A period rich in literature.--John Milton's early life.--Writing
"Paradise Lost."--Its publication and success.--His later works and
death.--John Dryden gossips with wits and players.--Lord Rochester's
revenge.--Elkanah Settle.--John Crowne.--Thomas Otway rich in
miseries.--Dryden assailed by villains.--The ingenious Abraham
Cowley.--The author of "Hudibras."--Young Will Wycherley and Lady
Castlemaine--The story of his marriage.--Andrew Marvell, poet and
politician.--John Bunyan.
The men of genius who lived in the days of the merry monarch have
rendered his reign, like that of Elizabeth, illustrious in the annals
of literature. The fact of "Paradise Lost," the "Pilgrim's Progress,"
"Hudibras," and "Alexander's Feast" being given to the world whilst
Charles II. occupied the throne, would have sufficiently marked the
epoch as one exceeding in intellectual brilliancy; but besides these
works, an abundance of plays, poems, satires, treatises, and histories
added fresh lustre to this remarkable age.
At the period of the restoration, John Milton had reached his
fifty-second year. He had studied in the University of Cambridge;
published the "Masque of Comus;" likewise a treatise against the
Established Church; taught school at Aldersgate Street; married a wife
and advocated divorce; printed a pamphlet to compose the minds of
those disturbed by the murder of Charles I.; as also a defence of his
murderers, justifying the monarch's execution, for which the author was
awarded a thousand pounds; had become secretary to Cromwell, whom he
stooped to flatter; and had even, on the advent of his majesty's
return, written and set forth "A Ready and Easy Way to establish a Free
Commonwealth." ["To your virtue," writes John Milton to Oliver Cromwell,
"overpowering and resistless, every man gives way, except some who,
without equal qualifications, aspire to equal honours, who envy the
distinctions of merit greater than their own, and who have yet to learn
that, in the coalition of human society, nothing is more pleasing to
God, or more agreeable to reason, than that the highest mind should have
the sovereign power. Such, sir, are you, by general confession: such
are the things achieved by you, the greatest and most glorious of
our countrymen, the director of our public councils, the leader of
unconquered armies the father of your country; for by that title does
every good man hail you with sincere and voluntary praise."]
On the landing of Charles II. Milton withdrew to the privacy afforded
by a residence in Bartholomew Close, near West Smithfield. For a time he
was apprehensive of punishment. His pamphlet justifying the late king's
execution was, with others of a like kind, burned by the common hangman;
but though parliament ordered the attorney-general would prosecute the
authors of these works, Milton was neither seized nor brought to trial.
Soon after his arrival, Charles published an act of grace promising free
pardon to those instrumental in overthrowing his father's government,
with the exception of such as had contrived his death; and inasmuch as
Milton had but justified that monstrous act after it had taken place,
he escaped condemnation. Moreover, he received a special pardon, which
passed the privy seal in December, 1660. His escape has been attributed
to his friend Davenant. This loyal soldier had, when taken by Cromwell's
troopers in the civil war, been condemned to speedy death; from which,
by Milton's intercession, he escaped; an act of mercy Davenant
now repaid in kind, by appealing to his friends in behalf of the
republican's safety.
Having secured his freedom, Milton lived in peace and obscurity in Jewin
Street, near Aldersgate Street. During the commonwealth his first wife,
the mother of his three children, had died; on which he sought solace
and companionship in a union with Catherine Woodcock, who survived her
marriage but twelve months; and being left free once more, he, in the
year of grace 1661, entered into the bonds of holy matrimony for a third
time, with Elizabeth Minshul, a lady of excellent family and shrewish
temper, who rendered his daughters miserable in their father's lifetime,
and defrauded them after his death.
In order to support his family he continued to keep a school, and
likewise employed himself in writing "Paradise Lost" the composition of
which he had begun five years previously. From his youth upwards he
had been ambitious to furnish the world with some important work; and
prevision of resulting fame had given him strength and fortitude in
periods of difficulty and depression. And now the time had arrived for
realization of his dream, though stricken by blindness, harassed by an
unquiet wife, and threatened by poverty, he laboured sore for fame. The
more fully to enjoy quiet necessary to his mental condition, he removed
to a house in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields. His life was one of
simplicity. He rose as early as four o'clock in summer and five in
winter, and being "smit with the love of sacred song," had a chapter of
the Bible read to him; studied until twelve, dined frugally at one, and
afterwards held discourse with such friends as came to visit him.
