The International Monthly, Volume 2, No. 4, March, 1851. Various
the wit of Butler, his rival and political enemy. Fortune seems about this period to have dealt hardly with him. Even while his political satires rang through the very halls of the pampered and impure Charles, when they were roared forth in every tavern, shouted in the public streets, and attracted the most envied attention throughout England, their author was obliged to exchange the free air, apt type of the freedom which he loved, for a lodging in a court off the Strand, where, enduring unutterable temptations, flattered and threatened, he more than realized the stories of Roman virtue.
The poet Mason has made Marvel the hero of his 'Ode to Independence,' and thus alludes to his incorruptible integrity:—
'In awful Poverty his honest Muse
Walks forth Vindictive through a venal land;
In vain Corruption sheds her golden dews,
In vain Oppression lifts her iron hand;
He scorns them both, and arm'd with Truth alone,
Bids Lust and Folly tremble on the throne.'
Marvel, by opposing the ministry and its measures, created himself many enemies,3 and made himself very obnoxious to the government, yet Charles II. took great delight in his conversation, and tried all means to win him over to his side, but in vain; nothing being ever able to shake his resolution. There were many instances of his firmness in resisting the offers of the Court, in which he showed himself proof against all temptations.
We close our eyes upon this peaceful dwelling of the heroic senator, and imagine ourselves in the reign of the second Charles, threading our way into that 'court off the Strand,' where Marvel ended his days. We enter the house, and climbing the stairs even to the second floor, perceive the object of our warmest admiration. He is not alone, though there is no possibility of confounding the poet with the courtier. Andrew Marvel is plainly dressed, his figure is strong, and about the middle size, his countenance open, and his complexion of a ruddy cast; his eyes are of a soft hazel color, mild and steady; his eyebrows straight, and so flexible as to mould without an effort into a satirical curve, if such be the mind's desire; his mouth is close, and indicative of firmness; and his brown hair falls gracefully back from a full and noble forehead. He sits in an upright and determined manner upon an uneasy-looking high-backed chair. A somewhat long table intervenes between him and his visitor; one end of it is covered with a white cloth, and a dish of cold meat is flanked by a loaf of bread and a dark earthenware jug. On the opposite end is placed a bag of gold, beside which lies the richly-embroidered glove which the cavalier with whom he is conversing has flung off. There is strange contrast in the attitude of the two men. Lord Danby lounges with the ease of a courtier and the grace of a gentleman upon a chair of as stiff and uncomfortable an appearance as that which is occupied after so upright a fashion by Andrew Marvel.
"I have answered you, my lord," said the patriot, "already. Methinks there need be no further parley on the subject; it is not my first temptation, though I most fervently desire it may be the last."
The nobleman took up his glove and drew it on. "I again pray you to consider," he said, "whether, if with us, the very usefulness you so much prize would not have a more extensive sphere. You would have larger means of being useful."
"My lord, I should certainly have the means of tempting usefulness to forsake duty."
The cavalier rose, but the displeasure that flushed his countenance soon faded before the serene and holy expression of Milton's friend.
"And are you so determined?" said his lordship, sorrowfully. "Are you really so determined? A thousand English pounds are there, and thrice the sum—nay, any thing you ask–"
"My lord! my lord!" interrupted Marvel, indignantly, "this perseverance borders upon insult. Nay, my good lord, you do not so intend it, but your master does not understand me. Pray you, note this: two days ago that meat was hot; it has remained cold since, and there is enough still for to-morrow; and I am well content. A man so easily satisfied is not likely to exchange an approving conscience for dross like that!"
We pray God that the sin of Marvel's death did not rest with the great ones of those times; but it was strange and sudden.4 He did not leave wherewith to bury the sheath of such a noble spirit, but his constituents furnished forth a decent funeral, and would have erected a monument to his memory in the church of St. Giles-in-the-Fields, where he was interred; but the rector, blinded by the dust of royalty to the merits of the man, refused the necessary permission. Marvel's name is remembered, though the rector's has been long forgotten.5
Wood tells us, that Marvel was in his conversation very modest, and of few words; and Cooke, the writer of his life, observes that he was very reserved among those whom he did not know, but a most delightful and improving companion among his friends. John Aubrey, who knew him personally, thus describes him: 'He was of a middling stature, pretty strong set, roundish cherry-checked, hazle-eyed, brown-haired.' He was (as Wood also says) in conversation very modest, and of a very few words. He was wont to say, that he would not drink high or freely with any one with whom he would not trust his life.
Marvel lived among friends at Highgate; exactly opposite to his door was the residence of General Ireton and his wife Bridget, the eldest daughter of Oliver Cromwell; and which house still bears his name, and is described in 'Prickett's History of Highgate,' one of those local topographical works which deserve encouragement:—'Cromwell House is supposed to have been built by the Protector, whose name it bears, about the year 1630, as a residence for General Ireton, who married his daughter and was one of the commanders of his army; it is, however, said to have been the residence of Oliver Cromwell himself, but no mention is made, either in history or in his biography, of his having ever lived at Highgate. Tradition states, there was a subterraneous passage from this house to the mansion house which stood where the New Church now stands, but of its reality no proof has hitherto been adduced. Cromwell House was evidently built and internally ornamented in accordance with the taste of its military occupant. The staircase, which is of handsome proportions, is richly decorated with oaken carved figures, supposed to have been of persons in the general's army, in their costume; and the balustrades filled in with devices emblematical of warfare. On the ceilings of the drawing-room are the arms of General Ireton; this and the ceilings of the other principal apartments are enriched in conformity with the fashion of those days. The proportion of the noble rooms, as well as the brick-work in front, well deserves the notice and study of the antiquarian and the architect. From the platform on the top of the mansion may be seen a perfect panorama of the surrounding country.'
The staircase above described is here engraved. It is a remarkably striking and elegant specimen of internal decoration, of broad and noble proportion, and of a solid and grand construction suitable to the time of its erection; the wood-work of the house is every where equally bold and massive; the door-cases of simple but good design. There are some ceilings in the first story which are in rich plaster work, ornamented with the arms of Ireton; and mouldings of fruit and flowers, of a sumptuous and bold enrichment.
The series of figures which stand upon the newels of the staircase are all engraved below. There are ten remaining out of twelve, the original number; the missing two are said to have been figures of Cromwell and Ireton, destroyed at the Restoration. They stand about a foot in height, and represent the different soldiers of the army, from the fifer and drummer to the captain, and originally, to the commanders. They are curious for more reasons than one; their locality, their truthfulness, their history, and the picture they help us to realise of the army of Cromwell are all so many claims on our attention.
A NOVELIST'S APPEAL FOR THE CANADAS
Among the new English novels is one entitled Ellen Clayton, or the Nomades of the West, by Douglass Huyghue. The author seems to feel for the red men the same regard which the adventurous artist and traveller Catlin has expressed in England, and his work comes in aid of those appeals which Catlin has so often made on their behalf. Such a motive entitles the author to respect, and gives an additional value to the book; while the talent with which it is written, renders it a narrative of unusual interest. In nothing but its theme is it like to any of Cooper's novels. Its incidents
'No stronger satire could be penned than that descriptive of the Court of Charles, in the poem called 'Britannia and Raleigh:'—
But not only do the courtiers feel the lash, for when Raleigh implores Britannia to urge his duty on the king, and save him from the bad who surround him, she interrupts him with—
'Marvel died in 1678, in his fifty-eighth year, not without the strongest suspicions of having been poisoned; for he was always very temperate, and of an healthful and strong constitution to the last.'
On the death of this rector, however, the monument and inscription was placed on the north wall of the church, near the spot where he is supposed to lie.