The Chaos of Silence: Contrast and Death in the Soundscapes of L'Allegro and Il Penseroso

Syamantakshobhan Basu,
PG I,
Roll No-48.
Course: Milton

The Chaos of Silence: Contrast and Death in the Soundscapes of L'Allegro and Il Penseroso

"There let the pealing organ blow

To the full voiced choir below,

In service high, and anthems clear,

As may with sweetness, through mine ear,

Dissolve me into ecstasies"

Written possibly in 1631-32, which was the last year of his academic study at Cambridge, Milton's paired poems, L'Allegro and Il Penseroso displayed a degree of maturity and formal mastery that became definitive of his poetic endeavours. Here, I would like to show how Milton, himself musically adept and the son of a minor composer of the times, used aural imagery to construct soundscapes, and the contrasting attitudes of these two soundscapes towards sound, silence, and death.

Barbara Lewalski, in her critical biography of John Milton, notes that Charles Diodati and Milton himself exchanged letters in Greek, where each saw both himself and the other as a poet and scholar of contrasting character, much like the respective narrators of L'Allegro and Il Penseroso. However, suggestions of homoeroticism and a mutual, warm affection between the two show that these two natures are not necessarily entirely opposed to each other. The positive aspects of each affective nature are drawn to the opposite.

"Each regards himself and his friend as poet and scholar, but Diodati is cast by both as a merry, carefree, pleasure-loving extrovert (like l’Allegro), and Milton as a sober, bookish recluse (like il Penseroso). Their exchanges are filled with warm affection, intimacy of spirit, and eager anticipations of reunions, with some overtones of homoeroticism – most likely unacknowledged as such by either one."

This contrast is employed in the twin poems, L'Allegro and Il Penseroso through a number of poetic metaphors. In particular, the construction of the "tone" of both poems, and the contrast between the two, can be best studied through one particular device. The use of sound imagery to layer the poetic conceit is Milton's stroke of genius. Milton's use of sound imagery is characteristic of his poetry, and foreshadows a greater reliance on sound to convey meaning, in the absence of his own physical vision on the part of Milton in his later works, such as Samson Agonistes. The two soundscapes reflect the affective mood that each poem seems to assume. As a testament to Milton's control over the formal, each poem seems to slip on the garb of the affect that the title purports to represent, and this is indicated right away in the first declaration, where the Muse which controls the opposite affect is banished from the poem's metaphorical landscape. Therefore L'Allegro begins by saying- "Hence loathed Melancholy" while Il Penseroso banishes blind optimism by stating in its very first line- "Hence vain deluding joys". To quote Rosemund Tuve-"Each poem begins with a banishing of the travesty of what is praised in the other."

There are two kinds of each affective emotion expression in the poems. There is a 'good' Melancholy and a 'bad' Melancholy just as there is a 'good' Joy and a 'bad' Joy. And it is the 'bad' kinds that the narrators seek to exorcise in each poem. This sets up an internal contrast as well as an external contrast. Within Joy itself there is a splicing, just as Melancholy too, finds itself divided. And in a way, the 'good' kinds of each affective emotion bear a sympathy towards each other, much as Diodati and Milton do. Excesses of each emotion, as of a dominant humour, would lead to harm. Thus brooding, bilious 'bad' Melancholy resembles Satan in the darkness, jealously spreading his wings to cover in shadow the young man's soul. Thus also, "vain deluding Joys" are derided as "the brood of folly without father bred". Both excesses are marked by a lack of legitimacy as well as of value. Therefore it is not Melancholy contending with Joy, not L'Allegro with Il Penseroso. It is rather Melancholy contending with itself, Joy with meaningless Joy . The two affective moods are thus of two complementary and not entirely contrasting characters. The contast lies in the attitude that each takes towards the world surrounding it. Most importantly, in the attitude of both towards death.

Before studying the relationship of the two poems to death, I intend to establish the poetic and affective value of the soundscape of each poem, with respect to each other. The two poems hinge upon the contrast that is played out between their soundscapes, through these metaphors, and the common thread weaving the two can be found in Milton's use of sound imagery as the substantiation of his poetic vision.

