Marvell's own poem, though eclipsed by the splendour of Glorious John's resounding lines, has an interest of its own as being, in its roughly humorous way, a forerunner of the "Dunciad" and "Grub Street"

literature, by which in sundry moods 'tis "pleasure to be bound." It describes seeking out the poetaster in his lodging "three staircases high," at the sign of the Pelican, in a room so small that it seemed "a coffin set in the stair's head." No sooner was the rhymer unearthed than straightway he began to recite his poetry in dismal tones, much to his visitor's dismay:--

"But I who now imagin'd myself brought To my last trial, in a serious thought Calm'd the disorders of my youthful breast And to my martyrdom prepared rest.

Only this frail ambition did remain, The last distemper of the sober brain, That there had been some present to a.s.sure The future ages how I did endure."

To stop the cataract of "hideous verse," Marvell invited the scarecrow to dinner, and waits while he dresses. As they turn to leave, for the room is so small that the man who comes in last must be the first to go out, they meet a friend of the poet on the stairs, who makes a third at dinner. After dinner Flecknoe produces ten quires of paper, from which the friend proceeds to read, but so infamously as to excite their author's rage:--

"But all his praises could not now appease The provok't Author, whom it did displease To hear his verses by so just a curse That were ill made, condemned to be read worse: And how (impossible!) he made yet more Absurdities in them than were before: For his untun'd voice did fall or raise As a deaf man upon the Viol plays, Making the half-points and the periods run Confus'der than the atoms in the sun: Thereat the poet swell'd with anger full,"

and after violent exclamations retires in dudgeon back to his room. The faithful friend is in despair. What is he to do to make peace? "Who would commend his mistress now?" Marvell

"counselled him to go in time Ere the fierce poet's anger turned to rhyme."

The advice was taken, and Marvell, finding himself at last free from boredom, went off to St. Peter's to return thanks.

This poem is but an unsatisfactory _souvenir de voyage_, but it is all there is.

What Marvell was doing during the stirring years 1646-1650 is not known. Even in the most troubled times men go about their business, and our poet was always a man of affairs. As for his opinions during these years, we can only guess at them from those to which he afterwards gave expression. Marvell was neither a Republican nor a Puritan. Like his father before him, he was a Protestant and a member of the Reformed Church of England. He stood for both King and Parliament. Archbishop Laud he distrusted, and it may well be detested, but good churchmen have often distrusted and even detested their archbishops. Mr. Gladstone had no great regard for Archbishop Tait. Before the Act of Uniformity and the repressive legislation that followed upon its heels had driven English dissent into its final moulds, it was not doctrine but ceremonies that disturbed men's minds; and Marvell belonged to that school of English churchmen, by no means the least distinguished school, which was not disposed to quarrel with their fellow-Christians over white surplices, the ring in matrimony, or the att.i.tude during Holy Communion. He shared the belief of a contemporary that no system is bad enough to destroy a good man, or good enough to save a bad one.

The Civil War was to Marvell what it was to most wise men not devoured by faction--a deplorable event. Twenty years after he wrote in the _Rehearsal Transprosed_:--

"Whether it be a war of religion or of liberty it is not worth the labour to inquire. Whichsoever was at the top, the other was at the bottom; but upon considering all, I think the cause was too good to have been fought for. Men ought to have trusted G.o.d--they ought to have trusted the King with that whole matter. The arms of the Church are prayers and tears, the arms of the subject are patience and pet.i.tions. The King himself being of so accurate and piercing a judgment would soon have felt it where it stuck. For men may spare their pains when Nature is at work, and the world will not go the faster for our driving. Even as his present Majesty's happy Restoration did itself, so all things else happen in their best and proper time, without any heed of our officiousness."[24:1]

In the face of this pa.s.sage and many another of the like spirit, it is puzzling to find such a man, for example, as Thomas Baker, the ejected non-juring Fellow and historian of St. John's College, Cambridge (1656-1740), writing of Marvell as "that bitter republican"; and Dryden, who probably knew Marvell, comparing his controversial pamphlets with those of Martin Marprelate, or at all events speaking of Martin Marprelate as "the Marvell of those times."[24:2] A somewhat anti-prelatical note runs through Marvell's writings, but it is a familiar enough note in the works of the English laity, and by no means dissevers its possessor from the Anglican Church. But there are some heated expressions in the satires which probably gave rise to the belief that Marvell was a Republican.[24:3]

During the Commonwealth Marvell was content to be a civil servant. He entertained for the Lord-Protector the same kind of admiration that such a loyalist as Chateaubriand could not help feeling for Napoleon. Even Clarendon's pedantic soul occasionally vibrates as he writes of Oliver, and compares his reputation in foreign courts with that of his own royal master. When the Restoration came Marvell rejoiced. Two old-established things had been destroyed by Cromwell--Kings and Parliaments, and Marvell was glad to see them both back again in England.

