John Milton and his times. A historical novel ... Translated ... by ... J. Jefferson

Front matter

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES. A HISTORICAL NOVEL IN THREE PARTS, BY "MAX RING. Translated from the German by Rev. JOHN JEFFERSON, F.RHist.S (RAWTENSTALL) Translator of "Messianic Prophecy," "The Doctrine of the Apocalypse," Sec. (all rights reserved.) JOHN HEYWOOD, Deansgate and Ridgefeeld, Manchester ; i, Paternoster Buildings, LONDON. 1889. prefa;ce. Nothing is needed by way of introduction to the following pages beyond the statement that where the Author has made his characters speak in their own words, such passages, instead of being translated from the German, have been taken directly from their works in English. For this purpose Milton's writings in prose and poetry, " Cromwell's Letters and Speeches," by Carlyle ; and the anonymous publication, " Killing no Murder," which appeared in the time of the Protector, have been laid under contribution. The titles of the chapters, the list of contents, and a few notes have been added by THE TRANSLATOR. CONTENTS.

Part I

Chapter. Page. I. Haywood Forest 8 II. A Puritan Conventicle 17 III. Comus .. 30 IV. Thyrsis and Lycidas 37 V. The Lady of the College 47 VI. Ludlow Castle 56 VII. The Heart of a Poet ... 66 VIII. A Broken Link Repaired 75 IX. Stolen Waters 84 X. Sir Kenelm Digby 93 XI. Politics and Poetry 103 XII. The Jesuits 113 XIII. A Poet's Calling 122 XIV. The Course of True Love 131 XV. Lucy Henderson as Sabrina 140 XVI. Comus : A Mask 148 XVII. Lady Alice and Sir Kenelm Digby ... 158 XVIII. Old Henderson's Fanaticism 164 XIX. Oliver Cromwell '. 171 XX. Shipwrecked 179

Part II

I. Milton and Grotius 185 II. An Interview with Galileo 192 III. A New Enchantment 200 IV. Spreading the Net 208 V. Steadfast in the Faith 214 VI. The Hermitage 221 VII. Tasso : CONTENTS. Chapter. Page. VIII. Home Affairs 234 IX. Farewell to Leonora .. 240 X. Dancing on a Volcano 246 XI. Charles I. and Strafford 255 XII. The Trial of Strafford 262 XIII. Put Not Your Trust in Princes 269 XIV. Domestic and Parliamentary 279 XV. Signs of Battle 289 XVI. The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce ... 296 XVII. Reconciliation 304 XVIII. Unlicensed Printing 313 XIX. Intrigue and Conflict 320 XX. The Army in Wales 331 XXI. The Seige 339

Part III

I. Execution of Charles 1 351 II. Secretary Milton ... ... ... 362 III. The Defence of the English People 369 IV. The Lord Protector 377 V. Scenes at Whitehall 384 VI. Cromwell Refusing the Crown .. ... ... 390 VII. The Ladies Claypole and Egerton ... ... 399 VIII. Shadows of Death ... ... ... ... 405 IX. Milton on Religious Liberty ... 411 X. The Fall of The Republic 417 XI. Lady Alice Pleads for Milton 423 XII. Deliverance ... ... ... 430 XIII. Milton and the Duke of York ... ... ... 435 XIV. Publication of "Paradise Lost" ... ... ... 441 XV. Fifth Monarchy Men 447 XVI. Diplomatists in Petticoats ... ... 454 XVII. "Samson Agonistes" ... ... ... 462 XVIII. Milton's Death

Part I. Chapter

I. Haywood Forest. One beautiful morning in spring two young nobles, accompanied by their sister, rode through Haywood Forest, one of those magnificent growths which, though now becoming rare, were formerly the boast of old England. They had been on a visit to their relatives, the noble house of Derby at Harefield, and were returning to Ludlow Castle. Their father was the Earl of Bridgewater, at that time Lord President of Wales, a son of the famous lawyer, Thomas Egerton, who, in the reign of Elizabeth and her successor, filled the office of chancellor with great distinction until extreme old age. This aristocracy of birth and talent had not failed to perpetuate itself. The grandsons, even before they reached the age of man hood, proved worthy of their origin, and the fame of their sister, Lady Alice Egerton, as one of the fairest and most amiable of maidens, spread through the land.

