Chapter II: Part 2

_From the 'Second Defence of the People of England in Reply to an Anonymous Libel, entitled "The Cry of the Royal Blood to Heaven against the English Parricides"'_

A grateful recollection of the divine goodness is the first of
human obligations; and extraordinary favours demand more
solemn and devout acknowledgments: with such acknowledgments I
feel it my duty to begin this work. First, because I was born
at a time when the virtue of my fellow-citizens, far exceeding
that of their progenitors in greatness of soul and vigour of
enterprise, having invoked Heaven to witness the justice of
their cause, and been clearly governed by its directions, has
succeeded in delivering the commonwealth from the most
grievous tyranny, and religion from the most ignominious
degradation. And next, because when there suddenly arose many
who, as is usual with the vulgar, basely calumniated the most
illustrious achievements, and when one eminent above the rest,
inflated with literary pride, and the zealous applauses of his
partisans, had in a scandalous publication, which was
particularly levelled against me, nefariously undertaken to
plead the cause of despotism, I, who was neither deemed
unequal to so renowned an adversary, nor to so great a
subject, was particularly selected by the deliverers of our
country, and by the general suffrage of the public, openly to
vindicate the rights of the English nation, and consequently
of liberty itself. Lastly, because in a matter of so much
moment, and which excited such ardent expectations, I did not
disappoint the hopes nor the opinions of my fellow-citizens;
while men of learning and eminence abroad honoured me with
unmingled approbation; while I obtained such a victory over my
opponent that, notwithstanding his unparalleled assurance, he
was obliged to quit the field with his courage broken and his
reputation lost; and for the three years which he lived
afterwards, much as he menaced and furiously as he raved, he
gave me no further trouble, except that he procured the paltry
aid of some despicable hirelings, and suborned some of his
silly and extravagant admirers to support him under the weight
of the unexpected and recent disgrace which he had
experienced. This will immediately appear. Such are the signal
favours which I ascribe to the divine beneficence, and which I
thought it right devoutly to commemorate, not only that I
might discharge a debt of gratitude, but particularly because
they seem auspicious to the success of my present undertaking.
For who is there, who does not identify the honour of his
country with his own? And what can conduce more to the beauty
or glory of one's country than the recovery not only of its
civil but its religious liberty?

* * * * *

. . . I can easily repel any charge which may be adduced
against me, either of want of courage, or want of zeal. For
though I did not participate in the toils or dangers of the
war, yet I was at the same time engaged in a service not less
hazardous to myself and more beneficial to my fellow-citizens;
nor, in the adverse turns of our affairs, did I ever betray
any symptoms of pusillanimity and dejection: or show myself
more afraid than became me of malice or of death: For since
from my youth I was devoted to the pursuits of literature, and
my mind had always been stronger than my body, I did not court
the labours of a camp, in which any common person would have
been of more service than myself, but resorted to that
employment in which my exertions were likely to be of most
avail. Thus, with the better part of my frame I contributed as
much as possible to the good of my country, and to the success
of the glorious cause in which we were engaged; and I thought
that if God willed the success of such glorious achievements,
it was equally agreeable to his will that there should be
others by whom those achievements should be recorded with
dignity and elegance; and that the truth, which had been
defended by arms, should also be defended by reason; which is
the best and only legitimate means of defending it. Hence,
while I applaud those who were victorious in the field, I will
not complain of the province which was assigned me; but rather
congratulate myself upon it, and thank the Author of all good
for having placed me in a station, which may be an object of
envy to others rather than of regret to myself. I am far from
wishing to make any vain or arrogant comparisons, or to speak
ostentatiously of myself; but, in a cause so great and
glorious, and particularly on an occasion when I am called by
the general suffrage to defend the very defenders of that
cause, I can hardly refrain from assuming a more lofty and
swelling tone than the simplicity of an exordium may seem to
justify: and much as I may be surpassed in the powers of
eloquence and copiousness of diction by the illustrious
orators of antiquity, yet the subject of which I treat was
never surpassed, in any age, in dignity or in interest. It has
excited such general and such ardent expectation, that I
imagine myself, not in the forum or on the rostra, surrounded
only by the people of Athens or of Rome, but about to address
in this, as I did in my former Defence, the whole collective
body of people, cities, states, and councils of the wise and
eminent, through the wide expanse of anxious and listening
Europe. I seem to survey, as from a towering height, the far
extended tracts of sea and land, and innumerable crowds of
spectators, betraying in their looks the liveliest interest,
and sensations the most congenial with my own. Here I behold
the stout and manly prowess of the Germans disdaining
servitude; there the generous and lively impetuosity of the
French; on this side, the calm and stately valour of the
Spaniard; on that, the composed and wary magnanimity of the
Italian. Of all the lovers of liberty and virtue, the
magnanimous and the wise, in whatever quarter they may be
found, some secretly favour, others openly approve; some greet
me with congratulations and applause; others, who had long
been proof against conviction, at last yield themselves
captive to the force of truth. Surrounded by congregated
multitudes, I now imagine that, from the columns of Hercules
to the Indian Ocean, I behold the nations of the earth
recovering that liberty which they so long had lost; and that
the people of this island are transporting to other countries
a plant of more beneficial qualities, and more noble growth,
than that which Triptolemus is reported to have carried from
region to region; that they are disseminating the blessings of
civilization and freedom among cities, kingdoms, and nations.
Nor shall I approach unknown, nor perhaps unloved, if it be
told that I am the same person who engaged in single combat
that fierce advocate of despotism; till then reputed
invincible in the opinion of many, and in his own conceit; who
insolently challenged us and our armies to the combat; but
whom, while I repelled his virulence, I silenced with his own
weapons; and over whom, if I may trust to the opinions of
impartial judges, I gained a complete and glorious victory.
That this is the plain unvarnished fact appears from this:
that, after the most noble queen of Sweden, than whom there
neither is nor ever was a personage more attached to
literature and to learned men, had invited Salmasius or
Salmatia (for to which sex he belonged is a matter of
uncertainty) to her court, where he was received with great
distinction, my Defence suddenly surprised him in the midst of
his security. It was generally read, and by the queen among
the rest, who, attentive to the dignity of her station, let
the stranger experience no diminution of her former kindness
and munificence. But, with respect to the rest, if I may
assert what has been often told, and was matter of public
notoriety, such a change was instantly effected in the public
sentiment, that he, who but yesterday flourished in the
highest degree of favour, seemed to-day to wither in neglect;
and soon after receiving permission to depart, he left it
doubtful among many whether he were more honoured when he
came, or more disgraced when he went away; and even in other
places it is clear, that it occasioned no small loss to his
reputation; and all this I have mentioned, not from any futile
motives of vanity or ostentation, but that I might clearly
show, as I proposed in the beginning, what momentous reasons I
had for commencing this work with an effusion of gratitude to
the Father of the universe. Such a preface was most honourable
and appropriate, in which I might prove, by an enumeration of
particulars, that I had not been without my share of human
misery; but that I had, at the same time, experienced singular
marks of the divine regard; that in topics of the highest
concern, the most connected with the exigencies of my country,
and the most beneficial to civil and religious liberty; the
supreme wisdom and beneficence had invigorated and enlarged my
faculties, to defend the dearest interests, not merely of one
people, but of the whole human race, against the enemies of
human liberty; as it were in a full concourse of all the
nations on the earth: and I again invoke the same Almighty
Being, that I may still be able, with the same integrity, the
same diligence, and the same success, to defend those actions
which have been so gloriously achieved; while I vindicate the
authors as well as myself, whose name has been associated with
theirs, not so much for the sake of honour as disgrace, from
unmerited ignominy and reproach.

