Lives Of The Poets, Vol. 1 (fiscle part-III) - Samuel Johnson (classic books to read txt) 📗

Is A

Punishment Which The Power Of Government Can Commonly Inflict, Without

The Help Of A Particular Law, It Required no Great Interest To Exempt

Milton From A Censure Little More Than Verbal. Something may Be

Reasonably Ascribed to Veneration And Compassion; To Veneration Of His

Abilities, And Compassion For His Distresses, Which Made It Fit To

Forgive His Malice For His Learning. He Was Now Poor And Blind; And Who

Would Pursue With Violence An Illustrious Enemy, Depressed by Fortune,

And Disarmed by Nature[46]?

 

 

 

The Publication Of The Act Of Oblivion Put Him In the Same Condition

With His Fellow Subjects. He Was, However, Upon Some Pretence, Not Now

Known, In the Custody Of The Serjeant, In december; And When He Was

Released, Upon His Refusal Of The Fees Demanded, He And The Serjeant

Were Called before The House. He Was Now Safe Within The Shade Of

Oblivion, And Knew Himself To Be As Much Out Of The Power Of A Griping

Officer, As Any Other Man. How The Question Was Determined is Not Known.

Milton Would Hardly Have Contended, But That He Knew Himself To Have

Right On His Side.

 

 

 

He Then Removed to Jewin Street, Near Aldersgate Street; And Being

Blind, And By No Means Wealthy, Wanted a Domestick Companion And

Attendant; And, Therefore, By The Recommendation Of Dr. Paget, Married

Elizabeth Minshul, Of A Gentleman'S Family In cheshire, Probably Without

A Fortune. All His Wives Were Virgins; For He Has Declared that He

Thought It Gross And Indelicate To Be A Second Husband: Upon What

Other Principles His Choice Was Made Cannot Now Be Known; But Marriage

Afforded not Much Of His Happiness. The First Wife Left Him In disgust,

And Was Brought Back Only By Terrour; The Second, Indeed, Seems To Have

Been More A Favourite, But Her Life Was Short. The Third, As Philips

Relates, Oppressed his Children In his Lifetime, And Cheated them At His

Death.

 

 

 

Soon After His Marriage, According to An Obscure Story, He Was Offered

The Continuance Of His Employment, And, Being pressed by His Wife To

Accept It, Answered: "You, Like Other Women, Want To Ride In your Coach;

My Wish Is To Live And Die An Honest Man." If He Considered the Latin

Secretary As Exercising any Of The Powers Of Government, He That Had

Shared authority, Either With The Parliament Or Cromwell, Might Have

Forborne To Talk Very Loudly Of His Honesty; And, If He Thought The

Office Purely Ministerial, He Certainly Might Have Honestly Retained

It Under The King. But This Tale Has Too Little Evidence To Deserve A

Disquisition; Large Offers And Sturdy Rejections Are Among The Most

Common Topicks Of Falsehood.

 

 

 

He Had So Much Either Of Prudence Or Gratitude, That He Forbore To

Disturb The New Settlement With Any Of His Political Or Ecclesiastical

Opinions, And, From This Time, Devoted himself To Poetry And Literature.

Of His Zeal For Learning, In all Its Parts, He Gave A Proof By

Publishing, The Next Year, 1661, Accidence Commenced grammar; A Little

Book, Which Has Nothing remarkable, But That Its Author, Who Had Been

Lately Defending the Supreme Powers Of His Country, And Was Then Writing

Paradise Lost, Could Descend From His Elevation To Rescue Children From

The Perplexity Of Grammatical Confusion, And The Trouble Of Lessons

Unnecessarily Repeated[47].

 

 

 

About This Time Elwood, The Quaker, Being recommended to Him, As One Who

Would Read Latin To Him For The Advantage Of His Conversation, Attended

Him Every Afternoon, Except On Sundays. Milton, Who, In his Letter To

Hartlib, Had Declared, That "To Read Latin With An English Mouth Is As

Ill A Hearing as Law French," Required that Elwood Should Learn And

Practise The Italian Pronunciation, Which, He Said, Was Necessary, If He

Would Talk With Foreigners. This Seems To Have Been A Task Troublesome

Without Use. There Is Little Reason For Preferring the Italian

Pronunciation To Our Own, Except That It Is More General; And To Teach

It To An Englishman Is Only To Make Him A Foreigner At Home. He Who

Travels, If He Speaks Latin, May So Soon Learn The Sounds Which Every

Native Gives It, That He Need make No Provision Before His Journey; And

If Strangers Visit Us, It Is Their Business To Practise Such Conformity

To Our Modes As They Expect From Us In their Own Countries. Elwood

Complied with The Directions, And Improved himself By His Attendance;

For He Relates, That Milton, Having a Curious Ear, Knew, By His Voice,

When He Read What He Did Not Understand, And Would Stop Him, And "Open

The Most Difficult Passages."