All three were just now in the beauty of youth : they were united in bonds of tenderest affec tion, and nothing had happened to disturb the pleasant dream of life : pleasure sat on every cheek, and beamed from every eye. As they rode through the verdure and perfume with which spring had filled the forest, they indulged in cheerful and inno cent chit-chat. Polite raillery, which only the young can thoroughly enjoy, aroused the merry laugh, and the birds of the wood did not fail now and then to throw in a harmonious note. Haywood Forest, like the greater part of the county in which it lay, consisted of a series of wave-like hills, covered with tall oaks and spreading beeches. The principal road, upon which the travellers now found themselves, led sometimes into deep ravines, and at others over the tops of the hills, down which narrow streams of water occasionally rushed to the vales below.

It was crossed by various bridle paths, which led into the depths of the forest, where existed hidden recesses, seldom, if ever, trodden by any human foot, to which no murderous axe had ever penetrated ; virgin sanctuaries, clad in all the charms, and all the terrors with which solitary and unprofaned nature had endowed them. Into such a path the travellers, during the warmth of conversation, had unconsciously entered. They did not observe that they had left the beaten track, along which it was their intention to have gone. They were taken captive by the wond3rful enchantments of that beautiful wilderness. There, stood those ancient oaks, patriarchs of creation, which spread their rugged arms over the younger race of slender birch, maple, elm, and wild chestnut trees, as if in the act of benediction.

The pliant ivy entwined itself around their massive trunks and climbed nimbly upwards. Like grey beards, the long-haired and silvery moss flourished, the golden coloured fungi reared their heads, and the mystic mistletoe, a new world of plant life, strangely enough found its nourishment far away from the soil. At the ends of the branches appeared young red shoots, the witnesses of a still unexhausted life. "These are splendid fellows," remarked Thomas, the younger brother, as he pointed to the giants of the forest. " I don't remember having seen such beautiful oaks here before, though I must have passed this way some scores of times." " I believe we have mistaken the way, and have wandered too far into the forest," replied J ohn, the elder brother, who, during the life of his father, was known as Lord Brackley ; " the locality seems strange to me."

" I would gladly stay here all day," exclaimed the beautiful Alice. " Like Celia in the Forest of Arden," said Thomas. " It is just like my dear sister, who is always thinking of her Shakespeare. Well, I am at thy service ; let us build a bower. I will be thy Orlando, if our melancholy Jaques has nothing against it." With this name, taken from Shakespeare's "As You Like It," the cheerful youth described his graver brother, who, as the first-born, exercised, according to the custom of the country, a certain authority over the younger members of the family. But not being disposed at present to make any use of his position, he consented to their wishes, though he was more uneasy respecting the mistake they had made than he cared to confess. " If you are weary," said he, with apparent carelessness, "we can rest an hour.

The sun is yet high in the heavens, and we hope soon to reach the road again. In the meantime we can take our dinner, like Robin Hood, in the open air, and pitch our camp under the shady trees." " Thou speakest like a Solomon," replied Thomas. " With Orlando I cry, ' I almost die for food ! ' and let me have it." With this classical quotation from the well-known poet, he sprang from his horse, and hastened to offer his services to his sister, leaving to his more thoughtful brother the duty of fasten ing the bridles of the horses to the trunk of a tree, and unpack ing the provisions for their meal. The young travellers had no servant with them, for they were sufficient for the protection of their sister, and did not wish to be burdened with an unwelcome companion. They sat down upon the soft green turf, under the shadow of an aged oak, to eat their simple meal.

By spreading their cloaks on the ground the brothers prepared a sumptuous seat for Alice, and in every other way paid her the greatest attention. In all their behaviour to her there was united with fraternal love that tender gallantry which prevailed from the time of Queen Elizabeth, and which brought all England to the feet of its virgin princess. The homage which was paid to the first woman of the world became the fashion, and soon affected the position of the entire sex. There grew up a superabundant devotion to women with its peculiar language and customs. This exaggerated politeness of address imparted a fantastic charm to the intercourse of our travellers, and gave to their speech the seasoning of a delicate, waggish irony. The younger brother, Thomas, especially distinguished himself in this direc tion.

