It may, perhaps, be worth while to consider with what Judgment Milton, in this Narration, has avoided every thing that is mean and trivial in the Descriptions of the
Latin
and
Greek
Poets; and at the same time improved every great Hint which he met with in their Works upon this Subject.
Homer
in that Passage, which
Longinus
has celebrated for its Sublimeness, and which
Virgil
and
Ovid
have copy'd after him, tells us, that the Giants threw
Ossa
upon
Olympus
, and
Pelion
upon
Ossa
. He adds an Epithet to
Pelion
Greek: einosíphullon
which very much swells the Idea, by bringing up to the Reader's Imagination all the Woods that grew upon it. There is further a great Beauty in his singling out by Name these three remarkable Mountains, so well known to the
Greeks
. This last is such a Beauty as the Scene of
Milton's
War could not possibly furnish him with.
Claudian
, in his Fragment upon the Giants' War, has given full scope to that Wildness of Imagination which was natural to him. He tells us, that the Giants tore up whole Islands by the Roots, and threw them at the Gods. He describes one of them in particular taking up
Lemnos
in his Arms, and whirling it to the Skies, with all
Vulcan's Shop
in the midst of it. Another tears up
Mount Ida
, with the
River Enipeus
, which ran down the Sides of it; but the Poet, not content to describe him with this Mountain upon his Shoulders, tells us that the River flow'd down his Back, as he held it up in that Posture. It is visible to every judicious Reader, that such Ideas savour more of Burlesque, than of the Sublime. They proceed from a Wantonness of Imagination, and rather divert the Mind than astonish it.
Milton
has taken every thing that is sublime in these several Passages, and composes out of them the following great Image.
From their Foundations loos'ning to and fro,They pluck'd the seated Hills, with all their Land,Rocks, Waters, Woods; and by the shaggy TopsUp-lifting bore them in their Hands—
We have the full Majesty of
Homer
in this short Description, improv'd by the Imagination of
Claudian
, without its Puerilities. I need not point out the Description of the fallen Angels seeing the Promontories hanging over their Heads in such a dreadful manner, with the other numberless Beauties in this Book, which are so conspicuous, that they cannot escape the Notice of the most ordinary Reader.
There are indeed so many wonderful Strokes of Poetry in this Book, and such a variety of Sublime Ideas, that it would have been impossible to have given them a place within the bounds of this Paper. Besides that, I find it in a great measure done to my hand at the End of my
Lord Roscommon's Essay on Translated Poetry
. I shall refer my Reader thither for some of the Master Strokes in the Sixth Book of
Paradise Lost
, tho' at the same time there are many others which that noble Author has not taken notice of.
Milton
, notwithstanding the sublime Genius he was Master of, has in this Book drawn to his Assistance all the Helps he could meet with among the Ancient Poets.
The
Sword of
Michael
, which makes so great
a
2
havock among the bad Angels, was given him, we are told, out of the Armory of God.
—But the SwordOfMichaelfrom the Armory ofGodWas given him tempered so, that neither keenNor solid might resist that Edge: It metThe Sword ofSatan,with steep Force to smiteDescending, and in half cut sheer—
This Passage is a Copy of that in
Virgil
, wherein the Poet tells us, that the Sword of
Æneas
, which was given him by a Deity, broke into Pieces the Sword of
Turnus
, which came from a mortal Forge. As the Moral in this Place is divine, so by the way we may observe, that the bestowing on a Man who is favoured by Heaven such an allegorical Weapon, is very conformable to the old
Eastern
way of Thinking. Not only Homer has made use of it, but we find the
Jewish
Hero in the
Book of Maccabees
, who had fought the Battels of the chosen People with so much Glory and Success, receiving in his Dream a Sword from the Hand of the
Prophet Jeremiah
. The following Passage, wherein
Satan
is described as wounded by the Sword of
Michael
, is in imitation of
Homer
.
