IT is painful to observe the acrimony which the most eminent scholars have infused frequently in their controversial writings. The politeness of the present times has in some degree softened the malignity of the man, in the dignity of the author, but this is by no means an irrevocable law.
It is said not to be honourable to literature to revive such controversies; and a work entitled “Querelles Litteraries,” when it first appeared, excited loud murmurs. But it has its moral; like showing the drunkard to a youth that he may turn aside disgusted with ebriety. Must we suppose that men of letters are exempt from the human passions? Their sensibility, on the contrary, is more irritable than that of others. To observe the ridiculous attitudes in which great men appear, when they employ the style of the fish-market, may be one great means of restraining that ferocious pride often breaking out in the republic of letters. Johnson at least appears to have entertained the same opinion; for he thought proper to republish the low invective of Dryden against Settle: and since I have published my “Quarrels of Authors,” it becomes me to say no more.
The celebrated controversy of Salmasius continued by Morus with Milton—the first the pleader of King Charles, the latter the advocate of the people—was of that magnitude, that all Europe took a part in the paper-war of these two great men. The answer of Milton, who perfectly massacred Salmasius, is now read but by the few. Whatever is addressed to the times, however great may be its merit, is doomed to perish with the times; yet on these pages the philosopher will not contemplate in vain.
It will form no uninteresting article to gather a few of the rhetorical weeds, for flowers we cannot well call them, with which they mutually presented each other. Their rancour was at least equal to their erudition, the two most learned antagonists of a learned age!
Salmasius was a man of vast erudition, but no taste. His writings are learned; but sometimes ridiculous. He called his work Defensio Regia, Defence of Kings. The opening of this work provokes a laugh. “Englishmen! who toss the heads of kings as so many tennis-balls; who play with crowns as if they were bowls; who look upon sceptres as so many crooks.”
That the deformity of the body is an idea we attach to the deformity of the mind, the vulgar must acknowledge; but surely it is unpardonable in the enlightened philosopher thus to compare the crookedness of corporeal matter with the rectitude of the intellect; yet Milbourne and Dennis, the last a formidable critic, have frequently considered, that comparing Dryden and Pope to whatever the eye turned from with displeasure was very good argument to lower their literary abilities. Salmasius seems also to have entertained this idea, though his spies in England gave him wrong information; or, possibly, he only drew the figure of his own distempered imagination.
Salmasius sometimes reproaches Milton as being but a puny piece of man; an homunculus, a dwarf deprived of the human figure, a bloodless being, composed of nothing but skin and bone; a contemptible pedagogue, fit only to flog his boys: and sometimes elevating the ardour of his mind into a poetic frenzy, he applies to him the words of Virgil, “Monstum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.” Our great poet thought this senseless declamation merited a serious refutation; perhaps he did not wish to appear despicable in the eyes of the ladies; and he would not be silent on the subject, he says, lest any one should consider him as the credulous Spaniards are made to believe by their priests, that a heretic is a kind of rhinoceros or a dog-headed monster. Milton says, that he does not think any one ever considered him as unbeautiful; that his size rather approaches mediocrity than the diminutive; that he still felt the same courage and the same strength which he possessed when young, when, with his sword, he felt no difficulty to combat with men more robust than himself; that his face, far from heing pale, emaciated, and wrinkled, was sufficiently creditable to him; for though he had passed his fortieth year, he was in all other respects ten years younger. And very pathetically he adds, “that even his eyes, blind as they are, are unblemished in their appearance; in this instance alone, and much against my inclination, I am a deceiver.”
Morus, in his Epistle dedicatory of his Regii Sanguinis Clamor, compares Milton to a hangman; his disordered vision to the blindness of his soul, and vomits forth his venom.
When Salmasius found that his strictures on the person of Milton were false, and that, on the contrary, it was uncommonly beautiful, he then turned his battery against those graces with which Nature had so liberally adorned his adversary. And it is now that he seems to have laid no restrictinns on his pen; but raging with the irritation of Milton’s success, he throws out the blackest calumnies, and the most infamous aspersions.
It must be observed, when Milton first proposed to answer Salmasius he had lost the use of one of his eyes: and his physicians declared, that if he applied himself to the controversy, the other would likewise close for ever! His patriotism was not to be baffled but with life itself. Unhappily, the prediction of his physicians took place. Thus a learned man in the occupations of study falls blind: a circumstance even now not read without sympathy. Salmasius considers it as one from which he may draw caustic ridicule and satiric severity.
Salmasius glories that Milton lost his health and his eyes in answering his apology for King Charles! He does not now reproach him with natural deformities; but he malignantly sympathises with him, that he now no more is in possession of that beauty which rendered him so amiable during his residence in Italy. He speaks more plainly in a following page; and in a word, would blacken the austere virtue of Milton with a crime too infamous to name.