Although Milton's writing dates to the 17^th Century, like most other Early Modern works or works immediately following the Renaissance, it also constitutes a continuity with what is termed the "Middle Ages". Interesting to note then, what Johan H. Huizinga has to say about the contrasting values of sound in the Medieval period, still not entirely irrelevant in Milton's time:

"All things presenting themselves to the mind in violent contrasts and impressive forms, lent a tone of excitement and of passion to everyday life and tended to produce that perpetual oscillation between despair and distracted joy, between cruelty and pious tenderness which characterize life in the Middle Ages.

One sound rose ceaselessly above the noises of busy life and lifted all things unto a sphere of order and serenity: the sound of bells. The bells were in daily life like good spirits, which by their familiar voices, now called upon the citizens to mourn and now to rejoice, now warned them of danger, now exhorted them to piety. They were known by their names: big Jacqueline, or the bell Roland. Every one knew the difference in meaning of .the various ways of ringing. However continuous the ringing of the bells, people would seem not to have become blunted to the effect of their sound.

Throughout the famous judicial duel between two citizens of Valenciennes, in 1455, the big bell, 'which is hideous to hear', says Chastellain, never stopped ringing. What intoxication the pealing of the bells of all the churches, and of all the monasteries of Paris, must have produced, sounding from morning till evening, and even during the night, when a peace was concluded or a pope elected."

In fact, in L'Allegro the "merry bells ring round" in joyous celebration of night "till the livelong daylight fail", while at the end of Il Penseroso the "pealing" organ blows down to a "full voiced choir below", which in "service high, and anthems clear, As may with sweetness" through the narrator's ear dissolve him "into ecstasies". The heavenly organ functions like a pealing bell, drawing the narrator, world-weary and wiser than his L'Allegro counterpart, to the "dim religious light" , and its grave summons eventually grows to such a crescendo that it dissolves him into ecstasies. This religious rapture, this complete surrender to the call of the grave heavenly sound as something deeper than any earthly joy, takes precedence over all other sounds in the two poems. I contend that it represents the highest pitch of rapture,where poetic grace spills over into religious grace, and is only achievable in the mature stages of Il Penseroso. I believe that these lines display the privilege of Il Penseroso over L'Allegro, a point that I will further develop when talking of death in relation to the two.

Milton's own approach to sound as something preternatural, something indicative of deeper strains, foreshadows Samson's blindness and his own. The Bachhic singer in L'Allegro hears more than he sees, as if soon enough he will be forced to hear the sounds of revelry rather than see the acts. Of course, Milton cannot know his later blindness, and this only highlights a natural inclination to aural imagery. In Il Penseroso, right at the close of the cycle the two poems represent, the narratorial voice says-

"Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain."

The cycle, through revelry and celebration of life, tends to final wisdom.

The two poems are experiments in genre, literary style and intertextuality. The complementarity plays out as contrasts which are predominantly formal in nature. With respect to the formal differentiations distinguishing as well as tying the two poems together, it may be instructive to look at how Handel interpreted and substantiated the two texts through musical language. The "sense" of the two poems, in terms of their affective sense, is expressed through the formal distinctions that Handel made in setting the two to music.

"The "sense" of the work emerges predominantly in the contrasts of various sorts that appear between l'Allergo and il Penseroso "movements", the groupings of recitatives, airs and choruses that are taken from one or the other of the companion poems. Handel was clearly concerned to distinguish the two states of mind by establishing differing attitudes towards melody and harmony. Something of what will be his method of portraying the contrast appears in the opening exchange between the two. The work is unique among Handel's large-scale vocal compositions in its lack of the tradtional orchestral overture. The opening pair of recitatives and airs serve in effect as an overture for what is to follow: each state of mind is introduced, and their opposing characters are established."

Michael O'Connell and John Powell go on to claim that "In this overture-like exchange, Handel portrays musically what Rosemund Tuve has judged occurs in the opening lines of Milton's poems". The musical contrast therefore is between "not the opposing state of mind itself, but what it might be mistaken for."

Death, as in much of Milton's work, plays a role in the orientation of the poems' affective states or moods. In Phillipe Aries' Western Attitudes Towards Death, a clear line of descent is traced in attitudes towards death and burial in Western civilization, running concurrently with major social phenomena such as the Christianization of Pagan religious and social customs. Referring to the artes moriendi tradition of iconography in texts and woodcuts, primarily in the 15^th and 16^th centuries, Aries says-"The iconography of the artes moriendi joins in a single scene the security of collective rite and the anxiety of a personal interrogation." Aries describes these two centuries as a turning point in the attitude towards death, where the calm, unresisting, even welcoming belief in the universality of death is increasingly replaced by an anxiety of the loss of loved ones and anxiety of the death of self. Death becomes, as time progresses, something to be feared, and the excessive, ritualistic mourning of earlier times is gradually replaced by a silence, an aversion to even the mention of death. A frantic desire to remove onself from the very thought of encountering death, intensified in the aftermath of the First World War.

