THE "ADAM" OF ANDREINI.
Reading edition
Voltaire, in his life of Milton, mentioned the fact that in his youth the poet witnessed at Milan the representation of a drama entitled, Adam; or, Original Sin, written by "a certain Gio. Battista Andreini," a Florentine, and dedicated to Marie de' Medici, Queen of France. The French writer stated that Milton must have taken with him to England a copy of the work. His account was repeated by other biographers of the great English poet, some of whom alluded to the Italian poem as "a farce." In consequence of their unfavorable judgment, the impression has prevailed that Milton was not indebted to Andreini for the conception of his Paradise Lost, but that the grandeur and sublimity of the invention belong solely to him. Andreini's work fell into oblivion soon after its production, and has remained unappreciated even by the author's countrymen; so that it is not surprising that the honors due the Catholic poet have not been rendered by English or American critics or readers.
The mystery, tragedy, or sacred drama of Adam, composed by Andreini, was represented at Milan early in the seventeenth century, and was received with such enthusiasm that the author was invited to the French court by Queen Mary, and was there loaded with honors. A splendid edition of his work, dedicated to the queen, illustrated with plates and a portrait of the author, was issued at Milan in 1617. Such a reception shows the estimation in which his production was held at the time. Defects which did not interfere with the grandeur of the original design impaired its popularity afterward. The author was numbered among the Seicentisti, and belonged to a school noted for its departure from simplicity; for false refinements and extravagant conceits. Under the influence of such writers as Marini, Lappi, Redi, etc., in an age of pedantry, poetry was removed from nature, and dragged from her proper sphere. But though Andreini lived amidst the prevalence of a corrupt taste, and his style was in some degree tainted, it could not have been expected that any succeeding school, however correct, should trample under foot the substance of his work, and slight its sublimity of conception, to which a more enlightened age should have done justice. Such justice, nevertheless, has been denied him.
After it had been forgotten more than two hundred years, a tardy acknowledgment of Andreini's merit was paid by a few Italian critics, and a small, unadorned edition of his work was again published at Lucano; but in such an unattractive form that it seems to have awakened little attention. A few copies of the first edition were sold as a great literary curiosity. One, purchased at a large price, affords us an opportunity of examining the claim so long buried in obscurity, and to see how much the author of Paradise Lost has really borrowed.
It is well known that Milton's first idea, in treating the subject, was to write a tragedy; and that he had actually composed some scenes before he finally resolved to transfer his pencil to a vaster canvas. The difference between the epic and dramatic form gave a great advantage to the English poet. All the ornaments of description, in which Paradise Lost is so rich, were denied to Andreini, since they could not be admitted into dialogue. That Milton saw and profited by Andreini's tragedy, can be proved not only by external testimony, but by evidence contained in almost every page of his work. We must look to the conception and to the expression of thought, in drawing the comparison between the two, which will conclusively show Andreini to be in truth the precursor of Milton, the original author of the design elaborated in Paradise Lost. We will give an analysis of the drama, with extracts faithfully translated, rendering the literal sense of the original.[184]
The scene of the tragedy is in the terrestrial paradise. The interlocutors are the Eternal Father, Michael and a chorus of angels, Adam and Eve, Lucifer, the Prince of Hell, Satan, Beelzebub, the Seven Deadly Sins, besides various allegorical personages, such as the World and the Flesh, Hunger, Fatigue, Despair, Death, and Vainglory, with a chorus of infernal messengers and spirits of the elements. The author's own summary will give the most accurate idea of the piece. A chorus of angels in the prologue sing the glory of the eternal God, calling upon the new creation to praise him. The future advent of the Incarnate Word is dimly predicted. The Almighty is completing his vast work by the formation of man; the new being is welcomed in strains of jubilee and rejoicing by the shining choir about him, and the scene proceeds with solemnity and magnificence, in language elevated and sublime. The ecstasy of the newly created at the glory revealed to his senses by the celestial train who "cleave heaven with their wings of gold," and his devout aspirations of love and homage toward his Creator, are admirably expressed. Adam adores the ineffable mysteries of the Trinity and the coming Incarnation. The verse throughout this scene is in lyrical measures adapted to the subject, and to the emotions uttered.
