Mary Powell & Deborah's Diary Part 9

Nay, Women cannot understand these Matters, and I thank Heaven they need not. Onlie, they cannot help siding with those they love; and sometimes those they love are on opposite Sides.

Mr. _Agnew_ sayth, the secular Arm shoulde never be employed in spirituall Matters, and that the _Hugenots_ committed a grave Mistake in choosing Princes and Admirals for their Leaders, insteade of simple Preachers with Bibles in their hands; and he askt, "did _Luther_ or _Peter_ the Hermit most manifestlie labour with the Blessing of _G.o.d_?"

. . . I have noted the Heads of Mr. _Agnew's_ Readings, after a Fas.h.i.+on of _Rose's_, in order to have a shorte, comprehensive Account of the Whole; and this hath abridged my journalling. It is the more profitable to me of the two, changes the sad Current of Thought, and, though an unaccustomed Task, I like it well.

_Sat.u.r.day_.

On _Monday_, I return to _Forest Hill_. I am well pleased to have yet another _Sheepscote_ Sabbath. To-day we had the rare Event of a Dinner-guest; soe full of what the Rebels are doing, and alle the Horrors of Strife, that he seemed to us quiete Folks, like the Denizen of another World.

_Forest Hill, August 3, 1644_.

Home agayn, and _Mother_ hath gone on her long intended Visitt to Uncle _John_, taking with her the two youngest. _Father_ much preoccupide, by reason of the Supplies needed for his Majesty's Service; soe that, sweet _Robin_ being away, I find myselfe lonely. _Harry_ rides with me in the Evening, but the Mornings I have alle to myself; and when I have fulfilled _Mother's_ Behests in the Kitchen and Still-room, I have nought but to read in our somewhat scant Collection of Books, the moste Part whereof are religious. And (not on that Account, but by reason I have read the most of them before), methinks I will write to borrow some of _Rose_; for Change of Reading hath now become a Want. I am minded also, to seek out and minister unto some poore Folk after her Fas.h.i.+on. Now that I am Queen of the Larder, there is manie a wholesome Sc.r.a.p at my Disposal, and there are likewise sundrie Physiques in my Mother's Closet, which she addeth to Year by Year, and never wants, we are soe seldom ill.

_Aug. 5, 1644_.

Dear _Father_ sayd this Evening, as we came in from a Walk on the Terrace, "My sweet _Moll_, you were ever the Light of the House; but now, though you are more staid than of former Time, I find you a better Companion than ever. This last Visitt to _Sheepscote_ hath evened your Spiritts."

Poor _Father_! he knew not how I lay awake and wept last Night, for one I shall never see agayn, nor how the Terrace Walk minded me of him. My Spiritts may seem even, and I exert myself to please; but, within, all is dark Shade, or at best, grey Twilight; and my Spiritts are, in Fact, worse here than they were at _Sheepscote_, because, here, I am continuallie thinking of one whose Name is never uttered; whereas, there, it was mentioned naturallie and tenderlie, though sadly. . . .

I will forthe to see some of the poor Folk.

_Same Night_.

Resolved to make the Circuit of the Cottages, but onlie reached the first, wherein I found poor _Nell_ in such Grief of Body and Mind, that I was avised to wait with her a long Time. Askt why she had not sent to us for Relief; was answered she had thought of doing soe, but was feared of making too free. After a lengthened Visitt, which seemed to relieve her Mind, and certaynlie relieved mine, I bade her Farewell, and at the Wicket met my Father coming up with a playn-favoured but scholarlike looking reverend Man. He sayd, "_Moll_, I could not think what had become of you." I answered, I hoped I had not kept him waiting for Dinner--poor _Nell_ had entertayned me longer than I wisht, with the Catalogue of her Troubles. The Stranger looking attentively at me, observed that may be the poor Woman had entertayned an Angel unawares; and added, "Doubt not, Madam, we woulde rather await our Dinner than that you should have curtayled your Message of Charity."

