CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY FROM THE FUND GIVEN BY GOLDWIN SMITH 1909 UNDERGRADUATE LIBRARY DATE DUE ■ "^P»-»<*m^ ^ PRINTED IN U.S. Cornell University Library PR 3592.M8082 The classical mythology of Milton's Engl 3 1924 009 113 089 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924009113089 YALE STUDIES IN ENGLISH ALBERT S. COOK, Editor VIII THE CLASSICAL MYTHOLOGY OF Milton's English poems CHARLES GROSVENOR OSGOOD, Ph.D. NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY igoo Ss9a Copyright, igoo, BY CHARLES GROSVENOR OSGOOD, Ph.D. J^ 7/SS TO PROFESSQR ALBERT S. COOK AND PROFESSOR THOMAS D. SEYMOUR PREFACE The student who diligently peruses the lines of a great poem may go far toward a realization of its char- acter. He may appreciate, in a degree, its loveliness, strength, and direct hold upon the catholic truth of life. But he will be more sensitive to these appeals, and receive gifts that are richer and less perishable, accord- ing as he comprehends the forces by whose interaction the poem was produced. These are of two kinds — the innate forces of the poet's character, and certain more external forces, such as, in the case of Milton, are represented by Hellenism and Hebraism. Their activ- ity is greatest where they meet and touch, and at this point their nature and measure are most easily dis- cerned. From a contemplation of the poem in its gene- sis one returns to a deeper understanding and enjoyment of it as a completed whole. The present study, though it deals with but one of the important cultural influ- ences affecting Milton, and with it but in part, endeav- ors by this method to deepen and clarify the apprecia- tion of his art and teaching. My interest in the present work has found support and encouragement in the opinions of Mr. Churton Collins, as expressed in his valuable book. The Study of English Literature. The particular subject was suggested by Miss Alice Sawtelle's study of the sources of Spen- ser's Mythology, which has served also as a helpful model. What is here printed as the second part was submitted as a doctoral thesis to the Philosophical Faculty of Yale University. Any one who deals seriously with Milton's relation to his sources, especially to the classical ones, must become indebted in many ways to the scholarly editions of Newton and Todd, as well as to the increase of their vi Preface wealth in the editions of Browne, Masson, Jerram, Ver- ity, Hales, Cook, and Trent. In the tracing of the sources, however, I have, for the most part, worked independently of editorial annotations, and have found it both necessary and possible to carry the work beyond the limit of previous researches in this field. So thor- ough and extensive was Milton's reading that a study of his sources may be prolonged indefinitely before it fails of interest and profit. For this reason I have doubtless transgressed, in places, the strict boundary of my subject, as in my discussion of Milton's use of ' Chance,' or his allusion to the Chalybeans. The requi- site apparatus included Roscher's Lexikon der Griechischen und Romischen Mythologie, Preller's Griechische Mythologie, and the Pauly-Wissowa Realencyclopadie, to which I may add Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology. The text used is generally that of Masson, but I have now and again taken liberties with respect to spelling and punctuation, usually with the aim of securing more perfect consistency. The principal translators cited are as follows: of the Iliad, Liang, Leaf, and Myers; of the Odyssey, Butcher and Lang; of Vergil, Lonsdale and Lee; of Plato, Jowett; of Ovid, Riley; of Theocritus, Lang; of Pindar, Myers; of .^schy- lus and Sophocles, Plumptre. I speak with hesitation of my debt to my teachers, since I can hope to express but inadequately my grati- tude to them. Of such indebtedness this work repre- sents, indeed, but a small part. Had it not been for the advice and unfailing inspiration of Professor Albert S. Cook, it would never have been begun. To the enthu- siasm and delicate appreciation of Professor Thomas D. Seymour I owe the beginning and deepening of an interest in Greek literature which has imparted zest to my labors. I am also grateful to Professor Seymour, to Miss Laura E. Lockwood, of Wellesley College, whose Milton Lexicon is shortly to appear, and especially to Professor Cook, for their care in reading the proof, and t^rejace vii the freedom with which they have suggested corrections and improvements. To my brother, Mr. H. W. Osgood, I would record my acknowledgments for his assistance in compiling indexes and in preparing the manuscript for the press. In the consciousness of one's mistakes and short- comings it is a comfort to find one's sentiments expressed, with his peculiar nobility of tone and phrase, by the great lexicographer and essayist of the last century, whose success in most things that he undertook must be the despair of lesser abilities: ' In things difficult there is danger from ignorance, and in things easy from confidence; the mind, afraid of greatness, and disdainful of littleness, hastily with- draws herself from painful searches, and passes with scornful rapidity over tasks not adequate to her powers, sometimes too secure for caution, and again too anxious for vigorous effort; sometimes idle in a plain path, and sometimes distracted in labyrinths, and dissipated by different intentions.' C. G. O. Yale University, December 23, 1899. INTRODUCTION / The importance of Greek and Roman mythology is :' proved by its unfailing vitality. After the visible forms I of states and empires had passed away, the myths of I the ancients survived with their politics and philosophy I ajid^poetry as a part of the heritage jwhich the new peo- [ pies received frorri._the_old. This power of classical iHy ths fo'survive is explained principally by two facts : first, they were the embodiment of the moral, religious, and artistic ideals of the Greeks and Romans; secondly, morality, religion, and art were serious and fundamen- tal realities in ancient life. These two facts explain also the kind of vitality by which the myths have survived. It consists not merely in the repetition of a tale through centuries, but also in the variation of its quality, and in its susceptibility to employment for various uses. The old mythology was a kind of plastic material which received through indi- viduals a national impress. As the life of the Greeks became modified from century to century, so Greek my- thology was similarly modified by the poets, teachers, philosophers, and artists who were the master-workmen of this people. The stories and conceptions of gods and heroes are strong, aspiring, or weak, as the people who invented and cherished them manifested the cor- responding qualities. And when the Roman civiliza- tion adopted Greek culture, Greek mythology suffered modification, and became in some degree a reflex of the Roman life into which it had entered. The poet who was religious, and hence peculiarly and continually sensitive to moral truth, found in exist- ing mythology a partial expression of the truths dear to him, and in his poetic treatment added to the moral, religious, or imaginative value of the myth which he X Classical Mythology in Milton employed. Reverence as well as imagination character- izes such treatment. We feel it in the mythology of poets like Homer, Plato, and Vergil. Thus in the first book of the Iliad, where Chryses prayed for revenge upon Agamemnon, ' Phoebus Apollo heard him, and came down from the peaks of Olympus wroth at heart, bearing on his shoulders his bow and covered quiver. And the arrows clanged upon his shoulders in his wrath, as the god moved; and he descended like to night." This passage not only shows Homer's imagination in its viv- idness and dramatic power, but contains moral enthu- siasm for divine justice, and reverence for the superior and majestic power of the god. But Homer's rever- ence had a lower object than that of either Plato or the Christian. His ideal of conduct, as represented by his heroes, and magnified in his divinities, was nourished by a smaller life and alower conception of the universe than the Platonic or the Christian ideal. His greatest men and women are brave, dignified, and generous, some- times even tender. Yet they treat their enemies with horrible cruelty, they violate our ideas of moral purity, and they exhibit lack of self-control and fear of death. Already in the palmy days of Greek civilization Plato criticizes them for such shortcomings.' The reverence of this poet-philosopher for mythology was not based upon a literal belief in the old religion. He appreciated the beauty of some of its myths, and saw that they were sufficiently plastic to receive his teaching. In his adaptation he has impressed them with the imagination, and with the enthusiasm and rev- erence for truth which are exhibited in his philosophy. Under the influence of his higher and larger ideals and conceptions, mythology underwent a sort of expansion. It was sublimated, rarefied, and projected into larger space. It received a nobler form than that which it possessed in Homer. At the same time, however it ' ■•45- " Rep. 3. 386. Introduction xi assumed a new function; it became symbolic and almost allegorical. Thus in the Phmdrus, where Plato is dis- cussing the upward flight of the perfect soul, he says : ' Now the divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness, and the like; and by these the wing of the soul is nourished, and grows apace; . . . Zeus, the mighty lord holding the reins of a winged chariot, leads the way in heaven, order- ing all and caring for all ; and there follows him the heav- enly array of gods and demi-gods, divided into eleven bands; for only Hestia is left at home in the house of heaven; but the rest of the twelve greater deities march in their appointed order. And they see in the interior of heaven many blessed sights; and there are ways to and fro, along which the happy gods are passing, each one fulfilling his own work; and any one may follow who pleases, for jealousy has no place in the heavenly choir. This is within the heaven. But when they go to feast and festival, then they move right up the steep ascent, and mount the top of the dome of heaven.' ' To appre- ciate more fully the difference between Homer and Plato, this passage should be compared with the famous feast of the gods in the first book of the Iliad,'' where jealous Hera stirs a quarrel with Zeus; but at his threats 'the ox-eyed queen was afraid, and sat in silence, curbing her heart; but throughout Zeus' palace the gods of heaven were troubled.' Then the drollery of Hephaestus made a truce, and 'laughter unquenchable arose amid the blessed gods to see Hephaestus bustling through the palace.' An allegorical and naturalistic application of my- thology was made by Plutarch. The attempt was after- wards made to identify many myths with early or sacred history through euhemeristic interpretation, or to discover in them an allegorical form of Christian and moral truth. Such uses of mythology find early prece- * Pkeedrus 246, 247. Compare also the use of mythology in the story of the journey of Er, Rep, 10. 614-621. * 1. 493-600. xii Classical Mythology in Milton dent in a euhemerist like Diodorus, or a moralist like Plutarch. They were later practised by certain of the fathers, such as Eusebius, and were resumed with great enthusiasm by scientific writers of the Renaissance, such as Bacon and Bochart." In the times of Greek and Roman decadence, when faith in the old religion had died, leaving empty the hearts of men, and when morality was by many regarded as inconvenient and unnecessary, the treat- ment of a myth in art became correspondingly irreli- gious and non-moral. As a diverting tale it admitted of imaginative treatment only. A Horace or a Claudian made it serve as a dainty and effective ornament. Ovid clothed the old stories in new apparel and ornament, and, thus renovated, they gave the world fresh amuse- ment; his importance to us as a mythologist consists much less in any moral or artistic excellence of his treatment than in his great accumulation of mytho- logical material from sources many of which have long since disappeared. Having thus considered the vitality of ancient myths as illustrated by their varying quality and the various ways in which they were applied, we may ask whether this vitality has failed at last, or whether it is so great that the myths may live with us a life in some degree as intimate as that which they lived with the ancients. When Christian civilization supplanted that of Greece and Rome, it seemed likely that pagan my- thology would perish with the old order of things. It was too closely interwoven with earlier belief to survive the antagonism of the new faith, which iirst dreaded the ancient world, and then triumphed over it. Within the last five hundred years classical mythology has been partially revived, generally as a relic or a plaything. But whether it can again receive the inspir- ing power of revelation which it possessed for many of ' See pp. 7, 17, 26, 33, 34, 37, 43, 46, 49, 54, 68, 71, 84, 85. Introduction xiii the ancients remains a question. The answer to such a question we may hope to find by a study of this ele- ment in the art of Milton. Before passing to a detailed examination of Milton's classical mythology, let us notice an architectural anal- ogy which shows how a product of the classical civiliza- tion, by yielding to the transforming power of a new faith, has been brought into a more beautiful life than it had known before. In Greek temples of the purer type, shafts and capitals play a conspicuous part, even exceeding in size and number the requirement for the support of the building, and existing in large measure for the sake of their own splendor. Each column is itself a complete and beautiful thing. It rises grandly in heroic proportion, and is* crowned with the glory of its capital. It has the proud character of Athene or of the far-darting Apollo, and in its definite and circum- scribed perfection it reflects the finite nature of the old religion. It sometimes happens, as one wanders along the ambulatory of an old cathedral, that he sees in the apse, or in the triforium of the choir, a column which reminds him of those in some of the Greek temples. It has something of their individuality; it is distinguished by volutes and a sort of acanthus foliage. It is in- deed less conspicuous than they were. Its position is a modest one; it may pass unnoticed in all the grandeur of the building. The pagan pride is gone, but in its new humility the column is more beautiful than of old. Its beauty has fallen upon it from the infinite beauty of the new faith in the service of which it has been estab- lished, and those who reared the column have given it the tenderness, the strength, and the repose of their religion. Let us now consider some of the principal facts •evealed by an examination of the classical mythology in Milton's poems. His methods of introducing such xiv Classical Mythology in Milton allusions are principally three. First, they may be introduced in simile or comparison. Thus in the Second Book of Paradise Lost he describes the turmoil of the fiends who Rend up both rocks and hills, and ride the air In whirlwind; Hell scarce holds the wild uproar: — As when Alcides from CEchalia crowned With conquest, felt the envenomed robe, and tore \ Through pain up by the roots Thessalian pines, \ And Lichas from the top of CEta threw \ Into the Euboic sea.' V At times the comparison may be very brief, as when the beasts are represented more obedient to the call of Eve Than at Circean call the herd disguised.' Or it may even not exceed the mere mention of 'Typhoean rage" or 'Atlantean shoulders.'* Milton often masses classical allusions of this kind, piling them sometimes four or five deep, and obtaining by means of this accumulation an effect of great rich- ness. Thus of the tempter disguised as a serpent he says: Pleasing was his shape And lovely; never since of serpent kind Lovelier — not those that in lUyria changed Hermione and Cadmus, or the god In Epidaurus; nor to which transformed Ammonian Jove, or Capitoline, was seen. He with Olympias, this with her who bore Scipio the highth of Rome.'' Even supposing that the reader is not familiar with all the allusions of this passage, the very succession of sono- rous vowels and liquids, which Milton so often effected by his choice and arrangement of proper names, 1 p. L. a. 540-546. 2 P. L. 9. 522; c£. 4. 250; s. 16, 378; 10. 559; V. E. 93. s P. L. 2. 539. 4 P. L. 2. 306; cf. 655; 3. 359; 10. 444; Son. 15. 7. ' P.L.g. 503-5 lo- Introduction xv f enhances the splendor of this massed comparison. In some cases such comparisons are reinforced or extended by allusions which are not mythological or even classi- cal. Or mythological allusions introduced for another purpose than comparison may occur in close connection with these passages. It_is_by such treatment^ that the description of Eden, in the Fourth Book of Paradise 235?7'"expreises throi3gK"its own rich luxuriance^ the luxuriance of the garden?' We hear first the sound of clear water running over beds of pearl and gold, now sparkling in the sun, now lost in the green twilight of deep woods. Against the dark foliage is the gleam of fruits with golden rind, ' Hesperian fables true.' The air is filled with the fragrance of gorgeous flowers, and with the soft call of unseen birds. Where the leafy branches part little vistas invite exploration. Airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance. Led on the eternal Spring. Not that fair field Of Enna, where Proserpin gathering flowers. Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis Was gathered — which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world — nor that sweet grove Of Daphne, by Orontes and the inspired Castalian spring, might with this Paradise Of Eden strive; nor that Nyseian isle, Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham, Whom Gentiles Ammon call and Libyan Jove, Hid Amalthea, and her florid son, Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye; Nor where Abassin kings their issue guard, Mount Amara, though this by some supposed True Paradise, under the Ethiop line By Nilus' head, enclosed with shining rock, A whole day's journey high, but wide remote. From this Assyrian garden, where the Fiend Saw undelighted all delight, all kind » Of living creatures, new to sight and strange. ^ 205-387. xvi Classical Mythology in Milton It will be noticed that Eden has been compared to three mythical gardens, and then to a garden of Abyssinia, and that besides these allusions, reference is also made to the Hesperides, to Pan, the Graces, and the Hours. This method of accumulation or massing of mythology is not confined to similes, but is also practised in other connections, as we shall see later. Here we may pause to consider a characteristic of all great art which attempts to interpret the beauty of the natural world to men. Every work of art which maintains a strong and permanent influence over men contains some element which brings it in touch with humanity. However divine the truth which the artist feels, however radiant the beauty of nature is to him, his art is incomplete if his thoughts of these things are not brought home to men in terms of human life. It is for this reason that a painting or a description of a land- scape which reproduces simply the landscape itself is imperfect. The best art therefore personifies the forces c f nature, or perhaps is content with suggesting types or phases of human life which seem to correspond in spirit to the particular type or phase of nature. It is thus that in Corot's pictures of the glad morning, figures are seen dancing, or blithe and tuneful Orpheus appears, giving utterance to the joyful harmony around him. In Milton's description of Eden the same principle applies to the mention of Pan and the Hours. Furthermore, in the comparisons occurring here Milton has not stopped with mere allusions to myths, as in his description of the serpent-fiend, but has outlined in his concise and significant way the stories of Proserpina and Amalthea, and has suggested the voice heard in the Castalian spring sacred to the Apollo and Daphne of the Orient, thus furnishing appropriate personal types to reflect the natural beauty previously described.' 1 Other examples of accumulated mythology iu simile or comparison are P. L. i. 196-208, 575-587; 2. 628; 4. 705-719; 5. 377-382; 9. 14-19, 386-396, 439-444; P. R. 2. 353-365; Arc. 18-23; C 441-452; Eleg^. I. 63-73. Introduction xvii Of all the allusions to mythology in simile by far the greatest strength and finest balance are found in a certain double mythological simile in the Fourth Book of Paradise Regained, in which each member is firmly and concisely outlined. It is where Satan, in the last temp- tation, commands Christ to leap from a pinnacle of the temple : To whom thus Jesus : ' Also it is written " Tempt not the Lord thy God." ' He said, and stood. But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell. As when Earth's son, Antseus (to compare Small things with greatest), in Irassa strove With Jove's Alcides, and, oft foiled, still rose, Receiving from his mother Earth new strength, ' Fresh from his fall, and fiercer grapple joined. Throttled at length in the air expired and fell; So, after many a foil, the Tempter proud. Renewing fresh assaults, amidst his pride ' Fell whence he stood to see his victor fall. And, as that Theban monster that proposed Her riddle, and him who solved it not devoured, That once found out and solved, for grief and spite Cast herself headlong from the Ismenian steep, So, strook with dread and anguish, fell the Fiend.' It may be observed that the similes and comparisons which have been cited are all from Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. We may say that with few excep- tions, principally in Comus, this manner of introducing mythological allusion is peculiar to these two longer and and later poems;' but it is not just to infer from this 1 p. R. 4. 560-576. The strength of this passage is not due alone to the balance of these two similes, nor to the fact that not more than two are used. It lies partly in the grandeur of diction, but most of all in the deeper meaning common to the three solemn events here described. Each is the victory of a hero; each is the triumph of right over wrong, of light over darkness; and in each struggle is involved the fate of generations. The comparison of Christ to Heracles is implied in Pass. 13. The idea may have been suggested to Milton by some writer of the Renaissance, or more likely by one of the Fathers. Of. P. L. 2. 1017-1020; 4. yis-yrg. ^ In Samson Agonistes^ the nature of the subject and the form in which it was cast naturally prevented almost entirely the use of Greek mythology. Neither Samson nor his friends and enemies could very appropriately be made to talk of things so far removed from them as classical myths, and in the drama the poet may not appear in person, as in xviii Classical Mythology in Milton that Milton ultimately came to prefer such a form of allusion. It seems more likely that the subjects of the two epics offered so little opportunity for the incorpora- tion of classical mythology within the story itself that, if the poems were to be enriched to any extent by means of pagan lore, it must be accomplished by the somewhat more remote method of simile and comparison. y A second method of introducing allusions to classical mythology is illustrated in nearly all the poems, though the earlier and so-called minor poems supply the best examples. It consists in the incorporation of a myth or the ancient conception of a divinity into a poetical set- ting of Milton's own creation. ^ This is accomplished in two distinct ways. First, the myth or conception, of which the several details may come from several different sources, may be removed, for example, from the peculiar setting of Homer, Apollonius, or Ovid, and placed in the different setting of Comus, II Penseroso, or the First and Second Books of Paradise Lost. Thus the indefinite and shadowy classical idea of Chaos, as either a place or a divin- ity, or merely an unordered condition of things, has been elaborated under Milton's treatment, and sepa- rated into two distinct meanings in the cosmography of Paradise Lost. On the one hand, the word is applied to the deep and confused region between heaven and hell. On the other, it names the divinity who rules in this region. The principal source of the latter conception is in Hesiod, though his representation is much less definite than Milton's, and amounts to little more than the epic, to make these allusions in his own name. Strictly, only one such allusion occurs in this dramatic poem, and that a very remote one. It is where Samson accuses himself of revealing God's secrets, a sin That Gentiles in their parables condemn To their abyss and horrid pains confined, (499-501.) He evidently means Tantalus and Prometheus (see p. 80). But in addition to this one instance I have also discussed in their respective places the references to the Chalybeans (133), to 'dire Necessity' (1666), and to the phoenix (1699), as being mythological and hav- ing their probable sources among classical writers. Introduction xix a personification of a condition in the order of nature's earliest development. \r\.^£,atadise.^LQsL.fCa.®. Qous,ci^A--.oi Chaos, and his co-ruler, is Night. The Miltonic con- ,./ iSep'tio'n of l?IgHT'is"^ase3^upon°T;hat of the Orphic cos- mogony, which makes her eldest and first of all things. Thus the two early Greek cosmogonies are combined, and introduced into the Second Book of Milton's great epic. By the same method, Saturn and Jove and the other Greek gods are made to appear among the devils, the most conspicuous of them all being Hephaestus, or Mulciber,' the skilful craftsman and architect of Pande- monium." In Paradise Regained, Naiads, wood-nymphs, and the ' ladies of the Hesperides ' figure in the tempta- tion of Christ, and harpies snatch away the feast which has been spread by Satan.' Much of the mythology of the earlier poems is introduced in this manner. Thus in Arcades the Arcadian background is suggested by the presence of silver-buskined nymphs and gentle swains, these latter being the descendants Of that renowned flood, so often sung, Divine Alpheus, who, by secret sluice, Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse. And the last song of the poem is musical with the sweetness of such names as Ladon, Cyllene, Erymanth, and Lycseus, places dear to Pan and the nymphs. In Comus the element of enchantment and sensuality is largely composed of references to Bacchus and Circe It also includes the mention of dark-veiled Cotytto, who rides with Hecate through the night, concealing the wicked excesses of her worshippers. The malgic song of Circe and the sirens quiets the rage of Scylla and Charybdis, and Comus is consigned to be girt with Harpies and Hydras, and With all the griesly legions that troop Under the sooty flag of Acheron. 1 Of. p. I. 2 p. L. I. 732-751. ^ 2- 353-357, 403- XX Classical Mythology in Milton This element of sensuality in Comus is offset, on the other hand, by an element of purity and benignity. The latter is composed of references to the high air of Jove's court, to the propitious aid of Neptune and all sea-gods, to the glory of Iris, the sweetness of Echo, the virgin majesty of Diana and Minerva. It is sustained at the end by a description of the paradise of Virtue, where the Hesperides sing, and whither the Graces and Hours bring abundance. Here the air is cooled with Elysian dew, and here sleeps the translated Adonis. Here Love is reunited with Psyche, and to them are born Youth and Joy.' L' Allegro and II Penseroso should be mentioned as important examples of this manner of treatment. In these poems Milton has selected certain conceptions of the ancient divinities, and expressed them through the scenes and activities occurring in the life of a refined man. It is the light spirit of Zephyr and Aurora which predominates in the one poem, and the sombre spirit of Vesta and Saturn which predominates in the other. A more detailed analysis of these com- panion-pieces may be deferred until later in our dis- cussion." J, Occasionally, instead of removing the whole myth 1 It is worthy of notice in passing, that Milton, in making Youth and Joy the children of Psyche and the celestial Cupid, has transcended the grosser treatment of Apuleius, who makes Voluptas their daughter. Spenser is content with this version, and calls her Pleasure. See p. z6; Spenser, F. Q. 3. 6. 50; Hy. of Love 288. A comparison of these passages in Spenser with the closing speech of Comus reveals the principal difference hetv7een Milton's method of treatment and Spenser's. The latter poet is nearly always the more diffuse. Though the amount of mythology in his considerably larger body of poetry appears to be much greater than in Milton, yet it represents less extensive reading in the classics, and covers a range of allusion no wider, if as wide. Milton's wonderful con- ciseness is of great artistic import, as one of the necessary elements of his classicism. With- out the composure, reticence, and finish which this implies, no work of art is truly Hellenic. We feel that Milton has gained these traits, or at least has developed them through direct contact with pure Greek culture. We feel, on the other hand, that, however much Latin and Greek Spenser read, he was in some degree perverted by the restless and unsettled spirit of the early Renaissance from a deep and just sense of true classicism. He is there- fore less faithful to originals. His mythology has more the nature of external ornament rather profusely applied. There is evidence that, like the Italians, he was more charmed with its sensuous and even sometimes fleshly aspect than with the deeper spiritual signifi- cance — which indeed he may not have perceived. It is in this way that his treatment becomes more lavish of epithet, color, and circumstance than Milton's. 2 See p. lii. Introduction xxi from its classical setting and inserting it in his own, ^Milton adapts certain mythological events or features by removing from them the persons and localities with which they are connected in his sources, and substituting his own persons and localities. This is the second way in which mythology is incorporated or inwoven with his story. One i^^stance is Eve's story gf_j discoygnng_her own beauJjT^' ' IjL.is Ovid's story o|_^Narcissus and his l^^^^^t^e^ face, thaiJm.4«i-^ j;eflected in the water oTa spring, except that Eve is put foFSarcissuST'"1MTitOTrpas^' -^TCSUSTTronows many of the details ofnH original, but by a process of selection and exclusion renders them more delicate.'' The same sort of adaptation occurs when Milton derives incidents from the visit of Odysseus to Circe in the Odyssey,' and inserts them in his story of Comus and the lady. As Circe by means of her drug and wand changes all strangers to swine, so Comus with his orient liquor and wand changes trav- elers into brutish forms. As Odysseus was protected against these charms by the moly, so the good spirit checks the magic of Comus with a plant called haemony.'^ Again, in the battle between the rebel angels and the army of God, many incidents are transferred from Hesiod's battle of the Titans and the gods. Since the occasion and general character of these two struggles, as well as certain details, are similar, a comparison of the two descriptions as a whole would be profitable. We have space, however, only to point out a few details in the Theogony which are adapted by Milton. Hesiod tells us that the gods, taking great masses of rock in their hands, hurled them upon the Titans. Zeus, with- out exerting his full strength, smote the Titans with his thunderbolt, and drove them into the depths of Tarta- rus, whither an anvil could not fall in nine days. Here they are confined for ever. Nearly the same incidents ' p. L. 4. 