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IHtVBR^ITY  09 

California 
SAN  Diceo 


F'-l 


presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

hy 

From  the  Estate  of 
Mrs.  Anna  L.  Bailhache 


THE 


DIVINE    COMEDY 


DANTE    ALIGHIERI 


TRANSLATED    BY 


HENRY    WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 


I  follow  here  the  footing  of  thy  feete 

That  with  thy  meaning  so  I  may  the  rather  meetc 

Spenser. 


VOL.    IL 


BOSTON 
TICKNOR     AND      FIELDS 

1867 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 

HENRY     WADSWORTH     LONGFELLOW, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


University  Press  :  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co., 
Cambridge. 


CONTENTS 

OF    VOL.    II. 


PURGATORIO. 

CANTO    I. 

Page 

The  Shores  of  Purgatory.  —  Cato  of  Utica i 

CANTO    II. 
The  Celestial  Pilot.  —  Casella 7 

CANTO    III. 

The  Foot  of  the  Mountain.  —  Those  who  have  died  in  Contumacy  of  Holy 
Church.  —  Manfredi 13 

CANTO   IV. 

Farther  Ascent  of  the  Mountain.  —  The  Negligent,  who  postponed  Repentance 
till  the  last  Hour.  —  Belacqua 20 

CANTO    V. 

Those  who  died  by  Violence,  but  repentant.  —  Buonconte  di   Montefeltro.  — 
La  Pia 26 

CANTO    VI. 
Sordello 32 

CANTO    VII. 
The  Valley  of  the  Princes 39 


iv  Contents 


CANTO    VIII. 

The  Guardian  Angels  and  the  Serpent.  —  Nino  di  Gallura.  —  Currado  Ma- 
laspina 45 

CANTO    IX. 
Dante's  Dream  of  the  Eagle.  —  The  Gate  of  Purgatory 51 

CANTO    X. 

The  First  Circle.  —  The  Proud.  —  The  Sculptures  on  the  Wall        ...    58 

CANTO    XI. 

Omberto  di  Santafiore.  —  Oderisi  d'  Agobbio.  —  Provenzan  Salvani .        .        -64 

CANTO    XII. 
The  Sculptures  dn  the  Pavement.  —  Ascent  to  the  Second  Circle      .        .        .71 

CANTO    XIII. 
The  Second  Circle.  —  The  Envious.  —  Sapia  of  Siena "]"] 

CANTO    XIV. 
Guido  del  Duca  and  Renier  da  Calboli 84 

CANTO    XV. 
The  Third  Circle.  —  The  Irascible 91 

CANTO    XVI. 
Marco  Lombardo 98 

CANTO    XVII. 
Dante's  Dream  of  Anger.  —  The  Fourth  Circle.  —  The  Slothful       .        .        .  105 


Contents  v 


CANTO    XVIII. 
Virgil's  Discourse  of  Love.  —  The  Abbot  of  San  Zeno 1 1 1 

CANTO    XIX. 

Dante's  Dream  of  the  Siren.  — The  Fifth  Circle. —  The  Avaricious  and  Prod- 
igal.—  Pope  Adrian  V ii8 

CANTO    XX. 
Hugh  Capet. — The  Earthquake 125 

CANTO    XXI. 
The  Poet  Statius 132 

CANTO    XXII. 
The  Sixth  Circle.  —  The  Gluttonous.  —  The  Mystic  Tree       .        .        .        .138 

CANTO    XXIII. 
Forese ^ 145 

CANTO    XXIV. 
Buonagiunta  da  Lucca.  —  Pope  Martin  IV.,  and  others 151 

CANTO    XXV. 
Discourse  of  Statius  on  Generation.  —  The  Seventh  Circle.  —  The  Wanton     .    158 

CANTO    XXVI. 
Guido  Guinicelli  and  Arnaldo  Daniello 164 

CANTO    XXVII. 

Dante's  Sleep  upon  the  Stairway,  and  his  Dream  of  Leah.  —  Arrival  at  the 

Terrestrial  Paradise 171 


vi  Cojitents 


CANTO    XXVIII. 
The  Terrestrial  Paradise.  —  The  River  Lethe.  —  Matilda        .        .        .        .178 

CANTO    XXIX. 
The  Triumph  of  the  Church 185 

CANTO    XXX. 
Beatrice 192 

CANTO    XXXI. 
Reproaches  of  Beatrice  and  Confession  of  Dante.  —  The  Passage  of  Lethe     .    199 

CANTO    XXXII. 
The  Tree  of  Knowledge 206 

CANTO    XXXIII. 
The  River  Eunoe 213 


NOTES  221 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

The  Hero  as  Poet 3^5 

Dante ' •        •  375 

Dante  and  Milton 3^2 

The  ItaHan  Pilgrim's  Progress 3^4 

Dante  and  Tacitus 39° 

Dante's  Landscapes 394 

Dante's  Creed 4oi 

The  Divina  Commedia 403 


I    ENTER,  and  I  see  thee  in  the  gloom 
Of  the  long  aisles,  O  poet  saturnine  ! 
And  strive  to  make  my  steps  keep  pace  with  thine. 
The  air  is  filled  with  some  unknown  perfume  ; 

The  congregation  of  the  dead  make  room 

For  thee  to  pass  ;  the  votive  tapers  shine  ; 
Like  rooks  that  haunt  Ravenna's  groves  of  pine 
The  hovering  echoes  fly  from  tomb  to  tomb. 

From  the  confessionals  I  hear  arise 
Rehearsals  of  forgotten  tragedies, 
And  lamentations  from  the  crypts  below  ; 

And  then  a  voice  celestial  that  begins 

With  the  pathetic  words,  "Although  your  sins 
As  scarlet  be,"  and  ends  with  "as  the  snow." 


"^  T  TITH  snow-white  veil  and  garments  as  of  flame. 
She  stands  before  thee,  who  so  long  ago 
Filled  thy  young  heart  with  passion  and  the  woe 
From  which  thy  song  and  all  its  splendors  came  ; 

And  while  with  stern  rebuke  she  speaks  thy  name, 
The  ice  about  thy  heart  melts  as  the  snow 
On  mountain  heights,  and  in  swift  overflow 
Comes  gushing  from  thy  lips  in  sobs  of  shame. 

Thou  makest  full  confession  ;    and  a  gleam, 
As  of  the  dawn  on  some  dark  forest  cast, 
Seems  on  thy  lifted  forehead  to  increase  ; 

Lethe  and  Eunoe  —  the  remembered  dream 
And  the  forgotten  sorrow  —  bring  at  last 
That  perfect  pardon  which  is  perfect  peace. 


PURGATORIO 


PURGATORIO. 

CANTO    I. 

nnO  run  o'er  better  waters  hoists  its  sail 
The  little  vessel  of  my  genius  now, 
That  leaves  behind  itself  a  sea  so  cruel ; 

And  of  that  second  kingdom  will  I  sing 

Wherein  the  human  spirit  doth  purge  itself,  s 

And  to  ascend  to  heaven  becometh  worthy. 

But  let  dead  Poesy  here  rise  again, 

O  holy  Muses,  since  that  I  am  yours. 
And  here  Calliope  somewhat  ascend. 

My  song  accompanying  with  that  sound,  lo 

Of  which  the  miserable  magpies  felt 
The  blow  so  great,  that  they  despaired  of  pardon. 

Sweet  color  of  the  oriental  sapphire, 

That  was  upgathered  in  the  cloudless  aspect 

Of  the  pure  air,  as  far  as  the  first  circle,  ^s 


2  The  Divine  Comedy 

Unto  mine  eyes  did  recommence  delight 

Soon  as  I  issued  forth  from  the  dead  air, 

Which  had  with  sadness  filled  mine  eyes  and  breast. 

The  beauteous  planet,  that  to  love  incites. 

Was  making  all  the  orient  to  laugh,  ^o 

Veiling  the  Fishes  that  were  in  her  escort. 

To  the  right  hand  I  turned,  and  fixed  my  mind 
Upon  the  other  pole,  and  saw  four  stars 
Ne'er  seen  before  save  by  the  primal  people. 

Rejoicing  in  their  flamelets  seemed  the  heaven.  -^s 

O  thou  septentrional  and  widowed  site. 
Because  thou  art  deprived  of  seeing  these ! 

When  from  regarding  them  I  had  withdrawn. 
Turning  a  little  to  the  other  pole. 
There  where  the  Wain  had  disappeared  already,      3° 

I  saw  beside  me  an  old  man  alone. 

Worthy  of  so  much  reverence  in  his  look. 
That  more  owes  not  to  father  any  son. 

A  long  beard  and  with  white  hair  intermingled 

He  wore,  in  semblance  like  unto  the  tresses,  35 

Of  which  a  double  list  fell  on  his  breast. 

The  rays  of  the  four  consecrated  stars 

Did  so  adorn  his  countenance  with  light. 
That  him  I  saw  as  were  the  sun  before  him. 


Purgatorio  i,  ^ 


o 


"  Who  are  you  ?  ye  who,  counter  the  bUnd  river,  40 

Have  fled  away  from  the  eternal  prison  ?  " 
Moving  those  venerable  plumes,  he  said  : 

"  Who  guided  you  ?  or  who  has  been  your  lamp 
In  issuing  forth  out  of  the  night  profound. 
That  ever  black  makes  the  infernal  valley  ?  45 

The  laws  of  the  abyss,  are  they  thus  broken  ? 

Or  is  there  changed  in  heaven  some  counsel  new. 
That  being  damned  ye  come  unto  my  crags  ?  '* 

Then  did  my  Leader  lay  his  grasp  upon  me. 

And  with  his  words,  and  with  his  hands  and  signs,  s° 
Reverent  he  made  in  me  my  knees  and  brow ; 

Then  answered  him  :   "  I  came  not  of  myself; 

A  Lady  from  Heaven  descended,  at  whose  prayers 
I  aided  this  one  with  my  company. 

But  since  it  is  thy  will  more  be  unfolded  55 

Of  our  condition,  how  it  truly  is. 
Mine  cannot  be  that  this  should  be  denied  thee. 

This  one  has  never  his  last  evening  seen. 
But  by  his  folly  was  so  near  to  it 
That  very  little  time  was  there  to  turn.  60 

As  I  have  said,  I  unto  him  was  sent 

To  rescue  him,  and  other  way  was  none 
Than  this  to  which  I  have  myself  betaken. 


4  The  Divine  Comedy 

I  Ve  shown  him  all  the  people  of  perdition, 

And  now  those  spirits  I  intend  to  show  65 

Who  purge  themselves  beneath  thy  guardianship. 

How  I  have  brought  him  would  be  long  to  tell  thee. 
Virtue  descendeth  from  on  high  that  aids  me 
To  lead  him  to  behold  thee  and  to  hear  thee. 

Now  may  it  please  thee  to  vouchsafe  his  coming ;  70 

He  seeketh  Liberty,  which  is  so  dear. 
As  knoweth  he  who  life  for  her  refuses. 

Thou  know'st  it ;  since,  for  her,  to  thee  not  bitter 
Was  death  in  Utica,  where  thou  didst  leave 
The  vesture,  that  will  shine  so,  the  great  day.  75 

By  us  the  eternal  edicts  are  not  broken ; 

Since  this  one  lives,  and  Minos  binds  not  me; 
But  of  that  circle  I,  where  are  the  chaste 

Eyes  of  thy  Marcia,  who  in  looks  still  prays  thee, 

0  holy  breast,  to  hold  her  as  thine  own ;  80 
For  her  love,  then,  incline  thyself  to  us. 

Permit  us  through  thy  sevenfold  realm  to  go ; 

1  will  take  back  this  grace  from  thee  to  her. 
If  to  be  mentioned  there  below  thou  deignest." 

"  Marcia  so  pleasing  was  unto  mine  eyes  ss 

While  I  was  on  the  other  side,"  then  said  he, 
**  That  every  grace  she  wished  of  me  I  granted ; 


Pttrgatorio  i.  5 

Now  that  she  dwells  beyond  the  evil  river. 
She  can  no  longer  move  me,  by  that  law 
Which,  when  I  issued  forth  from  there,  was  made.  90 

But  if  a  Lady  of  Heaven  do  move  and  rule  thee. 
As  thou  dost  say,  no  flattery  is  needful; 
Let  it  suffice  thee  that  for  her  thou  ask  me. 

Go,  then,  and  see  thou  gird  this  one  about 

With  a  smooth  rush,  and  that  thou  wash  his  face,    95 
So  that  thou  cleanse  away  all  stain  therefrom. 

For  't  were  not  fitting  that  the  eye  o'ercast 
By  any  mist  should  go  before  the  first 
Angel,  who  is  of  those  of  Paradise. 

This  little  island  round  about  its  base  1°° 

Below  there,  yonder,  where  the  billow  beats  it. 
Doth  rushes  bear  upon  its  washy  ooze  ; 

No  other  plant  that  putteth  forth  the  leaf. 

Or  that  doth  indurate,  can  there  have  life. 

Because  it  yieldeth  not  unto  the  shocks.  105 

Thereafter  be  not  this  way  your  return ; 

The  sun,  which  now  is  rising,  will  direct  you 
To  take  the  mount  by  easier  ascent." 

With  this  he  vanished ;  and  I  raised  me  up 

Without   a  word,  and  wholly  drew  myself  "o 

Unto  my  Guide,  and  turned  mine  eyes  to  him. 


6  The  Divine  Comedy 

And  he  began  :   "  Son,  follow  thou  my  steps ; 

Let  us  turn  back,  for  on  this  side  declines 

The  plain  unto  its  lower  boundaries." 
The  dawn  was  vanquishing  the  matin  hour  "s 

Which  fled  before  it,  so  that  from  afar 

I  recognized  the  trembling  of  the  sea. 
Along  the  solitary  plain  we  went 

As  one  who  unto  the  lost  road  returns. 

And  till  he  finds  it  seems  to  go  in  vain.  "o 

As  soon  as  we  were  come  to  where  the  dew 

Fights  with  the  sun,  and,  being  in  a  part 

Where  shadow  falls,  little  evaporates. 
Both  of  his  hands  upon  the  grass  outspread 

In  gentle  manner  did  my  Master  place ;  "s 

Whence  I,  who  of  his  action  was  aware. 
Extended  unto  him  my  tearful  cheeks ; 

There  did  he  make  in  me  uncovered  wholly 

That  hue  which  Hell  had  covered  up  in  me. 
Then  came  we  down  upon  the  desert  shore  13° 

Which  never  yet  saw  navigate  its  waters 

Any  that  afterward  had  known  return. 
There  he  begirt  me  as  the  other  pleased ; 

O  marvellous !  for  even  as  he  culled 

The  humble  plant,  such  it  sprang  up  again  13s 

Suddenly  there  where  he  uprooted  it. 


CANTO     II, 

A  LREADY  had  the  sun  the  horizon  reached 
Whose  circle  of  meridian  covers  o'er 
Jerusalem  with  its  most  lofty  point. 

And  night  that  opposite  to  him  revolves 

Was  issuing  forth  from  Ganges  with  the  Scales  s 

That  fall  from  out  her  hand  when  she  exceedeth ; 

So  that  the  white  and  the  vermilion  cheeks 
Of  beautiful  Aurora,  where  I  was. 
By  too  great  age  were  changing  into  orange. 

We  still  were  on  the  border  of  the  sea,  lo 

Like  people  who  are  thinking  of  their  road. 
Who  go  in  heart,  and  with  the  body  stay  ; 

And  lo !  as  when,  upon  the  approach  of  morning, 
Through  the  gross  vapors  Mars  grows  fiery  red 
Down  in  the  West  upon  the  ocean  floor,  15 

Appeared  to  me  —  may  I  again  behold  it !  — 
A  light  along  the  sea  so  swiftly  coming. 
Its  motion  by  no  flight  of  wing  is  equalled ; 


8  The  Divine  Comedy 

From  which  when  I  a  little  had  withdrawn 

Mine  eyes,  that  I  might  question  my  Conductor,     20 
Again  I  saw  it  brighter  grown  and  larger. 

Then  on  each  side  of  it  appeared  to  me 

I  knew  not  what  of  white,  and  underneath  it 
Little  by  little  there  came  forth  another. 

My  master  yet  had  uttered  not  a  word  25 

While  the  first  whiteness  into  wings  unfolded  ; 
But  when  he  clearly  recognized  the  pilot. 

He  cried  :  "  Make  haste,  make  haste  to  bow  the  knee ! 
Behold  the  Angel  of  God  !  fold  thou  thy  hands ! 
Henceforward  shalt  thou  see  such  officers !  3° 

See  how  he  scorneth  human  arguments. 

So  that  nor  oar  he  wants,  nor  other  sail 

Than  his  own  wings,  between  so  distant  shores. 

See  how  he  holds  them  pointed  up  to  heaven. 

Fanning  the  air  with  the  eternal  pinions,  35 

That  do  not  moult  themselves  like  mortal  hair !  " 

Then  as  still  nearer  and  more  near  us  came 

The  Bird  Divine,  more  radiant  he  appeared. 
So  that  near  by  the  eye  could  not  endure  him. 

But  down  I  cast  it ;  and  he  came  to  shore  4° 

With  a  small  vessel,  very  swift  and  light. 
So  that  the  water  swallowed  naught  thereof. 


Purgatorio  it.  9 

Upon  the  stern  stood  the  Celestial  Pilot ; 
Beatitude  seemed  written  in  his  face. 
And  more  than  a  hundred  spirits  sat  within.  45 

"/«  exitu  Israel  de  JEgypto!'' 

They  chanted  all  together  in  one  voice, 
With  whatso  in  that  psalm  is  after  written. 

Then  made  he  sign  of  holy  rood  upon  them. 

Whereat  all  cast  themselves  upon  the  shore,  5° 

And  he  departed  swiftly  as  he  came. 

The  throng  which  still  remained  there  unfamiliar 

Seemed  with  the  place,  all  round  about  them  gazing, 
As  one  who  in  new  matters  makes  essay. 

On  every  side  was  darting  forth  the  day  55 

The  sun,  who  had  with  his  resplendent  shafts 
From  the  mid-heaven  chased  forth  the  Capricorn, 

When  the  new  people  lifted  up  their  faces 
Towards  us,  saying  to  us :  "  If  ye  know. 
Show  us  the  way  to  go  unto  the  mountain.'*  60 

And  answer  made  Virgilius :  "  Ye  believe 

Perchance  that  we  have  knowledge  of  this  place. 
But  we  are  strangers  even  as  yourselves. 

Just  now  we  came,  a  little  while  before  you. 

Another  way,  which  was  so  rough  and  steep,  (>s 

That  mounting  will  henceforth  seem  sport  to  us." 


lo  The  Divine  Comedy 

The  souls  who  had,  from  seeing  me  draw  breath. 

Become  aware  that  I  was  still  alive. 

Pallid  in  their  astonishment  became ; 
And  as  to  messenger  who  bears  the  olive  70 

The  people  throng  to  listen  to  the  news, 

And  no  one  shows  himself  afraid  of  crowding. 
So  at  the  sight  of  me  stood  motionless 

Those  fortunate  spirits,  all  of  them,  as  if 

Oblivious  to  go  and  make  them  fair.  75 

One  from  among  them  saw  I  coming  forward. 

As  to  embrace  me,  with  such  great  affection. 

That  it  incited  me  to  do  the  like. 

0  empty  shadows,  save  in  aspect  only  1 

Three  times  behind  it  did  I  clasp  my  hands,  80 

As  oft  returned  with  them  to  my  own  breast! 

1  think  with  wonder  I  depicted  me ; 

Whereat  the  shadow  smiled  and  backward  drew ; 

And  I,  pursuing  it,  pressed  farther  forward. 
Gently  it  said  that  I  should  stay  my  steps ;  85 

Then  knew  I  who  it  was,  and  I  entreated 

That  it  would  stop  awhile  to  speak  with  me. 
It  made  reply  to  me  :   "  Even  as  I  loved  thee 

In  mortal  body,  so  I  love  thee  free ; 

Therefore  I  stop  ;  but  wherefore  goest  thou  ?  "         90 


Ptirmtorio  ii.  1 1 


^5 


"  My  own  Casella  !  to  return  once  more 

There  where  I  am,  I  make  this  journey,"  said  I ; 
"But  how  from  thee  has  so  much  time  been  taken?" 
And  he  to  me  :   "  No  outrage  has  been  done  me. 

If  he  who  takes  both  when  and  whom  he  pleases    95 
Has  many  times  denied  to  me  this  passage. 
For  of  a  righteous  will  his  own  is  made. 

He,  sooth  to  say,  for  three  months  past  has  taken 
Whoever  wished  to  enter  with  all  peace ; 
Whence  I,  who  now  had  turned  unto  that  shore  100 

Where  salt  the  waters  of  the  Tiber  grow, 
Benignantly  by  him  have  been  received. 
Unto  that  outlet  now  his  wing  is  pointed. 
Because  for  evermore  assemble  there 
Those  who  tow'rds  Acheron  do  not  descend."         105 
And  I :   "If  some  new  law  take  not  from  thee 
Memory  or  practice  of  the  song  of  love. 
Which  used  to  quiet  in  me  all  my  longings. 
Thee  may  it  please  to  comfort  therewithal 

Somewhat  this  soul  of  mine,  that  with  its  body       "o 
Hitherward  coming  is  so  much  distressed." 
"  Love,  that  within  my  mind  discourses  with  me,* 
Forthwith  began  he  so  melodiously, 
The  melody  within  me  still  is  sounding. 


12  The  Divine  Comedy 

My  master,  and  myself,  and  all  that  people  "s 

Which  with  him  were,  appeared  as  satisfied 
As  if  naught  else  might  touch  the  mind  of  any. 

We  all  of  us  were  moveless  and  attentive 

Unto  his  notes  ;  and  lo !  the  grave  old  man. 
Exclaiming  :   "  What  is  this,  ye  laggard  spirits  ?       i^o 

What  negligence,  what  standing  still  is  this  ? 

Run  to  the  mountain  to  strip  off  the  slough. 
That  lets  not  God  be  manifest  to  you." 

Even  as  when,  collecting  grain  or  tares. 

The  doves,  together  at  their  pasture  met,  "s 

Quiet,  nor  showing  their  accustomed  pride. 

If  aught  appear  of  which  they  are  afraid. 
Upon  a  sudden  leave  their  food  alone. 
Because  they  are  assailed  by  greater  care ; 

So  that  fresh  company  did  I  behold  13° 

The  song  relinquish,  and  go  tow'rds  the  hill. 
As  one  who  goes,  and  knows  not  whitherward ; 

Nor  was  our  own  departure  less  in  haste. 


CANTO     III. 

INASMUCH  as  the  instantaneous  flight 

Had  scattered  them  asunder  o'er  the  plain, 
Turned  to  the  mountain  whither  reason  spurs  us, 

I  pressed  me  close  unto  my  faithful  comrade. 

And  how  without  him  had  I  kept  my  course  ?  s 

Who  would  have  led  me  up  along  the  mountain  ? 

He  seemed  to  me  within  himself  remorseful ; 
O  noble  conscience,  and  without  a  stain. 
How  sharp  a  sting  is  trivial  fault  to  thee ! 

After  his  feet  had  laid  aside  the  haste  i© 

Which  mars  the  dignity  of  every  act. 
My  mind,  that  hitherto  had  been  restrained. 

Let  loose  its  faculties  as  if  delighted. 

And  I  my  sight  directed  to  the  hill 

That  highest  tow'rds  the  heaven  uplifts  itself.  15 

The  sun,  that  in  our  rear  was  flaming  red. 

Was  broken  in  front  of  me  into  the  figure 
Which  had  in  me  the  stoppage  of  its  rays ; 


14  The  Divine  Comedy 

Unto  one  side  I  turned  me,  with  the  fear 

Of  being  left  alone,  when  I  beheld  ao 

Only  in  front  of  me  the  ground  obscured. 

"  Why  dost  thou  still  mistrust  ? "  my  Comforter 

Began  to  say  to  me  turned  wholly  round  ;  [thee  ? 

"  Dost  thou  not  think  me  with  thee,  and  that  I  guide 

'T  is  evening  there  already  where  is  buried  as 

The  body  within  which  I  cast  a  shadow ; 
*T  is  from  Brundusium  ta'en,  and  Naples  has  it. 

Now  if  in  front  of  me  no  shadow  fall. 

Marvel  not  at  it  more  than  at  the  heavens. 

Because  one  ray  impedeth  not  another.  30 

To  suffer  torments,  both  of  cold  and  heat. 

Bodies  like  this  that  Power  provides,  which  wills 
That  how  it  works  be  not  unveiled  to  us. 

Insane  is  he  who  hopeth  that  our  reason 

Can  traverse  the  illimitable  way,  35 

Which  the  one  Substance  in  three  Persons  follows ! 

Mortals,  remain  contented  at  the  ^uia ; 
For  if  ye  had  been  able  to  see  all. 
No  need  there  were  for  Mary  to  give  birth ; 

And  ye  have  seen  desiring  without  fruit,  40 

Those  whose  desire  would  have  been  quieted. 
Which  evermore  is  given  them  for  a  grief. 


Purgatorio  iii.  15 

I  speak  of  Aristotle  and  of  Plato, 

And  many  others";  —  and  here  bowed  his  head. 
And  more  he  said  not,  and  remained  disturbed.        45 

We  came  meanwhile  unto  the  mountain's  foot ; 
There  so  precipitate  we  found  the  rock. 
That  nimble  legs  would  there  have  been  in  vain. 

'Twixt  Lerici  and  Turbia,  the  most  desert. 

The  most  secluded  pathway  is  a  stair  5° 

Easy  and  open,  if  compared  with  that. 

"  Who  knoweth  now  upon  which  hand  the  hill 

Slopes  down,"  my  Master  said,  his  footsteps  staying, 
"So  that  who  goeth  without  wings  may  mount?"- 

And  while  he  held  his  eyes  upon  the  ground  55 

Examining  the  nature  of  the  path. 
And  I  was  looking  up  around  the  rock. 

On  the  left  hand  appeared  to  me  a  throng 

Of  souls,  that  moved  their  feet  in  our  direction. 
And  did  not  seem  to  move,  they  came  so  slowly.     6° 

"  Lift  up  thine  eyes,"  I  to  the  Master  said ; 

"Behold,  on  this  side,  who  will  give  us  counsel. 
If  thou  of  thine  own  self  can  have  it  not." 

Then  he  looked  at  me,  and  with  frank  expression 

Replied  :  "  Let  us  go  there,  for  they  come  slowly,     65 
And  thou  be  steadfast  in  thy  hope,  sweet  son." 


1 6  The  Divine  Comedy 

Still  was  that  people  as  far  off  from  us. 
After  a  thousand  steps  of  ours  I  say, 
As  a  good  thrower  with  his  hand  would  reach. 

When  they  all  crowded  unto  the  hard  masses  70 

Of  the  high  bank,  and  motionless  stood  and  close. 
As  he  stands  still  to  look  who  goes  in  doubt. 

"  O  happy  dead  !     O  spirits  elect  already  !  " 
Virgilius  made  beginning,  "  by  that  peace 
Which  I  believe  is  waiting  for  you  all,  75 

Tell  us  upon  what  side  the  mountain  slopes. 
So  that  the  going  up  be  possible. 
For  to  lose  time  irks  him  most  who  most  knows." 

As  sheep  come  issuing  forth  from  out  the  fold 

By  ones  and  twos  and  threes,  and  the  others  stand   so 
Timidly,  holding  down  their  eyes  and  nostrils. 

And  what  the  foremost  does  the  others  do. 

Huddling  themselves  against  her,  if  she  stop. 
Simple  and  quiet  and  the  wherefore  know  not ; 

So  moving  to  approach  us  thereupon  85 

I  saw  the  leader  of  that  fortunate  flock. 
Modest  in  face  and  dignified  in  gait. 

As  soon  as  those  in  the  advance  saw  broken 

The  light  upon  the  ground  at  my  right  side. 

So  that  from  me  the  shadow  reached  the  rock,         9° 


Pttrgatorio  iii.  17 

They  stopped,  and  backward  drew  themselves  somewhat; 
And  all  the  others,  who  came  after  them. 
Not  knowing  why  nor  wherefore,  did  the  same. 

"Without  your  asking,  I  confess  to  you 

This  is  a  human  body  which  you  see,  95 

Whereby  the  sunshine  on  the  ground  is  cleft. 

Marvel  ye  not  thereat,  but  be  persuaded 

That  not  without  a  power  which  comes  from  Heaven 
Doth  he  endeavor  to  surmount  this  wall." 

The  Master  thus  ;  and  said  those  worthy  people  :  joq 

"  Return  ye  then,  and  enter  in  before  us," 
Making  a  signal  with  the  back  o'  the  hand. 

And  one  of  them  began  :   "  Whoe'er  thou  art. 
Thus  going  turn  thine  eyes,  consider  well 
If  e'er  thou  saw  me  in  the  other  world."  105 

I  turned  me  tow'rds  him,  and  looked  at  him  closely ; 
Blond  was  he,  beautiful,  and  of  noble  aspect. 
But  one  of  his  eyebrows  had  a  blow  divided. 

When  with  humility  I  had  disclaimed 

E'er  having  seen  him,  "Now  behold!"  he  said,      "o 
And  showed  me  high  upon  his  breast  a  wound. 

Then  said  he  with  a  smile :  "  I  am  Manfredi, 
The  grandson  of  the  Emperess  Costanza  ; 
Therefore,  when  thou  returnest,  I  beseech  thee 
3 


1 8  The  Divine  Comedy 

Go  to  my  daughter  beautiful,  the  mother  "s 

Of  Sicily's  honor  and  of  Aragon's, 
And  the  truth  tell  her,  if  aught  else  be  told. 

After  I  had  my  body  lacerated 

By  these  two  mortal  stabs,  I  gave  myself 

Weeping  to  Him,  who  willingly  doth  pardon.         i^o 

Horrible  my  iniquities  had  been  ; 

But  Infinite  Goodness  hath  such  ample  arms, 
That  it  receives  whatever  turns  to  it. 

Had  but  Cosenza's  pastor,  who  in  chase 

Of  me  was  sent  by  Clement  at  that  time,  "s 

In  God  read  understandingly  this  page. 

The  bones  of  my  dead  body  still  would  be 

At  the  bridge-head,  near  unto  Benevento, 
Under  the  safeguard  of  the  heavy  cairn. 

Now  the  rain  bathes  and  moveth  them  the  wind,  130 

Beyond  the  realm,  almost  beside  the  Verde, 
Where  he  transported  them  with  tapers  quenched. 

By  malison  of  theirs  is  not  so  lost 

Eternal  Love,  that  it  cannot  return. 

So  long  as  hope  has  anything  of  green.  13s 

True  is  it,  who  in  contumacv  dies 

Of  Holy  Church,  though  penitent  at  last. 
Must  wait  upon  the  outside  of  this  bank 


Ptir gator io  iii.  19 

Thirty  times  told  the  time  that  he  has  been 

In  his  presumption,  unless  such  decree  140 

Shorter  by  means  of  righteous  prayers  become. 

See  now  if  thou  hast  power  to  make  me  happy. 
By  making  known  unto  my  good  Costanza 
How  thou  hast  seen  me,  and  this  ban  beside. 

For  those  on  earth  can  much  advance  us  here."  145 


CANTO    IV. 

Vy  HENEVER  by  delight  or  else  by  pain, 

That  seizes  any  faculty  of  ours. 

Wholly  to  that  the  soul  collects  itself. 
It  seemeth  that  no  other  power  it  heeds  ; 

And  this  against  that  error  is  which  thinks  s 

One  soul  above  another  kindles  in  us. 
And  hence,  whenever  aught  is  heard  or  seen 

Which  keeps  the  soul  intently  bent  upon  it. 

Time  passes  on,  and  we  perceive  it  not. 
Because  one  faculty  is  that  which  listens,  1° 

And  other  that  which  the  soul  keeps  entire  ; 

This  is  as  if  in  bonds,  and  that  is  free. 
Of  this  I  had  experience  positive 

In  hearing  and  in  gazing  at  that  spirit ; 

For  fifty  full  degrees  uprisen  was  15 

The  sun,  and  I  had  not  perceived  it,  when 

We  came  to  where  those  souls  with  one  accord 

Cried  out  unto  us :  "  Here  is  what  you  ask." 


Ptirgatorio  iv.  21 

A  greater  opening  ofttimes  hedges  up 

With  but  a  little  forkful  of  his  thorns  ao 

The  villager,  what  time  the  grape  imbrowns. 

Than  was  the  passage-way  through  which  ascended 
Only  my  Leader  and  myself  behind  him. 
After  that  company  departed  from  us. 

One  climbs  Sanleo  and  descends  in  Noli,  as 

And  mounts  the  summit  of  Bismantova, 
With  feet  alone ;  but  here  one  needs  must  fly ; 

With  the  swift  pinions  and  the  plumes  I  say 
Of  great  desire,  conducted  after  him 
Who  gave  me  hope,  and  made  a  light  for  me.  3° 

We  mounted  upward  through  the  rifted  rock. 

And  on  each  side  the  border  pressed  upon  us. 
And  feet  and  hands  the  ground  beneath  required. 

When  we  were  come  upon  the  upper  rim 

Of  the  high  bank,  out  on  the  open  slope,  3S 

"My  Master,"  said  I,  "what  way  shall  we  take?" 

And  he  to  me  :  "  No  step  of  thine  descend  ; 

Still  up  the  mount  behind  me  win  thy  way. 
Till  some  sage  escort  shall  appear  to  us." 

The  summit  was  so  high  it  vanquished  sight,  4° 

And  the  hillside  precipitous  far  more 
Than  line  from  middle  quadrant  to  the  centre. 


22  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

Spent  with  fatigue  was  I,  when  I  began  : 

"  O  my  sweet  Father  !   turn  thee  and  behold 

How  I  remain  alone,  unless  thou  stay!"  4s 

"  O  son,"  he  said,  *'  up  yonder  drag  thyself," 

Pointing  me  to  a  terrace  somewhat  higher. 
Which  on  that  side  encircles  all  the  hill. 

These  words  of  his  so  spurred  me  on,  that  I 

Strained  every  nerve,  behind  him  scrambling  up,      5° 
Until  the  circle  was  beneath  my  feet. 

Thereon  ourselves  we  seated  both  of  us 

Turned  to  the  East,  from  which  we  had  ascended. 
For  all  men  are  delighted  to  look  back. 

To  the  low  shores  mine  eyes  I  first  directed,  5S 

Then  to  the  sun  uplifted  them,  and  wondered 
That  on  the  left  hand  we  were  smitten  by  it. 

The  Poet  well  perceived  that  I  was  wholly 
Bewildered  at  the  chariot  of  the  light. 
Where  'twixt  us  and  the  Aquilon  it  entered.  60 

Whereon  he  said  to  me  :   "  If  Castor  and  Pollux 
Were  in  the  company  of  yonder  mirror. 
That  up  and  down  conducteth  with  its  light. 

Thou  wouldst  behold  the  zodiac's  jagged  wheel 

Revolving  still  more  near  unto  the  Bears,  65 

Unless  it  swerved  aside  from  its  old  track. 


Pur^atorio  iv. 


23 


How  that  may  be  wouldst  thou  have  power  to  think, 
Collected  in  thyself,  imagine  Zion 
Together  with  this  mount  on  earth  to  stand, 

So  that  they  both  one  sole  horizon  have,  70 

And  hemispheres  diverse  ;  whereby  the  road 
Which  Phaeton,  alas !  knew  not  to  drive. 

Thou  'It  see  how  of  necessity  must  pass 

This  on  one  side,  when  that  upon  the  other. 

If  thine  intelligence  right  clearly  heed."  75 

"  Truly,  my  Master,"  said  I,  "  never  yet 
Saw  I  so  clearly  as  I  now  discern. 
There  where  my  wit  appeared  incompetent. 

That  the  mid-circle  of  supernal  motion. 

Which  in  some  art  is  the  Equator  called,  80 

And  aye  remains  between  the  Sun  and  Winter, 

For  reason  which  thou  sayest,  departeth  hence 

Tow'rds  the  Septentrion,  what  time  the  Hebrews 
Beheld  it  tow'rds  the  region  of  the  heat. 

But,  if  it  pleaseth  thee,  I  fain  would  learn  85 

How  far  we  have  to  go ;  for  the  hill  rises 
Higher  than  eyes  of  mine  have  power  to  rise. 

And  he  to  me :   "  This  mount  is  such,  that  ever 
At  the  beginning  down  below  't  is  tiresome. 
And  aye  the  more  one  climbs,  the  less  it  hurts.        9° 


24  The  Divine  Comedy 

Therefore,  when  it  shall  seem  so  pleasant  to  thee. 
That  going  up  shall  be  to  thee  as  easy 
As  going  down  the  current  in  a  boat. 

Then  at  this  pathway's  ending  thou  wilt  be ; 

There  to  repose  thy  panting  breath  expect ;  9S 

No  more  I  answer;  and  this  I  know  for  true." 

And  as  he  finished  uttering  these  words, 

A  voice  close  by  us  sounded  :   "  Peradventure 
Thou  wilt  have  need  of  sitting  down  ere  that." 

At  sound  thereof  each  one  of  us  turned  round,  loo 

And  saw  upon  the  left  hand  a  great  rock. 
Which  neither  I  nor  he  before  had  noticed. 

Thither  we  drew ;  and  there  were  persons  there 
Who  in  the  shadow  stood  behind  the  rock, 
As  one  through  indolence  is  wont  to  stand.  105 

And  one  of  them,  who  seemed  to  me  fatigued. 

Was  sitting  down,  and  both  his  knees  embraced. 
Holding  his  face  low  down  between  them  bowed. 

"  O  my  sweet  Lord,"  I  said,  "  do  turn  thine  eye 

On  him  who  shows  himself  more  negligent  no 

Than  even  if  Sloth  herself  his  sister  were." 

Then  he  turned  round  to  us,  and  he  gave  heed. 
Just  lifting  up  his  eyes  above  his  thigh. 
And  said  :   "  Now  go  thou  up,  for  thou  art  valiant." 


Pier  gator  io  iv.  25 

Then  knew  I  who  he  was ;  and  the  distress,  "s 

That  still  a  little  did  my  breathing  quicken, 
My  going  to  him  hindered  not ;  and  after 

I  came  to  him  he  hardly  raised  his  head. 

Saying :   "  Hast  thou  seen  clearly  how  the  sun 

O'er  thy  left  shoulder  drives  his  chariot?"  "o 

His  sluggish  attitude  and  his  curt  words 
A  little  unto  laughter  moved  my  lips; 
Then  I  began  :   "  Belacqua,  I  grieve  not 

For  thee  henceforth ;  but  tell  me,  wherefore  seated 

In  this  place  art  thou  ?     Waitest  thou  an  escort  ?     125 
Or  has  thy  usual  habit  seized  upon  thee?" 

And  he  :   "  O  brother,  what 's  the  use  of  climbing  ? 
Since  to  my  torment  would  not  let  me  go 
The  Angel  of  God,  who  sitteth  at  the  gate. 

First  heaven  must  needs  so  long  revolve  me  round  130 

Outside  thereof,  as  in  my  life  it  did. 
Since  the  good  sighs  I  to  the  end  postponed. 

Unless,  e'er  that,  some  prayer  may  bring  me  aid 
Which  rises  from  a  heart  that  lives  in  grace ; 
What  profit  others  that  in  heaven  are  heard  not?"  ns 

Meanwhile  the  Poet  was  before  me  mounting, 

And  saying  :   "  Come  now ;  see  the  sun  has  touched 
Meridian,  and  from  the  shore  the  night 

Covers  already  with  her  foot  Morocco?" 


CANTO      V. 

T  HAD  already  from  those  shades  departed, 
And  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  my  Guide, 
When  from  behind,  pointing  his  finger  at  me. 

One  shouted :  "See,  it  seems  as  if  shone  not 

The  sunshine  on  the  left  of  him  below,  5 

And  like  one  living  seems  he  to  conduct  him  !  *\ 

Mine  eyes  I  turned  at  utterance  of  these  words. 
And  saw  them  watching  with  astonishment 
But  me,  but  me,  and  the  light  which  was  broken ! 

"  Why  doth  thy  mind  so  occupy  itself,"  10 

The  Master  said,  "  that  thou  thy  pace  dost  slacken  ? 
What  matters  it  to  thee  what  here  is  whispered  ? 

Come  after  me,  and  let  the  people  talk  ; 

Stand  like  a  steadfast  tower,  that  never  wags 

Its  top  for  all  the  blowing  of  the  winds ;  is 

For  evermore  the  man  in  whom  is  springing 

Thought  upon  thought,  removes  from  him  the  mark. 
Because  the  force  of  one  the  other  weakens." 


Pzirgaiorio   v.  27 

What  could  I  say  in  answer  but  "I  come"? 

I  said  it  somewhat  with  that  color  tinged  zo 

Which  makes  a  man  of  pardon  sometimes  worthy. 

Meanwhile  along  the  mountain-side  across 
Came  people  in  advance  of  us  a  little, 
Singing  the  Miserere  verse  by  verse. 

When  they  became  aware  I  gave  no  place  25 

For  passage  of  the  sunshine  through  my  body, 
They  changed  their  song  into  a  long,  hoarse  "  Oh ! " 

And  two  of  them,  in  form  of  messengers. 

Ran  forth  to  meet  us,  and  demanded  of  us, 

"Of  your  condition  make  us  cognizant."  3° 

And  said  my  Master  :  "  Ye  can  go  your  way 

And  carry  back  again  to  those  who  sent  you. 
That  this  one's  body  is  of  very  flesh. 

If  they  stood  still  because  they  saw  his  shadow. 

As  I  suppose,  enough  is  answered  them  ;  3S 

Him  let  them  honor,  it  may  profit  them." 

Vapors  enkindled  saw  I  ne'er  so  swiftly 

At  early  nightfall  cleave  the  air  serene. 
Nor,  at  the  set  of  sun,  the  clouds  of  August, 

But  upward  they  returned  in  briefer  time,  40 

And,  on  arriving,  with  the  others  wheeled 
Tow'rds  us,  like  troops  that  run  without  a  rein. 


2  8  The  Divine  Comedy 

**  This  folk  that  presses  unto  us  is  great. 

And  cometh  to  implore  thee,"  said  the  Poet ; 

**  So  still  go  onward,  and  in  going  listen."  4s 

"  O  soul  that  goest  to  beatitude 

With  the  same  members  wherewith  thou  wast  born," 
Shouting  they  came,  "  a  little  stay  thy  steps. 

Look,  if  thou  e'er  hast  any  of  us  seen. 

So  that  o'er  yonder  thou  bear  news  of  him ;  5° 

Ah,  why  dost  thou  go  on  ?     Ah,  why  not  stay  ? 

Long  since  we  all  were  slain  by  violence. 
And  sinners  even  to  the  latest  hour ; 
Then  did  a  light  from  heaven  admonish  us. 

So  that,  both  penitent  and  pardoning,  forth  ss 

From  life  we  issued  reconciled  to  God, 
Who  with  desire  to  see  Him  stirs  our  hearts." 

And  I  :   "Although  I  gaze  into  your  faces. 

No  one  I  recognize ;  but  if  may  please  you 

Aught  I  have  power  to  do,  ye  well-born  spirits,        60 

Speak  ye,  and  I  will  do  it,  by  that  peace 

Which,  following  the  feet  of  such  a  Guide, 

From  world  to  world  makes  itself  sought  by  me." 

And  one  began  :  "  Each  one  has  confidence 

In  thy  good  offices  without  an  oath,  65 

Unless  the  I  cannot  cut  off  the  I  will ; 


Pttrgatorio  v.  29 

Whence  I,  who  speak  alone  before  the  others. 
Pray  thee,  if  ever  thou  dost  see  the  land 
That  'twixt  Romagna  lies  and  that  of  Charles, 

Thou  be  so  courteous  to  me  of  thy  prayers  70 

In  Fano,  that  they  pray  for  me  devoutly. 
That  I  may  purge  away  my  grave  offences. 

From  thence  was  I ;  but  the  deep  wounds,  through  which 
Issued  the  blood  wherein  I  had  my  seat. 
Were  dealt  me  in  bosom  of  the  Antenori,  75 

There  where  I  thought  to  be  the  most  secure ; 
'T  was  he  of  Este  had  it  done,  who  held  me 
In  hatred  far  beyond  what  justice  willed. 

But  if  towards  the  Mira  I  had  fled. 

When  I  was  overtaken  at  Oriaco,  so 

I  still  should  be  o'er  yonder  where  men  breathe. 

I  ran  to  the  lagoon,  and  reeds  and  mire 

Did  so  entangle  me  I  fell,  and  saw  there 

A  lake  made  from  my  veins  upon  the  ground." 

Then  said  another  :   "Ah,  be  that  desire  85 

Fulfilled  that  draws  thee  to  the  lofty  mountain. 
As  thou  with  pious  pity  aidest  mine. 

I  was  of  Montefeltro,  and  am  Buonconte ; 
Giovanna,  nor  none  other  cares  for  me ; 
Hence  among  these  I  go  with  downcast  front."        9° 


0 


o  The  Divine  Co^nedy 


And  I  to  him  :  "  What  violence  or  what  chance 
Led  thee  astray  so  far  from  Campaldino, 
That  never  has  thy  sepulture  been  known  ? " 

"  Oh,"  he  replied,  "  at  Casentino's  foot 

A  river  crosses  named  Archiano,  born  9S 

Above  the  Hermitage  in  Apennine. 

There  where  the  name  thereof  becometh  void 

Did  I  arrive,  pierced  through  and  through  the  throat. 
Fleeing  on  foot,  and  bloodying  the  plain ; 

There  my  sight  lost  I,  and  my  utterance  «oo 

Ceased  in  the  name  of  Mary,  and  thereat 
I  fell,  and  tenantless  my  flesh  remained. 

Truth  will  I  speak,  repeat  it  to  the  living ; 
God's  Angel  took  me  up,  and  he  of  hell 
Shouted :  *  O  thou  from  heaven,  why  dost  thou  rob  me  ? 

Thou  bearest  away  the  eternal  part  of  him,  io6 

For  one  poor  little  tear,  that  takes  him  from  me; 
But  with  the  rest  I  '11  deal  in  other  fashion ! ' 

Well  knowest  thou  how  in  the  air  is  gathered 

That  humid  vapor  which  to  water  turns,  "o 

Soon  as  it  rises  where  the  cold  doth  grasp  it. 

He  joined  that  evil  will,  which  aye  seeks  evil. 
To  intellect,  and  moved  the  mist  and  wind 
By  means  of  power,  which  his  own  nature  gave; 


Purgatorio   v.  3 1 

Thereafter,  when  the  day  was  spent,  the  valley  115 

From  Pratomagno  to  the  great  yoke  covered 
With  fog,  and  made  the  heaven  above  intent. 

So  that  the  pregnant  air  to  water  changed ; 

Down  fell  the  rain,  and  to  the  gullies  came 
Whate'er  of  it  earth  tolerated  not ;  "o 

And  as  it  mingled  with  the  mighty  torrents. 
Towards  the  royal  river  with  such  speed 
It  headlong  rushed,  that  nothing  held  it  back. 

My  frozen  body  near  unto  its  outlet 

The  robust  Archian  found,  and  into  Arno  i^s 

Thrust  it,  and  loosened  from  my  breast  the  cross 

I  made  of  me,  when  agony  o'ercame  me ; 

It  rolled  me  on  the  banks  and  on  the  bottom ; 
Then  with  its  booty  covered  and  begirt  me." 

"Ah,  when  thou  hast  returned  unto  the  world,  13° 

And  rested  thee  from  thy  long  journeying,'* 
After  the  second  followed  the  third  spirit, 

"  Do  thou  remember  me  who  am  the  Pia ; 
Siena  made  me,  unmade  me  Maremma ; 
He  knoweth  it,  who  had  encircled  first,  135 

Espousing  me,  my  finger  with  his  gem." 


CANTO     VI. 

^y^T'HENE'ER  is  broken  up  the  game  of  Zara, 
He  who  has  lost  remains  behind  despondent, 
The  throws  repeating,  and  in  sadness  learns ; 

The  people  with  the  other  all  depart ; 

One  goes  in  front,  and  one  behind  doth  pluck  him,   5 
And  at  his  side  one  brings  himself  to  mind ; 

He  pauses  not,  and  this  and  that  one  hears ; 

They  crowd  no  more  to  whom  his  hand  he  stretches. 
And  from  the  throng  he  thus  defends  himself. 

Even  such  was  I  in  that  dense  multitude,  10 

Turning  to  them  this  way  and  that  my  face. 
And,  promising,  I  freed  myself  therefrom. 

There  was  the  Aretine,  who  from  the  arms 

Untamed  of  Ghin  di  Tacco  had  his  death. 

And  he  who  fleeing  from  pursuit  was  drowned.        15 

There  was  imploring  with  his  hands  outstretched 
Frederick  Novello,  and  that  one  of  Pisa 
Who  made  the  good  Marzucco  seem  so  strong. 


PtLT gator io   vi.  33 

I  saw  Count  Orso ;  and  the  soul  divided 

By  hatred  and  by  envy  from  its  body,  »« 

As  it  declared,  and  not  for  crime  committed, 

Pierre  de  la  Brosse  I  say ;  and  here  provide 
While  still  on  earth  the  Lady  of  Brabant, 
So  that  for  this  she  be  of  no  worse  flock  ! 

As  soon  as  I  was  free  from  all  those  shades  as 

Who  only  prayed  that  some  one  else  may  pray, 
So  as  to  hasten  their  becoming  holy. 

Began  I :  "It  appears  that  thou  deniest, 

O  light  of  mine,  expressly  in  some  text, 

That  orison  can  bend  decree  of  Heaven;  3° 

And  ne'ertheless  these  people  pray  for  this. 

Might  then  their  expectation  bootless  be  ? 
Or  is  to  me  thy  saying  not  quite  clear?" 

And  he  to  me  :   "  My  writing  is  explicit. 

And  not  fallacious  is  the  hope  of  these,  3S 

If  with  sane  intellect  't  is  well  regarded  ; 

For  top  of  judgment  doth  not  vail  itself, 
Because  the  fire  of  love  fulfils  at  once 
What  he  must  satisfy  who  here  installs  him. 

And  there,  where  I  affirmed  that  proposition,  40 

Defect  was  not  amended  by  a  prayer. 
Because  the  prayer  from  God  was  separate. 
5 


34  The  Divine  Comedy 

Verily,  in  so  deep  a  questioning 

Do  not  decide,  unless  she  tell  it  thee. 

Who  light  'twixt  truth  and  intellect  shall  be.  4s 

I  know  not  if  thou  understand  ;   I  speak 

Of  Beatrice;  her  shalt  thou  see  above. 

Smiling  and  happy,  on  this  mountain's  top." 
And  I :  "Good  Leader,  let  us  make  more  haste. 

For  I  no  longer  tire  me  as  before ;  50 

And  see,  e'en  now  the  hill  a  shadow  casts." 
"  We  will  go  forward  with  this  day,"  he  answered, 

"As  far  as  now  is  possible  for  us ; 

But  otherwise  the  fact  is  than  thou  thinkest. 
Ere  thou  art  up  there,  thou  shalt  see  return  55 

Him,  who  now  hides  himself  behind  the  hill, 

So  that  thou  dost  not  interrupt  his  rays. 
But  yonder  there  behold  !  a  soul  that  stationed 

All,  all  alone  is  looking  hitherward ; 

It  will  point  out  to  us  the  quickest  way."  60 

We  came  up  unto  it ;   O  Lombard  soul. 

How  lofty  and  disdainful  thou  didst  bear  thee. 

And  grand  and  slow  in  moving  of  thine  eyes ! 
Nothing  whatever  did  it  say  to  us. 

But  let  us  go  our  way,  eying  us  only  65 

After  the  manner  of  a  couchant  lion  ; 


Pur  gator  io   vi.  3  5 

Still  near  to  it  Virgilius  drew,  entreating 

That  it  would  point  us  out  the  best  ascent ; 

And  it  replied  not  unto  his  demand. 
But  of  our  native  land  and  of  our  life  7° 

It  questioned  us ;  and  the  sweet  Guide  began  : 

"Mantua,"  —  and  the  shade,  all  in  itself  recluse, 
Rose  tow'rds  him  from  the  place  where  first  it  was, 

Saying  :   "  O  Mantuan,  I  am  Sordello 

Of  thine  own  land!"  and  one  embraced  the  other.  75 
Ah  !  servile  Italy,  grief's  hostelry  ! 

A  ship  without  a  pilot  in  great  tempest ! 

No  Lady  thou  of  Provinces,  but  brothel ! 
That  noble  soul  was  so  impatient,  only 

At  the  sweet  sound  of  his  own  native  land,  80 

To  make  its  citizen  glad  welcome  there ; 
And  now  within  thee  are  not  without  war 

Thy  living  ones,  and  one  doth  gnaw  the  other 

Of  those  whom  one  wall  and  one  fosse  shut  in ! 
Search,  wretched  one,  all  round  about  the  shores  85 

Thy  seaboard,  and  then  look  within  thy  bosom. 

If  any  part  of  thee  enjoyeth  peace  ! 
What  boots  it,  that  for  thee  Justinian 

The  bridle  mend,  if  empty  be  the  saddle  ? 

Withouten  this  the  shame  would  be  the  less.  9° 


36  The  Divine  Comedy 

Ah  !  people,  thou  that  oughtest  to  be  devout. 
And  to  let  Ca:sar  sit  upon  the  saddle, 
If  well  thou  hearest  what  God  teacheth  thee. 

Behold  how  fell  this  wild  beast  has  become. 

Being  no  longer  by  the  spur  corrected,  95 

Since  thou  hast  laid  thy  hand  upon  the  bridle. 

O  German  Albert !   who  abandonest 

Her  that  has  grown  recalcitrant  and  savage. 
And  oughtest  to  bestride  her  saddle-bow, 

May  a  just  judgment  from  the  stars  down  fall  100 

Upon  thy  blood,  and  be  it  new  and  open. 
That  thy  successor  may  have  fear  thereof; 

Because  thy  father  and  thyself  have  suffered. 

By  greed  of  those  transalpine  lands  distrained. 

The  garden  of  the  empire  to  be  waste.  105 

Come  and  behold  Montecchi  and  Cappelletti, 
Monaldi  and  Fillippeschi,  careless  man ! 
Those  sad  already,  and  these  doubt-depressed ! 

Come,  cruel  one  !  come  and  behold  the  oppression 

Of  thy  nobility,  and  cure  their  wounds,  "o 

And  thou  shalt  see  how  safe  is  Santafiore ! 

Come  and  behold  thy  Rome,  that  is  lamenting, 
Widowed,  alone,  and  day  and  night  exclaims, 
"  My  Cssar,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  " 


Ptcrgatorio   vi.  3  7 

Come  and  behold  how  loving  are  the  people;  us 

And  if  for  us  no  pity  moveth  thee. 

Come  and  be  made  ashamed  of  thy  renown ! 
And  if  it  lawful  be,  O  Jove  Supreme! 

Who  upon  earth  for  us  wast  crucified. 

Are  thy  just  eyes  averted  otherwhere  ?  120 

Or  preparation  is 't,  that,  in  the  abyss 

Of  thine  own  counsel,  for  some  good  thou  makest 

From  our  perception  utterly  cut  off? 
For  all  the  towns  of  Italy  are  full 

Of  tyrants,  and  becometh  a  Marcellus  125 

Each  peasant  churl  who  plays  the  partisan ! 
My  Florence !  well  mayst  thou  contented  be 

With  this  digression,  which  concerns  thee  not, 

Thanks  to  thy  people  who  such  forethought  take ! 
Many  at  heart  have  justice,  but  shoot  slowly,  130 

That  unadvised  they  come  not  to  the  bow. 

But  on  their  very  lips  thy  people  have  it ! 
Many  refuse  to  bear  the  common  burden; 

But  thy  solicitous  people  answereth 

Without  being  asked,  and  crieth  :   "  I  submit."        135 
Now  be  thou  joyful,  for  thou  hast  good  reason  ; 

Thou  affluent,  thou  in  peace,  thou  full  of  wisdom  ! 

If  I  speak  true,  the  event  conceals  it  not. 


7,S  The  Divine  Comedy 

Athens  and  Lacedicmon,  they  who  made 

The  ancient  laws,  and  were  so  civilized,  140 

Made  towards  living  well  a  little  sign 
Compared  with  thee,  who  makest  such  fine-spun 

Provisions,  that  to  middle  of  November 

Reaches  not  what  thou  in  October  spinnest. 
How  oft,  within  the  time  of  thy  remembrance,  145 

Laws,  money,  offices,  and  usages 

Hast  thou  remodelled,  and  renewed  thy  members? 
And  if  thou  mind  thee  well,  and  see  the  light. 

Thou  shalt  behold  thyself  like  a  sick  woman, 

Who  cannot  find  repose  upon  her  down,  »so 

But  by  her  tossing  wardeth  off  her  pain. 


CANrO     VII. 

A  FTER  the  gracious  and  glad  salutations 
Had  three  and  four  times  been  reiterated, 
Sordello  backward  drew  and  said,  "Who  are  you?" 

"  Or  ever  to  this  mountain  were  directed 

The  souls  deserving  to  ascend  to  God,  s 

My  bones  were  buried  by  Octavian. 

I  am  Virgilius ;  and  for  no  crime  else 

Did  I  lose  heaven,  than  for  not  having  faith  " ; 
In  this  wise  then  my  Leader  made  reply. 

As  one  who  suddenly  before  him  sees  ro 

Something  whereat  he  marvels,  who  believes 
And  yet  does  not,  saying,  "  It  is  !  it  is  not ! " 

So  he  appeared;  and  then  bowed  down  his  brow. 
And  with  humility  returned  towards  him, 
And,  where  inferiors  embrace,  embraced  him.  15 

"O  glory  of  the  Latians,  thou,"  he  said, 

"Through  whom  our  language  showed  what  it  could 
O  pride  eternal  of  the  place  I  came  from,  [do. 


40  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

What  merit  or  what  grace  to  me  reveals  thee  ? 

If  I  to  hear  thy  words  be  worthy,  tell  me  *© 

If  thou  dost  come  from  Hell,  and  from  what  cloister." 

"Through  all  the  circles  of  the  doleful  realm," 
Responded  he,  "  have  I  come  hitherward ; 
Heaven's  power  impelled  me,  and  with  that  I  come. 

I  by  not  doing,  not  by  doing,  lost  as 

The  sight  of  that  high  sun  which  thou  desirest. 
And  which  too  late  by  me  was  recognized. 

A  place  there  is  below  not  sad  with  torments. 
But  darkness  only,  where  the  lamentations 
Have  not  the  sound  of  wailing,  but  are  sighs.  3° 

There  dwell  I  with  the  little  innocents 

Snatched  by  the  teeth  of  Death,  or  ever  they 
Were  from  our  human  sinfulness  exempt. 

There  dwell  I  among  those  who  the  three  saintly 

Virtues  did  not  put  on,  and  without  vice  35 

The  others  knew  and  followed  all  of  them. 

But  if  thou  know  and  can,  some  indication 

Give  us  by  which  we  may  the  sooner  come 
Where  Purgatory  has  its  right  beginning." 

He  answered:   "No  fixed  place  has  been  assigned  us;      4° 
'T  is  lawful  for  me  to  go  up  and  round; 
So  far  as  I  can  go,  as  guide  I  join  thee. 


Purgatorio  vii.  41 

But  see  already  how  the  day  declines. 

And  to  go  up  by  night  we  are  not  able ; 

Therefore  't  is  well  to  think  of  some  fair  sojourn.    4s 

Souls  are  there  on  the  right  hand  here  withdrawn  ; 

If  thou  permit  me  I  will  lead  thee  to  them. 

And  thou  shalt  know  them  not  without  delight." 

"How  is  this?"  was  the  answer;  "should  one  wish 

To  mount  by  night  would  he  prevented  be  5° 

By  others  ?  or  mayhap  would  not  have  power  ?  " 

And  on  the  ground  the  good  Sordello  drew 

His  finger,  saying,  "  See,  this  line  alone 

Thou  couldst  not  pass  after  the  sun  is  gone ; 

Not  that  aught  else  would  hindrance  give,  however,        55 

To  going  up,  save  the  nocturnal  darkness ; 

This  with  the  want  of  power  the  will  perplexes. 

We  might  indeed  therewith  return  below. 

And,  wandering,  walk  the  hill-side  round  about. 

While  the  horizon  holds  the  day  imprisoned."  60 

Thereon  my  Lord,  as  if  in  wonder,  said  : 

"  Do  thou  conduct  us  thither,  where  thou  sayest 

That  we  can  take  delight  in  tarrying." 

Little  had  we  withdrawn  us  from  that  place, 

When  I  perceived  the  mount  was  hollowed  out        65 

In  fashion  as  the  valleys  here  are  hollowed. 
6 


42  The  Divine  Comedy 

"  Thitherward,"  said  that  shade,  "  will  we  repair, 
Where  of  itself  the  hill-side  makes  a  lap. 
And  there  for  the  new  day  will  we  await." 
'Twixt  hill  and  plain  there  was  a  winding  path  70 

Which  led  us  to  the  margin  of  that  dell. 
Where  dies  the  border  more  than  half  away. 
Gold  and  fine  silver,  and  scarlet  and  pearl-white. 
The  Indian  wood  resplendent  and  serene. 
Fresh  emerald  the  moment  it  is  broken,  75 

By  herbage  and  by  flowers  within  that  hollow 

Planted,  each  one  in  color  would  be  vanquished. 
As  by  its  greater  vanquished  is  the  less. 
Nor  in  that  place  had  nature  painted  only. 

But  of  the  sweetness  of  a  thousand  odors  80 

Made  there  a  mingled  fragrance  and  unknown. 
*^  Salve  Regifia,"  on  the  green  and  flowers 
There  seated,  singing,  spirits  I  beheld. 
Which  were  not  visible  outside  the  valley. 
"  Before  the  scanty  sun  now  seeks  his  nest,"  85 

Began  the  Mantuan  who  had  led  us  thither, 
"Among  them  do  not  wish  me  to  conduct  you. 
Better  from  oflFthis  ledge  the  acts  and  faces 
Of  all  of  them  will  you  discriminate. 
Than  in  the  plain  below  received  among  them.        9° 


Pttrgatorio   vii.  43 

He  who  sits  highest,  and  the  semblance  bears 

Of  having  what  he  should  have  done  neglected. 
And  to  the  others'  song  moves  not  his  lips, 

Rudolph  the  Emperor  was,  who  had  the  power 

To  heal  the  wounds  that  Italy  have  slain,  95 

So  that  through  others  slowly  she  revives. 

The  other,  who  in  look  doth  comfort  him. 

Governed  the  region  where  the  water  springs. 
The  Moldau  bears  the  Elbe,  and  Elbe  the  sea. 

His  name  was  Ottocar  ;  and  in  swaddling-clothes  100 

Far  better  he  than  bearded  Winceslaus 
His  son,  who  feeds  in  luxury  and  ease. 

And  the  small-nosed,  who  close  in  council  seems 
With  him  that  has  an  aspect  so  benign. 
Died  fleeing  and  disflowering  the  lily ;  los 

Look  there,  how  he  is  beating  at  his  breast ! 
Behold  the  other  one,  who  for  his  cheek 
Sighing  has  made  of  his  own  palm  a  bed  ; 

Father  and  father-in-law  of  France's  Pest 

Are  they,  and  know  his  vicious  life  and  lewd,         "o 
And  hence  proceeds  the  grief  that  so  doth  pierce  them. 

He  who  appears  so  stalwart,  and  chimes  in. 

Singing,  with  that  one  of  the  manly  nose. 
The  cord  of  every  valor  wore  begirt ; 


44  Tlie  Divine  Coinedy 

And  if  as  King  had  after  him  remained  "s 

The  stripHng  who  in  rear  of  him  is  sitting, 
Well  had  the  valor  passed  from  vase  to  vase. 

Which  cannot  of  the  other  heirs  be  said. 

Frederick  and  Jacomo  possess  the  realms. 

But  none  the  better  heritage  possesses.  "o 

Not  oftentimes  upriseth  through  the  branches 
The  probity  of  man  ;  and  this  He  wills 
Who  gives  it,  so  that  we  may  ask  of  Him. 

Eke  to  the  large-nosed  reach  my  words,  no  less 

Than  to  the  other.  Pier,  who  with  him  sings ;         125 
Whence  Provence  and  Apulia  grieve  already. 

The  plant  is  as  inferior  to  its  seed. 

As  more  than  Beatrice  and  Margaret 
Costanza  boasteth  of  her  husband  still. 

Behold  the  monarch  of  the  simple  life,  13° 

Harry  of  England,  sitting  there  alone  ; 
He  in  his  branches  has  a  better  issue. 

He  who  the  lowest  on  the  ground  among  them 
Sits  looking  upward,  is  the  Marquis  William, 
For  whose  sake  Alessandria  and  her  war  135 

Make  Monferrat  and  Canavese  weep.'* 


CANTO      VIII, 

'"  I  "  WAS  now  the  hour  that  turneth  back  desire 
In  those  who  sail  the  sea,  and  melts  the  heart. 
The  day  they  've  said  to  their  sweet  friends  farewell. 

And  the  new  pilgrim  penetrates  with  love. 

If  he  doth  hear  from  far  away  a  bell  5 

That  seemeth  to  deplore  the  dying  day. 

When  I  began  to  make  of  no  avail 

My  hearing,  and  to  watch  one  of  the  souls 
Uprisen,  that  begged  attention  with  its  hand. 

It  joined  and  lifted  upward  both  its  palms,  10 

Fixing  its  eyes  upon  the  orient. 
As  if  it  said  to  God,  "  Naught  else  I  care  for." 

"  Te  lucis  ante  "  so  devoutly  issued 

Forth  from  its  mouth,  and  with  such  dulcet  notes. 
It  made  me  issue  forth  from  my  own  mind.  15 

And  then  the  others,  sweetly  and  devoutly, 

Accompanied  it  through  all  the  hymn  entire. 
Having  their  eyes  on  the  supernal  wheels. 


46  The  Divine  Comedy 

Here,  Reader,  fix  thine  eyes  well  on  the  truth. 

For  now  indeed  so  subtile  is  the  veil,  ao 

Surely  to  penetrate  within  is  easy. 

I  saw  that  army  of  the  gentle-born 

Thereafterward  in  silence  upward  gaze. 
As  if  in  expectation,  pale  and  humble ; 

And  from  on  high  come  forth  and  down  descend,  »5 

I  saw  two  Angels  with  two  flaming  swords. 
Truncated  and  deprived  of  their  points. 

Green  as  the  little  leaflets  just  now  born 

Their  garments  were,  which,  by  their  verdant  pinions 
Beaten  and  blown  abroad,  they  trailed  behind.         30 

One  just  above  us  came  to  take  his  station. 
And  one  descended  to  the  opposite  bank, 
So  that  the  people  were  contained  between  them. 

Clearly  in  them  discerned  I  the  blond  head; 

But  in  their  faces  was  the  eye  bewildered,  35 

As  faculty  confounded  by  excess. 

"  From  Mary's  bosom  both  of  them  have  come," 
Sordello  said,  "  as  guardians  of  the  valley 
Against  the  serpent,  that  will  come  anon." 

Whereupon  I,  who  knew  not  by  what  road,  40 

Turned  round  about,  and  closely  drew  myself. 
Utterly  frozen,  to  the  faithful  shoulders. 


Pttr gator io   viii.  4.7 

And  once  again  Sordello  :   "  Now  descend  we 

'Mid  the  grand  shades,  and  we  will  speak  to  them ; 
Right  pleasant  will  it  be  for  them  to  see  you."  45 

Only  three  steps  I  think  that  I  descended. 

And  was  below,  and  saw  one  who  was  looking 
Only  at  me,  as  if  he  fain  would  know  me. 

Already  now  the  air  was  growing  dark. 

But  not  so  that  between  his  eyes  and  mine  5° 

It  did  not  show  what  it  before  locked  up. 

Tow'rds  me  he  moved,  and  I  tow'rds  him  did  move ; 
Noble  Judge  Nino !  how  it  me  delighted. 
When  I  beheld  thee  not  among  the  damned  ! 

No  greeting  fair  was  left  unsaid  between  us ;  5S 

Then  asked  he  :   "  How  long  is  it  since  thou  camest 
O'er  the  far  waters  to  the  mountain's  foot  ?" 

"  Oh  ! "  said  I  to  him,  "  through  the  dismal  places 
I  came  this  morn ;  and  am  in  the  first  life. 
Albeit  the  other,  going  thus,  I  gain."  60 

And  on  the  instant  my  reply  was  heard. 

He  and  Sordello  both  shrank  back  from  me, 
Like  people  who  are  suddenly  bewildered. 

One  to  Virgilius,  and  the  other  turned 

To  one  who  sat  there,  crying,  "  Up,  Currado  !  65 

Come  and  behold  what  God  in  grace  has  willed ! " 


48  The  Divine  Comedy 

Then,  turned  to  me  :  "  By  that  especial  grace 
Thou  owest  unto  Him,  who  so  conceals 
His  own  first  wherefore,  that  it  has  no  ford, 

When  thou  shalt  be  beyond  the  waters  wide,  7° 

Tell  my  Giovanna  that  she  pray  for  me. 
Where  answer  to  the  innocent  is  made. 

I  do  not  think  her  mother  loves  me  more. 

Since  she  has  laid  aside  her  wimple  white. 

Which  she,  unhappy,  needs  must  wish  again.  75 

Through  her  full  easily  is  comprehended 

How  long  in  woman  lasts  the  fire  of  love. 
If  eye  or  touch  do  not  relight,  it  often. 

So  fair  a  hatchment  will  not  make  for  her 

The  Viper  marshalling  the  Milanese  so 

A-field,  as  would  have  made  Gallura's  Cock." 

In  this  wise  spake  he,  with  the  stamp  impressed 
Upon  his  aspect  of  that  righteous  zeal 
Which  measurably  burneth  in  the  heart. 

My  greedy  eyes  still  wandered  up  to  heaven,  85 

Still  to  that  point  where  slowest  are  the  stars. 
Even  as  a  wheel  the  nearest  to  its  axle. 

And  my  Conductor  :   "  Son,  what  dost  thou  gaze  at 

Up  there?"     And  I  to  him  :   "  At  those  three  torches 
With  which  this  hither  pole  is  all  on  fire."  90 


Purgatorio  viil  49 

And  he  to  me :  "  The  four  resplendent  stars 

Thou  sawest  this  morning  are  down  yonder  low, 
And  these  have  mounted  up  to  where  those  were." 

As  he  was  speaking,  to  himself  Sordello 

Drew  him,  and  said,  "  Lo  there  our  Adversary!"   95 
And  pointed  with  his  finger  to  look  thither. 

Upon  the  side  on  which  the  little  valley 

No  barrier  hath,  a  serpent  was ;  perchance 
The  same  which  gave  to  Eve  the  bitter  food. 

'Twixt  grass  and  flowers  came  on  the  evil  streak,  loo 

Turning  at  times  its  head  about,  and  licking 
Its  back  like  to  a  beast  that  smoothes  itself. 

I  did  not  see,  and  therefore  cannot  say 

How  the  celestial  falcons  'gan  to  move. 

But  well  I  saw  that  they  were  both  in  motion.        105 

Hearing  the  air  cleft  by  their  verdant  wings. 

The  serpent  fled,  and  round  the  Angels  wheeled. 
Up  to  their  stations  flying  back  alike. 

The  shade  that  to  the  Judge  had  near  approached 

When  he  had  called,  throughout  that  whole  assault  no 
Had  not  a  moment  loosed  its  gaze  on  me. 

"  So  may  the  light  that  leadeth  thee  on  high 

Find  in  thine  own  free-will  as  much  of  wax 
As  needful  is  up  to  the  highest  azure," 
7 


50  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

Began  it,  "if  some  true  intelligence  115 

Of  Valdimagra  or  its  neighborhood 
Thou  knowest,  tell  it  me,  who  once  was  great  there. 

Currado  Malaspina  was  I  called ; 

I  'm  not  the  elder,  but  from  him  descended ; 

To  mine  I  bore  the  love  which  here  refineth."        no 

"O,"  said  I  unto  him,  "through  your  domains 
I  never  passed,  but  where  is  there  a  dwelling 
Throughout  all  Europe,  where  they  are  not  known  ? 

That  fame,  which  doeth  honor  to  your  house. 

Proclaims  its  Signors  and  proclaims  its  land,  ns 

So  that  he  knows  of  them  who  ne'er  was  there. 

And,  as  I  hope  for  heaven,  I  swear  to  you 
Your  honored  family  in  naught  abates 
The  glory  of  the  purse  and  of  the  sword. 

It  is  so  privileged  by  use  and  nature,  130 

That  though  a  guilty  head  misguide  the  world. 
Sole  it  goes  right,  and  scorns  the  evil  way." 

And  he  :   "  Now  go  ;  for  the  sun  shall  not  lie 

Seven  times  upon  the  pillow  which  the  Ram 

With  all  his  four  feet  covers  and  bestrides,  135 

Before  that  such  a  courteous  opinion 

Shall  in  the  middle  of  thy  head  be  nailed 
With  greater  nails  than  of  another's  speech. 

Unless  the  course  of  justice  standeth  still." 


CANTO     IX. 

"  I  ^HE  concubine  of  old  TIthonus  now 

Gleamed  white  upon  the  eastern  balcony. 
Forth  from  the  arms  of  her  sweet  paramour; 

With  gems  her  forehead  all  relucent  was, 

Set  in  the  shape  of  that  cold  animal  s 

Which  with  its  tail  doth  smite  amain  the  nations. 

And  of  the  steps,  with  which  she  mounts,  the  Night 
Had  taken  two  in  that  place  where  we  were. 
And  now  the  third  was  bending  down  its  wings ; 

When  I,  who  something  had  of  Adam  in  me,  lo 

Vanquished  by  sleep,  upon  the  grass  reclined. 
There  where  all  five  of  us  already  sat. 

Just  at  the  hour  when  her  sad  lay  begins 

The  little  swallow,  near  unto  the  morning. 
Perchance  in  memory  of  her  former  woes,  is 

And  when  the  mind  of  man,  a  wanderer 

More  from  the  flesh,  and  less  by  thought  imprisoned. 
Almost  prophetic  in  its  visions  is. 


52  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

In  dreams  it  seemed  to  me  I  saw  suspended 

An  eagle  in  the  sky,  with  plumes  of  gold,  »© 

With  wings  wide  open,  and  intent  to  stoop. 

And  this,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  where  had  been 
By  Ganymede  his  kith  and  kin  abandoned. 
When  to  the  high  consistory  he  was  rapt. 

I  thought  within  myself,  perchance  he  strikes  as 

From  habit  only  here,  and  from  elsewhere 
Disdains  to  bear  up  any  in  his  feet. 

Then  wheeling  somewhat  more,  it  seemed  to  me. 
Terrible  as  the  lightning  he  descended. 
And  snatched  me  upward  even  to  the  fire.  3° 

Therein  it  seemed  that  he  and  I  were  burning. 
And  the  imagined  fire  did  scorch  me  so. 
That  of  necessity  my  sleep  was  broken. 

Not  otherwise  Achilles  started  up. 

Around  him  turning  his  awakened  eyes,  35 

And  knowing  not  the  place  in  which  he  was. 

What  time  from  Chiron  stealthily  his  mother 
Carried  him  sleeping  in  her  arms  to  Scyros, 
Wherefrom  the  Greeks  withdrew  him  afterwards. 

Than  I  upstarted,  when  from  off  my  face  40 

Sleep  fled  away ;  and  pallid  I  became. 
As  doth  the  man  who  freezes  with  affright. 


Pttr gator io  ix.  53 

Only  my  Comforter  was  at  my  side. 

And  now  the  sun  was  more  than  two  hours  high, 

And  turned  towards  the  sea-shore  was  my  face.        as 
"  Be  not  intimidated,"  said  my  Lord, 

"  Be  reassured,  for  all  is  well  with  us ; 

Do  not  restrain,  but  put  forth  all  thy  strength. 
Thou  hast  at  length  arrived  at  Purgatory ; 

See  there  the  cliff  that  closes  it  around ;  5° 

See  there  the  entrance,  where  it  seems  disjoined. 
Whilom  at  dawn,  which  doth  precede  the  day. 

When  inwardly  thy  spirit  was  asleep 

Upon  the  flowers  that  deck  the  land  below. 
There  came  a  Lady  and  said  :   *  I  am  Lucia  ;  55 

Let  me  take  this  one  up,  who  is  asleep ; 

So  will  I  make  his  journey  easier  for  him.' 
Sordello  and  the  other  noble  shapes 

Remained;   she  took  thee,  and,  as  day  grew  bright. 

Upward  she  came,  and  I  upon  her  footsteps.  60 

She  laid  thee  here ;  and  first  her  beauteous  eyes 

That  open  entrance  pointed  out  to  me ; 

Then  she  and  sleep  together  went  away." 
In  guise  of  one  whose  doubts  are  reassured. 

And  who  to  confidence  his  fear  doth  change,  ^s 

After  the  truth  has  been  discovered  to  him. 


54  The  Divine  Comedy 

So  did  I  change;  and  when  without  disquiet 

My  Leader  saw  me,  up  along  the  cHfF 

He  moved,  and  I  behind  him,  tow'rd  the  height. 
Reader,  thou  seest  well  how  I  exalt  7° 

My  theme,  and  therefore  if  with  greater  art 

I  fortify  it,  marvel  not  thereat. 
Nearer  approached  we,  and  were  in  such  place. 

That  there,  where  first  appeared  to  me  a  rift 

Like  to  a  crevice  that  disparts  a  wall,  7S 

I  saw  a  portal,  and  three  stairs  beneath. 

Diverse  in  color,  to  go  up  to  it. 

And  a  gate-keeper,  who  yet  spake  no  word. 
And  as  I  opened  more  and  more  mine  eyes, 

I  saw  him  seated  on  the  highest  stair,  so 

Such  in  the  face  that  I  endured  it  not. 
And  in  his  hand  he  had  a  naked  sword. 

Which  so  reflected  back  the  sunbeams  tow'rds  us. 

That  oft  in  vain  I  lifted  up  mine  eyes. 
"  Tell  it  from  where  you  are,  what  is  't  you  wish  ? "         85 

Began  he  to  exclaim ;  "  Where  is  the  escort  ? 

Take  heed  your  coming  hither  harm  you  not ! " 
"  A  Lady  of  Heaven,  with  these  things  conversant," 

My  Master  answered  him,  "  but  even  now 

Said  to  us,  *  Thither  go  ;  there  is  the  portal.'  "  90 


Purgatorio  ix.  55 

"  And  may  she  speed  your  footsteps  in  all  good," 
Again  began  the  courteous  janitor  ; 
"Come  forward  then  unto  these  stairs  of  ours." 

Thither  did  we  approach  ;  and  the  first  stair 

•Was  marble  white,  so  polished  and  so  smooth,  9S 

I  mirrored  myself  therein  as  I  appear. 

The  second,  tinct  of  deeper  hue  than  perse. 
Was  of  a  calcined  and  uneven  stone. 
Cracked  all  asunder  lengthwise  and  across. 

The  third,  that  uppermost  rests  massively,  loo 

Porphyry  seemed  to  me,  as  flaming  red 
As  blood  that  from  a  vein  is  spirting  forth. 

Both  of  his  feet  was  holding  upon  this 

.The  Angel  of  God,  upon  the  threshold  seated. 
Which  seemed  to  me  a  stone  of  diamond.  105 

Along  the  three  stairs  upward  with  good  will 
Did  my  Conductor  draw  me,  saying :  "  Ask 
Humbly  that  he  the  fastening  may  undo." 

Devoutly  at  the  holy  feet  I  cast  me. 

For  mercy's  sake  besought  that  he  would  open,      "q 
But  first  upon  my  breast  three  times  I  smote. 

Seven  P's  upon  my  forehead  he  described  [wash 

With  the  sword's  point,  and,  "  Take  heed  that  thou 
These  wounds,  when  thou  shalt  be  within,"  he  said. 


56  TJie  Divine  Comedy 

Ashes,  or  earth  that  dry  is  excavated,  ns 

Of  the  same  color  were  with  his  attire. 
And  from  beneath  it  he  drew  forth  two  keys. 

One  was  of  gold,  and  the  other  was  of  silver ; 

First  with  the  white,  and  after  with  the  yellow,- 
Plied  he  the  door,  so  that  I  was  content.  ^^q 

"  Whenever  faileth  either  of  these  keys 

So  that  it  turn  not  rightly  in  the  lock," 
He  said  to  us,  "  this  entrance  doth  not  open. 

More  precious  one  is,  but  the  other  needs 

More  art  and  intellect  ere  it  unlock,  1^5 

For  it  is  that  which  doth  the  knot  unloose. 

From  Peter  I  have  them  ;  and  he  bade  me  err 
Rather  in  opening  than  in  keeping  shut. 
If  people  but  fall  down  before  my  feet." 

Then  pushed  the  portals  of  the  sacred  door,  n° 

Exclaiming  :   "  Enter  ;  but  I  give  you  warning 
That  forth  returns  whoever  looks  behind." 

And  when  upon  their  hinges  were  turned  round 
The  swivels  of  that  consecrated  gate. 
Which  are  of  metal,  massive  and  sonorous,  135 

Roared  not  so  loud,  nor  so  discordant  seemed 
Tarpeia,  when  was  J:a'en  from  it  the  good 
Metellus,  wherefore  meagre  it  remained. 


Pzirgatorio  ix.  57 

At  the  first  thunder-peal  I  turned  attentive, 

And  "  TV  DeuJ?i  lauda?nus"  seemed  to  hear  140 

In  voices  mingled  with  sweet  melody. 

Exactly  such  an  image  rendered  me 

That  which  I  heard,  as  we  are  wont  to  catch. 
When  people  singing  with  the  organ  stand ; 

For  now  we  hear,  and  now  hear  not,  the  words.  145 


CANTO     X. 

^IT'HEN  we  had  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  door 
Which  the  perverted  love  of  souls  disuses. 
Because  it  makes  the  crooked  way  seem  straight. 

Re-echoing  I  heard  it  closed  again ; 

And  if  I  had  turned  back  mine  eyes  upon  it,  5 

What  for  my  failing  had  been  fit  excuse  ? 

We  mounted  upward  through  a  rifted  rock. 
Which  undulated  to  this  side  and  that. 
Even  as  a  wave  receding  and  advancing. 

"  Here  it  behoves  us  use  a  little  art,"  10 

Began  my  Leader,  "  to  adapt  ourselves 
Now  here,  now  there,  to  the  receding  side." 

And  this  our  footsteps  so  infrequent  made, 

That  sooner  had  the  moon's  decreasing  disk 
Regained  its  bed  to  sink  again  to  rest,  15 

Than  we  were  forth  from  out  that  needle's  eye ; 
But  when  we  free  and  in  the  open  were. 
There  where  the  mountain  backward  piles  itself. 


Ptcrgatorio  x.  59 

I  wearied  out,  and  both  of  us  uncertain 

About  our  way,  we  stopped  upon  a  plain  20 

More  desolate  than  roads  across  the  deserts. 

From  where  its  margin  borders  on  the  void. 
To  foot  of  the  high  bank  that  ever  rises, 
A  human  body  three  times  told  would  measure ; 

And  far  as  eye  of  mine  could  wing  its  flight,  ^5 

Now  on  the  left,  and  on  the  right  flank  now. 
The  same  this  cornice  did  appear  to  me. 

Thereon  our  feet  had  not  been  moved  as  yet. 

When  I  perceived  the  embankment  round  about. 
Which  all  right  of  ascent  had  interdicted,  3° 

To  be  of  marble  white,  and  so  adorned 

With  sculptures,  that  not  only  Polycletus, 

But  Nature's  self,  had  there  been  put  to  shame. 

The  Angel,  who  came  down  to  earth  with  tidings 

Of  peace,  that  had  been  wept  for  many  a  year,         35 
And  opened  Heaven  from  its  long  interdict. 

In  front  of  us  appeared  so  truthfully 

There  sculptured  in  a  gracious  attitude. 
He  did  not  seem  an  image  that  is  silent. 

One  would  have  sworn  that  he  was  saying,  ^^Ave";         4° 
For  she  was  there  in  effigy  portrayed 
Who  turned  the  key  to  ope  the  exalted  love. 


6o  The  Divine  Comedy 

And  in  her  mien  this  language  had  impressed, 
"  Ecce  ancilla  DeiJ'  as  distinctly 
As  any  figure  stamps  itself  in  wax.  45 

"  Keep  not  thy  mind  upon  one  place  alone," 

The  gentle  Master  said,  who  had  me  standing 
Upon  that  side  where  people  have  their  hearts  ; 

Whereat  I  moved  mine  eyes,  and  I  beheld 

In  rear  of  Mary,  and  upon  that  side  5° 

Where  he  was  standing  who  conducted  me. 

Another  story  on  the  rock  imposed ; 

Wherefore  I  passed  Virgilius  and  drew  near. 
So  that  before  mine  eyes  it  might  be  set. 

There  sculptured  in  the  self-same  marble  were  ss 

The  cart  and  oxen,  drawing  the  holy  ark, 
Wherefore  one  dreads  an  office  not  appointed. 

People  appeared  in  front,  and  all  of  them 
In  seven  choirs  divided,  of  two  senses 
Made  one  say,  "No,"  the  other,  "Yes,  they  sing."   60 

Likewise  unto  the  smoke  of  the  frankincense. 

Which  there  was  imaged  forth,  the  eyes  and  nose 
Were  in  the  yes  and  no  discordant  made. 

Preceded  there  the  vessel  benedight. 

Dancing  with  girded  loins,  the  humble  Psalmist,     65 
And  more  and  less  than  King  was  he  in  this. 


Ptcrmtorio  x.  6i 


^ 


Opposite,  represented  at  the  window 

Of  a  great  palace,  Michal  looked  upon  him. 
Even  as  a  woman  scornful  and  afflicted. 

I  moved  my  feet  from  where  I  had  been  standing,  70 

To  examine  near  at  hand  another  story. 
Which  after  Michal  glimmered  white  upon  me. 

There  the  high  glory  of  the  Roman  Prince 
Was  chronicled,  whose  great  beneficence 
Moved  Gregory  to  his  great  victory ;  75 

'T  is  of  the  Emperor  Trajan  I  am  speaking ; 
And  a  poor  widow  at  his  bridle  stood. 
In  attitude  of  weeping  and  of  grief. 

Around  about  him  seemed  it  thronged  and  full 

Of  cavaliers,  and  the  eagles  in  the  gold  80 

Above  them  visibly  in  the  wind  were  moving. 

The  wretched  woman  in  the  midst  of  these 

Seemed  to  be  saying  :   "  Give  me  vengeance.  Lord, 
For  my  dead  son,  for  whom  my  heart  is  breaking." 

And  he  to  answer  her  :   "  Now  wait  until  ss 

I  shall  return."     And  she  :   "  My  Lord,"  like  one 
In  whom  grief  is  impatient,  "shouldst  thou  not 

Return  ?"     And  he  :   "Who  shall  be  where  I  am 

Will  give  it  thee."     And  she:  "Good  deed  of  others 
What  boots  it  thee,  if  thou  neglect  thine  own  ? "      90 


62  The  Divme  Comedy 

Whence  he  :  "  Now  comfort  thee,  for  it  behoves  me 

That  I  discharge  my  duty  ere  I  move ; 

Justice  so  wills,  and  pity  doth  retain  me." 
He  who  on  no  new  thing  has  ever  looked 

Was  the  creator  of  this  visible  language,  95 

Novel  to  us,  for  here  it  is  not  found. 
While  I  delighted  me  in  contemplating 

The  images  of  such  humility. 

And  dear  to  look  on  for  their  Maker's  sake, 
"  Behold,  upon  this  side,  but  rare  they  make  100 

Their  steps,"  the  Poet  murmured,  "  many  people  ; 

These  will  direct  us  to  the  lofty  stairs." 
Mine  eyes,  that  in  beholding  were  intent 

To  see  new  things,  of  which  they  curious  are. 

In  turning  round  towards  him  were  not  slow.  105 

But  still  I  wish  not.  Reader,  thou  shouldst  swerve 

From  thy  good  purposes,  because  thou  hearest 

How  God  ordaineth  that  the  debt  be  paid; 
Attend  not  to  the  fashion  of  the  torment. 

Think  of  what  follows;  think  that  at  the  worst      "o 

It  cannot  reach  beyond  the  mighty  sentence. 
"Master,"  began  I,  "that  which  I  behold 

Moving  towards  us  seems  to  me  not  persons. 

And  what  I  know  not,  so  in  sight  I  waver." 


Pur  gator  io  x.  (^^ 

And  he  to  me:   "The  grievous  quality  us 

Of  this  their  torment  bows  them  so  to  earth. 
That  my  own  eyes  at  first  contended  with  it  ; 

But  look  there  fixedly,  and  disentangle 

By  sight  what  cometh  underneath  those  stones  ; 
Already  canst  thou  see  how  each  is  stricken."  120 

O  ye  proud  Christians !  wretched,  weary  ones  ! 
Who,  in  the  vision  of  the  mind  infirm. 
Confidence  have  in  your  backsliding  steps. 

Do  ye  not  comprehend  that  we  are  worms. 

Born  to  bring  forth  the  angelic  butterfly  125 

That  flieth  unto  judgment  without  screen? 

Why  floats  aloft  your  spirit  high  in  air  ? 
Like  are  ye  unto  insects  undeveloped. 
Even  as  the  worm  in  whom  formation  fails ! 

As  to  sustain  a  ceiling  or  a  roof,  13° 

In  place  of  corbel,  oftentimes  a  figure 
Is  seen  to  join  its  knees  unto  its  breast, 

Which  makes  of  the  unreal  real  anguish 

Arise  in  him  who  sees  it ;  fashioned  thus 

Beheld  I  those,  when  I  had  ta'en  good  heed.  135 

True  is  it,  they  were  more  or  less  bent  down. 
According  as  they  more  or  less  were  laden ; 
And  he  who  had  most  patience  in  his  looks 

Weeping  did  seem  to  say,  "  I  can  no  more  ! " 


CANTO     XI. 

"/^UR  Father,  thou  who  dwellest  in  the  heavens, 
Not  circumscribed,  but  from  the  greater  love 
Thou  bearest  to  the  first  effects  on  high. 

Praised  be  thy  name  and  thine  omnipotence 

By  every  creature,  as  befitting  is  5 

To  render  thanks  to  thy  sweet  effluence. 

Come  unto  us  the  peace  of  thy  dominion. 
For  unto  it  we  cannot  of  ourselves. 
If  it  come  not,  with  all  our  intellect. 

Even  as  thine  own  Angels  of  their  will  •  10 

Make  sacrifice  to  thee,  Hosanna  singing. 
So  may  all  men  make  sacrifice  of  theirs. 

Give  unto  us  this  day  our  daily  manna, 

Withouten  which  in  this  rough  wilderness 
Backward  goes  he  who  toils  most  to  advance.  15 

And  even  as  we  the  trespass  we  have  suffered 
Pardon  in  one  another,  pardon  thou 
Benignly,  and  regard  not  our  desert. 


Pur  gator  io  xi.  65 

Our  virtue,  which  is  easily  o'ercome, 

Put  not  to  proof  with  the  old  Adversary,  20 

But  thou  from  him  who  spurs  it  so,  deliver. 

This  last  petition  verily,  dear  Lord, 

Not  for  ourselves  is  made,  who  need  it  not. 

But  for  their  sake  who  have  remained  behind  us." 

Thus  for  themselves  and  us  good  furtherance  25 

Those  shades  imploring,  went  beneath  a  weight 
Like  unto  that  of  which  we  sometimes  dream. 

Unequally  in  anguish  round  and  round 

And  weary  all,  upon  that  foremost  cornice. 
Purging  away  the  smoke-stains  of  the  world.  30 

If  there  good  words  are  always  said  for  us. 

What  may  not  here  be  said  and  done  for  them. 
By  those  who  have  a  good  root  to  their  will  ? 

Well  may  we  help  them  wash  away  the  marks 

That  hence  they  carried,  so  that  clean  and  light       35 
They  may  ascend  unto  the  starry  wheels ! 

"Ah  !  so  may  pity  and  justice  you  disburden 

Soon,  that  ye  may  have  power  to  move  the  wing. 
That  shall  uplift  you  after  your  desire. 

Show  us  on  which  hand  tow'rd  the  stairs  the  way  40 

Is  shortest,  and  if  more  than  one  the  passes. 
Point  us  out  that  which  least  abruptly  falls ; 


66  The  Divmc  Comedy 

For  he  who  cometh  with  me,  through  the  burden 
Of  Adam's  flesh  wherewith  he  is  invested, 
Against  his  will  is  chary  of  his  climbing."  4S 

The  words  of  theirs  which  they  returned  to  those 
That  he  whom  I  was  following  had  spoken. 
It  was  not  manifest  from  whom  they  came. 

But  it  was  said:   "To  the  right  hand  come  with  us 

Along  the  bank,  and  ye  shall  find  a  pass  so 

Possible  for  living  person  to  ascend. 

And  were  I  not  impeded  by  the  stone, 

Which  this  proud  neck  of  mine  doth  subjugate, 
Whence  I  am  forced  to  hold  my  visage  down. 

Him,  who  still  lives  and  does  not  name  himself,  55 

Would  I  regard,  to  see  if  I  may  know  him 
And  make  him  piteous  unto  this  burden. 

A  Latian  was  I,  and  born  of  a  great  Tuscan  ; 
Guglielmo  Aldobrandeschi  was  my  father  ; 
I  know  not  if  his  name  were  ever  with  you.  60 

The  ancient  blood  and  deeds  of  gallantry 

Of  my  progenitors  so  arrogant  made  me 
That,  thinking  not  upon  the  common  mother, 

AH  men  I  held  in  scorn  to  such  extent 

I  died  therefor,  as  know  the  Sienese,  65 

And  every  child  in  Campagnatico. 


Ptcr gator io  xi.  67 

I  am  Omberto;  and  not  to  me  alone 

Has  pride  done  harm,  but  all  my  kith  and  kin 
Has  with  it  dragged  into  adversity. 

And  here  must  I  this  burden  bear  for  it  70 

Till  God  be  satisfied,  since  I  did  not 
Among  the  living,  here  among  the  dead." 

Listening  I  downward  bent  my  countenance ; 

And  one  of  them,  not  this  one  who  was  speaking. 
Twisted  himself  beneath  the  weight  that  cramps  him. 

And  looked  at  me,  and  knew  me,  and  called  out,  76 

Keeping  his  eyes  laboriously  fixed 
On  me,  who  all  bowed  down  was  going  with  them. 

"  O,"  asked  I  him,  "  art  thou  not  Oderisi, 

Agobbio's  honor,  and  honor  of  that  art  8° 

Which  is  in  Paris  called  illuminating  ?  " 

"  Brother,"  said  he,  "  more  laughing  are  the  leaves 
Touched  by  the  brush  of  Franco  Bolognese  ; 
All  his  the  honor  now,  and  mine  in  part. 

In  sooth  I  had  not  been  so  courteous  85 

While  I  was  living,  for  the  great  desire 
Of  excellence,  on  which  my  heart  was  bent. 

Here  of  such  pride  is  paid  the  forfeiture ; 

And  yet  I  should  not  be  here,  were  it  not 

That,  having  power  to  sin,  I  turned  to  God.  9° 


68  The  Divine  Comedy 

O  thou  vain  glory  of  the  human  powers. 

How  little  green  upon  thy  summit  lingers, 
If  't  be  not  followed  by  an  age  of  grossness ! 

In  painting  Cimabue  thought  that  he 

Should  hold  the  field,  now  Giotto  has  the  cry,  95 

So  that  the  other's  fame  is  growing  dim. 

So  has  one  Giiido  from  the  other  taken 

The  glory  of  our  tongue,  and  he  perchance 

Is  born,  who  from  the  nest  shall  chase  them  both. 

Naught  is  this  mundane  rumor  but  a  breath  100 

Of  wind,  that  comes  now  this  way  and  now  that. 
And  changes  name,  because  it  changes  side. 

What  fame  shalt  thou  have  more,  if  old  peel  off 

From  thee  thy  flesh,  than  if  thou  hadst  been  dead 
Before  thou  left  the  pappo  and  the  dindi,  105 

Ere  pass  a  thousand  years  ?  which  is  a  shorter 

Space  to  the  eterne,  than  twinkling  of  an  eye 
Unto  the  circle  that  in  heaven  wheels  slowest. 

With  him,  who  takes  so  little  of  the  road 

In  front  of  me,  all  Tuscany  resounded  ;  no 

And  now  he  scarce  is  lisped  of  in  Siena, 

Where  he  was  lord,  what  time  was  overthrown 
The  Florentine  delirium,  that  superb 
Was  at  that  day  as  now  't  is  prostitute. 


Pztr gator  to  xr.  69 

Your  reputation  is  the  color  of  grass  "s 

Which  comes  and  goes,  and  that  discolors  it 
By  which  it  issues  green  from  out  the  earth." 

And  I :   "  Thy  true  speech  fills  my  heart  with  good 
Humility,  and  great  tumor  thou  assuagest; 
But  who  is  he,  of  whom  just  now  thou  spakest?"  120 

**That,"  he  replied,  "is  Provenzan  Salvani, 
And  he  is  here  because  he  had  presumed 
To  bring  Siena  all  into  his  hands. 

He  has  gone  thus,  and  goeth  without  rest 

E'er  since  he  died;  such  money  renders  back  i^s 

In  payment  he  who  is  on  earth  too  daring." 

And  I :   "If  every  spirit  who  awaits 

The  verge  of  life  before  that  he  repent. 
Remains  below  there  and  ascends  not  hither, 

(Unless  good  orison  shall  him  bestead,)  13° 

Until  as  much  time  as  he  lived  be  passed. 
How  was  the  coming  granted  him  in  largess?" 

"  When  he  in  greatest  splendor  lived,"  said  he, 
"  Freely  upon  the  Campo  of  Siena, 
All  shame  being  laid  aside,  he  placed  himself;         135 

And  there  to  draw  his  friend  from  the  duress 

Which  in  the  prison-house  of  Charles  he  suffered. 
He  brought  himself  to  tremble  in  each  vein. 


JO  The  Divme  Comedy 

I  say  no  more,  and  know  that  I  speak  darkly  ; 

Yet  little  time  shall  pass  before  thy  neighbors  ho 

Will  so  demean  themselves  that  thou  canst  gloss  it. 

This  action  has  released  him  from  those  confines." 


CANTO     XII. 

V 

A  BREAST,  like  oxen  going  in  a  yoke, 
I  with  that  heavy-laden  soul  went  on. 
As  long  as  the  sweet  pedagogue  permitted ; 

But  when  he  said,  "  Leave  him,  and  onward  pass. 

For  here  't  is  good  that  with  the  sail  and  oars,  s 

As  much  as  may  be,  each  push  on  his  barque  " ; 

Upright,  as  walking  wills  it,  I  redressed 

My  person,  notwithstanding  that  my  thoughts 
Remained  within  me  downcast  and  abashed. 

I  had  moved  on,  and  followed  willingly  lo 

The  footsteps  of  my  Master,  and  we  both 
Already  showed  how  light  of  foot  we  were. 

When  unto  me  he  said  :   "  Cast  down  thine  eyes  ; 
'T  were  well  for  thee,  to  alleviate  the  way. 
To  look  upon  the  bed  beneath  thy  feet."  is 

As,  that  some  memory  may  exist  of  them. 

Above  the  buried  dead  their  tombs  in  earth 
Bear  sculptured  on  them  what  they  were  before ; 


72  The  Divine  Comedy 

Whence  often  there  we  weep  for  them  afresh, 

From  pricking  of  remembrance,  which  alone  20 

To  the  compassionate  doth  set  its  spur; 

So  saw  I  there,  but  of  a  better  semblance 

In  point  of  artifice,  with  figures  covered 
Whate'er  as  pathway  from  the  mount  projects. 

I  saw  that  one  who  was  created  noble  ^s 

More  than  all  other  creatures,  down  from  heaven 
Flaming  with  lightnings  fall  upon  one  side. 

I  saw  Briareus  smitten  by  the  dart 

Celestial,  lying  on  the  other  side. 

Heavy  upon  the  earth  by  mortal  frost.  30 

I  saw  Thymbraeus,  Pallas  saw,  and  Mars, 

Still  clad  in  armor  round  about  their  father, 
Gaze  at  the  scattered  members  of  the  giants. 

I  saw,  at  foot  of  his  great  labor,  Nimrod, 

As  if  bewildered,  looking  at  the  people  35 

Who  had  been  proud  with  him  in  Sennaar. 

O  Niobe  !  with  what  afflicted  eyes 

Thee  I  beheld  upon  the  pathway  traced. 
Between  thy  seven  and  seven  children  slain  ! 

O  Saul  !  how  fallen  upon  thy  proper  sword  4° 

Didst  thou  appear  there  lifeless  in  Gilboa, 
That  felt  thereafter  neither  rain  nor  dew  ! 


Pttr gator io  xii.  73 

O  mad  Arachne  !  so  I  thee  beheld 

E'en  then  half  spider,  sad  upon  the  shreds 

Of  fabric  wrought  in  evil  hour  for  thee !  45 

0  Rehoboam  !  no  more  seems  to  threaten 

Thine  image  there  ;  but  full  of  consternation 

A  chariot  bears  it  off,  when  none  pursues ! 
Displayed  moreo'er  the  adamantine  pavement 

How  unto  his  own  mother  made  Alcmaeon  5° 

Costly  appear  the  luckless  ornament ; 
Displayed  how  his  own  sons  did  throw  themselves 

Upon  Sennacherib  within  the  temple. 

And  how,  he  being  dead,  they  left  him  there ; 
Displayed  the  ruin  and  the  cruel  carnage  ^% 

That  Tomyris  wrought,  when  she  to  Cyrus  said, 

"  Blood  didst  thou  thirst  for,  and  with  blood  I  glut 
Displayed  how  routed  fled  the  Assyrians  [thee !  " 

After  that  Holofernes  had  been  slain. 

And  likewise  the  remainder  of  that  slaughter.  ^o 

1  saw  there  Troy  in  ashes  and  in  caverns; 

O  Ilion  !  thee,  how  abject  and  debased. 
Displayed  the  image  that  is  there  discerned  ! 
Who  e'er  of  pencil  master  was  or  stile. 

That  could  portray  the  shades  and  traits  which  there 
Would  cause  each  subtile  genius  to  admire?  66 


10 


74  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

Dead  seemed  the  dead,  the  living  seemed  alive ; 

Better  than  I  saw  not  who  saw  the  truth. 

All  that  I  trod  upon  while  bowed  I  went. 
Now  wax  ye  proud,  and  on  with  looks  uplifted,  7° 

Ye  sons  of  Eve,  and  bow  not  down  your  faces 

So  that  ye  may  behold  your  evil  ways! 
More  of  the  mount  by  us  was  now  encompassed. 

And  far  more  spent  the  circuit  of  the  sun. 

Than  had  the  mind  preoccupied  imagined,  75 

When  he,  who  ever  watchful  in  advance 

Was  going  on,  began  :  "  Lift  up  thy  head, 

'T  is  no  more  time  to  go  thus  meditating. 
Lo  there  an  Angel  who  is  making  haste 

To  come  towards  us ;  lo,  returning  is  80 

From  service  of  the  day  the  sixth  handmaiden. 
With  reverence  thine  acts  and  looks  adorn. 

So  that  he  may  delight  to  speed  us  upward ; 

Think  that  this  day  will  never  dawn  again." 
I  was  familiar  with  his  admonition  85 

Ever  to  lose  no  time ;  so  on  this  theme 

He  could  not  unto  me  speak  covertly. 
Towards  us  came  the  being  beautiful 

Vested  in  white,  and  in  his  countenance 

Such  as  appears  the  tremulous  morning  star.  90 


Pztr gator io  xii.  75 

His  arms  he  opened,  and  opened  then  his  wings ; 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  near  at  hand  here  are  the  steps. 
And  easy  from  henceforth  is  the  ascent." 

At  this  announcement  few  are  they  who  come  ! 

O  human  creatures,  born  to  soar  aloft,  95 

Why  fall  ye  thus  before  a  little  wind  ? 

He  led  us  on  to  where  the  rock  was  cleft ; 

There  smote  upon  my  forehead  with  his  wings. 
Then  a  safe  passage  promised  unto  me. 

As  on  the  right  hand,  to  ascend  the  mount  100 

Where  seated  is  the  church  that  lordeth  it 
O'er  the  well-guided,  above  Rubaconte, 

The  bold  abruptness  of  the  ascent  is  broken 

By  stairways  that  were  made  there  in  the  age 
When  still  were  safe  the  ledger  and  the  stave,  105 

E'en  thus  attempered  is  the  bank  which  falls 

Sheer  downward  from  the  second  circle  there; 
But  on  this  side  and  that  the  high  rock  grazes. 

As  we  were  turning  thitherward  our  persons, 

"  Beati  pauperes  spiritUy'  voices  no 

Sang  in  such  wise  that  speech  could  tell  it  not. 

Ah  me !  how  different  are  these  entrances 

From  the  Infernal !  for  with  anthems  here 
One  enters,  and  below  with  wild  laments. 


76  TJie  Divine  Comedy 

We  now  were  mounting  up  the  sacred  stairs,  "s 

And  it  appeared  to  me  by  far  more  easy 
Than  on  the  plain  it  had  appeared  before. 

Whence  I  :  "  My  Master,  say,  what  heavy  thing 
Has  been  upHfted  from  me,  so  that  hardly 
Aught  of  fatigue  is  felt  by  me  in  walking  ?  "  lao 

He  answered  ;  "  When  the  P's  which  have  remained 
Still  on  thy  face  almost  obliterate 
Shall  wholly,  as  the  first  is,  be  erased. 

Thy  feet  will  be  so  vanquished  by  good  will. 

That  not  alone  they  shall  not  feel  fatigue,  "s 

But  urging  up  will  be  to  them  delight." 

Then  did  I  even  as  they  do  who  are  going 

With  something  on  the  head  to  them  unknown. 
Unless  the  signs  of  others  make  them  doubt. 

Wherefore  the  hand  to  ascertain  is  helpful,  13° 

And  seeks  and  finds,  and  doth  fulfil  the  office 
Which  cannot  be  accomplished  by  the  sight ; 

And  with  the  fingers  of  the  right  hand  spread 
I  found  but  six  the  letters,  that  had  carved 
Upon  my  temples  he  who  bore  the  keys ;  135 

Upon  beholding  which  my  Leader  smiled. 


CANTO     XIII. 

'VIT'E  were  upon  the  summit  of  the  stairs. 
Where  for  the  second  time  is  cut  away 
The  mountain,  which  ascending  shriveth  all. 

There  in  like  manner  doth  a  cornice  bind 

The  hill  all  round  about,  as  does  the  first, 
Save  that  its  arc  more  suddenly  is  curved. 

Shade  is  there  none,  nor  sculpture  that  appears  ; 

So  seems  the  bank,  and  so  the  road  seems  smooth. 
With  but  the  livid  color  of  the  stone. 

"  If  to  inquire  we  wait  for  people  here," 

The  Poet  said,  "  I  fear  that  peradventure 
Too  much  delay  will  our  election  have." 

Then  steadfast  on  the  sun  his  eyes  he  fixed. 

Made  his  right  side  the  centre  of  his  motion. 
And  turned  the  left  part  of  himself  about. 

"  O  thou  sweet  light !  with  trust  in  whom  I  enter 
Upon  this  novel  journey,  do  thou  lead  us," 
Said  he,  "  as  one  within  here  should  be  led. 


78  Tlie  Divine  Coinedy 

Thou  warmest  the  world,  thou  shinest  over  it ; 

If  other  reason  prompt  not  otherwise,  ^o 

Thy  rays  should  evermore  our  leaders  be !  " 

As  much  as  here  is  counted  for  a  mile. 

So  much  already  there  had  we  advanced 
In  little  time,  by  dint  of  ready  will ; 

And  tow'rds  us  there  were  heard  to  fly,  albeit  ^s 

They  were  not  visible,  spirits  uttering 
Unto  Love's  table  courteous  invitations. 

The  first  voice  that  passed  onward  in  its  flight, 
"  Vinum  non  habent^'  said  in  accents  loud. 
And  went  reiterating  it  behind  us.  30 

And  ere  it  wholly  grew  inaudible 

Because  of  distance,  passed  another,  crying, 
"  I  am  Orestes !  "  and  it  also  stayed  not. 

"  O,"  said  I,  "  Father,  these,  what  voices  are  they  ? " 

And  even  as  I  asked,  behold  the  third,  35 

Saying:  "Love  those  from  whom  ye  have  had  evil!" 

And  the  good  Master  said  :   "  This  circle  scourges 
The  sin  of  envy,  and  on  that  account 
Are  drawn  from  love  the  lashes  of  the  scourge. 

The  bridle  of  another  sound  shall  be  ;  4° 

I  think  that  thou  wilt  hear  it,  as  I  judge. 
Before  thou  comest  to  the  Pass  of  Pardon. 


Purgaforio  xiii.  79 

But  fix  thine  eyes  athwart  the  air  right  steadfast. 
And  people  thou  wilt  see  before  us  sitting, 
And  each  one  close  against  the  cliff  is  seated."  45 

Then  wider  than  at  first  mine  eyes  I  opened ; 

I  looked  before  me,  and  saw  shades  with  mantles 
Not  from  the  color  of  the  stone  diverse. 

And  when  we  were  a  little  farther  onward, 

I  heard  a  cry  of,  "  Mary,  pray  for  us  !  '*  50 

A  cry  of,  "  Michael,  Peter,  and  all  Saints ! " 

I  do  not  think  there  walketh  still  on  earth 

A  man  so  hard,  that  he  would  not  be  pierced 
With  pity  at  what  afterward  I  saw. 

For  when  I  had  approached  so  near  to  them  S5 

That  manifest  to  me  their  acts  became. 
Drained  was  I  at  the  eyes  by  heavy  grief. 

Covered  with  sackcloth  vile  they  seemed  to  me. 

And  one  sustained  the  other  with  his  shoulder. 
And  all  of  them  were  by  the  bank  sustained.  60 

Thus  do  the  blind,  in  want  of  livelihood. 

Stand  at  the  doors  of  churches  asking  alms, 
And  one  upon  another  leans  his  head. 

So  that  in  others  pity  soon  may  rise. 

Not  only  at  the  accent  of  their  words,  65 

But  at  their  aspect,  which  no  less  implores. 


8o  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

And  as  unto  the  blind  the  sun  comes  not. 

So  to  the  shades,  of  whom  just  now  I  spake. 

Heaven's  Hght  will  not  be  bounteous  of  itself; 
For  all  their  lids  an  iron  wire  transpierces,  70 

And  sews  them  up,  as  to  a  sparhawk  wild 

Is  done,  because  it  will  not  quiet  stay. 
To  me  it  seemed,  in  passing,  to  do  outrage. 

Seeing  the  others  without  being  seen ; 

Wherefore  I  turned  me  to  my  counsel  sage.  7S 

Well  knew  he  what  the  mute  one  wished  to  say. 

And  therefore  waited  not  for  my  demand. 

But  said :   "  Speak,  and  be  brief,  and  to  the  point.'* 
I  had  Virgilius  upon  that  side 

Of  the  embankment  from  which  one  may  fall,         so 

Since  by  no  border  't  is  engarlanded; 
Upon  the  other  side  of  me  I  had 

The  shades  devout,  who  through  the  horrible  seam 

Pressed  out  the  tears  so  that  they  bathed  their  cheeks. 
To  them  I  turned  me,  and,  "  O  people,  certain,"  85 

Began  I,  "  of  beholding  the  high  light. 

Which  your  desire  has  solely  in  its  care. 
So  may  grace  speedily  dissolve  the  scum 

Upon  your  consciences,  that  limpidly 

Through  them  descend  the  river  of  the  mind,  90 


Pttrgaforio  xiii.  8i 

Tell  me,  for  dear  't  will  be  to  me  and  gracious. 
If  any  soul  among  you  here  is  Latian, 
And  't  will  perchance  be  good  for  him  I  learn  it." 

"  O  brother  mine,  each  one  is  citizen 

Of  one  true  city  ;  but  thy  meaning  is,  95 

Who  may  have  lived  in  Italy  a  pilgrim." 

By  way  of  answer  this  I  seemed  to  hear 
A  little  farther  on  than  where  I  stood. 
Whereat  I  made  myself  still  nearer  heard. 

Among  the  rest  I  saw  a  shade  that  waited  100 

In  aspect,  and  should  any  one  ask  how. 
Its  chin  it  lifted  upward  like  a  blind  man. 

"  Spirit,"  I  said,  "  who  stoopest  to  ascend. 
If  thou  art  he  who  did  reply  to  me. 
Make  thyself  known  to  me  by  place  or  name."      105 

"  Sienese  was  I,"  it  replied,  "  and  with 

The  others  here  recleanse  my  guilty  life. 
Weeping  to  Him  to  lend  himself  to  us. 

Sapient  I  was  not,  although  I  Sapia 

Was  called,  and  I  was  at  another's  harm  no 

More  happy  far  than  at  my  own  good  fortune. 

And  that  thou  mayst  not  think  that  I  deceive  thee, 
Hear  if  I  was  as  foolish  as  I  tell  thee. 
The  arc  already  of  my  years  descending. 


II 


82  The  Divine  Comedy 

My  fellow-citizens  near  unto  Colle  ns 

Were  joined  in  battle  with  their  adversaries. 
And  I  was  praying  God  for  what  he  willed. 

Routed  were  they,  and  turned  into  the  bitter 

Passes  of  flight ;  and  I,  the  chase  beholding, 

A  joy  received  unequalled  by  all  others;  "« 

So  that  I  lifted  upward  my  bold  face 

Crying  to  God,  *  Henceforth  I  fear  thee  not,' 
As  did  the  blackbird  at  the  little  sunshine. 

Peace  I  cfesired  with  God  at  the  extreme 

Of  my  existence,  and  as  yet  would  not  "s 

My  debt  have  been  by  penitence  discharged. 

Had  it  not  been  that  in  remembrance  held  mc  , 

Pier  Pettignano  in  his  holy  prayers. 
Who  out  of  charity  was  grieved  for  me. 

But  who  art  thou,  that  into  our  conditions  130 

Questioning  goest,  and  hast  thine  eyes  unbound 
As  I  believe,  and  breathing  dost  discourse  ? " 

"  Mine  eyes,"  I  said,  "  will  yet  be  here  ta'en  from  me. 
But  for  short  space ;  for  small  is  the  offence 
Committed  by  their  being  turned  with  envy.  13s 

Far  greater  is  the  fear,  wherein  suspended 
My  soul  is,  of  the  torment  underneath. 
For  even  now  the  load  down  there  weighs  on  me." 


Pttrgatorio  xiii.  8 


o 


And  she  to  me :  "  Who  led  thee,  then,  among  us 

Up  here,  if  to  return  below  thou  thinkest  ?  "  140 

And  I :   "  He  who  is  with  me,  and  speaks  not ; 

And  living  am  I ;  therefore  ask  of  me. 

Spirit  elect,  if  thou  wouldst  have  me  move 
O'er  yonder  yet  my  mortal  feet  for  thee." 

"  O,  this  is  such  a  novel  thing  to  hear,"  145 

She  answered,  "  that  great  sign  it  is  God  loves  thee ; 
Therefore  with  prayer  of  thine  sometimes  assist  me. 

And  I  implore,  by  what  thou  most  desirest. 
If  e'er  thou  treadest  the  soil  of  Tuscany, 
Well  with  my  kindred  reinstate  my  fame.  150 

Them  wilt  thou  see  among  that  people  vain 

Who  hope  in  Talamone,  and  will  lose  there 
More  hope  than  in  discovering  the  Diana ; 

But  there  still  more  the  admirals  will  lose." 


CANTO     XIV. 

"^VJITHO  is  this  one  that  goes  about  our  mountain. 
Or  ever  Death  has  given  him  pow^er  of  flight. 
And  opes  his  eyes  and  shuts  them  at  his  will  ? " 

"  I  know  not  who,  but  know  he  's  not  alone; 

Ask  him  thyself,  for  thou  art  nearer  to  him,  s 

And  gently,  so  that  he  may  speak,  accost  him." 

Thus  did  two  spirits,  leaning  tow'rds  each  other. 
Discourse  about  me  there  on  the  right  hand ; 
Then  held  supine  their  faces  to  address  me. 

And  said  the  one  :  "  O  soul,  that,  fastened  still  lo 

Within  the  body,  tow'rds  the  heaven  art  going. 
For  charity  console  us,  and  declare 

Whence  comest  and  who  art  thou ;  for  thou  mak'st  us 
As  much  to  marvel  at  this  grace  of  thine 
As  must  a  thing  that  never  yet  has  been."  15 

And  I  :  "  Through  midst  of  Tuscany  there  wanders 
A  streamlet  that  is  born  in  Falterona, 
And  not  a  hundred  miles  of  course  suffice  it ;, 


Ptcrgatorio  xiv,  85 

From  thereupon  do  I  this  body  bring. 

To  tell  you  who  I  am  were  speech  in  vain,  20 

Because  my  name  as  yet  makes  no  great  noise." 

"If  well  thy  meaning  I  can  penetrate 

With  intellect  of  mine,"  then  answered  me 

He  who  first  spake,  "  thou  speakest  of  the  Arno." 

And  said  the  other  to  him  :   "  Why  concealed  ^s 

This  one  the  appellation  of  that  river. 
Even  as  a  man  doth  of  things  horrible  ?  " 

And  thus  the  shade  that  questioned  was  of  this 
Himself  acquitted  :   "  I  know  not ;  but  truly 
'T  is  fit  the  name  of  such  a  valley  perish  ;  3° 

For  from  its  fountain-head  (where  is  so  pregnant 
The  Alpine  mountain  whence  is  cleft  Peloro 
That  in  few  places  it  that  mark  surpasses) 

To  where  it  yields  itself  in  restoration 

Of  what  the  heaven  doth  of  the  sea  dry  up,  35 

Whence  have  the  rivers  that  which  goes  with  them. 

Virtue  is  like  an  enemy  avoided 

By  all,  as  is  a  serpent,  through  misfortune 

Of  place,  or  through  bad  habit  that  impels  them  ; 

On  which  account  have  so  transformed  their  nature         4° 
The  dwellers  in  that  miserable  valley. 
It  seems  that  Circe  had  them  in  her  pasture. 


86       *  The  Divine  Comedy 

*Mid  ugly  swine,  of  acorns  worthier 

Than  other  food  for  human  use  created. 

It  first  directeth  its  impoverished  way.  45 

Curs  findeth  it  thereafter,  coming  downward. 

More  snarhng  than  their  puissance  demands. 
And  turns  from  them  disdainfully  its  muzzle. 

It  goes  on  falling,  and  the  more  it  grows. 

The  more  it  finds  the  dogs  becoming  wolves,  5° 

This  maledict  and  misadventurous  ditch. 

Descended  then  through  many  a  hollow  gulf. 
It  finds  the  foxes  so  replete  with  fraud. 
They  fear  no  cunning  that  may  master  them. 

Nor  will  I  cease  because  another  hears  me ;  ^^ 

And  well  't  will  be  for  him,  if  still  he  mind  him 
Of  what  a  truthful  spirit  to  me  unravels. 

Thy  grandson  I  behold,  who  doth  become 
A  hunter  of  those  wolves  upon  the  bank 
Of  the  wild  stream,  and  terrifies  them  all.  60 

He  sells  their  flesh,  it  being  yet  alive ; 

Thereafter  slaughters  them  like  ancient  beeves ; 
Many  of  life,  himself  of  praise,  deprives. 

Blood-stained  he  issues  from  the  dismal  forest ; 

He  leaves  it  such,  a  thousand  years  from  now         65 
In  its  primeval  state  't  is  not  re-wooded." 


Ptirgatorio  xiv.  87 

As  at  the  announcement  of  impending  ills 
The  face  of  him  who  listens  is  disturbed. 
From  whate'er  side  the  peril  seize  upon  him ; 

So  I  beheld  that  other  soul,  which  stood  70 

Turned  round  to  listen,  grow  disturbed  and  sad. 
When  it  had  gathered  to  itself  the  word. 

The  speech  of  one  and  aspect  of  the  other 

Had  me  desirous  made  to  know  their  names. 

And  question  mixed  with  prayers  I  made  thereof,   75 

Whereat  the  spirit  which  first  spake  to  me 

Began  again  :  "Thou  wishest  I  should  bring  me 
To  do  for  thee  what  thou  'It  not  do  for  me ; 

But  since  God  willeth  that  in  thee  shine  forth 

Such  grace  of  his,  I  '11  not  be  chary  with  thee ;       80 
Know,  then,  that  I  Guido  del  Duca  am. 

My  blood  was  so  with  envy  set  on  fire. 

That  if  I  had  beheld  a  man  make  merry. 

Thou  wouldst  have  seen  me  sprinkled  o'er  with  pallor. 

From  my  own  sowing  such  the  straw  I  reap !  ss 

O  human  race !  why  dost  thou  set  thy  heart 
Where  interdict  of  partnership  must  be  ? 

This  is  Renier ;  this  is  the  boast  and  honor 

Of  the  house  of  Calboli,  where  no  one  since 

Has  made  himself  the  heir  of  his  desert.  90 


88  Tlic  Divine  Comedy 

And  not  alone  his  blood  is  made  devoid, 

'Twixt  Po  and  mount,  and  sea-shore  and  the  Reno, 

Of  good  required  for  truth  and  for  diversion  ; 
For  all  within  these  boundaries  is  full 

Of  venomous  roots,  so  that  too  tardily  95 

By  cultivation  now  would  they  diminish. 
Where  is  good  Lizio,  and  Arrigo  Manardi, 

Pier  Traversaro,  and  Guido  di  Carpigna, 

O  Romagnuoli  into  bastards  turned  ? 
When  in  Bologna  will  a  Fabbro  rise  ?  .  :  100 

When  in  Faenza  a  Bernardin  di  Fosco,        .^'; 

The  noble  scion  of  ignoble  seed  ?  ';  ' 

Be  not  astonished,  Tuscan,  if  I  weep. 

When  I  remember,  with  Guido  da  Prata, 

Ugolin  d'  Azzo,  who  was  living  with  us,  105 

Frederick  Tignoso  and  his  company. 

The  house  of  Traversara,  and  th'  Anastagi, 

And  one  race  and  the  other  is  extinct ; 
The  dames  and  cavaliers,  the  toils  and  ease 

That  filled  our  souls  with  love  and  courtesy,  no 

There  where  the  hearts  have  so  malicious  grown  ! 
O  Brettinoro !  why  dost  thou  not  flee. 

Seeing  that  all  thy  family  is  gone. 

And  many  people,  not  to  be  corrupted  ? 


PzLr gator io  xiv.  -       89 

Bagnacaval  does  well  in  not  begetting,  115 

And  ill  does  Castrocaro,  and  Conio  worse. 
In  taking  trouble  to  beget  such  Counts. 

Will  do  well  the  Pagani,  when  their  Devil 

Shall  have  departed ;  but  not  therefore  pure 

Will  testimony  of  them  e'er  remain.  120 

O  Ugolin  de'  Fantoli,  secure 

Thy  name  is,  since  no  longer  is  awaited 
One  who,  degenerating,  can  obscure  it ! 

