Durham E-Theses

The inuence of Virgil's sixth book of the aeneid upon Milton and Dryden: with special reference to the treatment of the Underworld
Sawyerr, Desmond Jonathan

How to cite:

The inuence of Virgil's sixth book of the aeneid upon Milton and Dryden: with special reference to the treatment of the Underworld, Durham theses, Durham University.
Sawyerr, Desmond Jonathan (1999) Available at Durham E-Theses Online: http://etheses.dur.ac.uk/4353/

Use policy

The full-text may be used and/or reproduced, and given to third parties in any format or medium, without prior permission or charge, for personal research or study, educational, or not-for-prot purposes provided that:

a full bibliographic reference is made to the original source a link is made to the metadata record in Durham E-Theses the full-text is not changed in any way

The full-text must not be sold in any format or medium without the formal permission of the copyright holders. Please consult the full Durham E-Theses policy for further details.

Academic Support Oce, Durham University, University Oce, Old Elvet, Durham DH1 3HP e-mail: e-theses.admin@dur.ac.uk Tel: +44 0191 334 6107 http://etheses.dur.ac.uk

The Influence of Virgil's Sixth Book of The Aeneid upon Milton and Dryden
with special reference to the treatment of the Underworld

By Desmond Jonathan Sawyerr (Ph.D. Thesis) University of Durham Department of English 1999

The copyright of this thesis rests with the author. No quotation from it should be published without the written consent of the author and information derived from i t should be acknowledged.

Table of Contents
Preface Acknowledgements Chapter I Introduction The Sixth Book and its Influence Chapter 2 The Story of Book Six The Roman Influence Virgil's Geographical and Historical knowledge The Underground Passages The Fiery Fields The Context of Book Six Religious Political Aeneas as Hero Virgil and His Successors Dante's Inferno Chapter 3 Paradise Lost Milton's Antecedents and Paradise Lost The Epic Structure of Paradise Lost Treatment of Virgilian Materials The Politics of Paradise Lost Chapter 4 Milton's Hell The Inhabitants of Hell Pandemonium Chapter 5 Dryden's Perception of the Classics and His Virgilian Influences Dryden's Politicization of The Sixth Book of The Aeneid ' Upon the Death of the Lord Hastings' Astraea Redux Annus Mirabilis Dryden's Translation of The Sixth Book of The Aeneid Dryden's Theories of Translation Dryden's Translation of Religious and Political Issues Religious Political Conclusion Bibliography i ii

1 24

35 47 48 50 51 52 52 67 73 78 82

86 87 94 98 117

127 145 149

155 160 160 166 178 185 189 198 198 210 216 223

PREFACE

The topic of this thesis came from a fascination with the classics (especially when in secondary school, we had to translate passages in The Aeneid from Latin into English). What I read in Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, I found in a Romanized version or edition in The Aeneid. This fascination blossomed when in later years, I began to study English Literature in divided periods; e.g. The Renaissance, Restoration and Eighteenth Century, the Romantics, etc. When I read The Faerie Queene, Paradise Lost, Dryden's Restoration poems and Pope's Dunciad, and their treatment of issues that have classical backgrounds, I tended to agree with Harold Bloom, who has argued 'that a poem is a response to a poem.' Thus, I began to see Virgil's 'shadow' in Spenser, Milton, Dryden and Pope. My treatment of this topic has been both specific and general. I have sought not to 'de-mystify' this Virgilian aura surrounding these two men who knew each other, but to show how they (Milton and Dryden) perceived Virgil in the seventeenth century, and the manner in which they may be said to be in different ways 'the Virgils of the seventeenth century.'

In quoting classical works I have used the Loeb edition, and when I found it most appropriate (mainly, for the effectiveness of the meaning) I have used other translations, and indicated so. I have used The Temple Classics edition for citing passages from Dante's Inferno. I have used the modern-spelling Longman edition of Paradise Lost for the stability of its text and the usefulness of its notes and the Columbia edition for the Prose works. For Dryden, I have used James Kinsley's edition for Dryden's poems as well as Prose. In cases where Kinsley does not include a particular prose work, I have relied on The Works of John Dryden (the Berkeley edition, in twenty volumes). I have also used the Longman edition of Dryden, edited by Hammond when I found it absolutely necessary for passages in Dryden's works.

0)

Acknowledgements

I should begin by acknowledging my Heavenly Father's unfailing help, and which is unconditional. All that 1 am and have done, I owe to him. 1 stand in debt to my supervisor Professor Watson, who has done over and above his share of pietas (and 1 use this word as Dryden would use it, as well as with all the seriousness at my command) in guiding me with this work, especially when I tended to veer off the 'straight and narrow path.' For the encouragement, the support and the excellent academic instruction, I owe him an 'abundant thank-you'. I cannot forget also, Professor Cockburn in the Classics Department, who has taken time to read and re-read the portion of the classics for me; for his willingness and input, I thank him. It would be a serious mistake to fail to mention my late father (JNB), whose desire it was for all his children to succeed, and who did all in his power to make sure we reached our goals; my mother (Myme), who was the supporting pillar in that exercise (with my father); my late brother, Ayo; my sisters (Elizabeth, Sylvia, and Daphne), who created the atmosphere in which to learn, and have always been supportive of the only brother; and for Kade, Desiree and Sylia, the happiness of my life.

fii)

Chapter 1 Introduction

The topic that I wish to discuss is the influence of Virgil upon Milton and Dryden. I intend to examine what happens when two authors, living in the same century, about the same period, experiencing to some extent the same political, social and religious climates (though from different viewpoints), take over Virgil; how, and to what extent they "remember" Virgil, as well as re-create and re-produce elements of the Sixth Book of The Aeneid (and before that. Homer). I shall attempt to show their distinctive literary designs and structural flexibility, as they seek to show their personal convictions of individuals and nations, and how they have re-figured these convictions according to their conceptions of poetry. A complete examination of such a subject is an enormous task; for reasons of space, the focus will be upon Milton's Paradise Lost, and Dryden's Restoration poems and his translation of The Aeneid, with some necessary attention to Dante's Inferno. The justification for this exercise is that the Sixth Book of The Aeneid opens the way for many different readings. Among its many delineations or interpretations is its treatise on man, his relationship to other men (in a society and a nation), and on his allegiance to a higher power (man in relation to the gods). It is from The Aeneid that Milton and Dryden identify their subjects: Milton draws on those sections of The Aeneid which are concerned with the miracle of our origin, the span of life and the demystification of our destiny; and Dryden finds his political and poetical preoccupations in Virgil's poem, which are made manifest in his translation of that particular Book.

It may be helpful to begin by setting out the relationship between the major texts to be discussed, and their status as 'texts'. In particular, I shall argue, with Barthes and Foucault, that the relationship is one between 'texts' rather than between 'authors'. In examining the influence of one

writer upon another, Michel Foucault has noted that 'in writing the point is not to manifest or exalt the art of writing, nor is it to pin a subject within language; it is rather a question of creating a space into which the writing subject constantly disappears.'' For it is only after the subject has disappeared that the work can be fiilly assessed. He puts forward the argument that:
It is a very familiar thesis that the task of criticism is not to bring out the work's relationships with the author, nor to reconstruct through the text a thought or experience, but rather, to analyze the work through the structure, its architecture, its intrinsic form, and the play of its internal relationships.'

The examination of the works under discussion will follow this theoretical pattern, analyzing the poems through structure and form rather than through any putative 'author-experience'. And it is Roland Barthes who develops the argument about the removal of the author:
The removal of the Author ... is not merely an historical fact or an act of writing; it utterly transforms the modem text (or - which is the same thing the text is henceforth made and read in such a way that at all levels the author is absent).^

Barthes then makes a clear distinction between a work and a text. He illustrates it in this maimer:
Just as Einsteinian science requires the inclusion of the relativity of reference points in the object studied, so the combined activity of Marxism, Freudianism, and structuralism requires in the case of literature, the revitalization of the scriptor's, the reader's, and the observer's, (the critic's) relationships. In opposition to the notion of the work - a traditional notion that has long been and still is thought of in what might be called Newtonian fashion - there now arises a need for a new object, one obtained by the displacement or overturning of categories. This object is the Text. I realize that this word is fashionable and therefore suspect in certain quarters..., I would like to review the principal propositions at the intersection of which the Text is situated today. These propositions are to be understood as enunciations rather than arguments, as mere indications, as it were, approaches that "agree" to remain metaphoric. Here then are those propositions: they deal with method, genre, the sign, the plural, filiation, reading (in an active sense), and pleasure.

'Michel Foucault, 'What is an Author?', in Modem Criticism and Theory, ed. by David Lodge (London: Longman Press, 1988), pp. 196-210 (p. 198). ^ Foucault, p. 198. ^ Roland Barthes, 'The Death of the Author', in Modern Criticism and Theory, ed. by David Lodge (London: Longman Press, 1988) pp. 167-172 (p.I69). 4 Roland Barthes, 'From Work to Text', in Textual Strategies, ed. by Josue V. Harari (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1979) p. 74.

In the present thesis, I do not intend to discuss all these; I shall concentrate on Barthes's distinction between 'work' and 'text'. He argues that:
While the work is held in the hand, the text is held in language: it exists only as discourse. The text is not the decomposition of the work; rather it is work that is the Text's imaginary tail. In other words, the Text is experienced only in an activity, a production. It follows that the Text cannot stop, at the end of a library shelf, for example; the constitutive movement of the Text is traversal [traversee]: it can cut across a work, several works. ^

The relationship between Virgil's Aeneid Book Six and its successors is one of activity, of production, as the active texts connect with one another. But Barthes is quick to point out that it is not always easy to distinguish between a work and a text; and that the assumption that everything classical is a work, is not true:
The Text must be thought of as a defined object. It would be useless to attempt a material separation of works and texts. One must take particular care not to say that works are classical while texts are avant-garde. Distinguishing them is not a matter of establishing a crude list in the name of modernity and declaring certain literary productions to be "in" and others "out" on the basis of their chronological situations. A very ancient work can contain a "text", while many products of contemporary literature are not texts at all.*

A strong case can be made that The Aeneid is a text. But what distinguishes Virgil's text from Milton's, lies in his (Barthes's) summation of this discourse:
We know that the text is not a line of words releasing a single 'theological' meaning (the 'message' of the Author-God) but a multi-dimensional space in which a variety of writings, none of them original, blend and clash. The text is a tissue of quotations drawn from the innumerable centres of culture.'

This 'tissue of quotations' is precisely what we find in Milton's Paradise Lost. Drawn from every known science of his day, every important literary work. Paradise Lost is a compendium of knowledge. Critical theorists have dealt with Paradise Lost, often in relation to The Aeneid, as they seek to understand it in ways that Barthes has codified and expressed. It is a work that is constantly undergoing what Barthes calls 'revitalization'; in the process, however, the critic needs to take account of such things as genre and filiation. Barthes's concept of filiation is not one

^ Barthes, 'From Work to Text' p. 75. * Barthes, 'From Work to Text' p. 74. Barthes, 'The Death of the Author' in Modern Criticism and Theory, p. 170.

of sources and influences: 'every text, being itself the intertext of another text, belongs to the intertextual, which must not be confused with a text's origins: to search for the "sources o f " and "influence upon" a work is to
Q

satisfy the myth of filiations.' Barthes is of the opinion that:

The logic that governs the Text is not comprehensive (seeking to define "what the work means") but metonymic; and the activity of associations, contiguities, and cross-references coincides with a liberation of symbolic energy. The work (in the best of cases) is moderately symbolic (its symbolism runs out, comes to a halt), but the Text is radically symbolic. A work whose integrally symbolic nature one conceives, perceives, and receives, is a text. '

I f Paradise Lost can be conceived, perceived and received, then what kind of a Text is it? Barthes asserts that a Text is plural, not that it is made up of more than one meaning,
but rather that it achieves a plurality of meaning, an irreducible plurality. The Text is not coexistence of meanings but passage, traversal; thus it answers not to an interpretation, liberal though it may be, but to an explosion, a dissemination. The Text's plurality does not depend on the ambiguity of its contents, but rather on what could be called the stereographic plurality of the signifiers that weave it (etymologicaily the text is a cloth; textus, from which text derives, means "woven").'"

Barthes' 'irreducible plurality' does not, I would argue, prevent the critic from seeking to understand the origins of a poem as complex as Paradise Lost. Harold Bloom, for example, seeks to distinguish between originality and poetic origins:
Poems ...are neither about 'subjects' nor about 'themselves.' They are necessarily about other poems; a poem is a response to a poem, as a poet is a response to a poet, or a person to his parent. Trying to write a poem takes the poet back to the origins of what a poem first was for him, and so takes the poet back beyond the pleasure principle to the decisive initial encounter and response that began him."

One of Bloom's 'other poems', for Milton, was Virgil's Aeneid Book Six. Another influence, as Dryden pointed out, was Homer. But Bloom, using Freudian concepts, also compares the relationship between two poets (one preceding the other) with the relationship between a father and a son:

Barthes, 'From Work to Text' p. 77. ' Barthes, 'From Work to Text' p. 76. '" Barthes, 'From Work to Text' p. 76. 11 Bloom, 'Poetic Origins and Final Phases' in Modern Criticism and Theory, pp. 241252 (p. 247).

To the poet-in-a-poet, a poem is always the other man, the precursor, and so a poem is always a person, always the father of one's Second Birth. To live, the poet must misinterpret the father, by the crucial act of misprision, which is the re-writing of the father. But who, what is a poetic father? The voice of the other, of the daimon, is always speaking in one; the voice that cannot die because already it has survived death - the dead poet lives in one.... A poet, I argue in consequence, is not so much a man speaking to men as a man rebelling against being spoken to by a dead man (the precursor) outrageously more alive than himself.'^

Milton (as the opening to Book X indicates) is struggling with his poetic fathers, using their work, but adding to it and amending it and trying to 'perfect' that which Dante had started (the christianization of the poem). The difference between Milton and Virgil is that Milton's theme puts him in a position far removed from Virgil, though it should be added that he (Milton) considered The Aeneid as a guide to epic theory and its theme as similar to his. The story of Book Six, with its references to the after-life, strongly influenced Milton. Citing Francis Blessington,

Gransden sums up the influence of classical poetics upon Milton and how he (Milton) re-shaped the perception of the classics in the seventeenth century:
Milton proclaims to the informed reader the classical influences in Paradise Lost: far from trying to conceal his indebtedness, he expects it to be appreciated, so that it becomes part of every proper reading of the poem. Yet it is also true that, once the informed reader has observed the signal of a classical parallel in a passage of Milton, the context of the original line, phrase or motif is to be subordinated. The reader himself has subsumed it into the new structure. The omnipresent (though to the uninstructured reader invisible) transformations in the christian vernacular of material from pagan epic are not merely there for adornment and enrichment. They constitute a palimpsest in which the teleological epic of christian heroism transcends, while leaving deliberate evidence of, the epics of pagan heroism.'^

In theories parallel to those of Barthes and Bloom, Edward Said has noted that 'all texts essentially displace, dislodge other texts or, more frequently, they take the place of something else. As Nietzsche had the perspicacity to see, 'texts are fundamentally facts of power, not of democratic exchange. They compel attention away from the world even as their beginning intentions as text... makes for sustained p o w e r . ' I n retailing this concept

Bloom, p. 247. K.W. Gransden, 'The Aeneid and Paradise Lost', in Virgil and his Influence, ed. by Charles Martindale (Bristol: Bristol Classical Press, 1984), p. 95. 14 Edward W. Said, 'The Text, The World, The Critic' in Textual Strategies, pp. 161-U (pp. 178- 9).

of the text, Catherine Belsey has pointed out that there are three kinds of texts; declarative, imperative and interrogative:
The declarative text imparts 'knowledge' (fictional or not) to the reader, the imperative text (propaganda) exhorts, instructs, or orders the reader, and the interrogative text poses questions by enlisting the reader in contradiction.'^

But Belsey's definitions lead us into the theory of reception. Should Paradise Lost be read from a declarative or imperative perspective, or would it put us in the interrogative mood? These are the questions that Rivers, Macaulay and Hunter attempt to answer as they discuss Paradise Lost (as I shall show later in this exercise). It is in this aspect of understanding the text that Wolfgang Iser demonstrates the point from which the text should be perceived:
Whatever we have read sinks into our memory and is foreshortened. It may later be evoked again and set against a different background with the result that the reader is enabled to develop hitherto unforseeable connections. The memory evoked, however, can never reassume its original shape, for this would mean that memory and perception were identical, which is manifestly not so. The new background brings to light new aspects of what we had committed to memory; conversely these, in turn, shed their light on the new background, thus arousing more complex anticipation. Thus, the reader, in establishing these interrelations between past, present and future, actually causes the text to reveal its potential muliplicity of connections. These connections are the product of the reader's mind working on the raw material of the text, though they are not the text itself - for this consists of just sentences, statements, information, etc.'^

These 'raw materials' enable the reader to correlate the issues, themes and genres. Milton's ideas (sublime or overt) are conveyed to us in this form; they are left to our imaginative imagination to construct and deconstruct them. Thus, Iser adds:
That is why the reader often feels involved in events which, at the time of reading, seem real to him, even though in fact they are very far from his own reality. The fact that completely different readers can be completely affected by the 'reality' of a particular text is ample evidence of the degree to which literary texts transform reading into a creative process that is far above mere perception of what is written. The literary text activates our own faculties, enabling us to recreate the world it presents. The product of this creative activity is what we might call the virtual dimension of the text, which endows it with its reality. This virtual dimension is not the text itself, nor is it the imagination of the reader: it is the coming together of text and imagination.'^

15 Catherine Belsey, 'Literature, History, Politics' in Modern Criticism and Theory, pp. 399-410 (p. 407). 16 Wolfgang Iser, 'The Reading Process: A Phenomenological Approach' in Modern Criticism and Theory, pp. 212-228 (p. 215). "iser, p. 215.

In Iser's theory, there are many ways of approaching Paradise Lost (as many as the imagination will allow). This thesis will concentrate on Paradise Lost as an epic written (with the Bible as foundation) with materials from Virgil's Sixth Book of The Aeneid inherent in the story. A study of The Aeneid and its influence inevitably involves some historicism. Robert Adams points to the fact that critics tend to ignore the position Milton was writing from in the seventeenth century, and this oversight leads to a lack of understanding of Paradise Lost. He writes:
The study of Milton's reading offers, in fact, a major problem in critical tact. The modem investigator suffers not only from his ignorance of much that the seventeenth century knew, but from his fresh rediscovery of much that the seventeenth century was slowly forgetting. His task is complicated by the enormous range of Renaissance, classical, and Biblically-inspired material upon which Milton might have drawn in writing his major poems. It is rendered bewildering by the circumstance that Milton, though he was a man of wide and curious learning and the master of a complex, allusive style, chose to write a great epic about a fable at once primitive and universal, which he undertook to render in its broad and simple outlines. These are complexities enough, inherent in the materials; they are compounded when apologists undertake to help Milton along by modernizing an antiquated creed, humanizing a legalistic deity, or displaying universal knowledge. There is a sense in which Milton has positive meaning for our times, and there is a sense in which he is the product of his own circumstances; but these senses must somehow be held in balance.

In keeping this balance, the reader needs to be aware of modem-day critical theories, but also needs to understand the theories that guided the seventeenth-century writer. Milton was aware of classical and renaissance critical theories, for Aristotle, Horace, Cicero and Quintilian were 'the chief sources for renaissance critical theory','^ which are different from modem day critical theories. Thus, the plurality of meanings suggested by Barthes, and the endlessly-deferred signifiers of Derrida, need to be understood also in Bloom's Freudian and historicist terms. So Rivers notes that the classical theorists spoke of the intention of poetry, and its power to move, while in recent years critical interest in the writer's

Robert Adams, Milton and the Modern Critics (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1955), pp. 162-3 19 Isabel Rivers, 'The Making of a Seventeenth Century Poet' in John Milton Introductions, ed. by John Broadbent (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), pp. 75-106 (p. 81). (Rivers has noted that the first two were concerned with the nature of poetry; Aristotle in the Poetics more with theory, Horace in the Art of Poetry more with the craft of writing.)

intention and the work's effect has been diagnosed as 'the intentional fallacy' and 'the affective fallacy'.^'' Renaissance critical theory also focused on the definition of the poet as a teacher. It was Sidney who called the poet, 'the right popular philosopher', and his ideas of the morality of poetry may have guided Milton in his epic. In his Apology for Poetry, Sidney writes:
[The poet] beginneth not with obscure definitions, which must blur the margent with interpretations and load the memory with doubtfulness; but he
Cometh to you with words set in delightful proportion, either accompanied

with or prepared for the well-enchanting skill of music; and with a tale forsooth he cometh unto you, with a tale which holdeth children from play and old men from the chimney-comer. And, pretending no more, doth intend the winning of the mind from wickedness to virtue: even as the child is often brought to take most wholesome things by hiding them in such other as have a pleasant taste; which, if one should begin to tell them the nature of aloes or rhubarb they should receive, would sooner take their physic at their ears than at their mouth.^'

Thus, the main idea of renaissance poetry was to lead. It was for this reason that Milton praised Spenser as a better teacher than Scotus or Aquinas, for The Faerie Queene was explicitly written to fashion 'Morall Vertues' (as its title page indicates). In Milton's case, the virtues were those of Virgil, patriotic, political, and religious. G.K. Hunter notes that:
The task Milton had set himself as his natural aim was not only to write an epic poem, but also, to write one which... encompassed his two abiding passions, patriotism and religion. The patriotism that applied to such a venture was of course, linguistic as well as political.... Milton aimed in his epic to vindicate not only his country and his language but also, his faith.... He did not of course think of his patriotism and religion as separate; one existed to re-inforce the other. He intends his poem to be as he says, 'doctrinal to a nation.' The office of the poet is to preach to his countrymen."

This was one reason why Milton wrote in English. He was doing so for patriotic reasons, but also to teach. Hunter gives a concise summation of this idea:
Milton's attitude to the epic poem he regarded as the crown of his life, the work he could leave behind and which others would not willingly let die, marks not only his relation to the models of epic writing - Homer, Virgil, Tasso - but also a sense of himself and his relationship to the English Language. To create a poem in the mid-seventeenth century on the framework left by Homer and Virgil was of course to make a claim about English, about the chosen subject matter and about the poet himself, which particularities of treatment could modify and hardly transform. And to offer ^ Rivers, John Milton Introductions, p. 81. ^' Philip Sidney, Apology for Poetry ed. by Geoffrey Shepherd (Manchester: Manchester UP, 1965) p. 113. " G.K. Hunter, Paradise Lost (London: George Allen, Unwin, 1980) pp. 14-15.

this in English and in 1667 (the date of the first edition) invites an audience to contemplate the epic vision remade in terms appropriate to the culture and its assumption."

In order to do so, he had to be disciplined and prophetic. As Rivers has written:

Milton regarded the life of the poet as a process of dedication and training; the poet must first create himself before he can create a poem and thus recreate his fellows. The poet is thus isolated from mankind, just as the poem itself embodying and envisaging perfected form, is separated from reality. But the justification for the poet's isolation is that he can change reality. His function is hortatory, magisterial, exemplary. He mediated between ideal and reality. Like a priest, he shows heaven and the path to it. So far, Milton does not depart in theory (though perhaps in emphasis and fervour) from the assumptions of Renaissance poetic. As long as... the ideal world of art seemed a long way from reality, his emphasis was more on the poet's nature than his use, even though tradition and convention taught him that the poet's function was public and his concern was with society.'^"

Rivers emphasises the isolated and prophetic nature of Milton's work; Macaulay stresses the degree to which that prophetic tone also depends on the response and co-operation of the reader (anticipating some 'readerresponse' theory of the present time):
The most striking characteristic of the poetry of Milton is the extreme remoteness of the associations by means of which it acts on the reader. Its effect is produced, not by what it expresses, as by what it suggests; not so much by the ideas which it directly conveys, as by other ideas which are connected with them. He electrifies the mind through conductors.... The works of Milton cannot be comprehended or enjoyed, unless the mind of the reader co-operate with that of the writer. He does not paint a finished picture, or play for a mere passive listener. He sketches, and leaves others to fill up the outline. He strikes a key-note, and expects his hearer to make out the melody.... His poetry acts like an incantation. Its merit lies in its obvious meaning than in its occult power. There would seem, at first sight, to be no more in his words than in other words. But they are words of enchantment. No sooner are they pronounced, than the past is present and the distant near.

For Milton, a poet's nature was bom from the influences of those things which are good and virtuous; to which I might add, the literary

conditions of his time, which were classical and renaissance theories. With this background, and a trail of prose and poetical works, Milton embarked upon his epic journey. He decided to write an epic that was grand in scale and wide in scope. Because of the infiniteness of the topic,
G.K. Hunter, Paradise Lost, p. 2. Isabel Rivers, The Poetry of Conservatism (Cambridge: Rivers Press, 1973) pp. 82-3. Thomas Babington Macaulay Critical and Historical Essays, 2 vols (London: J.M. Demand Co. 1935), l,p.225. The Works of John Milton ed. by Frank Allen Patterson et.al., 18 vols (New York: Columbia University Press, 1931) 3, pp. 195-9.

the definitions (of politics, theology, history, and philosophy) are abundant. Macneile Dixon quotes Wordsworth in attempting to define Paradise Lost in this manner:
So comprehensive a scheme gave its author scope, magnificent i f threatening "Jehovah with his thunder, and the choir Of shouting Angels, and the empyreal thrones" He passed them "unalarmed". Paradise Lost is an exposition of Milton's science, his religion, his philosophy, the epitome of his thoughts on almost every subject which can exercise his mind. "Everything that is truly great and astonishing", said Addison, "has its place in it. The whole system of the intellectual world, the chaos and the creation, heaven, earth, and hell, enter into the constitution of the poem..." The literary suggestions and allusions alone, what great poems of the past, what legends and histories do they overlook? Paradise Lost is charged with references to the Bible, to the Greek mythology, to Homer, to Plato, to Euripides, to Virgil, to Dante, to Ariosto, to Spenser.

Milton's use of Virgil is therefore conditioned by his (and Virgil's) sense of myth, legend, and history. Dryden also uses Virgil in an overtly political and historical mode. For Dryden, the influences of Virgil are made clear in the way he perceives Virgil, in matters of his political persuasion and linguistic dexterity. His translation of The Aeneid testifies to this assertion. But before he began to translate The Aeneid, he acknowledged the constraints and latitude of translating a work which in modern times has become part of the canon of translation theories. In the Preface to his translation of Ovid's Epistles (written in 1680), he categorized the principles of translation under three headings :
First, that of Metaphrase, or turning an Authour word by word, and Line by Line, from one Language into another. Thus, or near this manner, was Horace, his Art of Poetry translated by Ben Johnson. The second way is that of Paraphrase, or Translation with Latitude, where the Author is kept in view by the translator, so as never to be lost, but his words are not so strictly followed as his sense; and that too is admitted to be amplified, but not altered. Such is Mr. Waller's Translation o/Virgils Fourth Aeneid. The Third way is that of Imitation, where the Translator (if now he has not lost that Name) assumes the liberty, not only to vary from the words and sence, but to forsake them both as he sees occasion; and taking only some general hints from the Original, to run division on the ground-work, as he pleases. Such is Mr. Cowleys practice in turning two Odes o/Pindar, and one o/Horace, into English.^* ^' W. Macneile Dixon English Epic and Heroic Poetry (London: J.M. Dent and Sons Ltd., 1912) p. 196. The Poems of John Dryden, ed. by James Kinsley , 4 vols (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1958) I , p. 182.

10

Having classified the art, he moved on to elaborate on each of the three and in doing so, defined the differences between them. In metaphrase, he points out:
...the Verbal Copyer is incumber 'd with so many difficulties at once, that he can never disintangle himself from all. He is to consider, at the same time, the thought of his Authour, and his words, and to find out the counterpart to each in another Language; and, besides this, he is to confine himself to the compass of Numbers, and the Slavery of Rhime. 'Tis much like dancing on Ropes with fetter'd Leggs: A man may shun a fall by using Caution; but the gracefulness of Motion is not to be expected: and when we have said the best of it, 'tis but a foolish Task; for no sober man would put himself into danger for the Applause of escaping without breaking his Neck.^'

Dryden clearly avoids this in his own translation of The Aeneid. He also views the aspect of imitating in the same light:
/ take Imitation of an Authour, in their sense, to be an Endeavour of a later Poet to write like one who has written before him, on the same Subject; that is, not to Translate his words, or to be Con/in'd to his Sense, but only to set him as a Patern, and to write, as he supposes, that Authour would have done, had he lived in our Age, and in our Country.... But if Virgi/, or Ovid, or any regular intelligible Authors, be thus us'd, 'tis no longer to be called their work, when neither the thoughts nor words are drawn from the Original; but instead of that there is something new produc'd, which is almost the creation of another hand. ...To state it fairly; Imitation of an Authour is the most advantagious way for a Translator to shew himself but the greatest wrong which can be done to the Memory and Reputation of the dead.... Imitation and verbal Version are, in my Opinion, the two Extreams which ought to be avoided; and therefore, when I have propos'd the mean betwixt them, it will be seen how far this Argument will reach.

The 'mean betwixt them' for Dryden, can be found in the practice of good language. He is convinced that a mastery of the author's language as well as that of the translator's, creates the equation:
No man is capable of Translating Poetry, who besides a Genius to that Art, is not a Master both of his Authours Language, and of his own; Nor must we understand the Language only of the Poet, but his particular turn of Thoughts, and of Expression, which are the Characters that distinguish, and as it were individuate him from all other writers. When we are come thus far, 'tis time to look into our selves, to conform our Genius to his, to give his thought either the same turn if our tongue will bear it, or, if not, to vary but the dress, not to alter or destroy the substance. The like Care must be taken of the more outward Ornaments, the Words: when they appear (which is but seldom) litterally graceful, it were an injury to the Authour that they should be chang 'd: But since every Language is so full of its own proprieties, that what is Beautiful in one, is often Barbarous, nay sometimes Nonsence in another, it would be unreasonable to limit a Translator to the narrow

29

Kinsley, vol. I , p. 183. Kinsley, vol. I , p. 184-85.

11

compass of his Authours words: 'tis enough if he choose out some Expression which does not vitiate the Sense.^'

After focusing on the issue of language, Dryden puts forward the idea that the translator must constantly remember to hold inviolate the sense or the purpose of the author. That special capacity to receive and transmit internal and external stimuli should never be overlooked:
The sence of an Authour, generally speaking, is to be Sacred and inviolable. If the Fancy of Ovid be luxuriant, 'tis his Character to be so, and if I retrench it, he is no longer Ovid.... when a Painter Copies from the life, I suppose he has no priviledge to alter Features, and Lineaments, under pretence that his Picture will look better: perhaps the Face which he has drawn would be more Exact, if the Eyes, or Nose were alter'd, but 'tis his business to make it resemble the Original.^^

Five years later (1685), he returned to the theme of translafion, in the Preface to Sylvae: Or the Second Part of Poetical Miscellanies. In this manuscript, he notes:
For this last half Year I have been troubled with the disease (as I may call it) of Translation; ....a Translator is to make his Author appear as charm ing as possibly he can, provided he maintains his Character, and makes him not unlike himself. Translation is a kind of Drawing after the Life; where every one will acknowledge there is a double sort of likeness, a good one and a bad. 'Tis one thing to draw the Out-lines true, the Features like, the Proportions exact, the Colouring it self perhaps tolerable, and another thing to make all these graceful, by the posture, the shadowings, and chiefly by the Spirit which animates the whole. I cannot without some indignation, look on an ill Copy of an excellent Original: Much less can I behold with patience Virgil, Homer, and some others, whose beauties I have been endeavouring all my Life to imitate, so abus'd, as I may say to their Faces, by a botching Interpreter.

The representation of an author's work in 'a double sort of likeness', is an issue Dryden later develops. Three years after the translation of The Aeneid in 1700, he takes a somewhat different view concerning translations, in this case, English translations. From what seems like an evolutionary position, in the Preface to the Fables, he deals with his translation of Chaucer:
Chaucer, I confess, is a rough Diamond, and must first be polish'd e'er he shines. I deny not likewise, that living in our early Days of Poetry, he writes not always of a piece; but sometimes mingles trivial Things with those of greater Moment. Sometimes also, though not often, he mns riot, like Ovid, and knows not when he has said enough. But there are more great Wits,

^' Kinsley, vol. l , p . 185. Kinsley, vol l , p . 185. " Kinsley, vol. I , pp. 390-1.

besides Chaucer, whose Fault is their Excess of Conceits, and those ill sorted. An Author is not to write all he can, but only all he ought. Another Poet, in another Age, may take the same Liberty with my Writings; if at least they live long enough to deserve Correction. It was also necessary sometimes to restore the Sense of Chaucer, which was lost or mangled in the Errors of the Press.

Dryden points out that Chaucer is writing in the earhest ages, and as such, it is primitive. He is also concerned about how much of old words should be kept and how much they should be replaced with new ones. This is a sign on the part of Dryden that an evolutionary process that depicts flexibility, sensibility and necessity has begun. To him, necessity is expedient when linguistics plays a pertinent role. He adds:
When an ancient Word for its Sound and Significancy deserves to be reviv'd, I have that reasonable Veneration for Antiquity, to restore it. All beyond this is Superstition. Words are not like Landmarks, so sacred as never to be remov'd; Customs are chang'd, and even Statutes are silently repeal'd, when the Reason ceases for which they were enacted. As for the other Part of the Argument, that his Thoughts will lose of their original Beauty, by the innovation of Words; in the first place, not only their Beauty, but their Being is lost, where they are no longer understood, which is the present Case. I grant, that something must be lost in all Transfusion, that is, in all Translations; but the Sense will remain, which would otherwise be lost, or at least be maim'd, when it is scarce intelligible; and that but to a few.

But one English writer who was not a rough diamond and who never needed polishing, and whom Dryden held in high esteem, was Spenser. He saw Spenser as an exemplar of good translation, while alluding to Servius' (4th c) coinage of the word polysemus (the many different forms of historical and philosophical meanings that emanate from Virgil's poetry). He looked upon Spenser as the English literary model. Though Spenser did not translate The Aeneid into English, he transcribed the genres, the themes, the ideas of Virgil's into his work in English, producing a complex form of imitation. In his Discourse concerning the Original and Progress of Satire, Dryden described Spenser as Virgilian and Milton as Homeric:
I look'd over the Darling of my youth, the Famous Cowley: there I found instead of them, the Points of Wit, and Quirks of Epigram, even in the Davideis, a Heroick Poem, which is of an opposite nature to those Puerilities; but no Elegant turns, either on the word, or on the thought. Then

35

Kinsley, vol. 4, p. 1457. Kinsley, vol. 4, p. 1458.

I consulted a Greater Genius, (without offence to the Manes of that Noble Author) I mean Milton. But as he endeavours every where to express Homer, whose Age had not arriv'd to that fineness, I found in him a true sublimity, lofty thoughts, which were cloath'd with admirable Grecisms, and ancient words, which he had been digging from the Mines of Chaucer, and of Spencer, and which, with all their rusticity, had somewhat of Venerable in them. But I found not there neither that for which I look'd. At last I had recourse to his Master, Spencer, the Author of that immortal Poem, call'd the Fairy-Queen; and there I met with that which I had been looking for so long in vain. Spencer had studi'd Virgil to as much advantage as Milton had done Homer. And amongst the rest of his Excellencies had Copy'd that.''^

Dryden subscribes to the notion that Spenser was greatly influenced by Virgil. He notes Virgil's pathos, especially in The Aeneid. But long after Dryden, the debate over translations continued. In his treatise, On Language and Words, Arthur Schopenhauer notes that
Not every word in one language has an exact equivalent in another. Thus, not all concepts that are expressed through words of one language are exactly the same as the ones that are expressed through the words of another.... Sometimes a language lacks the word for a certain concept even though it exists in most, perhaps all, other languages : a rather scandalous example is the absence of a word in French for "to stand." On the other hand, for certain concepts a word exists only in one language and is then adopted by other languages.... At times, a foreign language introduces a conceptual nuance for which there is no word in our language. Then anyone who is concerned about the exact presentation of his or her thoughts will use the foreign word and ignore the barking of pedantic purists."

But he raises an interesting point which Dryden would certainly have agreed with:
... in learning a foreign language one must map out several new spheres of concepts in one's own mind that did not exist before. Consequently, one does not learn words but acquires concepts. This is particularly true for the learning of classical languages, since the ways the ancients expressed themselves differ considerably more from ours than modem languages vary from one another. This is most conspicuously evident with translation into Latin: expressions totally different from the original have to be used. Indeed, the ideas to be transplanted into Latin have to be totally reconstituted and remolded; the idea has to be dissolved into its most basic components and then reconstructed in the new language. ... We will never grasp the spirit of the foreign language i f we first translate each word into our mother tongue and then associate it with its conceptual affinity in that language - which does not always correspond to the concepts of the source language.

36

Kinsley, vol. 2, p. 666. " Arthur Schopenhauer, 'On Language and Words', trans, by Peter Mollenhauer, in Theories of Translation, ed. by Rainer Schulte and John Biguenet (Chicago: Chicago UP, 1992) pp. 32-35 (p. 32). Schopenhauer, p. 33.

14

Similarly, Friedrich Schleiermacher, in 1813, stresses the difference between translating and interpreting:
The activity of translating is radically different from mere interpreting. Wherever the word is not totally bound by obvious objects or by external facts (which it is merely supposed to express), wherever the speaker is thinking more or less independently and therefore wants to express himself, he stands in an ambiguous relationship to language; and his speech will be understood correctly only in so far as this relationship is comprehended correctly. Every human being is, on the one hand, in the power of the language he speaks; he and his whole thinking are a product of it. He cannot, with complete certainty, think anything that lies outside the limits of language. The form of his concepts, the way and means of connecting them, is outlined for him through the language in which he is bom and educated; intellect and education are bound by it.^'

Thus, when Dryden translated The Aeneid from Latin into English, he was bound primarily by the concepts of the English language (though thoroughly versed in the Latin language), which was in its formative stages. He was translating a foreign language into English; his thought processes could not go beyond the boundaries of his own, and even if they did, they were very limited. I f there was a difficulty in finding a substitution, then the art of 'naturalizing the foreign to enrich the native', should be displayed, as Dryden once suggested. Schleiermacher concurred:
On the other hand, however, every freethinking and intellectually spontaneous human being also forms the language himself. For how else, but through these influences, would it have come to be and to grow from its first raw state to its more perfect formation in scholarship and art? In this sense, therefore, it is the living power of the individual that produces new forms in the malleable material of the language....

Like Dryden, he describes his attitude toward the different methods of translation. He interprets paraphrase as a labour 'through an accumulation of loosely defined details, vacillating between a cumbersome "too much" and a tormenting "too little". In this way it can perhaps render the content with limited precision, but it completely abandons the impression made by the original.''*' He considers imitation as a submission to the 'irrationality of languages.' He expresses the idea that:

Friedrich Schleiermacher, 'On the Different Methods of Translating', trans by Waltraud Bartscht, in Theories of Translation, pp. 36-54 (p. 38). Schleiermacher, p. 38. Schleiermacher, p. 40.

15

It concedes that no replica of a verbal work of art can be produced in another language that would correspond exactly in its individual parts to the individual parts of the original.''^

He then comes to the conclusion that 'paraphrase is applied more in the field of scholarship, imitation more in that of the arts....' But the salient point concerning the art of translating is revealed when he puts forward the question:
But now the true translator, who really wants to bring together these two entirely separate persons, his author and his reader, and to assist the latter in obtaining the most correct and complete understanding and enjoyment possible of the former without, however, forcing him out of the sphere of his mother tongue - what paths are open to the translator for that purpose?''^

The problem, as Dryden saw before him, is assisting the understanding of a foreign author in a language which that author did not use. His answer is:
In my opinion, there are only two. Either the translator leaves the writer alone as much as possible and moves the reader toward the writer, or he leaves the reader alone as much as possible and moves the writer toward the reader. Both paths are so completely different from one another that one of them must definitely be adhered to as strictly as possible, since a highly unreliable result would emerge from mixing them, and it is likely that author and reader would not come together at all."'*

Three years after Schleiermacher wrote this treatise, Wilhelm von Humboldt, argued that 'translation, especially poetic translation, is one of the most necessary tasks of any literature, partly because it directs those who do not know another language to forms of art and human experience that would otherwise have remained totally unknown, but above all because it increases the expressivity and depth of meaning of one's own language.'''^ But Humboldt stresses the importance of language in translation when he makes this observation:
All forms of language are symbols, not the objects themselves, not prearranged signs, but sounds; they find themselves, together with the objects and ideas that they represent, filtered through the mind in which they originated and continue to originate in a real or, one might even say, a mystical relationship. These objects of reality are held suspended in a partially dissolved state as ideas that can define, separate, and recombine with one another in such a way as to defy all imaginable limitations. A "^ Schleiermacher, pp. 40-1. ''^ Schleiermacher, pp. 41-2. AA ^ . . . . . . _ Schleiermacher, pp. 41-2. Wilhelm von Humboldt, 'Introduction to His Translation of Agamemnon' trans, by Sharon Sloan, in Theories of Translation, p. 56.

16

nobler, more profound, more fragile sense may be read into these symbols only if one imagines, expresses, receives, and then repeats them in such a way. Thus, without any noticeable transformation, language is raised to a higher level of expression, is expanded into a greater representation of complexity. To the same extent that a language is enriched, a nation is also enriched.''^

This is a further echo of Dryden's words in the Preface to the translation of The Aeneid. It suggests how central and sensible Dryden's theories were. But the different or general theories of translation should not be the focus of this art; particularity or specialization should also be looked at, especially in the case of Dryden, who happened to be the first person to translate The Aeneid into rhymed verse. In the nineteenth century, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, in his preface to The Early Italian Poets, commented on the importance of such translation:
The life-blood of rhymed translation is this, - that a good poem shall not be turned into a bad one. The only true motive for putting poetry into a fresh language must be to endow a fresh nation, as far as possible, with one more possession of beauty. Poetry not being an exact science, literality of rendering is altogether secondary to this chief aim. I say literality, - not fidelity, which is by no means the same thing. When literality can be combined with what is thus the primary condition of success, the translator is fortunate, and must strive his utmost to unite them;....

Rossetti was quick to point out the difficulties of such an exercise. He admitted that there was always present a conflict of idioms, epochs, will, structure and cadence; some kind of a mental labyrinth:
The task of the translator... is one of some self-denial. Often would he avail himself of any special grace of his own idiom and epoch, if only his will belonged to him; often would some cadence serve him but for his author's structure - some structure but for his author's cadence; often the beautiful turn of a stanza must be weakened to adopt some rhyme which will tally, and he sees the poet revelling in abundance of language where himself is scantily supplied. Now he would slight the matter for the music, and now the music for the matter; but no, he must deal to each alike.... His path is like that of Aladdin through the enchanted vaults: many are the precious fiaiits and flowers which he must pass by unheeded in search for the lamp alone; happy i f at last, when brought to light, it does not prove that his old lamp has been exchanged for a new one, - glittering indeed to the eye, but scarcely of the same virtue nor with the same genius at its summons."*^

'^^ von Humboldt, p. 57. Gabriel Rosetti, Preface to 'The Early Italian Poets' in Theories of Translation, pp. 64-67 (p. 65). Rosetti, pp. 65-66.

17

Rossetti was writing about Italian poetry, and Italian poetry has more rhymes than English. Though Dryden does not expressly list these difficulties (which Rossetti cited) in his translation, the point can be made that he was not immune to these obstacles. But Nietzsche, in his Problem of Translation, makes this observation concerning the art of translating, that translating is, according to Roman culture, an act of conquest:
One can gauge the degree of the historical sensibility an age possesses by the manner in which it translates texts and by the manner in which it seeks to incorporate past epochs and books into its own being .... And then Roman antiquity itself: how violently, and at the same time how naively, it pressed its hand upon everything good and sublime in the older periods of ancient Greece! Consider how the Romans translated this material to suit their own age and how, intentionally as well as carelessly, they swished into oblivion the dust from a butterfly's wing - thus obliterating its one unique moment! Horace, off and on, translated Alcaeus or Archilochus; Propertius translated Callimachus and Philetas (poets who were in the same rank with Theocritus, if we be permitted to make such a judgment). How little concern these translators had for this or that experience by an original creator who had imbued his poem with symbols of such experiences!... As poets they did not recognize the existence of the purely personal images and names of anything that served as the national costume or mask of a city, a coastal area, or a century, and therefore immediately replaced all this by present realities and by things Roman. They seemed to ask us: "Shall we not refurbish antiquity to suit our own purposes and should we ourselves not become comfortable in this newly established entity? Why can't we breathe our soul into this dead body? - for it is dead, no doubt, and how ugly all dead things are!""'

Nietzsche's theory would presumably put an end to all translation, but it must be set against the advantages outlined above. But from another tangent, Nietzsche propounds the notion that:
These poet-translators did not know how to enjoy the historical disposition; anything past and alien was an irritant to them, and as Romans they considered it to be nothing but a stimulus for yet another Roman conquest. In those days, indeed, to translate meant to conquer - not merely in the sense that one would omit the historical dimension but also in the sense that one would add a hint of contemporaneousness to the material translated...

That the art of translating as an art of conquest will be examined in Dryden's translation of The Aeneid, in particular. Book Six. But one of the problems of translating that Nietzsche cites, which also is worth mentioning is the difficulty of translating 'from one language into

Friedrich Nietzsche, Problem of Translation' in Theories of Translation, pp. 68-70 (p. 68). ^ Nietzsche, p. 69.

18

another... the tempo of its style: that which is grounded in the character of the race or, to speak in a physiological manner, in the average tempo of its "metabohsm."'^' But for Dryden and those who have translated works from Latin, comfort can be sought from Paul Valery who, in his Variations on the Eclogues, written in 1953, draws particular attention to the fact that Latin is a much more compact language. He expresses this idea pithily:
It has no articles; it is chary of auxiliaries (at least during the classical period); it is sparing of prepositions. It can say the same things in fewer words and, moreover, is able to arrange these with an enviable freedom almost completely denied to us. This latitude is most favorable to poetry, which is an art of continuously constraining language to interest the ear directly (and through the ear, everything sounds may provoke of themselves) at least as much as it does the mind.^^

In his opinion, the poet 'is a peculiar type of translator, who translates ordinary speech, modified by emotion, into "language of the gods," and his inner labor consists less of seeking words for his ideas than of seeking ideas for his words and paramount rhythms.'^'^

Milton and Dryden were two of many writers who used or translated Virgil in the seventeenth century. It is therefore appropriate at this point to examine the maimer in which The Aeneid (Book Six in particular) was read and translated in the seventeenth century. Before the seventeenth century, there had been a number of translations of The Aeneid. In 1567, Vincentio Menni translated the Sixth Book only. A year later, Lodovico Dulce translated the enfire work. After 1568, several other writers began translating the Sixth Book only. But for the purposes of gaining insights into seventeenth-century translations and interpretations, two authors' works will be examined; Sir John Harington's translation of 1604 and Thomas Heywood's poem, Troia Brittanica of 1609. Simon Cauchi, the editor of Harington's work, points out that 'a reasonably reliable English version was already available in the
^' Nietzsche, p. 69. Paul Valery, 'Variations on The Eclogues', trans, by Denise Folliot, in Theories of Translation, p. 113. "Valery, p. 118.

19

translation begun by Thomas Phaer in the 1550s and completed and revised by Thomas Twyne in 1573 and 1584.'^'' He is of the opinion that in the case of Harington, the idea of translating the work in ottava rima verses was paramount to him. He adds that 'the most striking feature of the translation is precisely this decision to render Virgil's hexameters in ottava rima, or 'English Heroical Verse....'Harington dedicated the work to the incoming King James, and declared his purpose for translating the chapter:
I betooke myself cheefly to reeding, sometyme of his word that made the world, somtyme of his worke, that distinguisheth the Cyttesens of the Cytty of god, from the Cittesens of the world, I mean Snt Awgustins excellent booke De Civitate dei. wch I read wth an old comment writt thearon by an Englysh man many ages since./ And fyndyng by dyvers passages of his booke, what credyt the wrytings of virgill had wth that holly wryter: the Eneyds, (especially the vjth booke) being often cyted thearin, yt gave mee both occasyon and encoragement to revyse a work I had formerly taken payn in for my sonns better vnderstandinge, namly a translacion of that vj booke of Eneyds, wch I fownd so hard and so harsh for owr Englysh verse that I never durst meddle with eny more of yt.^^

In effect, Harington set out to examine Book Six of The Aeneid in the light of Augustine's City of God, to see what differences or similarities there were between both works, and more importantly, what each held for the edification of youth. He wanted his young reader. Prince Henry, to 'master the fundamentals of classical mythology and ancient history and geography as they relate to this book of Virgil's....'^^ In the attempt to edify, he sought to distinguish the differences between pagan beliefs and christian doctrines. He broke Book Six of The Aeneid into seven segments: (1) Enchauntments (2) Prophecies (3) Funerals (4) Hell (5) Paradise (6) the Soul (7) Rome. It is interesting to note that Harington considered Book Six as the blueprint of human eschatos; life/ religion, funeral, the soul, hell and paradise. He moved to explain, from a Biblical perspective, the miracle of life and the mystery of its destiny in each of these segments.

John Harington, The Sixth Book of Virgil's Aeneid, ed. by S. Cauchi (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), Preface p. xix Harington, Preface, p. xviii Harington, p. 1. Harington, Preface, p. xxxiii.

20

He dismisses the enchauntments and prophecies as those of familiar spirits comparable to the marks of Pharoah's 'wysards and witches' marks:
I say all thease are demonstracions that theyr are enchawnters and witches both men and women, and consequently....that all practys with them is meerly vngodly and vnlawflil.^^

Of funerals, he refutes the Romans' belief in fiineral rites, and considers them superstitious:
But now concerning the supersticiows opinion of ye Pagans, to supersticiowsly yet beleeved by some christians, and insynuated heer by vergill in this booke that the sowl hath not rest till the body be buryed yt ys so suffyciently confuted in the foralleaged places of Snt Awgustyn, and ys so manifestly contrary to all skrypture that It ys needlesse to Insyst furder vppon yt.

Harington lines the Scriptures against The Aeneid. He uses Augustine's City of God as a test for the veracity of Virgil's belief Thus, he reads The Aeneid from a Christian point of view, which, to a great extent is indicative of the manner in which this chapter was read in the seventeenth century. When he addresses the issue of hell and the state of the damned, he tends to agree with Virgil because he sees striking similarities between Virgil's work and the Scriptures:
Thowgh this part of the booke for the lytterall & historycall sence ys meerly and apparawntly fabulous, yet the morall thearof contayns so many excellent points of Christianitye,...*''

He observes that Virgil

shows him selfe a better Christian then Orygen who ymagined that the devell and all shold bee saved at last...yet when he comes to tell who lye in the hell of the damned his wryting seems to sewt a preacher in the pulpet rather then a fable of a poem, and I fear mee some paryshes have 2000 Communicants that wear never so well Catachised for this poynt as the heedful reeding of this booke of vyrgill myght enstruct them.*'

Concerning Paradise and the state of the godly, he again pays Virgil his dues:
And to say trewly of vergill, consydering hee had but the lyght of nature yt ys strawng to see how he roves at the trewth thowgh hee hit yt not

Harington, p. 63. Harington, pp. 69-70. Harington, pp. 70-1. Harington, pp. 71-2.

21

perfectly.

Of the sow! of man and the original thearof, he takes issue with the Stoic views. He does not subscribe to the notion of the transmigration of souls and goes to great length in refuting these views:
I cowld not omit this question of the transycion ...of sowls, and heerin cleer the dowbt that some have made of the oryginall of them, of wch not only among philosophers but amonge devynes have been great disputes....Philosophers are for the moste part the patryarcks to heretyks. For whear philosophy takes vppon her to lead the way and makes devynity follow thear commonly both fall hedlonge into all fallshood and error, but y f Dyvinity may be Mistres and Philosophy the handmayd, both may remayn chast and vndefyled vyrgins."

He is harsh in his criticism of philosophers and divinities who tend to subscribe to the idea of souls transmigrating. Of the Empyre of Room, he ridicules Virgil's story of Rome's beginnings (often citing Augustine's query of the involvement of Rhea Silva, Romulus, Remus and the wolf), its historical greatness, and sometimes, injecting this account with the Biblical notion of Rome being a second Babylon:
Breefly thearfore, and I suppose trewly wee may gather owt of thease observacions, fyrst how mean beginnings this myghty Monarchy had, how often yt hath been shaken and allmost overthrown, how both the Empyre and the Church thear, rose and encreased by poverty by pacience, and fell and declyned by pryde and presumption, fynally that y f as some papists wryte thear was in Snt Peeters tyme a Churche of god in the Babilon of Roome, so yt ys possyble thear may bee now some relliqs of Babylon in this Church of Roome. ^

John Harington writes as an uncompromising Christian apologist. His views of Holy Scripture certify his discontent with that which is not Scripturally-based, and it is probable that his position was representative of the average seventeenth century reader of The Aeneid. In his closing commentary, he makes this point:
. . . I cannot passe over so sleyghtly in this vnbeleeving age that calls many matters of fayth in question; of which, as Poets in the old tyme, so fryers of later tymes have been the cheefest cawse. Among the Pagans the Poets filld all the world with fables as I noted before, and among Christians the fryers and ydle Monks wrate large legends of fayned miracles; and of bothe thease, the devill and his ministers have made notable vse;/ with the fyrst, they fill all the world with a supersticiows opinion of most wicked gods,.... enclyned Harington, p. 77. " Harington, p. 83. Harington, p. 95.

22

to crewelty, to sensualyty, to adultery, and all obscenyty; and with thease later fables, they have drawn many to flat Atheism and misbeleefe,...''

One aspect of seventeenth century reading of Book Six of The Aeneid shows the complete overthrow of pagan gods in the light of Biblical teachings. There appeared to have been a total deracination of heathenism or paganism, regardless of the esteem in which the author was held, be it Homer or Virgil or Ovid. It is a common theme in Milton's work, from the early Metrical Psalms to Samson Agonistes. But not all who interpreted Book Six of The Aeneid did so from a strictly Biblical point of view. One example was Thomas Heywood, who in 1609 published his Troia Brittanica, or Great Britain's Troy. Written in seventeen cantos (with a total of 4665 lines), it is 'intermixed with many pleasant poeticall tales', concluding with a chronicle from the creation to his time. But what is particularly striking about this work is the idea that Britain is another Troy. He seems to convey the idea that Virgil bequeathed to Britain the legacy of Troy or Rome. In language similar to that of Anchises, Heywood appears to make emendations and addenda to Anchises' speech. In such emendations, he dismisses Anchises' story of the involvement of the Roman gods in the act of creation:
But this most glorious universe, was made Of nothing, by the creator's will;... (I, IV: 35-36)

Instead of copying Anchises' material, Heywood dwells on the Scriptures to explain how Britain came to be born. He traces the history of Britain from Adam to William the Norman:
That powerfiil Trinity created man Adam, of earth in the faire field Damaske, And of his rib he Euah, formed than. In these first two, Humanity began; In whom, confinde Ihehovahs six-daies taske. From Adam then and Euahs first Creation It followes we deriue our Brittish Nation. (I, V I I : 43-50)

O give me leaue, from the Worlds first Creation, The ancient names of Britons, to deriue From Adam, to the Worlds first Invndation, And so from Noah, to vs that yet suruiue: And hauing of Troyes Worthies made relation.
65

Harington, p. 100.

23

Your spurs the Chariot of my Muse must driue Through all past Ages, and precedent times. To fill this new World with my worthlesse rymes. (I: V I : 59-66)

Like Anchises, Heywood goes through a long list of all the chieftaincies, tribal leaders and Kings of England, singing their praises as well as observing their failures. He cites not only leaders, but also achievements, which included the establishment of Saint Andrews University in Scotland. In his dedication (to the Earl of Worcester), he sets the stage by invoking the names of the great classicists:
Homer (long since) a Chronicler Diuine, And Virgill, haue redeemd olde Troy from fire. Whose memory had with her buildings In desolate ruyne, had not theyr desire Snatched her fair Tytle from the burning flame. Which with the Towne had else consumde her name. Had they surviude in these our flourishing dales. Your vertues from the auncient Heroes drawne, In spight of death or blacke obliuions rage. Should line for euer in Fames glorious fawne, Rankt next to Troy, our Troy-novant should be. And next the Troyan Peeres, your places free. ( 31-42)

Britain is not just another Troy, but a newer and brighter Troy (Troynovant) destined like its parent to outshine its age. Thus, the myth of Virgil has taken an English (and Scottish) dimension.

The Sixth Book and its Influence

Many critics have argued that the Sixth is the most important book of The Aeneid. It is the denouement of The Aeneid ; the de nouveau or de novo of a person, a people and a nation. It can be compared to the Bible, in which the prophetic books of the Old Testament look forward to a Messianic epiphany, after which the New Testament books deal with the consequences of that epiphanic moment. Similarly, the first five books of The Aeneid look forward to a Sixth book for that prophetic moment,

24

whilst Books Seven to Twelve look back to the Sixth Book and see the fulfilment of the prophecies. R.D. Williams has written:
The Sixth Book is the focal point of The Aeneid; it completes and concludes what has gone before and it provides a new impetus for the second half of the poem.

