Mary Powell & Deborah's Diary Part 7

--What, and if I had begged as hard, at the firste, to goe back to Mr.

_Milton_? might he not have consented _then_?

. . . Soe _Harry_ took me; and as we drew neare _Sheepscote_, I was avised to think how grave, how barely friendlie had beene our last Parting; and to ponder, would _Rose_ make me welcome now? The Infant, _Harry_ tolde me, had beene dead some Dayes; and, as we came in Sight of the little grey old Church, we saw a Knot of People coming out of the Churchyard, and guessed the Baby had just beene buried. Soe it proved--Mr. _Agnew's_ House-door stood ajar; and when we tapped softlie and _Cicely_ admitted us we could see him standing by _Rose_, who was sitting on the Ground and crying as if she would not be comforted.

When she hearde my Voice, she started up, flung her Arms about me, crying more bitterlie than before, and I cried too; and Mr. _Agnew_ went away with _Harry_. Then _Rose_ sayd to me, "You must not leave me agayn." . . .

. . . In the Cool of the Evening, when _Harry_ had left us, she took me into the Churchyarde, and scattered the little Grave with Flowers; and then continued sitting beside it on the Gra.s.se, quiete, but not comfortlesse. I am avised to think she prayed. Then Mr. _Agnew_ came forthe and sate on a flat Tombstone hard by; and without one Word of Introduction took out his _Psalter_, and commenced reading the Psalms for that Evening's Service; to wit, the 41st, the 42d, the 43de; in a low solemne Voice; and methoughte I never in my Life hearde aniething to equall it in the Way of Consolation. _Rose's_ heavie Eyes graduallie lookt up from the Ground into her Husband's Face, and thence up to Heaven. After this, he read, or rather repeated, the Collect at the end of the Buriall Service, putting this Expression,--"As our Hope is, this our deare Infant doth." Then he went on to say in a soothing Tone, "There hath noe misfortune happened to us, but such as is common to the Lot of alle Men. We are alle Sinners, even to the youngest, fayrest, and seeminglie purest among us; and Death entered the World by Sin, and, const.i.tuted as we are, we would not, even if we could, dispense with Death. For, where doth it convey us? From this burthensome, miserable World, into the generall a.s.semblie of _Christ's_ First-born, to be united with the Spiritts of the Just made perfect, to partake of everie Enjoyment which in this World is unconnected with Sin, together with others that are unknowne and unspeakable. And there, we shall agayn have _Bodies_ as well as Soules; Eyes to see, but not to shed Tears; Voices to speak and sing, not to utter Lamentations; Hands, to doe _G.o.d's_ Work; Feet, and it may be, Wings, to carry us on his Errands. Such will be the Blessedness of his glorified Saints; even of those who, having been Servants of Satan till the eleventh Hour, laboured penitentlie and diligentlie for their heavenlie Master one Hour before Sunset; but as for those who, dying in mere Infancie, never committed actuall Sin, they follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth! 'Oh, think of this, dear _Rose_, and Sorrow not as those without Hope; for be a.s.sured, your Child hath more reall Reason to be grieved for you, than you for _him_.'"

With this, and like Discourse, that distilled like the Dew, or the small Rain on the tender Gra.s.se, did _Roger Agnew_ comfort his Wife, untill the Moon had risen. Likewise he spake to us of those who lay buried arounde, how one had died of a broken Heart, another of suddain Joy, another had let Patience have her perfect Work through Years of lingering Disease.

hen we walked slowlie and composedlie Home, and ate our Supper peacefullie, _Rose_ not refusing to eat, though she took but little.

Since that Evening, she hath, at Mr. _Agnew's_ Wish, gone much among the Poor, reading to one, working for another, carrying Food and Medicine to another; and in this I have borne her Companie. I like it well. Methinks how pleasant and seemlie are the Duties of a country Minister's Wife! a G.o.d-fearing Woman, that is, who considereth the Poor and Needy, insteade of aiming to be frounced and purfled like her richest Neighbours. Mr. _Agnew_ was reading to us, last Night, of _Bernard Gilpin_--he of whom the _Lord Burleigh_ sayd, "Who can blame that Man for not accepting a Bishopric?" How charmed were we with the Description of the Simplicitie and Hospitalitie of his Method of living at _Houghton_!--There is another Place of nearlie the same Name, in _Buckinghamshire_--not _Houghton_, but _Horton_, . . . where one Mr.

_John Milton_ spent five of the best Years of his Life,--and where methinks his Wife could have been happier with him than in _Bride's Churchyarde_.--But it profits not to wish and to will.--What was to be, had Need to be, soe there's an End.

