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presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 
Douglas  Warren 


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UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


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THE 


DIVINE  COMEDY 


OF 


DANTE    ALIGHIERI. 


TRANSLATED  BY 


HENRy  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


I  follow  here  the  footing  of  thy  feete 

That  with  thy  tneaning  so  I  may  the  rather  meete. 

Spenser. 


BOSTON: 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 

New  York:  11  East  Seventeenth  Street. 


\ 


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

HENRY  WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  tlie  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CONTENTS. 


INFERNO. 


CANTO  I.  P 

„    „.  "orest. — The    Hill  of 

Difficulty. — The    Panther,    the 
Lion,  and  the  Wolf.  — Virgil 

CANTO    II. 
Dante's  Protest  and   Virgil's  Ap- 
peal.— The   Intercession  of  the 
Three  Ladies  Benedight    . 

CANTO  III. 
The  Gate  of  Hell.— The  Inefficient 
or  Indifferent.  —  Pope  Celes- 
tineV. — The  Shores  of  Acheron. 
— Charon.  —  The  Earthquake 
and  the  Swoon 

CANTO  IV. 
The  First  Circle. — Limbo,  or  the 
Border  Land  of  the  Unbaptized. 
—  The  Four  Poets,  Homer, 
Horace,  Ovid,  and  Liican. — The 
Noble  Castle  of  Philosophy 

CANTO   V. 

The  Second  Circle. — Minos. — The 
Wanton. — The  Infernal  Hurri- 
cane.— Francesca  da  Rimini 

CANTO   VI. 
The    Third    Circle. — Cerberus. — 
The   Gluttonous. — The  Eternal 
Rain. — Ciacco  .... 

CANTO  VII. 
The  Fourth  Circle.  — Plutus. — The 
Avaricious  and  the  Prodigal. — 
Fortune  and  her  Wheel. — The 
Fifth  Circle.— Styx  —The  Iras- 
cible and  the  Sullen . 


i6 


19 


CANTO   VIII.  PAGE 

Phlegyas.  —  Philippo  Argenti.  — 
The  Gate  of  the  City  of  Dis       .       25 

CANTO   IX. 

The  Furies. — The  Angel. — The 
City  of  Dis. — The  Sixth  Circle. 
—  Heresiarchs  ....       28 

CANTO   X. 
Farinata  and   Cavalcante  de'  Ca- 
valcanti    .         .         .         .         -31 

CANTO   XL 

Pope  Anastasius.  —  General  De- 
scription of  the  Inferno  and  its 
Divisions  .....       34 

CANTO   XIL 

The  Minotaur. --The  Seventh  Cir- 
cle. —  The  Violent.  —  Phlege- 
thon. — The  Violent  against  their 
Neighbours. — The  Centaurs. — 
Tyrants    .         .         .         .         -37 

CANTO   XIIL 

The  Wood  of  Thorns.— The  Har- 
pies.— The  Violent  against  them- 
selves. —  Suicides.  —  Pier  della 
Vigna. — Lano  and  Jacopo  da 
Sant'  Andrea    .         .         .         -4° 

CANTO   XIV. 

The  Sand  Waste.— The  Violent 
against  God.— Capaneus. — The 
Statue  of  Time,  and  the  Four 
Infernal  Rivers  •         •         •       43 


CONTENTS. 


CANTO   XV.  PAGE 

The  Violent  against  Nature.  — 
Brunetto  Latini         ...       47 

CANTO   XVI. 

Guidoguerra,  Aldobrandi,  and 
Rusticucci.  —  Cataract  of  the 
River  of  Blood  ...       50 

CANTO   XVII. 

Geiyon. — The  Violent  against  Art. 
— Usurers. — Descent  into  the 
Abyss  of  Malebolge  .         .         .       53 

CANTO   XVIII. 

The  Eighth  Circle  :  Malebolge. — 
The  Fraudulent.  —  The  First 
Bolgia:  Seducers  and  Panders. — 
Venedico  Caccianimico.  — Jason. 
— The  Second  Bolgia :  Flatterers. 
— Allessio   Interminelli. — Thais       56 

CANTO  XIX. 

The  Third  Bolgia:  the  Simoniacs. 
— Pope  Nicholas  III.        .        .       59 

CANTO   XX. 

The  Fourth  Bolgia:  Soothsayers. 
— Amphiaraus,  Tiresias,  A  runs, 
Manto,  Eryphylus,  Michael 
Scott,GuidoBonatti,andAsdente      62 

CANTO   XXI. 

The  Fifth  Bolgia:  Peculatoi-s. — 
The  Elder  of  Santa  Zita. — 
Malebranche     ....       65 

CANTO  XXII. 
Ciampolo,  Friar  Gomita,  and  Mi- 
chael Zanche    ....       68 

CANTO   XXIII 
The  Sixth  Bolgia:    Hypocrites. — 
Catalano  and  Loderingo.  —  Cai- 
aphas 72 

CANTO   XXIV. 

The  Seventh  Bolgia:  Thieves. — 
Vanni  Fucci      ....       75 


CANTO   XXV.  PAGE 

Agnello  Brunelleschi,  Buoso  degli 
Abati,  Puccio  Sciancato,  Cianfa 
de'  Donati,  and  Guercio  Caval- 
canti         .....       79 

CANTO   XXVI. 

The  Eighth  Bolgia:  Evil  Counsel- 
lors.— Ulysses  and  Diomed        .       82 

CANTO    XXVII, 
Guido  da  Montefeltro   ...       85 

CANTO   XXVIII. 

The  Ninth  Bolgia:  Schismatics.— 
Mahomet  and  Ali.  —  Pier  da 
Medicina,  Curio,  Mosca,  and 
Bertrand  de  Born      ...       89 

CANTO   XXIX. 

The  Tenth  Bolgia:  Alchemists. — 
Griffolino  d'  Arezzo  and  Capoc- 
chio  .....       92 

CANTO   XXX. 

Other  Falsifiers  or  Forgers.  — 
Gianni  Schicchi,  Myrrha,  Adam 
of  Brescia,  Potiphar's  Wife,  and 
Sinon  of  Troy  ....       95 

CANTO   XXXI. 

The  Giants,  Nimrod,  Ephialtes, 
and  Antaeus       ....       99 

CANTO   XXXII. 

The  Ninth  Circle :  the  Frozen 
Lake  of  Cocytus. — First  Divi- 
sion, Ca'i'na:  Traitors  to  their 
Kindred.  —  Camicion    de'   Pazzi.  ' 

— Second  Division,  Antenora: 
Traitors  to  their  Country.  — 
Bocca  degli  Abati  and  Buoso  da 
Duera 102 

CANTO   XXXIII. 

Count  Ugolino  and  the  Archbishop 
Ruggieri.  — Third  Division  of  the 
Ninth  Circle,  Ptolomaea:  Traitors 
to  their  Friends. — Friar  Albe- 
rigo,  Branco  d'  Oria  .         .     loj 


CONTENTS. 


CANTO   XXXIV. 

PAGE 

1 LLUSTRATIONS  —  (continued). 

PAGE 

Fourth    Division    of    the     Nir 

th 

Portraits  of  Dante         .         .     . 

200 

Circle,  thejudecca:  Traitors 

to 

Boccaccio's  Account  of  the  Corn- 

their  Lords  and   Benefactors. 

— 

media   .         .         .         .         . 

205 
207 

Lucifer,  Judas  Iscariot,  Brutus, 

The  Posthumous  Dante          .     . 

and  Cassias 

■ 

109 

The  Scholastic  Philosophy 
Homer's  Odyssey,  Book  XI. 
Virgil's  yEneid,  Book  VI. 

209 
210 

218 

NOTES           .... 

• 

"3 

Cicero's  Vision  of  Scipio  . 
Hell,  Purgatory,  and  Heaven    . 

228 
232 

ILLUSTRATIONS: 

The  Vision  of  Fraie  Alberico     . 

234 

L'Ottinio  Comento   . 

198 

The  Vision  of  Walkelin         .     . 

236 

Villani's  Notice  of  Dante 

198 

From  the  Life  of  St.  B randan    . 

240 

Letter  of  Frate  Ilario 

199 

Icelandic  Vision 

243 

Passage  from  the  Convito 

200 

Anglo-Saxon  Description  of  Pa- 

Dante's Letter  to  a  Friend 

200 

radise       

244 

PURGATORIO. 


CANTO   L 

The    Shores  of  Purgatory. —Cato 
of  Utica    .....     249 


CANTO   II. 
The  Celestial  Pilot. — Casella        .     252 

CANTO   III. 

The  Foot  of  the  Mountain. — Those 
who  have  died  in  Contumacy  of 
Holy  Church.  — Manfredi  .         .      255 

CANTO    IV. 

Farther  Ascent  of  the  Mountain. — 
The  Negligent,  who  postponed 
Repentance  till  the  last  Hour. — 
Belacqua .....     258 

CANTO   V. 
Those  who  died  by  Violence,  but 
repentant.  ~  Buonconte  di  Mon- 
feltro.  — La  Pia  ,         .         .     262 


CANTO   VL 


Soidello 


265 


CANTO  VH. 

The  Valley  of  the  Princes 


268 


CANTO   VIH. 

The  Guardian  Angels  and  the  Ser- 
pent.—Nino  di  Gallura. — Cur- 
rado  Malaspina         .         .         .     271 


CANTO   IX. 

Dante's  Dream  of  the  Eagle.— The 
Gate  of  Purgatory     .         .         .     275 


CANTO   X. 

The  First  Circle. — The  Proud. — 
The  Sculptures  on  lli£  Wall       .     278 

CANTO   XL 

Ombertodi  Santafiore.  —  Oderisi  d' 
Agobbio.  —  Provenzan  Salvani  .     281 

CANTO   XIL 
The  Sculptures  on  the  Pavement. 
— Ascent  to  the  Second  Circle  .     284 


CONTENTS. 


CANTO   XIII.  TAG 7. 

The  Second  Circle.  — The  Envious. 
— Sapia  of  Siena       ,         .         .     288 


CANTO   XIV. 

fiuido   del    Duca   and   Renter  da 
Calboli     ..... 


Forese 


CANTO    XXIII. 


CANTO   XXIV. 


Buonagiunta    da    Lucca.  —  Pope 
Martin  IV.,  and  others 

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


291 


CANTO   XV. 

The  Third  Circle. — The  Irascible. 

295 

CANTO   XVI. 

Marco  Lombardo 

298 

CANTO   XVII. 

Dante's  Dream  of  Anger.  —The 
Fourth  Circle. —The  Slothful     .     301 

CANTO   XVIII. 

Virgil's  Discourse  of  Love.  — The 
Abbot  of  San  Zeno   .         .         .     305 

CANTO   XIX. 

Dante's  Dream  of  the  Siren.  — The 
Fifth  Circle.  —  The  Avaricious 
and  Prodigal. — Pope  Adrian  V.     308 

CANTO   XX. 
Hugh  Capet,— The  Earthquake    .     311 

CANTO   XXI. 
The  Poet  Statius  ....     315 

CANTO  xxn. 

The  Sixth  Circle.  — The  Gluttonous 
— The  Mystic  Tree   .         .         .318 


321 


325 


328 


CANTO   XXVI. 

Guido  Guinicelli  and  Amaldo  Da- 
niello        .         .         . 


CANTO   XXVIIL 
The   Terrestrial    Paradise.  —  The 
River  Lethe. — Matilda 

CANTO   XXIX. 
The  Triumph  of  the  Church 


Beatrice 


CANTO   XXX. 


CANTO   XXXL 


Reproaches  of  Beatrice  and  Con- 
fession of  Dante. — The  Passage 
of  Lethe  ..... 


CANTO   XXXIL 
The  Tree  of  Knowledge 

CANTO   XXXIII. 
The  River  Eunoe 


NOTES 


331 


CANTO   XXVIL 

Dante's  Sleep  upon  the  Stairway, 
and  his  Dream  of  Leah. — Arrival 
at  the  Terrestrial  Paradise  .     335 


338 


342 


345 


349 


352 


356 


363 


ILLUSTRATIONS: 

The  Hero  as  Poet 

458 

Dante 

464 

Dante  and  Milton     . 

469 

The  Italian  Pilgrim's  Progress 

471 

Dante  and  Tacitus 

475 

Dante's  Landscapes  . 

478 

Dante's  Creed 

482 

The  Divina  Commedia 

483 

cox  TENTS. 


PARADISO. 


CANTO  I.  PAGE 

The  Ascent  to  the  First  Heaven   .     493 

CANTO   II. 

The  First  Heaven,  or  that  of  the 
Moon,  in  which  are  seen  the 
Spirits  of  those  who,  having 
taken  Monastic  Vows,  were 
forced  to  violate  them        .        .     496 


CANTO   III. 
Piccarda  and  Constance    .         .     . 

CANTO   IV. 

Questionings  of  the  Soul  and  of 
Broken  Vows  .... 

CANTO   V. 

Compensations.  Ascent  to  the 
Second  Heaven,  or  that  of  Mer- 
cury, where  are  seen  the  Spirits 
of  those  who  for  the  Love  of 
Fame  achieved  great  Deeds 


500 


503 


Jiislinian.- 
Romeo 


CANTO   VI. 
-The  Roman   Eagle. - 


CANTO   VII. 

Beatrice's  Discourse  of  the  Incar- 
nation, the  Immortality  of  the 
Soul,  and  the  Resurrection  of 
the  Body 

CANTO  VIII. 

Ascent  to  the   Third   Heaven,  or 

that  of  Venus,    where  are  seen 

the  Spirits  of  levers. — Charles 

Martel 

CANTO   IX. 
Cunizza,  Folco  of  Marseilles,  and 


506 


509 


512 


5»6 


CANTO   X.  pa(;e 

The  Fourth  Heaven,  or  that  of  the. 
Sun,  where  are  seen  the  Spirits 
of  Theologians  and  Fathers  of  the 
Church. — St.  Thomas  Aquinas.     522 

CANTO   XI. 

St.  Thomas  Aquinas  recounts  the 
Life  of  St.  Francis     .         .         .     526 

CANTO   XII. 

St.  Buenaventura  recounts  the  Life 
of  St.  Dominic  ,         .         .     529 


CANTO   XIII. 
Of  the  Wisdom  of  Solomon  . 

CANTO   XIV. 

The  Fifth  Heaven,  or  that  of  Mars, 
where  are  seen  the  Spirits  of 
Martyrs,  and  of  Crusaders  who 
died  fighting  for  the  true  Faith. 
— The  Celestial  Cross 


Cacciag^iida.  - 
Olden  Time 


CANTO  XV. 
—  Florence 


the 


CANTO   XVL 

Cacciaguida's    Discourse    of    the 
Great  Florentines 


CANTO   XVII. 

Cacciaguida's  Prophecy  of  Dante's 
Banishment      .... 


CANTO   XVIII. 

The  Sixth  Heaven,  or  that  of  Ju- 
piter, where  are  Seen  the  Spirits 
of  Righteous  Kings  and  Rulers. 


532 


Rahab 519        — The  Celestial  Eagle 


536 


539 


542 


546 


549 


CONTENTS. 


CANTO   XIX.  PAGE 

The  Eagle  discourses  of  Salvation 
by  Faith 552 


CANTO   XX. 

The  Eagle  praises  the  Righteous 
Kings  of  old  .         .         .     . 

m 
CANTO   XXT. 

The  Seventh  Heaven,  or  that  of 
Saturn,  where  are  seen  the 
Spirits  of  the  Contemplative. — 
The  Celestial  Stairway. — St. 
Peter  Damiano.  -  His  Invectives 
against  the  Luxury  of  the  Prelates 


CANTO    XXII. 

St.    Benedict.  — His    Lamentation 
Corruption    of    the 
Eighth   Heaven, 


over    the 

Monks.  — The 

or  that  of  the  Fixed  Stars 


556 


559 


562 


566 


CANTO   XXIII. 
The  Triumph  of  Christ 

CANTO   XXIV. 

St.    Peter  examines   Dante    upon 
Faith  .         .  ...     569 

CANTO   XXV. 

St.  James  examines  Dante  upon 
Hope 

CANTO   XXVL 

St   John  examines    Dante    upon 
Charity 

CANTO   XXVH. 
St.  Peter's  reproof  of  bad  Popes.  — 
The  Ascent  to  the  Ninth  Heaven, 
or  the  Primtim  Mobile 

CANTO   XXVIII. 
God  and  the  Celestial  Hierarchies 


573 


576 


579 


CANTO  XXIX.  PAGE 

Beatrice's  Discourse  of  the  Creation 
of  the  Angels,  and  of  the  Fall 
of  Lucifer. — Her  Reproof  of 
the  Ignorance  and  Avarice  of 
Preachers,  and  the  Sale  of  Indul- 
gences   586 

CANTO   XXX. 

The  Tenth  Heaven,  or  Empyrean. 
— The  River  of  Light. — The 
Two  Courts  of  Heaven. — The 
White  Rose  of  Paradise     .         .589 


CANTO   XXXT. 

The  Glory  of  Paradise. — St.  Ber- 
nard     593 

CANTO   XXXII. 

St.  Bernard  points  out  the  Saints 
in  the  White  Rose    .         .         .     596 


CANTO   XXXIH. 

Prayer  to  the  Virgin. — The  Three- 
fold Circle  of  the  Trinity. — 
Mystery  of  the  Divine  and  Hu- 
man Nature  .         .         .     .     600 


NOTES 607 

ILLUSTRATIONS  : 

I-e  Dante 716 

La  Divine  Comedie  .         .         •  7^7 

Notes  sur  le  Dante       .         .     .  720 
La  Comedie  Divine           .         .721 

La  Philosophie  Italienne       .     .  727 

La  Divine  Comedie  .         .         .  729 

Dante,  Imitateur  et  Createur     .  732 

Cabala 738 

.        •        .     .  743 


583    INDEX 


INFERNO. 


I 

Oft  have  I  seen  at  some  cathedral  door 

A  laborer,  pausing  in  the  dust  and  heat, 
Lay  down  his  burden,  and  with  reverent  feet 
Enter,  and  cross  himself,  and  on  the  floor 

Kneel  to  repeat  his  paternoster  o'er  ; 

Far  off  the  noises  of  the  world  retreat ; 
The  loud  vociferations  of  the  street 
Become  an  undistinguishable  roar. 

So,  as  I  enter  here  from  day  to  day. 

And  leave  my  burden  at  this  minster  gate, 
Kneeling  in  prayer,  and  not  ashamed  to  pray. 

The  tumult  of  the  time  disconsolate 
To  inarticulate  murmurs  dies  away. 
While  the  eternal  ages  watch  and  wait. 

How  strange  the  sculptures  that  adorn  these  towers  ! 
This  crowd  of  statues,  in  whose  folded  sleeves 
Birds  build  their  nests  ;  while  canopied  with  leaves 
Parvis  and  portal  bloom  like  trellised  bowers, 

And  the  vast  minster  seems  a  cross  of  flowers  ! 
But  fiends  and  dragons  on  the  gargoyled  eaves 
Watch  the  dead  Christ  between  the  living  thieves, 
And,  underneath,  the  traitor  Judas  lowers  ! 

Ah  !  from  what  agonies  of  heart  and  brain. 
What  exultations  trampling  on  despair, 
What  tenderness,  what  tears,  what  hate  of  wrong, 

What  passionate  outcry  of  a  soul  in  pain. 
Uprose  this  poem  of  the  earth  and  air, 
This  mediaeval  miracle  of  song  ! 


INFERNO. 


CANTO   I. 

Midway  upon  the  journey  of  -our  life 
I  found  myself  within  a  forest  dark, 
For  the  straightforward- pathway  had  been  lost 

Ah  me  !  how  hard  a  thing  it  is  to  say 

What  was  this  forest  savage,  rough,  and  stem, 
Which  in  the  very  thought  renews  the  fear. 

So  bitter  is  it,  death  is  little  more ; 

But  of  the  good  to  treat,  which  there  I  found, 
Speak  will  I  of  the  other  things  I  saw  there. 

I  cannot  well  repeat  how  there  I  entered, 
So  full  was  I  of  slumber  at  the  moment 
In  which  I  had  abandoned  the  true  way. 

But  after  I  had  reached  a  mountain's  foot, 

At  that  point  where  the  valley  terminated. 
Which  had  with  consternation  pierced  my  heart, 

Upward  I  looked,  and  I  beheld  its  shoulders, 
Vested  already  with  that  planet's  rays 
Which  leadeth  others  right  by  every  road- 
Then  was  the  fear  a  little  quieted 

That  in  my  heart's  lake  had  endured  throughout 
The  night,  which  I  had  passed  so  piteously. 

And  even  as  he,  who,  with  distressful  breath, 
Forth  issued  from  the  sea  upon  the  shore, 
Turns  to  the  water  perilous  and  gazes ; 

So  did  my  soul,  that  still  was  fleeing  onward, 
Turn  itself  back  to  re-behold  the  pass 
Which  never  yet  a  living  person  left. 

After  my  weary  body  I  had  rested, 

The  way  resumed  I  on  the  desert  slope, 
So  that  the  firm  foot  ever  was  the  lower. 


THE   DIVJNE   COMEDY. 


And  lo  \  almost  where  the  ascent  began, 

A  panther  Hght  and  swift  exceedingly, 

Which  with  a  spotted  skin  was  covered  o'er ! 
And  never  moved  she  from  before  my  face, 

Nay,  rather  did  impede  so  much  my  way,  js 

That  many  times  I  to  return  had  turned. 
The  time  was  the  beginning  of  the  morning, 

And  up  the  sun  was  mounting  with  those  stars 

That  with  him  were,  what  time  the  Love  Divine 
At  first  in  motion  set  those  beauteous  things ;  40 

So  were  to  me  occasion  of  good  hope, 

Tl>e  variegated  skin  of  that  wild  beast. 
The  hour  of  time,  and  the  deUcious  season  ; 

But  not  so  much,  that  did  not  give  me  fear 

A  Hon's  aspect  v.'hich  appeared  to  me.  45 

He  seemed  as  if  against  me  he  were  coming 

With  head  upHfted,  and  with  ravenous  hunger, 

So  that  it  seemed  the  air  was  afraid  of  him  ; 
And  a  she-wolf,  that  with  all  hungerings 

Seemed  to  be  laden  in  her  meagreness,  5° 

And  many  folk  has  caused  to  live  forlorn  ! 
She  brought  upon  me  so  much  heaviness, 

With  the  affright  that  from  her  aspect  came, 

That  I  the  hope  relinquished  of  the  height. 
And  as  he  is  who  willingly  acquires,  ss 

And  the  time  comes  that  causes  him  to  lose, 

Who  weeps  in  all  his  thoughts  and  is  despondent, 
E'en  such  made  me  that  beast  withouten  peace, 

Which,  coming  on  against  me  by  degrees 

Thrust  me  back  thither  where  the  sun  is  silent.  60 

While  I  was  rushing  downward  to  the  lowland, 

Before  mine  eyes  did  one  present  himself. 

Who  seemed  from  long-continued  silence  hoarse. 
When  I  beheld  him  in  the  desert  vast, 

"  Have  pity  on  me,"  unto  him  I  cried,  «s 

"  Whiche'er  thou  art,  or  shade  or  real  man  I  " 
He  answered  me  :  "Not  man  ;  man  once  I  was, 

And  both  my  parents  were  of  Lombardy, 

And  Mantuans  by  country  both  of  them. 
Sub  Julio  was  I  born,  though  it  was  late,  70 

And  lived  at  Rome  under  the  good  Augustus, 

During  the  time  of  false  and  lying  gods. 
A  poet  was  I,  and  I  sang  that  just 

Son  of  Anchises,  who  came  forth  from  Troy, 

After  that  I  lion  the  superb  was  burned.  I' 


INFERNO,    I.  5 

But  thou,  why  goest  thou  back  to  such  annoyance  ? 
Why  climb'st  thou  not  the  Mount  Delectable, 
Which  is  the  source  and  cause  of  every  joy  ?" 

"  Now,  art  thou  that  VirgiHus  and  that  fountain 

Which  spreads  abroad  so  wide  a  river  of  speech  ?  "  80 

I  made  response  to  him  with  bashful  foreliead. 

"  O,  of  the  other  poets  honour  and  hght. 
Avail  me  the  long  study  and  great  love 
That  have  impelled  me  to  explore  thy  volume  J 

Thou  art  my  master,  and  my  author  thou,  * 

Thou  art  alone  the  one  from  whom  I  took 
The  beautiful  style  that  has  done  honour  to  me. 

liehold  the  beast,  for  which  I  have  turned  back ; 
Do  thou  protect  me  from  her,  famous  Sage, 
For  she  doth  make  my  veins  and  pulses  tremble."  9c 

"  Thee  it  behoves  to  take  another  road," 

Responded  he,  when  he  beheld  me  weeping, 
"  If  from  this  savage  place  thou  wouldst  escape; 

Because  this  beast,  at  which  thou  criest  out, 

Suffers  not  any  one  to  pass  her  way,  9s 

But  so  doth  harass  him,  that  she  destroys  him  ; 

And  has  a  nature  so  malign  and  ruthless. 

That  never  doth  she  glut  her  greedy  will. 
And  after  food  is  hungrier  than  before. 

Many  the  animals  with  whom  she  weds,  100 

And  more  they  shall  be  still,  until  the  Greyhound 
Comes,  who  shall  make  her  perish  in  her  pain. 

He  shall  not  feed  on  either  earth  or  pelf, 

But  upon  wisdom,  and  on  love  and  virtue  ; 

'Twixt  Feltro  and  Feltro  shall  his  nation  be .;  10% 

Of  that  low  Italy  shall  he  be  the  saviour, 

On  whose  account  the  maid  Camilla  died, 
Euryalus,  Turnus,  Nisus,  of  their  wounds ; 

Through  every  city  shall  he  hunt  her  down, 

Until  he  shall  have  driven  her  back  to  Hell,  »»c 

There  from  whence  envy  first  did  let  her  loose. 

Therefore  I  think  and  judge  k  for  thy  best 
Thou  follow  me,  and  I  will  be  thy  guide. 
And  lead  thee  hence  through  the  eternal  place, 

Where  thou  shalt  hear  the  desperate  lamentations,  «» 

Shalt  see  the  ancient  spirits  disconsolate, 
Who  cry  out  each  one  for  the  second  death ; 

And  thou  shalt  see  those  who  contented  are 

Within  the  fire,  because  they  hope  to  come, 

Whene'er  it  may  be,  to  the  blessed  people ;  »'• 


THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


To  whom,  then,  if  thou  wishest  to  ascend, 

A  soul  shall  be  for  that  than  I  more  worthy  ; 
With  her  at  my  departure  I  will  leave  thee  ; 

Because  that  Emperor,  who  reigns  above, 
In  that  I  was  rebellious  to  his  law, 
Wills  that  through  me  none  come  into  his  city. 

He  governs  everywhere,  and  there  he  reigns ; 
There  is  his  city  and  his  lofty  throne  ; 
O  happy  he  whom  thereto  he  elects  !" 

And  I  to  him  :  "  Poet,  I  thee  entreat, 

By  that  same  God  whom  thou  didst  never  know, 
So  that  I -may  escape  this  woe  and  worse, 

Thou  wouldst  conduct  me  there  where  thou  hast  said. 
That  I  may  see  the  portal  of  Saint  Peter, 
And  those  thou  makest  so  disconsolate." 

Then  Ke  moved  on,  and  I  behind  him  followed. 


CANTO   II. 

Day  was  departing,  and  the  embrowned  air 
Released  the  animals  that  are  on  earth 
From  their  fatigues  ;  and  I  the  only  one 

Made  myself  ready  to  sustain  the  war. 

Both  of  the  way  and  likewise  of  the  woe, 
Which  memory  that  errs  not  shall  retrace. 

O  Muses,  O  high  genius,  now  assist  me  ! 

O  memory,  that  didst  write  down  what  I  saw, 
Here  thy  nobility  shall  be  manifest ! 

And  I  began  :  "  Poet,  who  guidest  me, 

Regard  my  manhood,  if  it  be  sufficient, 

Ere  to  the  arduous  pass  thou  dost  confide  me. 

Thou  sayest,  that  of  Silvius  the  parent, 
While  yet  corruptible,  unto  the  world 
Immortal  went,  and  was  there  bodily. 

But  if  the  adversary  of  all  evil 

Was  courteous,  thinking  of  the  high  effect 
That  issue  would  from  him,  and  who,  and  what. 

To  men  of  intellect  unmeet  it  seems  not ; 

For  he  was  of  great  Rome,  and  of  her  empire 
In  the  empyreal  heaven  as  father  chosen  ; 

The  which  and  what,  wishing  to  speak  the  truth, 
W^ere  stablished  as  the  holy  place,  wherein 
Sits  the  successor  of  the  greatest  Peter. 


JArFERNO,    If. 


Upon  this  journey,  whence  thou  givest  him  vaunt,  25 

Things  did  he  hear,  which  the  occasion  were 

Roth  of  his  victory  and  the  papal  mantle. 
Thither  went  afterwards  the  Chosen  Vessel, 

To  bring  back  comfort  thence  unto  that  Faith, 

Which  of  salvation's  way  is  the  beginning.  30 

But  I,  why  thither  come,  or  who  concedes  it? 

I  not  iEneas  am,  I  am  not  Paul, 

Nor  I,  nor  others,  think  me  worthy  of  it. 
Therefore,  if  I  resign  myself  to  come, 

I  fear  the  coming  may  be  ill-advised  ;  35 

Thou'rt  wise,  and  knovvest  better  than  I  speak," 
And  as  he  is,  who  unwills  what  he  willed, 

And  by  new  thoughts  doth  his  intention  change, 

So  that  from  his  design  he  quite  withdraws. 
Such  I  became,  upon  that  dark  hillside,  40 

Because,  in  thinking,  I  consumed  the  emprise. 

Which  was  so  very  prompt  in  the  beginning, 
"  If  I  have  well  thy  language  understood," 

Replied  that  shade  of  the  Magnanimous, 

"  Thy  soul  attainted  is  with  cowardice,  4S 

Which  many  times  a  man  encumbers  so, 

It  turns  him  back  from  honoured  enterprise. 

As  false  sight  doth  a  beast,  when  he  is  shy. 
That  thou  mayst  free  thee  from  this  apprehension, 

I'll  tell  thee  why  I  came,  and  what  I  heard  so 

At  the  first  moment  when  I  grieved  for  thee. 
Among  those  was  I  who  are  in  suspense. 

And  a  fair,  saintly  Lady  called  to  me 

In  such  wise,  I  besought  her  to  command  me. 
Her  eyes  where  shining  brighter  than  the  Star ;  ss 

And  she  began  to  say,  gentle  and  low. 

With  voice  angelical,  in  her  own  language  : 
'  O  spirit  courteous  of  Mantua, 

Of  whom  the  fame  still  in  the  world  endures. 

And  shall  endure,  long-lasting  as  the  world  ;  fc 

A  friend  of  mine,  and  not  the  friend  of  fortune. 

Upon  the  desert  slope  is  so  impeded 

Upon  his  way,  that  he  has  turned  through  terror, 
And  may,  I  fear,  alreaily  be  so  lost, 

That  I  too  late  have  risen  to  his  succour,  6s 

From  that  v/hich  I  have  heard  of  him  in  Heaven. 
Bestir  thee  now,  and  with  thy  speech  ornate, 

And  with  what  needful  is  for  his  release. 

Assist  him  so,  that  I  may  be  consoled. 


THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Beatrice  am  I,  who  do  bid  thee  go  ;  ?o 

I  come  from  there,  where  I  would  fain  return  ; 

Love  moved  me,  which  compelleth  me  to  speak. 
When  I  shall  be  in  presence  of  my  Lord, 

Full  often  will  I  praise  thee  unto  him.' 

Then  paused  she,  and  thereafter  I  began  :  ?:• 

•  O  Lady  of  virtue,  thou  alone  through  whom 

The  human  race  exceedeth  all  contained 

Within  the  heaven  that  has  the  lesser  circles, 
So  grateful  unto  me  is  thy  commandment, 

To  obey,  if  'twere  already  done,  were  late  ;  so 

No  farther  need'st  thou  ope  to  me  thy  wish. 
But  the  cause  tell  me  why  thou  dost  not  shun 

The  here  descending  down  into  this  centre. 

From  the  vast  place  thou  burnest  to  return  to.' 
'  Since  thou  wouldst  fain  so  inwardly  discern,  85 

Briefly  will  I  relate,'  she  answered  me, 

'  Why  I  am  not  afraid  to  enter  here. 
Of  those  things  only  should  one  be  afraid 

Which  have  the  power  of  doing  others  harm  ; 

Of  the  rest,  no  ;  because  they  are  not  fearful.  90 

God  in  his  mercy  such  created  me 

That  misery  of  yours  attains  me  not, 

Nor  any  flame  assails  me  of  this  burning. 
i\  gentle  Lady  is  in  Heaven,  who  grieves 

At  this  impediment,  to  which  I  send  thee,  9s 

So  that  stern  judgment  there  above  is  broken. 
In  her  entreaty  she  besought  Lucia, 

And  said,  "Thy  faithful  one  now  stands  in  need 

Of  thee,  and  unto  thee  I  recommend  him." 
Lucia,  foe  of  all  that  cruel  is,  100 

Hastened  away,  and  came  unto  the  place 

Where  I  was  sitting  with  the  ancient  Rachel. 
"  Beatrice,"  said  she,  "  the  true  praise  of  God, 

Why  succourest  thou  not  him,  who  loved  thee  so, 

For  thee  he  issued  from  the  vulgar  herd  ?  »o5 

Dost  thou  not  hear  the  pity  of  his  plaint? 

Dost  thou  not  see  the  death  that  combats  him 

Beside  that  flood,  where  ocean  has  no  vaunt  ?  " 
Never  were  persons  in  the  world  so  swift 

To  work  their  weal  and  to  escape  their  woe,  «« 

As  I,  after  such  words  as  these  were  uttered, 
Came  hither  downward  from  my  blessed  seat, 

Confiding  in  thy  dignified  discourse. 

Which  honours  thee,  and  those  who've  listened  to  it' 


INFERNO,    III. 


After  she  thus  had  spoken  unto  me, 

Weeping,  her  shining  eyes  she  turned  away ; 
Whereby  she  made  me  swifter  in  my  coming ; 

And  unto  thee  I  came,  as  she  desired ; 

I  have  dehvered  thee  from  that  wild  beast, 

Which  barred  the  beautiful  mountain's  short  ascent. 

What  is  it,  then  ?     Why,  why  dost  thou  delay  ? 
Why  is  such  baseness  bedded  in  thy  heart  ? 
Daring  and  hardihood  why  hast  thou  not, 

Seeing  that  three  such  Ladies  benedight 

Are  caring  for  thee  in  the  court  of  Heaven, 

And  so  much  good  my  speech  doth  promise  thee  ?  " 

Even  as  the  flowerets,  by  nocturnal  chill, 

Bowed  down  and  closed,  when  the  sun  whitens  them, 
Uplift  themselves  all  open  on  their  stems  ; 

Such  I  became  with  my  exhausted  strength, 

And  such  good  courage  to  my  heart  there  coursed, 
That  I  began,  like  an  intrepid  person : 

"  O  she  compassionate,  who  succoured  me, 

And  courteous  thou,  who  hast  obeyed  so  soon 
The  words  of  truth  which  she  addressed  to  thee  ! 

Thou  hast  my  heart  so  with  desire  disposed 

To  the  adventure,  with  these  words  of  thine. 
That  to  my  first  intent  I  have  returned. 

Now  go,  for  one  sole  will  is  in  us  both. 

Thou  Leader,  and  thou  Lord,  and  Master  thou." 
Thus  said  I  to  him ;  and  when  he  had  moved, 

I  entered  on  the  deep  and  savage  way. 


CANTO  in. 

"  Through  me  the  way  is  to  the  city  dolent  ; 

Through  me  the  way  is  to  eternal  dole  ; 

Through  me  the  way  among  the  people  lost 
Justice  incited  my  sublime  Creator ; 

Created  me  divine  Omnipotence, 

The  highest  Wisdom  and  the  primal  Love. 
Before  me  there  were  no  created  things, 

Only  eterne,  and  I  eternal  last. 

All  hope  abandon,  ye  who  enter  in  ! " 
These  words  in  sombre  colour  I  beheld 

Written  upon  the  summit  of  a  gate  ; 

Whence  I :  *'  Their  sense  is,  Master,  hard  to  me  ! 


THE    DIVINE    COMEDY. 


And  he  to  me,  as  one  experienced  : 

"  Here  all  suspicion  needs  must  be  abandoned, 

All  cowardice  must  needs  be  here  extinct. 
We  to  the  place  have  come,  where  I  have  told  thee 

Thou  shalt  behold  the  people  dolorous 

Who  have  foregone  the  good  of  intellect." 
And  after  he  had  laid  his  hand  on  mine 

With  joyful  mien,  whence  I  was  comforted, 

He  led  me  in  among  the  secret  things. 
There  sighs,  complaints,  and  ululations  loud 

Resounded  through  the  air  without  a  star, 

Whence  I,  at  the  beginning,  wept  thereat. 
Languages  diverse,  horrible  dialects. 

Accents  of  anger,  words  of  agony. 

And  voices  high  and  hoarse,  with  sound  of  hands. 
Made  up  a  tumult  that  goes  whirling  on 

For  ever  in  that  air  for  ever  black. 

Even  as  the  sand  doth,  when  the  whirlwind  breathes. 
And  I,  who  had  my  head  with  horror  bound. 

Said  :  "  Master,  what  is  this  which  now  T  hear? 

What  folk  is  this,  which  seems  by  pain  so  vanquished  ?  " 
And  he  to  me  :  "  This  miserable  mode 

Maintain  the  melancholy  souls  of  those 

Who  lived  withouten  infamy  or  praise. 
Commingled  are  they  with  that  caitiff  choir 

Of  Angels,  who  have  not  rebellious  been, 

Nor  faithful  were  to  God,  but  were  for  self. 
The  heavens  expelled  them,  not  to  be  less  fair ; 

Nor  them  the  nethermore  abyss  receives, 

For  glory  none  the  damned  would  have  from  them." 
And  I :  "  O  Master,  what  so  grievous  is 

To  these,  that  maketh  them  lament  so  sore  ?" 

He  answered  :  "  I  will  tell  thee  very  briefly. 
These  have  no  longer  any  hope  of  death  ; 

And  this  blind  life  of  theirs  is  so  debased, 

They  envious  are  of  every  other  fate. 
No  fame  of  them  the  world  permits  to  be  ; 

Misericord  and  Justice  both  disdain  them. 

Let  us  not  speak  of  them,  but  look,  and  pass." 
And  I,  who  looked  again,  beheld  a  banner, 

Which,  whirling  round,  ran  on  so  rapidly, 

That  of  all  pause  it  seemed  to  me  indignant ; 
And  after  it  there  came  so  long  a  train 

Of  people,  that  I  ne'er  would  have  believed 

That  ever  Death  so  many  had  undone. 


INFERNO,    in. 


When  some  among  them  I  had  recognised, 

I  looked,  and  I  beheld  the  shade  of  him 

Who  made  through  cowardice  the  great  refusal.  60 

Forthwith  I  comprehended,  and  was  certain, 

That  this  the  sect  was  of  the  caitiff  wretches 

Hateful  to  God  and  to  his  enemies. 
These  miscreants,  who  never  were  alive, 

Were  naked,  and  were  stung  exceedingly  65 

By  gadflies  and  by  hornets  that  were  there. 
These  did  their  faces  irrigate  with  blood. 

Which,  with  their  tears  commingled,  at  their  feet 

By  the  disgusting  worms  was  gathered  up. 
And  when  to  gazing  farther  I  betook  me.  70 

People  I  saw  on  a  great  river's  oanK  ; 

Whence  said  I  :  "  Master,  now  vouchsafe  to  me, 
That  I  may  know  who  these  are,  and  what  law 

Makes  them  appear  so  ready  to  pass  over, 

As  I  discern  athwart  the  dusky  light."  7S 

And  he  to  me  :  "  These  things  shall  all  be  known 

To  thee,  as  soon  as  we  our  footsteps  stay 

Upon  the  dismal  shore  of  Acheron." 
Then  with  mine  eyes  ashamed  and  downward  cast, 

Fearing  my  words  might  irksome  be  to  him,  80 

From  speech  refrained  I  till  we  reached  the  river. 
And  lo  !  towards  us  coming  in  a  boat 

An  old  man,  hoary  with  the  hair  of  eld, 

Crying  :  "  Woe  unto  you,  ye  souls  depraved  ! 
Hope  nevermore  to  look  upon  the  heavens ;  85 

I  come  to  lead  you  to  the  other  shore, 

To  the  eternal  shades  in  heat  and  frost. 
And  thou,  that  yonder  standest,  living  soul, 

Withdraw  thee  from  these  people,  who  are  dead  1 " 

But  when  he  saw  that  I  did  not  withdraw,  9° 

He  said  :  "  By  other  ways,  by  other  ports 

Thou  to  the  shore  shalt  come,  not  here,  for  passage  ; 

A  lighter  vessel  needs  must  carry  thee." 
And  unto  him  the  Guide  :  "  Vex  thee  not,  Charon  ; 

It  is  so  willed  there  where  is  power  to  do  9S 

That  which  is  willed;  and  farther  question  not." 
Thereat  were  quieted  the  fleecy  cheeks 

Of  him  the  ferryman  of  the  livid  fen, 

Who  round  about  his  eyes  had  wheels  of  flame. 
But  all  those  souls  who  weary  were  and  naked  'o" 

Their  colour  changed  and  gnashed  their  teeth  together. 

As  soon  as  they  had  heard  those  cruel  words. 


THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


God  they  blasphemed  and  their  progenitors, 

The  human  race,  the  place,  the  time,  the  seed 

Of  their  engendering  and  of  their  birth  !  »<« 

Thereafter  all  together  they  drew  back. 

Bitterly  weeping,  to  the  accursed  shore, 

Which  waiteth  every  man  who  fears  not  God. 
Charon  the  demon,  with  the  eyes  of  glede, 

Beckoning  to  them,  collects  them  all  together,  "" 

Beats  with  his  oar  whoever  lags  behind. 
As  in  the  autumn-time  the  leaves  fall  off. 

First  one  and  then  another,  till  the  branch 

Unto  the  earth  surrenders  all  its  spoils  ; 
In  similar  wise  the  evil  seed  of  Adam  "s 

Throw  themselves  from  that  margin  one  by  one, 

At  signals,  as  a  bird  unto  its  lure. 
So  they  depart  across  the  dusky  wave, 

And  ere  upon  the  other  side  they  land. 

Again  on  this  side  a  new  troop  assembles.  lao 

"  My  son,"  the  courteous  Master  said  to  me, 

"  All  those  who  perish  in  the  wrath  of  God 

Here  meet  together  out  of  every  land  ; 
And  ready  are  they  to  pass  o'er  the  river. 

Because  celestial  Justice  spurs  them  on,  125 

So  that  their  fear  is  turned  into  desire. 
This  way  there  never  passes  a  good  soul ; 

And  hence  if  Charon  doth  complain  of  thee, 

Well  mayst  thou  know  now  what  his  speech  imports." 
This  being  finished,  all  the  dusk  champaign  130 

Trembled  so  violently,  that  of  that  terror 

The  recollection  bathes  me  still  with  sweat. 
The  land  of  tears  gave  forth  a  blast  of  wind, 

And  fulminated* a  vermilion  light, 

Which  overmastered  in  me  every  sense,  »35 

And  as  a  man  whom  sleep  hath  seized  I  fell. 


CANTO   IV. 

Broke  the  deep  lethargy  within  my  head 
A  heavy  thunder,  so  that  I  upstarted, 
Like  to  a  person  who  by  force  is  wakened  ; 

And  round  about  I  moved  my  rested  eyes, 
Uprisen  erect,  and  steadfastly  I  gazed, 
To  recognise  the  place  wherein  I  was. 


INFERNO,   IV.  13 


True  is  it,  that  upon  the  verge  I  found  me 

Of  the  abysmal  valley  dolorous, 

That  gathers  thunder  of  infinite  ululations. 
Obscure,  profound  it  was,  and  nebulous,  w> 

So  that  by  fixing  on  its  depths  my  sight 

Nothing  whatever  I  discerned  therein. 
'*  Let  us  descend  now  into  the  blind  world," 

Began  the  Poet,  pallid  utterly  ; 

"  I  will  be  first,  and  thou  shalt  second  be."  15 

And  I,  who  of  his  colour  was  aware, 

Said  :  "  How  shall  I  come,  if  thou  art  afraid, 

Who'rt  wont  to  be  a  comfort  to  my  fears  ?  " 
And  he  to  me  :  "  The  anguish  of  the  people 

Who  are  below  here  in  my  face  depicts  *o 

That  pity  which  for  terror  thou  hast  taken. 
Let  us  go  on,  for  the  long  way  impels  us." 

Thus  he  went  in,  and  thus  he  made  me  enter 

The  foremost  circle  that  surrounds  the  abyss. 
There,  ?s  it  seemed  to  me  from  listenijig,  «s 

Were  Uimentations  none,  but  only  sighs, 

That  tremble  made  the  everlasting  air. 
And  this  arose  from  sorrow  without  torment, 

Which  the  crowds  had,  that  many  were  and  great, 

Of  infants  and  of  women  and  of  men.  3c 

To  me  the  Master  good  :  "  Thou  dost  not  ask 

What  spirits  these,  which  thou  b  boldest,  are? 

Now  will  I  have  thee  know,  ere  thou  go  farther, 
That  they  sinned  not ;  and  if  they  merit  had, 

'Tis  not  enough,  because  they  had  not  baptism  35 

Which  is  the  portal  of  the  Faith  thou  boldest ; 
And  if  they  were  before  Christianity, 

In  the  right  manner  they  adored  not  God ; 

And  among  such  as  these  am  I  myself. 
For  such  defects,  and  not  for  other  guilt,  40 

Lost  are  we.  and  are  only  so  far  punished, 

That  without  hope  we  live  on  in  desire." 
Great  grief  seized  on  my  heart  when  this  I  heard, 

Because  some  people  of  much  worthiness 

I  knew,  who  in  that  Limbo  were  suspended.  45 

"  Tell  me,  my  Master,  tell  me,  thou  my  Lord," 

Began  L  with  desire  of  being  certain 

Of  that  Faith  which  o'ercometh  every  error, 
"  Came  any  one  by  his  own  merit  hence, 

Or  by  another's,  who  was  blessed  thereafter?  "  s<» 

And  he,  who  understood  ray  covert  speech, 


14  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Replied  :  "  I  was  a  novice  in  this  state, 

When  I  saw  hither  come  a  Mighty  One, 

With  sign  of  victory  incoronate. 
Hence  he  drew  forth  the  shade  of  tlie  First  Parent,  ss 

And  that  of  his  son  Abel,  and  of  Noah, 

Of  Moses  the  lawgiver,  and  the  obedient 
Abraham,  patriarch,  and  David,  king, 

Israel  Avith  his  father  and  his  children, 

And  Rachel,  for  whose  sake  he  did  so  much,  60 

And  others  many,  and  he  miade  them  blessed  ; 

And  thou  must  know,  that  earlier  than  these 

Never  were  any  human  spirits  saved." 
We  ceased  not  to  advance  because  he  spake. 

But  still  were  passing  onward  through  the  forest,  «5 

I'he  forest,  say  I,  of  thick-crowded  ghosts. 
Not  very  far  as  yet  our  way  had  gone 

This  side  the  summit,  when  I  saw  a  fire 

That  overcame  a  hemisphere  of  darkness. 
W^e  were  a  little  distant  from  it  still,  70 

But  not  so  far  that  I  in  part  discerned  not  , 

That  honourable  people  held  that  place. 
"  O  thou  who  honourest  every  art  and  science, 

Who  may  these  be,  which  such  great  honour  have, 

That  from  the  fashion  of  the  rest  it  parts  them  ?  "  75 

And  he  to  me  :  "  The  honourable  name, 

That  sounds  of  them  above  there  in  thy  life, 

Wins  grace  in  Heaven,  that  .so  advances  them." 
In  the  mean  time  a  voice  was  heard  by  me : 

"  All  honour  be  to  the  pre  eminent  Poet ;  80 

His  shade  returns  again,  that  was  departed." 
After  the  voice  had  ceased  and  quiet  was, 

Four  mighty  shades  I  saw  approaching  us  ; 

Semblance  liad  they  nor  sorrowful  nor  glad. 
To  say  to  me  began  my  gracious  Master  :  85 

"  Him  with  that  falchion  in  his  hand  behold, 

Who  comes  before  the  three,  even  as  their  lord. 
That  one  is  Homer,  Poet  sovereign  ; 

He  who  comes  next  is  Horace,  the  satirist ; 

The  third  is  Ovid,  and  the  last  is  Lucan.  9^ 

Because  to  each  of  these  with  me  applies 

The  name  that  solitary  voice  proclaimed. 

They  do  me  honour,  and  in  that  do  well." 
Thus  I  beheld  assemble  the  fair  school 

Of  that  lord  of  the  song  pre-eminent, 

Who  o'er  the  others  like  an  ea^le  soars.  ** 


INFERNO,    TV.  15 


When  they  together  had  discoursed  somewhat, 

They  turned  to  me  with  signs  of  salutation, 

And  on  beholding  this,  my  Master  smiled  ; 
And  more  of  honour  still,  much  more,  they  did  me,  icc 

In  that  they  made  me  one  of  their  own  band  ; 

So  that  the  sixth  was  I,  'mid  so  much  wit. 
Thus  we  went  on  as  far  as  to  the  light. 

Things  saying  'tis  becoming  to  keep  silent. 

As  was  the  saying  of  them  where  I  was.  '05 

We  came  unto  a  noble  castle's  foot. 

Seven  times  encompassed  with  lofty  walls, 

Defended  round  by  a  fair  rivulet ; 
This  we  passed  over  even  as  firm  ground  ; 

Through  portals  seven  I  entered  with  these  Sages ;  no 

We  came  into  a  meadow  of  fresh  verdure. 
People  were  there  with  solemn  eyes  and  slow, 

Of  great  authority  in  their  countenance  ; 

They  spake  but  seldom,  and  with  gentle  voices. . 
Thus  we  withdrew  ourselves  upon  one  side  ns 

Into  an  opening  luminous  and  lofty, 

So  that  they  all  of  them  were  visible. 
There  opposite,  upon  the  green  enamel. 

Were  pointed  out  to  me  the  mighty  spirits. 

Whom  to  have  seen  I  feel  myself  exalted.  i» 

I'saw  Electra  with  companions  many, 

'Mongst  whom  I  knew  both  Hector  and  ^neas, 

Caesar  in  armour  with  gerfalcon  eyes  \ 
I  saw  Camilla  and  Penthesilea 

On  the  other  side,  and  saw  the  King  Latinus,  i?5 

Who  with  Lavinia  his  daughter  sat ; 
I  saw  that  Brutus  who  drove  Tarquin  forth, 

Lucreda,  Julia,  Marcia,  and  Cornelia, ^'^^v.-^^ 

And  saw  alone,  apart,  the  Saladin. 
When  I  had  lifted  up  my  brows  a  little,  »3» 

The  Master  I  beheld  of  those  who  know, 

Sit  with  his  philosophic  family. 
All  gaze  upon  him,  and  all  do  him  honour. 

There  1  beheld  both  Socrates  and  Plato, 

Who  nearer  him  before  the  others  stand  ;  135 

Democritus.  who  puts  the  world  on  chance, 

Diogenes,  .\naxagor3s,  and  Thales, 

Zeno,  Empedocles,  and  Heraclitus  ; 
Of  qualities  I  saw  the  good  collector, 

Hight  Dioscorides  ;  and  Orpheus  saw  1,  140 

Tully  and  Livy,  and  moral  Seneca, 


l6  7 HE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Euclid,  geometrician,  and  Ptolemy, 

Galen,  Hippocrates,  and  Avicenna, 
Averroes,  who  the  great  Comment  made, 

I  cannot  all  of  them  pourtray  in  full,  i4S 

Because  so  drives  me  onward  the  long  theme, 
That  many  times  the  word  comes  short  of  fact. 

The  sixfold  company  in  two  divides  ; 

Another  way  my  sapient  Guide  conducts  me 

Forth  from  the  quiet  to  the  air  that  trembles ;  ijo 

And  to  a  place  I  come  where  nothing  shines. 


CANTO  V. 

Thus  I  descended  out  of  the  first  circle 

Down  to  the  second,  that  less  space  begirds. 
And  so  much  greater  dole,  that  goads  to  wailing. 

There  standeth  Minos  horribly,  and  snarls  ; 

Examines  the  transgressions  at  the  entrance ;  5 

Judges,  and  sends  according  as  he  girds  him, 

I  say,  that  when  the  spirit  evil-born 

Cometh  before  him,  wholly  it  confesses  ; 
And  this  discriminator  of  transgressions 

Seeth  what  place  in  Hell  is  meet  for  it ;  m 

Girds  himself  with  his  tail  as  many  times 
As  grades  he  wishes  it  should  be  thrust  down. 

Always  before  him  many  of  them  stand  ; 

They  go  by  turns  each  one  unto  the  judgment ; 

They  speak,  and  hear,  and  then  are  downward  hurled.       15 

"  O  thou,  that  to  this  dolorous  hostelry 

Comest,"  said  Minos  to  me,  when  he  saw  me, 
Leaving  the  practice  of  so  great  an  office, 

"  Look  how  thou  enterest,  and  in  whom  thou  trustest; 

Let  not  the  portal's  amplitude  deceive  thee."  20 

And  unto  him  my  Guide  :  "  Why  criest  thou  too  ? 

Do  not  impede  his  journey  fate-ordained  ; 

It  is  so  willed  there  where  is  power  to  00 

That  which  is  willed  ;  and  ask  no  further  question," 

And  now  begin  the  dolesome  notes  to  grow  as 

Audible  unto  me  ;  now  am  I  come 
There  where  much  lamentation  strikes  upon  me. 

I  came  into  a  place  mute  of  all  light. 

Which  bellows  as  the  sea  does  in  a  tempest, 

If  by  opposing  winds  't  is  combated.  30 


INFERNO,    V.  17 


The  infernal  hurricane  that  never  rests 

Hurtles  the  spirits  onward  in  its  rapine  ; 

Whirling  them  round,  and  smiting,  it  molests  them. 

AVhen  they  arrive  before  the  precipice, 

There  are  the  shrieks,  the  plaints,  and  the  laments. 
There  they  blaspheme  the  puissance  divine. 

I  understood  that  unto  such  a  torment 

The  carnal  malefactors  were  condemned. 
Who  reason  subjugate  to  appetite. 

And  as  the  wings  of  starlings  bear  them  on 
In  the  cold  season  in  large  band  and  full. 
So  doth  that  blast  the  spirits  maledict ; 

It  hither,  thither,  downward,  upward,  drives  them  ; 
No  hope  doth  comfort  them  for  evermore, 
Not  of  repose,  but  even  of  lesser  pain. 

And  as  the  cranes  go  chanting  forth  their  lays, 
Making  in  air  a  long  line  of  themselves, 
So  saw  I  coming,  uttering  lamentations, 

Shadows  borne  onward  by  the  aforesaid  stress. 
Whereupon  said  I  :  "  Master,  who  are  those 
People,  whom  the  black  air  so  castigates  ?  " 

"  The  first  of  those,  of  whom  intelligence 

Thou  fain  wouldst  have,"  then  said  he  unto  me, 
*•  The  empress  was  of  many  languages. 

To  sensual  vices  she  was  so  abandoned. 
That  lustful  she  made  licit  in  her  law, 
To  remove  the  blame  to  which  she  had  been  led. 

She  is  Semiramis,  of  whom  we  read 

That  she  succeeded  Ninus,  and  was  his  spouse  ; 
She  held  the  land  which  now  the  Sultan  rules. 

The  next  is  slie  who  killed  herself  for  love,  p  \^. 

And  broke  faith  with  the  ashes  of  Sichaeus ;  "^ 

Then  Cleopatra  the  voluptuous." 

Helen  I  saw,  for  whom  so  many  ruthless 

Seasons  revolved  ;  and  saw  the  great  Achilles, 
Who  at  the  last  hour  combated  with  Love. 

Paris  I  saw,  Tristan  ;  and  more  than  a  thousand 

Shades  did  he  name  and  point  out  with  his  finger, 
Whom  Love  had  separated  from  our  life. 

After  that  I  had  listened  to  my  Teacher, 
Naming  the  dames  of  eld  and  cavaliers. 
Pity  prevailed,  and  I  was  nigh  bewildered. 

And  I  began  :  "  O  Poet,  willingly 

Speak  would  I  to  those  two,  who  go  together, 
And  seem  upon  the  wind  to  be  so  light" 


l8  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


And  he  to  me  :  "  Thou'lt  mark,  when  they  shall  be 

Nearer  to  us ;  and  then  do  thou  implore  them 

By  love  which  leadeth  them,  and  they  will  come." 
Soon  as  the  wind  in  our  direction  sways  them, 

My  voice  uplift  I :  "  O  ye  weary. souls !  8t 

Come  speak  to  us,  if  no  one  interdicts  it." 
As  turtle-doves,  called  onward  by  desire, 

With  open  and  steady  wings  to  the  sweet  nest 

Fly  through  the  air  by  their  volition  borne, 
So  came  they  from  the  bp.nd  where  Dido  is,  «5 

Approaching  us  athwart  the  air  malign, 

So  strong  was  the  affectionate  appeal. 
"  O  living  creature  gracious  and  benignant, 

Who  visiting  goest  through  the  purple  air 

Us,  who  have  stained  the  world  incarnadine,  a* 

If  were  the  King  of  the  Universe  our  friend. 

We  would  pray  unto  him  to  give  thee  peace, 

Since  thou  hast  pity  on  our  woe  perverse. 
Of  what  it  pleases  thee  to  hear  and  speak, 

That  will  we  hear,  ?.nd  we  will  speak  to  you,  95. 

While  silent  is  the  wind,  as  it  is  now. 
Sitteth  the  city,  wherein  I  was  born. 

Upon  the  sea-shore  where  the  Po  descends 

To  rest  in  peace  with  all  his  retinue. 
Love,  that  on  gentle  heart  doth  swiftly  seize,  «* 

Seized  this  man  for  the  person  beautiful 

That  was  ta'en  from  me,  and  still  the  mode  offends  me. 
Love,  that  exempts  no  one  beloved  from  loving, 

Seized  me  with  pleasure  of  this  man  so  strongly, 

That,  as  thou  seest,  it  doth  not  yet  desert  me  ;  105 

Love  has  conducted  us  unto  one  death  ; 

Caina  waiteth  him  who  quenched  our  life  ! " 

These  words  were  borne  along  from  them  to  us. 
As  soon  as  I  had  heard  those  souls  tormented, 

I  bowed  my  face,  and  so  long  held  it  down  no 

Until  the  Poet  said  to  me  :  "  What  thinkest  ?." 
When  I  made  answer,  I  began  :  "Alas  ! 

How  many  pleasant  thoughts,  how  much  desire, 

Conducted  these  unto  the  dolorous  pass  ! " 
Then  unto  them  I  turned  me,  and  I  spake,  mi 

And  I  began  :  "  Thine  agonies,  Francesca, 

Sad  and  compassionate  to  weeping  make  me. 
But  tell  me,  at  the  time  of  those  sweet  sighs, 

By  what  and  in  what  manner  Love  conceded, 

That  you  should  know  your  dubious  desires  ?  "  "• 


INFERNO,    VI.  19 


And  she  to  me  :  "  There  is  no  greater  sorrow 

Than  to  be  mindful  of  the  happy  time 

In  misery,  and  that  thy  Teacher  knows. 
But,  if  CO  recognise  the  earliest  root 

Of  love  in  us  thou  hast  so  great  desire,  ms 

I  will  do  even  as  he  who  weeps  and  speaks. 
One  day  we  reading  were  for  our  delight 

Of  Launcelot,  how  Love  did  him  enthral. 

Alone  we  were  and  without  any  fear. 
Full  many  a  time  our  eyes  together  drew  130 

That  reading,  and  drove  the  colour  from  our  faces  ; 

But  one  point  only  was  it  that  o'ercame  us. 
When  as  we  read  of  the  much-longed-for  smile 

Being  by  such  a  noble  lover  kissed, 

This  one,  who  ne'er  from  me  shall  be  divided,  13s 

Kissed  me  upon  the  mouth  all  palpitating. 

Galeotto  was  the  book  and  he  who  wrote  it. 

That  day  no  farther  did  we  read  therein." 
And  all  the  while  one  spirit  uttered  this, 

The  other  one  did  weep  so,  that,  for  pity,  X4» 

I  swooned  away  as  if  I  had  been  dying, 
And  fell,  even  as  a  dead  body  falls. 


CANTO  VI. 

At  the  return  of  consciousness,  that  closed 

Before  the  pity  of  those  two  relations. 

Which  utterly  with  sadness  had  confused  me, 
New  torments  I  behold,  and  new  tormented 

Around  me,  whichsoever  way  I  move, 

And  whichsoever  way  I  turn,  and  gaze. 
In  the  third  circle  am  I  of  the  rain 

Eternal,  maledict,  and  cold,  and  heavy ; 

Its  law  and  quality  are  never  new. 
Huge  hail,  and  water  sombre-hued,  and  snow, 

Athwart  the  tenebrous  air  pour  down  amain  ; 

Noisome  the  earth  is,  that  receireth  this. 
Cerberus,  monster  cruel  and  uncouth, 

With  his  three  gullets  like  a  dog  is  barking 

Over  the  people  that  are  there  submerged. 
Red  eyes  he  has,  and  unctuous  beard  and  black. 

And  belly  large,  and  armed  with  claws  his  hands ; 

He  rends  the  spirits,  flays,  and  quarters  them. 

c  2 


to  THE  DIVINE    COMEDY. 


Howl  the  rain  maketh  them  Uke  unto  dogs  ; 

One  side  they  make  a  shelter  for  the  other ;  ao 

Oft  turn  themselves  the  wretched  reprobates. 
When  Cerberus  perceived  us,  the  great  worm  ! 

His  mouths  he  opened,  and  displayed  his  tusks ; 

Not  a  limb  had  he  that  was  motionless. 
And  my  Conductor,  with  his  spans  extended,  a*. 

Took  of  the  earth,  and  with  his  fists  well  filled. 

He  threw  it  into  those  rapacious  gullets. 
Such  as  that  dog  is,  who  by  barking  craves, 

And  quiet  grows  soon  as  his  food  he  gnaws. 

For  to  devour  it  he  but  thinks  and  struggles,  30 

The  hke  became  those  muzzles  filth-begrimed 

Of  Cerberus  the  demon,  who  so  thunders 

Over  the  souls  that  they  would  fain  be  deaf. 
We  passed  across  the  shadows,  which  subdues 

The  heavy  rain-storm,  and  we  placed  our  feet  35 

Upon  their  vanity  that  person  seems. 
They  all  were  lying  prone  upon  the  earth. 

Excepting  one,  who  sat  upright  as  soon 

As  he  beheld  us  passing  on  before  him. 
"  O  thou  that  art  conducted  through  this  Hell,"  40 

He  said  to  me,  "  recall  me,  if  thou  canst ; 

Thyself  wast  made  before  I  was  unmade." 
And  I  to  him  :  "  The  anguish  which  thou  hast 

Perhaps  doth  draw  thee  out  of  my  remembrance. 

So  that  it  seems  not  I  have  ever  seen  thee.  45 

But  tell  me  who  thou  art,  that  in  so  doleful 

A  place  art  put,  and  in  such  punishment. 

If  some  are  greater,  none  is  so  displeasing." 
And  he  to  me  :  "  Thy  city,  which  is  full 

Of  envy  so  that  now  the  sack  runs  over,  50 

Held  me  within  it  in  the  life  serene. 
You  citizens  were  wont  to  call  me  Ciacco  ; 

For  the  pernicious  sin  of  gluttony 

I,  as  thou  seest,  am  battered  by  this  rain. 
And  I,  sad  soul,  am  not  the  only  one,  S5 

For  all  these  suffer  the  like  penalty 

For  the  like  sin  ; "  and  word  no  more  spake  he. 
I  answered  him  :  "  Ciacco,  thy  wretchedness 

Weighs  on  me  so  that  it  to  weep  invites  me ; 

But  tell  me,  if  thou  knowest,  to  what  shall  come  *• 

The  citizens  of  the  divided  city  ; 

If  any  there  be  just ;  and  the  occasion 

Tell  me  why  so  much  discord  has  assailed  it." 


INFERNO,    VI. 


And  he  to  me  :  "  They,  after  long  contention, 

Will  come  to  bloodshed ;  and  the  rustic  party  6s 

Will  drive  the  other  out  with  much  offence. 
Then  afterwards  behoves  it  this  one  fall 

Within  three  suns,  and  rise  again  the  other 

By  force  of  him  who  now  is  on  the  coast. 
High  will  it  hold  its  forehead  a  long  while,  v 

Keeping  the  other  under  heavy  burdens, 

Howe'er  it  weeps  thereat  and  is  indignant. 
The  just  are  two,  and  are  not  understood  there ; 

Envy  and  Arrogance  and  Avarice 

Are  the  three  sparks  that  have  all  hearts  enkindled."         n 
Here  ended  he  his  tearful  utterance  ; 

And  I  to  him  :  "  I  wish  thee  still  to  teach  me, 

And  make  a  gift  to  me  of  further  speech. 
Farinata  and  Tegghiaio,  once  so  worthy, 

Jacopo  Rusticucci,  Arrigo,  and  Mosca,  8c 

And  others  who  on  good  deeds  set  their  thoughts, 
Say  where  they  are,  and  cause  that  I  may  know  them  ; 

For  great  desire  constraineth  me  to  learn 

If  Heaven  doth  sweeten  them,  or  Hell  envenom." 
And  he  :  "  They  are  among  the  blacker  souls ;  t^ 

A  different  sin  downweighs  them  to  the  bottom ; 

If  thou  so  far  descendest,  thou  canst  see  them. 
But  when  thou  art  again  in  the  sweet  world, 

I  pray  thee  to  the  mind  of  others  bring  me  ; 

No  more  I  tell  thee  and  no  more  I  answer."  <^ 

Then  his  straightforward  eyes  he  turned  askance, 

Eyed  me  a  little,  and  then  bowed  his  head  ; 

He  fell  therewith  prone  like  the  other  blind. 
And  the  Guide  said  to  me  :  "  He  wakes  no  more 

This  side  the  sound  of  the  angelic  trumpet ;  9S 

When  shall  approach  the  hostile  Potentate, 
Each  one  shall  find  again  his  dismal  tomb, 

Shall  reassume  his  flesh  and  his  own  figuie, 

Shall  hear  what  through  eternity  re-echoes." 
So  we  passed  onward  o'er  the  filthy  mixture  loc 

Of  shadows  and  of  rain  with  footsteps  slow, 

Touching  a  little  on  the  future  life. 
Wherefore  I  said  :  "  Master,  these  torments  here, 

Will  they  increase  after  the  mighty  sentence, 

Or  lesser  be,  or  will  they  be  as  burning  ?  "  105 

And  he  to  me :  "  Return  unto  thy  science, 

Which  wills,  that  as  the  thing  more  perfect  is, 

The  more  it  feels  of  pleasure  and  of  pain. 


THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Albeit  that  this  people  maledict 

To  true  perfection  never  can  attain, 
Hereafter  more  than  now  they  look  to  be." 

Round  in  a  circle  by  that  road  we  went, 

Speaking  much  more,  which  I  do  not  repeat ; 
VVe  came  unto  the  point  where  the  descent  is ; 

There  we  found  Plutus  the  great  enemy. 


CANTO   VII. 

"  Pape  Satkn,  Pape  Satkn,  Aleppe  !  " 

Thus  Plutus  with  his  clucking  voice  began  ; 

And  that  benignant  Sage,  who  all  things  knew. 
Said,  to  encourage  me  :  "  Let  not  thy  fear 

Harm  thee  ;  for  any  power  that  he  may  have  s 

Shall  not  prevent  thy  going  down  this  crag." 
Then  he  turned  round  unto  that  bloated  lip. 

And  said  :  "  Be  silent,  thou  accursed  wolf; 

Consume  within  thyself  with  thine  own  rage. 
Not  causeless  is  this  journey  to  the  abyss  ;  «o 

Thus  is  it  willed  on  high,  where  Michael  wrought 

Vengeance  upon  the  proud  adultery." 
Even  as  the  sails  inflated  by  the  wind 

Involved  together  fall  when  snaps  the  mast, 

So  fell  the  cruel  monster  to  the  earth.  »5 

Thus  we  descended  into  the  fourth  chasm, 

Gaining  still  farther  on  the  dolesome  shore 

Which  all  the  woe  of  the  universe  insacks. 
Justice  of  God,  ah  !  who  heaps  up  so  many 

New  toils  and  sufferings  as  I  beheld  ?  ao 

And  why  doth  our  transgression  waste  us  so  ? 
As  doth  the  billow  there  upon  Charybdis, 

That  breaks  itself  on  that  which  it  encounters, 

So  here  the  folk  must  dance  their  roundelay. 
Here  saw  I  people,  more  than  elsewhere,  many,  «i 

On  one  side  and  the  other,  with  great  howls, 

Rolling  weights  forward  by  main  force  of  chest. 
They  clashed  together,  and  then  at  that  point 

Each  one  turned  backward,  rolling  retrograile. 

Crying,  "  Why  keepest  ?  "  and,  "  Why  squanderest  thou  ?  "  30 
Thus  they  returned  along  the  lurid  circle 

On  either  hand  unto  the  opposite  point. 

Shouting  their  shameful  metre  evermore. 


INFERNO,    VIL  23 


Then  each,  when  he  arrived  there,  wheeled  about 

Through  his  half-circle  to  another  joust ;  3S 

And  I,  who  had  my  heart  pierced  as  it  were, 
Exclaimed  :  "  My  Master,  now  declare  to  me 

What  people  these  are,  and  if  all  were  clerks, 

These  shaven  crowns  upon  the  left  of  us." 
And  he  to  me  :  "  All  of  them  were  asquint  ♦<: 

In  intellect  in  the  first  life,  so  much 

That  there  with  measure  they  no  spending  made. 
Clearly  enough  their  voices  bark  it  forth, 

Whene'er  they  reach  the  two  points  of  the  circle, 

Where  sunders  them  the  opposite  defect.  45 

Clerks  those  were  who  no  hairy  covering 

Have  on  the  head,  and  Popes  and  Cardinals, 

In  whom  doth  Avarice  practise  its  excess." 
And  I  :  "  My  Master,  among  such  as  these 

I  ought  forsooth  to  recognise  some  few,  90 

Who  were  infected  with  these  maladies." 
And  he  to  me  :  "  Vain  thought  thou  entertainest ; 

The  undiscerning  life  which  made  them  sordid 

Now  makes  them  unto  all  discernment  dim. 
Forever  shall  they  come  to  these  two  buttings ;  55 

These  from  the  sepulchre  shall  rise  again 

With  the  fist  closed,  and  these  with  tresses  shorn. 
II    giving  and  ill  keeping  the  fair  world 

Have  taen  from  them,  and  placed  them  in  this  scufllle  ; 

Whate'er  it  be,  no  words  adorn  I  for  it.  6c 

Now  canst  thou.  Son,  behold  the  transient  farce 

Of  goods  that  are  committed  unto  Fortune, 

For  which  the  human  race  each  other  buffet ; 
For  all  the  gold  that  is  beneath  the  moon, 

Or  ever  has  been,  of  these  weary  souls  «s 

Could  never  make  a  single  one  repose." 
"  Master,"  I  said  to  him,  "  now  tell  me  also 

What  is  this  Fortune  which  thou  speakest  of, 

That  has  the  world's  goods  so  within  its  clutches?" 
And  he  to  me  :  "  O  creatures  imbecile,  70 

What  ignorance  is  this  which  doth  beset  you  ? 

Now  will  I  have  thee  learn  my  judgment  of  her. 
He  whose  omniscience  everything  transcends 

The  heavens  created,  and  gave  who  should  guide  them, 

That  every  part  to  every  part  may  shine. 
Distributing  the  light  in  equal  measure ;  75 

He  in  like  manner  to  the  mundane  splendours 

Ordained  a  general  ministress  and  guide, 


24  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Tliat  she  might  change  at  times  the  empty  treasures 

From  race  to  race,  from  one  blood  to  another,  so 

Beyond  resistance  of  all  human  wisdom. 
Therefore  one  people  triumphs,  and  another 

Languishes,  in  pursuance  of  her  judgment, 

Which  hidden  is,  as  in  the  grass  a  ser])ent. 
Your  knowledge  has  no  counterstand  against  her ;  '        sj 

She  makes  provision,  judges,  and  pursues 

Her  governance,  as  theirs  the  other  gods. 
Her  permutations  have  not  any  truce  ; 

Necessity  makes  her  precipitate, 

So  often  Cometh  who  his  turn  obtains.  go 

And  this  is  she  who  is  so  crucified 

Even  by  those  who  ought  to  give  her  praise, 

Giving  her  blame  amiss,  and  ba<i  repute. 
But  she  is  blissful,  and  she  hears  it  not ; 

Among  the  other  primal  creatures  gladsome  95 

She  turns  her  sphere,  and  blissful  she  rejoices. 
Let  us  descend  now  unto  greater  woe  ; 

Already  sinks  each  star  that  was  ascending 

When  I  set  out,  and  loitering  is  forbidden." 
We  crossed  the  circle  to  the  other  bank,  100 

Near  to  a  fount  that  boils,  and  pours  itself 

Along  a  gully  that  runs  out  of  it. 
The  water  was  more  sombre  far  than  perse  ; 

And  we,  in  company  with  the  dusky  waves, 

Made  entrance  downward  by  a  path  uncouth.  105 

A  marsh  it  makes,  which  has  the  name  of  Styx, 

This  tristful  brooklet,  when  it  has  descended 

Down  to  the  foot  of  the  malign  gray  shores.' 
And  I,  who  stood  intent  upon  beholding. 

Saw  people  mud-besprent  in  that  lagoon,  hc 

All  of  them  naked  and  with  angry  look. 
They  smote  each  other  not  alone  with  hands, 

But  with  the  head  and  with  the  breast  and  feet. 

Tearing  each  other  piecemeal  with  their  teeth. 
Said  the  good  Master :  "  Son,  thou  now  beholdest  "s 

The  souls  of  those  whom  anger  overcame  ; 

And  likewise  I  would  have  thee  know  for  certain 
Beneath  the  water  people  are  who  sigh 

And  make  this  water  bubble  at  the  surface. 

As  the  eye  tells  thee  wheresoe'er  it  turns.  "o 

Fixed  in  the  mire  they  say,  '  We  sullen  were 

In  the  sweet  air,  which  by  the  sun  is  gladdened. 

Bearing  within  ourselves  the  sluggish  reek  ] 


INFERNO,    VJIl.  25 


Now  we  are  sullen  in  this  sable  mire.' 

This  hymn  do  they  keep  gurgling  in  their  throats, 
For  with  unbroken  words  they  cannot  say  it." 

Thus  we  went  circling  round  the  filthy  fen 

A  great  arc  'twixt  the  dry  bank  and  the  swamp, 
With  eyes  turned  unto  those  who  gorge  the  mire ; 

Unto  the  foot  of  a  tower  we  came  at  last. 


CANTO  VIII. 

I  SAY,  continuing,  that  long  before 

We  to  the  foot  of  that  high  tower  had  come, 

Our  eyes  went  upward  to  the  summit  of  it. 
By  reason  of  two  flamelets  we  saw  placed  there, 

And  from  afar  another  answer  them,  s 

So  far,  that  hardly  could  the  eye  attain  it. 
And,  to  the  sea  of  all  discernment  turned, 

I  said  :  "  What  sayeth  this,  and  what  respondeth 

That  other  fire  ?  and  who  are  they  that  made  it  ?  " 
And  he  to  me  :  "  Across  the  turbid  waves  10 

What  is  expected  thou  canst  now  discern. 

If  reek  of  the  morass  conceal  it  not." 
Cord  never  shot  an  arrow  from  itself 

That  sped  away  athwart  the  air  so  swift. 

As  I  beheld  a  very  little  boat  «6 

Come  o'er  the  water  tow'rds  us  at  that  moment. 

Under  the  guidance  of  a  single  pilot, 

Who  shouted,  "  Now  art  thou  arrived,  fell  soul  ?  " 
"  Phlegyas,  Phlegyas,  thou  criest  out  in  vain 

For  this  once,"  said  my  Lord  ;  "  thou  shalt  not  have  us  90 

Longer  than  in  the  passing  of  the  slough." 
As  he  who  listens  to  some  great  deceit 

That  has  been  done  to  him,  and  then  resents  it, 

Such  became  Phleg)'as,  in  his  gathered  wrath. 
My  Guide  descended  down  into  the  boat,  « 

And  then  he  made  me  enter  after  him, 

And  only  when  I  entered  seemed  it  laden. 
Soon  as  the  Guide  and  I  were  in  the  boat,       v^i^.  A 

The  antique  prow  goes  on  its  way,  dividing   \ 

More  of  the  water  than  'tis  wont  with  others.  90 

While  we  were  running  through  the  dead  canal. 

Uprose  in  front  of  me  one  full  of  mire, 

And  said,  "  Who  'rt  thou  that  comest  ere  the  hour  ?  " 


26  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

And  I  to  him  :  "  Although  I  come,  I  stay  not ; 

But  who  art  thou  that  hast  become  so  squahd  ?  " 

"  Thou  seest  that  I  am  one  who  weeps,"  he  answered. 
And  I  to  him  :  "  With  weeping  and  with  waiHng, 

Thou  spirit  maledict,  do  thou  remain ; 

For  thee  I  know,  though  thou  art  all  denied." 
Then  stretched  he  both  his  hands  unto  the  boat ; 

Whereat  my  wary  Master  thrust  him  back, 

Saying,  "  Away  there  with  the  other  dogs  !  " 
Tnereafter  with  his  arms  he  clasped  my  neck ; 

He  kissed  my  face,  and  said  :  "  Disdainful  soul. 

Blessed  be  she  who  bore  thee  in  her  bosom. 
That  was  an  arrogant  person  in  the  world  ; 

Goodness  is  none,  that  decks  his  memory; 

So  likewise  here  his  shade  is  furious. 
How  many  are  esteemed  great  kings  up  there. 

Who  here  shall  be  like  unto  swine  in  mire. 

Leaving  behind  them  horrible  dispraises  ! " 
And  I :  "  My  Master,  much  should  I  be  pleased, 

If  I  could  see  him  soused  into  this  broth, 

Before  we  issue  forth  out  of  the  lake." 
And  he  to  me :  "  Ere  unto  thee  the  shore 

Reveal  itself,  thou  shalt  be  satisfied  ; 

Such  a  desire  'tis  meet  thou  shouldst  enjoy." 
A  little  after  that,  I  saw  such  havoc 

Made  of  him  by  the  people  of  the  mire, 

That  still  I  praise  and  thank  my  God  for  it. 
They  all  were  shouting.  "  At  Philippo  Argenti !  " 

And  that  exasperate  spirit  Florentine 

Turned  round  upon  himself  with  his  own  teeth. 
We  left  him  there,  and  more  of  him  I  tell  not ; 

But  on  mine  ears  there  smote  a  lamentation. 

Whence  forward  I  intent  unbar  mine  eyes. 
And  the  good  Master  said  :  "  Even  now,  my  Son, 

The  city  draweth  near  whose  name  is  Dis, 

With  the  grave  citizens,  with  the  great  throng." 
And  I :  "  Its  mosques  already,  Master,  clearly 

Within  there  in  the  valley  I  discern 

Vermilion,  as  if  issuing  from  the  fire 
They  were."     And  he  to  me:  "The  fire  eternal 

That  kindles  them  within  makes  them  look  rerl, 

As  thou  beholdest  in  this  nether  Hell." 
Then  we  arrived  within  the  moats  profound. 

That  circumvallate  that  disconsolate  city  ; 

The  walls  appeared  to  me  to  be  of  iron. 


INFERNO,    VIII.  27 


Not  without  making  first  a  circuit' wide, 

We  came  unto  a  place  where  loud  the  pilot  80 

Cried  out  to  us,  "  Debark,  here  is  the  entrance." 
More  than  a  thousand  at  the  gates  I  saw 

Out  of  the  Heavens  rained  down,  who  angrily 

Were  saying,  "  Who  is  this  that  without  death 
Goes  through  the  kingdom  of  the  people  dead  ?  "  8s 

And  my  sagacious  Master  made  a  sign 

Of  wishing  secretly  to  speak  with  them. 
A  little  then  they  quelled  their  great  disdain, 

And  said  :  "  Come  thou  alone,  and  he  begone 

Who  has  so  boldly  entered  these  dominions,  jk 

Let  him  return  alone  by  his  mad  road  ; 

Try,  if  he  can ;  for  thou  shalt  here  remain, 

Who  hast  escorted  him  through  such  dark  regions." 
Think,  Reader,  if  I  was  discomforted 

At  utterance  of  the  accursed  words ;  95 

For  never  to  return  here  I  believed. 
*'  O  my  dear  Guide,  who  more  than  seven  times 

Hast  rendered  me  security,  and  drawn  me 

From  imminent  peril  that  before  me  stood, 
Do  not  desert  me,"  said  I,  "  thus  undone ;  »» 

And  if  the  going  farther  be  denied  us. 

Let  us  retrace  our  steps  together  swiftly." 
And  that  Lord,  who  had  led  me  thitherward. 

Said  unto  me  :  "  Fear  not ;  because  our  passage 

None  can  take  from  us,  it  by  Such  is  given.  ws 

But  here  await  me,  and  thy  weary  spirit 

Comfort  and  nourish  with  a  better  hope ; 

For  in  this  nether  world  I  will  not  leave  thee." 
So  onward  goes  and  there  abandons  me 

My  Father  sweet,  and  I  remain  in  doubt,  *  mo 

For  No  and  Yes  within  my  head  contend. 
I  could  not  hear  what  he  proposed  to  them  ; 

But  with  them  there  he  did  not  linger  long, 

Ere  each  within  in  rivalry  ran  back. 
They  closed  the  portals,  those  our  adversaries,  ns 

On  my  Lord's  breast,  who  had  remained  without 

And  turned  to  me  with  footsteps  far  between. 
His  eyes  cast  down,  his  forehead  shorn  had  he 

Of  all  its  boldness,  and  he  said,  with  sighs, 

"  Who  has  denied  to  me  the  dolesome  houses  ?  "  »o 

And  unto  me :  "  Thou,  because  I  am  angry, 

Fear  not,  for  I  will  conquer  in  the  trial. 

Whatever  for  defence  within  be  planned. 


28  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


This  arrogance  of  theirs  is  nothing  new ; 

For  once  they  used  it  at  less  secret  gate, 
Which  finds  itself  without  a  fastening  still. 

O'er  it  didst  thou  behold  the  dead  inscription  ; 
And  now  this  side  of  it  descends  the  steep, 
Passing  across  the  circles  without  escort, 

One  by  whose  means  the  city  shall  be  opened." 


CANTO   IX. 

That  hue  which  cowardice  brought  out  on  me, 
Beholding  my  Conductor  backward  turn, 
Sooner  repressed  within  him  his  new  colour. 

He  stopped  attentive,  like  a  man  who  listens, 
Because  the  eye  could  not  conduct  him  far 
Through  the  black  air,  and  through  the  heavy  fog. 

**  Still  it  behoveth  us  to  win  the  fight," 

Began  he ;  "  Else  .  .  .  Such  offered  us  herself .  .  . 
O  how  I  long  that  some  one  here  arrive  !  " 

Well  I  perceived,  as  soon  as  the  beginning 

He  covered  up  with  what  came  afterward, 

That  they  were  words  quite  different  from  the  first ; 

But  none  the  less  his  saying  gave  me  fear. 
Because  I  carried  out  the  broken  phrase. 
Perhaps  to  a  worse  meaning  than  he  had. 

"  Into  this  bottom  of  the  doleful  conch 

Doth  any  e'er  descend  from  the  first  grade. 
Which  for  its  pain  has  only  hope  cut  off"?" 

This  question  put  I ;  and  he  answered  me  : 
"  Seldom  it  comes  to  pass  that  one  of  us 
Maketh  the  journey  upon  which  I  go. 

True  is  it,  once  before  I  here  below 

Was  conjured  by  that  pitiless  Erictho, 

Who  summoned  back  the  shades  unto  their  bodies. 

Naked  of  me  short  while  the  flesh  had  been, 
Before  within  that  wall  she  made  me  enter. 
To  bring  a  spirit  from  the  circle  of  Judas ; 

That  is  the  lowest  region  and  the  darkest. 

And  farthest  from  the  heaven  which  circles  alL 
Well  know  I  the  way ;  therefore  be  reassured. 

This  fen,  which  a  prodigious  stench  exhales, 
Encompasses  about  the  city  dolent, 
Where  now  we  cannot  enter  without  anger." 


TNFERNO,    IX.  39 


And  more  he  said,  but  not  in  mind  I  have  it ; 

Because  mine  eye  had  altogether  drawn  me  35 

Tow'rds  the  high  tower  with  the  red-flaming  summit, 
Where  in  a  moment  saw  I  swift  uprisen 

The  three  infernal  Furies  stained  with  blood, 

Who  had  the  limbs  of  women  and  their  mien, 
And  with  the  greenest  hydras  were  begirt ;  4« 

Small  serpents  and  cerastes  were  their  tresses,    a>--.-\,c^   '-^ 

Wherewith  their  horrid  temples  were  entwined. 
And  he  who  well  the  handmaids  of  the  Queen 

Of  everlasting  lamentation  knew, 

Said  unto  me  :  "  Behold  the  fierce  Erinnys.  45 

This  is  Megaera,  on  the  left-hand  side ;  .   . -^.^^ 

She  who  is  weeping  on  the  right,  Alecto ; 

Tisiphone  is  between-; "  and  then  was  silent 
Each  one  her  breast  was  rending  with  her  nails  ; 

They  beat  them  with  their  palms,  and  cried  so  loud,  so 

That  I  for  dread  pressed  close  unto  the  Poet. 
"  Medusa  come,  so  we  to  stone  will  change  him  !  " 

All  shouted  looking  down  ;  "  in  evil  hour 

Avenged  we  not  on  Theseus  his  assault ! " 
"  Turn  thyself  round,  and  keep  thine  eyes  close  shut,  ss 

For  if  the  Gorgon  appear,  and  thou  shouldst  see  it, 

No  more  returning  upward  would  there  be." 
Thus  said  the  Master  ;  and  he  turned  me  round 

Himself,  and  trusted  not  unto  my  hands 

So  far  as  not  to  blind  me  with  his  own,  &> 

O  ye  who  have  undistempered  intellects. 

Observe  the  doctrine  that  conceals  itself 

Beneath  the  veil  of  the  mysterious  verses  ! 
And  now  there  came  across  the  turbid  waves 

The  clangour  of  a  sound  with  terror  fraught,  6s 

Because  of  which  both  of  the  margins  trembled ; 
Not  otherwise  it  was  than  of  a  wind 

Impetuous  on  account  of  adverse  heats, 

That  smites  the  forest,  and,  without  restraint. 
The  branches  rends,  beats  down,  and  bears  away ;  70 

Right  onward,  laden  with  dust,  it  goes  superb. 

And  puts  to  flight  the  wild  beasts  and  the  shepherds. 
Mine  eyes  he  loosed,  and  said  :  "  Direct  the  nerve 

Of  vision  now  along  that  ancient  foam, 
'here  yonder  where  that  smoke  is  most  intense."  71 

Eve    as  the  frogs  before  the  hostile  serpent 

Across  the  water  scatter  all  abroad. 

Until  each  one  is  huddled  in  the  earth. 


30  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


More  than  a  thousand  ruined  souls  I  saw, 

Thus  fleeing  from  before  one  who  on  foot  80 

Was  passing  o'er  the  Styx  with  soles  unwet. 
From  off  his  face  he  fanned  that  unctuous  air, 

Waving  his  left  hand  oft  in  front  of  him, 

And  only  with  that  anguish  seemed  he  weary. 
Well  I  perceived  one  sent  from  Heaven  was  he,  85 

And  to  the  Master  turned  ;  and  he  made  sign 

That  I  should  quiet  stand,  and  bow  before  him. 
Ah !  how  disdamful  he  appeared  to  me  ! 

He  reached  the  gate,  and  with  a  little  rod 

He  opened  it,  for  there  was  no  resistance.  9° 

"0  banished  out  of  Heaven,  people  despised  !" 

Thus  he  began  upon  the  horrid  threshold ; 

"Whence  is  this  arrogance  within  you  couche4? 
Wherefore  recalcitrate  against  that  will,         \^)  ■\-^j^U(>    .lt^j^^^sj^^ 

From  which  the  end  can  never  be  cut  off,  /,    g$ 

And  which  has  many  times  increased  your  pain  ? 
What  helpeth  it  to  butt  against  the  fates  ? 

Your  Cerberus,  if  you  remember  well, 

For  that  still  bears  his  chin  and  gullet  peeled." 
Then  he  returned  along  the  miry  road,  100 

And  spake  no  word  to  us,  but  had  the  look 

Of  one  whom  other  care  constrains  and  goads 
Than  that  of  him  vvho  in  his  presence  is ; 

And  we  our  feet  directed  towrds  the  city, 

After  those  holy  words  all  confident.  105 

Within  we  entered  without  any  contest ; 

And  I,  who  inclination  had  to  see 

What  the  condition  such  a  fortress  holds, 
Soon  as  I  was  within,  cast  round  mine  eye, 

And  see  on  every  hand  an  ample  plain,  wo 

Full  of  distress  and  torment  terrible. 
Even  as  at  Aries,  where  stagnant  grows  the  Rhone, 

Even  as  at  Pola  near  to  the  Quarnaro, 

That  shuts  in  Italy  and  bathes  its  borders, 
The  sepulchres  make  all  the  place  uneven  ;  "5 

So  likewise  did  they  there  on  every  side, 

Saving  that  there  the  manner  was  more  bitter ; 
For  flames  between  the  sepulchres  were  scattered, 

By  which  they  so  intensely  heated  were, 

That  iron  more  so  asks  not  any  art.  m 

All  of  their  coverings  uplifted  were, 

And  from  them  issued  forth  such  dire  laments, 

Sooth  seemed  they  of  the  wretched  and  tormented. 


INFERNO,   X.  31 


And  I :  "  My  Master,  what  are  all  those  people 

Who,  having  sepulture  within  those  tombs,  135 

Make  themselves  audible  by  doleful  sighs  ?  "    .        1        -  ^ 

And  he  to  me  :  "  Here  are  the  Heresiarchs,     c^av^caa  -  iy^-^^r-^  v.^^xy\ 
With  their  disciples  of  all  sects,  and  much 
More  than  thou  thinkest  laden  are  the  tombs. 

Here  like  together  with  its  Hke  is  buried  ; 

And  more  and  less  the  monuments  are  heated." 
And  when  he  to  the  right  had  turned,  we  passed 

Between  the  torments  and  high  parapets. 


CANTO   X. 

Now  onward  goes,  along  a  narrow  path 

Between  the  torments  and  the  city  wall. 

My  Master,  and  I  follow  at  his  back. 
"  O  power  supreme,  that  through  these  impious  circles 

Turnest  me,"  I  began,  "  as  pleases  thee,  5 

Speak  to  me,  and  my  longings  satisfy ; 
The  people  who  are  lying  in  these  tombs. 

Might  they  be  seen  ?  already  are  uplifted 

The  covers  all,  and  no  one  keepeth  guard." 
And  he  to  me  :  "  They  all  will  be  closed  up  ^        h      J^ 

When  from  Jehoshaphat  they  shall  return  ■- —  ^.-^  )    '^^^ 

Here  with  the  bodies  they  have  left  above. 
Their  cemetery  have  upon  this  side 

With  Epicurus  all  his  followers, 

Who  with  the  body  mortal  make  the  soul ;  >s 

But  in  the  question  thou  dost  put  to  me. 

Within  here  shalt  thou  soon  be  satisfied, 

And  likewise  in  the  wish  thou  keepest  silent." 
And  I :  "  Good  Leader,  I  but  keep  concealed 

From  thee  my  heart,  that  I  may  speak  the  less,  -^ 

Nor  only  now  hast  thou  thereto  disposed  me." 
"  O  Tuscan,  thou  who  through  the  city  of  fire 

Goest  alive,  thus  speaking  modestly, 

Be  pleased  to  stay  thy  footsteps  in  this  place. 
Thy  mode  of  speaking  makes  thee  manifest  ^5 

A  native  of  that  noble  fatherland. 

To  which  perhaps  I  too  molestful  was." 
Upon  a  sudden  issued  forth  this  sound 

From  out  one  of  the  tombs ;  wherefore  I  pressed, 

Fearing,  a  little  nearer  to  my  Leader.  *> 


32  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


And  unto  me  he  said  :     "  Turn  thee ;  what  dost  thou  ? 

Behold  there  Farinata  who  has  risen  ; 

From  the  waist  upwards  wholly  shalt  thou  see  him." 
I  had  already  fixed  mine  eyes  on  his, 

And  he  uprose  erect  with  breast  and  front  35 

E'en  as  if  Hell  he  had  in  great  despite. 
And  with  courageous  hands  and  prompt  my  Leader 

Thrust  me  between  the  sepulchres  towards  him, 

Exclaiming,  "  Let  thy  words  explicit  be." 
As  soon  as  1  was  at  the  foot  of  his  tomb,  4c 

Somewhat  he  eyed  me,  and,  as  if  disdainful, 

Then  asked  of  me,  "Who  were  thine  ancestors?" 
I,  who  desirous  of  obeying  was, 

Concealed  it  not,  but  all  revealed  to  him ; 

Whereat  he  raised  his  brows  a  little  upward.  4S 

Then  said  he  :  "  Fiercely  adverse  have  they  been 

To  me,  and  to  my  fathers,  and  my  party ; 

So  that  two  several  times  I  scattered  them." 
*'  If  they  were  banished,  they  returned  on  all  sides," 

I  answered  him,  "  the  first  time  and  the  second ;  sc 

But  yours  have  not  acquired  that  art  aright." 
Then  there  uprose  upon  the  sight,  uncovered 

Down  to  the  chin,  a  shadow  at  his  side  j 

I  think  that  he  had  risen  on  his  knees. 
Round  me  he  gazed,  as  if  solicitude  55 

He  had  to  see  if  some  one  else  were  with  me , 

But  after  his  suspicion  was  all  spent, 
Weeping,  he  said  to  me  :  "  If  through  this  blind 

Prison  thou  goest  by  loftiness  of  genius, 

Where  is  my  son  ?  and  why  is  he  not  with  thee  ?  "  60 

And  I  to  him  :  "  I  come  not  of  myself ; 

He  who  is  waiting  yonder  leads  me  here. 

Whom  in  disdain  perhaps  your  Guido  had." 
His  language  and  the  mode  of  punishment 

Already  unto  me  had  read  his  name  j  65 

On  that  account  my  answer  was  so  full. 
Up  starting  suddenly,  he  cried  out :  "  How 

Saidst  thou, — he  had  ?     Is  he  not  still  alive  ? 

Does  not  the  sweet  light  strike  upon  his  eyes?" 
When  he  became  aware  of  some  delay,  70 

Which  I  before  my  answer  made,  supine 

He  fell  again,  and  forth  appeared  no  more. 
But  the  other,  niagnanimous,  at  whose  desire 

I  had  remained,  did  not  his  aspect  change, 

Neither  his  neck  he  moved,  nor  bent  his  side.  n 


INFERNO,   X.  33 


"  And  if,"  continuing  his  first  discourse, 

"  They  have  that  art,"  he  said,  "  not  learned  aright, 

That  more  tormenteth  me,  than  doth  this  bed. 
But  fifty  times  shall  not  rekindled  be 

The  countenance  of  the  Lady  who  reigns  here,  Sc 

Ere  thou  shalt  know  how  heavy  is  that  art ; 
And  as  thou  wouldst  to  the  sweet  world  return, 

Say  why  that  people  is  so  pitiless 

Against  my  race  in  each  one  of  its  laws?" 
Whence  I  to  him  :  "  The  slaughter  and  great  carnage  ss 

Which  have  with  crimson  stained  the  Arbia,  cause 

Such  orisons  in  our  temple  to  be  made." 
After  his  head  he  with  a  sigh  had  shaken, 

"  There  i  was  not  alone,"  he  said,  "  nor  surely 

Without  a  cause  had  with  the  others  moved.  90 

But  there  I  was  alone,  where  every  one 

Consented  to  the  laying  waste  of  Florence, 

He  who  defended  her  with  open  face." 
"Ah  !  so  hereafter  may  your  seed  repose," 

I  him  entreated,  "  solve  for  me  that  knot,  95 

Which  has  entangled  my  conceptions  here. 
It  seems  that  you  can  see,  if  I  hear  rightly. 

Beforehand  whatsoe'er  time  brings  with  it, 

And  in  the  present  have  another  mode." 
"  We  see,  like  those  who  have  imperfect  sight,  »<» 

The  things,"  he  said,  "  that  distant  are  from  us ; 

So  much  still  shines  on  us  the  Sovereign  Ruler. 
When  they  draw  near,  or  are,  is  wholly  vain 

Our  intellect,  and  if  none  brings  it  to  us, 

Not  anything  know  we  of  your  human  state.  '05 

Hence  thou  canst  understand,  that  wholly  dead 

Will  be  our  knowledge  from  the  moment  when 

The  portal  of  the  future  shall  be  closed." 
Then  I,  as  if  compunctious  for  my  fault, 

Said  :  "  Now,  then,  you  will  tell  that  fallen  one,  "c 

That  still  his  son  is  with  the  living  joined. 
And  if  just  now,  in  answering,  I  was  dumb, 

Tell  him  I  did  it  because  I  was  thinking 

Already  of  the  error  you  have  solved  me." 
And  now  my  Master  was  recalling  me,  "S 

Wherefore  more  eagerly  I  prayed  the  spirit  , 

That  he  would  tell  me  who  was  with  him  there. 
He  said :  "  With  more  than  a  thousand  here  I  lie  ; 

Within  here  is  the  second  Frederick, 

And  the  Cardinal,  and  of  the  rest  I  speak  not."  '«> 


34  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Thereon  he  hid  himself ;  and  I  towards 

The  ancient  poet  turned  my  steps,  reflecting 
Upon  that  saying,  which  seemed  hostile  to  me. 

He  moved  along  ;  and  afterv^ard,  thus  going, 

He  said  to  me,  "  Why  art  thou  so  bewildered  ? ' 
And  I  in  his  inquiry  satisfied  him. 

"  Let  memory  preserve  what  thou  hast  heard 
Against  thyself,"  that  Sage  commanded  me, 
"And  now  attend  here  ;  "  and  he  raised  his  finger. 

"  When  thou  shalt  be  before  the  radiance  sweet 

Of  her  whose  beauteous  eyes  all  things  behold. 
From  her  thou'lt  know  the  journey  of  thy  life." 

Unto  the  left  hand  then  he  turned  his  feet ; 

We  left  the  wall,  and  went  towards  the  middle, 
Along  a  path  that  strikes  into  a  valley, 

Which  even  up  there  unpleasant  made  its  stench. 


CANTO   XL 

Upon  the  margin  of  a  lofty  bank 

Which  great  rocks  broken  m  a  circle  made, 
We  came  upon  a  still  more  cruel  throng ; 

And  there,  by  reason  of  the  horrible 

Excess  of  stench  the  deep  abyss  throws  out, 
We  drew  ourselves  aside  behind  the  cover 

Of  a  great  tomb,  whereon  I  saw  a  writing. 
Which  said  :  "  Pope  Anastasius  I  hold, 
Whom  out  of  the  right  way  Photinus  drew." 

"  Slow  it  behoveth  our  descent  to  be. 

So  that  the  sense  be  first  a  little  used 

To  th(j  sad  blast,  and  then  we  shall  not  heed  it." 

The  Master  thus ;  and  unto  liim  I  said, 

"  Some  compensation  find,  tha*:  the  time  pass  not 
Idly  ; "  and  he  :  "  Thou  seest  I  think  of  that. 

My  son,  upon  the  inside  of  these  rocks," 

Began  he  then  to  say,  "  are  three  small  circles, 

From  grade  to  grade,  like  those  which  thou  art  leaving. 

They  all  are  full  of  spirits  raaledict ; 

But  that  hereafter  sight  alone  suffice  thee. 
Hear  how  and  wherefore  they  are  in  constraint 

Of  every  malice  that  wins  hate  in  Heaven, 
Injury  is  the  end ;  and  all  such  end 
Either  by  force  or  fr  ud  aflSlicteth  others. 


INFERNO,    XL  35 


But  because  fraud  is  man's  peculiar  vice,  25 

More  it  displeases  God ;  and  so  stand  lowest 

The  fraudulent,  and  greater  dole  assails  them. 
All  the  first  circle  of  the  Violent  is  ; 

But  since  force  may  be  used  against  three  persons, 

In  three  rounds  'tis  divided  and  constructed.  30 

To  God,  to  ourselves,  and  to  our  neighbour  can  we 

Use  force  ;  I  say  on  them  and  on  their  things, 

As  thou  shalt  hear  with  reason  manifest 
A  death  by  violence,  and  painful  wounds, 

Are  to  our  neighbour  given  ;  and  in  his  substance  as 

Ruin,  and  arson,  and  injurious  levies ; 
Whence  homicides,  and  he  who  smites  unjustly, 

Marauders,  and  freebooters,  the  first  round 

Tormenteth  all  m  companies  diverse. 
Man  may  lay  violent  hands  upon  himself  40 

And  his  own  goods  ;  and  therefore  in  the  second 

Round  must  perforce  without  avail  repent 
Whoever  of  your  world  deprives  himself. 

Who  games,  and  dissipates  his  property. 

And  weepeth  there,  where  he  should  jocund  be.  4S 

Violence  can  be  done  the  Deity, 

In  heart  denying  and  blaspheming  Him, 

And  by  disdaining  Nature  and  her  bounty. 
And  for  this  reason  doth  the  smallest  round 

Seal  with  its  signet  Sodom  and  Cahors,  sc 

And  who,  disdaining  God,  speaks  from  the  heart 
Fraud,  wherewithal  is  every  conscience  stung, 

A  man  may  practise  upon  him  who  trusts. 

And  him  who  doth  no  confidence  imburse. 
This  latter  mode,  it  would  appear,  dissevers  s 

Only  the  bond  of  love  which  Nature  makes  ; 

Wherefore  within  the  second  circle  nestle 
Hypocrisy,  flattery,  and  who  deals  in  magic, 

Falsification,  theft,  and  simony. 

Panders,  and  barrators,  and  the  like  filth.  €0 

By  the  other  mode,  forgotten  is  that  love 

Which  Nature  makes,  and  what  is  after  added, 

From  which  there  is  a  special  faith  engendered. 
Hence  in  the  smallest  circle,  where  the  point  is 

Of  the  Universe,  upon  which  Dis  is  seated,  65 

Whoe'er  betrays  for  ever  is  consumed." 
And  I :  "  My  Master,  clear  enough  proceeds 

Thy  reasoning,  and  full  well  distinguishes 

This  cavern  and  the  people  who  possess  it 

r  2 


36  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

But  tell  me,  those  within  the  fat  lagoon,  70 

Whom  the  wind  drives,  and  whom  the  rain  doth  beat, 
And  who  encounter  with  such  bitter  tongues, 

Wherefore  are  they  inside  of  the  red  city 

Not  punished,  if  God  has  them  in  his  wrath, 

And  if  he  has  not,  wherefore  in  such  fashion  ?  "  75 

And  unto  me  he  said  :  "  Why  wanders  so 

Thine  intellect  from  that  which  it  is  wont  ? 

Or,  sooth,  thy  mind  where  is  it  elsewhere  looking  ? 

Hast  thou  no  recollection  of  those  words 

With  which  thine  Ethics  thoroughly  discusses  80 

The  dispositions  three,  that  Heaven  abides  not, — 

Incontinence,  and  Malice,  and  insane 
Bestiality  ?  and  how  Incontinence 
Less  God  offendeth,  and  less  blame  attracts  ? 

If  thou  regardest  this  conclusion  M^ell,  85 

And  to  thy  mind  recallest  who  they  are 
That  up  outside  are  undergoing  penance, 

Clearly  wilt  thou  perceive  why  from  these  felons 
They  separated  are,  and  why  less  wroth 
Justice  divine  doth  smite  them  with  its  hammer."  90 

"  O  Sun,  that  healest  all  distempered  vision, 

Thou  dost  content  me  so,  when  thou  resolvest, 
That  doubting  pleases  me  no  less  than  knowing  ! 

Once  more  a  little  backward  turn  thee,"  said  I, 

"  There  where  thou  sayest  that  usury  offends  95 

Goodness  divine,  and  disengage  the  knot." 

"  Philosophy,"  he  said,  "  to  him  who  heeds  it, 
Noteth,  not  only  in  one  place  alone. 
After  what  manner  Nature  takes  her  course 

From  Intellect  Divine,  and  from  its  art ;  100 

And  if  thy  Physics  carefully  thou  notest, 
After  not  many  pages  shalt  thou  find, 

That  this  your  art  as  far  as  possible 

Follows,  as  the  disciple  doth  the  master; 

So  that  your  art  is,  as  it  were,  God's  grandchild.  los 

From  these  two,  if  thou  bringest  to  thy  mind 
Genesis  at  the  beginning,  it  behoves 
Mankind  to  gain  their  life  and  to  advance ; 

And  since  the  usurer  takes  another  way. 

Nature  herself  and  in  her  follower  wo 

Disdains  he.  for  elsewhere  he  puts  his  hope. 

But  follow,  now,  as  I  would  fain  go  on. 

For  quivering  are  the  Fishes  on  the  horizon, 
And  the  Wain  wholly  over  Caurus  lies, 

And  far  beyond  there  we  descend  the  crag:."  nj 


INFERNO,   XII.  ■  37 


CANTO   XII. 

The  place  where  to  descend  the  bank  we  came 

Was  alpine,  and  from  what  was  there,  moreover, 
Of  such  a  kind  that  every  eye  would  shun  it 

Such  as  that  ruin  is  which  in  the  flank 

Smote,  on  this  side  of  Trent,  the  Adige, 
Either  by  earthquake  or  by  failing  stay, 

For  from  the  mountain's  top,  from  which  it  moved, 
Unto  the  plain  the  cliff  is  shattered  so, 
Some  path  'twould  give  to  him  who  was  above ; 

Even  such  was  the  descent  of  that  ravine, 
And  on  the  border  of  the  broken  chasm 
The  infamy  of  Crete  was  stretched  along, 

Who  was  conceived  in  the  fictitious  cow ; 
And  when  he  us  beheld,  he  bit  himself. 
Even  as  one  whom  anger  racks  within. 

My  Sage  towards  him  shouted  :  "  Peradventure 

Thou  think'st  that  here  may  be  the  Duke  of  Athens, 
Who  in  the  world  above  brought  death  to  thee  ? 

Get  thee  gone,  beast,  for  this  one  cometh  not 
Instructed  by  thy  sister,  but  he  comes 
In  order  to  behold  your  punishments." 

As  is  that  bull  who  breaks  loose  at  the  moment 
In  which  he  has  received  the  mortal  blow, 
Who  cannot  walk,  but  staggers  here  and  there, 

The  Minotaur  beheld  I  do  the  like ; 

And  he,  the  wary,  cried  :  "  Run  to  the  passage  ; 
While  he  is  wroth,  'tis  well  thou  shouldst  descend." 

Thus  down  we  took  our  way  o'er  that  discharge 

Of  stones,  which  oftentimes  did  move  themselves 
Beneath  my  feet,  from  the  unwonted  burden. 

Thoughtful  I  went ;  and  he  said  :  "  Thou  art  thinking 
Perhaps  upon  this  ruin,  which  is  guarded 
By  that  brute  anger  which  just  now  I  quenched, 

Now  will  I  have  thee  know,  the  other  time 
I  here  descended  to  the  nether  Hell, 
This  precipice  had  not  yet  fallen  down- 
But  truly,  if  I  well  discern,  a  little 

Before  His  coming  who  the  mighty  spoil 
Bore  off  from  Dis,  in  the  supernal  circle, 


THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Upon  all  sides  the  deep  and  loathsome  valley  40 

Trembled  so,  that  I  thought  the  Universe 

Was  thrilled  with  love,  by  which  there  are  who  think 
The  world  ofttimes  converted  into  chaos  ; 

And  at  that  moment  this  primeval  crag 

Both  here  and  elsewhere  made  such  overthrow.  ^5 

But  fix  thine  eyes  below;  for  draweth  near 

The  river  of  blood,  within  which  boiling  is 

Whoe'er  by  violence  doth  injure  others." 

0  blind  cupidity,  O  wrath  insane, 

That  spurs  us  onward  so  in  our  short  life,  5° 

And  in  the  eternal  then  so  badly  steeps  us  ! 

1  saw  an  ample  moat  bent  like  a  bow, 

As  one  which  all  the  plain  encompasses. 

Conformable  to  what  my  Guide  had  said. 
And  between  this  and  the  embankment's  foot  ss 

Centaurs  in  file  were  running,  armed  with  arrows, 

As  in  the  world  they  used  the  chase  to  follow. 
Beholding  us  descend,  each  one  stood  still, 

And  from  the  squadron  three  detached  themselves, 

With  bows  and  arrows  in  advance  selected  ;  60 

And  from  afar  one  cried  :  "  Unto  what  torment 

Come  ye,  who  down  the  hillside  are  descending  ? 

Tell  us  from  there ;  if  not,  I  draw  the  bow." 
My  Master  said  :  "  Our  answer  will  we  make 

To  Chiron,  near  you  there  ;  in  evil  hour,  65 

That  will  of  thine  was  evermore  so  hasty." 
Then  touched  he  me,  and  said  :  "  This  one  is  Nessus, 

Who  perished  for  the  lovely  Dejanira, 

And  for  himself,  himself  did  vengeance  take. 
And  he  in  the  midst,  who  at  his  breast  is  gazing,  7° 

Is  the  great  Chiron,  who  brought  up  Achilles ; 

That  other  Pholus  is,  who  was  so  wrathful. 
Thousands  and  thousands  go  about  the  moat 

Shooting  with  shafts  whatever  soul  emerges 

Out  of  the  blood,  more  than  his  crime  allots."  7s 

Near  we  approached  unto  those  monsters  fleet ; 

Chiron  an  arrow  took,  and  with  the  notch 

Backward  upon  his  jaws  he  put  his  beard. 
After  he  had  uncovered  his  great  mouth, 

He  said  to  his  companions  :  "  Are  you  ware  80 

That  he  behind  moveth  whate'er  he  touches? 
Thus  are  not  wont  to  do  the  feet  of  dead  men." 

And  my  good  (}uide,  who  now  was  at  his  breast, 

Where  the  two  natures  are  together  joined, 


INFERNO,   XII.  39 


Replied  :  "  Indeed  he  lives,  and  thus  alone  85 

Me  it  behoves  to  show  him  the  dark  valley  ; 

Necessity,  and  not  delight,  impels  us. 
Some  one  withdrew  from  singing  Halleluja, 

Who  unto  me  committed  this  new  office  ; 

No  thief  is  he,  nor  I  a  thievish  spirit.  90 

But  by  that  virtue  through  which  I  am  moving 

My  steps  along  this  savage  thoroughfare, 

Give  us  some  one  of  thine,  to  be  with  us. 
And  who  may  show  us  where  to  pass  the  ford. 

And  who  may  carry  this  one  on  his  back ;  95 

For  'tis  no  spirit  that  can  walk  the  air." 
Upon  his  right  breast  Chiron  wheeled  about. 

And  said  to  Nessus  :  "  Turn  and  do  thou  guide  them, 

And  warn  aside,  if  other  band  may  meet  you." 
We  with  our  faithful  escort  onward  moved,  too 

Along  the  brink  of  the  vermilion  boiling, 

Wherein  the  boiled  were  uttering  loud  laments. 
People  I  saw  within  up  to  the  eyebrows. 

And  the  great  Centaur  said  :  "  Tyrants  are  these, 

Who  dealt  in  bloodshed  and  in  pillaging.  «« 

Here  they  lament  their  pitiless  mischiefs  ;  here 

Is  Alexander,  and  fierce  Dionysius 

Who  upon  Sicily  brought  dolorous  years. 
That  forehead  there  which  has  the  hair  so  black 

Is  Azzolin  ;  and  the  other  who  is  blond,  "o 

Obizzo  is  of  Esti,  who,  in  truth, 
Up  in  the  world  was  by  his  stepson  slain." 

Then  turned  I  to  the  Poet ;  and  he  said, 

"  Now  he  be  first  to  thee,  and  second  I." 
A  little  farther  on  the  Centaur  stopped  "S 

Above  a  folk,  who  far  down  as  the  throat 

Seemed  from  that  boiling  stream  to  issue  forth. 
A  shade  he  showed  us  on  one  side  alone. 

Saying  :  "  He  cleft  asunder  in  God's  bosom 

The  heart  that  still  upon  the  Thames  is  honoured."  »«> 

Then  people  saw  I,  who  from  out  the  river 

Lifted  their  heads  and  also  all  the  chest ; 

And  many  among  these  I  recognised. 
Thus  ever  more  and  more  grew  shallower 

That  blood,  so  that  the  feet  alone  it  covered  ;  125 

And  there  across  the  moat  our  passage  was. 
"  Even  as  thou  here  upon  this  side  beholdest 

The  boiling  stream,  that  aye  diminishes," 

The  .Centaur  said,  "  I  wish  thee  to  believe 


40  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


That  on  this  other  more  and  more  decHnes 
Its  bed,  until  it  reunites  itself 
Where  it  behoveth  tyranny  to  groan. 

Justice  divine,  upon  this  side,  is  goading 

That  Attila,  who  was  a  scourge  on  earth, 
And  Pyrrhus,  and  Sextus  ;  and  for  ever  milks 

The  tears  which  with  the  boiling  it  unseals 
In  Rinier  da  Corneto  and  Rinier  Pazzo, 
Who  made  upon  the  highways  so  much  war." 

Then  back  he  turned,  and  passed  again  the  ford. 


CANTO   XIII. 

Not  yet  had  Nessus  reached  the  other  side, 

When  we  had  put  ourselves  within  a  wood, 
That  was  not  marked  by  any  path  whatever. 

Not  foliage  green,  but  of  a  dusky  colour. 

Not  branches  smooth,  but  gnarled  and  intertangled, 
Not  apple-trees  were  there,  but  thorns  with  poison. 

Such  tangled  thickets  have"  not,  nor  so  dense, 

Those  savage  wild  beasts,  that  in  hatred  hold 
'Twixt  Cecina  and  Corneto  the  tilled  places. 

There  do  the  hideous  Harpies  make  their  nests, 
Who  chased  the  Trojans  from  the  Strophades, 
With  sad  announcement  of  impending  doom  ; 

Broad  wings  have  they,  and  necks  and  faces  human, 

And  feet  with  claws,  and  their  great  bellies  fledged  ; 
They  make  laments  upon  the  wond'ous  trees. 

And  the  good  Master  :  "  Ere  thou  enter  farther. 
Know  that  thou  art  within  the  second  round," 
Thus  he  began  to  say,  "  and  shalt  be,  till 

Thou  comest  out  upon  the  horrible  sand  ; 

Therefore  look  well  around,  and  thou  shalt  see 
Things  that  will  credence  give  unto  my  speech." 

I  heard  on  all  sides  lamentations  uttered, 

And  person  none  beheld  I  who  might  make  them, 
Whence,  utterly  bewildered,  I  stood  still. 

I  think  he  thought  that  I  perhaps  might  think 
So  many  voices  issued  through  those  trunks 
From  people  who  concealed  themselves  from  us ; 

Therefore  the  Master  said  :  "  If  thou  break  ofif 
Some  little  spray  from  any  of  these  trees. 
The  thoughts  thou  hast  will  wholly  be  made  vain." 


INFERNO,   XIII.  4» 


Then  stretched  I  forth  my  hand  a  little  forward, 

And  plucked  a  branchlet  off  from  a  great  thorn  ; 

And  the  tmnk  cried,  "  Why  dost  thou  mangle  me  ?  " 
After  it  had  become  embrowned  with  blood. 

It  recommenced  its  cry  :  "  Why  dost  thou  rend  me  ?         35 

Hast  thou  no  spirit  of  pity  whatsoever  ? 
Men  once  we  were,  and  now  are  changed  to  trees ; 

Indeed,  thy  hand  should  be  more  pitiful, 

Even  if  the  souls  of  serpents  we  had  been." 
As  out  of  a  green  brand,  that  is  on  fire  40 

At  one  of  the  ends,  and  from  the  other  drips 

And  hisses  with  the  wind  that  is  escaping ; 
So  from  that  splinter  issued  forth  together 

Both  words  and  blood  ;  whereat  I  let  the  tip 

Fall,  and  stood  like  a  man  who  is  afraid.  ■♦s 

*•  Had  he  been  able  sooner  to  believe," 

My  Sage  made  answer,  "  O  thou  wounded  soul, 

What  only  in  my  verses  he  has  seen, 
Not  upon  thee  had  he  stretched  forth  his  hand ; 

Whereas  the  thing  incredible  has  caused  me  so 

To  put  him  to  an  act  which  grieveth  me. 
But  tell  him  who  thou  wast,  so  that  by  way 

Of  some  amends  thy  fame  he  may  refresh 

Up  in  the  world,  to  which  he  can  return." 
And  the  trunk  said  :  "  So  thy  sweet  words  allure  me,  ss 

I  cannot  silent  be ;  and  you  be  vexed  not, 

That  I  a  little  to  discourse  am  tempted. 
I  am  the  one  who  both  keys  had  in  keeping 

Of  Frederick's  heart,  and  turned  them  to  and  fro 

So  softly  in  unlocking  and  in  locking,  60 

That  from  his  secrets  most  men  I  withheld ; 

Fidelity  I  bore  the  glorious  office 

So  great,  I  lost  thereby  my  sleep  and  pulses. 
The  courtesan  who  never  from  the  dwelling 

Of  Cassar  turned  aside  her  strumpet  eyes,  65 

Death  universal  and  the  vice  of  courts. 
Inflamed  against  me  all  the  other  minds, 

And  they,  inflamed,  did  so  inflame  Augustus, 

That  my  glad  honours  turned  to  dismal  mournings. 
My  spirit,  in  disdainful  exultation,  70 

Thinking  by  dying  to  escape  disdain. 

Made  me  unjust  against  myself,  the  just 
I,  by  the  roots  unwonted  of  this  wood. 

Do  swear  to  you  that  never  broke  I  faith 

Unto  my  lord,  who  was  so  worthy  of  honour  ;  n 


42  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

And  to  the  world  if  one  of  you  return, 

Let  him  my  memory  comfort,  which  is  lying 

Still  prostrate  from  the  blow  that  envy  dealt  it." 
Waited  awhile,  and  then  :  "  Since  he  is  silent," 

The  Poet  said  to  me,  "  lose  not  the  time,  so 

But  speak,  and  question  him,  if  more  may  please  thee." 
Whence  I  to  him :  "  Do  thou  again  inquire 

Concerning  what  thou  thinks't  will  satisfy  me ; 

For  I  cannot,  such  pity  is  in  my  heart" 
Therefore  he  recommenced  :  "So  may  the  man  8s 

Do  for  thee  freely  what  thy  speech  implores, 

Spirit  incarcerate,  again  be  pleased 
To  tell  us  in  what  way  the  soul  is  bound 
*     Within  these  knots  ;  and  tell  us,  if  thou  canst, 

If  any  from  such  members  e'er  is  freed."  90 

Then  blew  the  trunk  amain,  and  afterward 

The  wind  was  into  such  a  voice  converted  : 

"  With  brevity  shall  be  replied  to  you. 
When  the  exasperated  soul  abandons 

The  body  whence  it  rent  itself  away,  9S 

Minos  consigns  it  to  the  seventh  abyss. 
It  falls  into  the  forest,  and  no  part 

Is  chosen  for  it ;  but  where  Fortune  hurls  it, 

There  like  a  grain  of  spelt  it  germinates. 
It  springs  a  sapling,  and  a  forest  tree  ;  joo 

The  Harpies,  feeding  then  upon  its  leaves, 

Do  pain  create,  and  for  the  pain  an  outlet. 
Like  others  for  our  spoils  shall  we  return  ; 

But  not  that  any  one  may  them  revest, 

For  'tis  not  just  to  have  what  one  casts  off.  jos 

Here  we  shall  drag  them,  and  along  the  dismal 

Forest  our  bodies  shall  suspended  be, 

Each  to  the  thorn  of  his  molested  shade." 
We  were  attentive  still  unto  the  trunk, 

Thinking  that  more  it  yet  might  wish  to  tell  us,  no 

When  by  a  tumult  we  were  overtaken, 
In  the  same  way  as  he  is  who  perceives  . 

The  boar  and  chase  approaching  to  his  stand. 

Who  hears  the  crashing  of  the  beasts  and  branches ; 
And  two  behold  !  upon  our  left-hand  side,  us 

Naked  and  scratched,  fleeing  so  furiously, 

That  of  the  forest  every  fan  they  broke. 
He  who  was  in  advance  :  "  Now  help.  Death,  help  !  " 

And  the  other  one,  who  seemed  to  lag  too  much. 

Was  shouting  :  "  Lano,  were  not  so  alert  »• 


INFERNO,   XIV.  43 


Those  legs  of  thine  at  joustings  of  the  Toppo  !" 

And  then,  perchance  because  his  breath  was  faihng, 

He  grouped  himself  together  with  a  bush. 
Behind  them  was  the  forest  full  of  black 

She-mastiffs,  ravenous,  and  swift  of  foot  us 

As  greyhounds,  who  are  issuing  from  the  chain. 
On  him  who  had  crouched  down  they  set  their  teeth, 

And  him  they  lacerated  piece  by  piece, 

Thereafter  bore  away  those  aching  members. 
Thereat  my  Escort  took  me  by  the  hand,  130 

And  led  me  to  the  bush,  that  all  in  vain 

Was  weeping  from  its  bloody  lacerations. 
"  O  Jacopo,"  it  said,  "  of  Sant'  Andrea, 

What  helped  it  thee  of  me  to  make  a  screen  ? 

What  blame  have  I  in  thy  nefarious  life  ?  "  13s 

When  near  him  had  the  Master  stayed  his  steps. 

He  said  :   "  Who  wast  thou,  that  through  wounds  so  many 

Art  blowing  out  with  blood  thy  dolorous  speech  ?" 
And  he  to  us  :  "  O  souls,  that  hither  come 

To  look  upon  the  shameful  massacre  i4<» 

That  has  so  rent  away  from  me  my  leaves, 
Gather  them  up  beneath  the  dismal  bush  ; 

I  of  that  city  was  which  to  the  Baptist 

Changed  its  first  patron,  wherefore  he  for  this 
Forever  with  his  art  will  make  it  sad.  145 

And  were  it  not  that  on  the  pass  of  Amo 

Some  glimpses  of  him  are  remaining  still, 
Those  citizens,  who  afterwards  rebuilt  it 

Upon  the  ashes  left  by  Attila, 

In  vain  had  caused  their  labour  to  be  done.  »s« 

Of  my  own  house  I  made  myself  a  gibbet." 


CANTO   XIV. 

Because  the  charity  of  my  native  place 

Constrained  me,  gathered  I  the  scattered  leaves, 
And  gave  them  back  to  him,  who  now  was  hoarse. 

Then  came  we  to  the  confine,  where  disparted 

The  second  round  is  from  the  third,  and  where 
A  horrible  form  of  Justice  is  beheld. 

Clearly  to  manifest  these  novel  things, 
I  say  that  we  arrived  upon  a  plain, 
Which  from  its  bed  rejecteth  every  plant ; 


u 


THE  DTVTNE   COMEDY. 


The  dolorous  forest  is  a  garland  to  it 

All  round  about,  as  the  sad  moat  to  that ; 
There  close  upon  the  edge  we  stayed  our  feet 

The  soil  was  of  an  arid  and  thick  sand, 

Not  of  another  fashion  made  than  that 
Which  by  the  feet  of  Cato  once  was  pressed. 

Vengeance  of  God,  O  how  much  oughtest  thou 
By  each  one  to  be  dreaded,  who  doth  read 
That  which  was  manifest  unto  mine  eyes  ! 

Of  naked  souls  beheld  I  many  herds, 

Who  all  were  weeping  very  miserably, 
And  over  them  seemed  set  a  law  diverse. 

Supine  upon  the  ground  some  folk  were  lying  ; 
And  some  were  sitting  all  drawn  up  together, 
And  others  went  about  continually. 

Those  who  were  going  round  were  far  the  more. 

And  those  were  less  who  lay  down  to  their  torment, 
But  had  their  tongues  more  loosed  to  lamentation. 

O'er  all  the  sand-waste,  with  a  gradual  fall. 
Were  raining  down  dilated  flakes  of  fire, 
As  of  the  snow  on  Alp  without  a  wind. 

As  Alexander,  in  those  torrid  parts 
Of  India,  beheld  upon  his  host 
Flames  fall  unbroken  till  they  reached  the  ground, 

Whence  he  provided  with  his  phalanxes 

To  trample  down  the  soil,  because  the  vapour 
Better  extinguished  was  while  it  was  single ; 

Thus  was- descending  the  eternal  heat. 

Whereby  the  sand  was  set  on  fire,  like  tinder 
Beneath  the  steel,  for  doubling  of  the  dole. 

Without  repose  forever  was  the  dance 

Of  miserable  hands,  now  there,  now  here, 
Shaking  away  from  off  them  the  fresh  gleeds. 

"  Master,"  began  I,  "  thou  who  overcomest 

All  things  except  the  demons  dire,  that  issued 
Against  us  at  the  entrance  of  the  gate, 

Who  is  that  mighty  one  who  seems  to  heed  not 
The  fire,  and  lieth  lowering  and  disdainful, 
So  that  the  rain  seems  not  to  ripen  Inm  ?" 