William Porter amplifies William's assertion:

Aeneid 6 is the keystone of the poem's structure and arguably its most important book. And its mystic significance is enhanced by the fact that it draws not only upon Homer, but upon two other grand precedents, the story of Er in Book 10 of Plato's Republic and, especially, the dream of Scipio in the sixth book of the Republic of Cicero*'.

Porter's claim of 'mystic significance' is important in two ways. It refers to Virgil's sense of a nation and its welfare; it also suggests a concern with eternal happiness as well as earthly righteousness, a righteousness which the gods would approve o f In Book Six of The Aeneid, Virgil is seeking to guide his countrymen into spiritual and moral truths; he relates the story of Aeneas who, in the underworld learns of the inescapable power of the gods, the rewards of good and evil, as well as the origins of life and death. Virgil provides a structured, coherent view of the after-life with which he supersedes the scanty stories of his antecedents, such as Homer. It is a poetic vision with a special reference to Aeneas and Rome, as Williams suggests:
We must always remember that the aim of the book is not primarily philosophical or theological - and in this, it differs from the myths of Plato to which it owes so much; the aim is to present a poetic vision which has special influence to Aeneas and Rome within the designs and framework of the total epic poem.

Williams is arguing that The Aeneid is an epic of Roman pre-history, with profound implications for the conduct of the state. It is seen as a highly moral poem, concerned with individual and nation, and the relationship of these with the gods. To understand the ftjU implications of this for Milton and Dryden, it is necessary also to examine briefly the principal medieval poem which refigures Virgil (and in which Virgil appears as guide), Dante's Inferno.
**R. D.Williams, 'The Sixth Book of The Aeneid' in Oxford Readings in Virgil, ed. by S. J. Harrison (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1990), pp. 191-207 (p. 191). *' William Porter, Reading the Classics and Paradise Lost (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press 1993) p. 98. ** Williams, p. 191

25

Dante was a descendant of the 'legendary' Aeneas, as was Virgil. But the Inferno is a bridge between the pagan world of Virgil and the JudeoChristian faith of the Middle Ages. Dante makes the transition from heathenism to Christianity by dealing with the treatment of the virtuous heathens, as well as the superseding of pagan attitudes, such as the reference by Anchises to the return of Saturn. In christianizing Book Six, Dante takes over the Virgilian insights and uses them as a basis for greater insights. Milton's Paradise Lost is a christian epic. Milton had always wanted to write in English something comparable to the work of Homer and Virgil, but was uncertain about what his theme should be. But in Book Six of The Aeneid, he found abundant materials: the epitome of heroism and change (in Aeneas): good and evil, as well as the influence of the gods; after-life, judgments and rewards; prophetic revelations and more. Alastair Fowler expresses this idea succintly:
Not neglected, but requiring further study, are Milton's classical modelsparticularly the Homeric epics and Virgil's Aeneid. Such articles as Condee's have shown that the study of these models can mean much more than cataloguing verbal and narrative echoes. Milton's allusions to earlier epics are so consistent as to constitute a distinct strand of meaning in the poem: even, sometimes, a kind of critical accompaniment. What still remains to be investigated is the extent to which Paradise Lost allegorizes the inherited epic images, in the Neoplatonic manner of a Landino or a Spenser - that is, the extent to which the poem is tertiary rather than secondary epic.^'

Dante used historical figures from the Italian city-states of the middle ages in the Inferno; in the same way, Milton's Paradise Lost was written in the aftermath of the Restoration, and a careful reading of the poem suggests many references to the 'condition of England' in the seventeenth century. Macneile Dixon points out that through his middle life:
Milton lived amid historic scenes and historic persons, he was associated with great men and great events. Around him the tides of war ebbed and flowed, armies marched to victory and defeat, soldiers and sailors came and went in the hours of military and political crisis. On one side the King held his court in the armed camp, on the other, the parliament, its councils, all England rang with news of battle and sieges. To live through such times was an education for an epic poet. Milton not only lived through them, he stood at the centre, he was part of all he saw and heard.

Paradise Lost, ed. by Alastair Fowler (London: Longman, 1968) p. 11. Macneile Dixon, English Epic and Heroic Poetry (London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1912) p. 191-2.

26

It could be argued that, mutatis mutandis, Virgil's epic was written against a similar background. Rome's constant internecine and external wars were ruinous to the fabric of the society to which Virgil was a witness; thus The Aeneid, especially Book Six, would, in implied criticism, look forward to the rebirth of Rome. This rebirth would begin with Aeneas, whose progeny would wax great and strong. Similarly, Paradise Lost is about mankind's fall, and its rebirth through one man, a second Adam, whose progeny would live in a fallen world with the possibility of salvafion. Though both authors' ideas of rebirth or change are convergent, the conspicuous difference lies in the manner in which this change occurs. In The Aeneid, it lies in Phlegyas' admonition, discite iustitiam moniti et non temnere divos [Be warned; learn ye to be just and not to slight the gods!] In Paradise Lost, it is repentance through Christ. Milton develops his christian epic in a way that could be thought of as parallel but also radically different. For Milton, to 'be just and not to slight the gods', would mean to live a good life in the knowledge and assurance of salvation, in which the fallen world has been redeemed through Christ. The pattern of sin, repentance, and grace is one which may be found in Virgil, but which is here given much more extended treatment. I f Virgil was writing an epic about the past and fiiture of Rome, Milton was deliberately also drawing attention to the importance of British history. In his Epitaphium Damonis, Milton writes:
Why not a British theme? One man cannot do all things, cannot hope to do all things. Sufficient my reward, my honours ample - even i f I am forever unknown and wholly without fame in foreign parts - if yellow-haired Ouse reads me, and he who drinks the waters of Alaun, and Abra full of eddies, and all the woods of Trent stained with metals, and if the Orkneys and their remotest waves but learn my song."

Isabel Rivers buttresses this idea of Milton writing for his countrymen by noting that he had 'an overpowering sense of obligation' to write a

'' John Milton Epitaphium Damonis, ed. by Stephen Orgel and Jonathan Goldberg (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1991) p. 159. (I have used this edition for the effectiveness of the translafion.)

27

patriotic poem.^^ Thus, patriotism, fueled with an abundant supply of christian beliefs became compelling factors for his epic. In his Reason of Church Government, Milton writes:
If I were certain to write as men buy leases, for three lives and downward, there ought no regard be sooner had, than to God's glory by the honour and instinction of my country. For which cause, and not only for that I knew it would be hard to arrive at the second rank among the Latins, I applied myself to that resolution which Ariosto followed against the persuasion of Bembo, to fix all the industry and art I could write to the adorning of my native tongue; not to make verbal curiousities the end, that were a toilsome vanity, but to be an interpreter and relater of the best and sagest things among mine own citizens throughout this island in the mother dialect. That what the greatest and choicest wits of Athens, Rome, or modem Italy and those Hebrews of old did for their country, I in my proportion with this over and above of being a christian, might do for mine. ^

According to to Rivers,
Milton's national conception of poetry required a national response, the creation of a new society. As he discovered that society cannot gain the cooperation of its members..., his conception of poetry changed again and his scope became much larger and more particular, from orator addressing a nation, to prophet addressing human history and each individual'.

As this scope takes on greater proportions, Milton felt compelled to startle the world with what he was about to say. It is De Quincey who describes this grand opening best:
Hearken to the way in which a roll of dactyls is made to settle, like the swell of the advancing tide, into the long thunder of billows breaking for leagues against the shore, 'That to the height of this great argument I may assert eternal Providence.' Hear what a motion, what a tumult is given by the dactylic close to each of these introductory lines! And how massily is the whole locked up into the piece of heaven, as the aerial arch of a viaduct is locked up into tranquil stability by its keystone, through this deep spondaic close, 'And justify the ways of God to men.' "

In this eloquent piece of criticism, De Quincey draws attention to the way in which Milton can use the English language to create a grand effect. The subject of the poem, however, is not local but universal. Dixon writes:
The Fall of Man was a subject of universal interest; it was, or Milton believed it to be, an historical fact; and it offered a larger field for the

Isabel Rivers The Poetry of Conservatism (Cambridge: Rivers Press 1973) p. 80. John Milton, Reason of Church Government, 3, 1, p. 236. " Rivers, p. 94. DeQuincey's Works, ed. by David Masson, 14 vols. (London; A. & C. Black, Soho Square, 1897) I I , p. 456.

28

exercise of the speculative imagination, scope for a vaster fabric of idealism than any other which suggested itself, or indeed existed. Perhaps the very magnitude of the scheme arrested him, the absence of limitations, the immense abstractions, the scenes withdrawn from geographical space, to include Heaven and Hell as well as Earth, and the middle region of the abyss of the stars, 'The stars terrific even to the gods'

The grand conception of Milton's poem which Dixon draws attention to here is an indication of another similarity between Milton and Virgil. Both poets aspired to write a vast and inspired epic which would not only emulate their predecessors but also surpass them. There is evidence that their contemporaries were well aware of this. While Virgil was writing The Aeneid, Propertius had this to say of the work:
Cedite Romani Scriptores, cedite Graii: nescioquid mains nascitur Iliade. (2: 34.65-66)

[Give way you Roman chroniclers, the same you Greeks that which is greater than the Iliad is about to be made manifest (p. 244. Loeb ed )

In the Second edition of Paradise Lost (1674), Samuel Barrows wrote this epigram:
Quis legis Amissam Paradisum, grandia magni Carmina Miltoni, quid nisi cuncta legis?... Cedite Romani scriptores, cedite Graii Et quos fama recens vel celebravit anus. Haec quicunque leget tantum cecinisse putabit Maeonidem ranas, Virgilium culices. (1-2, 39-42)

[You who read Paradise Lost, Milton's grandest song, what is it that you read if not everything.... Give way you Roman chroniclers, the same you Greeks, and you also who fame whether recent or old , has honoured. He who reads this poem will think that Maeonides sang only of frogs and Virgil, of mosquitoes.]

Such grand claims for Milton's poem were based on the early critics' awareness of the magnificence of Milton's reading of christian history. It was concerned with a confrontation with recent events, which acknowledged failure but did not abandon hope. Rivers puts it as follows:
Paradise Lost shows what is meant by the loss of liberty and how the course of history will be a struggle until the end of time to regain it.... [Therefore] if men will only change themselves with God's help, they can change the world. Patience and fortitude are the prelude to action. When he saw that

76

Dixon, p. 194.

29

men did not wish to co-operate with providence, he did not turn his back on the world; he continued to believe in man's capacity for change."

But this idea of change is a fundamental part of christian religious theory. In Latin literature it is found most clearly in Ovid's Metamorphoses, in which, as the first line indicates. In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas corpora ('My mind is bent to tell of bodies changed into new forms'). Ovid is writing of bodies, but his stories have implications which are neatly stated by Herman Frankel: 'The theme [of metamorphoses] gave ample scope for displaying the phenomena of insecure and fleeting identity, of a self divided in itself or spilling over into another self .'^^ The theme of change is also found in Virgil, who implied a fundamental change in Aeneas, following his visit to the underworld in Book Six. WiUiam Porter claims that Aeneas' visit to the underworld 'is acknowledged to be a spiritual lesson'. This lesson, the experience of the worlds of evil and of good, is used by both poets; in Milton's work, it involves a dialogue with both classical and Biblical antecedents. Aeneas' descent shows the worlds of evil and of good. Porter notes that when Milton wrote Books I and II, he was copying the first part of Aeneas' experience in the underworld; that when he wrote Books II and XII, he drew on Virgil's portrayal of the Elysian experience. In addition to the transference to the Elysian, there is also a shift from the classical to the Biblical. Porter notes that 'Books II and XII are exceedingly sparing of classical allusions, for in these books, Milton has turned to engage the Bible more openly than he does anywhere else. This sequence, from classical literature to Biblical, is a significant aspect of the
80

progress of the poem's argument'.

" Rivers, The Poetry of Conservatism, pp. 97, 99-100. Herman Frankel, Ovid A Poet between Two Worlds ( Berkeley: University of California Press, 1945), p. 99. Porter, p. 98. Porter, p. 103.

The use of the Bible gave Milton a boundless advantage over Virgil, and aided him to be more flexible with structure. Milton can move from Hell, through the infinite expanse of Chaos, to Heaven and later. Earth. Nevertheless, as Porter points out, the debt to The Aeneid Book Six remains, although it is mediated through the insights of Dante's Inferno. Like Aeneas, Dante descends into Hell, views the groaning souls in Tartarus and later makes his exit into the world of light. Milton's 'descent' into Hell helps him to account for the condition of the place; the darkness, the woeful conditions. Later, in Book III, he takes the reader to 'the height of Heaven'. But Porter notes that though there is a great difference between Dante's 'autobiographical' narrative and Milton's 'more conventionally epic recounting of momentous events from the distant past, both authors 'have in common a perception of undeveloped
O 1

potential in Aeneid 6.'

However, Martindale observes that in one place,

Milton uses Virgil less effectively:

in Aeneid Vl, when Aeneas climbs on to Charon's boat, it groans under his weight and takes in water through its chinks (413-414). This is effective because of the precision of the detail and because of the notion of a living man climbing aboard a craft designed for the weightless souls of the dead we are made to feel the solidity and size of Aeneas in a world of shadows. By contrast the moment when Satan takes flight 'incumbent on the dusky air / That felt unusual weight' (I: 226-7) is comparatively tame, partly because we are inured to the size of Satan on which Milton has been insisting from the first, and are not jolted into any fresh perception of it.^^

Many more examples can be given, which I reserve for the discussion of the work; and that which will be evident is the extent to which Dante's and Milton's texts are original. To add to this intertextual mode, I propose to examine Dryden's work in the light of this Sixth Book of Virgil. I shall discuss specific episodes in the main part of the thesis: the point to be made here is the general one, that Dante's and Milton's texts are written over, and 'on top o f ' Virgil's original. For Dryden, one thing was certain; he saw Virgil as his master and to copy him or write like him, was

Porter, p. 99. Charles Martindale, John Milton and the Transformation Sydney: Croom Helm, 1986) p. 135.

of Ancient Epic (London &

his greatest literary aspiration. Just as Milton felt compelled to write for his countrymen (as Virgil had done), so did Dryden:
To love our Native Country, and to study its Benefit and its Glory, to be interested in its Concerns, is Natural to all Men, and is indeed our common Duty. A Poet makes a further step; for endeavouring to do honour to it, 'tis allowable in turn even to be partial in its Cause; for he is not ty'd to truth, or fetter'd by the Laws of History. Homer and Tasso are justly prais'd for chusing their Heroes out of Greece and Italy; Virgil made his a Trojan, but it was to derive the Romans, and his Augustus to him; but all the three Poets are manifestly partial to their Heroes, in favour of their country. "

Dryden's hero, his Augustus, was going to be Charles II, and he (Dryden) was going to write in the tradition of Virgil. He uses Book Six of The Aeneid as the cornerstone or foundation for the creation of his panegyric and restoration poems; in particular, he draws on the Elysian experience of Aeneas' descent. In that episode, Dryden sees in Virgil what it means to have a peaceful and stable government, and the meaning of nationhood. He perceives Virgil as the epitome of civic virtue, law and order, and courage; and like Milton, he felt that his country had lacked these decencies. He was going to 'be partial to his hero, in favour of his country', by putting forward the idea that the age of Saturn had returned to England with the restoration of the monarchy. He saw Charles as one who would employ the art of governing, with an appropriate pietas, which in turn, began in the heart of individuals, then people, and then nations. Earlier in the 'Dedication of The Aeneis', he stated:
Virgil had consider'd that the greatest Virtues of Augustus consisted in the perfect Art of Governing his people; which caus'd him to reign for more than Forty Years in great Felicity. He consider'd that this Emperour was Valiant, Civil, Popular, Eloquent, Politick and Religious. He has given all these Qualities to Aeneas. But knowing that Piety alone comprehends the whole Duty of Man towards the Gods, towards his Country and towards his Relations, he judg'd that this ought to be his first Character, whom he would set for a pattern of Perfection.^''

The word piety to Dryden encompassed the religious and political, as well as social, compass; to him, it meant godliness, devotion, respect, regard, dutifulness and virtue, and he saw these qualities in plus Aeneas (Aen I : 9).

Kinsley, vol. 3, pp. 1028-29. '"Kinsley, vol. 3, p. 1020.

He, Dryden, was going to transfer these qualities to his monarch, hoping that it would yield the same result as it did for Augustus. But herein lies a significant difference between Dryden and Milton; Milton sees change as emanating from a reconcileable relationship with God, begirming with the individual and spreading on to the nation; man, on his own, cannot have a sense of duty towards God, and is unable to demonstrate such a virtue; Milton's christian epic hinges on the belief that Christianity is God reaching down to man. Dryden on the other hand, sees piety as the key to change: 'it is the duty of man towards the Gods.' In the 'Dedication of The Aeneis', Dryden attempts to show the difference between the morality of The Iliad and that of The Aeneid: in Homer it is to show the bond between princes with common interest; in Virgil it is to show the importance of submitting to authority; even i f the authority is not completely legitimate, he will then give it divine legitimacy. In Book Six, Dryden sees a parallel between England and Rome; 'one Empire Destroy'd, and another rais'd from the ruins of it.' Rome was born out of the ashes of Troy; and a new England would be born after the death of the Commonwealth. Annus Mirabilis, for example, is preoccupied with this idea: Dryden believed that the great fire of London was purgative, regenerative and restorative. George De F Lord observes that:
Throughout his career as a political writer Dryden repeatedly used the theme of restoration as his central myth. Beginning with Astraea Redux (1660) we can trace through his writings on public affairs, whether they deal with the Stuart Restoration (the central political event of the Age in Dryden's imagination) or the re-establishment of the church, or the return of Justice, or the reformation of poetry, or the re-discovery of hisorical truths, a remarkable preoccupation with a cosmogonic myth of restoration, recovery or renewal after exile, defeat or destruction.

Dryden takes Anchises' prophecy and transfers it to his nation, as Proudfoot has observed:
The prophecy of Roman greatness in Book V I is rightly esteemed as intrinsically splendid and vital to the purpose of the whole poem (VI: 84753). This asserts without any qualification the superiority of the government of men to all other human activities; it asserts, that is, the primacy of Power, but Power conceived not as we are apt to think of it these days, as something arbitrarily, self-delighting, brutal, but as an essential moralizing factor in the lives of men. It is for that reason unchallengeable. We cannot question its George De F Lord, '"Absalom and Achitophel' and Dryden's Political Cosmos'" in John Dryden, ed.by Earl Miner (London: Bell & Sons, 1972) pp. 156-90 (p. 156).

33

values without rejecting the pre-eminence of the practical moral faculty over all else. Here Virgil is at the very heart of the European traditions whose collapse we are witnessing. Pious Aeneas is the embodiment of social duty, social religion if you like, and this is the statement of the creed.

But whatever differences may exist between all three writers, the one single thread that runs through each author's work is the idea of reparation; Virgil may call it reconciliation (between the people and the Emperor as well as between Rome and the gods); Milton may call it redemption (God redeeming man through Christ); while Dryden may call it restoration (restoration of the monarchy, which in turn would mean restoration of peace). Virgil's Aeneid was a powerful influence partly because it was in its turn, a text which included elements from Greek poetry and philosophy. It will be necessary to see the story of Book Six against the background of Homeric legend, Platonic myth and Orphic philosophy. These are constituents of the densely-packed text which is drawn on by Virgil's successors, which his two successors were in a position to draw from, as well as the Bible. The organisation of this work follows the order in which I have briefly discussed these Virgilian influences. It is arranged in four parts, starting with the original influence and followed by the use of it made by successive authors.

L Proudfoot, Dryden's Aeneid and its Seventeenth Manchester University Press, 1960) p. 217.

Century Predecessors

(Manchester:

34

Chapter 2

The Story of Book Six

This chapter will provide the basis for a formal and structural examination of the texts under discussion, by considering the most important features of The Aeneid Book Six.

The story of Book Six begins with Aeneas and his men arriving at the Euboean Cumae shore. Immediately afterwards, the hero makes for the hilltop to visit the temple of Apollo and his prophetess, the Sibyl. Upon entering this cave of 'wondrous size', he stands in awe as he views its beauty: created in gold, the cave reflects pictures of heroes and actions of Greek antiquity. While viewing these pictures, the Sibyl appears, and under the influence of the god, Apollo, gives Aeneas instructions for his journey 'down the abyss'; but first, he must pluck with his hand 'a golden bough... held sacred to the infernal queen', Proserpine, and then, give proper burial to his shipmate, Misenus, who died not long after Aeneas arrived at the cave. After the instructions are duly carried out, both the hero and the Sibyl begin their descent into the 'vast kingdom of the dead', where on the outskirts of that city, the servants of Death are to be found: Disease, Decay, Poverty, Fear, Hunger, Death, War and the Fury Sisters, all 'couch in iron cells'. Not far from this group are the dream-land phantoms; Scyllas, Gorgons, Harpies, who look so fearful that Aeneas quakes in convulsions of fear. In a phasmophobic reaction, he draws his sword to fend them off, only to be told by the Sibyl that they are not flesh and blood. After they pass these thresholds of fear, they come to a fork in the road: one leads to Tartarus, and the other to Acheron. But at a distance, 'dark Cocytus' can be seen which 'watery passage Charon keeps'. From the banks of this river, Aeneas and the Sibyl see two groups of spirits standing on either side of the river. The hero learns from his guide that on

35

one side are the unburied dead, those who, not having received a proper burial on earth, cannot enter Charon's boat for a hundred years:
quam multa in silvis autumni frigore primo lapsa cadunt folia, aut ad terram gurgite ab alto quam multae glomerantur aves, ubifrigidus annus trans pontum fugat et terris immittit apricis. stabant orantes primi transmittere cursum tendebantque manus ripae ulterior is amore. ( V I : 309-14) [thick as the leaves of the forest that at autumn's first frost dropping fall, and thick as the birds that from the seething deep flock shoreward, when the chill of the year drives them overseas and sends them into sunny lands. They stood, pleading to be the first ferried across, and stretched out hands in yearning for the farther shore.]

On the other side are those who, having received a proper burial, were ferried over by Charon. In the midst of this ghostly assemblage, Aeneas recognizes Palinurus, who was his helmsman. He pleads with Aeneas (invoking the memory of Aeneas' mother), to give his body a decent burial after he has returned to earth. But he is chastized by the Sibyl for trying to thwart the orders of the gods; desine fata deum flecti sperare precando (VI: 376) [Cease to dream that heaven's decrees may be turned aside by prayer]. The pair then draw near to Charon, who refuses to carry them across the river because of their mortality; but he relents and transports them after the Sibyl shows him the bough. But their troubles are not over yet; their next encounter is with Cerberus, the three-headed dog who keeps watch before the infernal city. He becomes easily pacified after he eats 'a morsel drowsy with honey and drugged meal', thrown to him by the Sibyl. In the city immediately bordering Cocytus, the pair hear 'voices... wailing sore'; it is the cry of infants; the cry of those who committed suicide. In this area dwells Minos, the judge who holds 'a court of the silent and learns men's lives and misdeeds' ( V I : 432-3). Not far from this place are the Mourning Fields, where Aeneas recognizes Dido. He tries to talk to her, but she refiases to answer, in spite of his pleas and explanations. As they continue their journey, they find themselves in the 'farthest fields', where the shadow of Deiphobus explains to Aeneas how

36

he got there. After leaving this area, they come to another fork in the road; to the right is the path that leads to Elysium, to the left is Tartarus. At that spot, Aeneas looks back and sees under a cliff on the left, 'a castle, girt with triple wall and encircled with a rushing flood of torrent flames...', and around it, Tartarean Phlegethon rolls along thundering rocks'. Within this castle could be heard groanings and noises; hinc exaudiri gemitus, et saeva sonare verbera, tum stridor ferri tractaeque catenae (VI : 557-8) [Therefrom are heard groans and the sound of the savage lash; withal, the clank of iron and the dragging of chains.] Aeneas is transfixed to the spot 'in terror of the din'. In the words of the Sibyl, this place is 'the accursed threshold'; for within this castle, the wicked are pimished, Rhadamanthus administers justice, and Tisiphone scourges them. Here Tartarus, which is far removed from Olympus, stretches sheer down, and in its depth could be found the sons of Earth, the Titans, Aloeus (who attempted to overthrow Jove), and Salmoneus (who tried to meddle with the fires of Jove). But Aeneas also sees people grouped together according to their crimes, and hears the unforgettable words of Phlegyas; discite iustitiam moniti et non temnere divos ( V I : 619) [Be warned; learn ye to be just and not to slight the gods!] But it is the Sibyl who describes Tartarus best:
non mihi si linguae centum sint oraque centum, ferrea vox, omnis scelerum comprendere formas, omnia poenarum percurrere nomina possim. (VI : 625-7) [Nay, had I a hundred tongues, a hundred mouths, and voice of iron, I could not sum up all the forms of crime, or rehearse all the tales of torments.]

After Tartarus, Aeneas 'sprinkles his body with fresh water, and plants the bough full on the threshold', and then continues the journey with the Sibyl. They soon arrive at the 'Blissftil Fields', 'a land of joy, the green pleasaunces'. Here the valiant and the skilful still carry on their sports and enjoy all forms of merriment; here, could be found souls 'feasting on the sward, and chanting in chorus a joyous paean within a fragrant laurel grove'. And deep in a vale, Aeneas sees his father, Anchises, surveying the souls destined to return to earth. Anchises is full of joy to see his son, and intends to show him the mysteries of the world, the nature of things, as well as the miracle of life and death. Above all, he tells his son about his future, and about his progeny that would grow into a mighty nation

37

upon earth. This meeting with, and revelation from, his father are the chief purpose of the descent. But the story of Book Six is a compilation of Grecian artefacts handed dovm to Virgil in different forms. The Sixth Book shows an inheritance from preceding ages, an abundance of materials which he manipulates in his ovm way to create with striking significance that which he hoped would unify Rome. Howard Clarke shares the view that Virgil was indebted to The Iliad and The Odyssey, which were six hundred years older than Virgil; to the intermediate centuries which produced literature that Virgil was thoroughly conversant with, and to the Golden Age of fifth-century Athens as well as the Hellenistic cultures of the third and second centuries. ' Above all, he continues, Virgil is indebted to:

(i) Homer, whose narration of Odysseus' visit to the Underworld gave Virgil a glimpse of the life after this; (ii) Plato, whose discourse on the transmigration of souls enlightened Virgil; (iii) The Orphic and Pythagorean schools which were popular in southern Italy, for their teachings of the afterlife, rewards, punishments and purification.

(i) In Book X I of The Odyssey, Homer narrates the story of Odysseus' visit to the Underworld. In this account, Odysseus begins his story, starting from the moment his ship reached the Cimmerian shore:
Thither we came and beached our ship, and took out the sheep and ourselves and went beside the stream of Oceanus until we came to the place of which Circe had told us. Here Perimedes and Eurylochus held the victims, while I drew my sharp sword from beside my thigh, and dug a pit of a cubit's length this way and that, and around it poured a libation to all the dead, first with milk and honey, thereafter with sweet wine and in the third place with water, and I sprinkled thereon white barley meal. And 1 earnestly entreated the powerless heads of the dead, vowing that when I came to Ithaca I would sacrifice in my halls a barren heifer, the best I had, and pile the altar with goodly gifts, and to Teiresias alone would separately a ram, wholly black, the goodliest of my flock. But when with vows and prayers I had made supplications to the tribes of the dead, I took the sheep and cut their throats over the pit, and the dark blood ran forth. Then there gathered from out of Erebus the spirits of those that are dead, brides, and

' Virgil's Aeneid and the Fourth Messianic Eclogue in Dryden's Translations, Howard Clarke (Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania UP, 1969) Preface p. xxvi.

ed, by

38

unwedded youths, and toil-worn old men and tender maidens with hearts yet new to sorrow, and many, too, that had been wounded with bronzetipped spears, men slain in fight, wearing their blood-stained armour. These came thronging in crowds about the pit from every side, with a wondrous cry and pale fear seized me. (The Odyssey X I 23-42 Loeb ed.)

Similarly, Virgil's account of Aeneas' descent to the Underworld begins with sacrifices and prayers, actions which introduce him to unforgettable sights of the dead. After Aeneas and his men arrive at the shores of Cumae, they head for Apollo's shrine where the Sibyl asks Aeneas:
"cessas in vota precesque, Tros, " ait, "Aenea? cessasPnNeque enim ante dehiscent attonitae magna ora domus. " et talia fata conticuit." ( V I : 51-54, Loeb ed.) ["Art thou slow to vow and to pray?" she cries. "Art slow, Trojan Aeneas? For till then the mighty mouths of the awestruck house will not gape open." So she spake and was mute.]

Obeying the orders:

ipse atri velleris agnam Aeneas matri Eumenidum magnaeque sorori ense ferit sterilemque tibi, Proserpina, vaccam. tum Stygio regi nocturnas incohat aras et solida imponit taurorum viscera flammis, pingue super oleum fundens ardentibus extis. ( V I : 249-254) [ Aeneas himself slays with the sword a black-fleeced lamb to the mother of the Eumenides and her great sister, and to thee, O Proserpine, a barren heifer. Then for the Stygian King he inaugurates an altar by night, and lays upon the flames whole carcasses of bulls, pouring fat oil over the blazing entrails.]

As in The Odyssey , after the sacrifices had been made, the doors of the Underworld were open to Aeneas (VI: 255-263). The manipulation of Odysseus' account of the hereafter in The Aeneid, shows Virgil's reliance on Homer. Furthermore, when Odysseus relates his encounter with former friend Elpenor (whose body had not yet been interred and who begged Odysseus to give him a decent burial), Virgil in The Aeneid creates his

39

own Elpenor in the form of Palinurus who, in a similar speech, urged Aeneas for an interment. In The Odyssey :
The first to come was the spirit of my comrade Elpenor. Not yet had he been buried beneath the broad-wayed earth, for we had left his corpse behind us in the hall of Circe, unwept and unburied, since another task was then urging us on. When I saw him I wept, and my heart had compassion on him; and I spoke and addressed him with winged words: 'Elpenor, how didst thou come beneath the murky darkness? Thou coming on foot hast out stripped me in my black ship.' "So I spoke, and with a groan he answered me and said: 'Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, an evil doom of some god was my undoing, and measureless wine. When I had lain down to sleep in the house of Circe 1 did not think to go to the long ladder that I might come down again, but fell headlong from the roof, and my neck was broken away from the spine and my spirit went down to the house of Hades. Now I beseech thee by those whom we left behind. Leave me not behind thee unwept and unburied as thou goest thence, and turn not away from me, lest haply I bring the wrath of the gods upon thee. (The Odyssey Book XI:51-173 Loeb ed.)

In almost the same manner, Aeneas' meeting with Palinurus reflects that of Odysseus': ( V I : 337-51, 364-5)
[Lo! there passed the helmsman, Palinurus, who of late, on the Libyan voyage, while he marked the stars, had fallen from the stem, flung forth in the midst of the waves. Him, when at last amid the deep gloom he knew the sorrowful form, he first accosts thus: "What god, Palinurus, tore thee from us and plunged beneath the open ocean? O tell me! for Apollo, never before found false, with this one answer tricked my soul, for he foretold that thou wouldst escape the sea and reach Ausonian shores. L o ! is it thus his promise holds?" But he: "Neither did tripod of Phoebus fail thee, my captain, Anchises'son, nor did a god plunge me in the deep. For by chance the helm to which, as my charge, I clung, steering our course, was violently torn from me, and I, dropping headlong, dragged it with me...Oh, by heaven's sweet light and air, I beseech thee, by thy father, by the rising hope of lulus, snatch me from these woes, unconquered one!]

Virgil's reliance on Homer is strongly felt throughout this episode. He uses similar incidents, characters and words to create his epic, with some added or new significance. Unlike Elpenor, Palinurus does not describe the cause of his death as, in the words of Homer, 'the harsh verdict of some god', rather, as his own responsibility. He vindicates the gods - 'nor was I drowned by a god. It was an accident'. To Virgil, the gods cannot be wrong, neither can they make mistakes, thus, they ought to be exonerated. Another point Virgil 'borrows' from Homer is the surreptitious dealings of men and women, notably women. In The Odyssey, Odysseus saw and held a conversation with Agamemnon in the afterlife:
"When I saw him I wept, and my heart had compassion on him, and I spoke, and addressed him with winged words: 'Most glorious son of

40

Atreus, king of men, Agamemnon, what fate of grievous death overcame thee? Did Poseidon smite thee on board thy ships, when he had roused a furious blast of cruel winds?... "So I spoke, and he straightway made answer and said: 'Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, neither did Poseidon smite me on board my ships...but Aegisthus wrought for me death and fate, and slew me with the aid of my accursed wife, when he had bidden me to his house and made me a feast, even as one slays an ox at the stall. So I died by a most pitiful death...' Wherefore in thine own case be thou never gentle even to thy wife. Declare not to her all the thoughts of thy heart, but tell her somewhat, and let somewhat also be hidden." (The Odyssey X I : 395-444)

In The Aeneid, Aeneas caught sight of Deiphobus, and their discourse sounds similar to that of Odysseus and Agamemnon;
And here he saw Deiphobus, son of Priam...then with familiar accents, unbailed, he accosts him: "Deiphobus, strong in battle, thou scion of Teucer's high lineage,who chose to wreak a penalty so cruel? Who had power so to deal with thee?..." To this the son of Priam: "Naught, my friend, hast thou left undone; ...But me my own fate and the Laconian woman's death-dealing crime o'erwhelmed in these woes. ...Care-worn and sunk in slumber, sleep weighing upon me as I lay - sweet and deep, very image of death's peace. Meanwhile this peerless wife takes every weapon from the house - even from under my head she had withdrawn my trusty sword; into the house she calls Menelaus and flings wide the door, hoping, I doubt not ,that her lover would find herein a great boon, and so the fame of old misdeeds might be blotted out. (VI: 494, 499 - 593, 509 513)

(ii) In The Phaedo, Plato gets into a discourse of serious eschatological polemics. He ascertains that there is indeed life after death and that the soul of man is immortal.:
And so it is said that after death, the tutelary genius of each person, to whom he had been allotted in life, leads him to a place where the dead are gathered together; then they are judged and depart to the other world with the guide whose task it is to conduct thither those who come from the world; and when they have there received their due and remained through the time appointed, another guide brings them back after long periods of time. ( Loeb ed. p. 371 trans by Harold Fowler)

In Book Six of The Aeneid Virgil subverts Plato's description of the departure of the soul. While Plato concentrates on that which takes place after the spirit leaves the body, Virgil presents a scenario in which everything that happens in a man's life takes place according to some divine appointment or a divine schedule. Hence, after instructing his men to berth at the Euboean Cumae shore, Aeneas seeks for guidance:
at pius Aeneas arces, quibus altus Apollo praesidet, horrendaeque procul secreta Sibyllae, antrum immane, petit, magnam cui mentem animumque Delius inspirat vates aperitque futura. ( V I : 9-12)

41

[But good Aeneas seeks the heights, where Apollo sits enthroned, and a vast cavern hard by, hidden haunt of the dread Sibyl, into whom the Delian seer breathes a mighty mind and soul, revealing the future.]

Here, the Sybil to whom Apollo reveals the future is that 'spirit' who, according to Plato, must conduct that person to a certain place where 'they that are there gathered must abide their judgment'. Two important issues are made manifest in this excerpt: The first has to do with the Sibyl. As the oracle of Apollo (the god in whose hand is the key to the future), she is that guiding agent, who is responsible for leading one into the afterlife. She is not a spirit or some indescribable nebulous character, but flesh and blood, a living, inspired prophetess who not only speaks the oracles of Apollo in this life, but also guides people into the hereafter. Virgil is also implying that the gods cannot be rejected; that they are sine qua non; that they are a part of one's life on this side of eternity as they will be on the other side. The introduction of a living being as the guide into the afterlife sets the stage for the work of the Sibyl throughout Aeneas' salvific journey; in this life the Sibyl is not just a mouthpiece of a deity, but a human in whom is the spirit of the god, Apollo. As such, she deserves to be honoured and respected as i f she herself were a deity. Virgil wants his countrymen to look upon the Sibyl as the 'otherness' of Apollo, Apollo's representative, hereby provoking his fellow Romans never to forsake the gods. The second is Aeneas' trip to the underworld. That Aeneas goes into the underworld in the flesh has a significant implication; to validate or certify his (Virgil's) belief in life after death. By deviating from the activities of spirits which Plato expounds, Virgil (like Homer) is setting aside all abstruse speculations about the world beyond. He sets up Aeneas as an ordinary human being who has gone through some harsh vicissitudes of life to embark upon an arduous expedition in order to redeem Rome. In the poem Rome and the gods are reconciled in Avemus. As the Sibyl and Aeneas view these ghosts, awaiting their punishment, Aeneas is greatly frightened. The Sibyl then remarks:
quam poenam, ne quaere doceri, aut quae forma viros fortunave mersit.

42

saxum ingens volvunt alii, radiisque rotarum districtipendent: sedet aeternumque sedebit infelix Theseus; Phlegyasque miserrimus omnis admonet et magna testatur voce per umbras: 'discite iustitiam moniti et non temnere divos.' (VI : 614-620) [Seek not to learn that doom, or what form of crime, or fate, o'erwhelmed them! Some roll a huge stone, or hang outstretched on spokes of wheels; hapless Theseus sits and evermore shall sit, and Phlegyas, most unblest, gives warning to all and with loud voice bears witness amid the gloom: Be warned; learn ye to be just and not to slight the gods\]

On Phlegyas' witness rests Virgil's theodicy. For out of the mouth of the chiefest of sinners ( son of Ares, said to have been shot by Apollo as he attacked his temple at Delphi) is the cry for a return to the gods. This is Virgil's plan of redemption for Rome. He manipulates and carries Plato's discourse to the farthest point in his composition of a national epic. Like the Hebrew prophets, Virgil stands not on a mountain top to proclaim the words of the gods, but goes down deep into Avemus and uses Phlegyas as his mouthpiece. Using Phlegyas' words, Aeneas has accomplished the first part of his mission. Plato's Republic also was a source for Book Six of The Aeneid. The Republic ends with the story of Er the Armenian, who had been dead for twelve days and had returned to tell his story of what he had seen in the hereafter (known as the Myth of Er). Er claimed to have been the only one given permission to visit the underworld and return to the earth to tell mankind of that life after this one. According to him, after death the soul goes to a place of judgment immediately, at which time the godly souls are blissfully rewarded for a thousand years and the wicked are sentenced to a thousand years of purifying punishment. At the end of the thousand years, both godly and wicked who have suffered for their sins, or have enjoyed the heavenly bliss, are summoned to appear before the three Fates. At that appearance, both groups are given the opportunity to choose a new life to be bom into and which should return to earth. Er states that every soul has a choice because there are more lives to choose from than there are souls from which to select. He points out that the choice is limited though real, adding that the life one lives on this earth is determined at that decisive moment. He discovers that those who have

43

suffered a thousand years of punishment are not easily carried away and they make the right choices, while those who have enjoyed a thousand years of bliss are easily deceived and end up making the wrong choices. Having chosen, everyone must drink from the famous waters of forgetfulness, the Lethe, after which all memories of their past lives are forgotten and they return to earth to begin life anew. So that he would not be subject to forgetfulness, Er does not drink of the waters of Lethe, and he observes that those who did not drink too much brought back to earth some memories of their former lives. His visit to the afterlife and return to earth is to report and warn others to be mindfiil of the lives they live on this earth.
(Plato The Republic, Book X )

In The Aeneid, Virgil makes use of Er's myth with such dexterity that his Roman audience would inevitably see its importance. Upon reuniting with his father Anchises, Aeneas sees 'a multitude without number' around the Lethe, a sight which prompts him to question his father. Anchises replies:
animae, quibus altera fato corpora debentur, Lethaei adfluminis undam securos latices et longa obliviapotant.... has omnis, ubi mille rotam volvere per annas, Lethaeum adfluvium deus evocat agmine magno, scilicet immemores supera ut convexa revisant, rursus et incipiant in corpora velle reverti. "( V I : 713-15, 748-51) ["Spirits they are, to whom second bodies are owed by Fate, and at the water of Lethe's stream they drink the soothing draught and long forgetfulness. ... A l l these, when they have rolled time's wheel through a thousand years, the god summons in vast throng to the river of Lethe, in sooth that, reft of memory, they may revisit the vault above and conceive desire to return again to the body."]

The moral lesson Virgil seeks to illustrate from the myth of Er is the law of sowing and reaping; there is an equal reward for every action performed in this life, though Virgil's real intention has polifical undertones; parcere subiectis et debellare superbos (VI: 853)[to spare the humbled, and to tame in war the proud]. I f the Roman people would be just and fair there is a heavenly reward awaiting them.

44

(iii) Orphism was a religion that was bom in the aftermath of the mythological Orpheus and Eurydice story. It was characterised by a sense of sin and the need for atonement, the idea of a suffering man-god and a belief in immortality. It had an influence on such philosophers as Pythagoras and Plato.^ Elements of it are found in Virgil: the crossing of the River Styx; the encounter with Charon, the ferryman, and Cerberus, the three-headed guard dog at the entrance to the nether regions, the appeasement of both Charon and Cerberus after their refiisal to allow the 'undead' into those regions; all contributed to, and featured in the Sixth Book of Virgil's epic. The reader is invited to see Aeneas as another Orpheus with a greater sense of purpose. It is from Orphism that Virgil creates a clearer picture of the demography of the underworld. While Plato in The Phaedo divided the people into two sections 'those fully purified through philosophy' and for whom are reserved 'even fairer habitations', and those who are not, Orpheus' journey through the underworld reveals two distinct groups ~ those who are carrying out their punishments, such as Sisyphus; and those who are enjoying the bliss of bright Elysium, such as Eurydice. That picture of Orphism strengthens the reader's belief in the immortality of the soul, for in the afterlife, each person is justly rewarded for everything done in the previous life. But more importantly, it shows the concept of looking back in order to move forward. It is part of the moral of the Orpheus and Eurydice story. Virgil stretches the geographical structure of this afterlife. His alterations include: the creation of a place for the unburied, where Aeneas encounters Palinurus; another area was for those who died prematurely, as well as those who died of failure in love, such as Dido and Deiphobus; the area reserved for the worst sinners, the reprobates, the iniquitous spirits those who defied the gods, the greedy, the lascivious, the rebellious; and lastly, the Elysian Fields, where the spirits of the righteous dwell in perpetual bliss. These are the souls who are being rewarded, not for their innocence, but for their achievements - for courage in war, for inventions, for good workmanship, for priesthood. Alexander McKay notes that
^ Sheila Savil & E.Locke, Pears Encyclopaedia Books, 1976) p. 233. of Myths and Legends (London: Pelham

45

Tartaras is as carefully organised as a police department line-up or groups of criminals awaiting trial in the Roman basilicas. There are ten types of criminals in Tartarus: (i) religious: stock types of impiety (580-607); (ii) domestic: those who despised their brothers (608); (iii) parent-killers (609); (iv) social: dishonest patrons (609); (v) misers (610), most numerous of all are these; (vi) adulterers: (612); (vii) political: those who broke faith in civil war (612); (viii) one who sold his country and brought in a tyrant (621); (ix) the venal politician (622); (x) the incestuous (623). By contrast the categories of Elysium are five in number: (i) those who gave their lives for their country (660); (ii) pure priests (661); (iii) noble poets (622); (iv) inventors (663) ; (v) men of memorable character (664). So Virgil details the eternally damned and the everlastingly blest spirits in Hades, and the sins against Roman law are especially reprehensible.^ This categorisation of sins against Roman laws is a demonstration of Virgil's belief that these sins at least were regarded as particularly unRoman. Orphism also allowed Virgil to celebrate nobility and goodness. As J.H. Letters has pointed out, 'The Orphic religion Virgil knew promised immortality and perfect purity to the uninitiated in the 'seats of the blessed, the groves of Persephone'.... He notes that the system as applied by Virgil loses much of its consistency but that Virgil used 'an incontestable stroke of genius to use the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, so as to set in motion the great Roman triumph in the underworld.'''

^Alexander McKay, Vergil's Italy, (Great Britain: Adams and Dart, 1971) p. 217. " F.J.H.Letters, F/>g//(London: Sheed and Ward, 1946) p. 131.

46

The Roman Influence

Though Virgil was 'Romanizing' the Greek legacy for his Roman audience, there were some particular instances in which he was incorporating Roman issues. Indeed, Aeneas' descent into the underworld could also be seen as an example of Roman belief During the reign of Augustus, there were in Rome a number of mystery cults. One such was the Eleusinian mysteries (which takes its name from Eleusis), which were connected with Demeter, goddess of the Earth. Originally, they were mystery cults from Greece which the Romans revived. They dealt primarily with the soul in the after-life; they promised a blissful after-life only i f you were a member of this particular cult. Augustus, Virgil's patron, was one such member, and Aeneas' descent was in some ways intended to propagate this idea of the cult. Furthermore, Aeneas' voyage to the underworld, and the plucking of the bough, alludes to this mystery. But it is Virgil's interest in localising these mysteries that enhances or highlights the Roman aspect of the work, ft takes into account the historical and geographical knowledge of central ftaly, the large caves at Cumae, the underground passages from Cumae to the centre of the Acropolis and the volcanic regions of Solfatare overlooking Puteoli. The custom of linking remote, usually mythological characters or accounts with contemporary and local names and places was not unknown to Virgil, and he creates the topography of The Nether World with this in mind.

According to Ernest Highbarger, the universe in Virgil's time was no longer a flat disc surrounded by Ocean (according to the Homeric and Hesiodic view), but was now a globe, with Ocean on the west side only. For a long time the Nether World was believed to have been located in an area around Cumae, where a new eschatos (the knowledge of things to come) began to develop. When Virgil left Rome, in or around 45 B.C., he took up permanent residence in Naples where he became quite familiar with the local beliefs about the Phlegraean Fields, the name given to the volcanic district situated west of Naples. These two traditions created for Virgil a picture of what the world beyond might look like. In this work.

47

Highbarger refers to Strabo's account of his visit to Cumae as Virgil must have known it around 44 B.C., Strabo's report states that in the environs of Cumae, there was great reverence for the infernal deities; that rites were performed incessantly to these gods; that the topography of Cumae is littered with 'hills and lakes made by volcanoes, sulphurous plains that still breathe forth fumes, and dense forests'.^

Virgil's Geographical and Historical Knowledge By using his geographical and historical knowledge of Campania, Lucania, and Central Italy, Virgil encourages the reader to see the underworld with a clearer mental picture. Virgil was by nature a great lover of antiquity, amantissimus vetustatis (Quintillian 1,7,18). His

research into the origins of Rome offered him a great opportunity to set Aeneas' adventures at Cumae.^ According to McKay, Virgil was wellinformed in the legendary and historical tradition of the area. His construction of the gold and ivory reliefs of the temples which he ascribes to the work of Daedalus (described by McKay as the 'Minoan Leonardo da Vinci'), is the first indication of his knowledge of ancient history (Daedalus, Icarus, and Deiphobus). But it is important to note that these Bronze Age characters were numbered among the invaders of the realms of death at Cumae: 'The exploits of these Bronze Age heroes are partly confirmed by finds at Cumae and on the neighbouring island of Ischia of Mycenaea.'^ McKay further observes that until the historical period, 'Cumae, with its adjacent Campi Phlegraei (The Fiery Plains), was known to most men as the fabulous home of supernatural creatures and of the dead; that Homer's story of Odysseus' descent and his meeting with Teiresias provided the authorised picture of Hades; that though it went through different variations, it was Virgil who adapted the account to an entirely novel scheme, charging it with Platonic, Stoic, and Orphic

^ Ernest Highbarger, The Gates of Dream (Baltimore: The John Hopkins Press, 1940) p. 72. 6 McKay, p. 201. ^ McKay, p. 201.

48

significance for a Roman audience.' Furthermore, the city of Cumae was culturally important in the development of Italian architecture, sculpture, religion, philosophy and literature which must have been known to Virgil.^ At Cumae, Apollo worship was a great part of the religious legacy. Virgil's reference to Aeneas' visit to the temple of Apollo draws on his (Virgil's) own experience, 'although they are charged with imaginative additions and more awesome associations than those which persisted in his time. There are two temple foundations, of Greek origins, on separate terraces of the Cumean acropolis.' McKay points to the fact that 'the temples Virgil described as adorned with gilded roof tiles and, in one instance, with doors decorated with bas-reliefs by Daedalus, are sorry ruins today, but enough remains to reconstruct both with some assurance of accuracy.''" This physical description of the grotto creates the impression of a cave that is both wide and high, with a very powerful echo. The Sibyl's grotto was excavated and identified in 1932. The dimensions are aweinspiring, which testify to the genius of the builders- 431' 4" long, 7' 9" wide, with a height of about 16' 4"; six lateral fenestrations provide light and air for the underground gallery. To support these archaeological findings, a notice has survived from around 250 B.C. with the account of a visit by two christian tourists:
We inspected a place at Cumae where we found a large 'basalica' excavated from a single rock, a magnificent and awesome work. There the sibyl gave her prophecies, according to those who claimed to have inherited the account from their ancestors. In the centre of the basilica we were shown three tanks excavated from the same rock. They maintained that these were regularly filled with water and that the sibyl bathed in them. Then after she had put on her long robe again, she would retire into the innermost room of the basilica which was also hewn from the same rock. Then, they stated, she would take her seat on a raised platform in the centre of the chamber and would pronounce her oracles.

This account testifies to the fact that there was a grotto that was a cavelike dwelling, from which the oracles of the gods were pronounced, which Virgil must have known about and visited. It appears in Book Six:

' McKay, p. 202. ' M c K a y , p. 203. " M c K a y , p. 203. ' McKay, p. 208.

49

Excisum Euboicae latus ingens rupis in antrum, quo lati ducunt aditus centum, ostia centum, unde ruunt titidem voces, responsa Sibyllae. (VI : 42-45) [The huge side of the Euboean rock is hewn into a cavern, whither lead a hundred wide mouths, a hundred gateways, whence rush as many voices, the answers of the Sibyl.]

The Underground Passages After Aeneas makes the necessary sacrifices, the Sibyl accompanies him in his descent into the underworld, through dark, silent and winding passages :
Ibant obscuri sola sub node per umbram perque domos Ditis vacuas et inania regna, quale per incertam lunam sub luce maligna est iter in silvis, ubi caelum condidit umbra luppiter, et rebus nox abstulit atra colorem. ( V L 268-272) [On they went dimly, beneath the lonely night amid the gloom, through the empty halls of Dis and his phantom realm, even as under the grudging light of inconstant moon lies a path in the forest, when Jupiter has buried the sky in shade, and black Night has stolen from the world her hues.]

During the second Triumvirate, the city of Cumae underwent numerous alterations and reconstructions. Lucius Cocceius Auctus, the architect and engineer of Agrippa, cut a tunnel some two hundred yards in length from the Cumaean forum area to the centre of the Acropolis. This tunnel further linked Cumae with the shores of Lake Avemus. It is believed that Virgil, a lover and preserver of antiquity, must have sensed with dismay the gradual disintegration of the ancient centre which was about eight centuries old. 'The amphitheatre, the bath, the decaying sanctuaries around the newly refurbished Apollo temples, must have catered to a tourist population, superstitious farmers and to poets like Virgil, and later Statins and Silius Italicus, who adored the classical backgrounds of Italy.'

McKay, p. 209.

50

The Fiery Fields Having given Misenus a decent burial, Aeneas hastens to carry out the second part of the instructions- the retrieving of the golden bough from Cocytus:
His actis propere exsequitur praecepta Sibyllae. spelunca alta fuit vastoque immanis hiatu, scrupea, tuta lacu nigra nemorumque tenebris, quam super haud ullae poterant impune volantes tendere iter pinnis: talis sese halitus atris faucibus effundens super ad convexa ferebat [unde locum Grai dixerunt nomine AornonJ. (VI: 236-242) [This done, he flilfils with haste the Sibyl's behest. A deep cave there was, yawning wide and vast, shingly, and sheltered by dark lake and woodland gloom, over which no flying creatures could safely wing their way; such a vapour from those black jaws poured into the over-arching heaven [whence the Greeks spoke of Avemus, the Birdless Place.]

The common association with The Fiery Fields was the smithy of Vulcan, which the ancients did locate in the volcanic region of Solfatare overlooking Puteoli. The area remains active today and still emits steam, bubbling mud lava and sulphurous flames which carry as far as Puteoli and support the etymology of the place - name (from the Latin puteus, 'weiror 'spring').'^ Lucretius notes that 'Avemus near Cumae is only one of several such places, where birds and other such creatures cannot breathe because of sulphur fumes, an entirely natural phenomenon easily explained by natural law.' (Lucretius V I : 738-768) . With such intimate knowledge of the geography and history of Campania, which includes the city of Cumae, Virgil creates a more complete 'geography' of that world which before him, was only known in bits and pieces. McKay sums up - 'The account of the hero's descent in all probability owes much of its character to Virgil's experience with the tunnels, old and new, in the environs of Portus Julius.'

McKay, p. 210. Mckay, p. 216.

51

The Context of Book Six The context of Book Six is two-fold: religious and political. Aeneas' first audience with the Sibyl and his arrival at the Elysian Fields can be considered a religious experience; whilst the meeting with his father, Anchises, can be seen as political. Virgil felt that these two issues needed to be addressed; in Rome, the religious life was in disarray, and the political order needed stability. He realized that each complemented the other. 1. The Religious. Cyril Bailey points out that Virgil maintained a deep devotion to the old animistic religions of the Italians; and that in his childhood, 'he loved to recall the spirits of field and woodland and the many agricultural deities who played their part in the country festivals'.' ^ This is supported by the citation Glover makes of Polybius' observation:
The most important difference for the better which the Roman Commonwealth appears to me to display is in their religious beliefs. For I conceive that what in other nations is looked upon as a reproach, I mean a scrupulous fear of the gods, is the very thing which keeps the Roman commonwealth together. To such an ordinary extent is this carried among them, both in private and public business, that nothing could exceed it. Many people might think this unaccountable; but in my opinion their object is to use it as a check upon the common people... . To my mind, the ancients were not acting without purpose or at random when they brought in among the vulgar those opinions about the gods, and the belief in punishments in Hades: much rather do I think that men nowadays are acting foolishly in rejecting them.'*

But these 'animistic religions' and this 'scrupulous fear of the gods' were mostly imported. Lidia Mazzolani has written that:
The Romans had always admitted the gods of immigrants, or summoned the gods of the enemy into the City in order to win the favour of powers they might have offended... In mixed communities, such as those of the larger Hellenistic cities and the sea-ports, foreign settlements sprang up. Friendly societies and funeral clubs were founded, and held periodical meetings at which the members worshipped their native gods, and sometimes displayed them in public, during the celebration of splendid and deeply mystical rites.

But the importation of these foreign deities and customs was nothing new to Virgil. In his youth and manhood, mystery cults had grown and

Cyril Bailey, Religion in Virgil (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1935) p. 29. Terrot Glover, Studies in Virgil (London: Edward Arnold, 1904) p. 266. Lidia Mazzolani, The Idea of the City (London: Hollis and Carter, 1967) p. 68.

52

flourished. It is the tenets of these cults that created the alarm in Virgil. Many of these cults fostered astral tendencies. Michael Grant notes:
An enormous majority of the population of the Roman empire, including very many of the most highly educated believed in the stars - and their acceptance of Fate or Fortune received a great impetus from this belief That is to say, they believed that the movement of the sun, moon and stars influenced the lives and deaths, fates and fortunes of mankind. Throughout the Roman empire, this belief was so predominant and indeed universal that it must be thought of as the religion par excellence at this time, of the Mediterranean world. The basis for this belief in the stars was the general conviction that there was some sort of harmony between the earth and the other heavenly bodies - some cosmic "sympathy" by which they all shared the same laws and behaviour. People felt - and the philosophers taught that there was unity in this cosmos, and interdependence among all its parts.

The author also points out that Time (Aion) was considered the personification of the Creator because it is 'he' who 'brings on each propitious or unpropitious movements of the Heavens.' There were also

the Eleusian cult (with which it is believed Augustus was affiliated), the cult of the healer-god, Aesculapius. Each of these cults employed a professional priesthood, thus causing the people to turn their backs on the oracles of the Olympian gods. But the reasons for which they flourished were because 'there was a satisfying neatness, completeness and indisputability about the doctrine'.^'' They satisfied the people with beliefs which would 'comfort [them] and give them a new dignified promising relationship with the powers that ruled the world; and which.. .could satisfy [their] ever deepening conviction that the terror and power of Death the Ravisher would be overcome, and accordingly that life, after all, had some meaning.'^' Virgil did not subscribe to these beliefs (as is evident in Book Six) and considered these mystic cults as providing elements of uncertainty for the people as well as the nation. Many came to believe that Fortune or Chance alone decided their births and deaths. Gone were the beliefs in the Fates (an issue I shall later discuss). In the light of this, Virgil becomes particularly mindful to enhance the role of the Sibyl, the punishments of the Titans, Aloeus and Salmoneus, and above all, to highlight Phlegyas' admonition. For the
' Michael Grant, The World of Rome (London: Weiden and Nicolson Ltd. ,1960) p. 166. '''Grant, p. 169. ^ Grant, p. 168. ^' Grant, p. 196.

