friend of Bacon, Galileo, Descartes, Harvey, Ben Jonson, Cromwell, and all
the great spirits of his time, the intimate of kings, and the special
friend of queens, that his memory should be revived for his skill in making
drinks, and his interest in his own and other folks' kitchens. If to the
magnificent and protean Sir Kenelm must now be added still another side, if
he must appear not only as gorgeous Cavalier, inmate of courts,
controversialist, man of science, occultist, privateer, conspirator, lover
and wit, but as _bon viveur_ too, he is not the ordinary _bon viveur_, who
feasts at banquets prepared by far away and unconsidered menials. His
interest in cookery--say, rather, his passion for it--was in truth an
integral part of his philosophy, and quite as serious as his laboratory
practice at Gresham College and Paris. But to prove what may seem an
outrageous exaggeration, we must first run over the varied story of his
career; and then _The Closet Opened_ will be seen to fall into its due and
important place.

Kenelm Digby owed a good deal to circumstances, but he owed most of all to
his own rich nature. His family was ancient and honourable. Tiltons
originally, they took their later name in Henry III's time, on the
acquisition of some property in Lincolnshire, though in Warwickshire and
Rutland most of them were settled. Three Lancastrian Digby brothers fell at
Towton, seven on Bosworth Field. To his grandfather, Sir Everard the
philosopher, he was mentally very much akin, much more so than to his
father, another of the many Sir Everards, and the most notorious one. Save
for his handsome person and the memory of a fervent devotion to the
Catholic faith, which was to work strongly in him after he came to mature
years, he owed little or nothing to that most unhappy young man, surely the
foolishest youth who ever blundered out of the ways of private virtue into
conspiracy and crime. Kenelm, his elder son, born July 11, 1603, was barely
three years old when his father, the most guileless and the most obstinate