But  go  now,  Tuscan,  for  it  now  delights  me 

To  weep  far  better  than  it  does  to  speak,  125 

So  much  has  our  discourse  my  mind  distressed." 

We  were  aware  that  those  beloved  souls 

Heard  us  depart ;  therefore,  by  keeping  silent. 
They  made  us  of  our  pathway  confident. 

When  we  became  alone  by  going  onward,  130 

Thunder,  when  it  doth  cleave  the  air,  appeared 
A  voice,  that  counter  to  us  came,  exclaiming : 

"  Shall  slay  me  whosoever  findeth  me  !  " 
And  fled  as  the  reverberation  dies 
If  suddenly  the  cloud  asunder  bursts.  135 

As  soon  as  hearing  had  a  truce  from  this. 
Behold  another,  with  so  great  a  crash. 
That  it  resembled  thunderings  following  fast: 


12 


90  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

"  I  am  Aglaurus,  who  became  a  stone !  " 

And  then,  to  press  myself  close  to  the  Poet,  14° 

I  backward,  and  not  forward,  took  a  step. 

Already  on  all  sides  the  air  was  quiet ; 

And  said  he  to  me  :   "  That  was  the  hard  curb 
That  ought  to  hold  a  man  within  his  bounds  ; 

But  you  take  in  the  bait  so  that  the  hook  us 

Of  the  old  Adversary  draws  you  to  him. 
And  hence  availeth  little  curb  or  call. 

The  heavens  are  calling  you,  and  wheel  around  you. 
Displaying  to  you  their  eternal  beauties. 
And  still  your  eye  is  looking  on  the  ground ;  15° 

Whence  He,  who  all  discerns,  chastises  you." 


CANTO     XV. 

A  S  much  as  *twixt  the  close  of  the  third  hour 
And  dawn  of  day  appeareth  of  that  sphere 
Which  aye  in  fashion  of  a  child  is  playing. 
So  much  it  now  appeared,  towards  the  night, 

Was  of  his  course  remaining  to  the  sun  ;  5 

There  it  was  evening,  and  't  was  midnight  here ; 
And  the  rays  smote  the  middle  of  our  faces. 
Because  by  us  the  mount  was  so  encircled. 
That  straight  towards  the  west  we  now  were  going  ; 
When  I  perceived  my  forehead  overpowered  10 

Beneath  the  splendor  far  more  than  at  first. 
And  stupor  were  to  me  the  things  unknown ; 
Whereat  towards  the  summit  of  my  brow 

I  raised  my  hands,  and  made  myself  the  visor 
Which  the  excessive  glare  diminishes.  15 

As  when  from  off  the  water,  or  a  mirror. 

The  sunbeam  leaps  unto  the  opposite  side. 
Ascending  upward  in  the  selfsame  measure 


92  TIic  Divine  Covicdy 

That  it  descends,  and  deviates  as  far 

From  falling  of  a  stone  in  line  direct,  »o 

(As  demonstrate  experiment  and  art,) 
So  it  appeared  to  me  that  by  a  light 

Refracted  there  before  me  I  was  smitten ; 

On  which  account  my  sight  was  swift  to  flee. 
"  What  is  that.  Father  sweet,  from  which  I  cannot  25 

So  fully  screen  my  sight  that  it  avail  me," 

Said  I,  "  and  seems  towards  us  to  be  moving  ?  " 
"  Marvel  thou  not,  if  dazzle  thee  as  yet 

The  family  of  heaven,"  he  answered  me  ; 

"  An  angel  *t  is,  who  comes  to  invite  us  upward.       30 
Soon  will  it  be,  that  to  behold  these  things 

Shall  not  be  grievous,  but  delightful  to  thee 

As  much  as  nature  fashioned  thee  to  feel." 
When  we  had  reached  the  Angel  benedight. 

With  joyful  voice  he  said  :  "  Here  enter  in  35 

To  stairway  far  less  steep  than  are  the  others." 
We  mounting  were,  already  thence  departed. 

And  ^^  Be ati  miser icordes'"  was 

Behind  us  sung,  "Rejoice,  thou  that  o'ercomest ! " 
My  master  and  myself,  we  two  alone  4° 

Were  going  upward,  and  I  thought,  in  going. 

Some  profit  to  acquire  from  words  of  his ; 


Ptirgatorio  xv.  93 

And  I  to  him  directed  me,  thus  asking : 

"  What  did  the  spirit  of  Romagna  mean. 
Mentioning  interdict  and  partnership  ?  "  45 

Whence  he  to  me  :  "  Of  his  own  greatest  failing 

He  knows  the  harm  ;  and  therefore  wonder  not 
If  he  reprove  us,  that  we  less  may  rue  it. 

Because  are  thither  pointed  your  desires 

Where  by  companionship  each  share  is  lessened,      50 
Envy  doth  ply  the  bellows  to  your  sighs. 

But  if  the  love  of  the  supernal  sphere 

Should  upwardly  direct  your  aspiration. 

There  would  not  be  that  fear  within  your  breast ; 

For  there,  as  much  the  more  as  one  says  Our,  55 

So  much  the  more  of  good  each  one  possesses, 
And  more  of  charity  in  that  cloister  burns.'* 

"  I  am  more  hungering  to  be  satisfied," 

I  said,  "  than  if  I  had  before  been  silent, 

And  more  of  doubt  within  my  mind  I  gather.  60 

How  can  it  be,  that  boon  distributed 

The  more  possessors  can  more  wealthy  make 
Therein,  than  if  by  few  it  be  possessed  ?  '* 

And  he  to  me  :   "  Because  thou  fixest  still 

Thy  mind  entirely  upon  earthly  things,  65 

Thou  pluckest  darkness  from  the  very  light. 


94  The  Divine '  Comedy 

That  goodness  infinite  and  inefl^able 

Which  is  above  there,  runneth  unto  love, 
As  to  a  lucid  body  comes  the  sunbeam. 

So  much  it  gives  itself  as  it  finds  ardor,  70 

So  that  as  far  as  charity  extends. 
O'er  it  increases  the  eternal  valor. 

And  the  more  people  thitherward  aspire. 

More  are  there  to  love  well,  and  more  they  love  there. 
And,  as  a  mirror,  one  reflects  the  other.  75 

And  if  my  reasoning  appease  thee  not. 

Thou  shalt  see  Beatrice ;  and  she  will  fully 
Take  from  thee  this  and  every  other  longing. 

Endeavor,  then,  that  soon  may  be  extinct. 

As  are  the  two  already,  the  five  wounds  80 

That  close  themselves  again  by  being  painful." 

Even  as  I  wished  to  say,  "  Thou  dost  appease  me," 
I  saw  that  I  had  reached  another  circle. 
So  that  my  eager  eyes  made  me  keep  silence. 

There  it  appeared  to  me  that  in  a  vision  85 

Ecstatic  on  a  sudden  I  was  rapt. 
And  in  a  temple  many  persons  saw  ; 

And  at  the  door  a  woman,  with  the  sweet 
Behavior  of  a  mother,  saying  :  "  Son, 
Why  in  this  manner  hast  thou  dealt  with  us  ?  9° 


Purgatorw  xv.  95 

Lo,  sorrowing,  thy  father  and  myself 

Were  seeking  for  thee";  —  and  as  here  she  ceased. 
That  which  appeared  at  first  had  disappeared. 

Then  I  beheld  another  with  those  waters 

Adown  her  cheeks  which  grief  distils  whenever       95 
From  great  disdain  of  others  it  is  born. 

And  saying  :  "  If  of  that  city  thou  art  lord. 

For  whose  name  was  such  strife  among  the  gods. 
And  whence  doth  every  science  scintillate. 

Avenge  thyself  on  those  audacious  arms  100 

That  clasped  our  daughter,  O  Pisistratus  " ; 
And  the  lord  seemed  to  me  benign  and  mild 

To  answer  her  with  aspect  temperate : 

"  What  shall  we  do  to  those  who  wish  us  ill. 

If  he  who  loves  us  be  by  us  condemned  ?  "  105 

Then  saw  I  people  hot  in  fire  of  wrath. 

With  stones  a  young  man  slaying,  clamorously 
Still  crying  to  each  other,  "  Kill  him  !   kill  him  !  " 

And  him  I  saw  bow  down,  because  of  death 

That  weighed  already  on  him,  to  the  earth,  "o 

But  of  his  eyes  made  ever  gates  to  heaven. 

Imploring  the  high  Lord,  in  so  great  strife. 

That  he  would  pardon  those  his  persecutors. 
With  such  an  aspect  as  unlocks  compassion. 


96  The  Divine  Comedy 

Soon  as  my  soul  had  outwardly  returned  115 

To  things  external  to  it  which  are  true. 
Did  I  my  not  false  errors  recognize. 

My  Leader,  who  could  see  me  bear  myself 

Like  to  a  man  that  rouses  him  from  sleep,        [stand? 
Exclaimed :    "  What    ails  thee,  that  thou  canst  not 

But  hast  been  coming  more  than  half  a  league  m 

Veiling  thine  eyes,  and  with  thy  legs  entangled. 
In  guise  of  one  whom  wine  or  sleep  subdues  ?  " 

"  O  my  sweet  Father,  if  thou  listen  to  me, 

I  '11  tell  thee,"  said  I,  "  what  appeared  to  me,  125 

When  thus  from  me  my  legs  were  ta'en  away." 

And  he  :  "  If  thou  shouldst  have  a  hundred  masks 
Upon  thy  face,  from  me  would  not  be  shut 
Thy  cogitations,  howsoever  small. 

What  thou  hast  seen  was  that  thou  mayst  not  fail         130 
To  ope  thy  heart  unto  the  waters  of  peace. 
Which  from  the  eternal  fountain  are  diffused. 

I  did  not  ask,  *  What  ails  thee  ? '  as  he  does 

Who  only  looketh  with  the  eyes  that  see  not 
When  of  the  soul  bereft  the  body  lies,  13s 

But  asked  it  to  give  vigor  to  thy  feet; 

Thus  must  we  needs  urge  on  the  sluggards,  slow 
To  use  their  wakefulness  when  it  returns." 


P^LT gator io  xv.  97 

We  passed  along,  athwart  the  twihght  peering 

Forward  as  far  as  ever  eye  could  stretch  140 

Against  the  sunbeams  serotine  and  lucent; 

And  lo  !  by  slow  degrees  a  smoke  approached 
In  our  direction,  sombre  as  the  night. 
Nor  was  there  place  to  hide  one's  self  therefrom. 

This  of  our  eyes  and  the  pure  air  bereft  us.  145 


13 


CANrO     XVI, 

■pVARKNESS  of  hell,  and  of  a  night  deprived 
Of  every  planet  under  a  poor  sky, 
As  much  as  may  be  tenebrous  with  cloud. 

Ne'er  made  unto  my  sight  so  thick  a  veil. 

As  did  that  smoke  which  there  enveloped  us,  5 

Nor  to  the  feeling  of  so  rough  a  texture ; 

For  not  an  eye  it  suffered  to  stay  open ; 

Whereat  mine  escort,  faithful  and  sagacious. 
Drew  near  to  me  and  offered  me  his  shoulder. 

E'en  as  a  blind  man  goes  behind  his  guide,  10 

Lest  he  should  wander,  or  should  strike  against 
Aught  that  may  harm  or  peradventure  kill  him. 

So  went  I  through  the  bitter  and  foul  air. 

Listening  unto  my  Leader,  who  said  only, 

"  Look  that  from  me  thou  be  not  separated."  15 

Voices  I  heard,  and  every  one  appeared 

To  supplicate  for  peace  and  misericord 
The  Lamb  of  God  who  takes  away  our  sins. 


Purgatorio  xvi.  99 

Still  ^^ Agnus  Dei''  their  exordium  was  ; 

One  word  there  was  in  all,  and  metre  one,  ao 

So  that  all  harmony  appeared  among  them. 

"  Master,"  I  said,  "  are  spirits  those  I  hear  ?  " 

And  he  to  me  :   "  Thou  apprehendest  truly. 
And  they  the  knot  of  anger  go  unloosing." 

"  Now  who  art  thou,  that  cleavest  through  our  smoke,   ^s 
And  art  discoursing  of  us  even  as  though 
Thou  didst  by  calends  still  divide  the  time  ? " 

After  this  manner  by  a  voice  was  spoken  ; 

Whereon  my  Master  said  :   "  Do  thou  reply. 

And  ask  if  on  this  side  the  way  go  upward."  30 

And  I :   "  O  creature  that  dost  cleanse  thyself 

To  return  beautiful  to  Him  who  made  thee. 
Thou  shalt  hear  marvels  if  thou  follow  me." 

"  Thee  will  I  follow  far  as  is  allowed  me," 

He  answered  ;   "  and  if  smoke  prevent  our  seeing,    35 
Hearing  shall  keep  us  joined  instead  thereof." 

Thereon  began  I  :   "With  that  swathing  band 

Which  death  unwindeth  am  I  going  upward. 
And  hither  came  I  through  the  infernal  anguish. 

And  if  God  in  his  grace  has  me  infolded,  40 

So  that  he  wills  that  I  behold  his  court 
By  method  wholly  out  of  modern  usage. 


loo  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

Conceal  not  from  me  who  ere  death  thou  wast. 

But  tell  it  me,  and  tell  me  if  I  go 

Right  for  the  pass,  and  be  thy  words  our  escort."     45 
"  Lombard  was  I,  and  I  was  Marco  called  ; 

The  world  I  knew,  and  loved  that  excellence. 

At  which  has  each  one  now  unbent  his  bow. 
For  mounting  upward,  thou  art  going  right." 

Thus  he  made  answer,  and  subjoined  :   "  I  pray  thee 

To  pray  for  me  when  thou  shalt  be  above."  s^ 

And  I  to  him  :   "  My  faith  I  pledge  to  thee 

To  do  what  thou  dost  ask  me ;  but  am  bursting 

Inly  with  doubt,  unless  I  rid  me  of  it. 
First  it  was  simple,  and  is  now  made  double  11 

By  thy  opinion,  which  makes  certain  to  me. 

Here  and  elsewhere,  that  which  I  couple  with  it. 
The  world  forsooth  is  utterly  deserted 

By  every  virtue,  as  thou  tellest  me. 

And  with  iniquity  is  big  and  covered  ;  60 

But  I  beseech  thee  point  me  out  the  cause. 

That  I  may  see  it,  and  to  others  show  it ; 

For  one  in  the  heavens,  and  here  below  one  puts  it." 
A  sigh  profound,  that  grief  forced  into  Ai ! 

He  first  sent  forth,  and  then  began  he  :  "  Brother,   65 

The  world  is  blind,  and  sooth  thou  comest  from  it ! 


Purmtojno  xvr.  loi 


^> 


Ye  who  are  living  every  cause  refer 

Still  upward  to  the  heavens,  as  if  all  things 
They  of  necessity  moved  with  themselves. 

If  this  were  so,  in  you  would  be  destroyed  70 

Free  will,  nor  any  justice  would  there  be 
In  having  joy  for  good,  or  grief  for  evil. 

The  heavens  your  movements  do  initiate,    / 
I  say  not  all ;  but  granting  that  I  say  it. 
Light  has  been  given  you  for  good  and  evil,  is 

And  free  volition  ;  which,  if  some  fatigue 

In  the  first  battles  with  the  heavens  it  suffers. 
Afterwards  conquers  all,  if  well  't  is  nurtured. 

To  greater  force  and  to  a  better  nature. 

Though  free,  ye  subject  are,  and  that  creates  so 

The  mind  in  you  the  heavens  have  not  in  charge. 

Hence,  if  the  present  world  doth  go  astray. 
In  you  the  cause  is,  be  it  sought  in  you ; 
And  I  therein  will  now  be  thy  true  spy. 

Forth  from  the  hand  of  Him,  who  fondles  it  85 

Before  it  is,  like  to  a  little  girl 
Weeping  and  laughing  in  her  childish  sport. 

Issues  the  simple  soul,  that  nothing  knows. 

Save  that,  proceeding  from  a  joyous  Maker, 

Gladly  it  turns  to  that  which  gives  it  pleasure.  9° 


I02  The  Divine  Comedy 

Of  trivial  good  at  first  it  tastes  the  savor ; 
Is  cheated  by  it,  and  runs  after  it, 
If  guide  or  rein  turn  not  aside  its  love. 

Hence  it  behoved  laws  for  a  rein  to  place, 

Behoved  a  king  to  have,  who  at  the  least  9S 

Of  the  true  city  should  discern  the  tower. 

The  laws  exist,  but  who  sets  hand  to  them  ? 

No  one ;  because  the  shepherd  who  precedes 
Can  ruminate,  but  cleaveth  not  the  hoof; 

Wherefore  the  people  that  perceives  its  guide  »oo 

Strike  only  at  the  good  for  which  it  hankers. 
Feeds  upon  that,  and  farther  seeketh  not. 

Clearly  canst  thou  perceive  that  evil  guidance 

The  cause  is  that  has  made  the  world  depraved. 
And  not  that  nature  is  corrupt  in  you.  iqs 

Rome,  that  reformed  the  world,  accustomed  was 

Two  suns  to  have,  which  one  road  and  the  other. 
Of  God  and  of  the  world,  made  manifest. 

One  has  the  other  quenched,  and  to  the  crosier 

The  sword  is  joined,  and  ill  beseemeth  it  no 

That  by  main  force  one  with  the  other  go. 

Because,  being  joined,  one  feareth  not  the  other; 
If  thou  believe  not,  think  upon  the  grain, 
For  by  its  seed  each  herb  is  recognized. 


Ptcrgatorio  xvi.  103 

In  the  land  laved  by  Po  and  Adige,  us 

Valor  and  courtesy  used  to  be  found. 
Before  that  Frederick  had  his  controversy ; 

Now  in  security  can  pass  that  way 

Whoever  will  abstain,  through  sense  of  shame. 
From  speaking  with  the  good,  or  drawing  near  them. 

True,  three  old  men  are  left,  in  whom  upbraids  i^i 

The  ancient  age  the  new,  and  late  they  deem  it 
That  God  restore  them  to  the  better  life  : 

Currado  da  Palazzo,  and  good  Gherardo, 

And  Guido  da  Castel,  who  better  named  is,  i^s 

In  fashion  of  the  French,  the  simple  Lombard  : 

Say  thou  henceforward  that  the  Church  of  Rome, 
Confounding  in  itself  two  governments. 
Falls  in  the  mire,  and  soils  itself  and  burden." 

"  O  Marco  mine,"  I  said,  "  thou  reasonest  well ;  130 

And  now  discern  I  why  the  sons  of  Levi 
Have  been  excluded  from  the  heritage. 

But  what  Gherardo  is  it,  who,  as  sample 

Of  a  lost  race,  thou  sayest  has  remained 

In  reprobation  of  the  barbarous  age  ?  "  ns 

"  Either  thy  speech  deceives  me,  or  it  tempts  me," 
He  answered  me ;  "  for  speaking  Tuscan  to  me. 
It  seems  of  good  Gherardo  naught  thou  knowest. 


J04  TJie  Divine  Comedy 

By  other  surname  do  I  know  him  not, 

Unless  I  take  it  from  his  daughter  Gaia.  140 

May  God  be  with  you,  for  I  come  no  farther. 

Behold  the  dawn,  that  through  the  smoke  rays  out, 
Already  whitening;  and  I  must  depart  — 
Yonder  the  Angel  is  —  e'er  he  appear." 

Thus  did  he  speak,  and  would  no  farther  hear  me.         145 


CANTO     XVII. 

T3  EMEMBER,  Reader,  if  e'er  in  the  Alps 

A  mist  o'ertook  thee,  through  which  thou  couldst  see 
Not  otherwise  than  through  its  membrane  mole. 

How,  when  the  vapors  humid  and  condensed 

Begin  to  dissipate  themselves,  the  sphere  5 

Of  the  sun  feebly  enters  in  among  them. 

And  thy  imagination  will  be  swift 

In  coming  to  perceive  how  I  re-saw 
The  sun  at  first,  that  was  already  setting. 

Thus,  to  the  faithful  footsteps  of  my  Master  lo 

Mating  mine  own,  I  issued  from  that  cloud 
To  rays  already  dead  on  the  low  shores. 

O  thou.  Imagination,  that  dost  steal  us 

So  from  without  sometimes,  that  man  perceives  not. 
Although  around  may  sound  a  thousand  trumpets,   is 

Who  moveth  thee,  if  sense  impel  thee  not? 

Moves  thee  a  light,  which  in  the  heaven  takes  form. 
By  self,  or  by  a  will  that  downward  guides  it. 
H 


io6  The  Divine  Comedy 

Of  her  impiety,  who  changed  her  form 

Into  the  bird  that  most  dehghts  in  singing,  20 

In  my  imagining  appeared  the  trace  ; 

And  hereupon  my  mind  was  so  withdrawn 

Within  itself,  that  from  without  there  came 
Nothing  that  then  might  be  received  by  it. 

Then  rained  within  my  lofty  fantasy  as 

One  crucified,  disdainful  and  ferocious 
In  countenance,  and  even  thus  was  dying. 

Around  him  were  the  great  Ahasuerus, 

Esther  his  wife,  and  the  just  Mordecai, 

Who  was  in  word  and  action  so  entire.  30 

And  even  as  this  image  burst  asunder 

Of  its  own  self,  in  fashion  of  a  bubble 
In  which  the  water  it  was  made  of  fails. 

There  rose  up  in  my  vision  a  young  maiden 

Bitterly  weeping,  and  she  said  :   "O  queen,  35 

Why  hast  thou  wished  in  anger  to  be  naught  ? 

Thou  'st  slain  thyself,  Lavinia  not  to  lose ; 

Now  hast  thou  lost  me ;   I  am  she  who  mourns. 
Mother,  at  thine  ere  at  another's  ruin." 

As  sleep  is  broken,  when  upon  a  sudden  40 

New  light  strikes  in  upon  the  eyelids  closed. 
And  broken  quivers  e'er  it  dieth  wholly. 


PtLT gator io  xvii.  107 

So  this  imagining  of  mine  fell  down 

As  soon  as  the  effulgence  smote  my  face, 

Greater  by  far  than  what  is  in  our  wont.  45 

I  turned  me  round  to  see  where  I  might  be. 

When  said  a  voice,  "  Here  is  the  passage  up"; 
Which  from  all  other  purposes  removed  me. 

And  made  my  wish  so  full  of  eagerness 

To  look  and  see  who  was  it  that  was  speaking,         50 
It  never  rests  till  meeting  face  to  face ; 

But  as  before  the  sun,  which  quells  the  sight. 
And  in  its  own  excess  its  figure  veils. 
Even  so  my  power  was  insufficient  here. 

"  This  is  a  spirit  divine,  who  in  the  way  i^ 

Of  going  up  directs  us  without  asking. 
And  who  with  his  own  light  himself  conceals. 

He  does  with  us  as  man  doth  with  himself; 

For  he  who  sees  the  need,  and  waits  the  asking. 
Malignly  leans  already  tow'rds  denial.  60 

Accord  we  now  our  feet  to  such  inviting. 

Let  us  make  haste  to  mount  ere  it  grow  dark ; 
For  then  we  could  not  till  the  day  return." 

Thus  my  Conductor  said ;  and  I  and  he 

Together  turned  our  footsteps  to  a  stairway ;  65 

And  I,  as  soon  as  the  first  step  I  reached. 


io8  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

Near  me  perceived  a  motion  as  of  wings. 

And  fanning  in  the  face,  and  saying,  "  Beati 

Pacificiy  who  are  without  ill  anger." 
Already  over  us  were  so  uplifted  7° 

The  latest  sunbeams,  which  the  night  pursues. 

That  upon  many  sides  the  stars  appeared. 
"  O  manhood  mine,  why  dost  thou  vanish  so  ?  '* 

I  said  within  myself;  for  I  perceived 

The  vigor  of  my  legs  was  put  in  truce.  75 

We  at  the  point  were  where  no  more  ascends 

The  stairway  upward,  and  were  motionless. 

Even  as  a  ship,  which  at  the  shore  arrives ; 
And  I  gave  heed  a  little,  if  I  might  hear 

Aught  whatsoever  in  the  circle  new ;        ,  80 

Then  to  my  Master  turned  me  round  and  said : 
"  Say,  my  sweet  Father,  what  delinquency 

Is  purged  here  in  the  circle  where  we  are  ? 

Although  our  feet  may  pause,  pause  not  thy  speech.'* 
And  he  to  me  :   "  The  love  of  good,  remiss  85 

In  what  it  should  have  done,  is  here  restored ; 

Here  plied  again  the  ill-belated  oar  ; 
But  still  more  openly  to  understand. 

Turn  unto  me  thy  mind,  and  thou  shalt  gather 

Some  profitable  fruit  from  our  delay.  9° 


Pttrgatorio  xvii.  109 

Neither  Creator  nor  a  creature  ever. 

Son,"  he  began,  "  was  destitute  of  love 
Natural  or  spiritual ;  and  thou  knowest  it. 

The  natural  was  ever  without  error ; 

But  err  the  other  may  by  evil  object,  9S 

Or  by  too  much,  or  by  too  little  vigor. 

While  in  the  first  it  well  directed  is, 

And  in  the  second  moderates  itself. 

It  cannot  be  the  cause  of  sinful  pleasure; 

But  when  to  ill  it  turns,  and,  with  more  care  loo 

Or  lesser  than  it  ought,  runs  after  good, 
'Gainst  the  Creator  works  his  own  creation. 

Hence  thou  mayst  comprehend  that  love  must  be 
The  seed  within  yourselves  of  every  virtue. 
And  every  act  that  merits  punishment.  105 

Now  inasmuch  as  never  from  the  welfare 

Of  its  own  subject  can  love  turn  its  sight. 
From  their  own  hatred  all  things  are  secure ; 

And  since  we  cannot  think  of  any  being 

Standing  alone,  nor  from  the  First  divided,  no 

Of  hating  Him  is  all  desire  cut  off. 

Hence  if,  discriminating,  I  judge  well, 

The  evil  that  one  loves  is  of  one's  neighbor. 
And  this  is  born  in  three  modes  in  your  clay. 


1 1  o  Tlie  Divine  Covicdy 

There  are,  who,  by  abasement  of  their  neighbor,  us 

Hope  to  excel,  and  therefore  only  long 
That  from  his  greatness  he  may  be  cast  down ; 

There  are,  who  power,  grace,  honor,  and  renown 
Fear  they  may  lose  because  another  rises. 
Thence  are  so  sad  that  the  reverse  they  love ;  no 

And  there  are  those  whom  injury  seems  to  chafe, 
So  that  it  makes  them  greedy  for  revenge. 
And  such  must  needs  shape  out  another's  harm. 

This  threefold  love  is  wept  for  down  below; 

Now  of  the  other  will  I  have  thee  hear,  125 

That  runneth  after  good  with  measure  faulty. 

Each  one  confusedly  a  good  conceives 

Wherein  the  mind  may  rest,  and  longeth  for  it ; 
Therefore  to  overtake  it  each  one  strives. 

If  languid  love  to  look  on  this  attract  you,  130 

Or  in  attaining  unto  it,  this  cornice. 
After  just  penitence,  torments  you  for  it. 

There 's  other  good  that  does  not  make  man  happy ; 
'T  is  not  felicity,  't  is  not  the  good 
Essence,  of  every  good  the  fruit  and  root.  13s 

The  love  that  yields  itself  too  much  to  this 
Above  us  is  lamented  in  three  circles ; 
But  how  tripartite  it  may  be  described, 

I  say  not,  that  thou  seek  it  for  thyself." 


CANTO     XVIII. 

\  N  end  had  put  unto  his  reasoning 

The  lofty  Teacher,  and  attent  was  looking 
Into  my  face,  if  I  appeared  content ; 

And  I,  whom  a  new  thirst  still  goaded  on. 

Without  was  mute,  and  said  within  :   "  Perchance     s 
The  too  much  questioning  I  make  annoys  him." 

But  that  true  Father,  who  had  comprehended 
The  timid  wish,  that  opened  not  itself. 
By  speaking  gave  me  hardihood  to  speak. 

Whence  I :   "  My  sight  is.  Master,  vivified  lo 

So  in  thy  light,  that  clearly  I  discern 
Whate'er  thy  speech  importeth  or  describes. 

Therefore  I  thee  entreat,  sweet  Father  dear. 

To  teach  me  love,  to  which  thou  dost  refer 

Every  good  action  and  its  contrary."  is 

"  Direct,"  he  said,  "  towards  me  the  keen  eyes 
Of  intellect,  and  clear  will  be  to  thee 
The  error  of  the  blind,  who  would  be  leaders. 


1 1 2  Tlie  Divme  Comedy 

The  soul,  which  Is  created  apt  to  love. 

Is  mobile  unto  everything  that  pleases,  20 

Soon  as  by  pleasure  she  is  v^^aked  to  action. 
Your  apprehension  from  some  real  thing 

An  image  draws,  and  in  yourselves  displays  it, 

So  that  it  makes  the  soul  turn  unto  it. 
And  if,  when  turned,  towards  it  she  incline,  25 

Love  is  that  inclination  ;  it  is  nature. 

Which  is  by  pleasure  bound  in  you  anew. 
Then  even  as  the  fire  doth  upward  move 

By  its  own  form,  which  to  ascend  is  born. 

Where  longest  in  its  matter  it  endures,  3° 

So  comes  the  captive  soul  into  desire. 

Which  is  a  motion  spiritual,  and  ne'er  rests 

Until  she  doth  enjoy  the  thing  beloved. 
Now  may  apparent  be  to  thee  how  hidden 

The  truth  is  from  those  people,  who  aver  3s 

All  love  is  in  itself  a  laudable  thing ; 
Because  its  matter  may  perchance  appear 

Aye  to  be  good ;  but  yet  not  each  impression 

Is  good,  albeit  good  may  be  the  wax." 
"  Thy  words,  and  my  sequacious  intellect,"  40 

I  answered  him,  "  have  love  revealed  to  me ; 

But  that  has  made  me  more  impregned  with  doubt ; 


Ptirgatorw  xviil  113 

For  if  love  from  without  be  offered  us. 

And  with  another  foot  the  soul  go  not, 

If  right  or  wrong  she  go,  't  is  not  her  merit.'*  4s 

And  he  to  me  :   "  What  reason  seeth  here. 
Myself  can  tell  thee  ;  beyond  that  await 
For  Beatrice,  since  't  is  a  work  of  faith. 

Every  substantial  form,  that  segregate 

From  matter  is,  and  with  it  is  united,  5° 

Specific  power  has  in  itself  collected. 

Which  without  act  is  not  perceptible. 

Nor  shows  itself  except  by  its  effect. 

As  life  does  in  a  plant  by  the  green  leaves. 

But  still,  whence  cometh  the  intelligence  s'i 

Of  the  first  notions,  man  is  ignorant. 
And  the  affection  for  the  first  allurements. 

Which  are  in  you  as  instinct  in  the  bee 

To  make  its  honey ;  and  this  first  desire 

Merit  of  praise  or  blame  containeth  not.  60 

Now,  that  to  this  all  others  may  be  gathered. 

Innate  within  you  is  the  power  that  counsels. 
And  it  should  keep  the  threshold  of  assent. 

This  is  the  principle,  from  which  is  taken 

Occasion  of  desert  in  you,  according  65 

As  good  and  guilty  loves  it  takes  and  winnows. 
15 


1 1 4  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

Those  who,  in  reasoning,  to  the  bottom  went. 
Were  of  this  innate  Hberty  aware, 
Therefore  bequeathed  they  Ethics  to  the  world. 

Supposing,  then,  that  from  necessity  7° 

Springs  every  love  that  is  within  you  kindled, 
Within  yourselves  the  power  is  to  restrain  it. 

The  noble  virtue  Beatrice  understands 

By  the  free  will  ;  and  therefore  see  that  thou 

Bear  it  in  mind,  if  she  should  speak  of  it."  75 

The  moon,  belated  almost  unto  midnight. 

Now  made  the  stars  appear  to  us  more  rare. 
Formed  like  a  bucket,  that  is  all  ablaze. 

And  counter  to  the  heavens  ran  through  those  paths 

Which  the  sun  sets  aflame,  when  he  of  Rome  80 

Sees  it  'twixt  Sardes  and  Corsicans  go  down  ; 

And  that  patrician  shade,  for  whom  is  named 
Pietola  more  than  any  Mantuan  town. 
Had  laid  aside  the  burden  of  my  lading; 

Whence  I,  who  reason  manifest  and  plain  85 

In  answer  to  my  questions  had  received, 
Stood  like  a  man  in  drowsy  revery. 

But  taken  from  me  was  this  drowsiness 
Suddenly  by  a  people,  that  behind 
Our  backs  already  had  come  round  to  us.  9° 


Ptir gator io  xviii.  1 1 5 

And  as,  of  old,  Ismenus  and  Asopus 

Beside  them  saw  at  night  the  rush  and  throng. 
If  but  the  Thebans  were  in  need  of  Bacchus, 

So  they  along  that  circle  curve  their  step, 

From  what  I  saw  of  those  approaching  us,  95 

Who  by  good-will  and  righteous  love  are  ridden.    *• 

Full  soon  they  were  upon  us,  because  running 
Moved  onward  all  that  mighty  multitude. 
And  two  in  the  advance  cried  out,  lamenting, 

"  Mary  in  haste  unto  the  mountain  ran,  'QQ 

And  Caesar,  that  he  might  subdue  Ilerda, 
Thrust  at  Marseilles,  and  then  ran  into  Spain." 

"Quick!  quick!  so  that  the  time  may  not  be  lost 
By  little  love !  "  forthwith  the  others  cried, 
"  For  ardor  in  well-doing  freshens  grace  !  "  105 

"  O  folk,  in  whom  an  eager  fervor  now 

Supplies  perhaps  delay  and  negligence. 

Put  by  you  in  well-doing,  through  lukewarmness. 

This  one  who  lives,  and  truly  I  lie  not. 

Would  fain  ^o  up,  if  but  the  sun  relight  us;  "o 

So  tell  us  where  the  passage  nearest  is." 

These  were  the  words  of  him  who  was  my  Guide ; 
And  some  one  of  those  spirits  said  :   "  Come  on 
Behind  us,  and  the  opening  shalt  thou  find ; 


1 1 6  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

So  full  of  longing  are  we  to  move  onward,  us 

That  stay  we  cannot ;  therefore  pardon  us, 
If  thou  for  churlishness  our  justice  take. 

I  was  San  Zeno's  Abbot  at  Verona, 

Under  the  empire  of  good  Barbarossa, 

Of  whom  still  sorrowing  Milan  holds  discourse  ;     izo 

And  he  has  one  foot  in  the  grave  already. 

Who  shall  erelong  lament  that  monastery. 
And  sorry  be  of  having  there  had  power. 

Because  his  son,  in  his  whole  body  sick. 

And  worse  in  mind,  and  who  was  evil-born,  i^s 

He  put  into  the  place  of  its  true  pastor." 

If  more  he  said,  or  silent  was,  I  know  not. 
He  had  already  passed  so  far  beyond  us ; 
But  this  I  heard,  and  to  retain  it  pleased  me. 

And  he  who  was  in  every  need  my  succor  130 

Said  :  "  Turn  thee  hitherward  ;  see  two  of  them 
Come  fastening  upon  slothfulness  their  teeth." 

In  rear  of  all  they  shouted  :  "  Sooner  were 

The  people  dead  to  whom  the  sea  was  opened. 
Than  their  inheritors  the  Jordan  saw ;  135 

And  those  who  the  fatigue  did  not  endure 
Unto  the  issue,  with  Anchises'  son. 
Themselves  to  life  withouten  glory  offered." 


PtLTgatorio  xviii.  1 1 7 

Then  when  from  us  so  separated  were 

Those  shades,  that  they  no  longer  could  be  seen,    ho 

Within  me  a  new  thought  did  entrance  find. 
Whence  others  many  and  diverse  were  born ; 

And  so  I  lapsed  from  one  into  another. 

That  in  a  reverie  mine  eyes  I  closed. 
And  meditation  into  dream  transmuted.  145 


CANTO     XIX. 

TT  was  the  hour  when  the  diurnal  heat 

No  more  can  warm  the  coldness  of  the  moon. 
Vanquished  by  earth,  or  peradventure  Saturn, 

When  geomancers  their  Fortuna  Major 

See  in  the  orient  before  the  dawn  s 

Rise  by  a  path  that  long  remains  not  dim. 

There  came  to  me  in  dreams  a  stammering  woman. 
Squint  in  her  eyes,  and  in  her  feet  distorted. 
With  hands  dissevered,  and  of  sallow  hue. 

I  looked  at  her ;   and  as  the  sun  restores  lo 

The  frigid  members,  which  the  night  benumbs. 
Even  thus  my  gaze  did  render  voluble 

Her  tongue,  and  made  her  all  erect  thereafter 
In  little  while,  and  the  lost  countenance 
As  love  desires  it  so  in  her  did  color.  is 

When  in  this  wise  she  had  her  speech  unloosed. 
She  'gan  to  sing  so,  that  with  difficulty 
Could  I  have  turned  my  thoughts  away  from  her. 


Ptcrgatorio  xix.  1 1 9 

"  I  am,"  she  sang,  "  I  am  the  Siren  sweet 

Who  mariners  amid  the  main  unman,  a© 

So  full  am  I  of  pleasantness  to  hear. 

I  drew  Ulysses  from  his  wandering  way 

Unto  my  song,  and  he  who  dwells  with  me 
Seldom  departs,  so  wholly  I  content  him." 

Her  mouth  was  not  yet  closed  again,  before  35 

Appeared  a  Lady  saintly  and  alert 
Close  at  my  side  to  put  her  to  confusion. 

"  Virgilius,  O  Virgilius  !  who  is  this  ?  " 

Sternly  she  said;   and  he  was  drawing  near 

With  eyes  still  fixed  upon  that  modest  one.  30 

She  seized  the  other  and  in  front  laid  open. 

Rending  her  garments,  and  her  belly  showed  me; 
This  waked  me  with  the  stench  that  issued  from  it. 

I  turned  mine  eyes,  and  good  Virgilius  said : 

"At  least  thrice  have  I  called  thee;  rise  and  come;  ss 
Find  we  the  opening  by  which  thou  mayst  enter." 

I  rose ;  and  full  already  of  high  day 

Were  all  the  circles  of  the  Sacred  Mountain, 
And  with  the  new  sun  at  our  back  we  went. 

Following  behind  him,  I  my  forehead  bore  4° 

Like  unto  one  who  has  it  laden  with  thought. 
Who  makes  himself  the  half  arch  of  a  bridge. 


I20  The  Divine  Comedy 

When  I  heard  say,  "  Come,  here  the  passage  is," 
Spoken  in  a  manner  gentle  and  benign, 
Such  as  we  hear  not  in  this  mortal  region.  "  45 

With  open  wings,  which  of  a  swan  appeared. 

Upward  he  turned  us  who  thus  spake  to  us. 
Between  the  two  walls  of  the  solid  granite. 

He  moved  his  pinions  afterwards  and  fanned  us. 

Affirming  those  qui  lugent  to  be  blessed,  5° 

For  they  shall  have  their  souls  with  comfort  filled. 

"  What  aileth  thee,  that  aye  to  earth  thou  gazest  ? " 
To  me  my  Guide  began  to  say,  we  both 
Somewhat  beyond  the  Angel  having  mounted. 

And  I :  "  With  such  misgiving  makes  me  go  s<:> 

A  vision  new,  which  bends  me  to  itself. 
So  that  I  cannot  from  the  thought  withdraw  me.'* 

"  Didst  thou  behold,"  he  said,  "  that  old  enchantress. 
Who  sole  above  us  henceforth  is  lamented  ? 
Didst  thou  behold  how  man  is  freed  from  her .?        60 

Suffice  it  thee,  and  smite  earth  with  thy  heels. 

Thine  eyes  lift  upward  to  the  lure,  that  whirls 
The  Eternal  King  with  revolutions  vast." 

Even  as  the  hawk,  that  first  his  feet  surveys. 

Then  turns  him  to  the  call  and  stretches  forward,    65 
Through  the  desire  of  food  that  draws  him  thither, 


Ptirgatorio  xix.  121 

Such  I  became,  and  such,  as  far  as  cleaves 

The  rock  to  give  a  way  to  him  w^ho  mounts, 
•  Went  on  to  w^here  the  circling  doth  begin. 

On  the  fifth  circle  w^hen  I  had  come  forth,  7° 

People  I  saw  upon  it  who  were  weeping. 
Stretched  prone  upon  the  ground,  all  downward  turned. 

*^Adhcesit  pavimento  anima  7}iea," 

I  heard  them  say  with  sighings  so  profound. 

That  hardly  could  the  words  be  understood.  75 

"  O  ye  elect  of  God,  whose  sufferings 

Justice  and  Hope  both  render  less  severe. 
Direct  ye  us  towards  the  high  ascents." 

"  If  ye  are  come  secure  from  this  prostration. 

And  wish  to  find  the  way  most  speedily,  80 

Let  your  right  hands  be  evermore  outside." 

Thus  did  the  Poet  ask,  and  thus  was  answered 

By  them  somewhat  in  front  of  us ;  whence  I 
In  what  was  spoken  divined  the  rest  concealed. 

And  unto  my  Lord's  eyes  mine  eyes  I  turned  ;  85 

Whence  he  assented  with  a  cheerful  sign 
To  what  the  sight  of  my  desire  implored. 

When  of  myself  I  could  dispose  at  will. 

Above  that  creature  did  I  draw  myself. 

Whose  words  before  had  caused  me  to  take  note,    90 
16 


122  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

Saying  :   "  O  Spirit,  in  whom  weeping  ripens 

That  without  which  to  God  we  cannot  turn. 
Suspend  awhile  for  me  thy  greater  care. 

Who  wast  thou,  and  why  are  your  backs  turned  upwards. 
Tell  me,  and  if  thou  wouldst  that  I  procure  thee  95 
Anything  there  whence  living  I  departed." 

And  he  to  me :   "  Wherefore  our  backs  the  heaven 
Turns  to  itself,  know  shalt  thou ;  but  beforehand 
S)cias  quod  ego  fui  successor  Petri. 

Between  Siestri  and  Chiaveri  descends  100 

A  river  beautiful,  and  of  its  name 
The  title  of  my  blood  its  summit  makes. 

A  month  and  little  more  essayed  I  how  [it; 

Weighs  the  great  cloak  on  him  from  mire  who  keeps 
For  all  the  other  burdens  seem  a  feather.  105 

Tardy,  ah  woe  is  me !  was  my  conversion ; 

But  when  the  Roman  Shepherd  I  was  made. 
Then  I  discovered  life  to  be  a  lie. 

I  saw  that  there  the  heart  was  not  at  rest. 

Nor  farther  in  that  life  could  one  ascend ;  "o 

Whereby  the  love  of  this  was  kindled  in  me. 

Until  that  time  a  wretched  soul  and  parted 
From  God  was  I,  and  wholly  avaricious ; 
Now,  as  thou  seest,  I  here  am  punished  for  it. 


Pttr gator io  xix.  123 

What  avarice  does  is  here  made  manifest  us 

In  the  purgation  of  these'souls  converted. 
And  no  more  bitter  pain  the  Mountain  has. 

Even  as  our  eye  did  not  uplift  itself 

Aloft,  being  fastened  upon  earthly  things. 

So  justice  here  has  merged  it  in  the  earth.  no 

As  avarice  had  extinguished  our  affection 

For  every  good,  whereby  was  action  lost. 
So  justice  here  doth  hold  us  in  restraint. 

Bound  and  imprisoned  by  the  feet  and  hands ; 

And  so  long  as  it  pleases  the  just  Lord  i^s 

Shall  we  remain  immovable  and  prostrate." 

I  on  my  knees  had  fallen,  and  wished  to  speak ; 
But  even  as  I  began,  and  he  was  'ware. 
Only  by  listening,  of  my  reverence, 

"What  cause,"  he  said,  "has  downward  bent  thee  thus?" 
And  I  to  him  :   "  For  your  own  dignity,  131 

Standing,  my  conscience  stung  me  with  remorse." 

"Straighten  thy  legs,  and  upward  raise  thee,  brother," 
He  answered  :   "  Err  not,  fellow-servant  am  I 
With  thee  and  with  the  others  to  one  power.  13s 

If  e'er  that  holy,  evangelic  sound. 

Which  sayeth  neque  nubcnt,  thou  hast  heard. 
Well  canst  thou  see  why  in  this  wise  I  speak. 


124  The  Divine  Comedy 

Now  go;  no  longer  will  I  have  thee  linger, 

Because  thy  stay  doth  incommode  my  weeping,      140 
With  which  I  ripen  that  which  thou  hast  said. 

On  earth  I  have  a  grandchild  named  Alagia, 
Good  in  herself,  unless  indeed  our  house 
Malevolent  may  make  her  by  example, 

And  she  alone  remains  to  me  on  earth."  »4S 


CANTO     XX. 

TLL  strives  the  will  against  a  better  will ; 

Therefore,  to  pleasure  him,  against  my  pleasure 
I  drew  the  sponge  not  saturate  from  the  water. 

Onward  I  moved,  and  onward  moved  my  Leader, 

Through  vacant  places,  skirting  still  the  rock,  s 

As  on  a  wall  close  to  the  battlements; 

For  they  that  through  their  eyes  pour  drop  by  drop 
The  malady  which  all  the  world  pervades, 
On  the  other  side  too  near  the  verge  approach. 

Accursed  mayst  thou  be,  thou  old  she-wolf,  lo 

That  more  than  all  the  other  beasts  hast  prey. 
Because  of  hunger  infinitely  hollow! 

O'  heaven,  in  whose  gyrations  some  appear 

To  think  conditions  here  below  are  changed. 
When  will  he  come  through  whom  she  shall  depart  ?  is 

Onward  we  went  with  footsteps  slow  and  scarce. 
And  I  attentive  to  the  shades  I  heard 
Piteously  weeping  and  bemoaning  them ; 


126  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

And  I  by  peradventure  heard  "  Sweet  Mary  !  '* 

Uttered  in  front  of  us  amid  the  weeping  20 

Even  as  a  woman  does  who  is  in  child-birth ; 

And  in  continuance  :   "  How  poor  thou  wast 
Is  manifested  by  that  hostelry 
Where  thou  didst  lay  thy  sacred  burden  down." 

Thereafterward  I  heard  :   "  O  good  Fabricius,  25 

Virtue  with  poverty  didst  thou  prefer 
To  the  possession  of  great  wealth  with  vice.'* 

So  pleasurable  were  these  words  to  me 

That  I  drew  farther  onward  to  have  knowledge 
Touching  that  spirit  whence  they  seemed  to  come. 

He  furthermore  was  speaking  of  the  largess  31 

Which  Nicholas  unto  the  maidens  gave. 
In  order  to  conduct  their  youth  to  honor. 

"  O  soul  that  dost  so  excellently  speak, 

Tell  me  who  wast  thou,"  said  I,  "and  why  only      35 
Thou  dost  renew  these  praises  well  deserved  ? 

Not  without  recompense  shall  be  thy  word. 
If  I  return  to  finish  the  short  journey 
Of  that  life  which  is  flying  to  its  end." 

And  he :   "I  '11  tell  thee,  not  for  any  comfort  40 

I  may  expect  from  earth,  but  that  so  much 
Grace  shines  in  thee  or  ever  thou  art  dead. 


Ptirgaiorio  xx.  127 

I  was  the  root  of  that  malignant  plant 

Which  overshadows  all  the  Christian  world. 

So  that  good  fruit  is  seldom  gathered  from  it ;  45 

But  if  Douay  and  Ghent  and  Lille  and  Bruges 

Had  power,  soon  vengeance  would  be  taken  on  it ; 
And  this  I  pray  of  Him  who  judges  all. 

Hugh  Capet  was  I  called  upon  the  earth  ; 

From  me  were  born  the  Louises  and  Philips,  5° 

By  whom  in  later  days  has  France  been  governed. 

I  was  the  son  of  a  Parisian  butcher. 

What  time  the  ancient  kings  had  perished  all. 
Excepting  one,  contrite  in  cloth  of  gray. 

I  found  me  grasping  in  my  hands  the  rein  55 

Of  the  realm's  government,  and  so  great  power 
Of  new  acquest,  and  so  with  friends  abounding. 

That  to  the  widowed  diadem  promoted 

The  head  of  mine  own  offspring  was,  from  whom 
The  consecrated  bones  of  these  began.  60 

So  long  as  the  great  dowry  of  Provence 

Out  of  my  blood  took  not  the  sense  of  shame, 
'T  was  little  worth,  but  still  it  did  no  harm. 

Then  it  began  with  falsehood  and  with  force 

Its  rapine  ;  and  thereafter,  for  amends,  65 

Took  Ponthieu,  Normandy,  and  Gascony. 


128  The  Divine  Comedy 

Charles  came  to  Italy,  and  for  amends 

A  victim  made  of  Conradin,  and  then 
Thrust  Thomas  back  to  heaven,  for  amends. 

A  time  I  see,  not  veryi  distant  now,  70 

Which  draweth  forth  another  Charles  from  France, 
The  better  to  make  known  both  him  and  his. 

Unarmed  he  goes,  and  only  with  the  lance 

That  Judas  jousted  with  ;  and  that  he  thrusts 

So  that  he  makes  the  paunch  of  Florence  burst.       75 

He  thence  not  land,  but  sin  and  infamy. 

Shall  gain,  so  much  more  grievous  to  himself 
As  the  more  light  such  damage  he  accounts. 

The  other,  now  gone  forth,  ta'en  in  his  ship. 

See  I  his  daughter  sell,  and  chaffer  for  her  so 

As  corsairs  do  with  other  female  slaves. 

What  more,  O  Avarice,  canst  thou  do  to  us. 

Since  thou  my  blood  so  to  thyself  hast  drawn. 
It  careth  not  for  its  own  proper  flesh  ? 

That  less  may  seem  the  future  ill  and  past,  ss 

I  see  the  flower-de-luce  Alagna  enter. 
And  Christ  in  his  own  Vicar  captive  made. 

I  see  him  yet  another  time  derided; 

I  see  renewed  the  vinegar  and  gall. 

And  between  living  thieves  I  see  him  slain.  90 


Pttr gator io  xx.  129 

I  see  the  modern  Pilate  so  relentless, 

This  does  not  sate  him,  but  without  decretal 
He  to  the  temple  bears  his  sordid  sails ! 

When,  O  my  Lord  !  shall  I  be  joyful  made 

By  looking  on  the  vengeance  which,  concealed,      95 
Makes  sweet  thine  anger  in  thy  secrecy  ? 

What  I  was  saying  of  that  only  bride 

Of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  which  occasioned  thee 
To  turn  towards  me  for  some  commentary. 

So  long  has  been  ordained  to  all  our  prayers  100 

As  the  day  lasts;  but  when  the  night  comes  on, 
Contrary  sound  we  take  instead  thereof. 

At  that  time  we  repeat  Pygmalion, 

Of  whom  a  traitor,  thief,  and  parricide 

Made  his  insatiable  desire  of  gold  ;  105 

And  the  misery  of  avaricious  Midas, 

That  followed  his  inordinate  demand. 

At  which  forevermore  one  needs  must  laugh. 

The  foolish  Achan  each  one  then  records. 

And  how  he  stole  the  spoils ;  so  that  the  wrath      no 
Of  Joshua  still  appears  to  sting  him  here. 

Then  we  accuse  Sapphira  with  her  husband. 
We  laud  the  hoof-beats  Heliodorus  had. 
And  the  whole  mount  in  infamy  encircles 
17 


130  Tlic  Divine  Comedy 

Polymnestor  who  murdered  Polydorus.  115 

Here  finally  is  cried  :   *  O  Crassus,  tell  us. 
For  thou  dost  know,  what  is  the  taste  of  gold?' 

Sometimes  we  speak,  one  loud,  another  low, 

4-ccording  to  desire  of  speech,  that  spurs  us 

To  greater  now  and  now  to  lesser  pace.  120 

But  in  the  good  that  here  by  day  is  talked  of, 
Erewhile  alone  I  was  not ;  yet  near  by 
No  other  person  lifted  up  his  voice." 

From  him  already  we  departed  were. 

And  made  endeavor  to  o'ercome  the  road  125 

As  much  as  was  permitted  to  our  power. 

When  I  perceived,  like  something  that  is  falling. 

The  mountain  tremble,  whence  a  chill  seized  on  me. 
As  seizes  him  who  to  his  death  is  going. 

Certes  so  violently  shook  not  Delos,  130 

Before  Latona  made  her  nest  therein 
To  give  birth  to  the  two  eyes  of  the  heaven. 

Then  upon  all  sides  there  began  a  cry. 

Such  that  the  Master  drew  himself  towards  me. 
Saying,  "  Fear  not,  while  I  am  guiding  thee."         135 

"  Gloria  in  excels  is  T)eo^'  all 

Were  saying,  from  what  near  I  comprehended. 
Where  it  was  possible  to  hear  the  cry. 


Ptirgatorio  xx.  131 

We  paused  immovable  and  in  suspense. 

Even  as  the  shepherds  who  first  heard  that  song,     140 
Until  the  trembling  ceased,  and  it  was  finished. 

Then  we  resumed  again  our  holy  path. 

Watching  the  shades  that  lay  upon  the  ground, 
Already  turned  to  their  accustomed  plaint. 

No  ignorance  ever  with  so  great  a  strife  J45 

Had  rendered  me  importunate  to  know. 
If  erreth  not  in  this  my  memory, 

As  meditating  then  I  seemed  to  have; 

Nor  out  of  haste  to  question  did  I  dare. 

Nor  of  myself  I  there  could  aught  perceive;  15° 

So  I  went  onward  timorous  and  thoughtful. 


CANTO    XXI, 

'T^HE  natural  thirst,  that  ne'er  is  satisfied 

Excepting  with  the  water  for  whose  grace 
The  woman  of  Samaria  besought. 

Put  me  in  travail,  and  haste  goaded  me 

Along  the  encumbered  path  behind  my  Leader,        s 
And  I  was  pitying  that  righteous  vengeance; 

And  lo !  in  the  same  manner  as  Luke  writeth 
That  Christ  appeared  to  two  upon  the  way 
From  the  sepulchral  cave  already  risen, 

A  shade  appeared  to  us,  and  came  behind  us,  lo 

Down  gazing  on  the  prostrate  multitude. 
Nor  were  we  ware  of  it,  until  it  spake, 

Saying,  "My  brothers,  may  God  give  you  peace!" 
We  turned  us  suddenly,  and  Virgilius  rendered 
To  him  the  countersign  thereto  conforming.  is 

Thereon  began  he  :   "  In  the  blessed  council. 

Thee  may  the  court  veracious  place  in  peace. 
That  me  doth  banish  in  eternal  exile ! " 


Pttr gator io  xxi.  133 

"  How,"  said  he,  and  the  while  we  went  with  speed, 

"If  ye  are  shades  whom  God  deigns  not  on  high,    20 
Who  up  his  stairs  so  far  has  guided  you  ? " 

And  said  my  Teacher  :  "  If  thou  note  the  marks 

Which  this  one  bears,  and  which  the  Angel  traces. 
Well  shalt  thou  see  he  with  the  good  must  reign. 

But  because  she  who  spinneth  day  and  night  25 

For  him  had  not  yet  drawn  the  distaff  off. 
Which  Clotho  lays  for  each  one  and  compacts. 

His  soul,  which  is  thy  sister  and  my  own. 

In  coming  upwards  could  not  come  alone. 

By  reason  that  it  sees  not  in  our  fashion.  3° 

Whence  I  was  drawn  from  out  the  ample  throat 
Of  Hell  to  be  his  guide,  and  I  shall  guide  him 
As  far  on  as  my  school  has  power  to  lead. 

But  tell  us,  if  thou  knowest,  why  such  a  shudder 

Erewhile  the  mountain  gave,  and  why  together       3s 
All  seemed  to  cry,  as  far  as  its  moist  feet  ? " 

In  asking  he  so  hit  the  very  eye 

Of  my  desire,  that  merely  with  the  hope 
My  thirst  became  the  less  unsatisfied. 

"  Naught  is  there,"  he  began,  "  that  without  order  4° 

May  the  religion  of  the  mountain  feel. 
Nor  aught  that  may  be  foreign  to  its  custom. 


134  ^^^  Divine  Comedy 

Free  is  it  here  from  every  permutation ; 

What  from  itself  heaven  in  itself  receiveth 

Can  be  of  this  the  cause,  and  naught  beside ;  45 

Because  that  neither  rain,  nor  hail,  nor  snow. 
Nor  dew,  nor  hoar-frost  any  higher  falls 
Than  the  short,  little  stairway  of  three  steps. 

Dense  clouds  do  not  appear,  nor  rarefied. 

Nor  coruscation,  nor  the  daughter  of  Thaumas,      5° 
That  often  upon  earth  her  region  shifts ; 

No  arid  vapor  any  farther  rises 

Than  to  the  top  of  the  three  steps  I  spake  of. 
Whereon  the  Vicar  of  Peter  has  his  feet. 

Lower  down  perchance  it  trembles  less  or  more,  '^^ 

But,  for  the  wind  that  in  the  earth  is  hidden 
I  know  not  how,  up  here  it  never  trembled. 

It  trembles  here,  whenever  any  soul 

Feels  itself  pure,  so  that  it  soars,  or  moves 

To  mount  aloft,  and  such  a  cry  attends  it.  60 

Of  purity  the  will  alone  gives  proof. 

Which,  being  wholly  free  to  change  its  convent. 
Takes  by  surprise  the  soul,  and  helps  it  fly. 

First  it  wills  well ;  but  the  desire  permits  not. 

Which  divine  justice  with  the  self-same  will  65 

There  was  to  sin,  upon  the  torment  sets. 


Picrgatorio  xxL  135 

And  I,  who  have  been  lying  in  this  pain 

Five  hundred  years  and  more,  but  just  now  felt 
A  free  volition  for  a  better  seat. 

Therefore  thou  heardst  the  earthquake,  and  the  pious     70 
Spirits  along  the  mountain  rendering  praise 
Unto  the  Lord,  that  soon  he  speed  them  upwards." 

So  said  he  to  him ;  and  since  we  enjoy 

As  much  in  drinking  as  the  thirst  is  great, 

I  could  not  say  how  much  it  did  me  good.  75 

And  the  wise  Leader  :  "  Now  I  see  the  net 

That  snares  you  here,  and  how  ye  are  set  free. 
Why  the  earth  quakes,  and  wherefore  ye  rejoice. 

Now  who  thou  wast  be  pleased  that  I  may  know; 

And  why  so  many  centuries  thou  hast  here  so 

Been  lying,  let  me  gather  from  thy  words." 

"  In  days  when  the  good  Titus,  with  the  aid 

Of  the  supremest  King,  avenged  the  wounds 
Whence  issued  forth  the  blood  by  Judas  sold. 

Under  the  name  that  most  endures  and  honors,  85 

Was  I  on  earth,"  that  spirit  made  reply, 
"  Greatly  renowned,  but  not  with  faith  as  yet. 

My  vocal  spirit  was  so  sweet,  that  Rome 
Me,  a  Thoulousian,  drew  unto  herself. 
Where  I  deserved  to  deck  my  brows  with  myrtle.  90 


136  Tlie  Divme  Comedy 

Statius  the  people  name  me  still  on  earth ; 

I  sang  of  Thebes,  and  then  of  great  Achilles; 
But  on  the  way  fell  with  my  second  burden. 

The  seeds  unto  my  ardor  were  the  sparks 

Of  that  celestial  flame  which  heated  me,  95 

Whereby  more  than  a  thousand  have  been  fired; 

Of  the  ^neid  speak  I,  which  to  me 

A  mother  was,  and  was  my  nurse  in  song ; 
Without  this  weighed  I  not  a  drachma's  weight. 

And  to  have  lived  upon  the  earth  what  time  10° 

Virgilius  lived,  I  would  accept  one  sun 
More  than  I  must  ere  issuing  from  my  ban." 

These  words  towards  me  made  Virgilius  turn 

With  looks  that  in  their  silence  said,  "  Be  silent !  " 
But  yet  the  power  that  wills  cannot  do  all  things;  105 

For  tears  and  laughter  are  such  pursuivants 

Unto  the  passion  from  which  each  springs  forth. 
In  the  most  truthful  least  the  will  they  follow. 

I  only  smiled,  as  one  who  gives  the  wink ; 

Whereat  the  shade  was  silent,  and  it  gazed  no 

Into  mine  eyes,  where  most  expression  dwells; 

And,  "  As  thou  well  mayst  consummate  a  labor 

So  great,"  it  said,  "why  did  thy  face  just  now 
Display  to  me  the  lightning  of  a  smile  ?  " 


Ptirgatorio  xxi.  137 

Now  am  I  caught  on  this  side  and  on  that ;  115 

One  keeps  me  silent,  one  to  speak  conjures  me. 
Wherefore  I  sigh,  and  I  am  understood. 

"Speak,"  said  my  Master,  "and  be  not  afraid 
Of  speaking,  but  speak  out,  and  say  to  him 
What  he  demands  with  such  solicitude."  120 

Whence  I :   "  Thou  peradventure  marvellest, 
O  antique  spirit,  at  the  smile  I  gave ; 
But  I  will  have  more  wonder  seize  upon  thee. 

This  one^  who  guides  on  high  these  eyes  of  mine. 

Is  that  Virgilius,  from  whom  thou  didst  learn  125 

To  sing  aloud  of  men  and  of  the  Gods. 

If  other  cause  thou  to  my  smile  imputedst, 
Abandon  it  as  false,  and  trust  it  was 
Those  words  which  thou  hast  spoken  concerning  him." 

Already  he  was  stooping  to  embrace  130 

My  Teacher's  feet ;  but  he  said  to  him  :  "  Brother, 
Do  not ;  for  shade  thou  art,  and  shade  beholdest." 

And  he  uprising  :   "  Now  canst  thou  the  sum 

Of  love  which  warms  me  to  thee  comprehend. 
When  this  our  vanity  I  disremember,  13s 

Treating  a  shadow  as  substantial  thing." 


18 


CANTO     XXII. 

\  LREADY  was  the  Angel  left  behind  us. 

The  Angel  who  to  the  sixth  round  had  turned  us, 
Having  erased  one  mark  from  off  my  face ; 

And  those  who  have  in  justice  their  desire 

Had  said  to  us,  "  Beati,''  in  their  voices,  5 

With  " sitioy'  and  without  more  ended  it. 

And  I,  more  light  than  through  the  other  passes, 
Went  onward  so,  that  without  any  labor 
I  followed  upward  the  swift-footed  spirits ; 

When  thus  Virgilius  began  :   "The  love  lo 

Kindled  by  virtue  aye  another  kindles. 
Provided  outwardly  its  flame  appean 

Hence  from  the  hour  that  Juvenal  descended 
Among  us  into  the  infernal  Limbo, 
Who  made  apparent  to  me  thy  affection,  15 

My  kindliness  towards  thee  was  as  great 

As  ever  bound  one  to  an  unseen  person. 

So  that  these  stairs  will  now  seem  short  to  me. 


Pttrgatorio  xxii.  139 

But  tell  me,  and  forgive  me  as  a  friend, 

If  too  great  confidence  let  loose  the  rein,  ao 

And  as  a  friend  now  hold  discourse  with  me ; 

How  was  it  possible  within  thy  breast 

For  avarice  to  find  place,  'mid  so  much  wisdom 
As  thou  wast  filled  with  by  thy  diligence  ? " 

These  words  excited  Statins  at  first  as 

Somewhat  to  laughter ;   afterward  he  answered  : 
"  Each  word  of  thine  is  love's  dear  sign  to  me. 

Verily  oftentimes  do  things  appear 

Which  give  fallacious  matter  to  our  doubts. 
Instead  of  the  true  causes  which  are  hidden  !  30 

Thy  question  shows  me  thy  belief  to  be 
That  I  was  niggard  in  the  other  life. 
It  may  be  from  the  circle  where  I  was  ; 

Therefore  know  thou,  that  avarice  was  removed 

Too  far  from  me ;  and  this  extravagance  35 

Thousands  of  lunar  periods  have  punished. 

And  were  it  not  that  I  my  thoughts  uplifted. 

When  I  the  passage  heard  where  thou  exclaimest. 
As  if  indignant,  unto  human  nature, 

*To  what  impellest  thou  not,  O  cursed  hunger  40 

Of  gold,  the  appetite  of  mortal  men  ? ' 
Revolving  I  should  feel  the  dismal  joustings. 


140  TJie  Divine  Comedy 

Then  I  perceived  the  hands  could  spread  too  wide 
Their  wings  in  spending,  and  repented  me 
As  well  of  that  as  of  my  other  sins  ;  45 

How  many  with  shorn  hair  shall  rise  again 
Because  of  ignorance,  which  from  this  sin 
Cuts  off  repentance  living  and  in  death! 

And  know  that  the  transgression  which  rebuts 

By  direct  opposition  any  sin  50 

Together  with  it  here  its  verdure  dries. 

Therefore  if  I  have  been  among  that  folk 
Which  mourns  its  avarice,  to  purify  me. 
For  its  opposite  has  this  befallen  me." 

"  Now  when  thou  sangest  the  relentless  weapons  s5 

Of  the  twofold  affliction  of  Jocasta," 
The  singer  of  the  Songs  Bucolic  said, 

"  From  that  which  Clio  there  with  thee  preludes. 
It  does  not  seem  that  yet  had  made  thee  faithful 
That  faith  without  which  no  good  works  suffice.     60 

If  this  be  so,  what  candles  or  what  sun 

Scattered  thy  darkness  so  that  thou  didst  trim 
Thy  sails  behind  the  Fisherman  thereafter  ?  '* 

And  he  to  him :  "  Thou  first  directedst  me 

Towards  Parnassus,  in  its  grots  to  drink,  65 

And  first  concerning  God  didst  me  enlighten. 


Pttr gator io  xxii.  141 

Thou  didst  as  he  who  walketh  in  the  night. 

Who  bears  his  light  behind,  which  helps  him  not. 
But  maketh  wise  the  persons  after  him. 

When  thou  didst  say:  *The  age  renews  itself,  70 

Justice  returns,  and  man's  primeval  time. 
And  a  new  progeny  descends  from  heaven.' 

Through  thee  I  Poet  was,  through  thee  a  Christian ; 
But  that  thou  better  see  what  I  design. 
To  color  it  will  I  extend  my  hand.  75 

Already  was  the  world  in  every  part 

Pregnant  with  the  true  creed,  disseminated 
By  messengers  of  the  eternal  kingdom ; 

And  thy  assertion,  spoken  of  above. 

With  the  new  preachers  was  in  unison  ;  80 

Whence  I  to  visit  them  the  custom  took. 

Then  they  became  so  holy  in  my  sight. 

That,  when  Domitian  persecuted  them. 

Not  without  tears  of  mine  were  their  laments; 

And  all  the  while  that  I  on  earth  remained,  85 

Them  I  befriended,  and  their  upright  customs 
Made  me  disparage  all  the  other  sects. 

And  ere  I  led  the  Greeks  unto  the  rivers 
Of  Thebes,  in  poetry,  I  was  baptized. 
But  out  of  fear  was  covertly  a  Christian,  90 


142  The  Divine  Comedy 

For  a  long  time  professing  paganism ; 

And  this  lukewarmness  caused  me  the  fourth  circle 

To  circuit  round  more  than  four  centuries. 
Thou,  therefore,  who  hast  raised  the  covering 

That  hid  from  me  whatever  good  I  speak  of,  9s 

While  in  ascending  we  have  time  to  spare. 
Tell  me,  in  what  place  is  our  friend  Terentius, 

Cascilius,  Plautus,  Varro,  if  thou  knowest ; 

Tell  me  if  they  are  damned,  and  in  what  alley." 
"These,  Persius  and  myself,  and  others  many,"  100 

Replied  my  Leader,  "with  that  Grecian  are 

Whom  more  than  all  the  rest  the  Muses  suckled. 
In  the  first  circle  of  the  prison  blind  ; 

Ofttimes  we  of  the  mountain  hold  discourse 

Which  has  our  nurses  ever  with  itself.  105 

Euripides  is  with  us,  Antiphon, 

Simonides,  Agatho,  and  many  other 

Greeks  who  of  old  their  brows  with  laurel  decked. 
There  some  of  thine  own  people  may  be  seen, 

Antigone,  Deiphile  and  Argia,  "o 

And  there  Ismene  mournful  as  of  old. 
There  she  is  seen  who  pointed  out  Langia ; 

There  is  Tiresias'  daughter,  and  there  Thetis, 

And  there  Deidamia  with  her  sisters," 


Purgatorto  xxii.  143 

Silent  already 'were  the  poets  both,  us 

Attent  once  more  in  looking  round  about. 
From  the  ascent  and  from  the  walls  released ; 

And  four  handmaidens  of  the  day  already 

Were  left  behind,  and  at  the  pole  the  fifth 

Was  pointing  upward  still  its  burning  horn,  120 

What  time  my  Guide  :"  "  I  think  that  tow'rds  the  edge 
Our  dexter  shoulders  it  behoves  us  turn. 
Circling  the  mount  as  we  are  wont  to  do." 

Thus  in  that  region  custom  was  our  ensign ; 

And  we  resumed  our  way  with  less  suspicion  i^s 

For  the  assenting  of  that  worthy  soul. 

They  in  advance  went  on,  and  I  alone 

Behind  them,  and  I  listened  to  their  speech. 
Which  gave  me  lessons  in  the  art  of  song. 

But  soon  their  sweet  discourses  interrupted  130 

A  tree  which  midway  in  the  road  we  found, 
With  apples  sweet  and  grateful  to  the  smell. 

And  even  as  a  fir-tree  tapers  upward 

From  bough  to  bough,  so  downwardly  did  that ; 

I  think  in  order  that  no  one  might  climb  it.  135 

On  that  side  where  our  pathway  was  enclosed 
Fell  from  the  lofty  rock  a  limpid  water. 
And  spread  itself  abroad  upon  the  leaves. 


144  The  Divine  Comedy 

The  Poets  twain  unto  the  tree  drew  near. 

And  from  among  the  foliage  a  voice  ho 

Cried  :   "  Of  this  food  ye  shall  have  scarcity." 
Then  said  :  "  More  thoughtful  Mary  was  of  making 

The  marriage  feast  complete  and  honorable. 

Than  of  her  mouth  which  now  for  you  responds ; 
And  for  their  drink  the  ancient  Roman  women  hs 

With  water  were  content ;  and  Daniel 

Disparaged  food,  and  understanding  won. 
The  primal  age  was  beautiful  as  gold ; 

Acorns  it  made  with  hunger  savorous. 

And  nectar  every  rivulet  with  thirst.  15° 

Honey  and  locusts  were  the  aliments 

That  fed  the  Baptist  in  the  wilderness ; 

Whence  he  is  glorious,  and  so  magnified 
As  by  the  Evangel  is  revealed  to  you." 


CANTO    XXIII. 

'TpHE  while  among  the  verdant  leaves  mine  eyes 
I  riveted,  as  he  is  wont  to  do 
Who  wastes  his  life  pursuing  little  birds. 

My  more  than  Father  said  unto  me:   "Son, 

Come  now;  because  the  time  that  is  ordained  us 
More  usefully  should  be  apportioned  out." 

I  turned  my  face  and  no  less  soon  my  steps 
Unto  the  Sages,  who  were  speaking  so 
They  made  the  going  of  no  cost  to  me ; 

And  lo !  were  heard  a  song  and  a  lament, 
^^  Labia  mea,  Do?7iine,''  in  fashion 
Such  that  delight  and  dolence  it  brought  forth. 

"  O  my  sweet  Father,  what  is  this  I  hear  ? " 

Began  I ;  and  he  answered  :   **  Shades  that  go 
Perhaps  the  knot  unloosing  of  their  debt." 

In  the  same  way  that  thoughtful  pilgrims  do. 

Who,  unknown  people  on  the  road  o'ertaking, 
Turn  themselves  round  to  them,  and  do  not  stop, 
19 


146  The  Divine  Comedy 

Even  thus,  behind  us  with  a  swifter  motion 

Coming  and  passing  onward,  gazed  upon  us  a© 

A  crowd  of  spirits  silent  and  devout. 
Each  in  his  eyes  was  dark  and  cavernous, 

PalHd  in  face,  and  so  emaciate 

That  from  the  bones  the  skin  did  shape  itself. 
I  do  not  think  that  so  to  merest  rind  as 

Could  Erisichthon  have  been  withered  up 

By  famine,  when  most  fear  he  had  of  it. 
Thinking  within  myself  I  said  :   "  Behold, 

This  is  the  folk  who  lost  Jerusalem, 

When  Mary  made  a  prey  of  her  own  son.'*  3° 

Their  sockets  were  like  rings  without  the  gems ; 

Whoever  in  the  face  of  men  reads  07no 

Might  well  in  these  have  recognized  the  in. 
Who  would  believe  the  odor  of  an  apple. 

Begetting  longing,  could  consume  them  so,  3s 

And  that  of  water,  without  knowing  how? 
I  still  was  wondering  what  so  famished  them. 

For  the  occasion  not  yet  manifest 

Of  their  emaciation  and  sad  squalor  ; 
And  lo  !  from  out  the  hollow  of  his  head  4° 

His  eyes  a  shade  turned  on  me,  and  looked  keenly; 

Then  cried  aloud;   "  What  grace  to  me  is  this  1  " 


Purgatorio  xxiii.  147 

Never  should  I  have  known  hitn  by  his  look ; 

But  in  his  voice  was  evident  to  me 

That  which  his  aspect  had  suppressed  within  it.       4s 
This  spark  within  me  wholly  re-enkindled 

My  recognition  of  his  altered  face. 

And  I  recalled  the  features  of  Forese. 
"  Ah,  do  not  look  at  this  dry  leprosy," 

Entreated  he,  "  which  doth  my  skin  discolor,  5° 

Nor  at  default  of  flesh  that  I  may  have ; 
But  tell  me  truth  of  thee,  and  who  are  those 

Two  souls,  that  yonder  make  for  thee  an  escort ; 

Do  not  delay  in  speaking  unto  me." 
"  That  face  of  thine,  which  dead  I  once  bewept,  ss 

Gives  me  for  weeping  now  no  lesser  grief," 

I  answered  him,  "  beholding  it  so  changed ! 
But  tell  me,  for  God's  sake,  what  thus  denudes  you  ? 

Make  me  not  speak  while  I  am  marvelling, 

For  ill  speaks  he  who  's  full  of  other  longings."        60 
And  he  to  me  :   "  From  the  eternal  council 

Falls  power  into  the  water  and  the  tree 

Behind  us  left,  whereby  I  grow  so  thin. 
All  of  this  people  who  lamenting  sing. 

For  following  beyond  measure  appetite  65 

In  hunger  and  thirst  are  here  re-sanctified. 


148  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

Desire  to  eat  and  drink  enkindles  in  us 

The  scent  that  issues  from  the  apple-tree. 

And  from  the  spray  that  sprinkles  o'er  the  verdure; 

And  not  a  single  time  alone,  this  ground  7° 

Encircling,  is  renewed  our  pain, — 
I  say  our  pain,  and  ought  to  say  our  solace, — 

For  the  same  wish  doth  lead  us  to  the  tree 

Which  led  the  Christ  rejoicing  to  say  £//, 

When  with  his  veins  he  liberated  us."  75 

And  I  to  him  :   "  Forese,  from  that  day 

When  for  a  better  life  thou  changedst  worlds. 
Up  to  this  time  five  years  have  not  rolled  round. 

If  sooner  were  the  power  exhausted  in  thee 

Of  sinning  more,  than  thee  the  hour  surprised  80 

Of  that  good  sorrow  which  to  God  reweds  us. 

How  hast  thou  come  up  hitherward  already  ? 

I  thought  to  find  thee  down  there  underneath. 
Where  time  for  time  doth  restitution  make." 

And  he  to  me  :   "  Thus  speedily  has  led  me  85 

To  drink  of  the  sweet  wormwood  of  these  torments. 
My  Nella  with  her  overflowing  tears ; 

She  with  her  prayers  devout  and  with  her  sighs 

Has  drawn  me  from  the  coast  where  one  awaits. 
And  from  the  other  circles  set  me  free.  9° 


Pur  gator  io  xxiii.  149 

So  much  more  dear  and  pleasing  is  to  God 

My  little  widow,  whom  so  much  I  loved. 
As  in  good  works  she  is  the  more  alone ; 

For  the  Barbagia  of  Sardinia 

By  far  more  modest  in  its  women  is  95 

Than  the  Barbagia  I  have  left  her  in. 

O  brother  sweet,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  say  ? 
A  future  time  is  in  my  sight  already. 
To  which  this  hour  will  not  be  very  old. 

When  from  the  pulpit  shall  be  interdicted  loo 

To  the  unblushing  womankind  of  Florence 
To  go  about  displaying  breast  and  paps. 

What  savages  were  e'er,  what  Saracens, 

Who  stood  in  need,  to  make  them  covered  go. 

Of  spiritual  or  other  discipline  ?  105 

But  if  the  shameless  women  were  assured 

Of  what  swift  Heaven  prepares  for  them,  already 
Wide  open  would  they  have  their  mouths  to  howl ; 

For  if  my  foresight  here  deceive  me  not. 

They  shall  be  sad  ere  he  has  bearded  cheeks  "o 

Who  now  is  hushed  to  sleep  with  lullaby. 

O  brother,  now  no  longer  hide  thee  from  me; 
See  that  not  only  I,  but  all  these  people 
Are  gazing  there,  where  thou  dost  veil  the  sun." 


150  TJie  Divine  Comedy 

Whence  I  to  him  :   "  If  thou  bring  back  to  mind  us 

What  thou  with  me  hast  been  and  I  with  thee, 
The  present  memory  will  be  grievous  still. 

Out  of  that  life  he  turned  me  back  who  goes 

In  front  of  me,  two  days  agone  when  round 

The  sister  of  him  yonder  showed  herself,"  lao 

And  to  the  sun  I  pointed.     "  Through  the  deep 
Night  of  the  truly  dead  has  this  one  led  me, 
With  this  true  flesh,  that  follows  after  him. 

Thence  his  encouragements  have  led  me  up. 

Ascending  and  still  circling  round  the  mount  i^s 

That  you  doth  straighten,  whom    the  world  made 

He  says  that  he  will  bear  me  company,  [crooked. 

Till  I  shall  be  where  Beatrice  will  be; 
There  it  behoves  me  to  remain  without  him. 

This  is  Virgilius,  who  thus  says  to  me,"  13° 

And  him  I  pointed  at ;  "  the  other  is 
That  shade  for  whom  just  now  shook  every  slope 

Your  realm,  that  from  itself  discharges  him." 


CANTO     XXIV. 

'VrOR  speech  the  going,  nor  the  going  that 

Slackened ;  but  talking  we  went  bravely  on. 
Even  as  a  vessel  urged  by  a  good  wind. 

And  shadows,  that  appeared  things  doubly  dead. 

From  out  the  sepulchres  of  their  eyes  betrayed  5 

Wonder  at  me,  aware  that  I  was  living. 

And  I,  continuing  my  colloquy. 

Said  :   "  Peradventure  he  goes  up  more  slowly 
Than  he  would  do,  for  other  people's  sake. 

But  tell  me,  if  thou  knowest,  where  is  Piccarda ;  10 

Tell  me  if  any  one  of  note  I  see 
Among  this  folk  that  gazes  at  me  so." 

"My  sister,  who,  'twixt  beautiful  and  good, 

I  know  not  which  was  more,  triumphs  rejoicing 
Already  in  her  crown  on  high  Olympus."  15 

So  said  he  first,  and  then  :  "  'T  is  not  forbidden 
To  name  each  other  here,  so  milked  away 
Is  our  resemblance  by  our  dieting. 


152  The  Divine  Comedy 

This,"  pointing  with  his  finger,  "is  Buonagiunta, 

Buonagiunta  of  Lucca  ;  and  that  face  ao 

Beyond  him  there,  more  peaked  than  the  others. 

Has  held  the  holy  Church  within  his  arms ; 

From  Tours  was  he,  and  purges  by  his  fasting 
Bolsena's  eels  and  the  Vernaccia  wine." 

He  named  me  many  others  one  by  one;  as 

And  all  contented  seemed  at  being  named. 
So  that  for  this  I  saw  not  one  dark  look. 

I  saw  for  hunger  bite  the  empty  air 
Ubaldin  dalla  Pila,  and  Boniface, 
Who  with  his  crook  had  pastured  many  people.       30 

I  saw  Messer  Marchese,  who  had  leisure 

Once  at  Forli  for  drinking  with  less  dryness, 
And  he  was  one  who  ne'er  felt  satisfied. 

But  as  he  does  who  scans,  and  then  doth  prize 

One  more  than  others,  did  I  him  of  Lucca,  35 

Who  seemed  to  take  most  cognizance  of  me. 

He  murmured,  and  I  know  not  what  Gentucca 

From  that  place  heard  I,  where  he  felt  tliQ  v/ound 
Of  justice,  that  doth  macerate  them  so. 

"O  soul,"  I  said,  "that  seemest  so  desirous  40 

To  speak  with  me,  do  so  that  I  may  hear  thee. 
And  with  thy  speech  appease  thyself  and  me." 


Purgatorio  xxiv.  153 

"A  maid  is  born,  and  wears  not  yet  the  veil," 

Began  he,  "who  to  thee  shall  pleasant  make 

My  city,  howsoever  men  may  blame  it.  4S 

Thou  shalt  go  on  thy  way  with  this  prevision; 

If  by  my  murmuring  thou  hast  been  deceived. 
True  things  hereafter  will  declare  it  to  thee. 

But  say  if  him  I  here  behold,  who  forth 

Evoked  the  new-invented  rhymes,  beginning,  so 

Ladies,  that  have  intelligeiice  of  love  V* 

And  I  to  him :   "  One  am  I,  who,  whenever 

Love  doth  inspire  me,  note,  and  in  that  measure 
Which  he  within  me  dictates,  singing  go." 

"  O  brother,  now  I  see,"  he  said,  "  the  knot  5S. 

Which  me,  the  Notary,  and  Guittone  held 
Short  of  the  sweet  new  style  that  now  I  hear. 

I  do  perceive  full  clearly  how  your  pens 

Go  closely  following  after  him  who  dictates. 
Which  with  our  own  forsooth  came  not  to  pass;      60 

And  he  who  sets  himself  to  go  beyond. 

No  difference  sees  from  one  style  to  another"  ; 
And  as  if  satisfied,  he  held  his  peace. 

Even  as  the  birds,  that  winter  tow'rds  the  Nile, 

Sometimes  into  a  phalanx  form  themselves,  65 

Then  fly  in  greater  haste,  and  go  in  file; 


20 


154  ^^^^  Divine  Comedy 

In  such  wise  all  the  people  who  were  there. 

Turning  their  faces,  hurried  on  their  steps, 
Both  hy  their  leanness  and  their  wishes  light. 

And  as  a  man,  who  weary  is  with  trotting,  70 

Lets  his  companions  onward  go,  and  walks. 
Until  he  vents  the  panting  of  his  chest ; 

So  did  Forese  let  the  holy  flock 

Pass  by,  and  came  with  me  behind  it,  saying, 

"When  will  it  be  that  I  again  shall  see  thee?"        75 

« 

"How  long,"  I  answered,  "I  may  live,  I  know  not; 

Yet  my  return  will  not  so  speedy  be. 

But  I  shall  sooner  in  desire  arrive; 
Because  the  place  where  I  was  set  to  live 

From  day  to  day  of  good  is  more  depleted,  80 

And  unto  dismal  ruin  seems  ordained." 
"Now  go,"  he  said,  "for  him  most  guilty  of  it 

At  a  beast's  tail  behold  I  dragged  along 

Towards  the  valley  where  is  no  repentance. 
Faster  at  every  step  the  beast  is  going,  85 

Increasing  evermore  until  it  smites  him. 

And  leaves  the  body  vilely  mutilated.- 
Not  long  those  wheels  shall  turn,"  and  he  uplifted 

His  eyes  to  heaven,  "ere  shall  be  clear  to  thee 

That  which  my  speech  no  farther  can  declare.         9° 


Purgatorio  xxiv.  155 

Now  stay  behind ;  because  the  time  so  precious 
Is  in  this  kingdom,  that  I  lose  too  much 
By  coming  onward  thus  abreast  with  thee." 

As  sometimes  issues  forth  upon  a  gallop 

A  cavalier  from  out  a  troop  that  ride,  95 

And  seeks  the  honor  of  the  first  encounter. 

So  he  with  greater  strides  departed  from  us; 

And  on  the  road  remained  I  with  those  two. 
Who  were  such  mighty  marshals  of  the  world. 

And  when  before  us  he  had  gone  so  far  100 

Mine  eyes  became  to  him  such  pursuivants 
As  was  my  understanding  to  his  words. 

Appeared  to  me  with  laden  and  living  boughs 
Another  apple-tree,  and  not  far  distant, 
From  having  but  just  then  turned  thitherward.       105 

People  I  saw  beneath  it  lift  their  hands. 

And  cry  I  know  not  what  towards  the  leaves. 
Like  little  children  eager  and  deluded. 

Who  pray,  and  he  they  pray  to  doth  not  answer. 

But,  to  make  very  keen  their  appetite,  no 

Holds  their  desire  aloft,  and  hides  it  not. 

Then  they  departed  as  if  undeceived; 

And  now  we  came  unto  the  mighty  tree 
Which  prayers  and  tears  so  manifold  refuses. 


156  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

"  Pass  farther  onward  without  drawing  near;  115 

The  tree  of  which  Eve  ate  is  higher  up, 
And  out  of  that  one  has  this  tree  been  raised." 

Thus  said  I  know  not  who  among  the  branches ; 
Whereat  VirgiHus,  Statius,  and  myself 
Went  crowding  forward  on  the  side  that  rises.         120 

"Be  mindful,"  said  he,  "of  the  accursed  ones 
Formed  of  the  cloud-rack,  who  inebriate 
Combated  Theseus  with  their  double  breasts ; 

And  of  the  Jews  who  showed  them  soft  in  drinking, 

Whence  Gideon  would  not  have  them  for  companions, 
When  he  tow'rds  Midian  the  hills  descended."       ^^-^ 

Thus,  closely  pressed  to  one  of  the  two  borders. 
On  passed  we,  hearing  sins  of  gluttony. 
Followed  forsooth  by  miserable  gains; 

Then  set  at  large  upon  the  lonely  road,  130 

A  thousand  steps  and  more  we  onward  went. 
In  contemplation,  each  without  a  word. 

"What  go  ye  thinking  thus,  ye  three  alone?" 
Said  suddenly  a  voice,  whereat  I  started 
As  terrified  and  timid  beasts  are  wont.  13s 

I  raised  my  head  to  see  who  this  might  be, 
And  never  in  a  furnace  was  there  seen 
Metals  or  glass  so  lucent  and  so  red 


Pttrgatorio  xxiv.  1 5  7 

As  one  I  saw  who  said :   "  If  it  may  please  you 

To  mount  aloft,  here  it  behoves  you  turn;  140 

This  way  goes  he  who  goeth  after  peace." 

His  aspect  had  bereft  me  of  my  sight. 

So  that  I  turned  me  back  unto  my  Teachers, 
Like  one  who  goeth  as  his  hearing  guides  him. 

And  as,  the  harbinger  of  early  dawn,  145 

The  air  of  May  doth  move  and  breathe  out  fragrance. 
Impregnate  all  with  herbage  and  with  flowers. 

So  did  I  feel  a  breeze  strike  in  the  midst 

My  front,  and  felt  the  moving  of  the  plumes 

That  breathed  around  an  odor  of  ambrosia;  15° 

And  heard  it  said :   "  Blessed  are  they  whom  grace 
So  much  illumines,  that  the  love  of  taste 
Excites  not  in  their  breasts  too  great  desire. 

Hungering  at  all  times  so  far  as  is  just." 


CANTO     XXV. 

IVrOW  was  it  the  ascent  no  hindrance  brooked, 
Because  the  sun  had  his  meridian  circle 
To  Taurus  left,  and  night  to  Scorpio; 

Wherefore  as  doth  a  man  who  tarries  not. 

But  goes  his  way,  whate'er  to  him  appear,  5 

If  of  necessity  the  sting  transfix  him. 

In  this  wise  did  we  enter  through  the  gap. 

Taking  the  stairway,  one  before  the  other. 
Which  by  its  narrowness  divides  the  climbers. 

And  as  the  little  stork  that  lifts  its  wing  10 

With  a  desire  to  fly,  and  does  not  venture 
To  leave  the  nest,  and  lets  it  downward  droop. 

Even  such  was  I,  with  the  desire  of  asking 

Kindled  and  quenched,  unto  the  motion  coming 
He  makes  who  doth  address  himself  to  speak.  15 

Not  for  our  pace,  though  rapid  it  might  be. 

My  father  sweet  forbore,  but  said :   "Let  fly 
The  bow  of  speech  thou  to  the  barb  hast  drawn." 


Pztrgatorio  xxv.  159 

With  confidence  I  opened  then  my  mouth, 

And  I  began  :   "  How  can  one  meagre  grow  20 

There  where  the  need  of  nutriment  appHes  not?  " 

"  If  thou  wouldst  call  to  mind  how  Meleager 
Was  wasted  by  the  wasting  of  a  brand. 
This  would  not,"  said  he,  "be  to  thee  so  sour; 

And  wouldst  thou  think  how  at  each  tremulous  motion  25 
Trembles  within  a  mirror  your  own  image ; 
That  which  seems  hard  would  mellow  seem  to  thee. 

But  that  thou  mayst  content  thee  in  thy  wish 
Lo  Statius  here ;  and  him  I  call  and  pray 
He  now  will  be  the  healer  of  thy  wounds."  30 

"If  I  unfold  to  him  the  eternal  vengeance," 

Responded  Statius,  "where  thou  present  art. 
Be  my  excuse  that  I  can  naught  deny  thee." 

Then  he  began  :   "  Son,  if  these  words  of  mine 

Thy  mind  doth  contemplate  and  doth  receive,  35 

They  '11  be  thy  light  unto  the  How  thou  sayest. 

The  perfect  blood,  which  never  is  drunk  up 

Into  the  thirsty  veins,  and  which  remaineth 
Like  food  that  from  the  table  thou  removest. 

Takes  in  the  heart  for  all  the  human  members  40 

Virtue  informative,  as  being  that 
Which  to  be  changed  to  them  goes  through  the  veins. 


i6o  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

Again  digest,  descends  it  where  'tis  better 

Silent  to  be  than  say;  and  then  drops  thence 

Upon  another's  blood  in  natural  vase.  4s 

There  one  together  with  the  other  mingles, 
One  to  be  passive  meant,  the  other  active 
By  reason  of  the  perfect  place  it  springs  from ; 

And  being  conjoined,  begins  to  operate. 

Coagulating  first,  then  vivifying  s© 

What  for  its  matter  it  had  made  consistent. 

The  active  virtue,  being  made  a  soul 
As  of  a  plant,  (in  so  far  different. 
This  on  the  way  is,  that  arrived  already,) 

Then  works  so  much,  that  now  it  moves  and  feels  55 

Like  a  sea-fungus,  and  then  undertakes 
To  organize  the  powers  whose  seed  it  is. 

Now,  Son,  dilates  and  now  distends  itself 
The  virtue  from  the  generator's  heart. 
Where  nature  is  intent  on  all  the  members.  60 

But  how  from  animal  it  man  becomes 

Thou  dost  not  see  as  yet ;  this  is  a  point 
Which  made  a  wiser  man  than  thou  once  err 

So  far,  that  in  his  doctrine  separate 

He  made  the  soul  from  possible  intellect,  65 

For  he  no  organ  saw  by  this  assumed. 


Pur  gator  io  xxv.  i6i 

Open  thy  breast  unto  the  truth  that 's  coming. 
And  know  that,  just  as  soon  as  in  the  foetus 
The  articulation  of  the  brain  is  perfect. 

The  primal  Motor  turns  to  it  well  pleased  70 

At  so  great  art  of  nature,  and  inspires 
A  spirit  new  with  virtue  all  replete, 

Which  what  it  finds  there  active  doth  attract 
Into  its  substance,  and  becomes  one  soul. 
Which  lives,  and  feels,  and  on  itself  revolves.  75 

And  that  thou  less  may  wonder  at  my  word, 

Behold  the  sun's  heat,  which  becometh  wine. 
Joined  to  the  juice  that  from  the  vine  distils. 

Whenever  Lachesis  has  no  more  thread. 

It  separates  from  the  flesh,  and  virtually  80 

Bears  with  itself  the  human  and  divine ; 

The  other  faculties  are  voiceless  all ; 

The  memory,  the  intelligence,  and  the  will 
In  action  far  more  vigorous  than  before. 

Without  a  pause  it  falleth  of  itself  85 

In  marvellous  way  on  one  shore  or  the  other; 
There  of  its  roads  it  first  is  cognizant. 

Soon  as  the  place  there  circumscribeth  it. 

The  virtue  informative  rays  round  about. 

As,  and  as  much  as,  in  the  living  members.  9° 


1 62  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

And  even  as  the  air,  when  full  of  rain. 

By  alien  rays  that  are  therein  reflected. 
With  divers  colors  shows  itself  adorned. 

So  there  the  neighboring  air  doth  shape  itself 

Into  that  form  which  doth  impress  upon  it  9S 

Virtually  the  soul  that  has  stood  still. 

And  then  in  manner  of  the  little  flame. 

Which  followeth  the  fire  where'er  it  shifts. 
After  the  spirit  followeth  its  new  form. 

Since  afterwards  it  takes  from  this  its  semblance,  loo 

It  is  called  shade;  and  thence  it  organizes 
Thereafter  every  sense,  even  to  the  sight. 

Thence  is  it  that  we  speak,  and  thence  we  laugh ; 
Thence  is  it  that  we  form  the  tears  and  sighs. 
That  on  the  mountain  thou  mayhap  hast  heard.      105 

According  as  impress  us  our  desires 

And  other  affections,  so  the  shade  is  shaped. 
And  this  is  cause  of  what  thou  wonderest  at." 

And  now  unto  the  last  of  all  the  circles 

Had  we  arrived,  and  to  the  right  hand  turned,        no 
And  were  attentive  to  another  care. 

There  the  embankment  shoots  forth  flames  of  fire. 
And  upward  doth  the  cornice  breathe  a  blast 
That  drives  them  back,  and  from  itself  sequesters. 


Purgatorio  xxv.  i6 


1 


Hence  we  must  needs  go  on  the  open  side,  us 

And  one  by  one;  and  I  did  fear  the  fire 
On  this  side,  and  on  that  the  falling  down. 

My  Leader  said  :   "Along  this  place  one  ought 
To  keep  upon  the  eyes  a  tightened  rein, 
Seeing  that  one  so  easily  might  err."  no 

"  Summce  Deus  cletnentice  y'  in  the  bosom 

Of  the  great  burning  chanted  then  I  heard. 
Which  made  me  no  less  eager  to  turn  round; 

And  spirits  saw  I  walking  through  the  flame ; 

Wherefore  I  looked,  to  my  own  steps  and  theirs     125 
Apportioning  my  sight  from  time  to  time. 

After  the  close  which  to  that  hymn  is  made. 
Aloud  they  shouted,  ^^Virum  non  cognosco''; 
Then  recommenced  the  hymn  with  voices  low. 

This  also  ended,  cried  they  :   "  To  the  wood  130 

Diana  ran,  and  drove  forth  Helice 
Therefrom,  who  had  of  Venus  felt  the  poison.'* 

Then  to  their  song  returned  they ;  then  the  wives 

They  shouted,  and  the  husbands  who  were  chaste. 
As  virtue  and  the  marriage  vow  imposes.  13s 

And  I  believe  that  them  this  mode  suffices. 

For  all  the  time  the  fire  is  burning  them; 
With  such  care  is  it  needful,  and  such  food. 

That  the  last  wound  of  all  should  be  closed  up. 


CANTO     XXVI. 

'X^THILE  on  the  brink  thus  one  before  the  other 
We  went  upon  our  way,  oft  the  good  Master 
Said  :  "  Take  thou  heed  !  suffice  it  that  I  warn  thee." 

On  the  right  shoulder  smote  me  now  the  sun. 

That,  raying  out,  already  the  whole  west  s 

Changed  from  its  azure  aspect  into  white. 

And  with  my  shadow  did  I  make  the  flame 

Appear  more  red ;  and  even  to  such  a  sign 
Shades  saw  I  many,  as  they  went,  give  heed. 

This  was  the  cause  that  gave  them  a  beginning  lo 

To  speak  of  me;  and  to  themselves  began  they 
To  say  :  "  That  seems  not  a  factitious  body  !  " 

Then  towards  me,  as  far  as  they  could  come. 
Came  certain  of  them,  always  with  regard 
Not  to  step  forth  where  they  would  not  be  burned.  15 

**  O  thou  who  goest,  not  from  being  slower 
But  reverent  perhaps,  behind  the  others. 
Answer  me,  who  in  thirst  and  fire  am  burning. 


Pur  gator w  xxvl  165 

Nor  to  me  only  is  thine  answer  needful ; 

For  all  of  these  have  greater  thirst  for  it  40 

Than  for  cold  water  Ethiop  or  Indian. 

Tell  us  how  is  it  that  thou  makest  thyself 
A  wall  unto  the  sun,  as  if  thou  hadst  not 
Entered  as  yet  into  the  net  of  death." 

Thus  one  of  them  addressed  me,  and  I  straight  as 

Should  have  revealed  myself,  were  I  not  bent 
On  other  novelty  that  then  appeared. 

For  through  the  middle  of  the  burning  road 

There  came  a  people  face  to  face  with  these. 
Which  held  me  in  suspense  with  gazing  at  them.    3° 

There  see  I  hastening  upon  either  side 

Each  of  the  shades,  and  kissing  one  another 
Without  a  pause,  content  with  brief  salute. 

Thus  in  the  middle  of  their  brown  battalions 

Muzzle  to  muzzle  one  ant  meets  another  35 

Perchance  to  spy  their  journey  or  their  fortune. 

No  sooner  is  the  friendly  greeting  ended. 
Or  ever  the  first  footstep  passes  onward. 
Each  one  endeavors  to  outcry  the  other; 

The  new-come  people  :   "  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  !  "         4° 
The  rest:   "Into  the  cow  Pasiphae  enters. 
So  that  the  bull  unto  her  lust  may  run !  " 


1 66  The  Divine  Comedy 

Then  as  the  cranes,  that  to  Ripha:an  mountains 
Might  fly  in  part,  and  part  towards  the  sands. 
These  of  the  frost,  those  of  the  sun  avoidant^  4s 

One  folk  is  going,  and  the  other  coming. 

And  weeping  they  return  to  their  first  songs. 
And  to  the  cry  that  most  befitteth  them ; 

And  close  to  me  approached,  even  as  before. 

The  very  same  who  had  entreated  me,  s© 

Attent  to  listen  in  their  countenance. 

I,  who  their  inclination  twice  had  seen. 

Began  :   "  O  souls  secure  in  the  possession. 
Whene'er  it  may  be,  of  a  state  of  peace. 

Neither  unripe  nor  ripened  have  remained  55 

My  members  upon  earth,  but  here  are  with  me 
With  their  own  blood  and  their  articulations. 

I  go  up  here  to  be  no  longer  blind; 

A  Lady  is  above,  who  wins  this  grace. 

Whereby  the  mortal  through  your  world  I  bring.    60 

But  as  your  greatest  longing  satisfied 

May  soon  become,  so  that  the  Heaven  may  house  you 
Which  full  of  love  is,  and  most  amply  spreads. 

Tell  me,  that  I  again  in  books  may  write  it, 

Who  are  you,  and  what  is  that  multitude  6s 

Which  goes  upon  its  way  behind  your  backs?" 


Pitr gator io  xxvi.  167 

Not  otherwise  with  wonder  is  bewildered 

The  mountaineer,  and  staring  round  is  dumb, 
When  rough  and  rustic  to  the  town  he  goes. 

Than  every  shade  became  in  its  appearance ;  7° 

But  w^hen  they  of  their  stupor  were  disburdened. 
Which  in  high  hearts  is  quickly  quieted, 

"  Blessed  be  thou,  who  of  our  border-lands," 

He  recommenced  who  first  had  questioned  us, 

"  Experience  freightest  for  a  better  life.  7S 

The  folk  that  comes  not  with  us  have  offended 
In  that  for  which  once  Caesar,  triumphing. 
Heard  himself  called  in  contumely,  *  Queen.' 

Therefore  they  separate,  exclaiming,  *  Sodom!' 

Themselves  reproving,  even  as  thou  hast  heard,        80 
And  add  unto  their  burning  by  their  shame. 

Our  own  transgression  was  hermaphrodite; 
But  because  we  observed  not  human  law. 
Following  like  unto  beasts  our  appetite. 

In  our  opprobrium  by  us  is  read,  8s 

When  we  part  company,  the  name  of  her 
Who  bestialized  herself  in  bestial  wood. 

Now  knowest  thou  our  acts,  and  what  our  crime  was ; 
Wouldst  thou  perchance  by  name  know  who  we  are. 
There  is  not  time  to  tell,  nor  could  I  do  it.  90 


1 68  The  Divine  Comedy 

Thy  wish  to  know  me  shall  in  sooth  be  granted ; 
I  'm  Guido  Guinicelli,  and  now  purge  me. 
Having  repented  ere  the  hour  extreme." 

The  same  that  in  the  sadness  of  Lycurgus 

Two  sons  became,  their  mother  re-beholding,  9S 

Such  I  became,  but  rise  not  to  such  height. 

The  moment  1  heard  name  himself  the  father 
Of  me  and  of  my  betters,  who  had  ever 
Practised  the  sweet  and  gracious  rhymes  of  love ; 

And  without  speech  and  hearing  thoughtfully  loo 

For  a  long  time  I  went,  beholding  him. 
Nor  for  the  fire  did  I  approach  him  nearer. 

When  I  was  fed  with  looking,  utterly 

Myself  I  offered  ready  for  his  service. 

With  affirmation  that  compels  belief.  105 

And  he  to  me :  "  Thou  leavest  footprints  such 
In  me,  from  what  I  hear,  and  so  distinct, 
Lethe  cannot  efface  them,  nor  make  dim. 

But  if  thy  words  just  now  the  truth  have  sworn. 

Tell  me  what  is  the  cause  why  thou  displayest        "o 
In  word  and  look  that  dear  thou  boldest  me  ? " 

And  I  to  him:  "Those  dulcet  lays  of  yours 

Which,  long  as  shall  endure  our  modern  fashion. 
Shall  make  forever  dear  their  very  ink ! " 


Ptir gator io  xxvi.  169 

"  O  brother,"  said  he,  "  he  whom  I  point  out,  115 

And  here  he  pointed  at  a  spirit  in  front, 
"  Was  of  the  mother  tongue  a  better  smith. 

Verses  of  love  and  proses  of  romance. 

He  mastered  all;  and  let  the  idiots  talk. 

Who  think  the  Lemosin  surpasses  him.  120 

To  clamor  more  than  truth  they  turn  their  faces. 
And  in  this  way  establish  their  opinion. 
Ere  art  or  reason  has  by  them  been  heard. 

Thus  many  ancients  with  Guittone  did. 

From  cry  to  cry  still  giving  him  applause,  "5 

Until  the  truth  has  conquered  with  most  persons. 

Now,  if  thou  hast  such  ample  privilege 

'T  is  granted  thee  to  go  unto  the  cloister 
Wherein  is  Christ  the  abbot  of  the  college. 

To  him  repeat  for  me  a  Paternoster,  13° 

So  far  as  needful  to  us  of  this  world. 
Where  power  of  sinning  is  no  longer  ours." 

Then,  to  give  place  perchance  to  one  behind. 
Whom  he  had  near,  he  vanished  in  the  fire 
As  fish  in  water  going  to  the  bottom.  13s 

I  moved  a  little  tow'rds  him  pointed  out. 

And  said  that  to  his  name  my  own  desire 
An  honorable  place  was  making  ready. 


22 


170  The  Divine  Comedy 

He  of  his  own  free  will  began  to  say : 

T^an  711^  abellis  vostre  cortes  detnan,  ho 

^e  jeu  noni  ptiesc  ni  vueill  a  vos  cobrire ; 
yen  sui  Arnaut,  que  plor  e  vai  chant  an ; 

Consiros  vei  la  passadafolor, 

E  'vei  jauzen  lo  jorn  qu'  esper  denan, 
Ara  vus  prec  per  aquella  'valor,  145 

^e  vus  condus  al  som  de  la  scalinay 

Sovenga  vus  a  temprar  ma  dolor. ^ 
Then  hid  him  in  the  fire  that  purifies  them. 

*  So  pleases  me  your  courteous  demand, 
I  cannot  and  I  will  not  hide  me  from  you. 

I  am  Arnaut,  who  weep  and  singing  go ; 
Contrite  I  see  the  folly  of  the  past. 
And  joyous  see  the  hoped-for  day  before  me. 

Therefore  do  I  implore  you,  by  that  power 

Which  guides  you  to  the  summit  of  the  stairs. 
Be  mindful  to  assuage  my  suffering  ! 


CANTO     XXVII, 

\  S  when  he  vibrates  forth  his  earliest  rays. 
In  regions  where  his  Maker  shed  his  blood, 
(The  Ebro  falling  under  lofty  Libra, 

And  waters  in  the  Ganges  burnt  with  noon,) 

So  stood  the  Sun  ;  hence  was  the  day  departing,        5 
When  the  glad  Angel  of  God  appeared  to  us. 

Outside  the  flame  he  stood  upon  the  verge. 
And  chanted  forth,  '■^Beati  7nundo  corde^ 
In  voice  by  far  more  living  than  our  own. 

Then  :   "No  one  farther  goes,  souls  sanctified,  10 

If  first  the  fire  bite  not;  within  it  enter. 
And  be  not  deaf  unto  the  song  beyond." 

When  we  were  close  beside  him  thus  he  said; 

Wherefore  e'en  such  became  I,  when  I  heard  him. 
As  he  is  who  is  put  into  the  grave.  »s 

Upon  my  clasped  hands  I  straightened  me. 
Scanning  the  fire,  and  vividly  recalling 
The  human  bodies  I  had  once  seen  burned. 


17^  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

Towards  me  turned  themselves  my  good  Conductors, 

And  unto  me  Virgilius  said:   "My  son,  20 

Here  may  indeed  be  torment,  but  not  death. 

Remember  thee,  remember!  and  if  I 
On  Geryon  have  safely  guided  thee. 
What  shall  I  do  now  I  am  nearer  God? 

Believe  for  certain,  shouldst  thou  stand  a  full  as 

Millennium  in  the  bosom  of  this  flame. 
It  could  not  make  thee  bald  a  single  hair. 

And  if  perchance  thou  think  that  I  deceive  thee. 
Draw  near  to  it,  and  put  it  to  the  proof 
With  thine  own  hands  upon  thy  garment's  hem.      3° 

Now  lay  aside,  now  lay  aside  all  fear. 

Turn  hitherward,  and  onward  come  securely"; 
And  I  still  motionless,  and  'gainst  my  conscience  ! 

Seeing  me  stand  still  motionless  and  stubborn. 

Somewhat  disturbed  he  said  :  "Now  look  thou.  Son,  35 
'Twixt  Beatrice  and  thee  there  is  this  wall." 

As  at  the  name  of  Thisbe  oped  his  lids 

The  dying  Pyramus,  and  gazed  upon  her. 
What  time  the  mulberry  became  vermilion. 

Even  thus,  my  obduracy  being  softened,  40 

I  turned  to  my  wise  Guide,  hearing  the  name 
That  in  my  memory  evermore  is  welling. 


Ptcr gator io  xxvii.  173 

Whereat  he  wagged  his  head,  and  said  :  "  How  now  ? 
Shall  we  stay  on  this  side?"  then  smiled  as  one 
Does  at  a  child  who  's  vanquished  by  an  apple.         45 

Then  into  the  fire  in  front  of  me  he  entered, 
Beseeching  Statius  to  come  after  me. 
Who  a  long  way  before  divided  us. 

When  I  was  in  it,  into  molten  glass 

I  would  have  cast  me  to  refresh  myself,  50 

So  without  measure  was  the  burning  there! 

And  my  sweet  Father,  to  encourage  me. 
Discoursing  still  of  Beatrice  went  on. 
Saying  :   "  Her  eyes  I  seem  to  see  already  !  " 

A  voice,  that  on  the  other  side  was  singing,  ^s 

Directed  us,  and  we,  attent  alone 
On  that,  came  forth  where  the  ascent  began. 

*^Venite,  bene  diet  i  Pair  is  mei,^' 

Sounded  within  a  splendor,  which  was  there 

Such  it  o'ercame  me,  and  I  could  not  look.  60 

"The  sun  departs,"  it  added,  "and  night  cometh  ; 
Tarry  ye  not,  but  onward  urge  your  steps. 
So  long  as  yet  the  west  becomes  not  dark." 

Straight  forward  through  the  rock  the  path  ascended 

In  such  a  way  that  I  cut  off  the  rays  65 

Before  me  of  the  sun,  that  now  was  low. 


174  ^'^^  Divine  Comedy 

And  of  few  stairs  we  yet  had  made  assay, 

Ere  by  the  vanished  shadow  the  sun's  setting 
Behind  us  we  perceived,  I  and  my  Sages. 

And  ere  in  all  its  parts  immeasurable  70 

The  horizon  of  one  aspect  had  become. 
And  Night  her  boundless  dispensation  held. 

Each  of  Gs  of  a  stair  had  made  his  bed ; 

Because  the  nature  of  the  mount  took  from  us 

The  power  of  climbing,  more  than  the  delight.       75 

Even  as  in  ruminating  passive  grow 

The  goats,  who  have  been  swift  and  venturesorne 
Upon  the  mountain-tops  ere  they  were  fed. 

Hushed  in  the  shadow,  while  the  sun  is  hot. 

Watched  by  the  herdsman,  who  upon  his  staff         s© 
Is  leaning,  and  in  leaning  tendeth  them ; 

And  as  the  shepherd,  lodging  out  of  doors. 
Passes  the  night  beside  his  quiet  flock. 
Watching  that  no  wild  beast  may  scatter  it. 

Such  at  that  hour  were  we,  all  three  of  us,  85 

I  like  the  goat,  and  like  the  herdsmen  they. 
Begirt  on  this  side  and  on  that  by  rocks. 

Little  could  there  be  seen  of  things  without ; 
But  through  that  little  I  beheld  the  stars 
More  luminous  and  larger  than  their  wont.  90 


Picrgatorio  xxvii.  175 

Thus  ruminating,  and  beholding  these. 

Sleep  seized  upon  me,  —  sleep,  that  oftentimes 
Before  a  deed  is  done  has  tidings  of  it. 

It  was  the  hour,  I  think,  when  from  the  East 

First  on  the  mountain  Citherea  beamed,  9S 

Who  with  the  fire  of  love  seems  always  burning ; 

Youthful  and  beautiful  in  dreams  methought 
I  saw  a  lady  walking  in  a  meadow. 
Gathering  flowers;  and  singing  she  was  saying: 

"Know  whosoever  may  my  name  demand  loo 

That  I  am  Leah,  and  go  moving  round 
My  beauteous  hands  to  make  myself  a  garland. 

To  please  me  at  the  mirror,  here  I  deck  me. 
But  never  does  my  sister  Rachel  leave 
Her  looking-glass,  and  sitteth  all  day  long.  105 

To  see  her  beauteous  eyes  as  eager  is  she. 
As  I  am  to  adorn  me  with  my  hands ; 
Her,  seeing,  and  me,  doing  satisfies." 

And  now  before  the  antelucan  splendors 

That  unto  pilgrims  the  more  grateful  rise,  "o 

As,  home-returning,  less  remote  they  lodge. 

The  darkness  fled  away  on  every  side. 

And  slumber  with  it ;  whereupon  I  rose. 
Seeing  already  the  great  Masters  risen. 


176  The  Divine  Comedy 

"That  apple  sweet,  which  through  so  many  branches    115 
The  care  of  mortals  goeth  in  pursuit  of, 
To-day  shall  put  in  peace  thy  hungerings." 

Speaking  to  me,  Virgilius  of  such  words 

As  these  made  use;  and  never  were  there  guerdons 
That  could  in  pleasantness  compare  with  these.       120 

Such  longing  upon  longing  came  upon  me 
To  be  above,  that  at  each  step  thereafter 
For  flight  I  felt  in  me  the  pinions  growing. 

When  underneath  us  was  the  stairway  all 

Run  o'er,  and  we  were  on  the  highest  step,  125 

Virgilius  fastened  upon  me  his  eyes. 

And  said:   "The  temporal  fire  and  the  eternal. 
Son,  thou  hast  seen,  and  to  a  plabe  art  come 
Where  of  myself  no  farther  I  discern. 

By  intellect  and  art  I  here  have  brought  thee;  13° 

Take  thine  own  pleasure  for  thy  guide  henceforth ; 
Beyond  the  steep  ways  and  the  narrow  art  thou. 

Behold  the  sun,  that  shines  upon  thy  forehead; 

Behold  the  grass,  the  flowerets,  and  the  shrubs 
Which  of  itself  alone  this  land  produces.  13s 

Until  rejoicing  come  the  beauteous  eyes 

Which  weeping  caused  me  to  come  unto  thee. 
Thou  canst  sit  down,  and  thou  canst  walk  among  them. 


Ptiv gator io  xxvii.  177 

Expect  no  more  or  word  or  sign  from  me ; 

Free  and  upright  and  sound  is  thy  free-will,  140 

And  error  were  it  not  to  do  its  bidding ; 

Thee  o'er  thyself  I  therefore  crown  and  mitre ! " 


23 


CANTO     XXVIII. 

IMAGER  already  to  search  in  and  round 

The  heavenlyforest,  dense  and  Hving-green, 
Which  tempered  to  the  eyes  the  new-born  day, 

Withouten  more  delay  I  left  the  bank, 

Taking  the  level  country  slowly,  slowly  5 

Over  the  soil  that  everywhere  breathes  fragrance. 

A  softly-breathing  air,  that  no  mutation 

Had  in  itself,  upon  the  forehead  smote  me 
No  heavier  blow  than  of  a  gentle  wind. 

Whereat  the  branches,  lightly  tremulous,  10 

Did  all  of  them  bow  downward  toward  that  side 
Where  its  first  shadow  casts  the  Holy  Mountain; 

Yet  not  from  their  upright  direction  swayed. 
So  that  the  little  birds  upon  their  tops 
Should  leave  the  practice  of  each  art  of  theirs ;         15 

But  with  full  ravishment  the  hours  of  prime. 

Singing,  received  they  in  the  midst  of  leaves. 
That  ever  bore  a  burden  to  their  rhymes. 


Pztr gator io  xxviii.  179 

Such  as  from  branch  to  branch  goes  gathering  on 

Through  the  pine  forest  on  the  shore  of  Chiassi,      ao 
When  Eolus  unlooses  the  Sirocco. 

Aheady  my  slow  steps  had  carried  me 
Into  the  ancient  wood  so  far,  that  I 
Could  not  perceive  where  I  had  entered  it. 

And  lo!  my  further  course  a  stream  cut  off,  as 

Which  tow'rd  the  left  hand  with  its  little  waves 
Bent  down  the  grass  that  on  its  margin  sprang. 

All  waters  that  on  earth  most  limpid  are 

Would  seem  to  have  within  themselves  some  mixture 
Compared  with  that  which  nothing  doth  conceal,  30 

Although  it  moves  on  with  a  brown,  brown  current 
Under  the  shade  perpetual,  that  never 
Ray  of  the  sun  lets  in,  nor  of  the  moon. 

With  feet  I  stayed,  and  with  mine  eyes  I  passed 

Beyond  the  rivulet,  to  look  upon  3S 

The  great  variety  of  the  fresh  may. 

And  there  appeared  to  me  (even  as  appears 
Suddenly  something  that  doth  turn  aside 
Through  very  wonder  every  other  thought) 

A  lady  all  alone,  who  went  along  40 

Singing  and  culling  floweret  after  floweret. 
With  which  her  pathway  was  all  painted  over. 


i8o  The  Divine  Comedy 

"Ah,  beauteous  lady,  who  in  rays  of  love 

Dost  warm  thyself,  if  I  may  trust  to  looks, 

Which  the  heart's  witnesses  are  wont  to  be,  4s 

May  the  desire  come  unto  thee  to  draw 

Near  to  this  river's  bank,"  I  said  to  her, 

"So  much  that  I  may  hear  what  thou  art  singing. 

Thou  makest  me  remember  where  and  what 

Proserpina  that  moment  was  when  lost  50 

Her  mother  her,  and  she  herself  the  Spring.'* 

As  turns  herself,  with  feet  together  pressed 

And  to  the  ground,  a  lady  who  is  dancing. 
And  hardly  puts  one  foot  before  the  other. 

On  the  vermilion  and  the  yellow  flowerets  5s 

She  turned  towards  me,  not  in  other  wise 
Than  maiden  who  her  modest  eyes  casts  down  ; 

And  my  entreaties  made  to  be  content. 

So  near  approaching,  that  the  dulcet  sound 

Came  unto  me  together  with  its  meaning.  60 

As  soon  as  she  was  where  the  grasses  are 

Bathed  by  the  waters  of  the  beauteous  river. 
To  lift  her  eyes  she  granted  me  the  boon. 

I  do  not  think  there  shone  so  great  a  light 

Under  the  lids  of  Venus,  when  transfixed  65 

By  her  own  son,  beyond  his  usual  custom! 


Purgatorzo  xxviii.  i8i 

Erect  upon  the  other  bank  she  smiled. 

Bearing  full  many  colors  in  her  hands. 
Which  that  high  land  produces  without  seed. 

Apart  three  paces  did  the  river  make  us;  70 

But  Hellespont,  where  Xerxes  passed  across, 
(A  curb  still  to  all  human  arrogance,) 

More  hatred  from  Leander  did  not  suffer 
For  rolling  between  Sestos  and  Abydos, 
Than  that  from  me,  because  it  oped  not  then.  75 

"Ye  are  new-comers;  and  because  I  smile,'* 
Began  she,  "  peradventure,  in  this  place 
Elect  to  human  nature  for  its  nest. 

Some  apprehension  keeps  you  marvelling; 

But  the  psalm  Delectasti  giveth  light  80 

Which  has  the  power  to  uncloud  your  intellect. 

And  thou  who  foremost  art,  and  didst  entreat  me. 

Speak,  if  thou  wouldst  hear  more;  for  I  came  ready 
To  all  thy  questionings,  as  far  as  needful." 

"  The  water,"  said  I,  "  and  the  forest's  sound,  85 

Are  combating  within  me  my  new  faith 
In  something  which  I  heard  opposed  to  this.'* 

Whence  she  :  "  I  will  relate  how  from  its  cause 

Proceedeth  that  which  maketh  thee  to  wonder. 
And  purge  away  the  cloud  that  smites  upon  thee.    9° 


i82  The  Divine  Comedy 

The  Good  Supreme,  sole  in  itself  delighting. 
Created  man  good,  and  this  goodly  place 
Gave  him  as  hansel  of  eternal  peace. 

By  his  default  short  while  he  sojourned  here; 

By  his  default  to  weeping  and  to  toil  95 

He  changed  his  innocent  laughter  and  sweet  play. 

That  the  disturbance  which  below  is  made  . 
By  exhalations  of  the  land  and  water, 
(Which  far  as  may  be  follow  after  heat,) 

Might  not  upon  mankind  wage  any  war,  100 

This  mount  ascended  tow'rds  the  heaven  so  high. 
And  is  exempt,  from  there  where  it  is  locked. 

Now  since  the  universal  atmosphere 

Turns  in  a  circuit  with  the  primal  motion 

Unless  the  circle  is  broken  on  some  side,  105 

Upon  this  height,  that  all  is  disengaged 

In  living  ether,  doth  this  motion  strike 
And  make  the  forest  sound,  for  it  is  dense; 

And  so  much  power  the  stricken  plant  possesses 

That  with  its  virtue  it  impregns  the  air,  no 

And  this,  revolving,  scatters  it  around; 

And  yonder  earth,  according  as  't  is  worthy 

In  self  or  in  its  clime,  conceives  and  bears 
Of  divers  qualities  the  divers  trees  ; 


Pttrgatorio  xxviil  183 

It  should  not  seem  a  marvel  then  on  earth,  us 

This  being  heard,  whenever  any  plant 

Without  seed  manifest  there  taketh  root. 
And  thou  must  know,  this  holy  table-land 

In  which  thou  art  is  full  of  every  seed. 

And  fruit  has  in  it  never  gathered  there.  120 

The  water  which  thou  seest  springs  not  from  vein 

Restored  by  vapor  that  the  cold  condenses. 

Like  to  a  stream  that  gains  or  loses  breath ; 
But  issues  from  a  fountain  safe  and  certain. 

Which  by  the  will  of  God  as  much  regains  1*5 

As  it  discharges,  open  on  two  sides. 
Upon  this  side  with  virtue  it  descends. 

Which  takes  away  all  memory  of  sin; 

On  that,  of  every  good  deed  done  restores  it. 
Here  Lethe,  as  upon  the  other  side  130 

Eunoe,  it  is  called;  and  worketh  not 

If  first  on  either  side  it  be  not  tasted. 
This  every  other  savor  doth  transcend; 

And  notwithstanding  slaked  so  far  may  be 

Thy  thirst,  that  I  reveal  to  thee  no  more,  13s 

I  '11  give  thee  a  corollary  still  in  grace. 

Nor  think  my  speech  will  be  to  thee  less  dear 

If  it  spread  out  beyond  my  promise  to  thee. 


184  TJie  Divine  Comedy 

Those  who  in  ancient  times  have  feigned  in  song 

The  Age  of  Gold  and  its  feHcity,  140 

Dreamed  of  .this  place  perhaps  upon  Parnassus. 

Here  was  the  human  race  in  innocence ; 

Here  evermore  was  Spring,  and  every  fruit; 
This  is  the  nectar  of  which  each  one  speaks." 

Then  backward  did  I  turn  me  wholly  round  14s 

Unto  my  Poets,  and  saw  that  with  a  smile 
They  had  been  listening  to  these  closing  words; 

Then  to  the  beautiful  lady  turned  mine  eyes. 


CANTO     XXIX, 

QINGING  like  unto  an  enamoured  lady 

She,  with  the  ending  of  her  words,  continued  : 
"  Beati  quorum  tecta  sunt  peccataj" 

And  even  as  Nymphs,  that  wandered  all  alone 

Among  the  sylvan  shadows,  sedulous  s 

One  to  avoid  and  one  to  see  the  sun. 

She  then  against  the  stream  moved  onward,  going 
Along  the  bank,  and  I  abreast  of  her. 
Her  little  steps  with  little  steps  attending. 

Between  her  steps  and  mine  were  not  a  hundred,  lo 

When  equally  the  margins  gave  a  turn. 
In  such  a  way,  that  to  the  East  I  faced. 

Nor  even  thus  our  way  continued  far 

Before  the  lady  wholly  turned  herself 

Unto  me,  saying,  "Brother,  look  and  listen!"  15 

And  lo !  a  sudden  lustre  ran  across 

On  every  side  athwart  the  spacious  forest. 
Such  that  it  made  me  doubt  if  it  were  lightning. 
24 


1 86  The  Divine  Comedy 

But  since  the  lightning  ceases  as  it  comes. 