Adam falls into sleep, and Eve is created and named "woman" by the eternal Father. A resemblance may be discovered by the curious between the ascent of the heavenly train from Eden, after the blessing is pronounced and the work completed, and a similar description in the seventh book of Paradise Lost. Adam then points out to Eve the wonders of the new world, rehearses the divine command and prohibition, and inspires her with love for the beneficent Being who gave them all:
"Adam. Lo! the deep azure of yon heaven, where oft That bright and wandering star, Herald of radiance yet afar, Shall dart its welcome ray To ope the richer glories of the day. Then the majestic sun, To fill the earth with joy, O'er her glad face shall fling his golden light; Till weary of his reign, The pure and silvery moon, With all her starry train, Shall come to grace the festal pomp of night Lo! where above all other elements The subtle flame ascends, outshining all: Lo! where the soft transparent air uplifts Bright-plumaged birds, with notes of melody Measuring the happy hours! Lo! the vast bosom of propitious earth, With opening flowers, with glowing fruit adorned, And her green tresses that the crown sustain Upon her mountain summits, and her sceptre Of towering trees. Behold! the azure field Of ocean's empire! where 'mid humid sands, And his deep valleys, and the myriad hosts Of his mute tribes, and treasures of fair pearls, And purple gems, his billows roll and plough. Bearing to heaven his proud and stormy head, Crowned with the garlands rifled from the deep— Glory and wonder all! Of One they speak. Their great Creator!"
In the second scene, Lucifer rises from the abyss; and at the first glance we recognize the conception which is one of the chief glories of Paradise Lost. The apostate of this piece, like Milton's Satan, is a majestic being, stem, defying, and dreadless, even in despair. Pride, indomitable pride, is still his master passion; in the midst of his blood-chilling irony and impiety, we lose not the awe inspired by a mighty nature, still mighty and commanding, though perverted to evil; nor forget that his "faded splendor wan" is but
"the excess Of glory obscured."
In a bold and haughty strain, well befitting the "lost archangel," "vaunting aloud, though racked with deep despair," he gives vent to the envy and hatred of his rebellious spirit:
"From mine abode of gloom Who calls me to behold this hateful light? What wonders, strange and new, Hast thou prepared, O God! to blast my sight? Art thou, Creator, weary of thy heaven, That thou hast made on earth A paradise so fair? Or why hast thou placed here Beings of flesh that God's own semblance wear? Say, condescending Architect! who fram'dst Such work from clay, what destiny awaits This naked, helpless man, lone habitant Of caves and woods? Perchance he hopes one day to tread the stars! Heaven is impoverished:[185] I alone the cause. The exulting cause of that vast ruin! Add Yet star to star; let suns and moons increase; Toil yet, Creator, to adorn thy skies; To make them bright and glorious as of old; To prove at length how vain and scorned thy toil! I—I alone—supplied that light which sent A thousand splendors to the farthest heaven, To which these lights are shadows, or reflect With faint and feeble gleam my greater glory. Yet reck I not, whate'er these things may be, Or this new being: stern, unyielding still, My aim, my purpose, is hostility Implacable 'gainst man, and heaven, and God!" Act i. sc. 2.
The partners of his guilt and punishment, who join him in the garden, now surround him; and we have a vivid picture of hell in the midst of Paradise:
"Beelzebub. Fierce is the torturing flame, And deep the flood of venom in my soul. Madness rules all within, And my forced sighs like peals of thunder roll, Each glance is scorching lightning, and my tears Red drops of fire! From my seared front I would Shake back the serpent locks that shroud my face, To look upon this boasted work of heaven— On these new demigods!... Spirits! the lustre of eternal day For ever quenched for you, and every sun That fires the empyrean! A lost, sorrowing race Heaven deems you now. Ye who were wont to tread The radiant pathways of the skies, now press The fields of endless night. For golden locks And mien celestial, slimy serpents twine Around your brows, hiding the vengeful glance; Your haggard lips are parted to receive A hideous air—while on them blasphemies Hang thick, and ever with the damning words Escape foul fumes of hell."
The remainder of the picture, in its minuteness of horror, partakes too much of the prevailing want of taste which disfigured the best productions of the Italians of the seventeenth century. We select, of course, some of the striking passages of the poem, though we by no means include all its beauties in our extracts.
Then Satan says:
"In deep abodes Of gloom, and horror, and profound despair, Still are we angels! Still do we excel All else, even as the haughty lord excels The humble, grovelling slave. If we unfold Our wings so far from heaven, yet, yet remember That we are lords, while others wear the yoke; That, losing in yon heaven a lowly seat, We raise instead, stupendous and sublime, A regal throne, whereon our chosen chief, Exalted by high deeds, mocks at his fate! As some vast mountain, bounded by the skies, Murmurs its kindling wrath against high heaven, Threatens the stars, and wields a mighty sceptre Of lurid flame, consuming while it shines, More deadly than the sun's intensest ray, Even when his beams are brightest!"
