Life Of John Milton, Richard Garnett [ebook offline txt] 📗

Chapter 2 Pg 34

Writes Howell,  In 1657,  "Resembleth An Italian Street More Than Any

Other In London,  By Reason Of The Spaciousness And Uniformity Of The

Buildings And Straightness Thereof,  With The Convenient Distance Of The

Houses." He Did Not At This Time Contemplate Mixing Actively In

Political Or Religious Controversy.

 

      "I Looked About To See If I Could Get Any Place That Would Hold

      Myself And My Books,  And So I Took A House Of Sufficient Size In

      The City; And There With No Small Delight I Resumed My Intermitted

      Studies; Cheerfully Leaving The Event Of Public Affairs,  First To

      God,  And Then To Those To Whom The People Had Committed That

      Task."

 

But This Was Before The Convocation Of The Long Parliament. When It Had

Met,

 

      "Perceiving That The True Way To Liberty Followed On From These

      Beginnings,  Inasmuch Also As I Had So Prepared Myself From My

      Youth That,  Above All Things,  I Could Not Be Ignorant What Is Of

      Divine And What Of Human Right,  I Resolved,  Though I Was Then

      Meditating Certain Other Matters,  To Transfer Into This Struggle

      All My Genius And All The Strength Of My Industry."

 

Milton's Note-Books,  To Be Referred To In Another Place,  Prove That He

Did Not Even Then Cease To Meditate Themes For Poetry,  But Practically

He For Eighteen Years Ceased To Be A Poet.

 

There Is No Doubt Something Grating And Unwelcome In The Descent Of The

Scholar From Regions Of Serene Culture To Fierce Political And Religious

Broils. But To Regret With Pattison That Milton Should,  At This Crisis

Of The State,  Have Turned Aside From Poetry To Controversy Is To Regret

That "Paradise Lost" Should Exist. Such A Work Could Not Have Proceeded

From One Indifferent To The Public Weal,  And If Milton Had Been Capable

Of Forgetting The Citizen In The Man Of Letters We May Be Sure That "A

Little Grain Of Conscience" Would Ere Long Have "Made Him Sour." It Is

Sheer Literary Fanaticism To Speak With Pattison Of "The Prostitution Of

Genius To Political Party." Milton Is As Much The Idealist In His Prose

As In His Verse; And Although In His Pamphlets He Sides Entirely With

One Of The Two Great Parties In The State,  It Is Not As Its Instrument,

But As Its Prophet And Monitor. He Himself Tells Us That Controversy Is

Highly Repugnant To Him.

 

      "I Trust To Make It Manifest With What Small Willingness I Endure

      To Interrupt The Pursuit Of No Less Hopes Than These,  And Leave A

      Calm And Pleasing Solitariness,  Fed With Cheerful And Confident

      Thoughts,  To Embark In A Troubled Sea Of Noises And Hoarse

      Disputes,  Put From Beholding The Bright Countenance Of Truth In

      The Quiet And Still Air Of Delightful Studies,  To Come In To The

      Dim Reflection Of Hollow Antiquities Sold By The Seeming Bulk."

 

But He Felt That If He Allowed Such Motives To Prevail With Him,  It

Would Be Said To Him:

 

      "Timorous And Ungrateful,  The Church Of God Is Now Again At The

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      Foot Of Her Insulting Enemies,  And Thou Bewailest,  What Matters It

      For Thee Or Thy Bewailing? When Time Was,  Thou Would'st Not Find A

      Syllable Of All That Thou Hast Read Or Studied To Utter On Her

      Behalf. Yet Ease And Leisure Was Given Thee For Thy Retired

      Thoughts,  But Of The Sweat Of Other Men. Thou Hast The Diligence,

      The Parts,  The Language Of A Man,  If A Vain Subject Were To Be

      Adorned Or Beautified; But When The Cause Of God And His Church

      Was To Be Pleaded,  For Which Purpose That Tongue Was Given Thee

      Which Thou Hast,  God Listened If He Could Hear Thy Voice Among His

      Zealous Servants,  But Thou Wert Dumb As A Beast; From Henceforward

      Be That Which Thine Own Brutish Silence Hath Made Thee."

 

A Man With "Paradise Lost" In Him Must Needs So Think And Act,  And,  Much

As It Would Have Been To Have Had Another "Comus" Or "Lycidas," Were Not

Even Such Well Exchanged For A Hymn Like This,  The High-Water Mark Of

English Impassioned Prose Ere Milton's Mantle Fell Upon Ruskin?

 

      "Thou,  Therefore,  That Sittest In Light And Glory Unapproachable.

      Parent Of Angels And Men! Next,  Thee I Implore,  Omnipotent King,

      Redeemer Of That Lost Remnant Whose Nature Thou Didst Assume,

      Ineffable And Everlasting Love! And Thou,  The Third Subsistence Of

      Divine Infinitude,  Illuminating Spirit,  The Joy And Solace Of

      Created Things! One Tri-Personal Godhead! Look Upon This Thy Poor

      And Almost Spent And Expiring Church,  Leave Her Not Thus A Prey To

      These Importunate Wolves,  That Wait And Think Long Till They

      Devour Thy Tender Flock; These Wild Boars That Have Broke Into Thy

      Vineyard,  And Left The Print Of Their Polluting Hoofs On The Souls

      Of Thy Servants. O Let Them Not Bring About Their Damned Designs

      That Stand Now At The Entrance Of The Bottomless Pit,  Expecting

      The Watchword To Open And Let Out Those Dreadful Locusts And

      Scorpions To Reinvolve Us In That Pitchy Cloud Of Infernal

      Darkness,  Where We Shall Never More See The Sun Of Thy Truth

      Again,  Never Hope For The Cheerful Dawn,  Never More Hear The Bird

      Of Morning Sing. Be Moved With Pity At The Afflicted State Of This

      Our Shaken Monarchy,  That Now Lies Labouring Under Her Throes,  And

      Struggling Against The Grudges Of More Dreaded Calamities.

