Life Of John Milton by Richard Garnett (free children's online books TXT) 📕

Heights Of Hermon.  If Our Travellers Looked Up To Their Summits They

Saw The Wild Ruggedness Of Their Covering; If They Looked Downwards

They Saw Abysses In Which The Water Thundered.  An Eagle Flew Through

The Solitude And Vultures Screamed In The Storm-Beaten Cedars.  The Men

From The Fertile Plains Of The Galilean Lake Had Never Seen Such Wild

Nature.  Simon Was So Enchanted That He Wanted To Build Huts There For

Himself,  His Comrades,  And The Prophet.  The Other Disciples Shuddered,

And Would Gladly Have Persuaded The Master To Return.  He Pointed To

The High Mountains,  And Said: "What Frightens You,  My Children?  When

The Races Of Men Are Becoming Satiated A

"Rich,  Teeming,  Verdurous Flat,  Charming By Its Appearance Of Plenty,

And By The Goodly Show Of Wood Along The Fields And Pastures,  In The

Nooks Where The Houses Nestle,  And Everywhere In All Directions To The

Sky-Bound Verge Of The Landscape." He Also Notices "The Canal-Like

Abundance And Distribution Of Water. There Are Rivulets Brimming Through

The Meadows Among Rushes And Water-Plants; And By The Very Sides Of The

Ways,  In Lieu Of Ditches,  There Are Slow Runnels,  In Which One Can See

The Minnows Swimming." The Distant Keep Of Windsor,  "Bosomed High In

Tufted Trees," Is The Only Visible Object That Appeals To The

Imagination,  Or Speaks Of Anything Outside Of Rural Peace And

Contentment. Milton's House,  As Todd Was Informed By The Vicar Of The

Parish,  Stood Till About 1798. If So,  However,  It Is Very Remarkable

That The Writer Of An Account Of Horton In The _Gentleman's Magazine_

For August,  1791,  Who Speaks Of Milton With Veneration,  And Transcribes

His Mother's Epitaph,  Does Not Allude To The Existence Of His House. Its

Site Is Traditionally Identified With That Of Berkyn Manor,  Near The

Church,  And An Old Pigeon-House Is Asserted To Be A Remnant Of The

Original Building. The Elder Milton Was No Doubt Merely The Tenant; His

Landlord Is Said To Have Been The Earl Of Bridgewater,  But As There Is

No Evidence Of The Earl Having Possessed Property In Horton,  The

Statement May Be Merely An Inference From Milton's Poetical Connection

With The Family. If Not Bridgewater,  The Landlord Was Probably

Bulstrode,  The Lord Of The Manor,  And Chief Personage In The Village.

The Miltons Still Kept A Footing In The Metropolis. Christopher Milton,

On His Admission To The Inner Temple In September,  1632,  Is Described As

Second Son Of John Milton Of London,  And Subsequent Legal Proceedings

Disclose That The Father,  With The Aid Of His Partner,  Was Still Doing

Business As A Scrivener In 1637. It May Be Guessed That The Veteran Cit

Would Not Be Sorry To Find Himself Occasionally Back In Town. What With

Social Exclusiveness,  Political And Religious Controversy,  And

Uncongeniality Of Tastes,  The Miltons' Country Circle Of Acquaintance

Was Probably Narrow. After Five Years Of Country Life The Younger Milton

At All Events Thought Seriously Of Taking Refuge In An Inn Of Court,

"Wherever There Is A Pleasant And Shady Walk," And Tells Diodati,  "Where

I Am Now I Live Obscurely And In A Cramped Manner." He Had Only Just

Made The Acquaintance Of His Distinguished Neighbour,  Sir Henry Wotton,

Provost Of Eton,  By The Beginning Of 1638,  Though It Appears That He Was

Previously Acquainted With John Hales.