53

empire to survive, there had to be a reminder to the people that the gods were sine qua non. Virgil felt that the gods led to order and respect in individuals as well as society. The forsaking of these deities would lead to the decline of Rome. Thus, after his spiritual experience with the Sibyl, Aeneas enters the presence of his father and learns of the political future of the nafion. Thus, there is a link between the religious and the political. In The Aeneid, though the influence of the gods pervades each book, it will be difficult to find a single religious faith that could be considered as Virgil's. As I mentioned earlier, Rome regarded its gods (Jupiter and the Olympians) as the true gods but was able to accept others. It was common for example, for the Romans to go to Greece to seek Aesculapius (the Greek god of healing and medicine) when it appeared that the Roman god of healing was too busy doing something else. That was why it was difficult for them (the Romans) to understand why others were intolerant of their religion, especially the Jews, who would not bow down to anyone other than Yahweh. But aside from these imported deities present in Rome, there were two significant faiths that came from Greece. These were Epicurianism and Stoicism, the former asserting that the idea of divinity was in the mind, and the latter, that teleological and ontological pieces of evidence pointed to a creator or creators. The presence of these different beliefs means that it is difficutt to look for a single religious pattern in Virgil's theology. What is clear is that his personal beliefs were subordinate to his higher purpose. The esteem with which he held his gods and the toleration of some of these faiths is made clear in Book Six. One such faith was that of the Stoics, which fitted in with the Roman sense of thinking about the influence of the gods. While Greek theology supplied Virgil with abundant materials of the make-up and actions of the gods, Virgil makes numerous inferences about these from a different point of view. He does not paint the gods as those meddling anthropomorphic beings who, restive of keeping the cosmos under constant surveillance, argue among themselves and even get involved in the physical battles of mortals as they did in the Trojan war. He seems to agree (as Book Six would show), with

54

the Stoic Balbus in Cicero's De Natura Deorum, who dismisses the 'playful' actions and amorous trysts of those Homeric gods, and regards them with the utmost seriousness:
Haec et dicuntur et creduntur stultissime et plena sunt futtilitatis summaeque levitatis. Sed tamen his fabulis spretis ac repudiatis deus pertinens per naturam cuiusque rei, per terras Ceres per maria Neptunus alii per alia, poterunt intellegi qui qualesque sint, quoque eos nomine consuetudo nuncupaverit, hoc eos et venerari et colere debemus. Cultus autem deorum est optimus idemque castissimus atque sanctissimus plenissimusque pietatis ut eos semper pura Integra incorrupta et mente et voce veneremur. Non enim philosophi solum verum etiam maiores nostri superstitionem a religione separaverunt. (De Natura Deorum II: xxvii 71-72) [These stories and these beliefs are utterly foolish; they are stuffed with nonsense and absurdity of all sorts. But though repudiating these myths with contempt, we shall nevertheless be able to understand the personality and the nature of the divinities pervading the substance of the several elements, Ceres permeating earth, Neptune the sea, and so on; and it is our duty to revere and worship these gods under the names which custom has bestowed upon them. But the best and also the purest, holiest and most pious way of worshipping the gods is ever to venerate them with purity, sincerity and innocence both of thought and of speech.]

In Book Six, it is veneration for the gods that is paramount. It is for this reason that we hear Aeneas telling his mother Venus in the opening Book of The Aeneid, that he had not left his gods in Troy, but had brought them with him:
sum plus Aeneas, raptos qui ex hoste Penates classe veho mecum, fama super aethera notus. Italiam quaero patriam et genus ab love summo. (I : 378-380) [I am Aeneas the good, who carry with me in my fleet my household gods, snatched from the foe; my fame is known in the heavens above. Italy I seek, my country, and a race sprung from Jove most high.]

Bailey points out that, 'Virgil believed in the plurality of deities, fauns, nymphs, the spirits of the door and the hearth in the household, lanus and Vesta ... [He] truly represents the Greek theory that the god is allimportant and the man but his instrument.'^^ Virgil depicts his gods as not

Bailey, p. 28

55

only the force behind the universe but also as the force present in the life of every individual and nation. He represents them as the creators, the protectors, and the arbiters of every mortal, swift to reward the just and punish the wicked. He adopts a Stoic tenor when he addresses the concepts of foreknowledge and determinism under the influence of the Fates. In his article, 'The Aeneid', Deryck Williams asserts that:
Unlike Milton, Virgil does not profess to be able to 'justify the ways of God to men' but this is the theme which he explores in countless situations in the poem, as he sets different aspects of human experience, human aspiration, human suffering in the context of a story laden with destiny. "

In exploring this theme, Virgil embarks on a hermeneutical discourse on the part played by the gods in the life of a particular man and a particular nation, leaving his readers believing that birth, life and death are divinely scheduled, divinely ordained and divinely terminated: concepts or beliefs which to a great extent, are in line with Stoic teachings. The gods were everywhere: in the heavens dwelt Jupiter; his sister and wife, Juno, was goddess of the air and their brother, Neptune, ruled the seas. In effect the physical world was full of their presence. In The Aeneid, however, they appear with more dignity than they do in Homer. When in Book II Venus reveals her deity to her son Aeneas, Virgil describes the scene as one which the reader can consider idyllic, '...As she turned away, her roseate neck flashed bright. From her head her ambrosial tresses breathed celestial fragrance; down to her feet fell her raiment, and in her step she was revealed, a very goddess.' (II: 402-406) He brings the gods to his audience in grace and beauty. Williams expresses this inference succinctly: 'These were magical shapes which captured Virgil's visual imagination, imbued as he was with the Greek art and literature which had so constantly portrayed them.''^'' In Virgil's poetry they actuated and guided the activities of mankind, and interfered as often as they had to in order that their divine plan (both for themselves and for that particular person) would stay on course. In the De Natura Deorum, Balbus points out that

Williams, 'The Aeneid' Cambridge History, II, p. 361 Williams, 'The Aeneid' Cambridge History, II, p. 358.

56

everyone is guided by a divine force and attempts to illustrate this idea with historical and literary examples:
mult OS que praeterea et nostra civitas et Graecia tulit singulares viros, quorum neminem nisi iuvante deo talem fuisse credendum est. Quae ratio poetas maxumeque Homerum inpulit ut principibus heroum, Ulixi Diomede Agamemnoni Achilli, certos deos discriminum et periculorum comites adiungeret. Praeterea ipsorum deorum saepe praesentiae, quales supra commemoravi, declarant ab iis et civitatibus et singulis hominibus consult. Quod quidem intellegitur etiam significationibus rerum futurarum quae tum dormientibus turn vigilantibus portenduntur; multa praeterea ostentis multa extis admonemur, multisque rebus aliis quas diuturnus usus ita notavit ut artem divinationis efficeret. Nemo igitur vir magnus sine aliquo adflatu divino umquam fuit. (De Nat. I I : Ixvi, 163-168) [and many remarkable men besides both our own country and Greece have given birth to, none of whom could conceivably have been what he was save by god's aid. It was this reason which drove the poets, and especially Homer, to attach to their chief heroes, Ulysses, Diomede, Agamemnon or Achilles, certain gods as the companions of their perils and adventures; moreover the gods have often appeared to men in person, as in the cases which I have mentioned above, so testifying that they care both for communities and for individuals. And the same is proved by the portents of future occurrences that are vouchsafed to men sometimes when they are asleep and sometimes when they are awake. Moreover we receive a number of warnings by means of signs and of the entrails of victims, and by many other things that long-continued usage has noted in such a manner as to create the art of divination. Therefore no great man ever existed who did not enjoy some portion of divine inspiration.]

Similarly, Virgil shows Aeneas as a great man who was accompanied by the gods in his adventures, had divine revelations, and who was divinely inspired. In short, i f Homer could create his heroes (Ulysses, Diomede and Agamemnon) as being led by the gods, Virgil felt compelled to depict his hero (the one destined to found Rome) in the same light. The Stoic mind considered these actions of the gods as the work of the Fates. They thought the fates were associated with Zeus; that the Fates were Zeus in action. In Epictetus we find these words; ' Lead me Zeus and Destiny.' (Epict. Ench. 53). Seneca wrote, 'The Fates lead the willing man and drag the unwilling.' (Sen. Ep. 107:11)

57

According to Greek mythology, the Fates were the children of Zeus and Thetis. They were, according to Homer, the individual and inescapable destiny which followed every mortal. In The Aeneid, Virgil constantly makes reference to the fata (the fates) or fatum (destiny). He introduces his audience to the Fates as he describes Juno's love for Carthage:
hie illius arma, hie currus fuit, hoc regnum dea gentibus esse, si qua fata sinant, iam tum tenditque fovetque. (I: 16-18) [Here was her armour, here her chariot; that here should be the capital of the nation should the fates perchance allow it].

Angry because Aeneas and his men survived the destruction of Troy and roaming the seas in search of a homeland, Juno soliloquises:
" w e e incepto desistere victam necposse Italia Teucrorum avertere regem! quippe vetorfatis.... " (1 : 37-39) [What! I resign my purpose, baffled, and fail to tum from Italy the Teucrian King! The fates, doubtless, forbid me!]

On reaching the coast of Libya and rallying his men, Aeneas notes:
"per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum tendimus in Latium, sedes ubifata quietas ostendunt; illic fas regna resurgere Troiae. durate, et vosmet rebus servate secundis. " (I: 204-7) ["Through divers mishaps, through so many perilous chances, we fare towards Latium, where the fates point out a home of rest. There 'tis granted to Troy's realm to rise again; endure, and keep yourselves for days of happiness."]

Imploring his father Jove to keep his promise and to guide Aeneas and his men to the promised land, Venus admits:
"ce/'<e hinc Romanos hinc fore ductores, olim volventibus a sanguine annis, Teucri, revocato

Known to the Romans as 'Parcae' or 'Moerae' to the Greeks, they were the whiterobed Clotho, the spinner, who personified the thread of life, Lachesis, who symbolised chance, the element of luck that everyone had the right to expect, and Atropos, the Fate who was inescapable. Against her there was no appeal. According to Larousse, 'the whole of man's life was shadowed by the Fates. They arrived at his birth. When he married, the three had to be invoked so that the union should be happy. When the end approached, they hastened to cut the thread of his life.' But the Encyclopaedia makes this interesting observation : 'the fates were submitted to the authority of Zeus who commanded them to see that the natural order of things was respected. They sat in the assemblies of the gods and possessed the gift of prophecy.') Larousse Encyclopedia of Mythology, trans by Richard Aldington and Delano Ames (London: Butchworth Press 1959) p. 187.

58

qui mare, qui terras omnis dicione tenerent, pollicitus. quae te, genitor, sententia vertit? hoc equidem occasum Troiae tristisque ruinas solabar, fatis contraria fata rependens;" (I : 234-9) ["Surely it was thy promise that from them some time, as the years rolled on, the Romans were to arise; from them, even from Teucer's restored line, should come rulers, to hold the sea and all lands beneath their sway. What thought, father, has turned thee? That promise indeed, was my comfort for Troy's fall and sad overthrow, when I weighed fate against the fates opposed."]

In consoling his daughter, Jupiter reveals another side of his sovereignty:

parce metu, Cytherea; manent immota tuorum fata tibi;.... hie tibi (fabor enim, quando haec te cura remordet, longius et volvens fatorum arcana movebo).. " (I : 257-8, 261-2) [Spare thy fear. Lady of Cythera; thy children's fates abide unmoved.... I will speak and, further unrolling the scroll of fate, will disclose the secrets....]

In Carthage, at the audience with Dido, Virgil points out that in opening 'the land and towers of new-built Carthage.... to greet the Teucrians ,

Dido (was) ignorant of fate.' (Aen. I : 297-301) After the clouds disappear and Aeneas is revealed,
Obstipuit primo aspectu Sidonia Dido, casu deinde viri tanto, et sic ore locuta est: "quis te, nate dea, per tanta pericula casus insequitur? "(1:613-6) [Sidonian Dido was amazed, first at the sight of the hero, then at his strange misfortune, and thus her lips made utterance: "What fate pursues thee, goddess- bom, amidst such perils....?"]

Bailey comments that the words fatum (fate) or fata (fates), occur some 120 times; and 'that the natural sense of the word fatum in Latin means destiny, primarily of the seer, and later and more commonly, of a deity; that fatum can mean the "lot" of the individual or the race and the ultimate destiny of the world', as in some cases where Virgil refers to the fatum del, meaning the 'fate' or 'the will of the gods'.'^^ An example of the fatum dei can be seen in Book II, in which Laocoon confesses that had the fate of the gods not overruled, he would have urged the Trojans to pierce the wooden horse... because he feared the Greeks even when bringing gifts. (II: 50-57)

Bailey, pp. 206-8.

59

In narrating his story to Dido, 'Aeneas ...recounted the dooms ordained of heaven...' (Aen I I I : 716-719) In Book Six, fata become associated with destiny, the destiny of a person (in this case, Aeneas) or a nation. When Aeneas visits the Sibyl at Cumae, the prophetess cries poscere fata tempus ( it is time to seek the fates, or the oracles or destiny). (Aen V I : 46-47) But Aeneas pleads, ' I have no realm unpledged by my fate.' ( V I : 67-68) While giving instructions to Aeneas concerning his subterranean adventure, she makes clear that the bough should be duly plucked by hand, "for of itself will it follow thee, freely and with ease, i f Fate be calling thee; else with no force wilt thou avail to win it or rend it with hard steel." ( V I : 146 -7) Deiphobus, describing his death to Aeneas, reports:
sed me fata mea et scelus exitiale Lacaenae his mersere malis; ilia haec monumenta reliquit. [But me my own fate and the Laconian woman's deathdealing crime o'erwhelmed in these woes." ] ( V I : 511- 2)

In Elysium Anchises is seen "surveying.... his people and beloved children, their fates and fortunes, their works and ways". (VI: 679- 84) He tells Aeneas:
"Nunc age, Dardaniam prolem quae deinde sequatur gloria, qui maneant Itala de gente nepotes, inlustris animas nostrumque in nomen ituras expediam dictis et te tua fata docebo. ["Come now, what glory shall hereafter attend the Dardan line, what children of Italian stock await thee, souls illustrious and heirs of our name - this will I set forth, and teach thee thy destiny.] (VI: 756-759)

Williams notes that the purpose of the part played by 'fate and by Jupiter as its agent is clear and unequivocal; the Romans as a god-fearing people will rule the world and guide all the nations in the way that providence decrees....'^^ Bailey sees this issue from another point of view. He believes Virgil sees fate as 'the will of the gods, and the will of the gods finds its expression in the fate which decides a man's actions and
28

sufferings and guides the whole course of events.'

" Williams, ii, p. 358. Bailey, p. 226.

60

But regardless of the perspectives from which these authors see and interpret fate or the Fates, the deduction can be made that: (i) destiny or fate rested with Jupiter alone, and the Fates acted as the agents of Jupiter; (ii) one's destiny has been prepared before one's birth, and therefore, is irreversible.

(i) The Fates were subject only to the authority of Jupiter who, as chief of the gods, rules and reigns. The Fates were controlled by him; he dictated to them or ordered them to see that directives or fiats were carried out and obeyed. When in Book I ( 1 : 16-28), Virgil exclaims that Juno would greatly desire Carthage to become the capital of the nations, he adds, "should the fates perchance allow it", thus demonstrating the ignorance of Heaven's queen regarding the works of the Fates. Furthermore, she admits that it must have been the workings of the Fates who plan to destroy the survivors of Troy. (1: 37-39) When Venus approaches her father concerning his earlier promise to create a new nation out of Troy's survivors, she confesses T weighed fate against the fates opposed'. (I : 240-41) By this declaration, she makes it clear that not knowing the minds of the Fates, she agreed to the destruction of Troy on the condition that her father had fated or promised to create a new nation from the descendants of her son, Aeneas.But in replying, Jupiter remarks: T will speak and, further unrolling the scroll of fate, will disclose its secrets. (1: 257-263) This comment of Jupiter's is a confirmation that in him and only him, is the destiny of each individual and nation. It is also a testament of his omniscience. He is privy to every and anything before it occurs. By Jove's own words Virgil sets the stage for his audience to consider the begetter of gods and men as one who not only possesses foreknowledge, but who also foreordains or predecides. ( i i ) When Aeneas sees his father Anchises in Elysium, he was surveying his progeny "with earnest thought....and, telling the full tale of his people and beloved children, their fates and fortunes, their works and ways". (VI: 680, 681-84) Through this passage, Virgil makes it clear that

61

since Aeneas was on a mission to discover his destiny by visiting his father in Elysium, his father had to be equipped with the information Aeneas would need, thus giving him the rare privilege of seeing his posterity. It further shows that before one enters into this world, one's fate (or destiny) and fortunes have already been planned, as well as one's works, deeds, performances, and actions. Thus, Anchises shows Aeneas his future and last wife, Lavinia, out of which union will emerge Silvius, destined to become a king and father of kings. They see a long line of kings, from Procas to Romulus to Caesar Augustus ('destined to set up the Golden Age in Latium'), to Tarquinius Superbus ('the proud') the last King of Rome who was expelled by the people. Upon seeing Marcellus, Anchises cautions Aeneas 'O my son, ask not of the vast sorrow of thy people. Him the fates shall but show to earth, nor longer suffer him to stay' ( V I : 869-870). Marcellus (the nephew of Augustus) was being groomed to succeed Augustus when he died at a very early age. Again, making mention of Marcellus as one destined for a short time on earth, is not only an indication that the power of life and death is held by the Fates, who are under the sole authority of Jupiter, but also shows that fate is irreversible: Marcellus cannot stay longer than his allotted time. Similarly, Palinurus cannot ask Aeneas to take him across the Stygian waves: his request incurs this sharp rebuke from the Sibyl, desine fata deum flecti sperare precando ("Cease to dream that heaven's decrees may be turned aside by prayer") (VI: 376-377); and Deiphobus will concede that it was his own fate in conjunction with the wicked ways of the Laconian woman (Helen of Troy), that brought him to Hades. But there is another aspect of Jupiter's foreknowledge and foreordination in The Aeneid which cannot be overlooked: his agents, the Fates are not given a specific time. For example, Zeus had decreed that Rome was going to be founded, but there was no time schedule as to that moment of founding: it took ten years for Troy to fall, but it was going to fall in order that Rome would be founded; Anchises was the one leading the way to the founding of Troy (they even got lost at one point) but died before the founding. His death meant that the burden passed to Aeneas: in his stay with Dido in Carthage, the work of the Fates was delayed further.

62

Aeneas could have stayed in Carthage with Dido, at which decision the burden could have fallen on his son, Ascanius. But he did not. This fact, that the Fates can wait, provides room for the use of free will. Aeneas, directed by Mercury, chooses to continue his journey and not to stay in Carthage, which free will he exercises with the help of his pietas. The Fates predetermine and at the same time, allow time for the exercise of free will. Compounding the ideas of the gods, the Fates, determinism and free will, in understanding Virgil's theology or religion, is the picture of Tartarus and what it means. Virgil's Nether World is not a state of mind. It has a physical location. Situated deep beneath the earth, 'in the lowest shades of Erebus', its entrance is known only to the Sibyl and those mortals who have visited that region, namely, Orpheus, Pollux, Theseus and Hercules. According to Virgil, the road to Tartarus is through a deep wide cave that is encircled by a dark lake that encircles it in a nine-fold sinuousity. No birds can fly over this lake; hence the Greeks named it Avemus (VI: 236-242). But the region known as Tartarus is positioned under a cliff in the shape of a broad castle, built like a fortress and surrounded by a flaming river.
Respicit Aeneas subito et sub rupe sinistra moenia lata videt, triplici circumdata muro, quae rapidus flammis ambit torrentibus amnis, Tartareus Phlegethon, torquetque sonantia saxa. porta adversa, ingens, solidoque adamante columnae, vis ut nulla virum, non ipsi exscindere bello caelicolae valeant: (VI : 548-554)

[Suddenly Aeneas looks back, and under a cliff on the left sees a broad castle, girt with triple wall and encircled with a rushing flood of torrent flames Tartarean Phlegethon, that rolls along thundering rocks. In front stands the huge gate, and pillars of solid adamant, that no might of man, nay, not even the sons of heaven, may uproot in war.]

C. Day Lewis describes Tartarus somewhat differently:

Aeneas looked back on a sudden: he saw to his left a cliff Overhanging a spread of battlements, a threefold wall about them Girdled too by a swift-running stream, a flaming torrent Hell's river of fire, whose current rolls clashing rocks along. In front, an enormous portal, the door-posts columns of adamant So strong that no mortal violence nor even the heaven-dwellers

63

Can broach it:

(Aen. VI: 547-553 C . Day Lewis' trans.)

The picture of Tartarus is that of a mighty, strong fort built with materials unknown to man and the gods. According to the Sibyl, 'Tartarus itself yawns sheer down, stretching into the gloom twice as far as is yon sky's upward view to heavenly Olympus.' (VI : 578-580) To make sure that no condemned souls escaped, this building is surrounded by a river of fire, the Tartarean Phlegethon, whose current carries clashing and thundering rocks. It is a scene of fear, dread, horror and panic. On an iron tower, the description continues, sits Tisiphone (one of the Furies), whose duty it is to punish those souls night and day and guard the forecourts eternally. But Aeneas observes a striking feature on Tisiphone's robes: they are bloodstained. One may never know how this mortal element (blood) stained his robe, realising that the miscreants he is guarding and punishing are not made of flesh and blood. One can only assume that Virgil is attempting to convey the idea of a place of severe punishments, savage lashes that forcefully provoke groanings: 'Therefrom are heard groans and the sound of the savage lash; withal, the clank of iron and dragging of chains.' (VI: 558-560) When Aeneas enquires the reasons for such groaning, the Sibyl replies:
"dux inclute Teucrum, casta sceleratum insistere limen; (VI: 562-3) [Famed chieftain of the Teucrians, no pure soul may tread the accursed threshold] nullifas

Sir John Harington notes that:

ft is worthy the consideration how the Pagans by the light of Nature and namely Plato 300 years before Christ and this Virgil who write about the birth of Christ describe hell and the punishment of the wicked as if they had read the gospel This poet going more particularly to work though more poetically describes a hell as it were out of the Old and New Testament, and then makes the inhabitants thereof generally such as break the commandments, or are guilty of some of the deadly sins. "

Harington highly commends Virgil's description of Tartarus. He notes the similarity between classical and Biblical accounts. Both The Aeneid and

The Sixth Book of Virgil's Aeneid, trans, by John Harrington, ed. by S.Cauchi, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991) p. 71.

64

The Bible speak of a place of eternal judgement for both the righteous and the wicked dead as well as the types of souls that inhabit these reserved places. According to the Sibyl, Hecate (the deity who made her custodian of the Avernian grove), told her that in Tartarus were groups of condemned souls. First are the fallen Titans, miscreant deities, who occupy the abyss along with the twin sons of Aloeus (giant creatures who attempted to overthrow the occupants of Olympus), Salmoneus (condemned for mimicking Jove's thundering power), Tityos (who attempted to rape Diana, the goddess of the moon) and Ixion (the Greek Cain, the first man to stain his hands with the blood of a kinsman, who tried to seduce Hera). In this abyss dwell the abominable. In another section are found those who represent the ten different sins (mentioned earlier) that Virgil felt were destroying Rome. Finally, there are those who betrayed their countries, and the incestuous. Harington's assessment of these Tartarean inmates leads him to determine that all these condemned souls are guilty of committing the seven deadly sins discussed in The Bible: the crime of pride, (581-582), covetousness, the eighth commandment ( 609-610), lechery, the seventh commandment (612, 623), wrath, the sixth commandment (608), envy, the ninth commandment (609), and more.'^'' But in an article "The Criminals in Virgil's Tartarus", D.H. Berry sheds a new light on two particular groups of criminals:
vendidit hie auro patriam dominumque potentem imposuit; fixit leges pretio atque refixit; hie thalamum invasit natae vetitosque hymenaeos (VI : 621-623) [This one sold his country for gold, and fastened on her a tyrant lord; he made and unmade laws for a bribe. This forced his daughter's bed and a marriage forbidden.]

Berry contends that 'Virgil must have particular individuals in mind: there would be little point in the Sibyl describing the crimes committed by certain men i f in fact nobody was ever known to have committed those crimes. Secondly, the fact that the criminals are not named probably implies that they are figures from recent history: elsewhere in the speech

^ Harington, pp. 72-3.

65

whenever Virgil has mythical characters in mind he gives their names.'^' For the first miscreant, the author suspects Mark Antony, because the description 'conforms exactly to the hostile characterisation of Antony presented by Cicero in his Philippics. '^^ The incestuous, according to the author, must be Cataline, for 'the evidence for Cataline's incestuous marriage to his own daughter occurs in Cicero's in Toga Candida...The lady in question, alleged to be Cataline's daughter, was evidently his last wife Aurelia.'^^ But the issue Virgil is making about Tartarus is that it is not the place for the Romans. The Romans belong to the Elysian Fields. The Romans he may have had in mind were those not fit to be Romans. When Aeneas asks "what forms of crimes are these?", the Sibyl replies:
Gnosius haec Rhadamanthus habet durissima regno castigatque auditque dolos subigitque fateri, quae quis apud superos, furto laetatus inani, distulit in seram commissapiacula mortem.... hie genus antiquum Terrae, Titania pubes, fulmine deiectifundo volvuntur in imo. (VI : 566-9, 580-1) [Gnosian Rhadamanthus holds here his iron sway; he chastises, and hears the tale of guilt, exacting confession of crimes, whenever in the world above any man, rejoicing in vain deceit, has put off atonement for sin until death's late hour ... Here the ancient sons of Earth, the Titan's brood, hurled down by the thunderbolt, writhe in the lowest abyss.]

It is thought- provoking to discover Virgil's consuming attention to the theme of pride, which for Milton would become a major concern. Two issues are brought to light: pride and lethargy are the forerunners of destruction; there is no repentance after death. To reinforce the seriousness of these points, he ascribes the lowest abyss of Tartarus to those guilty of this sin; the Titans, who because of 'vain deceit' (pride) could not submit to the authority of Zeus, launched an abortive rebellion in Olympus. As Milton would later stress in Paradise Lost, it was pride that led to Lucifer's fall, and would be responsible for the fall of anyone. The second point Virgil makes is that there is no repentance after death.
^' D . H . Berry, 'The Criminals in Virgil's Tartarus', The Classical (1992), pp. 416-420 (pp. 416-7). Berry, p. 417. " Berry, pp. 419-20. Quarterly, 42 (ii)

66

Though he does not elaborate on this matter, he is propagating the idea of retributive justice, that life is a dress- rehearsal for eternity and that rehearsal is not perfected i f there is no atonement for sin before death. And on this point lies a contradiction between the fatum del and the concept of repentance.

II. The Political. In his Darkness Visible, W.R. Johnson comments that 'Virgil grew to his manhood and began and continued his priesthood under the constant reality or constant threat of war'.^'' This comment is supported by the fact that three years before he was bom, Crassus and Pompey had just put down the slave revolt led by Spartacus. That expedition lasted for two years. When he was seventeen, Rome was at war with the Parthians in which Crassus was defeated and killed. Four years later, the political upheavals in Rome reached a frightening level when the Senate passed a decree declaring Caesar a public enemy unless he disbanded his army. In that same year, most members of the Senate left Italy for Greece with Pompey. A year later, Virgil saw Rome's internal wars cross geographical boundaries when Caesar defeated Pompey at Pharsalus in Italy, and Pompey was killed in Egypt. He was twenty-four when Rome became a dictatorship under Caesar, and twenty-six when Caesar was assassinated, and the second Triumvirate created. When he was thirty-nine, the war between Octavian and Cleopatra and Antony began, which ended a year later in Egypt where, pursued by Octavian, the couple comitted suicide. However, historians differ about the degree of decline in Rome through civil war. Some would argue that when Augustus took over the reins of government, the political scene changed completely. These historians argue that in Augustus' time, Rome was relatively at peace; and that during that period, he pacified the world. It is Mazzolani's contention that:
The achievements of which he [Augustus] boasted most loudly was the pacification of the world.... He had interpreted the idea of absolute rule into terms suited to the Roman mentality, and accessible to the Roman psychology.... The Empire is administered not like the universe, in

W.R. Johnson, Darkness Visible: A Study of Virgil's Aeneid (Berkeley: California Press, 1976) p. 137.

University of

67

keeping with the Divine Mind, but rather, like a small farm, where the steward accounts for each penny spent.

Rome, under Augustus had begun to reach its zenith and Virgil himself was a witness to that testimony. For example, in 19 BC, adjustments were made to Augustus' constitutional powers to allow him to exercise them more freely in Italy. Two years later, he vigorously enacted social legislation, encouraging morality and marriage, which brought the family as an institution under public protection. Grant notes that 'these endeavours were immortalized by Virgil and H o r a c e ' . H e concludes:
The gigantic work of reform that he carried out in every branch of Italian and provincial life not only transformed the decaying Republic into a new regime with many centuries of existence ahead of it, but also created a durable, efficient Roman peace. It was this Pax Romana or Pax Augusta which ensured the survival and eventual transmission of the classical heritage, Greek and Roman alike, and made possible the diffusion of Christianity, of which the founder, Jesus, was bom during this reign. "

It was this Pax Romana that Virgil alludes to in Anchises' speech, and which he felt needed fortification, some kind of a prophecy, to instil in the people a consciousness that the Roman empire had been foreordained never to wane. This idea is summed up succintly by Mazzolani:
To assure its future, the empire must be furnished with a moral justification and a supporting prophecy. In the time of Augustus, the conviction did in fact grow that the empire was a well-deserved reward for the valour of the ancient Romans on the one hand, and a working-out of the long-term plans of the gods on the other.

These are the two themes that are found in Book Six of the Aeneid. Virgil reconciled or harmonized these two themes, fully aware that these were the requisites and constituents for the Pax Romana. Virgil believed passionately that the Roman empire would outlast all the great empires before it, and he began to manifest this belief in his earlier works, especially The Georgics. In this work, he saw that the empire was probably the last and most important of all, a theme which very few writers touched upon. He asserts with pride that the natural elements paid unwavering attention to Rome. For example, he cites the fact that the sun
Mazzolani, p. 130-1 Michael Grant, History " Grant, p. 210. Mazzolani, p. 132.

of Rome (London: Faber and Faber, 1978) pp. 205-6.

68

never ceased to shine even in the light of a national disaster, such as the death of Caesar, when numerous omens appeared in the skies:
Denique, quid vesper serus vehat, unde serenas ventus agat nubes, quid cogitet umidus Auster, sol tibi signa dabit. solem quis disere falsum audeat? ille etiam caecos ins tare tumultus saepe monet fraudemque et operta tumescere bella. ille etiam exstincto miseratus Caesare Romam, cum caput obscura nitidum ferrugine texit impiaque aeternam timuerunt saecula noctem. (Georgics, 1,461-8) [In short, the tale told by even-fall, the quarter whence the wind drives away the clouds, the purpose of the rainy South - of all the sun will give you signs. Who dare say the sun is false? Nay, he oft warns us that dark uprisings threaten, that treachery and hidden wars are upswelling. Nay, he had pity for Rome, when Caesar sank from sight, he veiled his shining face in dusky gloom, and a godless age feared everlasting night.]

Virgil felt that i f the sun could shine upon Rome at a time when the age was considered godless, then it would do so again if the nation was penitent. That is why he ended that book with a prayer imploring the powers that were to safeguard Rome:
Di patrii, Indigetes, et Romule Vestaque mater, quae Tuscum Tiberim et Romana Palatia servas, hunc saltern everso iuvenem succurrere saeclo ne prohibite! satis iam pridem sanguine nostra Laomedonteae luimus periuria Troiae; iam pridem nobis caeli te regia, Caesar, invidet atque haminum queritur curare triumphos; quippe ubifas versum atque nefas: tot bella per orbem, tam multae scelerum fades; nan ullus aratro dignus hanos, squalent abductis arva colonis et curvae rigidum fakes canflantur in ensem. hinc movet Euphrates, illinc Germania bellum; vicinae ruptis inter se legibus urbes arma ferunt; saevit toto Mars impius orbe: (Georgics 1:498-511) [Gods of my country, Heroes of the land, thou Romulus, and thou Vesta, our mother, that guardest Tuscan Tiber and the palatine of Rome, at least stay not this young princefrom aiding a world uptom! Enough has our life-blood long atoned for Laomedon's perjury at Troy; enough have Heaven's courts long grudged thee, O Caesar, to us, murmuring that thou payest heed to earthly triumphs! For here are right and wrong inverted; so many wars overrun the world, so many are the shapes of sin; the plough meets not its honoured due; our lands, robbed of the tillers, lie waste, and the crooked pruning-hooks are forged into stiff swords. Here Euphrates, there Germany, awakes war; neighbour cities break the leagues that bound them and draw the sword; throughout the world rages the god of

69

unholy strife.]

Virgil's dream or desire was to see that Rome did not fall like other nations. This idea of peace at home as well as abroad became a refrain for him. In short, this prayer of Virgil's became the evangel of the Aeneid (as manifested in Anchises' prophecy). Wight Duff observes:
The last eleven years of Virgil's life were spent on the twelve books of the Aeneid. He began it when he was forty, and worked at it chiefly in the seclusion of Campania. He had long meditated an epic. Like Milton, he cast about many themes. According to Servius, he once felt attracted to the Alban Kings. Virgil himself in the Georgics promised to celebrate the emperor's wars. But time matured his preference for an epic which should be national without being purely historical. The heroic age, he saw, would admit the glamour of the legendary and the supernatural; the Roman race and the ancestors of its ruling house could be cradled under divine protection; and prophecy could rehearse the historic glories of Rome and Romans. In the story of Aeneas Virgil found his groundwork.

This is why in the opening book of the Aeneid, we find a prelude to the nature and purpose of the work. When Venus asked her father about the future of the Trojan race, this was Jupiter's reply:
hie tibi (fabor enim, quando haec te cura remordet, longius et volvens fatorum arcana movebo) bellum ingens geret Italia populosque feroces contundet moresque viris et moenia ponet, tertia dum Latio regnantem viderit aestas, ternaque transierint Rutulis hiberna subactis. at puer Ascanius, cui nunc cognomen Iiilo additur (Ilus erat, dum res stetit Ilia regno), triginta magnos volvendis mensibus orbis imperio explebit, regnumque ab sede Lavini transferet, et longam multa vi muniet Albam. hie iam ter centum totos regnabitur annos gente sub Hectorea, donee regina sacerdos Marte gravis geminam partu dabit Ilia prolem. inde lupae fulvo nutricis tegmine laetus Romulus exeipiet gentem et Mavortia condet moenia Romanesque suo de nomine dicet. his ego nee metas rerum nee tempora pono; imperium sine fine dedi. (I: 261-79) [This thy son - for, since this care gnaws at thy heart, I will speak and, further unrolling the scroll of fate, will disclose its secrets- shall wage a great war in Italy, shall crush proud nations, and for his people shall set up laws and city walls; till the third summer has seen him reigning in Latium and three winters have passed in camp since the Rutulians were laid low. But the lad Ascanius, now sumamed lulus Ilus he was, while the Ilian state stood firm in sovereignty - shall fulfil in empire thirty great circles of rolling months, shall shift his throne from Lavinium's seat, and, great in power, shall build the walls of Alba Longa.
39

Wight Duff, A Literary

History

of Rome, (London: Ernest Benn Ltd, 1960) pp. 332-3.

70

Here then for thrice a hundred years unbroken shall the kingdom endure under Hector's race, until Ilia, a royal priestess, shall bear to Mars her twin offspring. Then Romulus, proud in the tawny hide of the she-wolf, his nurse, shall take up the line, and found the walls of Mars and call the people Romans after his own name. For these I set neither bounds nor periods of empire; dominion without end have I bestowed.]

Twice, Jupiter uses the word 'rule' from the Latin imperare-, to rule. Then he finishes with an endless decree, I set neither bounds nor periods of empire; dominion without end have I bestowed. Thus, the nation would be imperial and it would last forever. We find these words in a somewhat different fashion in Anchises' speech. Virgil converts this myth into history: Troy fell, but with its fall, a few survivors would build a new city which would be called Rome. The story shows good arising out of evil and destruction. It is a perfect example of political salvation. That nation that had been utterly destroyed by the Greeks, would now rise up anew, but this time, not only to wax strong but also to rule without end the rest of the world. Duff points out:
The originality of Virgil is most manifest when he is most national. Where he is most national, he is most in touch with his own times. Responsive to the imperial spirit, conscious of the destiny of Rome, possessed with a noble pride in her civilizing mission among the nations, and auguring a great future from great prestige, Virgil is pre-eminently the poet of his age. Round imperial aims, religious observances, rural customs, round Italy and Rome, Virgil sets a halo of high sanctions. The sanctions are more than historic. They are divine. So he welds together the historical and mythological epic.

This welding of the mythological and the historical is evident. He sees a connection between the death of Priam and the death of Pompey; just as Priam's death signified the death or fall of Troy and the beginning of a new nation, so Pompey's death marked the death of Republicanism and paved the way for the new imperialism. A rather striking co-incidence is that Priam was killed by Achilles, the son of Neoptolemus; Pompey was beheaded by Achillas, a servant of Ptolemy.'"

Duff, p. 337. The word Ptolemy

in Greek means 'war'.

A further response to the imperial spirh is identified in Anchises' prophecy (VI : 777-807). Anchises' speech is a prophetic echo of Virgil's imperial belief in Eclogues IV:
Ultima Cumaei venit iam carminis aetas; magnus ab Integra saeclorum nascitur ordo. iam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna; iam nova progenies eaelo demittitur alto, tu modo nascenti puero, quo ferrea primum desinet ac toto surget gens aurea mundo, casta fave Lucina: tuus iam regnat Apollo. (Eclogues IV: 4-10) [Now is come the last age of the song of Cumae; the great line of the centuries begin anew. Now the Virgin returns, the reign of Saturn returns; now a new generation descends from heaven in high. Only do thou pure Lucina, smile on the birth of the child, under whom the iron brood shall first cease, and a golden race spring up throughout the world! Thine own Apollo now is King!]

This 'last age' is seen by Virgil as the age of Augustus. In his reign the 'great line of the centuries begin anew'. For Augustus' reforms and policies, external as well as internal were far- reaching and effective, which signified that Jupiter's eternal decree had begun to be fulfilled. Grant notes:
The whole population of the empire in the time of Augustus may have been between seventy and ninety millions, of whom thirty to fifty millions were in Europe, perhaps the same number or rather fewer in Asia, and something short of twenty millions in Africa. Most of the provinces of the empire had been acquired as a direct or indirect result of the powers of conquest and unilateral decision which were so highly developed in the Romans. That was how they had won Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica, Spain, Macedonia Africa Pontus (Northern Asia Minor), Crete, Cyprus, Illyricum, Cilicia (South-eastern Asia Minor), Syria, Gaul, Egypt and most of the Danubian and German territories - with Britain and Dacia (Rumania) to come.... Mauretania, Judaea, and the Nabataean Arabs (North-western Arabia) were in due course absorbed into the empire."^

Though Virgil might not have lived long enough to see his dreams come true, his (Anchises') prophecy was fulfilled;.. .super et Garamantes et Indos prefer et imperium^^

^ ' ^ Grant, The World of Rome, pp. 47-8. ''^ The Garamantes were a people of Mauretania (Fezzan) conquered by L . Cornelius Balbus in 19 B C , which led H . E . Butler to speculate that without doubt, an expedition must have been planned for sometime, since Virgil died the same year as the conquest of Garamant [Butler, The Sixth Book of The Aeneid {Oxford, Basil Blackwell, 1920) p. 245]

72

Virgil was more concerned about influencing political history. Not only did he desire the Romanization of the world, but also made suggestions for the empire to avoid mistakes. With the size of the empire, problems and strife would always abound. For example ethnic differences began to be felt in the empire, especially between the Greeks and the Romans, and this is precisely the reason why Anchises urges the Romans to rule their subjects with humanity and understanding:
tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento (hae tibi erunt artes) pacique imponere morem, parcere subiectis et debellare superbos.' (VI : 851-3) [remember thou, O Roman, to rule the nations with thy sway- these shall be thine arts- to crown Peace with Law, to spare the humbled, and to tame in war the proud!]

The empire must be founded on peace, but peace through strength. It is an art bestowed only upon the Roman race. And just as it was on Phlegyas' words does Virgil's theodicy rest, so on the words of Anchises, do Virgil's political tendencies rest.

Aeneas as Hero

Like the other nations that preceded it, the Roman nation sought to put forward someone they would consider their founder: according to Seutonius, Julius Caesar claimed descent from lulus, the son of Aeneas, and publicly declared this in 67B.C. at the funeral of his aunt:
Amitae meae luliae maternum genus ab regibus ortum, paternum cum diis immortalibus coniunctum est. Nam ab Anco Marcio sunt Marcii Reges, quo nomine fuit mater; a Venere lulii, cuius gentis familia est nostra. Est ergo in genere et sanctitas regum, quiplurimum inter hominespollent, et caerimonia deorum, quorum ipsi in potestate sunt reges. (Suet. Divus Julius ch. 6, Vol. I Loeb ed.) [The family of my aunt Julia is descended by her mother from the kings, and on her father's side, is akin to the immortal gods; for the Marcii Reges (her mother's family name) go back to Ancus Martius, and the Julii, the family of which ours is a branch, to Venus. Our stock therefore, has at once the sanctity of kings, whose power is supreme among men, and the claim to reverence which

attaches to the Gods, who hold sway over kings themselves.]

Virgil converts this story into an epic which has religious and political meaning. In seeking for the individual in whom the notions of kingship and reverence for the gods would be paramount, he discovers him in Book X X of the Iliad. In this chapter, Aeneas appeared in a duel with Achilles in what was considered to be one of the fiercest battles between the Greeks and the Trojans. When Achilles began to create havoc among the Trojans, out came Aeneas to confront him. Achilles, Homer reports, pleaded with Aeneas not to get into a fight with him because he (Aeneas) might lose his life. Aeneas refused and instead reminded Achilles of his (Aeneas's) godly geneaology (to show Achilles that he was not afraid of him). From this, we learn that Zeus was the father of Tros (who later became the father of the Trojans). Tros fathered three sons; Ilus, Assaracus and Ganymedes. To Ilus was bom Laomedon; Laomedon had five sons, one of whom was Priam, the father of Hector, Paris and Deiphobus. Assaracus was the father of Capys, who in turn fathered Anchises, whose son was Aeneas. Aeneas' mother was, according to Greek legend. Aphrodite. The validation of his divine lineage is found in Poseidon's prophecy. During the duel with Achilles, Aeneas apppeared to be in danger of losing his life when Poseidon decided to intervene:
Now look you, verily have I grief for great-hearted Aeneas, who alone shall go down to the house of Hades, slain by the son of Peleus, for that he listened to the bidding of Apollo that smiteth afar - fool that he w a s . . . Nay, come, let us lead him forth out of death, lest the son of Cronos be anywise wroth, if so be Achilles slay him; for it is ordained unto him to escape, that the race of Dardanus perish not without seed and be seen no more - of Dardanus whom the son of Cronos loved above all the children bom to him of mortal women. For at length hath the son of Cronos come to hate the race of Priam; and now verily shall the mighty Aeneas be borne among the Trojans, and his son's sons that shall be bom in days to come. (Iliad X X 295-302)

Virgil cites this prophecy in Book I : 230-236. But according to Williams, Virgil's definition of an epic hero is completely different from those of his predecessors':
Virgil is trying to define the nature and behaviour of a hero in an age no longer heroic: not to produce a second-hand Achilles or Odysseus, but to instigate the qualities required in a complex civilization in which the straightforward and simple individualism of an Achilles would be useless. Aeneas cannot cut a figure like Achilles because he must subordinate his

74

individual wishes and desires to the requirements of others; he must be the group hero, and this is the quality which Virgil constantly stresses in him, his quality ofpietas.**

This antithetical nature of Aeneas (in comparison with Achilles) is Virgil's creation of an epic hero; Aeneas has respect for the gods and allows the gods to order his life. This is precisely the reason why Virgil begins the epic with the description of the hero as fato profugus (I : 2).
Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris Italiam fato profugus Laviniaque venit litora - multum ille et terris iactatus et alio vi superum, saevae memorem lunonis ob iram, multa quoque et bella passus, dum conderet urbem inferretque deos Latio; genus unde Latinum Albanique patres atque altae moenia Ramae. Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine laeso quidve dolens regina deum tot valvere casus insignem pietate virum, tot adire labares impulerit. tantaene animis caelestibus irael ( A e n . 1: 1-11) [Arms I sing and the man who first from the coasts of Troy, exiled by fate, came to Italy and Lavinian shores; much buffeted on sea and land by violence from above, through cruel Juno's unforgiving wrath, and much enduring in war also, till he should build a city and bring his gods to Latium ; whence came the Latin race, the lords of Alba, and the walls of lofty Rome. Tell me, O Muse, the cause ; wherein thwarted in will or wherefore angered, did the Queen of heaven drive a man, of goodness so wondrous, to traverse so many perils, to face so many toils. Can resentment so fierce dwell in heavenly breasts?]

The nature or character of the hero hinges on two operative words, ya/o profugus. In fact when he asks the rhetorical question about the anger of the queen of heaven, Virgil is implying that Aeneas' exile by fate, is a 'fortunate exile'; this is a theme Milton would later expand on (the fortunate fall) and which Dryden would take up also in his panegyric to Charles I I . Aeneas was 'buffeted on land and sea by violence' not only because of the anger of cruel Juno (which anger was made worse, but which came from a different cause), but also because the Fates had willed that these experiences would prepare him for their plans of building an empire called Rome; which would begin with Aeneas, who would found
Deryck Williams, 'The Aeneid' in The Cambridge History of Classical Literature, ed. by E.J.Kenny, 2 vols (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982) vol.2, pp. 333-69 (pp. 346-7).

75

Latium (his son Ascanius would found Alba Longa, and Romulus and Remus would found Rome). Aeneas' experiences up to the Sixth Book were ordered by the Fates. The idea of a 'fortunate exile' conjures up, for Virgil, the idea of a hero who had participated in an epic war, as well as submitted to the gods, one of whom the Roman people would be proud. In creating this hero, Virgil considers the Roman empire, examining its past history, and looking into its future, hoping to preserve it for numberless generations. Aeneas is the prototype for the Roman people; the embodiment of Roman virtues, and his devotion to the gods (pietas) is an example to the nation as a whole. When Homer introduced Aeneas to his readers, he was 'the mighty Aeneas', according to Poseidon; when Virgil did, he was 'plus Aeneas'. The processes by which Aeneas develops the qualities of pietas which are signalled in the adjective plus are those of temptation and misfortune. Bowra points out that Virgil's ascription of plus to the name of Aeneas is a depicfion of his (Virgil's) Stoic ideals:
Aeneas is a Stoic, but like all Stoics he has to go through a period of probation, and during this, his temptations and difficulties are often too much for him, and he fails. The Stoics, like the Christians, believed that virtue was impossible without trial, and Virgil, adapting himself to the current Stoicism of his age, set himself to describe the development of such a man.... In the first Six Books, the clue to Virgil's treatment of Aeneas is that he is using not only the doctrine, but in some cases the terminology of Stoicism. He takes his hero through a course of tests and trials, which are the indispensable conditions of his moral development, and it is only after he has passed through them and found in them his moral weaknesses that he is allowed the vision of the destined glories of Rome.

Similarly, Ellingham argues that Aeneas' exile experiences were for a purpose. He compares him with Bunyan's Christian :
Pious Aeneas is not a paragon of goodness, but the Religious Man, the Christian of the Roman Pilgrim's Progress, joumeying from the City of Destruction [Troy] to the Promised Land. Like Christian he sometimes sins; like Christian, he grows; and like Christian, though he often comes to life, he is too symbolic for consistently normal behaviour.

Ellingham concludes, 'His pietas when tested does not degenerate.''*'

C . M. Bowra, 'Aeneas and the Stoic Ideal' in Oxford Readings in Virgil's Aeneid, ed. by S. J. Harrison, 2 vols (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990) 2, p. 366. ''^ C.J.Ellingham, 'Virgil's Pilgrim's Progress' Greece and Rome, vol. xvi (1947), p. 69. Ellingham, p. 74 But Aeneas loses his pietas during the Dido episode in Book iv.

76

When we see him in Book Six, therefore, Aeneas has developed a certain pietas which gives him the authority to speak as he does. He respectfully asks the Sibyl for directions to the Underworld to find his father Anchises, who would reveal his destiny to him. Possessed by the spirit of Apollo, the Sibyl speaks 'riddles that awed them... wrapping truth in enigma.' Unmoved by such a speech, Aeneas tells the oracle of his past heroism and recalls his divinity:
^^si potuit Manis accersere coniugis Orpheus Threicia fretus cithara fidibusque canoris; sifratrem Pollux alterna morte redemit itque reditque viam totiens - quid Thesea magnum, quid memorem Alciden? - et mi genus ab love summo. " (VI : 119-123) ["Orpheus availed to summon his wife's shade, strong in his Thracian lyre and tuneful strings; if Pollux, dying in turn, ransomed his brother and so often comes and goes his way - why speak of great Theseus, why of Alcides? -1, too, have descent from Jove most high!" ]

Aeneas reminds the oracle that those who have visited the underworld can claim divine parentage: Orpheus was the son of King Oeagrus and Calliope, the muse of epic poetry; Pollux was the twin brother of Castor, of whom the legend states that they were born out of the same egg of Zeus and Leda; Theseus was bom to Aethra and Poseidon, the god of the sea; Hercules was the son of Zeus, the father of the gods and Alcmene. By naming these former visitors and their mission, Aeneas is certifying that he too is a hero as they were. He was there by a divine appointment - to find out who, and how his progeny 'shall crush proud tribes, to establish city walls and a way of life'. (1:267) That is the reason why he bluntly tells the Sibyl:
nan ulla laborum, o Virgo, nova mi fades inopinave surgit; omnia praecepi atque animo mecum ante peregi. unum ore: quando hie inferni ianua regis dicitur et tenebrosa palus Acheronte refuso, ire ad conspectum cari genitoris et ora contingat; doceas iter et sacra ostiapandas.... ( V I : 103-109) [For me no form of toils arises, O maiden, strange or unlocked for; ail this ere now have I forecast and inly traversed in thought. One thing I pray : since here is the famed gate of the nether king, and the gloomy marsh from Acheron's overflow, be it granted me to pass into my dear father's

77

sight and presence; teach thou the way and open the hallowed portals!]

These statements of Aeneas indicate that he was not hmited to earthly or physical prowess. Putting himself on the same level as his Greek predecessors, he was signifying that he was not only the first non-Greek to visit the underworld but also, the first of the house of Assaracus, who was going to be the begetter of a new race, thus making eternal the house of Ilos. Furthermore, Aeneas' descent would be followed by a return by another route. He would descend into the underworld, span Cocytus, Phlegethon and Tartarus, enter Elysium and take his exit, not through the same passage of entry as his precedents, but through the gates of ivory. This completes his mission and validates the construction of the Roman empire.

Virgil and His Successors

I have examined Virgil's Aeneid Book Six to bring out as clearly as possible its structure, form, and meaning (bearing in mind that form and meaning go together). To understand the relationship between Virgil and those who came after him, it has been necessary to explore the religions and political culture of the poem, its narrative, and the 'meaning' of that narrative, and the characterization of Aeneas. Book Six of The Aeneid continued to exercise a powerfial influence in the realms of religion, politics, and literature, through the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. As J.W. Mackail said, 'Virgil is one of the few Latin classics who were never lost sight of even in the Dark Ages.'''^ He celebrated the ideal of Italy in a way which ensured its continued significance:
The luminous, central idea of Virgil's life and the work concerns us here. It reveals to us a Virgil not merely a historian or poet of an actual or idealized Rome of long ago, but a Virgil, the interpreter of the abiding significance of Rome and Italy. Where does the permanence of the Aeneid lie? A fine critic of Virgil has said: Aeneas is "an ideal and mystical figure standing outside time and place, that seems to be now Aeneas, now Rome,

48

J. W.Mackail, Virgil and His Meaning & C o . Ltd. [1923]) p. 7.

in the World Today (London: George G . Harrap

78

now the soul of Man setting forth doubtfully on the pilgrimage of a dimly descried eternal glory." To every age does this vision belong. It will continue to have importance for future aspiration. Virgil is one of those personalities that Nature creates in only her most amazing moods, when she wills to give the world heroic figures of commanding grace or thought to lead the race to higher levels.

The early chrisfians found in Book Six of The Aeneid a prophefic message (the return of the Golden Age), which Virgil had begun in Eclogues IV. The prophecy of the birth of a child came to pass in the reign of Augustus with the birth of Christ. Elizabeth Nitchie cites a wellknown legend which 'represents Saint Paul at the tomb of Vergil, mourning over his lost opportunity for converting one who was so nearly a christian, and would have been so, save for the accident of having died too soon.'^'' There was even a religious and superstitious veneration for Virgil during the time of Silius Italicus, Statius, and Martial, who commemorated his birthday with sacrifices 'and honored his tomb like that of a deified emperor. Here perhaps was a prophecy of the growth of that extraordinary mediaeval conception of Virgil as a magician.'^' While some of the early church fathers despised Virgil, there were some who looked upon The Aeneid as a source, to portray a moral story; for example, 'Jerome used the story of Dido to warn widows of the consequences of marrying again. The lines he quotes on more than one occasion are Aeneid 4. 32-34 and 548-552.'^^ With the dawn of the Middle Ages, classical culture began to use Virgil's work in different ways. Domenico Vittorini comments that:
Classical culture survived without interruption all through the Christian Age and the Renaissance, and there were periodic returns to classical sources on the part of men of learning throughout those epochs. These returns determined various cultural zones of Humanism.... The first return to classicism was made by the Schoolmen or Fathers of the Church who used the classics as sources. They read them with the purpose of extracting the theological elements that they passed on to the new religion. We call this return Religious Humanism. In the Early Renaissance or Age of Dante (from the eleventh to the end of the fourteenth century) cultured men like Dante, Boccaccio, Petrarch, and

Mackail, Preface, p. iv. Elizabeth Nitchie, Virgil and The English Poets (New York: Columbia 1919) p. 17. Nitchie, pp. 20-21 R.D.Williams and T. S. Pattie, Virgil His Poetry Through the Ages, (London: British Library Board, 1982) p. 86.

79

Salutati sought in the same books of the classics a moral lesson. This second return we call Moral Humanism. In the fifteenth century, the books of the Ancients were read again, in greater number and in better editions, including those rediscovered at the end of the fourteenth century and after the fall of Constantinople in 1453. The goal of the new Humanists was neither religious nor moral, but aesthetic. This third return is herein called Aesthetic Humanism. In the sixteenth century, the classics were reread by many of the seriousminded men of letters in order to find in them guidance both in the study of history and in the evaluation of human conduct. This constitutes Critical Humanism for us.

Vittorini concludes that these different forms of Humanism 'remained largely influenced by Classicism until the Romantic Revolution in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries changed the pattern of its culture.'^'' One such believer in Critical Humanism was Milton. But before discussing Milton it is important to discuss Dante, who had such a powerful influence on the Middle Ages, and whose work includes not only the inherited classical tradition but also a compendium of Medieval thought. It was Dante who arguably set the stage for this particular form of Humanism. Dante, according to Vittorini, was an apostle of Religious and Moral Humanism. As a young man the Latin classics, and especially Virgil, fascinated him and helped to shape his life as a lover of poetry. His mind was moulded by classicism, the Bible and the Provencal lore.^^ Like Aquinas, he sought to understand the object of his beliefs and saw in Virgil the exemplar of all that is Roman and Italian, as well as the embodiment of civic justice. In his works, Dante sought to examine (not question) the theological as well as the moral humanisms against the theological dogmas of his time, and he found his subjects in the eschatos as taught by the Church. One such subject is the concept of Hell and future judgement, and Dante found it necessary to use, as his guide, one with the 'experience', and 'authority' in this area, and above all, his countryman, Virgil. In the Inferno, he uses Virgil not just as an ordinary guide, but more importantly, as an intellectual and moral guide. Virgil was to guide him into the concept of Hell and Heaven, which reflected very

^^Domenico Vittorini, The Age of Dante, (Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1957) pp. 9-10 Vittorini, p. I I . " Vittorini, p. 85.

