Soe I soughte out Mr.Agnew, tapping at his Studdy Doore. He sayd, "Come in," drylie enoughe; and there were he andRosereading a Letter. I sayd, "I want you to write for me to Mr.Milton." He gave a sour Look, as much as to say he disliked the Office; which threw me back, as 'twere; he having soe lately proposed it himself.Rose'sEyes, however, dilated with sweete Pleasure, as she lookt from one to the other of us.
"Well,—I fear 'tis too late," sayd he at length reluctantlie, I mighte almost say grufflie,—"what am I to write?"
"To tell him I have this Key," I made Answer faltering.
"That Key!" cried he.
"Yes, the Key of his Algum-wood Casket, which I knew not I had, and which I think he must miss dailie."
He lookt at me with the utmost Impatience. "And is that alle?" he sayd.
"Yes, alle," I sayd trembling.
"And have you nothing more to tell him?" sayd he.
"No—" after a Pause, I replyed.Rose'sCountenance fell.
"Then you must ask some one else to write for you, Mrs.Milton,"burste fortheRoger Agnew, "unless you choose to write for yourself. I have neither Part nor Lot in it."
I burste forthe into Teares.
—"No,Rose, no," repeated Mr.Agnew, putting aside his Wife, who woulde have interceded for me,—"her Teares have noe Effect on me now—they proceed, not from a contrite Heart, they are the Tears of a Child that cannot brook to be chidden for the Waywardnesse in which it persists."
"You doe me Wrong everie Way," I sayd; "I came to you willing and desirous to doe what you yourselfe woulde, this Morning, have had me doe."
"But in how strange a Way!" cried he. "At a Time when anie Renewal of your Intercourse requires to be conducted with the utmost Delicacy, and even with more Shew of Concession on your Part than, an Hour ago, I should have deemed needfulle,—to propose an abrupt, trivial Communication about an old Key!"
"It needed not to have been abrupt," I sayd, "nor yet trivial; for I meant it to have beene exprest kindlie."
"You said not that before," answered he.
"Because you gave me not Time.—Because you chid me and frightened me."
He stood silent, some While, upon this; grave, yet softer, and mechanicallie playing with the Key, which he had taken from my Hand.Roselooking in his Face anxiouslie. At lengthe, to disturbe his Reverie, she playfulle tooke it from him, saying, in School-girl Phrase,
"This is the Key of the Kingdom!"
"Of the Kingdom of Heaven, it mighte be!" exclaimedRoger, "if we knew how to use it arighte! If we knew but how to fit it to the Wards ofMilton'sHeart!—there's the Difficultie. . . . a greater one, poorMoll, than you know; for hitherto, alle the Reluctance has been on your Part. But now . . ."
"What now?" I anxiouslie askt.
"We were talking of you but as you rejoyned us," sayd Mr.Agnew, "and I was tellingRosethat hithertoe I had considered the onlie Obstacle to a Reunion arose from a false Impression of your own, that Mr.Miltoncoulde not make you happy. But now I have beene led to the Conclusion that you cannot makehimsoe, which increases the Difficultie."
After a Pause, I sayd, "What makes you think soe?"
"You and he have made me think soe," he replyed. "First for yourself, dearMoll, putting aside for a Time the Consideration of your Youth, Beauty, Franknesse, Mirthfullenesse, and a certayn girlish Drollerie and Mischiefe that are all very well in fitting Time and Place,—what remains in you for a Mind likeJohn Milton'sto repose upon? what Stabilitie? what Sympathie? what steadfast Principle? You take noe Pains to apprehend and relish his favourite Pursuits; you care not for his wounded Feelings, you consult not his Interests, anie more than your owne Duty. Now, is such the Character to makeMiltonhappy?"
"No one can answer that but himself," I replyed, deeplie mortyfide.
"Well, hehasanswered it," sayd Mr.Agnew, taking up the Letter he andRosehad beene reading when I interrupted them. . . . "You must know,Cousin, that his and my close Friendship hath beene a good deal interrupted by this Matter. 'Twas under my Roof you met.Rosehad imparted to me much of her earlie Interest in you. I fancied you had good Dispositions which, under masterlie Trayning, would ripen into noble Principles; and therefore promoted your Marriage as far as my Interest with your Father had Weight. I own I was surprised at his easilie obtayned Consent . . . but, thatyou, once domesticated with such a Man asJohn Milton, shoulde find your Home uninteresting, your Affections free to stray back to your owne Family, was what I had never contemplated."
Here I made a Show of taking the Letter, but he held it back.
"No,Moll, you disappointed us everie Way. And, for a Time,Roseand I were ashamed,foryou rather than of you, that we left noe Means neglected of trying to preserve your Place in your Husband's Regard. But you did not bear us out; and then he beganne to take it amisse that we upheld you. Soe then, after some warm and cool Words, our Correspondence languished; and hath but now beene renewed."
"He hath written us a most kind Condolence," interruptedRose, "on the Death of our Baby."
"Yes, most kindlie, most nobly exprest," sayd Mr.Agnew; "but what aConclusion!"
And then, after this long Preamble, he offered me the Letter, the Beginning of which, tho' doubtlesse well enough, I marked not, being impatient to reach the latter Part; wherein I found myself spoken of soe bitterlie, soe harshlie, as that I too plainly sawRoger Agnewhad not beene beside the Mark when he decided I could never make Mr.Miltonhappy. Payned and wounded Feeling made me lay aside the Letter without proffering another Word, and retreat without soe much as a Sigh or a Sob into mine own Chamber; but noe longer could the Restraynt be maintained. I fell to weeping soe passionatelie thatRoseprayed to come in, and condoled with me, and advised me, soe as that at length my Weeping bated, and I promised to return below when I shoulde have bathed mine Eyes and smoothed my Hair; but I have not gone down yet.
Bedtime.
I think I shall send toFatherto have me Home at the Beginning of next Week.Roseneedes me not, now; and it cannot be pleasant to Mr.Agnewto see my sorrowfulle Face about the House. His Reproofe and my Husband's together have riven my Heart; I think I shall never laugh agayn, nor smile but after a piteous Sorte; and soe People will cease to love me, for there is Nothing in me of a graver Kind to draw their Affection; and soe I shall lead a moping Life unto the End of my Dayes.
—Luckilie for me,Rosehath much Sewing to doe; for she hath undertaken with great Energie her Labours for the Poore, and consequentlie spends less Time in her Husband's Studdy; and, as I help her to the best of my Means, my Sewing hides my Lack of Talking, and Mr.Agnewreads to us such Books as he deems entertayning; yet, half the Time, I hear not what he reads. Still, I did not deeme so much Amusement could have beene found in Books; and there are some of his, that, if not soe cumbrous, I woulde fain borrow.
Friday.
I have made up my Mind now, that I shall never see Mr.Miltonmore; and am resolved to submitt to it without another Tear.
Rosesayd, this Morning, she was glad to see me more composed; and soe am I; but never was more miserable.
Saturday Night.
Mr.Agnew'sreligious Services at the End of the Week have alwaies more than usuall Matter and Meaninge in them. They are neither soe drowsy as those I have beene for manie Years accustomed to at Home, nor soe wearisome as to remind me of thePuritans. Were there manie such as he in our Church, soe faithfulle, fervent, and thoughtfulle, methinks there would be fewer Schismaticks; but still there woulde be some, because there are alwaies some that like to be the uppermost.
. . . To-nighte, Mr.Agnew'sPrayers went straight to my Heart; and I privilie turned sundrie of his generall Petitions into particular ones, for myself andRobin, and also for Mr.Milton. This gave such unwonted Relief, that since I entered into my Closet, I have repeated the same particularlie; one Request seeming to grow out of another, till I remained I know not how long on my Knees, and will bend them yet agayn, ere I go to Bed.