Aries further says that the attitude of spiritual writers in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries shows a struggle against the prevailing belief that a virtuous life was unnecessary, because a good death redeemed one entirely. However, they continued to hold that the moral conditions and circumstances of death had still a vital importance. Milton, therefore, occupies a time that is situated in a flux between two opposing, contrasting attitudes towards death. One of calm acceptance, and even a welcoming, of the importance of death as superseding that of life, and the other of a raucous resistance, a turning away, an exorcism of death and all of its friends. I believe that the unstated attitudes of each poem towards death, also consitute a basis for the contrast between them. In keeping with my study of sound imagery in both poems, I will illustrate my position through the use of mostly aural metaphors.

In L'Allegro, darkness and sorrow are juxtaposed constantly with bright, joyous sounds in an attempt to banish the melancholy of final and irrevocable death. Therefore "the cock, with lively din,/Scatters the rear of darkness thin". There is thus "dancing in the checkered shade", but only "till the livelong daylight fail". Yet, these are futile attempts. Attempts that keep darkness and death at bay, but with their shadow peeping stealthily over youthful shoulders. So,while "the milkmaid singeth blithe", the "mower whets his scythe". This is, in effect an extremely common memento mori, although the mower here is not ostensibly death himself. This subtle effect of a quietening, a lulling of all sound by sleep and death is repeated often in the poem. At the end of a day's hectic activity, the pastoral inhabitants of L'Allegro are described as such-"Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,/ By whispering winds soon lulled asleep." The strains of "soft Lydian airs, married to immortal verse", could have, according to narrator "won the ear/Of Pluto to have quite set free/His half-regained Eurydice". Yet Orpheus himself had turned back to see the face of death. And the bard of the paradise of L'Allegro, like all other bards, is fated to do the same. The joy of living is fleeting, temporary, always an interlude for death's final trumpet sound. Somewhere, therefore, the joyous hope in L'Allegro, of everlasting Spring and revelry seems to ring hollow, in the face of unremitted, irrevocable death, although the defiance of it till the final hour in itself is a tremendous act of bravery, and produces some of the sweetest music to be heard in Heaven or earth, such as Shakespeare's "native wood-notes wild". The music of L'Allegro is the music of life, to be silenced soon by the grim knell, but for all that, none the less beautiful.

Il Penseroso on the other hand, is predisposed to a quiet, meditative melancholy, that bears no conflict with darkness or death. There is a welcoming of dark spaces, an active seeking out of seclusion, a proclivity towards calming sounds, and ultimately of heavenly silence. The narrator's desire is to "join with thee calm peace, and quiet" and to this end, the Muse of the poem must bring with it "the mute silence hist along,/ Less Philomel will deign a song/In her sweetest, saddest plight,/Smoothing the rugged brow of night". The Nightingale is a "Sweet bird that shunn'st the noise of folly,/ Most musical, most melancholy!/ Thee, chantress, oft the woods among,/I woo to hear thy even song". In the peaceful heart of the Sylvan gardens of Il Penseroso-"the rude ax, with heaved stroke,/ Was never heard the nymphs to daunt/Or fright them from their hallowed haunt". And yet, while Orpheus' song of laughter had failed to win back his Eurydice in L'Allegro, the "Sad Virgin" of Il Penseroso has the power to "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". It is the strength of melancholy that forces even death into submission. And yet, melancholy, in its innate sympathy with death itself, does in silence the work of death. Thus, "the cricket on the hearth,/ Or the bellman's drowsy charm " reminds us of Shakespeare's fatal bellman, who pretended to guard the gates of Hell. The affective sympathy with death is more direct, and less conflicting than in L'Allegro. The scholar in his lonely tower lives a life of silent, quiet, meditation, and when the "pealing organ" of heaven dissolves him "into ecstasies", it is a welcome dissolution, a dissolution long-awaited and prepared for. Death calls him and he goes, without complaint, because the life of meditation and silence has brought him to "old experience" which attains to "something like prophetic strain".