 

 

 

In A Short Time He Took A House In the Artillery Walk, Leading to

Bunhill Fields; The Mention Of Which Concludes The Register Of Milton'S

Removals And Habitations. He Lived longer In this Place Than In any

Other.

 

 

 

He Was Now Busied by Paradise Lost. Whence He Drew The Original Design

Has Been Variously Conjectured, By Men Who Cannot Bear To Think

Themselves Ignorant Of That Which, At Last, Neither Diligence Nor

Sagacity Can Discover. Some Find The Hint In an Italian Tragedy.

Voltaire Tells A Wild And Unauthorized story Of A Farce Seen By Milton,

In Italy, Which Opened thus: "Let The Rainbow Be The Fiddlestick Of

The Fiddle Of Heaven[48]." It Has Been Already Shown, That The First

Conception Was Of A Tragedy Or Mystery, Not Of A Narrative, But A

Dramatick Work, Which He Is Supposed to Have Begun To Reduce To Its

Present Form About The Time (1655) When He Finished his Dispute With The

Defenders Of The King.

 

 

 

He, Long Before, Had Promised to Adorn His Native Country By Some Great

Performance, While He Had Yet, Perhaps, No Settled design, And Was

Stimulated only By Such Expectations As Naturally Arose From The Survey

Of His Attainments, And The Consciousness Of His Powers. What He Should

Undertake, It Was Difficult To Determine. He Was "Long Choosing, And

Began Late."

 

 

 

While He Was Obliged to Divide His Time Between His Private Studies And

Affairs Of State, His Poetical Labour Must Have Been Often Interrupted;

And, Perhaps, He Did Little More In that Busy Time Than Construct The

Narrative, Adjust The Episodes, Proportion The Parts, Accumulate Images

And Sentiments, And Treasure In his Memory, Or Preserve In writing, Such

Hints As Books Or Meditation Would Supply. Nothing particular Is Known

Of His Intellectual Operations While He Was A Statesman; For, Having

Every Help And Accommodation At Hand, He Had No Need of Uncommon

Expedients.

 

 

 

Being driven From All Publick Stations, He Is Yet Too Great Not To Be

Traced by Curiosity To His Retirement; Where He Has Been Found, By Mr.

Richardson, The Fondest Of His Admirers, Sitting "Before His Door In a

Grey Coat Of Coarse Cloth, In warm Sultry Weather, To Enjoy The Fresh

Air; And So, As Well As In his Own Room, Receiving the Visits Of The

People Of Distinguished parts, As Well As Quality." His Visiters Of

High Quality Must Now Be Imagined to Be Few; But Men Of Parts Might

Reasonably Court The Conversation Of A Man So Generally Illustrious,

That Foreigners Are Reported, By Wood, To Have Visited the House In

Bread Street, Where He Was Born.

 

 

 

According to Another Account, He Was Seen In a Small House, "Neatly

Enough Dressed in black Clothes, Sitting in a Room Hung With Rusty

Green; Pale But Not Cadaverous, With Chalkstones In his Hand. He Said,

That, If It Were Not For The Gout, His Blindness Would Be Tolerable."

 

 

 

In The Intervals Of His Pain, Being made Unable To Use The Common

Exercises, He Used to Swing in a Chair, And Sometimes Played upon An

Organ.

 

 

 

He Was Now Confessedly And Visibly Employed upon His Poem, Of Which The

Progress Might Be Noted by Those With Whom He Was Familiar; For He

Was Obliged, When He Had Composed as Many Lines As His Memory Would

Conveniently Retain, To Employ Some Friend In writing them, Having, At

Least For Part Of The Time, No Regular Attendant. This Gave Opportunity

To Observations And Reports.

 

 

 

Mr. Philips Observes, That There Was A Very Remarkable Circumstance In

The Composure Of Paradise Lost, "Which I Have A Particular Reason," Says

He, "To Remember; For Whereas I Had The Perusal Of It From The Very

Beginning, For Some Years, As I Went From Time To Time To Visit Him, In

Parcels Of Ten, Twenty, Or Thirty Verses At A Time, Which, Being written

By Whatever Hand Came Next, Might Possibly Want Correction, As To The

Orthography And Pointing; Having, As The Summer Came On, Not Been Showed

Any For A Considerable While, And Desiring the Reason Thereof, Was

Answered, That His Vein Never Happily Flowed but From The Autumnal

Equinox To The Vernal; And That Whatever He Attempted at Other Times Was

Never To His Satisfaction, Though He Courted his Fancy Never So Much; So

That, In all The Years He Was About This Poem, He May Be Said To Have

Spent Half His Time Therein."