Can we not discover in the above passage the same spirit that animates Milton's lines?
"What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be, all but less than He Whom thunder hath made greater? Here, at least, We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built Here for his envy; will not drive us hence; Here we may reign secure; and, in my choice, To reign is worth ambition, though in hell; Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven!"
The same thought is expressed in Andreini's tragedy:
"Since greater happiness It is to live, though damned, in liberty, Than subject to be blest." Act iv. sc. 2.
Lucifer, the chief, then discovers himself to his companions in iniquity, and addresses them:
"O ye powers Immortal, valiant, great! Angels, for lofty, warlike daring born! I know the grief that gnaws your inmost hearts, A living death! to see this creature man Raised to a state so high That each created being bows to him. In your minds' depths the rankling fear is wrought That to heaven's vacant seats, and robes of light, (Those seats once ours, that pomp by us disdained,) These earthly minions one day may aspire[186] With their unnumbered hosts of future sons."
Satan then darkly alludes to the future incarnation of the Son of God; and Lucifer answers:
"And can it be that from so feeble dust A deity shall rise? That Flesh—that God—whose power omnipotent Shall bind us in these chains of hell for ever? And can it be those who did boast themselves The adored must stoop in humble suppliance To such vile clay? Shall angel bend a worshipper to man? Shall flesh, born from impurity, surpass Celestial nature? Must such wonders be, Nor we divine them, who at price so vast Have bought the boast of knowledge? I—I am he who armed your noble minds With haughty daring; to the distant north Leading you from the wrathful will of Him Who boasts to have made the heavens. You I know; I know your soaring pride; your valor too, That almost wrung from heaven's reluctant hand The mighty victory. Yes, the generous love Of glory fires you still! It cannot be That He whom you disdained to serve above Shall now be worshipped in the depths of hell! Ah! matchless is our insult! grave the wound If we unite not promptly to avenge it! Already on your kindled brows I see The soul's high thirst—and hope, by hate inflamed! Already I behold your ample wings Spread to the air, eager to sweep the world And those stern heavens to the abyss of ruin, And man, new born, with them to overwhelm! Satan. Alas! command And say what thou wouldst do! With hundred tongues Speak, speak—that with a hundred mighty deeds Satan may pant, and hell be roused to action."
The conspiracy to draw man into sin and prevent the incarnation is then entered into.
"Lucifer. Most easy is the way of human ruin Opened by God to his terrestrial work; Since nature wills with mandate absolute Man shall his life preserve with various food, And oft partaken. Ay, it well may chance— The bitter ruin in sweet food concealed— That he may taste this day the fruit forbidden, And by the way of death, From naught created, unto naught return." Act i. sc. 3.
His plan for the destruction of man is hailed with joy; and Lucifer next calls up the Seven Deadly Sins to assist him in his infernal work. To each of these mysterious impersonations a different task is assigned, and detailed at length in the piece. They are severally commissioned to assail his intended victims with every variety of temptation. Pride and Envy are directed to fill the soul of Eve with discontented thoughts, and awaken vain imaginations of superiority; to suggest regrets that she was not formed before Adam, as every man hereafter must receive his being from woman.
"Lucifer. Tell her, the lovely gifts She hath received do merit not their doom— Submission to the will of haughty man; That she in price doth far exceed her lord, Created of his flesh—as he of dust; She in bright Eden had her gentle birth— He in the meaner fields."
Dulciato, who personates Luxury, declares the heart of woman peculiarly open to his fascinations.
"Even now fair Eve at yonder crystal fount Rejoices to behold the blushing rose In beauty vanquished by her vermil cheek; The regal lily's virgin purity Matched by the whiteness of her heaving breast; Already, charmed, she wreathes her flowing hair Like threads of gold, fanned by the wooing breeze, And deems her lovely eyes two suns of love, To kindle with their beams the coldest heart."
In the beginning of the second act we have a scene quite different. The angelic train descends to hymn the goodness of the Creator and the happiness of man.