453-469- 2 See p. 86. » 10. I35-S74- < See p. 39. xxii Classical Mythology in Milton are repeated in Hesiod's story of the fight between Zeus and Typhoeus. In Milton these details all appear with slight modification. As the Son of God advanced to battle, the steadfast empyrean shook beneath the wheels of his chariot, 'yet half his strength he put not forth.' His warriors plucked the seated hills, with all their load, Rocks, waters, woods, and, by the shaggy tops Uplifting, bore them in their hands. ^ He himself hurled his thunders upon the host of Satan, who fell headlong from Heaven: Nine days they fell; confounded Chaos roared, And felt tenfold confusion in their fall Through his wild anarchy; so huge a rout Encumbered him with ruin. Hell at last, Yawning, received them whole, and on them closed.^ We may now consider the third method by which Milton introduces allusions to classical mythology. His 1 p. i. 6,' 644-646. 2 P, L. 6. 871-87^. Many instances of this treatment exist in Milton., The descent of Raphael in P. L. 5. 277-2S7 is derived in part from similar descriptions of Hermes in Vergil and Homer {/En. 4. 222 S..\ II, 24. 341). When in P. L. 8. 59, the poet says, speaking of Eve, With goddess-like demeanor forth she went, Not unattended; for on her as Queen A pomp of winning Graces waited still, he is thinking of a conception of Venus, or Aphrodite, which is very common in the classics, and is illustrated in Od. 8. 364, where the Graces bathe and anoint the goddess. Of. Horn. Hy. to Aphrodite 3. 61; Hor. C. i. 4; i. 30; 3. 21. In P. L. 8. 510, where Adam leads Eve to the nuptial bower, Earth and the powers of nature * gave sign of gratulation.' The situation is similar to one in JEn. 4. 165, where Earth and the storm show approval of the union of Dido and jSlneas in a cave. The amorous words addressed by guilty Adam to Eve {P. L. 9. 1029-1033) are much like those spoken by Paris to Helen in //. 3, 442, or by Zeus to Hera in lU 14. 315. In P. L. 11. 184-203 the eagle appears as a bird of omen in the manner of /Sn. i. 393-397; 12. 247-256. The description of the bounds of Hell in P. L. 2. 645 ff. bears traces of similar description in Homer, Hesiod, and Vergil. The sound of Hell's gates in P. L. 2. 879-882 suggests as an original /Sn. 6. S73i 574- In P- L.- 2. 252-258 Sin is represented as springing from the head of Satan, as Athene sprang from the head of Zeus. When Satan was wounded {P. L. 6. 320 ff.) A stream of nectarous humor issuing flowed Sanguine, such as celestial Spirits may bleed. So Homer speaks of the wounded Aphrodite: ' Then flowed the goddesses immortal blood, such ichor as floweth in the blessed gods' (//, 5. 339) . Introduction xxiii descriptions of nature are generally either mythologi- cal or touched with mythology. Especially is this true in descriptions of the dawn, of night, and of the prog- ress of the sun and moon.' We have already noticed how Milton can enliven and illuminate a description of natural beauty by throw- ing into it a touch of human life which reflects the spirit of that which he is describing. This is what Shakespeare does in peopling the forest of Arden with blithe spirits who make us forget that trees are not always green, and brooks merry; and in Milton the same result is produced by reflecting the spirit of nature from the personalities of the old gods, often slightly modified by the poet's art. It is thus that he tells of the beginning of another day: Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl.^ And again he speaks of the Sun, who, scarce uprisen. With wheels yet hovering o'er the ocean-brim, Shot parallel to the earth his dewy ray. Discovering in wide landskip all the east.' While it is true that Milton humanizes nature by means of mythology, we may go further, or perhaps reverse the statement, and say that in general, what- ever the occasion of introducing the myth, if its per- sons or incidents connote even in the slightest degree the beauty or the power of nature, Milton makes us feel it. Thus broad meadows and shady places are made visible when he speaks in Comus of such court guise As Mercury did first devise With the mincing Dryades On the lawns, and on the leas.* 1 Strictly speaking, the use of mythology in descriptions of nature is only another application of the second method by which myths are incorporated into Milton's poetry. Yet in a consideration of its artistic excellence it falls more conveniently under a separate head. ^ P. L. 5. I.; cf. p. xvi, = P. L. 5. 139. « C. 962. xxiv Classical Mythology in Milton The sound of the sea is suggested in the following lines: Scylla wept. And chid her barking waves into attention, And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause.' The luxuriance of spring is felt in a reference to the love of Zeus and Hera: As Jupiter On Juno smiles when he impregns the clouds That shed May flowers. "^ The name of Jove seems often to suggest the upper air and the broad sky.' This consideration of the mythology in Milton's descriptions of nature is the most important of any thus far, since it opens the way to more thorough appre- ciation of his independence and originality, and of the true nature of his classicism and his artistic tempera- ment. As we approach these questions, the first thing for us to consider is that^e part assigned to mythology in such descriptions varies widely in extend One descrip- tion may be entirely made up from mythology; another may reveal only a slight touch of it; in a third the mythical element may be wholly lacking, the personi- fication employed being derived from another source. An analysis of several passages will clearly reveal the variation. In Lycidas the line, While the still morn went out with sandals gray,* contains no mythological allusion. In the same poem occur the lines, Oft till the star that rose at evening bright Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel. * 1 C. 257- '^ P. L. 4. 499: see p. 49. 3 This is evident in Cotnus^ especially in the beginning, and in the lines On the Death of a Fair Infant 43-46. *Lyc. 187. The ancients did not speak of the morning as 'gray.' Milton, however, seems to have delighted in this color as applied to the morning. See P. L. 7. 373; P. R. 4. 427; cf. the use in P. L, 5. 186; V Al. 71. " 3°. 31- Introduction xxv This last passage contains only a slight mythical color- ing. It consists in the allusion to the star's chariot, an idea which is more commonly associated with the sun, or moon, or night' The mythological element is slightly increased in the following passage of Paradise Regained: Thus passed the night so foul, till Morning fair Came forth with pilgrim steps, in amice gray, Who with her radiant finger stilled the roar Of thunder, chased the clouds, and laid the winds.' The mention of the Morning's ' radiant finger ' appears to be an adaptation of the Homeric epithet 'rosy-fin- gered,' and her action in driving away the clouds may be partly suggested by the common idea that she puts the Night to rout, and partly by an expression which Vergil uses of Neptune.* The rest of the passage is peculiar to Milton. Again in the Fifth Book of Para- dise Lost the Morning Star is addressed as Fairest of Stars, last in the train of Night, If better thou belong not to the Dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling Morn With thy bright circlet* Of this passage the words ' last in the train of Night ' are all that suggest the classical idea that the stars are attendant upon Night." Let us now examine a passage in which the myth- ological element is increased, even though it is not more conspicuous than the actual phenomenon of nature itself. Referring to sunset and sunrise, Milton says in Lycidas: 1 Milton often used the chariot or moving throne as an accessory in myths. It occurs frequently in his reference to the sun, or moon, or night, and is often transferred to other connections. Examples are found in P. L,, z. 786; 2. 930; 3. 522; 5, 140, 166; 6. 100, 338, 358, 390, 711, 749-759, 770, 829, 881; 8. 162; 9, 65; 5". A. 27; D. F. I. 15, 19, 56; C. N. 84, 145, 241; Pens. S3, 59, 121; C. 95, 134, 190, 892. = P. R. 4. 426. 3 j^n. 1. 143: * Collectasque f ugat nubes.' « 5. 166. ^ See p. 63. xxvi Classical Mythology in Milton So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.' In the beginning of this passage we have the old figure of the god Helios sinking to rest in his bed at the end of a long day's journey. But as the passage proceeds this mythological idea fades, and in its place shines the brightness of the sun itself, like a flaming jewel in the forehead of the morning. Still more pronounced is the mythological character of the following lines : First in his east the glorious Lamp was seen, Regent of day, and all the horizon round Invested with bright rays, jocund to run His longitude through heaven's high road; the gray Dawn and the Pleiades before him danced Shedding sweet influence.'' Though this passage is founded principally upon the Bible, yet Milton, in combining the different parts, has given it a decided classical coloring, slightly modified by characterizing the Dawn as 'gray'; and so nicely are the parts fitted together that a seam is imperceptible, nor is it easy to tell where classical mythology ends and any other element begins. The majority of natural descriptions in Milton re- semble the last four examples in that they contain a more or less prominent suggestion of the mythical con- ception, together with a large element of Milton's elaboration. We may now consider what is more rare, namely, a •■ 168-171. ^ p. L. 7. 370-375. At least two Biblical passages are represented by tbese lines. The more important one is Ps. ig, 4-6 ; * Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, which is as a bridegroom coming out of bis chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race. His going forth is from the end of heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it; and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.' The second passage is Job 38. 31, where is mentioned * the sweet influence of the Pleiades.' The resemblance of the dance of the Pleiades to the dance of seven figures, who may represent Pleiades, in Guide's picture of Aurota, has been remarked by Todd. Apparently this is the only classical antecedent of these lines. Introduction xxvii description composed almost entirely of mythology. It occurs at the opening of the Sixth Book of Paradise __ Lost. All night the dreadless Angel, unpursued, Through Heaven's wide champaign held his way, till Morn, Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand Unbarred the gates of Light. There is a cave Within the Mount of God, fast by his throne, Where Light and Darkness in perpetual round Lodge and dislodge by turns, which makes through Heaven Grateful vicissitude, like day and night; Light issues forth, and at the other door Obsequious Darkness enters, till her hour To veil the Heaven, though darkness there might well Seem twilight here. And now went forth the Morn, Such as in highest Heaven, arrayed in gold Empyreal; from before her vanished Night, Shot through with orient beams. "-I In this passage there is an almost literal adaptation of at least four classical poets or poetic conceptions. The general idea of Dawn's opening the gates is from Ovid; the action of the Hours is from Homer; the cave of Light and Darkness is Hesiod's house of Day and Night; the final rout of Night before the beams of the sun is a common conception in Greek poetry, though perhaps in this case referable to Dante.' "^ We may notice that in this passage Milton intends to describe not the earthly dawn, but the grateful vicissi- tude of light and darkness in heaven. There is, how- ever, in his description a beautiful reflection of the day- spring as it has appeared to many men, and this reveals to us a mostim|3orjlanfc.«aalila^^ ■'"n?7l3S3SiV- 'a»d,aiat,ure. He3tifa;e a ates ..t 3a.<»--^ato«fe of two thingjs, ^nata xs,^arirl iiJja«iiiii»>FJtitii.,..bjiiifc-feO'-'fe*^?''''^^fe-aMtog ''''^r^S^^'^^^^,,^SLsL£8MiJm^^ This accounts f0ig»''tSl''^ivianess and reality and enthusiasm, which, if the proportion of values were reversed, would tend to become pedantry and dry conventionality. With a view ' See pp. IS, 33. xxviii Classical Mythology in Milton to this statement, let us take the first lines of the pre- ceding passage : Morn, Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand Unbarred the gates of Light. Let us analyze this passage in comparison with its originals. As already suggested, there are two pas- sages in the classics which are here represented. The first is in the Fifth Book of the Iliad, where Hera drives forth her chariot from Olympus : ' Self -moving groaned upon their hinges the gates of Heaven( whereof the Hours are warders, to whom is committed great Heaven and Olympus, whether to throw open the thick cloud or set it to.' ' The other passage is in the Second Book of^ Ovid's Metamorphoses : Ecce vigil rutilo patefecit ab ortu Purpureas Aurora fores et plena rosarum Atria. 5i We may first inquire what help Ovid has given Mil- ton. He suggests the idea that the Dawn at her rising throws open certain gates, but further than this his influence can hardly be said to extend. As usual he has made a tableau, overloading it with gay color. Milton, however, in speaking of Aurora's rosy hand, lends color enough, and stops before he smears. He is speaking of dawn in Heaven, and the thought of gates naturally leads him to think of the Hours, who are the warders of Heaven's gates. They are therefore adapted from Homer, with the addition of a beautiful epithet, 'cir- cling,' from the common tradition of Greek poetry. But the mere juxtaposition of these things is not enough. Milton, like a true artist, realizes that though color is lovely, something else is still lovelier, more important, and more vital. He loves the morning for its freshness, its action, its grace, its dignity, its progress toward glo- ' S- 749-7SI- 2 2. 112. Lo, the watchful Aurora opened her purple doors in the ruddy east and her halls filled with roses. Introduction xxix rious climax, and all these qualities are present in his description. There is action in the words ' waked ' and 'circling' and 'unbarred,' and in the intervening or accompanying movement which they suggest. There is freshness and grace in the swift Hours, in the modest but effective touch of color, and in the fact that we do not hear the harsh groan of the gates upon their hinges. There is dignity, because the movement, though rapid, is not hurried, and stays slightly at the words 'with rosy hand.' Lastly, there is progress toward a climax. Morn is waked by the Hours; she rises, throws back the bolt; the gates swing open without effort, and Light leaps forth and overspreads the sky. This action is suggested, if not expressed, and to feel the full effect of progress and climax the passage should be read aloud slowly with perfect enunciation. Much of its movement and prog- ress is expressed in the effect of light consonants and liquids, and in the fine succession of vowels which seems to accompany the meaning and open out at the end. It would be a mistake to assume that Milton delib- erately and consciously went about arranging his description in this way. He rather felt deeply and keenly the glories of a new day at first hand, so deeply and keenly that his poetic sense of these things rushes in and informs his description, with a result such as this before us. Thus the myth does not remain or become, in his hands, a lifeless convention; nor is it a sort of mythological veil, through which we faintly see the loveliness of nature. Rather, on the one hand, he understands the spirit of nature, and is in harmony with it; on the other, he has sympathized with the Greek imagination until he imagines in part as a Greek. When, therefore, he hears from the Greek lyre, though echoed never so faintly, a note first stirred by the great harp of nature, he recognizes it, and sounds it again, loud and clear, inseparably mingling the qualities of the two instruments in one tone. XXX Classical Mythology in Milton It follows from this as a sort of converse statement that Milton was also independent in his use of the myth. It never threatens to get the best of him, for his use of it is governed by an unfailing sense of things more serious and important to the human heart and mind. However extensive the mythological element in a given passage, the result is no less vivid and imaginative. The myth never encumbers the poet and gets in his way. It does not have the appearance of something in the wrong place, which makes itself the excuse for being there. Rather it is properly related to the more important thing, and falls into the place where it belongs. After this somewhat detailed analysis and considera- tion of the more apparent facts in connection with Mil- ton's treatment of nature, let us endeavor to weigh the value of the mythological element in Milton's art, and discover, if possible, the true benefit of its influence upon him. As we have already seen, mythology is not the pro- duct of one man, possessing the marks of his peculiari- ties, but is the reflection of national character and ideas. It is only in part subject to the personal variation of the individual who treats it. Its nature is therefore chiefly universal, containing qualities and truths which appeal not to men of a certain narrow class, but to nearly all men. For this reason classical myths, when presented in an artistic and appreciative manner, exert a strong and refining influence, and many have therefore insisted upon a study of them as an element in the best culture. For culture is not an exaggeration and development of the oddities and idiosyncrasies of the individual, but is rather the result of assimilating in one soul, so far as may be, the best part of the past and contemporary life of men, that is, the part which is most permanent and uni- versal. It is according to such a principle that mythol- ogy possesses artistic value. The best and most perma- nent qualities of the Greek people are to be found Introduction xxxi there; and the artist who selects his material from it, and who treats it lovingly and with understanding, may be sure of a certain steadiness and universality in his art, while at the same time the material is of such a pliant nature that he may express with it much of the best that he has within himself. Take, for exam- ple, the passage which we have already discussed: Morn, Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand Unbarred the gates of Light. We have seen already the extent and importance of the classical element in this passage. The pure and beauti- ful imagery is wholly classical. It possesses Greek dig- nity and repose. It contains the elements of expectancy, action, progress, and climax, and these qualities are the essential and universal ones by which the beauty of the dawn appeals to men. But thoroughly mingled with the universal elements of these lines are some of the best personal qualities of Milton himself. They are not introduced in the form of a curious and outlandish con- ceit; by his selection of certain qualities from the Greek, and his emphasis of them, he reflects the same qualities in his own nature. Such are his delicacy, dig- nity, and repose. Then we feel also his purity of thought and emotion, and his high reserve, which is felt elsewhere, in nearly every line, as a distinguishing trait of the poet. Milton lived in a time when the importance and development of individuality had become the impor- tance and development of personal peculiarity. Much of the poetry of his time suffered from this fact, and as a result is full of conceits and curious figures, while generally it no longer appeals strongly to men, and is now read only at the promptings of an idle interest in its quaintness. Milton himself did not always escape this tendency to conceit and oddity. Whether he was aware of it or not, the fact remains that mythology often xxxii Classical Mythology in Milton served in his case as a sort of safeguard against such mis- takes, for while it suffered some modification under the influence of his individuality, it kept his poetry within the bounds of universal appeal. For the sake of illustration let us compare with the passage last quoted two or three others, which, as it happens, all describe the dawn or the sun. The first is in L' Allegro, where the poet is walking upon high ground at sunrise, Right against the eastern gate Where the great Sun begins his state. Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight.' Here also is the figure of the opening gates as in the other description, but notice the difference between its two applications. There the figure was simply sug- gested. Here it has been developed into a conceit whose artificiality is not in keeping with the freedom of nature. The sunrise is a grand ceremony. The Sun is ushered forth in all the pride of state and of gorgeous, shining robes, attended by numberless clouds in gay and pompous livery. The figure has lost some of its former appropriateness. There is now a sort of dis- crepancy between its formality and the unrestrained grandeur of the sunrise. The image has been slightly overworked, so that it begins to resemble an odd fancy. It is impressionistic in character, and seems to be the effluence of a single, changeful mood of the poet. It follows that, in so far as this is true, no man is subject to the full appeal of this passage, unless, at the moment when he considers it, his mood coincides with the mood in which the poet first conceived it. As moods are superficial as well as occasional in character, the art which is dependent upon them for its value must be narrowly confined both in the range and depth of its. appeal, and must be in a corresponding degree weak. 1 L'Al. 59-62 Introduction xxxiii Another example of the same tendency to conceit on the part of Milton is found in a speech of Comus, who prays that Hecate may befriend his nocturnal orgies till utmost end Of all thy dues be done, and none left out, Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice Mom on the Indian steep, From her cabined loophole peep, And to the telltale Sun descry Our concealed solemnity.' There is possibly a mythological allusion in the epi- thet 'telltale,'" but the description of the Dawn is pecu- liar and odd — so much so that we think only of this curious figure and not of the natural phenomenon which it would typify.' One more instance remains which is even more fan- tastic and unusual than those already cited, and mars the serious close of the beautiful Ode on the Nativity: So, when the sun in bed, Curtained with cloudy red. Pillows his chin upon an orient wave. The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail.* Here is a figure so overwrought that it becomes almost a burlesque. It may be that to a few men, who are in a sufficiently light mood, the sunrise might suggest a figure of this kind, but to the multitude it can only remain far-fetched and meaningless. Before going on, let us notice one passage in which mythology and the personality of Milton are balanced in almost equal proportion. It is in // Fenseroso, where the poet wishes to be hidden in a shady nook near a. running stream, ' C. 136-142. » See p. II. 3 The odd imagery of this passage may be partly intentional, since the words are- spoken by Comus, whose life is irregular, and who therefore hates the light of day as unfavorable to his wickedness. * 229-233. xxxiv Classical Mythology in Milton While the bee with honeyed thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing. And the waters murmuring. With such consort as they keep. Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep. And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in airy stream Of lively portraiture displayed, Softly on my eyelids laid.' The substance of this passage is mythological. It is practically contained in the epithet ' dewy-feathered.' The conception of sleep as a dew falling upon wearied limbs is expressive at once of its gentleness and its power to refresh, and holds good also in the fact that the night brings both. The figure is a classical tradition, and appears in Homer, Vergil, and Statius. No less com- mon is the conception of Sleep as winged, which also appears in Homer, Vergil, Ovid, and other Latin poets. These two conceptions are united by Statius in the expression ' humentes alae,' and again with lighter and softer effect by Milton in his 'dewy-feathered.' Silius Italicus has elaborated this conception in describ- ing the dreams of Hannibal, as the great general lies before the walls of Rome.'' As the god descends to the soldier, quatit inde soporas Devexo capiti pennas, oculisque quietem Inrorat, tangens Lethsea tempora virga.^ This is followed by a long train of dreams in solemn succession. The passage in Silius is enough like Mil- ton's to be its original, but, whether it is or not, Milton gains by the comparison. The meaning of his lines has never been definitely explained, and we almost shrink at the thought of defining it closely. This very indefi- niteness is in harmony with the evasive and shadowy » 142-150. 2 PuniciTo. 337-371. 8 * Then waves he his sleepy wings over the bowed head, and sheds the dew of rest upon his eyes, touching his temples with his Lethean wand,' Introduction xxxv character of dreams. In view of Silius, however, the thought seems to be that in an airy and graceful line move faint, mysterious figures of a dream, following the motion of the wings of Sleep, as he gently waves them above the slumbering mortal. With these facts in mind, we may perceive more clearly how the dignity and grace and gentleness of Milton's soul, together with his deep love and knowledge of nature, have here met the beauty and truth of classical imagery, and how all are insep- arably blended in the single loveliness of the whole passage. To return now to the beginning of the Sixth Book of Paradise Zost,^e description of celestial dawn quoted at length above, ^ring;s_to mind another important char- acteristic of Milton's treatment of classical mythology r? Taken as a whole, it is a beautiful synthesis, or fitting together, of three or four very distinct class- ical ideas. As we have seen. Homer and Ovid are"" united, these are joined to Hesiod, and the group is finished with a tradition common to classical poets. We have already noticed in the treatment of similes the tendency to accumulation or synthesis, and it occurs frequently in the use of mythology throughout Milton's poetry. In the description of Eden, Pan, the Graces _j and the Hours, Proserpina, Daphne, and Amalthea were all gathered to illustrate the beauty of the garden, like petals about the honeyed center of a flower. So also in the Second Book of Paradise Lost, the description of the terrors of Hell is reinforced by a reference to ' Typhoean rage,' and by describing the death agony of Hercules, when, mad with pain, he slew his own com- panion. The infernal rivers are mentioned — hated Styx, Lethe, Acheron, Cocytus, ' named of lamentation loud,' and Phlegethon, the torrent of flames. There also is the wretched Tantalus, together with Medusa and the other Gorgons, and Hydras and Chimeras dire. At the bounds of Hell are two monsters, the one, like Scylla, girt with wide Cerberean mouths, the other black as xxxvi Classical Mythology in Milton Night, and fierce as ten Furies. Here again the allu- sions are all arranged about one idea and focused upon it, thus emphasizing it and throwing it into relief. '^ But by far the best example of this grouped arrange- ment occurs in Comus, or, more accurately, contains Camus. It consists in bringing together the earth and sea and sky to serve as a kind of setting or background for the poem. At the beginning of the masque is this stage direction: ' The first scene discovers a wild wood.' We soon hear of .the nodding horror of its shady brows, and of fountain-brims where wood-nymphs play. Here wanders the Lady, singing her song of Echo, who lives in an airy shell By slow Meander's margent green. And in the violet-embroidered vale. Here prevails the good influence of Pan or Sylvan, while through green alley and bushy dell steals' tflTe son of Circe. There is mention, too, of quivered nympfiTand flowery-kirtled Naiads, of Diana, queen of the woods, and of a shepherd who, sitting on the tender grass, discourses of haemony and moly, while others in the green meadows offer wreaths of pansies and gaudy daffodils to the nymph of the river. _Thus it„is..liat,_ Miltpn hafi-not Jiaerfefe2;,gei^-circumscribed .Jaa-aks^FoiMid of woods, for. the action of Comus, but has filled it with the larger atmosphere of forest and field, and. has_jsjag- gested beyond the bounds^of his scene the wide exLeat of the green earth. Such a result is hardly accom- plished by the representation of a single limited land- scape. The landscape is likely to exhibit nature in one of her moods, and, since she is changeful and fickle, it may not contain, or at least may not effectively show forth, her permanent and underlying qualities. Milton has therefore endeavored to suggest these permanent c[ualities of Nature, such as her inystery, her swee_tj>lay- fulness, her terror, her dignity, and he has done it largely by his use of mythology. Thus Echo embodies her Introduction xxxvii sweetness, the nymphs her playfulness, Circe and Comus her terror, Diana her dignity, and all of them her mystery. Ajid,. the myths thus arranged blend in a certain JiarEC(.Qj!4j- JJaxouglL, their, .parts XnJhe_plo^]while -i]i?X_SiS§.«.ta-il;Siure a human and ^^ejgfla^iL-ciiaraeter, and thus bring her neaTerTomenT^ But the earth is not the only manifestation of nature in Comus. Now and then, not far away, we hear the sound o f a quiet ocean, and may sometimes look off over its expanse, or feel the mystery of its blue depths. Its influence is first felt in these lines: Neptune, besides the sway Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream, Took in by lot, 'twixt high and nether Jove, Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles That, like to rich and various gems, inlay The unadorned bosom of the deep ; Which he, to grace his tributary gods. By course commits to several government, And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns And wield their little tridents.' And again: The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove. Now to the moon in wavering morrice move; And on the tawny sands and shelves. Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves. ^ Comus speaks of a swelling sea and unsought diamonds which Would so emblaze the forehead of the deep, And so bestud with stars, that they below Would grow inured to light, and come at last To gaze upon the sun with shameless brows. ^ In the end comes Sabrina, the nymph of Severn, from under the glassy, cool, translucent wave. She is invoked ' 18-27. ■■' iis-n8. " 732-735- xxxviii Classical Mythology in Milton In name of great Oceanus, By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace, And Tethys' grave majestic pace; By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look, And the Carpathian wizard's hook; By scaly Triton's winding shell, And old sooth-saying Glaucus' spell; By Leucothea's lovely hands. And her son that rules the strands; By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet. And the songs of Sirens sweet; By dead Parthenope's dear tomb. And fair Ligea's golden comb, Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks, Sleeking her soft alluring locks; By all the nymphs that nightly dance Upon thy streams with wily glance." Sabrina appears in a chariot Thick set with agate, and the azurn sheen Of turkis blue, and emerald green. That in the channel strays." By means of such lines as these the spirit of tfie sea is present in Comus. But around and above the earth and the sea of Comus I is the sky. It is now seen inwrought with bright stars, I and now flooded with the light of day. It is, , through- I out, the home and symbol of purity and virtue, the I palafije„.of eternal,^happiliess. It is the heaven where aspiration to good things receives its reward, and in pity for the weak it stoops to help them. As the earth is included by the sea, both earth and sea are sur- rounded by the air of heaven, for with it the poem begins and ends. It opens with these lines of the Attendant Spirit: Before the starry threshold of Jove's court My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air. J 868-884. 