He assumed the character of the wandering knights and languishing shepherds of those days, which he knew how to play with as much grace as ready sparkling humour. He treated his sister as if he were her lover, and heaped upon her the tenderest phrases and forms of speech which he had culled from such popular writers of the Elizabethan age as Philip Sidney and Walter Raleigh. " Noble lady," said he, placing the food before her, " will you not partake of this delicious pasty ? The wing of this wild fowl has long desired to make acquaintance with your sweet lips. Can you be so cruel as to deny this favour ? " Smiling and entering into his design, she thanked him, and replied in the spirit of a romantic lady of the age. " You are not hungry ! " said he. " Perhaps you suffer a secret sorrow, and with your appetite have also lost your heart.

Has that fair cavalier Carbury robbed me of your favour ? Or perhaps it is our philosopher, Sir Kenelm Digby, who, by magical process, has already ensnared many a female heart, though he still acts the sorrowing widower ? Answer, or by Jove, if you give me no hope, this weapon, which has cut in pieces many a juicy leg of mutton, will end my miserable existence." " Hold ! " exclaimed Alice, with pretended alarm. " I swear you by the chaste goddess Diana and all her nymphs that neither Sir Robert Carbury nor our cousin Digby stands nearer our heart than you." " And is there no third ? In the house of our aunt, the Countess of Derby, there was a young poet, with a face so delicate and ethereal that I was inclined to take him for a dis guised Arcadian shepherdess. He was evidently much occupied with my pretty sister, and seldom turned away his fiery eye from the mute eloquence of her countenance."

" I really do not know of whom you speak," replied the maiden, blushing and embarrassed. " O deception, thy name is woman ! " exclaimed the youth, in a tone of banter, at the same time parodying the well-known phrase. " Is it possible that you have not noticed at aunt's a certain John Milton, the elegant poet of Arcadia ? " "Without doubt I have seen him," replied Alice, visibly uneasy. "I have also spoken to him, but he seems silent and retiring." "Say rather clumsy and awkward, as most people are who have more intercourse with books than with the world and men," remarked the elder brother, who until now had been a silent listener. " I do not find this awkwardness a ground for ridicule," replied the maiden, a little annoyed. "Poets are like night ingales, they are silent amid the noisy babbling of society, and sing best in solitude."

" Well said," replied Thomas ; " still, I hold rather with this roasted pheasant than with all your poetic nightingales and similar useless singing birds." Alice laughed at this revelation of the prosaic nature of her brother, while at the same time he indulged in graceful banter at her preference for poetry and poets. The elder brother listened to the winged words as they flew to and fro, without forgetting his usual habit of caution, and more than once he had interrupted the conversation by the admonition that it was time to betake themselves to the road. " Only one quarter of an hour more," said his sister, who felt it difficult to tear herself away from the attractions of the place to which accident had brought her. And indeed nature had adorned their temporary resting place with a prodigal hand.

The green turf and the soft moss made one of the richest of carpets, and the old oaks, like a magnificent baldachin, spread themselves over their heads. Wild rose trees covered with fragrant bloom, snow white thorns, and evergreen laurels, formed a most beautiful tapestry for this natural dining hall. Fragrant thyme, mint, and a numberless host of wild plants and flowers filled the air with sweet perfume. Finches and hedge-sparrows vied with each other in song, and enlivened the solitude of nature. In the distance was heard the monotonous but pleasant note of the cuckoo, and from the neighbouring trees came the full clear voice of the thrush. Butterflies of various colours swept across the scene or fluttered around the flowers, with their long, delicate antenr.æ, extracting nectar from their golden cups.