And  he  himself,  who  had  become  aware 

That  I  was  questioning  my  Guide  about  him, 
Cried  :  "  Such  as  I  was  living,  am  I,  dead 

If  Jove  should  weary  out  his  smith,  from  whom 

»  He  seized  in  anger  the  sharp  thunderbolt. 
Wherewith  upon  the  last  day  I  was  smitten, 


INFERNO,   XIV.  45 


And  if  he  wearied  out  by  turns  the  others  ss 

In  Mongibello  at  the  swarthy  forge, 

Vociferating,  '  Help,  good  Vulcan,  help  ! ' 
Even  as  he  did  there  at  the  fight  of  Phlegra, 

And  shot  his  bolts  at  me  with  all  his  might, 

He  would  not  have  thereby  a  joyous  vengeance."  6« 

Then  did  my  Leader  speak  with  such  great  force, 

That  I  had  never  heard  him  speak  so  loud  : 

"  O  Capaneus,  in  that  is  not  extinguished 
Thine  arrogance,  thou  punished  art  the  more  ; 

Not  any  torment,  saving  thine  own  rage,  6s 

Would  be  unto  thy  fury  pain  complete." 
Then  he  turned  round  to  me  with  better  lip, 

Saying :  "  One  of  the  Seven  Kings  was  he 

Who  Thebes  besieged,  and  held,  and  seems  to  hold 
God  in  disdain,  and  little  seems  to  prize  him ;  70 

But,  as  I  said  to  him,  his  own  despites 

Are  for  his  breast  the  fittest  ornaments. 
Now  follow  me,  and  mind  thou  do  not  place 

As  yet  thy  feet  upon  the  burning  sand. 

But  always  keep  them  close  unto  the  wood."  n 

Speaking  no  word,  we  came  to  where  there  gushes 

Forth  from  the  wood  a  little  rivulet, 

Whose  redness  makes  my  hair  still  stand  on  end. 
As  from  the  Bulicame  springs  the  brooklet. 

The  sinful  women  later  share  among  them,  8e 

So  downward  through  the  sand  it  went  its  way. 
The  bottom  of  it,  and  both  sloping  banks, 

Were  made  of  stone,  and  the  margins  at  the  side ; 

Whence  I  perceived  that  there  the  passage  was. 
"  In  all  the  rest  which  I  have  shown  to  thee  85 

Since  we  have  entered  in  within  the  gate 

Whose  threshold  unto  no  one  is  denied, 
Nothing  has  been  discovered  by  thine  eyes 

So  notable  as  is  the  present  river. 

Which  all  the  little  flames  above  it  quenches."  9« 

These  words  were  of  my  Leader  ;  whence  I  prayed  him 

That  he  would  give  me  largess  of  the  food, 

For  which  he  had  given  me  largess  of  desire. 
"  In  the  mid-sea  there  sits  a  wasted  land," 

Said  he  thereafterward,  "whose  name  is  Crete,  Ml 

Under  whose  king  the  world  of  old  was  chaste. 
There  is  a  mountain  there,  that  once  was  glad 

With  waters  and  with  leaves,  which  was  called  Ida ; 

Now  'tis  deserted,  as  a  thing  worn  out. 


46  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Rhea  once  chose  it  for  the  faithful  cradle  loo 

Of  her  own  son  ;  and  to  conceal  him  better, 
Whene'er  he  cried,  she  there  had  clamours  made. 
A  grand  old  man  stands  in  the  mount  erect. 

Who  holds  his  shoulders  turned  tovv'rds  Damietta, 
And  looks  at  Rome  as  if  it  were  his  mirror.  «o5 

His  head  is  fashioned  of  refined  gold, 

And  of  pure  silver  are  the  arms  and  breast ; 
Then  he  is  brass  as  far  down  as  the  fork. 
From  that  point  downward  all  is  chosen  iron, 

Save  that  the  right  foot  is  of  kiln -baked  clay,  nc 

And  more  he  stands  on  that  than  on  the  other. 
Each  part,  except  the  gold,  is  by  a  fissure 

Asunder  cleft,  that  dripping  is  with  tears, 
Which  gathered  together  perforate  that  cavern. 
From  rock  to  rock  they  fall  into  this  valley ;  ««5 

Acheron,  Styx,  and  Phlegethon  they  form ;  ^^r^sfj^v    J    J^/^M 
Then  downward  go  along  this  narrow  sluice  \    \ 

Unto  that  point  where  is  no  more  descending. 
They  form  Cocytus  ;  what  that  pool  may  be 
Thou  shalt  behold,  so  here  'tis  not  narrated."  oo 

And  I  to  him  :  "  If  so  the  present  runnel 

Doth  take  its  rise  in  this  way  from  our  world, 
Why  only  on  this  verge  appears  it  to  us  ?  " 
And  he  to  me  :  "  Thou  knowest  the  place  is  round, 

And  notwithstanding  thou  hast  journeyed  far,  las 

Still  to  the  left  descending  to  the  bottom, 
Thou  hast  not  yet  through  all  the  circle  turned. 
Therefore  if  something  new  appear  to  us, 
It  should  not  bring  amazement  to  thy  face." 
And  I  again  :  "  Master,  where  shall  be  found  130 

Lethe  and  Phlegethon,  for  of  one  thou'rt  silent, 
And  sayest  the  other  of  this  rain  is  made  ?  " 
"  In  all  thy  questions  truly  thou  dost  please  me," 
Replied  he  ;  "  but  the  boiling  of  the  red 
Water  might  well  solve  one  of  them  thou  makest.  J35 

Thou  shalt  see  Lethe,  but  outside  this  moat. 

There  where  the  souls  repair  to  lave  themselves. 
When  sin  repented  of  has  been  removed." 
Then  said  he  :  "  It  is  time  now  to  abandon 

The  wood ;  take  heed  that  thou  come  after  me  ;  mo 

A  way  the  margins  make  that  are  not  burning, 
And  over  them  all  vapours  are  extinguished." 


INFERNO,   XV.  47 


0^^ 


CANTO   XV. 


Now  bears  us  onward  one  of  the  hard  margins, 
And  so  the  brooklet's  mist  o'ershadows  it, 
From  fire  it  saves  the  water  and  the  dikes. 

Even  as  the  Flemings,  'twixt  Cadsand  and  Bruges, 
Fearing  the  flood  that  tow'rds  them  hurls  itself. 
Their  bulwarks  build  to  put  the  sea  to  flight ; 

And  as  the  Paduans  along  the  Brenta, 

To  guard  their  villas  and  their  villages, 
Or  ever  Chiarentana  feel  the  heat ; 

In  such  similitude  had  those  been  made, 
Albeit  not  so  lofty  nor  so  thick, 
Whoever  he  might  be,  the  master  made  them. 

Now  were  we  from  the  forest  so  remote, 

I  could  not  have  discovered  where  it  was. 
Even  if  backward  I  had  turned  myself. 

When  we  a  company  of  souls  encountered. 
Who  came  beside  the  dike,  and  every  one 
Gazed  at  us,  as  at  evening  we  are  wont 

To  eye  each  other  under  a  new  moon. 

And  so  towards  us  sharpened  they  their  brows 
As  an  old  tailor  at  the  needle's  eye. 

Thus  scrutinised  by  such  a  family. 

By  some  one  I  was  recognised,  who  seized 

My  garment's  hem,  and  cried  out,  ''  What  a  marvel '  " 

And  I,  when  he  stretched  forth  his  arm-to  me. 
On  his  baked  aspect  fastened  so  mine  eyes, 
That  the  scorched  countenance  prevented  not 

His  recognition  by  my  intellect ; 

And  bowing  down  my  face  unto  his  own, 

I  made  reply,  "Are  you  here,  Ser  Brunetto?" 

And  he :  "  May't  not  displease  thee,  O  my  son. 
If  a  brief  space  with  thee  Brunetto  Latini 
Backward  return  and  let  the  trail  go  on." 

I  said  to  him  :  "  With  all  my  power  I  ask  it ; 
And  if  you  wish  me  to  sit  down  with  you, 
I  will,  if  he  please,  for  I  go  with  him." 

"  O  son,"  he  said,  "  whoever  of  this  herd 

A  moment  stops,  lies  then  a  hundred  years, 
Nor  fans  himself  when  smiteth  him  the  fire. 


THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Therefore  go  on ;  I  at  thy  skirts  will  come, 

And  afterward  will  I  rejoin  my  band, 

Which  goes  lamenting  its  eternal  doom." 
I  did  not  dare  to  go  down  from  the  road 

Level  to  walk  with  him ;  but  my  head  bowed 

I  held  as  one  who  goeth  reverently. 
And  he  began  :  "  What  fortune  or  what  fate 

Before  the  last  day  leadeth  thee  down  here  ? 

And  who  is  this  that  showeth  thee  the  way  ?  " 
"  Up  there  above  us  in  the  life  serene," 

I  answered  him,  "  I  lost  me  in  a  valley. 

Or  ever  yet  my  age  had  been  completed. 
But  yestermom  I  turned  my  back  upon  it ; 

This  one  appeared  to  me,  returning  thither, 

And  homeward  leadeth  me  along  this  road." 
And  he  to  me  :  "  If  thou  thy  star  do  follow. 

Thou  canst  not  fail  thee  of  a  glorious  port, 

If  well  I  judged  in  the  life  beautiful. 
And  if  I  had  not  died  so  prematurely. 

Seeing  Heaven  thus  benignant  unto  thee, 

I  would  have  given  thee  comfort  in  the  work. 
But  that  ungrateful  and  malignant  people, 
•  Which  of  old  time  from  Fesole  descended, 

And  smacks  still  of  the  mountain  and  the  granite, 
Will  make  itself,  for  thy  good  deeds,  thy  foe ; 

And  it  is  right;  for  among  crabbed  sorbs 

It  ill  befits  the  sweet  fig  to  bear  fruit. 
Old  rumour  in  the  world  proclaims  them  blind ; 

A  people  avaricious,  envious,  proud  ; 

Take  heed  that  of  their  customs  thou  do  cleanse  thee. 
Thy  fortune  so  much  honour  doth  reserve  thee, 

One  party  and  the  other  shall  be  hungry 

For  thee  ;  but  far  from  goat  shall  be  the  grass. 
Their  litter  let  the  beasts  of  Fesole 

Make  of  themselves,  nor  let  them  touch  the  plant, 

If  any  still  upon  their  dunghill  rise. 
In  which  may  yet  revive  the  consecrated 

Seed  of  those  Romans,  who  remained  there  when 

The  nest  of  such  great  malice  it  became." 
"  If  my  entreaty  wholly  were  fulfilled," 

Replied  I  to  him,  "  not  yet  would  you  be 

In  banishment  from  human  nature  placed  ; 
For  in  my  mind  is  fixed,  and  touches  now 

My  heart  the  dear  and  good  paternal  image 

Of  you,  when  in  the  world  from  hour  to  hour 


INFERNO,   XV.  ^ 


You  taught  me  how  a  man  becomes  eternal ;  85 

And  how  much  I  am  grateful,  while  I  live 

Behoves  that  in  my  language  be  discerned. 
What  you  narrate  of  my  career  I  write, 

And  keep  it  to  be  glossed  with  other  text 

By  a  Lady  who  can  do  it,  if  I  reach  her.  9* 

This  <nuch  will  I  have  manifest  to  you ; 

Provided  that  my  conscience  do  not  chide  me, 

For  whatsoever  Fortune  I  am  ready. 
Such  handsel  is  not  new  unto  mine  ears  ; 

Therefore  let  Fortune  turn  her  wheel  around  95 

As  it  may  please  her,  and  the  churl  his  mattock." 
My  Master  thereupon  on  his  right  cheek 

Did  backward  turn  himself,  and  looked  at  me ; 

Then  said  :  -"  He  listeneth  well  who  noteth  it." 
Nor  speaking  less  on  that  account,  I  go  »<» 

With  Ser  Brunetto,  and  I  ask  who  are 

His  most  known  and  most  eminent  companions. 
And  he  to  me  :  "  To  know  of  some  is  well ; 

Of  others  it  were  laudable  to  be  silent, 

For  short  would  be  the  time  for  so  much  speech.  105 

Know  then,  in  sum,  that  all  of  them  were  clerks, 

And  men  of  letters  great  and  of  great  fame, 

In  the  world  tainted  with  the  selfsame  sin. 
Priscian  goes  yonder  with  that  wretched  crowd, 

And  Francis  of  Accorso  ;  and  thou  hadst  seen  there,        no 

If  thou  hadst  had  a  hankering  for  such  scurf. 
That  one,  who  by  the  Servant  of  the  Servants 

From  Arno  was  transferred  to  Bacchiglione, 

Where  he  has  left  his  sin-excited  nerves. 
More  would  I  say,  but  coming  and  discoursing  ns 

Can  be  no  longer ;  for  that  I  behold 

New  smoke  uprising  yonder  from  the  sand. 
A  people  comes  with  whom  I  may  not  be ; 

Commended  unto  thee  be  my  Tesoro, 

In  which  I  still  live,  and  no  more  I  ask."  t» 

Then  he  turned  round,  and  seemed  to  be  of  those 

Who  at  Verona  run  for  the  Green  Mantle 

Across  the  plain  ;  and  seemed  to  be  among  them 
The  one  who  wins,  and  not  the  one  who  loses. 


50  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


\ 


CANTO   XVI. 

Now  was  I  where  was  heard  the  reverberation 
Of  water  falling  into  the  next  round, 
Like  to  that  humming  which  the  beehives  make. 

When  shadows  three  together  started  forth, 
Running,  from  out  a  company  that  passed 
Beneath  the  rain  of  the  sharp  martyrdom. 

Towards  us  came  they,  and  each  one  cried  out : 

"  Stop,  thou ;  for  by  thy  garb  to  us  thou  seem6st 
To  be  some  one  of  our  depraved  city." 

Ah  me  !  what  wounds  I  saw  upon  their  limbs, 
Recent  and  ancient  by  the  flames  burnt  in  ! 
It  pains  me  still  but  to  remember  it. 

Unto  their  cries  my  Teacher  paused  attentive ; 

He  turned  his  face  towards  me,  and  "  Now  wait," 
He  said ;  "  to  these  we  should  be  courteous. 

And  if  it  were  not  for  the  fire  that  darts 
The  nature  of  this  region,  I  should  say 
That  haste  were  more  becoming  thee  than  them." 

As  soon  as  we  stood  still,  they  recommenced 

The  old  refrain,  and  when  they  overtook  us, 
Formed  of  themselves  a  wheel,  all  three  of  them. 

As  champions  stripped  and  oiled  are  wont  to  do, 
Watching  for  their  advantage  and  their  hold, 
Before  they  come  to  blows  and  thrusts  between  them, 

Thus,  wheeling  round,  did  every  one  his  visage 
Direct  to  me,  so  that  in  opposite  wise 
His  neck  and  feet  continual  journey  made. 

And,  "  If  the  misery  of  this  soft  place 

Bring  in  disdain  ourselves  and  our  entreaties," 
Began  one,  "and  our  aspect  black  and  blistered, 

Let  the  renown  of  us  thy  mind  incline 

To  tell  us  who  thou  art,  who  thus  securely 
Thy  living  feet  dost  move  along  through  Hell. 

He  in  whose  footprints  thou  dost  see  me  treading, 
Naked  and  skinless  though  he  now  may  go, 
Was  of  a  greater  rank  than  thou  dost  think ; 

He  was  the  grandson  of  the  good  Gualdrada ; 
His  name  was  Guidoguerra,  and  in  life 
Much  did  he  with  his  wisdom  and  his  sword. 


INFERNO,   XVI.  51 


The  other,  who  close  by  me  treads  the  sand,  40 

Tegghiaio  Aldobrandi  is,  whose  fame 

Above  there  in  the  world  should  welcome  be. 
And  I,  who  with  them  on  the  cross  am  placed, 

Jacopo  Rusticucci  was ;  and  truly 

My  savage  wife,  more  than  aught  else,  doth  harm  me."    4S 
Could  I  have  been  protected  from  the  fire, 

Below  I  should  have  thrown  myself  among  them, 

And  think  the  Teacher  would  have  suffered  it ; 
But  as  I  should  have  burned  and  baked  myself, 

My  terror  overmastered  my  good  will,  5° 

Which  made  me  greedy  of  embracing  them. 
Then  I  began  :  "  Sorrow  and  not  disdain 

Did  your  condition  fix  within  me  so. 

That  tardily  it  wholly  is  stripped  off. 
As  soon  as  this  my  Lord  said  unto  me  S3 

Words,  on  account  of  which  I  thought  within  me 

That  people  such  as  you  are  were  approaching. 
I  of  your  city  am ;  and  evermore 

Your  labours  and  your  honourable  names 

I  with  affection  have  retraced  and  heard.  60 

I  leave  the  gall,  and  go  for  the  sweet  fruits 

Promised  to  me  by  the  veracious  Leader; 

But  to  the  centre  first  I  needs  must  plunge." 
"  So  may  the  soul  for  a  long  while  conduct 

Those  limbs  of  thine,"  did  he  make  answer  then,  65 

"  And  so  may  thy  renown  shine  after  thee, 
Valour  and  courtesy,  say  if  they  dwell 

Within  our  city,  as  they  used  to  do. 

Or  if  they  wtloUy  have  gone  out  of  it ; 
For  Guglielmo  Borsier,  who  is  in  torment  70 

With  us  of  late,  and  goes  there  with  his  comrades, 

Doth  greatly  mortify  us  with  his  words." 
''  The  new  inhabitants  and  the  sudden  gains. 

Pride  and  extravagance  have  in  thee  engendered, 

Florence,  so  that  thou  weep'st  thereat  already  ! "  n 

In  this  wise  I  exclaimed  with  face  uplifted ; 

And  the  three,  takmg  that  for  my  reply. 

Looked  at  each  other,  as  one  looks  at  truth. 
*'  If  other  times  so  little  it  doth  cost  thee," 

Replied  they  all,  "  to  satisfy  another,  80 

Happy  art  thou,  thus  speaking  at  thy  will ! 
Therefore,  if  thou  escape  from  these  dark  places. 

And  come  to  rebehold  the  beauteous  stars. 

When  it  shall  pleasure  thee  to  say,  *  I  was,' 

E  2 


52  THE   DIVINE   COMEDY. 

See  that  thou  speak  of  us  unto  the  people."  85 

Then  they  broke  up  the  wheel,  and  in  their  flight 

It  seemed  as  if  their  agile  legs  were  wings. 
Not  an  Amen  could  possibly  be  said 

So  rapidly  as  they  had  disappeared  ; 

Wherefore  the  Master  deemed  best  to  depart  9° 

I  followed  him,  and  little  had  we  gone, 

Before  the  sound  of  water  was  so  near  us, 

That  speaking  we  should  hardly  have  been  heard. 
Even  as  that  stream  which  holdeth  its  own  course 

The  first  from  Monte  Veso  tow'rds  the  East,  9s 

Upon  the  left-hand  slope  of  Apennine, 
Which  is  above  called  Acquacheta,  ere 

It  down  descendeth  into  its  low  bed, 

And  at  Forli  is  vacant  of  that  name. 
Reverberates  there  above  San  Benedetto  100 

From  Alps,  by  falling  at  a  single  leap, 

Where  for  a  thousand  there  were  room  enough ; 
Thus  downward  from  a  bank  precipitate, 

We  found  resounding  that  dark-tinted  water. 

So  that  it  soon  the  ear  would  have  offended.  lo^ 

I  had  a  cord  around  about  me  girt. 

And  therewithal  I  whilom  had  designed 

To  take  the  panther  with  the  painted  skin. 
After  I  this  had  all  from  me  unloosed. 

As  my  Conductor  had  commanded  me,  "o 

I  reached  it  to  him,  gathered  up  and  coiled, 
Whereat  he  turned  himself  to  the  right  side, 

And  at  a  little  distance  from  the  verge. 

He  cast  it  down  into  that  deep  abyss. 
"  It  must  needs  be  some  novelty  respond,"  "S 

I  said  within  myself,  "  to  the  new  signal 

The  Master  with  his  eye  is  following  so." 
Ah  me  !  how  very  cautious  men  should  be 

With  those  who  not  alone  behold  the  act, 

But  with  their  wisdom  look  into  the  thoughts  !  iw 

He  said  to  me  :  "  Soon  there  will  upward  come 

What  I  await ;  and  what  thy  thought  is  dreaming 

Must  soon  reveal  itself  unto  thy  sight." 
Aye  to  that  truth  which  has  the  face  of  falsehood, 

A  man  should  close  his  lips  as  far  as  may  be,  »2S 

Because  without  his  fault  it  causes  shame  ; 
But  here  I  cannot ;  and,  Reader,  by  the  notes         ^ 

Of  this  my  Comedy  to  thee  I  swear, 

So  may  they  not  be  void  of  lasting  favour, 


INFERNO,   XVIT.  53 


Athwart  that  dense  and  darksome  atmosphere  »3<» 

I  saw  a  figure  swimming  upward  come. 

Marvellous  unto  every  steadfast  heart, 
Even  as  he  returns  who  goeth  down 

Sometimes  to  clear  an  anchor,  which  has  grappled 

Reef,  or  aught  else  that  in  the  sea  is  hidden,  135 

Who  upward  stretches,  and  draws  in  his  feet. 


CANTO   XVII. 

"  Behold  the  monster  with  the  pointed  tail, 

Who  cleaves  the  hills,  and  breaketh  walls  and  weapons, 

Behold  him  who  infecteth  all  the  world." 
Thus  unto  me  my"  Guide  began  to  say, 

And  beckoned  him  that  he  should  come  to  shore, 

Near  to  the  confine  of  the  trodden  marble  ; 
And  that  uncleanly  image  of  deceit 

Came  up  and  thrust  ashore  its  head  and  bust, 

But  on  the  border  did  not  drag  its  tail. 
The  face  was  as  the  face  of  a  just  man, 

Its  semblance  outwardly  was  so  benign. 

And  of  a  serpent  all  the  trunk  beside. 
Two  paws  it  had,  hairy  unto  the  armpits  ; 

The  back,  and  breast,  and  both  the  sides  it  had 

Depicted  o'er  with  nooses  and  with  shields. 
With  colours  more,  groundwork  or  broidery 

Never  in  cloth  did  Tartars  make  nor  Turks, 

Nor  were  such  tissues  by  Arachne  laid. 
As  sometimes  wherries  lie  upon  the  shore, 

That  part  are  in  the  water,  part  on  land  ; 

And  as  among  the  guzzling  Germans  there, 
The  beaver  plants  himself  to  wage  his  war  ; 

So  that  vile  monster  lay  upon  the  border. 

Which  is  of  stone,  and  shutteth  in  the  sand. 
His  tail  was  wholly  quivering  in  the  void. 

Contorting  upwards  the  envenomed  fork, 

That  in  the  guise  of  scorpion  armed  its  point. 
The  Guide  said  :  "  Now  perforce  must  turn  aside 

Our  way  a  little,  even  to  that  beast 

Malevolent,  that  yonder  coucheth  him." 
We  therefore  on  the  right  side  descended. 

And  made  ten  s'teps  upon  the  outer  verge. 

Completely  to  avoid  the  sand  and  flame ; 


54  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

And  after  we  are  come  to  him,  I  see 

A  little  farther  off  upon  the  sand  35 

A  people  sitting  near  the  hollow  place. 
Then  said  to  me  the  Master  :  "  So  that  full 

Experience  of  this  round  thou  bear  away, 

Now  go  and  see  what  their  condition  is. 
There  let  thy  conversation  be  concise  ;  40 

Till  thou  returnest  I  will  speak  with  him, 

That  he  concede  to  us  his  stalwart  shoulders." 
Thus  farther  still  upon  the  outermost 

Head  of  that  seventh  circle  all  alone 

I  went,  where  sat  the  melancholy  folk.  4S 

Out  of  their  eyes  was  gushing  forth  their  woe  ; 

This  way,  that  way,  they  helped  them  with  their  hands 

Now  from  the  flames  and  now  from  the  hot  soil. 
Not  otherwise  in  summer  do  the  dogs, 

Now  with  the  foot,  now  with  the  muzzle,  when  5° 

By  fleas,  or  flies,  or  gadflies,  they  are  bitten. 
When  I  had  turned  mine  eyes  upon  the  faces 

Of  some,  on  whom  the  dolorous  fire  is  falling, 

Not  one  of  them  I  knew ;  but  I  perceived 
That  from  the  neck  of  each  there  hung  a  pouch,  ss 

Which  certain  colour  had,  and  certain  blazon ; 

And  thereupon  it  seems  their  eyes  are  feeding. 
And  as  I  gazing  round  me  come  among  them, 

Upon  a  yellow  pouch  I  azure  saw 

That  had  the  face  and  posture  of  a  lion.  60 

Proceeding  then  the  current  of  my  sight. 

Another  of  them  saw  I,  red  as  blood. 

Display  a  goose  more  white  than  butter  is. 
And  one,  who  with  an  azure  sow  and  gravid 

Emblazoned  had  his  litde  pouch  of  white,  65 

Said  unto  me  :  "  What  dost  thou  in  this  moat  ? 
Now  get  thee  gone  ;  and  since  thou'rt  still  alive. 

Know  that  a  neighbour  of  mine,  Vitaliano, 

Will  have  his  seat  here  on  my  left-hand  side. 
A  Paduan  am  I  with  these  Florentines  ;  7° 

Full  many  a  time  they  thunder  in  mine  ears, 

Exclaiming,  '  Come  the  sovereign  cavalier, 
He  who  shall  bring  the  satchel  with  three  goats  ;'  " 

Then  twisted  he  his  mouth,  and  forth  he  thrust 

His  tongue,  like  to  an  ox  that  licks  its  nose.  75 

And  fearing  lest  my  longer  stay  might  vex 

Him  who  had  warned  me  not  to  tarry  long. 

Backward  I  turned  me  from  those  weary  souls, 


INFERNO.    XVII.  55 

I  found  my  Guide,  who  had  already  mounted 

Upon  the  back  of  that  wild  animal,  80 

And  said  to  me  :  "  Now  be  both  strong  and  bold. 
Now  we  descend  by  stairways  such  as  these  ; 

Mount  thou  in  front,  for  I  will  be  midway, 

So  that  the  tail  may  have  no  power  to  harm  thee." 
Such  as  he  is  who  has  so  near  the  ague  8s 

Of  quartan  that  his  nails  are  blue  already, 

And  trembles  all,  but  looking  at  the  shade ; 
Even  such  became  I  at  those  proffered  words ; 

But  shame  in  me  his  menaces  produced. 

Which  maketh  servant  strong  before  good  master.  9« 

I  seated  me  upon  those  monstrous  shoulders ; 

I  wished  to  say,  and  yet  the  voice  came  not 

As  I  believed,  "  Take  heed  that  thou  embrace  me." 
But  he,  who  other  times  had  rescued  me 

In  other  peril,  soon  as  I  had  mounted,  95 

Within  his  arms  encircled  and  sustained  me, 
And  said  :  ''  Now,  Geryon,  bestir  thyself; 

The  circles  large,  and  the  descent  be  little  ; 

Think  of  the  novel  burden  which  thou  hast." 
Even  as  the  little  vessel  shoves  from  shore,  100 

Backward,  still  backward,  so  he  thence  withdrew; 

And  when  he  wholly  felt  himself  afloat, 
There  where  his  breast  had  been  he  turned  his  tail. 

And  that  extended  like  an  eel  he  moved. 

And  with  his  paws  drew  to  himself  the  air.  105 

A  greater  fear  I  do  not  think  there  was 

What  time  abandoned  Phaeton  the  reins, 

Whereby  the  heavens,  as  still  appears,  were  scorched  \ 
Nor  when  the  wretched  Icarus  his  flanks 

Felt  stripped  of  feathers  by  the  melting  wax,  no 

His  father  crying,  "An  ill  way  thou  takest !  " 
Than  was  my  own,  when  I  perceived  myself 

On  all  sides  in  the  air,  and  saw  extinguished 

The  sight  of  everything  but  of  the  monster. 
Onward  he  goeth,  swimming  slowly,  slowly ;  ns 

Wheels  and  descends,  but  I  perceive  it  only 

By  wind  upon  my  face  and  from  below. 
I  heard  already  on  the  right  the  whirlpool 

Making  a  horrible  crashing  under  us ; 

Whence  I  thrust  out  my  head  with  eyes  cast  downward.    120 
Then  was  I  still  more  fearful  of  the  abyss ; 

Because  I  fires  beheld,  and  heard  laments. 

Whereat  I,  trembling,  all  the  closer  cling. 


$ft  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

I  saw  then,  for  before  I  had  not  seen  it, 

The  turning  and  descending,  by  great  liorrors  125 

That  were  approaching  upon  divers  sides. 

As  falcon  who  has  long  been  on  the  wing. 
Who,  without  seeing  either  lure  or  bird, 
Maketh  the  falconer  say,  "  Ah  me,  thou  stoopest," 

Descendeth  weary,  whence  he  started  swiftly,  13c 

Thorough  a  hundred  circles,  and  alights 
Far  from  his  master,  sullen  and  disdainful ; 

Even  thus  did  Geryon  place  us  on  the  bottom, 
Close  to  the  bases  of  the  rough-hewn  rock, 
And  being  disencumbered  of  our  persons,  135 

He  sped  away  as  arrow  from  the  string. 


CANTO   XVIII. 

There  is  a  place  in  Hell  called  Malebolge, 
Wholly  of  stone  and  of  an  iron  colour, 
As  is  the  circle  that  around  it  turns. 

Right  in  the  middle  of  the  field  malign 

There  yawns  a  well  exceeding  wide  and  deep, 
Of  which  its  place  the  structure  will  recount. 

Round,  then,  is  that  enclosuie  which  remains 

Between  the  well  and  foot  of  the  high,  hard  bank, 
And  has  distinct  in  valleys  ten  its  bottom. 

As  where  for  the  protection  of  the  walls 

Many  and  many  moats  surround  the  castles, 
The  part  in  which  they  are  a  figure  forms. 

Just  such  an  image  those  presented  there  ; 

And  as  about  such  strongholds  from  their  gates 
Unto  the  outer  bank  are  little  bridges. 

So  from  the  precipice's  base  did  crags 

Project,  which  intersected  dikes  and  moats, 
Unto  the  well  that  truncates  and  collects  them. 

Within  this  place,  down  shaken  from  the  back 
Of  Geryon,  we  found  us;  and  the  Poet 
Held  to  the  left,  and  I  moved  on  behind. 

Upon  my  right  hand  I  beheld  new  anguish. 

New  torments,  and  new  wielders  of  the  lash. 
Wherewith  the  foremost  Bolgia  was  replete. 

Down  at  the  bottom  were  the  sinners  naked ; 
This  side  the  middle  came  they  facing  us. 
Beyond  it,  with  us,  but  with  greater  steps ; 


INFERNO.    XVriL  57 


Even  as  the  Romans,  for  the  mighty  host, 

The  year  of  Jubilee,  upon  the  bridge, 

Have  chosen  a  mode  to  pass  the  people  over ;  30 

For  all  upon  one  side  towards  the  Castle  .   a 

Their  faces  have,  and  go  unto  St.  Peter's  ;  ^"\     j^ 

On  the  other  side  they  go  towards  the  Mountain.     '^\J'^^^^^ 
This  side  and  that,  along  the  livid  stone 

Beheld  I  horned  demons  with  great  scourges,  3.' 

Who  cruelly  were  beating  them  behind. 
Ah  me  !  how  they  did  make  them  lift  their  legs 

At  the  first  blows  !  and  sooth  not  any  one 

The  second  waited  for,  nor  for  the  third. 
While  I  was  going  on,  mine  eyes  by  one  4° 

Encountered  were  ;  and  straight  I  said  :  "  Already 

With  sight  of  this  one  I  am  not  unfed." 
Therefore  I  stayed  my  feet  to  make  him  out, 

And  with  me  the  sweet  Guide  came  to  a  stand. 

And  to  my  going  somewhat  back  assented  ;  4S 

And  he,  the  scourged  one.  thought  to  hide  himself, 

Lowering  his  face,  but  litde  it  availed  him  ; 

For  said  I :  "Thou  that  castest  down  thine  eyes, 
If  false  are  not  the  features  which  thou  bearest. 

Thou  art  Venedico  Caccianimico ;  so 

But  what  doth  bring  thee  to  such  pungent  sauces  ?  " 
And  he  to  me  :  "  Unwillingly  I  tell  it ; 

But  forces  me  thine  utterance  distinct. 

Which  makes  me  recollect  the  ancient  world. 
I  was  the  one  who  the  fair  Ghisola  '  «:5 

Induced  to  grant  the  wishes  of  the  Marquis, 

Howe'er  the  shameless  story  may  be  told. 
Not  the  sole  Bolognese  am  I  who  weeps  here ; 

Nay,  rather  is  this  place  so  full  of  them. 

That  not  so  many  tongues  to-day  are  taught  60 

'Twixt  Reno  and  Savena  to  say  sipa  ; 

And  if  thereof  thou  wish  est  pledge  or  proof, 

Bring  to  thy  mind  our  avaricious  heart." 
While  speaking  in  this  manner,  with  his  scourge 

A  demon  smote  him,  and  said  :  "  Get  thee  gone,  *>i 

Pander,  there  are  no  women  here  for  coin." 
I  joined  myself  again  unto  mine  Escort ; 

Thereafterward  with  footsteps  few  we  came 

To  where  a  crag  projected  from  the  bank. 
This  very  easily  did  we  ascend,  70 

And  turning  to  the  right  along  its  ridge. 

From  those  eternal  circles  we  departed. 


S8  THE  DIVINE    COMEDY. 


When  we  were  there,  where  it  is  hollowed  out 

Beneath,  to  give  a  passage  to  the  scourged. 

The  Guide  said  :  "  Wait,  and  see  that  on  thee  strike  75 

The  vision  of  those  others  evil-born, 

Of  whom  thou  hast  not  yet  beheld  the  faces, 

Because  together  with  us  they  have  gone." 
From  the  old  bridge  we  looked  upon  the  train 

Which  tow'rds  us  came  upon  the  other  border,  80 

And  which  the  scourges  in  like  manner  smite. 
And  the  good  Master,  without  my  inquiring, 

Said  to  me :  "  See  that  tall  one  who  is  coming, 

And  for  his  pain  seems  not  to  shed  a  tear ; 
Still  what  a  royal  aspect  he  retains  !  8s 

That  Jason  is,  who  by  his  heart  and  cunning 

The  Colchians  of  the  Ram  made  destitute. 
He  by  the  isle  of  Lemnos  passed  along 

After  the  daring  women  pitiless 

Had  unto  death  devoted  all  their  males.  90 

There  with  his  tokens  and  with  ornate  words 

Did  he  deceive  Hypsipyle,  the  maiden 

Who  first,  herself,  had  all  the  rest  deceived. 
There  did  he  leave  her  pregnant  and  forlorn ; 

Such  sin  unto  such  punishment  condemns  him,  95 

And  also  for  Medea  is  vengeance  done. 
With  him  go  those  who  in  such  wise  deceive ; 

And  this  sufficient  be  of  the  first  valley 

To  know,  and  those  that  in  its  jaws  it  holds." 
We  were  already  where  the  narrow  path  100 

Crosses  athwart  the  second  dike,  and  forms 

Of  that  a  buttress  for  another  arch. 
Thence  we  heard  people,  who  are  making  moan 

In  the  next  Bolgia,  snorting  with  their  muzzles, 

And  with  their  palms  beating  upon  themselves  105 

The  margins  were  incrusted  with  a  mould 

By  exhalation  from  below,  that  sticks  there, 

And  with  the  eyes  and  nostrils  wages  war. 
The  bottom  is  so  deep,  no  place  suffices 

To  give  us  sight  of  it,  without  ascending  "o 

The  arch's  back,  where  most  the  crag  impends. 
Thither  we  came,  and  thence  down  in  the  moat 

I  saw  a  people  smothered  in  a  filth 

That  out  of  human  privies  seemed  to  flow ; 
And  whilst  below  there  with  mine  eye  I  search,  "s 

I  saw  one  with  his  head  so  foul  with  ordure. 

It  was  not  clear  if  he  were  clerk  or  laymaru 


INFERNO,   XIX.  59 


He  screamed  to  me  :  *'  Wherefore  art  thou  so  eager 
To  look  at  me  more  than  the  other  foul  ones  ?" 
And  I  to  him  :  "  Because,  if  I  remember,  lao 

I  have  already  seen  thee  with  dry  hair, 

And  thou'rt  Alessio  Interminei  of  Lucca  ; 
Therefore  I  eye  thee  more  than  all  the  others." 

And  he  thereon,  belabouring  his  pumpkin : 

"  The  flatteries  have  submerged  me  here  below,  tas 

Wherewith  my  tongue  was  never  surfeited." 

Then  said  to  me  the  Guide  :  "See  that  thou  thrust 
Thy  visage  somewhat  farther  in  advance, 
That  with  thine  eyes  thou  well  the  face  attain 

Of  that  uncleanly  and  dishevelled  drab,  i3«» 

Who  there  doth  scratch  herself  with  filthy  nails. 
And  crouches  now,  and  now  on  foot  is  standing. 

Thais  the  harlot  is  it,  who  replied 

Unto  her  paramour,  when  he  said,  *  Have  I 

Great  gratitude  from  thee  ?' — '  Nay,  marvellous  ;'  13s 

And  herewith  let  our  sight  be  satisfied." 


CANTO  XIX. 

0  Simon  Magus,  O  forlorn  disciples, 

Ye  who  the  things  of  God,  which  ought  to  be 
The  brides  of  holiness,  rapaciously 

For  silver  and  for  gold  do  prostitute, 

Now  it  behoves  for  you  the  trumpet  sound, 
Because  in  this  third  Bolgia  ye  abide. 

We  had  already  on  the  following  tomb 
Ascended  to  that  portion  of  the  crag 
Which  o'er  the  middle  of  the  moat  hangs  plumb. 

Wisdom  supreme,  O  how  great  art  thou  showest 
In  heaven,  in  earth,  and  in  the  evil  world, 
And  with  what  justice  doth  thy  power  distribute  ! 

1  saw  upon  the  sides  and  on  the  bottom 

The  livid  stone  with  perforations  filled. 
All  of  one  size,  and  every  one  was  round. 

To  me  less  ample  seemed  they  not,  nor  greater 
Than  those  that  in  my  beautiful  Saint  John 
Are  fashioned  for  the  place  of  the  baptisers, 

And  one  of  which,  not  many  years  ago, 

I  broke  for  some  one,  who  was  drowning  in  it ; 
Be  this  a  seal  all  men  to  undeceive. 


6o  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Out  of  the  mouth  of  each  one  there  protruded 
The  feet  of  a  transgressor,  and  the  legs 
Up  to  the  calf,  the  rest  within  remained. 

In  all  of  them  the  soles  were  both  on  fire  ;  95 

Wherefore  the  joints  so  violently  quivered, 
They  would  have  snapped  asunder  withes  and  bands. 

Even  as  the  flame  of  unctuous  things  is  wont 
To  move  upon  the  outer  surface  only, 
So  likewise  was  it  there  from  heel  to  point.  30 

"  Master,  who  is  that  one  who  writhes  himself. 
More  than  his  other  comrades  quivering," 
I  said,  "  and  whom  a  redder  flame  is  sucking  ?" 

And  he  to  me  :  "  If  thou  wilt  have  me  bear  thee 

Down  there  along  that  bank  which  lowest  lies,  ss 

From  him  thou'It  know  his  errors  and  himself" 

And  I :  "  What  pleases  thee,  to  me  is  pleasing  ; 

Thou  art  my  Lord,  and  knowest  that  I  depart  not 
From  thy  desire,  and  knowest  what  is  not  spoken." 

Straightway  upon  the  fourth  dike  we  arrived  ;  40 

We  turned,  and  on  the  left-hand  side  descended 
Down  to  the  bottom  full  of  holes  and  narrow. 

And  the  good  Master  yet  from  off  his  haunch 

Deposed  me  not,  till  to  the  hole  he  brought  me 

Of  him  who  so  lamented  with  his  shanks.  4S 

*'  Whoe'er  thou  art,  that  standest  upside  down, 
O  doleful  soul,  implanted  like  a  stake," 
To  say  began  I,  "  if  thou  canst,  speak  out." 

1  stood  even  as  the  friar  who  is  confessing 

The  false  assassin,  who,  when  he  is  fixed,  50 

Recalls  him,  so  that  death  may  be  delayed. 

And  he  cried  out :  "  Dost  thou  stand  there  already, 
Dost  thou  stand  there  already,  Boniface  ? 
By  many  years  the  record  lied  to  me. 

Art  thou  so  early  satiate  with  that  wealth,  ss 

For  which  thou  didst  not  fear  to  take  by  fraud 
The  beautiful  Lady,  and  then  work  her  woe  ?" 

Such  I  became,  as  people  are  who  stand. 

Not  comprehending  what  is  answered  them, 

As  if  bemocked,  and  know  not  how  to  answer.  6» 

Then  said  Virgilius  :  "  Say  to  him  straightway, 
'  I  am  not  he,  I  am  not  he  thou  thinkest.'  " 
And  I  replied  as  was  imposed  on  me. 

Whereat  the  spirit  writhed  with  both  his  feet,  v 

Then,  sighing,  with  a  voice  of  lamentation  4 

Said  to  me  :  "  Then  what  wantest  thou  of  me  ? 


INFERNO,   XIX.  6 1 

If  who  I  am  thou  carest  so  much  to  know, 

That  thou  on  that  account  hast  crossed  the  bank, 

Know  that  I  vested  was  with  the  great  mantle ; 
And  truly  was  I  son  of  the  She-bear,  7» 

So  eager  to  advance  the  cubs,  that  wealth 

Above,  and  here  myself,  I  pocketed. 
Beneath  my  head  the  others  are  dragged  down 

Who  have  preceded  me  in  simony, 

Flattened  along  the  fissure  of  the  rock.  •» 

Below  there  I  shall  likewise  fall,  whenever 

That  one  shall  come  who  I  believed  thou  wast. 

What  time  the  sudden  question  J  proposed. 
But  longer  I  my  feet  already  toast, 

And  here  have  been  in  this  way  upside  down,  fc 

Than  he  will  planted  stay  with  reddened  feet ; 
For  after  him  shall  come  of  fouler  deed 

From  tow'rds  the  west  a  Pastor  without  law. 

Such  as  befits  to  cover  him  and  me. 
New  Jason  will  he  be,  of  whom  we  read  s^ 

In  Maccabees ;  and  as  his  king  was  pliant. 

So  he  who  governs  France  shall  be  to  this  one." 
I  do  not  know  if  I  were  here  too  bold, 

That  him  I  answered  only  in  this  metre : 

"  I  pray  thee  tell  me  now  how  great  a  treasure  «9« 

Our  Lord  demanded  of  Saint  Peter  first, 

Before  he  put  the  keys  into  his  keeping  ? 

Truly  he  nothing  asked  but  '  Follow  me.' 
Nor  Peter  nor  the  rest  asked  of  Matthias 

Silver  or  gold,  when  he  by  lot  was  chosen  «5 

Unto  the  place  the  guilty  soul  had  lost. 
Therefore  stay  here,  for  thou  art  justly  punished, 

And  keep  safe  guard  o'er  the  ill-gotten  money, 

Which  caused  thee  to  be  valiant  against  Charles. 
And  were  it  not  that  still  forbids  it  me  a«» 

The  reverence  for  the  keys  superlative 

Thou  hadst  in  keeping  in  the  gladsome  life, 
I  would  make  use  of  words  more  grievous  still ; 

Because  your  avarice  afflicts  the  world, 

Trampling  the  good  and  lifting  the  depraved.  «<« 

The  Evangelist  you  Pastors  had  in  mind, 

When  she  who  sitteth  upon  many  waters 

To  fornicate  with  kings  by  him  was  seen  ; 
The  same  who  with  the  seven  heads  was  bom, 

And  power  and  strength  from  the  ten  horns  received,        «« 

So  long  as  virtue  to  her  spouse  was  pleasing. 


62  THE  DIVINE  COMED  Y. 

Ye  have  made  yourselves  a  god  of  gold  and  silver ; 
And  from  the  idolater  how  differ  ye, 
Save  that  he  one,  and  ye  a  hundred  worship? 

Ah,  Constantine  !  of  how  much  ill  was  mother,  115 

Not  thy  conversion,  but  that  marriage  dower 
Which  the  first  wealthy  Father  took  from  thee  ! " 

And  while  I  sang  to  him  such  notes  as  these. 

Either  that  anger  or  that  conscience  stung  him, 

He  struggled  violently  with  both  his  feet.  xao 

I  think  in  sooth  that  it  my  Leader  pleased, 
With  such  contented  hp  he  Hstened  ever 
*  Unto  the  sound  of  the  true  words  expressed. 

Therefore  with  both  his  arms  he  took  me  up. 

And  when  he  had  me  all  upon  his  breast,  «« 

Remounted  by  the  way  where  he  descended. 

Nor  did  he  tire  to  have  me  clasped  to  him ; 
But  bore  me  to  the  summit  of  the  arch 
Which  from  the  fourth  dike  to  the  fifth  is  passage. 

There  tenderly  he  laid  his  burden  down,  130 

Tenderly  on  the  crag  uneven  and  steep. 
That  would  have  been  hard  passage  for  the  goats  : 

Thence  was  unveiled  to  me  another  valley. 


CANTO   XX. 

Of  a  new  pain  behoves  me  to  make  verses 
And  give  material  to  the  twentieth  canto 
Of  the  first  song,  which  is  of  the  submerged. 

I  was  already  thoroughly  disposed 

To  peer  down  into  the  uncovered  depth. 
Which  bathed  itself  with  tears  of  agony ; 

And  people  saw  I  through  the  circular  valley, 
Silent  and  weeping,  coming  at  the  pace 
Which  in  this  world  the  Litanies  assume. 

As  lower  down  my  sight  descended  on  them, 

Wondrously  each  one  seemed  to  be  distorted 
From  chin  to  the  beginning  of  the  chest ; 

For  tow  rds  the  reins  the  countenance  was  turned, 
And  backward  it  behoved  them  to  advance, 
As  to  look  forward  had  been  taken  from  them. 

Perchance  indeed  by  violence  of  palsy 

Some  one  has  been  thus  wholly  turned  awry ; 
But  I  ne'er  saw  it,  nor  believe  it  can  be. 


INFERNO,  XX.  63 

As  God  may  let  thee,  Reader,  gather  fruit 

From  this  thy  reading,  think  now  for  thyself  20 

How  I  could  ever  keep  my  face  unmoistened, 
When  our  own  image  near  me  I  beheld 

Distorted  so,  the  weeping  of  the  eyes 

Along  the  fissure  bathed  the  hinder  parts. 
Truly  I  wept,  leaning  upon  a  peak  25 

Of  the  hard  crag,  so  that  my  Escort  said 

To  me  :  "  Art  thou,  too,  of  the  other  fools  ? 
Here  pity  lives  when  it  is  wholly  dead  ; 

Who  is  a  greater  reprobate  than  he 

Who  feels  compassion  at  the  doom  divine  ?  33 

Lift  up,  lift  up  thy  head,  and  see  for  whom 

Opened  the  earth  before  the  Thebans'  eyes ; 

Wherefore  they  all  cried  :  '  Whither  rushest  thou, 
Amphiaraus  ?     Why  dost  leave  the  war  ? ' 

And  downward  ceased  he  not  to  fall  amain  3s 

As  far  as  Minos,  who  lays  hold  on  all. 
See,  he  has  made  a  bosom  of  his  shoulders ! 

Because  he  wished  to  see  too  far  before  him 

Behind  he  looks,  and  backward  goes  his  way : 
Behold  Tiresias,  who  his  semblance  changed,  40 

When  from  a  male  a  female  he  became, 

His  members  being  all  of  them  transformed  ; 
And  afterwards  was  forced  to  strike  once  more 

The  two  entangled  serpents  with  his  rod. 

Ere  he  could  have  again  his  manly  plumes.  45 

That  Aruns  is,  who  backs  the  other's  belly. 

Who  in  the  hills  of  Luni,  there  where  grubs 

The  Carrarese  who  houses  underneath, 
Among  the  marbles  white  a  cavern  had 

For  his  abode ;  whence  to  behold  the  stars  50 

And  sea,  the  view  was  not  cut  off  from  him. 
And  she  there,  who  is  covering  up  her  breasts, 

Which  thou  beholdest  not,  with  loosened  tresses, 

And  on  that  side  has  all  the  hairy  skin. 
Was  Manto,  who  made  quest  through  many  lands,  55 

Afterwards  tarried  there  where  I  was  born ; 

Whereof  I  would  thou  list  to  me  a  little. 
After  her  father  had  from  life  departed. 

And  the  city  of  Bacchus  had  become  enslaved. 

She  a  long  season  wandered  through  the  world.  «<» 

Above  in  beauteous  Italy  lies  a  lake 

At  the  Alp's  foot  that  shuts  in  Germany 

Over  Tyrol,  and  has  the  name  Benaco. 


64  'J'JiE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


By  a  thousand  springs,  I  think,  and  more,  is  bathed, 

'Twixt  Garda  and  Val  Camonica,  Pennino,  6s 

With  water  that  grows  stagnant  in  that  lake. 
Midway  a  place  is  where  the  Trentine  Pastor, 

And  he  of  Brescia,  and  the  Veronese 

Might  give  his  blessing,  if  he  passed  that  way. 
Sitteth  Peschiera,  fortress  fair  and  strong,  79 

To  front  the  Brescians  and  the  Bergamasks, 

Where  round  about  the  bank  descendeth  lowest. 
There  of  necessity  must  fall  whatever 

In  bosom  of  Benaco  cannot  stay, 

And  grows  a  river  down  through  verdant  pastures.  75 

Soon  as  the  water  doth  begin  to  run, 

No  more  Benaco  is  it  called,  but  Mincio, 

Far  as  Governo,  where  it  falls  in  Po. 
Not  far  it  runs  before  it  finds  a  plain 

In  which  it  spreads  itself,  and  makes  it  marshy,  *> 

And  oft  'tis  wont  in  summer  to  be  sickly. 
Passing  that  way  the  virgin  pitiless 

Land  in  the  middle  of  the  fen  descried, 

Untilled  and  naked  of  inhabitants  ; 
There  to  escape  all  human  intercourse,  »5 

She  with  her  servants  stayed,  her  arts  to  practise 

And  lived,  and  left  her  empty  body  there. 
The  men,  thereafter,  who  were  scattered  round, 

Collected  in  that  place,  which  was  made  strong 

By  the  lagoon  it  had  on  every  side  ;  90 

They  built  their  city  over  those  dead  bones. 

And,  after  her  who  first  the  place  selected, 

Mantua  named  it,  without  other  omen. 
Its  people  once  within  more  crowded  were, 

Ere  the  stupidity  of  Casalodi  95 

From  Pinamonte  had  received  deceit. 
Therefore  I  caution  thee,  if  e'er  thou  hearest 

Originate  my  city  otherwise. 

No  falsehood  may  the  verity  defraud." 
And  I :  "  My  Master,  thy  discourses  are  «» 

To  me  so  certain,  and  so  take  m^  faith. 

That  unto  me  the  rest  would  be  spent  coals. 
But  tell  me  of  the  people  who  are  passing. 

If  any  one  note-worthy  thou  beholdest, 

For  only  unto  that  my  mind  reverts."  loj 

Then  said  he  to  me  :  "  He  who  from  the  cheek 

Thrusts  out  his  beard  upon  his  swarthy  shoulders 

Was,  at  the  time  when  Greece  was  void  of  males, 


INFERNO,  XXI.  6s 


So  that  there  scarce  remained  one  in  the  cradle, 

An  augur,  and  with  Calchas  gave  the  moment, 

In  Aulis,  when  to  sever  the  first  cable. 
Eryphylus  his  name  was,  and  so  sings 

My  lofty  Tragedy  in  some  part  or  other ; 

That  knowest  thou  well,  who  knowest  the  whole  of  it. 
The  next,  who  is  so  slender  in  the  flanks, 

Was  Michael  Scott,  who  of  a  verity 

Of  magical  illusions  knew  the  game. 
Behold  Guido  Bonatti,  behold  Asdente, 

Who  now  unto  his  leather  and  his  thread 

Would  fain  have  stuck,  but  he  too  late  repents. 
Behold  the  wretched  ones,  who  left  the  needle. 

The  spool  and  rock,  and  made  them  fortune-tellers  ; 

They  wrought  their  magic  spells  with  herb  and  image. 
But  come  now,  for  already  holds  the  confines 

Of  both  the  hemispheres,  and  under  Seville 

Touches  the  ocean-wave,  Cain  and  the  thorns, 
And  yesternight  the  moon  was  round  already ; 

Thou  shouldst  remember  well  it  d'd  not  harm  thee 

From  time  to  time  within  the  fore  it  deep." 
Thus  spake  he  to  me,  and  we  walked  the  while. 


CANTO   XXI. 

From  bridge  to  bridge  thus,  speaking  other  things 
Of  which  my  Comedy  cares  not  to  sing. 
We  came  along,  and  held  the  summit,  when 

We  halted  to  behold  another  fissure 

Of  Malebolge  and  other  vain  laments ; 
And  I  beheld  it  marvelloi'sly  dark. 

As  in  the  Arsenal  of  the  Venetians 

Boils  in  the  winter  the  tenacious  pitch 
To  smear  their  unsound  vessels  o'er  again, 

P'or  sail  they  cannot ;  and  instead  thereof 

One  makes  his  vessel  new,  and  one  recaulks 
The  ribs  of  that  which  many  a  voyage  has  made  ; 

One  hammers  at  the  prow,  one  at  the  stem. 

This  one  makes  oars,  and  that  one  cordage  twists, 
Another  mends  the  mainsail  and  the  mizzen ; 

Thus,  not  by  fire,  but  by  the  art  divine. 

Was  boiling  down  below  there  a  dense  pitch 
Which  upon  ever)'  side  the  bank  belimed. 


66  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


I  saw  it,  but  I  did  not  see  within  it 

Aught  but  the  bubbles  that  the  boiling  raised,  ■«> 

And  all  swell  up  and  resubside  compressed. 
The  while  below  there  fixedly  I  gazed, 

My  Leader,  crying  out :  "  Beware,  beware  :  " 

Drew  me  unto  himself  from  where  I  stood. 
Then  I  turned  round,  as  one  who  is  impatient  n 

To  see  what  it  behoves  him  to  escape. 

And  whom  a  sudden  terror  doth  unman, 
Who,  while  he  looks,  delays  not  his  departure  ; 

And  I  beheld  behind  us  a  black  devil. 

Running  along  upon  the  crag,  approach.  30 

Ah,  how  ferocious  was  he  in  his  aspect ! 

And  how  he  seemed  to  me  in  action  ruthless. 

With  open  wings  and  light  upon  his  feet  ! 
His  shoulders,  which  sharp-pointed  were  and  higli, 

A  sinner  did  encumber  with  both  haunches,  35 

And  he  held  clutched  the  sinews  of  the  feet. 
From  off  our  bridge,  he  said  :  "  O  Malebranche, 

Behold  one  of  the  elders  of  Saint  Zita  ; 

Plunge  him  beneath,  for  I  return  for  others 
Unto  that  town,  which  is  well  furnished  with  them,  40 

All  there  are  barrators,  except  Bonturo  ; 

No  into  Yes  for  money  there  is  changed." 
He  hurled  him  down,  and  over  the  hard  crag 

Turned  round,  and  never  was  a  mastiff  loosened 

In  so  much  hurry  to  pursue  a  thief  45 

The  other  sank,  and  rose  again  face  downward ; 

But  the  demons,  under  cover  of  the  bridge, 

Cried  :  "  Here  the  Santo  Volto  has  no  place  ! 
Here  swims  one  otherwise  than  in  the  Serchio  \ 

Therefore,  if  for  our  gaffs  thou  wishest  not,  50 

Do  not  uplift  thyself  above  the  pitch." 
They  seized  him  then  with  more  than  a  hundred  rakes  ; 

They  said  :  "  It  here  behoves  thee  to  dance  covered, 

That,  if  thou  canst,  thou  secretly  mayest  pilfer." 
Not  otherwise  the  cooks  their  scullions  make  55 

Immerse  into  the  middle  of  the  caldron 

The  meat  with  hooks,  so  that  it  may  not  float. 
Said  the  good  Master  to  me  :  "  That  it  be  not 

Apparent  thou  art  here,  crouch  thyself  down 

Behind  a  jag,  that  thou  mayest  have  some  screen ;  6« 

And  for  no  outrage  that  is  done  to  me 

Be  thou  afraid,  because  these  things  I  know, 

For  once  before  was  I  in  such  a  scuffle." 


INFERNO,  XXI.  67 


Then  he  passed  on  beyond  the  bridge's  head, 

And  as  upon  the  sixth  bank  he  arrived,  65 

Need  was  for  him  to  have  a  steadfast  front. 
With  the  same  fury,  and  the  same  uproar. 

As  dogs  leap  out  upon  a  mendicant, 

Who  on  a  sudden  begs,  where'er  he  stops. 
They  issued  from  beneath  the  httle  bridge,  7* 

And  turned  against  him  all  their  grappling-irons ; 

But  he  cried  out :  "  Be  none  of  you  malignant ! 
Before  those  hooks  of  yours  lay  hold  of  me, 

Let  one  of  you  step  forward,  who  may  hear  me, 

And  then  take  counsel  as  to  grappling  me."  n 

They  all  cried  out :  "  Let  Malacoda  go  ;" 

Whereat  one  started,  and  the  rest  stood  still. 

And  he  came  to  him,  saying  :  "  What  avails  it  ?" 
"  Thinkest  thou,  Malacoda,  to  behold  me 

Advanced  into  this  place,"  my  Master  said,  80 

"  Safe  hitherto  from  all  your  skill  of  fence, 
Without  the  will  divine,  and  fate  auspicious  ? 

Let  me  go  on,  for  it  in  Heaven  is  willed 

That  I  another  show  this  savage  road." 
Then  was  his  arrogance  so  humbled  in  him,  8s 

That  he  let  fall  his  grapnel  at  his  feet, 

And  to  the  others  said  :  "  Now  strike  him  not." 
And  unto  me  my  Guide  :  "  O  thou,  who  sittest 

Among  the  splinters  of  the  bridge  crouched  down> 

Securely  now  return  to  me  again."  '  90 

Wherefore  I  started  and  came  swiftly  to  him  ; 

And  all  the  devils  forward  thrust  themselves, 

So  that  I  feared  they  would  not  keep  their  compact. 
And  thus  beheld  I  once  afraid  the  soldiers 

Who  issued  under  safeguard  from  Caprona,  95 

Seeing  themselves  among  so  many  foes. 
Close  did  I  press  myself  with  all  my  person 

Beside  my  Leader,  and  turned  not  mine  eyes 

From  off  their  countenance,  which  was  not  good. 
They  lowered  their  rakes,  and  "  Wilt  thou  have  me  hit  him,"  100 

They  said  to  one  another,  "  on  the  rump  ?" 

And  answered:  '*  Yes;  see  that  thou  nick  him  with  it." 
But  the  same  demon  who  was  holding  parley 

With  my  Conductor  turned  him  very  quickly, 

And  said  :  "  Be  quiet,  be  quiet,  Scarmiglione ;"  10$ 

Then  said  to  us  :  "  You  can  no  farther  go 

Forward  upon  this  crag,  because  is  lying 

All  shattered,  at  the  bottom,  the  sixth  arch. 

r  a 


68  :  HE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

And  if  it  still  doth  please  you  to  go  onward, 

Pursue  your  way  along  upon  this  rock  ; 

Near  is  another  crag  that  yields  a  path. 
Yesterday,  five  hours  later  than  this  hour, 

One  thousand  and  two  hundred  sixty-six 

Years  were  complete,  that  here  the  way  was  broken. 
I  send  in  that  direction  some  of  mine 

To  see  if  any  one  doth  air  himself ; 

Go  ye  with  them  ;  for  they  will  not  be  vicious. 
Step  forward,  Alichino  and  Calcabrina," 

Began  he  to  cry  out,  "  and  thou,  Cagnazzo ; 

And  Barbariccia,  do  thou  guide  the  ten. 
Come  forward,  Libicocco  and  Draghignazzo, 

And  tusked  Ciriatto  and  Graffiacane, 

And  Farfarello  and  mad  Rubicante ; 
Search  ye  all  round  about  the  boiling  pitch; 

Let  these  be  safe  as  far  as  the  next  crag. 

That  all  unbroken  passes  o'er  the  dens." 
*'  O  me  !  what  is  it,  Master,  that  I  see  ? 

Pray  let  us  go,"  I  said,  "  without  an  escort, 

If  thou  knowest  how,  since  for  myself  I  ask  none. 
If  thou  art  as  observant  as  thy  wont  is, 

Dost  thou  not  see  that  they  do  gnash  their  teeth, 

And  with  their  brows  are  threatening  woe  to  us?" 
And  he  to  me  :  "I  will  not  have  thee  fear  ; 

Let  them  gnash  on,  according  to  their  fancy, 
'  Because  they  do  it  for  those  boiling  wretches." 
Along  the  left-hand  dike  they  wheeled  about ; 

But  first  had  each  one  thrust  his  tongue  between 

His  teeth  towards  their  leader  for  a  signal ; 
And  he  had  made  a  trumpet  of  his  rump. 


CANTO  xxn. 

1  HAVE  erewhile  seen  horsemen  moving  camp, 
Begin  the  storming,  and  their  muster  make, 
And  sometimes  starting  off  for  their  escape  \ 

Vaunt-couriers  have  I  seen  upon  your  land, 
O  Aretines,  and  foragers  go  forth, 
Tournaments  stricken,  and  the  joustings  run. 

Sometimes  with  trumpets  and  sometimes  with  bells. 
With  kettle-drums,  and  signals  of  the  castles, 
And  with  our  own,  and  with  outlandish  things, 


INFERNO,  XXIT.  69 


But  never  yet  with  bagpipe  so  uncouth 

Did  I  see  horsemen  move,  nor  infantry, 
Nor  ship  by  any  sign  of  land  or  star. 

We  went  upon  our  way  with  the  ten  demons : 
Ah,  savage  company  !  but  in  the  church 
With  saints,  and  in  the  tavern  with  the  gluttons! 

Ever  upon  the  pitch  was  my  intent. 

To  see  the  whole  condition  of  that  Bolgia, 
And  of  the  people  who  therein  were  burned- 
Even  as  the  dolphins,  when  they  make  a  sign 
To  mariners  by  arching  of  the  back, 
That  they  should  counsel  take  to  save  their  vessel. 

Thus  sometimes,  to  alleviate  his  pain. 

One  of  the  sinners  would  display  his  back. 
And  in  less  time  conceal  it  than  it  lightens. 

As  on  the  brink  of  water  in  a  ditch 

The  frogs  stand  only  with  their  muzzles  out. 
So  that  they  hide  their  feet  and  other  bulk. 

So  upon  every  side  the  sinners  stood ; 

But  ever  as  Barbariccia  near  them  came, 
Thus  underneath  the  boiling  they  withdrew- 

I  saw,  and  still  my  heart  doth  shudder  at  it. 
One  waiting  thus,  even  as  it  comes  to  pass 
One  frog  remains,  and  down  another  dives; 

And  Graffiacan.  who  most  confronted  him. 

Grappled  him  by  his  tresses  smeared  with  pitch. 
And  drew  him  up,  so  that  he  seemed  an  otter. 

I  knew,  before,  the  names  of  all  of  them, 

So  had  I  noted  them  when  they  were  chosen. 
And  when  they  called  each  other,  listened  how. 

*'  O  Rubicante,  see  that  thou  do  lay 

Thy  claws  upon  him,  so  that  thou  mayst  flay  him," 
Cried  all  together  the  accursed  ones. 

And  I :  "  My  Master,  see  to  it,  if  thou  canst. 

That  thou  mayst  know  who  is  the  luckless  wight, 
Thus  come  into  his  adversaries'  liands." 

Near  to  the  side  of  him  my  Leader  drew. 

Asked  of  him  whence  he  was ;  and  he  repEed  : 
"  I  in  the  kingdom  of  Navarre  was  bom  ; 

My  mother  placed  me  servant  to  a  lord. 

For  she  had  borne  me  to  a  ribald  knave. 
Destroyer  of  himself  and  of  his  things. 

Then  I  domestic  was  of  good  King  Thibault ; 
I  set  me  there  to  practise  barratry, 
For  which  I  pay  the  reckoning  in  this  heat." 


70  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

And  Ciriatto,  from  whose  mouth  projected,  ss 

On  either  side,  a  tusk,  as  in  a  boar, 
Caused  him  to  feel  how  one  of  them  could  rip. 

Among  maHcious  cats  the  mouse  had  come ; 
But  Barbariccia  clasped  him  in  his  arms, 
And  said  :  "  Stand  ye  aside,  while  I  enfork  him."  6<j 

And  to  my  Master  he  turned  round  his  head; 

"  Ask  him  again,"  he  said,  "  if  more  thou  wish 
To  know  from  him,  before  some  one  destroy  him." 

The  Guide  :  "  Now  tell  then  of  the  other  culprits  ; 

Knowest  thou  any  one  who  is  a  Latian,  65 

Under  the  pitch  ?"     And  he  :  "I  separated 

Lately  from  one  who  was  a  neighbour  to  it ; 

Would  that  I  still  were  covered  up  with  him, 
For  I  should  fear  not  either  claw  nor  hook  ! " 

And  Libicocco  :  "  We  have  borne  too  much  ; "  70 

And  with  his  grapnel  seized  him  by  the  arm, 
So  that,  by  rending,  he  tore  off  a  tendon. 

Eke  Draghignazzo  wished  to  pounce  upon  him 
Down  at  the  legs  ;  whence  their  Decurion 
Turned  round  and  round  about  with  evil  look.  7s 

When  they  again  somewhat  were  pacified. 

Of  him,  who  still  was  looking  at  his  wound, 
Demanded  my  Conductor  without  stay  : 

*'  Who  was  that  one,  from  whom  a  luckless  parting 

Thou  sayest  thou  hast  made,  to  come  ashore  ?  "  80 

And  he  replied  :  "  It  was  the  Friar  Gomita, 

He  of  Gallura,  vessel  of  all  fraud, 

Who  had  the  enemies  of  his  Lord  in  hand, 
And  dealt  so  with  them  each  exults  thereat ; 

Money  he  took,  and  let  them  smoothly  off,  8s 

As  he  says ;  and  in  other  offices 
A  barrator  was  he,  not  mean  but  sovereign. 

Foregathers  with  him  one  Don  Michael  Zanche 
Of  Logodoro ;  and  of  Sardinia 
To  gossip  never  do  their  tongues  feel  tired.  90 

O  me  !  see  that  one,  how  he  grinds  his  teeth ; 
Still  farther  would  I  speak,  but  am  afraid 
Lest  he  to  scratch  my  itch  be  making  ready." 

And  the  grand  Provost,  turned  to  Farfarello, 

Who  rolled  his  eyes  about  as  if  to  strike,  95 

Said  :  "  Stand  aside  there,  thou  malicious  birtl." 

**  If  you  desire  either  to  see  or  hear," 

The  terror-stricken  recommenced  thereon, 

"  Tuscans  or  Lombards,  I  will  make  thera  come. 


IMFERNO,  XXII.  71 


But  let  the  Malebranche  cease  a  little,  100 

So  that  these  may  not  their  revenges  fear, 

And  I,  down  sitting  in  this  very  place, 
For  one  that  I  am  will  make  seven  come, 

When  I  shall  whistle,  as  our  custom  is 

To  do  whenever  one  of  us  comes  out."  105 

Cagnazzo  at  these  words  his  muzzle  Hfted, 

Shaking  his  head,  and  said  :  "  Just  hear  the  trick 

Which  he  has  thought  of,  down  to  throw  himself  I 
Whence  he,  who  snares  in  great  abundance  had, 

Responded  :  "  I  by  far  too  cunning  am,  "» 

When  I  procure  for  mine  a  greater  sadness." 
Alichin  held  not  in,  but  running  counter 

Unto  the  rest,  said  to  him  :  "  If  thou  dive, 

I  will  not  follow  thee  upon  the  gallop. 
But  I  will  beat  my  wings  above  the  pitch  ;  115 

The  height  be  left,  and  be  the  bank  a  shield 

To  see  if  thou  alone  dost  countervail  us." 
O  thou  who  readest,  thou  shalt  hear  new  sport ! 

Each  to  the  other  side  his  eyes  averted ; 

He  first,  who  most  reluctant  was  to  do  it.  no 

The  Navarrese  selected  well  his  time ; 

Planted  his  feet  on  land,  and  in  a  moment 

Leaped,  and  released  himself  from  their  design. 
Whereat  each  one  was  suddenly  stung  with  shame, 

But  he  most  who  was  cause  of  the  defeat ;  us 

Therefore  he  moved,  and  cried  :  "  Thou  art  o'ertaken." 
But  little  it  availed,  for  wings  could  not 

Outstrip  the  fear  ;  the  other  one  went  under. 

And,  flying,  upward  he  his  breast  directed. 
Not  otherwise  the  duck  upon  a  sudden  190 

Dives  under,  when  the  falcon  is  approaching, 

And  upward  he  retumeth  cross  and  weary. 
Infuriate  at  the  mockery,  Calcabrina 

Flying  behind  him  followed  close,  desirous 

The  other  should  escape,  to  have  a  quarrel.    .  13s 

And  when  the  barrator  had  disappeared. 

He  turned  his  talons  upon  his  companion. 

And  grappled  with  him  right  above  the  moat. 
But  sooth  the  other  was  a  doughty  sparhawk 

To  clapperclaw  him  well ;  and  both  of  them  14* 

Fell  in  the  middle  of  the  boiling  pond. 
A  sudden  intercessor  was  the  heat ; 

But  ne'ertheless  of  rising  there  was  naught, 

To  such  degree  they  had  their  wings  belimed. 


72  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


Lamenting  with  the  others,  Barbariccia  ms 

Made  four  of  them  fly  to  the  other  side 

With  all  their  gaffs,  and  very  speedily 
This  side  and  that  they  to  their  posts  descended  ; 

They  stretched  their  hooks  towards  the  pitch-ensnared, 

Who  were  already  baked  within  the  crust,  >5» 

And  in  this  manner  busied  did  we  leave  them. 


CANTO   XXIII. 

Silent,  alone,  and  without  company 

We  went,  the  one  in  front,  the  other  after. 
As  go  the  Minor  Friars  along  their  way. 

Upon  the  fable  of  ^sop  was  directed 

My  thought,  by  reason  of  the  present  quarrel. 
Where  he  has  spoken  of  the  frog  and  mouse  ; 

For  mo  and  issa  are  not  more  alike 

Than  this  one  is  to  that,  if  well  we  couple 
End  and  beginning  with  a  steadfast  mind. 

And  even  as  one  thought  from  another  springs. 
So  afterward  from  that  was  born  another, 
Which  the  first  fear  within  me  double  made. 

Thus  did  I  ponder :  "  These  on  our  account 
Are  laughed  to  scorn,  with  injury  and  scoff 
So  great,  that  much  I  think  it  must  annoy  them. 

If  anger  be  engrafted  on  ill-will, 

They  will  come  after  us  more  merciless 
Than  dog  upon  the  leveret  which  he  seizes/' 

I  felt  my  hair  stand  all  on  end  already 

With  terror,  and  stood  backwardly  intent. 
When  said  I  :  "  Master,  if  thou  hidest  not 

Thyself  and  me  forthwith,  of  Malebranche 

I  am  in  dread  ;  we  have  them  now  behind  us  ; 
I  so  imagine  them,  I  already  feel  them." 

And  he  :  "  If  I  were  made  of  leaded  glass 

Thine  outward  image  I  should  not  attract 
Sooner  to  me  than  I  imprint  the  inner. 

J  ust  now  thy  thoughts  came  in  among  my  own. 
With  similar  attitude  and  similar  face. 
So  that  of  both  one  counsel  sole  I  made. 

If  peradventure  the  right  bank  so  slope 

That  we  to  the  next  Bolgia  can  descend, 
We  shall  escape  from  the  imagined  chase." 


INFERA'O,  XXIII  73 


Not  yet  he  finished  rendering  such  opinion, 

When  I  beheld  them  come  with  outstretched  wings,  as 

Not  far  remote,  with  will  to  seize  upon  us. 
My  Leader  on  a  sudden  seized  me  up. 

Even  as  a  mother  who  by  noise  is  wakened, 

And  close  beside  her  sees  the  enkindled  flames, 
Who  takes  her  son,  and  flies,  and  does  not  stop,  40 

Having  more  care  of  him  than  of  herself, 

So  that  she  clothes  her  only  with  a  shift ; 
And  downward  from  the  top  of  the  hard  bank 

Supine  he  gave  him  to  the  pendent  rock, 

That  one  side  of  the  other  Bolgia  walls.  45 

Ne'er  ran  so  swiftly  water  through  a  sluice 

To  turn  the  wheel  of  any  land-built  mill, 

When  nearest  to  the  paddles  it  approaches, 
As  did  my  Master  down  along  that  border, 

Bearing  me  with  him  on  his  breast  away,  5« 

As  his  own  son,  and  not  as  a  companion. 
Hardly  the  bed  of  the  ravine  below 

His  feet  had  reached,  ere  they  had  reached  the  hill 

Right  over  us  ;  but  he  was  not  afraid  ; 
For  the  high  Providence,  which  had  ordained  it 

To  place  them  ministers  of  the  fifth  moat. 

The  power  of  thence  departing  took  from  all. 
A  painted  people  there  below  we  found. 

Who  went  about  with  footsteps  very  slow. 

Weeping  and  in  their  semblance  tired  and  vanquished.       «o 
They  had  on  mantles  with  the  hoods  low  down 

Before  their  eyes,  and  fashioned  of  the  cut 

That  in  Cologne  they  for  the  monks  are  made. 
Without,  they  gilded  are  so  t  lat  it  dazzles  ; 

But  inwardly  all  leaden  and  so*lieavy  «s 

That  Frederick  used  to  put  them  on  of  straw. 
O  everlastingly  fatiguing  mantle  ! 

Again  we  turned  us,  still  to  the  left  hand 

Along  with  them,  intent  on  their  sad  plaint; 
But  owing  to  the  wei.crht,  that  weary  folk  jo 

Came  on  so  tardily,  that  we  were  new 

In  company  at  each  motion  of  the  haunch. 
Whence  I  unto  my  Leader  :  "  See  thou  find 

Some  one  who  may  by  deed  or  name  be  known. 

And  thus  in  going  move  thine  eye  about."  75 

And  one,  who  understood  the  Tuscan  speech, 

Cried  to  us  fron?  behind  :  ''  Stay  ye  your  feet, 

Ye,  who  so  run  athwart  the  dusky  air  ! 


74  THE  DIVINE  COMED  Y 

Perhaps  thou'lt  have  from  me  what  thou  demandest." 

Whereat  the  Leader  turned  him,  and  said  :  "  Wait,  •<> 

And  then  according  to  his  pace  proceed." 
I  stopped,  and  two  beheld  I  show  great  haste 

Of  spirit,  in  their  faces,  to  be  with  me  ; 

But  the  burden  and  the  narrow  way  delayed  them. 
When  they  came  up,  long  with  an  eye  askance  S' 

They  scanned  me  without  uttering  a  word. 

Then  to  each  other  turned,  and  said  together  : 
"  He  by  the  action  of  his  throat  seems  living ; 

And  if  they  dead  are,  by  what  privilege 

Go  they  uncovered  by  the  heavy  stole  ?  "  90 

Then  said  to  me  :  "  Tuscan,  who  to  the  college 

Of  miserable  hypocrites  art  come. 

Do  not  disdain  to  tell  us  who  thou  art." 
And  I  to  them  :  *'  Born  was  I,  and  grew  up 

In  the  great  town  on  the  fair  river  of  Amo,  9S 

And  with  the  body  am  I've  always  had. 
But  who  are  ye,  in  whom  there  trickles  down 

Along  your  cheeks  such  grief  as  I  behold  ? 

And  what  pain  is  upon  you,  that  so  sparkles?  " 
And  one  replied  to  me  :  "  These  orange  cloaks  «» 

Are  made  of  lead  so  heavy,  that  the  weights 

Cause  in  this  way  their  balances  to  creak. 
Frati  Gaudenti  were  we,  and  Bolognese  ; 

I  Catalano,  and  he  Loderingo 

Named,  and  together  taken  by  thy  city,  los 

As  the  wont  is  to  take  one  man  alone, 

For  maintenance  of  its  peace  ;  and  we  were  such 

That  still  it  is  apparent  round  Gardingo." 
"  O  Friars,"  began  I,  "  your  iniquitous  .  .  ." 

But  said  no  more  ;  for  to  mine  eyes  there  rushed  xio 

One  crucified  with  three  stakes  on  the  ground. 
When  me  he  saw,  he  writhed  himself  all  over, 

Blowing  into  his  beard  with  suspirations  ; 

And  the  Friar  Catalan,  who  noticed  this. 
Said  to  me  :  "  This  transfixed  one,  whom  thou  seest,  ti- 

Counselled  the  Pharisees  that  it  was  meet 

To  put  one  man  to  torture  for  the  people. 
Crosswise  and  naked  is  he  on  the  path, 

As  thou  perceivest ;  and  he  needs  must  feel, 

Whoever  passes,  first  how  much  he  weighs ;  xm 

And  in  like  mode  his  father-in-law  is  punished 

Within  this  moat,  and  the  others  of  the  council, 

Which  for  the  Jews  was  a  malignant  seed." 


INFERNO,  XXIV.  7!? 


And  thereupon  I  saw  Virgilius  marvel 

O'er  him  who  was  extended  on  the  cross  ws 

So  vilely  in  eternal  banishment. 
Then  he  directed  to  the  Friar  this  voice  : 

"  Be  not  displeased,  if  granted  thee,  to  tell  us 

If  to  the  right  hand  any  pass  slope  down 
By  which  we  two  may  issue  forth  from  here,  «3b 

Without  constraining  some  of  the  black  angels 

To  come  and  extricate  us  from  this  deep." 
Then  he  made  answer  .  "  Nearer  than  thou  hopest 

There  is  a  rock,  that  forth  from  the  great  circle 

Proceeds,  and  crosses  all  the  cruel  valleys,  13s 

Save  that  at  this  'tis  broken,  and  does  not  bridge  it ; 

You  will  be  able  to  mount  up  the  ruin, 

That  sidelong  slopes  and  at  the  bottom  rises." 
The  Leader  stood  awhile  with  head  bowed  down ; 

Then  said  :  *'  The  business  badly  he  recounted  mo 

Who  grapples  with  his  hook  the  sinners  yonder." 
And  the  Friar  :  *'  Many  of  the  Devil's  vices 

Once  heard  I  at  Bologna,  and  among  them, 

That  he's  a  liar  and  the  father  of  lies." 
Thereat  my  Leader  with  great  strides  went  on,  145 

Somewhat  disturbed  with  anger  in  his  looks  j 

Whence  from  the  heavy-laden  I  departed 
After  the  prints  of  his  beloved  feet. 


CANTO  XXIV. 

In  that  part  of  the  youthful  year  wherein 

The  Sun  his  locks  beneath  Aquarius  tempers, 
And  now  the  nights  draw  near  to  half  the  day, 

What  time  the  hoar-frost  copies  on  the  ground 
The  outward  semblance  of  her  sister  white. 
But  little  lasts  the  temper  of  her  pen. 

The  husbandman,  whose  forage  faileth  him, 

Rises,  and  looks,  and  seeth  the  champaign 
All  gleaming  white,  whereat  he  beats  his  flank. 

Returns  in  doors,  and  up  and  down  laments. 

Like  a  poor  wretch,  who  knows  not  what  to  do ; 
Then  he  returns,  and  hope  revives  again, 

Seeing  the  world  has  changed  its  countenance 

In  little  time,  and  takes  his  shepherd's  crook, 
And  forth  the  little  lambs  to  pasture  drives. 


76  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

Thus  did  the  Master  fill  me  with  alarm, 

When  I  beheld  his  forehead  so  disturbed, 

And  to  the  ailment  came  as  soon  the  plaster. 
For  as  we  came  unto  the  ruined  bridge, 

The  Leader  turned  to  me  with  that  sweet  look  «» 

Which  at  the  mountain's  foot  I  first  beheld. 
His  arms  he  opened,  after  some  advisement 

Within  himself  elected,  looking  first 

Well  at  the  ruin,  and  laid  hold  of  me. 
And  even  as  he  who  acts  and  meditates,  35 

For  aye  it  seems  that  he  provides  beforehand, 

So  upward  lifting  me  towards  the  summit 
Of  a  huge  rock,  he  scanned  another  crag, 

Saying  :  "  To  that  one  grapple  afterwards. 

But  try  first  if  'tis  such  that  it  will  hold  thee."  '  30 

This  was  no  way  for  one  clothed  with  a  cloak  ; 

For  hardly  we,  he  light,  and  I  pushed  upward, 

Were  able  to  ascend  from  jag  to  jag. 
And  had  it  not  been,  that  upon  that  precinct 

Shorter  was  the  ascent  than  on  the  other,  3S 

He  I  know  not,  but  I  had  been  dead  beat. 
But  because  Malebolge  tow'rds  the  mouth 

Of  the  profoundest  well  is  all  inclining, 

The  structure  of  each  valley  doth  import 
That  one  bank  rises  and  the  other  sinks.  -4« 

Still  we  arrived  at  length  upon  the  point 

Wherefrom  the  last  stone  breaks  itself  asunder. 
The  breath  was  from  my  lungs  so  milked  away, 

When  I  was  up,  that  I  could  go  no  farther, 

Nay,  I  sat  down  upon  my  first  arrival.  4S 

"  Now  it  behoves  thee  thus  to  put  off  sloth," 

My  Master  said  ;  "  for  sitting  upon  down. 

Or  under  quilt,  one  cometh  not  to  fame, 
Withouten  which  whoso  his  life  consumes 

Such  vestige  leaveth  of  himself  on  earth.  5c 

As  smoke  in  air  or  in  the  water  foam. 
And  therefore  raise  thee  up,  o'ercome  the  anguish 

With  spirit  that  o'ercometh  every  battle, 

If  with  its  heavy  body  it  sink  not. 
A  longer  stairway  it  behoves  thee  mount ;  ss 

'Tis  not  enough  from  these  to  have  departed ; 

Let  it  avail  thee,  if  thou  understand  me." 
Then  I  uprose,  showing  myself  provided 

Better  with  breath  than  I  did  feel  myself, 

And  said  :  "  Go  on,  for  I  am  stiong  and  bold."  «> 


INFERNO,  XXIV.  77 


Upward  we  took  our  way  along  the  crag, 

Which  jagged  was,  and  narrow,  and  difficult, 

And  more  precipitous  far  than  that  before. 
Speaking  I  went,  not  to  appear  exhausted  ; 

Whereat  a  voice  from  the  next  moat  came  forth,  t% 

Not  well  adapted  to  articulate  words. 
I  know  not  what  it  said,  though  o'er  the  back 

I  now  was  of  the  arch  that  passes  there  ; 

But  he  seemed  moved  to  anger  who  was  speaking. 
I  was  bent  downward,  but  my  living  eyes  7« 

Could  not  attain  the  bottom,  for  the  dark ; 

Wherefore  I  :  "  Master,  see  that  thou  arrive 
At  the  next  round,  and  let  us  descend  the  wall; 

For  as  from  hence  I  hear  and  understand  not. 

So  I  look  down  and  nothing  I  distinguish."  73 

"  Other  response,"  he  said,  "  I  make  thee  not. 

Except  the  doing  ;  for  the  modest  asking 

Ought  to  be  followed  by  the  deed  in  silence." 
We  from  the  bridge  descended  at  its  head. 

Where  it  connects  itself  with  the  eighth  bank,  to 

And  then  was  manifest  to  me  the  Bolgia ; 
And  I  beheld  therein  a  terrible  throng 

Of  serpents,  and  of  such  a  monstrous  kind, 

That  the  remembrance  still  congeals  my  blood 
Let  Libya  boast  no  longer  with  her  sand  ;  Ss 

For  if  Chelydri,  Jaculi,  and  Phareae 

She  breeds,  with  Cenchri  and  with  Amphisbaena, 
Neither  so  many  plagues  nor  so  malignant 

E  er  showed  she  with  all  Ethiopia, 

Nor  with  whatever  on  the  Red  Sea  is  !  9c 

Among  this  cruel  and  most  dismal  throng 

People  were  running  naked  and  affrighted. 

Without  the  hope  of  hole  or  heliotrope. 
They  had  their  hands  with  serpents  bound  behind  them  ; 

These  riveted  upon  their  reins  the  tail  9S 

And  head,  and  were  in  front  of  them  entwined. 
And  lo  !  at  one  who  was  upon  our  side 

There  darted  forth  a  serpent,  which  transfixed  him 

There  where  the  neck  is  knotted  to  the  shoulders. 
Nor  O  so  quickly  e'er,  nor  /  was  written,  m« 

As  he  took  fire,  and  burned  ;  and  ashes  wholly 

Behoved  it  that  in  falling  he  became. 
And  when  he  on  the  ground  was  thus  destroyed. 

The  ashes  drew  together,  and  of  themselves 

Into  himself  tViey  instantly  returned.  «•• 


7S  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


Even  thus  by  the  great  sages  'tis  confessed 

The  phcenix  dies,  and  then  is  born  again, 

When  it  approaches  its  five-hundredth  year ; 
On  herb  or  grain  it  feeds  not  in  its  hfe, 

But  only  on  tears  of  incense  and  amomum,  no 

And  nard  and  myrrh  are  its  last  winding-sheet. 
And  as  he  is  who  falls,  and  knows  not  how, 

By  force  of  demons  who  to  earth  down  drag  him, 

Or  other  oppilation  that  binds  man, 
When  he  arises  and  around  him  looks,  m5 

Wholly  bewildered  by  the  mighty  anguish 

Which  he  has  suffered,  and  in  looking  sighs ; 
Such  was  that  sinner  after  he  had  risen. 

Justice  ot  God  !  O  how  severe  it  is, 

That  blows  like  these  in  vengeance  poureth  down !  i»o 

The  Guide  thereafter  asked  him  who  he  was ; 

Whence  he  replied  :  "  I  rained  from  Tuscany 

A  short  time  since  into  this  cruel  gorge. 
A  bestial  life,  and  not  a  human,  pleased  me. 

Even  as  the  mule  I  was  ;  I'm  Vanni  Fucci,  las 

Beast,  and  Pistoia  was  my  worthy  den." 
And  I  unto  the  Guide :  "  Tell  him  to  stir  not, 

And  ask  what  crime  has  thrust  him  here  below. 

For  once  a  man  of  blood  and  wrath  I  saw  him." 
And  the  sinner,  who  had  heard,  dissembled  not,  130 

But  unto  me  directed  mind  and  face. 

And  with  a  melancholy  shame  was  painted. 
Then  said  :  "  It  pains  me  more  that  thou  hast  caught  me 

Amid  this  misery  where  thou  seest  me, 

Than  when  I  from  the  other  life  was  taken.  135 

What  thou  demandest  I  cannot  deny  ; 

So  low  am  I  put  down  because  I  robbed 

The  sacristy  of  the  fair  ornaments. 
And  falsely  once  'twas  laid  upon  another ; 

But  that  thou  mayst  not  such  a  sight  enjoy,  mo 

If  thou  shalt  e'er  be  out  of  the  dark  places, 
Thine  ears  to  my  announcement  ope  and  hear  : 

Pistoia  first  of  Neri  groweth  meagre  ; 

Then  Florence  doth  renew  her  men  and  manners ; 
Mars  draws  a  vapour  up  from  Val  di  Magra,  ms 

Which  is  with  turbid  clouds  enveloped  round, 

And  with  impetuous  and  bitter  tempest 
Over  Campo  Picen  shall  be  the  battle ; 

When  it  shall  suddenly  rend  the  mist  asunder. 

So  that  each  Bianco  shall  thereby  be  smitten.  «s« 

And  this  I've  said  that  it  may  give  thee  pain." 


INFERNO,  XXV,  79 


CANTO   XXV. 

At  the  conclusion  of  his  words,  the  thief 

Lifted  his  hands  aloft  with  both  the  figs, 

Crying :  "  Take  that,  God,  for  at  thee  I  aim  them." 

From  that  time  forth  the  serpents  were  my  friends ; 
For  one  entwined  itself  about  his  neck 
As  if  it  said  :  "  I  will  not  thou  speak  more ; " 

And  round  his  arms  another,  and  rebound  him. 
Clinching  itself  together  so  in  front. 
That  with  them  he  could  not  a  motion  make. 

Pistoia,  ah,  Pistoia  !  why  resolve  not 

To  burn  thyself  to  ashes  and  so  perish. 
Since  in  ill-doing  thou  thy  seed  excellest  ? 

Through  all  the  sombre  circles  of  this  Hell, 
Spirit  I  saw  not  against  God  so  proud. 
Not  he  who  fell  at  Thebes  down  from  the  walls ! 

He  fled  away,  and  spake  no  further  word  ; 
And  I  beheld  a  Centaur  full  of  rage 
Come  crying  out :  "  Where  is,  where  is  the  scoffer  ?  " 

I  do  not  think  Maremma  has  so  many 
Serpents  as  he  had  all  along  his  back, 
As  far  as  where  our  countenance  begins. 

Upon  the  shoulders,  just  behind  the  nape. 

With  wings  wide  open  was  a  dragon  lying, 
And  he  sets  fire  to  all  that  he  encounters. 

My  Master  said  :  "  That  one  is  Cacus,  who 
Beneath  the  rock  upon  Mount  Aventine 
Created  oftentimes  a  lake  of  blood. 

He  goes  not  on  the  same  road  with  his  brothers, 
By  reason  of  the  fraudulent  theft  he  made 
Of  the  great  herd,  which  he  had  near  to  him  ; 

Whereat  his  tortuous  actions  ceased  beneath 
The  mace  of  Hercules,  who  peradventure 
Gave  him  a  hundred,  and  he  felt  not  ten." 

While  he  was  speaking  thus,  he  had  passed  by. 
And  spirits  three  had  underneath  us  come, 
Of  which  nor  I  aware  was,  nor  my  Leader, 

Until  what  time  they  shouted  :  "  Who  are  you  ?  " 
On  which  account  our  story  made  a  halt, 
And  then  we  were  intent  on  them  alone. 


8o  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


I  did  not  know  them  ;  but  it  came  to  pass,  40 

As  it  is  wont  to  happen  by  some  chance, 

That  one  to  name  the  other  was  compelled, 
Mxclaiming :  "  Where  can  Cianfa  have  remained  ?  " 

Whence  I,  so  that  the  Leader  might  attend, 

Upward  from  chin  to  nose  my  finger  laid.  45 

If  thou  art,  Reader,  slow  now  to  believe 

What  I  shall  say,  it  will  no  marvel  be, 

For  I  who  saw  it  hardly  can  admit  it. 
As  I  was  holding  raised  on  them  my  brows, 

Behold  !  a  serpent  with  six  feet  darts  forth  5* 

In  front  of  one,  and  fastens  wholly  on  him. 
With  middle  feet  it  bound  him  round  the  paunch, 

And  with  the  forward  ones  his  arms  it  seized ; 

Then  thrust  its  teeth  through  one  cheek  and  the  other ; 
The  hindermost  it  stretched  upon  his  thighs,  ss 

And  put  its  tail  through  in  between  the  two, 

And  up  behind  along  the  reins  outspread  it. 
Ivy  was  never  fastened  by  its  barbs 

Unto  a  tree  so,  as  this  horrible  reptile 

Upon  the  other's  limbs  entwined  its  own.  ^ 

Then  they  stuck  close,  as  if  of  heated  wax 

They  had  been  made,  and  intermixed  their  colour ; 

Nor  one  nor  other  seemed  now  what  he  was  ; 
E'en  as  proceedeth  on  before  the  flame 

Upward  along  the  paper  a  brown  colour,  6s 

Which  is  not  black  as  yet,  and  the  white  dies. 
The  other  two  looked  on,  and  each  of  them 

Cried  out :  "  O  me,  Agnello,  how  thou  changest ! 

Behold,  thou  now  art  neither  two  nor  one." 
Already  the  two  heads  had  one  become,  70 

When  there  appeared  to  us  two  figures  mingled 

Into  one  face,  wherein  the  two  were  lost 
Of  the  four  lists  were  fashioned  the  two  arms, 

The  thighs  and  legs,  the  belly  and  the  chest 

Members  became  that  never  yet  were  seen.  75 

Every  original  aspect  there  was  cancelled  ; 

Two  and  yet  none  did  the  perverted  image 

Appear,  and  such  departed  with  slow  pace. 
Even  as  a  lizard,  under  the  great  scourge 

Of  days  canicular,  exchanging  hedge,  80 

Lightning  appeareth  if  the  road  it  cross ; 
Thus  did  appear,  coming  towards  the  bellies 

Of  the  two  others,  a  small  fiery  serpent, 

Livid  and  black  as  is  a  peppercorn. 


INFERNO,   XXV.  81 


And  in  that  part  whereat  is  first  received  85 

Our  aliment,  it  one  of  them  transfixed  ; 

Then  downward  fell  in  front  of  him  extended. 
The  one  transfixed  looked  at  it,  but  said  naught ; 

Nay,  rather  with  feet  motionless  he  yawned, 

Just  as  if  sleep  or  fever  had  assailed  him.  90 

He  ^t  the  serpent  gazed,  and  it  at  him  ; 

One  through  the  wound,  the  other  through  the  mouth 

Smoked  violently,  and  the  smoke  commingled. 
Henceforth  be  silent  Lucan,  where  he  mentions 

Wretched  Sabellus  and  Nassidius,  95 

And  wait  to  hear  what  now  shall  be  shot  forth. 
Be  silent  Ovid,  of  Cadmus  and  Arethusa ; 

For  if  him  to  a  snake,  her  to  a  fountain. 

Converts  he  fabling,  that  I  grudge  him  not ; 
Because  two  natures  never  front  to  front  100 

Has  he  transmuted,  so  that  both  the  forms 

To  interchange  their  matter  ready  were. 
Together  they  responded  in  such  wise, 

That  to  a  fork  the  serpent  cleft  his  tail. 

And  eke  the  wounded  drew  his  feet  together.  »s 

The  legs  together  with  the  thighs  themselves 

Adhered  so,  that  in  little  time  the  juncture 

No  sign  whatever  made  that  was  apparent 
He  with  the  cloven  tail  assumed  the  figure 

The  other  one  was  losing,  and  his  skin  ik 

Became  elastic,  and  the  other's  hard. 
I  saw  the  arms  draw  inward  at  the  armpits, 

And  both  feet  of  the  reptile,  that  were  short, 

Lengthen  as  much  as  those  contracted  were. 
Thereafter  the  hind  feet,  together  twisted,  -«. 

Became  the  member  that  a  man  conceals. 

And  of  his  own  the  wretch  had  two  created. 
While  both  of  them  the  exhalation  veils 

With  a  new  colour,  and  engenders  hair 

On  one  of  them  and  depilates  the  other,  no 

The  one  uprose  and  down  the  other  fell. 

Though  turning  not  away  their  impious  lamps, 
•     Underneath  which  each  one  his  muzzle  changed. 
He  who  was  standing  drew  it  tow'rds  the  temples, 

And  from  excess  of  matter,  which  came  thither,  ws 

Issued  the  ears  from  out  the  hollow  cheeks ; 
What  did  not  backward  run  and  was  retained 

Of  that  excess  made  to  the  face  a  nose. 

And  the  lips  thickened  far  as  was  befitting. 

o 


82  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


He  who  lay  prostrate  thrusts  his  muzzle  forward,  130 

And  backward  draws  the  ears  into  his  head, 

In  the  same  manner  as  the  snail  its  horns  ; 
And  so  the  tongue,  which  was  entire  and  apt 

For  speech  before,  is  cleft,  and  the  bi-forked 

In  the  other  closes  up,  and  the  smoke  cease.?,  13s 

The  soul,  which  to  a  reptile  had  been  changed,  * 

Along  the  valley  hissing  takes  to  flight. 

And  after  him  the  other  speaking  sputters. 
Then  did  he  turn  upon  him  his  new  shoulders. 

And  said  to  the  other :  "  I'll  have  Buoso  run,  uo 

Crawling  as  I  have  done,  along  this  road." 
In  this  way  I  beheld  the  seventh  ballast 

Shift  and  reshift,  and  here  be  my  excuse 

The  novelty,  if  aught  my  pen  transgress. 
And  notwithstanding  that  mine  eyes  might  be  ^45 

Somewhat  bewildered,  and  my  mind  dismayed. 

They  could  not  flee  away  so  secretly 
But  that  I  plainly  saw  Puccio  Sciancato  ; 

And  he  it  was  who  sole  of  three  companions. 

Which  came  in  the  beginning,  was  not  changed ;  is* 

The  other  was  he  whom  thou,  Gaville,  weepest. 


CANTO   XXVI. 

Rejoice,  O  Florence,  since  thou  art  so  great. 

That  over  sea  and  land  thou  beatest  thy  wings. 
And  throughout  Hell  thy  name  is  spread  abroad  ! 

Among  the  thieves  five  citizens  of  tiiine 

Like  these  I  found,  whence  shame  comes  unto  me, 
And  thou  thereby  to  no  great  honour  risest. 

But  if  when  morn  is  near  our  dreams  are  true. 
Feel  shalt  thou  in  a  little  time  from  now 
What  Prato,  if  none  other,  craves  for  thee. 

And  if  it  now  were,  it  were  not  too  soon  ; 

Would  that  it  were,  seeing  it  needs  must  be. 
For  'twill  aggrieve  me  more  the  more  I  age. 

We  went  our  way,  and  up  along  the  stairs 

The  bourns  had  made  us  to  descend  before, 
Remounted  my  Conductor  and  drew  me. 

And  following  the  solitary  path 

Among  the  rocks  and  ridges  of  the  crag. 
The  foot  without  the  hand  sped  not  at  all. 


INFERNO,  XXVI. 


Then  sorrowed  I,  and  sorrow  now  again, 

When  I  direct  my  mind  to  what  I  saw,  ac 

And  more  my  genius  curb  than  I  am  wont. 
That  it  may  run  not  unless  virtue  guide  it ; 

So  that  if  some  good  star,  or  better  thing, 

Have  given  me  good,  I  may  myself  not  grudge  it. 
As  many  as  the  hind  (who  on  the  hill  »s 

Rests  at  the  time  when  he  who  lights  the  world 

His  countenance  keeps  least  concealed  from  us, 
While  as  the  fly  gives  place  unto  the  gnat) 

Seeth  the  glow-worms  down  along  the  valley. 

Perchance  there  where  he  ploughs  and  makes  his  vintage  ; 
With  flames  as  manifold  resplendent  all  3> 

Was  the  eighth  Bolgia,  as  I  grew  aware 

As  soon  as- 1  was  where  the  depth  appeared. 
And  such  as  he  who  with  the  bears  avenged  him 

Beheld  Elijah's  chariot  at  departing,  3S 

What  time  the  steeds  to  heaven  erect  uprose, 
For  with  his  eye  he  could  not  follow  it 

So  as  to  see  aught  else  than  flame  alone, 

Even  as  a  little  cloud  ascending  upward. 
Thus  each  along  the  gorge  of  the  intrenchment  4« 

Was  moving  ;  for  not  one  reveals  the  theft, 

And  every  flame  a  sinner  steals  away. 
I  stood  upon  the  bridge  uprisen  to  see. 

So  that,  if  I  had  seized  not  on  a  rock, 

Down  had  I  fallen  without  being  pushed.  45 

And  the  Leader,  who  beheld  me  so  attent, 

Exclaimed  :  "  Within  the  fires  the  spirits  are  ; 

Each  swathes  himself  with  that  wherewith  he  bums." 
'  My  Master,"  I  replied,  "  by  hearing  thee 

I  am  more  sure  ;  but  I  surmised  already  50 

It  might  be  so,  and  already  wished  to  ask  thee 
Who  is  within  that  fire,  which  comes  so  cleft 

At  top,  it  seems  uprising  from  the  pyre 

Where  was  Eteocles  with  his  brother  placed." 
He  answered  me  :  "  Within  there  are  tormented  55 

Ulysses  and  Diomed,  and  thus  together 

They  unto  vengeance  run  as  unto  wrath. 
And  there  within  their  flame  do  they  lament 

The  ambush  of  the  horse,  which  made  the  door 

Whence  issued  forth  the  Romans'  gentle  seed  ;  &> 

Therein  is  wept  the  craft,  for  which  being  dead 

Deidamia  still  deplores  Achilles, 

And  pain  for  the  Palladium  there  is  borne." 


84  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

*'  If  they  within  those  sparks  possess  the  power 

To  speak,"  I  said,  "  thee,  Master,  much  I  pray,  6s 

And  re-pray,  that  the  prayer  be  worth  a  thousand. 
That  thou  make  no  denial  of  awaiting 

Until  the  horned  flame  shall  hither  come  ; 

Thou  seest  that  with  desire  I  lean  towards  it."  , 

And  he  to  me  :  "  Worthy  is  thy  entreaty  70 

Of  much  applause,  and  therefore  I  accept  it ; 

But  take  heed  that  thy  tongue  restrain  itself 
Leave  me  to  speak,  because  I  have  conceived 

That  which  thou  wishest ;  for  they  might  disdain 

Perchance,  since  they  were  Greeks,  discourse  of  thine."     n 
When  now  the  flame  had  come  unto  that  point, 

Where  to  my  Leader  it  seemed  time  and  place, 

After  this  fashion  did  I  hear  him  speak : 
"  O  ye,  who  are  twofold  within  one  fire, 

If  I  deserved  of  you,  while  I  was  living,  80 

If  I  deserved  of  you  or  much  or  little 
When  in  the  world  I  wrote  the  lofty  verses, 

Do  not  move  on,  but  one  of  you  declare 

Whither,  being  lost,  he  went  away  to  die." 
Then  of  the  antique  flame  the  greater  horn,  8s 

Murmuring,  began  to  wave  itself  about 

Even  as  a  flame  doth  which  the  wind  fatigues. 
Thereaftervvard,  the  summit  to  and  fro 

Moving  as  if  it  were  the  tongue  that  spake. 

It  uttered  forth  a  voice,  and  said  :  "  When  I  90 

From  Circe  had  departed,  who  concealed  me 

More  than  a  year  there  near  unto  Gaeta, 

Or  ever  yet  ^neas  named  it  so. 
Nor  fondness  for  my  son,  nor  reverence 

For  my  old  father,  nor  the  due  affection  9S 

Which  joyous  should  have  made  Penelope, 
Could  overcome  within  me  the  desire 

I  had  to  be  experienced  of  the  world. 

And  of  the  vice  and  virtue  of  mankind  ; 
But  I  put  forth  on  the  high  open  sea  ««> 

With  one  sole  ship,  and  that  small  company 

By  which  I  never  had  deserted  been. 
Both  of  the  shores  I  saw  as  far  as  Spain, 

Far  as  Morocco,  and  the  isle  of  Sardes, 

And  the  others  which  that  sea  bathes  round  about  loj 

I  and  my  company  were  old  and  slow 

When  at  that  narrow  passage  we  arrived 

Where  Hercules  his  landmarks  set  as  signals, 


INFERNO,  XXVII.  85 


That  man  no  farther  onward  should  adventure. 

On  the  right  hand  behind  me  left  I  Seville,  »»« 

And  on  the  other  already  had  left  Ceuta. 
*  O  brothers,  who  amid  a  hundred  thousand 

Perils,'  I  said,  '  have  come  unto  the  West, 

To  this  so  inconsiderable  vigil 
Which  is  remaining  of  your  senses  still  "j 

Be  ye  unwilling  to  deny  the  knowledge, 

Following  the  sun,  of  the  unpeopled  world. 
Consider  ye  the  seed  from  which  ye  sprang ; 

Ye  were  not  made  to  live  like  unto  brutes. 

But  for  pursuit  of  virtue  and  of  knowledge.'  "• 

So  eager  did  I  render  my  companions, 

With  this  brief  exhortation,  for  the  voyage. 

That  then  I  hardly  could  have  held  them  back. 
And  having  turned  our  stern  unto  the  morning, 

We  of  the  oars  made  wings  for  our  mad  flight,  «a 

Evermore  gaining  on  the  larboard  side. 
Already  all  the  stars  of  the  other  pole 

The  night  beheld,  and  ours  so  very  low 

It  did  not  rise  above  the  ocean  floor. 
Five  times  rekindled  and  as  many  quenched  133 

Had  been  the  splendour  underneath  the  moon, 

Since  we  had  entered  into  the  deep  pass, 
When  there  appeared  to  us  a  mountain,  dim 

From  distance,  and  it  seemed  to  me  so  high 

As  I  had  never  any  one  beheld.  «M 

Joyful  were  we,  and  soon  it  turned  to  weeping ; 

For  out  of  the  new  land  a  whirlwind  rose. 

And  smote  upon  the  fore  part  of  the  ship. 
Three  times  it  made  her  whirl  with  all  the  waters. 

At  the  fourth  time  it  made  the  stern  uplift,  «4o 

And  the  prow  downward  go,  as  pleased  Another, 
Until  the  sea  above  us  closed  again." 


CANTO  xxvn. 

Already  was  the  flame  erect  and  quiet, 

To  speak  no  more,  and  now  departed  from  us 
With  the  permission  of  the  gentle  Poet ; 

When  yet  another,  which  behind  it  came. 
Caused  us  to  turn  our  eyes  upon  its  top 
By  a  confused  sound  that  issued  from  it. 


^6  THE  DIVINE   COMED^Y. 

As  the  Sicilian  bull  (that  bellowed  first 

With  the  lament  of  him,  and  that  was  right, 
Who  with  his  file  had  modulated  it) 

Bellowed  so  with  the  voice  of  the  afflicted, 

That,  notwithstanding  it  was  made  of  brass, 
Still  it  appeared  with  agony  transfixed ; 

Thus,  by  not  having  any  way  or  issue 

At  first  from  out  the  fire,  to  its  own  language 
Converted  were  the  melancholy  words. 

But  afterwards,  when  they  had  gathered  way 

Up  through  the  point,  giving  it  that  vibration 
The  tongue  had  given  them  in  their  passage  out, 

We  heard  it  said  :  "  O  thou,  at  whom  I  aim 

My  voice,  and  who  but  now  wast  speaking  Lombard, 
Saying,  '  Now  go  thy  way,  no  more  I  urge  thee,' 

Because  I  come  perchance  a  little  late. 

To  stay  and  speak  with  me  let  it  not  irk  thee ; 
Thou  seest  it  irks  not  me,  and  I  am  burning. 

If  thou  but  lately  into  this  blind  world 

Hast  fallen  down  from  that  sweet  Latian  land, 
Wherefrom  I  bring  the  whole  of  my  transgression, 

Say,  if  the  Romagnuols  have  peace  or  war, 

For  I  was  from  the  mountains  there  between 
Urbino  and  the  yoke  whence  Tiber  bursts." 

I  still  was  downward  bent  and  listening. 

When  my  Conductor  touched  me  on  the  side, 
Saying :  "  Speak  thou  :  this  one  a  Latian  is." 

And  I,  who  had  beforehand  my  reply 

In  readiness,  forthwith  began  to  speak  : 

"  O  soul,  that  down  below  there  art  concealed, 

Romagna  thine  is  not  and  never  has  been 
Without  war  in  the  bosom  of  its  tyrants , 
But  open  war  I  none  have  left  there  now. 

Ravenna  stands  as  it  long  years  has  stood ; 
The  Eagle  of  Polenta  there  is  brooding. 
So  that  she  covers  Cervia  with  her  vans. 

The  city  which  once  made  the  long  resistance. 
And  of  the  French  a  sanguinary  heap, 
Beneath  the  Green  Paws  finds  itself  again ; 

Verrucchio's  ancient  Mastiff  and  the  new, 

Who  made  such  bad  disposal  of  Montagna, 
Where  they  are  wont  make  wimbles  of  their  teeth. 

The  cities  of  Lamone  and  Santemo 

Governs  the  Lioncel  of  the  white  lair, 

Who  changes  sides  'twixt  summer-time  and  winter; 


INFERNO,   XXVII.  8; 


And  that  of  which  the  Savio  bathes  the  flank, 

Even  as  it  lies  between  the  plain  and  mountain, 

Lives  between  tyranny  and  a  free  state. 
Now  I  entreat  thee  tell  us  who  thou  art ;  55 

Be  not  more  stubborn  than  the  rest  have  been, 

So  may  thy  name  hold  front  there  in  the  world." 
After  the  fire  a  little  more  had  roared 

In  its  own  fashion,  the  sharp  point  it  moved 

This  way  and  that,  and  then  gave  forth  such  breath  :  60 

"  If  I  believed  that  my  reply  were  made 

To  one  who  to  the  world  would  e'er  return, 

This  flame  without  more  flickering  would  stand  still ; 
But  inasmuch  as  never  from  this  depth 

Did  any  one  return,  if  I  hear  true,  65 

Without  the. fear  of  infamy  I  answer, 
I  was  a  man  of  arms,  then  Cordelier, 

Believing  thus  begirt  to  make  amends ; 

And  truly  my  belief  had  been  fulfilled 
But  for  the  High  Priest,  whom  may  ill  betide,  v> 

Who  put  me  back  into  my  former  sins ; 

And  how  and  wherefore  I  will  have  thee  hear. 
While  I  was  still  the  form  of  bone  and  pulp 

My  mother  gave  to  me,  the  deeds  I  did 

Were  not  those  of  a  lion,  but  a  fox.  75 

The  machinations  and  the  covert  ways 

I  knew  them  all,  and  practised  so  their  craft. 

That  to  the  ends  of  earth  the  sound  went  forth. 
When  now  imto  that  portion  of  mine  age 

I  saw  myself  arrived,  when  each  one  ought  80 

To  lower  the  sails,  and  coil  away  the  ropes. 
That  which  before  had  pleased  me  then  displeased  me ; 

And  penitent  and  confessing  I  surrendered. 

Ah  woe  is  me  !  and  it  would  have  bestead  me ; 
The  Leader  of  the  modern  Pharisees  85 

Having  a  war  near  unto  Lateran, 

And  not  with  Saracens  nor  with  the  Jews, 
For  each  one  of  his  enemies  was  Christian, 

And  none  of  them  had  been  to  conquer  Acre, 

Nor  merchandising  in  the  Sultan's  land,  90 

Nor  the  high  office,  nor  the  sacred  orders. 

In  him  regarded,  nor  in  me  that  cord 

Which  used  to  make  those  girt  with  it  more  meagre  ; 
But  even  as  Constantine  sought  out  Sylvester 

To  cure  his  leprosy,  within  Soracte,  9S 

So  this  one  sought  me  out  as  an  adept 


88  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

To  cure  him  of  the  fever  of  his  pride. 

Counsel  he  asked  of  me,  and  I  was  silent, 

Because  his  words  appeared  inebriate. 
And  then  he  said  :  '  Be  not  thy  heart  afraid  :  "oo 

Henceforth  I  thee  absolve ;  and  thou  instruct  me 

How  to  raze  Palestrina  to  the  ground. 
Heaven  have  I  power  to  lock  and  to  imlock, 

As  thou  dost  know;  therefore  the  keys  are  two, 

The  which  my  predecessor  held  not  dear.'  los 

Then  urged  me  on  his  weighty  arguments 

There,  where  my  silence  was  the  worst  advice ; 

And  said  I :  '  Father,  since  thou  washest  me 
Of  that  sin  into  which  I  now  must  fall, 

The  promise  long  with  the  fulfilment  short  "• 

Will  make  thee  triumph  in  thy  lofty  seat.' 
Francis  came  afterward,  when  I  was  dead, 

For  me  ;  but  one  of  the  black  Cherubim 

Said  to  him  :  '  Take  him  not ;  do  me  no  wrong ; 
He  must  come  down  among  my  servitors,  "S 

Because  he  gave  the  fraudulent  advice 

From  which  time  forth  I  have  been  at  his  hair ; 
For  who  repents  not  cannot  be  absolved. 

Nor  can  one  both  repent  and  will  at  once, 

Because  of  the  contradiction  which  consents  not.  no 

O  miserable  me  !  how  I  did  shudder 

When  he  seized  on  me,  saying :  '  Peradventure 

Thou  didst  not  think  that  I  was  a  logician  ! ' 
He  bore  me  unto  Minos,  who  entwined 

Eight  times  his  tail  about  his  stubborn  back,  ^s 

And  after  he  had  bitten  it  in  great  rage, 
Said  :  '  Of  the  thievish  fire  a  culprit  this ;' 

Wherefore,  here  where  thou  seest,  am  I  lost, 

And  vested  thus  in  going  I  bemoan  me." 
When  it  had  thus  completed  its  recital,  130 

The  flame  departed  uttering  lamentations. 

Writhing  and  flapping  its  sharp-pointed  horn. 
Onward  we  passed,  both  I  and  my  Conductor, 

Up  o'er  the  crag  above  another  arch. 

Which  the  moat  covers,  where  is  paid  the  fee  135 

By  those  who,  sowing  discord,  win  their  burden. 


INFERNO,    XXVIII.  89 


CANTO   XXVIII. 

Who  ever  could,  e'en  with  untrammelled  words, 

Tell  of  the  blood  and  of  the  wounds  in  full 

Which  now  I  saw,  by  many  times  narrating? 
Each  tongue  would  for  a  certainty  fall  short 

By  reason  of  our  speech  and  memory,  s 

That  have  small  room  to  comprehend  so  much. 
If  were  again  assembled  all  the  people 

Which  formerly  upon  the  fateful  land 

Of  Puglia  were  lamenting  for  their  blood 
Shed  by  the  Romans  and  the  lingering  war  w 

That  of  the  rings  made  such  illustrious  spoils, 

As  Livy  has  recorded,  who  errs  not, 
With  those  who  felt  the  agony  of  blows 

By  making  counterstand  to  Robert  Guiscard, 

And  all  the  rest,  whose  bones  are  gathered  still  .  «5 

At  Ceperano,  where  a  renegade 

Was  each  Apulian,  and  at  Tagliacozzo, 

Where  without  arms  the  old  Alardo  conquered, 
And  one  his  limb  transpierced,  and  one  lopped  off. 

Should  show,  it  would  be  nothing  to  compare  20 

With  the  disgusting  mode  of  the  ninth  Bolgia. 
A  cask  by  losing  centre-piece  or  cant 

Was  never  shattered  so,  as  I  saw  one 

Rent  from  the  chin  to  where  one  breaketh  wind. 
Between  his  legs  were  hanging  down  his  entrails ;  »s 

His  heart  was  visible,  and  the  dismal  sack 

That  maketh  excrement  of  what  is  eaten. 
While  I  was  all  absorbed  in  seeing  him. 

He  looked  at  me,  and  opened  with  his  hands 

His  bosom,  saying  :  "  See  now  how  I  rend  me ;  30 

How  mutilated,  see,  is  Mahomet ; 

In  front  of  me  doth  Ali  weeping  go, 

Cleft  in  the  face  from  forelock  unto  chin ; 
And  all  the  others  whom  thou  here  beholdest, 

Disseminators  of  scandal  and  of  schism  3S 

While  living  were,  and  therefore  are  cleft  thus. 
A  devil  is  behind  here,  who  doth  cleave  us 

Thus  cruelly,  unto  the  falchion's  edge 

Putting  again  each  one  of  all  this  ream, 


'9<>  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


When  we  have  gone  around  the  doleful  road  ;  40 

By  reason  that  our  wounds  are  closed  again 

Ere  any  one  in  front  of  him  repass. 
But  who  art  thou,  that  musest  on  the  crag, 

Perchance  to  postpone  going  to  the  pain 

That  is  adjudged  upon  thine  accusations?"  45 

"  Nor  death  hath  reached  him  yet,  nor  guilt  doth  bring  him," 

My  Master  made  reply,  "  to  be  tormented ; 

But  to  procure  him  full  experience, 
Me,  who  am  dead,  behoves  it  to  conduct  him 

Down  here  through  Hell,  from  circle  unto  circle  ;  50 

And  this  is  true  as  that  I  speak  to  thee." 
More  than  a  hundred  were  there  when  they  heard  him, 

Who  in  the  moat  stood  still  to  look  at  me, 

Through  wonderment  obHvious  of  their  torture. 
"  Now  say  to  Fra  Dolcino,  then,  to  arm  him,  ss 

Thou,  wbo  perhaps  wilt  shortly  see  the  sun, 

If  soon  he  wish  not  here  to  follow  me, 
So  with  provisions,  that  no  stress  of  snow 

May  give  the  victory  to  the  Novarese, 

Which  otherwise  to  gain  would  not  be  easy."  60 

After  one  foot  to  go  away  he  lifted, 

This  word  did  Mahomet  say  unto  me. 

Then  to  depart  upon  the  ground  he  stretched  it. 
Another  one,  who  had  his  throat  pierced  through, 

And  nose  cut  off  close  underneath  the  brows,  6s 

And  had  no  longer  but  a  single  ear. 
Staying  to  look  in  wonder  with  the  others, 

Before  the  others  did  his  gullet  open. 

Which  outwardly  was  red  in  every  part, 
And  said  :  "  O  thou,  whom  guilt  doth  not  condemn,  7° 

And  whom  I  once  saw  up  in  Latian  land. 

Unless  too  great  similitude  deceive  me. 
Call  to  remembrance  Pier  da  Medicina, 

If  e'er  thou  see  again  the  lovely  plain 

That  from  Vercelli  slopes  to  Marcabo,  75 

And  make  it  known  to  the  best  two  of  Fano, 

To  Messer  Guido  and  Angiolello  likewise, 

That  if  foreseeing  here  be  not  in  vain. 
Cast  over  from  their  vessel  shall  they  be. 

And  drowned  near  unto  the  Cattolica,  80 

By  the  betrayal  of  a  tyrant  fell. 
Between  the  isles  of  Cyprus  and  Majorca 

Neptune  ne'er  yet  beheld  so  great  a  crime 

Neither  of  pirates  nor  Argolic  people. 


INFERNO,  XX  VIII.  9' 


That  traitor,  who  sees  only  with  one  eye,  8s 

And  holds  the  land,  which  some  one  here  with  me 

Would  fain  be  fasting  from  the  vision  of, 
Will  make  them  come  unto  a  parley  with  him ; 

Then  will  do  so,  that  to  Focara's  wind 

They  will  not  stand  in  need  of  vow  or  prayer."  90 

And  I  to  him  :  "  Show  to  me  and  declare, 

If  thou  wouldst  have  me  bear  up  news  of  thee, 

Who  is  this  person  of  the  bitter  vision." 
Then  did  he  lay  his  hand  upon  the  jaw 

Of  one  of  his  companions,  and  his  mouth  95 

Oped,  crying  :  "  This  is  he,  and  he  speaks  not. 
This  one,  being  banished,  every  doubt  submerged 

In  Caesar  by  affirming  the  forearmed 

Always  with  detriment  allowed  delay." 

0  how  bewildered  unto  me  appeared,  100 

With  tongue  asunder  in  his  windpipe  slit. 

Curio,  who  in  speaking  was  so  bold  ! 
And  one,  who  both  his  hands  dissevered  had, 

The  stumps  uplifting  through  the  murky  air, 

So  that  the  blood  made  horrible  his  face,  105 

Cried  out:  "Thou  shalt  remember  Mosca  also, 

Who  said,  alas  !  '  A  thing  done  has  an  end  ! ' 

Which  was  an  ill  seed  for  the  Tuscan  people  • " 
"  And  death  unto  thy  race,"  thereto  I  added ; 

Whence  he,  accumulating  woe  on  woe,  nc 

Departed,  like  a  person  sad  and  crazed. 
But  I  remained  to  look  upon  the  crowd ; 

And  saw  a  thing  which  I  should  be  afraid, 

Without  some  further  proof,  even  to  recount, 
If  it  were  not  that  conscience  reassures  me,  »»s 

That  good  companion  which  emboldens  man 

Beneath  the  hauberk  of  its  feeling  pure. 

1  truly  saw,  and  still  I  seem  to  see  it, 

A  trunk  without  a  head  walk  in  like  manner 

As  walked  the  others  of  the  mournful  herd.  "o 

And  by  the  hair  it  held  the  head  dissevered. 

Hung  from  the  hand  in  fashion  of  a  lantern. 
And  that  upon  us  gazed  and  said  :  "  O  me  !  " 

It  of  itself  made  to  itself  a  lamp, 

And  they  were  two  in  one,  and  one  in  two ;  ns 

How  that  can  be,  He  knows  who  so  ordains  it. 

When  it  was  come  close  to  the  bridge's  foot. 
It  lifted  high  its  arm  with  all  the  head, 
To  bring  more  closely  unto  us  its  words, 


92  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Which  were  :  "  Behold  now  the  sore  penalty, 

Thou,  who  dost  breathing  go  the  dead  beholding ; 
Behold  if  any  be  as  great  as  this. 

And  so  that  thou  may  carry  news  of  me, 

Know  that  Bertram  de  Born  am  I,  the  same 
Who  gave  to  the  Young  King  the  evil  comfort. 

I  made  the  father  and  the  son  rebellious ; 
Achitophel  not  more  with  Absalom 
And  David  did  with  his  accursed  goadings. 

Because  I  parted  persons  so  united, 

Parted  do  I  now  bear  my  brain,  alas ! 
From  its  beginning,  which  is  in  this  trunk. 

Thus  is  observed  in  me  the  counterpoise." 


CANTO   XXIX. 

The  many  people  and  the  divers  wounds 
These  eyes  of  mine  had  so  inebriated, 
That  they  were  wishful  to  stand  still  and  weep  ; 

But  said  Virgilius  :  "  What  dost  thou  still  gaze  at  ? 
Why  is  thy  sight  still  riveted  down  there 
Among  the  mournful,  mutilated  shades  ? 

Thou  hast  not  done  so  at  the  other  Bolge  ; 
Consider,  if  to  count  them  thou  believest, 
That  two-and-twenty  miles  the  valley  winds, 

And  now  the  moon  is  underneath  our  feet ; 
Henceforth  the  time  allotted  us  is  brief, 
And  more  is  to  be  seen  than  what  thou  seest." 

"  If  thou  hadst,"  I  made  answer  thereupon, 

"  Attended  to  the  cause  for  which  I  looked, 
Perhaps  a  longer  stay  thou  wouldst  have  pardoned." 

Meanwhile  my  (iuide  departed,  and  behind  him 
I  went,  already  making  my  reply, 
And  superadding  :  "  In  that  cavern  where 

I  held  mine  eyes  with  such  attention  fixed, 
I  think  a  spirit  of  my  blood  laments 
The  sin  which  down  below  there  costs  so  much." 

Then  said  the  Master  :  "  Be  no  longer  broken 

Thy  thought  from  this  time  forward  upon  him ; 
Attend  elsewhere,  and  there  let  him  remain ; 

For  him  I  saw  below  the  little  bridge. 

Pointing  at  thee,  and  threatening  with  his  finger 
Fiercely,  and  heard  him  called  Geri  del  Bello. 


INFERNO,  XXIX.  93 

So  wholly  at  that  time  wast  thou  impeded 

By  him  who  formerly  held  Altaforte, 

Thou  didst  not  look  that  way;  so  he  departed."  30 

*'  O  my  Conductor,  his  own  violent  death, 

Which  is  not  yet  avenged  for  him,"  I  said, 

"  By  any  who  is  sharer  in  the  shame, 
Made  him  disdainful ;  whence  he  went  away, 

As  I  imagine,  without  speaking  to  me,  3S 

And  thereby  made  me  pity  him  the  more." 
Thus  did  we  speak  as  far  as  the  first  place 

Upon  the  crag,  which  the  next  valley  shows 

Down  to  the  bottom,  if  there  were  more  light. 
When  we  were  now  right  over  the  last  cloister  40 

Of  Malebolge,  so  that  its  lay-brothers 

Could  manifest  themselves  unto  our  sight, 
Divers  lamentings  pierced  me  through  and  through. 

Which  with  compassion  had  their  arrows  barbed, 

Whereat  mine  ears  I  covered  with  my  hands.  45 

What  pain  would  be,  if  from  the  hospitals 

Of  Valdichiana,  'twixt  July  and  September, 

And  of  Maremma  and  Sardinia 
All  the  diseases  in  one  moat  were  gathered, 

Such  was  it  here,  and  such  a  stench  came  fi"om  it  50 

As  from  putrescent  limbs  is  wont  to  issue. 
We  had  descended  on  the  furthest  bank 

From  the  long  crag,  upon  the  left  hand  still, 

And  then  more  vivid  was  my  power  of  sight 
Down  tow'rds  the  bottom,  where  the  ministress  55 

Of  the  high  Lord,  Justice  infallible, 

Punishes  forgers,  which  she  here  records. 
I  do  not  think  a  sadder  sight  to  see 

Was  in  ^Egina  the  whole  people  sick, 

(When  was  the  air  so  full  of  pestilence,  *» 

The  animals,  down  to  the  little  worm, 

All  fell,  and  afterwards  the  ancient  people. 

According  as  the  poets  have  affirmed, 
W^ere  from  the  seed  of  ants  restored  again,) 

Than  was  it  to  behold  through  that  dark  valley  cs 

The  spirits  languishing  in  divers  heaps. 
This  on  the  belly,  that  upon  the  back 

One  of  the  other  lay,  and  others  crawling 

Shifted  themselves  along  the  dismal  road. 
We  step  by  step  went  onward  without  speech,  70 

Gazing  upon  and  listening  to  the  sick 

Who  had  not  strength  enough  to  lift  their  bodies. 