Hithertoe, my Father had not named this Gentleman to me; but now he sayd, "Child, this is the Reverend Doctor _Jeremy Taylor_, Chaplain in Ordinarie to his Majesty, and whom you know I have heard more than once preach before the King since he abode in _Oxford_." Thereon I made a lowly Reverence, and we walked homewards together. At first, he discoursed chiefly with my Father on the Troubles of the Times, and then he drew me into the Dialogue, in the Course of which I let fall a Saying of Mr. _Agnew's_, which drew from the reverend Gentleman a respectfulle Look I felt I no Way deserved. Soe then I had to explain that the Saying was none of mine, and felt ashamed he shoulde suppose me wiser than I was, especiallie as he commended my Modesty. But we progressed well, and he soon had the Discourse all to himself, for Squire _Paice_ came up, and detained _Father_, while the Doctor and I walked on. I could not help reflecting how odd it was, that I, whom Nature had endowed with such a very ordinarie Capacitie, and scarce anie Taste for Letters, shoulde continuallie be thrown into the Companie of the cleverest of Men,--first, Mr. _Milton_: then Mr.

_Agnew_; and now, this Doctor _Jeremy Taylor_. But, like the other two, he is not merely clever, he is Christian and good. How much I learnt in this short Interview! for short it seemed, though it must have extended over a good half Hour. He sayd, "Perhaps, young Lady, the Time may come when you shall find safer Solace in the Exercise of the Charities than of the Affections. Safer: for, not to consider how a successfulle or unsuccessfulle Pa.s.sion for a human Being of like Infirmities with ourselves, oft stains and darkens and shortens the Current of Life, even the chastened Love of a Mother for her Child, as of _Octavia_, who swooned at '_Tu, Marcellus, eris_,'--or of Wives for their Husbands, as _Artemisia_ and _Laodamia_, sometimes amounting to Idolatry--nay, the Love of Friend for Friend, with alle its sweet Influences and animating Transports, yet exceeding the Reasonableness of that of _David_ for _Jonathan_, or of our blessed _Lord_ for _St.

John_ and the Family of _Lazarus_, may procure far more Torment than Profit: even if the Attachment be reciprocal, and well grounded, and equallie matcht, which often it is not. Then interpose human Tempers, and Chills, and Heates, and Slyghtes fancied or intended, which make the vext Soul readie to wish it had never existed. How smalle a Thing is a human Heart! you might grasp it in your little Hand; and yet its Strifes and Agonies are enough to distend a Skin that should cover the whole World! But, in the Charities, what Peace! yea, they distill Sweetnesse even from the Unthankfulle, blessing him that gives more than him that receives; while, in the Main, they are laid out at better Interest than our warmest Affections, and bring in a far richer Harvest of Love and Grat.i.tude. Yet, let our Affections have their fitting Exercise too, staying ourselves with the Reflection, that there is greater Happinesse, after alle Things sayd, in loving than in being loved, save by the _G.o.d_ of Love who first loved us, and that they who dwell in Love dwell in _Him_."

Then he went on to speak of the manifold Acts and Divisions of Charity; as much, methought, in the Vein of a Poet as a Preacher; and he minded me much of that Scene in the tenth Book of the _Fairie Queene_, soe lately read to us by Mr. _Agnew_, wherein the _Red Cross Knight_ and _Una_ were shown _Mercy_ at her Work.

_Aug. 10, 1644_.

A Pack-horse from _Sheepscote_ just reported, laden with a goodlie Store of Books, besides sundrie smaller Tokens of _Rose's_ thoughtfulle Kindnesse. I have now methodicallie divided my Time into stated Hours, of Prayer, Exercise, Studdy, Housewiferie, and Acts of Mercy, on however a humble Scale; and find mine owne Peace of Mind thereby increased notwithstanding the Darknesse of publick and Dullnesse of private Affairs.

Made out the Meaning of "Cynosure" and "Cimmerian Darknesse." . . .

_Aug. 15, 1644_.

Full sad am I to learn that Mr. _Milton_ hath published another Book in Advocacy of Divorce. Alas, why will he chafe against the Chain, and widen the cruel Division between us? My Father is outrageous on the Matter, and speaks soe pa.s.sionatelie of him, that it is worse than not speaking of him at alle, which latelie I was avised to complain of.