Impartiality of criticism obliges us to confess that Milton was not destitute of rancour. When he was told that his adversary boasted he had occasioned the loss of his eyes, he answered, with the ferocity of the irritated passion—“And I shall cost him his life!” A prediction which was soon after verified: for Christina, Queen of Sweden, withdrew her patronage from Salmasius, and sided with Milton. The universal neglect the proud scholar felt hastened his death in the course of a twelve-month.
How the greatness of Milton’s mind was degraded! He actually condescended to enter into a correspondence in Holland to obtain little scandalous anecdotes of his miserable adversary Morus, and deigned to adulate the unworthy Christina of Sweden, because she had expressed herself favourably on his “Defence.” Of late years we have had but too many instances of this worst of passions; the antipathies of politics!
Claudius Salmasius (Claude de Saumaise, 1588-1653) was a French humanist and philologist.
¶ This article first appeared in early (1790s) editions of the Curiosities. The text above is abridged and revised from earlier versions of the article, which, in the 1793 edition, continues from the penultimate paragraph above as follows:
The story of his [Milton’s] expulsion from Cambridge was not forgotten—nor forgotten to be aggravated. Milton denies this, and relates it in a manner honourable to himself. Salmasius assures his reader, that those who well knew Milton affirm, that he was incapable of Latin composition; but—in his manner of raillery—he confesses Milton to be an extraordinary Poet; and this he maintains by pointing out how frequently he violates, in his Latin verses, the laws of quantity. He adds, that the Author might have spared himself the pains of indicating his Age; for, without this aid, the reader must have been convinced that they were the compositions of a raw Scholar. To close the virulence of his invectives, he tells us, that Milton’s book is written by a French schoolmaster in London, and that he only lent his name.
What Patin writes in his Letters, in the same times, will shew what lame reports the enemies of Milton helped about. He writes—“Monsieur de la Mothe le Vayer informs me, that the book of Milton against the King of England has been burnt by the common hangman in Paris: that Milton is in prison; and, it is to be hoped, will be hanged. Some say that Milton wrote this Book in English; and that a Peter de Mou1in, who has put it into such fine Latin, is in danger, for his pains, of being burnt.” This is in the usual style of Patin’s correspondence; some truth, with much fiction. Moulin was a Confessor of the royal party; and was, on the contrary, a favourite with our second Charles; and who, having written against the rebels, was one of the few whose fidelity he rewarded.
It is raking in offals to transcribe from the infamous Lauder. His virulence, however, cannot now irritate; it may amuse. He seems to have poached in Salmasius for epithets. His pamphlets, with the common lyes of the day, have met the common fate. The present paragraph is an odd mixture of pedantry, of vile composition, and viler abuse.
“Milton, whom the present generation of writers, if they do not on fome occasions exeem from some human frailties and imperfections, have yet in the main conspired to daub with the untempered mortar of unbounded praise. By representing him as all perfect, all excellent, without the least mixture of alloy, was rather a devil incarnate: an abandoned monster of mankind, of insatiable avarice, unbounded ambition, implacable malice, unparalelled impudence, and shocking impiety.” Such is the declamation which Lauder, in the present day, had the audacity to acknowledge as his own composition.
We will close this article with Bayle’s Review of Milton’s Controversial Latin Writings, for of no others he pretended to judge. “Milton is very expert in the Latin language. No one can deny that his style is flowing, animated, and flowery; and that he has defended the people adroitly and ingeniously. But, without entering too deeply into this subject it must be confessed, that his manner is exceptionable: it is not sufficiently serious for the importance of his subject. We see him at every moment—I do not say pouring forth sharp railleries against Mr. Salmasius; that would not injure his work, but gain the laughers on his side—attempting to be farcical, and to play off the buffoon. This censure particularly extends to his two answers of Mr. Morus. They are replete with outrageous jests. The character of the author here appears without a mask: he is one of those satiric geniuses, who, indeed, are too fond of collecting all the disadvantageous reports of others, and of having written, by the enemies of another, all the calumnies they know; but who feel a greater gratification to insert those calumnies in the first libel they publish against any one.”
I hope this heavy charge laid to our great poet is not just. He felt great provocations from Salmasius and Morus; and he was deeply concerned in one of the greatest political revolutions. Surely, the sublime conceptions of Milton could not descend to collect the tattle of Scandal. To do this, one must have a mind as little, and a heart as rancorous, as some of our modern versificators.
It was the quaint criticism of the wits, when this great poet published his Epics, that in his Paradise Lost they could find Milton; but in his Paradise Regained he was lost. Does this just criticism not tend to shew, that these poems were more read in that time than we suppose?