94  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

I  saw  two  sitting  leaned  against  each  other, 

As  leans  in  heating  platter  against  platter, 

From  head  to  foot  bespotted  o'er  with  scabs ;  n 

And  never  saw  T  plied  a  currycomb 

By  stable-boy  for  whom  his  master  waits, 

Or  him  who  keeps  awake  unwillingly, 
As  every  one  was  plying  fast  the  bite 

Of  nails  upon  himself,  for  the  great  rage  80 

Of  itching  which  no  other  succour  had. 
And  the  nails  downward  with  them  dragged  the  scab, 

In  fashion  as  a  knife  the  scales  of  bream, 

Or  any  other  fish  that  has  them  largest. 
"  O  thou,  that  with  thy  fingers  dost  dismail  thee,"  8s 

Began  my  Leader  unto  one  of  them, 

"  And  makest  of  them  pincers  now  and  then, 
Tell  me  if  any  Latian  is  with  those 

Who  are  herein ;  so  may  thy  nails  suffice  thee 

To  all  eternity  unto  this  work."  90 

"  Latians  are  we,  whom  thou  so  wasted  seest. 

Both  of  us  here,"  one  weeping  made  reply ; 

"  But  who  art  thou,  that  questionest  abouc  us?  " 
And  said  the  Guide  :  "  One  am  I  who  descends 

Down  with  this  living  man  from  cliff  to  cliff,  « 

And  I  intend  to  show  Hell  unto  him." 
Then  broken  was  their  mutual  support. 

And  trembling  each  one  turned  himself  to  me, 

With  others  who  had  heard  him  by  rebound. 
Wholly  to  me  did  the  good  Master  gather,  too 

Saying  :  "  Say  unto  them  whate'er  thou  wishest." 

And  I  began,  since  he  would  have  it  so  : 
"  So  may  your  memory  not  steal  away 

In  the  first  world  from  out  the  minds  of  men, 

But  so  may  it  survive  'neath  many  suns,  iflS 

Say  to  me  who  ye  are,  and  of  what  people  ; 

Let  not  your  foul  and  loathsome  punishment 

Make  you  afraid  to  show  yourselves  to  me." 
**  I  of  Arezzo  was,"  one  made  reply, 

"  And  Albert  of  Siena  had  me  burned  ;  «» 

But  what  I  died  for  does  not  bring  me  here. 
'Tis  true  I  said  to  him,  speaking  in  jest, 

That  I  could  rise  by  flight  into  the  air. 

And  he  who  had  conceit,  but  little  wit, 
Would  have  me  show  to  him  the  art  ;  and  only  m 

Because  no  Daedalus  I  made  him,  made  me 

Be  burned  by  one  who  held  him  as  his  son. 


INFERN-O,  XXX.  95 


But  unto  the  last  Bolgia  of  the  ten, 

For  alchemy,  which  in  the  world  I  practised, 

Minos,  who  cannot  err,  has  me  condemned." 
And  to  the  Poet  said  I :  "  Now  was  ever 

So  vain  a  people  as  the  Sienese  ? 

Not  for  a  certainty  the  French  by  far." 
Whereat  the  other  leper,  who  had  heard  me, 

Replied  unto  my  speech  :  "  Taking  out  Stricca, 

Who  knew  the  art  of  moderate  expenses, 
And  Niccolo,  who  the  luxurious  use 

Of  cloves  discovered  earliest  of  all 

Within  that  garden  where  such  seed  takes  root ; 
And  taking  out  the  band,  among  whom  squandered 

Caccia  d'Ascian  his  vineyards  and  vast  woods. 

And  where  his  wit  the  Abbagliato  proffered  ! 
But,  that  thou  know  who  thus  doth  second  thee 

Against  the  Sienese,  make  sharp  thine  eye 

Tow'rds  me,  so  that  my  face  well  answer  thee, 
And  thou  shalt  see  I  am  Capocchio's  shade, 

Who  metals  falsified  by  alchemy ; 

Thou  must  remember,  if  I  well  descry  thee, 
How  I  a  skilful  ape  of  nature  was." 


CANTO   XXX. 

'TwAS  at  the  time  when  Juno  was  enraged. 
For  Semele,  against  the  Theban  blood, 
As  she  already  more  than  once  had. shown, 

So  reft  of  reason  Athamas  became. 

That,  seeing  his  own  wife  with  children  twain 
Walking  encumbered  upon  either  hand, 

He  cried  :  "  Spread  out  the  nets,  that  I  may  take 
The  lioness  and  her  whelps  upon  the  passage  ; " 
And  then  extended  his  unpitying  claws, 

Seizing  the  first,  who  had  the  name  Learchus, 

And  whirled  him  round,  and  dashed  him  on  a  rock ; 
And  she,  with  the  other  burthen,  drowned  herself; — 

And  at  the  time  when  fortune  downward  hurled 
The  Trojan's  arrogance,  that  all  things  dared, 
So  that  the  king  was  with  his  kingdom  crushed, 

Hecuba  sad,  disconsolate,  and  captive. 
When  lifeless  she  beheld  Polyxena, 
And  of  her  Polydorus  on  the  shore 


96  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Of  ocean  was  the  dolorous  one  aware, 

Out  of  her  senses  Hke  a  dog  she  barked,  jo 

So'much  the  anguish  had  her  mind  distorted  ; 
But  not  of  Thebes  the  furies  nor  the  Trojan 

Were  ever  seen  in  any  one  so  cruel 

In  goading  beasts,  and  much  more  human  members, 
As  I  beheld  two  shadows  pale  and  naked,  =5 

Who,  biting,  in  the  manner  ran  along 

That  a  boar  does,  when  from  the  sty  turned  loose.  ■'' 

One  to  Capocchio  came,  and  by  the  nape 

Seized  with  its  teeth  his  neck,  so  that  in  dragging 

It  made  his  belly  grate  the  solid  bottom.  30 

And  the  Aretine,  who  trembling  had  remained. 

Said  to  me  :  "  That  mad  sprite  is  Gianni  Schicchi, 

And  raving  goes  thus  harrying  other  people." 
"  O,"  said  I  to  him,  "  so  may  not  the  other 

Set  teeth  on  thee,  let  it  not  weary  thee  35 

To  tell  us  who  it  is,  ere  it  dart  hence." 
And  he  to  me  :  "  That  is  the  ancient  ghost 

Of  the  nefarious  Myrrha,  who  became 

Beyond  all  rightful  love  her  father's  lover. 
She  came  to  sin  with  him  after  this  manner,  40 

By  counterfeiting  of  another's  form  ; 

As  he  who  goeth  yonder  undertook, 
That  he  might  gain  the  lady  of  the  herd, 

To  counterfeit  in  himself  Buoso  Donati, 

Making  a  will  and  giving  it  due  form."  4S 

And  after  the  two  maniacs  had  passed 

On  whom  I  held  mine  eye,  I  turned  it  back 

To  look  upon  the  other  evil-born. 
I  saw  one  made  in  fashion  of  a  lute. 

If  he  had  only  had  the  groin  cut  off  s" 

Just  at  the  point  at  wl.ich  a  man  is  forked. 
The  heavy  dropsy,  that  so  dispioportions 

The  limbs  with  humours,  which  it  ill  concocts, 

That  the  face  corresponds  not  to  the  belly, 
Compelled  him  so  to  hold  his  lips  apart  ss 

As  does  the  hectic,  who  because  of  thirst 

One  tow'rds  the  chin,  the  other  upward  turns. 
"  O  ye,  who  without  any  torment  are, 

And  why  I  know  not,  in  the  world  of  woe," 

He  said  to  us,  "  behold,  and  be  attentive  «o 

Unto  the  misery  of  Master  Adam  ; 

I  had  while  living  much  of  what  I  wished, 

And  now,  alas  !  a  drop  of  water  crave. 


JNFERNO,   XXX.  97 


The  rivulets,  that  from  the  verdant  hills 

Of  Cassentin  descend  down  into  Arno,  65 

Making  their  channels  to  be  cold  and  moist, 
Ever  before  me  stand,  and  not  in  vain  ; 

For  far  more  doth  their  image  dry  me  up 

Than  the  disease  which  strips  my  face  of  flesh. 
The  rigid  justice  that  chastises  me  ^ 

Draweth  occasion  from  the  place  in  which 

I  sinned,  to  put  the  more  my  sighs  in  flight. 
There  is  Romena,  where  I  counterfeited 

The  currency  imprinted  with  the  Baptist, 

For  which  I  left  my  body  burned  above.  75 

But  if  I  here  could  see  the  tristful  soul 

Of  Guido,  or  Alessandro,  or  their  brother, 

For  Branda's  fount  I  would  not  give  the  sight. 
One  is  within  already,  if  the  raving 

Shades  that  are  going  round  about  speak  truth  ;  80 

But  what  avails  it  me,  whose  limbs  are  tied  ? 
If  I  were  only  still  so  light,  that  in 

A  hundred  years  I  could  advance  one  inch, 

I  had  already  started  on  the  way, 
Seeking  him  out  among  this  squahd  folk,  85 

Although  the  circuit  be  eleven  miles,  . 

And  be  not  less  than  half  a  mile  across. 
For  them  am  I  in  such  a  family ; 

They  did  induce  me  into  coining  florins. 

Which  had  three  carats  of  impurity."  90 

And  I  to  him  :  "  Who  are  the  two  poor  wretches 

That  smoke  like  unto  a  wet  hand  in  winter, 

Lying  there  close  upon  thy  right  hand  confines  ?  " 
"  I  found  them  here,"  replied  he,  "  when  I  rained 

Into  this  chasm,  and  since  they  have  not  turned,  95 

Nor  do  I  think  they  will  for  evermore. 
One  the  false  woman  is  who  accused  Joseph, 

The  other  the  false  Sinon,  Greek  of  Troy ; 

From  acute  fever  they  send  forth  such  reek." 
And  one  of  them,  who  felt  himself  annoyed  100 

At  being,  peradventure,  named  so  darkly. 

Smote  with  the  fist  upon  his  hardened  pauncli. 
It  gave  a  sound,  as  if  it  were  a  drum  ; 

And  Master  Adam  smote  him  in  the  face. 

With  arm  that  did  not  seem  to  be  less  hard,  1=5 

Saying  to  him  :  "Although  be  taken  from  me 

All  motion,  for  my  limbs  that  heavy  are, 

I  have  an  arm  unfettered  for  such  need." 


98  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Whereat  he  answer  made  :  "  Whea  thou  didst  go 

Unto  the  fire,  thou  hadst  it  not  so  ready  :  "o 

But  hadst  it  so  and  more  when  thou  wast  coinmg." 

The  dropsical :  "  Thou  sayest  true  in  that ; 

But  thou  wast  not  so  true  a  witness  there, 

Where  thou  wast  questioned  of  the  truth  at  Troy." 

"  If  I  spake  false,  thou  falsifiedst  the  coin,"  «5 

Said  Sinon  ;  "  and  for  one  fault  I  am  here, 
And  thou  for  more  than  any  other  demon." 

"  Remember,  perjurer,  about  the  horse," 

He  made  reply  who  had  the  swollen  belly, 

"  And  rueful  be  it  thee  the  whole  world  knows  it."  i-'o 

"  Rueful  to  thee  the  thirst  be  wherewith  cracks 

Thy  tongue,"  the  Greek  said,  "  and  the  putrid  water 
That  hedges  so  thy  paunch  before  thine  eyes." 

Then  the  false-coiner  :  "  So  is  gaping  wide 

Thy  mouth  for  speaking  evil,  as  'tis  wont ;  "s 

Because  if  I  have  thirst,  and  humour  stuff  me 

Thou  hast  the  burning  and  the  head  that  aches, 
And  to  lick  up  the  mirror  of  Narcissus 
Thou  wouldst  not  want  words  many  to  invite  thee." 

In  listening  to  them  was  I  wholly  fixed,  ijf 

When  said  the  Master  to  me  :  "  Now  just  look, 
For  little  wants  it  that  J  quarrel  with  thee." 

When  him  I  heard  in  anger  speak  to  me, 

I  turned  me  round  towards  him  with  such  shame 

That  still  it  eddies  through  my  memory.  135 

And  as  he  is  who  dreams  of  his  own  harm, 
Who  dreaming  wishes  it  mny  be  a  dream. 
So  that  he  craves  what  is,  as  if  it  were  not ; 

."Such  I  became,  not  having  power  to  speak, 

For  to  excuse  myself  I  wished,  and  still  14c 

Excused  myself,  and  did  not  think  I  did  it. 

■"  Less  shame  doth  wash  away  a  greater  fault," 

The  Master  said,  "  than  this  of  thine  has  been  ; 
Therefore  thyself  disburden  of  all  sadness. 

And  make  account  that  I  am  aye  beside  thee,  145 

If  e'er  it  come  to  pass  that  fortune  bring  thee 
Where  there  are  people  in  a  like  dispute ; 

For  a  base  wish  it  is  to  wish  to  hear  it" 


INFERNO,   XXXI.  99 


CANTO   XXXI. 

One  and  the  selfsame  tongue  first  wounded  me, 
So  that  it  tinged  the  one  cheek  and  the  other, 
And  then  held  out  to  me  the  medicine ; 

Thus  do  I  hear  that  once  Achilles'  spear, 

His  and  his  father's,  used  to  be  the  cause 
First  of  a  sad  and  then  a  gracious  boon. 

We  turned  our  backs  upon  the  wretched  valley, 
Upon  the  bank  that  girds  it  round  about, 
Going  across'it  without  any  speech. 

There  it  was  less  than  night,  and  less  than  day, 
So  that  my  sight  went  little  in  advance  ; 
But  I  could  hear  the  blare  of  a  loud  horn. 

So  loud  it  would  have  made  each  thunder  faint, 
Which,  counter  to  it  following  its  way. 
Mine  eyes  directed  wholly  to  one  place. 

After  the  dolorous  discomfiture 

When  Charlemagne  the  holy  emprise  lost, 
So  terribly  Orlando  sounded  not. 

Short  while  my  head  turned  thitherward  I  held 
When  many  lofty  towers  I  seemed  to  see. 
Whereat  I  :  "  Master,  say,  what  town  is  this  ? 

And  he  to  me  :  "  Because  thou  peerest  forth 

Athwart  the  darkness  at  too  great  a  distance, 
It  happens  that  thou  errest  in  thy  fancy. 

Well  shalt  thou  see,  if  thou  arrivest  there, 

How  much  the  sense  deceives  itself  by  distance ; 
Therefore  a  little  faster  spur  tinee  on." 

Then  tenderly  he  took  me  by  the  hand, 

And  said  :  "  Before  we  farther  have  advanced. 
That  the  reality  may  seem  to  thee 

Less  strange,  know  that  these  are  not  towers,  but  giants. 
And  they  are  in  the  well,  around  the  bank, 
From  navel  downward,  one  and  all  of  them. " 

As,  when  the  fog  is  vanishing  away, 

Little  by  little  doth  the  sight  refigure 
Whate'er  the  misV  that  crowds  the  air  conceals. 

So,  piercing  through  the  dense  and  darksome  air. 

More  and  more  near  approaching  tow'rd  the  verge, 
My  error  fled,  and  fear  came  over  me ; 


THE    DIVINE    COMEDY. 


Because  as  on  its  circular  parapets  4* 

Montereggione  crowns  itself  with  towers, 

E'en  thus  the  margin  which  surrounds  the  well 
With  one  half  of  their  bodies  turreted 

The  horrible  giants,  whom  Jove  menaces 

E'en  now  from  out  the  heavens  when  he  thunders.  «s 

And  I  of  one  already  saw  the  face. 

Shoulders,  and  breast,  and  great  part  of  the  belly. 

And  down  along  his  sides  both  of  the  arms. 
Certainly  Nature,  when  she  left  the  making 

Of  animals  like  these,  did  well  indeed,  S" 

By  taking  such  executors  from  Mars  ; 
And  if  of  elephants  and  whales  she  doth  not 

Repent  her,  whosoever  looketh  subtly 

More  just  and  more  discreet  will  hold  her  for  it ; 
For  where  the  argument  of  intellect  ss 

Is  added  unto  evil  will  and  power. 

No  rampart  can  the  people  make  against  it. 
H^is  face  appeared  to  me  as  long  and  large 

As  is  at  Rome  the  pine-cone  of  Saint  Peter's, 

And  in  proportion  were  the  other  bones  ;  60 

$0,  that  the  margin,  which  an  apron  was 

Down  from  the  middle,  showed  so  much  of  him 

Above  it,  that  to  reach  up  to  his  hair 
Three  Frieslanders  in  vain  had  vaunted  them  ; 

For  I  beheld  thirty  great  palms  of  him  65 

Down  from  the  place  where  man  his  mantle  buckles. 
"  Raphael  mai  amech  izabi  almi," 

Began  to  clamour  the  ferocious  mouth. 

To  which  were  not  befitting  sweeter  psalms. 
And  unto  him  my  Guide  :  "  Soul  idiotic,  70 

Keep  to  thy  horn,  and  vent  thyself  with  that, 

When  wrath  or  other  passion  touches  thee.  * 

Search  round  thy  neck,  and  thou  wilt  find  the  belt 

Which  keeps  it  fastened,  O  bewildered  soul, 

And  see  it,  where  it  bars  thy  mighty  breast."  i% 

Then  said  to  me  :  "  He  doth  himself  accuse  ;  - 

This  one  is  Nimrod,  by  whose  evil  thought 

One  language  in  the  world  is  not  still  used. 
Here  let  us  leave  him  and  not  speak  in  vain  ; 

For  even  such  to  him  is  every  language  8« 

As  his  to  others,  which  to  none  is  known." 
Therefore  a  longer  journey  did  we  make, 

Turned  to  the  left,  and  a  crossbow-shot  oft 

We  found  another  far  more  fierce  and  large. 


INFERNO,    XXXI. 


In  binding  him,  who  might  the  master  be  ss 

I  cannot  say  ;  but  he  had  pinioned  close 
Behind  the  right  arm,  and  in  front  the  other, 

With  chains,  that  held  him  so  begirt  about 

From  the  neck  down,  that  on  the  part  uncovered 

It  wound  itself  as  far  as  the  fifth  gyre.  90 

"  This  proud  one  wished  to  make  experiment 

Of  his  own  power  against  the  Supreme  Jove," 
My  Leader  said,  "  whence  he  has  such  a  guerdon. 

Ephialtes  is  his  name  ;  he  showed  great  prowess. 

What  time  the  giants  terrified  the  gods ;  95 

The  arras  he  wielded  never  more  he  moves." 

And  I  to  him  :  "  If  possible,  I  should  wish 
That  of  the  measureless  Briareus 
These  eyes  of  mine  might  have  experience." 

Whence  he  replied  :  "  Thou  shalt  behold  Antaeus  ia> 

Close  by  here,  who  can  speak  and  is  unbound. 
Who  at  the  bottom  of  all  crime  shall  place  us. 

Much  farther  yon  is  he  whom  thou  wouldst  see. 

And  he  is  bound,  and  fashioned  like  to  this  one, 

Save  that  he  seems  in  aspect  more  ferocious."  105 

There  never  was  an  earthquake  of  such  might 
That  it  could  shake  a  tower  so  violently. 
As  Ephialtes  suddenly  shook  himself. 

Then  was  I  more  afraid  of  death  than  ever. 

For  nothing  more  was  needful  than  the  fear,  «« 

If  I  had  not  beheld  the  manacles. 

Then  we  proceeded  farther  in  advance, 

And  to  Antaeus  came,  who,  full  five  ells 
Without  the  head,  forth  issued  from  the  cavern. 

"  O  thou,  who  in  the  valley  fortunate,  m5 

Which  Scipio  the  heir  of  glory  made. 
When  Hannibal  turned  back  with  all  his  hosts. 

Once  brought'st  a  thousand  lions  for  thy  prey. 
And  who,  jiadst  thou  been  at  the  mighty  war 
Among  thy  brothers,  some  it  seems  still  think  »o 

The  sons  of  Earth  the  victory  would  have  gained  : 
Place  us  below,  nor  be  disdainful  of  it. 
There  where  the  cold  doth  lock  Cocytus  up. 

Make  us  not  go  to  Tityus  nor  Typhoeus ; 

This  one  can  give  of  that  which  here  is  longed  for ;  iq 

Therefore  stoop  down,  and  do  not  curl  thy  lip. 

Still  in  the  world  can  he  restore  thy  fame.; 

Because  he  lives,  and  still  expects  long  life, 
If  to  itself  Grace  call  him  not  untimely." 


THE  DIVINE    COMEDY. 


So  said  the  Master ;  and  in  haste  the  other 

His  hands  extended  and  took  up  my  Guide, — 
Hands  whose  great  pressure  Hercules  once  felt. 

Virgilius,  when  he  felt  himself  embraced, 

Said  unto  me  :  "  Draw  nigh,  that  I  may  take  thee  ; " 
Then  of  himself  and  me  one  bundle  made. 

As  seems  the  Carisenda,  to  behold 

Beneath  the  leaning  side,  when  goes  a  cloud 
Above  it  so  that  opposite  it  hangs  ; 

Such  did  Antaeus  seem  to  me,  who  stood 

Watching  to  see  him  stoop,  and  then  it  was 
I  could  have  wished  to  go  some  other  way. 

But  lightly  in  the  abyss,  which  swallows  up 
Judas  with  Lucifer,  he  put  us  down  ; 
Nor  thus  bowed  downward  made  he  there  delay, 

But,  as  a  mast  does  in  a  ship,  uprose. 


CANTO   XXXII. 

If  I  had  rhymes  both  rough  and  stridulous. 
As  were  appropriate  to  the  dismal  hole 
Down  upon  which  thrust  all  the  other  rocks, 

I  would  press  out  the  juice  of  my  conception 
More  fully  ;  but  because  I  have  them  not, 
Not  without  fear  I  bring  myself  to  speak  ; 

For  'tis  no  enterprise  to  take  in  jest, 

To  sketch  the  bottom  of  all  the  universe, 

Nor  for  a  ton-ue  that  cries  Mamma  and  Babbo. 

But  may  those  Ladies  help  this  verse  of  mine. 
Who  helped  Amphion  in  enclosing  Thebes, 
That  from  the  fact  the  word  be  not  diverse. 

O  rabble  ill-begotten  above  all, 

Who're  in  the  place  to  speak  of  which  is  hard, 
'Twere  better  ye  hud  here  been  sheep  (5r  goats  I 

When  we  were  down  within  the  darksome  well, 
Beneath  the  giant's  fee  ,  but  lower  far. 
And  I  was  scanning  still  the  lofty  wall, 

i.  heard  it  said  to  me  :  "  Look  hovv  thou  steppest  i 
Take  heed  thou  do  not  trample  with  thy  feet 
The  heads  of  the  tired,  miserable  brothers  !  " 

Whereat  I  turned  me  round,  and  saw  before  me 
And  underfoot  a  lake,  that  from  the  frost 
The  semblance  had  of  glass,  and  not  of  water. 


INFERNO,   XXXir. 


So  thick  a  veil  ne'er  made  upon  its  current 

In  winter-time  Danube  in  Austria, 

Nor  there  beneath  the  frigid  sky  the  Don, 
As  there  was  here  ;  so  that  if  Tambemich  I 

Had  fallen  upon  it,  or  Pietrapana, 

E'en  at  the  edge  'twould  not  have  given  a  creak.  3« 

And  as  to  croak  the  frog  doth  place  himself 

With  muzzle  out  of  water, — when  is  dreaming 

Of  gleaning  oftentimes  the  peasant-girl, — 
Livid,  as  far  down  as  where  shame  appears, 

Were  the  disconsolate  shades  within  the  ice,  35 

Setting  their  teeth  unto  the  note  of  storks. 
Each  one  his  countenance  held  downward  bent ; 

From  mouth  the  cold,  from  eyes  the  doleful  heart 

Among  them  .witness  of  itself  procures. 
When  round  about  me  somewhat  I  had  looked,  40 

I  downward  turned  me,  and  saw  two  so  close. 

The  hair  upon  their  heads  together  mingled. 
"  Ye  who  so  strain  your  breasts  together,  tell  me," 

I  said,  "who  are  you;"  and  they  bent  their  necks. 

And  when  to  me  their  faces  they  had  lifted,  45 

Their  eyes,  which  first  were  only  moist  within. 

Gushed  o'er  the  eyelids,  and  the  frost  congealed 

The  tears  between,  and  locked  them  up  again. 
Clamp  never  bound  together  wood  with  wood 

So  strongly  ;  whereat  they,  like  two  he-goats,  50 

Butted  together,  so  much  wrath  o'ercame  then^ 
And  one,  who  had  by  reason  of  the  cold 

Lost  both  his  ears,  still  with  his  visage  downward, 

Said  :  "  Why  dost  thou  so  mirror  thyself  in  us  ? 
If  thou  desire  to  know  who  these  two  are,  ss 

The  valley  whence  Bisenzio  descends 

Belonged  to  them  and  to  their  father  Albert 
They  from  one  body  came,  and  all  Caina 

Thou  shalt  search  through,  and  shalt  not  find  a  shade 

More  worthy  to  be  fixed  in  gelatine ;  6c 

Not  he  in  whom  were  broken  breast  and  shadow 

At  one  and  the  same  blow  by  Arthur's  hand ; 

Focaccia  not ;  not  he  who  me  encumbers 
So  with  his  head  I  see  no  farther  fonvard, 

And  bore  the  name  of  Sassol  Mascheroni ;  fij 

Well  knowest  thou  who  he  was,  if  thou  art  Tuscan. 
And  that  thou  put  me  not  to  further  speech. 

Know  that  I  Camicion  de'  Pazzi  was. 

And  wait  Carlino  to  exonerate  me." 


I04  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


Then  I  beheld  a  thousand  faces,  made  79 

Purple  with  cold ;  whence  o'er  me  comes  a  shudder, 

And  evermore  will  come,  at  frozen  ponds. 
And  while  we  were  advancing  tow'rds  the  middle. 

Where  everything  of  weight  unites  together, 

And  I  was  shivering  in  the  eternal  shade,  7S 

Whether  'twere  will,  or  destiny,  or  chance, 

I  know  not;  but  in  walking  'mong  the  heads 

I  struck  my  foot  hard  in  the  face  of  one. 
Weeping  he  growled  :  "  Why  dost  thou  trample  me  ? 

Unless  thou  comest  to  increase  the  vengeance 

Of  Montaperti,  why  dost  thou  molest  me  ?  " 
And  I  :  "  My  Master,  now  wait  here  for  me, 

That  I  through  him  may  issue  from  a  doubt ; 

Then  thou  mayst  hurry  me,  as  thou  shalt  wish." 
The  Leader  stopped  ;  and  to  that  one  I  said  Ss 

Who  was  blaspheming  vehemently  still: 

"  Who  art  thou,  that  thus  reprehendest  others  ?  " 
"  Now  who  art  thou,  that  goest  through  Antenora 

Smiting,"  replied  he,  "  other  people's  cheeks, 

So  that,  if  thou  wert  living,  'twere  too  much  ?  "  g« 

"  Living  I  am,  and  dear  to  thee  it  may  be," 

Was  my  response,  "  if  thou  demandest  fame. 

That  'mid  the  other  notes  thy  name  I  place." 
And  he  to  me :  "  For  the  reverse  I  long ; 

Take  thyself  hence,  and  give  me  no  more  trouble ;  9s 

For  ill  thou  knowest  to  flatter  in  this  hollow." 
Then  by  the  scalp  behind  I  seized  upon  him. 

And  said  :  "  It  must  needs  be  thou  name  thyself, 

Or  not  a  hair  remain  upon  thee  here." 
Whence  he  to  me  :  "  Though  thou  strip  off  my  hair,  100 

I  will  not  tell  thee  who  I  am,  nor  show  thee. 

If  on  my  head  a  thousand  times  thou  fall." 
I  had  his  hair  in  hand  already  twisted. 

And  more  than  one  shock  of  it  had  pulled  out, 

He  barking,  with  his  eyes  held  firmly  down,  105 

When  cried  another  :  "  What  doth  ail  thee,  Bocca  ? 

Is't  not  enough  to  clatter  with  thy  jaws, 

But  thou  must  bark  ?  what  devil  touches  thee  ?  " 
"  Now,"  said  I,  "  I  care  not  to  have  thee  speak. 

Accursed  traitor  ;  for  unto  thy  shame  vt 

I  will  report  of  thee  veracious  news." 
'^'  Begone,"  replied  he,  "  and  tell  what  thou  wilt, 

But  be  not  silent,  if  thou  issue  hence, 

Of  him  who  had  just  now  his  tongue  so  prompt ; 


INFERNO,    XXXIH.  105 


He  weepeth  here  the  silver  of  the  French  ; 

'  I  saw,'  thus  canst  thou  phrase  it,  '  him  of  l^uera 
There  where  the  sinners  stand  out  in  the  cold.' 

If  thou  shouldst  questioned  be  who  else  was  there, 
Thou  hast  beside  thee  him  of  Beccaria, 
Of  whom  the  gorget  Florence  slit  asunder ; 

Gianni  del  Soldanier,  I  think,  may  be 

Yonder  with  Ganellon,  and  Tiibaldello 
Who  oped  Faenza  when  the  people  slep 

Already  we  had  gone  away  from  him, 

When  I  beheld  two  frozen  in  one  hole. 
So  that  one  head  a  hood  was  to  the  other  ; 

And  even  as  bread  through  hunger  is  devoured. 
The  uppermost  on  the  other  set  his  teeth. 
There  where  .the  brain  is  to  the  nape  united. 

Not  in  another  fashion  Tydeus  gnawed 

The  temples  of  Menalippus  in  disdain, 

Than  that  one  did  the  skull  and  the  other  things. 

"  O  thou,  who  showest  by  such  bestial  sign 

Thy  hatred  against  him  whom  thou  art  eating, 
Tell  me  the  wherefore,"  said  I,  "  with  this  compact, 

That  if  thou  rightfully  of  him  complain, 

In  knowing  who  ye  are,  and  his  transgression, 
I  in  the  world  above  repay  thee  for  it. 

If  that  wherewith  I  speak  be  not  dried  up." 


CANTO   XXXIII. 

His  mouth  uplifted  from  his  grim  repast, 

That  sinner,  wiping  it  upon  the  hair 

Of  the  same  head  that  he  behind  had  wasted. 
Then  he  began  :  "  Thou  wilt  that  I  renew 

The  desperate  grief,  which  wrings  my  heart  already 

To  think  of  only,  ere  I  speak  of  it ; 
But  if  my  words  be  seed  that  may  bear  fruit 

Of  infamy  to  the  traitor  whom  I  gnaw. 

Speaking  and  weeping  shalt  thou  see  together. 
I  know  not  who  thou  art,  nor  by  what  mode 

Thou  hast  come  down  here  ;  but  a  Florentine 

Thou  seemest  to  me  truly,  when  I  hear  thee. 
Thou  hast  to  know  I  was  Count  Ugolino, 

And  this  one  was  Ruggieri  the  Archbishop  ; 

Now  I  will  tell  thee  why  I  am  such  a  neighbour. 


io6  THE  DIVINE    COMEDY. 

That,  by  effect  of  his  maUcious  thoughts. 

Trusting  in  him  I  was  made  prisoner, 

And  after  put  to  death,  I  need  not  say ; 
But  ne'ertheless  what  thou  canst  not  have  heard, 

That  is  to  say,  how  cruel  was  my  death,  «> 

Hear  shalt  thou,  and  shalt  know  if  he  has  wronged  me. 
A  narrow  perforation  in  the  mew, 

Which  bears  because  of  me  the  title  of  P'amine, 

And  in  which  others  still  must  be  locked  up, 
Had  shown  me  through  its  opening  many  moons  ss 

Already,  when  I  dreamed  the  evil  dream 

Which  of  the  future  rent  for  me  the  veil. 
This  one  appeared  to  me  as  lord  and  master, 

Hunting  the  wolf  and  whelps  upon  the  mountain 

For  which  the  Pisans  cannot  Lucca  see.  30 

With  sleuth-hounds  gaunt,  and  eager,  and  well  trained, 

Gualandi  with  Sismondi  and  Lanfranchi 

He  had  sent  out  before  him  to  the  front. 
After  brief  course  seemed  unto  me  forespent 

The  father  and  the  sons,  and  with  sharp  tushes  35 

It  seemed  to  me  I  saw  their  flanks  ripped  open. 
When  I  before  the  morrow  was  awake. 

Moaning  amid  their  sleep  I  heard  my  sons 

Who  with  me  were,  and  asking  after  bread. 
Cruel  indeed  art  thou,  if  yet  thou  grieve  not,  40 

Thinking  of  what  my  heart  foreboded  me, 

And  weep'st  thou  not,  what  art  thou  wont  to  weep  at  ? 
They  were  awake  now,  and  the  hour  drew  nigh 

At  which  our  food  used  to  be  brought  to  us, 

And  through  his  dream  was  each  one  apprehensive ;  4S 

And  I  heard  locking  up  the  under  door 

Of  the  horrible  tower ;  whereat  without  a  word 

I  gazed  into  the  faces  of  my  sons. 
I  wept  not,  I  within  so  turned  to  stone  ; 

They  wept ;  and  darling  little  Anselm  mine  so 

Said  :  '  Thou  dost  gaze  so,  father,  what  doth  ail  thee  ? ' 
Still  not  a  tear  I  shed,  nor  answer  made 

All  of  that  day,  nor  yet  the  night  thereafter, 

Until  another  sun  rose  on  the  world. 
As  now  a  little  glimmer  made  its  way  55 

Into  the  dolorous  prison,  and  I  saw 

Upon  four  faces  my  own  very  aspect, 
Both  of  my  hands  in  agony  I  bit ; 

And,  thinking  that  I  did  it  from  desire 

Of  eating,  on  a  sudden  they  uprose,  «>o 


INFERNO,   XXXIII.  107 


And  said  they :  '  Father,  much  less  pain  'twill  give  us 
If  thou  do  eat  of  us ;  thyself  didst  clothe  us 
With  this  poor  flesh,  and  do  thou  strip  it  oft'.' 

I  calmed  me  then,  not  to  make  them  more  sad. 

That  day  we  all  were  silent,  and  the  next.  65 

Ah  !  obdurate  earth,  wherefore  didst  thou  not  open  ? 

When  we  had  come  unto  the  fourth  day,  Gaddo 

Threw  himself  down  outstretched  before  my  feet. 
Saying,  '  My  father,  why  dost  thou  not  help  me  ? ' 

And  there  he  died  ;  and,  as  thou  seest  me,  ,  t 

I  saw  the  three  fall,  one  by  one,  between 
The  fifth  day  and  the  sixth ;  whence  I  betook  me, 

Already  blind,  to  groping  over  each, 

And  three  days  called  them  after  they  were  dead  ; 

Then  hunger,  did  what  sorrow  could  not  do."  75 

When  he  had  said  this,  with  his  eyes  distorted. 

The  wretched  skull  resumed  he  with  his  teeth, 
Which,  as  a  dog's,  upon  the  bone  were  strong. 

Ah  !  Pisa,  thou  opprobrium  of  the  people 

Of  the  fair  land  there  where  the  S%  doth  sound,  80 

Since  slow  to  punish  thee  thy  neighbours  are, 

Let  the  Capraia  and  Gorgona  move. 

And  make  a  hedge  across  the  mouth  of  Arno 
That  every  person  in  thee  it  may  drown  ! 

For  if  Count  Ugolino  had  the  fame  «5 

Of  having  in  thy  castles  thee  betrayed. 
Thou  shouldst  not  on  such  cross  have  put  his  sons. 

Guiltless  of  any  crime,  thou  modern  Thebes  ! 
Their  youth  made  Uguccione  and  Brigata, 
And  the  other  two  my  song  doth  name  above  !  90 

We  passed  still  farther  onward,  where  the  ice 
Another  people  ruggedly  enswathes. 
Not  downward  turned,  but  all  of  them  reversed. 

Weeping  itself  there  does  not  let  them  weep, 

And  grief  that  finds  a  barrier  in  the  eyes  95 

Turns  itself  inward  to  increase  the  anguish  ; 

Because  the  earliest  tears  a  cluster  form. 
And,  in  the  manner  of  a  crystal  visor, 
Fill  all  the  cup  beneath  the  eyebrow  full. 

And  notwithstanding  that,  as  in  a  callus,  100 

Because  of  cold  all  sensibility 
Its  station  had  abandoned  in  my  face, 

Still  it  appeared  to  me  I  felt  some  wind  ; 

Whence  I :  "  My  Master,  who  sets  this  in  motion  ? 

Is  not  below  here  every  vapour  quenched  ? "  105 


i^'i  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Whence  he  to  me  :  "  Full  soon  shalt  thou  be  where 

Thine  eye  shall  answer  make  to  thee  of  this, 

Seeing  the  cause  which  raineth  down  the  blast." 
And  one  of  the  wretches  of  the  frozen  crust 

Cried  out  to  us  :  "  O  souls  so  merciless       "  '  no 

That  the  last  post  is  given  unto  you, 
Lift  from  mine  eyes  the  rigid  veils,  that  I 

May  vent  the  sorrow  which  impregns  my  heart 

A  little,  e'er  the  weeping  recongeal." 
Whence  I  to  him  :  "  If  thou  wouldst  have  me  help  thee  ni 

Say  who  thou  wast ;  and  if  I  free  thee  not, 

May  I  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  ice." 
Then  he  replied  :  "  I  am  Friar  Alberigo  : 

He  am  I  of  the  fruit  of  the  bad  garden. 

Who  here  a  date  am  getting  for  my  fig."  mo 

"  O,"  said  I  to  him,  "now  art  thou,  too,  dead  ?" 

And  he  to  me  :  "  How  may  my  body  fare 

Up  in  the  world,  no  knowledge  I  possess. 
Such  an  advantage  has  this  Ptolomgea, 

That  oftentimes  the  soul  descendeth  here       ■s     X     X        "* 

Sooner  than  Atropos  in  motion  sets  it.     K-j  n'^  ■''^'-'- 
And,  that  thou  mayest  more  willingly  remove  '; 

From  off  my  countenance  these  glassy  tears, 

Know  that  as  soon  as  any  soul  betrays 
As  T  have  done,  his  body  by  a  demon  130 

Is  taken  from  him,  who  thereafter  rules  it, 

Until  his  time  has  wholly  been  revolved. 
Itself  down  rushes  into  such  a  cistern  ; 

And  still  perchance  above  appears  the  body 

Of  yonder  shade,  that  winters  here  behind  me.  13s 

This  thou  shouldst  know,  if  thou  hast  just  come  down  : 

It  is  Ser  Branca  d'  Oria,  and  many  years 

Have  passed  away  since  he  was  thus  locked  up." 
"  I  think,"  said  I  to  him,  "  thou  dost  deceive  me  ; 

For  Branca  d'  Oria  is  not  dead  as  yet,  ho 

And  eats,  and  drinks,  and  sleeps,  and  puts  on  clothes." 
"  In  moat  above,"  said  he,  "  of  Malebranche, 

There  where  is  boiling  the  tenacious  pitch, 

As  yet  had  Michel  Zanche  not  arrived, 
When  this  one  left  a  devil  in  liis  stead  145 

In  his  own  body  and  one  near  of  kin, 

Who  made  together  with  him  the  betrayal. 
But  hitherward  stretch  out  thy  hand  forthwith. 

Open  mine  eyes  :" — and  open  them  I  did  not, 

And  to  be  rude  to  him  was  courtesy.  150 


INFERNO,   XXXIV.  109 


Ah,  Genoese  !  ye  men  at  variance 

With  every  virtue,  full  of  every  vice 

Wherefore  are  ye  not  scattered  from  the  world  ? 
For  with  the  vilest  spirit  of  Romagna 

I  found  of  you  one  such,  who  for  his  deeds  159 

In  soul  already  in  Cocytus  bathes, 
And  still  above  in  body  seems  alive  ! 


CANTO   XXXIV. 

^^Vexilla  Regis prodeunt  Inferni     -A^j^'^  v> -y  ^^  V       -»      ^^-^     -^ 

Towards  us  ;  therefore  look  in  front  of  thee,"  • 

My  Master  said,  "if  thou  discernest  him." 
As,  when  there  breathes  a  heavy  fog,  or  when 

Our  hemisphere  is  darkening  into  night,  S 

Appears  far  off  a  mill  the  wind  is  turning, 
Methought  that  such  a  building  then  I  saw ; 

And,  for  the  wind,  I  drew  myself  behind 

My  Guide,  because  there  was  no  other  shelter. 
Now  was  I,  and  with  fear  in  verse  I  put  it,  i« 

There  where  the  shades  were  wholly  covered  up. 

And  glimmered  through  like  unto  straws  in  glass. 
Some  prone  are  lying,  others  stand  erect, 

This  with  the  head,  and  that  one  with  the  soles ; 

Another,  bow-like,  face  to  feet  inverts.  >5 

When  in  advance  so  far  we  had  proceeded, 

That  it  my  Master  pleased  to  show  to  me 

The  creature  who  once  had  the  beauteous  semblance. 
He  from  before  me  moved  and  made  me  stop. 

Saying  :  "  Behold  Dis,  and  behold  the  place  2« 

Where  thou  with  fortitude  must  arm  thyself." 
How  frozen  I  became  and  powerless  then, 

Ask  it  not.  Reader,  for  I  write  it  not, 

Because  all  language  would  be  insufficient. 
I  did  not  die,  and  I  aHve  remained  not ;  ay 

Think  for  thyself  now,  hast  thou  aught  of  wit, 

What  I  became,  being  of  both  deprived. 
The  Emperor  of  the  kingdom  dolorous 

From  his  mid-breast  forth  issued  from  the  ice  j 

And  better  with  a  giant  I  compare  3« 

Than  do  the  giants  with  those  arms  of  his  ; 

Consider  now  how  great  must  be  that  whole, 

Which  unto  such  a  part  conforms  itself. 


THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Were  he  as  fair  once,  as  he  now  is  foul, 

And  lifted  up  his  brow  against  his  Maker,  33 

Well  may  proceed  from  him  all  tribulation. 
O,  what  a  marvel  it  appeared  to  me, 

When  I  beheld  three  faces  on  his  head ! 

The  one  in  front,  and  that  vermilion  was  ; 
Two  were  the  others,  that  were  joined  with  this  40 

Above  the  middle  part  of  either  shoulder. 

And  they  were  joined  together  at  the  crest ; 
And  the  right-hand  one  seemed  'twixt  white  and  yellow ; 

The  left  was  such  to  look  upon  as  those 

Who  come  from  where  the  Nile  falls  valley-ward.  45 

Underneath  each  came  forth  two  mighty  wings, 

Such  as  befitting  were  so  great  a  bird  ; 

Sails  of  the  sea  I  never  saw  so  large. 
No  feathers  had  they,  but  as  of  a  bat 

Their  fashion  was  ;  and  he  was  waving  them,  so 

So  that  three  winds  proceeded  forth  therefrom. 
Thereby  Cocytus  wholly  was  congealed. 

With  six  eyes  did  he  weep,  and  down  three  chins 

Trickled  the  tear-drops  and  the  bloody  diivel. 
At  every  mouth  he  with  his  teeth  was  crunching  55 

A  sinner,  in  the  manner  of  a  brake, 

So  that  he  three  of  them  tormented  thus. 
To  him  in  front  the  biting  was  as  naught 

Unto  the  clawing,  for  sometimes  the  spine 

Utterly  stripped  of  all  the  skin  remained.  60 

"  That  soul  up  there  which  has  the  greatest  pain," 

The  Master  said,  "  is  Judas  Iscariot ; 

With  head  inside,  he  plies  his  legs  without. 
Of  the  two  others,  who  head  downward  are. 

The  one  who  hangs  from  the  black  jowl  is  Brutus ;  6s 

See  how  he  writhes  himself,  and  speaks  no  word. 
And  the  other,  who  so  stalwart  seems,  is  Cassius. 

But  night  is  reascending,  and  'tis  time 

That  we  depart,  for  we  have  seen  the  whole." 
As  seemed  him  good,  I  clasped  him  round  the  neck,  70 

And  he  the  vantage  seized  of  time  and  place, 

And  when  the  wings  were  opened  wide  apart, 
He  laid  fast  hold  upon  the  shaggy  sides ; 

From  fell  to  fell  descended  downward  then 

Between  the  thick  hair  and  the  frozen  crust  75 

When  we  were  come  to  where  the  thigh  revolves 

Exactly  on  the  thickness  of  the  haunch, 

The  Guide,  with  labour  and  with  hard-drawn  breath, 


INFERNO,   XXXIV. 


Turned  round  his  head  where  he  had  had  his  legs, 

And  grappled  to  the  hair,  as  one  who  mounts,  so 

So  that  to  Hell  I  thought  we  were  returning. 

"  Keep  fast  thy  hold,  for  by  such  stairs  as  these," 
The  Master  said,  panting  as  one  fatigued, 
"  Must  we  perforce  depart  from  so  much  evil." 

Then  through  the  opening  of  a  rock  he  issued,  85 

And  down  upon  the  margin  seated  me ; 
Then  tow'rds  me  he  outstretched  his  Avary  step. 

I  lifted  up  mine  eyes  and  thought  to  see 

Lucifer  in  the  same  way  I  had  left  him ; 

And  I  beheld  him  upward  hold  his  legs.  90 

And  if  I  then  became  disquieted, 

Let  stolid  people  think  who  do  not  see 
What  the  point  is  beyond  which  I  had  passed. 

"  Rise  up,"  the  Master  said,  "  upon  thy  feet ; 

The  way  is  long,  and  difficult  the  road,  9S 

And  now  the  sun  to  middle-tierce  returns." 

It  was  not  any  palace  corridor 

There  where  we  were,  but  dungeon  natural, 
With  floor  uneven  and  unease  of  light. 

"  Ere  from  the  abyss  I  tear  myself  away,  '« 

My  Master,"  said  I  when  I  had  arisen, 
"  To  draw  me  from  an  error  speak  a  little ; 

Where  is  the  ice  ?  "  and  how  is  this  one  fixed 

Thus  upside  down  ?  and  how  in  such  short  time 

From  eve  to  mom  has  the  sun  made  his  transit  ? '  '05 

And  he  to  me  :  "  Thou  still  imaginest 

Thou  art  beyond  the  centre,  where  I  grasped 
The  hair  of  the  fell  worm,  who  mines  the  world. 

That  side  thou  wast,  so  long  as  I  descended ; 

When  round  I  turned  me,  thou  didst  pass  the  point  "c 

To  which  things  heavy  draw  from  every  side. 

And  now  beneath  the  hemisphere  art  come 
Opposite  that  which  overhangs  the  vast 
Dry-land,  and  'neath  whose  cope  was  put  to  death 

The  Man  who  without  sin  was  bom  and  lived.  "s 

Thou  hast  thy  feet  upon  the  little  sphere 
Which  makes  the  other  face  of  the  Judecca. 

Here  it  is  morn  when  it  is  evening  there ; 

And  he  who  with  his  hair  a  stairway  made  us 

Still  fixed  remaineth  as  he  was  before.  '» 

Upon  this  side  he  fell  down  out  of  heaven  ; 

And  all  the  land,  that  whilom  here  emerged, 
For  fear  of  him  made  of  the  sea  a  veil, 


112  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

And  came  to  our  hemisphere ;  and  peradventure 

To  flee  from  him,  what  on  this  side  appears  125 

Left  the  place  vacant  here,  and  back  recoiled." 

A  place  there  is  below,  from  Beelzebub 
As  far  receding  as  the  tomb  extends, 
Which  not  by  sight  is  known,  but  by  the  sound 

Of  a  small  rivulet,  that  there  descendeth  130 

Through  chasm  within  the  stone,  which  it  has  gnawed 
With  course  that  winds  about  and  slightly  falls. 

The  Guide  and  I  into  that  hidden  road 

Now  entered,  to  return  to  the  bright  world ; 

And  without  care  of  having  any  rest  135 

We  mounted  up,  he  first  and  I  the  second, 
Till  I  beheld  through  a  round  aperture 
Some  of  the  beauteous  things  that  Heaven  doth  bear  j 

Thence  we  came  forth  to  rebehold  the  stars. 


NOTES    TO    INFERNO. 


NOTES    TO    INFERNO. 


The  Divine  Comedy. — The  Vita 
Nuova  of  Dante  closes  with  these  words : 
"  After  this  sonnet  there  appeared  to  me 
a  wonderful  vision,  in  which  I  beheld 
things  that  made  me  propose  to  say  no 
more  of  this  blessed  one,  until  I  shall  be 
able  to  treat  of  her  mora  worthily.  And 
to  attain  thereunto,  truly  I  strive  with  all 
my  power,  as  she  knowcth.  So  that  if 
it  shall  be  the  pleasure  of  Him,  through 
whom  all  things  live,  that  my  life  con- 
tinue somewhat  longei",  I  hope  to  say 
of  her  what  never  yet  was  said  of  any 
woman.  And  then  may  it  please  Him, 
who  is  the  Sire  of  courtesy,  that  my  soul 
may  depart  to  look  upon  the  glory  of 
its  Lady,  that  is  to  say,  of  the  Blessed 
Beatrice,  who  in  glory  gazes  into  the  face 
of  Him,  giii  est  per  omnia  scecula  bene- 
dict us.  " 

In  these  lines  we  have  the  earliest 
glimpse  of  the  Divine  Comedy,  as  it 
rose  in  the  author's  mind. 

Whoever  has  read  the  Vita  N'uova  will 
remember  the  stress  which  Dante  lays 
upon  the  mystic  numbers  Nine  and 
Three  ;  his  first  meeting  with  Beatrice 
at  the  beginning  of  her  ninth  year,  and 
the  end  of  his ;  his  nine  days'  illness, 
and  the  thought  of  her  death  which  came 
to  him  on  the  ninth  day  ;  her  death  on 
the  ninth  day  of  the  ninth  month,  "  com- 
puting by  the  Syrian  method,"  and  in 
that  year  of  our  lx)rd  "  when  the  jjerfect 
numl)er  ten  was  nine  times  completed  in 
that  century"  which  was  the  thirteenth. 
Moreover,  he  says  the  number  nine  was 
friendly  to  her,  because  the  nine  heavens 
were  in  conjunction  at  her  birth  ;  and 
that  she  was  herself  the  number  nine, 
"  that  is,  a  miracle  whose  root  is  the 
wonderful  Trinity." 

Following  out  this  idea,  we  find  the 
Divine  Comedy  written  in  tema  7-ima, 
or  threefold  rhyme,  divided  into  three 


parts,  and  each  part  again  subdivided 
in  its  structure  into  three.  The  whole 
number  of  cantos  is  one  hundred,  the 
perfect  number  ten  multiplied  into  itself; 
but  if  we  count  the  first  canto  of  the  In- 
ferno as  a  Prelude,  which  it  really  is, 
each  part  will  consist  of  thirty-three 
cantos,  making  ninety-nine  in  all ;  and  so 
the  favourite  mystic  numbers  rea]>pcar. 

The  three  divisions  of  the  Inferno  are 
minutely  described  and  explamed  by 
Dante  in  Canto  XI.  .They  are  sepa- 
rated from  each  other  by  great  spaces  in 
the  infernal  abyss.  The  sins  punished 
in  them  are,  —  I.  Incontinence.  II. 
Malice.     III.  Bestiality. 

I.  Incontinence:  r.  The  Wanton. 
2.  The  Gluttonous.  3.  The  Avaricious 
and  Prodigal.  4.  The  Irascible  and  the 
Sullen. 

II.  Malice:  i.  The  Violent  against 
their  neighbour,  in  person  or  property. 
2.  The  Violent  against  themselves,  in 
person  or  property.  3.  The  Violent 
against  God,  or  against  Nature,  the 
daughter  of  God,  or  against  Art,  the 
daughter  of  Nature. 

•  HI.  Bestiality:  first  subdivision : 
I.  Seducej-s.  2.  Flatterers.  3.  Simoni- 
acs.  4.  Soothsayers.  5.  Barrators.  6. 
Hypocrites.  7.  Thieves.  8.  Evil  coun- 
sellors.    9.  Schismatics.      10.  Falsifiers. 

Second  subdivision :  I.  Traitors  to 
their  kindred.  2.  Traitors  to  their 
country.  3.  Traitors  to  their  friends. 
4.  Traitors  to  their  lords  and  benefac- 
tors. 

The  Divine  Comedy  is  not  strictly  an 
allegorical  poem  in  the  sense  in  wliich 
the  Faerie  Queene  is  ;  and  yet  it  is  fidl 
of  allegorical  symbols  and  figurative 
meanings.  In  a  letter  to  Can  Grande 
della  Scala,  Dante  writes  :  "  It  is  to  be 
remarked,  that  the  sense  of  this  work 
is  not  simple,  but  on  the  contrary  one 
t  2 


Ii6 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


may  say  manifold.  For  one  sense  is 
that  which  is  derived  from  the  letter, 
and  another  is  that  which  is  derived 
from  the  things  signified  by  the  letter. 
The  first   is   called  literal,   the   second 

allegorical  or  moral The  subject, 

then,  of  the  whole  work,  taken  literally, 
is  the  condition  of  souls  after  death, 
simply  considered.  For  on  this  and 
around  this  the  whole  action  of  the  work 
turns.  But  if  the  work  be  taken  alle- 
gorically,  the  subject  is  man,  how  by 
actions  of  merit  or  demerit,  through  free- 
dom of  the  will,  he  justly  deserves  reward 
or  punishment." 

It  may  not  be  amiss  here  to  refer  to 
what  are  sometimes  called  the  sources  of 
the  Divine  Comedy.  Foremost  among 
them  must  be  placed  the  Eleventh  Book 
of  the  Odyssey,  and  the  Sixth  of  the 
^neid  ;  and  to  the  latter  Dante  seems 
to  point  significantly  in  choosing  Virgil 
for  his  Guide,  his  Master,  his  Author, 
from  whom  he  took  "the  beautiful  style 
that  did  him  honour." 

Next  to  these  may  be  mentioned 
Cicero's  Vision  of  Scipio,  of  which 
Chaucer  says : — 

"  Chapiters  seven  it  had,  of  Heaven,  and  Hell, 
And  Earthe,  and  soules  that  therein  do  dwell." 

Then  follow  the  popular  legends  which 
were  current  in  Dante's  age  ;  an  age 
when  the  end  of  all  things  was  thought 
to  be  near  at  hand,  and  the  wonders  of 
the  invisible  world  had  laid  fast  hold  on 
the  imaginations  of  men.  Prominent 
among  these  is  the  "  Vision  of  Frate  Al- 
berico,"  who  calls  himself  "the  humblest 
servant  of  the  servants  of  the  Lord ; '' 
and  who 

"  Saw  in  dreame  at  point-devyse 
Heaven,  Earthe,  Hell,  and  Paradyse." 

This  vision  was  written  in  Latin  in  tlie 
latter  half  of  the  twelfth  century,  and 
contains  a  description  of  Hell,  Purga- 
tory, and  Paradise,  with  its  Seven 
Heavens.  It  is  for  the  most  part  a 
tedious  tale,  and  bears  evident  marks  of 
having  been  written  by  a  friar  of  some 
monastery,  when  the  aftemoon  sun  was 
shining  into  his  sleepy  eyes.  He  seems, 
however,  to  have  looked  upon  his  own 
work  with  a  not  unfavourable  opinion  ; 
for  he  concludes  the  Epistle  Introduc- 
tory with  the  words  of  St.  John  :  "  If 


any  man  shall  add  unto  these  things, 
God  shall  add  unto  him  the  plagues  that 
are  written  in  this  book  ;  and  if  any  man 
shall  take  away  from  these  things,  God 
shall  take  away  his  part  from  the  good 
things  written  in  this  book." 

It  is  not  impossible  that  Dante  may 
have  taken  a  few  hints  also  from  the  Teso- 
retto  of  his  teacher,  Ser  Brunetto  Latini. 
See  Canto  XV.     Note  30. 

See  upon  this  subject,  Cancellieri, 
Osservazioni  SopraV  Originalitd  di  Dante; 
— Wright,  St.  Patrick'' s  Purgatory,  an 
Essay  on  the  Legends  of  Purgatory,  Hell, 
ami  Paradise,  current  during  the  Middle 
Ages  ; — Ozanam,  Dante  et  la  Philosophie 
Catholique  aic  Treizihne  Siecle  ; — Labitte, 
La  Divine  Comedie  avant  Dante,  pub- 
lished as  an  Introduction  to  the  transla- 
tion of  Brizeux  ;  -  and  Delepierre,  Le 
Livre  des  Visions,  ou  V Enfer  et  le  del 
decri/s  far  ceux  qui  les  ont  vus.  See  also 
the  Illustrations  at  the  end  of  this  volume. 


CANTO  I. 

1.  The  action  of  the  poem  begins  on 
Good  Friday  of  the  year  1300,  at  which 
time  Dante,  who  was  bom  in  1265,  had 
reached  the  middle  of  the  Scriptural 
threescore  years  and  ten.  It  ends  on  the 
first  Sunday  after  Easter,  making  in  all 
ten  days. 

2.  The  dark  forest  of  human  life, 
with  its  passions,  vices,  and  perplexities 
of  all  kinds  ;  politically  the  state  of 
Florence  with  its  factions  Guelph  and 
Ghibelline.  Dante,  Convito,  IV.  25, 
says  : — "  Thus  the  adolescent,  who  enters 
into  the  erroneous  forest  of  this  life, 
would  not  know  how  to  keep  the  right 
way  if  he  were  not  guided  by  his  elders." 

Brunetto  Latini,  Tesoretto,  IT.  75 : — 

"  Pensando  a  capo  chino 
Perdei  il  gran  cammino, 
E  tenni  alia  traversa 
D'  una  selva  diversa." 

Spenser,  Faerie  Queene,  IV.  ii.  45 : — 

"  Seeking  adventures  in  the  salvage  wood." 

13.  Bimyan,  in  his  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress, which  is  a  kind  of  Divine  Comedy 
in  prose,  says  :  "I  beheld  then  that  they 
all  went  on   till  they  came  to  the  foot 

of  the   hill    Difficulty But  the 

narrow  way  lay  right  up  the  hill,  and  the 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


117 


name  of  the  going  up  the  side  of  the  hill 

is  called   Difficulty They  went 

then  till  they  came  to  the  Delectable 
Mountains,  which  mountains  belong  to 
the  Lord  of  that  hill  of  which  we  have 
spoken  before." 

14.  Bunyan,  Pilgrivi's  Progress: — 
"  But  now  in  this  valley  of  Humiliation 
poor  Christian  was  hard  put  to  it  ;  for  he 
had  gone  but  a  little  way  before  he  spied 
a  foul  fiend  coming  over  the  field  to  meet 
him  ;  his  name  is  Apollyon.  Then  did 
Christian  begin  to  be  afraid,  and  to  cast 
in  his  mind  whether  to  go  back  or  stand 
his  ground.  .  .  .  Now  at  the  end  of  this 
valley  was  another,  called  the  valley  of 
the  Shadow  of  Death  ;  and  Christian 
must  needs  go  through  it,  because  the 
way  to  the  Celestial  City  lay  through  the 
midst  of  it." 

17.  The  sun,  with  all  its  symbolical 
meanings.  This  is  the  morning  of  Good 
Friday. 

In  the -Ptolemaic  system  the  sun  was 
one  of  the  planets. 

20.  The  deep  mountain  tarn  of  his 
heart,  dark  with  its  own  depth,  and  the 
shadows  hanging  over  it. 

27.  Jeremiah  ii.  6:  "That  led  us 
through  the  wilderness,  through  a  land 
of  deserts  and  of  pits,  through  a  land  of 
drought,  and  of  the  shadow  of  death, 
through  a  land  that  no  man  passed 
through,  and  where  no  man  dwelt." 

In  his  note  upon  this  passage  Mr. 
Wright  quotes  Spenser's  lines,  Faerie 
Queene,  I.  v.  31, — 

"  there  creature  never  passed 
That  back  returned  without  heavenly  grace." 

30.  Climbing  the  hillside  slowly,  so 
that  he  rests  longest  on  the  foot  that  is 
lowest. 

31.  Jeremiah  v.  6:  "Wherefore  a 
lion  out  of  the  forest  shall  slay  them,  a 
wolf  of  the  evenings  shall  spoil  them,  a 
leopard  shall  watch  over  their  cities : 
every  one  that  goeth  out  thence  shall  be 
torn  in  pieces." 

32.  Worldly  Pleasure ;  and  politi- 
cally Florence,  with  its  factions  of 
Bianchi  and  Neri. 

36.  Piit,  volte  volto.  Dante  delights 
in  a  play  upon  words  as  much  as  Shake- 
speare. 

38.     The  stars  of  Aries.     Some  philo- 


sophers and  fathers  think  the  world  was 
created  in  Spring. 

45.  Ambition  ;  and  politically  the 
royal  house  of  France. 

48.  Some  editions  read  temesse,  others 
tremesse. 

49.  Avarice  ;  and  politically  the 
Court  of  Rome,  or  temporal  power  ot 
the  Popes. 

60.  Dante  as  a  Ghibelline  and  Im- 
perialist is  in  opposition  to  the  Guelphs, 
Pope  Boniface  VIII.,  and  the  King  of 
France,  Philip  the  Fair,  and  is  banished 
from  Florence,  out  of  the  sunshine,  and 
into  "the  dry  wind  that  blows  from 
dolorous  poverty." 

Cato  speaks  of  the  "silent  moon"  in 
De  Ke  Kustica,  XXIX.,  Evehito  lima 
siletiti;  and  XL.,  V ites  insa't  luiia 
silenli.  Also  Pliny,  XVI.  39,  has  Silens 
luna  ;  and  Milton,  in  Samson  Agonistes, 
"  Silent  as  the  moon." 

63.  The  long  neglect  of  classic  studies 
in  Italy  before  Dante's  time. 

70.  Bom  under  Julius  Caesar,  but  too 
late  to  grow  up  to  manhood  during  his 
Imperial  reign.  He  flourished  later  under 
Augustus. 

79.  In  this  passage  Dante  but  ex- 
presses the  universal  veneration  felt  for 
Virgil  during  the  Middle  Ages,  and 
especially  in  Ittdy.  Petrarch's  copy  of 
Virgil  is  still  preserved  in  the  Ambrosian 
Library  at  Milan  ;  and  at  the  beginning 
of  it  he  has  recorded  in  a  Latin  note  the^ 
time  of  his  first  meeting  with  Laura,  and 
the  date  of  her  death,  which,  he  says, 
"  I  write  in  this  book,  rather  than  else- 
where, because  i^  comes  often  under  my 
eye." 

In  the  popular  imagination  Virgil  be- 
came a  mythical  personage  and  a  mighty 
magician.  See  the  story  of  Virgilius  in 
Thom's  Early  Prose  Romances,  li.  Dante 
selects  him  for  his  guide,  as  symbolizing 
human  science  or  Philosophy.  "I  say 
and  affirm,"  he  remarks,  Cotwito,  V.  16, 
"that  the  lady  with  whom  I  became 
enamoured  after  my  first  love  was  the 
most  beautiful  and  modest  daughter  of 
the  Em;  eror  of  the  Universe,  to  whom 
Pythagoras  gave  the  name  of  Philo- 
sophy." 

87.  Dante  seems  to  have  been  al- 
ready conscious  of  the  fame  which  his 
Vita  Nuova  and  Catizoni  had  given  him. 


II« 


NOTES    TO  INFERNO. 


loi.  The  greyhound  is  Can  Grande 
della  Scala,  Lord  of  Verona,  Imperial 
Vicar,  Ghibelline,  and  friend  of  Dante. 
Verona  is  between  Feltro  in  the  Marca 
Trivigiana,  and  Montefellro  in  Romagna. 
Boccaccio,  Decameron,  I.  7,  spealcs  of 
him  as  "one  of  the  most  notable  and 
magnificent  lords  that  had  been  known 
in  Italy,  since  the  Emperor  Frederick  the 
Second."  To  him  Dante  dedicated  the 
Paradiso.  Some  commentators  think 
the  Veltro  is  not  Can  Grande,  but  Ug- 
guccione  della  Faggiola.  See  Troya, 
Del  Veltro  Allegorico  di  Dante. 

106.  The  plains  of  Italy,  in  contra- 
distinction to  the  mountains;  the  hiani- 
lemque  Ilaliam  of  Virgil,  yEneid  III. 
522:  "And  now  the  stars  being  chased 
away,  blushing  Aurora  appeared,  when 
far  off  we  espy  the  hills  obscure,  and 
lowly  Italy." 

116.  I  give  preference  to  the  read- 
ing, Vedrai  gli  antichi  spiriti  dolenti. 

122.     Beatrice. 


CANTO  II. 

I.     The  evening  of  Good  Friday. 

Dante,  Conrito,  III.  2,  says  :  "Man is 
called  by  philosopher  the  divine  ani- 
mal."    Chancer' s  Assemble  of  Foitles: — 

' '  The  daie  gan  fallen,  a'nd  the  darke  night 
That  reveth  bestes  from  hir  businesse 
Berafte  me  my  boke  for  lacke  of  light." 

Mr.  Ruskin,  Modern  Painters,  III. 
240,  speaking  of  Dante's  use  of  the  word 
^^ brtino,''  says: — '■ 

"  In  describing  a  simple  twilight — not 
a  Hades  twilight,  but  an  ordinarily  fair 
evening — (Inf.  ii.  i),  he  says,  the  'brown' 
air  took  the  animals  away  from  their 
fatigues ;  —  the  waves  under  Charon's 
boat  are  'brown'  (Inf  iii.  117);  and 
Lethe,  which  is  perfectly  clear  and  yet 
dark,  as  with  oblivion,  is  '  bruna-bnma,' 
'  brown,  exceeding  brown. '  Now,  clearly 
in  all  these  cases  no  warmth  is  meant  to 
be  mingled  in  the  colour.  Dante  had 
never  seen  one  of  our  bog-streams,  with 
its  porter-coloured  foam  ;  and  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that,  in  calling  Lethe  brown, 
he  means  that  it  was  dark  slate-gray,  in- 
clining to  i)!ack  ;  as,  for  instance,  our  clear 
Cumberland  lakes,  which,  looked  straight 
down  upon  where  they  are  deep,  seem 
to  be  lakes  of  ink.     I  am  sure  this  is  the 


colour  he  means ;  because  no  clear  stream 
or  lake  on  the  Continent  ever  looks 
brown,  but  blue  or  green  ;  and  Dante, 
by  merely  taking  away  the  pleasant  colour, 
would  get  at  once  to  this  idea  of  grave 
clear  gray.  So,  when  he  was  talking  of 
twilight,  his  eye  for  colour  was  far  too 
good  to  let  him  call  it  brawn  in  our  sense. 
Twilight  is  not  brown,  but  purple, 
golden,  or  dark  gray;  and  this  last  was 
what  Dante  meant.  Farther,  I  find  that 
this  negation  of  colour  is  always  the  means 
by  which  Dante  subdues  his  tones.  Thus 
the  fatal  inscription  on  the  Hades  gate 
is  written  in  'obscure  colour,'  and  the  air 
which  torments  the  passionate  spirits  is 
'aer  nero,'  black  air  (Inf.  v.  51),  called 
presently  afterwards  (line  81)  malignant 
air,  just  as  th?  gray  cliffs  are  called  ma- 
lignant cliffs." 

13.  .^neas,  founder  of  the  Roman 
Empire.     Virgil,  Aineid,  B.  VI. 

24.  "That  is,"  says  Boccaccio,  Co- 
mento,  "St.  Peter  the  Apostle,  called 
the  greater  on  account  of  his  papal  dig- 
nity, and  to  distinguish  him  from  many 
other  holy  men  of  the  same  name." 

28.  St.  Paul.  Acts,  ix.  15:  "  He  is 
a  chosen  vessel  unto  me."  Also  2  Co- 
rinthians, xii.  3,  4:  "  And  I  knew  such 
a  man,  whether  in  the  body,  or  out  of 
the  body,  I  cannot  tell ;  God  knoweth ; 
how  that  he  was  caught  up  into  Para- 
dise, and  heard  unspeakable  words, 
which  it  is  not  lawful  for  a  man  to 
utter." 

42.     Shakespeare,  Macbeth,  IV.  i : 

"  The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o'ertook, 
Unless  the  deed  go  with  it." 

52.  Suspended  in  Limbo  ;  neither  in 
pain  nor  in  glory. 

55.  Brighter  than  tli«  star ;  than  "that 
star  which  is  brightest,"  comments  Boc- 
caccio. Others  say  the  Sun,  and  refer 
to  Dante's  Canzone,  beginning: 

"  The  star  of  beauty  which  doth  measi;re  time. 
The  lady  seems,  who  has  enamoured  me, 
Placed  in  the  heaven  of  Love." 

56.  Shakespeare,  King  Lear,  V ,  3: — 

"  Her  voice  was  ever  soft. 
Gentle,  and  low  ;  an  excellent  thing  in  woman." 

67.  This  passage  will  recall  Minerva 
transmitting  the  message  of  Juno  to 
Achilles,  Iliad,  II. :  "  Go  thou  forthwith 
to  the  army  of  the  Achaeans,  and  hesi- 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


"9 


late  not ;  but  restrain  each  man  with  thy 
persuasive  words,  nor  suffer  them  to  drag 
to  the  sea  their  double-oared  ships. " 

70.  Beatrice  Portinari,  Dante's  first 
love,  the  inspiration  of  his  song,  and  in 
his  mind  the  symbol  of  the  Divine.  He 
says  of  her  in  the  Vita  Nuova: — "  This 
most  gentle  lady,  of  whom  there  has 
been  discourse  in  what  precedes,  reached 
such  favour  among  the  people,  that  when 
she  passed  along  the  way  jiersons  ran  to 
see  her,  which  gave  me  wonderful  de- 
light. And  when  she  was  near  any  one, 
such  modesty  took  possession  of  his 
heart,  that  he  did  not  dare  to  raise  his 
eyes  or  to  return  her  salutation  ;  and  to 
this,  should  any  one  doubt  it,  many,  as 
having  experienced  it,  could,  bear  witness 
for  me.  She,  crowned  and  clothed  with 
humility,  took  her  way,  displaying  no 
pride  in  that  which  she  saw  and  heard. 
Many,  when  she  had  passed,  said,  'This 
is  not  a  woman,  rather  is  she  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  angels  of  heaven.'  Others 
said,  '  She  is  a  miracle.  Blessed  be  the 
Lord  who  can  perform  such  a  marvel. ' 
I  say,  that  she  showed  herself  so  gentle 
and  so  full  of  all  beauties,  that  those  who 
looked  on  her  felt  within  themselves  a 
pure  and  sweet  delight,  such  as  they 
could  not  tell  in  words." — C.  E.  Norton, 
The  New  Life,  51,  52. 

78.  The  heaven  of  the  moon,  which 
contains  or  encircles  the  earth. 

84.     The  ampler  circles  of  P&radise. 

94.     Divine  Mercy. 

97.  St.  Lucia,  emblem  of  enlighten- 
ing Grace. 

102.  Rachel,  emblem  of  Divine  Con- 
templation.    See  Par.  XXXIL  9. 

108.  Beside  (hat flood,  where  ocean  has 
no  vaunt;  "That  is,"  says  Boccaccio, 
Comento,  "  the  sea  cannot  boast  of  being 
more  impetuous  or  more  dangerous  than 
that." 

127.  This  simile  has  been  imitated 
by  Chaucer,  Spenser,  and  many  more. 
Jeremy  Taylor  says: — 

"  So  have  I  seen  the  sun  kiss  the 
frozen  earth,  which  was  bound  up  with 
the  images  of  death,  and  the  colder  breath 
of  the  north  ;  and  then  the  waters  break 
from  their  enclosures,  and  melt  with  joy 
and  run  in  useful  channels  ;  and  the  flies 
do  rise  again  from  their  little  graves  in 
walls,  and  dance  awhile  in  the  air,  to  tell 


that  there  is  joy  within,  and  that  the 
great  mother  of  creatures  will  open  the 
stock  of  her  new  refreshment,  become 
useful  to  mankind,  and  sing  praises  to 
her  Redeemer." 

Rossetti,  Spirito  Antipapale  del  Secolo 
di  Dante,  translated  by  Miss  Ward,  IL 
216,  makes  this  political  application  of 
the  lines  :  "  The  Florentines,  called  Sons 
of  Flora,  are  compared  \.o  flowers  ;  and 
Dante  calls  the  two  parties  who  divided 
the  city  white  and  black  flffivas,  and  him- 
self white-flower, — the  name  by  which 
he  was  called  by  many.  Now  he  makes 
use  of  a  very  abstruse  comparison,  to 
express  how  he  became,  from  a  Guelph 
or  Black,  a  Ghibelline  or  White.  He 
describes  himself  as  ^flmver,  first  bent 
and  closed  by  the  night  frosts,  and  then 
blanched  or  whitened  by  the  sun  (the 
symbol  of  reason),  which  opens  its  leaves; 
and  what  produces  the  effect  of  the  sun 
on  him  is  a  speech  of  Virgil's,  persuad- 
ing him  to  follow  his  guidance." 


CANTO  III. 

I.  This  canto  begins  with  a  repeti- 
tion of  sounds  like  the  tolling  of  a  funeral 
bell  :   dolente  .  .  .  dolore ! 

Ruskin,  Modern  Painters,  III.  215, 
speaking  of  the  Inferno,  says : — 

"  Milton's  effort,  in  all  that  he  tells 
us  of  his  Inferno,  is  to  make  it  indefi- 
nite; Dante's,  to  make  it  a'^w/Vi?.  Both, 
indeed,  describe  it  as  entered  through 
gates;  but,  within  the  gate,  all  is  wild 
and  fenceless  with  Milton,  having  indeed 
its  four  rivers, — the  last  vestige  of  the 
mediaeval  tradition, — but  rivers  which 
flow  through  a  waste  of  mountain  and 
moorland,  and  by  '  many  a  frozen,  many 
a  fiery  Alp.'  But  Dante's  Inferno  is 
accurately  separated  into  circles  drawn 
with  well-pointed  compasses  ;  mapped 
and  properly  surveyed  in  every  direc- 
tion, trenched  in  a  thoroughly  good 
style  of  engineering  from  depth  to  depth, 
and  divided,  in  the  '  accurate  middle ' 
(dritto  mezzo)  of  its  deepest  abyss,  into  a 
concentric  series  of  ten  moats  and  em- 
bankments, like  those  about  a  castle, 
with  bridges  from  each  embankment 
to  the  next ;  precisely  in  the  manner 
of  those  bridges  over  Hiddekel  and 
Eu])hrates,  which  Mr.  Macaulay  thinks 


NOTES    TO  INFERNO. 


so  innocently  designed,  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  embankments,  in  which  he 
anxiously  points  out  to  us  not  only  the 
formality,  but  the  neatness  and  perfect- 
ness,  of  the  stonework.  For  instance, 
in  describing  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  surrounded  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 
modems  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  faculty  ;  that  which 
obscures  or  conceals  may  be  judgment, 
or  feeling,  but  not  invention.  The  in- 
vention, whether  good  or  bad,  is  in  the 
accurate  engineering,  not  in  the  fog  and 
uncertainty. 

i8.  Aristotle  says:  "The  good  of 
the  intellect  is  the  highest  beatitude  ; " 
and  Dante  in  the  Conviio :  "The  True 
is  the  good  of  the  intellect. "    In  other 


words,  the  knowledge  of  God  is  intel- 
lectual good. 

"It  is  a  most  just  punishment,"  says 
St.  Aug[ustine,  "that  man  should  lose 
that  freedom  which  man  could  not  use, 
yet  had  power  to  keep  if  he  would, 
and  that  he  who  had  knowledge  to  do 
what  was  right,  and  did  not  do  it, 
should  be  deprived  of  the  knowledge 
of  what  was  right ;  and  that  he  who 
would  not  do  righteously,  when  he  had 
the  power,  should  lose  the  power  to  do 
it  when  he  had  the  will. " 

22.  The  description  given  of  the 
Mouth  of  Hell  by  Frate  Alberico,  I  i- 
sio,  9,  is  in  the  grotesque  spirit  of  the 
Mediaeval  Mysteries. 

"  After  all  these  things,  I  was  led  to 
the  Tartarean  Regions,  and  to  the  mouth 
of  the  Infernal  Pit,  which  seemed  like 
unto  a  well ;  regions  full  of  horrid 
darkness,  of  fetid  exhalations,  of  shrieks 
and  loud  bowlings.  Near  this  Hell 
there  was  a  Worm  of  immeasurable 
size,  bound  with  a  huge  chain,  one  end 
of  which  seemed  to  be  fastened  in  Hell. 
Before  the  mouth  of  this  Hell  there 
stood  a  gri  2C  multitude  of  souls,  which 
he  absorbed  at  once,  as  if  they  were 
flies  ;  so  that,  drawing  in  his  breath, 
he  swallowed  them  all  together;  then, 
breathing,  exhaled  them  all  on  fire,  like 
sparks." 

36.  The  reader  will  here  be  re- 
minded* of  Bunyan's  town  of  Fair- 
speech. 

"  Christian.  Pray  who  are  your  kin- 
dred there,  if  a  man  may  be  so  bold  ? 

''^By-ends.  Almost  the  whole  town; 
and  in  particular  my  Lord  Turnabout, 
my  Lord  Timeserver,  my  Lord  Fair- 
speech,  from  whose  ancestors  that  town 
first  took  its  name ;  also  Mr.  Smooth- 
man,  Mr.  Facing-both-ways,  Mr.  Any- 
thing,— and  the  parson  of  our  parish, 
Mr.  Two-tongues,  was  my  mother's  own 
brother  by  father's  side 

"There  Christian  stepped  a  little 
aside  to  his  fellow  Hopeful,  saying, 
*  It  runs  in  my  mind  that  this  is  one 
By-ends  of  Fair-speech  ;  and  if  it  be 
he,  we  have  as  very  a  knave  in  our 
company  as  dwelleth  in  all  these 
parts.'" 

42.  Many  commentators  and  trans- 
lators interpret  alcuna  in  its  usual  signifi- 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


I2t 


cation  of  some:  "  For  some  glory  the 
damned  would  have  from  them."  This 
would  be  a  reason  why  these  pusillani- 
mous ghosts  should  not  be  sent  into  the 
profounder  abyss,  but  no  reason  why 
they  should  not  be  received  there.  This 
is  strengthened  by  what  comes  after- 
wards, 1.  63.  These  souls  were  "  hate- 
ful to  God,  and  to  his  enemies."  They 
were  not  good  enough  for  Heaven,  nor 
bad  enough  for  Hell.  *'  So  then,  be- 
cause thou  art  lukewarm,  and  neither 
cold  nor  hot,  I  will  spew  thee  out  of  my 
mouth."     Ra>elation  iii.  16. 

Macchiavelli  represents  this  scorn  of 
inefficient  mediocrity  in  an  epigram  on 
I'eter  Soderini : — 

"  TTie  night  that  Peter  Soderini  "died 
He  at  the  mouth  of  Hell  himself  presented. 
'  What,  you  come  into  Hell  ?  poor  ghost  de- 
mented, 
Go  to  the  babies'  Limbo ! '  Pluto  cried." 

The  same  idea  is  intensified  in  the  old 
ballad  of  Carle  of  Kelly-Burn  Brees, 
Cromek,  p.  37  : — 

"  She's   nae  fit  for  heaven,  an'  she'll  ruin   a* 
hell." 

52.  This  restless  flag  is  an  emblem 
of  the  shifting  and  unstable  minds  of  its 
followers. 

59.  Generally  supposed  to  be  Pope 
Celestine  V.  whose  great  refusal,  or  ab- 
dication, of  the  papal  office  is  thus  de- 
scribed by  Boccaccio  in  his  Comento : — 

'•  Being  a  simple  man  and  of  a  holy 
life,  living  as  a  hermit  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Morrone  in  Abruzzo,  above  Sel- 
mona.  he  was  elected  Poi>e  in  Perugia 
after  ihe  death  of  Pope  Nicola  d'As- 
coli  ;  and  his  name  being  Peter,  he  was 
called  Celestine.  Considering  liis  sim- 
plicity, Cardinal  Messer  Benedetto  Ga- 
tano,  a  very  cunning  man,  of  great 
courage  and  desirous  of  being  Pope, 
managing  astutely,  began  to  show  him 
that  he  held  this  high  office  much  to 
the  prejudice  of  his  own  soul,  inasmuch 
as  he  did  not  feel  himself  competent 
for  it  ; — others  pretend  that  he  con- 
trived with  some  private  servants  of 
his  to  have  voices  heard  in  the  chamlier 
of  the  aforesaid  Pope,  which,  as  if  they 
were  voices  of  angels  sent  from  heaven, 
said,  '  Resign,  Celestine !  Resign,  Ce- 
lestine ! '—  moved  by  which,  and  being 


an  idiotic  man,  he  took  counsel  with 
Messer  Benedetto  aforesaid,  as  to  the 
best  method  of  resigning. " 

Celestine  having  relinquished  the 
papal  office,  this  "  Messer  Benedetto 
aforesaid  "  was  elected  Pope,  under  the 
title  of  Boniface  VHI.  His  greatest 
misfortune  was  that  he  had  Dante  for  an 
adversary. 

Gower  gives  this  legend  of  Pojie  Ce- 
lestine in  his  Confessio  A  mantis.  Book  H., 
as  an  example  of  "  the  vice  of  supplanta- 
cion."     He  says  : — 

"This  clerk,  when  he  hath  herd  the  form. 
How  he  the  pope  shuld  enform, 
Toke  of  the  cardinal  his  leve 
And  goth  him  home,  till  it  was  eve. 
And  prively  the  trompe  he  hadde 
Til  that  the  pope  was  abedde. 
And  at  midnight  when, he  knewe 
The  pope  slepte,  than  he  blewe 
Within  his  trompe  through  the  w.ill 
And  tolde  in  what  maner  he  shall 
His  papacie  leve,  and  take 
His  first  estate." 

Milman,  Hist,  Latin  Christianity,  VI. 
194,  speaks  thus  upon  the  subject :  — 

"  The  abdication  of  Celestine  V.  was 
an  event  unprecedented  in  the  annals  of 
the  Church,  and  jarred  harshly  against 
some  of  the  first  principles  of  the  Papal 
authority.  It  was  a  confession  of  com- 
mon luumanity,  of  weakness  below  the 
ordinary  standard  of  men  in  him  whom 
the  Conclave,  with  more  than  usual  cer- 
titude, as  guided  by  the  special  inter- 
position of  the  Holy  Ghost,  had  raised 
to  the  spiritual  throne  of  the  world. 
The  Conclave  had  been,  as  it  seemed, 
either  under  an  illusion  as  to  this  de- 
clared manifestation  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
or  had  been  permitted  to  deceive  itself. 
Nor  was  there  less  incongruity  in  a 
Pope,  whose  office  invested  him  in 
something  at  least  approaching  to  in- 
fallibility, acknowledging  before  the 
world  his  utter  incapacity,  his  undeni- 
able fallibility.  That  idea,  fomied  out 
of  many  conflicting  conceptions,  yet 
forcibly  harmonized  by  long  tradi- 
tionary reverence,  of  unerring  wisdom, 
oracular  tnith,  authority  which  it  was 
sinful  to  question  or  limit,  was  strangely 
disturbed  and  confused,  not  as  before  by 
too  overweening  ambition,  or  even  awful 
yet  still  unacknowledged  crime,  but  by 
avowed  weakness,  bordering  on  imbeci- 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


lity.  His  profound  piety  hardly  recon- 
ciled the  confusion.  A  saint  after  all 
made  but  a  bad  Pope. 

"  It  was  viewed,  in  his  own  time,  in  a 
different  light  by  different  minds.  The 
monkish  writers  held  it  up  as  the  most 
noble  example  of  monastic,  of  Christian 
perfection.  Admirable  as  was  his  elec- 
tion, his  abdication  was  even  more  to 
be  admired.  It  was  an  example  of 
humility  stupendous  to  all,  imitable  by 
few.  The  divine  approval  was  said  to 
be  shown  by  a  miracle  which  followed 
directly  on  his  resignation ;  but  the 
sconi  of  man  has  been  expressed  by 
the  undying  verse  of  Dante,  who  con- 
demned him  who  who  was  guilty  of  the 
baseness  of  the  'great  refusal'  to  that 
circle  of  hell  where  are  those  disdained 
alike  by  mercy  and  j;  slice,  on  whom 
the  poet  will  not  condescend  to  look. 
This  sentence,  sf)  accordant  with  the 
stirring  and  passionate  soul  of  the  great 
Florentine,  has  been  feebly  counter- 
acted, if  counteracted,  by  the  praise  of 
Petrarch  in  his  declamation  on  the 
beauty  of  a  solitary  life,  for  which  the 
lyrist  professed  a  somewhat  hollow 
and  poetic  admiration.  Assuredly  there 
was  no  magnanimity  contemptuous  of 
the  Papal  greatness  in  the  abdication 
of  Celestine  ;  it  was  the  weariness,  the 
conscious  inefficiency,  the  regret  of  a 
man  suddenly  wrenched  away  from  all 
his  habits,  pursuits,  and  avocations,  and 
unnaturally  compelled  or  tempted  to 
assume  an  uncongenial  dignity.  It  was 
the  cry  of  passionate  feebleness  to  be 
released  from  an  insupportable  burden. 
Compassion  is  the  highest  emotion  of 
sympathy  which  it  would  have  desired  or 
could  deserve." 

75.  .Spenser's  "  misty  dampe  of  mis- 
conceyving  night." 

82.  Virgil,  .Eneid,  VI.,  Davidson's 
translation  :  — 

"  A  grim  ferryman  guards  these  floods 
and  rivers,  Charon,  of  frightful  sloven- 
liness ;  on  whose  chin  a  load  of  gray 
hair  neglected  lies  ;  his  eyes  are  flame  : 
his  vestments  hang  from  his  shoulders 
by  a  knot,  with  filth  overgrown.  Him- 
self thrusts  on  the  barge  with  a  pole, 
and  tends  the  sails,  and  wafts  over  the 
")odies  in  his  iron-coloured  boat,  now  in 
jars  :  but  the  god  is  of  fresh  and  green 


old  age.  Hither  the  whole  tribe  in 
swarms  come  pouring  to  the  banks, 
matrons  and  men,  the  souls  of  magnani- 
mous heroes  who  had  gone  through  life, 
boys  and  unmarried  maids,  and  young 
men  who  had  been  stretched  on  the  fune- 
ral pile  before  the  eyes  of  their  parents  ; 
as  numerous  as  withered  leaves  fall  in  the 
woods  with  the  first  cold  of  autumn,  or 
as  numerous  as  birds  flock  to  the  land 
from  deep  ocean,  when  the  chillinfr  year 
drives  them  beyond  sea,  and  sends  them 
to  sunny  climes.  They  stood  praying  to 
cross  the  flood  the  first,  and  were  stretch- 
ing forth  their  hands  with  fond  uesire  to 
gain  the  further  bank  :  but  the  sullen 
boatman  admits  sometimes  these,  some- 
times those  ;  while  others  to  a  great 
distance  removed,  he  debars  from  the 
banks. " 

And  Shakespeare.  Richard  III.,  I. 
4:- 

"  I  passed,  methought,  the  melancholy  flood 
With  that  grim  ferryman  which  poets  write  of, 
Unto  the  kingdom  of  perpetual  night." 

87.  Shakespeare,  Measure  for  Mea- 
siij-e,  III.,  I  : — 

"  This  sensible  warm  motion  to  become 
A  kneaded  clod  ;  and  the  delighted  spirit 
To  bathe  in  fiery  floods,  or  to  reside 
In  thtilling  regions  of  thick-ribbed  ice  ; 
To  be  imprisoned  in  the  viewless  winds, 
And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  about 
The  pendent  world  ;  or  to  be  worse  than  worst 
Of  those  that  lawless  and  incertain  thoughts 
Im.igine  howling." 

89.  Virgil,  ^ueid,  VI.  :  "  This  is 
the  region  of  Ghosts,  of  Sleep  and 
drowsy  Night  ;  to  waft  over  the  bodies 
of  the  living  in  my  Stygian  boat  is  not 
permitted." 

93.  The  souls  that  were  to  be  saved 
assembled  at  the  mouth  of  the  Tiber, 
where  they  were  received  by  the  celestial 
pilot,  or  ferryman,  who  transported  them 
to  the  shores  of  Purgatory,  as  described 
in  Purg.  II. 

94.  Many  critics,  and  foremost  among 
them  Padre  Pompeo  Venturi,  blame 
Dante  for  mingling  together  things  Pa- 
gan and  Christian.  But  they  should 
remember  how  through  all  the  Middle 
Ages  human  thought  was  wrestling  with 
the  old  traditions  ;  how  many  Pagan 
observances  passed  into  Christianity  \x 
those  early  days  ;  what  reverence  Dante 
had  foi  Virgil  and  the  classics  ;  and  how 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


manj  Christian  nations  still  preserve 
some  traces  of  Paganism  in  the  names  of 
the  stars,  the  months,  and  the  days. 
Padre  Pompeo  should  not  have  forgotten 
that  he,  though  a  Christian,  bore  a  Pagan 
name,  which  perhaps  is  as  evident  a /t;///^ 
miscuglio  in  a  learned  Jesuit,  as  any  which 
he  has  pointed  out  in  Dante. 

Upon  him  and  other  commentators  of 
the  Divine  Poem,  a  very  amusing  chap- 
ter might  be  written.  While  the  great 
Comedy  is  going  on  upon  the  scene 
above,  with  all  its  pomp  and  music,  these 
critics  in  the  pit  keep  up  such  a  per- 
petual wrangling  among  themselves,  as 
seriously  to  disturb  the  performance. 
Biagioli  is  the  most  violent  of  all,  parti- 
cularly against  Venturi,  whom  he  calls 
an  "  infamous  dirty  dog,"  sozzo  canvihi- 
perato,  an  epithet  hardly  permissible  in 
the  most  heated  literary  controversy. 
Whereupon  in  return  Zani  de'  Ferranti 
calls  Biagioli  "an inurbane  grammarian," 
and  a  "most  ungrateful  ingrate," — guel 
grammatico  inurbano  .  .  .  ingrato  in- 
gratissimo. 

Any  one  who  is  desirous  of  tracing 
out  the  presence  of  Paganism  in  Chris- 
tianity will  find  the  subject  amply  dis- 
cussed by  Middleton  in  his  Letter  from 
Home. 

109.     Dryden's  Aeneis,  B.  VI.  : — 

"  His  eyes  like  hollow  furnaces  on  fire." 

112.  Homer,  Iliad,  VI.  :  "  As  is  the 
race  of  leaves,  such  is  that  of  men  ; 
some  leaves  the  wind  scatters  upon  the 
ground,  and  others  the  budding  wood 
produces,  for  they  come  again  in  the 
season  of  Spring.  So  is  the  race  of 
men,  one  springs  up  and  the  other 
dies," 

See  also  Note  82  of  this  canto. 

Mr.  Ruskin,  Modern  Painters,  III. 
160,  says : — 

"  When  Dante  describes  the  spirits 
falling  from  the  bank  of  Acheron  'as 
dead  leaves  flutter  from  a  bough,'  he 
gives  the  most  perfect  image  possible 
of  their  utter  lightness,  feebleness,  pas- 
siveness,  and  scattering  agony  of  despair, 
without,  however,  for  an  instant  losing 
his  own  clear  perception  that  these  are 
souls,  and  those  are  leaves  :  he  makes  no 
confusion  of  one  with  the  other." 

Shelley  in  his  Ode  to  the  West  Wind 


inverts  this  image,   and   compares   the 
dead  leaves  to  ghosts  : — 

"  O  wild  West  Wind  !  thou  breath  of  Autumn's 

being! 
Thou  from  whose  presence  the  leaves  dead 
Are   driven    like   ghosts,    from   an   enchanter 

fleeing, 
Yellow,  and  black,  and  pale,  and  hectic  red. 
Pestilence-stricken  multitudes." 


CANTO   IV. 

I.  Dante  is  borne  across  the  river 
Acheron  in  his  sleep,  he  does  not  tell 
us  how,  and  awakes  on  the  brink  of 
"the  dolorous  valley  of  the  abyss.  " 
He  now  enters  the  First  Circle  of  the 
Inferno ;  the  Liml)o  of  the  Unbaptized, 
the  border  land,  as  the  name  denotes. 

Frate  Alberico  in  §  2  of  his  Vision 
says,  that  the  divine  punishments  are 
tempered  to  extreme  youth  and  old 
age. 

"  Man  is  first  a  little  child,  then  grows 
and  reaches  adolescence,  and  attains  to 
youthful  vigour ;  and,  little  by  little 
growing  weaker,  declines  into  old  age  ; 
and  at  every  step  of  life  the  sum  of  his 
sins  increases.  So  likewise  the  little 
children  are  punished  least,  and  more 
and  more  the  adolescents  and  the  youths; 
until,  their  sins  decreasing  with  the  long- 
continued  torments,  punishment  also  be- 
gins to  decrease,  as  if  by  a  kind  of  old 
age  (I'eluti  qjiadam  senecttite)." 

10.  Frate  Alberico,  in  §  9:  ''The 
darkness  was  so  dense  and  impenetrable 
that  it  was  impossible  to  see  anything 
there. " 

28.  Mental,  not  physical  pain ;  what 
the  French  theologians  call  la  peine  du 
dam,  the  privation  of  the  sight  of  God. 

30.  Virgil,  yEtteid,  VI.  :  "Forth- 
with are  heard  voices,  loud  wailings, 
and  weeping  ghosts  of  infants,  in  the  first 
opening  of  the  gate  ;  whom,  bereave<l 
of  sweet  life  out  of  the  course  of  nature, 
and  snatched  from  the  breast,  a  black 
day  cut  off,  and  buried  in  an  untimely 
grave." 

53.  The  descent  of  Christ  into 
Limbo.  Neither  here  nor  elsewhere 
in  the  Inferno  does  Dante  mention  the 
name  of  Christ. 

72.  The  reader  will  not  fail  to  ob- 
serve how  Dante  makes  the  word  honour, 
in  it«  various  form.>,  ring  and  reverberate 


124 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


through  these  \xne.%,—orrevol,  onori,  or- 
ranza,  onrata,  onorata! 

86.  Dante  puts  the  sword  into  the 
hand  of  Homer  as  a  symbol  of  his  war- 
like epic,  which  is  a  Song  of  the  Sword. 

93.  Upon  this  line  Boccaccio,  Co- 
mento,  says  :  "A  proper  thing  it  is  to 
honour  every  man,  but  especially  those 
who  are  of  one  and  the  same  profession, 
as  these  were  with  Virgil." 

100.  Another  assertion  of  Dante's 
consciousness  of  his  own  power  as  a  poet. 

106.  This  is  the  Noble  Castle  of 
human  wit  and  learning,  encircled  with 
its  seven  scholastic  walls,  the  Trivium, 
Logic,  Grammar,  Rhetoric,  and  the 
Quadrivium,  Arithmetic,  Astronomy, 
Geometry,  Music. 

The  fair  rivulet  is  Eloquence,  which 
Dante  does  not  seem  to  consider  a  very 
profound  matter,  as  he  and  Virgil  pass 
over  it  as  if  it  were  dry  ground. 

118.  Of  this  word  "enamel"  Mr. 
Ruskin,  Modern  Painters,  III.  227,  re- 
marks : — 

"The  first  instance  I  know  of  its 
right  use,  though  very  probably  it  had 
been  so  employed  before,  is  in  Dante. 
The  righteous  spirits  of  the  pre-Chris- 
tian ages  are  seen  by  him,  though  in 
the  Inferno,  yet  in  a  place  open,  lumi- 
nous and  high,  walking  upon  the  '  green 
enamel. ' 

"  I  am  very  sure  that  Dante  did  not 
use  this  phrase  as  we  use  it.  He  knew 
well  what  enamel  was  ;  and  his  readers, 
in  order  to  understand  him  thoroughly, 
must  remember  what  it  is, —a  vitreous 
paste,  dissolved  in  water,  mi.xed  with 
metallic  oxides,  to  give  it  the  opacity 
and  the  colour  required,  spread  in  a  moist 
state  on  metal,  and  afterwards  hard- 
ened by  fire,  so  as  never  to  change.  And 
Dante  means,  in  using  this  metaphor  of 
the  grass  of  the  Inferno,  to  mark  that  it 
is  laid  as  a  tempering  and  cooling  sub- 
stance over  the  dark,  metallic,  gloomy 
ground ;  but  yet  so  hardened  by  the  fire, 
that  it  is  not  any  more  fresh  or  living 
grass,  but  a  smooth,  silent,  lifeless  bed 
of  eternal  green.  And  we  know  how 
hard  Dante's  idea  of  it  was  ;  because 
afterwards,  in  what  is  perhaps  the  most 
awful  passage  of  the  whole  Inferno, 
when  the  three  furies  rise  at  the  top  of 
the  burning  tower,  and,  catching  sight 


of  Dante,  and  not  being  able  to  get  at 
him,  shriek  wildly  for  the  Gorgon  to 
come  up,  too,  that  they  may  turn  him 
into  stone,  the  word  stone  is  not  hard 
enough  for  them.  Stone  might  cmmble 
away  after  it  was  made,  or  something 
with  life  might  grow  upon  it ;  no,  it 
shall  not  be  stone ;  they  will  make  enamel 
of  him  ;  nothing  can  grow  out  of  that  ; 
it  is  dead  for  ever. " 

And  yet  just  before,  line  iii,  Dante 
speaks  of  this  meadow  as  a  "  meadow 
of  fresh  verdure." 

Compare  Brunetto's  Tesoretto,  XIII. 

"  Or  va  mastro  Brunetto 

Per  lo  cammino  stretto, 
Cercando  di  vedere, 

E  toccare,  e  sapere 
Ci6,  che  gli  fe  destinato. 

E  non  fui  giian  andato, 
Ch'  i'  fui  nella  diserta, 

Dov'  i'  non  trovai  certa 
Nfe  strada,  nfe  sentiero. 

Deh  che  paese  fero 
Trovai  in  quelle  parti  ! 

Che  s'  io  sapessi  d'  arti 
Quivi  mi  bi?  )gnava, 

Chfe  quan..o  pitl  mirava, 
Pili  mi  parea  selvaggio. 

Quivi  non  ha  viaggio, 
Quivi  non  ha  persone, 

Quivi  non  ha  magione, 
Non  bestia,  non  uccello, 

Non  fiume,  non  ruscello, 
Non  formica,  nfe  mosca, 

Nfe  cosa,  ch'  i'  conosca. 
E  io  pensando  forte, 

Dottai  ben  della  morte. 
E  non  fe  maraviglia  ; 

Chfe  ben  trecento  miglia 
Girava  d'  ogni  lato 

Quel  paese  sna^iato. 
Ma  si  m'  assicurai 

Quando  mi  ricordai 
Del  sicuro  segnale, 

Che  contra  tutto  male 
Mi  dU  securamento : 

E  io  presi  ardimento, 
Quasi  per  avventura 

Per  una  valle  scura, 
Tanto,  ch'  al  terzo  giorno 

r  mi  trovai  d'  intomo 
Un  grande  pian  giocondo, 

Lo  piti  gaio  del  mondo, 
E  lo  pitl  dilettoso. 

Ma  ricontar  non  oso 
Ci6,  ch'  io  trovai,  e  vidi, 

Se  Dio  mi  guardi,  e  guidL 
Io  non  sarei  crediito 

Di  ci6,  ch'  i'  ho  veduto ; 
Ch'  i'  vidi  Imperadori, 

E  Re,  e  gran  signori, 
E  mastri  di  scienze, 

Che  dittavan  sentenze ; 
E  vidi  tante  cose, 

Che  gi&  'n  rime,  nfe  'd  prOM 
Non  le  poria  ritrar*. 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


I2S 


128.  In  the  Convito,  IV.  28,  Dante 
makes  Marcia,  Cato's  wife,  a  symbol  of 
the  noble  soul  :  "/Vr  la  ijuale  Alarzia 
j'  intende  la  nobile  atiima." 

129.  The  Saladin  of  the  Crusades. 
See  Gibbon,  Chap.  LIX.  Dante  also 
makes  mention  of  him,  as  worthy  of 
affectionate  remembrance,  in  the  Con- 
vito, IV.  2.  Mr.  Cary  quotes  the  fol- 
lowing passage  from  Knolles's  History 
of  the  Turks,  page  57  : — 

"About  this  time  (1193)  died  the 
great  Sultan  Saladin,  the  greatest  terror 
of  the  Christians,  who,  mindful  of  man's 
fragility  and  the  vanity  of  worldly 
honours,  commanded  at  tKe  time  of  his 
death  no  solemnity  to  be  used  at  his 
burial,  but  only  his  shirt,  in  manner  of 
an  ensign,  made  fast  unto  the  point  of 
a  lance,  to  be  carried  before  his  dead 
body  as  an  ensign,  a  plain  priest  going 
before,  and  crying  aloud  unto  the  peo- 
ple in  this  sort,  '  Saladin,  Conqueror 
of  the  East,  of  all  the  greatness  and 
riches  he  had  in  his  life,  carrieth  not 
with  him  anything  more  than  his  shirt.' 
A  sight  worthy  so  great  a  king,  as 
wanted  nothing  to  his  eternal  commen- 
dation more  than  the  true  knowledge 
of  his  salvation  in  Christ  Jesus.  He 
reigned  about  sixteen  years  with  great 
honour. " 

The  following  story  of  Saladin  is 
from  the  Cento  Ncrvelle  Antiche.  Ros- 
coe's  Italiau  Novelists,  I.  18  : — 

"On  another  occasion  the  great  .Sa- 
kdin,  in  the  career  of  victory,  pro- 
claimed a  trace  between  the  Christian 
armies  and  his  own.  During  this  in- 
terval he  visited  the  camp  and  the  cities 
belonging  to  his  enemies,  with  the  de- 
sign, should  he  ajiprove  of  the  customs 
and  manners  of  the  p)eople,  of  embra- 
cing the  Christian  faith.  He  observed 
their  tables  spread  with  the  finest  da- 
mask coverings  ready  prepared  for  the 
feast,  and  he  praised  their  magnificence. 
On  entering  the  tents  of  the  king  of 
France  during  a  festival,  he  was  much 
pleased  with  the  order  and  ceremony 
with  which  everything  was  conducted, 
and  the  courteous  manner  in  which  he 
feasted  his  nobles ;  but  when  he  ap- 
proached the  residence  of  the  poorer 
class,  and  perceived  them  devouring 
their     miserable     pittance    upon     the 


ground,  he  blamed  the  want  of  grati- 
tude which  permitted  so  many  faithful 
followers  of  their  chief  to  fare  so  much 
worse  than  the  rest  of  their  Christian 
brethren". 

"  Afterwards,  several  of  the  Chris 
tian  leadei^s  returned  with  the  Sultan  to 
observe  the  manners  of  the  Saracens. 
They  appeared  much  shocked  on  see- 
ing all  ranks  of  people  take  their  meals 
sitting  upon  the  ground.  The  Sultan 
led  them  into  a  grand  pavilion  where 
he  feasted  his  court,  surrounded  with 
the  most  beautiful  tapestries,  and  rich 
foot-cloths,  on  which  were  wrought 
large  embroidered  figures  of  the  cross. 
The  Christian  chiefs  trampled  them 
under  their  feet  with  the  utmost  indif- 
ference, and  even  rubbed  their  boots, 
and  spat  upon  them. 

"On  perceiving  this,  the  Sultan 
turned  towards  them  in  the  greatest 
anger,  exclaiming:  'And  do  you  who 
pretend  to  preach  the  cross  treat  it 
thus  ignominiously  ?  Gentlemen,  I  am 
shocked  at  your  conduct.  Am  I  to 
suppose  from  this  that  the  worship  of 
your  Deity  consists  only  in  words,  not 
in  actions  ?  Neither  your  manners  nor 
your  conduct  please  me.'  And  on  this 
he  dismissed  them,  breaking  off  the 
truce  and  commencing  hostilities  more 
warmly  than  before." 

143.  Avicenna,  an  Arabian  physi- 
cian of  Ispahan  in  the  eleventh  century. 
Born  980,  died  1036. 

144.  Averrhoes,  an  Arabian  scholar 
of  the  twelfth  century,  who  translated 
the  works  of  Aristotle,  and  wrote  a 
commentary  upon  them.  He  was  bom 
in  Cordova  in  1149,  and  died  in  Mo- 
rocco, about  1200.  He  was  the  head 
of  the  Western  School  of  philojsophy, 
as  Avicenna  was  of  the  Eastern. 


CANTO  V. 

In  the  Second  Circle  are  fbtmd  the 
souls  of  carnal  sinners,  whose  punish- 
ment is 

"  To  be  imprisoned  in  the  viewless  winds, 
And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  about 
The  pendent  world." 

2.  The  circles  grow  smaller  and 
smaller  as  they  descend. 

4,     Minos,  the  king  of  Crete,  so  liP 


liB' 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


nowned  for  justice  as  to  be  called  the 
Favourite  of  the  Gods,  and  after  death 
made  Supreme  Judge  in  the  Infernal 
Regions.  Dante  furnishes  him  with  a 
tail,  thus  converting  him,  after  the 
mediaeval  fashion,  into  a  Christian  de- 
mon. 

21.  Thou,  too,  as  well  as  Charon,  to 
whom  Virgil  has  already  made  the  same 
reply.  Canto  VI.  22. 

28.  In  Canto  I.  60,  the  sun  is  silent; 
here  the  light  is  dumb. 

51.  Govver,  Confessio  Amantis,'S\\\., 
g;ives  a  similar  list  "  of  gentil  folke  that 
whilom  were  lovers,"  seen  by  him  as 
he  lay  in  a  swound  and  listened  to  the 
music 

"  Of  bombarde  and  of  clarionne 
With  cornerause  and  shalmele." 

61.     Queen  Dido. 

65.  Achilles,  being  in  love  with 
Polyxena,  a  daughter  of  Priam,  went 
unarmed  to  the  temple  of  Apollo,  where 
he  was  put  to  death  by  Paris. 

Cower,  Confessio  Atnantis,  IV., 
says  :  — 

"  For  I  have  herde  tell  also 
Achilles  left  his  armes  so, 
Both  of  himself  and  of  his  men. 
At  Troie  for  Polixenen 
Upon  her  love  when  he  felle, 
That  for  no  chaunce  that  befelle 
Among  the  Grekes  or  up  or  down 
He  wolde  nought  ayen  the  town 
Ben  armed  for  the  love  of  her." 

"  I  know  not  how,"  says  Bacon  in  his 
Essay  on  Love,  "but  martial  men  are 
given  to  love ;  I  think  it  is  but  as  they 
are  given  to  wine  ;  for  perils  commonly 
ask  to  be  paid  in  pleasure." 

67.  Piiris  of  Troy,  of  whom  Spenser 
says,  Fa-crie  Queene,  III.  ix.  34  ; — 

"  Most  famous  Worthy  of  the  world,  by  whome 
That  warre  was  kindled  which  did  Troy  in- 
flame 
And  stately  towres  of  Ilion  whilome 
Brought  imto  balefuU  ruine,  was  by  name 
Sir  Paris,  far  renown 'd  through  noble  fame." 

Tristan  is  the  Sir  Tristram  of  the 
Romances  of  Chivalry.  See  his  adven- 
tures in  the  Mart  d^Arthure.  Also 
Thomas  of  Ercildoune's  Sir  Tristram,  a 
Metrical  Romance.  His  amours  with 
Yseult  or  Ysonde  bring  him  to  this 
circle  of  the  Inferno. 

71.     Shakespeare,  Sonnet  CVI. ; — 


"  When  in  the  chronicle  of  wasted  time 
I  see  descriptions  of  the  fairest  wights 
And  beauty  making  beautiful  old  rhyme 
In  praise  of  'adies  dead  and  lovely  knights." 

See  also  the  "  wives  and  daughters  of 

chieftains "  that  appear   to  Ulysses,  in 

the  Odyssey,  Book  XI. 

Also   Milton,   Paradise  Regained,  IL 

357:— 

"And  ladies  of  the  H';spf;rides,  that  seemed 
Fairer  then  feigned  of  old,  or  fabled  since 
Of  fairy  damsels  met  in  forest  wide 
By  knights  of  Lngres,  or  of  I.yones, 
Lancelot,  or  Palleas,  or  Pellenore." 

89.  In  the  original  raer  pcrso,  the 
perse  air.  Dante,  Convito,  IV.  20,  de- 
fines perse  as  "  a  colour  mixed  of  purple 
and  black,  but  the  black  jjredominates." 
Chaucer's  "  Doctour  of  Pliisike"  in  the 
Canterbury  Tales,  Prologue  441,  wore 
this  colour  : — 

"  In  sanguin  and  in  perse  he  clad  was  alle, 
Lined  with  taffata  and  with  sendalle." 

The  Glossary  defines  it,  "skie-coloured, 
of  a  bluish  gray."  The  word  is  again 
used,  VII.  103,  and  Purg.  IX.  97. 

97.  The  city  of  Ravenna.  "  One 
reaches  Ravenna,"  says  Ampere,  Voyage 
Dantesque,  Y>-  31 1,  "  by  journeying  along 
the  borders  of  a  pine  forest,  which  is 
seven  leagues  in  leneth,  and  which 
seemed  to  me  an  immense  funereal  wood, 
serving  as  an  avenue  to  the  common 
tomb  of  those  two  great  powers,  Dante 
and  the  Roman  Empire  in  the  West. 
There  is  hardly  room  for  any  other 
memories  than  theirs.  But  other  poetic 
names  are  attached  to  the  Pine  Woods 
of  Ravenna.  Not  long  ago  Lord  Byron 
evoked  there  the  fantastic  tales  borrowed 
by  Dryden  from  Boccaccio,  and  now  he 
is  himself  a  figure  of  the  past,  wandering 
in  this  melancholy  place.  I  thought,  in 
traversing  it,  that  the  singer  of  despair 
had  ridden  along  this  melancholy  shore, 
trodden  before  him  by  the  graver  and 
slower  footstep  of  the  poet  of  the 
Inferno. " 

99.  Quoting  this  line,  Amj)ere  re- 
marks, Voyage  Dantesqne,  p.  312  :  "Wt 
have  only  to  cast  our  eyes  upon  the  map 
to  recognize  the  topographical  exactitude 
of  this  last  expression.  In  fact,  in  all  the 
upper  part  of  its  course,  the  Po  receives 
a  multitude  of  affluents,  which  converge 
towards  its  bed.     They  are  the  Tessinci 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


the  Adda,  the  Olio,  the  Mincio,  the 
Trebbia,  the  Bormida,  the  Taro ; — 
names  which  recur  so  often  in  the  history 
of  the  wars  of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth 
centuries. " 

103.  Here  the  word  love  is  repeated, 
as  the  word  honour  was  in  Canto  IV.  72. 
The  verse  murmurs  with  it,  hke  the 
"  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms." 

St.  Augustine  says  in  his  Confessions, 
III.  I :  I  loved  not  yet,  yet  I  loved  to 
love.  ...  I  sought  what  I  might  love, 
in  love  witii  loving." 

104.  I  think  it  is  Coleridge  who 
says  :  "  The  desire  of  man  is  for  the 
woman,  but  the  desire  of  woman  is  for 
the  desire  of  man." 

107.  Ca'ina  is  in  the  lowest  circle 
of  the  Inferno,  where  fratricides  are 
punished. 

116.  Francesca,  daughter  of  Guido 
da  Polenta,  Lord  of  Ravenna,  and  wife 
of  Gianciotto  Malaiesta,  son  of  the  Lord 
of  Rimini.  The  lover,  Paul  Malatesta, 
was  the  brother  of  the  husband,  who, 
discovering  their  amour,  put  them  both 
to  death  with  his  own  hand. 

Carlyle,  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship, 
Lect.  III.,  says  :— 

*'  Dante's  paintmg  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  minbows,  on  a  ground 
of  eternal  black.  A  small  flute- voice  of 
infinite  wail  speaks  there,  into  our  very 
heart  of  hearts.  A  touch  of  woman- 
hood in  it  too :  della  bella  persona,  che 
mi  fu  toita;  and  how,  even  in  the  Pit  of 
woe,  it  is  a  solace  that  he  will  never  part 
from  her  !  Saddest  tragedy  in  these  alli 
guai.  And  the  racking  winds,  in  that 
aer  bruno,  whirl  them  away  again,  to 
wail  for  ever  ! — Strange  to  think ;  Dante 
was  the  friend  of  this  poor  Y  rancesca's 
father;  Francesca  herself  may  have  sat 
upon  the  Poet's  knee,  as  a  bright,  inno- 
cent little  child.  Infinite  pity,  yet  also 
infinite  rigour  of  law :  it  is  so  Nature  is 
made;  it  is  so  Dante  discerned  that  she 
was  made." 

Later  commentators  assert  that  Dante's 
friend  Guido  was  not  the  father  of  Fran- 
cesca, but  her  nephew. 


Boccaccio's  account,  translated  from  his 
Commentary  by  Leigh  Hunt,  Stories 
from  the  Italian  Poets,  Appendix  II.,  is 
as  follows: — 

"  You  must  know  that  this  lady,  Ma- 
donna Francesca,  was  daughter  of  Messer 
Guido  the  Eider,  lord  of  Ravenna  and 
of  Cervia,  and  that  a  long  and  grievous 
war  having  been  waged  between  him 
and  the  lords  Malatesta  of  Rimini,  a 
treaty  of  peace  by  certain  mediators  was 
at  length  concluded  between  them  ;  the 
which,  to  the  end  that  it  might  be  the 
more  firmly  established,  it  pleased  both 
parties  to  desire  to  fortify  by  relation- 
ship ;  and  the  matter  of  this  relationship 
was  so  discoursed,  that  the  said  Messer 
Guido  agreed  to  give  his  young  and  fair 
daughter  in  marriage  to  Gianciotto,  the 
son  of  Messer  Malatesta.  Now,  this 
being  made  known  to  certain  of  the 
friends  of  Messer  Guido,  one  of  them 
said  to  him  :  '  Take  care  what  you  do  ; 
for  if  you  contrive  not  matters  discreetly, 
such  relationship  will  beget  scandal. 
You  know  what  manner  of  pei^on  you. 
daughter  is,  and  of  how  lofty  a  spirit ; 
and  if  she  see  Gianciotto  before  the  bond 
is  tied,  neither  you  nor  any  one  else  will 
have  power  to  persuade  her  to  marry 
him ;  therefore,  if  it  so  please  you,  it 
seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  good  tn 
conduct  the  matter  thus:  namely,  that 
Gianciotto  should  not  come  hither  him- 
self to  marry  her,  but  that  a  brother  of 
his  should  come  and  espouse  her  in  his 
name.' 

"  Gianciotto  was  a  man  of  great  spirit, 
and  hoped,  after  his  father's  death,  to 
become  lord  of  Rimini ;  in  the  contem- 
plation of  which  event,  albeit  he  was 
rude  in  appcaiance  and  a  cripple,  Messer 
Guido  desirod  him  for  a  son-in-law  above 
any  one  of  his  brothers.  Discerning, 
therefore,  the  reasonableness  of  what  liis 
friend  counselled,  he  secretly  disposed 
matters  according  to  his  device;  and  a 
day  being  appointed,  Polo,  a  brother  of 
Gianciotto,  came  to  Ravenna  with  full 
authority  to  espouse  Madonna  Francesca. 
Polo  was  a  handsome  man,  very  plea- 
sant, and  of  a  courteous  breeding ;  and 
passing  with  other  gentlemen  over  the 
court-yard  of  the  palace  of  Messer  Guido, 
a  damsel  who  knew  him  pointed  him  out 
to  Madonna  Francesca  through  an  open- 


C2S 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


ing  in  the  caoemeiit,  saying,  '  That  is  he 
that  is  to  be  your  husband;'  and  so 
indeed  the  poor  lady  believed,  and  incon- 
tinently placed  in  him  her  whole  affec- 
tion ;  and  the  ceremony  of  the  marriage 
having  been  thus  brought  about,  and  the 
lady  conveyed  to  Rimini,  she  became 
not  aware  of  the  deceit  till  the  morning 
ensuing  the  marriage,  when  she  beheld 
Gianciotto  rise  from  her  side  ;  the  which 
discovery  moved  her  to  such  disdain, 
that  she  became  not  a  whit  the  less 
rooted  in  her  love  for  Polo.  Neverthe- 
less, that  it  grew  to  be  unlawful  I  never 
heard,  except  in  what  is  written  by  this 
author  (Dante),  and  possibly  it  might  so 
have  become  ;  albeit  I  take  what  he  says 
to  have  been  an  invention  framed  on  the 
possil)ility,  rather  than  anything  which 
he  knew  of  his  own  knowledge.  Be 
this  as  it  may.  Polo  and  Madonna  Fran- 
cesca  living  in  the  same  house,  and 
Gianciotto  being  gone  into  a  certain 
neighbouring  district  as  governor,  thev 
fell  into  great  companionship  with  one 
another,  suspecting  nothing ;  but  a  ser- 
vant of  Gianciotto's,  noting  it,  went  to 
his  master  and  told  him  how  matters 
looked  ;  with  the  which  Gianciotto  being 
fiercely  moved,  secretly  returned  to 
Rimini ;  and  seeing  Polo  enter  the  room 
of  Madonna  Francesca  the  while  he  him- 
self was  arriving,  went  straight  to  the 
door,  and  finding  it  locked  inside,  called 
to  his  lady  to  come  out  ;  for,  Madonna 
Francesca  and  Polo  having  descried  him, 
Polo  thought  to  escape  suddenly  through 
an  opening  in  the  wall,  by  means  of 
which  there  was  a  descent  into  another 
room  ;  and  therefore,  thinking  to  conceaJ 
his  fault  either  wholly  or  in  part,  he 
threw  himself  into  the  opening,  telling 
the  lady  to  go  and  open  the  door.  But 
his  hope  did  not  turn  out  as  he  expected ; 
lor  the  hem  of  a  mantle  which  he  had  on 
caught  upon  a  nail,  and  the  lady  open- 
ing tiie  door  meantime,  in  the  belief  that 
all  would  be  well  by  reason  of  Polo's 
not  being  there,  Gianciotto  caught  sight 
of  Polo  as  he  was  detained  by  the  hem 
of  the  mantle,  and  straightway  ran  with 
his  dagger  in  his  hand  to  kill  him ;  where- 
upon the  lady,  to  prevent  it,  ran  between 
them  ;  but  Gianciotto  having  lifted  the 
dagger,  and  put  the  whole  force  of  his 
luin  into  the  blow,  there  came  to  pass 


what  he  had  not  desired, — namely,  that 
he  struck  the  dagger  into  the  bosom  ol 
the  lady  before  it  could  reach  Polo  ;  bj 
which  accident,  being  as  one  who  had 
loved  the  lady  better  than  himself,  he 
withdrew  the  dagger  and  again  struck  at 
Polo,  and  slew  him  ;  and  so  leaving 
them  both  dead,  he  hastily  went  his  way 
and  betook  him  to  his  wonted  affairs ; 
and  the  next  morning  the  two  lovers, 
with  many  tears,  were  buried  together  in 
the  same  grave. " 

121.  This  thought  is  from  Boethius, 
De  Consolat.  Philos.,  Lib.  II.  Prosa  4: 
"/«  omni  adversitate  forluna,  mfelicis- 
simum  genus  est  infortunii  ftiisse  felkem 
et  non  esse." 

In  the  CoHvito,  II.  16,  Dante  speaks 
of  Boethius  and  Tully  as  having  directed 
him  "to  the  love,  that  is  to  the  study, 
of  this  most  gentle  lady  Philosophy."' 
From  this  Venturi  and  Biagioli  infer 
that,  by  the  Teacher,  Boethius  is  meant, 
not  Virgil. 

This  mterpretation,  however,  can 
hardly  be  accepted,  as  not  in  one  place 
only,  but  throughout  the  Inferno  and 
the  Purgatorio,  Dante  proclaims  Virgil 
as  his  Teacher,  il  mio  Doltore.  Lombardi 
thinks  tliat  Virgil  had  experience  of  this 
"greatest  sorrow,"  finding  himself  also 
in  "  the  infernal  prison  ;"  and  that  it  is 
to  this,  in  contrast  with  liis  happy  life  on 
earth,  that  Francesca  alludes,  and  not  to 
anything  in  his  writings. 

128.  The  Ro-nance  of  Launcelot  of 
the  Lake.  See  Delvan,  Biblioteque 
Bleiie : — 

"Chap.  39.  Comment  Launcelot  et  la 
Reine  Genievre  deviserent  de  choses  et 
d'autres,  et  surtout  de  choses  amou- 
reuses 

"  La  Reine,  voyant  qu'il  n'osait  plus 
rien  faire  ni  dire,  le  prit  par  le  menton 
et  le  baisa  assez  longuement  en  pre- 
sence de  Gallehault." 

The  Romance  was  to  these  two  lovers 
what  Galleotto  (Galleliault  or  Sir  Gala- 
had) had  been  to  Launcelot  and  Queen 
Guenever. 

Leigh  Hunt  speaks  of  the  episode  of 
Francesca  as  standing  in  the  Infemc 
"like  a  lily  in  the  mouth  of  Tartams. " 

142.   Chaucer,  Knightes  Tale: — 

"  The  colde  death,  with  mouth 
gaping  upright." 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


129 


CANTO  VI. 

2.  The  sufferings  of  these  two,  and 
the  pity  it  excited  in  him.  As  in  Sliake- 
speare,   Othello,   IV.  i  :    "But  yet  the 

fiity  of  it,  lago  ! — O  lago,  the  pity  of  it, 
ago!" 

7.  In  this  third  circle  are  punished 
the  Gluttons.  Instead  of  the  feasts  of 
former  days,  the  light,  the  warmth,  the 
comfort,  the  luxury,  and  "  the  frolic 
wine  "  of  dinner  tables,  they  have  the 
murk  and  the  mire,  and  the  "rain  eter- 
nal, maledict,  and  cold,  and  heavy "  ; 
and  are  l)arked  at  and  bitten  by  the  dog 
in  the  yard. 

Of  Gluttony,  Chaucer  says  in  The 
Persones  Tale,  p.  239  :  — 

"  He  that  is  usant  to  this  sinne  of 
glotonie,  he  ne  may  no  sinne  withstond, 
he  must  be  in  servage  of  all  vices,  for  it 
is  the  devils  horde,  ther  he  hideth  him 
and  resteth.  This  sinne  hath  many 
spices.  The  first  is  dronkennesse,  that 
is  the  horrible  sepulture  of  mannes 
reson :  and  therefore  whan  a  man  is 
dronke,  he  hath  lost  his  reson  :  and  this 
is  dedly  sinne.  But  sothly,  whan  that  a 
man  is  not  wont  to  strong  drinkes,  and 
peraventure  ne  knoweth  not  the  strength 
of  the  drinke,  or  hath  feblenesse  in  his 
hed,  or  hath  travailled,  thurgh  which  he 
drinketh  the  more,  al  be  he  sodenly 
caught  with  drinke,  it  is  no  dedly  sinne, 
but  venial.  The  second  spice  of  glo- 
tonie is,  that  the  spirit  of  a  man  wexeth 
all  trouble  for  dronkennesse,  and  be- 
reveth  a  man  the  discretion  of  his  wit. 
The  thridde  spice  of  glotonie  is,  whan  a 
man  devoureth  his  mete,  and  hath  not 
rightful  maner  of  eting.  The  fourthe  is, 
whan  thurgh  the  gret  abundance  of  his 
mete,  the  humours  in  his  body  ben  dis- 
tempered. The  fifthe  is,  foryetfulnesse 
by  to  moche  drinking,  for  which  some- 
time a  man  forgeteth  by  the  r.iorwe, 
what  he  did  over  eve." 

52.  It  is  a  question  whether  Ciacco, 
Hog,  is  the  real  name  of  this  person,  or 
a  nickname.  Boccaccio  gives  him  no 
other.  He  speaks  of  him,  Comento,V\., 
as  a  noted  diner-out  in  Florence,  "  who 
frequented  the  gentry  and  the  rich,  and 
particularly  those  who  ate  and  drank 
sumptuously  and  delicately ;  and  when 
he  was  invited  by  them   to  dine,    he 


went  ;  and  likewise  when  he  was  not 
invited  by  them,  he  invited  himself ; 
and  for  this  vice  he  was  well  known  to 
all  Florentines  ;  though  apart  from  this 
he  was  a  well-bred  man  according  to  his 
condition,  eloquent,  affable,  and  of  good 
feeling;  on  account  of  which  he  was 
welcomed  by  every  gentleman." 

The  following  story  from  the  Decame- 
rone,  Gior.  IX.,  Nov.  viii.,  translation 
of  1684,  presents  a  livs'y  picture  of 
social  life  in  Florence  in  Dante's  time, 
and  is  interesting  for  the  glimpse  it  gives, 
not  only  of  Ciacco,  but  of  Philippe  Ar- 
genti,  who  is  spoken  of  hereafter,  Canto 
VIII.  61.  The  Corso  Donati  here  men- 
tioned is  the  Leader  of  the  Neri.  His 
violent  death  is  predicted,  Piirg.  XXIV. 
82:— 

"There  dwelt  somtime  in  Florence 
one  that  was  generally  called  by  the 
name  of  Ciacco,  a  man  being  the  greatest 
Gourmand  and  grossest  Feeder  as  ever 
was  seen  in  any  Countrey,  all  his  means 
and  procurements  meerly  unable  to  main- 
tain expences  for  filling  his  belly.  But 
otherwise  he  was  of  sufficient  and  com- 
mendable carriage,  fairly  demeaned,  and 
well  discoursing  on  any  Argument:  yet 
not  as  a  curious  and  spruce  Courtier,  but 
rather  a  frequenter  of  rich  mens  Tables, 
where  choice  of  good  chear  is  seldom 
wanting,  and  such  should  have  his  Com- 
pany, albeit  not  invited,  he  had  the 
Courage  to  bid  himself  welcome. 