How sweetlie the Moon shines through my Casement to-night! I am almoste avised to accede toRose'sRequest of staying here to the End of the Month:—everie Thing here is soe peacefulle; andForest Hillis dull, nowRobinis away.
Sunday Evening.
How blessed a Sabbath!—Can it be, that I thought, onlie two Days back, I shoulde never know Peace agayn? Joy I may not, but Peace I can and doe. And yet nought hath amended the unfortunate Condition of mine Affairs; but a different Colouring is caste upon them—theLordgrant that it may last! How hath it come soe, and how may it be preserved? This Morn, when I awoke, 'twas with a Sense of Relief such as we have when we miss some wearying bodilie Payn; a Feeling as though I had beene forgiven, yet not by Mr.Milton, for I knew he had not forgiven me. Then, it must be, I was forgiven byGod; and why? I had done nothing to get his Forgivenesse, only presumed on his Mercy to ask manie Things I had noe Right to expect. And yet I felt Iwasforgiven. Why then mighte not Mr.Miltonsome Day forgive me? Should the Debt of ten thousand Talents be cancelled, and not the Debt of a hundred Pence? Then I thought on that same Word, Talents; and considered, had I ten, or even one? Decided to consider it at leisure, more closelie, and to make over toGodhenceforthe, be they ten, or be it one. Then, dressed with much Composure, and went down to Breakfast.
Having marked that Mr.AgnewandRoseaffected not Companie on thisDay, spent it chieflie by myself, except at Church and Meal-times;partlie in my Chamber, partlie in the Garden Bowre by the Beehives.Made manie Resolutions, which, in Church, I converted into Prayers andPromises. Hence, my holy Peace.
Monday.
Roseproposed, this Morning, we shoulde resume our Studdies. Felt loath to comply, but did soe neverthelesse, and afterwards we walked manie Miles, to visit some poor Folk. This Evening, Mr.Agnewread us the Prologue to theCanterbury Tales. How lifelike are the Portraitures! I mind me that Mr.Miltonshewed me theTalbotInn, that Day we crost the River with Mr.Marvell.
Tuesday.
How heartilie do I wish I had never read that same Letter!—or rather, that it had never beene written. Thus it is, even with our Wishes. We think ourselves reasonable in wishing some small Thing were otherwise, which it were quite as impossible to alter as some great Thing. Neverthelesse I cannot help fretting over the Remembrance of that Part wherein he spake such bitter Things of my "most ungoverned Passion for Revellings and Junketings." Sure, he would not call my Life too merrie now, could he see me lying wakefulle on my Bed, could he see me preventing the Morning Watch, could he see me at my Prayers, at my Books, at my Needle. . . . He shall find he hath judged too hardlie of poorMoll, even yet.
Wednesday.
Took a cold Dinner in a Basket with us to-day, and ate our rusticallRepast on the Skirt of a Wood, where we could see the Squirrels attheire Gambols. Mr.Agnewlay on the Grasse, andRosetook out herKnitting, whereat he laught, and sayd she was like theDutchWomen,that must knit, whether mourning or feasting, and even on the Sabbath.Having laught her out of her Work, he drew forth Mr.George Herbert'sPoems, and read us a Strayn which pleasedRoseand me soe much, thatI shall copy it herein, to have always by me.
How fresh, oh Lord: how sweet and cleanAre thy Returns! e'en as the Flowers in Spring,To which, beside theire owne Demesne,The late pent Frosts Tributes of Pleasure bring.Grief melts away like Snow in May,As if there were noe such cold Thing.
Who would have thought my shrivelled HeartWoulde have recovered greenness? it was goneQuite Underground, as Flowers departTo see their Mother-root, when they have blown,Where they together, alle the hard Weather,Dead to the World, keep House alone.
These are thy Wonders, Lord of Power!Killing and quickening, bringing down to HellAnd up to Heaven, in an Hour,Making a Chiming of a passing Bell,We say amiss "this or that is:"Thy Word is alle, if we could spell.
Oh that I once past changing were!Fast in thy Paradise, where no Flowers can wither;Manie a Spring I shoot up faire,Offering at Heaven, growing and groaning thither,Nor doth my Flower want a Spring Shower,My Sins and I joyning together.
But while I grow in a straight Line,Still upwards bent, as if Heaven were my own,Thy Anger comes, and I decline.—What Frost to that! What Pole is not the ZoneWhere alle Things burn, when thou dost turn,And the least Frown of thine is shewn?
And now, in Age, I bud agayn,After soe manie Deaths, I bud and write,I once more smell the Dew and Rain,And relish Versing! Oh my onlie Light!It cannot be that I am heOn whom thy Tempests fell alle Night?
These are thy Wonders, Lord of Love,To make us see we are but Flowers that glide,Which, when we once can feel and prove,Thou hast a Garden for us where to bide.Who would be more, swelling their Store,Forfeit their Paradise by theire Pride.
Thursday.
Fathersent overDiggorywith a Letter for me from deareRobin: alsoe, to ask when I was minded to return Home, asMotherwants to goe toSandford. Fixed the Week after next; butRosesays I must be here agayn at the Apple-gathering. AnsweredRobin'sLetter. He looketh not for Choyce of fine Words; nor noteth an Error here and there in the Spelling.
Tuesday.
Life flows away here in such unmarked Tranquilitie, that one hath Nothing whereof to write, or to remember what distinguished one Day from another. I am sad, yet not dulle; methinks I have grown some Yeares older since I came here. I can fancy elder Women feeling much as I doe now. I have Nothing to desire. Nothing to hope, that is likelie to come to pass—Nothing to regret, except I begin soe far back, that my whole Life hath neede, as 'twere, to begin over agayn. . . .
Mr.Agnewtranslates to us Portions ofThuanushis Historie, and the Letters ofTheodore Bexa, concerning theFrenchReformed Church; oft prolix, yet interesting, especially with Mr.Agnew'sComments, and Allusions to our own Time. On the other Hand,RosereadsDavila, the sworne Apologiste ofCatherine de' Medicis, whose charmingItalianeven I can comprehende; but alle is false and plausible. How sad, that the wrong Partie shoulde be victorious! Soe it may befall in this Land; though, indeede, I have hearde soe much bitter Rayling on bothe Sides, that I know not which is right. The Line of Demarcation is not soe distinctly drawn, methinks, as 'twas inFrance. Yet it cannot be right to take up Arms agaynst constituted Authorities?—Yet, and if those same Authorities abuse their Trust? Nay, Women cannot understand these Matters, and I thank Heaven they need not. Onlie, they cannot help siding with those they love; and sometimes those they love are on opposite Sides.
Mr.Agnewsayth, the secular Arm shoulde never be employed in spirituall Matters, and that theHugenotscommitted a grave Mistake in choosing Princes and Admirals for their Leaders, insteade of simple Preachers with Bibles in their hands; and he askt, "didLutherorPeterthe Hermit most manifestlie labour with the Blessing ofGod?"
. . . I have noted the Heads of Mr.Agnew'sReadings, after a Fashion ofRose's, in order to have a shorte, comprehensive Account of the Whole; and this hath abridged my journalling. It is the more profitable to me of the two, changes the sad Current of Thought, and, though an unaccustomed Task, I like it well.
Saturday.
OnMonday, I return toForest Hill. I am well pleased to have yet anotherSheepscoteSabbath. To-day we had the rare Event of a Dinner-guest; soe full of what the Rebels are doing, and alle the Horrors of Strife, that he seemed to us quiete Folks, like the Denizen of another World.
Forest Hill, August 3, 1644.
