No. 297. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1711-12. velut si Egregio inspersos reprendas corpore nævos. HOR. 1, SAT. VI. 66. CREECH. AFTER what I have said in my last Saturday's paper, I shall enter on the subject of this without further preface, and remark the several defects which appear in the fable, the characters, the sentiments, and the language of Milton's "Paradise Lost;" not doubting but the reader will pardon me, if I allege at the same time whatever may be said for the extenuation of such defects. The first imperfection which I shall observe in the fable is, that the event of it is unhappy. The fable of every poem is, according to Aristotle's division, either simple or implex. It is called simple when there is no change of fortune in it; implex, when the fortune of the chief actor changes from bad to good, or from good to bad. The implex fable is thought the most perfect; I suppose, because it is more proper to stir up the passions of the reader, and to surprise him with a greater variety of accidents. The implex fable is therefore of two kinds; in the first the chief actor makes his way through a long series of dangers and difficulties, until he arrives at honour and prosperity, as we see in the stories of Ulysses and Æneas. In the second, the chief actor in the poem falls from some eminent pitch of honour and prosperity, into misery and disgrace. Thus we see Adam and Eve sinking from a state of innocence and happiness, into the most abject condition of sin and sorrow. The most taking tragedies among the ancients were built on this last sort of implex fable, particularly the tragedy of "Edipus," which proceeds upon a story, if we may believe Aristotle, the most proper for tragedy that could be invented by the wit of man. I have taken some pains in a former paper to show, that this kind of implex fable, wherein the event is unhappy, is more apt to affect an audience than that of the first kind; notwithstanding, many excellent pieces among the ancients, as well as most of those which have been written of late years in our own country, are raised upon contrary plans. I must however own, that think this kind of fable, which is the most perfect in tragedy, is not so proper for an heroic poem. Milton seems to have been sensible of this imperfection in his fable, and has therefore endeavoured to cure it by several expedients; particularly by the mortification which the great adversary of mankind meets with upon his return to the assembly of infernal VOL. II. F F spirits, as it is described in a beautiful passage of the tenth book; and likewise by the vision wherein Adam, at the close of the poem, sees his offspring triumphing over his great enemy, and himself restored to a happier paradise than that from which he fell. There is another objection against Milton's fable, which is in deed almost the same with the former, though placed in a different light, namely that the hero in the "Paradise Lost" is unsuecessful, and by no means a match for his enemies. This gave occasion to Mr. Dryden's reflection, that the devil was in reality Milton's hero. I think I have obviated this objection in my fir paper. The "Paradise Lost" is an epic, or a narrative poem, and he that looks for an hero in it, searches for that which Mi never intended; but if he will needs fix the name of au bero p any person in it, it is certainly the Messiah who is the bero, b in the principal action, and in the chief episodes. Paganis could not furnish out a real action for a fable greater than that of the Iliad or Eneid, and therefore an heathen could not form an higher notion of a poem than one of that kind, which they ca an heroic. Whether Milton's is not of a sublimer naturel not presume to determine: it is sufficient that I show there is the Paradise Lost" all the greatness of plan, regularity of de sign, and masterly beauties which we discover in Homer and Virgil. I must in the next place observe, that Milton has interwor in the texture of his fable, some particulars which do not seem have probability enough for an epic poem, particularly in the actions which he ascribes to Sin and Death, and the picture whic he draws of the "Limbo of Vanity," with other passages in the second book. Such allegories rather savour of the spirit of Spenser and Ariosto, than of Homer and Virgil. In the structure of his poem he has likewise admitted of too may digressions. It is finely observed by Aristotle, that the author an heroic poem should seldom speak himself, but throw as much of his work as he can into the mouths of those who are his pra cipal actors. Aristotle has given no reason for this precept; bus I presume it is because the mind of the reader is more awed and elevated, when he hears Eneas or Achilles speak, than when Virgil or Homer talk in their own persons. Besides that assuming the character of an eminent man is apt to fire the imagination and raise the ideas of an author. Tully tells us, mentioning be "Dialogue of Old Age," in which Cato is the chief speaker, that upon a review of it he was agreeably imposed upon, and fancied that it was Cato, and not he himself, who uttered his thoughts on that subject. If the reader would be at the pains to see how the story of the Iliad and the Eneid is delivered by those persons who act in 1 he will be surprised to find how little in either of these poems proceeds from the authors. Milton has, in the general disposition of his fable, very finely observed this great rule; insomuch that there is scarce a tenth part of it which comes from the poet; the rest is spoken either by Adam and Eve, or by some good or evil spirit who is engaged, either in their destruction or defence. From what has been here observed it appears, that digressions are by no means to be allowed of in an epic poem. If the poet, even in the ordinary course of his narration, should speak as little as possible he should certainly never let his narration sleep for the sake of any reflections of his own. I have often observed, with a secret admiration, that the longest reflection in the Eneid, is in that passage of the tenth book, where Turnus is represented as dressing himself in the spoils of Pallas, whom he had slain. Virgil here lets his fable stand still, for the sake of the following remark: "How is the mind of man ignorant of futurity, and unable to bear prosperous fortune with moderation! The time will come when Turnus shall wish that he had left the body of Pallas