80

powerfully the good and evil of life, as seen in Aeneas. Dante takes Virgil's high moral tone and makes it christian. While Virgil bases his in the framework of imperial Rome, Dante's is based on christian thinking, which is mainly Medieval theology (which - as opposed to Milton's Protestantism - is mainly Roman Catholic). It brings out the moral and religious impetus found in Virgil, which Milton was to later develop in his own theology. To Dante, the subject of Hell is that of tragedy (one of the three styles he noted of poetry. Tragedy, Comedy or Elegy), and he was going to deal with the place, the inhabitants, and why they were there. But before doing so, he makes this observation as he concludes the Fourth Chapter of the De Vulgari Eloquentia, concerning weighty themes: he uses Book Six of The Aeneid as an example of poetry that is great because the poet has subjected himself to discipline and training, as well as possessing genius:
Let every one, therefore, beware, and discern what we say; and, when he purposes to sing of these three subjects simply,... let him first drink of Helicon, and then, after adjusting the strings, boldly take up his plectrum and begin in the proper manner. But it is just here, in the due composition of the Canzone and in the exercise of this judgment that the real difficulty lies; for the proper result can never be attained without strenuous efforts of genius, constant practice in the art, and fully available knowledge. And it is those [so equipped] whom the Poet in the Sixth Book of the Aeneid describes as Beloved of God, raised by glowing virtue to the sky, and Sons of Gods, though he is speaking figuratively. And here let the folly of those stand confessed who, innocent of art and knowledge, and trusting to genius alone, rush forward to sing of the highest subjects in the highest style. Let them cease from such presumption, and if, in their natural sluggishness they are but geese, let them abstain from imitating the eagle soaring to the stars.

A passage such as this may make the reader conscious of Milton's intense ambition, when, in the opening lines of Paradise Lost, he invoked the Heavenly Muse to 'sing of things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme' (1:14-16).

56 Dante, De Vulgari Eloquentia 1973) pp. 57-8

ed. by A . G . Ferrers Howell, (London: The Rebel Press

Dante's Inferno This is not a full discussion of such a major work as Dante's Inferno. The introduction of this work is for the purpose of considering briefly the link he creates between Virgil and Milton (that is the pagan world and the Renaissance world). Dante's work will be examined as a mediating factor in the process carried on by Milton and to some extent, Dryden. Dante wrote the Inferno (between 1310 and 1314 in all probability) fourteen centuries after The Aeneid. By that time also, the early Church fathers such as Anselm, Gregory of Nyasa, and Augustine of Hippo, had bequeathed to Christendom their interpretations and exegeses of the Scriptures. Thus, when Dante prepared to write the Inferno, he had at his disposal the Scriptures as well as the Biblical expositions by the Church Patriarchs, and the poem was written from both pagan and Christian backgrounds, as seen by a fourteenth century Italian. According to Michele Barbi:
The novelty of the poem was to consist not in the substitution of hitherto untreated material for a familiar world, material which could very easily be fitted to new needs and a new creation, but rather in what could be depicted within that world. The christian religion had already transformed the gods and monsters of pagan myths into demons; Dante more boldly mingles the Biblical and mythological traditions and gives the appearance of newness to everything. Thus, we find the rivers Acheron, Styx, Phlegethon, and Cocytus in his Inferno.... Catholic thought in Dante's time gave demons the role of tormenting the damned and presiding over Hell; thus we find Minos, Charon, Cerberus, Plutus, Phlegyas, the Furies, Medusa, and other monsters of classical tradition carrying out one or the other of these offices. Among them we meet the Minotaur, the Centaurs, the Harpies, Geryon, and along with them, the devils of Biblical tradition in their customary forms, or as dogs, serpents, or dragons, Lucifer himself is among them, entrusted with the direct punishment of the betrayer of Christ, the founder of the Church, and of the betrayers of Caesar, the founder of the Empire. But since all these creatures could not be left out of the poem because religious faith looked upon them as real beings, necessitating their relegation to the Inferno, and since they were already too well known in the arts, they are here introduced as ornament and structural detail, rather than the essentially poetical part.

Fowlie supports this notion by asserting that the background of the Inferno is

Michele Barbi, Life of Dante 73-4.

(California: University of Berkeley Press, 1954) pp.

82

a combination of the mythical (Homer's epics) and the ethical (Bible myths). As such, the concept of Hell undergoes a drastic change as it moves from the Graeco-Roman age to the Christian Age. He contends that
whereas Aristotle condemns a man for an immoral act, Dante damns and punishes him eternally only if there is no repentance. By violating the order of God the sinners themselves create their own Hell. Immorality for the Greek mind is unwise. It is considered an offense against prudence. For the Roman mind, it is looked upon as illegal, an offense against the law. Dante looks upon it as sinful or infernal, an offense against the law of God.'^

The blending of christian and heathen views creates the amalgam for the history and importance of salvation that Dante would like his readers to see. But for some authors, pre-Christian views are the centerpiece of Dante's history of salvation. Guiseppe Mazzotta notes that 'The Aeneid is placed within the Biblical perspective of salvation history, for to Dante there is always an inner history that gives meaning to the entire historical process. The anchorage of this process is Christ whose advent took place when the world was united under the hegemony of Rome.' He adds.
The awareness of history represents for the pilgrim lost in the forest, a crucial detour from the vain attempts to reach salvation through philosophy: the philosophical quest is vain because its abstract, forever valid paradigms do not give access to the irreducible history of the self, the depth of one's interiority and confusion. The detour into history, dramatized by the poem's movement from the neoplatonic language of the first abortive ascent in the prologue scene to the encounter with Vergil, is condensed in Dante's very interpretation of The Aeneid.

Mazzotta cites the following dialogue between Dante and Virgil:

"Thou art my master and my author; thou alone art he from whom I took the good style that hath done me honour. See the beast from which I turned back; help me from her, thou famous sage; for she makes my veins and pulses tremble." "Thou must take another road," he answered, when he saw me weeping, "if thou desirest to escape from this wild place:

because this beast, for which thou criest, lets not men pass her way; but so entangles that she slays them;

Wallace Fowlie, A Reading of Dante's Inferno, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, >81)pp. 1981) pp. 82 82-3. Guiseppe Mazzotta, Dante Poet of the Desert, (Princeton: New Jersey Press, 1979 ) pp. 153-54.

58

and has a nature so perverse and vicious, that she never satiates her craving appetite ; and after feeding, she is hungrier than before. The animals to which she weds herself are many; and will yet be more, until the Greyhound comes, that will make her die with pain." (Inf 1:85-90, 91-102 Temple Classics ed.)

This dialogue conveys to the reader that the pagan views of salvation cannot deliver humanity from the Wilderness of Error, because the Shewolf devours anything and everything. Therefore, one must 'take another road' i f one is to escape this wilderness. This 'another road' is Dante's path (the Biblical path) to salvation. Mazzotta concludes on this note: 'Dante reads The Aeneid as a poem of history which, though immersed in a condition of temporality and finitude, strains toward the enduring atemporality of heaven and enacts a view of history as a sequence of events significant in God's providential plan.'^" Charles T. Davis supports these assertions of Dante's view of The Aeneid with a slightly different view:
Dante was convinced by reading The Aeneid that God had willed Rome's conquest and universal power (which were therefore just and served the common good) and that he had revealed this fact to Aeneas and Virgil... However limited Dante thought Virgil's knowledge was in regard to christian truth, he was the supreme authority for Dante on the meaning of pagan Roman history.

But it must constantly be borne in mind that Dante was writing from a medieval point of view, and the writings of the early church fathers were readily available to him. One such writing was Augustine's City of God. In this work, Augustine attempts to propound Biblical themes and analyse Scriptural dogmas. In his opening remarks, he spells out the theme and motive for his work:
In this work, on which I embark in payment of my promise to you, O dearest Marcellinus, it is my purpose to defend the City of God against those who esteem their own gods above her Founder. Well do I know the powers needed to persuade the proud how great is the virtue of humility, that lofty quality by which our city is raised above all earthly heights that are rocked by ever-streaming time, not raised by the devices of human arrogance but by the endowment of grace divine. For the King and
60

Mazzotta p. 158. ^' Charles T. Davis, Dante's pp. 25-27.

Italy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1984)

84

Founder of this City, which is the subject of my discourse, has revealed in the scripture of his people a statement of divine law : "God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble." (City of God 1:1 Loeb ed.)

Augustine strikes the note of authenticity of the Scriptures: the doctrine that there is one Supreme Being (who is the Founder of this City) beside whom there is no other. It is therefore his aim to defend this City (the Heavenly City or the Church Triumphant) against those who prefer their own gods to its Founder, a statement that can be interpreted as an attack on the pagan gods from ancient Egypt to Rome, and on the GraecoRoman philosophers. Dante on the other hand, in accordance with the patriofic feelings for his homeland, did not wish to relegate his country's pagan history to the status of Augustine's temporal city. He therefore showed a clear disagreement with Augustine by bringing in Virgil and classical traditions. Mazzotta points out that
Dante is well aware of Augustine's critical reading of The Aeneid: indeed he both depends on it for his own interpretation and systematically weaves it into the texture of his poetry. In brief, from Dante's perspective, Augustine rescues The Aeneid from the conventional neoplatonic moralizations, and discerns it as a definite ideology of history, a tale of the two secular cities which he interprets in his theological frame of mind as the city of God and the earthly city. By focusing on some scene of the poem, where Augustinian and Virgilian elements are deployed, it is Dante's effort to preserve Virgil's sense of history, perceived by Augustine but discarded by him, and to bring Virgil and Augustine together within the focus of his own vision.

Three centuries later, Milton was to read the classics, the works of the early church fathers as well as those of the Middle Ages, and give a new perspective or an extended treatment to the pattern of sin, repentance, grace, and change.

62

Mazzotta, pp. 148-9.

85

Chapter 3 Paradise Lost

Margarita Stocker has noted that when Milton claimed that his epic project demanded "things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme", he explicitly laid claim to immortality.' The words 'unattempted yet' are a clear challenge to his predecessors in the epic, and Paradise Lost is not only influenced by Homer and Virgil, but aims to surpass them. Milton was a brilliant Latinist, classicist, and student of Italian, whose work reflects complex and detailed understanding of the epics before him, notably, Homer and Virgil. He was also versed in the complex traditions of medieval theology, especially those of Aquinas and Dante. He subjected himself to the disciplines of learning and of poetic endeavour. Not only was he a scholar, he was also a teacher. After he returned from the continent, he found a way of making a living by teaching his nephews as well as the sons of his friends. His nephew, Edward Philips, wrote that his (Milton's) daughter, Deborah, reported that:
...excusing the eldest daughter by reason of infirmity, and difficult utterance of speech... the other two were condemned to the performance of reading, and exactly pronouncing of all the languages of whatever book he should at one time or other think fit to peruse; viz. The Hebrew (and I think the Syriac), the Greek, the Latin, the Italian, Spanish and French. A l l which sorts of books to be confined to read, without understanding one word, must needs be a trial of patience beyond endurance; yet it was endured by both for a long time.^

But stressing the importance of the influence of the classics on Milton, Elizabeth Nitchie comments that 'amid the shifting sands of the seventeenth century, there was one bit of solid ground in which every man of letters had fastened an anchor, small or great, - the knowledge of the classics.' She adds:
No matter what his views might be on the subject or form, each man had been trained in the reading of the classics, and was probably a facile performer in exercises in Latin verse and prose. The grammar schools of the period aimed to give each boy a thorough education in that ancient

' Margarita Stocker, Paradise Lost (London: Macmillan Publishers, 1988) p. 59. ^ William Godwin, Lives of Edward and John Philips (London: Hurst, Rees & Brown, 1815) p. 381.

86

tongue before he reached the university, and to put him through a course of discipline which was intended to produce an accomplished writer of letters, themes, verses and orations in the language of Cicero and Vergil....The emphasis in the classical training of this century was placed on the poetical use of Latin in writing, for it was still the language of learned men everywhere, and the only tongue sure to be universally understood. The Latin verse of men like Milton and Cowley was by no means a mere academic exercise, but a mode of expression universally acceptable and intelligible....^

Douglas Bush adds that 'Milton was steeped in ancient literature as no other English poet before him had been, and in Greek no less than in Latin.... He was, in short, a classical scholar, in both an extensive and intensive sense that applies to no other poet we have met except Ben Jonson....''' But it is Nitchie who sums up Milton's classical background best when she points out the influence of Virgil upon Milton:
With this dexterity in the use of Latin, and the system of translation and retranslation in the classroom by which the result was secured, there was no possibility of ignorance of the masterpiece of Roman literature. And the work of Vergil, who was called "incomparable" by Ben Jonson, the classicist, and was placed far above his Greek masters by Phineas Fletcher, the writer of of moral allegory after the pattern of Spenser, and was imitated in his Praise of Spring by Richard Crashaw, the prince of the contrivers of conceits, could not fail to leave its mark on all the literature of the period, in one form or another....'

Milton's Antecedents and Paradise Lost

Gordon Braden has written: 'One can read Jonson's song (or, might add, sing it) without knowing Philostratos, but there is an important sense in which one cannot read Paradise Lost without knowing The Aeneid.'^ The Aeneid appeared to Milton as the perfected work or the final copy of all other epics, which together with the Bible, became a powerful combination. That is why in describing the structure of Paradise Lost, C M . Bowra asserts that:
In Paradise Lost we find all the familiar features of the epic such as war, single combat, perilous journeys, beautiful gardens, marvellous buildings. ^ Nitchie, pp. 124-5. '* Douglas Bush, Mythology and Renaissance (Minneapolis: Minnesota Press, 1932) pp. 249-50. 'Nitchie, p. 125. ^ Gordon Braden, The Classics and English Renaissance Poetry (New Haven: London, 1978) p. 170.

87

visions of the world and of the future, expositions of the structure of the universe, and scenes in Heaven and Hell. Yet all these are so transformed that their significance and even their aesthetic appeal are new. The reason is that Milton has grafted his epic manner onto a subject which lies outside the main epic tradition. By finding his subject in the Bible, he had to make the machinery of epic conform to a spirit and to a tradition far removed from Virgil. Before him the best literary epic had been predominantly secular; he made it theological and the change of approach meant a great change of temper and of atmosphere. The old themes are infroduced in all their traditional dignity, but in Milton's hands they take on a different significance and contribute to a different end.'

In line with Bowra's assertion, J.R.Watson points out that Paradise Lost
is an epic, not a drama, and Milton was interested in the results which he could get from an epic, rather than a dramatic form. Dramatic elements include the workings of cause and effect, the demonstration of an action and its consequences in a time scheme that allows no going back. In Paradise Lost something of this action is found: there is a casual progression from Book I to Book X I I . But all the time, Milton is working away at something else - the expression of a Divine Providence which is outside time and not subject to the laws of cause and effect, which turns evil into good even before the evil has been perpetrated.'

Paradise Lost is also an integration and transformation of epic works that preceded it, such as Hesiod's Theogony, Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, and Ovid's Metamorphoses. The heterocosmic genres of these works are blended with themes from the works dated after the birth of Christ (from Augustine's City of God, Dante's Inferno and Paradiso and, Spenser's Faerie Queene to the concepts found in the writings of the Metaphysical poets such as Donne, Herrick, Cowley and Carew) to create the 'narrative' of Paradise Lost. But Jonathan Richardson wrote:
a Reader of Milton must be always upon Duty; he is Surrounded with Sense, it rises with every Line, every Word is to the Purpose; There are no Lazy Intervals, A l l has been Consider'd, and Demands, and Merits Observation. Even in the Best Writers you Sometimes find Words and Sentences which hang on so Loosely you may Blow 'em off; Milton's are all Substance and Weight; Fewer would not have Serv'd the Turn, and More would have been Superfluous.'

' C M . Bowra, From Virgil to Milton, (London: Macmillan Press, 1945) p. 196. ^ J.R. Watson 'Divine Providence and the Structure of Paradise Lost' , Essays in Criticism xiv. 2 (1964) pp. 148-55 (p. 154). ' J.Richardson, Explanatory Notes and Remarks on Milton's Paradise Lost, (London: Ludgate, 1734) Preface, p. cxliv.

88

Richardson's critical remarks apply particularly to Milton's use of classical and Biblical allusions. Thus, when we examine Book Six of The Aeneid and the text of Paradise Lost, we find striking similarities. But we also find newer construcfions, which convey to the reader Milton's sense and purpose; for example, where Virgil describes Aeneas' reference to mythological gods and heroes (VI:119-123) as he pleads with the Sibyl for access to the after-life, Milton causes us to look at them with a

different perception. Macaulay expressed it in this manner:

Poetry which relates to the beings of another world ought to be at once mysterious and picturesque. That of Milton is so.... The spirits of Milton are unlike those of almost all other writers, his fiends, in particular, are wonderful creations. They are not metaphysical abstractions. They are not wicked men. They are not ugly beasts. They have no horns, no tails, none of the fee-faw-fijm of Tasso and Klopstock. They have just enough in common with human nature to be intelligible to human beings....'"

The images in Book Six of The Aeneid that tend to transport the sense of solemnity or sadness, such as the throng pleading to be ferried to the farther shore, Aeneas' dialogue with Palinurus and Deiphobus and his encounter with Dido, simply stand for what they are. They can hardly be compared with our first encounter with Satan. When we first encounter Satan, he had just been flung 'headlong from the ethereal sky., to bottomless perdifion' ( I : 45-7). We learn a little later that, 'in the happy realms of light/Clothed with transcendent brightness didst outshine/ Myriads so bright:' (I : 85-7). So sorrowful is the sight that Milton exclaims; 'O how unlike the place from whence they fell!'. (1:75) But in Paradise Lost, Milton takes the discourse to a level that is different from Virgil's. Virgil begins with the intention of celebrating 'Arms...and the man' and the founding of a great empire. Milton was not just confined to this, but was engaged in the ancient myth of the lost paradise. And while Anchises in Book Six gives a quick overview of the nature of the universe and its

' Thomas Babington Macaulay, Critical and Historical Dent and Sons, 1935) I , p. 167.

Essays 2 vols (London: J.M.

89

origin, Milton recreates the story of the universe, the beginning of things and the war in Heaven. Just as Virgil's invocation had promised to sing 'of arms and the man', so Milton implores the Muse Urania (now transformed into the Holy Spirit) to sing of man's first disobedience and the loss of Eden:
O f man's first disobedience, and the fruit O f that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat. Sing heavenly Muse,... (1:1-6).

A little later, he prays:

I thence Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song. That with no middle flight intends to soar Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. And chiefly thou O Spirit, that dost prefer Before all temples the upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the first Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss And madest it pregnant: what in me is dark Illumine, what is low raise and support; That to the highth of this great argument I may assert eternal providence. And justify the ways of God to men (1:12-26)

Broadbent describes Milton's invocation in this marmer; 'Milton seems to be presuming to speak with the very voice of God itself, not accommodated to our weakness, as God accommodated himself, but invincible and heavy with power - incurr'd, penaltie, manifold, deserv'd. We feel this kind of language to be of the law rather than the spirit, for a good reason: it has not itself put on flesh, but remains pure logos.'" Because of the nature and theme, Milton invokes the Holy Spirit for divine unction. In naming his muse Urania in Book VII, he emphasises her divine origins, making the pagan muse into the christian inspiration of the Holy Spirit. In Book I , as James Patterson (the eighteenth-century critic) observed,

" J.B. Broadbent, '"Mortal Voice" and "Omnific Word'" in Approaches to Paradise Lost, ed. by C . A. Patrides (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1968) pp. 99-117 (p. 100).

90

We have the poet's exordium, or preface, wherein he proposes the subject of his following poem. The poet begins with a beautiful transposition of words, an ornament in poetry; they must be read or paraphrased in this natural order: O Heavenly Muse, or Holy Spirit, aid or assist me to sing or write of man's first sin or disobedience to God, and of the fruit of that forbidden tree whose deadly taste brought death, and all our woe and misery into this world, with the loss of Paradise, till a man far greater than Adam (i.e. the Lord Jesus Christ . ..) restore lost mankind and regain that most blessed seat for them.

This is a direct reference to Paul's first letter to the Corinthians; 'For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.' (15 : 21-22) Another writer of that age, John Shuckburgh, commented that when Milton made reference to 'the secret top of Horeb or of Sinai...', Milton was emphasising the Biblical dimension, and his own affinity with Moses, 'that shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed'. (I : 7)
Horeb and Sinai are the same mountain with two ..eminences, the higher of them called Sinai: and of Sinai, Josephus in his Jewish antiquities Book 111, says that // is so high, that the top of it cannot be seen without straining the eyes. In this sense therefore, (though I believe it is not Milton's sense), the top of it may well be said to be secret... The words Of Horeb or Sinai imply a doubt of the poet, which name was properest to be given to that mountain, on the top of which Moses received his inspiration; because Horeb and Sinai are used for one another in Scripture, as may be seen by comparing E x . I I I with Acts V I I ; but by naming Sinai last, he seems to incline rather to that. Now it is well known from Exodus xix.l6 Eccl.xiv.5 and other places of Scripture, that when God gave his laws to Moses on the top of Sinai, it was covered with clouds, dark clouds and thick smoke; it was therefore secret: and the same thing seems intended by the epithet which our poet uses upon the very same occasion in X I I : 227.'^

The seventeenth-century reader attached reverence to works dealing with Biblical themes. Furthermore, Milton is demonstrating his humanity by asking to be inspired. For without the unction, he would not be able to soar above 'things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.' (I : 14-16) No one since the beginning of time had ever written what he was about to write. His would be the best of all epics, but an unusual one, because he intended to explain and justify God's ways to men. Alastair Fowler adds his own explanation to the meaning of this prayer as an attempt by Milton to

James Patterson, A Complete Commentary with Etymological, Explanatory, Critical and Classical Notes in Milton's Paradise Lost (London: R. Walker, 1744) pp. 9-10. " John Shuckburgh, A Review of the Text of the Twelve Books of Milton's Paradise Lost (London: Sun, 1733) pp. 1-3.

91

belitfle or make earthbound all preceding pagan gods.'" Bowra adds that no christian writer of epic had made comparable claims; thus the poem demands special respect.'^ Furthermore, the reader is given the impression that Milton was planning to create a manuscript wherein all epic conventions were to be incorporated and sung by a heavenly power. It is worth pointing out that the verb 'to sing' is synonymous with the verbs, to vocalize, to serenade, to melodize, to chant, to intone, or to cantillate, while the archaic synonyms are, to magnify, to eulogize, to panegyrise, to glorify or pay homage to. Here, the word 'sing' is used in the imperative: 'Sing heavenly Muse,...' Patterson comments that 'poets are said to sing, not to write or relate because their works are musical and at first were sung upon pipes and other instruments of music'.'^ For the heavenly Muse to 'sing', probably means to make vocal and magnify the story; the story which sounds like a symphony in four movements, disobedience, fall, penitence and restoration, each movement distinct with its poetic or epic melody and the different conventions of imitative imagination. It is also quite evident that Milton does see himself as singing unaided. The removal of himself as the singer and the installation of the heavenly Muse suggests that what he was about to write was something graver, a serious subject, so grand and lofty that he, as a mortal, could normally not sing. Milton stresses that his narrative comes from a celestial patroness:
If answerable style I can obtain O f my celestial patroness, who deigns Her nightly visitation unimplored. And dictates to me slumbering, or inspires Easy my unpremeditated verse: ... ( I X : 20-24)

Milton's idea that his work is lofty, because a heavenly character inspires him nightly, is a reiteration of a statement he made earlier, in Book Seven. Urania is now the Holy Spirit:
Descend from heaven Urania, by that name If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine Following, above the Olympian hill I soar. Above the flight of Pegasean wing. The meaning, not the name I call: for thou

Fowler, p. 43. Bowra, From Virgil to Milton, p. 197. "^Patterson, p. 10.

92

Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top O f old Olympus dwell'st, but Heavenly bom, Before the hills appeared, or fountain flowed, Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse, Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play In presence of the almighty Father, pleased With thy celestial song... thou Visit'st my slumbers nightly.... (VII : I - 12, 28-29 )

Furthermore, where Virgil sings (present tense) of the man from Lavinia, Milton begins Paradise Lost with words indicative of the past, present, future as well as the eternal future ('first disobedience', 'brought death', 'loss of Eden', 'till one greater man restore us, and regain the blissful seat...'), while at the same time creating a panoramic view of the relationship between God and man. Virgil, as we have seen, was interested in Roman politics as Milton was concerned with English politics (often seen in the light of classical political systems) in the seventeenth-century. Bowra has pointed out that 'Paradise Lost is a

transcendental dramatisation of the Puritan spirit. Milton transposes to a vast stage, to the whole of space and the whole of time, the qualities, the conflicts and the ideals which stirred him in the high hopes of the Commonwealth and in the disillusionment of the Restoration.''^ His situation in the years following the Restoration is graphically described:
Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole, More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days. On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues; In darkness, and with dangers compassed round, (VII : 23-27)

Not only had Milton seen the destruction of the commonwealth; he also had to confront the fact that he was blind:
thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovereign vital lamp; but thou Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, Or dim sufftision veiled. ( I l l : 21-26)

Milton's Heavenly Muse is the Holy Spirit, the same holy and mysterious being who inspired the writings of the Scriptures: 'For the prophecy {Scriptures) came not in old time by the will of man: but holy men of God

" Bowra, From Virgil to Milton, p. 16.

93

spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.' (2 Peter I : 21 KJV). It is this movement of the Holy Spirit that Milton seeks and primarily the reason why he prays, 'What in me is dark/ Illumine.' According to Helen Gardner,
Milton invokes his Muse first as the inspirer of Moses who, in the forty days and nights when he was alone on Mount Sinai, hidden in cloud, was thought to have learned not only the law but also those secrets of creation that he revealed in Genesis. Then he invokes her as haunting the waters of Siloah that flow beneath Mount Sion on which stood the Temple that contained the "Oracle of God", the Ark of The Covenant, the sign of God's perpetual presence with the people. The waters of Siloah...spring out from beneath a hill on which, like Mount Olympus, the supreme deity has his seat. In these waters Jesus healed the blind man, whose eyes he had anointed with clay and spittle, to wash his eyes. They are thus a fit haunt for the Muse that reveals.Through this invocation he declares that inspiration is a reality, not a subjective fancy.''*

Patterson comments that Milton's mention of the heavenly Muse residing in 'Siloa's brook that flowed / Fast by the oracle of God' is another attempt by Milton to place the text in the light of Biblical perception:
Siloe, Siloah, Siloam, Siloach,- Hebrew for "Sent" for it was a brook or spring of water gliding softly down Mount Sinai on the east side of the temple of Jerusalem, and at the bottom of it made a pool, which was sent from God, at the prayer of Isias, a little before his death, and when the city was closely besieged as a blessing or gift; to cure many diseases among his people... Herein a blind man washed his eyes at Christ's command and received his eyesight. (John 9:7) "

Localising the Holy Spirit in a passage about healing and un-blinding would clearly have had a particular significance for Milton. The poem, in many ways, is a poem in which Milton explores his own condition (that of a failed supporter of the Commonwealth, and an old and blind man), as well as the great issues of inspiration, and the role of the Holy Spirit.

The Epic structure of Paradise Lost

In structuring Paradise Lost, Milton begins in medias res ( in the middle of the things). His in medias res is Hell, because Hell is the site at

' Helen Gardner, A Reading 19. Patterson, p. 14.

of Paradise

Lost ( Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965) pp. 18-

94

which the fallen angels are located, and he wishes to start the action at this point of the process. He could have started in the heat of the battle in heaven but chose not to. But there is this compelling notion that since Milton was embarking upon writing an epic of the cause of 'death and woe... till one greater man restore us....', it was imperative for him to find the perpetrators, who were assembled in Hell. Not until we get to Books Five through Eight, do we learn from Michael the incident in Heaven which resulted in their (the fallen angels') fall from bliss; also, when we get to Books Eleven and Twelve, we hear Raphael foretelling Adam the future. Furthermore, the argument can be made that to Milton, in medias res is not only an abstract conception but also a locative idea. Hell, it would appear, lies at the epicentre of the poem's cosmos, thus the need to start in Hell; it is from this location that the story either gets lost or from which there can be an ascent. It brings before the reader, at starting, an awareness of the evil in the universe. Hell is not only the abode of the principal characters but also the location of Sin and Death. In fact, they are the porters of Hell, who keep the 'fatal key'. ( I I : 648-889):
Before the gates there sat On either side a formidable shape; The one seemed woman to the waist, and fair But ended foul in many a scaly fold Voluminous and vast, a serpent armed With mortal sting:... The other shape. If shape it might be called that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb,..(II : 648-53, 666-8)

Thus, it was important for him to start in Hell. The structure of Hell itself will be dealt with in a later chapter. The pattern of the poem also needs to be examined. Written in twelve books. Paradise Lost takes a U-shape structure. The first six books lead to the battle in Heaven, followed by the last six, which describe the consequences. This embodies God's grand plan of salvation; fall, repentance and regeneration. Satan fell from Heaven into Hell and through guile, seduced man to accompany him. To redeem man from this fall, Christ had to descend (through death) into Hell, save man and in ascending (his resurrection) restore him to his blissful seat. For Milton, rise must follow a fall as in Paul's letter to the Ephesians (Now that he

95

ascended, what is it but that he also descended first into the lower parts of the earth? He that descended, is the same also that ascended up far above all heavens, that he might fill all things) [Eph 4]. In The Aeneid, Aeneas' descent into the Stygian world shows him that the road that leads to Tartarus is the selfsame road that continues to the Elysian Fields. Similarly in Paradise Lost, the path that leads to the "blissful seat" is a path that involves a descent (fall), a site (Hell) and a soteriological experience (Christ). In Dante's Inferno, Dante and Virgil have to make a descent into Hell, reaching its uttermost depth (the icy lake) before ascending by the sides of the Lethe into the world of light. Milton himself makes this descent into Hell, reports on the condition of Hell and finally makes an ascent into Heaven. In Books I and II, Milton gives a graphic account of the conditions of Hell, its physical structure and the infernal population. When he finally emerges from the pit he rejoices in the idea of light (although he is now unable to see):
Hail, holy Light, offspring of heaven first bom,... Thee I revisit now with bolder wing. Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight Through utter and through middle darkness bome With other notes than to the Orphean lyre I sung of Chaos and etemal Night, Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend. Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovereign vital lamp; (III : I, 1 3 - 22)

He is remembering what light was like, and furthermore, like Aeneas and Dante, Milton himself experienced this adventure of descent and ascent, though with different motives and through different pathways. This idea of a descent followed by an ascent permeates the pattern of not only the Stygian world but also the whole book. The Books also are a reflection of each other: Book III is a reflection of Book II. In Book I I , there is a debate in Hell in which the fallen angels take counsel against God.The agendum in Heaven recorded in Book III is finding a solution to thwart Hell's diabolical plan by sending Christ to redeem God's handiwork: Christ is preparing to outdo what Satan is about

96

to do. On a larger scale, the poem can be divided into two sections: the first six Books and the last six; in Books I and II, we are given a picture of fallen life in Hell; in Books XI and XII, the reader sees a picture of fallen life on earth. In Book III, there is a description of Heaven and Satan, salvation's plan is ratified, and Satan reaches the gates of Eden; in Book X, the news of the fall reaches Heaven and Satan returns to Hell to report the fall. In Book IV, there is a picture of Satan viewing Adam and Eve for the very first time and Uriel warning the pair that a perpetrator may try to enter Paradise and destroy them. In IV, V and V I , we are introduced to Paradise before the fall; in VII and VIII, Raphael discusses the creation of the cosmos and celesfial motions.

Book I

fnmediasres BookXIli Redemption Future, Present to Future

Hell

BookX Book

The Fall Heaven Book IV' BookV Book First temptation Book

Battle in Time Past

Fowler makes this important observation; 'the numerical centre of the whole poem by line-count falls between vi 761 and 762, i.e., precisely where Christ ascends his triumphal chariot:

97

He in celestial panoply all armed 761 762 O f radiant urim, work divinely wrought, Ascended, at his right hand Victory Sat, eagle-winged....^"

Hunter sums up this parallelism of structure in these very words: 'The poem is not only or chiefly, in terms of its effect, a progression from beginning to end; it is also a series of static tableaux, theoretically related and is capable of being read backwards and forwards.'^'

Treatment of Virgilian Materials

The effect of The Aeneid Book Six on Paradise Lost, can best be felt in the manner in which Milton treats his Virgilian materials: for example, how does Milton treat his hero (if there is one), to parallel Aeneas? What is Milton's version of the councils of the gods? the incorporation of the Biblical themes of good and evil? the joy-and-horror contrasts? epic prophecy? The harmonization of answers to these questions produces, for Milton, a text which has invited newer and different interpretations from its critics. It is appropriate therefore, to begin with a look at the manner in which Milton tends to create a heroic character. In Book Seven of Paradise Lost, Milton's invocation is a plea to Urania (the heavenly Muse), that is focused and specific:
still govern thou my song, Urania, and fit audience find, though few. But drive far off the barbarous dissonance O f Bacchus and his revellers, ... (VII : 30-33)

The particularity of this request opens Paradise Lost to the different theories of reception. Notable critics (such as Balachandra Raj an) of Paradise Lost, have suggested that the text should be read in the context of the seventeenth century. He makes this argument strongly in his Paradise Lost and the Seventeenth Century Reader. Others, such as Thomas

^ Fowler, p. 23. ^' Hunter, p. 40.

98

Wheeler (in his Paradise Lost and the Modem Reader) have taken the opposite view; they have advocated that the text be read from a modern point of view.'^'^ But these differences of opinions as to the manner in which the text ought to be read appear to stem from Milton's expression, 'fit audience' (that special group of people, 'though few', who would understand his work). In looking for a Miltonic hero, should the reader read the text as a seventeenth-century Puritan who is likely to see Christ as the hero, the one who was victorious over Satan, the representation of the triumph of good over evil? Or should he be an 'unfit' reader living in that particular century and considering Satan as a Renaissance hero, who typifies the casus virorum illustrium (the fall of great personages from high places) as Marlowe depicts Faustus? Further yet, is the modern reader free to read Paradise Lost and find a hero without regard to Milton's intimations and leadings? In other words, should we be free to make our own conclusions knowing fully well that Milton would never subscribe to that perception? It is therefore fitting to consider Milton's expression, 'fit audience'. John Knott Jr.has suggested that:
Milton's use of 'fit' here supports a select group who shared or at least sympathized with his vision of a reformed England in which the saints would rule and freedom of worship would flourish. The word fit implies a stark sense of separation that would exclude, among others, critics of his radical views among the ranks of the Presbyterians and those who were restoring the Anglican church under the monarchy, all contributors to the "barbarous dissonance" that threatened his epic work."

But Knott is making reference to Christopher Hill's historical perspective. Hill was writing from a seventeenth century historical viewpoint and looking at the causes and effects for the failure of the revolution and how Milton's role influenced that particular revolufion.^'' But Knott hastens to add:
One need not assume that such a reader is so restricted by the author's directions or by his own efforts to reconstruct the context of the poem, as to be incapable of growing through the experience of reading. The concept of the fit reader can serve a useful purpose by providing a standard against which to measure responses as long as we do not conceive this fit reader

For modern reception theories, see among others, Stanley Fish, Surprised by Sin. John Knott Jr., 'Paradise Lost and The Fit Reader' Modern Language Quarterly 45 (1984) pp. 123-143 (p.I27). Christopher Hill Milton and The English Revolution (London: Faber and Faber, 1977) p. 238.

99

too eagerly or inflexibly, or claim too much for any particular model of the reader.^^

This 'standard against which to measure responses' is supported by Robert Crosman, whose view it is that the reader of Paradise Lost 'should approach the text as a 'basic' reader, one who does not begin to read the text with any particular assumptions; instead he should interest himself not in what is expected of him, but in what he feels. He should aim at providing "a mimesis of the reader reading.''"'^^ And this is my aim in examining particular influences of The Aeneid Book Six upon Paradise Lost. In the opening sentences of Book Six, we find the story again moving around Aeneas (as I mentioned earlier, the story revolves around him). The plot, the characters, and even the role of the gods shift according to his movements. Aeneas is an embodiment of a divine spirit, the product of a deity and a human (Venus and Anchises). That 'divine-human genetic' make-up is responsible, in part, for his description as 'pious Aeneas'. He carried both divinity and mortality, as Christ was to later appear. By some divine will, he is guided by the Fates, over whom he has no control. At the same time, he possesses a free will, which he can exercise without punitive compensation (as in Book Four with Dido). Guided and sometimes 'tossed' by fate before landing at Cumae, he learns in Book Six that everything that happened to him was ordered by the Fates and that the destruction of his homeland turned out to be a blessing in disguise; the fall of Troy became a fortunate fall (fata profugus). He discovers that positive assets came out of negative circumstances. He was to be the only man from whom a new and mighty nation was to be bom, in much the same way as Christ was to be a second Adam. In Paradise Lost, Milton does not readily introduce us to a hero. We readily empathize with Satan only to be cautioned by Milton that we should not be deceived because in reality, Satan is a monster. We empathize with him because we create this mental picture of one 'who

"Knott, p. 124. Robert Crosman, Reading 1980) p. 4. Paradise Lost (Bloomington: Indianna University Press,

100

(earlier) in the happy realms of light/ Clothed with transcendent brightness didst outshine/ Myriads though bright' (I : 85-88), was 'Hurled headlong from the ethereal sky... to dwell/ In adamantine chains and penal fire' (I : 44-48), all because 'he trusted to have equalled the most high...and/... Against the throned monarchy of God/ Raised impious war in heaven' (I : 40-42). And we are tempted to believe that dissent was not permitted in God's economy, and therefore, we may at first feel that Satan was unjustly treated. But lest we get carried away, Milton warns us against the folly of decepfion by systematically denigrating him (I : 192-209). We should not, however, be deceived by the fact that Satan begins the poem (after the brief introduction). But before we begin to empathize with Satan, Milton shows us who he really is and what he stands for; he is 'The infernal serpent; he it was, whose guile/ Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived the mother of mankind,...'(1: 34-36); he is a monster:
or that sea-beast Leviathan, which God of all his works Created hugest that swim the ocean stream: Him haply slumbering on the Norway foam The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff, Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, With fixed anchor in his scaly rind Moors by his side under the lea, while night Invests the sea, and wished mom delays: (I : 200-08)

As many critics have pointed out, this initial description contains a traditional image of Satan as untrustworthy, like the whale which the sailors thought to be an island. In Book Six of The Aeneid, the story centres around the hero, Aeneas, from the moment he and his crew disembark to his visit to the after-life. In Paradise Lost, we are tempted to consider Satan as the hero because the story begins with him, the subject matter has much to do with him (the cause of all our woe). Thus, we follow him wherever he goes, and initially Milton presents him as a figure of importance, apparently heroic in the classical manner, and the centre of attention, both for his fellow fallen angels and for the reader of Paradise Lost. Our focus then turns to Adam, who like us, is mortal, and to whom we are more readily prepared to lend our emotions. Like Aeneas, he can claim

101

a divine heritage, a much stronger one. He is the product of a perfect God and a perfect creation, with over and above his share of pietas. Before the creation, God tells Christ:
There wanted yet the master work, the end O f all yet done; a creature who not prone And brute as other creatures, but endued With sanctity of reason, might erect His stature, and upright with front serene Govern the rest, self-knowing, and from thence Magnanimous to correspond with heaven. But grateful to acknowledge whence his good Descends, thither with heart and voice and eyes Directed in devotion, to adore And worship God supreme, who made him chief O f all his works: (VII : 505-516)

When Satan first laid eyes on Adam and Eve, he stood aghast to find:
Two of far nobler shape erect and tall, Godlike erect, with native honour clad In naked majesty seemed lords of all. And worthy seemed, for in their looks divine The image of their glorious maker shone. Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure, (IV : 288- 293)

But the initial perfection of Adam does not bring with it a sense of satisfaction. In the same way, Aeneas is dissatisfied with the calamity that befell him, the loss of his country, so that he does not stop until he has discovered his destiny. In Adam's case, we see him demonstrate a different type of dissatisfaction; he longs for companionship. He tells Raphael:
how may I Adore thee, author of this universe. And all this good to man, for whose well being So amply, and with hands so liberal Thou hast provided all things: but with me I see not who partakes. In solitude What happiness, who can enjoy alone. Or all enjoying, what contentment find? (VIII : 359-366)

This sense of dissatisfaction leads D. F. Bouchard to observe that:

Adam is a singularly unsatisfying 'character'. This perhaps explains why so many critics are drawn to Satan. Extrapolating from the text, our overall impression of Adam concems his inadequacy in the Garden. For one thing, he is never allowed to act in the Garden; when he does, it is crucial blunder. Rather, he talks and postures (especially with Eve). When not talking to Eve, he appears to lack awareness of his purpose in the Garden; the word 'wandering', often employed to describe Satanic activity, seems

102

particularly apt in describing Adam. Alone in the Garden he is dissatisfied, and it is this feeling which prompts his request for Eve. Pleased with his new possession, he is counselled by Raphael to undervalue this gift. ^'

I differ with Bouchard in this description of Adam. Aeneas demonstrates the spirit of a community. He is always surrounded by other people and it is this communal spirit that attracts him to the Roman people. Adam, on the other hand, demonstrates a sign of incompleteness; where he sees all the animals paired together, he discovers he lacks another half Furthermore, where Bouchard points to the fact that Adam is never allowed to act in the Garden, he contradicts Raphael's caution:
Attend: that thou art happy, owe to God; That thou continuest such, owe to thyself. That is, to thy obedience; therein stand. This was that caution given thee; be advised. God made thee perfect, not immutable; And good he made thee, but to persevere He left it in thy power, ordained thy will By nature free, not over-ruled by fate Inextricable, or strict necessity; Our voluntary service he requires. Not our necessitated, such with him Finds no acceptance, nor can find, for how Can hearts, not free, be tried whether they serve Willing or no, who will but what they must By destiny, and can no other choose? (V : 520-534)

Unlike Aeneas, Adam is not guided by the Fates. He can choose to do as he pleases: he is made aware of some guiding principles; he owes his happiness to God, and to continue to be happy is his sole responsibility. Therefore, he has the right to express his sense of incompleteness. The idea Milton tends to convey is one in which Adam's creator, unlike Jupiter, is not as restrictive and arbitrary. But the gift of free will to Adam is accountable. Adam's free will is dependent on obedience to one particular law. Unlike Aeneas, the 'Fates' cannot overrule Adam's will. His Creator cannot either. Thus Milton has begun to insinuate that should Adam fall, it would be his responsibility, unlike Aeneas, who is guided by the Fates. We are led to see Adam as different from Aeneas, because he comes from the pages of the Bible.

" D.F. Bouchard, Milton A Structural p. 65.

Reading

(Montreal: McGill Queens UP, 1974)

103

Because he is a figure of Old Testament myth, Adam stands for mankind in all its imperfection. He falls, 'fondly overcome by female charm', and his fall leads to the fall of mankind. His behaviour thereafter prepares the way for the Redemption: he is conscious of having sinned, and he and Eve, after blaming each other, resolve to repent, with tears of contrition:
He will instruct us praying, and of grace Beseeching him, so as we need not fear To pass commodiously this life, sustained By him with many comforts, till we end In dust, our final rest and native home. What better can we do, than to the place Repairing where he judged us, prostrate fall Before him reverent, and there confess Humbly our faults, and pardon beg, with tears Watering the ground, and with our sighs the air Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign O f sorrow unfeigned, and humiliation meek. Undoubtedly he will relent and turn From his displeasure; in whose look serene, When angry most he seemed and most severe, What else but favour, grace, and mercy shone? (X: 1081-1096)

Just as Aeneas was willing to be led by the gods, which in turn led to the founding of Rome, so Adam's desire to repent allows the possibility of Redempfion. But i f Adam's will had not been submissive to God's after the fall, Satan would have been the victor because Adam would have repeated Satan's behaviour of revenge, despair, and defiance. Milton succeeds in presenting Adam as a different type of a Renaissance hero; he is a Biblical hero whose behaviour shows the possibility of the triumph of good over evil and the triumph of grace ('over wrath grace shall abound' [XII: 478]) Though he lost the earthly paradise, he does not resign himself to an evil captivity. Like Aeneas, his fall in effect is fortunate. It allows God to execute his plan of salvation to save Adam (as the Fates allowed Aeneas to survive and found the Roman race) and all of the human race, which in turn, makes the fall fortunate. The Old Testament story is seen through New Testament eyes. There is another similarity between the two men, which can be seen as a contrivance by Milton originating from Book Six. Before Aeneas enters Elysium, he performs some purification rites:
occupat Aeneas aditum corpusque recenti spargit aqua ramumque adverso in limine figit. ( V I : 635-6)

104

[Aeneas wins the entrance, sprinkles his body with fresh water, and plants the bough full on the threshold.]

Similarly, before Michael shows Adam the fiiture of his progeny, he cleanses his eyes of the film of sin:
but to nobler sights Michael from Adam's eyes the film removed Which that false fruit that promised clearer sight Had bred; then purged with euphrasy and rue The visual nerve, for he had much to see; And from the well of life three drops instilled. So deep the power of these ingredients pierced, Even to the inmost seat of mental sight. That Adam now enforced to close his eyes. Sunk down and all his spirits became entranced: (XI : 411-420)

The need to be cleansed from the elements of darkness before entering into the world of light, is given a christian dimension with greater emphasis by Milton. It is a Virgilian device that Milton sees as a perfect example for his christian story.

This movement from the world of darkness into that of light, to experience divine truths (on the part of both poets) leads to another striking similarity; epic prophecy. Anchises shows Aeneas the future which includes spiritual, social and political truths. But this revelation is confined to a privileged few, Aeneas and the Roman race. In Paradise Lost, Raphael and Michael play that role to Adam; but Adam represents all of mankind, which widens the scope of Milton's work. The eschatological view which Adam has is similar to those things Aeneas sees and experiences both in Hell and in Elysium; for example, at the entrance of Hades, Aeneas sees the couriers of Death (Sickness, Disease, Famine). Similarly, these same couriers are found seating at the portals of Death. Michael explains:
Death thou hast seen In his first shape on man; but many shapes O f death, and many are the ways that lead To his grim cave, all dismal; yet to sense More terrible at the entrance than within. Some, as thou saw'st, by violent stroke shall die. By fire, flood, famine, by intemperance more

105

In meats and drinks which on earth shall bring Diseases dire, ( X I : 466-74)

After this panoramic view, Adam loses his composure, and unlike Aeneas (who unsheathes his sword to defend himself), weeps; 'Adam could not, but w e p t , . . . ' ( X I : 495) In Elysium, Anchises describes, with pride, the greatness of the future race making specific references to particular individuals whose names would always be remembered in the history of the nation. In Paradise Lost, Michael, in the likeness of a Galilean discourse, explains to Adam the great men of his progeny; Noah, Abraham, Moses, Joshua (who, to the 'unfit audience' may be compared to Procas, Capys, Numitor, Caesar, Augustus Caesar and the Tarquin kings). But the point at which it becomes clear that Milton has taken the discourse far above Virgil could be found in Michael's introducfion of Christ. He is not just a man, but one greater man who works through love, not war:
The law of God exact he shall fulfil Both by obedience and by love, though love Alone fulfil the law; thy punishment He shall endure by coming in the flesh To a reproachful life and cursed death. Proclaiming life to all who shall believe In his redemption, and that his obedience Imputed becomes theirs by faith, his merits To save them, not their own, though legal works. For this he shall live hated, be blasphemed, Seized on by force, judged, and to death condemned A shamefiil and accurst, nailed to the cross... ...So he dies. But soon revives. Death over him no power Shall long usurp; ... Out of his grave, fresh as the dawning light, Thy ransom paid, which man from Death redeems,... (XII: 402-13, 419-21, 423-4)

Milton presents an Arminian reading of christian redemption, proclaiming 'life to all'. This transcends even the greatness of Aeneas. Unlike Anchises' admonition of greatness (which is one of the most memorable in all of his discourse):
"tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento (hae tibi erunt artes) pacique imponere morem, parcere subiectis et debellare superbos. " ( V I : 851 - 53) ["remember thou, O Roman, to rule the nations with thy sway - these shall be thine arts - to

106

crown Peace with Law, to spare the humbled, and to tame in war the proud!"]

Michael's description of Christ's work is unrivalled; for it is the moment in which the 'one greater man/ Restore us, and regain the blissftil seat,' (I 4-5)

Another aspect of Virgilian influence is the role of the gods or divine beings. Book Six of The Aeneid depicts one of the resolutions of the councils of the gods, which occurred in the earlier books. The actions decided upon by the gods in the earlier books are brought to light in Book Six. For example, in Book One, Venus pleads with her father concerning the fate of her son, Aeneas. In this episode, we see the notion that man and nation are a great concern to them. Furthermore, their character is revealed; we see Venus sad, her eyes full of womanly effusion of moisture (I : 227- 41). In Paradise Lost, we have a similar situation. There are debates in Hell as well as in Heaven, which issues deal with man. These councils or debates depict the temperaments of the participants and we come to the conclusion that it is a battle between good and evil, and Milton has cleverly manipulated this classical concept to fit a Biblical story. Joseph Wittreich has noted that:
Milton's efforts, always,are directed toward bursting the boundaries of received forms; in Paradise Lost, those efforts express themselves in the intention to make this poem "not less an epic, but more than an epic" - as A.S.P. Woodhouse explains, to create "a theodicy" along the lines of "Christian revelation." In this process, an epic undertaking is absorbed into a prophetic vision, with the consequence that the conventions of one genre become adjusted, sometimes radically so, to fit the purpose of another.^*

He further adds:
In the pairing of the council scenes, infemal and divine, Milton has juxtaposed the matter of classical antiquity and of Christianity through a shorthand, as it were, has created emblems of the generic confrontation between epic and prophecy that occurs within his

Joseph Wittreich '"All Angelic Natures Joined in One": Epic Convention and Prophetic Inferiority in the Council Scenes of Paradise Lost' Milton Studies, xvii (1983) pp. 43-71 (p. 43).

107

poem. The councils of the gods in both the Iliad and the Aeneid establish a pattern, as well as provide much of the machinery, for such scenes in later poetry. While in Paradise Lost many conventions of epic are eroded or exploded, this one is held intact, its external features observed even as it is being transformed from within."

In both councils, the battle lines between the forces of good and those of evil are drawn in the opening books of the poem and remain that way with no switching of allegiances from either party. It shows the hardness and the commitment of the participants. There are two kinds of scenes, active and deliberative, in epic poetry. Council scenes typify the latter and, as in Books II and III of Paradise Lost, may be balanced against the former, according to Wittreich. He submits the idea that the effects of such scenes 'is to relax the intensity of action, to induce contemplation, and thereby to improve apprehension of the main action (as happens in God's council in Book III) or even sometimes to instigate that action (as happens in Satan's council of Book II).'^ In depicting their character, Milton is straightforward. He describes them and then relays their speech, from which he expects us to draw our individual conclusions. Moloc is 'the strongest and the fiercest spirit, that fought in heaven; now fiercer by despair:' (II :44-45) He is the most belligerent. He accuses God of being a tyrant. Without any proof, Moloc claims that God is a torturer, who holds a monopoly over violence. He is angry as he recounts the humiliation they had just suffered:
Who butfeh of late When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear Insulting, and pursued us through the deep. With that compulsion and laborious flight We sunk thus low? ( I I : 77-81)

In Philippic language, he proposes open war: 'my sentence is for open war' (II : 51), for no situation is worse than to be confined to Hell:
what can be worse Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned In this abhorred deep to utter woe; Where pain of unextinguishable fire Must exercise us without hope of end The vassals of his anger, when the scourge Inexorably, and the torturing hour Call us to penance? ( I I : 85- 92) " Wittreich, p. 46. Wittreich, p. 46.

30

108

Though Moloc recognizes that God is all-powerful; and that though there is sufficient power on their (Moloc's) side, open war may not lead to victory, but will be a cathartic action. (II : 102-106) The next speaker is Belial. Described by Milton as 'in act more graceful and humane; seemed for dignity composed and high exploit; but all was false and hollow;' (II : 109-112) Belial charges God with being a spymaster:
The towers of heaven are filled With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable; oft on the bordering deep Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing Scout far and wide into the realm of night. Scorning surprise. ( I I : 129-134)

Realizing that God has an impenetrable network of vigilance which even extends to the borders of Hell, Belial advocates caution. He shrewdly calls attention to the fact that a revolt against God will be but a vain attempt to alleviate his (God's) potency:
What if the breath that kindled those grim fires Awaked should blow them into sevenfold rage And plunge us in the flames? or from above Should intermitted vengeance arm again His red right hand to plague us ? what if all Her stores were opened, and this firmament Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire. Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall One day upon our heads; ( I I : 170-178)

Belial acknowledges their doom and cautions his accomplices not to add insult to injury but to allow 'time' (or in ethereal language, 'space') to abate God's anger. Mammon is the third speaker. From his contribution, we can make the deduction that he epitomizes disobedience. He admits that they were sick and tired of genuflecting in adoration
and receive Strict laws imposed, to celebrate his throne With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing Forced hallelujahs; while he lordly sits Our envied sovereign, and his altar breathes Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers,... ( I I : 240-45)

But he employs rationality by suggesting that they make the best of their miserable situation, and opts for a transformation of Hell into a Heaven:

109

'Let us not then pursue/ By force impossible but rather seek/ Our own good from ourselves/ Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess/ Free, and to none accountable.../ We can create and in what place so e'er / Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain....' (II : 249-261) Thus, we see evil personified. But more than the display of evil tendencies is the revelation in no uncertain terms of their plan to destroy man. We learn from Beelzebub's speech ( I I : 345-370) that a sabotage of God's newest creation would satisfy their anger towards God. Thus, like the classical councils where the gods use humans as pawns in their disagreements, Milton has once again transferred this notion with a Biblical perspective into his epic. But the character of these divine beings is not only revealed in those confined to Hell. In the council of Heaven, God's character is revealed, which revelation portrays a good and gracious being. As i f responding to the debates in Hell, God uses a divine council scenario in which He discusses 'special grace'. Milton presents God, not like Jupiter (who was, in many cases, trying to build a consensus), but as one whose actions are decisive. God explains:
... I made him just and right, Sufficient to have stood , though free to fall. Such I created all the ethereal powers And spirits, both them who stood and them who failed; Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell. ...They therefore as to right belonged, So were created, nor can justly accuse Their maker, or their making , or their fate, As if predestination overruled Their will, disposed by absolute decree Or high foreknowledge; they themselves decreed Their own revolt, not I: if I foreknew. Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault. Which had no less proved certain unforeknown. So without least impulse or shadow of fate, Or aught by me immutably foreseen. They trespass, authors to themselves in all Both what they judge and what they choose; for so I formed them free, and free they must remain. Till they enthrall themselves: ( I I I : 98-102, 111-125)

In these excerpts, Milton portrays God as sovereign, who in his exercise of sovereign will, created Satan and all the denizens of Heaven, 'just and right', with a free will which He (God) would not tamper with, but for

110

which he would hold them responsible, should they err ( I I I : 80-143); a position which conveys to the reader, the kind of theocracy He operates. The fact that He has liberally distributed free will (the freedom to do or choose as one pleases) should exonerate one from any infractions. Therefore, holding one accountable for the misuse of this free will, constitutes restriction or conservatism; thus, God can be seen as a conservative theocrat. This is one aspect of his character. The second issue made manifest in God's speech, calls into question God's omniscience. His ' i f I foreknew' phrase leads the reader to begin to wonder whether the all-knowing God did not have foreknowledge that Lucifer and his hosts would rebel, and fall; and why also He (God) did not take steps to thwart this impending disaster. When God says, 'foreknowledge had no influence on their fauh', he is stressing the idea that to Him, there is a vast difference between foreknowledge and predestination. Milton presents God as One possessing foreknowledge, but who does not predestinate. Thus, God is a non-predeterminist. On the issue of predestination, Milton has much to say. In his De Doctrina Christiana,'^' he enters into serious theological polemics on this issue. He stresses the idea that fate and chance are unknown quantities and that is why God declares:
necessity and chance Approach not me, and what I will is fate. (VII : 172-3)

In this declaration, Milton sets God far apart from the classical gods. Whereas Jupiter works closely with the Fates, Milton's God does not. Fate, to Milton, is destiny and whether they be sisters three or not, their independence is mortgaged to God; Destiny is not a sovereign entity that is in the same league with God. This position of Milton's evinces his anti-Calvinistic as well as his anti-Lutheran theologies. In his treatise The Bondage of the Will, Luther points out that:

^' I am assuming that De Doctrina Christiana was written by Milton, although I am aware of the controversy over its authority.

II

Free-will is plainly a divine term, and can be applicable to none but the divine Majesty only: for he alone "doth, (as the Psalm sings) what he will in heaven and earth." (Ps. cxxxv. 6.).

In other words, only God possesses free will. Similarly, Calvin maintains that free will and predestination belong to God. In his Institutes of the Christian Religion, he notes, 'Predestination, (is the means) by which God adopts some to the hope of life and adjudges others to eternal death,...'," a position which would sit well with the fallen angels as they debate this topic. Milton did not subscribe to these theological doctrines which were current during his time. Instead, he categorically asserts his Arminian views in his De Doctrina Christiana:
God of his wisdom determined to create men and angels reasonable beings, and therefore free agents; foreseeing at the same time which way the bias of their will would incline, in the exercise of their own uncontrolled liberty.'"

