weighings and balancings, that preceded his choice of subject and of literary form, for the master-work of his life. Should this be epic or dramatic, he queried, should it be sacred or profane? And in its composition were 'the rules of Aristotle... strictly to be kept, or nature to be followed, which in them that know art and use judgment is no transgression, but an enriching of art'?1 In this brief query, with its unmistakable bias, we find the clue to his attitude.

Regarding the function of poetry, in various ways it is evident that Milton deferred to the tradition of Horace:

Aut prodesse volunt aut delectare poetae,

Aut simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitae.'

The tractate Of Education implies Milton's belief in this twofold office of great poetry; and in Paradise Regained the strictures upon paganism (in which the sons of Zion are purposely arrayed against the sons of Greece) directly accuse classical poetry with being

Thin-sown with aught of profit or delight."

A full and positive indication of Milton's attitude on the function of his art is seen in The Reason of Church-Government; here, after avowing his high ambition as an English poet, and briefly enumerating various poetical types, he explains the end of poetry in terms of subject-matter and power:

These abilities [of the poet], wheresoever they be found, are the inspired gift of God, rarely bestowed, but yet to some (though most

1 Church-Gov. (Bk. 2), Works 3. 145.

TATS Poetica 333-334, trans. by Lonsdale and Lee: 'Poets aim either to benefit, or to delight, or to unite what will give pleasure with what is serviceable for life.'

'P. R. 4.345.

how shock ess on how he came to choose

epic & sacred 8 narrative

Style &

etc.

The abilities of the poet are abuse) in every nation; and are of power beside the office of a pulpit, to inbreed and cherish in a great people the seeds of virtue and public civility, to allay the perturbations of the mind, and set the affections in right tune, to celebrate in glorious and lofty hymns the throne and equipage of God's almightiness, and what He works, and what He suffers to be wrought with high providence in His Church, to sing the victorious agonies of martyrs and saints, the deeds and triumphs of just and pious nations doing valiantly through faith against the enemies of Christ, to deplore the general relapses of kingdoms and states from justice and God's true worship. Lastly, whatsoever in religion is holy and sublime, in virtue amiable or grave, whatsoever hath passion or admiration in all the changes of that which is called fortune from without, or the wily subtleties and refluxes of man's thoughts from within, all these things with a solid and treatable smoothness to paint out and describe-teaching over the whole book of sanctity and virtue through all the instances of example, with such delight, to those especially of soft and delicious temper, who will not so much as look upon Truth herself, unless they see her elegantly dressed, that whereas the paths of honesty and good life appear now rugged and difficult, though they be indeed easy and pleasant, they would then appear to all men both easy and pleasant, though they were rugged and difficult indeed. And what a benefit this would be to our youth and gentry may be soon guessed by what we know of the corruption and bane which they suck in daily from the writings and interludes of libidinous and ignorant poetasters, who, having scarce ever heard of that which is the main consistence of a true poem, the choice of such persons as they ought to introduce, and what is moral and decent to each one, do for the most part lap up vicious principles in sweet pills to be swallowed down, and make the taste of virtuous documents harsh and sour.2

Note as of particular interest in this paragraph Milton's estimate of the regulative office of poetry. Aristotle tested tragedy by its catharsis of pity and fear; and many neo

'Compare Milton on the influence of music, above, pp. 41 ff. 'Church-Gov. (Bk. 2), Works 3. 146-147. The passage has a general tendency, and might be supplemented by others more specific that are reserved for consideration in Chapters IV and V.

classic Italian theorists (Tasso is an exception) assumed, without much reflection, the authority of their Greek master, and then, still without much reflection, applied the same test to the epic. In characterizing the function of poetry, Milton, in turn, possibly consulted his own convenience, and considered narrative and drama together, for the moment neglecting the lyric. If so, the phrases 'to allay the perturbations of the mind, and set the affections in right tune,' suggest the concept of purgation, and extend their application from tragedy to the epic. But a simpler interpretation may be correct, and would involve no omission of a poetical type-for the function of lyrical poetry, whatever it may be, can hardly be defined as that of a purge. Let us interpret the passage so as to include the lyric. Milton taught the regulative power of great music. Does he not attribute the same function to all poetry that he desires to set 'beside the office of a pulpit'? And is not his reverence for his art inevitably founded upon that identification of the normal and the beautiful which colors his whole philosophy? Were the choice open, we may question whether, in formulating his poetical theory, there would be much more to gain from assembling definitions of the office of each special type, than from laying hold of fundamental propositions applicable to all. If the poet says that all true poetry helps to regulate human will and passion, and to quiet human perplexity and doubt, at least he equips us with a general truth.