untouched, and curse the day on which he dressed himself in these spoils." As the great event of the Æneid, and the death of Turnus, whom Eneas slew because he saw him adorned with the spoils of Pallas, turns upon this incident, Virgil went out of his way to make this reflection upon it, without which so small a circumstance might possibly have slipt out of his reader's memory. Lucan, who was an injudicious poet, lets drop his story very frequently for the sake of his unnecessary digressions, or his diverticula, as Scaliger calls them. If he gives us an account of the prodigies which preceded the civil war, he declaims upon the occasion, and shows how much happier it would be for man, if he did not feel his evil fortune before it comes to pass; and suffer, not only by its real weight, but by the apprehension of it. Milton's complaint of his blindness, his panegyric on marriage, his reflections on Adam and Eve's going naked, of the angels eating, and several other passages in his poem, are liable to the same exception, though I must confess there is so great a beauty in these very digressions, that I would not wish them out of his poem. I have in a former paper* spoken of the characters of Milton's "Paradise Lost," and declared my opinion as to the allegorical persons who are introduced in it. If we look into the sentiments, I think they are sometimes defective under the following heads: first, as there are several of them too much pointed, and some that degenerate even into puns. Of this last kind I am afraid is that in the first book, where speaking of the pygmies, he calls them "The small infantry Warr'd on by cranes" * No. 273. Another blemish that appears in some of his thoughts, is his frequent allusion to heathen fables, which are not certainly of piece with the divine subject of which he treats. I do not find fault with these allusions, where the poet himself represents them as fabulous, as he does in some places, but where he mention them as truths and matters of fact. The limits of my paper wil not give me leave to be particular in instances of this kind; the reader will easily remark them in his perusal of the poem A third fault in his sentiments, is an unnecessary ostentation of learning, which likewise occurs very frequently. It is certain the both Homer and Virgil were masters of all the learning of ther times, but it shows itself in their works after an indirect and cealed manner. Milton seems ambitious of letting us know his excursions on free will and predestination, and his many glass upon history, astronomy, geography, and the like, as well as by the terms and phrases he sometimes makes use of, that he was quainted with the whole circle of arts and sciences. If, in the last place, we consider the language of this great t we must allow what I have hinted in a former paper, that it is too much laboured, and sometimes obscured by old words, positions, and foreign idioms. Seneca's objection to the style fa great author," Riget ejus oratio, nihil in ea placidum, nihil ba is what many critics make to Milton. As I cannot wholly refe so I have already apologized for it in another paper: to whit! may further add, that Milton's sentiments and ideas were so wor derfully sublime, that it would have been impossible for him have represented them in their full strength and beauty, with having recourse to these foreign assistances. Our language st under him, and was unequal to that greatness of soul which f nished him with such glorious conceptions. A second fault in his language is, that he often affects a kind of jingle in his words, as in the following passages, and many others. "And brought into the world a world of woe. Begirt th' almighty throne Beseeching or besieging. This tempted our attempt At one slight bound high overleaps all bound." I know there are figures for this kind of speech; that some of the greatest ancients have been guilty of it, and that Aristotle him self has given it a place in his rhetoric among the beauties of that art. But as it is in itself poor and trifling, it is, I think. at present universally exploded by all the masters of polite writing, The last fault which I shall take notice of in Milton's style, is the frequent use of what the learned call technical words, or terms of art. It is one of the great beauties of poetry, to make hard things intelligible, and to deliver what is abstruse of itself in such easy language as may be understood by ordinary readers; besides that the knowledge of a poet should rather seem born with him, or inspired, than drawn from books and systems. I have often wondered how Mr. Dryden could translate a passage out of Virgil after the following manner. "Tack to the larboard and stand off to sea, Veer starboard sea and land." Milton makes use of larboard in the same manner. When he is upon building, he mentions doric pillars, pilasters, cornice, frieze, architrave. When he talks of heavenly bodies, you meet with ecliptic and eccentric, the trepidation, stars dropping from the zenith, rays culminating from the equator;" to which might be added many instances of the like kind in several other arts and sciences. 44 I shall in my next papers give an account of the many particu lar beauties in Milton, which would have been too long to insert under those general heads I have already treated of, and with which I intend to conclude this piece of criticism. ADDISON. L. No. 298. MONDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 1711-12. Nusquam tuta fides VIRG. EN. IV. 373. Honour is nowhere safe. "Lond. Feb. 9, 1711-12. "MR. SPECTATOR, "I AM a virgin, and in no case despicable; but yet such as I am I must remain, or else become, it is to be feared, less happy; for I find not the least good effect from the just correction you some time since gave that too free, that looser part of our sex which spoils the men; the same connivance at the vices, the same easy admittance of addresses, the same vitiated relish of the conversation of the greatest of rakes (or in a more fashionable way of expressing one's self, of such as have seen the world most) still abounds, increases, multiplies. 66 The humble petition, therefore, of many of the most strictly virtuous and of myself is, that you will once more exert your authority, and that according to your late promise, your full, your impartial authority, on this sillier branch of our kind; for why should they be the uncontrollable mistresses of our fate? Why should |