* * * * *

But the conflict between me and Salmasius is now finally
terminated by his death; and I will not write against the
dead; nor will I reproach him with the loss of life as he did
me with the loss of sight; though there are some who impute
his death to the penetrating severity of my strictures, which
he rendered only the more sharp by his endeavours to resist.
When he saw the work which he had in hand proceed slowly on,
the time of reply elapsed, the public curiosity subsided, his
fame marred, and his reputation lost; the favour of the
princes, whose cause he had so ill defended, alienated, he was
destroyed, after three years of grief, rather by the force of
depression than disease.

* * * * *

If I inveigh against tyrants, what is this to kings? whom I am
far from associating with tyrants. As much as an honest man
differs from a rogue, so much I contend that a king differs
from a tyrant. Whence it is clear, that a tyrant is so far
from being a king, that he is always in direct opposition to a
king. And he who peruses the records of history, will find
that more kings have been subverted by tyrants than by their
subjects. He, therefore, who would authorize the destruction
of tyrants, does not authorize the destruction of kings, but
of the most inveterate enemies to kings.

* * * * *

Let us now come to the charges which were brought against
myself. Is there anything reprehensible in my manners or my
conduct? Surely nothing. What no one, not totally divested of
all generous sensibility, would have done, he reproaches me
with want of beauty and loss of sight.

'Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen
ademptum.'