_Aug. 1, 1644_.

Mr. _Agnew_ sayd to me this Morning, somewhat gravelie, "I observe, _Cousin_, you seem to consider yourselfe the Victim of Circ.u.mstances."

"And am I not?" I replied. "No," he answered, "Circ.u.mstance is a false G.o.d, unrecognised by the Christian, who contemns him, though a stubborn yet a profitable Servant."--"That may be alle very grand for a Man to doe," I sayd. "Very grand, but very feasible, for a Woman as well as a Man," rejoined Mr. _Agnew_, "and we shall be driven to the Wall alle our Lives, unless we have this victorious Struggle with Circ.u.mstances.

I seldom allude, _Cousin_, to yours, which are almoste too delicate for me to meddle with; and yet I hardlie feele justified in letting soe many opportunities escape. Do I offend? or may I go on?--Onlie think, then, how voluntarilie you have placed yourself in your present uncomfortable Situation. The Tree cannot resist the graduall Growth of the Moss upon it; but you might, anie Day, anie Hour, have freed yourself from the equallie graduall Formation of the Net that has enclosed you at last. You entered too hastilie into your firste--nay, let that pa.s.s,--you gave too shorte a Triall of your new Home before you became disgusted with it. Admit it to have beene dull, even unhealthfulle, were you justified in forsaking it at a Month's End?

But your Husband gave you Leave of Absence, though obtayned on false Pretences.--When you found them to be false, should you not have cleared yourself to him of Knowledge of the Deceit? Then your Leave, soe obtayned, expired--shoulde you not have returned then?--Your Health and Spiritts were recruited; your Husband wrote to reclaim you--shoulde you not have returned then? He provided an Escort, whom your Father beat and drove away.--If you had insisted on going to your Husband, might you not have gone _then_? Oh, _Cousin_, you dare not look up to Heaven and say you have been the Victim of Circ.u.mstances."

I made no Answer; onlie felt much moven, and very angrie. I sayd, "If I wished to goe back, Mr. _Milton_ woulde not receive me now."

"Will you try?" sayd _Roger_. "Will you but let me try? Will you let me write to him?"

I had a Mind to say "Yes."--Insteade, I answered "No."

"Then there's an End," cried he sharplie. "Had you made but one fayre Triall, whether successfulle or noe, I coulde have been satisfied--no, not satisfied, but I woulde have esteemed you, coulde have taken your Part. As it is, the less I say just now, perhaps, the better. Forgive me for having spoken at alle."

----Afterwards, I hearde him say to _Rose_ of me, "I verilie believe there is Nothing in her on which to make a permanent Impression. I verilie think she loves everie one of those long Curls of hers more than she loves Mr. _Milton_."

(Note:--I will cut them two Inches shorter tonight. And they will grow all the faster.)

. . . Oh, my sad Heart, _Roger Agnew_ hath pierced you at last!

I was moved, more than he thought, by what he had sayd in the Morning; and, in writing down the Heads of his Speech, to kill Time, a kind of Resentment at myselfe came over me, unlike to what I had ever felt before; in spite of my Folly about my Curls. Seeking for some Trifle in a Bag that had not been shaken out since I brought it from _London_, out tumbled a Key with curious Wards--I knew it at once for one that belonged to a certayn Algum-wood Casket Mr. _Milton_ had Recourse to dailie, because he kept small Change in it; and I knew not I had brought it away! 'Twas worked in Grotesque, the Casket, by _Benvenuto_, for _Clement_ the Seventh, who for some Reason woulde not have it; and soe it came somehow to _Clementillo_, who gave it to Mr.

_Milton_. Thought I, how uncomfortable the Loss of this Key must have made him! he must have needed it a hundred Times! even if he hath bought a new Casket, I will for it he habituallie goes agayn and agayn to the old one, and then he remembers that he lost the Key the same Day that he lost his Wife. I heartilie wish he had it back. Ah, but he feels not the one Loss as he feels the other. Nay, but it is as well that one of them, tho' the Lesser, should be repaired. 'Twill shew Signe of Grace, my thinking of him, and may open the Way, if _G.o.d_ wills, to some Interchange of Kindnesse, however fleeting.

Soe I soughte out Mr. _Agnew_, tapping at his Studdy Doore. He sayd, "Come in," drylie enoughe; and there were he and _Rose_ reading a Letter. I sayd, "I want you to write for me to Mr. _Milton_." He gave a sour Look, as much as to say he disliked the Office; which threw me back, as 'twere; he having soe lately proposed it himself. _Rose's_ Eyes, however, dilated with sweete Pleasure, as she lookt from one to the other of us.