One of these was Thomas Elwood, a quaker much esteemed amongst good
men, who, in order that he might enjoy the advantages of the poet's
conversation, read Latin to him every afternoon save Sunday. The whilst
his voice rose and fell in regular monotony, the blind man drank his
words with thirsty ears; and so acute were the senses remaining to him,
that when Elwood read what he did not understand, Milton perceived it by
the inflection of his voice, and stopped him to explain the passage. In
fair weather the poet wandered abroad, enjoying the fragrance of sweet
pasture land, and the warmth of glad sunlight he might not behold. And
anon, seated in a high-backed chair without his door, his straight pale
face full of repose and dignity, his light brown hair falling in curls
upon his shoulders, his large grey eyes, "clear to outward view of
blemish or of spot," fixed on vacancy, his figure clad in coarse
cloth--he received those who sought his society.
In their absence the poet spent solitary hours conning over as many
lines of the great poem as his memory could store, until one of his
friends arrived, and relieved him by taking the staazas down. Frequently
his nephew, Edward Philips, performed this task for him. To him Milton
was in the habit of showing his work as it advanced, and Philips
states he found it frequently required correction in orthography and
punctuation, by reason of the various hands which had written it. As
summer advanced, he was no longer favoured by a sight of the poem;
inquiring the reason of which, Milton told him "his vein never happily
flowed but from the autumnal equinox to the vernal; and that whatever
he attempted at other times was never to his satisfaction, though he
courted his fancy never so much."
In the year 1665 "Paradise Lost" was completed, but no steps were taken
towards its publication, as the author, in company with his neighbours,
fled from the dreaded plague. The following year the citizens were
harassed by losses sustained from the great fire, so that Milton did not
seek to dispose of his poem until 1667; when, on the 27th of April, it
was sold to Samuel Simmons, a publisher residing in Aldersgate Street.
The agreement entered into stated Milton should receive an immediate
payment of five pounds, with the stipulation that he should be given an
equal sum on sale of thirteen hundred copies of the first edition, and
five pounds on disposal of the same number of the second edition, and
yet five pounds more after another such sale of the third edition.
Each edition was to number fifteen hundred books. Two years after the
publication of "Paradise Lost," its author received the second payment
of five pounds; five years later a third payment was made him; before
the fourth fell due his life had been set free from care.
From the first his poem had come in contact with a few receptive minds,
and borne the blessed fruit of appreciation. Richardson recounts that
Sir John Denham, a poet and man of culture, one morning brought a
sheet of the great epic fresh from the press to his friend Sir George
Hungerford. "Why, what have you there?" asked the latter. "Part of the
noblest poem that was ever written in any, language or in any age," said
Sir John, as he laid the pages before him. And a few weeks later my Lord
Dorset, looking over a bookstall in Little Britain, found a copy of this
work, which he opened carelessly at first, until he met some passages
which struck him with surprise and filled him with admiration: observing
which the honest bookseller besought him to speak in favour of the poem,
for it lay upon his hands like so much waste-paper. My lord bought a
copy, carried it home, read and sent it to Dryden, who, in due time
returning the volume, expressed his opinion of its merits in flattering
terms. "The author," said he, "cuts us all out--aye, even the ancients
too."
Such instances as these were, however, few in number. That the work did
not meet with wider appreciation and quicker sale is not surprising
when it is called to mind that from 1623 to 1664 but two editions of
Shakespeare's works, comprising in all about one thousand copies, had
been printed. In an age when learning was by no means universal, and
polite reading uncommon, it was indeed a scource of congratulation,
rather than a topic for commiseration, that the work of a republican had
in two years reached a sale of thirteen hundred copies.
Before a third edition was required his fame had spread. The house in
which he had been born, in Bread Street, was shown with pride to foreign
visitors; parents sent their sons to read to him, that they might reap
the benefit of his remarks. The latter testimony to his genius was a
tribute the blind poet appreciated. But it happened there were times
and seasons when these obliging youths were not at hand, or when it was
inconvenient for him to receive them. On such occasions he demanded that
his daughters should read him the books he required, though these
were frequently written in Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, and
Spanish--languages of which they were wholly ignorant. The torment this
inflicted on those striving to pronounce unaccustomed words which had
no meaning to their ears, and the torture endured by him, may readily be
conceived. Expressions of complaint on the one side, and of pain on
the other, continually interrupted the readings, which were eventually
wholly abandoned; the poet sending his children, whose education was
so limited that they were unable to write, to learn "ingenious sorts
of manufacture proper for women, particularly embroideries in gold and
Silver."
When in 1665 Milton had shown his poem to Elwood, the good quaker
observed, "Thou hast said a great deal upon Paradise Lost: what hast
thou to say upon Paradise Found?" This question resting in the poet's
mind, in due time produced fruit; for no sooner had his first poem been
published than he set about composing the latter, which, under the name
of "Paradise Regained," was given to the world in 1670 "This," said he
to Elwood, "is owing to you; for you put it into my head by the question
which you put to me, which otherwise I had not thought of." This poem,
he believed, had merits far superior to those of "Paradise Lost," which
he could not bear to hear praised in preference to "Paradise Regained."