"Weave, weave the garlands light Of fairest flowers, In these primeval bowers, For the new being—and his consort bright! Let each celestial voice With melody rejoice, Praising God's work of latest, noblest birth; And let the tide of song To gratitude belong For man, the wonder of both heaven and earth."
The picture of the first pair, in their primeval innocence and enjoyment, full of gratitude to heaven and love for each other, is so captivating in its simplicity and beauty that it would alone be sufficient to redeem more sins against taste than the whole book contains. We do not imagine we are saying too much in calling it the original of Milton's delineation, as that of the infernal chief undoubtedly is. The same graceful and feminine qualities blend in the exquisite character of Eve; the same superiority of intellect, protecting gentleness, and exalted devotion are seen in Adam. They are surrounded by invisible spirits, the emissaries of Lucifer, who "with jealous leer malign," mock at the peaceful purity and happiness that blasts their envious sight, and hurl vague threats against the beings who, while innocent, are safe from their hostility. Eve weaves for Adam a garland of flowers, which he places on his brow as a chain of love. In reference to this Lurcone says,
"Chains of infernal workmanship Shall shortly bind you in a subtle fold Which mortal stroke can never loose."
At the prayers of Adam and Eve, offered with thanksgiving for their blessings, the evil spirits precipitately fly—the agonies of hell burning in their hearts. Adam gives names to the various animals, passing in review before him.
Scene third is occupied by Lucifer, in the form of a serpent, Vainglory, a gigantic figure, magnificently attired, and his attendant spirits. The arch-demon exults over his expected success, the ruin of so smiling a scene:
"Serpent. How lovely smile these flowers, These young fair buds! and ah! how soon my hand These pathways shall despoil of herbs and flowers. Lo! where my feet have pressed their fragrant tops, So graceful, they have drooped; and at my touch, Blasting and burning, the moist spirit is fled From the scorched petal. How do I rejoice Among these bowers with blighting step to pass, To poison with my breath their buds and leaves, And turn to bitterness their purple fruits!"
Volano acquaints Satan with the decision of the infernal council, and Vainglory and the serpent hide themselves under the tree of knowledge. Eve enters; the wondrous beauty of the tempter, gorgeously described, fascinates her admiring gaze. He is half-hid in the clustering foliage. Unconscious of evil, she approaches nearer, surprised at his aspect; for the fiend exhibits a form like the fabled inhabitants of the sea, human to his breast, the rest of his body enveloped in scaly folds. Vainglory is invisible, but is supposed to be secretly exerting his influence. The serpent, accosting Eve in the accents of flattery, enters into conversation with her, informing her that he was placed in Eden to take charge of its fruits and flowers, and gifted with superiority over the brute creation. He boasts of his knowledge, which he vaunts as superior even to hers and Adam's, notwithstanding that he occupies a lower rank in the scale of the creation. He intimates that her knowledge and Adam's is far from corresponding to their superior excellence of form and high capabilities. Eve inquires how he can regard Adam's knowledge as trifling. "Doth he not know," she cries, "the hidden virtue of each herb and mineral, each beast and bird, the elements, the heavens, the stars, the sun?" The serpent replies:
"Ah! how much worthier to know good and evil! This is the highest knowledge; this doth hold Those mighty secrets dread, sublime, which could Make you, on earth, like God."[187]
"Doth not this ignorance," he says, "outraging your liberty with unworthy yoke, make you inferior even to the savage beasts, who would not submit to such a law?[188] Or is it that God fears you will equal him in knowledge? in the essence of divinity? No! if you become like him by such means, there would still be difference," etc.[189]
The Serpent then enters upon the immediate object of his design, employing his subtle and persuasive eloquence to overcome Eve's scruples and induce her to eat of the forbidden fruit, whose taste is to impart to her heavenly wisdom. The whole scene of the temptation is admirably managed. The advances of the arch deceiver—now cautiously sounding her, now eagerly urging her to disobedience—the unsuspecting credulity, the increasing curiosity of Eve, are drawn with the pencil of a master.
The Serpent's arguments become still more specious and pressing:
"Thus I live Feeding on this celestial fruit; Thus to mine eyes all paradise is open— Mine eyes, enlightened by the knowledge stored In this most wondrous food."[190]
The Serpent speciously insinuates that man is degraded by being compelled to seek his food from the same source with the inferior creation:
"Ah! 'tis too true that drawing sustenance From the same source with brutes that throng the field, In this, at least, renders you like to them. Surely it is not meet or just that ye, Noblest creations of all-forming power, The favored children of the Eternal King, In such unworthy state, 'mid rocks and woods, Should lead a life of vile equality With baser animals!"