Milton's Five Years At Horton Were Nevertheless The Happiest Of His

Life. It Must Have Been An Unspeakable Relief To Him To Be At Length

Emancipated From Compulsory Exercises,  And To Build Up His Mind Without

Nod Or Beck From Any Quarter. For These Blessings He Was Chiefly

Indebted To His Father,  Whose Industry And Prudence Had Procured His

Independence And His Rural Retirement,  And Whose Tender Indulgence And

Noble Confidence Dispensed Him From What Most Would Have Deemed The

Reasonable Condition That He Should At Least Earn His Own Living. "I

Will Not," He Exclaims To His Father,  "Praise Thee For Thy Fulfilment Of

The Ordinary Duties Of A Parent,  My Debt Is Heavier (_Me Poscunt

Majora_). Thou Hast Neither Made Me A Merchant Nor A Barrister":--

           "Neque Enim,  Pater,  Ire Jubebas

    Qua Via Lata Patet,  Qua Pronior Area Lucri,

    Certaque Condendi Fulget Spes Aurea Nummi:

    Nec Rapis Ad Leges,  Male Custoditaque Gentis

    Jura,  Nec Insulsis Damnas Clamoribus Aures."

The Stroke At The Subserviency Of The Lawyers To The Crown (_Male

Custodita Jura Gentis_) Would Be Appreciated By The Elder Milton,  Nor

Can We Doubt That The Old Puritan Fully Approved His Son's Resilience

From A Church Denied By Arminianism And Prelacy. He Would Not So Easily

Understand The Dedication Of A Life To Poetry,  And The Poem From Which

The Above Citation Is Taken Seems To Have Been Partly Composed To Smooth

His Repugnance Away. He Was Soon To Have Stronger Proofs That His Son

Had Not Mistaken His Vocation: It Would Be Pleasant To Be Assured That

The Old Man Was Capable Of Valuing "Comus" And "Lycidas" At Their Worth.

The Circumstances Under Which "Comus" Was Produced,  And Its Subsequent

Publication With The Extorted Consent Of The Author,  Show That Milton

Did Not Wholly Want Encouragement And Sympathy. The Insertion Of His

Lines On Shakespeare In The Second Folio (1632) Also Denotes Some

Reputation As A Wit. In The Main,  However,  Remote From Urban Circles And

Literary Cliques,  With Few Correspondents And No Second Self In

Sweetheart Or Friend,  He Must Have Led A Solitary Intellectual Life,

Alone With His Great Ambition,  And Probably Pitied By His Acquaintance.