Some verses of Marvell's attributable to this period (1646-1650) show him keeping what may be called Royalist company. With a dozen other friends of Richard Lovelace, the Cavalier poet and the author of two of the most famous stanzas in English verse, Marvell contributed some commendatory lines addressed to his "n.o.ble friend, Mr. Richard Lovelace, upon his Poems," which appeared with the poems themselves in that year of fate, 1649. "After the murder of the King," says Anthony Wood, "Lovelace was set at liberty, and having by that time consumed all his estate, grew very melancholy, became very poor in body and purse, was the object of charity, went in ragged clothes (whereas when he was in glory he wore cloth of gold and silver), and mostly lodged in obscure and dirty places, more befitting the worst of beggars and poorest of servants."

Then it was that _Lucasta_ made its first appearance. When the fortunes of the gallant poet were at their lowest and never to revive, Marvell seizes the occasion to deplore the degeneracy of the times, a familiar theme with poets:--

"Our civil wars have lost the civic crown, He highest builds who with most art destroys, And against others' fame his own employs."

He then glances scornfully at the new Presbyterian censorship of the press:--

"The barbed censurers begin to look Like the grim consistory on thy book, And on each line cast a reforming eye,"

and suggests that _Lucasta_ is in danger because in 1642 its author had been imprisoned by order of the House of Commons for presenting a pet.i.tion from Kent which prayed for the restoration of the Book of Common Prayer. This danger is, however, overcome by the ladies, who rise in arms to defend their favourite poet.

"But when the beauteous Ladies came to know That their dear Lovelace was endangered so, Lovelace that thaw'd the most congealed breast, He who lov'd best and them defended best, They all in mutiny, though yet undrest, Sally'd."

One of them challenged Marvell as to whether he had not been of the poet's traducers, but he answered No!

"O No, mistake not, I reply'd, for I In your defence or in his cause would die.

But he, secure of glory and of time, Above their envy or my aid doth climb.

Him, bravest men and fairest nymphs approve, His book in them finds Judgment, with you, Love."

Lovelace did not live to see the Restoration, but died in a mean lodging near Shoe Lane in April 1658, and was buried in St. Bridget's Church.

Let us indulge the hope that the friends who occupied so many of the introductory pages of Lovelace's _Lucasta_ occasionally enlivened the solitude and relieved the distress of the poet whose praises they had once sung with so much vigour. As Marvell was undoubtedly a friendly man, and one who loved to be alone with his friends, and had never any house of his own to keep up, living for the most part in hired lodgings, it would be unkind to doubt that he at least did not forget Lovelace in his poverty and depression of spirit.

In 1649 thirty-three poets combined to weep over the early grave of the Lord Henry Hastings, the eldest son of the sixth Earl of Huntingdon, who died of the smallpox in the twentieth year of his age. Not even this plentiful discharge of poets' tears should rob the young n.o.bleman of his claim to be regarded as a fine example of the great learning, accomplishments, and high spirits of the age. We can still produce the thirty-three poets, but what young n.o.bleman is there who can boast such erudition as had rewarded the scorned delights and the laborious days of this Lord Hastings? We have at least the satisfaction of knowing that did such a one exist he probably would not die of the smallpox. Among the poets who wept on this occasion were Herrick, Sir John Denham, Andrew Marvell, and John Dryden, then a Westminster schoolboy, whose description of the smallpox is as bad as the disease.

Marvell's verses begin very prettily and soon introduce a characteristic touch:--

"Go, stand betwixt the Morning and the Flowers, And ere they fall arrest the early showers, Hastings is dead; and we disconsolate With early tears must mourn his early fate."

In 1650 Marvell, then in his twenty-ninth year, went to live with Lord Fairfax at Nunappleton House in Yorkshire, as tutor to the only child and daughter of the house, Mary Fairfax, aged twelve years (born 30th July 1638). This proved to be a great event in Marvell's life as a poet, and it happened at an epoch in the distinguished career of the famous Parliamentarian general

"Whose name in arms through Europe rings."

Lord Fairfax, though he had countenanced, if not approved, the trial and deposition of the king, had resolutely held himself aloof from the proceedings which, beginning on Sat.u.r.day the 20th of January 1649, terminated so dismally on Tuesday the 30th. The strange part played by Lady Fairfax on the first day of the so-called trial (though it was no greater a travesty of justice than many a real trial both before and after) is one of the best-known stories in English history. There are several versions of it. Having provided herself with a seat in a small gallery in Westminster Hall, just above the heads of the judges, when her husband's name was called out as one of the commissioners, the intrepid lady (no Cavalier's dame, be it remembered, but a true blue Presbyterian), a brave soldier's daughter, cried out, "Lord Fairfax is not here; he will never sit among you. You do wrong to name him as a sitting Commissioner." This is Rushworth's version, and he was present.