I certainly never supposed that I should have been obliged to
enter into a competition for beauty with the Cyclops; but he
immediately corrects himself, and says, 'though not indeed
huge, for there cannot be a more spare, shrivelled, and
bloodless form.' It is of no moment to say anything of
personal appearance, yet lest (as the Spanish vulgar,
implicitly confiding in the relations of their priests,
believe of heretics) any one, from the representations of my
enemies, should be led to imagine that I have either the head
of a dog, or the horn of a rhinoceros, I will say something on
the subject, that I may have an opportunity of paying my
grateful acknowledgments to the Deity, and of refuting the
most shameless lies. I do not believe that I was ever once
noted for deformity, by any one who ever saw me; but the
praise of beauty I am not anxious to obtain. My stature
certainly is not tall; but it rather approaches the middle
than the diminutive. Yet what if it were diminutive, when so
many men, illustrious both in peace and war, have been the
same? And how can that be called diminutive, which is great
enough for every virtuous achievement? Nor, though very thin,
was I ever deficient in courage or in strength; and I was wont
constantly to exercise myself in the use of the broadsword, as
long as it comported with my habit and my years. Armed with
this weapon, as I usually was, I should have thought myself
quite a match for any one, though much stronger than myself;
and I felt perfectly secure against the assault of any open
enemy. At this moment I have the same courage, the same
strength, though not the same eyes; yet so little do they
betray any external appearance of injury, that they are as
unclouded and bright as the eyes of those who most distinctly
see. In this instance alone I am a dissembler against my will.
My face, which is said to indicate a total privation of blood,
is of a complexion entirely opposite to the pale and the
cadaverous; so that, though I am more than forty years old,
there is scarcely any one to whom I do not appear ten years
younger than I am; and the smoothness of my skin is not, in
the least, affected by the wrinkles of age. If there be one
particle of falsehood in this relation, I should deservedly
incur the ridicule of many thousands of my countrymen, and
even many foreigners to whom I am personally known. But if he,
in a matter so foreign to his purpose, shall be found to have
asserted so many shameless and gratuitous falsehoods, you may
the more readily estimate the quantity of his veracity on
other topics. Thus much necessity compelled me to assert
concerning my personal appearance. Respecting yours, though I
have been informed that it is most insignificant and
contemptible, a perfect mirror of the worthlessness of your
character and the malevolence of your heart, I say nothing,
and no one will be anxious that anything should be said. I
wish that I could with equal facility refute what this
barbarous opponent has said of my blindness; but I cannot do
it; and I must submit to the affliction. It is not so wretched
to be blind, as it is not to be capable of enduring blindness.
But why should I not endure a misfortune which it behooves
everyone to be prepared to endure if it should happen; which
may, in the common course of things, happen to any man; and
which has been known to happen to the most distinguished and
virtuous persons in history? Shall I mention those wise and
ancient bards, whose misfortunes the gods are said to have
compensated by superior endowments, and whom men so much
revered, that they chose rather to impute their want of sight
to the injustice of heaven than to their own want of innocence
or virtue? What is reported of the Augur Tiresias is well
known; of whom Apollonius sung thus in his Argonautica:

'To men he dared the will divine disclose,
Nor feared what Jove might in his wrath impose.
The gods assigned him age, without decay,
But snatched the blessing of his sight away.'

But God himself is truth; in propagating which, as men display
a greater integrity and zeal, they approach nearer to the
similitude of God, and possess a greater portion of his love.
We cannot suppose the deity envious of truth, or unwilling
that it should be freely communicated to mankind. The loss of
sight, therefore, which this inspired sage, who was so eager
in promoting knowledge among men, sustained, cannot be
considered as a judicial punishment. Or shall I mention those
worthies who were as distinguished for wisdom in the cabinet
as for valour in the field? And first, Timoleon of Corinth,
who delivered his city and all Sicily from the yoke of
slavery; than whom there never lived in any age a more
virtuous man or a more incorrupt statesman: Next Appius
Claudius, whose discreet counsels in the senate, though they
could not restore sight to his own eyes, saved Italy from the
formidable inroads of Pyrrhus: then Cæcilius Metellus the
high-priest, who lost his sight, while he saved, not only the
city, but the palladium, the protection of the city, and the
most sacred relics, from the destruction of the flames. On
other occasions Providence has indeed given conspicuous proofs
of its regard for such singular exertions of patriotism and
virtue; what, therefore, happened to so great and so good a
man, I can hardly place in the catalogue of misfortunes. Why
should I mention others of later times, as Dandolo of Venice,
the incomparable Doge; or Zisca, the bravest leader of the
Bohemians, and the champion of the cross; or Jerome Zanchius,
and some other theologians of the highest reputation? For it
is evident that the patriarch Isaac, than whom no man ever
enjoyed more of the divine regard, lived blind for many years;
and perhaps also his son Jacob, who was equally an object of
the divine benevolence. And in short, did not our Saviour
himself clearly declare that that poor man whom he restored to
sight had not been born blind, either on account of his own
sins or those of his progenitors? And with respect to myself,
though I have accurately examined my conduct, and scrutinized
my soul, I call thee, O God, the searcher of hearts, to
witness, that I am not conscious, either in the more early or
in the later periods of my life, of having committed any
enormity which might deservedly have marked me out as a fit
object for such a calamitous visitation. But since my enemies
boast that this affliction is only a retribution for the
transgressions of my pen, I again invoke the Almighty to
witness, that I never, at any time, wrote anything which I did
not think agreeable to truth, to justice, and to piety. This
was my persuasion then, and I feel the same persuasion now.
Nor was I ever prompted to such exertions by the influence of
ambition, by the lust of lucre or of praise; it was only by
the conviction of duty and the feeling of patriotism, a
disinterested passion for the extension of civil and religious
liberty. Thus, therefore, when I was publicly solicited to
write a reply to the Defence of the royal cause, when I had to
contend with the pressure of sickness, and with the
apprehension of soon losing the sight of my remaining eye, and
when my medical attendants clearly announced, that if I did
engage in the work, it would be irreparably lost, their
premonitions caused no hesitation and inspired no dismay. I
would not have listened to the voice even of Æsculapius
himself from the shrine of Epidaurus, in preference to the
suggestions of the heavenly monitor within my breast; my
resolution was unshaken, though the alternative was either the
loss of my sight, or the desertion of my duty: and I called to
mind those two destinies, which the oracle of Delphi announced
to the son of Thetis:

'I by my Goddess-mother have been warned,
The silver-footed Thetis, that o'er me
A double chance of destiny impends:
If here remaining, round the walls of Troy
I wage the war, I ne'er shall see my home,
But then undying glory shall be mine:
If I return, and see my native land,
My glory all is gone; but length of life
Shall then be mine, and death be long deferred.'