He then goes on to clarify this point a little further with the Biblical passage (2 Kings 8), in which the prophet Elisha foreknew of the great evil that King Hazael would bring upon the children of Israel within a few years. His point is that Elisha foreknew, but did not predestinate Hazael's actions. He then reiterates this point:
Nothing happens of necessity, because God has foreseen it; but He foresees the event of every action, because He is acquainted with their natural causes, which, in pursuance of His own decree are left to liberty to exert their legitimate influence. Consequently, the issue does not depend upon God, who foresees it, but on him alone who is the object of His foresight...God foreknows all fiiture events, but that He has not decreed them absolutely: lest the consequence should be that sin in general would be imputed to the Deity, and evil spirits and wicked men exempted from blame."

A Compendium of Luther's Theology, ed. by Hugh Kerr (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1943) p. 88. When we attribute prescience to God, we mean that all things always were, and ever continue under his eye; that to his knowledge there is no past or future, but all things present, that it is not merely the idea of them that is before him... but that he truly sees and contemplates them as actually under his immediate inspection. This prescience extends to the whole circuit of this world and to all creatures. By predestination we mean the eternal decree of God, by which he hath determined with himself whatever he wished to happen with regard to every man. All are not created on equal terms, but some are preordained to eternal life, others to eternal damnation; and, accordingly, as each has been created for one or other of these ends, we say that he has been predestined to life or to death. John Calvin Institutes of The Christian Religion trans, by Henry Beveridge (Michigan: Wm. B. Eardmans Publishing Co., Grand Rapids, 1989) p. 206. De Doctrina Christiana; The Works of John Milton , Book 1 vol. iv (New York: Columbia University Press, 1933) p. 83. DDC, p. 83.

32

112

On the issue of predeterminism, Milton attempts to define it as :

The principal special decree of God relating to man..., whereby God in pity to mankind, though foreseeing that they would fall of their own accord, predestined to eternal salvation before the foundation of the world those who should believe and continue in the faith... according to His purpose in Christ.''

Milton was not only propounding his Arminian beliefs and exonerating God from blame, he was also trying to distinguish the nature and character of God from those of the Devil, and to illuminate the nature of human evil. Another topic discussed is the plan of salvation, the way in which man could be redeemed from the power of sin and Satan and it is in this agendum that the plan of the 'fortunate fall' is revealed. It is agreed that Christ should be the redemptive individual; and this plan is goodness personified, for in this goodness, mercy and grace are clearly displayed. Even as God speaks, Milton claims, the atmosphere was charged with divine compassion and fragrance:
...man falls deceived By the other first: man therefore shall find grace, The other none: in mercy and justice both, Through heaven and earth, so shall my glory excel, But mercy first and last shall brightest shine. Thus while God spake, ambrosial fragrance filled All heaven, and in the blessed spirits elect Sense of new joy ineffable diffused: Beyond compare the Son of God was seen Most glorious, in him all his father shone Substantially expressed, and in his face Divine compassion visibly appeared, Love without end, and without measuring grace,.. (Ill : 130-34, 135-142)

Fowler has noted that if the word, 'expressed' is used in the form of 'an intransitive preterite (OED II 8b), then all his father would be the subject of three parallel verbs - shone expressed, and appeared. ''^^ This nature of God and Christ is the complete antithesis of that of Satan and the infernal speakers. Fowler expresses God's nature and temperament in this manner:
[God] is not human, though he is personal: he is not a character, though he thinks and speaks. He sees the world of events, and also the world in which DDC,p. 91. "Fowler, p. 151.

113

agents are themselves events - 'His own works and their works at once to view' (iii: 59); and his mere looking upon thern confers bliss. This conception of such a divine point of view deserves to be admired as a feat of imagination, at the same time as we acknowledge the inevitability of its failure.... Milton had not only to assimilate and condense a vast mass of theological erudition but also to transcend it, incorporating the whole tradition in personal terms in the speeches of a consistent being. On top of this he must add his own contribution; for he was himself a theologian. It would perhaps be enough to defend the position that Milton in the face of these difficulties has managed to convey the impression of a distinct divine person - one with a presence so strong that we come to detect his unseen hand in the earthly events and visions, and to hear echoes of his subtleties in the poem's dramatic ironies. But we can say more than this. For Milton's God can be taken seriously both as a theological and as an imaginative construct, in a way that almost no other in our literature can.... On a smaller scale, the indirect presentation of God's attributes is accomplished in such formal dispositions as the order in which, during the first divine exchanges, traditional theological doctrines are introduced. By dealing with Predestination to salvation before even Atonement, for example, Milton implies that his God's thought is 'mercy first and last', (iii 134, I73-202)

When Marvell in his poem, On Paradise Lost, wrote:

That majesty which through thy work doth reign Draws the devout, deterring the profane. And things divine thou treatest of in such state As them preserves, and thee, inviolate. At once delight and horror on us seize. Thou singest with so much gravity and ease; (31-36)'"

he was stressing a point that one can make reference to in The Aeneid Book Six. The sudden seizure of 'delight and horror' are clearly manifested in Virgil's work, though in Virgil, it begins with horror. Virgil begins by creating this eerie feeling of horror even as they begin their journey. He notes; Ibant obscuri sola sub node per umbram perque domos Ditis vacuus et Inania regna,... (VI: 268-9) [On they went dimly, beneath the lonely night amid the gloom, through the empty halls of Dis and his phantom realm...] When Aeneas and the Sibyl enter the world of the Dead, and behold the emissaries of Death, the hero is overwhelmed in

Fowler, pp 35-36. T/ze Poetical Works of John Milton From the Text of Dr. Newton, by Joseph Addison, 2 vols (London: C. Cooke, 1796) I , p. 71.

114

spasms of fear to the point at which, he unsheathes his sword to defend himself; corripit hie subita trepidus formidine ferrum Aeneas, strictamque ciem venientibus offert; ( VI: 290-1) [Here on a sudden, in trembling terror, Aeneas grasps his sword, and turns the naked edge against their coming;] Virgil also describes the sight of Charon as horrendus,... terribili squalore (VI: 298-9). Cerberus does not help to allay the pair's fears; 'with snakes bristling on his necks', he makes 'ring with his triplethroated baying, his monstrous bulk crouching in a cavern opposite' (VI : 417-421). But these horrors are contrasted with delight in the Elysian Fields:
His demum exact is, perfecto munere divae, devenere locos laetos et amoena virecta Fortunatorum Nemorum sedesque beatas. largior hie compos aether et lumine vestit purpureo, solemque suum, sua sidera norunt. pars in gramineis exercent membrapalaestris, contendunt ludo et fulva luctantur harena; pars pedibus plaudunt choreas et carmina dicunt.. ( V I : 637-44) [ This at length performed and the task of the goddess fulfilled, they came to a land of joy, the green pleasaunces and happy seats of the Blissfijl Groves. Here an ampler ether clothes the meads with roseate light, and they know their own sun. Some disport their limbs on the grassy wrestling- ground, vie in sports, and grapple on the yellow sand; some trip it in the dance and chant songs.]

The happy re-union of father and son is marked with tears of joy and eagerly outstretched arms. With rapturous greetings, they renew old acquaintance. In Paradise Lost, the contrasts are also sharply defined. The story begins in Hell, with its darkness and horror, and then, when we are almost out of that location, we find, sitting at Hell's portals, Satan, Sin and Death. In describing this first encounter with Sin and Death, Milton explains:
Before the gates there sat On either side a formidable shape; The one seemed woman to the waist, and fair, But ended foul in many a scaly fold Voluminous and vast, a serpent armed With mortal sting ( I I : 648-53)

115

And then in Virgilian likeness, describes the noise:

about her middle round A cry of hell hounds never ceasing barked With wide Cerberian mouths full loud, and rung A hideous peal: ( I I : 653-56)

But there is more; Sin is as black as night, fierce as ten furies and terrible as Hell (II: 670-1). After this encounter, we breathe a sigh of relief as we enter into the world of light, 'holy Light', 'light [that]/ Dwelt from eternity... /Bright effluence of bright essence...' ( I l l : 1-5) And in language comparative of Virgil's Elysium, we read that those who live in Heaven enjoy a life of bliss, but with Biblical cormotafions:
Thus they in heaven, above the starry sphere. Their happy hours in joy and hymning spent. ( I l l : 416-7)

When the story moves to Eden, we continue to experience this delight:

i f art could tell, How from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks, Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold, With mazy error under pendant shades Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed Flowers worthy of Paradise which not nice art In beds and curious knots, but nature boon Poured forth proftise on hill and dale and plain, Both where the morning sun first warmly smote The open field, and where the unpierced shade Embrowned the noontide bowers: thus was this place, A happy rural seat of various view; ( I V : 236-47)

After the fall, the story continues, Death enters and 'snuffed the smell/ Of mortal change on earth' (X : 272-3), and Eden becomes a terminal for the Hellish bridge (X : 293-305); the forces of nature go out of control as they 'prove tempestuous' (X : 664). Knott makes this summation:
The delight and horror that strike the reader so forcibly are rooted in the contest of good and evil that runs through Paradise Lost.... The fundamental contrast between horror and delight is magnified in the opening books. By plunging the reader into hell to begin the poem, Milton arouses the dread of the malice and power of Satan and the appalling impact of evil upon human society illustrated by the catalogue of the pagan gods. Yet he removes any doubts about the power of evil relative to that of good in Book 3, where he counters the reader's initial horror with joy aroused by his presentation of heaven.

40

Knott, pp. 137-8.

16

The Politics of Paradise Lost

As has already been mentioned, Virgil wrote his epic using the political situation as a backdrop, which gave him the latitude to write his epic as a reportage as well as an advocacy; both hingeing on Anchises' speech to his son. In that speech, Anchises looks forward into history and sees the glory of Rome with its illustrious rulers and valiant soldiers who would conquer and subdue lands, hereby extending the Roman empire to the uttermost regions of the earth;

hie Caesar et omnis Mi progenies, magnum caeli ventura sub axem. hie vir, hie est, tibi quern promitti saepius audis, Augustus Caesar, Divi genus, aurea condet saeeula qui rursus Latio regnata per arva Saturno quondam, super et Garamantas et Indos proferet imperium (iacet extra sidera tellus, extra anni solisque vias, ubi caelifer Atlas axem umero torquet stellis ardentibus aptum): huius in adventum iam nunc et Caspia regno responsis horrent divum et Moeotio tellus, et septemgemini turbant trepida ostia Nili. ( Aen. V I : 789-800) [Here is Caesar, and all lulius' seed, destined to pass beneath the sky's mighty vault. This, this is he, whom thou so oft hearest promised to thee, Augustus Caesar, son of a god, who shall again set up the Golden Age in Latium amid the fields where Saturn once reigned, and shall spread his empire past Garamant and Indian, to a land that lies beyond the stars, beyond the paths of the year and the sun, where heaven-bearing Atlas turns on his shoulders the sphere, inset with gleaming stars. Against his coming even now the Caspian realms and Maeotian land shudder at Heaven's oracles, and the mouths of sevenfold Nile are in tumult of terror.]

In this excerpt, Anchises stresses the idea of colonization. Imperial in tone, it is an epiphanic pronouncement concerning a group of people that would rise, conquer and colonize other nations or would exert dominion and control of other nations. But with this responsibility comes an obligation which is more of an advocacy:
"tu regere imperio populos, Romane, momenta (hoe tibi erunt artes) pacique imponere morem, parcere subiectis et debellare superbos." (VI : 851-853) [remember thou, O Roman, to rule the nations with thy sway - these shall be thine arts - to crown Peace with Law, to spare

117

the humbled, and to tame in war the proud!]

It is thus safe to assume that it is from Anchises that the idea of the Pax Romana emanated. Anchises saw the time when the virtues of Roman life, Roman culture and Roman rule would spread and be embraced by all the peoples of the earth. This Romanizafion of the earth would only take place through colonization. But with colonization comes the imposition of fairness, peace and virtue. Thus, Anchises' speech was a plea for a reawakening of Roman ideals and Roman glory. It is a Roman epic, with Roman flavour, full of Roman history and glory, for a Roman audience. Similarly, Milton's epic is littered with poUtical undertones, although in his treatment of political debates, we find him no longer dependent on The Aeneid Book Six. To examine Milton's polifical tendencies is to examine the narrative with synchronic and diachronic lenses. When we read Paradise Lost, we think in images. Citing Alexander Potebnya, Victor Shklovsky has observed that:
Poetry is a special way of thinking; it is, precisely a way of thinking in images, a way which permits what is generally called 'economy of mental effort', a way which makes for a 'sensation of the relative ease of the process'. ... Potebnya and his numerous disciples consider poetry a special kind of thinking - thinking by means of images; they feel that the purpose of imagery is to help channel various objects and activities into groups and to clarify the unknown by means of the known.

Clarifying 'the unknown by means of the known' requires taking into consideration issues current at that particular time during which the text was being written. This reading aspect of poetry leads Iser to state that:
There is an active interweaving of anticipation and retrospection, which on a second reading may turn into a kind of advance retrospection. The impressions that arise as a result of this process will vary from individual to individual, but only within the limits imposed by the written as opposed to the unwritten text. In the same way, two people gazing at the night sky may both be looking at the same collection of stars, but one will see the image of a plough, and the other will make out a dipper. The 'stars' in a literary text are fixed; the lines that join them are variable. The author of the text may, of course, exert plenty of influence on the reader's imagination - he has the whole panoply of narrative techniques at his disposal - but no author worth his salt will ever attempt to set the whole picture before his reader's eyes. I f he does he will very quickly lose his

Victor Shklovsky, 'Art as Technique' in Modern Criticism and Theory, pp. 16-30 (p. 16).

118

reader, for it is only by activating the reader's imagination that the author can hope to involve him and so realize the intentions of his text."*"

Though Milton does not set the whole picture before the eyes of his readers, there are clear and convincing pieces of evidence to indicate that the text is a political pamphlet. And it is Fallon who demonstrates a clear understanding of what it means to fix the lines (the variables) to the stars (the text):
To Milton ... politics was an inescapable feature of the human condition; and he embraced it in both his life and art. Paradise Lost presents Heaven and Hell as political states, and the conflict between them as a contest for hegemony in a political cosmos. By accommodating an inner spiritual conflict to human understanding, the poet depicted the abstract in terms of a struggle for advantage between two powerful rulers. The politics of paradise, lost and regained, may not, therefore, carry a political message at all; it does, however, constitute a narrative structure around which Milton shaped his vision of religious truth, of the struggle between the forces of good and evil in the universe and within the human spirit.'*'

Thus, when we read the minutes of the parliamentary debates in Hell and the Council in Heaven, we readily assume that underlying these accounts, Milton is describing something he knows about or a similar incident he is privy to. Our text becomes interrogative as we begin to question and imagine, substitute and eliminate theories. Fallon helps us put it in perspective:
... though Milton certainly drew on his experience in public service to shape his political imagery, he did so primarily as a means of bringing the spiritual message within the compass of his readers' understanding. Paradise Lost deals with resolutely intractable material, the ways of immortal gods, the minds and hearts of perfect humans, and the endless reaches of space, concerning which the poet attempts to weave a narrative accessible to readers whose world is ordered by, among other things, kings and magistrates. He employed the knowledge he gained of the monarchs, protectors, warriors, and senators of his time to construct a narrative framework in which to shape his testament of religious truth, much as a sculpture molds his clay upon a wire mesh or an architect constructs his building about skeleton of wood or steel.''''

The concensus of later critics, tend to support this political perspective that Fallon has so crisply expressed; that Milton was influenced by the political issues of his time, much in the same way as Virgil. During the

"Mser.p. 218. Robert Thomas Fallon, Divided Empire : Milton's Political Imagery ( Pennsylvania: Penn. State UP, 1995) Preface, p. xi. Fallon, pp. 22-3.

119

twenty-month period between Cromwell's death (7"^ Sep. 1658) and the restoration of Charles I I (May 1660), the power of the government changed hands not less than six times. Citing Helen Gardner, A.N.Wilson has written that 'there was not much hope left for godly men either in the army or the magistracy, to which Richard Cromwell had sworn continued attachment. Indeed, he began a purge "till he had left not a zealot or a preacher among them.'"''^ Barbara Lewalski argues that it was because of this situation that:
Milton's various models and political arguments were drawn from and constantly adapted to the maelstrom of contemporary politics, that the contradictions in them were caused primarily by this conscious adaptation, and that the purpose of this adaptation was to preserve certain religious and civil liberties from every danger awaiting them in a Stuart restoration. ""^

It was in these turbulent times that Milton published his tract Readie and Easie Way . In this pamphlet he proposed the creation of a Council, a 'grand or general Council' which should be permanent:
And although it may seem strange at first hearing, by reason that men's minds are prepossessed with the nofion of successive parliaments, I affirm, that the grand council, being well chosen, should be perpetual: for so their business is or may be, and ofttimes urgent; The ship of the commonwealth is always under sail; they sit at the stem, and if they steer well, what need is there to change them, it being rather dangerous? Add to this, that the grand council is both foundation and main pillar of the whole state; and to move pillars and foundations, not faulty, cannot be safe for the building.'"

To counter this Grand Council, Milton proposes a Provincial Council, giving them wider powers, so that the Grand Council will be more focused on foreign affairs:
[In matters of civil rights and advancement of every person according to his merit it] may be best and soonest obtained, if every county in the land were made a kind of subordinate commonalty or commonwealth.... So they shall have justice in their own hands, law executed fully and finally in their own counfies and precincts,long wished and spoken of, but never yet obtained. They shall have none then to blame but themselves, i f it be not well administered; and fewer laws to expect or fear from the supreme authority;...

A.N.Wilson. The Life of John Milton (Oxford: OUP, 1983) p. 200. Barbara Lewalski 'Milton: Political Beliefs and Polemical Methods' PMLA 74, (1959) pp. 191-202 (p. 192). The Works of John Milton, vol. 6, pp. 126-7. The Works of John Milton, vol. 6, p. 135.

120

I find it interesting to draw the analogy Milton makes between his proposals and the parliamentary sessions in Paradise Lost. He is insinuating that the Council in Heaven (like the Grand Council) is eternal; that is God's government. The Infernal Council (like the Provincial Council) is given wider latitude, which, in the event that they failed, they would have none to blame and they failed because they were more concerned about foreign affairs instead of paying attention to that which was before them; their priorities were not in order. John Steadman has asserted that:
The Infernal Councillors are not attempting to instigate reality, but to argue the merits and demerits of a proposed course of action. They have not been summoned to explore their predicament, but to decide whether it is expedient to continue the war against Heaven - and if so, how best to conduct it.

He continues:
On the whole the infernal statesmen ignore the question of justice and injustice - the crucial issue for the fallen sinner - and when they do consider it they pervert it. The role of positive moral judgment is left to the agency of Heaven as in the catastrophic transformation in Book X. When Satan raises the issue of justice in the soliloquy on Mount Niphates, his position is reversed; he accuses himself and defends the justice of God.'"

What Milton has depicted is that the failure of the revolution was not due to the fault of external forces, but to the evil and wickedness of the hearts of men. This indictment on the demise of the Commonwealth must have been paramount in the mind of Milton, for he incorporates it at the begirming of the poem. The debates in both Hell and Heaven become a reportage on the failure of man's misuse of freedom. He felt that the Commonwealth was good but it collapsed because of the evil within society, in man. Thus, when we read the first three Books of Paradise Lost, we not only see the dramatization of his proposals which at the same time depict his democratic sympathies, but also his political persuasions. In reading Paradise Lost therefore, we hear Milton making many political statements. John Toland, commenting on Paradise Lost wrote :
An epic poem is not a bare history delightftilly related in harmonious numbers, and artfully disposed; but it always contained a general representation of passion and affections, virtues and vices, some peculiar John M. Steadman, Milton's Epic Characters (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1959), p. 242. Steadman, p. 244.

121

allegory or moral. Homer therefore,... expresses strength of body in his Iliad..., and in his Odyssey he describes generosity of mind by the adventures and wanderings of Ulysses in his return fi-om Troy.... Nor was Milton behind anybody in the choice or dignity of his instruction; for to display the different effects of liberty and tyranny is the chief design of his Paradise Lost. This in the conclusion of his second book of Reformation, published in 41, he tells us his intention at that time.^'

Toland then quotes from the concluding paragraph of Milton's Of Reformation (The Second Book) which sounds like a prayer;
Then amidst the hymns and hallelujahs of saints, some one may perhaps be heard offering at high strains in new and lofty measure to sing and celebrate thy divine mercies and marvellous judgments in this land throughout all ages; whereby this great and warlike nation, instructed and inured to the fervent and continual practice of truth and righteousness, and casting far from her the rags of her whole vices, may press on hard to that high and happy emulation to be found the soberest, wisest and most christian people at that day, when thou, the eternal and shortly expected King, shalt open the clouds to judge the several kingdoms of the world, and distributing national honours and rewards to religious and just commonwealths, shalt put an end to all earthly tyrannies...."

Tied in with these parliamentary debates is the fact that Milton felt that the corruption at the top flowed down to the masses. Laura Knoppers, in historicizing Milton, comments that after the fall in the garden, Adam and Eve revelled in bacchanal pleasures. She states:
Milton's epic not only tells of the legitimate loss of Paradise but points to the true golden Age, restored to earth only in part as internalized selfdiscipline. Adam and Eve's bacchic celebration is a perversion and loss of joy, and, when they grow sober, is followed by a world of woe. Significantly, Adam and Eve are miserable even before they are judged by the Son: unlike the Genesis account, their disobedience here brings almost immediate woe and loss of joy. Their misery is represented as self-induced, consequent upon disobedience, not on arbitrary external punishment.

This is because upon the return of Charles II to the throne, the populace was 'intoxicated'. According to Christopher Hill, for Milton, the revolufion failed because there were among other things, bad forces within the Commonwealth:
... For Milton, things had gone wrong long before then (the winter of 16591660) - with the ambition and avarice of men like Fleetwood in great part to blame. Those who had proclaimed God's word had won power, and had failed, failed utterly. Who was to blame? ^' John Toland The Life ofJohn Milton Containing the History of his Works, Several Extraordinary Characters of Men and Books, Sects, Parties and Opinions ( London: John Darby in Barthalomew Close, 1699) pp. 133-4. "Toland, p. 134. " Laura Knoppers, Historieizing Milton (Georgia: University of Georgia Press, 1994) pp. 91-2.

122

He answers his question with:

There was something predestinate about what had happened. The English people, or their leaders, had had their chance and had failed to take it. They had fallen freely. Like the rebel angels, 'Firm they might have stood/ Yet f e l l . ' ( V I : 911-2)

But like Anchises, Milton extols the glories of the interregnum. He was not only concerned about the fall of the Commonwealth but also about highlighting the achievements of the interregnum. One such achievement was the role of the government in embarking upon the policy of expansionism. Where Anchises conjured the idea of Roman conquests for the spread of Roman glory, Milton takes it much further. He made overt Anchises' insinuafions. He actually depicted the feasibility of colonialism; the new world, earth, its first inhabitants, Adam and Eve as well as their progeny were all colonized. In Paradise Lost, Beelzebub plants the seed of expansionism into the minds of the other fiends. He tells the infernal assembly:
There is a place (If ancient and prophetic fame in heaven Err not) another world, the happy seat Of some new race called Man, about this time To be created like to us, though less In power and excellence, Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn What creatures there inhabit, of what mould. Or substance, how endued, and what their power. And where their weakness ( I I : 345-50, 354-7)

That there existed an idea of a new world was nothing new to seventeenth-century England. As far back as the sixteenth century, sea explorations to other lands had always been a great priority to countries such as Spain, Portugal and England. Hakluyt's journals on sea explorations began to appear around 1589. According to one author, 'the first complete edition came out in three folio volumes in 1598-1600, and more of Hakluyt's manuscripts were published in 1625 by Samuel

Christopher Hill, Milton and The English Revolution ( London: Faber and Faber, 1977) pp. 347-8.

123

Purchas in Purchas His Pilgrimes.'^^ In these manuscripts, Hakluyt and Purchas gave detailed accounts of their sea-faring journeys about the hazards of the sea, their explorations, the unknown ports of call, the inclement weather in uninhabited lands. They were filled with details of incidents which must have provided Milton with facts that enabled him to describe Satan's exit from Hell, his encounter with Sin and Death, as well as Chaos and Night, and their seemingly endless journey to Earth across the trans-Chaos bridge. Apart from these available resources from which he could glean the art of exploration, Martin Evans has noted that in 1655 Cromwell, probably with the help of Milton, issued A Declaration against Spain, in which he stressed to his countrymen that it was important for England to step in and stop the cruel and inhumane treatment in the Americas of 'millions of Indians butchered by the Spaniards and of the Wrong and Injustice that hath been done to them.'^^ This declaration later became known as Cromwell's 'Western Design.'^' It escalated the stakes between the two countries to the level at which one can consider Spain and England the two major colonial powers at that time. The author further makes an interesting observation. He remarks: 'the crucial first phase of empire-building in the New World coincided more or less exactly with Milton's lifetime', supporting this assertion with the fact that the year before Milton's birth, the first English settlers had arrived in Chesapeake Bay; that when he was seven the Plymouth colony was established; when he was thirteen, the first massacre that took place in Virginia was widely publicized; in his twenties, the great Puritan migration to Massachusetts Bay and the West Indies occurred; he was forty-four when Massachusetts declared itself an independent commonwealth, and forty-six when Cromwell purchased Jamaica.Not only was Milton aware of colonial expansion but also he had friends who had left England for the New World. One (Henry Vane) even became governor of Massachusetts. Furthermore, the mood in England was in

K.G. Davies, The North Atlantic World in the Seventeenth Century ( Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1974) p. 52. Martin Evans, Milton's Imperial Epic (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1996) p. 10. " Evans, p. 11. Evans, p. 11.

124

favour of conquering the New World for purposes of religious freedom and trade, as well as for strong international stature. Davies makes this point quite clear. He notes that before 1600, thousands of Englishmen had been at war with the Spaniards. After 1600 there was nothing for them to do, but Hakluyt came up with a proposal. In his second volume of the second edition of the Principal Navigations, which he published in 1599, he wrote:
And here by the way if any man shall think, that an universall peace with our Christian neighbours will cut off the emploiment of the couragious increasing youthe of this realme, he is much deceived. For there are other most convenient emploiments for all the superfluite of every profession in this realme. For, not to meddle with the state of Ireland, nor that of Guiana, there is under our noses the great and ample countrey of Virginia.^'

Milton's interest in the New World, and in Cromwell's plan for it, parallels Virgil's conception of the Trojans as colonizing Latium for its own eventual good. What was acquired in the war between Aeneas and Turnus was a country which ultimately benefited from the coming of the Trojans - so much so that, as Rome, it became the greatest power in the world and (in Virgil's eyes) the greatest force for good. But there is a further aspect to this idea. The political story of the Sixth Book of The Aeneid, is one in which Virgil, in his quest for the cause that destroyed the bliss and happiness of Ilium, finds the answer in the afterlife, where Anchises in effect, tells the hero that 'AH is not lost', for someday the Golden Age, this time in Latium, will last for a long, long time. Similarly, Milton saw the day coming when mankind, having lost all to Satan and evil, will be restored by God through Christ. He saw a Golden Age coming when he heard Michael's parting words:
but to reward His faithful, and receive them into bliss. Whether in heaven or earth, for then the earth Shall all be paradise, far happier place Than this of Eden, and far happier days. ( XII : 461-65)

And much in the same way as Anchises admonishes Aeneas and his progeny ( V I I : 851-53), so Michael adds:
This having learned, thou hast attained the sum O f wisdom; hope no higher, though all the stars Thou knew'st by name, and all the ethereal powers, Davies, p. 36.

125

All secrets of the deep, all nature's works, Or works of God in heaven, air, earth, or sea. And all the riches of this world enjoyed'st. And all the rule, one empire; only add Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith. Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love, By name to come called Charity, the soul O f all the rest: then wilt thou not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess A paradise within thee, happier far. ( X I I : 575-87)

The idea is one which is deeply christian, but which has its origin in classical conceptions of nobility. It is one of many ways in which Paradise Lost takes the original ideas of The Aeneid, especially Book Six, and modifies them. In this chapter we have seen that Virgil's Hell becomes a place which, in Milton's handling, demonstrates despair, anger, revenge, greed and misused power. All of these characteristics are Milton's moral development of the concept of Hell as found in Virgil and modified by Dante.

126

Chapter 4

Milton's Hell

Three-quarters of the subject matter of Book Six of The Aeneid, is devoted to the description of Hell, while the remaining quarter is given to Elysium. For this reason, I have decided to focus on Milton's treatment of Hell. This treatment would show the debt Milton owes to Virgil first and later, Dante; for it was Dante whose work, the Inferno began the christianization of Virgil's Book Six. Hell, in Milton's Paradise Lost undergoes a drastic transformation. This is because Milton is determined to unravel the nature of evil in this world, and this is made easier for him through the abundant assistance he receives from the Bible. But one cannot avoid seeing Virgilian influences in this aspect of the work. We find his conceptions similar to to those of Virgil. In describing Hell, the Sibyl remarks:
nodes atque dies patet atri ianua Ditis; sed revocare gradum superasque evadere hoc opus, hie labor est. ( V I : 127-9) night and day the door of gloomy Dis stands open; but to recall thy steps and pass out to the upper air, this is the task, this is the toil!] ad auras,

In Book Ten, Milton describes Hell (from Virgil's facilis Aver no):
from hence a passage broad. Smooth, easy, inoffensive down to hell. ( X : 304-5)

descensus

In describing the heaviness of the atmosphere above the Underworld, Virgil writes:
Spelunca alta fuit vastoque immanis hiatu, scrupea, tuta lacu nigra nemorumque tenebris, quam super haud ullae poterant impune volantes tendere iter pinnis: talis sese halitus atris faucibus effundens super ad convexa ferebat [unde locum Grai dixerunt nomine Aornon]. ( V I : 237-242) [A deep cave there was, yawning wide and vast, shingly, and sheltered by dark lake and woodland

127

gloom, over which no flying creatures could safely wing their way; such a vapour from those black jaws poured into the over-arching heaven [whence the Greeks spoke of Avemus, the Birdless Place].

When Satan rises from the burning lake, Milton tells us that the air is heavy:
Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool His mighty stature; on each hand the flames Driven backward slope their pointing spires, and rolled In billows, leave i' the midst a horrid vale. Then with expanded wings he steers his flight Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air That felt unusual weight, tul on dry ground He lights, if it were land that ever burned With solid, as the lake with liquid fire; (1: 221-29)

The distinct transformation that Hell undergoes in the hands of Milton is due to his theological imagination. Thus, there are additions such as lakes, 'adamantine chains', 'a fiery deluge, fed with ever-burning sulphur' (I : 68-69), but strikingly, no noise, as in Virgil's Hell. Milton divides Virgil's account into two: Hell and Heaven. (For Virgil, Hell begins with the descent [line 268] and ends at the point where they view Elysium's happy land [line 628]). But Milton takes into consideration Virgil's meticulous description of the atmosphere, the darkness "beneath the lonely night amid the gloom", the messengers of Death sitting at Hell's portals; the numberless souls yearning to be ferried to the farther shore; the role of the Fates as mentioned by Deiphobus; the categories of sin and their punishment; Rhadamanthus and Tisiphone carrying out the appropriate punishment. Milton combines all these issues and applies them to his religious purposes. Just as Virgil dealt with the sins of individuals, Milton deals with the cause of those sins as well as with divine grace upon humans. This is precisely the reason he begins in Hell. Hell is the epicentre of sin, the reason terrible things happen and the loss of man's bliss. Milton's conception of Hell is cosmographical. It does have a location and a structure. This is clearly borne out in the episode in which Satan encounters Chaos and Night. When Satan eventually finds his way out of Hell in search of a route to Heaven, he finds himself in the presence of Chaos and Night making this request:

128

Ye powers And spirits of this nethermost abyss. Chaos and ancient Night, I come no spy. With purpose to explore or to disturb The secrets of your realm, but by constraint Wandering this darksome desert, as my way Lies through your spacious empire up to light. Alone, and without guide, half lost, I seek What readiest path leads where your gloomy bounds Confine with Heaven: (II: 968-977)

He makes it clear to them that he has no intention to disturb or spy on their world, but that he has to go through their space to reach Earth. Chaos and Night (epitomes of Disorder and Darkness) are the rulers of a world that is located in the lowest regions, an abyss, a hole so deep it seems to have no bottom; but this is not the nethermost abyss. Hell is the nethermost abyss, because earlier in Hell before he left Pandemonium, Satan used deceitftal words to dissuade his comrades from undertaking the task of locating Earth (something he wanted to do himself):
long is the way And hard, that out of hell leads up to light;... These passed, if any pass, the void profound O f unessential night receives him next Wide gaping, and with utter loss of being Threatens him, plunged in that abortive gulf (11:432-33,438-441)

The phrasal verb 'leads up' is indicative of the idea that any exit from Hell is an upward movement or progression. This upward progression leads to Hell's immediate border, described here by Satan as 'unessential night', 'gaping wide'. But that which is important to note is the description of this area: 'nethermost abyss'. The adjective 'nether' is synonymous with infernal, Hadean, Plutonian, Plutonic, Stygian,

Tartarean, Cocytean, basal, lowest, nadir. I f 'nethermost' is a positionforming adjective, then Milton is transporting the idea that this 'spacious empire' is one massive gaping hole. It is in this darksome hole that anyone leaving Hell will find oneself And for Satan, the story is the same. He has to go through this part of the Stygian world to get to Earth. There are no short cuts. In fact these 'gloomy bounds confine with heaven'. Thus, on the one hand, this spacious world is bounded by Hell and on the other, by Heaven. But to find the location of Hell, one must focus on Chaos' reply:

129

first hell Your dungeon stretching far and wide beneath; Now lately heaven and earth, another world Hung o'er my realm, linked in a golden chain To that side heaven from whence your legions fell: If that way be your walk, you have not far; ( I I : 1002-1007)

When Chaos says 'first Hell/Your dungeon stretching far and wide beneath', he is striking the notes of direction and location. According to Chaos, the first location is a dungeon that is vast in size, located beneath his world; his 'now lately heaven and earth, another world (earth), hung o'er my realm' can be interpreted as a new creation that is linked with Heaven.. In short, the cosmos begins with Hell which lies below Space. Above Space, and on one side, lie Earth, and another side. Heaven, linked in a golden Chain. Fowler has described this Golden Chain as the chain of Concord or Necessity, it has the effect of binding and ordering.... just as in The Iliad Zeus asserted that should a golden chain be lowered fi-om heaven, he would draw up all the other gods together with the earth and the sea and hang them from a pinnacle in Olympus (II. VIII : 18-27) (p. 139-140). But this idea of a golden chain linking heaven and earth conveys other meanings; it is the tie that binds the creator and his creatures, it is the linkage of the creator's spirit and the spirit of his creatures; it signifies a communicative cord that informs the creator of what his creatures are saying or doing and what He (the creator) wants to talk to them about. It is an open line of communication. Though Milton painstakingly avoids giving the precise location of Hell, the evidence is clear from Satan and Chaos, that Hell lies southernmost of Space, and Heaven and Earth, northernmost (both linked together by a 'golden chain'). To support this assertion, Milton notes that after Chaos gave Satan directions to his destination, Satan
With fresh alacrity and force renewed Springs upward like a pyramid of fire Into the wild expanse, and through the shock O f fighting elements, on all sides round Environed wins his way; (II: 1012-1016)

130

When Milton first laid eyes on Satan, he (Satan) was 'rolling in the fiery gulf. In this visible darkness, he sees an immortal who, recovering from a spiritual coma awakes to find himself in a dungeon:
At once as far as angels' ken he views The dismal situation waste and wild, A dungeon horrible, on all sides round A s one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Served only to discover sights of woe. Regions of sorrow, dolefiil shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all; but torture without end Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed With ever- burning sulphur unconsumed: ( I : 59-69)

When Satan awakes and views his surroundings, he finds himself in a lake engulfed in flames; but these flames seem to have lost their calorific properties: they do not consume. At the same time, they have considerably lost their luminiferous effects; their light is almost diminished, hence the term, 'darkness visible'. The paradoxical term 'darkness visible' is strongly Plutarchian. In his Miscellanies, Plutarch entered into a discourse concerning Nature, in which he asked 'Whether darkness can be visible to us'. He began with the position held by the Stoics:
The Stoics say that darkness is seen by us, for out of our eyes there issues out some light into it; and our eyes do not impose upon us, for they really perceive there is darkness. Chrysippus says that we see darkness by the striking of the intermediate air; for the visual spirits which proceed from the principal part of the soul and reach to the ball of the eye pierce this air, which, after they have made those strokes upon it, presses conically on the surrounding air, where this is homogeneous. For from the those rays are poured forth which are neither black nor cloudy. Upon this account darkness is visible to us. '

The citing of this excerpt is not a suggestion that Milton subscribes to the manner in which Chrysippus interprets the visibility of darkness. Rather, it is the term that seems to appeal strongly to Milton. The seventeenth century attached gloom and utter darkness to the idea of Hell, to which Milton has here given utmost deathly fear. Richardson, later commenting on the issue of 'darkness visible', makes reference to Cowley's descripfion of darkness in his poem, 'Plagues of Egypt':
This darkness... is a real, created darkness, not merely an absence of light.

' Plutarch's Essays and Miscellanies, ed. A . H . Clough and W.W. Godwin 5 vols. (London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. Ltd., [n.d.]) III, p. 169.

131

but such as is not to be penetrated by a thousand suns, no more than the solid rocks, much less to be softened by reflections from contiguous illuminated bodies; 'tis true we have no idea of such darkness, especially as being a property of fire, but that such a thing is impossible, who will presume to say. Let it be remembered this fire was created on purpose, treated to torment the rebel angels.^

But he adds:
Darkness may be seen as smoke is : nor is it difficult to explain how it may discover things visible. In picture the blacker the ground is, the more apparent are the objects represented on it if lighter than that ground; the livid flames, pale spectres, faint, ghostlike apparitions will stone eyes as Spencer, or eyes of brass as Dante has given to Caron, or as Banquo's ghost in Shakespeare; eyes that have no speculation but are staring and fixed.'

Peter Weston has observed that

the paradox of "darkness visible" is no paradox if we understand it to portray that consciousness of self that is the destructive characteristic of human life. The awareness that he is aware of his "darkness" is what makes the darkness visible to Satan, and intensifies the sorrow and loss of peace, rest and hope. His self-awareness is the torment, and, like any political or military leader, Satan must produce a persona, or public face, in order to "save face" in the first two books of the poem.'*

But Edgar Daniels holds a somewhat different view. In a discourse on the theme of 'darkness visible', he first comments on A. W. Verity's assertion that 'what Milton means is - not absolute darkness... for then the sights of woe would have been visible - but the gloom which half conceals and half reveals objects.' He then refers to Thomas Adams' interpretation of this term:
There is another document of the seventeenth cenmry which not only expresses the idea of darkness admitting vision but also indicates the origin of the doctrinal paradox. Thomas Adams (fl. 1612-1653) points out that the problem arises over 2 Peter 2:4, 'God spared not the angels that sinned but cast them downe to hell to be delivered unto judgment'. 'We are to believe', says Adams, 'that the sight of their miserie shall aggravate the sense of their miserie", but how can anything be seen in darkness? Further, since it is taught that 'the damned shall have a visory power after the resumption of their bodies', what purpose is here served if nothing is visible? He answers his own question: Though that fire does not shine to any comfort;... yet for their extremer vexation, it shall give some light. So much, as to show their fellowes their torments, and them the torments of their fellowes...In hell there shall be nothing diaphanous, perspicuous, cleare; but a hady, foggy vision; like a distracted dream'.

Richardson, pp. 12-13. Richardson, p. 14. 4 Peter Weston, John Milton Paradise Lost (London: Penguin, 1990) p. 31. ^ Edgar Daniels, 'Thomas Adar Adams and Darkness Visible', Notes and Queries 204 (JanDec 1959) pp. 369-70 (p. 369).

132

But the idea of Hell being a place of darkness is not a Miltonic conception. In The Aeneid, the Sibyl refers to Hell as 'black Tartarus' (VI : 135); the road to Tartarus is through a 'deep cave...yawning wide... and sheltered by dark lake and wooden gloom...' (VI : 237-239); Aeneas and the Sibyl 'went dimly, beneath the lonely night amid the gloom, through the empty halls of Dis and his phantom realm, even as under the grudging light of an inconstant moon lies a path in the forest, when Jupiter has buried the sky in shade, and black night has stolen from the world her hues' ( V I : 268-272). In the Inferno, Dante describes the region (which happens to be the first region in the world of torment) which holds the Opportunists as a place of 'sunless tide' (III: 78 Ciardi trans.); Dante hears Charon the ferryman exclaim:
I come to lead you to the other shore; into the eternal darkness; into fire and ice. ( I l l : 85-87 Temple Class, trans.)

Both authors (Virgil and Dante) do stress the fact that Hell is a place of darkness and judging from the accounts they relay, it is clear that they can see and identify individuals in that darkness. But in Milton's 'darkness visible', Joseph Duncan sees a four-in-one Hell. He holds the view that Milton's four Hells may be regarded as: 1. the external Hell that is a place of punishment; 2. the external Hell that is the seat of sin and a base of operation for the propagation of evil; 3. the Hell on earth; 4. the psychological Hell.

In the first of the four hells, Duncan contends that the fallen angels suffer for their wrongdoing; that it is a place of pain; that in the Council all the chief speakers stress their pain and suffering.^

^ Joseph Duncan, 'Milton's Four-in-One Hell' The Huntington (1956-57) pp. 127-36 (p. 128).

Library

Quarterly,

20,

133

The second hell is 'the base of operation with its convention hall and parade ground the hell of punishment with the addition of the

civilization of the fallen angels, a civilization which will be the pattern of much of the hell on earth'. ^ Having drawn up the plan to propagate evil, the Unholy Trinity construct the trans-Chaos bridge across 'which Sin and Death will carry Hell's civilizafion to earth. This is the third hell.^ In the fourth hell, Duncan refers to the Chrisfian Doctrine which explains that 'sin is its own punishment, and produces in its natural consequences, the death of the spiritual life', the loss of right reason and true liberty and the death of the will. ( C D . 1, 7, 12) ^ Though Duncan has attempted to separate the different natures of Hell, it is clear that Milton's Hell is both a place of punishment and a mental state. In describing Hell, Milton gives us his views as well as Satan's. As a place of punishment, it is a '...dismal situation waste and wild, a dungeon horrible, on all sides round as one great furnace flamed....torture without end, still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed with everburning sulphur unconsumed.' Topographically, as far as Milton and Satan could see, Hell is an 'infernal world' (I : 125) in which is situated a burning lake and burning soil. When Satan flies out of the burning lake, he lands on solid ground that burns in just the same way as the lake:
He lights, if it were land that ever burned With solid, as the lake with liquid fire ( 1:228-229)

The idea is that it is not like ordinary earth; it is fire not earth, hence, ' i f it were land'. In fact this idea of burning sand is Dantean. In Circle Seven, where the violent against God, Nature and Art reside, Dante describes the area as a plain of burning sand:
I saw many herds of naked souls, who were all lamenting very miserably; and there seemed imposed upon them a diverse law

'Duncan, p. 129. ^Duncan, p. 129-130. ' Duncan, p. 132.

134

Over the great sand, falling slowly, rained dilated flakes of fire, like those of snow in Alps without a wind. so fell the eternal heat, by which the sand was kindled. Ever restless was the dance of miserable hands, now here, now there, shaking off the fresh burning. ( X I V : 19-21, 28-30, 37, 40-42 Temple Classics trans.)

The burning of the lake and the land show that there is no place of rest or relief When Satan manages to get out of Hell, the terrain itself does not offer any comfort. It is inhospitable:
... a frozen continent Lies dark and wild, beat with perpetual storms O f whirlwind and dire hail, which on firm land Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems O f ancient pile; all else deep snow and ice, A gulf profound as that Serbonian bog Betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old, Where armies whole have sunk: the parching air Bums frore, and cold performs the effect of fire. ( I I : 587- 595)

Fowler has commented that Milton's reference to 'that Serbonian bog' is an attempt to convey a vivid picture of the nature of this frozen continent. He points out that Serbonia is a lake that is bordered by quicksands on the Egyptian coast where armies have sunk (a denigrafion of Satan's military might) and adds that 'Milton probably introduces the Serbonian lake because, according to one tradition, monstrous Typhon, after his unsuccessfiil rebellion against heaven, lay overwhelmed beneath its waters.'' Similarly, the place of punishment for the rebellious angels is a place of quicksand, a place where solidity is absent. It was a common belief in the early church that there were extremes of weather in Hell. For example Bede's account of a man's near death experience stresses that in Hell there exists two extremes of weather, hot and cold. In the Inferno, when Dante entered the Second Circle, he made this report:
I came to a place void of all light, which bellows like the sea in tempest, when it is combated by warring winds. The hellish storm, which never rests, leads the spirits with its sweep; whirling, and smiting

'"Fowler, p. 117.

135

it vexes them. ...No hope ever comforts them, not of rest but even of less pain. (V: 28-33, 43-45)

Milton seizes upon this belief by adding this aspect of Hell to his text. In so doing, he introduces the Furies to whom Homer referred as agents of divine retribution who carry out death-warrants:
Thither by harpy-footed Furies haled. At certain revolutions all the damned Are brought: and feel by turns the bitter change O f fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce, From beds of raging fire to starve in ice Their soft ethereal warmth, and there to pine Immovable, infixed, and frozen round. Periods of time, thence hurried back to fire. ( I I : 596-603)

In the Inferno, Dante was particular in illustrating the contrasting weather conditions in Hell. His purpose was to paint a state of torment, discomfort and without hope. In the hands of Milton, the damned are intermittently being transported across the Lethe (by the Furies) from the area of extreme cold to that of the burning lake. But Hell is not just a place of fire; it also has rivers. Milton discovers four rivers, three of which empty themselves into the burning lake:
O f four infernal rivers that disgorge Into the burning lake their balefiil stream; Abhorred Styx the flood of deadly hate. Sad Acheron of sorrow, black and deep; Cocytus, named of lamentation loud Heard on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegethon Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage. Far off from these a slow and silent stream, Lethe the river of oblivion rolls....(II: 575-583)

Milton's incorporation of these classical rivers into his text is an allusion to both Virgil's underworld and Dante's Hell. But he is meticulous about describing each of them; the Styx is abhorred, Acheron carries sorrow, Cocytus, lamentation, Phlegethon, fierce.... inflame with rage; and Lethe, the water of oblivion. These adjectives denote gloom, harm, and balefulness. That which is striking is the presence of Lethe in the terrain of Hell. In The Aeneid, the River Lethe is situated in 'a

136

sequestered grove and rustling forest thickets... drifting past those peaceful homes.' (VI: 703-704) In Milton's work, it is in Hell. I f the Lethe of antiquity :
...whereof who drinks, Forthwith his former state and being forgets. Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain. (II: 584-586)

is the same that Milton is referring to, then its emergence in Hell is of some importance:
They ferry over this Lethean sound Both to and fro, their sorrow to augment. And wish and struggle, as they pass, to reach The tempting stream, with one small drop to lose In sweet forgetfulness all pain and woe. A l l in one moment, and so near the brink; But fate withstands, and to oppose the attempt Medusa with Gorgonian terror guards The ford, and of itself the water flies All taste of living wight, as once it fled The lip of Tantalus. Thus roving on In confused march forlorn, the adventurous bands With shuddering horror pale, and eyes aghast Viewed first their lamentable lot, and found No rest: (11:604-618)

The fact that the Lethe is present in Hell with its properties of forgetfulness but with the inability of the damned to partake of its waters, is a clear indication that Hell is a place of torture, a place of severe punishment. Furthermore, Milton is demonstrating that the damned (these fallen angels) in Hell are there forever. Since they are unrepentant they are bound to suffer and since they cannot drink of its waters, the Lethe cannot soothe their sorrows, neither can its regenerative powers be extended to them. At the same time it should not be construed that the presence of the Lethe in Hell is Milton's subscription to the Stoic belief of re-incarnation. Its presence there, it can be surmised, is to demonstrate one aspect of punishment. Milton makes this clear with his reference to Tantalus, whose abominable act of giving the food of the gods to mortals was punishable by his eternal attempt to drink of the waters of Lethe. To Milton, Tantalus is the epitome of Satan and his hosts. Just as Tantalus defied the powers of the gods, so Satan and his hosts in a blatant act of defiance 'raised impious war in heaven'. A l l suffered the same fate; eternal punishment. As such, there is 'no rest' in hell, but a 'region dolorous,...a dark and

137

dreary vale', with its terrain 'frozen', ftall of 'Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death....where all life dies, death lives, and nature breeds, perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things, ..' (II: 618625).
Abominable, inutterable, and worse Than fable yet have feigned, or fear conceived, Gorgons and Hydras, and Chimeras dire. (II : 626-628)

Blamires has taken a descriptive and philosophical approach in his interpretation of Milton's Hell ( I I : 618-628):
Milton is representing an environment of dis-creation matching the condition of the satanic mind and personality. It is a place where 'nature' (and the connotation of the word is that of an abundant and ceaseless fertility) 'breeds' only in the perverted sense those wholly unnatural freaks ('monstrous'... 'prodigious'... 'abominable'... inutterable...). This placeless place of unnatural nature and characterless character, strictly non-created by an act of non-creativity ('by curse' [622]) is Hell. "

Joseph Duncan, on the other hand, gives a somewhat different view of Hell as a place of punishment. He concludes that there are good theological and aesthetic reasons why the devils in Hell are not chained to the fiery lake but allowed to roam:
The punishment of the devils, then before the fall of man is a token of the eternal torment in store for evil angels and evil men after the end of the world. The devils released from the fiery lake will fiirther damn themselves and will also bring many wicked men to eternal punishment.'^

Ernest Schanzer describes Hell as a place of

ordered matter in a state of evil bringing forth perverse and monstrous forms. On the other hand it resembles Chaos, with its fierce extremes of cold and heat, dryness and moisture, in close conjunction, and with its 'perpetual storms of whirlwind and dire Hail' in certain regions (II: 587603). But unlike Chaos, which is in a neutral state and is potentially good. Hell is wholly evil, and in its chaotic aspect resembles rather the chaotic element in the Universe after the Fall, that it to say it is chaos imposed by God, created chaos rather than uncreated chaos.

" Blamires, pp. 49-50. '^Duncan, p. 128. " Ernest Schanzer, 'Milton's Hell Revisited', University (1954-55) pp. 136-45 (p. 137).

of Toronto Quarterly,

24

138

But Milton's reportage on Hell and its abominable conditions is not the only account the reader has. Speaker after speaker laments his punishment. Satan's first words were sounds of unbelief
Is this the region, this the soil, the clime, ... this the seat That we must change for heaven, this mournful gloom For that celestial light? (I: 242-245)

In Pandemonium, he confesses to having the 'greatest share of endless pain' [II : 29-30] and acknowledges their pain also: 'for none sure will claim in Hell precedence, none, whose portion is so small of present pain,... [ I I : 32-34]. When Moloc rises to speak he asks the question:
...what can be worse Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned In this abhorred deep to utter woe; Where pain of unextinguishable fire Must exercise us without hope of end [ I I : 85-89]

Belial, who in raising a dissentient voice on a counter-offensive, points to the reality of their situation with; '...What i f this Hell...those grim fires...this firmament of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire impendent horrors, ...upon our heads?' ( I I : 167-178) He adds "these raging fires...if his breath stir not their fiames.. .This horror will grow mild, this darkness light...' ( I I : 213-220). Mammon sees Hell as 'this deep world of darkness...this desert soil...our darkness...these piercing flames' (II : 262-275). Beelzebub refers to hell as 'this place our dungeon, not our safe retreat...to live...in strictest bondage'(II: 317-321). Addressing his troops, Satan depicts Hell as a container of fire:
Our prison strong, this huge convex of fire, Outrageous to devour, immures us round Ninefold, and gates of burning adamant Barred over us prohibit all egress. [ I I : 434-437]

Milton shows us Hell as a place that is ninefold reinforced:

...Thrice threefold the gates; three folds were brass. Three iron, three of adamantine rock. Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire Yet unconsumed. ( I I : 645-648)

The indication of a ninefold encirclement of fire is an allusion to Virgil's descripfion of the Stygian world. Indeed, the whole of Milton's

139

description in Books I and I I indicates that his imagination is deeply stirred, not only by the idea of Hell, but also by what he had read about it in Homer, Virgil and Dante. For Virgil the Styx is the river that encircles the infernal world in a ninefold sinuosity. Milton's infernal world is not surrounded by a river but by fire, which is a profound difference in their construction of the infernal world. Whereas Virgil's Tartarus is surrounded by a 'rushing flood of torrent flames...', in front of which 'stands the huge gate, and pillars of solid adamant, that no might of man, nay, not even the sons of heaven can uproot' (Aen. V I : 550-554), Milton's is a 'prison strong' with nine gates; three of brass, three of iron, and three of burning rock. They make Hell impregnable. His employment of fire to surround the whole structure of Hell can be construed as an attempt by Milton to show one of the manifold characters of God in the Old Testament; He is a consuming fire. He deals in fire. He led the children of Israel out of Egypt by night with a pillar of fire (Ex. 13:21); He spoke to Moses through a burning bush ( Ex. 3-4); He consumed water with fire on Mount Carmel(lKings 18: 38). Now, He has chosen to create a place of punishment full of fire and surrounded by fire. Even more horrible or frightening as a place of punishment is the description of the two gatekeepers, Sin and Death. In fact, it is Sin who describes Hell as 'profound gloom' (II: 858). From Sin, we learn more interesting things about Hell: Hell is a 'dark and dismal house of pain' (II :823), 'the unfounded deep', 'void immense' (II :829). She then adds this salient point:
The key of this infernal pit by due. And by command of heaven's all-powerful king I keep, by him forbidden to unlock These adamantine gates; against all force Death ready stands to interpose his dart, Fearless to be o'ermatched by living might. ( I I : 850-855)

In this passage. Sin unveils some key claims: that she (Sin), keeps the key to this infernal kingdom; that Death enforces strict security, ready to fight any living force; above all, that the key to this gloomy pit was given to her by Heaven's all-powerfiil king, God. But there is a deeper meaning to this passage. First, Milton is declaring God's sovereignty over the cosmos, even as far as the Stygian world (the Psalmist declares, '...in hell, thou art

140

there'[Ps. 139: 8]). Secondly, His (God's) power is evinced over the unholy trinity, by giving Sin authority over her father, Satan. This act can be seen as one of retribution by God. Just as Satan planted dissension in Heaven, so God has recompensed Satan in almost the same manner. Lastly, for the the first time in epic, Charon and Cerberus are replaced. In this christian epic, there is no ferrying of immortal souls and no threeheaded dog to enforce security. Instead, there is Sin, that personified evil character in whose control one is led to death; and Death becomes the eternal keeper of those souls. Hell is also a mental state. In almost every description of its inhabitants, there is an indication of psychological pain. In Book One, Milton observes this mental anguish in describing Satan (we may also note the telling contrast between pretence - 'vaunting aloud' and the inner reality of despair):
So spake the apostate angel, though in pain, Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair: (I: 125-126)

Satan also admits to being in a state of despair, which in his case gives rise to hatred:
And reassembling our afflicted powers, Consult how we may henceforth most offend Our enemy, our own loss how repair, How overcome this dire calamity, What reinforcement we may gain from hope, If not what resolution from despair. (1: 186-191)

As his troops assemble, Milton comments, perhaps with a biting irony:

but with looks Down cast and damp, yet such wherein appeared Obscure some glimpse of joy, to have found their chief Not in despair, (1: 522- 525)

In Pandemonium,
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised To that bad eminence ; and from despair Thus high uplifted beyond hope.... ( I I : 5-7)

Moloch, 'sceptred king'

Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest spirit That fought in heaven; now fiercer by despair. (II: 44-45)

141

Belial 'grounds his courage on despair and utter dissolution....' (II: 126127), and admits, 'Thus repulsed our final hope is flat despair' (II: 143144). While prospecting Paradise, Satan soliloquises;
Me miserable! Which way shall I fly Infinite wrath, and infinite despair? Which way I fly is h e l l ; my self am hell; And in the lowest deep a lower deep Still threatening to devour me opens wide,... ( I V : 73-77)

Milton has repeatedly used the word, 'despair' in describing the mental state of the damned. Thus, the damned in Hell are in a state of mind in which the hope of regaining their 'blissful seat' in heaven is gone. The issue of despair has its roots in the very early history of the church, in fact almost immediately after the death of Christ, with the suicide of Judas (Acts I : 16-19). In a new translation of City of God, Henry Bettenson gives us a much clearer view of Augustine's discourse on despair:
We rightly abominate the act of Judas, and the judgement of truth is that when he hanged himself he did not atone for the guilt of detestable betrayal but rather increased it, since he despaired of God's mercy and in a fit of self-destructive remorse left himself no chance of a saving repentance... For when Judas killed himself, he killed a criminal, and yet he ended his life guilty not only of Christ's death, but also of his own; one crime led to another (City of God 1:17, Bettenson ed.)