2 893. Introduction xxxix Here and there throughout the poem one may look out into the infinite depth of the sky as through an open win- dow in the pictures of old Dutch and Flemish masters. At the command of Jove, the good spirit doffs his sky- robes, spun out of Iris' woof, and descends ' swift as the sparkle of a glancing star ' to convey wanderers through the precincts of Comus. The magician and his rout enter with these words: The star that bids the shepherd fold Now the top of heaven doth hold; And the gilded car of day His glowing axle doth allay In the steep Atlantic stream ; And the slope sun his upward beam Shoots against the dusky pole, Pacing toward the other goal Of his chamber in the east.' Comus speaks of the starry quire Who, in their nightly watchful spheres, Lead in swift round the months and years.'' Again he compares the two brothers to gay creatures of the element That in the colors of the rainbow live, And play i' the plighted clouds.' While at the end of the poem the good spirit flies away to those happy climes that lie "Where day never shuts his eye, Up in the broad fields of the sky. There I suck the liquid air. All amidst the gardens fair Of Hesperus, and his daughters three That sing about the golden tree. Along the crisped shades and bowers Revels the spruce and jocund spring; The Graces and the rosy-bosomed Hours Thither all their bounties bring. > 93-I01. = 113. »30o. Xl Classical Mythology in Milton There eternal Summer dwells, And west winds with musky wing About the cedarn alleys fling Nard and cassia's balmy smells. Iris there with humid bow Waters the odorous banks, that blow Flowers of more mingled hue Than her purfied scarf can shew. And drenches with Elysian dew (List, mortals, if your ears be true) Beds of hyacinth and roses, Where young Adonis oft reposes. Waxing well of his deep wound. In slumber soft, and on the ground Sadly sits the Assyrian queen. But far above, in spangled sheen, Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced Holds his dear Psyche, sweet entranced After her wandering labors long, Till free consent the gods among Make her his eternal bride, And from her fair unspotted side Two blissful twins are to be born. Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.' We have now seen how Milton's imagination trans- cends the particular locality of Comus, and in so doing surrounds it with the large exterior world of earth and sky and sea. Nor is the action unrelated to this outer atmosphere, but rather draws sky and sea and earth together on one horizon, as the Attendant Spirit and Sabrina come from their distant homes to mingle with the lives of men on earth. In accomplishing this result, classical mythology plays the iniportant part oLjaxietic ^uggi^Mffli^adaicfcSSI^vealready seen assignedjjo-itan oth er descriptions of nalajeT' — " "" "' . But these examples taken from Comus illustrate also another quality of Milton's art — a quality which it is difficult to define. I refer to a certain width of range and sweep, which often, as in this case, accompanies a synthesis of mythological legends; the myths seem to * 977-IOII. Introduction xli be transformed from their original state into something large and exalted. Milton seems to carry them into a larger universe, where through his poetic imagination and his sense of truth he expands and purges them, somewhat as Plato has done in the passage from the Fhcedrus quoted near the beginning of our discussion. It is this quality of range which distinguishes a passage in the lines for a Vacation Exercise, where the poet apostrophizes his native language: Yet I had rather, if I were to choose, Thy service in some graver subject use, Such as may make thee search thy coffers round, Before thou clothe my fancy in fit sound: Such where the deep transported mind may soar Above the wheeling poles, and at Heaven's door Look in, and see each blissful deity How he before the thunderous throne doth lie. Listening to what unshorn Apollo sings To the touch of golden wires, while Hebe brings Immortal nectar to her kingly sire ; Then, passing through the spheres of watchful fire, And misty regions of wide air next under. And hills of snow and lofts of piled thunder, May tell at length how green-eyed Neptune raves, In Heaven's defiance mustering all his waves; Then sing of secret things that came to pass When beldam Nature in her cradle was ; And last, of kings and queens and heroes old, Such as the wise Demodocus once told In solemn songs at king Alcinous' feast, While sad Ulysses' soul, and all the rest Are held, with his melodious harmony, In willing chains and sweet captivity.' Behind these two qualities of synthesis and range there lie two conditions. The first is the enormous extent of Milton's learning. The second may be called his inclusion of material, that is, his power of master- ing it and making it subservient to the truths embodied in his poetry. The first qualification is extensive, the second intensive. ' 3°-52- xlii Classical Mythology in Miltofi A study of Milton's mythology, being limited to a par- ticular kind of subject-matter, cannot furnish complete evidence, but only an indication, of his attainments and preferences in reading. Yet with but this partial knowl- edge, we may justly wonder at the greatness of these attainments. There are four poets from whom he cer- tainly derived more help than from any others. These are Homer, Hesiod, Vergil, and Ovid. Hesiod, in pro- portion to the body of his poetry, probably furnished Milton with the greatest amount of material, and nearly all of this comes from the Theogony. That Milton should have known Hesiod so well is not unnatural, since the character of b oth poets is dignified and au stere. Of the Iliad we find most frequent allusions to the First Book, especially to its closing episode, and to the Second, Fifth, and Eighteenth Books. Of the Odyssey the Eighth, Tenth, and Eleventh Books are the favorites. The First and the Sixth Books of the ^neid are apparently much preferred to any others, though not infrequent use is made of the Third, Fourth, and Fifth. Ovid's Metamor- phoses and Fasti would naturally appeal to Milton more strongly than the same poet's rather sordid love-poetry. Of the Metamorphoses the First Book is most often used, and the Twelfth is the only one which I have not had occasion to cite. Such preferences are what we should expect of Milton. He listened most gladly to the songs that tell the solemn origin of the world, that celebrate the noble character of a hero, declare the sanctity of poet and prophet, or reveal the mysteries of the after-life. Next in importance to these four sources are Euri- pides, Pindar, Theocritus, and the Homeric Hymns. With these we may mention also the prose writers, Pausanias and ApoUodorus. Milton has also drawn some of his mythology from JEschylus, Sophocles, Plato, the Orphic Hymns, and ApoUonius of Rhodes; from Herodotus, Plutarch, Pliny, Diodorus, and Strabo; from Horace, Statins, Claudian, and the tragedies of Seneca. To these we may add, though the list will be by no means Introduction x li i i exhaustive, Cicero, Athenaeus, Hyginus, Aratus, Ma- crobius, Lucretius, and most of the minor poets of the empire.' Having thus considered the extent of Milton's read- ing, we may see how it becomes a condition of the two qualities of range and synthesis already mentioned as qualities of his poetry. These qualities are simply the reflex of corresponding ones in the poet himself. To Milton an extension of his reading was an extension of his own life, with all its experience, sympathies, and understanding, into the life and times of which he read. It is not in the enormous store of information revealed in his poems that this quality of range is principally felt; it lies rather in the dignity and impressiveness with which each myth has been treated, in an under- lying consciousness of the high and universal truth of these myths, which frees them from the limitations of time and space. It is a commonplace that travel en- larges a man's nature. For the high and sensitive mind books do the same, and in the casse of Milton the quality of wide range in his poetic utterance was a direct con- sequence of the range of his own mind, which his read- ing had done much to extend. The broader and more universal knowledge and sympathy which he thus acquired reinforced his ten- dency to synthesis. When he came to deal with a given idea or truth, he dealt with it more authoritatively and universally, since he was able to summon from widely divergent sources such instances as, converging upon this truth, would uphold and illustrate it. We may pause at this point to consider two or three inferences, less significant in themselves, which fol- low from a detailed study of Milton's classical sources. The sources of his mythology served him in one or both of two ways. They either furnished him with mythological information, or contained poetic sugges- ^ For a more complete idea of the topics discussed here the reader may consult the index of sources on pp. 89 f¥. xliv Classical Mythology in Milton tion of which he made use in his own treatment. It may- even be said that nearly every writer of whom he made any considerable use assisted him to some extent in both of these ways, though some of them did so princi- pally in the former way, some principally in the latter, and several about equally in both. The writings of the prose mythographers, ApoUodorus and Hyginus, are little more than storehouses of legend, and serve Milton as such. He makes a similar use of the historians, and some of the poets, such as ApoUonius. Yet hard lines of division are impossible, for even so prosy a writer as ApoUodorus may contain a word which Milton transforms by the magic of poetry.' On the other hand, Vergil, Pindar, Theocritus, and Horace generally contain poetic beginnings for Milton — the seeds which he brings to flower in a single finished epithet or expression, or which, increasing, give color to an entire poem.'' Lastly, the poets who served Milton most equally in both ways are Homer, Hesiod, and Ovid. The question of Milton's conformity with his origi- nals is also an interesting one. It may be said, in spite of well-known apparent exceptions to the contrary," that he follows the details of his originals with strict accuracy. The present discussion has already fur- nished striking instances of this fact, and almost every mythological allusion illustrates it in some way.* Yet , 1 Cf. the use of ' throttled ' at the head of a fine climax in P. R. 4. 568. This detail of the fight with Antaeus is drawn from the account by ApoUodorus. See p. 8. Other instances may be found in a comparison of ApoUodorus i. 6 with the poetical condensa- tion in C. N. 226, and of Aristotle with the catalogue of winds in P. i.io. 695-706. See pp. 83, 86. ^Cf. * rosy-bosomed Hours,' p. 44; 'Plutonian hall,' p. 70; ' flowery-kirtled Naiads/ pp. 58, 59; cf. also the relation of V A llegro to Pindar's Fourteenth Olympian ode, pp. liv, 39- 3 For example the genealogies \t\ V A llegro and II Pejiseroso; but see pp. lii ff ., Iviii ff . * I can hardly refrain from calling attention to a typical example in Arcades^ where the poet speaks of Divine Alpheus, who, by secret sluice, Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse, ' Secret sluice ' is apparently a pretty combination of Vergil's ' occultas vias' and Statins' *demerso canali.' See p. 5. Of course Milton's accuracy here, as always, is not observed merely for its own sake, but rather for the purpose of keeping, and, if possible, of refining the poetic quality of the originals. Introduction xlv with all his careful adherence to his sources, it seems impossible that he ever adapted them directly from the printed text, or that his relation to them was sustained in any degree by the open book. Though his treatment of a given myth may reveal the use of Homer, Hesiod, and Ovid, even in minutest details, yet the elements are united and mingled only as they could be after not merely a process of memory, but of absorp- tion and appropriation by the poet. It is in the spirit of his treatment, however, that Milton departs from his originals, for while the mythol- ogy of his poetry contains a great deal which is classi- cal in the best sense, and while it may contain some- thing which resembles the directness of Homer, the austerity of Hesiod, the exaltation of Plato, the dignity of Vergil, or even the facility of Ovid, it possesses the grandeur and purity that characterize Milton, and it has been removed from its old surroundings that it might be subservient to a new faith.' More essential than the extent of Milton's learning is what we have called his inclusion of it. His treat- ment of mythology is throughout characterized by firm- ness and control. It is felt in his compression of myths, and in the freedom with which he moves among them and groups them. It is felt more distinctly in the sub- jection to which he reduces every myth. Frequently as they occur, it is impossible to find one of them which is not in some way subordinate to a ruling idea or truth . Whether in simile, or in description of nature, or in the development of a great theme, the function of the myth 1 Strongly imbued with the classics as Milton was, it would of course be wrong to suppose that his mythology was not frequently modified by intermediate influences, such as the patristic writings, but more often the poets, painters, and scientists of the Renais- sance. The names of Lactantius, Eusebius, Dante, Boccaccio, Chaucer, Spenser, Boiardo, Guido, Tasso, Ariosto, are only a few of a list which careful investigation could make much longer. Yet it can hardly be doubted that when Milton turned to account in his own poems a mediaeval or modern treatment of mythology, he would at the same time be conscious of its original in classical literature. This being the case, the influ- ence of the original upon him was likely to mingle with that of the later treatment, so that his relation to the classics could hardly ever become wholly second-hand. xlvi Classical Mythology in Miltoti in Milton's poetry is always subservient. He never treats it for its own sake,. that is, merely for the sake of the story or invention which it contains. Such an em- ployment of the myth would have been to him a mere dissipation or idle indulgence. Even the story of Bac- chus and Circe, which plays an important part in Comus, stands for the basest forces in humanity, and these are met and overcome by others which are high and purify- ing. In order to gain a clearer idea of the sense in which Milton included his material it is necessary to inquire into his theory concerning mythology. \ J Both the early and the late poems contain direct evi- dence of his view in this respect. (^The patristic and mediaeval idea that, being pagan, mythology was at war with Christianity) appears in the Nativity Hymn, where heathen gods flee before 'the dreaded Infant's hand.' In Paradise Lost all the Ionian gods — Oceanus, Saturn, Jove, and the rest — belong to the host of Satan. In three places Milton speaks of their oracles as abominable, or as the diguised voice of Satan. While these opinions were common in the Middle Ages, they were foreshad- owed in the writings of Plutarch, especially in his treatise on the Cessation of Oracles, nor is it unlikely that in each expression of this opinion Milton may have had Plutarch in mind. Thus he says in the Nativity Hymn, ' The oracles are dumb,' actually quoting Plutarch; and again in Paradise Regained he says, ' Henceforth the ora- cles are ceased.' ' V Milton sometimes represents the myths themselves as of Satanic origin, invented to deceive men, or he speaks of the gods as disguises assumed by the devils in order to practise more successfully their wickedness among men. I The fallen angels are said to have fabled 1 See Plutarch, Cess, of Oracles 38; P. R. l. 456; compare also Plutarch 15 with P.R. 2. 173-igi. Other traces of this work are to be found in Milton. Thus Night's ' shadowy- cone' of P. L. 4. 776 may be compared with Cess. Or. 4, where the earth's shadow is called conical. In Cess. Or. 7 Apollo is called ' lord and father of the sun,' and in 13 the moon is called the ' province of Hecate.' Both expressions reserablea line in Milton's twelfth son- net referring to Latona's twin-born progeny, Which after held the sun and moon in fee. Introduction xlvii how the Serpent, whom they called Ophion, with Eurynome (the wide- Encroaching Eve perhaps), had first the rule Of high Olympus, thence by Saturn driven And Ops, ere yet Dictsean Jove was born.^ Satan accuses Belial of hiding to waylay Some beauty rare, Calisto, Clymene, Daphne, or Semele, Antiopa, Or Amymone, Syrinx, many more Too long, then lay'st thy scapes on names adored, Apollo, Neptune, Jupiter, or Pan, Satyr, or Faun, or Silvan.^ ^ p. L. lo. 580-584. This passage illustrates a theory which began with the euhemer- istic method of interpreting mythology, and which seems to have been very popular in Milton's time. It first consisted in explaining mythology by identifying the gods with mortals mentioned in the earliest traditions. Thus Saturn was said to have been an early king of men, and ^olus a weatherwise friend of sailors. Of. pp. Iviii, 43. Christian writers seized upon this method of condemning mythology for its false origin, and went further in identifying the classical divinities with characters of Biblical history. Thus Eurynome, whose name means 'wide-encroaching,' or rather ' wide-ruling,' is identified with Eve, to whom these epithets are quite as appropriate. Ophion is said to be the same as the serpent of Eden, by virtue of the etymological idea of * serpent ' which the name contains. Such identification often rested upon etymology, as that of Hammon with Ham, y. 7. The theory is stated in P. R. 4. 334 ff. Instances are noted on pp. 17, 46, 57. The most beautiful use which Milton made of this idea is found in C. N. 85 ff.: . The shepherds on the lawn, Or ere the point of dawn, Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they than That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below. The identification of Pan with Christ is implied in Spenser, Skepkeards Calender^ May 53. E. K., in a gloss on the passage, says ; ' *' Great Pan " is Christ, the very god of all shepheards, which calleth himselfe the greate, and good shepherd. The name is most rightly (methinkes) applyed to him; for Pan signifieth all, or omnipotent, which is onely the Lord Jesus.' E. K. cites as an authority the PreBparaiio Evangelica of Euse- bius, but the latter (5. 17. 13), on the basis of the wonderful story of Thamus at Paxi,' first related by Plutarch {Cess, of Oracles 17) and recounted by E, K., seems to make Pan merely a type of paganism overcome by Christianity, Plutarch relates that Thamus, an Egyptian mariner, when once becalmed near the islands of Paxi, heard a loud voice admonishing him to carry to Palodes the message that Great Pan was dead. At Palodes Thamus in a loud voice uttered the words, * Great Pan is dead,' and forthwith the air was filled with the noise of groans and dreadful lamentations. Tiberius was at that time emperor in Rome, and when he heard of the matter from Thamus inquired earnestly of the wise men who this Pan was, E. K. also cites Lavater, a writer of the Renaissance, who In his book, De Spectrzs, etc. (pp. 114-116), after mentioning Eusebius says: 'Alii religionis nostras sanctissimi viri asserunt, ut Paulus Marsus in suis annotationibus in librum I. Fastorura Ovidii annotavit, earn vocem auditam e Paxis ea nocte, quse secuta est passionis Dominicae diem, decimo nono anno Tiberii, quo quidem Christus passus est: qua voce miraculo quodam ex solitudine desertorum scopuloram edita, nuntiatum illud sit Dominum et Deum nostrum passura. Pan enim totum significat. Totius autem et universse naturae dominus passus erat.' 2 P. R. 2. 185-191. xlviii Classical Mythology in Milton ■^ Milton often speaks of the myths as fables, or affects to entertain a doubt of their literal truth. He mentions ' Elysian fields (if such there were).' ' He refers to ' Hesperian fables,' ^ to Titans and Giants, 'whom fables name of monstrous size,' and to the ' fable ' of Deucalion and Pyrrha.' He contrasts the Greek Muse Calliope with his own Heavenly Muse, as an 'empty dream.'* He avers that the Greeks derived their songs from the Hebrews, 111 imitated while they loudest sing The vices of their deities, and their own, In fable, hymn, or song, so personating Their gods ridiculous, and themselves past shame. Remove their swelling epithets, thick-laid As varnish on a harlot's cheek, the rest. Thin-sown with aught of profit or delight, Will far be found unworthy to compare With Sion's songs, to all true tastes excelling. Where God is praised aright, and godlike men.' If "i The above passages seem to prove that Milton assumed an attitude of antagonism and contempt toward classical mythology, regarding it as empty, false, and unprofitable. Taking this last quotation from Para- dise Regained as the most elaborate and explicit state- ment of his view, it cannot be denied that he is right in charging classical myths with much that is ridiculous, shameful, and even vicious. On the other hand, how are we to reconcile this view with his frequent and loving and reverent treatment of the myths in his poetry ? There are two passages which, presenting as strongly as they do the opposite position, are most important in helping us to effect such a reconciliation. The first of these passages occurs in the Ninth Book of Paradise 1 D. F. I. 40. 2 p. L. 4. 250. a P. L. 1. 197; P. R. 2. 215; cf. P. L. J. 628; 4. 706; 5. 381; 9. 431; II. 11; P. R. 2. 358. « P. L. 7. 39. s P. R. 4. 339-348- Introduction Lost, where Milton calls the place in which the serpent appeared to Eve Spot more delicious than those gardens feigned Or of revived Adonis, or renowned Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son; Or that, not mystic, where the sapient king Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse.' And again in Comus the good spirit says: 'Tis not vain or fabulous (Though so esteemed by shallow ignorance) What the sage poets, taught by the Heavenly Muse, Storied of old in high immortal verse Of dire Chimeras and enchanted isles And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell ; For such there be, but unbelief is blind.' In the first of these quotations Milton plainly asserts that the classical legends are mystic, intending thereby not merely an antithesis to historical or true narrative, but also the additional idea that they contain hidden or deep truth of which they are the symbolic expression.' In the second quotation he says that they are in the best sense true, implying that they contain the deep truths of life. More than that, he calls the poets who treat them sage, and their poetry -high and immortal, and above all says that the myths are the gift of divine inspiration. What more could he say of them ? We are likely to lose some of the emphasis of his statement unless we remember well what divine inspiration meant I p. L. 9. 439-443- = c. 513-519. =* A similar idea of poetic legend occurs in Pens. 120 : * And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung, Of turneys, and of trophies bung, Of forests, and enchantments drear. Where more is meant than meets the ear. The last line is almost a paraphrase of Seneca, E^. 114. i; 'in quibus plus intellegen- dum esset quam audiendum.' Of. Eji. sg. 5 : ' Plus signiflcas quam loqueris." 1 Classical Mythology in Milton to Milton, with his pure and steadfast faith in Chris- tianity, and his regard for sacred history, both Christian and Hebraic, as shown in the passage already quoted from Paradise Regained} With these two apparently contradictory opinions over against each other, it is only fair to make allow- ance for a certain amount of inconsistency in Milton's position. It is possible that at the moment of broader conception he may have felt the community of truth existing between Christianity and Hebraism on the one hand, and Hellenism on the other,'' while at a moment when for some reason his view was narrowed, the weak- ness and uncertain utterance of Greek teaching may have condemned it in his mind. Along with this goes the fact already suggested that classical mythology con- tains at once that which is both good and bad, both profound and superficial, both pure and defiling. As treated by one poet it becomes the outgrowth of high living and aspiration; as treated by another it reflects an idle and vicious imagination. These facts impose upon Milton the necessity of choice. / He therefore dis- tinguishes clearly between the good and the bad, exalt- ing the one and condemning the other, or passing it over in silence. I* Thus in one place the conception of Zeus as just and powerful and beneficent is magnified;" in another this divinity and his associates are thrust down for their vices and depravity.* The same may be said concerning Milton's use of other divinities, such as the nymphs and Apollo and the Graces, and in every case for his opposed conceptions there is abundant sup- port in classical lore." /He prefers, too, those myths which are sublime and noble, or pure and sweetv Thus he deals often, as we have seen, with the mythology of 1 The entire passage, P, R. 4. 286-364, should be read. 2 Of. S. A. 497-501 and p. 80. s Of. P. R. 4. 56s; D. F. I. 45; r. E. 39; Peni. 48; Arc. 44; C. ., 20, 41, 78, etc.; Lye. 82. « Of. P, L. I. S12; ID. 580; P. R. ^. 190, 214. s See pp. 38, 39, and Ivjii with N. 1. Introduction li the after-life, with heroes like Heracles and Odysseus, and dwells upon their manliness, while he is silent concerning their ungoverned passions. He loves the purity of Artemis and Athene, and the gentleness of the gods of the sea. In all this Milton is not the victim of idle or change- ful preference, since nothing inspired his imagination without relation to his one purpose, namely, by his utterance to make the soul of man purer and wiser and stronger. It is the ruling force of this conscious pur- pose which gives not only his treatment of mythology, but all his art, its strength, completeness, and positive appeal. In a time when men travel in the circle of ' art for art's sake,' and turn from Milton because he is 'moral,' and therefore certainly not an artist, as they say, the necessary relation of a definite philosophic pur- pose to art, as illustrated in his poetry, should not be unheeded. It will now be better understood what is meant by Milton's inclusion of his material, in which he renders it subservient to a definite idea or expression. Every occurrence of mythology in his poems illustrates the quality of this inclusion in some way, but none of them better than the companion-pieces L' Allegro and // Penseroso. Perhaps the most noticeable thing, in a first reading of these poems, is the existence throughout each of cor- respondence and contrast with the other. Editors com- monly say that they represent the world as seen under the influence of two distinct moods, and therefore the melancholy so hateful at one time becomes attractive at another, while of the spirit of mirth the reverse is true. This merely raises the problem instead of solving it, for it implies either that Milton was insincere in at least one of these poems, or that he was so largely a man of moods, and therefore so superficial and unphilosophical, that the world which he endeavored to interpret might assume, at various times, appearances diametrically Hi Classical Mythology in Milton opposed. Either implication is hardly reconcilable with the order and positive consistency which generally characterize his art. ' As Milton achieved the expression of his thought in these poems by means of mythology, so we may most profitably approach them through the same medium. The keynote of them both, that is, the deeper truth which lies beneath them, is discoverable in a thorough analysis of their mythology — an analysis which indeed, in a few cases, has been carried on in the right direc- tion, but has never been made sufficiently exhaustive in any. Let us begin with L' Allegro.^ We are to notice first of all that the poem is largely concerned with the external aspect of things, and espe- cially with their sound and color. This fact is illus- trated by the opening lines: Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight bom In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks. As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. The genealogy of Melancholy was invented by Mil- ton. It is based upon the etymology of the word, which is derived from the Greek fxekayxoXia, composed of jjiiXas, black, and x^V j ^^^^- The first element is repre- sented by blackest Midnight, as one of the parents, and is borne out by the mention of brooding Darkness, the night-raven, ebon shades, and the dark Cimmerian desert. The second element, meaning bile, and often used by poets in the sense of anger, is typified by the fierce and implacable Cerberus more successfully per- * As the poems are too long to quote at length, the analysis will be more intelligible to the reader if he follows it with the text before him. Introduction liii haps than by any other mythical figure.' This is fur- ther carried out by the mention of the Stygian cave forlorn, of horrid shapes and unholy sights, of the jealous wings of brooding darkness, and the ragged, low-browed rocks of his abode. Sounds also, in harmony with the general conception, are suggested by the shrieks heard in infernal caves, and by the dissonant song of the night-raven. After this introduction the poem proper begins with the invocation of Euphrosyne or Mirth. The poet first mentions a late classical genealogy of the Graces, by which they are made the daughters of Bacchus and Venus.'' He rejects this, however, for obvious reasons. The Bacchus of the ancients always denotes, in his interpretation, a force antagonistic to high poetic and 1 This idea of Cerebus is prominent in Vergil and Dante^ both of whom Milton doubt- less had in mind. Thus Vergil says (^Em. 6. 417-422) ; Cerberus haec ingens latratu regna trifauci Personal, adverse recubans immanis in antro. Cui vates, horrere videns jam colla colubris, Melle soporatam et medicatis frugibus ofEam Objicit. Dante*s description is even more elaborate {Inf. 6. 13-33) '• Cerbero, fiera crudele e diversa, Con tre gole caninamente latra Sovra la gente, che quivi e sommersa. Gli occhi ha vermigli, e la barba unta ed atra, £ '1 ventre largo, ed unghiate le mani ; Graffia gli spirti, gli scuoia ed isquatra. Quando ci scorse Cerbero, il gran vermo, Le bocche aperse, e mostrocci le sanne : Non avea membro che tenesse fermo. E '1 Duca mio distese le sue spanne, Prese la terra, e con piene le pugna La gittd dentro alle bramose canne. Quale quel cane, ch' abbaiando agugna, £ si racqueta poi che 'I pasto morde, ChS solo a divorarlo intende e pugna; Cotai si fecer quelle facce lorde Dello demonic Cerbero, che introna L' anime si, ch' esser vorrebber sorde. 2 This genealogy is found only in a scholium of Servius on the ^neid. See pp. 38. 39. liv Classical Mythology in Milton spiritual attainment,' and therefore not in harmony with the present theme. Moreover, there is something in common between the elevation and purity of Milton and the elevation and purity of a poet like Pindar, of whose conception of the Graces, as exemplified in the Fourteenth Olympian ode, certain traces are visible in this poem. Milton seems to have perceived the discord between such a conception and the later and grosser Grseco-Latin ideas of Bacchus and Venus. In preference to this he cites from the song of ' sager poets ' another origin of Mirth, namely. Zephyr and Aurora.^ This gen- ealogy is usually explained as meaning that the merry man's day begins at dawn, when the soft west wind is blowing, but in addition to this it seems to contain another idea. We have spoken already of the sensuous- ness of these poems, especially with reference to color and sound. The spirit of Melancholy is reflected in blackness and gruesome sounds. In contrast with this is Aurora, who in Milton, as at all times, suggests bright color,' Mirth being thus not unnaturally associated with the enjoyment of bright hues. Milton causes Euphrosyne to inherit her mother's power of suggestion by filling this poem with color, both through direct description and through allusion. Thus the conception of Mirth took place on beds of violets blue and fresh-blown roses. The poet speaks of the dappled dawn, of the sweet-briar and eglantine which grow near his window, of the hoar hill at a distance. Beneath elms and over green hills he goes to meet the sun, which comes forth Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight. 1 Not only here is the god in effect condemned, but also by his position in Cotnus as the father of an evil spirit. Especially clear is the idea in P, L, 7. 