Lives of the English Poets : Waller, Milton, Cowley

—Quid agis cum dira et fœdior omni
Crimine persona est?

As Salmasius reproached Milton with losing his eyes in the quarrel, Milton delighted himself with the belief that he had shortened Salmasius’s life, and both perhaps with more malignity than reason.  Salmasius died at the Spa, Sept. 3, 1653; and, as controvertists are commonly said to be killed by their last dispute, Milton was flattered with the credit of destroying him.

Cromwell had now dismissed the parliament by the authority of which he had destroyed monarchy, and commenced monarch himself, under the title of Protector, but with kingly and more than kingly power.  That his authority was lawful, never was pretended; he himself founded his right only in necessity; but Milton, having now tasted the honey of public employment, would not return to hunger and philosophy, but, continuing to exercise his office under a manifest usurpation, betrayed to his power that liberty which he had defended.  Nothing can be more just than that rebellion should end in slavery; that he, who had justified the murder of his king, for some acts which seemed to him unlawful, should now sell his services, and his flatteries, to a tyrant, of whom it was evident that he could do nothing lawful.

He had now been blind for some years; but his vigour of intellect was such, that he was not disabled to discharge his office of Latin secretary, or continue his controversies.  His mind was too eager to be diverted, and too strong to be subdued.

About this time his first wife died in childbed, having left him three daughters.  As he probably did not much love her, he did not long continue the appearance of lamenting her; but after a short time married Catharine, the daughter of one Captain Woodcock, of Hackney, a woman doubtless educated in opinions like his own.  She died, within a year, of childbirth, or some distemper that followed it; and her husband honoured her memory with a poor sonnet.

The first reply to Milton’s “Defensio Populi” was published in 1651, called “Apologia pro Rege et Populo Anglicano, contra Johannis Polypragmatici (alias Miltoni) defensionem destructivam Regis et Populi.”  Of this the author was not known; but Milton and his nephew Philips, under whose name he published an answer so much corrected by him, that it might be called his own, imputed it to Bramhal; and, knowing him no friend to regicides, thought themselves at liberty to treat him as if they had known what they only suspected.

Next year appeared “Regii Sanguinis clamor ad Cœlum.”  Of this the author was Peter du Moulin, who was afterwards prebendary of Canterbury; but Morus, or More, a French minister, having the care of its publication, was treated as the writer by Milton, in his “Defensio Secunda,” and overwhelmed by such violence of invective, that he began to shrink under the tempest, and gave his persecutors the means of knowing the true author.  Du Moulin was now in great danger; but Milton’s pride operated against his malignity; and both he and his friends were more willing that Du Moulin should escape than that he should be convicted of mistake.

In this second Defence he shows that his eloquence is not merely satirical; the rudeness of his invective is equalled by the grossness of his flattery, Deserimur, Cromuelle tu solus superes, ad te summa nostrarum rerum, rediit, in te solo consistit, insuperabili tuæ virtuti cedimus cuncti, nemine vel obloquente, nisi qui æquales inæqualis ipse honores sibi quærit, aut digniori concessos invidet, aut non intelligit nihil esse in societate hominum magis vel Deo gratum, vel rationi consentaneum, esse in civitate nihil æquius, nihil utilius, quam potiri rerum dignissimum.   Eum te agnoscunt omnes, Cromuelle, ea tu civis maximus, et gloriosissimus, dux publici consilii, exercituum fortissimorum imperator, pater patriæ gessisti.  Sic tu spontanea bonorum omnium et animitus missa voce salutaris.

Cæsar, when he assumed the perpetual dictatorship, had not more servile or more elegant flattery.  A translation may show its servility; but its elegance is less attainable.  Having exposed the unskilfulness or selfishness of the former government, “We were left,” says Milton, “to ourselves: the whole national interest fell into our hands, and subsists only in your abilities.  To your virtue, overpowering and resistless, every man gives way, except some who, without equal qualifications, aspire to equal honours, who envy the distinctions of merit greater than their own, or who have yet to learn, that in the coalition of human society nothing is more pleasing to God, or more agreeable to reason, than that the highest mind should have the sovereign power.  Such, sir, are you by general confession; such are the things achieved by you, the greatest and most glorious of our countrymen, the director of our public councils, the leader of unconquered armies, the father of your country; for by that title doss every good man hail you with sincere and voluntary praise.”