—_Iliad_, ix. 410-416.

I considered that many had purchased a less good by a greater
evil, the meed of glory by the loss of life; but that I might
procure great good by little suffering; that though I am
blind, I might still discharge the most honourable duties, the
performance of which, as it is something more durable than
glory, ought to be an object of superior admiration and
esteem; I resolved, therefore, to make the short interval of
sight, which was left me to enjoy, as beneficial as possible
to the public interest. Thus it is clear by what motives I was
governed in the measures which I took, and the losses which I
sustained. Let then the calumniators of the divine goodness
cease to revile, or to make me the object of their
superstitious imaginations. Let them consider, that my
situation, such as it is, is neither an object of my shame nor
my regret, that my resolutions are too firm to be shaken, that
I am not depressed by any sense of the divine displeasure;
that, on the other hand, in the most momentous periods, I have
had full experience of the divine favour and protection; and
that, in the solace and the strength which have been infused
into me from above, I have been enabled to do the will of God;
that I may oftener think on what he has bestowed, than on what
he has withheld; that, in short, I am unwilling to exchange my
consciousness of rectitude with that of any other person; and
that I feel the recollection a treasured store of tranquillity
and delight. But, if the choice were necessary, I would, sir,
prefer my blindness to yours; yours is a cloud spread over the
mind, which darkens both the light of reason and of
conscience; mine keeps from my view only the coloured surfaces
of things, while it leaves me at liberty to contemplate the
beauty and stability of virtue and of truth. How many things
are there besides which I would not willingly see; how many
which I must see against my will; and how few which I feel any
anxiety to see! There is, as the apostle has remarked, a way
to strength through weakness. Let me then be the most feeble
creature alive, as long as that feebleness serves to
invigorate the energies of my rational and immortal spirit; as
long as in that obscurity, in which I am enveloped, the light
of the divine presence more clearly shines, then, in
proportion as I am weak, I shall be invincibly strong; and in
proportion as I am blind, I shall more clearly see. Oh, that
I may thus be perfected by feebleness, and irradiated by
obscurity! And, indeed, in my blindness, I enjoy in no
inconsiderable degree the favour of the Deity, who regards me
with more tenderness and compassion in proportion as I am able
to behold nothing but himself. Alas! for him who insults me,
who maligns and merits public execration! For the divine law
not only shields me from injury, but almost renders me too
sacred to attack; not indeed so much from the privation of my
sight, as from the overshadowing of those heavenly wings which
seem to have occasioned this obscurity; and which, when
occasioned, he is wont to illuminate with an interior light,
more precious and more pure. To this I ascribe the more tender
assiduities of my friends, their soothing attentions, their
kind visits, their reverential observances; . . . This
extraordinary kindness which I experience, cannot be any
fortuitous combination; and friends, such as mine, do not
suppose that all the virtues of a man are contained in his
eyes. Nor do the persons of principal distinction in the
commonwealth suffer me to be bereaved of comfort, when they
see me bereaved of sight, amid the exertions which I made, the
zeal which I showed, and the dangers which I run for the
liberty which I love. But, soberly reflecting on the
casualties of human life, they show me favour and indulgence,
as to a soldier who has served his time, and kindly concede to
me an exemption from care and toil. They do not strip me of
the badges of honour which I have once worn; they do not
deprive me of the places of public trust to which I have been
appointed; they do not abridge my salary or emoluments; which,
though I may not do so much to deserve as I did formerly, they
are too considerate and too kind to take away; and, in short,
they honour me as much as the Athenians did those whom they
determined to support at the public expense in the Prytaneum.
Thus, while both God and man unite in solacing me under the
weight of my affliction, let no one lament my loss of sight
in so honourable a cause. And let me not indulge in unavailing
grief, or want the courage either to despise the revilers of
my blindness, or the forbearance easily to pardon the offence.