The story is the same with Satan in Paradise Lost. After Satan rebelled and was expelled with all his accomplices out of heaven, instead of repenting he resolved to commit another crime, namely, the destruction of God's creation. Pride ruled his will by causing him to negate the idea of repentance. When in Book One, Satan was thinking of a way or ways to ameliorate their situation, he told Beelzebub;
Thither let us tend From off the tossing of these fiery waves,... Consult how we may henceforth most offend Our enemy, our own loss how repair, How overcome this dire calamity, What reinforcement we may gain from hope, If not what resolution from despair. (1: 183-84, 187-191)

Alastair Fowler has commented on this passage as one in which the ' i f not' may be elliptical and may be interpreted as, ' i f we cannot get such reinforcement from hope', we may get it from despair. It could also mean,

142

he continues, that for Satan, despair is preferable to hope; '... from hope i f not... from despair'''* Building on Augustine's assertion, Friedrich Ohly has pointed out that 'by adding despair to his other sins, Judas put himself beyond the reach of grace. His conscience judged him, too soon, too hastily, and led him into damnation. The worst sin of all is to withdraw from grace.' Stressing the Augustinian theme, he remarked, ' i f Judas had sought grace, he would have found it - or such was the medieval opinion. His despair, and not his treason, was the worst thing about him...''^ Virgil picked up this idea of despair in his opening description of Hell. As Aeneas was following the Sibyl, he realized that they had entered the abode of hopelessness. He described the atmosphere vividly:
Ibant obscuri sola sub node per umbram perque domos Ditis vacuas et inania regna, ( V I : 268-270) [On they went dimly, beneath the lonely night amid the gloom, through the empty halls of Dis and his phantom realm]

The adverb 'dimly' conveys not only the idea of darkness, but also the loss of hope; the fact that it is not easy to see and not bright, walking 'dimly' was therefore, stepping gingerly, with trepidation, uncertainty, hopelessness ; 'the lonely night', carries that note of sadness. Night finds herself bereft of the moon, in a state of solitude, without the company of the stars which have always adorned the night like swinging lanterns of the celestial world; 'amid the gloom' transports a feeling of sadness and depression, while 'the empty halls of Dis' indicates a voidness, a vacancy, a barrenness, blankness, depletion. In that environment, hope was peculiarly absent. Virgil makes a striking comparison of this desperate situation with the atmosphere that is created after Jupiter has traversed the sky:
quale per incertam lunam sub luce maligna est iter in silvis, ubi caelum condidit umbra luppiter, et rebus nox abstulit atra colorem. (VI : 270- 72) [even as under the grudging light of an inconstant moon lies a path in the forest, when Jupiter has buried the

Fowler, p. 55. Friedrich Ohly The Damned

and The Elect (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1992) p. 35.

143

sky in shade, and black Night has stolen from the world her hues.]

Just as the light of the moon is hardly visible at night after Jupiter has traversed the heavens, thus draining the world of sight and colour, so is the atmosphere of Dis when Aeneas and the Sibyl enter that world. The darkness was barely visible. Furthermore, it can be interpreted as a situation in which the atmosphere is drained not of light, but of hope, desire, expectation or anticipation. They were entering a region in which there was nothing to look forward to. It is no accident then that the bodiless epitomes of despair and gloom such as Grief, Anxiety, Disease, Old Age, Fear, Death, Agony and War were at the portals of that world. As in the Inferno, Dante's treatment of despair is evident in bold letters at the very gates of Hell:
Through me is the way into the doleful city; through me is the way into the eternal pain; through me the way among the people lost. .... leave all hope, ye that (Inf 3: 1-3, 8-9)

enter.

and in Canto V, he reiterates this point: "No hope ever comforts them, not of rest, but even of less pain." (V: 43-44) Though Virgil and Dante have used the word 'despair' somewhat differently from Milton, they have

both managed to evince in their works the underlying or basic meaning, which is the loss of hope. Milton constantly observes despair in the occupants of hell but he does not tell his readers whether, while in this state of despair, Satan and his cohorts would be eligible for forgiveness. I f in Hell, writhing in pain, the miscreants had turned to Heaven's Potentate and asked for forgiveness, would He have extended pardon to them? On this issue, Milton is silent. Instead, he uses this word from different

angles. From one angle, it can be said that in the absence of hope there is misery. In discussing the cause(s) for the rebellion in Heaven (including their subsequent misery), St Augustine declared that 'the cause of the others' misery is non-adherence to God. They are miserable because they do not adhere to God.' (The City of God). Augustine was convinced that to be removed from God was to be without hope, and the cause for such a

144

removal was due to fault or injury to the nature. The farther away one goes from God, the more the despair and the hardening of the mind. Broadbent asserts that Milton
is dealing with a theological process, hardening of the heart, which has a special significance in Paradise Lost. Whatever the technical causes, Satan is presented as undergoing a series of reactions which progressively extinguish his own gleams of self-knowledge and other-pity and block the angelic impulses that might have saved him; so that by Book Four and Book Eleven, he embodies irredeemable despair more than absolute evil.

For Milton, the hardening of the heart leads to non-repentance. Broadbent cites Milton's De Doctrina Christiana to support Milton's belief in this assertion; that God hardening the heart is usually the last punishment inflicted on inveterate wickedness....[iv. 207]'^ In Paradise Lost this

makes an obvious contrast with the decision of Adam and Eve to repent in Book X, and brings out their penitence more strongly by this contrast.

The Inhabitants of Hell

At the portals of Hell are the messengers of death, according to Virgil. Having partitioned the after-life into two parts, Milton's construction of Hell portrays these same mesengers at Hell's gates. Michael tells Adam in Book X I (466-75) of the many forms in which death appears. In The Aeneid, Aeneas carefully listed all the figures he was able to see and identify. He saw Misenus. They spoke to each other. He recognized Palinurus, Dido, Deiphobus. He addressed them by their names, the names they had had on earth. Even the individuals of infamy such as Tityos, Ixion, Theseus and Phlegyas were all seen and recognized by Aeneas. The story is similar in the Inferno. Virgil introduced Dante to Homer, Horace, Ovid and Lucan. In the second Circle, Dante saw Semiramis, Dido, Cleopatra, Helen, Achilles and Paris. They were all recognizable though in spirit form. They neither lost their names nor their identity. The story is not so in Paradise Lost. Aside from the architects of the rebellion, Satan, Beelzebub, Moloch, Belial and Mammon, the rest

J.B. Broadbent Some Graver Subject (London: Chatto & Windus, 1960) p. 76. " Broadbent, p. 76.

145

had no names and Milton clearly points out that their names were blotted out from the Book of Life. Without names their identity and character were altered. They were now nonentities. When the reader is first introduced to this mass of fallen deities, he is given a picture of leaves which have fallen in auturrm. They are dead, cut off from their branches:
till on the beach O f that inflamed sea, he stood and called His legions, angel forms, who lay entranced Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks In Vallombrosa.... (1: 299-303)

For these fallen angels, it is the permanent autumn of their lives, their beings, their identity, and as they fall from Heaven, they fall from recognition. Alastair Fowler observes that Milton precisely locating such a picture, means that Milton must have been to Vallombrosa, a town near Florence that is known for its 'extensive deciduous woods' . But in describing these fallen angels, Milton pictures their past, present and future. Even in a fallen state, they still carry:
godlike shapes and forms Excelling human, princely dignities. And powers that erst in heaven sat on thrones; (1: 358-360)

Powers that once sat on heavenly thrones were now suddenly cut off and condemned to an abominable place called Hell, this time with no identity. They lost their names when they lost their godlikeness:
Though of their names in heavenly records now Be no memorial blotted out and razed By their rebellion, from the books of life. (1: 361 -363)

Their rebellion led to their fall which in turn caused their names to be erased from the books of life or the heavenly register. In Book Six, Raphael tells Adam:
yet by doom Cancelled from heaven and sacred memory, Nameless in dark oblivion let them dwell. ...yet to glory aspires Vain glorious, and through infamy seek fame: Therefore eternal silence be their doom. (VI : 378-80, 383-385)

Milton is deliberately punitive. Because of their rebellion and loss, they are to be nameless and eternally silent in darkness. Having learnt about

" Fowler, p. 62.

146

the demise of these fallen angels from the Muse as well as Raphael, Milton portrays them as destructive agents of plague and famine:
...a pitchy cloud O f locusts, warping on the eastern wind, That o'er the realm of impious Pharoah hung Like night, and darkened all the land of Nile: So numberless were those bad angels seen Hovering on wing under the cope of hell 'Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires; (1: 340-346)

In Pandemonium, these fallen angels address each other by titles; Satan's salutation to his troops with 'O myriads of immortal spirits, 0 powers matchless,' (I: 622), 'Powers and dominions', 'deities of heaven', (II: 11), is complemented by Beelzebub's, 'O Peers' (II: 119). The only time the reader learns of proper names is in the reading of Book Six where Raphael, describing the war in Heaven, reveals a handful of names; Adramalec, Asmadai, Ariel, Arioc and Ramiel (VI: 365-372), names found in the Apochrypha. They lost a battle against 'heaven's Potentate', and the loss of that battle led to their names being blotted from Heaven's register. With their names being deleted there is no more character or identity. But it should be pointed out that while in Pandemonium, these characterless numbers devise and scheme ways of a counter-offensive against heaven, they are ever mindful of giving to God his dues. Though they never address Him as 'God', they are conscious of the fact that He is their victor. Satan calls God, 'he who reigns monarch in heaven' ( I : 638639); Beelzebub, 'heaven's perpetual king' ( I : 131); Moloch, 'torturer' (II: 64); Belial, 'our great enemy' (11:137), 'he from heaven's higth' (II: 190), 'our supreme foe' (II: 210); Mammon, 'heaven's lord supreme' (II: 236), 'his godhead' (II: 242), 'heaven's all-ruling sire' (II: 264); Belial, 'heaven's high arbitrator' (II: 359).They not only look upon God as victor but also with fear and respect. Though they lost, they still maintain the order of deference. Their ascriptions to God are an echo of Phlegyas' words: 'Be warned; learn ye to be just and not to slight the godsP (VI : 621). Just as Phlegyas (who defied the gods) was crying out for respect to be given to the gods, so these fallen deities demonstrate respect for God by ascribing him exalted titles, in spite of their anger and hatred toward him.

147

With their names, identities and character stripped, Milton embarks upon a proleptic journey to inform his readers of what some of these fallen deities would become. In a catalogue of characters, Milton names twelve deities from that myriad of fallen hosts, which Fowler has tersely compared with Christ choosing twelve disciples.'^ There is Moloch, Baalim, Chemos, Ashtaroth, Thammuz, Rimmon, Osiris, Isis, Horus, Dagon and Belial. Milton leads his readers to believe that they were the ringleaders of the rebellion in heaven who would in the future 'seduce to their party' 'the puny inhabitants' of earth (as Beelzebub had previously suggested). It is against these accomplices of Satan that God in the Old Testament warned his people. They were to become the enemies of mankind. For example, Moloch was later to become a god to whom human sacrifices were made; Baalim (the plural of Baal) was later to be worshipped as the chief male deity of the Phoenicians and Canaanites. The rain and fertility god, he was considered 'lord' and 'possessor'. He was the most frequently mentioned god worshipped in Egypt.'^'^ Ashtaroth, according to Fowler, was the generic name given to the goddess of the moon and Astoreth was the Phoenician moon goddess whom the Old Testament prophet describes as the queen of heaven (Jer. 44:18).^' Thammuz was later worshipped by the Syrians as the harvestgod.^^ He was the deity to whom the prophet Ezekiel saw women

weeping (Ez.8:14). Rimmon was also a god of the Assyrians. Considered to be the god of Thunder, his temple in Damascus is mentioned in The Bible [2 Kings 5 :18]^^ According to Parrinder, Isis was the greatest

Egyptian goddess, 'from pre-dynastic times and focus of legends, literature and mystery cults.

" Fowler, p. 67. ^ Geoffrey Parrinder, A Dictionary of Non-Christian Educational Publication, 1971) p. 38. ^' Fowler, p. D. 69. Larousse, p. 60. Larousse, p. 233

Religions

(England: Hulton

148

Her name means 'throne'. She was the great wife and sister of Osiris and mother of Horns. A great magician, she restored Osiris to life. She was symbolized by a knot, a seat, cow's horns, a falcon and a star. She became popular in the Greek and Roman worlds as sky-goddess, mistress of magic and teacher of mysteries.'^'* Dagon was worshipped by the Philistines and it was in his temple that the judge Samson was to die with thousands of Philistines [2 Kings 16]. These fallen angels were to become the archrivals of God in reference to whom, the first of The Decalogue states; 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me, nor bow down to them, nor worship them.' [Ex. 20]. In these mythological explorations, Milton is adding ancient history and legend to his customary dependence upon the Bible and The Aeneid.

Pandemonium

Pandemonium is a Miltonic device, and this is the point where Milton differs from both Virgil and Dante. His fondness for describing debates probably comes from his experience under the Commonwealth, but it is also closer to Homer in The Iliad than to Virgil in The Aeneid. The construction of Pandemonium, inter alia, is a nostalgic reaction to the fall. In Book I Milton chronicles an incident that occurred after Satan's rallying cry, which shows greed and power together:
There stood a hill not far whose grisly top Belched fire and rolling smoke; the rest entire Shone with a glossy scurf, undoubted sign That in his womb was hid metallic ore, The work of sulfur. Thither winged with speed A numerous brigade hastened.... Mammon led them on. Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell From heaven, for even in heaven his looks and thoughts Were always downward bent, admiring more The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, ... by him first Men also, and by his suggestion taught, Ransacked the centre, and with impious hands Rifled the bowels of mother earth For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew Opened into the hill a spacious wound

24

Larousse, p. 138.

149

And digged out ribs of gold.

(1 : 670-75, 678-82, 684-690)

Milton's account of the fallen angels digging and ransacking the bowels of Hell is strictly Ovidian. Ovid in his Metamorphoses divides the history of mankind into four ages: Gold, Silver, Bronze and Iron. He explains:
Golden was that first age, which, with no one to compel, without a law, of its own will, kept faith and did the right. ( I : 89-91, Loebed.)

Gold symbolized perfection, for the Bible teaches that the streets of heaven are paved with gold (Rev. 21: 21). In this case, gold is misused, because it becomes the object of Mammon's greed rather than just a pavement to be walked upon. Furthermore, it was the golden pavements that attracted Mammon so much that they caused him to become the least erected spirit due to his constant admiration for this mineral. But Milton suddenly takes his readers to the Iron Age. In depicting this age, Ovid stresses that:
... all evil burst forth into this age of baser vein : modesty and truth and faith fled the earth, and in their place came tricks and plots and snares, violence and cursed love of gain. And the ground, which had hitherto been a common possession like the sunlight and the air, the careful surveyor now marked out with long-drawn boundary-line. Men...delved as well into the very bowels of the earth; and the wealth which the creator had hidden amidst the very Stygian marshes, was brought to light, wealth that pricks men on to crime. (1: 128-150)

Seeing the Iron Age as the last age as well as the age of evil, Milton must have considered this age as hell. It is the last age, the age at the bottom of the calendar and which is characterized by treachery, deceit, crime and violence. Above all, it is the age during which the Stygian marshes surface. Within an hour of the advancement upon that hill, an astonishing megastructure was erected which Milton comments on as:
Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose like an exhalation, with the sound O f dulcet symphonies and voices sweet, Built like a temple, where pilasters round Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid With golden architrave; The roof was fretted gold. Not Babilon Nor great Alcairo such magnificence Equalled in all their glories,... The ascending pile

150

Stood fixed her stately highth, and straight the doors Opening her brazen folds discover wide Within, her ample spaces o'er the smooth And level pavement: from the arched roof Pendent by subtle magic many a row O f starry lamps and blazing cressets fed With naphtha and asphaltus yielded light As from a sky... ( 1 : 710-15, 717-19, 722-730)

Pandemonium is the reality of what Satan, Belial and Mammon dreamed about. In his first remark, Satan longed for a heaven in hell where he can feel equal with God:
Here at least We shall be free; the almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reign secure, and in my choice To reign is worth ambition though in hell: Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven. But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,... With rallied arms to try what may be yet Regained in heaven, or what more lost in hell ? ( 1: 258-64, 269-70)

The building therefore of Pandemonium is the begirming of the construction of a replica of heaven. Satan's desire is to reign and in Pandemonium, he sees the erection of his palace as the symbol of authority. Belial is convinced that i f they can resign themselves to their fate, they will become acclimatized to their environment. He also opts for a creation of heaven in Hell. In his speech in Pandemonium, Mammon expresses his views quite clearly:
Let us not then pursue By force impossible, by leave obtained Unacceptable, though in heaven, our state O f splendid vassalage, but rather seek Our own good from ourselves, and from our own Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess. Free, and to none accountable, ( I I : 249-255)

It is of no wonder then that Mammon took upon himself to lead the troops to the hill to ransack for gold. A l l three had had these inclinations to convert Hell into their kind of Heaven; and the creation of the edifice, therefore, can be seen as the reality or fruition of such thoughts. In short the erection of Pandemonium is the conversion of potentiality into actuality. I f Hell was the place of punishment, created by God, then the

151

construction of this building was not only a relief from the pining or yearning of their lost heritage; but it also became a balm, a salve for their sorrows and immortal wounds. Broadbent believes that the building of Pandemonium has political undertones for Milton. Making reference to Milton's First Defence, the author believes that Milton is indicting that monarchy that is

'blasphemously absolute and undeserved'. He (Milton) felt that Satan having rebelled against absolutism in heaven was now in the very process of becoming one in hell.^^ Peter Weston has interpreted Pandemonium as an arraignment of Roman Catholicism:
Pandemonium arises like the elaborate sets in a seventeenth century masque. It is insubstantial, like an 'exhalation', and built 'like a temple'. The model for the description may be St. Peter's Basilica, which Milton doubtless saw when he visited Rome, though it was at that time unfinished. The pilasters, the embossed and gilded roof, the brazen doors, and the lighths are all details that correspond, though Doric pillars were not added to the piazza of St. Peter's until about the time Milton was writing. Even the simile of the bees ( 1: 768-75) to which the fallen angels are likened, emphasizing their business and comparative smallness compared with the immensity of the building, lends weight to the comparison, since the emblem of Pope Urban V I I I , the founder of St. Peter's, was the bee, and his followers were as a result often nicknamed 'bees'.

From a divergent angle, I find it interesting to speculate that Pandemonium stands in resemblance to The Taj Mahal (in India) which,

rising out of the eastern horizon must have been like an 'exhalation', a breathtaking monstrosity to Milton. The brain-child of the Mughal Emperor, Shah Jahan for his wife, Mumtaz Mahal who died during childbirth, work on the edifice began around 1632, eight years before Milton drew up the first outline of Paradise Lost. It took twenty-two years to complete (1654), eleven years before the completion of Milton's masterpiece (1665). An awesome structure, especially for seventeenth
Broadbent, pp. 112-3. Peter Weston, John Milton: Paradise Lost (London: Penguin 1990) p. 41-2. ^' This idea is supported by the fact that the eastern traveller, Peter Mundy was 'in almost perpetual motion' between 1608 and 1656, during which period his journals, published in six volumes, covered 'about every aspect of the world; from people, clothes, scenery, to the building of the Taj Mahal and of 'Pel Mel' trade and languages' [Douglas Bush,

152

century architecture, the building contains a mausoleum that is flanked by two symetrically identical buildings, the mosque and its jawab (or building for aesthetic balance) respectively. The mausoleum stands on a marble that is 23 feet high with four identical facades and a massive arch that rises to a height of 108 feet. The mosque and jawab of red/ Sikri sandstone, with marble-necked domes and architraves and some restrained pietra-dura (hard stone) surface decoration, contrast in colour and in

texture with the mausoleum of pure white Makrane marble. But the amazing bit of this structure is that the whole complex was conceived and planned as an entity (much like Pandemoniuim being built in an hour) because Mughal building practice allowed no subsequent addition or emendation. Assuming that Milton read or heard of this oriental wonder,

he must have considered it right to create a hellish structure that would rival this blatant demonstration of heathenism. I support this premise with the indication that Milton held a negative view toward the Orient. His description of things oriental or near-oriental has never appeared positive in Paradise Lost. He sees the East as a place of suspect luxury and wealth. In I : 305-309, he compares the mass of the fallen angels with the Biblical Pharoah Busiris, whose troops pursuing the Israelites 'with perfidious hatred' were found dead on the Red Sea coast; he makes references to

'Egypt's evil day' (I : 339). He relegates all the heathen gods to those nations in the East ( I : 392-489). With the completion of this hellish palace, Milton ftarther denigrates the orient by stating that neither Babilon nor great Alcairo nor Assyria in all their 'wealth and luxury' could equal such a monument. The transformation Hell undergoes in the hands of Milton can be attributed to a seventeenth century christian design. Just as Virgil structured Hell according to his times, so Milton has structured Hell according his own times. Milton knew that the seventeenth century reader in most cases expected to read something with Biblical allusions or examples, for such materials were considered edifying and uplifting, and

English Literature in the Earlier Seventeenth Press, 1945) pp. 175-6.] Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11,513-514.

Century

1600-1660

(Oxford: Clarendon

153

with a story of a cosmographical dimension, Milton took the liberty to 'reconstruct' Hell, with all its properties of doom, gloom, and a realm of frightful punishment.

154

Chapter 5

Dryden's Perception of the Classics and his Virgilian Influences

Charles Ward notes that while Dryden was a student at Westminster School, the curriculum was intense and deeply engaged in the study of the classics. Under the tutelage of Dr. Richard Busby (the headmaster) and his dedication to instilling in his students a thorough knowledge of Greek and Latin, Dryden acquired a knowledge of these subjects which he would later use extensively. Westminster was a boarding school with a curriculum that lasted twelve to fifteen hours a day. After prayers (which were said in Latin) and breakfast, a two-hour period was used to recite Greek and Latin grammar. The author points out that 'after lunch they came back at one o'clock for another two-hour lesson' and during that time, 'the master expounded a selection from Virgil, Cicero, Euripides or Sallust, commenting on rhetorical figures, grammatical constructions, and explaining prosody.... The final meeting of the day was devoted to the repetition of a 'leaf or two' out of a book of rhetorical figures or proverbs, or sentences chosen by the master. Then a theme was assigned, upon which the student was to compose prose or verse essays in Latin or Greek before the next morning.'' The students were expected to be in school before morning devotion, during which exercise they were supposed to recite a Greek catechism or translate a portion of the Gospels into Greek. But that which was to influence Dryden greatly for the rest of his life was the Sunday afternoon activities. During those hours, Westminster students were required to create verses 'either upon the preacher's sermon in the morning or upon the Epistles or some other parts of the Gospel.' Ward concludes:

' Charles Ward, The Life of John Dryden 1961)p. 11.

(Chapel Hill: University of N. Carolina Press,

155

The foremost scholars of the last form where Dryden found himself in 1649, were sometimes appointed tutors pro tern and expounded to the other scholars passages from Homer or Virgil or Horace. Here, Dryden may have found ample scope in which to indulge his great love for Virgil...."

This education formed the basis of what Dryden was to produce in later years. After Westminster, Dryden became dissatisfied with his own language and culture, which he felt had deteriorated by comparison with classical examples. He was convinced that his age could not produce the likes of the ancients, especially Homer, Virgil, Sallust and Lucan. He laments this failure of the modems in his preface to Plutarch's Lives:
Though Religion has inform'd us better of our Origine, yet it appears plainly, that not only the Bodies, but the Souls of Men, have decreas'd from the vigour of the first Ages; that we are not more short of the stature and strength of those gygantick Heroes, than we are of their understanding, and their wit....How vast a difference is there betwixt the production of those souls, and these of ours!.... How much Plato, Aristotle, and the rest of the Philosophers understood nature; That Age was most famous amongst the Greeks, which ended with the death of Alexander; amongst the Romans Learning seem'd again to revive and flourish in the century which produc'd Cicero, Varro, Sallust, Lucretius and Virgil....^

Dryden felt that it was his duty to revive those heroes of long ago for the good of English letters. Howard Weinbrot observes that:
Certain aspects of the suspect classical past deserve extensive discussion, for they are central to the nature of English and then British national character the malice of Roman conquest, the insufficiencies of Roman trade, the brutal nature of the Greek epic hero, and the necessary limitations even of the ablest mind - like Aristotle - of the ablest past, would significantly influence British authors and the literature they produced."

Dryden looked upon the history of the Greeks and Romans, with their meteoric rise to prominence and subsequent decline, and must have felt that i f his native country failed to heed the lessons of the past she too would go the way of both Greece and Rome. Virgil was his mentor. He was convinced that Virgil was the best of the classical artists. He wrote in his De Arte Graphica:

^ Ward, pp. 11-12. ^ The Works of John Dryden, ed. by Samuel Monck et al. X X vols (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971), xvii, pp. 227-28. * Howard D. Weinbrot Britannia's Issue (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1993) p. 32.

156

Virgil is so exact in every word, that none can be changed but for worse; nor anyone removed from its place, but the harmony will be altered. He tends sometimes to trip; but it is only to make you think him in danger of a fall, when he is most secure: like a skilful dancer on the ropes... who slips willingly, and makes a seeming stumble, that you may think him in great hazard of breaking his neck, while at the same time he is only giving you a proof of his dexterity.'

But nowhere did Dryden express himself of his esteem for Virgil more eloquently than in his Preface to Sylvae. He admitted:
I looked on Virgil, as a succint and grave majestic writer; one who weighed not only every thought, but every word and syllable; who was still aiming to crowd his sense into as narrow a compass as possibly he could, for which reason he is so very figurative, that he requires, (I may almost say) a grammar apart to construe him He is everywhere above conceits of epigrammatic wit, and gross hyperboles. He maintains majesty in the midst of plainness; he shines, but glares not; and is stately without ambition,... I drew my definition of poetical wit from my particular consideration of him... very sparing of his words, and [leaves] so much to be imagined by the reader. *

In A Discourse on Satire, he pointed out :

Virgil has confin'd his Works within the compass of Eighteen Thousand Lines, and has not treated many Subjects; yet he ever had, and ever will have the Reputation of the best Poet. Martial says of him, that he could have excelled Varius in Tragedy, and Horace in Lyric Poetry, but out of deference to his Friends he attempted neither.'

This high esteem for Virgil led him to make comparisons with other ancients, namely. Homer and Ovid. In his discussion of the three parts of rhetoric (invention, design and elocution) in his De Arte Graphica, Dryden noted that
of the two ancient Poets...the Invention and Design were the particular talents of Homer. Virgil must yield to him in both, for the Design of the Latine was borrowed from the Grecian. But the dictio Virgiliana, the expression of Virgil, was incomparably better, and in that I have always endeavour'd to copy him.'

He was convinced that elocution was the determining factor for poetry to be considered good and in this respect, he set Virgil above all others:
...in poetry, the Expression is that which charms the Reader and beautifies the Design, which is onely the out-line of the Fable. 'Tis true, the Design must of itself be good;... but granting the Design to be moderately good, 'tis is like an excellent Complexion with indifferent Features;... [making]

^ The Works of John Dryden, xx, p. 73. ^ The Poems Of John Dryden, ed. by James Kinsley, 4 vols (Oxford: OUP, 1958), I, p. 392. (Will be referred to as The Works, from now on ) ^ Kinsley, vol. 2, p. 607. * Roper, vol. xx, p.72.

157

what was before but passable appear beautiful!.... In that [i.e. elocution] I have always endeavoured to copy [Virgil].'

With Ovid the case was different. In the preface to Annus MirabiHs, he noted this perception of him:
Ovid images more often the movements and affections of the mind, ...he pictures nature in disorder, with which the study and choice of word is inconsistent. This is the proper wit of Dialogue or Discourse, and consequently, of the Drama . the other side, Virgil speaks not so often to us in the person of another, like Ovid, but in his own; he relates almost all things as from himself, and thereby gains more liberty then the other, to express his thoughts with all the graces of elocution, to write more figuratively, and to confess, as well the labour as the force of the imagination.... But when Action or persons are to be describ 'd, when any such Image is to be set before us, how bold, how masterly are the strokes of Virgil! We see the objects he presents us within their native figures, in their proper motions; but we so see them, as our own eyes could never have beheld them so beautiful in themselves. We see the soul of the poet, like that universal one of which he speaks, informing and moving through all his pictures.

It must be pointed out, however, that Dryden did not simply desire to copy Virgil in all respects. Like Milton, he was going to write as an Englishman for the English people. He makes this abundantly clear in his Preface to Sylvae. There he makes a remark (about the art of translating) concerning Englishmen who were versed in Greek or Latin yet could not transcribe that knowledge into their mother tongue:
There are many who understand Greek or Latin and yet are ignorant of their mother tongue. The prorieties and delicacies of the English are known to few; ...He who excells all other poets in his own Language, were it possible to do him right, must appear above them in our Tongue, which... approaches nearest to the Roman in its Majesty:...There is an inimitable grace in Virgils words, and in them principally consists that beauty, which gives so unexpressible a pleasure to him who best understands their force; this Diction of his, I must once again say, is never to be Copied, and since it cannot, he will appear but lame in the best Translation. The turns of his Verse, his breakings, his propriety, his numbers, and his gravity, I have as far imitated, as the poverty of our Language, and the hastiness of my performance wou'd allow. "

Dryden came to the conclusion that it was impossible to imitate the ancients exactly, and he therefore focused his mind on the idea that he was

' Roper, vol. xx, p.72. "Kinsley, vol. l , p . 47. 'Kinsley, vol. 1, pp. 391 394.

158

an Englishman writing for the English people. His 'breakings, his gravity, his propriety and his numbers' as such, would have to be different. But before he set out to write he scoured the literary fields and made some pertinent deductions about writing poetry. In his Heads of an Answer to Rymer [Thomas Rymer], he asserts that:
35] The parts of a poem, tragic or heroic, are: I. The Fable it self II. The Order of Manner of its contrivance, in relation of the parts to the whole. III. The Manners of Decency of the Characters in Speaking or Acting what is proper for them, and proper to be shewn by the Poet. IV. The Thoughts which express the Manners. V . The Words which express those Thoughts.'^

However, he readily admits that 'for the Fable it self, 'tis the English more adom'd with Episodes, and larger than in the Greek Poets; consequently more diverting; for, i f the Action be but one, and that plain, without any Counterturn of Design or Episode, (i.e.) Underplot, how can it be so pleasing as the English, which have both underplot and a tum'd Design, which keeps the Audience in Expectation of the Catastrophe?''^ Indeed the English literary and political situations were littered with abundant episodes which made for interesting fables (especially during Dryden's lifetime), starting with the death of Charles I , to the period of Cromwell, to the restoration of the monarchy, and to the great fire of London. As has previously been stated, The Aeneid was not simply about the glory of Aeneas but about the glory of Rome. Its aim was to glorify Rome and depict the heroic age. Dryden saw his age as one which similarly needed English glory. He would be to Charles I I what Virgil was to Augustus, as Virgil describes it in the Sixth Book of The Aeneid. In describing the classical, particularly the Virgilian, influences on Dryden, Ward makes this observation:
The names of Virgil and Homer had always been on the tip of his pen, and he seldom missed an opportunity to praise them or employ them for

The Works, " The Works,

17, p. 190. 17, p. 189.

159

illustrations of epic achievement.... Virgil was his master, as he often made plain, and it was to Virgil that he turned time and time again when he needed to cite the ultimate of art and strength in poetry.... Virgil is cited for the proper conduct of verse and for truth as the foundation of his poetry. This is that which makes Virgil be preferred before the rest of poets.'''

Dryden's Politicization of The Sixth Book of The Aeneid

Dryden, like Milton, lived at a time when the political situation in the country provided enough material for the literary artist who wished to comment on his own time. Using Virgil as an examplar, he (Dryden) felt at ease to write about those things which he thought passionately about, even i f his contemporaries like Milton and Marvell, felt otherwise. His first important work started with an elegy.

'Upon The Death of The Lord Hastings' When Dryden wrote the elegy 'Upon the Death of the Lord Hastings' in 1649, he was in his last year at Westminster School, preparing to enter Cambridge. This was his first published work. It became a part of the Lachrymae Musarum, a collection of elegies written upon the death of Henry Lord Hastings. Of particular interest is the fact that he was the only student at Westminster under the tutorship of Dr. Busby who was allowed to compose a poem in English. He converted this approval into an opportunity not only to emulate his master, Virgil, but to demonstrate pride in his native language. Rather than engage in a literary exercise, as some scholars have suggested, Dryden used the occasion (even as a schoolboy) to make a political statement. The fact that Hastings' death occurred in the same year as the deposition and execution of Charles I allowed Dryden to politicize this first work. He used parts of Anchises' speech to eulogize Hastings, and at the same time, demonstrate his royalist tendencies. As Anchises concluded his description of the future of his progeny and of the Roman nation, the tone suddenly became an impassioned or

'" Ward, p. 70.

160

direct speech, as the young Marcellus appeared, who also was 'destined to pass beneath the sky's mighty vault'.
Atque hie Aeneas (una namque ire videbat egregium forma iuvenem et fulgentibus armis, sedfrons laeta parum et deiecto lumina voltu): "quis, pater, ille, virum qui sic comitatur euntem? filius, anne aliquis magna de stirpe nepotum? qui strepitus circa comitum! quantum instar in ipso! sed nox atra caput tristi circumvolat umbra. " Tum pater Anchises lacrimis ingressus obortis: "o gnate, ingentem luctum ne quaere tuorum. ostendent terris hunc tantum fata, nec ultra esse sinent. nimium vobis Romano propago visa patens, superi, propria haec si dona fuissent. quantos ille virum magnam Mavortis ad urbem campus aget gemitus! vel quae, Tiberine, videbis funera, cum tumulum praeterlabere recenteml... heu! miserande puer, si qua fata aspera rumpas, tu Marcellus e r a ! ( V I : 860-874, 882-3)

[And hereon Aeneas, for he saw coming with him a youth of wondrous beauty and brilliant in his arms- but his face was sad and his eyes downcast: "Who, father, is he who thus attends him on his way? A son, or one of the mighty stock of his children's children? What whispers in the encircling crowd! What noble presence in himself! But black night hovers about his head with its mournful shade." Then father Anchises with upwelling tears began: "O my son, ask not of the vast sorrow of thy people. Him the fates shall but show to earth, nor longer suffer him to stay. Too mighty, 0 gods, ye deemed the Roman stock would be, were these gifts lasting. What wailing of men shall that famous Field waft to Mavors' mighty city! What funeral state, 0 Tiber, shalt thou see, as thou glidest past the newbuilt tomb! .... A h ! child of pity, if haply thou couldst burst the harsh bonds of fate, thou shalt be Marcellus! ]

Anchises' description of Marcellus is the prototype for Dryden's treatment of Lord Hastings. Marcellus was the son of Octavia, the sister of the Emperor Augustus. He was adopted by the emperor. Noble in outlook and valiant in battle, he was being groomed to succeed Augustus as emperor. But he died at the age of twenty-three. His death created much sorrow in Rome, partly because of his youthful promise, and partly because, according to Fairclough, Marcellus reflected the glory of his

161

ancestors.'^ But that which is of striking importance in this excerpt is the manner in which Anchises depicts Marcellus. This depiction falls under three categories; attitude, aptitude and eminence. Marcellus' attitude (his pose, behaviour, mannerisms or disposition) is particularly noble. In fact, it is Aeneas whose eyes caught this noble stature and prompted him to exclaim to his father; quantum instar in ipso\ ["What noble presence in himself!"]. His aptitude (the natural ability or skill at doing something, the likelihood of accomplishing something or propensity) is incomparable. Anchises hastily points out:
nec puer Iliaca quisquam de gente Latinos in tantum spe toilet avos, nec Romula quondam ullo se tantum tellus iactabit alumno. (875-877) [No youth of Ilian stock shall exalt so greatly with his promise his Latin forefathers, nor shall the son of Romulus ever take such pride in any of her sons.]

Fairclough observes that the use of the word spe means the promise shown by the youth, the promise of what he is likely to become.'^ His eminence ( his supremacy or ascendency, or the height to which he could have reached) would have staggered the imagination, had not the fates intervened. Anchises adds:
heu pietas, heu prisca fides, invictaque bello dextera! non illi se quisquam impune tulisset obvius armato, seu cum pedes iret in hostem, seu spumantis equifoderet calcaribus arnios. (VI : 878-881) [Alas for goodness! alas for old-world honour, and the hand invincible in war! Against him in arms would none have advanced unscathed, whether on foot he met the foe or dug his spurs into the flanks of his foaming horse.]

No wonder the lamentation, "Too mighty O gods, ye deemed the Roman stock would be, were these gifts lasting." But since they were not lasting and since 'heaven's decrees cannot be turned aside by prayer', Anchises cannot but write Marcellus' memorial:
manibus date lilia plenis, purpureas spargam flores animamque nepotis his saltem accumulem donis et fungar inani munere. ( V I : 883-886)

'^ The Aeneid '* The Aeneid,

Loeb ed., p. 568. Loeb ed., p. 568.

162

[Give me lilies with full hand; Let me scatter purple flowers; Let me weep o'er my offspring's shade At least these gifts and fulfil An unavailing service.]

In short, it is Anchises who writes the elegy, 'Upon the Death of Marcellus'. But it must never be forgotten that whatever Anchises said in Elysium also concerned the nation of Rome. The tribute to Marcellus, therefore, had political undertones. Whatever was said in The Aeneid was said in honour of Augustus. The fact that a possible successor died at the youthful age of twenty-three without accomplishing his destiny was not so important as the fact that he was the emperor's nephew. The case can be made that the lament for Marcellus was to a great extent, political in tone. This is because Virgil was flattering the emperor and was arguing for another appointment of a successor. The death of Henry Lord Hastings on 24 June 1649 was all the more memorable because of his young age. He was not quite nineteen when he died on the eve of his marriage to Elizabeth de Mayerne, who was the daughter of the King's physician, Sir Theodore Turquet de Mayeme. This elegy gave Dryden the opportunity to pay tribute to the dead king, Charles I , at a time when open sympathy for the monarchy was viewed unfavourably. The death of Hastings was just what Dryden needed. Michael Gearin-Tosh notes that little is known of Hastings' achievements.But Hastings himself came from a prominent literary family. John Doime wrote epistles to his grandmother. Lady Eleanor
1 Q

Douglas.

Upon his death, his grandmother published a tract in his Unlike Marcellus, he had not

honour entitled Sion's Lamentation.

demonstrated military prowess, but his aristocratic and literary connections were an excuse for such mourning. Dryden portrays Hastings as brilliant and noble. In language similar to Anchises' description of Marcellus as the best of Italian stock, Dryden depicts Hastings as one whose
Michael Gearin-Tosh, 'Marvell's Upon the Death of the Lord Hastings', Essays and 5<Ma'/e5, (New Series) xxxiv (1981) pp. 105-22 (p. 110). '^ Gearin-Tosh, p. 107. " Gearin-Tosh, p. 110.

... Body was an Orb, his sublime Soul Did move on Vertue's and on Learning's Pole: Whose Reg'lar Motions better to our view. Then Archimedes sphere the heavens did show. Graces and Vertues, Languages and Arts, Beauty and Learning, fill'd up all the parts. Heav'n's Gifts, which do, like falling Stars, appear Scatter'd in Others; all, as in their Sphear, Were fix'd and conglobate in's Soul, and thence, Shone th'row his Body, with sweet Influence; Letting their glories so on each limb fall The whole frame rendered was celestial. (Kinsley ed. 27-38)

Anchises' remarks about Marcellus' nobility became the cue for Dryden to describe Hastings. In Hastings was the fullness of heaven's earthly endowments: graces, virtues, languages, arts, beauty and learning. These different gifts, which heaven distributes among men were all 'fixed and conglobate in's soul', which in tum were reflected in his personality. And above all, he was of a celestial hue, 'the whole frame rendered was celestial.' On Hastings' aptitude, Dryden notes:
O had he di'd of old, how great a strife Had been, who from his Death should draw their Life? Who should, by one rich draught, become what ere Seneca, Cato, Numa, Caesar, were: Learn'd, Vertuous, Pious, Great; and have by this An universal Metempsuchosis. (67-72)

Dryden then asks the rhetorical question:

Must all the ag'd Sires in one Funeral Expire? (73-74)

This is an exercise in a funeral tribute, using hyperbole, the purpose of which could be seen as Dryden's admiration for nobility. Like Marcellus, the eminence to which Hastings would have reached would have been unimaginable had he not died at an early age. While Anchises depicts Marcellus as one who would have been valiant in battle, Dryden calls up Ptolemy, who measured the ecliptic of the sun, to see if he can make an astronomical discovery of Hastings' meteor:

Come, learned Ptolemy, and trial make If thou this Hero's Altitude canst take; But that transcends thy skill; thrice happy all Could we but prove thus Astronomical. (39-42)

164

And as i f Ptolemy's measurement of Hastings' achievements would be insufficient, Dryden invokes the spirit of Tycho Brahe, the Danish astronomer who discovered a new star in the constellation of Cassiopeia in 1572, to see whether Hastings had exchanged this life for his place in some other constellation:
Liv'd Tycho now, struck with this Ray (which shone More bright i' th' Mom, then others beam at Noon) He'd take his Astrolabe, and seek out here What new Star't was did gild our Hemisphere. (43-46)

But even at that young age Dryden did not fail to address the issue of rebellion, an issue that concerned both Virgil and Milton. While Virgil spoke against both spiritual and physical rebellion, and Milton primarily against spiritual rebellion, Dryden focused on political rebellion. The theme of rebellion strongly manifests itself in both Book Six of The Aeneid and in Paradise Lost Books I and II. Dryden addresses this theme of rebellion by converting this elegy from a regular funeral song into some kind of a politico-elegaic lament, a cry, not only over the death of Lord Hastings but also over the death of Charles I and of royalty. He uses a smallpox analogy to clarify this point, comparing the rebels to naeves (smallpox blisters):
Was there no milder way but the Small Pox, The very Filth'ness of Pandora's Box ? So many Spots, like naeves, our Venus soil? One Jewel set off with so many a Foil? Blisters with pride swell'd, which th'row's flesh did sprout Like Rose-buds, stuck i' th' Lily skin about. Each little Pimple had a Tear in it, To wail the fault its rising did commit, Who, Rebel-like, with their own Lord at strife. Thus made an Insurrection 'gainst his life. (53- 62)

For Dryden, the small- pox (that manifested itself with spots and blemishes) that invaded the body of Lord Hastings and to which he succumbed were similar to the rebels (members of the commonwealth), rising up like spots and pimples that had invaded the political body of the nation, and which had executed Charles I earlier in the year. Had Lord Hastings not been afflicted or died at an early age, then his marriage to Elizabeth de Mayeme would have created a union of two powerful families in England. His early death robbed the nation of the creation of

165

another noble stock, and 'Beauty and learning' would have met 'to bring a winding for a wedding sheet'. Thus Dryden laments not only the death of Hastings, but also the death of Charles I , and the general sense of the disease of the body politic at this time. Just as each little pimple that appeared on the body of the handsome Lord Hastings had a watery discharge, which Dryden in a conceit suggests is a tear^ weeping for the destruction it had inflicted on him, so too each individual that sympathised with the commonwealth 'must' be carrying a tear, or regret the rebellion that was carried out against the king. In short, the elegy, 'Upon the Death of the Lord Hastings' is a representation of the circumstances and death of Charles I , and of its potentially disastrous consequences. But Dryden is not despairing. His reference to Pandora's box gives a glimmer of hope. He deliberately compares the rebellion to Pandora's box, because in spite of its emission of all kinds of evil, hope was found at the bottom of the box, a hope that there will some day be a return to justice, sanity and order. Eleven years later, that hope materialised with the restoration of Charles II, and in commemoration of this restored hope, Dryden wrote Astraea Redux, on the return of justice, another Virgilian theme.

'Astraea Redux' To understand Astraea Redux is to examine the imaginative possibilities of the concept of the Golden Age and to see the extent to which Dryden recreates this Virgilian idea. He saw Virgil as the poet of civic virtue, law, order as well as courage. To Dryden, Virgil appeared as one who always approached issues from a moral as well as political standpoint. Anchises' description of his progeny, their contributions to the the Roman nation, the strength of the nation, the duty of government, were all raw materials for Dryden as he perceived the creation of an English Golden Age. And at no other time does he see this as more possible than at the return of Charles I I . In expressing this, he turns primarily to Book Six of Virgil's Aeneid for assistance.

166

Dryden's Astraea Redux is a typical example of manipulation of that which is particularly Virgilian. This work also demonstrates his dexterity in amplifying ideas and concepts. In Book IV of The Eclogues, Virgil, in somewhat epiphanic or eschatological tones, describes the return of the goddess. Justice, to earth, which will mark the Golden Age of Saturn:
Sicelides Musae, paulo maiora canamus. non omnis arbusta iuvant humilesque myricae; si canimus silvas, silvae sint consule dignae. Ultima Cumaei venit iam carminis aetas; magnus ab integro saeclorum nascitur ordo. iam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regno; iam nova progenies caelo demittitur alto, tu modo nascentipuero, quo ferreaprimum desinet ac toto surget gens aurea mundo, casta fave Lucina : tuus iam regnat Apollo. (IV: 1-10) [Sicilian Muses, let us sing a somewhat loftier strain. Not all do the orchards please and the lowly tamarisks. I f our song is of the woodland, let the woodland be worthy of a consul. Now is come the last age of the song of Cumae; the great line of the centuries begins anew. Now the Virgin returns, the reign of Saturn returns; now a new generation descends from heaven on high. Only do thou , pure Lucina, smile on the birth of the child, under whom the iron brood shall first cease, and a golden race spring up throughout the world! Thine own Apollo now is king! ]

Fairclough observes that the poem (Eclogues IV) is 'a vision of the new golden age under Augustus which Virgil cormects with the birth of a certain child.'^'' He emphasizes the point that no one knows who the child is but that there is a consensus among scholars that it was the infant son of C. Ainius Pollio, under whose consulship (around 40 BC) the poem was written. Fairclough notes that 'the song of Cumae' is a reference to the Sibylline books which were supposed to record the utterances of the famous Sibyl of Cumae, which contained the promise of a new circuit of the ages after the Age of Iron had passed.^' But the remark, 'the Virgin returns, the reign of Saturn returns', is the most profound. The virgin is a direct reference to Astraea or Justice, the last of the divinities to leave the earth because of the wickedness of the Brazen and Iron Ages. Arthur Hoffman remarks that 'as the constellation

^ Fairclough, p. 28. ^' Fairclough, p. 29.

167

Virgo, the goddess with her sword and scales has taken her place in the heavens. The return of the goddess to earth will occur when, in the revolution of time, the golden age returns.'^^ Virgil, in anticipation of this time, transfers this idea to Book Six of The Aeneid, which details Aeneas' arrival at Cumae to hold consultations with the Sibyl and his ultimate journey to Elysium, where his father Anchises pronounces the return of The Golden Age:
hie Caesar et omnis luli progenies, magnum caeli ventura sub axem. hie vir, hie est, tibi quem promitti saepius audis, Augustus Caesar, Divi genus, aurea condet saeeula qui rursus Latio regnata per arva Saturno quondam, super et Garamantas et Indos proferet imperium (iacet extra sidera tellus, extra anni solisque vias, ..) (VI : 789-796) [Here is Caesar, and all lulus' seed, destined to pass beneath the sky's mighty vault. This, this is he whom thou so oft hearest promised to thee, Augustus Caesar, son of a god, who shall again set up the Golden Age in Latium amid the fields where Saturn once reigned, and shall spread his empire past Garamant and Indian to a land that lies beyond the stars beyond the paths of the year and the sun....]

Dryden sees the return of Charles II to the throne, as the time of the return of the goddess Justice to the earth. The absence of Justice from the earth signified the end of the decadent ages of silver, brass and iron. And as Anchises joyfully looks forward to this return, so Dryden anticipates Charles's return as a time of happiness and prosperity after the Cromwellian reign. But more importantly, Dryden seeks to amplify Virgil's vision of that Age as well as to mythicize English history: Astraea Redux is a mythicized Anglicized version of the Golden Age. Thomas Fujimura notes that
For Dryden, the myth of the Golden Age, with its sense of pristine majesty and harmony, was most useful in expressing his optimistic vision of man and society in poetry of the heroic kind. In contrast, the myth of the Iron Age, with its sense of chaos, sterility and failure, served as a medium for expressing his pessimistic view in satirical verse.

22

Arthur Hoffman, John Dryden's 1962, repr. 1968) p. 13.

Imagery (Gainsville: University of Florida Press,

168

The myth thus ideally suited Dryden's poetic strategies in projecting his attitudes toward the world he lived in."

In creating this myth, Dryden reaps a harvest of ideas from Book Six of The Aeneid. Virgil depicts Aeneas as one who, after surviving the Trojan War, the perils of the sea and the loss of some members of his crew, learns of his destiny from his father, Anchises; this destiny was to found a new city called Rome. In the same way, Dryden portrays Charles I I as one who, after being forced to flee the throne (which was legitimately his) after the death of his father, was exiled in France and later called back to lead his people once again after a period of chaos. In his impassioned speech to the Sibyl, Aeneas remarks:
non ulla laborum, o virgo, nova mi fades inopinave surgit; omniapraecepi atque animo meeum ante peregi... ilium ego per flammas et mille sequentia tela eripui his umeris medioque ex hoste recepi; ille meum comitatus iter maria omnia mecum atque omnis pelagique minas eaelique ferebat, invalidus, vir is ultra sortemque senectae... et mi genus ab love summo. ( V I : 103-5, 110-14, 123) [For me no form of toils arises, O maiden, strange or unlooked for; all this ere now have I forecast and inly traversed in thought... Him, {Anchises) amid flames and a thousand pursuing spears I rescued on these shoulders, and brought safe from the enemy's midst. He, the partner of my way, endured with me all the seas and all the menace of ocean and sky, weak as he was... I too have a descent from Jove most high.]

In Astraea Redux, we hear echoes of Aeneas' words in the description of Charles II:
How Great were then Our Charles his Woes, who thus Was forc'd to suffer for Himself and us! He, toss'd by Fate, and hurried up and down. Heir to his Fathers Sorrows, with his Crown, Could tast no sweets of youth's desired Age, But found his life too true a Pilgrimage. Unconquer'd yet in that forlorn Estate, His Manly Courage overcame his Fate. His wounds he took like Romans on his breast. Which by his Vertue were with Lawrells drest. (49-58)

23

Thomas Fujimura, The Temper of John Dryden ( E a s t Lansing: Colleagues Press, 1993) p. 152.

169

Dryden portrays Charles as another Aeneas who never enjoyed his youth but was forced to live in exile, thus embarking upon life's pilgrimage at too early an age:
Forc'd into exile from his rightful Throne He made all Countries where he came his own; And viewing Monarchs secret Arts of sway A Royal Factor for their Kingdomes lay. (75-78)

The suffering Charles has now become the victorious Charles. The experience of suffering is a badge of Roman honour which demonstrates courage and virtue. Charles becomes the English Aeneas who, having experienced extremes of vicissitudes used courage to overcome his fate. The reference to taking wounds 'like Romans on his breast' highlights the Virgilian theme of greatness through suffering. Like a Roman soldier, he refuses to relent or fall but forges an alliance with courage. Having been tempered by suffering and strengthened through courage, he (Charles) is now much stronger to lead his nation. Dryden neatly expresses this as something to be regretted (in human terms) and rejoiced in (because of the political maturity which it brings).
How shall I then my doubtful thoughts express That must his s u f f rings both regret and bless! ( 71-72)

In Book Six of The Aeneid, the Sibyl instructs Aeneas to offer sacrifices in the forms of a black-fleeced lamb and a barren heifer before entering the Stygian world (VI: 249-254). In the same manner, Dryden calls upon Charles II as an act of thanksgiving, to offer oblations to Portunus (the god of the harbour) for causing his ship to berth at the right shore upon his return from exile in France:
To all the Sea-Gods Charles an O f f ring owes: A Bull to thee, Portunus, shall be slain, A Lamb to you, the Tempests of the Main: For those loud stormes that did against him rore Have cast his shipwrack'd Vessel on the shore. (120-124)

In speaking to his son, Anchises put a strong emphasis on the idea of Rome's greatness and nationalism:
viden, ut geminae stant vertice cristae

170

et pater ipse suo superum iam signat honore? en huius, nate, auspiciis ilia incluta Roma imperium terris, animos aequabit Olympo, septemque una sibi muro circumdabit arces, felix prole virum. ( VL 779-84) [Seest thou how the twin plumes stand upon his crest, and how his father himself by his own token even now marks him for the world above? Lo under his auspices, my son, that glorious Rome shall bound her empire by earth, her pride by heaven, and with a single city's wall shall enclose her seven hills blest in her brood of men. ]

As i f taking his cue from Anchises, Dryden, in a personal as well as a public address to Charles I I , tells him of the greatness of the country to which he has been restored, and foretells an age of imperial splendour:
Our Nation with united Int'rest blest Not now content to poize, shall sway the rest. Abroad your Empire shall no Limits know, But like the Sea in boundless Circles flow. (296-299)

Dryden continues to amplify these concepts as he makes reference to the economic might of the nation:
Your much-lov'd Fleet shall with a wide Command Besiege the petty Monarchs of the Land: And as Old Time his Off-spring swallow'd down Our Ocean in its depths all Seas shall drown. Their wealthy Trade from Pyrates Rapine free, Our Merchants shall no more Advent'rers be: Nor in the farthest East those Dangers fear Which humble Holland must dissemble here. (300-307)

In making reference to England gaining monopoly of the spice trade with eastern nations, Dryden steers away from Milton who associates sin, evil and idolatry with the East. For Dryden, the economic considerations outweigh the old associations. Britain will have worldwide prosperity and her influence will spread. Still dealing with the themes of national pride and glory, Anchises draws the attention of Aeneas to the parade of his progeny, especially those who would create and uphold the greatness of the country. With delight, he points out Numa, the one who from humble begirmings would rise to become Rome's second king and be remembered for codifying Roman laws; Tullus, his successor who would break the period of laxity, lethargy, slothflilness and peace, and who would arouse the nation to take

171

up arms and fight for their country, thus establishing Rome's military might. (VI: 808-814) Dryden, on the other hand, focuses on one individual, Charles II:
And welcome now, {Great Monarch) to your own; Behold th'approaching cliffes of Albion;... Methinks I see those Crowds on Dovers Strand, Who in their hast to welcome you to Land Choak'd up the Beach with their still growing store. And made a wider Torrent on the shore.... And now time's whiter Series is begun. Which in soft Centuries shall smoothly run; Those Clouds that overcast your Mome shall fly Dispell'd to farthest corners of the sky. Our Nation with united Int'rest blest Not now content to poize, shall sway the rest. (250-51,276- 79, 292-7)

In increasingly rhetorical language, Dryden hails the return of Charles II in tone reminiscent of Anchises' speech and promptly goes back to the idea of the return of the Golden Age, which he refers to as 'time's whiter series'. From this moment on, England would be united and become the leader of the world. Dryden sees the return of the monarchy as the restoration of harmony:
Oh Happy Age! Oh times like those alone By Fate reserv'd for Great Augustus throne! When the joint growths of Armes and Arts foreshew The World a Monarch, and that Monarch You. (320-23)

Dryden's close reading of Book Six of The Aeneid is clearly seen in Astraea Redux. But it is not only an amplification of that chapter but also an indigenous English work. This can be heard in the voices he uses. In Book Six of The Aeneid, Anchises speaks in the voice of the third person and on a few occasions uses the voice of the second person when emphasizing a point concerning his son's offspring. In Astraea Redux, Dryden begins the poem as a reportage (the third person) and quickly moves on to the voice of the first person plural, thus identifying himself with the event. He makes reference to 'our Charles' (49); 'our nation with united interest blessed' (96); 'our ocean' (303); 'our merchants' (305). Furthermore, where Anchises stresses the watchwords (to avoid the shedding of blood) of the nation, Dryden elaborates on his own. After

172

depicting a battle between Rome and Macedon, Anchises cautions his son against civil war:
m, pueri, ne tanta animis adsuescite bella, neu patriae validas in viscera vertite viris; tuque prior, tu parce, genus qui ducis Olympo; proice tela manu, sanguis meus\ ( V I : 832-835) [O my sons, make not a home within your hearts for such warfare, nor upon your country's very vitals turn her vigour and valour! And do thou first forbear, thou who drawest thy race from heaven; cast from thy hand the sword, thou blood of mine ]

Later he stresses the idea of Peace, which he points out must be allied with justice:
tu regere imperio populos, Romane, momenta (hae tibi erunt artes) pacique imponere morem, parcere subiectis et debellare superbos. (VI: 851 -853) [remember thou, O Roman, to rule the nations with thy sway - these shall be thine arts - to crown Peace with Law, to spare the humbled, and to tame in war the proud!]