The temptation takes place necessarily in dialogue. The thoughts are natural and elevated, and the language even magnificent. Eve asks the Serpent what is the cause of his apparent anxiety that she should eat of the prohibited fruit; he explains it by informing her that he will be lord over Eden when she and her partner, by means of the mystic food, shall have ascended to mingle with deities. This is a new and remarkable trait, of which Milton has not availed himself.
"But this, my rightful empire o'er the ground, While man exists and breathes earth's vital air, Is changed to base and grievous vassalage— Since man alone is chosen, by heaven's command, Lord of this lower world, this universe Just sprung from naught. But when, by virtue of this loveliest Of all fair Eden's fruits, secured and tasted, Ye shall be made as gods—full well I know Ye both, forsaking this frail sphere, will soar To eminence divine, leaving to me The heritage of power, the sovereignty O'er every living thing, by your ascent To higher bliss secured. Full well thou know'st How pleasing is the consciousness of empire! Pleasing to God, to man, and to the serpent! Eve. I yearn to obey thee. Ah! what would I do? Serpent. Say, rather, leave undone! Pluck it, and make Thyself a goddess in the highest heavens, And me a god on earth!"
Here occurs an exquisite touch. Eve, having never before experienced a painful moral emotion, is ignorant of its meaning. The tempter, with consummate art, interprets her very fear into encouragement.
"Eve. Alas! I feel An icy tremor through my shuddering frame, That chills my heart. Serpent. It is the languishing Of mortal nature 'neath the glorious weight Of that divinity which, like a crown, O'erhangs thy head![191] Behold the lovely tree, More rich and lustrous in its living beauty Than if, indeed, it pointed toward the skies Branches of gold with emeralds bedecked; Than if its roots were coral, and its trunk Unspotted silver. Lo! the gem-like fruit, Glowing with gifts of immortality! How fair it shows! How to the vivid rays Of sunlight, with a thousand changing hues It answers, like the train of brilliant birds, When to the sun their broad and painted plumes Expanded, glitter with innumerous eyes!" Act ii. sc. 6.
In evil hour her rash hand plucks the fruit; and the act closes with the exulting gratulations of the Deceiver and Vainglory.
In the succeeding interview with Adam, in Act iii., the intoxicated Eve has not begun to taste the consequences of her crime; she comes to persuade her companion to partake her guilt.
"Eve. How I rejoice, not only to behold These flowers, these verdant meads with waving trees, But thee, my Adam! 'Tis thou alone in whose blest presence seems This scene more fraught with ever new delight, More bright the fruits, and every fount more clear! Adam. No blossom that adorns this blissful plain Such beauty can unfold to greet mine eyes As those sweet flowers whose charms I gaze upon In the fair garden of thy beauteous face! Be calm, ye plants of earth; nor deem my words False to your loveliness! Ye, with the silvery dews of evening sprinkled, When the sun sends his ardent glance abroad, Make glad the bosom of the grassy earth; But droop ye also with declining day. While the fair living flowers that on the cheek Of my loved Eve are cherished—watered ever By the sweet dews of joy that o'er them flow When to her God she bends in grateful praise— Warmed into life by the twin radiant suns That light the heaven of her face—there live In grace and bloom perennial, and adorn Their own unrivalled paradise."
Death, in the eyes of Adam, is more welcome than separation from his beloved; as in Paradise Lost, he rushes on his fate voluntarily, without partaking in any of those dreams of greatness which had beguiled his frail consort. When the mortal sin is completed by his participation, Volano with his trumpet summons the infernal spirits, who crowd the scene with shouts of exultation expressed in lyrical measures. The Serpent and Vainglory are worshipped for their success. The evil spirits vanish before the voice of the Eternal, who descends with his angels to pronounce sentence upon the guilty pair. The solemn account to which the Judge calls them, their guilty evasion and detection, and the stern malediction on the earth cursed for man's sake, with the punishment denounced on the human offenders and on the serpent, are described in the scriptural language, and with a simplicity which is in itself sublime. No concetti are here allowed to mar the impressive greatness of the scene. An angel remains after the departure of the Almighty, and clothes the shivering pair with the skins of wild beasts, reminding them that the roughness of their new raiment signifies the suffering they are to sustain in the journey of life. Then the stern Archangel Michael, the minister of divine vengeance, appears and commands them to leave paradise, while the cherubic host, who had hitherto hovered round them, forsake their accustomed charge and reascend to heaven. The flaming sword of Michael chases the unhappy fugitives from their lost home, and his lips confirm their own apprehensions:
"Michael. These stony fields your naked feet shall press, In place of flowery turf, since fatal sin Forbids you longer to inhabit here. Know me the minister of wrath to those Who have rebelled against their God. For this Wear I the armor of almighty power, Dazzling and terrible. Yes, I am he Who, in the conflict of immortal hosts, Dragged captive from the north the haughty chief Of rebel spirits, and to hell's abyss Hurled them in mighty ruin. Now to the Eternal King it seemeth good That man, rebellious to his sovereign will, I should drive forth from his fair paradise With sword of fire. Hence, angels, and with me Speed back to heaven your flight! Even as like me ye have been wont to joy On earth with Adam—once a demi-god, Now feeble clay. Then, armed with fiery sword, A cherub guardian of this gate of bliss Shall take your place." Act iii. sc. 8.