The griding Sword with discontinuous WoundPassed through him; butt the Ethereal Substance closedNot long divisible; and from the GashA Stream of Nectarous Humour issuing flowedSanguine, (such as celestial Spirits may bleed)And all his Armour stained—
Homer
tells us in the same manner, that upon
Diomedes
wounding the Gods, there flow'd from the Wound an Ichor, or pure kind of Blood, which was not bred from mortal Viands; and that tho' the Pain was exquisitely great, the Wound soon closed up and healed in those Beings who are vested with Immortality.
I question not but
Milton
in his Description of his furious
Moloch
flying from the Battel, and bellowing with the Wound he had received, had his Eye on
Mars
in the
Iliad
; who, upon his being wounded, is represented as retiring out of the Fight, and making an Outcry louder than that of a whole Army when it begins the Charge.
Homer
adds, that the
Greeks
and
Trojans
, who were engaged in a general Battel, were terrify'd on each side with the bellowing of this wounded Deity. The Reader will easily observe how
Milton
has kept all the Horrour of this Image, without running into the Ridicule of it.
—Where the Might ofGabrielfought,And with fierce Ensigns pierc'd the deep ArrayOfMoloch,furious King! who him defy'd,And at his Chariot-wheels to drag him boundThreaten'd, nor from the Holy One of Heav'nRefrained his Tongue blasphemous: but anonDown cloven to the Waste, with shattered ArmsAnd uncouth Pain fled bellowing.—
Milton
has likewise raised his Description in this Book with many Images taken out of the poetical Parts of Scripture. The
Messiah's
Chariot, as I have before taken notice, is formed upon a Vision of
Ezekiel
, who, as
Grotius
observes, has very much in him of
Homer's
Spirit in the Poetical Parts of his Prophecy.
The following Lines in that glorious Commission which is given the
Messiah
to extirpate the Host of Rebel Angels, is drawn from a Sublime Passage in the
Psalms
.
Go then thou Mightiest in thy Father's Might!Ascend my Chariot, guide the rapid WheelsThat shake Heav'n's Basis; bring forth all my War,My Bow, my Thunder, my Almighty Arms,Gird on thy Sword on thy puissant Thigh.
The Reader will easily discover many other Strokes of the same nature.
There is no question but
Milton
had heated his Imagination with the Fight of the Gods in
Homer
, before he enter'd upon this Engagement of the Angels.
Homer
there gives us a Scene of Men, Heroes, and Gods, mix'd together in Battel.
Mars
animates the contending Armies, and lifts up his Voice in such a manner, that it is heard distinctly amidst all the Shouts and Confusion of the Fight.
Jupiter
at the same time Thunders over their Heads; while
Neptune
raises such a Tempest, that the whole Field of Battel and all the Tops of the Mountains shake about them. The Poet tells us, that
Pluto
himself, whose Habitation was in the very Center of the Earth, was so affrighted at the Shock, that he leapt from his Throne.
Homer
afterwards describes
Vulcan
as pouring down a Storm of Fire upon the River
Xanthus
, and
Minerva
as throwing a Rock at
Mars
; who, he tells us, cover'd seven Acres in his Fall.
As
Homer
has introduced into his Battel of the Gods every thing that is great and terrible in Nature,
Milton
has filled his Fight of good and bad Angels with all the like Circumstances of Horrour. The Shout of Armies, the Rattling of Brazen Chariots, the Hurling of Rocks and Mountains, the Earthquake, the Fire, the Thunder, are all of them employ'd to lift up the Reader's Imagination, and give him a suitable Idea of so great an Action. With what Art has the Poet represented the whole Body of the Earth trembling, even before it was created.
All Heaven resounded, and had Earth been then,All Earth had to its Center shook—
In how sublime and just a manner does he afterwards describe the whole Heaven shaking under the Wheels of the
Messiah's
Chariot, with that Exception to the
Throne of God
?
—Under his burning WheelsThe stedfast Empyrean shook throughout,All but the Throne it self of God—
Notwithstanding the
Messiah
appears clothed with so much Terrour and Majesty, the Poet has still found means to make his Readers conceive an Idea of him, beyond what he himself was able to describe.
Yet half his Strength he put not forth, but checktHis Thunder in mid Volley; for he meantNot to destroy, but root them out of Heaven.
