In the succeeding interview with Adam, in Act iii., the intoxicated Eve has not begun to taste the consequences of her crime; she comes to persuade her companion to partake her guilt.
"Eve. How I rejoice, not only to behold
These flowers, these verdant meads with waving trees,
But thee, my Adam!
'Tis thou alone in whose blest presence seems
This scene more fraught with ever new delight,
More bright the fruits, and every fount more clear!
Adam. No blossom that adorns this blissful plain
Such beauty can unfold to greet mine eyes
As those sweet flowers whose charms I gaze upon
In the fair garden of thy beauteous face!
Be calm, ye plants of earth; nor deem my words
False to your loveliness!
Ye, with the silvery dews of evening sprinkled,
When the sun sends his ardent glance abroad,
Make glad the bosom of the grassy earth;
But droop ye also with declining day.
While the fair living flowers that on the cheek
Of my loved Eve are cherished—watered ever
By the sweet dews of joy that o'er them flow
When to her God she bends in grateful praise—
Warmed into life by the twin radiant suns
That light the heaven of her face—there live
In grace and bloom perennial, and adorn
Their own unrivalled paradise."
Death, in the eyes of Adam, is more welcome than separation from his beloved; as in Paradise Lost, he rushes on his fate voluntarily, without partaking in any of those dreams of greatness which had beguiled his frail consort. When the mortal sin is completed by his participation, Volano with his trumpet summons the infernal spirits, who crowd the scene with shouts of exultation expressed in lyrical measures. The Serpent and Vainglory are worshipped for their success. The evil spirits vanish before the voice of the Eternal, who descends with his angels to pronounce sentence upon the guilty pair. The solemn account to which the Judge calls them, their guilty evasion and detection, and the stern malediction on the earth cursed for man's sake, with the punishment denounced on the human offenders and on the serpent, are described in the scriptural language, and with a simplicity which is in itself sublime. No concetti are here allowed to mar the impressive greatness of the scene. An angel remains after the departure of the Almighty, and clothes the shivering pair with the skins of wild beasts, reminding them that the roughness of their new raiment signifies the suffering they are to sustain in the journey of life. Then the stern Archangel Michael, the minister of divine vengeance, appears and commands them to leave paradise, while the cherubic host, who had hitherto hovered round them, forsake their accustomed charge and reascend to heaven. The flaming sword of Michael chases the unhappy fugitives from their lost home, and his lips confirm their own apprehensions:
"Michael. These stony fields your naked feet shall press,
In place of flowery turf, since fatal sin
Forbids you longer to inhabit here.
Know me the minister of wrath to those
Who have rebelled against their God. For this
Wear I the armor of almighty power,
Dazzling and terrible. Yes, I am he
Who, in the conflict of immortal hosts,
Dragged captive from the north the haughty chief
Of rebel spirits, and to hell's abyss
Hurled them in mighty ruin.
Now to the Eternal King it seemeth good
That man, rebellious to his sovereign will,
I should drive forth from his fair paradise
With sword of fire.
Hence, angels, and with me
Speed back to heaven your flight!
Even as like me ye have been wont to joy
On earth with Adam—once a demi-god,
Now feeble clay. Then, armed with fiery sword,
A cherub guardian of this gate of bliss
Shall take your place."
Act iii. sc. 8.
The chant of the departing angels mingles with lamentation over the fall an intimation of peace in the future.
The poem does not end with the expulsion from Eden; a second part, as it were, is contained in the last two acts, in which the dim promise of a Redeemer is shadowed forth, the triumph of hell is turned to rage and shame, and penitence is comforted with hope. This completion of the great plan gives a new grandeur to the piece, since it is thus made to embody the most solemn and striking of all morals.
In Act iv. Volano summons the spirits of the elements to meet Lucifer, who calls a council. The spirits still utter their songs of triumph over the fall of man; but the mien of their leader is deject, his clear-sighted vision already discerns in the just wrath of God against the human offenders the latent promise of mercy. He foresees the pardon of man, and his restoration through a Redeemer to the heavenly blessings from which his destroyer vainly hoped his transgressions had cut him off. He is racked with anguish at the prospect of his work being undone; but it is no time now to pause; he must build up still higher the edifice of his own greatness and his defiance of Omnipotence. The deep pride of his character is further illustrated in the infernal council. He causes to issue from the earth four monsters hurtful to man: Mondo, Carne, Morte, and Demonio—World, Flesh, Death, and Devil.
Adam and Eve appear in their fallen condition, the prey of a thousand fears and ills, haunted by miseries before unknown. They bitterly deplore the changes that have passed on the creation. The animals manifest terror at their presence. Four monsters beset Adam—the impersonations of Hunger, Thirst, Fatigue, and Despair, that threaten to follow him unceasingly. Death menaces them with mortal peril; the heavens grow dark, thunders roll, and the air is convulsed with tempest. The scene closes in gloom and horror.