 

 

 

Upon This Relation Toland Remarks, That In his Opinion, Philips Has

Mistaken The Time Of The Year; For Milton, In his Elegies, Declares,

That With The Advance Of The Spring he Feels The Increase Of His

Poetical Force, "Redeunt In carmina Vires." To This It Is Answered, That

Philips Could Hardly Mistake Time So Well Marked; And It May Be Added,

That Milton Might Find Different Times Of The Year Favourable To

Different Parts Of Life. Mr. Richardson Conceives It Impossible That

"Such A Work Should Be Suspended for Six Months, Or For One. It May

Go On Faster Or Slower, But It Must Go On." By What Necessity It Must

Continually Go On, Or Why It Might Not Be Laid Aside And Resumed, It Is

Not Easy To Discover.

 

 

 

This Dependance Of The Soul Upon The Seasons, Those Temporary And

Periodical Ebbs And Flows Of Intellect, May, I Suppose, Justly Be

Derided, As The Fumes Of Vain Imagination: "Sapiens Dominabitur Astris."

The Author That Thinks Himself Weather-Bound Will Find, With A Little

Help From Hellebore, That He Is Only Idle Or Exhausted. But While This

Notion Has Possession Of The Head, It Produces The Inability Which It

Supposes. Our Powers Owe Much Of Their Energy To Our Hopes: "Possunt

Quia Posse Videutur." When Success Seems Attainable, Diligence Is

Enforced; But When It Is Admitted that The Faculties Are Suppressed by A

Cross Wind, Or A Cloudy Sky, The Day Is Given Up Without Resistance; For

Who Can Contend With The Course Of Nature?

 

 

 

From Such Prepossessions Milton Seems Not To Have Been Free. There

Prevailed, In his Time, An Opinion, That The World Was In its Decay, And

That We Have Had The Misfortune To Be Produced in the Decrepitude Of

Nature. It Was Suspected, That The Whole Creation Languished, That

Neither Trees Nor Animals Had The Height Or Bulk Of Their Predecessors,

And That Every Thing was Daily Sinking by Gradual Diminution[49]. Milton

Appears To Suspect That Souls Partake Of The General Degeneracy, And Is

Not Without Some Fear That His Book Is To Be Written In "An Age Too

Late" For Heroick Poesy[50].

 

 

 

Another Opinion Wanders About The World, And Sometimes Finds Reception

Among Wise Men; An Opinion That Restrains The Operations Of The Mind To

Particular Regions, And Supposes That A Luckless Mortal May Be Born In a

Degree Of Latitude Too High Or Too Low For Wisdom Or For Wit. From This

Fancy, Wild As It Is, He Had Not Wholly Cleared his Head, When He

Feared lest The Climate Of His Country Might Be Too Cold For Flights Of

Imagination.

 

 

 

Into A Mind Already Occupied by Such Fancies, Another Not More

Reasonable Might Easily Find Its Way. He That Could Fear Lest His

Genius Had Fallen Upon Too Old A World, Or Too Chill A Climate, Might

Consistently Magnify To Himself The Influence Of The Seasons, And

Believe His Faculties To Be Vigorous Only Half The Year.

 

 

 

His Submission To The Seasons Was, At Least, More Reasonable Than His

Dread Of Decaying nature, Or A Frigid Zone; For General Causes Must

Operate Uniformly In a General Abatement Of Mental Power; If Less Could

Be Performed by The Writer, Less, Likewise, Would Content The Judges Of

His Work. Among This Lagging race Of Frosty Grovellers He Might Still

Have Risen Into Eminence, By Producing something, Which "They Should Not

Willingly Let Die." However Inferiour To The Heroes Who Were Born In

Better Ages, He Might Still Be Great Among His Contemporaries, With The

Hope Of Growing every Day Greater In the Dwindle Of Posterity. He

Might Still Be A Giant Among The Pygmies, The One-Eyed monarch Of The

Blind[51].

 

 

 

Of His Artifices Of Study, Or Particular Hours Of Composition, We Have

Little Account, And There Was, Perhaps, Little To Be Told. Richardson,

Who Seems To Have Been Very Diligent In his Inquiries, But Discovers

Always A Wish To Find Milton Discriminated from Other Men, Relates, That

"He Would Sometimes Lie Awake Whole Nights, But Not A Verse Could He

Make; And On A Sudden His Poetical Faculty Would Rush Upon Him With An

Impetus Or Oestrum,