In a Word,
Milton's
Genius, which was so great in it self, and so strengthened by all the helps of Learning, appears in this Book every way equal to his Subject, which was the most Sublime that could enter into the Thoughts of a Poet.
As
he knew all the Arts of affecting the Mind,
he knew it was necessary to give
3
it certain Resting-places and Opportunities of recovering it self from time to time: He has
therefore
with great Address interspersed several Speeches, Reflections, Similitudes, and the like Reliefs to diversify his Narration, and ease the Attention of
the
4
Reader, that he might come fresh to his great Action, and by such a Contrast of Ideas, have a more lively taste of the nobler Parts of his Description.
L.
Footnote 1:
is
return to footnote mark
Footnote 2:
an
return
Footnote 3:
had he not given
return
Footnote 4:
his
return
ContentsContents, p.5
Voluisti in suo Genere, unumquemque nostrum quasi quendam esse Roscium, dixistique non tam ea quæ recta essent probari, quam quæ prava sunt fastidiis adhærescere.Cicero de Gestu.
It is very natural to take for our whole Lives a light Impression of a thing which at first fell into Contempt with us for want of Consideration. The real Use of a certain Qualification (which the wiser Part of Mankind look upon as at best an indifferent thing, and generally a frivolous Circumstance) shews the ill Consequence of such Prepossessions. What I mean, is the Art, Skill, Accomplishment, or whatever you will call it, of Dancing. I knew a Gentleman of great Abilities, who bewail'd the Want of this Part of his Education to the End of a very honourable Life. He observ'd that there was not occasion for the common Use of great Talents; that they are but seldom in Demand; and that these very great Talents were often render'd useless to a Man for want of small Attainments. A good Mein (a becoming Motion, Gesture and Aspect) is natural to some Men; but even these would be highly more graceful in their Carriage, if what they do from the Force of Nature were confirm'd and heightned from the Force of Reason. To one who has not at all considered it, to mention the Force of Reason on such a Subject, will appear fantastical; but when you have a little attended to it, an Assembly of Men will have quite another View: and they will tell you, it is evident from plain and infallible Rules, why this Man with those beautiful Features, and well fashion'd Person, is not so agreeable as he who sits by him without any of those Advantages. When we read, we do it without any exerted Act of Memory that presents the Shape of the Letters; but Habit makes us do it mechanically, without staying, like Children, to recollect and join those Letters. A Man who has not had the Regard of his Gesture in any part of his Education, will find himself unable to act with Freedom before new Company, as a Child that is but now learning would be to read without Hesitation. It is for the Advancement of the Pleasure we receive in being agreeable to each other in ordinary Life, that one would wish Dancing were generally understood as conducive as it really is to a proper Deportment in Matters that appear the most remote from it. A Man of Learning and Sense is distinguished from others as he is such, tho' he never runs upon Points too difficult for the rest of the World; in like Manner the reaching out of the Arm, and the most ordinary Motion, discovers whether a Man ever learnt to know what is the true Harmony and Composure of his Limbs and Countenance. Whoever has seen
Booth
in the Character of
Pyrrhus
, march to his Throne to receive
Orestes
, is convinced that majestick and great Conceptions are expressed in the very Step; but perhaps, tho' no other Man could perform that Incident as well as he does, he himself would do it with a yet greater Elevation were he a Dancer.
This
is so dangerous a Subject to treat with Gravity, that I shall not at present enter into it any further; but the Author of the following Letter
1
has treated it in the Essay he speaks of in such a Manner, that I am beholden to him for a Resolution, that I will never hereafter think meanly of any thing, till I have heard what they who have another Opinion of it have to say in its Defence.
