The History of the Devil, As Well Ancient as Modern: In Two Parts. Defoe Daniel
eternal Light, by him alone,
Distorted now, and stript of Innocence,
And banish’d with thee from the high Pre-eminence,
How has the splendid Seraph chang’d his face,
Transform’d by thee, and like thy monstrous race?
Ugly as is the crime, for which he fell,
Fitted by thee to make a local Hell,
For such must be the place where either of you dwell.
Thus, as I told you, I only moralize upon the subject, but as to the difficulty, I must leave it as I find it, unless, as I hinted at first, I could prevail with Satan to set pen to paper, and write this part of his own History: No question, but he could let us into the secret; but to be plain, I doubt I shall tell so many plain truths of the Devil, in this History, and discover so many of his secrets, which it is not for his interest to have discover’d, that before I have done, the Devil and I may not be so good friends as you may suppose we are; at least, not friends enough to obtain such a favour of him, tho’ it be for public good; so we must be content till we come ont’ other side the Blue-Blanket, and then we shall know the whole Story.
But now, tho’ as I said, I will not attempt to solve the difficulty, I may, I hope, venture to tell you, that there is not so much difficulty in it, as at first sight appears: and especially not so much as some people would make us believe; let us see how others are mistaken in it, perhaps, that may help us a little in the enquiry; for to know what it is not, is one help towards knowing what it is.
Mr. Milton has indeed told us a great many merry things of the Devil, in a most formal, solemn manner; till in short he has made a good Play of Heaven and Hell; and no doubt if he had liv’d in our times, he might have had it acted with our Pluto and Proserpine. He has made fine Speeches both for God and the Devil, and a little addition might have turn’d it a la modern into a Harlequin Dieu & Diable.
I confess I don’t well know how far the dominion of Poetry extends itself; it seems the Buts and Bounds of Parnassus are not yet ascertain’d; so that for ought I know, by vertue of their antient privileges call’d Licentia Poetarum, there can be no Blasphemy in Verse; as some of our Divines say there can be no Treason in the Pulpit. But they that will venture to write that way, ought to be better satisfy’d about that Point than I am.
Upon this foot Mr. Milton, to grace his Poem, and give room for his Towring Fancy, has gone a length beyond all that ever went before him, since Ovid in his Metamorphosis. He has indeed complimented God Almighty with a flux of lofty words, and great sounds; and has made a very fine Story of the Devil, but he has made a meer je ne scay Quoi of Jesus Christ. In one line he has him riding on a Cherub, and in another sitting on a Throne, both in the very same moment of action. In another place he has brought him in making a Speech to his Saints, when ’tis evident he had none there; for we all know Man was not created till a long while after; and no body can be so dull as to say the Angels may be called Saints, without the greatest absurdity in nature. Besides, he makes Christ himself distinguish them, as in two several Bands, and of differing Persons and Species, as to be sure they are.
Stand still in bright array, ye Saints—
– Here stand,
Ye Angels. —
So that Christ here is brought in drawing up his Army before the last Battle, and making a Speech to them, to tell them they shall only stand by in warlike order, but that they shall have no occasion to fight, for he alone will engage the Rebels. Then in embattling his Legions, he places the Saints here, and the Angels there, as if one were the main Battle of Infantry, and the other the Wings of Cavalry. But who are those Saints? they are indeed all of Milton’s own making; ’tis certain there were no Saints at all in Heaven or Earth at that time; God and his Angels fill’d up the place; and till some of the Angels fell, and Men were created, had liv’d, and were dead, there could have been no Saints there. Saint Abel was certainly the Proto-Saint of all that ever were seen in Heaven, as well as the Proto-martyr of all that have been upon Earth.
Just such another Mistake, not to call it a Blunder, he makes about Hell; which he not only makes local, but gives it a being before the Fall of the Angels; and brings it in opening its mouth to receive them. This is so contrary to the nature of the thing, and so great an absurdity, that no Poetic License can account for it; for tho’ Poesie may form Stories, as Idea and Fancy may furnish Materials, yet Poesy must not break in upon Chronology, and make things which in time were to exist, act before they existed.
Thus a Painter may make a fine piece of Work, the fancy may be good, the strokes masterly, and the beauty of the Workmanship inimitably curious and fine, and yet have some unpardonable improprieties which marr the whole Work. So the famous Painter of Toledo painted the story of the three Wisemen of the East coming to worship, and bring their presents to our Lord upon his birth at Bethlehem, where he represents them as three Arabian or Indian Kings; two of them are white, and one black; But unhappily when he drew the latter part of them kneeling, which to be sure was done after their faces; their legs being necessarily a little intermix’d, he made three black feet for the Negroe King, and but three white feet for the two white Kings, and yet never discover’d the mistake till the piece was presented to the King, and hung up in the great Church. As this is an unpardonable error in Sculpture or Limning, it must be much more so in Poetry, where the Images must have no improprieties, much less inconsistencies.
In a word, Mr. Milton has indeed made a fine Poem, but it is the Devil of a History. I can easily allow Mr. Milton to make Hills and Dales, flowry Meadows and Plains (and the like) in Heaven; and places of Retreat and Contemplation in Hell; tho’ I must add, that it can be allowed to no Poet on Earth but Mr. Milton. Nay, I will allow Mr. Milton, if you please, to set the Angels a dancing in Heaven, lib. v. fo. 138. and the Devils a singing in Hell, lib. i. fo. 44. tho’ they are in short, especially the last, most horrid Absurdities. But I cannot allow him to make their Musick in Hell to be harmonious and charming as he does; such Images being incongruous, and indeed shocking to Nature. Neither can I think we should allow things to be plac’d out of time in Poetry, any more than in History; ’tis a confusion of Images which is allow’d to be disallow’d by all the Criticks of what tribe or species soever in the world, and is indeed unpardonable. But we shall find so many more of these things in Mr. Milton, that really taking notice of them all, would carry me quite out of my way, I being at this time not writing the History of Mr. Milton, but of the Devil: besides, Mr. Milton is such a celebrated Man, that who but he that can write the History of the Devil dare meddle with him?
But to come back to the business. As I had caution’d you against running to Scripture for shelter in cases of difficulty, Scripture weighing very little among the people I am directing my Speech to; so indeed Scripture gives but very little light into any thing of the Devil’s Story before his Fall, and but to very little of it for some time after.
Nor has Mr. Milton said one word to solve the main difficulty (viz.) How the Devil came to fall, and how Sin came into Heaven; how the spotless Seraphic Nature could receive infection, whence the contagion proceeded, what noxious matter could emit corruption there, how and whence any vapour to poison the Angelick Frame could rise up, or how it increas’d and grew up to crime. But all this he passes over, and hurrying up that part in two or three words, only tells us,
– his Pride,
Had cast him out of Heaven with all his Host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid aspiring
He trusted to have equal’d the most High.
His pride! but how came Satan while an Arch-angel