In the same year he published "Samson Agonistes," and two years later
a treatise on "Logic," and another on "True Religion, Heresy, Schism,
Toleration, and the Best Methods to Prevent the Growth of Popery." In
this, the mind which had soared to heaven and descended to hell in its
boundless flight, argues that catholics should not be allowed the
right of public or private worship. In the last year of his life he
republished his "Juvenile Poems," together with "Familiar Epistles in
Latin."
He had now reached his sixty-sixth year. His life had been saddened by
blindness, his health enfeebled by illness, his domesticity troubled by
his first marriage and his last, his desires disappointed by the result
of political events. So that when, on the 10th of November, 1674, death
summoned him, he departed without regret.
Amongst those who visited Milton was John Dryden, whom the author of
"Paradise Lost" regarded as "a good rhymester, but no poet," an opinion
with which posterity has not held. At the restoration, John Dryden was
in his twenty-ninth year. The son of Sir Erasmus Dryden, Baronet, of
Canons Ashby, he enjoyed an income of two hundred pounds a year, a sum
then considered sufficient to defray the expenses of a young man of good
breeding. He had passed through Westminster School, taken a degree at
Cambridge, written a eulogistic stanza on the death of Cromwell, and a
joyous poem on the happy restoration of the merry monarch.
Three years after the arrival of his majesty, Dryden's comedy entitled
"The Wild Gallant" was produced, this being the first of twenty-eight
plays which followed. In the year 1668 he had the honour to succeed Sir
William Davenant as poet laureate, the salary attached to which office
was one hundred pounds a year and a tierce of wine. His dignity was
moreover enhanced, though his happiness was by no means increased, by
his marriage with the Lady Elizabeth Howard, daughter of the Earl of
Berkshire. For my lady's temper sorely marred the poet's peace, and
left such impressions upon his mind, that to the end of his days his
invectives against the bonds of matrimony were bitter and deep. In
justice it must be mentioned the Lady Elizabeth's mental condition
was supposed to be unsettled; a conjecture which was proved true by a
madness which befell her, subsequent to her husband's death.
Dryden was now a well known figure in town, consorting with men of
the highest quality and parts, and gossiping with wits and players
who frequented Will's coffee-house. Here, indeed, a special chair was
appropriated to his use; which being placed by the fire in winter, and
on the balcony in summer, he was pleased to designate as his winter and
his summer seat. At Will's he was wont to hold forth on the ingenuity of
his plays, the perfection of his poems, and the truth of astrology. It
was whilst leaving this coffee house one night a memorable occurrence
befell the poet, of which more anon.
It happened at one time the brilliant, poetical, and mercurial Earl of
Rochester extended his favour and friendship towards Dryden, gratified
by which, the poet had, after the manner of those days, dedicated a play
to him, "Marriage a la Mode." This favour his lordship received with
graciousness, and no doubt repaid with liberality. After a while,
Dryden, led by choice or interest, sought a new patron in the person of
the Earl of Mulgrave. For this nobleman Rochester had long entertained
a bitter animosity, which had arisen from rivalry, and had been
intensified from the fact that Rochester, refusing to fight him, had
been branded as a coward. Not daring to attack the peer, Rochester
resolved to avenge himself upon the poet. In order to effect his
humiliation, the earl at once bestowed his favour on Elkanah Settle, a
playwright and poet of mean abilities. He had originally been master
of a puppet-show, had written verses to order for city pageants, and
produced a tragedy in heroic verse, entitled "Cambyses, King of Persia."
His patron being at this time in favour with the king, introduced Settle
to the notice of the court, and induced the courtiers to play his second
tragedy, "The Empress of Morocco," at Whitehall, before their majesties.
This honour, which Dryden, though poet laureate, had never received,
gave Elkanah Settle unmerited notoriety; the benefit of which was
apparent by the applause his tragedy received when subsequently produced
at the Duke's Theatre in Dorset Gardens. Nor did the honour and profit
which "The Empress of Morocco" brought him end here; it was published by
William Cademan, and had the distinction of being the first English play
ever illustrated, or sold for the price of two shillings. It was scarce
to be expected, in an age when men ventilated their merest grievances by
the publication of pamphlets, Dryden could refrain from pointing out to
the public the mistake into which they had fallen by honouring this man.
Nor was he singular in his feelings of animosity. The poets Shadwell and
Crowne, believing themselves ignored and neglected, whilst their rival
was enriched and exalted, joined Dryden in writing a merciless criticism
upon Settle's tragedy. This was entitled "The Empress of Morocco,
or some few erratas to be printed instead of the sculptures
[Illustrations.], with the second edition of the play." In this Settle
was described as "an animal of a most deplored intellect, without
reading and understanding;" whilst his play was characterized as "a tale
told by an idiot, full of noise and fury signifying nothing." To these
remarks and others of like quality, Settle replied in the same strain,
so that the quarrel diverted the town and even disturbed the quiet of
the universities. Time did ample justice to both men; lowering Settle
to play the part of a dragon in a booth at Bartholomew Fair, and
consecrating Dryden to immortality.
