For two centuries after his death, Andrew Marvell was remembered chiefly as a politician (primarily as a defender of religious toleration). It was only in the 20th century that his reputation as poet grew to such an extent that his political career became a contextual foot-note for his literary creations. Now, however, Marvell the politician is being rediscovered. Nigel Smith’s new biography, Andrew Marvell: The Chameleon, is the latest in a number of attempts to find a new way of balancing the different ideas of Marvell that his complex life (and the various interpretations of it), has left us.
Given this history, we should not be surprised that Marvell remains one of the best political poets in English. More than enough poet laureates have shown us how hard it is to write readable good poetry about public events. What is even more remarkable is that Marvell wrote in dangerous times, and about dangerous men. These lines from ‘An Horation Ode upon Cromwell’s Return from Ireland’ were written after Charles I had been executed and Cromwell’s slow march to the Protectorate was under way.
Ostensibly a hymn of praise, one can only marvel (if you’ll allow me), at his daring in presenting Cromwell as some lawful enforcer of Parliament and his people’s safety, and as a great
force of nature. He is amoral, driven by and driving fate, working to “ruin the great work of time” and to cast aside “the ancient rights” of centuries. Marvell’s
Cromwell, that “greater spirit”, is a man of destiny who is admirable in the sense that a great storm is. Pitiless, irresistible, unarguable. He is not to be praised, condemned, nor
justified. Like God, he simply is.
And, if we would speak true,
Much to the man is due,
Who, from his private gardens, where
He lived reserved and austere,
As if his highest plot
To plant the bergamot,
Could by industrious valour climb
To ruin the great work of time,
And cast the kingdom old
Into another mould.
Though justice against fate complain,
And plead the ancient rights in vain:
But those do hold and break
As men are strong and weak.
Nature, that hateth emptiness,
Allows of penetration less:
And therefore must make room
When greater spirits come.
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