.
His curiosity about other people’s business continued unabated, and this appetite was whetted by the periodic holidays that he spent with Alderman Whitson of Bristol, who besides being his godfather and step-grandfather, was also the owner of the Mayflower. I was wont (I remember) much to lament with my selfe that I lived not in a City, e.g. Bristoll, where I might have accesse to watchmakers, locksmiths, etc., he said, for it seems that he did not very much care for Grammar: apprehension enough, he explains, but memorie not tenacious. So that then a promising morne enough of an inventive and philosophicall head. My witt was alwaies working, but not adroict for verse, he added, a fact which might perhaps be traced to the extraordinary licence allowed to schoolboys in those days, for he mentions that at Curry-Yeovill in Somersetshire, where there is a How schole in the Church, they have annually a Barrel of good Ale brought into the church; and that night they have the priviledge to breake open their Masters Cellar-dore. The summing up of his schooldays concludes: Mild of spirit; mightily susceptible of Fascination. My Idea very deer; Phansie like a Mirrour, pure chrystal water which the least wind does disorder and unsmooth. Never riotous or prodigall; but (as Sir E. Leech said) Sloath and carelessnesse are equivalent to all other vices.
On the second of May, 1642, at the age of sixteen, Aubrey was entered as a gentleman-commoner at Trinity College, Oxford; and here at last he was to find his proper element, despite the harshness of the discipline, which he was quick to note. At Oxford (and I doe believe the like at Cambridge) the Rod was frequently, used by the Tutors and Deanes on his pupills, till Bachelaurs of Arts; even gentlemen-Commoners, he reported. One Doctor I knew right well (Dr. Hannibal Potter, Trin. Coll. Oxon) that whipt his scholar with his Sword by his side when he came to take his leave of him to goe to the Innes of Court. For though the undergraduates were younger in those days (the second Duke of Buckingham was a Master of Arts by the time he was fourteen) they were expected to be more serious, and organised games played no part in their education. Castiglione’s instruction “to joyne learnying with cumlie exercise” was still obeyed and our modern games were not looked on as “cumlie”: football, in fact, “is to be put in perpetual silence,” being “nothing but beastly fury and extreme violence.” The “Courtly exercises and Gentlemanlike pastimes” which “young men should use and delight in” were listed as follows by Queen Elizabeth’s tutor, Roger Ascham: “to ride comely: to run fair at tilt or ring: to play at all weapons: to shoot fair in bow, or surely in gun: to vault lustily: to run: to leap: to wrestle: to swim: to dance comely: to sing, and play of instruments cunningly: to hawk: to hunt: to play at tennis:” these were the pastimes for “a Courtly Gentleman to use.” None of them, you will notice, fostered the team spirit, but what was lost in co-operative virtues was more than made up for in individuality: for the men of the past were above all individuals, even to the point of eccentricity, and from this variety sprang the great strength of the nation.
In Aubrey’s day the false distinction had not yet been drawn between work, regarded as drudgery, and play, regarded as a good time, and educated men naturally sought their recreation in the study, rather than on the golf-course. For in the seventeenth century learning was part of the joy of life, just as much as drinking or love-making, and it was just as often overdone. John Evelyn, writing on the death of his five-year-old son, said: “So insatiable were his Desires of Knowledge, that upon a Time hearing one discourse of Terence and Plautus, and being told (upon his Enquiry concerning these Authors) that the Books were too difficult for him, he wept for very Grief, and would hardly be pacified,” and Aubrey mentions that Lord Ellesmere was so hard a Student, that in three or 4 yeares time he was not out of the House: Edward Brerewood, too, went not out of the College gates in a good while, nor (I thinke) out of his Chamber, but was in his slipshoes, and wore out his Gowne and cloathes on the bord and benches of his chamber, but profited in knowledge exceedingly. Even when they reached years of discretion, the men of the Renaissance seemed unable to moderate their studies. Laurence Rooke was a temperate man and of a strong constitution, says Aubrey, but tooke his sicknesse of which he dyed by setting up often for Astronomicall Observations, while Michaell Dary, Mathematician and a Gunner of the Tower (by profession a Tobacco-cutter) an admirable Algebrician, came to grief rather like Francis Bacon, for with writing in the frostie weather his fingers rotted and gangraened.
Lookt through Logique and some Ethiques, says Aubrey of his own studies, for he had now graduated from the Classics to the Humanities; and then comes a most pregnant note: 1642, Religio Medici printed, which first opened my understanding. For at this time learning suddenly took a great leap forward, upon the unexpected recognition that the British language is as copious in expressing congruous Termes o
f Art as the Greeks: or any language whatsoever. English had, indeed, reached complete fluency a century before, but it had continued to develop so fast that, even for the Stuarts, the language of the Elizabethans had become antiquated: Henry, the last Earle of Cumberland, was, according to Aubrey, an ingeniose Gentleman for those times and writt a Poeme in English upon the Psalmes, and very well, but the language being now something out of fashion, like Sir Philip Sidney’s, they will not print it. But when James I authorised a new translation of the Bible in 1604, he unwittingly caused the English language to crystallise at its very peak, and gave to it a permanence that it had never enjoyed before; and as soon as the constant change in the tongue slowed down to a manageable rate, learned works came more and more to be written in English, instead of Latin. The result was that for the first time the new printing presses began to affect the whole nation: not wholly for good, as Aubrey shows, for already the first blow had been struck at the imaginative faculty, which was finally to be smothered under the flood of precise newspaper information in our own time. Before Printing, Old-wives Tales were ingeniose, he says regretfully, and since Printing came in fashion, till a little before the Civill-warres, the ordinary sort of People were not taught to reade. Now-a-dayes Bookes are common, and most of the poor people understand letters; and the many good Bookes, and variety of Turnes of Affaires, have putt all the old Fables out of doors: and the divine art of Printing and Gunpowder have frighted away Robin-good-fellow and the Fayries.