30 ff. where Milton prays for the heavenly inspiration which repels the barbarous dissonance of Bacchus and his revelers. See also Ele^;. 6. 55-78, quoted on p. Ix; Pens. 45-48. 2 Who the sager poets are I have not discovered. It is not unlikely that Milton had some original in mind, whether classical or not, and after working some time in search of his sources, one is inclined to think that he had. Until it is proved, however, the possi- bility remains that his words, ' as some sager sing,' are only a modest way of saying that in this case he prefers his own invention to a classical tradition. * Cf. P. L. 5. 1, 2; 6. 3, 12; 7, 30; II. 175; /*. R. 4, 428; Pens. 123. Introduction Iv The landscape reveals warm brown furrows and russet lawns. On the barren breasts of the mountains repose the clouds. The meadows are bright with daisies. Old towers are seen, ' bosomed high in tufted trees,' the home, perhaps, of a fair lady. Not far away arises the blue smoke from a humbler hearth. We hear too of ' tanned haycocks in the mead,' of dances ' in the cheq- uered shade ' on sunshine holidays. At night comes the nut-brown ale, with stories of the hairy goblin and his shadowy flail, and after that dreams of bright-eyed ladies: There let Hymen oft appear In saffron robe, with taper clear. And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask and antique pageantry; Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. And last comes the music which would wake Orpheus from his golden slumber on heaped Elysian flowers. But fully as important as the color-element is the element of sound in this poem. The origin of Mirth is in the combination of bright color with cheerful sound. As Aurora represents the former, so Zephyr stands for the latter. Milton elsewhere twice speaks, of the sound of the west wind,' and this general conception is extended throughout the poem. After the song of the lark From his watch-tower in the skies, comes the shrill clarion of the cock, and after that the voices of hounds and horn multiplied in echoes. Then is heard the ploughman's cheerful whistle and the song of the milkmaid, with the merry rhythm of the whetstone on the scythe. On a holiday the bells ring gaily all 1 These are two out of the four references which he makes to Zephyr, In P. L. 5. 15 Adam speaks with voice Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes. Cf. V Al. 20 and Son. 20. 6. In P. L. 10. 70s Milton speaks of the lateral noise of Zephyrus. Ivi Classical Mythology in Milton about, and young people come to dance to the tune of jocund rebecks. At night whispering winds bring sleep, and with it dreams of towered cities and the busy hum of men. Then also the poet would hear sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever, against eating cares. Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running. Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus' self may heave his head From golden slumber on a bed Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto to have quite set free His half-regained Eurydice. This perhaps will be sufficient to show how the poet has adapted certain conceptions from mythology, and has informed the poem throughout with their spirit. The same thing is true of // Penseroso, although in that poem it is not the color and sound which are sug- gested by the mythologies at its opening. The color- element is rather a reflection of the etymological idea of darkness contained in the word melancholy, and the element of sound supplements it in order to complete the correspondence and contrast to L' Allegro. First the joys of Mirth are bidden to depart and possess fond fancies with gaudy shapes As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams. Then Melancholy comes veiled in black, staid Wisdom's hue, such as becomes the sister of Memnon or the ill- Introduction Ivii fated Cassiopeia,' and wears a robe of darkest grain, ' and sable stole of cypress lawn.' With her may she bring Abstinence, who best hears the song of the Muses about the altar of Jove; may she come at night with silence or the song of the nightingale, when the moon sheds her pale light and fills the trees with dark shadows, or when on the stillness is borne the far-ofiE curfew sound, Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar. Within, the fire on the hearth with flickering glow teaches the 'light to counterfeit a gloom,' while the cricket sings, and from without is heard faintly the sound of the bellman's drowsy charm. In some lonely tower the poet would consort with gorgeous Tragedy, moving by in sceptred pall, or listen to the sage and solemn tunes of old bards and such music as that with which Eurydice was won: Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career. Till civil-suited Morn appear. Not tricked and frounced, as she was wont With the Attic boy to hunt, But kerchieft in a comely cloud, While rocking winds are piping loud. Or ushered with a shower still. When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute-drops from off the eaves. And, when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me. Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves. Of pine, or monumental oak. There the hum of the bee mingles drowsily with the sound of murmuring waters, and there is heard the * Cassiopeia and the sister of Memnon, being Ethiopians, are types of dark beauty. Classical accounts agree tliat Cassiopeia was punished for boasting not her own beauty, but that of Andromeda, her daughter. Verity says, * It is said that Apollonius the Gram- marian told the story in this [Milton'sl way.' Ti Iviii Classical Mythology i?t Milton sweet music of spirits of the wood. Thence the poet seeks the dim, colored light of a great church where voices mingle with the solemn organ, and bring heaven to earth. It is thus that sound and color play throughout this poem. But these rather external elements are less con- spicuous than in L' Allegro by reason of others, which lie deeper, and are represented by Saturn and Vesta as the father and mother of Melancholy. Two characteristics of the ancient Saturn or Cronus are here suggested by Milton: first, his fondness for solitude and retirement; second, his generally gloomy or melancholy disposition.' The classical conceptions of Saturn in this respect were harsh, and Milton has softened and purified them in his use of them here. More distinct, however, than these ideas of Saturn are the ideas of Vesta, which are princi- pally three of classical origin, and a fourth, which is in reality a sort of modern corollary.'' First, Vesta is the goddess of the hearth, that is, of domestic retirement, and in respect to her fondness for seclusion she possesses something in common with Saturn." Thus they met in glimmering bowers and glades, and in the secret places of woody Ida's inmost grove, and there was Melancholy conceived. She is invoked to bring with her Peace and Quiet, and to add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure. 1 The former trait seems nowhere in the classics to be explicitly attributed to him. It is true that he lived in banishment in the western isles after being dethroned, but Milton refers to his life in Crete. Possibly his solitude, as has been suggested, is to be inferred from his hatred and suspicious fear of his wife and sous, and the plots of each against the other, as well as from the fact that, though the youngest of six brothers, he usurped their rights by plotting against his father and seizing the throne. See pp. 82, 74. He is also generally represented by later euhemeristic writers as a king who, unlike the other gods, ruled upon earth rather than in heaven. Diodorus Siculus says that he was remarkable for his greed and impiety, and that Zeus, his son, by pursuing a mode of life the opposite of his father's, and by rendering himself agreeable and kindly disposed to everybody, drove out his father. (3. 61.) See also 5. 66, 70 and the excellent article Kronos in Roscher's Lexikon der Griech. und Rom. Mythologies especially the section on euhemer- istic interpretation. 2 See Preller, Grieckiscke Mythologies pp. 422, 423. s The original distinctness of this trait in Vesta may have suggested to Milton'the possibility of attributing it to Saturn, on the basis of stories already cited, though it is nowhere emphasized in the classics. Introduction lix The poet meets her near a secluded oak or in the woods, where all is silence beneath the wandering moon, except for the song of Philomel, Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! In stormy weather the poet seeks Melancholy in the still, removed nook beside the fireplace, 'far from all resort of mirth,' or with solitary lamp at midnight he would be found in a high lonely tower deep in phil- osophy or poetry. When morning comes he retires into the woods, beyond the reach of woodman: There, in close covert, by some brook, Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from day's garish eye. Often he would walk in the secluded cloister or steal into the retirement of a great church. At last in old age his refuge becomes the mossy cell of the hermit, where he may attain a ripeness of knowledge like very prophecy. A second characteristic of Vesta is that of fixity or constancy, as opposed to instability, or by Milton to fickleness or instability of mind.' The idea appears at the very beginning of the poem, where the poet, address- ing the joys of Mirth, exclaims: How little you bested, Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! He compares them also to ' hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.' But Melancholj'-, stead- fast and demure, is to come in different manner, keep- ing her wonted dignity, 'with even step and musing gait.' Forgetting herself to marble, she fixes her eyes constantly upon the earth with sad, leaden, downward cast. Throughout the poem the thought of permanence 1 This is illustrated by the passage from the Phisdrus of Plato, quoted in part on p. xi, where Hestia, or Vesta, remains seated in heaven while the other gods move to and fro. Ix Classical Mythology in Milton and stately dignity is present in the references to tragedy, philosophy, and great poetry, and in all the suggestions of movement and music and architecture/ A third characteristic of the classical Vesta was her virgin purity.' This, however, has been extended by Milton to apply not only to moral purity, but also to the general idea of abstinence as an indispensable con- dition of highest meditation and poetic utterance.' In 1 This is especially true in 31-44, 85-102, 135 (where the poet mentions the shadows of pine or monumental oak), 157-174. ^'This trait is emphasized in the Homeric HymnSy especially in the hymn to Aphrodite, 21 £f. 3 This thought, so important to Milton, must constantly be kept in mind in an intel- ligent reading of his poetry. Besides its beautiful elaboration in the present poem (cf. esp. 45-48) it is set forth in a wonderful passage of the Sixth Latin Elegy, which for its noble loveliness I cannot refrain from quoting at length. To his friend Diodati, who is enjoying the festivities of Christmas with friends near Chester, he admits that convivial pleasures find a certain place in poetry, though not a noble one : Namque Elegia levis multorum cura deorum est, Et vocat ad numeros quemlibetilla suos; Liber adest elegis, Eratoque, Ceresque, Venusque, Et cum purpurea matre tenellus Amor. Talibus inde licent convivla larga poetis, Ssepius et veteri^commaduisse mero. At qui bella refert, et adulto sub Jove cselum, Heroasque pios, semideosque duces, Et nunc sancta canit superUm consulta deorum, Nunc latrata fero regna profunda cane, Ille quidem parce, Samii pro more magistri, Vivat, et innocuos prsebeat herba cibos; Stet prope fagineo pellucida lympha catillo, Sobriaque e puro pocula fonte bibat. Additur huic scelerisque vacans et casta juventus, Et rigidi mores, et sine lafae manus; Qualis veste nltens sacra, et lustralibus undis, Surgis ad infensos augur iture Deos. Hoc ritu vixisse ferunt post rapta sagacem Lumina Tiresian, Ogygiumque Linen, Et lare devoto profugum Calchanta, senemque Orpheon edomitis sola per antra feris; Sic dapis exiguus, sic rivi potor Homerus Dulichium vexit per freta longa virum, Et per monstrificam Ferseise Phcebados aulam, Et vada fosmineis insidiosa sonis, Perque tuas, rex irae, domos, ubi sanguine nigro Dicitur umbrarum detinuisse greges : Diis etenim sacer est vates, divflraque sacerdos, Spirat et occultum pectus et era Jovem. At tu si quid agam scitabere (si modo) saltern Esse putas tanti noscere siquid agam). Introduction Ixi so doing he includes with the ancient and more lim- ited conception a modern adaptation or corollary of it^ by which the word * vestal,* originally the vowed purity of the pagan priestess, becomes nearly synonymous Paciferum canimuscEelesti semine regem, Faustaque sacratis SEecula pacta Ubris; Vagituraque Dei, et stabulantem paupere tecto Qui suprema suo cum patre regna colit; Stelliparumque polum, modulantesque aethere turmas, Et subito elisos ad sua fana Deos, Dona quidem dedimus Christi natalibus ilia; Ilia sub auroram lux mihi prima tulit. The following translation of these lines is taken from the Cambridge edition of Milton's poems : ' For light elegy is the care of many gods, and calls to its numbers whom it will; Erato, Ceres, Venus, all gladly come, and tender stripling Love with his rosy mother. But the poet who will tell of wars, and of Heaven under adult Jove, and of pious heroes, and leaders half-divine, singing now the holy counsels of the gods above, and now the realms profound where Cerberus howls, — such a poet must live sparely, after the manner of Pythagoras, the Samian teacher. Herbs must furnish him his innocent food; clear water in a beechen cup, sober draughts from the pure spring, must be his drink. His youth must be chaste and void of offence; his manners strict, his hands without stain. He shall be like a priest shining in sacred vestment, washed with lustral waters, who goes up to make augury before the jealous gods. Thus righteously, they say, wise Tiresias lived, after his eyes were darkened; and Linus, and Calchas, who fled from his doomed hearth, and Orpheus, roaming in old age through lonely caverns, quelling the wild beasts with his music. So, a spare eater and a drinker of water, Homer carried Odysseus through the long straits, through the monster-haunted hall of Circe, and the shoals where the sirens made insidious music; and through thy realms, nether- most king, where they say he held with a spell of black blood the troops of the shades. Yea, for the bard is sacred to the god ; he is their priest ; mysteriously from his lips and his breast he breathes Jove. But if you will know what I am doing, I will tell you, if indeed you think my doings worth your concern. lam singing the King of Heaven, bringer of peace, and the fortunate days promised by the holy book; the wanderings of God, and the stabling under a poor roof of Him who rules with his father the realms above; the star that led the wizards, the hymning of angels in the air, and the gods flying to their endangered fanes. This poem I made as a birthday gift for Christ; the flrst light of Christmas dawn brought me the theme.' The reference to the Nativity Hymn^ in view of the sublimity of that poem, seems like an unconscious proof of the poet's statement. The same thought occurs in Comus 453-463 : So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity That, when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far ofE each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear; Till oft converse with heavenly habitants Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape, The unpolluted temple of the mind. And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence. Till all be made immortal. See also P. L. 7. 30-39; cf. C. 702-705, 784-787. Ixii Classical Mythology in Milton with the word ' nun ' arid its connotation of a temperate or abstemious life, devoted to truth and goodness. A somewhat similar idea appears in Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis: Love-lacking vestals and self -loving nuns/ and in Pericles: A vestal livery will I take me to, And never more have joy.' In Milton, the invocation of Melancholy reflects the same association of ideas: Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure. Sober, steadfast, and demure. It is continued in the lines, Come; but keep thy wonted state. With even step, and musing gait. Melancholy is again addressed as 'sad Virgin, sage and holy,' and is represented as hidden from profane eyes. The idea of holy retirement is continued in the refer- ence to the cloister and the cathedral, and receives its highest and broadest expression in the closing lines. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage. The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew. Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain. In addition to these leading mythological ideas of // Penseroso there may also be another. Vesta was pri- marily the goddess of fire, with which element her name is thought to be etymologically connected. Under- ' 7S2- = 3. 4. 10; cf. 4. 5. 7; R. and J. 2. 2. 8; 3. 3. 38. Introduction Ixiii neath Milton's poem a sort of dazzling brightness or fire appears to smolder, which here and there breaks through into sight, and is again covered. Thus Melan- choly is a celestial being at first: But, hail ! thou Goddess sage and holy ! Hail, divinest Melancholy! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue. So Melancholy is brought from the glory of her heav- enly abode into the lower life of men. There is a touch of light in the mention of 'bright-haired Vesta,' and again in those looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes; There, held in holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble. Dying out with Melancholy's 'sad, leaden, downward cast,' it reappears in the lines, But, first and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The Cherub Contemplation. There is another suggestion of it in the glowing embers on the retired hearth, and in the far-reaching gleam of the lamp at midnight from the high, lonely tower, and possibly in the suggestion of rich, burning colors of cathedral windows. It is difficult to explain the mean- ing of this fiery element. It would seem, however, to signify the burning enthusiasm of true and lofty genius, or perhaps the flame of pure truth — the flame that fires genius in a contact effected only by temperance and retirement. The course pursued by otir analysis has of necessity been intersected by its own line more than once. This, however, is simply a proof of Milton's great artistic Ixiv Classical Mythology in Milton power in blending the different ideas so that they are inextricably mingled in one word or expression. Thus the epithet 'pensive' suggests a steady as well as a retiring nature, and the downcast eyes are significant of both reticence and purity. With the aid of this detailed inquiry we may come, perhaps, to a better understanding of these two poems, and realize that after all they are not directly anti- podal, but rather complemental. Thus, as we have already noticed, the general aspect of things in L' Alle- gro is more external than in // Penseroso. It charms most of all with its gaiety of color and sound. These elements are present also in the more serious poem, but being in this case unessential, are not sug- gested by the mythology. The most important differ- ence between the two is marked by the fact that mythology is here reserved for the expression of deeper and more permanent thoughts, to which sound and color bear an incidental relation. We may look upon the two poems as harmonized expressions of a great personality, the one presenting the world as it appears to the poet in his less thoughtful contempla- tion of it, the other a more penetrating view, using the world as the interpreter of a permanent and devout philosophy by which all life proves to be serious and full of meaning, though still deeply and constantly joy- ous, because its meaning is understood. Somewhat the same thought may be approached from another direction. It will be noticed that the monstrous Melancholy at the beginning of L' Allegro is not in any sense the same as the ' Goddess sage and holy ' of // Penseroso, nor is the meretricious Folly in the prelude of the latter the same as the Euphrosyne of the former. Each prelude seems rather to represent an extreme of which the poems proper are the corrective. The gaudy and uncertain brood of Folly designates the joys of the man |who has no philosophy or religion, whose entire life is lived only in view of the present Introduction Ixv tnoment, with the one hope that the next moment will in some way vary the sensual enjoyment of this. On the other hand, the daughter of Cerberus and black- est Midnight typifies a morbid brooding over self and the world, in disregard of the joyous aspect of life, ending in monstrous pessimism, which looks upon all things asquint. But true joy of heart, however spon- taneous and buoyant, is never gross and fleshly. It is good and lovely by reason of an underlying temper- ance which gives it gentleness, and makes it positively moral and artistic. Likewise true melancholy in its re- tirement and meditation does not forget innocent play- fulness and the sound of sweet laughter, but is kept pure by a consciousness of these things. Taken in this sense, each of these poems represents a sort of prerequisite for the enjoyments and appreciations set forth in the other. Only the man who is pure in heart and able to withdraw into himself can with safety and genuine delight enjoy the pleasures described in L'Alle gro. Only the man who knows these joys can safely and truly be his own philosopher or the teacher of other men. That Milton deliberately set about the exposition of this abstract truth by means of these two poems is improbable. He is himself a beautiful example of the nature which insists upon knowing both the joyous and the serious side of life, and upon harmonizing the two in his own manner of living. It is such a character that pervades both of these poems through and through, and it is the artistic and moral quality of this character which we feel more distinctly the more we reflect upon, them. We shall now better understand in what sense Mil- ton included his poetic material, or, in this case, his mythology. Without detracting from its ancient rich- ness and significance, he has refined and exalted it to become the medium through which he gives himself to the world. Ixvi Classical Mythology in Milton But in order to fit his mythology for this purpose, the process of inclusion had first to affect it in a differ- ent way. I refer to Milton's quick and accurate percep- tion of the highest poetic quality and possibilities in the mythology of which he made use. This has already been illustrated in our analysis of the descriptions of nature.' Once having felt the poetic value of any mythical representation or oft-repeated tradition, he has the great artist's power of purging away the grosser elements, and of reducing it to the pure and final form. Take, for example, a refence in Comus to ' the flowery- kirtled Naiades." This little epithet includes in a beautifiilly chaste manner a tradition which recurs a number of times in the classics, and is occasionally adapted in modern times.' It consists in the natural association of flowers with the apparel, particularly the robes, of wood-nymphs or water-nymphs, or with the Hours who come leading the Spring. The idea is found as early as a fragment of the Cypria, quoted by Athenseus,' where it is somewhat elaborate. It is seen again in the Orphic Hymns,^ in a fragment of Hermippus," in Ovid,' and possibly in Plato. ^ Two instances of its modern adaptation may also be mentioned. The one is the figure of Primavera in Botticelli's Spring. Her robe, loose and flowing, is richly embroidered all over with a pattern consisting of little bunches of flowers. The other instance is in Watson's translation of Italian madrigals: Zephyrus, breathing, now calls nymphs from out there bowres. To play and wanton, in roobes of sundry flow'rs.' 1 See pp. xxviii, xxix; cf. xxxiv. ^ C 254- s See pp. s8, 59- * IS. 682. = 42. 6. * Kock, Com. AH. Frag. 3. 226. ^ Fast. 5. 217; cf, Ars Am, 3. 173 ff. e Rei>. 8. 5S7 C. * See The Journal of Germanic Philology 2. 337, in an article, Watson^ s ' Italian Madrigals Englished; by F. I. Carpenter. To Professor Albert S. Cook I owe acknowl- edgment for calling my attention to this instance. Introduction Ixvii The idea is here introduced by the translator, and does not occur in the original. Between these several instances the conception varies. In some it evidently is that of an embroidered flower-pattern, as in Botticelli and possibly Ovid, in others of garments dyed in the variegated colors of flowers, as in the Cypria and in a comparison of the two citations from Ovid; in others still of robes of fresh flowers actually woven together, as in the close of the fragment of the Cypria, and in the Orphic hymn, and the fragment of Hermippus. The question of the compara- tive artistic value of these conceptions seems hardly sig- nificant, for each, if defined too closely, loses suggest- iveness and illusion by that very fact. Ovid seems to have realized this, and in speaking of the Hours as 'pictis incinctae vestibus' he apparently depends upon his context and the general nature of these divinities for any suggestion of flowers.' If anything, he has gone too far in the opposite direction, and lacks sufficient definiteness. The epithet ' flowery-kirtled,' however, contains a more vivid suggestion of flowers and of dainty and graceful dress. Yet it does not go far enough to define the particular mode of applying the one to the other. It is thus that Milton establishes the just balance between the definite and the indefinite, and includes the full content of the classical tradition within an expression at once brief, restrained, and finished. The sweetness of many an ancient verse has been gath- ered and distilled, like the honey of Hymettus, into this single pellucid and quintessential epithet.' These examples are enough to show that, in the rela- tion of Milton to the myths which he used, his mere 1 The passage is Fast. 5. 217, 218 ; Conveniunt pictis incinctae vestibus Horse Inque leves caiathos munera nostra legunt. 2 Milton's power of toucliing a thing lightly, and leaving it richly charged with sug- gestion by the avoidance of hard definition, is found in his characterization of Sleep in // Penseroso, See p. xxxiv. Ixviii Classical Mythology in Milton acquaintance with the facts or story — that which often seems like the most wonderful thing, by reason of its extent — is after all the least significant and profitable to us. What we are rather to consider is the power of the artist, the teacher, the great character, which perceives and adds to the value of the fables, and makes them a new and living revelation. In attempting to explain Milton's power over his material one word suggests itself, but it names a char- acteristic of the poet which differentiates him from his period, and, in fact, from all the movement known as the Renaissance. It is his clearness of vision. With the detailed scrutiny of the Renaissance added to the exalted faith of the Middle Ages, and the clearness and intellectuality of true classicism, he looked upon the world with a more perfect comprehension of its meaning and of the right purpose in life. Throughout his poems there is passionate but steady contemplation of things which men of his time either failed to see, or saw but faintly and apart from life itself. They are the eternal truths which lie around and above this life, and through which all things act in cooperation, and not in contradiction, as it appears to the worldly man. Of such a vision the poet is conscious in the beautiful lament for his blindness at the opening of the Third Book of Paradise Lost:^ So much the rather thou, Celestial Light, Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate; there plant eyes; all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight. This light shines through the passage already quoted from the Vacation Exercise,^ in which the poet apos- trophizes his native language. Milton's starting-point in this passage is evidently Homer. One remem- bers Homer's famous picture of the gods gathered on ' 3- 51-55- " p. xli. Introduction Ixix Olympus, enjoying feast and song, upon which the open- ing of Milton's lines is based.' So the song of Demod- ocus, further on, is drawn from the Odyssey, and the rag- ing of Neptune may be a reminiscence of the god's oppo- sition to Zeus in the Iliad^ Hesiod and the Orphic Hymns and Ovid, who sang of the early beginnings of things, are suggested. But Milton's use of the old authors in this case implies an extension of their orig- inal meaning. For example he could not have believed that it requires a deep transported mind to enjoy Homer's Olympus. Nor were circumstances all that he would call blissful on the occasion described in the Iliad. He would not wholly approve the song which Homer was likely to put into the mouth of Apollo, and he certainly would not suffer sweet captivity at the songs of Demodocus about the sordid intrigue of Ares with Aphrodite, and the desperate fight at Troy. He did not, as a poet, attempt to subject men to the bondage imposed by such tales. This whole passage seems to be informed with the high philosophy of Milton, and though this philosophy is at first hardly perceived for the sensuous richness of the lines, yet, when once discovered, it is beautifully illuminated by the very cause of the former obscurity. The deep transported mind, rising above the temporal and incomplete things of life, looks in at Heaven's door, and there beholds in unclouded vision the infinite and eternal ideals of bravery, purity, wisdom, love, power, constancy, justice. Each is in harmony with the rest, and all are in harmony with final and perfect truth. In loving consciousness of such ideals life is to be meas- ured, determined, and directed, that it may not be in vain. Only with the sense of the true values revealed in such a vision is the poet to interpret the world to men, to sing of origins and causes, to contemplate hills of snow and lofts of piled thunder, or the raging sea, >■ II. I. 584 ff.; see p. 40, 2 Od. 8; //. 1. 399; 15. 162 ff.; see p. 62. Ixx Classical Mythology in Milton and to recount histories of kings and queens and heroes old. Such songs transcend those of Demodocus and Hesiod and Ovid, for they reveal a profounder vision to men, and captivate them to a bondage which alone lib- erates the pent-up energies of the spirit. This perception of the organic and concordant nature of the universe — a perception which should control and beautify even the lowliest acts — often suggested to Milton the harmonious sound of perfect music. The conception of truth and noble conduct as sweet music is Platonic, but it is exalted by Milton into the solem- nity of Christian worship and service, just as the Greek chant may have become by religious transformation the pure and uplifting Gregorian. The Platonic thought appears in these lines of Arcades, spoken by the Genius of the Wood: But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I To the celestial Sirens' harmony, That sit upon the nine infolded spheres, And sing to those that hold the vital shears. And turn the adamantine spindle round On which the fate of gods and men is wound. Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie. To lull the daughters of Necessity, And keep unsteady Nature to her law. And the low world in measured motion draw After the heavenly tune, which none can hear Of human mold with gross unpurged ear.' But Milton's most perfect expression of this truth is the poem known as the Solemn Music: Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, Sphere-born harmonious sisters. Voice and Verse, Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ, Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce; And to our high-raised phantasy present That undisturbed song of pure concent. Aye sung before the sapphire-colored throne 1 Arc. 61-73. Introduction Ixxi To Him that sits thereon. With saintly shout and solemn jubilee; Where the bright Seraphim in burning row Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow, And the Cherubic host in thousand quires Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, Hymns devout and holy psalms Singing everlastingly: That we on earth, with undiscording voice May rightly answer that melodious noise; As once we did, till disproportioned sin Jarred against nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair music that all creatures made To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience, and their state of good. O, may we soon again renew that song, And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long To his celestial consort us unite. To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light! It has already been remarked that Milton's inclusive vision distinguishes him from his age and from the spirit of the Renaissance. The nature of this differ- ence is essentially described by certain words of Ruskin in The Stones of Venice. He says at the beginning of his chapter on the Roman Renaissance: ' The moral, or immoral, elements which unite to form the spirit of Central Renaissance architecture are, I believe, in the main two — pride and infidelity.' Of these we may set aside infidelity as the natural consequence of pride, and extend Ruskin's statement by saying that in greater or less degree pride formed an element in the life and art of the Renaissance wherever the influence of this movement was felt. The pride of the Renaissance consisted in its human- ism, that is, its extreme yet often narrow interest, not in humanity as a whole composed of interdependent parts, but in the human individual. So absorbing did this interest tend to become that men forgot to think of Ixxii Classical Mythology in Milton things which are higher and more important than even the single human life. Their attention was devoted to the facts and phenomena of this world. Their ideal of beauty was the human body. They were absorbed in contemplation of the individual heart and mind, not as a revelation of divine truth, but simply as interesting and curious in themselves. They devoted themselves body and soul to the studies which most supported and satisfied this interest, namely the classics. They dwelt long upon the humanistic element in classical literature, and generally missed the finer and more elevating influ- ence of Hellenism. One of the commonplaces of the art of drawing is the necessity of perfect proportion. If in a picture every line and mass is not justly related to every other in size, shape, direction, and quality, the representation is not a true one, and loses value according to these shortcomings. Any one who has tried to draw will remember his encounter with this principle. He may have attempted to draw a house with a tree beside it. He sets out to draw the house first, and becomes so interested in it that he entirely forgets the tree; then in turn the operation of reproducing the tree drives any thought of the house out of his mind. The result is two pictures, one of a house, the other of a tree, not one picture in which the tree and house serve each to reveal the character of the other. The pride of the Renaissance is at bottom just such a fault, and consists in an imperfect sense of values and proportions. It exaggerates out of all proportion the human individual and his earthly interests, and disre- gards the divine and transcendent things which give human life its real and highest value. In two ways this pride of the Renaissance makes itself manifest. In its first phase it appears as the wonder and enthusiasm which accompany the discovery and revelation of strange new things in the world and in human life. It must be admitted that this spirit of Introduction Ixxiii enthusiasm is most charming and attractive, especially as it is felt in the paintings of Holbein or Rembrandt, or in the plays of Shakespeare. Men who were pos- sessed with it seem thrilled with the strangeness of human nature and human beauty. They were deter- mined to become familiar with these wonderful things. They examined, experimented, measured, and reflected, in order to gain the power of holding the mirror up to nature'. Each man, according to his peculiar nature and power, might be fascinated with a particular phase of human life, and would devote his entire energy to an expression of it, but in whatever direction he worked the general result was the same, and all labored, in effect, to exalt and glorify the individual man. The pictures of Holbein, for example, demonstrate first of all the glory of the human intellect. He was the artist who could most fully express the intellectual vigor of Erasmus, More, and Amerbach. His other portraits reveal the same mental energy, and it appears in many of his compositions. It is marked by the full brow, the firm lips, the spare face, and the keen eye. Especially in the portraits are felt the repose and confidence which go with power of intellect. The glance of the eye is direct and searching, and so intense that the artist makes it a rule to turn the face aside. When he does not do so, the penetrating gaze of the eyes is almost violent. Holbein's manner of working is itself intellectual. His expression is distinct and clear-cut. He draws only the most significant lines, but each one is as fine and incisive and telling as expert argument. He makes most effective use of con- trast. Though he does not become cold and hard, yet at his best he lacks the geniality of the great Dutch artists, a lack which often goes with great intellectual power. If Holbein glorifies the human intellect, Rembrandt glorifies human state and bearing. Not by gorgeous col- ors or the display of dazzling physical beauty and gigan- ]xxiv Classical Mythology in Milton tic muscular strength does he produce his result, but by dignity of proportion and movement and attitude and countenance. Whether the expression is grave, as it more often is, or jovial, one can always see in it the same assured repose, the same sense of great attainment, of mastery and superiority. Rembrandt prefers large and noble features. He often throws a warm shadow over the eyes, thus increasing the impressive mystery of their power. The glory of his subject is enhanced by a certain Oriental richness, due perhaps to the large Hebraic element in his art, and consisting partly in the peculiar use of chiaroscuro. While the most important part of his picture is flooded with a soft light, the rest is enveloped in a deep golden gloom, through which objects only half appear. The effect of richness is increased by Rembrandt's choice of these objects. Per- haps he suggests the heavy texture of velvets and furs and brocades, or we catch the subtile gleam from a jewel or a gold chain. Sometimes it is the splendid line of a long plume in a portrait, or in composition a grand architectural background of tall pillars and high vaulting and broad steps. Whatever the detail it contributes in some way to the glory of the central figure or group. In these two examples of northern Renaissance art, the humanistic interest concerns itself with the phys- ical aspects principally as a means of expressing that which lies beneath. The interest in physical beauty itself is more characteristic of the south, and one of many examples is the so-called portrait of Mona Lisa by Leonardo da Vinci. In spite of what the picture has suffered from restoration, Mona Lisa is still generally regarded as one of the most beautiful women in art. In the sense of purely superficial appearance this may be true, but when it comes to the question of Mona Lisa's character the world is divided. The picture is one of a woman sitting, slightly turned to the left, with her crossed hands resting upon some low support in front Introduction Ixxv of her. Her head is erect, and she looks straight out of the picture. Her dress is simple — not even rich. The hair, partly covered by a veil, falls in fine, loose curls to either shoulder. All the outlines are unobtrusive, and the head and features are extremely regular and well- proportioned. A faint smile emphasizes the fulness of the face, especially above and under the eyes and about the mouth. No less beautiful are the hands. They are neither so full that they are flabby, nor so thin that they are angular, but a perfect combination of softness and firmness. They seem to be not painted, but molded, so that their fine form and texture can almost be felt. The whole figure is gentle, graceful, and dignified. So great is its external charm that we are likely to forget for a time that there is aught beside to be considered. Yet something is evidently meant by those eyes, partly covered as they are with the lids, by the arched brow, by the rising oblique shadows at the corner of the mouth, by the half visible curl of the under lip. What are we to think ? Is this lady gentle, and pure, and sweet .' Or is she, as one feels convinced at times, a woman versed and practised in all the vice and iniquity of the Italian Renaissance, quietly regarding the world, with shameless defiance ? The case of Mona Lisa remains just this. The picture is valuable merely as an expression of the exterior beauty of a woman. The problem to which it gives rise may furnish gossip, but it does not make the picture a great work of art, any more than the problem of Hamlet's madness proves the essential excellence of Shakespeare's drama. The sincere interest and enthusiasm with which these artists worked is charming enough to make us often forget that their vision was limited to this world, and that the celestial light in the pictures of Memling and VanEyck does not find its way into theirs. The real danger of a vision thus limited is better understood when we consider the second way in which the pride of the Renaissance is manifest. The early enthusiastic Ixxvi Classical Mythology in Milton ardor of humanism remained fresh in the hearts of many men. Especially was this true in the north, where their study of the individual always offered them some- thing new and fascinating. But where the lively inter- est did pass away, it left in its place the ambition to exalt self, to perform some astonishing feat which should dazzle the world and cover the performer with vainglory. It was the spirit of self-conscious achieve- ment which characterized the works of art and scholar- ship. The painter was proud of his technique, the scholar became a pedant, the artist exulted in fulsome extravagance and oppressive bigness, and painter and scholar and architect alike forgot the glory of God, which they of all men should uphold. It was such a spirit which produced quantities of hollow and artificial neo-Latin poetry. It built a cathedral like St. Paul's in London, with its heavy piers, and low-browed, ponder- ous cornices, and tawdry grossness, and filled it with tombs hideous as a nightmare. It painted the religious pictures of Rubens, tricky and meretricious and insin- cere as they are. Perhaps the most wonderful thing about Rubens is his technique, that is, his ready power to perform brilliant feats of drawing and coloring, and to throw into his pictures a certain superficial unity of arrangement. Since the only value of these pictures is spectacular, any deeper unity of meaning is absent. He aims, furthermore, by violent and sensational means to impress and stagger men, with a view only to the first effect. He forgot, or perhaps never knew, that the in- fluence of the best art is not violent or sudden, but gradual and incessant. Let us take, for example, the Christ on the Cross in the Antwerp Museum. Rubens has produced his unity by dividing his figures into five groups, and putting one in each corner and one in the middle. The two upper corners are occupied each by a thief. In the lower left- hand corner are the soldiers, in the lower right are the women, and the figure of Christ, as the centre of inter- Introduction Ixxvii est, is raised somewhat above the middle of the canvas. This grouping is further emphasized by a system of strongly contrasted lights and shadows. These are so skilfully thrown into relief that they mark lines of direc- tion which lead the eyes from outside the picture to the central figure of Christ, placed full in the highest and most conspicuous light of all. Thus from the lower left-hand corner the glance is easily carried along by lights on the tail and neck of a horse, and on the soldiers' long spears. Above, the body and arms of a prisoner serve the same purpose. On the right side the line of direction is first assumed in the lower corner by the weak and voluptuous lines of the Virgin's hands and drapery, and the light on her averted face. The line is then picked up by the trunk of the cross on which the right hand prisoner hangs, and thus transferred to his distorted legs. One of these is stretched down, the other drawn up under his body until his knee nearly touches the body of Christ, thus extending the line of direction and carrying it to the centre. Another line descends from above along the arm of the prisoner and the high light on his body. So much for the tricks by which Rubens gains his effect of apotheosis. As much might be said of his violence. It pervades the picture, from the agonized writhing of the man whose legs are being broken to the restless hoof of a horse, and the hard gleam of light on the armor of a Roman soldier. The prisoner's enormous muscles are swollen and twisted with his struggle. The soldier below rests a moment to enjoy the suffering of his victim and so holds the bar of iron that it stands in cruel relief against the legs of Christ. The other prisoner is worn out and relaxed with pain. His eyes are rolled up, his jaw dropped. Beneath, with horribly deliberate precision, another soldier thrusts his spear into the side of Christ. But not merely in this violence does the sen- sational excitement of the picture consist. It is due quite as much to the theatrical arrangement, bearing, Ixxviii Classical Mythology in Milton and facial expression of the figures, especially of the women. At the foot of the cross kneels the Magdalene as in a tableau, with plump arms outstretched to the soldiers in deprecation. The languid behavior and fleshly beauty of the other women amount to the same thing. All facial expression is treated by Rubens according to rote. One red stroke in one corner of the eye stands for pity, another in another corner for grief, and so on. The result is as meaningless as the expres- sion assumed by an unskilful and shallow actress, and lacks any refinement of distinction or conception. These characteristics are the most important which Rubens exhibits. The result is that, returning to his pictures for the twelfth or twentieth time, one finds nothing new, nothing but the same trick, now no longer astonishing, the same violence and pride and self-satis- faction. It is in contrast with this narrow and more disturbed life and art of the Renaissance that we are to consider the art of Milton. He was himself in part a product of the Renaissance, and embodied the best qualities of that movement. As we have seen in his treatment of my- thology, he possessed the expert technique which the Renaissance made vastly important. As a man of his times, he greatly appreciated the beauty and wonderful significance of the human individual and the world about him. He realized the necessity in art of studying man and nature until the artist can reproduce them as they are, whether he idealizes them or not. Lastly, Milton stands as a most eminent type of the Renais- sance by reason of his enormous store of learning, especially of classical learning. All this gave him much in common with the men of his times. He resembles them in his brilliant accomplishments. He differs from them in the most important con- sideration, namely, the use to which he put these accomplishments. His knowledge of classical mythol- ogy represents only a part of his attainments, but Introduction Ixxix his relation to it, and his use of it, reveal a nature which not only included the best that his times had to give, but established the true value of these gifts and their true relation to the infinite and everlasting Power whom men had forgotten. Milton was not in the nar- rower sense either classicist or romanticist; he was not exclusively Platonic, Hellenic, Hebraic, mediaeval, or modern. He rather includes in the compass of his great nature the best of each manner of culture, and, by using them all in the expression of his personality, shows their common truth and vitality as related to the highest conduct of life. His clear, high vision did not belittle the value of even an obscure, quaint myth, but exalted it above the height of its own intrinsic worth, just as at Chartres or Lincoln the cathedral exalts above mean- ness or narrow ostentation the least detail of its orna- ment. Thus it was with the column, mentioned in an earlier illustration. In the Greek temple it was conspicuous and proud. Its power to delight and benefit men was almost entirely confined to itself, and to appreciate it there was no need of considering facts or truth which lay far beyond its own strength and beauty. But the centuries have brought to men a new faith and a larger vision; they have humbled the pride of this column and devoted it to a higher service. Its glory does not now depend upon itself; to understand it we must feel the infinite peace and strength and duration of the building to which it belongs. As we remain within its walls the sense of these things reaches us continually in many ways. It comes through the beatific faces of saints and prophets crowded within the niches of the doorways. It comes through the stillness and sanctity within. It comes through the multitude of varied forms converg- ing in one plan and one thought. We feel it in the quiet seclusion of a side aisle with the soft light and shadow alternating along its length, and in the form of the great, solemn cross which, marked on the ground by the Ixxx Classical Mythology in Milton foundations, is transformed as it rises in the superstruc- ture, and lost in the glory above. We feel it in the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy-proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim, religious light. There let the pealing organ blow To the full-voiced quire below. In service high and anthems clear. As may with sweetness, through mine ear. Dissolve me into ecstasies. And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. The influence of the place drives away the turmoil and perplexity of life. It causes one to feel the security of some new and mighty support, and the most serious question of life is resolved naturally and easily. There is no longer any difficulty in deciding what things are really desirable in life and what are worthless, for their real and permanent value is no longer obscure. Clarity of vision, consciousness of infinite support, sense of true value, belonged to the man who shaped our column, and carved the volutes and acanthus of its capital. Not in pride, but in love, not in the hope of having his work praised and admired, but of showing forth the glory of God he wrought, and the meaning of the whole cathedral has passed through his heart and mind into his handiwork. How beautiful is the shaft! Springing easily near the altar, it rises without effort. It bears a burden, but does not seem to feel the weight. Its stone and mortar have been transformed to spirit, and, pass- ing the glory of its capital, it loses itself in soft celestial light above. It is the transfigui-ing power of a pure faith and a clear vision, such as form the essential greatness of Milton's poetry. Not the extent of his acquaintance with the generations of men, not his bril- liant execution, but his perception of universal truth, and his infusion of truth into the smallest detail of his work, are the cause of its immortal influence. Introduction Ixxxi There remains yet one aspect of Milton's treatment of mythology for us to consider. The work of an artist, viewed as a whole, reveals changes of spirit and method which occur along the way from youth to old age. In the case of Milton these changes are superficial modi- fications of permanent and underlying character. He was always temperate, and upright, and devoted to high ideals. These qualities are felt in both the early and the late poems, but their aspect is modified by certain differences between the two, as though the poet's qual- ity were at first more sensuous, and afterward became more severe. The principal differences are clearly per- ceptible in his treatment of myths, and no instance shows them more distinctly than four occurrences of the story of Orpheus. In L Allegro the poet calls for soft Lydian airs, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus' self may heave his head From golden slumber on a bed Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto to have quite set free His half-regained Eurydice.' The second occurrence, which may be regarded as con- temporary with the first, is from // Penseroso: But, O sad Virgin! that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower; Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string. Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek. And made Hell grant what Love did seek.'' The third is from Lycidas, where the poet reproaches the nymphs for neglecting his friend: ' I43-I50- 2 103-108. 6 Ixxxii Classical Mythology in Milton Ay me! I fondly dream • Had ye been there,' . . . for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament, When, by the rout that made the hideous roar. His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? ' The fourth is from the Seventh Book of Paradise Lost, where the poet, modulating his theme from Heaven to sing in lower key of earthly things, invokes the Muse: Still govern thou my song, Urania, and fit audience find, though few. But drive far off the barbar&us dissonance Of Bacchus and his revelers, the race Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamor drowned Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend Her son.' Of all these passages the last is the most concise, that is, it contains the greatest amount of meaning and specific reference in proportion to its length. It includes a suggestion of the ecstatic sweetness of Orpheus' song, found in the first two passages, together with the harsh violence of the lines in Lycidas. It is generally more specific than the others in the mention of Bacchus and his revelers, of their discordant clamor and confusion, of Rhodope, and woods and rocks. This compression of many significant details into small space is a characteris- tic of mythological allusions in the late poems. We may observe, in the second place, that in the ear- lier poems the meaning or application of a myth is more deeply buried beneath its sensuous element, and there- fore less conspicuous than in the later poems. In the first two citations the application of the myth consists in its ' 36-63. 2 p. Z.[7. 30-38. Introduction Ixxxiii appropriateness of content and presentation to the mood which controls either poem. Though we feel the effect of this application, we are partly or wholly uncon- scious of it, while our conscious thought dwells upon the story of Orpheus and Eurydice itself. In the pas- sage from Lycidas the reader is more aware of the under- lying thought that divine poetry could not save Orpheus from death in an evil hour, nor could it save Lycidas. In the passage from Paradise Lost the meaning is so prom- inent that Milton's treatment almost makes allegory of the myth. His thought is that only the true inspiration which comes from heaven can protect the poet against the babble and revelry of the world and the appeal of earthly and temporal pleasures, and for such inspiration Milton seeks. Thus as he grew old the sensuous veil which hung between him and pure spiritual truth grew thinner and more pervious to the white light beyond. _ Not only does the proportion of the spiritual and sensuous elements change with increasing years, but with it there is a change in the poet's choice and appli- cation of myths. We have already seen that Milton at any time selects a story for its inherent sweetness or delicacy or sublimity, or for the element of moral and aesthetic truth which it contains. But the later poems show a modification of his preference and treatment such as may also be traced through his use of the Orpheus myth. In his first citations of it he has selected the gentlest and tenderest and most pathetic episode from the life of Orpheus, namely the recovery of Eurydice, which he unites with a suggestion of the blissful reward of Orpheus in Elysium. In Lycidas he uses the tragic story of the Maenads, but its violence is tempered with some of the earlier pathos, and the dom- inant note is not harsh, but plaintive. The same story is employed in the latest allusion to Orpheus. It is no longer tender or pathetic or plaintive, but informed with the sublime austerity which characterized the later life and art of Milton. So it may be said, in gen- Ixxxiv Classical Mythology in Milton eral, that his epics contain less frequent reference to Apollo and the nymphs and the milder legends than the earlier poems. Their mythology is grave and impres- sive, and is often drawn from the primitive poets, such as Hesiod and Homer. It concerns itself with the deeds of heroes, the certain and terrible punishment of wrong- doing, the awful majesty of the gods, and their victories over grim monsters and the powers of darkness. We hear of Hercules and Bellerophon, of Epimetheus and Tantalus, of Jove and the Titans, of Chaos and Night and Rhea and Saturn.' Milton's treattnent of these stories reveals a deep and unfailing sensitiveness to the grand and awful truths of life. To explain the growing austerity of Milton by any one of the many influences which entered into his life is impossible. It must rather have been the combined effect of several large elements in his culture, each of which is essentially austere. Such are certain aspects of Hellenism, to which he was strongly attracted, especially those represented by Homer, Hesiod, and -^schylus. More important is the Hebraic element, and the sublime influence of the Psalms and the Proph- ets. Something similar he must also have felt in his devoted study of patristic learning and early Christian- ity, whose simple severity was largely that of the Hebrews. Closely akin to both are the Puritanism of Milton's England and his own Presbyterianism, both of which would tend to nourish such influences of culture and intercept any others. Nor must we forget the afflictions of his private life. We may say, then, that it was the conspiracy of these different elements within his deep" and serious nature which rendered him more susceptible to the solemn aspects of the human life of all times. After all, the true and complete nature of the poet is of most importance, and upon that the details of See p. li. Introduction Ixxxv our study should converge. We shall not, then, be far astray if, recalling the words with which Christ, when tempted with all the learning of the world, repelled Satan, we find in them a summation of the power by which Milton triumphed over the world, and as victor claimed the riches of its poetry and learning for the kingdom of God: Many books. Wise men have said, are wearisome; who reads Incessantly, and to his reading brings not A spirit and judgment equal or superior, (And what he brings what needs he elsewhere seek?) Uncertain and unsettled still remains. Deep-versed in books and shallow in himself, Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge. As children gathering pebbles on the shore. THE SOURCES OF MILTON'S CLASSICAL MYTHOLOGY THE SOURCES AOHEBON.-P. L. i. 578 ; C. 604. 8ee Slvera of HeU. ACHIIiLBa.-P. I.. 0. 16. The subject of the Iliad is ' the wrath of Achilles, Peleus' son, the ruinous wrath that brought on the Achaeans woes innumerable ' (//. I. I f.). //. 22 tells of Achilles' fight with Hector. Cf . 22. 165 f. : S>g TO) Tpl( lipii/wio Trttiv ircpiSivr/ti^^iv KapiraMfLotffc Trddeffffc. ' Stern ' is not a Homeric epithet of the hero. Vergil calls him 'immitis' (JEn. i. 34; 3, 87). AI>SS.— p. L. 2. 964. Hades or Adas, after the Homeric spelling Aides, was a son of Cronus (//. 15. 188), ' who drew as his domain the murky darkness,' and was 'ruler of the folk in the under-world.' In//. 9. 158 f. he is ' not to be softened, neither overcome, and therefore is he hate- fullest of all gods to mortals.' Cf. Orcus and Pluto. ADONIS. -p. f. 1.416; 9. 410; C. 909; (C. N. 204). The story of Adonis or Adon is of Oriental origin. He is identi- fied with the Syrian Thammuz (cf. Ezek. 8. 14), and one center of his worship was the region of Lebanon (Strabo 16. 755, and Lucian, De Dea Syria 6 ff.). Ovid (Met. 10. 503 fE.) tells the love of Venus and Adonis in Cyprus. In disregard of her warning he entered the chase, and was killed by a wild boar. Venus laments him saying (727): repetitaque mortis imago Annua plangoris peraget simulamina nostri. Lucian (De Dea Syria 6 fE.) says that the people of Byblus, near Lebanon, relate the story of Adonis' death as occurring in Mount Lebanon. The river Adonis, which flows from that mountain, became tinted annually with his blood at the festival of mourn- ing for the youth, and thence derived its name. Lucian also speaks of the festival of Adonis' revival (cf. Theoc. 15. 102, 136, 144). The scholium on 102 speaks of his returning from Hades for intervals of six months, and the Orphic hymn to Adonis (55. 12) says that he brings with him the fruits. His return is thought to signify the annual revival of Nature. 4 Classical Mythology in Milton The epithet ' Assyrian queen ' (C. 1003) is not only appropriate to the legend, but consistent with the statement of Pausanias (i. 14. 6), that the Assyrians were ' the first of men to pay reverence to Celestial Aphrodite." In P. L. 9. 439 Kden is described as fairer than the gardens of Adonis or Alcinous, and according to Pliny (N. H. 19. 4 . 19), 'antiquitas nihil prius mirata est, quam Hesperidum hortos, ac regum Adonis et Alcinoi.' Ancient writers have little else to say about the gardens of Adonis. Hesychius defines the 'k.&iniiSoq KijnoL as the plants used at the festival Adonia, as in Theocritus 15. 112 ff. In connection with P. L. 9. 439 should be read C. 976-1011, which Todd refers to Spenser's elaborate description of the gardens of Adonis, F. Q. 3. 6. 29-51, and Hymn of Love 41, 42. As Milton refers to actual gar- dens of 'revived Adonis,' he may be thinking of Spenser, who describes his revival and his union with Venus. Milton refers to the legend of Adonis in Nat. non pati Sen. 63 ; Eteg. I. 62; Eikonoklastes, P. W. i. 330. Baudissin discusses the identification of Thammuz with Adonis in Stud. z. Semit. Religions- gesch. 1.295. AFER.— p. I. 10. J02. See Winds. AliCBSTIS.— Son. 23. z. Milton's version of Alcestis' surrender to Death in place of her husband, Admetus, is the one given by Euripides in his drama of Alcestis. Other accounts make Hades the scene of the capture, in- stead of the tomb. Heracles speaks of himself (1119) as ' Jove's son. Browne suggests tl ^dcjia veprkpuv (1127), as an original of 'pale and faint.' ALOINOUS.— p. I. 6. 341 i ». *41 i T. E. 40. Alcinous was king of the Phaeacians in the island of Scheria. He received and entertained Odysseus (Od. 6-13. 92), who was cast upon this island after his long wanderings. About the palace were the gardens, described in Od. 7. 112 ff. There are many kinds of trees whose fruit ' never perisheth, neither faileth, winter or summer, enduring through all the year. . . . There too, skirting the farthest line, are all manner of garden beds, planted trimly, that are perpetually fresh, and therein are two fountains of water, whereof one scatters his streams all about the garden, and the other runs over against it beneath the threshold of the courtyard, and issues by the lofty house, and thence did the townsfolk draw water.' These gardens are mentioned by Eustathius Macrembolites (12th cent.) in his Hysinin. and Hysm. i. 4, as though they were a familiar example of luxuriance, and Pliny (TV. H. 19. 4. 19) says that these gardens and those of Adonis were greatly admired by antiquity. V. E. 49 refers to the two feasts given by Alcinous {Od. 8. 