Mr.Spectator,'Since there are scarce any of the Arts or Sciences that have not been recommended to the World by the Pens of some of the Professors, Masters, or Lovers of them, whereby the Usefulness, Excellence, and Benefit arising from them, both as to the Speculative and practical Part, have been made publick, to the great Advantage and Improvement of such Arts and Sciences; why should Dancing, an Art celebrated by the Ancients in so extraordinary a Manner, be totally neglected by the Moderns, and left destitute of any Pen to recommend its various Excellencies and substantial Merit to Mankind?'The low Ebb to which Dancing is now fallen, is altogether owing to this Silence. The Art is esteem'd only as an amusing Trifle; it lies altogether uncultivated, and is unhappily fallen under the Imputation of Illiterate and Mechanick: And asTerencein one of his Prologues, complains of the Rope-dancers drawing all the Spectators from his Play, so may we well say, that Capering and Tumbling is now preferred to, and supplies the Place of just and regular Dancing on our Theatres. It is therefore, in my opinion, high time that some one should come in to its Assistance, and relieve it from the many gross and growing Errors that have crept into it, and over-cast its real Beauties; and to set Dancing in its true light, would shew the Usefulness and Elegancy of it, with the Pleasure and Instruction produc'd from it; and also lay down some fundamental Rules, that might so tend to the Improvement of its Professors, and Information of the Spectators, that the first might be the better enabled to perform, and the latter render'd more capable of judging, what is (if there be any thing) valuable in this Art.'To encourage therefore some ingenious Pen capable of so generous an Undertaking, and in some measure to relieve Dancing from the Disadvantages it at present lies under, I, who teach to dance, have attempted a small Treatise as an Essay towards an History of Dancing; in which I have enquired into its Antiquity, Original, and Use, and shewn what Esteem the Ancients had for it: I have likewise considered the Nature and Perfection of all its several Parts, and how beneficial and delightful it is, both as a Qualification and an Exercise; and endeavoured to answer all Objections that have been maliciously rais'd against it. I have proceeded to give an Account of the particular Dances of theGreeksandRomans, whether religious, warlike, or civil; and taken particular notice of that Part of Dancing relating to the ancient Stage, and in which the Pantomimes had so great a share: Nor have I been wanting in giving an historical Account of some particular Masters excellent in that surprising Art. After which, I have advanced some Observations on the modern Dancing, both as to the Stage, and that Part of it so absolutely necessary for the Qualification of Gentlemen and Ladies; and have concluded with some short Remarks on the Origin and Progress of the Character by which Dances are writ down, and communicated to one Master from another. If some great Genius after this would arise, and advance this Art to that Perfection it seems capable of receiving, what might not be expected from it? For if we consider the Origin of Arts and Sciences, we shall find that some of them took rise from Beginnings so mean and unpromising, that it is very wonderful to think that ever such surprizing Structures should have been raised upon such ordinary Foundations. But what cannot a great Genius effect? Who would have thought that the clangorous Noise of a Smith's Hammers should have given the first rise to Musick? YetMacrobiusin his second Book relates, thatPythagoras, in passing by a Smith's Shop, found that the Sounds proceeding from the Hammers were either more grave or acute, according to the different Weights of the Hammers. The Philosopher, to improve this Hint, suspends different Weights by Strings of the same Bigness, and found in like manner that the Sounds answered to the Weights. This being discover'd, he finds out those Numbers which produc'd Sounds that were Consonants: As, that two Strings of the same Substance and Tension, the one being double the Length, of the other, give that Interval which is calledDiapason, or an Eighth; the same was also effected from two Strings of the same Length and Size, the one having four times the Tension of the other. By these Steps, from so mean a Beginning, did this great Man reduce, what was only before Noise, to one of the most delightful Sciences, by marrying it to the Mathematicks; and by that means caused it to be one of the most abstract and demonstrative of Sciences. Who knows therefore but Motion, whether Decorous or Representative, may not (as it seems highly probable it may) be taken into consideration by some Person capable of reducing it into a regular Science, tho' not so demonstrative as that proceeding from Sounds, yet sufficient to entitle it to a Place among the magnify'd Arts.'Now, Mr.Spectator, as you have declared your self Visitor of Dancing-Schools, and this being an Undertaking which more immediately respects them, I think my self indispensably obliged, before I proceed to the Publication of this my Essay, to ask your Advice, and hold it absolutely necessary to have your Approbation; and in order to recommend my Treatise to the Perusal of the Parents of such as learn to dance, as well as to the young Ladies, to whom, as Visitor, you ought to be Guardian.I am,Sir,Your most humble Servant.Salop, March 19, 1711-12.
T.