And  that  continuing  brightened  more  and  more,      20 
Within  my  thought  I  said,  "What  thing  is  this?" 

And  a  delicious  melody  there  ran 

Along  the  luminous  air,  whence  holy  zeal 
Made  me  rebuke  the  hardihood  of  Eve; 

For  there  where  earth  and  heaven  obedient  were,  25 

The  woman  only,  and  but  just  created. 
Could  not  endure  to  stay  'neath  any  veil; 

Underneath  which  had  she  devoutly  stayed, 
I  sooner  should  have  tasted  those  delights 
Ineffable,  and  for  a  longer  time.  30 

While  'mid  such  manifold  first-fruits  I  walked 
Of  the  eternal  pleasure  all  enrapt. 
And  still  solicitous  of  more  delights. 

In  front  of  us  like  an  enkindled  fire 

Became  the  air  beneath  the  verdant  boughs,  3s 

And  the  sweet  sound  as  singing  now  was  heard. 

O  Virgins  sacrosanct !  if  ever  hunger. 

Vigils,  or  cold  for  you  I  have  endured. 

The  occasion  spurs  me  their  reward  to  claim ! 

Now  Helicon  must  needs  pour  forth  for  me,  40 

And  with  her  choir  Urania  must  assist  me. 
To  put  in  verse  things  difficult  to  think. 


Ptcrgatorw  xxix.  187 

A  little  farther  on,  seven  trees  of  gold 

In  semblance  the  long  space  still  intervening 
Between  ourselves  and  them  did  counterfeit ;  4s 

But  when  I  had  approached  so  near  to  them 

The  common  object,  which  the  sense  deceives. 
Lost  not  by  distance  any  of  its  marks. 

The  faculty  that  lends  discourse  to  reason 

Did  apprehend  that  they  were  candlesticks,  50 

And  in  the  voices  of  the  song  "Hosanna!" 

Above  them  flamed  the  harness  beautiful. 

Far  brighter  than  the  moon  in  the  serene 
Of  midnight,  at  the  middle  of  her  month. 

I  turned  me  round,  with  admiration  filled,  5S 

To  good  Virgilius,  and  he  answered  me 
With  visage  no  less  full  of  wonderment. 

Then  back  I  turned  my  face  to  those  high  things. 
Which  moved  themselves  towards  us  so  sedately, 
They  had  been  distanced  by  new-wedded  brides.     60 

The  lady  chid  me:   "Why  dost  thou  burn  only 
So  with  affection  for  the  living  lights. 
And  dost  not  look  at  what  comes  after  them  ? " 

Then  saw  I  people,  as  behind  their  leaders. 

Coming  behind  them,  garmented  in  white,  6s 

And  such  a  whiteness  never  was  on  earth. 


1 88  The  Divine  Covicdy 

The  water  on  my  left  flank  was  resplendent. 

And  back  to  me  reflected  my  left  side. 

E'en  as  a  mirror,  if  I  looked  therein. 
When  I  upon  my  margin  had  such  post  70 

That  nothing  but  the  stream  divided  us. 

Better  to  see  I  gave  my  steps  repose ; 
And  I  beheld  the  flamelets  onward  go, 

Leaving  behind  themselves  the  air  depicted. 

And  they  of  trailing  pennons  had  the  semblance,     75 
So  that  it  overhead  remained  distinct 

With  sevenfold  lists,  all  of  them  of  the  colors 

Whence  the  sun's  bow  is  made,  and  Delia's  girdle. 
These  standards  to  the  rearward  longer  were 

Than  was  my  sight;  and,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  80 

Ten  paces  were  the  outermost  apart. 
Under  so  fair  a  heaven  as  I  describe 

The  four  and  twenty  Elders,  two  by  two. 

Came  on  incoronate  with  flower-de-luce. 
They  all  of  them  were  singing:   "Blessed  thou  85 

Among  the  daughters  of  Adam  art,  and  blessed 

Forevermore  shall  be  thy  loveliness." 
After  the  flowers  and  other  tender  grasses 

In  front  of  me  upon  the  other  margin 

Were  disencumbered  of  that  race  elect,  9° 


Pttr gator io  xxix.  189 

Even  as  in  heaven  star  fqlloweth  after  star. 

There  came  close  after  them  four  animals, 
Incoronate  each  one  with  verdant  leaf. 

Plumed  with  six  wings  was  every  *one  of  them. 

The  plumage  full  of  eyes  ;   the  eyes  of  Argus  95 

If  they  were  living  would  be  such  as  these. 

Reader!  to  trace  their  forms  no  more  I  waste 

My  rhymes;  for  other  spendings  press  me  so. 
That  I  in  this  cannot  be  prodigal. 

But  read  Ezekiel,  who  depicteth  them  100 

As  he  beheld  them  from  the  region  cold 
Coming  with  cloud,  with  whirlwind,  and  with  fire; 

And  such  as  thou  shalt  find  them  in  his  pages. 

Such  were  they  here;  saving  that  in  their  plumage 
John  is  with  me,  and  differeth  from  him.  105 

The  interval  between  these  four  contained 
A  chariot  triumphal  on  two  wheels. 
Which  by  a  Griffin's  neck  came  drawn  along; 

And  upward  he  extended  both  his  wings 

Between  the  middle  list  and  three  and  three,  no 

So  that  he  injured  none  by  cleaving  it. 

So  high  they  rose  that  they  were  lost  to  sight ; 
His  limbs  were  gold,  so  far  as  he  was  bird. 
And  white  the  others  with  vermilion  mingled. 


190  TJie  Divine  Comedy 

Not  only  Rome  with  no  such  splendid  car  115 

E'er  gladdened  Africanus,  or  Augustus, 
But  poor  to  it  that  of  the  Sun  would  be,  — 

That  of  the  Sun,  which  swerving  was  burnt  up 
At  the  importunate  orison  of  Earth, 
When  Jove  was  so  mysteriously  just.  120 

Three  maidens  at  the  right  wheel  in  a  circle 
Came  onward  dancing ;  one  so  very  red 
That  in  the  fire  she  hardly  had  been  noted. 

The  second  was  as  if  her  flesh  and  bones 

Had  all  been  fashioned  out  of  emerald  ;  ^s 

The  third  appeared  as  snow  but  newly  fallen. 

And  now  they  seemed  conducted  by  the  white. 
Now  by  the  red,  and  from  the  song  of  her 
The  others  took  their  step,  or  slow  or  swift. 

Upon  the  left  hand  four  made  holiday  13° 

Vested  in  purple,  following  the  measure 
Of  one  of  them  with  three  eyes  in  her  head. 

In  rear  of  all  the  group  here  treated  of 

Two  old  men  I  beheld,  unlike  in  habit. 

But  like  in  gait,  each  dignified  and  grave.  135 

One  showed  himself  as  one  of  the  disciples 

Of  that  supreme  Hippocrates,  whom  nature 
Made  for  the  animals  she  holds  most  dear; 


Ptirgatorio  xxix.  191 

Contrary  care  the  other  manifested. 

With  sword  so  shining  and  so  sharp,  it  caused         ho 
Terror  to  me  on  this  side  of  the  river. 

Thereafter  four  I  saw  of  humble  aspect. 
And  behind  all  an  aged  man  alone 
Walking  in  sleep  with  countenance  acute. 

And  like  the  foremost  company  these  seven  145 

Were  habited;  yet  of  the  flower-de-luce 
No  garland  round  about  the  head  they  wore. 

But  of  the  rose,  and  other  flowers  vermilion; 

At  little  distance  would  the  sight  have  sworn 

That  all  were  in  a  flame  above  their  brows.  150 

And  when  the  car  was  opposite  to  me 

Thunder  was  heard ;  and  all  that  folk  august 
Seemed  to  have  further  progress  interdicted. 

There  with  the  vanward  ensigns  standing  still. 


CANTO     XXX. 

'\"irHEN  the  Septentrion  of  the  highest  heaven 
(Which  never  either  setting  knew  or  rising, 
Nor  veil  of  other  cloud  than  that  of  sin. 

And  which  made  every  one  therein  aware 

Of  his  own  duty,  as  the  lower  makes  5 

Whoever  turns  the  helm  to  come  to  port) 

Motionless  halted,  the  veracious  people. 

That  came  at  first  between  it  and  the  Griffin, 
Turned  themselves  to  the  car,  as  to  their  peace. 

And  one  of  them,  as  if  by  Heaven  commissioned,  10 

Singing,  ^'■Veni,  s pons  a,  de  Liba?to*' 
Shouted  three  times,  and  all  the  others  after. 

Even  as  the  Blessed  at  the  final  summons 

Shall  rise  up  quickened  each  one  from  his  cavern, 
Uplifting  light  the  reinvested  flesh,  is 

So  upon  that  celestial  chariot 

A  hundred  rose  ad  vocem  tanti  senis. 
Ministers  and  messengers  of  life  eternal. 


Pur  gator  io  xxx.  193 

They  all  were  saying,  ^^Benedictiis  qui  venisy' 

And,  scattering  flowers  above  and  round  about,         20 
^^  Manibus  0  date  lilia  pknis." 

Ere  now  have  I  beheld,  as  day  began. 

The  eastern  hemisphere  all  tinged  with  rose, 
And  the  other  heaven  with  fair  serene  adorned ; 

And  the  sun's  face,  uprising,  overshadowed  25 

So  that  by  tempering  influence  of  vapors 
For  a  long  interval  the  eye  sustained  it ; 

Thus  in  the  bosom  of  a  cloud  of  flowers 

Which  from  those  hands  angelical  ascended. 

And  downward  fell  again  inside  and  out,  3° 

Over  her  snow-white  veil  with  olive  cinct 
Appeared  a  lady  under  a  green  mantle, 
Vested  in  color  of  the  living  flame. 

And  my  own  spirit,  that  already  now 

So  long  a  time  had  been,  that  in  her  presence  3s 

Trembling  with  awe  it  had  not  stood  abashed. 

Without  more  knowledge  having  by  mine  eyes. 

Through  occult  virtue  that  from  her  proceeded 
Of  ancient  love  the  mighty  influence  felt. 

As  soon  as  on  my  vision  smote  the  power  4° 

Sublime,  that  had  already  pierced  me  through 
Ere  from  my  boyhood  I  had  yet  come  forth, 
25 


194  The  Divine  Comedy 

To  the  left  hand  I  turned  with  that  reliance 

With  which  the  little  child  runs  to  his  mother. 

When  he  has  fear,  or  when  he  is  afflicted,  4s 

To  say  unto  Virgilius:   "Not  a  drachm 

Of  blood  remains  in  me,  that  does  not  tremble; 

I  know  the  traces  of  the  ancient  flame.'* 
But  us  Virgilius  of  himself  deprived 

Had  left,  Virgilius,  sweetest  of  all  fathers,  50 

Virgilius,  to  whom  I  for  safety  gave  me : 
Nor  whatsoever  lost  the  ancient  mother 

Availed  my  cheeks  now  purified  from  dew. 

That  weeping  they  should  not  again  be  darkened. 
"  Dante,  because  Virgilius  has  departed  ss 

Do  not  weep  yet,  do  not  weep  yet  awhile; 

For  by  another  sword  thou  need'st  must  weep." 
E'en  as  an  admiral,  who  on  poop  and  prow 

Comes  to  behold  the  people  that  are  working 

In  other  ships,  and  cheers  them  to  well-doing,        ,  60 
Upon  the  left  hand  border  of  the  car. 

When  at  the  sound  I  turned  of  my  own  name. 

Which  of  necessity  is  here  recorded, 
I  saw  the  Lady,  who  erewhile  appeared 

Veiled  underneath  the  angelic  festival,  65 

Direct  her  eyes  to  me  across  the  river. 


Ptcr gator io  xxx.  195 

Although  the  veil,  that  from  her  head  descended, 
Encircled  with  the  foliage  of  Minerva, 
Did  not  permit  her  to  appear  distinctly. 

In  attitude  still  royally  majestic  70 

Continued  she,  like  unto  one  who  speaks. 
And  keeps  his  warmest  utterance  in  reserve : 

"Look  at  me  well;  in  sooth  I'm  Beatrice! 

How  didst  thou  deign  to  come  unto  the  Mountain  ? 
Didst  thou  not  know  that  man  is  happy  here  ?"       75 

Mine  eyes  fell  downward  into  the  clear  fountain. 
But,  seeing  myself  therein,  I  sought  the  grass. 
So  great  a  shame  did  weigh  my  forehead  down. 

As  to  the  son  the  mother  seems  superb, 

So  she  appeared  to  me;  for  somewhat  bitter  80 

Tasteth  the  savor  of  severe  compassion. 

Silent  became  she,  and  the  Angels  sang 
Suddenly,  "/«  te,  Domine,  speravi'' : 
But  beyond  pedes  meos  did  not  pass. 

Even  as  the  snow  among  the  living  rafters  8s 

Upon  the  back  of  Italy  congeals. 
Blown  on  and  drifted  by  Sclavonian  winds, 

And  then,  dissolving,  trickles  through  itself 

Whene'er  the  land  that  loses  shadow  breathes. 

So  that  it  seems  a  fire  that  melts  a  taper;  90 


196  The  Divine  Comedy 

E'en  thus  was  I  without  a  tear  or  sigh, 

Before  the  song  of  those  who  sing  forever 
After  the  music  of  the  eternal  spheres. 

But  when  I  heard  in  their  sweet  melodies 

Compassion  for  me,  more  than  had  they  said,  95 

"  O  wherefore,  lady,  dost  thou  thus  upbraid  him  ?  " 

The  ice,  that  was  about  my  heart  congealed. 

To  air  and  water  changed,  and  in  my  anguish 
Through  mouth  and  eyes  came  gushing  from  my  breast. 

She,  on  the  right-hand  border  of  the  car  100 

Still  firmly  standing,  to  those  holy  beings 
Thus  her  discourse  directed  afterwards: 

"Ye  keep  your  watch  in  the  eternal  day. 

So  that  nor  night  nor  sleep  can  steal  from  you 

One  step  the  ages  make  upon  their  path;  105 

Therefore  my  answer  is  with  greater  care. 

That  he  may  hear  me  who  is  weeping  yonder. 
So  that  the  sin  and  dole  be  of  one  measure. 

Not  only  by  the  work  of  those  great  wheels. 

That  destine  every  seed  unto  some  end,  no 

According  as  the  stars  are  in  conjunction. 

But  by  the  largess  of  celestial  graces. 

Which  have  such  lofty  vapors  for  their  rain 
That  near  to  them  our  sight  approaches  not. 


Ptirgatorw  xxx.  197 

Such  had  this  man  become  in  his  new  life  115 

Potentially,  that  every  righteous  habit 
Would  have  made  admirable  proof  in  him ; 

But  so  much  more  malignant  and  more  savage 

Becomes  the  land  unfilled  and  with  bad  seed, 

The  more  good  earthly  vigor  it  possesses.  lao 

Some  time  did  I  sustain  him  with  my  look ;   . 
Revealing  unto  him  my  youthful  eyes, 
I  led  him  with  me  turned  in  the  right  way. 

As  soon  as  ever  of  my  second  age 

I  was  upon  the  threshold  and  changed  life,  125 

Himself  from  me  he  took  and  gave  to  others. 

When  from  the  flesh  to  spirit  I  ascended. 

And  beauty  and  virtue  were  in  me  increased, 
I  was  to  him  less  dear  and  less  delightful; 

And  into  ways  untrue  he  turned  his  steps,  130 

Pursuing  the  false  images  of  good. 
That  never  any  promises  fulfil; 

Nor  prayer  for  inspiration  me  availed. 

By  means  of  which  in  dreams  and  otherwise 

I  called  him  back,  so  little  did  he  heed  them.  135 

So  low  he  fell,  that  all  appliances 

For  his  salvation  were  already  short. 
Save  showing  him  the  people  of  perdition. 


19S  The  Dii'i/iC  CoweiJy 

For  this  I  visited  the  gates  of  death. 

And  unto  hitn,  who  so  far  up  has  led  him,  14° 

My  intercessions  were  with  weeping  borne. 
God's  lofty  fiat  would  be  violated, 

If  Lethe  should  be  passed,  and  if  such  viands 

Should  tasted  be,  withouten  any  scot 
Of  penitence,  that  gushes  forth  in  tears."  us 


CANTO    XXXI, 

*'(~\  THOU  who  art  beyond  the  sacred  river,'* 
Turning  to  me  the  point  of  her  discourse. 
That  edgewise  even  had  seemed  to  me  so  keen. 

She  recommenced,  continuing  without  pause, 

"  Say,  say  if  this  be  true  ;  to  such  a  charge,  5 

Thy  own  confession  needs  must  be  conjoined." 

My  faculties  were  in  so  great  confusion, 

That  the  voice  moved,  but  sooner  was  extinct 
Than  by  its  organs  it  was  set  at  large. 

Awhile  she  waited  ;  then  she  said  :   "What  thinkest  ?      1° 
Answer  me;  for  the  mournful  memories 
In  thee  not  yet  are  by  the  waters  injured.'* 

Confusion  and  dismay  together  mingled 

Forced  such  a  Yes !  from  out  my  mouth,  that  sight 
Was  needful  to  the  understanding  of  it.  15 

Even  as  a  cross-bow  breaks,  when  'tis  discharged 
Too  tensely  drawn  the  bowstring  and  the  bow. 
And  with  less  force  the  arrow  hits  the  mark. 


200  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

So  I  gave  way  beneath  that  heavy  burden, 

Outpouring  in  a  torrent  tears  and  sighs,  20 

And  the  voice  flagged  upon  its  passage  forth. 

Whence  she  to  me:   "In  those  desires  of  mine 
Which  led  thee  to  the  loving  of  that  good. 
Beyond  which  there  is  nothing  to  aspire  to. 

What  trenches  lying  traverse  or  what  chains  as 

Didst  thou  discover,  that  of  passing  onward 
Thou  shouldst  have  thus  despoiled  thee  of  the  hope? 

And  what  allurements  or  what  vantages 

Upon  the  forehead  of  the  others  showed. 

That  thou  shouldst  turn  thy  footsteps  unto  them  ?  " 

After  the  heaving  of  a  bitter  sigh,  31 

Hardly  had  I  the  voice  to  make  response. 
And  with  fatigue  my  lips  did  fashion  it. 

Weeping  I  said  :   "The  things  that  present  were 

With  their  false  pleasure  turned  aside  my  steps,         3s 
Soon  as  your  countenance  concealed  itself." 

And  she:  "Shouldst  thou  be  silent,  or  deny 
What  thou  confessest,  not  less  manifest 
Would  be  thy  fault,  by  such  a  Judge  'tis  known. 

But  when  from  one's  own  cheeks  comes  bursting  forth  4° 
The  accusal  of  the  sin,  in  our  tribunal 
Against  the  edge  the  wheel  doth  turn  itself. 


Pttr gator io  xxxi.  201 

But  still,  that  thou  mayst  feel  a  greater  shame 
For  thy  transgression,  and  another  time 
Hearing  the  Sirens  thou  mayst  be  more  strong,        45 

Cast  down  the  seed  of  weeping  and  attend ; 

So  shalt  thou  hear,  how  in  an  opposite  way 
My  buried  flesh  should  have  directed  thee. 

Never  to  thee  presented  art  or  nature 

Pleasure  so  great  as  the  fair  limbs  wherein  5° 

I  was  enclosed,  which  scattered  are  in  earth. 

Ana  if  the  highest  pleasure  thus  did  fail  thee 
By  reason  of  my  death,  what  mortal  thing 
Should  then  have  drawn  thee  into  its  desire  ? 

Thou  oughtest  verily  at  the  first  shaft  s^ 

Of  things  fallacious  to  have  risen  up 
To  follow  me,  who  was  no  longer  such. 

Thou  oughtest  not  to  have  stooped  thy  pinions  downward 
To  wait  for  further  blows,  or  little  girl. 
Or  other  vanity  of  such  brief  use.  60 

The  callow  birdlet  waits  for  two  or  three. 
But  to  the  eyes  of  those  already  fledged. 
In  vain  the  net  is  spread  or  shaft  is  shot." 

Even  as  children  silent  in  their  shame 

Stand  listening  with  their  eyes  upon  the  ground,      65 
And  conscious  of  their  fault,  and  penitent ; 
26 


202  TJie  Divine  Comedy 

So  was  I  standing;  and  she  said:   **  If  thou 

In  hearing  sufferest  pain,  lift  up  thy  beard 
And  thou  shalt  feel  a  greater  pain  in  seeing." 

With  less  resistance  is  a  robust  holm  70 

Uprooted,  either  by  a  native  wind 
Or  else  by  that  from  regions  of  larbas. 

Than  I  upraised  at  her  command  my  chin ; 

And  when  she  by  the  beard  the  face  demanded. 
Well  I  perceived  the  venom  of  her  meaning.  75 

And  as  my  countenance  was  lifted  up. 

Mine  eye  perceived  those  creatures  beautiful 
Had  rested  from  the  strewing  of  the  flowers; 

And,  still  but  little  reassured,  mine  eyes 

Saw  Beatrice  turned  round  towards  the  monster,      80 
That  is  one  person  only  in  two  natures. 

Beneath  her  veil,  beyond  the  margent  green. 

She  seemed  to  me  far  more  her  ancient  self 
To  excel,  than  others  here,  when  she  was  here. 

So  pricked  me  then  the  thorn  of  penitence,  ss 

That  of  all  other  things  the  one  which  turned  me 
Most  to  its  love  became  the  most  my  foe. 

Such  self-conviction  stung  me  at  the  heart 

O'erpowered  I  fell,  and  what  I  then  became 

She  knoweth  who  had  furnished  me  the  cause.         90 


Ptcrgatorio  xxxi.  203 

Then,  when  the  heart  restored  my  outward  sense. 
The  lady  I  had  found  alone,  above  me 
I  saw,  and  she  was  saying,  "Hold  me,  hold  me." 

Up  to  my  throat  she  in  the  stream  had  drawn  me. 

And,  dragging  me  behind  her,  she  was  moving         95 
Upon  the  water  lightly  as  a  shuttle. 

When  I  was  near  unto  the  blessed  shore, 

^^Asperges  me,"  I  heard  so  sweetly  sung. 
Remember  it  I  cannot,  much  less  write  it. 

The  beautiful  lady  opened  wide  her  arms,  100 

Embraced  my  head,  and  plunged  me  underneath. 
Where  I  was  forced  to  swallow  of  the  water. 

Then  forth  she  drew  me,  and  all  dripping  brought 
Into  the  dance  of  the  four  beautiful. 
And  each  one  with  her  arm  did  cover  me.  105 

"We  here  are  Nymphs,  and  in  the  Heaven  are  stars; 
Ere  Beatrice  descended  to  the  world. 
We  as  her  handmaids  were  appointed  her. 

We'll  lead  thee  to  her  eyes;  but  for  the  pleasant 

Light  that  within  them  is,  shall  sharpen  thine         no 
The  three  beyond,  who  more  profoundly  look." 

Thus  singing  they  began;  and  afterwards 

Unto  the  Griffin's  breast  they  led  me  with  them. 
Where  Beatrice  was  standing,  turned  towards  us. 


204  ^/^^  Divine  Conicdy 

"See  that  thou  dost  not  spare  thine  eyes,"  they  said;      us 
"Before  the  emeralds  have  we  stationed  thee, 
Whence  Love  aforetime  drew  for  thee  his  weapons." 

A  thousand  longings,  hotter  than  the  flame. 

Fastened  mine  eyes  upon  those  eyes  relucent, 

That  still  upon  the  Griffin  steadfast  stayed.  "q 

As  in  a  glass  the  sun,  not  otherwise 

Within  them  was  the  twofold  monster  shining, 
Now  with  the  one,  now  with  the  other  nature. 

Think,  Reader,  if  within  myself  I  marvelled. 

When  I  beheld  the  thing  itself  stand  still,  '^s 

And  in  its  image  it  transformed  itself. 

While  with  amazement  filled  and  jubilant. 

My  soul  was  tasting  of  the  food,  that  while 
It  satisfies  us  makes  us  hunger  for  it. 

Themselves  reveahng  of  the  highest  rank  130 

In  bearing,  did  the  other  three  advance, 
Sinsine  to  their  an2:elic  saraband. 

"  Turn,  Beatrice,  O  turn  thy  holy  eyes," 

Such  was  their  song,  "unto  thy  faithful  one. 

Who  has  to  see  thee  ta'en  so  many  steps.  13s 

In  grace  do  us  the  grace  that  thou  unveil 

Thy  face  to  him,  so  that  he  may  discern 
The  second  beauty  which  thou  dost  conceal." 


Ptirmtorio  xxxi.  20; 


<*> 


O  splendor  of  the  living  light  eternal! 

Who  underneath  the  shadow  of  Parnassus  140 

Has  grown  so  pale,  or  drunk  so  at  its  cistern, 

He  would  not  seem  to  have  his  mind  encumbered 
Striving  to  paint  thee  as  thou  didst  appear. 
Where  the  harmonious  heaven  o'ershadowed  thee. 

When  in  the  open  air  thou  didst  unveil  ?  H5 


CANTO     XXXII. 

00  steadfast  arid  attentive  were  mine  eyes 
In  satisfying  their  decennial  thirst. 
That  all  my  other  senses  were  extinct, 

And  upon  this  side  and  on  that  they  had 

Walls  of  indifference,  so  the  holy  smile  s 

Drew  them  unto  itself  with  the  old  net; 

When  forcibly  my  sight  was  turned  away 

Towards  my  left  hand  by  those  goddesses. 
Because  I  heard  from  them  a  "Too  intently!" 

And  that  condition  of  the  sight  which  is  lo 

In  eyes  but  lately  smitten  by  the  sun 
Bereft  me  of  my  vision  some  short  while; 

But  to  the  less  when  sight  re-shaped  itself, 
I  say  the  less  in  reference  to  the  greater 
Splendor  from  which  perforce  I  had  withdrawn,      15 

1  saw  upon  its  right  wing  wheeled  about 

The  glorious  host,  returning  with  the  sun 
And  with  the  sevenfold  flames  upon  their  faces. 


Pitr gator io  xxxii.  207 

As  underneath  its  shields,  to  save  itself, 

A  squadron  turns,  and  with  its  banner  wheels,  10 

Before  the  whole  thereof  can  change  its  front. 

That  soldiery  of  the  celestial  kingdom 

Which  marched  in  the  advance  had  wholly  passed  us 
Before  the  chariot  had  turned  its  pole. 

Then  to  the  wheels  the  maidens  turned  themselves,  25 

And  the  Griffin  moved  his  burden  benedight. 
But  so  that  not  a  feather  of  him  fluttered. 

The  lady  fair  who  drew  me  through  the  ford 

Followed  with  Statins  and  myself  the  wheel 
Which  made  its  orbit  with  the  lesser  arc.  3° 

So  passing  through  the  lofty  forest,  vacant 

By  fault  of  her  who  in  the  serpent  trusted. 
Angelic  music  made  our  steps  keep  time. 

Perchance  as  great  a  space  had  in  three  flights 

An  arrow  loosened  from  the  string  o'erpassed,  35 

As  we  had  moved  when  Beatrice  descended. 

I  heard  them  murmur  all  together,  "Adam  !" 
Then  circled  they  about  a  tree  despoiled 
Of  blooms  and  other  leafage  on  each  bough. 

Its  tresses,  which  so  much  the  more  dilate  4° 

As  higher  they  ascend,  had  been  by  Indians 
Among  their  forests  marvelled  at  for  height. 


2o8  TIic  Divine  Comedy 

"Blessed  art  thou,  O  GrifBn,  who  dost  not 

Pluck  with  thy  beak  these  branches  sweet  to  taste, 
Since  appetite  by  this  was  turned  to  evil."  4s 

After  this  fashion  round  the  tree  robust 

The  others  shouted;  and  the  twofold  creature: 
*'Thus  is  preserved  the  seed  of  all  the  just." 

And  turning  to  the  pole  which  he  had  dragged. 

He  drew  it  close  beneath  the  widowed  bough,         5° 
And  what  was  of  it  unto  it  left  bound. 

In  the  same  manner  as  our  trees  (when  downward 
Falls  the  great  light,  with  that  together  mingled 
Which  after  the  celestial  Lasca  shines) 

Begin  to  swell,  and  then  renew  themselves,  55 

Each  one  with  its  own  color,  ere  the  Sun 
Harness  his  steeds  beneath  another  star  : 

Less  than  of  rose  and  more  than  violet 

A  hue  disclosing,  was  renewed  the  tree 

That  had  erewhile  its  boughs  so  desolate.  60 

I  never  heard,  nor  here  below  is  sung. 

The  hymn  which  afterward  that  people  sang, 
Nor  did  I  bear  the  melody  throughout. 

Had  I  the  power  to  paint  how  fell  asleep 

Those  eyes  compassionless,  of  Syrinx  hearing,  65 

Those  eyes  to  which  more  watching  cost  so  dear. 


Ptcr gator io  xxxii.  209 

Even  as  a  painter  who  from  model  paints 

I  would  portray  how  I  was  lulled  asleep ; 
He  may,  who  well  can  picture  drowsihood. 

Therefore  I  pass  to  what  time  I  awoke,  70 

And  say  a  splendor  rent  from  me  the  veil 
Of  slumber,  and  a  calling:  "Rise,  what  dost  thou? '' 

As  to  behold  the  apple-tree  in  blossom 

Which  makes  the  Angels  greedy  for  its  fruit. 

And  keeps  perpetual  bridals  in  the  Heaven,      "        75 

Peter  and  John  and  James  conducted  were. 
And,  overcome,  recovered  at  the  word 
By  which  still  greater  slumbers  have  been  broken. 

And  saw  their  school  diminished  by  the  Joss 

Not  only  of  Elias,  but  of  Moses,  80 

And  the  apparel  of  their  Master  changed; 

So  I  revived,  and  saw  that  piteous  one 

Above  me  standing,  who  had  been  conductress 
Aforetime  of  my  steps  beside  the  river. 

And  all  in  doubt  I  said,  "Where's  Beatrice?"  8s 

And  she:  "Behold  her  seated  underneath 
The  leafage  new,  upon  the  root  of  it. 

Behold  the  company  that  circles  her; 

The  rest  behind  the  Griffin  are  ascending 

With  more  melodious  song,  and  more  profound."    90 
27 


2IO  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

And  if  her  speech  were  more  diffuse  I  know  not. 
Because  already  in  my  sight  was  she 
Who  from  the  hearing  of  aught  else  had  shut  me. 

Alone  she  sat  upon  the  very  earth. 

Left  there  as  guardian  of  the  chariot  9s 

Which  I  had  seen  the  biform  monster  fasten. 

Encircling  her,  a  cloister  made  themselves 

The  seven  Nymphs,  with  those  lights  in  their  hands 
Which  are  secure  from  Aquilon  and  Auster. 

"Short  while  shalt  thou  be  here  a  forester,  100 

And  thou  shalt  be  with  me  forevermore 
A  citizen  of  that  Rome  where  Christ  is  Roman. 

Therefore,  for  that  world's  good  which  liveth  ill. 
Fix  on  the  car  thine  eyes,  and  what  thou  seest. 
Having  returned  to  earth,  take  heed  thou  write."  105 

Thus  Beatrice;  and  I,  who  at  the  feet 

Of  her  commandments  all  devoted  was. 

My  mind  and  eyes  directed  where  she  willed. 

Never  descended  with  so  swift  a  motion 

Fire  from  a  heavy  cloud,  when  it  is  raining  no 

From  out  the  region  which  is  most  remote. 

As  I  beheld  the  bird  of  Jove  descend 

Down  through  the  tree,  rending  away  the  bark, 
As  well  as  blossoms  and  the  foliage  new. 


Ptcrecitorw  xxxil  2 1 1 


«b 


And  he  with  all  his  might  the  chariot  smote,  "s 

Whereat  it  reeled,  like  vessel  in  a  tempest 
Tossed  by  the  waves,  now  starboard  and  now  larboard. 

Thereafter  saw  I  leap  into  the  body 
Of  the  triumphal  vehicle  a  Fox, 
That  seemed  unfed  with  any  wholesome  food.         120 

But  for  his  hideous  sins  upbraiding  him. 
My  Lady  put  him  to  as  swift  a  flight 
As  such  a  fleshless  skeleton  could  bear. 

Then  by  the  way  that  it  before  had  come. 

Into  the  chariot's  chest  I  saw  the  Eagle  125 

Descend,  and  leave  it  feathered  with  his  plumes. 

And  such  as  issues  from  a  heart  that  mourns, 

A  voice  from  Heaven  there  issued,  and  it  said : 
"My  little  bark,  how  badly  art  thou  freighted!" 

Methought,  then,  that  the  earth  did  yawn  between         130 
Both  wheels,  and  I  saw  rise  from  it  a  Dragon, 
Who  through  the  chariot  upward  fixed  his  tail. 

And  as  a  wasp  that  draweth  back  its  sting. 
Drawing  unto  himself  his  tail  malign. 
Drew  out  the  floor,  and  went  his  way  rejoicing.      13s 

That  which  remained  behind,  even  as  with  grass 
A  fertile  region,  with  the  feathers,  oflfered 
Perhaps  with  pure  intention  and  benign. 


2  12  Tlie  Divine  Comedy 

Reclothed  itself,  and  with  them  were  reclothed 

The  pole  and  both  the  wheels  so  speedily,  140 

A  sigh  doth  longer  keep  the  lips  apart. 

Transfigured  thus  the  holy  edifice 

Thrust  forward  heads  upon  the  parts  of  it. 
Three  on  the  pole  and  one  at  either  corner. 

The  first  were  horned  like  oxen  ;  but  the  four  j4s 

Had  but  a  single  horn  upon  the  forehead; 
A  monster  such  had  never  yet  been  seen ! 

Firm  as  a  rock  upon  a  mountain  high, 
Seated  upon  it,  there  appeared  to  me 
A  shameless  whore,  with  eyes  swift  glancing  round,  150 

And,  as  if  not  to  have  her  taken  from  him. 
Upright  beside  her  I  beheld  a  giant ; 
And  ever  and  anon  they  kissed  each  other. 

But  because  she  her  wanton,  roving  eye 

Turned  upon  me,  her  angry  paramour  15s 

Did  scourge  her  from  her  head  unto  her  feet. 

Then  full  of  jealousy,  and  fierce  with  wrath. 

He  loosed  the  monster,  and  across  the  forest 
Dragged  it  so  far,  he  made  of  that  alone 

A  shield  unto  the  whore  and  the  strange  beast.  160 


CANTO     XXXIII. 

"T^ETO,  venerunt  genfes"  alternating 

Now  three,  now  four,  melodious  psalmody 
The  maidens  in  the  midst  of  tears  began; 

And  Beatrice,  compassionate  and  sighing. 

Listened  to  them  with  such  a  countenance,  5 

That  scarce  more  changed  was  Mary  at  the  cross. 

But  when  the  other  virgins  place  had  given 
For  her  to  speak,  uprisen  to  her  feet 
With  color  as  of  fire,  she  made  response : 

*' Modicum,  et  non  videbitis  me;  10 

Et  iterutn,  my  sisters  predilect. 
Modicum,  et  vos  vide  bit  is  ?ne.'" 

Then  all  the  seven  in  front  of  her  she  placed; 
And  after  her,  by  beckoning  only,  moved 
Me  and  the  lady  and  the  sage  who  stayed.  15 

So  she  moved  onward;  and  I  do  not  think 

That  her  tenth  step  was  placed  upon  the  ground. 
When  with  her  eyes  upon  mine  eyes  she  smote. 


214  The  Divine  Comedy 

And  with  a  tranquil  aspect,  "Come  more  quickly," 

To  me  she  said,  "that,  if  I  speak  with  thee,  ^o 

To  listen  to  me  thou  mayst  be  well  placed." 

As  soon  as  I  was  with  her  as  I  should  be, 

She  said  to  me:  "Why,  brother,  dost  thou  not 
Venture  to  question  now,  in  coming  with  me?" 

As  unto  those  who  are  too  reverential,  25 

Speaking  in  presence  of  superiors, 
Who  drag  no  living  utterance  to  their  teeth. 

It  me  befell,  that  without  perfect  sound 
Began  I:   "My  necessity.  Madonna, 
You  know,  and  that  which  thereunto  is  good."         30 

And  she  to  me:   "Of  fear  and  bashfulness 

Henceforward  I  will  have  thee  strip  thyself. 
So  that  thou  speak  no  more  as  one  who  dreams. 

Know  that  the  vessel  which  the  serpent  broke 

Was,  and  is  not;  but  let  him  who  is  guilty  35 

Think  that  God's  vengeance  does  not  fear  a  sop. 

Without  an  heir  shall  not  forever  be 

The  Eagle  that  left  his  plumes  upon  the  car. 
Whence  it  became  a  monster,  then  a  prey; 

For  verily  I  see,  and  hence  narrate  it,  4° 

The  stars  already  near  to  bring  the  time. 
From  every  hindrance  safe,  and  every  bar. 


•  P^crgatorio  xxxiii.  215 

Within  which  a  Five-hundred,  Ten,  and  Five, 

One  sent  from  God,  shall  slay  the  thievish  woman 
And  that  same  giant  who  is  sinning  with  her.  4s 

And  peradventure  my  dark  utterance. 

Like  Themis  and  the  Sphinx,  may  less  persuade  thee, 
Since,  in  their  mode,  it  clouds  the  intellect; 

But  soon  the  facts  shall  be  the  Naiades 

Who  shall  this  difficult  enigma  solve,  so 

Without  destruction  of  the  flocks  and  harvests. 

Note  thou;  and  even  as  by  me  are  uttered 

These  words,  so  teach  them  unto  those  who  live 
That  life  which  is  a  running  unto  death; 

And  bear  in  mind,  whene'er  thou  writest  them,  t,<i 

Not  to  conceal  what  thou  hast  seen  the  plant, 
That  twice  already  has  been  pillaged  here. 

Whoever  pillages  or  shatters  it. 

With  blasphemy  of  deed  offendeth  God, 

Who  made  it  holy  for  his  use  alone.  60 

For  biting  that,  in  pain  and  in  desire 

Five  thousand  years  and  more  the  first-born  soul 
Craved  Him,  who  punished  in  himself  the  bite. 

Thy  genius  slumbers,  if  it  deem  it  not 

For  special  reason  so  pre-eminent  65 

In  height,  and  so  inverted  in  its  summit. 


2i6  The  Divine  Comedy 

And  if  thy  vain  imaginings  had  not  been 
Water  of  Elsa  round  about  thy  mind, 
And  Pyramus  to  the  mulberry,  their  pleasure. 

Thou  by  so  many  circumstances  only  7° 

The  justice  of  the  interdict  of  God 
Morally  in  the  tree  wouldst  recognize. 

But  since  I  see  thee  in  thine  intellect 

Converted  into  stone  and  stained  with  sin, 

So  that  the  light  of  my  discourse  doth  daze  thee,     75 

I  will  too,  if  not  written,  at  least  painted. 

Thou  bear  it  back  within  thee,  for  the  reason 
That  cinctwith  palm  the  pilgrim's  staff  is  borne." 

And  I :  "As  by  a  signet  is  the  wax 

Which  does  not  change  the  figure  stamped  upon  it,  80 
My  brain  is  now  imprinted  by  yourself. 

But  wherefore  so  beyond  my  power  of  sight 
Soars  your  desirable  discourse,  that  aye 
The  more  I  strive,  so  much  the  more  I  lose  it?" 

"That  thou  mayst  recognize,"  she  said,  "the  school        85 
Which  thou  hast  followed,  and  mayst  see  how  far 
Its  doctrine  follows  after  my  discourse. 

And  mayst  behold  your  path  from  the  divine 
Distant  as  far  as  separated  is 
From  earth  the  heaven  that  highest  hastens  on."      9° 


Pttrgatorio  xxxin.  217 

Whence  her  I  answered :  "  I  do  not  remember 
That  ever  I  estranged  myself  from  you, 
Nor  have  I  conscience  of  it  that  reproves  me." 

"  And  if  thou  art  not  able  to  remember,'* 

Smiling  she  answered,  "recollect  thee  now  95 

That  thou  this  very  day  hast  drunk  of  Lethe ; 

And  if  from  smoke  a  fire  may  be  inferred, 

Such  an  oblivion  clearly  demonstrates        > 
Some  error  in  thy  will  elsewhere  intent. 

Truly  from  this  time  forward  shall  my  words  «©& 

Be  naked,  so  far  as  it  is  befitting 
To  lay  them  open  unto  thy  rude  gaze." 

And  more  coruscant  and  with  slower  steps 

The  sun  was  holding  the  meridian  circle, 

Which,  with  the  point  of  view,  shifts  here  and  there. 

When  halted  (as  he  cometh  to  a  halt,  »o6 

Who  goes  before  a  squadron  as  its  escort, 
If  something  new  he  find  upon  his  way) 

The  maidens  seven  at  a  dark  shadow's  edge. 

Such  as,  beneath  green  leaves  and  branches  black,  no 
The  Alp  upon  its  frigid  border  wears. 

In  front  of  them  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates 

Methought  I  saw  forth  issue  from  one  fountain. 

And  slowly  part,  like  friends,  from  one  another. 

28 


2i8  TJie  Divine  Comedy 

"O  light,  O  glory  of  the  human  race  !  "s 

What  stream  is  this  which  here  unfolds  itself 
From  out  one  source,  and  from  itself  withdraws  ?  " 

For  such  a  prayer,  't  was  said  unto  me,  **  Pray 

Matilda  that  she  tell  thee";  and  here  answered. 

As  one  does  who  doth  free  himself  from  blame,     120 

The  beautiful  lady:   "This  and  other  things 
Were  told  to  him  by  me ;  and  sure  I  am 
The  water  of  Lethe  has  not  hid  them  from  him." 

And  Beatrice:  "Perhaps  a  greater  care, 

Which  oftentimes  our  memory  takes  away,  "s 

Has  made  the  vision  of  his  mind  obscure. 

But  Eunoe  behold,  that  yonder  rises ; 

Lead  him  to  it,  and,  as  thou  art  accustomed. 
Revive  again  the  half-dead  virtue  in  him." 

Like  gentle  soul,  that  maketh  no  excuse,  130 

But  makes  its  own  will  of  another's  will 
As  soon  as  by  a  sign  it  is  disclosed. 

Even  so,  when  she  had  taken  hold  of  me. 

The  beautiful  lady  moved,  and  unto  Statins 

Said,  in  her  womanly  manner,  "  Come  with  him."  13s 

If,  Reader,  I  possessed  a  longer  space 

For  writing  it,  I  yet  would  sing  in  part 

Of  the  sweet  draught  that  ne'er  would  satiate  me ; 


Ptt7^gatorio  xxxiii.  219 

But  inasmuch  as  full  are  all  the  leaves 

Made  ready  for  this  second  canticle,  ho 

The  curb  of  art  no  farther  lets  me  go. 
From  the  most  holy  water  I  returned 

Regenerate,  in  the  manner  of  new  trees 

That  are  renewed  with  a  new  foliage. 
Pure  and  disposed  to  mount  unto  the  stars.  145 


NOTES 


NOTES 


CANTO    I. 


I.  The  Mountain  of  Purgatory  is  a 
vast  conical  mountain,  rising  steep  and 
high  from  the  waters  of  the  Southern 
Ocean,  at  a  point  antipodal  to  Mount 
Sion  in  Jerusalem.  In  Canto  III.  14, 
Dante  speaks  of  it  as 

"The  hill 
That  highest  tow'rds  the  heaven  uplifts  itself" j 

and  in  ParadisOy  XXVI.  139,  as 

"The  mount  that  rises  highest  o'er  the  wave." 

Around  it  run  seven  terraces,  on  which 
are  punished  severally  the  Seven  Deadly 
Sins.  Rough  stairways,  cut  in  the  rock, 
lead  up  from  terrace  to  terrace,  and  on 
the  summit  is  the  garden  of  the  Ter- 
restrial Paradise. 

The  Seven  Sins  punished  in  the 
Seven  Circles  are,  —  i .  Pride ;  2.  Envy  ; 
3.  Anger  ;  4.  Sloth  ;  5.  Avarice  and 
Prodigality  ;  6.  Gluttony  ;   7.  Lust. 

The  threefold  division  of  the  Pur- 
gatorio,  marked  only  by  more  elaborate 
preludes,  or  by  a  natural  pause  in  the 
action  of  the  poem,  is, —  l.  From  Canto 
I.  to  Canto  IX.;  2.  From  Canto  IX. 
to  Canto  XXVIII.  ;  3.  From  Canto 
XXVIII.  to  the  end.  The  first  of 
these    divisions    describes    the    region 


lying  outside  the  gate  of  Purgatory ; 
the  second,  the  Seven  Circles  of  the 
mountain  ;  and  the  third,  the  Terres- 
trial Paradise  on  its  summit. 

"  Traces  of  belief  in  a  Purgatory," 
says  Mr.  Alger,  Doctrine  of  a  Future 
Life,  p.  410,  "early  appear  among  the 
Christians.  Many  of  the  gravest  Fa- 
thers of  the  first  five  centuries  naturally 
conceived  and  taught,  —  as  is  indeed  in- 
trinsically reasonable,  —  that  after  death 
some  souls  will  be  punished  for  their 
sins  until  they  are  cleansed,  and  then 
will  be  released  from  pain.  The  Man- 
ichasans  imagined  that  all  souls,  be- 
fore returning  to  their  native  heaven, 
must  be  borne  first  to  the  moon,  where 
with  good  waters  they  would  be  washed 
pure  from  outward  filth,  and  then  to 
the  sun,  where  they  would  be  purged 
by  good  fires  from  every  inward  stain. 
After  these  lunar  and  solar  lustrations, 
they  were  fit  for  the  eternal  world  of 
light.  But  the  conception  of  Purgatory 
as  it  was  held  by  the  early  Christians, 
whether  orthodox  Fathers  or  heretical 
sects,  was  merely  the  just  and  necessary 
result  of  applying  to  the  subject  of  fu- 
ture punishment  the  two  ethical  ideas 


224 


Notes 


that  punishment  should  partake  of  de- 
grees proportioned  to  guilt,  and  that  it 
should  be  restorative 

"  Pope  Gregory  the  Great,  in  the 
sixth  century,  —  either  borrowing  some 
of  the  more  objectionable  features  of 
the  Purgatory-doctrine  previously  held 
by  the  heathen,  or  else  devising  the 
same  things  himself  from  a  perception 
of  the  striking  adaptedness  of  such  no- 
tions to  secure  an  enviable  power  to 
the  Church, — constructed,  established, 
and  gave  working  efficiency  to  the  dog- 
matic scheme  of  Purgatory  ever  since 
firmly  defended  by  the  Papal  adherents 
as  an  integral  part  of  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic system.  The  doctrine  as  matured 
and  promulgated  by  Gregory,  giving  to 
the  representatives  of  the  Church  an 
almost  unlimited  power  over  Purgatory, 
rapidly  grew  into  favor  with  the  clergy, 
and  sank  with  general  conviction  into 
the  hopes  and  fears  of  the  laity," 

9.  The  Muse  "  of  the  beautiful 
voice,"  who  presided  over  eloquence 
and  heroic  verse. 

II.  The  nine  daughters  of  Pierus, 
king  of  Macedonia,  called  the  Pierides. 
They  challenged  the  Muses  to  a  trial 
of  skill  in  singing,  and  being  van- 
quished were  changed  by  Apollo  into 
magpies.  Ovid,  Met.  V.,  Maynwar- 
ing's  Tr. :  — 

"Beneath  their  nails 
Feathers  they  feel,  and  on  their  faces  scales  \ 
Their  horny  beaks  at  once  each  other  scare, 
Their  arms  are  plumed,  and  on  their  backs  they 

bear 
Pied  wings,  and  flutter  in  the  fleeting  aif. 
Chatt'ring,  the  scandal  of  the  woods,  they  fly, 
And  there  continue  still  their  clam'rous  cry  : 


The  same  their  eloquence,  as  maids  or  birds, 
Now  only  noise,  and  nothing  then  but  words." 

15.    The  highest  heaven. 

19.  The  planet  Venus. 

20.  ^\vi.\iQQ\,  Knightcs  Tale:  — 

"  The  besy  larke,  the  messager  of  day, 
Saleweth  in  hire  song  the  morwe  gray, 
And  firy  Phebus  riseth  up  so  briglit. 
That  all  the  orient  laugheth  of  the  sight." 

23.  The  stars  of  the  Southern  Cross. 
Figuratively  the  four  cardinal  virtues. 
Justice,  Prudence,  Fortitude,  and  Tem- 
perance.    See  Canto  XXXI.  106:  — 

"We  here  are  Nymphs,  and  in  the  Heaven  are 
stars." 

The  next  line  may  be  interpreted  in 
the  same  figurative  sense. 

Humboldt,  Personal  'Narrative,  II. 
21,  Miss  Williams's  Tr.,  thus  describes 
his  first  glimpse  of  the  Southern  Cross. 

"  The  pleasure  we  felt  on  discovering 
the  Southern  Cross  was  warmly  shared 
by  such  of  the  crew  as  had  lived  in  the 
colonies.  In  the  solitude  of  the  seas, 
we  hail  a  star  as  a  friend  from  whom 
we  have  long  been  separated.  Among 
the  Portuguese  and  the  Spaniards  pecu- 
liar motives  seem  to  increase  this  feel- 
ing; a  religious  sentiment  attaches  them 
to  a  constellation,  the  form  of  which 
recalls  the  sign  of  the  faith  planted  by 
their  ancestors  in  the  deserts  of  the 
New   World. 

"  The  two  great  stars  which  mark 
the  summit  and  the  foot  of  the  Cross 
having  nearly  the  same  right  ascen- 
sion, it  follows  hence,  that  the  constel- 
lation is  almost  perpendicular  at  the 
moment  when  it  passes  the  meridian. 
This  circumstance  is  known  to  every 


Pttrgatorio 


225 


nation  that  lives  beyond  the  tropics,  or 
in  the  Southern  hemisphere.  It  has 
been  observed  at  what  hour  of  the 
night,  in  different  seasons,  the  Cross 
o'i  the  South  is  erect  or  inclined.  It 
is  a  time-piece  that  advances  very  regu- 
larly near  four  minutes  a  day,  and  no 
other  group  of  stars  exhibits,  to  the 
naked  eye,  an  observation  of  time  so 
easily  made.  How  often  have  we 
heard  our  guides  exclaim  in  the  savan- 
nahs of  Venezuela,  or  in  the  desert  ex- 
tending from  Lima  to  Truxillo,  *  Mid- 
night is  past,  the  Cross  begins  to  bend!' 
How  often  those  words  reminded  us 
of  that  aftecting  scene,  where  Paul  and 
Virginia,  seated  near  the  source  of  the 
river  of  Lataniers,  conversed  together 
for  the  last  time,  and  where  the  old 
man,  at  the  sight  of  the  Southern  Cross, 
warns  them  that  it  is  time  to  sep- 
arate." 

24.  By  the  "primal  people"  Dante 
does  not  mean  our  first  parents,  but 
"  the  early  races  which  inhabited  Eu- 
rope and  Asia,"  says  Mr.  Barlow,  Study 
of  Dante,  and  quotes  in  confirmation 
of  his  view  the  following  passage  from 
Humboldt's  Cosmos,  II.  : 

"  In  consequence  of  the  precession 
ot  the  equinoxes,  the  starry  heavens  are 
continually  changing  their  aspect  from 
every  portion  of  the  earth's  surface. 
The  early  races  of  mankind  beheld  in 
the  far  north  the  glorious  constellations 
of  the  southern  hemisphere  rise  before 
them,  which,  after  remaining  long  in- 
visible, will  again  appear  in  those  lati- 
tudes after  a  lapse  of  thousands  of  years. 
....  The  Southern  Cross   began   to 

VOL.  II.  29 


become  invisible  in  52°  30'  north  lati- 
tude 2900  years  before  our  era,  since, 
according  to  Galle,  this  constellation 
might  previously  have  reached  an  alti- 
tude of  more  than  10°.  When  it  dis- 
appeared from  the  horizon  of  the  coun- 
tries of  the  Baltic,  the  great  Pyramid 
of  Cheops  had  already  been  erected 
more  than   500  years." 

30.  Iliad,  XVIII. :  "  The  Pleiades, 
and  the  Hyades,  and  the  strength  of 
Orion,  and  the  Bear,  which  likewise 
they  call  by  the  appellation  of  the 
Wain,  which  there  turns  round  and 
watches  Orion ;  and  it  alone  is  de- 
prived of  the  baths  of  Oceanus." 

31.  Cato  of  Utica.  "Pythagoras 
escapes,  in  the  fabulous  hell  of  Dante," 
says  Sir  Thomas  Brown,  IJrn  Burial, 
IV.,  "  among  that  swarm  of  philoso- 
phers, wherein,  whilst  we  meet  with 
Plato  and  Socrates,  Cato  is  found  in  no 
lower  place  than  Purgatory." 

In  the  description  of  the  shield  of 
^neas,  ^neid,  VIII.,  Cato  is  repre- 
sented as  presiding  over  the  good  in 
the  Tartarean  realms:  "  And  the  good 
apart,  Cato  dispensing  laws  to  them." 
This  line  of  Virgil  may  have  suggested 
to  Dante  the  idea  of  making  Cato  the 
warden  of  Purgatory. 

In  the  Convito,  IV.  28,  he  expresses 
the  greatest  reverence  for  him.  Mar- 
cia  returning  to  him  in  her  widow- 
hood, he  says,  "  symbolizes  the  noble 
soul  returning  to  God  in  old  age." 
And  continues  :  "  What  man  on  earth 
was  more  worthy  to  symbolize  God, 
than  Cato?  Surely  none";  —  ending 
the    chapter  with   these  words  :    "  In 


226 


Notes 


his  name  it  is  beautiful  to  close  what 
I  have  had  to  say  of  the  signs  of  nobil- 
ity, because  in  him  this  nobility  dis- 
plays them  all  through  all  ages." 

Here,  on  the  shores  of  Purgatory, 
his  countenance  is  adorned  with  the 
light  oi  the  four  stars  which  are  the 
four  virtues.  Justice,  Prudence,  Forti- 
tude, and  Temperance,  and  it  is  fore- 
told of  him,  that  his  garments  will 
shine  brightly  on  the  last  day.  And 
here  he  is  the  symbol  of  Liberty,  since, 
for  her  sake,  to  him  "  not  bitter  was 
death  in  Utica";  and  the  meaning  of 
Purgatory  is  spiritual  Liberty,  or  free- 
dom from  sin  through  purification, 
"  the  glorious  liberty  of  the  children 
of  God."  Therefore  in  thus  selecting 
the  "  Divine  Cato  "  for  the  guardian 
of  this  realm,  Dante  shows  himself  to 
have  greater  freedom  than  the  critics, 
who  accuse  him  of  "  a  perverse  the- 
ology in  saving  the  soul  of  an  idolater 
and  suicide." 

40.  The  "  blind  river  "  is  Lethe, 
which  by  sound  and  not  by  sight  had 
guided  them  through  the  winding  cav- 
ern from  the  centre  of  the  earth  to  the 
surface.     Inf.  XXXIV.  130. 

42.    His  beard.     Ford,  Ladfs  Trial: 

"  Now  the  down 
Of  softness  is  exchanged  for  plumes  of  age." 

Dante  uses  the  same  expression.  Inf. 
XX.  45,  and  Petrarca,  who  became 
gray  at  an  early  period,  says  : 

"  In  such  a  tenebrous  and  narrow  cage 
Were  we  shut  up,  and  the  accustomed  plumes 
I  changed  betimes,  and  my  first  countenance." 

52.    Upon  this  speech  of  Virgil  to 


Cato,  Mr.  Barlow,  Study  of  Dante,  re- 
marks :  "  The  eighth  book  of  the  Te- 
soro  of  Brunetto  Latini  is  headed,  ^i 
comincia  la  Rcttorica  chc  c*  inscgna  a  ben 
parlare,  e  di  governare  citta  e  popoli. 
In  this  art  Dante  was  duly  instructed 
by  his  loving  master,  and  became  the 
most  able  orator  of  his  era  in  Italy. 
Giov.  Villani  speaks  of  him  as  reto- 
rico  pcrfctto  tanta  in  dittare  e  versijicare 
come  in  aringhiera  parlare.  But  with- 
out this  record  and  without  acquaint- 
ance with  the  poet's  political  history, 
knowing  nothing  of  his  influence  in 
debates  and  councils,  nor  of  his  credit 
at  foreign  courts,  we  might,  from 
the  occasional  speeches  in  the  Divina 
Commedia,  be  fully  assured  of  the 
truth  of  what  Villani  has  said,  and 
that  Dante's  words  and  manner  were 
always  skilfully  adapted  to  the  purpose 
he  had  in  view,  and  to  the  persons 
whom  he  addressed. 

"  Virgil's  speech  to  the  venerable 
Cato  is  a  perfect  specimen  of  persua- 
sive eloquence.  The  sense  of  personal 
dignity  is  here  combined  with  extreme 
courtesy  and  respect,  and  the  most  flat- 
tering appeals  to  the  old  man's  well- 
known  sentiments,  his  love  of  liberty, 
his  love  of  rectitude,  and  his  devoted 
attachment  to  Marcia,  are  interwoven 
with  irresistible  art ;  but  though  the 
resentment  of  Cato  at  the  approach  of 
the  strangers  is  thus  appeased,  and  he 
is  persuaded  to  regard  them  with  as 
much  favor  as  the  severity  of  his  char- 
acter permits,  yet  he  will  not  have 
them  think  that  his  consent  to  their 
proceeding  has  been  obtained  by  adu- 


Ptirgatorio 


227 


lation,  but  simply  by  the  assertion  of 
power  vouchsafed  to  them  from  on 
high, — 

Ma  se  donna  del  Ciel  ti  muove  e  regge, 
Come  tu  di',  non  c'  e  mestier  lusinga  : 
Bastiti  ben,  che  per  lei  mi  richegge. 

In  this  also  the  consistency  of  Cato's 
character  is  maintained  ;  he  is  sensible 
of  the  flattery,  but  disowns  its  influ- 
ence." 

']'].    See  Inf.,  V.  4. 

78.  See  Inf.,  IV.  128.  Also  Con- 
vito,  IV.  28  :  "  This  the  great  poet 
Lucan  shadows  forth  in  the  second 
book  of  his  Pharsalia,  when  he  says 
that  Marcia  returned  to  Cato,  and 
besought  him  and  entreated  him  to 
take  her  back  in  his  old  age.  And  by 
this  Marcia  is  understood  the  noble 
soul." 

Lucan,  Phars.,  II.,  Rowe's  Tr. :  — 

"  When  lo  !  the  sounding  doors  are  heard  to 
turn. 
Chaste  Martia  comes  from  dead  Hortensius' 
urn. 

Forth    from    the    monument    the    mournful 

dame 
With   beaten  breasts  and   locks   dishevelled 

came  j 
Then  with  a  pale,  dejected,  rueful  look, 
Thus  pleasing  to  her  former  lord  she  spoke. 

'At  length  a  barren  wedlock  let  me  prove, 
Give  me  the  name  without  the  joys  of  love; 
No  more  to  be  abandoned  let  me  come, 
That  Cato's  wife  may  live  upon  my  tomb.'  " 

95.  A  symbol  of  humility.  Ruskin, 
Mod.  Painters,  III.  232,  says:  "There 
is  a  still  deeper  significance  in  the  pas- 
sage quoted,  a  little    while   ago,  from 


Homer,  describing  Ulysses  casting  him- 
self down  on  the  rushes  and  the  corn- 
giving  land  at  the  river  shore,  —  the 
rushes  and  corn  being  to  him  only 
good  for  rest  and  sustenance,  —  when 
we  compare  it  with  that  in  which 
Dante  tells  us  he  was  ordered  to  de- 
scend to  the  shore  of  the  lake  as  he 
entered  Purgatory,  to  gather  a  rush, 
and  gird  himself  with  it,  it  being  to 
him  the  emblem  not  only  of  rest,  but 
of  humility  under  chastisement,  the 
rush  (or  reed)  being  the  only  plant 
which  can  grow  there  ;  —  *  no  plant 
which  bears  leaves,  or  hardens  its  bark, 
can  live  on  that  shore,  because  it  does 
not  yield  to  the  chastisement  of  its 
waves.'  It  cannot  but  strike  the  reader 
singularly  how  deep  and  harmonious 
a  significance  runs  through  all  these 
words  of  Dante,  —  how  every  syllable 
of  them,  the  more  we  penetrate  it,  be- 
comes a  seed  of  farther  thought!  For 
follow  up  this  image  of  the  girding 
with  the  reed,  under  trial,  and  see  to 
whose  feet  it  will  lead  us.  As  the 
grass  of  the  earth,  thought  of  as  the 
herb  yielding  seed,  leads  us  to  the 
place  where  our  Lord  commanded  the 
multitude  to  sit  down  by  companies 
upon  the  green  grass  ;  so  the  grass  of 
the  waters,  thought  of  as  sustaining 
itself  among  the  waters  of  affliction, 
leads  us  to  the  place  where  a  stem  of 
it  was  put  into  our  Lord's  hand  for  his 
sceptre  ;  and  in  the  crown  of  thorns, 
and  the  rod  of  reed,  was  foreshown 
the  everlasting  truth  of  the  Christian 
ages,  —  that  all  glory  was  to  be  begun 
in  suffering,  and  all  power  in  humility." 


228 


Notes 


1 1 5.  Ruskin,  Mod.  Painters,  III. 
248  :  "  There  is  only  one  more  point 
to  be  noticed  in  the  Dantesque  land- 
scape ;  namely,  the  feeling  entertained 
by  the  poet  towards  the  sky.  And  the 
love  of  mountains  is  so  closely  con- 
nected with  the  love  of  clouds,  the 
sublimity  of  both  depending  much  on 
their  association,  that,  having  found 
Dante  regardless  of  the  Carrara  moun- 
tains as  seen  from  San  Miniato,  we 
may  well  expect  to  find  him  equally 
regardless  of  the  clouds  in  which  the 
sun  sank  behind  them.  Accordingly, 
we  find  that  his  only  pleasure  in  the 
sky  depends  on  its  '  white  clearness,' 
—  that  turning  into  bianco  aspetto  di 
celestro,  which  is  so  peculiarly  char- 
acteristic of  fine  days  in  Italy.  His 
pieces  of  pure  pale  light  are  always 
exquisite.  In  the  dawn  on  the  purga- 
torial mountain,  first,  in  its  pale  white, 
he  sees  the  tremolar  della  marina,  — 
trembling  of  the  sea  ;  then  it  becomes 
vermilion  ;  and  at  last,  near  sunrise, 
orange.  These  are  precisely  the 
changes  of  a  calm  and  perfect  dawn. 
The  scenery  of  Paradise  begins  with 
*  day  added  to  day,'  the  light  of  the 
sun  so  flooding  the  heavens,  that  'never 


rain  nor  river  made  lake  so  wide'; 
and  throughout  the  Paradise  all  the 
beauty  depends  on  spheres  of  light,  or 
stars,  never  on  clouds.  But  the  pit  of 
the  Inferno  is  at  first  sight  obscure, 
deep,  and  so  cloudy  that  at  its  bottom 
nothing  could  be  seen.  When  Dante 
and  Virgil  reach  the  marsh  in  which 
the  souls  of  those  who  have  been  an- 
gry and  sad  in  their  lives  are  forever 
plunged,  they  find  it  covered  with 
thick  fog  ;  and  the  condemned  souls 
say  to  them, 

'  We  once  were  sad, 

In  the  stueet  air,  made  gladsome  by  the  sun. 

Now  in  these  murky  settlings  are  we  sad.' 

Even  the  angel  crossing  the  marsh  to 
help  them  is  annoyed  by  this  bitter 
marsh  smoke,  fummo  acerbo,  and  con- 
tinually sweeps  it  with  his  hand  from 
before  his  face." 

123.  Some  commentators  interpret 
Ove  adorezza,  by  "  where  the  wind 
blows."  But  the  blowing  of  the  wind 
would  produce  an  effect  exactly  oppo- 
site to  that  here  described. 

135.  ^neid,  VI.:  "When  the  first 
is  torn  off,  a  second  of  gold  succeeds  ; 
and  a  twig  shoots  forth  leaves  of  the 
same  metal." 


CANTO    II. 


I.    It  was  sunset  at  Jerusalem,  night  or  the  sign  of  Libra,  which  is  opposite 

on    the    Ganges,   and   morning   at    the  Aries.      These  scales  fall  from  the  hand 

Mountain  of  Purgatory.  of  night,  or  are  not  above  the  horizon 

The  sun  being  in  Aries,  the  night  by  night,  when  the  night   exceeds,  or 

would  "  come  forth  with  the  scales,"  is  longer  than  the  day. 


Pttrgatorio  ii. 


229 


7.  Boccaccio,  Dccamcrone,  Prologue 
to  the  Third  Day,  imitates  this  passage: 
"  The  Aurora,  as  the  sun  drew  nigh, 
was  already  beginning  to  change  from 
vermilion  to  orange." 

31.  Argument  used  in  the  sense 
of  means,  or  appliances,  as  in  Inf. 
XXXI.  55. 

44.  Cervantes  says  in  Don  ^lixoie, 
Pt.  I.  ch.  12,  that  the  student  Crisos- 
tomo  "  had  a  face  like  a  benediction." 

57.  Sackville,  in  his  Induction  to  the 
Mirror  for  Magistrates,  says  : 

"  Whiles  Scorpio  dreading  Sagittarius'  dart 
Whose  bow  prest  bent  in  fight  the  string  had 

slipped, 
Down  slid  into  the  ocean  flood  apart." 

80.  Odyssey,  XI.,  Buckley's  Tr.  : 
*'But  I,  meditating  in  my  mind,  w^ished 
to  lay  hold  of  the  soul  of  my  departed 
mother.  Thrice  indeed  I  essayed  it, 
and  my  mind  urged  me  to  lay  hold  of 
it,  but  thrice  it  flew^  from  my  hands,  like 
unto  a  shadow,  or  even  to  a  dream." 

And  ^neid,  VI.,  Davidson's  Tr.  : 
"  There  thrice  he  attempted  to  throw 
his  arms  around  his  neck  ;  thrice  the 
phantom,  grasped  in  vain,  escaped  his 
hold,  like  the  fleet  gales,  or  resembling 
most  a  fugitive  dream." 

91.  Casella  was  a  Florentine  musi- 
cian and  friend  of  Dante,  who  here 
speaks  to  him  with  so  much  tenderness 
and  affection  as  to  make  us  regret  that 
nothing  more  is  known  of  him.  Milton 
alludes  to  him  in  his  Sonnet  to  Mr. 
H.  Lawes :  — 

"  Dante  shall  give  Fame  leave  to  set  thee  higher 
Than  his  Casella,  whom  he  woo'd  to  sing 
Met  in  the  milder  shades  of  Purgatory." 


98.  The  first  three  months  of  the 
year  of  Jubilee,  1300.  Milman,  Hist. 
Latin  Christ.,  VI.  285,  thus  describes 
it  :  "  All  Europe  was  in  a  frenzy  of 
religious  zeal.  Throughout  the  year 
the  roads  in  the  remotest  parts  of  Ger- 
many, Hungary,  Britain,  were  crowded 
with  pilgrims  of  all  ages,  of  both  sexes. 
A  Savoyard  above  one  hundred  years 
old  determined  to  see  the  tombs  of  the 
Apostles  before  he  died.  There  were 
at  times  two  hundred  thousand  stran- 
gers at  Rome.  During  the  year  (no 
doubt  the  calculations  were  loose  and 
vague)  the  city  was  visited  by  millions 
of  pilgrims.  At  one  time,  so  vast  was 
the  press  both  within  and  without  the 
walls,  that  openings  were  broken  for 
ingress  and  egress.  Many  people  were 
trampled  down,  and  perished  by  suffo- 
cation  Lodgings  were  exorbitantly 

dear,  forage  scarce ;  but  the  ordinary 
food  of  man,  bread,  meat,  wine,  and 
fish,  was  sold  in  great  plenty  and  at 
moderate  prices.  The  oblations  were 
beyond  calculation.  It  is  reported  by 
an  eyewitness  that  two  priests  stood 
with  rakes  in  their  hands  sweeping  the 
uncounted  gold  and  silver  from  the 
altars.  Nor  was  this  tribute,  like  of- 
ferings or  subsidies  for  Crusades,  to  be 
devoted  to  special  uses,  the  accoutre- 
ments, provisions,  freight  of  armies. 
It  was  entirely  at  the  free  and  irrespon- 
sible disposal  of  the  Pope.  Christen- 
dom of  its  own  accord  was  heaping  at 
the  Pope's  feet  this  extraordinary  cus- 
tom ;  and  receiving  back  the  gift  of 
pardon  and  everlasting  life." 

See  also  Inf.  XVIII.,  Note  29. 


230 


Notes 


loo.  The  sea-shore  of  Ostia  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Tiber,  where  the  souls 
of  those  who  were  saved  assembled, 
and  were  received  by  the  Celestial 
Pilot,  who  transported  them  to  the 
island  of  Purgatory.  Minutius  Felix, 
a  Roman  lawyer  of  the  third  century, 
makes  it  the  scene  of  his  Octavius, 
and  draws  this  pleasant  picture  of 
the  sands  and  the  sea.  .  Reeves's  Tr., 

P-  37:  — 

"It  was  vacation-time,  and  that  gave 

me  aloose  from  my  business  at  the  bar  ; 
for  it  was  the  season  after  the  summer's 
heat,  when  autumn  promised  fair,  and 
put  on  the  face  of  temperate.  We  set 
out,  therefore,  in  the  morning  early, 
and  as  we  were  walking  upon  the  sea- 
shore, and  a  kindly  breeze  fanned  and 
refreshed  our  limbs,  and  the  yielding 
sand  softly  submitted  to  our  feet  and 
made  it  delicious  travelling,  Cascilius 
on  a  sudden  espied  the  statue  of  Sera- 
pis,  and,  according  to  the  vulgar  mode 
of  superstition,  raised  his  hand  to  his 
mouth,  and  paid  his  adoration  in  kisses. 
Upon  which  Octavius,  addressing  him- 
self to  me,  said  :  *  It  is  not  well  done, 
my  brother  Marcus,  thus  to  leave  your 
inseparable  companion  in  the  depth  of 


Vulgar  darkness,  and  to  suffer  him,  in 
so  clear  a  day,  to  stumble  upon  stones; 
stones,  indeed,  of  figure,  and  anointed 
with  oil,  and  crowned ;  but  stones, 
however,  still  they  are;  —  for  you  can- 
not but  be  sensible  that  your  permitting 
so  foul  an  error  in  your  friend  redounds 
no  less  to  your  disgrace  than  his.* 
This  discourse  of  his  held  us  through 
half  the  city  ;  and  now  we  began  to 
find  ourselves  upon  the  free  and  open 
shore.  There  the  gently  washing 
waves  had  spread  the  extremest  sands 
into  the  order  of  an  artificial  walk  ; 
and  as  the  sea  always  expresses  some 
roughness  in  his  looks,  even  when  the 
winds  are  still,  although  he  did  not  roll 
in  foam  and  angry  surges  to  the  shore, 
yet  were  we  much  delighted,  as  we 
walked  upon  the  edges  of  the  water,  to 
see  the  crisping,  frizzly  waves  glide  in 
snaky  folds,  one  while  playing  against 
our  feet,  and  then  again  retiring  and 
lost  in  the  devouring  ocean.  Softly, 
then,  and  calmly  as  the  sea  about  us, 
we  travelled  on,  and  kept  upon  the 
brim  of  the  gently  declining  shore,  be- 
guiling the  way  with  our  stories." 

112.    This   is   the   first  line   of  the 
second  canzone  of  the  Convito. 


CANTO     III 


15.    So  in  Paradiso,  XXVI.  139  : —  ing  the  Bay  of  Naples.     The  inscrip- 

"  The  mount  that  rises  highest  o'er  the  sea."  tion    upon    it    is  : 

27.     The   tomb    of  Virgil    is   on    the  Mantua  me  genuit:  Calabri  rapuere:  tenet  nunc 
promontory    of    Pausilippo,    overlook-  Parthenope  :  cecini  pascua,  rura,  duces. 


Pttrgatorio  in. 


231 


"  The  epitaph,"  says  Eustace,  Clas- 
sical Tour,  I.  499,  "which,  though  not 
genuine,  is  yet  ancient,  was  inscribed 
by  order  of  the  Duke  of  Pescolangiano, 
then  proprietor  of  the  place,  on  a 
marble  slab  placed  in  the  side  of  the 
rock  opposite  the  entrance  of  the  tomb, 
where  it  still  remains." 

Forsyth,  Italy,  p.  378,  says  :  "/^/r- 
giVs  totnb  is  so  called,  I  believe,  on  the 
single  authority  of  Donatus.  Donatus 
places  it  at  the  right  distance  from 
Naples,  but  on  the  wrong  side  of  the 
city  ;  and  even  there  he  omits  the 
grotto  of  Posilipo,  which  not  being  so 
deep  in  his  time  as  the  two  last  exca- 
vations have  left  it,  must  have  opened 
precisely  at  his  tomb.  Donatus,  too, 
gives,  for  Virgil's  own  composition,  an 
epitaph  on  the  cliff  now  rejected  as  a 
forgery.  And  who  is  this  Donatus  ? 
—  an  obscure  grammarian,  or  rather  his 
counterfeit.  The  structure  itself  re- 
sembles a  ruined  pigeon-house,  where 
the  numerous  columbaria  would  indicate 
a  family-sepulchre  :  but  who  should 
repose  in  the  tomb  of  Virgil,  but  Vir- 
gil alone  ?  Visitors  of  every  nation, 
kings  and  princes,  have  scratched  their 
names  on  the  stucco  of  this  apocryphal 
ruin,  but  the  poet's  awful  name  seems 
to  have  deterred  them  from  versifying 
here." 

37.  Be  satisfied  with  knowing  that 
a  thing  is,  without  asking  why  it  is. 
These  were  distinguished  in  scholastic 
language  as  the  Dcmonstratio  quia,  and 
the  Dcmonstratio  propter  quid. 

49.  Places  on  the  mountainous  sea- 
side road  from  Genoa  to  Pisa,  known 


as  the  Riviera  di  Levante.  Of  this, 
Mr.  Ruskin,  Mod.  Painters,  III.  243, 
says : — 

"The  similes  by  which  he  illus- 
trates the  steepness  of  that  ascent  are  all 
taken  from  the  Riviera  of  Genoa,  now 
traversed  by  a  good  carriage  road  under 
the  name  of  the  Cornice  ;  but  as  this 
road  did  not  exist  in  Dante's  time,  and 
the  steep  precipices  and  promontories 
were  then  probably  traversed  by  foot- 
paths, which,  as  they  necessarily  passed 
in  many  places  over  crumbling  and 
slippery  limestone,  were  doubtless  not 
a  little  dangerous,  and  as  in  the  manner 
they  commanded  the  bays  of  sea  below, 
and  lay  exposed  to  the  full  blaze  of  the 
southeastern  sun,  they  corresponded 
precisely  to  the  situation  of  the  path  by 
which  he  ascends  above  the  purgatorial 
sea,  the  image  could  not  possibly  have 
been  taken  from  a  better  source  for  the 
fully  conveying  his  idea  to  the  reader  : 
nor,  by  the  way,  is  there  reason  to  dis- 
credit, in  this  place,  his  powers  of 
climbing;  for,  with  his  usual  accuracy, 
he  has  taken  the  angle  of  the  path 
for  us,  saying  it  was  considerable  more 
than  forty -five.  Now  a  continuous 
mountain  slope  of  forty-five  degrees  is 
already  quite  unsafe  either  for  ascent  or 
descent,  except  by  zigzag  paths  ;  and 
a  greater  slope  than  this  could  not  be 
climbed,  straightforward,  but  by  help 
of  crevices  or  jags  in  the  rock,  and 
great  physical  exertion  besides." 

Mr.  Norton,  Travel  and  Study,  p.  I, 
thus  describes  the  Riviera:  "The  Var 
forms  the  geographical  boundary  be- 
tween France  and  Italy;  but  it  is  not 


232 


Notes 


till  Nice  is  left  behind,  and  the  first 
height  of  the  Riviera  is  surmounted, 
that  the  real  Italy  begins.  Here  the 
hills  close  round  at  the  north,  and  sud- 
denly, as  the  road  turns  at  the  top  of  a 
long  ascent,  the  Mediterranean  appears 
far  below,  washing  the  feet  of  the 
mountains  that  form  the  coast,  and 
stretching  away  to  the  Southern  hori- 
zon. The  line  of  the  shore  is  of  ex- 
traordinary beauty.  Here  an  abrupt 
cliff  rises  from  the  sea  ;  here  bold  and 
broken  masses  of  rock  jut  out  into  it ; 
here  the  hills,  their  gray  sides  terraced 
for  vineyards,  slope  gently  down  to  the 
water's  edge  ;  here  they  stretch  into 
little  promontories  covered  with  orange 
and  olive-trees. 

**  One  of  the  first  of  these  promon- 
tories is  that  of  Capo  Sant'  Ospizio. 
A  close  grove  of  olives  half  conceals 
the  old  castle  on  its  extreme  point. 
With  the  afternoon  sun  full  upon  it, 
the  trees  palely  glimmering  as  their 
leaves  move  in  the  light  air,  the  sea  so 
blue  and  smooth  as  to  be  like  a  darker 
sky,  and  not  even  a  ripple  upon  the 
beach,  it  seems  as  if  this  were  the  very 
home  of  summer  and  of  repose.  It  is 
remote  and  secluded  from  the  stir  and 
noise  of  the  world.  No  road  is  seen 
leading  to  it,  and  one  looks  down  upon 
the  solitary  castle  and  wonders  what 
stories  of  enchantment  and  romance 
belong  to  a  ruin  that  appears  as  if  made 
for  their  dwelling-place.  It  is  a  scene 
out  of  that  Italy  which  is  the  home  of 
the  imagination,  and  which  becomes 
the  Italy  of  memory. 

"As  the  road  winds  down  to  the  sea. 


it  passes  under  a  high  isolated  peak,  on 
which  stands  Esa,  built  as  a  city  of 
refuge  against  pirates  and  Moors.  A 
little  farther  on, 

*  Its  Roman  strength  Turbia  showed 
In  ruins  by  the  mountain  road,'  — 

not  only  recalling  the  ancient  times, 
when  it  was  the  boundary  city  of  Italy 
and  Gaul,  and  when  Augustus  erected 
his  triumphal  arch  within  it,  but  as- 
sociated also  with  Dante  and  the  steep 
of  Purgatory.  Beneath  lies  Monaco, 
glowing  *  like  a  gem  '  on  its  oval  rock, 
the  sea  sparkling  around  it,  and  the 
long  western  rays  of  the  sinking  sun 
lingering  on  its  little  palace,  clinging 
to  its  church  belfry  and  its  gray  wall, 
as  if  loath  to  leave  them." 

In  the  Casa  Magni,  on  the  sea-shore 
near  Lerici,  Shelley  once  lived.  He 
was  returning  thither  from  Leghorn, 
when  he  perished  in  a  sudden  storm  at 
sea. 

67.  After  they  had  gone  a  mile,  they 
were  still  a  stone's  throw  distant. 

82.    See  Convito,  I.  10. 

112.  Manfredi,  king  of  Apulia  and 
Sicily,  was  a  natural  son  of  the  Em- 
peror Frederick  the  Second.  He  was 
slain  at  the  battle  of  Benevento,  in 
1265;  one  of  the  great  and  decisive 
battles  of  the  Guelphs  and  Ghibellines, 
the  Guelph  or  Papal  forces  being  com- 
manded by  Charles  of  Anjou,  and  the 
Ghibellines  or  Imperialists  by  Man- 
fredi. 

Malispini,  Storia,  ch.  187,  thus  de- 
scribes his  death  and  burial  :  "  Man- 
fredi, being  left  with  few  followers, 
behaved  like  a  valiant  gentleman  who 


Purgatorio  in. 


233 


preferred  to  die  in  battle  rather  than 
to  escape  with  shame.  And  putting 
on  his  helmet,  which  had  on  it  a  silver 
eagle  for  a  crest,  this  eagle  fell  on  the 
saddle-bow  before  him;  and  seeing  this 
he  was  greatly  disturbed,  and  said  in 
Latin  to  the  barons  who  were  near 
him,  *Hoc  est  signum  Dei;  for  this  crest 
I  fastened  on  with  my  own  hands  in 
such  a  way  that  it  could  not  fall.'  But 
he  was  not  discouraged,  and  took  heart, 
and  went  into  battle  like  any  other 
baron,  without  the  royal  insignia,  in 
order  not  to  be  recognized.  But  short 
while  it  lasted,  for  his  forces  were  al- 
ready in  flight ;  and  they  were  routed 
and  Manfredi  slain  in  the  middle  of  the 
enemy  ;  and  they  were  driven  into  the 
town  by  the  soldiers  of  King  Charles, 
for  it  was  now  night,  and  they  lost 
the  city  of  Benevento.  And  many  of 
Manfredi's  barons  were  made  pris- 
oners, among  whom  were  the  Count 
Giordano,  Messer  Piero  Asino  degli 
Uberti,  and  many  others,  whom  King 
Charles  sent  captive  into  Provence,  and 
there  had  them  put  to  death  in  prison ; 
and  he  imprisoned  many  other  Ger- 
mans in  different  parts  of  the  kingdom. 
And  a  few  days  afterwards  the  wife  of 
Manfredi  and  his  children  and  his  sis- 
ter, who  were  in  Nocera  de'  Sardini 
in  Apulia,  were  taken  prisoners  by 
Charles ;  these  died  in  prison.  And 
for  more  than  three  days  they  made 
search  after  Manfredi  ;  for  he  could 
not  be  found,  nor  was  it  known  if  he 
were  dead,  or  a  prisoner,  or  had  es- 
caped ;  because  he  had  not  worn  his 
royal  robes  in  the  battle.  And  after- 
VOL.  II.  30 


wards  he  was  recognized  by  one  of 
his  own  camp-followers,  from  certain 
marks  upon  his  person,  in  the  njiddle  of 
the  battle-field ;  and  he  threw  him  across 
an  ass,  and  came  shouting,  *  Who  will 
buy  Manfredi  ? '  for  which  a  baron  of 
the  king  beat  him  with  a  cane.  And 
the  body  of  Manfredi  being  brought  to 
King  Charles,  he  assembled  all  the 
barons  who  were  prisoners,  and  asked 
each  one  if  that  was  Manfredi ;  and 
timidly  they  answered  yes.  Count 
Giordano  smote  himself  in  the  face 
with  his  hands,  weeping  and  crying, 
*0  my  lord!'  whereupon  he  was  much 
commended  by  the  French,  and  certain 
Bretons  besought  that  he  might  have 
honorable  burial.  Answered  the  king 
and  said,  *  I  would  do  it  willingly,  if 
he  were  not  excommunicated';  and 
on  that  account  he  would  not  have 
him  laid  in  consecrated  ground,  but  he 
was  buried  at  the  foot  of  the  bridge  of 
Benevento,  and  each  one  of  the  army 
threw  a  stone  upon  his  grave,  so  that  a 
great  pile  was  made.  But  afterwards, 
it  is  said,  by  command  of  the  Pope,  the 
Bishop  of  Cosenza  took  him  from  that 
grave,  and  sent  him  out  of  the  king- 
dom, because  it  was  Churth  land. 
And  he  was  buried  by  the  river  Verde, 
at  the  confines  of  the  kingdom  and  the 
Campagna.  This  battle  was  on  a  Fri- 
day, the  last  day  of  February,  in  the 
year  one  thousand  two  hundred  and 
sixty-five." 

Villani,  who  in  his  account  of  the 
battle  copies  Malispini  almost  literally, 
gives  in  another  chapter,  VI.  46,  the 
following  portrait  of  Manfredi  ;  but  it 


234 


Notes 


must  be  remembered  that  Villani  was 
a  Guelph,  and  Manfredi  a  Ghibcl- 
line. 

**  King  Manfredi  had  for  his  mother 
a  beautiful  lady  of  the  family  of  the 
Marquises  of  Lancia  in  Lombardy, 
with  whom  the  Emperor  had  an  in- 
trigue, and  was  beautiful  in  person,  and 
like  his  father  and  more  than  his  father 
was  given  to  dissipation  of  all  kinds. 
He  was  a  musician- and  singer,  delight- 
ed in  the  company  of  buffoons  and 
courtiers  and  beautiful  concubines,  and 
was  always  clad  in  green  ;  he  was 
generous  and  courteous,  and  of  good 
demeanor,  so  that  he  was  much  be- 
loved and  gracious ;  but  his  life  was 
wholly  epicurean,  hardly  caring  for 
God  or  the  saints,  but  for  the  delights 
of  the  body.  He  was  an  enemy  of 
holy  Church,  and  of  priests  and  monks, 
confiscating  churches  as  his  father  had 
done ;  and  a  wealthy  gentleman  was  he, 
both  from  the  treasure  which  he  in- 
herited from  the  Emperor,  and  from 
King  Conrad,  his  brother,  and  from  his 
own  kingdom,  which  was  ample  and 
fruitful,  and  which,  so  long  as  he  lived, 
notwithstanding  all  the  wars  he   had 


with  the  Church,  he  kept  in  good  con- 
dition, so  that  it  rose  greatly  in  wealth 
and  power,  both  by  sea  and  by  land." 

This  battle  of  Bencvento  is  the 
same  as  that  mentioned  Inf.  XXVIII. 
i6:  — 

"  At  Ceperano,  where  a  renegade 
Was  each  Apulian." 

113.  Constance,  wife  of  the  Em- 
peror Henry  the  Sixth. 

115.  His  daughter  Constance,  who 
was  married  to  Peter  of  Aragon,  and 
was  the  mother  of  Frederic  of  Sicily 
and  of  James  of  Aragon. 

124.  The  Bishop  of  Cosenza  and 
Pope  Clement  the  Fourth. 

131.  The  name  of  the  river  Verde 
reminds  one  of  the  old  Spanish  ballad, 
particularly  when  one  recalls  the  fact 
that  Manfredi  had  in  his  army  a  band 
of  Saracens :  — 

"  Rio  Verde,  Rio  Verde, 

Many  a  corpse  is  bathed  in  thee. 

Both  of  Moors  and  eke  of  Christians, 

Slain  with  swords  most  cruelly." 

132.  Those  who  died  **  in  contu- 
mely of  holy  Church,"  or  under  ex- 
communication, were  buried  with  ex- 
tinguished and  inverted  torches. 


CANTO    IV. 


6.  Plato's  doctrine  of  three  souls  : 
the  Vegetative  in  the  liver ;  the  Sensa- 
tive  in  the  heart  ;  and  the  Intellectual 
in  the  brain.     See  Convito,  IV.  7. 

15.  See  Convito,  II.  14,  quoted  Par. 
XIV.  Note  86. 


25.  Sanleo,  a  fortress  on  a  mountain 
in  the  duchy  of  Urbino  ;  Noli,  a  town 
in  the -Genoese  territory,  by  the  sea- 
side ;  Bismantova,  a  mountain  in  the 
duchy  of  Modena. 

36.    Like  Christian  going  up  the  hill 


Ptirgatorio  v. 


235 


Difficulty  in  Bunyan,  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress :  "  I  looked  then  after  Christian 
to  see  him  go  up  the  hill,  where  I  per- 
ceived he  fell  from  running  to  going, 
and  from  going  to  clambering  upon  his 
hands  and  knees,  because  of  the  steep- 
ness of  the  place," 

43.    More  than  forty-five  degrees. 

61.  If  the  sun  were  in  Gemini,  or 
if  we  were  in  the  month  of  May,  you 
would  see  the  sun  still  farther  to  the 
north. 

64.  Rubecchio  is  generally  rendered 
red  or  ruddy.  But  Jacopo  dalla  Lana 
says:  "Rubecchio  in  the  Tuscan  tongue 
signifies  an  indented  mill-wheel."  This 
interpretation  certainly  renders  the  im- 
age more  distinct.  The  several  signs 
of  the  Zodiac  are  so  many  cogs  in  the 
great  wheel  ;  and  the  wheel  is  an  im- 
age which  Dante  more  than  once  ap- 
plies to  the  celestial  bodies. 

71.  The  Ecliptic.  See  Z;//  XV II., 
Note  107. 

73.  This,  the  Mountain  of  Purga- 
tory ;  and  that.  Mount  Zion. 

83.  The  Seven  Stars  of  Ursa  Major, 
the  North  Star. 


109.  Compare  Thomson's  descrip- 
tion of  the  "pleasing  land  of  drowsy- 
head,"  in  the  Castle  of  Indolence  :  — 

"And  there  a  season  atween  June  and  May, 
Half  prankt  with  spring,  with  summer  half 

imbrowned, 
A  listless  climate  made,  where,  sooth  to  say. 
No  living  wight  could  work,  ne  cared  even 

for  play." 

123.  "  He  loved  also  in  life,"  says 
Arrivabene,  Commento  Storico,  584,  "a 
certain  Belacqua,  an  excellent  maker  of 
musical  instruments." 

Benvenuto  da  Imola  says  of  him  : 
"  He  was  a  Florentine  who  made  gui- 
tars and  other  musical  instruments. 
He  carved  and  ornamented  the  necks 
and  heads  of  the  guitars  with  great  care, 
and  sometimes  also  played.  Hence 
Dante,  who  delighted  in  music,  knew 
him  intimately."  This  seems  to  be  all 
that  is  known  of  Belacqua. 

133.    Measure  for  Measure,  II.  2:  — 

"  True  prayers 
That  shall  be  up  at  heaven,  and  enter  there 
Ere  sunrise  ;   prayers  from  preserved  souls. 
From  fasting  maids,  whose  minds  are  dedicate 
To  nothing  temporal." 


CANTO    V. 


I.  There  is  an  air  of  reality  about 
this  passage,  like  some  personal  reminis- 
cence of  street  gossip,  which  gives  per- 
haps a  little  credibility  to  the  other- 
wise incredible  anecdotes  of  Dante 
told  by  Sacchetti  and  others;  —  such  as 
those  of  the  ass-driver  whom  he  beat. 


and  the  blacksmith  whose  tools  he 
threw  into  the  street  fo-r  singing  his 
verses  amiss,  and  the  woman  who 
pointed  him  out  to  her  companions  as 
the  man  who  had  been  in  Hell  and 
brought  back  tidings  of  it. 

38.    Some  editions  read  in  this  line 


2-:,6 


Notes 


mczza  nottc,  midnight,  instead  o^ prima 
notte,  early  nightfall. 

Of  meteors  Brunetto  Latini,  Tresor, 
I.  pt.  3,  ch.  107,  writes:  "  Likewise  it 
often  comes  to  pass  that  a  dry  vapor, 
when  it  has  mounted  so  high  that  it 
takes  fire  from  the  heat  which  is  above, 
falls,  when  thus  kindled,  towards  the 
earth,  until  it  is  spent  and  extinguished, 
whence  some  people  think  it  is  a  drag- 
on or  a  star  which  falls." 

Milton,  P^raJ.  Lost,  IV.  556,  de- 
scribing the  flight  of  Uriel,  says  :  — 

"  Swift  as  a  shooting  star 
In  Autumn  thwarts  the  night,  when  vapors  fired 
Impress  the  air,  and  show  the  mariner 
From  what  point  of  his  compass  to  beware 
Impetuous  winds." 

66.  Shakespeare's  "  war  'twixt  will 
and  will  not,"  and  "  letting  I  dare  not 
wait  upon  I  would." 

67.  This  is  Jacopo  del  Cassero  of 
Fano,  in  the  region  between  Romagna 
and  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  then  ruled 
by  Charles  de  Valois  (Charles  Lack- 
land). He  was  waylaid  and  murdered 
at  Oriago,  between  Venice  and  Padua, 
by  Azzone  the  Third  of  Este. 

74.  Leviticus,  x\n.  2 :  "The  life  of 
the  flesh  is  in  the  blood." 

75.  Among  the  Paduans,  who  are 
called  Antenori,  because  their  city 
was  founded  by  Antenor  of  Troy. 
Brunetto  Latini,  Tresor,  L  ch.  39,  says: 
"  Then  Antenor  and  Priam  departed 
thence,  with  a  great  company  of  peo- 
ple, and  went  to  the  Marca  Trevi- 
sana,  not  far  from  Venice,  and  there 
they  built  another  city  which  is 
called  Padua,   where  lies  the  body  of 


Antenor,  and  his  sepulchre  is  still 
there." 

79.  La  Mira  is  on  the  Brenta,  or  one 
of  its  canals,  in  the  fen-lands  between 
Padua  and  Venice. 

88.  Buonconte  was  a  son  of  Guido 
di  Montefeltro,  and  lost  his  life  in  the 
battle  of  Campaldino  in  the  Val  d' Arno. 
His  body  was  never  found ;  Dante 
imagines  its  fate. 

Ruskin,  Mod.  Painters,  IH.  252,  re- 
marks :  — 

"  Observe,  Buonconte,  as  he  dies, 
crosses  his  arms  over  his  breast,  press- 
ing them  together,  partly  in  his  pain, 
partly  in  prayer.  His  body  thus  lies 
by  the  river  shore,  as  on  a  sepul- 
chral monument,  the  arms  folded  into 
a  cross.  The  rage  of  the  river,  under 
the  influence  of  the  evil  demon,  unlooses 
this  cross,  dashing  the  body  supinely 
away,  and  rolling  it  over  and  over  by 
bank  and  bottom.  Nothing  can  be 
truer  to  the  action  of  a  stream  in  fury 
than  these  lines.  And  how  desolate  is 
it  all  !  The  lonely  flight,  —  the  grisly 
wound,  "pierced  in  the  throat,"  — 
the  death,  without  help  or  pity,  — 
only  the  name  of  Mary  on  the  lips, 
—  and  the  cross  folded  over  the  heart. 
Then  the  rage  of  the  demon  and  the 
river,  —  the  noteless  grave,  —  and,  at 
last,  even  she  who  had  been  most  trust- 
ed forgetting  him,  — 

*  Giovanna  nor  none  else  have  care  for  me.' 

There  is,  I  feel  assured,  nothing  else 
like  it  in  all  the  range  of  poetry  ;  a 
faint  and  harsh  echo  of  it,  only,  exists 
in  one  Scottish  ballad,  'The  Twa  Cor- 
bies.' " 


Purgatorio  r. 


237 


89.  The  wife  of  Buonconte. 
92.  Ampere,  Voyage  Dantesque,  p. 
241,  thus  speaks  of  the  battle  of  Cam- 
paldino  :  "In  this  plain  of  Campaldino, 
now  so  pleasant  and  covered  with  vine- 
yards, took  place,  on  the  iith  of  June, 
1289,  a  rude  combat  between  the 
Guelphs  of  Florence  and  the  fuorusciti 
Ghibellines,  aided  by  the  Aretines. 
Dante  fought  in  the  front  rank  of  the 
Florentine  cavalry  ;  for  it  must  needs 
be  that  this  man,  whose  life  was  so 
complete,  should  have  been  a  soldier, 
before  being  a  theologian,  diplomatist, 
and  poet.  He  was  then  twenty-four 
years  of  age.  He  himself  described 
this  battle  in  a  letter,  of  which  only  a 
few  lines  remain.  *  At  the  battle  of 
Campaldino,'  he  says,  *  the  Ghibelline 
party  was  routed  and  almost  wholly 
slain.  I  was  there,  a  novice  in  arms ; 
I  had  great  fear,  and  at  last  great  joy,  on 
account  of  the  divers  chances  of  the 
fight.'  One  must  not  see  in  this  phrase 
the  confession  of  cowardice,  which 
could  have  no  place  in  a  soul  tempered 
like  that  of  Alighieri.  The  only  fear 
he  had  was  lest  the  battle  should  be 
lost.  In  fact,  the  Florentines  at  first 
seemed  beaten;  their  infantry  fell  back 
before  the  Aretine  cavalry ;  but  this 
first  advantage  of  the  enemy  was  its 
destruction,  by  dividing  its  forces. 
These  were  the  vicissitudes  of  the 
battle  to  which  Dante  alludes,  and 
which  at  first  excited  his  fears,  and 
then  caused  his  joy." 

96.    The  Convent  of  Camaldoli,  thus 
described  by  Forsyth,  Italy y  p.  117:  — 

*'  We  now  crossed  the  beautiful  vale 


of  Prato  Vecchio,  rode  round  the  mod- 
est arcades  of  the  town,  and  arrived 
at  the  lower  convent  of  Camaldoli,  just 
at  shutting  of  the  gates.  The  sun  was 
set  and  every  object  sinking  into  re- 
pose, except  the  stream  which  roared 
among  the  rocks,  and  the  convent-bells 
which  were  then  ringing  the  Angelus. 

**  This  monastery  is  secluded  from 
the  approach  of  woman  in  a  deep,  nar- 
row, woody  dell.  Its  circuit  of  dead 
walls,  built  on  the  conventual  plan, 
gives  it  an  aspect  of  confinement  and 
defence ;  yet  this  is  considered  as  a 
privileged  retreat,  where  the  rule  of  the 
order  relaxes  its  rigor,  and  no  monks 
can  reside  but  the  sick  or  the  super- 
annuated, the  dignitary  or  the  steward, 
the  apothecary  or  the  bead -turner. 
Here  we  passed  the  night,  and  next 
morning  rode  up  by  the  steep  traverses 
to  the  Santo  Eremo,  where  Saint  Ro- 
mualdo  lived  and  established 

de'  tacenti  cenobiti  il  coro, 
L'  arcane  penitenze,  ed  i  digiuni 
Al  Camaldoli  suo. 

"  The  Eremo  is  a  city  of  hermits, 
walled  round,  and  divided  into  streets 
of  low,  detached  cells.  Each  cell  con- 
sists of  two  or  three  naked  rooms,  built 
exactly  on  the  plan  of  the  Saint's  own 
tenement,  which  remains  just  as  Ro- 
mualdo  left  it  eight  hundred  years  ago; 
now  too  sacred  and  too  damp  for  a 
mortal   tenant. 

"  The  unfeeling  Saint  has  here  es- 
tablished a  rule  which  anticipates  the 
pains  of  Purgatory.  No  stranger  can 
behold  without  emotion  a  number  of 
noble,  interesting  young  men  bound  to 


238 


Notes 


stand  erect  chanting  at  choir  for  eight 
hours  a  day  ;  their  faces  pale,  their 
heads  shaven, their  beards  shaggy, their 
backs  raw,  their  legs  swollen,  and  their 
feet  bare.  With  this  horrible  insti- 
tute the  climate  conspires  in  severity, 
and  selects  from  society  the  best  con- 
stitutions. The  sickly  novice  is  cut 
off  in  one  or  two  winters,  the  rest  are 
subject  to  dropsy,  and  few  arrive  at 
old  age." 

97.  Where  the  Archiano  loses  its 
name  by  flowing  into  the  Arno. 

104.  Epistle  of  Jude,  9  :  "  Yet  Mi- 
chael the  archangel,  when  contending 
with  the  devil  he  disputed  about  the 
body  of  Moses,  durst  not  bring  against 
him  a  railing  accusation,  but  said.  The 
Lord  rebuke  thee." 

And  Jeremy  Taylor,  speaking  of  the 
pardon  of  sin,  says  :  "  And  while  it  is 
disputed  between  Christ  and  Christ's 
enemy  who  shall  be  Lord,  the  pardon 
fluctuates  like  the  wave,  striving  to 
climb  the  rock,  and  is  washed  off  like 
its  own  retinue,  and  it  gets  possession 
by  time  and  uncertainty,  by  difficulty 
and  the  degrees  of  a  hard  progression." 

109.  Brunetto  Latini,  Tresor,  L  ch. 
107:  "Then  arise  vapors  like  unto 
smoke,  and  mount  aloft  in  air,  where 
little  by  little  they  gather  and  grow, 
until  they  become  dark  and  dense,  so 
that  they  take  away  the  sight  of  the 
sun  ;  and  these  are  the  clouds  ;  but 
they  never  are  so  dark  as  to  take  away 
the  light  of  day  ;  for  the  sun  shines 
through  them,  as  if  it  were  a  candle 
in  a  lantern,  which  shines  outwardly, 
though  it  cannot  itself  be  seen.     And 


when  the  cloud  has  waxed  great,  so 
that  it  can  no  longer  support  the  abun- 
dance of  water,  which  is  there  as  va- 
por, it  must  needs  fall  to  earth,  and 
that  is  the  rain." 

112.  In  Ephesians  ii.  2,  the  evil 
spirit  is  called  "  the  prince  of  the 
power  of  the  air." 

Compare  also  Inf.  XXIIL  16, 
"  If  anger  upon  evil  will  be  grafted." 

and  Inf.  XXXL  55, 

"For  where  the  argument  of  intellect 
Is  added  unto  evil  will  and  power, 
No  rampart  can  the  people  make  against  it." 

116.  This  Pratomagno  is  the  same 
as  the  Prato  Vecchio  mentioned  in 
Note  96.  The  "  great  yoke  "  is  the 
ridge  of  the  Apennines. 

Dr.  Barlow,  Study  of  Dante,  p.  199, 
has  this  note  on  the  passage:  — 

"  When  rain  falls  from  the  upper 
region  of  the  air,  we  observe  at  a  con- 
siderable altitude  a  thin  light  veil,  or 
a  hazy  turbidness;  as  this  increases,  the 
lower  clouds  become  difiiised  in  it,  and 
form  a  uniform  sheet.  Such  is  the  stra- 
tus cloud  described  by  Dante  (v.  115) 
as  covering  the  valley  from  Pratomagno 
to  the  ridge  on  the  opposite  side  above 
Camaldoli.  This  cloud  is  a  widely- 
extended  horizontal  sheet  of  vapor,  in- 
creasing from  below,  and  lying  on  or 
near  the  earth's  surface.  It  is  prop- 
erly the  cloud  of  night,  and  first  ap- 
pears about  sunset,  usually  in  autumn; 
it  comprehends  creeping  mists  and  fogs 
which  ascend  from  the  bottom  of  val- 
leys, and  from  the  surface  of  lakes  and 
rivers,   in    consequence    of  air    colder 


PtLvgatorio  v. 


239 


than  that  of  the  surface  descending  and 
mingling  with  it,  and  from  the  air  over 
the  adjacent  land  cooling  down  more 
rapidly  than  that  over  the  water,  from 
which  increased  evaporation  is  taking 
place," 

118.    Milton,  Parad.  Lost,  IV.  500: 
"  As  Jupiter 
On  Juno  smiles,  when  he  impregns  the  clouds 
That  bring  May-flowers." 

1 26.  His  arms  crossed  upon  his 
breast. 

1 34.  A.mY>hrQ,Foyage Daniesque,  255  : 
**  Who  was  this  unhappy  and  perhaps 
guilty  woman  ?  The  commentators 
say  that  she  was  of  the  family  of  Tolo- 
mei,  illustrious  at  Siena.  Among  the 
different  versions  of  her  story  there  is 
one  truly  terrible.  The  outraged  hus- 
band led  his  wife  to  an  isolated  castle 
in  the  Maremma  of  Siena,  and  there 
shut  himself  up  with  his  victim,  wait- 
ing his  vengeance  from  the  poisoned 
atmosphere  of  this  solitude.  Breathing 
with  her  the  air  which  was  killing  her, 
he  saw  her  slowly  perish.  This  fu- 
neral tete-a-tete  found  him  always  im- 
passive, until,  according  to  the  ex- 
pression of  Dante,  the  Maremma  had 
unmade  what  he  had  once  loved.  This 
melancholy  story  might  well  have  no 
other  foundation  than  the  enigma  of 
Dante's  lines,  and  the  terror  with  which 
this  enigma  may  have  struck  the  imagi- 
nations of  his  contemporaries. 

"  However  this  may  be,  one  cannot 
prevent  an  involuntary  shudder,  when, 
showing  you  a  pretty  little  brick  pal- 
ace [at  Siena],  they  say,  *  That  is  the 
house  of  the  Pia.' " 


Benvenuto  da  Imola  gives  a  different 
version  of  the  story,  and  says  that  by 
command  of  the  husband  she  was 
thrown  from  the  window  of  her  pal- 
ace into  the  street,  and  died  of  the 
fall. 

Bandello,  the  Italian  Novelist,  Pt.  I. 
Nov.  12,  says  that  the  narrative  is  true, 
and  gives  minutely  the  story  of  the 
lovers,  with  such  embellishments  as  his 
imagination  suggested. 

Ugo  Foscolo,  Edinb.  Review,  XXIX. 
458,  speaks  thus : — 

"  Shakespeare  unfolds  the  character 
of  his  persons,  and  presents  them  under 
all  the  variety  of  forms  which  they  can 
naturally  assume.  He  surrounds  them 
with  all  the  splendor  of  his  imagina- 
tion, and  bestows  on  them  that  full 
and  minute  reality  which  his  creative 
genius  could  alone  confer.  Of  all 
tragic  poets,  he  most  amply  develops 
character.  On  the  other  hand,  Dante, 
if  compared  not  only  to  Virgil,  the 
most  sober  of  poets,  but  even  to  Taci- 
tus, will  be  found  never  to  employ 
more  than  a  stroke  or  two  of  his  pen- 
cil, which  he  aims  at  imprinting  almost 
insensibly  on  the  hearts  of  his  readers. 
Virgil  has  related  the  story  of  Eury- 
dice  in  two  hundred  verses  ;  Dante,  in 
sixty  verses,  has  finished  his  master- 
piece, —  the  tale  of  Francesca  da  Ri- 
mini. The  history  of  Desdemona  has 
a  parallel  in  the  following  passage  of 
Dante.  Nello  della  Pietra  had  es- 
poused a  lady  of  noble  family  at  Sien- 
na, named  Madonna  Pia.  Her  beauty 
was  the  admiration  of  Tuscany,  and 
excited  in  the  heart  of  her  husband  a 


240 


Notes 


jealousy,  which,  exasperated  by  false 
reports  and  groundless  suspicions,  at 
length  drove  him  to  the  desperate  res- 
olution of  Othello.  It  is  difficult  to 
decide  whether  the  lady  was  quite  in- 
nocent ;  but  so  Dante  represents  her. 
Her  husband  brought  her  into  the 
Maremma,  which,  then  as  now,  was 
a  district  destructive  to  health.  He 
never  told  his  unfortunate  wife  the 
reason  of  her  banishment  to  so  dan- 
gerous a  country.  He  did  not  deign 
to  utter  complaint  or  accusation.  He 
lived  with  her  alone,  in  cold  silence, 
without  answering  her  questions,  or 
listening  to  her  remonstrances.  He 
patiently  waited  till  the  pestilential  air 
should  destroy  the  health  of  this  young 
lady.  In  a  few  months  she  died. 
Some  chroniclers,  indeed,  tell  us,  that 
Nello  used  the  dagger  to  hasten  her 
death.     It  is  certain  that  he  survived 


her,  plunged  in  sadness  and  perpetual 
silence.  Dante  had,  in  this  incident, 
all  the  materials  of  an  ample  and  very 
poetical  narrative.  But  he  bestows  on 
it  only  four  verses." 

For  a  description  of  the  Maremma, 
see  Inf.  XIII.  Note  9. 

Also  Rogers,  Ital^,  near  the  end  :  — 

"  Where  the  path 
Is  lost  in  rank  luxuriance,  and  to  breathe 
Is  to  inhale  distemper,  if  not  death  ; 
Where  the   wild-boar   retreats,    when    hunters 

chafe, 
And,  when   the   day-star   flames,  the   buffalo- 
herd 
Afflicted  plunge  into  the  stagnant  pool, 
Nothing  discerned  amid  the  water-leaves, 
Save  here  and  there  the  likeness  of  a  head, 
Savage,  uncouth  ;   where  none  in  human  shape 
Come,  save  the  herdsman,  levelling  his  length 
Of  lance  with  many  a  cry,  or  Tartar-like 
Urging  his  steed  along  the  distant  hill, 
As  from  a  danger." 


CANTO    VI. 


1.  Zara  was  a  game  of  chance, 
played   with   three   dice. 

13.  Messer  Benincasa  of  Arezzo, 
who,  while  Vicario  del  Podesta,  or 
Judge,  in  Siena,  sentenced  to  death  a 
brother  and  a  nephew  of  Ghino  di 
Tacco  for  highway  robbery.  He  was 
afterwards  an  Auditor  of  the  Ruota  in 
Rome,  where,  says  Benvenuto,  "  one 
day  as  he  sat  in  the  tribunal,  in  the 
midst  of  a  thousand  people,  Ghino  di 
Tacco  appeared  like  Scasvola,  terrible 
and  nothing  daunted;  and  having  seized 


Benincasa,  he  plunged  his  dagger  into 
his  heart,  leaped  from  the  balcony,  and 
disappeared  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd 
stupefied  with  terror," 

14.  This  terrible  Ghino  di  Tacco 
was  a  nobleman  of  Asinalunga  in  the 
territory  of  Siena  ;  one  of  those  splen- 
did fellows,  who,  from  some  real  or 
imaginary  wrong  done  them,  take  to 
the  mountains  and  highways  to  avenge 
themselves  on  society.  He  is  the  true 
type  of  the  traditionary  stage  bandit, 
the   magnanimous   melodramatic   hero. 


Ptcrgatorio  vi. 


241 


who  utters  such  noble  sentiments  and 
commits  such  atrocious  deeds. 

Benvcnuto  is  evidently  dazzled  and 
fascinated  by  him,  and  has  to  throw 
two  Romans  into  the  scale  to  do  him 
justice.     His  account  is  as  follows:  — 

"  Reader,  I  would  have  thee  know 
that  Ghino  was  not,  as  some  write,  so 
infamous  as  to  be  a  great  assassin  and 
highway  robber.  For  this  Ghino  di 
Tacco  was  a  wonderful  man,  tall,  mus- 
cular, black-haired,  and  strong;  as  agile 
as  Scsvola,  as  prudent  and  liberal  as 
Papirius  Cursor.  He  was  of  the  no- 
bles of  La  Fratta,  in  the  county  of  Sie- 
na ;  who,  being  forcibly  banished  by 
the  Counts  of  Santafiore,  held  the  noble 
castle  of  Radicofani  against  the  Pope. 
With  his  marauders  he  made  many  and 
great  prizes,  so  that  no  one  could  go 
safely  to  Rome  or  elsewhere  through 
those  regions.  Yet  hardly  any  one  fell 
into  his  hands,  who  did  not  go  away 

contented,  and  love  and  praise  him 

If  a  merchant  were  taken  prisoner, 
Ghino  asked  him  kindly  how  much  he 
was  able  to  give  him  ;  and  if  he  said  five 
hundred  pieces  of  gold,  he  kept  three 
hundred  for  himself,  and  gave  back  two 
hundred,  saying,  '  I  wish  you  to  go  on 
with  your  business  and  to  thrive.'  If 
it  were  a  rich  and  fat  priest,  he  kept 
his  handsome  mule,  and  gave  him  a 
wretched  horse.  And  if  it  were  a  poor 
scholar,  going  to  study,  he  gave  him 
some  money,  and  exhorted  him  to  good 
conduct  and  proficiency  in  learning." 

Boccaccio,  Decamerone,  X.  2,  relates 
the  following  adventure  of  Ghino  di 
Tacco  and  the  Abbot  of  Cligni. 

VOL.   II.  31 


"  Ghino  di  Tacco  was  a  man  fa- 
mous for  his  bold  and  insolent  robberies, 
who  being  banished  trom  Siena,  and  at 
utter  enmity  with  the  Counts  di  Santa 
Fiore,  caused  the  town  of  Radicofani 
to  rebel  against  the  Church,  and  lived 
there  whilst  his  gang  robbed  all  who 
passed  that  way.  Now  when  Boniface 
the  Eighth  was  Pope,  there  came  to 
court  the  Abbot  of  Cligni,  reputed  to 
be  one  of  the  richest  prelates  in  the 
world,  and  having  debauched  his  stom- 
ach with  high  living,  he  was  advised 
by  his  physicians  to  go  to  the  baths  of 
Siena,  as  a  certain  cure.  And,  having 
leave  from  the  Pope,  he  set  out  with 
a  goodly  train  of  coaches,  carriages, 
horses,  and  servants,  paying  no  respect 
to  the  rumors  concerning  this  robber. 
Ghino  was  apprised  of  his  coming,  and 
took  his  measures  accordingly  ;  when, 
without  the  loss  of  a  man,  he  enclosed 
the  Abbot  and  his  whole  retinue  in  a 
narrow  defile,  where  it  was  impossible 
for  them  to  escape.  This  being  done, 
he  sent  one  of  his  principal  fellows  to 
the  Abbot  with  his  service,  requesting 
the  favor  of  him  to  alight  and  visit 
him  at  his  castle.  Upon  which  the 
Abbot  replied,  with  a  great  deal  of  pas- 
sion, that  he  had  nothing  to  do  with 
Ghino,  but  that  his  resolution  was  to 
go  on,  and  he  would  see  who  dared  to 
stop  him.  *  My  Lord,'  quoth  the 
man,  with  a  great  deal  of  humility, 
*  you  are  now  in  a  place  where  all  ex- 
communications are  kicked  out  of  doors ; 
then  please  to  oblige  my  master  in 
this  thing  ;  it  will  be  your  best  way.' 
Whilst  they  were  talking  together,  the 


242 


Notes 


place  was  surrounded  with  highway- 
men, and  the  Abbot,  seeing  himselt  a 
prisoner,  went  with  a  great  deal  of  ill- 
will  with  the  fellow  to  the  castle,  fol- 
lowed by  his  whole  retinue,  where  he 
dismounted,  and  was  lodged,  by  Ghino's 
appointment,  in  a  poor,  dark  little 
room,  whilst  every  other  person  was 
well  accommodated  according  to  his 
respective  station,  and  the  carriages  and 
all  the  horses  taken  exact  care  of. 
This  being  done,  Ghino  went  to  the 
Abbot,  and  said,  *  My  Lord,  Ghino, 
whose  guest  you  are,  requests  the  favor 
of  you  to  let  him  know  whither  you 
are  going,  and  upon  what  account  ? ' 
The  Abbot  was  wise  enough  to  lay  all 
his  haughtiness  aside  for  the  present, 
and  satisfied  him  with  regard  to  both. 
Ghino  went  away  at  hearing  this,  and, 
resolving  to  cure  him  without  a  bath, 
he  ordered  a  great  fire  to  be  kept  con- 
stantly in  his  room,  coming  to  him 
no  more  till  next  morning,  when  he 
brought  him  two  slices  of  toasted  bread, 
in  a  fine  napkin,  and  a  large  glass  of  his 
own  rich  white  wine,  saying  to  him, 
*  My  Lord,  when  Ghino  was  young, 
he  studied  physic,  and  he  declares  that 
the  very  best  medicine  for  a  pain  in 
the  stomach  is  what  he  has  now  pro- 
vided for  you,  of  which  these  things  are 
to  be  the  beginning.  Then  take  them, 
and  have  a  good  heart.'  The  Abbot, 
whose  hunger  was  much  greater  than 
was  his  will  to  joke,  ate  the  bread, 
though  with  a  great  deal  of  indigna- 
tion, and  drank  the  glass  of  wine  ;  after 
which  he  began  to  talk  a  little  arro- 
gantly,   asking    many    questions,    and 


demanding  more  particularly  to  see 
this  Ghino.  But  Ghino  passed  over 
part  of  what  he  said  as  vain,  and  the 
rest  he  answered  very  courteously,  de- 
claring that  Ghino  meant  to  make  him 
a  visit  very  soon,  and  then  left  him. 
He  saw  him  no  more  till  next  morn- 
ing, when  he  brought  him  as  much 
bread  and  wine  as  before,  and  in  the 
same  manner.  And  thus  he  continued 
during  many  days,  till  he  found  the  Ab- 
bot had  eaten  some  dried  beans,  which 
he  had  left  purposely  in  the  chamber, 
when  he  inquired  of  him,  as  from 
Ghino,  how  he  found  his  stomach  ? 
The  Abbot  replied,  *  I  should  be  well 
enough  were  I  out  of  this  man's  clutches. 
There  is  nothing  I  want  now  so  much 
as  to  eat,  for  his  medicines  have  had 
such  an  effect  upon  me,  that  I  am  fit 
to  die  with  hunger."  Ghino,  then, 
having  furnished  a  room  with  the  Ab- 
bot's own  goods,  and  provided  an  ele- 
gant entertainment,  to  which  many 
people  of  the  town  were  invited,  as 
well  as  the  Abbot's  own  domestics, 
went  the  next  morning  to  him,  and 
said,  'My  Lord,  now  you  find  yourself 
recovered,  it  is  time  for  you  to  quit 
this  infirmary.'  So'  he  took  him  by 
the  hand,  and  led  him  into  the  cham- 
ber, leaving  him  there  with  his  own 
people  ;  and  as  he  went  out  to  give 
orders  about  the  feast,  the  Abbot  was 
giving  an  account  how  he  had  led  his 
life  in  that  place,  whilst  they  declared 
that  they  had  been  used  by  Ghino  with 
all  possible  respect.  When  the  time 
came,  they  sat  down  and  were  nobly 
entertained,  but  still  without  Ghino's 


Purgatorio  ri. 


243 


making  himself  known.  But  after  the 
Abbot  had  continued  some  days  in  that 
manner,  Ghino  had  all  the  goods  and 
furniture  brought  into  a  large  room, 
and  the  horses  were  likewise  led  into 
the  court-yard  which  was  under  it, 
when  he  inquired  how  his  Lordship 
now  found  himself,  or  whether  he  was 
yet  able  to  ride.  The  Abbot  made  an- 
swer that  he  was  strong  enough,  and 
his  stomach  perfectly  well,  and  that  he 
only  wanted  to  quit  this  man.  Ghino 
then  brought  him  into  the  room  where 
all  his  goods  were,  showing  him  also 
to  the  window,  that  he  might  take  a 
view  of  his  horses,  when  he  said,  *  My 
Lord,  you  must  understand  it  was  no 
evil  disposition,  but  his  being  driven 
a  poor  exile  from  his  own  house,  and 
persecuted  with  many  enemies,  that 
forced  Ghino  di  Tacco,  whom  I  am, 
to  be  a  robber  upon  the  highways,  and 
an  enemy  to  the  court  of  Rome.  You 
seem,  however,  to  be  a  person  of 
honor  ;  as,  therefore,  I  have  cured  you 
of  your  pain  in  your  stomach,  I  do  not 
mean  to  treat  you  as  I  would  do  an- 
other person  that  should  fall  into  my 
hands,  that  is,  to  take  what  I  please, 
but  I  would  have  you  consider  my  ne- 
cessity, and  then  give  me  what  you 
will  yourself.  Here  is  all  that  belongs 
to  you  ;  the  horses  you  may  see  out 
of  the  window:  take  either  part  or  the 
whole,  just  as  you  are  disposed,  and  go 
or  stay,  as  is  most  agreeable  to  you." 
The  Abbot  was  surprised  to  hear  a 
highwayman  talk  in  so  courteous  a 
manner,  which  did  not  a  little  please 
him;  so,  turning  all  his  former  passion 


and  resentment  into  kindness  and  good- 
will, he  ran  with  a  heart  full  of  friend- 
ship to  embrace  him  :  *  I  protest  sol- 
emnly, that  to  procure  the  friendship 
of  such  an  one  as  I  take  you  to  be,  I 
would  undergo  more  than  what  you 
have  already  made  me  suffer.  Cursed 
be  that  evil  fortune  which  has  thrown 
you  into  this  way  of  life!"  So,  taking 
only  a  few  of  his  most  necessary  things, 
and  also  of  his  horses,  and  leaving  all 
the  rest,  he  came  back  to  Rome.  The 
Pope  had  heard  of  the  Abbot's  being  a 
prisoner,  and  though  he  was  much 
concerned  at  it,  yet,  upon  seeing  him, 
he  inquired  what  benefit  he  had  re- 
ceived from  the  baths  ?  The  Abbot 
replied,  with  a  smile,  *  Holy  Father, 
I  found  a  physician  much  nearer,  who 
has  cured  me  excellently  well ' ;  and 
he  told  him  the  manner  of  it,  which 
made  the  Pope  laugh  heartily,  when, 
going  on  with  his  story,  and  moved 
with  a  truly  generous  spirit,  he  requested 
of  his  Holiness  one  favor.  The  Pope, 
imagining  he  would  ask  something  else, 
freely  consented  to  grant  it.  Then 
said  the  Abbot,  *  Holy  Father,  what 
I  mean  to  require  is,  that  you  would 
bestow  a  free  pardon  on  Ghino  di 
Tacco,  my  doctor,  because,  of  all  peo- 
ple of  worth  that  I  ever  met  with,  he 
certainly  is  most  to  be  esteemed,  and 
the  damage  he  does  is  more  the  fault 
of  fortune  than  himself.  Change  but 
his  condition,  and  give  him  something 
to  live  upon,  according  to  his  rank  and 
station,  and  I  dare  say  you  will  have 
the  same  opinion  of  him  that  I  have.' 
The  Pope,  being  of  a  noble  spirit,  and 


244 


Notes 


a  great  cncourager  of  merit,  promised 
to  do  so,  it  he  was  such  a  person  as  he 
reported,  and,  in  the  mean  tme,  gave 
letters  of  safe-conduct  for  his  coming 
thither.  Upon  that  assurance,  Ghino 
came  to  court,  when  the  Pope  was 
soon  convinced  of  his  worth,  and  rec- 
onciled to  him,  giving  him  the  priory 
of  an  hospital,  and  creating  him  a 
knight.  And  there  he  continued  as 
a  friend  and  loyal  servant  to  the  Holy 
Church,  and  to  the  Abbot  of  Cligni, 
as  long  as  he  lived." 

15.  Clone  de'  Tarlati  of  Pietramala, 
who,  according  to  the  Ottimo,  after  the 
fight  at  Bibbiena,  being  pursued  by  the 
enemy,  endeavored  to  ford  the  Arno, 
and  was  drowned.  Others  interpret 
the  line  differently,  making  him  the 
pursuing  party.  But  as  he  was  an 
Aretine,  and  the  Aretines  were  routed 
in  this  battle,  the  other  rendering  is 
doubtless  the  true  one. 

17,  Federigo  Novello,  son  of  Ser 
Guide  Novello  of  Casentino,  slain  by 
one  of  the  Bostoli.  "  A  good  youth," 
says  Benvenuto,  "  and  therefore  Dante 
makes  mention  of  him." 

The  Pisan  who  gave  occasion  to 
Marzucco  to  show  his  fortitude  was 
Marzucco's  own  son,  Farinata  degli 
Scoringiani.  He  was  slain  by  Beccio 
da  Caproni,  or,  as  Benvenuto  asserts, 
declaring  that  Boccaccio  told  him  so, 
by  Count  Ugolino.  His  father,  Mar- 
zucco, who  had  become  a  Franciscan 
friar,  showed  no  resentment  at  the 
murder,  but  went  with  the  other  friars 
to  his  son's  funeral,  and  in  humility 
kissed  the  hand  of  the  murderer,  ex- 


torting from  him  the  exclamation, 
"  Thy  patience  overcomes  my  obdu- 
racy." This  was  an  example  of  Chris- 
tian forgiveness  which  even  that  vin- 
dictive age  applauded. 