"  At  the  same  time,  and  in  our  City 
of  Florence  also,  there  was  another  man 
named  Biondello,  very  low  of  stature, 
yet  comely  formed,  quick  witted,  more 
neat  and  brisk  than  a  Butterflie,  always 
wearing  a  wrought  silk  Cap  on  his  head, 
and  not  a  hair  standing  out  of  order,  but 
the  tuft  flourishing  above  the  forehead, 
and  he  such  another  trencher  file  for  ihe 
Table,  as  our  forenamed  Ciacco  was. 
It  so  fell  out  on  a  morning  in  the  Lent 
time,  that  he  went  into  the  Fish-market, 
where  he  bought  two  goodly  Lampreys 
for  Messer  Viero  de  Cerchi,  and  was 
espyed  by  Ciacco,  who,  coming  to  Bion- 
dello, said,  '  What  is  the  meaning  of 
this  cost,  and  for  whom  is  it?'  Whereto 
Biondello  thus  answered,  '  Yesternight 
three  other  Lampreys,  far  fairer  than 
these,  and  a  whole  Sturgeon,  were  sent 
unto  Messer  Corso  Donati,  and  being 


I30 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


not  sufficient  to  feed  divers  Gentlemen, 
whom  he  hath  invited  this  day  to  dine 
with  him,  he  caused  me  to  buy  these  two 
beside  :  Dost  not  thou  intend  to  make 
one  of  them?'  '  Yes,  I  warrant  thee,' 
replyed  Ciacco,  *  thou  knowest  I  can 
invite  my  self  thither,  without  any  other 
bidding. ' 

"So  parting,  about  the  hour  of  dinner 
time  Ciacco  went  to  the  house  of  Messer 
Corso,  whom  he  found  sitting  and  talking 
with  certain  of  his  Neighbours,  but  din- 
ner was  not  as  yet  ready,  neither  were 
they  come  thither  to  dinner.  Messer 
Corso  demanded  of  Ciacco,  what  news 
with  him,  and  whether  he  went  ?  '  Why, 
Sir,'  said  Ciacco,  '  I  come  to  dine  with 
you,  and  your  good  Company.'  Whereto 
Messer  Corso  answered.  That  he  was 
welcome  :  and  his  other  friends  being 
gone,  dinner  was  served  in,  none  else 
thereat  present  but  Messer  Corso  and 
Ciacco  :  all  the  diet  being  a  poor  dish 
of  Pease,  a  little  piece  of  Tunny,  and  a 
few  small  fishes  fryed,  without  any  other 
dishes  to  follow  after.  Ciacco  seeing  no 
better  fare,  but  being  disappointed  of 
his  expectation,  as  longing  to  feed  on 
the  Lampreys  and  Sturgeon,  and  so  to 
have  made  a  full  dinner  indeed,  was  of 
a  quick  apprehension,  and  apparently 
perceived  that  Biondello  had  meerly 
gull'd  him  in  a  knavery,  which  did  not 
a  little  vex  him,  and  made  him  vow  to 
be  revenged  on  Biondello,  as  he  could 
compass  occasion  afterward. 

"  Before  many  days  were  past,  it  was 
his  fortune  to  meet  with  Biondello,  who 
having  told  his  jest  to  divers  of  his 
friends,  and  much  good  merryment 
made  thereat :  he  saluted  Ciacco  in  a 
kind  manner,  saying,  '  How  didst  thou 
like  the  fat  Lampreys  and  Sturgeon 
which  thou  fed'st  on  at  the  house  of 
Messer  Corso  ? '  'Well,  Sir,'  answered 
Ciacco,  '  perhaps  before  Eight  days 
pass  over  my  head,  thou  shalt  meet  with 
as  pleasing  a  dinner  as  I  did.'  So,  part- 
ing away  from  Biondello,  he  met  with  a 
Porter,  such  as  are  usually  sent  on 
Errands  ;  and  hyring  him  to  do  a  mes- 
sage for  him,  gave  him  a  glass  Bottle, 
and  bringing  him  near  to  the  Hall-house 
of  Cavicciuli,  shewed  him  there  a 
Knight,  called  Signior  Philippo  Argenti, 
a  man  of  huge  stature,  very  cholerick, 


and  sooner  moved  to  Anger  than  any 
other  man.  '  To  him  thou  must  go 
with  this  Bottle  in  thy  hand,  and  say 
thus  to  him.  Sir,  Biondello  sent  me  to 
you,  and  courteously  entreateth  you, 
that  you  would  erubinate  this  glass 
Bottle  with  your  best  Claret  Wine; 
because  he  would  make  merry  with  a 
few  friends  of  his.  But  beware  he  lay 
no  hand  on  thee,  because  he  may  be 
easily  induced  to  misuse  thee,  and  so 
my  business  be  disappointed.'  '  Well, 
Sir,'  said  the  Porter,  '  shall  I  say  any 
thing  else  unto  him  ?'  '  No,'  quoth 
Ciacco,  *  only  go  and  deliver  this  mes- 
sage, and  when  thou  art  returned,  I'll 
pay  thee  for  thy  pains.'  The  Porter 
being  gone  to  the  house,  delivered  his 
message  to  the  Knight,  who,  being  a 
man  of  no  great  civil  breeding,  but  very 
furious,  presently  conceived  that  Bion- 
dello, whom  he  knew  well  enough,  sent 
this  message  in  mere  mockage  of  him, 
and,  starting  up  with  fierce  looks,  said, 
'  What  erubination  of  Claret  should  T 
send  him  ?  and  what  have  1  to  do  with 
him  or  his  drunken  friends  ?  Let  him 
and  thee  go  hang  your  selves  together.' 
So  he  stept  to  catch  hold  on  the  Porter, 
but  he  being  nimble  and  escaping  from 
him,  returned  to  Ciacco  and  told  him 
the  answer  of  Philippo.  Ciacco,  not  a 
little  contented,  payed  the  Porter,  and 
tarried  in  no  place  till  he  met  Biondello, 
to  whom  he  said,  '  When  wast  thou  at 
the  Hall  of  Cavicciuli  ?'  'Not  a  long 
while,'  answered  Biondello;  'but  why 
dost  thou  demand  such  a  question?' 
'  Because,'  quoth  Ciacco,  '  Signior  Phi- 
lippo hath  sought  about  for  thee,  yet 
know  not  I  what  he  would  have  with 
thee.'  '  Is  it  so,'  replied  Biondello, 
'  then  I  will  walk  thither  presently,  to 
understand  his  pleasure.' 

"  When  Biondello  was  thus  parted 
from  him,  Ciacco  followed  not  far  off 
behind  him,  to  behold  the  issue  of  this 
angry  business  ;  and  Signior  Philippo, 
because  he  could  not  catch  the  Porter, 
continued  much  distempered,  fretting 
and  fuming,  because  he  could  not  com- 
prehend the  meaning  of  the  Porter's 
message,  but  only  surmised  that  Bion- 
dello, by  the  procurement  of  some  body 
else,  had  done  this  in  sconi  of  hinrv 
While  he  remained  thus  deeply  discoiv 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


»3« 


tented,  he  espyed  Biondello  coming 
towards  him,  and  meeting  liim  by  the 
way,  he  slept  close  to  him  and  gave  him 
a  cruel  blow  on  the  Face,  causing  his 
Nose  to  fall  out  a  bleeding.  'Alas,  Sir,' 
said  Biondello,  '  wherefore  do  you  strike 
me?'  Signior  Philippo,  catching  him 
by  the  hair  of  the  head,  trampled  his 
Night  Cap  in  the  dirt,  and  his  Cloak 
also,  when,  laying  many  violent  blows 
Dn  him,  he  said,  '  Villanous  Traitor  as 
,  thou  art,  I'll  teach  thee  what  it  is  to 
erubinate  with  Claret,  either  thy  self  or 
any  of  thy  cupping  Companions.  Am  I 
a  Child  to  be  jested  withal  ?' 

"  Nor  was  he  more  ffirious  in  words 
than  in  stroaks  also,  beating  him  about 
the  Face,  hardly  leaving  any  hair  on  his 
head,  and  dragging  him  along  in  the 
mire,  spoiling  all  his  Garments,  and  he 
not  able,  from  the  first  blow  given,  to 
f  speak  a  word  in  defence  of  himself.  In 
the  end  Signior  Philippo  having  ex- 
treamly  beaten  him,  and  many  people 
gathering  about  them,  to  succour  a  man 
so  much  misused,  the  matter  was  at 
large  related,  and  manner  of  the  message 
sending.  For  which  they  all  did  greatly 
reprehend  Biondello,  considering  he 
knew  what  kind  of  man  Philippo  was, 
not  any  way  to  be  jested  withal.  Bion- 
dello in  tears  maintained  that  he  never 
sent  any  such  message  for  Wine,  or  in- 
tended it  in  the  least  degree  ;  so,  when 
the  tempest  was  more  mildly  calmed, 
and  Biondello,  thus  cruelly  beaten  and 
durtied,  had  gotten  home  to  his  own 
house,  he  could  then  remember  that 
(questionless)  this  was  occasioned  by 
Ciacco. 

"After  some  few  days  were  passed 
over,  and  the  hurts  in  his  face  indiffer- 
ently cured,  Biondello  beginning  to  walk 
abroad  again,  chanced  to  meet  with 
Ciacco,  who,  laughing  heartily  at  him, 
said,  '  Tell  me,  Biondello,  how  dost 
thou  like  the  erubinating  Claret  of 
Signior  Philippo?'  'As  well,'  quoth 
Biondello,  '  as  thou  didst  the  Sturgeon 
and  Lampreys  at  Messer  Corso  Dona- 
ties.'  '  Why  then,'  said  Ciacco,  '  let 
these  tokens  continue  familiar  between 
thee  and  me,  when  thou  wouldest  be- 
stow such  another  dinner  on  me,  then 
will  I  erubinate  thy  Nose  with  a  Bottle 
of   the   same   Claret.'       But    Biondello 


perceived  to  his  cost  tliat  he  had  met 
with  the  worser  bargain,  and  Ciacco  got 
cheer  without  any  blows  ;  and  therefore 
desired  a  peacefull  attonement,  each  of 
them  always  after  abstaining  from  flout- 
ing one  another. " 

Ginguene,  hist.  Lit.  de  VHalie,  II. 
53,  takes  Dante  severely  to  task  for 
wasting  his  pity  upon  poor  Ciacco,  but 
probably  the  poet  had  pleasant  memo- 
ries of  him  at  Florentine  banquets  in 
the  olden  time.  Nor  is  it  remarkable 
that  he  should  be  mentioned  only  by  his 
nickname.  Mr.  Forsyth  calls  Italy 
"  the  land  of  nicknames."  He  says  in 
continuation,  Jtaly,  p.  145  : — 

"  Italians  have  suppressed  the  sur- 
names of  their  principal  artists  under 
various  designations.  Many  are  known 
only  by  the  names  of  their  birthplace,  as 
Correggio,  Bassano,  etc.  Some  by 
those  of  their  masters,  as  II  Salviati, 
Sansovino,  etc.  Some  by  their  father's 
trade,  as  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Tintoretto, 
etc.  Some  by  their  bodily  defects,  as 
Guercino,  Cagnacci,  etc.  Some  by  the 
subjects  in  which  they  excelled,  as  M.- 
Angelo  delle  battaglie,  Agostino  delle 
perspettive.  A  few  (I  can  recollect  only 
four)  are  known,  each  as  the  prince  of 
his  respective  school,  by  their  Christian 
names  alone :  Michael  Angelo,  Raphael, 
Guido,  Titian." 

65.  The  Bianchi  are  called  the  Parte 
selvaggia,  because  its  leaders,  the  Cerchi, 
came  from  the  forest  lands  of  Val  di 
Sieve.  The  other  party,  the  Neri,  were 
led  by  the  Donati. 

The  following  account  of  these  fac- 
tions is  from  Giovanni  Fiorentino,  a 
writer  of  the  fourteenth  century  ;  //  Pe- 
corone,  Gior.  XIII.  Nov.  i.,  in  Roscoe's 
Italian  Novelists,  I.  327. 

"In  the  city  of  Pistoia,  at  the  time  of 
its  greatest  splendour,  there  flourished 
a  noble  family,  called  the  Cancellieri, 
derived  from  Messer  Cancelliere,  who 
had  enriched  himself  with  his  commer- 
cial transactions.  He  had  numerous 
sons  by  two  wives,  and  they  were  all 
entitled  by  their  wealth  to  assume  the 
title  of  Cavalieri,  valiant  and  worthy 
men,  and  in  all  their  actions  magnani- 
mous and  courteous.  And  so  fast  did 
the  various  branches  of  this  family 
spread,  that  in  a  short  time  they  num- 
K  2 


132 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


bered  a  hundred  men  at  arms,  and  being 
superior  to  every  other,  both  in  wealth 
and  power,  would  have  still  increased, 
but  that  a  cruel  division  arose  between 
them,  from  some  rivalship  in  the  affec- 
tions of  a  lovely  and  enchanting  girl, 
and  from  angry  words  they  proceeded  to 
more  angry  blows.  Separating  into  two 
parties,  those  descended  from  the  first 
wife  took  the  title  of  Cancellieri  Bianchi, 
and  the  others,  who  were  the  offspring 
of  the  second  marriage,  were  called  Can- 
cellieri Neri. 

"  Having  at  last  come  to  action,  the 
Neri  were  defeated,  and  wishing  to 
adjust  the  affair  as  well  as  they  yet  could, 
they  sent  their  relation,  who  had  offended 
the  opposite  party,  to  entreat  forgiveness 
on  the  part  of  the  Neri,  expecting  that 
such  submissive  conduct  would  meet 
with  the  compassion  it  deserved.  On 
arriving  in  the  presence  of  the  Bianchi, 
who  conceived  themselves  the  offended 
party,  the  young  man,  on  bended  knees, 
appealed  to  their  feelings  for  forgiveness, 
observing,  that  he  had  placed  himself  in 
their  power,  that  so  they  might  inflict 
what  punishment  they  judged  proper  : 
when  several  of  the  younger  members 
of  the  offended  party,  seizing  on  him, 
dragged  him  into  an  adjoining  stable, 
and  ordered  that  his  right  hand  should 
be  severed  from  his  body.  In  the  ut- 
most terror  the  youth,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  besought  them  to  have  mercy,  and 
to  take  a  gjreater  and  nol)ler  revenge,  by 
pardoning  one  whom  they  had  it  in  their 
power  thus  deeply  to  injure.  But  heed- 
less of  his  prayers,  they  bound  his  hand 
by  force  upon  the  manger,  and  struck  it 
off;  a  deed  which  excited  the  utmost 
tumult  throughout  Pistoia,  and  such 
indignation  and  reproaches  from  the 
injured  party  of  the  Neri,  as  to  impli- 
cate the  whole  city  in  a  division  of 
interests  between  them  and  the  Bian- 
chi, which  led  to  many  desperate  en- 
counters. 

"The  citizens,  fearful  lest  the  faction 
might  cause  insurrections  throughout 
the  whole  territory,  in  conjunction  with 
the  Guelfs,  applied  to  the  Florentines 
in  order  to  reconcile  them  ;  on  which 
the  Florentines  took  possession  of  the 
place,  and  sent  the  partisans  on  both 
sides  to  the  confines  of  Florence,  whence 


it  happened  that  the  Neri  sought  refuge 
in  the  house  of  the  Frescobaldi,  and  the 
Bianchi  in  that  of  the  Cerchi  nel  Garbo, 
owing  to  the  relationship  which  existed 
between  them.  The  seeds  of  the  same 
dissension  being  thus  sown  in  Florence, 
the  whole  city  became  divided,  the  Cerchi 
espousing  the  interests  of  the  Bianchi, 
and  the  Donati  those  of  the  Neri. 

"So  rapidly  did  this  pestiferous  spirit 
gain  ground  in  Florence,  as  frequently  to 
excite  the  greatest  tumult  ;  and  from  a 
peaceable  and  flourishing  state,  it  speedily 
became  a  scene  of  rapine  and  devastation. 
In  this  stage  Pope  Boniface  VIII.  was 
made  acquainted  with  the  state  of  this 
ravaged  and  unhappy  city,  and  sent  the 
Cardinal  Acqua  Sparta  on  a  mission  to 
reform  and  pacify  the  enraged  parties. 
But  with  his  utmost  efforts  he  was  unable 
to  make  any  impression,  and  accord- 
ingly, after  declaring  the  place  excommu- 
nicated, departed.  Florence  being  thus 
exposed  to  the  greatest  perils,  and  in  a 
continued  state  of  insurrection,  Messer 
Corso  Donati,  with  the  Spini,  the  Pazzi, 
the  Tosinghi,  the  Cavicciuli,  and  the 
populace  attached  to  the  Neri  faction, 
applied,  with  the  consent  of  their  lead- 
ers, to  Pope  Boniface.  They  entreated 
tiiat  he  would  employ  his  interest  with 
the  court  of  France  to  send  a  force  to 
allay  these  feuds,  and  to  quell  the  party 
of  the  Bianchi.  As  soon  as  this  was 
reported  in  the  city,  Messer  Donati  was 
banished,  and  his  property  forfeited,  and 
the  other  heads  of  the  sect  were  pro- 
portionally fined  and  sent  into  exile. 
Messer  Donati,  arriving  at  Rome,  so  far 
prevailed  with  his  Holiness,  that  he  sent 
an  embassy  to  Charles  de  Valois,  bro- 
ther to  the  king  of  France,  declaring  his 
wish  that  he  should  be  made  Emperor, 
and  King  of  the  Romans  ;  under  which 
persuasion  Charles  passed  into  Italy,  re- 
instating Messer  Donati  and  the  Neri 
in  the  city  of  Florence.  From  this  there 
only  resulted  worse  evils,  inasmuch  as  all 
the  Bianchi,  being  the  least  powerful, 
were  universally  oppressed  and  robbed, 
and  Charles,  becoming  the  enemy  of 
Pope  Boniface,  conspired  his  death,  be- 
cause the  Pope  had  not  fulfilled  his  pro- 
mise of  presenting  him  with  an  imj)erial 
crown.  From  which  events  it  may  b<; 
seen  that  this  vile  faction  was  the  causfl 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


>33 


of  discord  in  the  cities  of  Florence  and 
Pistoia,  and  of  the  other  states  of  Tus- 
cany ;  and  no  less  to  the  same  source 
was  to  be  attributed  the  death  of  Pope 
Boniface  VIII." 

69.  Charles  de  Valois,  called  Senza- 
terra,  or  Lackland,  brother  of  Philip  the 
Fair,  king  of  France. 

73.  The  names  of  these  two  remain 
unknown.  Probably  one  of  them  was 
Dante's  friend  Guido  Cavalcanti. 

80.  Of  this  Arrigo  nothing  whatever 
seems  to  be  known,  hardly  even  his 
name ;  for  some  commentators  call  him 
Arrigo  dei  Fisanti,  and  others  Arrigo  dei 
Fifanti.  Of  these  other  men  of  mark 
•'who  set  their  hearts  on  doing  good," 
Farinata  is  among  the  Heretics,  Canto 
■  X.  ;  Tegghiaio  and  Rusticucci  among 
the  Sodomites,  Canto  XVI. ;  and  Mosca 
among  the  Schismatics,  Canto  XXVIII. 

106.  The  philosophy  of  Aristotle.  The 
same  doctrine  is  taught  by  St.  Augus- 
tine :  ' '  Cum  fiet  resiirredio  carnis,  et 
bonorum  gaudia  et  tornienta  malorum 
majora  erunl." 

115,  Plutus,  the  God  of  Riches,  of 
which  Lord  Bacon  says  in  his  Essays : — 
"  I  cannot  call  riches  better  than  the 
baggage  of  virtue ;  the  Roman  word  is 
better,  'impedimenta';  for  as  the  bag- 
gage is  to  an  army,  so  is  riches  to  virtue ; 
it  cannot  be  spared  nor  left  behind,  but 
it  hindereth  the  march  ;  yea,  and  the 
care  of  it  sometimes  loseth  or  disturbeth 
the  victory;  of  great  riches  there  is  no 
real  use,  except  it  be  in  the  distribution  ; 
the  rest  is  but  conceit The  per- 
sonal fruition  in  any  man  cannot  reach 
to  feel  great  riches  :  there  is  a  custody  of 
them  ;  or  a  power  of  dole  and  donative 
of  them ;  or  a  fame  of  them ;  but  no  solid 
use  to  the  owner." 


CANTO  VII. 

I.  In  this  Canto  is  described  the  pun- 
ishment of  the  Avaricious  and  the  Pro- 
digal, with  Plutus  as  their  jailer.  His 
outcry  of  alarm  is  differently  interpreted 
by  different  commentators,  and  by  none 
very  satisfactorily.  The  curious  student, 
groping  among  them  for  a  meaning,  is 
like  Gowcr's  young  king,  of  whom  he 
says,  in  his  Confasio  Amantis : — 


"  Of  deepe  ymaginations 
And  straunge  interpretations, 
Problemes  and  demaundes  eke 
His  wisedom  was  to  finde  and  sekc, 
Whereof  he  woldc  in  sondry  wise 
Opposen  hem,  that  weren  wise  ; 
But  none  of  hem  it  mighte  bere 
Upon  his  word  to  give  answcre.' 


But  nearly  all  agree,  I  believe,  in  con- 
struing the  strange  words  into  a  cry  of 
alann  or  warning  to  Lucifer,  that  his 
realm  is  invaded  by  some  unusual  appa- 
rition. 

Of  all  the  interpretations  given,  the 
most  amusing  is  that  of  Ben venuto  Cellini, 
in  his  description  of  the  Court  of  Justice 
in  Paris,  Roscoe's  Memoirs  of  Benvenuto 
Cellini,  Chap.  xxii. : — 

' '  I  stooped  down  several  times  to  ob- 
serve what  passed :  the  words  which  I 
heard  the  judge  utter,  upon  seeing  two 
gentlemen  who  wanted  to  hear  the  trial, 
and  whom  the  porter  was  endeavouring 
to  keep  out,  were  these  :  '  Be  quiet,  be 
quiet,  Satan,  get  hence,  and  leave  off 
disturbing  us.'  The  terms  were,  Paix, 
paix,  Satan,  allez,  paix.  As  I  had  by 
this  time  thoroughly  learnt  the  French 
language,  upon  hearing  these  words,  I 
recollected  what  Dante  said,  when  he 
with  his  master,  Virgil,  entered  the  gates 
of  hell ;  for  Dante  and  Giotto  the  painter 
were  together  in  F" ranee,  and  visited  Paris 
with  particular  attention,  where  the  court 
of  justice  may  be  considered  as  hell. 
Hence  it  is  that  Dante,  who  was  like- 
wise perfect  master  of  the  French,  made 
use  of  that  expression  ;  and  I  have  often 
been  surprised,  that  it  was  never  under- 
stood in  that  sense ;  so  that  I  cannot 
help  thinking,  that  the  commentators  on 
this  author  have  often  made  him  say 
things  which  he  never  so  much  as  dreamed 

Dante  himself  hardly  seems  to  have 
understood  the  meaning  of  the  words, 
though  he  suggests  that  Virgil  did. 

II.  The  overthrow  of  the  Reljel  Angels. 
St.  Augustine  says,  ^^Idolatria  et  qiuelibet 
noxia  sttperstitio  fornicntio  est^ 

24.  Must  dance  the  RiJda,  a  round 
dance  of  the  olden  time.  It  was  a  Roun- 
delay, or  singing  and  dancing  together. 
Boccaccio's  Monna  Belcolore  "  knew 
better  than  any  one  how  to  play  the 
tambourine  and  lead  the  Ridda. ' 


«34 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


27.  As  the  word  honour  resounds  in 
Canto  IV.,and  the  word /(W^  in  Canto  V., 
so  here  the  words  rolling  and  turning  are 
the  burden  of  the  song,  as  if  to  suggest 
the  motion  of  Fortune's  wheel,  so  beau- 
tifully described  a  little  later. 

39.  Clerks,  clerics,  or  clergy.  Boc- 
caccio, Comento,  remarks  upon  this  pas- 
sage :  "Some  maintain,  that  the  clergy 
wear  the  tonsure  in  remembrance  and 
reverence  of  St.  Peter,  on  whom,  they 
say,  it  was  made  by  certain  evil-minded 
men  as  a  mark  of  madness  ;  because  not 
comprehending  and  not  wishing  to  com- 
prehend his  holy  doctrine,  and  seeing 
him  fervently  preaching  before  princes 
and  people,  who  held  that  doctrine  in 
detestation,  they  thought  he  acted  as  one 
out  of  his  senses.  Others  maintain  that 
the  tonsure  is  worn  as  a  mark  of  dignity, 
as  a  sign  that  those  who  wear  it  are  more 
worthy  than  those  who  do  not ;  and  they 
call  it  corona,  because,  all  the  rest  of  the 
head  being  shaven,  a  single  circle  of  hair 
should  be  left,  which  in  form  of  a  crown 
surrounds  the  whole  head." 

58.  In  like  manner  Chaucer,  Persones 
Tale,  pp.  227,  337,  reproves  ill-keeping 
and  ill-giving. 

"Avarice,  after  the  description  of  Seint 
Augustine,  is  a  likerousnesse  in  herte  to 
have  erthly  thinges.  Som  other  folk  sayn, 
that  avarice  is  for  to  purchase  many  erthly 
thinges,  and  nothing  to  yeve  to  hem  that 
ban  nede.  And  understond  wel,  that 
avarice  standeth  not  only  in  land  ne 
catel,  but  som  time  in  science  and  in 
glorie,  and  in  every  maner  outrageous 
thing  is  avarice 

"  Ikit  for  as  moche  as  som  folk  ben 
umnesurable,  men  oughten  for  to  avoid 
an;i  osclnie  fool- largesse,  the  whiche  men 
clepen  waste.  Certes,  he  that  is  fool- 
large,  lie  yeveth  not  his  catel,  but  he 
le.s-"tii  his  catel.  Sothly,  what  thing  that 
he  yeveth  for  vaine-glory,  as  to  minstr'-.ls, 
an,!  lo  folk  that  here  his  renome  ir  the 
world,  iie  hath  do  sinne  thereof,  and  non 
almesse :  certes,  he  leseth  foule  his  good, 
th:.t  ne  seketh  with  the  yefte  <>f  his  good 
nothing  but  sinne.  He  is  like  to  an  hoi's 
that  seketh  rather  to  drink  drovy  or 
troubled  water,  than  for  to  drink  water 
of  the  clere  well.  And  for  as  moche  as 
they  yevcn  ther  as  tiiey  shuld  nat  yeven, 
to  hem  aope:  teineth  thilke  malison,  that 


Crist  shal  yeve  at  the  day  of  dome  to  hem 
that  shul  be  dampned. " 

68.  The  Wheel  of  Fortune  was  one  of 
the  favourite  subjects  of  art  and  song  in 
the  Middle  Ages.  On  a  large  square  of 
white  marble  set  in  the  pavement  of  the 
nave  of  the  Cathedral  at  Siena,  is  the 
representation  of  a  revolving  wheel. 
Three  boys  are  climbing  and  clinging  at 
the  sides  and  below;  above  is  a  dignified 
figure  with  a  stern  countenance,  holding 
the  sceptre  and  ball.  At  the  four  comers 
are  inscriptions  from  Seneca,  Euripides, 
Aristotle,  and  Epictetus.  The  same 
symbol  may  be  seen  also  in  the  wheel-of- 
fortune  windows  of  many  churches  ;  as, 
for  example,  that  of  San  Zeno  at  Verona. 
.See  Knight,  Ecclesiaslical  Architecture, 
II.  plates  v.,  vi. 

In  the  following  poem  Guido  Caval- 
canti  treats  this  subject  in  very  much  the 
same  way  that  Dante  does  ;  and  it  is 
curious  to  observe  how  at  particular 
times  certain  ideas  seem  to  float  in  the 
air,  and  to  become  the  property  of  every 
one  who  chooies  to  make  use  of  them. 
From  the  similarity  between  this  poem 
and  the  lines  of  Dante,  one  might  infer 
that  the  two  friends  had  discussed  the 
matter  in  conversation,  and  afterwards 
that  each  had  written  out  their  common 
thought. 

Cavalcanti's  Song  of  Fortune,  as  trans- 
lated by  Rossetti,  Early  Italian  Poets, 
p.  366,  runs  as  follows  : — 

"  Lo  !  I  am  she  who  makes  the  wheel  to  turn  ; 
Lo  !  I  am  she  who  gives  and  takes  away  ; 
Blamed  idly,  day  by  day, 
In  all  mine  acts  by  you,  ye  humankind. 
For  whoso  smites  his  visage  and  doth  mourn, 
What  time  he  renders  b..ck  my  gifts  to  me, 
Learns  then  that  I  decree 
No  state  which  mine  own  arrows  may  not  find. 
Who  clomb  must  fall  : — this  bear  ye  well  in 

mind. 
Nor  say,  because  he  fell,  I  did  him  wrong. 
Yet  mine  is  a  vain  song  : 
For  truly  ye  may  find  out  wisdom  when 
King  Arthur's  resting-place  is  found  of  men. 

"  Ye  make  great  marvel  and  astonishment 
What  time  ye  see  the  sluggard  lifted  up 
And  the  just  man  to  drop, 
And  ye  complain  on  God  and  on  my  sway. 
O  humankmd,  ye  sin  in  your  complaint : 
For  He,  that  Lord  who  made  the  world  U 

live. 
Lets  me  not  take  or  give 
By  mine  own  act,  but  .i-^  he  wills  I  may. 
Vet  IS  the  mind  of  man  so  castaway. 
That  it  discerns  not  t)ij  supreme  behest 


ArOTKS   TO  IMFERNO. 


135 


Alas  !  ye  wretchedest, 

And  chide  ye  at  God  also       Shall  not  He 

Judge  between  good  and  evil  righteously  ? 

'  Ah  !  had  ye  knowledge  how  God  evennore, 
With  agonies  of  soul  and  grievous  heats, 
As  on  an  anvil  beats 

On  them  that  in  thio  earth  hold  high  estate, — 
Ye  would  choose  little  rather  than  much  store. 
And  solitude  than  spacious  palaces  ; 
Such  is  the  sore  disease 
( >f  anguish  that  on  all  their  days  doth  wait. 
Behold  if  they  be  not  unfortunate. 
When  oft  the  father  dares  not  trust  the  son  ! 

0  wealth,  with  thee  is  won 

A  worm  to  gnaw  forever  on  his  soul 
Whose  abject  life  is  laid  in  thy  control ! 

'  If  also  ye  take  note  what  piteous  death 
They  ofttimes  make,  whose  hoards  were  mani- 
fold. 
Who  cities  had  and  gold 
And  multitudes  of  men  beneath  their  hand  ; 
Then  he  among  you  that  most  angereth 
Shall  bless  me  saying,  "  Lo  !  I  worship  thee 
That  I  was  not  as  he 
Whose  death  is  thus  accurst  throughout  the 

land.' 
But  now  your  living  souls  are  held  in  band 
Of  avarice,  shutting  you  from  the  true  light 
Which  shows  how  sad  and  sliffht 
Are  this  world's  treasured  ricnes  and  array 
lliat  still  change  hands  a  hundred  times  a 
day. 

'  For  me,— could  envy  enter  in  my  sphere. 
Which  of  all  human  taint  is  clean  and  quit, — 

1  well  might  harbour  it 

When  I  behold  the  peasant  at  his  toil. 
Guiding  his  team,  untroubled,  free  from  fear, 
He  leaves  his  perfect  furrow  as  he  goes. 
And  gives  his  field  repose 
From  thorns  and  tares  and  weeds  that  vex  the 

soil : 
Thereto  he  labours,  and  without  turmoil 
Entrusts  his  work  to  God,  content  if  so 
Such  guerdon  from  it  grow 
That  in  that  year  his  family  shall  live  : 
Nor  care  nor  thought  to  other  things   will 

give.  , 

■  But  now  ye  may  no  more  have  speech  of  me, 
For  this  mine  office  craves  continual  use  : 
Ye  therefore  deeply  muse 
Upon  those  things  which  ye  have  heard  the 

while : 
Yea,  and  even  yet  remember  heedfully 
How  this  my  wheel  a  motion  hath  so  fleet, 
That  in  an  eyelid's  beat 
Him  whom  it  raised  it  maketh  low  and  vile. 
None  was,  nor  is,  nor  shall  be  of  such  guile. 
Who  could,  or  can,  or  shall,  I  say,  at  length 
Prevail  against  my  strength. 
But  still  those  men  that  are  my  questioners 
In  bitter  torment  own  their  hearts  perverse. 

'  Song,  that  wast  made  to  carry  high  intent 
Dissembled  in  the  garb  of  humbleness, — 
With  fair  and  open  face 
To  Master  Thomas  let  thy  course  be  bent. 
Say  that  a  great  thine  scarcely  may  be  pent 
In  little  room  :  yet  always  pray  that  he 
Commend  us,  thee  and  me,  * 

To  them  that  are  more  apt  in  lofty  speech  : 
For  truly  one  must  learn  ero  he  can  teach." 


74.  This  old  Rabbinical  tradition  of 
the  "  Regents  of  the  Planets"  has  been 
painted  by  Raphael,  in  the  Capella  Chi- 
giana  of  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria  del 
Popolo  in  Rome.  See  Mrs.  Jameson, 
Sacred  and  J^egendary  Art,  I.  45.  She 
says:  "  As  a  perfect  example  of  grand 
and  poetical  feeling  I  may  cite  the  angels 
as  '  Regents  of  the  Planets '  in  the 
Capella  Chigiana.  The  Cupola  repre- 
sents in  a  circle  the  creation  of  the  solar 
system,  according  to  the  theological  (or 
rather  astrological)  notions  which  then 
prevailed, — a  hundred  years  before  'the 
stariy  Galileo  and  his  woes.'  In  the 
centre  is  the  Creator ;  around,  in  eight 
compartments,  we  have,  first,  the  angel 
of  the  celestial  sphere,  who  seems  to  be 
listening  to  the  divine  mandate,  '  Let 
there  be  lights  in  the  firmament  of 
heaven ' ;  then  follow,  in  their  order,  the 
Sun,  the  Moon,  Mercury,  Venus,  Mars, 
Jupiter,  and  Saturn.  The  name  of  each 
planet  is  expressed  by  its  mythological 
representative ;  the  Sun  by  Apollo,  the 
Moon  by  Diana  ;  and  over  each  presides 
a  grand,  colossal  winged  spirit,  seated  or 
reclining  on  a  portion  of  the  zodiac  as  on 
a  throne." 

The  old  tradition  may  be  found  in 
Stehelin,  Rabbinical  Literature,  I.  157. 
See  Purgatorio,  XVI.  69. 

98.  Past  midnight. 

103.  Perse,  purple-black.  See  Canto 
v.,  Note  89. 

115.  "  Is  not  this  a  cursed  vice  ?"  says 
Chaucer  in  The  Fersones  Tale,  p.  202, 
speaking  of  wrath.  "  Yes,  certes.  Alas! 
it  benimmeth  fro  man  his  witte  and  hii 
reson,  and  all  his  debonaire  lif  spirituel, 
that  shulde  keepe  his  soule.  Certes  it 
benimmeth  also  Goddes  due  lordsliip  (and 
that  is  mannes  soide)  and  the  love  of  his 
neighbours  ;  it  reveth  him  the  quiet  of 
his  herte,  and  subverteth  liis  soule." 

And  farther  on  he  continues  :  "  After 
the  sinne  of  wrath,  now  wolle  I  speke 
of  the  sinne  of  accidie,  or  slouth  ;  for 
envie  blindeth  the  herte  of  a  man,  and 
ire  troubleth  a  man,  and  accidie  maketh 
him  hevy,  thoughtful,  and  wrawe.  Envie 
and  ire  maken  bittemesse  in  herte, 
which  bittemesse  is  mother  of  accidie, 
and  benimmeth  him  the  love  of  alle 
goodnesse ;  than  is  accidie  the  anguish 
of  a  trouble  herte. " 


i36 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


And  Burton,  Auatoviy  of  I\lelaucholy, 
I.  3.  i.  3,  speaking  of  that  kind  of  melan- 
choly which  proceeds  from  "  humors 
adust,"  says:  "For  example,  if  it  pro- 
seeds  from  flegm  (which  is  seldom,  and 
mot  so  frequent  as  the  rest)  it  stirs  up 
dull  symptomes,  and  a  kind  of  stupidity, 
or  impassionate  hurt ;  they  are  sleepy, 
saith  Savanarola,  dull,  slow,  cold,  block- 
ish, ass -like,  asininam  melancholiam 
Melancthon  calls  it,  they  are  much  given 
to  weeping,  and  delight  in  waters,  ponds, 
pools,  rivers,  fishing,  fowling,  &c.  They 
are  pale  of  colour,  slothful,  apt  to  sleep, 
heavy,  much  troubled  with  the  head- 
ache, continual  meditation  and  muttering 
to  themselves,  they  dream  of  waters,  that 
they  are  in  danger  of  drowning,  and  fear 
such  things." 

See  also  Ptirg.  XVII.  85. 


CANTO  VIII. 

I.  Boccaccio  and  some  other  com- 
mentators think  the  words  "I  say,  con- 
tinuing," are  a  confirmation  of  the  theory 
that  the  first  seven  cantos  of  the  Inferno 
were  written  before  Dante's  banishment 
from  Florence.  Others  maintain  that  the 
words  suggest  only  the  continuation  of 
the  subject  of  the  last  canto  in  this. 

4.  These  two  signal  fires  announce  the 
arrival  of  two  persons  to  be  ferried  over 
the  wash,  and  the  other  in  the  distance  is 
on  the  watch-tower  of  the  City  of  Dis, 
answering  these. 

19.  Phlegyas  was  the  father  of  Ixion 
and  Coronis.  He  was  king  of  the  La- 
pithae,  and  burned  the  temple  of  Apollo 
at  Delphi  to  avenge  the  wrong  done  by 
the  god  to  Coronis.  His  punishment  in 
the  infernal  regions  was  to  stand  beneath 
a  huge  impending  rock,  always  about  to 
fall  upon  him.  Virgil,  A^lncid,  VI.,  says 
of  him  :  "  Phlegyas,  most  wretched,  is 
a  monitor  to  all,  and  with  loud  voice 
proclaims  through  the  shades,  '  Being 
warned,  learn  righteousness,  and  not  to 
cc-ntemn  the  gods.'" 

27.  Virgil,  Aineid,  VI,  :  "The  boat 
of  sewn  hide  groaned  under  the  weight, 
and,  being  leaky,  took  in  much  water 
from  the  lake." 

49.  Mr.  Wright  here  quotes  Spenser, 
jRuins  of  Time : — 


"  How  many  great  ones  may  remembered  be, 
Who  in  their  days  most  famously  did  flourish. 
Of  whom  no  word  we  have,  nor  sign  now  see, 
But   as   things  wiped  out  with  a  sponge  do 
perish." 

51.  Chaucer's  "sclandre  of  his  dif- 
fame. " 

61.  Of  PhilippoArgenti  little isknown, 
and  nothing  to  his  credit.  Dante  seems 
to  have  an  especial  personal  hatred  of 
him,  as  if  in  memory  of  some  disagree- 
able passage  between  them  in  the  streets 
of  Florence.  Boccaccio  says  of  him  in 
his  Comento :  "This  Philippo  Argenti, 
as  Coppo  di  Borghese  Domenichi  de' 
Cavicciuli  was  wont  to  say,  was  a  very 
rich  gentleman,  so  rich  that  he  had  the 
horse  he  used  to  ride  shod  with  silver, 
and  from  this  he  had  his  surname  ;  he 
was  in  person  large,  swarthy,  muscular, 
of  marvellous  strength,  and  at  the  slightest 
provocation  the  most  irascible  of  men ; 
nor  are  any  more  known  of  his  qualities 
than  these  two,  each  in  itself  very  blame- 
worthy." He  was  of  the  Adimari  family, 
and  of  the  Neri  faction  ;  while  Dante  was 
of  the  Bianchi  party,  and  in  banishment. 
Perhaps  this  fact  may  explain  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  invective. 

This  is  the  same  Philippo  Argenti  who 
figures  in  Boccaccio's  tale.  See/;//!  VI., 
note  52.  The  Ottivto  Comento  says  of 
him:  "He  was  a  man  of  great  pomp, 
and  great  ostentation,  and  much  expen- 
diture, and  little  virtue  and  worth;  and 
therefore  the  author  says,  '  Goodness  is 
none  that  decks  his  memory.'  " 

And  this  is  all  that  is  known  of  the 
^'- Fiorentino  spirito  bizzaro,"  forgotten 
by  history,  and  immortalized  in  sor.g. 
"What  a  barbarous  strength  and  con- 
fusion of  ideas,"  exclaims  Leigh  Hunt, 
Italian  Poets,  p.  60,  "  is  there  in  this 
whole  passage  about  him  !  Arrogance 
punished  i)y  arrogance,  a  Christian 
mother  blessed  for  the  unchristian  dis- 
dainfulness of  her  son,  revenge  boasted 
of  and  enjoyed,  passion  arguing  in  a 
circle." 

70.  The  word  "mosques"  paints  at 
once  to  the  imagination  the  City  of  Un- 
belief. 

78.  Virgil,  yEneid,  VI.,  Davidson's 
Translation : — 

'^  y^neas  on  a  sudden  looks  back,  and 
under  a  rock  on  the  left  sees  vast  pris' 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


m 


ons  inclosed  with  a  triple  wall,  which 
Tartarean  Phlegethon's  rapid  flood  en- 
virons with  torrents  of  flame,  and  whirls 
loaring  rocks  along.  Fronting  is  a  huge 
gate,  with  columns  of  solid  adamant, 
that  no  strength  of  men,  nor  the  gods 
themselves,  can  with  steel  demolish.  An 
iron  tower  rises  aloft ;  and  there  wakeful 
Tisiphone,  with  her  bloody  robe  tucked 
up  around  her,  sits  to  watch  the  vestible 
both  night  and  day." 

124.  Tliis  arrogance  of  theirs;  tra- 
cotanza,  oltracotanza ;  Brant ome's  oittre- 
cuidance;  and  Spenser's  surqitedrie. 

i?.5.     The  gate  of  the  Inferno. 

130.  The  coming  of  the  Angel, 
whose  approach  is  described  in  the  next 
canto,  beginning  at  line  64. 


CANTO   IX. 

I.  The  flush  of  anger  passes  from 
Virgil's  cheek  on  seeing  the  pallor  of 
Dante's,  and  he  tries  to  encourage  him 
with  assurances  of  success;  but  betrays 
his  own  apprehensions  in  the  broken 
phrase,  "  If  not,''  which  he  immediately 
covers  with  words  of  cheer. 

8.  Such,  or  so  great  a  one,  is  Bea- 
trice, the  "fair  and  saintly  Lady"  of 
Canto  II.  53. 

9.  The  Angel  who  will  open  the 
gates  of  the  City  of  Dis. 

16.  Dante  seems  to  think  that  he  has 
already  reached  the  bottom  of  the  in- 
fernal conch,  with  its  many  convolu- 
tions. 

52.     Gower,  Confessio  Amantts,  I. : — 

"  Cast  not  ihin  eye  upon  Meduse 
That  thou  be  turned  into  stone." 

Hawthorne  has  beautifully  told  thestory 
of  "  Tiie  Gorgon's  Head,"  as  well  as 
many  more  of  the  classic  fables,  in  his 
IVi'iitfer-Boo/:. 

54.  The  attempt  which  Theseus  and 
Pirlthous  made  to  rescue  Proserpine  from 
the  infeiTial  regions. 

62.  The  hidden  doctrine  seems  to 
be,  that  Negation  or  Unbelief  is  the 
Gorgon's  head  which  changes  the  heart 
to  stone;  after  which  there  is  "  no  more 
returning  upward."  The  Furies  display 
it  from  the  walls  of  the  City  of  Heretics. 

112.  At  Aries  lie  buried,  according 
to  old   tradition,  the  Peers  of  Charle- 


magne and  their  ten  thousand  men  at 
arms.  Archbishop  Turpin,  in  his  fa- 
mous History  of  Charles  the  Great, 
XXX.,  Rodd's  Translation,  I.  52, 
says : — 

"  After  this  the  King  and  his  army 
proceeded  by  the  way  of  Gascony  and 
Thoulouse,  and  came  to  Aries,  where 
we  found  the  army  of  Burgundy,  whicli 
had  left  us  in  the  hostile  valley,  bring- 
ing their  dead  by  the  way  of  Morbihan 
and  Thoulouse,  to  bury  them  in  the 
plain  of  Aries.  Here  we  performed  the 
rites  of  Estolfo,  Count  of  Champagne ; 
of  Solomon;  Sampson,  Duke  of  Burgundy; 
Arnold  of  Berlanda;  Albericof  Burgundy  ; 
Gumard,  Esturinite,  Hato,  Juonius,  Ber- 
ard,  Berengaire,  and  Naaman,  Duke  of 
Bourbon,  and  of  ten  thousand  of  their 
soldiers. " 

Boccaccio  comments  upon  these  tombs 
as  follows: — 

"  At  Aries,  somewhat  out  of  the  city, 
are  many  tombs  of  stone,  made  of  old 
for  sepulchres,  and  some  are  large,  and 
some  are  small,  and  some  are  better 
sculptured,  and  some  not  so  well,  perad- 
venture  according  to  the  means  of  those 
who  had  them  mr.de ;  and  upon  some  of 
them  appear  inscriptions  after  the  ancient 
custom,  I  suppose  in  indication  of  those 
who  are  buried  within.  The  inhabitants 
of  the  country  repeat  a  tradition  of  them, 
affirming  that  in  that  place  there  was 
once  a  great  battle  between  William  of 
Orange,  or  some  other  Christian  prince, 
with  his  forces  on  one  side,  and  infidel 
barbarians  from  Africa  [on  the  other] ; 
and  that  many  Christians  were  slain  in 
it ;  and  that  on  the  following  night,  by 
divine  miracle,  those  tombs  were  brought 
there  for  the  burial  of  the  Christians,  and 
so  on  the  following  morning  all  the  dead 
Christians  were  buried  in  them." 

113.  Pola  is  a  city  in  Istria.  "Near 
Pola,"  says  Benvenuto  da  Imola,  "are 
seen  many  tombs,  about  seven  hundred, 
and  of  various  forms." 

Quamaro  is  a  gulf  of  the  northern 
extremity  of  the  Adriatic. 

CANTO   X. 

I  In  this  Canto  is  described  the 
punishment  of  Heretics. 

Brunetto   Latini,    Tesoretto,  XIII.:- 


«38 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


"  Or  va  mastro  Bninetto 
Per  lo  caminino  stretto." 

14.  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  ^Vw^wrMi/, 
Chap.  IV.,  says :  "  They  may  sit  in  the 
orchestra  and  noblest  seats  of  heaven 
who  have  held  up  shaking  hands  in  the 
fire,  and  himianly  contended  for  glory. 
Meanwhile  Epicurus  lies  deep  in  Dante's 
hell,  wherein  we  meet  with  tombs  en- 
closing souls,  which  denied  their  im- 
mortalities. But  whether  the  virtuous 
heathen,  who  lived  better  than  he  spake, 
or,  ening  in  the  principles  of  himself, 
yet  lived  above  philosophers  of  more 
specious  maxims,  lie  so  deep  as  he  is 
placed,  at  least  so  low  as  not  to  rise 
against  Christians,  who,  believing  or 
knowing  that  truth,  have  lastingly  de- 
nied it  in  their  practice  and  conversa- 
tion,— were  a  query  too  sad  to  insist  on." 

Also  Burton,  Anatomy  of  Melancholy, 
Part  II.  Sec.  2,  Mem.  6.  Subs,  i,  thus 
vindicates  the  memory  of  Epicurus:  "  A 
quiet  mind  is  that  volnptas,  or  summtim 
bonum  of  Epicums ;  7ion  dolere,  curis 
vacareanimo  tranqiiillo  esse,  not  to  grieve, 
but  to  want  cares,  and  have  a  quiet  soul, 
is  tlie  only  pleasure  of  the  world,  as 
Seneca  truly  recites  his  opinion,  not 
that  of  eating  and  drinking,  which  in- 
jurious Aristotle  maliciously  puts  upon 
him,  and  from  which  he  is  still  mistaken, 
mala  audit  et  vapulat,  slandered  without 
a  cause,  and  lashed  by  all  posterity." 

32.  Farinata  degli  Uberti  was  the 
most  valiant  and  renowned  leader  of  the 
Ghibellines  in  Florence.  Boccaccio, 
Comento,  says:  "  He  was  of  the  opinion 
of  Epicurus,  that  the  soul  dies  with  the 
body,  and  consequently  maintained  that 
human  happiness  consisted  in  temporal 
pleasures ;  but  he  did  not  follow  these  in 
the  way  that  Epicurus  did,  that  is  by 
making  long  fasts  to  have  afterwards 
pleasure  in  eating  dry  bread :  but  was 
fond  of  good  and  delicate  viands,  and 
ate  them  without  waiting  to  be  hungry ; 
and  for  this  sin  he  is  damned  as  a  Heretic 
in  this  place." 

Farinata  led  the  Ghibellines  at  the 
famous  battle  of  Monte  Aperto  in  1260, 
where  the  Guelfs  were  routed,  and 
driven  out  of  Florence.  He  died  in 
1264, 

46.  The  ancestors  of  Dante,  and 
Dante  himself,  were  Guelfs.      He  did 


not  become  a  Ghibelline  till  after  his 
banishment.  Boccaccio  in  his  Life  of 
Dante  makes  the  following  remarks  upon 
his  party  spirit.  I  take  the  passage  as 
given  in  Mrs.  Bunbury's  translation  of 
Balbo's  Life  and  Tunes  of  Dante,  II. 
227. 

"  He  was,"  says  Boccaccio,  "a  most 
excellent  man,  and  most  resolute  in  ad- 
versity. It  was  only  on  one  subject 
that  he  showed  himself,  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  ought  to  call  it  impatient,  or 
spirited. — it  was  regarding  anything  re- 
lating to  Party ;  since  in  his  exile  he  was 
more  violent  in  this  respect  than  suited 
his  circumstances,  and  more  than  he  was 
willing  that  others  should  believe.  And 
in  order  that  it  may  be  seen  for  what 
party  he  was  thus  violent  and  pertina- 
cious, it  appears  to  me  I  must  go  further 
back  in  my  story.  I  believe  that  it  was 
the  just  anger  of  God  that  permitted,  it 
is  a  long  time  ago,  almost  all  Tuscany 
and  Lombardy  to  be  divided  into  two 
parties;  I  do  not  know  how  they 
acquired  those  names,  but  one  party 
was  called  Guelf  and  the  other  part; 
Ghibelline.  And  these  two  names  were 
so  revered,  and  had  such  an  effect  on  tlie 
folly  of  many  minds,  that,  for  the  sake 
of  defending  the  side  any  one  had  chosen 
for  his  own  against  the  opposite  party, 
it  was  not  considered  hard  to  lose  pro- 
perty, and  even  life,  if  it  were  necessary. 
And  under  these  names  the  Italian  citie? 
many  times  suffered  serious  grievances 
and  changes;  and  among  the  rest  our 
city,  which  was  sometimes  at  the  head 
of  one  party,  and  sometimes  of  the  other, 
according  to  the  citizens  in  power;  so 
much  so  that  Dante's  ancestors,  being 
Guelfs,  were  twice  expelled  by  the 
Ghibellines  from  their  home,  and  he 
likewise  under  the  title  of  Guelf  held  the 
reins  of  the  Florentine  Republic,  from 
which  he  was  expelled,  as  we  have  shown, 
not  by  the  Ghibellines,  but  by  the  Guelfs; 
and  seeing  that  he  could  not  return,  he 
so  much  altered  his  mind  that  there 
never  was  a  fiercer  Ghibelline,  or  a 
bitterer  enemy  to  the  Guelfs,  than  he 
was.  And  that  which  I  feel  mosf 
ashamed  at  for  the  sake  of  his  memory 
is,  that  it  was  a  well-known  thing  in 
Romagna,  that  if  any  boy  or  girl,  talk- 
ing to  him  on  party  matters,  condemned 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


n^^ 


the  Gliibelline  side,  he  would  become 
filaiuic,  so  that  if  they  did  not  be  silent 
he  would  have  been  induced  to  throw 
stones  at  them;  and  with  this  violence 
of  party  feeling  he  lived  until  his  death. 
I  am  certainly  ashamed  to  tarnish  with 
any  fault  the  fame  of  such  a  man ;  but 
the  order  of  my  subject  in  some  degree 
demands  it,  because  if  I  were  silent  in 
those  things  in  which  he  was  to  blame, 
I  should  not  be  believed  in  those  things 
I  have  already  related  in  his  praise. 
Therefore  I  excuse  myself  to  himself, 
who  perhaps  looks  dowp  from  heaven 
with  a  disdainful  eye  on  me  writing." 

51.  The  following  account  of  the 
Guelfs  and  Ghibellines  is  from  the 
Pecorone  of  Giovanni  Fiorentino,  a 
writer  of  the  fourteenth  century.  It 
forms  the  first  Novella  of  the  Eighth 
Day,  and  will  be  found  in  Roscoe's 
Ilalian  Novelists,  I.  322. 

"  There  formerly  resided  in  Germany 
two  wealthy  and  well-bom  individuals, 
whose  names  were  Guelfo  and  Ghibel- 
lino,  very  near  neighbours,  and  greatly 
attached  to  each  other.  But  returning 
together  one  day  from  the  chase,  there 
unfortunately  arose  some  difference  of 
opinion  as  to  the  merits  of  one  of  their 
hounds,  which  was  maintained  on  both 
sides  so  very  warmly,  that,  from  being 
almost  inseparable  friends  and  com- 
panions, they  became  each  other's  dead- 
liest enemies.  This  unlucky  division 
between  them  still  increasing,  they  on 
either  side  collected  parties  of  their 
followers,  in  order  more  effectually  to 
annoy  each  other.  Soon  extending  its 
malignant  influence  among  the  neigh- 
bouring lords  and  barons  of  Germany, 
who  divided,  according  to  their  motives, 
either  with  the  Guelf  or  the  Ghibelline, 
it  not  only  produced  many  serious  affrays, 
but  several  persons  fell  victims  to  its  rage. 
Ghibellino,  finding  himself  hard  pressed 
by  his  enemy,  and  unable  longer  to  keep 
the  field  against  him,  resolved  to  apply 
for  assistance  to  Frederick  the  First, 
the  reigning  Emperor.  Upon  this, 
Guelfo,  perceiving  that  his  adversary 
sought  the  alliance  of  this  monarch, 
applied  on  his  side  to  Pope  Honorius 
II.,  who  being  at  variance  with  the 
former,  and  hearing  how  the  affair  stood, 
immediately  joined    the    cause    of   the 


Guelfs,  the  Emperor  having  already  em- 
braced that  of  the  Ghibellines.  It  is 
thus  that  the  apostolic  see  became  con- 
nected with  the  former,  and  the  empire 
with  the  latter  faction ;  and  it  was  thus 
that  a  vile  hound  became  the  origin  of  a 
deadly  hatred  between  the  two  noble 
families.  Now  it  happened  that  in  the 
year  of  our  dear  Lord  and  Redeemer 
1215,  the  same  pestiferous  spirit  spread 
itself  into  parts  of  Italy,  in  the  following 
manner.  Messer  Guido  Orlando  being 
at  that  time  chief  magistrate  of  Florence, 
there  likewise  resided  in  that  city  a  noble 
and  valiant  cavalier  of  the  family  oJ 
Buondelmonti,  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished houses  in  the  state.  Our  young 
Buondelmonte  having  already  plighted 
his  troth  to  a  lady  of  the  Amidei  family, 
the  lovers  were  considered  as  betrothed, 
with  all  the  solemnity  usually  observed 
on  such  occasions.  But  this  unfortu- 
nate young  man,  chancing  one  day  to 
pass  by  the  house  of  the  Donati,  was 
stopped  and  accosted  by  a  lady  of  the 
name  of  Lapaccia,  who  moved  to  him 
from  her  door  as  he  went  along,  say- 
ing :  '  I  am  surprised  that  a  gentleman 
of  your  appearance,  Signor,  should  think 
of  taking  for  his  wife  a  woman  scarcely 
worthy  of  handing  him  his  boots.  There 
is  a  child  of  my  own,  whom,  to  speak 
sincerely,  I  have  long  intended  for  you, 
and  whom  I  wish  you  would  iust  venture 
to  see.'  And  on  this  she  called  out  for 
her  daughter,  whose  name  was  Ciulla, 
one  of  the  prettiest  and  most  enchanting 
girls  in  all  Florence.  Introducing  her  to 
Messer  Buondelmonte,  she  whis])ered, 
'  This  is  she  whom  I  have  reserved  for 
you';  and  the  young  Florentine,  sud- 
denly becoming  enamoured  of  her.  thus 
replied  to  her  mother,  'I  am  quite 
ready.  Madonna,  to  meet  your  wishes' ; 
and  before  stirring  from  the  spot  he 
placed  a  ring  upon  her  finger,  and, 
wedding  her,  received  her  there  as  his 
wife, 

"  The  Amidei,  hearing  that  young 
Buondelmonte  had  thus  espoused  an- 
other, immediately  met  together,  and 
took  counsel  with  other  friends  and  re- 
lations, how  they  might  best  avenge 
themselves  for  such  an  insult  offered  to 
their  house.  There  were  present  amo  ng 
the  rest  Larabertuccio  Amidei,  Schiaita 


I40 


NOTES  TO  IN.ERNO. 


Ruberti,  and  Mosca  Lamberti,  one  of 
whom  proposed  to  give  him  a  box  on 
the  ear,  another  to  strike  him  in  th 
face;  yet  they  were  none  of  them  able  to 
agree  about  it  among  themselves.  On 
observing  this,  Mosca  hastily  rose,  in  a 
great  passion,  saying,  *  Cosa  fatta  capo 
ha,'  wishing  it  to  be  understood  that  a 
dead  man  will  never  strike  again.  It 
was  therefore  decided  that  he  should  be 
put  to  death,  a  sentence  which  they  pro- 
ceeded to  execute  in  the  following  manner. 

"  M.  Buondelmonte  returning  one 
Easter  morning  from  a  visit  to  the  Casa 
Bardi,  beyond  the  Arno,  mounted  upon 
a  snow-white  steed,  and  dressed  in  a 
mantle  of  the  same  colour,  had  just 
reached  the  foot  of  the  Ponte  Vecchio, 
or  old  bridge,  where  formerly  stood  a 
statue  of  Mars,  whom  the  Florentines 
in  their  Pagan  state  were  accustomed 
to  worship,  when  the  whole  party  issued 
out  upon  him,  and,  dragging  him  in  the 
scuffle  from  his  horse,  in  spite  of  the 
gallant  resistance  he  made,  despatchetl 
him  with  a  thousand  wounds.  The 
tidings  of  this  affair  seemed  to  throw  all 
Florence  into  confusion;  the  chief  per- 
sonages and  noblest  families  in  the  place 
everywhere  meeting,  and  dividing  them- 
selves into  parties  in  consequence ;  the 
one  party  embracing  the  cause  of  the 
Buondelmonti,  who  placed  themselves  at 
the  head  of  the  Guelfs;  and  the  other 
taking  part  with  the  Amidei,  who  sup- 
ported the  Ghibellines. 

"  In  the  same  fatal  manner,  nearly 
all  the  seigniories  and  cities  of  Italy 
were  involved  in  the  original  quarrel 
between  these  two  German  families : 
the  Guelfs  still  supporting  the  interest 
of  the  Holy  Church,  and  the  Ghibel- 
lines those  of  the  Emperor.  And  thus 
I  have  made  you  ac<iuainted  with  the 
origin  of  the  Germanic  faction,  between 
two  noble  houses,  for  the  sake  of  a  vile 
cur,  and  have  shown  how  it  afterwards 
disturbed  the  peace  of  Italy  for  the  sake 
of  a  beautiful  woman." 

For  an-  account  of  the  Bianchi  and 
Neri  factions  see  Canto  XXIV.  note  143. 

53.  Cavalcante  de'  Cavalcanti,  father 
of  Dante's  friend,  Guido  Cavalcanti. 
He  was  of  the  Guelf  party;  so  that  here 
are  Guelf  and  GhiWline  buried  in  the 
same  tomb. 


60.  This  question  recalls  the  scene 
in  the  Odyssey,  where  the  shade  of 
Agamemnon  appears  to  Ulysses  and 
asks  for  Orestes.  Book  XI.  in  Chap- 
man's translation,  line  603: — 

"  Doth  my  son  yet  survive 
In  Orchomen  or  Pylos?     Or  doth  live 
In  Sparta  with  his  uncle?     Yet  I  see 
Divine  Orestes  is  not  here  with  me." 

63.  Guido  Cavalcanti,  whom  Ben- 
venuto  da  Imola  calls  "the  other  eye 
of  Florence," — alter  ociilus  Florentiie 
tempore  Dantis.  It  is  to  this  Guido 
that  Dante  addresses  the  sonnet,  which 
is  like  the  breath  of  Spring,  begin- 
ning :— 

"  Guido,  I  wish  that  Lapo,  thou,  and  I 
Could  be  by  spells  conveyed,  as  it  were  now, 
Upon  a  barque,  w»th  all  the  winds  that  blow. 
Across  all  seas  at  our  good  will  to  hie." 

He  was  a  poet  of  decided  mark,  as 
may  be  seen  by  his  "  Song  of  Fortune," 
quoted  in  Note  68,  Canto  VII.,  and  the 
Sonnet  to  Dante,  Note  136,  Pin-gatorio, 
XXX.  But  he  seems  not  to  have 
shared  Dante's  admiration  for  Virgil, 
and  to  have  been  more  given  to  the  study 
of  philosophy  than  of  poetry.  Like 
Lucentio  in  "The Taming  of  the  Shrew" 
he  is 

"  So  devote  to  Aristotle's  ethics 
As  Ovid  be  an  outcast  quite  abjured." 

Boccaccio,  Decameron,  VI.  9,  praises 
him  for  his  learning  and  other  good 
qualities;  "for  over  and  beside  his 
being  one  of  the  best  Logitians,  as  those 
times  not  yielded  a  better,"  so  runs  the 
old  translation,  "he  was  also  a  most 
absolute  Natural  Philosopher,  a  very 
friendly  Gentleman,  singularly  well 
spoken,  and  whatsoever  else  was  com- 
mendalile  in  any  man  was  no  way  want- 
ing in  him."  In  the  same  Novella  he 
tells  this  anecdote  of  him : — 

"It  chanced  uj^on  a  day  that  Signior 
Guido,  departing  from  the  Church  of 
Saint  Michael  d'  Horta,  and  passing 
along  by  the  Adamari,  so  far  as  to  Saint 
John's  Church,  which  evermore  was  his 
customary  walk:  many  goodly  Marble 
Tombs  were  then  about  the  said  Church, 
as  now  adays  are  at  Saint  Reparata,  and 
divers  more  beside.  He  entring  among 
the  Columns  of  Porphiry,  and  the  other 
Sepulchers  being  there,  because  the  dooi 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


141 


of  the  Church  was  shut:  Signior  Betto 
and  hib  company  came  riding  from  Saint 
Reparala,  and  es])ying  Signior  Guido 
amon.i;  the  Graves- and  Tombs,  said, 
'  Come,  let  us  go  make  some  jests  to 
anger  him.'  So  putting  the  Spurs  to 
their  Morses  they  rode  apace  towards 
him  ;  and  being  upon  him  before  hee  per- 
ceived them,  one  of  them  said,  '  Guido, 
thou  refusest  to  be  one  of  our  society, 
and  soekest  for  that  which  never  was: 
when  thou  hast  found  it,  tells  us,  what 
wilt  thou  do  with  it  ?" 

"Guido  seeing  himself  round  engirt 
with  them,  su.'denly  thus  replyed : 
'Gentlemen,  you  luay  use 'me  in  your 
own  House  as  you  please.'  And  set- 
ting his  hand  upon  one  of  the  Tombs 
(which  was  somewhat  great)  he  took 
his  rising,  and  leapt  quite  over  it  on  the 
further  side,  as  being  of  an  agile  and 
sprightly  body,  and  being  thus  freed 
from  tliem,  he  went  away  to  his  own 
lodging. 

"They  stood  all  like  men  amazed, 
strangely  hwking  one  upon  another,  and 
began  afterward  to  murmur  among 
themselves :  That  Guido  was  a  man 
without  any  understanding,  and  the 
answer  which  he  had  made  unto  them 
was  to  no  purpose,  neither  savoured  of 
any  discretion,  but  meerly  came  from  an 
empty  Brain,  because  they  had  no  more 
to  do  in  the  place  where  now  they  were, 
than  any  of  the  other  Citizens,  and 
Signior  Guido  (iiimself)  as  little  as  any 
of  them ;  whereunto  Signior  Betto  thus 
replyed :  '  Alas,  Gentlemen,  it  is  you 
your  selves  that  are  void  of  understand- 
ing: for,  if  you  had  but  observed  the 
answer  which  he  made  unto  us :  he  did 
honestly,  and  (in  very  few  words)  not 
only  notably  express  his  own  wisdom, 
but  also  deservedly  reprehend  us.  Be- 
cause, if  we  observe  things  as  we  ought 
to  do.  Graves  and  Tombs  are  the  Houses 
of  the  dead,  ordained  and  prepared  to  be 
the  latest  dwellings.  He  told  us  more- 
over that  although  we  have  here  (in  this 
life)  our  habitations  and  abidings,  yet 
these  (or  the  like)  must  at  last  be  our 
Houses.  To  let  us  know,  and  all  other 
foolish,  indiscreet,  and  unlearned  men, 
that  we  are  worse  than  dead  men, 
in  comparison  of  him,  and  other  men 
equal  to  him  in  skill  and  learning.     And 


therefore,  while  we  are  here  among  the 
Graves  and  Monuments,  it  may  be  well 
said,  that  we  are  not  far  from  our  own 
Houses,  or  how  soon  we  shall  be  pos- 
sessors of  them,  in  regard  of  the  frailty 
attending  on  us.' " 

Napier,  Florentine  History,  I.  368, 
speaks  of  Guido  as  "  a  bold,  melan- 
choly man,  who  loved  solitude  and 
literature;  but  generous,  brave,  and 
courteous,  a  poet  and  philosopher,  and 
one  that  seems  to  have  had  the  respect 
and  admiration  of  his  age."'  He  then 
adds  this  singular  picture  of  the  times : — 

"  Corso  Donati,  by  whom-  he  was 
feared  and  hated,  wpuld  have  had  him 
murdered  while  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Saint 
James  of  Galicia ;  on  his  return  this 
became  known  and  gained  him  many 
supporters  amongst  the  Cerchi  and  other 
youth  of  Florence;  he  took  no  regular 
measures  of  vengeance,  but,  accidentally 
meeting  Corso  in  the  street,  rode 
violently  towards  him,  casting  his  javelin 
at  the  same  time;  it  missed  by  the  trip- 
ping of  his  horse,  and  he  escaped  with  a 
sligjit  wound  from  one  of  Donati's 
attendants." 

Sacchetti,  Nov.  68,  tells  a  pleasant 
story  of  Guido's  having  his  cloak  naileu 
to  the  bench  by  a  roguish  boy,  while  he 
was  playing  chess  in  one  of  the  streets 
of  Florence,  which  is  also  a  curious 
picture  of  Italian  life. 

75.  Farinata  pays  no  attention  to 
this  outburst  of  paternal  tenderness  on 
the  part  of  his  Guelfic  kinsman,  but 
waits,  in  stem  indifference,  till  it  is  ended, 
and  then  calmly  resumes  his  discourse. 

80.  The  moon,  called  in  the  heavens 
Diana,  on  earth  Luna,  and  in  the  in- 
fernal regions  Proserpina. 

86.  In  the  great  battle  of  Monte 
A  pert o.  The  river  Arbia  is  a  few  miles 
south  of  Siena.  The  traveller  crosses  it 
on  his  way  to  Rome.  In  this  battle  the 
banished  Ghibellines  of  Florence,  join- 
ing the  Sienese,  gained  a  victory  over 
the  Guelfs,  and  retook  the  city  of 
Florence,  Before  the  battle  Buonaguida, 
.Syndic  of  Siena,  presented  the  keys  o{ 
the  city  to  the  Virgin  Mary  in  the  Cathe 
dral,  and  made  a  gift  to  her  of  the  city 
and  the  neighbouring  country.  After 
the  battle  the  standard  of  the  vanquished 
Florentines,  together  with  their  battle- 


142 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


bell,  the  Martinella,  was  tied  to  the  tail 
of  a  jackass  and  dragged  in  the  dirt.  See 
Ampere,   Voyage  Danlesque,  254. 

94.  After  the  battle  of  Monte  Aperto 
a  diet  of  the  Ghibellines  was  held  at 
Empoli,  in  which  the  deputies  from 
Siena  and  Pisa,  prompted  no  doubt  by 
provincial  hatred,  urged  the  demolition 
of  Florence.  Farinata  vehemently  op- 
posed the  project  in  a  speech,  thus  given 
in  Napier,  Florentine  History,  I.  257  : — 

"  '  It  would  have  been  better,'  he 
exclaimed,  '  to  have  died  on  the  Arbia, 
than  survive  only  to  hear  such  a  propo- 
sition as  that  which  they  were  then  dis- 
cussing. There  is  no  happiness  in 
victory  itself,  that  must  ever  be  sought 
for  amongst  the  companions  who  helped 
us  to  gain  the  day,  and  the  injury  we 
receive  from  an  enemy  inflicts  a  far 
more  trifling  wound  than  the  wrong  that 
comes  from  the  hand  of  a  friend.  If  I 
now  complain,  it  is  not  that  I  fear  the 
destruction  of  my  native  city,  fortas  long 
as  I  have  life  to  wield  a  sword  Florence 
shall  never  be  destroyed  :  but  I  cannot 
suppress  my  indignation  at  the  dis- 
courses I  have  just  been  listening  to  : 
we  are  here  assembled  to  discuss  the 
wisest  means  of  maintaining  our  in- 
fluence in  Florence,  not  to  debate  on  its 
destruction,  and  my  country  would  in- 
deed be  unfortunate,  and  I  and  my  com- 
panions miserable,  mean-spirited  crea- 
tures, if  it  were  true  that  the  fate  of  our 
city  depended  on  the  fiat  of  the  present 
assembly.  I  did  hope  that  all  former 
hatred  would  have  been  banished  from 
such  a  meeting,  and  that  our  mutual 
destruction  would  not  have  been  trea- 
cherously aimed  at  from  under  the  false 
colours  of  general  safety  ;  I  did  hope 
that  all  here  were  convinced  that  counsel 
dictated  by  jealousy  could  never  be  ad- 
vantageous to  the  general  good  !  But 
to  what  does  your  hatred  attach  itself? 
To  the  ground  on  which  the  city  stands  ? 
To  its  houses  and  insensible  walls  ?  To 
the  fugitives  who  have  abandoned  it  ? 
Or  to  ourselves  that  now  possess  it  ? 
Who  is  he  that  thus  advises?  Who  is 
the  bold  bad  man  that  dare  thus  give 
voice  to  the  malice  he  hath  engendered 
in  his  soul  ?  Is  it  meet  then  that  all 
your  cities  should  exist  unhai-med,  and 
ours  alone  be  devoted  to  destruction  ? 


That  you  should  return  in  triumph  to 
your  hearths,  and  we  with  whom  you 
have  conquered  should  have  nothing  in 
exchange  but  exile  and  the  ruin  of  our 
country  ?  Is  there  one  of  you  who  can 
believe  that  I  could  even  hear  such 
things  with  patience?  Are  you  indeed 
ignorant  that  if  I  have  carried  arms,  if  I 
have  persecuted  my  foes,  I  still  havenever 
ceased  to  love  my  country,  and  that  I 
never  will  allow  what  even  our  enemies 
have  respected  to  be  violated  by  your 
hanfls,  so  that  posterity  may  call  them  the 
saviours,  us  the  destroyers  of  ourcountry  ? 
Here  then  I  declare,  that,  although  I 
stand  alone  amongst  the  Florentines,  I 
will  never  permit  my  native  city  to  be  de- 
stroyed, and  if  it  be  necessary  for  her  sake 
to  die  a  thousand  deaths,  I  am  ready  to 
meet  them  all  in  her  defence.' 

"Farinata  then  rose,  and  with  angry 
gestures  quitted  the  assembly ;  but  left 
such  an  impression  on  the  mind  of  his 
audience  that  the  project  was  instantly 
dropped,  and  the  only  question  for  the 
moment  was  how  to  regain  a  chief  of 
such  talent  and  influence." 

119.  Frederick  II.,  son  of  the  Em- 
peror Heniy  VI.,  sumamed  the  Severe, 
and  grandson  of  Barbarossa.  He  reigned 
from  1220  to  1250,  not  only  as  Em- 
peror of  Germany,  but  also  as  King  ot 
Naples  and  Sicily,  where  for  the  most 
part  he  held  his  court,  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Villani, 
Cronica,  V.  I,  thus  sketches  his  cha- 
racter: "  This  Frederick  reigned  thirty 
years  as  Emperor,  and  was  a  man  of 
great  mark  and  great  worth,  learned  in 
letters  and  of  natural  ability,  universal 
in  all  things  ;  he  knew  the  Latin  lan- 
guage, the  Italian,  the  German,  French, 
Greek,  and  Arabic  ;  was  copiously  en- 
dowed with  all  virtues,  liberal  and 
courteous  in  giving,  valiant  and  skilled 
in  arms,  and  was  much  feared.  And  he 
was  dissolute  and  voluptuous  in  many 
ways,  and  had  many  concubines  and 
mamelukes,  after  the  Saracenic  fashion  ; 
he  was  addicted  to  all  sensual  delights, 
and  led  an  Epicurean  life,  taking  no 
accoiint  of  any  other  ;  and  this  was  one 
principal  reason  why  he  was  an  enemy 
to  the  clergy  and  the  Holy  Church. " 

Milman,  Lat.  Christ.,  B.  X.,  Chap, 
I  iii.,  says  of  him:     "Frederick's    pr©> 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


M3 


dilection  for  his  native  kingdom,  for 
the  bright  cities  reflected  in  the  blue 
Mediterranean,  over  the  dark  barbaric 
towns  of  Germany,  of  itself  characte- 
rizes the  man.  Tlie  summer  skies,  the 
more  polished  manners,  the  more  ele- 
gant luxuries,  the  knowledge,  the  arts, 
the  poetry,  the  gayety,  the  beauty,  the 
romance  of  the  South,  weie  throughout 
his  life  more  congenial  to  his  mind,  than 
the  heavier  and  more  chilly  climate, 
the  feudal  barbarism,  the  ruder  pomp, 
the  coarser  habits  of  his  German  liege- 
men  And  no  doubt  that  deli- 
cious climate  and  lovely  land,  so  highly 
appreciated  by  the  gay  sovereign,  was 
not  without  influence  on  the  state,  and 
even  the  manners  of  his  court,  to  which 
other  circumstances  contributed  to  give 
a  peculiar  and  romantic  character.  It 
resembled  probably  (though  its  full 
splendour  was  of  a  later  period)  Grenada 
in  its  glory,  more  than  any  other  in 
Europe,  though  more  rich  and  pictu- 
resque from  the  variety  of  races,  of 
manners,  usages,  even  dresses,  which 
prevailed  within  it." 

Gibbon  also.  Decline  and  Fall,  Chap, 
lix.,  gives  this  graphic  picture  :  — 

"  l-rederick  the  Second,  the  grandson 
v)f  Barbarossa,  was  successively  the  pu- 
"il,  the  enemy,  and  the  victim  of  the 
<,'hurch.  At  the  age  of  twenty-one 
years,  and  in  obedience  to  his  guardian 
Innocent  the  Third,  he  assumed  the 
cross ;  the  same  promise  was  repeated 
at  his  royal  and  imperial  coronations  ; 
and  his  marriage  with  the  heiress  of 
Jerusalem  forever  bound  him  to  defend 
the  kingdom  of  his  son  Conrad.  But 
as  Fretlcrick  advanced  in  age  and  au- 
thority, he  repented  of  the  rash  engage- 
ments of  his  youth  :  his  liberal  sense 
and  knowledge  taught  him  to  despise 
the  phantoms  of  superstition  and  the 
crowns  of  Asia :  he  no  longer  enter- 
tainea  the  same  reverence  for  the  suc- 
cessors of  Innocent ;  and  his  ambition 
was  occupied  by  the  restoration  of  the 
Italian  monarchy,  from  Sicily  to  the 
Alps.  But  the  success  of  this  project 
would  have  reduced-  the  Pojies  to  their 

f)rimitive  simplicity  ;  and,  after  the  da- 
ays  and  excuses  of  twelve  years,  they 
jrged  the  Emperor,  with  entreaties  and 
threats,  to  fix  the  time  and  place  of  hb 


departure  for  Palestine.  In  the  harbours 
of  Sicily  and  Apulia  he  prepared  a  fleet 
of  one  hundred  galleys,  and  of  one 
hundred  vessels,  that  were  framed  to 
transport  and  land  two  thousand  five 
hundred  knights,  with  horses  and  at- 
tendants ;  his  vassals  of  Naples  and  Ger- 
many formed  a  powerful  army ;  and 
the  number  of  English  crusaders  was 
magnified  to  sixty  thousand  by  the  re- 
port of  fame.  But  the  inevitable,  or 
affected,  slowness  of  these  mighty  pre- 
parations consumed  the  strength  and 
provisions  of  the  more  indigent  pil- 
grims ;  the  multitude  was  thinned  by 
sickness  and  desertion,  and  the  sultry 
summer  of  Calabria  anticipated  the 
mischiefs  of  a  Syrian  campaign.  At 
length  the  Emperor  hoisted  sail  at 
Brandusium  with  a  fleet  and  army  of 
forty  thousand  men  ;  but  he  kept  the 
sea  no^nore  than  three  days  ;  and  his 
hasty  retreat,  which  was  ascribed  by 
his  friends  to  a  grievous  indisposition, 
was  accused  by  his  enemies  as  a  volun- 
tary and  obstinate  disobedience.  For 
suspending  his  vow  was  Frederick  ex 
communicated  by  Gregory  the  Ninth; 
for  presuming,  the  next  year,  to  ac- 
complish his  vow,  he  was  again  excom- 
municated by  the  same  Pope.  While 
he  served  under  the  banner  of  the  cross, 
a  crasade  was  preached  against  him  in 
Italy ;  and  after  his  return  he  was 
compelled  to  ask  pardon  for  the  injuries 
which  he  had  suffered.  The  clergy 
and  military  orders  of  Palestine  were 
previously  instructed  to  renounce  his 
communion  and  dispute  his  commands  ; 
and  in  his  own  kingdom  the  Emperor 
was  forced  to  consent  that  the  orders 
of  the  camp  should  be  issued  in  the 
name  of  God  and  of  the  Christian  re- 
public. Frederick  entered  Jerusalem 
in  triumph  ;  and  with  his  own  hands 
(for  no  priest  would  perfonn  the  office) 
he  took  the  crown  from  the  altar  of  the 
holy  sepulchre." 

Matthew  Paris,  A.D.  1239,  gives  a 
long  letter  of  Pope  Gregory  IX.  in 
which  he  calls  the  Emperor  some  very 
hard  names;  "a  beast,  full  of  the 
words  of  blasphemy,"  "a  wolf  in 
sheep's  clothing,"  "a  son  of  lies,"  "a 
staff" of  the  impious,"  and  "hammer  of 
the  eaith";  and  finally  accuses  him  of 


144 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


being  the  author  of  a  work  De  Tribus 
Impostorihus,  which,  if  it  ever  existed, 
is  no  longer  to  be  found.  "  There  is 
one  thing,"  he  says  in  conclusion,  "at 
which,  although  we  ought  to  mourn  for 
a  lost  man,  you  ought  to  rejoice  greatly, 
and  for  which  you  ought  to  return 
thanks  to  God,  namely,  that  this  man, 
who  delights  in  being  called  a  fore- 
runner of  Antichrist,  by  God's  will,  no 
longer  endures  to  be  veiled  in  darkness  ; 
not  expecting  that  his  trial  and  disgrace 
are  near,  he  with  his  own  hands  under- 
mines the  wall  of  his  abominations, 
and,  by  the  said  letters  of  his,  brings 
his  works  of  darkness  to  the  light, 
boldly  setting  forth  in  them,  that  he 
could  not  be  excommunicated  by  us, 
although  the  Vicar  of  ChrisI  ;  thus  af- 
firming that  the  Church  had  not  the 
power  of  binding  and  loosing,  which 
was  given  by  our  Lord  to  St.  P?ter  and 

his  successors But  as  it  may  not 

be  easily  believed  by  some  jieople  that 
he  has  ensnared  himself  by  the  words 
of  his  own  mouth,  proofs  are  ready, 
to  the  triumph  of  the  faith  ;  for  this 
king  of  pestilence  openly  asserts  that 
the  wliole  world  was  deceived  by 
three,  namely  Christ  Jesus,  Moses,  and 
Mahomet  ;  that,  two  of  them  having 
died  in  glory,  the  said  Jesus  was  sus- 
pended on  the  cross ;  and  he,  more- 
over, presumes  plainly  to  affirm  (or 
rather  to  lie),  that  all  are  foolish  who 
believe  that  God,  who  created  nature, 
and  could  do  all  things,  was  born  of  the 
Virgin. "  ' 

I20.  This  is  Cardinal  Ottaviano  degli 
Ubaldini,  who  is  accused  of  saying, 
"  If  there  be  any  soul,  I  have  lost  mine 
for  the  Ghibellines."  Dante  takes  him 
at  his  word. 


CANTO  XI. 

8.  Some  critics  and  commentators 
accuse  Dante  of  confounding  Pope  Anas- 
tasius  with  the  Emperor  of  that  name. 
Is  is  liowever  highly  probable  that  Dante 
knew  best  whom  he  meant.  Both  were 
accused  of  heresy,  though  the  heresy 
of  the  Pope  seems  to  have  been  of  a 
mild  type.  A  few  years  previous  to 
his  time,  namely,  in  the  year  484,  Pope 
Felix  III,  and  Acacius,  Bishop  of  Con- 


stantinople, mutually  excommunicated 
each  other.  When  Anastasius  II.  be- 
came Pope  in  496,  "he  dared,''  says 
Milman,  Hist.  Lat.  Christ.,  I.  349,  "to 
doubt  the  damnation  of  a  bishop  ex- 
communicated by  the  See  of  Rome : 
'  Felix  and  Acacius  are  now  both  be- 
fore a  higher  tribunal  ;  leave  them  to 
that  unerring  judgment.'  He  would 
have  the  name  of  Acacius  passed  over 
in  silence,  quietly  dropped,  rather  than 
publicly  expunged  from  the  diptychs. 
This  degenerate  successor  of  St.  Peter 
is  not  admitted  to  the  rank  of  a  saint. 
The  Pontifical  book  (its  authority  on 
this  point  is  indignantly  repudiated) 
accuses  Anastasius  of  having  commu- 
nicated with  a  deacon  of  Thessalonica, 
who  had  kept  up  communion  with 
Acacius  ;  and  of  having  entertained 
secret  designs  of  restoring  the  name 
of  Acacius  in  the  services  of  the 
Church." 

9.  Photinus  is  the  deacon  of  Thes- 
salonica alluded  to  in  the  preceding 
note.  His  heresy  was,  that  the  Holy 
Ghost  did  not  proceed  from  the  Father, 
and  that  the  Father  was  greater  than 
the  Son.  The  writers  who  endeavour 
to  rescue  the  Pope  at  the  expense  of  the 
Emperor  say  that  Photinus  died  before 
the  days  of  Pope  Anastasius. 

50.  Cahors  is  the  cathedral  town 
of  the  Department  of  the  Lot,  in  the 
South  of  France,  and  the  birthplace  of 
the  poet  Clement  Marot  and  of  the 
romance-writer,  Calprenede.  In  the 
Middle  Ages  it  seems  to  have  been  a 
nest  of  usurers.  Matthew  Paris,  in  his 
Historic  Major,  under  date  of  1235,  has 
a  chapter  entitled.  Of  the  Usury  of  the 
Caiirsiiies,  which  in  the  translation  of 
Rev.  J.  A.  Giles  runs  as  follows  •.'— 

"In  these  days  prevailed  the  horrible 
nuisance  of  the  Caursines  to  such  a  de- 
gree that  there  was  hardly  any  one 
in  all  England,  especially  among  the 
bishops,  who  was  not  caught  in  theii 
net.  Even  the  king  himself  was  held 
indebted  to  them  in  an  incalculable  sum 
of  money.  For  they  circumvented  the 
needy  in  their  necessities,  cloaking  their 
usury  under  the  show  of  trade,  and  pre- 
tending not  to  know  that  whatever  is 
added  to  the  principal  is  usury,  undei 
whatever  name  it  may  be  called.     Foi 


NOTES  ro  INFERNO. 


145 


it  is  manifest  that  their  loans  lie  not  in 
the  path  of  charity,  inasmuch  as  they  do 
not  hold  out  a  helping  hand  to  the  poor 
to  relieve  them,  but  to  deceive  them  ; 
not  to  aid  others  in  their  starvation,  but 
to  gratify  their  own  covetousness ;  seeing 
that  the  motive  stamps  our  every  deed." 

70.  Those  within  the  fat  lagoon,  the 
Irascible,  Canto  VII.,  VIII. 

71.  Whom  the  wind  drives,  the  Wan- 
ton, Canto  v.,  and  whom  the  rain  doth 
beat,  the  Gluttonous,  Canto  VI. 

72.  And  who  encounter  with  such  bitter 
tongues,  the  Prodigal  and  Avaricious, 
Canto  VII. 

80.  The  Ethics  of  Aiistotle,  VII.  i. 
"  After  these  things,  making  another 
beginning,  it  must  be  observed  by  us 
that  there  are  three  species  of  things 
which  are  to  be  avoided  in  manners, 
viz..  Malice,  Incontinence,  and  Bestial- 
ity." 

loi.  The  Physics  of  Aristotle,  Book 
II. 

107.  Genesis,  i.  28:  "And  God  said 
unto  them,  Be  fruitful,  and  multiply, 
and  replenish  the  earth,  and  subdue  it." 

109.  Gabrielle  Rossetti,  in  the  Co- 
mento  Analitico  of  his  edition  of  the 
Divina  Commedia,  quotes  here  the  lines 
of  Florian  : — 

"  Nous  ne  recevons  I'existence 
Qu'afin    de    travailler   pour    nous,    ou    pour 

autrui : 
De  ce  devoir  sacr^  quiconque  se  dispense 
Est  puni  par  la  Providence, 
Par  le  besoin,  ou  par  I'ennui." 

1 10.  The  constellation  Pisces  pre- 
cedes Aries,  in  which  the  sun  now  is. 
This  indicates  the  time  to  be  a  little 
before  sunrise.     It  is  Saturday  morning. 

114.  The  Wain  is  the  constellation 
Charles's  Wain,  or  Bootes  ;  and  Caurus 
is  the  Northwest,  indicated  by  the  Latin 
name  of  tlic  northwest  wind. 


CANTO  XII. 

1.  With  this  Canto  begins  the  Se- 
venth Circle  of  the  Inferno,  in  which  the 
Violent  are  punished.  In  the  first  Girone 
or  round  are  the  Violent  against  their 
neighbours,  plunged  more  or  less  deeply 
in  the  river  of  boiling  blood. 

2.  Mr.  Kuskin,  Modern  Painters,  III 


242,  has  the  following  remarks  upon 
Dante's  idea  of  rocks  and  mountains : — 

"At  the  top  of  the.  abyss  of  the  se- 
venth circle,  appointed  for  the  'violent,' 
or  souls  who  had  done  evil  by  force, 
we  are  told,  first,  that  the  edge  of  it  was 
composed  of  '  great  broken  stones  in  a 
circle;'  then,  that  the  place  was  'Al- 
pine ' ;  and,  becoming  hereupon  atten- 
tive, in  order  to  hear  what  an  Alpine 
place  is  like,  we  find  that  it  was  'like 
the  place  beyond  Trent,  where  the  rock, 
either  by  earthquake,  or  failure  of  sup- 
port, has  broken  down  to  the  plain,  so 
that  it  gives  any  one  at  the  top  some 
means  of  getting  down  to  the  bottom.' 
This  is  not  a  very  elevated  or  enthusiastic 
description  of  an  Alpine  scene;  and  it 
is  far  from  mended  by  the  following 
verses,  in  which  we  are  told  that  Dante 
'began  to  go  down  by  this  great  un- 
loading of  stones, '  and  that  they  moved 
often  under  his  feet  by  reason  of  the  new 
weight.  The  fact  is  that  Dante,  by 
many  expressions  throughout  the  poem, 
shows  himself  to  have  been  a  notably 
bad  climber ;  and  being  fond  of  sitting 
in  the  sun,  looking  at  his  fair  Baptistery, 
or  walking  in  a  dignified  manner  on  flat 
pavement  in  a  long  robe,  it  puts  him 
seriously  out  of  his  way  when  he  has  to 
take  to  his  hands  and  knees,  or  look  to 
his  feet  ;  so  that  the  first  strong  impres- 
sion made  upon  him  by  any  Alpine 
scene  whatever  is,  clearly,  that  it  is  bad 
walking.  When  he  is  in  a  fright  and 
hurry,  and  has  a  very  steep  place  to  go 
down,  Virgil  has  to  carry  him  alto- 
gether. " 

5.  Speaking  of  the  region  to  which 
Dante  here  alludes,  Eustace,  Classical 
Tour,  I.  7 1,  says  : — 

"The  descent  becomes  more  rapid 
between  Roveredo  and  Ala  ;  the  river, 
which  glided  gently  through  the  valley 
of  Trent,  assumes  the  roughness  of  a 
torrent  ;  the  defiles  become  narrower ; 
and  the  mountains  break  into  rocks  and 
precipices,  which  occasionally  approach 
the  road,  sometimes  rise  perpendicular 
from  it,  and  now  and  then  hang  over  it 
in  terrible  majesty." 

In  a  note  he  adds  :  — 

"  Amid  these  wilds  the  traveller  can- 
not fail  to  notice  a  vast  tract  called  the 
Slavini  di   Marco,    covered   with  frag- 


146 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


ments  of  rock  torn  from  the  sides  of  the 
neighbouring  mountains  by  an  earth- 
quake, or  perliaps  by  their  own  unsup- 
ported weight,  and  hurled  down  into  the 
plains  below.  They  spread  over  the 
whole  valley,  and  in  some  places  con- 
tract the  road  to  a  very  narrow  space. 
A  few  firs  and  cypresses  scattered  in  the 
intervals,  or  sometimes  rising  out  of  the 
crevices  of  the  rocks,  cast  a  partial  and 
melancholy  shade  amid  the  surrounding 
nakedness  and  desolation.  This  scene 
of  ruin  seems  to  have  made  a  deepim- 
pression  upon  the  wild  imagination  of 
Dante,  as  he  has  introduced  it  into  the 
twelfth  canto  of  the  Inferno,  in  order  to 
give  the  reader  an  adequate  idea  of  one 
of  his  infernal  ramparts." 

12.  The  Minotaur,  half  bull,  half  man. 
See  the  infamous  story  in  all  the  classical 
dictionaries. 

1 8.  The  Duke  of  Athens  is  Theseus. 
Chaucer  gives  him  the  same  title  in  The 
Knightes  Tale: — 

Whilom,  as  olde  stories  tellen  us, 
Ther  was  a  duk  that  highte  Theseus. 
Of  Athenes  he  was  lord  and  govemour, 
That  greter  was  ther  non  under  the  sonne. 
Ful  many  a  rich  contree  had  he  wonne 
What  with  his  wisdom  and  his  chevalrie. 
He  C0M()uerd  all  the  regne  of  Feminie, 
That  whilom  was  ycleped  Scythia  ; 
And  wedded  the  freshe  quene  Ipolita, 
And    brought    hire   home  with    him   to   his 

contree 
With  niochel  glorie  and  great  solempnitee 
And  eke  hire  yonge  su.ster  Emelie. 
And  thus  with  victorie  and  with  melodie 
Let  I  this  worthy  duk  to  Athenes  ride, 
And  all  his  host,  in  armes  him  beside." 

Shakespeare  also,  in  the  Midsummer 
Nii^hfs  Dream,  calls  him  the  Duke  of 
Athens. 

20,  Ariadne,  who  gave  Theseus  the 
silken  thread  to  guide  him  back  through 
the  Cretan  labyrinth  after  slaying  the 
Minotaur,  Hawthome  has  beautifully 
tdld  the  old  story  in  his  Taiiglerwood 
Tales.  "Ah,  the  bull  -  headed  vil- 
lain!"  he  says.  "And  O  my  good 
little  people,  you  will  perhaps  see,  one 
of  tiiese  days,  as  I  do  now,  that  every 
human  being  who  suffers  anything  evil 
to  get  into  his  nature,  or  to  remain  there, 
is  a  kind  of  Minotaur,  an  enemy  of  his 
t'ellow-creatures,  and  separated  from  all 
good  companionship,  as  this  poor  mon- 
ster was, " 


39.  Christ's  descent  into  Limbo, 
and  the  earthquake  at  the  Crucifix- 
ion. 

42.  This  is  the  doctrine  of  Empedo- 
cles  and  other  old  philosophers.  See 
Ritter,  History  of  Ancient  Philosophy, 
Book  v..  Chap.  vi.  The  following 
passages  are  from  Mr.  Morrison's  trans- 
lation : — 

"  Empedocles  proceeded  from  the 
Eleatic  principle  of  the  oneness  of  ah 
truth.  In  its  unity  it  resembles  a  ball  ; 
he  calls  it  the  sphere,  wherein  the  an- 
cients recognized  the  God  of  Empedo- 
cles  

"  Into  the  unity  of  the  sphere  all 
elementary  things  are  coml)ined  by 
love,  without  difference  or  distinction  : 
within  it  they  lead  a  happy  life,  replete 
with  holiness,  and  remote  from  dis- 
cord :  — 

"  They  know  no  god  of  war  nor  the  spirit  of 
battles, 
Nor  Zeus,  the  sovereign,  norChronos,  nor  yet 

Poseidon, 
But  Cypris  the  queen.     .     .     . 

"  The  actual  separation  of  the  ele- 
ments one  from  another  is  produced  by 
discord  ;  for  originally  they  were  bound 
together  in  the  sphere,  and  therein  con- 
tinued perfectly  unmovable.  Now  in 
this  Empedocles  posits  different  periods 
and  different  conditions  of  the  world  ; 
for,  according  to  the  above  position, 
originally  all  is  united  in  love,  and  then 
subsequently  the  elements  and  living 
essences  are  separated 

"His  assertion  of  certain  mundane 
periods  was  taken  by  the  ancients  liter- 
ally ;  for  they  tell  us  that,  according  to 
his  theory.  All  was  originally  one  by 
love,  but  afterwards  many  and  at  en- 
mity with  itself  through  discord." 

56.  The  Centaurs  are  set  to  guard 
this  Circle,  as  symbolizing  violence, 
with  some  form  of  which  the  classic 
poets  usually  associate  them. 

68.   Chaucer,  l^he  Monkes  Tale  .•— 

"  A  lemman  had  this  noble  champion. 
That  highte  Deianire,  as  fresh  as  May  ; 
And  as  thise  clerkes  maken  mention, 
She  hath  him  sent  a  sherte  fresh  and  gay; 
Alas  !  this  therte,  alas  and  wala  wa  ! 
Envenimed  was  sotilly  withalle. 
That  or  that  he  had  wered  it  half  a  day. 
It  made  his  flesh  all  from  his  bones  fallc." 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


«47 


Chiron  was  a  son  of  Saturn  ;  Pholus,  of 
Silenus  ;  and  Nessus,  of  Ixion  and  the 
Cloud. 

71.  Homer,  Jliad,  XI.  832,  "Whom 
Chiron  instructed,  the  most  just  of  the 
Centaurs."  Hawthorne  gives  a  humor- 
ous turn  to  the  fable  of  Chiron,  in  the 
Tangleivood  Tales,  p.  273  : — 

"  I  have  sometimes  suspected  that 
Master  Chiron  was  not  really  very  dif- 
ferent from  other  people,  but  that,  be- 
ing a  kind-hearted  and  meriy  old  fel- 
low, he  was  in  the  habit  of  making 
believe  that  he  was  a  horse,  and  scram- 
bling about  the  school-room  on  all  fours, 
and  letting  the  little  boys  ride  upon 
his  back.  And  so,  when  his  scholars 
had  grown  up,  and  grown  old,  and 
were  trotting  their  grandchildren  on 
their  knees,  they  told  them  about  the 
sports  of  their  school  days ;  and  these 
young  folks  took  the  idea  that  their 
grandfathers  had  been  taught  their  let- 
ters by  a  Centaur,  half  man  and  half 
horse 

"Be  that  as  it  may,  it  has  always 
been  told  for  a  fact,  (and  always  will 
be  told,  as  long  as  the  world  lasts,) 
that  Chiron,  with  the  head  of  a  school- 
master, had  the  body  and  legs  of  a  horse. 
Just  imagine  the  grave  old  gentleman 
clattering  and  stamping  into  the  school- 
room on  his  four  hoofs,  perhaps  tread- 
ing on  some  little  fellow's  toes,  flou- 
rishing his  switch  tail  instead  of  a  rod, 
and,  now  and  then,  trotting  out  of 
doore  to  eat  a  mouthful  of  grass  !  " 

77.  Mr.  Ruskin  refers  to  this  line 
in  confirmation  of  his  theory  that  "  all 
great  art  represents  something  that  it 
sees  or  believes  in ;  nothing  unseen  or 
uncredited."  The  passage  is  as  fol- 
lows. Modem  Painters,  HI.  83  :— 

"  And  just  because  it  is  always  some- 
thing that  it  sees  or  believes  in,  there 
is  the  jieculiar  character  above  noted, 
almost  unmistakable,  in  all  high  and 
true  ideals,  of  having  been  as  it  were 
studied  from  the  life,  and  involving 
pieces  of  sudden  familiarity,  and  close 
specific  painting  which  never  would 
have  been  admitted  or  even  thought 
of,  had  not  the  painter  drawn  e'ther 
from  the  bodily  life  or  from  the  life  of 
faith.  For  instance,  Dante's  Centaur, 
Chiron,    dividing    his    beard  with    his 


arrow  before  he  can  speak,  is  a  thing 
that  no  mortal  would  ever  have  thought 
of,  if  he  had  not  actually  seen  the  Cen- 
taur do  it.  They  might  have  com- 
posed handsome  bodies  ot  men  and 
horses  in  all  jX)ssible  ways,  through  a 
whole  life  of  pseudo-idealism,  and  yet 
never  dreamed  of  any  such  thing.  But 
the  real  living  Centaur  actually  trotted 
across  Dante's  brain,  and  he  saw  him 
do  it." 

107.  Alexander  of  Thessaly  and 
Dionysius  of  Syracuse. 

no.  Azzolino,  or  Ezzolino  di  Ro- 
mano, tyrant  of  Padua,  nicknamed  the 
Son  of  the  Devil.  Ariosto,  Orlando 
Furioso,  HI.  33,  describes  him  as 

"  Fierce  Ezelin,  that  most  inhuman  lord, 
Who  shall  be  deemed  by  men  a  child  of  hell."' 

His  story  may  be  found  in  Sismondi's 
Histoire  des  Rcpubliques  Italiennes,  Ciiap. 
XIX.  He  so  outraged  the  religious 
sense  of  the  people  by  his  cruelties, 
that  a  crusade  was  preached  against 
him,  and  he  died  a  prisoner  in  1259, 
tearing  the  bandages  from  his  wounds, 
and  fierce  and  defiant  to  the  last. 

"  Ezzolino  was  small  of  stature,"  says 
Sismondi,  "  but  the  whole  aspect  of  his 
person,  all  his  movements,  indicatad 
the  soldier.  His  language  was  bitter, 
his  countenance  proud  ;  and  by  a  single 
look,  he  made  the  boldest  tremble. 
His  soul,  so  greedy  of  all  crimes,  felt 
no  attraction  for  sensual  pleasures. 
Never  had  Ezzolino  loved  women ;  and 
this  perhaps  is  the  reason  why  in  his 
punishments  he  was  as  pitiless  against 
them  as  against  men.  He  was  in  his 
sixty-sixth  year  when  he  died ;  and  his 
reign  of  blood  had  lasted  thirty-four 
years." 

Many  glimpses  of  him  are  given  in 
the  Cento  Novelle  Antiche,  as  if  his 
memory  long  haunted  the  minds  of 
men.  Here  are  two  of  them,  from 
Novella  83. 

"  (Jnce  upon  a  time  Messer  Azzolino 
da  Romano  made  proclamation,  through 
his  own  territories  and  elsewhere,  that 
he  wished  to  do  a  great  charity,  and 
therefore  that  all  the  beggai-s,  both 
men  and  women,  should  assemble  in  his 
meadow,  on  a  certain  day,  and  to  each 
he  would  give  a  new  gown,  and  abun- 
1.  % 


148 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


dance  of  food.  The  news  spread  among 
the  servants  on  all  hands.  When  the 
day  of  assembling  came,  his  seneschals 
went  among  them  with  the  gowns  and 
the  food,  and  made  them  strip  naked 
one  by  one,  and  then  clothed  them  with 
new  clothes,  and  fed  them.  They 
asked  for  their  old  rags,  but  it  was  all 
in  vain ;  for  he  put  them  into  a  heap 
and  set  fire  to  them.  Afterwards  he 
found  there  so  much  gold  and  silver 
melted,  that  it  more  than  paid  the  ex- 
pense, and  then  he  dismissed  them  with 
his  blessing 

"To  tell  you  how  much  he  was 
feared,  would  be  a  long  stoiy,  and 
many  people  know  it.  But  I  will  re- 
call how  he,  being  one  day  with  the 
Emperor  on  horseback,  with  all  their 
people,  they  laid  a  wager  as  to  which 
of  them  had  the  most  beautiful  sword. 
The  Emperor  drew  from  its  sheath  his 
own,  which  was  wonderfully  garnished 
with  gold  and  precious  stones.  Then 
said  Messer  Azzolino :  '  It  is  very 
beautiful ;  but  mine,  without  any  great 
ornament,  is  far  more  beautiful;' — and 
he  drew  it  forth.  Then  six  hundred 
knights,  who  were  with  him,  all  drew 
theirs.  When  the  Emperor  beheld  this 
cloud  of  swords,  he  said :  '  Yours  is  the 
most  beautiful.'  " 

III.  Obizzo  da  Esti,  Marquis  of 
Ferrara.  He  was  murdered  by  Azzo, 
"  whom  he  thought  to  be  his  son,"  says 
Boccaccio,  ' '  though  he  was  not. "  The 
Ottimo  Comento  remarks:  "Many  call 
themselves  sons,  and  are  step-sons." 

119.  Guido  di  Monforte,  who  mur- 
dered Prince  Henry  of  England  "  in 
the  bosom  of  God,"  that  is,  in  the 
'hurch,  at  Viterbo.  The  event  is  thus 
narrated  by  Napier,  Florentine  History, 
1.283:- 

"  Another  instance  of  this  revenge- 
ful sjnrit  occurred  in  the  year  1271  at 
Viterbo,  where  the  cardinals  had  as- 
semhled  to  elect  a  successor  to  Clement 
the  Fourth,  about  whom  they  had  been 
long  disputing:  Charles  of  Anjou  and 
Philip  of  France,  with  Edward  and 
Henry,  sons  of  Richard,  Duke  of  Corn- 
wall, had  repaired  there,  the  two  first 
to  hasten  the  election,  which  they 
finally  accomplished  by  the  elevation 
of  Gregory   the   Tenth.     During  these 


proceedings  Prince  Henry,  while  tak- 
ing the  sacrament  in  the  church  of  San 
Silvestro  at  Viterbo,  was  stabbed  to 
the  heart  by  his  own  cousin,  Guy  de 
Montfort,  in  revenge  for  the  Earl  of 
Leicester's  death,  although  Henry  was 
then  endeavouring  to  procure  his  par- 
don. This  sacrilegious  act  threw  Vi- 
terbo into  confusion,  but  Montfort  had 
many  supporters,  one  of  whom  asked 
him  what  he  had  done.  '7  have  taken 
my  revenge, '  said  he.  '  But  your  father's 
body  was  trailed!^  At  this  reproach, 
De  Montfort  instantly  re-entered  the 
church,  walked  straight  to  the  altar, 
and,  seizing  Henry's  body  by  the  hair, 
dragged  it  through  the  aisle,  and  left  it, 
still  bleeding,  in  the  open  street :  he 
then  retired  unmolested  to  the  castle 
of  his  father-in-law.  Count  Rosso  of 
the  Maremma,  and  there  remained  in 
security!" 

"The  body  of  the  Prince,"  says 
Barlow,  Study  0/  Dante,  p.  125,  "was 
brought  to  England,  and  interred  at 
Hayles,  in  Gloucestershire,  in  the  Ab- 
bey which  his  father  had  there  built 
for  monks  of  the  Cistercian  order ;  but 
his  heart  was  put  into  a  golden  vase, 
and  placed  on  the  tomb  of  Edward 
the  Confessor,  in  Westminster  Abbey; 
most  probably,  as  stated  by  some  writers, 
in  the  hands  of  a  statue. " 

123.  Violence  in  all  its  forms  was 
common  enough  in  Florence  in  the  age 
of  Dante. 

134.  Attila,  the  Scourge  of  God. 
Gibbon,  Decline  and  Eall,  Chap.  39, 
describes  him  thus : — 

"  Attila,  the  son  of  Mundzuk,  de- 
duced his  noble,  perhaps  his  regal,  de- 
scent from  the  ancient  Huns,  who  had 
formerly  contended  with  the  monarchs 
of  China.  His  features,  according  to 
the  observation  of  a  Gothic  historian, 
bore  the  stamp  of  his  national  origin ; 
and  the  portrait  of  Attila  exhibits  the 
genuine  deformity  of  a  modern  Cal- 
muk ;  a  large  head,  a  swarthy  com- 
plexion, small,  deep-seated  eyes,  a  flat 
nose,  a  few  hairs  in  the  place  of  a 
beard,  broad  shoulders,  and  a  shoii., 
square  body,  of  nervous  strength, 
though  of  a  disproportioned  form. 
The  haughty  step  and  demeanour  of 
the   King  of  the    Huns   expressed  the 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


149 


consciousness  01  his  sujjeriority  above 
the  rest  of  mankind  ;  and  he  had  a 
custom  of  fiercely  rolling  his  eyes,  as 
if  he  wished  to  enjoy  the  terror  which 
he  inspired." 

135.  Which  Pyrrhus  and  which 
Sextus,  the  commentators  cannot  de- 
termine ;  but  incline  to  Pyrrhus  of 
Epirus,  and  Sextus  Pompey,  the  cor- 
^ir  of  the  Mediterranean. 

137.  Nothing  more  is  known  of  these 
nighwaymen  than  that  the  first  infested 
the  Reman  sea-shore,  and  that  the  second 
wa;>  of  a  noble  family  of  Floi  ence. 

CANTO   XIII. 

1.  In  this  Canto  is  described  the 
punishment  of  those  who  had  laid  vio- 
lent hands  on  themselves  or  their  pro- 
l)erty. 

2.  Ch&ViCtT,  Knightes  Tale,  1977: — 

"  First  on  the  wall  was  peinted  a  forest, 

In  which  ther  wonneth  ncyther  man  ne  best. 
With  knotty  knarry  barrein  trees  old 
Of  stubbes  sh  irpe  and  hidoiis  to  behold  ; 
In  which  there  ran  a  romblc  and  a  swough 
As    though    -a  stornie    shuld    bresten    every 
bough." 

9.  The  Cecina  is  a  small  river  run- 
ning into  the  Mediterranean  not  many 
miles  south  of  Leghorn;  Corneto,  a 
village  in  the  Papal  States,  north  of 
Civita  Vecchia.  The  country  is  wild 
and  thinly  peopled,  and  studded  with 
thickets,  the  haunts  of  the  deer  and  the 
wild  boar.  This  region  is  the  fatal 
Maremma,  thus  described  by  Forsyth, 
Italy,  p.  156:  — 

"  Farther  south  is  the  Maremma,  a 
region  which,  though  now  worse  than 
a  desert,  is  supposed  to  have  been  an- 
ciently both  fertile  and  healthy.  The 
Maremma  certainly  formed  part  of  that 
Ktruria  which  was  called  from  its  har- 
vests the  annonaria.  Old  Roman  cis- 
terns may  still  be  traced,  and  the  ruins 
of  Populonium  are  still  visible  in  the 
worst  part  of  this  tract :  yet  both  na- 
ture and  man  seem  to  have  conspired 
against  it. 

"  Sylla  threw  this  maritime  part  of 
Tuscany  into  enormous  latifundia  for 
his  disbanded  soldiers.  Similar  distri- 
butions continued  to  lessen  its  popula- 
tion during  the  Empire.     In  the  younger 


Pliny's  time  the  climate  was  pestilen- 
tial. The  Lombards  gave  it  a  new  as- 
pect of  misery.  Wherever  they  found 
culture  they  built  castles,  and  to  each 
castle  they  allotted  a  'bandita  '  or  mili- 
tary fief.  Hence  baronial  wars  which 
have  left  so  many  picturesque  ruins  on 
the  hills,  and  such  desolation  round 
them.  Whenever  a  baron  was  con- 
quered, his  vassals  escaped  to  the  cities, 
and  the  vacant  fief  was  annexed  to  the 
victorious.  Thus  stripped  of  men,  the 
lands  returned  into  a  state  of  nature: 
some  were  flooded  by  the  rivers,  others 
grew  into  horrible  forests,  which  enclose 
and  concentrate  the  pestilence  of  the 
lakes  and  marshes. 

"  In  some  parts  the  water  is  brackish, 
and  lies  lower  than  the  sea :  in  others  it 
oozes  full  of  tartar  from  beds  of  traver- 
tine. At  the  iottom  or  on  the  sides  of 
hills  are  a  multitude  of  hot  springs, 
which  form  pools,  called  Lagotti.  A 
few  of  these  are  said  to  produce  borax : 
some,  which  are  called  fumache,  exhale 
sulphur;  others,  called  bulicami,  boil 
with  a  mephitic  gas.  The  very  air 
above  is  only  a  pool  of  vapours,  which 
sometimes  undulate,  but  seldom  flow  off. 
It  draws  corruption  from  a  rank,  un- 
shorn, rotting  vegetation,  from  reptiles 
and  fish  both  living  and  dead. 

"  All  nature  conspires  to  drive  man 
away  from  this  fatal  region;  but  man 
will  ever  return  to  his  bane,  if  it  be  well 
baited.  The  Casentine  peasants  still 
migrate  hither  in  the  winter  to  feed  their 
cattle:  and  here  they  sow  corn,  make 
charcoal,  saw  wood,  cut  hoops,  and 
peel  cork.  When  summer  returns  they 
decamp,  but  often  too  late;  for  many 
leave  their  corpses  on  the  road,  or  bring 
home  the  Maremmian  disease." 

II.     ^tieid,  111.,  Davidson's  Tr.  :  — 

"  The  shores  of  the  Strophades  first 
receive  me  rescued  from  the  waves. 
The  Strophades,  so  called  by  a  Greek 
name,  are  islands  situated  in  the  great 
Ionian  Sea;  which  direful  Celaeno  and 
the  other  Harpies  inhabit,  from  what 
time  Phineus'  palace  was  closed  against 
them,  and  they  were  frighted  from  his 
table,  which  they  formerly  haunted. 
No  monster  more  fell  than  they,  no 
plague  and  scourge  of  the  gods  more 
cruel,    ever    issued    from    the    Stygian 


»5o 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


waves.  They  are  fowls  with  virgin 
faces,  most  loathsome  is  their  bodily 
discharge,  hands  hooked,  and  looks 
ever  pale  with  famine.  Hither  con- 
veyed, as  soon  as  we  entered  tlie  port, 
lo  !  we  observe  joyous  herds  of  cattle 
roving  up  and  down  the  plains,  and 
flocks  of  goats  along  the  meadows  with- 
out a  keeper.  We  rush  upon  them  with 
our  swords,  and  invoke  the  gods  and 
Jove  himself  to  share  the  booty.  Then 
along  the  winding  shore  we  raise  the 
couches,  and  feast  on  the  rich  repast. 
But  suddenly,  with  direful  swoop,  the 
Harpies  are  upon  us  from  the  mountains, 
shake  their  wings  with  loud  din,  prey 
upon  our  banquet,  and  defile  everything 
with  their  touch :  at  the  same  time,  toge- 
ther with  a  rank  smell,  hideous  screams 
arise." 

21.  His  words  in  t||e  Mndd,  HI., 
Davidson's  Tr. : — 

"  Near  at  hand  there  chanced  to  be  a 
rising  ground,  on  whose  top  were  young 
cornel-trees,  and  a  myrtle  rough  with 
thick,  spear-like  branches.  I  came  up 
to  it,  and  attempting  to  tear  from  the 
earth  the  verdant  wood,  that  I  might 
cover  the  altars  with  the  leafy  boughs,  I 
observe  a  dreadful  prodigy,  and  won- 
drous to  relate.  For  from  that  tree 
which  first  is  torn  from  the  soil,  its 
rooted  fibres  being  burst  asunder,  drops 
of  black  blood  distil,  and  stain  the 
ground  with  gore:  cold  terror  shakes 
my  limbs,  and  my  chill  blood  is  con- 
gealed with  fear.  I  again  essay  to  tear 
off  a  limber  bough  from  another,  and 
thoroughly  explore  the  latent  cause:  and 
from  the  rind  of  that  other  the  purple 
blood  descends.  Raising  in  my  mind 
many  an  anxious  thought,  I  with  reve- 
rence besought  tbe  rural  nymphs,  and 
father  Mars,  who  presides  over  the 
Thracian  territories,  kindly  to  prosper 
the  vision  and  avert  evil  from  the  omen. 
But  when  I  attempted  the  boughs  a 
third  time  with  a  more  vigorous  effort, 
and  on  my  knees  straggled  against  the 
opposing  mould,  (shall  I  speak,  or  shall 
I  forbear?)  a  piteous  groan  is  heard 
from  the  bottom  of  the  rising  ground, 
and  a  voice  sent  forth  reaches  my  ears : 
'yEneas,  why  dost  thou  tear  an  un- 
happy wretch  ?  Spare  me,  now  that  I 
am  in   my  grave ;    forbear    to   pollute 


with  guilt  thy  pious  hands :  Troy 
brought  me  forth  no  stranger  to  you  ; 
nor  is  it  from  the  trunk  this  blood 
distils.'  " 

40.    Chaucer,  Knightes  Tale,  2339: — 

"  And  as  it  queinte,  it  made  a  whistelin^ 
As  don  these  brondes  wet  in  hir  brennmg, 
And  at  the  brondes  ende  outran  anon 
As  it  were  blody  dropes  many  on." 

See  also  Spenser,  Faerie  Queene,  I.  ii.  30. 

58.  Pietro  della  Vigna,  Chancellor 
of  the  Emperor  Frederick  H.  Napier's 
account  of  him  is  as  follows,  Florenttne 
History,  I.  197  : — 

"The  fate  of  his  friend  and  minister, 
Piero  delle  Vigne  of  Capua,  if  truly 
told,  would  nevertheless  impress  us  with 
an  unfavourable  idea  of  his  mercy  and 
magnanimity  :  Piero  was  sent  with 
Taddeo  di  Sessa  as  Frederick's  advocate 
and  representative  to  the  Council  of 
Lyons,  which  was  assembled  by  his 
triend  Innocent  tlie  Fourth,  nominally 
to  reform  the  Church,  but  really  to  im- 
part more  force  and  solemnity  to  a  fresh 
sentence  of  excommunication  and  depo- 
sition. There  Taddeo  spoke  with  force 
and  boldness  for  his  master;  but  Piero 
was  silent ;  and  hence  he  was  accused  of 
being,  like  several  others,  bribed  by  the 
Pope,  not  only  to  desert  the  Emperor, 
but  to  attempt  his  life ;  and  whether  he 
were  really  culpable,  or  the  victim  of 
court  intrigue,  is  still  doubtful.  Fre- 
derick, on  apparently  good  evidence, 
condemned  him  to  have  his  eyes  burned 
out,  and  the  sentence  was  executed  at 
San  Miniato  al  Tedesco:  being  after- 
wards sent  on  horseback  to  Pisa,  where 
he  was  hated,  as  an  object  for  popular 
derision,  he  died,  as  is  conjectured,  from 
the  effects  of  a  fall  while  thus  craelly 
exposed,  and  not  by  his  own  h.tnd,  as 
Dante  believed  and  sung." 

Milman,  LM-lin  Christianity,  V.  499, 
gives  the  story  thus: — 

"  Peter  de  Vinea  had  been  raised  by 
the  wise  choice  of  Frederick  to  the 
highest  rank  and  influence.  All  the 
acts  of  Frederick  were  attributed  to  his 
Chancellor.  De  Vineft,  like  his  master, 
was  a  poet ;  he  was  one  of  the  coun- 
sellors in  his  great  scheme  of  legislation. 
Some  rumours  spread  abroad  that  at  the 
Council  of  Lyons,  though  Frederick  had 
forbidden   all  his   representatives    from 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


151 


holding  private  intercourse  with  the 
Pope,  De  VineS,  had  many  secret  con- 
ferences with  Innocent,  and  was  accused 
of  betraying  his  master's  interests.  Yet 
there  was  no  seeming  diminution  in  the 
trust  placed  in  De  Vinea.  Still,  to  the 
end  the  Emperor's  letters  concerning 
the  disaster  at  Parma  are  by  the  same 
hand.  Over  the  cause  of  his  disgrace 
and  death,  even  in  his  own  day,  there 
was  deep  doubt  and  obscurity.  The 
popular  rumour  ran  that  Frederick  was 
ill ;  the  physician  of  De  Vine&  prescribed 
for  him;  the  Emperor  having  received 
some  warning,  addressed  De  Vine^  : 
'  My  friend,  in  thee  I  have  full  tnist  ; 
art  thou  sure  that  this  is  medicine,  not 
poison  ? '  De  Vine^  replied :  '  How 
often  has  my  physician  ministered  health- 
ful medicines ! — why  are  you  now  afraid  ? ' 
Frederick  took  the  cup,  sternly  com- 
manded the  physician  to  drink  half  of  it. 
The  physician  threw  himself  at  the 
King's  feet,  and,  as  he  fell,  overthrew 
the  liquor.  But  what  was  left  was 
administered  to  some  criminals,  who 
died  in  agony.  The  Emperor  wrung 
his  hands  and  wept  bitterly :  '  Whom 
can  I  now  trust,  betrayed  by  my  own 
familiar  friend  ?  Never  can  I  know 
security,  never  can  I  know  joy  more.' 
By  one  account  Peter  de  VineS,  was  led 
ignominiously  on  an  ass  through  Pisa, 
and  thrown  into  prison,  where  he  dashed 
his  brains  out  against  the  wall.  Dante's 
immortal  verse  has  saved  the  fame  of 
De  VineS. :  according  to  the  poet  he  was 
the  victim  of  wicked  and  calumnious 
jealousy." 

Sej  also  Giuseppe  de  Blasiis,  Vita  et 
Opere  di  Pietro  delta  Vigiia. 

112.  Iliad,  XII.  146:  "Like  two 
wild  boars,  which  catch  the  coming 
tumult  of  men  and  dogs  in  the  moun- 
tains, and,  advancing  obliquely  to  the 
attack,  break  down  the  wood  about 
them,  cutting  it  off  at  the  roots." 

Chaucer,  I^gende  of  Goode  Women : — 

"  Envie  ys  lavendere  of  the  court  alway  ; 
For  she  ne  parteth  neither  nyght  ne  day 
Out  of  the  house  of  Cesar,  thus  saith  Daunte." 

120.  "  Lano,"  says  Boccaccio,  Co- 
mento,  "  was  a  young  gentleman  of 
Siena,  who  had  a  large  patrimony,  and 
^'-'ociating  himself  with  a  club  of  other 
/(mng  Sienese,   called  the   .Spendthrift 


Club,  they  also  being  all  rich,  together 
with  them,  not  spending  but  squander- 
ing, in  a  short  time  he  consumed  all 
that  he  had  and  became  very  poor." 
Joining  some  Florentine  troops  sent 
out  against  the  Aretines,  he  was  in  a 
skirmish  at  the  parish  of  Toppo,  whicli 
Dante  calls  a  joust ;  "and  notwithstand- 
ing he  might  have  saved  himself,"  con- 
tinues Boccaccio,  "remembering  his 
wretched  condition,  and  it  seeming  to 
him  a  grievous  thing  to  bear  poverty,  as 
he  had  been  very  rich,  he  rushed  into  the 
thick  of  the  enemy  and  was  slain,  as 
perhaps  he  desired  to  be." 

125.  Some  commentators  interpret 
these  dogs  as  poverty  and  despair,  still 
pursuing  their  victims.  The  Ottimo 
Comento  calls  them  "poor  men  who, 
to  follow  pleasure  and  the  kitchens  of 
other  people,  ^abandoned  their  homes 
and  families,  and  are  therefore  trans- 
formed into  hunting  dogs,  and  pursue 
and  devour  their  masters." 

133.  Jacopo  da  St.  Andrea  was  a 
Paduan  of  like  character  and  life  as 
Lano.  "  Among  his  other  squander- 
ings," says  the  Ottimo  Comento,  "it  is 
said  that,  wishing  to  see  a  grand  and 
beautiful  fire,  he  had  one  of  his  own 
villas  burned."  ' 

143.  Florence  was  first  under  the 
protection  of  the  god  Mars;  afterwards 
under  that  of  St.  John  the  Baptist.  But 
in  Dante's  time  the  statue  of  Mars  was 
still  standing  on  a  column  at  the  head 
of  the  Ponte  Vec«.hio.  It  was  over- 
thrown by  an  inundation  of  the  Amo  in 
1333-     See  Canto  XV.  Note  62. 

149.  Florence  was  destroyed  by  To- 
tila  in  450,  and  never  by  Attila.  In 
Dante's  time  the  two  seem  to  have  been 
pretty  generally  confounded.  The  Ottimo 
Comento  remarks  upon  this  point, ' '  Some 
say  that  Totila  was  one  person  and  At- 
tila another ;  and  some  say  that  he  was 
one  and  the  same  man." 

150.  Dante  does  not  mention  the 
name  of  this  suicide ;  Boccaccio  thinks, 
for  one  of  two  reasons  ;  "  either  out 
of  regard  to  his  surviving  relatives,  who 
peradventure  are  honourable  men,  and 
therefore  he  did  not  wish  to  stain  them 
with  the  infamy  of  so  dishonest  a  death, 
or  else  (as  in  those  times,  as  if  by  a 
malediction  sent  by  God  upon  our  dty, 


152 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


many  hanged  themselves)  that  each  one 
might  apply  it  to  either  he  pleased  of 
these  many. " 


CANTO  XIV. 

I.  In  this  third  round  of  the  seventh 
circle  are  punished  the  Violent  against 
God, 

"  In  heart  denying  and  blaspheming  him, 
And  by  disdai'iing  N^iture  and  her  bounty." 

15.  When  he  retreated  across  the 
l^ibyan  desert  with  the  remnant  of  Pom- 
pey's  army  after  the  battle  of  Pharsalia. 
Lucan,  Pharsalia,  Book  IX.  : — 

"  Foremost,  behold,  I  lead  you  to  the  toil. 
My  feet  shall  foremost  print  the  dusty  soil." 

31.  Boccaccio  confesses  that  he  does 
not  know  where  Dante  found  this  tradi- 
tion of  Alexander.  Benvenuto  da  Imola 
says  it  is  in  a  letter  which  Alexander 
wrote  to  Aristotle.  He  quotes  the 
passage  as  follows  :  "  In  India  ignited 
vapours  fell  from  heaven  like  snow.  I 
commanded  my  soldiers  to  trample  them 
under  foot." 

Dante  perhaps  took  the  incident  from 
the  old  metrical  Romance  of  Aiexatnier, 
which  in  some  form  or  other  was  current 
tri  his  time.  In  the  English  version  of 
it.  published  by  the  Roxburghe  Club,  we 
find  the  rain  of  fire,  and  a  fall  of  snow  ; 
hut  it  is  the  snow,  and  not  the  fire,  that 
the  soldiers  trample  down.  So  likewise 
in  the  French  version.  The  English  runs 
as  follows,  line  4164  : — 

"  Than  fandis  he    fnrth   as   I    finde    five  and 

twenti  days. 
Come  to  a  velanus  vale  thare  was  a  vile  cheele, 
Quare   flaggis  of  the  fell  snawe  fell  fra  the 

heven, 
'J  hat  was  a  brade,  sais  the  buke,  as  battes  ere 

of  woUe. 
Than  bett  he  many  brigt  fire  and  lest  it  bin 

nold, 
And  made  his  folk  with  thaire  feete  as  flores  it 

to  trede. 
«  •  «  * 

Than  fell  ther  fra  the  firmament  as  it  ware  fell 

sparkes, 
Kopand  doune  o   rede  fire,  than  any  rayne 

thikir." 

45.    Canto  VIII.  83. 

55.  Mount  Etna,  tmder  which,  with 
his  Cyclops,  Vulcan  forged  the  thun- 
derbolts of  Jove. 


63.  Capaneus  was  one  of  the  seven 
kings  who  besieged  Thebes.  Euripi- 
des, Phcenisso',  line  1188,  thus  describes 
his  death  :  — 

"  While  o'er  the  battlements  sprang  Capaneus, 
Jove  struck  him  with  his   thunder,  and  the 

earth 
Resounded  with  the  crack  ;    meanwhile  man- 
kind 
Stood  all  aghast  ;  from  off  the  ladder's  heighi 
His  limbs  were  far  asunder  hurled,  his  hair 
Flew  to'ards  Olympus,  to  the  ground  his  blond. 
His  hands  and  feet  whirled  like  Ixion^s  wheel, 
And  to  the  earth  his  flaming  body  fell." 

