The King James Translators

   What good can it do us to know more about the men who made the King
James Bible and about their work on it? Just how did these chosen men
revise the Bible from 1604 to 1611? Who were these men and what were
their careers? Were they happy in their labor? Did they live with
success after they finished it? How did it affect them? How does the
King James Bible differ from Bibles before and after it? Could a group
or groups turn out better writing than a single person? These are some
of the questions I aim to answer in this series of articles on the
making of the King James Bible.

   The King James men were minor writers, though great scholars, doing
superb writing. Their task lifted them above themselves, while they
leaned firmly on their subjects. Many of society's great communicators
have written in wonder about what the King James translators achieved.
I quote here only from two sources--one ardent man with Bible learning,
and from one who admired the product but scorned ways of worship and
hated spiritual things.

   First, Dr. F. William Faber: "It lives on the ear like a music that
can never be forgotten, like the sound of church bells, which the
convert hardly knows how he can forego. Its felicities often seem to be
almost things rather than mere words. It is part of the national mind
and the anchor of national seriousness. The memory of the dead passes
into it. The potent traditions of childhood are stereotyped in its
verses. The power of all the griefs and trials of a man is hidden
beneath its words. It is the representative of his best moments; and
all that there has been about him of soft, and gentle, and pure, and
penitent, and good speaks to him for ever out of his English Bible."

   Next, H.L. Mencken: "It is the most beautiful of all the
translations of the Bible; indeed, it is probably the most beautiful
piece of writing in all the literature of the world. Many attempts have
been made to purge it of its errors and obscurities. An English Revised
Version was published in 1885 and an American Revised Version in 1901,
and since then many learned but misguided men have sought to produce
translations that should be mathematically accurate, and in the plain
speech of everyday. But the Authorized Version has never yielded to any
of them, for it is palpably and overwhelmingly better than they are,
just as it is better than the Greek New Testament, or the Vulgate, or
the Septuagint. Its English is extraordinarily simple, pure, eloquent,
and lovely. It is a mine of lordly and incomparable poetry, at once the
most stirring and the most touching ever heard of."

   One of its great virtues is that it allows and impels us to put any
part of it into other words, into our words, that we may get glimpses
of more meanings from it and then turn back to it with more delight and
profit than ever before. The King James men surpassed us in these
respects, that they were scholars, and that they had Elizabethan
command over language. At the same time they were like us, of the
people, earnest, and at the bottom sweet and sound. We surpass them in
our wide modern range of words. At present many urge us in all sorts of
projects to "do it yourself." I hope that as you read about these men
and what they did you may feel the urge to create the Bible afresh for
yourself, to revise the phrases in any way you please, and then to
compare your wordings with what we have so long deemed our standard
Scriptures. Thus you may keep the Bible alive for yourself, really be
active as you read and study it, and be at one with the learned men,
those common people who gave us their splendid best.

   THE MEN BEHIND THE KING JAMES BIBLE

   DOCTOR JOHN RAINOLDS, Puritan, spoke at Hampton Court of the need
for a new translation. Called the most learned man in England, Rainolds
worked with the Oxford group that translated the Old Testament, but he
died before the new Bible was completed.

   RICHARD BANCROFT, Bishop of London, as a high churchman opposed
Rainolds' Puritan proposals yet moved with energy for the new Bible
when the King approved. After the death of John Whitgift, Bancroft was
rewarded with the Archbishopric of Canterbury.

   GEORGE ABBOT, among the New Testament translators at Oxford,
followed Bancroft as Bishop and became Archbishop in time to oppose the
tyranny of Laud. His engraved portrait is from the title page of his
book, A Brief Description of the Whole World, as published in 1656.

   LANCELOT ANDREWES, Dean of Westminster, chose many other translators
and led the Westminster group translating from the Hebrew. Andrewes had
been a chaplain to Elizabeth; he was a friend of Bacon and Spenser, and
young John Milton wrote his elegy, when, in 1626, he died.

   THOMAS RAVIS, Dean of Christ Church and later Warden of New College,
was head of the New Testament translators at Oxford. A high churchman,
Ravis opposed Puritan teachings. He signed the document that asked
promotion for another translator, Dean Thorne.

   SIR HENRY SAVILE, considered the handsomest of the translators, had
tutored Queen Elizabeth in Greek and mathematics. Provost of Eton, then
Warden of Merton, he worked with the Greek group at Oxford, where he
lectured on the Greek philosophers and Euclid.