Home agayn, andMotherhath gone on her long intended Visitt to UncleJohn, taking with her the two youngest.Fathermuch preoccupide, by reason of the Supplies needed for his Majesty's Service; soe that, sweetRobinbeing away, I find myselfe lonely.Harryrides with me in the Evening, but the Mornings I have alle to myself; and when I have fulfilledMother'sBehests in the Kitchen and Still-room, I have nought but to read in our somewhat scant Collection of Books, the moste Part whereof are religious. And (not on that Account, but by reason I have read the most of them before), methinks I will write to borrow some ofRose; for Change of Reading hath now become a Want. I am minded also, to seek out and minister unto some poore Folk after her Fashion. Now that I am Queen of the Larder, there is manie a wholesome Scrap at my Disposal, and there are likewise sundrie Physiques in my Mother's Closet, which she addeth to Year by Year, and never wants, we are soe seldom ill.
Aug. 5, 1644.
DearFathersayd this Evening, as we came in from a Walk on theTerrace, "My sweetMoll, you were ever the Light of the House; butnow, though you are more staid than of former Time, I find you a betterCompanion than ever. This last Visitt toSheepscotehath evened yourSpiritts."
PoorFather! he knew not how I lay awake and wept last Night, for one I shall never see agayn, nor how the Terrace Walk minded me of him. My Spiritts may seem even, and I exert myself to please; but, within, all is dark Shade, or at best, grey Twilight; and my Spiritts are, in Fact, worse here than they were atSheepscote, because, here, I am continuallie thinking of one whose Name is never uttered; whereas, there, it was mentioned naturallie and tenderlie, though sadly. . . .
I will forthe to see some of the poor Folk.
Same Night.
Resolved to make the Circuit of the Cottages, but onlie reached the first, wherein I found poorNellin such Grief of Body and Mind, that I was avised to wait with her a long Time. Askt why she had not sent to us for Relief; was answered she had thought of doing soe, but was feared of making too free. After a lengthened Visitt, which seemed to relieve her Mind, and certaynlie relieved mine, I bade her Farewell, and at the Wicket met my Father coming up with a playn-favoured but scholarlike looking reverend Man. He sayd, "Moll, I could not think what had become of you." I answered, I hoped I had not kept him waiting for Dinner—poorNellhad entertayned me longer than I wisht, with the Catalogue of her Troubles. The Stranger looking attentively at me, observed that may be the poor Woman had entertayned an Angel unawares; and added, "Doubt not, Madam, we woulde rather await our Dinner than that you should have curtayled your Message of Charity." Hithertoe, my Father had not named this Gentleman to me; but now he sayd, "Child, this is the Reverend DoctorJeremy Taylor, Chaplain in Ordinarie to his Majesty, and whom you know I have heard more than once preach before the King since he abode inOxford." Thereon I made a lowly Reverence, and we walked homewards together. At first, he discoursed chiefly with my Father on the Troubles of the Times, and then he drew me into the Dialogue, in the Course of which I let fall a Saying of Mr.Agnew's, which drew from the reverend Gentleman a respectfulle Look I felt I no Way deserved. Soe then I had to explain that the Saying was none of mine, and felt ashamed he shoulde suppose me wiser than I was, especiallie as he commended my Modesty. But we progressed well, and he soon had the Discourse all to himself, for SquirePaicecame up, and detainedFather, while the Doctor and I walked on. I could not help reflecting how odd it was, that I, whom Nature had endowed with such a very ordinarie Capacitie, and scarce anie Taste for Letters, shoulde continuallie be thrown into the Companie of the cleverest of Men,—first, Mr.Milton: then Mr.Agnew; and now, this DoctorJeremy Taylor. But, like the other two, he is not merely clever, he is Christian and good. How much I learnt in this short Interview! for short it seemed, though it must have extended over a good half Hour. He sayd, "Perhaps, young Lady, the Time may come when you shall find safer Solace in the Exercise of the Charities than of the Affections. Safer: for, not to consider how a successfulle or unsuccessfulle Passion for a human Being of like Infirmities with ourselves, oft stains and darkens and shortens the Current of Life, even the chastened Love of a Mother for her Child, as ofOctavia, who swooned at 'Tu, Marcellus, eris,'—or of Wives for their Husbands, asArtemisiaandLaodamia, sometimes amounting to Idolatry—nay, the Love of Friend for Friend, with alle its sweet Influences and animating Transports, yet exceeding the Reasonableness of that ofDavidforJonathan, or of our blessedLordforSt. Johnand the Family ofLazarus, may procure far more Torment than Profit: even if the Attachment be reciprocal, and well grounded, and equallie matcht, which often it is not. Then interpose human Tempers, and Chills, and Heates, and Slyghtes fancied or intended, which make the vext Soul readie to wish it had never existed. How smalle a Thing is a human Heart! you might grasp it in your little Hand; and yet its Strifes and Agonies are enough to distend a Skin that should cover the whole World! But, in the Charities, what Peace! yea, they distill Sweetnesse even from the Unthankfulle, blessing him that gives more than him that receives; while, in the Main, they are laid out at better Interest than our warmest Affections, and bring in a far richer Harvest of Love and Gratitude. Yet, let our Affections have their fitting Exercise too, staying ourselves with the Reflection, that there is greater Happinesse, after alle Things sayd, in loving than in being loved, save by theGodof Love who first loved us, and that they who dwell in Love dwell inHim."
Then he went on to speak of the manifold Acts and Divisions of Charity; as much, methought, in the Vein of a Poet as a Preacher; and he minded me much of that Scene in the tenth Book of theFairie Queene, soe lately read to us by Mr.Agnew, wherein theRed Cross KnightandUnawere shownMercyat her Work.
Aug. 10, 1644.
A Pack-horse fromSheepscotejust reported, laden with a goodlie Store of Books, besides sundrie smaller Tokens ofRose'sthoughtfulle Kindnesse. I have now methodicallie divided my Time into stated Hours, of Prayer, Exercise, Studdy, Housewiferie, and Acts of Mercy, on however a humble Scale; and find mine owne Peace of Mind thereby increased notwithstanding the Darknesse of publick and Dullnesse of private Affairs.
Made out the Meaning of "Cynosure" and "Cimmerian Darknesse." . . .
Aug. 15, 1644.
Full sad am I to learn that Mr.Miltonhath published another Book in Advocacy of Divorce. Alas, why will he chafe against the Chain, and widen the cruel Division between us? My Father is outrageous on the Matter, and speaks soe passionatelie of him, that it is worse than not speaking of him at alle, which latelie I was avised to complain of.
Aug. 30, 1644.
Dickbeginneth to fancie himself in Love with _Audrey Paice—_an Attachment that will doe him noe good: his Tastes alreadie want raising, and she will onlie lower them, I feare,—a comely, romping, noisie Girl, that, were she but a Farmer's Daughter, woulde be the Life and Soul of alle the Whitsun-ales, Harvest-homes, and Hay-makings in the Country: in short, as fond of idling and merrymaking as I once was myself: onlie I never was soe riotous.
I beginne to see Faults inDickandHarryI never saw before. Is my Taste bettering, or my Temper worsenning? At alle Events, we have noe cross Words, for I expect them not to alter, knowing how hard it is to doe soe by myself.
I look forward with Pleasure to mySheepscoteVisitt. DearMotherreturneth to-morrow. Good Dr.Taylorhath twice taken the Trouble to walk over fromOxfordto see me, but he hath now left, and we may never meet agayn. His Visitts have beene very precious to me: I think he hath some Glimmering of my sad Case: indeed, who knows it not? At parting he sayd, smiling, he hoped he should yet hear of my making Offerings toViriplacaonMount Palatine; then added, gravelie, "You know where reall Offerings may be made and alwaies accepted—Offerings of spare Half-hours and Five-minutes, when we shut the Closet Door and commune with our own Hearts and are still." Alsoe he sayd, "There are Sacrifices to make which sometimes wring our very Hearts to offer; but our graciousGodaccepts them neverthelesse, if our Feet be really in the right Path, even though, likeChryseis, we look back, weeping."