L'Allegro, if I may make the comparison, rises chaotically like Pandemonium,from the base state of Il Penseroso, which is the first, stunned acceptance of their Fall by the Angels. It is also the state to which the Angels must return, when Hell is shut up by God on the Day of Judgement. All struggle against death is futility embodied, yet human endeavour exists in these spaces of dissent, in this dogged refusal to acknowledge the finality of death. It is for this that man makes furious, joyous, living music. This music, as in L'Allegro is projected as a state of harmonious perfection, yet in its shadow lurks the "barbarous dissonance" that threatens to dislodge the narrator from his pastoral paradise. Furthermore, like all excited states, the energy must give out, to be replaced by the silence of meditation, silence, and finally death.The melancholy is a quiet embodiment of the death-wish that is common to all mankind. The joy of life is the joy in L'Allegro. The peace of the tomb is the peace in Il Penseroso.

Therefore, through an interweaving network of aural imagery, Milton structures L'Allegro and Il Penseroso to stand in a position of complementarity to each other, and yet each bears a sharply contrasting attitude towards chaos and death. Read together with his later works, particularly Comus,where the Bacchic revelers may only be heard,  Paradise Lost, and Samson Agonistes, where the blind Samson must stretch out towards all meaning through sound alone, a pattern emerges. A pattern that shows an increasing engagement with sound imagery, and an increasingly nuanced position towards death.

Bibliography:

The following works were referred to in the composition of this paper:

1. Milton, John. The Annotated Milton. Edited by Burton Raffel. New York: Bantam Classics.

2. Lewalski, Barbara K. The Life of John Milton: A Critical Biography. Massachusetts: Blackwell,2003.

3. Aries, Philippe. Western Attitudes Toward Death: From the Middle Ages to the Present. Translated by Patricia M. Ranum. London: Marion Boyars, 1976.

4. Huizinga, Johan H. The Waning of the Middle Ages. Translated by F. Hopman. London: Penguin,1987.

5. Tuve, Rosamund. Images and Themes in Five Poems by Milton. Harvard: Harvard University Press, 1957.

6. O'Connell, Michael and Powell, John. "Music and Sense in Handel's Setting of L'Allegro and Il Penseroso". Eighteenth-Century Studies 12, no.1(1978).

Milton’s Comus: A Case of Temptation and the Resistance to it by (a combination of) Virtue and Grace

 

Milton’s Comus: A Case of Temptation and the Resistance to it by (a combination of) Virtue and Grace

 

 

Of all Milton’s literary works, Comus which was originally titled A Mask presented at Ludlow Castle (1634), is considered to be the most variously designated piece in terms of genre. Milton, as can be inferred from the title given by him, obviously wanted it to be primarily treated as a masque. However, it has been criticised and discerned to be a lyrical drama, a drama in the epic style, a lyric poem in the form of a drama, an allegory etc. by scholars and critics alike. For example, Dr Johnson described it as a drama (while simultaneously judging it quite harshly) and E. M. W. Tillyard in his work Milton calls it the author’s “private experiment in dramatic style”. However it is obvious that the poem lacks the characteristic traits of an ordinary drama viz. the development of character, conflict between characters and a series of constituent actions facilitating the building and resolution of suspense. On the other hand, although Comus employs the standard construction of the court masque i.e. poetic induction, two anti-masques, main masque and epilogue, it very evidently deviates in some important respects – the chief of which being the fact that the essential moment of the narrative sequence is “not the solution of a riddle, not a sudden metamorphosis or a revelation, but an act of free choice”(as said by Enid Welsford in The Court Masque). Guilherme Ferraz and Thomas H. Luxon commented that the one element that distinguishes Comus as “a complex and fascinating piece of dramatic literature” is the author’s subversion of the conventions of the genre where he formulates a Puritan reordering of the classically-rooted idea of self-governance and temperance. Indeed, Milton’s choice of setting the opening sequence out-of-doors (and in the middle of a dense and enchanted forest no less) and not at the banquet hall, along with the absence of the usual tone of flattery and complimentary subservience, substantiate the exceptional nature of the masque. Also, the overarching tendency of moralising can be seen to be a bit excessive considering that the composition was commissioned to celebrate the first visit of John Egerton, the first Earl of Bridgewater to his still quite new administrative seat at the Ludlow Castle in Shropshire, and as such was expected to most certainly include the Jonsonian “revels” which marked a kind of breaking of the fourth wall resulting in presenters and spectators alike celebrating the occasion at hand (in this case that being the much awaited visit of the rightful master of the estate). For this very reason, Herford and Simpson – both editors of Ben Jonson – have commented that although Comus is in conception “a genuine and unmistakable Masque”, “it is one in which the spirit of drama has broken free” and subsequently retains “a few unimportant traces of nominal allegiance.”

