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.