He sayd . . . But how manie Things as beautifulle and true did I hear my Husband say, which passed by me like the idle Wind that I regarded not!
Sept. 8, 1644.
Harryhath just broughte in the News of his Majesty's Success in the West. LordEssex'sArmy hath beene completely surrounded by the royal Troops; himself forct to escape in a Boat toPlymouth, and all the Arms, Artillerie, Baggage, etc., ofSkippon'sMen have fallen into the Hands of the King.Fatheris soe pleased that he hath mounted the Flag, and given double Allowance of Ale to his Men.
I wearie to hear fromRobin.
Sheepscote, Oct. 10, 1644.
How sweete a Picture of rurall Life didSheepscotepresent, when I arrived here this Afternoon! The Water being now much out, the Face of the Countrie presented a new Aspect: there were Men threshing the Walnut Trees, Children and Women putting the Nuts into Osier Baskets, a Bailiff on a white Horse overlooking them, and now and then galloping to another Party, and splashing through the Water. Then we found Mr.Agnewequallie busie with his Apples, mounted half Way up one of the Trees, and throwing Cherry Pippins down intoRose'sApron, and now and then making as though he would pelt her: onlie she dared him, and woulde not be frightened. Her Donkey, chewing Apples in the Corner, with the Cider running out of his Mouth, presented a ludicrous Image of Enjoyment, and 'twas evidently enhanct byGiles'brushing his rough Coat with a Birch Besom, instead of minding his owne Businesse of sweeping the Walk. The Sun, shining with mellow Light on the mown Grass and fresh dipt Hornbeam Hedges, made even the commonest Objects distinct and cheerfulle; and the Air was soe cleare, we coulde hear the Village Childreh afar off at theire Play.
Rosehad abundance of delicious new Honey in the Comb, and Bread hot from the Oven, for our earlie Supper.Dickwas tempted to stay too late; however, he is oft as late, now, returning fromAudrey Paice, though my Mother likes it not.
Oct. 15, 1644.
Roseis quite in good Spiritts now, and we goe on most harmoniouslie and happilie. Alle our Tastes are now in common; and I never more enjoyed this Union of Seclusion and Society. Besides, Mr.Agnewis more than commonlie kind, and never speaks sternlie or sharplie to me now. Indeed, this Morning, looking thoughtfullie at me, he sayd, "I know not_, Cousin_, what Change has come over you, but you are now alle that a wise Man coulde love and approve." I sayd, It must be owing then to Dr.Jeremy Taylor, who had done me more goode, it woulde seeme, in three Lessons, than he or Mr.Miltoncoulde imparte in thirty or three hundred. He sayd he was inclined to attribute it to a higher Source than that; and yet, there was doubtlesse a great Knack in teaching, and there was a good deal in liking the Teacher. He had alwaies hearde the Doctor spoken of as a good, pious, and clever Man, though rather too high a Prelatist. I sayd, "There were good Men of alle Sorts: there was Mr.Milton, who woulde pull the Church down; there was Mr.Agnew, who woulde onlie have it mended; and there was Dr.Jeremy Taylor, who was content with it as it stoode." ThenRoseaskt me of the puritanicall Preachers. Then I showed her how they preached, and made her laugh. But Mr.Agnewwoulde not laugh. But I made him laugh at last. Then he was angrie with himself and with me; only not very angry; and sayd, I had a Right to a Name which he knew had beene given me, of "cleaving Mischief." I knew not he knew of it, and was checked, though I laught it off.
Oct. 16, 1644.
Walking together, this Morning,Rosewas avised to say, "Did Mr.Miltonever tell you the Adventures of theItalianLady?" "Rely on it he never did," sayd Mr.Agnew.—"Miltonis as modest a Man as ever breathed—alle Men of first class Genius are soe." "What was the Adventure?" I askt, curiouslie. "Why, I neede not tell you,Moll, thatJohn Milton, as a Youth, was extremelie handsome, even beautifull. His Colour came and went soe like a Girl's, that we ofChrist'sCollege used to call him 'the Lady,' and thereby annoy him noe little. One summer Afternoone he and I and youngKing(Lycidas, you know) had started on a country Walk, (the Countrie is not pretty, roundCambridge) when we met in with an Acquaintance whom Mr.Miltonaffected not, soe he sayd he would walk on to the first rising Ground and wait us there. On this rising Ground stood a Tree, beneath which our impatient young Gentleman presentlie cast himself, and, having walked fast, and the Weather being warm, soon falls asleep as sound as a Top. Meantime,Kingand I quit our Friend and saunter forward pretty easilie. Anon comes up with us a Caroche, with something I know not what of outlandish in its Build; and within it, two Ladies, one of them having the fayrest Face I ever set Eyes on, present Companie duly excepted. The Caroche having passed us,Kingand I mutuallie express our Admiration, and thereupon, preferring Turf to Dust, got on the other Side the Hedge, which was not soe thick but that we could make out the Caroche, and see the Ladies descend from it, to walk up the Hill. Having reached the Tree, they paused in Surprise at seeingMiltonasleep beneath it; and in prettie dumb Shew, which we watcht sharplie, exprest their Admiration of his Appearance and Posture, which woulde have suited anArcadianwell enough. The younger Lady, hastilie taking out a Pencil and Paper, wrote something which she laughinglie shewed her Companion, and then put into the Sleeper's Hand. Thereupon, they got into their Caroche, and drove off.Kingand I, dying with Curiositie to know what she had writ, soon roused our Friend and possest ourselves of the Secret. The Verses ran thus. . . .
Occhi, Stelle mortali,Ministre de miei Mali,Se, chiusi, m' uccidete,Aperti, che farete?
"Miltoncoloured, crumpled them up, and yet put them in his Pocket; then askt us what the Lady was like. And herein lay the Pleasantry of the Affair; for I truly told him she had a Pear-shaped Face, lustrous black Eyes, and a Skin that shewed 'il bruno il bel non toglie;' whereas,King, in his Mischief, drew a fancy Portrait, much liker you,Moll, than the Incognita, which hitMilton'sTaste soe much better, that he was believed for his Payns; and then he declared that I had beene describing the Duenna! . . . Some Time after, whenMiltonbeganne to talk of visitingItaly, we bantered him, and sayd he was going to look for the Incognita. He stoode it well, and sayd, 'Laugh on! do you think I mind you? Not a Bit.' I think he did."
Just at this Turn, Mr.Agnewstumbled at something in the long Grass. It proved to be an old, rustic Horse-pistol. His Countenance changed at once from gay to grave. "I thought we had noe such Things hereabouts yet," cried he, viewing it askance.—"I suppose I mighte as well think I had found a Corner of the Land where there was noe originall Sin." And soe, flung it over the Hedge.
——First class Geniuses are alwaies modest, are they?—Then I should say that youngItalianLady's Genius was not of the first Class.
Oct. 19, 1644.
Speaking, to-day, of Mr.Waller, whom I had once seen at UncleJohn's, Mr.Agnewsayd he had obtayned the Reputation of being one of our smoothest Versers, and thereupon brought forth one or two of his small Pieces in Manuscript, which he read toRoseand me. They were addrest to the LadyDorothy Sydney; and certainlie for specious Flatterie I doe not suppose they can be matcht; but there is noe Impress of reall Feeling in them. How diverse from my Husband's Versing! He never writ anie mere Love-verses, indeede, soe far as I know; but how much truer a Sence he hath of what is reallie beautifulle and becoming in a Woman than Mr.Waller! The LadyAlice Egertonmighte have beene more justlie proud of the fine Things writtenforher inComus, than the LadyDorotheaof anie of the fine Things writtenofher by this courtier-like Poet. For, to say that Trees bend down in homage to a Woman when she walks under them, and that the healing Waters ofTonbridgewere placed there by Nature to compensate for the fatal Pride ofSacharissa, is soe fullesome and untrue as noe Woman, not devoured by Conceite, coulde endure; whereas, the Check that Villanie is sensible of in the Presence of Virtue, is most nobly, not extravagantlie, exprest byComus. And though my Husband be almost too lavish, even in his short Pieces, of classic Allusion and Personation, yet, like antique Statues and Busts well placed in some statelie Pleasaunce, they are alwaies appropriate and gracefulle, which is more than can be sayd of Mr.Waller'soverstrayned Figures and Metaphors.