Also  Gower,  Confes.  Amant.,  I. : — 

"  As  he  the  cite  wolde  .assaile, 
God  toke  him  selfe  the  bataile 
Ayen  his  pride,  and  fro  the  sky 
A  firy  thonder  sudeinly 
He  sende  and  him  to  pouder  smote. " 

72.  Like  Hawthorne's  scarlet  letter, 
at  once  an  ornament  and  a  punishment. 

79.  The  Bulicame  or  Hot  Springs 
of  Viterbo.  Villani,  Cronica,  Book  I. 
Ch.  51,  gives  the  following  brief  ac- 
count of  these  springs,  and  of  the  ori- 
gin of  the  name  of  Viterbo  : — 

"The  city  of  Viterbo  was  built  by 
the  Romans,  and  in  old  times  was  called 
Vigezia,  and  the  citizens  Vigentians. 
And  the  Romans  sent  the  sick  there 
on  account  of  the  baths  which  flow  from 
the  Bulicame,  and  therefore  it  was  called 
Vila  Erbo,  that  is,  life  of  the  sick,  or  city 
of  life." 

80.  ' '  The  building  thus  appropri- 
ated," says  Mr.  Barlow,  Contributions 
to  the  Study  of  the  Divine  Comedy,  p. 
129,  "would  appear  to  have  been  the 
large  ruined  edifice  known  as  the  Bagno 
di  Ser  Paolo  Benigno,  situated  between 
the  Bulicame  and  Viterbo.  About  half 
a  mile  beyond  the  Porta  di  Faule, 
which  leads  to  Toscanella,  we  come  to 
a  way  called  Riello,  after  which  we 
arrive  at  the  said  ruined  edifice,  which 
received  the  water  from  the  Bulicame 
by  conduits,  and  has  popularly  been 
regarded  as  the  Bagno  delle  Meretrici 
alluded  to  by  Dante  ;  there  is  no  other 
building  here  found,  which  can  dispute 
with  it  the  claim  to  this  distinction.' 

102.  The  shouts  and  cymbals  of  the 
Corybantes,  drowning  the  ciies  of  the 
infant  Jove,  lest  Saturn  should  find  him 
and  devour  him. 

103.  The  statue  of  Time,  turning  its 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


153 


back  upon  the  East  and  looking  towards 
Rome.     Compare  Daniel  ii.  31. 

105.  The  Ages  of  Gold,  Silver, 
Brass,  and  Iron.  See  Ovid,  Meta- 
morph.  I. 

See  also  Don  Quixote's  discourse  to 
the  goatherds,  inspired  by  the  acorns 
they  gave  him.  Book  II.  Chap.  3  ;  and 
Tasso's  Ode  to  the  Golden  Age,  in  the 
Aminta. 

113.  The  Tears  of  Time,  forming 
the  infernal  rivers  that  flow  into  Co- 
cytus. 

Milton,  Farad.  Lost,  IT.  577  :— 

"  Abhorred  Styx,  the  flood  of  <\eajly  hate  ; 
Sad  Acheron  of  sorrow,  black  and  deep  ; 
CocytiiR,  named  of  lamentation  loud 
Heard  on  the  rueful  stream  ;  fierce  Phlegeton, 
Whose  waves  of  torrent  fire  inflame  with  rage. 
Far  oft"  from  these  a  slow  and  silent  stream, 
Lethfe,  the  river  of  oblivion,  rolls 
Her  watery  labyiinth,  whereof  who  drinks 
Forthwith  his  former  state  and  being  forgets. 
Forgets  both  joy  and    griff,    plea.sure    and 
pain." 

136.  See  Fur^atorio,  XXVIII. 


CANTO  XV. 

I.  In  this  Canto  is  described  the 
punishment  of  the  Violent  against  Na- 
ture : — 

"  And  for  this  reason  does  the  smallest  round 
Seal  with  its  signet  Sodom  and  Cahors." 

4.  Guizzante  is  not  Ghent,  but  Cad- 
sand,  an  island  opposite  L'Ecluse,  where 
the  great  canal  of  Bruges  enters  the  sea. 
A  canal  thus  flowing  into  the  sea,  the 
dikes  on  either  margin  uniting  with  the 
sea-dikes,  gives  a  perfect  image  of  this 
part  of  the  Inferno 

Lodovico  Guicciardini  in  his  Descrit- 
Hone  di  tutti  i  Paesi  Bassi  ( 1 5  8 1 ),  p.  416, 
speaking  of  Cadsand,  says  :  "  This  is 
the  very  place  of  which  our  great  poet 
Dante  makes  mention  in  the  fifteenth 
chapter  of  the  Inferno,  calling  it  incor- 
rectly, perhaps  by  error  of  the  press, 
Guizzante  ;  where  still  at  the  present 
day  great  repairs  are  continually  made 
upon  the  dikes,  because  here,  and  in 
the  environs  towards  Bruges,  the  flood, 
or  I  should  rather  say  the  tide,  on 
account  of  the  situation  and  lowness 
of  the  land,  has  very  great  power,  par- 
ticularly during  a  north-west  wind.  * 


5.  These  lines  recall  Goldsmith's  de- 
scription in  the  Traveller : — 

"  Methinks  her  patient  sons  before  me  stand, 
Where  the  broad  ocean  leans  against  the  land. 
And  sedulous  to  stop  the  coming  tide, 
Lift  the  tall  rampire's  artificial  pride. 
Onward,  methinks,  and  diligently  slow 
The  firm  connected  bulwark  seems  to  grow  ; 
Spreads  its  long  arms  amidst  the  watery  roar. 
Scoops  out  an  empire  and  usurps  the  shore." 

9.  That  part  of  the  Alps  in  which  the 
Brenta  rises. 

29.  The  reading  la  mia  seems  pre- 
ferable to  la  inano,  and  is  justified  by 
line  45. 

30.  Brunette  Latini,  Dante's  friend 
and  teacher.  Villani  thus  speaks  of 
him,  Cronka,  VIII.  10  :  "  In  this  year 
1294  died  in  Florence  a  worthy  citizen, 
whose  name  was  Sir  Brunetto  Latini, 
who  was  a  great  philosopher  and  per- 
fect master  of  rhetoric,  both  in  speaking 
and  in  writing.  He  commented  the 
Rhetoric  of  Tully,  and  made  the  good 
and  useful  book  called  the  Tesoro,  and 
the  Tesoretto,  and  the  Keys  of  the  Tesoro, 
and  many  other  books  of  philosophy, 
and  of  vices  and  of  virtues,  and  he  was 
Secretary  of  our  Commune.  He  was  a 
worldly  man,  but  we  have  made  men- 
tion of  him  because  he  was  the  first 
master  in  refining  the  Florentines,  and  in 
teaching  them  how  to  speak  correctly, 
and  how  to  guide  and  govern  our  Re- 
public on  political  principles." 

Boccaccio,  Comento,  speaks  of  him 
thus :  "  This  Ser  Brunetto  Latini  was 
a  Florentine,  and  a  very  able  man  in 
some  of  the  liberal  arts,  and  in  phi- 
losophy ;  but  his  principal  calling  was 
that  of  Notary ;  and  he  held  himself 
and  his  calling  in  such  great  esteem, 
that,  having  made  a  mistake  in  a  con- 
tract drawn  up  by  him,  and  having 
been  in  consequence  accused  of  fraud, 
he  preferred  to  be  condemned  for  it 
rather  than  to  confess  that  he  had  made 
a  mistake  ;  and  afterwards  he  quitted 
Florence  in  disdain,  and  leaving  in 
memory  of  himself  a  book  composed 
by  him,  called  the  Tesoretto,  he  went 
to  Paris  and  lived  there  a  long  time, 
and  composed  a  book  there  which  is 
in  French,  and  in  which  he  treats  of 
many  matters  regarding  the  liberal  arts, 
and  moral  and  natural  philosophy,  and 
metaphysics,   which   he  called  the    Te- 


>54 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


wro  ;  and  finally,  I  believe,  he  died  in 
Paris." 

He  also  wrote  a  short  poem,  called 
the  Favoletto,  and  perhaps  the  Pataffio, 
a  satirical  poem  in  the  Florentine  dia- 
lect, "  a  jargon,"  says  Nardini,  "which 
cannot  be  understood  even  with  a  com- 
mentary." But  his  fame  rests  upon  the 
J'tsoretto  and  the  Tesoro,  and  more  than 
ail  upon  the  fact  that  he  was  Dante's 
teacher,  and  was  put  by  him  into  a  very 
disreputable  place  in  the  Inferno.  He 
died  in  Florence,  not  in  Paris,  as  Boc- 
caccio supposes,  and  was  buried  in 
Santa  Maria  Novella,  where  his  tomb 
still  exists.  It  is  strange  that  Boccaccio 
should  not  have  known  this,  as  it  was 
In  this  church  that  the  "  seven  young 
gentlewomen  "  of  his  Decameron  met 
"  on  a  Tuesday  morning,"  and  resolved 
to  go  together  into  the  country,  where 
they  "  might  hear  the  birds  sing,  and  see 
the  verdure  of  the  hills  and  plains,  and 
the  fields  full  of  grain  undulating  like 
the  sea." 

The  poem  of  the  Tesoretto,  written 
in  a  jingling  metre,  which  reminds  one 
of  the  V  isioii  of  Piers  Ploughman,  is  it- 
self a  Vision,  witVi  the  customary  alle- 
gorical personages  of  the  Virtues  and 
Vices.  Ser  Bnmetto,  returning  from 
an  embassy  to  King  Alphonso  of  Spain, 
meets  on  the  plain  of  Roncesvalles  a 
student  of  Bologna,  riding  on  a  bay 
mule,  who  informs  him  that  the  Guelfs 
have  been  banished  from  Florence. 
Whereupon  Ser  Brunetto,  plunged  in 
meditation  and  sorrow,  loses  the  high- 
road and  wanders  in  a  wondrous  forest. 
Here  he  discovers  the  august  and  gi- 
gantic figure  of  Nature,  who  relates  to 
him  the  creation  of  the  world,  and  gives 
him  a  banner  to  protect  him  on  his 
pilgrimage  through  the  forest,  in  which 
he  meets -with  no  adventures,  but  with  the 
Virtues  and  Vices,  Philosophy,  Fortune, 
Ovid,  and  the  God  of  Love,  and  sundry 
other  characters,  which  are  sung  at  large 
through  eight  or  t  n  chapters.  He  then 
emerges  from  the  forest,  and  confesses 
himself  to  the  monks  of  Montpiellier  ; 
after  which  he  goes  back  into  the  forest 
again,  and  suddenly  finds  himself  on  the 
summit  of  Olympus  ;  and  the  poem  ab- 
ruptly leaves  him  discoursing  about  the 
elements  with  Ptolemy, 


"  Mastro  di  storlomia 
£  di  iilosofia." 

It  has  been  supposed  by  some  com- 
mentators that  Dante  was  indebted  to 
the  Tesoretto  for  the  first  idea  of  the 
Commedia.  "  If  any  one  is  pleased  to 
imagine  this,"  says  the  Abbate  Zannoni 
in  the  Preface  to  his  edition  of  the 
Tesoretto,  (Florence,  1824,)  "he  must 
confess  that  a  slight  and  almost  invisible 
spark  served  to  kindle  a  vast  conflagra- 
tion." 

The  Tesoro,  which  is  written  in 
French,  is  a  much  more  ponderous  and 
pretentious  volume.  Hitherto  it  has 
been  known  only  in  manuscript,  or  in 
the  Italian  translation  of  Giamboni,  but 
at  length  appears  as  one  of  the  volumes 
of  the  Collection  de  Documents  Inidits 
siir  r Histoire  de  France,  under  the  title 
of  Li  Livres  doii  Tresor,  edited  by  P. 
Chabaille,  Paris,  1863  ;  a  stately  quarto 
of  some  seven  hundred  pages,  which  it 
would  assuage  the  fiery  torment  of  Ser 
Brunetto  to  look  upon,  and  justify  him 
in  saying 

"  Commended  unto  thee  be  my  Tesoro, 
In  which  I  still  live,  and  no  more  I  ask." 

The  work  is  quaint  and  curious,  but 
mainly  interesting  as  being  written  by 
Dante's  schoolmaster,  and  showing  what 
he  knew  and  what  he  taught  his  pupil. 
I  cannot  better  describe  it  than  in  the 
author's  own  words.  Book  I.  ch.  I  :— 

"  The  smallest  part  of  this  Treasure 
is  like  unto  ready  money,  to  be  ex- 
pended daily  in  things  needful  ;  that  is, 
it  treats  of  the  beginning  of  time,  of 
the  antiquity  of  old  histories,  of  the 
creation  of  the  world,  and  in  fine  of 
the  nature  of  all  things 

"  The  second  part,  which  treats  of 
the  vices  and  virtues,  is  of  precious 
stones,  which  give  unto  man  delight 
and  virtue  ;  that  is  to  say,  what  things 
a  man  should  do,  and  what  he  should 
not,  and  shows  the  reason  why 

"  The  third  part  of  the  Treasure  is 
of  fine  gold  ;  that  is  to  say,  it  teaches  a 
man  to  speak  according  to  the  rules  of 
rhetoric,  and  how  a  ruler  ought  ta 
govern  those  beneath  him 

"  And  I  say  not  that  this  book  is  ex- 
tracted from  my  own  poor  sense  and  mj 
own  naked  knowledge,  but,  on  the  ooi> 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


155 


trary,  it  is  like  a  honeycomb  gathered 
from  diverse  flowers ;  for  this  book  is 
wholly  compiled  from  the  wonderful 
sayings  of  the  authors  who  before  our 
time  have  treated  of  philosophy,  each 
one  according  to  his  knowledge 

"  And  if  any  one  should  ask  why 
this  book  is  written  in  Romance,  ac- 
cording to  the  language  of  the  French, 
since  we  are  Italian,  I  should  say  it  is 
for  two  reasons  ;  one,  because  we  are 
in  France,  and  the  other,  because  this 
speech  is  more  delectable,  and  more 
common  to  all  people. " 

62.  "  Afterwards,"  sayS  Brunetto 
Latini,  Tresor,  Book  I.  Ft.  I.  ch.  37, 
"  the  Romans  besieged  Fiesole,  till  at 
last  they  conquered  it  and  brought  it 
into  subjection.  Then  they  built  upon 
the  plain,  which  is  at  the  foot  of  the 
high  rocks  on  which  that  city  stood, 
another  city,  that  is  now  called  Florence. 
And  know  that  the  spot  of  ground 
where  Florence  stands  was  formerly 
called  the  House  of  Mars,  that  is  to  say 
the  House  of  War;  for  Mars,  who  is 
one  of  the  seven  planets,  is  called  the 
God  of  War,  and  as  such  was  wor- 
shipped of  old.  Therefore  it  is  no  won- 
der that  the  Florentines  are  always  in 
war  and  in  discord,  for  that  planet  reigns 
over  them.  Of  this  Master  Brunez 
Latins  ought  to  know  the  truth,  for  he 
\\  as  bom  there,  and  was  in  exile  on  ac- 
count of  war  with  the  Florentines,  when 
he  composed  this  book. " 

See  also  Villani,  I.  38,  who  assigns 
a  different  reason  for  the  Florentine  dis- 
sensions, "And  observe,  that  if  the 
Florentines  are  always  in  war  and  dis- 
sension among  themselves  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at,  they  being  descended  from 
two  nations  so  contrary  and  hostile  and 
different  in  customs,  as  were  the  noble 
and  virtuous  Romans  and  the  rude  and 
warlike  fiesolans." 

Again,  IV.  7,  he  attributes  the  Flor- 
entine dissensions  to  both  the  above- 
mentioned  causes. 

67.  Villani,  IV.  31,  tells  the  story  of 
certain  columns  of  porphyry  given  by 
the  Pisans  to  the  Florentines  for  guard- 
ing their  city  while  the  Pisan  army  had 
gone  to  the  conquest  of  Majorca.  The 
columns  were  cracked  by  fire,  but  being 
covered  with  crimson  cloth,  the  Floren- 


tines did  not  perceive  it.  Boccaccio  re- 
peats the  story  with  variations,  but  does 
not  think  it  a  sufficient  reason  for  calling 
the  Florentines  blind,  and  confesses  that 
he  does  not  know  what  reason  there  can 
be  for  so  calling  them. 

89.  The  "other  text"  is  the  predic- 
tion of  his  banishment,  Canto  X.  81,  and 
the  lady  is  Beatrice. 

96.  Boileau,  Epitre,  V.  : — 

"  QuTl  son  gr^  d^sormais  la  fortune  me  joue. 
On  me  verra  dormir  au  branle  de  sa  roue." 

And  Tennyson's  song  of  "Fortune 
and  her  Wheel  "  : — 

"  Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  and  lower  the 

proud  ; 
Turn  thy  wild  wheel  thro'  suRshine,  storm, 

and  cloud  ; 
Thy  wheel  and  thee  we  neither  love  nor  hate. 

"  Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  with  smile  01 
frown  ; 
With  that  wild  wheel  we  go  not  up  or  down  ; 
Our  hoard  is  little,  but  our  hearts  are  great. 

"  Smile  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  many  lands  ; 
Frown  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  Our  own 

hands ; 
For  man  is  man  and  master  of  his  fate. 

"  Turn,  turn  thy  wheel  above  the  staring  crowd  ; 
Thy  wheel  and  thou  are  shadows  in  the  clo\id  ; 
Thy  wheel  and  thee  we  neither  love  nor  ha^e." 

109.  Priscian,  the  grammarian  of 
Constantinople  in  the  sixth  century. 

no.  Francesco  d'Accorso,  a  distin- 
guished jurist  and  Professor  at  Bologna 
in  the  thirteenth  century,  celebrated  for 
his  Commentary  upon  the  Code  Jus- 
tinian. 

113.  Andrea  de'  Mozzi,  Bishop  of 
Florence,  transferred  by  the  Pope,  the 
"  Servant  of  Servants,"  to  Vicenza;  the 
two  cities  being  here  designated  by  the 
rivers  on  which  they  are  respectively 
situated. 

119.  See  Note  3a 

122.  The  Corsa  del  Pallio,  or  foot 
races,  at  Verona;  in  which  a  green 
mantle  or  Pallio,  was  the  prize.  But- 
tura  says  that  these  foot-races  are  still 
continued  (1823),  and  that  he  has  seen 
them  more  than  once  ;  but  certainly  not 
in  the  nude  state  in  which  Boccaccio 
describes  them,  and  which  renders 
Dante's  comparison  more  complete  and 
striking. 


fsfi 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


CANTO  XVI. 

I.  In  this  Canto  the  subject  of  the 
preceding  is  continued. 

4.  Guidoguerra,  Tegghiajo  Aklo- 
brandi,  and  Jacopo  Rusticucci. 

37.  The  good  Gilaldrada  was  a 
(laughter  of  Bellincion  Berti,  the  sim- 
ple citizen  of  P'lorence  in  the  olden 
time,  who  used  to  walk  the  streets 
"begirt  with  bone  and  leather,"  as 
mentioned  in  the  Faradiso,  XV.  1 12. 
Villani,  I.  37,  reports  a  story  of  her 
with  all  the  brevity  of  a  chronicler. 
Boccaccio  tells  the  same  story,  as  if  he 
were  writing  a  page  of  the  Deca- 
meron. In  his  version  it  runs  as  fol- 
lows. 

"The  Emperor  Otho  IV.,  being  by 
chance  in  Florence  and  having  gone  to 
the  festival  of  St.  John,  to  make  it 
more  gay  with  his  presence,  it  hap- 
pened that  to  the  church  with  the  other 
city  dames,  as  our  custom  is,  came  the 
wife  of  Messer  Berto,  and  brought  with 
her  a  daughter  of  hers  called  Gualdrada, 
who  was  still  unmarried.  And  as  they 
sat  there  with  the  others,  the  maiden 
being  beautiful  in  face  and  figure,  nearly 
all  present  turned  round  to  look  at  her, 
and  among  the  rest  the  Emperor.  And 
having  much  commended  her  beauty 
and  manners,  he  asked  Messer  Berto, 
who  was  near  him,  who  she  was.  To 
which  Messer  Berto  smilingly  answered  : 
'  She  is  the  daughter  of  one  who,  I  dare 
say,  would  let  you  kiss  her  if  you 
wished.'  These  words  the  young  lady 
heard,  being  near  the  speaker ;  and 
somewhat  troubled  by  the  opinion  her 
father  seemed  to  have  of  her,  that,  if  he 
wished  it,  she  would  suffer  herself  to  be 
kissed  by  any  one  in  this  free  way,  ris- 
ing, and  looking  a  moment  at  her  father, 
and  blushing  with  shame,  said:  'Father, 
do  not  make  such  courteous  promises  at 
Ihe  expense  of  my  modesty,  for  certainly, 
unless  by  violence,  no  one  shall  ever  kiss 
me,  except  him  whom  you  shall  give  me 
us  my  husband.'  The  Emperor,  on 
hearing  this,  much  commended  the 
words  and  the  young  lady.  ....  And 
calling  forward  a  noble  youth  named 
Guide  Beisangue,  who  was  afterwards 
ealled  Guido  the  I'^lder,  who  as  yet  had 
no  wife,  he  insisted   upon   his  marrying 


her ;  and  gave  him  as  her  dowry  a  large 
territory  in  Cassentino  and  the  Alps,  and 
made  him  Count  thereof." 

Ampere  says  in  his  Voyage  Dantesque, 
page  242 :  "  Near  the  battle-field  ol 
Campaldino  stands  the  little  town  of 
Poppi,  whose  castle  was  built  in  1230 
by  the  father  of  the  Aniolfo  who  built 
some  years  later  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  of 
Florence.  In  this  castle  is  still  shown 
the  bedroom  of  the  beautiful  and  modest 
Gualdrada." 

Francesco  Sansovino,  an  Italian  nov- 
elist of  the  sixteenth  century,  has  made 
Gualdrada  the  heroine  of  one  of  his  tales, 
but  has  strangely  perverted  the  old  tra- 
dition. His  story  may  be  found  in 
Roscoe's  Italian  Novelists,  III.  p.  107. 

41.  Tegghiajo  Aldobrandi  was  a  dis- 
tinguished citizen  of  Florence,  and  op- 
posed what  Malespini  calls  "the  ill 
counsel  of  the  people,"  that  war  should 
be  declared  against  the  Sienese,  which 
war  resulted  in  the  battle  of  Monte 
Aperto  and  the  defeat  of  the  Floren- 
tines. 

44.  Jacopo  Rusticucci  was  a  rich 
Florentine  gentleman,  whose  chief  mis- 
fortune seems  to  have  been  an  ill-as- 
sorted marriage.  Whereupon  the  ami- 
able Boccaccio  in  his  usual  Decameron 
style  remarks:  "Men  ought  not  then  to 
be  over- hasty  in  getting  married  ;  on  thn 
contrary,  they  should  come  to  it  with 
much  precaution."  And  then  he  in- 
dulges in  five  octavo  pages  against 
matrimony  and  woman  in  general. 

45.  See  Macchiavelli's  story  oi  Bel- 
fagor,  wherein  Minos  and  Rhadaman- 
thus,  and  the  rest  of  the  infernal  judges, 
are  greatly  surprised  to  hear  an  infinite 
number  of  condemned  souls  "  lament 
nothing  so  bitterly  as  their  folly  in  ha^  - 
ing  taken  wives,  attributing  to  them  th"* 
whole  of  their  misfortune. " 

70.  Boccaccio,  in  his  Comento,  speak ; 
of  Guglielmo  Borsiere  as  "  a  oourteou; 
gentleman  of  good  breeding  and  excel- 
lent manners  ;  and  in  the  Decameron, 
Gior.  I.  Nov.  8,  tells  of  a  sharp  rebuke 
administered  by  him  to  Messer  Ermino 
de'  Grimaldi,  a  miser  of  Genoa. 

"It  came  to  pass  that,  whilst  by 
spending  nothing  he  went  on  accumu- 
lating wealth,  there  came  to  Genoa  a 
well-bred    and    witty  gentleman    called 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


m 


Gulielmo  Borsiere,  one  nothing  like  the 
courtiers  of  the  present  day  ;  who,  to 
the  great  reproach  of  the  debauched  dis- 
positions of  such  as  would  now  be  re- 
puted fine  gentlemen,  should  more  pro- 
perly style  themselves  asses,  brought  up 
amidst  the  filthiness  and  sink  of  man- 
kind, rather  than  in  courts 

"  This  Gulielmo,  whom  I  before  men- 
tioned, was  much  visited  and  respected 
by  the  better  sort  of  people  at  Genoa  ; 
when  having  made  some  stay  here,  and 
hearing  much  talk  of  Ermino's  sordid- 
ness,  he  became  desirous  of  seeing  him. 
Now  Ermino  had  been  informed  of  Gu- 
lielmo's  worthy  character,  and  having, 
however  covetous  he  was,  some  small 
sparks  of  gentility,  he  received  him  in  a 
courteous  manner,  and,  entering  into 
discourse  together,  he  took  him,  and 
some  Genoese  who  came  along  with  him, 
to  see  a  fine  house  which  he  had  lately 
built ;  and  when  he  had  shown  every 
part  of  it,  he  said  :  '  Pray,  sir,  can  you, 
who  have  heard  and  seen  so  much,  tell 
me  of  something  that  was  never  yet  seen, 
to  have  painted  in  my  hall  ? '  To  whom 
Gulielmo,  hearing  him  speak  so  simply, 
replied  :  '  Sir,  I  can  tell  you  of  nothing 
which  has  never  yet  been  seen,  that  I 
know  of;  unless  it  be  sneezing,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort ;  but  if  you  please,  I 
can  tell  you  of  a  thing  which,  I  believe, 
you  never  saw.'  Said  Ermino  (little 
expecting  such  an  answer  as  he  received), 
'  I  beg  you  would  let  me  know  what 
that  is.'  Gulielmo  immediately  replied, 
•  Paint  Liberality.'  When  Ermino  heard 
this,  such  a  sudden  shame  seized  him,  as 
quite  changed  his  temper  from  what  it 
had  hitherto  been  ;  and  he  said :  '  Sir, 
I  will  have  her  painted  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  neither  you,  nor  any  one  else, 
shall  be  able  to  say,  hereafter,  that  I  am 
unacquainted  with  her.'  And  from  that 
time  such  effect  had  Gulielmo's  words 
uj)on  him,  he  became  the  most  liberal 
and  courteous  gentleman,  and  was  the 
most  respeqted,  both  by  strangers  and 
his  own  citizens,  of  any  in  Genoa. " 

95.  Monte  Veso  is  among  the  Alps, 
between  Piedmont  and  Savoy,  where 
the  Po  takes  its  rise.  From  this  point 
eastward  to  the  Adriatic,  all  the  rivers 
on  the  left  or  northern  slope  of  the 
Apennines  are  tributaries    to  the   Po, 


until  we  come  to  the  Montone,  which 
above  Forli  is  called  Acquacheta.  This 
is  the  first  which  flows  directly  into  the 
Adriatic,  and  not  into  the  Po.  At  least 
it  was  so  in  Dante's  time.  Now,  by 
some  change  in  its  course,  the  Lamone, 
farther  north,  has  opened  itself  a  new 
outlet,  and  is  the  first  to  make  its  own 
way  to  the  Adriatic.  See  Barlow,  Con- 
tributions to  the  Study  of  the  Divine  Co- 
medy, p.  131.  This  comparison  shows 
the  delight  which  Dante  took  in  the 
study  of  physical  geography.  To  reach 
the  waterfall  of  Acquacheta  he  traverses 
in  thought  the  entire  valley  of  the  Po, 
stretching  across  the  whole  of  Northern 
Italy. 

102.  Boccaccio's  interpretation  of 
this  line,  which  has  been  adopted  by 
most  of  the  commentators  since  his  time, 
is  as  follows  :  "  I  was  for  a  long  time 
in  doubt  concerning  the  author's  mean- 
ing in  this  line  ;  but  being  by  chance  at 
this  monastery  of  San  Benedetto,  in 
company  with  the  abbot,  he  told  me 
that  there  had  once  been  a  discussion 
among  the  Counts  who  owned  the 
mountain,  about  building  a  village  near 
the  waterfall,  as  a  convenient  place  for 
a  settlement,  and  bringing  into  it  their 
vassals  scattered  on  neighbouring  farms ; 
but  the  leader  of  the  project  dying,  it 
was  not  carried  into  effect ;  and  that  is 
what  the  author  says,  Oz^e  dovea  per  mille, 
that  is,  for  many,  esser  ricetto,  that  is, 
home  and  habitation." 

Doubtless  grammatically  the  words 
will  bear  this  meaning.  But  evidently 
the  idea  in  the  author's  mind,  and  which 
he  wished  to  impress  upon  the  reader's, 
was  that  of  a  waterfall  plunging  at  a 
single  leap  down  a  high  precipice.  To 
this  idea,  the  suggestion  of  buildings 
and  inhabitants  is  wholly  foreign,  and 
adds  neither  force  nor  clearness.  Where- 
as, to  say  that  the  river  plunged  at  one 
bound  over  a  precipice  higli  enough  for 
a  thousand  cascades,  presents  at  once  a 
vivid  picture  to  the  imagination,  and  I 
have  interpreted  the  line  accordingly, 
making  the  contrast  between  una  scesa 
and  mille.  It  should  not  be  foi^otten 
that,  while  some  editions  read  dtrvea, 
others  read  dovria,  and  even  potria. 

106.  This  cord  has  puzzled  the 
commentators  exceedingly.     Boccaccio^ 


158 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


Volpi,  and  Veiituri  do  not  explain  it. 
The  anonymous  author  of  the  Ottiino, 
Benvenuto  da  Imola,  Buti,  Landino,  Vel- 
lutello,  and  Daniello,  all  think  it  means 
fraud,  which  Dante  had  used  in  the 
pursuit  of  pleasure, — "the  panther  with 
the  painted  skin."  Lombardi  is  of  opi- 
nion that,  "  by  girding  himself  with  the 
Franciscan  cord,  he  had  endeavoured  to 
restrain  his  sensual  appetites,  indicated 
by  the  panther ;  and  still  wearing  the 
cord  as  a  Tertiary  of  the  Order,  he 
makes  it  serve  here  to  deceive  Geiyon, 
and  bring  him  up."  Biagioli  under- 
stands by  it  "  the  humility  with  which 
a  man  should  approach  Science,  because 
it  is  she  that  humbles  the  proud."  Fra- 
ticelli  thinks  it  means  vigilance ;  Tom- 
maseo,  "the  good  faith  with  which  he 
hoped  to  win  the  Florentines,  and  now 
wishes  to  deal  with  their  fraud,  so  that 
it  may  not  harm  him ; "  and  Gabrielli 
Rossetti  says,  ' '  Dante  flattered  himself, 
ajcting  as  a  sincere  Ghibelline,  that  he 
should  meet  with  good  faith  from  his 
Guelf  countrymen,  and  met  instead  with 
horrible  fraud." 

Dante  elsewhere  speaks  of  the  cord  in 
a  good  sense.  In  Purgatorio,  VII.  114, 
Peter  of  Aragon  is  "girt  with  the  cord 
of  every  virtue."  In  Inferno,  XXVII. 
92,  it  is  mortification,  "the  cord  that 
used  to  make  those  girt  with  it  more 
meagre;"  and  in  Paradise,  XI.  87,  it 
is  humility,  "that  family  which  had 
already  girt  the  humble  cord. " 

It  will  be  remembered  that  St.  Fran- 
cis, the  founder  of  the  Cordeliers  (the 
wearers  of  the  cord),  used  to  call  his 
body  asino,  or  ass,  and  to  subdue  it  with 
the  capestro,  or  halter.  Thus  the  cord 
is  made  to  symbolise  the  subjugation  of 
the  animal  nature.  This  renders  Lom- 
bardi's  interpretation  the  most  intelli- 
gible and  satisfactory,  though  Virgil 
seems  to  have  thrown  the  cord  into 
the  abyss  simply  because  he  had  nothing 
else  to  throw,  and  not  with  the  design 
of  deceiving. 

112.  As  a  man  does  naturally  in  the 
act  of  throwing. 

131.  That  Geryon,  seeing  the  cord, 
ascends,  expecting  to  find  some  nioine 
difroqui,  and  carry  him  down,  as  Lom- 
bardi suggests,  is  hardly  admissible ;  for 
that  was  not  his  office.    The  spirits  were 


hurled  down  to  their  appointed  places, 
as  soon  as  Minos  doomed  them.  In- 
ferno, V.  15. 

132.     Even  to  a  steadfast  heart. 


CANTO  XVII. 

I.  In  this  Canto  is  described  the 
punishment  of  Usurers,  as  sinners 
against  Nature  and  Art  See  Inf.  XI. 
109  : — 

"  And  since  the  usurer  takes  another  way. 
Nature  herself  and  in  her  follower 
Disdains  he,  for  elsewhere  he  puts  his  hope." 

The  monster  Geryon,  here  used  as 
the  symbol  of  Fraud,  was  born  of  Chry- 
saor  and  Callirrhoe,  and  is  generally 
represented  by  the  poets  as  having  three 
bodies  and  three  heads.  lie  was  in 
ancient  times  King  of  Hesperia  or  Spain, 
living  on  Erytheia,  the  Red  Island  oi 
sunset,  and  was  slain  by  Hercules, 
who  drove  away  his  beautiful  oxen. 
The  nimble  fancy  of  Hawthorne  thus 
depicts  him  in  his  Wonder -Book,  p. 
148:— 

"  But  was  it  really  and  truly  an  old 
man  ?  Certainly  at  first  sight  it  looked 
very  like  one  ;  but,  on  closer  inspection, 
it  rather  seemed  to  be  some  kiml  of  a 
creature  that  lived  in  the  sea.  For  on 
his  legs  and  arms  there  were  scales,  such 
as  fishes  have  ;  he  was  web-footed  and 
web-fingered,  after  the  fashion  of  a  duck; 
and  his  long  beard,  being  of  a  greenish 
tinge,  had  more  the  appearance  of  a 
tuft  of  sea- weed  than  of  an  ordinary 
beard.  Have  you  never  seen  a  stick  of 
timber,  that  has  been  long  tossed  about 
by  the  waves,  and  has  got  all  oveigrown 
with  barnacles,  and  at  last,  drifting 
ashore,  seems  to  have  been  thrown  up 
from  the  very  deepest  bottom  of  the  sea  ? 
Well,  the  old  man  would  have  put  you  in 
mind  of  just  such  a  wave-tost  spar." 

The  three  bodies  and  three  heads, 
which  old  poetic  fable  has'  given  to  the 
monster  Geryon,  are  interpreted  by 
modern  prose  as  meaning  the  three 
Balearic  Islands,  Majorca,  Minorca,  and 
Ivica,  over  which  he  reigned. 

ID.  Ariosto,  Orlando  Fnrioso,  XIV. 
87,  Rose's  Tr.,  thus  depicts  Fraud : — 


A/OTES   TO  INFERNO. 


>59 


"  With  pleasing  mien,  grave  walk,  and  decent 
vest, 
Fraud  rolled  her  eyeballs  humbly  in  her  head  ; 
And  such  benign  and  modest  speech  possest. 
She  might  a  Gabriel  seem  who  Ati  said. 
Foul  was  she  and  deformed  in  all  the  rest ; 
But  with  a  mantle,  long  and  widely  spread. 
Concealed  her  hideous  parts ;  and  evermore 
Beneath  the  stole  a  poisoned  dagger  wore." 

The  Gabriel  saying  Avi:  is  from  Dante, 
Purgatory,  X.  40  : — ^ 

"One  would   have  sworn  that   he  was  saying 
Ave." 

17.  Tartars  nor  Turks,  "who  are 
most  perfect  masters  therein,"  says  Boc- 
caccio, "  as  we  can  clearly,  see  in  Tar- 
tarian cloths,  which  truly  are  so  skil- 
fully woven,  that  no  painter  with  his 
brush  could  equal,  much  less  surpass 
them.  The  Tartars  are  .  .  .  ."  And 
with  this  unfinished  sentence  close  the 
Lectures  upon  Dante,  begun  by  Giovanni 
Boccaccio  on  Sunday,  August  9,  1373, 
in  the  church  of  San  Stefano,  in  Flo- 
rence. That  there  were  some  critics 
among  his  audience  is  apparent  from 
this  sonnet,  which  he  addressed  "  to  one 
who  had  censured  his  public  Exposition 
of  Dante."  See  D.  G.  Rosetti,  Early 
Italian  Poets,  p.  447  : — 

"  If  Dante  mourns,  there  wheresoe'er  he  be. 
That  such  high  fancies  of  a  soul  so  proud 
Should  be  laid  open  to  the  vulgar  crowd, 
(As,   touching    my  Discourse,    I'm    told    by 
theej) 

This  were  my  grievous  pain  ;  and  certainly 
My  proper  blame  should  not  be  disavowed  ; 
Though  hereof  somewhat,  I  declare  aloud. 
Were  due  to  others,  not  alone  to  me. 

False  hopes,  true  poverty,  and  therewithal 
Thi  blinded  judgment  of  a  host  of  friends, 
And  their  entreaties,  made  that  I  did  thus. 

^ut  of  all  this  there  is  no  gain  at  all 
Unto  the  thankless  souls  with  whose  base  ends 
Nothing  agrees  that's  great  or  generous." 

18.  Ovid,  Metamorph.  VI.  :— 

"  One  at  the  loom  so  excellently  skilled 
That  to  the  Goddess  she  refused  to  yield. " 

57.  Their  love  of  gold  stili  haunting 
them  in  the  other  world. 

59.  The  arms  of  the  Gianfigliacci  of 
Florence. 

63.  The  arms  of  the  Ubbriachi  of 
Florence. 

64.  The  Scrovigni  of  Padua. 

68.     Vitaliano  del  Dente  of  Padua. 
73.     Giovarmi  Bujamonte,  who  seems 
\o  have  had  the  ill  repute  of  being  the 


greatest  usurer  of  his  day,  called  here 
in  irony  "the  sovereign  cavalier." 

74.  As  the  ass-driver  did  in  the 
streets  of  Florence,  when  Dante  beat 
him  for  singing  his  verses  amiss.  See 
Sacchetti,  Nov.  CXV. 

78.  Dante  makes  as  short  work  with 
these  usurers  as  if  he  had  been  a  curious 
traveller  walking  through  the  Ghetto  of 
Rome,  or  the  Judengasse  of  Frankfort. 

107.  Ovid,  Metamorph.  II.,  Addi- 
son's Tr.  : — 

"  Half  dead  with   sudden   fear  he  dropt   tht 

reins ; 
The  horses  felt  "en;  loose  upon  their  manes. 
And,  flying  out  through  all  the  plains  above. 
Ran  uncontrolled  where'er  their  fury  drove  ; 
Rushed  on  the  stars,  and  through  a  pathles.^ 

way 
Of  unknown  regions  hurried  on  the  day. 
And  now  above,  and  now  below  they  flew. 
And  near  the  earth  the  burning  chariot  drew. 


At  once  from  life  and  from  the  chariot  driv'n, 
I'h'  ambitious   boy  fell   thunder-struck   from 

hcav'n. 
The  horses  started  with  a  sudden  bound. 
And  flung  the  reins  and  chariot  to  the  ground: 
The  studded   harness  from   their   necks  th-y 

broke. 
Here  fell  a  wheel,  and  here  a  silver  spoke. 
Here  were  the  beam  and  axle  torn  away  ; 
And,  scatter'd  o'er  the  earth,  the  shining  frag- 
ments lay. 
The  breathless  Phaeton,  with  flaming  hair, 
Shot  from  the  chariot,  like  a  falling  star. 
That  in  a  summer's  ev'ning  from  the  top 
Of  heav'n  drops  down,  or  seems  at  least  to 

drop: 
Till  on  the  Po  his  blasted  corpse  was  hurled. 
Far  from  his  country,  in  the  Western  World." 

108.  The  Milky  Way.  In  Spanish 
El  camino  de  Santiago ;  in  the  Northern 
Mythology  the  pathway  of  the  ghosts 
going  to  Valhalla. 

109.  Ovid,  Metamorph.  VIII.,  Crox- 
all's  Tr.  :— 

"  The  soft'ning  wax,  that  felt  a  nearer  sun, 
Dissolv'd  apace,  and  soon  began  to  rtin. 
The  youth  in  vain  his  melting  pinions  shakes. 
His  feathers  gone,  no  longer  air  he  takes 
O  father,  father,  as  he  strove  to  cry, 
Down  to  the  sea  he  tumbled  from  on  high. 
And  found  his  fate :  yet  still  subsists  by  fame^ 
Among  those  waters  that  retain  his  name. 
The  father,  now  no  more  a  father!  cries. 
Ho,  Icarus  !  where  are  you  ?  as  he  flies  : 
Where  shall  I  "seek  my  boy  ?  he  cries  again. 
And  saw  his  feathers  scattered  on  the  main." 

136.     L\ican,  Pharsal.  I.  : — 

"  To  him  the  Balearic  sling  is  slow. 

And  the  shaft  loiters  fion:  the  Parthian  bo'.A" 


i6o 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


CANTO  XVIII. 

1.  Here  begins  the  third  division  of 
the  Inferno,  embracing  the  Eighth  and 
Ninth  Circles,  in  which  the  Fraudulent 
are  punished. 

"  But  because  fraud  is  man's  peculiar  vice 

More  it  displeases  God  ;  and  so  stand  lowest 
The  fraudulent,   and   greater    dole   assails 
them." 

The  Eighth  Circle  is  called  Male- 
bolge,  or  Evil-budgets,  and  consists  of 
ten  concentric  ditches,  or  Bolge,  of 
stone,  with  dikes  between,  and  rough 
bridges  running  across  them  to  the 
centre  like  the  spokes  of  a  wheel. 

In  the  First  Bolgia  are  punished  Se- 
ducers, and  in  the  second  Flatterers. 

2.  Mr.  Ruskin,  Modern  Painters,  III. 
p.  237,  says  : — 

"  Our  slates  and  granites  are  often 
of  very  lovely  colours ;  but  the  Apen- 
nine  limestone  is  so  gray  and  toneless, 
that  I  know  not  any  mountain  dis- 
trict so  utterly  melancholy  as  those 
which  are  composed  of  this  rock,  when 
tmwooded.  Now,  as  far  as  I  can  disco- 
ver from  the  internal  evidence  in  his 
poem,  nearly  all  Dante's  mountain  wan- 
derings had  been  upon  this  ground.  He 
had  journeyed  once  or  twice  among  the 
Alps,  indeed,  but  seems  to  have  been 
impressed  chiefly  by  the  road  from  Garda 
to  Trent,  and  that  along  the  Cornice, 
1)0th  of  which  are  either  upon  those 
limestones,  of  a  dark  serpentine,  which 
shows  hardly  any  colour  till  it  is  po- 
lished. It  is  not  ascertainable  that  he 
had  ever  seen  rock  scenery  of  the  finely 
coloured  kind,  aided  by  the  Alpine 
mosses  :  I  do  not  know  the  fall  at  Forli 
{Inferno^  XVI.  99),  but  every  other 
scene  to  which  he  alludes  is  among 
these  Apennine  limestones  ;  and  when 
he  wishes  to  give  the  idea  of  enormous 
mountain  size  he  names  Tabernicch  and 
Pietra-pana, — the  one  clearly  chosen 
only  for  the  sake  of  the  last  syllable  of 
its  name,  in  order  to  make  a  sound  as 
of  crackling  ice,  with  the  two  sequent 
rhymes  of  the  stanza, — and  the  other 
is  an  Apennine  near  Lucea. 

"  His  idea,  therefore,  of  rock  colour, 
founded  on  these  experiences,  is  that  of 
a  dull  or  ashen  gray,  more  or  less  stained 
by  the  brown  of  iron  ochie,  precisely  as 


the  Apennine  limestones  nearly  always 
are  ;  the  gray  being  peculiarly  cold  and 
disagreeable.  As  we  go  down  the  very 
hill  which  stretches  out  from  Pietra-pana 
towards  Lucca,  the  stones  laid  by  the 
road-side  to  mend  it  are  of  this  ashen 
gray,  with  efflorescences  of  manganese 
and  iron  in  the  fissures.  The  whole  of 
Malebolge  is  made  of  this  rock,  '  All 
wrought  in  stone  of  iron-coloured  grain.' 

29.  The  year  of  Jubilee  1300.  Mr. 
Norton,  in  his  Notes  of  Travel  and  Study 
in  Italy,  p.  255,  thus  describes  it  :  — 

"The  beginning  of  the  new  century 
brought  many  pilgrims  to  the  Papal 
city,  and  the  Pope,  seeing  to  what 
account  the  treasury  of  indulgences  pos- 
sessed by  the  Church  might  now  be 
turned,  hit  upon  the  plan  of  promising 
plenary  indulgence  to  all  who,  during 
the  year,  should  visit  with  fit  dispositions 
the  holy  places  of  Rome.  He,  accord- 
ingly, in  the  most  solemn  manner,  pro- 
claimed a  year  of  Jubilee,  to  date  from 
the  Christmas  of  1299,  and  appointed  a 
similar  celebration  for  each  hundredth 
year  thereafter.  The  report  of  the  mar- 
vellous promise  spread  rapidly  through 
Europe  ;  and,  as  the  year  advanced, 
pilgrims  poured  into  Italy  from  remote 
as  well  as  from  neighbouring  lands 
The  roads  leading  to  Rome  were  dusty 
with  bands  of  travellers  pressing  forward 
to  gain  the  unwonted  indulgence.  The 
Crusades  had  made  travel  familiar  to 
men,  and  a  journey  to  Rome  seemed 
easy  to  those  who  had  dreamed  of  the 
Farther  East,  of  Constantinople,  and 
Jerusalem.  Giovanni  Villani,  who  was 
among  the  pilgrims  from  Florence,  de- 
clares that  there  were  never  less  than 
two  hundred  thousand  strangers  at  Rome 
during  the  year  ;  and  Guglielmo  Ven- 
tura, the  chronicler  of  Asti,  reports  the 
total  number  of  pilgrims  at  not  less  than 
two  millions.  The  picture  which  he 
draws  of  Rome  during  the  Jubilee  is  a 
curious  one.  '  Mirandum  est  quod  pas- 
sim ibant  viri  et  mulieres,  qui  anno  illo 
Noma  fuerunt  quo  ego  ihi  fui  et  per  dies 
XV.  steti.  De  pane,  vino,  carnibus,  pis- 
cibus,  et  avena,  bonum  mercatum  ibi  erat; 
foenum  carissimum  ibi  fuit ;  hospitia  ca- 
rissima  ;  taliter  quod  lectus  mens  et  equi 
viei  super  fittto  et  avena  constabat  mihi 
tornesium  unum  grossum,     Exiens  dt 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


iti 


Noma  in  Vi^iia  Nath'itatis  Christi,  vidi 
tiirbam  magnam,  quam  dinunierare  nemo 
poterat ;  et  fama  erat  inter  Romanos, 
qtwd  ihi  fiiemnt  plusquam  vigenti  centum 
millia  virarnm  et  miilierum.  Pluries  ego 
vidi  ibi  tarn  vivos  quam  mulieres  concul- 
(^atos  sub  pedibus  aliornm  ;  et  etiam  ego- 
met  in  eodem  periailo  plures  vices  evasi. 
Papa  innumerabilem  pecuniam  ab  eisdem 
recepit,  quia  die  ac  nocte  duo  clerici  sta- 
hant  ad  altare  Sancti  Pauli  tenentes  in 
eorum  manibus  rastellos,  rastellantes  pe- 
cuniam infinitam.''  To  accommodate 
the  throng  of  pilgrims,  and  to  protect 
them  as  far  as  possible  from  the  danger 
which  Ventura  feelingly "  describes,  a 
barrier  was  erected  along  the  middle  of 
the  bridge,  under  the  Castle  of  Sant' 
Angelo,  so  that  those  going  to  St. 
Peter's  and  those  coming  from  the 
church,  passing  on  opposite  sides, 
might  not  interfere  with  each  other. 
It  seems  not  unlikely  that  Dante  him- 
self was  one  of  the  crowd  who  thus 
crossed  the  old  bridge,  over  whose 
arches,  during  this  year,  a  flood  of  men 
was  flowing  almost  as  constantly  as  the 
river's  flood  ran  through  below." 

31.  The  castle  is  the  Castle  of  St. 
Angelo,  and  the  mountain  Monte  Gia- 
nicolo.  See  Barlow,  Study  of  Dante,  p. 
126.     Others  say  Monte  Giordano. 

5a  "  This  Caccianimico,"  says  Ben- 
venuto  da  Imola,  "was  a  Bolognese  ; 
a  liberal,  noUe,  pleasant,  and  very 
powerful  man."  Nevertheless,  he  was 
so  utterly  corrupt  as  to  sell  his  sister, 
the  fair  Ghisola,  to  the  Marquis  of  Este. 

51.  In  the  original  the  word  is  salse. 
"  In  Bologna,"  says  Benvenuto  da  Imo- 
la, "  the  name  of  Salse  is  given  to  a 
certain  valley  outside  the  city,  and  near 
to  Santa  Maria  in  Monte,  into  which  the 
mortal  remains  of  desperadoes,  usurers, 
and  other  infamous  persons  are  wont  to 
be  thrown.  Hence  I  have  sometimes 
heard  boys  in  Bologna  say  to  each  other, 
by  way  of  insult,  '  Your  father  was 
thrown  into  the  Salse. ' " 

61.  The  two  rivers  between  which 
Bologna  is  situated.  In  the  Bolognese 
dialect  sipa  is  used  for  si. 

72.  They  cease  going  round  the  cir- 
cles as  heretofore,  and  now  go  straight 
forward  to  the  centre  of  the  abyss. 

86.     For  the  story  of  Jason,  Medea, 


and  the  Golden  Fleece,  see  Ovid,  Me- 
tamorph.  VII.  Also  Chaucer,  Legendt 
of  Goode  Women  : — 

"  Thou  roote  of  fals  loveres,  duke  Jason  I 
Thou  slye  devourer  and  confusyon 
Of  gentil  wommen,  gentil  creatures  !  " 

92.  When  the  women  of  Lemnos 
put  to  death  all  the  male  inhabitants 
of  the  island,  Hypsipyle  concealed  her 
father  Thoas,  and  spared  his  life. 
Apollonius  Rhodius,  Argonautics,  II., 
Fawkes's  Tr.  : — 

"  Hipsipyle  alone,  illustrious  maid, 
Spared    her  sire    Thoas,   who  the   sceptre 
swayed. " 

122.  "Allessio  Interminelli,"  says 
Benvenuto  da  Imola,  "a  soldier,  a  no- 
bleman, and  of  gentle  manners,  was  of 
Lucca,  and  from  him  descended  that 
tyrant  Castruccio  who  filled  all  Tuscany 
with /ear,  and  was  lord  of  Pisa,  Lucca, 
and  Pistoja,  of  whom  Dante  makes  no 
mention,  because  he  became  illustrious 
after  the  author's  death.  Allessio  took 
such  delight  in  flattery,  that  he  could 
not  open  his  mouth  without  flattering. 
He  besmeared  everybody,  even  the  low- 
est menials." 

The  Ottimo  says,  that  in  the  dialect  of 
Lucca,  the  head  "was  facetiously  called 
a  pumpkin." 

133.  Thais,  the  famous  courtesan  of 
Athens.  Terence,  The  Eunuch,  Act 
III.  Sc.  I  :— 

"  Thraso.  Did  Thais  really  return 
me  many  thanks  ? 

"  Gnat  ho.     Exceeding  thanks. 

"  Thraso.  Was  she  delighted,  say 
you? 

"  Gnatho.  Not  so  much,  indeed,  at 
the  present  itself,  as  because  it  was  given 
by  you;  really,  in  right  earnest,  she  does 
exult  at  that." 

136.  "The  filthiness  of  some  pas- 
sages," exclaims  Landor,  Pentameron, 
p.  15,  "  would  disgrace  the  drunkenest 
horse-dealer  ;  and  the  names  of  such 
criminals  are  recorded  by  the  poet,  as 
would  be  forgotten  by  the  hangman  in 
six  months. " 


CANTO  XIX. 

I.  The  Third  Bolgia  is  devoted  to 
the  Simoniacs,  so  called  from  Simon 
Magus,  the  Sorcerer  mentioned  in  Acts 


1 62 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO 


i8.      See  Tar.    XXX.      Note 


viii.    9, 
147. 

Brunette  I>atini  touches  lightly  upon 
them  in  the  Tesordto,  XXI.  259,  on 
account  of  their  high  ecclesiastical  dig- 
nity. His  pupil  is  less  reverential  in 
this  particular. 

"  Altri  per  simonia 

Si  getta  in  mala  via, 
E  Dio  e'  Santi  offende 

E  vende  le  prebende, 
E  Sante  Sagramente, 

E  mette  'nfra  la  gente 
Assempri  di  mal  fare. 

Ma  questo  lascio  stare, 
Che  tocca  a  ta'  persone, 

Che  non  e  mia  ragione 
Di  dime  lungamente." 

Chaucer,  Persones  Tale,  speaks  thus 
of  Simony  : — 

"  Certes  simonie  is  cleped  of  Simon 
Magus,  that  wold  have  bought  for  tem- 
porel  catel  the  yefte  that  God  had  yeven 
by  the  holy  gost  to  Seint  Peter,  and  to 
the  Apostles  :  and  therfore  understond 
ye,  that  both  he  that  selleth  and  he  that 
byeth  thinges  spirituel  ben  called  Simoni- 
ackes,  be  it  by  catel,  be  it  by  procuring, 
or  by  fleshly  praier  of  his  frendes,  fleshly 
frendes,  or  spirituel  frendes,  fleshly  in 
two  maners,  as  by  kindrede  or  other 
frendes :  sothly,  if  they  pray  for  him 
that  is  not  worthy  and  able,  it  is  simonie, 
if  he  take  the  benefice :  and  if  he  be 
worthy  and  able,  ther  is  non." 

5.     Gower,  Confer.  Amant.  I.  : — 

"  A  irompe  with  a  steme  breth. 
Which  was  cleped  the  trompe  of  deth. 

He  shall  this  dredfull  trompe  blowe 
To-fore  his  gate  and  make  it  knowe. 
How  that  the  jugement  is  yive 
Of  deth,  which  shall  nought  be  foryive." 

19.  Lami,  in  his  DelicicB  Eniditorum, 
makes  a  strange  blunder  in  reference  to 
this  passage.  He  says  :  "  Not  long  ago 
the  baptismal  font,  which  stood  in  the 
middle  of  Saint  John's  at  Florence,  was 
removed ;  and  in  the  pavement  may 
still  be  seen  the  octagonal  shape  of  its 
ample  outline.  Dante  says,  that,  when 
a  boy,  he  fell  into  it  and  was  near 
drowning ;  or  rather  he  fell  into  one  of 
the  circular  basins  of  water,  which  sur- 
rounded the  principal  font."  Upon  this 
Arrivabeni,  Comento  Storico,  p.  588, 
where  I  find  this  extract,  remarks :  "Not 


Dante,  but  Lami,  staring  it  the  moon, 
fell  into  the  hole. " 

20.  Dante's  enemies  had  accused 
him  of  committing  this  act  through  im- 
piety. He  takes  this  occasion  to  vindi- 
cate himself 

33.  Probably  an  allusion  to  the  red 
stockings  worn  by  the  Popes. 

50.  Burying  alive  with  the  head 
downward  and  the  feet  in  the  air  was 
the  inhuman  punishment  of  hired  assas- 
sins, "according  to  justice  and  the  mu- 
nicipal law  in  Florence,"  says  the  Ot- 
Hmo.  It  was  called  Propagginare,  to 
plant  in  the  manner  of  vine-stocks. 

Dante  stood  bowed  down  like  the 
confessor  called  back  by  the  criminal 
in  order  to  delay  the  moment  of  his 
death. 

53.  Benedetto  Gaetani,  Pope  Boni- 
face VIII.  Gower,  Conf.  Amant.  II., 
calls  him 

"  Thou  Boneface,  thou  proude  clerke, 
Misleder  of  the  papacie." 

This  is  the  Boniface  who  frightened 
Celestine  from  the  papacy,  and  perse- 
cuted him  to  death  after  his  resignation. 
"  The  lovely  Lady "  is  the  Church. 
The  fraud  was  his  collusion  with  Charles 
II.  of  Naples.  "  He  went  to  King 
Charles  by  night,  secretly,  and  with  few 
attendants,"  says  Villani,  VIII.  ch.  6, 
"  and  said  to  him  :  '  King,  thy  Pope 
Celestine  had  the  will  and  the  power  to 
serve  thee  in  thy  Sicilian  wars,  but  did 
not  know  how  :  but  if  thou  wilt  contrive 
with  thy  friends  the  cardinals  to  have 
me  elected  Pope,  I  shall  know  how,  and 
shall  have  the  will  and  the  power  ; ' 
promising  upon  his  faith  and  oath  to 
aid  him  with  all  the  power  of  the 
Church."  Farther  on  he  continues: 
"He  was  very  magnanimous  and  lordly, 
and  demanded  great  honour,  and  knew 
well  how  to  maintain  and  advance  the 
cause  of  the  Church,  and  on  account  of 
his  knowledge  and  power  was  much 
dreaded  and  feared.  He  was  avaricious 
exceedingly  in  order  to  aggrandize  the 
Church  and  his  relations,  not  being  over- 
scrupulous about  gains,  for  he  said  that 
all  tilings  were  lawful  which  were  of  the 
Church." 

He  was  chosen  Pope  in  1294.  "The 
inauguration  of  Boniface."  says  Milmai^ 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


163 


Latin  Christ.,  Book  IX.,  ch.  7,  "was 
the  most  magnificent  which  Rome  had 
ever  beheld.  In  his  procession  to  St. 
Peter's  and  back  to  the  Lateran  palace, 
where  he  was  entertained,  he  rode  not  a 
humble  ass,  but  a  noble  white  horse, 
richly  caparisoned  :  he  had  a  crown  on 
his  head  ;  the  King  of  Naples  held  the 
bridle  on  one  side,  his  son,  the  King  of 
Hungary,  on  the  other.  The  nobility 
of  Rome,  the  Orsinis,  the  Colonnas,  the 
Savellis,  the  Stefaneschi,  the  Annibaldi, 
who  had  not  only  welcomed  him  to 
Rome,  but  conferred  on  him  the  Sena- 
torial dignity,  followed  in  .a  body  :  the 
procession  could  hardly  force  its  way 
through  the  masses  of  the  kneeling 
people.  In  the  midst,  a  furious  hurri- 
cane burst  over  the  city,  and  extin- 
guished every  lamp  and  torch  in  the 
church.  A  darker  orama  followed :  a 
riot  broke  out  among  the  populace,  in 
which  forty  lives  were  lost.  The  day 
after,  the  Pope  dined  in  pubiic  in  the 
Lateran ;  the  two  Kings  waited  behind 
his  chair." 

Dante  indulges  towards  him  a  fierce 
Ghibelline  hatred,  and  assigns  him  his 
place  of  torment  before  he  is  dead.  In 
Canto  XXVII.  85,  he  calls  him  "the 
Prince  of  the  new  Pharisees;"  and,  after 
many  other  bitter  allusions  in  various 
parts  of  the  poem,  puts  into  the  mouth 
of  St.  Peter,  Par.  XXVII.  22,  the  ter- 
rible invective  that  makes  the  whole 
heavens  red  with  anger. 

"  He  who  usurps  upon  the  earth  my  place, 

My  place,  my  place,  which  vacant  has  be- 
come 
^        Now  in  the  presence  of  the  Son  of  God, 
Has  of  my  cemetery  made  a  sewer 

Of  blood  and  fetor,  whereat  the  Perverse, 
Who  fell    from   here,    below  there  is  ap- 
peased." 

He  died  in  1303.  See  Note  87, 
Purg.  XX. 

70.  Nicholas  III.,  of  the  Orsini  (the 
Bears)  of  Rome,  chosen  Pope  in  1277. 
"  He  was  the  first  Pope,  or  one  of  the 
first,"  says  Villani,  VII.  ch.  54,  "in 
whose  court  simony  was  openly  prac- 
tised." On  account  of  his  many  accom- 
plishments he  was  sumamed  //  Compiuto.  \ 
Milman,  Lat.  Christ.,  Book  XI.  ch.  4, 
says  of  him  :  "At  length  the  election 
fell  on  John  Gaetano,    of   the    noble 


Roman  house,  the  Orsini,  a  man  of  re- 
markable beauty  of  person  and  de- 
meanour. His  name,  '  the  Accom- 
plished,' implied  that  in  him  met  all 
the  graces  of  the  handsomest  clerks  in 
the  world,  but  he  was  a  man  likewise  of 
irreproachable  morals,  of  vast  ambition, 
and  of  great  ability."     He  died  in  1280. 

83.  The  French  Pope  Clement  V., 
elected  in  1305,  by  the  influence  ol 
Philip  the  Fair  of  France,  with  sundry 
humiliating  conditions.  He  transferred 
the  Papal  See  from  Rome  to  Avignon, 
where  it  remained  for  seventy-one  years 
in  what  Italian  writers  call  its  "  Baby- 
lonian captivity."  He  died  in  1 3 14,  on 
his  way  to  Bordeaux.  "  He  had  hardly 
crossed  the  Rhone,"  says  Milman,  Lat. 
Christ.,  Book  XII.  ch.  5,  "when  he 
was  seized  with  mortal  sickness  at 
Roquemaure.  The  Papal  treasure  was 
seized  by  his  followers,  especially  his 
nephew ;  his  remains  were  treated  with 
such  utter  neglect,  that  the  torches  set 
fire  to  the  catafalque  under  which  he 
lay,  not  in  state.  His  body,  covered 
only  with  a  single  sheet,  all  that  his  ra- 
pacious retinue  had  left  to  shroud  their 
forgotten  master,  was  half  burned  .  .  . 
before  alarm  was  raised.  His  ashes  were 
borne  back  to  Carpentras  and  solemnly 
interred." 

85.  Jason,  to  whom  Antiochus  Epi- 
phanes  granted  a  ' '  license  to  set  him  up 
a  place  for  exercise,  and  for  the  train- 
ing up  of  youth  in  the  fashions  of  the 
heathen." 

2  Maccabees  iv.  13:  "  Now  such  was 
the  height  of  Greek  fashions,  and  in- 
crease of  the  heathenish  manners, 
through  the  exceeding  profaneness  of 
Jason,  that  ungodly  wretch  and  not 
high  priest,  that  the  priests  had  no  cou- 
rage to  serve  any  more  at  the  altar,  but, 
despising  the  temple,  and  neglecting  the 
sacrifices,  hastened  to  be  partakers  of 
the  unlawful  allowance  in  the  place  of 
exercise,  after  the  game  of  Discus  called 
them  forth." 

87.  Philip  the  Fair  of  France  See 
Note  82,  "He  was  one  of  the  hand- 
somest men  in  the  world,"  says  Villani, 
IX.  66,  "and  one  of  the  largest  in 
person,  and  well  proportioned  in  every 
limb, — a  wise  and  good  man  for  a  lay- 
man." 

M  S 


Jr64 


NOTES   rO  INFERNO. 


94.  Matthew,  chosen  as  an  Apostle 
in  the  place  ol  Judas. 

99.  According  to  Villani,  VII.  54, 
Pope  Nicholas  III.  wished  to  marry  his 
"liece  to  a  nephew  of  Charles  of  Anjou, 
King  of  Sicily.  To  this  alliance  the 
King  would  not  consent,  saying  :  "  Al- 
though he  wears  the  red  stockings,  his 
lineage  is  not  worthy  to  mingle  with 
ours,  and  his  power  is  not  hereditary." 
This  made  the  Pope  indignant,  and  to- 
gether with  the  bribes  of  John  of  Procida 
led  him  to  encourage  the  rebellion  in 
Sicily,  which  broke  out  a  year  after  the 
Pope's  death  in  the  "Sicilian  Vespers," 
1282. 

107.  The  Church  of  Rome  under 
Nicholas,  Boniface,  and  Clement.  Reve- 
lation xvii.  I — 3  : — 

"  And  there  came  one  of  the  seven 
atigels  which  had  the  seven  vials,  and 
talked  with  me,  saying  unto  me.  Come 
hither ;  I  will  show  unto  thee  the  judg- 
ment of  the  great  whore  that  sitteth  upon 
many  waters  ;  with  whom  the  kings  of  j 
the  earth  have  committed  fornication, 
and  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  have 
been  made  drunk  with  the  wine  of  her 
fornication.  So  he  carried  me  away  in 
the  Spirit  into  the  wilderness:  and  I  saw 
a  woman  sit  upon  a  scarlet-coloured 
beast,  full  of  names  of  blasphemy,  hav- 
ing seven  heads  and  ten  horns." 

The  seven  heads  are  interpreted  to 
mean  the  Seven  Virtues,  and  the  ten 
horns  the  Ten  Commandments. 

no.   Revelation  x\\\.  12,  13: — 

"  And  the  ten  horns  which  thou  sawest 
are  ten  kings,  ....  and  shall  give  their 
power  and  strength  unto  the  beast." 

117.  Gower,  Confes.  Amant.,  Pro- 
logus : — 

"  The  patrimonie  and  the  richesse 
Which  to  Silvester  in  pure  alraesse 
The  firste  Constantinus  lefte." 

Upon  this  supposed  donation  of  im- 
mense domains  by  Constantine  to  the 
Pope,  called  the  "  Patrimony  of  St. 
Peter,"  Milman,  Lat.  Christ.,  Book  I. 
ch.  2,  remarks  : — 

"  Silvester  has  become  a  kind  of  hero 
of  religious  fable.  But  it  was  not  so 
much  the  genuine  mythical  spirit  which 
unconsciously  transmutes  history  into 
legend ;  it  was  rather  deliberate  inven- 
tion,  with   a   specific   aim   and   design, 


which,  in  direct  defiance  of  history,  acce- 
lerated the  baptism  of  Constantine,  and 
sanctified  a  porphyry  vessel  as  appropri- 
ated to,  or  connected  with,  that  holy 
use  :  and  at  a  later  period  produced  the 
monstrous  fable  of  the  Donation. 

"  But  that  with  which  Constantine 
actually  did  invest  the  Church,  the  right 
of  holding  landed  property,  and  receiving 
it  by  bequest,  was  far  more  valuable  to 
the  Christian  hierarchy,  and  not  least  to 
the  Bishop  of  Rome,  than  a  prematura 
and  prodigal  endowment." 


CANTO  XX. 

I.  In  the  Fourth  Bolgia  are  punished 
the  Soothsayers : — 

"  Because   they  wished   to  see  too   far  before 
them, 
Backward   they  look,    and   backward    make 
their  way." 

9.  Processions  chanting  prayers  and 
supplications. 

13.  Ignaro  in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene, 
I.  viii.  31 : — 

"  But  very  uncouth  sight  was  to  behold. 
How  he  did  fashion  his  untoward  pace  ; 
For  as  he  forward  moved  his  footing  old. 
So  backward  still  was  turned  his  wrinkled 
face." 

34.  Amphiaraus  was  one  of  the  seven 
kings  against  Thebes.  Foreseeing  his 
own  fate,  he  concealed  himself,  to  avoid 
going  to  the  war  ;  but  his  wife  Eriphyle, 
bribed  by  a  diamond  necklace  (as  famous 
in  ancient  story  as  the  Cardinal  de 
Rohan's  in  modern),  revealed  his  hiding- 
place,  and  he  went  to  his  doom  with  the 
others. 

./^schylus.  The  Seven  against  Thebes  : 
"  I  will  tell  of  the  sixth,  a  man  most 
prudent  and  in  valour  the  best,  the  seer, 

the  mighty  Amphiaraus And 

through  his  mouth  he  gives  utterance  to 

this  speech '  I,  for  my  part,  in 

very  truth  shall  fatten  this  soil,  seer  as  I 
am,  buried  beneath  a  hostile  earth.'  " 

Statius,  Thebaid,  VIII.  47,  Lewis'* 
Tr.  :— 

"  Bought  of  my  treacherous  wife   for  cursed 

And  in  the  list  of  Argive  chiefs  enrolled, 
Resigned  to  fate  I  sought  the  Theban  plain  ; 
Whence  flock    the    shades  that    scarce    tfaf 
realm  contain  ;  '  • 


NOTES    TO   INFERNO. 


I6S 


When,  how  my  soul  yet  dreads  1  an  earth- 
quake came, 

Big  with  destruction,  and  my  trembling 
frame. 

Rapt  from  the  midst  of  gaping  thousands 
hurled 

To  night  eternal  in  thy  nether  world." 

40.  The  Theban  soothsayer.  Ovid, 
H/rf.,  III.,  Addison's  Tr.  :  — 

"It  happen'd.once,  within  a  shady  wood. 
Two  twisted  snakes  he  in  conjunction  view'd, 
When  with  his  staff  their  slimy  folds  he  broke, 
And  lost  his  manhood  at  the  fatal  stroke. 
But,  after  seven  revolving  years  he  view'd 
The  self-same  serpents  in  the  self-same  wood  : 
'  And  if,'  says  he,  '  such  virtue  m  you  lie, 
That  he  who  dares  your  slimy  folds  untie 
Must   change   his  kind,   a  second  stroke  I'll 

Again  he  struck  the  snakes,  and  stood  again 
New-sex'd,  and  straight  recovered  into  man. 

When  Juno  fired, 
More  than  so  trivial  an  affair  required, 
Deprived  him,  in  her  fury,  of  his  sight. 
And  left  him  groping  round  in  sudden  night. 
But  Jove  (for  so  it  is  in  heav'n  decreed 
That  no  one  god  repeal  another's  deed) 
Irradiates  all  his  soul  with  inward  light. 
And  with  the  prophet's  art  relieves  the  want 
of  sight." 

45.  His  beard.  The  word  "  plumes" 
is  used  by  old  English  writers  in  this 
sense.     Ford,  Lady's  Trial : — 

"  Now  the  down 
Of  softness  is  exchanged  for  plumes  of  age." 

See  also  Ping.  I.  42. 

46.  An  Etrurian  soothsayer.  Lucan, 
Pkarsaliaf  I.,  Rowe's  Tr.  : — 

"  Of  these  the  chief,  for  learning  famed  and 
age, 
Aruns  by  name,  a  venerable  sage. 
At  Luna  lived." 

Ruskin,  Modem  Painters,  III.  p.  246, 
says  : — 

"  But  in  no  part  of  the  poem  do  we 
find  allusion  to  mountains  in  any  other 
than  a  stern  light ;  nor  the  slightest  evi- 
dence that  Dante  cared  to  look  at  them. 
From  that  hill  of  San  Miniato,  whose 
steps  he  knew  so  well,  the  eye  com- 
mands, at  the  farther  extremity  of  the 
Val  d'Amo,  the  whole  purple  range  of 
the  mountains  of  Carrara,  peaked  and 
mighty,  seen  always  against  the  sunset 
light  in  silent  outline,  the  chief  forms 
that  rule  the  scene  as  twilight  fades 
away.  By  this  vision  Dante  seems  to 
have  been  wholly  unmoved,  and,  but 
for  Lucan's  mention  of  Aruns  at  Luna, 


would  seemingly  not  have  spoken  of  the 
Carrara  hills  in  the  whole  course  of  his 
poem  :  when  he  does  allude  to  them,  he 
speaks  of  their  white  marble,  and  their 
command  of  stars  and  sea,  but  has 
evidently  no  regard  for  the  hills  them- 
selves. There  is  not  a  single  phrase  or 
syllable  throughout  the  poem  which  in- 
dicates such  a  regard.  Ugolino,  in  his 
dream,  seemed  to  himself  to  be  in  the 
mountains,  '  by  cause  of  which  the  Pisan 
cannot  see  Lucca ;'  and  it  is  impossible 
to  look  up  from  Pisa  to  that  hoary  slope 
without  remembering  the  awe  that  there 
is  in  the  passage  ;  nevertheless  it  was  as 
a  hunting-ground  only  that  he  remem- 
bered these  hills.  Adam  of  Brescia, 
tormented  with  eternal  thirst,  remembers 
the  hills  of  Romena,  but  only  for  the 
sake  of  their  sweet  waters. " 

55.  Manto,  daughter  of  Tiresias,  who 
fled  from  Thebes,  the  "City  of  Bacchus," 
when  it  became  subject  to  the  tyranny  of 
Cleon. 

63.  Lake  Benacus  is  now  called  the 
Lago  di  Garda.  It  is  pleasantly  alluded 
to  by  Claudian  in  his  "Old  Man  of 
Verona,"  who  has  seen  "  the  grove  grow 
old  coeval  with  himself  " 

"  Verona  seems 
To  him  remoter  than  the  swarthy  Ind, 
He  deems  the  Lake  Benacus  as  the  shore 
OftheRedSea." 

65.  The  Pennine  Alps,  or  Alpes  Pceme, 
watered  by  the  brooklets  flowing  into 
the  Sarca,  which  is  the  principal  tribu- 
tary of  Benaco. 

69.  The  place  where  the  three  dioceses 
of  Trent,  Brescia,  and  Verona  meet. 

70.  At  the  outlet  of  the  lake. 
77.   ^neid,  X.  : — 

"  MinciuK  crowned  witli  sea-green  reeds." 

Milton,  Lycidas : — 

"  Smooth-sliding  Mincius,   crowned  with  voca* 
reeds." 

82.  Manto.  Benvenutodalmola  says: 
"  Virgin  should  here  be  rendered  Vi- 
rago." 

93.  Aitteid,  X.  :  "  Ocnus,  ....  son 
of  the  prophetic  Manto,  and  of  the  Tus- 
can river,  who  gave  walls  and  the  name 
of  his  mother  to  thee,  O  Mantua  !" 

95.  Pinamonte  dei  Buonacossi,  a  bold, 
ambitious  man,  persuaded  Alberto,  Count 
of  Casalodi   and   Lord   of  Mantua,    to 


i66 


NOTES   TO   INFERNO. 


banish  to  their  estates  the  chief  nobles  of 
the  city,  and  then,  stirring  up  a  popular 
tumult,  fell  upon  the  rest,  laying  waste 
their  houses,  and  sending  them  into  exile 
or  to  prison,  and  thus  greatly  depopu- 
lating the  city. 

no.  Iliad,  1.  (x) '.  "AndCalchas,  the 
son  of  Thestor,  arose,  the  best  of  augurs, 
a  man  who  knew  the  present,  the  future, 
and  the  past,  and  who  had  guided  the 
ships  of  the  Achaeans  to  Ilium,  by  that 
power  of  prophecy  which  Phoebus  Apollo 
gave  him." 

112.  yEneid,  IT.  114:  "In  suspense 
we  send  Eurypylus  to  consult  the  oracle 
of  Apollo,  and  he  brings  back  from  the 
shrine  these  mournful  words :  '  O  Greeks, 
ye  appeased  the  winds  with  blood  and  a 
virgin  slain,  when  first  ye  came  to  the 
Trojan  shores  ;  your  return  is  to  be 
sought  by  blood,  and  atonement  made 
by  a  Grecian  life.'  " 

Dante  calls  Virgil's  poem  a  Tragedy, 
to  mark  its  sustained  and  lofty  style,  in 
contrast  with  that  of  his  own  Comedy, 
of  which  he  has  already  spoken  once, 
Canto  XVI.  138,  and  speaks  again, 
Canto  XXI.  2 ;  as  if  he  wished  the 
reader  to  bear  in  mind  that  he  is  wear- 
ing the  sock,  and  not  the  buskin. 

116.  "Michael  Scott,  the  Magician," 
says  Benvenuto  da  Imola,  "  practised 
divination  at  the  court  of  Frederick  II., 
and  dedicated  to  him  a  book  on  natural 
history,  which  I  have  seen,  and  in  which 
among  other  things  he  treats  of  Astro- 
logy, then  deemed  infallible It 

is  said,  moreover,  that  he  foresaw  his 
own  death,  but  could  not  escape  it.  He 
had  prognosticated  that  he  should  be 
killed  by  the  falling  of  a  small  stone 
upon  his  head,  and  always  wore  an  iron 
skiiil-cap  under  his  hood,  to  prevent  this 
disaster.  But  entering  a  church  on  the 
festival  of  Corpus  Domini,  he  lowered 
his  liood  in  sign  of  veneration,  not  of 
Christ,  in  whom  he  did  not  believe,  but 
to  deceive  the  common  people,  and  a 
small  stone  fell  from  aloft  on  his  bare 
head." 

The  reader  will  recall  the  midnight 
scene  of  the  monk  of  St.  Mary's  and 
William  of  Deloraine  in  Scott's  Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel,  Canto  II.  : — 

"  In  these  far  climes  it  was  my  lot 
To  meet  tbe  wondrous  Michael  Scott; 


A  wizard  of  such  dreaded  fame 
That  when,  in  Salamanca's  cave, 
Him  listed  his  magic  wand  to  wave. 

The  bells  would  ring  in  Notre  Dame  ! 
Some  of  his  skill  he  taught  to  me  ; 
And,  warrior,  I  could  say  to  thee 
The  words  that  cleft  Eildon  hills  in  three, 
And  bridled  the  Tweed  with  a  curb  of  stone ; 
But  to  speak  them  were  a  deadly  sin  ; 
And  for  having  but  thought  them  my  heart 

within, 
A  treble  penance  must  be  done." 

And  the  opening  of  the  tomb  to  recover 
the  Magic  Book  : — 

"  Before  their  eyes  the  wizard  lay. 
As  if  he  had  not  been  dead  a  day. 
His  hoary  beard  in  silver  rolled, 
He  seemed  some  seventy  winters  old  ; 
A  palmer's  amice  wrapped  him  round. 
With  a  wrought  Spanish  baldric  bound. 
Like  a  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  sea  ; 

His  left  hand  held  his  book  of  might ; 
A  silver  cross  was  in  his  right  ; 

The  lamp  was  placed  beside  his  knee  ; 
High  and  majestic  was  his  look. 
At  which  the  fellest  fiends  had  shook. 
And  all  unruffled  was  his  face  : — 
They  trusted  his  soul  had  gotten  grace." 

See  also  Appendix  to  the  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel. 

118.  Guido  Bonatti,  a  tiler  and  astro- 
loger of  Forli,  who  accompanied  Guido 
di  Montefeltro  when  he  marched  out  of 
Forli  to  attack  the  French  "  under  the 
great  oak."  Villani,  VII.  81,  in  a  pas- 
sage in  which  the  he  and  him  get-a  little 
entangled,  says  :  "  It  is  said  that  the 
Count  of  Montefeltro  was  guided  Vjy 
divination  and  the  adviceof  Guido  Bonatti 
(a  tiler  who  had  become  an  astrologer), 
or  some  other  strategy,  and  he  gave  the 
orders  ;  and  in  this  enterprise  he  gave 
him  the  gonfalon  and  said,  '  So  long  as  a 
rag  of  it  remains,  wherever  thou  bearest 
it,  thou  shall  be  victorious ; '  but  I  rather 
think  his  victories  were  owing  to  his  own 
wits  and  his  mastery  in  war." 

Benvenuto  da  Imola  reports  the  fol- 
lowing anecdote  of  the  same  personages. 
"  As  the  Count  was  standing  one  day  in 
the  large  and  beautiful  square  of  Forli, 
there  came  a  rustic  mountaineer  and  gave 
him  a  basket  of  pears.  And  when  the 
Count  said,  '  Stay  and  sup  with  me,'  the 
rustic  answered,  '  My  Lord,  I  wish  to  go 
home  before  it  rains  ;  for  infallibly  there 
will  be  much  rain  to-day.'  The  Count, 
wondering  at  him,  sent  for  Guido  Bonatti, 
as  a  great  astrologer,  and  said  to  him, 


NOTES    TO    INFERNO. 


167 


'Dost  thou  hear  what  this  man  says?' 
Guide  answered,  '  He  does  not  know 
what  he  is  saying;  but  wait  a  little.' 
Guido  went  to  his  study,  and,  having 
taken  his  astrolabe,  observed  the  aspect 
of  the  heavens.  And  on  returning  he 
said  that  it  was  impossible  it  should  rain 
that  day.  But  the  rustic  obstinately 
affirming  what  he  had  said,  Guido  asked 
him,  '  How  dost  then  know?'  The  rus- 
tic answered,  '  Because  to-day  my  ass,  in 
coming  out  of  the  stable,  shook  his  head 
and  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  whenever 
he  does  this,  it  is  a  certain  sign  that  the 
weather  will  soon  change.'  ,Then  Guido 
replied,  '  Supposing  this  to  be  so,  how 
dost  thou  know  there  will  be  much  rain  ?' 
'Because,'  said  he,  'my  ass,  with  his 
ears  pricked  up,  turned  his  head  aside, 
and  wheeled  about  more  than  usual.' 
Then,  with  the  Count's  leave,  the  rustic 
departed  in  haste,  much  fearing  the  rain, 
though  the  weather  was  very  clear. 
And  an  hour  afterwards,  lo,  it  began  to 
thunder,  and  there  was  a  great  down- 
pouring  of  waters,  like  a  deluge.  Then 
Guido  began  to  cry  out,  with  great  indig- 
nation and  derision,  '  Who  has  deluded 
me?  Who  has  put  me  to  shame?'  And 
for  a  long  time  this  was  a  great  source  of 
merriment  among  the  people." 

Asdente,  a  cobbler  of  Parma.  "  I 
think  he  must  have  had  acuteness  of 
mind,  although  illiterate  ;  some  having 
the  gift  of  prophecy  by  the  inspiration 
of  Heaven."  Dante  mentions  him  in  the 
Convito,  IV.  16,  where  he  says  that,  if 
nobility  consisted  in  being  known  and 
talked  about,  "  Asdente  the  shoemaker 
of  Parma  would  be  more  noble  than  any 
of  his  fellow-citizens." 

126.  The  moon  setting  in  the  sea  west 
of  Seville.  In  the  Italian  popular  tradi- 
tion to  which  Dante  again  alludes.  Par. 
II.  51,  the  Man  in  the  Moon  is  Cain 
with  his  Thorns.  This  belief  seems  to 
have  been  current  too  in  England,  Mid- 
summer N^ight^s  l3ream.  III.  i  :  "Or 
else  one  must  come  in  with  a  bush  of 
thorns  and  a  lantern,  and  say  he  comes 
to  disfigure,  or  to  present,  the  person  of 
moon-shine."  And  again,  V.  i:  "The 
man  should  be  put  into  the  lantern. 
How  is  it   else  the  man  i'  the  moon  ? 

All  that  I  have  to  say  is  to  tell 

you,  that  the  lantem  is  the  moon ;  I,  the 


man  in  the  moon  ;  this  thorn-bush,  my 
thorn-bush  ;  and  this  dog,  my  dc^." 

The  time  here  indicated  is  an  hour 
after  simrise  on  Saturday  morning. 


CANTO  XXI. 

1.  The  Fifth  Bolgia,  and  the  punish- 
ment of  Barrators,  or  "  Judges  who  take 
bribes  for  giving  judgment." 

2.  Having  spoken  in  the  preceding 
Canto  of  Virgil's  "  lofty  Tragedy,"  Dante 
here  speaks  of  his  own  Comedy,  as  if  to 
prepare  the  reader  for  the  scenes  which 
are  to  follow,  and  for  which  he  apolo- 
gises in  Canto  XXII.  14,  by  repeating 
the  proverb, 

"  In  the  church 
With  saints,  and  in  the  tavern  with  carousers. " 

7.  Of  the  Arsenal  of  Venice  Mr.  Hil- 
lard  thus  speaks  in  his  Six  Months  in 
Italy,  I.  63  :— 

"  No  reader  of  Dante  will  fail  to  pay 
a  visit  to  the  Arsenal,  from  which,  m 
order  to  illustrate  the  terrors  of  his 
'  Inferno, '  the  great  poet  drew  one  of 
these  striking  and  picturesque  images, 
characteristic  alike  of  the  boldness  and 
the  power  of  his  genius,  which  never 
hesitated  to  look  for  its  materials  among 
the  homely  details  and  familiar  incidents 
of  life.  In  his  hands,  the  boiling  of 
pitch  and  the  calking  of  seams  ascend  to 
the  dignity  of  poetry.  Besides,  it  is  the 
most  impressive  and  characteristic  spot 
in  Venice.  The  Ducal  Palace  and  the 
Church  of  St.  Mark's  are  symbols  of 
pride  and  power,  but  the  strength  of 
Venice  resided  here.  Her  whole  his- 
tory, for  six  hundred  years,  was  here 
epitomized,  and  as  she  rose  and  sunk, 
the  hum  of  labouriiere  swelled  and  sub- 
sided. Here  was  the  index-hand  which 
marked  the  culmination  and  decline  of 
her  greatness.  Built  upon  several  small 
islands,  which  are  united  by  a  wall  of 
two  miles  in  circuit,  its  extent  and  com- 
pleteness, decayed  as  it  is,  show  what 
the  naval  power  of  Venice  once  was,  as 
the  disused  armour  of  a  giant  enables  us 
to  measure  his  stature  and  strength. 
Near  the  entrance  are  four  marble  lions, 
brought  by  Morosini  from  the  Pelopon- 
nesus in  1685,  two  of  which  are  striking 
works  of  art.     Of  these  two,  one  is  by 


l68 


NOTES    TO    INFERNO. 


far  the  oldest  thing  in  Venice,  being  not 
much  younger  than  the  battle  of  Mara- 
thon ;  and  thus,  from  the  height  of 
twenty-three  centuries,  entitled  to  look 
down  upon  St.  Mark's  as  the  growth  of 
yesterday.  The  other  two  are  nonde- 
script animals,  of  the  class  commonly 
called  heraldic,  and  can  be  styled  lions 
only  by  courtesy.  In  the  armoury  are 
some  very  interesting  objects,  and  none 
more  so  than  the  great  standard  of  the 
Turkish  admiral,  made  of  crimson  silk, 
taken  at  the  battle  of  I^epanto,  and 
which  Cervantes  may  have  grasped  with 
his  unwounded  hand.  A  tew  fragments 
of  some  of  the  very  galleys  that  were 
engaged  in  that  memorable  fight  are  also 
preserved  here." 

37.  Malebranche,  Evil-claws,  a  general 
HMie  for  the  devils. 

38.  Santa  Zita,  the  Patron  Saint  of 
Lucca,  where  the  magistrates  were  called 
Elders,  or  Aldermen.  In  Florence  they 
bore  the  name  of  Priors. 

41.  A  Barrator,  in  Dante's  use  of  the 
word,  is  to  the  State  what  a  Simoniac  is 
to  the  Church ;  one  who  sells  justice, 
office,  or  employment. 

Benvenuto  says  that  Dante  includes 
Bontura  with  the  rest,  "  because  he  is 
speaking  ironically,  as  who  should  say, 
'  Bontura  is  the  greatest  barrator  of  all. ' 
For  Bontura  was  an  arch-barrator,  who 
sagaciously  led  and  managed  the  whole 
commune,  and  gave  offices  to  whom  he 
wished.  He  likewise  excluded  whom  he 
wished." 

46.  Bent  down  in  the  attitude  of  one 
in  prayer ;  therefore  the  demons  mock 
him  with  the  allusion  to  the  Santo  Volto. 

48.  The  Santo  Volto,  or  Holy  Face, 
is  a  crucifix  still  preserved  in  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Lucca,  and  held  in  great  venera- 
tion by  the  people.  The  tradition  is 
that  it  is  the  work  of  Nicodemus,  who 
sculptured  it  from  memory. 

See  also  Saccbetti,  Nov.  73,  in  which 
a  preacher  mocks  at  the  Santo  Volto  in 
the  church  of  Santa  Croce  at  Florence. 

49.  The  Serchio  flows  near  Lucca. 
Shelley,  in  a  poem  called  The  Boat,  on 
the  Serchio,  describes  it  as  a  "torrent 
fierce," 

"  Which  fervid  from  its  mountain  source, 
Shallow,  smooth,  and  strong,  doth  come  ; 
Swift  as  fire,  tempestuously 


It  sweeps  into  the  affrighted  sea. 
In  morning's  smile  its  eddies  coil, 
Its  billows  sparkle,  toss,  and  boil, 
Torturing  all  its  quiet  light 
Into  columns  fierce  and  bright." 


63.     Canto  IX.  22  : — 

"  True  is  it  once  before  I  here  below 

Was  conjured  by  that  pitiless  Erictho, 
Who  summoned  back  the  shades  unto  then 
bodies." 

95.  A  fortified  town  on  the  Amo,  in 
the  Pisan  territory.  It  was  besieged  by 
the  troops  of  Florence  and  Lucca  in 
1289,  and  capitulated.  As  the  garrison 
marched  out  under  safe-guard,  they  were 
terrified  by  the  shouts  of  the  crowd, 
crying:  "Hang  them!  hang  them!" 
In  this  crowd  was  Dante,  ' '  a  youth  of 
twenty-five,"  says  Benvenuto  da  Imola. 

no.  Along,  the  circular  dike  that 
separates  one  Bolgia  from  another. 

111.  This  is  a  falsehood,  as  all  the 
bridges  over  the  next  Bolgia  are  broken. 
See  Canto  XXIII,  140. 

112.  At  the  close  of  the  preceding 
Canto  the  time  is  indicated  as  being  an 
hour  after  sunrise.  Five  hours  later 
would  be  noon,  or  the  scriptural  sixth 
hour,  the  hour  of  the  Crucifixion.  Dante 
understands  St.  Luke  to  say  that  Christ 
died  at  this  hour.  Convito,  IV.  23  : 
' '  Luke  says  that  it  was  about  the  sixth 
hour  when  he  died ;  that  is,  the  culmina- 
tion of  the  day."  Add  to  the  "one 
thousand  and  two  hundred  sixty-six 
years,"  the  thirty-four  of  Christ's  life  on 
earth,  and  it  gives  the  year  1300,  the 
date  of  the  Infernal  Pilgrimage. 

114.  Broken  by  the  earthquake  at 
the  time  of  the  Crucifixion,  as  the  rock 
leading  to  the  Circle  of  the  Violent, 
Canto  XII.  45  :— 

"  And  at  that  moment  this  primeval  rock 

Both  here  and   elsewhere   made  such   over- 
throw." 

ft 

As  in  the  next  Bolgia  Hypocrites  are 
punished,  Dante  couples  them  with  the 
Violent,  by  making  the  shock  of  the 
earthquake  more  felt  near  them  than 
elsewhere. 

125.  The  next  crag  or  bridge,  tra- 
versing the  dikes  and  ditches. 

137.     See  Canto  XVIL  75. 


NOTES    TO  INFERNO. 


169 


CANTO  XXII. 

I.  The  subject  of  the  preceding 
Canto  is  continued  in  this. 

5.  Aretino,  P'ita  di  Dante,  says  that 
Dante  in  his  youth  was  present  at  the 
"great  and  memorable  battle,  which 
befell  at  Campaldino,  fighting  valiantly 
on  horseback  in  the  front  rank."  It  was 
there  he  saw  the  vaunt-couriers  of  the 
Aretines,  who  began  the  battle  with 
such  a  vigorous  charge,  that  they  routed 
the  Florentine  cavalry,  and  drove  them 
back  upon  the  infantry. 

7.  Napier,  Florentine  Hist. ,  I.  2 14 — 
2I7»  gives  this  description  of  the  Car- 
roccio  and  the  Martinella  of  the  Floren- 
tines : — 

"In  order  to  give  more  dignity  to  the 
national  army  and  form  a  rallying  point 
for  the  troops,  there  had  been  established 
a  great  car,  called  the  Carroccio,  drawn 
by  two  beautiful  oxen,  which,  carrying 
the  Florentine  standard,  generally  accom- 
panied them  into  the  field.  This  car  was 
painted  vermilion,  the  bullocks  were 
covered  with  scarlet  cloth,  and  the  driver, 
a  man  of  some  consequence,  was  dressed 
in  crimson,  was  exempt  from  taxation, 
and  served  without  pay ;  these  oxen 
were  maintained  at  the  public  charge  in 
a  public  hospital,  and  the  white  and  red 
banner  of  the  city  was  spread  above  the 
car  between  two  lofty  spars.  Those 
taken  at  the  battle  of  Monteaperto  are 
still  exhibited  in  Siena  Cathedral  as 
trophies  of  that  fatal  day. 

"Macchiavelli  erroneously  places  the 
adoption  of  the  Carroccio  by  the  Floren- 
tines at  this  epoch,  but  it  was  long  before 
in  use,  and  probably  was  copied  from 
the  Milanese,  as  soon  as  Florence  be- 
came strong  and  independent  enough  to 
equip  a  national  army.  Eribert,  -Arch- 
bishop of  Milan,  seems  to  have  been  its 
author,  for  in  the  war  between  Conrad  I. 
and  that  city,  besides  other  arrange- 
ments for  military  organisation,  he  is 
said  to  have  finished  by  the  invention  of 
the  Carroccio;  it  was  a  pious  and  not 
impolitic  imitation  of  the  ark  as  it  was 
carried  before  the  Israelites.  This  vehicle 
is  described,  and  also  represented  in 
ancient  paintings,  as  a  four-wheeled  ob- 
long car,  drawn  by  two,  four,    or  six 


bullocks :  the  car  was  always  red,  and 
the  bullocks,  even  to  their  hoofs,  ctivered 
as  above  described,  but  with  red  or  white 
according  to  the  faction  ;  the  ensign  staff 
was  red,  lofty,  and  tapering,  and  sur- 
mounted by  a  cross  or  golden  ball :  on 
this,  between  two  white  fringed  veils, 
hung  the  national  standard,  and  half- 
way down  the  mast,  a  crucifix.  A  plat- 
form ran  out  in  front  of  the  car,  spacious 
enough  for  a  few  chosen  men  to  defend 
it,  while  behind,  on  a  corresponding 
space,  the  musicians  with  their  military 
instruments  gave  spirit  to  the  combat  : 
mass  was  said  on  the  Carroccio  ere  it 
quitted  the  city,  the  surgeons  were 
stationed  near  it,  and  not  unfrequently  a 
chaplain  also  attended  it  to  the  field. 
The  loss  of  the  Carroccio  was  a  great 
disgrace,  and  betokened  utter  discom- 
fiture* it  was  given  to  the  most  distin- 
guished knight,  who  had  a  public  salary 
and  wore  conspicuous  armour  and  a 
golden  belt :  the  best  troops  were  sta- 
tioned round  it,  and  there  was  frequently 
the  hottest  of  the  fight 

"Besides  the  Carroccto,\}n&  Florentine 
army  was  accompanied  by  a  great  bell, 
called  Martinella  or  Campana  deglt 
Asini,  which,  for  thirty  days  before  hos- 
tilities began,  tolled  continually  day  and 
night  from  the  arch  of  Porta  Santa 
Maria,  as  a  public  declaration  of  war, 
and,  as  the  ancient  chronicle  hath  it, 
'  for  greatness  of  mind,  ihat  the  enemy 
might  have  full  time  to  prepare  himself.' 
At  the  same  time  also,  the  Carroccit  was 
drawn  from  its  place  in  the  offices  of 
.San  Giovanni  by  the  most  distinguished 
knights  and  noble  vassals  of  the  republic, 
and  conducted  in  state  to  the  Alercaio 
Nuot'o,  where  it  was  placed  upon  the 
circular  stone  still  existing,  and  remained 
there  until  the  army  took  the  field. 
Then  also  the  Martinella  was  removed 
from  its  station  to  a  wooden  tower  placed 
on  another  car,  and  with  the  Carroccio 
served  to  guide  the  troops  by  night  and 
day.  'And  with  these  two  pomps,  of 
the  Carroccio  and  Campana, 'says  Males- 
pini.  the  pride  of  the  old  citizens,  our 
ancestors,  was  ruled.' " 

15.  Equivalent  to  the  proverb,  "Do 
in  Rome  as  the  Romans  do." 

48.  Giampolo,  or  Ciampolo,  say  all 
the  commentators ;  but  nothing  more  is 


I70 


NOTES    TO    INFERNO. 


known  of  him  than  his  name,  and  what 
he  tells  us  here  of  his  history. 

52.  It  is  not  very  clear  which  King 
Thibault  is  here  meant,  but  it  is  proba- 
l)ly  King  Thibault  IV.,  the  crusader  and 
poet,  born  1201,  died  1253.  His^poems 
have  been  published  by  Leveque  de  la 
Ravalliere,  under  the  title  of  Les  Poisies 
(ill  Roi  de  Navarre;  and  in  one  of  his 
songs  (Chanson  53)  he  makes  a  clerk 
address  him  as  the  Boris  Rots  Thiebaut. 
Dante  cites  him  two  or  three  times  in 
his  Volg.  Eloq.,  and  may  have  taken 
this  expression  from  his  song,  as  he  does 
afterwards,  Canto  XXVIII.  135,  lo  Re 
jozrs,  the  Re  Giovane,  or  Young  King, 
from  the  songs  of  Bertrand  de  Born. 

65.  A  Latian,  that  is  to  say,  an 
Italian. 

82.  This  Frate  Gomita  was  a  Sar- 
dinian in  the  employ  of  Nino  d)!*  Vis- 
conti,  judge  in  the  jurisdiction  of  Gallura, 
the  "gentle  Judge  Nino"  of  Pitrg, 
VIII.  53.  The  frauds  and  peculations 
of  the  Friar  brought  him  finally  to  the 
gallows.  Gallura  is  the  north-eastern 
jurisdiction  of  the  island. 

88.  Don  Michael  Zanche  was  Senes- 
chal of  King  Enzo  of  Sardinia,  a  natural 
,son  of  the  Emperor  Frederick  II.  Dante 
gives  him  the  title  of  Don,  still  used  in 
Sardinia  for  Signore.  After  the  death  of 
Enzo  in  prison  at  Bologna,  in  1271,  Don 
Vlichael  won  by  fraud  and  flattery  his 
vidow  Adelasia,  and  became  himself 
Lord  of  Logodoro,  the  north-western 
•urisdiction,  adjoining  that  of  Gallura. 

The  gossip  between  the  Friar  and  the 
Seneschal,  which  is  here  described  by 
Ciampolo,  recalls  the  Vision  of  the 
Sardinian  poet  Araolla,  a  dialogue  be- 
tween himself  and  Gavino  Sambigucci, 
written  in  the  soft  dialect  of  Logodoro, 
a  mixture  of  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Latin, 
and  beginning : — 

"  Dulche,  amara  raeraoria  de  giornadas 
f'uggitivas  cun  dopjiia  peiia  mia, 
Qui  quanto  plus  Tistringo  sunt  passadas." 

See  Valery,  V^oyages  en  Corse  el  en 
Sardaigne,  II.  410. 


CANTO  xxin. 

I.     In  this  Sixth  Bolgia  the  Hypo- 
crites are  punished. 


"A  painted  people  there  below  we  found, 

Who  went  about  with  footsteps  very  slow, 
Weeping  and   in  their  looks  subdued  and 
weary." 

Chaucer,  Knightes  Tale,  2780 : — 

"  In  his  colde  grave 
Alone,  withouten  any  compagnie." 

And  Gower,  Conf.  Amant. : — 

"  To  muse  in  his  philosophic 
Sole  withouten  corapaignie  " 

4.  The  Fables  of  ^sop,  by  Sir  Roger 
L'Estrange,  IV.:  "There  fell  out  a 
bloody  quarrel  once  betwixt  the  Frogs 
and  the  Mice,  about  the  sovereignty  of 
the  Fenns ;  and  whilst  two  of  their 
champions  were  disputing  it  at  swords 
point,  down  comes  a  kite  powdering 
upon  them  in  the  interim,  and  gobbles 
up  both  together,  to  part  the  fray. " 

7.  Both  words  signifying  "now;" 
mo,  from  the  Latin  modo  ;  and  issa,  from 
the  Latin  ipsa;  meaning  ipsa  hora. 
"  The  Tuscans  say  mo,"  remarks  Ben- 
venuto,  "  the  Lombards  issa" 

37.  *'  When  he  is  in  a  fright  and 
hurry,  and  has  a  very  steep  place  to  go 
down,  Virgil  has  to  carry  him  alto- 
gether," says  Mr.  Ruskin.  See  Canto 
XII.,  Note  2. 

63.  Benvenuto  speaks  of  the  cloaks 
of  the  German  monks  as  "  ill-fitting  and 
shapeless. " 

66.  The  leaden  cloaks  which  Frede- 
rick put  upon  malefactors  were  straw  in 
comparison.  The  Emperor  Frederick  II. 
is  said  to  have  punished  traitors  by 
wrapping  them  in  lead,  and  throwing 
them  into  a  heated  cauldron.  I  can  find 
no  historic  authority  for  this.  It  rests 
only  on  tradition ;  and  on  the  same 
authority  the  same  punishment  is  said  to 
have  been  inflicted  in  Scotland,  and  is 
thus  <lescribed  in  the  ballad  of  "Lord 
Soulis,"  Scott's  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border,  IV.  256  :— 

"  On  a  circle  of  stones  they  placed  the  pot, 
On  a  circle  of  stones  but  barely  nine  ; 
They  heated  it  red  and  fiery  hot. 
Till  the   burnished  brass  did  glimmer  and 
shine. 

"  They  roU'd  him  up  in  a  sheet  of  lead, 
A  sheet  of  lead  for  a  funeral  pall, 
And  plunged  him  into  the  cauldron  rod, 
And    melted  him, — lead,  and  bones,    ani 
all." 


NOTES   TO    INFERNO. 


171 


We  get  also  a  glimpse  of  this  punish- 
ment in  Ducange,  Glos.  Capa  Plinnbea, 
where  he  cites  the  case  in  which  one 
man  tells  another  :  "  If  our  Holy  Father 
the  Pope  knew  the  life  you  are  leading, 
he  would  have  you  put  to  death  in  a 
cloak  of  lead. " 

67.      Comedy  of  Errors,  IV.  2  : — 

"A  devil  in  an  everlasting  garment  hath  him." 

91.  Bologna  was  renowned  for  its 
University ;  and  the  speaker,  who  was 
a  Bolognese,  is  still  mindful  of  his 
college. 

95.  Florence,  the  Mlissima  e  famo- 
sissimafiglia  di  Boma,  as  Dante  calls  it, 
Convitc,  I.  3, 

103.  An  order  of  knighthood,  esta- 
blished by  Pope  Urban  IV.  in  1261, 
under  the  title  of  "  Knights  of  Santa 
Maria."  The  name  Frati  Gandenti,  or 
"Jovial  Friars,"  was  a  nickname,  be- 
cause they  lived  in  their  own  homes  and 
were  not  bound  by  strict  monastic  rules. 
Napier,  Flor.  Hist.  I.  269,  says : — 

"  A  short  time  before  this  a  new 
order  of  religious  knighthood  under  the 
name  of  Frati  Gandenti  began  in  Italy  : 
it  was  not  bound  by  vows  of  celibacy, 
or  any  very  severe  regulations,  but  took 
the  usual  oaths  to  defend  widows  and 
orphans  and  make  peace  between  man 
and  man  :  the  founder  was  a  Bolognese 
gentleman,  called  Loderingo  di  Liandolo, 
who  enjoyed  a  good  reputation,  and 
along  with  a  brother  of  the  same  order, 
named  Catalano  di  Malavolti,  one  a 
Guelf  and  the  other  a  Ghibelline,  was 
now  invited  to  Florence  by  Count  Guide 
to  execute  conjointly  the  office  of  Podesti. 
It  was  intended  by  thus  dividing  the 
supreme  authority  between  two  magis- 
trates of  different  politics,  that  one 
should  correct  the  other,  and  justice  be 
equally  administered ;  more  especially 
as,  in  conjunction  with  the  people,  they 
were  allowed  to  elect  a  deliberative 
council  of  thirty-six  citizens,  belonging 
to  the  principal  trades  without  distinction 
of  party." 

Farther  on  he  says  that  these  two 
Frati  Gaudenti  "  forfeited  all  public 
confidence  by  their  peculation  and  hypo- 
crisy." And  Villani,  VII.  13 :  "Although 
they  were  of  different  parties,  under 
cover  of  a  false  hyixjcrisy,  they  were  of 


accord  in  seeking  rather  their  own  pri- 
vate gains  than  the  common  good. " 

108.  A  street  in  Florence,  laid  waste 
by  the  Guelfs. 

113.     Hamlet,  I,  2.  :— 

"  Nor  windy  suspiration  of  forced  breath.' 

115.  Caiaphas,  the  High-Priest,  who 
thought  "expediency"  the  best  thing. 

121.  Annas,  father-in-law  of  Caia- 
phas. 

134.  The  great  outer  circle  surround- 
ing this  division  of  the  Inferno. 

142.  He  may  have  heard  in  the  lec- 
tures of  the  University  an  exposition  of 
'John  viii  44:  "Ye  are  of  your  father 
the  devil,  and  the  lusts  of  your  father  ye 
will  do  :  he  was  a  murderer  from  the 
beginning,  and  abode  not  in  the  truth, 
because  there  is  no  truth  in  him.  When 
he  speaketh  a  lie,  he  speaketh  of  his 
own  ;  for  he  is  a  liar,  and  the  father 
of  it." 


CANTO   XXIV. 

1.  The  Seventh  Bolgia,  in  which 
Thieves  are  punished. 

2.  The  sun  enters  Aquarius  during 
the  last  half  of  January,  when  the  Equi- 
nox is  near,  and  the  hoar-frost  in  the 
morning  looks  like  snow  on  the  fields, 
but  soon  evaporates.  If  Dante  had  been 
a  monk  of  Alonte  Casino,  illuminating  a 
manuscript,  he  could  not  have  made  a 
more  clerkly  and  scholastic  flourish  with 
his  pen  than  this,  nor  have  painted  a 
more  beautiful  picture  than  that  which 
follows.  The  mediaeval  poets  are  full  of 
lovely  descriptions  of  Spring,  whiih  seems 
to  blossom  and  sing  through  all  their 
verses ;  but  none  is  more  beautiful  or 
suggestive  than  this,  though  serving  only 
as  an  illustration. 

21.   In  Canto  I. 

43.  See  what  Mr.  Ruskin  says  of 
Dante  as  "a  notably  bad  climber,"  Canto 
XII.     Note  2. 

55.  The  ascent  of  the  Mount  of  Pur- 
gatory. 

73.  The  next  circular  dike,  dividing 
the  fosses. 

86.  This  list  ol  serpents  is  from  Lucan, 
Phars.  IX  711,  Rowe'sTr.  :— 


179 


NOTES    TO  INFERNO. 


'  Slimy  Chelyders  the  parched  earth  distain 
And  trace  a  reeking  furrow  on  the  plain. 
The  spotted  Cenchrls,  rich  in  various  dyes, 
Shoots  in  a  Hne,  and  forth  directly  flies. 

ITie  Swimmer  there  the  crystal  stream  pol- 
lutes, 
And  swift  thro'  air  the  flying  Javelin  shoots. 

The  Amphisbaena  doubly  armed  appears 
At  either  end  a  threatenmg  head  she  rears  ; 
Raised  on  his  active  tail  Pareas  stands, 
And  as  he  passes,  furrows  up  the  sands." 

Milton,  Parad.  Lost,  X.  521  :  — 

"  Dreadful  was  the  din 
Of  hissing  through  the  hall,  thick-swarming 

now 
With  complicated  monsters  head  and  tail. 
Scorpion,  and  asp,  and  amphisbsena  dire. 
Cerastes  horned,  hydrus,  and  elops  drear. 
And  dipsas. 

Of  the  Phareas,  Peter  Comestor,  Hist. 
Scholast.,  Gloss  of  Genesis  iii.  i,  ftys  : 
"And  this  he  (Lucifer)  did  by  means  of 
the  serpent ;  for  then  it  was  erect  like 
man  ;  being  afterwards  made  prostrate 
by  the  curse  ;  and  it  is  said  the  Phareas 
walks  erect  even  to  this  day." 

Of  the  Amphisbaena,  Brunetto  La- 
tini,  Tresorl.  v.  140,  says:  "The  Am- 
phimenie  is  a  kind  of  serpent  which  has 
two  heads  ;  one  in  its  right  place,  and 
the  other  in  the  tail ;  and  with  each  she 
can  bite  ;  and  she  runs  swiftly,  and  her 
eyes  shine  like  candles." 

93.  Without  a  hiding-place,  or  the 
heliotrope,  a  precious  stone  of  great 
virtue  against  poisons,  and  supposed  to 
render  the  wearer  invisible.  Upon  this 
latter  vulgar  error  is  founded  Boccaccio's 
comical  story  of  Calandrino  and  his 
friends  Bruno  and  Buffulmacco,  Decant., 
Gior.  VIII.,  Nov.  3. 

107.  Brunetto  Latini,  Tresorl.  v.  164, 
says  of  the  Phcenix  :  "  He  goeth  to  a 
good  tree,  savoury  and  of  good  odour,  and 
maketh  a  pile  thereof,  to  which  he  set- 
teth  fire,  and  entereth  straightway  into 
it  toward  the  rising  of  the  sun." 

And  Milton,  Samson  Agonistes,  1697 ; 

"  So  Virtue,  given  for  lost, 
Depressed  and  overthrown,  as  seemed, 
Like  that  self-begotten  bird 
In  the  Arabian  woods  cmbost, 
That  no  second  knows  nor  third. 
And  lay  erewhile  a  holocaust. 
From  out  her  ashy  womb  now  teemed, 
Revives,  reflourishes,  then  vigorous  most 
When  most  unactive  deemed  ; 


And,  though  her  body  die,  her  fame  sur- 
vives 
A  secular  bird  ages  of  lives. " 

114.  Any  obstruction,  "such  as  the 
epilepsy,"  says  Benvenuto.  "Gouts and 
dropsies,  catarrhs  and  oppilations,"  says 
Jeremy  Taylor. 

125.  Vanni  Fucci,  who  calls  himself  a 
mule,  was  a  bastard  son  of  Fuccio  de' 
Lazzari.  All  the  commentators  paint 
him  in  the  darkest  colours.  Dante  had 
known  him  as  "a  man  of  blood  and 
wrath,"  and  seems  to  wonder  he  is  here, 
and  not  in  the  circle  of  the  Violent,  or 
of  the  Irascible.  But  his  great  crime 
was  the  robbery  of  a  sacristy.  Benve- 
nuto da  Imola  relates  the  story  in  detail. 
He  speaks  of  him  as  a  man  of  depraved 
life,  many  of  whose  misdeeds  went  un- 
punished, because  he  was  of  noble  family. 
Being  banished  from  Pistoia  for  his 
crimes,  he  returned  to  the  city  one  night 
of  the  Carnival,  and  was  in  company 
with  eighteen  other  revellers,  among 
whom  was  Vanni  della  Nona,  a  notary  ; 
when,  not  content  with  their  insipid 
diversions,  he  stole  away  with  two  com- 
panions to  the  church  of  San  Giacomo, 
and,  finding  its  custodians  absent,  or 
asleep  with  feasting  and  drinking,  he 
entered  the  sacristy  and  robbed  it  of  all  its 
precious  jewels.  These  he  secreted  in 
the  house  of  the  notary,  which  was  close 
at  hand,  thinking  that  on  account  of  his 
honest  repute  no  suspicion  would  fall 
upon  him.  A  certam  Rampino  was 
arrested  for  the  theft,  and  put  to  the 
torture  ;  when  Vanni  Fucci,  having 
escaped  to  Monte  Carelli,  beyond  the 
Florentine  jurisdiction,  sent  a  messenger 
to  Rampino's  father,  confessing  all  the 
circumstances  of  the  crime.  Hereupon 
the  notary  was  seized  "on  the  first  Mon- 
day in  Lent,  as  he  was  going  to  a  sermon 
in  the  church  of  the  Minorite  Friars," 
and  was  hanged  for  the  theft,  and  Ram- 
pino set  at  liberty. 

No  one  has  a  good  word  to  say  for 
Vanni  Fucci,  except  the  Canonico  Cres- 
cimbeni,  who,  in  the  Comeniarj  to  the 
/slo'ia  della  Volg.  Poesia,  II.  ii.,  p.  99, 
counts  him  among  the  Italian  Poets, 
and  speaks  of  him  as  a  man  of  great 
courage  and  gallantry,  and  a  leader  o' 
the  Neri  party  of  Pistoia,  in  1300.  He 
smooths    over    Dante's   invectives    bj 


NOTES  TO    INFERNO. 


173 


remarking  that  Dante  "  makes  not  too 
honourable  mention  of  him  in  the  Come- 
dy ;"  and  quotes  a  sonnet  of  his,  which 
is  pathetic  from  its  utter  despair  and 
self-reproach  : — 

"  For  I  have  lost  the  good  1  might  have  had 
Through  little  wit,  and  not  of  mine  own  will." 

It  is  like  the  wail  of  a  lost  soul,  and  the 
same  in  tone  as  the  words  which  Dante 
here  puts  into  his  mouth.  Dante  may 
have  heard  him  utter  similar  self-accusa- 
tions while  living,  and  seen  on  his  face 
the  blush  of  shame,  which  covers  it 
here. 

143.  The  Neri  were  banished  from 
Pistoia  in  1301  ;  the  Bianchi,  from 
Florence  in  1302. 

145.  This  vapour  or  lightning  flash 
from  Val  di  Magra  is  the  Marquis  Mala- 
spini,  and  the  "  turbid  clouds"  are  the 
banished  Neri  of  Pistoia,  whom  he  is  to 
gather  about  him  to  defeat  the  Bianchi 
at  Campo  Piceno,  the  old  battle-field  of 
Catiline.  As  Dante  was  of  the  Bianchi 
party,  this  prophecy  of  impending  dis- 
aster and  overthrow  could  only  give  him 
pain.     See  Canto  VI.     Note  65. 


CANTO   XXV. 

1.  The  subject  of  the  preceding  Canto 
is  continued  in  this. 

2.  This  vulgar  gesture  of  contempt 
consists  in  thrusting  the  thumb  between 
the  first  and  middle  fingers.  It  is  the 
same  that  the  ass-driver  made  at  Dante 
in  the  street  ;  Sacchetti,  Nov.  CXV.  : 
"  When  he  was  a  little  way  off,  he 
turned  round  to  Dante,  and,  thrusting 
out  his  tongue  and  making  a  fig  at  him 
with  his  hand,  said,  '  Take  that.'" 

Villani,  VI.  5,  says:  "On  the  Rock 
of  Carmignano  there  was  a  tower  seventy 
yards  high,  and  upon  it  two  marble  arms, 
the  hands  of  which  were  making  the  figs 
at  Florence."  Others  say  these  hands 
were  on  a  finger-post  by  the  road-side. 

In  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  I.  3, 
PistOi  says :  ' '  Convey,  the  wise  it  call  ; 
Steal !  foh ;  a  fico  for  the  phrase ! "  And 
Martino,  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's 
Widow,  V.  I  :— 

"  The  fig  of  everlasting  obloquy 
Go  with  him." 

10.  Pistoia  is  supposed  to  have  been 


founded  by  the  soldiers  of  Catiline. 
Brunetto  Latini,  Tresor,  I.  i.  37,  says : 
"  They  found  Catiline  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountains  and  he  had  his  army  and  his 
people  in  that  place  where  is  now  the 
city  of  Pestoire.  There  was  Catiline 
conquered  in  battle,  and  he  and  his 
were  slain ;  also  a  great  part  of  the 
Romans  were  killed.  And  on  account 
of  the  pestilence  of  that  great  slaughter 
the  city  was  called  Pestoire." 

The  Italian  proverb  says,  Pistoia  la 
ferrigna,  iron  Pistoia,  or  Pistoia  the 
pitiless. 

15.  Capaneus,  Canto  XIV.  44. 

19.  See  Canto  XIII.     Note  9. ' 

25.  Cacus  was  the  classic  Giant 
Despair,  who  had  his  cave  in  Mount 
Aventine,  and  stole  a  part  of  the  herd 
of  Geryon,  which  Hercules  had  brought 
to  Italy.  Virgil,  ^neid,  VIII.,  Dry- 
den's  Tr.  : — 

"  See  yon  huge  cavern,  yawning  wide  around, 
Where  still  the  shattered  mountain  spreads  the 

ground  : 
That  spacio\is  hold  grim  Cacus  once  possessed, 
Tremendous  fiend  !  half  human,  half  a  beast  : 
Deep,  deep  as  hell,  the  dismal  dungeon  lay, 
Dark  and  impervious  to  the  beams  of  day. 
With  copious  slaughter   smoked   the   purple 

floor, 
Pale  heads  hung  horrid  on  the  lofty  door. 
Dreadful  to  view  !  and  dropped  with  crimson 

gore." 


28.  Dante  makes  a  Centaur  of  Cacus, 
and  separates  him  from  the  others  be- 
cause he  was  fraudulent  as  well  as 
violent.  Virgil  calls  him  only  a  mon- 
ster, a  half-man,  Scmihominis  Caci 
fades. 

35.  Agr.ello  Brunelleschi,  Buoso  degli 
Abati,  and  Puccio  Sciancato. 

38.  The  story  of  Cacus,  which  Virgil 
was  telling. 

43.  Cianfa  Donati,  a  Florentine  noble- 
man. He  appears  immediately,  as  a 
serpent  with  six  feet,  and  fastens  upon 
Agnello  Brunelleschi. 

65.  Some  commentators  contend  that 
in  this  line  papiro  does  not  mean  paper, 
but  a  lamp- wick  made  of  papyrus.  This 
destroys  the  beauty  and  aptness  of  the 
image,  and  rather  degrades 

"  The  leaf  of  the  reed, 
Which    has   grown  through  the  clefts   in  the 
ruins  of  ages." 

73.  These  four  lists,   or  hands,  art 


'74 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


the  fore  feet  of  the  serpent  and  the  arms 
of  Agnello. 

76.  Shakespeare,  in  the  "Additional 
Poems  to  Chester's  Love's  Martyrs," 
Knight's  Shakespeare,  VII.  193,  speaks 
of  "Two  distincts,  division  nonej"  and 
continues  : — 

"  Property  was  thus  appalled 
That  the  self  was  not  the  same. 
Single  nature's  double  name 
Neither  two  nor  one  was  called. 

"  Reason,  in  itself  confounded, 
Saw  division  grow  together  ; 
To  themselves  yet  either  neither, 
Simple  were  so  well  compounded." 

83.  This  black  serpent  is  Guercio 
Cavalcanti,  who  changes  form  with 
Buoso  degli  Abati. 

95.  Lucan,  Phars.,  IX.,  Rowe's 
Tr.  :— 

"  But  soon  a  fate  more  sad  with  new  surprise 
From  the  first  object  turns  their  wondering 

eyes. 
Wretched  Sabellus  by  a  Seps  was  stung  : 
Fixed  on  his  leg  with  deadly  teeth  it  hung. 
Sudden  the  soldier  shook  it  from  the  wound, 
Transfixed  and  nailed  it  to  the  barren  ground. 
Of  all  the  dire,  destructive  serpent  race, 
None  have  so  much  of  death,   though  none 

are  less. 
For  straight  around  the  part  the  skin  with- 
drew. 
The  flesh    and    shrinking    sinews    backward 

flew, 
And  left  the  naked  bones  exposed  to  view. 
The  spreading  poisons  all  the  parts  confound. 
And  the  whole  body  sinks  within  the  wound. 

Small  relics  of  the  mouldering  mass  were  left. 
At  once  of  substance  as  of  form  bereft ; 
Dissolved,  the  whole  in  liquid  poison  ran. 
And  to  a  nauseous  puddle  shrunk  the  man. 

So  snows  dissolved  by  southern  breezes  run. 
So  melts  the  wax  before  the  noonday  sun. 
Nor  ends  the  wonder  here  ;  though  flames  are 

known 
To  waste  the  flesh,   yet  still   they  spare  the 

oone  : 
Here  none  were  left,  no  least  remains  were 

seen. 
No  marks  to  show   that  once  the  man  had 

been. 

A  fate  of  different  kind  Nasidius  found, — 
A  burning  Prester  gave  the  deadly  wound, 
And  straight  a  sudden  flame  began  to  spread, 
And  paint  his  visage  with  a  glowing  red. 
With    swift    expansion    swells     the    bloated 

skin, — 
Natight  but  an  undistinguished  mass  is  seen, 
While  the  fair  human  form  lies  lost  within  ; 
The  puffy  poison  spreads  and  heaves  around. 
Till  all  the  man  is  ui  the  monster  drowned. 
No  more  the  steejy  plate  his  breast  can  stay, 
But  yields,  and  gives  the  bursting  poison  way. 
Not  waters  so,  when  fire  the  rage  supplies, 


Bubbling  on  heaps,  in  boiling  cauldrons  rise  ; 
Nor  swells  the  stretching  canvas  half  so  fast, 
When  the  sails  gather  all  the  driving  blast. 
Strain   the   tough  yards,  and  bow  the  loftj 

mast. 
The  various  parts  no  longer  now  are  known. 
One  headless,  formless  heap  remains  alone." 

97.  Ovid,  Metamorpk.,  IV.,  Eus- 
den's  Tr. : — 

"  '  Come,  my  Harmonia,  come,  thy  face  recline 
Down   to   my  face  :   still  touch  what  still  is 

mine. 
O  let  these  hands,   while  hands,   be  gently 

pressed, 
While  yet  the  serpent  has  not  all  possessed.' 
More  he  had  spoke,  but  strove  to  speak  in 

vain, — 
The  forky  tongue  refused  to  tell  his  pain. 
And  learned  in  hissings  only  to  complain. 
"  Then    shrieked    Harmonia,     '  Stay,    my 
Cadmus,  stay  ! 
Glide  not  in  such  a  monstrous  shape  away ! 
Destruction,  like  impetuous  waves,  rolls  on. 
Where  are  thy  feet,  thy  legs,  thy  shoulders 

gone? 
Changed   is  thy  visage,  changed   is  all  thy 

frame, 
Cadmus  is  only  Cadmus  now  in  name. 
Ye  gods  !  my  Cadmus  to  himself  restore. 
Or  me  like  him  transform, — I  ask  no  more.' " 

And  v.,  Maynwaring's  Tr.  : — 

"  The  god  so  near,  a  chilly  sweat  possessed 
My  fainting  limbs,  at  every  pore  expressed  ; 
My   strength  distilled  in  drops,    my  hair  in 

dew, 
My  form  was  changed,  and  all  my  substance 

new  : 
Each  motion  was  a  stream,   and   my  whole 

frame 
Turned  to  a  fount,  which  still  preserves  my 

name." 

See  also  Shelley's  Arethum : — 

"  Arethusa  arose 

From  her  couch  of  snows 
In  the  Acroceraunian  mountains, — 

From  cloud  and  from  crag 

With  many  a  jag 
Shepherding  her  bright  fountains. 

She  leapt  down  the  rocks. 

With  her  rainbow  locks 
Streaming  among  the  streams  : 

Her  steps  paved  with  green 

The  downward  ravine 
Which  slopes  to  the  western  gleams ; 

And  gliding  and  springing. 

She  went,  ever  singing, 
In  murmurs  as  soft  as  sleep. 

ITie  Earth  seemed  to  love  her, 

And  Heaven  smiled  above  her. 
As  she  lingered  towards  the  deep." 

144.  Some  editions  read  /a  penna, 
the  pen,  instead  of  la  lingua,  the  tongue. 

151.  Gaville  was  a  village  in  the 
Valdamo,    where    Guercio    Cavalcanti 


NOTES   TO   INFERNO. 


rs 


was  murdered.  The  family  took  ven- 
geance upon  the  inhabitants  in  the  old 
Italian  style,  thus  causing  Gaville  to 
lament  the  murder. 


CANTO   XXVI. 

I.  The  Eighth  Bolgia,  in  which 
Fraudulent  Counsellors  are  punished. 

4.  Of  these  five  Florentine  nobles, 
Cianfa  Donati,  Agnello  Brunelleschi, 
Buoso  degli  Abati,  Puccio  Sciancato, 
and  Guercio  Cavalcanti,  .nothing  is 
known  but  what  Dante  tells  us.  Per- 
haps that  is  enough. 

7.     See  Purg.  IX.  13 : — 

"  Just  at  the  hour  when  her  sad  lay  begins 
The  little  swallow,  near  unto  the  morning. 
Perchance  in  memory  of  her  former  woes. 
And  when  the  mind  of  man,  a  wanderer 
More  from  the  flesh,  and  less  by  thought 

imprisoned. 
Almost  prophetic  in  its  visions  is." 

9.  The  disasters  soon  to  befall  Flor- 
ence, and  in  which  even  the  neighbour- 
ing town  of  Prato  would  rejoice,  to 
mention  no  others.  These  disasters 
vi^ere  the  fall  o*"  the  wooden  bridge  of 
Carraia,  with  a  crowd  upon  it,  witness- 
ing a  Miracle  Play  on  the  Amo;  the 
strife  of  the  Bianchi  and  Neri;  and  the 
great  fire  of  1304.  See  Villani,  VIII., 
70,  71.  Napier,  Florentine  History,  I. 
394,  gives  this  account: — 

"  Battles  first  began  between  the 
Cerchi  and  Giugiii  at  their  houses  in 
the  Via  del  Garbo ;  they  fought  day 
and  night,  and  with  the  aid  of  the  Ca- 
valcanti and  Antellesi  the  former  sub- 
dued all  that  quarter:  a  thousand  rural 
adherents  strengthened  their  bands,  and 
that  day  might  have  seen  the  Neri's 
destruction  if  an  unforseen  disaster  had 
not  turned  the  scale.  A  certain  dis- 
solute priest,  called  Neri  Abati,  prior 
of  San  Piero  Scheraggio,  false  to  his 
family  and  in  concert  with  the  Black 
chiefs,  consented  to  set  fire  to  the  dwell- 
ings of  his  own  kinsmen  in  Orto-san- 
Michele;  the  flames,  assisted  by  faction, 
spread  rapidly  over  the  richest  and  most 
crowded  part  of  Florence:  shops,  ware- 
houses, towers,  private  dwellings  and 
palaces,  from  the  old  to  the  new  market- 


place, from  Vacchereccia  to  Porta  Santa 
Maria  and  the  Ponte  Vecchio,  all  was 
one  broad  sheet  of  fire :  more  than  nine- 
teen hundred  houses  were  consumed; 
plunder  and  devastation  revelled  un- 
checked aniongst  the  flames,  whole  races 
were  reduced  in  one  moment  to  beggary, 
and  vast  magazines  of  the  richest  mer- 
chandise were  destroyed.  The  Caval- 
canti, one  of  the  most  opulent  families 
in  Florence,  beheld  their  whole  property 
consumed,  and  lost  all  courage;  they 
made  no  attempt  to  save  it,  and,  after 
almost  gaining  possession  of  the  city, 
were  finally  overcome  by  the  opposite 
faction. " 

10.     Macbeth,  I.  7: — 

"  If  it  were  done  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere 
well 
It  were  done  quickly." 