In Dryden's poem, the Biblical concepts of goodness, long-suffering and mercy become the watchwords for the restored monarchy:
But you, whose goodness your discent doth show,... Not ty'd to rules of Policy, you find Revenge less sweet then a forgiving mind. Thus when th'Almighty would to Moses give A sight of all he could behold and live; A voice before his entry did proclaim Long-suffering, goodness, mercy in his Name. Your Power to Justice doth submit your Cause, Your Goodness only is above the Laws; Whose rigid letter while pronounc'd by you Is softer made. (256, 260-9)

This is what makes Dryden different. He appeals to Charles as a kind of divine figure, asking him to temper justice with forgiveness, longsuffering and mercy (from Psalm 85). As Anchises implores Aeneas to crown peace with law, spare the humble, and tame in war the proud, so Dryden asks of Charles, but in this respect, invokes the Biblical story of Moses who, before being shown the promised land to which he would lead God's people, was vouchsafed a vision of God, the God of mercy and truth (Exodus 34: 6-7). In transferring the thoughts or concepts of Virgil's Sixth Book to his own time, Dryden does not fail to see parallels between the political and

173

social undertones (as well as overtones) of Virgil's time and the Restoration. One of Virgil's themes (which is related to the main theme of Milton's Paradise Lost) is the theme of rebellion. In The Aeneid, Tartarus appears to hold a number of rebellious characters, 'the ancient sons of Earth, the Titan brood, hurled down by the thunderboh....'; 'the twin sons of Aloeus, giant in stature, whose hands essayed to tear down high heaven and thrust down Jove from his realm above...'. But there is enough reason to speculate that among all these rebellious characters, none of them can be compared with the character of Salmoneus:
vidi et crudelis dantem Salmonea poenas, dum flammas lovis et sonitus imitatur Olympi. quattuor hie invectus equis et lampada quassans per Graium populos mediaque per Elidis urbem ibat ovans, divumque sibi poscebat honorem, demens, qui nimbos et non imitabile fulmen aere et cornipedum pulsu simularet equorum. at pater omnipotens densa inter nubila telum contorsit, non ille faces nec fumea taedis lumina, praecipitemque immani turbine adegit. ( 585-594) [Salmoneus, too, I saw, who paid a cruel penalty while aping Jove's fires and the thunders of Olympus. He, borne by four horses and brandishing a torch, rode triumphant through the Greek peoples and his city in the heart of Elis, claiming as his own the homage of deity. Madman! to mimic the stormclouds and inimitable thunder with brass and the tramp of horn-footed horses! But the Father Almighty amid thick clouds launched his bolt- no firebrands he, nor pitch-pines' smoky glare- and drave him headlong with furious whirlwind.]

Salmoneus represents the rebellious Commonwealth. He epitomizes the acts of those who overthrew the monarchy and imposed 'anarchy':
For when by their designing Leaders taught To strike at Pow'r which for themselves they sought, The Vulgar, gull'd into Rebellion, arm'd Their blood to action by the Prize was warm'd... They own'd a lawless salvage libertie,... (31-4, 46)

The return of Charles is the return to order, stability, peace and prosperity. The disorderly situation Charles was returning to was similar to that which was created by Typhoeus.'^'' Like Zeus, Charles' return

^ ' ^ Typhoeus who was the offspring of Earth and Hell was bom with a hundred heads, each speaking with a different voice. Hesiod, in the Theogony mentions that he staged a rebellion to destroy Olympus, which resulted in the gods fleeing to Egypt for safety.

174

would signify the end of the 'trouble' created by the Commonwealth, thus restoring order:
Thus when the bold Typhoeus scal'd the sky. And forced great Jove from his own Heaven to fly (What king, what Crown from Treasons reach is free. If Jove and Heaven can violated be?) The lesser Gods that shar'd his prosp'rous State All suffer'd in the ExiI'd Thund'rer's Fate. The Rabble now such Freedom did enjoy A s Winds at Sea that use it to destroy: (37- 44)

Earlier, Dryden had indicated that the church and age had been desecrated:
For his long absence Church and State did groan; IVIadness the Pulpit, Faction seiz'd the Throne: Experienc'd Age in deep despair was lost To see the Rebel thrive, the Loyal crost: Youth that with Joys had unacquainted been Envy'd grey hairs that once good days had seen: (21-26)

He saw the men in power during the Commonwealth as blinded Cyclops:

Blind as the Cyclops, and as wild as he. They own'd a lawless salvage Libertie, Like that our painted Ancestours so priz'd Ere Empire's Arts their Breasts had Civiliz'd. (45- 48)

Making an allusion to blinded Cyclops is an attempt by Dryden to portray what he saw as lawlessness and aimlessness, a kind of dreadful brutality. But Dryden also incorporates Biblical stories to describe the meaning of Charles' restoration. In doing so, Dryden christianizes Virgilian themes. Charles is another David, who, after having endured exile, returns to his throne, causing his neighbours to regret having ridiculed his earlier demise:
Thus banish'd David spent abroad his time, When to be Gods Anointed was his Crime, And when restor'd made his proud Neighbours rue Those choice Remarques he from his Travels drew: (79-82)

Charles now becomes much better equipped to rule his own people:
Nor is he onely by afflictions shown To conquer others Realms, but rule his own: Recov'ring hardly what he lost before. His right Indears it much, his purchase more. Inur'd to suffer ere he came to raigne

However, Zeus was able to imprison him under Mount Etna, from which location he was able to send winds which caused havoc at sea (Theogony II).

175

No rash procedure will his actions stain. (83-88)

Thus Charles is like David as well as Aeneas. The badge of suffering restrains them from recompensing evil for evil. In Charles' case, Dryden argues, he should emulate these two. In incorporating this Davidic story, Dryden is imploring Charles (as Anchises cautioned his progeny) to temper justice with mercy and wants Charles to exemplify the Biblical arts of good kingship, in the footsteps of David. David depended on God and Charles, like David, should look to God to enable him to rule his own. He buttresses this point by subtly informing Charles that the hand of God is upon his life as well as the nation, using the May weather as an emblem:
Our thaw was mild, the cold not chas'd away, But lost in kindly heat of lengthned day. Heav'n would no bargain for its blessing drive But what we could not pay for, freely give. (135-138)

It is incumbent therefore upon Charles to recognize that:

The Prince of Peace would like himself confer A gift unhop'd without the price of war. Yet as he knew his blessings worth, took care That we should know it by repeated pray'r; Which storm'd the skies and ravish'd Charles from thence,... (139-143)

Winn suggests that the 'idea that "repeated pray'r" has ravished Charles from... the skies' reverses the Ganymede myth, in which Jupiter reaches down from the skies to snatch up Ganymede; the implication, reinforced by the title and the Virgilian epigraph, is that the Restoration will bring back a Golden Age, undoing the evils of the Civil Wars and the Interregnum.''^^ I am persuaded that it is more meaningful than that. Dryden's reference to the Prince of Peace conferring 'a gift unhoped' is about Christ bestowing upon all, grace, that unmerited favour. He is reminding Charles that Christ, who is the Prince of Peace, did suffer and instead of being vindictive, distributed grace to all. He moves from the concept of emulating David to copying Christ's example.

James Winn, John Dryden and His World (New Haven: Yale UP, 1987) p. 106.

176

As i f to re-inforce this Christian attitude, he adds that this same Prince of Peace taught all or left us all a prayer, the Lord's Prayer, which one ought to know by heart; for in that prayer is the virtue of forgiveness (forgiving the trespasses of others as God forgives the trespasses of all mortals). These Biblical ideas also help to set Dryden further apart from Virgil. Not only does he tell Charles to govern with justice, but also tries to give him the guidelines or the blueprint, which is The Bible. For it is from The Bible, Dryden believes, that one learns about Providence, the same Providence who had ordained Monck,^^ not Booth, to loose Charles from the bonds of banishment (Acts 16):
Booth's forward Valour only serv'd to show He durst that duty pay we all did owe: Th'Attempt was fair; but heaven's prefixed hour Not come; 'Twas M O N C K whom Providence design'd to loose Those real bonds false freedom did impose. (145-48, 151-2)

Here is another divergent position of Dryden's; while Virgil repeatedly made references to the Fates, Dryden is convinced that it was God who restored Charles to the throne when he did. In The Aeneid, Virgil believed that the Fates guided Aeneas (a descendant of Jove) all through his journey. Similarly, Charles I I , the lawftil heir to the throne (not from the lineage of Jove, but from his father, Charles I ; your descent doth show,

your heavenly parentage....' [256-257]), was fated to restore his father's kingdom, hereby ftilfilling his destiny:
How easie 'tis when Destiny proves kind With full-spread Sails to run before the wind, (63-64)

The ftilfilment of Charles' destiny, Dryden contends, is dependent upon God alone. God has not usurped the power of the Fates and executed their duties; rather, he establishes himself as the only arbiter of the thread of life, chance and death. I f there is a Prince of Peace, then there must be a King, and that King is God. This is a departure from that Virgilian theology (the belief in the duties of Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos). The pantheon of deities including their chief, Jupiter, had been dethroned, and

In August 1659, Sir George Booth led an insurgency for Charles in Cheshire but was defeated by Commonwealth forces under John Lambert.

177

in their place was a monotheistic King and his son, the Prince of Peace. It is Dryden's sincere desire that Charles should understand that Providence had a hand in his (Charles') life and that he works according to a divine schedule or appointment. He makes a strong observation of God's handiwork (man and his complex physical nature) and compares this complexity with Monck's daring destruction of the Interregnum, and remarks that it is as miraculous a work as that of man's creation:
How hard was then his task, at once to be What in the body natural we see Mans Architect distinctly did ordain The charge of Muscle, Nerves, and of the Brain; Through viewless Conduits Spirits to dispense, The Springs of Motion from the Seat of Sense. 'Twas not the hasty product of a day, But the well ripened fruit of wise delay. (163- 170)

Alberto Cacicedo sums up Dryden's classical and Biblical imagery succintly:

From its beginnings Astraea Redux presents classical and Biblical imagery in so intimately connected a fashion that each allusive context becomes the essential completion of the other. To see the full scope of the collaboration one must remember that Dryden seeks to present the full pattern of Charles' exile and return. With that in mind, one sees that, in the first verse paragraph, exile is presented in classical terms, whereas return appears in biblical terms.

In the presentation of the exile, Virgil's Aeneid Book V I is an important element of the source material.

'Annus Mirabilis' In Annus Mirabilis, Dryden shows the extent to which Virgil's concepts, vision and designs could be stretched. Virgil's works are not prototypical of Dryden's own works; rather, they are representative of Dryden's mimetic practice. In 'An Account of the Ensuing Poem' in a letter to the Honourable Sir Robert Howard (which prefaces the poem), Dryden pertinently admits:
Yet before I leave Virgi/, / must own the vanity to tell you, and by you the world, that he has been my Master in the Poem: I have followed him every where, I know not with what success, but I am sure with diligence enough: Alberto Cacicedo, 'Seeing the King: Biblical and Classical Texts in Astraea Studies in English Literature, 32 (1992) pp. 407-27 (p. 415). Redux',

178

my Images are many of them copiedfrom ofhim.^'^

him, and the rest are

imitations

In Aeneid Book Six, Virgil, was writing, inter alia, an abridged form of the history of Rome. In Anchises' speech references to the kings, their accomplishments, the greatness and glory of the nation are all happily reported. The history of Rome, its past, present and future, preoccupied Virgil; and Anchises was not short of words as he meticulously described how Rome would be built, and by whom, as well as those who would govern the nation. In describing these leaders, he is mindful of pointing out their characteristics and lasting accomplishments (VI: 756-807). In effect, the second half of Anchises' speech can be considered the history of Rome. Similarly Dryden's manipulation of historical events using the Virgilian format was a way of engendering English glory. He was assisting Charles with the restoration process, and helping to restore the Golden Age of Saturn in seventeenth-century England. In Astraea Redux, he had showered Charles with praise and had injected this idea of a Saturnalia Britannia with the hope that Charles was the one destined to fulfil that promise. In Annus Mirabilis, he comes to the aid of Charles by manipulating two historic events, the Anglo-Dutch War ( 2 February 1664 - 25 July 1666) and the Fire of London (3 - 6 September 1666). It is of striking importance to note that the title Annus Mirabilis was not originally Dryden's. Dryden began writing his Annus Mirabilis in late 1665, concentrating only on the Anglo- Dutch War. The letter to Sir. Robert Howard was dated 10 November 1666. The Fire of London took place between the early hours of 3 and 6 September 1666 and Dryden did not publish his work until January 1667. But as far back as 1661, the term Mirabilis Annus had been used. Beginning in 1661, tracts were being published (by christian zealots who were dismayed by the sins of the nation) with that title, describing God's vengeance upon England; one such popular tract was the Mirabilis Aimus, the year of Prodigies. The following year (1662) another tract became even more popular, which was

Kinsley, vol. I , p. 48.

179

published in two parts; Mirabilis Annus Secundus; or the Second Year of Prodigies. Many clergymen saw the year 1666 (since 666 were the numbers indicative of the AntiChrist in the Book of Revelation), as the time when God would lash out punishment upon the world (including England). In late 1665, after the great plague, Thomas Vincent published a work entitled God's Terrible Voice in the City, in which he stressed the fact that God had already started and was going to continue punishing England for her gross iniquities, which he counted as twenty. Dryden on the other hand, did not share these opinions. He was convinced that God was cleansing and purifying England with whatever plagues and calamities were befalling her, and with this conviction he begins his own version of Annus Mirabilis. As i f readily raising a dissentient voice, he writes in the full title:
Annus Mirabilis: The Year of Wonders, 1666 An Historical Poem: Containing the progress and various successes of our naval war with Holland, under the conduct of His Highness Prince Rupert, and His Grace the Duke of Albemarle. And describing the Fire of London. Multum interest res poscat, an homines latius imperare velint Trajan Imperator ad PI in. Urbs antiqua ruit, multos dominataper annosN'ng. Aen II (Kinsley ed.)

Dryden was going to address this poem, not as a warning of an angry God to a decadent and rebellious English people, but as a historical poem describing the great achievements of the nation. The additional phrase, 'And describing the Fire of London', must have been an addendum to the war he set out to report on. He addresses his poem.
To the Metropolis of Great Britain, the most renowned and late flourishing City of London, in its representatives the Lord Mayor and Court of Alderman, the Sheriffs and Common Council of it

He addresses these people in recognition of their hard work and diligence in maintaining the city and the nation as a whole. He does not feel he should be punitive to anyone, but opts for a commendation for their good works:

180

To submit yourselves with that humility to the judgements of heaven... I know not whether such trials have been ever paralleled in any nation.... 1 have heard indeed of some virtuous persons who have ended unfortunately, but never of any virtuous nation: Providence is engaged too deeply, when the cause becomes so general. And I cannot imagine it has resolved the ruin of that people at home, which it has blessed abroad with such successes. I am therefore to conclude that your sufferings are at an end, and that one part of my poem has not been more an history of your destruction than the other a prophecy of your restoration. (Kinsley ed., l,pp. 42-43)

In the first half of Annus Mirabilis, Dryden describes in detail the account of the war between England and Holland. He accounts for skirmishes, near-victories and victories, but highlights the role of the King. As the battle raged.
This saw our King; and long within his breast His pensive counsels ballanc'd to and fro; He griev'd the land he freed should be oppress'd, And he less for it than Usurpers do. His gen'rous mind the fair ideas drew O f Fame and Honour which in dangers lay; Where wealth, like fruit on precipices, grew. Not to be gather'd but by Birds of prey. He, first, survey'd the charge with careful eyes. Which none but mighty monarchs could maintain; Yet judg'd, like vapours that from Limbecks rise, It would in richer showers descend again. (37-44, 49-52)

Dryden brings Charles to the forefront in order that accolades and credits should go to him. Just as it was Augustus whom Virgil saw as the agent of that new age, so Dryden sees Charles as that same agent who would bring in the English Golden Age. But the role of the King in this excerpt is more complicated than this. Bruce Rosenberg states it tersely: 'Every educated man of Dryden's age knew about alchemy and astrology.'^^ Jack Armistead observes that 'Charles is presented as a kind of supervising alchemist of the post-Baconian variety and the events of the Dutch Wars... are treated as part of a grand chemical reaction.'^" Thus Charles is depicted as an alchemist closely watching the contents of the alembics (apparatuses used in distilling) with the knowledge that, regardless of the

Bruce Rosenberg, 'Annus Mirabiiis Distilled', PMLA 79 (1964) pp. 254-258 (p. 254). Jach Armistead, 'Dryden's Poetry and the Language of Magic', Studies in English Literature, 27 (1987) pp. 381-98 (p. 384).

181

height to which the vapours rise, they would surely fall back to the ground. In this case, i f the Dutch seemed to be gaining the upper hand, it was only for a time. He then focuses on Britain's maritime power as he reminds the people of Britain's 'marriage to the sea'.
But since it was decreed, Auspicious King, In Britain's right that thou should'st wed the main, (77-78)

These are lines indicative of Britain's right to sea-power. It is the navy he praises:
Now on their coasts our conquering navy rides, Waylays their Merchants, and their Land besets: Each day new wealth without their care provides. They lie asleep with prizes in their nets. Nor was this all: in Ports and Roads remote Destructive fires among whole Fleets we send; Triumphant flames upon the water flote, And out-bound ships at home their voyage end. (805-808, 813-816)

As in Astraea Redux, there is this identification by Dryden with Britain: 'our conquering navy...', 'destructive fires among whole fleets we send..'. He sees himself as part of that collective action, of which he is most proud. He was commending the people of Britain to whom he had dedicated this work. The 'navy' is synonymous with 'we', which in turn is a reference to the metropolis of Great Britain. With the fire of London, he continues this same design but raises a dissentient voice as to the meaning of such destruction. Dryden takes a contemporary historical account and makes a Virgilian myth of it. In his account of the fire, he brings to the forefront his passionate feelings concerning nationhood and monarchy. For him, the fire, though destructive, was purgative. He makes this notion clear in the dedication:
To you therefore this Year of Wonders is justly dedicated, because you have made it so; you who are to stand a wonder to all years and ages, and who have built yourselves an immortal monument on your own ruins. You are now a phoenix in her ashes, and, as far as humanity can approach, a great emblem of the suffering deity. (Kinsley ed., 1, p. 43)

Like the phoenix, rising from the dead ashes of its parents, so London (England) would rise from the ashes of the fire, which is similar to the rise of Rome from the ashes of Troy. This excerpt also carries christian undertones; that as Christ was crucified and buried only to be resurrected three days later, so London, after the fire would rise to greater heights to

182

fall no more. Furthermore, Dryden does not fail at any given opportunity to compare England with Virgil's Rome. He makes reference to London as 'Augusta', because according to William Camden there was a place called 'London, an old town, which the posterity called Augusta,..':^'
More great than humane, now, and more August, New deifi'd she from her fires does rise: Her widening streets on new foundations trust. And opening into larger parts she flies. (1177-80)

Dryden's feelings about the monarchy or kingship are profound. Like Virgil, whose love for Augustus and Rome led him to write The Aeneid, so Dryden's dedication to the monarchy is borne out in this poem. During the war with the Dutch and to some extent, in the Fire of London, the King is seen as an alchemist. But in the Fire of London in particular, his role is that of an intercessor pleading with God to abate this destruction. According to Dryden, it is his prayers that God honours and answers:
Or, if my heedless Youth has slept astray. Too soon forgetful of thy gracious hand: On me alone thy just displeasure lay. But take thy judgements from this mourning Land. (1057-1060)

In this confession, Dryden portrays Charles yet again as another King David, 'a man after God's heart'. This prayer also, is reminiscent of David's, after he took a census of the population and God sent a plague on the people as punishment. In this account, David asked God to punish him directly, because it was he who had sinned. He took the blame upon himself and God stayed the plague.
Th' Eternal heard, and from the Heav'nly Quire, Chose out the Cherub with the flaming sword: And bad him swiftly drive th'approaching fire From where our Naval Magazins were stor'd. (1081-84)

The fugitive flames, chastis'd, went forth to prey On pious Structures, by our Fathers rear'd. By which to Heav'n they did affect the way. Ere Faith in Church-men without Works was heard. (1089-92)

^' William Camden, Britain or A Chorographicall Description of the Most flourishing Kingdoms of England, Scotland and Ireland (London: George Bishop & loannis Norton, 1610) p. 80.

This is an attack on Protestants. Dryden is mindful to observe that the chastised flames move on to attack pious structures or religious edifices. It is his attempt to deal with the issue of purgation, and purgation must take place in God's edifice. As destructive as the fire may be, it is also a cleansing, purifying and a consuming agent. The fires in Virgil's Tartarus are punitive and eternal and are meant for those who did not repent during their stay on earth. The fires in Dryden's London are purgative and temporal, and are meant to display God's judgement on sin and evil. I f God could send fire to destroy an edifice dedicated to his worship, then He must be displeased with the church militant. And no better place could the fire attack than St. Paul's Cathedral where, during the reign of Cromwell, Puritans misused the sacred building. He saw the Reformation as a disaster:
Nor could thy Fabrick, Paul's, defend thee long. Though thou wert sacred to thy Maker's praise: Though made immortal by a Poet's Song, And Poets Songs the Theban walls could raise. The dareing flames peep't in, and saw from far, The awful beauties of the Sacred Quire: But, since it was profan'd by Civil War, Heav'n thought it fit to have it purg'd by fire. (1097-1104)

For Dryden, the spread of the fire to St. Paul's could not have come at a better time. Since it (the fire) was in the process of cleansing the city, it was necessary for it to purge the excesses of the Protestants. With the people and city purged and cleansed, a newer, more refined nation would emerge. Just as Anchises revels in the future of his progeny and the greatness of the nation after its rebirth from the fire of Troy, so Dryden perceives London as the new epicentre of the earth: a city that would appear as a maiden queen, sitting high on a turret surveying her hourly suitors (1185-86); the riches of both the East and the West will be brought into London as oblafions (1187-88). Economically, it would become the financial hub of the world: the Tagus (the famous river in Spain believed to be full of Golden Sands) and the wealthy Rhine in Germany would lose their glory as they would take second place to London (1193-95); similarly, the Seine and the Belgian rivers would no longer monopolise trade (1195-96). In effect, the economic powers of Dryden's day, Spain,

184

Germany, France and Belgium would be forced into secondary positions. Militarily, England's might would be unrivalled as it would dominate the seas, which in turn would lead to economic might (1201-16). These issues of economic and military superiority, which were dear to Anchises' heart, became Dryden's.

Dryden's Translation of the Sixth Book of The Aeneid

In the Dedication of The Aeneis, Dryden candidly expressed the difficulty he experienced in translating Virgil from Latin into English. He recognized that among the difficulties in this exercise, was the strong possibility of tampering with the purity of the Latin language, and destroying the beauty of the work. But he considered it an honour to presume to copy, in my course English, the Thoughts and Beautifiil Expressions of this inimitable Poet: Who flourished in an Age when his Language was brought to its last perfection, for which it was particularly owing to him....'^^ He then adds:
But Virgil, who never attempted the Lyrick Verse, is every where Elegant, sweet and flowing in his Hexameters. His words are not only chosen, but the places in which he ranks them for the sound; he who removes them from the Station wherein their Master sets them, spoils the Harmony. What he says of the Sibyls Prophecies, may be as properly apply'd to every word of his: They must be read, in order as they lie; the last breath discomposes them, and somewhat of their Divinity is lost. I cannot boast that I have been thus exact in my Verses, but I have endeavour'd to follow the Example of my Master: And am the first Englishman, perhaps, who made it his design to copy him in his Numbers, his choice of Words, and his placing them for the sweetness of the sound.''^

Underlying these remarks were Dryden's feelings about the history and condition of the English language. As a language, English was undergoing different changes, changes which made themselves felt particularly during the period of the Renaissance. Latin had dominated the fields of knowledge, and had become the basis and root of all learning. It was the language of the cultivated or the

" Kinsley, vol.3, pp. 1045. " Kinsley, vol 3, pp. 1045-46.

185

urbane. All other tongues were provincial. As such, English had to fight for some kind of recognition. Albert C. Baugh points out that this fight was not only confined to the English for their language, but also to Italians for Italian, and the French, for French. He cites the feelings of the Italian humanist, Battista Alberti, who wrote in 1434 defending his vernacular:
I confess that the ancient Latin language is very copious and highly adorned; but I do not see why our Tuscan of today should be held in so little esteem that whatever is written in it, however excellent, should be displeasing to us.... And if it is true as they say, that this language is full of authority among all people, only because many of the learned have written in it, it will certainly be the same with ours if scholars will only refine and polish it with zeal and care.^"

This feeling was shared by Englishmen as well. Richard Mulcaster, who was headmaster of Merchant Taylors' School, asked:
But why not all in English, a tung of it self both dep in conceit, and frank in deliverie? I do not think that anie language be it whatsoever, is better able to utter all arguments, either with more pith, or greater planesse, then our English tung is, if the English utterer be as skilfull in the matter, which he is to utter: as the foreign utterer is.^^

He added, ' I love Rome, but London better, I favor Italia, but England more, I honor Latin, but I worship the English.'''^ Thus, by the end of the sixteenth century, the vernacular insurrection against Latin domination had become widespread. That era also saw a number of translations from Greek and Latin into English; in 1565, Arthur Golding translated Caesar, and in 1579, Sir Thomas North published his translation of Plutarch's Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans. Sensing triumph in translations, Englishmen became bolder in their fight for the recognition of their language. In his book on Civile Conversation published in 1586, George Pettie noted:
There are some others yet who wyll set lyght by my labours, because 1 write in Englysh: and ... the woorst is, they thinke that impossible to be doone in our Tongue: for they count it barren, they count it barbarous, they count it unworthy to be accounted of .... But how hardly soever you deale with your tongue, how barbarous soever you count it how little soever you esteem it, I durst myself undertake.... to wryte in it as copiouslye for varietie, as compendiously for brevitie, as choycely for woordes, as pithily

34

Albert C . Baugh, A History Co. 1953) p. 245. Baugh, p. 245. Baugh, p. 246.

of the English Language

(New York: Appleton-Century

186

for sentences,.... and every way as eloquently, as any writer should do in any vulgar tongue whatsoever. " (quoted in Baugh)

In effect, Latin was not discounted, but was set aside for that which they believed was indigenously and proudly theirs. This was the linguistic legacy handed down to Dryden in the following century. In his Dedication of the Aeneis, Dryden emphasizes the point of the beauty of the English language in discussing versification:
Versification cannot so properly be call'd sweet as luscious. The Italians are forc'd upon it, once or twice in every line, because they have a redundancy of Vowels in their Language. Their Metal is so soft, that it will not Coyn without Alloy to harden it. On the other side, for the Reason already nam'd 'tis all we can do to give sufficient sweetness to our Language: We must not only chuse our words for Elegance, but for sound:
38

Dryden no longer seeks approval or recognition for his language, but legitimises it. He now makes comparisons not only to the classical languages but also, to a contemporary language of his day, Italian. In describing the French language, he notes:
Their language is not strung with Sinews like our English. It has the nimbleness of a Greyhound, but not the bulk and body of a Mastiff Our Men and our Verses over-bear them by their weight; and Pondere non Numero, is the British Motto. The French have set up Purity for the Standard of their Language; and a Masculine Vigour is that of ours.'"

On the issue of translating classical works into English, Dryden not only considers it right, but also as an enrichment of the English language:
'Tis true, that when I find an English word, significant and sounding, I neither borrow from the Latin or any other Language: But when I want at home, I must seek abroad. I f sounding Words are not of our growth and Manufacture, who shall hinder me to Import them from a foreign Country? I carry not out the Treasure of the Nation, which is never to return: but what I bring from Italy, I spend in England: Here it remains and here it circulates; for if the Coyn be good, it will pass from one hand to another. I Trade both with the Living and the Dead, for the enrichment of our Native Language. We have enough in England to supply our necessity; but if we will have things of Magnificence and Splendour, we must get them by Commerce.'"'

Dryden commodifies and commercialises the English language. By seeking abroad for words not manufactured in his language, he makes a commodity out of that word, and by incorporating it as part of his
Baugh, p. 249. Kinsley, vol.3, p. 1046. Kinsley, vol.3, p. 1048 Kinsley, vol. 3, p. 1059.

187

language, he quantifies and qualifies his own language. To adorn the English language, he suggests obtaining the goods by commerce. By commerce, he means obtaining from another source. He points to the fact that language is commercial; that the very language of his master, Virgil, is commercialized:
We, and all the Modern tongues, have more Articles and Pronouns, besides signs of Tenses and Cases, and other Barbarities on which our Speech is built by the faults of our Forefathers. The Romans founded theirs upon the Greek: And the Greeks, we know, were labouring many hundred years upon their Language, before they brought it to perfection.""

This is an attempt by Dryden to justify his importation of foreign words into his own language. He is depicting the idea that this 'civilized' language (Latin) was itself built on imports, and English, therefore, would not be wrong to 'spend' and 'circulate' imported words. But an issue that cannot be overlooked is that Dryden had his own personal views of the English language. He saw English language, in the words of Robert Hume, 'as an extension of Greek and Roman beginnings',''^ though I would add that it is the extension of the classical languages as well as the older European languages. Dryden's views were formulated during his school days at Westminster, where school exercises included translating English into Latin, Latin into Greek and Greek into Latin. In his Dedication of Troilus and Cressida, he confessed,
As our English is a composition of the dead and living Tongues, there is requir'd a perfect knowledge, not onely of the Greek and Latine, but of the Old German, the French and the Italian : and to help all these, a conversation with those Authours of our own, who have written with the fewest faults in prose and verse. But how barbarously we yet write and speak....,'*''

Winn observed that when composing in English, Dryden 'imposed upon that language the rigorous syntax of an inflected tongue.''*'' Dryden again admits to this practice of his in that same Dedication:
For I am often put to a stand, in considering whether what I write be the Idiom of the Tongue, or false Grammar, and nonsence couch'd beneath that specious Name of Anglicisme; and 1 have no other way to clear my doubts, but by translating my English into Latine, and thereby trying what sence the words will bear in a more stable language. I am desirous if it Kinsley, vol. 3, p. 1054. Robert Hume, Dryden's Criticism Roper, vol, xiii, p. 222. Winn, p. 45.

(Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1970) p. 74.

were possible, that we might all write with the same certainty of words and purity of phrase, to which the Italians first arriv'd, and after them the French: At least we might advance so far, as our Tongue is capable of such a standard. It wou'd mortify an English man to consider, that from the time of Boccace and of Petrarche, the Italian has varied little: And that the English of Chaucer their contemporary is not to be understood without the help of an Old Dictionary."^

Dryden was named a member of the committee of the Royal Society in 1664, set up to find ways to improve the English language. Charles Ward notes that during his tenure as a member of that committee for fifteen years, Dryden 'became more and more alive to the shifting meanings of English words and phrases and to the constant change which English was undergoing in his own time.... When he considered his own language against the changeless elegance of the Roman and Greek- and even the French - he found it lacking in definition, in statements of propriety against which 'measures of elegance can be taken.'''^ This poor feeling prompted him to solicit the aid of the Principal Secretary of State, the Earl of Sunderland:
'Twas the employment of the whole Academy for many years, for the perfect knowledge of a Tongue was never attain'd by any single person. The Court, the Colledge, and the Town, must be joyn'd in it. We are full of Monosyllables, and those clog'd with consonants, and our pronounciation is effeminate; all which are enemies to a sounding language. 'Tis true that to supply our poverty, we have trafficqued with our Neighbour Nations; by which means we abound as much in words, as Amsterdam does in Religions; but to order them, and make them usefull after their admission is the difficulty. ... Will you Lordship give me leave to speak out at last? and to acquaint the world, that from your encouragement and patronage, we may one day expect to speak and write a language, worthy of the English wit, and which foreigners may not disdain to learn?

Dryden's Theories of Translation Any attempt to examine fully Dryden's version of the Sixth Book of The Aeneid against Virgil's original would be impracticable in this space. Therefore, certain excerpts from both works will be closely compared. In the Dedication of The Aeneis, Dryden implores his readers to 'Lay by Virgil....when you take up my Version, and it will appear a passable beauty, when the Original Muse is absent.'

Roper, pp. 222-23. Ward, p. 139. Roper, vol. xiii, pp. 222-23.

189

Dryden is being modest, saying that his translation will not stand comparison with Virgil. Before laying by Virgil, that which is most obvious is the versification of Dryden's translation. Virgil wrote in freeflowing hexameters, Dryden in rhyme.'*^ In a strong defence of rhyme, Dryden wrote to the Earl of Roscommon, (who in an Essay on Translated Verses [1684] defended the exclusion of rhyme):
For conquering Rome With Grecian spoils brought Grecian numbers home, Enriched by those Athenian muses more Than all the vanquished world could yield before; Till barb'rous nations and more barb'rous times, Debased the majesty of verse to rhymes: Those rude at first: a kind of hubbling prose That limped along and tinckled in the close; But Italy reviving from the trance O f Vandal, Goth and Monkish ignorance, With pauses, cadence and well-vowelled words, And all the graces a good ear affords. Made rhyme an art.... (Longman ed. II, 7-19)

The poem is witty synopsis of the history of rhyme. Dryden propounds the idea that the greatest conquest the Romans had ever embarked upon was that which resulted in the imitation of Greek literature, which the Athenian Muses had made richer with rhyme scheme. To Dryden, the early English ('barb'rous nations and more barb'rous times') did not appreciate the majesty of rhyme and left it unattended, but it was the Italians who revived this grace and made rhyme an art. And although it is more difficult to rhyme in English than in Italian, Dryden was clearly resolved to attempt a form which he saw as graceftil and disciplined. Dryden is aware of the fact that both his and Virgil's work appeal to human senses, but in a different time and through a different medium. In his Preface to Sylvae, he makes particular reference to the scene in which Venus seduces Cupid in the Aeneid Book I :
paret Amor dictis carae genetricis et alas exuit et gressu gaudens incedit luli. at Venus Ascanio placidam per membra quietem inrigat, et fotum gremio dea tollit in altos Idaliae lucos, ubi mollis amaracus ilium floribus et dulci adspirans complectitur umbra.

(1:689-694))

The latter saw the art of rhyming as a 'drive toward refinement of expression and perfection of form'. Robin Sowerby, The Classical Legacy in Renaissance Poetry (London: Longman, 1994) p. 52.

190

[Love obeys his dear mother's words, lays by his wings, and walks joyously with the step of lulus. But Venus pours over the limbs of Ascanius the dew of repose and, fondling him in her bosom, lifts him with divine power to Idalia's high groves, where soft marjoram enwraps him in flowers and the breath of its sweet shade.]

This is Dryden's translation:

The God of Love obeys, and set aside His Bow, and Quiver, and his plumy Pride: He walks lulus in his Mother's Sight, And in the Sweet Resemblance takes Delight. The Goddess then to young Ascanius flies. And in a pleasing Slumber seals his Eyes; LuH'd in her Lap, amidst a Train of Loves, She gently bears him to her blissful Groves Then with a Wreath of Myrtle crowns his Head, And softly lays him on a flow'ry Bed. (1:965-74)

Dryden's translation substitutes words and expressions that Virgil never used. This is because Dryden is transposing an epic work into a lyrical one. This transposition compels Dryden to make all necessary alterations. For example, where Virgil begins with 'Love obeys. . .' (meaning the symbol of Love or the god of Love), 'obeys his dear mother's words, lays by his wings, and walks joyously with the step of lulus', Dryden felt it would read better i f he were to create the scene in simple straightforward statement that would sound better to a seventeenth-century English audience:
The God of Love obeys, and sets aside His Bow, and Quiver, and his plumy Pride: He walks lulus in his Mother's Sight, And in the Sweet Resemblance takes Delight

Dryden uses Cupid's title (the god of Love) to describe him, and in this description, reminds the reader of this god's trademark, his legendary bow and quiver as well as his wings, which he expresses as his 'plumy pride'. He then walks, not in the manner lulus walks, but like lulus himself, and he takes delight as his mother watches this sweet, striking resemblance of lulus. Dryden's expressions typify Paul Valery's assertion that 'the poet is a peculiar type of translator who translates ordinary speech, modified by emotion, into "language of the gods", and his inner

191

labour consists less of seeking words for his ideas than of seeking ideas for his words and paramount rhythms.' Dryden incorporates vivid action and breathtaking movements as he describes how, in the unbearable heat of romance Venus dashes towards Cupid and closes his eyes in an enchanting, seductive slumber. According to Dryden, she does not fondle him in her bosom and lift him with divine power to Idalia's high groves (as Virgil describes), but she lulls him to sleep in a somewhat idyllic manner, which he describes as a 'Train of Loves', hereby conveying the idea of Cupid being lost in a mesmeric rhythm; in which rhythm, she uses all her graces to take him to her blissful groves, where she enwreathes his head, not with sweet marjoram, but with myrtle. Dryden gives his reason for substituting myrtle with sweet marjoram:
If I should Translate it Sweet Marjoram, as the word signifies; the Reader would think I had mistaken Virgil, for the Village-words, as I may call them, give us a mean Idea of the thing; but the Sound of the Latin is so much more pleasing by the just mixture of Vowels with the Consonants, that it raises our Fancies to conceive somewhat more Noble than a common Herb; and to spread Roses under him, and strew Lillies over him; a Bed not unworthy the Grandson of the Goddess.

The sound here takes precedence over the specific botanical accuracy. Dryden admits that Virgil's 'stock. . . almost inexhaustible of figurative elegant and sounding words [in Latin] are wholly lost in any modern language.' His substitution therefore, with words that would sound well in lyric verse, compensates for any figurative, elegant and sounding words that might be exhaustible in the English language. In Dryden's versification of this excerpt, the vocabulary is cadential as well as onomatopoeic. There is a rise and fall in the pitch of the voice, and there is the measure of beat, of sound and of movement: Ascanius 'walks in his mother's sight', 'the goddess,. . . In a pleasing Slumber seals his eyes:/ Lull'd in her lap amidst a train of loves/ And softly lays him on a flowery bed.' Dryden is particularly mindfiil about the words and expressions he uses. In creating this fluid rococo, he has used the best words and expressions that seventeenth-century England made available, while at the

49

Kinsley, vol. 3, p. 1058.

192

same time retained Virgil's basic ideas. Octavio Paz makes this careful observation:
Poetry radically transforms language and it does so in direction opposite to that of prose. In one case, the mobility of character tends to fix a single meaning; in the other, the plurality of meanings tends to fix the characters. Language, of course, is a system of mobile signs that may be interchangeable to some degree; one word can be replaced by another, and each phrase can be replaced by another....Once we move into the terrain of poetry, we find that words have lost their mobility and their interchangeability. The meanings of a poem are multiple and changeable; the words of that poem are unique and irreplaceable. To change them would be to destroy the poem. Poetry is expressed in language, but it goes beyond language.^"

But though Paz focuses on the uniqueness and irreplaceability of words he is quick to point out that in the flow of language, words are multiple and changeable, with regard to meanings:
The poet, immersed in the movement of language, in constant verbal occupation, chooses a few words - or is chosen by them. As he combines them, he constructs his poem: a verbal object made of irreplaceable and immovable characters. The translator's starting point is not the language in movement that provides the poet's raw material but the fixed language of the poem. A language congealed yet living. His procedure is the inverse of the poet's ; he is not constructing an unalterable text from the mobile characters; instead he is dismantling the elements of the text, freeing the signs into circulation, then returning them to language.... The result is production of the original poem in another poem that is,... less a copy than a transmutation. The ideal of poetic translation, as Valery once superbly defined it, consists of producing analogous effects with different implements.^'

Virgil wrote in hexameters, Dryden in heroic couplets. First introduced by Chaucer in The Legend of Good Women and The Canterbury Tales, the use of heroic couplets was frequently used in English literature with the notable exception of Milton's Paradise Lost and Spenser's The Faerie Queene. According to Abrams, the poets of the neo-classic era wrote in closed couplets; that is the end of each couplet tends to coincide with the end either of a sentence or a self-contained unit of syntax. One of the benefits Dryden saw in employing heroic couplets was that it tended to add rhythm to the writer's words. He knew the difference between lyric and epic; and in reading Virgil's Aeneid, Dryden admits that 'though

^ Octavio Paz, 'TransIation:Literature and Letters' in Theories of Translation 162 (p. 159). ^' Paz, pp. 159-60.

pp. 152-

193

Virgil never attempted the Lyrick Verse, [he] is everywhere Elegant, sweet and flowing in his Hexameters. His words are not only chosen, but the places in which he ranks them for the sound; he who removes them from the Station wherein their Master sets them, spoils the Harmony.'^^ For example, Virgil begins Book Six in this manner:
Sic fatur lacrimans classique immittit habenas, et tandem Euboicis Cumarum adlabitur oris, obvertuntpelago proras, tum dente tenaci ancora fundabat navis, et litora curvae praetexunt puppes. iuvenum manus emicat ardens litus in Hesperium; quaerit pars semina flammae abstrusa in venis silicis, pars densa ferarum tecta rapit silvas, inventaque Jlumina monstrat. at plus Aeneas arces, quibus altus Apollo praesidet, horrendaeque procul secreta Sibyllae, antrum immane, petit, magnam cui mentem animumque Delius inspirat vates aperitque futura. lam subeunt Triviae lucos atque aurea tecta (VI: 1-13)

[Thus he cries weeping, and gives his fleet the reins, and at last glides up to the shores of Euboean Cumae. they tum the prows seaward, with the grip of anchor's teeth made fast the ships, and the round keels fringe the beach. In hot haste the youthful band leaps forth on the Hesperian shore; some seek the seeds of flame hidden in veins of flint, some pillage the woods, the thick coverts of game, and point to new-found streams. But good Aeneas seeks the heights, where Apollo seats enthroned, and a vast cavern hard by, hidden haunt of the dread Sibyl, into whom the Delian seer, breathes a mighty mind and soul, revealing the future. Now they pass under the grove of Trivia and the roof of gold.]

Virgil uses the syntax to create the picturesque. There is a mental picture in this scene; the reader can hear, and see in Aeneas' eyes, those manly effusions of moisture; he can observe the movements of the crew as they work hard to throw anchor on the beach, after which the youthful crew, like any other sea-faring crew after a long time at sea, in haste explore the first land at which they arrive. The language, with its metaphors of teeth, {dente tenaci ancora), and its sounds {pelago proras ...praetexuntpuppes)

brings the verse alive. Their activities are normal; some concentrate on lighting fires, while others gather firewood. Amidst all these activities, Virgil points his readers to the only symbol of sanity, leadership and focus

" Kinsley, 3, 1045-46.

194

in the person of pious or good Aeneas. He searches out the temple of Apollo, where the Sibyl, when possessed by the deity proclaims the oracles. Virgil uses hexameters with great freedom, though sometimes it would appear as i f he moves from his hexametrical form of writing to the border of quantitative meters (a metrical pattern which is not determined by the stress but by the 'quantity' [the duration of pronunciation] of a syllable, and the foot consists of a combination of 'long' and 'short' syllables.) In Dryden's translation, there is a move from prose-like or freeflowing writing to noticeable prosody, which in this case, is not just the theory and practice of versification or the laws of meter, but also the principles and practice of meter, rhyme and stanza, which one can further extend to the sound effects, such as alliteration, dissonance, euphony and onomatopoeia. This is Dryden's translation:
He said, and wept: Then spread his Sails before The Winds, and reach'd at length the Cuman Shore Their anchors drop'd, his crew the Vessels moor. They turn their Heads to sea; their stems to Land; And greet with greedy Joy th'Italian strand. Some strike from clashing Flints their fiery Seed; Some gather Sticks, the kindled Flames to feed: Or search for hollow Trees, and fell the Woods, Or trace through Valleys the discover'd Floods. Thus, while their sev'ral charges they fulfil. The pious Prince ascends the sacred Hill Where Phoebus is ador'd; and seeks the Shade, Which hides from sight, his venerable Maid. Deep in a cave the Sibyl makes abode; Thence fiill of Fate returns, and of the God Through Trivia's Grove they walk; and now behold. And enter now, the Temple roof d with Gold. (VI: 1-17)

Writing in pentameters restricts Dryden from using an abundance of words, which in turn requires an economy of grammar. The lines now become succinct, pithy and incisive. It also depicts Dryden as emulating Virgil in this respect; Virgil's use of his native tongue [Latin], afforded him the opportunity to say more with one word, which is sometimes impossible in the English language. In fact, Dryden once commented on his inability to enjoy that particular freedom with words which his master enjoyed, a comment Schopenhauer was to make later.

195

There is another reason Dryden wrote in pentameters. He once said he wanted Virgil to speak English. In doing so, Dryden would want him to set the standards and principles of the English language, as he did for his own language [Latin]. It follows that i f Dryden is writing in verse form he would want Virgil to write in that manner (if Virgil were English) because that manner was the best. Dryden in short, uses Virgil to validate or endorse this form of writing. In another attempt to explain heroic poetry, he gives an incisive view of the art of rhyme:
But Heroick Poetry is not the growth of France, as it might be of England, if it were Cultivated.... Hannibal Caro is a great Name among the Italians, yet his Translation of The Aeneis is most scandalously mean, though he has taken the advantage of writing in Blank Verse, and freed himself fi-om the shackles of modem Rhime: .. .Now if a Muse cannot run when she is unfetter'd 'tis a sign she has but little speed. I will not make a digression here, though I am strangely tempted to it; but will only say, that he who can write well in Rhime, may write better in Blank Verse. Rhime is certainly a constraint even to the best Poets, and those who make it with most ease ; ....What it adds to sweetness, it takes away from sense; and he who loses the least by it, may be call'd a gainer: it often makes us swerve from an Author's meaning: As if a Mark be set up for an Archer at a great distance, let him aim as exactly as he can, the least wind will take his Arrow, and divert it from the White.

Rhyme scheme 'adds to sweetness', sweetness of the language. In The Dedication, he wrote, 'Versification... (is) all we can do to give sufficient sweetness to our language: We must not only choose our words for Elegance, but for Sound....'^^ Earlier in that same piece, he noted, 'And [I] am the first Englishman, perhaps, who made it his design to copy in His Numbers, his choice of Words, and his placing them for the sweetness of the sound.'^^ In Dryden's opening account, there is a noticeable juxtaposition of onomatopoeia and alliteration; the spreading of the sails, the anchors dropping, the striking of flints, the gathering of sticks, the kindled flames. When he uses the g-alliteration, they are standing not too far from each other; the crew 'greet with greedy joy'. These all add sweetness to the sound and Dryden is mindfiil of the posifion in which he places them. There are interesting examples of the translator's problem in the use of specific words. The most important of these is plus, used of plus Aeneas.
" Kinsley, vol. 3, pp. 1049-50. Kinsley, vol. 3, p. 1046 " Kinsley, vol. 3, p. 1046.

196

The Loeb edition in its 1935 revised form, translated it as 'good Aeneas'. Dryden does not. He colonized the Latin original and Anglicizes it. This is a perfect example in which we find Dryden 'spending in England what he brings from Italy'. He finds no suitable English word to translate the Latin word pius. He even commented on the use of the word, piety:
Piety, as your Lordship sees, takes place of all, as the chief part of his Character: And the word in Latin is more fiill than it can possibly be exprest in any Modern Language; for there it comprehends not only Devotion to the Gods, but Filial Love and tender Affections to Relations of all sorts.'*

Dryden's choice of words or his adoption of a foreign word into his own language and translation, falls into that category which is now known as linguistics of translation. Roman Jakobson puts it in a clear perspective:
In poetry, verbal equations become a constructive principle of the text. Syntactic and morphological categories, roots, and affixes, phonemes and their components (distinctive features) - in short, any constituents of the verbal code - are confronted, juxtaposed, brought into contiguous relation according to the principle of similarity and contrast and carry their own autonomous signification. Phonemic similarity is sensed as semantic relationship. The pun, or to use a more erudite, and perhaps more precise term - paranomasia, reigns over poetic art, and whether its rule is absolute or limited, poetry by itself is untranslatable. Only creative transposition is possible: either intralingual transposition - from one poetic shape into another, or interlingual transposition - from one language into another, or finally, intersemiotic transposition - from one system of signs into another, e.g. from verbal art into music, dance, cinema, or painting. "

Dryden's creative transposition falls under the first category, intralingual transposition. He is determined to shape Virgil's Latin original into seventeenth- century English, and this form of transposition affords him the latitude to be manipulative with words, foreign or domestic. This determination on the part of Dryden to 'convert' Latin into English tends to buttress another of Jakobson's theories that 'Language differs essentially in what they must and not in what they may convey.'^^ Pius, to Dryden, cannot be translated effectively. It has to be transposed. In so doing, Aeneas is perceived as serious, thoughtful, dutiful; the one ascending the 'sacred hill where Phoebus is adored', 'deep in a cave'. Piety in this case lends itself to gravity.

Kinsley, vol. 3, p. 1018. ' ' Roman Jakobson, 'On Linguistic Aspects of Translation' in On Translation Reuben Brower (Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1959) pp. 232-39 ( p. 238). '* Jakobson, p. 236.

ed. by

197

Dryden's Translation of Religious and Political Issues As mentioned earlier in this work, Virgil's purpose in the Sixth Book of The Aeneid, is two-fold; the religious and the polifical. As such, for purposes of this examination, I shall focus on these two aspects (in the order indicated) of Dryden's version and try to show what he does with some particular episodes or excerpts from his master's original.

Religious Our first introduction of a religious account in Book Six of The Aeneid is the 'infilling' of the Sibyl by the god, Apollo. This is Virgil's description:
Excisum Euboicae latus ingens rupis in antrum, quo lati ducunt aditus centum, ostia centum, unde ruunt totidem voces, responsa Sibyllae. ventum erat ad limen, cum virgo, "poscere fata tempus " ait: "deus, ecce, deus!" cui talia fanti ante fores subito non voltus, nan color unus, non comptae mansere comae, sedpectus anhelum, et rabie fera corda tument, maiorque videri nec mortale sonans, adflata est numine quando iam propieri dei. (VI: 42-51) [The huge side of the Euboean rock is hewn into a cavern, whither lead a hundred wide mouths, a hundred gateways, whence rush as many voices, the answers of the sibyl. They had come to the threshold, when the maiden cries: '"Tis time to ask the oracles; the god, lo! the god!" As thus she spake before the doors, suddenly nor countenance nor colour was the same, nor stayed her tresses braided; but her bosom heaves, her heart swells with wild frenzy, and she is taller to behold, nor has her voice a mortal ring, since she now feels the nearer breath of deity. ...]

This excerpt is a graphic demonstration of the power of Virgil's religion. He introduces the reader to a deific possession of an ordinary individual. The power of the god is evinced through the Sibyl in physical manifestafion. Her face takes on a different hue. She loses her carefully braided hair. Her breasts heave as she goes completely under the influence and dictates of the god. Virgil's account of this scene not only shows the reverence with which he holds his religion but also, a clear picture of a pre-christian, otherworldly experience. There is awe, holy fear, an ossa tremor (chill shudder) that envelops the sturdy frames of the onlooking

198

valiant soldiers. But this is the Loeb translation, which tries to get as close to the Latin as possible. The following is Dryden's translation:
A spacious cave, within its farmost part. Was hew'd and fashioned by laborious Art, Thro' the Hills hollow sides; Before the place, A hundred doors a hundred Entries grace: As many Voices issue; and the sound O f Sibyl's Words as many times rebound. Now to the mouth they come: Aloud she cries. This is the time, enquire your Destinies. He comes, behold the God! Thus while she said, (And shiv'ring at the sacred entry staid) Her colour chang'd, her Face was not the same. And hollow Groans from her deep spirit came. Her hair stood up; convulsive Rage possess'd Her trembling Limbs, and heav'd her lab'ring Breast. Greater than Human Kind she seem'd to look: And with an Accent, more than Mortal, spoke. Her staring Eyes with sparkling Fury rowl; When all the God came rushing to her Soul. ( V I : 62-79)

Here is another example of Dryden's exercise of freedom of words or language, afforded him by the conversion of an epic work into a lyrical one. And in the words of Jakobson: 'No lack of grammatical device in the language translated into makes impossible a literal translation of the entire conceptual information contained in the original.'^^ In simple straightforward language and with ample English adjectives, Dryden describes the cave: the reader is given a clear mental picture of what the oracle's cave is. It is spacious, it is cut, fashioned or designed out of a hill by skilled hands. In beautifitlly-shaped language, he explains to us the acoustical structure of the cave; Sibyl's voice echoes through the the whole structure. (And this is the first time Dryden mentions Sibyl as a proper noun. In line fourteen, at our first introduction, she is referred to as 'the Sibyl'. Here, in line sixty-seven, she is 'Sibyl'. Among the many meanings of this word are, 'the one preferred', 'the supreme being', thus giving us the impression that she is now the supreme being personified.) But from this coaxing legato, the lyrics suddenly take on a staccato delivery of presentation, as the Sibyl comes under the spell of Apollo: Her hair seems to stand on end; the convulsive possession of the power of Apollo causes her feet to go weak (giving us the impression that the

Jakobson, p. 235.

199

physical human body carmot withstand divine power); she appears greater than any mortal at this point; her voice, or the tone of her voice, was unlike any other human's; and with eyes that seem to sparkle with fear and dread, she spoke. Dryden attempts to convey to his readers what exactly he thinks Virgil is trying to say. It is a presupposition of Virgil's workmanship. This is what Michael Riffaterre has termed, 'the transposition of presupposition':
A translation presupposes a source text. Within the source, its literary features in turn presuppose, and they function because of what they presuppose. The text's artifice, its being an artifact, presupposes an author. Whether implied or represented, this author is translatable, as style if implied, or as mimesis if represented.

As Dryden himself said in the preface to Ovid's Epistles, '...the Verbal Copyer is incumber 'd with many difficulties..., He is to consider, at the same time, the thought of his Authour, and his words, and to find out the Counterpart to each in another Language: and besides this, he is to confine himself to the compass of Numbers, and the Slavery of Rhime.' ^' This could be precisely the reason behind his observation of Virgil's works, especially in the area of words when he comments in the Preface to The Aeneis:
What he says of the Sibylls Prophecies may be as properly apply'd to every word of his: They must be read, in order as they lie; the last breath discomposes them, and somewhat of their Divinity is lost.*^

Locating Virgil's thoughts and intentions, Dryden has tried to come close in his version, to place English words where he is convinced they are most appropriate. He seems to be in tune with Riffaterre, who concludes:
Presupposition thus organizes the whole poem, regulating a derivation that pervades everything and the end of which dictates the clausula and affirms textuality. It seems to me that no translation that would be true can neglect it, and that it is revealing that translators should have recoiled from such a total experience. It is precisely the locus of originality, the source of all poetic power in a text that otherwise would be a mere epyllion, a graceful exercise on a literary genre.

Dryden treats with veneration those things which he feels Virgil held so dearly. It is fitfing therefore, to begin with those scenes where Virgil's
Michael Riffaterre, 'Transposing Presuppositions on the Semiotics of Literary Translation' in Theories of Translation, pp. 204-17 (p. 205). Kinsley, vol. l , p . 183. Kinsley, vol. 3, p. 1046 " Riffaterre, p. 211-12.

200

religion (which is closely linked with his customs) is depicted; for example, the scene at Acheron deals with some of the tenets of Virgil's eschatological beliefs:
Hinc via, Tartarei quae fert Acherontis ad undas. turbidus, his caeno vastaque voragine gurges aestuat, atque omnem Cocyto eructat harenam. portitor has horrendus aquas et flumina servat terribili squalore Charon, cui plurima mento canities inculta iacet, stant lumina flamma, sordidus ex umeris nodo dependet amictus. ipse ratem conto subigit velisque ministrat et ferruginea subvectat corpora cumba, iam senior, sed cruda deo viridisque senectus. ( V I : 295-304) [Hence a road leads to the waters of Tartarean Acheron. Here, thick with mire and of fathomless flood, a whirlpool seethes and belches into Cocytus all its sand. A grim warden guards these waters and streams, terrible in his squalor - Charon, on whose chin lies a mass of unkempt, hoary hair; his eyes are staring orbs of flame; his squalid garb hangs by a knot from his shoulders. Unaided he poles the boat, tends the sails, and in his murky craft convoys the dead - now aged, but a god's old age is hardy and green.]