19.  Count  Orso  was  a  son  of  Napo- 
leone  d'  Acerbaja,  and  was  slain  by  his 
brother-in-law  (or  uncle)  Alberto. 

22.  Pierre  de  la  Brosse  was  the  sec- 
retary of  Philip  le  Bel  of  France,  and 
suffered  at  his  hands  a  fate  similar  to 
that  which  befell  Pier  della  Vigna  at 
the  court  of  Frederick  the  Second. 
See  Inf.  XHI.  Note  58.  Being  ac- 
cused by  Marie  de  Brabant,  the  wife 
of  Philip,  of  having  written  love-letters 
to  her,  he  was  condemned  to  death  by 
the  king  in  1276.  Benvenuto  thinks 
that  during  his  residence  in  Paris  Dante 
learned  the  truth  of  the  innocence  of 
Pierre  de  la  Brosse. 

30.  In  ^neid,  VI. :  "  Cease  to  hope 
that  the  decrees  of  the  gods  are  to  be 
changed  by  prayers." 

37.  The  apex  juris,  or  top  of  judg- 
ment ;  the  supreme  decree  of  God. 
Measure  for  Measure,  II.  2  :  — 

"  How  would  you  be, 
If  He  who  is  the  top  of  judgment  should 
But  judge  you  as  you  are?'"' 

5 1 .  Virgil's  Bucolics,  Eclogue  I.  : 
"  And  now  the  high  tops  of  the  villages 
smoke  afar,  and  larger  shadows  fall 
from  the  lofty  mountains." 

74.  This  has  generally  been  sup- 
posed to  be  Sordello  the  Troubadour. 
But  is  it  he  ?  Is  it  Sordello  the  Trou- 
badour, or  Sordello  the  Podesta  of  Ve- 
rona ?  or  are  they  one  and  the  same 
person  ?      After   much   research,   it  is 


Pttrgatorio  vi. 


24s 


not   easy  to  decide   the  question,  and 
to 

"  Single  out 
Sordello,  compassed  murkily  about 
With  ravage  of  six  long  sad  hundred  years." 

Yet  as  far  as  it  is  possible  to  learn  it 
from  various  conflicting  authorities, 
"  Who  will  may  hear  Sordello's  story  told." 
Dante,  in  his  treatise  De  Volgari 
Eloquio,  I.  15,  speaks  of  Sordello  ot 
Mantua  as  "  a  man  so  choice  in  his 
language,  that  not  only  in  his  poems, 
but  in  whatever  way  he  spoke,  he 
abandoned  the  dialect  of  his  province." 
But  here  there  is  no  question  of  the 
Proven9al  in  which  Sordello  the  Trou- 
badour wrote,  but  only  of  Italian  dia- 
lects in  comparison  with  the  universal 
and  cultivated  Italian,  which  Dante 
says  "  belongs  to  all  the  Italian  cities, 
and  seems  to  belong  exclusively  to 
none."  In  the  same  treatise,  II.  13, 
he  mentions  a  certain  Gotto  of  Mantua 
as  the  author  of  many  good  songs;  and 
this  Gotto  is  supposed  to  be  Sordello, 
as  Sordello  was  born  at  Goito  in  the 
province  of  Mantua.  But  would  Dante 
in  the  same  treatise  allude  to  the  same 
person  under  different  names  ?  Is  not 
this  rather  the  Sordel  de  Goi,  mentioned 
by  Raynouard,  Poesies  des   Troub.,  V. 

445  ? 

In    the    old    Proven9al    manuscript 

quoted  by  Raynouard,  Poesies  des  Troub., 

V.   444,  Sordello's    biography  is    thus 

given  :  — 

"  Sordello  was  a  Mantuan  of  Sirier, 

son  of  a  poor  knight,  whose  name  was 

Sir   El    Cort.      And    he    delighted    in 

learning    songs   and    in   making   them. 


and  rivalled  the  good  men  of  the  court 
as  far  as  possible,  and  wrote  love-songs 
and  satires.  And  he  came  to  the  court 
of  the  Count  of  Saint  Boniface,  and  the 
Count  honored  him  greatly,  and  by 
way  of  pastime  (a  forma  de  solatz)  he 
fell  in  love  with  the  wife  of  the  Count, 
and  she  with  him.  And  it  happened 
that  the  Count  quarrelled  with  her 
brothers,  and  became  estranged  from 
her.  And  her  brothers,  Sir  Icellis  and 
Sir  Albrics,  persuaded  Sir  Sordello  to 
run  away  with  her  ;  and  he  came  to 
live  with  them  in  great  content.  And 
afterwards  he  went  into  Provence,  and 
received  great  honor  from  all  good 
men,  and  from  the  Count  and  Countess, 
who  gave  him  a  good  castle  and  a 
gentlewoman  for  his  wife." 

Citing  this  passage,  Millot,  Hist.  Litt. 
des  Troub.,  II.  80,  goes  on  to  say :  — 

"This  is  all  that  our  manuscripts  tell 
us  of  Sordello.  According  to  Agnelli 
and  Platina,  historians  of  Mantua,  he 
was  of  the  house  of  the  Visconti  of 
that  city  ;  valiant  in  deeds  of  arms,  fa- 
mous in  jousts  and  tournaments,  he 
won  the  love  of  Beatrice,  daughter  of 
Ezzelin  da  Romano,  Lord  of  the  Marca 
Trevigiana,  and  married  her  ;  he  gov- 
erned Mantua  as  Podesta  and  Captain- 
General ;  and  though  son-in-law  of  the 
tyrant  Ezzelin,  he  always  opposed  him, 
being  a  great  lover  of  justice. 

"  We  find  these  facts  cited  by  Cres- 
cimbeni,  who  says  that  Sordello  was 
the  lord  of  Goito  ;  but  as  they  are  not 
applicable  to  our  poet,  we  presume 
they  refer  to  a  warrior  of  the  same 
name,  and  perhaps  of  a  different  family. 


246 


Notes 


"  Among  the  pieces  of  Sordello, 
thirty-four  in  number,  there  are  some 
fifteen  songs  of  gallantry,  though  Nos- 
trodamus  says  that  all  his  pieces  turn 
only  upon  philosophic  subjects." 

Nostrodamus's  account,  as  given  by 
Crescimbeni,  Volgar  Poesia,  II.  105,  is 
as  follows  :  — 

"Sordello  was  a  Mantuan  poet,  who 
surpassed  in  Provencal  song  Calvo, 
Folchetto  of  Marseilles,  Lanfranco  Ci- 
cala, Percival  Doria,  and  all  the  other 
Genoese  and  Tuscan  poets,  who  took 
far  greater  delight  in  our  Provencal 
tongue,  on  account  of  its  sweetness, 
than  in  their  own  maternal  language. 
This  poet  was  very  studious,  and  ex- 
ceeding eager  to  know  all  things,  and 
as  much  as  any  one  of  his  nation  ex- 
cellent in  learning  as  well  as  in  under- 
standing and  in  prudence.  He  wrote 
several  beautiful  songs,  not  indeed  of 
love,  for  not  one  of  that  kind  is  found 
among  his  works,  but  on  philosophic 
subjects.  Raymond  Belinghieri,  the 
last  Count  of  Provence  of  that  name,  in 
the  last  days  of  his  life,  (the  poet  being 
then  but  fifteen  years  of  age,)  on  ac- 
count of  the  excellence  of  his  poetry 
and  the  rare  invention  shown  in  his  pro- 
ductions, took  him  into  his  service,  as 
Pietro  di  Castelnuovo,  himself  a  Pro- 
ven9al  poet,  informs  us.  He  also 
wrote  various  satires  in  the  same  lan- 
guage, and  among  others  one  in  which 
he  reproves  all  the  Christian  princes  ; 
and  it  is  composed  in  the  form  of  a 
funeral  song  on  the  death  of  Blan- 
casso." 

In  the  Hist.  Litt.  de  la  France,  XIX. 


452,  Emcric-David,  after  discussing  the 
subject  at  length,  says  :  — 

"  Who  then  is  this  Sordello,  haughty 
and  superb,  like  a  lion  in  repose, — 
this  Sordello,  who,  in  cmbyacing  Vir- 
gil, gives  rise  to  this  sudden  explosion 
of  the  patriotic  sentiments  of  Dante  ? 
Is  it  a  singer  of  love  and  gallantry  ? 
Impossible.  This  Sordello  is  the  old 
Podesta  of  Mantua,  as  decided  a  Ghib- 
elline  as  Dante  himself;  and  Dante 
utters  before  him  sentiments  which  he 
well  knows  the  zealous  Ghibclline  will 
share.  And  what  still  more  confirms 
our  judgment  is,  that  Sordello  embraces 
the  knees  of  Virgil,  exclaiming,  '  O 
glory  of  the  Latians,'  &c.  In  this  ad- 
miration, in  this  love  of  the  Latin 
tongue,  we  still  see  the  Podesta,  the 
writer  of  Latin  ;  we  do  not  see  the 
Troubadour." 

Benvenuto  calls  Sordello  a  "  noble 
and  prudent  knight,"  and  "  a  man  of 
singular  virtue  in  the  world,  though  of 
impenitent  life,"  and  tells  a  story  he 
has  heard  of  him  and  Cunizza,  but  does 
not  vouch  for  it.  "  Ezzelino,"  he  says, 
"  had  a  sister  greatly  addicted  to  the 
pleasures  of  love,  concerning  whom 
much  is  said  in  the  ninth  Canto  of  Pa- 
radiso.  She,  being  enamored  of  Sor- 
dello, had  cautiously  contrived  that  he 
should  visit  her  at  night  by  a  back  door 
near  the  kitchen  of  her  palace  at  Ve- 
rona. And  as  there  was  in  the  street 
a  dirty  slough  in  which  the  swine  wal- 
lowed, and  puddles  of  filthy  water,  so 
that  the  place  would  seem  in  no  way 
suspicious,  he  caused  himself  to  be  car- 
ried by  her  servant  to  the  door  where 


Ptirgatorio  vi. 


247 


Cunizza  stood  ready  to  receive  him. 
Ezzelino  having  heard  of  this,  one 
evening,  disguised  as  a  servant,  car- 
ried Sordello,  and  brought  him  bacli. 
Which  done,  he  discovered  himself  to 
Sordello.,  and  said,  'Enough;  abstain  in 
future  from  doing  so  foul  a  deed  in  so 
foul  a  place.'  Sordello,  terrified,  hum- 
bly besought  pardon;  promising  never 
more  to  return  to  his  sister.  But  the 
accursed  Cunizza  again  enticed  him  in- 
to his  former  error.  Wherefore,  fear- 
ing Ezzelino,  the  most  formidable  man 
of  his  time,  he  left  the  city.  But  Ez- 
zelino, as  some  say,  afterwards  had  him 
put  to  death." 

He  says,  moreover,  that  Dante  places 
Sordello  alone  and  separate  from  the 
others,  like  Saladin  in  Inf.  IV.  129,  on 
account  of  his  superiority,  or  because 
he  wrote  a  book  entitled  "  The  Treasure 
of  Treasures";  and  that  Sordello  was 
a  Mantuan  of  the  village  of  Go'ito, — 
"beautiful  of  person,  valiant  of  spirit, 
gentle  of  manner." 

Finally,  Quadrio,  Storia  d*  ogni  Poesia, 
II.  1 30,  easily  cuts  the  knot  which  no  one 
can  untie ;  but  unfortunately  he  does  not 
give  his  authorities.     He  writes  :  — 

"  Sordello,  native  of  Goito,  (Sordel 
de  Goi,)  a  village  in  the  Mantuan  ter- 
ritory, was  born  in  1 184,  and  was  the 
son  of  a  poor  knight  named  Elcort." 
He  then  repeats  the  story  of  Count 
Saint  Boniface,  and  of  Sordello's  recep- 
tion by  Count  Raymond  in  Provence, 
and  adds :  "  Having  afterwards  returned 
to  Italy,  he  governed  Mantua  with  the 
title  of  Regent  and  Captain-General  ; 
and  was  opposed  to  the  tyrant  Ezzelino, 


being  a  great  lover  of  justice,  as  Agnelli 
writes.  Finally  he  died,  very  old  and 
full  of  honor,  about  1280.  He  wrote 
not  only  in  Provencal,  but  also  in  our 
own  common  Italian  tongue  ;  and  he 
was  one  ot  those  poets  who  avoided 
the  dialect  of  his  own  province,  and 
used  the  good,  choice  language,  as 
Dante  affirms  in  his  book  of  Volgar 
Eloquenza." 

If  the  reader  is  not  already  suf- 
ficiently confused,  he  can  easily  be- 
come so  by  turning  to  Tiraboschi, 
Storia  della  Lett.  ItaL,  IV.  360,  where 
he  will  find  the  matter  thoroughly  dis- 
cussed, in  sixteen  solid  pages,  by  the 
patient  librarian  of  Modena,  who  final- 
ly gives  up  in  despair  and  calls  on  the 
Royal  Academy  for  help  ; 

"  But  that  were  overbold  ;  — 
Who  would  has  heard  Sordello's  story  told." 

76.  Before  Dante's  time  Fra  Guit- 
tone  had  said,  in  his  famous  Letter  to 
the  Florentines  :  "  O  queen  of  cities, 
court  of  justice,  school  of  wisdom, 
mirror  of  life,  and  mould  of  manners, 
whose  sons  were  kings,  reigning  in 
every  land,  or  were  above  all  others, 
who  art  no  longer  queen  but  servant, 
oppressed  and  subject  to  tribute  !  no 
longer  court  of  justice,  but  cave  of  rob- 
bers, and  school  of  all  folly  and  mad- 
ness, mirror  of  death  and  mould  of 
felony,  whose  great  strength  is  stripped 
and  broken,  whose  beautiful  face  is 
covered  with  foulness  and  shame ; 
whose  sons  are  no  longer  kings  but 
vile  and  wretched  servants,  held,  wher- 
ever they  go,  in  opprobrium  and  de- 
rision by  others." 


248 


Notes 


See  also  Petrarca,  Canzone  XVI,, 
Lady  Dacrc's  Tr.,  beginning  :  — 

"O  my  own  Italy  !   though  words  arc  vain 
The  mortal  wounds  to  close, 
Unnumbered,  that  thy  beauteous  bosom  stain. 
Yet  may  it  soothe  my  pain 
To  sigh  for  the  Tiber's  woes. 
And  Arno's  wrongs,  as  on  Po's  saddened  shore 
Sorrowing  I  wander  and  my  numbers  pour." 

And  Filicaja's  sonnet :  — 

"Italy  !  Italy!  thou  who  'rt  doomed  to  wear 
The  fatal  gift  of  beauty,  and  possess 
The  dower  funest  of  infinite  wretchedness, 
Written  upon  thy  forehead  by  despair  ; 
Ah  !  would  that  thou  wert  stronger,  or  less 
fair, 
That  they  might   fear  thee  more,  or  love 

thee  less, 
Who  in  the  splendor  of  thy  loveliness 
Seem  wasting,  yet  to  mortal  combat  dare  ! 
Then  from  the  Alps  I  should  not  see  descending 
Such   torrents   of  armed  men,   nor  Gallic 

horde 
Drinking  the  wave  of  Po,  distained  with 
gore, 
Nor  should  I  see  thee  girded  with  a  sword 
Not  thine,   and   with    the    stranger's    arm 

contending, 
Victor  or  vanquished,  slave  forevermore." 

89.  Gibbon,  Decline  and  Fall,  Ch. 
XLIV.,  says  :  — 

"  The  vain  titles  of  the  victories  of 
Justinian  are  crumbled  into  dust ;  but 
the  name  of  the  legislator  is  inscribed 
on  a  fair  and  everlasting  monument. 
Under  his  reign,  and  by  his  care,  the 
civil  jurisprudence  was  digested  in  the 
immortal  works  of  the  Code,  the  Pan- 
dects, and  the  Institutes  ;  the  public 
reason  of  the  Romans  has  been  silently 
or  studiously  transfused  into  the  do- 
mestic institutions  of  Europe,  and  the 
laws    of  Justinian    still   command    the 


respect  or  obedience  of  independent 
nations.  Wise  or  fortunate  is  the 
prince  who  connects  his  own  reputa- 
tion with  the  honor  and  interest  of  a 
perpetual  order  of  men." 

92.  Luke  xii.  17:  "  Render  to  Cae- 
sar the  things  that  are  Carsar's,  and  to 
God  the  things  that  arc  God's." 

And  in  the  Vision  of  Piers  Plovgh- 
man,  563  :  — 

"  Reddite  desariy  quod  God, 
That  Casari  bifalleth, 
Et  qua  sunt  Dei  Deo, 
Or  ellis  ye  don  ille." 

97.  Albert,  son  of  the  Emperor 
Rudolph,  was  the  second  of  the  house 
of  Hapsburg  who  bore  the  title  oi 
King  of  the  Romans.  He  was  elected 
in  1298,  but  never  went  to  Italy  to  be 
crowned.  He  came  to  an  untimely 
and  violent  death,  by  the  hand  of  his 
nephew  John,  in  1308.  This  is  the 
judgment  of  Heaven  to  which  Dante 
alludes. 

His  successor  was  Henry  of  Luxem- 
bourg, Dante's  "divine  and  triumphant 
Henry,"  who,  in  131 1,  was  crowned 
at  Milan  with  the  Iron  Crown  of  Lom- 
bardy,  //  Sacro  Chiodo,  as  it  is  some- 
times called,  from  the  plate  of  iron  with 
which  the  crown  is  lined,  being,  ac- 
cording to  tradition,  made  from  a  nail 
of  the  Cross.  In  1312,  he  was  again 
crowned  with  the  Golden  Crown  at 
Rome,  and  died  in  the  following  year. 
"  But  the  end  of  his  career  drew  on," 
says  Milman,  Latin  Christ.,  VI.  520. 
"  He  had  now  advanced,  at  the  head 
of  an  army  which  his  enemies  dared 
not  meet  in   the  field,  towards  Siena. 


Purgatorio  ri. 


249 


He  rode  still,  seemingly  in  full  vigor 
and  activity.  But  the  fatal  air  of  Rome 
had  smitten  his  strength.  A  carbuncle 
had  formed  under  his  knee;  injudicious 
remedies  inflamed  his  vitiated  blood. 
He  died  at  Buonconvento,  in  the  midst 
of  his  awe-struck  army,  on  the  festival 
of  St.  Bartholomew.  Rumors  of  foul 
practice,  of  course,  spread  abroad  ;  a 
Dominican  monk  was  said  to  have  ad- 
ministered poison  in  the  Sacrament, 
which  he  received  with  profound  de- 
votion. His  body  was  carried  in  sad 
state,  and  splendidly  interred  at  Pisa. 

"  So  closed  that  empire,  in  which, 
if  the  more  factious  and  vulgar  Ghibel- 
lines  beheld  their  restoration  to  their 
native  city,  their  triumph,  their  re- 
venge, their  sole  administration  of  pub- 
lic affairs,  the  nobler  Ghibellinism  of 
Dante  foresaw  the  establishment  of  a 
great  universal  monarchy  necessary  to 
the  peace  and  civilization  of  mankind. 
The  ideal  sovereign  of  Dante's  famous 
treatise  on  Monarchy  was  Henry  of 
Luxembourg.  Neither  Dante  nor  his 
time  can  be  understood  but  through 
this  treatise.  The  attempt  of  the  Pope 
to  raise  himself  to  a  great  pontifical 
monarchy  had  manifestly  ignomini- 
ously  failed  :  the  Ghibelline  is  neither 
amazed  nor  distressed  at  this  event. 
It  is  now  the  turn  of  the  Imperialist  to 
unfold  his  noble  vision.  *An  universal 
monarchy  is  absolutely  necessary  for 
the  welfare  of  the  world';  and  this  is 
part  of  his  singular  reasoning:  'Peace,' 
(says  the  weary  exile,  the  man  worn 
out  in  cruel  strife,  the  wanderer  from 
city  to  city,  each  of  those  cities  m'ore 

VOL.  II.  32 


fiercely  torn  by  faction  than  the  last,) 
*  universal  Peace  is  the  first  blessing  of 
mankind.  The  angels  sang,  not  riches 
or  pleasures,  but  peace  on  earth:  peace 
the  Lord  bequeathed  to  his  disciples. 
For  peace  One  must  rule.  Mankind  is 
most  like  God  when  at  unity,  for  God 
is  One  ;  therefore  under  a  monarchy. 
Where  there  is  parity  there  must  be 
strife  ;  where  strife,  judgment  ;  the 
judge  must  be  a  third  party  interven- 
ing with  supreme  authority.'  With- 
out monarchy  can  be  no  justice,  nor 
even  liberty;  for  Dante's  monarch  is 
no  arbitrary  despot,  but  a  constitutional 
sovereign  ;  he  is  the  Roman  law  im- 
personated in  the  Emperor;  a  monarch 
who  should  leave  all  the  nations,  all 
the  free  Italian  cities,  in  possession  of, 
their  rights  and  old  municipal  institu- 
tions." 

106.  The  two  noble  families  of  Ve- 
rona, the  Montagues  and  Capulets, 
whose  quarrels  have  been  made  familiar 
to  the  English-speaking  world  by  Romeo 
and  Juliet :  — 

"  Three  civil  brawls,  bred  of  an  airy  word, 
By  thee,  old  Capulet  and  Montague, 
Have  thrice  disturbed  the  quiet  of  our  streets, 
And  made  Verona's  ancient  citizens 
Cast  by  their  grave  beseeming  ornaments, 
To  wield  old  partisans,  in  hands  as  old. 
Cankered  with  peace,  to  part  your  cankered 
hate." 

107.  Families  of  Orvieto. 

111.  Santafiore  is  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Siena,  and  much  infested  with 
banditti. 

112.  The  state  of  Rome  in  Dante's 
time  is  thus  described  by  Mr.  Norton, 
Travel  and  Study,  pp.  246  -  248  :  — 


250 


Notes 


"On  the  slope  of  the  Quirinal  Hill, 
in  the  quiet  enclosure  of  the  convent 
of  St.  Catharine  of  Siena,  stands  a 
square,  brick  tower,  seven  stories  high. 
It  is  a  conspicuous  object  in  any  general 
view  of  Rome;  for  there  are  few  other 
towers  so  tall,  and  there  is  not  a  single 
spire  or  steeple  in  the  city.  It  is  the 
Torre  delle  Milizie.  It  was  begun  by 
Pope  Gregory  the  Ninth,  and  finished 
near  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century 
by  his  vigorous  and  warlike  successor, 
Boniface  the  Eighth.  Many  such  tow- 
ers were  built  for  the  purposes  of  pri- 
vate warfare,  in  those  times  when  the 
streets  of  Rome  were  the  fighting- 
places  of  its  noble  families;  but  this  is, 
perhaps,  the  only  one  that  now  re- 
mains undiminished  in  height  and  un- 
altered in  appearance.  It  was  a  new 
building  when  Dante  visited  Rome  ; 
and  it  is  one  of  the  very  few  edifices 
that  still  preserve  the  aspect  they  then 
presented.  The  older  ruins  have  been 
greatly  changed  in  appearance,  and 
most  of  the  structures  of  the  Middle 
Ages  have  disappeared,  in  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  the  last  few  centuries.  The 
Forum  was  then  filled  with  a  confused 
mass  of  ruins  and  miserable  dwellings, 
with  no  street  running  through  their  in- 
tricacies. The  Capitol  was  surrounded 
with  uneven  battlemented  walls,  and 
bore  the  character  and  look  of  an  ir- 
regular citadel.  St.  Peter's  was  a  low 
basilica  ;  the  Colosseum  had  suffered 
little  from  the  attacks  of  Popes  or 
princes,  neither  the  Venetian  nor  the 
Farnese  palace  having  as  yet  been  built 
with  stones  from  its  walls  ;  and  centu- 


ries were  still  to  pass  before  Michel 
Angelo,  Bernini,  and  Borromini  were 
to  stamp  its  present  character  upon  the 
face  of  the  modern  city.  The  siege 
and  burning  of  Rome  by  Robert  Guis- 
card,  in  1084,  may  be  taken  as  the 
dividing-line  between  the  city  of  the 
Emperors  and  the  city  of  the  Popes, 
between  ancient  and  modern  Rome. 
....  Rome  was  in  a  state  of  too  deep 
depression,  its  people  were  too  turbu- 
lent and  unsettled,  to  have  either  the 
spirit  or  the  opportunity  for  great 
works.  There  was  no  established  and 
recognized  authority,  no  regular  course 
of  justice.  There  was  not  even  any 
strong  force,  rarely  any  overwhelming 
violence,  which  for  a  time  at  least 
could  subdue  opposition,  and  organize 
a  steady,  and  consequently  a  beneficent 
tyranny.  The  city  was*  continually 
distracted  by  petty  personal  quarrels, 
and  by  bitter  family  feuds.  Its  obscure 
annals  are  full  of  bloody  civil  victories 
and  defeats,  —  victories  which  brought 
no  gain  to  those  who  won  them,  de- 
feats which  taught  no  lesson  to  those 
who  lost  them.  The  breath  of  liberty 
never  inspired  with  life  the  dead  clay 
of  Rome ;  and  though  for  a  time  it 
might  seem  to  kindle  some  vital  heat, 
the  glow  soon  grew  cold,  and  speedily 
disappeared.  The  records  of  Florence, 
Siena,  Bologna,  and  Perugia  are  as  full 
of  fighting  and  bloodshed  as  those  of 
Rome  ;  but  their  fights  were  not  mere 
brawh,  nor  were  their  triumphs  always 
barren.  Even  the  twelfth  and  thir- 
teenth centuries,  which  were  like  the 
coming  of  the  spring  after  a  long  win- 


Purgatorio  vi 


251 


ter,  making  the  earth  to  blossom,  and 
gladdening  the  hearts  of  men,  —  the 
centuries  which  elsewhere  in  Italy, 
and  over  the  rest  of  Europe,  gave  birth 
to  the  noblest  mediaeval  Art,  when 
every  great  city  was  adorning  itself 
with  the  beautiful  works  of  the  new 
architecture,  sculpture,  and  painting, 
—  even  these  centuries  left  scarcely  any 
token  of  their  passage  over  Rome. 
The  sun,  breaking  through  the  clouds 
that  had  long  hidden  it,  shone  every- 
where but  here.  While  Florence  was 
building  her  Cathedral  and  her  Cam- 
panile, and  Orvieto  her  matchless  Duo- 
mo,  —  while  Pisa  was  showing  her 
piety  and  her  wealth  in  her  Cathedral, 
her  Camposanto,  her  Baptistery,  and 
her  Tower,  —  while  Siena  was  begin- 
ning a  church  greater  and  more  mag- 
nificent in  design  than  her  shifting  for- 
tune would  permit  her  to  complete,  — 
Rome  was  building  neither  cathedral 
nor  campanile,  but  was  selling  the 
marbles  of  her  ancient  temples  and 
tombs  to  the  builders  of  other  cities, 
or  quarrying  them  for  her  own  mean 
uses." 

1 1 8.  This  recalls  Pope's  Universal 
Prater,  — 

"  Father  of  all  !  in  every  age, 
In  every  clime,  adored, 
By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 
Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord  !  " 

125.  Not  the  great  Roman  general 
who  took  Syracuse,  after  Archimedes 
had  defended  it  so  long  with  his  en- 
gines and  burning-glasses,  but  a  descend- 
ant of  his,  who  in  the  civil  wars  took 
part  with  Pompey  and  was  banished  by 


CfEsar.     Pope's  Essay  on  Man,  Ep.  IV. 
257:  — 

"  And  more  true  joy  Marcellus  exiled  feels, 
Than  Caesar  with  a  senate  at  his  heels." 

127,  Of  the  state  of  Florence,  Na- 
pier writes,  Flor.  Hist.,  I.  122:  — 

"  It  was  not  the  simple  movement 
of  one  great  body  against  another  ;  not 
the  force  of  a  government  in  opposition 
to  the  people  ;  not  the  struggle  of 
privilege  and  democracy,  of  poverty 
and  riches,  or  starvation  and  repletion  ; 
but  one  universal  burst  of  unmitigated 
anarchy.  In  the  streets,  lanes,  and 
squares,  in  the  courts  of  palaces  and 
humbler  dwellings,  were  heard  the 
clang  of  arms,  the  screams  of  victims, 
and  the  gush  of  blood  :  the  bow  of 
the  bridegroom  launched  its  arrows 
into  the  very  chambers  of  his  young 
bride's  parents  and  relations,  and  the 
bleeding  son,  the  murdered  brother,  or 
the  dying  husband  were  the  evening 
visitors  of  Florentine  maids  and  ma- 
trons, and  aged  citizens.  Every  art 
was  practised  to  seduce  and  deceive, 
and  none  felt  secure  even  of  their 
nearest  and  dearest  relatives.  In  the 
morning  a  son  left  his  paternal  roof 
with  undiminished  love,  and  returned 
at  evening  a  corpse,  or  the  most  bitter 
enemy  !  Tepr or  and  death  were  tri- 
umphant ;  there  was  no  relaxation,  no 
peace  by  day  or  night  :  the  crash  of 
the  stone,  the  twang  of  the  bow,  the 
whizzing  shaft,  the  jar  of  the  trembling 
mangonel  from  tower  and  turret,  were 
the  dismal  music  of  Florence,  not  only 
for  hours  and  days,  but  months  and 
years.      Doors,   windows,   the  jutting 


252 


Notes 


galleries  and  roofs,  were  all  defended, 
and  yet  all  unsafe :  no  spot  was  sacred, 
no  tenement  secure  :  in  the  dead  of 
night,  the  most  secret  chambers,  the 
very  hangings,  even  the  nuptial  bed 
itself,  were  often  known  to  conceal  an 
enemy. 

**  Florence  in  those  days  was  studded 
with  lofty  towers ;  most  of  the  noble 
families  possessed  one  or  more,  at  least 
two  hundred  feet  in  height,  and  many 
of  them  far  above  that  altitude.  These 
were  their  pride,  their  family,  citadels  ; 
and  jealously  guarded  ;  glittering  with 
arms  and  men,  and  instruments  of  war. 
Every  connecting  balcony  was  alive 
with  soldiers ;  the  battle  raged  above 
and  below,  within  and  without;  stones 
rained  in  showers,  arrows  flew  thick 
and  fast  on  every  side  ;  the  seraglj,  or 
barricades,  were  attacked  and  defended 
by  chosen  bands  armed  with  lances 
and  boar-spears  ;  foes  were  in  ambush 
at  every  corner,  watching  the  bold  or 
heedless  enemy  ;  confusion  was  every- 
where triumphant,  a  demon  seemed  to 
possess  the  community,  and  the  public 
mind,  reeling  with  hatred,  was  steady 
only  in  the  pursuit  of  blood.  Yet  so 
accustomed  did  they  at  last  become  to 
this  fiendish  life,  that  one  day  they 
fought,  the  next  caroused  together  in 
drunken  gambols,  foe  with  foe,  boast- 
ing of  their  mutual  prowess  ;  nor  was 
it  until   after  nearly  five   years   of  re- 


ciprocal destruction,  that,  from  mere 
lassitude,  they  finally  ceased  thus  to 
mangle  each  other,  and,  as  it  were  for 
relaxation,  turned  their  fury  on  the 
neighboring  states." 

147.  Upon  this  subject  Napier, 
Flor.  Hist.,  II.  626,  remarks :  — 

"  A  characteristic,  and,  if  discreetly 
handled,  a  wise  regulation  of  the  Flor- 
entines, notwithstanding  Dante's  sar- 
casms, was  the  periodical  revision  of 
their  statutes  and  ordinances,  a  weed- 
ing out,  as  it  were,  of  the  obsolete  and 
contradictory,  and  a  substitution  of 
those  which  were  better  adapted  to 
existing  circumstances  and  the  forward 
movement  of  man.  There  are  certain 
fundamental  laws  necessarily  permanent 
and  admitted  by  all  communities,  as 
there  are  certain  moral  and  theological 
truths  acknowledged  by  all  religions  ; 
but  these  broad  frames  or  outlines  are 
commonly  filled  up  with  a  thick  net- 
work of  subordinate  regulations,  that 
cover  them  like  cobwebs,  and  often 
impede  the  march  of  improvement. 
The  Florentines  were  early  aware  of 
this,  and  therefore  revised  their  laws 
and  institutions  more  or  less  frequently 
and  sometimes  factiously,  according  to 
the  turbulent  or  tranquil  condition  of 
the  times ;  but  in  1 394,  after  forty  years' 
omission,  an  officer  was  nominated  for 
that  purpose,  but  whether  permanently 
or  not  is  doubtful." 


Pttrgatorio  vii 


253 


CANTO     VII 


6.    See  Canto  III.  Note  7. 
28.    Limbo,  Inf.  IV.  25,  the  "fore- 
most circle  that  surrounds  the  abyss." 

"There,  in  so  far  as  I  had  power  to  hear, 

Were  lamentations  none,  but  only  sighs, 
Which  tremulous  made  the  everlasting  air. 
And  this  was  caused  by  sorrow  without  tor- 
ment 
Which  the  crowds   had,  that  many  were 

and  great, 
Of  infants  and  of  women  and  of  men." 

34.  The  three  Theological  Virtues 
of  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity. 

36.  The  four  Cardinal  Virtues, 
Prudence,  Justice,  Fortitude,  and  Tem- 
perance. 

44.  John  xii.  35:  *' Then  Jesus  said 
unto  them.  Yet  a  little  while  is  the 
light  with  you.  Walk  while  ye  have 
the  light,  lest  darkness  come  upon  you: 
for  he  that  walketh  in  darkness  know- 
eth  not  whither  he  goeth." 

70.  In  the  Middle  Ages  the  longing 
for  rest  and  escape  from  danger,  which 
found  its  expression  in  cloisters,  is  ex- 
pressed in  poetry  by  descriptions  of 
flowery,  secluded  meadows,  suggest- 
ing the  classic  meadows  of  asphodel. 
Dante  has  given  one  already  in  the  In- 
ferno, and  gives  another  here. 

Compare  with  these  the  following 
from  ne  Miracles  of  Our  Lady,  by 
Gonzalo  de  Berceo,  a  monk  of  Cala- 
horra,  who  lived  in  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  is  the  oldest  of  the  Cas- 
tilian  poets  whose  name  has  come  down 
to  us :  — 


"  I,  Gonzalo  de  Berceo,  in  the  gentle  sum- 
mer-tide, 
Wending  upon  a  pilgrimage,  came  to  a  meadow's 

side  ; 
All  green  was  it  and  beautiful,  with  flowers  far 

and  wide, 
A  pleasant  spot,  I  ween,  wherein  the  traveller 

might  abide. 
Flowers  with  the  sweetest  odors  filled  all  the 

sunny  air, 
And  not  alone  refreshed  the  sense,  but  stole  the 

mind  from  care  ; 
On  every  side  a  fountain  gushed,  whose  waters 

pure  and  fair 
Ice-cold  beneath  the  summer  sun,  but  warm  in 

winter  were. 
There  on  the  thick  and  shadowy  trees,  amid 

the  foliage  green. 
Were  the  fig  and  the  pomegranate,  the  pear  and 

apple  seen. 
And  other  fruits  of  various  kinds,  the  tufted 

leaves  between  ; 
None   were  unpleasant  to  the  taste  and    none 

decayed,   I  ween. 
The  verdure  of  the  meadow  green,  the  odor 

of  the  flowers, 
The  grateful  shadows  of  the  trees,  tempered  with 

fragrant  showers. 
Refreshed  me  in  the  burning  heat  of  the  sultry 

noontide  hours  ; 
O,  one  might  live  upon  the  balm  and  fragrance 

of  those  bowers. 
Ne'er  had  I  found  on  earth  a  spot  that  had 

such  power  to  please, 
Such  shadows  from  the  summer  sun,  such  odors 

on  the  breeze ; 
I  threw  my  mantle  on  the  ground,  that  I  might 

rest  at  ease. 
And  stretched  upon  the  greensward  lay  in  the 

shadow  of  the  trees. 
There,  soft  reclining  in  the  shade,  all  cares 

beside  me  flung, 


254 


Notes 


I  heard  the  soft  and  mellow  notes  that  through 

the  woodland  rung. 
Ear  never  listened  to  a  strain,  from  instrument 

or  tongue, 
So  mellow  and  harmonious  as  the  songs  above 

me  sung." 

See  also  Brunetto  Latini,  Tesorctto, 
XIX.  ;  the  Vision  of  Piers  Ploughman  ; 
Gower's  Confessio  Amantis,  VIIL,  &c. 

'Jl.  Of  this  description  Ruskin,  Mod- 
ern Painters,  III.  228,  remarks  :  — 

"  Now,  almost  in  the  opening  of 
the  Purgatory,  as  there  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  Inferno,  we  find  a  com- 
pany of  great  ones  resting  in  a  grassy 
place.  But  the  idea  of  the  grass  now 
is  very  different.  The  word  now  used 
is  not  *  enamel,'  but  '  herb,'  and  in- 
stead of  being  merely  green,  it  is 
covered  with  flowers  of  many  colors. 
With  the  usual  mediseval  accuracy, 
Dante  insists  on  telling  us  precisely 
what  these  colors  were, and  how  bright; 
which  he  does  by  naming  the  actual 
pigments  used  in  illumination,  —  'Gold, 
and  fine  silver,  and  cochineal,  and 
white  lead,  and  Indian  wood,  serene 
and  lucid,  and  fresh  emerald,  just  bro- 
ken, would  have  been  excelled,  as  less 
is  by  greater,  by  the  flowers  and  grass 
of  the  place.'  It  is  evident  that  the 
*  emerald '  here  means  the  emerald 
green  of  the  illuminators  ;  for  a  fresh 
emerald  is  no  brighter  than  one  which 
is  not  fresh,  and  Dante  was  not  one  to 
throw  away  his  words  thus.  Observe, 
then,  we  have  here  the  idea  of  the 
growth,  life,  and  variegation  of  the 
'  green  herb,'  as  opposed  to  the  smalto 
of  the  Inferno  ;  but  the  colors  of  the 
variegation  are  illustrated   and  defined 


by  the  reference  to  actual  pigments ; 
and,  observe,  because  the  other  colors 
are  rather  bright,  the  blue  ground  (In- 
dian wood,  indigo  .')  is  sober  ;  lucid, 
but  serene  ;  and  presently  two  angels 
enter,  who  are  dressed  in  the  green 
drapery,  but  of  a  paler  green  than  the 
grass,  which  Dante  marks,  by  telling 
us  that  it  was  '  the  green  of  leaves  just 
budded.' 

In  all  this,  I  wish  the  reader  to  ob- 
serve two  things :  first,  the  general 
carefulness  of  the  poet  in  defining  color, 
distinguishing  it  precisely  as  a  painter 
would  (opposed  to  the  Greek  careless- 
ness about  it)  ;  and,  secondly,  his  re- 
garding the  grass  for  its  greenness  and 
variegation,  rather  than,  as  a  Greek 
would  have  done,  for  its  depth  and 
freshness.  This  greenness  or  bright- 
ness, and  variegation,  are  taken  up  by 
later  and  modern  poets,  as  the  things 
intended  to  be  chiefly  expressed  by 
the  word  'enamelled';  and,  gradually, 
the  term  is  taken  to  indicate  any  kind 
of  bright  and  interchangeable  coloring; 
there  being  always  this  much  of  pro- 
priety about  it,  when  used  of  green- 
sward, that  such  sward  is  indeed,  like 
enamel,  a  coat  of  bright  color  on  a 
comparatively  dark  ground  ;  and  is 
thus  a  sort  of  natural  jewelry  and 
painter's  work,  different  from  loose 
and  large  vegetation.  The  word  is 
often  awkwardly  and  falsely  used,  by 
the  later  poets,  of  all  kinds  of  growth 
and  color;  as  by  Milton  of  the  flowers 
of  Paradise  showing  themselves  over 
its  wall  ;  but  it  retains,  nevertheless, 
through  all  its  jaded  inanity,  some  half- 


Purgatorlo  vn. 


255 


unconscious  vestige   of  the   old   sense, 
even  to  the  present  day." 

82.  The  old  church  hymn  attributed 
to  Arminius  or  Hermann,  Count  of 
Vchringen,  in  the  eleventh  century, 
beginning  :  — 

"  Salve  Regina,  mater  misericordiae. 
Vita,  dulcedo  et  spas  nostra,  salve." 

94.  Rudolph  of  Hapsburg,  first  Em- 
peror of  the  house  of  Austria,  was 
crowned  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  in  1273. 
**  It  is  related,"  says  Voltaire,  Annales 
de  V Empire,  I.  303,  "  that,  as  the  im- 
perial sword,  which  they  pretended 
was  that  of  Charlemagne,  could  not  be 
found,  several  lords  made  this  defect  in 
the  formalities  a  pretext  for  not  taking 
the  oath  pf  allegiance.  He  seized  a 
crucifix  ;  This  is  my  sceptre,  he  said, 
and  all  paid  homage  to  him.  This 
single  act  of  firmness  made  him  re- 
spectable, and  the  rest  of  his  conduct 
showed  him  to  be  worthy  of  the  Em- 
pire." 

He  would  not  go  to  Rome  to  be 
crowned,  and  took  so  little  interest  in 
Italian  affairs,  that  Italy  became  al- 
most independent  of  the  Empire,  which 
seems  greatly  to  disturb  the  mind  of 
Dante.      He  died  in  1291. 

100.  Ottocar  the  Second,  king  of 
Bohemia,  who  is  said  to  have  refused 
the  imperial  crown.  He  likewise  re- 
fused to  pay  homage  to  Rudolph,  whom 
he  used  to  call  his  maitre  cChotcl,  de- 
claring he  had  paid  his  wages  and  owed 
him  nothing.  Whereupon  Rudolph 
attacked  and  subdued  him.  According 
to  Voltaire,  Annales  de  PEmpire,  I. 
306,  "  he  consented  to  pay  homage  to 


the  Emperor  as  his  liege-lord,  in  the 
island  of  Kamberg  in  the  middle  of  the 
Danube,  under  a  tent  whose  curtains 
should  be  closed  to  spare  him  public 
mortification.  Ottocar  presented  him- 
self covered  with  gold  and  jewels ; 
Rudolph,  by  way  of  superior  pomp, 
received  him  in  his  simplest  dress;  and 
in  the  middle  of  the  ceremony  the 
curtains  of  the  tent  fell,  and  revealed  to 
the  eyes  of  the  people  and  of  the 
armies,  that  lined  the  Danube,  the 
proud  Ottocar  on  his  knees,  with  his 
hands  clasped  in  the  hands  of  his  con- 
queror, whom  he  had  often  called  his 
maitre  d' hotel,  and  whose  Grand -Se- 
neschal he  now  became.  This  story 
is  accredited,  and  it  is  of  little  impor- 
tance whether  it  be  true  or  not." 

But  the  wife  was  not  quiet  under  this 
humiliation,  and  excited  him  to  revolt 
against  Rudolph.  He  was  again  over- 
come, and  killed  in  battle  in  1278. 

101.  This  Winceslaus,  says  the  Ot- 
timo,  was  "  most  beautiful  among  all 
men  ;  but  was  not  a  man  of  arms  ; 
he  was  a  meek  and  humble  ecclesiastic, 
and  did  not  live  long."  Why  Dante 
accuses  him  of  living  in  luxury  and 
ease   does    not   appear. 

103.  Philip  the  Third  oi  France, 
surnamed  the  Bold  (1270-  1285). 
Having  invaded  Catalonia,  in  a  war 
with  Peter  the  Third  of  Aragon,  both 
by  land  and  sea,  he  was  driven  back, 
and  died  at  Perpignan  during  the  re- 
treat. 

104.  He  with  the  benign  aspect, 
who  rests  his  cheek  upon  his  hand,  is 
Henry  of  Navarre,  surnamed  the  Fat, 


2s6 


Notes 


and  brother  of"  Good  King  Thibault," 
Inf.  XXII.  52.  An  old  French  chron- 
icle quoted  by  Philalcthes  says,  that, 
"though  it  is  a  general  opinion  that  fat 
men  arc  of  a  gentle  and  benign  nature, 
nevertheless  this  one  was  very  harsh." 
109.  Philip  the  Fourth  of  France, 
surnamed  the  Fair,  son  of  Philip  the 
Third,  and  son-in-law  of  Henry  of 
Navarre  ( 1 285  -  1 3  1 4). 

112.  Peter  the  Third  of  Aragon 
(1276- 1285),  the  enemy  of  Charles 
of  Anjou  and  competitor  with  him  for 
the  kingdom  of  Sicily.  He  is  counted 
among  the  Troubadours,  and  when 
Philip  the  Bold  invaded  his  kingdom, 
Peter  launched  a  song  against  him, 
complaining  that  the  "  flower-de-luce 
kept  him  sorrowing  in  his  house,"  and 
calling  on  the  Gascons  for  aid. 

113.  Charles  of  Anjou,  king  of  Si- 
cily and  Naples  (1265).  Villani,  VII. 
I,  thus  describes  him  :  "  This  Charles 
was  wise  and  prudent,  and  valiant  in 
arms,  and  rough,  and  much  feared  and 
redoubted  by  all  the  kings  of  the  world; 
magnanimous  and  of  a  high  spirit  ; 
steadfast  in  carrying  on  every  great 
enterprise,  firm  in  every  adversity,  and 
true  to  every  promise,  speaking  little 
and  doing  much.  He  laughed  but 
little  ;  was  chaste  as  a  monk,  catholic, 
harsh  in  judgment,  and  of  a  fierce  coun- 
tenance ;  large  and  muscular  in  person, 
with  an  olive  complexion  and  a  large 
nose,  and  looked  the  king  more  than 
any  other  lord.  He  sat  up  late  at  night, 
and  slept  little,  and  was  in  the  habit 
of  saying  that  a  great  deal  of  time  was 
lost  in  sleeping.     He  was  generous  to 


his  knights,  but  eager  to  acquire  land, 
lordship,  and  money  wherever  he  could, 
to  furnish  means  for  his  enterprises  and 
wars.  In  courtiers,  minstrels,  and  play- 
ers he  never  took  delight." 

Yet  this  is  the  monarch  whose  tyr- 
anny in  Sicily  brought  about  the 
bloody  revenge  of  the  Sicilian  Vespers; 
which  in  turn  so  roused  the  wrath  of 
Charles,  that  he  swore  that,  "  if  he 
could  live  a  thousand  years,  he  would 
go  on  razing  the  cities,  burning  the 
lands,  torturing  the  rebellious  slaves. 
He  would  leave  Sicily  a  blasted,  bar- 
ren, uninhabited  rock,  as  a  warning  to 
the  present  age,  an  example  to  the 
future." 

116.  Philip  the  Third  of  Aragon 
left  four  sons,  Alfonso,  James,  Freder- 
ick, and  Peter.  Whether  the  strip- 
ling here  spoken  of  is  Alonzo  or  Peter 
does  not  appear. 

121.  Chaucer,  Wif  of  Bathes  Tale:  — 

"  Wei  can  the  wise  poet  of  Florence, 
That  highte  Dant,  speken  of  this  sentence  : 
Lo,  in  swiche  maner  rime  is  Dantes  tale. 

Ful  selde  up  riseth  by  his  branches  smale 
Prowesse  of  man,  for  God  of  his  goodnesse 
Wol  that  we  claime  of  him  our  gentillesse : 
For  of  our  elders  may  we  nothing  claime 
But  temporel  thing,  that  man  may  hurt  and 
maime." 

1 24.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
these  two  who  are  singing  together 
in  this  Valley  of  Princes  were  deadly 
foes  on  earth  ;  and  one  had  challenged 
the  ather  to  determine  their  quarrel  by 
single  combat. 

"  The  wager  of  battle  between  the 
kings,"  says  Milman,  Lat'm  Christianity, 


Purgatorio  vu. 


257 


VI.  i68,  "which  maintained  its  solemn 
dignity  up  almost  to  the  appointed 
time,  ended  in  a  pitiful  comedy,  in 
which  Charles  of  Anjou  had  the  ig- 
nominy of  practising  base  and  disloyal 
designs  against  his  adversary  ;  Peter, 
that  of  eluding  the  contest  by  craft, 
justifiable  only  as  his  mistrust  of  his 
adversary  was  well  or  ill  grounded, 
but  much  too  cunning  for  a  frank  and 
generous  knight.  He  had  embarked 
with  his  knights  for  the  South  of 
France  ;  he  was  cast  back  by  tempests 
on  the  shores  of  Spain.  He  set  ofF 
with  some  of  his  armed  companions, 
crossed  the  Pyrenees  undiscovered,  ap- 
peared before  the  gates  of  Bordeaux, 
and  summoned  the  English  Seneschal. 
To  him  he  proclaimed  himself  to  be 
the  king  of  Aragon,  demanded  to  see 
the  lists,  rode  down  them  in  slow 
state,  obtained  an  attestation  that  he 
had  made  his  appearance  within  the 
covenanted  time,  and  affixed  his  solemn 
protest  against  the  palpable  premedi- 
tated treachery  of  his  rival,  which  made 
it  unsafe  for  him  to  remain  longer  at 
Bordeaux.  Charles,  on  his  part,  was 
furious  that  Peter  had  thus  broken 
through  the  spider's  web  of  his  policy. 
He  was  in  Bordeaux  when  Peter  ap- 
peared under  the  walls,  and  had  chal- 
lenged him  in  vain.  Charles  presented 
himself  in  full  armor  on  the  appointed 
day,  summoned  Peter  to  appear,  pro- 
claimed him  a  recreant  and  a  dastardly 
craven,  unworthy  of  the  name  of 
knight." 

Charles  of  Anjou,  Peter  the  Third 
of  Aragon,  and   Philip  the    Third   of 
VOL.  II.  33 


France,    all    died    in    the    same    year, 
1285. 

126.  These  kingdoms  being  badly 
governed  by  his  son  and  succes- 
sor, Charles  the  Second,  called  the 
Lame. 

128.  Daughters  of  Raymond  Beren- 
ger  the  Fifth,  Count  of  Provence  ;  the 
first  married  to  St.  Louis  of  France, 
and  the  second  to  his  brother,  Charles 
of  Anjou. 

129.  Constance,  daughter  of  Man- 
fredi  of  Apulia,  and  wife  of  Peter  the 
Third  of  Aragon. 

131.  Henry theThird(i2i6-i272), 
of  whom  Hume  says  :  "  This  prince 
was  noted  for  his  piety  and  devotion, 
and  his  regular  attendance  on  public 
worship  ;  and  a  saying  of  his  on  that 
head  is  much  celebrated  by  ancient 
writers.  He  was  engaged  in  a  dispute 
with  Louis  the  Ninth  of  France,  con- 
cerning the  preference  between  ser- 
mons and  masses  ;  he  maintained  the 
superiority  of  the  latter,  and  affirmed 
that  he  would  rather  have  one  hour's 
conversation  with  a  friend,  than  hear 
twenty  of  the  most  elaborate  discourses 
pronounced  in  his  praise." 

Dickens,  Child's  History  of  England, 
Ch.  XV.,  says  of  him  :  "  He  was  as 
much  of  a  king  in  death  as  he  had  ever 
been  in  life.  He  was  the  mere  pale 
shadow  of  a  king  at  all  times." 

His  "  better  issue  "  was  Edward  the 
First,  called,  on  account  of  his  amend- 
ment and  establishment  of  the  laws, 
the  English  Justinian,  and  less  respect- 
fully Longshanks,  on  account  of  the 
length   of  his    legs.      "  His   legs    had 


2S8 


Notes 


need  to  be  strong,"  says  the  authority 
just  quoted,  "  however  long,  and  this 
they  were  ;  for  they  had  to  support 
him  through  many  difficulties  on  the 
fiery  sands  of  Syria,  where  his  small 
force  of  soldiers  fainted,  died,  deserted, 
and  seemed  to  melt  away.  But  his 
prowess  made  light  of  it,  and  he  said, 
'I  will  go  on,  if  I  go  on  with  no  other 
follower  than  my  groom.'  " 

134.  The  Marquis  of  Monferrato, 
a  Ghibelline,  was  taken  prisoner  by 
the  people  of  Alessandria  in  Piedmont, 
in  1 290,  and,  being  shut  up  in  a  wooden 
cage,  was  exhibited  to  the  public  like 
a  wild  beast.  This  he  endured  for 
eighteen  months,  till  death  released 
him.     A  bloody  war   was   the   conse- 


quence between  Alessandria  and  the 
Marquis's  provinces  of  Monferrato  and 
Canavesc. 

135.  The  city  of  Alessandria  is  in 
Piedmont,  between  the  Tanaro  and  the 
Bormida,  and  not  far  from  their  junc- 
tion. It  was  built  by  the  Lombard 
League,  to  protect  the  country  against 
the  Emperor  Frederick,  and  named  in 
honor  of  Pope  Alexander  the  Third,  a 
protector  of  the  Guelphs.  It  is  said 
to  have  been  built  in  a  single  year,  and 
was  called  in  derision,  by  the  Ghibel- 
lines,  Allessandria  della  Paglia  (of  the 
Straw)  ;  either  from  the  straw  used  in 
the  bricks,  or  more  probably  from  the 
supposed  insecurity  of  a  city  built  in 
so  short  a  space  of  time. 


CANTO    VIII. 


I.    Apollonius  Rhodius,  Argonautica, 
III.  302  :  — 

"  It  was  the  hour  when  every  traveller 
And  every  watchman  at  the  gate  of  towns 
Begins  to  long  for  sleep,  and  drowsiness 
Is  falling  even  on  the  mother's  eyes 
Whose  child  is  dead." 

Also  Byron,  Don  Juan,  III.  108  :  — 
"  Soft  hour  !  which  wakes  the  wish  and  melts 
the  heart 
Of  those  who  sail  the  seas,  on  the  first  day 
"When  they  from  their  sweet  friends  are  torn 
apart ; 
Or  fills  with  love  the  pilgrim  on  his  way. 
As  the  far  bell  of  vesper  makes  him  start, 
Seeming  to  weep  the  dying  day's  decay. 
Is  this  a  fancy  which  our  reason  scorns  ? 
Ah  !    surely    nothing    dies     but    something 
mourns !  " 


4.  The  word  "  pilgrim  "  is  here 
used  by  Dante  in  a  general  sense, 
meaning   any    traveller. 

6.    Gray,  Elegy  :  — 

"  The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day." 

13.  An  evening  hymn  of  the  Church, 
sung  at  Complines,  or  the  latest  ser- 
vice  of  the  day  :  — 

"  Te  lucis  ante  terminum, 
Rerum  creator,  poscimus 
Ut  pro  tua  dementia 
Sis  presul  ad  custodiam. 

"  Procul  recedant  somnia 
Et  noxium  phantasmata, 
Hostemque  nostrum  comprime, 
Ne  poUuantur  corpora. 


Purgatorio  viii. 


259 


"  Presta,  Pater  piissime, 
Patrique  compar  Unice, 
Cum  Spiritu  Paraclito 
Regnans  per  omne  saeculum." 

This  hymn  would  seem  to  have  no 
great  applicability  to  disembodied  spir- 
its ;  and  perhaps  may  have  the  same 
reference  as  the  last  petition  in  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  Canto  XI.  19  :  — 

•'  Our  virtue,  which  is  easily  o'ercome, 

Put  not  to  proof  with  the  old  Adversary, 
But  thou  from  him  who  spurs  it  so,  deliver. 
This  last  petition  verily,  dear  Lord, 

Not  for  ourselves  is  made,  who  need  it  not. 
But  for  their  sake  who  have  remained  be- 
hind us." 

Dante  seems  to  think  his  meaning 
very  easy  to  penetrate.  The  commen- 
tators have  found  it  uncommonly  diffi- 
cult. 

26.  Genesis  iii.  24:  "And  he  placed 
at  the  east  of  the  garden  of  Eden 
cherubims,  and  a  flaming  sword  which 
turned  every  way,  to  keep  the  way  of 
the  tree  of  life." 

27.  Justice  tempered  with  mercy, 
say  the  commentators. 

28.  Green,  the  color  of  hope,  which 
is  the  distinguishing  virtue  of  Purgatory. 
On  the  symbolism  of  colors,  Mrs.  Jame- 
son, Sacred  and  Legendary  Arty  Introd., 
says  :  — 

"  In  very  early  Art  we  find  colors 
used  in  a  symbolical  or  mystic  sense, 
and,  until  the  ancient  principles  and 
traditions  were  wholly  worn  out  of 
memory  or  set  aside  by  the  later  paint- 
ers, certain  colors  were  appropriated 
to  certain  subjects  and  personages,  and 
could  not  arbitrarily  be  applied  or  mis- 


applied. In  the  old  specimens  of 
stained  glass  we  find  these  significations 
scrupulously  attended  to.      Thus  :  — 

"  White,  represented  by  the  dia- 
mond or  silver,  was  the  emblem  of  light, 
religious  purity,  innocence,  virginity, 
faith,  joy,  and  life.  Our  Saviour  wears 
white  after  his  resurrection.  In  the 
judge  it  indicated  integrity  ;  in  the 
rich  man,  humility  ;  in  the  woman, 
chastity.  It  was  the  color  consecrated 
to  the  Virgin,  who,  however,  never 
wears  white  except  in  pictures  of  the 
Assumption. 

"  Red,  the  ruby,  signified  fire,  divine 
love,  the  Holy  Spirit,  heat,  or  the 
creative  power,  and  royalty.  White 
and  red  roses  expressed  love  and  inno- 
cence, or  love  and  wisdom,  as  in  the 
garland  with  which  the  angel  crowns 
St.  Cecilia.  In  a  bad  sense,  red  signi- 
fied blood,  war,  hatred,  and  punish- 
ment. Red  and  black  combined  were 
the  colors  of  purgatory  and  the  Devil. 

"  Blue,  or  the  sapphire,  expressed 
heaven,  the  firmament,  truth,  con- 
stancy, fidelity.  Christ  and  the  Virgin 
wear  the  red  tunic  and  the  blue  mantle, 
as  signifying  heavenly  love  and  heavenly 
truth.*  The  same  colors  were  given 
to  St.  John  the  Evangelist,  with  this 
difference,  —  that  he  wore  the  blue 
tunic  and  the  red  mantle  ;  in  later  pic- 
tures the  colors  are  sometimes  red  and 
green. 

"  Yellow,  or  gold,  was  the  symbol 
of  the  sun  ;  of  the  goodness  of  God  ; 

*  In  the  Spanish  schools  the  color  of  our 
Saviour's  mantle  is  generally  a  deep  rich  violet. 


26o 


Notes 


initiation,  or  marriage  ;  faith,  or  fruit- 
fulness.  St.  Joseph,  the  husband  of  the 
Virgin,  wears  yellow.  In  pictures  of 
the  Apostles,  St.  Peter  wears  a  yellow 
mantle  over  a  blue  tunic.  In  a  bad 
sense,  yellow  signifies  inconstancy, 
jealousy,  deceit  ;  in  this  sense  it  is 
given  to  the  traitor  Judas,  who  is  gen- 
erally habited  in  dirty  yellow. 

"  Green,  the  emerald,  is  the  color 
of  spring  ;  of  hope,  particularly  hope 
in  immortality  ;  and  of  victory,  as  the 
color  of  the  palm  and  the  laurel. 

"Violet,  the  amethyst,  signified  love 
and  truth  ;  or,  passion  and  suffering. 
Hence  it  is  the  color  often  worn  by 
the  martyrs.  In  some  instances  our 
Saviour,  after  his  resurrection,  is  habited 
in  a  violet,  instead  of  a  blue  mantle. 
The  Virgin  also  wears  violet  after  the 
crucifixion.  Mary  Magdalene,  who 
as  patron  saint  wears  the  red  robe,  as 
penitent  wears  violet  and  blue,  the 
colors  of  sorrow  and  of  constancy.  In 
the  devotional  representation  of  her  by 
Timoteo  della  Vite,  she  wears  red  and 
green,  the  colors  of  love  and  hope. 

**  Gray,  the  color  of  ashes,  signified 
mourning,  humility,  and  innocence  ac- 
cused ;  hence  adopted  as  the  dress  of 
the  Franciscans  (the  Gray  Friars) ;  but 
it  has  since  been  changed  for  a  dark 
rusty  brown. 

"  Black  expressed  the  earth,  dark- 
ness, mourning,  wickedness,  negation, 
death  ;  and  was  appropriate  to  the 
Prince  of  Darkness.  In  some  old  il- 
luminated MSS.,  Jesus,  in  the  Tempta- 
tion, wears  a  black  robe.  White  and 
black  together  signified  purity  of  life. 


and  mourning  or  humiliation ;  hence 
adopted  by  the  Dominicans  and  the 
Carmelites." 

50.  It  was  not  so  dark  that  on  a 
near  approach  he  could  not  distinguish 
objects  indistinctly  visible  at  a  greater 
distance. 

53.  Nino  de'  Visconti  of  Pisa, 
nephew  of  Count  Ugolino,  and  Judge 
of  Gallura  in  Sardinia.  Dante  had 
known  him  at  the  siege  of  Caprona,  in 
1290,  where  he  saw  the  frightened 
garrison  march  out  under  safeguard. 
Inf.  XXI.  95.  It  was  this  "gentle 
Judge,"  who  hanged  Friar  Gomita  for 
peculation,      hif.  XXII.  82. 

71.  His  daughter,  still  young  and 
innocent. 

75.  His  widow  married  Galeazzo 
de'  Visconti  of  Milan,  "and  much  dis- 
comfort did  this  woman  suffer  with  her 
husband,"  says  the  Otttmo,  "  so  that 
many  a  time  she  wished  herself  a 
widow." 

79.  Hamlet,  IV.  5  :  — 

"  His  obscure  funeral, 
No  trophy,  sword,  or  hatchment  o'er  his  grave." 

80.  The  Visconti  of  Milan  had  for 
their  coat  of  arms  a  viper  ;  and  being 
on  the  banner,  it  led  the  Milanese  to 
battle. 

81.  The  arms  of  Gallura.  "Ac- 
cording to  Fara,  a  writer  of  the  six- 
teenth century,"  says  Valery,  Voyage 
en  Corse  et  en  Sardaigne,  II.  37,  "the 
elegant  but  somewhat  chimerical  his- 
torian of  Sardinia,  Gallura  is  a  Gallic 
colony  ;  its  arms  are  a  cock  ;  and  one 
might  find  some  analogy  between  the 
natural  vivacity  of  its  inhabitants  and 


Ptcrgatorio  viii. 


261 


that  of  the  French."  Nino  thinks  it 
would  look  better  on  a  tombstone  than 
a  viper. 

89.  These  three  stars  are  the  Jlph^ 
of  Euridanus,  of  the  Ship,  and  of  the 
Golden  Fish  ;  allegorically,  if  any  al- 
legory be  wanted,  the  three  Theologi- 
cal Virtues,  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity. 
The  four  morning  stars,  the  Cardinal 
Virtues  of  active  life,  are  already  set; 
these  announce  the  evening  and  the  life 
contemplative. 

100.  Compare  this  with  Milton's 
description  of  the  serpent,  Parad.  Lost, 
IX.  434,  496  :  — 

"  Nearer  he  drew,  and  many  a  walk  traversed 
Of  stateliest  covert,  cedar,  pine,  or  palm  ; 
Then  voluble  and  bold,  now  hid,  now  seen, 
Among  thick-woven  arborets,  and  flowers 
Imbordered  on  each  bank. 

Not  with  indented  wave, 
Prone  on  the  ground,  as  since  ;    but  on  his 

rear, 
Circular  base  of  rising  folds,  that  towered 
Fold  above  fold,  a  surging  maze  !   his  head 
Crested  aloft,  and  carbuncle  his  eyes  ; 
With  burnished  neck  of  verdant  gold,  erect 
Amidst  his  circling  spires,  that  on  the  grass 
Floated  redundant  :   pleasing  was  his  shape 
And  lovely  ;   never  since  of  serpent-kind 
Lovelier,  not  those  that  in  Illyria  changed 
Hermione  and  Cadmus,  or  the  god 
In  Epidaurus  5   nor  to  which  transformed 
Ammonian  Jove  or  Capitoline  was  seen, — 
He  with  Olympias,  this  with  her  who  bore 
Scipio,   the    height   of  Rome.      With    tract 

oblique 
At    first,    as    one    who    sought    access,    but 

feared 
To  interrupt,  sidelong  he  works  his  way. 
As  when  a  ship,  by  skilful  steersman  wrought 
Nigh  river's  mouth  or  foreland,  where  the 

wind 


Veers  oft,  as  oft  so  steers,  and  shifts  her  sail; 
So  varied  he,  and  of  his  tortuous  train 
Curled  many  a  wanton  wreath  in  sight  of  Eve. 

Oft  he  bowed 
His  turret  crest,  and  sleek  enamelled  neck, 
Fawning;  and  licked  the  ground  whereon  she 

trod." 
114.  In  the  original  al  sommo  smalto, 
to  the  highest  enamel ;  referring  either 
to  the  Terrestrial  Paradise,  enamelled 
with  flowers,  or  to  the  highest  heaven 
enamelled  with  stars.  The  azure-stone, 
pierre  d^azur,  or  lapis  lazuli,  is  perhaps 
a  fair  equivalent  for  the  smalto,  particu- 
larly if  the  reference  be  to  the  sky. 

116.  The  valley  in  Lunigiana,  through 
which  runs  the  Magra,  dividing  the 
Genoese  and  Tuscan  territories.  Par. 
IX.  89:  — 

"  The  Magra,  that  with  journey  short 
Doth  from  the  Tuscan  part  the  Genoese." 

1 1 8.  Currado  or  Conrad  Malaspina, 
father  of  Marcello  Malaspina,  who  six 
years  later  sheltered  Dante  in  his  exile, 
as  foreshadowed  in  line  136,  It  was 
from  the  convent  of  the  Corvo,  over- 
looking the  Gulf  of  Spezia,  in  Lunigi- 
ana, that  Frate  Ilario  wrote  the  letter 
describing  Dante's  appearance  in  the 
cloister.  See  Illustrations  at  the  end 
of  Vol.  I. 

131.    Pope  Boniface  the  Eighth. 

134,  Before  the  sun  shall  be  seven 
times  in  Aries,  or  before  seven  years 
are  passed. 

137.  £cc/esiastes,x'n.  11:  "Thewords 
of  the  wise  are  as  goads,  and  as  nails 
fastened  by  the  masters  of  assemblies." 

139.  With  this  canto  ends  the  first 
day  in  Purgatory,  as  indicated  by  the 
description  of  evening  at  the  beginning. 


262 


Notes 


and  the  rising  of  the  stars  in  line  89.  the  reader  will  not  fail  to  notice,  by 
With  it  closes  also  the  first  subdivision  the  elaborate  introduction  of  the  next 
of  this  part  of  the  poem,  indicated,  as      canto. 


CANTO    IX. 


1.  *' Dante  begins  this  canto,"  says 
Benvenuto  da  Imola,  "  by  saying  a 
thing  that  was  never  said  or  imagined 
by  any  other  poet,  which  is,  that  the 
aurora  of  the  moon  is  the  concubine 
of  Tithonus.  Some  maintain  that  he 
means  the  aurora  of  the  sun  ;  but  this 
cannot  be,  if  we  closely  examine  the 
text."  This  point  is  elaborately  dis- 
cussed by  the  commentators.  I  agree 
with  those  who  interpret  the  passage 
as  referring  to  a  lunar  aurora.  It  is 
still  evening;  and  the  hour  is  indicated 
a  few  lines  lower  down. 

To  Tithonus  was  given  the  gift  of 
immortality,  but  not  of  perpetual  youth. 
As  Tennyson  makes  him  say  :  — 

*'  The  woods  decay,  the  woods  decay  and  fall, 
The  vapors  weep  their  burthen  to  the  ground, 
Man  comes  and  tills  the  field  and  lies  beneath, 
And  after  many  a  summer  dies  the  swan. 
Me  only  cruel  immortality 
Consumes  :   I  wither  slowly  in  thine  arms, 
Here  at  the  quiet  limit  of  the  world, 
A  white-haired  shadow  roaming  like  a  dream 
The  ever  silent  spaces  of  the  East, 
Far-folded  mists,  and  gleaming  halls  of  morn." 

2.  Don  fixate,  I.  2  :  "  Scarcely 
had  ruddy  Phoebus  spread  the  golden 
tresses  of  his  beauteous  hair  over  the 
face  of  the  wide  and  spacious  earth, 
and  scarcely  had  the  painted  little  birds, 
with  the  sweet  and  mellifluous  harmony 


of  their  serrated  tongues,  saluted  the 
approach  of  rosy  Aurora,  when,  quitting 
the  soft  couch  of  her  jealous  husband, 
she  disclosed  herself  to  mortals  through 
the  gates  and  balconies  of  the  Manche- 
gan  horizon." 

5.  As  the  sun  was  in  Aries,  and  it 
was  now  the  fourth  day  after  the  full 
moon,  the  Scorpion  would  be  rising  in 
the  dawn  which  precedes  the  moon. 

8.  This  indicates  the  time  to  be 
two  hours  and  a  half  after  sunset,  or 
half  past  eight  o'clock.  Two  hours 
of  the  ascending  night  are  passed,  and 
the  third  is  half  over. 

This  circumstantial  way  of  measur- 
ing the  flight  of  time  is  Homeric. 
Iliad,  X.  250:  "Let  us  be  going,  then, 
for  the  night  declines  fast,  and  the 
morning  is  near.  And  the  stars  have 
already  far  advanced,  and  the  greater 
portion  of  the  night,  by  two  parts,  has 
gone  by,  but  the  third  portion  still  re- 
mains." 

10.    Namely,  his  body. 

12.  Virgil,  Sordello,  Dante,  Nino, 
and  Conrad.  And  here  Dante  falls 
upon  the  grass  and  sleeps  till  dawn. 
There  is  a  long  pause  of  rest  and  sleep 
between  this  line  and  the  next,  which 
makes  the  whole  passage  doubly  beauti- 
ful.    The  narrative  recommences  like 


Pttrgatorio  ix. 


267, 


the  twitter  of  early  birds  just  beginning 
to  stir  in  the  woods. 

14.  For  the  tragic  story  of  Tereus, 
changed  to  a  lapwing,  Philomela  to  a 
nightingale,  and  Procne  to  a  swallow, 
see  Ovid,  Metamorph.,  VI.  :  — 

"  Now,  with  drawn  sabre  and  impetuous  speed, 
In  close  pursuit  he  drives  Pandion's  breed  ; 
Whose    nimble   feet   spring   with  so  swift  a 

force 
Across  the  fields,  they  seem   to  wing  their 

course. 
And  now,  on  real  wings  themselves  they  raise. 
And  steer  their  airy  flight  by  different  ways; 
One  to  the  woodland's  shady  covert  hies. 
Around  the  smoky  roof  the  other  flies  ; 
Whose    feathers    yet    the    marks    of  murder 

stain. 
Where  stamped  upon  her  breast  the  crimson 

spots  remain. 
Tereus,  through  grief  and  haste  to  be  revenged, 
Shares  the  like  fate,  and  to  a  bird  is  changed; 
Fixed  on  his  head  the  crested  plumes  appear, 
Long  is  his  beak,  and  sharpened  like  a  spear ; 
Thus  armed,  his  looks  his  inward  mind  display. 
And,  to  a  lapwing  turned,  he  fans  his  way." 

See  also  Gower,  Confes.  Amant.,Y .:  — 

"And  of  her  suster  Progne  I  finde 
How  she  was  torned  out  of  kinde 
Into  a  swalwe  swift  of  wing, 
Which  eke  in  winter  lith  swouning 
There  as  she  may  no  thing  be  sene, 
And  whan  the  world  is  woxe  grene 
And  comen  is  the  somer  tide. 
Then  fleeth  she  forth  and  ginneth  to  chide 
And  chitereth  out  in  her  langage 
What  falshede  is  in  mariage, 
And  telleth  in  a  maner  speche 
Of  Tereus  the  spouse  breche." 

1 8.    Pope,  Temple  of  Fame,  7  :  — 

"  What  time  the  morn  mysterious  visions  brings, 
While    purer   slumbers    spread    their   golden 
wings." 


22.    Mount  Ida. 

30.  To  the  region  of  fire.  Brunette 
Latini,  Tresor,  Ch.  CXIIL,  says:  "Af- 
ter the  environment  of  the  air  is  seated 
the  fourth  element  ;  this  is  an  orb  of 
fire,  which  extends  to  the  moon  and 
surrounds  this  atmosphere  in  which  we 
are.  And  know  that  above  the  fire  is 
in  the  first  place  the  moon,  and  the 
other  stars,  which  are  all  of  the  nature 
of  fire." 

37.  To  prevent  Achilles  from  going 
to  the  siege  of  Troy,  his  mother  Thetis 
took  him  from  Chiron,  the  Centaur,  and 
concealed  him  in  female  attire  in  the 
court  of  Lycomedes,  king  of  Scyros. 

53.  As  Richter  says:  "The  hour 
when  sleep  is  nigh  unto  the  soul." 

55.  Lucia,  the  Enlightening  Grace 
of  heaven.      Inf.  II.  97. 

58.    Nino  and  Conrad. 

6t,.    Ovid  uses  a  like  expression:  — 

"  Sleep  and  the  god  together  went  away." 

94.  The  first  stair  is  Confession  ; 
the  second.  Contrition  ;  and  the  third. 
Penance. 

97.  Purple  and  black.  See  Inf.  V. 
Note  89. 

105.  The  gate  of  Paradise  is  thus 
described  by  Milton,  Parad.  Lost,  III. 
501  :  — 

"  Far  distant  he  descries, 
Ascending  by  degrees  magnificent 
Up  to  the  wall  of  heaven,  a  structure  high; 
At  top  whereof,  but  far  more  rich,  appeared 
The  work  as  of  a  kingly  palace  gate. 
With  frontispiece  of  diamond  and  gold 
Imbellished;   thick  with  sparkling  orient  gems 
The  portal  shone,  inimitable  on  earth 
By  model  or  by  shading  pencil  drawn. 
The  stairs  where  such  as  whereon  Jacob  saw 


264 


Note 


'S 


Angels  ascending  and  descending,  bands 

Of"  guardians  briglit,  when  he  from  lisau  fled 

To  Fadan-Ar.im  in  the  field  of  Luz, 

Dreaming  by  night  under  the  open  sky, 

And     waking     cried,     '  Tliis    is     the     gate     of 

heaven.' 
Each  stair  mysteriously  was  meant,  nor  stood 
There  always,   but  drawn   up  to  heaven  some- 
times 
Viewless  ;   and  underneath  a  briijht  sea  flowed 
Of  jasper,  or  of  liquid  pearl,  whereon 
Who  after  came  from  earth  sailing  arrived. 
Wafted  by  angels  ;   or  flew  o'er  the  lake, 
Rapt  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  fiery  steeds." 

112.  The  Seven  Sins,  which  are 
punished  in  the  seven  circles  of  Purga- 
tory ;  Pride,  Envy,  Anger,  Sloth,  Ava- 
rice, Gluttony,  Lust. 

118.  The  golden  key  is  the  authority 
of  the  confessor;  the  silver,  his  knowl- 
edge. 

132.  Luke  ix.  62  :  "  No  man  hav- 
ing put  his  hand  to  the  plough,  and 
looking  back,  is  fit  for  the  kingdom  of 
God."  And  xvii.  32  :  "  Remember 
Lot's  wife." 

Boethius,  Co;!J.  Phil.,  Lib.  IIL  Met. 
12  :  — 

"  Heu  !  noctis  prope  terminos 
Orpheus  Eurydicen  suam 
Vidit,  perdidit,  occidit. 
Vos  haec  fabula  respicit, 
Quicumque  in  superum  diem 
Mentem  ducere  quaeritis. 
Nam  qui  Tartareum  in  specus 
Victus  lumina  flexerit, 
Quicquid  prascipuum  trahit, 
Perdit,  dum  videt  inferos." 

136.   Milton,  Farad.  Lost,  IL  879:  — 

"  On  a  sudden  open  fly 
With  impetuous  recoil  and  jarring  sound 
The  infernal  doors,  and  on  their  hinges  grate 
Harsh  thunder." 


138.  When  Ca?sar  robbed  the  Ro- 
man treasury  on  the  Tarpcian  hill,  the 
tribune  Mctcllus  strove  to  defend  it  ; 
but  Ca;sar,  drawing  his  sword,  said  to 
him,  "  It  is  easier  to  do  this  than  to 
say  it." 

Lucan,  Phars.,  IIL  :  — 

**  The  tribune  with  unwilling  steps  withdrew, 
While  impious  hands  the  rude  assault  renew  : 
The   brazen   gates   with  thundering  strokes  re- 
sound. 
And  the  Tarpeian  mountain  rings  around. 
At  length  the  sacred  storehouse,  open  laid. 
The  hoarded  wealth  of  ages  past  displayed  ; 
There   might  be  seen  the  sums  proud  Carthage 

sent, 
Her  long  impending  ruin  to  prevent. 
There  heaped  the  Macedonian  treasures  shone, 
What  great  Flaminius  and  ./Emilius  won 
From  vanquished  Philip  and  his  hapless  son. 
There  lay,  what  flying  Pyrrhus  lost,  the  gold 
Scorned  by  the  patriot's  honesty  of  old  : 
Whate'er  our  parsimonious  sires  could  save, 
What  tributary  gifts  rich  Syria  gave  ; 
The  hundred  Cretan  cities'  ample  spoil  ; 
What  Cato  gathered  from  the  Cyprian  isle. 
Riches  of  captive  kings  by  Pompey  borne. 
In  happier  days,  his  triumph  to  adorn, 
From  utmost  India  and  the  rising  morn; 
Wealth  infinite,  in  one  rapacious  day, 
Became  the  needy  soldiers'  lawless  prey  ; 
And  wretched  Rome,  by  robbery  laid  low, 
Was  poorer  than  the  bankrupt  Caesar  now." 

140.  The  hymn  of  St.  Ambrose, 
universally  known  in  the  churches  as 
the  Te  Deurn. 

144.    Th.on\son,  Hymn  :  — 

"  In  swarming  cities  vast 
Assembled  men  to  the  deep  organ  join 
The  long-resounding  voice,  oft  breaking  clear 
At  solemn  pauses  through  the  swelling  bass, 
And,  as  each  mingling  flame  increases  each. 
In  one  united  ardor  rise  to  heaven." 


Ptcrgatorio  x. 


265 


CANTO    X. 


1.  In  this  canto  is  described  the 
First  Circle  of  Purgatory,  where  the  sin 
of  Pride  is  punished. 

14.  It  being  now  Easter  Monday, 
and  the  fourth  day  after  the  full  moon, 
the  hour  here  indicated  would  be  four 
hours  after  sunrise.  And  as  the  sun 
was  more  than  two  hours  high  when 
Dante  found  himself  at  the  gate  of 
Purgatory  (Canto  IX.  44),  he  was  an 
hour  and  a  half  in  this  needle's  eye. 

30.  Which  was  so  steep  as  to  allow 
of  no  ascent;  dritto  di  salita  being  used 
in  the  sense  of  right  of  way. 

32.  Polycletus,  the  celebrated  Gre- 
cian sculptor,  among  whose  works  one, 
representing  the  body-guard  of  the  king 
of  Persia,  acquired  such  fame  for  ex- 
cellence as  to  be  called  "  the  Rule." 

33.  With  this  description  of  the 
sculptures  on  the  wall  of  Purgatory 
compare  that  of  the  shield  which  Vul- 
can made  for  Achilles,  lUady  XVIII. 
484,  Buckley's  Tr. :  — 

"  On  it  he  wrought  the  earth,  and 
the  heaven,  and  the  sea,  the  unwearied 
sun,  and  the  full  moon.  On  it  also  he 
represented  all  the  constellations  with 
which  the  heaven  is  crowned,  the  Plei- 
ades, the  Hyades,  and  the  strength  of 
Orion,  and  the  Bear,  which  they  also 
call  by  the  appellation  of  the  Wain, 
which  there  revolves,  and  watches 
Orion  ;  but  it  alone  is  free  from  the 
baths  of  the  ocean. 

"  In  it  likewise  he  wrought  two  fair 
cities  of  articulate  speaking  men.  In 
VOL.  II.  34 


the  one,  indeed,  there  were  marriages 
and  feasts  ;  and  they  were  conducting 
the  brides  from  their  chambers  through 
the  city  with  brilliant  torches,  and 
many  a  bridal  song  was  raised.  The 
youthful  dancers  were  wheeling  round, 
and  among  them  pipes  and  lyres  uttered 
a  sound ;  and  the  women  standing,  each 
at  her  portals,  admired.  And  people 
were  crowded  together  in  an  assembly, 
and  there  a  contest  had  arisen;  for  two 
men  contended  for  the  ransom-money 
of  a  slain  man  :  the  one  affirmed  that 
he  had  paid  all,  appealing  to  the  peo- 
ple ;  but  the  other  denied,  averring 
that  he  had  received  naught  :  and  both 
wished  to  find  an  end  of  the  dispute 
before  a  judge.  The  people  were 
applauding  both,  supporters  of  either 
party,  and  the  heralds  were  keeping 
back  the  people  ;  but  the  elders  sat 
upon  polished  stones,  in  a  sacred  circle, 
and  the  pleaders  held  in  their  hands  the 
staves  of  the  clear-voiced  heralds;  with 
these  then  they  arose,  and  alternately 
pleaded  their  cause.  Moreover,  in 
the  midst  lay  two  talents  of  gold,  to 
give  to  him  who  should  best  establish 
his  claim  among  them.  But  round  the 
other  city  sat  two  armies  of  people  glit- 
tering in  arms  ;  and  one  of  two  plans 
was  agreeable  to  them,  either  to  waste 
it,  or  to  divide  all  things  into  two  parts, 
—  the  wealth,  whatever  the  pleasant 
city  contained  within  it.  They,  how- 
ever, had  not  yet  complied,  but  were 
secretly  arming  themselves  for  an  am- 


266 


Notes 


buscade.  Meanwhile,  their  beloved 
wives  and  young  children  kept  watch, 
standing  above,  and  among  them  the 
men  whom  old  age  possessed.  But 
they  (the  younger  men)  advanced;  but 
Mars  was  their  leader,  and  Pallas  Mi- 
nerva, both  golden,  and  clad  in  golden 
dresses,  beautiful  and  large,  along  with 
their  armor,  radiant  all  round,  and  in- 
deed like  gods  ;  but  the  people  were 
of  humbler  size.  But  when  they  now 
had  reached  a  place  where  it  appeared 
fit  to  lay  an  ambuscade,  by  a  river, 
where  there  was  a  watering-place  for 
all  sorts  of  cattle,  there  then  they  set- 
tled, clad  in  shining  steel.  There, 
apart  from  the  people,  sat  two  spies, 
watching  when  they  might  perceive 
the  sheep  and  crooked-horned  oxen. 
These,  however,  soon  advanced,  and 
two  shepherds  accompanied  them, 
amusing  themselves  with  their  pipes, 
for  they  had  not  yet  perceived  the 
stratagem.  Then  they,  discerning 
them,  ran  in  upon  them,  and  immedi- 
ately slaughtered  on  all  sides  the  herds 
of  oxen,  and  the  beautiful  flocks  of 
snow-white  sheep ;  and  slew  the  shep- 
herds besides.  But  they,  when  they 
heard  the  great  tumult  among  the  oxen, 
previously  sitting  in  front  of  the  as- 
sembly, mounting  their  nimble-footed 
steeds,  pursued  ;  and  soon  came  up 
with  them.  Then,  having  marshalled 
themselves,  they  fought  a  battle  on  the 
banks  of  the  river,  and  wounded  one 
another  with  their  brazen  spears. 
Among  them  mingled  Discord  and  Tu- 
mult, and  destructive  Fate,  holding  one 
alive    recently   wounded,    another  un- 


wounded,  but  a  third,  slain,  she  drew 
by  the  feet  through  the  battle;  and  had 
the  garment  around  her  shoulders  crim- 
soned with  the  gore  of  men.  But  they 
turned  about,  like  living  mortals,  and 
fought,  and  drew  away  the  slaughtered 
bodies  of  each  other. 

"  On  it  he  also  placed  a  soft  fallow 
field,  rich  glebe,  wide,  thrice-ploughed; 
and  in  it  many  ploughmen  drove  hither 
and  thither,  turning  round  their  teams. 
But  when,  returning,  they  reached  the 
end  of  the  field,  then  a  man,  advancing, 
gave  into  their  hands  a  cup  of  very 
sweet  wine  ;  but  they  turned  them- 
selves in  series,  eager  to  reach  the  other 
end  of  the  deep  fallow.  But  it  was 
all  black  behind,  similar  to  ploughed 
land,  which  indeed  was  a  marvel  be- 
yond all  others. 

"  On  it  likewise  he  placed  a  field 
of  deep  corn,  where  reapers  were  cut- 
ting, having  sharp  sickles  in  their  hands. 
Some  handfuls  fell  one  after  the  other 
upon  the  ground  along  the  furrow,  and 
the  binders  of  sheaves  tied  others  with 
bands.  Three  binders  followed  the 
reapers,  while  behind  them  boys  gath- 
ering the  handfuls,  and  bearing  them  in 
their  arms,  continually  supplied  them ; 
and  among  them  the  master  stood  by 
the  swath  in  silence,  holding  a  sceptre, 
delighted  in  heart.  But  apart,  beneath 
an  oak,  servants  were  preparing  a  ban- 
quet, and,  sacrificing  a  huge  ox,  they 
ministered  ;  while  women  sprinkled 
much  white  barley  on  the  meat,  as  a 
supper  for  the  reapers. 

"  On  it  likewise  he  placed  a  vine- 
yard, heavily  laden  with  grapes,  beauti- 


Purgatorio  x. 


267 


ful,  golden  ;  but  the  clusters  through- 
out were  black  ;  and  it  was  supported 
throughout  by  silver  poles.  Round  ic 
he  drew  an  azure  trench,  and  about  it 
a  hedge  of  tin;  but  there  was  only 
one  path  to  it,  by  which  the  gatherers 
went  when  they  collected  the  vintage. 
Young  virgins  and  youths,  of  tender 
minds,  bore  the  luscious  fruit  in  woven 
baskets,  in  the  midst  of  whom  a  boy 
played  sweetly  on  a  shrill  harp  ;  and 
with  tender  voice  sang  gracefully  to 
the  chord  ;  while  they,  beating  the 
ground  in  unison  with  dancing  and 
shouts,  followed,  skipping  with  their 
feet. 

"  In  it  he  also  wrought  a  herd  of 
oxen  with  horns  erect.  But  the  kine 
were  made  of  gold  and  of  tin,  and 
rushed  out  with  a  lowing  from  the 
stall  to  the  pasture,  beside  a  murmuring 
stream,  along  the  breeze-waving  reeds. 
Four  golden  herdsmen  accompanied  the 
oxen,  and  nine  dogs,  swift  of  foot,  fol- 
lowed. But  two  terrible  lions  detained 
the  bull,  roaring  among  the  foremost 
oxen,  and  he  was  dragged  away,  loudly 
bellowing,  and  the  dogs  and  youths 
followed  for  a  rescue.  They  indeed, 
having  torn  off  the  skin  of  the  great 
ox,  lapped  up  his  entrails  and  black 
blood;  and  the  shepherds  vainly  press- 
ed upon  them,  urging  on  their  fleet 
dogs.  These  however  refused  to  bite 
the  lions,  but,  standing  very  near, 
barked,  and  shunned  them. 

"  On  it  illustrious  Vulcan  also  form- 
ed a  pasture  in  a  beautiful  grove  full  of 
white  sheep,  and  folds,  and  covered 
huts  and  cottages. 


*' Illustrious  Vulcan  likewise  adorned 
it  with  a  dance,  like  unto  that  which, 
in  wide  Gnossus,  Dsdalus  contrived 
for  fair-haired  Ariadne.  There  danced 
youths  and  alluring  virgins,  holding 
each  other's  hands  at  the  wrist.  These 
wore  fine  linen  robes,  but  those  were 
dressed  in  well-woven  tunics,  shining 
as  with  oil  ;  these  also  had  beautiful 
garlands,  and  those  wore  golden  swords, 
hanging  from  silver  belts.  Sometimes, 
with  skilful  feet,  they  nimbly  bounded 
round  ;  as  when  a  potter,  sitting,  shall 
make  trial  of  a  wheel  fitted  to  his 
hands,  whether  it  will  run  :  and  at 
other  times  again  they  ran  back  to 
their  places  through  one  another.  But 
a  great  crowd  surrounded  the  pleasing 
dance,  amusing  themselves;  and  among 
them  two  tumblers,  beginning  their 
songs,  spun  round  through  the  midst. 

"  But  in  it  he  also  formed  the  vast 
strength  of  the  river  Oceanus,  near  the 
last  border  of  the  well-formed  shield." 

See  also  Virgil's  description  of  the 
Shield  of  ^neas,  jEneid,  VIII.,  and 
of  the  representations  on  the  walls  of  the 
Temple  of  Juno  at  Carthage,  ^neid,  I. 
Also  the  description  of  the  Temple  of 
Mars,  in  Statius,  Thebaid,Vll,,  and  that 
of  the  tomb  of  the  Persian  queen  in  the 
Alexandreis  of  Philip  Gualtier,  noticed 
in  Mr.  Sumner's  article,  Atlantic  Month- 
ly, XVI.  754.  And  finally  "  the  noble 
kerving  and  the  portreitures  "  of  the 
Temples  of  Venus,  Mars,  and  Diana, 
in  Chaucer's  Knightes  Tale  :  — 

"Why  shulde  I  not  as  vvel  eke  tell  you  all 
The  portreiture  that  was  upon  the  wall 
Within  the  temple  of  mighty  Mars  the  Rede  ? 


268 


Notes 


"  First  on  the  wall  was  peintcd  a  forest, 
In  which  thcr  wonncth  neythcr  man  ne  best  ; 
With  knotty,  knarry,  barrein  trees  old, 
Of  stubbes  sharpe,  and  hldous  to  behold  ; 
In  which  ther  ran  a  romble  and  a  swough. 
As  though  a  storme  shuld  bresten  every  bough. 
And,  dounward  from  an  hill,  under  a  bent, 
Ther  stood  the  temple  of  Mars  Armipotcnt, 
Wrought  all  of  burned  stele ;  of  which  th'  entree 
Was  longe  and  streite,  and  gastly  for  to  see  ; 
And  therout  came  a  rage  and  swiche  a  vise, 
That  it  made  all  the  gates  for  to  rise. 
The  northern  light  in  at  the  dore  shone  ; 
For  window,  on  the  wall,  ne  was  ther  none, 
Thurgh  which  men  mighten  any  light  discerne. 
The  dore  was  all  of  athamant  eterne  ; 
Yclenched,  overthwart  and  endelong. 
With  yren  tough.     And,  for  to  make  it  strong, 
Every  piler  the  temple  to  sustene 
Was  tonne-gret,  of  yren  bright  and  shcne. 

•'  Ther  saw  I,  first,  the  derke  imagining 
Of  felonie,  and  alle  the  compassing  ; 
The  cruel  ire,  red  as  any  glede  ; 
The  pikepurse  ;  and  eke  the  pale  drede  ; 
The  smiler,  with  the  knif  under  the  cloke  ; 
The  shepen  brenning,  with  the  blake  smoke  ; 
The  treson  of  the  mordring  in  the  bedde  ; 
The  open  werre,  with  woundes  all  bebledde  5 
Coiiteke,  with  blody  knif  and  sharp  menace  : 
All  full  of  chirking  was  that  sory  place. 
The  sleer  of  himself,  yet,  saw  I  there, 
His  herte-blood  hath  bathed  all  his  here, 
The  naile  ydriven  in  the  shode  anyght. 
The  colde  deth,  with  mouth  gaping  upright." 

40.  Luke  i.  28  :  "  And  the  angel 
came  in  unto  her  and  said.  Hail,  thou 
that  art  highly  favored,  the  Lord  is 
with  thee." 

44.  Luke  i.  38  :  **  And  Mary  said. 
Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord." 

57.  2  Samuel  vi.  6,  7  :  "  And  when 
they  came  to  Nachon's  threshing-floor, 
Uzzah  put  forth  his  hand  to  the  ark  of 
God,  and  took  hold  of  it;  for  the  oxen 


shook  it.  And  the  anger  of  the  Lord 
was  kindled  against  Uzzah,  and  God 
smote  him  there  for  his  error  ;  and 
there  he  died  by  the  ark  of  God." 

65.  2  Samuel  vi.  14  :  "  And  David 
danced  before  the  Lord  with  all  his 
might  ;  and  David  was  girded  with  a 
linen  ephod." 

68.  2  Samuel  vi.  16  :  "  And  as  the 
ark  of  the  Lord  came  into  the  city  of 
David,  Michal,  Saul's  daughter,  looked 
through  a  window  and  saw  King  David 
leaping  and  dancing  before  the  Lord  ; 
and  she  despised  him  in  her  heart." 

73.  This  story  of  Trajan  is  told  in 
nearly  the  same  words,  though  in  prose, 
in  the  Fiore  di  Filosofi,  a  work  attributed 
to  Brunetto  Latini.  See  Nannucci, 
Manuale  della  Letteratura  del  Prima 
Secolo,  in.  291.  It  may  be  found  also 
in  the  Legcnda  Aurea,  in  the  Cento  No- 
velle  Antiche,  Nov.  6"] ,  and  in  the  Life 
of  St.  Gregory,  by  Paulus  Diaconus. 

As  told  by  Ser  Brunetto  the  story 
runs  thus  :  "  Trajan  was  a  very  just 
Emperor,  and  one  day,  having  mounted 
his  horse  to  go  into  battle  with  his 
cavalry,  a  woman  came  and  seized  him 
by  the  foot,  and,  weeping  bitterly,  asked 
him  and  besought  him  to  do  justice 
upon  those  who  had  without  cause  put 
to  death  her  son,  who  was  an  upright 
•young  man.  And  he  answered  and 
said,  'I  will  give  thee  satisfaction  when 
I  return.'  And  she  said,  'And  if  thou 
dost  not  return  ^ '  And  he  answered, 
*  If  I  do  not  return,  my  successor  will 
give  thee  satisfaction.'  And  she  said, 
'  How  do  I  know  that  ?  and  suppose 
he  do  it,  what  is  it  to  thee  if  another 


Purgatorio  xi. 


269 


do  good  ?  Thou  art  my  debtor,  and 
according  to  thy  deeds  shalt  thou  be 
judged  ;  it  is  a  fraud  for  a  man  not  to 
pay  what  he  owes  ;  the  justice  of  an- 
other will  not  liberate  thee,  and  it  will 
be  well  for  thy  successor  if  he  shall 
liberate  himself.'  Moved  by  these 
words  the  Emperor  alighted,  and  did 
justice,  and  consoled  the  widow,  and 
then  mounted  his  horse,  and  went  to 
battle,  and  routed  his  enemies.  A  long 
time  afterwards  St.  Gregory,  hearing 
of  this  justice,  saw  his  statue,  and  had 
him  disinterred,  and  found  that  he  was 
all  turned  to  dust,  except  his  bones  and 
his  tongue,  which  was  like  that  of  a 
living  man.  And  by  this  St.  Gregory 
knew  his  justice,  for  this  tongue  had 
always  spoken  it ;  so  that  then  he 
wept  very  piteously  through  compas- 
sion, praying  God  that  he  would  take 
this  soul  out  of  Hell,  knowing  that  he 
had  been  a  Pagan.  Then  God,  because 
of  these  prayers,  drew  that  soul  from 
pain,  and  put  it  into  glory.  And  there- 
upon the  angel  spoke  to  St.  Gregory, 
and  told  him  never  to   make  such  a 


prayer  again,  and  God  laid  upon  him 
as  a  penance  either  to  be  two  days  in 
Purgatory,  or  to  be  always  ill  with 
fever  and  side-ache.  St.  Gregory  as 
the  lesser  punishment  chose  the  fever 
and  side-ache  {male  di  fianco).^^ 

75.  Gregory's  "  great  victory  "  was 
saving  the  soul  of  Trajan  by  prayer. 

124.  Jeremy  Taylor  says  :  "As  the 
silk-worm  eateth  itself  out  of  a  seed  to 
become  a  little  worm  ;  and  there  feed- 
ing on  the  leaves  of  mulberries,  it 
grows  till  its  coat  be  off,  and  then 
works  itself  into  a  house  of  silk  ;  then, 
casting  its  pearly  seeds  for  the  young 
to  breed,  it  leaveth  its  silk  for  man, 
and  dieth  all  white  and  winged  in  the 
shape  of  a  flying  creature  :  so  is  the 
progress  of  souls." 

127.    Gower,  Confes.  Amant.y  1.:  — 

*'  The  proude  vice  of  veingloire 
Remembreth  nought  of  purgatoire." 

And  Shakespeare,  King  Henry  the 
Eighth,  III.  2  :  — 

"  I  have  ventured, 
Like  little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders, 
This  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory." 


CANTO    XI. 


3.    The  angels,  the  first  creation  or  > 
effects  of  the  divine  power. 

6.  Wisdom  of  Solomon,  vii.  25:  "For 
she  is  the  breath  of  the  power  of  God, 
and  a  pure  influence  flowing  from  the 
glory  of  the  Almighty."  In  the  Vul- 
gate :    Vapor  est  enim  virtutis  Dei. 

45.    See  Inf.  XII.  Note  2. 


58.  Or  Italian.  The  speaker  is 
Omberto  Aldobrandeschi,  Count  of 
Santaliore,  in  the  Maremma  of  Siena. 
"The  Counts  oi  Santafiore  were,  and 
are,  and  almost  always  will  be  at  war 
with  the  Sienese,"  says  the  Ottimo. 
In  one  of  these  wars  Omberto  was 
slain,  at  the  village  of  Campagnatico. 


270 


Notes 


"  The  author  means,"  continues  the 
same  commentator,  "  that  he  who  can- 
not carry  his  head  high  should  bow  it 
down  like  a  bulrush." 

79.  Vasari,  Lh'cs  of  the  Painters, 
Mrs.  Foster's  Tr.,  I.  103,  says  :  — 

"  At  this  time  there  lived  in  Rome 
—  to  omit  nothing  relative  to  art  that 
may  be  worthy  of  commemoration  — 
a  certain  Oderigi  of  Agobbio,  an  ex- 
cellent miniature-painter  of  those  times, 
with  whom  Giotto  lived  on  terms  of 
close  friendship  ;  and  who  was  there- 
fore invited  by  the  Pope  to  illuminate 
many  books  for  the  library  of  the  pal- 
ace :  but  these  books  have  in  great 
part  perished  in  the  lapse  of  time.  In 
my  book  of  ancient  drawings  I  have 
some  few  remains  from  the  hand  of 
this  artist,  who  was  certainly  a  clever 
man,  although  much  surpassed  by 
Franco  of  Bologna,  who  executed  many 
admirable  works  in  the  same  manner, 
for  the  same  Pontiff,  (and  which  were 
also  destined  for  the  library  of  the 
palace,)  at  the  same  time  with  those 
of  Oderigi.  From  the  hand  of  Franco 
also,  I  have  designs,  both  in  painting 
and  illuminating,  which  may  be  seen 
in  my  book  above  cited;  among  others 
are  an  eagle,  perfectly  well  done,  and 
a  lion  tearing  up  a  tree,  which  is  most 
beautiful." 

81.  The  art  of  illuminating  manu- 
scripts, which  was  called  in  Paris  allu- 
minare,  was  in  Italy  called  miniare. 
Hence  Oderigi  is  called  by  Vasari  a 
miniatore,   or   miniature-painter. 

83.  Franco  Bolognese  was  a  pupil 
of  Oderigi,  who  perhaps  alludes  to  this 


fact  in  claiming  a  part  of  the  honor 
paid   to   the  younger  artist. 

94.  Of  Cimabue,  Vasari,  Lives  of 
the  Painters,  Mrs.  Foster's  Tr.,  I.  35, 
says  :  — 

"  The  overwhelming  flood  of  evils 
by  which  unhappy  Italy  had  been  sub- 
merged and  devastated  had  not  only 
destroyed  whatever  could  properly  be 
called  buildings,  but,  a  still  more  de- 
plorable consequence,  had  totally  ex- 
terminated the  artists  themselves,  when, 
by  the  will  of  God,  in  the  year  1240, 
Giovanni  Cimabue,  of  the  noble  family 
of  that  name,  was  born,  in  the  city  of 
Florence,  to  give  the  first  light  to  the 
art  of  painting.  This  youth,  as  he 
grew  up,  being  considered  by  his  father 
and  others  to  give  proof  of  an  acute 
judgment  and  a  clear  understanding, 
was  sent  to  Santa  Maria  Novella  to 
study  letters  under  a  relation,  who  was 
then  master  in  grammar  to  the  novices 
of  that  convent.  But  Cimabue,  instead 
of  devoting  himself  to  letters,  consumed 
the  whole  day  in  drawing  men,  horses, 
houses,  and  other  various  fancies,  on 
his  books  and  different  papers,  —  an 
occupation  to  which  he  felt  himself 
impelled  by  nature  ;  and  this  natural 
inclination  was  favored  by  fortune,  for 
the  governors  of  the  city  had  invited 
certain  Greek  painters  to  Florence,  for 
the  purpose  of  restoring  the  art  of 
painting,  which  had  not  merely  degen- 
erated, but  was  altogether  lost.  These 
artists,"  among  other  works,  began  to 
paint  the  Chapel  of  the  Gondi,  situate 
next  the  principal  chapel,  in  Santa 
Maria  Novella,  the  roof  and  walls  of 


Ptirgatorio  xi. 


2Jl 


which  are  now  almost  entirely  destroyed 
by  time,  —  and  Ciambue,  often  escaping 
from  the  school,  and  having  already 
made  a  commencement  in  the  art  he 
was  so  fond  of,  would  stand  watching 
those  masters  at  their  work,  the  day 
through.  Judging  from  these  circum- 
stances, his  father,  as  well  as  the  artists 
themselves,  concluded  him  to  be  well 
endowed  for  painting,  and  thought  that 
much  might  be  hoped  from  his  future 
efforts,  if  he  were  devoted  to  that  art. 
Giovanni  was  accordingly,  to  his  no 
small  satisfaction,  placed  with  those 
masters.  From  this  time  he  labored 
incessantly,  and  was  so  far  aided  by  his 
natural  powers  that  he  soon  greatly 
surpassed  his  teachers  both  in  design 
and  coloring.  For  these  masters,  car- 
ing little  for  the  progress  of  art,  had 
executed  their  works  as  we  now  see 
them,  not  in  the  excellent  manner  of 
the  ancient  Greeks,  but  in  the  rude 
modern  style  of  their  own  day.  Where- 
fore, though  Cimabue  imitated  his 
Greek  instructors,  he  very  much  im- 
proved the  art,  relieving  it  greatly  from 
their  uncouth  manner,  and  doing  honor 
to  his  country  by  the  name  he  ac- 
quired, and  by  the  works  which  he  per- 
formed. Of  this  we  have  evidence  in 
Florence  from  the  pictures  which  he 
painted  there  ;  as,  for  example,  the 
front  of  the  altar  of  Santa  Cecilia,  and 
a  picture  of  the  Virgin,  in  Santa  Croce, 
which  was,  and  is  still,  attached  to  one 
of  the  pilasters  on  the  right  of  the 
choir." 

95.    Shakespeare,    Trail,   and  Cres., 
HI.  3  :  - 


"The  present  eye  praises  the  present  object  : 
Then  marvel  not,  thou  great  and  complete  man, 
That  all  the  Greeks  begin  to  worship  Ajax  ; 
Since  things  in  motion  sooner  catch  the  eye 
Than  what  not  stirs.  The  cry  went  once  on  thee ; 
And  still  it  might,  and  yet  it  may  again, 
If  thou  wouldst  not  entomb  thyself  alive, 
And  case  thy  reputation  in  thy  tent." 

Cimabue  died  in  1300.    His  epitaph  is: 

"  Credidit  ut  Cimabos  picturae  castra  tenere, 
Sic  tenuit  vivens,  nunc  tenet  astra  poli." 

Vasari,  Lives  of  the  Painters,  L  93  :  — 
"  The  gratitude  which  the  masters 
in  painting  owe  to  Nature,  —  who  is 
ever  the  truest  model  of  him  who, 
possessing  the  power  to  select  the 
brightest  parts  from  her  best  and  love- 
liest features,  employs  himself  un- 
weariedly  in  the  reproduction  of  these 
beauties,  —  this  gratitude,  I  say,  is  due, 
in  my  judgment,  to  the  Florentine 
painter  Giotto,  seeing  that  he  alone, — 
although  born  amidst  incapable  artists, 
and  at  a  time  when  all  good  methods 
in  art  had  long  been  entombed  beneath 
the  ruins  of  war,  —  yet,  by  the  favor 
of  Heaven,  he,  I  say,  alone  succeeded  in 
resuscitating  Art,  and  restoring  her  to 
a  path  that  may  be  called  the  true  one. 
And  it  was  in  truth  a  great  marvel,  that 
from  so  rude  and  inapt  an  age  Giotto 
should  have  had  strength  to  elicit  so 
much,  that  the  art  of  design,  of  which 
the  men  of  those  days  had  little,  if  any 
knowledge,  was  by  his  means  effectu- 
ally recalled  into  life.  The  birth  of 
this  great  man  took  place  in  the  hamlet 
of  Vespignano,  fourteen  miles  from  the 
city  of  Florence,  in  the  year  1276. 
His  father's  name  was  Bondone,  a  sim- 
ple husbandman,  who  reared  the  child. 


272 


Notes 


to  whom  he  had  given  the  name  of 
Giotto,  with  such  decency  as  his  con- 
dition permitted.  The  boy  was  early 
remarked  for  extreme  vivacity  in  all  his 
childish  proceedings,  and  for  extraor- 
dinary promptitude  of  intelligence  ;  so 
that  he  became  endeared,  not  only  to 
his  father,  but  to  all  who  knew  him 
in  the  village  and  around  it.  When 
he  was  about  ten  years  old,  Bondone 
gave  him  a  few  sheep  to  watch,  and 
with  these  he  wandered  about  the 
vicinity,  —  now  here  and  now  there. 
But,  induced  by  Nature  herself  to  the 
arts  of  design,  he  was  perpetually  draw- 
ing on  the  stones,  the  earth,  or  the 
sand,  some  natural  object  that  came  be- 
fore him,  or  some  fantasy  that  presented 
itself  to  his  thoughts.  It  chanced  one 
day  that  the  affairs  o{  Cimabue  took 
him  from  Florence  to  Vespignano, 
when  he  perceived  the  young  Giotto, 
who,  while  his  sheep  fed  around  him, 
was  occupied  in  drawing  one  of  them 
from  the  life,  with  a  stone  slightly 
pointed,  upon  a  smooth,  clean  piece  of 
rock,  —  and  that  without  any  teaching 
whatever  but  such  as  Nature  herself 
had  imparted.  Halting  in  astonish- 
ment, Cimabue  inquired  of  the  boy  if 
he  would  accompany  him  to  his  home, 
and  the  child  replied,  he  would  go 
willingly,  if  his  father  were  content  to 
permit  it.  Cimabue  therefore  request- 
ing the  consent  of  Bondone,  the  latter 
granted  it  readily,  and  suffered  the  artist 
to  conduct  his  son  to  Florence,  where, 
in  a  short  time,  instructed  by  Cimabue 
and  aided  by  Nature,  the  boy  not  only 
equalled  his  master  in  his  own  manner. 


but  became  so  good  an  imitator  of  Na- 
ture that  he  totally  banished  the  rude 
Greek  manner,  restoring  art  to  the 
better  path  adhered  to  in  modern  times, 
and  introducing  the  custom  of  accu- 
rately drawing  living  persons  from  na- 
ture, which  had  not  been  used  for  more 
than  two  hundred  years.  Or,  if  some 
had  attempted  it,  as  said  above,  it  was 
not  by  any  means  with  the  success  of 
Giotto.  Among  the  portraits  by  this 
artist,  and  which  still  remain,  is  one  of 
his  contemporary  and  intimate  friend, 
Dante  Alighieri,  who  was  no  less  fa- 
mous as  a  poet  than  Giotto  as  a  painter, 
and  whom  Messer  Giovanni  Boccaccio 
has  lauded  so  highly  in  the  introduction 
to  his  story  of  Messer  Forese  da  Ra- 
batta,  and  of  Giotto  the  painter  him- 
self. This  portrait  is  in  the  chapel  of 
the  palace  of  the  Podesta  in  Florence  ; 
and  in  the  same  chapel  are  the  portraits 
of  Ser  Brunetto  Latini,  master  of  Dante, 
and  of  Messer  Corso  Donati,  an  illus- 
trious citizen  of  that  day." 

Pope  Benedict  the  Ninth,  hearing 
of  Giotto's  fame,  sent  one  of  his  cour- 
tiers to  Tuscany,  to  propose  to  him 
certain  paintings  for  the  Church  of  St. 
Peter.  "  The  messenger,"  continues 
Vasari,  "  when  on  his  way  to  visit 
Giotto,  and  to  inquire  what  other  good 
masters  there  were  in  Florence,  spoke 
first  with  many  artists  in  Siena,  —  then, 
having  received  designs  from  them,  he 
proceeded  to  Florence,  and  repaired 
one  morning  to  the  workshop  where 
Giotto  was  occupied  with  his  labors. 
He  declared  the  purpose  of  the  Pope, 
and  the  manner  in  which  that  Pontiff 


Ptirgatorio  xi. 


273 


desired  to  avail  himself  of  his  assist- 
ance ;  and,  finally,  requested  to  have 
a  drawing,  that  he  might  send  it  to  his 
Holiness,  Giotto,  who  was  very  cour- 
teous, took  a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  pen- 
cil dipped  in  a  red  color,  then,  resting 
his  elbow  on  his  side,  to  form  a  sort 
of  compass,  with  one  turn  of  the  hand 
he  drew  a  circle,  so  perfect  and  exact 
that  it  was  a  marvel  to  behold.  This 
done,  he  turned  smiling  to  the  courtier, 
saying,  *  Here  is  your  drawing.'  'Am 
I  to  have  nothing  more  than  this  ?  ' 
inquired  the  latter,  conceiving  himself 
to  be  jested  with.  '  That  is  enough 
and  to  spare,'  returned  Giotto  ;  '  send 
it  with  the  rest,  and  you  will  see  if  it 
will  be  recognized.'  The  messenger, 
unable  to  obtain  anything  more,  went 
away  very  ill  satisfied,  and  fearing  that 
he  had  been  fooled.  Nevertheless, 
having  despatched  the  other  drawings 
to  the  Pope,  with  the  names  of  those 
who  had  done  them,  he  sent  that  of 
Giotto  also,  relating  the  mode  in  which 
he  had  made  his  circle,  without  mov- 
ing his  arm  and  without  compasses  ; 
from  which  the  Pope,  and  such  of  the 
courtiers  as  were  well  versed  in  the 
subject,  perceived  how  far  Giotto  sur- 
passed all  the  other  painters  of  his 
time.  This  incident,  becoming  known, 
gave  rise  to  the  proverb,  still  used  in 
relation  to  people  of  dull  wits,  —  Tu  sei 
pill  tondo  che  P  O  di  Giotto  ;  the  signif- 
icance of  which  consists  in  the  double 
meaning  of  the  word  *  tondo,'  which 
is  used  in  the  Tuscan  for  slowness  of 
intellect  and  heaviness  of  comprehen- 
sion, as  well  as  for  an  exact  circle. 
VOL.  II.  35 


The  proverb  has  besides  an  interest 
from  the  circumstance  which  gave  it 
birth 

"It  is  said  that  Giotto,  when  he  was 
still  a  boy,  and  studying  with  Cimabue, 
once  painted  a  fly  on  the  nose  of  a 
figure  on  which  Cimabue  himself  was 
employed,  and  this  so  naturally,  that, 
when  the  master  returned  to  continue 
his  work,  he  believed  it  to  be  real, 
and  lifted  his  hand  more  than  once  to 
drive  it  away  before  he  should  go  on 
with  the  painting." 

Boccaccio,  Decamerone,  VI.  5,  tells 
this  tale  of  Giotto  :  — 

"  As  it  often  happens  that  fortune 
hides  under  the  meanest  trades  in  life 
the  greatest  virtues,  which  has  been 
proved  by  Pampinea;  so  are  the  great- 
est geniuses  found  frequently  lodged  by 
Nature  in  the  most  deformed  and  mis- 
shapen bodies,  which  was  verified  in 
two  of  our  own  citizens,  as  I  am  now 
going  to  relate.  For  the  one,  who  was 
called  Forese  da  Rabatta,  being  a  little 
deformed  mortal,  with  a  flat  Dutch 
face,  worse  than  any  of  the  family  of 
the  Baronci,  yet  was  he  esteemed  by 
most  men  a  repository  of  the  civil  law. 
And  the  other,  whose  name  was  Gi- 
otto, had  such  a  prodigious  fancy,  that 
there  was  nothing  in  Nature,  the  parent 
of  all  things,  but  he  could  imitate  it 
with  his  pencil  so  well,  and  draw  it  so 
like,  as  to  deceive  our  very  senses,  im- 
agining that  to  be  the  very  thing  itself 
which  was  only  his  painting  :  there- 
fore, having  brought  that  art  again  to 
light,  which  had  lain  buried  for  many 
ages  under  the  errors  of  such  as  aimed 


2  74 


Notes 


more  to  captivate  the  eyes  of  the  igno- 
rant, than  to  please  the  understandings 
of  those  who  were  really  judges,  he 
may  be  deservedly  called  one  of  the 
lights  and  glories  of  our  city,  and  the 
rather  as  being  master  of  his  art,  not- 
withstanding his  modesty  would  never 
suffer  himself  to  be  so  esteemed  ;  which 
honor,  though  rejected  by  him,  dis- 
played itself  in  hirn  with  the  greater 
lustre,  as  it  was  so  eagerly  usurped  by 
others  less  knowing  than  himself,  and 
by  many  also  who  had  all  their  knowl- 
edge from  him.  But  though  his  excel- 
lence in  his  profession  was  so  wonder- 
ful, yet  as  to  his  person  and  aspect  he 
had  no  way  the  advantage  of  Signor 
Forese.  To  come  then  to  my  story. 
These  two  worthies  had  each  his  coun- 
try-seat at  Mugello,  and  Forese  being 
gone  thither  in  the  vacation  time,  and 
riding  upon  an  unsightly  steed,  chanced 
to  meet  there  with  Giotto,  who  was 
no  better  equipped  than  himself,  when 
they  returned  together  to  Florence. 
Travelling  slowly  along,  as  they  were 
able  to  go  no  faster,  they  were  over- 
taken by  a  great  shower  of  rain,  and 
forced  to  take  shelter  in  a  poor  man's 
house,  who  was  well  known  to  them 
both  ;  and,  as  there  was  no  appearance 
of  the  weather's  clearing  up,  and  each 
being  desirous  of  getting  home  that 
night,  they  borrowed  two  old,  rusty 
cloaks,  and  two  rusty  hats,  and  they 
proceeded  on  their  journey.  After 
they  had  gotten  a  good  part  of  their 
way,  thoroughly  wet,  and  covered  with 
dirt  and  mire,  which  their  two  shuf- 
fling   steeds   had   thrown  upon   them. 


and  which  by  no  means  improved  their 
looks,  it  began  to  clear  up  at  last,  and 
they,  who  had  hitherto  said  but  little 
to  each  other,  now  turned  to  discourse 
together  ;  whilst  Forese,  riding  along 
and  listening  to  Giotto,  who  was  ex- 
cellent at  telling  a  story,  began  at  last 
to  view  him  attentively  from  head  to 
foot,  and,  seeing  him  in  that  wretched, 
dirty  pickle,  without  having  any  regard 
to  himself  he  fell  a  laughing,  and  said, 
*  Do  you  suppose,  Giotto,  if  a  stranger 
were  to  meet  with  you  now,  who  had 
never  seen  you  before,  that  he  would 
imagine  you  to  be  the  best  painter  in 
the  world,  as  you  really  are  ? '  Giotto 
readily  replied,  '  Yes,  sir,  I  believe  he 
might  think  so,  if,  looking  at  you  at 
the  same  time,  he  would  ever  conclude 
that  you  had  learned  your  A,  B,  C 
At  this  Forese  was  sensible  of  his  mis- 
take, finding  himself  well  paid  in  his 
own  coin." 

Another  story  of  Giotto  may  be  found 
in  Sacchetti,  Nov.  75. 

97.  Probably  Dante's  friend,  Guido 
Cavalcanti,  Inf.  X.  Note  63  ;  and  Gui- 
do Guinicelli,  Purg.  XXVI.  Note  92, 
whom  he  calls 

«  The  father 
Of  me  and  of  my  betters,  who  had  ever 
Practised   the    sweet    and    gracious  rhymes  of 
love." 

99.  Some  commentators  suppose  that 
Dante  here  refers  to  himself.  He  more 
probably  is  speaking  only  in  general 
terms,  without  particular  reference  to 
any  one. 

103.  Ben  Jonson,  Ode  on  the  Death 
of  Sir  H.  Morison  :  — 


Purgatorio  xi. 


275 


"  It  Is  not  growing  like  a  tree 
In  bulic,  doth  make  men  better  be ; 
Or  standing  long  an  oak,  three  hundred  year, 
To  fall  a  log  at  last,  dry,  bald,  and  sear ; 
A  lily  of  a  day 
Is  fairer  far  in  May, 
Although  it  fall  and  die  that  night ; 
It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  light." 

105.  The  babble  of  childhood  ; 
pappo  for  pane,  bread,  and  dindi  for  da- 
nari,  money. 

Halliwell,  Die.  of  Areh.  and  Prov. 
Words  :  "  Dinders,  small  coins  of  the 
Lower  Empire,  found  at  Wroxeter." 

108.  The  revolution  of  the  fixed 
stars,  according  to  the  Ptolemaic  theo- 
ry, which  was  also  Dante's,  was  thirty- 
six  thousand  years. 

109.  "Who  goes  so  slowly,"  inter- 
prets the  Ottimo. 

112.  At  the  battle  of  Monte  Aperto. 
See  Inf.  X.  Note  86. 

118.  Henry  Vaughan,  Saered  Po- 
ems :  — 

"  O  holy  hope  and  high  humility. 
High  as  the  heavens  above; 
These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have  showed 
them  me 
To  kindle  my  cold  love  !  " 

And  Milton,  Sams.  Agon.,  185  :  — 

"  Apt  words  have  power  to  swage 
The  tumors  of  a  troubled  mind." 

121.  A  haughty  and  ambitious  no- 
bleman of  Siena,  who  led  the  Sienese 
troops  at  the  battle  of  Monte  Aperto. 
Afterwards,  when  the  Sienese  were 
routed  by  the  Florentines  at  the  battle 
of  CoUe  in  the  Val  d'  Elsa,  {Purg. 
XIII.  Note  115,)  he  was  taken  prisoner 


"and  his  head  was  cut  off,"  says  Vil- 
lani,  VII.  31,  "and  carried  through  all 
the  camp  fixed  upon  a  lance.  And 
well  was  fulfilled  the  prophecy  and 
revelation  which  the  Devil  had  made 
to  him,  by  means  of  necromancy,  but 
which  he  did  not  understand  ;  for  the 
Devil,  being  constrained  to  tell  how  he 
would  succeed  in  that  battle,  menda- 
ciously answered,  and  said  :  *  Thou 
shalt  go  forth  and  fight,  thou  shalt  con- 
quer not  die  in  the  battle,  and  thy 
head  shall  be  the  highest  in  the  camp.' 
And  he,  believing  from  these  words 
that  he  should  be  victorious,  and  be- 
lieving he  should  be  lord  over  all,  did 
not  put  a  stop  after  *  not '  (yincerai  no, 
morrai,  thou  shalt  conquer  not,  thou 
shalt  die).  And  therefore  it  is  great 
folly  to  put  faith  in  the  Devil's  ad- 
vice. This  Messer  Provenzano  was  a 
great  man  in  Siena  after  his  victory  at 
Monte  Aperto,  and  led  the  whole  city, 
and  all  the  Ghibelline  party  of  Tus- 
cany made  him  their  chief,  and  he  was 
very  presumptuous  in  his  will." 

The  humility  which  saved  him  was 
his  seating  himself  at  a  little  table  in 
the  public  square  of  Siena,  called  the 
Campo,  and  begging  money  of  all  pass- 
ers to  pay  the  ransom  of  a  friend  who 
had  been  taken  prisoner  by  Charles  of 
Anjou,  as  here  narrated  by  Dante. 

138.  Spenser,  Faery  i^eene,  VI.  c,  7, 
St.  22  :  — 

"  He,  therewith  much  abashed  and  affrayd. 
Began  to  tremble  every  limbe  and  vaine." 

141.  A  prophecy  of  Dante's  banish- 
ment and  poverty  and  humiliation. 


276 


Notes 


CANTO     X  I  r. 


1.  In  the  first  part  of  this  canto  the 
same  subject  is  continued,  with  exam- 
ples of  pride  humbled,  sculptured  on 
the  pavement,  upon  which  the  Proud 
are  doomed  to  gaze  as  they  go  with 
their  heads  bent  down  beneath  their 
heavy  burdens, 

"  So  that  they  may  behold  their  evil  ways." 

Iliad,  XIII.  700  :  "  And  Ajax,  the 
swift  son  of  Oileus,  never  at  all  stood 
apart  from  the  Telamonian  Ajax  ;  but 
as  in  a  fallow  field  two  dark  bullocks, 
possessed  of  equal  spirit,  drag  the  com- 
pacted plough,  and  much  sweat  breaks 
out  about  the  roots  of  their  horns,  and 
the  well-polished  yoke  alone  divides 
them,  stepping  along  the  furrow,  and 
the  plough  cuts  up  the  bottom  of  the 
soil,  so  they,  joined  together,  stood 
very  near  to  each  other." 

3.  In  Italy  a  pedagogue  is  not  only 
a  teacher,  but  literally  a  leader  of  chil- 
dren, and  goes  from  house  to  house 
collecting  his  little  flock,  which  he 
brings  home  again  after  school. 

Galatians  iii.  24:  "  The  law  was  our 
schoolmaster  (Paidagogos)  to  bring  us 
unto  Christ." 

17.  Tombs  under  the  pavement  in  the 
aisles  of  churches,  in  contradistinction 
to  those  built  aloft  against  the  walls. 

25.  The  reader  v^'ill  not  fail  to  mark 
the  artistic  structure  of  the  passage  from 
this  to  the  sixty-third  line.  First  there 
are  four  stanzas  beginning,  "  I  saw  "  ; 
then  four  beginning,  "  O  ";  then  four 


beginning,  "  Displayed  "  ;  and  then  a 
stanza  which  resumes  and  unites  them 
all. 

27.  Luke  X.  18:  "I  beheld  Satan 
as  lightning  fall  from  heaven." 

Milton,  Farad.  Lost,  I.  44  :  — 

"  Him  the  Almighty  Power 
Hurled  headlong  flaming  from  the  ethereal  sky, 
With  hideous  ruin  and  combustion,  down 
To  bottomless  perdition,  there  to  dwell 
In  adamantine  chains  and  penal  fire, 
Who  durst  defy  the  Omnipotent  to  arms." 