The chant of the departing angels mingles with lamentation over the fall an intimation of peace in the future.
The poem does not end with the expulsion from Eden; a second part, as it were, is contained in the last two acts, in which the dim promise of a Redeemer is shadowed forth, the triumph of hell is turned to rage and shame, and penitence is comforted with hope. This completion of the great plan gives a new grandeur to the piece, since it is thus made to embody the most solemn and striking of all morals.
In Act iv. Volano summons the spirits of the elements to meet Lucifer, who calls a council. The spirits still utter their songs of triumph over the fall of man; but the mien of their leader is deject, his clear-sighted vision already discerns in the just wrath of God against the human offenders the latent promise of mercy. He foresees the pardon of man, and his restoration through a Redeemer to the heavenly blessings from which his destroyer vainly hoped his transgressions had cut him off. He is racked with anguish at the prospect of his work being undone; but it is no time now to pause; he must build up still higher the edifice of his own greatness and his defiance of Omnipotence. The deep pride of his character is further illustrated in the infernal council. He causes to issue from the earth four monsters hurtful to man: Mondo, Carne, Morte, and Demonio—World, Flesh, Death, and Devil.
Adam and Eve appear in their fallen condition, the prey of a thousand fears and ills, haunted by miseries before unknown. They bitterly deplore the changes that have passed on the creation. The animals manifest terror at their presence. Four monsters beset Adam—the impersonations of Hunger, Thirst, Fatigue, and Despair, that threaten to follow him unceasingly. Death menaces them with mortal peril; the heavens grow dark, thunders roll, and the air is convulsed with tempest. The scene closes in gloom and horror.
In the fifth act, Temptation, in alluring forms, invites the fallen pair to new crimes. Flesh, in the figure of a lovely young woman, accosts Adam, showing him how all things breathe of love; and Lucifer, in human shape, persuades him to yield to her enticements. Here occurs one of the most exquisitely delicate and beautiful touches in the poem, and one that none but a true poet could have conceived. The guardian angel of man yet hovers, unseen, at a distance; when he sees him thus sore beset, he comes to his assistance. The protector is invisible; but his warning voice, soft as the promptings of a dream, sounds in the sinner's ear:
"Angel. 'Tis time to succor man. Alas! what dost thou, Most wretched Adam? Lucifer, (to Adam.) Why remain'st thou mute? Why art thou sad? Adam. I seem a voice to hear, Sorrowful yet mild, which says, 'Alas! what dost thou, Most wretched Adam?'" Act v. sc. 3.
Following the promptings of the angel, which are continued through the scene, Adam proposes that Lucifer and his companion shall kneel with him in prayer. Thus he escapes the temptation and danger. Lucifer and his demons refuse to pray, and, assuming their proper shape, next assail him by force; but from this peril he is also guarded.
We then behold Eve wandering desolate and desponding, affrighted at all that meets her eyes. Her lamentation has much simple beauty.