Oct. 20, 1644.
News from Home: alle well.Audrey Paiceon a Visitt there. I hopeMotherhath not put her into my Chamber, but I know that she hath sett so manie Trays full of Spearmint, Peppermint, Camomiles, and Poppie-heads in the blue Chamber to dry, that she will not care to move them, nor have the Window opened lest they shoulde be blown aboute. I wish I had turned the Key on my ebony Cabinett.
Oct. 24, 1644.
RichardandAudreyrode over here, and spent a noisie Afternoone.Rosehad the Goose dressed which I know she meant to have reserved for to-morrow.Cloverwas in a Heat, which one would have thoughte he needed not to have beene, with carrying a Lady; butAudreyis heavie. She treatsDicklike a boy; and, indeede he is not much more; but he is quite taken up with her. I find she lies in the blue Chamber, which she says smells rarelie of Herbs. They returned not till late, after sundrie Hints from Mr.Agnew.
Oct. 27, 1644.
Alas, alas,Robin'sSilence is too sorrowfullie explained! He hath beene sent Home soe ill that he is like to die. This Report I have fromDiggory, just come over to fetch me, with whom I start, soe soone as his Horse is bated.Lord, have Mercie onRobin.
The Children are alle sent away to keep the House quiete.
At Robin's Bedside, Saturday Night.
Oh, woefulle Sight! I had not known that pale Face, had I met it unawares. So thin and wan,—and he hath shot up into a tall Stripling during the last few Months. These two Nights of Watching have tried me sorelie, but I would not be witholden from sitting up with him yet agayn—what and if this Night should be his last? how coulde I forgive myself for sleeping on now and taking my Rest? The first Night, he knew me not; yet it was bitter-sweet to hear him chiding at sweetMollfor not coming. Yesternight he knew me for a While, kissed me, andfellinto an heavie Sleepe, with his Hand locked in mine. We hoped the Crisis was come; but 'twas not soe. He raved much of a Man alle in red, riding hard after him. I minded me of those Words, "The Enemy sayd, I will overtake, I will pursue,"—and, noe one being by, save the unconscious Sufferer, I kneeled down beside him, and most earnestlie prayed for his Deliverance from all spirituall Adversaries. When I lookt up, his Eyes, larger and darker than ever, were fixt on me with a strange, wistfulle Stare, but he spake not. From that Moment he was quiete.
The Doctor thought him rambling this Morning, though I knew he was not, when he spake of an Angel in a long white Garment watching over him and kneeling by him in the Night.
Sunday Evening.
PoorNellsitteth up withMotherto-night—right thankfulle is she to find that she can be of anie Use: she says it seems soe strange that she should be able to make any Return for my Kindnesse. I must sleep to-night, that I may watch to-morrow. The Servants are nigh spent, and are besides foolishlie afrayd of Infection. I hopeRoseprays for me. Soe drowsie and dulle am I, as scarce to be able to pray for myself.
Monday.
Roseand Mr.Agnewcome to abide with us for some Days. How thankfulle am I! Tears have relieved me.
Robinworse to-day.Fatherquite subdued. Mr.Agnewwill sit up to-night, and insists on my sleeping.
Crabhowled under my Window yesternight as he did before my Wedding. I hope there is nothing in it.Harrygot up and beat him, and at last put him in the Stable.
Tuesday.
After two Nights' Rest, I feel quite strengthened and restored this Morning. DeareRoseread me to sleep in her low, gentle Voice, and then lay down by my Side, twice stepping intoRobin'sChamber during the Night, and bringing me News that all was well. Relieved in Mind, I slept heavilie nor woke till late. Then, returned to the sick Chamber, and foundRosebathing dearRobin'sTemples with Vinegar, and changing his Pillow—his thin Hand rested on Mr.Agnew, on whom he lookt with a composed, collected Gaze. Slowlie turned his Eyes on me, and faintlie smiled, but spake not.
Poor dearMotheris ailing now. I sate with her andFathersome Time; but it was a true Relief whenRosetook my Place and let me return to the sick Room.Rosehath alreadie made several little Changes for the better; improved the Ventilation ofRobin'sChamber, and prevented his hearing soe manie Noises. Alsoe, showed me how to make a pleasant cooling Drink, which he likes better than the warm Liquids, and which she assures me he may take with perfect Safetie.
Same Evening.
Robinvext, even to Tears, because the Doctor forbids the use of his cooling Drink, though it hath certainlie abated the Fever. At his Wish I stept down to intercede with the Doctor, then closetted with my Father, to discourse, as I supposed, ofRobin'sSymptoms. Insteade of which, found them earnestlie engaged on the never-ending Topick of Cavaliers and Roundheads. I was chafed and cut to the Heart, yet what can poorFatherdo; he is useless in the Sick-room, he is wearie of Suspense, and 'tis well if publick Affairs can divert him for an odd Half-hour.
The Doctor would not hear ofRobintaking the cooling Beverage, and warned me that his Death woulde be upon my Head if I permitted him to be chilled: soe what could I doe? PoorRobinvery impatient in consequence; and raving towards Midnight.Roseinsisted in taking the last Half of my Watch.
I know not that I was ever more sorelie exercised than during the first Half of this Night.Robin, in his crazie Fit, would leave his Bed, and was soe strong as nearlie to masterNelland me, and I feared I must have calledRichard. The next Minute he fell back as weak as a Child: we covered him up warm, and he was overtaken either with Stupor or Sleep. Earnestlie did I pray it might be the latter, and conduce to his healing. Afterwards, there being writing Implements at Hand, I wrote a Letter to Mr.Milton, which, though the Fancy of sending it soon died away, yet eased my Mind. When not in Prayer, I often find myself silently talking to him.
Wednesday.
Waking late after my scant Night's Rest, I found my Breakfaste neatlie layd out in the little Ante-chamber, to prevent the Fatigue of going down Stairs. A Handfulle of Autumn Flowers beside my Plate, left me in noe Doubt it wasRose'sdoing; and Mr.Agnewwriting at the Window, tolde me he had persuaded my Father to goe toShotoverwithDick. Then laying aside his Pen, stept into the Sick-chamber for the latest News, which was good: and, sitting next me, talked of the Progress ofRobin'sIllness in a grave yet hopefulle Manner; leading, as he chieflie does, to high and unearthlie Sources of Consolation. He advised me to take a Turn in the fresh Ayr, though but as far as the two Junipers, before I enteredRobin'sChamber, which, somewhat reluctantlie, I did; but the bright Daylight and warm Sun had no good Effect on my Spiritts: on the Contrarie, nothing in blythe Nature seeming in unison with my Sadnesse, Tears flowed without relieving me.
——What a solemne, pompous Prigge is this Doctor! He cries "humph!" and "aye!" and bites his Nails and screws his Lips together, but I don't believe he understands soe much of Physick, after alle, as Mr.Agnew.
Fathercame Home fulle of the Rebels' Doings, but as for me, I shoulde hear them thundering at our Gate with Apathie, except insofar as I feared their distressingRobin.
Audreyrode over with her Father, this Morn, to make Enquiries. She might have come sooner had she meant to be anie reall Use to a Family she has thought of entering. HadRosecome to our Help as late in the Day, we had been poorlie off.
Thursday.