    The chief respect in which Comus differs from earlier Jonsonian models is that it gives precedence to a sense of self-governance via temperance and continence (a notion that is distinctly classical and yet qualified by a puritan treatment given by a Renaissance poet steeped deep into what E. R. Dodds called a “guilt culture”), over kingly authority which was extolled to be the seat of any and all virtue. In fact, Comus, like Milton’s three major works viz. Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes, deals with the central theme of temptation and the resistance to it. In the words of Edward Dowden, Milton’s poetical works as well as his artistic contemplations centred around the “one dominant idea that the struggle for mastery between good and evil is the prime fact of life; and that a final victory of the righteous cause is assured by the existence of a divine order of the universe, which Milton knew by the name of ‘Providence.’” Indeed, Milton chose to focus solely on spiritual education in Comus and consciously abstained from paying the requisite homage to the state and other political apparatus. Whatever the reason for that be, Milton seems curiously concerned with the notion of chastity in this poem. So much so that he almost claims the Lady to be invincible in the face of the most dire of temptations – in this case, Comus who is the embodiment of debauched sensuality – solely by virtue of her chastity which seems to operate autonomously. Apart from virtue of mind and heavenly assistance, the third element that champions and ensures the Lady’s unassailability is, as the elder brother puts it, her chastity. It seems as if in this context Milton refrains from distinguishing between the heavenly virtue of chastity and the earthly state of virginity. So, the simple fact of the Lady being a virgin – untouched of mind and body – protects her from most evils in the universe of Comus. This, of course, raises the question of the particular evil that the Lady faces while wandering, haplessly lost and separated from her brothers, in the midst of a dark wood. The evil disguised as a helpful shepherd is revealed to be Comus – the dark sorcerer of the woods who, along with his motley crew “that are of purer fire”, embodies incontinence and material as well as sexual temptations. In this context, his familial connection with Circe becomes relevant as he, just like his mother, is armed with a cup and a wand to seduce hapless travellers in the woods. Like Circe, he offers his parched and famished victims refreshment, revelry and eventually, sexual enjoyment. This is the temptation that the Lady faces which constitutes the central episode of the story along with the kind of resources that enable the Lady to withstand such allurements. However, it is interesting to note, as suggested by Robert Martin Adams, that in this case, Milton inverts the gender structure of the traditional Circe story by making a male assume the role of the fatal temptress and giving the part of the ship-wrecked mariners to a lady lost in the woods. In my mind, here is where the trouble with the treatment of the story begins. Though indisputably an allegory of temptation and the virtues of temperance that are invoked against it (which Comus refers to deridingly as “lean abstinence”), it is evident that the story itself lacks in the credibility of the seduction involved. Comus, for his part, uses remarkably insignificant tactics in his attempts to “convert” the Lady as part of his realm. In fact, he doesn’t even make explicit use of the enchanting devices he has in hand – namely, the cup and the wand. Instead of offering the damning drink to the Lady when she was the least suspicious i.e. when he was in the garb of the shepherd and the Lady was already thirsty and pliable, he brings her into his palace, lets her see his troop of victims turned “ugly headed monsters” and only then, when she is fully aware of the dangers that surround her, does he try to convince her to drink from the cup. Also, he chooses not to “chain up [the Lady’s] nerves in Alabaster” by wielding his wand and instead, resorts to befuddling her vision and making her sit immobile on an anointed chair. There is, in effect, no evidence of actual and active compulsion exerted on the part of Comus over the Lady and thereby, the seduction, though hinted at as a possibility, never really comes through. There is no way that the Lady is even provided with actual  materials of temptation to fall off the wagon of chastity and temperance as such to actually make Comus’s efforts a real threat or even, to really establish the absolute virtuosity of the Lady.