* * * * *

I must crave the indulgence of the reader if I have said
already, or shall say hereafter, more of myself than I wish to
say; that, if I cannot prevent the blindness of my eyes, the
oblivion or the defamation of my name, I may at least rescue
my life from that species of obscurity, which is the associate
of unprincipled depravity. This it will be necessary for me to
do on more accounts than one; first, that so many good and
learned men among the neighbouring nations, who read my works,
may not be induced by this fellow's calumnies to alter the
favourable opinion which they have formed of me; but may be
persuaded that I am not one who ever disgraced beauty of
sentiment by deformity of conduct, or the maxims of a freeman
by the actions of a slave; and that the whole tenor of my life
has, by the grace of God, hitherto been unsullied by enormity
or crime. Next, that those illustrious worthies, who are the
objects of my praise, may know that nothing could afflict me
with more shame than to have any vices of mine diminish the
force or lessen the value of my panegyric upon them; and,
lastly, that the people of England, whom fate, or duty, or
their own virtues, have incited me to defend, may be convinced
from the purity and integrity of my life, that my defence, if
it do not redound to their honour, can never be considered as
their disgrace. I will now mention who and whence I am. I was
born in London, of an honest family; my father was
distinguished by the undeviating integrity of his life; my
mother, by the esteem in which she was held, and the alms
which she bestowed. My father destined me from a child to the
pursuits of literature; and my appetite for knowledge was so
voracious, that, from twelve years of age, I hardly ever left
my studies, or went to bed before midnight. This primarily led
to my loss of sight. My eyes were naturally weak, and I was
subject to frequent headaches; which, however, could not chill
the ardour of my curiosity, or retard the progress of my
improvement. My father had me daily instructed in the
grammar-school, and by other masters at home. He then, after I
had acquired a proficiency in various languages, and had made
a considerable progress in philosophy, sent me to the
University of Cambridge. Here I passed seven years in the
usual course of instruction and study, with the approbation of
the good, and without any stain upon my character, till I took
the degree of Master of Arts. After this I did not, as this
miscreant feigns, run away into Italy, but of my own accord
retired to my father's house, whither I was accompanied by the
regrets of most of the fellows of the college, who showed me
no common marks of friendship and esteem. On my father's
estate, where he had determined to pass the remainder of his
days, I enjoyed an interval of uninterrupted leisure, which I
entirely devoted to the perusal of the Greek and Latin
classics; though I occasionally visited the metropolis, either
for the sake of purchasing books, or of learning something new
in mathematics or in music, in which I, at that time, found a
source of pleasure and amusement. In this manner I spent five
years till my mother's death. I then became anxious to visit
foreign parts, and particularly Italy. My father gave me his
permission, and I left home with one servant. On my departure,
the celebrated Henry Wotton, who had long been king James's
ambassador at Venice, gave me a signal proof of his regard, in
an elegant letter which he wrote, breathing not only the
warmest friendship, but containing some maxims of conduct
which I found very useful in my travels. The noble Thomas
Scudamore, king Charles's ambassador, to whom I carried
letters of recommendation, received me most courteously at
Paris. His lordship gave me a card of introduction to the
learned Hugo Grotius, at that time ambassador from the queen
of Sweden to the French court; whose acquaintance I anxiously
desired, and to whose house I was accompanied by some of his
lordship's friends. A few days after, when I set out for
Italy, he gave me letters to the English merchants on my
route, that they might show me any civilities in their power.
Taking ship at Nice, I arrived at Genoa, and afterwards
visited Leghorn, Pisa, and Florence. In the latter city, which
I have always more particularly esteemed for the elegance of
its dialect, its genius, and its taste, I stopped about two
months; when I contracted an intimacy with many persons of
rank and learning; and was a constant attendant at their
literary parties; a practice which prevails there, and tends
so much to the diffusion of knowledge, and the preservation of
friendship. No time will ever abolish the agreeable
recollections which I cherish of Jacopo Gaddi, Carlo Dati,
Frescobaldi, Coltellini, Bonmattei, Chimentelli, Francini, and
many others. From Florence I went to Siena, thence to Rome,
where, after I had spent about two months in viewing the
antiquities of that renowned city, where I experienced the
most friendly attentions from Lucas Holstenius, and other
learned and ingenious men, I continued my route to Naples.
There I was introduced by a certain recluse, with whom I had
travelled from Rome, to Giovanni Battista Manso, marquis of
Villa, a nobleman of distinguished rank and authority, to whom
Torquato Tasso, the illustrious poet, inscribed his book on
friendship. During my stay, he gave me singular proofs of his
regard: he himself conducted me around the city, and to the
palace of the viceroy; and more than once paid me a visit at
my lodgings. On my departure he gravely apologized for not
having shown me more civility, which he said he had been
restrained from doing, because I had spoken with so little
reserve on matters of religion. When I was preparing to pass
over into Sicily and Greece, the melancholy intelligence which
I received of the civil commotions in England made me alter my
purpose; for I thought it base to be travelling for amusement
abroad, while my fellow-citizens were fighting for liberty at
home. While I was on my way back to Rome, some merchants
informed me that the English Jesuits had formed a plot against
me if I returned to Rome, because I had spoken too freely on
religion; for it was a rule which I laid down to myself in
those places, never to be the first to begin any conversation
on religion; but if any questions were put to me concerning my
faith, to declare it without any reserve or fear. I,
nevertheless, returned to Rome. I took no steps to conceal
either my person or my character; and for about the space of
two months I again openly defended, as I had done before, the
reformed religion in the very metropolis of popery. By the
favour of God, I got safe back to Florence, where I was
received with as much affection as if I had returned to my
native country. There I stopped as many months as I had done
before, except that I made an excursion for a few days to
Lucca; and, crossing the Apennines, passed through Bologna and
Ferrara to Venice. After I had spent a month in surveying the
curiosities of this city, and had put on board a ship the
books which I had collected in Italy, I proceeded through
Verona and Milan, and along the Leman lake to Geneva. The
mention of this city brings to my recollection the slandering
More, and makes me again call the Deity to witness, that in
all those places in which vice meets with so little
discouragement, and is practised with so little shame, I never
once deviated from the paths of integrity and virtue, and
perpetually reflected that, though my conduct might escape the
notice of men, it could not elude the inspection of God. At
Geneva I held daily conferences with John Diodati, the
learned professor of Theology. Then pursuing my former route
through France, I returned to my native country, after an
absence of one year and about three months; at the time when
Charles, having broken the peace, was renewing what is called
the episcopal war with the Scots, in which the royalists being
routed in the first encounter, and the English being
universally and justly disaffected, the necessity of his
affairs at last obliged him to convene a parliament. As soon
as I was able, I hired a spacious house in the city for myself
and my books; where I again with rapture renewed my literary
pursuits, and where I calmly awaited the issue of the contest,
which I trusted to the wise conduct of Providence, and to the
courage of the people. The vigour of the parliament had begun
to humble the pride of the bishops. As long as the liberty of
speech was no longer subject to control, all mouths began to
be opened against the bishops; some complained of the vices of