MayHeavenin its Mercy save us from the evil Consequence of this new Mischance!—Richard, jealous at being allowed so little Share in nursingRobin, whom he sayd he loved as well as anie did, would sit up with him last Night, along withMother. Twice I heard him snoring, and stept in to prevail on him to change Places, but coulde not get him to stir. A third Time he fell asleep, and, it seems,Motherslept too; andRobin, in his Fever, got out of Bed and drank near a Quart of colde Water, wakingDickby setting down the Pitcher. Of course the Bustle soon reached my listening Ears.Dick, to do him Justice, was frightened enough, and stole away to his Bed without a Word of Defence; but poorMother, who had been equallie off her Watch, made more Noise about it than was good forRobin; who, neverthelesse, we having warmlie covered up, burst into a profuse Heat, and fell into a sound Sleep, which hath now holden him manie Hours. Mr.Agnewaugureth favourablie of his waking, but we await it in prayerfulle Anxietie.
——The Crisis is past! and the Doctor sayeth he alle along expected it last Night, which I cannot believe, butFatherandMotherdoe. At alle Events, praised beHeaven, there is now hope that deareRobinmay recover.Roseand I have mingled Tears, Smiles, and Thankgivings; Mr.Agnewhath expressed Gratitude after a more collected Manner, and endeavoured to check the somewhat ill-governed Expression of Joy throughout the House; warning the Servants, but especiallieDickandHarry, thatRobinmay yet have a Relapse.
With what Transport have I sat beside dearRobin'sBed, returning his fixed, earnest, thankfulle Gaze, and answering the feeble Pressure of his Hand!—Going into the Studdy just now, I foundFathercrying like a Child—the first Time I have known him give Way to Tears duringRobin'sIlnesse. Mr.Agnewpresentlie came in, and composed him better than I coulde.
Saturday.
Robinbetter, though still very weak. Had his Bed made, and took a few Spoonfuls of Broth.
Sunday.
A very different Sabbath from the last. ThoughRobin'sConstitution hath received a Shock it may never recover, his comparative Amendment fills us with Thankfulnesse; and our chastened Suspense hath a sweet Solemnitie and Trustfullenesse in it, which pass Understanding.
Mr.Agnewconducted our Devotions. This Morning, I found him praying withRobin—I question if it were for the first Time.Robinlooking on him with eyes of such sedate Affection!
Thursday.
Robinstill progressing. DearRoseand Mr.Agnewleave us to-morrow, but they will soon come agayn. Oh faithful Friends!
* * * * * *
April, 1646.
Can Aniething equall the desperate Ingratitude of the human Heart?Testifie of it, Journall, agaynst me. Here did I, throughout theincessant Cares and Anxieties ofRobin'sSicknesse, find, or makeTime, for almoste dailie Record of my Trouble; since which, wholeMonths have passed without soe much as a scrawled Ejaculation ofThankfullenesse that the Sick hath beene made whole.
Yet, not that that Thankfullenesse hath beene unfelt, nor, though unwritten, unexprest. Nay, OLord, deeplie, deeplie have I thanked thee for thy tender Mercies. And he healed soe slowlie, that Suspense, as 'twere, wore itself out, and gave Place to a dull, mournful Persuasion that an Hydropsia would waste him away, though more slowlie, yet noe less surelie than the Fever.
Soe Weeks lengthened into Months, I mighte well say Years, they seemed soe long! and stille he seemed to neede more Care and Tendernesse; till, just as he and I had learnt to say, "Thy Will, OLord, be done," he began to gain Flesh, his craving Appetite moderated, yet his Food nourished him, and byGod'sBlessing he recovered!
During that heavie Season of Probation, our Hearts were unlocked, and we spake oft to one another of Things in Heaven and Things in Earth. Afterwards, our mutuall Reserves returned, andRobin, methinks, became shyer than before, but there can never cease to be a dearer Bond between us. Now we are apart, I aim to keep him mindfulle of the high and holie Resolutions he formed in his Sicknesse; and though he never answers these Portions of my Letters, I am avised to think he finds them not displeasing.
Now thatOxfordis like to be besieged, my Life is more confined than ever; yet I cannot, and will not leaveFatherandMother, even for theAgnews, while they are soe much harassed. This Morning, my Father hath received a Letter from SirThomas Glemham, requiring a larger Quantitie of winnowed Wheat, than, with alle his Loyaltie, he likes to send.
April 23, 1646.
Ralph Hewletthath just looked in to say, his Father and Mother have in Safetie reachedLondon, where he will shortlie joyn them, and to ask, is there anie Service he can doe me? Ay, truly; one that I dare not name—he can bring me Word of Mr.Milton, of his Health, of his Looks, of his Speech, and whether . . .
Ralphshall be noe Messenger of mine.
April 24, 1646.
Talking of Money Matters this Morning,Mothersayd Something that brought Tears into mine Eyes. She observed, that though my Husband had never beene a Favourite of hers, there was one Thing wherein she must say he had behaved generously: he had never, to this Day, asktFatherfor the 500 pounds which had brought him, in the first Instance, toForest Hill, (he having promised old Mr.Miltonto try to get the Debt paid,) and the which, on his asking for my Hand,Fathertolde him shoulde be made over sooner or later, in lieu of Dower.
DidRoseknow the Bitter-sweet she was imparting to me, when she gave me, by Stealth as 'twere, the latelie publisht Volume of my Husband'sEnglishVersing? It hath beene my Companion ever since; for I had perused theComusbut by Snatches, under the Disadvantage of crabbed Manuscript. This Morning, to use his owne deare Words:—
I sat me down to watch, upon a Bank,With Ivy canopied, and interwoveWith flaunting Honeysuckle, and beganne,Wrapt in a pleasing Fit of Melancholic,To meditate.
The Text of my Meditation was this, drawne from the same loved Source:—
This I hold firm:Virtue may be assayled, but never hurt,Surprised by unjust Force, but not enthralled:Yea, even that which Mischief meant most Harm,Shall, in the happy Trial, prove most Glory.
But who hath such Virtue? have I? hath he? No, we have both gone astray, and done amiss, and wrought sinfullie; but I worst, I first, therefore more neede that I humble myself, and pray for both.
There is one, more unhappie, perhaps, than either. TheKing, most misfortunate Gentleman! who knoweth not which Way to turn, nor whom to trust. Last Time I saw him, methought never was there a Face soe full of Woe.
May 6, 1646.
TheKinghath escaped! He gave Orders overnight at alle the Gates, for three Persons to passe; and, accompanied onlie by Mr.Ashburnham, and Mr.Hurd, rode forthe at Nightfalle, towardsLondon. Sure, he will not throw himselfe into the Hands of Parliament?
Motheris affrighted beyond Measure at the near Neighbourhood ofFairfax'sArmy, and entreatsFatherto leave alle behind, and flee with us into the City. It may yet be done; and we alle share her Feares.
Saturday Even.
Packing up in greate haste, after a confused Family Council, wherein some fresh Accounts of the Rebels' Advances, broughte in byDiggory, made my Father the sooner consent to a stolen Flight intoOxford,Diggorybeing left behind in Charge. Time of Flight, to-morrow after Dark, thePuritansbeing busie at theire Sermons. The better the Day, the better the Deede.—Heavenmake it soe!
Tuesday.
Oxford; in most most confined and unpleasant Lodgings; but noe Matter, manie better and richer than ourselves fare worse, and our King hath not where to lay his Head. 'Tis sayd he hath turned his Course towardsScotland. There are Souldiers in this House, whose Noise distracts us. Alsoe, a poor Widow Lady, whose Husband hath beene slayn in these Wars. The Children have taken a feverish Complaynt, and require incessant tending. Theire Beds are far from cleane, in too little Space, and ill aired.
May 20, 1646.