 

      "O Thou,  That,  After The Impetuous Rage Of Five Bloody

      Inundations,  And The Succeeding Sword Of Intestine War,  Soaking

      The Land In Her Own Gore,  Didst Pity The Sad And Ceaseless

      Revolution Of Our Swift And Thick-Coming Sorrows; When We Were

      Quite Breathless Of Thy Free Grace Didst Motion Peace And Terms Of

      Covenant With Us; And,  Having First Well-Nigh Freed Us From

      Anti-Christian Thraldom,  Didst Build Up This Britannic Empire To A

      Glorious And Enviable Height,  With All Her Daughter-Islands About

      Her; Stay Us In This Felicity,  Let Not The Obstinacy Of Our

      Half-Obedience And Will-Worship Bring Forth That Viper Of

      Sedition,  That For These Fourscore Years Hath Been Breeding To Eat

      Through The Entrails Of Our Peace; But Let Her Cast Her Abortive

      Spawn Without The Danger Of This Travailing And Throbbing Kingdom:

      That We May Still Remember In Our Solemn Thanksgivings,  How,  For

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Us,  The Northern Ocean,  Even To The Frozen Thule,  Was Scattered

      With The Proud Shipwrecks Of The Spanish Armada,  And The Very Maw

      Of Hell Ransacked,  And Made To Give Up Her Concealed Destruction,

      Ere She Could Vent It In That Horrible And Damned Blast.

 

      "O How Much More Glorious Will Those Former Deliverances Appear,

      When We Shall Know Them Not Only To Have Saved Us From Greatest

      Miseries Past,  But To Have Reserved Us For Greatest Happinetingly,  "What

I Have To Say Is Scarcely Suited To This Pleasant Day."

 

Such Remarks,  Said Martha Humorously,  Were Of The Right Sort To Add To

The Cheerfulness Of The Company.  Peter Was Not The Man To Keep A

Secret Long.  Turning To The Master,  He Said: "Early To-Day,  In The

City,  I Heard Some People Talking.  They're Always Doing You Some

Injustice."

 

"What Were They Saying,  Peter?"

 

"They Said That The Prophet Was A Man Of Fair Words,  But That He Did

Nothing.  He Never Once Healed The Sick Who Came To Him From Great

Distances."

 

"They Say That?"

 

"Yes,  Sir,  That's The Kind Of Thing They Say."

 

Jesus Raised His Head,  And Looked Cheerfully Round The Circle.  While

He Rocked One Of The Little Girls On His Knee,  He Said Calmly: "So They

Say I Only Talk And Do Nothing.  In Their Sense They Are Right.  I

Don't Pray,  They Mean,  Because They Don't See Me Do It.  I Don't Fast,

Because We Can't Eat Less Than A Little,  Except When We Sit At A

Luxurious Table Like Martha's.  I Don't Give Alms Because My Purse Is

Empty.  What Good Do I Do,  Then?  I Don't Work,  Because In Their Eyes

My Work Doesn't Count.  I Don't Work Miracles On Their Bodies,  Because

I Am Come To Heal Their Souls.  Amon,  Say,  Would You Exchange The Peace

Of Your Heart For Sound Legs?"

 

"Lord!" Exclaimed Amon Vivaciously,  "If They Say You Do Nothing Good,

Just Let Them Come To The House Of Old Amon At Bethany.  You Came Under

My Roof,  And My Soul Was Healed."

 

"And You Brought Me Resurrection And Life," Shouted Lazarus

Passionately From The Other End Of The Room.

 

"And Me,  More Than That," Said Magdalen,  Looking Up At Him With Moist

Eyes.  And Then She Bent Down And Kissed His Feet.

 

And Peter Exclaimed: "I Was A Mere Worm,  And He Made Me A Man.  He Does

More Than All The Rabbis And Physicians And Generals Put Together."

 

Then John Turned To Him And Asked: "Brother,  Why Didn't You Talk Like

That To The People In Jerusalem?  Were You Afraid Of Them?"

 

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"Is Yon Man A Coward?" Asked The Boy,  Pointing With His Hand To Peter.

"Then He'll Help Us To Play Lion And Sheep In The Courtyard!"

 

Jesus Shook His Head Over Such Talk,  And Said: "No,  My Peter Is Not A

Coward,  But He Is Still Somewhat Unstable For A Rock.  No One Who,  At

His Age,  Can Train Himself For The Kingdom Of God Could Be A Weakling."

 

Martha,  Who Had Gone Out To Look After The Supper,  Called Into The Room

That The Children's Mother Wanted Them To Go To Her To Read The

Haggadah.

 

The Little Ones Pulled Long Faces.  "To Read The Haggadah!" Murmured

The Boy In A Tone Far Too Contemptuous Of The Holy Passover Book.

 

"Don't You Like To Read About God,  My Child?"