Next year, having defended all that wanted defence, he found leisure to defend himself.  He undertook his own vindication against More, whom he declares in his title to be justly called the author of the “Regii Sanguinis Clamor.”  In this there is no want of vehemence nor eloquence, nor does he forget his wonted wit.  Morus es? an Momus? an uterque idem est?  He then remembers that Morus is Latin for a mulberry-tree, and hints at the known transformation:

—Poma alba ferebat
Quæ post nigra tulit Morus.

With this piece ended his controversies; and he from this time gave himself up to his private studies and his civil employment.

As secretary to the Protector he is supposed to have written the Declaration of the reasons for a war with Spain.  His agency was considered as of great importance; for, when a treaty with Sweden was artfully suspended, the delay was publicly imputed to Mr. Milton’s indisposition; and the Swedish agent was provoked to express his wonder that only one man in England could write Latin, and that man blind.

Being now forty-seven years old, and seeing himself disencumbered from external interruptions, he seems to have recollected his former purposes, and to have resumed three great works which he had planned for his future employment—an epic poem, the history of his country, and a dictionary of the Latin tongue.

To collect a dictionary seems a work of all others least practicable in a state of blindness, because it depends upon perpetual and minute inspection and collation.  Nor would Milton probably have begun it, after he had lost his eyes; but, having had it always before him, he continued it, says Philips, “almost to his dying day; but the papers were so discomposed and deficient, that they could not be fitted for the press.”  The compilers of the Latin dictionary, printed at Cambridge, had the use of those collections in three folios; but what was their fate afterwards is not known.

To compile a history from various authors, when they can only be consulted by other eyes, is not easy, nor possible, but with more skilful and attentive help than can be commonly obtained; and it was probably the difficulty of consulting and comparing that stopped Milton’s narrative at the Conquest—a period at which affairs were not very intricate, nor authors very numerous.

For the subject of his epic poem, after much deliberation, long choosing, and beginning late, he fixed upon “Paradise Lost,” a design so comprehensive, that it could be justified only by success.  He had once designed to celebrate King Arthur, as he hints in his verses to Mansus; but “Arthur was reserved,” says Fenton, “to another destiny.”

It appears, by some sketches of poetical projects left in manuscript, and to be seen in a library at Cambridge, that he had digested his thoughts on this subject into one of those wild dramas which were anciently called Mysteries; and Philips had seen what he terms part of a tragedy, beginning with the first ten lines of Satan’s address to the Sun.  These mysteries consist of allegorical persons, such as Justice, Mercy, Faith.  Of the tragedy or mystery of “Paradise Lost” there are two plans

Paradise Lost

The Persons

Moses, προλογίζει, recounting how he assumed his true body; that it corrupts not, because it is with God in the mount; declares the like of Enoch and Elijah; besides the purity of the place, that certain pure winds, dews, and clouds, preserve it from corruption; whence exhorts to the sight of God; tells they cannot see Adam in the state of innocence, by reason of their sin.

Justice, Mercy, Wisdom } debating what should become of man, if he fall.

Chorus of Angels singing a hymn of the Creation.

ACT II

Heavenly Love.

Evening Star.

Chorus sing the marriage-song, and describe Paradise.

ACT III

Lucifer contriving Adam’s ruin.

Chorus fears for Adam, and relates Lucifer’s rebellion and fall.

ACT IV

Adam, Eve } fallen.

Conscience cites them to God’s examination.

Chorus bewails, and tells the good Adam has lost.

ACT V

Adam and Eve driven out of Paradise.

– — presented by an angel with Labour, Grief, Hatred, Envy, War, Famine, Pestilence, Sickness, Discontent, Ignorance, Fear, Death } Mutes.

To whom he gives their names.  Likewise Winter, Heat, Tempest, etc.

Faith, Hope, Charity, comfort him and instruct him.

Chorus briefly concludes.

Such was his first design, which could have produced only an allegory or mystery.  The following sketch seems to have attained more maturity.

