- A Life of John Dee, Part 1.
- A Life of John Dee, Part 2.
The following is the first part of a review of Charlotte
Fell Smith’s 1909 biography of Dee[1].
The second will follow.
In reality, John Dee was a man born out of due season. His
age was not ready for him. In the times of the Tudors there was no place in the
body politic for the professed man of science, unless he practiced his science
covertly as a physician or a priest. Even then its pursuit was attended with a considerable measure of
personal peril. John Dee, it is true, dabbled in medicine, as he dabbled in
most things that had any connection to the science of his period, and he was
thereby of occasional service to his suffering fellows. For a time, too, his
only means of came from a couple of wretchedly endowed country livings to which
he was presented. But he was never recognized as a practicing physician, or as
a professed priest. His life’s work was the pursuit of truth merely for the
sake of elucidating it, an occupation unintelligible to his age. Apparently
every aspect or form of truth was of equal importance to him; but, naturally
enough, the direction in which he searched was influenced by his environment
and the circumstances of his time. It was inevitable that such a man should
sooner or later come into conflict with his age — a hard, unrelenting, pitiless
age; and it was equally inevitable that he should be worsted in the fight. The
spectacle of a strong man struggling with adversity is, we are told, a sight
loved by the gods. We cannot help thinking that it is the spectacle of a sorely
tried albeit misguided man, bent and well-nigh broken by the storms of fate,
that has touched and quickened the womanly sympathy of the author of this book.
Its compilation has evidently been a labour of love, or of the pity which is
akin to it. Every page bears testimony to the patient care and trained skill
with which the author has searched all available records and followed every
clue which might serve to unravel the mystery of her hero’s life.
John Dee was born in London in 1527. his father, Rowland
Dee, was a gentlemen server in the court
of Henry VIII. The boy was sent to the chantry Scholl and Chelmsford, and
thereafter, at the age of fifteen to St. john ‘s College, Cambridge, where he
graduated in 1546, and was made fellow of Trinity at its foundation by Henry
VIII. Two years later, after taking his M.A. degree, he entered the University
of Louvain, and thence passed on to Paris, where he gave lectures at the
university on Euclid. Returning to England, he produced one or two astronomical
works, and a book on the cause of tides, presumably for the use of Edward VI. On
the accession of Mary he got into trouble, and was thrown into prison on a
charge of magic, and eventually of treason, and stood his trial by the Star
Chamber. Nothing could be proved against him, and he was liberated, only to be
handed over to the tender mercies of Bishop Bonner. He escaped even this ordeal
and subsequently presented Mary with a project for the establishment of a great
national library in which to preserve “the treasure of all antiquity,” the
priceless collections of ancient literature which had been scattered by the
dissolution of the monasteries and religious houses. Nothing came of the
suggestion at the time. Aa couple of centuries had to elapse before the British
Museum was founded, and it was only in the opening years of Queen Victoria’s
reign that keepers of the public records were appointed and the Historical Manuscripts
Commission was brought into existence.
Easier times came to Dee with the advent of Elizabeth. He was already well known to her. she had corresponded with him when confined to Woodstock. His position as a mathematician had been established, and the name of the editor of Billingsley’s “Euclid” was known throughout the the learned world. The friend of Mercator — “my Gerard,” as he calls him — he was esteemed, too, as a geographer skilled in cartography, and was constantly consulted by the great sea-captains of his time — Gilbert, Davis, Frobisher, Hawkins, Cavendish, and others of the remarkable band that created the sea-power of England. Dee had settled at Mortlake, where he was frequently visited by the Queen. Elizabeth had ever an eye for a comely man, and Dee was remarkably handsome, tall, stately, and of a dignified mien. The picture which Miss Fell Smith draws of his home life there, with his second wife — “his paynful Jane,” as he calls her, the staunchest, truest friend he ever had — with the great Queen, either when “taking the ayre” or when on her way from Hampton Court or Isleworth to her palace at Greenwich, cantering up to his garden gate in order to get sight and speech of her courtly philosopher, this is a charming piece of word-painting. But these were not altogether halcyon days for Dee. Elizabeth was gracious, even profuse in promise, but she was very niggard in performance, and her astrologer was occasionally hard put to for the means of living.
[1] T.
E. Thorpe. “John Dee.” Nature. December 2, 1909. 121-2.
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