Before the clamour resulting from this dispute had ended, Rochester,
fickle and eccentric, grew weary of his PROTEGE and consequently
abandoned him. He had not, however, tired of humiliating the laureate,
and to mortify him the more, introduced a new poet at court, This
was John Crowne, a man then little known to the town, and now best
remembered as author of "Sir Courtly Nice," a comedy of wit and
entertainment. So well did he succeed in obtaining favour at court,
through Rochester's influence, that the queen ordered him to write a
masque. This command he immediately obeyed, producing "Calisto, or the
Chaste Nymph," which was acted at Whitehall by the Duke of York's fair
daughters, the Princesses Mary and Anne, together with many gracious
ladies and noble lords. Dryden, probably the better to hide the
mortification he felt at seeing his office as laureate unceremoniously
usurped, offered to write an epilogue for the occasion; but this service
was, through Rochester's interference, rejected. The masque proved a
brilliant success; "the dancing, singing, and music, which were all in
the highest perfection, and the graceful action, incomparable beauty,
and splendid habits of those ladies who accompanied them, afforded the
spectators extraordinary delight." "Calisto" was therefore performed
thirty times.
The author's gratitude for his lordship's patronage was only equalled
by his disappointment upon its hasty withdrawal. Growing weary of him,
Rochester found a more worthy object for his favour in Thomas Otway, a
poet rich in all the miseries which afflicted genius in those days. Son
of the rector of Woolbeding, pupil at Winchester School, and commoner
of Christchurch, Cambridge, he had on his arrival in town vainly sought
employment as an actor, and barely earned bread as a play-writer. Before
he became a PROTEGE of my Lord Rochester he had written "Alcibiades," a
tragedy, he being then, in 1665, in his twenty-fifth year. His next play
was "Don Carlos, Prince of Spain," which, through the earl's influence,
gained great success. In the preface to this tragedy he acknowledges his
unspeakable obligations to my lord, who he says made it his business to
establish "Don Carlos" in the good opinion of the king and of his royal
highness the Duke of York. Unwarned by the fate of his predecessors,
and heedless of the fickleness of his patron, he basked in hope in the
present, mercifully unconscious of the cruel death by starvation which
awaited him in the future. Alas! Rochester not only forsook him, but
loaded him with satire in a poem entitled "Session of the Poets."
In verses which he wrote soon after, entitled "An Allusion to the Tenth
Satire," Rochester likewise attacked Dryden; who, in the preface of his
"All for Love," replied in like manner. Then there appeared an "Essay on
Satire," which ridiculed the king, dealt severely with his mistresses,
said uncivil things of the courtiers in general, and of my Lord
Rochester in particular. The noble earl was indeed described as being
"lewd in every limb," affected in his wit, mean in his actions, and
cowardly in his disposition. Now, though this was conceived and brought
forth by my Lord Mulgrave, Rochester suspected Dryden of its authorship,
and resolved to punish him forthwith. Accordingly on the night of the
18th of December, 1679, when Dryden was passing through Rose Street,
Covent Garden, on his homeward way from Will's Coffee House, he was
waylaid by some ruffians, and, before he could draw his sword, promptly
surrounded and severely beaten.
This occurrence caused considerable sensation throughout the town, and
though surmises arose in many minds as to who had hired the bravoes, it
was found impossible to prove them. In hope of gaining some clue to the
instigator of the attack, Dryden caused the following advertisement to
be inserted in the LONDON GAZETTE AND DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE for three
consecutive days: "Whereas John Dryden, Esq., was on Monday, the 18th
instant, at night, barbarously assaulted and wounded in Rose Street, in
Covent Garden, by divers men unknown; if any person shall make discovery
of the said offenders to the said Mr. Dryden, or to any justice of the
peace, he shall not only receive fifty pounds, which is deposited in the
hands of Mr. Blanchard Goldsmith, next door to Temple Bar, for the said
purpose; but if he be a principal or an accessory in the said fact, his
majesty is graciously pleased to promise him his pardon for the same."
Dryden sought no opportunity for revenge; for which restraint, outliving
Rochester, and having a noble mind and generous disposition, he was no
doubt glad at heart. Not only did he survive the earl, but likewise the
king. To the company and conversation of that gracious sovereign the
poet was frequently admitted, a privilege which resulted in satisfaction
and pleasure to both. One pleasant day towards the end of his majesty's
reign, whilst they walked in the Mall, Charles said to him, "If I were
a poet, and indeed I think I am poor enough to be one, I would write a
satire on sedition." Taking this hint, Dryden speedily set himself to
work, and brought a poem on such a subject to his royal master, who
rewarded him with a hundred broad pieces.
