Life Of John Milton by Richard Garnett (best free novels TXT) 📖

To Have Done Upon "The Handsome And Witty

Gentlewoman." One Would Like To Know Whether She And Mistress Milton

Ever Met,  And What They Said To And Thought Of Each Other. For The

Present,  Mary Milton Dwelt With Christopher's Mother-In-Law,  And About

September Joined Her Husband In The More Commodious House In The

Barbican Whither He Was Migrating At The Time Of The Reconciliation. It

Stood Till 1864,  When It Was Destroyed By A Railway Company.

 

Soon After Removing To The Barbican,  Milton Set His Muse's House In

Order,  By Publishing Such Poems,  English And Latin,  As He Deemed Worthy

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Of Presentation. It Is A Remarkable Proof Both Of His Habitual

Cunctativeness And His Dependence On The Suggestions Of Others,  That He

Should So Long Have Allowed Such Pieces To Remain Uncollected,  And

Should Only Have Collected Them At All At The Solicitation Of The

Publisher,  Humphrey Moseley. The Transaction Is Most Honourable To The

Latter. "It Is Not Any Private Respect Of Gain," He Affirms; "For The

Slightest Pamphlet Is Nowadays More Vendible Than The Works Of

Learnedest Men,  But It Is The Love I Bear To Our Own Language.... I Know

Not Thy Palate,  How It Relishes Such Dainties,  Nor How Harmonious Thy

Soul Is: Perhaps More Trivial Airs May Please Better.... Let The Event

Guide Itself Which Way It Will,  I Shall Deserve Of The Age By Bringing

Forth Into The Light As True A Birth As The Muses Have Brought Forth

Since Our Famous Spenser Wrote." The Volume Was Published On Jan. 2,

1646. It Is Divided Into Two Parts,  With Separate Title-Pages,  The First

Containing The English Poems,  The Second The Latin. They Were Probably

Sold Separately. The Frontispiece,  Engraved By Marshall,  Is

Unfortunately A Sour And Silly Countenance,  Passing As Milton's,  But

Against Which He Protests In Four Lines Of Greek Appended,  Which The

Worthy Marshall Seems To Have Engraved Without Understanding Them. The

British Museum Copy In The King's Library Contains An Additional Ms.

Poem Of Considerable Merit,  In A Hand Which Some Have Thought Like

Milton's,  But Few Now Believe It To Have Been Either Written Or

Transcribed By Him. It Is Dated 1647,  But For Which Circumstance One

Might Indulge The Fancy That The Copy Had Been A Gift From Him To Some

Italian Friend,  For The Binding Is Italian,  And The Book Must Have Seen

Italy.

 

Milton Was Now To Learn What He Afterwards Taught,  That "They Also Serve

Who Only Stand And Wait." He Had Challenged Obloquy In Vindication Of

What He Deemed Right: The Cross Actually Laid Upon Him Was To Fill His

House With Inimical And Uncongenial Dependants On His Bounty And

Protection. The Overthrow Of The Royalist Cause Was Utterly Ruinous To

The Powells. All Went To Wreck On The Surrender Of Oxford In June,  1646.

The Family Estate Was Only Saved From Sequestration By A Friendly

Neighbour Taking Possession Of It Under Cover Of His Rights As Creditor;

The Family Mansion Was Occupied By The Parliamentarians,  And The

Household Stuff Sold To The Harpies That Followed In Their Train; The

"Malignant's" Timber Went To Rebuild The Good Town Of Banbury. It Was

Impossible For The Powells To Remain In Oxfordshire,  And Milton Opened

His Doors To Them As Freely As Though There Had Never Been Any

Estrangement. Father,  Mother,  Several Sons And Daughters Came To Dwell

In A House Already Full Of Pupils,The Executioners Caught Him

And Laid Him On The Cross.

 

Suddenly The Crowd Drew Back.  Many Did Not Want To See What Was Going

On.  They Were Dumb.  They Had Never Dreamed Of This.  The Gentleness

With Which He Bore All The Torture,  The Scorn,  The Death Before His

Eyes,  This Heroic Calm Weighed Like A Mountain On Their Hard Hearts.

Those Who Had Formerly Despised Him Now Wanted To Hate Him,  But They

Could Not.  They Were Powerless Before This Overwhelming Gentleness.

What A Sound!  That Of A Hammer Beating On Iron!  "How The Blood

Spurts!" Whispered Someone.  Two Hammers Hit The Nails,  And At Each

Blow Heaven And Earth Trembled.  The Crowd Held Its Breath,  And Not A

Sound Was Heard From The Town.  Nothing But The Ringing Of The Hammer.

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Then Suddenly A Heartrending Cry Was Heard In The Crowd.  It Came From

A Strange Woman Who Had Pushed Through It And Sank To The Ground.  The

Mass Of People Drew Away More And More,  No One Would Stand In Front,

Yet Each Stretched His Neck So As To See Over The Others' Heads.  They

Saw The Stake Lifted Up And Then Sink Again.  The Captain's Orders

Could Be Heard Plainly And Clearly.  Then The Cross Stood Up Straight.