The Widow Lady goes about visiting the Sick, and woulde faine have my Companie. The Streets have displeased me, being soe fulle of Men; however, in a close Hoode I have accompanied her sundrie Times. 'Tis a good Soul, and full of pious Works and Alms-deedes.
May 27, 1646.
Diggoryhath found his Way to us, alle dismaied, and bringing Dismay with him, for the Rebels have taken and ransacked our House, and turned him forthe. "A Plague on these Wars!" asFathersays. What are we to doe, or how live, despoyled of alle?Fatherhath lost, one Way and another, since the Civil War broke out, three thousand Pounds, and is now nearlie beggared.Motherweeps bitterlie, andFather'sCountenance hath fallen more than ever I saw it before. "Nine Children!" he exclaimed, just now; "and onlie one provided for!" His Eye fell upon me for a Moment, with less Tendernesse than usuall, as though he wished me inAldersgate Street. I'm sure I wish I were there,—not becauseFatheris in Misfortune; oh, no.
June, 1646.
The Parliament requireth our unfortunate King to issue Orders to this and alle his other Garrisons, commanding theire Surrender; andFather, finding this is likelie to take Place forthwith, is busied in having himself comprised within the Articles of Surrender. 'Twill be hard indeed, shoulde this be denied. His Estate lying in the King's Quarters, howe coulde he doe less than adhere to his Majesty's Partie during this unnaturall War? I am sureMothergrudged the Royalists everie Goose and Turkey they had from our Yard.
June 27, 1646.
Praised beHeaven, deareFatherhath just received SirThomas Fairfax'sProtection, empowering him quietlie and without let to goe forthe "with Servants, Horses, Arms, Goods, etc." to "Londonor elsewhere," whithersoever he will. And though the Protection extends but over six Months, at the Expiry of which Time,Fathermust take Measures to embark for some Place of Refuge beyond Seas, yet who knows what may turn up in those six Months! The King may enjoy his Owne agayn. Meantime, we immediatelie leaveOxford.
Forest Hill.
At Home agayn; and what a Home! Everiething to seeke, everiething misplaced, broken, abused, or gone altogether! The Gate off its Hinges; the Stone Balls of the Pillars overthrowne, the great Bell stolen, the clipt Junipers grubbed up, the Sun-diall broken! Not a Hen or Chicken, Duck or Duckling, left!Crabhalf-starved, and soe glad to see us, that he dragged his Kennel after him.DaisyandBlanchmaking such piteous Moans at the Paddock Gate, that I coulde not bear it, but helpedLetticeto milk them. Within Doors, everie Room smelling of Beer and Tobacco; Cupboards broken upon, etc. On my Chamber Floor, a greasy steeple-crowned Hat! Threw it forthe from the Window with a Pair of Tongs.
Mothergoes about the House weeping.Fathersits in his brokenArm-chair, the Picture of Disconsolateness. I see theAgnews, trueFriends! riding hither; and with them a Third, who, methinks, isRose'sBrotherRalph.
London. St. Martin's le Grand.
Trembling, weeping, hopefulle, dismaied, here I sit in mine Uncle's hired House, alone in a Crowd, scared at mine owne Precipitation, readie to wish myselfe back, unable to resolve, to reflect, to pray . . .
Twelve at Night.
Alle is silent; even in the latelie busie Streets. Why art thou cast down, my Heart? why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou stille in theLord, for he is the Joy and Light of thy Countenance. Thou hast beene long of learning him to be such. Oh, forget not thy Lesson now! Thy best Friend hath sanctioned, nay, counselled this Step, and overcome alle Obstacles, and provided the Means of this Journey; and to-morrow at Noone, if Events prove not cross, I shall have Speech of him whom my Soul loveth. To-night, let me watch, fast, and pray.
Friday; at Night.
How awfulle it is to beholde a Man weepe! mine owne Tears, when I think thereon, well forthe . . .
Rosewas a true Friend when she sayd, "Our prompt Affections are oft our wise Counsellors." Soe, she suggested and advised alle; wrung forthe my Father's Consent, and sett me on my Way, even putting Money in my Purse. Well for me, had she beene at my Journey's End as well as its Beginning.
'Stead of which, here was onlie mine Aunt; a slow, timid, uncertaynSoule, who proved but a broken Reed to lean upon.
Soe, alle I woulde have done arighte went crosse, the Letter never delivered, the Message delayed till he had left Home, soe that methought I shoulde goe crazie.
While the Boy, stammering in his lame Excuses, bore my chafed Reproaches the more humblie because he saw he had done me some grievous Hurt, though he knew not what, a Voice in the adjacent Chamber in Alternation with mine Uncle's, drove the Blood of a suddain from mine Heart, and then sent it back with impetuous Rush, for I knew the Accents right well.
Enters mine Aunt, alle flurried, and hushing her Voice. "Oh,Niece, he whom you wot of is here, but knoweth not you are at Hand, nor inLondon. Shall I tell him?"
But I gasped, and held her back by her Skirts; then, with a suddain secret Prayer, or Cry, or maybe, Wish, as 'twere, darted up unto Heaven for Assistance, I took noe Thought what I shoulde speak when confronted with him, but opening the Door between us, he then standing with his Back towards it, rushed forth and to his Feet—there sank, in a Gush of Tears; for not one Word coulde I proffer, nor soe much as look up.
A quick Hand was laid on my Head, on my Shoulder—as quicklie removed . . . and I was aware of the Door being hurriedlie opened and shut, and a Man hasting forthe; but 'twas onlie mine Uncle. Meantime, my Husband, who had at first uttered a suddain Cry or Exclamation, had now left me, sunk on the Ground as I was, and retired a Space, I know not whither, but methinks he walked hastilie to and fro. Thus I remained, agonized in Tears, unable to recal one Word of the humble Appeal I had pondered on my Journey, or to have spoken it, though I had known everie Syllable by Rote; yet not wishing myself, even in that Suspense, Shame, and Anguish, elsewhere than where I was cast, at mine Husband's Feet.
Or ever I was aware, he had come up, and caught me to his Breast: then, holding me back soe as to look me in the Face, sayd, in Accents I shall never forget,
"Much I coulde say to reproach, but will not! Henceforth, let us onlie recall this darke Passage of our deeplie sinfulle Lives, to quicken us toGod'sMercy, in affording us this Re-union. Let it deepen our Penitence, enhance our Gratitude."
Then, suddainlie covering up his Face with his Hands, he gave two or three Sobs; and for some few Minutes coulde not refrayn himself; but, when at length he uncovered his Eyes and looked down on me with Goodness and Sweetnesse, 'twas like the Sun's cleare shining after Raine. . . .
Shall I now destroy the disgracefulle Records of this blotted Book? I think not; for 'twill quicken me perhaps, as my Husband sayth, to "deeper Penitence and stronger Gratitude," shoulde I henceforthe be in Danger of settling on the Lees, and forgetting the deepe Waters which had nearlie closed over mine Head. At present, I am soe joyfulle, soe light of Heart under the Sense of Forgivenesse, that it seemeth as though Sorrow coulde lay hold of me noe more; and yet we are still, as 'twere, disunited for awhile; for my Husband is agayn shifting House, and preparing to move his increased Establishment intoBarbican, where he hath taken a goodly Mansion; and, until it is ready, I am to abide here. I might pleasantlie cavill at this; but, in Truth, will cavill at Nothing now.
I am, by this, full persuaded thatRalph'sTale concerning MissDavieswas a false Lie; though, at the Time, supposing it to have some Colour, it inflamed my Jealousie noe little. The cross Spight of that Youth led, under his Sister's Management, to an Issue his Malice never forecast; and now, though I might come at the Truth for Inquiry, I will not soe much as even soil my Mind with thinking of it agayn; for there is that Truth in mine Husband's Eyes, which woulde silence the Slanders of a hundred Liars. Chafed, irritated, he has beene, soe as to excite the sarcastic Constructions of those who wish him evill; but his Soul, and his Heart, and his Mind require a Flighte beyondRalph'sWitt to comprehende; and I know and feel that they aremine.