"Eve. Dar'st thou, O wretched Eve! Lift up thy guilty eyes to meet the sun? Oh! no; they are unworthy—well thou know'st! Once, with unfaltering gaze they could behold His beams, and revel in their golden light; Now thy too daring look His dazzling rays rebuke; Or, if thou gaze upon his face, a veil Of blindness shrouds thy sight. Alas! too truly I dwell in darkness, if my sin has stained With horrid mists the pure and innocent sun! O miserable Eve! If now I turn my feet where fountains gush To taste the limpid current, I behold The crystal wave defiled, or scorching sands Usurp its place. If, famished, I return To pluck the grateful fruit from bending trees, Its taste is bitter to me; or the worm With blasting touch doth revel on its sweetness. If, wearied, I recline among the flowers, Striving to close my eyes, lo! at my side The serpent rears its crest, or hissing glides Among the clustering leaves. If, to escape Faint from the noontide heat, I seek the shade Of some thick wood, I tremble at the thought Of wild beast lurking in the thicket's gloom; And start with dread if but the lightest leaf Stir with the wind."
She also is assailed by a new temptation personified under the name of World. This allegorical personage, arrayed in rich and gorgeous vestments, crowned with gold and gems, endeavors to captivate her imagination by artful flatteries; by visions of splendor and regal power reserved for "the queen of the universe." From a visioned palace comes a troop of nymphs laden with ornaments, with which they offer to adorn their mistress, dancing and singing around her; but Eve, deaf to World's flatteries, resists and flies from him; both she and her consort are too penitent to listen to evil solicitations, and at Adam's rebuke the troop disappears in confusion. Then Lucifer and his devils, armed for man's destruction, rush in to seize their victims. The fierce and final struggle between the powers of heaven and hell, for the dominion of earth, takes place; for the arch-fiend encounters Michael and his angels, sent to rescue the frail beings of clay, who, in terrified astonishment, witness the battle. It would be doing injustice to the poem not to give some extracts from this striking scene.
"Michael. Tremble, thou son of wrath, At the fierce lightning of this barbed spear, The smiting hand of him who leads heaven's host. Nor against God, but 'gainst thyself thou wagest War, and in thine offence offend'st thyself. Back to the shades, thou wandering spirit of hell, From this celestial light shut out for ever! Drop thy dark wings beneath the glory which The Father of all light, who formed the suns, Imparts to me! Hence, with the noxious band Of God's accursed foes; nor tarry here, An evil host, with your infernal breath These precincts to pollute, to scatter gloom Through man's pure air of life! No more thy hissing vile, serpent of hell, Shall harass innocence! Lucifer. Loquacious messenger Of heaven's high will, clothed in the vaunted garb Of splendor—failing in the attribute Of daring soul—minion of heaven's indulgence! Angel of softness! who in solemn ease, In seats of sloth, nests of humility, Dost harbor—on thy face and in thy heart The coward stamped—a warrior but in name; Spread, spread thy wings, and seek thy Maker's arms,[192] There shelter, there confide thee! too unequal The strife would be 'twixt fear and bravery: Betwixt the warrior and the unwarlike one, The weak and strong; betwixt a Michael vile And a proud Lucifer. But if thy boldness Aspire to rifle from my mighty hand This frail compound of clay, This animated dust, I here declare Against thee war, bitter and mortal war, Till thou shalt see, by this avenging hand, The wide creation of thy God laid waste! Michael. The doleful victory, Of fierce and desperate spirit, which thou gainedst Against heaven's forces once—against this man, Whom thou confused hast vanquished—conquest poor Already snatched from thee! while in the chains From which thy prey is freed thou art involved— May teach thee with what justice thou canst claim The palm of honor!"
The haughty monarch of hell then reminds Michael of his first great rebellion against the Most High, and his success in dragging into ruin "the third part of heaven's host," (terza parte di stelle.) Vaunting these proofs of his might, he boldly threatens destruction to the throne of God himself: bidding the inhabitants of heaven flee from a place which can no longer afford them a refuge of safety!