Amongst Dryden's friends was the excellent and ingenious Abraham Cowley,
whose youth had given the promise of distinction his manhood fulfilled.
It is related that when quite a lad, he found in the window recess of
his mother's apartment a copy of Spencer's "Faerie Queene." Opening the
book, he read it with delight, and his receptive mind reflecting the
poet's fire, he resolved likewise to exercise the art of poesy. In 1628,
when at the age of ten, he wrote "The Tragic History of Pyramus and
Thisbe;" five years later he published a volume of poems; and whilst yet
a schoolboy wrote his pastoral comedy, "Love's Riddle."
When at St. John's College, Oxford, he gave proof of his loyalty by
writing a poem entitled the "Puritan and the Papist," which gained him
the friendship of courtiers. On the Queen of Charles I. taking refuge in
France, he soon followed her, and becoming secretary to the Earl of St.
Albans, conducted the correspondence between her majesty and the king,
ciphering and deciphering their letters, and such as were sent or
received by those immediately concerned in the cause of royalty. In this
situation he remained until four years previous to the restoration, when
he was sent into England for the purpose of observing the condition of
the nation, and reporting the same. Scarce had he set foot in London
when he was seized, examined, and only liberated on a friend offering
bail for him to the amount of one thousand pounds.
The better to disguise the object of his visit, and lull suspicions of
republicans, he took out the degree of Doctor of Physic at Oxford; after
which he retired into Kent, where he devoted a great portion of his
time to the study of botany and the composition of poetry. On Cromwell's
death he hastened to France, and remained there until the king's return;
which he celebrated by a song of triumph. Like hundreds of others who
had served Charles in his exile, he looked forward to gratitude and
reward, but met disappointment and neglect. Amongst the numerous places
and employments the change of government opened in court and state, not
one was offered the loyal poet.
Nay, his hardships did not end here; for having, in 1663, produced his
merry comedy, "Cutter of Coleman Street," it was treated with severity
as a censure upon the king. Feeling over-nervous to witness the
result of its first representation, the poet absented himself from the
playhouse; but thither his friends Dryden and Sprat sped, hoping they
might be able to bear him tidings of its triumph. When they returned to
him at night and told him of its fate, "he received the news of its
ill success," says Sprat, "not with so much firmness as might have been
expected from so great a man." Of all intent to satirize the king he was
entirely innocent--a fact he set before the public in the preface to his
play on its publication. Having, he argues, followed the fallen fortunes
of the royal family so long, it was unlikely he would select the time of
their restoration to quarrel with them.
Feeling his grievances acutely, he now published a poem called "The
Complaint," which met with but little success; whereon, depressed by
ill-fortune and disgusted by ingratitude, he sought consolation in the
peace of a country life. Through the influence of his old friend, Lord
St. Albans, and the Duke of Buckingham, he obtained a lease of the
queen's lands at Chertsey, which produced him an income of about three
hundred pounds a year--a sum sufficient for his few wants and moderate
desires. He resided here but two years, when he died, on the 28th of
July, 1667. Milton, on hearing of his death, was troubled. The three
greatest English poets, he declared, were Spenser, Shakespeare, and
Cowley.
The ungrateful neglect with which he was treated in life was sought to
be atoned for by useless honours paid him after death. His remains were
first conveyed to Wallingford House, then a residence of the Duke
of Buckingham, from whence they were carried in a coach drawn by six
horses, and followed by all the men of letters and wits of the town,
divers stately bishops, courtiers, and men of quality, whose carriages
exceeded one hundred in number, to Westminster Abbey. Here the Poet was
laid at rest beside Geoffrey Chaucer, and not far removed from gentle
Spenser, whose words had first inspired his happy muse.
The literary wealth of this reign was furthermore enhanced by the genius
of Butler, the inimitable author of "Hudibras," concerning whom little
is known, save that he was born in 1612, and spent his life in poverty.
He passed some years as clerk to a justice of the peace; he also served
a great man's steward, and acted as secretary to Sir Samuel Luke, one
of Cromwell's officers. With those of the commonwealth he held no part;
that he was a royalist at heart his great satire indicates. The first
part of this was published in the third year of the restoration, and was
introduced to the notice of his majesty by my Lord Dorset. So delighted
was the monarch by its wit that its lines were continually on his lips,
an example speedily followed by the courtiers. It was considered
certain a man possessing such brilliant genius and loyal nature would be
rewarded with place or pension; but neither boon was bestowed upon him.
Resting his hopes on future achievements, the second part of "Hudibras"
appeared in 1664; but again his recompense was delayed. Clarendon made
him promises of valuable employments, which were never fulfilled; and to
soothe his disappointment the king sent him a present of three hundred
guineas.