Besides the remarks on the nature and function of poetry in The Reason of Church-Government, there are allusions, mostly in the early writings, and on the whole conventional, that echo familiar traditions of the marvelous

effects of 'poesie." But even these have a ring of freshness and sincerity. Milton never spoke without fervor of the potency of 'apt words.'

Plato's 'quarrel between poetry and philosophy,' which sprang from the ancient difference in estimating their functions, and produced many a 'defence' of poetry, left few traces in Milton. In ranking Spenser as a teacher above the great scholastic philosophers,2 Milton assumes that poetry is better than philosophy as a means of profit; while in commending for its delight the poetical method of exposition by 'instances of example,' he assumes the greater excellence of poetry as a means of pleasure.3

In regard to history, the other rival of poetry, we have several comments. Milton ascribes to the good historian many qualities that belong also to the ideal poet. To Henry de Brass he writes:

My opinion is that he who would describe actions and events in a way suited to their dignity and importance, ought to write with a mind endued with a spirit, and enlarged by an experience, as extensive as the actors in the scene, that he may have a capacity properly to comprehend and to estimate the most momentous affairs, and to relate them, when

1 See Ad Patrem 17-40.

2 Areopagitica, Works 4.412. And see Animadversions, Works 3.237238, where Milton refers to the didactic value of Spenser's 'lively' personations.

Milton's thought might be expanded in the words of Sidney: 'Whatsoever the philosopher saith should be done, he ['the peerless poet'] giveth a perfect picture of it in some one by whom he presupposeth it was done, so as he coupleth the general notion with the particular example. A perfect picture, I say, for he yieldeth to the powers of the mind an image of that whereof the philosopher bestoweth but a wordish description: which doth neither strike, pierce, nor possess the sight of the soul so much as that other doth.' An Apology for Poetry, in Eliz. Crit. Essays 1.164.

comprehended, with energy and distinctness, with purity and perspicuity of diction. The decorations of style I do not greatly heed; for I require an historian and not a rhetorician.1

But if decorations of style are partly denied the historian, the selection and elimination associated with artistic technique are partly enjoined upon him. 'Ofttimes,' says Milton, ... wise men, and of best ability, have forborne to write the acts of their own days, while they beheld with a just loathing and disdain, not only how unworthy, how perverse, how corrupt, but often how ignoble, how petty, how below all history, the persons and their actions were."2 Though one is here reminded of 'the main consistence of a true poem," the vital distinction between poetry and history remains clear. Like Sidney, Milton ties the historians 'not to what should be, but to what is,' and, stigmatizing as a disease their indulgence in ‘idle fancies,' rebukes in them any effort toward freedom from the actual:

But either the inbred vanity of some, in that respect unworthily called historians, or the fond zeal of praising their nations above truth, hath so transported them, that where they find nothing faithfully to relate, they fall confidently to invent what they think may either best set off their history or magnify their country."

In history Milton sees the materials of poetry, but it is for the poets to deal with them imaginatively, for the historians to supply them accurately. His inclusion of many reputed tales in The History of Britain he justifies upon the sole ground that they will be of use to 'our

Epist. Fam. 23, trans. by Fellowes, 1. xxxiv (Works 7.402). And see Epist. Fam. 26, Works 7.405.

Hist. Brit. (Bk. 1), Works 5. 1-2.

'See above, p. 70.

'Hist. Brit. (Bk. 3), Works 5.123. 'Ibid., Works 5.104.

See below, p. 114.