   This may be due to the fact that in this case, Milton was navigating the treacherous grounds of female autonomy coupled with the expected need to keep the Lady subservient to a larger superstructure of chiefly male-driven authority. While making a point about the Lady’s self-governed chastity, Milton also makes sure not to place her in a real danger of seduction so as to avoid the implicit complexities that come with making the femme fatale a man and the hapless victim a woman – possibly because changing the dynamic doesn’t keep the piece of fiction purely a product of imagination, but rather makes it undeniably translatable in reality. And obviously, Milton had to keep it in mind that the role of the Lady would be played by the 15 year old daughter of the very Lord Egerton whose assuming of the position of administrator at the Ludlow Castle the masque was actually celebrating. He couldn’t very well go about making deliberate sexual allusions about the Lady when she was being played by teenage nobility. On a rather similar note, we might recall the modus operandi of Stoker’s Count Dracula who intended to expand his political “empire” by seducing the female partners of the men of England. In his words, he had declared, “Your girls that you all love are mine already; and through them you and others shall yet be mine.” This sentiment is echoed in Comus's efforts of winning the Lady over which would have, in turn, led to greater power and influence on his part (in fact, possession of the woman's body and mind as part of a larger exercise of gaining social validation characterised most marriages of Milton's period). As has been already analysed extensively, it is evident that Stoker’s Dracula is a meticulous exercise in overthrowing the threat of the “new women” who were emerging during the late 19^th century. The female characters who displayed examples of “unbridled” sexuality that could almost jeopardize the established sexual hierarchy were presented as infected with the vampiris curse viz. Lucy and the three vampire brides of Dracula. Indeed the only woman who survived the entire narrative is Mina who was never, even for a moment, sexualised by Stoker. Ever the paragon of Victorian modesty and upholder of the “angel of the house” philosophy, she, once targeted by Dracula, even advised her husband to kill her if need be so as to prevent the Count from conquering her body and soul - “Think, dear, that there have been times when brave men have killed their wives and their womenkind, to keep them from falling into the hands of the enemy”. This is a classic example of female indoctrination where they themselves support the link between male supremacy and violence against women. However, Stoker sugarcoats this suggestion by prizing the child-like innocence and gentleness of Mina’s countenance – thereby presenting her as only useful as a calming and motivating factor for the band of men fighting the good fight of eliminating the Count. Milton, of course, does not seem to have a similar agenda – he merely wants to sidestep the dangers of presenting a female character possessing complete control of her sexuality as well as placing her in a situation of being subject to a credible seduction while writing during the 17^th century for a bunch of notoriously conservative nobility (particularly a family who was intent on clearing their name from certain unpleasant past occurrences viz. the incident with the Earl of Castlehaven). Again, the masque serves as a heavy reminder of a cultural counterpart – namely, the story of Kiranmala as presented in Thakurmar Jhuli by Dakshinaranjan Mitra Majumder. The story, like the masque, also consists of one sister and two brothers and can also be potentially classified as a tale of temptation and the resistance to it. In the story, while the two brothers are tempted by the wiles and charms of the demon-folk while on a quest to bring back certain invaluable treasures back home, Kiranmala – the sister – succeeds in earning the treasures as well as rescuing her brothers simply due to the fact that she resists the allure of the call of the demons. In fact, from amongst the vast compendium of Bengali folktales, Kiranmala can be presented as one of the very few champions of female autonomy and even, superiority over the male counterparts. Such tales of resistance towards temptation leading to wisdom are abounding in Indian myths and legends – one other prominent example is the “Banaparba” of the Mahabharat where all the Pandavas except Yudhishtir fall victim to the allure of an enchanted lake and become lifeless only to be saved by Yudhishtir’s temperance and presence of mind.

