Page images
PDF
EPUB

the history of the Fall, to the exclusion of all possible rivals on the same ground. It was the vision of Milton that floated before the poet's eyes, and indeed he could not have had a better model, for Milton had achieved the highest that could be done for the Biblical tradition. Milton's "Paradise Lost" stood unrivalled in grandeur of conception and effective development of the theme. Amid Klopstock's many debts to Milton, the following may be mentioned: the detailed description of hell, the council of the devils, the differences of opinion amongst them, their punishment by metamorphosis, the paths through the universe along which devils and angels wander and fly, and the vision of the Last Judgment at the close of the poem. But Klopstock did not profit half enough by Milton's example. While Milton leads us from hell into paradise, and thus relieves a gloomy scene by a bright one, Klopstock, or the contrary, begins with the glories of heaven, and then keeps us in his irksome limbo of disembodied spirits till we long for a change out of very weariness. Milton exerts himself to the utmost not to let the interest flag, and pays particular attention to unity of composition, steady unfolding of the plot, and graphic narration; Klopstock, on the other hand lets the thread of his narrative decidedly drag, and accompanies each step of the gradual dénouement with the sentiments of all the spectators. His poetry is full of the very faults which Milton condemned, and, however much Milton may have been his model, yet his "Messias" is more closely related to the religious oratorios than to "Paradise Lost."-SCHERER, WILHELM, 1883-86, A History of German Literature, tr. Conybeare, vol. II, pp. 31, 32, 33.

The imagination of Cadmon may, in some respects, vie even with that of Milton; but the harsh crudities of the AngloSaxon language would have overpowered the genius of Milton himself. Long ages of refinement and philosophy were wanted to prepare for the glories of "Paradise Lost." COURTHOPE, WILLIAM JOHN, 1885, The Liberal Movement in English Literature, p. 28.

The dust of the conflict had fallen; and the mountain heights shone out once more from the serene distance: once more he

confronted the mighty works of ancient genius. They pleased him still, from their severity and their simplicity; but they did not satisfy him-because they wanted elevation. In his "Paradise Lost" he raised and endeavoured to spiritualise the antique epic. There are many who will always regard St. Peter's temple in the air as the first of architectural monuments. The admirers of the classic will, however, feel that the amplitude and height of the wondrous dome are no sufficient substitute for that massive simplicity and breadth of effect which belong to the Parthenon; while those who revere our cathedrals will maintain that it lacks the variety, the mystery, the aspiration, and the infinitude which characterise the Christian architecture of the North. On analogous grounds the more devoted admirers of Homer and of Shakespeare will ever be dissatisfied with Milton's work, however they may venerate his genius. It is obviously composite in its character-the necessary result of its uniting a Hebraic spirit with a classic form. Dante, like Milton, uses the Greek mythology freely; considering it, no doubt, as part of that "inheritance of the Heathen," into possession of which Christendom had a right to enter; but he uses it as a subordinate ornament, and in matters of mere detail. His poem is a Vision, not an Epic, that vision of supernatural truth, of Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, which passed before the eyes of the mediæval Church as she looked up in nocturnal vigil; not the mundane circle of life and experience, of action and of passion, exhibited in its completeness, and contemplated with calm satisfaction by a Muse that looks down. from heaven.-DE VERE, AUBREY, 1887, Essays, Chiefly on Poetry, vol. II, p. 112.

How to speak of "Paradise Lost" I know not. To call it a master-work is superfluous. To say that it stands absolutely alone and supreme is both true and false. Parts of it are like other poems, and yet there is no poem in the world like it. The theme is old; had been treated by the author of Genesis in brief, by Du Bartas and other rhymers at length. The manner is old, inherited from Virgil and Dante. And yet, beyond all question, "Paradise Lost" is one of the most unique, individual, unmistakable poems in the world's literature. Imitations of it have

been attempted by Montgomery, Pollok, Bickersteth, and other pious versifiers, but they are no more like the original than St. Peter's in Montreal is like St. Peter's in Rome, or than the pile of coarsegrained limestone on New York's Fifth Avenue is like the Cathedral of Milan. VAN DYKE, HENRY, 1889-91, The Poetry of Tennyson, p. 92.

I cannot stay to characterize his great poem; nor is there need; immortal in more senses than one; humanity counts for little in it; one pair of human creatures only, and these looked at, as it were, through the big end of the telescope; with gigantic, Godlike figures around one, or colossal demons prone on fiery floods. It is not a child's book; to place it in schools as a parsing-book is an atrocity that I hope is ended. Not, I think, till we have had some fifty years to view the everlasting fight between good and evil in this world, can we see in proper perspective the vaster battle which, under Milton's imagination, was pictured in Paradise between the same foes. Years only can so widen one's horizon as to give room for the reverberations of that mighty combat of the powers of light and darknes 3. —MITCHELL, DONALD G., 1890, English Lands Letters and Kings, From Elizabeth to Anne, p. 171.

