| Belz. | But what can profit man this beauty that must fade,
And wither like a flower, and shortly be decayed? |
The description that closes with the above passage bears many striking points of resemblance to the fourth book of Milton's epic. What follows is contrary to the purpose of the English poet. Apollyon goes on to explain that an eternity is assured to mankind by a tree of immortal life which he has seen in the midst of Eden, by eating the fruit of which man will live forever, and the number and power of his children be eternally on the increase. The key-note of the drama is then struck, for Belzebub, quivering with jealousy, exclaims, -
| Man thus has power and scope to wax above our heads. |
At this moment a trumpet is heard, and the hosts of heaven assemble. Gabriel, "chief of the angelic guards," appears, attended with the chorus of cherubim, sent as herald from the throne of God. His message is to this effect: God has created man a little lower than the angels, in order that, in the process of time, he may ascend up the staircase of the world into the summit of uncreated light, the infinite glory. Though the spiritual race now seems to overtop all others, yet God has from eternity concluded to exalt the human race, and to transport them into a splendor which is not different from that of God. The eternal Word clothed in flesh and bone, anointed as Lord and Head and Judge, you shall see give law to all the troops of spirits, angels, and man, from his unshadowed kingdom. Then the clear flame of seraphim shall seem dark beside the godlike splendor of man. This is destiny, and an unrevokable destiny. A burst from the chorus —
| Whatever Heaven decrees shall please the heavenly host - |
softens the severity of Gabriel's demeanor, and he passes on to discuss the present state of the angelic orders. Vondel's conceptions in this respect are simply those of St. Thomas Aquinas and Dante: we seem to move in the fourteenth century, as we read of the inmost hierarchy of seraphim, cherubim, and thrones; of the second of dominations, virtues, powers, and the outer hierarchy of principalities, archangels, and angels. We must remember, however, that Milton also was not free from the technical expressions of a celestial cosmology that the researches of science had already exploded. To return to the earlier part of Gabriel's charge, it will be noted that Vondel, though shadowy in his theology, fully escapes that rock of Arian heresy on which Milton struck in his sixth book; but, once started on the primum mobile, he wanders on in a sufficiently tedious prolixity. At length, however, the speech of Gabriel ceases, and the first act closes with a long antiphonal ode from the chorus. As this passage — almost the only one hitherto translated into English — was rendered with some success by the late Sir John Bowring, I will not attempt to give a version of it here. It is a long rhapsody in praise of the divine attributes, expressed in language of exceptional sublimity, and with a mingling of daring theological dogma with organ harmony of music which is not unworthy of those that "sing, and singing in their glory move."
In reviewing this first act, we see that, as in "Paradise Lost," jealousy is the seed out of which the shoot and flower of rebellion bear such rapid fruit of destruction. But whereas in that poem in almost precisely similar terms, God himself commands obedience to the son, "whom this day I have begot," and proclaims his superiority to the angels, which enflames them to sullen revolt, it is here the ignominy of watching the crescent supremacy of the vile rival man, born of the dust, that rouses the jealous anger of the princes of Angelborough. The causes are widely distinct; the consequences are curiously identical. But we must not press on too fast: when the first act closes, all appears docile and quiet in heaven; if complaint there be, it finds no voice in words.
But the second act opens in startling contrast to this universal subjection. Lucifer himself enters, attended by Belzebub and other of his own familiar followers. They draw rein in this quiet place, and the leader opens discouse as follows: -
| Swift spirits, let us stay the chariot of the dawn, For high enough, in sooth, God's morning star is drawn, |
