Complete Works of Samuel Johnson

by Samuel Johnson

  Whoever purposes, as it is expressed by Milton, to build the lofty rhyme, must acquaint himself with this law of poetical architecture, and take care that his edifice be solid as well as beautiful; that nothing stand single or independent, so as that it may be taken away without injuring the rest; but that, from the foundation to the pinnacles, one part rest firm upon another.

  The regular and consequential distribution is among common authors frequently neglected; but the failures of those, whose example can have no influence, may be safely overlooked, nor is it of much use to recall obscure and unguarded names to memory for the sake of sporting with their infamy. But if there is any writer whose genius can embellish impropriety, and whose authority can make errour venerable, his works are the proper objects of critical inquisition. To expunge faults where there are no excellencies is a task equally useless with that of the chymist, who employs the arts of separation and refinement upon ore in which no precious metal is contained to reward his operations.

  The tragedy of Samson Agonistes has been celebrated as the second work of the great author of Paradise Lost, and opposed, with all the confidence of triumph, to the dramatick performances of other nations. It contains, indeed, just sentiments, maxims of wisdom, and oracles of piety, and many passages written with the ancient spirit of choral poetry, in which there is a just and pleasing mixture of Seneca’s moral declamation, with the wild enthusiasm of the Greek writers. It is, therefore, worthy of examination, whether a performance thus illuminated with genius, and enriched with learning, is composed according to the indispensable laws of Aristotelian criticism: and, omitting, at present, all other considerations, whether it exhibits a beginning, a middle, and an end.

  The beginning is undoubtedly beautiful and proper, opening with a graceful abruptness, and proceeding naturally to a mournful recital of facts necessary to be known:

  Samson. A little onward lend thy guiding hand

  To these dark steps, a little further on;

  For yonder bank hath choice of sun and shade:

  There I am wont to sit, when any chance

  Relieves me from my task of servile toil,

  Daily in the common prison else enjoin’d me. —

  O, wherefore was my birth from Heav’n foretold

  Twice by an Angel? —

  Why was my breeding order’d and prescrib’d,

  As of a person separate to God,

  Design’d for great exploits; if I must die

  Betray’d, captiv’d, and both my eyes put out? —

  Whom have I to complain of but myself?

  Who this high gift of strength committed to me,

  In what part lodg’d, how easily bereft me,

  Under the seal of silence could not keep:

  But weakly to a woman must reveal it.

  His soliloquy is interrupted by a chorus or company of men of his own tribe, who condole his miseries, extenuate his fault, and conclude with a solemn vindication of divine justice. So that at the conclusion of the first act there is no design laid, no discovery made, nor any disposition formed towards the consequent event.

  In the second act, Manoah, the father of Samson, comes to seek his son, and, being shewn him by the chorus, breaks out into lamentations of his misery, and comparisons of his present with his former state, representing to him the ignominy which his religion suffers, by the festival this day celebrated in honour of Dagon, to whom the idolaters ascribed his overthrow.

  — Thou bear’st

  Enough, and more, the burthen of that fault;

  Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying

  That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains,

  This day the Philistines a popular feast

  Here celebrate in Gaza; and proclaim

  Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud

  To Dagon, as their God who hath deliver’d

  Thee, Samson, bound and blind, into their hands,

  Them out of thine, who slew’st them many a slain.

  Samson, touched with this reproach, makes a reply equally penitential and pious, which his father considers as the effusion of prophetick confidence:

  Samson. — He, be sure,

  Will not connive, or linger, thus provok’d,

  But will arise and his great name assert:

  Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive

  Such a discomfit, as shall quite despoil him

  Of all these boasted trophies won on me.

  Manoah. With cause this hope relieves thee, and these words

  I as a prophecy receive; for God,

  Nothing more certain, will not long defer

  To vindicate the glory of his name.

  This part of the dialogue, as it might tend to animate or exasperate Samson, cannot, I think, be censured as wholly superfluous; but the succeeding dispute, in which Samson contends to die, and which his father breaks off, that he may go to solicit his release, is only valuable for its own beauties, and has no tendency to introduce any thing that follows it.

  The next event of the drama is the arrival of Dalila, with all her graces, artifices, and allurements. This produces a dialogue, in a very high degree elegant and instructive, from which she retires, after she has exhausted her persuasions, and is no more seen nor heard of; nor has her visit any effect but that of raising the character of Samson.

  In the fourth act enters Harapha, the giant of Gath, whose name had never been mentioned before, and who has now no other motive of coming, than to see the man whose strength and actions are so loudly celebrated:

  Haraph. — Much I have heard

  Of thy prodigious might and feats perform’d,

  Incredible to me, in this displeas’d,

  That I was never present in the place

  Of those encounters, where we might have tried

  Each other’s force in camp or listed fields;

  And now am come to see of whom such noise

  Hath walk’d about, and each limb to survey,

  If thy appearance answer loud report.