the individuals, others of those of the order. They said that
it was unjust that they alone should differ from the model of
other reformed churches; that the government of the church
should be according to the pattern of other churches, and
particularly the word of God. This awakened all my attention
and my zeal. I saw that a way was opening for the
establishment of real liberty; that the foundation was laying
for the deliverance of man from the yoke of slavery and
superstition; that the principles of religion, which were the
first objects of our care, would exert a salutary influence on
the manners and constitution of the republic; and as I had
from my youth studied the distinctions between religious and
civil rights, I perceived that if I ever wished to be of use,
I ought at least not to be wanting to my country, to the
church, and to so many of my fellow-Christians, in a crisis of
so much danger; I therefore determined to relinquish the other
pursuits in which I was engaged, and to transfer the whole
force of my talents and my industry to this one important
object. I accordingly wrote two books to a friend concerning
the reformation of the church of England. Afterwards, when two
bishops of superior distinction vindicated their privileges
against some principal ministers, I thought that on those
topics, to the consideration of which I was led solely by my
love of truth, and my reverence for Christianity, I should not
probably write worse than those who were contending only for
their own emoluments and usurpations. I therefore answered the
one in two books, of which the first is inscribed, Concerning
Prelatical Episcopacy, and the other Concerning the Mode of
Ecclesiastical Government; and I replied to the other in some
Animadversions, and soon after in an Apology. On this occasion
it was supposed that I brought a timely succour to the
ministers, who were hardly a match for the eloquence of their
opponents; and from that time I was actively employed in
refuting any answers that appeared. When the bishops could no
longer resist the multitude of their assailants, I had leisure
to turn my thoughts to other subjects; to the promotion of
real and substantial liberty; which is rather to be sought
from within than from without; and whose existence depends,
not so much on the terror of the sword, as on sobriety of
conduct and integrity of life. When, therefore, I perceived
that there were three species of liberty which are essential
to the happiness of social life—religious, domestic, and
civil; and as I had already written concerning the first, and
the magistrates were strenuously active in obtaining the
third, I determined to turn my attention to the second, or the
domestic species. As this seemed to involve three material
questions, the conditions of the conjugal tie, the education
of the children, and the free publication of the thoughts, I
made them objects of distinct consideration. I explained my
sentiments, not only concerning the solemnization of the
marriage, but the dissolution, if circumstances rendered it
necessary; and I drew my arguments from the divine law, which
Christ did not abolish, or publish another more grievous than
that of Moses. I stated my own opinions, and those of others,
concerning the exclusive exception of fornication, which our
illustrious Selden has since, in his Hebrew Wife, more
copiously discussed; for he in vain makes a vaunt of liberty
in the senate or in the forum, who languishes under the vilest
servitude, to an inferior at home. On this subject, therefore,
I published some books which were more particularly necessary
at that time, when man and wife were often the most inveterate
foes, when the man often staid to take care of his children at
home, while the mother of the family was seen in the camp of
the enemy, threatening death and destruction to her husband. I
then discussed the principles of education in a summary
manner, but sufficiently copious for those who attend
seriously to the subject; than which nothing can be more
necessary to principle the minds of men in virtue, the only
genuine source of political and individual liberty, the only
true safeguard of states, the bulwark of their prosperity and
renown. Lastly, I wrote my Areopagitica, in order to deliver
the press from the restraints with which it was encumbered;
that the power of determining what was true and what was
false, what ought to be published and what to be suppressed,
might no longer be entrusted to a few illiterate and illiberal
individuals, who refused their sanction to any work which
contained views or sentiments at all above the level of the
vulgar superstition. On the last species of civil liberty, I
said nothing, because I saw that sufficient attention was paid
to it by the magistrates; nor did I write anything on the
prerogative of the crown, till the king, voted an enemy by the
parliament, and vanquished in the field, was summoned before
the tribunal which condemned him to lose his head. But when,
at length, some Presbyterian ministers, who had formerly been
the most bitter enemies to Charles, became jealous of the
growth of the Independents, and of their ascendency in the
parliament, most tumultuously clamoured against the sentence,
and did all in their power to prevent the execution, though
they were not angry, so much on account of the act itself, as
because it was not the act of their party; and when they dared
to affirm, that the doctrine of the protestants, and of all
the reformed churches, was abhorrent to such an atrocious
proceeding against kings; I thought that it became me to
oppose such a glaring falsehood; and accordingly, without any
immediate or personal application to Charles, I showed, in an
abstract consideration of the question, what might lawfully be
done against tyrants; and in support of what I advanced,
produced the opinions of the most celebrated divines; while I
vehemently inveighed against the egregious ignorance or
effrontery of men, who professed better things, and from whom
better things might have been expected. That book did not make
its appearance till after the death of Charles; and was
written rather to reconcile the minds of the people to the
event, than to discuss the legitimacy of that particular
sentence which concerned the magistrates, and which was
already executed. Such were the fruits of my private studies,
which I gratuitously presented to the church and to the state;
and for which I was recompensed by nothing but impunity;
though the actions themselves procured me peace of conscience,
and the approbation of the good; while I exercised that
freedom of discussion which I loved. Others, without labour or
desert, got possession of honours and emoluments; but no one
ever knew me either soliciting anything myself or through the
medium of my friends; ever beheld me in a supplicating posture
at the doors of the senate, or the levees of the great. I
usually kept myself secluded at home, where my own property,
part of which had been withheld during the civil commotions,
and part of which had been absorbed in the oppressive
contributions which I had to sustain, afforded me a scanty
subsistence. When I was released from these engagements, and
thought that I was about to enjoy an interval of uninterrupted
ease, I turned my thoughts to a continued history of my
country, from the earliest times to the present period. I had
already finished four books, when, after the subversion of the
monarchy, and the establishment of a republic, I was surprised
by an invitation from the council of state, who desired my
services in the office for foreign affairs. A book appeared
soon after, which was ascribed to the king, and contained the
most invidious charges against the parliament. I was ordered
to answer it; and opposed the Iconoclast to his Icon. I did
not insult over fallen majesty, as is pretended; I only
preferred queen Truth to king Charles. The charge of insult,
which I saw that the malevolent would urge, I was at some
pains to remove in the beginning of the work; and as often as
possible in other places. Salmasius then appeared, to whom
they were not, as More says, long in looking about for an
opponent, but immediately appointed me, who happened at the
time to be present in the council. I have thus, sir, given
some account of myself, in order to stop your mouth, and to
remove any prejudices which your falsehoods and
misrepresentations might cause even good men to entertain
against me. I tell thee then, thou mass of corruption, to hold
thy peace; for the more you malign, the more you will compel
me to confute; which will only serve to render your iniquity
more glaring, and my integrity more manifest.