He hath just led in the twoPhillips'sto me, and left us together.Jacklookt at me askance, and held aloof; but deare littleNedthrew his Arms about me and wept, and I did weep too; seeing the which,Jackadvanced, gave me his Hand, and finally his Lips, then lookt at much as to say, "Now, Alle's right." They are grown, and are more comely than heretofore, which, in some Measure, is owing to theire Hair being noe longer cut strait and short after the Puritanicall Fashion I soe hate, but curled like their Uncle's.
I have writ, not the Particulars, but the Issue of my Journey, untoRose, whose loving Heart, I know, yearns for Tidings. Alsoe, more brieflie unto my Mother, who loveth not Mr.Milton.
Barbican, September, 1646.
In the Night-season, we take noe Rest; we search out our Hearts, and commune with our Spiritts, and checque our Souls' Accounts, before we dare court our Sleep; but in the Day of Happinesse we cut shorte our Reckonings; and here am I, a joyfulle Wife, too proud and busie amid my dailie Cares to have Leisure for more than a brief Note in myDiarium, asNedwoulde call it. 'Tis a large House, with more Rooms than we can fill, even with thePhillips'sand their Scholar-mates, olde Mr.Milton, and my Husband's Books to boot. I feel Pleasure in being housewifelie; and reape the Benefit of alle that I learnt of this Sorte atSheepscote. Mine Husband's Eyes follow me with Delight; and once with a perplexed yet pleased Smile, he sayd to me, "Sweet Wife, thou art strangelie altered; it seems as though I have indeede lost 'sweetMoll' after alle!"
Yes, I am indeed changed; more than he knows or coulde believe. And he is changed too. With Payn I perceive a more stern, severe Tone occasionallie used by him; doubtlesse the Cloke assumed by his Griefe to hide the Ruin I had made within. Yet a more geniall Influence is fast melting this away. Agayn, I note with Payn that he complayns much of his Eyes. At first, I observed he rubbed them oft, and dared not mention it, believing that his Tears on Account of me, sinfulle Soule! had made them smart. Soe, perhaps, they did in the first Instance, for it appears they have beene ailing ever since the Year I left him; and Overstuddy, which my Presence mighte have prevented, hath conduced to the same ill Effect. Whenever he now looks at a lighted Candle, he sees a Sort of Iris alle about it; and, this Morning, he disturbed me by mentioning that a total Darknesse obscured everie Thing on the left Side of his Eye, and that he even feared, sometimes, he might eventuallie lose the Sight of both. "In which Case," he cheerfully sayd, "you, deare Wife, must become my Lecturer as well as Amanuensis, and content yourself to read to me a World of crabbed Books, in Tongues that are not nor neede ever be yours, seeing that a Woman has ever enough of her own!"
Then, more pensivelie, he added, "I discipline and tranquillize my Mind on this Subject, ever remembering, when the Apprehension afflicts me, that, as Man lives not by Bread alone, but by everie Word that proceeds out of the Mouth ofGod, so Man likewise lives not bySightalone, but by Faith in the Giver of Sight. As long, therefore, as it shall please Him to prolong, however imperfectlie, this precious Gift, soe long will I lay up Store agaynst the Days of Darknesse, which may be many; and whensoever it shall please Him to withdrawe it from me altogether, I will cheerfully bid mine Eyes keep Holiday, and place my Hand trustfullie in His, to be led whithersoever He will, through the Remainder of Life."
A Honeymoon cannot for ever last; nor Sense of Danger, when it long hath past;—but one little Difference from out manie greater Differences between my late happie Fortnighte inSt. Martin's-le-Grand, and my present dailie Course inBarbican, hath marked the Distinction between Lover and Husband. There it was "sweetMoll," "my Heart's Life of Life," "my dearest cleaving Mischief;" here 'tis onlie "Wife," "MistressMilton," or at most "deare or sweet Wife." This, I know, is masterfulle and seemly.
Onlie, this Morning, chancing to quote one of his owne Lines,
These Things may startle well, but not astounde,—
he sayd, in a Kind of Wonder, "Why,Moll, whence had you that?—Methought you hated Versing, as you used to call it. When learnt you to love it?" I hung my Head in my old foolish Way, and answered, "Since I learnt to love the Verser." "Why, this is the best of Alle!" he hastilie cried, "Can my sweet Wife be indeede Heart of my Heart and Spirit of my Spirit? I lost, or drove away a Child, and have found a Woman." Thereafter, he less often wifed me, and I found I was agayn sweetMoll.
This Afternoon,Christopher Miltonlookt in on us. After saluting me with the usuall Mixture of Malice and Civilitie in his Looks, he fell into easie Conversation; and presentlie says to his Brother quietlie enough, "I saw a curious Pennyworth at a Book-stall as I came along this Morning." "What was that?" says my Husband, brightening up. "It had a long Name," saysChristopher,—"I think it was calledTetrachordon." My Husband cast at me a suddain, quick Look, but I did not soe much as change Colour; and quietlie continued my Sewing.
"I wonder," says he, after a Pause, "that you did not invest a small Portion of your Capitall in the Work, as you 'ay 'twas soe greate a Bargain. However, Mr.Kit, let me give you one small Hint with alle the goode Humour imaginable; don't take Advantage of our neare and deare Relation to make too frequent Opportunities of saying to me Anything that woulde certainlie procure for another Man a Thrashing!"
Then, after a short Silence betweene Alle, he suddainlie burst out laughing, and cried, "I know 'tis on the Stalk, I've seene it,Kit, myself! Oh, had you seene, as I did, the Blockheads poring over the Title, and hammering at it while you might have walked toMile Endand back!"
"That's Fame, I suppose," saysChristopherdrylie; and then goes off to talk of some new Exercise of the Press-licenser's Authoritie, which he seemed to approve, but it kindled my Husband in a Minute.
"What Folly! what Nonsense!" cried he, smiting the Table; "theseJacksin Office sometimes devise such senselesse Things that I really am ashamed of being of theire Party. Licence, indeed! their Licence! I suppose they will shortlie license the Lengthe ofMoll'sCurls, and regulate the Colour of her Hoode, and forbid the Larks to sing within Sounde ofBow Bell, and the Bees to hum o'Sundays. Methoughte I had brokenMabbot'sTeeth two Years agone; but I must bring forthe a new Edition of myAreopagitica; and I'll put your Name down,Kit, for a hundred Copies!"
October, 1646.
Though a rusticall Life hath ever had my Suffrages, Nothing can be more pleasant than our regular Course. We rise at five or sooner: while my Husband combs his Hair, he commonly hums or sings some Psalm or Hymn, versing it, maybe, as he goes on. Being drest,Nedreads him a Chapter in theHebrewBible. WithNedstille at his Knee, and me by his Side, he expounds and improves the Same; then, after a shorte, heartie Prayer, releases us both. Before I have finished my Dressing, I hear him below at his Organ, with the two Lads, who sing as well as Choristers, hymning Anthems andGregorianChants, now soaring up to the Clouds, as 'twere, and then dying off as though some wide echoing Space lay betweene us. I usuallie find Time to tie on my Hoode and slip away to the Herb-market for a Bunch of fresh Radishes or Cresses, a Sprig of Parsley, or at the leaste a Posy, to lay on his Plate. A good wheaten Loaf, fresh Butter and Eggs, and a large Jug of Milk, compose our simple Breakfast; for he likes not, as my Father, to see Boys hacking a huge Piece of Beef, nor cares for heavie feeding, himself. Onlie, olde Mr.Miltonsometimes takes a Rasher of toasted Bacon, but commonly, a Basin of Furmity, which I prepare more to his Minde than the Servants can.