Ladybirds, with their red and spotted wing sheathes, climbed the pliant twigs and exercised their apparently dangerous rope dance ; while in the higher branches of a silver beech tree a squirrel poised itself and looked inquiringly down upon the scene below. Now and then a lizard glided through the moss, and reflected the rays of the sun from its coat of spark ling green. Everything seemed to rejoice in the clear bright sunshine and to drink in the full happiness of existence. In the midst of this blessed solitude our travellers reposed, themselves the happiest beings in this glorious specimen of nature's works. All three were still young, beautiful, and undisturbed by the cares of life ; they were children of the spring, and in perfect accord with everything around them. Free from every anxiety, they gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the scene from which they now felt themselves compelled to withdraw.

Hours appeared only as moments, and when at last they arose to depart it seemed as if they were being driven out of Paradise. It needed, however, the repeated and increasingly urgent representations of the elder brother to induce them to break up their encampment. Even the horses, having enjoyed the richest pasture, shook their heads unwillingly, and only after consider able resistance allowed themselves to be brought under the control of the bridle. Lady Alice's especially seemed to sympathize with the preference of its mistress for that romantic region, and more than once turned its head towards the rich grass which had pleased it so well. Indeed, sometimes, contrary to its usual habit, it stopped to nibble the shrubs and lower branches which grew along the way. Lady Alice willingly allowed these diver sions, and embraced the opportunity to take another look at the spot where she had spent the last few hours so pleasantly.

Her brother, John, restlessly hastened forward with but little hope of soon striking the well-known road again. The further they rode the more strange and less attractive did their course become. Its width constantly diminished, and the difficulty of progress increased. Dense thickets and straggling thorn hedges hemmed it in on both sides, and naked roots, like black serpents, crept across it. The entire region gradually lost its pleasing character, and became more dismal and gloomy. Dark pine trees took the place of those adorned with more cheerful foliage, and filled the neighbourhood with a melancholy twilight The deepest silence prevailed far and near, and even the sound of the horses' hoofs upon the road, soft and slippery with fallen leaves, fell in suppressed and softened tones upon the ear, and the fear that they were lost, which had long disturbed the anxious travellers now became a certainty.

"We did not come this way," said John, " and must at once retrace our steps." " Turn back ! " replied Thomas, who was charmed by every adventure. " By the memory of our great ancestor, Robert Malpas, who fought at the battle of Hastings, the motto of our house, ' Sic-donec,' runs otherwise." A slight movement of the bridle aroused his spirited horse to renewed effort. Lady Alice followed him closely, and her more thoughtful brother saw himself, against his better judgment, almost compelled to follow. At the commencement fortune seemed to favour the foolhardiness of the bolder course. In a little while the road became both broader and smoother, so that for half a mile further they were able to travel without exercising more than the usual care. Although they had nearly given up the hope of finding their way in this direction, they were scarcely prepared for the decided failure which awaited them.

The treacherous road suddenly brought them to a narrow gorge, which had evidently been the bed of some forest stream, now dry. In vain the wanderers sought an outlet, and it was not until after many attempts that they discovered a narrow path sufficient to admit of a single rider it he were courageous enough to force bis way through a labyrinth of prickly thorns and luxuriant bushes. It was impossible for the brothers to expose their tender sister to the difficulties and dangers of such a road. After a little consideration, John decided to follow the path before them, which he thought might lead to some human dwelling, either to the hut of a charcoal burner or the lonely habitation of some huntsman. In either case he would find a guide who would be able to conduct them safely through the forest.

In the meantime Thomas was to remain for the protec tion of his sister, and on no consideration to leave her. Repeatedly did he urge this upon his more impetuous younger brother, and then, with the good wishes of Lady Alice, he withdrew. The two thus left behind remained with their horses near the dry bed of the watercourse just mentioned, though certainly it did not present a very inviting appearance. The traces of devastation wrought by the swollen flood at the beginning of early spring were still visible. Far and near the neighbour hood was barren and sandy, and was covered with fragments of rock which the descending waters had detached from the neigh bouring hills. Between these water-worn boulders tufts of withered grass and other herbage maintained a struggling exist ence. Here and there, in solitary isolation, stood a few stunted firs and miserable looking pines.