_To Charles Diodati, Milton's schoolfellow at St. Paul's School, and his dearest friend_

At length, dear friend, your letter has reached me, and the
messenger-paper has brought me your words—brought me them
from the western shore of Chester's Dee, where with prone
stream it seeks the Vergivian wave. Much, believe me, it
delights me that foreign lands have nurtured a heart so loving
of ours, and a head so faithfully mine; and that a distant
part of the country now owes me my sprightly companion,
whence, however, it means soon, on being summoned, to send him
back. Me at present that city contains which the Thames washes
with its ebbing wave; and me, not unwilling, my father's house
now possesses. At present it is not my care to revisit the
reedy Cam; nor does the love of my forbidden rooms yet cause
me grief (_nec dudum vetiti me laris angit amor_). Nor do
naked fields please me, where soft shades are not to be had.
How ill that place suits the votaries of Apollo! Nor am I in
the humour still to bear the threats of a harsh master (_duri
minas perferre magistri_), and other things not to be
submitted to by my genius (_cæteraque ingenio non subeunda
meo_). If this be exile (_si sit hoc exilium_), to have gone
to my father's house, and, free from cares, to be pursuing
agreeable relaxations, then certainly I refuse neither the
name nor the lot of a fugitive (_non ego vel profugi nomen
sortemque recuso_), and gladly I enjoy the condition of exile
(_lætus et exilii conditione fruor_). Oh that that poet, the
tearful exile in the Pontic territory had never endured worse
things! Then had he nothing yielded to Ionian Homer, nor would
the supreme reputation of having surpassed him be yours, O
Maro! For it is in my power to give my leisure up to the
placid Muses; and books, which are my life, have me all to
themselves. When I am wearied, the pomp of the winding theatre
takes me hence, and the garrulous stage calls me to its noisy
applauses—whether it be the wary old gentleman that is heard,
or the prodigal heir; whether the wooer, or the soldier with
his helmet doffed, is on the boards, or the lawyer, prosperous
with a ten years' lawsuit, is mouthing forth his gibberish to
the unlearned forum. Often the wily servant is abetting the
lover-son, and at every turn cheating the very nose of the
stiff father; often there the maiden, wondering at her new
sensations, knows not what love is, and, while she knows not,
loves. Or, again, furious Tragedy shakes her bloody sceptre
and rolls her eyes, with dishevelled locks, and it is a pain
to look, and yet it is a pleasure to have looked and been
pained; for sometimes there is a sweet bitterness in tears. Or
the unhappy boy leaves his untasted joys, and falls off, a
pitiful object, from his broken love; or the fierce avenger of
crime recrosses the Styx from the shades, perturbing guilty
souls with his funeral torch. Or the house of Pelops or that
of noble Ilium is in grief, or the palace of Creon expiates
its incestuous ancestry. But not always within doors, nor even
in the city, do we mope; nor does the season of spring pass by
unused by us. The grove also planted with thick elms, has our
company, and the noble shade of a suburban neighborhood. Very
often here, as stars breathing forth mild flames, you may see
troops of maidens passing by. Ah! how often have I seen the
wonders of a worthy form, which might even repair the old age
of Jove! Ah! how often have I seen eyes surpassing all gems
and whatever lights revolve round either pole; and necks twice
whiter than the arms of living Pelops, and than the way which
flows tinged with pure nectar; and the exquisite grace of the
forehead; and the trembling hair which cheating love spreads
as his golden nets; and the inviting cheeks, compared with
which hyacinthine purple is poor, and the very blush, Adonis,
of thy own flower! . . . But for me, while the forbearance of
the blind boy allows it, I prepare as soon as possible to
leave these happy walls, and, using the help of divine
all-heal, to flee far from the infamous dwellings of the
sorceress Circe. It is fixed that I do go back to the rushy
marshes of Cam, and once more approach the murmur of the
hoarse-murmuring school. Meanwhile accept the little gift of
your faithful friend, and these few words forced into
alternate measures.