28.  Iliad,  I.  403  :  "  Him  of  the 
hundred  hands,  whom  the  gods  call 
Briareus,  and  all  men  ^gason."  Inf. 
XXI.  Note  98. 

He  was  struck  by  the  thunderbolt 
of  Jove,  or  by  a  shaft  of  Apollo,  at  the 
battle  of  Flegra.  "  Ugly  medley  of 
sacred  and  profane,  of  revealed  truth 
and  fiction  !  "  exclaims  Venturi. 

31.  Thymbrsus,  a  surname  of  Apol- 
lo, from  his  temple  in  Thymbra. 

34.  Nimrod,  who  "  began  to  be  a 
mighty  one  in  the  earth,"  and  his 
"  tower  whose  top  may  reach  unto 
heaven." 

Genesis  xi.  8  :  "So  the  Lord  scat- 
tered them  abroad  from  thence  upon 
the  face  of  all  the  earth  ;  and  they  left 
off  to  build  the  city.  Therefore  is  the 
name  of  it  called  Babel  ;  because  the 
Lord  did  there  confound  the  language 
of  all  the  earth,  and  from  thence  did 
the  Lord  scatter  them  abroad  upon  the 
face  of  all  the  earth." 


Purgatorio  xn. 


V7 


See  also  Inf.  XXXI.  Note  tj. 

36.  Lombardi  proposes  in  this  line  to 
read  "together"  instead  of  "proud"; 
which  Biagioli  thinks  is  "  changing  a 
beautiful  diamond  for  a  bit  of  lead;  and 
stupid  is  he  who  accepts  the  change." 

37.  Among  the  Greek  epigrams  is 
one  on  Niobe,  which  runs  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

"  This  sepulchre  within  it  has  no  corse  ; 
This  corse  without  here  has  no  sepulchre, 
But  to  itself  is  sepulchre  and  corse." 

Ovid,  Metamorph.y  VI.,  Croxall's 
Tr.  :  — 

"Widowed  and  childless,  lamentable  state! 
A  doleful  sight,  among  the  dead  she  sate; 
Hardened  with  woes,  a  statue  of  despair, 
To  every  breath  of  wind  unmoved  her  hair ; 
Her  cheek  still  reddening,  but  its  color  dead. 
Faded  her  eyes,  and  set  within  her  head. 
No  more  her  pliant  tongue  its  motion  keeps, 
But  stands  congealed  within  her  frozen  lips. 
Stagnate  and  dull,  within  her  purple  veins. 
Its  current  stopped,  the  lifeless  blood  remains. 
Her  feet  their  usual  offices  refuse. 
Her  arms  and  neck  their   graceful   gestures 

lose  : 
Action  and  life  from  every  part  are  gone. 
And  even  her  entrails  turn  to  solid  stone ; 
Yet  still  she  weeps,  and  whirled   by  stormy 

winds. 
Borne   through   the   air,  her   native  country 

finds  ; 
There  fixed,  she  stands  upon  a  bleaky  hill. 
There  yet  her  marble  cheeks    eternal    tears 

distil." 

39.  Homer,  Iliad,  XXIV.  604, 
makes  them  but  twelve.  "  Twelve 
children  perished  in  her  halls,  six 
daughters  and  six  blooming  sons;  these 
Apollo  slew  from  his  silver  bow,  en- 
raged with  Niobe  ;    and  those  Diana, 


delighting  in  arrows,  because  she  had 
deemed  herself  equal  to  the  beautiful- 
cheeked  Latona.  She  said  that  Latona 
had  borne  only  two,  but  she  herself  had 
borne  many  ;  nevertheless  those,  though 
but  two,  exterminated  all  these." 
But  Ovid,  Metamorph.,  VI.,  says:  — 

"  Seven  are  my  daughters  of  a  form  divine, 
With  seven  fair  sons,  an  indefective  line." 

40.  I  Samuel  xxxi.  4,  5  :  "  Then 
said  Saul  unto  his  armor-bearer.  Draw 
thy  sword  and  thrust  me  through  there- 
with, lest  these  uncircumcised  come 
and  thrust  me  through  and  abuse  me. 
But  his  armor-bearer  would  not,  for 
he  was  sore  afraid;  therefore  Saul  took 
a  sword,  and  fell  upon  it.  And  when 
his  armor-bearer  saw  that  Saul  was 
dead,  he  fell  likewise  upon  his  sword, 
and  died  with  him." 

42.  2  Samuel  \.  21  :  "Ye  mountains 
of  Gilboa,  let  there  be  no  dew,  neither 
let  there  be  rain  upon  you." 

43.  Arachne,  daughter  of  Idmon  the 
dyer  of  Colophon.  Ovid,  Metamorph., 
VI.:  — 

"  One  at  the  loom  so  excellently  skilled, 
That  to  the  goddess  she  refused  to  yield. 
Low  was  her  birth,  and  small  her  native  town, 
She  from  her  art  alone  obtained  renown. 

Nor  would  the  work,  when  finished,  please 

so  much, 
As,  while  she  wrought,  to  view  each  graceful 

touch  ; 
Whether  the    shapeless    wool    in    balls    she 

wound. 
Or    with    quick    motion  turned    the  spindle 

round. 
Or  with  her  pencil  drew  the  neat  design, 
Pallas  her  mistress  shone  in  every  line. 


278 


Notes 


This  the  proud  maid  with  scornful  air  denies, 
And  even  the  goddess  at  her  work  defies; 
Disowns  her  lieavcnly  mistress  every  hour, 
Nor  asks  her  aid,  nor  deprecates  her  power. 
Let  us,  she  cries,  but  to  a  trial  come, 
And  if  she  conquers,  let  her  fix  my  doom." 

It  was  rather  an  unfair  trial  of  skill, 

at  the  end  of  which  Minerva,  getting 

angry,  struck  Arachne  on  the  forehead 

with  her  shuttle  of  box-wood. 

"  The  unhappy  maid,  impatient  of  the  wrong, 

Down  from  a  beam  her  injured  person  hung; 

When  Pallas,  pitying  her  wretched  state. 

At  once  prevented  and  pronounced  her  fate  : 

'Live;  but  depend,  vile  wretch  !  '  the  goddess 

cried, 
'  Doomed  in  suspense  forever  to  be  tied  ; 
That  all  your  race,  to  utmost  date  of  time, 
May  feel  the  vengeance  and  detest  the  crime.' 
Then,  going  off,  she  sprinkled  her  with 
juice 
Which  leaves  of  baneful  aconite  produce. 
Touched  with  the  poisonous  drug,  her  flowing 

hair 
Fell  to  the  ground  and  left  her  temples  bare ; 
Her  usual  features  vanished  from  their  place, 
Her  body  lessened  all,  but  most  her  face. 
Her  slender  fingers,  hanging  on  each  side 
With  many  joints,  the  use  of  legs  supplied  ; 
A  spider's  bag  the  rest,  from  which  she  gives 
A  thread,  and  still  by  constant  weaving  lives." 

46.  In  the  revolt  of  the  Ten  Tribes. 
I  Kings  xii.  18:  "Then  King  Reho- 
boam  sent  Adoram,  who  was  over  the 
tribute;  and  all  Israel  stoned  him  with 
stones,  that  he  died  ;  therefore  King 
Rehoboam  made  speed  to  get  him  up 
to  his  chariot,  to  flee  to  Jerusalem." 

50.  Amphiaraus,  the  soothsayer, 
foreseeing  his  own  death  if  he  went 
to  the  Theban  war,  concealed  himself, 
to  avoid  going.  His  wife  Eriphyle, 
bribed  by  a  "  golden  necklace  set  with 


diamonds,"  betrayed  to  her  brother 
Adrastus  his  hiding-place,  and  Amphia- 
raijs,  departing,  charged  his  son  Alc- 
meon  to  kill  Eriphyle  as  soon  as  he 
heard  of  his  death. 

Ovid,  Metamorph.,  IX.  :  — 

*'  The   son   shall   bathe   his   hands  in   parent's 
blood. 
And  in  one  act  be  both  unjust  and  good." 

Statius,  Thcb.,  II.  355,  Lewis's  Tr. :  — 

*'  Fair  Eriphyle  the  rich  gift  beheld. 
And  her  sick  breast  with  secret  envy  swelled. 
Not  the  late  omens  and  the  well-known  tale 
To  cure  her  vain  ambition  aught  avail. 
O  had  the  wretch  by  self-experience  known 
The  future  woes,  and  sorrows  not  her  own  ! 
But  fate  decrees    her  wretched  spouse   must 

bleed. 
And    the    son's    frenzy    clear    the    mother's 

deed." 

53.  Isaiah  xxxvii.  38:  "And  it 
came  to  pass,  as  he  was  worshipping 
in  the  house  of  Nisroch  his  god,  that 
Adrammelech  and  Sharezer,  his  sons, 
smote  him  with  the  sword  ;  and  they 
escaped  into  the  land  of  Armenia,  and 
Esarhaddon,  his  son,  reigned  in  his 
stead." 

56.  Herodotus,  Book  I.  Ch.  214, 
Rawlinson's  Tr.  :  "  Tomyris,  when 
she  found  that  Cyrus  paid  no  heed  to 
her  advice,  collected  all  the  forces  of 
her  kingdom,  and  gave  him  battle. 
Of  all  the  combats  in  which  the  barba- 
rians have  engaged  among  themselves, 
I  reckon  this  to  have  been  the  fiercest. 
....  Tlie  greater  part  of  the  army  of 
the  Persians  was  destroyed,  and  Cyrus 
himself  fell,  after  reigning  nine  and 
twenty  years.     Search  was  made  among 


Purgatorio  xii. 


279 


the  slain,  by  order  of  the  queen,  for 
the  body  of  Cyrus,  and  when  it  was 
found,  she  took  a  skin,  and,  filling  it 
full  of  human  blood,  she  dipped  the 
head  of  Cyrus  in  the  gore,  saying,  as 
she  thus  insulted  the  corse,  *  I  live 
and  have  conquered  thee  in  fight,  and 
yet  by  thee  am  I  ruined ;  for  thou 
tookest  my  son  with  guile  ;  but  thus  I 
make  good  my  threat,  and  give  thee  thy 
fill  of  blood.'  Of  the  many  different 
accounts  which  are  given  of  the  death 
of  Cyrus,  this  which  I  have  followed 
appears  to  me  most  worthy  of  credit." 

59.  After  Judith  had  slain  Holo- 
fernes.  Judith  xv,  1  :  "  And  when 
they  that  were  in  the  tents  heard,  they 
were  astonished  at  the  thing  that  was 
done.  And  fear  and  trembling  fell 
upon  them,  so  that  there  was  no  man 
that  durst  abide  in  the  sight  of  his 
neighbor,  but,  rushing  out  all  together, 
they  fled  into  every  way  of  the  plain 

and   of  the    hill    country Now 

when  the  children  of  Israel  heard  it, 
they  all  fell  upon  them  with  one  con- 
sent, and  slew  them  unto  Chobai." 

61.  This  tercet  unites  the  "I  saw," 
"O,"  and  "Displayed,"  of  the  preced- 
ing passage,  and  binds  the  whole  as 
with  a  selvage* 

67.  Ruskin,  Mod.  Painters,  III.  19: 
*' There  was  probably  never  a  period 
in  which  the  influence  of  art  over  the 
minds  of  men  seemed  to  depend  less 
on  its  merely  imitative  power,  than  the 
close  of  the  thirteenth  century.  No 
painting  or  sculpture  at  that  time 
reached  more  than  a  rude  resemblance 
of  reality.      Its  despised  perspective. 


imperfect  chiaroscuro,  and  unrestrained 
flights  of  fantastic  imagination,  sepa- 
rated the  artist's  work  from  nature  by 
an  interval  which  there  was  no  attempt 
to  disguise,  and  little  to  diminish.  And 
yet,  at  this  very  period,  the  greatest 
poet  of  that,  or  perhaps  of  any  other 
age,  and  the  attached  friend  of  its 
greatest  painter,  who  must  over  and 
over  again  have  held  full  and  free  con- 
versation with  him  respecting  the  ob- 
jects of  his  art,  speaks  in  the  following 
terms  of  painting,  supposed  to  be  car- 
ried to  its  highest  perfection  :  — 

*  Qual  di  pennel  fu  maestro,  e  di  stile 

Che  ritraesse  V  ombre,  e  i  tratti,  ch'  ivi 
Mirar  farieno  uno  ingegno  sottile. 
Morti  li  morti,  e  i  vivi  parean  vivi : 
Non  vide  me'  di  me,  chi  vide  il  vero, 
Quant'  io  calcai,  fin  clie  chinato  givi.' 

Dante  has  here  clearly  no  other  idea 
of  the  highest  art  than  that  it  should 
bring  back,  as  in  a  mirror  or  vision, 
the  aspect  of  things  passed  or  absent. 
The  scenes  of  which  he  speaks  are,  on 
the  pavement,  forever  represented  by 
angelic  power,  so  that  the  souls  which 
traverse  this  circle  of  the  rock  may  see 
them,  as  if  the  years  of  the  world  had 
been  rolled  back,  and  they  again  stood 
beside  the  actors  in  the  moment  of 
action.  Nor  do  I  think  that  Dante's 
authority  is  absolutely  necessary  to 
compel  us  to  admit  that  such  art  as  this 
might  indeed  be  the  highest  possible. 
Whatever  delight  we  may  have  been 
in  the  habit  of  taking  in  pictures,  if  it 
were  but  truly  offered  to  us  to  remove 
at  our  will  the  canvas  from  the  frame, 
and  in  lieu  of  it  to  behold,  fixed  for- 


28o 


Notes 


ever,  the  image  of  some  of  those  mighty- 
scenes  which  it  has  been  our  way  to 
make  mere  themes  for  the  artist's  fancy, 

—  if,  for  instance,  we  could  again  be- 
hold the  Magdalene  receiving  her  par- 
don at  Christ's  feet,  or  the  disciples  sit- 
ting with  him  at  the  table  of  Emmaus, 

—  and  this  not  feebly  nor  fancifully, 
but  as  if  some  silver  mirror,  that  had 
leaned  against  the  wall  of  the  chamber, 
had  been  miraculously  commanded  to 
retain  forever  the  colors  that  had  flashed 
upon  it  for  an  instant, —  would  we  not 
part  with  our  picture,  Titian's  or  Vero- 
nese's though  it  might  be  ?" 

8 1.  The  sixth  hour  of  the  day,  or 
noon  of  the  second  day. 

I02.  Florence  is  here  called  ironi- 
cally "  the  well  guided  "  or  well  gov- 
erned. Rubaconte  is  the  name  of  the 
most  easterly  of  the  bridges  over  the 
Arno,  and  takes  its  name  from  Messer 
Rubaconte,  who  was  Podesta  of  Flor- 


ence in  1236,  when  this  bridge  was 
built.  Above  it  on  the  hill  stands  the 
church  of  San  Miniato.  This  is  the 
hill  which  Michel  Angelo  fortified  in 
the  siege  of  Florence.  In  early  times 
it  was  climbed  by  stairways. 

105.  In  the  good  old  days,  before 
any  one  had  falsified  the  ledger  of  the 
public  accounts,  or  the  standard  of 
measure.  In  Dante's  time  a  certain 
Messer  Niccola  tore  out  a  leaf  from  the 
public  records,  to  conceal  some  villany 
of  his;  and  a  certain  Messer  Durante, 
a  custom-house  officer,  diminished  the 
salt-measure  by  one  stave.  This  is 
again  alluded   to.  Par.  XVI.    105. 

no.  Matthew  v.  3:  "Blessed  are 
the  poor  in  spirit  :  for  theirs  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven." 

It  must  be  observed  that  all  the 
Latin  lines  in  Dante  should  be  chanted 
with  an  equal  stress  on  each  syllable, 
in  order  to  make  them  rhythmical. 


CANTO    XIII. 


I.  The  Second  Circle,  or  Cornice, 
where  is  punished  the  sin  of  Envy  ; 
of  which  St.  Augustine  says  :  "  Envy 
is  the  hatred  of  another's  felicity  ;  in 
respect  of  superiors,  because  they  are 
not  equal  to  them  ;  in  respect  of  in- 
feriors, lest  they  should  be  equal  to 
them  ;  in  respect  of  equals,  because 
they  are  equal  to  them.  Through  envy 
proceeded  the  fall  of  the  world,  and 
the  death  of  Christ." 

9.    The  livid  color  of  Envy. 


14.  The  military  precision  with 
which  Virgil  faces  to  the  right  is 
Homeric.  Biagioli  says  that  Dante 
expresses  it  "  after  his  own  fashion, 
that  is,  entirely  new  and  different  from 
mundane  custom." 

16.  Boethius,  Cons.  Phil.yV.  Met.  2 :  — 

"  Him  the  Sun,  then,  rightly  call,  — 
God  \A'ho  sees  and  lightens  all." 

29.  John  ii.  3  :  "  And  when  they 
wanted  wine,  the  mother  of  Jesus  saith 
unto  him.  They  have  no  wine." 


Ptcrgatorio  xiii. 


281 


Examples  are  first  given  of  the  virtue 
opposite  the  vice  here  punished.  These 
are  but  "airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's 
names";  and  it  must  not  be  supposed 
that  the  persons  alluded  to  are  actually 
passing  in  the  air. 

33.  The  name  of  Orestes  is  here 
shouted  on  account  of  the  proverbial 
friendship  between  him  and  Pylades. 
When  Orestes  was  condemned  to  death, 
Pylades  tried  to  take  his  place,  exclaim- 
ing, "  I  am  Orestes." 

36.  Matthew  V.  44 :  "  But  I  say 
unto  you.  Love  your  enemies,  bless 
them  that  curse  you,  do  good  to  them 
that  hate  you,  and  pray  for  them  which 
despitefully  use  you  and  persecute  you." 

39.    See  Canto  XIV.  147. 

42.  The  next  stairway  leading  from 
the  second  to  the  third  circle. 

51.    The  Litany  of  All  Saints. 

92.    Latian  for  Italian. 

109.  A  Sienese  lady  living  in  banish- 
ment at  Colle,  where  from  a  tower 
she  witnessed  the  battle  between  her 
townsmen  and  the  Florentines.  "Sapia 
hated  the  Sienese,"  says  Benvenuto, 
**  and  placed  herself  at  a  window  not 
far  from  the  field  of  battle,  waiting 
the  issue  with  anxiety,  and  desiring  the 
rout  and  ruin  of  her  own  people.  Her 
desires  being  verified  by  the  entire  dis- 
comfiture of  the  Sienese,  and  the  death 
of  their  captain,"  (Provenzan  Salvani, 
see  Canto  XI.  Note  121,)  "exultant and 
almost  beside  herself,  she  lifted  her  bold 
face  to  heaven,  and  cried,  *  Now,  O 
God,  do  with  me  what  thou  wilt,  do  me 
all  the  harm  thou  canst;  now  my  pray- 
ers are  answered,  and  I  die  content.'" 

VOL.  II.  36 


1 10.    Gower,  Confes.  Aniant.,  II. :  — 

"  Whan  I  have  sene  another  blithe 
Of  love  and  hadde  a  goodly  chere, 
Ethna,  which  brenneth  yere  by  yere, 
Was  thanne  nought  so  hote  as  I 
Of  thilk e  sore  which  prively 
Mine  hertes  thought  withinne  brenneth." 

1 14.  Convito,  IV.  23  :  "  Every  ef- 
fect, in  so  far  as  it  is  effect,  receiveth 
the  likeness  of  its  cause,  as  far  as  it  can 
retain  it.  Therefore,  inasmuch  as  our 
life,  as  has  been  said,  and  likewise  that 
of  every  living  creature  here  below,  is 
caused  by  the  heavens,  and  the  heavens 
reveal  themselves  to  all  these  effects,  not 
in  complete  circle,  but  in  part  thereof, 
so  must  its  movement  needs  be  above  ; 
and  as  an  arch  retains  all  lives  nearly, 
(and,  I  say,  retains  those  of  men  as  well 
as  of  other  living  creatures,)  ascending 
and  curving,  they  must  be  in  the  simili- 
tude of  an  arch.  Returning  then  to 
our  life,  of  which  it  is  now  question, 
I  say  that  it  proceeds  in  the  image  of 
this  arch,  ascending  and  descending." 

122.  The  warm  days  near  the  end 
of  January  are  still  called  in  Lombardy 
/  giorni  del/a  merla,  the  days  of  the 
blackbird  ;  from  an  old  legend,  that 
once  in  the  sunny  weather  a  blackbird 
sang,  "  I  fear  thee  no  more,  O  Lord, 
for  the  winter  is  over." 

128.  Peter  Pettignano,  or  Pettinajo, 
was  a  holy  hermit,  who  saw  visions 
and  wrought  miracles  at  Siena.  For- 
syth, Italy,  149,  describing  the  festival 
of  the  Assumption  in  that  city  in  1802, 
says  :  — 

"  The  Pope  had  reserved  for  this 
great  festival   the  Beatification   of  Pe- 


282 


Notes 


ter,  a  Sienese  comb-maker,  whom  the 
Church  had  neglected  to  canonize  till 
now.  Poor  Peter  was  honored  with 
all  the  solemnity  of  music,  high-mass, 
an  officiating  cardinal,  a  florid  pane- 
gyric, pictured  angels  bearing  his  tools 
to  heaven,  and  combing  their  own  hair 
as  they  soared  ;  but  he  received  five 
hundred  years  ago  a  greater  honor  than 
all,  a  verse  of  praise  from  Dante." 

138.  Dante's  besetting  sin  was  not 
envy,  but  pride. 

144.    On  the  other  side  of  the  world. 

153.  The  vanity  of  the  Sienese  is 
also  spoken  0^  Inf.  XXIX.  123. 

152.  Talamone  is  a  seaport  in  the 
Maremma,  "many  times  abandoned  by 
its  inhabitants,"  says  the  Ottimo,  "on 
account  of  the  malaria.  The  town  is 
utterly  in  ruins  ;  but  as  the  harbor  is 
deep,  and  would  be  of  great  utility  if 
the  place  were  inhabited,  the  Sienese 
have  spent  much  money  in  repairing  it 


many  times,  and  bringing  in  inhabit- 
ants ;  it  is  of  little  use,  for  the  malaria 
prevents  the  increase  of  population." 
Talamone  is  the  ancient  Telamon, 
where  Marius  landed  on  his  return  from 
Africa. 

153.  The  Diana  is  a  subterranean 
river,  which  the  Sienese  were  in  search 
of  for  many  years  to  supply  the  city 
with  water.  *'  They  never  have  been 
able  to  find  it,"  says  the  Ottimo,  "  and 
yet  they  still  hope."  In  Dante's  time 
it  was  evidently  looked  upon  as  an  idle 
dream.  To  the  credit  of  the  Sienese 
be  it  said,  they  persevered,  and  finally 
succeeded  in  obtaining  the  water  so 
patiently  sought  for.  The  Pozxo  Dia- 
na, or  Diana's  Well,  is  still  to  be  seen 
at  the  Convent  of  the  Carmen. 

154.  The  admirals  who  go  to  Ta- 
lamone to  superintend  the  works  will 
lose  there  more  than  their  hope,  name- 
ly, their  lives. 


CANTO    XIV. 


I.  The  subject  of  the  preceding 
canto  is  here  continued.  Compare  the 
introductory  lines  with  those  of  Can- 
to V. 

7.  These  two  spirits  prove  to  be 
Guido  del  Duca  and  Rinieri  da  Cal- 
boli. 

17.  A  mountain  in  the  Apennines, 
northeast  of  Florence,  from  which  the 
Arno  takes  its  rise.  Ampere,  Voyage 
Dantesque,  p.  246,  thus  describes  this 
region  of  the  Val  d'  Arno.     "  Farther 


on  is  another  tower,  the  tower  of  Por- 
ciano,  which  is  said  to  have  been  in- 
habited by  Dante.  From  there  I  had 
still  to  climb  the  summits  of  the  Falte- 
rona.  I  started  towards  midnight  in 
order  to  arrive  before  sunrise.  I  said 
to  myself.  How  many  times  the  poet, 
whose  footprints  I  am  following,  has 
wandered  in  these  mountains  !  It  was 
by  these  little  alpine  paths  that  he 
came  and  went,  on  his  way  to  friends 
in  Romagna  or  friends  in  Urbino,  his 


Pui^gatorio  xir. 


283 


heart  agitated  with  a  hope  that  was 
never  to  be  fulfilled.  I  figured  to  my- 
self Dante  walking  with  a  guide  under 
the  light  of  the  stars,  receiving  all 
the  impressions  produced  by  wild  and 
weather-beaten  regions,  steep  roads, 
deep  valleys,  and  the  accidents  of  a 
long  and  difficult  route,  impressions 
which  he  would  transfer  to  his  poem. 
It  is  enough  to  have  read  this  poem  to 
be  certain  that  its  author  has  travelled 
much,  has  wandered  much.  Dante 
really  walks  with  Virgil.  He  fatigues 
himself  with  climbing,  he  stops  to  take 
breath,  he  uses  his  hands  when  feet  are 
insufficient.  He  gets  lost,  and  asks  the 
way.  He  observes  the  height  of  the 
sun  and  stars.  In  a  word,  one  finds  the 
habits  and  souvenirs  of  the  traveller  in 
every  verse,  or  rather  at  every  step  of 
his  poetic  pilgrimage. 

"  Dante  has  certainly  climbed  the 
top  of  the  Falterona.  It  is  upon  this 
summit,  from  which  all  the  Valley 
of  the  Arno  is  embraced,  that  one 
should  read  the  singular  imprecation 
which  the  poet  has  uttered  against  this 
whole  valley.  He  follows  the  course 
of  the  river,  and  as  he  advances  marks 
every  place  he  comes  to  with  fierce  in- 
vective. The  farther  he  goes,  the 
more  his  hate  redoubles  in  violence 
and  bitterness.  It  is  a  piece  of  topo- 
graphical satire,  of  which  I  know  no 
other  example." 

32.  The  Apennines,  whose  long 
chain  ends  in  Calabria,  opposite  Cape 
Peloro  in  Sicily.  jEneid,  III.  410, 
Davidson's  Tr.  :  — 

"  But   when,   after   setting   out,   the 


wind  shall  waft  you  to  the  Sicilian 
coast,  and  the  straits  of  narrow  Pelorus 
shall  open  wider  to  the  eye,  veer  to 
the  land  on  the  left,  and  to  the  sea  on 
the  left,  by  a  long  circuit;  fly  the  right 
both  sea  and  shore.  These  lands,  they 
say,  once  with  violence  and  vast  deso- 
lation convulsed,  (such  revolutions  a 
long  course  of  time  is  able  to  produce,) 
slipped  asunder  ;  when  in  continuity 
both  lands  were  one,  the  sea  rushed 
impetuously  between,  and  by  its  waves 
tore  the  Italian  side  from  that  of  Sicily; 
and  with  a  narrow  frith  runs  between 
the  fields  and  cities  separated  by  the 
shores.  Scylla  guards  the  right  side, 
implacable  Charybdis  the  left,  and 
thrice  with  the  deepest  eddies  of  its 
gulf  swallows  up  the  vast  billows, 
headlong  in,  and  again  spouts  them  out 
by  turns  high  into  the  air,  and  lashes 
the  stars  with  the  waves." 
And  Lucan,  Phars.,  II.  :  — 
"  And  still  we  see  on  fair  Sicilians  sands 
Where  part  of  Apennine  Pelorus  stands." 

And  Shelley,  Ode  to  Liberty  :  — 

"  O'er  the  lit  waves  every  ^olian  isle 
From  Pithecusa  to  Pelorus 
Howls,  and  leaps,  and  glares  in  chorus." 

40.  When  Dante  wrote  this  invec- 
tive against  the  inhabitants  of  the  Val 
d'  Arno,  he  probably  had  in  mind  the 
following  passage  of  Boethius,  Cons. 
Phil.,  IV.  Pros.  3,  Ridpath's  Tr. :  — 

**  Hence  it  again  follows,  that  every- 
thing which  strays  from  what  is  good 
ceases  to  be  ;  the  wicked  therefore 
must  cease  to  be  what  they  were  ;  but 
that  they  were  formerly  men,  their 
human  shape,  which  still  remains,  tes- 


284 


Notes 


tifies.  By  degenerating  into  wicked- 
ness, then,  they  must  cease  to  be  men. 
But  as  virtue  alone  can  exalt  a  man 
above  what  is  human,  so  it  is  on  the 
contrary  evident,  that  vice,  as  it  divests 
him  of  his  nature,  must  sink  him  below 
humanity  ;  you  ought  therefore  by 
no  means  to  consider  him  as  a  man 
whom  vice  has  rendered  vicious.  Tell 
me.  What  difference  is  there  betwixt  a 
wolf  who  lives  by  rapine,  and  a  robber 
whom  the  desire  of  another's  wealth 
stimulates  to  commit  all  manner  of 
violence?  Is  there  anything  that  bears 
a  stronger  resemblance  to  a  wrathful 
dog  who  barks  at  passengers,  than  a 
man  whose  dangerous  tongue  attacks  all 
the  world  ?  What  is  liker  to  a  fox 
than  a  cheat,  who  spreads  his  snares  in 
secret  to  undermine  and  ruin  you  ?  to 
a  lion,  than  a  furious  man  who  is  al- 
ways ready  to  devour  you  ?  to  a  deer, 
than  a  coward  who  is  afraid  of  his  own 
shadow  ?  to  an  ass,  than  a  mortal  who 
is  slow,  dull,  and  indolent  ?  to  the 
birds  of  the  air,  than  a  man  volatile 
and  inconstant  ?  and  what,  in  fine,  is 
a  debauchee  who  is  immersed  in  the 
lowest  sensual  gratifications,  but  a  hog 
who  wallows  in  the  mire  ?  Upon  the 
whole,  it  is  an  unquestionable  truth 
that  a  man  who  forsakes  virtue  ceases 
to  be  a  man  ;  and,  as  it  is  impossible 
that  he  can  ascend  in  the  scale  of 
beings,  he  must  of  necessity  degenerate 
and  sink  into  a  beast." 

43.    The  people  of  Casentino.    For- 
syth, Ital^,  p.  I  26  :  — 

"  On  returning  down  to  the  Casen- 
tine,  we  could   trace   along  the   Arno 


the  mischief  which  followed  a  late  at- 
tempt to  clear  some  Apennines  of  their 
woods.  Most  of  the  soil,  which  was 
then  loosened  from  the  roots  and  wash- 
ed down  by  the  torrents,  lodged  in  this 
plain  ;  and  left  immense  beds  of  sand 
and  large  rolling  stones  on  the  very 
spot  where   Dante  describes 

*  Li  ruscclletti  che  de'  verdi  colli 

Del  Casentin  discendon  giuso  in  Arno, 
Facendo  i  lor  canali  e  freddi  e  molli.' 

"  I  was  surprised  to  find  so  large  a 
town  as  Bibbiena  in  a  country  devoid  of 
manufactures,  remote  from  public  roads, 
and  even  deserted  by  its  landholders  ; 
for  the  Niccolini  and  Vecchietti,  who 
possess  most  of  this  district,  prefer  the 
obscurer  pleasures  of  Florence  to  their 
palaces  and  pre-eminence  here.  The 
only  commodity  which  the  Casentines 
trade  in  is  pork.  Signore  Baglione,  a 
gentleman  at  whose  house  I  slept  here, 
ascribed  the  superior  flavor  of  their 
hams,  which  are  esteemed  the  best  in 
Italy  and  require  no  cooking,  to  the 
dryness  of  the  air,  the  absence  of  stag- 
nant water,  and  the  quantity  of  chest- 
nuts given  to  their  hogs.  Bibbiena  has 
been  long  renowned  for  its  chestnuts, 
which  the  peasants  dry  in  a  kiln,  grind 
into  a  sweet  flour,  and  then  convert 
into  bread,  cakes,  and  polenta.'"'' 

46.  The  people  of  Arezzo.  For- 
syth, Italy,  p.  128  :  — 

"  The  Casentines  were  no  favorites 
with  Dante,  who  confounds  the  men 
with  their  hogs.  Yet,  following  the 
divine  poet  down  the  Arno,  we  came 
to  a  race  still  more  forbidding.  The 
Aretine  peasants   seem   to   inherit   the 


Purgatorio  xiv. 


28s 


coarse,  surly  visages  of  their  ancestors, 
whom  he  styles  Bottoli.  Meeting  one 
girl,  who  appeared  more  cheerful  than 
her  neighbors,  we  asked  her  how  far  it 
was  from  Arezzo,  and  received  for  an- 
swer, *^anto  c'e.' 

*•  The  valley  widened  as  we  ad- 
vanced, and  when  Arezzo  appeared, 
the  river  left  us  abruptly,  wheeling  off 
from  its  environs  at  a  sharp  angle, 
which  Dante  converts  into  a  snout, 
and  points  disdainfully  against  the  cur- 
rish race 

"  On  entering  the  Val  di  Chiana, 
we  passed  through  a  peasantry  more 
civil  and  industrious  than  their  Aretine 
neighbors.  One  poor  girl,  unlike  the 
last  whom  we  accosted,  was  driving  a 
laden  ass,  bearing  a  billet  of  wood  on 
her  head,  spinning  with  the  rocca,  and 
singing  as  she  went  on.  Others  were 
returning  with  their  sickles  from  the 
fields  which  they  had  reaped  in  the 
Maremma,  to  their  own  harvest  on  the 
hills.  That  contrast  which  struck  me 
in  the  manners  of  two  cantons  so  near 
as  Cortona  to  Arezzo,  can  only  be  a 
vestige  of  their  ancient  rivality  while 
separate  republics.  Men  naturally  dis- 
like the  very  virtues  of  their  enemies, 
and  affect  qualities  as  remote  from  theirs 
as  they  can  well  defend." 

50.    The  Florentines. 

53.    The  Pisans. 

57.  At  the  close  of  these  vitupera- 
tions, perhaps  to  soften  the  sarcasm  by 
making  it  more  general,  Benvenuto  ap- 
pends this  note  :  "  What  Dante  says 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Val  d'  Arno 
might  be  said  of  the  greater  part  of  the 


Italians,  nay,  of  the  world.  Dante,  be- 
ing once  asked  why  he  had  put  more 
Christians  than  Gentiles  into  Hell, 
replied,  *  Because  I  have  known  the 
Christians  better.'  " 

58.  Messer  Fulcieri  da  Calboli  of 
Forli,  nephew  of  Rinieri.  He  was 
Podesta  of  Florence  in  1302,  and,  be- 
ing bribed  by  the  Neri,  had  many  of 
the  Bianchi  put  to  death. 

64.  Florence,  the  habitation  of  these 
wolves,  left  so  stripped  by  Fulcieri,  on 
his  retiring  from  office,  that  it  will 
be  long  in  recovering  its  former  pros- 
perity. 

81.  Guido  del  Duca  of  Brettinoro, 
near  Forli,  in  Romagna  ;  nothing  re- 
mains but  the  name.  He  and  his  com- 
panion Rinieri  were  "  gentlemen  of 
worth,  if  they  had  not  been  burned  up 
with  envy." 

87.  On  worldly  goods,  where  selfish- 
ness excludes  others  ;  in  contrast  with 
the  spiritual,  which  increase  by  being 
shared.     See  Canto  XV.  45. 

88.  Rinieri  da  Calboli.  "  He  was 
very  famous,"  says  the  Ottimo,  and  his- 
tory says  no  more.  In  the  Cento  No- 
velle  Antiche,  Nov.  44,  Roscoe's  Tr., 
he  figures  thus  :  — 

"  A  certain  knight  was  one  day  en- 
treating a  lady  whom  he  loved  to  smile 
upon  his  wishes,  and  among  other  deli- 
cate arguments  which  he  pressed  upon 
her  was  that  of  his  own  superior 
wealth,  elegance,  and  accomplishments, 
especially  when  compared  with  the 
merits  of  her  own  liege-lord,  *  whose 
extreme  ugliness,  madam,'  he  contin- 
ued, *  I  think  I  need  not  insist  upon.' 


286 


Notes 


Her  husband,  who  overheard  this  com- 
pliment from  the  place  of  his  conceal- 
ment, immediately  replied,  ♦  Pray,  sir, 
mend  your  own  manners,  and  do  not 
vilify  other  people.'  The  name  of  the 
plain  gentleman  was  Lizio  di  Valbona, 
and  Messer  Rinieri  da  Calvoli  that  of 
the  other. 

92.  In  Romagna,  which  is  bounded 
by  the  Po,  the  Apennines,  the  Adriat- 
ic, and  the  river  Reno,  that  passes  near 
Bologna. 

93.  For  study  and  pleasure. 

97,  Of  Lizio  and  Manardi  the  Ot- 
tirno  says  :  "  Messer  Lizio  di  Valbona, 
a  courteous  gentleman,  in  order  to  give 
a  dinner  at  Forli,  sold  half  his  silken 
bedquilt  for  sixty  florins.  Arrigo  Ma- 
nardi was  of  Brettinoro;  he  was  a  gen- 
tleman full  of  courtesy  and  honor,  was 
fond  of  entertaining  guests,  made  pres- 
ents of  robes  and  horses,  loved  honor- 
able men,  and  all  his  life  was  devoted 
to  largess  and  good  living." 

The  marriage  of  Riccardo  Manardi 
with  Lizio's  daughter  Caterina  is  the 
subject  of  one  of  the  tales  of  the  De- 
camcrone,  V.  4.  Pietro  Dante  says,  that, 
when  Lizio  was  told  of  the  death  of 
his  dissipated  son,  he  replied,  "It  is 
no  news  to  me,  he  never  was  alive." 

98.  Of  Pier  Traversaro  the  Ottimo 
says  :  "  He  was  of  Ravenna,  a  man  of 
most  gentle  blood";  and  of  Guido  di 
Carpigna  :  "  He  was  of  Montefeltro. 
....  Most  of  the  time  he  lived  at 
Brettinoro,  and  surpassed  all  others  in 
generosity,  loved  for  the  sake  of  loving, 
and  lived  handsomely." 

100.    "  This  Messer  Fabbro,"  says 


the  Ottimo,  "was  born  of  low  parents, 
and  lived  so  generously  that  the  author 
(Dantej  says  there  never  was  his  like 
in  Bologna." 

loi.  The  Ottimo  again:  "This 
Messer  Bernardino,  son  of  Fosco,  a 
farmer,  and  of  humble  occupation,  be- 
came so  excellent  by  his  good  works, 
that  he  was  an  honor  to  Faenza  ;  and 
he  was  named  with  praise,  and  the  old 
grandees  were  not  ashamed  to  visit 
him,  to  see  his  magnificence,  and  to 
hear  his  pleasant  jests." 

104.  Guido  da  Prata,  from  the  vil- 
lage of  that  name,  between  Faenza  and 
Forli,  and  Ugolin  d'  Azzo  of  Faenza, 
according  to  the  same  authority,  though 
"  of  humble  birth,  rose  to  such  great 
honor,  that,  leaving  their  native  places, 
they  associated  with  the  noblemen  be- 
fore mentioned." 

106.  Frederick  Tignoso  was  a  gen- 
tleman of  Rimini,  living  in  Brettinoro. 
"  A  man  of  great  mark,"  says  Buti, 
"  with  his  band  of  friends."  Accord- 
ing to  Benvenuto,  "  he  had  beautiful 
blond  hair,  and  was  called  tignoso  (the 
scurvy  fellow)  by  way  of  antiphrase." 
The  Ottimo  speaks  of  him  as  follows  : 
*'  He  avoided  the  city  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, as  a  place  hostile  to  gentlemen, 
but  when  he  was  in  it,  he  kept  open 
house." 

107.  Ancient  and  honorable  fami- 
lies of  Ravenna.  There  is  a  story  of 
them  in  the  Decamerone,  Gxor.'V .  Nov. 
8,  which  is  too  long  to  quote.  Upon 
this  tale  is  founded  Dryden's  poem  of 
Theodore  and  Honoria. 

1 09.  Ariosto,  Orlando  Furioso,  I.  i :  — 


Ptirgatorio  xiv. 


287 


"The  dames,  the  cavaliers,  the  arms,  the  loves, 
The  courtesies,  the  daring  deeds  I  sing." 

1 12.  Brettinoro,  now  Bertinoro,  is  a 
small  town  in  Romagna,  between  Forli 
and  Cesena,  in  which  lived  many  of 
the  families  that  have  just  been  men- 
tioned. The  hills  about  it  are  still 
celebrated  for  their  wines,  as  its  in- 
habitants were  in  old  times  for  their 
hospitality.  The  following  anecdote 
is  told  of  them  by  the  Ottimo,  and  also 
in  nearly  the  same  words  in  the  Cento 
Novelle  Antiche,  Nov.  8g  :  — 

"  Among  other  laudable  customs  of 
the  nobles  of  Brettinoro  was  that  of 
hospitality,  and  their  not  permitting 
any  man  in  the  town  to  keep  an  inn 
for  money.  But  there  was  a  stone 
column  in  the  middle  of  the  town," 
(upon  which  were  rings  or  knockers. 
Ho  if  all  the  front-doors  were  there  rep- 
resented,) "and  to  this,  as  soon  as  a 
stranger  made  his  appearance,  he  was 
conducted,  and  to  one  of  the  rings 
hitched  his  horse  or  hung  his  hat  upon 
it;  and  thus,  as  chance  decreed,  he  was 
taken  to  the  house  of  the  gentleman  to 
whom  the  ring  belonged,  and  honored 
according  to  his  rank.  This  column 
and  its  rings  were  invented  to  remove 
all  cause  of  quarrel  among  the  noble- 
men, who  used  to  run  to  get  possession 
of  a  stranger,  as  now-a-days  they  al- 
most run  away  from  him." 

115.  Towns  in  Romagna.  "  Bag- 
nacavallo,  and  Castrocaro,  and  Co- 
nio,"  says  the  Ottimo,  "  were  all  habi- 
tations of  courtesy  and  honor.  Now 
in  Bagnacavallo  the  Counts  are  extinct; 
and   he    (Dante)    says   it  does  well  to 


produce  no  more  of  them  because  they 
had  degenerated  like  those  of  Conio 
and   Castrocaro. 

118.  The  Pagani  were  Lords  of 
Faenza  and  Imola.  The  head  of  the 
family,  Mainardo,  was  surnamed  "the 
Devil."  —  See  Inf.  XXVII.  Note  49. 
His  bad  repute  will  always  be  a  re- 
proach to  the  family. 

121.  A  nobleman  of  Faenza,  who 
died  without  heirs,  and  thus  his  name 
was  safe. 

132.  Milton,  Comus:  — 

"  Of  calling    shapes   and    beckoning    shadows 
dire, 
And  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names." 

These  voices  in  the  air  proclaim  ex- 
amples of  envy. 

133.  Genesis  iv.  13,  14:   "And  Cain 

said  unto  the  Lord, Every  one 

that  findeth  me  shall  slay  me." 

139.  Aglauros  through  envy  op- 
posed the  interview  of  Mercury  with 
her  sister  Herse,  and  was  changed  by 
the  god  into  stone.  Ovid,  Meta?norph., 
I.,  Addison's  Tr. :  — 

"  '  Then  keep  thy  seat  forever,'  cries  the  god, 

And  touched  the  door,  wide  opening  to  his 
rod. 

Fain  would  she  rise  and  stop  him,  but  she 
found 

Her  trunk  too  heavy  to  forsake  the  ground  ; 

Her  joints  are  all  benumbed,  her  hands  are 
pale, 

And  marble  now  appears  in  every  nail. 

As  when  a  cancer  in  the  body  feeds, 

And  gradual  death  from  limb  to  limb  pro- 
ceeds. 

So  does  the  chillness  to  each  vital  part 

Spread  by  degrees,  and  creeps  into  her  heart; 

Till  hardening  everywhere,  and  speechless 
grown, 


288 


Notes 


She  sits  unmoved,  and  freezes  to  a  stone. 
But  still  her  envious  hue  and  sullen  mien 
Are  in  the  sedentary  figure  seen." 

147.  The  falconer's  call  or  lure, 
which  he  whirls  round  in  the  air  to 
attract  the  falcon  on  the  wing. 

148.  Ovid,  Metamorph.,  L,  Dry- 
den's  Tr.  :  — 

"Thus,  while  the  mute  creation  downward  bend 
Their  sight,  and  to  their  earthly  mother  tend, 


Man  looks  aloft ;  and  with  erected  eyes 
Beholds  his  own  hereditary  skies." 

150.    Beaumont    and   Fletcher,    The 
Laws  of  Candy,  IV.  1  :  — 
"  Seldom  despairing  men  »ook  up  to  heaven, 
Although  it  still  speak  to  'cm  in  its  glories  ; 
For  when  sad  thoughts  perplex   the   mind  of 

man. 
There  is  a  plummet  in  the  heart  that  weighs 
And  pulls  us,  living,  to  the  dust  we  came 
from." 


CANTO    XV. 


I.  In  this  canto  is  described  the 
ascent  to  the  Third  Circle  of  the 
mountain.  The  hour  indicated  by  the 
peculiarly  Dantesque  introduction  is 
three  hours  before  sunset,  or  the  be- 
ginning of  that  division  of  the  canoni- 
cal day  called  Vespers.  Dante  states 
this  simple  fact  with  curious  circum- 
locution, as  if  he  would  imitate  the 
celestial  sphere  in  this  scherzoso  move- 
ment. The  beginning  of  the  day  is 
sunrise  ;  consequently  the  end  of  the 
third  hour,  three  hours  after  sunrise, 
is  represented  by  an  arc  of  the  celestial 
sphere  measuring  forty-five  degrees. 
The  sun  had  still  an  equal  space  to 
pass  over  before  his  setting.  This 
would  make  it  afternoon  in  Purgatory, 
and  midnight  in  Tuscany,  where  Dante 
was  writing  the  poem. 

20.    From  a  perpendicular. 

38.  Matthew  v.  7  :  "  Blessed  are 
the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain 
mercy"; — sung   by    the    spirits    that 


remained    behind.       See    Canto    XII. 
Note    no. 

39.  Perhaps  an  allusion  to  "  what 
the  Spirit  saith  unto  the  churches," 
Revelation  ii.  7  :  "  To  him  that  over- 
cometh  will  I  give  to  eat  of  the  tree 
of  life,  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the 
paradise  of  God."  And  also  the  "hid- 
den manna,"  and  the  "  morning  star," 
and  the  "white  raiment,"  and  the  name 
not  blotted  "out  of  the  book  of  life." 

55.    Milton,  Par.  Lost,  V.  71  ;  — 
"  Since  good  the  more 

Communicated,  more  abundant  grows." 

67.  Convito,  IV.  20  :  "  According 
to  the  Apostle,  '  Every  good  gift  and 
every  perfect  gift  is  from  above,  and 
Cometh  down  from  the  Father  of 
lights.'  He  says  then  that  God  only 
giveth  this  grace  to  the  soul  of  him 
whom-  he  sees  to  be  prepared  and 
disposed  in  his  person  to  receive  this 

divine  act Whence  if  the  soul  is 

imperfectly  placed,  it  is  not  disposed 


Purgatorto  xv. 


289 


to  receive  this  blessed  and  divine  infu- 
sion ;  as  when  a  pearl  is  badly  dis- 
posed, or  is  imperfect,  it  cannot  receive 
the  celestial  virtue,  as  the  noble  Gui- 
do  Guinizzelli  says  in  an  ode  of  his, 
beginning, 

'To  noble  heart  love  doth  for  shelter  fly.' 

The  soul,  then,  may  be  ill  placed  in 
the  person  through  defect  of  tempera- 
ment, or  of  time  ;  and  in  such  a  soul 
this  divine  radiance  never  shines.  And 
of  those  whose  souls  are  deprived  of 
this  light  it  may  be  said  that  they  are 
like  valleys  turned  toward  the  north, 
or  like  subterranean  caverns,  where  the 
light  of  the  sun  never  falls,  unless  re- 
flected from  some  other  place  illumi- 
nated by  it." 

The  following  are  the  first  two  stan- 
zas of  Guido's  Ode :  — 

♦'  To  noble  heart  love  doth  for  shelter  fly, 

As  seeks  the  bird  the  forest's  leafy  shade  ; 
Love   was   not   felt   till    noble   heart    beat 

high, 
Nor  before  love  the  noble  heart  was  made ; 
Soon  as  the  sun's  broad  flame 
Was  formed,  so  soon  the  clear  light  filled 

the  air, 
Yet  was  not  till  he  came  ; 
So  love  springs  up  in   noble   breasts,  and 

there 
Has  its  appointed  space. 
As  heat  in  the  bright  flame  finds  its  allotted 

place. 

"  Kindles  in  noble  heart  the  fire  of  love, 
As  hidden  virtue  in  the  precious  stone  ; 
This  virtue  comes  not  from  the  stars  above. 
Till  round  it  the  ennobling  sun  has  shone ; 
But  when  his  powerful  blaze 
Has  drawn   forth  what  was  vile,  the  stars 

impart 
Strange  virtue  in  their  rays  ; 

VOL.  II.  37 


And  thus  when  nature  doth  create  the  heart 
Noble,  and  pure,  and  high, 
Like  virtue   from   the  star,  love  comes  from 
woman's  eye." 

70.    Far.  XIV.  40  :  — 

"  Its  brightness  is  proportioned  to  the  ardor, 
The  ardor  to  the  vision,  and  the  vision 
Equals  what  grace  it  has  above  its  merit." 

89.  Luke  ii.  48  :  **  And  his  mother 
said  unto  him.  Son,  why  hast  thou  thus 
dealt  with  us  ?  behold,  thy  father  and 
I  have  sought  thee  sorrowing." 

97.  The  contest  between  Neptune 
and  Minerva  for  the  right  of  naming 
Athens,  in  which  Minerva  carried  the 
day  by  the  vote  of  the  women.  This 
is  one  of  the  subjects  which  Minerva 
wrought  in  her  trial  of  skill  with 
Arachne.     Ovid,  Metamorph.,  VI. :  — 

'•  Pallas  in  figures  wrought  the  heavenly  powers, 

And  Mars's  hill  among  the  Athenian  towers. 

On  lofty  thrones  twice  six  celestials  sate, 

Jove  in  the  midst,  and  held  their  warm  debate ; 

The  subject  weighty,  and  well  known  to  fame, 

From  whom  the  city  should  receive  its  name. 

Each  god  by  proper  features  was  expressed, 

Jove  with  majestic  mien  excelled  the  rest. 

His    three-forked    mace    the    dewy    sea-god 
shook. 

And,  looking  sternly,  smote  the  ragged  rock; 

When  from  the  stone  leapt  forth  a  sprightly 
steed. 

And  Neptune  claims  the  city  for  the  deed. 
Herself  she  blazons,  with  a  glittering  spear. 

And  crested  helm  that  veiled  her  braided  hair. 

With    shield,  and    scaly    breastplate,   imple- 
ments of  war. 

Struck  with  her  pointed   lance,  the  teeming 
earth 

Seemed  to  produce  a  new,  surprising  birth  ; 

When  from  the  glebe  the  pledge  of  conquest 
sprung, 

A  tree  pale-green  with  fairest  olives  hung." 


290 


Notes 


loi.  Pisistratus.the  tyrant  ofAthcns, 
who  used  his  power  so  nobly  as  to 
make  the  people  forget  the  usurpation 
by  which  he  had  attained  it.  Among 
his  good  deeds  was  the  collection  and 
preservation  of  the  Homeric  poems, 
which  but  for  him  might  have  perished. 
He  was  also  the  first  to  found  a  public 
library  in  Athens.  This  anecdote  is 
told  by  Valerius  Maximus,  Fact,  ac 
Diet.,  VI.  I. 

io6.  The  stoning  of  Stephen.  Acts 
vii.  54:  "  They  gnashed  on  him  with 


their  teeth.  But  he,  being  full  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  looked  up  steadfastly  into 

heaven Then  they  cried  out  with 

a  loud  voice,  and  stopped  their  ears, 
and  ran  upon  him  with  one  accord,  and 
cast  him   out    of  the  city,  and  stoned 

him And  he  kneeled  down,  and 

cried  with  a  loud  voice.  Lord,  lay  not 
this  sin  to  their  charge  !  And  when 
he  had  said  this,  he  fell  asleep." 

1 17.  He  recognizes  it  to  be  a  vision, 
but  not  false,  because  it  symbolized  the 
truth. 


CANTO    XVI 


1.  The  Third  Circle  of  Purgatory, 
and  the  punishment  of  the  Sin  of 
Pride. 

2.  Poor,  or  impoverished  of  its  stars 
by  clouds.  The  same  expression  is 
applied  to  the  Arno,  Canto  XIV.  45, 
to  indicate  its  want  of  water. 

19.    In  the  Litany  of  the  Saints :  — 

"  Lamb  of  God,  who  takest  away 
the  sins  of  the  world,  spare  us,  O 
Lord. 

"  Lamb  of  God,  who  takest  away 
the  sins  of  the  world,  graciously  hear 
us,  O  Lord. 

"  Lamb  of  God,  who  takest  away 
the  sins  of  the  world,  have  mercy  on 
us !  " 

27.  Still  living  the  life  temporal, 
where  time  is  measured  by  the  calen- 
dar. 

46.  Marco  Lombardo  was  a  Vene- 
tian nobleman,  a  man  of  wit  and  learn- 


ing and  a  friend  of  Dante.  "  Nearly 
all   that  he  gained,"    says  the    Ottimo, 

"■  he  spent  in  charity He  visited 

Paris,  and,  as  long  as  his  money  lasted, 
he  was  esteemed  for  his  valor  and 
courtesy.  Afterwards  he  depended 
upon  those  richer  than  himself,  and 
lived  and  died  honorably."  There 
are  some  anecdotes  of  him  in  the 
Cento  Novelle  Antiche,  Nov.  41,  52, 
hardly  worth   quoting. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  the  name  of 
Lombardo  is  a  family  name,  or  only 
indicates  that  Marco  was  an  Italian, 
after  the  fashion  then  prevalent  among 
the  French  of  calling  all  Italians  Lom- 
bards.    See  Note  i  24. 

Benvenuto  says  of  him  that  he  "was 
a  man  of  noble  mind,  but  disdainful, 
and  easily  moved  to  anger." 

Buti's  portrait  is  as  follows  :  "  This 
Marco  was  a  Venetian,  called   Marco 


Pitrgatorio  xvl 


291 


Daca  ;  and  was  a  very  learned  man, 
and  had  many  political  virtues,  and 
was  very  courteous,  giving  to  poor 
noblemen  all  that  he  gained,  and  he 
gained  much  ;  for  he  was  a  courtier, 
and  was  much  beloved  for  his  virtue, 
and  much  was  given  him  by  the  no- 
bility ;  and  as  he  gave  to  those  who 
were  in  need,  so  he  lent  to  all  who 
asked.  So  that,  coming  to  die,  and 
having  much  still  due  to  him,  he  made 
a  will,  and  among  other  bequests  this, 
that  whoever  owed  him  should  not  be 
held  to  pay  the  debt,  saying,  *  Who- 
ever has,  may  keep.'  " 

Portarelli  thinks  that  this  Marco 
may  be  Marco  Polo  the  traveller  ;  but 
this  is  inadmissible,  as  he  was  still 
living  at  the  time  of  Dante's  death. 

57.  What  Guido  del  Duca  has  told 
him  of  the  corruption  of  Italy,  in  Can- 
to XIV. 

64.  Ovid,  Metamorph.y  X.,  Ozell's 
Tr.  :  — 

"  The  god  upon  its  leaves 
The  sad  expression  of  his  sorrow  weaves, 
And  to  this  hour  the  mournful  purple  wears 
Ai.)  aiy  inscribed  in  funeral  characters." 

67.  See  the  article  Cabala,  at  the 
end  of  Vol.  III. 

69.  Boethius,  Cons.  PhiL,Y .  Prosa  2, 
Ridpath's  Tr.  :  — 

"*But  in  this  indissoluble  chain  of 
causes,  can  we  preserve  the  liberty  of 
the  will?  Does  this  fatal  Necessity  re- 
strain the  motions  of  the  human  soul?' 
—  *  There  is  no  reasonable  being,'  re- 
plied she,  '  who  has  not  freedom  of 
will  :  for  every  being  distinguished 
with  this  faculty  is  endowed  with  judg- 


ment to  perceive  the  differences  of 
things;  to  discover  what  he  is  to  avoid 
or  pursue.  Now  what  a  person  esteems 
desirable,  he  desires  ;  but  what  he 
thinks  ought  to  be  avoided,  he  shuns. 
Thus  every  rational  creature  hath  a 
liberty  of  choosing  and  rejecting.  But 
I  do  riot  assert  that  this  liberty  is  equal 
in  all  beings.  Heavenly  substances, 
who  are  exalted  above  us,  have  an  en- 
lightened judgment,  an  incorruptible 
will,  and  a  power  ever  at  command 
effectually  to  accomplish  their  desires. 
With  regard  to  man,  his  immaterial 
spirit  is  also  free  ;  but  it  is  most  at 
liberty  when  employed  in  the  contem- 
plation of  the  Divine  mind;  it  becomes 
less  so  when  it  enters  into  a  body;  and 
is  still  more  restrained  when  it  is  im- 
prisoned in  a  terrestrial  habitation, 
composed  of  members  of  clay  ;  and  is 
reduced,  in  fine,  to  the  most  extreme 
servitude  when,  by  plunging  into  the 
pollutions  of  vice,  it  totally  departs 
from  reason  :  for  the  soul  no  sooner 
turns  her  eye  from  the  radiance  of  su- 
preme truth  to  dark  and  base  objects, 
but  she  is  involved  in  a  mist  of  igno- 
rance, assailed  by  impure  desires  ;  by 
yielding  to  which  she  increases  her 
thraldom,  and  thus  the  freedom  which 
she  derives  from  nature  becomes  in 
some  measure  the  cause  of  her  slavery. 
But  the  eye  of  Providence,  which  sees 
everything  from  eternity,  perceives  all 
this  ;  and  that  same  Providence  dis- 
poses everything  she  has  predestinated, 
in  the  order  it  deserves.  As  Homer 
says  of  the  sun.  It  sees  everything  and 
hears  everything.' " 


292 


Notes 


Also  Milton,  Ptirad.  Lost,  II.  557:  — 

"  Others  apart  sat  on  a  hill  retired, 
In  thoughts  more  elevate,  and  reasoned  high 
Of  providence,  foreknowledge,  will  and  fate, 
Fixed  fate,  free  will,  foreknowledge  absolute, 
And  found  no  end,  in  wandering  mazes  lost." 

See  also  Par.  XVII.  Note  40. 

70.  Boethius,  Cons.  PbiL,W .  Prosa  3, 
Ridpath's  Tr.  :  — 

"  But  I  shall  now  endeavor  to  demon- 
strate, that,  in  whatever  way  the  chain 
of  causes  is  disposed,  the  event  of 
things  which  are  foreseen  is  necessary  ; 
although  prescience  may  not  appear  to 
be  the  necessitating  cause  of  their  be- 
falling. For  example,  if  a  person  sits, 
the  opinion  formed  of  him  that  he  is 
seated  is  of  necessity  true  ;  but  by  in- 
verting the  phrase,  if  the  opinion  is 
true  that  he  is  seated,  he  must  neces- 
sarily sit.  In  both  cases,  then,  there  is 
a  necessity  ;  in  the  latter,  that  the  per- 
son sits  ;  in  the  former,  that  the  opin- 
ion concerning  him  is  true  :  but  the 
person  doth  not  sit,  because  the  opin- 
ion of  his  sitting  is  true,  but  the  opin- 
ion is  rather  true  because  the  action 
of  his  being  seated  was  antecedent  in 
time.  Thus,  though  the  truth  of  the 
opinion  may  be  the  effect  of  the  person 
taking  a  seat,  there  is,  nevertheless,  a 
necessity  common  to  both.  The  same 
method  of  reasoning,  I  think,  should  be 
employed  with  regard  to  the  prescience 
of  God,  and  future  contingencies  ;  for, 
allowing  it  to  be  true  that  events  are 
foreseen  because  they  are  to  happen, 
and  that  they  do  not  befall  because 
they  are  foreseen,  it  is  still  necessary 
that  what  is  to  happen  must  be  fore- 


seen by  Cod,  and  that  what  is  foreseen 
must  take  place.  This  then  is  of  itself 
sufficient  to  destroy  all  idea  of  human 
liberty." 

78.  Ptolemy  says,  "  The  wise  man 
shall  control  the  stars  "  ;  and  the  Turk- 
ish proverb,  "  Wit  and  a  strong  will 
are  superior  to  Fate." 

79.  Though  free,  you  are  subject  to 
the  divine  power  which  has  immedi- 
ately breathed  into  you  the  soul,  and 
the  soul  is  not  subject  to  the  influence 
of  the  stars,  as  the  body  is. 

84.    Shakespeare,  Lear,  V.  3  :  — 
"  And  take  upon  's  the  mystery  of  things. 
As  if  we  were  God's  spies." 

92.  ConvitOjW .  \z:  "The  supreme 
desire  of  everything,  and  that  first  given 
by  nature,  is  to  return  to  its  source  ; 
and  since  God  is  the  source  of  our 
souls,  and  maker  of  them  in  his  own 
likeness,  as  is  written,  *  Let  us  make 
man  in  our  image,  after  our  likeness,' 
to  him  this  soul  chiefly  desireth  to  re- 
turn. And  like  as  a  pilgrim,  who  goeth 
upon  a  road  on  which  he  never  was  be- 
fore, thinketh  every  house  he  seeth  afar 
off  to  be  an  inn,  and,  not  finding  it  so, 
directeth  his  trust  to  the  next,  and  thus 
from  house  to  house  until  he  reacheth 
the  inn;  in  like  manner  our  soul,  pres- 
ently as  she  entereth  the  new  and  un- 
travelled  road  of  this  life,  turneth  her 
eyes  to  the  goal  of  her  supreme  good; 
and  therefore  whatever  thing  she  seeth 
that  seemeth  to  have  some  good  in  it, 
she  believeth  to  be  that.  And  because 
her  knowledge  at  first  is  imperfect, 
not  being  experienced  nor  trained, 
small    goods    seem    great,    and    there- 


Purgatorio  xvi. 


293 


fore  with  them  beginneth  her  desire. 
Hence  we  see  children  desire  exceed- 
ingly an  apple;  and  then,  going  farther, 
desire  a  little  bird;  and  farther  still,  a 
beautiful  dress;  and  then  a  horse;  and 
then  a  woman  ;  and  then  wealth  not 
very  great,  and  then  greater,  and  then 
greater  still.  And  this  cometh  to  pass, 
because  she  findeth  not  in  any  of  these 
things  that  which  she  is  seeking,  and 
trusteth  to  find  it  farther  on." 

96.  Henry  Vaughan,  Sacred  Po- 
ems :  — 

"  They  are  indeed  our  pillar-fires, 
Seen  as  we  go  ; 
They  are  that  city's  shining  spires 
We  travel  to." 

99.  Leviticus  xi.  4 :  "  The  camel 
because  he  cheweth  the  cud,  but  di- 
videth  not  the  hoof:  he  is  unclean  to 
you."  Dante  applies  these  words  to 
the  Pope  as  temporal  sovereign. 

loi.  Worldly  goods.  As  in  the  old 
French  satirical  verses  :  — ■ 

"  Au  temps  passe  du  siecle  d'or, 
Crosse  de  bois,  eveque  d'or; 
Maintenant  changent  les  lois, 
Crosse  d'or,  eveque  de  bois." 

107.  The  Emperor  and  the  Pope  ; 
the  temporal  and  spiritual  power. 

115.    Lombardy  and  Romagna. 

117.  The  dissension  and  war  be- 
tween the  Emperor  Frederick  the  Sec- 
ond and  Pope  Gregory  the  Ninth. 
Milman,  Hist.  Lat.  Christ.,  Book  X. 
Ch.  3,  says  :  — 

"  The  Empire  and  the  Papacy  were 
now  to  meet  in  their  last  mortal  and 
implacable  strife  ;  the  two  first  acts  of 
this    tremendous   drama,   separated   by 


an  interval  of  many  years,  were  to  be 
developed  during  the  pontificate  of  a 
prelate  who  ascended  the  throne  of  St. 
Peter  at  the  age  of  eighty.  Nor  was 
this  strife  for  any  specific  point  in  dis- 
pute, like  the  right  of  investiture,  but 
avowedly  for  supremacy  on  one  side, 
which  hardly  deigned  to  call  itself  in- 
dependence ;  for  independence,  on  the 
other,  which  remotely  at  least  aspired 
after  supremacy.  Caesar  would  bear 
no  superior,  the  successor  of  St.  Peter 
no  equal.  The  contest  could  not  have 
begun  under  men  more  strongly  con- 
trasted, or  more  determinedly  oppug- 
nant  in  character,  than  Gregory  the 
Ninth  and  Frederick  the  Second.  Greg- 
ory retained  the  ambition,  the  vigor, 
almost  the  activity  of  youth,  with  the 
stubborn  obstinacy,  and  something  of 
the  irritable  petulance,  of  old  age.  He 
was  still  master  of  all  his  powerful  fac- 
ulties ;  his  knowledge  of  affairs,  of 
mankind,  of  the  peculiar  interests  of 
almost  all  the  nations  in  Christendom, 
acquired  by  long  employment  in  the 
most  important  negotiations  both  by 
Innocent  the  Third  and  by  Honorius 
the  Third  ;  eloquence  which  his  own 
age  compared  to  that  of  Tully  ;  pro- 
found erudition  in  that  learning  which, 
in  the  mediaeval  churchman,  com- 
manded the  highest  admiration.  No 
one  was  his  superior  in  the  science 
of  the  canon  law  ;  the  Decretals,  to 
which  he  afterwards  gave  a  more  full 
and  authoritative  form,  were  at  his 
command,  and  they  were  to  him  as 
much  the  law  of  God  as  the  Gospels 
themselves,  or  the  primary  principles 


294 


Notes 


of  morality.  The  jealous  reverence 
and  attachment  of  a  great  lawyer  to 
his  science  strengthened  the  lofty  pre- 
tensions of  the  churchman. 

"  Frederick  the  Second,  with  many 
of  the  noblest  qualities  which  could 
captivate  the  admiration  of  his  own 
age,  in  some  respects  might  appear 
misplaced,  and  by  many  centuries 
prematurely  born.  Frederick  having 
crowded  into  his  youth  adventures, 
perils,  successes,  almost  unparalleled  in 
history,  was  now  only  expanding  into 
the  prime  of  manhood.  A  parentless 
orphan,  he  had  struggled  upward  into 
the  actual  reigning  monarch  of  his 
hereditary  Sicily  ;  he  was  even  then 
rising  above  the  yoke  of  the  turbulent 
magnates  of  his  realm,  and  the  depress- 
ing tutelage  of  the  Papal  See  ;  he  had 
crossed  the  Alps  a  boyish  adventurer, 
and  won  so  much  through  his  own 
valor  and  daring  that  he  might  well 
ascribe  to  himself  his  conquest,  the 
kingdom  of  Germany,  the  imperial 
crown  ;  he  was  in  undisputed  posses- 
sion of  the  Empire,  with  all  its  rights 
in  Northern  Italy  ;  King  of  Apulia, 
Sicily,  and  Jerusalem.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  be  at  once  the  Magnificent 
Sovereign,  the  knight,  the  poet,  the 
lawgiver,  the  patron  of  arts,  letters, 
and  science ;  the  Magnificent  Sovereign, 
now  holding  his  court  in  one  of  the 
old  barbaric  and  feudal  cities  of  Ger- 
many among  the  proud  and  turbulent 
princes  of  the  Empire,  more  often  on 
the  sunny  shores  of  Naples  or  Palermo, 
in  southern  and  almost  Oriental  luxury; 
the  gallant  Knight  and  troubadour  Poet, 


not  forbidding  himself  those  amorous 
indulgences  which  were  the  reward  of 
chivalrous  valor  and  of  the  *  gay  sci- 
ence ';  the  Lawgiver,  whose  far-seeing 
wisdom  seemed  to  anticipate  some  of 
those  views  of  equal  justice,  of  the  ad- 
vantages of  commerce,  of  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  arts  of  peace,  beyond  all  the 
toleration  of  adverse  religions,  which 
even  in  a  more  dutiful  son  of  the 
Church  would  doubtless  have  seemed 
godless  indifference.  Frederick  must 
appear  before  us  in  the  course  of  our 
history  in  the  full  development  of  all 
these  shades  of  character  ;  but  besides 
all  this,  Frederick's  views  of  the  tem- 
poral sovereignty  were  as  imperious  and 
autocratic  as  those  of  the  haughtiest 
churchman  of  the  spiritual  supremacy. 
The  ban  of  the  Empire  ought  to  be 
at  least  equally  awful  with  that  of  the 
Church  ;  disloyalty  to  the  Emperor 
was  as  heinous  a  sin  as  infidelity  to  the 
head  of  Christendom  ;  the  indepen- 
dence of  the  Lombard  republics  was  as 
a  great  and  punishable  political  heresy. 
Even  in  Rome  itself,  as  head  of  the 
Roman  Empire,  Frederick  aspired  to 
a  supremacy  which  was  not  less  un- 
limited because  vague  and  undefined, 
and  irreconcilable  with  that  of  the  Su- 
preme Pontiff.  If  ever  Emperor  might 
be  tempted  by  the  vision  of  a  vast 
hereditary  monarchy  to  be  perpetuated 
in  his  house,  the  princely  house  of 
Hohenstaufen,  it  was  Frederick.  He 
had  heirs  of  his  greatness  ;  his  eldest 
son  was  King  of  the  Romans  ;  from 
his  loins  might  yet  spring  an  inexhaust- 
ible race  of  princes  ;  the  failure  of  his 


Purgatorio  xri. 


295 


imperial  line  was  his  last  fear.  The 
character  of  the  man  seemed  formed  to 
achieve  and  to  maintain  this  vast  de- 
sign ;  he  was  at  once  terrible  and  pop- 
ular, courteous,  generous,  placable  to 
his  foes  ;  yet  there  was  a  depth  of 
cruelty  in*  the  heart  of  Frederick  to- 
wards revolted  subjects,  which  made 
him  look  on  the  atrocities  of  his 
allies,  Eccelin  di  Romano,  and  the 
Salinguerras,  but  as  legitimate  means 
to  quell  insolent  and  stubborn  rebel- 
lion  

"  It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  con- 
trast more  strong  or  more  irreconcila- 
ble than  the  octogenarian  Gregory,  in 
his  cloister  palace,  in  his  conclave  of 
stern  ascetics,  with  all  but  severe  im- 
prisonment within  conventual  walls, 
completely  monastic  in  manners,  hab- 
its, views,  in  corporate  spirit,  in  celi- 
bacy, in  rigid  seclusion  from  the  rest 
of  mankind,  in  the  conscientious  deter- 
mination to  enslave,  if  possible,  all 
Christendom  to  its  inviolable  unity  of 
faith,  and  to  the  least  possible  latitude 
of  discipline  ;  and  the  gay  and  yet 
youthful  Frederick,  with  his  mingled 
assemblage  of  knights  and  ladies,  of 
Christians,  Jews,  and  Mohammedans, 
of  poets  and  men  of  science,  met,  as  it 
were,  to  enjoy  and  minister  to  enjoy- 
ment,—  to  cultivate  the  pure  intellect, 
—  where,  if  not  the  restraints  of  relig- 
ion, at  least  the  awful  authority  of 
churchmen  was  examined  with  free- 
dom, sometimes  ridiculed  with  sportive 
wit." 

See  also  Inf.  X.  Note  119. 

124.    Currado   (Conrad)  da  Palazzo 


of  Brescia  ;  Gherardo  da  Camino  of 
Treviso  ;  and  Guido  da  Castello  of 
Reggio.  Of  these  three  the  Ottimo 
thus  speaks  :  — 

"  Messer  Currado  was  laden  with 
honor  during  his  life,  delighted  in  a 
fine  retinue,  and  in  political  life  in  the 
government  of  cities,  in  which  he  ac- 
quired much  praise  and  fame. 

"  Messer  Guido  was  assiduous  in 
honoring  men  of  worth,  who  passed 
on  their  way  to  France,  and  furnished 
many  with  horses  and  arms,  who  came 
hitherward  from  France.  To  all  who 
had  honorably  consumed  their  prop- 
erty, and  returned  more  poorly  fur- 
nished than  became  them,  he  gave, 
without  hope  of  return,  horses,  arms, 
and  money. 

"  Messer  Gherardo  da  Camino  de- 
lighted not  in  one,  but  in  all  noble 
things,  keeping  constantly  at  home." 

He  farther  says,  that  his  fame  was 
so  great  in  France  that  he  was  there 
spoken  of  as  the  "  simple  Lombard," 
just  as,  "  when  one  says  the  City,  and 
no  more,  one  means  Rome."  Benvenu- 
to  da  Imola  says  that  all  Italians  were 
called  Lombards  by  the  French.  In 
the  Histoire  et  Cronique  du  petit  Jehan 
de  Saintr'e,  fol.  219,  ch.  iv.,  the  author 
remarks  :  "  The  fifteenth  day  after 
Saintre's  return,  there  came  to  Paris 
two  young,  noble,  and  brave  Italians, 
whom  we  call  Lombards." 

132.  Deuteronomy  xv'm.  2:  "There- 
fore shall  they  have  no  inheritance 
among  their  brethren  :  the  Lord  is 
their  inheritance,  as  he  hath  said  unto 
them." 


296 


Notes 


140.  "This  Gherardo,"  says  Buti, 
"  had  a  daughter,  called,  on  account  of 
her  beauty,  Gaja  ;  and  so  modest  and 
virtuous  was  she,  that  through  all  Italy 
was  spread  the  fame  of  her  beauty  and 
modesty." 

The  Ottimo,  who  preceded  Buti  in 
point  of  time,  gives  a   somewhat  dif- 


ferent and  more  equivocal  account. 
He  says  :  "  Madonna  Gaia  was  the 
daughter  of  Mcsscr  Gherardo  da  Ca- 
mino  :  she  was  a  lady  of  such  conduct 
in  amorous  delectations,  that  her  name 
was  notorious  throughout  all  Italy  ; 
and  therefore  she  is  thus  spoken  of 
here." 


CANTO     XVII. 


1.  The  trance  and  vision  of  Dante, 
and  the  ascent  to  the  Fourth  Circle, 
where  the  sin  of  Sloth  is  punished. 

2.  Iliad,  III.  10  :  "As  the  south 
wind  spreads  a  mist  upon  the  brow  of 
a  mountain,  by  no  means  agreeable  to 
the  shepherd,  but  to  the  robber  better 
than  night,  in  which  a  man  sees  only 
as  far  as  he  can  cast  a  stone." 

19.  In  this  vision  are  represented 
some  of  the  direful  effects  of  anger,  be- 
ginning with  the  murder  of  Itys  by  his 
mother,  Procne,  and  her  sister,  Philo- 
mela.    Ovid,  VI.  :  — 

"  Now,  at  her  lap  arrived,  the  flattering  boy 
Salutes  his  parent  with  a  smiling  joy ; 
About  her  neck  his  little  arms  are  thrown, 
And  he  accosts  her  in  a  prattling  tone. 

When  Procne,  on  revengeful  mischief  bent. 
Home  to  his  heart  a  piercing  poniard  sent. 
Itys,  with  rueful  cries,  but  all  too  late, 
Holds  out  his  hands,  and  deprecates  his  fate; 
Still  at  his  mother's  neck  he  fondly  aims, 
And  strives  to  melt  her  with  endearing  names ; 
Yet  still  the  cruel  mother  perseveres, 
Nor  with  concern  his  bitter  anguish  hears. 
This  might  suffice  ;   but  Philomela  too 
Across  his  throat  a  shining  cutlass  drew." 


Or  perhaps  the  reference  is  to  the 
Homeric  legend  of  Philomela,  Odyssey, 
XIX.  518:  "As  when  the  daughter 
of  Pandarus,  the  swarthy  nightingale, 
sings  beautifully  when  the  spring  new- 
ly begins,  sitting  in  the  thick  branches 
of  trees,  and  she,  frequently  changing, 
pours  forth  her  much-sounding  voice, 
lamenting  her  dear  Itylus,  whom  once 
she  slew  with  the  brass  through  igno- 
rance." 

25.  Esther  vii.  9,  10:  "And  Har- 
bonah,  one  of  the  chamberlains,  said 
before  the  king.  Behold  also,  the  gal- 
lows, fifty  cubits  high,  which  Haman 
had  made  for  Mordecai,  who  had  spo- 
ken good  for  the  king,  standeth  in  the 
house  of  Haman.  Then  the  king 
said.  Hang  him  thereon.  So  they 
hanged  Haman  on  the  gallows  that  he 
had  prepared  for  Mordecai.  Then 
was  the  king's  wrath  pacified." 

34.  Lavinia,  daughter  of  King  Lati- 
nus  and  Queen  Amata,  betrothed  to 
Turnus.  Amata,  thinking  Turnus  dead, 
hanged  herself  in  anger  and  despair. 
jEneid,  XII.  875,  Dryden's  Tr.  :  — 


Purgatorio  xriii. 


297 


"Mad  with  her  anguish,  impotent  to  bear 
The  mighty  grief,  she  loathes  the  vital  air. 
She  calls  herself  the  cause  of  all  this  ill. 
And  owns  the  dire  effects  of  her  ungoverned 

will; 
She   raves   against   the   gods,   she   beats   her 

breast, 
She  tears  with  both   her  hands  her   purple 

vest ; 
Then  round  a  beam  a  running  noose  she  tied, 
And,  fastened  by  the  neck,  obscenely  died. 

"  Soon  as  the  fatal  news  by  fame  was  blown. 
And  to  her  dames  and  to  her  daughters  known, 
The  sad  Lavinia  rends  her  yellow  hair 
And  rosy  cheeks;   the  rest  her  sorrow  share; 
With  shrieks  the  palace  rings,  and  madness 

of  despair." 

53.    See  Par.  V.  134  :  — 

"  Even  as  the  sun,  that  doth  conceal  himself 
By  too  much  light." 


And  Milton,  Parad.  Lost,  III.  380:  — 

"  Dark  with  excessive  bright  thy  skirts  appear." 

68.  Matthew  v.  9  :  "  Blessed  are 
the  peacemakers  :  for  they  shall  be 
called  the  children  of  God." 

85.  Sloth.  See  Inf.  VII.  Note  115. 
And  Brunetto  Latini,  Tesoretto,  XXI. 
145:  — 

"  In  ira  nasce  e  posa 
Accidia  niquitosa." 

97.  The  first,  the  object ;  the  sec- 
ond, too  much  or  too  little  vigor. 

124.  The  sins  of  Pride,  Envy,  and 
Anger.  The  other  is  Sloth,  or  luke- 
warmness  in  well-doing,  punished  in 
this  circle. 

136.  The  sins  of  Avarice,  Gluttony, 
and  Lust. 


CANTO    XVIII. 


I.  The  punishment  of  the  sin  of 
Sloth. 

27.  Bound  or  taken  captive  by  the 
image  of  pleasure  presented  to  it.  See 
Canto  XVII.  91. 

22.    Milton,  Parad.  Lost,Y.  100:  — 
"  But  know  that  in  the  soul 
Are  many  lesser  faculties,  that  serve 
Reason  as  chief;  among  these  Fancy  next 
Her  office  holds  ;   of  all  external  things. 
Which  the  five  watchful  senses  represent, 
She  forms  imaginations,  aery  shapes. 
Which  Reason  joining  or  disjoining  frames 
All  what  we  affirm  or  what  deny,  and  call 
Our  knowledge  or  opinion  ;  then  retires 
Into  her  private  cell,  when  Nature  rests." 

30.    The  region  of  Fire.     Brunetto 

VOL.  II.  38 


Latini,  Trcsor,  Ch.  CVIIL:  "After  the 
zone  of  the  air  is  placed  the  fourth 
element.  This  is  an  orb  of  fire  with- 
out any  moisture,  which  extends  as  far 
as  the  moon,  and  surrounds  this  atmos- 
phere in  which  we  are.  And  know 
that  above  the  fire  is  first  the  moon, 
and  the  other  stars,  which  are  all  of 
the  nature  of  fire." 

44.  If  the  soul  follows  the  appetitus 
naturalis,  or  goes  not  with  another  foot 
than  that  of  nature. 

49.  In  the  language  of  the  Scholas- 
tics, Form  was  the  passing  from  the 
potential  to  the  actual.  "Whatever  is 
Act,"    says   Thomas  Aquinas,   Summa 


298 


Notes 


ThcoL,  Quasst.  lxvi.  Art.  i,  "what- 
ever is  Act  is  Form  ;  quod  est  actus  est 
forma"  And  again  Form  was  divided 
into  Substantial  Form,  which  caused  a 
thing  to  be ;  and  Accidental  Form, 
which  caused  it  to  be  in  a  certain  way, 
**  as  heat  makes  its  subject  not  simply 
to  be,  but  to  be  hot." 

"  The  soul,"  says  the  same  Angelic 
Doctor,  Quaest.  lxxvi.  Art.  4,  *'  is 
the  substantial  form  of  man  ;  antma  est 
forma  substantialis  hominis."  It  is  seg- 
regate or  distinct  from  matter,  though 
united  with  it. 

61.  "This"  refers  to  the  power 
that  counsels,  or  the  faculty  of  Rea- 
son. 

66.    Accepts,  or  rejects  like  chaff. 

73.  Dante  makes  Beatrice  say.  Par. 
V.  19:  — 

*'  The  greatest  gift  that  in  his  largess  God 

Creating  made,  and  unto  his  own  goodness 
Nearest  conformed,  and  that  which  he  doth 
prize 
Most  highly,  is  the  freedom  of  the  will, 
Wherewith  the  creatures  of  intelligence 
Both  all  and  only  were  and  are  endowed." 

76.  Near  midnight  of  the  Second 
Day  of  Purgatory. 

80.  The  moon  was  rising  in  the 
sign  of  the  Scorpion,  it  being  now  five 
days  after  the  full  ;  and  when  the  sun 
is  in  this  sign,  it  is  seen  by  the  in- 
habitants of  Rome  to  set  between  the 
islands  of  Corsica  and  Sardinia. 

83.  Virgil,  born  at  Pietola,  near 
Mantua. 

84.  The  burden  of  Dante's  doubts 
and  questions,  laid  upon  Virgil. 

91.    Rivers    of  Boeotia,    on    whose 


banks  the  Thcbans  crowded  at  night 
to  invoke  the  aid  of  Bacchus  to  give 
them  rain   for  their  vineyards. 

94.  The  word  falcare,  in  French 
fauchcr,  here  translated  "  curve,"  is  a 
term  of  equitation,  describing  the  mo- 
tion of  the  outer  fore-leg  of  a  horse  in 
going  round  in  a  circle.  It  is  the 
sweep  of  a  mower's  scythe. 

100.  Luke  i.  39:  "And  Mary  arose 
in  those  days  and  went  into  the  hill- 
country  with  haste." 

loi.  Caesar  on  his  way  to  subdue 
Ilerda,  now  Lerida,  in  Spain,  besieged 
Marseilles,  leaving  there  part  of  his 
army  under  Brutus  to  complete  the 
work. 

1 18.  Nothing  is  known  of  this  Ab- 
bot, not  even  his  name.  Finding  him 
here,  the  commentators  make  bold  to 
say  that  he  was  "  slothful  and  deficient 
in  good  deeds."  This  is  like  some  of 
the  definitions  in  the  Crusca,  which, 
instead  of  the  interpretation  of  a  Dan- 
tesque  word,  give  you  back  the  passage 
in  which  it  occurs. 

119.  This  is  the  famous  Emperor 
Frederick  Barbarossa,  who,  according 
to  the  German  popular  tradition,  is 
still  sitting  in  a  cave  in  the  Kipphaiiser 
mountains,  waiting  for  something  to 
happen,  while  his  beard  has  grown 
through  the  stone-table  before  him. 
In  1 162  he  burned  and  devastated  Mi- 
lan, Brescia,  Piacenza,  and  Cremona. 
He  was  drowned  in  the  Salef  in  Ar- 
menia, on  his  crusade  in  11 90,  en- 
deavoring to  ford  the  river  on  horse- 
back in  his  impatience  to  cross.  His 
character   is   thus   drawn   by   Milman, 


Ptirgatorio  xix. 


299 


Lat.  Christ. y  Book  VIII.  Ch.  7,  and 
sufficiently  explains  why  Dante  calls 
him  "  the  good  Barbarossa  "  :  — 

"  Frederick  was  a  prince  of  intrepid 
valor,  consummate  prudence,  unmeas- 
ured ambition,  justice  which  hardened 
into  severity,  the  ferocity  of  a  barba- 
rian somewhat  tempered  with  a  high 
chivalrous  gallantry  ;  above  all,  with  a 
strength  of  character  which  subjugated 
alike  the  great  temporal  and  ecclesiasti- 
cal princes  of  Germany  ;  and  was  pre- 
pared to  assert  the  Imperial  rights  in 
Italy  to  the  utmost.  Of  the  constitu- 
tional rights  of  the  Emperor,  of  his 
unlimited  supremacy,  his  absolute  in- 
dependence of,  his  temporal  superiority 
over,  all  other  powers,  even  that  of  the 
Pope,  Frederick  proclaimed  the  loftiest 
notions.  He  was  to  the  Empire  what 
Hildebrand  and  Innocent  were  to  the 
Popedom.  His  power  was  of  God 
alone;  to  assert  that  it  was  bestowed 
by  the  successor  of  St.  Peter  was  a  lie, 
and  directly  contrary  to  the  doctrine  of 
St.  Peter." 


121.  Alberto  della  Scala,  Lord  of 
Verona.  He  made  his  natural  son, 
whose  qualifications  for  the  office 
Dante  here  enumerates,  and  the  com- 
mentators repeat.  Abbot  of  the  Mo- 
nastery of  San  Zeno. 

132.    See  Inf.  VII.  Note  115. 

135.  Numbers  xxxii.  11,  12:  "Sure- 
ly none  of  the  men  that  came  out  of 
Egypt,  from  twenty  years  old  and  up- 
ward, shall  see  the  land  which  I  sware 
unto  Abraham,  unto  Isaac,  and  unto 
Jacob  ;  because  they  have  not  wholly 
followed  me  :  save  Caleb  the  son  of 
Jephunneh  the  Kenezite,  and  Joshua 
the  son  of  Nun  ;  for  they  have  wholly 
followed  the  Lord." 

137.  The  Trojans  who  remained 
with  Acestes  in  Sicily,  instead  of  fol- 
lowing i^neas  to  Italy.  jEneid,  V.  : 
"  They  enroll  the  matrons  for  the 
city,  and  set  on  shore  as  many  of  the 
people  as  were  willing,  —  souls  that 
had  no  desire  of  high  renown." 

145.    The  end  of  the  Second  Day. 


CANTO    XIX. 


I.  The  ascent  to  the  Fifth  Circle, 
where  Avarice  is  punished.  It  is  the 
dawn  of  the  Third  Day. 

3.  Brunetto  Latini,  Tresor,  Ch.  CXI. 
**  Saturn,  who  is  sovereign  over  all,  is 
cruel  and  malign  and  of  a  cold  na- 
ture." 

4.  Geomancy  is  divination  by  points 
in  the  ground,  or  pebbles  arranged  in 


certain  figures,  which  have  peculiar 
names.  Among  these  is  the  figure 
called  the  Fortuna  Major^  which  is  thus 
drawn  :  — 

*     * 

* 
and  which  by  an  effort  of  imagination 


,oo 


Notes 


can  also  be  formed  out  of  some  of  the 
last  stars  of  Aquarius,  and  some  of  the 
first  of  Pisces. 

Chaucer,      Trail,     and    Cres.,     III. 
1415:  — 

"  But  whan  the  cocke,  commune  astrologer, 
Gan  on  his  brest  to  bete  and  after  crowe, 
And  Lucifer,  the  dayes  messanger, 
Gan  for  to  rise  and  out  his  hemes  throwe, 
And  estward  rose,  to  him  that  could  it  knowe, 
Fortune  Major. ^' 

6.  Because  the  sun  is  following  close 
behind. 

7.  This  "  stammering  woman  "  of 
Dante's  dream  is  Sensual  Pleasure, 
which  the  imagination  of  the  beholder 
adorns  with  a  thousand  charms.  The 
"  lady  saintly  and  alert "  is  Reason, 
the  same  that  tied  Ulysses  to  the  mast, 
and  stopped  the  ears  of  his  sailors  with 
wax  that  they  might  not  hear  the  song 
of  the  Sirens. 

Gower,  Conf.  Amant.,  I.  :  — 

"  Of  such  nature 
They  ben,  that  with  so  swete  a  Steven 
Like  to  the  melodic  of  heven 
In  womannishe  vois  they  singe 
"With  notes  of  so  great  likinge, 
Of  suche  mesure,  of  suche  musike, 
Wherof  the  shippes  they  beswike 
That  passen  by  the  costes  there. 
For  whan  the  shipmen  lay  an  ere 
Unto  the  vois,  in  here  airs 
They  wene  it  be  a  paradis, 
Which  after  is  to  hem  an  helle." 

51.  "That  is,"  says  Buti,  "they 
shall  have  the  gift  of  comforting  their 
souls." 

Matthew  v.  4  :  "  Blessed  are  they 
that  mourn  :  for  they  shall  be  com- 
forted." 


59.  The  three  remaining  sins  to  be 
purged  away  are  Avarice,  Gluttony, 
and  Lust. 

61.    See  Canto  XIV.  148. 
73.    Psalms    cxix.    25  :    "  My    soul 
cleaveth  unto  the  dust  :   quicken  thou 
me  according  to  thy  word." 

99.  Know  that  I  am  the  successor 
of  Peter.  It  is  Pope  Adrian  the  Fifth 
who  speaks.  He  was  of  the  family  of 
the  Counts  of  Lavagna,  the  family  tak- 
ing its  title  from  the  river  Lavagna, 
flowing  between  Siestri  and  Chiaveri, 
towns  on  the  Riviera  di  Genova.  He 
was  Pope  only  thirty-nine  days,  and 
died  in  1276.  When  his  kindred  came 
to  congratulate  him  on  his  election,  he 
said,  *'  Would  that  ye  came  to  a  Car- 
dinal in  good  health,  and  not  to  a  dying 
Pope." 

134.  Revelation  xix.  10:  "And  I  fell 
at  his  feet  to  worship  him.  And  he 
said  unto  me.  See  thou  do  it  not,  I  am 
thy  fellow-servant." 

137.  Matthew  xxii.  30:  "For  in 
the  resurrection  they  neither  marry, 
nor  are  given  in  marriage,  but  are  as 
the  angels  in  heaven."  He  reminds 
Dante  that  here  all  earthly  distinc- 
tions and  relations  are  laid  aside. 
He  is  no  longer  "the  Spouse  of  the 
Church." 

141.  Penitence;  line  92  :  — 

"  In  whom  weeping  ripens 
That  without  which  to  God  we  cannot  turn." 

142.  Madonna  Alagia  was  the  wife 
of  Marcello  Malespini,  that  friend  of 
Dante  with  whom,  during  his  wan- 
derings he  took  refuge  in  the  Luni- 
giana,  in   1307. 


Ptirgatorio  xx. 


,oi 


CANTO    XX. 


1.  In  this  canto  the  subject  of  the 
preceding  is  continued,  namely,  the 
punishment  of  Avarice  and  Prodigality. 

2.  To  please  the  speaker.  Pope 
Adrian  the  Fifth,  (who.  Canto  XIX. 
139,  says, 

"  Now  go,  no  longer  will  I  have  thee  linger,") 

Dante  departs  without  further  question, 
though  not  yet  satisfied. 

13.  See  the  article  Cabala  at  the  end 
of  Vol.  III. 

15.  This  is  generally  supposed  to 
refer  to  Can  Grande  della  Scala.  See 
Inf.  I,  Note  1 01. 

23.    The  inn  at  Bethlehem. 

25.  The  Roman  Consul  who  re- 
jected with  disdain  the  bribes  of  Pyr- 
rhus,  and  died  so  poor  that  he  was 
buried  at  the  public  expense,  and  the 
Romans  were  obliged  to  give  a  dowry 
to  his  daughters.  Virgil,  jEneid,  VI. 
844,  calls  him  "  powerful  in  poverty." 
Dante  also  extols  him  in  the  Convito, 
IV.  5. 

3 1 .  Gower,  Conf.  Amant.,  V.  13:  — 

"  Betwene  the  two  extremites 
Of  vice  stont  the  propertes 
Of  vertue,  and  to  prove  it  so 
Take  avarice  and  take  also 
The  vice  of  prodegalite, 
Betwene  hem  liberalite, 
Which  is  the  vertue  of  largesse 
Stant  and  governeth  his  noblesse." 

32.  This  is  St.  Nicholas,  patron 
saint  of  children,  sailors,  and  travellers. 
The  incident  here  alluded  to  is  found 
in   the   Legenda   Aurea   of  Jacobus   de 


Voragine,  the  great  storehouse  of  me- 
dieval wonders. 

It  may  be  found  also  in  Mrs.  Jame- 
son's Sacred  and  Legendary  Art,  II.  62, 
and  in  her  version  runs  thus  :  — 

"  Now    in    that    city    there    dwelt 
a    certain    nobleman    who    had    three 
daughters,    and,   from    being    rich,   he 
became    poor  ;     so    poor    that    there 
remained  no  means  of  obtaining  food 
for    his    daughters    but    by    sacrificing 
them  to  an  infamous  life  ;  and  often- 
times   it    came    into    his   mind   to    tell 
them  so,  but  shame   and  sorrow  held 
him   dumb.       Meantime    the    maidens 
wept   continually,   not    knowing  what 
to   do,  and  not  having   bread   to   eat ; 
and    their    father    became    more    and 
more  desperate.     When  Nicholas  heard 
of  this,  he  thought  it  a  shame  that  such 
a  thing  should  happen  in  a  Christian 
land  ;    therefore  one  night,  when  the 
maidens  were  asleep,  and  their  father 
alone   sat   watching    and    weeping,   he 
took  a  handful  of  gold,  and,  tying  it 
up  in  a  handkerchief,  he   repaired    to 
the   dwelling   of  the   poor  man.      He 
considered    how    he    might   bestow   it 
without   making   himself  known,  and, 
while   he   stood    irresolute,   the   moon 
coming  from  behind   a   cloud   showed 
him  a  window  open  ;  so  he  threw  it 
in,  and  it  fell   at   the   feet  of  the  fa- 
ther,   who,    when    he    found    it,    re- 
turned thanks,  and  with  it  he  portioned 
his  eldest  daughter.       A    second    time 
Nicholas  provided  a  similar  sum,  and 


302 


Notes 


again  he  threw  it  in  by  night  ;  and 
with  it  the  nobleman  married  his  sec- 
ond daughter.  But  he  greatly  desired 
to  know  who  it  was  that  came  to  his 
aid;  therefore  he  determined  to  watch, 
and  when  the  good  saint  came  for  the 
third  time,  and  prepared  to  throw  in 
the  third  portion,  he  was  discovered, 
for  the  nobleman  seized  him  by  the 
skirt  of  his  robe,  and  flung  himself  at 
his  feet,  saying,  *  O  Nicholas  !  servant 
of  God  !  why  seek  to  hide  thyself? ' 
and  he  kissed  his  feet  and  his  hands. 
But  Nicholas  made  him  promise  that 
he  would  tell  no  man.  And  many 
other  charitable  works  did  Nicholas 
perform  in  his  native  city." 

43.  If  we  knew  from  what  old 
chronicle,  or  from  what  Professor  of 
the  Rue  du  Fouarre,  Dante  derived 
his  knowledge  of  French  history,  we 
might  possibly  make  plain  the  rather 
difficult  passage  which  begins  with  this 
line.  The  spirit  that  speaks  is  not 
that  of  the  King  Hugh  Capet,  but  that 
of  his  father,  Hugh  Capet,  Duke  of 
France  and  Count  of  Paris.  He  was 
son  of  Robert  the  Strong.  Pasquier, 
Rech.  de  la  France,  VI.  i,  describes 
him  as  both  valiant  and  prudent,  and 
says  that,  "  although  he  was  never 
king,  yet  was  he  a  maker  and  unmaker 
of  kings,"  and  then  goes  on  to  draw 
an  elaborate  parallel  between  him  and 
Charles  Martel. 

The  ''malignant  plant"  is  Philip 
the  Fair,  whose  character  is  thus 
drawn  by  Milman,  Lat.  Christ.,  Book 
XI.  Ch.  8:  — 

"  In   Philip   the   Fair   the   gallantry 


of  the  French  temperament  broke  out 
on  rare  occasions  ;  his  first  Flemish 
campaigns  were  conducted  with  brav- 
ery and  skill,  but  Philip  ever  preferred 
the  subtle  negotiation,  the  slow  and 
wily  encroachment ;  till  his  enemies 
were,  if  not  in  his  power,  at  least  at 
great  disadvantage,  he  did  not  venture 
on  the  usurpation  or  invasion.  In  the 
slow  systematic  pursuit  of  his  object  he 
was  utterly  without  scruple,  without 
remorse.  He  was  not  so  much  cruel 
as  altogether  obtuse  to  human  suffer- 
ing, if  necessary  to  the  prosecution  of 
his  schemes;  not  so  much  rapacisus  as, 
finding  money  indispensable  to  his  ag- 
grandizement, seeking  money  by  means 
of  which  he  hardly  seemed  to  discern 
the  injustice  or  the  folly.  Never  was 
man  or  monarch  so  intensely  selfish  as 
Philip  the  Fair  :  his  own  power  was 
his  ultimate  scope ;  he  extended  so 
enormously  the  royal  prerogative,  the 
influence  of  France,  because  he  was 
King  of  France.  His  rapacity,  which 
persecuted  the  Templars,  his  vindic- 
tiveness,  which  warred  on  Boniface  af- 
ter death  as  through  life,  was  this  self- 
ishness in  other  forms." 

He  was  defeated  at  the  battle  of 
Courtray,  1302,  known  in  history  as 
the  battle  of  the  Spurs  of  Gold,  from 
the  great  number  found  on  the  field 
after  the  battle.  This  is  the  vengeance 
imprecated  upon  him  by  Dante. 

50.  For  two  centuries  and  a  half, 
that  is,  from  1060  to  13 16,  there  was 
either  a  Louis  or  a  Philip  on  the 
throne  of  France.  The  succession  was 
as  follows :  — 


p 


tirgatorio  xx. 


303 


Philip  I.  the  Amorous,  1060 

Louis  VI.  the  Fat,  1108 

Louis  VIL  the  Young,  11  37 

Philip  IL  Augustus,  1 1 80 

Louis  Vin.  the  Lion,  1223 

Louis  IX.  the  Saint,  1226 

Philip  III.  the  Bold,  1270 

Philip  IV.  the  Fair,  1285 

Louis  X.,  13 14 

52.  It  is  doubtful  whether  this  pas- 
sage is  to  be  taken  literally  or  figura- 
tively. Pasquier,  Rech.  de  la  France, 
Liv.  VI.  Ch.  I  (thinking  it  is  the 
King  Hugh  Capet  that  speaks),  breaks 
forth  in  indignant  protest  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

"  From  this  you  can  perceive  the 
fatality  there  was  in  this  family  from 
its  beginning  to  its  end,  to  the  disad- 
vantage of  the  Carlovingians.  And 
moreover,  how  ignorant  the  Italian 
poet  Dante  was,  when  in  his  book 
entitled  Purgatory  he  says  that  our 
Hugh  Capet  was  the  son  of  a  butcher. 
Which  word,  once  written  erroneously 
and  carelessly  by  him,  has  so  crept 
into  the  heads  of  some  simpletons, 
that  many  who  never  investigated  the 
antiquities  of  our  France  have  fallen 
into  this  same  heresy.  Francois  de 
Villon,  more  studious  of  taverns  and 
ale-houses  than  of  good  books,  says  in 
some  part  of  his  works, 

'  Si  feusse  les  hoirs  de  Capet 
Qui  fut  extrait  de  boucherie." 

And  since  then  Agrippa  Alamanni,  in 
his  book  on  the  Vanity  of  Science, 
chapter  Of  Nobility,  on  this  first  igno- 
rance declares  impudently  against  the 
genealogy   of   our    Capet.      If   Dante 


thought  that  Hugh  the  Great,  Capet's 
father,  was  a  butcher,  he  was  not  a 
clever  man.  But  if  he  used  this  ex- 
pression figuratively,  as  I  am  willing 
to  believe,  those  who  cling  to  the 
shell  of  the  word  are  greater  block- 
heads still 

**  This  passage  of  Dante  being  read 
and  explained  by  Luigi  Alamanni,  an 
Italian,  before  Francis  the  First  of  that 
name,  he  was  indignant  at  the  impos- 
ture, and  commanded  it  to  be  stricken 
out.  He  was  even  excited  to  inter- 
dict the  reading  of  the  book  in  his 
kingdom.  But  for  my  part,  in  order 
to  exculpate  this  author,  I  wish  to  say 
that  under  the  name  of  Butcher  he 
meant  that  Capet  was  son  of  a  great  and 
valiant  warrior If  Dante  under- 
stood it  thus,  I  forgive  him  ;  if  other- 
wise, he  was  a  very  ignorant  poet." 

Benvenuto  says  that  the  name  of 
Capet  comes  from  the  fact  that  Hugh, 
in  playing  with  his  companions  in  boy- 
hood, "  was  in  the  habit  of  pulling 
off  their  caps  and  running  away  with 
them."  Ducange  repeats  this  story 
from  an  old  chronicle,  and  gives  also 
another  and  more  probable  origin  of 
the  name,  as  coming  from  the  hood  or 
cowl  which  Hugh  was  in  the  habit  of 
wearing. 

The  belief  that  the  family  descended 
from  a  butcher  was  current  in  Italy  in 
Dante's  time.  Villani,  IV.  3,  says  : 
"  Most  people  say  that  the  father  was 
a  great  and  rich  burgher  of  Paris,  of  a 
race  of  butchers  or  dealers  in  cattle." 

53.  When  the  Carlovingian  race 
were  all  dead  but  one.     And  who  was 


.04 


Notes 


he  ?  The  Ottimo  says  it  was  Rudolph, 
who  became  a  monk  and  afterwards 
Archbishop  of  Rhcims.  Bcnvenuto 
gives  no  name,  but  says  only  "  a  monk 
in  poor,  coarse  garments."  Buti  says 
the  same.  Daniello  thinks  it  was  some 
Friar  of  St.  Francis,  perhaps  St.  Louis, 
forgetting  that  these  saints  did  not  see 
the  light  till  some  two  centuries  after 
the  time  here  spoken  of.  Others  say 
Charles  of  Lorraine ;  and  Biagioli  de- 
cides that  it  must  be  either  Charles  the 
Simple,  who  died  a  prisoner  in  the 
castle  of  Peronne,  in  922  ;  or  Louis  of 
Outre-Mer,  who  was  carried  to  England 
by  Hugh  the  Great,  in  936,  The  Man 
in  Cloth  of  Gray  remains  as  great  a 
mystery  as  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask. 

59.  Hugh  Capet  was  crowned  at 
Rheims,  in  987.  The  expression 
which  follows  shows  clearly  that  it  is 
Hugh  the  Great  who  speaks,  and  not 
Hugh  the  founder  of  the  Capetian  dy- 
nasty. 

61.  Until  the  shame  of  the  low  ori- 
gin of  the  family  was  removed  by  the 
marriage  of  Charles  of  Anjou,  brother 
of  Saint  Louis,  to  the  daughter  of  Rai- 
mond  Berenger,  who  brought  him  Pro- 
vence as  her  dower. 

65.  Making  amends  for  one  crime 
by  committing  a  greater.  The  partic- 
ular transaction  here  alluded  to  is  the 
seizing  by  fraud  and  holding  by  force 
these  provinces  in  the  time  of  Philip 
the  Fair. 

67.  Charles  of  Anjou. 

68.  Curradino,  or  Conradin,  son  of 
the  Emperor  Conrad  IV.,  a  beautiful 
youth   of  sixteen,  who  was  beheaded 


in  the  square  of  Naples  by  order  of 
Charles  of  Anjou,  in  1268.  Voltaire, 
in  his  rhymed  chronology  at  the  end 
of  his  Annales  de  P Empire,  says, 

"  C'est    en    soixante-huit    que    la    main    d'un 
bourrcau 
Dans    Conradin    son    fils    etcint   un    sang   si 
beau." 

Endeavoring  to  escape  to  Sicily  after 
his  defeat  at  Tagliacozzo,  he  was  car- 
ried to  Naples  and  imprisoned  in  the 
Castel  deir  Uovo.  "  Christendom 
heard  with  horror,"  says  Milman,  Lat. 
Christ.,  Book  XI.  Ch.  3,  "  that  the  royal 
brother  of  St.  Louis,  that  the  cham- 
pion of  the  Church,  after  a  mock  trial, 
by  the  sentence  of  one  judge,  Robert 
di  Lavena,  —  after  an  unanswerable 
pleading  by  Guido  de  Suzaria,  a  fa- 
mous jurist,  —  had  condemned  the  last 
heir  of  the  Swabian  house  —  a  rival 
king  who  had  fought  gallantly  for  his 
hereditary  throne  —  to  be  executed  as 
a  felon  and  a  rebel  on  a  public  scaffold. 
So  little  did  Conradin  dread  his  fate, 
that,  when  his  doom  was  announced, 
he  was  playing  at  chess  with  Frederick 
of  Austria.  *  Slave,'  said  Conradin  to 
Robert  of  Bari,  who  read  the  fatal  sen- 
tence, *  do  you  dare  to  condemn  as  a 
criminal  the  son  and  heir  of  kings  ? 
Knows  not  your  master  that  he  is  my 
equal,  not  my  judge  ? '  He  added,  *  I 
am  a  mortal,  and  must  die;  yet  ask  the 
kings  of  the  earth  if  a  prince  be  crimi- 
nal for  seeking  to  win  back  the  heritage 
of  his  ancestors.  But  if  there  be  no 
pardon  for  me,  spare,  at  least,  my  faith- 
ful companions  ;  or  if  they  must  die, 
strike  me  first,  that  I  may  not  behold 


Pttrgatorio  xx. 


30s 


their  death.'  They  died  devoutly, 
nobly.  Every  circumstance  aggravated 
the  abhorrence  ;  it  was  said  —  perhaps 
it  was  the  invention  of  that  abhorrence 
—  that  Robert  of  Flanders,  the  brother 
of  Charles,  struck  dead  the  judge  who 
had  presumed  to  read  the  iniquitous 
sentence.  When  Conradin  knelt,  with 
uplifted  hands,  awaiting  the  blow  of 
the  executioner,  he  uttered  these  last 
words,  *  O  my  mother  !  how  deep 
will  be  thy  sorrow  at  the  news  of  this 
-day  !  '  Even  the  followers  of  Charles 
could  hardly  restrain  their  pity  and  in- 
dignation. With  Conradin  died  his 
young  and  valiant  friend,  Frederick  of 
Austria,  the  two  Lancias,  two  of  the 
noble  house  of  Donaticcio  of  Pisa. 
The  inexorable  Charles  would  not  per- 
mit them  to  be  buried  in  consecrated 
ground." 

69.  Thomas  Aquinas,  the  Angelic 
Doctor  of  the  Schools,  died  at  the  con- 
vent of  Fossa  Nuova  in  the  Campagna, 
being  on  his  way  to  the  Council  of 
Lyons,  in  1274.  He  is  supposed  to 
have  been  poisoned  by  his  physician, 
at  the  instigation  of  Charles  of  Anjou. 

71.  Charles  of  Valois,  who  came 
into  Italy  by  invitation  of  Boniface  the 
Eighth,  in  1301.     See  Inf.Yl.  69. 

74.  There  is  in  old  French  litera- 
ture a  poem  entitled  Le  Tournoyement 
de  V Antechristy  written  by  Hugues  de 
Mery,  a  monk  of  the  Abbey  of  St. 
Germain  -  des  -  Pres,  in  the  thirteenth 
century,  in  which  he  describes  a  battle 
between  the  Virtues  under  the  banner 
of  Christ,  and  the  Vices  under  that  of 
Antichrist. 

VOL.  II.  39 


In  the  Vision  of  Piers  Ploughman, 
there  is  a  joust  between  Christ  and  the 
foul  fiend  :  — 

"  Thanne  was  Fcith  in  a  fcnestre, 

And  cryde  a  jili  Da-vid, 

As  dooth  an  heraud  of  armes, 

Whan  aventrous  cometh  to  justes. 

Old  Jewes  of  Jerusalem 

For  joye  thei  songen, 

Benedictus  qui  -vctiit  in  nomine  Domini. 
"  Thanne  I  frayned  at  Feith, 

What  al  that  fare  by-mente, 

And  who  sholde  juste  in  Jerusalem. 

'  Jhesus,'  he  seide, 

'  And  fecche  that  the  fend  claymeth, 

Piers  fruyt  the  Plowman.' 

"'Who  shal  juste  with  Jhesus?'  quod  I, 
*  Jewes  or  scrybes  ? ' 

"  '  Nay,'  quod  he  ;   '  The  foule  fend. 
And  fals  doom  and  deeth.'  " 

75.  By  the  aid  of  Charles  of  Valois 
the  Neri  party  triumphed  in  Florence, 
and  the  Bianchi  were  banished,  and 
with  them  Dante. 

76.  There  is  an  allusion  here  to  the 
nickname  of  Charles  of  Valois,  Senza- 
terra,  or  Lackland. 

79.  Charles  the  Second,  son  of 
Charles  of  Anjou.  He  went  from 
France  to  recover  Sicily  after  the  Si- 
cilian Vespers.  In  an  engagement  with 
the  Spanish  fleet  under  Admiral  Ru- 
gieri  d'  Oria,  he  was  taken  prisoner. 
Dante  says  he  sold  his  daughter,  be- 
cause he  married  her  for  a  large  sum 
of  money  to  Azzo  the  Sixth  of  Este. 

82.  ^zr^/V,  III.  56.  "Cursed  thirst 
of  gold,  to  what  dost  thou  not  drive 
the  hearts  of  men." 

86.  The  flower-de-luce  is  in  the 
banner   of  France.      Borel,    Tresor  de 


3o6 


Notes 


Recherches,  cited  by  Roquefort,  Glos- 
sairc,  under  the  word  Ley,  says :  "  The 
oriflamme  is  so  called  from  gold  and 
flame  ;  that  is  to  say,  a  lily  of  the 
marshes.  The  lilies  are  the  arms  of 
France  in  a  field  of  azure,  which  de- 
notes water,  in  memory  that  they  (the 
French)  came  from  a  marshy  country. 
It  is  the  most  ancient  and  principal 
banner  of  France,  sown  with  these 
lilies,  and  was  borne  around  our  kings 
on  great  occasions." 

Roquefort  gives  his  own  opinion 
as  follows  :  "  The  Franks,  afterwards 
called  French,  inhabited  (before  enter- 
ing Gaul  properly  so  called)  the  en- 
virons of  the  Lys,  a  river  of  the  Low 
Countries,  whose  banks  are  still  covered 
with  a  kind  of  iris  or  flag  of  a  yellow 
color,  which  differs  from  the  common 
lily  and  more  nearly  resembles  the 
flower-de-luce  of  our  arms.  Now  it 
seems  to  me  very  natural  that  the  kings 
of  the  Franks,  having  to  choose  a  sym- 
bol to  which  the  name  of  armorial 
bearings  has  since  been  given,  should 
take  in  its  composition  a  beautiful  and 
remarkable  flower,  which  they  had 
before  their  eyes,  and  that  they  should 
name  it,  from  the  place  where  it  grew 
in  abundance,  j^ijji'^r  of  the  river  Lys." 

These  are  the  lilies  of  which  Dray- 
ton speaks  in  his  Ballad  of  Agincourt :  — 

" when  our  grandsire  great, 

Claiming  the  regal  seat, 
By  many  a  warlike  feat 
Lopped  the  French  lilies." 

87.  This  passage  alludes  to  the  seiz- 
ure and  imprisonment  of  Pope  Boniface 
the  Eighth  by  the  troops  of  Philip  the 


Fair  at  Alagna  or  Anagni,  in  1303. 
Milman,  Lat.  Christ.,  Book  XI.  Ch.  9, 
thus  describes  the  event  :  — 

"  On  a  sudden,  on  the  7th  Septem- 
ber (the  8th  was  the  day  for  the  publi- 
cation ot  the  Bull ),  the  peaceful  streets 
of  Anagni  were  disturbed.  The  Pope 
and  the  Cardinals,  who  were  all  assem- 
bled around  him,  were  startled  with 
the  trampling  of  armed  horse,  and  the 
terrible  cry,  which  ran  like  wildfire 
through  the  city,  'Death  to  Pope  Boni- 
face !  Long  live  the  King  of  France!' 
Sciarra  Colonna,  at  the  head  of  three 
hundred  horsemen,  the  Barons  of  Cer- 
cano  and  Supino,  and  some  others,  the 
sons  of  Master  Massio  of  Anagni,  were 
marching  in  furious  haste,  with  the 
banner  of  the  king  of  France  displayed. 
The  ungrateful  citizens  of  Anagni,  for- 
getful of  their  pride  in  their  holy  com- 
patriot, of  the  honor  and  advantage  to 
their  town  from  the  splendor  and  wealth 
of  the  Papal  residence,  received  them 
with  rebellious  and  acclaiming  shouts. 

"  The  bell  of  the  city,  indeed,  had 
tolled  at  the  first  alarm  ;  the  burghers 
had  assembled  ;  they  had  chosen  their 
commander  ;  but  that  commander, 
whom  they  ignorantly  or  treacherously 
chose,  was  Arnulf,  a  deadly  enemy  of 
the  Pope.  The  banner  of  the  Church 
was  unfolded  against  the  Pope  by  the 
captain  of  the  people  of  Anagni.  The 
first  attack  was  on  the  palace  of  the 
Pope^  on  that  of  the  Marquis  Gaetani, 
his  nephew,  and  those  of  three  Cardi- 
nals, the  special  partisans  of  Boniface. 
The  houses  of  the  Pope  and  of  his 
nephew  made  some  resistance.       The 


Purgatorio  xx. 


307 


doors  of  those  of  the  Cardinals  were 
beaten  down,  the  treasures  ransacked 
and  carried  off;  the  Cardinals  them- 
selves fled  from  the  backs  of  the  houses 
through  the  common  sewer.  Then 
arrived,  but  not  to  the  rescue,  Arnulf, 
the  Captain  of  the  People  ;  he  had 
perhaps  been  suborned  by  Reginald  of 
Supino.  With  him  were  the  sons  of 
Chiton,  whose  father  was  pining  in 
the  dungeons  ot  Boniface.  Instead  of 
resisting,  they  joined  the  attack  on  the 
palace  of  the  Pope's  nephew  and  his 
own.  The  Pope  and  his  nephew  im- 
plored a  truce  ;  it  was  granted  for 
eight  hours.  This  time  the  Pope  em- 
ployed in  endeavoring  to  stir  up  the 
people  to  his  defence  ;  the  people 
coldly  answered,  that  they  were  under 
the  command  of  their  Captain.  The 
Pope  demanded  the  terms  of  the  con- 
spirators. *  If  the  Pope  would  save 
his  life,  let  him  instantly  restore  the 
Colonna  Cardinals  to  their  dignity, 
and  reinstate  the  whole  house  in  their 
honors  and  possessions  ;  after  this 
restoration  the  Pope  must  abdicate, 
and  leave  his  body  at  the  disposal  of 
Sciarra.'  The  Pope  groaned  in  the 
depths  of  his  heart.  *  The  word  is 
spoken.'  Again  the  assailants  thun- 
dered at  the  gates  of  the  palace  ;  still 
there  was  obstinate  resistance.  The 
principal  church  of  Anagni,  that  of 
Santa  Maria,  protected  the  Pope's  pal- 
ace. Sciarra  Colonna's  lawless  band 
set  fire  to  the  gates ;  the  church  was 
crowded  with  clergy  and  laity  and 
traders  who  had  brought  their  pre- 
cious wares  into   the  sacred  building. 


They  were  plundered  with  such  ra- 
pacity that  not  a  man  escaped  with  a 
farthing. 

"  The  Marquis  found  himself  com- 
pelled to  surrender,  on  the  condition 
that  his  own  life,  that  of  his  family 
and  of  his  servants,  should  be  spared. 
At  these  sad  tidings  the  Pope  wept 
bitterly.  The  Pope  was  alone  ;  from 
the  first  the  Cardinals,  some  from 
treachery,  some  from  cowardice,  had 
fled  on  all  sides,  even  his  most  familiar 
friends  :  they  had  crept  into  the  most 
ignoble  hiding-places.  The  aged  Pon- 
tiff alone  lost  not  his  self-command. 
He  had  declared  himself  ready  to  per- 
ish in  his  glorious  cause  ;  he  deter- 
mined to  fall  with  dignity.  *  \i  I  am 
betrayed  like  Christ,  I  am  ready  to  die 
like  Christ.'  He  put  on  the  stole  of 
St.  Peter,  the  imperial  crown  was  on 
his  head,  the  keys  of  St.  Peter  in  one 
hand  and  the  cross  in  the  other  :  he 
took  his  seat  on  the  Papal  throne,  and, 
like  the  Roman  Senators  of  old,  await- 
ed the  approach  of  the  Gaul. 

"  But  the  pride  and  cruelty  of  Boni- 
face had  raised  and  infixed  deep  in  the 
hearts  of  men  passions  which  acknowl- 
edged no  awe  of  age,  of  intrepidity,  or 
religious  majesty.  In  William  of  No- 
garet  the  blood  or  his  Tolosan  ances- 
tors, in  Colonna,  the  wrongs,  the  deg- 
radation, the  beggary,  the  exile  of  all 
his  house,  had  extinguished  every  feel- 
ing but  revenge.  They  insulted  him 
with  contumelious  reproaches  ;  they 
menaced  his  life.  The  Pope  answered 
not  a  word.  They  insisted  that  he 
should   at    once   abdicate    the    Papacy. 


3o8 


Notes 


*  Behold  my  neck,  behold  my  head,' 
was  the  only  reply.  But  iicrcer  words 
passed  between  the  Pope  and  William 
of  Nogaret.  Nogaret  threatened  to 
drag  him  before  the  Council  of  Lyons, 
where  he  sliould  be  deposed  from  the 
Papacy.  '  Shall  I  suffer  myself  to  be 
degraded  and  deposed  by  Paterins  like 
thee,  whose  fathers  were  righteously 
burned  as  Paterins?',  William  turned 
fiery  red,  with  shame  thought  the  par- 
tisans of  Boniface,  more  likely  with 
wrath.  Sciarra,  it  was  said,  would 
have  slain  him  outright  ;  he  was  pre- 
vented by  some  of  his  own  followers, 
even  by  Nogaret.  '  Wretched  Pope, 
even  at  this  distance  the  goodness  of 
my  Lord  the  King  guards  thy  life.' 

"  He  was  placed  under  close  cus- 
tody, not  one  of  his  own  attendants 
permitted  to  approach  him.  Worse 
indignities  awaited  him.  He  was  set 
on  a  vicious  horse,  with  his  face  to  the 
tail,  and  so  led  through  the  town  to 
his  place  of  imprisonment.  The  pal- 
aces of  the  Pope  and  of  his  nephew 
were  plundered  ;  so  vast  was  the 
wealth,  that  the  annual  revenues  of 
all  the  kings  in  the  world  would  not 
have  been  equal  to  the  treasures  found 
and  carried  off  by  Sciarra's  freeboot- 
ing  soldiers.  His  very  private  cham- 
ber was  ransacked  ;  nothing  left  but 
bare  walls. 

"  At  length  the  people  of  Anagni 
could  no  longer  bear  the  insult  and  the 
sufferings  heaped  upon  their  illustrious 
and  holy  fellow-citizen.  They  rose 
in  irresistible  insurrection,  drove  out 
the  soldiers  by  whom  they  had  been 


overawed,  now  gorged  with  plunder, 
and  doubtless  not  unwilling  to  with- 
draw. The  Pope  was  rescued,  and 
led  out  into  the  street,  where  the  old 
man  addressed  a  few  words  to  the  peo- 
ple :  '  Good  men  and  women,  ye  see 
how  mine  enemies  have  come  upon 
me,  and  plundered  my  goods,  those  of 
the  Church  and  of  the  poor.  Not  a 
morsel  of  bread  have  I  eaten,  not  a 
drop  have  I  drunk,  since  my  capture. 
I  am  almost  dead  with  hunger.  If 
any  good  woman  will  give  me  a  piece 
of  bread  and  a  cup  of  wine,  if  she  has 
no  wine,  a  little  water,  I  will  absolve 
her,  and  any  one  who  will  give  me 
their  alms,  from  all  their  sins.'  The 
compassionate  rabble  burst  into  a  cry, 
*  Long  life  to  the  Pope  !  '  They  car- 
ried him  back  to  his  naked  palace. 
They  crowded,  the  women  especially, 
with  provisions,  bread,  meat,  water, 
and  wine.  They  could  not  find  a  sin- 
gle vessel  :  they  poured  a  supply  of 
water  into  a  chest.  The  Pope  pro- 
claimed a  general  absolution  to  all 
except  the  plunderers  of  his  palace. 
He  even  declared  that  he  wished  to  be 
at  peace  with  the  Colonnas  and  all  his 
enemies.  This  perhaps  was  to  disguise 
his  intention  of  retiring,  as  soon  as  he 
could,  to  Rome. 

*'  The  Romans  had  heard  with  in- 
dignation the  sacrilegious  attack  on  the 
person  of  the  Supreme  Pontiff.  Four 
hundred  horse  under  Matteo  and  Gae- 
tano  Orsini  were  sent  to  conduct  him 
to  the  city.  He  entered  it  almost  in 
triumph  ;  the  populace  welcomed  him 
with  every  demonstration  of  joy.     But 


Pjcrgatorio  xx. 


309 


the  awe  of  his  greatness  was  gone  ;  the 
spell  of  his  dominion  over  the  minds 
of  men  was  broken.  His  overweening 
haughtiness  and  domination  had  made 
him  many  enemies  in  the  Sacred  Col- 
lege, the  gold  of  France  had  made  him 
more.  This  general  revolt  is  his  se- 
verest condemnation.  Among  his  first 
enemies  was  the  Cardinal  Napoleon 
Orsini.  Orsini  had  followed  the  tri- 
umphal entrance  of  the  Pope.  Boni- 
face, to  show  that  he  desired  to  recon- 
cile himself  with  all,  courteously  in- 
vited him  to  his  table.  The  Orsini 
coldly  answered,  '  that  he  must  receive 
the  Colonna  Cardinals  into  his  favor  ; 
he  must  not  now  disown  what  had 
been  wrung  from  him  by  compulsion.' 

*  I   will   pardon   them,'  said  Boniface, 

*  but  the  mercy  of  the  Pope  is  not  to 
be  from  compulsion.'  He  found  him- 
self again  a  prisoner. 

"  This  last  mortification  crushed  the 
bodily,  if  not  the  mental  strength  of 
the  Pope.  Among  the  Ghibellines 
terrible  stories  were  bruited  abroad  of 
his  death.  In  an  access  of  fury,  either 
from  poison  or  wounded  pride,  he  sat 
gnawing  the  top  of  his  staff,  and  at 
length  either  beat  out  his  own  brains 
against  the  wall,  or  smothered  himself 
(a  strange  notion  !)  with  his  own  pil- 
lows. More  friendly,  probably  more 
trustworthy,  accounts  describe  him  as 
sadly  but  quietly  breathing  his  last, 
surrounded  by  eight  Cardinals,  having 
confessed  the  faith  and  received  the 
consoling  offices  of  the  Church.  The 
Cardinal-Poet  anticipates  his  mild  sen- 
tence from  the  Divine  Judge. 