23.  See /VjsrW.  XII.  112:  — 

"  O  glorious  stars  !  O  light  impregnated 
With  mighty  virtue,  from  which  I  acknow- 
ledge 
All  of  my  genius,  whatsoe'er  it  be." 

24.  I  may  not  bauiK  or  deprive  my- 
self of  this  good. 

34.  The  Prophet  Elisha,  2  Kings 
ii.  23:— 

"And  he  went  up  from  thence  unto 
Bethel;  and  as  he  was  going  up  by  the 
way,  there  came  forth  little  children 
out  of  the  city,  and  mocked  him,  and 
said  unto  him.  Go  up,  thou  bald  head; 
go  up,  thou  bald  head.  And  he  turned 
back,  and  looked  on  them,  and  cursed 
them  in  the  name  of  the  Lord:  and 
there  came  forth  two  she-bears  out  of 
the  wood,  and  tare  forty  and  two  chil- 
dren of  them." 

35.  Z  Kings  \\.  II: — 

"  And  it  came  to  pass,  as  they  still 
went  on  and  talked,  that,  behold,  there 
appeared  a  chariot  of  fire,  and  horses 
of  fire,  and  parted  them  both  asunder; 
and  Elijah  went  up  by  a  whirlwind  into 
heaven. " 

54.  These  two  sons  of  CEdipus,  Ete- 
ocles  and  Polynices,  were  so  hostile  to 
each  other,  that,  when  after  death  their 
bodies  were  burned  on  the  same  funeral 
piia,  the  flames  swayed  apart,  and  the 
ashes  separated.  Statius,  Thebaid,  XII 
43a  Lewis's  Tr. : — 


r 


176 


A'OTES    TO    INFERNO. 


"  Again  behold  the  brothers  !    When  the  fire 
Pervades  their  limbs  in  many  a  curling  spire, 
The  vast  hill  trembles,  and  the  intruder's  corse 
Is  driven  from  the  pile  with  sudden  force. 
The  flames,  dividing  at  the  point,  ascend 
And  at  each  other  adverse  rays  extend. 
I'hus  when  the  ruler  of  the  infernal  state, 
Pale-visaged  Dis,  commits  to  stern  debate 
The  sister-fiends,   their  brands,  held  forth  to 

fight. 
Now  clash,  then  part,  and  shed  a  transient 

light." 

56.  The  most  cunning  of  the  Greeks 
at  the  siege  of  Troy,  now  united  in 
their  punishment,  as  before  in  warlike 
wrath. 

59-  As  Troy  was  overcome  by  the 
fraud  of  the  wooden  horse,  it  was  in 
a  poetic  sense  the  gateway  by  which 
.^neas  went  forth  to  establish  the  Ro- 
man empire  in  Italy. 

62.  Deidamia  was  a  daughter  of  Ly- 
comedes  of  Scyros,  at  whose  court 
Ulysses  found  Achilles,  disguised  in 
woman's  attire,  and  enticed  him  away 
to  the  siege  of  Troy,  telling  him  that, 
according  to  the  oracle,  the  city  could 
not  be  taken  without  him,  but  not 
telling  him  thatf  according  to  the  same 
oracle,  he  would  lose  his  life  there. 

63.  Ulysses  and  Diomed  together 
stole  the  Palladium,  or  statue  of  Pallas, 
at  Troy,  the  safeguard  and  protection  of 
the  city. 

75.  The  Greeks  scorned  all  other 
nations  as  "outside  barbarians."  Even 
Virgil,  a  Latin,  has  to  plead  with 
Ulysses  the  merit  of  having  praised  him 
in  the  y^neid. 

108.  The  Pillars  of  Hercules  at  the 
straits  of  Gibraltar;  Abyla  on  the  African 
shore,  and  Gibraltar  on  the  Spanish  ;  in 
which  the  popular  mind  has  lost  its  faith, 
except  as  symbolized  in  the  columns  on 
the  .Spanish  dollar,  with  the  legend,  Pltis 
ultra. 

Brunette  Latini,  Tesor.  IX.  119:  — 

"  Appres.so  questo  mare, 

Vidi  diritto  stare 
Gran  colonne,  le  quali 

Vi  mise  per  segnali 
Ercuies  il  potente. 

Per  mostrare  alia  gente 
Che  loco  sia  finata 

La  terra  e  tcrminata." 

125.     Odyssey,  XI.  155:  "Well-fitted 
ftars,  which  are  also  wings  to  ships." 
127.     Humboldt,  Personal  Narratwe, 


II.  19,  Miss  Willi.ams's  Tr.,  has  this 
passage :  ' '  From  the  time  we  entered 
the  torrid  zone,  we  were  never  wearied 
with  admiring,  every  night,  the  beauty 
of  the  Southern  sky,  which,  as  we  ad- 
vanced towards  the  south,  opened  new 
constellations  to  our  view.  We  feel 
an  indescribable  sensation,  when,  on 
approaching  the  equator,  and  particu- 
larly on  passing  from  one  hemisphere  to 
the  other,  we  see  those  stars,  which  we 
have  contemplated  from  our  infancy, 
progressively  sink,  and  finally  disappear. 
Nothing  awakens  in  the  traveller  a  live- 
lier remembrance  of  the  immense  distance 
by  which  he  is  separated  from  his 
country,  than  the  aspect  of  an  un- 
known firmament.  The  grouping  of 
the  stars  of  the  first  magnitude, 
some  scattered  nebulae,  rivalling  in 
splendour  the  milky  way,  and  tracks  oi 
space  remarkable  for  their  extreme 
blackness,  give  a  particular  physiog- 
nomy to  the  Southern  sky.  This  sight 
fills  with  admiration  even  those  who, 
uninstructed  in  the  branches  of  accurate 
science,  feel  the  same  emotion  of  delight 
in  the  contemplation  of  the  heavenly 
vault,  as  in  the  view  of  a  beautiful  land- 
scape, or  a  majestic  site.  A  traveller 
has  no  need  of  being  a  botanist,  to  recog- 
nize the  torrid  zone  on  the  mere  aspect 
of  its  vegetation;  and  without  havitig 
acq'nred  any  notions  of  astronom.y,  with- 
out iny  acquaintance  with  the  celestial 
charts  of  Flamstead  and  De  la  Caille,  he 
feels  he  is  not  in  Europe,  when  he  sees 
the  immense  constellation  of  the  Ship,  or 
the  phosphorescent  clouds  of  Magellan, 
arise  on  the  horizon." 

142.     Compare  Tennyson's  67)'.fj« ; — 

"  There  lies  the  port  ;  the  vessel  puflTs  her  sail  : 
There  gloom   the  dark  broad  seas.     My  ma- 
nners. 
Souls  that   have   toiled,   and    wrought,    and 

thought  with  me, — 
That  ever  with  a  frolic  welcome  took 
The  thunder  and  the  sunshine,  and  opposed 
Free  hearts,  free  foreheads, — you  and  I  are 

old: 
Old  age  hath  yet  his  honour  and  his  toil  ; 
Death  closes  all  :  but  something  ere  the  end, 
Some  work  of  noble  note,  may  yet  be  done, 
Not  unbecoming  men  that  strove  with  Gods. 
The  lights  begin  to  twinkle  from  the  rocks  : 
The  long  day  wanes :  the   slow  moon  climbs 

the  deep 
Moans  round  with  many  voices.     Come,  mj 
friends, 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


177 


Tis  not  too  late  to  seek  a  newer  world. 
Push  off,  and,  sitting  well  in  order,  smite 
The  sounding  furrows  ;  for  my  purpose  holds 
To  sail  beyond  the  sunset,  and  the  baths 
Of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die. 
It  may  be  that  the  gulfs  will  wash  us  down  : 
It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles, 
And  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew. 
ITio'  much  is  taken,  much  abides  ;  and  tho' 
We  are  not  now  that  strength  which  in  old 

days 
Moved  earth  and  heaven,  that  which  we  are, 

we  are ; 
One  equal  temjier  of  heroic  hearts. 
Made  weak  by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in 

will 
To  strive  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield." 


CANTO  XXVII. 

I.  The  subject  of  the  preceding 
Canto  is  continued  in  this. 

7.  The  story  of  the  Brazen  Bull  of 
Perillus  is  thus  told  in  the  Gesta  Roma- 
norum.  Tale  48,  Swan's  Tr. : — 

"  Dionysius  records,  that  when  Perillus 
desired  to  become  an  artificer  of  Phalaris, 
a  cruel  and  tyrannical  king  who  depopu- 
lated the  kingdom,  and  was  guilty  of 
many  dreadful  excesses,  he  presented  to 
him,  already  too  well  skilled  in  cruelty, 
a  brazen  bull,  which  he  had  just  con- 
structed. In  one  of  its  sides  there  was 
a  secret  door,  by  which  those  who  were 
sentenced  should  enter  and  be  burnt  to 
death.  The  idea  was,  that  the  sounds 
produced  by  the  agony  of  the  sufferer 
confined  within  should  resemble  the 
roaring  of  a  bull ;  and  thus,  while  no- 
thing human  struck  the  ear,  the  mind 
should  be  unimpressed  by  a  feeling  of 
mercy.  The  king  highly  applauded  the 
invention,  and  said,  '  Friend,  the  value 
of  thy  industry  is  yet  untried :  more 
cruel  even  than  the  people  account  me, 
thou  thyself  shalt  be  the  first  victim.'  " 

Also  in  Gower,  Confts.  Atnant.^ 
VII.  :— 

"  He  had  of  counseil  many  one, 
Among  the  whiche  there  was  one. 
By  name  which  Berillus  hight. 
And  he  bethought  him  how  he  might 
Unto  the  tirant  do  liking. 
And  of  his  own  ymaginuig 
Let  forge  and  make  a  bulle  of  bras. 
And  on  the  side  cast  there  was 
A  dore,  where  a  man  may  inne. 
Whan  he  his  peine  shall  bcginne 
Through  fire,  which  that  men  put  under 
And  all  this  did  he  for  a  wonder. 
That  whan  a  man  for  peine  cride. 
The  bull  of  bras,  which  gapetb  wide. 


It  shulde  seme,  as  though  it  were 
A  bellewing  in  a  mannes  ere 
And  nought  the  cricng  of  a  man. 
But  he,  which  alle  sleightes  can. 
The  devil,  that  lith  in  helle  fast, 
Him  that  it  cast  hath  overcast. 
That  for  a  trespas,  which  he  dede. 
He  was  put  in  the  same  stede. 
And  was  himself  the  first  of  alle. 
Which  was  into  that  peine  falle 
That  he  for  other  men  ordeigneth." 

21.  Virgil  "being  a  Lombard,  Dante 
suggests  that,  in  giving  Ulysses  and 
Diomed  license  to  depart,  he  had  used 
the  Lombard  dialect,  saying,  "/r.fa  ^'  en 
va."     See  Canto  XXIII.  Note  7. 

28.  The  inhabitants  of  the  province 
of  Romagna,  of  which  Ravenna  is  the 
capital. 

29.  It  is  the  spirit  of  Guido  da 
Montefeltro  that  speaks.  The  city  of 
Montefeltro  lies  between  Urbino  and 
that  part  of  the  Apennines  in  which  the 
Tiber  rises.  Count  Guido  was  a  famous 
warrior,  and  one  of  the  great  Ghibelline 
leaders.  He  tells  his  own  story  suffi- 
ciently in  detail  in  what  follows. 

40.  Lord  Byron,  Don  Jtmn,  III.  105, 
gives  this  description  of  Ravejina,  with 
an  allusion  to  Boccaccio's  Tale,  versified 
by  Dryden  under  the  title  of  Theodore 
and  Honoria : — 

"  Sweet  horn-  of  twilight ! — in  the  solitude 
Of  the  pine  forest,  and  the  silent  shore 
Which  bounds  Ravenna's  immemorial  wood. 
Rooted  where  once  the  Adrian  wave  flow'd 
o'er. 
To  where  the  last  Csesarean  fortress  stood. 

Ever-green  forest !  which  Boccaccio's  lore 
And  Dryden's  lay  made  haunted  ground  to  me, 
How  have  I  lovesl  the  twilight  hour  and  thee ! 

"  The  shrill  cicalas,  people  of  the  pine, 

Making  their  summer  lives  one  ceaseless 
song, 
Were  the  sole  echoes,  save  my  steed's  and 
mine, 
And  vesper-bell's  that  rose  the  bougos  along ; 
The  spectre  huntsman  of  Onesti's  line. 

His  hell-dogs,  and  their  chase,  and  the  fair 
throng. 
Which  learned  from  this  example  not  to  fly 
From  a  true  lover,  shadowed  my  mind's  eye." 

Dryden's  Tkeodore  and //onoria  begins 
with  these  words  :- 

"  Of  all  the  cities  in  Romanian  lands. 
The    chief,    and    most   renowned,    Ravenna 

stands, 
Adorned  in  ancient  times  with  arms  and  arts. 
And  rich  inhabitants,  with  generous  hearts." 

It  was  at  Ravenna  that  Dante  passed 


178 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


the  last  years  of  his  life,  and  there  he 
died  and  was  buried. 

41.  The  arms  of  Guido  da  Polenta, 
Lord  of  Ravenna,  Dante's  friend,  and 
father  (or  nephew)  of  Francesca  da  Ri- 
mini, were  an  eagle  half  white  in  a  field 
of  azure,  and  half  red  in  a  field  of  gold. 
Cervia  is  a  small  town  some  twelve  miles 
from  Ravenna. 

43.  The  city  of  ForR,  where  Guido 
da  Montefeltro  defeated  and  slaughtered 
the  French  in  1282.  See  Canto  XX. 
Note  118. 

45.  A  Green  Lion  was  the  coat  of 
arms  of  the  Ordelaffi,  then  Lords  of 
ForlL 

46.  Malatesta,  father  and  son,  ty- 
rants of  Rimini,  who  murdered  Mon- 
tagna,  a  Ghibelline  leader.  Verrucchio 
■was  their  castle,  near  the  city.  Of 
this  family  were  the  husband  and  lover 
of  Francesca.  Dante  calls  them  mas- 
tiflFs,  because  of  their  fierceness,  making 
"  wimbles  of  their  teeth  "  in  tearing  and 
devouring. 

49.  The  cities  of  Faenza  on  the  La- 
mone,  and  Imola  on  the  Santerno.  They 
were  ruled  by  Mainardo,  surnamed  ' '  the 
Demon,"  whose  coat  of  arms  was  a  lion 
azure  in  a  white  field. 

52.   The  city  of  Cesena. 

67.     Milton,  Parad.  Lost,  III.  479  : — 

"  Dying  put  on  the  weeds  of  Dominic, 
Or  in  Franciscan  think  to  pass  disguised." 

70.  Boniface  VIIL,  who  in  line  85 
is  called  "the  Prince  of  the  new  Phari- 
sees. " 

81.  Dante,  Comnto,  IV.  28,  quoting 
Cicero,  says  :  "  Natural  death  is  as  it 
were  a  haven  and  rest  to  us  after  long 
navigation.  And  the  noble  soul  is  like 
a  good  mariner  ;  for  he,  when  he  draws 
near  the  port,  lowers  his  sails,  and  enters 
it  softly  with  feeble  steerage." 

86.  This  Papal  war,  which  was  waged 
against  Christians,  and  not  against  pagan 
Saracens,  nor  unbelieving  Jews,  nor 
against  the  renegades  who  had  helped 
them  at  the  si(>ge  of  Acre,  or  given  them 
aid  and  comfort  by  traffic,  is  thus  de- 
scribed by  Mr.  Norton,  Travel  and  Study 
in  Italy,  p.  263 :  - 

"  This  '  war  near  the  Lateran  '  was  a 
war  with  the  great  family  of  Colonna. 
Two  of  the  house  were  Cardinals,  They 


had  been  deceived  in  the  election,  and 
were  rebellious  under  the  rule  of  Boni- 
face. The  Cardinals  of  the  great  Ghi- 
belline house  took  no  pains  to  conceal 
their  ill-will  toM'ard  the  Guelf  Pope. 
Boniface,  indeed,  accused  them  of  plot- 
ting with  his  enemies  for  his  overthrow. 
The  Colonnas,  finding  Rome  unsafe,  had 
withdrawn  to  their  strong  town  of  Pales- 
trina,  whence  they  could  issue  forth  at 
will  for  plunder,  and  where  they  could 
give  shelter  to  those  who  shared  in  their 
hostility  toward  the  Pope.  On  the  other 
hand,  Boniface,  not  trusting  himself  in 
Rome,  withdrew  to  the  secure  height  of 
Orvieto,  and  thence  on  the  14th  of  De- 
cember, 1297,  issued  a  terrible  bull  for  a 
crusade  against  them,  granting  plenary 
indulgence  to  all  (such  was  the  Christian 
temper  of  the  times,  and  so  literally  were 
the  violent  seizing  upon  the  kingdom  of 
heaven, )  who  would  take  up  arms  against 
these  rebellious  sons  of  the  Church  and 
march  against  their  chief  stronghold,  their 
^alfo  seggio  '  of  Palestrina.  They  and  their 
adherents  had  already  been  excommuni- 
cated and  put  under  the  ban  of  the 
Church  }  they  had  been  stripped  of  all 
dignities  and  privileges  ;  their  property 
had  been  confiscated  ;  and  they  were  now 
by  this  bull  placed  in  the  position  of  ene- 
mies, not  of  the  Pope  alone,  but  of  the 
Church  Universal.  Troops  gathered 
against  them  from  all  quarters  of  Papal 
Italy.  Their  lands  were  ravaged,  and 
they  themselves  shut  up  within  their 
stronghold  ;  but  for  a  long  time  they  held 
out  in  their  ancient  high-walled  moun- 
tain-town. It  was  to  gain  Palestrina  that 
Boniface  'had  war  near  the  Lateran.' 
The  great  church  and  palace  of  the  La- 
teran, standing  on  the  summit  of  the 
Coelian  Hill,  close  to  the  city  wall,  over- 
looks the  Campagna,  which,  in  broken 
levels  of  brown  and  green  and  pvrple 
fields,  reaches  to  the  base  of  the  encir- 
cling mountains.  Twenty  miles  away, 
crowning  the  top  and  clinging  to  the 
side  of  one  of  the  last  heights  of  the  Sa- 
bine range,  are  the  gray  walls  and  roofs 
of  Palestrina.  It  was  a  far  more  con- 
spicuous place  at  the  close  of  the  thir- 
teenth century  than  it  is  now  ;  for  the 
great  columns  of  the  famous  temple  of 
Fortune  still  rose  above  the  town,  and 
the  an(.ieiit  citadel  kept  watch  over  it 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


179 


from  its  high  rock.  At  length,  in  Sep- 
tember, 1298,  the  Colonnas,  reduced  to 
the  hardest  extremities,  became  ready 
for  peace.  Boniface  promised  largely. 
The  two  Cardinals  presented  themselves 
before  him  at  Rieti,  in  coarse  brown 
dresses,  and  with  ropes  around  their 
necks,  in  token  of  their  repentance  and 
submission.  The  Pope  gave  them  not 
only  pardon  and  absolution,  but  hope  of 
being  restored  to  their  titles  and  posses- 
sions. This  was  the  '  lunga  promessa 
con  r  atiender  corlo  ;  '  for,  while  the  Co- 
lonnas were  retained  near  him,  and  these 
deceptive  hopes  held  out  tp  them,  Boni- 
face sent  the  Bishop  of  Orvieto  to  take 
possession  of  Palestrina,  and  to  destroy 
It  utterly,  leaving  only  the  church  to 
stand  as  a  monument  «bove  its  ruins. 
The  work  was  done  thoroughly  ; — a 
plough  was  drawn  across  the  site  of  the 
imhappy  town,  and  salt  scattered  in  the 
furrow,  that  the  land  might  thenceforth 
be  desolate.  The  inhabitants  were  re- 
moved from  the  mountain  to  the  plain, 
and  there  forced  to  build  new  homes  for 
themselves,  which,  in  their  turn,  two 
years  afterwards,  were  thrown  down  and 
burned  by  order  of  the  implacable  Pope. 
This  last  piece  of  malignity  was  accom- 
plished in  1300,  the  year  of  the  Jubilee, 
the  year  in  which  Dante  was  in  Rome, 
and  in  which  he  saw  Guy  of  Montefeltro, 
the  counsellor  of  Boniface  in  deceit, 
burning  in  Hell. " 

94.  The  story  of  Sylvester  and  Con- 
stantine  is  one  of  the  legends  of  the 
Legenda  Aurea.  The  part  of  it  relating 
to  the  Emperor's  baptism  is  thus  con- 
densed by  Mrs.  Jameson  in  her  Sacred 
and  Ltgatdary  Art,  II,  313  :— 

"  Sylvester  was  bom  at  Rome  of  vir- 
tuous parents ;  and  at  a  time  when  Con- 
stantine  was  still  in  the  darkness  of  idola- 
try and  persecuted  the  Christians,  Syl- 
vester, who  had  been  elected  Bishop  of 
Rome,  fled  Irom  the  persecution,  and 
dwelt  for  some  time  in  a  cavern,  near  the 
summit  of  Monte  Calvo.  While  he  lay 
there  concealed,  the  Emperor  was  at- 
tacked by  a  horrible  leprosy  :  and  having 
called  to  him  the  priests  of  his  false  gods, 
they  advised  that  he  should  bathe  himself 
in  a  bath  of  children's  blood,  and  three 
thousand  children  were  collected  for  this 
purpose.  And  as  he  proceedetl  in  his  cha- 


riot to  the  place  where  the  bath  was  to 
be  prepared,  the  mothers  of  these  chil- 
dren threw  themselves  in  his  way  with 
dishevelled  hair,  weeping,  and  crying 
aloud  for  mercy.  Then  Constantine  was 
moved  to  tears,  and  he  ordered  his  cha- 
riot to  stop,  and  he  said  to  his  nobles  anil 
to  his  attendants  who  were  around  him, 
'  Far  better  is  it  that  I  should  die,  than 
cause  the  death  of  these  innocents ! ' 
And  then  he  commanded  that  the  chil- 
dren should  be  restored  to  their  mothers 
with  great  gifts,  in  recompense  of  what 
they  had  suffered  ;  so  they  went  away 
full  of  joy  and  gratitude,  and  the  Empe- 
ror returned  to  his  palace. 

"  On  that  same  night,  as  he  lay  asleep, 
St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  appeared  at  his 
bedside  :  and  they  stretched  their  hands 
over  him  and  said,  *  Because  thou  hast 
feared  to  spill  the  innocent  blood,  Jesus 
Christ  has  sent  us  to  bring  thee  good 
counsel.  Send  to  Sylvester,  who  lies 
hidden  among  the  mountains,  and  he 
shall  show  thee  the  pool  in  which,  hav- 
ing washed  three  times,  thou  shall  be 
clean  from  thy  leprosy  ;  and  henceforth 
thou  shalt  adore  the  God  of  the  Chris- 
tians, and  thou  shalt  cease  to  persecute 
and  to  oppress  them.'  Then  Constan- 
tine, awaking  from  this  vision,  sent  his 
soldiers  in  search  of  Sylvester.  And 
when  they  took  him,  he  supposed  that  it 
was  to  lead  him  to  death  ;  nevertheless 
he  went  cheerfully  ;  and  when  he  ap- 
peared before  the  Emperor,  Constaytine 
arose  and  saluted  him,  and  said,  '  I  would 
know  of  thee  who  are  those  two  gods 
who  appeared  to  me  in  the  visions  of 
the  night  ? '  And  Sylvester  replied, 
'  They  were  not  gods,  but  the  apostles  of 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.'  Then  Constan- 
tine desired  that  he  would  show  him  the 
effigies  of  these  two  apostles  ;  and  Syl- 
vester sent  for  two  pictures  of  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul,  which  were  in  the  posses- 
sion of  certain  pious  Christians.  Con- 
stantine, having  beheld  them,  saw  that 
they  were  the  same  who  had  appeared 
to  him  in  his  dream.  Then  Sylvester 
baptized  him,  and  he  came  out  of  the 
font  cured  of  his  malady." 

Gower  also,  Covfes.  AnMtttis,  XL,  tells 
the  story  at  length  : — 

"  And  in  the  while  it  was  bcgunne 
A  light,  as  though  it  were  a  suano. 
N  2 


i8o 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


Fro  heven  into  the  place  come 
Where  that  he  toke  his  christendome. 
And  ever  amonge  the  holy  tales 
Lich  as  they  weren  fisches  scales 
They  fellen  from  him  now  and  efte. 
Till  that  there  was  nothing  belefte 
Of  all  this  grete  maladie. " 

96.  Montefeltro  was  in  the  Francis- 
can monastery  at  Assisi. 

102.  See  Note  86  of  this  Canto. 
Dante  calls  the  town  Penestrino  from  its 
Livtin  name  Prseneste. 

105.  Pope  Celestine  V.,  who  made 
"  the  great  refusal,"  or  abdication  of  the 
papacy.     See  Canto  III.  Note  59. 

118.     Gower,  Confes.  Amantis,  II.  :  — 

"  For  shrifte  slant  of  no  value 
To  him,  that  woU  him  nought  vertue. 
To  leve  of  vice  the  folic, 
For  worde  is  wind,  but  the  maistrie 
Is,  that  a  man  himself  defende 
of  thing  whiche  is  nought  to  coiiimende, 
Wherof  ben  fewe  now  a  day." 


CANTO  XXVIII. 

I.  The  Ninth  Bolgia,  in  which  are 
punished  the  Schismatics,  and 

"  where  is  paid  the  fee 
By  those  who  sowing  discord  win  their  bur- 
den ; " 

a  burden  difficult  to  describe  even  with 
untrammelled  words,  or  in  plain  prose, 
free  from  the  fetters  of  rhyme. 

9.  Apulia,  or  La  Puglia,  is  in  the 
south-eastern  part  of  Italy,  "  between  the 
spur  and  the  heel  of  the  boot." 

I©.  The  people  slain  in  the  conquest 
of  Apulia  by  the  Romans.  Of  the  battle 
of  Maleventum,  Livy,  X.  15,  says  : — 

"  Here  likewise  there  was  more  of 
flight  than  of  bloodshed.  Two  thousand 
of  the  Apulians  were  slain,  and  Decius, 
despising  such  an  enemy,  led  his  legions 
into  Samnium." 

II.  Hannibal's  famous  battle  at  Can- 
nae, in  the  second  Punic  war.  Accord- 
ing to  Livy,  XXII.  49,  "The  number 
of  the  slain  is  computed  at  forty  thou- 
sand foot,  and  two  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred horse." 

He  continues,  XXII.  51,  Baker's  Tr.  : 
"  On  the  day  following,  as  soon  as  light 
appeared,  his  troops  applied  themselves 
to  the  collecting  of  the  spoils,  and  view- 
ing the  carnage  made,  which  was  such 
as  shocked  even  enemies ;  so  many  thou- 
•and  Romans,  horsemen  and  footmen, 


lay  promiscuously  on  the  field,  as  chance 
had  thrown  them  together,  either  in  the 
battle,  or  flight.  '  Some,  whom  their 
wounds,  being  pinched  by  the  morning 
cold,  had  roused  from  their  posture,  were 
put  to  death  by  the  enemy,  as  they  were 
rising  up,  all  covered  with  blood,  from 
the  midst  of  theheaps  of  carcasses.  Some 
they  found  lying  alive,  with  their  thighs 
and  hams  cut,  who,  stripping  their  necks 
and  throats,  desired  them  to  spill  what 
remained  of  their  blood.  Some  were 
found,  with  their  heads  buried  in  the 
earth,  in  holes  which  it  appeared  they 
had  made  for  themselves,  and  covering 
their  faces  with  earth  thrown  over  them, 
had  thus  been  suffocated.  The  attention 
of  all  was  particularly  attracted  by  a 
living  Numidian  with  his  nose  and  ears 
mangled,  stretched  under  a  dead  Roman, 
who  lay  over  him,  and  who,  when  his 
hands  had  been  rendered  unable  to  hold 
a  weapon,  his  rage  being  exasperated  to 
madness,  had  expired  in  the  act  of  tear- 
ing his  antagonist  with  his  teeth. " 

When  Mago,  son  of  Hamilcar,  car- 
ried the  news  of  the  victory  to  Carthage, 
"in  confirmation  of  his  joyful  intelli- 
gence," says  the  same  historian,  XXIII. 
12,  "he  ordered  the  gold  rings  taken 
from  the  Romans  to  be  poured  down  in 
the  porch  of  the  senate-house,  and  of 
these  there  was  so  great  a  heap  that,  ac- 
cording to  some  writers,  on  being  mea- 
sured, they  filled  three  pecks  and  a  half ; 
but  the  more  general  account,  and  like- 
wise the  more  probable,  is,  that  they 
amounted  to  no  more  than  one  peck. 
He  also  explained  to  them,  in  order  to 
show  the  greater  extent  of  the  slaughter, 
that  none  but  those  of  equestrian  rank, 
and  of  these  only  the  principal,  wore 
this  ornament." 

14.  Robert  Guiscard,  the  renowned 
Norman  conqueror  of  southern  Italy. 
Dante  places  him  in  the  Fifth  Heaven 
of  Paradise,  in  the  planet  Mars.  For 
an  account  of  his  character  and  achieve- 
ments see  Gibbon,  Ch.  LVI.  See  also 
Parad.  XVIIL  Note  20. 

Matthew  Paris,  Giles's  Tr.  I.  171, 
A.D.  1239,  gives  the  following  account 
of  the  manner  in  which  he  captured  the 
monastery  of  Monte  Cassino  : — 

"  In  the  same  year,  the  monks  ol 
Monte  Cassino  (where  St,  Benedict  had 


NOT£S  TO  INFERNO. 


l8i 


planted  a  monastery),  to  the  number  of 
thirteen,  came  to  the  Pope  in  old  and 
torn  garments,  with  dishevelled  hair  and 
unshorn  beards,  and  with  tears  in  their 
eyes  ;  and  on  being  introduced  to  the 
presence  of  his  Holiness,  they  fell  at  his 
feet,  and  laid  a  complaint  that  the  Em- 
f>eror  had  ejected  them  from  their  house 
at  Monte  Cassino.  This  mountain  was 
impregnable,  and  indeed  inaccessible  to 
any  one  unless  at  the  will  of  the  monks 
and  others  who  dwelt  on  it ;  however,  R. 
Guiscard,  by  a  device,  pretending  that 
he  was  dead  and  being  carried  thither  on 
a  bier,  thus  took  possession 'of  the  monks' 
castle.  When  the  Pope  heard  this,  he 
concealed  his  grief,  and  asked  tlie  reason  ; 
to  which  the  monks  replied,  '  Because,  in 
obedience  to  you,  we  excommunicated 
the  Emperor.'  The  Pope  then  said, 
'Your  obedience  shall  save  you;'  on 
which  the  monks  went  away  without 
receiving  anything  more  from  the  Pope." 

1 6.  The  battle  of  Ceperano,  near 
Monte  Cassino,  was  fought  in  1265,  be- 
tween Charles  of  Anjou  and  Manfred, 
king  of  Apulia  and  Sicily.  The  Apu- 
lians,  seeing  the  battle  goingagainst  them, 
deserted  their  king  and  passed  over  to 
the  enemy. 

17.  The  battle  of  Tagliacozzo  in 
Abruzzo  was  fought  in  1268,  between 
Charles  of  Anjou  and  Curradinoor  Con- 
radin,  nephew  of  Manfred.  Charles 
gained  the  victory  by  the  strategy  of 
Count  Alardo  di  Valleri,  who, 

"  weaponless  himself. 
Made  arms  ridiculous." 

This  valiant  but  wary  crusader  persuaded 
the  king  to  keep  a  third  of  his  forces  in 
reserve  ;  and  when  the  soldiers  of  Cur- 
Tadino,  thinking  they  had  won  the  day, 
were  scattered  over  the  field  in  pursuit 
cf  plunder,  Charles  fell  upon  them,  and 
routed  them. 

Alanlo  is  mentioned  in  the  Cento  N'o- 
7-dh-Antiche,  Nov.  LVII.,  as  "celebrated 
for  his  wonderful  prowess  even  among  the 
chief  nobles,  and  no  less  esteemed  for  his 
singular  virtues  than  for  his  courage." 

31.  Gibbon,  Ch.  L.,  says  :  "  At  the 
conclusion  of  the  Life  of  Mahomet,  it 
may  perhaps  be  expected  that  I  should 
i>alance  his  faults  and  virtues,  that  I 
should  decide  whether  the  title  of  en- 


thusiast or  impostor  jnore  properly  be- 
longs to  that  extraordinary  man.  Had 
I  been  intimately  conversant  with  the 
son  of  Abdallah,  the  task  would  still  be 
difficult,  and  the  success  uncertain  ;  at 
the  distance  of  twelve  centuries,  I  dai  kly 
contemplate  his  shade  through  a  cloud  of 
religious  incense  ;  and  could  I  truly  deli- 
neate the  portrait  of  an  hour,  the  fleet- 
ing resemblance  would  not  equally  apply 
to  the  solitary  of  Mount  Hera,  to  the 
preacher  of  Mecca,  and  to  the  conqueror 

of  Arabia From  enthusiasm 

to  imposture  the  step  is  perilous  and 
slippery  ;  the  daemon  of  Socrates  af- 
fords a  memorable  instance  how  a  wise 
man  may  deceive  hirnself,  how  a  good 
man  may  deceive  others,  how  the  con- 
science may  slumber  in  a  mixed  and 
middle  state  between  self-illusion  and 
voluntary  fraud." 

Of  Ali,  the  son-in-law  and  faithful  fol- 
lower of  Mahomet,  he  goes  on  to  say: 
"  He  united  the  qualifications  of  a  poet, 
a  soldier,  and  a  saint ;  his  wisdom  still 
breathes  in  a  collection  of  moral  and  re- 
ligious sayings  ;  and  every  antagonist,  in 
the  combats  of  the  tongue  or  of  the 
sword,  was  subdued  by  his  eloquence  and 
valour.  From  the  first  hour  of  his  mis- 
sion to  the  last  rites  of  his  funeral,  the 
apostle  was  never  forsaken  by  a  generous 
friend,  whom  he  delighted  to  name  his 
brother,  his  vicegerent,  and  the  faithful 
Aaron  of  a  second  Moses." 

55.  Fra  Dolcino  was  one  of  the  early 
social  and  religious  reformers  in  the  North 
of  Italy.  His  sect  bore  the  name  of 
"Apostles,"  and  its  chief,  if  not  only, 
heresy  was  a  desire  to  bring  back  the 
Church  to  the  simplicity  of  the  apostolic 
times.  In  1305  he  withdrew  with  his 
followers  to  the  mountains  overlooking 
the  Val  Sesia  in  Piedmont,  where  he  was 
pursued-  and  besieged  by  the  Church 
party,  and,  after  various  fortunes  of  vic- 
tory and  defeat,  being  reduced  by  "  stress 
of  snow  "  and  famine,  was  taken  prisoner, 
together  with  his  companion,  the  beau- 
tiful Margaret  of  Trent.  Both  were 
burned  at  Vercelli  on  the  ist  of  June, 
1307.  This  "last  act  of  the  tragedy  " 
is  thus  described  by  Mr.  Mariotti,  Ifts- 
tot  teal  Memoir  of  Fra  Dolcino  and  his 
Times,  p.  290 : — 

"  Margaret  of  Trent  enjoyed  the  pre 


iSi 


NO  TBS   TO  INFERNO. 


cedence  due  to  her  sex.  She  was  first 
led  out  into  a  spot  near  Vercelli,  bearing 
the  name  of  '  Arena  Servi,'  or  more 
properly  '  Arena  Cervi,'  in  the  sands, 
that  is,  of  the  torrent  Cei"vo,  which  has 
its  confluent  with  the  Sesia  at  about  one 
mile  above  the  city.  A  high  stake  had 
been  erected  in  a  conspicuous  part  of  the 
place.  To  this  she  was  fastened,  and  a 
pile  of  wood  was  reared  at  her  feet. 
The  eyes  of  the  inhabitants  of  town  and 
country  were  upon  her.  On  her  also 
were  the  eyes  of  Dolcino.  She  was 
burnt  alive  with  slow  fire. 

"Next  came  the  turn  of  Dolcino  :  he 
was  seated  high  on  a  car  drawn  by  oxen, 
and  thus  paraded  from  street  to  street  all 
over  Vercelli.  His  tormentors  were  all 
around  him.  Beside  the  car,  iron  pots 
were  carried,  filled  with  burning  char- 
coals; deep  in  the  charcoals  were  iron 
pincers,  glowing  at  white  heat.  These 
pincers  were  continually  applied  to  the 
various  parts  of  Dolcino's  naked  body, 
all  along  his  progress,  till  all  his  flesh 
was  torn  piecemeal  from  his  limbs :  when 
every  bone  was  bare  and  the  whole  town 
was  perambulated,  they  drove  the  still 
living  carcass  back  to  the  same  arena, 
and  threw  it  on  the  burning  mass  in 
which  Margaret  had  been  consumed." 

Farther  on  he  adds  :  — 

"  Divested  of  all  fables  which  igno- 
rance, prejudice,  or  open  calumny  in- 
volved it  ill,  Dolcino's  scheme  amounted 
to  nothing  more  than  a  reformation, 
not  of  religion,  but  of  the  Church  ;  his 
aim  was  merely  the  destruction  of  the 
temporal  power  of  the  clergy,  and  he 
died  for  his  country  no  less  than  for  his 
God.  The  wealth,  arrogance,  and  cor- 
ruption of  the  Pa])al  See  appeared  to 
him,  as  it  appeared  to  Dante,  as  it  ap- 
peared to  a  thousand  other  patriots  before 
and  after  him,  an  eternal  hindrance  to 
the  union,  peace,  and  welfare  of  Italy, 
us  it  was  a  perpetual  check  upon  the 
progress  of  the  human  race,  and  a  source 
of  infinite  scandal  to  the  piety  of  earnest 
believers 

"To  this  clear  mission  of  Italian  Pro- 
testantism Dolcino  was  true  throughout. 
If  we  bring  the  light  of  even  the  clumsiest 
criticism  to  bear  on  his  creed,  even  such 
as  it  has  been  summed  up  by  the  igno- 
iance  or  malignity  of  men  who  never 


utter  his  name  without  an  imprecation, 
we  have  reason  to  be  astonished  at  the 
little  we  find  in  it  that  may  be  construed 
into  a  wilful  deviation  from  the  strictest 
orthodoxy.  Luther  and  Calvin  would 
equally  have  repudiated  him.  He  was 
neither  a  Presbyterian  nor  an  Episco- 
palian, but  an  uncompromising,  stanch 
Papist.  His  was,  most  eminently,  the 
heresy  of  those  whom  we  have  designated 
as  '  literal  Christians. '  He  would  have 
the  Gospel  strictly — perhaps  blindly — 
adhered  to.  Neither  was  that,  in  the 
abstract,  an  unpardonable  offence  in  the 
eyes  of  the  Romanism  of  those  times — 
witness  St.  Francis  and  his  early  flock  — 
provided  he  had  limited  himself  to  make 
Gospel-law  binding  upon  liimself  and  his 
followers  only.  But  Dolcino  must  needs 
enforce  it  upon  the  whole  Christian  com- 
munity, enforce  it  especially  on  those  who 
set  up  as  teachers  of  the  Gospel,  on  those 
who  laid  claim  to  Apostolical  succession. 
That  was  the  error  that  damned  him." 

Of  Margaret  he  still  further  says, 
referring  to  some  old  manuscript  as 
authority:  — 

"She  was  known  by  the  emphatic 
appellation  of  Margaret  the  Beautiful. 
It  is  added,  that  she  was  an  orphan, 
heiress  of  noble  parents,  and  had  been 
placed  for  her  education  in  a  monastery 
of  St.  Catherine  in  Trent  ;  that  there 
Dolcino— who  had  also  been  a  monk,  or 
at  least  a  novice,  in  a  convent  of  the 
Order  of  the  Humiliati,  in  the  same 
town,  and  had  been  expelled  in  conse- 
quence either  of  his  heretic  tenets,  or  of 
immoral  conduct— succeeded,  neverthe- 
less, in  becoming  domesticated  in  the 
nunnery  of  St.  Catherine,  as  a  steward 
or  agent  to  the  nuns,  and  there  accom- 
plished the  fascination  and  abduction  of 
the  wealthy  heiress." 

59.  Val  Sesia,  among  whose  moun- 
tains Fra  Dolcino  was  taken  prisoner,  is 
in  the  diocese  of  Novara. 

7J.  A  Bolognese,  who  stirred  up 
dissensions  among  the  citizens. 

74.  The  plain  of  Lombardy  .sloping 
down  two  hundred  miles  and  more,  from 
Vercelli  in  Piedmont  to  Marcabo,  a 
village  near  Ravenna. 

76.  Guido  del  Cassero  and  Angio- 
lello  da  Cagnano,  two  honourable  citizeni 
of  Fano,  going  to  Rimini  by  invite  tioi 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


183 


of  Malatestino,  were  by  his  order  thrown 
into  the  sea  and  drowned,  as  here  pro- 
phesied or  narrated,  near  the  village  of 
Cattolica  on  the  Adriatic. 

85.  Malatestino  had  lost  one  eye. 

86.  Rimini. 

89.  Focara  is  a  headland  near  Cat- 
tolica, famous  for  dangerous  winds,  to 
be  preserved  from  which  mariners  offered 
up  vows  and  prayers.  These  men  will 
not  need  to  do  it ;  they  will  not  reach 
that  cape. 

102.  Curio,  the  banished  Tribune, 
who,  fleeing  to  Caesar's  camp  on  the 
Rubicon,  urged  him  to  advance  upon 
Rome.  Lucan,  Pharsalia,  I.,  Rowe's 
Tr.  :— 

"  To  Caesar'^  camp  the  busy  Curio  fled  ; 
Curio,  a  speaker  turbulent  and  bold, 
Of  venal  eloquence,  that  served  for  gold. 
And  principles  that  might  be  bought  and  sold. 

To  CcBsar  thus,  while  thousand  cares  infest. 
Revolving  round  the  warrior's  anxious  breast, 
His  speech  the  ready  orator  addressed. 

'  Haste,  then,   thy  towering  eagles  on   their 

way  ; 
When  fair  occasion  calls,  'tis  fatal  to  delay.' " 

106.  Mosca  degl'  Uberti,  or  dei 
Lamberti,  who,  by  advising  the  murder 
of  Buondelmonte,  gave  rise  to  the 
parties  of  Guelf  and  Ghibelline,  which 
so  long  divided  Florence.  See  Canto 
X.  Note  51. 

134.  Bertrand  de  Bom,  the  turbulent 
Troubadour  of  the  last  half  of  the  twelfth 
century,  was  alike  skilful  with  his  pen 
and  his  sword,  and  passed  his  life  in 
alternately  singing  and  fighting,  and  in 
stirring  up  dissension  and  strife  among 
his  neighbours.  He  is  the  author  of 
that  spirited  war-song,  well  known  to  all 
readers  of  Troubadour  verse,  b^inning 

"  The  beautiful  spring  delights  me  well, 
When  flowers  and  leaves  are  growing  ; 
And  it  pleases  my  heart  to  hear  the  swell 
Of  the  birds'  sweet  chorus  flowing 
In  the  echoing  wood  ; 
And  I  love  to  see,  all  scattered  around, 
Pavilions  and  tents  on  the  martial  ground  ; 

And  my  spirit  finds  it  good. 
To  see.  Oil  the  level  plains  beyond. 
Gay  knights  and  steeds  capanson'd  ; " — 

and  ending  whh  a  challenge  to  Richard 
Cceur  de  Lion,  telling  his  minstrel  Pa- 
piol  to  go 

"  And  tell  the  Lord  of '  Yes  and  No ' 
That  peace  already  too  long  has  been." 


"  Bertrand  de  Bom,"  says  the  old 
Provencal  Ijiography,  published  by  Ray- 
nouard,  Choix  de  Poisks  Origitiales  Jei 
Troubadours,  V.  76,  "  was  a  chatelain 
of  the  bishopric  of  Perigueux,  Viscount 
of  Hautefort,  a  castle  with  nearly  a 
thousand  retainers.  He  had  a  brother, 
and  would  have  dispossessed  him  of  his 
inheritance,  had  it  not  been  for  the  King 
of  England.  He  was  always  at  war  with 
all  his  neighbours,  with  the  Count  of 
Perigueux,  and  with  the  Viscount  of 
Limoges,  and  with  his  brother  Constan- 
tine,  and  with  Richard,  when  he  was 
Count  of  Poitou.  He  was  a  good 
cavalier,  and  a  good  warrior,  and  a 
good  lover,  and  a  good  troubadour  ;  and 
well  informed  and  well  spoken  ;  and 
knew  well  how  to  bear  good  and  evil 
fortune.  Whenever  he  wished,  he  was 
master  of  King  Heniy  of  England  and  of 
his  son  ;  but  always  desired  that  father 
and  son  should  be  at  war  with  each  other, 
and  one  brother  with  the  other.  And 
he  always  wished  that  the  King  of  France 
and  the  King  of  England  should  be  at 
variance  ;  and  if  there  were  either  peace 
or  truce,  straightway  he  sought  and 
endeavoured  by  his  satires  to  undo  the 
peace,  and  to  show  how  each  was  dis- 
honoured by  it.  And  he  had  great  ad- 
vantages and  great  misfortunes  by  thus 
exciting  feuds  between  them.  He  wrote 
many  satires,  but  only  two  songs.  The 
King  of  Aragon  called  the  songs  of 
Giraud  de  Borneil  the  wives  of  Bertrand 
de  Bom's  satires.  And  he  who  sang  for 
him  bore  the  name  of  Papiol.  And  he 
was  handsome  and  courteous  ;  and  called 
the  Count  of  Britany,  Rassa  ;  and  the 
King  of  England,  Yes  and  No  ;  and  his 
son,  the  young  king,  Marinier.  And  he 
set  his  whole  heart  on  fomenting  war ; 
and  embroiled  the  father  and  son  of 
England,  until  the  young  king  was  killed 
by  an  arrow  in  a  castle  of  Bertrand  de 
Bom. 

"  And  Bertrand  used  to  boast  that  he 
had  more  wits  than  he  needed.  And 
when  the  King  took  him  prisoner,  he 
asked  him,  *  Have  you  all  your  wits,  for 
you  will  need  them  now?'  And  he 
answered,  '1  lost  them  all  when  tht 
young  king  died.'  Then  the  king  wept, 
and  pardoned  him,  and  gave  him 
robes,  and  lands,  and  honours.     And  hr 


184 


iVOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


lived  long  and  became  a  Cistercian 
monk." 

Fauriel,  FHstoire  de  la  Poisie  Proven- 
^ale,  Adler's  Tr. ,  p.  483,  quoting  part  of 
this  passage,  adds ; — 

"  In  this  notice  the  old  biographer 
indicates  the  dominant  trait  of  Bertrand's 
character  very  distinctly ;  it  was  an  un- 
bridled passion  for  war.  lie  loved  it 
not  only  as  the  occasion  for  exhibiting 
proofs  of  valour,  for  acquiring  power, 
and  for  winning  glory,  but  also,  and  even 
more,  on  account  of  its  hazards,  on  ac- 
count of  the  exaltation  of  courage  and  of 
life  which  it  produced,  nay,  even  for  the 
sake  of  the  tumult,  the  disorders,  and 
the  evils  which  are  accustomed  to  follow 
in  its  train.  Bertrand  de  Born  is  the 
ideal  of  the  undisciplined  and  adventure- 
some warrior  of  the  Middle  Age,  rfither 
than  that  of  the  chevalier  in  the  proper 
sense  of  the  term." 

See  also  Millot,  Hist.  Lift,  des  Trou- 
badours, I.  210,  and  Hist.  Lift,  de  la 
France  par  des  Bbtedictins  de  St.  Maur, 
continuation,  XVII.  425. 

Bertrand  de  Born,  if  not  the  best  of 
the  Troubadours,  is  the  most  prominent 
and  striking  character  among  them. 
His  life  is  a  drama  full  of  romantic 
interest  ;  beginning  with  the  old.  castle 
in  Gascony,  "  the  dames,  the  cavaliers, 
the  arms,  the  loves,  the  courtesy,  the 
bold  emprise  ;"  and  ending  in  a  Cister- 
cian convent,  among  friars  and  fastings, 
and  penitence  and  prayers. 

135.  A  vast  majority  of  manuscripts 
and  printed  editions  read  in  this  line, 
Re  Gtavanni,  King  John,  instead  of  Re 
Giovane,  the  Young  King.  Even  Boc- 
caccio's copy,  which  he  wrote  out  with 
his  own  hand  for  Petrarca,  has  Re  Gio- 
vanni. Out  of  seventy-nine  Codici 
examined  by  Barlow,  he  says.  Study  of 
the  Divina  Commedia,  p.  153,  "Only 
five  were  found  with  the  correct  reading 

— re  giovane The  reading  re  gio- 

iiane  is  not  found  in  any  of  the  early 
editions,  nor  is  it  noticed  by  any  of  the 
early  commentators."  See  also  Gin- 
guene,  Hist.  Litt.  de  PItalie,  II.  586, 
where  the  subject  is  elaborately  dis- 
cussed, and  the  note  of  Biagioli,  who 
takes  the  opposite  side  of  the  question. 

Henry  II.  of  England  had  four  sons, 
all  of  wlioni  were  more  or  less  rebellious 


against  him.  They  were,  Henry,  sur- 
named  Curt-Mantle,  and  called  by  the 
Troubadours  and  novelists  of  his  time 
"  The  Young  King,"  because  he  was 
crowned  during  his  father's  life  ;  Richard 
Cceur-de-Lion,  Count  of  Guienne  and 
Poitou ;  Geoffroy,  Duke  of  Brittany ; 
and  John  Lackland.  Henry  was  the 
only  one  of  these  who  bore  the  title  of 
king  at  the  time  in  question.  Bertrand 
de  Born  was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with 
him,  and  speaks  of  him  in  his  poems 
as  lo  Reys  joves,  sometimes  lauding  and 
sometimes  reproving  him.  One  of  the 
best  of  these  poems  is  his  Complainte, 
on  the  death  of  Henry,  which  took  place 
in  1 183,  from  disease,  say  some  accounts, 
from  the  bolt  of  a  crossbow  say  others. 
He  complains  that  he  has  lost  "  the  best 
king  that  was  ever  bom  of  mother  ;"  and 
goes  on  to  say,  "  King  of  the  courteous, 
and  emperor  of  the  valiant,  you  would 
have  been  Seigneur  if  you  had  lived 
longer  ;  for  you  bore  the  name  of  the 
Young  King,  arid  were  the  chief  and 
peer  of  youth.  Ay !  hauberk  and  sword, 
and  beautiful  buckler,  helmet  and  gon- 
falon, and  purpoint  and  sark,  and  joy 
and  love,  there  is  none  to  maintain 
them ! "  See  Raynouard,  Choix  de 
Poesies,  IV.  49. 

Iii  the  Bihle  Guiot  de  Provins,  Bar- 
bazan.  Fabliaux  et  Contes,  II.,  518,  he 
is  spoken  of  as 

"li  Jones  Rois, 
Li  proux,  li  saiges,  li  cortois." 

In  the  Cento  Novelle  Anttche,  XVIII., 
XIX.,  XXXy.,  he  is  called  //  Re  Gio- 
vane ;  and  in  Roger  de  Wendover's 
Flowers  of  History,  A.D.  II 79 — 1183, 
"  Henry  the  Young  King." 

It  was  to  him  that  Bertrand  de  Bom 
"gave  the  evil  counsels,"  embroiling 
him  with  his  father  and  his  brothers. 
Therefore,  when  the  commentators  chal- 
lenge us  as  Pistol  does  Shallow,  "  Under 
which  king,  Bezonian  ?  speak  or  die  !"  I 
think  we  must  answer  as  Shallow  does, 
"Under  King  Harry. " 

137.     See  2  Samuel  xvii.  I,  2  : — 

"  Moreover,  Ahithojjhel  said  unto 
Absalom,  let  me  now  choose  out  twelve 
thousand  men.  and  I  will  arise  and  pur- 
sue after  David  this  niglit.  And  I  will 
come  upon  him  while  he  is  weary  and 
weak-handed,  and  will  make  him  afraid  ; 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


185 


an>l  all  the  people  that  are  with  him 
shall  flee  ;  and  1  will  smite  the  King 
only." 

Dryden,  in  his  poem  of  Absalom  and 
Achitophel,  gives  this  portrait  of  the 
latter  :— 

"  Of  these  the  false  Achitophel  was  first  ; 
A  name  to  all  succeeding  ages  curst ; 
For  close  designs  and  crooked  counsels  fit ; 
Sagacious,  bold,  and  turbulent  of  wit ; 
kestless,  unfix'd  in  principles  and  place  ; 
In  power  unpleas'd,  impatient  of  disgrace  : 
A  fiery  soul,  which,  working  out  its  way, 
Fretted  the  pigmy  body  to  decay. 
And  o'er  inform  d  the  tenement  of  clay." 

Then  he  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Achi- 
tophel the  following  description  of  Absa- 
lom : — 

"  Auspicious  prince,  at  whose  nativity 
Some  royal  planet  rul'd  the  southern  slty  ; 
Thy  longing  coimtry's  darling  and  desire  ; 
Their  cloudy  pillar  and  their  guardi:m  fire  ; 
Their  second  Moses,  whose  extended  wand 
Divides   the   seas,   and   shows   the    promised 

land  ; 
Whose  dawning  day,  in  every  distant  age. 
Has  exerci.sed  the  sacred  prophet's  rage  ; 
The  people's  prayer,  the  glad  diviner's  theme, 
The  young  men's  vision,  and  the  old  men's 

dream." 


CANTO  XXIX. 

I.  The  Tenth  and  last  "cloister  of 
Malebolge,"  where 

"  Justice  infa'Iible 
Punishes  forgers." 

and  falsifiers  of  all  kinds.  This  Canto 
is  devoted  to  the  alchemists. 

27.  Geri  del  Bello  was  a  disreputable 
member  of  the  Alighieri  family,  and  was 
murdered  by  one  of  the  Sacchetti.  His 
death  was  afterwards  avenged  by  his 
brother,  who  in  turn  slew  one  of  the 
Sacchetti  at  the  door  of  his  house. 

29.     Bertrand  de  Bom. 

35.  Like  the  ghost  of  Ajax  in  the 
Odyssey,  XI.  "  He  answered  me  not 
at  all,  Init  went  to  Erebus  amongst  the 
other  souls  of  the  dead." 

36.  Dante  seems  to  share  the  feeling 
of  the  Italian  vendetta,  which  required 
retaliation  from  some  member  of  the 
injured  family. 

"Among  the  Italians  of  this  age," 
says  Napier,  Florentine  Hist ,  I.  Ch. 
VII.,  "and  for  centuries  after,  j)rivate 
offence  was  never  forgotten  until  re- 
venged, and  generally  involved  a  suc- 


cession of  mutual  injuries  ;  vengeance 
was  not  only  considered  lawful  and  just, 
but  a  positive  duty,  dishonourable  to 
omit ;  and,  as  may  be  learned  from 
ancient  private  journals,  it  was  some- 
times allowed  to  %\ee\)  for  five-and- 
thirty  years,  and  then  suddenly  struck  a 
victim  who  perhaps  had  not  yet  seen  the 
light  when  the  original  injury  was  in- 
flicted." 

46.  The  Val  di  Chiana,  near  Arezzo, 
was  in  Dante's  time  marshy  and  pesti- 
lential. Now,  by  the  effect  of  drainage, 
it  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  fruitful 
of  the  Tuscan  valleys.  The  Maremma 
was  and  is  notoriously  unhealthy  ;  see 
Canto  XIII.  Note  9,  and  Sardinia  would 
seem  to  have  shared  its  ill  repute. 

57.  Forgers  or  falsifiers  in  a  general 
sense.  The  ' '  false  semblaunt "  of  Gower, 
Confes.  Amant,,  II  : — 

"  Offals  semblaunt  if  I  shall  telle. 
Above  all  other  it  is  the  welle 
Out  of  the  which  deceipte  floweth." 

They  are  registered  here  on  earth  to  be 
punished  hereafter. 

59.  The  plague  of  Mgmsi  is  descril>ed 
by  Ovid,  Metamorph.  VII.,  Stone- 
street's  Tr. : — 

"  Their  black   dry   tongues  are    swelled,    and 

scarce  can  move, 
And  short  thick  sighs  from  panting  lungs  are 

drove. 
They  gape  for  air,  with  flatt'ring  hopes  t'abate 
Their  raging  flames,  but  that  augments  their 

heat. 
No  bed,  no  cov'ring  can  the  wretches  bear. 
But  on  the  ground,  exposed  to  open  air. 
They  lie,  and  hope  to  find  a  pleasing  coolness 

there. 
The  suflTring  earth,  with  that  oppression  curst^ 
Returns  the  heat  which  they  imparted  first. 

"  Here  one,   with  fainting  steps,   does  slowly 
creep 
O'er  heaps  of  dead,  and  straight  augments  the 

heap ; 
Another,  while  his  strength  and  tongue  pre- 
vailed. 
Bewails  his  friend,  and  falls  himself  bewailed  ; 
This  with  imploring  looks  surveys  the  skies. 
The  l.xst  dear  office  of  his  closing  eyes. 
But  finds  the  Heav'ns  implacable,  and  dies." 

The  birth  of  the  Myrmidons,  "who 
still  retain  the  thrift  of  ants,  though  now 
transformed  to  men,"  is  thus  given  in 
the  same  book  :— 

"  As  many  ants  the  num'rous  branches  bear. 
The  same  their  labour,  and  their  frugal  care : 


iS6 


NOTES   TO  INFERN-0. 


The  branches  too  alike  commotion  found, 
And  shook  th'  industrious  creatures   on  the 

ground, 
Who  by  degrees  (what's  scarce  to  be  believed) 
A  nobler  form  and  larger  bulk  received, 
And  on  the  earth  walked  an  unusual  pace. 
With  manly  strides,  and  an  erected  face  ; 
Their  num'rous  legs,  and  former  colour  lost, 
The  insects  could  a  human  figure  boast." 

88.  Latian,  or  Italian  ;  any  one  of 
the  Latin  race. 

109.  The  speaker  is  a  certain  Grif- 
folino,  an  alchemist  of  Arezzo,  who 
practised  upon  the  credulity  of  Albert, 
a  natural  son  of  the  Bishop  of  Siena. 
For  this  he  was  burned  ;  but  was  "  con- 
demned to  the  last  Bolgia  of  the  ten  for 
alchemy." 

116.  The  inventor  of  the  Cretan 
labyrinth.     Ovid,  Metainorph.  VIII.  : — 

"  Great  Usedalus  of  Athens  was  the  man 
Who  made  the  draught,  and  formed  the  won- 
drous plan.'' 

Not  being  able  to  find  his  way  out  of 
the  labyrinth,  he  made  wings  for  him- 
self and  his  son  Icarus,  and  escaped  by 
flight. 

122.  Speaking  ot  the  people  of  Sie- 
na, Forsyth,  Italy,  532,  says:  "Vain, 
flighty,  fanciful,  they  want  the  judgment 
and  penetration  of  their  Florentine  neigh- 
bours ;  who,  nationally  severe,  call  a  nail 
without  a  head  chiodo  Sanese.  The  ac- 
complished Signora  Rinieri  told  me,  that 
her  father,  while  Governor  of  Siena,  was 
once  stopped  in  his  carriage  by  a  crowd 
at  Florence,  where  the  mob,  recognizin^ij^ 
him,  called  out:  *■  Lasciate  passare  il  Go- 
vernatorede'  matti.''  A  native  of  Siena  is 
presently  known  at  Florence  ;  for  his  very 
walk,  being  formed  to  a  hilly  town,  de- 
tects him  on  the  ])lain." 

125.  The  persons  here  mentioned 
gain  a  kind  of  immortality  from  Dante's 
verse.  The  Stricca,  or  Baldastricca, 
was  a  lawyer  of  Siena;  and  Niccolo  dei 
Salimbeni,  or  Bonsignori,  introduced 
the  fashion  of  stuffing  pheasants  with 
cloves,  or,  as  Benvenuto  says,  of  roast- 
ing them  at  a  fire  of  cloves.  Though 
Dante  mentions  them  apart,  they  seem, 
like  the  two  others  named  afterwards, 
to  have  been  members  of  the  Rrigata 
Spetidereccia,  or  Prodigal  Club,  of  Siena, 
whose  extravagances  are  recorded  by 
Benvenuto  da  Imola.  This  club  con- 
sisted of  "twelve  very  rich  young  gen- 


tlemen, who  took  it  into  their  heads 
to  do  things  that  would  make  a  great 
part  of  the  world  wonder."  Accord- 
ingly each  contributed  eighteen  thon- 
sand  golden  florins  to  a  common  fund, 
amounting  in  all  to  two  hundred  and 
sixteen  thousand  florins.  They  built 
a  palace,  in  which  each  member  had  a 
splendid  chamber,  and  they  gave  sump- 
tuous dinners  and  suppers ;  ending  their 
banquets  sometimes  by  throwing  all  the 
dishes,  table-ornaments,  and  knives  of 
gold  and  silver  out  of  the  window. 
"This  silly  institution,"  continues  Ben- 
venuto, "lasted  only  ten  month.s,  the 
treasury  being  exhausted,  and  the 
wretched  members  became  the  fable 
and  laughing-stock  of  all  the  world." 

In  honour  of  this  club,  Folgore  da 
San  Geminiano,  a  clever  poet  of  the 
day  (1260),  wrote  a  series  of  twelve 
convivial  sonnets,  one  for  each  month 
of  the  year,  with  Dedication  and  Con- 
clusion. A  translation  of  these  sonnets 
may  be  found  in  D.  G.  Rossetti's  Early 
Italian  Poets.  The  Dedication  runs  as 
follows  : — 

"  Unto  the  blithe  and  lordly  Fellowship, 

(1  know  not  where,  but  wheresoe'er,  I  know. 
Lordly  and  blithe,)  be  greeting ;  and  thereto. 
Dogs,  hawks,  and  a  full  purse  wherein  to  dip ; 
Quails  struck  i'  the  flight ;  nags  mettled  to  the 
whip ; 
Hart-hounds,  hare-hounds,  and  blood-hounds 

even  so  ; 
And  o'er  that  realm,  a  crown  for  Niccolii, 
Whose  praise  in  Siena  springs  from  lip  to  lip, 
Tingoccio,  Atuin  di  Togno,  and  Ancai&n, 
Eartolo,  and  Mugaro,  and  FaSnot, 
Who  well  might  pass  for  children  of  King 
Ban, 
Courteous  and  valiant  more  than  Lancelot, — 
'I'o  each,  God  speed !     How  worthy  every 

man 
To  hold  high  tournament  in  Camelot." 

136.  "This  Capocchio,"  says  the 
Ottimo,  "was  a  very  subtle  alchemist  ; 
and  because  he  was  burned  for  prac- 
tising alchemy  in  Siena,  he  exhibits  his 
hatred  to  the  Sienese,  and  gives  us  to 
understand  that  the  author  knew  him." 


CANTO   XXX. 

I.  In  this  Canto  the  same  Bolgia  is 
continued,  with  different  kinds  of  Falsi- 
fiers. 

4.  Athamas,  king  of  Thebes  and 
husband  of  I  no,   daughter  of  Cadmus 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


187 


His  madness  is  thus  described  by  Ovid, 
Metamorph.  IV.  Eusden's  Tr.  : — 

"  Now  Athamas  cries  out,  his  reason  fled, 
'  Here,  fellow-hunters,  let  the  toils  be  spread. 
I  saw  a  lioness,  in  quest  of  food. 
With  her  two  young,  run  roaring  in  this  wood.' 
Again  the  fancied  savages  were  seen. 
As  thro'  his  palace  still  he  chased  his  queen  ; 
Then  tore  Learchus  from  her  breast :  the  child 
Stretched     little    arms,    and     on    its    father 

smiled, — 
A  father  now  no  n:        — who  now  begun 
Around  his  head  to  whirl  his  giddy  son, 
And,  quite  insensible  to  nature's  call, 
The  helpless  infant  flung  against  the  wall. 
The  same  mad  poison  in  the  mother  wrought ; 
Young  Melicerta  in  her  arms  she  caught. 
And  with  disordered  tresses,  hojvling,  flies, 
'  O  Bacchus,  Ev6e,  Bacchus  ! '  loud  she  cries. 
The  name  of  Bacchus  Juno  laughed  to  hear. 
And  said,  'Thy  foster-god  has  cost  thee  dear.' 
A  rock  there  stood,  whose  side  the   beating 

waves 
Had  long  consumed,  and  hollowed  into  caves. 
The  head  shot  forwards  in  a  bending  steep, 
And  cast  a  dreadful  covert  o'er  the  deep. 
The  wretched  Ino,  on  destruction  bent. 
Climbed  up  the  cliflF, — such  strength  her  fury 

lent : 
Thence  with  her  guiltless  boy,  who  wept  in 

vain. 
At   one    bold    spring    she  plunged   into    the 


16.  Hecuba,  wife  of  Priam,  of  Troy, 
and  mother  of  Polyxena  and  Polydorus. 
Ovid.  XHL,  Stanyan's  Tr.  :— 

"  When  on  the  banks  her  son  in  ghastly  hue 
Transfixed  with  Thracian  arrows  strikes  her 

view. 
The  matrons  shrieked :   her  big  swoln   grief 

surpassed 
The  power  of  utterance  ;  she  stood  aghast  ; 
She  had  nor  speech,  nor  tears  to  give  relief : 
Excess  of  woe  suppressed  the  rising  grief. 
Lifeless  as  stone,  on  earth  she  fix'd  her  eyes  ; 
And  then  look'd  up  to  Ileav'n  with  wild  sur- 
prise, 
Now  she  contemplates  o'er  with  sad  delight 
Her  son's  pale  visage  ;  then  her  aking  sight 
Dwells  on  his  wounds :   she  varies  thus  by 

turns. 
Till  with  collected  rage  at  length  she  bums. 
Wild  as  the  mother-lion,  when  among 
The  haunts  of  prey  she  seeks   her  ravished 

young : 
Swift  flies  the  ravisher  ;  she  marks  his  trace, 
And  by  the  print  directs  her  anxious  chase. 
So  Hecuba  with  mingled  grief  and  rage 
Pursues  the  king,  regardless  of  her  age. 

Fastens  her  forky  fingers  in  his  eyes  ; 

Tears  out  the  rooted  tails  ;  her  rage  pursues, 

And  in  the  hollow  orbs  her  hand  imbrues 

"  The    Thracians,   fired    at    this    inhuman 
scene. 
With  darts  and  stones  assail  the  frantic  queen. 
She  snarls  and  growls,  nor  in  an  human  tone  ; 
Then  bites  impatient  at  the  bounding  stone  ; 


Extends  her  jaws,  as  she  her  voice  would  mis'; 
To  keen  invectives  in  her  wonted  phrase  ; 
But  barks,  and  thence  the  yelping  brute  be- 
trays." 

31.  Griffolino  d'Arezzo,  mentioned 
in  Canto  XXIX.  109. 

42.  The  same  "  mad  sprite,"  Gianni 
Schicchi,  mentioned  in  line  32.  "Buoso 
Donati  of  Florence,"  says  Benvenuto, 
"although  a  nobleman  and  of  an  illus- 
trious house,  was  nevertheless  like  other 
noblemen  of  his  time,  and  by  means  of 
thefts  had  greatly  increased  his  patri- 
mony. When  the  hour  of  death  drew 
near  the  sting  of  conscience  caused  him 
to  make  a  will  in  which  he  gave  fit 
legacies  to  many  people  ;  whereupon  his 
son  Simon,  (the  Ottimo  sTiys  his  nephew,) 
thinking  himself  enormously  aggrieved, 
suborned  Vanni  Schicchi  dei  Cavalcanti, 
who  got  into  Buoso's  bed,  and  made 
a  will  in  opposition  to  the  other. 
Gianni  much  resembled  Buoso."  In 
this  will  Gianni  Schicchi  did  not  for- 
get himself  while  making  Simon  heir  ; 
for,  according  to  the  Otlimo,  he  put 
this  clause  into  it:  "To  Gianni  Schic- 
chi I  bequeath  my  mare."  This  was 
the  "lady  of  the  herd,"  and  Benvenuto 
adds,  "none  more  beautiful  was  to  be 
found  in  Tuscany  ;  and  it  was  valued  at 
a  thousand  florins." 

61.  Messer  Adamo,  a  false-coiner 
of  Brescia,  who  at  the  instigation  of 
the  Counts  Guido,  Alessandro,  and 
Aghinolfo  of  Romena,  counterfeited  the 
golden  florin  of  Florence,  which  bore  on 
one  side  a  lily,  and  on  the  other  the 
figure  of  John  the  Baptist. 

64.  Tasso,  Gerusalemme,  XIII.  60, 
Fairfax's  Tr. : — 

"  He  that  the  gliding  rivers  erst  had  seen 
Adown  their  verdant  channels  gently  rolled. 
Or  falling  streams,  which  to  the  valleys  green. 
Distilled  from  tops  of  Alpine  mountains  cold. 
Those  he  desired  in  vain,  new  torments  been 
Augmented  thus  with  wish  of  comforts  old  ; 
Those  waters  cool  he  drank  in  vain  conceit. 
Which  more  increased  his  thirst,  increased  his 
heat." 

65.  The  upper  valley  of  the  Amo  15 
in  the  province  of  Cassentino.  Quoting 
these  three  lines,  Ampere,  Voyage  Dan' 
tesque,  2^6,  says  j  ''  In  these  untrans-i 
latabl?  verses,  there  is  a  feeling  of  humic^ 
freshness,  which  almost  makes  one  shudi 
der,     I  owe  it  tq  tfuth  te  sf>y,  that  \h^ 


Ik 


i88 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


Cassentine  was  a  great  deal  less  fresh 
and  less  verdant  in  reality  than  in  the 
poetry  of  Dante,  and  that  in  the  midst 
of  the  aridity  which  surrounded  me,  this 
poetry,  by  its  very  perfection,  made  one 
feel  something  of  the  punishment  of 
Master  Adam." 

73.  Forsyth,  Italy,  116,  says:  "The 
castle  of  Romena,  mentioned  in  these 
veises,  now  stands  in  ruins  on  a  pre- 
cipice about  a  mile  from  our  inn,  and 
not  far  off  is  a  spring  which  the  peasants 
call  Fonte  Branda.  Might  I  presume 
to  differ  from  his  commentators,  Dante, 
in  my  opinion,  does  not  mean  the  great 
fountain  of  Siena,  but  rather  this  ob- 
scure spring  ;  which,  though  less  known 
to  the  world,  was  an  object  more  fami- 
liar to  the  poet  himself,  who  took  refuge 
here  from  proscription,  and  an  image 
more  natural  to  the  coiner  who  was 
burnt  on  the  spot." 

Ampere  is  of  the  same  opinion, 
Voyage  Dantesqiie,  246:  "The  Fonte 
Branda,  mentioned  by  Master  Adam, 
is  assuredly  the  fountain  thus  named, 
which  still  flows  not  far  from  the 
tower  of  Romena,  between  the  place 
of  the  crime  and  that  of  its  punish- 
ment." 

On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Barlow,  Con- 
tributions, remarks:  "This  little  fount 
was  known  only  to  so  few,  that  Dante, 
who  wrote  for  the  Italian  people  gene- 
rally, can  scarcely  be  thought  to  have 
meant  this,  when  the  famous  Fonte 
Branda  at  Siena  was,  at  least  by  name, 
familiar  to  them  all,  and  formed  an 
image  more  in  character  with  the  in- 
satiable thirsit  of  Master  Adam." 

Poetically  the  question  is  of  slight  im- 
portance ;  for,  as  Fluellen  says,  "  There 
is  a  river  in  Macedon,  and  there  is  also 
moreover  a  river  at  Monmouth,  .... 
and  there  is  salmons  in  both." 

86.  This  line  and  line  1 1  of  Canto 
XXIX.  are  cited  by  Gabrielle  Rossetti 
in  confirmation  of  his  theory  of  the 
"Principal  Allegory  of  the  Inferno," 
that  the  city  of  Dis  is  Rome.  He  says, 
Spirito  Antipapale,  I.  62,  Miss  Ward's 
Tr.  :— 

"  This  well  is  surrounded  by  a  high 
wall,  and  the  wall  by  a  vast  trench  ; 
the  circuit  of  the  trench  is  twenty-two 
miles,  and  that  of  the  wall  eleven  miles. 


Now  the  outward  trench  of  the  walls  of 
Rome  (whether  real  or  imaginary  we 
say  not)  was  reckoned  by  Dante's  con- 
temporaries to  be  exactly  twenty-two 
miles  ;  and  the  walls  of  the  city  were 
then,  and  still  are,  eleven  miles  round. 
Hence  it  is  clear,  that  the  wicked  timi 
which  looks  into  Rome,  as  into  a  mirror, 
sees  there  the  corrupt  place  which  is  the 
final  goal  to  its  waters  or  people,  that 
is,  the  figurative  Rome,  'dread  seat  of 
Dis.'" 

The  trench  here  spoken  of  is  the  last 
trench  of  Malebolge.  Dante  mentions 
no  wall  about  the  well  ;  only  giants 
standing  round  it  like  towers. 

97.  Potiphar's  wife. 

98.  Virgil's  "perjured  Sinon,"  the 
Greek  who  persuaded  the  Trojans  to 
accept  the  wooden  horse,  telling  them  it 
was  meant  to  protect  the  city,  in  lieu  of 
the  statue  of  Pallas,  stolen  by  Diomed 
and  Ulysses. 

Chaucer,  Nonnes  Precstes  Tale: — 

"  O  false  dissimilour,  O  Greek  Sinon, 
That  broughtest  Troye  at  utterly  to  sorwe." 

103.  The  disease  of  tympanites  is  so 
called  "because  the  abdomen  is  dis- 
tended with  wind,  and  sounds  like  a 
drum  when  struck." 

128.     Ovid,  Metamorph.  III.  : — 

"  A  fountain  in  a  darksome  wood. 
Nor    stained    with    falling  leaves   nor  rising 
mud." 


CANTO   XXXI. 

I.  This  Canto  describes  the  Plain  of 
the  Giants,  between  Malebolge  and  the 
mouth  of  the  Infernal  Pit. 

4.  Iliad,  XVI.:  "A  Pelion  ash, 
which  Chiron  gave  to  his  ^ Achilles') 
father,  cut  from  the  top  of  Mount 
Pelion,  to  be  the  death  of  heroes. " 

Chaucer,  Squieres  Tale: — 

"  And  of  Achilles  for  his  queintc  spere, 

For  he  coude  with  it  bothe  hele  and  drere." 

And    Shakspeare,    in   King  Ileniy  thl 
Sixth,  V.  i.  :  — 

"  Whose  smile  and  frown,  like  to  Achilles'  spear, 
Is  able  with  the  change  to  kill  and  cure." 

16.     The  battle  of  Roncesvalles, 

"  When  Charlemain  with  all  his  peerage  fell 
By  Kontarabia." 

18.     Archbishop    Turpin,    Chronicle 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


XXIII.,  Rodd's  Tr.,  thus  describes  the 
blowing  of  Orlando's  horn  :  — 

"  He  now  blew  a  loud  blast  with  his 
horn,  to  summon  any  Christian  con- 
cealed in  the  adjacent  woods  to  his  as- 
sistance, or  to  recall  his  friends  beyond 
the  pass.  This  horn  was  endued  with 
such  power,  that  all  other  horns  were 
split  by  its  sound  ;  and  it  is  said  that 
Orlando  at  that  time  blew  it  with  such 
vehemence,  that  he  burst  the  veins  and 
nerves  of  his  neck.  The  sound  reached 
the  king's  ears,  who  lay  encamped  in 
the  valley  still  called  by  his  name, 
about  eight  miles  fiom  Ronceval,  to- 
wards Gascony,  being  carrie'd  so  far  by 
su{)ematural  power.  Charles  would 
have  flown  to  his  succour,  but  was  pre- 
vented by  Ganalon,  who,  conscious  of 
Orlando's  sufferings,  insinuated  it  was 
usual  with  him  to  sound  his  honi  on 
light  occasions.  '  He  is,  perhaps,'  said 
he,  '  pursuing  some  wild  beast,  and  the 
sound  echoes  through  the  woods  ;  it 
will  be  fruitless,  therefore,  to  seek  him.' 
O  wicked  traitor,  deceitful  as  Judas  ! 
What  dost  thou  merit  ?  " 

Walter  Scott  in  Marmion,  VI.  33, 
makes  allusion  to  Orlando's  horn  : — 

"  O  for  a  blast  of  that  dread  horn. 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne, 

That  to  King  Charles  did  come, 
When  Rowland  brave,  and  Olivier, 
And  every  paladin  and  peer. 

On  Roncesvalles  died !  " 

Orlando's  horn  is  one  of  the  favourite 
fictions  of  old  romance,  and  is  surpassed 
in  power  only  by  that  of  Alexander, 
which  took  sixty  men  to  blow  it  and 
could  be  heard  at  a  distance  of  sixty 
miles  ! 

41.  Montereggione  is  a  picturesque 
old  castle  on  an  eminence  near  Siena. 
Ampere,  Voyage  Dantesque,  251,  re- 
marks :  "  This  fortress,  as  the  com- 
mentators say,  was  furnished  with 
towers  all  round  about,  and  had  none 
in  the  centre.  In  its  present  state  it  is 
still  very  faithfully  described  by  the 
verse, — 

'  Montereggion  di  torri  si  corona.'  " 

59.  This  pine-cone  of  bronze,  which 
is  now  in  the  gardens  of  the  Vatican, 
was  found  in  the  mausoleum  of  Hadrian, 
and   is  supposed   to  have  crowned   its 


summit.  "I  have  looked  daily,"  says 
Mrs.  Kemble,  Year  of  Consolation,  152, 
"  over  the  lonely,  sunny  gardens,  open 
like  the  palace  halls  to  me,  where  the 
wide  -  sweeping  orange- walks  end  in 
some  distant  view  of  the  sad  and  noble 
Campagna,  where  silver  fountains  call 
to  each  other  through  the  silent,  over- 
arching cloisters  of  dark  and  fragrant 
green,  and  where  the  huge  bronze  pine, 
by  which  Dante  measured  his  great 
giant,  yet  stands  in  the  midst  of  graceful 
vases  and  bas-reliefs  wrought  in  former 
ages,  and  the  more  graceful  blossoms 
blown  within  the  very  hour." 

And  Ampere,  Voyage  Dantesque,  277, 
remarks :  "Here  Dante  takes  as  a  point 
of  comparison  an  object  of  determinate 
size  ;  the  pigtia  is  eleven  feet  high,  the 
giant  then  must  be  seventy  ;  it  performs, 
in  the  description,  the  office  of  those 
figures  which  are  placed  near  monu- 
ments to  render  it  easier  for  the  eye  to 
measure  their  height." 

Mr.  Norton,  Travel  and  Study  in 
Italy,  253,  thus  speaks  of  the  same  ob- 
ject : — 

"This  pine-cone,  of  bronze,  was  set 
originally  upon  the  summit  of  the 
Mausoleum  of  Hadrian.  After  this 
imperial  sepulchre  had  undergone  many 
evil  fates,  and  as  its  ornaments  were 
stripped  one  by  one  from  it,  the  cone 
was  in  the  sixth  century  taken  down, 
and  carried  off  to  adorn  a  fountain, 
whicji  had  been  constructed  for  the 
use  of  dusty  and  thirsty  pilgrims,  in  a 
pillared  enclosure,  called  the  Paradise, 
in  front  of  the  old  basilica  of  St.  Peter. 
Here  it  remained  for  centuries ;  and 
when  the  old  church  gave  way  to  the 
new,  it  was  put  where  it  now  stands, 
useless  and  out  of  place,  in  the  trim  and 
formal  gardens  of  the  Papal  palace." 

And  adds  in  a  note  : — 

"  At  the  present  day  it  serves  the 
bronze-workers  of  Rome  as  a  model 
for  an  inkstand,  such  as  is  seen  in  the 
shop-windows  every  winter,  and  is  sold 
to  travellers,  few  of  whom  know  the 
history  and  the  poetry  belonging  to  its 
original." 

67,  "The  gaping  monotony  of  this 
jargon,"  says  Leigh  Hunt,  "fiUl  of  the 
vowel  a,  is  admirably  suited  to  the 
mouth  of  the  vast  half-stupid  speaker. 


IQO 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


It  is  like  a  babble  of  the  gigantic  infancy 
of  the  world." 

77.  Nimrod,  the  "mighty  hunter  be- 
fore the  Lord,"  who  built  the  tower  of 
Babel,  which,  according  to  the  Italian 
popular  tradition,  was  so  high  that  who- 
ever mounted  to  the  top  of  it  could  hear 
the  angels  sing. 

Cory,  Ancient  Fragments,  51,  gives 
this  extract  from  the  Sibylline  Oracles: — 

"  But  when  the  judgments  of  the  Almighty  God 
Were  ripe  for  execution  ;  when  the  Tower 
Rose  to  the  skies  upon  Assyria's  plain, 
And  all  mankind  one  language  only  knew  ; 
A  dread  commission  from  on  high  was  given 
To  the  fell  whirlwinds,  which  with  dire  alarms 
Beat  on  the  Tower,  and  to  its  lowest  base 
Shook  it  convulsed.     And  now  all  intercourse, 
By  some  occult  and  overruling  power, 
Ceased  among  men :  by  utterance  they  strove 
Perplexed  and  anxious  to  disclose  their  mind ; 
But  their  lip  failed  them,  and  in  lieu  of  words 
Produced  a  painful  babbling  sound  :  the  place 
Was  thence  called   Babel ;    by  th'    apostate 

crew 
Named   from   the  event.    Then  severed  far 

away 
They  sped  uncertain  into  realms  unknown  ; 
Thus  kingdoms  rose,  and  the  glad  world  was 

filled." 

94.  Odyssey,  XI.,  Buckley's  Tr.  : 
"  God-like  Otus  and  far-famed  Ephialtes; 
whom  the  faithful  earth  nourished,  the 
tallest  and  far  the  most  beautiful,  at  least 
after  illustrious  Orion.  For  at  nine 
years  old  they  were  also  nine  cubits  in 
width,  and  in  height  they  were  nine  fa- 
thoms. Who  even  threatened  the  im- 
mortals that  they  would  set  up  a  strife  of 
impetuous  war  in  Olympus.  They  at- 
tempted to  place  Ossa  upon  Olympus, 
and  upon  Ossa  leafy  Pelion,  that  heaven 
might  be  accessible.  And  they  would 
have  accomplished  it,  if  they  had  reached 
fhe  measure  of  youth;  but  the  son  of 
Jove,  whom  fair-haired  Latona  bore, 
destroyed  them  both,  before  the  down 
flowered  under  their  temples  and  thick- 
ened upon  their  cheeks  with  a  flowering 
beard." 

98.  The  giant  with  a  hundred  hands. 
/lineid,  X.  :  "  /Egseon,  who,  they  say, 
had  a  hundred  arms  and  a  hundred  hands, 
and  flashed  fire  from  fifty  mouths  and 
breasts;  when  against  the  thunderbolts 
of  Jove  he  on  so  many  equal  buck- 
lers clashed  ;  unsheathed  so  many 
swords. " 

He  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  famous 


pirate,  and  the  fable  of  the  hundred 
hands  arose  from  the  hundred  sailors 
that  manned  his  ship. 

100.  The  giant  Antaeus  is  here  un- 
bound, because  he  had  not  been  at  "  the 
mighty  war"  against  the  gods. 

115.  The  valley  of  the  Bagrada,  one 
of  whose  branches  flows  by  Zama,  the 
scene  of  Scipio's  great  victory  over  Han- 
nibal, by  which  he  gained  his  greatest 
renown  and  his  title  of  Africanus. 

Among  the  neighbouring  hills,  accord- 
ing to  Lucan,  Pharsalia,  I V. ,  the  giant 
Antaeus  had  his  cave.  Speaking  of 
Curio's  voyage,  he  says : — 

"  To  Afric's  coast  he  cuts  the  foamy  way. 
Where  low  the  once  victorious  Carthage  lay. 
There  landing,  to  the   well-known  camp  he 

hies, 
Wliere  from  afar  the  distant  seas  he  spies  ; 
Where  Bagrada's  dull  waves  the  sands  divide, 
And  slowly  downward  roll  their  sluggish  tide. 
From  thence  he  seeks  the  heights  renowned 

by  fame. 
And  hallowed  by  the  great  Cornelian  name  : 
The  rocks  and  hills  which  long,  traditions  say, 
Were  held  by  huge  Antseus'  horrid  sway. 

But  greater  deeds  this  rising  mountain  grace, 
And  Scipio's  name  ennobles  much  the  place. 
While,  fixing  here  his  famous  camp,  he  calls 
Fierce  Hannibal  from  Rome's  devoted  walls. 
As  yet  the  mouldering  works  remain  in  view. 
Where  dreadful  once  the  Latian  eagles  flew." 

124.  ^neid,  VI.:  "Here  too  you 
might  have  seen  Tityus,  the  foster-child 
of  all-bearing  earth,  whose  body  is  ex- 
tended over  nine  whole  acres ;  and  a 
huge  vulture,  with  her  hooked  beak, 
pecking  at  his  immortal  liver."  Also, 
Odyssey,  XI.,  in  similar  words. 

Typhoeus  was  a  giant  with  a  hundred 
heads,  like  a  dragon's,  who  made  wai 
upon  the  gods  as  soon  as  he  was  born. 
He  was  the  father  of  Geryon  and  Cer- 
berus. 

132.  The  battle  between  Hercules 
and  Antaeus  is  described  by  Lucan,  Phar- 
salia, IV.  :  — 

"  Bright  in  Olympic  oil  Alcides  shone, 
Antaius  with  his  mother's  dust  is  sirown, 
And  seeks  her  friendly  force  to  aid  his  own." 

136.  One  of  the  leaning  towers  of 
Bologna,  which  Eustace,  Classical  Tour, 
I.  167,  thinks  are  "remarkable  only  for 
their  unmeaning  elevation  and  dangerous, 
deviation  from  the  perpendicular." 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


191 


CANTO  XXXII. 

I.  In  this  Canto  begins  the  Ninth 
and  last  Circle  of  the  Inferno,  where 
Traitors  are  punished. 

"  Hence  in  the  smallest  circle,  at  the  point 
Of  all  the  universe,  where  Dis  is  seated. 
Whoe'er  betrays  forever  is  consumed." 

3.  The  word  thrust  is  here  used  in  its 
architectural  sense,  as  the  thrust  of  a 
bridge  against  its  abutments,  and  the 
like. 

9.  Still  using  the  babble  of  child- 
hood. 

II.  The  Muses;  the  poetic  tradition 
being  that  Amphion  built  the  walls  of 
Thebes  l>y  the  sound  of  his  lyre ;  and  the 
prosaic  interpretation,  that  he  did  it  by 
his  persuasive  eloquence. 

15.  Matthew  xxvi.  24:  "Woe  unto 
that  man  by  whom  the  Son  of  man  is 
betrayed  !  it  had  been  good  for  that  man 
if  he  had  not  been  bom. " 

28.  Tambemich  is  a  mountain  of  Scla- 
vonia,  and  Pietrapana  another  near 
Lucca. 

55.  These  two. "miserable  brothers" 
are  Alessandro  and  Napoleone,  sons  of 
Alberto  degli  Alberti,  lord  of  Falterona 
in  the  valley  of  the  Bisenzio.  After 
their  father's  death  they  quarrelled,  and 
one  treacherously  slew  the  other. 

58.  Caina  is  the  first  of  the  four  di- 
visions of  this  circle,  and  takes  its  name 
from  the  first  fratricide. 

62.  Sir  Mordred,  son  of  King  Arthur. 
See  La  Mart  iV Arthure,  III.  ch.  167  : 
"And  there  King  Arthur  smote  Sir 
Mordred  under  the  shield  with  a  foine 
of  his  speare  throughout  the  body  more 
than  a  iadom." 

Nothing  is  said  here  of  the  sun's 
shining  through  the  wound,  so  as  to 
break  the  shadow  on  the  ground,  but 
that  incident  is  mentioned  in  the  Italian 
version  of  the  Romance  of  Launcelot  of 
the  lake,  Z'  illustre  e  famosa  istoria  lii 
Lancillotto  del  Lago,  III.  ch.  162:  "Be- 
hind the  opening  made  by  the  lance 
there  passed  through  the  wound  a  ray 
of  the  sun  so  manifestly,  that  Girflet 
saw  it." 

63.  Focaccia  was  one  of  the  Cancel- 
lieri  Bianchi,  of  Pistoia,  and  was  engaged 
in  the  affair  of  cutting  off  the  hand  of  his 


half-brother.  See  Note  65,  Canto  VI. 
He  is  said  also  to  have  killed  his  uncle. 

65.  .Sassol  Mascheroni,  according  to 
Benvenuto,  was  one  of  the  Toschi  family 
of  Florence.  He  murdered  his  nephew 
in  order  to  get  possession  of  his  property ; 
for  which  crime  he  was  carried  through 
the  streets  of  Florence,  nailed  up  in  a 
cask,  and  then  beheaded. 

68.  Camicion  de'  Pazzi  of  Valdamo, 
who  murdered  his  kinsman  Ubertino, 
But  his  crime  will  seem  small  and  ex- 
cusable when  compared  with  that  of 
another  kinsman,  Carlino  de'  Pazzi,  who 
treacherously  surrendered  the  castle  of 
Piano  in  Valdamo,  wherein  many  Flo- 
rentine exiles  were  taken  and  put  to 
death. 

81.  The  speaker  is  Bocca  degli  Abati, 
whose  treason  caused  the  defeat  of  the 
Guelfs  at  the  famous  battle  of  Monta- 
perti,  in  1260.     See  Note  86,  Canto  X. 

"  Messer  Bocca  degli  Abati,  the  trai- 
tor," says  Malispini,  Storia,  ch.  171, 
"  with  his  sword  in  hand,  smote  and  cut 
off  the  hand  of  Messer  Jacopo  de'  Pazzi 
of  Florence,  who  bore  the  standard  of 
tiie  cavalry  of  the  Commune  of  Florence. 
And  the  knights  and  the  people,  seeing 
the  standard  down,  and  the  treachery, 
were  put  to  rout." 

88.  The  second  division  of  the  Circle, 
called  Antenora,  from  Antenor,  the  Tro- 
jan prince,  who  l>etrayed  his  country  by 
keeping  up  a  secret  correspondence  with 
the  Greeks.  Virgil,  /Eneid,  I.  242, 
makes  him  founder  of  Padua. 

106.     See  Note  81  of  this  Canto. 

116.  Buoso  da  Duera  of  Cremona, 
being  bribed,  suffered  the  French  cavalry 
under  Guido  da  Monforte  to  pass  through 
Lombardy  on  their  way  to  Apulia,  with- 
out opposing  them  as  he  had  been  com- 
manded. 

117.  There  is  a  double  meaning  in 
the  Iialian  expression  sta  fresco,  which 
is  well  rendered  by  the  vulgarism,  left 
out  in  the  cold,  so  familiar  in  American 
politics. 

1 19.  Beccaria  of  Pavia,  Abbot  of 
Vallombrosa,  and  Papal  Legate  at  Flo- 
rence, where  he  was  beheaded  in  1258 
for  plotting  against  the  Guelfs. 

121.  Gianni  de'  Soldanieri,  of  Flor- 
ence, a  Ghibelline,  who  betrayed  his 
party.     Villani,  VII.  14,  says :  "  Messei 


192 


NOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


Gianni  de'  Soldanieii  put  himself  at  the 
head  of  the  populace  from  motives  of 
ambition,  regardless  of  consequences 
which  were  injurious  to  the  Ghibelline 
party,  and  to  his  own  detriment,  which 
seems  always  to  have  been  the  case  in 
Florence  with  those  who  became  popular 
leaders." 

122.  The  traitor  Ganellon,  or  Gana- 
lon,  who  betrayed  the  Christian  cause  at 
Koncesvalles,  persuading  Charlemagne 
not  to  go  to  the  assistance  of  Orlando. 
See  Canto  XXXI.  Note  i8. 

Tebaldello  de'  Manfredi  treacherously 
opened  the  gates  of  Faenza  to  the  French 
in  the  night. 

130.  Tydeus,  son  of  the  king  of  Ca- 
lydon,  slew  Menalippus  at  the  siege 
of  Thebes,  and  was  himself  mortally 
wounded.  Statins,  Thehaid,  VIII.,  thus 
describes  what  followed  : — 

"  O'ercome  with  joy  and  anger,  Tydeus  tries 
To  raise  himself,  and  meets  with  eager  eyes 
The  deathful  object,  pleased  as  he  surveyed 
His  own  condition  in  his  foe's  pourtrayed. 
The  severed  head  impatient  he  demands, 
And    grasps  with    fervour    in    his  trembling 

hands. 
While  he  remarks  the  restless  balls  of  sight 
That  sought  and  shunned  alternately  the  light. 
Contented  now,  his  wrath  began  to  cease, 
And  the  fierce  warrior  had  expired  in  peace  ; 
But   the   fell    fiend   a  thought  of  vengeance 

bred. 
Unworthy  of  himself  and  of  the  dead. 
Meanwhile,  her  sire  unmoved,  Tritonia  came. 
To  crown  her  hero  with  immortal  fame  ; 
But  when  she  saw  his  jaws  besprinkled  o'er 
With  spattered  brains,  and  tinged  with  living 

,      .sol's! 

Whilst  his  imploring  friends  attempt  in  vain 
To  calm  his  fury,  and  his  rage  restrain. 
Again,  recoiling  from  the  loathsome  view, 
The  sculptur'd  target  o'er  her  face  she  threw." 


CANTO  XXXIII. 

I.  In  this  Canto  the  subject  of  the 
preceding  is  continued. 

13.  Count  Ugolino  della  Gherardesca 
was  Podesta  of  Pisa.  "  Raised  to  the 
highest  offices  of  the  republic  for  ten 
years,"  says  Napier,  Florentiite  History, 
I.  318,  "he  would  soon  have  become 
absolute,  had  not  his  own  nephew,  Nino 
Visconte,  Judge  of  Gallura,  contested 
this  supremacy  and  forced  himself  into 
conjoint  and  equal  authority;  this  could 
not  continue,  and  a  sort  of  compromise 
was  lor  the  moment  eflfected,  by  which 


Visconte  retired  to  the  absolute  govern- 
ment of  Sardinia.  But  Ugolino,  still 
dissatisfied,  sent  his  son  to  disturb  the 
island ;  a  deadly  feud  was  the  conse- 
quence, Guelph  against  Guelph,  while 
the  latent  spirit  of  Giiibellinism,  which 
filled  the  breasts  of  the  citizens  and  was 
encouraged  by  priest  and  friar,  felt  its 
advantage;  the  Archbishop  Ruggiero 
Rubaldino  was  its  real  head,  but  he 
worked  with  hidden  caution  as  the  appa- 
rent friend  of  either  chiefta  n.  In  1287, 
after  some  sharp  contests,  both  of  them 
abdicated,  for  the  sake,  as  it  was  alleged, 
of  public  tranquillity  ;  but,  soon  perceiv- 
ing their  error,  again  united,  and,  scour- 
ing the  streets  with  all  their  followers, 
forcibly  re-established  their  authority. 
Ruggieri  seemed  to  assent  quietly  to  this 
new  outrage,  even  looked  without  emo- 
tion on  the  bloody  corpse  of  his  favourite 
nephew,  who  had  been  stabbed  by  Ugo- 
lino ;  and  so  deep  was  his  dissimulation, 
that  he  not  only  refused  to  believe  the 
murdered  body  to  be  his  kinsman's,  but 
zealously  assisted  the  Count  to  establish 
himself  alone  in  the  government,  and 
accomplish  Visconte's  ruin.  The  design 
was  successful ;  Nino  was  overcome  and 
driven  from  the  town,  and  in  1288  Ugo- 
lino entered  Pisa  in  triumph  from  his 
villa,  where  he  had  retired  to  await  the 
catastrophe.  The  Archbishop  had  ne- 
glected nothing,  and  Ugolino  found  him- 
self associated  with  this  prelate  in  the 
public  government ;  events  now  began 
to  thicken ;  the  Count  could  not  brook 
a  competitor,  much  less  a  Ghibelline 
priest ;  and  in  the  month  of  July  both 
parties  flew  to  arms,  and  the  .Archbishop 
was  victorious.  After  a  feeble  attempt 
to  rally  in  the  public  palace.  Count  Ugo- 
lino, his  two  sons,  Uguccione  and  Gad- 
do,  and  two  young  grandsons,  Ansel- 
muccio  and  Brigata,  surrendered  at 
discretion,  and  were  immediately  im- 
prisoned in  a  tower,  afterwards  called 
the  Torre  della  fame,  and  there  perished 
by  starvation.  Count  Ugolino  della 
Gherardesca,  whose  tragic  story  after 
five  hundred  years  still  sounds  in  awful 
numbers  from  the  lyre  of  Dante,  was 
stained  with  the  ambition  and  darker 
vices  of  the  age;  like  other  potent  chiefs, 
he  sought  to  enslave  his  country,  and 
checked    at   nothing   in   his   impetuous 


/VOTES   TO  INFERNO. 


193 


career.  He  was  accused  of  many  crimes ; 
of  poisoning  his  own  nephew,  of  failing 
in  war,  making  a  disgraceful  peace,  of 
flying  shamefully,  perhaps  traitorously, 
at  Meloria,  and  of  obstructing  all  nego- 
tiations with  Genoa  for  the  return  of 
his  imprisoned  countrymen.  Like  most 
others  of  his  rank  in  those  frenzied  times, 
he  belonged  more  to  faction  than  his 
country,  and  made  the  former  subser- 
vient to  his  own  ambition;  but  all  these 
accusations,  even  if  well  founded,  would 
not  draw  him  from  the  general  stand- 
ard ;  they  would  only  prove  that  he 
shared  the  ambition,  the  cruelty,  the 
ferocity,  the  recklessness  of  human  life 
and  suffering,  and  the  relentless  pursuit 
of  power  in  common  with  other  chief 
tains  of  his  age  and  country.  Ugolino 
was  overcome,  and  suffered  a  cruel  death  ; 
his  family  was  dispersed,  and  his  me- 
mory has  perhaps  been  blackened  with  a 
darker  colouring  to  excuse  the  severity 
of  his  punishment;  but  his  sons,  who 
naturally  followed  their  parent's  fortune, 
were  scarcely  implicated  in  his  crimes, 
although  they  shared  his  fate;  and  his 
grandsons,  though  not  children,  were 
still  less  guilty,  though  one  of  these  was 
not  imstained  with  blood.  The  Arch- 
bishop had  public  and  private  wrongs  to 
revenge,  and  had  he  fallen,  his  sacred 
character  alone  would  probably  have 
procured  for  him  a  milder  destiny." 

Villani,  VII.  128,  gives  this  account 
of  the  imprisonment :  — 

"  The  Pisans,  who  had  imprisoned 
Count  Ugolino  and  his  two  sons  and  two 
grandsons,  children  of  Count  Guelfo,  as 
we  have  before  mentioned,  in  a  tower  on 
!he  Piazza  degli  Anziani,  ordered  the 
door  of  the  tower  to  be  locked,  and  the 
keys  to  be  thrown  into  the  Amo,  and 
forbade  any  food  should  be  given  to  the 
prisoners,  who  in  a  few  days  died  of 
hunger.  And  the  five  dead  bodies,  being 
taken  together  out  of  the  tower,  were 
ignominiously  buried ;  and  from  that  day 
forth  the  tower  was  called  the  Tower  of 
lamine,  and  shall  be  for  evermore. 
For  this  cruelty  the  Pisans  were  much 
blamed  through  all  the  world  where  it 
was  known ;  not  so  much  for  the  Count's 
sake,  as  on  account  of  his  crimes  and 
treasons  he  perhaps  deserved  such  a 
death,  but  for  the  sake  of  bis  children 


and  grandchildren,  who  were  young  and 
innocent  boys ;  and  this  sin,  committed 
by  the  Pisans,  did  not  remain  un- 
punished. " 

Chaucer's  version  of  the  story  in  the 
Menkes  Tale  is  as  follows : — 

"  Of  the  erl  Hugelin  of  Pise  the  langour 
Ther  may  no  tonge  tellen  for  pitee. 
But  litel  out  of  Pise  stant  a  tour, 
In  whiche  tour  in  prison  yput  was  he, 
And  with  him  ben  his  litel  children  three, 
The  eldest  scarsely  five  yere  was  of  age  : 
Alas  !  fortune,  it  was  gret  crueltee 
Swiche  briddes  for  to  put  in  swiche  a  cage. 

Dampned  was  he  to  die  in  that  prison. 
For  Roger,  which  that  bishop  of  Pise, 
Had  on  him  made  a  false  suggestion, 
Thurgh  which  the  peple  gan  upon  him  rise, 
And  put  him  in  prison,  in  swiche  a  wise, 
As  ye  han  herd  ;  and  mete  and  drinke  he  had 
So  smale,  that  wel  unntehe  it  may  suflfise, 
And  therwithal  it  was  ful  poure  and  bad. 

And  on  a  day  befell,  that  in  that  houre, 
Whan  that  his  mete  wont  was  to  be  brought. 
The  gailer  shette  the  dores  of  the  toure  ; 
He  hered  it  wel,  but  he  spake  right  nought. 
And  in  his  herte  anon  ther  fell  a  thought, 
That  they  for  hunger  wolden  do  him  dien  ; 
Alas  !  quod  he,  alas  that  I  was  wrought  ! 
Therwith  the  teres  fellen  fro  his  eyen. 

His  yonge  sone,  that  three  yere  was  of  age. 
Unto  him  said,  fader,  why  do  ye  wepe  ? 
Whan  will  the  gailer  bringen  our  potage  ? 
Is  ther  no  morsel  bred  that  ye  do  kepe? 
I  am  so  hungry,  that  I  may  not  slepe. 
Now  wolde  God  that  I  might  slef>en  ever, 
Than  shuld  not  hunger  in  my  wombe  crepe  ; 
Ther  n'is   no   thing,  sauf  bred,  that  me  were 
lever. 

Thus  day  by  day  this  childe  began  to  one. 
Til  in  his  fadres  barme  adoun  it  lay, 
And  saide,  farewel,  fader,  I  mote  die  ; 
And  kist  his  fader,  and  dide  the  same  day. 
And  whan  the  woful  fader  did  it  sey. 
For  wo  his  armes  two  he  gan  to  bite. 
And  saide,  alas  !  fortune,  and  wala  wa  ! 
Thy  false  whele  my  wo  aJl  may  I  wite. 

His  children  wenden,  that  for  hunger  it  was 
That  he  his  amies  gnowe,  and  not  for  wo. 
And  sayden  :  fader,  do  not  so,  alas ! 
But  rather  etc  the  flesh  upon  us  two. 
Our  flesh  thou  yaf  us,  take  our  flesh  us  fro. 
And  ete  ynough  :  right  thus  they  to  him  seide. 
And  after  that,  within  a  day  or  two, 
I'hey  laide  hem  in  his  lapp:  adoun,  and  deide. 

Himself  dispeired  eke  for  hunger  starf. 
Thus  ended  is  this  mightj-  Erl  of  Pise  : 
From  high  estat  fortune  away  him  carf. 
Of  this  tragedie  it  ought  ynough  suffice 
Who  so  wol  here  it  in  a  longer  wise, 
Redeth  the  grete  poete  of  Itaille, 
That  highte  Dante,  for  he  can  it  devise 
Fro  point  to  point,  not  o  word  wol  he  faille." 

Buti,  Cotnmenio,  says  :    "  After  eight 
days  they  were  removed    from  prisor 


194 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


and  carried  wrapped  in  matting  to  the 
church  of  the  Minor  Friars  at  San 
Francesco,  and  buried  in  the  monu- 
ment, which  is  on  the  side  of  the  steps 
leading  into  the  church  near  the  gate  of 
the  cloister,  with  irons  on  their  legs, 
which  irons  I  myself  saw  taken  out  of 
the  monument." 

22.  "The  remains  of  this  tower," 
says  Napier,  Florentine  History,  I.  319, 
note,  "still  exist  in  the  Piazza  de'  Cava- 
lieri,  on  the  right  of  the  archway  as  the 
spectator  looks  toward  the  clock."  Ac- 
cording to  Buti  it  was  called  the  Mew, 
"because  the  eagles  of  the  Commune 
were  kept  there  to  moult." 

Shelley  thus  sings  of  it,  Poems,  III. 
91:— 

"  Amid  the  desolation  of  a  city, 
Which  was  the  cradle,  and  is  now  the  grave 
Of  an  extinguished  people,  so  that  pity 
Weeps  o'er  the  shipwrecks  of  oblivion's  wave. 
There   stands  the   Tower  of  Famine.     It  is 

built 
Upon  some  prison-homes,  whose  dwellers  rave 
For  bread,  and  gold,  and  blood  :  pain,  linked 

to  guilt. 
Agitates  the  light  flame  of  their  hours. 
Until  its  vital  oil  is  spent  or  spilt  ; 
There  stands  the  pile,  a  tower  amid  the  towers 
And  sacred  domes  ;  each  marble-ribbed  roof, 
The  brazen-gated  temples,  and  the  bowers 
Of  solitary  wealth  I     The  tempest-proof 
Pavilions  of  the  dark  Italian  air 
Are   by  its    presence  dimmed,  —  they  stand 

aloof. 
And  are   withdrawn, — so   that  the   world    is 

bare. 
As  if  a  spectre,  wrapt  in  shapeless  terror, 
Amid  a  company  of  ladies  fair 
Should  glide  and  glow,  till  it  became  a  mirror 
Of  all  their  beauty,  and  their  hair  and  hue. 
The  life  of  their  sweet  eyes,  with  all  its  error. 
Should  be  absorbed  till  they  to  marble  grew." 

30.  Monte  San  Giuliano,  between 
Pisa  and  Lucca. 

Shelley,  Poems,  Til.  i66 : — 

''  It  was  that  hill  whose  intervening  brow 
Screens  Lucca  from  the  Pisan's  envious  eye. 
Which  the  circumfluous  plain  waving  below. 
Like  a  wide  lake  of  green  fertility, 
With  streams  and  fields  and  marshes  bare, 
Divides  from  the  far  Apennine,  which  lie 
Islanded  in  the  immeasurable  air." 

31.  The  hounds  are  the  Pisan  mob  ; 
the  hunters,  the  Pisan  noblemen  here 
mentioned  ;  the  wolf  and  whelps,  Ugo- 
lino  and  his  sons. 

46.  It  is  a  question  whether  in  this 
line  citinvnr  is  to  be  rendered  nailed  up 
%x  locked.    Villani  and  Benvenuto  say  the 


tower  was  locked,  and  the  keys  thrown 
into  the  Arno ;  and  I  believe  most  ol 
the  commentators  interpret  the  line  in 
this  way.  But  the  locking  of  a  prison 
door,  which  must  have  been  a  daily  oc- 
currence, could  hardly  have  caused  the 
dismay  here  pourtrayed,  unless  it  can  be 
shown  that  the  lower  door  of  the  tower 
was  usually  left  unlocked. 

"The  thirty  lines  from  Ed  io  sentt 
are  unequalled,"  says  Landor,  Penta- 
meron,  40,  "by  any  other  continuous 
thirty  in  the  whole  dominions  of  poetry." 

80.      Italy  ;  it  being  an  old  custom  to« 
call  countries  by  the  affirmative  particle 
of  the  language. 

82.  Capraia  and  Gorgona  are  two 
islands  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Arno. 
Ampere,  Voyage  Dantesqiie,  217,  re- 
marks: "This  imagination  may  appear 
grotesque  and  forced  if  one  looks  at  the 
map,  for  the  isle  of  Gorgona  is  at  some 
distance  from  the  mouth  of  tlie  Arno, 
and  I  had  always  thought  so,  until  the 
day  when,  having  ascended  the  tower  of 
Pisa,  I  was  struck  with  the  aspect  which 
the  Gorgona  presented  from  that  point. 
It  seemed  to  shut  up  the  Arno.  I  then 
understood  how  Dante  might  naturally 
have  had  this  idea,  which  had  seemed 
strange  to  me,  and  his  imagination  was 
justified  in  my  eyes.  He  had  not  seen  the 
Gorgona  from  the  Leaning  Tower,  which 
did  not  exist  in  his  time,  but  from  some 
one  of  the  numerous  towers  which  pro- 
tected the  ramparts  of  Pisa.  This  fact 
alone  would  be  sufficient  to  show  what 
an  excellent  interpretation  of  a  poet  tra- 
velling is." 

86,  Napier,  Florentine  History,  I. 
313  :  "  He  without  hesitation  surren- 
dered Santa  Maria  a  Monte,  Fuccechio, 
Santa  Croce,  and  Monte  Calvole  to 
Florence  ;  exiled  the  most  zealous  Ghi- 
bellines  from  Pisa,  and  reduced  it  to  a 
purely  Guelphic  republic ;  he  was  ac- 
cused of  treachery,  and  certainly  his  own 
objects  were  admirably  forwarded  by  the 
continued  captivity  of  so  many  of  his 
countrymen,  by  the  banishment  of  the 
adverse  faction,  and  by  the  friendship 
and  support  of  Florence." 

87.  Thebes  was  renowned  for  its 
misfortunes  and  grim  tragedies,  from  the 
days  of  the  sowing  of  the  dragon's  teeth 
by  Cadmus,  down  to  the  destruction  0/ 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


195 


the  city  by  Alexander,  who  commanded 
it  to  be  utterly  demolished,  excepting 
only  the  house  in  which  the  poet  Pindar 
was  born.  Moreover,  the  tradition  runs 
that  Pisa  was  founded  by  Pelops,  son  of 
King  Tantalus  of  Thebes,  although  it 
derived  its  name  from  "  the  Olympic 
Pisa  on  the  banks  of  the  Alpheus." 

1 1 8.  Friar  Alberigo,  of  the  family  of 
tlie  Manfredi,  Lords  of  Faenza,  was  one 
of  the  Irati  Gandenti,  or  Jovial  Friars, 
mentioned  in  Canto  XX III.  103.  The 
account  which  the  Ollimo  gives  of  his 
treason  is  as  follows  :  "  Having  made 
})eace  with  certain  hostile  fellow-citizens, 
he  betrayed  them  in  this  wise.  One 
evening  he  invited  them  to  supper,  and 
had  armed  retainers  in  the  chambers 
round  the  supper  room.  It  was  in  sum- 
mer-time, and  he  gave  orders  to  his 
servants  that,  when  after  the  meats  he 
should  order  the  fruit,  the  ciiambers 
should  be  opened,  and  the  armed  men 
should  come  forth  and  should  murder  all 
the  guests.  And  so  it  was  done.  And 
he  did  the  like  the  year  before  at  Cas- 
tello  delle  Mura  at  Pistoia.  These  are 
the  fruits  of  the  Garden  of  Tieason,  of 
which  he  speaks. "  Benvenuto  says  that 
his  guests  were  his  brother  Manfred  and 
his  (Manfred's)  son.  Other  commen- 
tators say  they  were  certain  members  of 
the  Order  of  Frati  Gaiideitti.  In  1300, 
the  date  of  the  poem,  Alberigo  was  still 
living. 

1 20.     A  Rowland  for  an  Oliver. 

124.  This  division  of  Cocytus,  the 
Lake  of  Lamentation,  is  called  Ptolo- 
msea  from  Ptolomeus,  I  Maccabees,  xvi. 
II,  where  "the  captain  of  Jericho  in- 
viteth  Simon  and  two  of  his  sons  into 
his  castle,  and  there  treacherously  mur- 
dereth  them ;"  for  "  when  Simon  and 
his  sons  had  drunk  largely,  Ptolomee  and 
his  men  rose  up,  and  took  their  wea- 
pons, and  came  upon  Simon  into  the 
f)anqueting-place,  and  slew  him,  and 
his  two  sons,  and  certain  of  his  ser- 
vants." 

Or  perhaps  from  Ptolemy,  who  mur- 
dered Pompey  after  the  battle  of  Phar- 
salia. 

126.  Of  the  three  Fates,  Clothe  held 
the  distaff,  Lachesis  spun  the  thread,  and 
Atropos  cut  it. 

Odyssey,    XI.  :    "  After    him    I    per- 


ceived the  might  of  Hercules,  an  image  ; 
for  he  himself  amongst  the  immortal 
gods  is  delighted  with  banquets,  and  has 
the  fair-legged  Hebe,  daughter  of  mighty 
Jove,  and  golden-sandalled  Juno. " 

137.  Ser  Branca  d'Oria  was  a 
Genoese,  and  a  member  of  the  cele- 
brated Doria  family  of  that  city.  Never- 
theless he  murdered  at  table  his  father- 
in-law,  Michel  Zanche,  who  is  men- 
tioned Canto  XXII.  88. 

151.  This  vituperation  of  the  Genoese 
reminds  one  of  the  bitter  Tuscan  pro- 
verb against  them:  "Sea  without  fish; 
mountains  without  trees  ;  men  without 
faith  ;  and  women  without  shame." 

1 54.     Friar  Alberigo. 

CANTO   XXXIV. 

I.  The  fourth  and  last  division  of  the 
Ninth  Circle,  the  Judecca, — 

"  the  smallest  circle,  at  the  poin-. 
Of  all  the  Universe,  where  Dis  is  seated." 

The  first  line,  "  The  banners  of  the 
king  of  Hell  come  forth,"  is  a  parody  of 
the  first  line  of  a  Latin  hymn  of  the 
sixth  century,  sung  in  the  churches  du- 
ring Passion  week,  and  written  by  For- 
tunatus,  an  Italian  by  birth,  but  who 
died  Bishop  of  Poitiers  in  600.  The  first 
stanza  of  this  hymn  is, — 

"  Vexilla  regis  prodeunt, 

Fulget  cnicis  mysterium,  ' 

Quo  came  carnis  conditor, 
Suspensus  est  patibulo." 

See  Konigsfeld,   Lateiuische  Hymnen 
tind  Gesdnge  aits  dem  Mitlelalter,  64. 
18.     Milton,  Farad.  Lost,  V.  708  :— 

"  His  countenance  as  the  morning  star,   that 
guides 
The  starrj'  flock." 

28.  Compare  Milton's  descriptions  of 
Satan,  Farad.  Lost,  I.  192,  589,  II.  636, 
IV.  985  :— 

"  Thus  Satan,  talking  to  his  nearest  matie, 
With  head  uplift  above  the  wave,  and  eyes 
That  sparkling  blazed  :  his  other  parts  besides 
Prone  on  the  flood,  extended  long  and  large. 
Lay  floating  many  a  rood,  in  bulk  as  huge 
As  whom  the  fables  name  of  monstrous  size, 
Titanian,  or  Earth-bom,  that  warred  on  Jove, 
Briareiis,  or  Typhon,  whom  the  den 
By  ancient  Tarsus  held,  or  that  sea-beast 
Leviathan,  which  God  of  all  hU  works 
Created  hugest  that  swim  the  ocean  stream  : 
Him,  haply,  slumbering  on  the  Norway  foam, 
The  pilot  of  some  small  night-foundered  skilf, 
C.   t 


196 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


Deeming  some  island,  oft,  as  seamen  tell, 

With  fixed  anchor  in  his  scaly  rind, 

Moors  by  his  side  under  the  lee,  while  night 

Invests  the  sea,  and  wished  morn  delays. 

So  stretched  out  huge  in  length  the  Arch-fiend 

lay 
Chained  on  the  burning  lake." 

"  He,  above  the  rest 
In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent, 
Stood  like  a  tower :  his  form  had  yet  not  lost 
All  her  original  brightness,  nor  appeared 
Less  than  archangel  ruined,  and  the  excess 
Of  glory  obscured  :  as  when  the  sun  new-risen 
Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air. 
Shorn  of  his  beams  ;  or  from  behind  the  moon. 
In  dim  eclipse,  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs  :  darkened  so,  yet  shone 
Above  them  all  the  Archangel." 

"  As  when  far  off  at  sea  a  fleet  descried 
Hangs  in  the  clouds,  by  equinoctial  winds 
Close  sailing  from  Bengala  or  the  isles 
Of  Ternate  and  Jidore,  whence  merchants  bring 
Their  .spicy  drugs :  they  on  the  trading  flood 
I'hrough  the  wide  .(Ethiopian  to  the  Cape 
Ply,   stemming    nightly  toward    the    pole :    so 

seemed 
Far  off  the  flying  fiend." 

"  On  the  other  side,  Satan,  alarmed, 
Collecting  all  his  might,  dilated  stood, 
Like  Teneriff  or  Atlas,  unremoved  : 
His  stature  reached  the  sky,  and  on  his  crest 
Sat  horror  plumed  ;  nor  wanted  in  his  grasp 
What  seemed  both  spear  and  shield." 

38.  Tlie  Ottimo  and  Benvenuto  both 
interpret  the  three  faces  as  symbolizing 
Ignorance,  Hatred,  and  Impotence. 
Others  interpret  them  as  signifying  the 
three  quarters  of  the  then  known  world, 
liuroije,  Asia,  and  Africa. 

45.  yEtliiopia;  the  region  about  the 
Cataracts  of  the  Nile. 

48.     Milton,  Parad.  Lost,  II.  527:— 

"  At  last  his  sail-broad  vans 
He  .spreads  for  flight,  and  in  the  surging  smoke 
Uplifted  spurns  the  ground." 

55.  Landor  in  his  Petttanieroit,  527, 
makes  Petrarca  say:  "This  is  atro- 
cious, not  terrific  nor  grand.  Alighieri 
is  grand  by  his  lights,  not  by  his  shadows ; 
by  his  human  affections,  not  by  his  in- 
fernal. As  the  minutest  sands  are  the 
labours  of  some  profound  sea,  or  the 
spoils  of  some  vast  mountain,  in  like 
manner  his  horrid  wastes  and  wearying 
minutenesses  are  the  chafings  of  a  turbu- 
lent spirit,  grasping  the  loftiest  things, 
and  penetrating  the  deepest,  and  moving 
and  moaning  on  the  earth  in  loneliness 
and  sadness." 

62.     Gabriele  Rossetti,  Spiiito  Aiiti- 


papale,  I.  75,  Miss  Ward's  Tr.,  says: 
"  The  three  spirits,  who  hang  from  the 
mouths  of  his  Satan,  are  Judas,  Brutus, 
and  Cassius.  The  poet's  reason  for  se- 
lecting those  names  has  never  yet  been 
satisfactorily  accounte  1  for ;  but  we  have 
no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  it  to  have 
been  this, — he  considered  the  Pope  not 
only  a  betrayer  and  seller  of  Christ, — 
'  Where  gainful  merchandise  is  made  of 
Christ  throughout  the  livelong  day,' 
(Parad.  17,)  and  for  that  reason  put  Judas 
into  his  centre  mouth  ;  but  a  traitor  and 
rebel  to  Ceesar,  and  therefore  placed 
Brutus  and  Cassius  in  the  other  two 
mouths;  for  the  Pope,  who  was  ori- 
ginally no  more  than  Crcsar's  vicar,  be- 
came his  enemy,  and  usurped  the  capital 
of  his  empire,  and  the  supreme  autho- 
rity. His  treason  to  Christ  was  not  dis- 
covered by  the  world  in  general ;  hence 
the  face  of  Judas  is  hidden,  — '  He  that 
hath  his  head  within,  and  plies  the 
feet  without'  (Inf.  34);  his  treason  tc 
Caesar  was  open  and  manifest,  there- 
fore Brutus  and  Cassius  show  their 
faces." 

He  adds  in  a  note :  "  The  situation  of 
Judas  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  Popes 
who  were  guilty  of  simony." 

68.     The  evening  of  Holy  Saturday. 

77.  Iliad,  V.  305 :  "  With  this  he 
struck  the  hip  of  /Eneas,  where  the 
thigh  turns  on  the  hip." 

95.  The  canonical  day,  from  sunrise 
to  sunset,  was  divided  into  four  equal 
parts,  called  in  Italian  Ta-za,  Sesta, 
Nona,  and  Vcspro,  and  varying  in  length 
with  the  change  of  season.  "These 
hours,"    says    Dante,     Conviio,    III.    6, 

"  are  short  or  long according  as 

day  and  night  increase  or  diminish." 
Terza  was  the  first  division  after  sunrise ; 
and  at  the  equinox  would  be  from  six 
till  nine.  Consequently  mezza  terza, 
or  middle  tierce,  would  be  half-past 
seven, 

114.     Jerusalem. 

125.  TheMountainof  Purgatory,  rising 
out  of  the  sea  at  a  point  directly  oppo- 
site Jerusalem,  upon  the  other  side  o^ 
the  globe.  It  is  an  island  in  the  South 
Pacific  Ocean. 

130.  Tills  brooklet  is  Lethe,  whose 
source  is  on  the  summit  of  the  Mountain 
of  Purgatory,    flowing   down  to   mingle 


NOTES  TO  INFERNO. 


197 


with  Acheron,  Styx,  and  Phlegethon, 
and  form  Cocytus.  See  Canto  XIV. 
136.  ^ 

138.  It  will  be  observed  that  each  of 
the  three  divisions  of  the  Divine  Comedy 
ends  with  the  word  "  Stars,"  suggesting 
and  symbolizing  endless  aspiration.  At 
the  end  of  the  Inferno  Dante  "re-beholds 


the  stars; "  at  the  end  of  the  Purgatorio 
he  is  "  ready  to  ascend  to  the  stars;"  at 
the  end  of  the  Paradiso  he  feels  the 
power  of  "that  Love  which  moves  the 
sun  and  other  stars."  He  is  now  look- 
ing upon  the  morning  stars  of  Easter 
Sunday. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


L'  OTTIMO  COMENTO. 

Inferno,  X.  8.5. 

I,  the  writer,  heard  Dante  say  that 
never  a  rhyme  had  led  him  to  say  other 
than  he  would,  but  that  many  a  time  and 
oft  he  had  made  words  say  in  his  rhymes 
what  they  were  not  wont  to  express  for 
other  poets. 

VILLA-Nl'S  NOTICE  OF  DANTE. 

Cronica,   Lib.    IX    cap     ,^36.     Tr.   in  Napier's 
Florentine  History,'  Book  I.  ch.  16. 

In  the  month  of  July,,  1 321,  died  the 
Poet  Dante  Alighieri  of  Florence,  in  the 
city  of  Ravenna  in  Romagna,  after  his 
return  from  an  embassy  to  Venice  for 
the  Lords  of  Polenta  with  whom  he  re- 
sided ;  and  in  Ravenna  before  the  door 
of  the  principal  church  he  was  interred 
with  high  honour,  in  the  habit  of  a  poet 
and  great  philosopher.  He  died  in 
banishment  from  the  community  of 
Florence,  at  the  age  of  about  fifty-six. 
This  Dante  was  an  honourable  and 
ancient  citizen  of  Porta  San  Piero  at 
Florence,  and  our  neighbour  ;  and  his 
exile  from  Florence  was  on  the  occasion 
of  Charles  of  Valois,  of  the  house  of 
France,  coming  to  Florence  in  1301,  and 
the  expulsion  of  the  White  party,  as  has 
already  in  its  place  been  mentioned. 
The  said  Dante  was  of  the  supreme 
governors  of  our  city,  and  of  that  party 
although  a  Guelf  ;  and  therefore  with- 
out any  other  crime  was  with  the  said 
White  party  expelled  and  banished  from 
Florence  ;  and  he  went  to  the  University 
of  Bologna,  and  into  many  parts  of  the 
world.  This  was  a  great  and  learned 
person  in  almost  every  science,  although 
a  layman ;  he  was  a  consummate  poet 
and  philosopher,    and    rhetorician ;   as 


perfect  in  prose  and  verse  as  he  was  in 
public  speaking  a  most  noble  orator  ;  in 
rhyming  excellent,  with  the  most  polished 
and  beautiful  style  that  ever  apjieared  in 
our  language  up  to  this  time  or  since. 
He  wrote  in  his  youth  the  book  of  The 
Early  Life  of  Lm>e,  and  afterwards  when 
in  exile  made  twenty  moral  and  amorous 
canzonets  very  excellent,  and  amongst 
other  things  three  noble  epistles :  one  he 
sent  to  the  Florentine  Government,  com- 
plaining of  his  undeserved  exile  ;  another 
to  the  Emperor  Henry  when  he  was  at 
the  siege  of  Brescia,  reprehending  him 
for  his  delay,  and  almost  prophesying ; 
the  third  to  the  Italian  cardinals  during 
the  vacancy  after  the  death  of  Pope 
Clement,  urging  them  to  agree  in  elect- 
ing an  Italian  Pope  ;  all  in  Latin,  with 
noble  precepts  and  excellent  sentences 
and  authorities,  which  were  much  com- 
mended by  the  wise  and  leanied.  And 
he  wrote  the  Commedia,  where,  in 
polished  verse  and  with  great  and  subtile 
arguments,  moral,  natural,  astrological, 
philosophical,  and  theological,  with  new 
and  beautiful  figures,  similes,  and  poeti- 
cal graces,  he  composed  and  treated  in  a 
hundred  chapters  or  cantos  of  the  exist- 
ence of  hell,  purgatory,  and  paradise ; 
so  loftily  as  may  be  said  of  it,  that  who- 
ever is  of  subtile  intellect  may  by  his  said 
treatise  perceive  and  understand.  He 
was  well  j^leased  in  this  poem  to  blame 
and  cry  out,  in  the  manner  of  poets,  in 
some  places  perhaps  more  than  he  ought 
to  have  done  ;  but  it  may  be  that  his 
exile  made  him  do  so.  He  also  wrote 
the  Moiiarchia,  where  he  treats  of  the 
office  of  popes  and  emperors.  And  he 
began  a  comment  on  fourteen  of  the 
above-named  moral  canzonets  in  the 
vulgar  tongue,  which  in  consequence  of 
his  death  is  found  imperfect  except  on 
three,  which,  to  judge  from  what  is  seen. 