Adam Unparadised

The angel Gabriel, either descending or entering; showing, since this globe was created, his frequency as much on earth as in heaven; describes Paradise.  Next the Chorus, showing the reason of his coming to keep his watch in Paradise, after Lucifer’s rebellion, by command from God; and withal expressing his desire to see and know more concerning this excellent new creature, man.  The angel Gabriel, as by his name signifying a prince of power, tracing Paradise with a more free office, passes by the station of the Chorus, and, desired by them, relates what he knew of man; as the creation of Eve, with their love and marriage.  After this, Lucifer appears; after his overthrow, bemoans himself, seeks revenge on man.  The Chorus prepare resistance on his first approach.  At last, after discourse of enmity on either side, he departs: whereat the Chorus sings of the battle and victory in Heaven, against him and his accomplices: as before, after the first act, was sung a hymn of the creation.  Here again may appear Lucifer, relating and exulting in what he had done to the destruction of man.  Man next, and Eve, having by this time been seduced by the serpent, appears confusedly covered with leaves.  Conscience in a shape accuses him; Justice cites him to the place whither Jehovah called for him.  In the meanwhile, the Chorus entertains the stage, and is informed by some angel the manner of the fall.  Here the Chorus bewails Adam’s fall; Adam then and Eve return; accuse one another; but especially Adam lays the blame to his wife; is stubborn in his offence.  Justice appears, reasons with him, convinces him.  The Chorus admonishes Adam, and bids him beware of Lucifer’s example of impenitence.  The angel is sent to banish them out of Paradise; but before causes to pass before his eyes, in shapes, a mask of all the evils of this life and world.  He is humbled, relents, despairs; at last appears Mercy, comforts him, promises the Messiah; then calls in Faith, Hope, and Charity;—instructs him; he repents, gives God the glory, submits to his penalty.  The Chorus briefly concludes.  Compare this with the former draft.

These are very imperfect rudiments of “Paradise Lost;” but it is pleasant to see great works in their seminal state, pregnant with latent possibilities of excellence; nor could there be any more delightful entertainment than to trace their gradual growth and expansion, and to observe how they are sometimes suddenly advanced by accidental hints, and sometimes slowly improved by steady meditation.

Invention is almost the only literary labour which blindness cannot obstruct, and therefore he naturally solaced his solitude by the indulgence of his fancy, and the melody of his numbers.  He had done what he knew to be necessarily previous to poetical excellence; he had made himself acquainted with “seemly arts and affairs;” his comprehension was extended by various knowledge, and his memory stored with intellectual treasures.  He was skilful in many languages, and had, by reading and composition, attained the full mastery of his own.  He would have wanted little help from books, had he retained the power of perusing them.

But while his greater designs were advancing, having now, like many other authors, caught the love of publication, he amused himself, as he could, with little productions.  He sent to the press (1658) a manuscript of Raleigh, called “The Cabinet Council;” and next year gratified his malevolence to the clergy, by a “Treatise of Civil Power in Ecclesiastical Cases, and the Means of removing Hirelings out of the Church.”

Oliver was now dead; Richard constrained to resign; the system of extemporary government, which had been held together only by force, naturally fell into fragments when that force was taken away; and Milton saw himself and his cause in equal danger.  But he had still hope of doing something.  He wrote letters, which Toland has published, to such men as he thought friends to the new commonwealth; and even in the year of the Restoration he “bated no jot of heart or hope,” but was fantastical enough to think that the nation, agitated as it was, might be settled by a pamphlet, called “A Ready and Easy Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth;” which was, however, enough considered to be both seriously and ludicrously answered.

The obstinate enthusiasm of the commonwealth-men was very remarkable.  When the king was apparently returning, Harrington, with a few associates as fantastical as himself, used to meet, with all the gravity of political importance, to settle an equal government by rotation; and Milton, kicking when he could strike no longer, was foolish enough to publish, a few weeks before the Restoration, Notes upon a Sermon preached by one Griffiths, entitled, “The Fear of God and the King.”  To these notes an answer was written by L’Estrange, in a pamphlet petulantly called “No Blind Guides.”

But whatever Milton could write, or men of greater activity could do, the king was now about to be restored with the irresistible approbation of the people, he was therefore no longer secretary, and was consequently obliged to quit the house which he held by his office; the importance of his writings, thought it convenient to seek some shelter, and hid himself for a time in Bartholomew Close, by West Smithfield.