Clarendon, who was not present, being abroad at the time, reports the words as, "He has more wit than to be here."

Later on in the day, when the President Bradshaw interrupted the king and peremptorily bade him to answer the charges exhibited against him "in the name of the Commons of England a.s.sembled, and of the people of England," Lady Fairfax again rose to her feet and exclaimed, "It's a lie! Not half the people. Where are they and their consents? Oliver Cromwell is a traitor."

Lieutenant-Colonel Axtell, who during the trial was in command of a regiment in Westminster and charged by his military superior, Lord Fairfax himself, with the duty of maintaining order, hearing this disturbance, went forward and told Lady Fairfax to hold her tongue, sound advice which she appears to have taken. After the Restoration Axtell was put to his trial as a "regicide." His defence, which was, that as a soldier he obeyed his orders, and was no more guilty than his general, Lord Fairfax, was not listened to, and he was sentenced to death, a fate which he met like the brave man he was.

Although Fairfax did not immediately resign his command after the king's death, from that moment he lost heart in the cause. Lady Fairfax, whose loyalty to Charles may have been quickened by her dislike of Oliver, had great influence with him, and it may well be that his conscience p.r.i.c.ked him. The rupture came in June 1650, when Charles's son made his appearance in Scotland and his peace with the Presbyterians, subscribing with inward emotions it would be unkind to attempt to describe the Solemn League and Covenant, and attending services and listening to sermons the length of which, at least, he never forgot. War was plainly imminent between the two countries. The question was, who should begin?

Cromwell, who had hurried home from Ireland, Lambert, and Harrison were all keen to strike the first blow. Fairfax felt a scruple, and in those days scruples counted. Was there, he asked, a just cause for an invasion of Scotland? A committee was appointed, consisting of the three warriors above-named with St. John and Whitelock, to confer with the Lord-General and satisfy him of the lawfulness of the undertaking. The six met, and having first prayed--Oliver praying first--they proceeded to a discussion which may be read at length in Whitelock's _Memorials_, vol.

iii. p. 207. The substance of their talk was as follows: Fairfax's scruple proved to be that both they and the Scots had joined in the Solemn League and Covenant, and that, therefore, until Scotland a.s.sumed the offensive, there was no cause for an invasion. Cromwell's retort, after a preliminary quibble, was practical enough. "War is inevitable.

Is it better to have it in the bowels of another's country or in one's own? In one or other it must be." Fairfax's scruple, however, withstood this battery, though it was strongly enforced by Harrison, who, in reply to the Lord-General's question, "What was the warrant for the a.s.sumption that Scotland meant to fall upon England?" inquired, if Scotland did not mean to invade England, for whose benefit were levies being made and soldiers enlisted.

Fairfax proved immovable. "Every man," said he, "must stand or fall by his own conscience"; and as he offered to lay down his command, there was nothing for it but to accept the resignation and appoint his successor. This was speedily done, and on the 28th of June 1650 "Oliver Cromwell, Esquire," was appointed Captain-General and Commander-in-chief of all the forces. On 16th July Cromwell crossed the Tweed, and on the 3rd of September the Lord delivered Leslie into his hands at Dunbar.

It was in these circ.u.mstances that Lord Fairfax and his energetic lady and only child went back to their Yorkshire home in the midsummer of 1650, taking Marvell with them to instruct the Lady Mary in the tongues.

Nunappleton House is in the Ainstey of York, a pleasant bit of country bounded by the rivers Ouse, Wharfe, and Nidd. The modern traveller, as his train rushes north, whilst shut up in his corridor-carriage with his rug, his pipe, and his novel, pa.s.ses at no great distance from the house on the way between Selby and York. The old house, as it was in Marvell's time, is thus described by Captain Markham, who had a print to help him, in his delightful _Life of the Great Lord Fairfax_:--

"It was a picturesque brick mansion with stone copings and a high steep roof, and consisted of a centre and two wings at right angles, forming three sides of a square, facing to the north. The great hall or gallery occupied the centre between the two wings. It was fifty yards long, and was adorned with thirty shields in wood, painted with the arms of the family. In the three rooms there were chimney-pieces of delicate marble of various colours, and many fine portraits on the walls. The central part of the house was surrounded by a cupola, and cl.u.s.tering chimneys rose in the two wings. A n.o.ble park with splendid oak-trees, and containing 300 head of deer, stretched away to the north, while on the south side were the ruins of the old Nunnery, the flower-garden, and the low meadows called _ings_ extending to the banks of the Wharfe. In this flower-garden the General took especial delight. The flowers were planted in ma.s.ses, tulips, pinks, and roses, each in separate beds, which were cut into the shape of forts with five bastions. General Lambert, whom Fairfax had reared as a soldier, also loved his flowers, and excelled both in cultivating them and in painting them from Nature. Lord Fairfax only went to Denton, the favourite seat of his grandfather, when the floods were out over the _ings_ at Nunappleton, and he also occasionally resorted to his house at Bishop Hill in York."[31:1]

In this garden the muse of Andrew Marvell blossomed like the cherry-tree.

