“A Century of the names and scantlings of such Inventions as att present I can call to mynde to have tryed, and perfected; (my former notes being lost) I have endeavoured to sett these downe in such a way, as may sufficiently instruct me to putt any of them in practice havinge wherewith to doe it.”
“A Century of the Names and Scantlings of such Inventions, As at present I can call to mind to have tried and perfected, which (my former notes being lost) I have, at the instance of a powerful Friend, endeavoured now in the year 1655, to set them down in such a way as may sufficiently instruct me to put any of them in practice.”
“Artis et Naturæ prole.”
The peculiar term “Scantlings,” here employed, is no doubt derived from eschantillon, a pattern or quantity cut for a particular purpose, a certain small quantity serving as a sample of some similar larger piece of work; the “Century” being intended by its author as but the precursor of his proposed ample, finished, descriptive and illustrated production.
No one unacquainted with the state of scientific knowledge between 1601 and 1667, can justly estimate the character and value of the Marquis’s labours. Properly to understand him the reader must place himself as much as possible in his actual condition, peruse the books that he might have read, and consider the existing state of society and science. No commentator has yet done this, and consequently a serious difficulty has been thrown in the way of the purely classical scholar, who, though he might fairly estimate the Marquis’s character on points of history, learning, or theology, could in no way turn to account his one hundred extraordinary inventions. When Walpole composed his “Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors,” the capricious cynic was sorely perplexed how to treat such a literary production as the “Century.” It has been said of the wit that he had so disparaged all things in his own eyes, that nothing appeared to him worthy of admiration, respect, or emulation; and it is no wonder, therefore, that he should cover his own ignorance on scientific matters by declaring the book he affected to criticise, “an amazing piece of folly;” closing his flippant strictures with the sapient remark, “But perhaps too much has been said on so fantastic a man; no wonder he believed transubstantiation, when he believed that himself could work impossibilities!”
David Hume was equally at fault in comprehending the mechanical skill of the Marquis of Worcester, for we find the eloquent historian, in his History of England, in perfect simplicity and ignorance, observing, “That the King judged aright of this nobleman’s character, appears from his Century of arts or scantling of inventions, which is a ridiculous compound of lies, chimeras and impossibilities, and shows what might be expected from such a man!” That the “Century” shows “what might be expected from such a man,” as its author, all must willingly admit; but that Hume’s pungent tirade presents any logical sequence, all must as strenuously deny. Never surely did two talented writers, in different departments of our literature, figure so unfortunately and contemptibly as Walpole and Hume in their unseemly efforts thus to misrepresent and malign their country’s noblest mechanical genius.
Verstegan, in his “Restitution of decayed Intelligence,” printed at Antwerp in 1605, treating in the second chapter of Germany as it was of old, exclaims: “And as touching the knowledge of the people, what learning or skill is there among men that they exceed not in.” And proceeds—“Sundry most rare inventions have had their original and birth among them. Whereof the noble art of printing, and the use of Artillery, are of most note.” He then goes on to enumerate “the heaven of silver,” a piece of exquisite workmanship which it took twelve men to carry; and the wonderful flying “eagle made of wood.”
We in the 19th century are ever liable to misunderstand the inventions of the 17th century. Either the inventions often appear puerile, or their authors seem perplexed on very small occasions of difficulty. Many have no doubt hastily formed opinions in regard to the automata and other curiosities of the “Century.” But such judgments can only emanate from persons not versed in our history and literature from Elizabeth to Charles the Second’s reign. A few brief illustrations may be advantageously offered here, to show that within a very short period after the death of the Marquis of Worcester, scientific men, in mechanical matters, not only seldom rose above very slight improvements, but were at the same time delighted with every species of amusing mechanical device.[A]