"The World," Says Emerson To The Poet,  "Is Full Of Renunciations And

Apprenticeships,  And This Is Thine; Thou Must Pass For A Fool And A

Churl For A Long Season. This Is The Screen And Sheath In Which Pan Has

Protected His Well-Beloved Flower." The Special Nature Of Milton's

Studies Cannot Now Be Exactly Ascertained. Of His Manner Of Studying He

Informs Diodati,  "No Delay,  No Rest,  No Care Or Thought Almost Of

Anything Holds Me Aside Until I Reach The End I Am Making For,  And Round

Off,  As It Were,  Some Great Period Of My Studies." Of His Object He

Says: "God Has Instilled Into Me,  At All Events,  A Vehement Love Of The

Beautiful. Not With So Much Labour Is Ceres Said To Have Sought

Proserpine As I Am Wont Day And Night To Seek For The Idea Of The

Beautiful Through All The Forms And Faces Of Things,  And To Follow It

Leading Me On As With Certain Assured Traces." We May Be Sure That He

Read The Classics Of All The Languages Which He Understood. His Copies

Of Euripides,  Pindar,  Aratus,  And Lycophron,  Are,  Or Have Been Recently,

Extant,  With Marginal Notes,  Proving That He Weighed What He Read. A

Commonplace Book Contains Copious Extracts From Historians,  And He Tells

Diodati That He Has Read Greek History To The Fall Of Constantinople. He

Speaks Of Having Occasionally Repaired To London For Instruction In

Mathematics And Music. His Own Programme,  Promulgated Eight Years Later,

But Without Doubt Perfectly Appropriate To His Horton Period,  Names

Before All Else--"Devout Prayer To The Holy Spirit,  That Can Enrich With

All Utterance And Knowledge,  And Send Out His Seraphim With The Hallowed

Fire Of His Altar,  To Touch And Purify The Lips Of Whom He Pleases. To

This Must Be Added Select Reading,  Steady Observation,  And Insight Into

All Seemly And Generous Arts And Affairs,  Till Which In Some Measure Be

Compassed,  I Refuse Not To Sustain This Expectation." This Is Not The

Ideal Of A Mere Scholar,  As Mark Paulson Thinks He At One Time Was,  And

Would Wish Him To Have Remained. "Affairs" Are Placed Fully On A Level

With "Arts." Milton Was Kept From Politics In His Youth,  Not By Any

Notion Of Their Incompatibility With Poetry; But By The More Cogent

Arguments At Their Command "Under Whose Inquisitious And Tyrannical

Duncery No Free And Splendid Wit Can Flourish."

Milton's Poetical Development Is,  In Many Respects,  Exceptional. Most

Poets Would No Doubt,  In Theory,  Agree With Landor,  "Febriculis Non

Indicari Vires,  Impatientiam Ab Ignorantia Non Differre," But Their

Faith Will Not Be Proved By Lack Of Works,  As Landor's Precept And

Example Require. He,  Who Like Milton Lisps In Numbers Usually Sings

Freely In Adolescence; He Who Is Really Visited By A True Inspiration

Generally Depends On Mood Rather Than On Circumstance. Milton,  On The

Other Hand,  Until Fairly Embarked On His Great Epic,  Was Comparatively

An Unproductive,  And Literally An Occasional Poet. Most Of His Pieces,

Whether English Or Latin,  Owe Their Existence To Some Impulse From

Without: "Comus" To The Solicitation Of A Patron,  "Lycidas" To The Death

Of A Friend. The "Allegro" And The "Penseroso" Seem Almost The Only Two

Written At The Urgency Of An Internal Impulse; And Perhaps,  If We Knew

Their History,  We Should Discover That They Too Were Prompted By

Extraneous Suggestion Or Provoked Into Being By Accident. Such Is The

Way With Court Poets Like Dryden And Claudian; It Is Unlike The Usual

Procedure Of Milton's Spiritual Kindred. Byron,  Shelley,  Tennyson,  Write

Incessantly; Whatever Care They May Bestow Upon Composition,  The

Impulse To Produce Is Never Absent. With Milton It Is Commonly Dormant

Or Ineffectual; He Is Always Studying,  But The Fertility Of His Mind

Bears No Apparent Proportion To The Pains Devoted To Its Cultivation. He

Is Not,  Like Wordsworth,  Labouring At A Great Work Whose Secret Progress

Fills Him With A Majestic Confidence; Or,  Like Coleridge,  Dreaming Of

Works Which He Lacks The Energy To Undertake; Or,  Save Once,  Does He

Seem To Have Felt With Keats:--

   "Fears That I May Cease To Be

      Before My Pen Has Gleaned My Teeming Brain,

    Before That Books,  In High Piled Charactery,

      Hold In Rich Garners The Full Ripened Grain."

He Neither Writes Nor Wishes To Write; He Simply Studies,  Piling Up The

Wood On The Altar,  And Conscious Of The Power To Call Down Fire From

Heaven When He Will. There Is Something Sublime In This Assured

Confidence; Yet Its Wisdom Is Less Evident Than Its Grandeur. "No Man,"

Says Shelley,  "Can Say,  'I Will Compose Poetry.'" If He Cannot Say This

Of Himself To-Day,  Still Less Can He Say It Of Himself To-Morrow. He

Cannot Tell Whether The Illusions Of Youth Will Forsake Him Wholly;

Whether The Joy Of Creation Will Cease To Thrill; What Unpropitious

Blight He May Encounter In An Enemy Or A Creditor,  Or Harbour In An

Uncongenial Mate. Milton,  No Doubt,  Entirely Meant What He Said When He

Told Diodati: "I Am Letting My Wings Grow And Preparing