Indignant at the neglect from which he suffered, his friend Wycherley
spoke to the Duke of Buckingham on his behalf, saying it was a shame to
the court a man of Butler's parts should be allowed to suffer want. With
this his grace readily agreed, and promised to use his influence towards
remedying the poet's ill-fortune; but time went by, and his condition
remained unaltered. Whereon Wycherley conceived the idea of bringing
Butler and the duke together, that the latter might the more certainly
remember him. He therefore succeeded in making his grace name an
hour and place in which they might meet. So it came to pass they were
together one day at the Roebuck Tavern; but scarce had Buckingham opened
his lips when a pimp of his acquaintance--"the creature was likewise
a knight"--passed by with a couple of ladies. To a man of Buckingham's
character the temptation was too seductive to be neglected; accordingly,
he darted after those who allured him, leaving the needy poet, whom he
saw no more. Butler lived until 1680, dying in poverty. Longueville,
having in vain solicited a subscription to defray the expenses of the
poet's burial in Westminster Abbey, laid him to rest in the churchyard
of Covent Garden.
Wycherley, the friend of Butler, though a child of the Muses, was
superior to poverty. He was born in the year of grace 1640, and early
in life sent for his better education into France. Returning to England
soon after the king had come unto his own, young Wycherley entered
Queen's College, Oxford, from whence he departed without obtaining a
degree. He then betook himself to town, and became a law student. The
Temple, however, had less attraction for him than the playhouse. Indeed,
before leaving Oxford he had, written a couple of comedies--to wit,
"Love in a Wood," and "The Gentleman Dancing Master," a fact
entitling him to be considered a man of parts. Not satisfied with this
distinction, he soon developed tastes for pleasures of the town, and
became a man of fashion. His wit illuminated choice gatherings of
congenial spirits at coffee-houses; his epigrams were repeated by boon
companions in the precincts of the court.
In the year 1672 his comedy "Love in a Wood" was produced. It
immediately gained universal favour, and, moreover, speedily attracted
the attention of his majesty's mistress, the Duchess of Cleveland.
Wycherley was a man well to look upon: her grace was a lady eager
for adventure. Desiring his acquaintance, and impatient of delay, she
introduced herself to his notice in a manner eminently characteristic
of the age. It happened when driving one day through Pall Mall, she
encountered Wycherley riding in his coach in an opposite direction.
Thrusting her head out of the window of her vehicle, she saluted the
author with a title unknown to the conversations of polite society in
the present day.
The fashionable playwright understanding the motive which prompted her
remark, hastily ordered his coach to follow hers; and, overtaking her,
uncovered and began a speech becoming so ardent a gallant.
"Madam," said he, "you have been pleased to bestow a title on me
which belongs only to the fortunate. Will your ladyship be at the play
to-night?"
"Well," replied her grace, well pleased at this beginning, "what if I am
there?"
"Why, then," answered he, "I will be there to wait on your ladyship,
though I disappoint a fine woman who has made me an assignation."
"So," said this frail daughter of Eve, greedily swallowing his flattery,
"you are sure to disappoint a woman who has favoured you for one who has
not?"
"Yes," quoth he, readily enough, "if the one who has not favoured me is
the finer woman of the two. But he who can be constant to your ladyship
till he can find a finer, is sure to die your captive."
That night her grace sat in the front row of the king's box at Drury
Lane playhouse, and sure enough there was handsome Will Wycherley
sitting in the pit underneath. The gentleman cast his eyes upwards
and sighed; the lady looked down and played with her fan; after which
preliminaries they fell into conversation which both found far more
interesting than the comedy then being enacted before their eyes. This
was the beginning of an intimacy concerning which the court made merry,
and of which the town spoke scandal. My lady disguised herself as a
country wench, and visited his chambers, Mr. Wycherley dedicated his
play, "Love in a Wood," to her in elegant phraseology, He was of opinion
that she stood as little in need of flattery as her beauty did of art;
he was anxious to let the world know he was the greatest admirer she
had; and he was desirous of returning her his grateful acknowledgment
for the favours he had received from her.
The interest of this romance was presently intensified by the
introduction of a rival in the person of the Duke of Buckingham.
Probably from fear an intrigue with such a prominent figure would, if
indulged in, quickly become known to the king, she refused to encourage
Buckingham's love. His grace was not only a passionate lover, but
likewise a revengeful man; accordingly, he resolved to punish my lady
for her lack of good taste. It therefore became his habit to speak of
her intrigues before the court, and to name the individuals who received
her favours. Now Wycherley, being amongst these, grew fearful his amour
with the duchess should become known to the king, from whom at this time
he expected an appointment. Accordingly, he besought his good friends,
Lord Rochester and Sir Charles Sedley, to remonstrate on his behalf with
the duke. These gentlemen undertook that kindly office, and in order
to make the rivals acquainted, besought his grace to sup with the
playwright. The duke complying with their request, met Wycherley in a
friendly spirit, and soon professed himself delighted with his wit; nay,
before the feast was over he drank his health in a bumper of red wine,
and declared himself Mr. Wycherley's very good friend and faithful
servant henceforth.