Much of the perfection of the verse of the "Paradise Lost," both in respect to its music and its rhythmical movements, its pause-melody, and the melodious distribution of emphasis was due, no doubt, to some extent, to Milton's blindness, which, in the first place, must have rendered his ear more delicate than it would otherwise have been (it was naturally fine and had been highly cultivated in early life, through a study of music), and which, in the second place, by its obliging him to dictate his poem instead of writing it silently with his own hand, must have been one cause why the movement of the verse so admirably conforms to its proper elocution. --CORSON, HIRAM, 1892, Primer of English Verse, p. 46.

A

I have said that the grandest of English supernatural creations is Milton's Satan. No other personage has at once such magnitude and definiteness of outline as that sublime, defiant archangel, whether in action or in repose. Milton, like Dante, has to do with the unknown world. The

Florentine bard soars at last within the effulgence of "the eternal, coeternal beam." Milton's imagination broods "in the wide womb of uncreated night." We enter that "palpable obscure," where there is "no light, but rather darkness visible," and where lurk many a "grisly terror" and execrable shape."-STEDMAN, EDMUND CLARENCE, 1892, The Nature and Elements of Poetry, p. 245.

Milton's description of hell and its inhabitants is as detailed and conscientious as that of a land-surveyor or a natural philosopher. -- NORDAU, MAX, 1895, Degeneration, p. 78.

Long after I had thought never to read it-in fact when I was nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita-I read Milton's "Paradise Lost," and found in it a splendor and majestic beauty that justified to me the fame it wears, and eclipsed the worth of those lesser poems which I had stupidly and ignorantly accounted his worthiest. -HOWELLS, WILLIAM DEAN, 1895, My Literary Passions, p, 239.

What a magnificent opportunity for describing the gradual dawn of living beauty was in the hands of the man who did not hesitate to write poetry about the creation! Does he avail himself of it? Does he give us any suggestion of the tender grace of the young, wondering world, the slow awakening and unfolding of all fair things till they reach the perfection of their loveliness? Oh no! There is chaos, void, abyss, emptiness. We wait and watch. Suddenly-hey!

presto! The

world is made. There it whirls,-round, smooth, neatly finished. There are the oceans with the fishes, the mountains, the trees, yes, and the flowers and beasts.SCUDDER, VIDA D., 1895, The Life of the Spirit in the Modern English Poets, p. 19.

In reading Milton one rarely forgets that the hand which wrote "Paradise Lost" knew the secrets of the organ and could turn them into sound at will.-MABIE, HAMILTON WRIGHT, 1897, My Study Fire, First Series, p. 113.

"Paradise Lost" is the product of two great movements-Puritanism and the Renaissance. Or, to put the same thought in another way, the conception of the poem is Hebraic, its form and imagery are classical. Within the limits of the sacred narrative, from which Milton would not allow himself to deviate, his

luxuriant imagination found ample scope for all its stored wealth of learning; and the issue is something far different from the Hebrew original. Few of us, probably, realize how often we unconsciously read into the Scriptural narrative of the Creation and the Fall ideas instilled by Milton's splendid poem.-MASTERMAN, J. HOWARD B., 1897, The Age of Milton, p. 54.

Milton never forgets himself so as to contradict what he has written, though he is often charged with forgetfulness. Nothing is put down which has not its most intricate relations diligently considered and adjusted. Nothing is left isolated, inarticulated, disproportionate, or unsymmetrical. Things easily overlooked by the reader often have far-reaching effects. There is a sort of vitality and growth in the ideas, and every part is essential to the life and vigor of the whole. Herein lies the reason why changes or omissions can seldom be made without serious loss. Landor's proposed emended edition of "Paradise Lost" would be an intolerable mutilation.-HIMES, JOHN A., 1898, ed., Paradise Lost, A General Survey, p. xxxi.

The first editions of Milton's works have greatly increased in price. Not Not many years ago a copy of the first edition of the "Paradise Lost" could be obtained for about five pounds, but now a good copy is worth at least four times as much. The prices vary considerably with the date. of the title-page, of which there are several issues. G. Daniel's fine copy sold in 1864 for £28, 10s.-WHEATLEY, HENRY B., 1898, Prices of Books, p. 219.