   THOMAS BILSON, Bishop of Winchester, worked with the Cambridge
translators and was one of the two final editors. His high church views
and zeal for the Establishment balanced the Puritan leanings of Miles
Smith, who followed him in the see of Winchester.

   DOCTOR MILES SMITH worked in the Oxford group that translated the
Old Testament from the Hebrew. He also served as final editor of the
whole translation and wrote the eloquent preface, which was part of the
1611 edition.

   Material in this publication taken from The Men Behind the King
James Version by Gustavus S. Paine (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Book
House). Copyright {CPY} 1959 by Diana B. Paine and Bela Paine. Used by
permission.

   At Hampton Court

   MAY YOUR MAJESTY BE PLEASED," said Dr. John Rainolds in his address
to the king, "to direct that the Bible be now translated, such versions
as are extant not answering to the original."

   Rainolds was a Puritan, and the Bishop of London felt it his duty to
disagree. "If every man's humor might be followed," snorted His Grace,
"there would be no end to translating."

   King James was quick to put both factions down. "I profess," he
said, "I could never yet see a Bible well translated in English, but I
think that of Geneva is the worst."

   These few dissident words started the greatest writing project the
world has ever known, and the greatest achievement of the reign of
James I--the making of the English Bible which has ever since borne his
name. The day was Monday, January 16, 1604. The scene was the palace at
Hampton Court, with its thousand rooms built by Cardinal Wolsey and
successfully coveted by Henry VIII.

   King James was new to the English throne but his reign in Scotland
had already brought him experience of religious differences. Those more
than political considerations divided the people who thronged the roads
and cheered the new king on his way from Edinburgh to London. Most
urgent of the many pleas received during the royal progress was the
Millenary Petition of the Puritans, called so because it had a thousand
signers, a tenth of the English clergy. "The fantastical giddy-headed
Puritans," wrote the Archbishop of York to the Bishop of Durham, "are
very eager that they may be heard."

   Another religious faction, the English Roman Catholics, had sent
from France a petition for more freedom. The king could overlook the
Catholics, but the Puritans had been gaining ground for a generation
and their demands were specific. They opposed Sabbathbreaking and the
keeping of other holy days, baptism by women in their homes, display of
the cross in baptism, bowing at the name Jesus, and other practices
considered high church or popish.

   James's answer was to call a meeting to talk about what was
"pretended to be amiss" in the churches. Because the plague was making
havoc in London, where it was to kill thirty thousand, the meeting was
first postponed and then set for Hampton Court, a safe distance from
the plague-ridden city.

   In the huge rose-red brick palace not far from Hounslow Heath, with
its stone gargoyles, twisted chimneys, mullioned windows, and
cloistered walks, the king and his friends had reveled since before
Christmas. For more guests than the thousand rooms could hold, tents
stood in the superb gardens and the broad deer park. In December it was
too cold and foggy to enjoy the tennis courts, the tilting ground, the
bowling alleys beside the swift, chilly Thames. Even James, reared in
the cold of Scotland, wore so many clothes that his weak legs could
hardly bear the burden. But there was hunting with bows and arrows to
warm the blood, and there was sport enough indoors, what with dancing,
drinking, and heavy meals cooked in the long brick ovens.

   Fireplace heat was a comfort to those near it. Those away from it
endured what the English called a frowst, of about sixty degrees. The
air must have been heavy and stale for there is no record of baths in
the palace, though the court used perfumes and pomanders and the king
kept his hands soft as sarcenet by never washing them, merely dipping
the royal fingers into bowls of attar and other balms.

   For the entertainment of the court, Shakespeare's actors performed
plays for a fee of twenty gold nobles for each day or night, with an
extra tip of five marks from the king. After Christmas, in a masque
called "The Twelve Goddesses" staged by Inigo Jones, Queen Anne and
eleven maids of honor took part. They wore their hair down and many
thought their gauze costumes scandalously sheer, although the queen
wore over hers a blue mantle embroidered in silver with the weapons and
engines of war. Flutes and viols played sweetly. Francis Bacon was
present at this performance. The gay season, as brilliant as any in
Elizabeth's reign, immediately preceded the parley about church matters.