_Aug. 30, 1644_.

_d.i.c.k_ beginneth to fancie himself in Love with _Audrey Paice--_an Attachment that will doe him noe good: his Tastes alreadie want raising, and she will onlie lower them, I feare,--a comely, romping, noisie Girl, that, were she but a Farmer's Daughter, woulde be the Life and Soul of alle the Whitsun-ales, Harvest-homes, and Hay-makings in the Country: in short, as fond of idling and merrymaking as I once was myself: onlie I never was soe riotous.

I beginne to see Faults in _d.i.c.k_ and _Harry_ I never saw before. Is my Taste bettering, or my Temper worsenning? At alle Events, we have noe cross Words, for I expect them not to alter, knowing how hard it is to doe soe by myself.

I look forward with Pleasure to my _Sheepscote_ Visitt. Dear _Mother_ returneth to-morrow. Good Dr. _Taylor_ hath twice taken the Trouble to walk over from _Oxford_ to see me, but he hath now left, and we may never meet agayn. His Visitts have beene very precious to me: I think he hath some Glimmering of my sad Case: indeed, who knows it not? At parting he sayd, smiling, he hoped he should yet hear of my making Offerings to _Viriplaca_ on _Mount Palatine_; then added, gravelie, "You know where reall Offerings may be made and alwaies accepted--Offerings of spare Half-hours and Five-minutes, when we shut the Closet Door and commune with our own Hearts and are still." Alsoe he sayd, "There are Sacrifices to make which sometimes wring our very Hearts to offer; but our gracious _G.o.d_ accepts them neverthelesse, if our Feet be really in the right Path, even though, like _Chryseis_, we look back, weeping."

He sayd . . . But how manie Things as beautifulle and true did I hear my Husband say, which pa.s.sed by me like the idle Wind that I regarded not!

_Sept. 8, 1644_.

_Harry_ hath just broughte in the News of his Majesty's Success in the West. Lord _Ess.e.x's_ Army hath beene completely surrounded by the royal Troops; himself forct to escape in a Boat to _Plymouth_, and all the Arms, Artillerie, Baggage, etc., of _Skippon's_ Men have fallen into the Hands of the King. _Father_ is soe pleased that he hath mounted the Flag, and given double Allowance of Ale to his Men.

I wearie to hear from _Robin_.

_Sheepscote, Oct. 10, 1644_.

How sweete a Picture of rurall Life did _Sheepscote_ present, when I arrived here this Afternoon! The Water being now much out, the Face of the Countrie presented a new Aspect: there were Men thres.h.i.+ng the Walnut Trees, Children and Women putting the Nuts into Osier Baskets, a Bailiff on a white Horse overlooking them, and now and then galloping to another Party, and splas.h.i.+ng through the Water. Then we found Mr.

_Agnew_ equallie busie with his Apples, mounted half Way up one of the Trees, and throwing Cherry Pippins down into _Rose's_ Ap.r.o.n, and now and then making as though he would pelt her: onlie she dared him, and woulde not be frightened. Her Donkey, chewing Apples in the Corner, with the Cider running out of his Mouth, presented a ludicrous Image of Enjoyment, and 'twas evidently enhanct by _Giles'_ brus.h.i.+ng his rough Coat with a Birch Besom, instead of minding his owne Businesse of sweeping the Walk. The Sun, s.h.i.+ning with mellow Light on the mown Gra.s.s and fresh dipt Hornbeam Hedges, made even the commonest Objects distinct and cheerfulle; and the Air was soe cleare, we coulde hear the Village Childreh afar off at theire Play.

_Rose_ had abundance of delicious new Honey in the Comb, and Bread hot from the Oven, for our earlie Supper. _d.i.c.k_ was tempted to stay too late; however, he is oft as late, now, returning from _Audrey Paice_, though my Mother likes it not.

_Oct. 15, 1644_.