PARADISE REGAINED

1671

After I had, with the best attention, read it ["Paradise Lost"] through, I made him another visit, and returned him his book, with due acknowledgement of the favour he had done me in communicating it to me. He asked how I liked it, and what I thought of it; which I modestly, but freely, told him: and, after some further discourse about it, I pleasantly said to him, "Thou hast said much here of Paradise Lost; but what hast thou to say of Paradise Found?" He made me no answer, but sate some time in a muse, then brake off that discourse and fell upon another subject. After the sickness

was over, and the city well cleansed and become safely habitable again, he returned thither. And when, afterwards, I went to wait on him there (which I seldom failed of doing, whenever my occasions drew me to London), he showed me his second poem, called "Paradise Regained," and in a pleasant tone said to me, "This is owing to you; for you put it into my head by the question you put to me at Chalfont, which before I had not thought of."ELLWOOD, THOMAS, 1714, The History of the Life of, Written by his own Hand.

Had this poem been written not by Milton, but by some imitator, it would have. claimed and received universal praise.JOHNSON, SAMUEL, 1779, John Milton, Lives of the English Poets.

Readers would not be disappointed in this latter poem, if they proceeded to a perusal of it with a proper preconception of the kind of interest intended to be excited in that admirable work. In its kind it is the most perfect poem extant, though its kind may be inferior in interest-being in its essence didactic-to that other sort, in which instruction is conveyed more effectively, because less directly, in connection with stronger and more pleasurable emotions, and thereby in a closer affinity with acton. But might we not as rationally object to an accomplished woman's conversing, however agreeably, because it has happened that we have received a keener pleasure from her singing to the harp ?-COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR, 1807-18, Lectures and Notes on Shakspeare.

That Milton was mistaken in preferring this work, excellent as it is, to the "Paradise Lost," we readily admit. But we are sure that the superiority of the "Paradise Lost" to the "Paradise Regained" is not more decided, than the superiority of the "Paradise Regained" to every poem which has since made its appearance. But our limits prevent us from discussing the point at length. We hasten on to that extraordinary production, which the general suffrage of critics has placed in the highest class of human compositions. -MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON, 1825, Milton, Edinburgh Review; Critical and Miscellaneous Essays.

The neglect which "Paradise Lost" never experienced seems to have been long the lot of "Paradise Regained." It was not popular with the world: it was long

believed to manifest a decay of the poet's genius; and, in spite of all that the critics have written, it is still but the favorite of some whose predilections for the Miltonic style are very strong. The subject is so much less capable of calling forth the vast powers of his mind, that we should be unfair in comparing it throughout with the greater poem: it has been called a model of the shorter epic, an action comprehending few characters and a brief space of time. The love of Milton for dramatic dialogue, imbibed from Greece, is still more apparent than in "Paradise Lost:" the whole poem, in fact, may almost be accounted a drama of primal simplicity; the narrative and descriptive part serving rather to diversify and relieve the speeches of the actors, than their speeches, as in the legitimate epic, to enliven the narration. "Paradise Regained" ahounds with passages equal to any of the same nature in "Paradise Lost;" but the argumentative tone is kept up till it produces some tediousness; and perhaps, on the whole, less pains have been exerted to adorn and elevate that which appeals to the imagination.-HALLAM, HENRY, 1837-39, Introduction to the Literature of Europe, pt. iv, ch. v, par. 35.

"Paradise Regained" is tedious, though calm and beautiful.-CHATEAUBRIAND, FRANÇOIS RENÉ, VICOMTE DE 1837, Sketches of English Literature.

Milton has no idealism, not even in the "Paradise Regained," where there was most scope for it. His poetry is for the most part quite literal; and the objects he describes have all a certain definiteness and individuality which separates them from the infinite. He has often endeavoured to present images where every thing should have been lost in sentiment. -WILSON, JOHN, 1854? Essays, Critical and Imaginary.

One of the most unread epics in the English language.-HOWELLS, WILLIAM DEAN, 1877, Lives of Lord Herbert of Cherbury and Thomas Ellwood, with Essays, p. 169.

In this poem he has not only curbed his imagination, but has almost suppressed it. He has amplified, but has hardly introduced any circumstance which is not in the original. "Paradise Regained" is little more than a paraphrase of the Temptation as found in the synoptical gospels.

a marvel of ingenuity that more than two thousand lines of blank verse can have been constructed out of some twenty lines of prose, without the addition of any invented incident, or the insertion of any irrelevant digression. In the first three books of "Paradise Regained" there is not a single simile. Nor yet can it be said that the version of the gospel narrative has the fault of most paraphrases, viz., that of weakening the effect, and obliterating the chiselled features of the original.-PATTISON, MARK, 1879, Milton (English Men of Letters), p. 187.

Of necessity the poem is rather a splendid fragment than a complete epic. Satan and his angels are not cast out, nor is man restored to the forfeited delights of Paradise. One blow is struck in the great contest: the obedience of Christ baffles and overcomes the tempter, who had seduced our first parents into disobedience. Then the poem closes with Christ's return to his mother's house, brought on his way with joy by attendant choirs of angels.MASTERMAN, J. HOWARD B., 1897, The Age of Milton, p. 69.