"Well,--I fear 'tis too late," sayd he at length reluctantlie, I mighte almost say grufflie,--"what am I to write?"

"To tell him I have this Key," I made Answer faltering.

"That Key!" cried he.

"Yes, the Key of his Algum-wood Casket, which I knew not I had, and which I think he must miss dailie."

He lookt at me with the utmost Impatience. "And is that alle?" he sayd.

"Yes, alle," I sayd trembling.

"And have you nothing more to tell him?" sayd he.

"No--" after a Pause, I replyed. _Rose's_ Countenance fell.

"Then you must ask some one else to write for you, Mrs. _Milton,"_ burste forthe _Roger Agnew_, "unless you choose to write for yourself.

I have neither Part nor Lot in it."

I burste forthe into Teares.

--"No, _Rose_, no," repeated Mr. _Agnew_, putting aside his Wife, who woulde have interceded for me,--"her Teares have noe Effect on me now--they proceed, not from a contrite Heart, they are the Tears of a Child that cannot brook to be chidden for the Waywardnesse in which it persists."

"You doe me Wrong everie Way," I sayd; "I came to you willing and desirous to doe what you yourselfe woulde, this Morning, have had me doe."

"But in how strange a Way!" cried he. "At a Time when anie Renewal of your Intercourse requires to be conducted with the utmost Delicacy, and even with more Shew of Concession on your Part than, an Hour ago, I should have deemed needfulle,--to propose an abrupt, trivial Communication about an old Key!"

"It needed not to have been abrupt," I sayd, "nor yet trivial; for I meant it to have beene exprest kindlie."

"You said not that before," answered he.

"Because you gave me not Time.--Because you chid me and frightened me."

He stood silent, some While, upon this; grave, yet softer, and mechanicallie playing with the Key, which he had taken from my Hand.

_Rose_ looking in his Face anxiouslie. At lengthe, to disturbe his Reverie, she playfulle tooke it from him, saying, in School-girl Phrase,

"This is the Key of the Kingdom!"

"Of the Kingdom of Heaven, it mighte be!" exclaimed _Roger_, "if we knew how to use it arighte! If we knew but how to fit it to the Wards of _Milton's_ Heart!--there's the Difficultie. . . . a greater one, poor _Moll_, than you know; for hitherto, alle the Reluctance has been on your Part. But now . . ."

"What now?" I anxiouslie askt.

"We were talking of you but as you rejoyned us," sayd Mr. _Agnew_, "and I was telling _Rose_ that hithertoe I had considered the onlie Obstacle to a Reunion arose from a false Impression of your own, that Mr.

_Milton_ coulde not make you happy. But now I have beene led to the Conclusion that you cannot make _him_ soe, which increases the Difficultie."

After a Pause, I sayd, "What makes you think soe?"

"You and he have made me think soe," he replyed. "First for yourself, dear _Moll_, putting aside for a Time the Consideration of your Youth, Beauty, Franknesse, Mirthfullenesse, and a certayn girlish Drollerie and Mischiefe that are all very well in fitting Time and Place,--what remains in you for a Mind like _John Milton's_ to repose upon? what Stabilitie? what Sympathie? what steadfast Principle? You take noe Pains to apprehend and relish his favourite Pursuits; you care not for his wounded Feelings, you consult not his Interests, anie more than your owne Duty. Now, is such the Character to make _Milton_ happy?"

"No one can answer that but himself," I replyed, deeplie mortyfide.

"Well, he _has_ answered it," sayd Mr. _Agnew_, taking up the Letter he and _Rose_ had beene reading when I interrupted them. . . . "You must know, _Cousin_, that his and my close Friendship hath beene a good deal interrupted by this Matter. 'Twas under my Roof you met. _Rose_ had imparted to me much of her earlie Interest in you. I fancied you had good Dispositions which, under masterlie Trayning, would ripen into n.o.ble Principles; and therefore promoted your Marriage as far as my Interest with your Father had Weight. I own I was surprised at his easilie obtayned Consent . . . but, that _you_, once domesticated with such a Man as _John Milton_, shoulde find your Home uninteresting, your Affections free to stray back to your owne Family, was what I had never contemplated."

Here I made a Show of taking the Letter, but he held it back.

"No, _Moll_, you disappointed us everie Way. And, for a Time, _Rose_ and I were ashamed, _for_ you rather than of you, that we left noe Means neglected of trying to preserve your Place in your Husband's Regard. But you did not bear us out; and then he beganne to take it amisse that we upheld you. Soe then, after some warm and cool Words, our Correspondence languished; and hath but now beene renewed."