"  The  religious  mind  of  Christen- 
dom was  at  once  perplexed  and  hor- 
ror-stricken by  this  act  of  sacrilegious 
violence  on  the  person  of  the  Supreme 
Pontiff^;  it  shocked  some  even  of  the 
sternest  Ghibellines.  Dante,  who 
brands  the  pride,  the  avarice,  the 
treachery  of  Boniface  in  his  most  ter- 
rible words,  and  has  consigned  him  to 
the  direst  doom,  (though  it  is  true  that 
his  alliance  with  the  French,  with 
Charles  of  Valois,  by  whom  the  poet 
had  been  driven  into  exile,  was  among 
the  deepest  causes  of  his  hatred  to 
Boniface,)  nevertheless  expresses  the 
almost  universal  feeling.  Christendom 
shuddered  to  behold  the  Fleur-de-lis 
enter  into  Anagni,  and  Christ  again  cap- 
tive in  his  Vicar,  the  mockery,  the  gall 
and  vinegar,  the  crucifixion  between 
living  robbers,  the  insolent  and  sacri- 
legious cruelty  of  the  second  Pilate." 

Compare  this  scene  with  that  of  his 
inauguration  as  Pope,  /;?/I XIX.  Note  53. 

91.  This  "  modern  Pilate  "  is  Phil- 
ip the  Fair,  and  the  allusion  in  the 
following  lines  is  to  the  persecution 
and  suppression  of  the  Order  of  the 
Knights  Templars,  in  1307—  1312. 
See  Milman,  Lat.  Christ.,  Book  XII. 
Ch.  2,  and  Villani,  VIII.  92,  who  says 
the  act  was  committed  per  cupidigia  di 
guadagnarc,  for  love  of  gain  ;  and  says 
also  :  "  The  king  of  France  and  his 
children  had  afterwards  much  shame 
and  adversity,  both  on  account  of  this 
sin  and  on  account  of  the  seizure  of 
Pope    Boniface." 

97.  What  he  was  saying  of  the  Vir- 
gin Mary,  line  19. 


o 


lO 


Notes 


103.  The  brother  of  Dido  and 
murderer  of  her  husband.  jJLncid,  I. 
350:  "  He,  impious  and  blinded  with 
the  love  of  gold,  having  taken  Sichrcus 
by  surprise,  secretly  assassinates  him 
before  the  altar,  regardless  of  his  sis- 
ter's great  affection." 

106.  The  Phrygian  king,  who,  for 
his  hospitality  to  Silenus,  was  endowed 
by  Bacchus  with  the  fatal  power  of 
turning  all  he  touched  to  gold.  The 
most  laughable  thing  about  him  was 
his  wearing  ass's  ears,  as  a  punishment 
for  preferring  the  music  of  Pan  to  that 
of  Apollo, 

Ovid,  XL,  Croxall's  Tr.  :  — 

"  Pan  tuned  the  pipe,  and  with  his  rural  song 
Pleased  the  low  taste  of  all  the  vulgar  throng  ; 
Such  songs  a  vulgar  judgment  mostly  please  : 
Midas    was    there,   and   Midas   judged    with 
these." 

See  also  Hawthorne's  story  of  The 
Golden  Touch  in  his  Wonder-Book. 

109.  Joshua  vii.  21  :  "  When  I  saw 
among  the  spoils  a  goodly  Babylonish 
garment,  and  two  hundred  shekels  of 
silver,  and  a  wedge  of  gold  of  fifty 
shekels  weight,  then  I  coveted  them, 
and  took  them  ;  and  behold,  they  are 
hid  in  the  earth  in  the  midst  oi  my 
tent,  and  the  silver  under  it." 

112.  Acts  v.  I,  2:  "But  a  certain 
man  named  Ananias,  with  Sapphira 
his  wife,  sold  a  possession,  and  kept 
back  part  of  the  price,  his  wife  also 
being  privy  to  it,  and  brought  a  cer- 
tain part,  and  laid  it  at  the  apostles' 
feet." 

113.  The  hoof-beats  of  the  miracu- 
lous horse  in  the  Temple  of  Jerusalem, 


when  Heliodorus,  the  treasurer  of 
King  Sclcucus,  went  there  to  remove 
the  treasure.  2  Maccabees  iii.  25  : 
"  For  there  appeared  unto  them  an 
horse  with  a  terrible  rider  upon 
him,  and  adorned  with  a  very  fair 
covering,  and  he  ran  fiercely,  and 
smote  at  Heliodorus  with  his  fore- 
feet, and  it  seemed  that  he  that  sat 
upon  the  horse  had  complete  harness 
of  gold." 

115.  yEneid,  III.  49,  Davidson's 
Tr.  :  "  This  Polydore  unhappy  Priam 
had  formerly  sent  in  secrecy,  with  a 
great  weight  of  gold,  to  be  brought  up 
by  the  king  of  Thrace,  when  he  now 
began  to  distrust  the  arms  of  Troy,  and 
saw  the  city  with  close  siege  blocked 
up.  He,  [Polymnestor,]  as  soon  as 
the  power  of  the  Trojans  was  crushed, 
and  their  fortune  gone,  espousing  Aga- 
memnon's interest  and  victorious  arms, 
breaks  every  sacred  bond,  assassinates 
Polydore,  and  by  violence  possesses  his 
gold.  Cursed  thirst  of  gold,  to  what 
dost  thou  not  drive  the  hearts  of 
men  !  " 

116.  Lucinius  Crassus,  surnamed 
the  Rich.  He  was  Consul  with  Pom- 
pey,  and  on  one  occasion  displayed  his 
vast  wealth  by  giving  an  entertainment 
to  the  populace,  at  which  the  guests 
were  so  numerous  that  they  occupied 
ten  thousand  tables.  He  was  slain  in  a 
battle  with  the  Parthians,  and  his  head 
was  sent  to  the  Parthian  king,  Hyrodes, 
who  had  molten  gold  poured  down  its 
throat.  Plutarch  does  not  mention  this 
circumstance  in  his  Life  of  Crassus,  but 
says  :  — 


Pur/^atorio  xxi. 


311 


"  When  the  head  of  Crassus  was 
brought  to  the  door,  the  tables  were 
just  taken  away,  and  one  Jason,  a  tragic 
actor  of  the  town  of  Tralles,  was  sing- 
ing the  scene  in  the  Bacchac  of  Eurip- 
ides concerning  Agave.  He  was  re- 
ceiving much  applause,  when  Sillaces 
coming  to  the  room,  and  having  made 
obeisance  to  the  king,  threw  down  the 
head  of  Crassus  into  the  midst  of  the 
company.  The  Parthians  receiving  it 
with  joy  and  acclamations,  Sillaces,  by 
the  king's  command,  was  made  to  sit 
down,  while  Jason  handed  over  the 
costume  of  Pentheus  to  one  of  the  dan- 
cers in  the  chorus,  and  taking  up  the 
head  of  Crassus,  and  acting  the  part  of 
a  bacchante  in  her  frenzy,  in  a  rap- 
turous, impassioned  manner,  sang  the 
lyric  passages, 

*  We  've  hunted  down  a  mighty  chase  to-day, 
And    from    the    mountain    bring    the    noble 
prey.'  " 

122.  This  is  in  answer  to  Dante's 
question,  line  35  :  — 


"  And  why  only 
Thou  dost  renew  these  praises  well  deserved  ?" 

128.  The  occasion  of  this  quaking 
of  the  mountain  is  given.  Canto  XXI. 
58:  — 

"  It  trembles  here,  whenever  any  soul 

Feels  itself  pure,  so  that  it  soars,  or  moves 
To  mount  aloft,  and  such  a  cry  attends  it." 

130.  An  island  in  the  .^^gean  Sea, 
in  the  centre  of  the  Cyclades.  It  was 
thrown  up  by  an  earthquake,  in  order 
to  receive  Latona,  when  she  gave  birth 
to  Apollo  and  Diana,  —  the  Sun  and 
the   Moon. 

136.  Luke  ii.  13,  14:  *«  And  sud- 
denly there  was  with  the  angel  a  multi- 
tude of  the  heavenly  host,  praising 
God,  and  saying.  Glory  to  God  in  the 
highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  good  will 
toward  men." 

140.   Gower,  Conf.  Amant.,  III.  5  :  — 

"  When  Goddes  sone  also  was  bore, 
He  sent  his  aungel  down  therfore, 
Whom  the  shepherdes  herden  singe  : 
Pees  to  the  men  of  welwillinge 
In  erthe  be  amonge  us  here." 


CANTO    XXI 


I.  This  canto  is  devoted  to  the  in- 
terview with  the  poet  Statius,  whose 
release  from  punishment  was  announced 
by  the  earthquake  and  the  outcry  at  the 
end  of  the  last  canto. 

3.  John  iv.  14,  15:  "Whosoever 
drinketh  of  the  water  that  I  shall  give 
him,  shall  never  thirst The  wo- 
man saith  unto  him.  Sir,  give  me  this 


water,  that  I  thirst  not,  neither  come 
hither  to  draw." 

7.  Luke  xxiv.  13-15  :  "And,  behold, 
two  of  them  went  that  same  day  to  a 
village  called  Emmaus,  which  was  from 
Jerusalem  about  threescore  furlongs. 
And  they  talked  together  of  all  these 
things  which  had  happened.  And  it 
came   to   pass,  that,  while   they   com- 


312 


Notes 


muncd  together  and  reasoned,  Jesu» 
himself"  drew  near,  and  went  with 
them." 

15.  Among  the  monks  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  there  were  certain  salutations, 
which  had  their  customary  replies  or 
countersigns.  Thus  one  would  say, 
"Peace  be  with  thee!"  and  the  an- 
swer would  be,  "And  with  thy  spirit ! " 
Or,  "Praised  be  the  Lord  !  "  and  the 
answer,  "  World  without  end  !  " 

22.  The  letters  upon  Dante's  fore- 
head. 

25.  Lachesis.  Of  the  three  Fates, 
Clotho  prepared  and  held  the  distaff, 
Lachesis  spun  the  thread,  and  Atropos 
cut  it. 

"  These,"  says  Plato,  Republic,  X., 
"  are  the  daughters  of  Necessity,  the 
Fates,  Lachesis,  Clotho,  and  Atropos  j 
who,  clothed  in  white  robes,  with  gar- 
lands on  their  heads,  chant  to  the 
music  of  the  Sirens  ;  Lachesis  the 
events  of  the  Past,  Clotho  those  of  the 
Present,  Atropos  those  of  the  Future." 

33.    See  Canto  XVIIL  46  :  — 

♦'  What  reason  seeth  here, 
Myself  can  tell  thee  ;   beyond  that  await 
For  Beatrice,  since  't  is  a  work  of  faith." 

So  also  Cowley,  in  his  poem  on  the 
Use  of  Reason  in  Divine  Matters :  — 

"  Though  Reason  cannot  through  Faith's  mys- 
teries see, 
It  sees  that  there  and  such  they  be  ; 
Leads  to  heaven's  door,  and  there  does  humbly 

keep, 
And  there  through  chinks  and  keyholes  peep ; 
Though  it,  like  Moses,  by  a  sad  command 
Must  not  come  into  the  Holy  Land, 
Yet  thither  it  infallibly  does  guide, 
And  from  afar  't  is  all  descried." 


40.  Nothing  unusual  ever  disturbs 
the  religio  loci,  the  sacredness  of  the 
mountain. 

44.  This  happens  only  when  the 
soul,  that  came  from  heaven,  is  re- 
ceived back  into  heaven  ;  not  from 
any  natural  causes  affecting  earth  or 
air. 

48.  The  gate  of  Purgatory,  which 
is  also  the  gate  of  Heaven. 

50.  Iris,  one  of  the  Oceanides,  the 
daughter  of  Thaumas  andElectraj  the 
rainbow. 

65.  The  soul  in  Purgatory  feels  as 
great  a  desire  to  be  punished  for  a  sin, 
as  it  had  to  commit  it. 

82.  The  siege  of  Jerusalem  under 
Titus,  surnamed  the  "  Delight  of 
Mankind,"  took  place  in  the  year  70. 
Statius,  who  is  here  speaking,  was  born 
at  Naples  in  the  reign  of  Claudius,  and 
had  already  become  famous  "under  the 
name  that  most  endures  and  honors," 
that  is,  as  a  poet.  His  works  are  the 
Siha,  or  miscellaneous  poems  ;  the 
Thebaid,  an  epic  in  twelve  books  ;  and 
the  Achilleid,  left  unfinished.  He  wrote 
also  a  tragedy.  Agave,  which  is  lost. 

Juvenal  says  of  him.  Satire  VIL, 
Dryden's    Tr.  :  — 

"  All   Rome   is   pleased  when  Statius  will  re- 
hearse, 
And  longing  crowds  expect  the  promised  verse  ; 
His  lofty  numbers  with  so  great  a  gust 
They  hear,  and  swallow  with  such  eager  lust: 
But  while  the  common  suffrage  crowned  his 

cause, 
And  broke  the  benches  with  their  loud  ap- 
plause, 
His  Muse  had  starved,  had  not  a  piece  unread, 
And  by  a  player  bought,  supplied  her  bread." 


Pitrgatorio  xxn. 


313 


Dante  shows  his  admiration  of  him 
by  placing  him  here. 

89.  Statius  was  not  born  in  Tou- 
louse, as  Dante  supposes,  but  in  Na- 
ples, as  he  himself  states  in  his  Silva, 
which  work  was  not  discovered  till 
after  Dante's  death.  The  passage  oc- 
curs in  Book  III.  Eclogue  V.,  To  Clau- 
dia his  Wife,  where  he  describes  the 
beauties  of  Parthenope,  and  calls  her 
the  mother  and  nurse  of  both,  ambo- 
rum  genetrix  altrixque. 


Landino  thinks  that  Dante's  error 
may  be  traced  to  Placidus  Lactantius, 
a  commentator  of  the  Thebaid,  who 
confounded  Statius  the  poet  of  Naples 
with  Statius  the  rhetorician  of  Tou- 
louse. 

loi.  Would  be  willing  to  remain 
another  year  in  Purgatory. 

114.  Petrarca  uses  the  same  expres- 
sion, —  the  lightning  of  the  angelic 
smile,  /■/  lampeggiar  delP  angelica  riso. 

131.    See    Canto  XIX.  133. 


CANTO    XXII. 


I.  The  ascent  to  the  Sixth  Cir- 
cle, where  the  sin  of  Gluttony  is  pun- 
ished. 

5.  Matthew  V.  6:  "Blessed  are  they 
which  do  hunger  and  thirst  after  right- 
eousness ;  for  they  shall  be  filled." 

13.  The  satirist  Juvenal,  who  flour- 
ished at  Rome  during  the  last  half  of 
the  first  century  of  the  Christian  era, 
and  died  at  the  beginning  of  the  sec- 
ond, aged  eighty.  He  was  a  contem- 
porary of  Statius,  and  survived  him 
some  thirty  years. 

40.  jEneid,  III.  56  :  "  O  cursed 
hunger  of  gold,  to  what  dost  thou  not 
drive  the  hearts  of  men." 

42.  The  punishment  of  the  Avari- 
cious and  Prodigal.      Inf.  VII.  26:  — 

"  With  great  howls 
Rolling  weights  forward  by  main  force  of  chest." 

46.  Dante  says  of  the  Avaricious 
and  Prodigal,  Inf.  VII.  56:  — 

VOL.   II.  40 


"  These  from  the  sepulchre  shall  rise  again 
With  the   fist  closed,  and   these  with  tresses 
shorn." 

56.  Her  two  sons,  Eteocles  and  Pol- 
ynices,  of  whom  Statius  sings  in  the 
Thebaid,  and  to  whom  Dante  alludes 
by  way  of  illustration.  Inf.  XXVI.  54. 
See  also  the  Note. 

58.  Statius  begins  the  Thebaid  with. 
an  invocation  to  Clio,  the  Muse  of 
History,  whose  office  it  was  to  record 
the   heroic  actions   of  brave    men,  I. 

"  What  first,  O  Clio,  shall  adorn  thy  page, 
The  expiring  prophet,  or  ^tolian's  rage  ? 
Say,  wilt  thou  sing   how,  grim  with  hostile 

blood, 
Hippomedon  repelled  the  rushing  flood. 
Lament  the  Arcadian  youth's  untimely  fate, 
Or  Jove,  opposed  by  Capaneus,  relate  ?  " 

Skelton,  Elegy  on  the  Earl  of  North- 
umberland :  — 


3H 


Notes 


"  Of  hcvenly  poems,  O  Clyo  calde  by  name 
In  the  college  of  musis  goddess  hystoriale." 

63.    Saint  Peter. 

70,  Virgil's  Bucolics,  Eel.  IV,  5,  a 
passage  supposed  to  foretell  the  birth  of 
Christ :  "  The  last  era  of  Cumacan  song 
is  now  arrived;  the  great  series  of  ages 
begins  anew  ;  now  the  Virgin  returns, 
returns  the  Saturnian  reign  ;  now  a 
new  progeny  is  sent  down  from  the 
high  heaven." 

92.  The  Fourth  Circle  of  Purga- 
tory, where  Sloth  is  punished.  Canto 
XVII.  85:  — 

"  The  love  of  good,  remiss 
In  what  it  should  have  done,  is  here  restored  5 
Here  plied  again  the  ill-belated  oar." 

97.  Some  editions  read  in  this  line, 
instead  of  nostra  amico,  —  nostra  antico, 
our  ancient  Terence  ;  but  the  epithet 
would  be  more  appropriate  to  Plautus, 
who  was  the  earlier  writer. 

97,  98.  Plautus,  C^cilius,  and  Ter- 
ence, the  three  principal  Latin  drama- 
tists ;  Varro,  "  the  most  learned  of  the 
Romans,"  the  friend  of  Cicero,  and 
author  of  some  five  hundred  volumes, 
which  made  St.  Augustine  wonder  how 
he  who  wrote  so  many  books  could 
find  time  to  read  so  many  ;  and  how 
he  who  read  so  many  could  find  time 
to  write  so  many. 

1 00.    Persius,  the  Latin  satirist. 

loi.    Homer. 

106.  Mrs.  Browning,  Wine  of  Cy- 
prus :  — 

"  Our  Euripides,  the  human,  — 

With  his  droppings  of  warm  tears  ; 
And  his  touches  of  things  common, 
Till  they  rose  to  touch  the  spheres." 


But  why  does  Dante  make  no  mention 
here  of  "^schylus  the  thunderous  " 
and  "  Sophocles  the  royal  "  } 

Antiphon  was  a  tragic  and  epic  poet 
of  Attica,  who  was  put  to  death  by 
Dionysius  because  he  would  not  praise 
the  tyrant's  writings.  Some  editions 
read  Anacreon  for  Antiphon. 

107.  Simonides,  the  poet  of  Cos, 
who  won  a  poetic  prize  at  the  age  of 
eighty,  and  is  said  to  be  the  first  poet 
who  wrote  for  money. 

Agatho  was  an  Athenian  dramatist, 
of  whom  nothing  remains  but  the  name 
and  a  few  passages  quoted  in  other 
writers. 

1 10.  Some  of  the  people  that  Sta- 
tius  introduces  into  his  poems.  An- 
tigone, daughter  of  CEdipus;  Deiphile, 
wife  of  Tideus;  Argia,  her  sister,  wife 
of  Polynices;  Ismene,  another  daughter 
of  CEdipus,  who  is  here  represented 
as  still  lamenting  the  death  of  Atys, 
her  betrothed. 

112.  Hypsipile,  who  pointed  out  to 
Adrastus  the  fountain  of  Langia,  when 
his  soldiers  were  perishing  with  thirst 
on  their  march  against  Thebes. 

113.  Of  the  three  daughters  of  Ti- 
resias  only  Manto  is  mentioned  by 
Statius  in  the  Thebaid.  But  Dante 
places  Manto  among  the  Soothsayers, 
Inf.  XX.  55,  and  not  in  Limbo.  Had 
he  forgotten  this  ? 

113,  114.  Thetis,  the  mother  of 
Achilles,  and  Deidamia,  the  daughter 
of  Lycomedes.  They  are  among  the 
personages  in  the  Achilleid  of  Statius. 

118.  Four  hours  of  the  day  were 
already  passed. 


Purgatorio  xxii. 


315 


131.  Cowley,  The  Tree  of  Knowl- 
edge :  — 

"  The  sacred  tree  'midst  the  fair  orchard  grew, 
The  phcenix  Truth  did  on  it  rest 
And  built  his  perfumed  nest, 
That  right  Porphyrian  tree  which  did   true 

Logic  show  ; 
Each  leaf  did  learned  notions  give 
And  th'  apples  were  demonstrative  ; 
So  clear  their  color  and  divine 
The   very  shade    they  cast   did   other  lights 
outshine." 

This  tree  of  Temptation,  however, 
is  hardly  the  tree  of  Knowledge,  though 
sprung  from  it,  as  Dante  says  of  the 
next,  in  Canto  XXIV.  117.  It  is  meant 
only  to  increase  the  torment  of  the  starv- 
ing souls  beneath  it,  by  holding  its  fresh 
and  dewy  fruit  beyond  their  reach. 

142.  John  ii.  3  :  "And  when  they 
wanted  wine,  the  mother  of  Jesus  saith 
unto  him.  They  have  no  wine." 

146.  Daniel  i.  12:  "Prove  thy  ser- 
vants, I  beseech  thee,  ten  days  ;  and 
let  them  give  us  pulse  to  eat  and  water 
to  drink And  Daniel  had  under- 
standing in  all  visions  and  dreams." 

148.  Compare  the  description  of 
the  Golden  Age  in  Ovid,  Met.,  I.:  — 

"  The  golden  age  was  first ;   when  man,  yet 
new. 
No  rule  but  uncorrupted  reason  knew, 
And,  with  a  native  bent,  did  good  pursue. 
Unforced  by  punishment,  unawed  by  fear. 
His  words  were  simple,  and  his  soul  sincere; 
Needless  was  written  law,  where  none  opprest  : 
The  law  of  man  was  written  in  his  breast  : 
No  suppliant  crowds  before  the  judge  appeared. 
No  court  erected  yet,  nor  cause  was  heard  : 
But  all  was  safe,  for  conscience  was  their  gUard. 
The  mountain-trees  in  distant  prospect  please, 
Ere  yet  the  pine  descended  to  the  seas  ; 


Ere  sails  were  spread,  new  oceans  to  explore  ; 
And  happy  mortals,  unconcerned  for  more, 
Confined  their  wishes  to  their  native  shore. 
No  walls  were  yet :    nor  fence,  nor  mote,  nor 

mound, 
Nor  drum  was  heard,  nor  trumpet's  angry  sound  : 
Nor  swords  were  forged  ;   but,  void  of  care  and 

crime. 
The  soft  creation  slept  away  their  time. 
The  teeming  earth,  yet  guiltless  of  the  plough, 
And  unprovoked,  did  fruitful  stores  allow  : 
Content  with  food,  which  nature  freely  bred, 
On  wildings  and  on  strawberries  they  fed  ; 
Cornels  and  bramble-berries  gave  the  rest, 
And  falling  acorns  furnished  out  a  feast. 
The    flowers    unsown    in    fields   and    meadows 

reigned  ; 
And  western  winds  immortal  spring  maintained. 
In  following  years,  the  bearded  corn  ensued 
From  earth    unasked,  nor    was   that  earth   re- 
newed. 
From  veins  of  valleys  milk  and  nectar  broke. 
And  honey  sweating  through  the  pores  of  oak." 

Also  Boethius,  Book  II.  Met.  5,  and 
the  Ode  in  Tasso's  Aminta,  Leigh  Hunt's 
Tr.,  beginning  :  — 

"O  lovely  age  of  gold  ! 

Not  that  the  rivers  rolled 

With  milk,  or  that  the  woods  wept  honey- 
dew  ; 

Not  that  the  ready  ground 

Produced  without  a  wound. 

Or  the  mild  serpent  had  no  tooth  that  slew  ; 

Not  that  a  cloudless  blue 

Forever  was  in  sight, 

Or  that  the  heaven  which  burns, 

And  now  is  cold  by  turns. 

Looked  out  in  glad  and  everlasting  light ; 

No,  nor  that  even  the  insolent  ships  from  far 

Brought  war  to  no  new  lands,  nor  riches 
worse  than  war  : 

"  But  solely  that  that  vain 
And  breath-invented  pain, 
That  idol  of  mistake,  that  worshipped  cheat, 


3i6 


Notes 


That  Honor,  —  since  so  called 

By  vulgar  minds  appalled, — 

Played  not  the  tyrant  with  our  nature  yet. 

It  had  not  come  to  fret 

The  sweet  and  happy  fold 

Of  gentle  human-kind  ; 

Nor  did  its  hard  law  bind 

Souls  nursed  in  freedom  ;    but  that  law   of 

gold, 
That  glad  and  golden  law,  all  free,  all  fitted, 
Which  Nature's  own   hand  wrote,  —  What 

pleases,  is  permitted." 

Also  Don  Quixote's  address  to  the 
goatherds,  Don  ^lix..  Book  II.  Ch.  3, 
Jarvis's  Tr.  :  — 

"  After  Don  Quixote  had  satisfied 
his  hunger,  he  took  up  an  handful  of 
acorns,  and,  looking  on  them  atten- 
tively, gave  utterance  to  expressions 
like  these :  — 

"  '  Happy  times,  and  happy  ages  ! 
those  to  which  the  ancients  gave  the 
name  of  golden,  not  because  gold 
(which,  in  this  our  iron  age,  is  so 
much  esteemed)  was  to  be  had,  in 
that  fortunate  period,  without  toil  and 
labor  ;  but  because  they  who  then 
lived  were  ignorant  of  these  two 
words,  Meum  and  Tuum.  In  that 
age  of  innocence,  all  things  were  in 
common  ;  no  one  needed  to  take  any 
other  pains  for  his  ordinary  sustenance, 
than  to  lift  up  his  hand  and  take  it 
from  the  sturdy  oaks,  which  stood  in- 
viting him  liberally  to  taste  of  their 
sweet  and  relishing  fruit.  The  limpid 
fountains,  and  running  streams,  offered 
them,  in  magnificent  abundance,  their 
delicious  and  transparent  waters.  In 
the  clefts  of  rocks,  and  in  the  hollow 
of  trees,  did  the  industrious  and  provi- 


dent bees  form  their  commonwealths, 
offering  to  every  hand,  without  usury, 
the  fertile  produce  of  their  most  deli- 
cious toil.  The  stout  cork-trees,  with- 
out any  other  inducement  than  that  of 
their  own  courtesy,  divested  themselves 
of  their  light  and  expanded  bark,  with 
which  men  began  to  cover  their  houses, 
supported  by  rough  poles,  only  for  a 
defence  against  the  inclemency  of  the 
seasons.  All  then  was  peace,  all  ami- 
ty, all  concord.  As  yet  the  heavy 
coulter  of  the  crooked  plough  had  not 
dared  to  force  open,  and  search  into, 
the  tender  bowels  of  our  first  mother, 
who  unconstrained  offered,  from  every 
part  of  her  fertile  and  spacious  bosom, 
whatever  might  feed,  sustain,  and  de- 
light those  her  children,  who  then 
had  her  in  possession.  '  Then  did  the 
simple  and  beauteous  young  shepherd- 
esses trip  it  from  dale  to  dale,  and  from 
hill  to  hill,  their  tresses  sometimes  plait- 
ed, sometimes  loosely  flowing,  with 
no  more  clothing  than  was  necessary 
modestly  to  cover  what  modesty  has 
always  required  to  be  concealed  ;  nor 
were  there  ornaments  like  those  now- 
a-days  in  fashion,  to  which  the  Tyrian 
purple  and  the  so-many-ways  martyred 
silk  give  a  value  ;  but  composed  of 
green  dock-leaves  and  ivy  interwoven  ; 
with  which,  perhaps,  they  went  as 
splendidly  and  elegantly  decked  as  our 
court-ladies  do  now,  with  all  those 
rare  and  foreign  inventions  which  idle 
curiosity  hath  taught  them.  Then 
were  the  amorous  conceptions  of  the 
soul  clothed  in  simple  and  sincere  ex- 
pressions, in  the  same  way  and  manner 


Purgatorio  xxiii. 


317 


they  were  conceived,  without  seeking  so  much  depreciate,  confound,  and  per- 

artificial  phrases  to  set  them  off.      Nor  secute  her,  not  daring  then  to  disturb 

as  yet  were  fraud,  deceit,  and  malice  or  offend  her.      As  yet  the  judge  did 

intermixed  with  truth  and  plain-deal-  not  make  his  own  will  the  measure  of 

ing.      Justice  kept  within   her   proper  justice  ;     for    then    there    was    neither 

bounds;  favor  and  interest,  which  now  cause  nor  person  to  be  judged.'" 


CANTO     XXIII. 


I.  The  punishment  of  the  sin  of 
Gluttony. 

3.    Shakespeare,  As  You  Like  It,  II. 

7:  — 

"Under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs 
Lose  and  neglect  the  creeping  hours  of  time." 

II.  Psalms  li.  15  :  "  O  Lord,  open 
thou  my  lips  ;  and  my  mouth  shall 
show  forth  thy  praise." 

26.  Erisichthon  the  Thessalian,  who 
in  derision  cut  down  an  ancient  oak  in 
the  sacred  groves  of  Ceres.  He  was 
punished  by  perpetual  hunger,  till, 
other  food  failing  him,  at  last  he 
gnawed  his  own  flesh.  Ovid,  Met. 
VIII.,  Vernon's  Tr.:  — 

"  Straight  he  requires,  impatient  in  demand, 
Provisions  from  the  air,  the  seas,  the  land  ; 
But  though  the  land,  air,  seas,  provisions  grant. 
Starves  at  full  tables,  and  complains  of  want. 
What  to  a  people  might  in  dole  be  paid. 
Or  victual  cities  for  a  long  blockade, 
Could  not  one  wolfish  appetite  assuage  ; 
For  glutting  nourishment  increased  its  rage. 
As  rivers  poured  from  every  distant  shore 
The  sea  insatiate  drinks,  and  thirsts  for  more  ; 
Or  as  the  fire,  which  all  materials  burns, 
And  wasted  forests  into  ashes  turns. 
Grows  more  voracious  as  the  more  it  preys, 
Recruits  dilate  the  flame,  and  spread  the  blaze: 
So  impious  Erisichthon's  hunger  raves. 


Receives  refreshments,  and  refreshments  craves. 

Food  raises  a  desire  for  food,  and  meat 

Is  but  a  new  provocative  to  eat. 

He  grows  more  empty  as  the  more  supplied, 

And  endless  cramming  but  extends  the  void." 

30.  This  tragic  tale  of  the  siege  of 
Jerusalem  by  Titus  is  thus  told  in  Jo- 
sephus,  Jewish  War,  Book  VI.  Ch.  3, 
Whiston's  Tr.  :  — 

**  There  was  a  certain  woman  that 
dwelt  beyond  Jordan  ;  her  name  was 
Mary  ;  her  father  was  Eleazar,  of  the 
village  Bethezub,  which  signifies  the 
house  of  Hyssop.  She  was  eminent 
for  her  family  and  her  wealth,  and 
had  fled  away  to  Jerusalem  with  the 
rest  of  the  multitude,  and  was  with 
them  besieged  therein  at  this  time. 
The  other  effects  of  this  woman  had 
been  already  seized  upon,  such  I  mean 
as  she  had  brought  with  her  out  of 
Perea,  and  removed  to  the  city.  What 
she  had  treasured  up  besides,  as  also 
what  food  she  had  contrived  to  save, 
had  been  also  carried  off  by  the  rapa- 
cious guards,  who  came  every  day  run- 
ning into  her  house  for  that  purpose. 
This  put  the  poor  woman  into  a  very 
great  passion,  and  by  the  frequent  re- 


3i8 


Notes 


proaches  and  imprecations  she  cast  at 
these  rapacious  villains,  she  had  pro- 
voked them  to  anger  against  her  ;  but 
none  of  them,  either  out  of  the  indig- 
nation she  had  raised  against  herself, 
or  out  of  commiseration  of  her  case, 
would  take  away  her  life.  And  if  she 
found  any  food,  she  perceived  her  la- 
bors were  for  others  and  not  for  her- 
self; and  it  was  now  become  impos- 
sible for  her  any  way  to  find  any  more 
food,  while  the  famine  pierced  through 
her  very  bowels  and  marrow,  when 
also  her  passion  was  fired  to  a  degree 
beyond  the  famine  itself.  Nor  did  she 
consult  with  anything  but  with  her 
passion  and  the  necessity  she  was  in. 
She  then  attempted  a  most  unnatural 
thing,  and,  snatching  up  her  son  who 
was  a  child  sucking  at  her  breast,  she 
said,  '  O  thou  miserable  infant  !  For 
whom  shall  I  preserve  thee  in  this 
war,  this  famine,  and  this  sedition  ? 
As  to  the  war  with  the  Romans,  if  they 
preserve  our  lives,  we  must  be  slaves. 
This  famine  also  will  destroy  us,  even 
before  that  slavery  comes  upon  us. 
Yet  are  these  seditious  rogues  more 
terrible  than  both  the  other.  Come 
on,  be  thou  my  food,  and  be  thou  a 
fury  to  these  seditious  varlets,  and  a 
byword  to  the  world  ;  which  is  all 
that  is  now  wanting  to  complete  the 
calamities  of  the  Jews.'  As  soon  as 
she  had  said  this,  she  slew  her  son,  and 
then  roasted  him,  and  ate  the  one  half 
of  him,  and  kept  the  other  half  by  her 
concealed.  Upon  this  the  seditious 
came  in  presently,  and,  smelling  the 
horrid  scent  of  this  food,  they  threat- 


ened her  that  they  would  cut  her  throat 
immediately,  if  she  did  not  show  them 
what  food  she  had  gotten  ready.  She 
replied,  that  she  had  saved  a  very  fine 
portion  of  it  for  them  ;  and  withal 
uncovered  what  was  left  of  her  son. 
Hereupon  they  were  seized  with  a  hor- 
ror and  amazement  of  mind,  and  stood 
astonished  at  the  sight,  when  she  said 
to  them  :  *  This  is  mine  own  son,  and 
what  hath  been  done  was  mine  own 
doing.  Come,  eat  of  this  food  ;  for 
I  have  eaten  of  it  myself.  Do  not 
you  pretend  to  be  either  more  tender 
than  a  woman,  or  more  compassionate 
than  a  mother.  But  if  you  be  so 
scrupulous,  and  do  abominate  this  my 
sacrifice,  as  I  have  eaten  the  one  half, 
let  the  rest  be  reserved  for  me  also.' 
After  which  those  men  went  out  trem- 
bling, being  never  so  much  affrighted 
at  anything  as  they  were  at  this,  and 
with  some  difficulty  they  left  the  rest 
of  that  meat  to  the  mother.  Upon 
which  the  whole  city  was  full  of  this 
horrid  action  immediately  ;  and  while 
everybody  laid  this  miserable  case  be- 
fore their  own  eyes,  they  trembled  as 
if  this  unheard  of  action  had  been  done 
by  themselves.  So  those  that  were 
thus  distressed  by  the  famine  were  very 
desirous  to  die,  and  those  already  dead 
were  esteemed  happy,  because  they 
had  not  lived  long  enough  either  to 
hear  or  to  see  such  miseries." 

31.  Shakespeare,  King  Lear,Y .  3  :  — 

"And  in  this  habit 
Met  I  my  father  with  his  bleeding  rings, 
Their  precious  stones  new  lost." 

32.  In  this  fanciful  recognition   of 


Purgatorio  xxiii. 


319 


the  word  onto  {homo,  man)  in  the  hu- 
man face,  so  written  as  to  place  the  two 
o's  between  the  outer  strokes  of  the  m, 
the  former  represent  the  eyes,  and  the 
latter  the  nose  and  cheekbones: 


m 


Brother  Berthold,  a  Franciscan  monk 
of  Regensburg,  in  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury, makes  the  following  allusion  to  it 
in  one  of  his  sermons.  See  Wacker- 
nagel,  Deutsches  Lesebuch,  I.  678.  The 
monk  carries  out  the  resemblance  into 
still  further  detail  :  — 

"  Now  behold,  ye  blessed  children 
of  God,  the  Almighty  has  created  you 
soul  and  body.  And  he  has  written  it 
under  your  eyes  and  on  your  faces,  that 
you  are  created  in  his  likeness.  He  has 
written  it  upon  your  very  faces  with 
ornamented  letters.  With  great  dili- 
gence are  they  embellished  and  orna- 
mented. This  your  learned  men  well 
understand,  but  the  unlearned  may  not 
understand  it.  The  two  eyes  are  two 
o's.  The  h  is  properly  no  letter;  it  on- 
ly helps  the  others;  so  that  homo  with 
an  h  means  Man.  Likewise  the  brows 
arched  above,  and  the  nose  down  be- 
tween them  are  an  m,  beautiful  with 
three  strokes.  So  is  the  ear  a  d,  beauti- 
fully rounded  and  ornamented.  So  are 
the  nostrils  beautifully  formed  like  a 
Greek  f,  beautifully  rounded  and  orna- 
mented. So  is  the  mouth  an  /,  beauti- 
fully adorned  and  ornamented.  Now 
behold,  ye  good  Christian  people,  how 
skilfully  he  has  adorned  you  with  these 
six    letters,   to   show   that    ye   are   his 


own,  and  that  he  has  created  you! 
Now  read  me  an  0  and  an  m  and  an- 
other 0  together  ;  that  spells  homo. 
Then  read  me  a  d  and  an  e  and  an  / 
together  ;  that  spells  dei.  Homo  dei, 
man  of  God,  man  of  God  !  " 

48.  Forese  Donati,  the  brother-in- 
law  and  intimate  friend  of  Dante. 
"This  Forese,"  says  Buti,  "was  a  citi- 
zen of  Florence,  and  was  brother  of 
Messer  Corso  Donati,  and  was  very 
gluttonous  ;  and  therefore  the  author 
feigns  that  he  found  him  here,  where 
the  Gluttons  are  punished." 

Certain  vituperative  sonnets,  ad- 
dressed to  Dante,  have  been  attributed 
to  Forese.  If  authentic,  they  prove 
that  the  friendship  between  the  two 
poets  was  not  uninterrupted.  See 
Rossetti,  Ea7-ly  Italian  Poets,  Appendix 
to  Part  II. 

74.  The  same  desire  that  sacrifice 
and  atonement  may  be  complete. 

75.  Matthew  xxvii.  46  :  "Eli,  Eli, 
lama  sabacthani  ?  that  is  to  say.  My 
God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken 
me  ?  " 

83.  Outside  the  gate  of  Purgatory, 
where  those  who  had  postponed  re- 
pentance till  the  last  hour  were  forced 
to  wait  as  many  years  and  days  as  they 
had  lived  impenitent  on  earth,  unless 
aided  by  the  devout  prayers  of  those 
on  earth.     See  Canto  IV. 

87.  Nella,  contraction  of  Giovan- 
nella,  widow  of  Forese.  Nothing  is 
known  of  this  good  woman  but  the 
name,  and  what  Forese  here  says  in 
her  praise. 

94.    Covino,  Descriz.  Geograf.  deW 


320 


Notes 


Italia,  p.  52,  says  :  "  In  the  district 
ot  Arborea,  on  the  slopes  of  the  Gen- 
nargentu,  the  most  vast  and  lofty 
mountain  range  of  Sardinia,  spreads  an 
alpine  country  which  in  Dante's  time, 
being  almost  barbarous,  was  called  the 
Bar-bagia." 

102.  Sacchetti,  the  Italian  novelist 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  severely 
criticises  the  fashions  of  the  Floren- 
tines, and  their  sudden  changes,  which 
he  says  it  would  take  a  whole  vol- 
ume of  his  stories  to  enumerate.  In 
Nov.  178,  he  speaks  of  their  wearing 
their  dresses  *•  far  below  their  arm- 
pits," and  then  **  up  to  their  ears"; 
and  continues,  in  Napier's  version, 
Flor.  Hist.,  II.  539:  — 

"  The  young  Florentine  girls,  who 
used  to  dress  so  modestly,  have  now 
changed  the  fashion  of  their  hoods  to 
resemble  courtesans,  and  thus  attired 
they  move  about  laced  up  to  the  throat, 
with  all  sorts  of  animals  hanging  as 
ornaments  about  their  necks.  Their 
sleeves,  or  rather  their  sacks,  as  they 
should  be  called,  —  was  there  ever  so 
useless  and  pernicious  a  fashion  !  Can 
any  of  them  reach  a  glass  or  take  a 
morsel  from  the  table  without  dirtying 
herself  or  the  cloth  by  the  things  she 
knocks  down?  And  thus  do  the  young 
men,  and  worse  ;  and  such  sleeves  are 
made  even  for  sucking  babes.  The 
women  go  about  in  hoods  and  cloaks  ; 
most  of  the  young  men  without  cloaks, 
in  long,  flowing  hair,  and  if  they  throw 


off  their  breeches,  which  from  their 
smallness  may  easily  be  done,  all  is  off, 
for  they  literally  stick  their  posteriors 
into  a  pair  of  socks  and  expend  a  yard 
of  cloth  on  their  wristbands,  while 
more  stuff  is  put  into  a  glove  than  a 
cloak-hood.  However,  I  am  comforted 
by  one  thing,  and  that  is,  that  all  now 
have  begun  to  put  their  feet  in  chains, 
perhaps  as  a  penance  for  the  many 
vain  things  they  are  guilty  of;  for  we 
are  but  a  day  in  this  world,  and  in  that 
day  the  fashion  is  changed  a  thousand 
times  :  all  seek  liberty,  yet  all  deprive 
themselves  of  it :  God  has  made  our 
feet  free,  and  many  with  long  pointed 
toes  to  their  shoes  can  scarcely  walk  : 
he  has  supplied  the  legs  with  hinges, 
and  many  have  so  bound  them  up  with 
close  lacing  that  they  can  scarcely  sit  : 
the  bust  is  tightly  bandaged  up  ;  the 
arms  trail  their  drapery  along ;  the 
throat  is  rolled  in  a  capuchin  ;  the 
head  so  loaded  and  bound  round  with 
caps  over  the  hair  that  it  appears  as 
though  it  were  sawed  off.  And  thus 
I  might  go  on  forever  discoursing  of 
female  absurdities,  commencing  with 
the  immeasurable  trains  at  their  feet, 
and  proceeding  regularly  upwards  to 
the  head,  with  which  they  may  always 
be  seen  occupied  in  their  chambers  ; 
some  curling,  some  smoothing,  and 
some  whitening  it,  so  that  they  often 
kill  themselves  with  colds  caught  in 
these  vain  occupations." 
132.    Statius. 


Pttrgatorio  xxiv. 


321 


CANTO    XXIV. 


I.  Continuation  of  the  punishment 
of  Gluttony. 

7.  Continuing  the  words  with  which 
the  preceding  canto  closes,  and  refer- 
ring to  Statius. 

10.  Piccarda,  sister  of  Forese  and 
Corso  Donati.  She  was  a  nun  of  Santa 
Clara,  and  is  seen  by  Dante  in  the 
first  heaven  of  Paradise,  which  Forese 
calls  "high  Olympus."  See  Par.  III. 
49,  where  her  story  is  told  more  in 
detail. 

19.  Buonagiunta  Urbisani  of  Lucca 
is  one  of  the  early  minor  poets  of  Italy, 
a  contemporary  of  Dante.  Rossetti, 
Early  Italian  Poets,  jj,  gives  some 
specimens  of  his  sonnets  and  canzoni. 
All  that  is  known  of  him  is  contained 
in  Benvenuto's  brief  notice  :  "  Buona- 
giunta of  Urbisani,  an  honorable  man 
of  the  city  of  Lucca,  a  brilliant  orator 
in  his  mother  tongue,  a  facile  producer 
of  rhymes,  and  still  more  facile  con- 
sumer of  wines  ;  who  knew  our  author 
in  his  lifetime,  and  sometimes  cor- 
responded with  him." 

Tiraboschi  also  mentions  him,  Storia 
della  Lett.,  IV.  397  :  "  He  was  seen 
by  Dante  in  Purgatory  punished  among 
the  Gluttons,  from  which  vice,  it  is 
proper  to  say,  poetry  did  not  render 
him  exempt." 

22.  Pope  Martin  the  Fourth,  whose 
fondness  for  the  eels  of  Bolsena  brought 
his  life  to  a  sudden  close,  and  his  soul 
to  this  circle  of  Purgatory,  has  been  rid- 
iculed in  the  well-known  epigram, — 

VOL.   11.  41 


"Gaudent  anguills,  quod  mortuus  hlc  jacet  Ule 
Qui  quasi  morte  reas  cxcoriabat  eas." 

"  Martin  the  Fourth,"  says  Milman, 
Hist.  Lat.  Christ.,  VI.  143,  "was  born 
at  Mont  Pence  in  Brie  ;  he  had  been 
Canon  of  Tours.  He  put  on  at  first 
the  show  of  maintaining  the  lofty  char- 
acter of  the  Churchman.  He  ex- 
communicated the  Viterbans  for  their 
sacrilegious  maltreatment  of  the  Cardi- 
nals; Rinaldo  Annibaldeschi,  the  Lord 
of  Viterbo,  was  compelled  to  ask  par- 
don on  his  knees  of  the  Cardinal  Ros- 
so, and  forgiven  only  at  the  interven- 
tion of  the  Pope.  Martin  the  Fourth 
retired  to  Orvieto. 

"  But  the  Frenchman  soon  began  to 
predominate  over  the  Pontiff;  he  sunk 
into  the  vassal  of  Charles  of  Anjou. 
The  great  policy  of  his  predecessor,  to 
assuage  the  feuds  of  Guelph  and  Ghib- 
elline,  was  an  Italian  policy  ;  it  was 
altogether  abandoned.  The  Ghibel- 
lines  in  every  city  were  menaced  or 
smitten  with  excommunication  ;  the 
Lambertazzi  were  driven  from  Bologna. 
Forli  was  placed  under  interdict  for 
harboring  the  exiles  ;  the  goods  of  the 
citizens  were  confiscated  for  the  benefit 
of  the  Pope.  Bertoldo  Orsini  was  de- 
posed from  the  Countship  of  Romagna  ; 
the  office  was  bestowed  on  John  of 
Appia,  with  instructions  everywhere 
to  coerce  or  to  chastise  the  refractory 
Ghibellines." 

Villani,  Book  VI.  Ch.  106,  says  : 
"  He  was  a  good  man,  and  very  favor- 


322 


Notes 


able  to  Holy  Church  and  to  those 
of  the  house  of  France,  because  he  was 
from  Tours." 

He  is  said  to  have  died  of  a  surfeit. 
The  eels  and  sturgeon  of  Bolsena,  and 
the  wines  of  Orvieto  and  Montefias- 
cone,  in  the  neighborhood  of  whose 
vineyards  he  lived,  were  too  much  for 
him.  But  he  died  in  Perugia,  not  in 
Orvieto. 

24.  The  Lake  of  Bolsena  is  in  the 
Papal  States,  a  few  miles  northwest  of 
Viterbo,  on  the  road  from  Rome  to 
Siena.  It  is  thus  described  in  Murray's 
Handbook  of  Central  Italy,  p.  199  :  — 

"  Its  circular  form,  and  being  in  the 
centre  of  a  volcanic  district,  hashed  to 
its  being  regarded  as  an  extinct  crater  ; 
but  that  hypothesis  can  scarcely  be  ad- 
mitted when  the  great  extent  of  the 
lake  is  considered.  The  treacherous 
beauty  of  the  lake  conceals  rnalaria  in 
its  most  fatal  forms ;  and  its  shores,  al- 
though there  are  no  traces  of  a  marsh, 
are  deserted,  excepting  where  a  few 
sickly  hamlets  are  scattered  on  their 
western  slopes.  The  ground  is  culti- 
vated in  many  parts  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  but  the  laborers  dare  not 
sleep  for  a  single  night  during  the  sum- 
mer or  autumn  on  the  plains  where 
they  work  by  day;  and  a  large  tract 
of  beautiful  and  productive  country  is 
reduced  to  a  perfect  solitude  by  this 
invisible  calamity.  Nothing  can  be 
more  striking  than  the  appearance  of 
the  lake,  without  a  single  sail  upon  its 
waters,  and  with  scarcely  a  human 
habitation  within  sight  of  Bolsena ; 
and  nothing  perhaps  can  give  the  trav- 


eller who  visits  Italy  for  the  first  time 
a  more  impressive  idea  of  the  effects 
of  malaria." 

Of  the  Vcrnaccia  or  Vernage,  in 
which  Pope  Martin  cooked  his  eels, 
Henderson  says.  Hist.  Anc.  and  Mod, 
Wines,  p.  296:  "  The  Vernage  .... 
was  a  red  wine,  of  a  bright  color,  and 
a  sweetish  and  somewhat  rough  flavor, 
which  was  grown  in  Tuscany  and 
other  parts  of  Italy,  and  derived  its 
name  from  the  thick-skinned  grape, 
vernaccia  (corresponding  with  the  vina- 
ciola  of  the  ancients),  that  was  used  in 
the  preparation  of  it." 

Chaucer  mentions  it  in  the  Merchant's 
Tale:  — 
"  He  drinketh  ipocras,  clarre,  and  vernage 

Of  spices  hot,  to  encreasen  his  corage." 

And  Redi,  Bacchus  in  Tuscany,  Leigh 
Hunt's  Tr.,  p.  30,  sings  of  it  thus:  — 

"  If  anybody  does  n't  like  Vernaccia, 
I  mean  that  sort  that 's  made  in  Pietrafitta, 
Let  him  fly 
My  violent  eye ; 

I  curse  him,  clean,  through  all   the  Alpha- 
beta." 

28.  Ovid,  Met.  VII.,  says  of  Eri- 
sichthon,  that  he 

"  Deludes  his  throat  with  visionary  fare, 
Feasts  on  the  wind  and  banquets  on  the  air." 

29.  Ubaldin  dalla  Pila  was  a  brother 
of  the  Cardinal  Ottaviano  degli  Ubal- 
dini,  mentioned  Inf.  X.  120,  and  fa- 
ther of  the  Archbishop  Ruggieri,  Inf. 
XXXIII.  14.  According  to  Sacchetti, 
Nov.  205,  he  passed  most  of  his  time 
at  his  castle,  and  turned  his  gardener 
into  a  priest;  **and  Messer  Ubaldino," 
continues  the  novelist,  **  put  him  into 


Pztrgatorio  xxiv. 


323 


his  church  ;  of  which  one  may  say  he 
made  a  pigsty  ;  for  he  did  not  put  in 
a  priest,  but  a  pig  in  the  way  of  eating 
and  drinking,  who  had  neither  gram- 
mar nor  any  good  thing  in  him." 

Some  writers  say  that  this  Boniface, 
Archbishop  of  Ravenna,  was  a  son  of 
Ubaldino;  but  this  is  confounding  him 
with  Ruggieri,  Archbishop  of  Pisa. 
He  was  of  the  Fieschi  of  Genoa.  His 
pasturing  many  people  alludes  to  his 
keeping  a  great  retinue  and  court,  and 
the  free  life  they  led  in  matters  of  the 
table. 

31.  Messer  Marchese  da  Forli,  who 
answered  the  accusation  made  against 
him,  that  "he  was  always  drinking,"  by 
saying,  that  "  he  was  always  thirsty." 

37.  A  lady  of  Lucca  with  whom 
Dante  is  supposed  to  have  been  en- 
amored. "  Let  us  pass  over  in  si- 
lence," says  Balbo,  Life  and  Times  of 
Dante,  IL  177,  "  the  consolations  and 
errors  of  the  poor  exile."  But  Buti 
says  :  "  He  formed  an  attachment  to 
a  gentle  lady,  called  Madonna  Gen- 
tucca,  of  the  family  of  Rossimpelo,  on 
account  of  her  great  virtue  and  mod- 
esty, and  not  with  any  other  love." 

Benvenuto  and  the  Ottimo  interpret 
the  passage  differently,  making  gentuc- 
ca  a  common  noun, — gente  bassa,  low 
people.  But  the  passage  which  im- 
mediately follows,  in  which  a  maiden 
is  mentioned  who  should  make  Lucca 
pleasant  to  him,  seems  to  confirm  the 
former  interpretation. 

38.  In  the  throat  of  the  speaker, 
where  he  felt  the  hunger  and  thirst  of 
his  punishment. 


50.  Chaucer,  Complaint  of  the  Blacke 
Knight,  194:  — 

*'  But  even  like  as  doth  a  skrivenere, 
That  can  no  more  tell  what  that  he  shal  write, 
But  as  his  maister  beside  dothe  indite." 

51.  A  canzone  of  the  Vita  Nuova, 
beginning,  in  Rossetti's  version.  Early 
Italian  Poets,  p.  255  :  — 

"Ladies  that  have  intelligence  in  love, 

Of  mine  own  lady  I  would  speak  with  you; 

Not  that  I  hope  to  count  her  praises  throujjh, 

But,  telling  what  I  may,  to  ease  my  mind." 

56.  Jacopo  da  Lentino,  or  "  the 
Notary,"  was  a  Sicilian  poet  who 
flourished  about  1250,  in  the  later  days 
-of  the  Emperor  Frederick  the  Second. 
Crescimbeni,  Hist.  Volg.  Poesia,  IH. 
43,  says  that  Dante  "  esteemed  him  so 
highly,  that  he  even  mentions  him  in 
his  Comedy,  doing  him  the  favor  to 
put  him  into  Purgatory."  Tassoni, 
and  others  after  him,  make  the  careless 
statement  that  he  addressed  a  sonnet  to 
Petrarca.  He  died  before  Petrarca  was 
born.  Rossetti  gives  several  specimens 
of  his  sonnets  and  canzonette  in  his 
Early  Italian  Poets,  of  which  the  fol- 
lowing is  one  :  — 

"Of  his  Lady  in  Heavew. 
"  I  have  it  in  my  heart  to  serve  God  so 
That  into  Paradise  I  shall  repair, — 
The  holy  place  through  the  which  every- 
where 
I  have  heard  say  that  joy  and  solace  flow. 
Without  my  lady  I  were  loath  to  go,  — 
She  who  has  the  bright  face  and  the  bright 

hair  ; 
Because  if  she  were  absent,  I  being  there, 
My  pleasure  would   be   less  than   naught,  I 

know. 
Look  you,  I  say  not  this  to  such  intent 


324 


Notes 


As  that  I  there  would  deal  in  any  sin  : 
I  only  would  behold  her  gracious  mien, 

And  beautiful  soft  eyes,  and  lovely  face, 
That  so  it  should  be  my  complete  content 

To  see  my  lady  joyful  in  her  place." 

Fra  Guittone  d'  Arczzo,  a  contem- 
porary of  the  Notary,  was  one  of  the 
Frati  Gaudenti,  or  Jovial  Friars,  men- 
tioned in  Inf.  XXIII.  Note  103.  He 
first  brought  the  Italian  Sonnet  to  the 
perfect  form  it  has  since  preserved, 
and  left  behind  the  earliest  specimens 
of  Italian  letter-writing.  These  letters 
are  written  in  a  very  florid  style,  and 
are  perhaps  more  poetical  than  his 
verses,  which  certainly  fall  very  far 
short  of  the  "  sweet  new  style."  Of 
all  his  letters  the  best  is  that  To  the 
Florentines,  from  which  a  brief  extract 
is  given  Canto  VI.  Note  76. 

82.  Corso  Donati,  the  brother  of 
Forese  who  is  here  speaking,  and  into 
whose  mouth  nothing  but  Ghibelline 
wrath  could  have  put  these  words. 
Corso  was  the  leader  of  the  Neri  in 
Florence,  and  a  partisan  of  Charles  de 
Valois.  His  death  is  recorded  by  Vil- 
lani,  VIII.  96,  and  is  thus  described 
by  Napier,  Flor.  Hist.,  I.  407 :  — 

"  The  popularity  of  Corso  was  now 
thoroughly  undermined,  and  the  priors, 
after  sounding  the  Campana  for  a  gen- 
eral assembly  of  the  armed  citizens, 
laid  a  formal  accusation  before  the  Po- 
desta  Piero  Branca  d'  Agobbio  against 
him  for  conspiring  to  overthrow  the 
liberties  of  his  country,  and  endeavor- 
ing to  make  himself  Tyrant  of  Flo- 
rence :  he  was  immediately  cited  to 
appear,  and,  not  complying,  from  a  rea- 


sonable distrust  of  his  judges,  was  with- 
in one  hour,  against  all  legal  forms, 
condemned  to  lose  his  head,  as  a  rebel 
and  traitor  to  the  commonwealth. 

"  Not  willing  to  allow  the  culprit 
more  time  for  an  armed  resistance  than 
had  been  given  for  legal  vindication, 
the  Scignory,  preceded  by  the  Gon- 
falonier of  justice,  and  followed  by  the 
Podesta,  the  captain  of  the  people,  and 
the  executor,  —  all  attended  by  their 
guards  and  officers,  —  issued  from  the 
palace;  and  with  the  whole  civic  force 
marshalled  in  companies,  with  banners 
flying,  moved  forward  to  execute  an 
illegal  sentence  against  a  single  citizen, 
who  nevertheless  stood  undaunted  on 
his  defence. 

"Corso,  on  first  hearing  of  the  pros- 
ecution, had  hastily  barricaded  all  the 
approaches  to  his  palace,  but,  disabled 
by  the  gout,  could  only  direct  the  ne- 
nessary  operations  from  his  bed  ;  yet 
thus  helpless,  thus  abandoned  by  all 
but  his  own  immediate  friends  and  vas- 
sals ;  suddenly  condemned  to  death  ; 
encompassed  by  the  bitterest  foes,  with 
the  whole  force  of  the  republic  banded 
against  him,  he  never  cowered  for  an 
instant,  but  courageously  determined  to 
resist,  until  succored  by  Uguccione 
della  Faggiola,  to  whom  he  had  sent 
for  aid.  This  attack  continued  during 
the  greater  part  of  the  day,  and  gener- 
ally with  advantage  to  the  Donati,  for 
the  people  were  not  unanimous,  and 
many  fought  unwillingly,  so  that,  if  the 
Rossi,  Bardi,  and  other  friends  had 
joined,  and  Uguccioni's  forces  arrived, 
it  would  have  gone  hard  with  the  citi- 


Ptirgatorio  xxir. 


325 


zens.  The  former  were  intimidated, 
the  latter  turned  back  on  hearing  how 
matters  stood  ;  and  then  only  did  Cor- 
so's  adherents  lose  heart  and  slink  from 
from  the  barricades,  while  the  towns- 
men pursued  their  advantage  by  break- 
ing down  a  garden  wall  opposite  the 
Stinche  prisons  and  taking  their  enemy 
in  the  rear.  This  completed  the  dis- 
aster, and  Corso,  seing  no  chance  re- 
maining, fled  towards  the  Casentino  ; 
but,  being  overtaken  by  some  Cata- 
lonian  troopers  in  the  Florentine  ser- 
vice, he  was  led  back  a  prisoner  from 
Rovezzano.  After  vainly  endeavoring 
to  bribe  them,  unable  to  support  the 
indignity  of  a  public  execution  at  the 
hands  of  his  enemies,  he  let  himself 
fall  from  his  horse,  and,  receiving  sev- 
eral stabs  in  the  neck  and  flank  from 
the  Catalan  lances,  his  body  was  left 
bleeding  on  the  road,  until  the  monks 
of  San  Salvi  removed  it  to  their  con- 
vent, where  he  was  interred  next 
morning  with  the  greatest  privacy. 
Thus  perished  Corso  Donati,  *  the 
wisest  and  most  worthy  knight  of  his 
time;  the  best  speaker,  the  most  expe- 
rienced statesman;  the  most  renowned, 
the  boldest,  and  most  enterprising  no- 
bleman in  Italy  :  he  was  handsome  in 
person  and  of  the  most  gracious  man- 
ners, but  very  worldly,  and  caused 
infinite  disturbance  in  Florence  on 
account  of  his  ambition.'  *  .  .  .  . 
*  People  now  began  to  repose,  and  his 
unhappy  death  was  often  and  variously 
discussed,  according  to  the  feelings  of 
friendship  or   enmity  that   moved   the 

*  Villani,  VIII.  Ch.  96. 


speaker;  but  in  truth,  his  life  was  dan- 
gerous, and  his  death  reprehensible. 
He  was  a  knight  of  great  mind  and 
name,  gentle  in  manners  as  in  blood  ; 
of  a  fine  figure  even  in  his  old  age, 
with  a  beautitul  countenance,  delicate 
features,  and  a  fair  complexion  ;  pleas- 
ing, wise  ;  and  an  eloquent  speaker. 
His  attention  was  ever  fixed  on  im- 
portant things  ;  he  was  intimate  with 
all  the  great  and  noble,  had  an  exten- 
sive influence,  and  was  famous  through- 
out Italy.  He  was  an  enemy  of  the 
middle  classes  and  their  supporters,  be- 
loved by  the  troops,  but  full  of  mali- 
cious thoughts,  wicked,  and  artful.  He 
was  thus  basely  murdered  by  a  foreign 
soldier,  and  his  fellow -citizens  well 
knew  the  man,  for  he  was  instantly 
conveyed  away  :  those  who  ordered 
his  death  were  Rosso  della  Tosa  and 
Pazzino  de'  Pazzi,  as  is  commonly  said 
by  all  ;  and  some  bless  him  and  some 
the  contrary.  Many  believe  that  the 
two  said  knights  killed  him,  and  I, 
wishing  to  ascertain  the  truth,  inquired 
diligently,  and  found  what  I  have  said 
to  be  true.'f  Such  is  the  character  of 
Corso  Donati,  which  has  come  down 
to  us  from  two  authors  who  must  have 
been  personally  acquainted  with  this 
distinguished  chief,  but  opposed  to 
each  other  in  the  general  politics  of 
their  country." 

See  also  Inf.  VI.  Note  52. 

99.    Virgil  and  Statius. 

105.  Dante  had  only  so  far  gone 
round  the  circle,  as  to  come  in  sight  of 
the  second  of  these  trees,  which  from 

\  Dino  Compagni,  III.  76. 


26 


Notes 


distance  to  distance  encircle  the  moun- 
tain. 

1 1 6.  In  the  Terrestrial  Paradise  on 
the  top  of  the  mountain. 

121.  The  Centaurs,  born  of  Ixion 
and  the  Cloud,  and  having  the  "dou- 
ble breasts"  of  man  and  horse,  became 
drunk  with  wine  at  the  marriage  of 
Hippodamia  and  Pirithous,  and  strove 
to  carry  off  the  bride  and  the  other 
women  by  violence.  Theseus  and 
the  rest  of  the  Lapithse  opposed  them, 
and  drove  them  from  the  feast.  This 
famous  battle  is  described  at  great 
length  by  Ovid,  Met.  XII.,  Dry- 
den's    Tr. :  — 

"  For  one,  most  brutal  of  the  brutal  brood, 
Or  whether  wine  or  beauty  fired  his  blood, 
Or  both  at  once,  beheld  with  lustful  eyes 
The  bride  ;  at  once  resolved  to  make  his  prize. 
Down  went  the  board ;  and  fastening  on  her  hair, 
He  seized  with  sudden  force  the  frighted  fair. 
'T  was  Eurytus  began  :  his  bestial  kind 
His  crime  pursued  ;    and  each,  as  pleased  his 
mind, 


Or  her  whom  chance  presented,  took  :  the  feast 
An  image  of  a  taken  town  expressed. 

"  Tiie  cave  resounds  with    female   shrieks  j 

we  rise 
Mad  with  revenge,  to  make  a  swift  reprise  : 
And  Theseus  first,  *  What  frenzy  has  possessed, 
O  Eurytus,"  he  cried,  '  thy  brutal  breast, 
To  wrong  Pirithous,  and  not  him  alone, 
But,   while    I    live,    two    friends    conjoined    in 

one  ?  '  " 

125.  Judges  vii.  5,  6:  *' So  he 
brought  down  the  people  unto  the 
water:  and  the  Lord  said  unto  Gideon, 
Every  one  that  lappeth  of  the  water 
with  his  tongue,  as  a  dog  lappeth,  him 
shalt  thou  set  by  himself ;  likewise 
every  one  that  boweth  down  upon  his 
knees  to  drink.  And  the  number  of 
them  that  lapped,  putting  their  hand 
to  their  mouth,  were  three  hundred 
men  ;  but  all  the  rest  of  the  people 
bowed  down  upon  their  knees  to  drink 
water." 

139.  The  Angel  of  the  Seventh 
Circle. 


CANTO     XXV. 


I.  The  ascent  to  the  Seventh  Cir- 
cle of  Purgatory,  where  the  sin  of  Lust 
is  punished. 

3.  When  the  sign  of  Taurus  reached 
the  meridian,  the  sun,  being  in  Aries, 
would  be  two  hours  beyond  it.  It  is 
now  two  o'clock  of  the  afternoon. 
The  Scorpion  is  the  sign  opposite 
Taurus. 

15.    Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  I.  2  :  — 


"  And  did  address 
Itself  to  motion,  like  as  it  would  speak." 

22.  Meleager  was  the  son  of  CEneus 
and  Althxa,  of  Calydon.  At  his  birth 
the  Fates  were  present  and  predicted 
his  future  greatness.  Clotho  said  that 
he  would  be  brave  ;  Lachesis,  that  he 
would  be  strong  ;  and  Atropos,  that 
he  would  live  as  long  as  the  brand 
upon  the  fire  remained  unconsumed. 


Purgatorio  xxv. 


327 


Ovid,  Met.  VIII. :  — 

"There  lay  a  log  unlighted  on  the  hearth, 
When  she  was  laboring  in  the  throes  of  birth 
For  th'  unborn  chief;  the  fatal  sisters  came, 
And  raised  it  up,  and  tossed  it  on  the  flame 
Then  on  the  rock  a  scanty  measure  place 
Of  vital  flax,  and  turned  the  wheel  apace  ; 
And    turning   sung,    '  To   this    red    brand   and 

thee, 
O  new-born  babe,  we  give  an  equal  destiny  " ; 
So  vanished  out  of  view.     The  frighted  dame 
Sprung  hasty  from  her  bed,  and  quenched  the 

flame. 
The  log,  in  secret  locked,  she  kept  with  care, 
And  that,  while  thus  preserved,  preserved  her 

heir." 

Meleager  distinguished  himself  in 
the  Argonautic  expedition,  and  after- 
wards in  the  hunt  of  Calydon,  where 
he  killed  the  famous  boar,  and  gave 
the  boar's  head  to  Atalanta ;  and  when 
his  uncles  tried  to  take  possession  of  it, 
he  killed  them  also.  On  hearing  this, 
and  seeing  the  dead  bodies,  his  mother 
in  her  rage  threw  the  brand  upon  the 
fire  again,  and,  as  it  was  consumed, 
Meleager  perished. 

Mr.  Swinburne,  Atalanta  in  Caly- 
don :  — 

CHORUS. 

"  When  thou  dravest  the  men 
Of  the  chosen  of  Thrace, 
None  turned  him  again 
Nor  endured  he  thy  face 
Clothed  round  with  the  blush  of  the  battle,  with 
light  from  a  terrible  place. 

CENEUS, 

"  Thou  shouldst  die  as  he  dies 

For  whom  none  sheddeth  tears ; 
Filling  thine  eyes 

And  fulfilling  thine  ears 
With  the  brilliance  of  battle,  the  bloom  and  the 
beauty,  the  splendor  of  spears. 


CHORUS. 

"  In  the  ears  of  the  world 
It  is  sung,  it  is  told. 
And  the  light  thereof  hurled 
And  the  noise  thereof  rolled 
From  the  Acroceraunian  snow  to  the  ford  of 
the  fleece  of  gold. 

MELEAGER. 

"  Would  God  ye  could  carry  me 
Forth  of  all  these  ; 
Heap  sand  and  bury  me 
By  the  Chersonese 
Where  the  thundering  Bosphorus  answers  the 
thunder  of  Pontic  seas. 

CENEUS. 

"  Dost  thou  mock  at  our  praise 

And  the  singing  begun 

And  the  men  of  strange  days 

Praising  my  son 

In  the  folds  of  the  hills  of  home,  high  places 

of  Calydon  ? 

MELEAGER. 

"  For  the  dead  man  no  home  is ; 
Ah,  better  to  be 
What  the  flower  of  the  foam  is 
In  fields  of  the  sea. 
That  the  sea-waves  might  be  as  my  raiment, 
the  gulf-stream  a  garment  for  me. 

"  Mother,  I  dying  with  unforgetful  tongue 
Hail  thee  as  holy  and  worship  thee  as  just 
Who  art  unjust  and  unholy ;  and  with  my 

knees 
Would  worship,  but  thy  fire  and  subtlety, 
Dissundering  them,  devour  me ;  for  these  limbs 
Are  as  light  dustand  Grumblings  from  mine  urn 
Before  the  fire  has  touched  them  ;  and  my  face 
As  a  dead  leaf  or  dead  foot's  mark  on  snow, 
And  all  this  body  a  broken  barren  tree 
That  was  so  strong,  and  all  this  flower  of  life 
Disbranched  and  desecrated  miserably. 
And  minished  all  that  god-like  muscle  and 

might 
And  lesser  than  a  man's  :   for  all  my  veins 
Fail    me,    and    all    mine    ashen 

down." 


328 


Notes 


37.  The  dissertation  which  Dante 
here  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Statius  may- 
be found  also  in  a  briefer  prose  form 
in  the  Convito,  IV.  21.  It  so  much 
excites  the  enthusiasm  of  Varchi,  that 
he  declares  it  alone  sufficient  to  prove 
Dante  to  have  been  a  physician,  phi- 
losopher, and  theologian  of  the  highest 
order  ;  and  goes  on  to  say  :  "  I  not 
only  confess,  but  I  swear,  that  as  many 
times  as  I  have  read  it,  which  day  and 
night  are  more  than  a  thousand,  my 
wonder  and  astonishment  have  always 
increased,  seeming  every  time  to  find 
therein  new  beauties  and  new  instruc- 
tion, and  consequently  new  difficul- 
ties." 

This  subject  is  also  discussed  in  part 
by  Thomas  Aquinas,  Sum.  TbeoL,  I. 
Quaest.  cxix.,  De  propagations  hominis 
quantum  ad  corpus. 

Milton,  in  his  Latin  poem,  De  Idea 
Platonica,  has  touched  upon  a  theme 
somewhat  akin  to  this,  but  in  a  manner 
to  make  it  seem  very  remote.  Perhaps 
no  two  passages  could  better  show  the 
difference  between  Dante  and  Milton, 
than  this  canto  and  Plato''s  Archetypal 
Man,  which  in  Leigh  Hunt's  trans- 
lation runs  as  follows  :  — 

"Say,  guardian  goddesses  of  woods, 
Aspects,  felt  in  solitudes ; 
And  Memory,  at  whose  blessed  knee 
The  Nine,  which  thy  dear  daughters  be, 
Learnt  "of  the  majestic  past ; 
And  thou,  that  in  some  antre  vast 
Leaning  afar  off  dost  lie, 
Otiose  Eternity, 
Keeping  the  tablets  and  decrees 
Of  Jove,  and  the  ephemerides 
Of  the  gods,  and  calendars, 


Of  the  ever  festal  stars  ; 

Say,  who  was  he,  the  sunless  shade, 

After  whose  pattern  man  was  made  j 

He  first,  the  full  of  ages,  born 

With  the  old  pale  polar  morn. 

Sole,  yet  all  ;   first  visible  thought, 

After  which  the  Deity  wrought  ? 

Twin-birth  with  Pallas,  not  remain 

Doth  he  in  Jove's  o'crshadowed  brain  j 

But  though  of  wide  communion, 

Dwells  apart,  like  one  alone ; 

And  fills  the  wondering  embrace, 

(Doubt  it  not)  of  size  and  place. 

Whether,  companion  of  the  stars. 

With  their  tenfold  round  he  errs  ; 

Or  inhabits  with  his  lone 

Nature  in  the  neighboring  moon  ; 

Or  sits  with  body-waiting  souls. 

Dozing  by  the  Lethaean  pools  :  — 

Or  whether,  haply,  placed  afar 

In  some  blank  region  of  our  star, 

He  stalks,  an  unsubstantial  heap, 

Humanity's  giant  archetype  ; 

Where  a  loftier  bulk  he  rears 

Than  Atlas,  grappler  of  the  stars, 

And  through  their  shadow-touched  abodes 

Brings  a  terror  to  the  gods. 

Not  the  seer  of  him  had  sight, 

Who  found  in  darkness  depths  of  light;  * 

His  travelled  eyeballs  saw  him  not 

In  all  his  mighty  gulfs  of  thought :  — 

Him  the  farthest-footed  good, 

Pleiad  Mercury,  never  showed 

To  any  poet's  wisest  sight 

In  the  silence  of  the  night :  — 

News  of  him  the  Assyrian  priest  j- 

Found  not  in  his  sacred  list. 

Though  he  traced  back  old  king  Nine, 

And  Belus,  elder  name  divine. 

And  Osiris,  endless  famed. 

Not  the  glory,  triple-named, 

Thrice  great  Hermes,  though  his  eyes 

Read  the  shapes  of  all  the  skies, 

Left  him  in  his  sacred  verse 

Revealed  to  Nature's  worshippers. 

*  Tiresias,  who  was  blind.       j-  Sanchoniathon. 


Pttrgatorio  xxv. 


329 


"  O  Plato  !  and  was  this  a  dream 
Of  thine  in  bowery  Academe  ? 
Wert  thou  the  golden  tongue  to  tell 
First  of  this  high  miracle, 
And  charm  him  to  thy  schools  below  ? 
O  call  thy  poets  back,  if  so,* 
Back  to  the  state  thine  exiles  call, 
Thou  greatest  fabler  of  them  all  j 
Or  follow  through  the  self-same  gate, 
Thou,  the  founder  of  the  state." 

48.  The  heart,  where  the  blood 
takes  the  "  virtue  informative,"  as  stated 
in  line  40. 

52.  The  vegetative  soul,  virhich  in 
man  differs  from  that  in  plants,  as  be- 
ing in  a  state  of  development,  while 
that  of  plants  is  complete  already. 

55.  The  vegetative  becomes  a  sen- 
sitive soul. 

65.  "  This  was  the  opinion  of  Aver- 
roes,"  says  the  Ottimo,  "which  is  false, 
and  contrary  to  the  Catholic  faith." 

In  the  language  of  the  Schools,  the 
Possible  Intellect,  intellcctus  possibilis, 
is  the  faculty  which  receives  impres- 
sions through  the  senses,  and  forms 
from  them  pictures  or  phantasmata  in 
the  mind.  The  Active  Intellect,  in- 
tellectus  agens,  draws  from  these  pic- 
tures various  ideas,  notions,  and  con- 
clusions. They  represent  the  Under- 
standing and  the  Reason. 

70.    God. 

75.    Redi,  Bacchus  in  Tuscany:  — 

"  Such  bright  blood  is  a  ray  enkindled 
Of  that  sun,  in  heaven  that  shines. 
And  has  been  left  behind  entangled 
And  caught  in  the  net  of  the  many  vines." 
79,    When   Lachesis    has    spun    out 

the  thread  of  life. 

*  Whom  Plato  banished  from  his  imaginary 
republic. 

VOL.  II.  42 


81.  Thomas  Aquinas,  Sum.  Theol.t 
I.  Quaest.  cxviii.  Art.  3  :  " Anima  in- 
tellectiva  remanet  destructo  corpore.^'' 

86.  Either  upon  the  shores  of  Ache- 
ron or  of  the  Tiber. 

103.  jEneid,  VI.  723,  Davidson's 
Tr.  :  — 

"  In  the  first  place,  the  spirit  with- 
in nourishes  the  heavens,  the  earth, 
and  watery  plains,  the  moon's  enlight- 
ened orb,  and  the  Titanian  stars  ;  and 
the  mind,  diffused  through  all  the  mem- 
bers, actuates  the  whole  frame,  and 
mingles  with  the  vast  body  of  the  uni- 
verse. Thence  the  race  of  men  and 
beasts,  the  vital  principles  of  the  flying 
kind,  and  the  monsters  which  the  ocean 
breeds  under  its  smooth  plain.  These 
principles  have  the  active  force  of  fire, 
and  are  of  a  heavenly  original,  so  far  as 
they  are  not  clogged  by  noxious  bodies, 
blunted  by  earth-born  limbs  and  dying 
members.  Hence  they  fear  and  de- 
sire, grieve  and  rejoice  ;  and,  shut  up 
in  darkness  and  a  gloomy  prison,  lose 
sight  of  their  native  skies.  Even  when 
with  the  last  beams  of  light  their  life 
is  gone,  yet  not  every  ill,  nor  all  cor- 
poreal stains,  are  quite  removed  from 
the  unhappy  beings;  and  it  is  absolute- 
ly necessary  that  many  imperfections 
which  have  long  been  joined  to  the 
soul  should  be  in  marvellous  ways  in- 
creased and  riveted  therein.  There- 
fore are  they  afflicted  with  punish- 
ments, and  pay  the  penalties  of  their 
former  ills.  Some,  hung  on  high,  are 
spread  out  to  the  empty  winds ;  in 
others,  the  guilt  not  done  away  is 
washed  out  in  a  vast  watery  abyss,  or 


330 


Notes 


burned  away  in  fire.  We  each  endure 
his  own  manes,  thence  are  we  conveyed 
along  the  spacious  Elysium,  and  we, 
the  happy  few,  possess  the  fields  of 
bliss ;  till  length  of  time,  after  the 
fixed  period  is  elapsed,  hath  done 
away  the  inherent  stain,  and  hath  left 
the  pure  celestial  reason,  and  the  fiery 
energy  of  the  simple  spirit." 

121.  "God  of  clemency  supreme"; 
the  church  hymn,  sung  at  matins  on 
Saturday  morning,  and  containing  a 
prayer  for  purity. 

128.  Luke  i.  34:  "Then  said  Mary 
unto  the  angel.  How  shall  this  be,  see- 
ing I  know  not  a  man  ?  " 

131.  Helice,  or  Callisto,  was  a  daugh- 
ter of  Lycaon,  king  of  Arcadia.  She 
was  one  of  the  attendant  nymphs  of 
Diana,  who  discarded  her  on  account 
of  an  amour  with  Jupiter,  for  which 
Juno  turned  her  into  a  bear.  Areas 
was  the  offspring  of  this  amour.  Jupi- 
ter changed  them  to  the  constellations 
of  the  Great  and  Little  Bear. 

Ovid,  Met.  IL,  Addison's  Tr. :  — 


"  But  now  her  son  had  fifteen  summers  told, 
Fierce  at  the  chase,  and  in  the  forest  bold  ; 
When,  as  he  beat  the  woods  in  quest  of  prey, 
He  chanced   to   rouse    his   mother   where   she 

lay. 
She  knew  her  son,  and  kept  him  in  her  sight, 
And  fondly  gazed  :   the  boy  was  in  a  fright, 
And  aimed  a  pointed  arrow  at  her  breast, 
And  would  have  slain  his  mother  in  the  beast ; 
But  Jove  forbad,  and  snatched  them  through 

the  air 
In  whirlwinds  up  to  Heaven,  and  fixed  them 

there  5 
Where  the  new  constellations  nightly  rise, 
And  add  a  lustre  to  the  Northern  skies, 

"  When  Juno  saw  the  rival  in  her  height, 
Spangled    with   stars,   and   circled   round   with 

light, 
She  sought  old  Ocean  in  his  deep  abodes, 
And  Tethys,  both  revered  among  the  gods. 
They  ask  what  brings  her  there  :  '  Ne'er  ask,* 

says  she, 
'  What  brings  me  here  ;    Heaven  is  no  place 

for  me. 
You  '11  see,  when  Night  has  covered  all  things 

o'er, 
Jove's  starry  bastard  and  triumphant  whore 
Usurp  the  heavens  ;    you  '11  see  them  proudly 

roll 
In  their  new  orbs,  and  brighten  all  the  pole." 


CANTO    XXVI. 


I.  The  punishment  of  the  sin  of 
Lust. 

5.  It  is  near  sunset,  and  the  western 
sky  is  white,  as  the  sky  always  is  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  sun. 

12.    A  ghostly  or  spiritual  body. 

41.  Pasiphae,  wife  of  Minos,  king 
of  Crete,  and  mother   of  the   Mino- 


taur.     Virgil,  Eclogue  VI.  45,  David- 
son's Tr.  :  — 

"  And  he  soothes  Pasiphae  in  her 
passion  for  the  snow-white  bull:  happy 
woman  if  herds  had  never  been  !  Ah, 
ill-fated  maid,  what  madness  seized 
thee  ?  The  daughters  of  Prcetus  with 
imaginary  lowings  filled  the  fields ;  yet 


Pttrgatorio  xxvi. 


331 


none  of  them  pursued  such  vile  em- 
braces of  a  beast,  however  they  might 
dread  the  plough  about  their  necks, 
and  often  feel  for  horns  on  their 
smooth  foreheads.  Ah,  ill-fated  maid, 
thou  now  art  roaming  on  the  moun- 
tains !  He,  resting  his  snowy  side 
on  the  soft  hyacinth,  ruminates  the 
blenched  herbs  under  some  gloomy 
oak,  or  courts  some  female  in  the  nu- 
merous herd." 

43.  The  Riphsan  mountains  are  in 
the  north  of  Russia.  The  sands  are 
the  sands  of  the  deserts. 

59.    Beatrice. 

62.  The  highest  heaven.  Par. 
XXVII. 

78.  In  one  of  Cesar's  triumphs  the 
Roman  soldiery  around  his  chariot 
called  him  "  Queen  " ;  thus  reviling 
him  for  his  youthful  debaucheries  with 
Nicomedes,  king  of  Bithynia. 

87.    The  cow  made  by  Dsdalus. 

92.  Guido  Guinicelli,  the  best  of 
the  Italian  poets  before  Dante,  flour- 
ished in  the  first  half  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  He  was  a  native  of  Bologna, 
but  of  his  life  nothing  is  known.  His 
most  celebrated  poem  is  a  Canzone  on 
the  Nature  of  Love,  which  goes  far  to 
justify  the  warmth  and  tenderness  of 
Dante's  praise.  Rossetti,  Early  Italian 
Poets,  p.  24,  gives  the  following  ver- 
sion of  it,  under  the  title  of  The  Gentle 
Heart :  — 

"  Within  the  gentle  heart  Love  shelters  him, 
As  birds  within  the   green   shade   of  the 
grove. 
Before  the  gentle  heart,  in  Nature's  scheme, 
Love    was   not,  nor   the  gentle  heart  ere 
Love. 


For  with  the  sun,  at  once, 
So  sprang  the  light  immediately  ;  nor  was 

Its  birth  before  the  sun's. 
And  Love  hath  his  effect  in  gentleness 

Of  very  self;  even  as 
Within  the  middle  fire  the  heat's  excess. 

"The  fire  of  Love  comes  to  the  gentle  heart 
Like  as  its  virtue  to  a  precious  stone  5 
To  which  no  star  its  influence  can  impart 
Till  it  is  made  a  pure  thing  by  the  sun  : 
For  when  the  sun  hath  smit 
From  out  its  essence  that  which  there  was 
vile. 
The  star  endoweth  it. 
And  so  the  heart  created  by  God's  breath 

Pure,  true,  and  clean  from  guile, 
A  woman,  like  a  star,  enamoreth. 

"  In  gentle  heart  Love  for  like  reason  is 

For  which  the  lamp's  high  flame  is  fanned 
and  bowed  : 
Clear,  piercing  bright,  it  shines  for  its  own 
bliss  ; 
Nor  would  it  burn  there  else,  it  is  so  proud. 
For  evil  natures  meet 
With  Love  as  it  were  water  met  with  fire. 

As  cold  abhorring  heat. 
Through   gentle   heart   Love    doth    a    track 
divine,  — 
Like  knowing  like  ;  the  same 
As  diamond  runs  through  iron  in  the  mine. 

"The  sun  strikes  full  upon  the  mud  all  day; 
It   remains   vile,   nor  the   sun's   worth   is 
less. 
'  By  race  I  am  gentle,'  the  proud  man  doth 
say  : 
He  is  the  mud,  the  sun  is  gentleness. 
Let  no  man  predicate 
That  aught  the  name  of  gentleness  should 
have, 
Even  in  a  king's  estate, 
Except  the  heart  there  be  a  gentle  man's. 
The  star-beam  lights  the  wave, — 
Heaven  holds  the  star  and   the  star's  radi- 
ance. 


332 


Notes 


"  God,  in  the  understanding  of  high  Heaven, 
Burns  more  than  in  our  sight  the  living  sun  : 
There  to  behold  His  Face  unveiled  is  given; 
And  Heaven,  whose  will  is  homage  paid 
to  One, 
Fulfils  the  things  which  live 
In  God,  from  the  beginning  excellent. 

So  should  my  lady  give 
That  truth  which  in  her  eyes  is  glorified, 

On  which  her  heart  is  bent, 
To  me  whose  service  waiteth  at  her  side. 

*'My  lady,  God    shall    ask,    '  What    daredst 
thou  ?  ' 
(When  my  soul  stands  with  all  her  acts 
reviewed  ;) 
*  Thou  passedst   Heaven,  into  My  sight,  as 
now. 
To  make  Me  of  vain  love  similitude. 
To  Me  doth  praise  belong. 
And  to  the  Queen  of  all  the  realm  of  grace 

Who  endeth  fraud  and  wrong.' 
Then  may  I  plead  :  *  As  though  from  Thee 
he  came, 
Love  wore  an  angel's  face  : 
Lord,  if  I  loved  her,  count  it  not  my  shame.'" 

94.  Hypsipyle  was  discovered  and 
rescued  by  her  sons  Eumenius  and  Tho- 
as,  (whose  father  was  the  "  bland  Ja- 
son," as  Statius  calls  him,)  just  as  King 
Lycurgus  in  his  great  grief  was  about  to 
put  her  to  death  for  neglecting  the  care 
of  his  child,  who  through  her  neglect 
had  been  stung  by  a  serpent. 

Statius,  Thebaid,  V.  949,  says  it  was 
Tydeus  who  saved  Hysipyle  :  — 

"  But  interposing  Tydeus  rushed  between. 
And  with  his  shield  protects   the   Lemnian 
queen." 

118.  In  the  old  Romance  languages 
the  name  of  prosa  was  applied  gener- 
ally to  all  narrative  poems,  and  partic- 
ularly to  the  monorhythmic  romances. 


Thus  Gonzalo  de  Berceo,  a  Spanish 
poet  of  the  thirteenth  century,  begins 
a  poem  on  the  Vida  del  Glorioso  Con- 
fessor Santo  Domingo  de  Silos  :  — 

"  De  un  confessor  Sancto  quiero  fer  una  prosa, 
Quiero  fer  una  prosa  en  roman  paladino. 
En  qual  suele  el  pueblo  fablar  a  su  vecino, 
Ca  non  so  tan  letrado  per  fer  otro  Latino." 

120.  Gerault  de  Berneil  of  Limoges, 
born  of  poor  parents,  but  a  man  of 
talent  and  learning,  was  one  of  the 
most  famous  Troubadours  of  the  thir- 
teenth century.  The  old  Provencal  bi- 
ographer, quoted  by  Raynouard,  Choix 
de  Poesies,  V.  166,  says  :  "  He  was  a 
better  poet  than  any  who  preceded  or 
followed  him,  and  was  therefore  called 

the  Master  of  the  Troubadours 

He  passed  his  winters  in  study,  and  his 
summers  in  wandering  from  court  to 
court  with  two  minstrels  who  sang  his 
songs." 

The  following  specimen  of  his  po- 
ems is  from  [Taylor's]  Lays  of  the 
Minnesingers  and  Troubadours,  p.  247. 
It  is  an  Aubade,  or  song  of  the  morn- 
ing : — 

"  Companion  dear  !  or  sleeping  or  awaking, 
Sleep  not  again  !  for  lo  !  the  morn  is  nigh, 
And  in  the  east  that  early  star  is  breaking. 
The  day's  forerunner,  known  unto  mine 
eye; 
The  morn,  the  morn  is  near. 

"  Companion   dear  !    with  carols  sweet  I  call 
thee ; 
Sleep  not  again  !     I  hear  the  birds'  blithe 
song 
Loud    in    the    woodlands  ;     evil   may   befall 
thee, 
And  jealous  eyes  awaken,  tarrying  long, 
Now  that  the  morn  is  near. 


Purgatorio  xxvt 


333 


"  Companion   dear  !    forth    from   the   window 
looking, 
Attentive  mark  the  signs  of  yonder  heaven  ; 
Judge  if  aright  I  read  what  they  betoken: 
Thine  all  the  loss,  if  vain  the  warning  given; 
The  morn,  the  morn  is  near. 

"  Companion  dear  !  since  thou  from  hence  wert 
straying, 
Nor  sleep  nor  rest  these  eyes  have  visited ; 
My  prayers  unceasing  to  the  Virgin  paying, 
That   thou   in    peace    thy   backward    way 
might  tread. 
The  morn,  the  morn  is  near. 

"  Companion  dear !  hence  to  the  fields  with  me  ! 
Me  thou  forbad'st  to  slumber  through  the 
night. 
And  I  have  watched  that  livelong  night  for 
thee  ; 
But  thou  in  song  or  me  hast  no  delight, 
And  now  the  morn  is  near. 

Answer. 
"  Companion  dear  !  so  happily  sojourning. 
So  blest  am  I,  I  care  not  forth  to  speed  : 
Here    brightest    beauty    reigns,    her    smiles 
adorning 
Her    dwelling  -  place,  —  then    wherefore 
should  I  heed 
The  morn  or  jealous  eyes  ? " 

According  to  Nostrodamus  he  died 
in  1278.  Notwithstanding  his  great 
repute,  Dante  gives  the  palm  of  excel- 
lence to  Arnaud  Daniel,  his  rival  and 
contemporary.  But  this  is  not  the 
gSneral   verdict   of  literary   history. 

124.  Fra  Guittone  d'  Arezzo.  See 
Canto  XXIV.  Note  56. 

137.  Venturi  has  the  indiscretion 
to  say  :  "  This  is  a  disgusting  compli- 
ment after  the  manner  of  the  French  ; 
in  the  Italian  fashion  we  should  say, 
*  You  will  do  me  a  favor,  if  you  will 


tell  me  your  name.' "  Whereupon 
Biagioli  thunders  at  him  in  this  wise  : 
"Infamous  dirty  dog  that  you  are,  how 
can  you  call  this  a  compliment  after 
the  manner  of  the  French  ?  How  can 
you  set  off  against  it  what  any  cobbler 
might  say  ?  Away  !  and  a  murrain  on 
you  !  " 

142.  Arnaud  Daniel,  the  Trouba- 
dour of  the  thirteenth  century,  whom 
Dante  lauds  so  highly,  and  whom  Pe- 
trarca  calls  "  the  Grand  Master  of 
Love,"  was  born  of  a  noble  family  at 
the  castle  of  Ribeyrac  in  Perigord. 
Millot,  Hist,  des  Troub.,  II.  479,  says 
of  him  :  "  In  all  ages  there  have  been 
false  reputations,  founded  on  some  in- 
dividual judgment,  whose  authority  has 
prevailed  without  examination,  until  at 
last  criticism  discusses,  the  truth  pene- 
trates, and  the  phantom  of  prejudice 
vanishes.  Such  has  been  the  reputa- 
tion of  Arnaud  Daniel." 

Raynouard  confirms  this  judgment, 
and  says  that,  "in  reading  the  works  of 
this  Troubadour,  it  is  difficult  to  con- 
ceive the  causes  of  the  great  celebrity 
he  enjoyed  during  his  life." 

Arnaud  Daniel  was  the  inventor  of 
the  Sestina,  a  song  of  six  stanzas  of  six 
lines  each,  with  the  same  rhymes  re- 
peated in  all,  though  arranged  in  dif- 
ferent and  intricate  order,  which  must 
be  seen  to  be  understood.  He  was 
also  author  of  the  metrical  romance  of 
Lancillotto,  or  Launcelot  of  the  Lake, 
to  which  Dante  doubtless  refers  in  his 
expression  prose  di  romanzi,  or  proses 
of  romance.  The  following  anecdote 
is   from   the   old   Proven9al   authority. 


334 


Notes 


quoted  both  by  Millot  and  Raynouard, 
and  is  thus  translated  by  Miss  Costello, 
Early  Poetry  of  France,  p.  37  :  — 

"Arnaud  visited  the  court  of  Rich- 
ard Coeur  de  Lion  in  England,  and  en- 
countered there  a  jongleur,  who  defied 
him  to  a  trial  of  skill,  and  boasted 
of  being  able  to  make  more  difficult 
rhymes  than  Arnaud,  a  proficiency  on 
which  he  chiefly  prided  himself.  He 
accepted  the  challenge,  and  the  two 
poets  separated,  and  retired  to  their 
respective  chambers  to  prepare  for  the 
contest.  The  Muse  of  Arnaud  was 
not  propitious,  and  he  vainly  endeav- 
ored to  string  two  rhymes  together. 
His  rival,  on  the  other  hand,  quickly 
caught  the  inspiration.  The  king  had 
allowed  ten  days  as  the  term  of  prep- 
aration, five  for  composition,  and  the 
remainder  for  learning  it  by  heart  to 
sing  before  the  court.  On  the  third 
day  the  jongleur  declared  that  he  had 
finished  his  poem,  and  was  ready  to 
recite  it,  but  Arnaud  replied  that  he 
had  not  yet  thought  of  his.  It  was  the 
jongleur's  custom  to  repeat  his  verses 
out  loud  every  day,  in  order  to  learn 
them  better,  and  Arnaud,  who  was  in 
vain  endeavoring  to  devise  some  means 
to  save  himself  from  the  mockery  of 
the  court  at  being  outdone  in  this  con- 
test, happened  to  overhear  the  jongleur 
singing.  He  went  to  his  door  and 
listened,  and  succeeded  in  retaining  the 
words  and  the  air.  On  the  day  ap- 
pointed they  both  appeared  before  the 
king.  Arnaud  desired  to  be  allowed 
to  sing  first,  and  immediately  gave  the 


song  which  the  jongleur  had  composed. 
The  latter,  stupefied  with  astonish- 
ment, could  c  y  exclaim  :  *  It  is  my 
song,  it  is  my  song.'  *  Impossible  ! ' 
cried  the  king  ;  but  the  jongleur,  per- 
sisting, requested  Richard  to  interro- 
gate Arnaud,  who  would  not  dare,  he 
said,  to  deny  it.  Daniel  confessed  the 
fact,  and  related  the  manner  in  which 
the  affair  had  been  conducted,  which 
amused  Richard  far  more  than  the  song 
itself.  The  stakes  of  the  wager  were 
restored  to  each,  and  the  king  loaded 
them  both  with  presents." 

According  to  Nostrodamus,  Arnaud 
died  about  11 89.  There  is  no  other 
reason  for  making  him  speak  in  Pro- 
vencal than  the  evident  delight  which 
Dante  took  in  the  sound  of  the  words, 
and  the  peculiar  flavor  they  give  to  the 
close  of  the  canto.  Raynouard  says 
that  the  writings  of  none  of  the  Trou- 
badours have  been  so  disfigured  by  cop- 
yists as  those  of  Arnaud.  This  would 
seem  to  be  true  of  the  very  lines  which 
Dante  writes  for  him;  as  there  are  at 
least  seven  different  readings  of  them. 

Here  Venturi  has  again  the  indiscre- 
tion to  say  that  Arnaud  answers  Dante 
in  "a  kind  of  lingua-franca,  part  Pro- 
vencal and  part  Catalan,  joining  togeth- 
er the  perfidious  French  with  the  vile 
Spanish,  perhaps  to  show  that  Arnaud 
was  a  clever  speaker  of  the  two." 
And  again  Biagioli  suppresses  him  with 
"  that  unbridled  beast  of  a  Venturi,'* 
and  this  "most  potent  argument  of  his 
presumptuous  ignorance  and  imperti- 
nence." 


Pttrgatorio  xxvii. 


335 


CANTO    XXVII. 


1.  The  description  of  the  Seventh 
and  last  Circle  continued. 

Cowley,  Hymn  to  Light :  — 

"Say  from  what  golden  quivers  of  the  sky 
Do  all  thy  winged  arrows  fly  ?  " 

2.  When  the  sun  is  rising  at  Jerusa- 
lem, it  is  setting  on  the  Mountain  of 
Purgatory  ;  it  is  midnight  in  Spain, 
with  Libra  in  the  meridian,  and  noon 
in  India. 

"  A  great  labyrinth  of  words  and 
things,"  says  Venturi,  "  meaning  only 
that  the  sun  was  setting !  "  and  this 
time  the  "  Jo/ce  pedagogo  "  Biagioli  lets 
him  escape  without  the  usual  reprimand. 

8.  Matthew  v.  8:  "Blessed  are  the 
pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God." 

1 6.  With  the  hands  clasped  and 
turned  palm  downwards,  and  the  body 
straightened  backward  in  attitude  of 
resistance. 

23.    Inf.  XVII. 

33.  Knowing  that  he  ought  to  con- 
fide in  Virgil  and  go  forward. 

37.  The  story  of  the  Babylonian 
lovers,  whose  trysting-place  was  under 
the  white  mulberry-tree  near  the  tomb 
of  Ninus,  and  whose  blood  changed 
the  fruit  from  white  to  purple,  is  too 
well  known  to  need  comment.  Ovid, 
Met.  IV.,  Eusden's  Tr.  :  — 

"  At  Thisbe's  name  awaked,  he  opened  wide 
His  dying  eyes  ;   with  dying  eyes  he  tried 
On  her  to  dwell,  but  closed  them  slow  and 
died." 

48.  Statius  had  for  a  long  while 
been  between  Virgil  and  Dante. 


58.  Matthew  XXV.  34:  "Then  shall 
the  king  say  unto  them  on  his  right 
hand.  Come,  ye  blessed  of  my  Father, 
inherit  the  kingdom  prepared  for  you 
from  the  foundation  of  the  world." 

70.    Dr.  Furness's  Hymn  :  — 

"  Slowly  by  God's  hand  unfurled, 
Down  around  the  weary  world 
Falls  the  darkness." 

90.  Evening  of  the  Third  Day  of 
Purgatory.  Milton,  Farad.  Lost,  IV. 
598:  — 

"  Now  came  still  Evening  on,  and  Twilight  gray 
Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad  : 
Silence  accompanied  ;  for  beast  and  bird, 
They  to  their  grassy  couch,  these   to    their 

nests 
Were  slunk,  all  but  the  wakeful  nightingale ; 
She  all  night  long  her  amorous  descant  sung; 
Silence  was  pleased  :  now  glowed  the  firma- 
ment 
With  living  sapphires  :   Hesperus,  that  led 
The  starry  host,  rode  brightest,  till  the  moon, 
Rising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length, 
Apparent  queen,  unveiled  her  peerless  light. 
And  o'er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw." 

93.  The  vision  which  Dante  sees  is 
a  foreshadowing  of  Matilda  and  Bea- 
trice in  the  Terrestrial  Paradise.  In 
the  Old  Testament  Leah  is  a  symbol 
of  the  Active  life,  and  Rachel  of  the 
Contemplative  ;  as  Martha  and  Mary 
are  in  the  New  Testament,  and  Ma- 
tilda and  Beatrice  in  the  Divine  Com- 
edy. "  Happy  is  that  house,"  says 
Saint  Bernard,  "  and  blessed  is  that 
congregation,  where  Martha  still  com- 
plaineth  of  Mary." 


33^ 


Notes 


Dante  says  in  the  Convito,  IV.  17  : 
"  Truly  it  should  be  known  that  we 
can  have  in  this  life  two  felicities,  by 
following  two  different  and  excellent 
roads,  which  lead  thereto;  namely,  the 
Active  life  and  the  Contemplative." 

And  Owen  Feltham  in  his  Re- 
solves :  — 

"  The  mind  can  walk  beyond  the 
sight  of  the  eye,  and,  though  in  a 
cloud,  can  lift  us  into  heaven  while 
we  live.  Meditation  is  the  soul's  per- 
spective glass,  whereby,  in  her  long 
remove,  she  discerneth  God  as  if  he 
were  nearer  hand.  I  persuade  no  man 
to  make  it  his  whole  life's  business. 
We  have  bodies  as  well  as  souls.  And 
even  this  world,  while  we  are  in  it, 
ought  somewhat  to  be  cared  for.  As 
those  states  are  likely  to  flourish,  where 
execution  follows  sound  advisements, 
so  is  man,  when  contemplation  is  sec- 
onded by  action.  Contemplation  gen- 
erates ;  action  propagates.  Without 
the  first,  the  latter  is  defective.  With- 
out the  last,  the  first  is  but  abortive 
and  embryous.  Saint  Bernard  com- 
pares contemplation  to  Rachel,  which 
was  the  more  fair;  but  action  to  Leah, 
which  was  the  more  fruitful.  I  will 
neither  always  be  busy  and  doing,  nor 
ever  shut  up  in  nothing  but  thoughts. 
Yet  that  which  some  would  call  idle- 
ness, I  will  call  the  sweetest  part  of 
my  life,  and  that  is,  my  thinking." 

95.    Venus,  the  morning  star,  rising 


with  the  constellation  Pisces,  two  hours 
before  the  sun. 

100.  Ruskin,  Mod.  Painters,  lU.  221 : 
"  This  vision  of  Rachel  and  Leah  has 
been  always,  and  with  unquestionable 
truth,  received  as  a  type  of  the  Ac- 
tive and  Contemplative  life,  and  as  an 
introduction  to  the  two  divisions  of 
the  Paradise  which  Dante  is  about  to 
enter.  Therefore  the  unwearied  spirit 
of  the  Countess  Matilda  is  understood  to 
represent  the  Active  life,  which  forms 
the  felicity  of  Earth  ;  and  the  spirit  of 
Beatrice  the  Contemplative  life,  which 
forms  the  felicity  of  Heaven.  This 
interpretation  appears  at  first  straight- 
forward and  certain  ;  but  it  has  missed 
count  of  exactly  the  most  important 
fact  in  the  two  passages  which  we  have 
to  explain.  Observe  :  Leah  gathers 
the  flowers  to  decorate  herself,  and  de- 
lights in  her  own  Labor.  Rachel  sits 
silent,  contemplating  herself,  and  de- 
lights in  her  own  Image.  These  are 
the  types  of  the  Unglorified  Active  and 
Contemplative  powers  of  Man.  But 
Beatrice  and  Matilda  are  the  same 
powers,  glorified.  And  how  are  they 
glorified  ?  Leah  took  delight  in  her 
own  labor  ;  but  Matilda,  in  operibus 
manuum  Tuarum,  —  in  God^s  labor  : 
Rachel,  in  the  sight  of  her  own  face  ; 
Beatrice,  in  the  sight  of  God^s  face." 

112.  The  morning  of  the  Fourth 
Day  of  Purgatory. 

115.    Happiness. 


Purgatorio  xxviii. 


337 


CANTO     XXVIII. 


I.  The  Terrestrial  Paradise.     Com- 
pare Milton,  Parad.  Lost,  IV.  214  :  — 

"  In  this  pleasant  soil 
His  far  more  pleasant  garden  God  ordained  : 
Out  of  the  fertile  ground  he  caused  to  grow 
All  trees  of  noblest  kind  for  sight,  smell,  taste  j 
And  all  amid  them  stood  the  Tree  of  Life, 
High  eminent,  blooming  ambrosial  fruit 
Of  vegetable  gold  ;  and  next  to  Life, 
Our  death,  the  Tree  of  Knowledge,  grew  fast  by, 
Knowledge  of  good  bought  dear  by  knowing  ill. 
Southward  through  Eden  went  a  river  large. 
Nor  changed  his  course,  but  through  the  shaggy 

hill 
Passed  underneath  Ingulfed  ;  for  God  had  thrown 
That  mountain  as  his  garden  mould,  high  raised 
Upon  the  rapid  current,  which  through  veins 
Of  porous  earth  with  kindly  thirst  up  drawn. 
Rose  a  fresh  fountain,  and  with  many  a  rill 
Watered  the  garden ;   thence  united  fell 
Down  the  steep  glade,  and  met  the  nether  flood. 
Which  from  his  darksome  passage  now  appears  ; 
And  now,  divided  into  four  main  streams, 
Runs  diverse,  wandering  many  a  famous  realm 
And  country,  whereof  here  needs  no  account } 
But  rather  to  tell  how,  if  art  could  tell. 
How  from  that  sapphire  fount  the  crisped  brooks, 
Rolling  on  orient  pearl  and  sands  of  gold, 
With  mazy  error  under  pendent  shades 
Ran  nectar,  visiting  each  plant,  and  fed 
Flowers  worthy  of  Paradise  ;  which  not  nice  art 
In  beds  and  curious  knots,  but  nature  boon 
Poured  forth  profuse  on  hill,  and  dale,  and  plain; 
Both  where  the  morning  sun  first  warmly  smote 
The  open  field,  and  where  the  unpierced  shade 
Imbrowned  the  noontide  bowers.      Thus  was 

this   place 
A  happy  rural  seat  of  various  view  : 
Groves  whose  rich  trees  wept  odorous  gums  and 

balm  ; 
Others,  whose  fruit,  burnished  with  golden  rind, 
Hung  amiable,  Hesperian  fables  true, 

VOL.  II.  43 


If  true,  here  only,  and  of  delicious  taste. 
Betwixt  them  lawns,  or  level  downs,  and  flocks 
Grazing  the  tender  herb,  were  interposed  j 
Or  palmy  hillock,  or  the  flowery  lap 
Of  some  irriguous  valley  spread  her  store  ; 
Flowers    of  all    hue,   and    without    thorn    the 

rose. 
Another  side,  umbrageous  grots  and  caves 
Of  cool  recess,  o'er  which  the  mantling  vine 
Lays  forth  her  purple  grape,  and  gently  creeps 
Luxuriant :  meanwhile  murmuring  waters  fall 
Down  the  slope  hills,  dispersed,  or  in  a  lake. 
That  to  the  fringed  bank  with  myrtle  crowned 
Her  crystal  mirror  holds,  unite  their  streams. 
The  birds  their  quire  apply ;  airs,  vernal  airs, 
Breathing  the  smell  of  field  and  grove,  attune 
The  trembling  leaves;  while  universal  Pan, 
Knit  with  the  Graces  and  the  Hours  in  dance, 
Led  on  the  eternal  spring." 

2.  Ruskin,  Mod.  Painters,  III.  219: 
**  As  Homer  gave  us  an  ideal  land- 
scape, which  even  a  god  might  have 
been  pleased  to  behold,  so  Dante  gives 
us,  fortunately,  an  ideal  landscape, 
which  is  specially  intended  for  the 
terrestrial  paradise.  And  it  will  doubt- 
less be  with  some  surprise,  after  our 
reflections  above  on  the  general  tone 
of  Dante's  feelings,  that  we  find  our- 
selves here  first  entering  a  forest,  and 
that  even  a  thick  forest 

"  This  forest,  then,  is  very  like  that 
of  Colonos  in  several  respects,  —  in  its 
peace  and  sweetness,  and  number  of 
birds  ;  it  diiFers  from  it  only  in  letting 
a  light  breeze  through  it,  being  there- 
fore somewhat  thinner  than  the  Greek 
wood  ;  the  tender  lines  which  tell  of 
the  voices  of  the  birds  mingling  with 


338 


Notes 


the  wind,  and  of  the  leaves  all  turning 
one  way  before  it,  have  been  more  or 
less  copied  by  every  poet  since  Dante's 
time.  They  are,  so  far  as  I  know,  the 
sweetest  passage  of  wood  description 
which  exists  in  literature." 

Homer's  ideal  landscape,  here  re- 
ferred to,  is  in  Oi^ysscy  V.,  where  he 
describes  the  visit  of  Mercury  to  the 
Island  of  Calypso.  ,  It  is  thus  trans- 
lated by  Buckley  :  — 

"  Immediately  then  he  bound  his 
beautiful  sandals  beneath  his  feet,  am- 
brosial, golden  ;  which  carried  him 
both  over  the  moist  wave,  and  over 
the   boundless  earth,  with   the   breath 

of  the   wind Then   he   rushed 

over  the  wave  like  a  bird,  a  sea-gull, 
which,  hunting  for  fish  in  the  terrible 
bays  of  the  barren  sea,  dips  frequently 
its  wings  in  the  brine  ;  like  unto  this 
Mercury  rode  over  many  waves.  But 
when  he  came  to  the  distant  island, 
then,  going  from  the  blue  sea,  he  went 
to  the  continent  ;  until  he  came  to  the 
great  cave  in  which  the  fair-haired 
Nymph  dwelt  ;  and  he  found  her 
within.  A  large  fire  was  burning  on 
the  hearth,  and  at  a  distance  the  smell 
of  well-cleft  cedar,  and  of  frankincense, 
that  were  burning,  shed  odor  through 
the  island  :  but  she  within  was  singing 
with  a  beautiful  voice,  and,  going  over 
the  web,  wove  with  a  golden  shuttle. 
But  a  flourishing  wood  sprung  up 
around  her  grot,  alder  and  poplar, 
and  sweet-smelling  cypress.  There 
also  birds  with  spreading  wings  slept, 
owls  and  hawks,  and  wide  -  tongued 
crows  of  the  ocean,  to  which  maritime 


employments  are  a  care.  There  a 
vine  in  its  prime  was  spread  about 
the  hollow  grot,  and  it  flourished  with 
clusters.  But  four  fountains  flowed  in 
succession  with  white  water,  turned 
near  one  another,  each  in  different 
ways  ;  but  around  there  flourished  soft 
meadows  of  violets  and  of  parsley. 
There  indeed  even  an  immortal  com- 
ing would  admire  it  when  he  beheld, 
and  would  be  delighted  in  his  mind  ; 
there  the  messenger,  the  slayer  of  Ar- 
gus, standing,  admired." 

And  again,  at  the  close  of  the  same 
book,  where  Ulysses  reaches  the  shore 
at  Phasacia  :  — 

*'  Then  he  hastened  to  the  wood  ; 
and  found  it  near  the  water  in  a  con- 
spicuous place,  and  he  came  under 
two  shrubs,  which  sprang  from  the 
same  place  ;  one  of  wild  olive,  the 
other  of  olive.  Neither  the  strength 
of  the  moistly  blowing  winds  breathes 
through  them,  nor  has  the  shining  sun 
ever  struck  them  with  its  beams,  nor 
has  the  shower  penetrated  entirely 
through  them  :  so  thick  were  they 
grown  entangled  with  one  another ; 
under   which    Ulysses    came." 

The  wood  of  Colonos  is  thus  de- 
scribed in  one  of  the  Choruses  of  the 
Gidipus  Coloneus  of  Sophocles,  Oxford 
Tr.,  Anon.  :  — 

*'  Thou  hast  come,  O  stranger,  to 
the  seats  of  this  land,  renowned  for 
the  steed  ;  to  seats  the  fairest  on  earth, 
the  chalky  Colonus  ;  where  the  vo- 
cal nightingale,  chief  abounding,  trills 
her  plaintive  note  in  the  green  vales, 
tenanting   the    dark-hued    ivy   and    the 


Pttrgatorio  xxvin. 


339 


leafy  grove  of  the  god,  untrodden  [by 
mortal  foot],  teeming  with  fruits,  im- 
pervious to  the  sun,  and  unshaken  by 
the  winds  of  every  storm  ;  where  Bac- 
chus ever  roams  in  revelry  companion- 
ing his  divine  nurses.  And  ever  day 
by  day  the  narcissus,  with  its  beaute- 
ous clusters,  burst  into  bloom  by  heav- 
en's dew,  the  ancient  coronet  of  the 
mighty  goddesses,  and  the  saffron  with 
golden  ray;  nor  do  the  sleepless  founts 
that  feed  the  channels  of  Cephissus  fail, 
but  ever,  each  day,  it  rushes  o'er  the 
plains  with  its  stainless  wave,  fertiliz- 
ing the  bosom  of  the  earth  ;  nor  have 
the  choirs  of  the  Muses  spurned  this 
clime  ;  nor  Venus,  too,  of  the  golden 
rein.  And  there  is  a  tree,  such  as  I 
hear  not  to  have  ever  sprung  in  the 
land  of  Asia,  nor  in  the  mighty  Doric 
island  of  Pelops,  a  tree  unplanted  by 
hand,  of  spontaneous  growth,  terror 
of  the  hostile  spear,  which  flourishes 
chiefly  in  this  region,  the  leaf  of  the 
azure  olive  that  nourishes  our  young. 
This  shall  neither  any  one  in  youth 
nor  in  old  age,  marking  for  destruc- 
tion, and  having  laid  it  waste  with  his 
hand,  set  its  divinity  at  naught  ;  for 
the  eye  that  never  closes  of  Morian 
Jove  regards  it,  and  the  blue-eyed  Mi- 
nerva." 

We  have  also  Homer's  description 
of  the  Garden  of  Alcinoiis,  Odyssey, 
VII.,  Buckley's  Tr.  :  — 

"  But  without  the  hall  there  is  a 
large  garden,  near  the  gates,  of  four 
acres  ;  but  around  it  a  hedge  was  ex- 
tended on  both  sides.  And  there  tall, 
flourishing  trees  grew,  pears,  and  pome- 


granates, and  apple-trees  producing 
beautiful  fruit,  and  sweet  figs,  and  flour- 
ishing olives.  Of  these  the  fruit  never 
perishes,  nor  does  it  fail  in  winter  or 
summer,  lasting  throughout  the  whole 
year  ;  but  the  west  wind  ever  blowing 
makes  some  bud  forth,  and  ripens 
others.  Pear  grows  old  after  pear, 
apple  after  apple,  grape  also  after 
grape,  and  fig  after  fig.  There  a  fruit- 
ful vineyard  was  planted  :  one  part  of 
this  ground,  exposed  to  the  sun  in  a 
wide  place,  is  dried  by  the  sun  ;  and 
some  [grapes]  they  are  gathering,  and 
others  they  are  treading,  and  further 
on  are  unripe  grapes,  having  thrown 
off  the  flower,  and  others  are  slightly 
changing  color.  And  there  are  all 
kinds  of  beds  laid  out  in  order,  to  the 
furthest  part  of  the  ground,  flourishing 
throughout  the  whole  year  :  and  in  it 
are  two  fountains,  one  is  spread  through 
the  whole  garden,  but  the  other  on  the 
other  side  goes  under  the  threshold 
of  the  hall  to  the  lofty  house,  from 
whence  the  citizens  are  wont  to  draw 
water." 

Dante's  description  of  the  Terres- 
trial Paradise  will  hardly  fail  to  re- 
call that  of  Mount  Acidale  in  Spenser's 
Faerie  ^eene,  VI.  x.  6  :  — 

"It  was  an  Hill  plaste  in  an  open  plaine, 
That    round    about    was    bordered    with    a 

wood 
Of  matchlesse  hight,  that  seemed  th'  earth 

to  disdaine  ; 
In  which  all  trees  of  honour  stately  stood, 
And  did  all  winter  as  in  sommer  bud, 
Spredding  pavilions  for  the  birds  to  bowre, 
Which     in     their     lower     braunches     sung 

aloud ; 


340 


Notes 


And    in    their    tops    the    soring    hauke    did 
towrc, 
Sitting    like    king    of   fowlcs    in    maicsty   and 
powre. 

"And  at  the  foote  thereof  a  gentle  flud 
His  silver  waves  did  softly  tumble  downe, 
Unmard  with  ragged  mosse  or  filthy  mud  j 
Ne  mote  wylde   beastes,  ne   mote  the   ruder 

clowne, 
Thereto    approch  ;     ne    filth    mote    therein 

drowne  : 
But    Nymphcs    and    Faeries    by   the    bancks 

did  sit 
In   the  woods    shade   which   did   the   waters 

crowne, 
Keeping  all  noysome  things  away  from  it, 
And  to  the  waters  fall  tuning  their  accents  fit. 

"And  on  the  top  thereof  a  spacious  plaine 
Did  spred  itselfe,  to  serve  to  all  delight, 
Either  to  daunce,  when  they  to  daunce  would 

faine, 
Or  else  to  course-about  their  bases  light ; 
Ne  ought  there  wanted,  which  for  pleasure 

might 
Desired  be,  or  thence  to  banish  bale  : 
So  pleasauntly  the  Hill  with  equall  hight 
Did  seeme  to  overlooke  the  lowly  vale  ; 
Therefore  it  rightly  cleeped   was   Mount   Aci- 

dale." 

See  also  Tasso's  Garden  of  Armida, 
in  the  Gerusalemme,  XVI. 

20.  Chiassi  is  on  the  sea-shore  near 
Ravenna.  "  Here  grows  a  spacious 
pine  forest,"  says  Covino,  Descr.  Geog., 
p.  39,  **  which  stretches  along  the  sea 
between  Ravenna  and  Cervia." 

25.    The  river  Lethe. 

40.  This  lady,  who  represents  the 
Active  life  to  Dante's  waking  eyes,  as 
Leah  had  done  in  his  vision,  and  whom 
Dante  afterwards.  Canto  XXXIIL  119, 
calls  Matilda,  is  generally  supposed  by 


the  commentators  to  be  the  celebrated 
Countess  Matilda,  daughter  of  Boni- 
face, Count  of  Tuscany,  and  wife  of 
Guelf,  of  the  house  of  Suabia.  Of 
this  marriage  Villani,  IV.  21,  gives  a 
very  strange  account,  which,  if  true,  is 
a  singular  picture  of  the  times.  Na- 
pier, Flor,  Hist.,  I.  Ch.  4  and  6,  gives 
these  glimpses  of  the  Countess  :  — 

"This  heroine  died  in  1 1 15,  after 
a  reign  of  active  exertion  for  herself 
and  the  Church  against  the  Emperors, 
which  generated  the  infant  and  as  yet 
nameless  factions  of  Guelf  and  Ghib- 
elline.  Matilda  endured  this  contest 
with  all  the  enthusiasm  and  constancy 
of  a  woman,  combined  with  a  manly 
courage  that  must  ever  render  her  name 
respectable,  whether  proceeding  from 
the  bigotry  of  the  age,  or  to  oppose 
imperial  ambition  in  defence  of  her 
own  defective  title.  According  to  the 
laws  of  that  time,  she  could  not  as  a 
female  inherit  her  father's  states,  for 
even  male  heirs  required  a  royal  con- 
firmation. Matilda  therefore,  having 
no  legal  right,  feared  the  Emperor 
and  clung  to  the  Popes,  who  already 
claimed,  among  other  prerogatives,  the 
supreme  disposal  of  kingdoms 

*'  The  Church  had  ever  come  for- 
ward as  the  friend  of  her  house,  and 
from  childhood  she  had  breathed  an 
atmosphere  of  blind  and  devoted  sub- 
mission to  its  authority  ;  even  when 
only  fifteen  she  had  appeared  in  arms 
against  its  enemies,  and  made  two  suc- 
cessful expeditions  to  assist  Pope  Alex- 
ander the  Second  during  her  mother's 
lifetime. 


Piirgatorio  xxvni. 


341 


"  No  wonder,  then,  that  in  a  super- 
stitious age,  when  monarchs  trembled 
at  an  angry  voice  from  the  Lateran, 
the  habits  of  early  youth  should  have 
mingled  with  every  action  of  Matilda's 
life,  and  spread  an  agreeable  mirage 
over  the  prospect  of  her  eternal  salva- 
tion :  the  power  that  tamed  a  Henry's 
pride,  a  Barbarossa's  fierceness,  and 
afterwards  withstood  the  vast  ability  of 
a  Frederic,  might  without  shame  have 
been  reverenced  by  a  girl  whose  feel- 
ings so  harmonized  with  the  sacred 
strains  of  ancient  tradition  and  priestly 
dignity.  But  from  whatever  motive, 
the  result  was  a  continual  aggrandize- 
ment of  ecclesiastics;  in  prosperity  and 
adversity  ;  during  life  and  after  death  ; 
from  the  lowliest  priest  to  the  proudest 
pontiff. 

"  The  fearless  assertion  of  her  own 
independence  by  successful  struggles 
with  the  Emperor  was  an  example  not 
overlooked  by  the  young  Italian  com- 
munities under  Matilda's  rule,  who 
were  already  accused  by  imperial  legit- 
imacy of  political  innovation  and  vis- 
ionary notions  of  government 

"Being  then  at  a  place  called  Monte 
Baroncione,  and  in  her  sixty-ninth  year, 
this  celebrated  woman  breathed  her 
last,  after  a  long  and  glorious  reign  of 
incessant  activity,  during  which  she  dis- 
played a  wisdom,  vigor,  and  determi- 
nation of  character  rarely  seen  even  in 
men.  She  bequeathed  to  the  Church 
all  those  patrimonial  estates  of  which 
she  had  previously  disposed  by  an  act 
of  gift  to  Gregory  the  Seventh,  with- 
out,   however,    any    immediate    royal 


power  over  the  cities  and  other  posses- 
sions thus  given,  as  her  will  expresses 
it,  *  for  the  good  of  her  soul,  and  the 
souls  of  her  parents.' 

"  Whatever  may  now  be  thought  of 
her  chivalrous  support,  her  bold  defence, 
and  her  deep  devotion  to  the  Church,  it 
was  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  spirit 
of  that  age,  and  has  formed  one  of  her 
chief  merits  with  many  even  in  the 
present.  Her  unflinching  adherence 
to  the  cause  she  had  so  conscientiously 
embraced  was  far  more  noble  than  the 
Emperor  Henry's  conduct.  Swinging 
between  the  extremes  of  unmeasured 
insolence  and  abject  humiliation,  he 
died  a  victim  to  Papal  influence  over 
superstitious  minds ;  an  influence  which, 
amongst  other  debasing  lessons,  then 
taught  the  world  that  a  breach  of  the 
most  sacred  ties  and  dearest  affections 
of  human  nature  was  one  means  of 
gaining  the  approbation  of  a  Being  who 
is  all  truth  and  beneficence. 

"  Matilda's  object  was  to  strengthen 
the  chief  spiritual  against  the  chief 
temporal  power,  but  reserving  her 
own  independence  ;  a  policy  subse- 
quently pursued,  at  least  in  spirit,  by 
the  Guelphic  states  of  Italy.  She 
therefore  protected  subordinate  mem- 
bers of  the  Church  against  feudal 
chieftains,  and  its  head  against  the 
feudal  Emperor.  True  to  her  relig- 
ious and  warlike  character,  she  died 
between  the  sword  and  the  crucifix, 
and  two  of  her  last  acts,  even  when 
the  hand  of  death  was  already  cold 
on  her  brow,  were  the  chastisement 
of  revolted  Mantua,  and  the  midnight 


342 


Notes 


celebration  oT  Christ's  nativity  in  the 
depth  of  a  freezing  and  unusually  in- 
clement winter." 