The figure of Charon is a part of Virgil's religion. He is the ferryman who transports the souls over the Stygian waters to their permanent abode. But what we see in this version, is a picture of Charon in the background, as i f in perspecfive. He appears grim, with old unkempt hair; his eyes glow like flames in the darkness. Though he appears old, one could still see eternal youth in him. But Dryden's portrait is one in which Charon and the activities that are taking place around Acheron, are brought to the foreground:
Hence to deep Acheron they take their way; Whose troubled Eddies, thick with Ooze and Clay, Are whirl'd aloft, and Cocytus lost: There Charon stands, who rules the dreary coast: A sordid God; down from his hoary Chin A length of Beard descends; uncomb'd, unclean: His Eyes like hollow Furnaces on Fire: A Girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene Attire. He spreads his Canvas, with his Pole he steers; The Freights of flitting Ghosts in his thin Bottom bears. He look'd in Years; yet in his Years were seen A youthfiil Vigour, and Autumnal Green. ( V I : 410- 421)

Dryden's version follows Virgil's depiction of Charon's squalor and dirt, although the last line suggests something more attractive. Acheron, and all

201

the activities that are taking place on its shores, fall under Charon's superintendency ('.. .who rules the dreary coast'). Dryden sees him as an unpleasant deity: he wears a long, dirty, unkempt beard; his eyes are like two hollow or deep furnaces of fire; he wears an unsightly robe which is held in place by a girdle that is filthy and unpleasant to the nostrils. But in spite of his appearance, he is still a god; and he ends this description of Charon with an oxymoron:
He look'd in Years; yet in his Years were seen A youthfijl Vigour, and Autumnal Green.

Though he looks old, as i f he is in the autumn of his life, yet he is 'perenially' young; for he is immortal. But Dryden is able to describe Charon in such a maimer, because (aside from showing reverence for Virgil's religion and customs) he is writing in heroic couplets which enables him to write two lines for one, which in turn provides him the freedom to inject his own ideas or express himself as he sees best. But in spite of having much freedom of expression, Dryden has kept as close to the Muse's original as possible in trying to convey Virgil's thoughts. In the preface to his translation of Ovid's Epistles, he maintains that, in a translation,
... [for] thought, if it be Translated truly, cannot be lost in another Language, but the words that convey it to our apprehension (which are the Image and Ornament of that thought), may be so ill chosen as to make it appear in an unhandsome dress, and rob it of its native Lustre. There is therefore a liberty to -be allow 'dfor the Expression, neither is it necessary that Words and Lines should be confin'd to the measure of the Original. The sence of an Authour, generally speaking, is to be Sacred and inviolable.... When a Painter Copies from the life, I suppose he has no privilege to alter Features and Lineaments, under pretence that his Picture will look better: perhaps the Face which he has drawn would be more Exact, if the Eyes or Nose were alter 'd; but 'tis his business to make it resemble the Original.^''

This is precisely what Dryden has adhered to, maintaining the idea of the original. In the discussion of freedom of expression, Alexander Eraser Tyler has made this observation:
For the same reason, among the different species of Poetical composition, the lyric is that which allows of the greatest liberty in translation, as a freedom, both of thought and expression, is agreeable to its character.... While a translator endeavours to give to his work all the ease of original composition, the chief difficulty he has to encounter will be found in the

Kinsley, vol. 1, p. 185.

202

translation of idioms, or those turns of expressions which do not belong to universal grammar, but of which every language has its own, that are exclusively proper to it. "

Tyler is discussing the lyric, but Dryden applies some of these ideas to the epic. A typical example of Dryden's encounter with translations of idioms or turns of expressions can be found in the depiction of the activities on the Acheron shore:
hue omnis turba ad ripas effusa ruebat,

matres atque viri, defunctaque corpora vita magnanimum heroum, pueri innuptaeque puellae imposttque regis iuvenes ante ora parentum: quam multa in silvis autumni frigore prima lapsa cadunt folia, aut ad terram gurgite ab alto quam multae glomerantur aves, ubifrigidus annus trans pontum fugat et terris immittit apricis. stabant orantes primi transmittere cursum tendebantque manus ripae ulterioris a/wore.[VI ; 305-314] [...Hither mshed all the throng, streaming to the banks; mothers and men and bodies of high-souled heroes, their life now done, boys and unwedded girls, and sons placed on the pyre before their fathers' eyes; thick as the leaves that at autumn's first frost dropping fall, and thick as the birds that from the seething deep flock shoreward, where the chill of the year drives them overseas and sends them into sunny lands. They stood, pleading to be the first ferried across, and stretched out hands in yearning for the farther shore.]

Dryden translates this scene:

An Airy Crowd came rushing where he stood; Which fill'd the margin of the fatal Flood. Husbands and Wives, Boys and unmarry'd Maids; And mighty Heroes more Majestick Shades; And Youths, intomb'd before their Fathers Eyes, With hollow Groans, and Shrieks, and feeble Cries: Thick as the Leaves in Autumn strow the Woods: Or Fowls, by Winter forc'd, forsake the Floods, And wing their hasty flight to happier Lands: Such, and so thick, the shiv'ring Army stands: And press for passage with extended hands. (VI : 422432)

Virgil sees a crowd, a mob ('throng'), Dryden sees a mass of incorporeal figures, an assemblage of ghosts ('Airy Crowd'). He has attempted to do what the writer of Schriften zur Literatur ("Writings on Literature"), suggests:

" Alexander Eraser Tyler 'Essay on the Principles of Translation' in History/

Translation/

Culture ed by Andre Lefevere (London: Routledge, 1992) pp. 128-135 (p. 133).

203

There are two maxims in translation: one requires that the author of a foreign nation be brought across to us in such a way that we can look on him as ours. The other requires that we ourselves should cross over into what is foreign and adapt ourselves to its conditions, its peculiarities, and its use of language.**

Dryden brings Virgil's religion to us in vivid colours, so that we can identify with Virgil, while at the same time, he transports us to Virgil's world that we might become witnesses to his beliefs or faith. When Dryden brings Virgil over to his (Dryden's) age, he translates 'throng' as 'Airy', phantasmic. Furthermore, it is the reason he describes the 'Airy crowd' (the ghosts of men, women and children) as rushing (not 'streaming to the banks') to the 'fatal Flood'. Dryden is dealing with a deathly, ghostly scene in a place which Virgil describes as somni noctisque soporae (land of Shadows, of Sleep and drowsy Night) (VI : 390-391). It is therefore fitting for Dryden to continue to relate this episode in that same deathly, ghostly concept; Acheron is not deathly or fatal because it is not found in the land of mortals. It is fatal because it is the river of death, the death to whom those souls who stand on the banks of that river have succumbed. Acheron is the only way across which, these victims of death can pass to their permanent abode, hence, 'the fatal Flood'. Dryden sees men, women, and children who preceded their parents in death, all in lamentable voices pressing for passage to the other shore. In a beautiful onomatopoeia, Dryden describes their cries and sorrow as 'hollow groans', 'shrieks', and 'feeble cries' as if these cries could be separately identified; the men, 'hollow groans', the women 'shrieks', and the children, 'feeble cries'. Dryden adds the sound of these groans, shrieks and cries to Virgil's account, expanding the original in a way which suggests a portrayal of Hell in later literature. These incorporeal forms litter the shores of Acheron as leaves that thick strow the woods at autumn (an echo of Paradise Lost) or as fowls forced to migrate to warmer shores as winter begins. For Dryden, language is steeped in visual imagery. Vision lends itself to language to create, simplify and convey to the mind that which makes it understandable.

' Extract from Schriften zur Literatur,

Lefevere, p. 78.

204

Thus, in two simple illustrations (similes), Dryden compares this mass of countless souls all fighting to get as close to Charon as possible. The use of such illustrations enables Dryden to keep the picture simple, and the idea distilled. Realizing he is constrained by the original, he uses care and great technique in this venture; technique which Alexander Pope was to commend in later years as the key to a good translation. In the preface to his translation of The Iliad, Pope makes this observation:
That which in my Opinion ought to be the Endeavour of anyone who translates Homer, is above ail things to keep alive that Spirit and Fire which makes his Chief character. In particular Places, where the Sense can bear any Doubt, to follow the strongest and most Poetical, as most agreeing with that character. To copy him in all the Variations of his Style, and the different Modulations of his Numbers. To preserve in the more active if descriptive Parts, a Warmth and Elevation;in the more sedate or narrative, a Plainness and Solemnity; in the Speeches a Fullness and Perspicuity; in the Sentences a shormess and Gravity. Not to neglect even the little Figures and Turns on the Words, nor sometimes the very Cast of the Periods. Neither to omit or confound any Rites or Customs of Antiquity. Perhaps too he ought to include the whole in a shorter Compass, than has hitherto been done by any Translator who has tolerably preserved either the Sense or Poetry.

Pope's recommendations are anticipated in Dryden's translation, particularly plainness and solemnity, respect for rites, and customs of antiquity. Aeneas' encounter with Palinurus, for example, gives us one of the best examples of Dryden's work. In the religion of Virgil, the unburied dead would have to roam the shores of Acheron for a hundred years as penance. When Palinurus sees Aeneas he implores him to go back to earth, find his body and give him a burial, so that he would avoid serving this hundred-year sentence:
quod te per caeli iucundum lumen et auras, per genitorem ore, per spes surgentis Mi, eripe me his, invicte, malis: aut tu mihi terram inice (namque potes) portusque require Velinos; aut tu, si qua via est, si quam tibi diva creatrix ostendit (neque enim, credo, sine numine divum flumina tanta paras Stygiamque innare paludem), da dextram misero et tecum me tolle per undas, sedibus ut saltern placidis in morte quiescam. ( V I : 363-371) ['Oh, by heaven's sweet light and air, I beseech thee, by thy father, by the rising hope of lulus, snatch me from these woes, unconquered one! Either do thou, for thou canst, cast earth on me and seek again the haven of Velia; or if there be a way, if thy goddessmother shows thee one - for not without divine favour,

^' The Poems of Alexander Ltd., 1967) p. 22.

Pope ed. by Maynard IVIack, vol. 7 (London: Methuen & Co.

205

I ween, dost thou essay to stem these great streams and the Stygian mere - give thy hand to one so unhappy, and taice me with thee across the waves, that at least in death I may find a quiet resting-place!']

This is the manner in which Dryden translates this passage:

Which O avert, by yon Etherial Light Which I have lost, for this eternal Night: Or if by dearer tyes you may be won, By your dead Sire, and by your living Son, Redeem from this Reproach, my wand'ring Ghost; Or with your Navy seek the Velin Coast: And in a peaceful Grave my Corps compose: Or, if a nearer way your mother shows. Without whose Aid, you durst not undertake This frightful Passage o're the Stygian Lake; Lend to this Wretch your Hand, and waft him o're To the sweet Banks of yon forbidden Shore. (VI : 494-505)

In both these excerpts, there is a great reverence for customs and ceremonies as the reader Ustens to PaUnurus' pleas (a re-iteration of a statement I made earlier). But that which is particularly significant in Dryden's translation, is the word 'Redeem' (a word which is without christian significance in this context, but which Dryden has imported from christian writing) as i n , ' . . . with your Navy, seek the Velin Coast: And in a peaceful Grave my Corps Compose:' Pleadings and petitions are wrapped up in solemnity and pathos, as Palinurus begs to avert a hundred years of nothingness. Thus he begs Aeneas, asking him to look upon him with pity, i f for no other reason, but for the love of his father, his son and his mother (who is a goddess); this shows a proper deference for parents and elderly, as Cyril Bailey noted. In episodes which deal with the Fates, we see another example of Dryden keeping as close to Virgil as possible. In those particular episodes, Dryden focuses on conveying Virgil's mind or his meaning. When Aeneas first encounters the Sibyl, her first words to the hero 'WQre,poscere fata tempus ['tis time to seek the oracles] ( V I : 46-47). Dryden's version reads; 'This is the time, enquire your Destinies' (VI:69) The idea Dryden thinks Virgil is conveying is that Aeneas has come to enquire about his destiny. In his dialogue with the Sibyl, Aeneas exclaims, tuque, o sanctissima vates, praescia venturi, da (non indebitaposco regna meis fatis) (VI: 65-

206

67) [And thou most holy prophetess, who foreknowest the future, grant.... I ask no realm unpledged by my fate] Dryden translates it thus:
And thou, O sacred Maid, inspir'd to see T h ' Event of things in dark futurity; Give me, what Heav'n has promise'd to my Fate, (VI: 100-102)

Dryden is reminding the reader, that to Virgil, the Sibyl is the one in whom is the spirit of the god Apollo, through whom, both the immediate and distant future are revealed; and Aeneas has come to find out that which thefiatureholds for him. While Palinurus is pleading with Aeneas to help him cross the Stygian waters, the Sibyl interrupts:
"unde haec o Palinure, tibi tarn dira cupido? tu Stygias inhumatus acquas amnemque severum eumenidum aspicies ripamve iniussus adibis? desine fata deum flecti sperare precando. " (VI: 373-376) ['Whence, O Palinurus, this wild longing of thine? shalt thou, unburied, view the Stygian waters and the Furies' stem river, and unbidden draw near the bank? Cease to dream that heaven's decrees may be turned aside by prayer..']

This is Dryden's version:

What Hopes delude thee, miserable Man? Think'st thou thus unintomb'd to cross the Floods, To view the Furies, and Infernal Gods; And visit, without leave, the dark abodes? Attend the term of long revolving Years: Fate, and the dooming Gods, are deaf to Tears. (VI: 507-512)

In Dryden's version, the reader discovers that there is an uncompromising side to the Fates and the gods. They cannot be swayed by tears; Dryden is again following the religious beliefs of Virgil. The Italian humanist, Leonardo Bruni observes that translation can be considered correct i f the translator has had a first hand knowledge of the language he is translating from:
Unless you have read them all, grown with them, turned them over in your mind, and kept them there, you cannot understand the power and the meaning of the words,.... Furthermore, he [the translator] should also know the language he translates into in such a way that he is able to dominate it and hold it entirely in his power... He should be aware of the power and nature of words in all their subtle ramifications.^^ Leonardo Bruni, 'The Right Way to Translate' in Translation/History/ 81-6 (p. 83). Culture, pp.

207

Dryden cannot be found lacking in either of these areas; his boyhood education would have assured that he had read them, and grown up with them. But language is also immersed in other parts of the senses; it is emotive: When Aeneas encounters Dido in the Underworld, Virgil writes:
"infelix Dido, verus mihi nuntius ergo venerat exstinctam, ferroque extrema secutam? funeris heu! tibi causa fui? per sidera iuro, per superos, et si qua fides tellure sub ima est, invitus, regina, tuo de litore cessi. sed me iussa deum, quae nunc has ire per umbras, per loca senta situ cogunt noctemque profundam, imperils egere suis; nec credere quivi hunc tandem tibi me discessu ferre dolorem. siste gradum teque aspectu ne subtrahe nostro. quern fugls? extremum fato, quod te adloquor, hoc est. " talibus Aeneas ardentem et torva tuentem lenibat dictis animum lacrimasque ciebat... nec minus Aeneas, casu concussus iniquo, prosequitur lacrimis longe et miseratur euntem. (VI : 456-468, 475-6) ['Unhappy Dido! Then was the tale brought me true, that thou wert no more, and hadst sought thy doom with the sword? Was I, alas! The cause of death to thee/ By the stars 1 swear, by the world above, and whatever is sacred in the grave below, unwillingly, O queen, I parted from thy shores. But the gods' decrees, which now constrain me to pass through these shades, through lands squalid and forsaken, and through abysmal night, drove me with their behests; nor could I deem my going thence would bring on thee distress so deep. Stay thy step and withdraw not from our view. Whom fleest thou? The last word Fate suffers me to say to thee is this!' With such speech, amid springing tears Aeneas would soothe the wrath of the fiery-eyed queen Yet none the less, dazed by her unjust doom, Aeneas attends her with tears afar and pities her as she goes.]

Dryden translates this episode:

Unhappy Queen! Then is the common breath O f Rumour true, in your reported Death, And I, alas, the Cause! By Heav'n, I vow, And all the Pow'rs that rule the Realms below, Unwilling I forsook your friendly State: Commanded by the Gods, and forc'd by Fate. Those Gods, that Fate, whose unresisted Might Have sent me to these Regions, void of Light, Thro' the vast Empire of eternal Night. Nor dar'd I to presume, that, press'd with Grief, My Flight should urge you to this dire Relief Stay, stay your Steps, and listen to my Vows: 'Tis the last Interview that Fate allows!' In vain he thus attempts her Mind to move,

208

With Tears, and Pray'rs, and late repenting Love. Disdainfully she look'd; then turning round. But flx'd her Eyes unmov'd upon the Ground. (VI: 618-634)

In the original, Aeneas easily recognizes Dido with the fresh wounds from her suicide, among the shadows. According to Dryden, there was no glint of ready recognition; in fact, Aeneas thought he recognized a particular figure:
Not far from these Phoenician Dido stood; Fresh from her Wound, her Bosom bath'd in Blood. Whom, when the Trojan Heroe hardly knew. Obscure in Shades, and with a doubtftil view, (Doubtful as he who sees thro' dusky Night, Or thinks he sees the Moon's uncertain Light:) (VI: 610-615)

The impression Dryden conveys is that, as they approach the mournfial fields, Aeneas suddenly sees a form in the shades which looks like Dido; but he is doubtfiil and tries to verify ('Doubtfitl as he who sees through dusky Night'), upon which verification, he was overcome with tears. While Virgil describes this moment of certainty as demisit lacrimas dulcique adfatus amove est [he shed tears and spoke to her in tender tones], Dryden's readers see some vivid images:
With Tears he first approach'd the sullen Shade; And, as his Love inspir'd him, thus he said. (VI : 616-17)

Dryden brings out in Aeneas those normal characteristics of human behaviour; in this particular instance, compassion and guilt. The reader sees Aeneas as a man filled with regret who, while taking blame for Dido's demise, holds the gods responsible. Their break-up was not entirely his fault but those of the powers that be; it was 'commanded by the Gods, and forc'd by Fate.' While in the original, Aeneas asks Dido whether or not he was the cause of her death, Dryden tells us that Aeneas made a statement of admission: 'then is the common breath/ Of Rumour true, in your reported Death,/ And I , alas, the Cause!' While Aeneas tries to explain himself with tears and prayers and unrepenting love. Dido stands unmoved. She is hurt and she carries that hurt into eternity. Seeing Aeneas in the underworld only re-awakens that hurt. Virgil describes 'the wrath of the fiery, fierce-eyed Queen' as unmoveable as a 'hard flint or

209

Marpesian rock'. Dryden does not see the appropriateness of this expression (especially in this area of unrequited love) and instead substitutes it with a much softer human tone:
Disdainfully she look'd; then turning round. But fix'd her Eyes unmov'd upon the Ground. And, what he says, and swears, regards no more Than the deaf Rocks, when the loud Billows roar. (VI: 633-636)

This is one of the most moving scenes in this book: the living, with tears and prayers and unrepenting love, could not assuage the hurt and anger the dead woman feels, in spite of the plea, 'Stay, stay your Steps, and listen to my Vows/ 'Tis the last Interview that Fate allows.' Unshaken and unmoved by those pleas, she 'whirl'd away to shun his hateful sight' to seek comfort in the hands of her husband, who had preceded her in death. Dryden wants his readers to know that Dido is hurt, so deeply hurt that the underworld cannot soothe her pains. She in fact answers Aeneas, in a language which only hurtful emotions can express; 'she whirls away..', she avoids him and looks upon him with malice. Dryden was compelled to write in this sorrowful, unforgiving manner because of an episode in Book Four: Dido felt she was married to Aeneas. The account in this Book enables Dryden to exploit to the fullest any feelings and sympathy that Virgil mentions in a way which any reader could identify with or respond to. Political Many of the political aspects of The Sixth Book have been dealt with in the examination of Dryden's poems {Astrea Redux, Annus Mirabilis). In this section, I examine the manner in which Dryden translates political statements. Much of Dryden's political views that are centered in the Book Six, are made manifest in The Dedication of The Aeneis. In that introduction, he reveals: 'Our poet [Virgil]... all this while had Augustus in his Eye,... '^^ He had earlier pointed out that
... These things I say, being considered by the Poet, he concluded it to be the Interest of his Country to be so Govem'd: To infuse an awful Respect into the People, towards such a Prince: B y that Respect to confirm their Obedience to him; and by that Obedience to make him Happy. This was

Kinsley, vol. 3 , p . l O I 7 .

210

the Moral of his Divine Poem: Honest In the Poet: Honourable to the Emperour, whom he derives From a Divine Extraction...'"

Dryden's perception of Virgil's 'Divine Poem' lies in one word, respect: respect by the people for the Emperor, which in turn means obedience towards the Emperor, who in turn would show them kindness and make them happy. Failure to do so, Dryden insinuates, leads to rebellion and anarchy, which are punishable in the afterlife. This is the reason why Dryden calls it a divine poem; for both the religious and the political go hand in hand. He feels that this fusion of the religious and the political permeates all of life, individual as well as collecfive. Thus, we see in the underworld the place allocated for those who did wrong (Tartarus), and those who did right (Elysium). Just as Virgil portrayed Augustus, so Dryden portrays Charles II. In translating the polifical passages, Dryden projects his political attitudes towards his country just as Virgil had done. A perfect example is Dryden's version of the segregated sirmers in Hell. This is Virgil's presentation:
Hie quibus invisifratres, dum vita manebat, pulsatusve parens, et fraus innexa clienti, aut qui divitiis soli incubuere repertis nee partem posuere suis (quae maxima turba est), quique ob adulterium caesi, quique arma secuti impia nec veriti dominorum fallere dextras, inclusipoenam exspectant. ( V I : 608-614) [Here were they who in lifetime hated their brethren, or smote a sire, and entangled a client in wrong; or who brooded in solitude over wealth they had won, nor set aside a portion for their kin- the largest number this; who were slain for adultery; or who followed unholy warfare, and feared not to break faith with their lords - all these, immured, await their doom.]

In Dryden's translation, we read:

Then they, who Brothers better Claim disown. Expel their Parents, and usurp the Throne; Defraud their Clients, and to Lucre sold. Sit brooding on unprofitable Gold: Who dare not give, and ev'n refuse to lend To their poor Kindred, or a wanting Friend: Vast is the Throng of these; nor less the Train O f lustftil Youths, for foul Adultery slain. Hosts of Deserters, who their Honour sold.

Kinsley, vol. 3, p. 1015.

211

And basely broke their Faith for Bribes of Gold: All these within the Dungeon's depth remain: Despairing Pardon, and expecting Pain. (VI: 824-835)

Virgil provides Dryden with a canvas upon which he can portray his English Tartarean culprits. Dryden uses this episode to discuss the situation in Britain after 1688. Citing Professor Noyes, Proudfoot has pointed out that Dryden is referring to the House of Orange and its followers; and that the phrase 'Hosts of Deserters' is presumably a slight upon those of the aristocracy and magistracy who quitted their allegiance to James in order to welcome William.^' But Christopher Hill gives us enough reason to speculate that Dryden was referring to Cromwell and events at the Restoration (1658-1660). He claims that the army failed to carry out its duties and instead aligned itself with the leaders of the interregnum. He writes:
The fluidity of the society was a product of the Army's Victory. For nearly fifteen years, the Army was the effective source of authority in the country; to it JPs and other local authorities in the last resort owed such backing as they received. Religious toleration, manifestly would last only so long as the Army lasted.

Those who 'basely broke their faith for Bribes of Gold' could well be an allusion to the clergy and laity (these included The Church of England, the Quakers and the Seekers). Dryden felt these religious bodies erred or committed the sin of omission by failing to condemn the interregnum; and this is evident from the fact that he felt that the Great Fire of London which gutted St Paul's was purgatively necessary (Annus Mirabilis 10971104).
All these within the Dungeon's depth remain: Despairing Pardon, and expecting Pain.

This statement (which is not in the original) could be a reference to the ringleaders of the revolution who, in the face of death and execution, refused to recant (despairing pardon and expecting pain).
To Tyrants others have their country sold. Imposing Foreign Lords for Foreign Gold; (VI: 845-846) " L . Proudfoot, Z)ryi?e^^ee/ci'(Manchester: Manchester UP, 1960), p. 201. Christopher Hill, The Experience of Defeat of Defeat (London: Faber & Faber, 1984) p. 279.

212

could be a reference to the Lombard bankers and the Royal Exchange whom Dryden may have viewed with suspicion, though Proudfoot suggests that the word, 'foreign' is used to slight King William.^''
Some have old Laws repeal'd, new Statutes made; Not as the people pleas'd, but as they paid. (VI: 847-848)

Dryden is probably referring to the corruption that was rife during the interregnum.
All dar'd the worst of Ills, and what they dar'd, attained. Had I a hundred Mouths, a hundred Tongues, And throats of Brass, inspir'd with Iron Lungs, I could not half those horrid Crimes repeat: (VI: 850-853)

It is possible that Dryden is recalling the incident of December 18 1679, in which he was severely beaten by 'three unknown fellowes' It was believed that the Duchess of Rochester was retaliating for an essay ('An Essay upon Satire'), Dryden was believed to have written, in which he (Dryden) condemned her illicit affair with the Earl of Rochester. Dryden uses the word, 'horrid Crimes' (which is not in the original), because of the severity of the attack. But Dryden is not only concerned about politically or socially degrading issues. Noyes has pointed out that in Dryden's fime, arguments on religion were a part of politics, and that when, 'Dryden became involved in political controversy, he grew more interested in the connection between politics, religion and money.'^^ Having dealt with the rewards of the evils of society, he turns his attention to the towering virtues and glory of Rome (in reality, England) in Anchises' prophecy. In a letter to the Earl of Mulgrave, he writes; 'the fimes of Virgil please me better, because he had an Augustus for a patron.' But his own Augustus is Charles I I . In the Dedicafion of the Aeneis, he notes:
Virgil had considered that the greatest Virtues of Augustus consisted in the perfect Art of Governing his People; which caus'd him to Reign for more

Proudfoot, p. 202. The Poetical Works of John Dryden, ed by George Noyes ( Lincoln & London: University of Nebraska Press, 1950) Preface, p xxxix. Noyes, Preface, p. xlix.

213

than Forty Years in great Felicity. He consider'd that his Emperour was Valiant, Civil, Eloquent, Politick, and Religious.

Dryden

transfers all these qualities of Augustus to Charles II, and when he

writes about the glories of Rome, he has England in the back of his mind. When Anchises was describing his prophecies, Dryden was listening with English ears and reading this section with English eyes.
excudent alii spirantia mollius aera, (credo equidem), vivos ducent de marmore voltus; orabunt causas melius, caellque meatus descrtbent radio et surgentia sidera dicent: tu regere Imperlo populos, Romane, memento (hae tibi erunt artes) pacique Imponere morem, parcere subiectis et debellare superbos. ( V I : 847- 853) [others, I doubt not, shall beat out the breathing bronze with softer lines; shall from marble draw forth the features of life; shall plead their causes better; with the rod shall trace the paths of heaven and tell the rising of the stars: remember thou, O Roman, to rule the nations with thy sway - these shall be thine arts - to crown Peace with Law, to spare the humbled, and to tame in war the proud!]

While Anchises, in the second part of his speech, speaks in the imperative mood, Dryden, in his translation, writes in the subjunctive; he is wishing and hoping that Anchises' speech was meant for the English people:
Let others better mold the running Mass O f Mettals, and inform the breathing Brass; And soften into Flesh a Marble Face: Plead better at the Bar; describe the Skies, And when the Stars descend, and when they rise. But, Rome, 'tis thine alone, with awful sway. To rule Mankind; and make the World obey; Disposing Peace, and War, thy own Majestick Way. To tame the Proud, the fetter'd Slave to fi-ee; These are Imperial Arts, and worthy thee. (VI: I I 6 8 - 1177)

To discuss Dryden in the above passage is first to borrow Renato Poggioli's expression of a good translator; he is an 'added artificer' or 'an interpretive artist', he observes. Though he is not writing a poem based on this passage, yet in this translation, he re-works the ideas and meaning, which in turn, highlights the canvass (including Virgil's debellare superbos [to tame the proud] in the penultimate line). Poggioli points out that, 'translating endeavours to give the verbal composition a strange

'^Kinsley, 3, p. 1020.

214

clothing, a changed body, and a novel spirh.'^^ Dryden contrasts Anchises' ideas with contrasting colours, which in turn, defines the symmetry of its features. According to Dryden, it should become the duty of other nations to master the disciplines of science, sculpturing, law and astronomy; but the 'only' (alone) duty which Rome should be known for, is to hold a great power of influence over the human race, and that means setting the standards and causing the world to obey (the rule of law), to make Peace, wage war (when necessary), tame the proud and free those in servitude. These are symbolic of an empire, an empire which should only be Rome's. When Dryden adds 'alone', as in 'But Rome, 'tis thine alone....', it is an indication that it is the duty of Rome without the help of any other nation to show the world what it means to be an empire. It fiirther puts Rome above every other nation. Dryden adds the adjective, 'awful' as in 'awful sway', indicating the awesome, gigantic responsibility that is Rome's. The last line ('These are Imperial Arts, and worthy thee'), is indicative of Dryden's cleverness at being an artificer. All along, he is thinking of Britain, and we hear echoes of this in Annus Mirabilis (the war with the Dutch) and Astrea Redux. Poggioli's assertion about a translator being an interpretive artist, fits Dryden perfectly well:
That translation is an interpretive art is a self-evident truth. Yet it is a paradox peculiar to the translator that he is the only interpretive artist working as a medium which is both identical with and different from, that of the original he sets out to render in his own terms...The translator cannot be original in the same degree because he works with images and words which, like a grafted branch, or even a transplanted tree, still owe their new life to a seed planted elsewhere by other hands. (p. 137,9)

This final passage shows how eloquently Dryden can not only translate Virgil, but can transfer the spirit of his poem to his own age.

Renato Poggioli, 'The Added Artificer' in On Translation, Poggioli, pp. 137, 139.

pp. 137-47 (p. 137)

215

Conclusion

C. S. Lewis has written:

It is not thanks to the Fourth Eclogue alone that he (Virgil) has become a great christian poet. In making his one legend symbolical of the destiny of Rome, he has, willy-nilly symbolized the destiny of Man. His poem is "great" in a sense in which no poem of the same type as the Iliad can ever be great. The real question is whether any epic development beyond Virgil is possible. But one thing is certain. I f we are to have another epic, it must go on from Virgil. Any return to the merely heroic, any lay, however good, that tells barely of brave men fighting to save their lives or to get home or to avenge their kinsmen, will now be an anachronism.... The explicitly religious subject for any future epic has been dictated by Virgil; it is the only further development left.

Reading Paradise Lost leads us to support Lewis' assertion that all epics do follow Virgil, and the subject matter which Milton deals with (primarily religious) has its foundation in The Aeneid. Dryden on the other hand, who did not write an epic, finds his subject matter and literary designs in The Aeneid. But the extent to which these two authors take over Virgil in the seventeenth century is dependent upon the manner in which they both read the classics and christian history as well as their personal convictions about the art of politics. In Paradise Lost, Milton's topic goes far beyond religion, but because it is based on the Bible, its subject matter is endless. Book Six of The Aeneid, with its revelatory notions of man, as he relates to past, present and fixture, and his allegiance to a higher power, is a treatise on life, a handbook for this temporal world. Building upon these ideas, Milton expands these notions by employing his own seventeenth-century hermeneutics, understanding the Bible in the light of his voluminous reading, and applying it to the moral, social, and political problems of his age. Paradise Lost is a highly complex examination of the human response to the forces of good and evil. In this it parallels The Aeneid's portrayal of the character of Aeneas. A cornerstone of Virgil's epic is the notion of pietas. In Book Six (which turns out to be the light of past and future revelations), we discover that Aeneas' victories were all dependent upon his pietas (which, when
79

C. S. Lewis, A Preface to Paradise Lost (London: Oxford UP, 1942) p. 38.

216

tested, did not degenerate). We also find out that Aeneas' decision to be pious is a conscious one which was not forced upon him, but a matter of free choice. For example, he obeyed the godly vision and decided not to stay in Carthage with Dido in Book IV. It is the duty and meaning of life for Virgil. Milton's idea of pietas takes a cosmic or eternal dimension. He leads us to believe that it started in Heaven, where the absence of pietas on the part of Lucifer leads him to rebellion. When Lucifer refused to obey or perform his duty (which was to maintain his allegiance to God and accept Christ's authority), it gave birth to evil, with the end result being sin and death. The disregard of pietas is carried out by a conscious decision, the exercise of free will. Thus, Satan's abandonment of his pietas is a wilful action; in defeat, Satan confesses:
...in my choice To reign is worth ambition though in Hell; Better to reign in Hell than serve in heaven ( I : 261-3)

Satan chose to reign in Hell because he refiised to serve. It was a conscious choice he made. On earth, the same idea led to the fall of Adam. In that state of perfection before Satan had access to the Garden, God sent Raphael to tell Adam of his pietas, his need for obedience to the divine will:
Son of heaven and earth. Attend: that thou art happy, owe to God; That thou continuest such, owe to thyself. That is to thy obedience; therein stand. This was the caution given thee; be advised. ( V: 519-23)

The lack of performance of duty (the avoidance of the fruit of the tree of life), led to Adam's fall, and not his fall only, but also, that of the human race. In contrast to Aeneas who shows us the rewards of performance of duty, Milton is demonstrating what happens when there is a breakdown in pietas. Furthermore, just as Virgil depicts the terrible but in the end fortunate fall of Troy (fata profugo), in the sense that a newer and a powerful nation, Rome, would be born, so Milton considers the fall of Adam as terrible but fortunate.

217

Dryden transfers this idea to the world of England. He sees the survival of the English nation as dependent on this single practice. He makes a pertinent reference to the word in his Dedication of The Aeneid:
[Piety]... the word in Latin is more full than it can possibly be exprest in any Modem Language; for there it comprehends not only Devotion to the Gods, but Filial Love and tender Affection to Relations of all sorts.^"

Dryden follows Milton in using the classics as well as the Scriptures. For Dryden, obedience to the King, whose duty it was to make his subjects happy was the 'Moral of the Divine Poem' [The Aeneid]. He (Dryden) saw peace and stability as the prerequisites for a lasting British nation. And the manner in which Virgil depicts the fata profugus is almost the same manner in which he (Dryden) portrays the exile of Charles II.. He enlarges upon this nofion to the point of giving Charles both a Davidic and Christlike significance. Charles was 'tossed by fate and hurried up and down', 'from his rightful throne'. These experiences, Dryden felt, taught Charles the 'secret arms of sway'. In short, Charles II is another Aeneas. But he (Dryden) invokes Judeo-Chrisfian attitudes upon his (Charles's return): that he should be like David and not repay evil with evil; and like Christ, to be forgiving. But his use of the classics and the Bible takes him further than pietas. He exemplifies this idea of negative circumstances being turned into positive assets, by claiming that the Fire of London, though disastrous, was purgative. It meant the birth of a newer London ( a newer Augusta) rising out of the ashes of Cromwellian and Protestant decadence. In blending these two ideologies, Dryden was insinuating his Royalist spirit. Hoffman sums it up in this maimer:
The hero is made in the classical as well as the christian image as a way of disavowing the Puritan rejection of the classical tradition, as fabulous, lying and heathen. Eikon Basilike and the martyrology of Charles I were an affront to the Puritan spirit; they were idolatry. This idolatry, this powerful concentration of christian symbolism upon the figure of the king flourished at the restoration of the martyred king's son. In the poems of compliment, classical imagery of the hero added paganism to idolatry and thus wrote the full royal signature. A rapprochement of classical and christian, an emphatic mingling of the two, was an expression of the Cavalier spirit.^'

Kinsley, vol. 3 , p . l O I 8 . " Hoffman, p. 18.

218

Another issue Virgil makes manifest in The Aeneid is the issue of antiquity (antiquus), which C. S. Lewis has rightly mentioned. When in Book I , Virgil reported the story (as it was reported in Carthage) of a new nation, Rome, that would arise and overthrow urbs antiqua Karthago [I : 12-13) (the ancient city of Carthage), he was in effect tracing the age of Rome; that Rome did not come about as the fortuitous interplay of warring gods. Instead it had been predicted in anfiquity. In Book Six, Charon is entranced as he admires the 'dread gift' fatalis virgae, longo post tempore visum (the fateful wand so long unseen) [VI: 408-9). The operative words here for Virgil are, 'so long unseen'. So Lewis writes:
The story on which we are embarked fades backward into an even remoter past. The heroes whose adventures we are to follow are the remnant (reliquias) of some earlier order, destroyed before the curtain rose; survivors, and, as it were ghosts,...

Similarly in Paradise Lost, Milton takes us into that period before time was in order to inform us about the events of the past, the war in heaven which brought sin and woe to mankind as well as about our destiny. In this respect, Milton shows his readers God's plan for mankind who was to be created. Thus, like Virgil, Milton is stating categorically that before time began, God had planned everything. For Dryden, Virgil's use of antiquus, is converted to political ends. He sees it as meaning not only ancient, but strong. He demonstrates this in his restoration poem, in particular. Annus Mirabilis. In that work, he refers to London as 'the most renowned and late fiourishing City of London', 'a virtuous nation'. And then in words similar to Moses' parting words in Deuteronomy (Chp. 33), ' I know not whether such trials have been ever paralleled in any nation', a comparison to the trials the primogenitors of the Roman race experienced. Though Milton and Dryden were influenced directly or indirectly by Virgil, there is a point of convergence at which they meet; the point of reconciliation. Virgil sought to reconcile Rome with the gods as well as the emperor; Milton sought to show mankind God's plan of reconciliation, while Dryden, the English people reconciled with their King.

C . S. Lewis, p. 33.

219

What is of prime importance, also, is the form in which one text is written over another. Just as The Aeneid was written upon the framework of The Iliad, so Milton's work can be seen as being written over Virgil's and Dryden's over Milton and Virgil.^^ There is an echo in style, expressions and diction. In portraying the crowd on one side of Acheron's shore who were 'yearning for the farther shore', Virgil writes:
quam multa in silvls autumni frigore prima lapsa cadunt folia, aut ad terram gurgite ab alto quam multae glomerantur aves, ublfrtgidus annus trans pontum fugat et terrls immittit apricis. (VI: 309-12) [thick as the leaves of the forest that at autumn's first dropping fall, and thick as the birds that from the seething deep flock shoreward, when the chill of the year drives them overseas and sends them into sunny lands.]

When Satan first saw his troops after they were thrown out of Heaven, Milton gives this description.
... he stood and called His legions, angel forms, who lay entranced Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades High overarched imbower; or scattered sedge Afloat... (1:300-305)

In describing the road to Hell as gloomy, this is what Virgil had to say:
spelunca alta fuit vastoque immanis hiatu, scrupea, tuta lacu nlgro nemorumque tenebrls, quam super haud ullae poterant impune volantes tendere Iter plnnls : talis sese halltus atris faucibus effundens super ad convexa ferebat funde locum Grai dixerunt nomine AornonJfVI: [A deep cave there was, yawning wide and vast, shingly, and sheltered by dark lake and woodland gloom, over which no flying creatures could safely wing their way; such a vapour from those black jaws poured into the over-arching heaven [whence the Greeks spoke of Avemus, the Birdless Place].

237-42)

This is Satan's desciption of Hell:

Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, The seat of desolation, void of light, Save what the glimmering of these livid flames Casts pale and dreadful? (I : 180-83)

This is Dryden's version:

*^ J. R. Mason, To Milton through Dryden and Pope, (Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Cambridge University, 1987) vol. 2, Appendix C .

220

And there th'unnavigable Lake extends, O're whose unhappy Waters void of Light, No Bird presumes to steer his Airy Flight; (341 -43)

What this study has attempted to show is the lasting influence of Virgil's Aeneid, and in particular its importance to Milton and Dryden. In the process, I have discussed not only Virgil's original conception of heroic virtue in Book Six, but also the ways in which Milton and Dryden modify Virgil's Roman conceptualization of pietas to make it applicable to their own time. Pietas becomes seventeenth-century virtue, either biblical or egalitarian as in Milton, or Royalist and traditional as in Dryden. Each poet uses Virgil in the light of his own time and his own reading: the results are revealingly different, but wonderfully significant in the study of the influence of a great classical author on English literature.

221

222

WORKS CITED

Abrams, M.H., A Glossary of Literary Terms 3rd. edn (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston Inc., 1971) Adams, Robert, Milton and the Modern Critics (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1955). Aldington, Richard, and Delano Ames, tr., Larousse Encyclopedia of Mythology (London: Butchworth Press, 1959) Allen, Frank, et al., eds., The Works of John Milton 18 vols. (New York: Columbia UP 1931) Anderson, William, TheArtofTheAeneid 1969) Armistead, Jack, 'Dryden's Poetry and the Language of Magic, Studies in English Literature 27 (1987) 381-98 Bailey, Cyril, Religion in Virgil (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1935) Barbi, Michele, Life of Dante (California: University of Berkeley Press, 1954) Barnard, John, ed., The Poems of John Dryden (London & New York: Longman Group Limited, 1995) Barthes, Roland, 'The Death of the Author', Modern Criticism and Theory, ed. by David Lodge (London: Longman Press, 1988) 167-72 Barthes, Roland, 'From Work to Text', Textual Strategies, ed. by Josue V. Harari (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1979) 73-81 Baugh, Albert, A History of the English Language, 2nd. ed. (New York: Appleton-Century Co., 1953) Belsey, Catherine, 'Literature, History, Polities', Modern Criticism and Theory, ed. by David Lodge (London: Longman Press, 1988), 399-410 Berry, D. H., 'The Criminals in Virgil's Tartarus' The Classical Quarterly 42. i i (1992) 416-420 Bettenson, Henry, tr., The City of God (St. Ives: Clays Ltd, 1972). Blamires, Harry, Milton's Creation (London: Methuen & Co., 1971) Bloom, Harold. 'Poetic Origins and Final Phases', Modern Criticism and Theory, ed. by David Lodge (London: Longman Press, 1988), 241-52 Bouchard, D.F., Milton, A Structural Reading (Montreal: McGill Queens, 1974) Bowers, Fredson, ed.. The Complete Works of Christopher Marlowe (Cambridge: (Bristol: Classical Press,

223

Cambridge UP, 1973) Bowra, C. M . , From Virgil to Milton (London: Macmillan & Co., 1945) Bowra, C. M . , 'Aeneas and the Stoic Ideal', Oxford Readings in Virgil, ed.by S. J. Harrison 2 vols (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1990) Braden, Gordon, The Classics and English Renaissance Poetry, (New Haven and London: Yale UP, 1978) Broadbent, J.B., '"Mortal Voice" and "Omnific Word'", Approaches to Paradise Lost ed. by C. A. Patrides (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1968) Broadbent, J.B., Some Graver Subject (London: Chatto and Windus, 1960) Brower, Reuben, ed.. On Translation (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1959) Bruni, Leonardo, 'The Right Way to Translate', Translation/History/Culture Andre Lefevere (London: Routledge, 1992) Bush, Douglas, English Literature in the Earlier Seventeenth Century, 1600-1660 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1945) Bush, Douglas, Mythology and the English Renaissance (Mirmeapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press, 1932) Cacicedo, Alberto, 'Seeing the King: Biblical and Classical Texts in Astraea Redux' Studies in English Literature Vol. 32. 1992. pp. 407-27 Camden, William, Britain, or A Chorographicall Description of the Most flourishing Kingdoms of England, Scotland and Ireland (London: George Bishop & loannis Norton, 1610) Camps, W.A., An Introduction to Virgil's Aeneid (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1969) Ciardi, John, tr.. The Inferno (New York: New American Library, 1954) Clark, Howard, ed., Virgil's Aeneid and The Fourth Messianic Eclogue in Dryden's Translations (Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania UP, 1989) Clough, A.H., & Goodwin, W.W., eds., Plutarch's Essays and Miscellanies vol III (London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co., Ltd. [n.d.]) Colgrave, B. & Mynors, R., eds., Bede's Ecclesiastical History of The English People (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969) Crosman, Robert, Reading Paradise Lost (Bloomington: Indianna UP, 1980) ed. by

224

Daniels, Edgar, 'Thomas Adams & Darkness Visible' Notes & Queries 204 (Jan-Dec 1959), 369-70 Daniels, Edgar, 'Milton's Fallen Angels: Self-Corrupted or Seduced?' Notes & Queries ccv (Dec 1960) Davies, K.G., The North Atlantic World in the Seventeenth Century (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1974) Davis, Charles T., Dante's Italy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1984) Diekhoff, John, Milton's Paradise Lost: A Commentary on the Argument (New York: Columbia UP, 1946) Dixon, Macneile, English Epic and Heroic Poetry (London: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1912) Duff, Wight, A Literary History of Rome (London: Ernest Benn Ltd., 1960) Duncan, Joseph, 'Milton's Four-in-One Hell' The Huntington Library Quarterly (1956-57) 127-136

Ellingham, C.J., 'Virgil's Pilgrim's Progress', Greece & Rome xvi (1947), 67-75 Elliot, Alistair, Virgil The Georgics with John Dryden's Translation (ISForthumberland: The Mid Northumberland Arts Group, 1981) Evans, Martin, Milton's Imperial Epic (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1996) Fairclough, H.R. tr., Virgil Aeneidl-Vl 1994) Fallon, Thomas, Divided Empire: Milton's Political Imagery (Pennsylvania: Penn. State UP, 1995) Foster, Kenelm, The Two Dantes (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1977) Foucault, Michel, 'What is an author?' Modern Criticism and Theory ed. by David Lodge (London: Longman Press, 1988) Fowler, Alastair, ed., Milton, Paradise Lost (London: Longman, 1968) Fowlie, Wallace, A Reading of Dante's Inferno (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1981) Frankel, Herman, Ovid: A Poet between Two Worlds (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1945) Fujimura, Thomas, The Temper of John Dryden (East Lansing: Colleagues Press, 1993) Loeb ed. (Cambridge: Harvard UP,

225

Gardner, Helen, A Reading of Paradise Lost (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965) Gearin-Tosh, Michael, 'Marvell's Upon the Death of the Lord Hastings', Essays and Studies (New Series) 34 (1981), 105-122 Glover, Terrot, Studies in Virgil (London: Edward & Arnold, 1904) Godwin, William, Lives of Edward and John Philips (London: Hurst, Rees and Brown, 1815) Gollancz, Israel, ed.. The Inferno, Temple Classics (London: J. M . Dent & Co., 1900) Goold, G.P., ed., Propertius (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard UP, 1990) Gransden, K. W., 'The Aeneid and Paradise Lost', Virgil and His Influence ed. by Charles Martindale (Bristol: Bristol Classical Press, 1984) Grant, Michael, History of Rome (London: Faber and Faber, 1978) Grant, Michael, The World of Rome (London: Weiden and Nicolson Ltd., 1960). Greene, William, tr., The City of God, Books xviii-xx (London: William Heinemann, 1960) Greene, W.C. 'The Spoken and The Written Word' Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, 60 (1951) 23-59 Hackforth, R., tr., Plato's Phaedo (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1955) Harington, John, tr.. The Sixth Book of Virgil's Aeneid ed. by S. Cauchi. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991) Hastings, James, ed.. Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics vol xi. (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clarke, 1920) Highbarger, Ernest, The Gates of Dream (Baltimore: The John Hopkins UP, 1940) Hill, Christopher, Milton and The English Revolution (London: Faber and Faber, 1977) Hill, Christopher, Some Intellectual Consequences of the English Revolution (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1980) Hill, Christopher, The Experience of Defeat (London: Faber & Faber, 1984) Hoffman, Arthur, John Dryden's Imagery (Gainsville: University of Florida Press, 1962; repr. 1968) Howell, Ferrers A. G. ed., Dante, De Vulgari Eloquentia (London: The Rebel

226

Press, 1973) Humboldt, von Wilhelm, 'Introduction to His Translation of Agamemnon', trans, by Sharon Sloan, Theories of Translation, ed. by Rainer Schulte and John Biguenet (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1992) 55-59. Hume, Robert, Dryden's Criticism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970) Hunter, G. K., Paradise Lost (London: George, Allen, Unwin, 1980) Iser, Wolfgang, 'The Reading Process', Modern Criticism and Theory ed. by David Lodge (London: Longman Press, 1988) 212-228 Jakobson, Roman, 'On Linguistic Aspect of Translation', On Translation, ed. by Reuben Brower (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard UP, 1959) 232-39 Johnson, W. R., Darkness Visible: A Study of Virgil's Aeneid (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976) Kerr, Hugh, ed., A Compendium of Luther's Theology ( Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1943) Kinsley, James, ed., The Poems of John Dryden, 4 vols. (London: Oxford UP, 1958) Kinsley, James & Parfitt, George, eds., John Dryden : Selected Criticisms (London: Oxford UP, 1970) Knoppers, Laura, Historicizing Milton (Georgia: University of Georgia Press, 1994) Knott, John, 'Paradise Lost and The Fit Reader', Modern Language Quarterly, 45 (1984)123-43 Lang, W., The Iliad of Homer (London: Macmillan and Co., 1922) Lefevere, Andrei ed., Translation/History/ Culture (London: Routledge, 1992)

Letters, F.J.H., Virgil (London: Sheed and Ward, 1946) Levine, Philip, tr.. The City of God Books xii-xv (London: William Heinemann, 1966) Lewalski, Barbara, 'Milton: Political Beliefs and Polemical Methods', PMLA 74 (1959) 191-202 Lewis, C. Day, tr.. The Aeneid of Virgil (New York: Doubleday, 1952) Lewis, C. S., A Preface to Paradise Lost (London: Oxford UP, 1942) Lord, George De F., '"Absalom & Achitophel" and Dryden's Political Cosmos' John Dryden, ed. by Earl Miner (London: Bell & Sons, 1972) Mackail, J. W., Virgil and His Meaning in the World Today (London: George G.

227

Harrap and Co. Ltd., n.d. [1923]) Macaulay, Thomas Babington, Critical and Historical Essays, 2 vols (London: J.M. Dent and Co., 1935) Mack, Maynard, ed., The Poems of Alexander Pope, Twickenham Edition vol. 7 (London: Methuen and Co. Ltd., 1967) Mair, A.W., tr., Hesiod: The Poems and Fragments (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1908) Martindale, Charles, John Milton and the Transformation of Ancient Epic (London and Sydney: Croom Helm, 1986) Masson, David, ed., DeQuincey's 1897) Mazzolani, Lidia, The Idea of The City (London: Hollis and Carter, 1967) Mazzotta, Guiseppe, Dante, Poet of the Desert (Princeton: Princeton New Jersey Press, 1979) McAuslan, Ian & Walcot, Peter, eds., Greece and Rome Studies : Virgil (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1990) Miller, Frank, tr., Ovid Metamorphoses Book I (London: Heinemann, 1951) McCracken, George, tr.. The City of GoJ Books I-III (London: Heinemann, 1957) McKay, Alexander, Vergil's Italy (Bath: Adams & Dart, 1970) Monk, Samuel, et. al. eds.. The Works of John Dryden 20 vols. (Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1971) Moore, Edward, Studies in Dante (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1899) Murray, A. T. ed.. The Iliad (London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1960). Nietzsche, Friedrich, 'Problem of Translation' Theories of Translation, ed. by Rainer Schulte and John Biguenet (Chicago: Chicago UP, 1992) 68-70. Nitchie, Elizabeth, Vergil and The English Poets (New York: Columbia UP, 1919). Noyes, George, ed. The Poetical Works of Dryden (Cambridge, Mass: The Riverside Press, 1950) Ohly, Friedrich, The Damned and the Elect (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1992) Orgel, Stephen, & Goldberg, J., eds., John Milton (Oxford: Oxfored UP, 1991) Parker, William Riley, Milton : A Biography, 2"'' ed. rev. 2 vols., Gordon Campbell, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996-98) Parrinder, Geoffrey. A Dictionary of Non-Christian Religions (Great Works, 14 vols (London: A.and C. Black: Soho

228

Britain: Hulton Educational Publication, 1971) Patterson, James, A Complete Commentary with Etymological, Explanatory, Critical and Classical Notes in Milton's Paradise Lost (London: R. Walker, 1744) Paz, Octavio, 'Literature and Letters', Theories of Translation, ed. by Rainer Schulte and John Biguenet (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1992) 152-62 Poggioli, Renato, 'The Added Artificer', On Translation, ed. by Reuben Brower (Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1959) 137-47 Porter, William, Reading the Classics and Paradise Lost (Lincoln and London: Univ. of Nebraska Press, 1993) Prescott, Henry, The Development of Virgil's Art (Chicago: Univ.of Chicago Press, 1927) Proudfoot, L., Dryden's Aeneid (Manchester: Manchester UP, 1960) Rainer, Schulte and Biguenet, John, eds.. Theories of Translation (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1992) Rajan, Balachandra, "Paradise Lost" and the Seventeenth Century Reader (London: Chatto and Windus, 1947) Rhoades, James, tr., The Aeneid of Virgil, Books I-VI (London: Longman's, Green & Co., 1893) Richardson, Jonathan, Explanatory Notes and Remarks on Milton's Paradise Lost (London: Ludgate, 1734) Riffaterre, Michael, 'Transposing Presuppositions on the Semiotics of Literary Translation' Theories of Translation, ed. by Rainer Schulte and John Biguenet (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1992) 204-217 Rivers, Isabel, 'The Making of a Seventeenth Century Poet', John Milton Introductions, ed. by John Broadbent. (Cambridge: Cambridge UP. 1973) Rivers, Isabel, The Poetry of Conservatism 1600-1745 (Cambridge: Rivers Press Ltd. 1973) Rolfe, J.C., ed., Seutonius Vol. I . (Cambridge Mass.: Harvard UP, 1970) Rosenberg, Bruce, 'Annus Mirabilis Distilled' PMLA (1964) 254-58 Rossetti, Gabriel, Preface to 'The Early Italian Poets' Theories of Translation, ed. by Rainier Schulte and John Biguenet (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1992) 64-67 Ross, W.D., tr., The Works of Aristotle Vol xi (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1924) Said, Edward, 'The Text, The World, The Critic', Textual Strategies ed.

229

by Josue V. Harari, (Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1979) 161-88 Samuel, Irene, Dante and Milton (New York: Cornell UP, 1966) Savil, Sheila and E. Locke, Pears Encyclopaedia of Myths and Legends (London: Pelham Books, 1976) Schanzer, Ernest, 'Milton's Hell Revisited' University of Toronto 24 (1954-1955) 136-145 Schleiermacher, Friedrich, 'On the Different Methods of Translating' Theories of Translation ed. by Rainer Schulte and John Biguenet (Chicago: Chicago UP, 1992) 36-54 Schopenhauer, Arthur. 'On Language and Words' Theories of Translation ed. by Rainer Schulte and John Biguenet. (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1992) 32-35 Scott, William & R. Sterling, tr., Plato The Republic (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1985) Shepherd, Geoffrey, ed. Philip Sidney: Apology for Poetry (Manchester: Manchester UP, 1965) Shklovsky, Victor, 'Art as Technique' Modern Criticism and Theory, ed. by David Lodge (London: Longman Press, 1988) 16-30 Shuckburgh, John, A Review of the Text of the Twelve Books of Milton's Paradise Lost (London: Sun, 1733). Sowerby, Robin, The Classical Legacy in Renaissance Poetry (London: Longman, 1994) Steadman, John, Milton's Epic Characters (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1959) Stocker, Margarita, Paradise Lost (London: Macmillan Publishers, 1988) Sumner, Charles, The Prose Works of John Milton vol. iv (London: Henry G. Bohn, 1853) Thalmann, William, Conventions of Form & Thought in Early Greek Epic Poetry (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1984) Toland, J., The Life of John Milton Containing the History of his Works, Several Extraordinary characters of Men and Books, Sects, Parties and Opinions. (London: John Darby, 1699) Tyler, Alexander Eraser, 'Essay on the Principles of Translation'

230

Translation/History/Culture, 1992)128-35

ed. by Andre Lefevere (London: Routledge,

Vittorini, Domenico, The Age of Dante (Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1957) Valery, Paul, 'Variations on The Eclogues', trans, by Denise Folliot, Theories of Translation, ed. by Rainer Schulte and John Biguenet (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1992)113-126 Walcot, Peter, Greek Drama in its Theatrical and Social Context (Cardiff: Univ. of Wales Press, 1976) Ward, Charles, The Life of John Dryden (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press: 1961) Watson, J.R., 'Divine Providence and the Structure of Paradise Lost' Essays in Criticism xiv 2 (1964) 148-155 Weinbrot, Howard, Britannia's Issues (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1993) Weston, Peter, John Milton, Paradise Lost (London: Penguin, 1990) Wheeler, Thomas, Paradise Lost and the Modern Reader (Georgia: Univ. of Georgia Press, 1974) Williams, Deryck, 'The Aeneid' The Cambridge History of Classical Literature ed. E. J. Kenny, 2"'' edn. (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1982) Williams, R.D., 'The Sixth Book of The Aeneid', Oxford Readings in Virgil, ed. by S. J. Harrison (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1990) Williams, R. D., and T. S. Pattie, Virgil: His Poetry Through the Ages (London: British Library Board, 1982) Williams, Gordon, Techniques and Ideas in The Aeneid. (New Haven and London: Yale UP, 1983) Wilson, A, N., The Life of John Milton (Oxford: Oxford UP, 1983) Winn, James, John Dryden and His World (New Haven: Yale UP, 1987) Wittreich, Joseph, ' " A l l Angelic Natures Joined in One": Epic Convention and Prophetic Interiority in the Council Scenes of Paradise Lost' Milton Studies, xvii(1983) 43-71

231