  Samson challenges him to the combat; and, after an interchange of reproaches, elevated by repeated defiance on one side, and imbittered by contemptuous insults on the other, Harapha retires; we then hear it determined by Samson, and the chorus, that no consequence good or bad will proceed from their interview:

  Chorus. He will directly to the lords, I fear,

  And with malicious counsel stir them up

  Some way or other yet farther to afflict thee.

  Sams. He must allege some cause, and offer’d fight

  Will not dare mention, lest a question rise

  Whether he durst accept the offer or not;

  And, that he durst not, plain enough appear’d.

  At last, in the fifth act, appears a messenger from the lords assembled at the festival of Dagon, with a summons by which Samson is required to come and entertain them with some proof of his strength. Samson, after a short expostulation, dismisses him with a firm and resolute refusal; but, during the absence of the messenger, having a while defended the propriety of his conduct, he at last declares himself moved by a secret impulse to comply, and utters some dark presages of a great event to be brought to pass by his agency, under the direction of Providence:

  Sams. Be of good courage, I begin to feel

  Some rousing motions in me, which dispose

  To something extraordinary my thoughts.

  I with this messenger will go along,

  Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonour

  Our Law, or stain my vow of Nazarite.

  If there be aught of presage in the mind,

  This day will be remarkable in my life

  By some great act, or of my days the last.

  While Samson is conducted off by the messenger, his father returns with hopes of success in his solicitation, upon which he confers with the chorus till their dialogue is interrupted, first by a shout of triumph, and afterwards by screams of horrour and agony. As they stand de
liberating where they shall be secure, a man who had been present at the show enters, and relates how Samson, having prevailed on his guide to suffer him to lean against the main pillars of the theatrical edifice, tore down the roof upon the spectators and himself:

  — Those two massy pillars,

  With horrible convulsion, to and fro

  He tugg’d, he shook, till down they came, and drew

  The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder

  Upon the heads of all who sat beneath —

  Samson, with these immixt, inevitably

  Pull’d down the same destruction on himself.

  This is undoubtedly a just and regular catastrophe, and the poem, therefore, has a beginning and an end which Aristotle himself could not have disapproved; but it must be allowed to want a middle, since nothing passes between the first act and the last, that either hastens or delays the death of Samson. The whole drama, if its superfluities were cut off, would scarcely fill a single act; yet this is the tragedy which ignorance has admired, and bigotry applauded.

  No. 140. SATURDAY, JULY 20, 1751.

  — Quis tam Lucili fautor inepte est,

  Ut non hoc fateatur? HOR. Lib. i. Sat. x. 2.

  What doating bigot, to his faults so blind,

  As not to grant me this, can Milton find?

  It is common, says Bacon, to desire the end without enduring the means. Every member of society feels and acknowledges the necessity of detecting crimes, yet scarce any degree of virtue or reputation is able to secure an informer from publick hatred. The learned world has always admitted the usefulness of critical disquisitions, yet he that attempts to show, however modestly, the failures of a celebrated writer, shall surely irritate his admirers, and incur the imputation of envy, captiousness, and malignity.

  With this danger full in my view, I shall proceed to examine the sentiments of Milton’s tragedy, which, though much less liable to censure than the disposition of his plan, are, like those of other writers, sometimes exposed to just exceptions for want of care, or want of discernment.

  Sentiments are proper and improper as they consist more or less with the character and circumstances of the person to whom they are attributed, with the rules of the composition in which they are found, or with the settled and unalterable nature of things.

  It is common among the tragick poets to introduce their persons alluding to events or opinions, of which they could not possibly have any knowledge. The barbarians of remote or newly discovered regions often display their skill in European learning. The god of love is mentioned in Tamerlane with all the familiarity of a Roman epigrammatist; and a late writer has put Harvey’s doctrine of the circulation of the blood into the mouth of a Turkish statesman, who lived near two centuries before it was known even to philosophers or anatomists.

  Milton’s learning, which acquainted him with the manners of the ancient eastern nations, and his invention, which required no assistance from the common cant of poetry, have preserved him from frequent outrages of local or chronological propriety. Yet he has mentioned Chalybean steel, of which it is not very likely that his chorus should have heard, and has made Alp the general name of a mountain, in a region where the Alps could scarcely be known:

  No medicinal liquor can assuage,

  Nor breath of cooling air from snowy Alp.

  He has taught Samson the tales of Circe, and the Syrens, at which he apparently hints in his colloquy with Dalila:

  — I know thy trains,

  Though dearly to my cost, thy gins, and toils;

  Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms

  No more on me have pow’r.