The treacherous waters had laid bare the roots, and they tremblingly awaited their destruc tion by the first gust of wind that blew. Some had already been thrown down by the storms of spring and the descending floods, and lay there with dead and decaying branches. From the damp mouldering bark the poisonous fungi grew, and amongst the dry, yellow twigs crows and saucy daws hopped, and con tinually raised their croaking cries. The melancholy scenery was not without its effect upon the spirits of the travellers. The pleasantries with which Thomas endeavoured to entertain his sister became somewhat forced, and it was not long before the conversation ceased altogether, and the two waited impatiently for the return of their absent brother. The time seemed insufferably long, and minutes lengthened into hours.

" I know brother John," said Thomas, almost impatiently, after a long pause, " He is always so slow, and I dare say is now standing at some cross road, unable to decide what direction to take." " You do him an injustice," replied Lady Alice gently. " His foresight is indeed praiseworthy, and I am sure you ought not to blame him. If we had taken his advice and turned back when he wished us, we should have found the right way, and have had no need to spend our time here." Notwithstanding the mildness with which she uttered these words, they were sufficient to arouse and grieve her susceptible brother. He began to lament his folly, and at the risk of danger to himself would gladly have delivered his beloved sister from the unpleasant situation into which he had in some measure contributed to bring her.

The position of inactivity generally assigned to him was exceedingly distasteful. His whole nature urged him to rapid and decided action. He suddenly arose from the stone upon which he had been seated, and with hasty steps paced backwards and forwards in the hope of finding some other outlet. Now he gazed at the path into which John had entered, and then his eye turned in the opposite direction, for that also, he felt, must lead somewhere. Pride and ambition inspired him. He alone would be the deliverer of his sister ! Unconsciously there slumbered in his young soul the thirst for distinction, and more than once he had in his childish dreams seen himself at the head of great armies perform ing wonders of bravery. The chivalrous ideas of his age, and the love of adventure which distinguished his countrymen, had not failed to find a place in his own bosom.

He would surpass everyone in courage and boldness, and especially his elder brother, whose inherited superiority he regarded with aversion. Thus, under the deceptive veil of frivolity and carelessness, there lay hidden in his youthful heart a burning ambition. It was in vain that Alice, who had considerable power over him, and often acted as mediator between the brothers, exhorted him to patience. "What does it matter," said she, " if we should be compelled to remain here a little while? We shall arrive soon enough at Ludlow Castle. The day is so fine, and we shall be at home before sunset." " And then comes another scolding," replied the youth, angrily. " John will be praised by my father for his thoughtful ness, and I shall be rebuked for my carelessness." ■' We need only mention that it was late when we left aunt's. Father need not know that we missed our way, for it would only annoy him, and he would not permit us to travel alone again.

And then, have we not had a charming adventure ? Thanks to our mistake for the pleasant time we enjoyed under the old oaks. Come, Orlando, reach hither thine hand, and look not so gloomily upon what really need not concern thee ! " In this way did his sister, in the affectionate manner so common with her, endeavour to soothe the agitation of his feel ings. She was usually successful, but so disturbed was he at this time that her efforts utterly miscarried. At the least noise he started up, and to any sound that fell upon his ear from a distance he listened with the most earnest attention. Some times he thought he heard the approach of footsteps, and at others he fancied he could detect the sounds of human voices. " Do you not hear? " said he to his sister. " There must be somebody at no great distance from us.

Evidently the sound comes from the watercourse." "You are perhaps deceived by the wind, or the cries of the birds " replied his sister. " Not at all. There are human beings somewhere about. I will inquire the way, and be with you again in a minute." Before Alice could stop him he was gone, and with rapid steps he followed in the direction from which the sound seemed to come. At first he went along the bed of the stream, for it presented the most practicable road, but after a while the accumu lated sand and fragments of rock rendered it almost impassable, and he was compelled to take a different course. The only effect which difficulty had upon him was to strengthen his determina tion to overcome it. On the ridge of a neighbouring hill he found numerous traces of recent footsteps. Very soon they increased, and crossed each other in various directions, and at last they all went towards the dry watercourse, which had again become passable.