50.    Ovid,   Met.   v.,   Maynwaring's 
Tr.  :  — 

"  Here,  while  young  Proserpine,  among  the 

maids, 
Diverts  herself  in  these  delicious  shades  ; 
While  like  a  child  with  busy  speed  and  care 
She  gathers  lilies  here,  and  violets  there  ; 
While  first  to  fill  her  little  lap  she  strives. 
Hell's  grizzly  monarch  at  the  shade  arrives  ; 
Sees  her  thus  sporting  on  the  flowery  green. 
And    loves    the    blooming    maid,    as    soon    as 

seen. 
His  urgent  flame  impatient  of  delay. 
Swift  as   his  thought  he  seized  the   beauteous 

prey. 
And  bore  her  in  his  sooty  car  away. 
The  frighted  goddess  to  her  mother  cries, 
But  all  in  vain,  for  now  far  oiFshe  flies. 
Far  she  behind  her  leaves  her  virgin  train ; 
To  them  too  cries,  and  cries  to  them  in  vain. 
And  while  with  passion  she  repeats  her  call, 
The  violets  from  her  lap,  and  lilies  fall  : 
She  misses  them,  poor  heart !  and  makes  new 

moan  5 
Her  lilies,  ah  !  are  lost,  her  violets  gone." 

65.    Ovid,  Met.  X.,  Eusden's  Tr. :  — 

"  For  Cytherea's  lips  while  Cupid  prest. 
He  with  a  heedless  arrow  razed  her  breast. 
The  goddess  felt  it,  and,  with  fury  stung. 
The  wanton  mischief  from  her  bosom  flung  : 
Yet    thought    at   first    the    danger    slight,  but 

found 
The  dart  too  faithful,  and  too  deep  the  wound. 
Fired  with  a  mortal  beauty,  she  disdains 
To    haunt     th'    Idalian    mount,    or    Phrygian 

plains. 
She  seeks  not  Cnidos,  nor  her  Paphian  shrines. 
Nor  Amathus,  that  teems  with  brazen  mines  : 
Even    Heaven   itself  with   all    its    sweets    un- 
sought, 
Adonis  far  a  sweeter  Heaven  is  thought." 


72.  When  Xerxes  invaded  Greece 
he  crossed  the  Hellespont  on  a  bridge 
of  boats  with  an  army  of  five  million. 
So  say  the  historians.  On  his  return 
he  crossed  it  in  a  fishing  boat  almost 
alone,  —  "a  warning  to  all  human  arro- 
gance." 

Leander  naturally  hated  the  Helles- 
pont, having  to  swim  it  so  many  times. 
The  last  time,  according  to  Thomas 
Hood,  he  met  with  a  sea  nymph,  who, 
enamored  of  his  beauty,  carried  him  to 
the  bottom  of  the  sea.  See  Hero  and 
Leander,  stanza  45  :  — 

*'  His  eyes  are  blinded  with  the  sleety  brine. 
His    ears    are    deafened    with    the    wildering 

noise  5 
He  asks  the  purpose  of  her  fell  design. 
But   foamy  waves    choke    up  his  struggling 

voice, 
Under  the  ponderous  sea  his  body  dips, 
And    Hero's    name    dies    bubbling    on    his 

lips. 

"  Look  how  a  man  is  lowered  to  his  grave, 
A    yearning    hollow    in    the    green    earth's 

lap; 
So  he  is  sunk  into  the  yawning  wave, 
The  plunging  sea  fills  up  the  watery  gap; 
Anon  he  is  all  gone,  and  nothing  seen. 
But    likeness    of    green    turf   and    hillocks 

green. 

"  And  where  he  swam,  the  constant  sun  lies 

sleeping, 
Over    the    verdant    plain    that    makes    his 

bed; 
And  all  the  noisy  waves  go  freshly  leaping, 
Like    gamesome    boys    over    the  churchyard 

dead  ; 
The  light  in  vain  keeps  looking  for  his  face, 
Now  screaming  sea-fowl  settle  in  his  place." 

80.  Psalm  xcii.  4:  "For  thou.  Lord, 
hast  made  me  glad  through  thy  work  : 


Purgatorio  xxix. 


343 


I   will   triumph   in   the   works   of  thy 
hands." 

87.    Canto  XXI.  46  :  — 

"Because  that  neither  rain,  nor  hail,  nor  snow, 
Nor  dew,  nor  hoar-frost  any  higher  falls 
Than  theshort,  little  stairway  of  three  steps." 

94.    Only    six    hours,    according    to 
Adam's    own    account    in    Par.    XXI. 

139:  — 


"  Upon   the    mount    which    highest    o'er    the 
wave 
Rises  was  I,  with  life  or  pure  or  sinful, 
From  the  first  hour  to  that  which  is  the 
second. 
As  the  sun  changes  quadrant,  to  the  sixth." 

102.  Above  the  gate  described  in 
Canto  IX. 

146.  Virgil  and  Statius  smile  at  this 
allusion  to  the  dreams  of  poets. 


CANTO    XXIX. 


I.  The  Terrestrial  Paradise  and  the 
Apocalyptic  Procession  of  the  Church 
Triumphant. 

3.  Psalm  xxxii.  i  :  "Blessed  is  he 
whose  transgression  is  forgiven,  whose 
sin  is  covered." 

10.  Counted  together,  their  steps 
were  not  a  hundred  in  all. 

41.  The  Muse  of  Astronomy,  or 
things  celestial,  represented  as  crowned 
with  stars  and  robed  in  azure.  Milton, 
Par  ad.  Lost,  VII.  i,  makes  the  same 
invocation  :  — 

"  Descend    from     heaven,    Urania,    by    that 
name 
If  rightly  thou  art  called,  whose  voice  divine 
Following,  above  the  Olympian  hill  I  soar. 
Above  the  flight  of  Pegasean  wing. 
The  meaning,  not  the  name,  I  call  :   for  thou 
Nor  of  the  Muses  nine,  nor  on  the  top 
Of  old  Olympus  dwell'st ;   but,  heavenly-born, 
Before  the  hills  appeared,  or  fountain  flowed, 
Thou  with  Eternal  Wisdom  didst  converse, 
Wisdom  thy  sister,  and  with  her  didst  play 
In  presence  of  the  Almighty  Father,' pleased 
With  thy  celestial  song." 


47.  The  general  form  which  ob- 
jects may  have  in  common,  and  by 
which  they  resemble  each  other. 

49.  The  faculty  which  lends  dis- 
course to  reason  is  apprehension,  or 
the  faculty  by  which  things  are  first 
conceived.     See  Canto  XVIII.  22  :  — 

"Your  apprehension  from  some  real  thing 

An   image  draws,   and   in  yourselves    dis- 
plays it. 
So  that  it  makes  the  soul  turn  unto  it." 

50.  Revelation  i.  12,  20:  "And  I 
turned  to  see  the  voice  that  spake 
with  me.      And,   being  turned,   I  saw 

seven  golden   candlesticks And 

the  seven  candlesticks are  the 

seven  churches."  < 

Some  commentators  interpret  them 
as  the  seven  Sacraments  of  the  Church  ; 
others,  as  the  seven  gifts  of  the  Holy 
Ghost. 

78.  Delia  or  Diana,  the  moon  ;  and 
her  girdle,  the  halo,  sometimes  seen 
around  it. 


344 


Notes 


83.  Revelation  iv.  4:  "And  round 
about  the  throne  were  four  and  twenty 
seats  :  and  upon  the  seats  I  saw  four 
and  twenty  elders  sitting,  clothed  in 
white  raiment ;  and  they  had  on  their 
heads  crowns  of  gold." 

These  four  and  twenty  elders  are 
supposed  to  symbolize  here  the  four 
and  twenty  books  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment. The  crown  pf  lilies  indicates 
the  purity  of  faith  and  doctrine. 

85.  The  salutation  of  the  angel  to  the 
Virgin  Mary.  Luke  i.  28  :  "  Blessed 
art  thou  among  women."  Here  the 
words  are  made  to  refer  to  Beatrice. 

92.  The  four  Evangelists,  of  whom 
the  four  mysterious  animals  in  Eze- 
kiel  are  regarded  as  symbols.  Mrs. 
Jameson,  Sacred  and  Legendary  Art, 
I.   99:  — 

"The  general  application  of  the  Four 
Creatures  to  the  Four  Evangelists  is  of 
much  earlier  date  than  the  separate  and 
individual  application  of  each  symbol, 
which  has  varied  at  different  times  ; 
that  propounded  by  St.  Jerome,  in  his 
commentary  on  Ezekiel,  has  since  his 
time  prevailed  universally.  Thus, 
then, — I.  To  St.  Matthew  was  given 
the  Cherub,  or  human  semblance,  be- 
cause he  begins  his  Gospel  with  the 
human  generation  of  Christ ;  or,  ac- 
cording to  others,  because  in  his  Gos- 
pel the  human  nature  of  the  Saviour  is 
more  insisted  on  than  the  divine.  In 
the  most  ancient  mosaics,  the  type  is 
human,  not  angelic,  for  the  head  is  that 
of  a  man  with  a  beard.  2.  St.  Mark 
has  the  Lion,  because  he  has  set  forth 
the   royal   dignity   of  Christ ;    or,  ac- 


cording to  others,  because  he  begins 
with  the  mission  of  the  Baptist,  —  *  the 
voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness^  — 
which  is  figured  by  the  lion  :  or,  ac- 
cording to  a  third  interpretation,  the 
lion  was  allotted  to  St.  Mark  because 
there  was,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  a  pop- 
ular belief  that  the  young  of  the  lion 
was  born  dead,  and  after  three  days 
was  awakened  to  vitality  by  the  breath 
of  its  sire  ;  some  authors,  however, 
represent  the  lion  as  vivifying  his 
young,  not  by  his  breath,  but  by  his 
roar.  In  either  case  the  application  is 
the  same  ;  the  revival  of  the  young 
lion  was  considered  as  symbolical  of 
the  resurrection,  and  Mark  was  com- 
monly called  the  *  historian  of  the  res- 
urrection.' Another  commentator  ob- 
serves that  Mark  begins  his  Gospel 
with  'roaring,' — 'the  voice  of  one  cry- 
ing in  the  wilderness';  and  ends  it 
fearfully  with  a  curse,  —  *  He  that  be- 
lieveth  not  shall  be  damned';  and  that, 
therefore,  his  appropriate  attribute  is 
the   most   terrible  of  beasts,  the  lion. 

3.  Luke  has  the  Ox,  because  he  has 
dwelt  on  the  priesthood  of  Christ, 
the  ox  being  the  emblem  of  Sacrifice. 

4.  John  has  the  Eagle,  which  is  the 
symbol  of  the  highest  inspiration,  be- 
cause he  soared  upwards  to  the  con- 
templation of  the  divine  nature  of  the 
Saviour." 

100.  Ezekiel  i.  4:  "And  I  looked, 
and  behold,  a  whirlwind  came  out  of 
the  north,  a  great  cloud,  and  a  fire 
infolding  itself,  and  a  brightness  was 
about  it,  and  out  of  the  midst  there- 
of, as  the  color  of  amber,  out  of  the 


Purgatorio  xxix. 


345 


midst  of  the  fire.  Also  out  of  the 
midst  thereof  came  the  likeness  of  four 
living  creatures.  And  this  was  their 
appearance  ;  they  had  the  likeness  of 
a  man.  And  every  one  had  four  faces, 
and  every  one  had  four  wings.  And 
their  feet  were  straight  feet  ;  and  the 
sole  of  their  feet  was  like  the  sole  of  a 
calf's  foot ;  and  they  sparkled  like  the 
color  of  burnished  brass." 

105.  In  Revelation  iv.  8,  they  are 
described  as  having  "  each  of  them  six 
wings";  in  Ezekiel,  as  having  only 
four. 

107.  The  triumphal  chariot  is  the 
Church.  The  two  wheels  are  gen- 
erally interpreted  as  meaning  the  Old 
and  New  Testaments;  but  Dante,  Par. 
XII.  106,  speaks  of  them  as  St.  Domi- 
nic and  St.  Francis. 

108.  The  Griffin,  half  lion  and  half 
eagle,  is  explained  by  all  the  commen- 
tators as  a  symbol  of  Christ,  in  his  di- 
vine and  human  nature.  Didron,  in 
his  Christian  Iconography,  interprets  it 
differently.  He  says,  Millington's  Tr., 
1.458:- 

"  The  mystical  bird  of  two  colors  is 
understood  in  the  manuscript  of  Her- 
rade  to  mean  the  Church  ;  in  Dante, 
the  bi-formed  bird  is  the  representative 
of  the  Church,  the  Pope.  The  Pope, 
in  fact,  is  both  priest  and  king  ;  he 
directs  the  souls  and  governs  the  per- 
sons of  men  ;  he  reigns  over  things  in 
heaven.  The  Pope,  then,  is  but  one 
single  person  in  two  natures,  and  under 
two  forms  ;  he  is  both  eagle  and  lion. 
In  his  character  of  Pontiff,  or  as  an 
eagle,  he  hovers  in  the  heavens,  and 
VOL.  II.  44 


ascends  even  to  the  throne  of  God  to 
receive  his  commands  ;  as  the  lion  or 
king  he  walks  upon  the  earth  in  strength 
and  power." 

He  adds  in  a  note :  "  Some  com- 
mentators of  Dante  have  supposed  the 
griffin  to  be  the  emblem  of  Christ, 
who,  in  fact,  is  one  single  person  with 
two  natures  ;  of  Christ,  in  whom  God 
and  man  are  combined.  But  in  this 
they  are  mistaken;  there  is,  in  the  first 
place,  a  manifest  impropriety  in  de- 
scribing the  car  as  drawn  by  God  as 
by  a  beast  of  burden.  It  is  very  doubt- 
ful even  whether  Dante  can  be  alto- 
gether freed  from  the  imputation  of  a 
want  of  reverence  in  harnessing  the 
Pope  to  the  car  of  the  Church." 

no.  The  wings  of  the  Griffin  ex- 
tend upward  between  the  middle  list 
or  trail  of  splendor  of  the  seven  candles 
and  the  three  outer  ones  on  each  side. 

1 1 7.  The  chariot  of  the  sun,  which 
Phaeton  had  leave  to  drive  for  a  day, 
is  thus  described  by  Ovid,  Met.  II., 
Addison's  Tr.  :  — 

"  A  golden  axle  did  the  work  uphold, 
Gold  was  the  beam,  the  wheels  were  orbed 

with  gold. 
The   spokes   in   rows   of  silver   pleased    the 

sight, 
The  seat  with  party-colored  gems  was  bright; 
Apollo  shined  amid  the  glare  of  light." 

120.  In  smiting  Phaeton  with  a 
thunderbolt.     Ovid,  Met.  II. :  — 

"Jove  called  to  witness  every  power  above. 
And  even  the  god  whose  son  the  chariot  drove, 
That  what  he  acts  he  is  compelled  to  do. 
Or  universal  ruin  must  ensue. 
Straight  he  ascends  the  high  ethereal  throne, 
From  whence  he  used  to  dart  his  thunder  down, 


346 


Notes 


From  whence  his  showers  and  storms  he  used 

to  pour, 
But  now  could  meet  with   neither   storm    nor 

shower ; 
Then,  aiming  at  the  youth,  with  lifted  hand. 
Full  at  his  head  he  hurled  the  forky  brand. 
In   dreadful  thund'rings.      Thus   th'  almighty 

sire 
Suppressed  the  raging  of  the  fires  with  fire." 

See  also  Inf.  XVII.  Note  107. 

121.  The  three  Theological  or 
Evangelical  Virtues,  Charity,  Hope, 
and  Faith.  For  the  symbolism  of 
colors  in  Art,  see  Mrs.  Jameson,  Sacred 
and  Legendary  Art,  quoted  Canto  VIII. 
Note  28. 

130.  The  four  Cardinal  Virtues, 
Justice,  Prudence,  Fortitude,  and  Tem- 
perance. They  are  clothed  in  purple 
to  mark  their  nobility.  Prudence  is 
represented  with  three  eyes,  as  look- 
ing at  the  past,  the  present,  and  the 
future. 

133.    St.  Luke  and  St.  Paul. 

136.  St.  Luke  is  supposed  to  have 
been  a  physician  ;  a  belief  founded  on 
Colossians  iv.  14,  "  Luke,  the  beloved 
physician."  The  animal  that  nature 
holds  most  dear  is  man. 

140.  The  sword  with  which  St. 
Paul  is  armed  is  a  symbol  of  warfare 
and  martyrdom  ;  "  I  bring  not  peace, 
but  a  sword."  St.  Luke's  office  was 
to  heal  ;  St.  Paul's  to  destroy.  Mrs. 
Jameson,  Sacred  and  Legendary  Art,  I. 
188,  says  :  — 

"  At  what  period  the  sword  was 
given  to  St.  Paul  as  his  distinctive  at- 
tribute is  with  antiquaries  a  disputed 
point ;  certainly  much  later  than  the 
keys    were    given    to   Peter.       If    we 


could  be  sure  that  the  mosaic  on  the 
tomb  of  Otho  the  Second,  and  another 
mosaic  already  described,  had  not  been 
altered  in  successive  restorations,  these 
would  be  evidence  that  the  sword  was 
given  to  St.  Paul  as  his  attribute  as 
early  as  the  sixth  century  ;  but  there 
are  no  monuments  which  can  be  ab- 
solutely trusted  as  regards  the  intro- 
duction of  the  sword  before  the  end  of 
the  eleventh  century  ;  since  the  end 
of  the  fourteenth  century  it  has  been  so 
generally  adopted,  that  in  the  devotion- 
al effigies  I  can  remember  no  instance 
in  which  it  is  omitted.  When  St. 
Paul  is  leaning  on  the  sword,  it  ex- 
presses his  martyrdom;  when  he  holds 
it  aloft,  it  expresses  also  his  warfare  in 
the  cause  of  Christ  :  when  two  swords 
are  given  to  him,  one  is  the  attribute, 
the  other  the  emblem;  but  this  double 
allusion  does  not  occur  in  any  of  the 
older  representations.  In  Italy  I  never 
met  with  St.  Paul  bearing  two  swords, 
and  the  only  instance  I  can  call  to 
mind  is  the  bronze  statue  by  Peter 
Vischer,  on  the  shrine  of  St.  Sebald,  at 
Nuremberg." 

142.  The  four  Apostles  James,  Pe- 
ter, John,  and  Jude,  writers  of  the  Ca- 
nonical Epistles.  The  red  flowers, 
with  which  their  foreheads  seem  all 
aflame,  are  symbols  of  martyrdom. 
Massinger,  Virgin  Martyr,  V.  i :  — 

"  What  flowers  are  these  ? 
In  Dioclesian's  gardens,  the  most  beauteous 
Compared  with  these  are  weeds." 

143.  St.  John,  writer  of  the  Apoca- 
lypse ;  here  represented  as  asleep  ;  as 
if  he  were  "in  the  spirit  on  the  Lord's 


Ptirgatorio  xxix. 


347 


day,  and  heard  behind  him  a  great 
voice  as  of  a  trumpet."  Or  perhaps 
the  allusion  may  be  to  the  belief  of  the 
early  Christians  that  John  did  not  die, 
but  was  sleeping  till  the  second  coming 
of  Christ.  This  subject  has  been  re- 
presented in  mediaeval  Art  as  follows. 
Mrs.  Jameson,  Sacred  and  Legendary 
Art,  I.   139  :  — 

"  St.  John,  habited  in  priest's  gar- 
ments, descends  the  steps  of  an  altar 
into  an  open  grave,  in  which  he  lays 
himself  down,  not  in  death,  but  in 
sleep,  until  the  coming  of  Christ;  'be- 
ing reserved  alive  with  Enoch  and  Eli- 
jah (who  also  knew  not  death),  to 
preach  against  the  Antichrist  in  the 
last  days.'  This  fanciful  legend  is 
founded  on  the  following  text:  'Peter, 
seeing  the  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved 
following,  saith  unto  Jesus,  Lord,  and 
what  shall  this  man  do  ?  Jesus  saith 
unto  him.  If  I  will  that  he  tarry  till  I 
come,  what  is  that  to  thee  ?  Then 
went  this  saying  abroad  among  the 
brethren  that  that  disciple  should  not 
die.'     (John  xxi.  21,  22.)" 

154.  Of  this  canto  and  those  that 
follow.  Barlow,  Study  of  the  Div.  Com., 
p.  270,  says : — 

"  Dante's  sublime  pageant  of  the 
Church  Militant  is  one  of  the  most 
marvellous  processions  ever  marshalled 
on  paper.  In  the  invention,  arrange- 
ment, grouping,  and  coloring  the  poet 
has  shown  himself  a  great  master  in 
art,  familiar  with  all  the  stately  require- 
ments of  solemn  shows,  festivals,  and 
triumphs.  Whatever  he  may  have 
gathered  from  the  sacred  records,  and 


from  classic  writers,  or  seen  in  early 
mosaics,  or  witnessed  in  the  streets  of 
Florence  with  her  joyous  population, 
her  May-day  dancers,  and  the  military 
pomp  of  her  magnificent  Carroccio, 
like  the  arc  of  the  covenant  going  forth 
with  the  host,  has  here  been  surpassed 
in  invention  and  erudition,  and  a  pic- 
ture produced  at  once  as  original  as 
it  is  impressive,  as  significant  as  it  is 
grand.  Petrarca  was,  probably,  in- 
debted to  it  for  his  '  Trionfi,'  so 
frequently  in  favor  with  Italian  art- 
ists. 

"  This  canto  with  the  four  that  fol- 
low form  a  poem  which,  though  an 
essential  portion  of  the  Divina  Com- 
media,  may  be  separately  considered  as 
the  continuation  of  the  poetic  vision 
mentioned  in  the  Vita  Nuova,  and  the 
fulfilment  of  the  intention  there  ex- 
pressed. 

"  It  represents  the  symbolical  pas- 
sage of  the  Christian  Church,  preceded 
by  the  Hebrew  dispensation,  and  fol- 
lowed by  the  disastrous  effects  of 
schism,  and  the  corruptions  induced 
by  the  unholy  conduct  of  political 
Pontiffs.  The  soul  of  this  solemn  ex- 
hibition, the  living  and  glorified  prin- 
ciple of  the  beatitude  which  Religion 
pure  and  holy  confers  upon  those  who 
embrace  it,  is  personified  in  the  •  Don- 
na,' to  whom  Dante  from  his  earliest 
youth  had  been  more  or  less  devoted, 
the  Beatrice  of  the  Vita  Nuova,  'Loda 
di  Dio  vera,'  who  concentrates  in  her- 
self the  divine  wisdom  with  which  the 
Church  is  inspired,  whom  angels  de- 
light to   honor,  and  whose  advent  on 


348 


Notes 


earth  had  been  prepared  from  all  eter- 
nity by  the  moral  virtues. 

"  Beatrice  is  here  presented  as  the 
principle  of  divine  beatitude,  or  that 
which  confers  it,  and  bears  a  resem- 
blance to  the  figure  of  the  New  Jerusa- 
lem seen  by  St.  John  descending  from 
heaven  •  as  a  bride  adorned  for  her 
husband '  (^Rev.  xxi.  2)  ;  a  representa- 
tion of  which,  in  the  manner  of  Ra- 
phael, occurs  in  one  of  the  tapestries 
of  the  Vatican,  and,  though  not  arrayed 
in  the  colors  of  the  Christian  virtues. 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity,  white  and 
green  and  red,  as  was  Beatrice,  may 
yet  be  regarded  as  a  Roman  version 
of  her." 

Didron,  describing  the  painting  of 
the  Triumph  of  Christ  in  the  Church 
of  Notre  Dame  de  Brou,  Christian 
Iconography,  Millington's  Tr.,  I.  315, 
says  :  — 

**  In  the  centre  of  all  rises  the  Hero 
of  the  Triumph,  Jesus  Christ,  who  is 
seated  in  an  open  car  with  four  wheels. 
He  alone  is  adorned  with  a  nimbus 
formed  of  rays,  departing  from  each 
point  of  the  head,  and  which  illumines 
everything  around.  With  one  glance 
he  embraces  the  past  which  precedes, 
and  the  future  which  is  to  succeed  him. 
His  face  resembles  that  drawn  by  Ra- 
phael and  the  masters  of  the  period  of 
Renaissance,  agreeing  with  the  descrip- 
tion given  by  Lentulus  and  Damasce- 
nus  ;  it  is  serious  and  gentle.  In  the 
centre  of  the  chariot  is  placed  a  starry 
globe  traversed  by  the  ecliptic,  on 
which  the  twelve  signs  of  the  zodiac 
are  brilliantly  figured.      This  globe  is 


symbolic  of  the  world,  and  forms  a 
throne  for  Christ  :  the  Son  of  God  is 
seated  on  its  summit.  The  car  is 
placed  upon  four  wheels,  and  drawn 
by  the  four  attributes  or  symbols  of 
the  Evangelists.  The  angel  of  St. 
Matthew,  and  the  eagle  of  St.  John, 
are  of  celestial  whiteness  ;  the  lion  of 
St.  Mark,  and  the  ox  of  St.  Luke,  are 
of  a  reddish  yellow,  symbolizing  the 
earth  on  which  they  dwell.  The 
eagle  and  angel  do,  in  fact,  fly  ;  while 
the  lion  and  the  ox  walk.  Yet  upon 
the  painted  window  all  the  four  have 
wings.  A  rein  of  silver,  passing  round 
the  neck  of  each  of  the  four  symbols, 
is  attached  to  the  pole  of  the  chariot. 
The  Church,  represented  by  the  four 
most  elevated  religious  potentates,  by 
the  Pope,  the  Cardinal,  the  Arch- 
bishop, and  Bishop,  or  by  the  four 
chief  Fathers,  St.  Gregory,  St.  Jerome, 
St.  Ambrose,  and  St.  Augustine,  drives 
the  four-wheeled  car,  and,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  the  Evangelists,  urges  it  on- 
ward. Jesus  guides  his  triumph,  not 
holding  reins,  but  shedding  blessings 
from  his  right  hand  wherever  he 
passes. 

"  The  entire  assemblage  of  persons 
represented  on  the  window  are  seen 
marching  onwards,  singing  with  joy. 
Within  the  spaces  formed  by  the  mul- 
lions  which  trellis  the  upper  part  of 
the  window,  forty-six  angels  are  repre- 
sented with  long  golden  hair,  white 
transparent  robes,  and  wings  of  yellow, 
red,  violet,  and  green  ;  they  are  all 
painted  on  a  background  of  azure,  like 
the   sky,   and   celebrate   with    blended 


Purgatorio  xxix. 


349 


voices,  or  with  musical  instruments, 
the  glory  of  Christ.  Some  have  in 
their  hands  instruments  of  different 
forms,  others  books  of  music.  The 
four  animals  of  the  Evangelists  seem 
with  sonorous  voice  to  swell  the  accla- 
mations of  the  hosts  of  saints  ;  the  ox 
with  his  bellowing,  the  lion  with  his 
roar,  the  eagle  with  his  cry,  and  the 
angel  with  his  song,  accompany  the 
songs  of  the  forty-six  angels  who  fill 
the  upper  part  of  the  window.  At  the 
head  of  the  procession  is  an  angel  who 
leads  the  entire  company,  and,  with  a 
little  cross  which  he  holds  in  his  hand, 
points  out  to  all  the  Paradise  they  are 
to  enter.  Finally,  twelve  other  an- 
gels, blue  as  the  heaven  into  which 
they  melt,  join  in  adoration  before  the 

triumph  of  Christ 

**  Dante  has  given  a  description  of  a 
similar  triumph,  but  marked  by  some 
interesting  differences.  The  Floren- 
tine poet  formed  his  cortege  of  figures 
taken  from  the  Apocalypse  and  Chris- 
tian symbolism.  At  Brou,  with  the 
exception  of  the  attributes  of  the  Evan- 
gelists, everything  is  historical.  In 
the  sixteenth  century,  in  fact,  history 
began  to  predominate  over  symbol- 
ism, which  in  the  thirteenth  and  four- 
teenth centuries  had  reigned  supreme. 
Dante,  who  was  a  politic  poet,  drew 
the  triumph,  not  of  Christ,  but  of 
the  Church  ;  the  triumph  of  Catholi- 
cism rather  than  of  Christianity.  The 
chariot  by  which  he  represents  the 
Church  is  widowed  of  Christ,  whose 
figure  is  so  important  on  the  window 


of  Brou  ;  the  chariot  ia  empty,  and 
Dante  neither  discovered  this  deficien- 
cy, nor  was  concerned  to  rectify  it ; 
for  he  was  less  anxious  to  celebrate 
Christ  and  his  doctrine,  for  their  own 
sake,  than  as  connected  with  the  or- 
ganization and  administration  of  the 
Church.  He  described  the  car  as 
drawn  by  a  griffin,  thereby  represent- 
ing the  Pope,  for  the  griffin  unites  in 
itself  the  characteristics  of  both  eagle 
and  lion.  Now  the  Pope  is  also  two- 
fold in  character  ;  as  priest  he  is  the 
eagle  floating  in  the  air  ;  as  king,  he  is 
a  lion,  walking  upon  the  earth.  The 
Ultramontane  poet  regarded  the  Church, 
that  is  the  Papacy,  in  the  light  of  an 
absolute  monarchy;  not  a  limited  mon- 
archy as  with  us,  and  still  less  a  re- 
public, as  amongst  the  schismatics  of 
Greece  and  of  the  East.  Consequent- 
ly, while,  at  Brou,  the  Cardinal,  the 
Archbishop,  and  Bishop  assist  the  Pope 
in  guiding  the  car  of  the  Church, 
in  the  *  Divina  Commedia,'  the  Pope 
is  alone,  and  accepts  of  no  assistance 
from  the  other  great  ecclesiastical  dig- 
nitaries. At  Brou  the  car  is  guided  by 
the  Evangelists,  or  by  their  attributes  ; 
ecclesiastical  power  is  content  merely 
to  lend  its  aid.  According  to  the  Ital- 
ian poet,  the  Evangelists,  although  pres- 
ent at  the  Triumph,  do  not  conduct 
it  ;  the  Pope  is  himself -the  sole  guide 
of  the  Church,  and  permits  neither 
the  Evangelists  to  direct  nor  ecclesias- 
tics to  assist  him.  The  Pope  seems  to 
require  no  assistance  ;  his  eye  and  arm 
alone  are  sufficient  for  him." 


350 


Notes 


CANTO    XXX 


I.    In  this  canto  Beatrice  appears. 

The  Seven  Stars,  or  Septcntrion  of 
the  highest  heaven,  are  the  seven  lights 
that  lead  the  procession,  the  seven  gifts 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  by  which  all  men 
are  guided  safely  in  things  spiritual,  as 
the  mariner  is  by  the  Septentrion,  or 
Seven  Stars  of  the  Ursa  Minor,  two  of 
which  are  called  the  "  Wardens  of  the 
Pole,"  and  one  of  which  is  the  Cyno- 
sure, or  Pole  Star.  These  lights  pre- 
cede the  triumphal  chariot,  as  in  our 
heaven  the  Ursa  Minor  precedes,  or  is 
nearer  the  centre  of  rest,  than  the  Ursa 
Major  or  Charles's  Wain. 

In  the  Northern  Mythology  the  God 
Thor  is  represented  as  holding  these 
constellations  in  his  hand.  The  old 
Swedish  Rhyme  Chronicle,  describing 
the  statues  in  the  church  of  Upsala, 
says  :  — 
"  The  God  Thor  was  the  highest  of  them  5 

He  sat  naked  as  a  child, 

Seven  stars  in  his  hand  and  Charles's  Wain. 

Spenser,  Faerie  ^eene,  I.  ii.  i  :  — 

"  By  this  the  northern  wagoner  had  set 

His    sevenfold    teme    behind    the    steadfast 

starre 
That  was  in  ocean  waves  yet  never  wet, 
But   firme    is    fixt,    and   sendeth   light   from 

farre 
To  all  that  in  the  wide  deep  wandering  arre." 

1 1 .  Song  of  Solomon  iv.  8  :  "  Come 
with  me  from  Lebanon,  my  spouse, 
with  me  from  Lebanon." 

17.  At  the  voice  of  so  venerable  an 
old  man. 


19.  The  cry  of  the  multitude  at 
Christ's  entry  into  Jerusalem.  Mat- 
thew xxi.  9  :  "Blessed  is  he  that  com- 
eth  in  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

21.  JEneid,  VI.  833:  "Give  me 
lilies  in  handfuls  ;  let  me  scatter  pur- 
ple flowers." 

25.    Milton,  Par  ad.  Lost,  I.  194:  — 

"  As  when  the  sun  new-risen 
Shines  through  the  horizontal  misty  air 
Shorn  of  his  beams." 
32.  It  will  be  observed  that  Dante 
makes  Beatrice  appear  clothed  in  the 
colors  of  the  three  Theological  Virtues 
described  in  Canto  XXIX.  121.  The 
white  veil  is  the  symbol  of  Faith  ;  the 
green  mantle,  of  Hope  ;  the  red  tunic, 
of  Charity.  The  crown  of  olive  de- 
notes wisdom.  This  attire  somewhat 
resembles  that  given  by  artists  to  the 
Virgin.  "  The  proper  dress  of  the 
Virgin,"  says  Mrs.  Jameson,  Legends  of 
the  Madonna,  Introd.,  liii.,  "  is  a  close, 
red  tunic,  with  long  sleeves,  and  over 

this  a  blue  robe  or  mantle Her 

head  ought  to  be  veiled." 

35.  Beatrice  had  been  dead  ten 
years  at  the  date  of  the  poem,  1300. 

36.  Fully  to  understand  and  feel 
what  is  expressed  in  this  line,  the 
reader  must  call  to  mind  all  that  Dante 
says  in  the  Vita  Nuova  of  his  meetings 
with  Beatrice,  and  particularly  the  first, 
which  is  thus  rendered  by  Mr.  Norton 
in  his  New  Life  of  Dante,  p.  20  :  — 

"  Nine  times  now,  since  my  birth, 
the  heaven  oi  light  had  turned  almost 


Purgatorio  xxx. 


351 


to  the  same  point  in  its  gyration,  when 
first  appeared  before  my  eyes  the  glori- 
ous lady  of  my  mind,  who  was  called 
Beatrice  by  many  who  did  not  know 
why  they  thus  called  her.  She  had 
now  been  in  this  life  so  long,  that  in 
its  course  the  starry  heaven  had  moved 
toward  the  east  one  of  the  twelve 
parts  of  a  degree  ;  so  that  about  the 
beginning  of  her  ninth  year  she  ap- 
peared to  me,  and  I  near  the  end  of 
my  ninth  year  saw  her.  She  appeared 
to  me  clothed  in  a  most  noble  color,  a 
becoming  and  modest  crimson,  and  she 
was  girt  and  adorned  in  the  style  that 
became  her  extreme  youth.  At  that 
instant,  I  say  truly,  the  spirit  of  life, 
which  dwells  in  the  most  secret  cham- 
ber of  the  heart,  began  to  tremble 
with  such  violence,  that  it  appeared 
fearfully  in  the  least  pulses,  and,  trem- 
bling, said  these  words  :  Ecce  deus  for- 
tior  me,  qui  veniens  dominabitur  mihi ! 
*  Behold  a  god,  stronger  than  I,  who, 
coming,  shall  rule  me  ! ' 

"  At  that  instant,  the  spirit  of  the 
soul,  which  dwells  in  the  high  cham- 
ber to  which  all  the  spirits  of  the 
senses  bring  their  perceptions,  began 
to  marvel  greatly,  and,  addressing  the 
spirits  of  the  sight,  said  these  words  : 
Apparuit  jam  beatitudo  vestra,  —  *  Now 
hath  appeared  your  bliss.'  At  that 
instant  the  natural  spirit,  which  dwells 
in  that  part  where  the  nourishment  is 
supplied,  began  to  weep,  and,  weep- 
ing, said  these  words :  Heu  miser !  quia 
*  frequenter  impeditus  ero  deinceps, — *  Woe 
is  me  wretched  !  because  frequently 
henceforth  shall  I  be  hindered.' 


"  From  this  time  forward  I  say  that 
Love  lorded  it  over  my  soul,  which 
had  been  thus  quickly  put  at  his  dis- 
posal ;  and  he  began  to  exercise  over 
me  such  control  and  such  lordship, 
through  the  power  which  my  imagi- 
nation gave  to  him,  that  it  behoved  me 
to  perform  completely  all  his  pleasure. 
He  commanded  me  many  times  that 
I  should  seek  to  see  this  youthful  an- 
gel, so  that  I  in  my  boyhood  often 
went  seeking  her,  and  saw  her  of  such 
noble  and  praiseworthy  deportment, 
that  truly  of  her  might  be  said  that 
saying  of  the  poet  Homer  :  *  She  does 
not  seem  the  daughter  of  mortal  man, 
but  of  God.'  And  though  her  image, 
which  stayed  constantly  with  me,  in- 
spired confidence  in  Love  to  hold  lord- 
ship over  me,  yet  it  was  of  such  noble 
virtue,  that  it  never  suffered  that  Love 
should  rule  without  the  faithful  counsel 
of  Reason  in  those  matters  in  which 
such  counsel  could  be  useful." 

48.  Dante  here  translates  Virgil's 
own  words,  as  he  has  done  so  many 
times  before.  jEneid,  IV.  23  :  Agnosco 
veteris  vestigia  Jlamm^e. 

52.  The  Terrestrial  Paradise  lost 
by   Eve. 

83.    Psalm  xxxi.   i,  8:    "In  thee, 

O  Lord,   have   I   put  my  trust 

Thou  hast  set  my  feet  in  a  large  room." 

85.  ^neid,V\.\%o:  "Down  drop 
the  firs  ;  crashes,  by  axes  felled,  the 
ilex  ;  and  the  ashen  rafters  and  the 
yielding  oaks  are  cleft  by  wedges." 

And  IX.  87  :  "A  wood  ....  dark 
with  gloomy  firs,  and  rafters  of  the 
maple." 


352 


Notes 


Denistoun,  Mem.  of  the  Duke  of  Ur- 
binOf  I.  4,  says:  "On  the  summit  grew 
those  magnificent  pines,  which  gave  to 
the  district  of  Massa  the  epithet  of 
Trabaria,  from  the  beams  which  were 
carried  thence  for  the  palaces  of  Rome, 
and  which  are  noticed  by  Dante  as 
'  The  living  rafters 
Upon  the  back  of  Italy.'" 

87.    Shakespeare,  ^/«/^r'j  Tale,  IV. 

3:  — 

"  The  fanned  snow 

That 's  bolted  by  the  northern  blast  twice  o'er." 

And  Midsummer  Night's  Dream :  — 

"  High  Taurus'  snow 
Fanned  with  the  eastern  wind." 

113.  Which  are  formed  in  such 
lofty  regions,  that  they  are  beyond  hu- 
man conception. 

125.  Beatrice  died  in  1290,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-five. 

136.  How  far  these  self-accusations 
of  Dante  were  justified  by  facts,  and 
how  far  they  may  be  regarded  as  ex- 
pressions of  a  sensitive  and  excited 
conscience,  we  have  no  means  o^  de- 
termining. It  is  doubtless  but  simple 
justice  to  apply  to  him  the  words 
which  he  applies  to  Virgil,  Canto 
III.    8:  — 


"  O  noble  conscience,  and  without  a  stain, 
How  sharp  a  sting  is  trivial  fault  to  thee  !  " 

This  should  be  borne  in  mind  when 
we  read  what  Dante  says  of  his  own 
shortcomings  ;  as,  for  instance,  in  his 
conversation  with  his  brother-in-law 
Forese,  Canto  XXIII.  115:  — 

"  If  thou  bring  back  to  mind 
What  thou  with  me  hast  been  and  I  with  thee, 
The  present  memory  will  be  grievous  still." 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  this  sonnet 
addressed  to  Dante  by  his  intimate 
friend,  Guido  Cavalcanti  ?  Rossetti, 
Early  Italian  Poets,  p.  358  :  — 

"  I  come  to  thee  by  daytime  constantly, 

But  in  thy  thoughts  too  much  of  baseness 

find: 
Greatly  it  grieves  me  for  thy  gentle  mind, 
And  for  thy  many  virtues  gone  from  thee. 
It  was  thy  wont  to  shun  much  company. 
Unto  all  sorry  concourse  ill  inclined  ; 
And  still  thy  speech  of  me,  heartfelt  and 

kind, 
Had  made  me  treasure  up  thy  poetry. 
But  now  I  dare  not,  for  thine  abject  life, 
Make  manifest  that  I  approve  thy  rhymes; 
Nor  come  I  in  such  sort  that  thou  may'st 
know. 
Ah  !  prythee  read  this  sonnet  many  times  : 
So  shall  that  evil  one  who  bred  this  strife 
Be  thrust  from  thy  dishonored  soul,  and 
go-" 


CANTO    XXXI. 


1.  In  this  canto  Dante,  having  made 
confession  of  his  sins,  is  drawn  by  Ma- 
tilda through  the  river  Lethe. 

2.  Hitherto    Beatrice    has    directed 


her  discourse  to  her  attendant  hand- 
maidens around  the  chariot.  Now  she 
speaks  directly  to  Dante. 

25.    As  in  a  castle  or  fortress. 


Ptirgatorio  xxxi. 


353 


30.  As  one  fascinated  and  enamored 
with  them. 

42.  The  sword  of  justice  is  dulled 
by  the  wheel  being  turned  against  its 
edge.  This  is  the  usual  interpretation; 
but  a  friend  suggests  that  the  allusion 
may  be  to  the  wheel  of  St.  Catherine, 
which  is  studded  with  sword-blades. 

46.  The  grief  which  is  the  cause  of 
your  weeping. 

59.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  gossip- 
ing among  the  commentators  about  this 
little  girl  or  Pargoletta.  Some  sup- 
pose it  to  be  the  same  as  the  Gentucca 
of  Canto  XXIV.  37,  and  the  Pargo- 
letta of  one  of  the  poems  in  the  Can- 
zoniere,  which  in  Mr.  Lyell's  trans- 
lation runs  as  follows  :  — 

"  Ladies,  behold  a  maiden  fair,  and  young ; 
To  you  I  come  heaven's  beauty  to  display, 
And   manifest  the  place   from   whence   I 
am. 
In  heaven  I  dwelt,  and  thither  shall  return, 
Joy  to  impart  to  angels  with  my  light. 
He  who  shall  me  behold  nor  be  enamored, 
Of  Love  shall  never  comprehend  the  charm  j 
For  every  pleasing  gift  was  freely  given. 
When  Nature  sought  the  grant  of  me.from 

him 
Who  willed  that  your  companion  I  should 
be. 
Each  star  upon  my  eyes  its  influence  sheds. 
And  with  its  light  and  virtue  I  am  blest  : 
Beauties  are  mine  the   world  hath   never 

seen. 
For  I  obtained  them  in  the  realms  above ; 
And  ever  must  their  essence  rest  unknown. 
Unless  through   consciousness   of  him   in 

whom 
Love  shall  abide  through  pleasure  of  an- 
other. 
These  words  a  youthful  angel  bore  inscribed 
Upon  her  brow,  whose  vision  we  beheld  ; 
And  I,  who  to  find  safety  gazed  on  her, 
VOL.   II.  45 


A  risk  incur  that  it  may  cost  my  life  ; 
For  I  received  a  wound  so  deep  and  wide 
From  one  I  saw  entrenched  within  her  eyes, 
That  still  I  weep,  nor  peace  I  since  have 
known." 

Others  think  the  allusion  is  general. 
The  Ottimo  says:  "Neither  that  young 
woman,  whom  in  his  Rime  he  called 
Pargoletta,  nor  that  Lisetta,  nor  that 
other  mountain  maiden,  nor  this  one, 
nor  that  other."  He  might  have  added 
the  lady  of  Bologna,  of  whom  Dante 
sings  in  one  of  his  sonnets  :  — 

"  And  I  may  say 
That  in  an  evil  hour  I  saw  Bologna, 
And  that  fair  lady  whom  I  looked  upon." 

Buti  gives  a  different  interpretation 
of  the  word  pargoletta,  making  it  the 
same  as  pargulta  or  pargolezza,  "  child- 
ishness or  indiscretion  of  youth." 

In  all  this  unnecessary  confusion  one 
thing  is  quite  evident.  As  Beatrice  is 
speaking  of  the  past,  she  could  not 
possibly  allude  to  Gentucca,  who  is 
spoken  of  as  one  who  would  make 
Lucca  pleasant  to  Dante  at  some  fu- 
ture time  :  — 

"  'A  maid  is  born,  and  wears  not  yet  the  veil,' 
Began  he,  *  who  to  thee  shall  pleasant  make 
My  city,  howsoever  men  may  blame  it.'  " 

Upon  the  whole,  the  interpretation 
of  the  Ottimo  is  the  most  satisfactory, 
or  at  all  events  the  least  open  to  objec- 
tion. 

63.  Proverbs  i.  17:  "Surely  in  vain 
the  net  is  spread  in  the  sight  of  any 
bird." 

72.  larbas,  king  of  Gaetulia,  from 
whom  Dido  bought  the  land  for  build- 
ing Carthage. 


354 


Notes 


77.  The  angels  described  in  Canto 
XXX.  20,  as 

"Scattering  flo^vcrs  above  and  round  about." 
92.    Matilda,     described     in     Canto 
XXVIII.   40:  — 

"  A  lady  all  alone,  who  went  along 

Singing  and  culling  floweret  after  floweret, 
With  which  her  pathway  was  all  painted 
over." 

95.  Bunyan,  Pilgrirn's  Progress,  the 
river  without  a  bridge  :  — 

"  Now  I  further  saw  that  betwixt 
them  and  the  gate  was  a  river  ;  but 
there  was  no  bridge  to  go  over  :  the 
river  was  very  deep.  At  the  sight 
therefore  of  this  river,  the  pilgrims 
were  much  stunned  ;  but  the  men  that 
went  with  them  said,  *  You  must  go 
through,  or  you  cannot  come  at  the 
gate.'  .... 

"  They  then  addressed  themselves 
to  the  water,  and,  entering.  Christian 
began  to  sink,  and  crying  out  to  his 
good  friend  Hopeful,  he  said,  *  I  sink 
in  deep  waters  ;  the  billows  go  over 
my  head,  all  his  waves  go  over  me. 
Selah.' 

"  Now  upon  the  bank  of  the  river, 
on  the  other  side,  they  saw  the  two 
shining  men  again,  who  there  waited 
for  them.  Wherefore  being  come  out 
of  the  river,  they  saluted  them,  saying, 
♦  We  are  ministering  spirits,  sent  forth 
to  minister  for  those  that  shall  be  heirs 
of  salvation.'  " 

98.  Psalms  li.  7  :  "  Purge  me  with 
hyssop,  and  I  shall  be  clean  :  wash  me 
and  I  shall  be  whiter  than  snow." 

104.  The  four  attendant  Nymphs 
on  the  left  of  the   triumphal   chariot. 


Sec  Canto  XXIX.  130:  — 

"  Upon  the  left  hand  four  made  holiday 
Vested  in  purple." 

106.    See  Canto  I.  Note  23. 

III.  These  four  Cardinal  Virtues 
lead  to  Divine  Wisdom,  but  the  three 
Evangelical  Virtues  quicken  the  sight 
to  penetrate  more  deeply  into  it. 

1 14.  Standing  upon  the  chariot  still; 
she  does  not  alight  till  line  36  of  the 
next  canto. 

116.  The  color  of  Beatrice's  eyes  has 
not  been  passed  over  in  silence  by  the 
commentators.  Lani,  in  his  Annota- 
zioni,  says:  "They  were  of  a  greenish 
blue,  like  the  color  of  the  sea."  Me- 
chior  Messirini,  who  thought  he  had 
discovered  a  portrait  of  Beatrice  as 
old  as  the  fourteenth  century,  affirms 
that  she  had  "  splendid  brown  eyes." 
Dante  here  calls  them  emeralds  ;  upon 
which  the  Ottimo  comments  thus : 
**  Dante  very  happily  introduces  this 
precious  stone,  considering  its  proper- 
ties, and  considering  that  griffins  watch 
over  emeralds.  The  emerald  is  the 
prince  of  all  green  stones  ;  no  gem  nor 
herb  has  greater  greenness  ;  it  reflects 
an  image  like  a  mirror  ;  increases 
wealth  ;  is  useful  in  litigation  and  to 
orators  ;  is  good  for  convulsions  and 
epilepsy;  preserves  and  strengthens  the 
sight;  restrains  lust ;  restores  memory; 
is  powerful  against  phantoms  and  de- 
mons; calms  tempests;  stanches  blood, 
and  is  useful  to  soothsayers." 

The  beauty  of  green  eyes,  ojuelos 
verdes,  is  extolled  by  Spanish  poets  ; 
and  is  not  left  unsung  by  poets  of  other 
countries.      Lycophron  in  his  "  tene- 


Purgatorio  xxxn. 


355 


brous    poem "    of  Cassandra,    says    of 
Achilles :  — 

"  Lo  !  the  warlike  eagle  come, 
Green  of  eye,  and  black  of  plume." 

And  in  one  of  the  old  French  Mys- 
teries, Hist.  Theat.  Fran^.,  I.  176, 
Joseph  describes  the  child  Jesus  as 
having 

"  Les  yeulx  vers,  la  chair  blanche  et  tendre 
Les  cheveulx  blonds." 

122.  Monster  is  here  used  in  the 
sense  of  marvel  or  prodigy. 

123.  Now  as  an  eagle,  now  as  a 


lion.  The  two  natures,  divine  and  hu- 
man, of  Christ  are  reflected  in  Theol- 
ogy, or  Divine  Wisdom.  Didron,  who 
thinks  the  Griffin  a  symbol  of  the  Pope, 
applies  this  to  his  spiritual  and  tempo- 
ral power:  "As  priest  he  is  the  eagle 
floating  in  the  air  ;  as  king  he  is  a  lion 
walking  on  the  earth." 

132.  The  Italian  Caribo,  like  the 
English  Carol  or  Roundelay,  is  both 
song  and  dance.  Some  editions  read 
in  this  line  **  singing,"  instead  of 
"  dancing." 


CANTO     XXXII. 


1.  A  mystical  canto,  in  which  is  de- 
scribed the  tree  of  the  forbidden  fruit, 
and  other  wonderful  and  mysterious 
things. 

2.  Beatrice  had  been  dead  ten  years. 
10.    Goethe,  Hermann  and  Dorothea, 

Cochrane's  Tr.,  p.  103  :  — 

"  Ev'n  as  the  wanderer,  who,  ere  the  sun  dips 

his  orb  in  the  ocean, 
One  last  look  still  takes  of  the  day-god,  fast 

disappearing ; 
Then,   amid    rocks   rude -piled,   umbrageous 

forests,  and  copsewoods, 
Sees  his  similitude   float,   wherever  he  fixes 

his  vision  ; 
Finding  it  glancing  before  him,  and  dancing 

in  magical  colors." 

35.  A  disfrenata  saetta,  an  uncurbed 
arrow,  like  that  which  Pandarus  shot 
at  Menelaus,  Iliad,  IV.  124:  "The 
sharp-pointed  arrow  sprang  forth,  eager 
to  rush  among  the  crowd." 

38.    Genesis  ii.  16:  "Of  every  tree 


of  the  garden  thou  mayest  freely  eat. 
But  of  the  tree  of  the  knowledge  of 
good  and  evil,  thou  shalt  not  eat  of  it : 
for  in  the  day  that  thou  eatest  thereof, 
thou  shalt  surely  die." 

Some  commentators  suppose  that 
Dante's  mystic  tree  is  not  only  the 
tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil, 
but  also  a  symbol  of  the  Roman  Em- 
pire. 

41 .  Virgil,  Georgics,  IT.  1 23  :  "  The 
groves  which  India,  nearer  the  ocean, 
the  utmost  skirts  of  the  globe,  pro- 
duces, where  no  arrows  by  their  flight 
have  been  able  to  surmount  the  airy 
summit  of  the  tree  ;  and  yet  that  na- 
tion is  not  slow  at  archery." 

43.  Christ's  renunciation  of  tempo- 
ral power. 

51.  The  pole  of  the  chariot,  which 
was  made  of  this  tree,  he  left  bound  to 
the  tree. 


356 


Notes 


Buti  says  :  "  This  chariot  represents 
the  Holy  Church,  which  is  the  con- 
gregation of  the  faithful,  and  the  pole 
of  this  chariot  is  the  cross  of  Christ, 
which  he  bore  upon  his  shoulders,  so 
that  the  author  well  represents  him  as 
dragging  the  pole  with  his  neck." 
The  statement  that  the  cross  was  made 
of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  is  founded 
on  an  old  legend.  When  Adam  was 
dying,  he  sent  his  son  Seth  to  the 
Garden  of  Paradise  to  bring  him  some 
drops  of  the  oil  of  the  mercy  of  God. 
The  angel  at  the  gate  refused  him  en- 
trance, but  gave  him  a  branch  from  the 
tree  of  knowledge,  and  told  him  to 
plant  it  upon  Adam's  grave  ;  and  that, 
when  it  should  bear  fruit,  then  should 
Adam  receive  the  oil  of  God's  mercy. 
The  branch  grew  into  a  tree,  but  never 
bore  fruit  till  the  passion  of  Christ ; 
but  "  of  a  branch  of  this  tree  and  of 
other  wood,"  says  Buti,  "  the  cross 
was  made,  and  from  that  branch  was 
suspended  such  sweet  fruit  as  the  body 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  then 
Adam  and  other  saints  had  the  oil  of 
mercy,  inasmuch  as  they  were  taJien 
from  Limbo  and  led  by  Christ  into 
eternal    life." 

54.  In  the  month  of  February, 
when  the  sun  is  in  the  constellation 
of  the  Fishes.  Dante  here  gives  it 
the  title  of  the  Lasca,  the  Roach  or 
Mullet. 

58.  The  red  and  white  of  the  apple- 
blossoms  is  symbolical  of  the  blood  and 
water  which  flowed  from  the  wound 
in  Christ's  side.  At  least  so  thinks 
Vellutelli. 


Ruskin,  Mod.  Painters,  IIL  226, 
says :  "  Some  three  arrow-flights  farther 
up  into  the  wood  we  come  to  a  tall 
tree,  which  is  at  first  barren,  but,  after 
some  little  time,  visibly  opens  into 
flowers,  of  a  color  *  less  than  that  of 
roses,  but  more  than  that  of  violets.' 
It  certainly  would  not  be  possible, 
in  words,  to  come  nearer  to  the  defini- 
tion of  the  exact  hue  which  Dante 
meant,  —  that  of  the  apple- blossom. 
Had  he  employed  any  simple  color- 
phrase,  as  a  *  pale  pink,'  or  '  violet 
pink,'  or  any  other  such  combined 
expression,  he  still  could  not  have 
completely  got  at  the  delicacy  of  the 
hue  ;  he  might  perhaps  have  indicated 
its  kind,  but  not  its  tenderness ;  but 
by  taking  the  rose-leaf  as  the  type  of 
the  delicate  red,  and  then  enfeebling 
this  with  the  violet  gray,  he  gets,  as 
closely  as  language  can  carry  him,  to 
the  complete  rendering  of  the  vision, 
though  it  is  evidently  felt  by  him  to 
be  in  its  perfect  beauty  inefi^able  ;  and 
rightly  so  felt,  for  of  all  lovely  things 
which  grace  the  spring-time  in  our  fair 
temperate  zone,  I  am  not  sure  but  this 
blossoming  of  the  apple-tree  is  the 
fairest." 

65.  The  eyes  of  Argus,  whom  Mer- 
cury lulled  asleep  by  telling  him  the 
story  of  Syrinx,  and  then  put  to  death. 

Ovid,  Met.,  L,  Dryden's  Tr.  :  — 

"  While  Hermes  piped,  and  sung,  and  told 

his   tale, 
The  keeper's  winking  eyes  began  to  fail. 
And  drowsy  slumber  on  the  lids  to  creep  ; 
Till  all  the  watchman  was  at  length  asleep. 
Then  soon   the  god   his  voice   and   song  sup- 

prest. 


Pttrgatorio  xxxii. 


357 


And  with  his  powerful  rod  confirmed  his  rest ; 
Without  delay  his  crooked  falchion  drew, 
And  at  one  fatal  stroke  the  keeper  slew." 

73".  The  Transfiguration.  The  pas- 
sage in  the  Song  of  Solomon,  ii.  3,  "As 
the  apple-tree  among  the  trees  of  the 
wood,  so  is  my  beloved  among  the 
sons,"  is  interpreted  as  referring  to 
Christ  ;  and  Dante  here  calls  the 
Transfiguration  the  blossoming  of  that 
tree. 

77.  Matthew  xvii.  5  :  "  While  he 
yet  spake,  behold,  a  bright  cloud  over- 
shadowed them  :  and,  behold,  a  voice 
out  of  the  cloud,  which  said.  This  is 
my  beloved  Son,  in  whom  I  am  well 
pleased;  hear  ye  him.  And  when  the 
disciples  heard  it,  they  fell  on  their 
face,  and  were  sore  afraid.  And  Jesus 
came  and  touched  them,  and  said. 
Arise,  and  be  not  afraid.  And  when 
they  had  lifted  up  their  eyes,  they  saw 
no  man,  save  Jesus  only." 

82.    Matilda. 

98.  The  seven  Virtues  holding  the 
seven  golden  candlesticks,  or  the  seven 
gifts  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

112.  The  descent  of  the  eagle  upon 
the  tree  is  interpreted  by  Buti  as  the 
persecution  of  the  Christians  by  the 
Emperors.  The  rending  of  the  bark 
of  the  tree  is  the  "  breaking  down  of 
the  constancy  and  fortitude  of  holy 
men "  ;  the  blossoms  are  "  virtuous 
examples  or  prayers,"  and  the  new 
leaves,  "  the  virtuous  deeds  that  holy 
men  had  begun  to  do,  and  which  were 
interrupted  by  these  persecutions." 

115.  Buti  says:  "This  descent  of 
the    eagle   upon   the   chariot,  and   the 


smiting  it,  mean  the  persecution  of  the 
Holy  Church  and  of  the  Christians  by 
the  Emperors,  as  appears  in  the  chron- 
icles down  to  the  time  of  Constan- 
tine." 

119.    The  fox  is  Heresy. 

126.  The  gift  of  Constantine  to  the 
Church.      Inf.  XIX.  125:  — 

"  Ah,   Constantine  !    of  how   much   woe   was 
mother, 
Not   thy   conversion,    but   that   marriage- 
dower 
Which  the  first  wealthy  Father  took  from 
thee  !  " 

131.  Mahomet.  Revelation  x\\.  '^  : 
"  And  there  appeared  another  wonder 
in  heaven  ;  and,  behold,  a  great  red 
dragon,  having  seven  heads  and  ten 
horns,  and  seven  crowns  upon  his 
heads.  And  his  tail  drew  the  third 
part  of  the  stars  of  heaven,  and  did 
cast  them  to  the  earth." 

144.  These  seven  heads,  say  the 
Ottimo  and  others,  "  denote  the  seven 
deadly  sins."  But  Biagioli,  following 
Buti,  says  :  "  There  is  no  doubt  that 
these  heads  and  the  horns  represent 
the  same  that  we  have  said  in  Canto 
XIX.  of  the  Inferno  ,•  namely,  the  ten 
horns,  the  Ten  Commandments  of 
God  ;  and  the  seven  heads,  the  Seven 
Sacraments  of  the  Church."  Never 
was  there  a  wider  difference  of  inter- 
pretation. The  context  certainly  fa- 
vors the  first. 

150.    Pope  Boniface  the  Eighth. 

152.  Philip  the  Fourth  of  France. 
For  his  character  see  Canto  XX. 
Note  43. 

156.  This  alludes  to  the  maltreat- 
ment   of  Boniface    by    the    troops    of 


358 


Notes 


Philip  at  Alagna.  See  Canto  XX. 
Note  87. 

159.  The  removal  of  the  Papal  See 
from  Rome  to  Avignon. 

The  principal  points  of  the  allegory 
of  this  canto  may  be  summed  up  as 
follows.  The  triumphal  chariot,  the 
Church  J  the  seven  Nymphs,  the  Vir- 


tues Cardinal  and  Evangelical  ;  the 
seven  candlesticks,  the  seven  gifts  of 
the  Holy  Spirit  ;  the  tree  of  knowl- 
edge, Rome  ;  the  Eagle,  the  Imperial 
power ;  the  Fox,  heresy  ;  the  Dragon, 
Mahomet ;  the  shameless  whore.  Pope 
Boniface  the  Eighth  ;  and  the  giant, 
Philip   the  Fair  of  France. 


CANTO    XXXIII. 


I.  In  this  canto  Dante  is  made  to 
drink  of  the  river  Eunoe,  the  memory 
of  things  good. 

Psalm  Ixxix.,  beginning  :  "  O  God, 
the  heathen  are  come  into  thine  in- 
heritance ;  thy  holy  temple  have  they 
defiled."  The  three  Evangelical  and 
four  Cardinal  Virtues  chant  this  psalm, 
alternately  responding  to  each  other. 
The  Latin  words  must  be  chanted, 
in  order  to  make  the  lines  rhythmical, 
with  an  equal  emphasis  on  each  syl- 
lable. 

7.    When  their  singing  was  ended. 

10.  John  xvi.  16  :  "A  little  while, 
and  ye  shall  not  see  me:  and  again,  a 
little  while,  and  ye  shall  see  me  ;  be- 
cause I  go  to  the  Father." 

15.    Dante,  Matilda,  and  Statius. 

27.    As  in  Canto  XXXI.  7  :  — 

"  My  faculries  were  in  so  great  confusion, 

That  the  voice  moved,  but  sooner  was  extinct 
Than  by  its  organs  it  was  set  at  large." 

34.  Is  no  longer  what  it  was.  Rev- 
elation xvii.  8  :  "  The  beast  that  thou 
sawest  was,  and  is  not." 


36.  In  the  olden  time  in  Florence, 
if  an  assassin  could  contrive  to  eat  a 
sop  of  bread  and  wine  at  the  grave  of 
the  murdered  man,  within  nine  days 
after  the  murder,  he  was  free  from  the 
vengeance  of  the  family  ;  and  to  pre- 
vent this  they  kept  watch  at  the  tomb. 
There  is  no  evading  the  vengeance  of 
God  in  this  way.  Such  is  the  inter- 
pretation of  this  passage  by  all  the  old 
commentators. 

37.  The  Roman  Empire  shall  not 
always  be  without  an  Emperor,  as  it 
was  then  in  the  eyes  of  Dante,  who 
counted  the  "German  KXbtxx." Alberto 
tedesco,  as  no  Emperor,  because  he 
never  came  into  Italy.  See  the  appeal 
to  him.  Canto  VI.  96,  and  the  male- 
diction, because  he  suffered 

"The  garden  of  the  empire  to  be  waste." 

43.  The  Roman  numerals  making 
DVX,  or  Leader.  The  allusion  is  to 
Henry  of  Luxemburgh,  in  whom  Dante 
placed  his  hopes  of  the  restoration  of 
the  Imperial  power.  He  was  the  suc- 
cessor of  the   German  Albert  of  the 


Purgatorio  xxxiii. 


359 


preceding  note,  after  an  interregnum  of 
one  year.  He  died  in  131 2,  shortly 
after  his  coronation  in  Rome.  See 
Canto  VI.  Note  97. 

Villani,  though  a  Guelf,  pays  this 
tribute  of  respect  to  his  memory.  Book 
IX.  Ch.  I  :  *•  He  was  wise  and  just 
and  gracious,  valiant  in  arms,  dignified, 
and  catholic ;  and  although  of  low 
estate  in  lineage,  he  was  of  a  magnani- 
mous heart,  feared  and  redoubted,  and 
if  he  had  lived  longer,  he  would  have 
done  great  things." 

When  Henry  entered  Italy  in  Sep- 
tember, 13 10,  Dante  hastened  to  meet 
him,  full  of  faith  and  hope.  Whether 
this  interview  took  place  at  Susa,  Tu- 
rin, or  Milan,  is  uncertain  ;  nor  is 
there  any  record  of  it,  except  the  allu- 
sion in  the  following  extract  from  a 
letter  of  Dante,  "  written  in  Tuscany, 
at  the  sources  of  the  Arno,  on  the 
14th  of  May,  131 1,  in  the  first  year 
of  the  happy  journey  of  the  divine 
Henry  into  Italy."  Dante  was  dis- 
appointed that  his  hero  should  linger 
so  long  in  the  Lombard  towns,  and 
wished  him  to  march  at  once  against 
Florence,  the  monster  "  that  drinketh 
neither  of  the  headlong  Po,  nor  of  thy 
Tyber."  In  this  letter,  Mr.  Greene's 
Tr.,  he  says :  — 

"  The  inheritance  of  peace,  as  the 
immense  love  of  God  witnesseth,  was 
left  us,  that  in  the  marvellous  sweet- 
ness thereof  our  hard  warfare  might 
be  softened,  and  by  the  use  thereof 
we  might  deserve  the  joys  of  our  tri- 
umphant country.  But  the  hatred  of 
the    ancient    and    implacable    enemy. 


who  ever  and  secretly  layeth  snares 
for  human  prosperity, —  disinheriting 
some  of  those  who  were  willing, — 
impiously,  in  the  absence  of  our  pro- 
tector, despoiled  us  also,  who  were 
unwilling.  Wherefore  we  wept  long 
by  the  rivers  of  confusion,  and  inces- 
santly implored  the  protection  of  the 
just  king,  to  scatter  the  satellites  of 
the  cruel  tyrant,  and  restore  us  to  our 
just  rights.  And  when  thou,  succes- 
sor of  Ccesar  and  of  Augustus,  crossing 
the  chain  of  the  Apennines,  brought 
back  the  venerable  Tarpeian  ensigns, 
our  long  sighings  straightway  ceased, 
the  fountains  of  our  tears  were  stayed, 
and  a  new  hope  of  a  better  age,  like  a 
sun  suddenly  risen,  shed  its  beams  over 
Latium.  Then  many,  breaking  forth 
into  jubilant  vows,  sang  with  Mars  the 
Saturnian  reign,  and  the  return  of  the 
Virgin. 

"  But  since  our  sun  (whether  the 
fervor  of  desire  suggests  it,  or  the 
aspect  of  truth)  is  already  believed  to 
have  delayed,  or  is  supposed  to  be 
going  back  in  his  course,  as  if  a  new 
Joshua  or  the  son  of  Amos  had  com- 
manded, we  are  compelled  in  our  un- 
certainty to  doubt,  and  to  break  forth 
in  the  words  of  the  Forerunner  :  *  Art 
thou  he  that  should  come,  or  look  we 
for  another?'  And  although  the  fury 
of  long  thirst  turns  into  doubt,  as  is  its 
wont,  the  things  which  are  certain  be- 
cause they  are  near,  nevertheless  we 
believe  and  hope  in  thee,  asserting 
thee  to  be  the  minister  of  God,  and 
the  son  of  the  Church,  and  the  pro- 
moter of  the  Roman  glory.      And  I, 


36o 


Notes 


who  write  as  well  for  myself  as  for 
others,  when  my  hands  touched  thy 
feet  and  my  lips  performed  their  office, 
saw  thee  most  benignant,  as  becometh 
the  Imperial  majesty,  and  heard  thee 
most  clement.  Then  my  spirit  ex- 
ulted within  me,  and  I  silently  said  to 
myself,  *  Behold  the  lamb  of  God,  who 
taketh  away  the  sins  of  the  world." 

Dante,  Par.  XXX.  133,  sees  the 
crown  and  throne  that  await  the  "  no- 
ble Henry  "  in  the  highest  heaven  :  — 

"  On  that  great  throne  on  which  thine  eyes  are 
fixed 
For  the  crown's  sake  already  placed  upon  it, 
Before  thou  suppest  at  this  wedding  feast, 
Shall  sit  the  soul  (that  is  to  be  Augustus 
On  earth)  of  noble  Henry,  who  shall  come 
To  reform  Italy  ere  she  be  prepared." 

47.  Themis,  the  daughter  of  Coelus 
and  Terra,  whose  oracle  was  famous  in 
Attica,  and  who  puzzled  Deucalion  and 
Pyrrha  by  telling  them  that,  in  order 
to  repeople  the  earth  after  the  deluge, 
they  must  throw  "their  mother's  bones 
behind  them." 

The  Sphinx,  the  famous  monster 
born  of  Chimasra,  and  having  the  head 
of  a  woman,  the  wings  of  a  bird,  the 
body  of  a  dog,  and  the  paws  of  a  lion  ; 
and  whose  riddle,  "What  animal  walks 
on  four  legs  in  the  morning,  on  two  at 
noon,  and  on  three  at  night  ? "  so  puz- 
zled the  Thebans,  that  King  Creon 
offered  his  crown  and  his  daughter 
Jocasta  to  any  one  who  should  solve 
it,  and  so  free  the  land  of  the  uncom- 
fortable monster  ;  a  feat  accomplished 
by  CEdipus  apparently  without  much 
difficulty. 


49.  The  Naiades  having  undertaken 
to  solve  the  enigmas  of  oracles,  The- 
mis, offended,  sent  forth  a  wild  beast 
to  ravage  the  flocks  and  fields  of  the 
Thebans  ;  though  why  they  should 
have  been  held  accountable  for  the 
doings  of  the  Naiades  is  not  very  ob- 
vious. The  tradition  is  founded  on  a 
passage  in  Ovid,  Met.y  VII.  757  :  — 

"  Carmina  Naiades  non  intellecta  priorum 
Solvunt." 

Heinsius  and  other  critics  say  that  the 
lines  should  read, 

"  Carmina  Laiades  non  intellecta  priorum 
Solverat "; 

referring  to  CEdipus,  son  of  Laius.  But 
Rosa  Moranda  maintains  the  old  read- 
ing, and  says  there  is  authority  in  Pau- 
sanias  for  making  the  Naiades  inter- 
preters of  oracles. 

54.    Cop  las  de  Manrtque :  — 

"  Our  cradle  is  the  starting  place, 
Life  is  the  running  of  the  race." 

57.  First  by  the  Eagle,  who  rent  its 
bark  and  leaves  ;  then  by  the  giant, 
who  bore  away  the  chariot  which  had 
been  bound  to  it. 

6 1.  The  sin  of  Adam,  and  the  death 
of  Christ. 

66.  Widening  at  the  top,  instead  of 
diminishing  upward  like  other  trees. 

68.  The  Elsa  is  a  river  in  Tuscany, 
rising  in  the  mountains  near  Colle,  and 
flowing  northward  into  the  Arno,  be- 
tween Florence  and  Pisa.  Its  waters 
have' the  power  of  incrusting  or  petri- 
fying anything  left  in  them.  "  This 
power  of  incrustation,"  says  Covino, 
Descriz.   Geog.  deW   It  alia  ^  "is  espe- 


Pztrgatorio  xxxiii. 


361 


cially  manifest  a  little  above  Colic, 
where  a  great  pool  rushes  impetuously 
from  the  ground." 

69.  If  the  vain  thoughts  thou  hast 
been  immersed  in  had  not  petrified 
thee,  and  the  pleasure  of  them  stained 
thee  ;  if  thou  hadst  not  been 

"Converted  into  stone  and  stained  with  sin." 
78.  The  staff  wreathed  with  palm, 
the  cockle-shell  in  the  hat,  and  the 
sandal-shoon  were  all  marks  of  the  pil- 
grim, showing  he  had  been  beyond 
sea  and  in  the  Holy  Land.  Thus  in 
the  old  ballad  of  The  Friar  of  Orders 
Gray  :  — 

"And  how  should  I  your  truelove  know 
From  many  another  one  ? 
O  by  his  cockle-hat  and  staff, 
And  by  his  sandal-shoone." 

In  the  FI(a  Nuova,  Mr.  Norton's  Tr., 
p.  71,  is  this  passage:  "Moreover,  it 
is  to  be  known  that  the  people  who 
travel  in  the  service  of  the  Most  High 
are  called  by  three  distinct  terms. 
Those  who  go  beyond  the  sea,  whence 
often  they  bring  back  the  palm,  are 
called  palmers.  Those  who  go  to  the 
house  of  Galicia  are  called  pilgrims,  be- 
cause the  burial-place  of  St.  James  was 
more  distant  from  his  country  than  that 
of  any  other  of  the  Apostles.  And  those 
are  called  romei  who  go  to  Rome." 

85.  How  far  Philosophy  differs  from 
Religion.  Isaiah  Iv.  8  :  "  For  my 
thoughts  are  not  your  thoughts,  neither 
are  your  ways  my  ways,  saith  the  Lord. 
For  as  the  heavens  are  higher  than 
the  earth,  so  are  my  ways  higher  than 
your  ways,  and  my  thoughts  than  your 
thoughts." 

VOL.  II.  46 


104.  Noon  of  the  Fourth  Day  of 
Purgatory. 

112.  Two  of  the  four  rivers  that 
watered  Paradise.  Here  they  are 
the  same  as  Lethe  and  Eunoe,  the 
oblivion  of  evil,  and  the  memory  of 
good. 

127.    Bunyan,  Pilgrim'' s  Progress :  — 

"  I  saw  then,  that  they  went  on 
their  way  to  a  pleasant  river,  which 
David  the  king  called  *  the  river  of 
God';  but  John,  'the  river  of  the 
water  of  life.'  Now  their  way  lay 
just  upon  the  bank  of  the  river  :  here 
therefore  Christian  and  his  compan- 
ion walked  with  great  delight  :  they 
drank  also  of  the  water  of  the  river, 
which  was  pleasant,  and  enlivening  to 
their  weary  spirits.  Besides,  on  the 
banks  of  this  river,  on  either  side,  were 
green  trees  for  all  manner  of  fruit  ; 
and  the  leaves  they  ate  to  prevent  sur- 
feits and  other  diseases  that  are  inci- 
dent to  those  that  heat  their  blood  by 
travels.  On  either  side  of  the  river 
was  also  a  meadow,  curiously  beauti- 
fied with  lilies  ;  and  it  was  green  all 
the  year  long.  In  this  meadow  they 
lay  down  and  slept  ;  for  here  they 
might  lie  down  safely.  When  they 
awoke,  they  gathered  again  of  the 
fruits  of  the  trees,  and  drank  again  of 
the  water  of  the  river,  and  then  lay 
down  again  to  sleep." 

129.    Sir  John  Denham  says  :  — 

"  The  sweetest  cordial  we  receive  at  last 
Is  conscience  of  our  virtuous  actions  past." 

145.  The  last  word  in  this  division 
of  the  poem,  as  in  the  other  two,  is 
the  suggestive  word  "  Stars." 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE    HERO    JS    POET. 


From  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship,  by  Thomas  Carlyle. 

Many  volumes  have  been  written  by  There  is  in  it,  as  foundation  of  it,  the 
way  of  commentary  on  Dante  and  his  softness,  tenderness,  gentle  affection  as 
Book  ;  yet,  on  the  whole,  with  no  of  a  child  ;  but  all  this  is  as  if  con- 
great  result.  His  biography  is,  as  it  gealed  into  sharp  contradiction,  into 
were,  irrecoverably  lost  for  us.  An  abnegation,  isolation,  proud,  hopeless 
unimportant,  wandering,  sorrow-strick-  pain.  A  soft,  ethereal  soul  looking  out 
en  man,  not  much  note  was  taken  of  so  stern,  implacable,  grim-trenchant, 
him  while  he  lived  ;  and  the  most  of  as  from  imprisonment  of  thick-ribbed 
that  has  vanished,  in  the  long  space  ice  !  Withal  it  is  a  silent  pain  too, 
that  now  intervenes.  It  is  five  centu-  a  silent,  scornful  one  :  the  lip  is  curled 
ries  since  he  ceased  writing  and  living  in  a  kind  of  godlike  disdain  of  the 
here.  After  all  commentaries,  the  Book  thing  that  is  eating  out  his  heart,  —  as 
itself  is  mainly  what  we  know  of  him.  if  it  were  withal  a  mean,  insignificant 
The  Book,  —  and  one  might  add  that  thing,  as  if  he  whom  it  had  power  to 
Portrait  commonly  attributed  to  Giot-  torture  and  strangle  were  greater  than 
to,  which,  looking  on  it,  you  cannot  it.  The  face  of  one  wholly  in  protest, 
help  inclining  to  think  genuine,  who-  and  life -long,  unsurrendering  battle, 
ever  did  it.  To  me  it  is  a  most  against  the  world.  Affection  all  con- 
touching  face  ;  perhaps,  of  all  faces  verted  into  indignation  ;  an  implacable 
that  I  know,  the  most  so.  Lonely  indignation  ;  slow,  equable,  silent,  like 
there,  painted  as  on  vacancy,  with  the  that  of  a  god  !  The  eye  too,  it  looks 
simple  laurel  wound  round  it  ;  the  out  as  in  a  kind  of  surprise,  a  kind  ot 
deathless  sorrow  and  pain,  the  known  inquiry.  Why  the  world  was  of  such 
victory  which  is  also  deathless;  —  sig-  a  sort  ?  This  is  Dante  :  so  he  looks, 
nificant  of  the  whole  history  of  Dante!  this  "voice  often  silent  centuries," 
I  think  it  is  the  mournfulest  face  that  and  sings  us  "his  mystic,  unfathomable 
ever  was  painted  from  reality;  an  al-  song." 
together    tragic,    heart -affecting    face.  The  little  that  we  know  of  Dante's 


366 


Ilhcstrations 


Life  corresponds  well  enough  with  this 
Portrait  and  this  Book.  He  was  born 
at  Florence,  in  the  upper  class  of  so- 
ciety, in  the  year  1265.  His  educa- 
tion was  the  best  then  going  ;  much 
school-divinity,  Aristotelean  logic,  some 
Latin  classics,  —  no  inconsiderable  in- 
sight into  certain  provinces  of  things  : 
and  Dante,  with  his  earnest,  intelligent 
nature,  we  need  not  doubt,  learned 
better  than  most  all  that  was  learnable. 
He  has  a  clear,  cultivated  understand- 
ing, and  of  great  subtlety  ;  this  best 
fruit  of  education  he  had  contrived  to 
realize  from  these  scholastics.  He 
knows  accurately  and  well  what  lies 
close  to  him  ;  but  in  such  a  time, 
without  printed  books  or  free  inter- 
course, he  could  not  know  well  what 
was  distant :  the  small,  clear  light,  most 
luminous  for  what  is  near,  breaks  itself 
into  singular  chiaroscuro  striking  on 
what  is  far  off.  This  was  Dante's 
learning  from  the  schools.  In  life,  he 
had  gone  through  the  usual  destinies;  — 
been  twice  out  campaigning  as  a  sol- 
dier for  the  Florentine  state;  been  on 
embassy  ;  had  in  his  thirty-fifth  year, 
by  natural  gradation  of  talent  and  ser- 
vice, become  one  of  the  chief  magis- 
trates of  Florence.  He  had  met  in 
boyhood  a  certain  Beatrice  Portinari, 
a  beautiful  little  girl  of  his  own  age 
and  rank,  and  grown  up  thenceforth  in 
partial  sight  of  her,  in  some  distant 
intercourse  with  her.  All  readers 
know  his  graceful,  affecting  account  of 
this  ;  and  then  of  their  being  parted  ; 
of  her  being  wedded  to  another,  and 
of  her  death  soon  after.     She  makes  a 


great  figure  in  Dante's  Poems ;  seems 
to  have  made  a  great  figure  in  his  life. 
Of  all  beings  it  might  seem  as  if  she, 
held  apart  from  him,  far  apart  at  last 
in  the  dim  Eternity,  were  the  only 
one  he  had  ever  with  his  whole  strength 
of  affection  loved.  She  died  :  Dante 
himself  was  wedded  ;  but  it  seems  not 
happily,  far  from  happily.  I  fancy, 
the  rigorous,  earnest  man,  with  his  keen 
excitabilities,  was  not  altogether  easy 
to  make  happy. 

We  will  not  complain  of  Dante's 
miseries  :  had  all  gone  right  with  him 
as  he  wished  it,  he  might  have  been 
Prior,  Podesta,  or  whatsoever  they  call 
it,  of  Florence,  well  accepted  among 
neighbors,  —  and  the  world  had  wanted 
one  of  the  most  notable  words  ever 
spoken  or  sung.  Florence  would  have 
had  another  prosperous  Lord  Mayor  ; 
and  the  ten  dumb  centuries  continued 
voiceless,  and  the  ten  other  listening 
centuries  (for  there  will  be  ten  of 
them  and  more)  had  no  Divina  Corn- 
media  to  hear  !  We  will  complain  of 
nothing.  A  nobler  destiny  was  ap- 
pointed for  this  Dante  ;  and  he,  strug- 
gling like  a  man  led  towards  death  and 
crucifixion,  could  not  help  fulfilling  it. 
Give  him  the  choice  of  his  happiness  ! 
He  knew  not,  more  than  we  do,  what 
was  really  happy,  what  was  really 
miserable. 

In  Dante's  Priorship,  the  Guelph- 
Ghibelline,  Bianchi-Neri,  or  some 
other  confused  disturbances,  rose  to 
such  a  height,  that  Dante,  whose  party 
had  seemed  the  stronger,  was  with  his 
friends    cast    unexpectedly    forth    into 


The  Hero  as  Poet 


3(>7 


banishment ;  doomed  thenceforth  to  a 
life  of  woe  and  wandering.  His  prop- 
erty was  all  confiscated,  and  more  ;  he 
had  the  fiercest  feeling  that  it  was  en- 
tirely unjust,  nefarious  in  the  sight  of 
God  and  man.  He  tried  what  was  in 
him  to  get  reinstated  ;  tried  even  by 
warlike  surprisal,  with  arms  in  his 
hand  :  but  it  would  not  do  ;  bad  only 
had  become  worse.  There  is  a  record, 
I  believe,  still  extant  in  the  Florence 
Archives,  dooming  this  Dante,  where- 
soever caught,  to  be  burnt  alive.  Burnt 
alive  ;  so  it  stands,  they  say  :  a  very 
curious  civic  document.  Another  curi- 
ous document,  some  considerable  num- 
ber of  years  later,  is  a  Letter  of  Dante's 
to  the  Florentine  Magistrates,  written 
in  answer  to  a  milder  proposal  of 
theirs,  that  he  should  return  on  con- 
dition of  apologizing  and  paying  a  fine. 
He  answers,  with  fixed,  stern  pride  : 
"  If  I  cannot  return  without  calling 
myself  guilty,  I  will  never  return,  nun- 
quam  revertar" 

For  Dante  there  was  now  no  home 
in  this  world.  He  wandered  from 
patron  to  patron,  from  place  to  place  ; 
proving,  in  his  own  bitter  words, 
**  How  hard  is  the  path.  Come  e  duro 
calk."  The  wretched  are  not  cheer- 
ful company.  Dante,  poor  and  ban- 
ished, with  his  proud,  earnest  nature, 
with  his  moody  humors,  was  not  a  man 
to  conciliate  men.  Petrarch  reports 
of  him,  that  being  at  Can  della  Scala's 
court,  and  blamed  one  day  for  his 
gloom  and  taciturnity,  he  answered  in 
no  courtier-like  way.  Delia  Scala 
stood  among  his  courtiers,  with  mimes 


and  buffoons  {nebuhnes  ac  histriones') 
making  him  heartily  merry  ;  when, 
turning  to  Dante,  he  said  :  "  Is  it  not 
strange,  now,  that  this  poor  fool  should 
make  himself  so  entertaining ;  while 
you,  a  wise  man,  sit  there  day  after 
day,  and  have  nothing  to  amuse  us 
with  at  all .'' "  Dante  answered  bit- 
terly :  "  No,  not  strange  ;  your  High- 
ness is  to  recollect  the  proverb.  Like 
to  Like  "i  —  given  the  amuser,  the 
amusee  must  also  be  given  !  Such  a 
man,  with  his  proud,  silent  ways,  with 
his  sarcasms  and  sorrows,  was  not  made 
to  succeed  at  court.  By  degrees,  it 
came  to  be  evident  to  him  that  he  had 
no  longer  any  resting-place,  or  hope  of 
benefit,  in  this  earth.  The  earthly 
world  had  cast  him  forth,  to  wander  ; 
no  living  heart  to  love  him  now  ;  for 
his  sore  miseries  there  was  no  solace 
here. 

The  deeper  naturally  would  the 
Eternal  World  impress  itself  on  him  ; 
that  awful  reality  over  which,  after  all, 
this  Time-world,  with  its  Florences 
and  banishments,  only  flutters  as  an 
unreal  shadow.  Florence  thou  shalt 
never  see:  but  Hell  and  Purgatory  and 
Heaven  thou  shalt  surely  see  !  What 
is  Florence,  Can  della  Scala,  and  the 
World  and  Life  altogether  ?  Eter- 
nity :  thither,  of  a  truth,  not  else- 
whither, art  thou  and  all  things  bound! 
The  great  soul  of  Dante,  homeless  on 
earth,  made  its  home  more  and  more 
in  that  awful  other  world.  Naturally 
his  thoughts  brooded  on  that,  as  on  the 
one  fact  important  for  him.  Bodied 
or  bodiless,  it  is  the  one  fact  important 


368 


Ilbcstratio7is 


for  all  men:  but  to  Dante,  in  that  age, 
it  was  bodied  in  fixed  certainty  of 
scientific  shape  ;  he  no  more  doubted 
of  that  Malebolge  Pool,  that  it  all  lay 
there  with  its  gloomy  circles,  with  its 
alti  guaiy  and  that  he  himself  should 
see  it,  than  we  doubt  that  we  should 
see  Constantinople  if  we  went  thither. 
Dante's  heart,  long  filled  with  this, 
brooding  over  it  in  speechless  thought 
and  awe,  bursts  forth  at  length  into 
"mystic,  unfathomable  song";  and  this 
his  Divine  Comedy,  the  most  remarkable 
of  all  modern  Books,  is  the  result.  It 
must  have  been  a  great  solacement  to 
Dante,  and  was,  as  we  can  see,  a  proud 
thought  for  him  at  times,  that  he, 
here  in  exile,  could  do  this  work;  that 
no  Florence,  nor  no  man  or  men,  could 
hinder  him  from  doing  it,  or  even 
much  help  him  in  doing  it.  He  knew 
too,  partly,  that  it  was  great ;  the 
greatest  a  man  could  do.  "  If  thou 
follow  thy  star,  Se  tu  segui  tua  Stella,  " 
—  so  could  the  Hero,  in  his  forsaken- 
ness, in  his  extreme  need,  still  say  to 
himself:  "  Follow  thou  thy  star,  thou 
shalt  not  fail  of  a  glorious  haven  ! " 
The  labor  of  writing,  we  find,  and  in- 
deed could  know  otherwise,  was  great 
and  painful  for  him  ;  he  says,  This 
Book  "  which  has  made  me  lean  for 
many  years."  Ah  yes,  it  was  won,  all 
of  it,  with  pain  and  sore  toil,  —  not  in 
sport,  but  in  grim  earnest.  His  Book, 
as  indeed  most  good  Books  are,  has 
been  written,  in  many  senses,  with  his 
heart's  blood.  It  is  his  whole  history 
this  Book.  He  died  after  finishing  it  ; 
not  yet  very  old,  at  the  age  of  fifty- 


six  ;  —  broken-hearted  rather,  as  is 
said.  He  lies  buried  in  his  death-city 
Ravenna  :  Hie  claudor  Dantes  patriis 
extorris  ab  orris.  The  Florentines 
begged  back  his  body,  in  a  century 
after  ;  the  Ravenna  people  would  not 
give  it.  "  Here  am  I  Dante  laid,  shut 
out  from  my  native  shores." 

I  said,  Dante's  Poem  was  a  Song  : 
it  is  Tieck  who  calls  it  "  a  mystic,  un- 
fathomable Song";  and  such  is  liter- 
ally the  character  of  it.  Coleridge 
remarks  very  pertinently  somewhere, 
that  wherever  you  find  a  sentence 
musically  worded,  of  true  rhythm  and 
melody  in  the  words,  there  is  some- 
thing deep  and  good  in  the  meaning 
too.  For  body  and  soul,  word  and 
idea,  go  strangely  together  here  as 
everywhere.  Song  :  we  said  before, 
it  was  the  Heroic  of  Speech  !  All  old 
Poems,  Homer's  and  the  rest,  are  au- 
thentically Songs.  I  would  say,  in 
strictness,  that  all  right  Poems  are  ; 
that  whatsoever  is  not  sung  is  properly 
no  Poem,  but  a  piece  of  Prose  cramped 
into  jingling  lines,  —  to  the  great  injury 
of  the  grammar,  to  the  great  grief  of 
the  reader,  for  most  part !  What  we 
want  to  get  at  is  the  thought  the  man 
had,  if  he  had  any  :  why  should  he 
twist  it  into  jingle,  if  he  could  speak  it 
out  plainly  ?  It  is  only  when  the 
heart  of  him  is  rapt  into  true  passion 
of  melody,  and  the  very  tones  of  him, 
according  to  Coleridge's  remark,  be- 
come musical  by  the  greatness,  depth, 
and  music  of  his  thoughts,  that  we  can 
give  him  right  to  rhyme  and  sing;  that 
we  call  him  a  Poet,  and  listen  to  him 


The  Hero  as  Poet 


369 


as  the  Heroic  of  Speakers,  —  whose 
speech  is  Song.  Pretenders  to  this  are 
many  ;  and  to  an  earnest  reader,  I 
doubt,  it  is  for  most  part  a  very  mel- 
ancholy, not  to  say  an  insupport- 
able business,  that  of  reading  rhyme  ! 
Rhyme  that  had  no  inward  necessity 
to  be  rhymed  ;  —  it  ought  to  have  told 
us  plainly,  without  any  jingle,  what  it 
was  aiming  at.  I  would  advise  all 
men  who  can  speak  their  thought,  not 
to  sing  it  ;  to  understand  that,  in  a 
serious  time,  among  serious  men,  there 
is  no  vocation  in  them  for  singing  it. 
Precisely  as  we  love  the  true  song,  and 
are  charmed  by  it  as  by  something 
divine,  so  shall  we  hate  the  false  song, 
and  account  it  a  mere  w^ooden  noise, 
a  thing  hollow,  superfluous,  altogether 
an  insincere  and  oiFensive  thing. 

I  give  Dante  my  highest  praise 
when  I  say  of  his  Divine  Comedy  that 
it  is,  in  all  senses,  genuinely  a  Song. 
In  the  very  sound  of  it  there  is  a  canto 
fermo ;  it  proceeds  as  by  a  chant. 
The  language,  his  simple  terza  rima, 
doubtless  helped  him  in  this.  One 
reads  along  naturally  with  a  sort  of 
//'//.  But  I  add,  that  it  could  not  be 
otherwise  ;  for  the  essence  and  ma- 
terial of  the  work  are  themselves 
rhythmic.  Its  depth,  and  rapt  passion 
and  sincerity,  makes  it  musical  ;  —  go 
deep  enough,  there  is  music  every- 
where. A  true  inward  symmetry, 
what  one  calls  an  architectural  har- 
mony, reigns  in  it,  proportionates  it 
all  :  architectural  ;  which  also  par- 
takes of  the  character  of  music.  The 
three  kingdoms.  Inferno,  Purgatorio, 
VOL.  II.  47 


Paradiso,  look  out  on  one  another  like 
compartments  of  a  great  edifice ;  a  great 
supernatural  world-cathedral,  piled  up 
there,  stern,  solemn,  awful  ;  Dante's 
World  of  Souls  !  It  is,  at  bottom, 
the  sincerest  of  all  Poems  ;  sincerity, 
here  too,  we  find  to  be  the  measure 
of  worth.  It  came  deep  out  of  the 
author's  heart  of  hearts  ;  and  it  goes 
deep,  and  through  long  generations, 
into  ours.  The  people  of  Verona, 
when  they  saw  him  on  the  streets, 
used  to  say  :  "Eccovi  ?  uom  ch'  ^  stato 
alP  Inferno,  See,  there  is  the  man  that 
was  in  Hell  !  "  Ah,  yes,  he  had  been 
in  Hell  ;  —  in  Hell  enough,  in  long, 
severe  sorrow  and  struggle  ;  as  the  like 
of  him  is  pretty  sure  to  have  been. 
Commedias  that  come  out  divine  are 
not  accomplished  otherwise.  Thought, 
true  labor  of  any  kind,  highest  virtue 
itself,  is  it  not  the  daughter  of  Pain  ? 
Born  as  out  of  the  black  whirlwind  ; 
true  effort,  in  fact,  as  of  a  captive  strug- 
gling to  free  himself:  that  is  Thought. 
In  all  ways  we  are  "to  become  perfect 
through  suffering."  —  But,  as  I  say,  no 
work  known  to  me  is  so  elaborated  as 
this  of  Dante's.  It  has  all  been  as  if 
molten,  in  the  hottest  furnace  of  his 
soul.  It  had  made  him  "  lean  "  for 
many  years.  Not  the  general  whole 
only  ;  every  compartment  of  it  is 
worked  out,  with  intense  earnestness, 
into  truth,  into  clear  visuality.  Each 
answers  to  the  other  ;  each  fits  in  its 
place,  like  a  marble  stone  accurately 
hewn  and  polished.  It  is  the  soul  of 
Dante,  and  in  this  the  soul  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  rendered  forever  rhyth- 


370 


lUitstrations 


mically  visible  there.  No  light  task  ; 
a  right  intense  one  :  but  a  task  which 
is  doTie. 

Perhaps  one  would  say,  intensity, 
with  the  much  that  depends  on  it,  is 
the  prevailing  character  of  Dante's 
genius.  Dante  does  not  come  before 
us  as  a  large  catholic  mind  ;  rather  as 
a  narrow,  and  even  sectarian  mind  : 
it  is  partly  the  fruit  of  his  age  and  posi- 
tion, but  partly  too  of  his  own  nature. 
His  greatness  has,  in  all  senses,  con- 
centred itself  into  fiery  emphasis  and 
depth.  He  is  world-great  not  because 
he  is  world-wide,  but  because  he  is 
world-deep.  Through  all  objects  he 
pierces  as  it  were  down  into  the  heart 
of  Being.  I  know  nothing  so  intense 
as  Dante.  Consider,  for  example,  to 
begin  with  the  outermost  development 
of  his  intensity,  consider  how  he  paints. 
He  has  a  great  power  of  vision;  seizes 
the  very  type  of  a  thing;  presents  that 
and  nothing  more.  You  remember 
that  first  view  he  gets  of  the  Hall  of 
Dite  :  red  pinnacle,  red-hot  cone  of 
iron  glowing  through  the  dim  immen- 
sity of  gloom  ;  so  vivid,  so  distinct, 
visible  at  once  and  forever  !  It  is  an 
emblem  of  the  whole  genius  of  Dante*. 
There  is  a  brevity,  an  abrupt  precision 
in  him  :  Tacitus  is  not  briefer,  more 
condensed;  and  then  in  Dante  it  seems 
a  natural  condensation,  spontaneous  to 
the  man.  One  smiting  word  ;  and 
then  there  is  silence,  nothing  more 
said.  His  silence  is  more  eloquent 
than  words.  It  is  strange  with  what 
a  sharp,  decisive  grace  he  snatches  the 
true  likeness  of  a  matter  ;  cuts  into  the 


matter  as  with  a  pen  of  fire.  Plutus, 
the  blustering  giant,  collapses  at  Vir- 
gil's rebuke  ;  it  is  "  as  the  sails  sink, 
the  mast  being  suddenly  broken."  Or 
that  poor  Brunetto,  with  the  cotto  as- 
petto,  "  face  iaked,"  parched  brown  and 
lean  ;  and  the  "  fiery  snow  "  that  falls 
on  them  there,  a  "  fiery  snow  without 
wind,"  slow,  deliberate,  never-ending  ! 
Or  the  lids  of  those  Tombs  ;  square 
sarcophaguses,  in  that  silent  dim-burn- 
ing Hell,  each  with  its  Soul  in  tor- 
ment ;  the  lids  laid  open  there  ;  they 
are  to  be  shut  at  the  Day  of  Judgment, 
through  Eternity.  And  how  Farinata 
rises;  and  how  Cavalcante  falls  —  at 
hearing  of  his  Son,  and  the  past  tense 
"/"ue ! "  The  very  movements  in 
Dante  have  something  brief;  swift, 
decisive,  almost  military.  It  is  of  the 
inmost  essence  of  his  genius  this  sort 
of  painting.  The  fiery,  swift  Italian 
nature  of  the  man,  so  silent,  passionate, 
with  its  quick  abrupt  movements,  its 
silent  "  pale  rages,"  speaks  itself  in 
these  things. 

For  though  this  of  painting  is  one  of 
the  outermost  developments  of  a  man, 
it  comes  like  all  else  from  the  essential 
faculty  of  him  ;  it  is  physiognomical 
of  the  whole  man.  Find  a  man  whose 
words  paint  you  a  likeness,  you  have 
found  a  man  worth  something  ;  mark 
his  manner  of  doing  it,  as  very  charac- 
teristic of  him.  In  the  first  place,  he 
could  not  have  discerned  the  object  at 
all,  or  seen  the  vital  type  of  it,  unless 
he  had,  what  we  may  call,  sympathized 
with  it,  —  had  sympathy  in  him  to  be- 
stow on  objects.     He  must  have  been 


The  Hero  as  Poet 


371 


sincere  about  it  too  ;  sincere  and  sym- 
pathetic :  a  man  without  worth  cannot 
give  you  the  likeness  of  any  object  ; 
he  dwells  in  vague  outwardness,  fallacy 
and  trivial  hearsay,  about  all  objects. 
And  indeed  may  we  not  say  that  in- 
tellect altogether  expresses  itself  in  this 
power  of  discerning  what  an  object  is  ? 
Whatsoever  of  faculty  a  man's  mind 
may  have  will  come  out  here.  Is  it 
even  of  business,  a  matter  to  be  done  ? 
The  gifted  man  is  he  who  sees  the 
essential  point,  and  leaves  all  the  rest 
aside  as  surplusage  ;  it  is  his  faculty, 
too,  the  man  of  business's  faculty,  that 
he  discern  the  true  likeness^  not  the 
false,  superficial  one,  of  the  thing  he 
has  got  to  work  in.  And  how  much 
o{ morality  is  in  the  kind  of  insight  we 
get  of  anything  ;  "  the  ^ye  seeing  in 
all  things  what  it  brought  with  it  the 
faculty  of  seeing  !  "  To  the  mean  eye 
all  things  are  trivial,  as  certainly  as  to 
the  jaundiced  they  are  yellow.  Ra- 
phael, the  Painters  tell  us,  is  the  best 
of  all  Portrait-painters  withal.  No 
most  gifted  eye  can  exhaust  the  signifi- 
cance of  any  object.  In  the  commonest 
human  face  there  lies  more  than  Ra- 
phael will  take  away  with  him. 

Dante's  painting  is  not  graphic  only, 
brief,  true,  and  of  a  vividness  as  of  fire 
in  dark  night ;  taken  on  the  wider 
scale,  it  is  every  way  noble,  and  the 
outcome  of  a  great  soul.  Francesca 
and  her  Lover,  what  qualities  in  that  ! 
A  thing  woven  as  out  of  rainbows,  on 
a  ground  of  eternal  black.  A  small 
flute-voice  of  infinite  wail  speaks  there, 
into  our  very  heart  of  hearts.     A  touch 


of  womanhood  in  it  too  :  della  bella 
persona^  che  mi  fu  tolta ;  and  how,  even 
in  the  Pit  of  woe,  it  is  a  solace  that  he 
will  never  part  from  her  !  Saddest 
tragedy  in  these  alti  guai.  And  the 
racking  winds,  in  that  aer  bruno,  whirl 
them  away  again,  to  wail  forever  !  — 
Strange  to  think:  Dante  was  the  friend 
of  this  poor  Francesca's  father  ;  Fran- 
cesca herself  may  have  sat  upon  the 
Poet's  knee,  as  a  bright  innocent  little 
child.  Infinite  pity,  yet  also  infinite 
rigor  of  law  :  it  is  so  Nature  is  made  ; 
it  is  so  Dante  discerned  that  she  was 
made.  What  a  paltry  notion  is  that 
of  his  Divine  Comedy's  being  a  poor 
splenetic,  impotent,  terrestrial  libel  ; 
putting  those  into  Hell  whom  he  could 
not  be  avenged  upon  on  earth  !  I  sup- 
pose if  ever  pity,  tender  as  a  mother's, 
was  in  the  heart  of  any  man,  it  was  in 
Dante's.  But  a  man  who  does  not  know 
rigor  cannot  pity  either.  His  very 
pity  will  be  cowardly,  egoistic,  —  sen- 
timentality, or  little  better.  I  know 
not  in  the  world  an  affection  equal  to 
that  of  Dante.  It  is  a  tenderness,  a 
trembling,  longing,  pitying  love  :  like 
the  wail  of  ^olian  harps,  soft,  soft  ; 
like  a  child's  young  heart  ;  —  and  then 
that  stern,  sore-saddened  heart  !  These 
longings  of  his  towards  his  Beatrice  ; 
their  meeting  together  in  the  Paradiso ; 
his  gazing  in  her  pure  transfigured 
eyes,  her  that  had  been  purified  by 
death  so  long,  separated  from  him  so 
far  :  —  one  likens  it  to  the  song  of  an- 
gels ;  it  is  among  the  purest  utterances 
of  affection,  perhaps  the  very  purest 
that  ever  came  out  of  a  human  soul. 


372 


IlhLstrations 


For  the  intense  Dante  is  intense  in 
all  things ;  he  has  got  into  the  essence 
of  all.  His  intellectual  insight,  as 
painter,  on  occasion  too  as  rcasoner,  is 
but  the  result  of  all  other  sorts  of  in- 
tensity. Morally  great,  above  all,  we 
must  call  hini  ;  it  is  the  beginning  of 
all.  His  scorn,  his  grief,  are  as  tran- 
scendent as  his  love  ;  —  as,  indeed,  what 
are  they  but  the  inverse  or  converse  of 
his  love  ?  "A  Dio  Spiacenti,  ed  a*  ne- 
mici  sui.  Hateful  to  God  and  to  the 
enemies  of  God  ":  lofty  scorn,  un- 
appeasable silent  reprobation  and  aver- 
sion :  "Non  ragionam  di  lor.  We  will 
not  speak  of  them,  look  only  and  pass." 
Or  think  of  this:  "They  have  not  the 
hope  to  die,  ISIon  han  speranza  di  morte." 
One  day,  it  had  risen  sternly  benign 
on  the  scathed  heart  of  Dante,  that 
he,  wretched,  never-resting,  worn  as 
he  was,  would  full  surely  die ;  "  that 
Destiny  itself  could  not  doom  him  not 
to  die."  Such  words  are  in  this  man. 
For  rigor,  earnestness,  and  depth  he  is 
not  to  be  paralleled  in  the  modern 
world;  to  seek  his  parallel  we  must  go 
into  the  Hebrew  Bible,  and  live  with 
the  antique  Prophets  there. 

I  do  not  agree  with  much  modern 
criticism,  in  greatly  preferring  the  In- 
ferno to  the  two  other  parts  of  the 
Divine  Commedia.  Such  preference 
belongs,  I  imagine,  to  our  general  By- 
ronism  of  taste,  and  is  like  to  be  a 
transient  feeling.  The  Purgatorio  and 
Paradiso,  especially  the  former,  one 
would  almost  say,  is  even  more  ex- 
cellent than  it.  It  is  a  noble  thing 
that  Purgatorio,  "  Mountain  of  Purifi- 


cation ";  an  emblem  of  the  noblest 
conception  of  that  age.  If  Sin  is  so 
fatal,  and  Hell  is  and  must  be  so  rigor- 
ous, awful,  yet  in  Repentance  too  is 
man  purified ;  Repentance  is  the  grand 
Christian  act.  It  is  beautiful  how 
Dante  works  it  out.  The  tremolar  delP 
onde,  that  "  trembling  "  of  the  ocean- 
waves  under  the  first  pure  gleam  of 
morning,  dawning  afar  on  the  wander- 
ing Two,  is  as  the  type  of  an  altered 
mood.  Hope  has  now  dawned;  never- 
dying  Hope,  if  in  company  still  with 
heavy  sorrow.  The  obscure  sojourn 
of  demons  and  reprobate  is  under  foot; 
a  soft  breathing  of  penitence  mounts 
higher  and  higher,  to  the  Throne  of 
Mercy  itself.  "  Pray  for  me,"  the 
denizens  of  that  Mount  of  Pain  all  say 
to  him.  "  Tell  my  Giovanna  to  pray 
for  me,"  my  daughter  Giovanna;  "I 
think  her  mother  loves  me  no  more  !  " 
They  toil  painfully  up  by  that  wind- 
ing steep,  "  bent  down  like  corbels  of 
a  building,"  some  of  them,  —  crushed 
together  so  "for  the  sin  of  pride"; 
yet  nevertheless  in  years,  in  ages,  and 
£eons  they  shall  have  reached  the  top, 
which  is  Heaven's  gate,  and  by  Mercy 
shall  have  been  admitted  in.  The  joy 
too  of  all,  when  one  has  prevailed ; 
the  whole  Mountain  shakes  with  joy, 
and  a  psalm  of  praise  rises,  when  one 
soul  has  perfected  repentance,  and  got 
its  sin  and  misery  left  behind  !  I  call 
all  this  a  noble  embodiment  of  a  true, 
noble -thought. 

But  indeed  the  Three  compartments 
mutually  support  one  another,  are  in- 
dispensable to  one  another.     The  Pa- 


The  Hero  as  Poet 


m 


radiso,  a  kind  of  inarticulate  music  to 
me,  is  the  redeeming  side  of  the  In- 
ferno ;  the  Inferno  without  it  were 
untrue.  All  three  make  up  the  true 
Unseen  World,  as  figured  in  the  Chris- 
tianity of  the  Middle  Ages  ;  a  thing 
forever  memorable,  forever  true  in  the 
essence  of  it,  to  all  men.  It  was  per- 
haps delineated  in  no  human  soul  with 
such  depth  of  veracity  as  in  this  of 
Dante's  ;  a  man  sent  to  sing  it,  to  keep 
it  long  memorable.  Very  notable  with 
what  brief  simplicity  he  passes  out  of 
the  every-day  reality,  into  the  Invisi- 
ble one  ;  and  in  the  second  or  third 
stanza,  we  find  ourselves  in  the  World 
of  Spirits  ;  and  dwell  there,  as  among 
things  palpable,  indubitable  !  To 
Dante  they  were  so ;  the  real  world, 
as  it  is  called,  and  its  facts,  was  but 
the  threshold  to  an  infinitely  higher 
Fact  of  a  World.  At  bottom,  the  one 
was  as  />rr/^rnatural  as  the  other.  Has 
not  each  man  a  soul  ?  He  will  not 
only  be  a  spirit,  but  is  one.  To  the 
earnest  Dante  it  is  all  one  visible  Fact; 
he  believes  it,  sees  it ;  is  the  Poet  of 
it  in  virtue  of  that.  Sincerity,  I  say 
again,  is  the  saving  merit,  now  as  al- 
ways. 

Dante's  Hell,  Purgatory,  Paradise, 
are  a  symbol  withal,  an  emblematic 
representation  of  his  Belief  about  this 
Universe  :  —  some  Critic  in  a  future 
age,  like  those  Scandinavian  ones  the 
other  day,  who  has  ceased  altogether 
to  think  as  Dante  did,  may  find  this 
too  all  an  "  Allegory,"  perhaps  an  idle 
Allegory  !  It  is  a  sublime  embodi- 
ment,   our    sublimest,   of  the    soul   of 


Christianity.  It  expresses,  as  in  huge 
world-wide  architectural  emblems,  how 
the  Christian  Dante  felt  Good  and  Evil 
to  be  the  two  polar  elements  of  this 
Creation,  on  which  it  all  turns  ;  that 
these  two  differ  not  by  prcfcrability  of 
one  to  the  other,  but  by  incompat- 
ibility absolute  and  infinite  ;  that  the 
one  is  excellent  and  high  as  light  and 
Heaven,  the  other  hideous,  black  as 
Gehenna  and  the  Pit  of  Hell  !  Ever- 
lasting Justice,  yet  with  Penitence,  with 
everlasting  Pity,  —  all  Christianism,  as 
Dante  and  the  Middle  Ages  had  it,  is 
emblemed  here.  Emblemed:  and  yet, 
as  I  urged  the  other  day,  with  what 
entire  truth  of  purpose  ;  how  uncon- 
scious of  any  embleming  !  Hell,  Pur- 
gatory, Paradise  :  these  things  were 
'not  fashioned  as  emblems  ;  was  there, 
in  our  Modern  European  Mind,  any 
thought  at  all  of  their  being  emblems  ! 
Were  they  not  indubitable,  awful  facts; 
the  whole  heart  of  man  taking  them 
for  practically  true,  all  Nature  every- 
where confirming  them  ?  So  is  it  al- 
ways in  these  things.  Men  do  not 
believe  in  Allegory.  The  future  Critic, 
whatever  his  new  thought  may  be,  who 
considers  this  of  Dante  to  have  been 
all  got  up  as  an  Allegory,  will  commit 
one  sore  mistake  !  —  Paganism  we  rec- 
ognized as  a  veracious  expression  of 
the  earnest,  awe-struck  feeling  of  man 
towards  the  Universe  ;  veracious,  true 
once,  and  still  not  without  worth  for 
us.  But  mark  here  the  difi"erence  of 
Paganism  and  Christianism  ;  one  great 
difference.  Paganism  emblemed  chiefly 
the  Operations  of  Nature  ;   the  desti- 


374 


Illustrations 


nics,  efforts,  combinations,  vicissitudes 
of  things  and  men  in  this  world  :  Chris- 
tianism  emblemed  the  Law  of  Human 
Duty,  the  Moral  Law  of  Man.  One 
was  for  the  sensuous  nature  :  a  rude 
helpless  utterance  of  the  first  Thought 
of  men,  —  the  chief  recognized  virtue. 
Courage,  Superiority  to  Fear.  The 
other  was  not  for  the  sensuous  nature, 
but  for  the  moral.  What  a  progress  is 
here,  if  in  that  one  respect  only  ! — • 

And  so  in  this  Dante,  as  we  said, 
had  ten  silent  centuries,  in  a  very 
strange  way,  found  a  voice.  The  Di- 
vina  Commedia  is  of  Dante's  writing  ; 
yet  in  truth  it  belongs  to  ten  Christian 
centuries,  only  the  finishing  of  it  is 
Dante's.  So  always.  The  craftsman 
there,  the  smith  with  that  metal  of  nis, 
with  these  tools,  with  these  cunning 
methods,  —  how  little  of  all  he  does  is 
properly  his  work  !  All  past  inventive 
men  work  there  with  him  ;  —  as  in- 
deed with  all  of  us,  in  all  things. 
Dante  is  the  spokesman  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  ;  the  Thought  they  lived  by 
stands  here,  in  everlasting  music.  These 
sublime  ideas  of  his,  terrible  and  beauti- 
ful, are  the  fruit  of  the  Christian  Medi- 
tation of  all  the  good  men  who  had 
gone  before  him.  Precious  they  ;  but 
also  is  not  he  precious  ?  Much,  had 
not  he  spoken,  would  have  been  dumb; 
not  dead,  yet  living  voiceless. 

On  the  whole,  is  it  not  an  utterance, 
this  mystic  Song,  at  once  of  one  of  the 
greatest  human  souls,  and  of  the  highest 
thing  that  Europe  had  hitherto  realized 
for  itself?  Christianism,  as  Dante  sings 
it,  is  another  than  Paganism  in  the  rude 


Norse  mind  ;  another  than  "  Bastard 
Christianism  "  half-articulately  spoken 
in  the  Arab  Desert,  seven  hundred 
years  before!  —  The  noblest  idea  made 
real  hitherto  among  men,  is  sung,  and 
emblemed  forth  abidingly,  by  one  of 
the  noblest  men.  In  the  one  sense 
and  in  the  other,  arc  we  not  right  glad 
to  possess  it  ?  As  I  calculate,  it  may 
last  yet  for  long  thousands  of  years. 
For  the  thing  that  is  uttered  from  the  ' 
inmost  parts  of  a  man's  soul  differs 
altogether  from  what  is  uttered  by  the 
outer  part.  The  outer  is  of  the  day, 
under  the  empire  of  mode  ;  the  outer 
passes  away,  in  swift  endless  changes  ; 
the  inmost  is  the  same  yesterday,  to- 
day, and  forever.  True  souls,  in  all 
generations  of  the  world,  who  look  on 
this  Dante,  will  find  a  brotherhood 
in  him ;  the  deep  sincerity  of  his 
thoughts,  his  woes  and  hopes,  will 
speak  likewise  to  their  sincerity  ;  they 
will  feel  that  this  Dante  too  was  a 
brother.  Napoleon  in  Saint  Helena  is 
charmed  with  the  genial  veracity  of  old 
Homer.  The  oldest  Hebrew  Prophet, 
under  a  vesture  the  most  diverse  from 
ours,  does  yet,  because  he  speaks  from  < 
the  heart  of  man,  speak  to  all  men's  ' 
hearts.  It  is  the  one  sole  secret  of 
continuing  long  memorable.  Dante, 
for  depth  of  sincerity,  is  like  an  antique 
Prophet  too  ;  his  words,  like  theirs, 
come  from  his  very  heart.  One  need 
not  wonder  if  it  were  predicted  that 
his  Poem  might  be  the  most  enduring 
thing  our  Europe  has  yet  made  ;  for  i 
nothing  so  endures  as  a  truly  spoken 
word.      All   cathedrals,  pontificalities. 


Dante 


375 


brass  and  stone,  and  outer  arrangement  still  of  importance  to  men,  when  these 

never  so  lasting,  are  brief  in   compari-  had  all    sunk    into   new   irrecognizahle 

son  to  an  unfathomable  heart-song  like  combinations,  and  had  ceased  individu- 

this  :   one  feels  as  if  it  might  survive,  ally  to  be. 


D  ANTE. 


From  the  Essays  of  T.  B.  Macaulay. 


The  beginning  of  the  thirteenth 
century  was,  as  Machiavelli  has  re- 
marked, the  era  of  a  great  revival  of 
this  extraordinary  system.  The  policy 
of  Innocent,  —  the  growth  of  the  In- 
quisition and  the  mendicant  orders,  — 
the  wars  against  the  Albigenses,  the 
Pagans  of  the  East,  and  the  unfortunate 
princes  of  the  house  of  Swabia,  agitated 
Italy  during  the  two  following  genera- 
tions. In  this  point  Dante  was  com- 
pletely under  the  influence  of  his  age. 
He  was  a  man  of  a  turbid  and  melan- 
choly spirit.  In  early  youth  he  had 
entertained  a  strong  and  unfortunate  pas- 
sion, which,  long  after  the  death  of  her 
whom  he  loved,  continued  to  haunt 
him.  Dissipation,  ambition,  misfor- 
tunes, had  not  eifaced  it.  He  was  not 
only  a  sincere,  but  a  passionate,  be- 
liever. The  crimes  and  abuses  of  the 
Church  of  Rome  were  indeed  loath- 
some to  him  ;  but  to  all  its  doctrines 
and  all  its  rites  he  adhered  with  enthu- 
siastic fondness  and  veneration  ;  and 
at  length,  driven  from  his  native  coun- 
try, reduced  to  a  situation  the  most 
painful  to  a  man  of  his  disposition, 
condemned  to  learn  by  experience  that 


no  food  is  so  bitter  as  the  bread  of  de- 
pendence, and  no  ascent  so  painful  as 
the  staircase  of  a  patron,  his  wound- 
ed spirit  took  refuge  in  visionary  devo- 
tion. Beatrice,  the  unforgotten  object 
of  his  early  tenderness,  was  invested 
by  his  imagination  with  glorious  and 
mysterious  attributes  ;  she  was  en- 
throned among  the  highest  of  the  celes- 
tial hierarchy  :  Almighty  Wisdom  had 
assigned  to  her  the  care  of  the  sinful 
and  unhappy  wanderer  who  had  loved 
her  with  such  a  perfect  love.  By  a 
confusion,  like  that  which  often  takes 
place  in  dreams,  he  has  sometimes  lost 
sight  of  her  human  nature,  and  even  of 
her  personal  existence,  and  seems  to 
consider  her  as  one  of  the  attributes  of 
the  Deity. 

But  those  religious  hopes  which  had 
released  the  mind  of  the  sublime  en- 
thusiast from  the  terrors  of  death  had 
not  rendered  his  speculations  on  human 
life  more  cheerful.  This  is  an  incon- 
sistency which  may  often  be  observed 
in  men  of  a  similar  temperament.  He 
hoped  for  happiness  beyond  the  grave : 
but  he  felt  none  on  earth.  It  is  from 
this  cause,  more  than  from  any  other. 


376 


Illustrations 


that  his  description  of  Heaven  is  so  far 
inferior  to  the  Hell  or  the  Purgatory. 
With  the  passions  and  miseries  of  the 
suffering  spirits  he  feels  a  strong  sym- 
pathy. But  among  the  beatified  he 
appears  as  one  who  has  nothing  in 
common  with  them,  —  as  one  who  is 
incapable  of  comprehending,  not  only 
the  degree,  but  the  nature  of  their  en- 
joyment. We  think  that  we  see  him 
standing  amidst  those  smiling  and  radi- 
ant spirits  with  that  scowl  of  unuttera- 
ble misery  on  his  brow,  and  that  curl 
of  bitter  disdain  on  his  lips,  which 
all  his  portraits  have  preserved,  and 
which  might  furnish  Chantrey  with 
hints  for  the  head  of  his  projected 
Satan. 

There  is  no  poet  whose  intellectual 
and  moral  character  are  so  closely  con- 
nected. The  great  source,  as  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  of  the  power  of  the  Di- 
vine Comedy  is  the  strong  belief  with 
which  the  story  seems  to  be  told.  In 
this  respect,  the  only  books  which  ap- 
proach to  its  excellence  are  Gulliver's 
Travels  and  Robinson  Crusoe.  The 
solemnity  of  his  asseverations,  the  con- 
sistency and  minuteness  of  his  details, 
the  earnestness  with  which  he  labors 
to  make  the  reader  understand  the 
exact  shape  and  size  of  everything  that 
he  describes,  give  an  air  of  reality  to 
his  wildest  fictions.  I  should  only 
weaken  this  statement  by  quoting  in- 
stances of  a  feeling  which  pervades  the 
whole  work,  and  to  which  it  owes 
much  of  its  fascination.  This  is  the 
real  justification  of  the  many  passages 
in   his   poem   which   bad   critics   have 


condemned  as  grotesque.  I  am  con- 
cerned to  see  that  Mr.  Cary,  to  whom 
Dante  owes  more  than  ever  poet  owed 
to  translator,  has  sanctioned  an  accusa- 
tion utterly  unworthy  of  his  abilities. 
"  His  solicitude,"  says  that  gentleman, 
"  to  define  all  his  images  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  bring  them  within  the 
circle  of  our  vision,  and  to  subject 
them  to  the  power  of  the  pencil,  ren- 
ders him  little  better  than  grotesque, 
where  Milton  has  since  taught  us  to  ex- 
pect sublimity."  It  is  true  that  Dante 
has  never  shrunk  from  embodying  his 
conceptions  in  determinate  words,  that 
he  has  even  given  measures  and  num- 
bers, where  Milton  would  have  left  his 
images  to  float  undefined  in  a  gorgeous 
haze  of  language.  Both  were  right. 
Milton  did  not  profess  to  have  been  in 
heaven  or  hell.  He  might  therefore 
reasonably  confine  himself  to  magnifi- 
cent generalities.  Far  different  was 
the  office  of  the  lonely  traveller,  who 
had  wandered  through  the  nations  of 
the  dead.  Had  he  described  the  abode 
of  the  rejected  spirits  in  language  re- 
sembling the  splendid  lines  of  the  Eng- 
lish poet,  —  had  he  told  us  of 

"An  universe  of  death,  which  God  by  curse 
Created  evil,  for  evil  only  good, 
Where  all  life  dies,  death  lives,  and  Nature 

breeds 
Perverse  all  monstrous,  all  prodigious  things, 
Abominable,  unutterable,  and  worse 
Than  fables  yet  have   feigned,  or  fear  con- 
ceived, 
Gorgons,  and  hydras,  and  chimasras  dire,"  — 

this  would  doubtless  have  been  noble 
writing.  But  where  would  have  been 
that  strong  impression  of  reality,  which. 


Dante 


377 


in  accordance  with  his  plan,  it  should 
have  been  his  great  object  to  produce  ? 
It  was  absolutely  necessary  for  him  to 
delineate  accurately  "all  monstrous,  all 
prodigious  things,"  —  to  utter  what 
might  to  others  appear  "  unutterable," 
—  to  relate  with  the  air  of  truth  what 
fables  had  never  feigned,  —  to  embody 
what  fear  had  never  conceived.  And 
I  will  frankly  confess  that  the  vague 
sublimity  of  Milton  affects  me  less  than 
these  reviled  details  of  Dante.  We 
read  Milton  ;  and  we  know  that  we 
are  reading  a  great  poet.  When  we 
read  Dante,  the  poet  vanishes.  We 
are  listening  to  the  man  who  has  re- 
turned from  "  the  valley  of  the  dolo- 
rous abyss"; — we  seem  to  see  the 
dilated  eye  of  horror,  to  hear  the  shud- 
dering accents  with  which  he  tells  his 
fearful  tale.  Considered  in  this  light, 
the  narratives  are  exactly  what  they 
should  be,  —  definite  in  themselves,  but 
suggesting  to  the  mind  ideas  of  awful 
and  indefinite  wonder.  They  are  made 
up  of  the  images  of  the  earth  :  they 
are  told  in  the  language  of  the  earth. 
Yet  the  whole  effect  is,  beyond  ex- 
pression, wild  and  unearthly.  The 
fact  is,  that  supernatural  beings,  as  long 
as  they  are  considered  merely  with 
reference  to  their  own  nature,  excite 
our  feelings  very  feebly.  It  is  when 
the  great  gulf  which  separates  them 
from  us  is  passed,  when  we  suspect 
some  strange  and  undefinable  relation 
between  the  laws  of  the  visible  and 
the  invisible  world,  that  they  rouse, 
perhaps,  the  strongest  emotions  of 
which   our   nature    is   capable.      How 

VOL.   II.  48 


many  children,  and  how  many  men, 
are  afraid  of  ghosts,  who  are  not  afraid 
of  God  !  And  this,  because,  though 
they  entertain  a  much  stronger  convic- 
tion of  the  existence  of  a  Deity  than 
of  the  reality  of  apparitions,  they  have 
no  apprehension  that  he  will  manifest 
himself  to  them  in  any  sensible  man- 
ner. While  this  is  the  case,  to  de- 
scribe superhuman  beings  in  the  lan- 
guage, and  to  attribute  to  them  the 
actions  ot  humanity,  may  be  grotesque, 
unphilosophical,  inconsistent  ;  but  it 
will  be  the  only  mode  of  working  upon 
the  feelings  of  men,  and  therefore  the 
only  mode  suited  for  poetry.  Shake- 
speare understood  this  well,  as  he  un- 
derstood everything  that  belonged  to 
his  art.  Who  does  not  sympathize 
with  the  rapture  of  Ariel,  flying  after 
sunset  on  the  wings  of  the  bat,  or 
sucking  in  the  cups  of  flowers  with 
the  bee  ?  Who  does  not  shudder  at 
the  caldron  of  Macbeth  ?  Where  is 
the  philosopher  who  is  not  moved 
when  he  thinks  of  the  strange  connec- 
tion between  the  infernal  spirits  and 
"  the  sow's  blood  that  hath  eaten  her 
nine  farrow  "  ?  But  this  difficult  task 
of  representing  supernatural  beings  to 
our  minds  in  a  manner  which  shall  be 
neither  unintelligible  to  our  intellects, 
nor  wholly  inconsistent  with  our  ideas 
of  their  nature,  has  never  been  so  well 
performed  as  by  Dante.  I  will  refer 
to  three  instances,  which  are,  perhaps, 
the  most  striking;  —  the  description  of 
the  transformation  of  the  serpents  and 
the  robbers,  in  the  twenty-fifth  canto 
of  the  Inferno,  —  the  passage  concern- 


378 


I Ihistrations 


ing  Nimrod,  in  the  thirty-first  canto  of 
the  same  part,  —  and  the  magnificent 
procession  in  the  twenty-ninth  canto 
of  the  Purgatorio. 

