Prefaces to Four Seventeenth-Century Romances: Roger Boyle, Lord Broghill, preface to Parthenissa (1655) Sir George Mackenzie, "Apologie for romances," prefixed to Aretina, the serious romance (1660) Nathaniel Ingelo, preface to Bentivolio and Urania (1660) Robert Boyle, preface to Theodora and Didymus (1687)

In Short

This volume gathers four seminal prefaces written between 1655 and 1687, serving as a vital window into the early modern transition from sprawling, fantastical romances to the more grounded English novel. The authors—Roger Boyle, Sir George Mackenzie, Nathaniel Ingelo, and Robert Boyle—defend the act of fiction writing against accusations of idleness and mendacity. By attempting to marry narrative delight with moral instruction, these texts reveal the earnest, often conflicted efforts of early novelists to establish a literary form that could educate the soul while engaging the mind.

The Story

The progression of these prefaces traces a journey from the reluctant admission of a "guilty" pleasure to the rigorous defense of fiction as a pedagogical tool. The narrative arc begins with Roger Boyle, who confesses that he originally viewed reading romances as a waste of time, only to discover their utility during his travels in France. He describes his own foray into the genre with a sense of ironic penance, arguing that while romances are "mixt" with fiction, they offer a wider, more instructive field for human behavior than the rigid constraints of factual history.

Sir George Mackenzie then shifts the focus toward a more aggressive defense of the genre in his "Apologie." He rejects the notion that romances are mere lies, asserting that they act as an antidote to vice. For Mackenzie, the romance is a refined mirror, helping readers distinguish between true virtue and the "spotted sutes" of daily life. He is deeply concerned with the mechanics of prose, moving from a critique of "soaring" styles to a search for a cadence that is both elegant and accessible.

Nathaniel Ingelo introduces a more somber tone, framing the romance as a potential instrument for the soul’s salvation. He critiques the "fabulous rind" of earlier works, which he believes were so thick that they obscured any useful moral kernel. Ingelo aims to discipline the "vagrant" imagination, arguing that if reason governs fancy, stories can become vessels for religious and ethical truth. He challenges the reader to look past the surface of mere entertainment to find deeper, necessary wisdom.

Finally, Robert Boyle concludes the arc with a reflective, late-century perspective on the martyrdom of Theodora and Didymus. His preface highlights the difficulty of reconciling the "intrigues of an amour" with the gravity of Christian sacrifice. He is haunted by the loss of his own manuscript and the expectations of his peers, who demanded a more "fashionable" style to make piety appear attractive to the youth of his day. His story ends not in the triumph of a genre, but in a nuanced, weary recognition: that to make virtue "amiable" in a cynical age, one must dress it in the beautiful, deceptive robes of fiction.

How It Unfolds

The discovery of utility Roger Boyle recounts his initial distaste for idle study, which shifted once he realized that reading romances taught him more about human nature than the history books he encountered in school. He justifies his own writing as an experimental endeavor to separate "truth from fiction," ultimately presenting his work as a tool for personal improvement.

The moral apology Sir George Mackenzie shifts the debate by categorizing romances as "anti-dotes" to vice rather than engines of it. He argues that by presenting virtue in its "holy-day robes," these stories elevate the reader above the mundane corruption of court life.

The discipline of fancy Nathaniel Ingelo demands that the creative imagination submit to the "Supreme Governesse," reason. He insists that stories must not be mere "troublesome Chimæras," but carefully constructed vehicles that allow the reader to move from amusement to genuine moral reflection.

The struggle for gravity Robert Boyle grapples with the inherent tension of his subject matter, finding it difficult to depict the tragic dignity of martyrs while using the language of a romance. He concludes that his stylistic choices were a necessary concession, intended to ensure that the pious sacrifice of his characters would be palatable to a distracted audience.

The People

These prefaces are populated by the authors themselves, who act as both creators and primary critics of their own work. Roger Boyle appears as an aristocrat struggling with the perception that writing is a trivial pursuit, eventually finding a justification for his "idle fruit" in the instructional potential of the genre. Sir George Mackenzie acts as the intellectual provocateur, a man in search of a new, "clear" style that can strip away the pedantry of the university and speak directly to the "Court."

Nathaniel Ingelo serves as the moral guardian of the collection, a voice of rigid, principled concern who views the unchecked imagination as a threat to the integrity of the soul. Finally, Robert Boyle emerges as a melancholic, sophisticated observer of his own failure to completely bridge the gap between human passion and divine truth. He remains the most self-aware figure in the group, acknowledging that his characters—Theodora and Didymus—must be rendered attractive to a worldly audience, even as he fears that such dressing diminishes their holy sacrifice. Each figure remains tethered to the tension between the desire to entertain and the fear of being seen as a purveyor of frivolous, potentially dangerous lies.

In Its Own Voice

In his preface to Parthenissa, Roger Boyle acknowledges the pragmatic way romance can instruct the reader:

Romances tell us what may be, whereas true Historyes tell vs what is, or has bin, now what may be, is more vncircumscrib’d than what is, or has bin, and consequently affoards a Larger Feild for instruction, and inuention.

In his Apologie, Sir George Mackenzie defends the genre’s capacity to present moral clarity:

For whereas they are judged to be both the fire, and faggots, wherby Lov’d flames are both kindled and alimented; I believe verily, that there is nothing can so easily extinguish them.

What It's Really About

At its core, this collection investigates the precarious legitimacy of the imagination in a world that prizes "serious" history and theology. The authors are obsessed with the boundary between "truth" and "fable," constantly asking if a story can be "true" if the events it describes never occurred. They worry that their readers will be led into a state of "brutish incapacity" by consuming nothing but fantasies. Ultimately, the book is about the domestication of the fantastic. It captures the moment when the English literary tradition began to demand that stories be accountable to the values of the real world, forcing writers to justify their art by turning it into a mirror for the reader’s own moral self-examination.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy literary history or the "making of" narratives will find this volume deeply rewarding. It offers a rare, unfiltered look at the anxieties of early novelists who felt they had to apologize for their existence. To read these prefaces is to witness the birth of a dilemma that still persists: how can a writer keep a reader interested without sacrificing their moral compass?

The experience of reading these texts is akin to sitting in on a private debate among scholars and aristocrats. You will encounter the dense, ornate prose typical of the mid-seventeenth century, which can feel challenging and occasionally circuitous. However, the warmth of the authors' personal confessions—the way they discuss their own insecurities and their hopes for their work—makes these historical figures feel remarkably human. You will likely walk away with a newfound appreciation for the modern novel, recognizing it as a hard-won achievement. These authors were not just writing stories; they were building a bridge from the "bedlame of their own fancies" to the structured, coherent storytelling we recognize today. If you are interested in the evolution of the human mind through its relationship with stories, these prefaces provide a foundational, if sometimes difficult, map of that long journey.