   Instead of asking the Puritans to send men of their own choice,
James and his advisers named just four, among them JOHN RAINOLDS, whom
we may justifiably call the father of the King James Bible. President
of Corpus Christi College at Oxford, Rainolds was called the most
learned man in England. With him to Hampton Court went LAURENCE
CHADERTON from Cambridge, who with Rainolds was to become a translator
of the new Bible, and two other Puritans who were to have no part in
it. The four were not admitted to the meeting until its second day.
Confronting them were a group of fifty or sixty high churchmen, the
lords of the council, deans, bishops, and even the Archbishop of
Canterbury, rich old JOHN WHITGIFT, though he was not far from death.

   The place of meeting was the king's privy chamber, a large room in
Henry VIII's state suite on the east side of the clock court. (As
George II altered the part of the palace, no one can now see the spot
where Rainolds stood when he proposed the translation. The best account
of that day was written by WILLIAM BARLOW, Dean of Chester, who also
was to become a translator.) The chief speakers were RICHARD BANCROFT,
Bishop of London, Rainolds, and the king.

   James, at thirty-seven an old young man who sputtered because his
tongue was too large for his mouth, came in and said a few kind words
to the lords, and sat down in his chair which was somewhat removed from
the cloth of state. Prince Henry, ten years old, sat near his father on
a stool. The king took off his hat when he thanked Almighty God for
bringing him into the promised land where religion was purely professed.

   When Rainolds' turn came, some said that he spoke offhand of the new
Bible, amid much talk of other matters. He stressed four points: that
the doctrine of the Church might be preserved in purity according to
God's word; that good pastors might be planted in all churches to
preach the same; that the church government might be sincerely
ministered according to God's word; that the Book of Common Prayer
might be suited to more increase of piety.

   Though these points were hardly disputable, the meeting got into odd
wrangles over lesser concerns. The Puritans, though not so much
Rainolds, opposed wedding rings. James, who spoke of his queen as "our
dearest bedfellow," said, "I was married with a ring and think others
scarcely well married without it." James had a good time with jokes;
when Rainolds, unmarried, questioned the phrase in the marriage service
"with my body I thee worship," the king said, "Many a man speaks of
Robin Hood who never shot his bow; if you had a good wife yourself, you
would think that all the honor and worship you could do to her would be
well bestowed." Rainolds won his laugh later when, in the argument
against Romish customs, he said, "The Bishop of Rome hath no authority
in this land."

   Though all tittered at this remark, the king himself, like Rainolds
and many others present, had been born in the Church of Rome; the faith
the king defended was less than a century old. For all his solemn and
flippant talk, James had really but one devout belief--in kingcraft.
Though Sir Edward Coke heard him say at the trial of Sir Walter
Raleigh, "I will lose the crown and my life before I will alter
religion," the crown was his reason for being, and he had experienced
enough extremes of religion to know there could be no easy definition
of it. In Scotland he had turned from Romanism despite the fact
that--or perhaps because--his mother was a Catholic. But in his
homeland he had also known too much of Presbyterianism and rabid
Calvinism. Perhaps he meant it when he said stoutly enough, "I will
never allow in my conscience that the blood of any man shall be shed
for diversity of opinions in religion." But he did allow such
bloodshed, in an era still bloodstained. After all, James was the son
of Mary of Scotland, who helped bring about the death of his father,
and he owed his throne to Queen Elizabeth, who had given the word to
behead his mother.

   To make up for that tragic past he had now to maintain his own
divine right as king, sitting among men who, though they knelt to
him--Bancroft kept falling to his knees, and even old Archbishop
Whitgift knelt--argued among themselves over matters about which he
knew and cared little. As the day wore on, more and more points of
difference came up.

   John Rainolds impugned the policies of Bishop Bancroft and urged
that "old, curious, deep and intricate questions might be avoided in
the fundamental instruction of a people." Oddly, in view of his own
historic position, one of Rainolds' complaints was about the role of
books. He was against freedom of the press because youthful minds must
be protected. "Unlawful and seditious books might be suppressed, at
least retained and imparted to a few, for by the liberty of publishing
such books so commonly, many young scholars and unsettled minds in both
universities and through the whole realm were corrupted and perverted."
Why should anyone read what is clearly wrong? Rainolds was for an elite
to tussle with the hard sayings while the masses stayed calm, humble,
almost dormant. Here the king was nearer modern thought and told
Rainolds that, in taxing the Bishop of London that he suffered bad
books, he was a better college man than statesman.

