Sabrina rises attended by water nymphs,
"By the rushy-fringed bank,
Where grows the willow and the osier dank,"
(_Comus_).
[Illustration: Comus colour plate]
The manservant Greene, breakfast being concluded, read aloud, or wrote
to his master's dictation for some hours. This had formerly been the
girls' daily office, but they were revolting more and more,--the whole
position was becoming untenable, for they resented the presence of their
stepmother as much as they disliked the duties which fettered them to
their father's side, and forced them to parrot-like, futile drudgery in
unknown tongues. To-day, however, Greene was relieved of the task, for
which he was manifestly but ill-fitted, by the entrance of Milton's two
favourite visitors.
No celebrity ever had fewer friends. From all who might have called
themselves such, he was separated by hostility of party, rancour of
sect or by that almost repellent isolation of character to which
reference has already been made. When at the highest of his political
fame, he had almost boasted himself of this "splendid isolation,"--"I
have very little acquaintance with those in power, inasmuch as I keep
very much to my own house, and prefer to do so." At heart a Republican
beyond the conception of any Roundhead,--cherishing a form of religion
so recondite that it could be classed under no heading, since he ignored
both public worship and family prayer,--having given offence to all and
sundry by his outspoken theories upon divorce and divine right,--Milton
presented to most men a dangerous personality. And most of all now, when
the wits of the Restoration roués could be sharpened upon him, and when
the heathen, as he considered them, roistered and ruffled it through the
city that had "returned to her wallowing in the mire."
Yet those who had sat at his feet as pupils, retained a singular
affection for their former master. For all such young folk as adopted
the disciple's attitude, the stern self-contained man had a very soft
spot in his heart. With such, he was not only instructive, but genial,
almost cheerful; and they alone could move him to the only utterances
which were neither "solemn, serious or sad." Chief among his former
pupils were those who now made entrance--Henry Lawrence and Cyriac
Skinner.
It may be guessed, therefore, with what pleasure the blind poet received
these loyal and affectionate men. His pensive face became transformed
with interest and animation, as with gentle courtesy and unfeigned
delight he turned his sightless eyes from one speaker to another. Upon
every subject he had a ready flow of easy, colloquial conversation,
seasoned with shrewd satire: his deep and musical voice ran up and down
the whole gamut of worthy topics. Sometimes he fell into the stately,
almost stilted diction of his great prose pamphlets,--sometimes he spoke
in racy English vernacular,--sometimes, warming to his subject, he
assumed an almost fiery eloquence. But when, at twelve o'clock, he was
escorted downstairs to dinner in the parlour, the metamorphosis was
complete. This was no longer the brooding introspective man of the early
morning, but one "extreme pleasant in his conversation," almost merry in
society so congenial,--the life of the party: abstinent, but not ascetic,
having a healthy, human enjoyment of the dishes set before him.
"These are the victuals most to my liking," he observed as he ate,
"being seasonable and withal of no great cost. For that which is of great
rarity or richness, and must be procured with care or toil, hath no
temptation for me."
"I do always my best, Mr. Milton," replied his wife, "that you shall be
well satisfied: and methinks to-day I have hit your taste right fairly."
"God ha' mercy, Betty," said Milton, regarding her with an air of kindly
tolerance, "I see thou wilt perform according to thy promise in providing
me such dishes as I think fit while I live; and when I die, thou knowest
I have left thee all." Here Anne, Mary and Deborah sat up very straight,
and directed looks of fury and astonishment towards their stepmother.
"Talk not o' dying, in God's name, man," responded the embarrassed Betty,
"we have enough to do to make shift to live, nowadays," and she hastily
pressed her good but simple fare, homely Cheshire dishes well-prepared,
upon the two guests. "Such a many learned foreign folk have visited our
poor house these latter days,--time hath failed me for my
cheese-cakes,--and of the havercakes I made two days agone, why, not a
crumb is left. But eat, my masters, eat and drink. Though these be but
country victuals, none of your Court kickshaws, I warrant you they are
fresh and savoury. I would commend you, now, to this rabbit pie--"
"Peace, Betty, peace. The woman prates o' pies like a pie (magpie)
herself. What saith the Apostle? _I suffer not a woman to speak_ in
presence of the man's authority. Ha' done, good Betty, with thy harping
on kitchen matters,--let thy savoury messes be companioned with a sauce
of silence."
Temporary eclipse of Mrs. Milton: obvious and malevolent satisfaction of
Anne and Mary: desperately suppressed inclination to giggle on the part
of little Deborah: and a desire to cover up the situation with talk, as
regards kindly Lawrence and courtly Skinner.
The "foreign folk" were no new thing. Milton's fame, indeed, was European:
as a prose-writer and pamphleteer, be it understood, not as a poet. Had
he not refuted and put to shame the most erudite scholars of the day?
Foreign _savants_ of note, therefore, who might be visiting London, were
desirous to acquaint themselves with so powerful a personality: and the
little house in the Artillery Walk was the rendezvous for many
distinguished persons. They found their host no such recluse as town-talk
might have led them to imagine, but one ready and willing to converse
with them,--an English gentleman to the backbone, a scholar and artist
to the finger-tips. His Continental tours and Italian sojourns had made
him less insular than most of his compatriots, and his vast range of
reading had imparted a certain cosmopolitanism to his exceedingly
individual lines of thought. The visitors found him, moreover, employed
upon a work so important, and of a theme so lofty, as might well give
them pause, considering the circumstances under which it was being
accomplished: and whatever their particular religious tenets might be,
they could not fail to admire the magnitude of his aim in composing
_Paradise Lost_,--"To justify the ways of God to men."