_To Alexander Gill, Jr._ (_Familiar Letters_, No. III.)

. . . Indeed, every time I recollect your almost constant
conversations with me (which even in this Athens, the
University itself, I long after and miss), I think
immediately, and not without grief, what a quantity of benefit
my absence from you has cheated me of,—me who never left
your company without a manifest increase and ἐπίδοσις of
literary knowledge, just as if I had been to some emporium of
learning. Truly, amongst us here, as far as I know, there are
hardly one or two that do not fly off unfeathered to Theology
while all but rude and uninitiated in either Philology or
Philosophy,—content also with the slightest possible touch of
Theology itself, just as much as may suffice for sticking
together a little sermon anyhow, and stitching it over with
worn patches obtained promiscuously: a fact giving reason for
the dread that by degrees there may break in among our clergy
the priestly ignorance of a former age. For myself, finding
almost no real companions in study here, I should certainly be
looking straight back to London, were I not meditating a
retirement during this summer vacation into a deep literary
leisure and a period of hiding, so to speak, in the bowers of
the Muses. But, as this is your own daily practice, I think
it almost a crime to interrupt you longer with my din at
present. Farewell.

CAMBRIDGE, July 2, 1628.

_To Thomas Young._ (_Familiar Letters_, No. IV.)

. . . Having been invited to your part of the country, as soon
as spring is a little advanced, I will gladly come, to enjoy
the delights of the season, and not less of your conversation,
and will withdraw myself from the din of town for a while to
your Stoa of the Iceni, as to that most celebrated Porch of
Zeno or the Tusculan Villa of Cicero, where you, with moderate
means but regal spirit, like some Serranus or Curius, placidly
reign in your little farm, and, contemning fortune, hold, as
it were, a triumph over riches, ambition, pomp, luxury, and
whatever the herd of men admire and are marked by. . . .

CAMBRIDGE, July 21, 1628.

_To Charles Diodati_,

making a stay in the country, who, having written to the author on the 13th of December, and asked him to excuse his verses, if they were less good than usual, on the ground that, in the midst of the festivities with which he had been received by his friends, he was unable to give a sufficiently prosperous attention to the Muses, had the following reply:

. . . You seem to be enjoying yourself rarely. How well you
describe the feasts, and the merry December and preparations
for Christmas, and the cups of French wine round the gay
hearth! Why do you complain that poesy is absent from these
festivities? Festivity and poetry are surely not
incompatible. . . . One sees the triple influence of Bacchus,
Apollo, and Ceres, in the verses you have sent me. And, then,
have you not music—the harp lightly touched by nimble hands,
and the lute giving time to the fair ones as they dance in the
old tapestried room? Believe me, where the ivory keys leap,
and the accompanying dance goes round the perfumed hall, there
will the Song-god be. But let me not go too far. Light Elegy
is the care of many gods, and calls any one of them by turns
to her assistance—Bacchus, Erato, Ceres, Venus, and little
Cupid besides. To poets of this order, therefore, conviviality
is allowable; and they may often indulge in draughts of good
old wine. _But the man who speaks of high matters—the heaven
of the full-grown Jove, and pious heroes, and demigod leaders
of men, the man who now sings the holy counsels of the gods
above, and now the subterranean realms guarded by the fierce
dog—let him live sparely, after the manner of the Samian
master; let herbs afford him his innocent diet, let clear
water in a beechen cup stand near him, and let him drink sober
draughts from a pure fountain! To this be there added a youth
chaste and free from guilt, and rigid morals, and hands
without stain. Being such, thou shalt rise up, glittering in
sacred raiment and purified by lustral waters, an augur about
to go into the presence of the unoffended gods._ So is wise
Tiresias said to have lived, after he had been deprived of his
sight; and Theban Linus; and Calchas the exile; and old
Orpheus. So did the scantily-eating, water-drinking Homer
carry his hero Ulysses through the monster-teeming hall of
Circe, and the straits insidious with the voices of the
Syrens, and through thy courts, too, O infernal King, where he
is said to have held the troops of shades enthralled by
libations of black blood. For the poet is sacred and the
priest of the gods; and his breast and his mouth breathe the
indwelling Jove.