_Rose_ is quite in good Spiritts now, and we goe on most harmoniouslie and happilie. Alle our Tastes are now in common; and I never more enjoyed this Union of Seclusion and Society. Besides, Mr. _Agnew_ is more than commonlie kind, and never speaks sternlie or sharplie to me now. Indeed, this Morning, looking thoughtfullie at me, he sayd, "I know not_, Cousin_, what Change has come over you, but you are now alle that a wise Man coulde love and approve." I sayd, It must be owing then to Dr. _Jeremy Taylor_, who had done me more goode, it woulde seeme, in three Lessons, than he or Mr. _Milton_ coulde imparte in thirty or three hundred. He sayd he was inclined to attribute it to a higher Source than that; and yet, there was doubtlesse a great Knack in teaching, and there was a good deal in liking the Teacher. He had alwaies hearde the Doctor spoken of as a good, pious, and clever Man, though rather too high a Prelatist. I sayd, "There were good Men of alle Sorts: there was Mr. _Milton_, who woulde pull the Church down; there was Mr. _Agnew_, who woulde onlie have it mended; and there was Dr. _Jeremy Taylor_, who was content with it as it stoode." Then _Rose_ askt me of the puritanicall Preachers. Then I showed her how they preached, and made her laugh. But Mr. _Agnew_ woulde not laugh.

But I made him laugh at last. Then he was angrie with himself and with me; only not very angry; and sayd, I had a Right to a Name which he knew had beene given me, of "cleaving Mischief." I knew not he knew of it, and was checked, though I laught it off.

_Oct. 16, 1644_.

Walking together, this Morning, _Rose_ was avised to say, "Did Mr.

_Milton_ ever tell you the Adventures of the _Italian_ Lady?" "Rely on it he never did," sayd Mr. _Agnew.--"Milton_ is as modest a Man as ever breathed--alle Men of first cla.s.s Genius are soe." "What was the Adventure?" I askt, curiouslie. "Why, I neede not tell you, _Moll_, that _John Milton_, as a Youth, was extremelie handsome, even beautifull. His Colour came and went soe like a Girl's, that we of _Christ's_ College used to call him 'the Lady,' and thereby annoy him noe little. One summer Afternoone he and I and young _King_ (_Lycidas_, you know) had started on a country Walk, (the Countrie is not pretty, round _Cambridge_) when we met in with an Acquaintance whom Mr. _Milton_ affected not, soe he sayd he would walk on to the first rising Ground and wait us there. On this rising Ground stood a Tree, beneath which our impatient young Gentleman presentlie cast himself, and, having walked fast, and the Weather being warm, soon falls asleep as sound as a Top. Meantime, _King_ and I quit our Friend and saunter forward pretty easilie. Anon comes up with us a Caroche, with something I know not what of outlandish in its Build; and within it, two Ladies, one of them having the fayrest Face I ever set Eyes on, present Companie duly excepted. The Caroche having pa.s.sed us, _King_ and I mutuallie express our Admiration, and thereupon, preferring Turf to Dust, got on the other Side the Hedge, which was not soe thick but that we could make out the Caroche, and see the Ladies descend from it, to walk up the Hill. Having reached the Tree, they paused in Surprise at seeing _Milton_ asleep beneath it; and in prettie dumb Shew, which we watcht sharplie, exprest their Admiration of his Appearance and Posture, which woulde have suited an _Arcadian_ well enough. The younger Lady, hastilie taking out a Pencil and Paper, wrote something which she laughinglie shewed her Companion, and then put into the Sleeper's Hand. Thereupon, they got into their Caroche, and drove off.

_King_ and I, dying with Curiositie to know what she had writ, soon roused our Friend and possest ourselves of the Secret. The Verses ran thus. . . .

Occhi, Stelle mortali, Ministre de miei Mali, Se, chiusi, m' uccidete, Aperti, che farete?

"_Milton_ coloured, crumpled them up, and yet put them in his Pocket; then askt us what the Lady was like. And herein lay the Pleasantry of the Affair; for I truly told him she had a Pear-shaped Face, l.u.s.trous black Eyes, and a Skin that shewed '_il bruno il bel non toglie_;'