As he grew older the taste of Milton grew more austere. The change in the character of his ornament is deeply marked when we ascend from the alpine meadows of "Paradise Lost" to the peaks of "Paradise Regained," where the imaginative air is so highly rarefied that many readers find it difficult to breathe.-GOSSE, EDMUND, 1897, Short History of Modern English Literature, p. 167.

The latter epic indubitably shows some. falling off in the poet's powers; the supernatural vein has already yielded the best of its ore; earth must now be the main scene of the drama; the piercing splendors of the poet's earlier verse give place to something more like grand and sonorous prose. Yet now and then the old inspiration seems to sieze him.-STRONG, AUGUSTUS HOPKINS, 1897, The Great Poets and Their Theology, p. 252.

In this poem there is noticeable a distinct change from Milton's earlier manner, a sudden purging away of ornament, a falling back on the naked concept, a preference for language as slightly as possible tinctured with metaphoric suggestion. A portion of this change may be due to failing vividness of imagination; certainly the abandonment of rapid

1

narrative for tedious argumentation marks the increasing garrulity of age. Christ and Satan in the wilderness dispute with studied casuistry, until the sense of the spiritual drama in which they are protagonists is almost lost. As this same weakness is apparent also in the later books of "Paradise Lost, we must lay it largely to the score of flagging creative energy. But in still greater measure the change seems to be a deliberate experiment in style, or perhaps more truly a conscious reproduction, in language, of that rarefied mental atmosphere to which the author had climbed from the rich valley mists of his youth.-MoODY, WILLIAM VAUGHN, 1899, ed., Poetical Works of Milton, Cambridge ed., Life, p. xxxi.

SAMSON AGONISTES

[blocks in formation]

We are by no means insensible to the merits of this celebrated piece, to the severe dignity of the style, the graceful and pathetic solemnity of the opening speech, or the wild and barbaric melody which gives so striking an effect to the choral passages. But we think it, we confess, the least successful effort of the genius of Milton.-MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON, 1825, Milton, Edinburgh Review, Critical and Miscellaneous Essays.

I have lately read his "Samson," which has more of the antique spirit than any production of any other modern poet. He is very great, and his own blindness enabled him to describe with so much truth the situation of Samson. Milton was really a poet; one to whom we owe all possible respect.-GOETHE, JOHANN WOLFGANG, 1830, Conversations with Eckermann, tr. Oxenford, vol. II, p. 220.

The tragedy of "Samson" breathes all the energy and simplicity of the antique. The poet himself is depicted in the person of the Israelite, blind, a prisoner, and unfortunate. A noble way of revenging himself on his age. CHATEAUBRIAND, FRANÇOIS RENÉ, VICOMTE DE 1837, Sketches of English Literature, vol. II, p. 106.

Johnson considered the versification of these choruses "so harsh and dissonant, as scarce to preserve (whether the lines end with or without rhime) any appearance of metrical regularity;" and it must be confessed there are lines which almost seem to merit a censure thus severe. But modern pronunciation is not the pronunciation of Milton. Many verses, as they are now read by some of Milton's admirers, would disgust the poet, full as much as his critic.-GUEST, EDWIN, 1838, A History of English Rhythms, vol. 11, p. 259.

"Samson Agonistes," a tragedy, most elaborately composed, and on the severest Greek model, is uninviting both in its theme and the treatment of it; yet the dialogues abound with sublime and pious sentiments; while, though much of the versification is harsh, and scarcely reducible to metre, the diction throughout exemplifies the full strength and affluence of the English Language.-MONTGOMERY, JAMES, 1843, ed., The Poetical Works of John Milton, Memoir, vol. 1, p. xlviii.

The most successful attempt at reproducing the Greek tragedy, both in theme and treatment, is the "Samson Agonistes," as it is also the most masterly piece of English versification. Goethe admits that it alone, among modern works, has caught life from the breath of the antique spirit.-LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL, 1871, Swinburne's Tragedies, My Study Windows, p. 220.

From a purely literary point of view the tragedy of "Samson Agonistes,' which, as the Preface needlessly states, was "never intended to the stage," cannot be said to possess merits commensurate with its historical and biographical value. That it has escaped representation under conditions wholly uncongenial to it, may be due not only to the sacred character of the source of the subject, but also to the circumstance that by composing music to it as an oratorio Handel has removed it for ever from possible contact with the play-house.-WARD, ADOLPHUS WILLIAM, 1875-99, A History of English Dramatic Literature, vol. III, p. 204.

We have now shown that the two most noticeable characteristics of the "Samson Agonistes," the personal element which runs through it and its dramatic form, modelled upon that of the ancient Greek tragedy; are even more markedly the

« PreviousContinue »