Lord Fairfax, though furious in war, and badly wounded in many a fierce engagement, was, when otherwise occupied, a man of quiet literary tastes, and a good bit of a collector and _virtuoso_. Some of the rare books and ma.n.u.scripts he had around him at Nunappleton are now in the Bodleian, the treasures of which he had protected in troubled times. He loved to handle medals and coins, and knew the points of old engravings. He wrote a history of the Christian Church down to our own ill-conducted Reformation, and composed a complete metrical version of the Psalms of David and of the Song of Solomon. These and many other productions, which he characterised as "The Employment of my Solitude,"

still remain in his own handwriting. Amongst them, Yorkshire men will hear with pleasure, is a "Treatise on the breeding of the Horse."

Of the quality of his wife we have already had a touch. She was one of the four daughters of Lord Vere of Tilbury, who came of a fine fighting family, and whose daughters had a roughish bringing-up, chiefly in the Netherlands. None of the daughters were reckoned beautiful, either in face or figure, and it may well be that Lady Fairfax had something about her of the old campaigner; but of her courage, sincerity, and goodness there can be no question. Her loyalty was no sickly fruit of "Church Principles," for her strong intelligence rejected scornfully the slavish doctrines, alien to our political const.i.tution, of divine right and pa.s.sive obedience; but a loyalty, none the less, it was, of a very valuable kind. She was fond of argument, and with Lady Fairfax at Nunappleton there was never likely to be any dearth of sensible talk and lively reminiscence. The tragedy of the 30th of January could never be forgotten, and it is possible that Marvell's most famous verses, so n.o.bly descriptive of the demeanour of the king on that memorable occasion, derived their inspiration from discourse at Nunappleton.

Of the Lady Mary, aged twelve, we have no direct testimony. When she grew up and had her portrait painted she stands revealed as a stout young woman with a plain good-natured face. The poor soul needed all the good-nature heaven had bestowed upon her, for she had to bear the misery and disgrace which were the inevitable marriage-portion of the woman whose ill-luck it was to become the wife of George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham. Somebody seems to have taught her philosophy, for she bore her misfortunes as best became a great lady, living as one who had sorrow but no grievance. The duke died in 1688; she lived on till 1704. She was ever a good friend to another ill-used solitary wife, Catherine of Braganza. Marvell had every reason to be proud of his pupil.

Beside the actual inmates of the great house, the whole countryside swarmed with Fairfaxes. At the Rectory of Bolton Percy was the late Lord-General's uncle, Henry Fairfax, and his two sons, Henry, who succeeded to the t.i.tle, and the better-known Brian, the biographer of the Duke of Buckingham. At Stenton, four miles off, lived the widow of the gallant Sir William Fairfax, who died, covered with wounds, in 1644 before Montgomery Castle. There were two sons and two daughters at Stenton, whilst Charles Fairfax, another uncle, and the lawyer and genealogist of the family, lived at no great distance with no less than fourteen children. There were also sisters of Lord Fairfax, with families of their own, all settled in the same part of the county.

Such were the agreeable surroundings of our poet for two years, 1650-1652. I must leave it to the imaginations of my readers to fill up the picture, for excepting the poems, which we may safely a.s.sume were written at Nunappleton House, and--who can doubt it?--read aloud to its inmates, there is nothing more to be said.

Before considering the Nunappleton poetry, a word must be got in of bibliography. College exercises and complimentary verses excepted, Marvell printed none of his verse under his own name in his lifetime. So far as his themes were political there is no need to wonder at this.

Indeed, the wonder is how, despite their anonymity, their author kept his ears; but why the Nunappleton verse should have remained in ma.n.u.script for more than thirty years is hard to explain.

Until Pope took his muse to market, poetry, apart from the drama, had no direct commercial value, or one too small to be ranked as a motive for publication. None the less, the age loved distinction and appreciated wit, and to be known as a poet whose verses "numbered good intellects"

was to gain the _entree_ to the society of men both of intellect and fashion, and also, not infrequently, snug berths in the public service, and secretaryships to foreign missions and emba.s.sies. Thus there was always, in addition to natural vanity, a strong motive for a seventeenth-century poet to publish his poems. To-day one would hesitate to recommend a young man who wanted to get on in the world to publish a volume of verse; but the age of "wit" and "parts" is over.