  But the grossest errour of this kind is the solemn introduction of the Phoenix in the last scene; which is faulty, not only as it is incongruous to the personage to whom it is ascribed, but as it is so evidently contrary to reason and nature, that it ought never to be mentioned but as a fable in any serious poem:

  — Virtue giv’n for lost,

  Deprest, and overthrown, as seem’d,

  Like that self-begotten bird

  In the Arabian woods embost,

  That no second knows nor third,

  And lay ere while a holocaust,

  From out her ashy womb now teem’d,

  Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most

  When most unactive deem’d,

  And though her body die, her fame survives

  A secular bird, ages of lives.

  Another species of impropriety is the unsuitableness of thoughts to the general character of the poem. The seriousness and solemnity of tragedy necessarily reject all pointed or epigrammatical expressions, all remote conceits and opposition of ideas. Samson’s complaint is therefore too elaborate to be natural:

  As in the land of darkness, yet in light,

  To live a life half dead, a living death,

  And bury’d; but, O yet more miserable!

  Myself, my sepulchre, a moving grave,

  Buried, yet not exempt,

  By privilege of death and burial,

  From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs.

  All allusions to low and trivial objects, with which contempt is usually associated, are doubtless unsuitable to a species of composition which ought to be always awful, though not always magnificent. The remark therefore of the chorus on good or bad news seems to want elevation:

  Manoah. A little stay will bring some notice hither. Chor. Of good or bad so great, of bad the sooner; For evil news rides post, while good news baits.

  But of all meanness that has least to plead which is produced by mere verbal conceits, which, depending only upon sounds, lose their existence by the change of a syllable. Of this kind is the following dialogue:

  Chor. But had we best retire? I see a storm.

  Sams. Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain.

  Chor. But this another kind of tempest brings.

  Sams. Be less abstruse, my riddling days are past.

  Chor. Look now for no enchanting voice, nor fear

  The bait of honied words; a rougher tongue

  Draws hitherward; I know him by his stride,

  The giant Harapha. —

  And yet more despicable are the lines in which Manoah’s paternal kindness is commended by the chorus:

  Fathers are wont to lay up for their sons,

  Thou for thy son art bent to lay out all.

  Samson’s complaint of the inconveniencies of imprisonment is not wholly without verbal quaintness:

  — I, a prisoner chain’d, scarce freely draw

  The air, imprison’d also, close and damp.

  From the sentiments we may properly descend to the consideration of the language, which, in imitation of the ancients, is through the whole dialogue remarkably simple and unadorned, seldom heightened by epithets, or varied by figures; yet sometimes metaphors find admission, even where their consistency is not accurately preserved. Thus Samson confounds loquacity with a shipwreck:

  How could I once look up, or heave the head,

  Who, like a foolish pilot, have shipwreck’d

  My vessel trusted to me from above,

  Gloriously rigg’d; and for a word, a tear,

  Fool! have divulg’d the secret gift of God

  To a deceitful woman? —

  And the chorus talks of adding fuel to flame in a report:

  He’s gone, and who knows how he may report

  Thy words, by adding fuel to the flame?

  The versification is in the dialogue much more smooth and harmonious, than in the parts allotted to the chorus, which are often so harsh and dissonant, as scarce to preserve, whether the lines end with or without rhymes, any appearance of metrical regularity:

  Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he,

  That heroic, that renown’d,

  Irresistible Samson? whom unarm’d

  No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast, could withstand;

  Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid.
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  Since I have thus pointed out the faults of Milton, critical integrity requires that I should endeavour to display his excellencies, though they will not easily be discovered in short quotations, because they consist in the justness of diffuse reasonings, or in the contexture and method of continued dialogues; this play having none of those descriptions, similies, or splendid sentences, with which other tragedies are so lavishly adorned. Yet some passages may be selected which seem to deserve particular notice, either as containing sentiments of passion, representations of life, precepts of conduct, or sallies of imagination. It is not easy to give a stronger representation of the weariness of despondency, than in the words of Samson to his father:

  — I feel my genial spirits droop,

  My hopes all flat, Nature within me seems

  In all her functions weary of herself,

  My race of glory run, and race of shame,

  And I shall shortly be with them that rest.

  The reply of Samson to the flattering Dalila affords a just and striking description of the stratagems and allurements of feminine hypocrisy:

  — These are thy wonted arts,

  And arts of every woman false like thee,

  To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray,

  Then as repentant to submit, beseech,

  And reconcilement move with feign’d remorse,

  Confess and promise wonders in her change;

  Not truly penitent, but chief to try

  Her husband, how far urg’d his patience bears,

  His virtue or weakness which way to assail:

  Then with more cautious and instructed skill

  Again transgresses, and again submits.

  When Samson has refused to make himself a spectacle at the feast of Dagon, he first justifies his behaviour to the chorus, who charge him with having served the Philistines, by a very just distinction: and then destroys the common excuse of cowardice and servility, which always confound temptation with compulsion:

  Chor. Yet with thy strength thou serv’st the Philistines.