LETTER   OF  ERA  TE  ILARIO. 


iqq 


would  have  proved  a  lofty,  beautiful, 
subtile,  and  most  important  work  ;  be- 
cause it  is  equally  ornamented  with  noble 
opinions  and  fine  philosophical  and  astro- 
logical reasoning.  Besides  these  he  com- 
posed a  little  book  which  he  entitled  De 
Vuli^ari  Eloquentia,  of  which  he  pro- 
mised to  make  four  books,  but  only  two 
are  to  be  found,  perhaps  in  consequence 
of  his  early  death  ;  where,  in  powerful 
and  elegant  Latin  and  good  reasoning, 
he  rejects  all  the  vulgar  tongues  of  Italy. 
This  Dante,  from  his  knowledge,  was 
somewhat  presumptuous,  harsh,  and  dis- 
dainful, like  an  ungracious  philosopher ; 
he  scarcely  deigned  to  converee  with  lay- 
men ;  but  for  his  other  virtues,  science, 
and  worth  as  a  citizen,  it  seems  but 
reasonable  to  give  him  perpetual  re- 
membrance in  this  our  chronicle  ;  never- 
theless, his  noble  works,  left  to  us  in 
writing,  bear  true  testimony  of  him,  and 
honourable  fame  to  our  city. 


LETTER  OF  FRATE  ILARIO. 

Arrivabene,  Comento  Storico,  p.  379. 

Hither  he  came,  passing  through 

the  diocese  of  Luni,  moved  either  by 
the  religion  of  the  place,  or  by  some 
other  feeling.  And  seeing  him,  as  yet 
unknown  to  me  and  to  all  my  brethren, 
I  questioned  him  of  his  wishings  and 
his  seekings  there.  He  moved  not;  but 
stood  silently  contemplating  the  columns 
and  arches  of  the  cloister.  And  again  I 
asked  him  what  he  wished,  and  whom 
he  sought.  Then,  slowly  turning  his 
head,  and  looking  at  the  friars  and  at 
me,  he  answered  "  Peace  !  "  Thence 
kindling  more  and  more  the  wish  to 
know  him  and  who  he  might  be,  I  led 
hini  aside  somewhat,  and,  having  spoken 
a  few  words  with  him,  I  knew  him  ;  for 
although  I  had  never  seen  him  till  that 
hour,  his  fame  had  long  since  reached 
me.  And  when  he  saw  that  I  hung  upon 
his  countenance,  and  listened  to  him  with 
strange  affection,  he  drew  from  his  bosom 
a  l»ok,  did  gently  open  it,  and  offered  it 
to  me,  saying:  "Sir  P'riar,  here  is  a 
portion  of  my  work,  which  perad venture 
tiiou  hast  not  seen.  This  remembrance 
I  leave  with  thee.    Forget  me  not. "   And 


when  he  had  given  me  the  book,  I 
pressed  it  gratefully  to  my  bosom,  and  in 
his  presence  fixed  my  eyes  upon  it  with 
great  love.  But  I  beholding  there  the 
Vulgar  tongue,  and  showing  by  the  fashion 
of  my  countenance  my  wonderment  there- 
at, he  asked  the  reason  of  the  same.  I 
answered,  that  I  marvelled  he  should 
sing  in  that  language ;  for  it  seemed  a 
difficult  thing,  nay,  incredible,  that  those 
most  high  conceptions  could  be  expressed 
in  common  language  ;  nor  did  it  seem  to 
me  right  that  such  and  so  worthy  a  sci- 
ence should  be  clothed  in  such  plebeian 
garments.  "  You  think  aright,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  myself  have  th'^ught  so.  And 
when  at  first  the  seeds  of  these  matters, 
perhaps  inspired  by  Heaven,  began  to 
bud,  I  chose  that  language  which  was 
most  worthy  of  them  :  and  not  alone 
chose  it,  but  began  forthwith  to  poetize 
therein,  after  this  wise  : 

'  Ultima  regna  canam  fluidocontermina  inundo, 
Spiritibus  quae  lata  patent ;  quae  praemia  sol- 

vunt 
Pro  mentis  cuicumque  suis.' 

But  when  I  recalled  the  condition  of  the 
present  age,  and  saw  the  songs  of  the 
illustrious  poets  esteemed  almost  as 
naught,  and  knew  that  the  generous  men, 
for  whom  in  better  days  these  things 
were  written,  had  abandoned,  ah  me  ! 
the  liberal  arts  unto  vulgar  hands,  I 
threw  aside  the  delicate  lyre,  which  had 
armed  my  flank,  and  attuned  another 
more  befitting, the  ear  of  moderns  ; — for 
the  food  that  is  hard  we  hold  in  vain  to 
the  mouths  of  sucklings." 

Having  said  this,  he  added  with  emo- 
tion, that  if  the  occasion  served,  I  should 
make  some  brief  annotations  upon  the 
work,  and,  thus  apparailed,  should  for- 
ward it  to  you.  Which  task  in  truth, 
although  I  may  not  have  extracted  all  tl.e 
marrow  of  his  words,  I  have  neverthe- 
less performed  with  fidelity ;  and  the 
work  required  of  nie  I  frankly  send  you, 
as  was  enjoined  upon  me  by  that  most 
friendly  man  ;  in  which  work,  if  it  ap- 
pear that  any  ambiguity  still  remains, 
you  must  impute  it  to  my  insufficiency, 
for  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  text  is  per- 
fect in  all  points 


ILLUSTRA  rWNS. 


PASSAGE  FROM  THE  CONVITO, 
I.  iii. 

Leigh  Hunt,  Stories  from  the  Italian  Poets,  p.  12. 
Ah  !  would  it  had  pleased  the  Dis- 
penser of  all  things  that  this  excuse  had 
never  been  needed  ;  that  neither  others 
had  done  me  wrong,  nor  myself  under- 
gone penalty  undeservedly,  —  the  penalty, 
1  say,  of  exile  and  of  poverty.  For  it 
pleased  the  citizens  of  the  fairest  and 
most  renowned  daughter  of  Rome — Flo- 
rence— to  cast  me  out  of  her  most  sweet 
bosom,  where  I  was  bom,  and  bred,  and 
passed  half  of  the  life  of  man,  and  in 
which,  with  her  good  leave,  I  still  desire 
with  all  my  heart  to  repose  my  weary 
spirit,  and  finish  the  days  allotted  me  ; 
and  so  I  have  wandered  in  almost  every 
place  to  which  our  language  extends,  a 
stranger,  almost  a  beggar,  exposing 
against  my  will  the  wounds  given  me  by 
fortune,  too  often  unjustly  imputed  to  the 
sufferer's  fault.  Truly  I  have  been  a 
vessel  without  sail  and  without  rudder, 
driven  about  upon  different  ports  and 
shores  by  the  dry  wind  that  springs  out 
of  dolorous  poverty  ;  and  hence  have  I 
appeared  vile  in  the  eyes  of  many,  who, 
perhaps,  by  some  better  report  had  con- 
ceived of  me  a  different  impression,  and 
in  whose  sight  not  only  has  my  person 
become  thus  debased,  but  an  unworthy 
opinion  created  of  everything  which  I 
did,  or  which  I  had  to  do. 


DANTE'S  LETTER  TO  A 
FRIEND. 

Leigh  Hunt,  Stories  from  the  Italian  Poets,  p.  13. 

From  your  letter,  which  I  received 
with  due  respect  and  affection,  I  observe 
how  much  you  have  at  heart  my  restora- 
tion to  my  country.  I  am  bound  to  you 
the  more  gratefully,  inasmuch  as  an  exile 
rarely  finds  a  friend.  But  after  mature 
consideration  I  must,  by  my  answer,  dis- 
appoint the  wishes  of  some  little  minds  ; 
and  I  confide  in  the  judgment  to  which 
your  impartiality  and  prudence  will  lead 
you.  Your  nephew  and  mine  has  written 
to  me,  what  indeed  had  been  mentioned 
by  many  other  friends,  that  by  a  decree 
concerning  the  exiles  I  am  allowed  to 
return  to    Florence,   provided   I   pay  a 


certain  sum  of  money,  and  submit  to 
the  humiliation  of  asking  and  receiving 
absolution  :  wherein,  my  father,  I  see 
two  propositions  that  are  ridiculous  and 
impertinent.  I  speak  of  the  imperti- 
nence of  those  who  mention  such  con- 
ditions to  me;  for  in  your  letter,  dic- 
tated by  judgment  and  discretion,  there 
is  no  such  thing.  Is  such  an  invita- 
tion, then,  to  return  to  his  country 
glorious  to  Dante  Alighieri,  after  suffer- 
ing in  exile  almost  fifteen  years?  Is  it 
thus  they  would  recompense  innocence 
which  all  the  world  knows,  and  the 
labour  and  fatigue  of  unremitting  study  ? 
Far  from  the  man  who  is  familiar  with 
philosophy  be  the  senseless  baseness  of 
a  heart  of  earth,  that  could  act  like  a 
little  sciolist,  and  imitate  the  infamy  of 
some  others,  by  offering  himself  up  as 
it  were  in  chains :  far  from  the  man 
who  cries  aloud  for  justice,  this  com- 
promise by  his  money  with  his  perse- 
cutors. No,  my  father,  this  is  not  the 
way  that  shall  lead  me  back  to  my 
countiy.  I  will  return  with  hasty 
steps,  if  you  or  any  other  can  open  to 
me  a  way  that  shall  not  derogate  from 
the  fame  and  honour  of  Dante  ;  but  if 
by  no  such  way  Florence  can  be  en- 
tered, then  Florence  I  shall  never  enter. 
What  !  shall  I  not  everywhere  enjoy 
the  hght  of  the  sun  and  stars  ?  and  may 
I  not  seek  and  contemplate,  in  every 
corner  of  the  earth,  under  the  canopy  of 
heaven,  consoling  and  delightful  truth, 
without  first  rendering  myself  inglorious, 
nay  infamous,  to  the  people  and  rejjuljlic 
of  Florence?  Bread,  I  hope,  will  not 
fail  me. 


PORTRAITS  OF  DANTE. 

By  Charles  E.  Norton. 

In  his  Life  of  Dante,  Boccaccio,  the 
earliest  of  the  biographers  of  the  poet, 
describes  him  in  these  words  :  "  Our 
poet  was  of  middle  height,  and  after 
reaching  mature  years  he  went  somewhat 
stooping  ;  his  gait  was  grave  and  se- 
date ;  always  clothed  in  most  becoming 
garments,  his  dress  was  suited  to  the 
ripeness  of  his  years  ;  his  face  was  long, 
his  nose  aquiline,  his  eyes  rather  large 
than   small,    his    jaw    heavy,    and     his 


PORTRAITS  OF  DANTE. 


ander  lip  prominent ;  his  complexion 
was  dark,  and  his  hair  and  beard  thick, 
black,  and  crisp,  and  his  countenance 
was  always  sad  and  thoughtful. 
His  manners,  whether  in  public  or  at 
home,  were  wonderfully  composed  and 
restrained,  and  in  all  his  ways  he  was 
more  courteous  and  civil  than  any  one 
else." 

Such  was  Dante  as  he  appeared  in 
his  later  years  to  those  from  whose  re- 
collections of  him  Boccaccio  drew  this 
description. 

But  Boccaccio,  had  he  chosen  so  to 
do,  might  have  drawn  another  portrait 
of  Dante,  not  the  author  of  the  Divine 
Comedy,  but  the  author  of  the  Nexv 
Life.  The  likeness  of  the  youthful 
Dante  was  familiar  to  those  Florentines 
who  had  never  looked  on  the  living 
presence  of  their  greatest  citizen. 

On  the  altar-wall  of  the  chapel  of 
the  Palace  of  the  Podesta  (now  the  Bar- 
gello)  Giotto  had  painted  a  grand  re- 
ligious composition,  in  which,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  times,  he  exalted  the 
glory  of  Florence  by  the  introduction 
of  some  of  her  most  famous  citizens 
into  the  assembly  of  the  blessed  in 
Paradise.  "The  head  of  Christ,  full 
of  dignity,  appears  above,  and  lower 
down,  the  escutcheon  of  Florence,  sup- 
ported by  angels,  with  two  rows  of 
saints,  male  and  female,  attendant  to 
the  right  and  left,  in  front  of  whom 
stand  a  company  of  the  magnates  of  the 
city,  headetl  by  two  crowned  person- 
ages, close  to  one  of  whom,  to  the 
right,  stands  Dante,  a  pomegranate  in 
his  hand,  and  wearing  the  graceful  fall- 
ing cap  of  the  day."*  The  date  when 
this  picture  was  painted  is  uncertain, 
but  (jiotto  represented  his  friend  in  it 
as  a  youth,  such  as  he  may  have  been 
in  the  first  flush  of  early  fame,  at  the 
season  of  the  beginning  of  their  memor- 
able friendship. 

Of  all  the  portraits  of  the  revival  of 
Art,  there  is  none  comparable  in  in- 
terest to  this  likeness  of  the  supreme 
poet  by  the  supreme  artist  of  mediaeval 
Eurojje.  It  was  due  to  no  accident  of 
fortune  that  these  men  were  contem- 
poraries, and  of  the  same  country  ;  but  it 

•  Lord  Lindsay's  History  of  Christian  Art, 
Vol.  IL  p.  174. 


was  a  fortunatt  and  delightful  incident, 
that  they  were  so  brought  together 
by  sympathy  of  genius  and  by  favour- 
ing circumstance  as  to  become  friends, 
to  love  and  honour  each  other  in  life, 
and  to  celebrate  each  other  through  all 
time  in  their  respective  works.  The 
story  of  their  friendship  is  known  only 
in  its  outline,  but  that  it  begar.  when 
they  were  young  is  certain,  and  that 
it  lasted  till  death  divided  them  is  a  tra- 
dition which  finds  ready  acceptance. 

It  was  probably  between  1290  and 
1300,  when  Giotto  was  just  rising  to 
unrivalled  fame,  that  this  painting  was 
executed.  There  is  no  contemporary 
record  of  it,  the  earliest  known  refer- 
ence to  it  being  that  by  Filippo  Vil- 
lani,  who  died  about  1404.  Gianozzo 
Manetti,  who  died  in  1459,  also  men- 
tions it,  and  Vasari,  in  his  Life  of  Giotto^ 
published  in  1550,  says,  that  Giotto 
"  became  so  good  an  imitator  of  nature, 
that  he  altogether  discarded  the  stiff 
Greek  manner,  and  revived  the  modem 
and  good  art  of  painting,  introducing 
exact  drawing  from  nature  of  living 
persons,  which  for  more  than  two  hun- 
dred years  had  not  been  practised,  or 
if  indeed  any  one  had  tried  it,  he  had 
not  succeeded  very  happily,  nor  any- 
thing like  so  well  as  Giotto.  And  he 
portrayed  among  other  persons,  as  may 
even  now  be  seen,  in  the  chapel  of  the 
Palace  of  the  Podesta  in  Florence, 
Dante  Alighieri,  his  contemporary  and 
greatest  friend,  who  was  not  less  fa- 
mous a  poet  than  Giotto  was  painter 
in  those  days.  ...  In  the  same  chapel 
is  the  portrait  by  the  same  hand  of  Ser 
Brunetto  Latini,  the  master  of  Dante, 
and  of  Messer  Corso  Donati,  a  great 
citizen  of  those  times." 

One  might  have  supposed  that  such 
a  picture  as  this  would  have  been 
among  the  most  carefully  protected  and 
jealously  prized  treasures  of  Florence. 
But  such  was  not  the  case.  The 
shameful  neglect  of  many  of  the  best 
and  most  interesting  works  of  the  ear- 
lier period  of  Art,  which  accompanied 
and  was  one  of  the  symptoms  of  the 
moral  and  political  decline  of  Italy 
during  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries,  extended  to  this  as  to  other 
of    the     noblest    paintings    of   Giotto. 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


Florence,    in     losing    consciousness    of 
present   worth,    lost    care   for   the    me- 

.  morials  of  her  past  honour,  dignity,  and 
distinction.  The  Palace  of  the  Po- 
desta,  no  longer  needed  for  the  dwell- 
ing of  the  chief  magistrate  of  a  free 
city,  was  turned  into  a  jail  for  common 
criminals,  and  what  had  once  been  its 
beautiful  and  sacred  chapel  was  occu- 
pied as  a  larder  or  store-room.  The 
walls,  adorned  with  paintings  more 
precious  than  gold,  were  covered  witli 
whitewash,  and  the  fresco  of  Giotto 
was  swept  over  by  the  brush  of  the 
plasterer.  It  was  not  only  thus  hidden 
from  the  sight  of  those  unworthy  in- 
deed to  behold  it,  but  it  almost  disap- 
peared from  memory  also  ;  and  from 
the  time  of  Vasari  down  to  that  of 
Moreni,  a  Florentine  antiquary,  in  the 
early  part  of  the  present  century,  hardly 
a  mention  of  it  occurs.  In  a  note 
found  among  his  papers,  Moreni  la- 
ments that  he  had  spent  two  years  of 
his  life  in  unavailing  efforts  to  recover 
the  portrait  of  Dante,  and  the  other 
portions  of  the  fresco  of  Giotto  in  the 
Bargello,  mentioned  by  Vasari  ;  that 
others  before  him  had  made  a  like 
effort,  and  had  failed  in  like  manner  ; 
and  that  he  hoped  that  better  times 
would  come,  in  which  this  painting, 
of  such  historic  and  artistic  interest, 
would  again  be  sought  for,  and  at 
length  recovered.  Stimulated  by  these 
words,  three  gentlemen,  one  an  Ame- 
rican, Mr.  Richard  Henry  Wilde,  one 
an  Englishman,  Mr.  Seymour  Kirkup, 
and  one  an  Italian,  Signor  G.  Aubrey 
Bezzi,  all  scholars  devoted  to  the  study 
of  Dante,  undertook  new  researches, 
in  1840,  and,  after  many  hindrances 
on  the  jwrt  of  the  government,  which 
were  at  length  successfully  overcome, 
the  work  of  removing  the  crust  of 
plaster  from  the  walls  of  the  ancient 
chapel  was  intrusted  to  the  Florentine 
painter,  Marini.  This  new  and  well- 
directed  search  did  not  fail.  After 
some  months'  labour  the  fresco  was 
found,  almost  uninjured,  under  the 
whitewash  that  had  protected  while 
concealing  it,  and  at  length  the  likeness 
of  Dante  was  uncovered. 

"  But,"  says   Mr.  Kirkup,  in  a  letter 

-published   in    the  Spectator    (London), 


May  II,  1850,  "the  eye  of  the  beauti- 
ful profile  was  wanting.  There  was  a 
hole  an  inch  deep,  or  an  inch  and  a 
half  Marini  said  it  was  a  nail.  It 
did  seem  precisely  the  damage  of  a  nail 

drawn  out.     Afterwards Marini 

filled  the  hole,  and  made  a  new  eye, 
too  little  and  ill  designed,  and  then  he 
retouched  the  whole  face  and  clothes, 
to  the  great  damage  of  the  expression 
and  character.  The  likeness  of  the 
face,  and  the  three  colours  in  wliich 
Dante  was  dressed,  the  same  with 
those  of  Beatrice,  those  of  young  Italy, 
white,  green,  and  red,  stand  no  more  ; 
the  green  is  turned  to  chocolate-colour  ; 
moreover,  the  form  of  the  cap  is  lost  and 
confounded. 

"I  desired  to  make  a  drawing.  .  .  . 
It  was  denied  to  me But  I  ob- 
tained the  means  to  be  shut  up  in  the 
prison  for  a  morning ;  and  not  only 
did  I  make  a  drawing,  but  a  tracing 
also,  and  with  the  two  I  then  made  a 
fac-simile  sufificiently  careful.  Luckily 
it  was  Ijefore  the  rifachnento." 

This  fac-simile  afterwards  passed  into 
the  hands  of  Lord  Vernon,  well  known 
for  his  interest  in  all  Dantesque  studies, 
and  by  his  permission  it  has  been  admi- 
rably reproduced  in  chromo-lithography 
under  the  auspices  of  the  Arundel 
Society.  The  reproduction  is  entirely 
satisfactory  as  a  presentation  of  the  au- 
thentic portrait  of  the  youthful  Dante, 
in  the  state  in  which  it  was  when  Mr. 
Kirkup  was  so  fortunate  as  to  gain  ad- 
mission to  it 

This  portrait  by  Giotto  is  the  only 
likeness  of  Dante  known  to  have  l)een 
made  of  the  poet  during  his  life,  and  is 
of  inestimable  value  on  this  account. 
But  there  exists  also  a  mask,  concern- 
ing which  there  is  a  tradition  that  it 
was  taken  from  the  face  of  the  dead 
poet,  and  which,  if  its  genuineness 
could  be  established,  would  not  be  of 
inferior  interest  to  the  early  portrait. 
But  there  is  no  trustworthy  historic 
testimony  concerning  it,  and  its  autiio- 
rity  as  a  likeness  depends  upon  tlie 
evidence  of  truth  which  its  own  cha- 
racter affords.  On  the  very  threshold  of 
the  inquiry  concerning  it,  we  are  met 
witli  tlie  doubt  whether  the  art  of  taking 
casts  was  practised  at  the  time  of  Dante's 


PORTRAITS  OF  DANTE. 


203 


death.  In  his  Life  of  Andrea  de  Ver- 
rocchio,  Vasari  says  that  this  art  began 
to  come  into  use  in  his  time,  that 
is,  about  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
century  :  and  Bottari  refers  to  the  Hke- 
ness  of  Brunelleschi,  who  died  in  1446, 
whicli  was  taken  in  this  manner,  and 
was  preserved  in  the  office  of  the  Works 
of  the  Cathedral  at  Florence.  It  is  not 
impossible  that  so  simple  an  art  may 
have  been  sometimes  practised  at  an 
earlier  period  ;  and  if  so,  there  is  no 
inherent  improbability  in  the  supposi- 
tion that  Guido  Novello,  the  friend 
and  protectrjr  of  Dante  at  Ravenna, 
may,  at  the  time  of  the  poet's  death, 
have  had  a  mask  taken  to  serve  as  a 
model  for  the  head  of  a  statue  intended 
to  form  part  of  the  monument  which 
he  proposed  to  erect  in  honour  of  Dante. 
And  it  may  further  be  supposed,  that, 
this  desiijn  failing,  owing  to  the  fall  of 
Guido  from  power  before  its  accom- 
plishment, the  mask  may  have  been 
preserved  at  Ravenna,  till  we  first 
catch  a  trace  of  it  nearly  three  centuries 
later. 

There  is  in  the  Magliabecchiana  Li- 
brary at  Florence  an  autograph  manu- 
script by  Giovanni  Cinelli,  a  Florentine 
antiquary  who  died  in  1706,  entitled 
La  Toscana  letlerata,  owero  Istoria  degli 
Scrittori  Fiorentini,  which  contains  a 
life  of  Dante.  In  the  course  of  the 
biography  Cinelli  states  that  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Ravenna  caused  the  head 
of  the  poet  which  had  adorned  his 
sepulchre  to  be  taken  therefrom,  and 
that  it  came  into  the  possession  of  the 
famous  sculptor,  Gian  Bologna,  who 
left  it  at  his  death,  in  1606,  to  his 
pupil  Pietro  Tacca.  "  One  day  Tacca 
showed  it,  with  otjier  curiosities,  to 
the  Duchess  Sforza,  who,  having  wrap- 
ped it  in  a  scarf  of  green  cloth,  carried 
it  away,  and  God  knows  into  whose 
hands  tlie  precious  object  has  fallen,  or 
where  it  is  to  l>e  found On  ac- 
count of  its  singular  l)eauty,  if  had  often 
been  drawn  by  the  scholars  of  Tacca." 
It  has  been  supjwsed  that  this  head 
was  the  original  mask  from  which  the 
casts  now  existing  are  derived.  Mr. 
Seymour  Kirkup,  in  a  npte  on  this  pas- 
sage from  Cinelli,  says  that  "  there  are 
three  masks  of  Dante  at  Florenrr,  all 


of  which  have  been  judged"  by  the 
first  Roman  and  Florentine  sculptors 
to  have  been  taken  from  life,  [that  is, 
from  the  face  after  death,]  — the  slight 
differences  noticeable  between  them 
being  such  as  might  occur  in  casts 
made  from  the  original  mask."  One 
of  these  casts  was  given  to  Mr.  Kirkup 
by  the  sculptor  Bartolini,  another  be- 
longed to  the  late  sculptor  Professor 
Ricci,  and  the  third  is  in  the  possession 

of  the  Marchese  Torrigiani 

In  the  absence  of  historical  evidence 
in  regard  to  this  mask,  some  support  is 
given  to  the  belief  in  its  genuineness  by 
the  fact  that  it  appears  to  be  the  type  of 
the  greater  number  of  the  portraits  of 
Dante  executed  from  the  fourteenth  to 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  was  adopted 
by  Raffaelle  as  the  original  from  which 
he  drew  the  likeness  which  has  done 
most  to  make  the  features  of  the  poet 
familiar  to  the  world. 

The  character  of  the  mask  itself  af- 
fords, however,  the  only  really  satisfac- 
tory ground  for  confidence  in  the  truth 
of  the  tradition  concerning  it.  It  was 
plainly  taken  as  a  cast  from  a  face  after 
death.  It  has  none  of  the  character- 
istics which  a  fictitious  and  imaginative 
representation  of  the  sort  would  be 
likely  to  present.  It  bears  no  trace  of 
being  a  work  of  skilful  and  deceptive 
art.  The  difference  in  the  fall  of  the 
two  half-closed  eyelids,  the  difference 
between  the  sides  of  the  face,  the  slight 
deflection  in  the  line  of  the  nose,  the 
droop  of  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  and 
other  delicate,  but  none  the  less  con- 
vincing indications,  combine  to  show 
that  it  was  in  all  probability  taken  di- 
rectly from  nature.  The  countenance, 
moreover,  and  expression,  are  worthy  of 
Dante  ;  no  ideal  forms  could  so  answer 
to  the  face  of  him  who  had  letl  a  life  apart 
from  the  world  in  which  he  dwelt,  and 
had  been  conducted  by  love  and  faith 
along  hard,  painful,  and  solitary  ways,  to 
behold 

"  L'  alto  trionfo  del  regno  veracc." 

The  mask  conforms  entirely  to  the 
description  by  Boccaccio  of  the  poet's 
countenance,  save  tha?  it  is  beardless, 
and  this  difference  is  to  be  accounted  for 


«04 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


by  the  fact  that  to  obtain  the  cast  the 
beard  must  have  been  removed. 

The  face  is  one  of  the  most  pathetic 
upon  which  human  eyes  ever  looked,  for 
it  exhibits  in  its  expression  the  conflict 
betw^een  the  strong  nature  of  the  man 
and  the  hard  deahngs  of  fortune, — be- 
tween the  idea  of  his  Hfe  and  its  prac- 
tical experience.  Strength  is  the  most 
striking  attribute  of  the  countenance, 
displayed  alike  in  the  broad  forehead, 
the  masculine  nose,  the  firm  lips,  the 
heavy  jaw  and  wide  chin ;  and  this 
strength,  resulting  from  the  main  forms 
of  the  features,  is  enforced  by  the 
strength  of  the  lines  of  expression.  The 
look  is  grave  and  stern  almost  to  grim^ 
ness  ;  there  is  a  scornful  lift  to  the  eye- 
brow, and  a  contraction  of  the  forehead 
as  from  painful  thought  ;  but  obscured 
under  this  look,  yet  not  lost,  are  the 
marks  of  tenderness,  refinement,  and 
self-mastery,  which,  in  combination  with 
more  obvious  characteristics,  give  to  the 
countenance  of  the  dead  poet  an  inef- 
fable dignity  and  melancholy.  There  is 
neither  weakness  nor  failure  here.  It  is 
the  image  of  the  strong  fortress  of  a  strong 
soul  "  buttressed  on  conscience  and  im- 
pregnable will,"  battered  by  the  blows  of 
enemies  without  and  within,  bearing  upon 
its  walls  the  dints  of  many  a  siege,  but 
standing  firm  and  unshaken  against  all 
attacks  until  the  warfare  was  at  end. 

The  intrinsic  evidence  for  the  truth  of 
this  likeness,  from  its  correspondence, 
not  only  with  the  description  of  the  poet, 
but  with  the  imagination  that  we  form  of 
him  from  his  life  and  works,  is  strongly 
confirmed  by  a  comparison  of  the  mask 
with  the  portrait  by  Giotto.  So  far  as  I 
am  aware,  this  comparison  has  not 
hitherto  been  made  in  a  manner  to  ex- 
hibit effectively  the  resemblance  between 
the  two.  A  direct  comparison  between 
the  painting  and  the  mask,  owing  to  the 
difficulty  of  reducing  the  forms  of  the 
latter  to  a  plain  surface  of  light  and 
shade,  is  unsatisfactory.  But  by  taking 
a  photograph  from  the  mask,  in  the 
same  position  as  that  in  which  the  face 
is  painted  by  Giotto,  and  placing  it 
alongside  of  the  fac-simile  from  the  paint- 
ing, a  very  remarkable  similarity  be- 
comes at  once  apparent 

The  differences  are  only  such  as  must 


exist  between  the  portrait  of  a  man  in 
the  freshness  of  a  happy  youth,  and  the 
portrait  of  him  in  his  age,  after  much 
experience  and  many  trials.  Dante  was 
fifty-six  years  old  at  the  time  of  his 
death,  when  the  mask  was  taken  ;  the 
portait  by  (iiotto  represents  him  as  not 
much  past  twenty.  There  is  an  interval 
of  at  least  thirty  years  between  the  two. 
And  what  years  they  had  been  for 
him ! 

The  interest  of  this  comparison  lies 
not  only  in  the  mutual  support  which 
the  portraits  afford  each  other,  in  the 
assurance  each  gives  that  the  other  is 
genuine,  but  also  in  their  joint  illustra- 
tion of  the  life  and  character  of  Dante. 
As  Giotto  painted  him,  he  is  the  lover  of 
Beatrice,  the  gay  companion  of  princes, 
the  friend  of  poets,  and  himself  already 
the  most  famous  writer  of  love  verses  in 
Italy,  There  is  an  almost  feminine 
softness  in  the  lines  of  the  face,  with  a 
sweet  and  serious  tenderness  well  be- 
fitting the  lover,  and  the  author  of  the 
sonnets  and  canzoni  which  were  in  a 
few  years  to  be  gathered  into  the  incom- 
parable record  of  his  Neiu  Life.  It  is 
the  face  of  Dante  in  the  May-time  of 
youthful  hope,  in  that  serene  season  of 
promise  and  of  joy,  which  was  so  soon 
to  reach  its  fore-ordained  close  in  the 
death  of  her  who  had  made  life  new  and 
beautiful  for  him,  and  to  the  love  and 
honour  of  whom  he  dedicated  his  soul 
and  gave  all  his  future  years.  It  is  the 
same  face  with  that  of  the  mask  ;  but 
the  one  is  the  face  of  a  youth,  ''  with 
all  triumphant  splendour  on  his  brow," 
the  other  of  a  man,  burdened  with  "the 
dust  and  injury  of  age."  The  forms 
and  features  are  alike,  but  as  to  the 
later  face, 

"  That  time  of  year  thou  mayst  in  it  behold 
When  yellow  leaves,  or  none,  or  few,  do  hang 
Upon  those  boughs  which  shake  against  the 
cold, 
.    Bare  ruined  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds 
sang." 

The  face  of  the  youth  is  grave,  as 
with  the  shadow  of  distant  sorrow  ;  the 
face  of  the  man  is  solemn,  as  of  one 
who  had  gone 

"  Per  tutti  i  eerchj  del  dolente  regno. 

The  one  is  the  young  poet  of  Flor 


BOCCACCIO'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE   COMMEDIA. 


20S 


ence,  the  other  the  supreme  poet  of  the 
world, — 

"  che  al  divino  dall'  umano. 
Air  eterno  dal  tempo  era  venuto." 


BOCCACCIO'S   ACCOUNT   OF 
THE   COMMEDIA. 

Balbo,  Life  of  Dante.   Tr.  by  Mrs.  Bunbury,  II. 
6i,  269,  290. 

It  should  be  known  that  Dante  had 
a  sister,  who  was  mairied  to  one  of  our 
citizens,  called  Leon  Poggi,  by  whom 
she  had  several  children.  Among  these 
was  one  called  Andrew,  who  wonder- 
fully resembled  Dante  in  the  outline  of 
his  features,  and  in  his  height  and  figure ; 
and  he  also  walked  rather  stooping,  as 
Dante  is  said  to  have  done.  He  was  a 
weak  man,  but  with  naturally  good  feel- 
ings, and  his  language  and  conduct  were 
regular  and  praiseworthy.  And  I  having 
become  intimate  \vith  him,  he  often 
spoke  to  me  of  Dante's  haj)i^  and  ways ; 
but  among  those  things  which  I  delight 
most  in  recollecting,  is  what  he  told  me 
relating  to  that  of  which  we  are  now 
speaking.  He  said  then,  that  Dante 
belonged  to  the  party  of  Messer  Vieri 
de'  Cerchi,  and  was  one  of  its  great 
leaders ;  and  when  Messer  Vieri  and 
many  of  his  followers  left  Florence, 
Dante  left  that  city  also  and  went  to 
Verona.  And  on  account  of  this  depar- 
ture, through  the  solicitation  of  the  op- 
posite party,  Messer  Vieri  and  all  who 
had  left  Florence,  especially  the  prin- 
cipal ])ei-sons,  were  considered  as  rebels, 
£nd  had  their  persons  condemned  and 
their  property  confiscated.  When  the 
people  heard  this,  they  ran  to  the  houses 
of  those  proscribed,  and  plundered  all 
that  was  within  them.  It  is  tnie  that 
Dante's  wife.  Madonna  Gemma,  fearing 
this,  and  by  the  advice  of  some  of  her 
friends  and  relations,  had  withdrawn 
from  his  house  some  chests  containing 
certain  precious  things,  and  Dante's 
writings  along  with  them,  and  had  put 
them  in  a  place  of  safety.  And  not 
satisfied  with  having  plundered  the 
houses  of  the  proscribed,  the  most  pow- 
erful partisans  of  the  opposite  faction 
occupied  their  possessions, — some  taking 
one  and  some  another, — and  thus  Dante's 
house  was  occupied. 


But  after  five  years  or  more  had 
elapsed,  and  the  city  was  more  ration- 
ally governed,  it  is  said,  than  it  was 
when  Dante  was  sentenced,  persons 
began  to  question  their  rights,  on  dif- 
ferent grounds,  to  what  had  been  the 
property  of  the  exiles,  and  they  were 
heard.  Therefore  Madonna  Gemma 
was  advised  to  demand  back  Dante's 
property,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  her 
dowry.  She,  to  prepare  this  business, 
required  certain  writings  and  documents 
which  were  in  one  of  the  chests,  which, 
in  the  violent  plunder  of  the  effects  she 
had  sent  away,  nor  had  she  ever  since 
removed  them  from  the  place  where  she 
had  deposited  them.  For  this  pui-pose, 
this  Andrew  said,  she  had  sent  for  him, 
and  as  Dante's  nephew  had  entrusted 
Kim  with  the  keys  of  these  chests,  and 
had  sent  him  with  a  lawyer  to  search  for 
the  required  papers  ;  while  the  lawyer 
searched  for  these,  he,  Andrew,  among 
other  of  Dante's  writings,  found  many 
sonnets,  canzoni,  and  such  similar  pieces. 
But  among  them  what  pleased  him  the 
most  was  a  sheet  in  which,  in  Dante's 
handwriting,  the  seven  preceding  cantos 
were  written  ;  and  therefore  he  took  it 
and  carried  it  off  with  him,  and  read  it 
over  and  over  again  ;  and  although  he 
understood  but  little  of  it,  still  it  ap- 
peared to  him  a  very  fine  thing ;  and 
therefore  he  determined,  in  order  to 
know  what  it  was,  to  carry  it  to  an  es- 
teemed man  of  our  city,  who  in  those 
times  was  a  much  celebrated  reciter  of 
verses,  whose  name  was  Dino,  the  son 
of  Messer  I^mbertuccio  Frescobaldi. 

It  pleased  Dino  marvellously ;  and 
having  made  copies  of  it  for  several  of 
his  friends,  and  knowing  that  the  com- 
position was  merely  begun,  and  not 
completed,  he  thought  that  it  would  be 
best  to  send  it  to  Dante,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  beg  him  to  follow  up  his 
design,  and  to  finish  it ;  and  having  in- 
quired, and  ascertained  that  Dante  was 
at  this  time  in  the  Lunigiana,  with  a 
noble  man  of  the  family  of  Malaspina, 
called  the  Marquis  Moroello,  who  was 
a  man  of  understanding,  and  who  had  a 
singular  friendship  for  him,  he  thought 
of  sending  it,  not  to  Dante  himself,  but 
to  the  Marquis,  in  order  that  he  should 
show  it  to  him  :  and  so  Dino  did,  beg- 


206 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


ging  him  that,  as  far  as  it  lay  in  his 
power,  he  would  exert  his  good  offices 
to  induce  Dante  to  continue  and  finish 
his  work. 

The  seven  aforesaid  cantos  having 
reached  the  Marquis's  hands,  and  hav- 
ing marvellously  pleased  him,  he  showed 
them  to  Dante  ;  and  having  heard  from 
him  that  they  were  his  composition,  he 
entreated  him  to  continue  the  work. 
To  this  it  is  said  that  Dante  answered  : 
"  I  really  supposed  that  these,  along 
with  many  of  my  other  writings  and 
effects,  were  lost  when  my  house  was 
plundered,  and  therefore  I  had  given 
up  all  thoughts  of  them.  But  since  it 
has  pleased  God  that  they  should  not 
be  lost,  and  He  has  thus  restored  them 
to  me,  I  shall  endeavour,  as  far  as  I  am 
able,  to  proceed  with  them  according 
to  my  first  design."  And  recalling  his 
old  thoughts,  and  resuming  his  inter- 
rupted worK,  he  speaKS  rnus  in  me  oe- 
ginning  of  the  eighth  canto  :  "  My  won- 
drous history  I  here  renew." 

Now  precisely  the  same  story,  almost 
without  any  alteration,  has  been  related 
to  me  by  a  Ser  Dino  I'erino,  one  of  our 
citizens  and  an  intelligent  man,  who, 
according  to  his  own  account,  had  been 
on  the  most  friendly  and  familiar  terms 
with  Dante ;  but  he  so  far  alters  the 
story,  that  he  says,  "  It  was  not  Andrea 
Leoni,  but  I  myself,  who  was  sent  by 
the  lady  to  the  chests  for  the  papers, 
and  that  found  these  seven  cantos  and 
took  them  to  Dino,  the  son  of  Messer 
Lambertuccio."  I  do  not  know  to 
which  of  these  I  ought  to  give  most 
credit,  but  whichever  of  them  spoke  the 
truth,  still  a  doubt  occurs  to  me  in  what 
they  say,  which  I  cannot  in  any  manner 
solve  to  my  satisfaction  ;  and  my  doubt 
is  this.  The  poet  introduces  Ciacco 
into  the  sixth  canto,  and  makes  him 
prophesy,  that  before  three  years  had 
elapsed  from  the  moment  he  was  speak- 
ing, the  party  to  which  Dante  belonged 
should  fall,  and  so  it  happened.  But 
we  know  the  removal  of  the  Bianchi 
from  office,  and  their  departure  from 
Florence,  all  happened  at  once ;  and 
therefore,  if  the  author  departed  at  that 
time,  how  could  he  have  written  this, 
— and  not  only  this,  but  another  canto 
after  it  ?  .  ,  ,  . 


And  those  friends  he  left  behind  him, 
his  sons  and  his  disciples,  having  searched 
at  many  times  and  for  several  months 
everything  of  his  writing,  to  see  whether 
he  had  left  any  conclusion  to  his  work, 
could  find  in  nowise  any  of  the  remain- 
ing cantos;  his  friends  generally  being 
much  mortified  that  God  had  not  at 
least  lent  hiir.  so  long  to  the  world,  that 
he  might  have  been  able  to  complete 
the  small  remaining  part  of  his  work  ; 
and  having  sought  so  long  and  never 
found  it,  they  remained  in  despair. 
Jacopo  and  Piero  were  sons  of  Dante, 
and  each  of  them  being  rhymers,  they 
were  induced  by  the  persuasions  of  their 
friends  to  endeavour  to  complete,  as  far 
as  they  were  able,  their  father's  work, 
in  order  that  it  should  not  remain  im- 
perfect ;  when  to  Jacopo,  who  was  more 
eager  about  it  than  his  brother,  there 
appeared  a  wonderful  vision,  which  not 
omy  mduced  him  to  abandon  such  pre- 
sumptuous fblly,  but  showed  him  where 
the  thirteen  cantos  were  which  were 
wanting  to  the  Divina  Commedia,  and 
which  they  had  not  been  able  to 
find 

A  worthy  man  of  Ravenna,  whose 
name  was  Pier  Giardino,  and  who  had 
long  been  Dante's  disciple,  grave  in  his 
manner  and  worthy  of  credit,  relates 
that,  after  the  eighth  month  from  the 
day  of  his  master's  death,  there  came  to 
his  house  before  dawn  Jacopo  di  Dante, 
who  told  him  that  that  night,  while  he 
was  asleep,  his  father  Dante  had  ap- 
peared to  him,  clothed  in  the  whitest 
garments,  and  his  face  resplendent  with 
an  extraordinary  light ;  that  he,  Jacopo, 
asked  him  if  he  lived,  and  that  Dante 
replied  :  "  Yes,  but  in  the  true  life,  not 
our  life."  Then  he,  Jacopo,  asked  him 
if  he  had  completed  his  work  before 
passing  into  the  true  life,  and,  if  he  had 
done  so,  what  had  become  of  that  part 
of  it  which  -was  missing,  which  they 
none  of  them  had  been  able  to  find. 
To  this  Dante  seemed  to  answer,  "Yes, 
I  finished  it  ;"  and  then  took  him, 
Jacopo,  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  into 
that  chamber  in  which  he,  Dante,  had 
been  accustomed  to  sleep  when  he  lived 
in  this  life,  and,  touching  one  of  the 
walls,  he  said,  "  What  you  have  sought 
for  so  much,    is  here;"    and   at   these 


THE  POSTHUMOUS  DANTE. 


207 


words  both  Dante  and  sleep  fled  from 
Jacopo  at  once.  For  which  reason 
Jacopo  said  he  could  not  rest  without 
coming  to  explain  what  he  had  seen 
to  Pier  Giardino,  in  order  that  they 
should  go  together  and  search  out  the 
place  thus  pointed  out  to  him,  which  he 
had  retained  excellently  in  his  memory, 
and  to  see  whether  this  had  been  pointed 
out  by  a  true  spirit,  or  a  false  delusion. 
For  which  purpose,  although  it  was  still 
far  in  the  night,  they  set  off  together, 
and  went  to  the  house  in  wliich  Dante 
resided  at  the  time  of  his  death.  Hav- 
ing called  up  its  present  owner,  he 
admitted  them,  and  they  went  to  the 
place  thus  pointed  out ;  there  they 
found  a  blind  fixed  to  the  wall,  as  they 
had  always  been  used  to  see  it  in  past 
days ;  they  lifted  it  gently  up,  when 
they  found  a  little  window  in  the  wall, 
never  before  seen  by  any  of  them,  nor 
did  they  even  know  it  was  there.  In  it 
they  found  several  writings,  all  mouldy 
from  the  dampness  of  the  walls,  and  had 
they  remained  there  longer,  in  a  little 
while  they  would  have  crumbled  away. 
Having  thoroughly  cleared  away  the 
mould,  they  found  them  to  be  the 
thirteen  cantos  that  had  been  wanting 
to  complete  the  Coinmedia. 


THF    POSTHUMOUS   DANTE. 

Bv  J   R    Lov.ft!l  in  the  American  Cyclopxdia, 
VI.  251. 

Looked  at  outwardly,  the  life  of  Dante 
seem«  to  have  l>een  an  utter  and  disas- 
t'ous  failure.  What  its  inward  satis- 
faction must  have  been,  we,  with  the 
Paradise,  open  before  us,  can  form  some 
fain*  conception.  To  him,  longing  with 
an  intensity  which  only  the  word  Dan- 
te.ufitf  will  express  to  realize  an  ideal 
upon  earth,  and  continually  baffled  and 
misunderstoo<l,  the  far  greater  part  of 
his  mature  life  must  have  been  labour 
and  sorrow.  We  can  see  how  essential 
all  tliat  sad  experience  was  to  him,  can 
understand  why  all  the  fairy  stories  hide 
the  luck  in  the  ugly  black  casket  ;  but 
to  him,  then  and  there,  how  seemed  it? 

*  Thou  sh.ilt  reHnquish  everything  of  thee 
Beloved  most  dearly  ;  this  that  arrow  is 
Shot  from  the  bow  of  exile  first  of  all  ; 
And  thou  shalt  prove  how  salt  a  savour  hath 


The  bread  of  others,  and  how  hard  a  path 
To  climb  and  to  descend  the  stranger's  stairs ! ' 
Parad.  xvii. 

Come  sa  di  sale!  Who  never  wet  his 
bread  with  tears,  says  Goethe,  knows 
ye  not,  ye  heavenly  powers!  Our 
nineteenth  century  made  an  idol  of  the 
noble  lord  who  broke  his  heart  m  verse 
once  every  six  months,  but  the  fourteenth 
was  lucky  enough  to  produce  and  not  to 
make  an  idol  of  that  rarest  earthly  phe- 
nomenon, a  man  of  genius  who  could 
hold  heart-break  at  bay  for  twenty  years, 
and  would  not  lei  himself  die  till  he  had 
done  his  task.  At  the  end  of  the  Vita 
Niiova,  his  first  work,  Dante  wrote  down 
that  remarkable  aspiration  that  God 
would  lake  him  to  himself  after  he  had 
written  of  Beatjice  such  things  as  were. 
never  yet  written  of  woman.  It  was 
literally  fulfilled  when  the  Commedia 
was  finished,  twenty- five  years  later. 
Scarce  was  Dante  at  rest  in  his  grave 
when  Italy  felt  instinctively  that  this 
was  her  great  man.  Boccaccio  tells  us 
that  in  1329  Cardinal  Poggetto  (du  Poiet) 
caused  Dante's  treatise  De  MonarchiA  to 
be  publicly  burned  at  Bologna,  and  pro- 
posed further  to  dig  up  and  burn  the 
bones  of  the  poet  at  Ravenna,  as  having 
been  a  heretic ;  but  so  much  opposition 
was  roused  that  he  thought  better  of  it. 
Yet  this  was  during  the  pontificate  of 
the  Frenchman,  John  XXII.,  the  reproof 
of  whose  simony  Dante  puts  in  the 
mouth  of  St.  Peter,  who  declares  his 
scat  vacant  (Parad.  xxvii.),  whose  dam- 
nation the  poet  himself  seems  to  pro- 
phesy {Iiif.  xi. ),  and  against  whose 
election  he  had  endeavoured  to  persuade 
the  cardinals,  in  a  vehement  letter.  In 
1350  the  republic  of  Florence  voted  the 
sum  of  ten  golden  florins  to  be  paid  by 
the  hands  of  Messer  Giovanni  Boccaccio 
to  Dante's  daughter  Beatrice,  a  nun  in 
the  convent  of  Santa  Chiara  at  Ravenna. 
In  1396  Florence  voted  a  monument, 
and  begged  in  vain  for  the  metaphorical 
ashes  of  the  man  of  whom  she  had 
threatened  to  make  literal  cinders  if  she 
could  catch  him  alive.  In  1429  she 
begged  again,  but  Ravenna,  a  dead  city, 
was  tenacious  of  the  dead  poet.  In 
1 5 19  Michael  Angelo  would  have  built 
the  monument,  but  Leo  X.  refused  to 
allow  the  sacred  dust  to  be  removed. 


208 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


Finally,  in  1829,  five  hundred  and  eight 
years  after  the  death  of  Dante,  Florence 
got  a  cenotaph  fairly  built  in  Santa 
Croce  (by  Ricci),  ugly  beyond  even  the 
usual  lot  of  such,  with  three  colossal 
figures  on  it,  Dante  in  the  middle,  with 
Italy  on  one  side  and  Poesy  on  the 
other.  The  tomb  at  Ravenna,  built 
originally  in  1483,  by  Cardinal  "Bembo, 
was  restored  by  Cardinal  Corsi  in  1692, 
and  finally  rebuilt  in  its  present  form  by 
Cardinal  Gonzaga,  in  1780,  all  three  of 
whom  commemorated  themselves  in 
Latin  inscriptions.  It  is  a  little  shrine 
covered  with  a  dome,  not  unlike  the 
tomb  of  a  Moliammedan  saint,  and  is 
now  the  chief  magnet  which  draws 
foreigners  and  their  gold  to  Ravenna. 
The  valet  de  place  says  that  Dante  is  not 
buried  under  it,  but  beneath  the  pave- 
ment of  the  street  in  front  of  it,  where 
also,  he  says,  he  saw  my  Lord  Byron 
kneel  and  weep.  Like  everything  in 
Ravenna,  it. is  dirty  and  neglected.  In 
1373  (A-Ug.  9)  Florence  instituted  a  chair 
of  the  Divina  Commedia,  and  Boccaccio 
was  named  fii-st  professor.  He  accord- 
ingly began  his  lectures  on  Sunday, 
Oct.  3,  following,  but  his  comment  was 
broken  off  abruptly  at  the  seventeentli 
verse  of  the  seventeenth  canto  of  the 
Inferno,  by  the  illness  which  ended  in 
his  death,  Dec.  21,  1375.  Among  his 
successors  was  Filippo  Villani  and 
Filelfo.  Bologna  was  the  first  to  follow 
the  example  of  Florence,  Benvenuto  da 
Imola  having  begun  his  lectures,  accord- 
ing to  Tiraboschi,  as  early  as  1375. 
Chairs  were  established  also  at  Pisa, 
Venice,  Piacenza,  and  Milan  before  the 
close  of  the  century.  The  lectures  were 
delivered  in  the  churches  and  on  feast 
days,  which  shows  their  popular  cha- 
racter. Balbo  reckons  (but  tiiat  is  guess- 
work) that  the  manuscript  copies  of  the 
Divina  Commedia  made  during  the  four- 
teenth century,  and  now  existing  in  the 
libraries  of  Europe,  are  more  numerous 
than  those  of  all  other  works,  ancient 
and  modern,  made  during  the  same 
period.  Between  the  invention  of  print- 
ing and  the  year  I5CK>,  more  than  twenty 
editions  were  published  in  Italy,  the 
earliest  in  1472.  During  the  sixteenth 
century  there  were  forty  editions ;  during 
ihe   seventeenth,    a   period,    for    Italy, 


of  sceptical  dilettantism,  only  three; 
during  the  eighteenth,  thirty-four;  and 
already,  during  the  first  half  of  the 
nineteenth,  at  least  eighty.  The  first 
translation  was  into  Spanish,  in  1428. 
M.  St.  Rene  Taillandier  says  that  the 
Commedia  was  condemned  by  the  In- 
quisition in  Spain,  but  this  seems  too 
general  a  statement,  for,  according  to 
Foscolo  ("Dante,"  Vol.  IV.  p.  116), 
it  was  the  commentary  of  Landino  and 
Vellutello,  and  a  few  verses  in  the  In- 
ferno and  Paradise,  which  were  con- 
demned. The  first  French  translation 
was  that  of  Grangier,  1596,  but  the 
study  of  Dante  struck  no  root  there  till 
the  present  century,  Rivarol,  who 
translated  the  Inferno  in  1783,  was  the 
first  Frenchman  who  divined  the  won- 
derful force  and  vitality  of  the  Commedia. 
The  expressions  of  Voltaire  represent 
very  well  the  average  opinion  of  culti- 
vated persons  in  respect  of  Dante  in  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth  century.  He 
says:  "The  Italians  call  him  divine; 
but  it  is  a  hidden  divinity;  few  people 
understand  his  oracles.  He  has  com- 
mentators, which,  perhaps,  is  another 
reason  for  his  not  being  understood. 
His  reputation  will  go  on  increasing, 
because  scarce  anybody  reads  him.' 
{Did.  Phil.,  art.  "Dante.")  To  Father 
IJettinelli  he  writes  :  "  I  estimate  highly 
the  courage  with  which  you  have  dared 
to  say  that  Dante  was  a  madman  and 
his  work  a  monster."  But  he  adds, 
what  shows  that  Dante  had  his  admirers 
even  in  that  flippant  century:  "There 
are  found  among  us,  and  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  people  who  strive  to  admire 
imaginations  so  stupidly  extravagant  and 
barbarous."  {Corresp.  gen.,  CEuvres, 
Tom.  LVII.  pp.  80,  81.)  Elsewhere 
he  says  that  the  Commedia  was  "an  odd 
poem,  but  gleaming  with  natural  beau- 
ties, a  work  in  which  the  author  rose  in 
parts  above  the  bad  taste  of  his  age  and 
his  subject,  and  full  of  passages  written 
as  purely  as  if  tliey  had  been  of  the 
time  of  Ariosto  and  Tasso."  (Essai  sur 
les  Mceitrs,  CEuvres,  Tom.  XVII.,  pp. 
371,  372.)  It  is  curious  to  see  this 
antipathetic  fascination  which  Dante 
exercised  over  a  nature  so  opposite  to 
his  own.  At  the  beginning  of  this 
century  Chateaubriand  speaks  of  Danto 


THE  SCHOLASTIC  PHILOSOPHY. 


209 


with  vague  commendation,  evidently 
from  a  very  superficial  acquaintance, 
and  that  only  with  the  Inferno. 


THE 


SCHOLASTIC    PHILOSOPHY. 

From  Milman's  History  of  Latin  Christianity, 
Book  XIV.  Ch.  III. 

Now  came  the  great  age  of  the 
Schoolmen.  Latin  Christianity  raised  up 
those  vast  monuments  of  Theolog)'  which 
amaze  and  appall  the  mind  with  the 
enormous  accumulation  of  intellectual 
industry,  ingenuity,  and  t^il  ;  but  of 
which  the  sole  result  to  posterity  is  this 
barren  amazement.  The  tomes  of  Scho- 
lastic Divinity  may  be  compared  with 
the  Pyramids  of  Egypt,  which  stand  in 
that  rude  majesty  which  is  commanding 
from  the  display  of  immense  human 
power,  yet  oppressive  from  the  sense  of 
the  waste  of  that  power  for  no  disco- 
verable use.  Whoever  penetrates  within 
finds  himself  bewildered  and  lost  in  a 
labyrinth  of  small,  dark,  intricate  pas- 
sages and  chambers,  devoid  of  grandeur, 
devoid  of  solemnity  :  he  may  wander 
without  end,  and  find  nothing!  It  was 
not  indeed  the  enforced  labour  of  a  slave 
population  :  it  was  rather  voluntary 
slavery,  submitting  in  its  intellectual  am- 
bition and  its  religious  patience  to  mon- 
astic discipline  :  it  was  the  work  of  a 
small  intellectual  oligarchy,  monks,  of 
necessity,  in  mind  and  habits  ;  for  it 
imperiously  required  absolute  seclusion 
either  in  the  monasteiy  or  in  the  imiver- 
sity,  a  long  life  under  monastic  rule. 
No  Schoolman  could  be  a  great  man  but 
as  a  Schoolman.  William  of  Ockham 
alone  was  a  powerful  demagogue — scho- 
laslic  even  in  his  political  writings,  but 
still  a  demagogue.  It  is  singular  to  see 
every  kingdom  in  Latin  Christendom, 
every  order  in  the  social  state,  furnishing 
the  great  men,  not  merely  to  the  succes- 
sive lines  of  Doctors,  who  assumed  the 
splendid  titles  of  the  Angelical,  the  Se- 
raphic, the  Irrefragable,  the  most  Pro- 
found, the  most  Subtile,  the  Invincible, 
even  the  Perspicuous,  but  to  whaf  may 
be  called  the  supreme  Pentarchy  of  Scho- 
lasticism. Italy  sent  Thomas  of  Aquino 
and  Bonaventura  ;  Germany,  All^ert  the 
Great ;  the  British  Isles  (they  boasted 


also  of  Alexander  Hales  and  Bradwar- 
dine)  Duns  Scotus  and  William  of  Ock- 
ham ;  France  alone  must  content  herself 
with  names  somewhat  inferior  (she  had 
already  given  Abelard,  Gilbert  de  la 
Poree,  Amauri  de  Bene,  and  other 
famous  or  suspected  names),  now  Wil- 
liam of  Auvergne,  at  a  later  time  Dii- 
randus.  Albert  and  Aquinas  were  of 
noble  houses,  the  Counts  of  Bollstadt 
and  Aquino  ;  Bonaventura  of  good  pa- 
rentage at  Fidenza  ;  of  Scotus  the  birth 
was  so  obscure  as  to  be  untraceable  ; 
Ockham  was  of  humble  parents  in  the 
village  of  that  name  in  Surrey.  But 
France  may  boast  that  the  University  of 
Paris  was  the  great  scene  of  their  studies, 
their  labours,  their  instruction  :  the  Uni- 
versity of  Paris  was  the  acknowledged 
awarder  of  the  fame  and  authority 
obtained  by  the  highest  Schoolmen.  It 
is  no  less  remarkable  that  the  New 
Mendicant  Orders  sent  forth  these  five 
Patriarchs,  in  dignity,  of  the  science. 
Albert  and  Aquinas  were  Dominicans  ; 
Bonaventura,  Dims  Scotus,  Ockham, 
Franciscans.  It  might  have  been  sup- 
posed that  the  popularising  of  religious 
teaching,  which  was  the  express  and 
avowed  object  of  the  Friar  Preachers 
and  of  the  Minorites,  would  have  left 
the  higher  places  of  abstrase  and  learned 
Theology  to  the  older  Orders,  or  to  the 
more  dignified  secular  ecclesiastics.  Con- 
tent with  being  the  vigorous  antagonists 
of  heresy  in  all  quarters,  they  would  not 
aspire  also  to  become  the  aristocracy  of 
theologic  erudition.  But  the  dominant 
religious  imjiulse  of  the  times  could  not 
but  seize  on  all  the  fervent  and  powerful 
minds  which  sought  satisfaction  for  their 
devout  yearnings.  No  one  who  had 
strong  religious  ambition  could  be  any- 
thing but  a  Dominican  or  a  Franciscan  ; 
to  be  less  was  to  be  below  the  highest 
standard.  Hence  on  one  hand  tho 
Orders  aspired  to  rule  the  Universities, 
contested  the  supremacy  with  all  the 
great  established  authorities  in  the 
schools  ;  and  having  already  drawn  into 
their  vortex  almost  all  who  united 
powerful  abilities  with  a  devotional  tem- 
perament, never  wanted  men  who  could 
enter  into  this  dreary  but  highly  reward- 
ing service, — men  who  could  rule  the 
schools,  as  others  of  their  brethren  haJ 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


begun  to  rule  the  Councils  and  the 
minds  of  kings.  It  may  be  strange  to 
contrast  the  popular  simple  preaching — 
for  such  must  have  been  that  of  St. 
Dominic  and  St.  Francis,  such  that  of 
their  followers,  in  order  to  contend  with 
success  against  the  plain  and  austere 
sermons  of  the  heretics — with  the  Sum 
of  Theology  of  Aquinas,  which  of  itself 
(and  it  is  but  one  volume  in  the  works 
of  Thomas)  would,  as  it  might  seem, 
occupy  a  whole  life  of  the  most  secluded 
study  to  write,  almost  to  read.  The 
unlearned,  unreasoning,  only  profoundly 
passionately  loving  and  dreaming  St. 
Francis,  is  still  more  oppugnant  to  the 
intensely  subtile  and  dry  Duns  Scotus, 
at  one  time  carried  by  his  severe  logic 
into  Pelagianism  ;  or  to  William  of  Ock- 
ham,  perhaps  the  hardest  and  severest 
intellectualist  of  all, — a  political  fanatic, 
not  like  his  visionary  brethren,  who 
brooded  over  the  Apocalypse  and  their 
own  prophets,  but  for  the  Imperial 
against  the  Papal  sovereignty. 

As,  then,  in  these  five  men  culminates 
the  age  of  genuine  Scholasticism,  the 
rest  may  be  left  to  be  designated  and 
described  to  posterity  by  the  names 
assigned  to  them  by  their  own  wondering 
disciples. 

We  would  change,  according  to  our 
notion,  the  titles  which  discriminated 
this  distinguished  pentarchy.  Albert  the 
Great  would  be  the  Philosopher,  Aquinas 
the  Theologian,  Bonaventura  the  Mystic, 
Duns  Scotus  the  Dialectician,  Ockham 
the  Politician.  It  may  be  said  of  Scho- 
lasticism, as  a  whole,  that  whoever  takes 
delight  in  what  may  be  called  gymnastic 
exercises  of  the  reason  or  the  reasoning 
powers,  efforts  which  never  had,  and 
hardly  cared  to  have,  any  bearing  on 
the  life,  or  even  on  tiie  sentiments  and 
opinions  of  mankind,  may  study  these 
works,  the  crowning  effort  of  Latin,  of 
Sacerdotal,  and  Monastic  Christianity, 
and  may  acquire  something  like  respect 
for  these  forgotten  athletes  in  the  intel- 
lectual games  of  antiquity.  They  are 
not  of  so  much  moment  in  the  history  of 
religion,  for  their  theology  was  long 
before  rooted  in  the  veneration  and  awe 
of  Christendom  ;  nor  in  that  of  philoso- 
phy, for  except  what  may  be  called 
mythological  subtilties,  questions  relat- 


ing to  the  world  of  angels  and  spirits, 
of  which,  according  to  them,  we  might 
suppose  the  revelation  to  man  as  full 
and  perfect  as  that  of  God  or  of  the 
Redeemer,  there  is  hardly  a  question 
which  has  not  been  examined  in  other 
language  and  in  less  dry  and  syllogistic 
form.  There  is  no  acute  observation  on 
the  workings  of  the  human  mind,  no 
bringing  to  bear  extraordinary  facts  on 
the  mental,  or  mingled  mental  and  cor- 
poreal, constitution  of  our  being.  With 
all  their  researches  into  the  unfathom- 
able they  have  fathomed  nothing  ;  with 
all  their  vast  logical  apparatus,  they 
have  proved  nothing  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  inquisitive  mind.  Not  only  have 
they  not  solved  any  of  the  insoluble 
problems  of  our  mental  being,  our  pri- 
mary conceptions,  our  relations  to  God, 
to  the  Infinite,  neither  have  they  (a 
more  possible  task)  shown  them  to  be 
insoluble. 


HOMER'S   ODYSSEY. 

Book  XI.  Buckley's  Translation. 
But  when  we  were  come  down  to  the 
ship  and  the  sea,  we  first  ot  all  drew  the 
ship  into  the  divine  sea  ;  and  we  placed 
a  mast  and  sails  in  the  black  ship.  And 
taking  the  sheep,  we  put  them  on  board  ; 
and  we  ourselves  also  embaiked  griev- 
ing, shedding  the  warm  tear.  And 
fair-haired  Circe,  an  awful  goddess, 
possessing  human  speech,  sent  behind 
our  dark-blue-prowed  ship  a  moist  v/ind 
that  filled  the  sails,  an  excellent  compa- 
nion. And  we  sat  down,  making  use  of 
each  of  the  instruments  in  the  ship ;  and 
the  wind  and  the  pilot  directed  it.  And 
the  sails  of  it  passing  over  the  sea  were 
stretched  out  the  whole  day  ;  and  the 
sun  set,  and  all  the  ways  were  over- 
shadowed. And  it  reached  the  extreme 
boundaries  of  the  deep-flowing  ocean  ; 
where  are  the  people  and  city  of  the 
Cimmerians,  covered  with  shadow  and 
vapour,  nor  does  the  shining  sun  behold 
them  with  his  beams,  neither  when  he 
goes  towards  the  starry  heaven,  nor 
when  he  turns  back  again  from  heaven 
to  earth  ;  but  pernicious  night  is  spread 
over  hapless  mortals.  Having  come 
there,  we  drew  up  our  ship ;  and  we 
took  out  the  sheep  ;  and  we  ourselves 


HOMER'S  ODYSSEY. 


went  again  to  the  stream  of  the  ocean, 
until  we  came  to  the  place  which  Circe 
mentioned.  There  Perimedes  and  Eury- 
lochiis  made  sacred  offerings ;  but  I, 
drawing  my  sharp  sword  from  my  thigh, 
dug  a  trench,  the  width  of  a  cubit  each 
way ;  and  around  it  we  poured  libations 
to  all  the  dead,  first  with  mixed  honey, 
then  with  sweet  wine,  again  a  third  time 
with  water;  and  I  sprinkled  white 
meal  over  it.  And  I  much  besought 
the  unsubstantial  heads  of  the  dead, 
promising  that,  when  I  came  to  Ithaca, 
I  would  offer  up  in  my  palace  a  barren 
heifer,  whichever  is  the  best,  and  would 
fill  a  pyre  with  excellent  things;  and 
that  I  would  sacrifice  separately  to 
Tiresias  alone  a  sheep  all  black,  which 
excels  amongst  our  sheep. 

But  when  I  had  besought  them,  the 
nations  of  the  dead,  with  vows  and 
prayers,  then  taking  the  sheep,  I  cut  off 
their  heads  into  the  trench,  and  the 
black  blood  flowed :  and  the  souls  of  the 
perished  dead  were  assembled  forth  from 
Erebus,  betrothed  girls  and  youths,  and 
much-enduring  old  men,  and  tender 
virgins,  having  a  newly-grieved  mind, 
and  many  Mars-renowned  men  wounded 
with  brass-tipped  spears,  possessing  gore- 
smeared  arms,  who,  in  great  numbers, 
were  wandering  about  the  trench  on 
different  sides  with  a  divine  clamour: 
and  pale  fear  seized  upon  me.  Then 
at  length  exhorting  my  companions,  I 
commanded  them,  having  skinned  the 
sheep  which  lay  there,  slain  with  the 
cniel  brass,  to  bum  them,  and  to. invoke 
the  gods,  both  Pluto  and  dread  Proser- 
pine. But  I,  having  drawn  my  sharp 
sword  from  my  thigh,  sat  down,  nor  did 
I  suffer  the  powerless  heads  of  the  dead 
to  draw  nigh  the  blood,  before  I  inquired 
of  Tiresias.  And  first  the  soul  of  my 
companion  Elpenor  came;  for  he  was 
not  yet  buried  beneath  the  wide-wayed 
earth;  for  we  left  his  body  in  the  palace 
of  Circe  unwept  for  and  unburied,  since 
another  toil  then  urged  us.  Beholding 
him,  I  wept,  and  pitied  him  in  my  mind, 
and  addressing  him,  spoke  winged  words: 
"()  Elpenor,  how  didst  thou  come 
under  the  dark  west?  Thou  hast  come 
sooner,  being  on  foot,  than  I  with  a 
black  ship." 

Thus  1  spoke ;  but  he,  groaning,  an- 


swered me  in  discourse,  "O  Jove-bom 
son  of  Laertes,  much-contriving  Ulysses, 
the  evil  destiny  of  the  deity  and  the 
abundant  wine  hurt  me.  Lying  down 
in  the  palace  of  Circe,  I  did  not  think  to 
go  down  backwards,  having  come  to  the 
long  ladder,  but  I  fell  downwards  from 
the  roof;  and  my  neck  was  broken  from 
the  vertebrre,  and  my  soul  descended  to 
Hades.  Now,  I  entreat  thee  by  those 
who  are  left  behind,  and  not  present,  by 
thy  wife  and  father,  who  nurtured  thee 
when  little,  and  Telemachus,  whom 
thou  didst  leave  alone  in  thy  palace  ;  for 
I  know  that,  going  hence  from  the  house 
of  Pluto,  thou  wilt  moor  thy  well- 
wrought  ship  at  the  island  of  JExs. : 
there  then,  O  king,  I  exhort  thee  to 
be  mindful  of  me,  nor,  when  thou  de- 
partest,  leave  me  behind,  unwept  for, 
unburied,  going  at  a  distance,  lest  I 
should  become  some  cause  to  thee  of 
the  wrath  of  the  gods :  but  burn  me 
with  whatever  arms  are  mine,  and  build 
on  the  shore  of  the  hoary  sea  a  monu- 
ment for  me,  a  wretched  man,  to  be 
heard  of  even  by  posterity ;  perform 
these  things  for  me,  and  fix  upon  the 
tomb  the  oar  with  which  I  rowed 
whilst  alive,  being  with  my  compa- 
nions." 

Thus  he  spoke  ;  but  I,  answering, 
addressed  him:  "O  wretched  one,  I 
will  perform  and  do  these  things  for 
thee. " 

Thus  we  sat  answering  one  another 
with  bitter  words  ;  I  indeed  holding  my 
s\\'Oid  off  over  the  blood,  but  the  image 
of  my  companion  on  the  other  side 
spoke  many  things.  And  afterwards 
there  came  on  the  soul  of  my  deceased 
mother,  Anticlea,  daughter  of  magnani- 
mous Autolycus,  whom  I  left  alive,  on 
going  to  sacred  Ilium.  I  indeed  wept 
l)eholding  her,  and  pitied  her  in  my 
mind  ;  but  not  even  thus,  although 
grieving  very  much,  did  I  suffer  her  to 
go  forward  near  to  the  blood,  before  I 
inquired  of  Tiresias.  But  at  length  the 
soul  of  Theban  Tiresias  came  on,  hold- 
ing a  golden  sceptre,  but  me  he  knew 
and  addressed:  "O  Jove-born  son  of 
Laertes,  why,  O  wretched  one,  leaving 
the  light  of  the  sun,  hast  thou  come, 
that  thou  mayest  see  the  dead  and  this 
joyless  region  ?  but  go  back  from  the 
p  2 


212 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


trench,  and  hold  off  thy  sharp  sword, 
that  I  may  drink  the  blood  and  tell  thee 
what  is  unerring." 

Thus  he  spoke  ;  but  I,  retiring  back, 
fixed  my  silver-hilted  sword  in  the 
sheath  ;  but  when  he  had  drunk  the 
black  blood,  then  at  length  the  blame- 
less prophet  addressed  me  with  words  : 
"Thou  seekest  a  pleasant  return,  O 
illustrious  Ulysses  ;  but  the  deity  will 
render  it  difficult  for  thee  ;  for  I  do  not 
think  that  thou  wilt  escape  the  notice  of 
Neptune,  who  has  set  wrath  in  his  mind 
against  thee,  enraged  because  thou  hast 
blinded  his  dear  son.  But  still,  even 
so,  although  suffering  ills,  thou  mayest 
come,  if  thou  art  willing  to  restrain  thy 
longing,  and  that  of  thy  companions, 
when  thou  shalt  first  drive  thy  well- 
wrought  ship  to  the  Trinacrian  island, 
escaping  from  the  azure  main,  and  find 
the  beeves  pasturing,  and  the  fat  cattle 
of  the  sun,  who  beholds  all  things,  and 
hears  all  things  ;  if  indeed  thou  shalt 
leave  those  unhanned,  and  art  careful  of 
thy  return,  even  then  thou  mayest  come 
to  Ithaca,  although  suffering  ills :  but  if 
thou  harmest  them,  then  I  foretell  to 
thee  destruction  for  thy  ship  and  thy 
companions  ;  but  even  if  thou  shouldst 
thyself  escape,  thou  wilt  return  late,  in 
calamity,  having  lost  all  thy  companions, 
in  a  foreign  ship ;  and  thou  wilt  find 
troubles  in  thine  house,  overbearing 
men,  who  consume  thy  livelihood,  woo- 
ing thy  goddess-like  wife,  and  offering 
thyself  for  her  dowry  gifts.  But  cer- 
tainly when  thou  comest  thou  wilt  re- 
venge their  violence  ;  but  when  thou 
slayest  the  suitors  in  thy  palace,  either 
by  deceit,  or  openly  with  sharp  brass, 
then  go,  taking  a  well-fitted  oar,  until 
thou  comest  to  those  men,  who  are  not 
acquainted  with  the  sea,  nor  eat  food 
mixed  with  salt,  nor  indeed  are  ac- 
quainted with  crimson-cheeked  ships, 
nor  well-fitted  oars,  which  also  are 
wings  to  ships.  But  I  will  tell  thee  a 
very  manifest  sign,  nor  will  it  escape 
thee :  when  another  traveller,  now 
meeting  thee,  shall  say  that  thou  hast 
a  winnowing-fan  on  thine  illustrious 
shoulder,  then  at  length  having  fixed 
thy  well-fitted  oar  in  the  earth,  and  hav- 
ing offered  beautiful  sacrifices  to  King 
Neptune,   a  r?.\\\,  and  bull,   and  boar, 


the  mate  of  swine,  return  home,  and 
offer  up  sacred  hecatombs  to  the  im- 
mortal gods,  who  possess  the  wide 
heaven,  to  all  in  order  :  but  death  will 
come  upon  thee  away  from  the  sea, 
gentle,  very  much  such  a  one,  as  will 
kill  thee,  taken  with  gentle  old  age  , 
and  the  people  around  thee  will  be  happy : 
these  things  I  tell  thee  true." 

Thus  he  spoke  :  but  I,  answering, 
addressed  him  :  "  O  Tiresias,  the  gods 
themselves  have  surely  decreed  these 
things.  But  come,  tell  me  this,  and 
relate  it  truly.  I  behold  this  the  soul 
of  my  deceased  mother  ;  she  sits  near 
the  blood  in  silence,  nor  does  she  dare 
to  look  openly  at  her  son,  nor  to  speak 
to  him.  Tell  me,  O  king,  how  she  can 
know  me,  being  such  a  one." 

Thus  I  spoke  ;  but  he,  immediately 
answering,  addressed  me :  "  I  will  tell 
thee  an  easy  word,  and  will  place  it  in 
thy  mind ;  whomever  of  the  deceased 
dead  thou  sufferest  to  come  near  the 
blood,  he  will  tell  thee  the  truth  ;  but 
whomsoever  thou  grudgest  it,  he  will  go 
back  again." 

Thus  having  spoke,  the  soul  of  King 
Tiresias  went  within  the  house  of  Pluto, 
when  he  had  spoken  the  oracles  :  but  I 
remamed  there  firmly,  until  my  mother 
came  and  drank  of  the  blood  ;  but  she 
immediately  knew  me,  and,  lamenting, 
addressed  to  me  winged  words :  "My 
son,  how  didst  thou  come  under  the 
shadowy  darkness,  being  alive  ?  but  it 
is  diflicult  for  the  living  to  behold  these 
things  ;  for  in  the  midst  there  are 
mighty  rivers  and  terrible  streams,  first 
indeed  the  ocean,  which  it  is  not  pos- 
sible to  pass,  being  on  foot,  except  any 
one  having  a  well-built  ship.  Dost  thou 
now  come  here  wandering  from  Troy, 
with  thy  ship  and  companions,  after  a 
long  time  ?  nor  hast  thou  yet  reached 
Ithaca  ?  nor  hast  thou  seen  thy  wife  u\ 
thy  palace  ? " 

Thus  she  spoke  ;  but  I,  answering, 
addressed  her :  "  O  my  mother,  neces- 
sity led  me  to  Hades,  to  consult  the 
soul  of  Theban  Tiresias.  For  I  have 
not  yet  come  near  Achaia,  nor  have  I 
ever  stept  upon  my  own  land,  but  I  still 
wander  about,  having  grief,  since  first  I 
followed  divine  Agamemnon  to  steed- 
exceliing  Ilium,  that  I  might  fight  with 


HOMER'S  ODYSSEY, 


213 


the  Trojans.  But  come,  tell  me  this, 
and  relate  it  truly,  what  fate  of  long- 
sleeping  death  subdued  thee?  Whether 
a  long  disease  ?  or  did  shaft-rejoicing 
Diana,  coming  upon  thee  with  her  mild 
weapons,  slay  thee  ?  And  tell  me  of 
my  father  and  my  son,  whom  I  left, 
whether  my  property  is  still  with  them, 
or  does  some  other  of  men  now  possess 
it,  ancj  do  they  think  that  I  shall  not 
any  more  return  ?  And  tell  me  the 
counsel  and  mind  of  my  wooed  wife, 
whether  does  she  remair.  with  her  son, 
and  guard  all  things  safe  ?  or  now  has 
one  of  the  Grecians,  whoever  is  the  best, 
wedded  her?" 

Thus  I  spoke ;  but  my  venerable 
mother  immediately  answered  me  : 
"She  by  all  means  remains  with  an 
enduring  mind  in  thy  palace  :  and  her 
miserable  nights  and  days  are  continu- 
ally spent  in  tears.  But  no  one  as  yet 
possesses  thy  noble  property  :  but  Te- 
lemachus  manages  thy  estates  in  quiet, 
and  feasts  upon  equal  feasts,  which  it  is 
fit  for  a  man  who  is  a  prince  to  prepare ; 
for  all  invite  him :  but  thy  father  remains 
there  in  the  country,  nor  does  he  come 
to  the  city  ;  nor  has  he  beds,  and 
couches,  anfl  clothes,  and  variegated 
rugs.  I3ut  he  sleeps  indeed,  during  the 
winter,  where  the  servants  sleep,  in  the 
house,  in  the  dust,  near  the  fire,  and  he 
puts  sad  garments  about  his  body  :  but 
when  summer  arrives,  and  flourishing 
autumn,  his  bed  is  strewn  on  the  ground, 
of  the  leaves  that  fall  on  every  side  of 
his  wine-producing  vineyard.  Here  he 
lies  sorrowing,  and  he  cherishes  great 
grief  in  his  mind,  lamenting  thy  fate  ; 
and  severe  old  age  conies  upon  him :  for 
so  I  also  perished  and  drew  on  my  fate. 
Nor  did  the  well-aiming,  shaft-delight- 
ing goddess,  coming  upon  me  with  her 
mild  weapons,  slay  me  in  the  palace. 
Nor  did  any  disease  come  upon  me, 
which  especially  takes  away  the  mind 
from  the  limbs  with  hateful  consump- 
tion. But  regret  for  thee,  and  cares  for 
thee,  O  illustrious  Ulysses,  and  kindness 
for  thee,  deprived  me' of  my  sweet  life." 

Thus  she  spoke  ;  but  I,  meditating 
in  my  mind,  wished  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  new 


from  my  hands,  like  unto  a  shadow,  or 
even  to  a  dream  :  but  sharp  grief  arose 
in  my  heart  still  more  ;  and  addressing 
her,  I  spoke  winged  words  :  *'  Mother 
mine,  why  dost  thou  not  remain  for  me, 
desirous  to  take  hold  of  thee,  that  even 
in  Hades,  throwing  around  our  dear 
hands,  we  may  both  be  satiated  with 
sad  grief?  Has  illustrious  Proserpine 
sent  forth  this  an  image  for  me,  that  I 
may  lament  still  more,  mourning?" 

Thus  I  spoke  ;  my  venerable  mother 
immediately  answered  me  :  "Alas  !  my 
son,  unhappy  above  all  mortals,  Proser- 
pine, the  daughter  of  Jove,  by  no  means 
deceives  thee,  but  this  is  the  condition 
of  mortals,  when  they  are  dead.  For 
their  nerves  no  longer  have  flesh  and 
bones,  but  the  strong  force  of  burning 
fire  subdues  them,  when  first  the  mind 
leaves  the  white  bones,  but  the  soul, 
like  as  a  dream,  flittering,  flies  away. 
But  hasten  as  quick  as  possible  to  the 
light  ;  and  know  all  these  things,  that 
even  hereafter  thou  mayest  tell  them  to 
thy  wife." 

Thus  we  twain  answered  each  other 
with  words ;  but  the  women  came, — 
for  illustrious  Proserpine  excited  them, 
—  as  many  as  were  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  chiefs.  Aud  they  were 
assembled  together  around  the  black 
blood.  And  I  took  counsel  how  I 
might  inquire  of  each  ;  and  this  plan  in 
my  mind  appeared  to  me  to  be  the  best : 
having  drawn  my  long  sword  from  my 
stout  thigh,  I  did  not  suffer  them  all  to 
drink  the  black  blood  at  the  same  time. 
But  they  came  one  after  another,  and 
each  related  her  race ;  but  I  inquired  oi 
all.  There  then  I  saw  Tyro  first,  bom 
of  a  noble  father,  who  said  that  she  was 
the  offspring  of  blameless  Salmoneus. 
And  she  said  that  she  was  the  wife  of 
Cretheus,  son  of  .^olus.  She  loved  the 
divine  river  Enipeus,  which  flows  far  the 
fairest  of  rivers  upon  the  earth  ;  and  she 
was  constantly  walking  near  the  beau- 
tiful streams  of  the  Enipeus.  Earth- 
shaking  Neptune,  therefore, likened  unto 
him,  lay  with  her  at  the  mouth  of  the 
eddying  river  :  and  the  purple  wave  sur- 
rounded them,  like  unto  a  mountain, 
arched,  and  concealed  the  god,  and  the 
mortal  woman  ;  and  he  loosed  her 
virgin  zone,  and   shed   sleep  over  her. 


214 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


But  when  the  god  had  accomplished 
the  deeds  of  love,  he  laid  hold  of  her 
hand,  and  spoke  and  addressed  her : 
"  Rejoice,  O  woman,  on  account  of  our 
love  ;  for  when  a  year  has  rolled  round, 
thou  shalt  bring  forth  illustrious  chil- 
dren ;  since  the  beds  of  the  immortals 
are  not  in  vain  ;  but  do  thou  take  Care 
of  them,  and  bring  them  up,  but  now 
go  to  thine  house,  and  restrain  thyself, 
nor  mention  it ;  but  I  am  Earth-shaking 
Neptune." 

Thus  having  spoke,  he  dived  beneath 
the  billowy  sea ;  but  she,  having  con- 
ceived, brought  forth  Pelias  and  Neleus, 
who  both  became  noble  servants  of  Jove. 
Pelias,  indeed,  abounding  in  cattle,  dwelt 
in  spacious  lolcus;  but  the  other  in  sandy 
Pylos.  And  the  queen  of  women  brought 
forth  the  others  to  Cretheus,  ^son,  and 
Pheres,  and  steed-rejoicing  Amithaon. 

After  her  I  beheld  Antiope,  the 
daughter  of  Asopus,  who  also  boasted 
to  have  slept  in  the  arms  of  Jove  ;  and 
she  brought  forth  two  sons,  Amphion 
and  Zethus,  who  first  laid  the  founda- 
tions of  seven-gated  Thebes,  and  sur- 
rounded it  with  turrets  ;  since  they  were 
not  able,  although  they  were  strong,  to 
dwell  in  spacious  Thebes  without  turrets. 

After  Ker  I  beheld  Alcmene,  the  wife 
of  Amphitr}'on,  who,  mingled  in  the 
arms  of  great  Jove,  brought  forth  bold, 
lion-hearted  Hercules.  And  Megara, 
daughter  of  high-minded  Creon,  whom 
the  son  of  Amphitryon,  ever  unwasted 
in  strength,  wedded. 

And  I  beheld  the  mother  of  CEdipus, 
beautiful  Epicaste,  who  committed  a 
dreadful  deed  in  the  ignorance  of  her 
mind,  having  married  her  own  son ;  and 
he,  having  slain  his  father,  married  her : 
but  the  gods  immediately  made  it  public 
amongst  men.  Then  he,  suffering  grief 
in  delightful  Thebes,  ruled  over  the  Cad- 
meians,  through  the  pernicious  counsels 
of  the  gods  ;  but  she  went  to  the  dwel- 
lings of  strong-gated  Hades,  suspending 
the  cord  on  high  from  the  lofty  house, 
held  fast  by  her  own  sorrow;  but  she 
left  behind  for  him  very  many  griefs, 
as  many  as  the  Furies  of  a  mother  accom- 
plish. 

And  I  saw  the  very  beautiful  Chloris, 
whom  Neleus  once  married  on  account 
of  her  beauty,  when  he  had  given  her 


countless  dowries,  the  youngest  daughter 
of  Amphion,  son  of  lasus:  who  once 
ruled  strongly  in  Minyean  Orchomenus ; 
and  he  reigned  over  Pylos ;  and  she  bore 
to  him  noble  children,  Nestor  and  Chro- 
mius,  and  proud  Periclymenus;  and  be- 
sides these  she  brought  forth  strong  Pero, 
a  marvel  to  mortals,  whom  all  the  neigh- 
bouring inhabitants  wooed ;  nor  did 
Neleus  at  all  offer  her  to  any  one,  who 
could  not  drive  away  from  Phylace  the 
crumple-horned  oxen  of  mighty  Iphicles, 
with  wide  foreheads,  and  troublesome;  a 
blameless  seer  alone  promised  that  he 
would  drive  these  away  ;  but  the  severe 
Fate  of  the  gods  hindered  him,  and  diffi- 
cult fetters,  and  rustic  herdsmen.  But 
when  the  months  and  days  were  now  com- 
pleted, a  year  having  again  gone  round, 
and  the  hours  came  on,  then  at  length 
the  mighty  Iphicles  loosed  him,  having 
told  all  the  oracles ;  and  the  counsel  of 
Jove  was  fulfilled. 

And  I  beheld  Leda,  the  wife  of  Tyn- 
dareus,  who  brought  forth  two  noble- 
minded  sons  from  Tyndareus,  steed-sub- 
duing Castor,  and  Pollux  who  excelled 
in  pugilism ;  both  of  these  the  fruitful 
earth  detains  alive ;  who,  even  beneath 
the  earth,  having  honour  from  Jove, 
sometimes  live  on  alternate  days,  and 
sometimes  again  are  dead,  and  they 
have  obtained  by  lot  honour  equally  with 
the  gods. 

After  her  I  beheld  Iphimedia,  wife  of 
Aloeus,  who  said  that  she  had  been 
united  to  Neptune :  and  bore  two  sons, 
but  they  were  short-lived,  god-like  Otus, 
and  far-famed  Flphialtes ;  whom  the 
fruitful  earth  nourished,  the  tallest,  and 
far  the  most  beautiful,  at  least  after 
illustrious  Orion.  For  at  nine  years  old 
they  were  also  nine  cubits  in  width,  but 
in  height  they  were  nine  fathoms.  Who 
even  threatened  the  immortals  that  they 
would  set  up  a  strife  of  impetuous  war 
in  Olympus:  they  attempted  to  place 
Ossa  upon  Olympus,  and  upon  Ossa 
leafy  Pelion,  that  heaven  might  be  acces- 
sible. And  they  would  have  accom- 
plished it,  if  they  had  reached  the  mea- 
sure of  youth  :  but  the  son  of  Jove,  whom 
fair-haired  Latona  bore,  destroyed  them 
both,  before  the  down  flowered  undei 
their  temples,  and  thickened  upon  theif 
cheek  with  a  flowering  beard. 


HOMER'S  ODYSSEY. 


215 


And  I  beheld  Phnedra  and  Procris, 
and  fair  Ariadne,  the  daughter  of  wise 
Minos,  whom  Theseus  once  led  from 
Crete  to  the  soil  of  sacred  Athens,  but 
he  did  not  enjoy  her;  for  Diana  first 
slew  her  in  the  island  Dia,  on  account  of 
the  testimony  of  Bacchus. 

And  I  beheld  Masra  and  Clymene, 
and  hateful  Eri  hyle,  .who  received  pre- 
cious gold  for  her  dear  husband.  But  I 
cannot  relate  nor  name  all,  how  many 
wives  and  daughters  of  heroes  I  beheld  : 
for  even  the  immortal  night  would  first 
waste  away. 

When  chaste  Prosperine  had  dispersed 
the  souls  of  women  in  different  places, 
the  soul  of  Agamemnon,  son  of  Atreus, 
came  up,  sorrowing:  and  the  rest  were 
assembled  around  him,  as  many  as  died, 
and  drew  on  their  fate  in  the  house  of 
^gisthus  together  with  him ;  and  he 
immediately  knew  me,  when  he  had 
drunk  the  black  blood  ;  and  he  wept 
shrilly,  shedding  the  warm  tear,  holding 
out  his  hands  to  me,  desiring  to  lay  hold 
of  me.  But  he  had  no  longer  firm 
strength,  nor  power  at  all,  such  as  was 
before  in  his  bending  limbs.  I  wept  in- 
deed, beholding  him,  and  pitied  him  in 
my  mind,  and  addressing  him  I  spoke 
winged  words:  "O  most  glorious  son  of 
Atreus,  Agamemnon,  king  of  men,  what 
fate  of  long-sleeping  death  subdued  thee? 
Did  Neptune  subdue  thee  in  thy  ships, 
raising  an  immense  blast  of  cniel  winds  ? 
Or  did  unjust  men  injure  thee  on  land, 
while  thou  wert  cutting  off  their  oxen, 
and  beautiful  flocks  of  sheep,  or  contend- 
ing for  a  city,  or  for  women?" 

Thus  I  spoke ;  but  he  immediately 
addressed  me,  answering:  "O  Jove-bom 
son  of  Laertes,  much-planning  Ulysses, 
neither  did  Neptune  subdue  me  in  my 
ships,  raising  an  immense  blast  of  cruel 
winds,  nor  did  unjust  men  injure  me  on 
land;  but  /Egisthus,  having  contrived 
death  and  Fate  for  me,  slew  me,  con- 
spiring with  my  pernicious  wife,  having 
invited  me  to  his  house,  entertaining  me 
at  a  feast,  as  any  one  has  slain  an  ox  at 
the  stall.  Thus  I  died  by  a  most  piteous 
death ;  and  my  other  companions  were 
cruelly  slain  around  me,  as  swine  with 
white  tusks,  which  are  slain  either  at  the 
marriage,  or  collation,  or  splendid  ban- 


quet of  a  wealthy,  very  powerful  man. 
Thou  hast  already  been  ]iresent  at  the 
slaughter  of  many  men,  slain  separately, 
and  in  hard  battle;  but  if  thou  hadst 
seen  those  things,  thou  wouldst  have 
especially  lamented  in  thy  mind,  how  we 
lay  in  the  palace  about  the  cups  and  full 
tables ;  and  the  whole  ground  reeked  with 
blood.  And  I  heard  the  most  piteous 
voice  of  the  daughter  of  Priam,  Cassan- 
dra, whom  deceitful  Clytemnestra  slew 
near  me;  but  I,  raising  my  hands  from 
the  earth,  dying,  laid  them  on  my  sword  ; 
but  she,  impudent  one,  went  away,  nor 
did  she  endure  to  close  my  eyes  with 
her  hands,  and  shut  my  mouth,  although 
I  was  going  to  I  lades.  .So  there  is  no- 
thing else  more  terrible  and  impudent 
than  a  woman,  who  indeed  casts  about 
such  deeds  in  her  mind :  what  an  un- 
seemly deed  has  she  indeed  contrived, 
having  prepared  murder  for  her  husband, 
whom  she  lawfully  married !  I  thought 
indeed  that  I  should  return  home  welcome 
to  my  children  and  my  servants ;  but  she, 
above  all  acquainted  with  wicked  things, 
has  shed  disgrace  over  herself,  and  fe- 
male women  about  to  be  hereafter,  even 
upon  one  who  is  a  worker  of  good." 

Thus  he  spoke ;  but  I  addressed  him, 
answering:  "Ogods!  of  a  truth  wide- 
thundering  Jove  most  terribly  hates  the 
race  of  Atreus,  on  account  of  women's 
plans,  from  the  beginning:  many  of  us 
indeed  perished  for  the  sake  of  Helen  ; 
and  Clytemnestra  has  contrived  a  strata- 
gem for  thee  when  thou  wast  at  a  dis- 
tance." 

Thus  I  spoke ;  but  he  immediately  ad- 
dressed me  in  answer:  "Now  therefore 
do  not  thou  ever  be  mild  to  thy  wife,  nor 
inform  her  of  everything  with  which 
thou  art  well  acquainted:  but  tell  one 
thing,  and  let  another  be  concealed.  But 
for  thee  indeed  there  will  not  be  murder 
at  the  hands  of  thy  wife,  O  Ulysses: 
for  prudent  Penelope,  the  daughter  of 
Icarus,  is  very  wise,  and  is  well  ac- 
quainted with  counsels  in  her  mind. 
We  left  indeed  her,  when  we  came  to 
the  war,  a  young  bride  ;  and  she  had  an 
infant  boy  at  her  breast,  who  now  pro- 
bably sits  amongst  the  number  of  men, 
happy  one ;  for  his  dear  father  will  surely 
behold  him,  when  returning,  and  he  will 
embrace  his  sire,  as  is  right ;  but  she  my 


2l6 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


wife  did  not  sufifer  me  to  be  satiated  in 
mine  eyes  with  my  son,  for  she  first  slew 
even  me  myself.  But  I  will  tell  thee 
something  else,  and  do  thou  lay  it  up  in 
thy  mind ;  hold  thy  ship  towards  thy 
dear  paternal  land  secretly,  not  openly  ; 
since  confidence  is '  no  longer  to  be 
placed  upon  women.  But  come,  tell 
me  this  and  relate  it  truly ;  if  thou  hear- 
est  of  my  son  anywhere  yet  alive,  either 
somewhere  in  Orchomenus,  or  in  sandy 
Pylos,  or  somewhere  near  Menelaus  in 
wide  Sparta?  for  divine  Orestes  has  not 
yet  died  upon  the  earth." 

Thus  he  spoke ;  but  I  addressed  him 
in  answer :  "  O  son  of  Atreus,  why  dost 
thou  inquire  these  things  of  me  ?  I  do 
not  know  at  all  whether  he  is  alive  or 
dead  ;  and  it  is  wrong  to  utter  vain 
words. " 

We  twain  stood  thus  mourning,  an- 
swering one  another  with  sad  words, 
shedding  the  waiin  tear.  And  the  soul 
of  Achilles,  son  of  Peieus,  came  on,  and 
of  Patroclus,  and  spotless  Antilochus, 
and  Ajax,  who  was  the  most  excellent  as 
to  his  form  and  person  of  all  the  Danaans 
after  the  blameless  son  of  Peieus.  And 
the  soul  of  the  swift -footed  descendant  of 
.(^iacus  knew  me,  and,  lamenting,  ad- 
dressed me  in  winged  words  :  "  O  Jove- 
born  son  of  Laertes,  much-contriving 
Ulysses,  wretched  one,  why  dost  thou 
meditate  a  still  greater  work  in  thy 
mind  ?  how  didst  thou  dare  to  descend 
to  Orcus,  where  dwell  the  witless  dead, 
the  images  of  deceased  mortals  ?" 

Thus  he  spoke  ;  but  I  addressed  him 
in  answer:  "  Achilles,  son  of  Peieus,  by 
far  the  most  excellent  of  the  Grecians,  I 
came  for  the  advice  of  Tiresias,  if  he 
could  tell  me  how  by  any  plan  I  may 
come  to  craggy  Ithaca.  For  I  have  not 
yet  come  anywhere  near  Greece,  nor 
have  I  ever  gone  on  my  land  anywhere, 
but  I  still  have  troubles  :  but  there  was 
no  man  before  more  blessed  than  thou, 
O  Achilles,  nor  will  there  be  hereafter. 
For  formerly  we  Argives  honoured  thee 
when  alive  equally  with  the  gods,  and 
now  again,  when  thou  art  here,  thou 
hast  great  power  amongst  the  deceased  ; 
do  not  therefore  when  dead  be  sad,  O 
Achilles." 

Thus  I  spoke ;  but  he  immediately 
addiessed  me  in  answer:   "Do  not,  O 


illustrious  Ulysses,  speak  to  me  of  death  ; 
I  would  wish,  being  on  earth,  to  serve 
for  hire  with  another  man  of  no  estate, 
who  had  not  much  livelihood,  rather 
than  rule  over  all  the  departed  dead. 
But  come,  tell  me  an  account  of  my  noble 
son  ;  did  he  follow  to  the  war  so  as  to 
be  a  chief  or  not  ?  and  tell  me  if  thou 
hast  heard  anything  of  blameless  Peieus; 
whether  has  he  still  honour  amongst  the 
many  Myrmidonians  ?  or  do  they  dis- 
honour him  in  Greece  and  Phthia,  be- 
cause old  age  possesses  his  hands  and 
feet  ?  for  I  am  not  assistant  to  him  under 
the  beams  of  the  sun,  being  such  a  one 
as  when  I  slew  the  best  of  the  people  in 
wide  Troy,  fighting  for  the  Grecians.  If 
I  should  come  as  such  a  one  even  for  a 
short  time  to  the  house  of  my  father,  so 
I  would  make  my  strength  and  uncon- 
querable hands  terrible  to  any  who  treat 
him  with  violence  and  keep  him  from 
honour." 

Thus  he  spoke  ;  but  I,  answering, 
addressed  him  :  "I  have  not  indeed 
heard  anything  of  blameless  Peieus. 
But  I  will  tell  thee  the  whole  truth,  as 
thou  biddest  me,  about  thy  dear  son 
Neoptolemus  ;  for  I  myself  led  him  in 
an  equal  hollow  ship  from  Scyros  to  the 
well-greaved  Grecians.  Of  a  truth,  when 
we  were  taking  counsels  concerning  the 
city  Troy,  he  always  spoke  first,  and  did 
not  err  in  his  words  :  and  godlike  Nestor 
and  myself  alone  contended  with  him. 
But  when  we  were  fighting  about  the 
city  of  the  Trojans,  he  never  remained  in 
the  number  of  men,  nor  in  the  crowd, 
but  ran  on  much  before,  yielding  to  no 
one  in  his  might  ;  and  many  men  he 
slew  in  the  terrible  contest  :  but  I  could 
not  tell  nor  name  all,  how  great  a  people 
he  slew,  defending  the  Greeks.  But  1 
will  relate  how  lie  slew  the  hero  Eury- 
pylus,  son  of  Telephus,  with  the  brass, 
and  many  Cetean  companions  were  slain 
around  him,  on  account  of  gifts  to  a 
woman:  him  certainly  I  beheld  as  the 
most  beautiful,  after  divine  Memnon. 
But  when  we,  the  chieftains  of  the 
Grecians,  ascended  into  the  horse  which 
Epeus  made,  and  all  things  were  com- 
mitted to  me,  both  to  open  the  thick 
ambush  and  to  shut  it,  there  the  other 
leaders  and  rulers  of  the  Greeks  both 
wiped  away  their  tears,  and  the  limbs  ol 


HOMER'S   ODYSSEY. 


217 


each  trembled  under  them ;  but  him  I 
never  saw  at  all  with  my  eyes,  either 
turning  pale  as  to  his  beauteous  com- 
plexion, or  wiping  away  the  tears  from 
his  cheeks  ;  but  he  implored  me  very 
much  to  go  out  of  the  horse  ;  and 
grasped  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  his 
brass-heavy  spear,  and  he  meditated  evil 
against  the  Trojans.  But  when  we  had 
sacked  the  lofty  city  of  Priam,  having 
his  share  and  excellent  reward,  he  em- 
barked unhurt  on  a  ship,  neither  stricken 
with  the  sharp  brass,  nor  wounded  in 
fighting  hand  to  hand,  as  oftentimes  hap- 
pens in  war  ;  for  Mars  confusedly  raves." 

Thus  I  spoke ;  but  the  soul  of  the 
swift-footed  son  of  ^acus  went  away, 
taking  mighty  steps  through  the  meadow 
of  aspliodel,  in  joyfulness,  because  I  had 
said  that  his  son  was  very  illustrious. 
But  the  other  souls  of  the  deceased  dead 
stood  sorrowing,  and  each  related  their 
griefs.  But  the  soul  of  Ajax,  son  of 
Telamon,  stood  afar  off,  angry  on  ac- 
count of  the  victory  in  which  I  conquered 
him,  contending  in  trial  at  the  ships  con- 
cerning the  arms  of  Achilles;  for  his 
venerable  mother  proposed  them :  but 
the  sons  of  the  Trojans  and  Pallas 
Minerva  adjudged  them.  How  I  wish 
that  I  had  not  conquered  in  such  a  con- 
test ;  for  the  earth  contained  such  a  person 
on  account  of  them,  Ajax,  who  excelled 
in  form  and  in  deeds  the  other  Greeks, 
after  the  blameless  son  of  Peleus ;  him 
indeed  I  addressed  with  mild  words  : 
"O  Ajax,  son  of  blameless  Telamon, 
art  thou  not  about,  even  when  dead,  to 
forget  thine  anger  towards  me,  on  ac- 
count of  the  destructive  arms?  for  the 
gods  made  them  a  harm  unto  the 
Grecians,  For  thou,  who  was  such  a 
fortress  to  them,  didst  perish  ;  for 
thee,  when  dead,  we  Greeks  altogether 
mourned,  equally  as  for  the  person  of 
Achilles,  the  son  of  Peleus  ;  nor  was 
any  one  else  the  cause  ;  but  Jupiter 
venemently  hated  the  army  of  the 
warrior  Greeks ;  and  he  laid  fate  upon 
you.  But  come  hither,  O  king,  that 
thou  mayest  hear  our  word  and  speech  ; 
and  subdue  thy  strength  and  haughty 
mind." 

Thus  I  spoke  ;  but  he  answered  me 
not  at  all,  but  went  to  Erebus  amongst 
the  other  souls  of  the  deceased  dead. 


There  however,  although  angry,  he 
would  have  spoken  to  me,  or  I  to  him, 
but  my  mind  in  my  breast  wished  to 
behold  the  souls  of  the  other  dead. 

There  then  I  beheld  Minos,  the  il- 
lustrious son  of  Jove,  having  a  golden 
sceptre,  giving  laws  to  the  dead,  sitting 
down  ;  but  the  others  around  him,  the 
king,  pleaded  their  causes,  sitting  ami 
standing  through  the  wide-gated  house 
of  Pluto. 

After  him  I  beheld  vast  Orion,  hunt- 
ing beasts  at  the  same  time,  in  the 
meadow  of  asphodel,  which  he  had  him- 
self killed  in  the  desert  mountains,  having 
an  all-brazen  club  in  his  hands,  for  ever 
unbroken. 

And  I  beheld  Tityus,  the  son  of  the 
very  renowned  earth,  lying  on  the 
ground  ;  and  he  lay  stretched  over  nine 
acres  ;  and  two  vultures  sitting  on  each 
side  of  him  were  tearing  his  liver,  diving 
into  the  caul :  but  he  did  not  ward  them 
off  with  his  hands  ;  for  he  had  dragged 
Latona,  the  celebrated  wife  of  Jove,  as 
she  was  going  to  Pythos,  through  tlie 
delightful  Panopeus. 

And  I  beheld  Tantalus  suffering  severe 
griefs,  standing  in  a  lake ;  and  it  ap- 
proached his  chin.  But  he  stood  thirst- 
ing, and  he  could  not  get  anything  to 
drink  ;  for  as  often  as  the  old  man 
stooped,  desiring  to  drink,  so  often  the 
water,  being  sucked  up,  was  lost  to  him  ; 
and  the  black  earth  appeared  around  his 
feet,  and  the  deity  dried  it  up.  And 
lofty  trees  shed  down  fruit  from  the  top, 
pear-trees,  and  apples,  and  pomegranates 
producing  glorious  fruit,  and  sweet  figs, 
and  flourishing  olives  :  of  which,  when 
the  old  man  raised  himself  up  to  pluck 
some  with  his  hands,  the  wind  kept 
casting  them  away  to  the  dark  clouds. 

And  I  beheld  Sisyphus,  having  violent 
griefs,  bearing  an  enormous  stone  with 
both  his  hands  :  he  indeed  leaning  with 
his  hands  and  feet  kept  thrusting  the 
stone  up  to  the  top  :  but  when  it  was 
about  to  pass  over  the  summit,  then 
strong  force  began  to  drive  it  back  again, 
then  the  impudent  stone  rolled  to  the 
plain  ;  but  he,  striving,  kept  thrusting  it 
back,  and  the  sweat  flowed  down  from 
his  limbs,  and  a  dirt  arose  from  bis 
head. 

After  him  I  perceived  the  might  of 


2l8 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


Hercules,  an  image ;  for  he  himself 
amongst  the  immortal  gods  is  delighted 
with  banquets,  and  has  the  fair-legged 
Hebe,  daughter  of  mighty  Jove  and 
golden-sandalled  Juno.  And  around  him 
there  was  a  clang  of  the  dead,  as  of 
birds,  frighted  on  all  sides  ;  but  he,  like 
unto  dark  night,  having  a  naked  bow, 
and  an  arrow  at  the  string,  looking  about 
terribly,  was  always  like  unto  one  about 
to  let  fly  a  shaft.  And  there  was  a 
fearful  belt  around  his  breast,  the  thong 
was  golden  :  on  which  wondrous  forms 
were  wrought,  bears,  and  wild  boars,  and 
terrible  lions,  and  contests,  and  battles, 
and  slaughters,  and  slayings  of  men ;  he 
who  devised  that  thong  with  his  art, 
never  having  wrought  such  a  one  before, 
could  not  work  any  other  such.  But  he 
immediately  knew  me,  when  he  saw  me 
with  his  eyes,  and,  pitying  me,  addressed 
winged  words:  "O  Jove-born  son  of 
Laertes,  much-contriving  Ulysses,  ah  ! 
wretched  one,  thou  too  art  certainly  pur- 
suing some  evil  fate,  which  I  also  endured 
under  the  beams  of  the  sun.  I  was  in- 
deed the  son  of  Jove,  the  son  of  Saturn, 
but  I  had  infinite  labour;  for  I  was  sub- 
jected to  a  much  inferior  man,  who  en- 
joined upon  me  difficult  contests:  and 
once  he  sent  me  hither  to  bring  the  dog, 
for  he  did  not  think  that  there  was  any 
contest  more  difficult  than  this.  I  indeed 
brought  it  up  and  led  it  from  Pluto,  but 
Mercury  and  blue-eyed  Minerva  escorted 
me." 

Thus  having  spoken,  he  went  again 
within  the  house  of  Phito.  But  I  re- 
mained there  firmly,  if  by  chance  any 
one  of  the  heroes,  who  perished  in  former 
times,  would  still  come;  and  1  should 
now  still  have  seen  former  men,  whom  I 
wished,  Theseus,  and  Pirithoiis,  glorious 
children  of  the  gods  ;  but  first  myriads 
of  nations  of  the  dead  were  assembled 
around  me  with  a  fine  clamour  ;  and  pale 
fear  seized  me,  lest  to  me  illustrious  Pro- 
serpine should  send  a  Gorgon  head  of  a 
terrific  monster  from  Orcus.  Going  then 
immediately  to  my  ship,  I  ordered  my 
comjjanions  to  go  on  board  themselves, 
and  to  loose  the  halsers.  But  they 
quickly  embarked,  and  sat  down  on  the 
benches.  And  the  wave  of  the  stream 
carried  it  through  the  ocean  river,  first 
the  rowing  and  afterwards  a  fair  wind. 


VIRGIL'S  ^NEID. 
Book  VI.     Davidson's  Tr.,  revised  by  Buckley. 

Ye  gods,  to  whom  the  empire 

of  ghosts  belongs,  and  ye  silent  shades, 
and  Chaos,  and  Phlegethon,  places  where 
silence  reigns  around  in  night !  permit 
me  to  utter  the  secrets  I  have  heard  ;  may 
I  by  your  divine  will  disclose  things 
buried  in  deep  earth  and  darkness.  They 
moved  along  amid  the  gloom  under  the 
solitary  night  through  the  shade,  and 
through  the  desolate  halls  and  empty 
realms  of  Pluto  ;  such  as  is  a  journey  in 
woods  beneath  the  unsteady  moon,  under 
a  faint,  glimmering  light,  when  Jupiter 
hath  wrapped  the  heavens  in  shade,  and 
sable  night  had  stripped  objects  of 
colour. 

Before  the  vestibule  itself,  and  in  the 
first  jaws  of  hell.  Grief  and  vengeful 
Cares  have  placed  their  couches,  and  pale 
Diseases  dwell,  and  disconsolate  Old 
Age,  and  Fear,  and  the  evil  counsellor 
Famine,  and  vile,  deformed  Indigence, 
forms  ghastly  to  the  sight !  and  l3eath, 
and  Toil ;  then  Sleep,  akin  to  Death, 
and  criminal  Joys  of  the  mind  ;  and  in 
the  opposite  threshold  murderous  War, 
and  the  iron  bedchambers  of  the  Furies, 
and  frantic  Discord,  having  her  viperous 
locks  bound  with  bloody  fillets. 

In  the  midst  a  gloomy  elm  displays  its 
boughs  and  aged  arms,  which  seat  vain 
Dreams  are  commonly  said  to  haunt,  and 
under  every  leaf  they  dwell.  Many  mon- 
strous savages,  moreover,  of  various 
forms,  stable  in  the  gates,  the  Centaurs 
and  double-formed  Scyllas,  and  Briareus 
with  his  hundred  hands,  and  the  enor- 
mous snake  of  Lerma  hissing  dreadful,  and 
Chimoera  armed  with  flames  ;  Gorgons, 
Harpies,  and  the  form  of  Geryon's  three- 
bodied  ghost.  Here  .^neas,  discon- 
certed with  sudden  fear,  grasps  his  sword, 
and  presents  the  naked  point  to  each  ap- 
proaching shade  :  and  had  not  his  skilful 
guide  put  him  in  mind  that  they  were 
airy  unbodied  phantoms,  fluttering  about 
under  an  empty  form,  he  had  rushed  in 
and  with  his  sword  struck  at  the  ghosts 
in  vain. 

Hence  is  a  path  which  leads  to  the 
floods  of  Tartarean  Acheron :  here  a  guh 
turbid  and  impure  boils  up  with  mire 


VIRGWS  MNEID. 


219 


and  vast  whirpools,  and  disgoi^es  all  its 
sand  into  Cocytus.  A  grim  ferryman 
g.tards  these  floods  and  rivers,  Charon, 
of  frightful  slovenliness ;  on  whose 
chin  a  load  of  gray  hair  neglected  lies  ; 
his  eyes  are  flame  :  his  vestments  hang 
from  his  shoulders  by  a  knot,  with  filth 
overgrown.  Himself  thrusts  on  the 
barge  with  a  pole,  and  tends  the  sails, 
and  wafts  over  the  bodies  in  his  iron- 
coloured  boat,  now  in  years  :  but  the 
god  is  of  fresh  and  green  old  age.  Hither 
the  whole  tribe  in  swarms  come  pouring 
to  the  banks,  matrons  and  men,  the  souls 
of  magnanimous  heroes  who  had  gone 
through  life,  boys  and  unmarried  maids, 
and  young  men  who  had  been  stretched 
on  the  funeral  pile  before  the  eyes  of 
their  parents  ;  as  numerous  as  withered 
leaves  fall  in  the  woods  with  the  first 
cold  of  autumn,  or  as  numerous  as  birds 
flock  to  the  land  from  the  deep  ocean, 
when  the  chilling  year  drives  them  beyond 
sea,  and  sends  them  to  sunny  climes. 
They  stood  praying  to  cross  the  flood 
the  firr.t,  and  were  stretching  forth  their 
hands  with  fond  desire  to  gain  the  farther 
bank  ;  but  the  sullen  boatman  admits 
sometimes  these,  sometimes  those  ;  while 
others  to  a  great  distance  removed,  he  de- 
bars from  the  banks. 

.(^ncas  (for  he  was  amazed  and  moved 
with  the  tumult)  thus  speaks  :  O  virgin, 
say,  what  means  that  flocking  to  the 
river?  what  do  the  ghosts  desire?  or  by 
what  distinction  must  these  recede  from 
the  banks,  those  sweep  with  oars  the 
livid  flood  ?  To  him  the  aged  priestess 
thus  briefly  replied  :  Son  of  Ancliises, 
undoubted  offspring  of  the  gods,  you  see 
the  deep  pools  of  Cocytus,  and  the  Sty- 
gian lake,  by  whose  divinity  tlie  gods 
dread  to  swear  and  violate  their  oath. 
All  that  crowd  which  you  see  consists  of 
naked  and  unburied  persons  :  that  ferry- 
man is  Charon :  these,  whom  the  stream 
carries,  are  interred ;  for  it  is  not  per- 
mitted to  transport  them  over  the  horrid 
banks,  and  hoarse  waves,  before  their 
bones  are  quietly  lodged  in  a  final  abode. 
They  wander  a  hundred  years,  and  flut- 
ter about  these  shores :  then,  at  length 
admitted,  they  visit  the  wished-for  lakes. 

The  offspring  of  Anchises  paused  and 
repressed  his  steps,  deeply  musing,  and 
pitying  from  his  soul  their  unkind  lot. 


There  he  espies  Leucaspis,  and  Orontes, 
the  commander  of  the  Lycian  fleet, 
mournful,  and  bereaved  of  the  honours 
of  the  dead  :  whom  as  they  sailed  from 
Troy,  over  the  stormy  seas,  the  south 
wind  sunk  together,  whelming  both  ship 
and  crew  in  the  waves.  Lo  !  the  pilot 
Palinurus  slowly  advanced,  who  lately 
in  his  Libyan  voyage,  while  he  was  ob- 
serving the  stars,  had  fallen  from  the 
stem,  plunged  in  the  midst  of  the  waves. 
When  with  difficulty,  by  reason  of  the 
thick  shade,  ^neas  knew  him  in  this 
mournful  mood,  he  thus  first  accosts 
him  :  What  god,  O  Palinurus,  snatched 
you  from  us,  and  overwhelmed  you  in 
the  middle  of  the  ocean?  Come,  tell 
me.  For  Apollo,  whom  I  never  before 
found  false,  in  this  one  response  de- 
ceived my  mind,  declaring  that  you 
should  be  safe  on  the  sea,  and  arrive  at 
the  Ausonian  coasts.  Is  this  the  amount 
of  his  plighted  faith  ? 

But  he  answers  :  Neither  the  oracle  of 
Phoebus  beguiled  you,  prince  of  the  line 
of  Anchises,  nor  a  god  plunged  me  in 
the  sea ;  for,  falling  headlong,  I  drew 
along  with  me  the  helm,  which  I 
chanced  with  great  violence  to  tear 
away,  as  I  clung  to  it  and  steered  our 
course,  being  appointed  pilot.  By  the 
rough  seas  I  swear  that  I  was  not  so 
seriously  apprehensive  for  myself,  as  that 
thy  ship,  despoiled  of  her  rudder,  dis- 
possessed of  her  pilot,  might  sink  while 
such  high  billows  were  rising.  The  south 
wind  drove  me  violently  on  the  water 
over  the  spacious  sea,  three  wintry 
nights :  on  the  fourth  day  I  descried 
Italy  from  the  high  ridge  of  a  wave 
whereon  I  was  raised  aloft.  I  was 
swimming  gradually,  toward  land,  and 
should  have  been  out  of  danger,  had  not 
the  cruel  people  fallen  upon  me  with  the 
sword  (encumbered  with  my  wet  gar- 
ment, and  grasping  with  crooked  hands 
the  rugged  tops  of  a  mountain),  and 
ignorantly  taking  me  for  a  rich  prey. 
Now  the  waves  possess  me,  and  the 
winds  toss  me  about  the  shore.  But  by 
the  pleasant  light  of  heaven,  and  by  the 
vital  air,  by  him  who  gave  thee  birth, 
liy  the  hope  of  rising  liilus,  I  thee  im- 
plore, invincible  one,  release  me  from 
these  woes  :  either  throw  on  me  some 
earth  (for  thou  canst  do  so),   and  seek 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


out  the  Veline  port ;  or,  if  there  be  any 
means,  if  thy  goddess  mother  point  out 
any,  (for  thou  dost  not,  I  presume,  with- 
out the  will  of  the  gods,  attempt  to  cross 
such  mighty  rivers  and  the  Stygian  lake,) 
lend  your  hand  to  an  unhappy  wretch, 
and  bear  me  with  you  over  the  waves, 
that  in  death  at  least  I  may  rest  in 
peaceful  seats. 

Thus  he  spoke,  when  thus  the  pi'o- 
phetess  began  :  Whence,  O  Palinurus, 
rises  in  thee  this  so  impious  desire  ? 
Shall  you  unburied  behold  the  Stygian 
floods,  and  the  grim  river  of  the  Furies, 
or  reach  the  bank  against  the  command 
of  heaven  ?  Cease  to  hope  that  the 
decrees  of  the  gods  are  to  be  altered  by 
prayers  ;  but  mindful  take  these  predic- 
tions as  the  solace  of  your  hard  fate. 
For  the  neighbouring  people,  compelled 
by  portentous  plagues  from  heaven, 
shall  through  their  several  cities  far  and 
wide  offer  atonement  to  thy  ashes,  erect 
a  tomb,  and  stated  anniversary  offerings 
on  that  tomb  present ;  and  the  place 
shall  for  ever  retain  the  name  of  Pali- 
nurus. By  these  words  his  cares  were 
removed,  and  grief  was  for  a  time 
banished  from  his  disconsolate  heart : 
he  rejoices  in  the  land  that  is  to  bear  his 
name. 

They  therefore  accomplish  their  jour- 
ney begun,  and  approach  the  river : 
whom  when  the  boatman  soon  from 
the  Stygian  wave  beheld  advancing 
through  the  silent  grove,  and  stepping 
forward  to  the  bank,  thus  he  first  accosts 
them  in  words,  and  chides  them  un- 
provoked :  Whoever  thou  mayest  be, 
who  art  now  advancing  armed  to  our 
rivers,  say  quick  for  what  end  thou 
comest ;  and  from  that  very  spot  repress 
thy  step.  This  is  the  region  of  Ghosts, 
of  Sleep,  and  drowsy  Night :  to  waft 
over  the  bodies  of  the  living  in  my 
Stygian  boat  is  sot  permitted.  Nor 
indeed  was  it  joy  to  me  that  I  received 
Alcides  on  the  lake  when  he  came,  or 
Theseus  and  PirithoUs,  though  they 
were  the  offspring  of  the  gods,  and  in- 
vincible in  might.  One  with  his  hand 
put  th»  keeper  of  Tartarus  in  chains, 
and  dragged  him  trembling  from  the 
throne  of  our  king  himself ;  the  others 
attempted  to  carry  off  our  queen  from 
Pluto  s  bedchamber. 


In  answer  to  which  the  Amphrysian 
prophetess  spoke :  No  such  plots  are 
here,  be  not  disturbed  :  nor  do  these 
weapons  bring  violence  :  the  huge  porter 
may  bay  in  his  den  for  ever,  terrifying 
the  incorporeal  shades :  chaste  Proser- 
pine may  remain  in  her  uncle's  palace. 
Trojan  ^neas,  illustrious  for  piety  and 
arms,  descends  to  the  deep  shades 
of  Erebus  to  his  sire.  If  the  image 
of  such  piety  makes  no  impression  on 
you,  own  a  regard  at  least  to  this  branch 
(she  shows  the  branch  that  was  con- 
cealed under  her  robe).  Then  his  heart 
from  swelling  rage  is  stilled  :  nor  passed 
more  words  than  these.  He,  with 
wonder  gazing  on  the  hallowed  present 
of  the  fatal  branch,  beheld  after  a  long 
season,  turns  towards  them  his  lead- 
coloured  barge,  and  approaches  the 
bank.  Thence  he  dislodges  the  other 
souls  that  sat  on  the  long  benches,  and 
clears  the  hatches  ;  at  the  same  time 
receives  into  the  hold  the  mighty  /Eneas. 
The  boat  of  sewn  hide  groaned  under 
the  weight,  and,  being  leaky,  took  in 
much  water  from  the  lake.  At  length 
he  lands  the  hero  and  the  prophetess  safe 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  on  the 
foul,  slimy  strand  and  sea-green  weed. 
Huge  Cerberus  makes  these  realms  to 
resound  with  barking  from  his  triple 
jaws,  stretched  at  his  enormous  length 
in  a  den  that  fronts  the  gate.  To  whom 
the  prophetess,  seeing  his  neck  now 
bristle  with  horrid  snakes,  flings  a  sopo- 
rific cake  of  honey  and  medicated  grain. 
He,  in  the  mad  rage  of  hunger,  opening 
his  three  mouths,  snatches  the  offered 
morsel,  and,  spread  on  the  ground,  re- 
laxes his  monstrous  limbs,  and  is  extended 
at  vast  length  over  all  the  cave.  yEneas, 
now  that  the  keeper  of  hell  is  buried  in 
sleep,  seizes  the  passage,  and  swift  over- 
passes the  bank  of  that  flood  whence 
there  is  no  return. 

Forthwith  are  heard  voices,  loud 
wailings,  and  weeping  ghosts  of  infants, 
in  the  first  opening  of  the  gate  :  whom, 
bereaved  of  sweet  life  out  of  the  course 
of  nature,  and  snatched  from  the  breast, 
a  black  day  cut  off,  and  buried  in  an 
untimely  grave. 

Next  to  those  are  such  as  had  been 
condemned  to  death  by  false  accusations. 
Nor  yet  were  those  seats  assigned  them 


VIRGWS  MNEID. 


221 


without  a  trial,  without  a  judge.  Minos, 
as  inquisitor,  shakes  the  urn  :  he  con- 
vokes the  council  of  the  silent,  and 
examines  their  lives  and  crimes. 

The  next  places  in  order  those  mourn- 
ful ones  possess  who,  though  free  from 
crime,  procured  death  to  themselves 
with  their  own  hands,  and,  sick  of  the 
light,  threw  away  their  lives.  How 
gladly  would  they  now  endure  poverty 
and  painful  toils  in  the  upper  regions  ! 
Fate  opposes,  and  the  hateful  lake  im- 
prisons them  with  its  dreary  waves,  and 
Styx,  nine  times  rolling  between,  con- 
fines them. 

Not  far  from  this  part,  "extended  on 
every  side,  are  shown  the  fields  of 
mourning  :  so  they  call  them  by  name. 
Here  by-paths  remote  conceal,  and  myr- 
tle-groves cover  those  around,  whom 
unrelenting  love,  with  his  cruel  venom, 
consumed  away.  Their  cares  leave 
them  not  in  death  itself.  In  these 
places  he  sees  Phaedra  and  Procris,  and 
disconsolate  Eriphyle  pointing  to  the 
wounds  she  had  received  from  her  cruel 
son  ;  Evadne  also,  and  Pasiphae  :  these 
Laodamia  accompanies,  and  Cseneus, 
once  a  youth,  then  a  woman,  and  again 
by  fate  transformed  into  his  pristine 
shape.  Among  wliom  Phoenician  Dido, 
fresh  from  her  wound,  was  wandering 
in  a  spacious  wood  ;  whom  as  soon  as 
the  Trojan  hero  approached,  and  dis- 
covered faintly  through  the  shades,  (in 
like  martner  as  one  sees,  or  thinks  he 
sees,  the  moon  rising  through  the  clouds 
in  the  beginning  of  her  monthly  course,) 
he  dropped  tears,  and  addressed  her  in 
love's  sweet  accents  :  Hapless  Dido,  was 
it  then  a  true  report  I  had  of  your  being 
dead,  and  that  you  had  finished  your 
own  destiny  by  the  sword  ?  Was  I, 
alas  !  the  cause  of  your  death  ?  I  swear 
by  the  stars,  by  the  powers  above,  and 
by  whatever  faith  may  be  under  the 
deep  earth,  that  against  my  will,  O 
queen,  I  departed  from  your  coast.  But 
the  mandates  of  the  gods,  which  now 
compel  me  to  travel  through"  these 
shades,  through  noisome  dreary  regions 
and  deep  night,  drove  me  from  you  by 
their  authority  ;  nor  could  I  believe  that 
I  should  bring  upon  you  such  deep 
anguish  by  my  departure.  Stay  your 
steps,  and  withdraw  not  yourself  from 


my  sight.  Whom  do  you  fly?  Thisis 
the  last  time  fate  allows  me  to  address 
you.  With  these  words  /tneas  thought 
to  soothe  her  soul  inflamed,  and  eying 
him  with  stern  regard,  and  provoked  his 
tears  to  flow.  She,  turned  away,  kept 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  ;  nor  alters 
her  looks  more,  in  consequence  of  the 
conversation  he  had  begun,  than  if  she 
were  fixed  immovable  like  a  stubborn 
flint  or  rock  of  Parian  marble.  At 
length  she  abruptly  retired,  and  in  de- 
testation fled  into  a  shady  grove,  where 
Sichaeus,  her  first  lord,  answers  her  with 
amorous  cares,  and  returns  her  love  for 
love,  ^neas,  nevertheless,  in  commo- 
tion for  her  disastrous  fate,  with  weeping 
eyes,  pursues  her  far,  and  pities  her  as 
she  goes. 

Hence  he  holds  on  his  destined  way ; 
and  now  they  had  reached  the  last  fields, 
which  by  themselves  apart  renowned 
warriors  frequent.  Here  Tydeus  ap- 
pears to  him,  here  Parthenopoeus  illus- 
trious in  arms,  and  the  ghost  of  pale 
Adrastus.  Here  appear  those  Trojans 
who  had  died  in  the  field  of  battle, 
much  lamented  in  the  upper  world : 
whom  when  he  beheld  all  together  in  a 
numerous  body,  he  inwardly  groaned  ; 
Glaucus,  Medon,  Thersilochus,  the  three 
sons  of  Antenor,  and  Polyboetes  de- 
voted to  Ceres,  and  Idseus  still  hand- 
ling his  chariot,  still  his  armour.  The 
ghosts  in  crowds  around  him  stand  on 
the  right  and  left  :  nor  are  they  satisfied 
with  seeing  him  once  ;  they  wish  to  de- 
tain him  long,  to  come  into  close  con- 
ference with  him,  and  learn  the  reasons 
of  his  visit.  But  as  soon  as  the  Grecian 
chiefs  and  Agamemnon's  battalions  saw 
the  hero,  and  his  arms  gleaming  through 
the  shades,  they  quaked  with  dire  dis- 
may :  some  turned  their  backs,  as  when 
they  fled  once  to  their  ships  ;  some  raise 
their  slender  voices  ;  the  scream  begun 
dies  in  their  gasping  throats. 