40 ff., 470 The Sources 5 fE.). At the first banquet Demodocus sang of the quarrel of Odysseus and Achilles (73 ff.), and at the second of the capture of Troy (499 ff.)- His theme after the games which intervened was the love of Ares and Aphrodite (266 ff.). All the Phseacians were delighted, but when Odysseus heard his own deeds sung, he wept bitterly (83-93, 368, 521-531). Demodocus was 'the beloved minstrel whom the muse loved dearly, and she gave him both good and evil; of his sight she reft him, but granted him sweet song ' (62-64). He was both ' divine ' and ' famous ' (43,83). AIiPHBXTS.— Arc. SO ; L; o. 19'2. Alpheus, the river-god of Elis, was much honored as early as Homer (cf. //. 11. 725 if.), and 'often sung' by later poets (cf. Find. 01. 13. 48; Moschus, Id. 7; Statius, Theb. 1. 271; 4. 239). Seneca I^Nat. Qucsst. 6. 8) calls Alpheus 'celebratum poetis.' In Ovid, Met, 5. 572-641, Arethusa tells the story of Alpheus' love for her as she bathed in his upper waters in Arcadia, and of the pursuit into Sicily, where she became the spring which bears her name in Ortygia near Syracuse. Vergil, ./En. 3. 694, refers to the legend: Alpheum fama est hue Elidis amnem Occultas egisse vias subter mare: qui nunc Ore, Arethusa, tuo Siculis confunditur undis. Statius (Silv. i. 2. 205) says Alpheus passed under the sea ' de- merso canali.' Arethusa and Alpheus are used by Milton as suggest- ive of Sicily and Arcadia, the lands of pastorals {,Lyc. 85, 132); cf. Verg. Eel. 10. i: Extremum hunc, Arethusa, mihi concede laborem. In the Epitaph of Bion (Mosch. 3), Bion is said to have drunk of Arethusa (77; cf. 10). AlIAIiTHBA.-P. I. 4. 278 ; P. B. a. 856. According to ApoUodorus (2. 7. 5), the river-god Achelous con- tended in the form of a bull with Heracles for the hand of Deianeira. Heracles tore off one of his horns, which Achelous ransomed with the horn of Amalthea. Amalthea, he says, was a daughter of Haimonios, who had in her possession a bull's horn which yields either food or drink whichever anyone desires. In 1. 1. 6 he mentions the belief that she was the goat which nourished the boy Zeus in Crete. Strabo (10. p. 458) says that the two horns were identified by many, as appears in Ovid (,Met. 9. 87 ff.), where Achelous him- self tells the story of his lost horn, which, 'heaped with fruit and odoriferous flowers, the Naiads have consecrated, and the bounteous goddess. Plenty, is enriched by my horn.' Milton's mention of the Hesperides may have been suggested by the account of Hyginus (^Fab. 31), where Hercules gave the horn to the Hesperides or the nymphs. 6 Classical Mythology in Milton For Amalthea, as mother of Bacchus, see Rhea. AmABYLLIS.-lye. «8. "With Milton's line: To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, compare Verg. Eel. i. 4: Tu, Tityre, lentus in umbra Formosam resonare doces Amaryllida sylvas. In Theoc. 3 a goatherd serenades his Amaryllis. These ex- amples explain the general association of the name with pastoral poetry. AXTAZOITS P. I. 9. 1111. The Amazons are mentioned by Homer (//. 3. 189; 6. i85), who calls them avriavEipai, 'women peers of men.' Vergil (^«. i.4gofE.) describes Penthesilea leading them to the aid of the Trojans. They are armed 'lunatis peltis' (of . ^». 11. 660 if.). Pollux in the Greek Onomasiicon i. 134 speaks of the f!D\.Tri ' k.fm!^oviidi as resembling, according to Xenophon, an ivy leaf. The tte/It)? was a small rhomboid shield (Paus. i. 41. 7; Plut. Thes. 27). AMBEOSIA AND NEOTAE..— P. 1. 2. 245; 4. 240; 5. 57, 683, 842; 0. 882; 9. 888; 11. 379; P. R. 4. 590; D. F. 1. 49; V. £. 89; C. 16, 888, 840; Lyr. 175. Ambrosia and nectar are primarily the meat and drink of the gods (Hom. Od. 5. 92 ff.; //. i. 598), but the corresponding adjec- tives are used in the sense of 'immortal ' (cf. aiippdaio^). In //. 5. 331 if. Diomed has wounded Aphrodite; 'straight through the ambrosial raiment (cf . C. 16) that the Graces themselves had woven her, pierced the dart into the flesh. . . . Then flowed the goddess's immortal blood, such ichor as floweth in the blessed gods; for they eat no bread neither drink they gleaming wine, wherefore they are bloodless and are named immortals.' Cf. P. L. 6. 331. Milton is faithful to the classical usage of these words. Homer speaks of 'ambrosial night' (//. 2. 57); cf. P. L. 5. 642. Zeus has ambrosial locks (//. i. 529); cf. P. L. 5. 57. Euripides {Hippol. 748) mentions the ambrosial foun- tains in the gardens of the Hesperides; cf. P. L. 11. 279. With the 'ambrosial oils' of C. 840 compare the anointing of Sarpedou's wounds with ambrosia, //. 16. 680. In //. 14. 169 ff., where Hera prepared to meet Zeus, she anointed herself with ambrosia, and 'plaited her shining tresses, fair and ambrosial'; cf. P. L. 5. 57. The fragrance of ambrosia is referred to by Milton in P. L. 2. 245. It is suggested in such passages as //. 23. 187; Od. 4. 445. Cf. hSiiijg a/il3poaii;g of Theognis 9. Nectar also is an ointment in D. F. I. 49 and Lye. 175. The suggestion of fragrance may be added to that of immortality. Cf. //. 3. 385; Ov. Met. 4. 250. As Homer speaks of viicrap ipvdpdv (//. 19. 38; Od. 5. 93), Milton speaks of 'rubied nectar' {P. L. 5. 633). The Sources 7 AMUON'.-P. L. 4. ill; 0. 509i C. N. 303. Ammon or Haramon was one of the chief divinities of the Africans, -whom the Greek colonists called Zeus Ammon, and the Romans Jupiter Ammon. In P. L. 4. 277 'Ammon is identified with Cham or Ham, the son of Noah, as in 4. 717 lapetus is called Japhet. Samuel Bochart, who in 1646 published his Geographia Sacra, discusses this corre- spondence, and says (i. i) that the learned had for some time main- tained that Noah and Saturn were the same. Among other reasons for believing that Cham was Ammon, he says that Ham is the same word as Hammon, and that Ham and Zeus both mean 'hot,' and he adds that each was his father's youngest son. He mentions also the fact that Egypt, 'the land of Ham,' was the home of Ham's descendants. The identification rests upon the 'poetarum ju- dicium' (2. I). Ralegh says that Cham was no other than Satumus Egyptius, and gives his reasons in his History of the World 2. 2. 4. A passage which throws some light upon C. N. 203 may be found in Macrobius, Sat. i. 21: 'Ideo et Ammonem, quern deum solem occidentem Libyes existimant, arietibus cornibus fingunt, quibus maxime id animal valet, sicut sol radiis.' The love of 'Ammonian Jove ' and Olympias, mother of Alexander {P. L. 9.508; P. R. 3.84), may be referred to Plutarch's Alexander 2. Among other accounts of Alexander's birth, Plutarch says, 'A serpent was also seen lying by Olympias as she slept;' and in 3, 'Apollo commanded him (Philip) to sacrifice to Jupiter Ammon and to pay his homage principally to that god.' The story is told afterwards by Justin 11. 11; 12.16. Milton refers to it again in Eleg. 4.26. See Rhea. AIIFHITBITB.-u. 921. Amphitrite was a daughter of Nereus (cf. C. 835), who with her sisters ' calmed the blasts of the divine winds' (Hesiod, Theog. 243, 254.) She became the wife of Poseidon (Pindar, 01. 6. 104 f.). The name Amphitrite is sometimes used of the sea, as in Ovid, Met. i. 14; Hom. Od. 12. 60. AmmiOlTE.-P. B. 2. 188. ApoUodorus (2. i. 4, 5) tells the story of Amymone, one of the fifty daughters of Danaus, who, having fled from Egypt, were seek- ing water in Argos. Amymone threw her weapon at a deer, but struck a sleeping sat3rr, who offered her violence. Poseidon, who came to the rescue, won her love. Lucian {Dial. Mar. 6) speaks of her beauty, and relates that Poseidon stole her away into the sea. Cf. Hyginus, Fab. 169. ANOHISBS.-C. 938. Locrine was the son of Brutus, first king of Britain, who was the 8 Classical Mythology in Milton 'son of Silvius: he of Ascanius; whose father was ^neas,' son of Anchises of Troy. Cf. Milton's History of Britain, P. W. 5. 168. The legend is related by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his history. Chap. 3. ANTJEtTB.-P. B. «. 568. Antaeus was the giant son of Poseidon and Ge, the Earth (ApoUod. 2. 5.11), and king of Libya. The name Irassa, of the city of Antaeus, seems to have been taken by Milton from Pind. P. g. io6: "Ipaaa rrpof Trd^^cv, ^Avralov /isra KaXViiw/iov [ivoGT^peQ ayaKXea icoijpav. The scholiast on Pindar says, however, that the Antaeus living in the city Irassa was not the one who strove with Heracles, but he adds that, among others, Pherecydes says that 'the latter Antaeus came from Irassa (neut. plur.) on Lake Tritonis in Cjrrene. Herod- otus mentions Irassa (neut. plur.) as a locality of Libya (4. 159). That Milton says ' in Irassa ' indicates reference rather to a region as the home of Antaeus, for which he has the scholiast's authority. The story told by Milton is a later version, related by Apol- lodorus (2. 5. II) and Lucan (4. 597 fif.). The incidents of the fight with Hercules coincide with Lucan's longer description, except that apafisvoc afijiaai of Apollodorus gives the cue to 'throttled' (P. P. 4.568). See also Hercules. AlfTIOFA.— F. B. 2. XS7. Pausanias (2. 6. i) says that Antiopa, daughter of Nykteus of Thebes, was famous among the Greeks for her beauty. Apol- lonius (4.1090) calls her Evin\>. Ovid {Met. 6. no), in a list of the loves of the disguised Jove, mentions Antiopa, whom the god embraced in the form of a satyr. AONIAN MOUNT. -p. L. 1. 15. See Huses. APOLLO.— P. 1. I, 617; 4. 273; 10. 296; P. E. 2. 190; D. F. I. 23; C. 662; Lye. 106; Son. 18. 6; See alao Apollo aB God of Prophecy, and as Sun-god. The aggregated soil Death with his mace petrilic, cold and dry, As with a trident smote, and fixed as firm As Delos, floating once. In these lines {P. L. lo. 293 ff.) Milton refers to the myth of Delos as the birthplace of Apollo. The earliest source of the myth in this form is a quotation from Pindar by Strabo (10. 485). He says, in speaking of Delos: ' For here, as the story goes, Leto suffered in the birth of Apollo and Artemis; " For of old time," says Pindar, "it drifted before the waves and stress of winds from every side; but when she of Koios set foot thereon, as the swift pains of her The Sources 9 travailing drew nigh, then verily from roots deep down in earth there sprang upright four pillars with adamantine base, and on their capitals they held up the rock: there was the goddess delivered, and looked upon her blessed brood." ' But another story, told by Aris- tides (7. 77), says that Apollo himself, according to the poets, caused Delos to become stationary, ' planting it firmly in the sea, because he had been born there.' Cf. Verg. ^n. 3. 75. The story of the hinds 'that were transformed to frogs '(5i3«. 12. 6) is told by Ovid, Met. 6. 337 fE. This was their punishment for refusing the waters of a Lycian spring to the thirsty Leto and her new-born babes (358 ff.). Cf. Apollo as Sun-god. The story of Apollo's love and pursuit of Daphne {P. L. 4. 273; P. R. 2. 187; C. 661) is related by Ovid, Met. i. 453 ff. As she fled, Fes, modo tarn velox, pigris radicibus haeret. She was changed to the laurel, which thenceforth was sacred to the god. In P. L. 4. 272 ff. Eden is lovelier than that sweet grove Of Daphne, by Orontes and the inspired Castalian spring. The legend of Daphne was transferred to the banks of the Orontes (Paus. 8. 20), and its centre was the famous gardens of Daphne at Antioch. As described by Strabo (16. 750), they were about forty stadia above the city, ' a great and thickly shaded grove traversed by streams of spring water.' Libanius in his Anti- ocheus {Orations) gives a detailed description of these gardens, and praises the springs ecstatically. He says (p. 352, ed. Reiske) that they were the abode of the nymphs, in which these delighted as much as Apollo in Delphi. According to Philostratus {Life of Apol- lonius of Tyana i. j6) several names of places associated with Apollo and Daphne were transferred to Antioch, and thus the spring men- •tioned above was called ' Castalian ' (Johannes Phocas, Compend. Descriptio p. 2). We learn from Sozomen, in his Historia Ecclesi- astica 5. 19, that this Castalian spring ('aqua divinatrix ') had the same prophetic power as the one at Delphi, and that on one occasion a prophecy was obtained by dipping in the spring a laurel-leaf, which came forth bearing a prophetic inscription. Accounts seem generally to point to an utterance of some sort from the spring itself, rather than from a priest of the spring. Ammian (22. 12. 8) mentions the ' vense fatidicse Castalii fontis' and the ' prsecinentes aquae.' The same belief seems to have been held with regard to the Castalian spring at Delphi. Gregory Nazianzen {Or. 5. 31) says that Castalia 'is now silent, no longer giving forth prophecies.' The same idea appears in Claudian (81. i): ' Castalio de gurgite Phoebus anhelat'; cf. 4. 7. 10 Classical Mythology in Milton Clymene, who is mentioned in P. R. 2. 186, was the wife of Merops of j35thiopia, and the mother of Phaethon by Apollo. Phae- thon's high origin was disputed by Epaphus, but confirmed by Clymene's appeal to Apollo (Ov. Met. i. 748 ff.; cf. Trist. 3. 4. 30). The arraignment of the gods in P. R. 2. 186 ff. is not unlike that in the Protrepticus of Clement of Alexandria, 27 P ff., where among others, Poseidon, Apollo, and Zeus are named with Amy- mone. Daphne, Semele, and others. In Ovid, Met. 6. 70 ff., is a recital of the loves of Jupiter, Neptune, Apollo, and Bacchus, but excepting Antiopa the names of the women are other than those men- tioned by Milton. The story of Apollo's love for Hyacinth is touched upon in D. F. I. 25; Lye. 106. Ovid {Met. 10. 162 ff.) tells how by accident the discus from the hand of Apollo struck and killed Hyacinthus, son of Amyclas of Sparta. Apollo laments his death saying (206) ; Flosque novus scripto gemitus imitabere nostros. And while he laments, Ecce cruor, qui fusus humi signaverat herbam, Desinit esse cruor; Tyrio niteutior ostro Flos oritur . . Non satis hoc Fhcebo est, is enim fuit auctor honoris, Ipse SUDS gemitus foliis inscribit; et ai ai Flos habet iascriptum; funestaque litera ducta est. Nee genuisse pudet Sparten Hyacinthon; honorque Durat in hoc £evi, celebrandaque more priorum Annua prselata redeunt Hyacinthia pompa. Cf. Milt. ^at. non pati Sen. 62. Apollo's love for the river Eurotas is referred to by Vergil {Eel. 6. 83). Servius says, ' hunc fiuvium Hyacinthi causa Apollo dicitur amasse. ' Apollo as the God of Prophecy, Music, and Poetry. — P. L. i. 517; P- R- I. 458; 4- 260; V. E. 37; C. N. 176; Pass. 23; Ep. Shah. 12; C. 478; Lye. 77; Son. 13. 10. Such a conception is as old as Homer (//. i. 603; Od. 8. 79), and is common throughout the classics. The most famous oracle of Apollo was that upon 'the steep of Delphos.' In Horn. Hy. Pyth. Ap. 103 ff. is a description of the founding of this shrine : ' From hence thou swiftly earnest rushing (reading %m) to the rock, and thou didst reach Crissa below snowy Parnassus . . . but above the rock is suspended aloft, and a rugged hollow cave runs below. Here King Phoebus Apollo resolved to construct a pleasant temple. ' C. N. 176 ff. is referred by Warton to the general representation in the Ion of Euripides. Cf. Ion 1-183. The ' hollow shriek ' may be reminiscent of the frenzy of the Sibyl in ^n. 6. 42 ff. ; cf . 98 ff. : CuniEea Sibylla Horrendas canit ambages, antroque remugit, Obscuris vera involvens : ea frena furenti Concutit, et stimulos sub pectore vertit Apollo. The Sources n Cf. Ion 91 ffi. : On the tripod most holy is seated the Delphian Maiden Chanting children of Hellas the wild cries, laden With doom, from the lips of ApoUo that ring. The 'pomp and sacrifice ' of P. R. 1. 457 also are illustrated by the Ion. In the Homeric hymn to Apollo the god is associated with the lyre and song. In Pyth. Ap. 10 ff. the Muses sing, while the Graces, the Hours, Harmony, Hebe, and Aphrodite dance, and ' Phcebus Apollo strikes the harp, taking grand and lofty steps.' Cf. Hy. to Herm. 476 fE., 500 ff. According to Hes. Here. Sh. 203 his lyre was golden. In Son. 13. 10 Milton addresses Lawes as ' priest of Phoebus' quire.' According to Pyth. Ap. 338 ff. the Cretans followed Apollo to Delphi as his first choir, chanting lo-Paean. Plutarch {^De Musica 3. 1132 A) quotes Heraclides to the effect that Philammon, a Delphian, celebrated in song the births of Leto, Apollo, and Artemis, and es- tablished the choruses at Delphi. (Cf. Schol. Od. ig. 432; Milton's Ad Salsil. 26.) The passage in V. E. yi, where the gods listen to Apollo's song, may be referred to //. i. 603 ff. The epithet ' unshorn' is used of Apollo in Homer //. 20. 39; cf. Horn,. Hy. Ap. Del. 134. It occurs in later writers, as Pindar, P. 3. 26; Isth. i. 8; Ov. Met. 12. 585. In P. R. 4. 260 Phoebus is spoken of as challenging the song of Homer for his own, 'alluding,' says Newton, 'to a Greek epigram in the first book of the Anthologia : ijuSov /ih iyiiv kx&pa.aci 6s Belog "O/ir/pog.' This appears on p. 91 of the Anthology of Stephanus, and again in Anth. Pal. 9. 455. It is preceded by the line Tiva^ av etTTot. ^dyovg 'ATrtiAAuv irspl 'Ofi^pov ; Phoebus appears twice as the patron god of the poet (/"a jj. 23; Lye. 77). Odysseus says to the bard of Alcinous, ' Demodocus, I praise thee far above all mortal men, whether it be the Muse . . . that taught thee, or even Apollo' {Od. 8. 487). Lye. 77 has been re- ferred by Todd to the familiar ' Cynthius aurem Vellit, et admonuit ' of Verg. Eel. 6. 3. Apollo as the Sun-god. — P. L. 5. 423; C. N. 19, 36, 79; C. 51, 66, 95, 141, 190; Lye. 168; Son. 12. 7. Phoebus is supposed to have been a sun-god from earliest times, although his identification with Helios, the chariot-driver, is peculiar to the Latin writers. In C. 141 the Sun is called ' tell-tale.' This epithet is com- monly referred to Hom. Od. 8. 270 ff. where Helios told Hephsestus of the secret amour of Aphrodite and Ares. He is called ayyEkoq. In Od. II. 109 Helios is the god 'who overseeth all, and overheareth 12 Classical Mythology in Milton all things.' He tells Demeter of the rape of Persephone in Horn. Hy. to Dejn, 74 fE. Milton mentions the sun's ' bright throne ' and ' burning axle- tree ' (C. N. 84), and again he speaks of ' the gilded car of day' and ' his glowing axle' (C 95, 96). Ovid says in Met. i. 776; z. i if. that Phaethon, wishing to drive his father's chariot, went to his palace in the east, where sedebat In solio Phcebus, Claris lucente zmaragdis. The chariot is described in 107 S.. : Aureus axis erat, temo aureus, aurea summae Curvatura rot£e; radiorum argenteus ordo. Per juga chrysolithi, positseque ex ordine gemniEe Clara repercusso reddebant lumina Phoebo. To speak of Apollo as holding ' the sun in fee ' {^Son. 12. 7), does not seem classical, though his character is regal in the foregoing cita- tions from Ovid. It is related that Hyperion's chariot hissed as it met the waters of the western ocean at sunset (Stat. Silv. 2. 7. 25; Juv. 14. 280). Mil- ton may have reference to this idea in C. 96, 97. Ovid {Met. 4. 632 S..) says it was the sea, ' qui Soils anhelis -^quora subdit equis, et fessos excipit axes.' Cf. Milt. Eleg-. 3. 32 if. Though the sun at setting is represented by ancient writers as sinking into Ocean (//. 8. 485), yet he never ' sups with Ocean' as in P. L, 5. 423. Statius {Theb. 3. 407 ff.) describes the sunset as follows: Solverat Hesperii devexo margine ponti Flagrantes Sol pronus equos, rutilamque lavabat Oceani sub fonte comam. The Hours and Nereids feed the horses, which in Ovid {Met. 4. 214) are refreshed with ambrosia. Cf. Lye. 168 ff. Athenseus quotes different poets to show the manner in which Helios at sun- down returned to his chamber in the East (11. 469, 470). Stesich- orus says that he embarked in a golden boat, and sped to the depths of dark night, to his mother, wife, and children. According to Mim- nermus he was borne in a golden, winged bed to the Ethiopians where his horses and chariot await him. The ' other goal ' of C. 100 may have been suggested by Homer's Tponal Tjelloio {Od. 15. 404). In the Ion (82 ff.) we again find a representation of the sun-god not dissimilar to Milton's (cf. Lye. 168 fE. ; C. N. 79), though more elaborate: Lo, yonder the Sun-god is turning to earthward his splendor-blazing Chariot of light And the crests of Parnassus untrodden are flaming and flushed, as with yearning Of welcome to far-flashing wheels with glory of daylight returning To mortal sight. The Sources 13 With C. 190 compare the description of the Delphic tapestry (Ion ii48fE.): His steeds the Sun drave to their goal of fire, After him drawing the brig^ht Evening Star, And sable-vestured Night with team of twain Up floated: and the stars companioned her, C. N. 31 ff. refers to the Sun as Nature's 'lusty paramour.' This suggests the story of the new creation after the flood by the cooperation of Earth and Sun (Ov. Met. i. 416 fE.; of. Milt. Eleg. 5. 55 f.). -fl.QTnLO.-D. P. I. 8. See Winds. STAB OF ABOADY.-C. 341. See Oallsto. AKETHUSA.— ^0. 81; Lfo. 85, ISS. See AlpheuQ. AB.GESTES.-P. L. 10. 699. See Winds. AKQO.— P. L. a. 1017. The story of Jason's voyage in the Argo in search of the golden fleece is told by ApoUonius and by Apollodorus i. 9. Both relate the incident of the'justling rocks' (Ap. Rh. 2. 537 fiE.; ApoUod. i. 9. 22). These were at the end of the Bosporus where the Argo entered the Black Sea. • Justling ' may be Milton's translation of ' Symple- ^ades,' which is really an adjective {avjiTrlrryag), but Find. Pyth. 4. 207 should also be considered: ' Then as they set forth toward an exceeding peril they prayed the lord of ships that they might shun the terrible shock of the jarring {cmSpdfiuv) rocks: for they were twain that had life, and plunged {nv'KLvSEaicovTo) along more swiftly than the legions of the bellowing winds.' Juvenal (Sat. 15. 19) speaks of the ' concurrentia saxa.' AEQTJS.— p. L. 11. 131. Michael, the archangel, is sent to dispossess Adam and Eve of Eden with a cohort of Cherubim whose bodies are all Spangled with eyes more numerous than those Of Argus, and more wakeful than to drowse, Charmed with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reed Of Hermes, or his opiate rod. lo, a priestess of Hera, was beloved by Zeus (Apollod. 2. i. 2). When Hera discovered their relation, Zeus changed lo into a white heifer, and Hera, in jealousy and mistrust of his oath, set Argus to guard her. Apollodorus calls Argus Panoptes because he had eyes all over his body. Hermes was sent by Zeus to steal lo, and killed -the all-seeing one with a stone. Ovid (Met. i. 601 ff.) tells the story with pretty elaboration. Of the many eyes of Argus not more than two sleep at one time. Hermes, seating himself in the shade, sings a :gentle pastoral of Syrinx until Argus falls asleep. Then he makes 14 Classical Mythology in Milton sure of his victim, ' Languida permulcens medicata lumina virga, ' and kills him with his sword. Cf. //. 24. 343. AHIMASPIAN'S.-P. L. Z. 916. Herodotus (3. 116) speaks of the one-eyed Arimaspians who are said to steal gold from the 'gold-guarding' griffins (4. 13) in the north. Pausanias (i.,24) quotes Aristeas the Proconnesian to the effect that ' the griffins are like lions, but have the wings and beak of an eagle.' Pliny {N. H. 7. 2) says: ' haud procul ab ipso aquilonis exortu, spe- cuque ejus dicto . . . produntur Arimaspi . . . quibusassi- due bellum esse circa metalla cum Gryphis, ferarum volucri genere, quale vulgo traditur, eruente ex cuniculis aurum, mira cupiditate et feris custodientibus, et Arimaspis rapientibus, multi sed maxime illustres Herodotus et Aristeas Proconnesius scribunt.' ASSYEIAIir QTJBBN.-C. 1002. See Adonis. ATIiAS.— P. L. 2. 80G; 4. 987; 10. 674. In the Prometheus of .ffischylus, 348 f£. , Prometheus grieves for his kinsman Atlas, who doth stand In the far West, supporting on his shoulders The pillars of the earth and heaven. Cf. Hom. Od. I. 52 if; Verg. jEn. 4. 481 ff.; Ov. Met. 4. 631 ff. In this last passage Ovid tells the story of Atlas' transformation into a mountain by the Gorgon's head in the hands of Perseus. Cf . Pleiades. ATEOPOS.-E. M.w. 29. See Fates. ATTIC BOX.— Pons . 124. See Cephalus. ATT E0BA .-P. 1. 5. 1, 6, 124; 6. 2, iai\j. 878^11. 178; P. E. 4. 430; Mk\. 19, 64; Pent. 182; K. The dawn is often personified in Milton, and in many cases the accompanying description bears a distinct reference to the Eos or Aurora of classical writers. The adjective 'rosy' in connection with the morn occurs three times [P. L. 5. 1; 6. 3; 11. 175; cf. P. R. 4. 428). It is common among the ancients. In Homer's stock description we find 'the rosy- fingered Dawn' (//. 1. 477; 6. 175; Od. 2. i; 5. 121 etc.; cf. Hom. Hy. to Helios 6; Verg. ..^n. 6. 535). In //. 8. I. she is ' saffron-robed'; cf . Verg. Georg, 1. 4. 47. Purple is alsa her color (Ov. Met. 2. 113). With ' gold empyreal ' of P. L. 6. 13 cf. Od. 15. 250. Similar coloring is seen in Milton's In Quint. Nov. 133. f. The ' tricked and frounced ' of Pens. 123 may be an elaboration of ' lutea ' in the story of Cephalus (Ov. Met. 7. 703), including however, a reminiscence of similar conventional epithets and de- scriptions. In L'Al. 54 'the slumbering Morn' is 'roused,' with possible reference to Homer, who represents the Dawn as rising: from the bed of Tithonus (//. 11. 1; Od. 5. i; cf. Verg. Georg. i. 447). The Sources 15 In P. L. 5. 5. Milton speaks of the sleep of Adam as temperate vapours bland, which the only sound Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan. Lightly dispersed. ■Aurora's fan' suggests the gentle breezes of morning which took personified forms with the ancients. According to Hes. Tkeog. 378 Aurora (Eos) was the mother of Boreas, Notus, and Zephyrus. Mil- ton departs from classical tradition in making Zephyrus instead of Tithonus the paramour of Aurora. In P. L. 6. 2 we read that Morn, Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand Unbarred the gates of Light. This may be referred to two passages, the one in Hom. //. 5. 749, where ' self-moving groaned upon their hinges the gates of heaven whereof the Hours are warders, to whom is committed great heaven and Olympus, whether to throw open the thick cloud or set it to.' The other passage here to be considered is Ov. Mei. 2. 112: *ecce vigil rutilo patef ecit ab ortu Purpureas Aurora fores et plena rosarum Atria. ' One office of the Hours was to attend the Sun (cf . Apollo). The conception of the Dawn as routing the Night and her shades is expressed in P. L. 6. 13 and P. R. 4. 426. "With these lines com- pare Orph. Hy. 77. 4, where Dawn is addressed as the goddess ' who drivest the dark and gloomy progress of Night beneath the earth with thy rising.' In Ov. Met. 2. 114, ' Diffugiunt stellse, qua- rum agmina cogit Lucifer.' Cf. 144; Eurip. Ion 84; also Milton's Epist. 18. III. In his comment on a similar passage in Dante (Purg. 2. 56) Gary refers P. Z. 6. 15 to Sophocles, Track. 94, where Night is represented as slain or despoiled by the flaming Sun whom she brings forth. As the Orphic Hymn speaks of Night's ' gloomy prog- ress,' so Milton {P. L. II. 175) speaks of the 'rosy progress' of the Morning. In Orph. Hy. 78. 2 the Dawn is described as ipvBaLvoiiivrj Kara Kda/iov. This may have suggested Milton's epithet ' nice ' (C. 139), though the latter conveys a somewhat different sense. The fifth book of Paradise Lost opens : Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl. The passage evidently refers to the legend mentioned by Ovid {Met. 13. 621). Memnon, the son of Aurora, was slain by Achilles at Troy. His mother gives herself up to her grief, ' piasque Nunc quoque dat lacrimas et toto rorat in orbe.' A similar idea appears in the ' lumine consent arva ' of Lucretius 2. 211. See also Leucothea and Cephalus, BACCHTTB.-F. L. 4. 270 ; 7. 33 ; L>AI. 16 ; C. 46, 622. Bacchus is represented by Milton as the son of Amalthea (P. L. 1 6 Classical Mythology in Milton 4. 279; see Rhea), and the father of Euphrosyne (L.'Al. 16; see Graces). In the passage last cited he is ' ivy-crowned.' The ivy was one of his best known symbols. Euripides in the Phcenissce 650 ff., says that in the Aonian plains Bacchus was born, ' whom the wreathed ivy twining around him (wepiarec^iig) instantly, while yet a babe, blessed and covered with its verdant shady branches.' The worship- per of Bacchus was ' crowned with ivy ' {Baccha 81), as is the god himself in fr. 46 of Pindar (Bergk). Bacchus was a wine-god only in post-Homeric times. Plato in the Laws (2. 672 A) speaks of him as the giver of wine, and a scholium on Od, 9. ig8 calls him the discoverer of wine. The story of the transformed mariners in C. 46 ff. is told by Ovid {Met. 3. 583 ff.). Some Tyrrhene pirates, 'qui postea Tusci sunt dicti ' (Hyg. jFab. 134), engaged to carry Bacchus to Naxos, but as they turned aside to sell him into slavery, their ship became wreathed with ivy, their oars became serpents, and the sailors dolphins (cf. Horn. Hy. 7; Apollod. 3. 5. 3). The classics recount no adventure of Bacchus with Circe. The supposed location of the .ffisean isle of Circe in the Tyrrhene sea may have been Milton's cue to his inven- tion. A scholium on Od. 10. 135 says that some identified it with Circaeum off Italy. This is Vergil's location (^Mn. 7. 10 ff.). Com- pare also Diod. Sic. 4. 45. The Baccha of Euripides is a representation of ' the barbarous dissonance of Bacchus and his revellers,' especially in the following passages ; 64-162; 680-764; 977-1022. The story of the fate of Or- pheus referred to in P. L. 7. 33 ff. (see Orpheus), is told by Ovid in Met. II. 1-66, who describes the wild rout of the Msenads: ingens Clamor, et inflato Berecynthia tibia cornu, Tympanaque, plaususque, et Baccliei ululatus Obstrepuere sono citharse. BBIiLEBOPHON.— P. L. i. t8. In the sixth book of P. L. the Heavenly Muse has led the poet in his flight upon Pegasus. At the opening of the seventh book he prays that she may bring him down to earth in safety: Lest, from this flying steed unreigned (as once Belleroplion, tiiougii from a lower clime) Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall, Erroneous there to wander and forlorn. Bellerophon, son of Glaucus, was loved by Anteia, the wife of Proe- tus, but when he did not return her love she openly accused him of attempted violation. He was sent with a letter to the king of Lycia, to the end that he might be killed. The Lycian king sent him on dangerous expeditions in the course of which he slew the Chimara The Sources 17 'trusting in the signs of the gods' (//. 6. 155 ££.)• Pindar {01. 13. 63 fE.) tells how Athene helped Bellerophon subdue the winged horse, Pegasus, which carried him in the flight. The rest of the story is suggested by Pindar (Isik. 6. 45). On the back of Pegasus Bellero- phon aspired to reach the assembly of Zeus, but Pegasus threw him. Milton infers that he fell into the Aleian plain, probably from Homer's conclusion of the story (//. 6.200): ' But when even he became hated of all the gods, he went wandering alone through the Aleian plain, consuming his heart, shunning the path of men.' BEIiLONA.-P. I. 2. 922. The Romans worshipped Bellona as a goddess of war. See ^n. 8. 703. According to Statins, Tkeb. 7. 72, regit atra jugales Sanguinea Bellona manu, longaque fatigat Cuspide. BOREAS.— P. L. 10. 099. See Winds. BRIAB.EOS.— P. L. 1. 199; T. E. 03. Briareos, also called ^gseon (//. i. 404), was a. son of Ge and Uranus, and a brother of Cottus and Gyges. The brothers had each one hundred arms and fifty heads and were of invincible strength (Hes. Tkeog. 147). In Homer (//. i. 396) Briareos helped Thetis to free Zeus from the bonds imposed by the other gods, and again in Hesiod {Tkeog-. ti"] ff.) Briareos and his brothers assisted the Olympian gods against the Titans. But Vergil {JEn. 10. 565) makes him the enemy of Zeus: 'As was 2E,%sson. who, they say, had one hundred arms and one hundred hands and fire flashed from a hun- dred mouths and a hundred chests when he strove against the thun- der-bolts of Jove.' See Earth. BTTSnilS.-P. 1. 1. 80J. Busiris is the name given by ApoUodorus (2. i. 5) to one of the sons of -^gyptus who were slain by the daughters of Danaus. Diodo- rus Siculus uses the name as that of an Egyptian king (i. 45; 4. 27) and son of Poseidon, who, in order to drive off a famine, sacrificed strangers, but was slain by Heracles. Milton gives the name to the oppressor of Israel as does Ralegh in his History of the World (2. 2. 7): ' Now that Orus the II. or Busiris, was the king that first oppressed Israel, . . . it is a common opinion of many great and most learned writers, who also think that hereupon grew the fable of Busiris sacrificing strangers.' Ralegh says, however, that Chencres was the Pharaoh who perished in the Red Sea (2. a. 8). OADMXrS.