He was now deeply convinced that human hands had been engaged in removing the obstacles from that rough path. Nor did it escape his observation that pieces of rock had been heaped together in such a way as ro barricade the passage except to the initiated. This unexpected discovery suggested caution, though his courageous spirit was not in the least daunted. On the contrary, his love of adventure was kindled afresh, and the mystery which lay hidden before him roused his curiosity to the highest pitch. Without further thought he pressed boldly onward, and the further he went the wider became the narrow course of the mountain stream, and at last it appeared to terminate in a deep close basin. Thus far, his view of it was to some extent inter cepted by groups of trees and almost impenetrable hedges.

A natural wall of matted thorns and underwood threatened to stop his progress. Already he had drawn his sword, which he wore according to the custom of the times, in order to cut a passage through, when to his great surprise he observed a closed door so dexterously hidden that it was not likely to be easily dis covered. A single glance induced him to pause, and contrary to his usual practice he considered for a moment or two the circumstances in which he was placed before he ventured to penetrate the secret. Reckless and outlawed bands of robbers were by no means uncommon in those days, and in that secluded spot might easily find a refuge. It would not have been wise, there fore for a solitary individual to risk such a danger. He had also often heard of secret assemblies and unlawful societies in connection with various religious sects.

Even his own father, the President of Wales, had more than once been commissioned by the Government to put down these conventicles by force, and the issue had not unfrequently been the shedding of blood, for the Puritans or Separatists, when they were sufficiently numerous, stoutly resisted. And in addition to these considerations there came the recollection of his waiting sister, whom he had left behind without the least protection. These thoughts would have led him noiselessly to retrace his steps had not the low notes of a sacred song chained him to the spot. It was a simple but affecting melody which suddenly interrupted the silence of the forest. With breathless attention he listened as the tones, mellowed and softened by the distance, fell upon his ear. They appeared to come from no earthly lips ; it seemed as if a spirit choir had once more visited the abodes of men. Almost involuntarily he stepped forward, and suddenly opened the secret door, and his eye scanned the wonderful scene thus unfolded.

Chapter II

A Puritan Conventicle. At his feet lay the winding bed of the river, inclosed by dark beech trees and large oaks, forming a natural temple, a cathedral which the Almighty Himself had raised with invisible hands. Like tall Gothic pillars, the majestic trunks of the trees towered upwards, and their green branches seemed like a gigantic organ inspired by the breath of Jehovah. The soft light of the evening sun stole through the foliage, as through the many coloured windows of a church, and filled the space with alternate golden and purple light. The soft turf formed a floor, and in the centre a bubbling spring poured forth the baptismal waters. In such a region the first English Christians, when exposed to danger, might have assembled for worship. To-day their successors were compelled to seek its friendly shelter.

Thus the history of mankind is but a repetition, and one page often bears a close resemblance to another. A numerous multitude had gathered, that amidst the freedom of nature they might worship in a way they thought most acceptable to God. They were Christians — hated and persecuted to the uttermost by Christians, their only offence being that they refused to recognize the Episcopal State Church, and submitted only to the Bible and its doctrines. They had therefore to assemble in this solitary spot — in a church built for them by God Himself, an accommodation denied them by their King and his powerful bishops. Hither they had fled, with the stern, undaunted courage of faith. Men, women, and children sat in a circle, within which was a rude pulpit occupied by a venerable grey-headed preacher, whose tall, spare form was clad in the black Geneva gown, the only article of dress which distinguished him from the rest.

On no account would he have worn the surplice of the Anglican Church ; it was an abomination in his sight, reminding him of Babylon and Antichrist, terms by which he designated the Church of Rome and the hated Pope. His pale countenance bore evident traces of great suffering, and was suggestive of the vitiated atmosphere of prisons, with which it was his misfortune to be too well acquainted. But persecution had not quenched his zeal, and the true shepherd was no sooner free to return to his waiting flock than he was ready at any moment to expose himself to the same danger. The Rev. Samuel God-will-be-my- Help (for such was the name, which, according to the custom of the Puritans, he had given himself) was at that moment waiting the conclusion of the psalm which 'the people were singing, in order to pour forth a fiery sermon well fitted to fan the feelings of his hearers into a flame, from which they would go forth like hardened steel to meet the blows of the Government and the bishops.