“The So-called Council of State” 1649–1652In Eikonoklastes (c. October 6, 1649) Milton faced an almost impossible task: to
dispel the rush of sympathy for the king so skillfully evoked by the book ascribed to
him. Some forty-seven different frontispieces decorated the various editions of Eikon
Basilike, mostly variations of the original design by William Marshall showing Charles
kneeling in prayer and grasping a crown of thorns (inscribed Gratia), with his regal
crown at his feet (inscribed Vanitas) and a crown of gold awaiting him above (in-
scribed Gloria); in the emblematic landscape, a palm tree hung with weights and a
rock blasted by tempests represent the king’s virtue strengthened by trial (plate
11).^160 Marshall’s portrait of Charles contrasts sharply with his unflattering engrav-
ing of Milton in the 1645 Poems, reinforcing the suspicion that the Milton portrait
was intended as satire.^161 The Marshall engraving prepares for the image or icon of
the king conveyed in the text: a second David, deeply religious in his psalm-like
prayers; a misunderstood monarch innocent of any deliberate wrongdoing, who
always intended the best for the English people, a loving father to his children and
his subjects; a defeated king negotiating honorably with his captors; a man of high
culture, mildness, restraint, moderation, and peace persecuted by vulgar and blood-
thirsty enemies; and now a martyr for conscience in refusing to compromise on
bishops and liturgy and his ancient prerogatives. Like the frontispiece engraving,
the text also identifies him as a second Christ in his sufferings and in his gestures of
forgiving his enemies.^162 Charles regrets that he was sold by the Scots to parliament
at a higher rate than Christ by Judas; he likens his negotiations with parliament to
Christ tempted by Satan; and he begs God to forgive the English people in Christ’s
words, “they know not what they do.” The pathos and sentiment, the simple,
earnest language in which Charles defends his actions, the fiction that this text
contains the king’s private reflections and meditations rather than polemic argu-
ment, and the construction of this book as deathbed testimony – now heard from
the grave – produced a nearly irresistible rhetorical effect.
Milton recognized the magnitude of his problem. He needed to counter the
powerful appeal of that “idol” book to an irrational and misguided multitude, but
his rigorous iconoclastic analysis could only persuade reasonable men. To under-
mine the myths promoted by the visual and theatrical modes used to create the
king’s “Portraiture” – as the subtitle of Eikon Basilike has it – he subjects that por-
trait to a penetrating verbal critique. And he develops that critique by posing insist-
ent questions that require readers to weigh and judge, to give or withhold assent, in
an effort to teach them how to engage with such duplicitous texts^163 (plate 12). But
beyond the rhetoric, Milton’s treatise derives a good deal of its energy and power
from his fierce personal response to the king as a corrupt author and to his book as
specious, deceptive court art.^164 His analysis implies, but does not state, what a good
author and good art should be.
In the preface he carefully constructs his authorial stance. Acknowledging that it
may seem meanspirited “To descant on the misfortunes of a person fall’n from so
high a dignity” (CPW III, 337), he insists that this task was “assigned, rather than by