-P. L. 9. 606. Cadmus and Harmonia (rather than Hermione) reigned in Thebes. After an eventful life Cadmus retired to lUyria where he i8 Classical Mythology tn Milton prayed that he might be transformed to a serpent (Ov. Met. 4. 562 ff.): ut serpens, in longam tenditur alvum ; Durataeque cuti squamas increscere sentit, Nigraque caeruleis variari corpora guttis. Following his example Harmonia was transformed in the same manner. The story is cited to illustrate the loveliness of the serpent of Eden. None was lovelier, 'not those that in lUyria changed Her- mione and Cadmus.' The meaning of ' changed' in this passage has been disputed, but no unusual interpretation seems necessary if we consider Milton's source to be in Nonnus {Dion. 44. 107-118). Agaue, daughter of Cadmus, in a prophetic dream saw a gentle serpent approach Cadmus, and, winding fondly about his temples like a fillet, it caressed him. In the same manner a female serpent encircled the head of Harmonia. ' And the son of Cronus changed to stone the limbs of the two serpents, because by the mouth of the serpent-nourishing Illyrian sea Harmonia and Cadmus, with altered countenance, were about to assume the stony form of serpents." Milton seems to refer to these serpents as effecting the change of Cadmus. CffiCIAS.— p. l. 10. eon. see WinclB. CALISTO.— P. R. a. 186; C. 841. The love of Zeus for Callisto is told by Apollodorus (3. 8. 2) and Hyginus {Fab. 176, 177; Astron. z. i), both of whom quote Hesiod, and is again to be found in Ovid {Met. 2. 401-530). Callisto was a daughter of Lycaon, king of Arcadia. She followed Artemis in the hunt, but was approached and violated by Zeus in the form of the goddess. Callisto was changed to a bear by the angry Diana, says Ovid, or by Juno or, according to Apollodorus, by Zeus, who carried her to heaven, where she appears as the Great Bear. Hence Mil- ton's ' Star of Arcady ' (C. 341). The poet's mention of the ' Tyrian Cynosure ' (C. 342) refers to another story concerning the constellations of the bears. Hyginus {Astron. 2. 2) says that according to the belief of some, Helice and Cynosura, two of the Cretan nurses of Jove, were honored with places in heaven, where Helice appears as the Great Bear and Cyno- sura as the Little Bear. Aratus {Pkcen. 36-39) adds that in naviga- tion the Greeks were guided by the former and the Phoenicians by the latter. In this connection Newton cites two passages, Ov. Fast. 3. 107, 108, and Val. Flacc. Arg. i. 17: neque enim in Tyrias Cynosura carinas Certior, aut Gratis Helice servanda magistris. OAPITOLINU JOVE. -P. L. 9. 608. See Jove. f OAB or DAY.-C. 06. Sea ApoUo. The Sources 19 OAB.PATHIAU' WIZABI}.— C. 872. See Proteus under Sea-eods. CASSIOPBIA.-Pem. 10. Cassiopeia was the wife of Cepheus, king of j^thiopia. ApoUo- dorus (2. 4. 3) tells us that she contended with the Nereids, setting the beauty of her daughter Andromeda above theirs. Poseidon in revenge sent a sea-monster to afiflict the land, which would retire only at the sacrifice of Andromeda. Hyginus {A sir on. 2. lo) says that Cassiopeia was placed among the stars as a penalty for her boast. CEPHAltrS.— PeiM. 124. In the legend of Cephalus there is some confusion. ApoUodorus (3. 14. i) says that Cecrops, an autochthon, was the first king of Attica. One of his daughters was Herse, the mother, by Hermes (ApoUod. 3. 14. 3), of Cephalus. To him Milton refers as ' the Attic boy '. Another Cephalus is mentioned by ApoUodorus (i. 9. 4) as the son of Deion, and husband of Procris. He relates (3. 14. i; i. 9. 4) that both of these men were stolen by Eos (Aurora), who was enamored of them. Ovid (Met. 7. 690 f£.) says that the husband of Procris on the morning after his wedding was engaged in the chase on Mount Hymettus, when Aurora stole him away against his will. To end his pining, she restored him to Procris. Servius (on JEn. 6. 445) says that Cephalus had the habit of hunting on Hymettus, and implies that Aurora ' was wont ' to see him there. CEBBBRirS.-P. L. a. 065; I'Al. 3. In his description of Sin the poet says: About her middle round A cry of Hell-hounds never-ceasing barked With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and rung A hideous peal, Cerberus is first mentioned by Hesiod (Theog. 311) as the dog of Hell with fifty heads, shameless and strong. According to later tradition he had only three heads (Verg. ^n. 6. 417; Georg. 4. 483). The expression ' Cerberean mouths ' suggests Ovid's ' Cerbereos ric- tus ' in his description of Scylla (Met. 14. 65). Milton rather curiously describes the barking of Hell-hounds as ringing 'a hideous peal.' The figure may be a development from Hesiod, who calls Cerberus ' brazen-voiced ' ( Theog. 311). The genealogy of Melancholy (L.'Al. 2) is Milton's own. The wife and sister of Erebus was Night (Theog. 123 ff.). Cf. Saturn, CEBSS.— p. L. 4. 271, 881; 9. 396. Ceres, to the Greeks Demeter, was the daughter of Cronus and Rhea (Hes. Theog. 453) and the mother by Zeus of Persephone, the Roman Proserpina (Theog. 912). She is generally mentioned as the goddess of agriculture and nourishment, and is thus characterized 20 Classical Mythology in Milton by the epithets of Callimachus {Hy. to Dem. 2), and in ffom. Hy. to Dem. 4. The best-known incidents in connection with Ceres are the rape of her daughter and the mother's weary search through the world, both suggested by Milton in P.L. 4. 268 fE. Ovid thus describes the ' fair field of Enna' (,Met. 5. 385 ff.): Haud procul Hennseis lacus est a mcsnibus altas, Nomine Fergus: non illo plura Caystros Carmina cycnonim labentibus audit in undis. Silva coronat aquas, cingens latus omne; suisque ■ Frondibus, ut velo, Phoebos submovet ictus. Frigora dant rami, Tyrios humus humida fiores, Perpetuum ver est. Here Proserpina was gathering lilies and violets when Dis ('moestus,' 396) stole her away to be his wife and queen of the Lower World. Cf. Horn. Hy. 417-430. Horn. Hy. to Dem. 47 says: ' Nine days then through earth did revered Deo wander about with flaming torches in her hands, nor did she once taste of ambrosia or sweet nectar in her grief, nor refresh her body with the bath.' Incidents of her wandering are related by Ovid in Met. 5. 438 fE. and Fast. 4. 421 ff. CHAIiTBBAN.— S. A. 133. Samson's strength made useless all armor and ' Chalybean-tem- pered steel.' The Chalybeans, according to Apollonius (2. 375), 'are workmen, and busy themselves with the working of iron.' A scho- lium on the passage says that they were a Scjrthian people, ^schy- lus in the Prometheus 740 calls them aid^ipoTi/a-ovec. CHAM.— p. I. ». 278. See Ammon. OHAKCE.— P. li. 2. 233; 551, 910, 985; 7. 172; C. 5S8. How much of Milton's use of Chance may be referred to the Tyche of Greek mythology and the Latin Fortuna, is uncertain. Where so varied a conception is possible, the line between mythol- ogy and philosophy often cannot be clearly determined, and in most of the instances which may have been Milton's antecedents we find little or no suggestion of personification. The poet speaks without personification of Fate and Chance as treated by the Greek tragedians (,P. P. 4. 265). A fragment of .ffischylus is quoted by Stobseus (1.6. 16) to the effect that ttAvtuv rvpawog ?J tvxv 'cm rav Beav. In Euripides (Phcen. 1202) are the words, KoKa^ ra rav Beav koI to. t^; rhxi^ ^X^i- Milton's conception of Chance as a malignant divinity is not in harmony with the earlier poets, but she is associated by him with malice and sorcery (C 588); with Orcus, Demogorgon, and Dis- cord (/". L. 2. 233, 910, 965). With this last association may be com- pared a passage in Plato (Laws 4. 709), where the Athenian says, ' I The Sources 21 was going to say that man never legislates, but that destinies and accidents happening in all sorts of ways, legislate in all sorts of ways. Either the violence of war has overthrown governments and changed laws, or the hard necessity of poverty. . . . Any one who sees all this, naturally rushes to the conclusion . . . that no mortal legislates in anjrthing, but that in human affairs chance is almost everything.' A contest between Chance and Fate or other divinities, such as we find in P. L. 2. 232, is only hinted at in fr. 38 of Pindar : iv ipyjuuaiv Si vinq, Thx di ae <5f Ipyov TjOKow av d* ap' £6ov?ievsg rvxy. In some places for Big. force, it is quoted tvxv fortune. Milton has well comprehended both.' The poet has shown the same conserva- tism in C. 586: Against the threats Of malice or of sorcery, or that power Which erring men call Chance, this hold I firm : Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, Surprised by unjust Force, but not enthralled. Dion Cassius, from whom Bentley's story of Brutus is taken (47. 49), does not say that the distich is from Euripides, but calls the say- ing TovTo Th ''B.pa.K.lem/. In Nauck's Trag. Grcsc. Frag, the fragment is given among the Adespota (305). Milton has discussed the relation between Chance and Causes in his Artis Log. plen. Instit. i. 5, ed. Symmons 6. 208 ff. CHAOS.— p. L. 1. 10, 64S; 2. 238, 895, 907, 980, 970, 1038; 8. 18, laij C. 871: 7. 221; <. 272; 10. 410,477; C. 884. Milton's use and representation of Chaos have something in common with classical tradition, but his conception is much more definite and elaborate, and seems to bear some reference to the 22 Classical Mythology in Milton word's etymological meaning of chasm or abyss. (Cf . xalvtm, x"-'^"^^'"' to yawn.) In P. L. 2. 891 the realm or region of Chaos is ' the hoary Deep — a dark Illimitable Ocean.' Again it is 'the wasteful Deep' {P. L. 2. 961), the 'nethermost' and 'intractable Abyss' {P. L. 2. 969; 10. 476). In The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce, P. W. 3. 224., Milton speaks of ' that uttermost and bottomless gulf of chaos, deeper from holy bliss than the world's diameter multiplied.' This is founded also on Homer's Tartarus (//. 8. 13). The first mention of Chaos is made by 'R&AoA.iTheog. 116), who says that of all things Chaos was (born ?) first. His statement, how- ever, may be a mere personification in order to reconcile speculation with popular belief, and after his times Chaos became associated rather with philosophical discussion than with pure mythology. There is therefore little or no classical authority for Chaos as a dis- tinct divinity ruling and maintaining the great region of anarchy and confusion above Hell. (Cf. P. L. 1. 54.3; 2. 894, 960; 7. 272; jo. 477.) Plutarch {De Is. et Os. 57) says that Hesiod seems to make Chaos a kind of region or place and the foundation of all. Milton's general conception as well as his description of the elements warring in Chaos {P. L. 2. 884-906) seem to refer to Ovid, Met. i. 5 ff. : Ante, mare et tellus et quod tegit omnia caelum, Unus erat toto Naturae vultus in orbe, Quern dixere Chaos, rudis indigestaque moles; Nee quidquam, nisi pondus iners; congestaque eodem Non bene junctarum discordia semina rerura. Sic erat instabilis tellus, innabilis unda, Lucis egens aer; null! sua forma manebat, Obstabatque aliis aliud; quia corpore in uno Frigida pugnabant calidis, humentia siccis Mollia cum duris, sine pondere habentia pondus. Ovid (Met. 10. 30) speaks of Chaos as synonymous with Hell, and in 14. 404 as a divinity of the Lower World; cf. Verg. .^n. 4. 510. Though in Milton the old personal conception has been elaborated generally into a ruling divinity, yet Chaos occasionally may denote both ruler and realm, as in P. L. 7. 221 ; 10. 416. There is no classical authority for Night as the consort of Chaos. According to the Orphic cosmogony {Orph. Hy. to Night 2), Night is the ancestress of gods and men, in fact, the yfoemf ■Kh.vTm). Milton apparently attempts a reconciliation of the two cosmogonies in making ' unoriginal Night and Chaos wild ' co-rulers and ' ancestors of Nature.' In one of his early writings (Prolusions) Milton identifies Chaos with Demogorgon. Ci. Demogorgon. Discussions of Chaos may be found in Schoemann's edition of the Theogony, pp. 83-85, and on pp. 10-23 of H. Flach's Das System der Hes. Kosmogonie. The Sources 23 OHAH.TBDIS.— p. t. 2. lOaOi C. !60. See Scylla. OHiita)aA.-p. 1. 2. 828i e. su. Of the Chimsera Homer tells us (//. 6. 180) that ' she was of the generation of gods and not of men, in front a lion, and behind a ser- pent, and in her middle a she-goat, breathing forth the terrible strength of flaming fire.' The enumeration in P. L. 2. 628, of ' Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimseras dire' is drawn from Vergil's enumeration of the monsters whose abode is at the entrance of Hades (j^n. 6. 287): bellua Lernse Horrendura stridens, flammisque armata ChiniKra Gorgones, Harpyixque. This location of the Chimsera may account for the connection in C. 57: dire Chimeras and enchanted isles, And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell. Vergil describes the place 237-241: Spelunca alta fuit, vastoque immanis hiatu, Scrupea, tuta lacu nigro nemorumque tenebris. But the mention of ' enchanted isles ' in such close connection with the entrance to Hell is strongly reminiscent of the Odyssey, for it was directly from Circe's enchanted isle, and in following out her com- mands that Odysseus made his visit to the Lower World. The story is found in Odysseus' narrative, Od. 10. 503-11. 50. Cf. Bellerophon. CnCMIERIAlT.— L'AI. 10; cf. Prnlnslona, ed. STmmonB 6. 152. Homer (O^. ii. 13) tells how the ship of Odysseus 'came to the bounds of deep-flowing Ocean. There are the land and city of the Cimmerians, hidden in gloom and mist; and never does the beaming sun look down upon them with his rays, neither when he mounts up in the starry heaven, nor when he turns back toward the earth from heaven, but malignant night is outstretched over unhappy mortals.' In connection with UAL 8 we may consider Ovid, Met. 11. 592: Est prope Cimmerios longo spelunca recessu Mons cavus, ignavi domus et penetralia Somni. The abode of the Cimmerians was a matter of dispute among the an- cients. Herodotus (4. 12) locates the historic Cimmerians in Scythia, and Strabo (5. 244) mentions the belief that the mythical Cimmerians lived in Italy near Lake Avernus. CIEOB.— p. I. 9. 522 ; C. 50, 153, 258, 522. In the Odyssey lo. 136 Circe is an ' awful goddess of mortal speech . . . begotten of Helios'; and again (276), 'the enchant- ress ' (voTivfdp/mKog). ^s Eurylochus and his companions approached her palace they heard her singing so sweet a song as she was weav- 24 Classical Mythology in Milton ing at the loom, that Polites wondered whether it was the voice of goddess or woman. Cf. C. 244 ff. About them thronged the wolves and lions which Circe had bewitched "with evil drugs.' With a magic drug and a touch of her wand she turned the companions of Odysseus into swine. But the hero with the aid of Hermes restored them. Cf. Verg. yE7i. 7. 11-20. See Hermes. Milton remembers Ovid's account also {^Met. 14. 248 ff.). When the heroes reached the palace of Circe they found her with the Nereids and Nymphs about her (267 ff.): Gramina disponunt, sparsosque sine ordine flores Secernunt calathis, variasque coloribus herbas. Ipsa, quod h^e faciunt, opus exigit. Cf. C. 'Zi'i and see Naiads. It will be seen that in C. 244-257 Milton, with his usual sensitiveness to sound, has taken his cue from Homer, and greatly surpassed Ovid in this particular representation. As the charm took effect the victims began (280), pro verbis edere raucum Murmur, et in terram toto procumbere vuUu. Cf. C. 50 ff. See also Bacchus and Sirens. CLTMENB.— p. R. 2. 186. See Apollo. COOYTTJS.-P. I.. 2. 679. See Rivers of Hell. C0MT7S.— See Ba,ccbus and Circe. COE'STION' AND THmiSIS.-L'Al. 83. Lines 81-90 of V Allegro form an idyll of Milton's own making, but the names, Corydon, Thyrsis, Phillis, Thestylis, as well as some of the details of the picture, show the influence of Vergil. Corydon (Thepc. 4; Verg. Eel. 2 and 7) and Thyrsis (Theoc. i; Verg. Eel. 7) are shepherds, and Phyllis {Eel. 7. 14) and Thestylis (Theoc. 2. 95; Eel. 2. 10) are attendants. With Milton's description compare also Eel. i. 81: Et jam summa procul villarum culmina fumant. and Eel. 2. jo, ii: Tliestylis et rapido fessis messoribus sestu Allia serpyllumque herbas contundit olentes. COTTTTO.-C. 120. Cotytto or Cotys was originally a goddess of the Thracian tribe Edoni, and was worshipped with noisy rites similar to those used in the celebration of the Phrygian Rhea or Cybele (Strabo 10. 470). According to Suidas (diaaiiTJig, 'K6tvq) and Hesychius (KotottA) her worship in a licentious form was to be found in Corinth. Whether it actually existed in Athens is disputed. Juvenal at any rate would imply that it did {Sat. 2. 91, 92); Talia secreta coluerunt Orgia tEeda Cecropiara soliti BaptEe lassare Cotytto. Tfie Sources 25 The scholium on this passage says: 'Bapta, titulus libri, quo impu- dici describuntur ab Epolide, qui inducit vires Athenienses ad imi- tationem foeminarum saltantes, lassare psaltriam. Sapice, ergo moUes,' etc. It is evident that Milton had this passage and its schol- ium in mind in C. 129: Dark-veiled Cotytto, to whom the secret flame Of midnight torches burns ! Compare also 143, 144: Come, knit hands, and beat the ground In a light fantastic round. The 'secret flame' may be referred to ' secreta tasda' (Juv. 2. 91), and ' thy vowed priests' (136) to the Baptse, a word which, according to conjecture, derives its significance from some form of lustral rite at initiation. That Cotytto was worshipped at night is implied most directly in ' secreta taeda,' though the few cases in which the goddess is mentioned would seem by their association to point to nocturnal rites. In Strabo (10. 470, 471) Cotytto is mentioned in connection with such gods of nocturnal worship as the Thracian Bendis (cf . Plat. Rep. I. 327), and the Phrygian Sabazius (cf. Cicero, De Leg. 2. 15). The same conception a.'g^e.a.T:s,\a.Va^ Defensio contra Alex. Mor. ed. Symmons 5. 291: ' Nunc non Deus te, sed tua ilia Dea audit Cotytto . . . labra tacite moventem: Da raihi fallere; da justo sanctoque videri: Noctem peccatis^ et stupris objice nubem,' From the subject of Juvenal's second satire, and from Horace {Epod. 17. 56): Inultus ut tu riseris Cotyttia Volgata, sacrum liberi Cupidinis, — it is to be inferred that Cotytto was also worshipped at Rome with great license. In making Cotytto appear in a ' cloudy ebon chair ' Milton fol- lows the tradition of Latin poets, who are fond of this accessory; cf . Ov. Met. 2. 531; 5. 645; Verg. ^n. i. 147; Senec. Med. 787; see Hecate. A discussion of Cotytto may be found in Buttmann's Mythol- ogus 2. 159 ff. CUFrD.— F. L. i. 303; 11. 680; C. 134, U5, lOOt; Son. 1. 13. In the infrequent use which Milton makes of this divinity he follows the later conception of Love as a sportive, winged boy, armed with the bow, arrows, and firebrands. This is especially true of his Latin poems, in which distinct marks of Ovid's influence are evident. (Cf. Eleg. 5. 97; 6. 52; 7. 3, 4; Ep. Dam. 191 fE.) In Met. I. 468 fP. Cupid carries two arrows, one of gold, to excite love, and the other of lead, to repel it. Venus depends upon her son for the 26 Classical Mythology in Milton strength of her own influence. Cf. Met. 5. 365 fE. : Verg. ^n. 664 £E. ; C. 124. Speaking of ideal marriage in P. L. 4. 763, the poet says, Here Love his golden shafts employs, here lights His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings. These lines seem to be the very reverse of a passage in Ovid {Am. 3- 9. 7-9): Ecce puer Veneris fert eversaraque pharetram, Et fractos arcus, et sine luce facem. Aspice, demissis ut eat miserabilis alis. Ovid also mentions Love's ' purpureas alas ' in the Remedia Amoris 701. All these accoutrements of Cupid appear in Milton's Latin poems {Eleg. 5. 98; 7-17; 47). See Hesperus. The story of Cupid and Psyche to which Milton refers in C. 1003 fE. was late in origin. It is related in detail as an allegory by Apu- leius in his Metamorphoses 4. 28-6. 24. Psyche was the youngest and most beautiful of three sisters. Venus was jealous of her beauty, and the oracle commanded her father to expose her upon the mountains. There, in a splendid palace, she became the wife of Cupid, who warned her not to reveal his name to her sisters. But Psyche could not resist their questions, and Cupid left her. She wandered alone over the earth pursued by the implacable Venus, who imposed many labors upon her. These she accomplished by miraculous means. At length Cupid besought Jove for her restora- tion. A council of the gods assembled to consider the matter, and Jove decreed that Cupid and Psyche should be united in eternal marriage, at which all the gods assisted. Psyche became the mother of Voluptas. Milton, however, with greater delicacy says that her children are Youth and Joy. CTBSIjE.— Arc. 31. See Khea. CTrUTHIA.— C. N. 108; Pem. 69. See Diana. CYTHBBEA.-P. L. 9. 19. See Venus. BAMCETAS.— Lyt. 86. Damoetas is a name associated with pastoral poetry, and occurs in the sixth idyll of Theocritus, from which it is derived by Vergil in his third eclogue. In both cases Damoetas is a young shepherd who engages in a song contest, of which the chief subject is love. DAPHNE.— p. 1. 4. 378! P. It. 2. 18J. C. 601. See ApoUo. DASKNESS.-P. 1. a. 431; P. R. 4. S97; I'Al. 3, S. See Erebus and Night. death:.— P. L. 3. 780; 10. 380; P. R. 8. 65; Son. 38. 4. If Milton's Death as represented in P. L. 2. 666-703, 785-848, is compared with Thanatos in the Alcestis of Euripides (cf. Son. 23. 4), certain points of resemblance and difference are to be noticed. In Ale. 843 he is ' the sable-vested king of the departed.' In Milton he The Sources 27 is also a king (673,698). As Thanatos rebukes Apollo for unjustly interfering with the Fates and saving the life of Admetus (/4/c. 29- 37), so with even greater vehemence Death defies Satan (689-703). Death is armed with a dart (672), while Thanatos carries a sword {^Alc. 74, 76.), which, however, serves another end than to smite his victims. According to Hesiod (Theog. 212) Death was born of Night with- out a father. Hyginus (Pref. to Fab.) names Erebus as the father. Homer makes Death the brother of Sleep (//. 4. 231), and to Sleep he ascribes a characteristic which Milton gives Death (cf. P. L. 2. 698; P.P. 3. 85). He is addressed as ' lord of all gods and of all nien.' DEIiIA.— F. L. 9. 8S7 . See Diana. DEIiOS.-P. L. 10. 296. SeeApoUo. SEIiFHI.— F. L. 1. 517; F. B. 1. 468,' C. K. 178; Slmk. 12. See Apollo. SEMOaOBGOIT.-F. L. 9. 966. Near the throne of Chaos and Night stood Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name Of Demogorgoa. It may be well to consider in this connection a passage in the Prolusions of Milton (Utrum Dies an Nox prcsst., ed. Symmons 6. 146), where he says : ' Apud vetustissimos itaque mythologise scriptores memorias datum reperio Demogorgonem deorum omnium atavum (quem eundem et Chaos ab antiquis nuncupatum hariolor) inter alios liberos, quos suceperat plurimos, Terram genuisse; hac, incerto patre Noctem fuisse prognatam.' That Demogorgon and Chaos were the same is not the classical idea. We find it in Boccaccio, who devotes the first book of his De Genealogia Deorum to Demogorgon and his progeny, and calls him (i. i) ' vetemosus ille deorum omnium gentilium proavus . . . nomine ipso horribilis'; cf. P. L. 2. 964. One of Milton's ' vetustissimi scriptores' appears to be Hesiod. See Chaos. A passage in the Thebaid of Statins may throw light upon Milton's use of Demogorgon. Tiresias in calling forth the shade of Laius, urges the other divinities of Hades, but one name he dares not mention (4. 516). Et triplicis mundi summum, quem scire nefastum est; Ilium sed taceo; prohibet tranquilla senectus. In commenting upon the adjuration Lactantius says : ' dicit deum demogorgona summum, cujus nomen scire non licet.' DETJOAIiIOlir.-F. L. 11. 13. In his reference to the Greek story of the flood and the restora- tion of man through Deucalion and Pjrrrha, Milton has followed the account of Ovid {Met. i. 260-415), who is authority for the state- -28 Classical Mythology in Milton ment that ' the ancient pair ' consulted the oracle of Themis, as to the right course of action (321; cf. 375). Milton's citation of the legend may have indirect connection with the statement of Apollodorus that Pyrrha was the first mortal woman (i. 7. 2; cf. P. L. 11. 11). SIAIfA.— p. L. 1. lii; 3. 726; 9. S87; P. B. 3. 855; C. N. 103; Peni. 59; C. 135, 441, 985; Son. 12. 3. In Homer Artemis (Diana) is especially characterized byher.chas- tity {Qd. i8. 202; 20. 71) and her stately beauty. Helen and Penelope are compared with her (Od. 4. 122; 17. 37). In Od. 6. 102 ff. Nausicaa among her handmaids comes forth ' even as Artemis, the archer, moveth down the mountain, either along the ridges of lofty Taygetus or Erymanthus, taking her pastime in the chase of boars and swift deer, and with her the wild wood-nymphs disport them, . . . while high over all she rears her head and brows, and easily may she be known, — but all are fair.' Compare Vergil's imitation (^«. i. 499): Exercet Diana chores; quam mille secutse Hinc atque hinc glomeraatur Oreades. The description occurs frequently. See Horn. Hy. 26; Callim. Hy. to Art.: P. L. 9. 386 £E.; P. R. 2. 355. In C. 442 Diana is called 'the silver-shafted queen. ' According to //. 20. 70 her shafts are golden. Milton's alteration may have been considered more in harmony with his idea of womanly purity and beauty (cf. Arc. 16, 33), and there seems also to be a remote ref- erence to the moonbeams, since her brother Apollo's golden shafts were supposed to represent the sun's rays (Macrobius i. 17. 57). But in Homer he is the god of the silver bow (//. 2. 766; 5. 449). Milton (C 445) represents Diana as also setting at nought The frivolous bolt of Cupid; gods and men Feared her stem frown, and she was queen o' the woods. The poet evidently refers to such stories as those of Actseon (Ov. Met. 3. 131 ff.) and of Callisto. In Met. 5. 365 fE. Venus commands Cupid to defend her with his all-powerful arrows: Spernimur; ac mecum vires tenuantur Amoris. Pallada nonne vides, jaculatricemque Dianam Abscessisse mihi ? Diana is called ' queen of wild beasts ' by Homer (//. 21. 470). The Moon-goddess became identified with Artemis later than Homer. In jEsch. fr. 171 (ed. Wecklein) the moon is called 'bright eye of the daughter of Leto.' She is named Cynthia {Pens. 59; C. N. 103), as her brother was called Cynthius, from Mount Cynthus of Delos, their birth-place. In Pens. 59 (cf. In Obit. Eliens. 56) she drives a yoke of drag- ons. This conception seems to be without classical authority. The car of Selene, the moon-goddess, was drawn by foals (Horn. Hy. 31), The Sources 29. or, according to a quotation in Fulgentius {My t hoi. i. ed. Staveren p. 618), she rode behind bulls as in Claudian {Rapt. Proserp. 3. 403). Diana drives either horses (Horn. Hy. 8), or deer (Ap. Rh. 3. 879). Cf. Paus. 5. 11. But it is worthy of notice that in Ov. Met. 7. 192-221 Medea's prayer to the moon and other divinities is answered by the descent of a chariot drawn by dragons, though in 398 it appears that these belonged to the sun. Dragons pull the chariot of Ceres in 5. 642. The regal character of the moon, as represented in P. L. 4. 606-609; 5- 41; 7' 381, is not common in the classics. The bright- ness of her golden crown is mentioned in Horn. Hy. 32. 5, and Horace calls her 'siderum regina bicornis' (C. ScBc. 35). The queenly nature of Diana is easily .transferable to the moon. In P. L. 4. 609 the moon ' o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.' According to Horn. Hy. 32. 8 she begins her progress, ' having put on her far- shining garments.' Hecate was originally a moon-goddess, but Milton follows the later conception and makes her the malignant divinity of sorcery and the Lower World. Vergil {jEn. 6. 247) represents her as ' Cseloque Ereboque potentem ' and as ' Tergeminamque Hecaten, tria vir- ginis ora Dianae' (4. 511). In a note on this line Servius says that some explain ' tergeminam ' by the three phases of the moon, quarter, half, and full, or it may have reference to the three forms, Luna, Diana, and Proserpina (Hecate ?), as regents of Heaven, Earth, and Hell. Cf. P. L. 3. 730. In C. 135 Hecate is associated with Cotytto, and rides with her in 'a cloudy ebon chair,' facts which Masson explains by their common origin in Thrace. But Hecate appears frequently in com- pany with the different gods of darkness, as in Ov. Met. 14. 403, where in Circe's enchantment Ilia nocens spargit, virus succosque veneni : Et Noctem, Noctisque Deos Ereboque Chaoque Convocat, et longis Hecaten ululatibus orat. This passage may throw the necessary light on C. 532-535. It also suggests the howl of Medea in Met. 7. 190. The general character of C. 130-135 is not dissimilar to Ovid's description of Medea's noc- turnal journey in the chariot drawn by dragons (7. 220-237). Com- pare also the chariot of Night. For the solitudes suggested by the name of Hecate instances are to be found in Theoc. 2. 12 and in the enchantments of Medea, Met. 7. 179-190, who performs the ' abhorred rites' in 240 ff. ; cf. Theoc. 2. 1-16. Other examples of these rites may be found in Verg. ^n. 6. 257; Sen. CEd. 548 flf.; TibuU. i. 2. 52; Lucan 6. 685. J3IS.— p. L. 4. 270. See Ceres, Kuto. 30 Classical Mythology in Milton DISOOKD.— p. I. 2. »67; 10.707. In the light of classical tradition Milton's treatment of Discord is rather indefinite. He makes her the daughter of Sin (/". L. lo. 708), while Hjrginus {Pre/, to Fab.) says that she was the daughter of Nox and Erebus, apparently identifying her with Eris (Hes. Theog. 225). The ancients did not give Discord ' a thousand various mouths. ' Among the horrors at the mouth of Hades Vergil names ' Disoordia demens Vipereum crinem vittis innexa cruentis ' (^n. 6. 280). Mil- ton may have referred to 'vipereum crinem,' or he may have adapted Vergil's description of Fama {^n. 4. 181), which in part is based upon Homer's Eris (//. 4, 440-43): ' quot sunt corpore plumse . . . Tot linguse, totidem ora sonant.' Cf. also //. 11. 3 with P. L. 10. 708-710. DODONA.— p. L. 1. 618. See Jove. DRYADS.— P. 1. 9. 887; C. 96S. See Nymphs. SARIS.— P. L. 1. 198, 909, 687, 778; o. 338; 7. 453; 9. 1000; P. B. 4. 663, 666; D. F. 1.47. Earth is frequently and naturally represented as the ' all-bear- ing Mother ' as in P. L. 5. 338; cf. 1. 687; 9. 1000. In Hesiod Theog. 117 ff. Gaia or Ge (Earth) is the first child of Chaos, and from her is bom Uranus (Heaven). Ge and Uranus become the parents of the line of Olympian gods. Cf. P. L. i. 509. Pindar seems to refer to Earth when in Nem. 5. i ff. he says that there is one race of gods and one of men, ' and it is from one mother that we both draw the breath of life.' Cf. Ov. Met. i. 78 ff. After the flood, when Deu- calion and Pyrrha could not at first interpret the command to begin the new creation by throwing behind them the bones of their mother, Deucalion at last exclaimed {Met. i. 393), Magna parens Terra est: lapides in corpore terrse Ossa reor dici. Then the Earth, pregnant with the rays of the sun, brought forth many different creatures. (Cf. ' viscera terrse ' of Met. i. 138 with P. L. I. 687 ff.; see P. L. 7. 453.) Milton speaks of Earth as the mother of the hundred-handed giants, Briareos and his broth- ers, of Typhon and the Giants {P. L. i. 198, 778); of Antceus (P. P. 4. 563 fE.); of the Titans (P. L. 1. 198; D. F. I. 47). A discussion of each will be found in its place. In P. L. i. 199 'Briareos or Ty- phon' explain 'Earth-born,' in the previous line, and could not be called Titanian. ' Earth-born ' also suggests the Giants proper, as in P. L.i. 778. The ' Giant-angels ' of P. L. 7. 605 is evidently a refer- ence to Titans rather than the Giants, since their leader, like the angels, was fighting to maintain his place in Heaven. The ' Earth- bom giant ' mentioned in V. E. 93 is Briareos or one of his brothers, as the context shows. See also Nature. The Sources 31 3:CH0.-C. aaO-213; 376. In his treatment of the legend of Echo, Milton has been very free. But the ancients seem to have differed widely in their conception of the nymph. For example, with some writers as Euripides (,Hec. nog if.), she is a mountain-nymph. Cf. Ov. Met. 3. 363. In later writers she is a water-nymph as in Anih. Pal. 9. 825. But the poet has some authority for making her a wood-nymph whose haunts are the ' violet-embroidered vale,' a ' flowery cave,' or ' mossy couch ' (275). In Anth. Pal. 9. 