   Bancroft for his side denounced the Puritans to his Majesty as
"Cartwright's scholars"--their leader Thomas Cartwright had just
died--"schismatics, breakers of your laws; you may know them by their
Turkey grogram." At the meeting the men of the Established Church of
course wore their proper habits of office while the four Puritans
showed their disdain for churchly garb by appearing in plain coarse
fabric gowns. The Cartwright reference was serious because Cartwright
had been the boldest of those who stormed against bishops; he thought
the Church should have only elders. Worse, he thought the Crown should
be under the Church. James knew well that the Church, with all its
bishops, must be under him.

   Rainolds was Bancroft's target because, it may be, Bancroft was
loath to gibe at Chaderton, the other effective Puritan, who was his
lifelong friend. Many of the learned men had long known each other.
England at that time had only a few million people and ten thousand
clergy, and friendships among scholars were widespread. Rainolds and
Chaderton had gone to Cambridge together, and in a Town and Gown brawl
Chaderton had saved Bancroft's life, nearly losing his own right hand
to do so. Of the other two Puritans present, Thomas Sparke sat and said
nothing while the fourth, John Knewstubs, "spoke most affectionately
but confusedly."

   The royal ire rose first at Rainolds, though later the king learned
to endure him. With his own party Rainolds lost some esteem because
they considered that, awed by the place and the company and the
arbitrary dictates of his sovereign, he fell below himself. But the
king made his angry opposition clear. Sir John Harington, the genius
who invented the privy, was present and wrote to his wife that "the
king talked much Latin and disputed with Doctor Rainolds, but he rather
used upbraidings than arguments....The Bishops seemed much pleased and
said his majesty spoke by the power of inspiration. I wist not what
they mean, but the spirit was rather foul mouthed."

   As the crossfire increased and the meeting got rougher, perhaps the
king saw that a diversion was wanted and seized upon Rainolds' one
acceptable proposal to heal the breach. Or perhaps James, who thought
of himself as a gifted Bible student, was sincere in seeing the need
for a new translation even though the idea was advanced by the wrong
side. Elizabeth before him had given some support to those who wished
to see the Geneva Bible supplanted. James himself as a young man had
tried his hand at making verses from the Psalms, and had written a
commentary on Revelation.

   The English people were Bible readers. Even before Wycliffe's Bible,
the first in English, had enabled those who could read to know the
Scriptures, early pieces in English had gone from hand to hand. The
Wycliffe translation from the Latin text of the Vulgate was the
foundation of Protestant thinking in England, its survival under ban
and circulation in manuscript copies proof that the new Church was
based upon a religious revolution and not merely the whim of a king
determined to have a divorce the Pope forbade. An English Bible was one
to be read by the common people. Educated men, high churchmen and
university scholars and royal persons, not only read Latin easily but
wrote and spoke it with ease. Their private prayers, not merely those
of the Church, were in Latin; so were addresses to the king. As a boy
in Stirling Castle, the young James who would grow up to be king of
both Scotland and England, complained that they tried to make him learn
Latin before he knew Scots. The tongue of the Church was useful as a
common language for visitors from foreign lands, provided they were of
the educated class. But the same class distinction kept the common folk
who knew no Latin from reading the Bible.

   William Tyndale was first to undertake a printed English Bible.
Having studied under the great Erasmus at Cambridge, he began
translation of the New Testament--from the original Greek and not the
Latin translation. At first he hoped to get help from the Bishop of
London, but Henry VIII and his bishops were not yet willing to let the
people read. In 1524 Tyndale went abroad, a virtual exile, first to
Germany where he saw Luther at Wittenberg and made arrangements to have
his New Testament translation printed at Worms, using funds given him
by a London merchant.

   Proscribed by Henry VIII, the first English New Testament to be
printed had to be smuggled into the country, and what copies could be
seized by the authorities were burned. At Marburg, Germany, Tyndale
proceeded with Old Testament translations, and with books that set
forth Reformation doctrines. Henry VIII meanwhile, although he had left
the Roman Church, demanded that Tyndale be returned to England to be
punished for sedition. Tyndale remained on the Continent but at Antwerp
in 1535 he fell into the hands of Emperor Charles V, who thrust him
into a dungeon near Brussels. He was shortly sentenced as a heretic,
and died at the stake. His last prayer was, "Lord, open the King of
England's eyes."

