Probably, however, it was only occasionally that Milton used these names with any particular thought as to their meaning. If he had done so, Beëlzebub, who was next to Satan in power, would hardly be called a Cherub (as above) while Satan's other followers were called Seraphim, and Satan himself an Archangel. Indeed, later in the poem, Raphael is called not only Seraph (v. 277), but Virtue (v. 371), Power (viii. 249), and Archangel (vii. 41). In one or two cases Milton seems to make a distinction, but it is only now and then, and never carried to any length.

On the other hand, Milton does seem to recognize the more popular distinction which thinks only of angels and archangels. The archangels were seven in number (iii. 648, 654), of whom, however, Milton only mentions four,— Michael, the Sword of God; Gabriel, the Man of God; Raphael, the Health of God, and Uriel, the Fire of God. Of these seven, Satan had been one, and one of the chief (v. 660); or it may have been that before his fall there had been eight.

This matter is worth considering a little for two reasons. The first is that Milton could not accept these traditions of the Church, as Dante had, for instance; he found nothing about the angelic hierarchy in the Bible, and he could not, therefore, believe implicitly in it. He knew, also, as Dante had not known, that the writings which went under the name of Dionysius were not really by the convert of Paul, and he did not recognize the authority of the Church of Rome, which gave them a certain sanction. As Scriptural terms, therefore, these names were precious to him, but he went no farther than he found warrant for in the Bible. The second reason why it is interesting to note Milton's use of these terms is for the evidence it bears as to the nature of Milton's genius. The reader of Macaulay's Essay will remember the comparison between Milton and Dante. We have here an evidence in the same direction. It was not according to the natural tenor of Mil

ton's mind to be particular or precise in his use of such terms. He used words, especially unfamiliar ones, in a large, grandiose way; they were to make an effect, not to convey information. A certain definiteness of conception was necessary: but it was also necessary to leave room for the stirring of the imagination. We shall see much the same thing in Milton's conception of the cosmology of his poem, and, indeed, in one or two other places.

3. The Cosmology of the Poem.

To turn to a consideration of another matter which

will make these two books easier to us. To have really a good idea of the course of events, we must know something of what in everyday language we might call "the lay of the land." The name common among students of Milton is the cosmology of the poem, that is, the distribution of the cosmos, as conceived by Milton, and as assumed in "Paradise Lost."

Of

At the first,-not at the beginning of the poem, but at -the beginning of the action,1-all things were divided into Chaos and Heaven. Of Chaos we shall gain an idea toward the end of the second book, ll. 891-1009. It was a confused, indescribable anarchy of amorphous elements. Heaven we learn but little in our two books, but there is sufficient account of it later. We cannot form a definite idea of it, nor did Milton try to do so, but, in a general way, he gives us an adequate conception. For one thing, it was above. It is often called "the highest Heaven," and, on the other hand, Chaos is called the Deep, the Abyss. It is a firmament above the jarrings of Chaos; Milton conceives it in images of this earth; it has its hills and valleys, its pavements and mansions, its towers and battlements. Here abide from all eternity, God and his angels, and here it is, as we have seen, that Lucifer is in

1See p. xxv. above.

flamed with pride and ambition. He rebels, and, being conquered, he and all his following are cast forth from Heaven and fall to the place appointed for them.

The place appointed for them is Hell, apparently nonexistent before, but created in punishment of their sin. Of Hell we have ample description in the two books in this volume. Like Heaven, it is conceived in images of this earth (see especially ii. 570-628), with the difference that all is either burning hot or freezing cold. It is arched over by a fiery sky (if we may use the term) which separates it from Chaos, and in which, apparently, is the famous portal where sit Sin and Death, through which Satan flies forth in his search for the newly created Uni

verse.

The Universe, or this earth and the starry systems which circle around it, is created immediately after the expulsion of Satan; we are given an account of the Creation in Book vii. It is a hollow sphere carved out of Chaos, against which it is protected by a solid shell, of which Milton makes a curious use in Book iii. 416-497. Satan comes to the outside from Chaos,—

66

A globe far off

It seemed; now seems a boundless continent."

A hollow sphere suspended from Heaven by golden chains, such is the Universe from without; far within, at the centre, is our earth. At the highest point, nearest Heaven, is an opening whereby the angels may ascend and descend.

So much is all that we need to know on such matters to appreciate these two books, to understand the fall of the angels, and the flight of Satan. A word or two more, however, about the Universe may be added.

The Universe as presented in "Paradise Lost" is not the Universe we think of, a myriad of suns, each with its ring of planets, nor even our own solar system, where the sun in the centre compels the earth and all the rest to

move about him. It is the Universe as conceived by the Middle Ages, the Ptolemaic Universe of which the centre was our earth. The earth was the centre surrounded by ten spheres, which, as they moved around it, gave forth heavenly music. First and nearest the earth was the sphere of the Moon, then that of Mercury, then of Venus, then of the Sun; then in order Mars, Jupiter, Saturn; then the firmament of fixed stars, then the crystalline sphere, and, finally, the sphere called the Primum Mobile, which formed the outer shell and protected the earth from Chaos. Down through the highest opening flies Satan, past all the spheres to the sun, where he deceives Uriel, the heavenly guardian, into telling him where further to go, and finally reaches this earth, where he alights on the top of Mount Niphates. Such is the Miltonic cosmology,-to a certain point clear, distinct, substantial.

To a certain degree does Milton furnish us with a definite conception, for to a certain degree a definite conception was a necessity. The poem deals with spiritual themes, it is true, with the origin of evil; with the failure, for the time, of man's nature; with the estrangement of the soul from God, and its reconciliation. But being a poet, Milton deals with these themes as implicit in forms, in persons, and dealing with definite persons he must deal with definite places.

Yet there are not wanting hints which show us that the definiteness of this plan, so far as it goes, is merely the accident of the form. Hell, it is true, as we hear of it in the poem, is a fiery world,—yes, but the real Hell is in the mind. Escaped from the Hell that is merely a fiery place, Satan cannot escape from the Hell that he ever bears about with him.

"The Hell within him: for within him Hell

He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell
One step, no more than from himself can fly
By change of place." (iv. 20-24.)

66

Adam and Eve on losing Paradise are still possessed of

"a Paradise within them, happier far."

And, as to

Heaven, it is only to be conceived at all, says Raphael,

66

"By likening spiritual to corporeal forms

As may express them best. (v. 573, 574.)

IV. ON THE STYLE.

1. General Characteristics.

Dr. Johnson, in his "Lives of the Poets," considers Milton's poetry, and finally makes the terribly candid remark: "Paradise Lost' is one of the books which the reader admires and lays down, and forgets to take up again. None ever wished it longer than it is. Its perusal is a duty rather than a pleasure. We read Milton for instruction, retire harassed and overburdened, and look elsewhere for recreation; we desert our master, and seek for companions."

Now, such may certainly be the case with many who read "Paradise Lost," but if it is, they have missed the chief thing in the poem which is worth while. As a poem

"Paradise Lost" was meant to give, and can give, not instruction but pleasure, a high-minded, ennobling, refining pleasure, it is true, but a pleasure for all that. So a person who regards it as a bore is unfortunate, as John

son was.

It is true that there are many minor reasons-especially nowadays-why "Paradise Lost" is not read with pleasure. First we do not, on the whole, like its subject-matter, regarded as fiction, and we cannot regard it as history. In addition to this drawback is another not less effective. We are, nowadays, accustomed to a form of literature which in Milton's day practically did not exist, and which has for us a much more imperious attraction, to say the least, than has the epic. We are so accustomed to novel