Moreover, he was as good as his word; for, being master of the horse, he
soon after appointed Wycherley an equerry, and subsequently gave him a
commission as captain of a regiment of which he was colonel. Nor did the
duke's services to the dramatist end here; for when occasion offered he
introduced him to the merry monarch, and so pleased was the king
with the author's conversational powers that he admitted him to his
friendship. His majesty's regard for Wycherley gradually ripened, and
once when he lay ill of fever at his lodgings in Bow Street, Covent
Garden, the merry monarch visited him, cheered him with words of
kindness, and promised he would send him to Montpelier when he was well
enough to travel. For this good purpose Charles sent him five hundred
pounds, and Wycherley spent the winter of 1679 abroad.
Previous to this date he had written, besides his first comedy, three
others which had been received with great favour by the town, viz., "The
Gentleman Dancing Master," "The Country Wife," and "The Plain Dealer."
Soon after his return to England the crisis of his life arrived, and he
married. His introduction to the lady whom fate ordained to become his
wife is not the least singular episode in a remarkable biography. Being
at Tunbridge Wells, then a place of fashion and liberty, he was one
day walking with a friend named Fairbeard. And it happened as they were
passing a book-stall they overheard a gentlewoman inquire for the "Plain
Dealer."
"Madam," says Mr. Fairbeard, uncovering, "since you are for the 'Plain
Dealer,' there he is for you;" whereon he led Wycherley towards her.
"This lady," says that gentleman, making her a profound bow, "can bear
plain speaking; for she appears to be so accomplished, that what would
be compliment said to others, spoken to her would be plain dealing."
"No truly, sir," replied the lady; "I am not without my faults, like
the rest of my sex; and yet, notwithstanding all my faults, I love
plain dealing, and never am more fond of it than when it points out my
errors."
"Then, madam," said Mr. Fairbeard, "you and the plain dealer seem
designed by heaven for each other."
These pretty speeches having been delivered and received with every mark
of civility, Mr. Wycherley made his exit with the lady, who was none
other than the Countess of Drogheda, a young widow gifted with beauty
and endowed by fortune. Day by day he waited on her at her lodging,
accompanied her in her walks, and attended her to the assemblies.
Finally, when she returned to town he married her. It is sad yet true
the union did not result in perfect happiness. Mr. Wycherley had a
reputation for gallantry, the Countess of Drogheda was the victim of
suspicion. Knowing jealousy is beget by love, and mindful of sacrifices
she had made in marrying him, Wycherley behaved towards her with much
kindness. In compliance with her wishes he desisted visiting the court,
a place she probably knew from experience was rife with temptation; and
moreover when he cracked a bottle of wine with convivial friends at the
Cock Tavern, opposite his lodgings in Bow Street, he, for the greater
satisfaction of his wife, would leave the windows open of the room in
which he sat, that she might from the vantage ground of her home see
there were no hussies in the company.
As proof of her love, she, when dying, settled her fortune upon him; but
unhappily his just right was disputed by her family. The case therefore
went into litigation, for the expenses of which, together with other
debts, Wycherley was cast into prison. Here the brilliant wit, clever
writer, and boon companion, was allowed to remain seven long years. When
released from this vile bondage, another king than the merry monarch
occupied the English throne.
The name of Andrew Marvel is inseparably connected with this period. He
was born in the year 1620 in the town of Kingston-upon-Hull; his
father being a clever school-master, worthy minister, and "an excellent
preacher, who never broached what he had never brewed, but that which he
had studied some compitent time before." At the age of fifteen, Andrew
Marvell was sent to Trinity College, Cambridge. But he had not long been
there when he withdrew himself, lured, as some authorities state, by
wiles of the wicked Jesuits; repulsed, as others say, by severities of
the head of his college. Leaving the university, he set out for London,
where his father, who hastened thither in search of him, found him
examining some old volumes on a book-stall. He was prevailed to return
to his college, where, in 1638, he took his degree as bachelor of arts.
On the completion of his studies and death of his father, he travelled
through Holland, France, and Italy. Whilst abroad he began to produce
those satirical verses such as were destined to render him famous.
One of his earliest efforts in this direction was aimed at the Abbe de
Maniban, a learned ecclesiastic, whose chief fault in Marvell's eyes lay
in the fact of his professing to judge characters from handwriting.
Whilst in Italy, Andrew Marvell met John Milton, and they having many
tastes and convictions in common, became fast friends. In 1653, the
former returned to England, and for some time acted as tutor to Mistress
Fairfax; he being an excellent scholar, and a great master of the Latin
tongue. He now led a peaceful and obscure life until 1657. In that
year, Milton, "laying aside," as he wrote, "those jealousies, and that
emulation which mine own condition might suggest to me," introduced him
to Bradshaw; soon after which he was made assistant-secretary to Milton,
who was then in the service of Cromwell.