"Michael. Wherefore delay to check the impious vaunts Of this proud rebel? Written indeed with pen of iron, marked In living characters of blood, upon The page of everlasting misery, Shall be thy glory for this victory! To arms! to arms, then; for the swift destruction Of outcast devils!—and let man rejoice, Heaven smile, hell weep! Lucifer. To the intemperate boast Of lips too bold, but rarely doth the daring Of truth succeed. To arms! and thou with me Sustain the contest. Ye, my other foes Invincible, avoid the impious strife, Effeminate followers of a peaceful chief! ... Alas! he who already hath received From heaven small grace, of ill a plenteous dole, On earth must also prove his strength unequal, Despite the powerful spirit, to the stroke Of power supernal, driving to the abyss Of gloom again! It is well meet, the wretch Vanquished in battle should lose too the light Of this celestial sun! Angels and God! Ye are victorious! Ye at length have conquered! Proud Lucifer and all his vanquished train Have dearly paid the forfeit. They forsake The day; they sink to everlasting night. Michael. Fall from the earth! baffled and wounded fall, Monster of cruel hell, Down to the shades of night, where thou shalt die An everlasting death; Nor hope to spread thy wings again toward heaven, Since impious wishes fire thee desperate, Not penitence. And thou art fallen at length, Proud fiend, despairing in thy downward course, Even as exultingly thou thought'st to soar To height divine: Once more thou know'st to sink Thundering to hell's dark caverns. Thou didst hope, Fool! to bear back with thee thy prisoner, man; Alone thou seek'st thy dungeon vast, profound, Where to its depths pursued, the added flames Of endless wrath thou bearest, to increase Its ever-burning fires!... Thou wouldst have made this fair world with thine ire A desolated waste; where at thy breath Summoning to devastation, clouds and winds, And lightnings tempest-winged, and thunders loud, Vengeful should throng the air, should shake the hills; And make the valleys with their din resound. And lo! in skies from thy foul presence freed, The spheres with louder music weave their dance, And the majestic sun with purer rays Gladdens the azure fields on high. The sea Reclines in tremulous tranquillity, Or joyous pours upon the glistening strand His pearls and corals. Never wearied sport His glossy tribes, and swim the liquid sapphire. Lo! in a green and flowery vesture robed, How shine these valleys in rejoicing light! While the sweet, grateful notes of praise ascend From every soaring habitant of air, That now, a pilgrim in the scented vale, Makes vocal all the woods with melody. Let all, united on this glorious day Of scorn and shame to hell, exulting raise The hymn of joy to heaven; and widely borne By eager winds, the golden trumpets sound To tell in heaven of victory and peace! Adam. O welcome sound that calls me back to joy Whence sad I fled! Ah me! I fear to blot, Tainted by sin, the holy purity Of angels' presence! O thou who wear'st the glorious armor wrought With gems celestial! Archangel bright! Dread warrior, yet most mild! thy golden locks Hiding with helmet of immortal beams! Wielding in thy right hand the conquering spear! Close the rich gold of thy too dazzling wings, And turn a gentle and a pitying look On him who prostrate at thy feet adores!"
The archangel is no longer the avenger; and he raises with pity the repentant sinners.
"Michael. Rise both, ye works of God Thus favored; banish from your bosoms dread Of portents unpropitious. If our Master With one hand smite, the other offers you Healing—salvation!"
Adam and Eve, delivered from their foes, are comforted by the heavenly messenger, who assures them of forgiveness on condition of future obedience. With his promise we conclude our extracts.
"Michael. Now since in heaven the star of love and peace Shines forth, and in ambitious hell's despite The victor to the vanquished yields the palm, Raise still your humble, grateful looks above: Bend to the soil your knees, and suppliant Praise for his mercy your forgiving Lord. So in reward for penitence and zeal God will your Father be, and heaven your home." Act v. sc. 9.
We have occupied so much space in the analysis and extracts from this remarkable work, that little room is left for further observation. It is impossible to present all the beauties of the poem, and allowance must be made for showing them in another language; yet some idea may be afforded of the general character of the piece. The original abounds with striking passages that have of necessity been left unnoticed, strangely mingled with the tumid extravagances and heterogeneous conceits belonging to the age in which it was written. These faults, however, are but trifling in comparison with its merits; and the wonderful conception, the glorious plan, is not marred by them. When the superior personages appear on the scene, the inspiration of the poet is triumphant over the defects of his school; not a line of their language is disfigured by aught which the most fastidious of modern tastes could condemn. It is only in the management of inferior and of allegorical personages that the faults alluded to can be perceived; and even here the rich and noble genius of the poet has mastered many of his difficulties.
The author of Adam could hardly have anticipated, in the representation of his work on the stage, a success commensurate with its merits; since the trickery of scenic effect could but poorly indeed embody the creations of genius. Fancying an attempt to make them apparent to the senses of a rabble audience, we can scarcely wonder that the whole should have been stamped with ridicule. But any reader of the poem will concede that the sublime conception of Paradise Lost belongs to Andreini as the originator. He ascended with success "the highest heaven of invention;" and when he puts words into the mouth of Deity, and interprets the hymnings of angelic choirs, he shows himself equal to the task.
The extension of the reputation of this wonderful production would considerably increase our sense of obligation to Italian literature.