At First The Long Stake Was Seen Above Their Heads,  Bearing A White

Placard.  Then The Cross-Beams Appeared On Which Trembling Human Arms

Were Seen,  Then The Head Moving In Agonising Pain.  Thus Did The Cross

With The Naked Human Body Rise In The Air.  Slowly It Rose,  Supported

By Poles,  And As Soon As It Stood Straight The Foot Of The Cross Was

Set So Roughly In Its Hole That The Body Shook With A Dull Groan.  The

Wounds Made By The Nails In The Hands And Feet Were Torn Open,  The

Blood Ran In Dark Streams Over The White Body,  Down The Stake,  And

Dropped On The Ground.  And From The Lips Of Him On The Cross This Loud

Cry Was Heard,  "O,  Father,  Forgive Them,  Forgive Them!  For They Know

Not What They Do."

 

A Strange Murmur Arose In The Crowd,  And Those Who Had Not Understood

The Cry Asked Their Neighbours To Repeat It.  "He Asks Pardon For His

Enemies?  For His Enemies?  He Is Praying For His Enemies?"

 

"Then--Then He Cannot Be Human!"

 

"He Forgives Those Who Despised,  Slandered,  Scorned,  Beat,  Crucified

Him?  When Dying He Thinks Of His Enemies And Pardons Them?  Then It Is

As He Said,  He Is Indeed The Christ!  I Always Thought He Was The

Christ.  I Said So Only Last Sabbath!"  The Voices Grew Louder.

Schobal,  The Old Clothes Dealer,  Pushed About In The Crowd And Offered

The Messiah's Coat For Twenty Pence.

 

"If He Is The Messiah," Shouted A Rabbi Hoarsely,  "Let Him Free

Himself.  He Who Wants To Help Others And Cannot Help Himself Is A Poor

Sort Of Messiah."

 

"Now,  Master," Exclaimed A Pharisee,  "If You Would Rebuild The

Shattered Temple,  Now's The Time.  Come Down From The Cross,  And We'll

Believe In You."  The Man On The Cross Looked At The Two Mockers In

Deep Sadness,  And They Became Silent.  Suddenly A Passage In The

Scriptures Flashed Into Their Minds: "He Was Wounded For Our

Transgressions!"

 

When They Had All Drawn Back From The Cross,  And The Executioners Were

Preparing To Raise Up The Two Desert Robbers,  The Woman Who Had

Swooned,  Supported By The Disciple John,  Tottered Up To The Tall Cross

And Put Her Arms Round Its Trunk So That The Blood Ran Down Upon Her.

So Infinite Was Her Pain That It Seemed As If Seven Swords Had Pierced

Her Heart.  Jesus Looked Down,  And How Muffled Was The Voice In Which

He Said: "John,  Take Care Of My Mother!  Mother,  Here Is John,  Your

Son!"

 

A Murmur Arose In The Crowd: "His Mother?  Is That His Mother?  Oh,

Poor Things!  And The Handsome Young Man His Brother?  The Poor

Creatures!  Look How He Turns To Them As If He Would Comfort Them."

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Many A Man Passed His Hand Over His Eyes,  The Women Sobbed Aloud.  And

A Dull Lamentation Began To Go Through The People--The Same People Who

Had So Angrily Demanded His Death.  And They Talked Together.

 

"He Can't Suffer Much Longer."

 

"No,  I've Had Some Experience.  I've Been Here Every Passover.  But

This Time----"

 

"If I Onome Experience.  Ily Knew What Is Written On The Tablet."

 

"Over His Head?  My Sight Seems To Have Gone."

 

"Inri!" Exclaimed Somebody,

 

"Inri!  Somebody Calls Out 'Inri.'"

 

"Those Are The Letters On The Tablet."

 

"But The Man's Name's Not Inri."

 

"Something Quite Different,  My Friend.  That Is Pilate's Joke.  _Jesus

Nazarenus Rex Judaeorum_."

 

"Don't Talk To Me In That Accursed Latin Tongue."

 

"In Good Hebrew: Jesus Of Nazareth,  King Of The Jews."

 

"Now,  They've Got Him In The Middle," Said Another,  For The Two Robbers

Had Been Hoisted Up To The Right And Left Of Him.  The One On The Left

Stretched Out His Neck,  And Mocked At Jesus With A Distorted Face: "I

Suppose,  Neighbour,  That You Too Are One Of Those Who Get Executed Just

Because They Are Weaklings.  Jump From The Cross,  Rush Among Them,  And

The Wretches Will Idolise You!"

 

Jesus Did Not Answer Him.  He Turned His Head Towards The Man Who Hung

On His Right Who Saw The Moment Approaching When His Legs Would Be

Broken.  In The Agony Of Death,  And In Penitence For His Ill-Spent

Life,  He Turned To Him Whom They Called Messiah And Christ.  And When

He Saw The Expression With Which Jesus Looked At Him,  A Curious Shudder

Passed Through The Criminal's Heart.  How The Man On The Cross Gazed At

Him,  With His Fading Eyes--My God!--It Was The Never-To-Be-Forgotten

Holy Look Which A Little Child Had Given Him In The Days Of His Youth.

Dismas Began To Weep,  And Said: "Lord,  You Are From Heaven!  When You

Return Home,  Remember Me."

 

And Jesus Said To Him: "There Is Mercy For All Who Repent!  To-Day,

Dismas,  You And I Will Be Together At The Heavenly Father's Home."

 

"He Is From Heaven!" Was Heard In The Crowd.  "He Is From Heaven!"  One

Of The Roman Soldiers Threw His Spear Away,  And Exclaimed In Immense

Excitement: "Verily,  He Is The Son Of God!"

 

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"The Son Of God!  The Son Of God!  Set Him Free!  It Is The Son