W APPENDIX A MILTON'S BLINDNESS E possess a considerable number of facts that throw light on Milton's health. Unfortunately, the science of Milton's time was not sufficiently advanced to permit of entirely conclusive inferences from the existing documents. We propose, however, to examine the various hypotheses which might explain the known facts, and by the elimination of theories contradicted by our texts to try to reach at least a reasonably probable conclusion. Let us listen first to Milton himself. On the 28th of September, 1654 - he had been blind since 1651 the poet addressed to his friend Leonard Philaras, an Athenian then in Paris, who had offered to lay his case before the celebrated Parisian oculist, Dr. Thévenot, a letter in which he described as follows the progress and symptoms of his disease: It is now, I think, about ten years since I perceived my vision to grow weak and dull; and at the same time I was troubled with pain in my kidneys and bowels, accompanied with flatulency. In the morning, if I began to read, as was my custom, my eyes instantly ached intensely, but were refreshed after a little corporeal exercise. The candle which I looked at, seemed as it were encircled with a rainbow. Not long after the sight in the left part of the 1 This appendix represents the greater portion of an article entitled "Milton devant la médecine," published in collaboration with M. Camille Cabannes, Professor of Ophthalmology in the Faculty of Medicine of Bordeaux, in the Revue anglo-américaine, I (1923), 120-34. The translation has been revised, from the point of view of terminology, by Dr. Thomas J. Williams, of Chicago, Illinois, who, however, should not be held responsible for the opinions expressed. left eye (which I lost some years before the other) became quite obscured; and prevented me from discerning any object on that side. The sight in my other eye has now been gradually and sensibly vanishing away for about three years; some months before it had entirely perished, though I stood motionless, everything which I looked at seemed in motion to and fro. A stiff cloudy vapour seemed to have settled on my forehead and temples, which usually occasions a sort of somnolent pressure upon my eyes, and particularly from dinner till the evening. . . . I ought not to omit that while I had any sight left, as soon as I lay down on my bed and turned on either side, a flood of light used to gush from my closed eyelids. Then, as my sight became daily more impaired, the colours became more faint, and were emitted with a certain inward crackling sound; but at present, every species of illumination being, as it were, extinguished, there is diffused around me nothing but darkness, or darkness mingled and streaked with an ashy brown. Yet the darkness in which I am perpetually immersed, seems always, both by night and day, to approach nearer to white than black; and when the eye is rolling in its socket, it admits a little particle of light, as through a chink. And though your physician may kindle a small ray of hope, yet I make up my mind to the malady as quite incurable; and I often reflect, that as the wise man admonishes, days of darkness are destined to each of us, the darkness which I experience, less oppressive than that of the tomb is, owing to the singular goodness of the Deity, passed amid the pursuits of literature and the cheering salutations of friendship. . . . And, my dear Philaras, whatever may be the event, I wish you adieu with no less courage and composure than if I had the eyes of a lynx.2 We have here a precious document, written for a friend, addressed ultimately to a physician, and composed with all possible care; intended only for friends, it furnishes entirely sincere proof of the strength of mind which was Milton's in the early years of his affliction. Let us now observe the poet face to face with his enemies, justifying himself in the Defensio secunda pro populo Anglicano against the accusations of his political adversaries, who had called his blindness a punishment of God for his pri2 Prose Works, III, 507-08. vate vices and public crimes. To these calumnies Milton replied with a firmness and nobility of soul which yet did not exclude all traces of humor: ... I certainly never supposed that I should have been obliged to enter into a competition for beauty with the Cyclops. . . . It is of no moment to say anything of personal appearance, yet lest (as the Spanish vulgar, implicitly confiding in the relations of their priests, believe of heretics) any one, from the representations of my enemies, should be led to imagine that I have either the head of a dog, or the horn of a rhinoceros, I will say something on the subject. I do not believe that I was ever once noted for deformity, by any one who ever saw me; but the praise of beauty I am not anxious to obtain. My stature certainly is not tall; but it rather approaches the middle than the diminutive. . . . Nor, though very thin, was I ever deficient in courage or in strength; and I was wont constantly to exercise myself in the use of the broadsword, as long as it comported with my habit and my years. Armed with this weapon, as I usually was, I should have thought myself quite a match for any one, though much stronger than myself. . . . At this moment I have the same courage, the same strength, though not the same eyes; yet so little do they betray any external appearance of injury, that they are as unclouded and bright as the eyes of those who most distinctly see. In this instance alone I am a dissembler against my will. . . . It is not so wretched to be blind, as it is not to be capable of enduring blindness. . . . I call thee, O God, the searcher of hearts, to witness, that I am not conscious, either in the more early or in the later periods of my life, of having committed any enormity, which might deservedly have marked me out as a fit object for such a calamitous visitation. But since my enemies boast that this affliction is only a retribution for the transgressions of my pen, I again invoke the Almighty to witness, that I never, at any time, wrote anything which I did not think agreeable to truth, to justice, and to piety. . . . Thus, therefore, when I was publicly solicited to write a reply to the Defence of the royal cause, when I had to contend with the pressure of sickness, and with the apprehension of soon losing the sight of my remaining eye, and when my medical attendants clearly announced, that if I did engage in the work, it would be irreparably lost, their premonitions caused no hesitation and inspired no dismay . my resolu |