   Not all the Tyndale New Testaments were burned, and enough of them
reached England, beginning in 1526, to make it certain that one day
there would be an English edition. In 1535, the year of Tyndale's
death, Miles Coverdale edited and produced on the Continent the first
complete English Bible, based on Tyndale, the Vulgate, and Luther's and
Zwingli's translations. As Coverdale was a diplomat, he dedicated the
book to Henry, and had no trouble with English publication. However,
the Coverdale Bible was popularly known as the Bugs Bible because of
its reading of Psalm 91:5: "Thou shalt not nede to be afraid of any
bugges by night." Two revised editions appeared in 1537, carrying "the
King's most gracious license."

   Still another Bible, more closely related to Tyndale's pioneer work
than Coverdale's, appeared in 1537-- the so-called Matthew's Bible.
This Bible also obtained a royal license. First published in 1539 it
was called the great Bible and was read in churches. But the household
Bible of the English people was the one which was produced at Geneva in
1560 and was translated by William Whittingham, who married Calvin's
sister-in-law. Its popularity was due in part to its size--it was small
enough to hold, while the church Bibles measured more than fifteen
inches long and nine inches wide. Aside from its size, the Geneva Bible
found favor among the followers of Calvin and Knox, but others found
fault with its marginal notes and also with its wording. It was called
the Breeches Bible because its reading of Genesis 3:7 was "and they
sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves breeches."

   At the time of the Hampton Court meeting, most Protestants,
especially the Puritans, still read and defended the Geneva
translation. In slurring it, James may have thought to balance his
agreement with Rainolds by nettling them. Yet at least one rampant
Puritan, Hugh Broughton, the famous Hebrew scholar, had called for a
new Bible. As for the bishops, fifteen of them, as far back as 1568,
had worked on a revision in the Bishops' Bible. In 1584 they won royal
sanction for their version, known as the Treacle Bible because it asked
in Jeremiah 8:22, "Is there not treacle in Gilead?"

   James's real reason for objecting to the Geneva Bible was rooted in
his need to feel secure on his new throne. Some of the marginal notes
in the Geneva version had wording which disturbed him: they seemed to
scoff at kings. If the Bible threatened him, it must be changed. Away
with all marginal notes! And indeed if you read them in the fat Geneva
volume you will find many based on dogma now outworn. James may have
had some right on his side; he was far from witless.

   So clever indeed was his handling of the meeting that, although he
gave the Puritan pleaders no satisfaction and actually threatened to
harry them out of the land, he appeared to some observers to lean
toward them. Indeed, the dean of the chapel said that on that day the
king played the Puritan.

   For their part the Puritans, with outward meekness and inner
grumbling, found grace to yield enough to stay well within the Church
of England. Yet after all the talk ended, it seemed they had won
nothing. Indeed there was only one gain: the new Bible.

   Having spoken, James went on about his royal business, which had
nothing to do with translating Scriptures. At Royston, not far from
Cambridge, he was converting a priory mansion and two old inns, set in
six hundred acres, into a royal shooting box. Royston he came to esteem
beyond all places for the hunting of hares, rabbits, partridges,
bustards, and plovers. But the king hunted at Newmarket too, where also
there was horse racing. When he had to return to town for the first
Parliament of the new reign, he occupied the new royal apartments in
the Tower of London and there, in the Lion's Tower, the king watched
three dogs set upon a lion, which tore two of them apart.

   Time to decide about the Bible had to be found between these duties
and pleasures, but the king knew how to delegate power. As soon as
James showed approval of Rainolds' proposal, the ambitious Bishop
Bancroft suppressed his own adverse thoughts and prepared to carry out
the royal will with zeal and dispatch. Robert Cecil, who had served
Elizabeth, served James as well; James called him "my little beagle"
and made him Lord Salisbury. With Cecil, Bishop Bancroft talked things
over and chose the men to work on a proposal, perhaps casually
broached, which the royal will had now raised to a splendid design.
Tyndale's prayer was now answered in full: James I had ordered what
Tyndale died to do.

   Fervent for what his master wished, Bancroft wrote to an aide:
"I...move you in his majesty's name that, agreeably to the charge and
trust committed unto you, no time may be overstepped by you for the
better furtherance of this holy work....You will scarcely conceive how
earnest his majesty is to have this work begun."

../