382, 383 she dwells ' on the border of the land where trees grow tall.' The description of Echo's retreat in C. 230-233, 276 may be an expansion of Ov. Met. 3. 393: Spreta latet silvis, pudibundaque frondibus ora Protegit; et solis ex illo viyit in antris. The nymph is frequently represented as living in a cave; cf. Lucian, De Domo 3; Senec. Troad. log ff. There seems to be no classical authority, however, for her dwelling By slow Meander's margent green. The story of how Juno deprived Echo of the power of voluntary speech, and how she pined away in her love for the fair Narcissus, until she became nothing but an echoing voice, may be found in Ov. Met. 3. 351 fB. ; cf. Nat. non pati Sen. 61. .BIiTSrUM.— p. I. a. 869, 473; D. F. I. 40; L>A1. 147i C. 267, 996. The words Elysium and Elysian are in a general way used by the poets of that which is free from care. They are as old as Homer, who sang of Elysium as the place where worthy men continued their earthly life without having seen death. In Od. 4. 563 Proteus says to Menelaus, ' The deathless gods will convey thee to the Elysian plain and the world's end . . . where life is easiest for men. No snow is there nor yet great storm, nor any rain; but always ocean sendeth forth the breeze of the shrill West to blow cool on men.' It must be noticed, however, that the idea of Elysium is closely associated in the mind of Milton with that of flowers, as the following citations show. Iris there with humid bow Waters the odorous banks, that blow Flowers of more mingled hue Than her purfled scarf can shew, And drenches with Elysian dew Beds of hyacinth and roses. C. 992-998. I have oft heard My mother Circe with the Sirens three, Amidst the ilowery-kirtled Naiades, Culling their potent herbs and baneful drugs, Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul. And lap it in Elysium. — C. 252-257. 32 Classical Mythology tn Milton And where the River of Bliss through midst of Heaven Rolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream ! P. L. 3. 358, 359. That Orpheus' self may heave his head From golden slumber on a bed Of heaped Elysian flowers. L^Al. 145-147, To refer this association to some particular passage or poet wotild be impossible. Mention may be made, however, of instances where it occurs among the ancients, which make it appear that Milton has borrowed from descriptions of the Blessed Isles. In the Odyssey ' the mead of asphodel ' is the place ' where dwell the souls, the phan- toms of men outworn.' (24. 13; cf. 11. 539). Pindar, however, gives the best example. In 01. 2 he describes the place of reward of the good, saying: ' There round the islands of the blest the Ocean-breezes blow, and golden flowers are glowing, some from the land on trees of splendor, and some the water feedeth, with wreaths whereof they entwine their hands' (78 fE.). Plutarch in the Consol. ad Apollon. 120 C saves a fragment of the Threnoi of Pindar, which, he says, describes the happy reward of the good: ' And the space of crimson- flowered meadows before their city is full of the shade of frankincense- trees, and of fruits of gold, . . . and among them thriveth all fair- flowering bliss.' Among the Latin poets may be cited Ovid, who makes Chloris, the goddess of flowers, appear as ' a Nymph of the blessed plains, where, as thou hast heard, was formerly the abode of blessed men' (Fast. 5. 195 if.). Mention should also be made of the description which immediately follows this passage. See also Naiads and Circe. EPIDATJBTIS.-P.l. 9. 607. Milton speaks of .lEsculapius, the divinity of medicine, as ' the god in Epidaurus,' illustrating by this citation the beauty and gentle- ness of the serpent of Eden. He is evidently thinking of a story in Roman history as told by Valerius Maximus (i. 2). In the early days, dtiring a pestilence, the city of Rome, by the advice of the Sibyl- line books sent an embassy to Epidaurus, that they might seek the help of ^sculapius in his temple there. Their prayers were answered by the god himself in the form of a serpent. 'Siquidemis anguis, quern Epidauri raro, sed numquam sine magno ipsorum bono visum in modum ..3Esculapii venerati fuerunt, per urbis celeberrimas partes mitibus oculis et leni tractu labi ccepit, triduoque inter religiosam omnium admirationem conspectus, hand dubiam prse se adpetitse clarioris sedis alacritatem ferens, ad triremem Romanam perrexit, paventibusque inusitato spectaculo nautis eo conscendit, ubi Q. Ogulni legati tabernaculum erat, inque multiplicem orbem per sum- mam quietem est convolutus.' At Antium the serpent left the ship. The Sources 33 but the sailors waited for it to return. On their arrival at Rome it swam to an island in the Tiber, where a temple was erected to it, since the plague had subsided. The same story is told by Livy {Epit. II; cf. Paus. 3. 23). EKESXrS.— p. L. 2. 883; C. 804. In Homer Erebus is used indefinitely of the abode of the dead. In Od. II. 37, ' the spirits of the dead that be departed gathered them from out of Erebus.' But Erebus was also the personified Darkness of the Depths (Hes. Theog. 123). Plutarch {De Prim. Frig. 953 A) says: koI to hpejioq tovto ^ apa rb x^^^^^ /^^ kyyacov (TicdTog. Milton, how- ever, makes no distinction between Erebus and Tartarus in the light of his apparent sources. The mention of thunder and chains (C 804) points to the story of the battle with the Titans, as told by Hesiod {Theog. 664 fE.). See Titans. In P. L. 2. 883 the infernal doors on their hinges grate Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook Of Erebus. This is reminiscent of Vergil's description of Tartarus A£n. 6. 573 ff., beginning, Turn deraum horrisono stridentes cardine sacrae Panduntur portse. Milton's personified treatment of Darkness has reference at times to classical myth. In P. L. 3. 421 Darkness seems to be identical with Night as the latter is represented elsewhere. In two -places, however, (/". R. 4. 397; L'Al. 6) there is a suggestion of Erebus, though Night was not his offspring but his sister and wife (Hes. Theog. 123 ff.; In Quint. Nov. 69). In L'Al. 2 there may some allusion to the cave of Scylla, ' a dim cave, turned to Erebus, towards the place of darkness.' Compare also the description of the mouth of Hell, the abode of Scylla and other monsters, Verg. ^n. 6. 273 ff. See Rivers of Hell. The cave of Darkness is described in P. L. 6. 4-1 1, a passage whose principal antecedent is Hes. Theog. 748-757. In the west is the place ' where Night and Day, going about meet one another, passing over the great bronze threshold. While the one shall go in, the other Cometh forth out of doors, and never doth the house confine them both within, but ever doth one being without the house wander over the earth, while the other abiding within, awaits the hour of her jour- ney, until it come. The one goeth with far-seeing light for mortals, the other, deadly Night, concealed in a dark cloud, goeth bearing Sleep, the brother of Death, in her arms.' ERYHANTH.-Arc. 100. See Pan. BTHIOP fttJEEIir.— Pens. 10. See CasBiopeia. ETJPHEOSYNB.-L'AI. IS, as, 88. See Graces. 3 34 Classical Mythology in Milton BT7B.US.— p. L. 10. JOB. See 'Wllias. ETTYRTUICE.— L'Al. 150; Pens. 107. See OrplLeus. ETJB-YNOME.— P. L. 10. 581. The story of Eurynome and Ophion is told by ApoUonius of Rhodes (Arg. i. 503 ff.), where Orpheus sings 'how once Ophion and Eurynome, daughter of Ocean, held the rule of snowy Olympus, and how he, struggling with mighty arms, yielded honor to Cronus, and she to Rhea, and they fell into the waves of Ocean, . . . while Zeus, still a boy, and still with boyish thoughts in mind was living within the Dictsan cave.' There seems to be no distinct statement of the ancients to the effect that this revolution in Olympus took place ' ere yet Dictsean Jove was born,' though Hesiod implies that Cronus deposed Uranus before the birth of Zeus ( Tkeog. 176 fE., 453-465; cf. Paus. 5. 7. 4). Tzetzes also has told the story in the scholia on Lycophron 1191, but Milton's mention of Olympus and the epithet ' Dictsean' would seem to indicate ApoUonius as the source. In introducing the story the poet suggests an etymological connec- tion between Ophion and o^if , serpent. BVEN.-C. 188. See ApoUo. FATES.— E. M. W. 28; Arc. dS; Ljo. 75. The part played by the Fates or Moeras in classical mythology seems to have been rather indefinite, and it varied from century to century. In Homer as a rule they are not clearly personified, and are associated with birth and death, but their number is uncertain, as in Od. 3. 236-238; 7. 197; //. 24. 49. In Od. 7. 196 fE. we first find the spin- dle of life's thread associated with Fate; ' But thereafter he (Odysseus) shall endure such things as Fate and the stern spinning women drew off the spindles for him at his birth.' Hesiod (Tkeog. 217) first speaks of Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, but does not assign to them their respective functions, though Clotho by etymology, would be the spinner, Lachesis the assigner of fate, and Atropos the implacable one. In all times the Mceras were associated with birth as well as death, a fact which is suggested by Milton's mention of Atropos in E. M. W. 28 ff. In the first part of the seventh Nemean ode Pindar addresses Eileithyia, ' that sittest beside the deep-coun- selling Mosrse, child of mighty Hera, thou who bringest babes to the birth.' The Roman Lucina performed a similar office, though her association with Atropos seems to be of Greek origin. In Lye. 75 Milton calls Atropos ' the blind Fury.' Though the Fates were not regarded as identical with the Furies they were sometimes associated with them, especially in tragedy. The Pro?ne- iheus of ^schylus (516) furnishes perhaps the best example. ' Who guides the helm, then, of Necessity ? ' inquires the chorus, and Prometheus answers, ' Fates triple formed, Erinnyes unforgetting.' The Sources 35 The shears which cut the thread of life are a common accessory of Atropos in modern literature, but rarely appear in classical liter- ature, and seem to be of late Roman origin. In the Latin Antho- logy I. 792, ed. Riese (Teub.) occur the lines: Tres sunt fatales quae ducunt fila sorores: Clotho colum baiulat, Lachesis trahit, Atropos occat. The passage in Arcades (62 ff .) which describes the subduing of the Fates by the music of the Spheres is clearly drawn from Plato's story of the journey of Er after death {Rep. 10. 616, 617). The spirits saw the line of light which binds together the circle of the universe (616 C), ' and there in the midst of the light, they saw reaching from heaven the extremities of the chains of it. . . . And from the extremities of the chains is extended the spindle of Necessity, on which all the revolutions turn. The shaft and hook of this spindle are made of steel (Ef aSafrnvTOQ, Milton's adamantine spindle, 66). And again in 617 B: 'The spindle turns on the knees of Necessity; and on the upper surface of each circle is a siren, who goes round with them, hymning a single sound and note. The eight together form one harmony; and round about, at equal intervals, there is another band, three in number, each sitting upon her throne: these are the Fates, daughters of Necessity, who are clothed in white raiment and garlands upon their heads, Lachesis, and Clotho, and Atropos, who accompany with their voices the harmony of the sirens — Lachesis singing of the past, Clotho of the present, Atropos of the. f uttire. ' FATTNS, FATTNUS.— P. R. a. 191; Lye. 34; P. L. 4. 70S. See Wood-gods. FAVONIXTS.— Son. 20. 6. See Winds. FLEECY STAB. -P. L. 8. 6 8. Here Milton speaks of Aries as ' the fleecy star that bears Andro- meda far off Atlantic seas.' Aratus says that this constellation is obscure, but that one may locate it by the girdle of Andromeda, ' for it is situated not far beneath her ' {Phcen. 229). Eratosthenes (Katas- terismoi 19) says that Aries was the ram of the golden fleece, who bore away Phrixus and his sister, Helle, as they were about to be sacrificed by their father, Athamas. Among the stars, according to Milton, he bears Andromeda, as he had borne Helle on earth. The story of Phrixus is told by ApoUodorus (i. 9. i). FLOKA.— p. L. 5. 16; P. E. i. 365. The story of Zephyrus and Flora, to which Milton alludes in P. L. 5. 16 is really the story of Zephyrus and Chloris (Ov. Fast. 5. 195 ff.); ' I, who now am called Flora, was once called Chloris. The Greek spelling of my name became corrupted by the Latin pronunciation.' Thus she begins to tell how Zephyrus stole her away. Dum loquitur, vernas efflat ab ore rosas. 36 Classical Mythology tn Milton At the end of her story (375), tenues secessit in auras, Mansit odor. This may have suggested to Milton the expression ' Flora's earliest smells' {P. R. 2. 365). POBOE.— p. I. 2. 66l! 0. 5»0. See Chanos. rUBIES.— P. I. 2. 698, Oils P. L. o. 869; 10. 500; P. K. *. 422; C. 641; Ijc. 76. From earliest writers the idea of Furies held by the ancients is indefinite and varied. Homer in //. g. 454 speaks of only one, hut elsewhere of a greater number. Among the tragedians the number varies. Apollodorus (i. i. 4) names three, Alecto, Tisiphone, and Megsera. They are variously represented, with fire-breathing gar- ments (Eurip. Iph. T. 288), and with fiery hair (Senec. Here. Fur. 87). Serpents writhed in their hair (Hor. C. 2. 13. 35), and Claudian speaks particularly of the snaky locks of Megsera (In Ruf. i 378, 134; cf. P. L. 10. 560). A famous description of the Furies may be found in the Orestes of Euripides, 255 ff. Beginning with Homer (//. ig. 25g) the Furies are always the avengers of crime and are associated with the Lower World. The passage in P. L. 2. 5g6 may have some connection with Verg. ^n. 6. 570 fit.: Continuo sontis ultrix adcjncta flagello Tisiphone quatit insultans, torvosque sinistra Intentans anguis, vocat agmina sKva sororum. Tisiphone is here presiding over the punishment of the damned. In P. L. 2. 5g6 Milton speaks of the Furies as 'harpy-footed.' This epithet seems to have no particular forerunner among those used of the Eumenides. However we find the following passage in .^schylus comparing the Furies with the Harpies (Eunten. 45 ff.): And a troop Of women strange to look at sleepeth there, Before this wanderer, seated on their stools; Not women they, but Gorgons I must call them; Nor yet can I to Gorgon forms compare them; I have seen painted shapes that bear away The feast of Phineus. Wingless though are these, And swarth, and every way abominable. In the Ji.neid Celseno, the Harpy, speaks of herself as ' Furiarum maxima' (3. 252), and Servius in commenting upon 3. 2og says of the Harpies, 'ipsse furise esse dicerentur: unde etiam epulas prohibentur abripere, quod est furiarum.' See Fates. GAimiED.-P. R. 2. 353. The story of Ganymed was popular in all times. It is first told by Homer in //. 20. 231: ' To Tros three noble sons were born, Ilos and Assarakos and godlike Ganymedes, who became the most beauti- The Sources 37 fill of mortal men. Him the gods caught up to be cupbearer to Zeus, for sake of his beauty, that he might dwell among immortals.' Cf. Hylas. QENIUS.— C. K. 186; Pens. 161; Fersou In Arcndos; Lyo. 183. The genius-cult of Rome was of Italian origin, though in later times it is colored by the Greek belief in the dasmon. The word is associated with gignere, and at first always, and afterward gener- ally is the force which brings human beings into the world. ' In lucem editis hominibus cunctis . . . hujusmodi qusedam velut actus rectura numina sociari,' says Ammianus Marcellinus (21. 14. 3). Servius says, by way of comment on Verg. Georg. i. 302, 'Genium autem dicebant antiqui, naturalem deum imiuscujusque loci, vel rei, aut hominis.' The genius of a place was propitious and tutelary (cf. Verg. ^n. 5. 84 ff.), and Milton elaborates this conception in assigning specific duties to the genii of the wood and of the shore. Cf. Preller, Rom. Myth. pp. 65 ff. OEEYON.-P. 1. 11. 410. Geryon lived in Erytheia, an island of Spain, and his cattle were stolen away by Heracles (ApoUod. 2. 5. 10). Milton's lines suggest a passage in Spenser {F. Q. 5. 10. 9): And sooth they say that he was borne and bred Of Gyants race, the sonne of Geryon; He that whylome in Spaine so sore was dred For his huge power and great oppression. Servius (on ^cEn. 7. 662) says; 'Geryones rex fuit Hispanise, qui ideo trimembris fingitur, quia tribus insulis prsefuit, quae adjacent His- panise: Baliaricse minori et majori et Ebuso . . . hunc Gery- onem alii Tartessiorum regem dicunt fuisse.' Diodorus mentions the fact that Chrysaor, Geryon's father, was named from his wealth of gold (4. 17), and that the inhabitants of the Baleares ' do not make use of gold or silver, rigorously forbidding either to be brought into the island, and giving this reason for it, that Geryon, son of Chry- saor, was killed by Heracles on account of these metals' (5. 17). In calling the Spanish explorers ' Geryon's sons ' Milton may have in- tended some reference to the name's connotation of gold. GIANTS.— p. 1. 1. 1»8, 6J7, 7J8. The giants on the plain of Phlegra are cited by Milton to illus- trate the strength of the legions of Hell. Hesiod describes them as strong and tall, gleaming with armor and holding long spears ( Theog. 185, 186). Apollodorus (i. 6. i) says that they were unsurpassed in size of body, and in strength invincible, and their glance was terrible. Pindar is among the first to mention Phlegra as the scene of their battle with the gods (Nem. i. 67), and Apollodorus (i. 6) gives us the oldest story of the fight. The latter says that in her 38 ■ Classical Mythology in Milton anger at the defeat of the Titans by the gods, Earth brought forth these monsters to oppose the Olympians, who overcame them in single combat. The Giants and Titans are associated by Horace (C 3. 4. 43) and Vergil {Georg. i. 278), as in P. L. i. 198. Cf. Earth, Briareos, Titans. GIiATTCTJS.— i:. 874. See Sea-gods. GOEGON.— P. L. 2. 6tl, 628; 10. 297, 627; C. 447. Homer speaks of only one Gorgon. In //. 5. 738 ff. Athena, arm- ing for battle, cast about her shoulders ' the tasselled segis terrible, . . . and therein is the dreadful monster's Gorgon head, dreadful and grim, portent of aegis-bearing Zeus.' Odysseus in his account of his visit to the Lower World {Od. 11. 633) says, ' Pale fear gat hold of me, lest the high goddess Persephone should send me the head of the Gorgon, that dread monster, from out of Hades.' This treat- ment of the Gorgon as one of the terrors of Hades may account for Milton's use of the monster in P.L, 2. 611, 628; see Chiincera. Hesiod names three Gorgons, Stheino, Euryale, and Medusa, of whom Medusa alone was mortal. He describes them {Herac. Sh. 230) as unapproachable : ' on their belts two serpents hung, thrusting their heads forward. They darted forth their tongues and gnashed their teeth with violence, glancing wildly about. ' ApoUo- dorus (2. 4. 2) tells of their ' heads covered with serpents' scales, and great teeth as of hogs, and brazen hands and golden wings with which they flew; and those who looked upon them they turned to stone.' Then follows the story of how Perseus slew Medusa, and how her head was fixed on the shield of Athene, still retaining its awful power; cf. Pind. P. 10. 47. Ovid also tells the story in Met. 4. 771 S., and in C. 447 ff. Milton follows his account. He says that of three Gorgons, Medusa was the only one with snaky locks. She had once been fair, but as a penalty for sacrilege in the temple of Minerva the goddess changed her hair to snakes, which finally be- came a part of the divine armor (801, 802): Nunc quoque, ut attonitos forraidine terreat hostes^ Pectore in adverse, quos fecit, sustinet angues. In Met. 4. 616 ff. we find a later story, the basis of P.L. 10. 525 ff., to the eifect that the drops of blood from Medusa's head fell upon Libya, and from them serpents sprang up in the land (619): Unde frequens ilia est, infestaque terra colubris. The story is first told by ApoUonius of Rhodes (4. 15 15). GBACES.-P. L. 1. 267; Vk\. 12, 16; C. 9S6. Homer speaks of an indefinite number of Graces (//. 14. 267). Hesiod, however, says that to Zeus ' Eurynome, daughter of Oceanus, bore three fair-cheeked Graces, . . . Aglaia, and Euphrosyne, The Sources 39 and the lovely Thalia.' This genealogy was the commonest though many others are to be found. Milton himself says in L'Al. 14 that Venus bore the Graces to Bacchus, for which Servius (on jEn. i. 724) is his authority: ' Acidalia Venus dicitur. ... a fonte Acidalio . . . in quo se Gratise abluunt, quas Veneri constat esse sacra- tas. Ipsius enim et Liberi filise sunt, nee immerito.' The other genealogy of the Graces, as daughters of Zephyr and Aurora (L'Al. ig), is without classical authority except that it seems more in har- mony with the early and more elevated conception of the Graces as exemplified in Pindar. Milton seems to favor it especially in L' Alle- gro, for his Euphrosyne is distinctly tuneful, as she is in the four- teenth Olympian of Pindar, where she is addressed as 'lover of song.' Thalia too, appears 'delighting in sweet sounds,' while all the Graces are called 'queens renowned in song.' Pindar sings this light and beatitiful ode "in Lydian mood of melody'; cf. UAl. 136. The Graces are associated with most of the principal divinities, and very frequently with the Hours, as in Paus. 2. 17. 4; 5. 11. 7. In the Homeric hymn to Pythian Apollo (16 ff.) occurs this description: ' But the fair-tressed Graces, and the wise Hours, and Harmony, and Hebe, and Venus, the daughter of Jove, dance, holding each others' hands by the wrist.' Beyond such association as this the Graces have nothing to do with the coming of Spring, though their name often suggested flowers, especially roses {Anacreont. 44; 56, Bergk; Apul. Met. 6. 24; see Hours). The association of the Graces with Pan {P. L. 4. 266) seems to be Pindaric. In fr. 62 (Bergk) the poet calls Pan ' delightful darling of the Graces,' perhaps because he also speaks of him as ;(;op™r^ii TsktCyraTov deav (Aristides i. 49). HAMHON.— C. N. 203. See Ammon. H.ffiKOirZ'.-C. 688. Milton's use of this name may have reference not only to Thes- saly or Haemonia as the landt of magic, but to Ovid's description of Jason's renewal of youth by means of Medea's incantation (Met. 7. 159 ff.). Among the countries which the sorceress visited in search of ingredients was Thessaly (264, 265): lUic Hsemonia radices valle resectas, Seminaque, floresque, et succos incoquit acres. Compare Milton's second elegy 7, 8: O dignus tamen Hxmonio juvenescere succo, Dignus in jEsonios vivere posse dies. HARPIES.— 1*. K. !£. 403, 590; C. 005. In P. R. 2. 403 the feast of Satan vanishes ' With sound of harpies' wings and talons heard.' As this passage contains no definite evi- dence of a particular source, it may best be referred to the ' locus classicus,' Verg. ^n. 3. 216 ff.: 40 Classical Mythology in Milton Virginei volucrum vultus, fcedissima ventris Proluvies, uncseque manus, et pallida semper Ora fame. The comrades of ^neas had spread their feast upon the shore of the Strophades (225-227): At subitse horrifico lapsu de montibus adsunt Harpise, et magnis quatiunt clangoribus alas, Diripiunt dapes. Cf. 233: Turba sonans prsedam pedibus circumvolat uncis. In C. 605 Harpies and Hydras are closely associated -with ' the griesly legions that troop Under the sooty flag of Acheron.' One is reminded of jEn. 6. 287, where, among the crowd of monsters at the gate of Hell, are the Harpies. See Chimara, Rivers of Hell, Furies. HEAVEN. -p. 1. 1. 509. See.Eartll. HEBE.— V. H. 38; L'Al. 29; C. 290. Hebe is mentioned by Homer {Od. ii. 604) as the daughter of Zeus and Hera, and in //. 4. 2 she serves wine to her father and the other gods. The scene in which she appears in V. .ff. 35 £E. is evi- dently suggested by //. I. 5S4 f£., though Hebe herself is not pres- ent in the latter case, and the only reference to her is the burlesque of Hephsestus acting in her capacity. See Apollo. Hebe is the Greek personification of youth, and is identified with the Roman Juventas. In Ov. Met. 9. 397 lolaus is restored to his youth, having his cheeks covered with an almost imperceptible down, and his visage changed to that of the first years of manhood. Hebe had granted this favor. Cf. C. 289, 290! Homer {Od. 11. 603) speaks of ' Hebe of the fair ankles,' and Theocritus repeats the epi- thet (17. p2). Pindar calls her OaXepd {JVem. i. 71) and noKkioTa 8eav {Nem. 10. 19), and Propertius adds the epithet 'cselestis' (i. 13. 23). HEOATE.— C. 185, 584. See Diana. i HELENA.— e. 076. This passage is founded upon Hom. Od. 4. 219-230. Tele- machus is entertained in the house of Menelaus. ' Then Helen, daughter of Zeus, turned to new thoughts. Presently she cast a drug into the wine whereof they drank, a drug to lull all pain {vt/Tr£v6i(, Milton's Nepenthes) and anger, and bring forgetfulness of every sorrow. Whoso should drink a draught thereof, when it is mingled in the bowl, on that day he would let no tear fall down his cheeks, not though his mother and his father died, not though men slew his brother or dear son with the sword before his face, and his own eyes beheld it. Medicines of such virtue and so helpful had the daughter of Zeus, which Polydamna, the wife of Thon, had The Sources 41 given her, a woman of Egypt.' Menelaus and Helen returned from Troy by way of Egypt (3. 300; 4. 83, 125). The epithets 'born of Zeus ' and ' daughter of Zeus ' are common in connection with Helen, as illustrated by the above passage and //. 3. 199, 418, 426. HELICON. -E. in . W. 60. See Muses. SEBAIiD OS THE SEA.— Lye. 89. See Triton under Ssa-BOds. HEB.CTTLES,— P. L. -i. 542; 0. lOGD; P. R. 1. 505; Pass. U; Son. 2S. 3. In Pass. 14 the reference to Hercules is evident. The story of his labors is told by ApoUodorus (2. 4. 8), but the many stories about the hero were popular with classical writers of all ages. The Latin poets commonly call him Alcides from his grandfather Alceus, father of Amphitryon. But in Son. 23. 3 Milton follows another tradition, and calls him Jove's son according to Homer (//. 14. 324) and others. The poet has compared the wild uproar of Hell to the dying agony of Hercules (P. L. 2. 541-546): As when Alcides, from Qlchalia crowned With conquest, felt the envenomed robe, and tore Through pain up by the roots Thessalian pines, And Lichas from the top of CEta threw Into the Euboic sea. The source of this passage is in Ovid {Met. 9. 134 fE.), as is shown by its adaptation of the following expressions: 'Victor ab CEchalia CenEeo sacra parabat Vota Jovi' (136; cf. Soph. Track. 751); ' Ster- nentemque trabes' (209); ' Mittit (Lichas) in Euboicas, tormento fortius, undas' (218). There is some obscurity in Ovid's story. The other accounts (Soph. Track. 753;Senec. Here. CEt. 783) show clearly that these incidents took place in Censeum, a promontory of Eubosa, but Ovid, though he mentions the sacrifice to Censean Jupiter, and speaks of the Euboic waves, twice afterward speaks of Mount CEta in Thessaly as the scene (165, 204). Milton follows this version. There is evident reference to the Ovidian account in Milton's Pro- lusions (ed. Symmons 6. 145); cf. In Ob. Procan. 10. See also Antceus, Alcestis, Hylas, Hydra. HEBHES.-P. L. S. COS; 4. 717; 5. 289; II. 133; C. G37, 963. In P. L. J,. 603 Milton speaks of ' volatile Hermes' in poetic desig- nation of the metal, mercury. Hermes, as a messenger, was a winged god with all the ancients, and the adjective ' volatile' seems to bear reference to this fact, in addition to its chemical meaning. In Vergil's famous introduction of Mercury (jEn. 4. 222 fE.), the verb volar e is a favorite (cf. 246, 255, 256). This same passage is suggested by Milton's description of Raphael's descent from heaven [P. L. s. 277-287). Vergil (4. 239) and Homer (//. 24. 341) both speak of the god's golden sandals, the former calling them winged; but Milton's gorgeous coloring of the wings is wanting among the ancients, and Raphael's equipment is more complete than that of Hermes. 42 Classical Mythology in Milton In C. 959 Hermes is associated in the dance with the Dryades. While there is no one passage to which Milton's rather specific men- tion may be referred, yet we find good authority for it in several places. In the Homeric hymn to Aphrodite (262) the nymphs in company with the immortals moved in the fair dance. ' And with them the Sileni and the sharp scout, the slayer of Argus, were mingled in love, in a. recess of the pleasant caves. But together with them at their birth were born either fir-trees or high- crested oaks' In the hymn to Hermes the god is a patron of music and the dance, and the chorus of Aristophanes' Thesmophoriazusa invoke the pastoral Hermes and the nymphs to smile favorably upon their dance (977). Aristides says that the poets call Hermes the choregus of the nymphs (vol. 2, p. 708, ed. Dindorf). Milton's whole description is in tune with Horn. Hy. 18. In Hom. Od. 10. 21S-306 Odysseus himself tells how Hermes gave him a ipapfiaKov kadUv, an herb which the gods call moly, as a safe- guard against the charms of Circe. See Argus, Pandora. HEEMIONE.— p. 1. 9. 506. See Cadmus. HBSPEBIDES.— See Hesperus. aESFEBUS.— P. h. 1. 520; 3. 5eS; 4. 250, 60S; 8. 682; 9. 49; 11. hSi; P. R. M. S57; C. 393, 982. Among the ancients Hesperus is at first the evening star, and generally this conception is preserved. See Lucifer. Homer says (//. 22. 317, 318) that the light gleamed from the spear of Achilles- 'as a star goeth among stars in the darkness of night, Hesperos, fairest of all stars set in heaven.' Cf. P. L. 4. 605. In a similar manner Milton speaks of Lucifer in P. L. 7. 133^ Milton speaks of Hesperus as the star ' whose office is to bring Twilight upon the Earth' (P. L. 9. 49). The idea appears in CatuU. 62; Claud. 14. I, 2; and in Senec. Hip. 749-751: Qualis est primas referens tenebras Nuntius noctis, mode lotus undis Hesperus. In the citations from Catullus and Claudian Hesperus is hailed more than once as the bringer of Hjrmen and the wedding-night, and 's thus ' Love's harbinger,' as he is represented in P. L. 11. 589. Cf. Claud. De Rapt. Proserp. 2. 361. See also Hymen. The epithet ' short arbiter twixt day and night ' (50) may be based ultimately upon Hesiod. He says that Adas stands at the meeting- place of day and night (746 ff.), and thiat this was in the bounds of the earth, that is, the west, near the Hesperides (518), whom Milton closely relates to Hesperus, While the ancients generally speak of the gardens of the Hesperides, he prefers the adjective Hesperian in three references to the gardens and their fruit (/". Z. 3. 568; 4. 250; C. The Sourcei 43 393), and makes the Hesperides daughters of Hesperus (C. 982). Their genealogy varies from Hesiod down (Tkeog. 215; cf. Diod. Sic. 4. 27), but Milton follows Servius, who adds that there were but three daughters (on jEn. 4. 484; c£. Apollon. Rh. 4. 1427; C. 982). That they were famous for their songs appears in several places. Hesiod calls them Xvyvip(Moi {Theog. 518), Euripides says that they were musical (//z^. 743; Herac. Fur. 394), and ApoUonius that they sang delightfully (4. 1399). Milton follows Ovid in speaking of the golden tree {Met. 4. 636 f.): Arborese frondes, auro radiante virentes, Ex auro ramos, ex auro poma tegebant. The beauty of the Hesperides themselves seems to have been little 'feigned of old' {P. R. 2. 358). The same might also be said of the gardens, though Pliny (TV. H. 19. 4) says, 'Antiquitas nihil prius mirataest, quam Hesperidum hortos.' Cf. Mart. 4. 64: Juli jugera pauca Martialis Hortis Hesperidum beatiora. But Milton, as appears by P. L. 3. 568 ff. (cf. 8. 631), has identi- fied these with Homer's Elysium, the i^eipara -yati/g, and the Islands of the Blest (cf. Hes. Theog. 334, 518; see Elysium). Authorities from Hesiod to Servius speak of the dragon who guarded the golden apples. In P. L. I. 520 Hesperian is used as Vergil and others use it, as applied to the western lands, that is, Italy or Spain {A£n. 2. 781; cf. Milt. Eleg. 3. 46). HIPPOTADBS.— lyc. 98. jEoIus, god of the winds, is called Hippotades (son of Hippotas) by Homer (Od. lo. 2, 36). The name appears again in Ov. Met. 14. 86. His home, where Odysseus found him, was a rocky island in which the winds lived with him. But Milton is here indebted to two later traditions. First, he mentions a dungeon, after the manner of Vergil, who says that in such a place .