Footnote 1:
John Weaver.
return to footnote mark
ContentsContents, p.5
Respicere exemplar vitæ morumque jubebo Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc ducere voces.Hor.
My
Friend Sir
Roger De Coverley
, when we last met together at the Club, told me, that he had a great mind to see the new Tragedy
1
with me, assuring me at the same time, that he had not been at a Play these twenty Years. The
last
I saw, said Sir
Roger
, was the
Committee
, which I should not have gone to neither, had not I been told before-hand that it was a good Church-of-England Comedy
2
. He then proceeded to enquire of me who this
Distrest Mother
was; and upon hearing that she was
Hector's
Widow, he told me that her Husband was a brave Man, and that when he was a Schoolboy he had read his Life at the end of the Dictionary. My Friend asked me, in the next place, if there would not be some danger in coming home late, in case the Mohocks should be Abroad. I assure you, says he, I thought I had fallen into their Hands last Night; for I observed two or three lusty black Men that follow'd me half way up Fleet-street, and mended their pace behind me, in proportion as I put on to get away from them. You must know, continu'd the Knight with a Smile, I fancied they had a mind to hunt me; for I remember an honest Gentleman in my Neighbourhood, who was served such a trick in King Charles the Second's time; for which reason he has not ventured himself in Town ever since. I might have shown them very good Sport, had this been their Design; for as I am an old Fox-hunter, I should have turned and dodg'd, and have play'd them a thousand tricks they had never seen in their Lives before. Sir
Roger
added, that if these Gentlemen had any such Intention, they did not succeed very well in it: for I threw them out, says he, at the End of Norfolk street, where I doubled the Corner, and got shelter in my Lodgings before they could imagine what was become of me. However, says the Knight, if Captain
Sentry
will make one with us to-morrow night, and if you will both of you call upon me about four a-Clock, that we may be at the House before it is full, I will have my own Coach in readiness to attend you, for John tells me he has got the Fore-Wheels mended.
The Captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the appointed Hour, bid Sir
Roger
fear nothing, for that he had put on the same Sword which he made use of at the Battel of
Steenkirk
. Sir
Roger's
Servants, and among the rest my old Friend the Butler, had, I found, provided themselves with good Oaken Plants, to attend their Master upon this occasion. When he had placed him in his Coach, with my self at his Left-Hand, the Captain before him, and his Butler at the Head of his Footmen in the Rear, we convoy'd him in safety to the Play-house, where, after having marched up the Entry in good order, the Captain and I went in with him, and seated him betwixt us in the Pit. As soon as the House was full, and the Candles lighted, my old Friend stood up and looked about him with that Pleasure, which a Mind seasoned with Humanity naturally feels in its self, at the sight of a Multitude of People who seem pleased with one another, and partake of the same common Entertainment. I could not but fancy to myself, as the old Man stood up in the middle of the Pit, that he made a very proper Center to a Tragick Audience. Upon the entring of
Pyrrhus
, the Knight told me, that he did not believe the King of
France
himself had a better Strut. I was indeed very attentive to my old Friend's Remarks, because I looked upon them as a Piece of natural Criticism, and was well pleased to hear him at the Conclusion of almost every Scene, telling me that he could not imagine how the Play would end. One while he appeared much concerned for
Andromache
; and a little while after as much for
Hermione
: and was extremely puzzled to think what would become of
Pyrrhus
.
When Sir
Roger
saw
Andromache's
obstinate Refusal to her Lover's Importunities, he whisper'd me in the Ear, that he was sure she would never have him; to which he added, with a more than ordinary Vehemence, you can't imagine, Sir, what 'tis to have to do with a
Widow
. Upon
Pyrrhus
his threatning afterwards to leave her, the Knight shook his Head, and muttered to himself, Ay, do if you can. This Part dwelt so much upon my Friend's Imagination, that at the close of the Third Act, as I was thinking of something else, he whispered in my Ear, These Widows, Sir, are the most perverse Creatures in the World. But pray, says he, you that are a Critick, is this Play according to your Dramatick Rules, as you call them? Should your People in Tragedy always talk to be understood? Why, there is not a single Sentence in this Play that I do not know the Meaning of.