   Again, this instance of reversing the gender dynamic becomes significant as it is very easy for the men to quash the threat of a deadly vixen by killing her off or neutralising her effectively otherwise. It is considered heroic even in most cultures viz. the mutilation of Surpanakha in the Ramayana. But, due to the inversion of the power structure, such action won’t be deemed acceptable when done by a woman. So, Milton had to present the lady as powerful enough to resist the (frankly feeble) temptation but not as powerful so as to effectively take charge of the situation without heavenly assistance. She is, in effect, placed between personal autonomy and heavenly authority (as proposed by A. S. P. Woodhouse’s “The Argument of Milton’s Comus” where he examined the relationship in the masque between “virtue” and “grace”). Though she rejects Comus’s advances, she has to wait to be rescued by her brothers who, in turn, are protected by the heavenly herb – haemony. Then also, the rescue remains incomplete as the brothers act without complete knowledge of Comus’s magical abilities. Finally, the situation is resolved by not a human agent – male or female – but by a water nymph bestowed with heavenly authority to assist virtuous maidens in need. So, in other words, though the Lady’s virginity protects her to some extent, her rescue is only effected by heavenly intervention – but also, such intervention is conditional on the basis of the virginity in the first place. This is indeed, a unique position to find one’s self in, and this can be linked back to Milton’s personal (and constantly evolving) idea of divinity. Influenced heavily by the Dutch theologian Arminius about the Reform canon, Milton had adopted a synergistic theory where he believed or at least wanted to believe that God endowed us with certain abilities to perform positive actions in increments based on our own virtue and faith without any mediation from the Church. While the Lutheran and Calvinist philosophies of his time had maintained the externality of the Reform canon by taking away human agency more or less altogether and attributing grace and salvation to God’s own discretion, Milton had been enough of a humanist to take into account human restorative abilities and a desire for salvation. This might be the reason that he presented the Lady as capable of determining the direction of her destiny, at least at the onset, owing to her personal abilities, while also making sure that the fulfillment of that destiny remains impossible without express sponsoring on the part of heavenly authorities.

   In conclusion, I would like to point out, as all other critics have, that Comus presents a clear distinction between Apollonian control and Dionysian rebellion making the non-Calvinist question of choice on the part of the Lady (if we take into account her own nature and the circumstances) ridiculously easy. Making the right choice and thereby effecting a positive ethical action by rejecting a certain kind of morally dubious pleasure, in this case, appear to be too absolute and undifferentiated to be satisfiable. It certainly anticipates the far more fleshed out exercise in temptation and the resistance to it in Paradise Regained. One explanation for this can be traced to the fact that in Paradise Regained, both the contending parties transcend the physical world and are, more importantly, male. That is why Milton could take the liberty of showing the hero in an unfair light. The moment you introduce a female character in the equation, she has to be presented unequivocally as a figure of moral integrity (specifically when the equation consists of a man and a woman - things happen to get much more interestingly ambiguous when two women are involved, for example - Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla and Coleridge's Christabel). Otherwise, she tends to be automatically relegated to the role of the deadly vixen or the fallen woman – at least in the established literary canon of contemporary times. This can be further illustrated by the bad press that the figure of Eve gets in the Bible canon for falling victim to Lucifer’s persuasive charm and by popular consensus, bringing Adam down with her. Milton, in Paradise Lost, had to work hard to portray Eve as giving in to Satan’s suggestion not because of a pre-existing lack or flaw in her character but because of a different kind of intelligence instigating a natural desire for knowledge (which Stanley Fish calls the principal motivator of temptation), with subtle hints towards a divine foreknowledge, if not predestination. Whatever the case may be, Comus remains an enduring work of Miltonic imagination which while tracing the author’s personal literary and spiritual journey, simultaneously challenged the erstwhile conventions of the established Jonsonian masques.

Bibliography:

·         Milton, John. Complete Shorter Poems. Ed. Revard P., Stella. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 2009.

·         https://www.dartmouth.edu/~milton/reading_room/comus/intro/text.shtml. "Comus: Introduction", October 16, 2014.

·         Adams, Martin Robert. "Reading Comus". Modern Philology (JSTOR article). Vol. 51, No. 1, (Aug, 1953): pp. 18-32. The University of Chicago Press: http://www.jstor.org/stable/434894.

·         Major M., John. "Comus and the Tempest". Shakespeare Quarterly (JSTOR article). Vol. 10, No. 21, (Spring, 1959): pp. 177-183. Folger Shakespeare Library: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2866924.

·         Orgel, Stephen. "The Case for Comus". Representations (JSTOR article). Vol. 81, No. 1, (Winter, 2003): pp. 31-45. University of California Press:

http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/rep.2003.81.1.31.

·         Stoker, Bram. Dracula. London: Penguin Group, 1994.

Mayurakshi Sen

PG II

Roll No. : 33