The  metaphors  and  comparisons  of 
Dante  harmonize  admirably  with  that 
air  of  strong  reality  of  which  I  have 
spoken.  They  have  a  very  peculiar 
character.  He  is  perhaps  the  only 
poet  whose  writings  become  much  less 
intelligible  if  all  iflustrations  of  this 
sort  were  expunged.  His  similes  are 
frequently  rather  those  of  a  traveller 
than  of  a  poet.  He  employs  them  not 
to  display  his  ingenuity  by  fanciful 
analogies,  —  not  to  delight  the  reader 
by  affording  him  a  distant  and  passing 
glimpse  of  beautiful  images  remote  from 
the  path  in  which  he  is  proceeding, — 
but  to  give  an  exact  idea  of  the  objects 
which  he  is  describing,  by  comparing 
them  with  others  generally  known. 
The  boiling  pitch  in  Malebolge  was 
like  that  in  the  Venetian  arsenal  ;  — 
the  mound  on  which  he  travelled  along 
the  banks  of  Phlegethon  was  like  that 
between  Ghent  and  Bruges,  but  not  so 
large  ;  —  the  cavities  where  the  Simo- 
niacal  prelates  are  confined  resembled 
the  fonts  in  the  Church  of  John  at 
Florence.  Every  reader  of  Dante  will 
recall  many  other  illustrations  of  this 
description,  which  add  to  the  appear- 
ance of  sincerity  and  earnestness  from 
which  the  narrative  derives  so  much  of 
its  interest. 

Many  of  his  comparisons,  again,  are 
intended  to  give  an  exact  idea  of  his 
feelings  under  particular  circumstances. 
The  delicate  shades  of  grief,  of  fear,  of 


anger,  are  rarely  discriminated  with 
sufficient  accuracy  in  the  language  of 
the  most  refined  nations.  A  rude  dia- 
lect never  abounds  in  nice  distinctions 
of  this  kind.  Dante  therefore  employs 
the  most  accurate  and  infinitely  the 
most  poetical  mode  of  marking  the  pre- 
cise state  of  his  mind.  Every  person 
who  has  experienced  the  bewildering 
effect  of  sudden  bad  tidings,  —  the 
stupefaction,  —  the  vague  doubt  of  the 
truth  of  our  own  perceptions  which 
they  produce,  —  will  understand  the 
following  simile:  —  "I  was  as  he  is 
who  dreameth  his  own  harm,  —  who, 
dreaming,  wishes  that  it  may  be  all  a 
dream,  so  that  he  desires  that  which  is 
as  though  it  were  not."  This  is  only 
one  out  of  a  hundred  equally  striking 
and  expressive  similitudes.  The  com- 
parisons of  Homer  and  Milton  are  mag- 
nificent digressions.  It  scarcely  injures 
their  effect  to  detach  them  from  the 
work.  Those  of  Dante  are  very  dif- 
ferent. They  derive  their  beauty  from 
the  context,  and  reflect  beauty  upon  it. 
His  embroidery  cannot  be  taken  out 
without  spoiling  the  whole  web.  I 
cannot  dismiss  this  part  of  the  subject 
without  advising  every  person  who  can 
muster  sufficient  Italian  to  read  the 
simile  of  the  sheep,  in  the  third  canto 
of  the  Purgatorio.  I  think  it  the  most 
perfect  passage  of  the  kind  in  the 
world,  the  most  imaginative,  the  most 
picturesque,  and  the  most  sweetly  ex- 
press^ed. 

No  person  can  have  attended  to  the 
Divine  Comedy  without  observing  how 
little  impression  the  forms  of  the  ex- 


Dante 


379 


ternal  world  appear  to  have  made  on 
the  mind  of  Dante.  His  temper  and 
his  situation  had  led  him  to  fix  his  ob- 
servation almost  exclusively  on  human 
nature.  The  exquisite  opening  of  the 
eighth  canto  of  the  Purgatorio  affords 
a  strong  instance  of  this.  He  leaves 
to  others  the  earth,  the  ocean,  and  the 
sky.  His  business  is  with  man.  To 
other  writers,  evening  may  be  the  sea- 
son of  dews  and  stars  and  radiant 
clouds.  To  Dante  it  is  the  hour  of 
fond  recollection  and  passionate  devo- 
tion,—  the  hour  which  melts  the  heart 
of  the  mariner  and  kindles  the  love  of 
the  pilgrim,  —  the  hour  when  the  toll 
of  the  bell  seems  to  mourn  for  another 
day,  which  is  gone  and  will  return  no 
more. 

The  feeling  of  the  present  age  has 
taken  a  direction  diametrically  oppo- 
site. The  magnificence  of  the  physi- 
cal world,  and  its  influence  upon  the 
human  mind,  have  been  the  favorite 
themes  of  our  most  eminent  poets. 
The  herd  of  blue-stocking  ladies  and 
sonneteering  gentlemen  seems  to  con- 
sider a  strong  sensibility  to  the  "splen- 
dor of  the  grass,  the  glory  of  the  flow- 
er," as  an  ingredient  absolutely  indis- 
pensable in  the  formation  of  a  poetical 
mind.  They  treat  with  contempt  all 
writers  who  are  unfortunately 
"nee  ponere  lucum 
Artifices,  nee  rus  saturum  laudare." 

The  orthodox  poetical  creed  is  more 
Catholic.  The  noblest  earthly  object 
of  the  contemplation  of  man  is  man 
himself.  The  universe,  and  all  its  fair 
and  glorious  forms,  are  indeed  included 


in  the  wide  empire  of  the  imagination; 
but  she  has  placed  her  home  and  her 
sanctuary  amidst  the  inexhaustible  va- 
rieties and  the  impenetrable  mysteries 
of  the  mind. 

"  In  tutte  parti  impcra,  e  quivi  regge  ; 
Quivi  e  la  sua  cittade,  e  1'  alto  seggio." 

Othello  is  perhaps  the  greatest  work  in 
the  world.  From  what  does  it  derive 
its  power  ?  From  the  clouds  ?  From 
the  ocean?  From  the  mountains?  Or 
from  love  strong  as  death,  and  jeal- 
ousy cruel  as  the  grave  !  What  is  it 
that  we  go  forth  to  see  in  Hamlet  ? 
Is  it  a  reed  shaken  with  the  wind  ? 
A  small  celandine  ?  A  bed  of  daf- 
fodils ?  Or  is  it  to  contemplate  a 
mighty  and  wayward  mind  laid  bare 
before  us  to  the  inmost  recesses  ?  It 
may  perhaps  be  doubted  whether  the 
lakes  and  the  hills  are  better  fitted  for 
the  education  of  a  poet  than  the  dusky 
streets  of  a  huge  capital.  Indeed,  who 
is  not  tired  to  death  with  pure  descrip- 
tion of  scenery  ?  Is  it  not  the  fact, 
that  external  objects  never  strongly 
excite  our  feelings  but  when  they  are 
contemplated  in  reference  to  man,  as 
illustrating  his  destiny,  or  as  influen-  I 
cing  his  character  ?  The  most  beauti- 
ful object  in  the  world,  it  will  be 
allowed,  is  a  beautiful  woman.  But 
who  that  can  analyze  his  feelings  is  not 
sensible  that  she  owes  her  fascination 
less  to  grace  of  outline  and  delicacy  of 
color,  than  to  a  thousand  associations 
which,  often  unperceived  by  ourselves, 
connect  those  qualities  with  the  source 
of  our  existence,  with  the  nourishment 
of  our  infancy,  with   the   passions   of 


38o 


I lhistratio7is 


our  youth,  with  the  hopes  of  our  age, 
with  elegance,  with  vivacity,  with  ten- 
derness, with  the  strongest  of  natural 
instincts,  with  the  dearest  of  social  ties? 

To  those  who  think  thus,  the  in- 
sensibility o'i  the  Florentine  poet  to 
the  beauties  of  nature  will  not  appear 
an  unpardonable  deficiency.  On  man- 
kind no  writer,  with  the  exception  of 
Shakespeare,  has  looked  with  a  more 
penetrating  eye.  I  have  said  that  his 
poetical  character  had  derived  a  tinge 
from  his  peculiar  temper.  It  is  on 
the  sterner  and  darker  passions  that  he 
delights  to  dwell.  All  love,  excepting 
the  half  mystic  passion  which  he  still 
felt  for  his  buried  Beatrice,  had  palled 
on  the  fierce  and  restless  exile.  The 
sad  story  of  Rimini  is  almost  a  single 
exception.  I  know  not  whether  it  has 
been  remarked,  that,  in  one  point,  mis- 
anthropy seems  to  have  aiFected  his 
mind  as  it  did  that  of  Swift.  Nause- 
ous and  revolting  images  seem  to  have 
had  a  fascination  for  his  mind  ;  and  he 
repeatedly  places  before  his  readers, 
with  all  the  energy  of  his  incompara- 
ble style,  the  most  loathsome  objects 
of  the  sewer  and  the  dissecting-room. 

There  is  another  peculiarity  in  the 
poem  of  Dante,  which,  I  think,  de- 
serves notice.  Ancient  mythology  has 
hardly  ever  been  successfully  inter- 
woven with  modern  poetry.  One  class 
of  writers  have  introduced  the  fabulous 
deities  merely  as  allegorical  representa- 
tives of  love,  wine,  or  wisdom.  This 
necessarily  renders  their  works  tame 
and  cold.  We  may  sometimes  admire 
their  ingenuity;  but  with  what  interest 


can  we  read  of  beings  of  whose  per- 
sonal existence  the  writer  does  not  suf- 
fer us  to  entertain,  for  a  moment,  even 
a  conventional  belief?  Even  Spenser's 
allegory  is  scarcely  tolerable,  till  we 
contrive  to  forget  that  Una  signifies 
innocence,  and  consider  her  merely  as 
an  oppressed  lady  under  the  protection 
of  a  generous  knight. 

Those  writers  who  have,  more  judi- 
ciously, attempted  to  preserve  the  per- 
sonality of  the  classical  divinities  have 
failed  from  a  different  cause.  They 
have  been  imitators,  and  imitators  at  a 
disadvantage.  Euripides  and  Catullus 
believed  in  Bacchus  and  Cybele  as  little 
as  we  do.  But  they  lived  among  men 
who  did.  Their  imaginations,  if  not 
their  opinions,  took  the  color  of  the 
age.  Hence  the  glorious  inspiration 
of  the  Bacchs  and  the  Atys.  Our 
minds  are  formed  by  circumstances : 
and  I  do  not  believe  that  it  would  be 
in  the  power  of  the  greatest  modern 
poet  to  lash  himself  up  to  a  degree  of 
enthusiasm  adequate  to  the  production 
of  such  works. 

Dante  alone,  among  the  poets  of 
later  times,  has  been,  in  this  respect, 
neither  an  allegorist  nor  an  imitator  ; 
and,  consequently,  he  alone  has  intro- 
duced the  ancient  fictions  with  effect. 
His  Minos,  his  Charon,  his  Pluto,  are 
absolutely  terrific.  Nothing  can  be 
more  beautiful  or  original  than  the 
use  which  he  has  made  of  the  river 
of  Lethe.  He  has  never  assigned  to 
his  mythological  characters  any  func- 
tions inconsistent  with  the  creed  of 
the  Catholic  Church.      He  has  relat- 


Da7ite 


381 


ed  nothing  concerning  them  which  a 
good  Christian  of  that  age  might  not 
believe  possible.  On  this  account, 
there  is  nothing  in  these  passages  that 
appears  puerile  or  pedantic.  On  the 
contrary,  this  singular  use  of  classical 
names  suggests  to  the  mind  a  vague  and 
awful  idea  of  some  mysterious  revela- 
tion, anterior  to  all  recorded  history, 
of  which  the  dispersed  fragments  might 
have  been  retained  amidst  the  impos- 
tures and  superstitions  of  later  religions. 
Indeed  the  mythology  of  the  Divine 
Comedy  is  of  the  elder  and  more  co- 
lossal mould.  It  breathes  the  spirit  of 
Homer  and  ^schylus,  not  of  Ovid  and 
Claudian. 

This  is  the  more  extraordinary,  since 
Dante  seems  to  have  been  utterly  igno- 
rant of  the  Greek  language  ;  and  his 
favorite  Latin  models  could  only  have 
served  to  mislead  him.  Indeed,  it  is 
impossible  not  to  remark  his  admira- 
tion of  writers  far  inferior  to  himself; 
and,  in  particular,  his  idolatry  of  Vir- 
gil, who,  elegant  and  splendid  as  he  is, 
has  no  pretensions  to  the  depth  and 
originality  of  mind  which  characterize 
his  Tuscan  worshipper.  In  truth,  it 
may  be  laid  down  as  an  almost  univer- 
sal rule  that  good  poets  are  bad  critics. 
Their  minds  are  under  the  tyranny  of 
ten  thousand  associations  impercepti- 
ble to  others.  The  worst  writer  may 
easily  happen  to  touch  a  spring  which 
is  connected  in  their  minds  with  a  long 
succession  of  beautiful  images.  They 
are  like  the  gigantic  slaves  of  Aladdin, 
gifted  with  matchless  power,  but  bound 
by  spells  so  mighty  that,  when  a  child 


whom  they  could  have  crushed  touched 
a  talisman,  of  whose  secret  he  was  igno- 
rant, they  immediately  became  his  vas- 
sals. It  has  more  than  once  happened 
to  me  to  see  minds,  graceful  and  ma- 
jestic as  the  Titania  of  Shakespeare, 
bewitched  by  the  charms  of  an  ass's 
head,  bestowing  on  it  the  fondest  ca- 
resses, and  crowning  it  with  the  sweet- 
est flowers.  I  need  only  mention  the 
poems  attributed  to  Ossian.  They  are 
utterly  worthless,  except  as  an  edifying 
instance  of  the  success  of  a  story  with- 
out evidence,  and  of  a  book  without 
merit.  They  are  a  chaos  of  words 
which  present  no  image,  of  images 
which  have  no  archetype  ;  —  they  are 
without  form  and  void  ;  and  darkness 
is  upon  the  face  of  them.  Yet  how 
many  men  of  genius  have  panegyrized 
and  imitated  them  ! 

The  style  of  Dante  is,  if  not  his  high- 
est, perhaps  his  most  peculiar  excel- 
lence. I  know  nothing  with  which  it 
can  be  compared.  The  noblest  models 
of  Greek  composition  must  yield  to  it. 
His  words  are  the  fewest  and  the  best 
which  it  is  possible  to  use.  The  first 
expression  in  which  he  clothes  his 
thoughts  is  always  so  energetic  and 
comprehensive,  that  amplification  would 
only  injure  the  effect.  There  is  prob- 
ably no  writer  in  any  language  who 
has  presented  so  many  strong  pictures 
to  the  mind.  Yet  there  is  probably  no 
writer  equally  concise.  This  perfec- 
tion of  style  is  the  principal  merit  of 
the  Paradiso,  which,  as  I  have  already 
remarked,  is  by  no  means  equal  in 
other    respects    to   the   two   preceding 


382 


Illustrations 


parts  of  the  poem.  The  force  and 
felicity  of  the  diction,  however,  irresist- 
ibly attract  the  reader  through  the 
theological  lectures  and  the  sketches  of 
ecclesiastical  biography,  with  which 
this  division  of  the  work  too  much 
abounds.  It  ipay  seem  almost  absurd 
to  quote  particular  specimens  o{  an 
excellence  which  is  diffused  over  all 
his  hundred  cantos.  I  will,  however, 
instance  the  third  canto  of  the  Inferno, 
and  the  sixth  of  the  Purgatorio,  as  pas- 


sages incomparable  in  their  kind.  The 
merit  of  the  latter  is,  perhaps,  rather 
oratorical  than  poetical ;  nor  can  I  rec- 
ollect anything  in  the  great  Athenian 
speeches  which  equals  it  in  force  of 
invective  and  bitterness  of  sarcasm.  I 
have  heard  the  most  eloquent  statesman, 
of  the  age  remark  that,  next  to  Demos- 
thenes, Dante  is  the  writer  who  ought 
to  be  most  attentively  studied  by  every 
man  who  desires  to  attain  oratorical 
eminence. 


DANTE    AND    MILTON. 

From  the  Essays  of  T.  B.  Macaulay. 


The  only  poem  of  modern  times 
which  can  be  compared  with  the 
Paradise  Lost  is  the  Divine  Comedy. 
The  subject  of  Milton,  in  some  points, 
resembled  that  of  Dante  ;  but  he  has 
treated  it  in  a  widely  different  manner. 
We  cannot,  we  think,  better  illustrate 
our  opinion  respecting  our  own  great 
poet,  than  by  contrasting  him  with  the 
father  of  Tuscan  literature. 

The  poetry  of  Milton  differs  from 
that  of  Dante,  as  the  hieroglyphics  of 
Egypt  differed  from  the  picture-writ- 
ing of  Mexico.  The  images  which 
Dante  employs  speak  for  themselves  ; 
they  stand  simply  for  what  they  are. 
Those  of  Milton  have  a  signification 
which  is  often  discernible  only  to  the 
initiated.  Their  value  depends  less  on 
what  they  directly  represent  than  on 
what    they    remotely    suggest.      How- 


ever strange,  however  grotesque,  may 
be  the  appearance  which  Dante  under- 
takes to  describe,  he  never  shrinks  from 
describing  it.  He  gives  us  the  shape, 
the  color,  the  sound,  the  smell,  the 
taste  ;  he  counts  the  numbers  ;  he 
measures  the  size.  His  similes  are  the 
illustrations  of  a  traveller.  Unlike 
those  of  other  poets,  and  especially  of 
Milton,  they  are  introduced  in  a  plain, 
business-like  manner ;  not  for  the  sake 
of  any  beauty  in  the  objects  from  which 
they  are  drawn  ;  not  for  the  sake  of 
any  ornament  which  they  may  impart 
to  the  poem  ;  but  simply  in  order  to 
make  the  meaning  of  the  writer  as  clear 
to  the  reader  as  it  is  to  himself.  The 
ruins  of  the  precipice  which  led  from 
the  sixth  to  the  seventh  circle  of  hell 
were  like  those  of  the  rock  which  fell 
into  the  Adige  on  the  south  of  Trent. 


Dante  and  Milton 


83 


The  cataract  of  Phlegcthon  was  like 
that  of  Aqua  Cheta  at  the  monastery 
of  St.  Benedict.  The  place  where 
the  heretics  were  confined  in  burning 
tombs  resembled  the  vast  cemetery  of 
Aries. 

Now  let  us  compare  with  the  exact 
details  of  Dante  the  dim  intimations  of 
Milton.  We  will  cite  a  few  examples. 
The  English  poet  has  never  thought  of 
taking  the  measure  of  Satan.  He  gives 
us  merely  a  vague  idea  of  vast  bulk. 
In  one  passage  the  fiend  lies  stretched 
out  huge  in  length,  floating  many  a 
rood,  equal  in  size  to  the  earth-born 
enemies  of  Jove,  or  to  the  sea-monster 
which  the  mariner  mistakes  for  an 
island.  When  he  addresses  himself  to 
battle  against  the  guardian  angels,  he 
stands  like  Teneriffe  or  Atlas:  his  stat- 
ure reaches  the  sky.  Contrast  with 
these  descriptions  the  lines  in  which 
Dante  has  described  the  gigantic  spectre 
of  Nimrod.  "  His  face  seemed  to  me 
as  long  and  as  broad  as  the  ball  of  St. 
Peter's  at  Rome  ;  and  his  other  limbs 
were  in  proportion  ;  so  that  the  bank 
which  concealed  him  from  the  waist 
downwards  nevertheless  showed  so 
much  of  him,  that  three  tall  Germans 
would  in  vain  have  attempted  to  reach 
to  his  hair."  We  are  sensible  that  we 
do  no  justice  to  the  admirable  style  of 
the  Florentine  poet.  But  Mr.  Gary's 
translation  is  not  at  hand ;  and  our  ver- 
sion, however  rude,  is  sufficient  to  illus- 
trate our  meaning. 

Once  more,  compare  the  lazar-house 
in  the  eleventh  book  of  the  Paradise 
Lost  with  the  last  ward  of  Malebolge  in 


Dante.  Milton  avoids  the  loathsome 
details,  and  takes  refuge  in  indistinct 
but  solemn  and  tremendous  imagery. 
Despair  hurrying  from  couch  to  couch 
to  mock  the  wretches  with  his  attend- 
ance. Death  shaking  his  dart  over 
them,  but,  in  spite  of  supplications, 
delaying  to  strike.  What  says  Dante  ? 
"  There  was  such  a  moan  there  as 
there  would  be  if  all  the  sick  who, 
between  July  and  September,  are  in 
the  hospitals  of  Valdichiana,  and  of 
the  Tuscan  swamps,  and  of  Sardinia, 
were  in  one  pit  together  ;  and  such  a 
stench  was  issuing  forth  as  is  wont  to 
issue  from  decayed  limbs." 

We  will  not  take  upon  ourselves  the 
invidious  office  of  settling  precedency 
between  two  such  writers.  Each  in 
his  own  department  is  incomparable  ; 
and  each,  we  may  remark,  has  wisely, 
or  fortunately,  taken  a  subject  adapted 
to  exhibit  his  peculiar  talent  to  the 
greatest  advantage.  The  Divine  Com- 
edy is  a  personal  narrative.  Dante  is 
the  eye-witness  and  ear-witness  of  that 
which  he  relates.  He  is  the  very  man 
who  has  heard  the  tormented  spirits 
crying  out  for  the  second  death,  who 
has  read  the  dusky  characters  on  the 
portal  within  which  there  is  no  hope, 
who  has  hidden  his  face  from  the  ter- 
rors of  the  Gorgon,  who  has  fled  from 
the  hooks  and  the  seething  pitch  of 
Barbariccia  and  Draghignazzo.  His 
own  hands  have  grasped  the  shaggy 
sides  of  Lucifer.  His  own  feet  have 
climbed  the  mountain  of  expiation. 
His  own  brow  has  been  marked  by  the 
purifying   angel.       The    reader   would 


384 


Ilhcstratio7is 


throw  aside  such  a  tale  in  incredulous 
disgust,  unless  it  were  told  with  the 
strongest  air  of  veracity,  with  a  sobriety 
even  in  its  horrors,  with  the  greatest 
precision  and  multiplicity  in  its  details. 
The  narrative  of  Milton  in  this  respect 
differs  from  that  of  Dante,  as  the  ad- 
ventures of  Amadis  differ   from   those 

of  Gulliver 

Poetry  which  relates  to  the  beings 
of  another  world  ought  to  be  at  once 
mysterious  and  picturesque.  That  of 
Milton  is  so.  That  of  Dante  is  pictu- 
resque indeed  beyond  any  that  ever  was 
written.  Its  effect  approaches  to  thiit 
produced  by  the  pencil  or  the  chisel. 
But  it  is  picturesque  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  mystery.  This  is  a  fault  on  the 
right  side,  a  fault  inseparable  from  the 
plan  of  Dante's  poem,  which,  as  we 
have  already  observed,  rendered  the 
utmost  accuracy  of  description  neces- 
sary. Still  it  is  a  fault.  The  super- 
natural agents  excite  an  interest  ;  but 


it  is  not  the  interest  which  is  proper 
to  supernatural  agents.  We  feel  that 
we  could  talk  to  the  ghosts  and  demons 
without  any  emotion  of  unearthly  awe. 
We  could,  like  Don  Juan,  ask  them  to 
supper,  and  eat  heartily  in  their  com- 
pany. Dante's  angels  are  good  men 
with  wings.  His  devils  are  spiteful, 
ugly  executioners.  His  dead  men  are 
merely  living  men  in  strange  situations. 
The  scene  which  passes  bcwccn  the 
poet  and  Farinata  is  justly  celebrated. 
Still,  Farinata  in  the  burning  tomb  is 
exactly  what  Farinata  would  have  been 
at  an  auto  da  fe.  Nothing  can  be  more 
touching  than  the  first  interview  of 
Dante  and  Beatrice.  Yet  what  is  it 
but  a  lovely  woman  chiding,  with  sweet, 
austere  composure,  the  lover  for  whose 
affection  she  is  grateful,  but  whose  vices 
she  reprobates  ?  The  feelings  which 
give  the  passage  its  charm  would  suit 
the  streets  of  Florence  as  well  as  the 
summit  of  the  Mount  of  Purgatory. 


THE     ITALIAN    PI  LG  R  I M'  S    PROGRESS. 


Leigh  Hunt's  Stories  from  the  Italian  Poets. 


Dante  entitled  the  saddest  poem  in 
the  world  a  Comedy,  because  it  was 
written  in  a  middle  style;  though  some, 
by  a  strange  confusion  of  ideas,  think 
the  reason  must  have  been  because  it 
**  ended  happily  !  "  that  is,  because  be- 
ginning with  hell  (to  some),  it  termi- 
nated with  "heaven"  (to  others).  As 
well  might  they  have  said,  that  a  morn- 


ing's work  in  the  Inquisition  ended 
happily,  because,  while  people  were 
being  racked  in  the  dungeons,  the  of- 
ficers were  making  merry  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. For  the  much-injured  epi- 
thet of  "  Divine,"  Dante's  memory  is 
not  responsible.  He  entitled  his  poem, 
arrogantly  enough,  yet  still  not  with 
that  impiety  of  arrogance,  "  The  Com- 


Tlie  I  la  I i an  Pilgrinis  Progress      385 


edy  of  Dante  Alighicri,  a  Florentine  by 
nation,  hut  not  by  habits."  The  word 
"  divine  "  was  added  by  some  tran- 
scriber; and  it  heaped  absurdity  on  ab- 
surdity, too  much  of  it,  alas  !  being 
literally  infernal  tragedy.  I  am  not 
speaking  in  mockery,  any  further  than 
the  fact  itself  cannot  help  so  speaking. 
I  respect  what  is  to  be  respected  in 
Dante  ;  I  admire  in  him  what  is  ad- 
mirable ;  would  love  (if  his  infernali- 
ties  would  let  me)  what  is  lovable  ; 
but  this  must  not  hinder  one  of  the 
human  race  from  protesting  against 
what  is  erroneous  in  his  fame,  when  it 
jars  against  every  best  feeling,  human 
and  divine.  Mr.  Cary  thinks  that 
Dante  had  as  much  right  to  avail  him- 
self of  "  the  popular  creed  in  all  its 
extravagance,"  as  Homer  had  of  his 
gods,  or  Shakespeare  of  his  fairies. 
But  the  distinction  is  obvious.  Homer 
did  not  personally  identify  himself  with 
a  creed,  or  do  his  utmost  to  perpetuate 
the  worst  parts  of  it  in  behalf  of  a 
ferocious  inquisitorial  church,  and  to 
the  risk  of  endangering  the  peace  of 
millions  of  gentle  minds. 

The  great  poem  thus  misnomercd  is 
partly  a  system  of  theology,  partly  an 
abstract  of  the  knowledge  of  the  day, 
but  chiefly  a  series  of  passionate  and 
imaginative  pictures,  altogether  forming 
an  account  of  the  author's  times,  his 
friends,  his  enemies,  and  himseU,  writ- 
ten to  vent  the  spleen  of  his  exile,  and 
the  rest  of  his  feelings,  good  and  bad, 
and  to  reform  church  and  state  by 
a  spirit  of  resentment  and  obloquy, 
which  highly  needed  reform  itself.     It 

VOL.   II.  49 


has  also  a  design  strictly  self-referential. 
The  author  feigns  that  the  beatified 
spirit  of  his  mistress  has  obtained  leave 
to  warn  and  purify  his  soul  by  showing 
him  the  state  of  things  in  the  next 
world.  She  deputes  the  soul  of  his 
master  Virgil  to  conduct  him  through 
hell  and  purgatory,  and  then  takes  him 
herself  through  the  spheres  of  heaven, 
where  St.  Peter  catechises  and  confirms 
him,  and  where  he  is  finally  honored 
with  sights  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  of 
Christ,  and  even  a  glimpse  of  the  Su- 
preme Being  ! 

His  hell,  considered  as  a  place,  is, 
to  speak  geologically,  a  most  fantastical 
formation.  It  descends  from  beneath 
Jerusalem  to  the  centre  of  the  earth, 
and  is  a  funnel  graduated  in  circles, 
each  circle  being  a  separate  place  ot 
torment  for  a  different  vice  or  its  co- 
ordinates, and  the  point  of  the  funnel 
terminating  with  Satan  stuck  into  ice. 
Purgatory  is  a  corresponding  mountain 
on  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  com- 
mencing with  the  antipodes  of  Jerusa- 
lem, and  divided  into  exterior  circles 
of  expiation,  which  end  in  a  table-land 
forming  the  terrestrial  paradise.  From 
this  the  hero  and  his  mistress  ascend 
by  a  flight,  exquisitely  conceived,  to 
the  stars  ;  where  the  sun  and  the  plan- 
ets of  the  Ptolemaic  system  (for  the 
true  one  was  unknown  in  Dante's  time) 
form  a  series  of  heavens  for  different 
virtues,  the  whole  terminating  in  the 
empyrean,  or  region  of  pure  light,  and 
the  presence  of  the  Beatific  Vision. 

The  boundaries  of  old  and  new, 
strange    as    it    may   now    seem    to   us. 


86 


Ilhtst7^atio7is 


were  so  confused  in  those  days,  and 
books  were  so  rare,  and  the  Latin  poets 
held  in  such  invincible  reverence,  that 
Dante,  in  one  and  the  same  poem, 
speaks  of  the  false  gods  of  Paganism, 
and  yet  retains  much  of  its  lower  my- 
thology ;  nay,  invokes  Apollo  himself 
at  the  door  of  paradise.  There  was, 
perhaps,  some  mystical  and  even  philo- 
sophical inclusion  oi  the  past  in  this 
medley,  as  recognizing  the  constant 
superintendence  of  Providence  ;  but 
that  Dante  partook  of  what  may  be 
called  the  literary  superstition  of  the 
time,  even  for  want  of  better  knowl- 
edge, is  clear  from  the  grave  historical 
use  he  makes  of  poetic  fables  in  his 
treatise  on  Monarchy,  and  in  the  very 
arguments  which  he  puts  into  the 
mouths  of  saints  and  apostles.  There 
are  lingering  feelings  to  this  effect  even 
now  among  the  peasantry  of  Italy  ; 
where,  the  reader  need  not  be  told. 
Pagan  customs  of  all  sorts,  including 
religious  and  most  reverend  ones,  are 
existing  under  the  sanction  of  other 
names,  —  heathenisms  christened.  A 
Tuscan  postilion,  once  enumerating  to 
me  some  of  the  native  poets,  concluded 
his  list  with  Apollo;  and  a  plaster-cast 
man  over  here,  in  London,  appeared 
much  puzzled,  when  conversing  on  the 
subject  with  a  friend  of  mine,  how  to 
discrepate  Samson  from  Hercules. 

Dante,  accordingly,  while,  with  the 
frightful  bigotry  of  the  schools,  he  puts 
the  whole  Pagan  world  into  hell-borders, 
(with  the  exception  of  two  or  three, 
whose  salvation  adds  to  the  absurdity,) 
mingles  the  hell  of  Virgil  with  that  of 


Tertullian  and  St.  Dominic  ;  sets  Mi- 
nos at  the  door  as  judge  ;  retains  Cha- 
ron in  his  old  oflice  of  boatman  over 
the  Stygian  lake  ;  puts  fabulous  people 
with  real  among  the  damned.  Dido, 
and  Cacus,  and  Ephialtcs,  with  Ezze- 
lino  and  Pope  Nicholas  the  Fifth;  and 
associates  the  Centaurs  and  the  Furies 
with  the  agents  of  diabolical  torture. 
It  has  pleased  him  also  to  elevate  Cato 
of  Utica  to  the  office  of  warder  of  pur- 
gatory, though  the  censor's  poor,  good 
wife,  Marcia,  is  detained  in  the  regions 
below.  By  these  and  other  far  greater 
inconsistencies,  the  whole  place  of  pun- 
ishment becomes  a  reductio  ad  absur- 
dum,  as  ridiculous  as  it  is  melancholy  ; 
so  that  one  is  astonished  how  so  great 
a  man,  and  especially  a  man  who 
thought  himself  so  far  advanced  beyond 
his  age,  and  who  possessed  such  powers 
of  discerning  the  good  and  beautiful, 
could  endure  to  let  his  mind  live  in  so 
foul  and  foolish  a  region  for  any  length 
of  time,  and  there  wreak  and  harden 
the  unworthiest  of  his  passions.  Ge- 
nius, nevertheless,  is  so  commensurate 
with  absurdity  throughout  the  book, 
and  there  are  even  such  sweet  and  balmy 
as  well  as  sublime  pictures  in  it  occa- 
sionally, nay  often,  that  not  only  will 
the  poem  ever  be  worthy  of  admiration, 
but,  when  those  increasing  purifications 
of  Christianity  which  our  blessed  re- 
formers began  shall  finally  precipitate 
the  whole  dregs  of  the  author  into  the 
mythology  to  which  they  belong,  the 
world  will  derive  a  pleasure  from  it  to 
an  amount  not  to  be  conceived  till  the 
arrival  of  that  day.     Dante,  meantime. 


The  Italian  Pilgrims  Progress      i^^^ 


with  an  impartiality  which  has  been 
admired  by  those  who  can  approve  the 
assumption  of  a  theological  tyranny  at 
the  expense  of  common  feeling  and 
decency,  has  put  friends  as  well  as  foes 
into  hell,  —  tutors  of  his  childhood, 
kinsmen  of  those  who  treated  him 
hospitably,  even  the  father  of  his  be- 
loved friend,  Guido  Cavalcante 

Milton  has  spoken  of  the  "  milder 
shades  of  Purgatory  "  ;  and  truly  they 
possess  great  beauties.  Even  in  a  theo- 
logical point  of  view  they  are  some- 
thing like  a  bit  of  Christian  refresh- 
ment after  the  horrors  of  the  Inferno. 
The  first  emerging  from  the  hideous 
gulf  to  the  sight  of  the  blue  serenity  of 
heaven  is  painted  in  a  manner  inex- 
pressibly charming.  So  is  the  sea- 
shore with  the  coming  of  the  angel  ; 
the  valley,  with  the  angels  in  green  ; 
the  repose  at  night  on  the  rocks  ;  and 
twenty  other  pictures  of  gentleness  and 
love.  And  yet  special  and  great  has 
been  the  escape  of  the  Protestant  world 
from  this  part  of  Roman  Catholic  be- 
lief; for  Purgatory  is  the  heaviest  stone 
that  hangs  about  the  neck  of  the  old 
and  feeble  in  that  communion.  Hell 
is  avoidable  by  repentance;  but  Pur- 
gatory what  modest  conscience  shall 
escape  ?  Mr.  Gary,  in  a  note  on  a 
passage  in  which  Dante  recommends 
his  readers  to  think  on  what  follows 
this  expiatory  state,  rather  than  what 
is  suffered  there,  looks  upon  the  poet's 
injunction  as  an  "  unanswerable  objec- 
tion to  the  doctrine  of  purgatory,"  it 
being  difficult  to  conceive  "  how  the 
best    can  meet  death  without   horror. 


if  they  believe  it  must  be  followed 
by  immediate  and  intense  suffering." 
Luckily,  assent  is  not  belief;  and  man- 
kind's feelings  are  for  the  most  part 
superior  to  their  opinions  ;  otherwise 
the  world  would  have  been  in  a  bad 
way  indeed,  and  Nature  not  been  vin- 
dicated of  her  children.  But  let  us 
watch  and  be  on  our  guard  against  all 
resuscitations  of  superstition. 

As  to  our  Florentine's  Heaven,  it  is 
full  of  beauties  also,  though  sometimes 
of  a  more  questionable  and  pantomimi- 
cal  sort  than  is  to  be  found  in  either 
of  the  other  books.  I  shall  speak  of 
some  of  them  presently;  but  the  gen- 
eral impression  of  the  place  is,  that  it  is 
no  heaven  at  all.  He  says  it  is,  and 
talks  much  of  its  smiles  and  its  beati- 
tude ;  but  always  excepting  the  poetry, 
—  especially  the  similes  brought  from 
the  more  heavenly  earth,  —  we  realize 
little  but  a  fantastical  assemblage  of 
doctors  and  doubtful  characters,  far 
more  angry  and  theological  than  celes- 
tial ;  giddy  raptures  of  monks  and  in- 
quisitors dancing  in  circles,  and  saints 
denouncing  popes  and  Florentines  ;  in 
short,  a  heaven  libelling  itself  with  in- 
vectives against  earth,  and  terminating 
in  a  great  presumption 

The  people  of  Sienna,  according  to 
this  national  and  Christian  poet,  were 
a  parcel  of  coxcombs;  those  of  Arezzo, 
dogs  ;  and  of  Casentino,  hogs.  Lucca 
made  a  trade  of  perjury.  Pistoia  was 
a  den  of  beasts,  and  ought  to  be  re- 
duced to  ashes  ;  and  the  river  Arno 
should  overflow  and  drown  every  soul 
in   Pisa.      Almost    all    the   women   in 


388 


Ilhcstratioiis 


Florence  walked  half  naked  in  public, 
and  were  abandoned  in  private.  Every 
brother,  husband,  son,  and  father,  in 
Bologna,  set  their  women  to  sale.  In 
all  Lombardy  were  not  to  be  found 
three  men  who  were  not  rascals ;  and 
in  Genoa  and  Romagna  people  went 
about  pretending  to  be  men,  but  in  re- 
ality were  bodies  inhabited  by  devils, 
their  souls  having  gone  to  the  "  lowest 
pit  of  hell  "  to  join  the  betrayers  of 
their  friends  and  kinsmen. 

So  much  for  his  beloved  country- 
men. As  for  foreigners,  particularly 
kings,  Edward  the  First  of  England 
and  Robert  of  Scotland  were  a  couple 
of  grasping  fools  ;  the  Emperor  Albert 
was  an  usurper  ;  Alphonso  the  Second 
of  Spain,  a  debauchee  ;  the  King  of 
Bohemia,  a  coward;  Frederick  of  Ara- 
gon,  a  coward  and  miser  ;  the  Kings 
of  Portugal  and  Norway,  forgers  ;  the 
King  of  Naples,  a  man  whose  virtues 
were  expressed  by  a  unit,  and  his  vices 
by  a  million  ;  and  the  King  of  France, 
the  descendant  of  a  Paris  butcher,  and 
of  progenitors  who  poisoned  St.Thomas 
Aquinas,  their  descendants  conquering 
with  the  arms  of  Judas  rather  than  of 
soldiers,  and  selling  the  flesh  of  their 
daughters  to  old  men,  in  order  to  ex- 
tricate themselves  from  a  danger 

But  truly  it  is  said,  that,  when  Dante 
is  great,  nobody  surpasses  him.  I  doubt 
if  anybody  equals  him,  as  to  the  con- 
stant intensity  and  incessant  variety  of 
his  pictures  ;  and  what-ever  he  paints, 
he  throws,  as  it  were,  upon  its  own 
povfers  ;  as  though  an  artist  should 
draw  figures  that  started  into  life,  and 


proceeded  to  action  for  themselves, 
frightening  their  creator.  Every  mo- 
tion, word,  and  look  of  these  creatures 
becomes  full  of  sensibility  and  sugges- 
tions. The  invisible  is  at  the  back  of 
the  visible ;  darkness  becomes  palpable ; 
silence  describes  a  character,  nay,  forms 
the  most  striking  part  of  a  story  ;  a 
word  acts  as  a  flash  of  lightning,  which 
displays  some  gloomy  neighborhood, 
where  a  tower  is  standing,  with  dread- 
ful faces  at  the  window  ;  or  where,  at 
your  feet,  full  of  eternal  voices,  one 
abyss  is  beheld  dropping  out  of  another 

in  the  lurid  light  of  torment 

Ginguene  has  rem.arked  the  singular 
variety,  as  well  as  beauty,  of  Dante's 
angels.  Milton's,  indeed,  are  common- 
place in  the  comparison.  In  the  eighth 
canto  of  the  Inferno,  the  devils  inso- 
lently refuse  the  poet  and  his  guide  an 
entrance  into  the  city  of  Dis.  An 
angel  comes  sweeping  over  the  Stygian 
lake  to  enforce  it ;  the  noise  of  his 
wings  makes  the  shores  tremble,  and 
is  like  a  crashing  whirlwind,  such  as 
beats  down  the  trees  and  sends  the 
peasants  and  their  herds  flying  before 
it.  The  heavenly  messenger,  after  re- 
buking the  devils,  touches  the  portals 
of  the  city  with  his  wand  ;  they  fly 
open  ;  and  he  returns  the  way  he  came 
without  uttering  a  word  to  the  two 
companions.  His  face  was  that  of  one 
occupied  with  other  thoughts.  This 
angel  is.  announced  by  a  tempest.  An- 
other, who  brings  the  souls  of  the  de- 
parted to  Purgatory,  is  first  discovered 
at  a  distance,  gradually  disclosing  white 
splendors,   which    are    his   wings    and 


The  Italiaii  Pilgrinis  P?^ogress      389 


garments.  He  comes  in  a  boat,  of 
which  his  wings  are  the  sails  ;  and  as 
he  approaches,  it  is  impossible  to  look 
him  in  the  face  for  its  brightness. 
Two  other  angels  have  green  wings 
and  green  garments,  and  the  drapery  is 
kept  in  motion  like  a  flag  by  the  vehe- 
ment action  of  the  wings.  A  fifth  has 
a  face  like  the  morning  star,  casting 
forth  quivering  beams.  A  sixth  is  of 
a  lustre  so  oppressive,  that  the  poet 
feels  a  weight  on  his  eyes  before  he 
knows  what  is  coming.  Another's 
presence  affects  the  senses  like  the  fra- 
grance of  a  May  morning  ;  and  an- 
other is  in  garments  dark  as  cinders, 
but  has  a  sword  in  his  hand  too  spark- 
ling to  be  gazed  at.  Dante's  occasional 
pictures  of  the  beauties  of  external 
nature  are  worthy  of  these  angelic 
creations,  and  to  the  last  degree  fresh 
and  lovely.  You  long  to  bathe  your 
eyes,  smarting  with  the  fumes  of  hell, 
in  his  dews.  You  gaze  enchanted  on 
his  green  fields  and  his  celestial  blue 
skies,  the  more  so  from  the  pain  and 
sorrow  in  midst  of  which  the  visions 
are  created. 

Dante's  grandeur  of  every  kind  is 
proportionate  to  that  of  his  angels,  al- 
most to  his  ferocity;  and  that  is  saying 
everything.  It  is  not  always  the  spir- 
itual grandeur  of  Milton,  the  subjection 
of  the  material  impression  to  the  moral; 
but  it  is  equally  such  when  he  chooses, 
and  far  more  abundant.  His  infernal 
precipices  —  his  black  whirlwinds  — 
his  innumerable  cries  and  claspings  of 
hands  —  his  very  odors  of  huge  loath- 
someness—  his  giants  at  twilight  stand- 


ing up  to  the  middle  in  pits,  like 
towers,  and  causing  earthquakes  when 
they  move  —  his  earthquake  of  the 
mountain  in  Purgatory,  when  a  spirit 
is  set  free  for  heaven  —  his  dignified 
Mantuan  Sordello,  silently  regarding 
him  and  his  guide  as  they  go  by,  "like 
a  lion  on  his  watch"  —  his  blasphemer, 
Capaneus,  lying  in  unconquered  rage 
and  sullenness  under  an  eternal  rain  of 
flakes  o^  fire  (human  precursor  of  Mil- 
ton's Satan)  —  his  aspect  of  Paradise, 
"  as  if  the  universe  had  smiled  "  —  his 
inhabitants  of  the  whole  planet  Saturn 
crying  out  so  loud,  in  accordance  with 
the  anti- Papal  indignation  of  Saint 
Pietro  Damiano,  that  the  poet,  though 
among  them,  could  not  hear  zvhat  they 
said — and  the  blushing  eclipse,  like 
red  clouds  at  sunset,  which  takes  place 
at  the  Apostle  Peter's  denunciation  of 
the  sanguinary  filth  of  the  court  of 
Rome,  —  all  these  sublimities,  and  many 
more,  make  us  not  know  whether  to 
be  more  astonished  at  the  greatness  of 
the  poet  or  the  raging  littleness  of  the 
man.  Grievous  is  it  to  be  forced  to 
bring  two  such  opposites  together  ; 
and  I  wish,  for  the  honor  and  glory  of 
poetry,  I  did  not  feel  compelled  to  do 
so.  But  the  swarthy  Florentine  had 
not  the  healthy  temperament  of  his 
brethren,  and  he  fell  upon  evil  times. 
Compared  with  Homer  and  Shake- 
speare, his  very  intensity  seems  only 
superior  to  theirs  from  an  excess  of  the 
morbid  ;  and  he  is  inferior  to  both  in 
other  sovereign  qualities  of  poetry, — 
to  the  one,  in  giving  you  the  healthiest 
general  impression  of  nature  itself,  —  to 


390 


Illustrations 


Shakespeare,  in  boundless  universality, 
—  to  most  great  poets,  in  thorough  har- 
mony and  dclightfulness.  He  wanted 
(generally  speaking)  the  music  of  a 
happy  and  a  happy-making  disposition. 
Homer,  from  his  large  vital  bosom, 
breathes  like  a  broad  fresh  air  over  the 
world,  amidst  alternate  storm  and  sun- 
shine, making  you  aware  that  there  is 
rough  work  to  be  faced,  but  also  activ- 
ity and  beauty  to  be  enjoyed.  The 
feeling  of  health  and  strength  is  pre- 
dominant. Life  laughs  at  death  itself, 
or  meets  it  with  a  noble  confidence, — 
is  not  taught  to  dread  it  as  a  malignant 
goblin.  Shakespeare  has  all  the  smiles 
as  well  as  tears  of  Nature,  and  discerns 
the  "soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil." 
He  is  comedy  as  well  as  tragedy,  —  the 
entire  man  in  all  his  qualities,  moods, 
and  experiences  ;  and  he  beautifies  all. 
And  both  those  truly  divine  poets  make 
Nature  their  subject  through  her  own 
inspiriting  medium,  —  not  through  the 
darkened  glass  of  one  man's  spleen  and 
resentment.  Dante,  in  constituting 
himself  the  hero  of  his  poem,  not  only 
renders  her,  in  the  general  impression. 


as  dreary  as  himself,  in  spite  of  the 
occasional  beautiful  pictures  he  draws 
of  her,  but  narrows  her  very  immen- 
sity into  his  pettiness.  He  fancied, 
alas  !  that  he  could  build  her  uni- 
verse over  again  out  of  the  politics 
of  old  Rome  and  the  divinity  of  the 
schools  !  .  .  .  . 

All  that  Dante  said  or  did  has  its 
interest  for  us  in  spite  of  his  errors, 
because  he  was  an  earnest  and  suffering 
man  and  a  great  genius  ;  but  his  fame 
must  ever  continue  to  lie  where  his 
greatest  blame  does,  in  his  principal 
work.  He  was  a  gratuitous  logician, 
a  preposterous  politician,  a  cruel  theo- 
logian ;  but  his  wonderful  imagination, 
and  (considering  the  bitterness  that  was 
in  him)  still  more  wonderful  sweet- 
ness, have  gone  into  the  hearts  of  his 
fellow-creatures,  and  will  remain  there 
in  spite  of  the  moral  and  religious  ab- 
surdities with  which  they  are  mingled, 
and  of  the  inability  which  the  best- 
natured  readers  feel  to  associate  his 
entire  memory,  as  a  poet,  with  their 
usual  personal  delight  in  a  poet  and  his 
name. 


DANTE    AND     TACITUS. 


By  Rev.  H.  H.  Milman,  History  of  Latin  Christianity,  Book  XIV.  eh.  5. 

Christendom  owes  to  Dante  the  crea-  inflexible    bondage    of  the    established 

tion  of  Italian  Poetry,  through  Italian,  hierarchical  Latin  of  Europe.      He  had 

of  Christian    Poetry.       It   required   all  almost  yielded,   and  had   actually  com- 

the    courage,    firmness,   and    prophetic  menced    the    Divine    Comedy    in    the 

sagacity  of  Dante   to    throw  aside   the  ancient,  it   seemed,  the    universal   and 


Da7ite  and  Tacitus 


391 


eternal  language.  But  the  poet  had 
profoundly  meditated,  and  deliberately 
resolved  on  his  appeal  to  the  Italian 
mind  and  heart.  Yet  even  then  he 
had  to  choose,  to  a  certain  extent  to 
form,  the  pure,  vigorous,  picturesque, 
harmonious  Italian  which  was  to  be 
intelligible,  which  was  to  become  na- 
tive and  popular  to  the  universal  ear  of 
Italy.  He  had  to  create ;  out  of  a 
chaos  he  had  to  summon  light.  Every 
kingdom,  every  province,  every  district, 
almost  every  city,  had  its  dialect,  pecu- 
liar, separate,  distinct,  rude  in  con- 
struction, harsh,  in  different  degrees, 
in  utterance.  Dante  in  his  book  on 
Vulgar  Eloquence  ranges  over  the 
whole  land,  rapidly  discusses  the  Sicil- 
ian and  Apulian,  the  Roman  and  Spo- 
letan,  the  Tuscan  and  Genoese,  the 
Romagnole  and  the  Lombard,  the  Tre- 
visan  and  Venetian,  the  Istrian  and 
Friulian;  all  are  coarse,  harsh,  muti- 
lated, defective.  The  least  bad  is  the 
vulgar  Bolognese.  But  high  above  all 
this  discord  he  seems  to  discern,  and  to 
receive  into  his  prophetic  ears,  a  noble 
and  pure  language,  common  to  all,  pe- 
culiar to  none,  a  language  which  he  de- 
scribes as  Illustrious,  Cardinal,  Courtly, 
if  we  may  use  our  phrase.  Parliamen- 
tary, that  is,  of  the  palace,  the  courts 
of  justice,  and  of  public  affairs.  No 
doubt  it  sprung,  though  its  affiliation  is 
by  no  means  clear,  out  of  the  universal 
degenerate  Latin,  the  rustic  tongue, 
common  not  in  Italy  alone,  but  in  all 
the  provinces  of  the  Roman  Empire. 
Its  first  domicile  was  the  splendid  Si- 
cilian and  Apulian  Court  of  Frederick 


the  Second,  and  of  his  accomplished 
son.  It  has  been  boldly  said,  that  it 
was  part  of  Frederick's  magnificent 
design  of  universal  empire  :  he  would 
make  Italy  one  realm,  under  one  king, 
and  speaking  one  language.  Dante 
does  homage  to  the  noble  character  of 
Frederick  the  Second.  Sicily  was  the 
birthplace  of  Italian  Poetry.  The 
Sicilian  Poems  live  to  bear  witness  to 
the  truth  of  Dante's  assertion,  which 
might  rest  on  his  irrefragable  authority 
alone.  The  Poems,  one  even  earlier 
than  the  Court  of  Frederick,  those  of 
Frederick  himself,  of  Pietro  della  Vig- 
na,  of  King  Enzio,  of  King  Manfred, 
with  some  peculiarities  in  the  forma- 
tion, orthography,  use,  and  sounds  of 
words,  are  intelligible  from  one  end  of 
the  peninsula  to  the  other.  The  lan- 
guage was  echoed  and  perpetuated,  or 
rather  resounded  spontaneously,  among 
poets  in  other  districts.  This  courtly, 
aristocratical,  universal  Italian,  Dante 
heard  as  the  conventional  dialect  in  the 
Courts  of  the  Ciesars,  in  the  republics, 
in  the  principalities  throughout  Italy. 
Perhaps  Dante,  the  Italian,  the  Ghibel- 
line,  the  assertor  of  the  universal  tem- 
poral monarchy,  dwelt  not  less  fondly 
in  his  imagination  on  this  universal  and 
noble  Italian  language,  because  it  would 
supersede  the  Papal  and  hierarchical 
Latin  ;  the  Latin,  with  the  Pope  him- 
self, would  withdraw  into  the  sanc- 
tuary, into  the  service  of  the  Church, 
into  affairs  purely  spiritual. 

However  this  might  be,  to  this  ve- 
hicle of  his  noble  thoughts  Dante  fear- 
lessly intrusted  his  poetic  immortality. 


392 


Illustrations 


which  no  poet  anticipated  with  more 
confident  security.  While  the  scholar 
Petrarch  condescended  to  the  vulgar 
tongue  in  his  amatory  poems,  which  he 
had  still  a  lurking  fear  might  be  but 
ephemeral,  in  his  Africa  and  in  his 
Latin  verses  he  laid  up,  as  he  fondly 
thought,  an  imperishable  treasure  of 
fame.  Even  Boccaccio,  happily  for  his 
own  glory,  followed  the  example  of 
Dante,  as  he  too  probably  supposed  in 
his  least  enduring  work,  his  gay  De- 
camerone.  Yet  Boccaccio  doubted, 
towards  the  close  of  his  life,  whether 
the  Divine  Comedy  had  not  been  more 
sublime,  and  therefore  destined  to  a 
more  secure  eternity,  in  Latin. 

Thus  in  Italy,  with  the  Italian  lan- 
guage, of  which,  if  he  was  not  abso- 
lutely the  creator,  he  was  the  first  who 
gave  it  permanent  and  vital  being,  arose 
one  of  the  great  poets  of  the  world. 
There  is  a  vast  chasm  between  the 
close  of  Roman  and  the  dawn  of  Ital- 
ian letters,  between  the  period  at  which 
appeared  the  last  creative  work  written 
by  transcendent  human  genius  in  the 
Roman  language,  while  yet  in  its  con- 
summate strength  and  perfection,  and 
the  first  in  which  Italian  poetry  and 
the  Italian  tongue  came  forth  in  their 
majesty  ;  between  the  history  of  Taci- 
tus and  the  Divina  Commedia.  No 
one  can  appreciate  more  highly  than 
myself  (if  I  may  venture  to  speak  of 
myself)  the  great  works  of  ecclesias- 
tical Latin,  the  Vulgate,  parts  of  the 
Ritual,  St.  Augustine  :  yet  who  can 
deny  that  there  is  barbarism,  a  yet 
unreconciled  confusion  of  uncongenial 


elements,  of  Orientalism  and  Occiden- 
talism, in  the  language  ?  From  the 
time  of  Trajan,  except  Claudian,  Latin 
letters  are  ahr.ost  exclusively  Chris- 
tian ;  and  Christian  letters  are  Latin, 
as  it  were,  in  a  secondary  and  degen- 
erate form.  The  new  era  opens  with 
Dante. 

To  my  mind  there  is  a  singular  kin- 
dred and  similitude  between  the  last 
great  Latin  and  the  first  great  Italian 
writer,  though  one  is  a  poet,  the  other 
an  historian.  Tacitus  and  Dante  have 
the  same  penetrative  truth  of  observa- 
tion as  to  man  and  the  external  world 
ot  man  ;  the  same  power  of  express- 
ing that  truth.  They  have  the  com- 
mon gift  of  flashing  a  whole  train  of 
thought,  a  vast  range  of  images  on  the 
mind,  by  a  {^y^  brief  and  pregnant 
words  ;  the  same  faculty  of  giving  life 
to  human  emotions  by  natural  images, 
of  imparting  to  natural  images,  as  it 
were,  human  life  and  human  sympa- 
thies :  each  has  the  intuitive  judgment 
of  saying  just  enough  j  the  stern  self- 
restraint  which  will  not  say  more  than 
enough;  the  rare  talent  of  compressing 
a  mass  of  profound  thought  into  an 
apophthegm  ;  each  paints  with  words, 
with  the  fewest  possible  words,  yet  the 
picture  lives  and  speaks.  Each  has  that 
relentless  moral  indignation,  that  awful 
power  of  satire,  which  in  the  historian 
condemns  to  an  immortality  of  earthly 
infamy,  in  the  Christian  poet  aggravates 
that  gloomy  immortality  of  this  world 
by  ratifying  it  in  the  next.  Each  might 
seem  to  embody  remorse.  Patrician, 
high,  imperial,  princely.  Papal   crimi- 


Dante  and  Tacittts 


393 


nals  are  compelled  to  acknowledge  the 
justice  of  their  doom.  Each,  too,  writ- 
ing, one  of  times  just  passed,  of  which 
the  influences  were  strongly  felt  in  the 
social  state  and  fortunes  of  Rome,  —  the 
other  of  his  own,  in  which  he  had 
been  actively  concerned,  —  throws  a 
personal  passion  (Dante  of  course  the 
most)  into  his  judgments  and  his  lan- 
guage, which,  whatever  may  be  its 
effect  on  their  justice,  adds  wonderfully 
to  their  force  and  reality.  Each,  too, 
has  a  lofty  sympathy  with  good,  only 
that  the  highest  ideal  of  Tacitus  is  a 
death-defying  Stoic,  or  an  all-accom- 
plished Roman  Proconsul,  an  Helvidius 
Thrasea,  or  an  Agricola ;  that  of  Dante, 
a  suffering,  and  so  purified  and  beatified 
Christian  saint,  or  martyr  ;  in  Tacitus 
it  is  a  majestic  and  virtuous  Roman 
matron,  an  Agrippina,  in  Dante  an  un- 
real mysterious  Beatrice. 

Dante  is  not  merely  the  religious 
poet  of  Latin  or  medieval  Christianity; 
in  him  that  medieval  Christianity  is 
summed  up  as  it  were,  and  embodied 
for  perpetuity.  The  Divine  Comedy 
contains  in  its  sublimest  form  the  whole 
mythology,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
quintessence,  the  living  substance,  the 
ultimate  conclusions  of  the  Scholastic 
Theology.  The  whole  course  of  Le- 
gend, the  Demonology,  Angelology, 
'the  extra  mundane  world,  which  in 
the  popular  belief  was  vague,  fragmen- 
tary, incoherent,  in  Dante,  as  we  have 
seen,  becomes  an  actual,  visible,  har- 
monious system.  In  Dante  heathen 
images,  heathen  mythology,  are  blended 
in  the  same  living  reality  with  those  of 
VOL.  II.  50 


Latin  Christianity,  but  they  are  real  in 
the  sense  of  the  early  Christian  Fathers. 
They  are  acknowledged  as  a  part  of  the 
vast  hostile  Demon  world,  just  as  the 
Angelic  Orders,  which  from  Jewish  or 
Oriental  tradition  obtained  their  first 
organization  in  the  hierarchy  of  the 
Areopagite.  So,  too,  the  schools  of 
Theology  meet  in  the  poet.  Aquinas, 
it  has  been  said,  has  nothing  more  sub- 
tile and  metaphysical  than  the  Paradise, 
only  that  in  Dante  single  lines,  or 
pregnant  stanzas,  have  the  full  meaning 
of  pages  or  chapters  of  divinity.  But 
though  his  doctrine  is  that  of  Aquinas, 
Dante  has  all  the  fervor  and  passion  of 
the  Mystics;  he  is  Bonaventura  as  well 
as  St.  Thomas. 

Dante  was  in  all  respects  but  one, 
his  Ghibellinism,  the  religious  poet  of 
his  age,  and  to  many  minds  not  less 
religious  for  that  exception.  He  was 
anti-Papal,  but  with  the  fullest  rever- 
ence for  the  spiritual  supremacy  of  the 
successor  of  St.  Peter.  To  him,  as  to 
most  religious  Imperialists  or  Ghibel- 
lines,  to  some  of  the  spiritual  Francis- 
cans, to  a  vast  host  of  believers  through- 
out Christendom,  the  Pope  was  two 
distinct  personages.  One,  the  tempo- 
ral, they  scrupled  not  to  condemn  with 
the  fiercest  reprobation,  to  hate  with 
the  bitterest  cordiality  :  Dante  damns 
pontiffs  without  fear  or  remorse.  But 
the  other,  the  Spiritual  Pope,  was 
worthy  of  all  awe  or  reverence  ;  his 
sacred  person  must  be  inviolate  ;  his 
words,  if  not  infallible,  must  be  heard 
with  the  profoundest  respect  ;  he  is 
the  Vicar  of  Christ,  the  representative 


394 


Illustrations 


of  God  upon  earth.  With  his  Ghibel- 
line  brethren  Dante  closed  his  eyes 
against  the  incongruity,  the  inevitable 
incongruity,  of  these  two  discordant 
personages  meeting  in  one  :  the  same 
Boniface  is  in  hell,  yet  was  of  such 
acknowledged  sanctity  on  earth  that  it 
was  spiritual  treason  to  touch  his  awful 
person.  The  Saints  of  Dante  are  the 
Saints  of  the  Church  ;  on  the  highest 
height  of  wisdom  is  St.  Thomas,  on 
the  highest  height  of  holiness,  St.  Bene- 
dict, St.  Dominic,  St.  Francis.  To 
the  religious  adversaries  o'l  the  Church 
he  has  all  the  stern  remorselessness  of 
an  inquisitor.      The  noble  Frederick 


the  Second,  whom  we  have  just  heard 
described  as  the  parent  of  Italian  poetry, 
the  model  of  a  mighty  Emperor,  the 
Cassar  of  Caesars,  is  in  hell  as  an  arch- 
heretic,  as  an  atheist.  In  hell,  in  the 
same  dreary  circle,  up  to  his  waist  in 
fire,  is  the  noblest  of  the  Ghibellines, 
Farinata  degli  Uberti.  In  hell  for  the 
same  sin  is  the  father  oi  his  dearest 
friend  and  brother  poet  Guido  Caval- 
canti.  Whatever  latent  sympathy  seems 
to  transpire  for  Fra  Dolcino,  he  is  un- 
relentingly thrust  down  to  the  com- 
panionship of  Mohammed.  The  Cath- 
olic may  not  reverse  the  sentence  of  the 
Church. 


DANTE'S  LANDSCAPES. 

From   Ruskin's   Modern   Painters,    Vol.    III.    ch.    14. 


The  thing  that  must  first  strike  us  in 
this  respect,  as  we  turn  our  thoughts  to 
the  poem,  is,  unquestionably,  the  for- 
mality of  its  landscape. 

Milton's  eiFort,  in  all  that  he  tells  us 
of  his  Inferno,  is  to  make  it  indefinite  ; 
Dante's,  to  make  it  definite.  Both,  in- 
deed, describe  it  as  entered  through 
gates  ;  but,  within  the  gate,  all  is  wild 
and  fenceless  with  Milton,  having  in- 
deed its  four  rivers,  —  the  last  vestige 
of  the  mediseval  tradition,  —  but  rivers 
which  flow  through  a  waste  of  moun- 
tain and  moorland,  and  by  "  many  a 
frozen,  many  a  fiery  alp."  But  Dante's 
Inferno  is  accurately  separated  into 
circles  drawn  with  well-pointed  com- 


passes ;  mapped  and  properly  surveyed 
in  every  direction,  trenched  in  a  thor- 
oughly good  style  of  engineering  from 
depth  to  depth,  and  divided  in  the 
"  accurate  middle  "  {dritto  mezzo)  of 
its  deepest  abyss  into  a  concentric  se- 
ries of  ten  moats  and  embankments, 
like  those  about  a  castle,  with  bridges 
from  each  embankment  to  the  next ; 
precisely  in  the  manner  of  those  bridges 
over  Hiddekel  and  Euphrates,  which 
Mr.  Macaulay  thinks  so  innocently  de- 
signed, apparently  not  aware  that  he  is 
also  laughing  at  Dante.  These  larger 
fosses  are  of  rock,  and  the  bridges  also; 
but  as  he  goes  further  into  detail,  Dante 
tells  us  of  various  minor  fosses  and  em- 


Dante's  Landscapes 


395 


bankments,  in  which  he  anxiously  points 
out  to  us  not  only  the  formality,  but 
the  neatness  and  perfectness,  of  the 
stone-work.  For  instance,  in  describ- 
ing the  river  Phlegethon,  he  tells  us 
that  it  was  "  paved  with  stone  at  the 
bottom,  and  at  the  sides,  and  over  the 
edges  of  the  sides  "  just  as  the  water  is 
at  the  baths  of  Bulicame  ;  and  for  fear 
we  should  think  this  embankment  at  all 
larger  than  it  really  was,  Dante  adds, 
carefully,  that  it  was  made  just  like 
the  embankments  of  Ghent  or  Bruges 
against  the  sea,  or  those  in  Lombardy 
which  bank  the  Brenta,  only  "  not  so 
high,  nor  so  wide,"  as  any  of  these. 
And  besides  the  trenches,  we  have  two 
well-built  castles  ;  one  like  Ecbatana, 
with  seven  circuits  of  wall  (and  sur- 
rounded by  a  fair  stream),  wherein  the 
great  poets  and  sages  of  antiquity  live  ; 
and  another,  a  great  fortified  city  with 
walls  of  iron,  red-hot,  and  a  deep  fosse 
round  it,  and  full  of  "  grave  citizens," 
—  the  city  of  Dis. 

Now,  whether  this  be  in  what  we 
moderns  call  "  good  taste,"  or  not,  I 
do  not  mean  just  now  to  inquire,  — 
Dante  having  nothing  to  do  with  taste, 
but  with  the  facts  of  what  he  had 
seen  ;  only,  so  far  as  the  imaginative 
faculty  of  the  two  poets  is  concerned, 
note  that  Milton's  vagueness  is  not  the 
sign  of  imagination,  but  of  its  absence, 
so  far  as  it  is  significative  in  the  matter. 
For  it  does  not  follow,  because  Milton 
did  not  map  out  his  Inferno  as  Dante 
did,  that  he  could  not  have  done  so  if 
he  had  chosen  ;  only,  it  was  the  easier 
and  less  imaginative  process  to  leave  it 


vague  than  to  define  it.  Imagination 
is  always  the  seeing  and  asserting  fac- 
ulty; that  which  obscures  or  conceals 
may  be  judgment,  or  feeling,  but  not 
invention.  The  invention,  whether 
good  or  bad,  is  in  the  accurate  en- 
gineering, not  in  the  fog  and  uncer- 
tainty. 

When  we  pass  with  Dante  from  the 
Inferno  to  the  Purgatory,  we  have  in- 
deed more  light  and  air,  but  no  more 
liberty;  being  now  confined  on  various 
ledges  cut  into  a  mountain-side,  with  a 
precipice  on  one  hand  and  a  vertical 
wall  on  the  other  ;  and,  lest  here  also 
we  should  make  any  mistake  about 
magnitudes,  we  are  told  that  the  ledges 
were  eighteen  feet  wide,  and  that  the 
ascent  from  one  to  the  other  was  by 
steps,  made  like  those  which  go  up 
from  Florence  to  the  church  of  San 
Miniato. 

Lastly,  though  in  the  Paradise  there 
is  perfect  freedom  and  infinity  of  space, 
though  for  trenches  we  have  planets, 
and  for  cornices  constellations,  yet 
there  is  more  cadence,  procession,  and 
order  among  the  redeemed  souls  than 
any  others  ;  they  fly  so  as  to  describe 
letters  and  sentences  in  the  air,  and 
rest  in  circles,  like  rainbows,  or  deter- 
minate figures,  as  of  a  cross  and  an 
eagle  ;  in  which  certain  of  the  more 
glorified  natures  are  so  arranged  as  to 
form  the  eye  of  the  bird,  while  those 
most  highly  blessed  are  arranged  with 
their  white  crowds  in  leaflets,  so  as  to 
form  the  image  of  a  white  rose  in  the 
midst  of  heaven. 

Thus,  throughout  the  poem,  I  con- 


396 


Ilhtstrations 


ceive  that  the  first  striking  character  of 
its  scenery  is  intense  definition  ;  pre- 
cisely the  reflection  of  that  definiteness 
which  we  have  already  traced  in  picto- 
rial art.  But  the  second  point  which 
seems  noteworthy  is,  that  the  flat 
ground  and  embanked  trenches  are  re- 
served for  the  Inferno  ;  and  that  the 
entire  territory  of  the  Purgatory  is  a 
mountain,  thus  marking  the  sense  of 
that  purifying  and  perfecting  influence 
in  mountains  which  we  saw  the  medi- 
aeval mind  was  so  ready  to  suggest. 
The  same  general  idea  is  indicated  at 
the  very  commencement  of  the  poem, 
in  which  Dante  is  overwhelmed  by 
fear  and  sorrow  in  passing  through  a 
dark  forest,  but  revives  on  seeing  the 
sun  touch  the  top  of  a  hill,  afterwards 
called  by  Virgil  "  the  pleasant  mount, 
—  the  cause  and  source  of  all  delight." 
While,  however,  we  find  this  greater 
honor  paid  to  mountains,  I  think  we 
may  perceive  a  much  greater  dread  and 
dislike  of  woods.  We  saw  that  Homer 
seemed  to  attach  a  pleasant  idea,  for 
the  most  part,  to  forests  ;  regarding 
them  as  sources  of  wealth  and  places 
of  shelter;  and  we  find  constantly  an 
idea  of  sacredness  attached  to  them, 
as  being  haunted  especially  by  the 
gods  ;  so  that  even  the  wood  which 
surrounds  the  house  of  Circe  is  spoken 
of  as  a  sacred  thicket,  or  rather  as  a 
sacred  glade,  or  labyrinth  of  glades  (of 
the  particular  word  used  I  shall  have 
more  to  say  presently)  ;  and  so  the 
wood  is  sought  as  a  kindly  shelter  by 
Ulysses,  in  spite  of  its  wild  beasts ; 
and  evidently  regarded  with  great  affec- 


tion by  Sophocles,  for,  in  a  passage 
which  is  always  regarded  by  readers  of 
Greek  tragedy  with  peculiar  pleasure, 
the  aged  and  blind  Qidipus,  brought  to 
rest  in  "  the  sweetest  resting-place  "  in 
all  the  neighborhood  of  Athens,  has 
the  spot  described  to  him  as  haunted 
perpetually  by  nightingales,  which  sing 
**  in  the  green  glades  and  in  the  dark 
ivy,  and  in  the  thousand-fruited,  sun- 
less, and  windless  thickets  of  the  god  " 
(Bacchus)  ;  the  idea  of  the  complete 
shelter  from  wind  and  sun  being  here, 
as  with  Ulysses,  the  uppermost  one. 
After  this  come  the  usual  staples  of 
landscape,  —  narcissus,  crocus,  plenty 
of  rain,  olive-trees  ;  and  last,  and  the 
greatest  boast  of  all, —  "it  is  a  good 
country  for  horses,  and  conveniently 
by  the  sea  ";  but  the  prominence  and 
pleasantness  of  the  thick  wood  in  the 
thoughts  of  the  writer  are  very  notable ; 
whereas  to  Dante  the  idea  of  a  forest 
is  exceedingly  repulsive,  so  that,  as 
just  noticed,  in  the  opening  of  his 
poem,  he  cannot  express  a  general 
despair  about  life  more  strongly  than 
by  saying  he  was  lost  in  a  wood  so 
savage  and  terrible,  that  "even  to  think 
or  speak  of  it  is  distress,  —  it  was  so 
bitter,  —  it  was  something  next  door 
to  death  "  ;  and  one  of  the  saddest 
scenes  in  all  the  Inferno  is  in  a  forest, 
of  which  the  trees  are  haunted  by  lost 
souls  ;  while,  (with  only  one  excep- 
tion,) whenever  the  country  is  to  be 
beautiful,  we  find  ourselves  coming  out 
into  open  air  and  open  meadows. 

It  is  quite  true  that  this  is  partly  a 
characteristic,  not  merely  of  Dante,  or 


Dante's  Landscapes 


397 


of  medla;val  writers,  but  of  Southern 
writers  ;  for  the  simple  reason  that  the 
forest,  being  with  them  higher  upon 
the  hills,  and  more  out  of  the  way,  than 
in  the  north,  was  generally  a  type  of 
lonely  and  savage  places  ;  while  in 
England,  the  "greenwood"  coming  up 
to  the  very  walls  of  the  towns,  it  was 
possible  to  be  "  merry  in  the  good 
greenwood,"  in  a  sense  which  an  Ital- 
ian could  not  have  understood.  Hence 
Chaucer,  Spenser,  and  Shakespeare  send 
their  favorites  perpetually"to  the  woods 
for  pleasure  or  meditation  ;  and  trust 
their  tender  Canace,  or  Rosalind,  or 
Helena,  or  Silvia,  or  Belphoebe,  where 
Dante  would  have  sent  no  one  but  a 
condemned  spirit.  Nevertheless,  there 
is  always  traceable  in  the  medieval 
mind  a  dread  of  thick  foliage,  which 
was  not  present  to  that  of  a  Greek;  so 
that,  even  in  the  North,  we  have  our 
sorrowful  "children  in  the  wood,"  and 
black  huntsmen  of  the  Hartz  forests, 
and  such  other  wood  terrors;  the  prin- 
cipal reason  for  the  difference  being, 
that  a  Greek,  being  by  no  means  given 
to  travelling,  regarded  his  woods  as  so 
much  valuable  property,  and,  if  he 
ever  went  into  them  for  pleasure,  ex- 
pected to  meet  one  or  two  gods  in  the 
course  of  his  walk,  but  no  banditti  ; 
while  a  mediaeval,  much  more  of  a 
solitary  traveller,  and  expecting  to  meet 
with  no  gods  in  the  thickets,  but  only 
with  thieves,  or  a  hostile  ambush,  or  a 
bear,  besides  a  great  deal  of  trouble- 
some ground  for  his  horse,  and  a  very 
serious  chance,  next  to  a  certainty,  of 
losing  his  way,  naturally  kept   in  the 


open  ground  as  long  as  he  could,  and 
regarded  the  forests,  in  general,  with 
anything  but  an  eye  of  favor. 

These,  I  think,  are  the  principal 
points  which  must  strike  us,  when  we 
first  broadly  think  of  the  poem  as  com- 
pared with  classical  work.  Let  us  now 
go  a  little  more  into  detail. 

As  Homer  gave  us  an  ideal  land- 
scape, which  even  a  god  might  have 
been  pleased  to  behold,  so  Dante  gives 
us,  fortunately,  an  ideal  landscape, 
which  is  specially  intended  for  the  ter- 
restrial paradise.  And  it  will  doubtless 
be  with  some  surprise,  after  our  reflec- 
tions above  on  the  general  tone  of 
Dante's  feelings,  that  we  find  ourselves 
here  first  entering  a  forest,  and  that 
even  a  thick  forest.  But  there  is  a  pe- 
culiar meaning  in  this.  With  any 
other  poet  than  Dante,  it  might  have 
been  regarded  as  a  wanton  inconsist- 
ency. Not  so  with  him:  by  glancing 
back  to  the  two  lines  which  explain 
the  nature  of  Paradise,  we  shall  see 
what  he  means  by  it.  Virgil  tells  him, 
as  he  enters  it,  "  Henceforward,  take 
thine  own  pleasure  for  guide  ;  thou  art 
beyond  the  steep  ways,  and  beyond  all 
Art  "  ;  —  meaning,  that  the  perfectly 
purified  and  noble  human  creature, 
having  no  pleasure  but  in  right,  is  past 
all  effort,  and  past  all  rule.  Art  has 
no  existence  for  such  a  being.  Hence, 
the  first  aim  of  Dante,  in  his  landscape 
imagery,  is  to  show  evidence  of  this 
perfect  liberty,  and  of  the  purity  and 
sinlessness  of  the  new  nature,  convert- 
ing pathless  ways  into  happy  ones. 
So  that  all  those  fences  and  formalisms 


398 


Illustrations 


which  had  been  needed  for  him  in 
imperfection  are  removed  in  this  para- 
dise ;  and  even  the  pathlessness  of  the 
wood,  the  most  dreadful  thing  possible 
to  him  in  his  days  of  sin  and  short- 
coming, is  now  a  joy  to  him  in  his  days 
of  purity.  And  as  the  fcncelessness 
and  thicket  of  sin  led  to  the  fettered 
and  fearful  order  of  eternal  punish- 
ment, so  the  fencelcssness  and  thicket 
of  the  free  virtue  lead  to  the  loving 
and  constellated  order  of  eternal  hap- 
piness. 

This  forest,  then,  is  very  like  that 
of  Colonos  in  several  respects,  —  in  its 
peace  and  sweetness,  and  number  of 
birds  ;  it  differs  from  it  only  in  letting 
a  light  breeze  through  it,  being  ,there- 
fore  somewhat  thinner  than  the  Greek 
wood  ;  the  tender  lines  which  tell  of 
the  voices  of  the  birds  mingling  with 
the  wind,  and  of  the  leaves  all  turning 
one  way  before  it,  have  been  more  or 
less  copied  by  every  poet  since  Dante's 
time.  They  are,  so  far  as  I  know,  the 
sweetest  passage  of  wood  description 
which  exists  in  literature. 

Before,  however,  Dante  has  gone  far 
in  this  wood,  —  that  is  to  say,  only  so 
far  as  to  have  lost  sight  of  the  place 
where  he  entered  it,  or  rather,  I  sup- 
pose, of  the  light  under  the  boughs  of 
the  outside  trees,  and  it  must  have  been 
a  very  thin  wood  indeed  if  he  did  not 
do  this  in  some  quarter  of  a  mile's 
walk,  —  he  comes  to  a  little  river, 
three  paces  over,  which  bends  the 
blades  of  grass  to  the  left,  with  a  mead- 
ow on  the  other  side  of  it ;  and  in 
this  meadow 


"A  lady,  graced  with  solitude,  who  went 

Singing  and  setting  flower  by  flower  apart, 
By  which  the  path  she  walked  on  was  besprent. 
•Ah,  lady  beautiful,  that  basking  art 

In  beams  of  love,  if  I  may  trust  thy  face, 
Which  useth  to  bear  witness  of  the  heart, 
Let  liking  come  on  thee,'  said  I,  '  to  trace 

Thy  path  a  little  closer  to  the  shore, 
Where  I  may  reap  the  hearing  of  thy  lays. 
Thou  mindest  me,  how  Proserpine  of  yore 

Appeared  in  such  a  place,  what  time   her 
mother 
Lost  her,  and  she  the  spring,  forevermore.' 
As,  pointing  downwards  and  to  one  another 

Her  feet,  a  lady  bendeth  in  the  dance, 
And  barely  setteth  one  before  the  other. 
Thus,  on  the  scarlet  and  the  saffron  glance 

Of  flowers  with  motion  maidenlike  she  bent 
(Her  modest  eyelids  drooping  and  askance)  j 
And  there  she  gave  my  wishes  their  content, 

Approaching,  so  that  her  sweet  melodies 
Arrived  upon  mine  ear  with  what  they  meant. 
When  first  she  came  amongst  the  blades  that  rise. 

Already  wetted,  from  the  goodly  river, 
She  graced  me  by  the  lifting  of  her  eyes." 

Cayley. 

I  have  given  this  passage  at  length, 
because,  for  our  purposes,  it  is  by  much 
the  most  important,  not  only  in  Dante, 
but  in  the  whole  circle  of  poetry. 
This  lady,  observe,  stands  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  little  stream,  which, 
presently,  she  explains  to  Dante  is 
Lethe,  having  power  to  cause  forget- 
fulness  of  all  evil,  and  she  stands  just 
among  the  bent  blades  of  grass  at  its 
edge.  She  is  first  seen  gathering  flower 
from  flov/er,  then  "passing  continually 
the  multitudinous  flowers  through  her 
hands,"  smiling  at  the  same  time  so 
brightly,  that  her  first  address  to  Dante 
is  to  prevent  him  from  wondering  at 
her,  saying,  "  if  he  will  remember  the 
verse  of  the  ninety-second  Psalm,  be- 


Dante's  Landscapes 


399 


ginning  'Delectasti,'  he  will  know  why 
she  is  so  happy." 

And  turning  to  the  verse  of  the 
Psalm,  we  find  it  written,  "  Thou, 
Lord,  hast  made  me  glad  through  thy 
works.  I  will  triumph  in  the  works  of 
thy  hands  ",•  or,  in  the  very  words  in 
which  Dante  would  read  it,  — 

"  Quia  delectasti  me,  Domine,  in  factura  tua, 
Et  in  operibus  manuum  Tuarum  exultabo." 

Now  we  could  not  for  an  instant 
have  had  any  difficulty  in  understand- 
ing this,  but  that,  some  way  farther  on 
in  the  poem,  this  lady  is  called  Matilda, 
and  it  is  with  reason  supposed  by  the 
commentators  to  be  the  great  Countess 
Matilda  of  the  eleventh  century;  nota- 
ble equally  for  her  ceaseless  activity, 
her  brilliant  political  genius,  her  per- 
fect piety,  and  her  deep  reverence  for 
the  see  of  Rome.  This  Countess  Ma- 
tilda is  therefore  Dante's  guide  in  the 
terrestrial  paradise,  as  Beatrice  is  after- 
wards in  the  celestial ;  each  of  them 
having  a  spiritual  and  symbolic  char- 
acter in  their  glorified  state,  yet  retain- 
ing their  definite  personality. 

The  question  is,  then,  what  is  the 
symbolic  character  of  the  Countess 
Matilda,  as  the  guiding  spirit  of  the 
terrestrial  paradise?  Before  Dante  had 
entered  this  paradise  he  had  rested  on 
a  step  of  shelving  rock,  and  as  he 
watched  the  stars  he  slept,  and  dreamed, 
and  thus  tells  us  what  he  saw  :  — 

"A  lady,  young  and  beautiful,  I  dreamed, 
Was  passing  o'er  a  lea  ;  and,  as  she  came, 
Methought  I  saw  her  ever  and  anon 
Bending  to  cull  the  flowers;  and  thus  she  sang: 
*  Know  ye,  whoever  of  my  name  would  ask, 


That  I  am  Leah  ;   for  my  brow  to  weave 
A  garland,  these  fair  hands  unwearied  ply; 
To  please  me  at  the  crystal  mirror,  here 
I  deck  me.      But  my  sister  Rachel,  she 
Before  her  glass  abides  the  livelong  day, 
Her  radiant  eyes  beholding,  charmed  no  less 
Than  I  with  this  delightful  task.      Her  joy 
In  contemplation,  as  in  labor  mine.*  " 

This  vision  of  Rachel  and  Leah  has 
been  always,  and  with  unquestionable 
truth,  received  as  a  type  of  the  Active 
and  Contemplative  life,  and  as  an  intro- 
duction to  the  two  divisions  of  the 
Paradise  which  Dante  is  about  to  enter. 
Therefore  the  unwearied  spirit  of  the 
Countess  Matilda  is  understood  to  rep- 
resent the  Active  life,  which  forms 
the  felicity  of  Earth  ;  and  the  spirit  of 
Beatrice  the  Contemplative  life,  which 
forms  the  felicity  of  Heaven.  This 
interpretation  appears  at  first  straight- 
forward and  certain,  but  it  has  missed 
count  of  exactly  the  most  important 
fact  in  the  two  passages  which  we  have 
to  explain.  Observe  :  Leah  gathers 
the  flowers  to  decorate  herself,  and  de- 
lights in  Her  Own  Labor.  Rachel  sits 
silent,  contemplating  herself,  and  de- 
lights in  Her  Ozvn  Image.  These  are 
the  types  of  the  Unglorified  Active  and 
Contemplative  powers  of  Man.  But 
Beatrice  and  Matilda  are  the  same 
powers.  Glorified.  And  how  are  they 
Glorified  ?  Leah  took  delight  in  her 
own  labor  ;  but  Matilda  —  "  in  operi- 
bus manuum  Tuarum  "  —  in  God^s  la- 
bor ; —  Rachel  in  the  sight  of  her  own 
face  ;  Beatrice  in  the  sight  of  God^s 
face. 

And  thus,  when  afterwards  Dante 
sees  Beatrice  on  her  throne,  and  prays 


400 


Ilbistrations 


her  that,  when  he  himself  shall  die, 
she  would  receive  him  with  kindness, 
Beatrice  merely  looks  down  for  an  in- 
stant, and  answers  with  a  single  smile, 
then  "  towards  the  eternal  fountain 
turns." 

Therefore  it  is  evident  that  Dante 
distinguishes  in  both  cases,  not  be- 
tween earth  and  heaven,  but  between 
perfect  and  imperfect  happiness,  wheth- 
er in  earth  or  heaven.  The  active 
life  which  has  only  the  service  of 
man  for  its  end,  and  therefore  gath- 
ers flowers,  with  Leah,  for  its  own 
decoration,  is  indeed  happy,  but  not 
perfectly  so  ;  it  has  only  the  happiness 
of  the  dream,  belonging  essentially  to 
the  dream  of  human  life,  and  passing 
away  with  it.  But  the  active  life  which 
labors  for  the  more  and  more  discovery 
of  God's  work,  is  perfectly  happy,  and 
is  the  life  of  the  terrestrial  paradise, 
being  a  true  foretaste  of  heaven,  and 
beginning  in  earth,  as  heaven's  vesti- 
bule. So  also  the  contemplative  life 
which  is  concerned  with  human  feel- 
ing and  thought  and  beauty  —  the  life 
which  is  in  earthly  poetry  and  imagery 
of  noble  earthly  emotion  —  is  happy, 
but  it  is  the  happiness  of  the  dream  ; 
the  contemplative  life  which  has  God's 
person  and  love  in  Christ  for  its  ob- 
ject, has  the  happiness  of  eternity. 
But  because  this  higher  happiness  is  also 


begun  here  on  earth,  Beatrice  descends 
to  earth  ;  and  when  revealed  to  Dante 
first,  he  sees  the  image  of  the  twofold 
personality  of  Christ  reflected  in  her 
e^es  ;  as  the  flowers,  which  are,  to  the 
medijEval  heart,  the  chief  work  of  God, 
are  forever  passing  through  Matilda's 
hands. 

Now,  therefore,  we  see  that  Dante, 
as  the  great  prophetic  exponent  of  the 
heart  of  the  Middle  Ages,  has,  by  the 
lips  of  the  spirit  of  Matilda,  declared 
the  mediaeval  faith,  —  that  all  perfect 
active  life  was  "  the  expression  of 
man's  delight  in  God^s  work  ";  and  that 
all  their  political  and  warlike  energy, 
as  fully  shown  in  the  mortal  life  of 
Matilda,  was  yet  inferior  and  impure, 
—  the  energy  of  the  dream,  —  com- 
pared with  that  which  on  the  opposite 
bank  of  Lethe  stood  "  choosing  flower 
from  flower."  And  what  joy  and 
peace  there  were  in  this  work  is 
marked  by  Matilda's  being  the  person 
who  draws  Dante  through  the  stream 
of  Lethe,  so  as  to  make  him  forget  all 
sin,  and  all  sorrow  :  throwing  her 
arms  round  him,  she  plunges  his  head 
under  the  waves  of  it;  then  draws  him 
through,  crying  to  him,  ^'Hold  me,  hold 
me''''  (Tiemmi,  tiemmi),  and  so  presents 
him,  thus  bathed,  free  from  all  painful 
memory,  at  the  feet  of  the  spirit  of  the 
more  heavenly  contemplation. 


Dante  s  Creed 


401 


DAN  T E'S    CREED, 


From  the  Foreign  Quarterly  Review,  No.  LXV.  Art.  I. 


Another  thought  sustained  him,  and 
was  the  end  towards  which  he  directed 
all  the  energies  which  love  had  roused 
within  him  ;  and  this  must  be  specially 
insisted  upon,  because,  wonderfully 
enough  !  even  in  the  present  day  it  is 
either  misunderstood  or  lightly  treated 
by  all  who  busy  themselves  about 
Dante.     This  aim  is  the  national  aim, 

—  the  same  desire  that  vibrates  instinc- 
tively in  the  bosoms  of  twenty-two 
millions  of  men,  and  which  is  the 
secret  of  the  immense  popularity  Dante 
has  in  Italy.  This  idea  and  the  almost 
superhuman  constancy  with  which  he 
pursued  it,  render  Dante  the  most  com- 
plete individual  incarnation  of  this  aim 
that  we  know,  and,  notwithstanding, 
this  is  just  the  point  upon  which  his  bi- 
ographers are  the  most  uncertain 

It  must  be  said  and  insisted  upon, 
that  this  idea  of  national  greatness  is 
the  leading  thought  in  all  that  Dante 
did  or  wrote.  Never  man  loved  his 
country  with  a  more  exalted  or  fervent 
love  ;  never  had  man  such  projects  of 
magnificent  and  exalted  destinies  for 
her.  All  who  consider  Dante  as  a 
Guelph  or  a  Ghibelline  grovel  at  the 
base  of  the  monument  which  he  desired 
to  raise  to  Italy.  We  are  not  here 
required  to  give  an  opinion  upon  the 
degree  of  feasibility  of  Dante's  ideas, 

—  the  future  must  decide  this  point. 
What  we  have  to  do  is  to  show  what 

VOL.   II.  51 


Dante  aimed  at,  in  order  that  those 
who  desire  to  come  to  a  just  estimate  of 
his  life  may  have  sufficient  grounds  to 
judge  him.  This  we  shall  do  as  rapidly 
as  possible,  relying  upon  passages  in 
the  Convito,  and  his  little  treatise  De 
Monarchia,  for  our  authority.  The 
following,  then,  is  a  summary  of  what, 
in  the  thirteenth  century,  Dante  be- 
lieved. 

God  is  one,  —  the  universe  is  one 
thought  of  God,  —  the  universe  there- 
fore is  one.  All  things  come  from 
God,  —  they  all  participate,  more  or 
less,  in  the  Divine  nature,  according  to 
the  end  for  which  they  are  created. 
They  all  float  towards  different  points 
over  the  great  ocean  of  existence,  but 
they  are  all  moved  by  the  same  will. 
Flowers  in  the  garden  of  God  all  merit 
our  love  according  to  the  degree  of  ex- 
cellence he  has  bestowed  upon  each ; 
of  these  Man  is  the  most  eminent. 
Upon  him  God  has  bestowed  more  of 
his  own  nature  than  upon  any  other 
creature.  In  the  continuous  scale  of 
being,  that  man  whose  nature  is  the 
most  degraded  touches  upon  the  ani- 
mal ;  he  whose  nature  is  the  most 
noble  approaches  that  of  the  angel. 
Everything  that  comes  from  the  hand 
of  God  tends  towards  the  perfection  of 
which  it  is  susceptible,  and  man  more 
fervently  and  more  vigorously  than  all 
the  rest.     There  is  this  difference  be- 


402 


Illustrations 


tween  him  and  other  creatures,  that  his 
perfectibility  is  what  Dante  calls  pos- 
sible, meaning  indefinite.  Coming  from 
the  bosom  of  God,  the  human  soul 
incessantly  aspires  towards  Him,  and 
endeavors  by  holiness  and  knowledge 
to  become  reunited  with  Him.  Now 
the  life  of  the  individual  man  is  too 
short  and  too  weak  to  enable  him  to 
satisfy  that  yearning  in  this  world;  but 
around  him,  before  him,  stands  the 
whole  human  race  to  which  he  is  allied 
by  his  social  nature,  —  that  never  dies, 
but  works  through  one  generation  of  its 
members  after  another  onwards,  in  the 
road  to  eternal  truth.  Mankind  is  one. 
God  has  made  nothing  in  vain,  and  if 
there  exists  a  multitude,  a  collective  of 
men,  it  is  because  there  is  one  aim  for 
them  all,  —  one  work  to  be  accom- 
plished by  them  all.  Whatever  this  aim 
may  be,  it  does  certainly  exist,  and  we 
must  endeavor  to  discover  and  attain  it. 
Mankind,  then,  ought  to  work  togeth- 
er, in  order  that  all  the  intellectual 
powers  that  are  bestowed  amongst  them 
may  receive  the  highest  possible  de- 
velopment, whether  in  the  sphere  of 
thought  or  action.  It  is  only  by  har- 
mony, consequently  by  association,  that 
this  is  possible.  Mankind  must  be  one, 
even  as  God  is  one  ;  —  one  in  organiza- 
tion, as  it  is  already  one  in  its  princi- 
ple. Unity  is  taught  by  the  manifest 
design  of  God  in  the  external  world, 
and  by  the  necessity  of  an  aim.  Now 
unity  seeks  for  something  by  which  it 
may  be  represented,  and  this  is  found 
in  a  unity  of  government.    There  must 


then  of  necessity  be  some  centre  to 
which  the  general  inspiration  of  man- 
kind ascends,  thence  to  flow  down  again 
in  the  form  of  Law,  —  a  power  strong 
in  unity,  and  in  the  supporting  advice  of 
the  higher  intellects  naturally  destined 
to  rule,  providing  with  calm  wisdom 
for  all  the  different  functions  which  are 
to  be  fulfilled,  —  the  distinct  employ- 
ments, —  itself  performing  the  part  of 
ilot,  of  supreme  chief,  in  order  to 
bring  to  the  highest  perfection  what 
Dante  calls  "  the  universal  religion 
of  human  nature  ";  that  is,  empire, — 
Imperium.  It  will  maintain  concord 
amongst  the  rulers  of  states,  and  this 
peace  will  diffuse  itself  from  thence 
into  towns,  from  the  towns  among  each 
cluster  of  habitations,  into  every  house, 
into  the  bosom  of  each  man.  But 
where  is  the  seat  of  this  empire  to  be  ? 

At  this  question  Dante  quits  all  ana- 
lytic argumentation,  and  takes  up  the 
language  of  synthetical  and  absolute  af- 
firmation, like  a  man  in  whom  the  least 
expression  of  doubt  excites  astonish- 
ment. 

He  is  no  longer  a  philosopher,  he  is  a 
believer.  He  shows  Rome,  the  Holy 
City,  as  he  calls  her,  —  the  city  whose 
very  stones  he  declares  to  be  worthy 
of  reverence,  — "  nere  is  the  seat  of 
empire."  There  never  was,  and  there 
never  will  be,  a  people  endowed  with 
more  gentleness  for  the  exercise  of 
command,  with  more  vigor  to  maintain 
it,  and  more  capacity  to  acquire  it,  than 
the  Italian  nation,  and  above  all,  the 
Holy  Roman  people.  • 


Tlie  Dhina  Comviedia 


403 


THE    DIVINA    CO  M  M  E  D  lA. 

From  the  German  of  Schelling. 


In  the  sanctuary  where  Religion  "is 
married  to  immortal  verse  "  stands 
Dante  as  high-priest,  and  consecrates  all 
modern  Art  to  its  vocation.  Not  as  a 
solitary  poem,  but  representing  the 
whole  class  of  the  New  Poetry,  and 
itself  a  separate  class,  stands  the  "  Di- 
vine Comedy,"  so  entirely  unique,  that 
any  theory  drawn  from  peculiar  forms 
is  quite  inadequate  to  it;  —  a  world 
by  itself,  it  demands  its  own  peculiar 
theory.  The  predicate  of  Divine  was 
given  it  by  its  author,*  because  it  treats 
of  theology  and  things  divine  ;  Comedy 
he  called  it,  after  the  simplest  notion 
of  this  and  its  opposite  kind,  on  ac- 
count of  its  fearful  beginning  and  its 
happy  ending,  and  because  the  mixed 
nature  of  the  poem,  whose  material  is 
now  lofty  and  now  lowly,  rendered  a 
mixed  kind  of  style  necessary. 

One  readily  perceives,  however,  that, 
according  to  the  common  notion,  it 
cannot  be  called  Dramatic,  because  it 
represents  no  circumscribed  action. 
So  far  as  Dante  himself  may  be  looked 
upon  as  the  hero,  who  serves  only  as 
a  thread  for  the  measureless  series  of 
visions  and  pictures,  and  remains  rather 
passive  than  active,  the  poem  seems  to 
approach  nearer  to  a  Romance  ;  yet 
this  definition  does  not  completely  ex- 

*  The  title  of  "Divina"  was  not  given  to 
the  poem  till  long  after  Dante's  death.  It  first 
appears  in  the  edition  of  1516.  — Tr. 


haust  it.  Nor  can  we  call  it  Epic,  in 
the  usual  acceptation  of  the  word,  since 
there  is  no  regular  sequence  in  the 
events  represented.  To  look  upon  it 
as  a  Didactic  poem  is  likewise  impos- 
sible, because  it  is  written  with  a  far 
less  restricted  form  and  aim  than  that 
of  teaching.  It  belongs,  therefore,  to 
none  of  these  classes  in  particular,  nor 
is  it  merely  a  compound  of  them  ;  but 
an  entirely  unique,  and  as  it  were  or- 
ganic, mixture  of  all  their  elements, 
not  to  be  reproduced  by  any  arbitrary 
rules  of  art,  —  an  absolute  individu- 
ality, comparable  with  itself  alone,  and 
with  naught  else. 

The  material  of  the  poem  is,  in 
general  terms,  the  express  identity  of 
the  poet's  age  ;  —  the  interpenetration 
of  the  events  thereof  with  the  ideas  of 
Religion,  Science,  and  Poetry  in  the 
loftiest  genius  of  that  century.  Our 
intention  is  not  to  consider  it  in  its 
immediate  reference  to  its  age  ;  but 
rather  in  its  universal  application,  and 
as  the  archetype  of  all  modern  Poetry. 

The  necessary  law  of  this  poetry, 
down  to  the  still  indefinitely  distant 
point  where  the  great  epic  of  modern 
times,  which  hitherto  has  announced 
itself  only  rhapsodically  and  in  broken 
glimpses,  shall  present  itself  as  a  per- 
fect whole,  is  this,  —  that  the  individ- 
ual gives  shape  and  unity  to  that  por- 
tion of  the  world  which  is  revealed  to 


404 


Ilhtstrations 


him,  and  out  of  the  materials  of  his 
time,  its  history,  and  its  science,  creates 
his  own  mythology.  For  as  the  an- 
cient world  is,  in  general,  the  world  of 
classes,  so  the  modern  is  that  of  indi- 
viduals. In  the  former,  the  Universal 
is  in  truth  the  Particular,  the  race  acts 
as  an  individual  ;  in  the  latter,  the 
Individual  is  the  point  of  departure, 
and  becomes  the  Universal.  For  this 
reason,  in  the  former  all  things  are 
permanent  and  imperishable  :  number 
likewise  is  of  no  account,  since  the 
Universal  idea  coincides  with  that  of 
the  Individual  ;  —  in  the  latter  con- 
stant mutation  is  the  fixed  law  ;  no 
narrow  circle  limits  its  ends,  but  one 
which  through  Individuality  widens 
itself  to  infinitude.  And  since  Uni- 
versality belongs  to  the  essence  of 
poetry,  it  is  a  necessary  condition  that 
the  Individual  through  the  highest  pe- 
culiarity should  again  become  Univer- 
sal, and  by  his  complete  speciality  be- 
come again  absolute.  Thus,  through 
the  perfect  individuality  and  uniqueness 
of  his  poem,  Dante  is  the  creator  of 
modern  art,  which  without  this  arbi- 
trary necessity,  and  necessary  arbitrari- 
ness, cannot  be  imagined. 

From  the  very  beginning  of  Greek 
Poetry,  we  see  it  clearly  separated  from 
Science  and  Philosophy,  as  in  Homer; 
and  this  process  of  separation  continued 
until  the  poets  and  the  philosophers 
became  the  antipodes  of  each  other. 
They  in  vain,  by  allegorical  interpre- 
tations of  the  Homeric  poems,  sought 
artificially  to  create  a  harmony  between 
the  two.     In  modern  times  Science  has 


preceded  Poetry  and  Mythology,  which 
cannot  be  Mythology  without  being 
universal,  and  drawing  into  its  circle  all 
the  elements  of  the  then  existing  cul- 
ture. Science,  Religion,  and  even  Art, 
and  joining  in  a  perfect  unity  the  mate- 
rial not  only  of  the  present  but  of  the 
past.  Into  this  struggle  (since  Art  de- 
mands something  definite  and  limited, 
while  the  spirit  of  the  world  rushes 
towards  the  unlimited,  and  with  cease- 
less power  sweeps  down  all  barriers) 
must  the  Individual  enter,  but  with 
absolute  freedom  seek  to  rescue  per- 
manent shapes  from  the  fluctuations  of 
time,  and  within  arbitrarily  assumed 
forms  to  give  to  the  structure  of  his  po- 
em, by  its  absolute  peculiarity,  internal 
necessity  and  external  universality. 

This  Dante  has  done.  He  had  be- 
fore him,  as  material,  the  history  of 
the  present  as  well  as  of  the  past.  He 
could  not  elaborate  this  into  a  pure 
Epos,  partly  on  account  of  its  nature, 
partly  because,  in  doing  this,  he  would 
have  excluded  other  elements  of  the 
culture  of  his  time.  To  its  complete- 
ness belonged  also  the  astronomy,  the 
theology,  and  the  philosophy  of  the 
time.  To  these  he  could  not  give  ex- 
pression in  a  didactic  poem,  for  by  so 
doing  he  would  again  have  limited 
himself.  Consequently,  in  order  to 
make  his  poem  universal,  he  was 
obliged  to  make  it  historical.  An  in- 
vention entirely  uncontrolled,  and  pro- 
ceeding from  his  own  individuality, 
was  necessary  to  unite  these  materials, 
and  form  them  into  an  organic  whole. 
To  represent  the  ideas  of  Philosophy 


I 


The  Divina  Coimnedia 


405 


and  Theology  in  symbols  was  impos- 
sible, for  there  then  existed  no  sym- 
bolic Mythology,  He  could  quite  as 
little  make  his  poem  purely  allegorical, 
for  then,  again,  it  could  not  be  histori- 
cal. It  was  necessary,  therefore,  to 
make  it  an  entirely  unique  mixture  of 
Allegory  and  History.  In  the  emble- 
matic poetry  of  the  ancients  no  clew 
of  this  kind  was  possible.  The  Indi- 
vidual only  could  lay  hold  of  it,  and 
only  an  uncontrolled  invention  fol- 
low it. 

The  poem  of  Dante  is  not  allegorical 
in  the  sense  that  its  figures  only  signi- 
fied something  else,  without  having  any 
separate  existence  independent  of  the 
thing  signified.  On  the  other  hand, 
none  of  them  is  independent  of  the 
thing  signified  in  such  a  way  as  to  be 
at  once  the  idea  itself  and  more  than 
an  allegory  of  it.  There  is  therefore 
in  his  poem  an  entirely  unique  mean 
between  Allegory  and  symbolic-objec- 
tive Form.  There  is  no  doubt,  and 
the  poet  has  himself  elsewhere  declared 
it,  that  Beatrice,  for  example,  is  an 
Allegory,  namely,  of  Theology.  So 
her  companions  ;  so  many  other  char- 
acters. But  at  the  same  time  they 
count  for  themselves,  and  appear  on 
the  scene  as  historic  personages,  with- 
out on  that  account  being  symbols. 

In  this  respect  Dante  is  archetypal, 
since  he  has  proclaimed  what  the  mod- 
ern poet  has  to  do,  in  order  to  embody 
into  a  poetic  whole  the  entire  history 
and  culture  of  his  age,  —  the  only 
mythological  material  which  lies  before 
him.      He  must,  from  absolute  arbitra- 


riness, join  together  the  allegorical  and 
historical:  he  must  be  allegorical,  (and 
he  is  so,  too,  against  his  will,)  because 
he  cannot  be  symbolical  ;  and  he  must 
be  historical,  because  he  wishes  to  be 
poetical.  In  this  respect  his  invention 
is  always  peculiar,  a  world  by  itself, 
and  altogether  characteristic. 

The  only  German  poem  of  universal 
plan  unites  together  in  a  similar  manner 
the  outermost  extremes  in  the  aspira- 
tions of  the  times,  by  a  very  peculiar 
invention  of  a  subordinate  mythology, 
in  the  character  of  Faust;  although,  in 
the  Aristophanic  meaning  of  the  word, 
it  may  far  better  be  called  a  Comedy, 
and  in  another  and  more  poetic  sense 
Divine,  than  the  poem  of  Dante. 

The  energy  with  which  the  individ- 
ual embodies  the  singular  mixture  of 
the  materials  which  lie  before  him  in 
his  age  and  his  life,  determines  the 
measure  in  which  he  possesses  mytho- 
logical power.  Dante's  personages 
possess  a  kind  of  eternity  from  the  po- 
sition in  which  he  places  them,  and 
which  is  eternal  ;  but  not  only  the 
actual  which  he  draws  from  his  own 
time,  as  the  story  of  Ugolino  and  the 
like,  but  also  what  is  pure  invention, 
as  the  death  of  Ulysses  and  his  com- 
panions, has  in  the  connection  of  his 
poem  a  real  mythological  truth. 

It  would  be  of  but  subordinate  in- 
terest to  represent  by  itself  the  Phi- 
losophy, Physics,  and  Astronomy  of 
Dante,  since  his  true  peculiarity  lies 
only  in  his  manner  of  fusing  them  with 
his  poetry.  The  Ptolemaic  system, 
which  to  a  certain  degree  is  the  foun- 


4o6 


Ilhistratmis 


dation  of  his  poetic  structure,  has  al- 
ready in  itself  a  mythological  coloring. 
If,  however,  his  philosophy  is  to  be 
characterized  in  general  as  Aristotelian, 
we  must  not  understand  by  this  the  pure 
Peripatetic  philosophy,  but  a  peculiar 
union  of  the  same  with  the  ideas  of  the 
Platonic  then  entertained,  as  may  be 
proved  by  many  passages  of  his  poem. 

We  will  not  dwell  upon  the  power 
and  solidity  of  separate  passages,  the 
simplicity  and  endless  naivete  of  sepa- 
rate pictures,  in  which  he  expresses  his 
philosophical  views,  as  the  well-known 
description  of  the  soul  which  comes 
from  the  hand  of  God  as  a  little  girl 
**  weeping  and  laughing  in  its  childish 
sport,"  a  guileless  soul,  which  knows 
nothing,  save  that,  moved  by  its  joyful 
Creator,  "  willingly  it  turns  to  that 
which  gives  it  pleasure";  —  we  speak 
only  of  the  general  symbolic  form  of 
the  whole,  in  whose  absoluteness,  more 
than  in  anythiug  else,  the  universal 
value  and  immortality  of  this  poem  is 
recognized. 

If  the  union  of  Philosophy  and  Po- 
etry, even  in  their  most  subordinate 
synthesis,  is  understood  as  making  a 
didactic  poem,  it  becomes  necessary, 
since  the  poem  must  be  without  any 
external  end  and  aim,  that  the  inten- 
tion (of  instructing)  should  lose  itself 
in  it,  and  be  changed  into  an  absolute- 
ness {in  eine  Absolutheit  verwandelt), 
so  that  the  poem  may  seem  to  exist  for 
its  own  sake.  And  this  is  only  con- 
ceivable, when  Science  (considered  as 
a  picture  of  the  universe,  and  in  per- 
fect  harmony  therewith,  as   the   most 


original  and  beautiful  Poetry)  is  in  it- 
self already  poetical.  Dante's  poem  is 
a  much  higher  interpenetration  of  Sci- 
ence and  Poetry,  and  so  much  the  more 
must  its  form,  even  in  its  freer  self- 
existence,  be  adapted  to  the  universal 
type  of  the  world's  aspect. 

The  division  of  the  universe,  and 
the  arrangement  of  the  materials  ac- 
cording to  the  three  kingdoms  of  Hell, 
Purgatory,  and  Paradise,  independently 
of  the  peculiar  meaning  of  these  ideas 
in  Christian  theology,  are  also  a  gen- 
eral symbolic  form,  so  that  one  does 
not  see  why  under  the  same  form  every 
remarkable  age  should  not  have  its  own 
Divine  Comedy.  As  in  the  modern 
Drama  the  form  of  five  acts  is  assumed 
as  the  usual  one,  because  every  event 
may  be  regarded  in  its  Beginning,  its 
Progress,  its  Culmination,  its  Denoue- 
ment, and  its  final  Consummation,  so 
this  trichotomy,  or  threefold  division 
of  Dante  in  the  higher  prophetic  po- 
etry, which  is  to  be  the  expression  of 
a  whole  age,  is  conceivable  as  a  gen- 
eral form,  which  in  its  filling  up  may 
be  infinitely  varied,  as  by  the  power  of 
original  invention  it  can  always  be 
quickened  into  new  life.  Not  alone, 
however,  as  an  external  form,  but  as 
an  emblematical  expression  of  the  in- 
ternal type  of  all  Science  and  Poetry, 
is  that  form  eternal,  and  capable  of 
embracing  in  itself  the  three  great  ob- 
jects of  science  and  culture,  —  Nature, 
History,  and  Art.  Nature,  as  the 
birth  of  all  things,  is  the  eternal  Night; 
and  as  that  unity  through  which  these 
are  in  themselves,  it  is  the  aphelion  of 


The  Divina  Commedia 


407 


the  universe,  the  point  of  farthest 
removal  from  God,  the  true  centre. 
Life  and  History,  whose  nature  is 
gradual  progress,  are  only  a  process 
of  clarification,  a  transition  to  an  abso- 
lute condition.  This  can  nowhere  be 
found  save  in  Art,  which  anticipates 
eternity,  is  the  paradise  of  life,  and  is 
truly  in  the  centre. 

Dante's  poem,  therefore,  viewed  from 
all  sides,  is  not  an  isolated  work  of  a 
particular  age,  a  particular  stage  of  cul- 
ture ;  but  it  is  archetypal,  by  the  uni- 
versal interest  which  it  unites  with  the 
most  absolute  individuality,  —  by  its 
universality,  in  virtue  of  which  it  ex- 
cludes no  side  of  life  and  culture,  — 
and,  finally,  by  its  form,  which  is  not 
a  peculiar  type,  but  the  type  of  the 
theory  of  the  universe  in  general. 

The  peculiar  internal  arrangement  of 
the  poem  certainly  cannot  possess  this 
universal  interest,  since  it  is  formed 
upon  the  ideas  of  the  time,  and  the 
peculiar  views  of  the  poet.  On  the 
other  hand,  as  is  to  be  expected  from 
a  work  so  artistic  and  full  of  purpose, 
the  general  inner  type  is  again  exter- 
nally imaged  forth,  through  the  form, 
color,  sound,  of  the  three  great  divis- 
ions of  the  poem. 

From  the  extraordinary  nature  of  his 
material,  Dante  needed  for  the  form  of 
his  creations  in  detail  some  kind  of 
credentials  which  only  the  Science  of 
his  time  could  give,  and  which  for  him 
are,  so  to  speak,  the  Mythology  and 
the  general  basis  which  supports  the 
daring  edifice  of  his  inventions.  But 
even  in  the  details  he  remains  true  to 


his  design  of  being  allegorical,  without 
ceasing  to  be  historical  and  poetical. 
Hell,  Purgatory,  and  Paradise  are,  as 
it  were,  only  his  system  of  Theology 
in  its  concrete  and  architectural  devel- 
opment. The  proportion,  number, 
and  relations  which  he  observes  in 
their  internal  structure  were  prescribed 
by  this  science,  and  herein  he  re- 
nounced intentionally  the  freedom  of 
invention,  in  order  to  give,  by  means 
of  form,  necessity  and  limitation  to  his 
poem,  which  in  its  materials  was  un- 
limited. The  universal  sanctity  and 
significancy  of  numbers  is  another  ex- 
ternal form  upon  which  his  poetry 
rests.  So  in  general  the  entire  logical 
and  syllogistic  lore  of  that  age  is  for 
him  only  form,  which  must  be  granted 
to  him  in  order  to  attain  to  that  region 
in  which  his  poetry  moves. 

And  yet  in  this  adherence  to  relig- 
ious and  philosophical  notions,  as  the 
most  universally  interesting  thing  which 
his  age  offered,  Dante  never  seeks  an 
ordinary  kind  of  poetic  probability  ; 
but  rather  renounces  all  intention  ot 
flattering  the  baser  senses.  His  first 
entrance  into  Hell  takes  place,  as  it 
should  take  place,  without  any  unpo- 
etical  attempt  to  assign  a  motive  for  it 
or  to  make  it  intelligible,  in  a  condition 
like  that  of  a  Vision,  without,  how- 
ever, any  intention  of  making  it  appear 
such.  His  being  drawn  up  by  Bea- 
trice's eyes,  through  which  the  divine 
power  is  communicated  to  him,  he  ex- 
presses in  a  single  line  :  what  is  won- 
derful in  his  own  adventures  he  im- 
mediately changes  to  a  likeness  of  the 


4o8 


I Ihtstraiions 


mysteries  of  religion,  and  gives  it  cred- 
ibility by  a  yet  higher  mystery,  as 
when  he  makes  his  cntranc"C  into  the 
moon,  which  he  compares  to  that  of 
light  into  the  unbroken  surface  of 
water,  an  image  of  God's  incarna- 
tion. 

To  show  the  perfection  of  art  and 
the  depth  of  purpose  which  was  carried 
even  into  the  minor  details  of  the  inner 
structure  of  the  three  worlds,  would  be 
a  science  in  itself.  This  was  recog- 
nized shortly  after  the  poet's  death  by 
his  nation,  in  their  appointing  a  dis- 
tinct Lectureship  upon  Dante,  which 
was  first  filled  by  Boccaccio. 

But  not  only  do  the  several  incidents 
in  each  of  the  three  parts  of  the  poem 
allow  the  universal  character  of  the  first 
form  to  shine  through  them,  but  the 
law  thereof  expresses  itself  yet  more 
definitely  in  the  inner  and  spiritual 
rhythm,  by  which  they  are  contra- 
distinguished from  each  other.  The 
Inferno,  as  it  is  the  most  fearful  jn  its 
objects,  is  likewise  the  strongest  in  ex- 
pression, the  severest  in  diction,  and  in 
its  very  words  dark  and  awful.  In  one 
portion  of  the  Purgatorio  deep  silence 
reigns,  for  the  lamentations  of  the 
lower  world  grow  mute  ;  upon  its 
summits,  the  forecourts  of  Heaven,  all 
becomes  Color  :  the  Paradiso  is  the 
true  music  of  the  spheres. 

The  variety  and  diiference  of  the 
punishments  in  the  Inferno  are  con- 
ceived with  almost  unexampled  in- 
vention. Between  the  crime  and  the 
punishment  there  is  never  any  other 
than  a  poetic  relation.     Dante's  spirit 


is  not  daunted  by  what  is  terrible  ; 
nay,  he  goes  to  its  extreme  limits.  But 
it  could  be  shown,  in  every  case,  that 
he  never  ceases  to  be  sublime,  and  in 
consequence  truly  beautiful.  For  that 
which  men  who  are  not  capable  of 
comprehending  the  whole  have  some- 
times pointed  out  as  low,  is  not  so  in 
their  sense  of  the  term,  but  it  is  a  ne- 
cessary element  of  the  mixed  nature  of 
the  poem,  on  account  of  which  Dante 
himself  called  it  a  Comedy.  The 
hatred  of  evil,  the  scorn  of  a  godlike 
spirit,  which  are  expressed  in  Dante's 
fearful  composition,  are  not  the  in- 
heritance of  common  souls.  It  is  in- 
deed very  doubtful  still,  though  quite 
generally  believed,  whether  his  banish- 
ment from  Florence,  after  he  had  pre- 
viously dedicated  his  poetry  to  Love, 
first  spurred  on  his  spirit,  naturally  in- 
clined to  whatever  was  earnest  and 
extraordinary,  to  the  highest  invention, 
in  which  he  breathed  forth  the  whole 
of  his  life,  of  the  destiny  of  his  heart 
and  his  country,  together  with  his  in- 
dignation thereat.  But  the  vengeance 
which  he  takes  in  the  Inferno,  he  takes 
in  the  name  of  the  Day  of  Judgment, 
as  the  elected  Judge  with  prophetic 
power,  not  from  personal  hate,  but 
with  a  pious  soul  roused  by  the  abomi- 
nations of  the  times,  and  a  love  of  his 
native  land  long  dead  in  others,  as  he 
has  himself  represented  in  a  passage  in 
the  Paradiso,  where  he  says  :  — 

"If  e'er  it  happen  that  the  Poem  sacred, 
To  which   both  Earth  and   Heaven  have  lent 

their  hand. 
Till  it  hath  made  me  meagre  many  a  year, 


The  Divina  Commedia 


409 


Conquer  the  cruelty  that  shut*  me  out 
Of  the  fair  sheepfold,  where  a  lamb  I  slumbered, 
An  enemy  to  the  wolves  that  war  upon  it, 

With  other  voice  forthwith,  with  other  fleece, 
The  poet  shall  return,  and  at  the  font 
Baptismal  shall  he  take  the  crown  of  laurel." 

He  tempers  the  horror  of  the  tor- 
ments of  the  damned  by  his  own  feel- 
ing for  them,  which  at  the  end  of  so 
much  suffering  so  overwhelms  him  that 
he  is  ready  to  weep,  and  Virgil  says 
to  him,  "  Wherefore  then  art  thou 
troubled  ? " 

It  has  already  been  remarked,  that 
the  greater  part  of  the  punishments  of 
the  Inferno  are  symbolical  of  the 
crimes  for  which  they  are  inflicted, 
but  many  of  them  are  so  in  a  far  more 
general  relation.  Of  this  kind  is,  in 
particular,  the  representation  of  a  meta- 
morphosis, in  which  two  natures  are 
mutually  interchanged,  and  their  sub- 
stance transmuted.  No  metamorpho- 
sis of  Antiquity  can  compare  with  this 
for  invention,  and  if  a  naturalist  or  a 
didactic  poet  were  able  to  sketch  with 
such  power  emblems  of  the  eternal 
metamorphoses  of  nature,  he  might 
congratulate  himself  upon  it. 

As  we  have  already  remarked,  the 
Inferno  is  not  only  distinguished  from 
the  other  parts  by  the  external  form 
of  its  representation,  but  also  by  the 
circumstance  that  it  is  peculiarly  the 
realm  of  forms,  and  consequently  the 
plastic  part  of  the  poem.  The  Purga- 
torio  must  be  recognized  as  the  pic- 
turesque part.  Not  only  are  the  pen- 
ances here  imposed  upon  sinners  at 
times  pictorially  treated,  even  to  bright- 
voL.  II.  52 


ness  of  coloring,  but  the  journey  up 
the  holy  mountain  of  Purgatory  pre- 
sents in  detail  a  rapid  succession  of 
shifting  landscapes,  scenes,  and  mani- 
fold play  of  light;  until  upon  its  outer- 
most boundary,  when  the  poet  has 
reached  the  waters  of  Lethe,  the  high- 
est pomp  of  painting  and  color  displays 
itself,  in  the  picturing  of  the  divine 
primeval  forest  of  this  region,  of  the 
celestial  clearness  of  the  water  overcast 
with  its  eternal  shadow,  of  the  maiden 
whom  he  meets  upon  its  banks,  and 
the  descent  of  Beatrice  in  a  cloud  of 
flowers,  beneath  a  white  veil,  crowned 
with  olive,  wrapped  in  a  green  mantle, 
and  "  vested  in  colors  of  the  living 
flame." 

The  poet  has  urged  his  way  to  light 
through  the  very  heart  of  the  earth  : 
in  the  darkness  of  the  lower  world 
forms  alone  could  be  distinguished  :  in 
Purgatory  light  is  kindled,  but  still  in 
connection  with  earthly  matter,  and 
becomes  color.  In  Paradise  there  re- 
mains nothing  but  the  pure  music  of 
the  light  ;  reflection  ceases,  and  the 
Poet  rises  gradually  to  behold  the  color- 
less pure  essence  of  Deity  itself. 

The  astronomical  system  which  the 
age  of  the  poet  invested  with  a  mytho- 
logical value,  the  nature  of  the  stars 
and  of  the  measure  of  their  motion, 
are  the  ground  upon  which  his  inven- 
tions, in  this  part  of  the  poem,  rest. 
And  if  he  in  this  sphere  of  the  uncon- 
ditioned still  suffers  degrees  and  differ- 
ences to  exist,  he  again  removes  them 
by  the  glorious  word  which  he  puts 
into   the   mouth  of  one   of  the  sister- 


4IO 


Illustrations 


souls  whom  he  meets  in  the  moon,  that 
"every  Where  in  heaven  is  Paradise." 

The  plan  of  the  poem  renders  it 
natural  that,  on  the  very  ascent  through 
Paradise,  the  loftiest  speculations  of 
theology  should  be  discussed.  His 
deep  reverence  for  this  science  is  sym- 
bolized by  his  love  of  Beatrice.  In 
proportion  as  the  field  of  vision  en- 
larges itself  into  the  purely  Universal, 
it  is  necessary  that  Poetry  should  be- 
come Music,  form  vanish,  and  that,  in 
this  point  of  view,  the  Inferno  should 
appear  the  most  poetic  part  of  the 
work.  But  in  this  work  it  is  abso- 
lutely impossible  to  take  things  sepa- 
rately ;  and  the  peculiar  excellence  of 
each  separate  part  is  authenticated  and 
recognized  only  through  its  harmony 
with  the  whole.  If  the  relation  of  the 
three  parts  to  the  whole  is  perceived, 
we  shall  necessarily  recognize  the  Para- 
diso  as  the  purely  musical  and  lyrical 
portion,  even  in  the  design  of  the  poet, 
who  expresses  this  in  the  external  form 
by  the  frequent  use  of  the  Latin  words 
of  Church  hymns. 

The  marvellous  grandeur  of  the 
poem,  which  gleams  forth  in  the  min- 


gling of  all  the  elements  of  poetry  and 
art,  reaches  in  this  way  a  perfect  mani- 
festation. This  divine  work  is  not 
plastic,  not  picturesque,  not  musical, 
but  all  of  these  at  once  and  in  accord- 
ant harmony.  It  is  not  dramatic,  not 
epic,  not  lyric,  but  a  peculiar,  unique, 
and  unexampled  mingling  of  all  these. 

I  think  I  have  shown,  at  the  same 
time,  that  it  is  prophetic,  and  typical 
of  all  the  modern  Poetry.  It  embraces 
all  its  characteristics,  and  springs  out 
of  the  intricately  mingled  materials  of 
the  same,  as  the  first  growth,  stretch- 
ing itself  above  the  earth  and  toward 
the  heavens,  —  the  first  fruit  of  trans- 
figuration. Those  who  would  become 
acquainted  with  the  poetry  of  modern 
times,  not  superficially,  but  at  its  foun- 
tain-head, may  train  themselves  by  this 
great  and  mighty  spirit,  in  order  to 
know  by  what  means  the  whole  of  the 
modern  time  may  be  embraced  in  its 
entireness,  and  that  it  is  not  held  to- 
gether by  a  loosely  woven  band.  They 
who  have  no  vocation  for  this  can  apply 
to  themselves  the  words  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  first  part,  — 

"  Lasciate  ogni  speranza  voi  ch'  intrate." 


END    OF    VOL.    II. 


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


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