He had not been long engaged in this capacity, when the usurper died;
and Marvell's occupation being gone, the goodly burgesses of the town
of Hull, who loved him well, elected him as their representative in
parliament, for which service, in accordance with a custom of the time,
he was paid. The salary, it is true, was not large, amounting to two
shillings a day for borough members; yet when kindly feeling and honest
satisfaction mutually existed between elector and representative, as in
Marvell's case, the wage was at times supplemented by such acceptable
additions as home-cured pork and home-brewed ale, "We must first give
you thanks," wrote Marvell on one occasion to his constituents, on the
receipt of a cask of beer, "for the kind present you have pleased to
send us, which will give occasion to us to remember you often; but the
quantity is so great, that it might make sober men forgetful."
He now, in the warfare of political life, made free use of his keen wit
and bitter sarcasm as serviceable weapons. These were chiefly employed
in exposing measures he considered calculated to ruin the country,
though they might gratify the king. However, he had no hatred of
monarchy, but would occasionally divert Charles by the sharpness of his
satire and brilliancy of his wit. Considering how valuable these would
be if employed in service of the court, Charles resolved to tempt
Marvell's integrity. For this purpose the Lord Treasurer Danby sought
and found him in his chamber, situated in the second floor of a mean
house standing in a court off the Strand. Groping his way up the dark
and narrow staircase of the domicile, the great minister stumbled, and
falling against a door, was precipitated into Marvell's apartment, head
foremost. Surprised at his appearance, the satirist asked my Lord Danby
if he had not mistaken his way. "No," said the courtier with a bow, "not
since I have found Mr. Marvell." He then proceeded to tell him that the
king, being impressed by a high sense of his abilities, was desirous of
serving him. Apprehending what services were expected in return, Marvell
answered that he who accepted favours from the court was bound to vote
in its interests. "Nay," said my lord, "his majesty but desires to
know if there is any place at court you would accept." On which Marvell
replied he could receive nothing with honour, for either he must treat
the king with ingratitude by refusing compliance with court measures,
or be a traitor to his country by yielding to them. The only favour he
therefore begged was, that his majesty would esteem him a loyal subject;
the truer to his interests in refusing his offers than he would be
by accepting them. It is stated that Lord Danby, surprised at so much
purity in an age of corruption, furthermore tempted him with a bag of
gold, which Marvell obstinately refused to accept.
He died suddenly in the year 1678, leaving behind him a reputation for
humour and satire which has rarely been excelled.
Besides these poets and dramatists, there were other great men, who
as prose writers, helped to render the literary history of the period
remarkable for its brilliancy. Amongst these were Lord Clarendon, High
Chancellor of England, concerning whom much has already been said; and
Thomas Hobbs of Malmesbury, better known as author of "The History
of the Causes of the Civil War," and of "Human Nature," than as a
translator of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Dr. Gilbert Burnet, author of
"The History of his Own Times;" and Dr. Ralph Cudworth, author of "The
True Intellectual System of the Universe," were likewise men of note.
But one whose name is far more familiar than any writer of his time is
John Bunyan, author of "The Pilgrim's Progress."
He was the son of a tinker, and was born within a mile of Bedford town
in the year 1628. He imbibed at an early age the spirit of Puritanism,
fought in the civil wars, took to himself a wife, and turned preacher.
Six months after the merry monarch landed, Bunyan was flung into Bedford
gaol, where, rather than refrain from puritanical discourses, in the
utterance of which he believed himself divinely inspired, he remained,
with some short intervals of liberty, for twelve years. When offered
freedom at the price of silence, he replied, "If you let me out to-day,
I will preach to-morrow." Nay, even in his confinement he delivered
sermons to his fellow-prisoners; and presently he commenced to write.
His convictions leading him to attack the liturgy of the Church of
England, and the religion of the Quakers, his productions became popular
amongst dissenters. At length, by an act annulling the penal statutes
against Protestant Nonconformists and Roman Catholics, passed in 1671,
he was liberated. When he left prison he carried with him a portion of
his "Pilgrim's Progress," which was soon after completed and published,
though at what date remains uncertain. In 1678 a second edition was
printed, and such was the growth of its popularity, that six editions
were issued within the following four years.
Now he became famous, his lot was far different from what it had been;
his sermons were heard by eager audiences, his counsel was sought
by those in trouble, his prayers were regarded as the utterances of
inspiration. Once a year he rode, attended by vast crowds, from Bedford
Town to London City, that he might preach to those burdened by sin; and
from the capital he made a circuit of the country, where he was hailed
as a prophet. His life extended beyond the reign of King Charles; his
influence lasted till his death.