And  here  he  espies  Deiphobus,  the 
son  of  Priam,  mangled  in  every  limb, 
his  face  and  both  his  hands  cruelly  torn, 
his  temples  bereft  of  the  ears  cropped 
off,  and  his  nostrils  slit  with  a  hideously 
deformed  wound.  Thus  he  hardly  knew 
him,  quaking  for  agitation,  and  seeking 
to  hide  the  marks  of  his  dreadful  punish- 
ment ;  and  he  first  accosts  him  with  well< 


323 


ILL  USTRA  TIOMS. 


known  accents :  Deiphobus,  great  in 
arms,  sprung  from  Teucer's  noble  blood, 
who  copld  choose  to  inflict  such  cruel- 
ties ?  Or  who  was  allowed  to  exercise 
such  power  over  you  ?  To  me,  in  that 
last  night,  a  report  was  brought  that 
you,  tired  with  the  vast  slaughter  of  the 
Greeks,  had  fallen  at  last  on  a  heap  of 
mingled  carcasses.  Then,  with  my  own 
hands,  I  raised  to  you  an  empty  tomb 
on  the  Rhoetean  shore,  and  thrice  with 
loud  voice  I  invoked  your  manes.  Your 
name  and  arms  possess  the  place.  Your 
body,  my  friend,  I  could  not  find,  or,  at 
my  departure,  deposit  in  your  native 
land.  And  upon  this  the  son  of  Priam 
said  :  Nothing,  my  friend,  has  been 
omitted  by  you  ;  you  have  discharged 
every  duty  to  Deiphobus,  and  to  the 
shadow  of  a  corpse.  But  my  own  fate, 
and  the  cursed  wickedness  of  Helen, 
plunged  me  in  these  woes  :  she  hath 
left  me  these  monuments  of  her  love. 
For  how  we  passed  that  last  night  amid 
ill-grounded  joys  you  know,  and  must 
remember  but  too  well,  when  the  fatal 
horse  came  bounding  ovsr  our  lofty 
walls,  and  pregnant  brought  armed  in- 
fantry in  its  womb.  She,  pretending 
a  dance,  led  her  train  of  Phrygian 
matrons  yelling  around  the  orgies  :  her- 
self in  the  midst  held  a  large  flaming 
torch,  and  called  to  the  Greeks  from  the 
lofty  tower.  I,  being  at  that  time  op- 
l^ressed  with  care,  and  overpowered  with 
sleep,  was  lodged  in  my  unfortunate 
bedchamber  :  rest,  balmy,  profound,  and 
the  perfect  image  of  a  calm,  peaceful 
death,  pressed  me  as  I  lay.  Meanwhile 
my  incomparable  spouse  removes  all 
arms  from  my  palace,  and  had  with- 
drawn my  tnisty  sword  from  my  head  : 
she  calls  Menelaus  into  the  palace,  and 
throws  open  the  gates ;  hoping,  no 
doubt,  that  would  be  a  mighty  favour 
to  her  amorous  husband,  and  that  thus 
the  infamy  of  her  former  wicked  deeds 
might  be  extinguished.  In  short,  they 
burst  into  my  chamber  :  that  traitor  of 
the  race  of  yEolus,  the  promoter  of  vil- 
lany,  is  joined  in  company  with  them. 
Ye  gods,  requite  these  cruelties  to  the 
Greeks,  if  1  supplicate  vengeance  with 
pious  lips !  But  come  now,  in  your 
turn,  say  what  adventure  hath  brought 
you  hither  alive.     Do  you  come  driven 


by  the  casualties  of  the  main,  or  by  the 
direction  of  the  gods?  or  what  fortune 
compels  you  to  visit  these  dreary  man- 
sions, troubled  regions  where  the  sun 
never  shines  ? 

In  this  conversation  the  sun  in  his 
rosy  chariot  had  now  passed  the  meri- 
dian in  his  ethereal  course  ;  and  they 
perhaps  would  in  this  manner  have 
passed  the  whole  time  assigned  them  ; 
but  the  Sibyl,  his  companion,  put  him 
in  mind,  and  thus  briefly  spoke  :  .^neas, 
the  night  comes  on  apace,  while  we 
waste  the  hours  in  lamentations.  This 
is  the  place  where  the  path  divides  it- 
self in  two  :  the  right  is  what  leads 
beneath  great  Pluto's  walls ;  by  this 
our  way  to  Elysium  lies  :  but  the  left 
carries  on  the  punishments  of  the 
wicked,  and  conveys  to  cursed  Tar- 
tarus. On  the  other  hand,  Deiphobus 
said  :  Be  not  incensed,  great  priestess  ; 
I  shall  be  gone ;  I  will  fill  up  the 
number  of  the  ghosts  and  be  rendered 
back  to  darkness.  Go,  go,  tliou  glory 
of  our  nation  ;  mayest  thou  find  fates 
more  kind  !  This  only  he  spoke,  and 
at  the  word  turned  his  steps. 

yEneas  on  a  sudden  looks  back,  and 
under  a  rock  on  the  left  sees  vast  pri- 
sons enclosed  with  a  triple  wall,  which 
Tartarean  Phlegethon's  rapid  flood 
environs  with  .  •-'ents  of  flame,  and 
whirls  roaring  rocks  along.  Fronting 
is  a  huge  gate,  with  columns  of  solid 
adamant,  that  no  strength  of  men,  nor 
the  gods  themselves,  can  with  steel 
demolish.  An  iron  tower  rises  aloft ; 
and  there  wakeful  Tisiphone,  with  her 
bloody  robe  tucked  up  around  her,  sits 
to  watch  the  vestibule  both  night  and 
day.  Hence  groans  are  heard ;  the 
cruel  lashes  resound  ;  the  grating  too 
of  iron,  and  clank  of  dragging  chains, 
.(tineas  stopped  short,  and,  starting,  lis- 
tened to  the  din.  What  scenes  of 
guilt  are  these  ?  O  virgin,  say  ;  or  with 
what  pains  are  they  chastised  ?  what 
hideous  yelling  ascends  to  the  skies ! 
Then  '  thus  the  prophetess  began  :  Re- 
nowned leader  of  the  Trojans,  no  holy 
person  is  allowed  to  tread  the  accursed 
threshold  ;  but  Hecate,  when  she  se* 
me  over  the  groves  of  Avenuis,  herseU 
taught  me  the  punishments  appointee} 
by  the  gods,  and   led  me  through  every 


VIRGIVS  MNEID. 


223 


part.  Cretan  Rhadamanthus  possesses 
these  most  ruthless  realms  ;  examines 
and  punishes  frauds ;  and  foices  every 
one  to  confess  what  crimes  committed 
in  the  upper  world  he  had  left  un- 
atoned  till  the  late  hour  of  death, 
hugging  himself  in  secret  crime  of  no 
avail.  Forthwith  avenging  Tisiphone, 
armed  with  her  whip,  scourges  the 
guilty  with  cruel  insult,  and  in  her  left 
hand  shaking  over  them  her  grim 
snakes,  calls  the  fierce  troops  of  her 
sister  Furies. 

Then  at  length  the  accursed  gates, 
grating  on  their  dreadful-sounding  hinges, 
are  thrown  open.  See  you  what  kind 
of  watch  sits  in  the  entry  ?  what  figure 
guards  the  gate?  An  overgrown  Hy- 
dra, more  fell  than  any  Fury,  with 
fifty  black  gaping  mouths,  has  her  seat 
within.  Then  Tartarus  itself  sinks 
deep  down,  and  extends  toward  the 
shades  twice  as  far  as  is  the  pros- 
pect upward  to  the  ethereal  throne  of 
Heaven.  Here  Earth's  ancient  pro- 
geny, the  Titanian  youth,  hurled  down 
with  thunderbolts,  welter  in  the  pro- 
found aj5ys9.  Here  too  I  saw  the  two 
sons  of  Aloeus,  gigantic  bodies,  who 
attempted  with  their  might  to  overturn 
the  spacious  heavens,  and  thrust  down 
Jove  from  his  exalted  kingdom.  Sal- 
moneus  likewise  I  beheld  suffering  se- 
vere punishment,  for  having  imitated 
Jove's  flaming  bolts,  and  the  sounds  of 
heaven.  He,  drawn  in  his  chariot  by 
four  horses,  and  brandishing  a  torch, 
rode  triumphant  among  the  nations  of 
Greece,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  city 
Elis,  and  claimed  to  himself  the  honour 
of  the  gods  :  infatuate  !  who,  with 
brazen  car,  and  the  prancing  of  his 
horn-hoofed  steeds,  would  needs  coun- 
terfeit the  storms  and  inimitable  thun- 
der. But  the  almighty  Sire  amid  the 
thick  clouds  threw  a  bolt  (not  fire- 
brands he,  nor  smoky  light  from 
torches),  and  hurled  him  down  head- 
long in  a  vast  whirlwind.  Here  too 
you  might  have  seen  Tityus,  the  foster- 
child  of  all-bearing  Earth  :  whose  body 
is  extended  over  nine  whole  acres  ;  and 
a  huge  vulture,  with  her  hooked  beak, 
pecking  at  his  immortal  liver,  and  his 
bowels,  the  fruitful  source  of  punish- 
ment, both  searches  them  for  her  ban- 


quet, and  dwells  in  the  deep  recesses: 
of  his  breast ;  nor  is  any  respite  given 
to  his  fibres  still  springing  up  afresh. 
Why  should  I  mention  that  Lapithae, 
Ixion,  and  Pirithoiis,  over  whom  hangs 
a  black  flinty  rock,  every  moment 
threatening  to  tumble  down,  and  seem- 
ing to  be  actually  falling?  Golden 
pillars  supporting  lofty  genial  couches 
shine,  and  full  in  their  view  are  ban- 
quets furnished  out  with  regal  magnifi- 
cence ;  the  chief  of  the  Furies  sits  by 
them,  and  debars  them  from  touching 
the  provisions  with  their  hands;  and 
starts  up,  lifting  her  torch  on  high,  and 
thunders  over  them  with  her  voice. 
Here  are  those  who,  while  life  re- 
mained, had  been  at  enmity  with  their 
brothers,  had  beaten  a  parent,  or 
wrought  deceit  against  a  client ;  or 
who  alone  brooded  over  their  acquired 
wealth,  nor  assigned  a  portion  to  their 
own,  which  class  is  the  most  nume- 
rous :  those  too  who  were  slain  for 
adultery,  who  joined  in  impious  wars, 
and  did  not  scruple  to  violate  the  faith 
they  had  plighted  to  their  masters : 
shut  up,  they  await  their  punishment. 
But  what  kind  of  punishment  seek  not 
to  be  informed,  in  what  shape  of  misery, 
or  in  what  state  they  are  involved. 
Some  roll  a  huge  stone,  and  hang  fast 
bound  to  the  spokes  of  wheels.  There 
sits,  and  to  eternity  shall  sit,  the  un- 
happy Theseus  :  and  Phlegyas  most 
wretched  is  a  monitor  to  all,  and  with 
loud  voice  proclaims  through  the  shades  : 
"  Warned  by  example,  learn  righteous- 
ness, and  not  to  contemn  the  gods." 
One  sold  his  country  for  gold,  and  im- 
posed on  it  a  domineering  tyrant ;  made 
and  unmade  laws  for  money.  Another 
invaded  his  daughter's  bed,  and  an 
unlawful  wedlock  :  all  of  them  dare.l 
some  heinous  crime,  and  accomplished 
what  they  dared.  Had  I  a  hundred 
tongues,  and  a  hundred  mouths,  a  voice 
of  iron,  I  could  not  comprehend  all 
the  species  of  their  crimes,  nor  enu- 
merate the  names  of  all  their  punish- 
ments. 

When  the  aged  priestess  of  Phcebus 
had  uttered  these  words,  she  adds.  But 
come  now,  set  forward,  and  finish  the 
task  you  have  undertaken  ;  let  us  haste 
on :  I  see  the  walls  of  Pluto,  wrought 


224 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


in  the  forges  of  the  Cyclops,  and  the 
gates  with  their  arch  full  in  our  view, 
where  our  instructions  enjoin  us  to  de- 
posit this  our  offering.  She  said  ;  and, 
with  equal  pace  advancing  through  the 
gloomy  path,  they  speedily  traverse  the 
intermediate  space,  and  approach  the 
gates,  ^neas  springs  forward  to  the 
entry,  sprinkles  his  body  with  fresh 
water,  and  fixes  the  bough  in  the  front- 
ing portal. 

Having  finished  these  rites,  and  per- 
formed the  offering  to  the  goddess,  they 
came  at  length  to  the  regions  of  joy, 
delightful  green  retreats,  and  blessed 
abodes  in  groves,  where  happiness 
abounds.  A  freer  and  purer  sky  here 
clothes  the  fields  with  sheeny  light  : 
they  know  their  own  sun,  their  own 
stars.  Some  exercise  their  limbs  on 
the  grassy  green,  in  sports  contend,  and 
wrestle  on  the  tawny  sand  :  some  strike 
the  ground  with  their  feet  in  the  dance, 
and  sing  hymns.  Orpheus,  too,  the 
Thracian  priest,  in  his  long  robe,  re- 
plies in  melodious  numbers  to  the  seven 
distinguished  notes ;  and  now  strikes 
the  same  with  his  fingers,  now  with 
his-  *ivory  quill.  Here  may  be  seen 
Teucer's  ancient  race,  a  most  illustri- 
ous line,  magnanimous  heroes,  born  in 
happier  times,  —  Ilus,  Assaracus,  and 
Dardanus,  the  founder  of  Troy.  From 
afar,  ^neas  views  with  wonder  the 
arms  and  empty  chariots  of  the  chiefs. 
Their  spears  stand  fixed  in  the  ground, 
and  up  and  down  their  horses  feed  at 
large  through  the  plain.  The  same 
fondness  they  had  when  alive  for  cha- 
riots and  arms,  the  same  concern  for 
training  up  shining  steeds,  follows  them 
when  deposited  beneath  the  earth. 

Lo  !  he  beholds  others  on  the  right 
and  left  feasting  upon  the  grass,  and 
singing  the  joyful  ptean  to  Apollo  in 
concert,  amid  a  fragrant  grove  of  laurel ; 
Afhence  from  on  high  the  river  Erida- 
nus  rolls  in  copious  streams  through  the 
wood.  Here  is  a  band  of  those  who 
sustained  wounds  in  fighting  for  their 
country ;  priests  who  preterved  them- 
selves pure  and  holy,  while  life  re- 
mained ;  pious  poets,  wlio  sang  in  strains 
worthy  of  Apollo  ;  those  who  improved 
life  by  the  invention  of  arts,  and  who 
by    their   worthy    deeds    made    others 


remember  them  :  all  these  have  their 
temples  crowned  with  a  snow-white 
fillet.  Whom,  gathered  around,  the 
Sibyl  thus  addressed,  Musseus  chiefly  ; 
for  a  numerous  crowd  had  him  in  their 
centre,  and  looked  up  with  reverence  to 
him,  raised  above  them  by  the  height  of 
his  shoulders  :  Say,  blessed  souls,  and 
thou,  best  of  poets,  what  region,  what 
place  contains  Anchises  ?  on  his  account 
we  have  come,  and  crossed  the  great 
rivers  of  hell.  And  thus  the  hero  briefly 
returned  her  an  answer  :  None  of  us 
have  a  fixed  abode  ;  in  shady  groves  we 
dwell,  or  lie  on  couches  all  along  the 
banks,  and  on  meadows  fresh  with  rivu- 
lets :  but  do  you,  if  so  your  heart's  in- 
clination leads,  overpass  this  eminence, 
and  I  will  set  you  in  the  easy  path.  He 
said,  and  advances  his  steps  on  before, 
and  shows  them  from  a  rising  ground 
the  shining  plains  ;  then  they  descend 
from  the  summit  of  the  mountain.  But 
Father  Anchises,  deep  in  a  verdant  dale, 
was  surveying  with  studious  care  the 
souls  there  enclosed,  who  were  to  revisit 
the  light  above ;  and  happened  to  be 
reviewing  the  whole  number  of  his  race, 
his  dear  descendants,  their  fates  and 
fortunes,  their  manners  and  achieve- 
ments. As  soon  as  he  beheld  ^'Eneas 
advancing  toward  him  across  the  meads, 
he  joyfully  stretched  out  both  his  hands, 
and  tears  poured  down  his  cheeks,  and 
these  words  dropped  from  his  mouth  : 
Are  you  come  at  length,  and  has  that 
piety,  experienced  by  your  sire,  sur- 
mounted the  arduous  journey  ?  Am  I 
permitted,  my  son,  to  see  your  face,  to 
hear  and  return  the  well-known  accents  ? 
So  indeed  I  concluded  in  my  mind,  and 
reckoned  it  would  happen,  computing 
the  time ;  nor  have  my  anxious  hopes 
deceived  me.  Over  what  lands,  O  son, 
and  over  what  immense  seas  have  you, 
I  hear,  been  tossed  !  with  what  dangers 
harassed  !  how  I  dreaded  lest  you  had 
sustained  harm  from  Libya's  realms  ! 
But  he  said :  Your  ghost,  your  sorrow- 
ing ghost,  my  sire,  oftentimes  appearing, 
compelled  me  to  set  forward  to  these 
thresholds.  My  fleet  rides  in  the  Tyrr- 
hene Sea.  Permit  me,  father,  to  joiu 
my  right  hand  with  yours ;  and  with- 
draw not  yourself  from  my  embrace. 
So  saying,  he  at  the  same  time  bedew  e<l 


VIRGWS  ^NETD. 


225 


his  cheeks  with  a  flood  of  tears.  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. 

Meanwhile  ^neas  sees  in  the  retired 
vale  a  grove  situate  by  itself,  shrubs 
rustling  in  the  woods,  and  the  river 
Lethe,  which  glides  by  those  peaceful 
dwellings.  Around  this,  unnumbered 
tribes  and  nations  of  ghosts  were  flutter- 
ing ;  as  in  meadows  on  a  serene  sum- 
mer's day,  when  the  bees  sit  on  the 
various  blossoms,  and  swarm  around  the 
snow-white  lilies,  all  the  plain  buzzes 
with  their  humming  noise.  .^neas, 
confounded,  shudders  at  the  unexpected 
sight,  and  asks  the  causes,— what  are 
those  rivers  in  the  distance,  or  what 
ghosts  have  in  such  crowds  fiUecI  the 
banks  ?  Then  Father  Anchises  said  : 
Those  souls,  for  whom  other  bodies  are 
destined  by  fate,  at  the  stream  of  Lethe's 
flood  quaff  care-expelling  draughts  and 
lasting  oblivion.  Long  indeed  have  I 
wished  to  give  you  a  detail  of  these,  and 
to  point  them  out  before  you,  and  enu- 
merate this  my  future  race,  that  you 
may  rejoice  the  more  with  me  in  the 
discovery  of  Italy.  O  father,  is  it  to  be 
imagined  that  any  souls  of  an  exalted 
nature  will  go  hence  to  the  world  above, 
and  enter  again  into  inactive  bodies  ? 
What  direful  love  of  the  light  possesses 
the  miserable  beings?  I,  indeed,  re- 
plies Anchises,  will  inform  you,  my  son, 
nor  hold  you  longer  in  suspense  :  and 
thus  he  unfolds  each  particular  in 
©rder. 

In  the  first  place,  the  spirit  within 
nourishes  the  heavens,  the  earth,  and 
watery  plains,  the  moon's  enlightened 
orb,  and  the  Titanian  stars;  and  the 
mind,  diffused  through  all  the  members, 
actuates  the  whole  frame,  and  mingles 
with  the  vast  body  of  the  universe. 
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  prin- 
ciples 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-bom  limbs  and  dying 
members.     Hence  they  fear  and  desire, 


grieve  and  rejoice ;  antl,  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  corporeal  stains, 
are  quite  removed  from  the  unhappy 
beings;  and  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
that  many  imperfections  which  have 
long  been  joined  to  the  soul  should  be 
in  marvellous  ways  increased  and  riveted 
therein.  Therefore  are  they  afflicted 
with  punishments,  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 
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.  All  these,  after  they  have 
rolled  away  a  thousand  years,  are  sum- 
moned forth  by  the  god  in  a  great  body 
to  the  river  Lethe;  to  the  intent  that, 
losing  memory  of  the  past,  they  may  re- 
visit the  vaulted  realms  above,  and  again 
become  willing  to  return  into  bodies. 
Anchises  thus  spoke,  and  leads  his  son, 
together  with  the  Sibyl,  into  the  midst 
of  the  assembly  and  noisy  throng ;  thence 
chooses  a  rising  ground,  whence  he  may 
survey  them  all  as  they  stand  opposite 
to  him  in  a  long  row,  and  discern  their 
looks  as  they  approach. 

Now  come,  I  will  explain  to  you  what 
glory  shall  henceforth  attend  the  Trojan 
race,  what  descendants  await  them  of 
the  Italian  nation,  distinguished  souls, 
and  who  shall  succeed  to  our  name ; 
yourself  too  I  will  instruct  in  your  par- 
ticular fate.  See  you  that  youth  who 
leans  on  his  pointless  spear?  He  by 
destiny  holds  a  station  nearest  to  the 
light ;  he  shall  ascend  to  the  upper 
world  the  first  of  your  race  who  shall 
have  a  mixture  of  Italian  blood  in  his 
veins,  Silvius,  an  Alban  name,  your  last 
issue ;  whom  late  your  consort  Lavinia 
shall  in  the  woods  bring  forth  to  you  in 
your  advanced  age,  himself  a  king,  and 
the  father  of  kings;  in  whom  our  line 
shall  -eign  over  Alba  Longa.  The  next 
o 


226 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


is  Procas,  the  glory  of  the  Trojan  nation ; 
then  Capys  and  Numitor  follow,  and 
^neas  Silvius,  who  shall  represent  thee 
in  name,  equally  distinguished  for  piety 
and  arms,  if  ever  he  receive  the  crown 
of  Alba.  See  what  youths  are  these, 
what  manly  force  they  show !  and  bear 
their  temples  shaded  with  civic  oak ; 
these  to  thy  honour  shall  build  Nomen- 
tum,  Gabii,  and  the  city  Fidena;  these 
on  the  mountains  shall  raise  the  Colla- 
tine  towers,  Pometia,  the  fort  of  Inuus, 
Bola,  and  Cora,  These  shall  then  be 
famous  names;  now  they  are  lands 
without  names.  Further,  martial  Ro- 
mulus, whom  Ilia  of  the  line  Assaracus 
shall  bear,  shall  add  himself  as  com- 
panion to  his  grandsire  Numitor.  See 
you  not  how  the  double  plumes  stand 
on  his  head  erect,  and  how  the  father 
of  the  gods  himself  already  marks  him 
out  with  his  distinguished  honours !  Lo, 
my  son,  imder  his  auspicious  influence, 
Rome,  that  city  of  renown,  shall  mea- 
sure her  dominion  by  the  earth,  and  her 
valour  by  the  skies,  and  that  one  city 
shall  for  herself  wall  around  seven  strong 
hills,  happy  in  a  race  of  heroes;  like 
Mother  Kerecynthia,  when  crowned  with 
turrets  she  rides  in  her  chariot  through 
the  Phrygian  towns,  joyful  in  a  progeny 
of  gods,  embracing  a  hundred  grand- 
children, all  inhabitants  of  heaven,  all 
seated  in  the  high  celestial  abodes.  This 
way  now  bend  both  your  eyes;  view 
this  lineage,  and  your  own  Romans. 
This  is  Cresar,  and  these  are  the  whole 
race  of  lUlus,  who  shall  one  day  rise  to 
the  spacious  axle  of  the  sky.  This,  this 
is  the  man  whom  you  have  often  heard 
promised  to  you,  Augustus  Caesar,  the 
offspring  of  a  god  ;  who  once  more  shall 
establish  the  golden  age  in  Latium, 
through  those  lands  where  Saturn  reigned 
of  old,  and  shall  extend  his  empire  uver 
the  Garamantes  and  Indians:  their  land 
lies  without  the  signs  of  the  zodiac, 
beyond  the  sun's  annual  course,  where 
Atlas,  supporting  heaven  on  his  shoul- 
ders, turns  the  axle  studded  with  flaming 
stars.  Against  his  approach,  even  now 
both  the  Caspian  realms  and  the  land 
about  the  Palus  Mseotis  are  dreadfully 
dismayed  at  the  responses  of  the  gods, 
and  the  quaking  mouths  of  seven-fold 
Nile    hurry    on    their    troubled    waves. 


Even  Hercules  did  not  run  over  so  many 
countries,  though  he  transfixed  the 
brazen-footed  hind,  quelled  the  forests 
of  Erymanthus,  and  make  Lerna  tremble 
with  his  bow :  nor  Bacchus,  who  in 
triumph  drives  his  car  with  reins  wrapped 
about  with  vine-leaves,  driving  the  tigers 
from  Nyssa's  lofty  top.  And  doubt  we 
yet  to  extend  our  glory  by  our  deeds? 
or  is  fear  a  bar  to  our  settling  in  the 
Ausonian  land? 

But  who  is  he  at  a  distance,  distin- 
guished by  the  olive  boughs,  bearing  the 
sacred  utensils  ?  I  know  the  locks  and 
hoary  beard  of  the  Roman  king,  who 
first  shall  establish  the  city  by  laws,  sent 
from  little  Cures  and  a  poor  estate  to 
vast  empire.  Whom  Tulhis  shall  next 
succeed,  who  shall  break  the  peace  of 
his  (;puntry,  and  rouse  to  arms  his  in- 
active subjects,  and  troops  now  unused 
to  triumphs.  Whom  follows  next  vain- 
glorious Ancus,  even  now  too  much  re- 
joicing in  the  breath  of  popular  applause. 
Will  you  also  see  the  Tarquin  kings, 
and  the  haughty  soul  of  Brutus,  the 
avenger  of  his  country's  wrongs,  and  the 
recovered  fasces  ?  Pie  first  shall  receive 
the  consular  power,  and  the  axe  of  jus- 
tice inflexibly  severe  ;  and  the  sire  shall, 
for  the  sake  of  glorious  liberty,  summon 
to  death  his  own  sons,  raising  an  un- 
known kind  of  war.  Unhappy  he  ! 
however  posterity  shall  interpret  that 
action,  love  to  his  country,  and  the  un- 
bounded desire  of  praise,  will  prevail 
over  paternal  affection.  See  besides  at 
some  distance  the  Decii,  Drusi,  Torqua- 
tus,  inflexibly  severe  with  the  axe,  and 
Camillus  recovering  the  standards.  But 
those  two  ghosts  whom  you  observe  to 
shine  in  equal  arms,  in  perfect  friend- 
ship now,  and  while  they  remain  shut 
up  in  night,  ah  !  what  war,  what  bat- 
tles and  havoc,  will  they  between  them 
raise,  if  once  they  have  attained  to  tiie 
light  of  life  !  the  father-in-law  descend- 
ing from  the  Alpine  hills,  and  the  tower 
of  Moncecus  ;  the  son-in-law  furnished 
with  the  troops  of  the  East  to  oppose 
him.  Make  not,  my  sons,  make  not 
such  unnatural  wars  familiar  to  your 
minds  ;  nor  turn  the  powerful  strength 
of  your  country  against  its  bowels.  And 
thou,  Coesar,  first  forbear,  thou  who  de- 
rivest    thy    origin    from    heaven  !    fling 


VIRGinS  ^NEID. 


227 


those  arms  out  of  thy  hand,  O  thou, 
my  own  blood !  That  one,  having 
triumphed  over  Corinth,  shall  drive 
his  chariot  victorious  to  the  lofty  Capi- 
tol, illustrious  from  the  slaughter  of 
Greeks.  The  other  shall  overthrow 
Argos,  and  Mycenae,  Agamemnon's 
seat,  and  Eacides  himself,  the  descend- 
ant of  valorous  Achilles  ;  avenging  his 
Trojan  ancestors,  and  the  violated 
temple  of  Minerva.  Who  can  in  silence 
pass  over  thee,  great  Cato,  or  thee, 
Cossus?  who  the  family  of  Gracchus, 
or  both  the  Scipios,  those  two  thunder- 
bolts of  war,  the  bane  of  Africa,  and. 
Fabricius  in  low  fortune  exalted  ?  or 
thee,  Serranus,  sowing  in  the  furrow 
which  thy  own  hands  had  made  ? 
Whither,  ye  Fabii,  do  you  hurry  me 
tired  ?  Thou  art  that  Fabius  justly 
styled  the  Greatest,  who  alone  shall 
repair  our  state  by  delay.  Others,  I 
grtmt  indeed,  shall  with  more  delicacy 
mould  the  breathing  brass ;  from  marble 
draw  the  features  to  the  life ;  plead 
causes  better ;  describe  with  the  rod 
the  courses  of  the  heavens,  and  explain 
the  rising  stars  :  to  rule  the  nations  with 
imperial  sway  be  your  care,  O  Romans  ; 
these  shall  be  your  arts ;  to  impose 
terms  of  peace,  to  spare  the  humbled, 
and  crush  the  proud. 

Thus  Father  Anchises,  and,  as  they 
are  wondering,  subjoins :  Behold  how 
adorned  with  triumphal  spoils  Marcel- 
lus  stalks  along,  and  shines  victor  above 
the  heroes  all  ?  He,  mounted  on  his 
steed,  shall  prop  the  Roman  state  in 
the  rage  of  a  formidable  insurrection; 
the  Carthaginians  he  shall  humble,  and 
the  rebellious  Gaul,  and  dedicate  to 
Father  Quirinus  the  third  spoils.  And 
upon  this  ./Eneas  says  ;  for  he  beheld 
marching  with  him  a  youth  distinguished 
by  his  beauty  and  shining  arms,  but  his 
countenance  of  little  joy,  and  his  eyes 
sunk  and  dejected:  What  youth  is  he, 
O  father,  who  thus  accompanies  the  hero 
as  he  walks  ?  is  he  a  son,  or  one  of  the 
illustrious  line  of  his  descendants  ?  What 
bustling  noise  of  attendants  round  him  ! 
How  great  resemblance  in  him  to  the 
other  !  but  sable  Night  with  her  dreary 
shade  hovers  aroimd  his  head.  Then 
Father  Anchises,  while  tears  gushed 
forth,  b^;an :  Seek  not,  my  son,  to  know 


the  deep  disaster  of  thy  kindred ;  him 
the  Fates  shall  just  show  on  earth,  nor 
suffer  long  to  exist.  Ye  gods,  Rome's 
sons  had  seemed  too  powerful  in  your 
eyes,  had  these  your  gifts  been  per- 
manent. What  groans  of  heroes  shall 
that  field  near  the  imperial  city  of 
Mars  send  forth  !  what  funeral  pomp 
shall  you,  O  Tiberinus,  see,  when  you 
glide  by  his  recent  tomb !  Neither 
shall  any  youth  of  the  Trojan  line  in 
hope  exalt  the  Latin  fathers  so  high  ; 
nor  shall  the  Land  of  Romulus  evei 
glory  so  much  in  any  of  her  sons.  Ah 
piety  !  ah  that  faith  of  ancient  times  ! 
and  that  right  hand  invincible  in  war  ! 
none  with  impunity  had  encountered 
him  in  arms,  either  when  on  foot  he 
rushed  upon  the  foe,  or  when  he  pierced 
with  his  spur  his  foaming  courser's 
flanks.  Ah  youth,  meet  subject  for  pity ! 
if  by  any  means  thou  canst  burst  rigorous 
fate,  thou  shalt  be  a  Marcellus.  Give 
me  lilies  in  handfuls;  let  me  strew  the 
blooming  flowers;  these  offerings  at 
least  let  me  heap  upon  my  descendant's 
shade,  and  discharge  this  unavailing 
duty.  Thus  up  and  down  they  roam 
through  all  the  Elysian  regions  in 
spacious  airy  fields,  and  survey  every 
object:  through  each  of  which  when 
Anchises  had  conducted  his  son,  and 
fired  his  soul  with  the  love  of  coming 
fame,  he  next  recounts  to  the  hero 
what  wars  he  must  hereafter  wage,  in- 
forms him  of  the  Laurentine  people, 
and  of  the  city  of  Latinus,  and  by  what 
means  he  may  shun  or  surmount  every 
toil. 

Two  gates  there  are  of  Sleep,  where- 
of the  one  is  said  to  be  of  horn ;  by 
which  an  easy  egress  is  given  to  true 
visions;  the  other  shining,  wrought  of 
white  ivory ;  but  through  it  the  infernal 
gods  send  up  false  dreams  to  the  upper 
world.  When  Anchises  had  addressed 
this  discourse  to  his  son  and  the  Sibyl 
together,  and  dismissed  them  by  the 
ivory  gate,  the  hero  speeds  his  way  to 
the  ships,  and  revisits  his  friends;  then 
steers  directly  along  the  coast  for  the 
port  of  Caieta:  where,  when  he  had 
arrived,  the  anchor  is  thrown  out  from 
the  forecastle,  the  stems  rest  upon  the 
shore. 

Q  2 


228 


ILL  USTRATIONS. 


CICERO'S   VISION   OF   SCIPIO. 

Translated  by  Cyrus  R.  Edmonds. 

When  I  had  arrived  in  Africa  as 
military  tribune  of  the  fourth  legion, 
as  you  know,  under  the  Consul  Lucius 
Manlius,  nothing  was  more  delightful 
to  me  than  having  an  interview  with 
Massinissa,  a  prince  who,  for  good  rea- 
sons, was  most  friendly  to  our  family. 
When  I  arrived,  the  old  man  shed  tears 
as  he  embraced  me.  Soon  after,  he 
raised  his  eyes  up  to  heaven  and  said, 
I  thank  thee,  most  glorious  sun,  and  ye 
the  other  inhabitants  of  heaven,  that 
before  I  depart  from  this  life  I  see  in 
my  kingdom,  and  under  this  roof,  Pub- 
lius  Cornelius  Scipio,  by  whose  very 
name  I  am  refreshed,  for  never  does  the 
memory  of  that  greatest,  that  most  in- 
vincible of  men  vanish  from  my  mind. 
After  this  I  informed  myself  from  him 
about  his  kingdom,  and  he  from  me 
about  our  government ;  and  that  day  was 
consumed  in  much  conversation  on  both 
sides. 

Afterward,  having  been  entertained 
with  royal  magnificence,  we  prolonged 
■>ur  conversation  to  a  late  hour  of  the 
night ;  while  the  old  man  talked  of 
nothing  but  of  Africanus,  and  remem- 
bered not  only  all  his  actions,  but  all 
his  sayings.  Then,  when  we  departed 
to  bed,  owing  to  my  journey  and  my 
sitting  up  to  a  late  hour,  a  sleep  sounder 
than  ordmary  came  over  me.  In  this, 
(1  suppose  from  the  subject  on  which 
we  had  been  talking,  for  it  commonly 
happens  that  our  thoughts  and  conver- 
sations beget  something  analogous  in 
our  sleep,  just  as  Ennius  writes  about 
Homer,  of  whom  assuredly  he  was  ac- 
customed most  frequently  to  think  and 
talk  when  awake,)  Africanus  presented 
himself  to  me  in  that  form  which  was 
more  known  from  his  statue  than  from 
Ills  own  person. 

No  sooner  did  I  know  him  than  I 
shuddered.  "  Draw  near,"  said  he, 
"  with  confidence,  lay  aside  your  dread, 
and  commit  what  I  say  to  your  memory. 
You  see  that  city,  which  by  me  was 
forced  to  submit  to  the  people  of  Rome, 
but  is  now  renewing  its  former  wars, 
and  cannot  remain  at  peace,"  (he  spoke 
these  words  pointing  to  Carthage  from 


an  eminence  that  was  full  of  stars,  bright 
and  glorious,)  "which  you  are  now 
come,  before  you  are  a  complete  soldier, 
to  attack.  Within  two  years  you  shall 
be  Consul,  and  shall  overthrow  it ;  and 
you  shall  acquire  for  yourself  that  sur- 
name that  you  now  wear,  as  bequeathed 
by  me.  After  you  have  destroyed  Car- 
thage, performed  a  triumph,  and  been 
censor  ;  after,  in  the  capacity  of  legate, 
you  have  visited  Egypt,  Syria,  Asia, 
and  Greece,  you  shall,  in  your  absence, 
be  chosen  a  second  time  Consul ;  then 
you  shall  finish  a  most  dreadful  war, 
and  utterly  destroy  Numantia.  But 
when  you  shall  be  borne  into  the  capi- 
tol  in  your  triumphal  chariot,  you  shall 
find  the  government  thrown  into  con- 
fusion by  the  machinations  of  my  grand- 
son ;  and  here,  my  Africanus,  you  must 
display  to  your  country  the  lustre  of 
your  spirit,  genius,  and  wisdom. 

"  But  at  this  period  I  perceive  that  the 
path  of  your  destiny  is  a  doubtful  one  ; 
for  when  your  life  has  passed  through 
seven  times  eight  oblique  journeys  and 
returns  of  the  sun,  and  when  these  two 
numbers  (each  of  which  is  regarded  as  a 
complete  one — one  on  one  account  and 
the  other  on  another)  shall,  in  their 
natural  circuit,  have  brought  you  to  the 
crisis  of  your  fate,  then  will  the  whole 
state  turn  itself  toward  you  and  your 
glory  ;  the  Senate,  all  virtuous  men,  our 
allies,  and  the  Latins,  shall  look  up  to 
you.  Upon  your  single  person  the  pre- 
servation of  your  country  will  depend  ; 
and,  in  short,  it  is  your  part,  as  dictator, 
to  settle  the  government,  if  you  can  but 
escape  the  imi)ious  hands  of  your  kins- 
men." (Here,  when  Laehus  uttered  an 
exclamation,  and  the  rest  groaned  with 
great  excitement,  Scipio  said,  with  a 
gentle  smile,  "I  beg  that  you  will  not 
waken  me  out  of  my  dream,  give  a  little 
time  and  listen  to  the  sequel.  ) 

"  But  that  you  may  be  more  earnest 
in  the  defence  of  your  country,  know 
from  me,  that  a  certain  place  in  heaven 
is  assigned  to  all  who  have  preserved, 
or  assisted,  or  improved  their  country, 
where  they  are  to  enjoy  an  endless  dura- 
tion of  happiness.  For  there  is  nothing 
which  takes  place  on  earth  more  accept- 
able to  that  Supreme  Deity  who  governs 
all  this  world,  than  those  councils  and 


CICERO'S   VISION  OF  SCIPIO. 


22q 


assemblies  of  men  bound  together  by 
law,  which  are  termed  states ;  the 
governors  and  preservers  of  these  go 
from  hence,  and  hither  do  they  retunu" 
Here,  frightened  as  I  was,  not  so  much 
from  the  dread  of  death  as  of  the  trea- 
chery of  my  friends,  I  nevertheless  asked 
him  whether  my  father  Paulus,  and 
others,  whom  we  thought  to  be  dead, 
were  yet  alive  !  "  To  be  sure  they  are 
alive,"  replied  Africanus,  "for  they 
have  escaped  from  the  fetters  of  the 
body  as  from  a  prison  ;  that  which  is 
called  your  life  is  really  death.  But 
behold  your  father  Paulus  approaching 
you."  No  sooner  did  I  see  him,  than  I 
poured  forth  a  flood  of  tears ;  but  he, 
embracing  and  kissing  me,  forbade  me 
to  weep.  And  when,  having  suppressed 
my  tears,  I  began  first  to  be  able  to 
speak,  "Why,"  said  I,  "thou  most 
sacred  and  excellent  father,  since  this  is 
life,  as  1  hear  Africanus  affirm,  why  do 
I  tarry  on  earth,  and  not  hasten  to  come 
to  you  ? " 

"  Not  so,  my  son,"  he  replied ;  "  un- 
less that  God,  whose  temple  is  all  this 
which  you  behold,  shall  free  you  from 
this  imprisonment  in  the  body,  you  can 
have  no  admission  to  this  place ;  for 
men  have  been  created  under  this  condi- 
tion, that  they  should  keep  that  globe 
which  you  see  in  the  middle  of  this 
tem])le,  and  wliich  is  called  the  earth. 
And  a  soul  has  been  supplied  to  them 
from  those  eternal  fires  which  you  call 
constellations  and  stars,  and  which,  being 
globular  and  round,  are  animated  with 
divine  spirit,  and  complete  their  cycles 
and  revolutions  with  amazing  rapidity. 
Therefore  you,  my  Publius,  and  all  good 
men,  must  preserve  your  souls  in  the 
keeping  of  your  bodies ;  nor  are  you, 
without  the  order  of  that  Being  who 
bestowed  them  upon  you,  to  depart 
from  mundane  life,  lest  you  seem  to 
desert  the  duty  of  a  man,  which  has 
been  assigned  you  by  God.  Therefore, 
Scipio,  like  your  grandfather  here,  and 
me  w  ho  begot  you,  cultivate  justice  and 
piety  ;  which,  while  it  should  be  great 
toward  your  parents  and  relations,  should 
be  greatest  toward  your  country.  Such 
a  life  is  the  path  to  heaven  and  the 
assembly  of  those  who  have  lived  before, 
and  who,   having  been   relea^sed    from 


their  bodies,   inhabit  that  place   which 
thou  beholdest." 

Now  the  place  my  father  spoke  of 
was  a  radiant  circle  of  dazzling  bright- 
ness amid  the  flaming  bodies,  which 
you,  as  you  have  learned  from  the 
Greeks,  term  the  Milky  Way ;  from 
which  position  all  other  objects  seemed 
to  me,  as  I  surveyed  them,  marvellous 
and  glorious.  There  were  stars  which 
we  never  saw  from  this  place,  and  their 
magnitudes  were  such  as  we  never  ima- 
gined ;  the  smallest  of  which  was  that 
which,  placed  upon  the  extremity  of  the 
heavens,  but  nearest  to  the  earth,  shone 
with  borrowed  light.  But  the  globular 
bodies  of  the  stars  greatly  exceeded  the 
magnitude  of  the  earth,  which  now  to 
me  appeared  so  small,  that  I  was  grieved 
to  see  our  empire  contracted,  as  it  were, 
into  a  very  point. 

Which,  while  I  was  too  eagerly  gazing 
on,  Africanus  said,  "  How  long  will 
your  attention  be  fixed  upon  the  earth  ? 
Do  you  not  see  into  what  temples  you 
have  entered  ?  All  things  are  connected 
by  nine  circles,  or  rather  spheres  ;  one  of 
which  (which  is  the  outermost)  is  heaven, 
and  comprehends  all  the  rest,  inhabited 
by  that  all-powerful  God,  who  bounds 
and  controls  the  others ;  and  in  this 
sphere  reside  the  original  principles  of 
those  endless  revolutions  which  the 
planets  perform.  Within  this  are  con- 
tained seven  other  spheres,  that  turn 
round  backward,  that  is,  in  a  contrary 
direction  to  that  of  the  heaven.  Of 
these,  that  planet  which  on  earth  you 
call  Saturn  occupies  one  sphere.  That 
shining  body  which  you  see  next  is  called 
Jupiter,  and  is  friendly  and  salutary  to 
mankind.  Next  the  lucid  one,  terrible 
to  the  earth,  which  you  call  Mars.  The 
Sun  holds  the  next  place,  almost  under 
the  middle  region  ;  t"  is  the  chief,  the 
leader,  and  the  director  of  the  other 
luminaries ;  he  is  the  soul  and  guide  of 
the  world,  and  of  such  immense  bulk, 
that  he  illuminates  and  fills  all  other 
objects  with  his  light.  He  is  followed 
by  the  orbit  of  Venus,  and  that  of  Mer- 
cury, as  attendants  ;  and  the  Moon  rolls 
in  the  lowest  sphere,  enlightened  by  the 
rays  of  the  Sun.  Below  this  there  is 
nothing  but  what  is  mortal  and  transi- 
tory,  excepting  those  souls   which   are 


«30 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


given  to  the  human  race  by  the  goodness 
of  the  gods.  Whatever  lies  above  the 
Moon  is  eternal.  For  the  earth,  which 
is  the  ninth  sphere,  and  is  placed  in  the 
centre  of  the  whole  system,  is  immovable 
and  below  all  the  rest ;  and  all  bodies, 
by  their  natural  gravitation,  tend  toward 
it." 

Which  as  I  was  gazing  at  in  amaze- 
ment I  said,  as  I  recovered  myself.  From 
whence  proceed  these  sounds,  so  strong 
and  yet  so  sweet,  that  fill  my  ears  ? 
"  The  melody,"  replies  he,  "  which  you 
hear,  and  which,  though  composed  in 
unequal  time,  is  nevertheless  divided 
into  regular  harmony,  is  effected  by  the 
impulse  and  motion  of  the  spheres  them- 
selves, which,  by  a  happy  temper  of 
sharp  and  grave  notes,  regularly  pro- 
duces various  harmonic  effects.  Now 
it  is  impossible  that  such  prodigious 
movements  should  pass  in  silence  ;  and 
nature  teaches  that  the  sounds  which  the 
spheres  at  one  extremity  utter  must  be 
sharp,  and  those  at  the  other  extremity 
must  be  grave ;  on  which  account,  that 
highest  revolution  of  the  star-studded 
heaven,  whose  motion  is  more  rapid,  is 
carried  on  with  a  sharp  and  quick  sound  ; 
whereas  this  of  the  moon,  which  is 
situated  the  lowest,  and  at  the  other  ex- 
tremity, moves  with  the  gravest  sound. 
For  the  earth,  the  ninth  sphere,  remain- 
ing motionless,  abides  invariably  in  the 
innennost  position,  occupying  the  central 
spot  in  the  universe. 

*'  Now  these  eight  directions,  two 
of  which  have  the  same  powers,  effect 
seven  sounds,  differing  in  their  modu- 
lations, which  number  is  the  connecting 
principle  of  almost  all  things.  Some 
learned  men,  by  imitating  this  harmony 
with  strings  and  vocal  melodies,  have 
opened -a  way  for  their  return  to  this 
place ;  as  all  others  have  done,  who, 
endued  with  pre-eminent  qualities,  have 
cultivated  in  their  mortal  life  the  pursuits 
of  heaven. 

"  The  ears  of  mankind,  filled  with 
these  sounds,  have  become  deaf,  for  of 
all  your  senses  it  is  the  most  blunted. 
Thus,  the  people  who  live  near  the  place 
where  the  Nile  rushes  down  from  very 
high  mountains  to  the  parts  which  are 
called  Catadupa,  are  destitute  of  the 
sense  of  hearing,  by  reason  of  the  great- 


ness of  the  noise.  Now  this  sound, 
which  is  effected  by  the  rapid  rotation 
of  the  whole  system  of  nature,  is  so 
powerful  that  human  hearing  cannot 
comprehend  it,  just  as  you  cannot  look 
directly  upon  the  sun,  because  your 
sight  and  sense  are  overcome  by  his 
beams." 

Though  admiring  these  scenes,  yet  I 
still  continued  directing  my  eyes  in  the 
same  direction  toward  the  earth.  On 
this  Africanus  said,  "  I  perceive  that 
even  now  you  are  contemplating  the 
abode  and  home  of  the  human  race. 
And  as  this  appears  to  you  diminutive, 
as  it  really  is,  fix  your  regard  upon  these 
celestial  scenes,  and  despise  those  abodes 
of  men.  What  celebrity  are  you  able  to 
attain  to  in  the  discourse  of  men,  or 
what  glory  that  ought  to  be  desired  ? 
You  perceive  that  men  dwell  on  but 
few  and  scanty  portions  of  the  earth, 
and  that  amid  these  spots,  as  it  were, 
vast  solitudes  are  interposed.  As  to 
those  who  inhabit  the  earth,  not  only  are 
they  so  separated  that  no  communication 
can  circulate  among  them  from  the  one 
to  the  other,  but  part  lie  upon  one  side, 
part  upon  another,  and  part  are  diame- 
trically opposite  to  you,  from  whom  you 
assuredly  can  expect  no  glory. 

"You  are  now  to  observe  that  the 
same  earth  is  encircled  and  encompassed 
as  it  were  by  certain  zones,  of  which  the 
two  that  are  most  distant  from  one 
another,  and  lie  as  it  were  toward  the 
vortexes  of  the  heavens  in  both  direc- 
tions, are  rigid  as  you  see  with  frost, 
while  the  middle  and  the  largest  zone 
is  burned  up  with  the  heat  of  the  sun. 
Two  of  these  are  habitable ;  of  which 
the  southern,  whose  inhabitants  imprint 
their  footsteps  in  an  opposite  direction 
to  you,  have  no  relation  to  your  race. 
As  to  this  other,  lying  toward  the  north, 
which  you  inhabit,  observe  what  a  small 
portion  of  it  falls  to  your  share  ;  for  all 
that  part  of  the  earth  which  is  inhabited 
by  you,  which  narrows  toward  the  south 
and  north,  but  widens  from  east  to  west, 
is  no  other  than  a  little  island  surrounded 
by  that  sea  which  on  earth  you  call  the 
Atlantic,  sometimes  the  great  sea,  and 
sometimes  the  ocean ;  and  yet,  with  so 
grand  a  name,  you  see  how  diminutive 
it  is  !     Now  do  you  think  it  possible  foi 


CJCERaS   VISION  OF  SCIPIO. 


23 » 


your  renown,  or  that  of  any  one  of  us,  to 
move  from  those  cultivated  and  inhabited 
spots  of  ground,  and  pass  beyond  that 
Caucasus,  or  swim  across  yonder  Ganges  ? 
What  inhabitant  of  the  other  parts  of 
the  east,  or  of  the  extreme  regions  of  the 
setting  sun,  of  those  tracts  that  run 
toward  I  he  south  or  toward  the  north, 
shall  ever  hear  of  your  name  ?  Now, 
supposing  them  cut  off,  you  see  at  once 
within  what  narrow  limits  your  glory 
would  fain  expand  itself  As  to  those 
who  speak  of  you,  how  long  ^ill  they 
speak  ? 

"  Let  me  even  suppose  that  a  future 
race  of  men  shall  be  desirous  of  trans- 
mitting to  their  posterity  your  renown 
or  mine,  as  they  received  it  from  their 
fathers  ;  yet  when  we  consider  the  con- 
vulsions and  conflagrations  that  must 
necessarily  happen  at  some  definite 
period,  we  are  unable  to  attain  not  only 
to  an  eternal,  but  even  to  a  lasting  fame. 
Now  of  what  consequence  is  it  to  you  to 
be  talked  of  by  those  who  are  bom  after 
you,  and  not  by  those  who  were  bom 
before  you,  who  certainly  were  as  nume- 
rous and  more  virtuous, — especially  as 
among  the  very  men  who  are  thus  to 
celebrate  our  renown  not  a  single  one 
can  preserve  the  recollections  of  a  single 
year  ?  For  mankind  ordinarily  measure 
their  j^ear  by  the  revolution  of  the  sun, 
that  is,  of  a  single  heavenly  body.  But 
when  all  the  planets  shall  retum  to  the 
same  position  which  they  once  had,  and 
bring  back  after  a  long  rotation  the  same 
aspect  of  the  entire  heavens,  then  the 
year  may  be  said  to  be  truly  completed  ; 
in  which  I  do  not  venture  to  say  how 
many  ages  of  mankind  will  be  contained. 
For,  as  of  oid.  when  the  spirit  of  Romulus 
entered  these  temples,  the  sun  disap- 
peared to  mortals  and  seemed  to  be 
extinguished  ;  so  whenever  the  sun,  at 
the  same  time  with  all  the  stars  and 
constellations  brought  back  to  the  same 
starting-point,  shall  again  disappear, 
then  you  are  to  reckon  the  year  to 
be  complete.  But  be  assured  that  the 
twentieth  part  of  such  a  year  b  not  yet 
elapsed. 

"  If,  therefore,  you  hope  to  return  to 
this  place,  toward  which  all  the  aspira- 
tions of  great  and  good  men  are  tending, 
what  must  be  the  value  of  that  human 


fame  that  endures  for  but  a  little  part  of 
a  single  year  ?  If,  then,  you  would  fain 
direct  your  regards  on  high,  and  aspire 
to  this  mansion  and  eternal  abode,  you 
neither  will  devote  yourself  to  the  m- 
mours  of  the  vulgar,  nor  will  you  rest 
your  hopes  and  your  interest  on  human 
rewards.  Virtue  herself  ought  to  attract 
you  by  her  own  charms  to  tme  glory  ; 
what  others  may  talk  of  you,  for  talk 
they  will,  let  themselves  consider.  But 
all  such  talk  is  confined  to  the  narrow 
limits  of  those  regions  which  you  see. 
None  respecting  any  man  was  everlasting. 
It  is  both  extinguished  by  the  death  of 
the  individual,  and  perishes  altogether  in 
the  oblivion  of  posterity. " 

Which,  when  he  had  said,  I  replied, 
"Traly,  O  Africanus,  since  the  path  to 
heaven  lies  open  to  those  who  have 
deserved  well  of  their  country,  though 
from  my  childhood  I  have  ever  trod  in 
your  and  my  father's  footsteps  without 
disgracing  your  glory,  yet  now,  with  so 
noble  a  prize  set  before  me,  I  shall  strive 
with  much  more  diligence." 

"  Do  so  strive,"  replied  he,  "and  do 
not  consider  yourself,  but  your  body,  to 
be  mortal.  For  you  are  not  the  being 
which  this  corporeal  figure  evinces  ;  but 
the  mind  of  every  man  is  the  man,  and 
not  that  form  which  may  be  delineated 
with  a  finger.  Know  therefore  that  you 
are  a  divine  person.  Since  it  is  divinity 
that  has  consciousness,  sensation,  me- 
mory, and  foresight, — that  governs, 
regulates,  and  moves  that  body  over 
which  it  has  been  appointed,  just  as  the 
Supreme  Deity  mles  this  world  ;  and  in 
like  manner  as  an  etemal  God  guides 
this  world,  which  in  some  respect  is 
perishable,  so  an  etemal  spirit  animates 
your  frail  body. 

"  For  that  which  is  ever  moving  is 
etemal ;  now  that  which  communicates 
to  another  object  a  motion  which  it 
received  elsewhere,  must  necessarily 
cease  to  live  as  soon  as  its  motion  is  at 
an  end.  Thus  the  being  which  is  self- 
motive  is  the  only  being  that  is  eternal, 
because  it  never  is  abandoned  by  its 
own  properties,  neither  is  this  self-motion 
ever  at  an  end  ;  nay,  this  is  the  fountain, 
this  is  the  beginning  of  motion  to  all 
things  that  are  thus  subjects  of  motion. 
Now  there  can  be  no  connnencement  of 


2'^2 


ILLUSTRA'IIONS. 


what  is  aboriginal,  for  all  things  proceed 
from  a  beginning  ;  therefore  a  beginning 
can  rise  from  no  other  cause,  for  if  it 
proceeded  from  another  cause  it  would 
not  be  aboriginal,  which,  if  it  have  no 
commencement,  certainly  never  has  an 
e;id  ;  for  the  primeval  principle,  if  ex- 
tinct, can  neither  be  reproduced  from 
any  other  source,  nor  produce  anything 
else  from  itself,  because  it  is  necessary 
that  all  things  should  spring  from  some 
original  source." 


HELL,  PURGATORY,  AND 
HEAVEN. 

Milman's  History  of  Latin  Christianity. 
Book  XIV.  ch.  2. 

Throughout  the  Middle  Ages  the 
world  after  death  continued  to  reveal 
more  and  more  fully  its  awful  secrets. 
Hell,  Purgatory,  Heaven  became  more 
distinct,  if  it  may  be  so  said,  more  visible. 
Their  site,  their  topography,  their  tor- 
ments, their  trials,  their  enjoyments, 
became  more  conceivable,  almost  more 
palpable  to  sense  :  till  Dante  summed 
up  the  whole  of  this  traditional  lore,  or 
at  least,  with  a  Poet's  intuitive  sagacity, 
seized  on  all  which  was  most  imposing, 
effective,  real,  and  condensed  it  in  his 
three  co-ordinate  poems.  That  Hell  had 
a  local  existence,  that  immaterial  spirits 
suffered  bodily  and  material  torments, 
none,  or  scarcely  one  hardy  speculative 
mind,  presumed  to  doubt.  Hell  had 
admitted,  according  to  legend,  more 
than  one  visitant  from  this  upper  world, 
who  returned  to  relate  his  fearful  journey 
to  wondering  man :  St.  Farcy,  St.  Vettin, 
a  layman  Bernilo.  But  all  these  early 
descents  interest  us  only  as  they  may  be 
supposed  or  appear  to  have  been  faint 
types  of  the  great  Italian  Poet.  Dante 
is  the  one  authorized  topographer  of  the 
mediaeval  Hell.  His  originality  is  no 
more  called  in  question  by  these  mere 
signs  and  manifestations  of  the  popular 
belief,  than  by  the  existence  and  reality 
of  those  objects  or  scenes  in  external 
nature  which  he  describes  with  such 
unrivalled  truth.  In  Dante  meet  un- 
reconciled (who  thought  of  or  cared  for 
their  reconciliation  ?)  those  strange  con- 
tradictions, immaterial  souls  subject  to 


material  lonuenls  :  spirits  which  had 
put  off  the  mortal  body,  cognizable  by 
the  corporeal  sense.  The  mediaeval 
Hell  had  gathered  from  all  ages,  all 
lands,  all  races,  its  imagery,  its  denizens, 
its  site,  its  access,  its  commingling  hor- 
rors ;  from  the  old  Jewish  traditions, 
perhaps  from  the  regions  beyond  the 
sphere  of  the  Old  Testament ;  from  the 
Pagan  poets,  with  their  black  rivers, 
their  Cerberus,  their  boatman  and  his 
crazy  vessel  ;  perhaps  from  the  Teutonic 
Hela,  through  some  of  the  earlier  visions. 
Then  came  the  great  Poet,  and  reduced 
all  this  wild  chaos  to  a  kind  of  order, 
moulded  it  up  with  the  cosmical  notions 
of  the  times,  and  made  it,  as  it  were,  ohe 
with  the  prevalent  mundane  system. 
Above  all,  he  brought  it  to  the  very 
borders  of  our  world  ;  he  made  the  life 
beyond  the  grave  one  with  our  present 
life  ;  he  mingled  in  close  and  intimate 
relation  the  present  and  the  future.  Hell. 
Purgatory,  Heaven,  were  but  an  imme- 
diate expansion  and  extension  of  the 
present  world.  And  this  is  among  the 
wonderful  causes  of  Dante's  power,  the 
realizing  the  unreal  by  the  admixture  of 
the  real :  even  as  in  his  imagery  the 
actual,  homely,  every-day  language  or 
similitude  mingles  with  and  heightens 
the  fantastic,  the  vague,  the  transmun- 
dane.  What  effect  had  Hell  produced, 
if  peopled  by  ancient,  almost  immemo- 
rial objects  of  human  detestation,  Nim- 
rod  or  Iscariot,  or  Julian  or  Mohammed  ? 
It  was  when  Popes  all  but  living,  Kings 
but  now  on  their  thrones,  Guelfs  who 
had  hardly  ceased  to  walk  the  streets  of 
F'orence,  Ghibellines  almost  yet  in  exile, 
levealed  their  awful  doom, — this  it  was 
which,  as  it  expressed  the  passions  and 
'.he  fears  of  mankind  of  an  instant,  im- 
mediate, actual,  bodily,  comprehensible 
place  of  torment  ;  so,  wherever  it  was 
read,  it  deepened  that  notion,  and  made 
it  more  distinct  and  natural.  This  was 
the  Hell,  conterminous  to  the  earth,  but 
separate,  as  it  were,  by  a  gulf  passed  by 
almost  instantaneous  transition,  of  which 
the  Priesthood  held  the  keys.  These  keys 
the  audacious  Poet  had  wrenched  from 
their  hands,  and  dared  to  turn  on  many 
of  themselves,  speaking  even  against 
Popes  the  sentence  of  condemnation. 
Of  that  which  Hell,  Purgatory,  Heaven, 


HELL,    PURGATORY,   AND  HEAVEN. 


233 


were  in  popular  opinion  during  the 
Middle  Ages,  Dante  was  but  the  full, 
deep,  concentred  expression  ;  what  he 
embodied  in  verse,  all  men  believed, 
feared,  hoped. 

Purgatory  had  now  its  intermediate 
place  between  Heaven  and  Hell,  as 
unquestioned,  as  undisturbed  by  doubt ; 
its  existence  was  as  much  an  article  of 
uncontested  popular  belief  as  Heaven 
or  Hell.  It  were  as  unjust  and  un- 
philosophical  to  attribute  all  the  legen- 
dary lore  which  realized  Purgatory  to 
the  sordid  invention  of  the  Churchman 
or  the  Monk,  as  it  would-be  unhistori- 
cal  to  deny  the  use  which  was  made  of 
this  superstition  to  exact  tribute  from 
the  fears  or  the  fondness  of  mankind. 
But  the  abuse  grew  out  of  the  belief; 
the  belief  was  not  slowly,  subtly,  de- 
liberately instilled  into  the  mind  for 
the  sake  of  the  abuse.  Purgatory,  pos- 
sible with  St.  Augustine,  probable  with 
Gregory  the  Great,  grew  up,  I  am  per- 
suaded, (its  growth  is  singularly  indis- 
tinct and  untraceable,)  out  of  the  mercy 
and  modesty  of  the  Priesthood.  To 
the  eternity  of  Hell  torments  there  is 
and  ever  must  be — notwithstanding  the 
peremptory  decrees  of  dogmatic  theology 
and  the  reverential  dread  in  so  many 
religious  minds  of  tampering  with  what 
seems  the  language  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment— a  tacit  repugnance.  But  when 
the  doom  of  every  man  rested  on  the  lips 
of  the  Priest,  on  his  absolution  or  refusal 
of  absolution,  that  Priest  might  well 
tremble  with  some  natural  awe — awe 
not  confessed  to  himself— at  dismissing 
the  soul  to  an  irrevocable,  unrepealable, 
unchangeable  destiny.  He  would  not  be 
averse  to  pronounce  a  more  mitigated,  a 
reversible  sentence.  The  keys  of  Heaven 
and  of  Hell  were  a  fearful  trust,  a  ter- 
rible responsibility ;  the  key  of  Purga- 
tory might  be  used  with  far  less  pre- 
sumption, with  less  trembling  confidence. 
Then  came  naturally,  as  it  might  seem, 
the  strengthening  and  exaltation  of  the 
efficacy  of  prayer,  of  the  efficacy  of  the 
religious  ceremonials,  of  the  efficacy  of 
Ihe  sacrifice  of  the  altar,  and  the  efficacy 
of  the  intercession  of  the  Saints:  and 
these  all  within  the  province,  within  the 
p>ower,  of  the  Sacerdotal  Order.  Their 
authority,  their  influence,  their  interven- 


tion, closed  not  with  the  grave.  The 
departed  soul  was  still  to  a  certain  de- 
gree dependent  upon  the  Priest.  They 
had  yet  a  mission,  it  might  be  of 
mercy;  they  had  still  some  power  of 
saving  the  soul  after  it  had  departed  from 
the  body.  Their  faithful  love,  their  in 
exhaustible  interest,  might  yet  rescue  the 
sinner;  for  he  had  not  reached  those 
gates — over  which  alone  was  written, 
"  There  is  no  hope  " — the  gates  of  Hell. 
That  which  was  a  mercy,  a  consolation, 
became  a  trade,  an  inexhaustible  source 
of  wealth.  Praying  souls  out  of  Pur- 
gatory by  masses  said  on  their  behalf, 
became  an  ordinary  office,  an  office 
which  deserved,  which  could  demand, 
which  did  demand,  the  most  prodigal 
remuneration.  It  was  later  that  the 
Indulgence,  originally  the  remission  of 
so  much  penance,  of  so  many  days, 
weeks,  months,  years,  or  of  that  which 
was  the  commutation  for  penance,  so 
much  almsgiving  or  munificence  to 
churches  or  Churchmen,  in  sound  at 
least  extended  (and  mankind,  the  high 
and  low  vulgar  of  mankind,  are  gov- 
erned by  sound)  its  significance  :  it  was 
literally  understood  as  the  remission  of 
so  many  years,  sometimes  centuries,  of 
Purgatory. 

If  there  were  living  men  to  whom  it 
had  been  vouchsafed  to  visit  and  to 
return  and  to  reveal  the  secrets  of  remote 
and  terrible  Hell,  there  were  those  too 
who  were  admitted  in  vision,  or  in  actual 
life  to  more  accessible  Purgatory,  and 
brought  back  intelligence  of  its  real  local 
existence,  and  of  the  state  of  souls  within 
its  penitential  circles.  There  is  a  legend 
of  St.  Paul  himself;  of  the  French  monk 
St.  Farcy ;  of  Drithelm,  related  by 
Bede  ;  of  the  Emperor  Charles  the  Fat, 
by  William  of  Malmesbury.  Matthew 
Paris  relates  two  or  three  journeys  of  the 
Monk  of  Fvesham,  of  Thurkill,  an  Essex 
peasant,  very  wild  and  fantastic.  The 
Purgatory  of  St.  Patrick,  the  Purgatoiy 
of  Owen  Miles,  the  vision  of  Alberic  of 
Monte  Casino,  were  among  the  most 
popular  and  wide-spread  legends  of  the 
ages  preceding  Dante;  and  as  in  Hell, 
so  in  Purgatory,  Dante  sums  up  in  his 
noble  verses  the  whole  theory,  the  whole 
popular  belijgf  as  to  this  intermediate 
sphere. 


»34 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


If  Hell  and  Purgatory  thus  dimly 
divulged  their  gloomy  mysteries,  if  they 
had  been  visited  by  those  who  returned 
to  actual  life,  Heaven  was  unapproached, 
unapproachable.  To  be  wrapt  to  the 
higher  Heaven  remained  the  privilege  of 
the  Apostle  ;  the  popular  conception  was 
content  to  rest  in  modest  ignorance. 
Though  the  Saints  might  descend  on 
beneficent  missions  to  the  world  of  man  ; 
of  the  site  of  their  beatitude,  of  the  state 
of  the  Blesseii,  of  the  joys  of  the  supernal 
world,  they  brought  but  vague  and  inde- 
finite tidings.  In  truth,  the  notion  of 
Heaven  was  inextricably  mingled  up  with 
the  astronomical  and  cosmogonical  as 
well  as  with  the  theological  notions  of 
the  age.  Dante's  Paradise  blends  the 
Ptolemaic  system  with  the  nine  angelic 
circles  of  the  Pseudo  Dionysius  ;  the 
material  heavens  in  their  nine  circles  ; 
above  and  beyond  them,  in  the  invisible 
heavens,  the  nine  Hierarchies  ;  and  yet 
higher  than  the  highest  heavens  the 
dwelling  of  the  Ineffable  Trinity.  The 
Beatific  Vision,  whether  immediate  or 
to  await  the  Last  Day,  had  been  eluded 
rather  than  determined,  till  the  rash  and 
presumptuous  theology  of  Pope  John 
XXII.  compelled  a  declaration  from  the 
Church.  But  yet  this  ascent  to  the  Heaven 
of  Heavens  would  seem  from  Dante,  the 
best  interpreter  of  the  dominant  concep- 
tions, to  have  been  an  especial  privilege, 
if  it  may  be  so  said,  of  the  most  Blessed 
of  the  Blessed,  the  Saint  of  Saints. 
There  is  a  manifest  gradation  in  Beati- 
tude and  Sanctity.  According  to  the 
universal  cosmical  theory,  the  Earth, 
the  round  and  level  Earth,  was  the 
centre  of  the  whole  system.  It  was 
usually  supposed  to  be  encircled  by  the 
vast,  circumambient,  endless  ocean ; 
but  beyond  that  ocean  (with  a  dim 
reminiscence,  it  should  seem,  of  the 
Elysian  Fields  of  the  poets)  was  placed 
a  Paradise,  where  the  souls  of  men  here- 
after to  be  blest  awaited  the  final  resur- 
rection. Dante  takes  the  otlier  theory  ; 
he  peoples  the  nine  material  heavens — 
that  is,  the  cycle  of  the  Moon,  Venus, 
Mercury,  the  Sun,  Mars,  Jupiter,  Saturn, 
the  fixed  stars,  and  the  firmament  above, 
or  the  Primum  Mobile — with  those  who 
are  admitted  to  a  progressively  advancing 
state  of  glory  and  blessedness.     All  this, 


it  should  seem,  is  below  the  ascending 
circles  of  the  Celestial  Hierarchies,  that 
immediate  vestibule  or  fore-court  of  the 
Holy  of  Holies,  the  Heaven  of  Heavens, 
into  which  the  most  perfect  of  the  Saints 
are  admitted.  They  are  commingled 
with,  yet  unabsorbed  by,  the  Redeemer, 
in  mystic  union  ;  yet  the  mysticism  stili 
reverently  endeavours  to  maintain  some 
distinction  in  regard  to  this  Light,  which, 
as  it  has  descended  upon  earth,  is  drawn 
up  again  to  the  highest  Heavens,  and 
has  a  kind  of  communion  with  the  yet 
Incommunicable  Deity.  That  in  all  the 
Paradise  of  Dante  there  should  be  a 
dazzling  sameness,  a  mystic  indistinct- 
ness, an  inseparable  blending  of  the  real 
and  the  unreal,  is  not  wonderful,  if  we 
consider  the  nature  of  the  subject,  and 
the  still  more  incoherent  and  incongruous 
popular  conceptions  which  he  had  to 
represent  and  to  harmonise.  It  is  more 
wonderful  that,  with  these  few  elements, 
Light,  Music,  and  Mysticism,  he  should, 
by  his  singular  talent  of  embodying  the 
purely  abstract  and  metaphysical  thought 
in  the  liveliest  imagery,  represent  such 
things  with  the  most  objective  truth,  yet 
without  disturbing  their  fine  spiritualism. 
The  subtilist  scholasticism  is  not  more 
subtile  than  Dante.  It  is  perhaps  a  bold 
assertion,  but  what  is  there  on  these 
transcendent  subjects  in  the  vast  theology 
of  Aquinas,  of  which  the  essence  and 
sum  is  not  in  the  Paradise  of  Dante? 
Dante,  perhaps,  though  expressing  to  a 
great  extent  the  popular  conception  of 
Heaven,  is  as  much  by  his  innate  sub- 
limity above  it,  as  St.  Thomas  himself. 


THE   VISION   OF   FRATE   AL- 
BERICO. 

Wright,  St.  Patrick's  Purgatory,  p.  Ii8. 

Alberic,  when  he  wrote  his  vision, 
was  a  monk  of  Monte  Cassino.  His 
father  was  a  baron,  lord  of  the  castle  de' 
Sette  Fratelli,  in  the  Campagna  of 
Rome.  In  his  tenth  year,  the  child 
Alberic  was  seized  with  a  languor,  and 
lay  nine  days  and  nine  nights  in  a  trance, 
to  all  appearance  dead.  As  soon  as  he 
had  fallen  into  this  condition,  a  white 
bird,  like  a  dove,  came  and  put  its  bill 
into  his  mouth,  and  seemed  to  lift  hira 


THE    VISION  OF  FRATE  A  LB  ERIC  O. 


235 


up,  and  then  he  saw  St.  Peter  and  two 
angels,  who  carried  him  to  the  lower 
regions.  St.  Peter  told  him  that  he 
would  see  the  least  torments  first,  and 
afterwards,  successively,  the  more  terrible 
punishments  of  the  other  world.  They 
came  first  to  a  place  filled  with  red-hot 
burning  cinders  and  boiling  vapour,  in 
which  little  children  were  purged  ;  those 
of  one  year  old  being  subjected  to  this 
torment  during  seven  days  ;  those  of  two 
years,  fourteen  days  ;  and  so  on,  in  pro- 
portion to  their  age.  Then  they  entered 
a  terrible  valley,  in  which  Alberic  saw  a 
great  number  of  persons  plunged  to  dif- 
ferent depths,  according  to  their  different 
degrees  of  criminality,  in  frost,  and  cold, 
and  ice,  which  consumed  them  like  fire  ; 
these  were  adulterers,  and  people  who 
had  led  impure  lives.  Then  they  ap- 
proached a  still  more  fearftil  valley,  filled 
with  trees,  the  branches  of  which  were 
long  spikes,  on  which  hung  women 
transfixed  through  their  breasts,  while 
venomous  serpents  were  sucking  them  ; 
these  were  women  who  had  refused  pity 
to  orphans.  Other  women,  who  had 
been  faithless  to  the  marriage  bed,  were 
suspended  by  the  hair  over  raging  fires. 
Next  he  saw  an  iron  ladder,  three  hun- 
dred and  sixty  cubits  long,  red  hot,  and 
under  it  a  great  boiler  of  melted  oil, 
pitch,  and  resin  ;  married  persons  who 
had  not  been  continent  on  sabbaths  and 
holy  days  were  compelled  to  mount  this 
ladder,  and  ever  as  they  were  obliged  to 
quit  their  hold  by  the  heat,  they  dropped 
into  the  boiler  below.  Then  they  beheld 
vast  fires  in  which  were  burnt  the  souls 
of  tyrannical  and  cruel  lords,  and  of 
women  who  had  destroyed  their  off- 
spring. Next  was  a  great  space  full  of 
fire  like  blood,  in  which  homicides  were 
thrown  ;  and  after  this  there  stood  an 
immense  vessel  filled  with  boiling  brass, 
tin,  lead,  sulphur,  and  resin,  in  which 
were  immersed  during  three  years  those 
who  had  encouraged  wicked  priests. 
They  next  came  to  the  mouth  of  the 
infernal  pit,  {os  infemalis  baratri,)  a  vast 
gulf,  dark,  and  emitting  an  intolerable 
stench,  and  full  of  screaming  and  howl- 
ing. By  the  pit  was  a  serpent  of  infinite 
magnitude,  bound  by  a  great  chain,  the 
one  end  of  which  seemed  to  be  fastened 
in  the  pit  ;  before  the  mouth  of  this  ser- 


pent stood  a  multitude  of  souls,  which 
he  sucked  in  like  flies  at  each  breath, 
and  then,  with  the  return  of  respiration, 
blew  them  out  scorched  to  sparks  ;  and 
this  process  continued  till  the  souls  were 
purged  of  their  sins.  The  pit  was  so 
dark  that  Alberic  could  not  see  what 
was  going  on  in  hell.  After  quitting 
this  spot,  Alberic  was  conducted  first  to 
a  valley  in  which  persons  who  had  com- 
mitted sacrilege  were  burnt  in  a  sea  of 
flames ;  then  to  a  pit  of  fire  in  which 
simonists  were  punished ;  next  to  a  place 
filled  with  flames,  and  with  serpents  and 
dragons,  in  which  were  tormented  those 
who,  having  embraced  the  monastic  pro- 
fession, had  quitted  it  and  returned  to  a 
secular  life  ;  and  afterwards  to  a  great 
black  lake  of  sulphureous  water,  full  of 
serpents  and  scorpions,  in  which  the 
souls  of  detractors  and  false  witnesses 
were  immersed  to  the  chin,  and  their 
faces  continually  flogged  with  sei^pents 
by  demons  who  hovered  over  them.  On 
the  borders  of  hell,  Alberic  saw  twcJ 
"malignant  spirits"  in  the  form  of  a 
dog  and  a  lion,  which  he  was  told  blew 
out  from  their  fiery  mouths  all  the  tor- 
ments that  were  outside  of  hell,  and  at 
every  breath  the  souls  before  them  were 
wafted  each  into  the  peculiar  punish- 
ment appropriated  to  him.  The  visitor 
was  here  left  for  a  moment  by  his  on- 
ductors  ;  and  the  demons  seized  upon 
him,  and  would  have  thrown  him  into 
the  fire,  had  not  St.  Peter  suddenly 
arrived  to  rescue  him.  He  was  carried 
thence  to  a  fair  plain,  where  he  saw 
thieves  carrying  heavy  collars  of  iron, 
red  hot,  about  their  necks,  hands,  and 
feet.  He  saw  here  a  great  burning  pitchy 
river,  issuing  from  hell,  and  an  iron 
bridge  over  it,  which  appeared  very 
broad  and  easy  for  the  virtuous  to  jiass  ; 
but  when  sinners  attempted  it,  it  became 
narrow  as  a  thread,  and  they  fell  over 
into  the  river,  and  afterwards  atteiniited 
it  again,  but  were  not  allowed  to  pass 
until  they  had  been  sufficiently  boiled  to 
purge  them  of  their  sins.  After  this  the 
Apostle  shower!  Alberic  an  extensive 
plain,  three  days'  and  three  nights' 
journey  in  breadth,  covered  with  thorns 
and  brambles,  in  which  souls  were 
hunte<l  and  tormented  by  a  denum 
mounted  on  a  great  and  swift  dragon, 


236 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


and  their  clothing  and  limbs  torn  to 
pieces  by  the  thorns  as  they  endeavoured 
to  escape  from  him  ;  by  degrees  they 
were  purged  of  their  sins,  and  became 
lighter,  so  that  they  could  run  faster, 
until  at  last  they  escaped  into  a  very 
plea'-ant  plain,  filled  with  purified  souls, 
where  their  torn  members  and  garments 
were  immediately  restored  ;  and  here 
Alberic  saw  monks  and  martyrs,  and 
good  people,  in  great  joy.  He  then 
proceeded  through  the  habitations  of  the 
blessed.  In  the  midst  of  a  beautiful 
plain,  covered  with  flowers,  rose  the 
mountain  of  paradise,  with  the  tree  at 
the  top.  After  having  conducted  the 
visitor  through  the  seven  heavens,  the 
last  of  which  was  held  by  Saturn,  they 
brought  him  to  a  wall,  and  let  him  look 
over,  but  he  was  forbidden  to  tell  what 
he  had  seen  on  the  other  side.  They 
subsequently  carried  him  through  the 
different  regions  of  the  world,  and 
showed  him  many  extraordmary  things, 
and,  among  the  rest,  some  persons  sub- 
jected to  purgatorial  punishments  in  dif- 
ferent places  on  the  earth. 


THE  VISION   OF   WALKELIN. 

Odericus  Vitalis,  Ecclesiastical  History,   Book 
VIII.  eh.  17.     Tr.  by  Thomas  Forester. 

I  consider  that  I  ought  not  to  suppress 
and  pass  over  in  silence  what  happened 
to  a  certain  priest  of  the  diocese  of 
Lisieux  in  the  beginning  of  January.  In 
a  village  called  Bonneval  there  was  a 
priest  named  Walkelin  who  served  the 
church  of  St.  Aubin  of  Anjou,  who  from 
a  monk  became  bishop  and  confessor. 
At  the  commencement  of  the  month  of 
January,  1091,  this  priest  was  summoned 
in  the  night-time,  as  the  occasion  re- 
quired, to  visit  a  sick  man  who  lived  at 
the  farthest  extremity  of  his  parish.  As 
he  was  pursuing  his  solitary  road  home- 
wards, far  from  any  habitation  of  man, 
he  heard  a  great  noise  like  the  tramp  of 
a  numerous  body  of  troops,  and  thought 
within  himself  that  the  sounds  proceeded 
from  the  army  of  Robert  de  Belesme  on 
their  march  to  lay  siege  to  the  castle  of 
Courci.  The  moon,  being  in  her  eighth 
day  in  the  constellation  of  the  Ram,  shed 
»  clear  light,  so  that  it  was  easy  to  find 


the  way.  Now  the  priest  was  young, 
undaunted,  and  bold,  and  of  a  powerful 
and  active  frame  of  body.  However,  he 
hesitated  when  the  sounds,  which  seemed 
to  proceed  from  troops  on  the  march, 
first  reached  his  ears,  and  began  to 
consider  whether  he  should  take  to 
flight  to  avoid  being  laid  hold  of  and 
discourteously  stripped  by  the  worthless 
camp  followers,  or  manfully  stand  on  his 
defence  if  any  one  molested  him.  Just 
then  he  espied  four  medlar-trees  in  a 
field  at  a  good  distance  from  the  path, 
and  determined  to  seek  shelter  beliind 
them,  as  fast  as  he  could,  until  the 
cavalry  had  passed.  But  as  he  was 
running  he  was  stopped  by  a  man  of 
enormous  stature,  armed  with  a  massive 
club,  who,  raising  his  weapon  above  his 
head,  shouted  to  him,  "  Stand  !  Take 
not  a  step  farther  ! "  The  priest,  frozen 
with  terror,  stood  motionless,  leaning  on 
his  staff.  The  gigantic  club-bearer  also 
stood  close  to  him,  and,  without  offering 
to  do  him  any  injury,  quietly  waited  for 
the  passage  of  the  troop.  And  now, 
behold,  a  great  crowd  of  people  came  by 
on  foot,  carrying  on  their  iieads  and 
shoulders  sheep,  clothes,  furniture,  and 
moveables  of  all  descriptions,  such  as 
robbers  are  in  the  habit  of  pillaging. 
All  were  making  great  lamentations, 
and  urging  one  another  to  hasten  their 
steps.  Among  them  the  priest  recog- 
nized a  number  of  his  neighbours  who 
had  lately  died,  and  heard  them  bewail- 
ing the  excruciating  sufferings  with  which 
they  were  tormented  for  their  evil  deeds. 
They  were  followed  by  a  troop  of  corpse- 
bearers,  who  were  joined  by  the  giant 
already  mentioned.  These  carried  as 
many  as  fifty  biers,  each  of  which  was 
borne  by  two  bearers.  On  these  were 
seated,  a  number  of  men  of  the  size  ol 
dwarfs,  but  whose  heads  were  as  large 
as  barrels.  Two  Ethiopians  also  carried 
an  immense  trunk  of  a  tree,  to  which  a 
poor  wretch  was  rudely  bound,  who,  in 
his  tortures,  filled  the  air  with  fearful 
cries  of  anguish  ;  for  a  horrible  demon 
sat  on  the  same  trunk  and  goaded  his 
loins  and  back  with  red-hot  spurs  until 
the  blood  streamed  from  them.  Wal- 
kelin distinctly  recognized  in  this  wretch 
the  assassin  of  Stephen  the  priest,  and 
was  witness  to  the  mtolerable   tortures 


THE    VISION  OF  WALKELIN. 


237 


he  suffered  for  the  innocent  blood  he 
shed  two  years  before,  since  which  he 
had  died  without  penance  for  so  foul  a 
crime. 

Then  followed  a  crowd  of  women  who 
seemed  to  the  priest  to  be  innumerable. 
They  were  mounted  on  horseback,  riding 
in  female  fashion,  with  women's  saddles 
which  were  stuck  with  red-hot  nails. 
The  wind  often  lifted  them  a  cubit  from 
their  saddles,  and  then  let  them  drop 
again  on  the  sharp  points.  Their 
haunches  thus  punctured  with  the  burn- 
ing nails,  and  suffering  horrible  torments 
from  the  wounds  and  the  scorching  heat, 
the  women  pitiably  ejaculated.  Woe  ! 
woe  !  and  made  open  confession  of  the 
sins  for  which  they  were  punished, 
undergoing  in  this  manner  fire  and  stench 
and  unutterable  tortures  for  the  obscene 
allurements  and  filthy  delights  to  which 
they  had  abandoned  themselves  when 
living  among  men.  In  this  company 
the  priest  recognized  several  noble 
ladies,  and  beheld  the  palfreys  and 
mules  with  the  women  litters  of  others 
who  were  still  alive. 

The  priest  stood  fixed  to  the  spot  at 
this  spectacle,  his  thoughts  deeply  en- 
gaged in  the  reflections  it  suggested. 
Presently,  however,  he  saw  pass  before 
him  a  numerous  company  of  clergy  and 
monks,  with  riieir  rulers  and  judges,  the 
bishops  and  abbots  carrying  crosiers  in 
their  hands.  The  clergy  and  bishops 
wore  black  copes,  and  the  abbots  and 
monks  cowls  of  the  same  hue.  They  all 
groaned  and  wailed,  and  some  of  them 
called  to  Walkelin,  and  implored  him, 
in  the  name  of  their  former  friendship, 
to  pray  for  them.  The  priest  reported 
that  he  saw  among  them  many  who 
were  highly  esteemed,  and  who,  in 
human  estimation,  were  now  associated 
with  the  saints  in  heaven.  He  recognized 
in  the  number  Hugh,  Bishop  of  Lisieux, 
and  those  eminent  abbots,  Manier  of 
Evroult  and  Cierbert  of  Fontenelles, 
with  many  others  whose  names  I  either 
forget,  or  have  no  desire  to  publish. 
Human  judgment  is  often  fallible,  but 
the  eye  of  G(h1  seeth  the  inmost  thoughts ; 
for  man  looks  only  to  outward  appear- 
ances, God  searcheth  the  heart.  In  the 
realms  of  eternal  bliss  the  clear  light  of 
an  endless  day  is  shed  on  ail  around,  and 


the  children  of  the  kingdom  triumph  in 
the  joys  which  attend  perfect  holiness. 
Nothing  that  is  unrighteous  is  done 
there  ;  nothing  that  is  polluted  can  enter 
there  ;  no  uncleanness,  no  impurity,  is 
there  found.  All  the  dross  of  carnal 
desires  is  therefore  consumed  in  the  fires 
of  purgatory,  and  purified  by  sufferings 
of  various  degrees  as  the  Judge  eternal 
ordains.  So  that  as  a  vessel  cleansed 
from  rust  and  thoroughly  polished  is  laid 
up  in  a  treasury,  so  the  soul,  purified 
from  all  taint  of  sin,  is  admitted  into 
Paradise,  where  it  enjoys  perfect  happi- 
ness unalloyed  by  fear  or  care. 

The  priest,  treml)ling  at  these  appal- 
ling scenes,  still  rested  on  his  staff,  ex- 
pecting apparitions  still  more  terrible. 
And  now  there  followed  an  immense 
army  in  which  no  colour  was  visible,  but 
only  blackness  and  fiery  flames.  All 
were  mounted  on  great  war-horses,  and 
fully  armed  as  if  they  were  prepared  for 
immediate  battle,  and  they  carried  black 
banners.  There  were  seen  Richard  and 
Baldwin,  the  sons  of  Count  Gilbert,  who 
were  lately  dead,  with  so  many  others 
that  I  cannot  enumerate  them.  Among 
the  rest  was  Landri  of  Orbec,  who  was 
killed  the  same  year,  and  who  accosted 
the  priest,  and,  uttering  horrible  cries, 
charged  him  with  his  commissions,  ur- 
gently begging  him  to  carry  a  message 
to  his  wife.  Upon  this  the  troops  who 
marched  before  and  after  him  interrupted 
his  cries,  and  said  to  the  priest :  "Believe 
not  Landri,  for  he  is  a  deceiver. "  This 
man  had  been  a  viscount  and  a  lawyer, 
and  had  raised  himself  from  a  very  low 
origin  by  his  talents  and  merit.  He 
decided  causes  and  affairs  according  to 
his  own  pleasure,  and  perverted  judg- 
ment for  bribes,  actuated  more  by  avarice 
and  duplicity  than  by  a  sense  of  what 
was  right.  He  was  therefore  justly 
devoted  to  flagrant  punishment,  and 
publicly  denounced  by  his  associates  as 
a  liar.  In  this  company  no  one  flattered 
him,  and  no  one  had  recourse  to  his 
cunning  loquacity.  He,  who  while  it 
was  in  his  power  had  shut  his  ears  to 
the  cries  of  the  poor,  was  now  in  his 
torments,  treated  as  an  execrable  wretch 
who  was  unfit  to  be  heard. 

Walkelin  having  seen  these  countless 
troops   of  soldiers   pass,    on   reflection, 


238 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


said  within  himself :  "  Doubtless  these 
are  Harlequin's  people  ;  I  have  often 
heard  of  their  being  seen,  but  I  laughed 
at  the  stories,  having  never  had  any 
certain  proofs  of  such  things.  Now, 
indeed,  I  assuredly  behold  the  ghosts  of 
the  departed,  but  no  one  will  believe  me 
when  I  tell  the  tale,  unless  I  can  exhibit 
to  mortal  eyes  some  tangible  proof  of 
what  I  have  seen.  I  will  therefore 
mount  one  of  the  horses  which  are  fol- 
lowing the  troop  without  any  riders,  r.nd 
will  take  it  home  and  show  it  my  neigh- 
bours to  convince  them  that  I  speak 
the  truth."  Accordingly,  he  forthwith 
snatched  the  reins  of  a  black  steed  ;  but 
the  animal  burst  violently  from  his  hold, 
and  galloped  away  among  the  troops  of 
Ethiopians.  The  priest  was  disappointed 
at  the  failure  of  his  enterprise ;  but  he 
was  young,  bold,  and  light-hearted,  as 
well  as  agile  and  strong.  He  therefore 
stationed  himself  in  the  middle  of  the 
path,  prepared  for  action,  and,  the  mo- 
ment a  horse  came  up,  laid  his  hand 
upon  it.  The  horse  stopped,  ready  for 
him  to  mount  without  difficulty,  at  the 
same  time  snorting  from  his  nostrils  a 
cloud  of  vapour  as  large  as  a  full-grown 
oak.  The  priest  then  placed  his  left 
foot  in  the  stirrup,  and,  seizing  the  reins, 
laid  his  hand  on  the  saddle  ;  but  he 
instantly  felt  that  his  foot  rested  on  red- 
hot  iron,  and  the  hand  with  which  he 
held  the  bridle  was  frozen  with  insupport- 
able cold  which  penetrated  to  his  vitals. 
While  this  was  passing,  four  terrific 
knights  came  up,  and,  uttering  horrible 
cries,  shouted  to  him  :  "  What  do  you 
want  with  our  horses  ?  You  shall  come 
with  us.  No  one  of  our  company  had 
injured  you,  when  you  began  laying 
your  hands  on  what  belongs  to  us." 
The  priest,  in  great  alarm,  let  go  the 
horse,  and  three  of  the  knights  attempting 
to  seize  him,  the  fourth  said  to  them  : 
"  Let  him  go,  and  allow  me  to  speak 
with  him,  for  I  wish  to  make  him  the 
bearer  of  a  message  to  ray  wife  and  chil- 
dren." He  then  said  to  the  priest,  who 
stood  trembling  with  fright :  "  Listen  to 
me,  I  beseech  you,  and  tell  my  wife 
what  I  say."  The  priest  replied:  "I 
know  not  who  you  are,  or  who  is  your 
wife."  The  knight  then  said:  "I  am 
William  de  Glos,  son  of  Barno,  and  was 


once  the  renowned  steward  of  William 
de  Breteuil  and  his  father  William,  Earl 
of  Hereford.  While  in  the  world  I 
abandoned  myself  to  evil  deeds  and 
plunder,  and  was  guilty  of  more  crimes 
than  can  be  recounted.  But,  above  all, 
I  am  tormented  for  my  usuries.  I  once 
lent  money  to  a  poor  man,  and  received 
as  security  a  mill  which  belonged  to  him, 
and,  as  he  was  not  able  to  discharge  the 
debt,  I  kept  the  mortgage  property  and 
left  it  to  my  heirs,  disinheriting  my 
debtor's  family.  You  see  that  I  have  in 
my  mouth  a  bar  of  hot  iron  from  the 
mill,  the  weight  of  which  I  feel  to  be 
more  oppressive  than  the  tower  of 
Rouen.  Tell,  therefore,  my  wife  Bea- 
trice, and  my  son  Roger,  to  afford  me 
relief  by  speedily  restoring  to  the  right 
heir  the  pledge,  from  which  they  have 
received  more  than  I  advanced.'  The 
priest  replied  :  "  William  de  Glos  died 
long  ago,  and  this  is  a  commission  which 
no  Christian  man  can  undertake.  I 
know  neither  who  you  are,  nor  who  are 
your  heirs.  If  I  should  venture  to  tell 
such  a  tale  to  Roger  de  Glos,  or  his 
brothers,  or  to  their  mother,  they  would 
laugh  me  to  scorn,  as  one  out  of  his 
wits."  However,  William  continued 
still  to  persist  in  his  earnest  entreaties, 
and  furnished  him  with  many  sure  and 
well-known  tokens  of  his  identity.  The 
priest  understood  very  well  all  he  heard, 
but  pretended  not  to  comprehend  it.  At 
length,  overcome  by  importunities,  he 
consented  to  what  the  knight  requested, 
and  engaged  to  do  what  was  required. 
Upon  this,  William  repeated  again  all 
he  had  said,  and  impressed  it  upon  his 
companion  during  a  long  conversation. 
The  priest,  however,  began  to  consider 
that  he  durst  not  convey  to  any  one  the 
execrable  message  of  a  damned  spirit. 
"It  is  not  right,"  he  said,  "to  publish 
such  things  ;  I  will  on  no  account  tell  to 
any  one  what  you  require  of  me."  Upon 
this,  the  knight  was  filled  with  rage, 
and,  seizing  him  by  the  throat,  dragged 
him  along  on  the  ground,  uttering  ter- 
rible iraprecrations.  The  prisoner  felt 
the  hand  which  grasped  him  burning 
like  fire,  and  in  this  deep  extremity  cried 
aloud:  "Help  me,  O  holy  Mary,  the 
glorious  mother  of  Christ !  "  No  sooner 
h.id  he  invoked  the  compassionate  mother 


THE    VISION  OF   WALKELIA'. 


239 


than  the  aid  of  the  Son  of  God  was 
afforded  him,  according  to  the  Ahnighty's 
disposing  will  For  a  horseman  imme- 
diately rode  up,  with  a  sword  in  his  right 
hand,  and,  brandishing  it  over  Roger's 
head,  exclaimed :  "  Will  ye  kill  my 
brother,  ye  accursed  ones  ?  Loose  him 
and  begone  ! "  The  knights  instantly 
fled  and  followed  the  black  troops. 

When  they  had  all  passed  by,  the 
liorseman,  remaining  alone  in  the  road 
with  Walkelin,  said  to  him,  "  Do  you 
not  know  me  ?  "  The  priest  answered, 
"  No."  The  other  said  :  "  I  am  Robert, 
son  of  Ralph  le  Blond,  and  your  bro- 
ther." The  priest  was  much  astonished 
at  this  unexpected  occurrence,  and  much 
troubled  at  what  he  had  seen  and  heard, 
as  we  have  just  related,  when  the  knight 
began *to  remind  him  of  a  number  of 
things  which  happened  in  their  youth, 
and  to  give  him  many  well-known  tokens. 
The  priest  had  a  clear  recollection  of  all 
that  was  told  him,  but  not  daring  to 
confess  it,  he  stoutly  denied  all  know- 
ledge of  the  circumstances.  At  length 
the  knight  said  to  him :  "  I  am  astonished 
at  your  hardness  of  heart  and  stupidity  ; 
it  was  I  who  brought  you  up  on  your 
parents'  death,  and  loved  you  more  than 
any  one  living.  I  sent  you  to  school  in 
France,  supplied  you  plentifully  with 
clothes  and  money,  and  did  all  in  my 
power  to  benefit  you  in  every  way.  You 
seem  now  to  have  forgotten  all  this,  and 
will  not  even  condescend  to  recognize 
me."  At  length  the  priest,  after  being 
abundantly  furnished  with  exact  particu- 
lars, became  convinced  by  such  certain 
proofs,  and,  bursting  into  tears,  openly 
admitted  the  truth  of  what  he  had  heard. 
His  brother  then  said :  "  You  deserve 
to  die,  and  to  be  dragged  with  us  to 
partake  of  the  torments  we  suffer, 
because  you  have  rashly  laid  hands  on 
tnings  which  belong  to  our  reprobate 
crew  ;  no  other  living  man  ever  dared 
to  make  such  an  attempt.  But  the  mass 
you  sang  to-day  has  saved  you  from 
perishing.  It  is  also  permitted  me  thus 
to  appear  to  you,  and  unfold  to  you  my 
wretched  condition.  After  I  had  con- 
ferred with  you  in  Normandy,  I  took 
leave  of  you  and  crossed  over  to  F.ngland, 
where,  by  the  Creator's  order,  my  life 
ended,   and   I  have  undergone   intense 


suffering  for  the  grievous  sins  wiih  which 
I  was  burdened.  It  is  flaming  armour 
which  you  see  us  bear,  it  poisons  us  with 
an  infernal  stench,  weighs  us  down  with 
its  intolerable  weight,  and  scorches  us 
with  heat  which  is  inextinguishable  I 
Hitherto  I  have  been  tormented  with 
unutterable  sufferings,  but  when  you 
were  ordained  in  England,  and  sang 
your  first  mass  for  the  faithful  departed, 
your  father  Ralph  was  released  from 
Purgatory,  and  my  shield,  which  was  a 
great  torment  to  me,  fell  from  my  arm. 
I  still,  as  you  see,  carry  a  sword,  but  I 
confidently  expect  to  be  relieved  of  that 
burden  in  the  course  of  a  year." 

While  the  knight  was  thus  talking, 
the  priest,  attentively  listening  to  him, 
espied  a  mass  of  clotted  gore,  in  the 
shape  of  a  man's  head,  at  the  other's 
heels,  round  his  spurs,  and  in  great 
amazement  said  to  him:  "Whose  is 
this  clotted  blood  which  clings  to  your 
spurs?"  The  knight  replied:  "It  is 
not  blood,  but  fire  ;  and  it  weighs  me 
down  more  than  if  I  had  Mount  St. 
Michael  to  carry.  Once  I  used  sharp 
and  bright  spurs  when  I  was  hurrying  ty 
shed  blood,  and  now  I  justly  carry  this 
enoraious  weight  at  my  heels,  which  is 
so  intolerably  burdensome,  that  I  am 
unable  to  express  the  severity  of  my 
sufferings.  Men  ought  to  reflect  on 
these  things  without  ceasing,  and  to 
dread  and  beware,  lest  they,  for  their 
sins,  should  undergo  such  chastisements. 
I  am  not  permitted,  my  brother,  to  con- 
verse longer  with  you,  for  I  must  hasten 
to  follow  this  unhappy  troop.  Remember 
me,  I  pray  you,  and  give  the  succour  of 
your  prayers  and  alms.  In  one  year 
after  Palm  Sunday  I  tnist  to  be  saved, 
and  by  the  mercy  of  the  Creator  released 
from  all  my  torments.  And  you,  consider 
well  your  own  state,  and  prudently 
mend  your  life,  which  is  blemished  by 
many  vices,  for  know,  it  will  not  be 
very  long.  Now  be  silent,  bury  in  your 
own  bosom  the  things  you  have  so  un- 
expectedly seen  and  heard,  and  do  not 
venture  to  tell  them  to  any  one  for  three 
days. " 

With  these  words  the  knight  hastened 
away.  The  priest  was  seriously  ill  for  a 
whole  week ;  as  soon  as  he  began  to 
recover  his  strength,  he  went  to  Lisieux 


240 


ILLUSTRATION'S. 


and  related  all  that  had  happened  to 
Bishop  Gilbert  in  regular  order,  and 
obtained,  on  his  petition,  the  salutary 
remedies  he  needed.  He  afterwards 
lived  in  good  health  almost  fifteen  years, 
and  I  heard  what  I  have  written,  and 
more  which  has  escaped  my  memory, 
from  his  own  mouth,  and  saw  the  mark 
on  his  face  left  by  the  hand  of  the 
terrible  knight.  I  have  committed  the 
account  to  writing  for  the  edification  of 
my  readers,  that  the  righteous  may  be 
confirmed  in  their  good  resolutions,  and 
the  wicked  repent  of  their  evil  deeds. 


FROM   THE   LIFE  OF   ST. 
BRANDAN. 

Edited  by  Thomas  Wright. 

Saynt  Brandon,  the  holy  man,  was  a 
monke,  and  borne  in  Yrlonde,  and  there 
he  was  abbot  of  an  hous  wherein  were  a 
thousand  monkes,  and  there  he  ladde  a 
full  strayte  and  holy  lyfe,  in  grele 
penaunce  and  abstynence,  and  he 
governed  his  monkes  ful  vertuously. 
And  than  within  shorte  tyme  after,  there 
came  to  hym  an  holy  abbot  that  hyght 
Beryne  to  vysyte  hym,  and  eche  of  them 
was  joyfull  of  other  ;  and  than  saynt 
Brandon  began  to  tell  to  the  abbot 
Beryne  of  many  wonders  that  he  had 
seen  in  dyverse  londes.  And  whan 
Beryne  herde  that  of  saynt  Brandon,  he 
began  to  sygh,  and  sore  wepte.  And 
saynt  Brandon  comforted  him  in  the 
best  wyse  he  coude,  sayenge,  "  Ye  come 
hyther  for  to  be  joyfull  with  me,  and 
therefore  for  Goddes  love  leve  your 
mournynge,  and  tell  me  what  mervayles 
ye  have  seen  in  the  grete  see  occean, 
that  compasseth  all  the  wprlde  aboute, 
and  all  other  waters  comen  out  of  hym, 
whiche  renneth  in  all  the  partyes  of  the 
erth." 

And  than  Beryne  began  to  tell  to 
saynt  Brandon  and  to  his  monkes  the 
mervaylles  that  he  had  seen,  full  sore 
wepynge,  and  sayd,  "  I  have  a  sone,  his 
name  is  Meruoke,  and  he  was  a  monke 
of  grete  fame,  whiche  had  grete  desyre 
to  seke  aboute  by  shyppe  in  dyverse 
countrees,  to  fynde  a  solytary  place 
wherein  he  myght  dwell  secretly  out 
•f  the  besynesse  of  the  worlde,  for  to 


serve  God  quyetly  with  more  devo- 
cyon  ;  and  I  counseyled  hym  to  sayle 
into  an  ylonde  ferre  in  the  see,  be- 
sydes  the  Mountaynes  of  Stones,  whiche 
is  ful  well  knowen,  and  than  he  made 
hym  redy  and  sayled  thyder  with  his 
monkes.  And  whan  he  came  thyder, 
he  lyked  that  place  full  well,  where  he 
and  his  monkes  served  our  Lorde  full 
devoutly."  And  than  Beryne  sawe  in 
a  visyon  that  this  monke  Meruoke  was 
sayled  ryght  ferre  eestwarde  into  the 
see  more  than  thre  dayes  saylynge,  and 
sodeynly  to  his  semynge  there  came  a 
derke  cloude  and  overcovered  them, 
that  a  grete  parte  of  the  daye  they  sawe 
no  lyght ;  and  as  our  Lorde  wold,  the 
cloude  passed  awaye,  and  they  sawe  a 
full  fayr  ylond,  and  thyderwarde  they 
drewe.  In  that  ylonde  was  joye  and 
myrth  ynough,  and  all  the  erth  of  that 
ylonde  shyned  as  bryght  as  the  sonne, 
and  there  were  the  fay  rest  trees  and 
herbes  that  ever  ony  man  sawe,  and 
there  were  many  precyous  s'ones  shyn- 
ynge  bryght,  and  every  herbe  there 
was  ful  of  fygures,  and  every  tree  ful 
of  fruyte ;  so  that  it  was  a  glorious 
sight,  and  an  hevenly  joye  to  abyde 
there.  And  than  there  came  to  them 
a  fayre  yonge  man,  and  full  curtoysly 
he  welcomed  them  all,  and  called  every 
monke  by  his  name,  and  sayd  that 
they  were  much  bounde  to  prayse  the 
name  of  our  Lorde  Jesu,  that  wold  of 
his  grace  shewe  to  them  that  glorious 
place,  where  is  ever  day,  and  never 
night,  and  this  place  is  called  paradyse 
terrestre.  But  by  this  ylonde  is  an 
other  ylonde  wherein  no  man  may 
come.  And  this  yonge  man  sayd  to 
them,  "  Ye  have  ben  here  halfe  a  yere 
without  meet,  drynke,  or  slepe."  And 
they  supposed  that  they  had  not  ben 
there  the  space  of  half  an  houre,  so 
mery  and  joyfull  they  were  there.  And 
the  yonge  man  tolde  them  that  this  is 
the  place  that  Adam  and  Eve  dwelte 
in  fyrst,  and  ever  should  have  dwelled 
here,  yf  that  they  had  not  broken  the 
commaundement  of  God.  And  than 
the  yonge  man  brought  them  to  theyr 
shyppe  agayn,  and  sayd  they  might  no 
lenger  abyde  there ;  and  whan  they 
were  all  shypped,  sodeynly  this  yonge 
man  vanysshed  away  out  of  theyr  sight 


FROM  THE  LIFE   OF  ST.  BRANDAIST. 


241 


And  than  within  shorte  tyme  after,  by 
the  purveyannce  of  our  Lorde  Jesu, 
thfy  came  to  the  abbey  where  saynt 
Brandon  dwelled,  and  than  he  with  his 
bretheme  receyved  them  goodly,  and 
demaunded  where  they  had  ben  so 
longe  ;  and  they  sayd,  "We  have  ben 
in  the  Londe  of  Byheest,  to-fore  the 
gates  of  Paradyse,  where  as  is  ever  daye, 
and  never  night."  And  they  sayd  all 
that  the  place  is  full  delectable,  for  yet 
all  theyr  clothes  smelled  of  the  swete 
and  joyfuU  place.  And  than  saynt  Bran- 
don purposed  soone  after  for  to  seke  that 
place  by  Goddes  helpe,  and  anone  began 
to  purvey  for  a  good  shyppe,  and  a 
stronge,  and  vytaylled  it  for  vij.  yere  ; 
and  than  he  toke  his  leve  of  all  his 
bretheme,  and  toke  xij.  monkes  with 
him.  But  or  they  entred  into  the  shyppe 
they  fasted  xl.  dayes,  and  lyved  devoutly, 
and  eche  of  them  receyved  the  sacra- 
ment. And  whan  saynt  Brandon  with 
his  xij.  monkes  were  entred  into  the 
shyppe,  there  came  other  two  of  his 
monkes,  and  prayed  hym  that  they 
myght  sayle  with  hym.  And  than  he 
sayd,  "  Ye  may  sayle  with  me,  but  one 
of  you  shall  go  to  hell,  or  ye  come 
^gayn."  But  not  for  that  they  wold  go 
with  hym. 

And  than  saynt  Brandon  badde  the 
shypmen  to  wynde  up  the  sayle,  and 
forth  they  sayled  in  Goddes  name,  so  that 
on  the  morow  they  were  out  of  syght  of 
ony  londe  ;  and  xl.  dayes  and  xl.  nightes 
after  they  sayled  playn  eest,  and  than 
they  sawe  an  ylonde  ferre  fro  them,  and 
they  sayled  thyder-warde  as  fast  as  they 
coude,  and  they  sawe  a  grete  roche  of 
stone  appere  above  all  the  water,  and 
thre  dayes  they  sayled  aboute  it  or  they 
coude  getp  in  to  the  place.  But  at  the 
last,  by  the  purveyaunce  of  God,  they 
founde  a  lytell  haven,  and  there  went  a- 
londe  everychone 

And  than  they  sayled  forth,  and  came 
soone  after  to  that  lond  ;  but  bycause  of 
lytell  depthe  in  some  place,  and  in  some 
place  were  grete  rockes,  but  at  the  last 
they  wente  upon  an  ylonde,  wenynge  to 
them  they  had  ben  safe,  and  made  ther- 
on  a  fyre  for  to  dresse  theyr  dyner,  but 
saynt  Brandon  abode  styll  in  the  shyppe. 
And  whan  the  fyre  was  ryght  bote,  and 
the  meet  nygh  soden,  than  this  ylonde 


began  to  move ;  whereof  the  monkes 
were  afe^rde,  and  fledde  anone  to  the. 
shyppe,  and  lefte  the  fyre  and  meet  be- 
hynde  them,  and  mervayled  sore  of  the 
movyng.  And  saynt  Brandon  comforted 
them,  and  sayd  that  it  was  a  grete  fisshe 
named  Jasconye,  whiche  laboureth  nyght 
and  daye  to  put  his  tayle  in  his  mouth, 
but  for  gretnes  he  may  not.  And  than 
anone  they  sayled  west  thre  dayes  and 
thre  nyghtes  or  they  sawe  ony  londe, 
wherfore  they  were  ryght  hevy.  But 
soone  after,  as  God  wold,  they  sawe  a 
fayre  ylonde,  full  of  floures,  herbes,  and 
trees,  wherof  they  thanked  God  of  his 
good  grace,  and  anone  they  went  on 
londe.  And  whan  they  had  gone  longe 
in  this,  they  founde  a  full  fayre  well,  and 
therby  stode  a  fayre  tree,  full  of  bowes, 
and  on  every  bough  sate  a  faf  re  byrde, 
and  they  sate  so  thycke  on  the  tree  that 
unneth  ony  lefe  of  the  tree  myght  be 
seen,  the  nombre  of  them  was  so  grete, 
and  they  songe  so  meryly  that  it  was  an 
hevenly  noyse  to  here.  Wherfore  saynt 
Brandon  kneled  down  on  his  knees,  and 
wepte  for  joye,  and  made  his  prayers 
devoutly  unto  our  Lord  God  to  knowe 
what  these  byrdes  ment.  And  than 
anone  one  of  the  byrdes  fledde  fro  the 
tree  to  saynt  Brandon,  and  he  with 
flykerynge  of  his  wynges  made  a  full 
mery  noyse  lyke  a  fydle,  that  hym  semed 
he  herde  never  so  joyful!  a  melodye. 
And  than  saynt  Brandon  commaunded 
the  byrde  to  tell  hym  the  cause  why  they 
sate  so  thycke  on  the  tree,  and  sange  so 
meryly.  And  than  the  byrde  sayd, 
"  Somtyme  we  were  aungels  in  heven, 
but  whan  our  mayster  Lucyfer  fell  down 
into  hell  for  his  hygh  pryde,  we  fell  with 
hym  for  our  offences,  some  hyther,  and 
some  lower,  after  the  qualyte  of  theyr 
trespace ;  and  bycause  our  trespace  is 
but  lytell,  therfore  our  Lorde  hath  set  us 
here  out  of  all  pyane  in  full  grete  joye 
and  myrth,  alter  his  pleasynge,  here  to 
serve  hym  on  tliis  tree  in  the  best  maner 
that  we  can.  The  Sonday  is  a  day  of 
rest  fro  all  worldly  occupacyon,  and, 
therfore,  that  daye  all  we  be  made  as 
whyte  as  ony  snow,  for  to  prayse  our 
Lorde  in  the  best  wyse  we  may."  And 
than  this  byrde  sayd  to  saynt  Brandon, 
*'  It  is  xij.  monethes  past  that  ye  de- 
parted fro  your  abbey,  and  in  the  vij. 


242 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


yere  hereafter  ye  shall  se  ihe  place  that 
ye  desyre  to  come,  and  all  this  vij.  yere 
ye  shal  kepe  your  Eester  here  with  us 
every  yere,  and  in  the  ende  of  the  vij. 
yere  ye  shal  come  into  the  I.onde  of 
Byhest."  And  this  was  on  Eester  daye 
that  the  byrde  sayd  these  wordes  to 
saynt  Brandon.  And  than  this  fowle 
flewe  agayn  to  his  felawes  that  sate  on 
the  tree.  And  than  all  the  byrdes  be- 
gan to  synge  evensonge  so  meiyly,  that 
it  was  an  hevenly  noyse  to  here  ;  and 
after  souper  saynt  Brandon  and  his  fel- 
awes wente  to  bedde,  and  slepte  well, 
and  on  the  morowe  they  arose  betymes, 
and  than  those  byrdes  began  matyns, 
pryme,  and  houres,  and  all  suche  service 

as  Chiysten  men  use  to  synge 

And  seven  dayes  they  sayled  alwaye 
in  that  <Jlere  water.  And  than  there 
came  a  south  wynde  and  drove  the 
shyppe  north-warde,  where  as  they  sawe 
an  ylonde  full  derke  and  full  of  stenche 
and  smoke  ;  and  there  they  herde  grete 
blowynge  and  blastyng  of  belowes,  but 
they  myght  se  no  thynge,  but  herde 
grete  thondrynge,  whereof  they  were 
sore  aferde  and  blyssed  them  ofte.  And 
soone  after  there  came  one  stertynge  out 
all  brennynge  in  fyre,  and  stared  full 
gastly  on  them  with  grete  staryng  eyen, 
of  whome  the  monkes  were  agast,  and  at 
his  departyng  from  them  he  made  the 
horryblest  crye  that  myght  be  herde. 
And  soone  there  came  a  grete  nombre 
of  fendes  and  assayled  them  with  hokes 
and  brennynge  yren  malles,  whiche  ranne 
on  the  water,  folowyng  fast  theyr 
shyppe,  in  suche  wyse  that  it  semed  all 
the  see  to  be  on  a  fyre  ;  but  by  the  wyll 
of  God  they  had  no  power  to  hurte  ne  to 
greve  them,  ne  theyr  shyppe.  Wher- 
fore  the  fendes  began  to  rore  and  crye, 
and  threwe  theyr  hokes  and  malles  at 
them.  And  they  than  were  sore  aferde, 
and  prayed  to  God  for  comforte  and 
helpe ;  for  they  sawe  the  fendes  all 
about  the  shyppe,  and  them  semed  that 
all  the  ylonde  and  the  see  to  be  on  a 
fyre.  And  with  a  sorowfuU  crye  all 
the  fendes  departed  fro  them  and  re- 
turned to  the  place  that  they  came  fro. 
And  than  saynt  Brandon  tolde  to  them 
that  this  was  a  parte  of  hell,  and  ther- 
fore  he  charged  them  to  be  stedfast  in 
the  fayth,  for  they  shold  yet  se  many  a 


dredefull  place  or  they  came  home 
agayne.  And  than  came  the  south  wynde 
and  drove  them  ferther  into  the  north, 
where  they  sawe  an  hyll  all  on  fyre,  and 
a  foule  smoke  and  stenche  comyng  from 
thens,  and  the  fyre  stode  on  eche  syde  of 
the  hyll  lyke  a  wall  all  brennynge. 
And  than  one  of  his  monkes  began  to 
crye  and  wepe  ful  sore,  and  sayd  that 
his  ende  was  comen,  and  that  he  might 
abyde  no  lenger  in  the  shyppe,  and 
anone  he  lepte  out  of  the  shyppe  into 
the  see,  and  than  he  cryed  and  rored  full 
pyteously,  cursynge  the  tyme  that  he 
was  borne,  and  also  fader  and  moder 
that  bygate  him,  bycause  they  sawe  no 
better  to  his  correccyon  in  his  yonge 
age,  ''for  now  I  must  go  to  perpetual 
payne."  And  than  the  sayenge  of  saynt 
Brandon  was  veryfyed  that  he  sayd  to 
hym  whan  he  entred  into  the  shyppe. 
Therfore  it  is  good  a  man  to  do  penaunce 
and  forsake  synne,  for  the  houre  of  deth 
is  incertayne. 

And  than  anone  the  wynde  turned 
into  the  north,  and  drove  the  shyppe 
into  the  south,  whiche  sayled  vij.  dayes 
contynually  ;  and  they  came  to  a  grete 
rocke  standynge  in  the  see,  and  theron 
sate  a  naked  man  in  full  grete  mysery 
and  payne  ;  for  the  wawes  of  the  see 
had  so  beten  his  body  that  all  the  flesshe 
was  gone  off,  and  nothynge  lefte  but 
synewes  and  bare  bones.  And  whan 
the  wawes  were  gone,  there  was  a  canvas 
that  henge  over  his  heed  whiche  bette  his 
body  full  sore  with  the  blowynge  of  the 
wynde  ;  and  also  there  were  two  oxe 
tongues  and  a  grete  stone  that  he  sate 
on,  whiche  dyd  hym  full  grete  ease. 
And  than  saynt  Brandon  charged  hym  to 
tell  hym  what  he  was.  And  he  sayd, 
"My  name  is  Judas,  that  solde  our 
Lorde  Jesu  Chryst  for  xxx.  pens,  whiche 
sytteth  here  moche  wretchedly,  how  be 
it  I  am  worthy  to  be  in  the  gretest  payne 
that  is  ;  but  our  Lorde  is  so  mercyfull 
that  he  hath  rewarded  me  better  than  I 
have  deserved,  for  of  ryght  my  place  is 
in  the  brennynge  hell ;  but  I  am  here 
but  certayne  tymes  of  the  yere,  that  is, 
fro  Chrystmasse  to  twelfth  daye,  and  fro 
Eester  tyll  Whytsontyde  be  past,  and 
every  feestfull  daye  of  our  lady,  and 
every  Saterdaye  at  noone  tyll  Sonday 
that  evepsonge  be  done  ;  but  all  other 


ICELANDIC   VISION. 


243 


tymes  I  lye  styll  in  hell  in  ful  brennynge 
fyre  with  Pylate,  Herode,  and  Cayphas; 
therfore  accursed  be  the  tyme  that  ever 
I  knewe  them."  And  than  Judas  prayed 
saynt  Brandon  to  abyde  styll  there  all 
that  nyght,  and  that  he  wolde  kepe  hym 
there  styll  that  the  fendes  sholde  not 
fetche  hym  to  hell.  And  he  sayd, 
"  With  Goddes  helpe  thou  shalt  abyde 
here  all  this  nyght. "  And  than  he  asked 
Judas  what  cloth  that  was  that  henge 
over  his  heed.  And  he  sayd  it  was  a 
cloth  that  he  gave  unto  a  lepre,  whiche 
was  bought  with  the  money  that  he  stale 
fro  our  Lorde  whan  he  bare  his  purse, 
"wherfore  it  dothe  to  me  grete  payne 
now  in  betying  my  face  with  the  blow- 
ynge  of  the  wynde ;  and  these  two  oxe 
tongues  that  hange  here  above  me,  I 
gave  them  somtyme  to  two  preestes  to 
praye  for  me.  I  bought  them  with  myne 
owne  money,  and  therfore  they  ease  me, 
bycause  the  fysshes  of  the  see  knawe  on 
them  and  spare  me.  And  this  stone  that 
I  syt  on  laye  somtyme  in  a  desolate 
place  where  it  eased  no  man  ;  and  I  toke 
it  thens  and  layd  it  in  a  foule  waye, 
where  it  dyd  moche  ease  to  them  that 
went  by  that  waye,  and  therfore  it 
easeth  me  now  ;  for  every  good  dede 
shall  be  rewarded,  and  every  evyll  dede 
shal  be  punysshed."  And  the  Sondaye 
agaynst  even  there  came  a  grete  multi- 
tude of  fendes  blastyng  and  rorynge,  and 
badde  saynt  Brandon  go  thens,  that  they 
myght  have  theyr  servaunt  Judas,  "  for 
we  dare  not  come  in  the  presence  of  our 
mayster,  but  yf  we  brynge  hym  to  hell 
with  us."  And  saynt  Brandon  sayd,  "I 
lette  not  you  do  your  maysters  com- 
maundement,  but  by  the  power  of  our 
Lorde  Jesu  Chryst  I  charge  you  to  leve 
hym  this  nyght  tyll  to  morow."  "How 
darest  thou  helpe  hym  that  so  solde  his 
mayster  for  xxx.  pens  to  the  Jewes,  and 
caused  hym  also  to  dye  the  moost  shame- 
full  deth  upon  the  crosse  ?  "  And  than 
saynt  Brandon  charged  the  fendes  by  his 
passyon  that  they  sholde  not  noy  hym 
that  nyght.  And  than  the  fendes  went 
theyr  way  rorynge  and  cryenge  towarde 
hell  to  theyr  mayster,  the  grete  devyll. 
And  than  Judas  thanked  saynt  Brandon 
80  rewfully  that  it  was  pite  to  se,  and  on 
the  morowe  the  fendes  came  with  an 
honyble  noyse,  sayenge  that  they  had 


that  nyght  suffred  grete  i>ayne  bycause 
they  brought  not  Judas,  and  sayd  that 
he  shold  suffre  double  payne  the  sixe 
dayes  folowynge.  And  they  toke  than 
Judas  tremblynge  for  fere  with  them  to 
payne. 


ICELANDIC   VISION. 

From  the  Poetic  Edda.     Tr.  by  Wright,  St 
Patrick's  Purgatory,  p.  177. 

In  the  Nomi's  seat 

sat  I  nine  days  ; 

thence  I  was  carried  on  a  horse  ; 

the  sun  of  the  Gygiars 

shone  grimly 

out  of  the  apertures  of  the  clouds. 

Without  and  within 

I  seemed  to  go  through  all 

the  seven  lower  worlds  ; 

above  and  below 

sought  I  a  better  way, 

where  I  might  have  a  more  agreeable  journey. 

I  must  relate 

what  I  first  saw, 

when  I  was  come  into  the  places  of  torment ; 

scorched  birds, 

which  were  souls, 

fled  numerous  as  flies. 

From  the  west  saw  I  fljr 

the  dragons  of  expectation, 

and  open  the  way  of  the  fire-powerful ; 

"they  beat  their  wings, 

so  that  everywhere  it  appeared  to  me 

that  earth  and  heaven  burst. 

The  sun's  hart 

I  saw  go  from  the  south, 

him  led  two  together : 

his  feet 

stood  on  the  ground, 

and  his  horns  touched  heaven. 

From  the  north  saw  I  ride 

the  people's  sons, 

and  they  Were  seven  together  ; 

with  full  horns 

they  drunk  the  pure  mead 

from  the  fountam  of  heaven's  lord. 

The  wind  became  quiet, 
the  waters  ceased  to  flow  ; 
then  heard  I  a  fearful  sound  : 
for  their  husbands 
shameless  women 
ground  earth  to  food. 

Bloody  stones 
those  dark  women 
dragged  sorrowfully ; 
their  bleeding  hearts  hung 
out  of  their  breasts, 
weary  with  rauchgrieC 


2|4 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Many  men  saw  I 

wounded  go 

in  the  ways  strewed  with  hot  cinders  ; 

their  faces 

seemed  to  me  all  to  be 

red  with  smoking  blood. 

Many  men  saw  I 
go  on  the  ground 
who  had  been  unable  to  obtain  the  Lord's 

meal ; 
heathen  stars 
stood  over  their  heads, 
painted  with  fearful  characters. 

Those  men  saw  I, 
who  cherish  much 
envy  at  other's  fortune  ; 
bloody  runes 
were  on  their  breasts 
marked  painfully. 

Men  saw  I  there 

many,  without  joy, 

who  all  wandered  pathless  ; 

that  he  purchases  for  himself, 

who  of  this  world 

is  infatuated  with  the  vices. 

Those  men  saw  I, 

who  in  many  ways 

laid  their  hands  on  other's  property ; 

they  went  in  flocks 

to  Fegiarn's  (Satan's)  city, 

and  had  burthens  of  lead. 

Those  men  saw  I, 

who  many  had 

deprived  of  money  and  life ; 

through  their  breasts 

suddenly  pierced 

strong  venomous  dragon 

Those  men  saw  I, 
who  would  not 
keep  holy  days ; 
their  hands 
were  on  hot  stones 
nailed  tight. 

Those  men  saw  I, 

who  in  much  pride 

magnified  themselves  too  much  ; 

their  garments 

were  m  derision 

with  fire  surrounded. 

Those  men  saw  I, 

who  had  many 

words  against  another  lied : 

hell's  ravens 

out  of  their  heads 

cruelly  tore  their  eyes. 

All  the  horrors 

you  cannot  know 

which  the  hell-goers  have. 

Sweet  sins 

go  to  cruel  recompenses ; 

rver  cometh  moan  after  pleasure. 


Those  men  saw  I 

who  much  had 

given  according  to  God's  laws  ; 

clear  candles 

were  over  their  heads 

burning  brightly. 

Those  men  saw  I, 

who  magnanimously 

improved  the  condition  of  the  poor 

angels  read 

the  holy  books 

over  their  heads. 

Those  men  saw  I, 

who  had  much 

their  body  lean  with  fasting  ; 

God's  angels 

bowed  before  all  these  ; 

that  is  the  greatest  pleasure. 

Those  men  saw  I, 
who  to  their  mother  had 
put  food  in  the  mouth  ; 
their  resting-places  were 
in  the  beams  of  heaven 
placed  agreeably. 

Holy  virgins 

had  purely 

washed  the  soul  of  sins, 

of  those  men 

who  many  a  day 

punish  themselves. 

Lofty  cars 

I  saw  go  midst  heaven, 

which  had  the  roads  to  God  ; 

men  guide  them 

who  were  slain 

entirely  without  fault. 

0  mighty  Father, 
most  great  Son, 
Holy  Ghost  of  heaven, 

1  pray  thee  to  save 
(who  didst  create) 
us  all  from  miseries  ! 


ANGLO-SAXON  DESCRIPTION 
OF   PARADISE. 

From  "The  Phoenix,"  a  Paraphrase  of  the  Car- 
men de  Phoenice,  ascribed  to  Lactantius. 
Codex  Exoniensis.  Tr.  by  B.  Thorpe,  p.  iq7 

I  have  heard  tell, 
that  there  is  far  hence 
in  eastern  parts 
a  land  most  noble, 
amongst  men  renowned. 
That  tract  of  earth  is  not 
over  mid-earth 
fellow  to  many 
peopled  lands ; 
But  it  is  withdrawn 
through  the  Creator's  might 
from  wicked  doers. 


ANGLO-SAXON  DESCRIPTION  OF  PARADISE. 


245 


Beauteous  is  all  the  plain, 

with  delights  blessed, 

with  the  sweetest 

of  earth's  odours : 

unique  is  that  island, 

noble  the  Maker, 

lofty,  in  powers  abounding, 

who  the  land  founded. 

There  is  oft  open 

towards  the  happy, 

unclosed,  (delight  of  sounds  !) 

heaven-kingdom's  door. 

That  is  a  pleasant  plain, 

green  wolds, 

spacious  under  heaven  ; 

there  may  not  rain  nor  snow, 

nor  rage  of  frost, 

nor  fire's  blast, 

nor  fall  of  hail, 

nor  descent  of  rime, 

nor  heat  of  sun, 

nor  perpetual  cold, 

nor  warm  weather, 

nor  winter  shower, 

aught  injure  ;  * 

but  the  plain  rests 

happy  and  healthful. 

That  noble  land  is 

with  blossoms  flowered : 

nor  hills  nor  mountains  there 

stand  steep, 

nor  stony  cliffs 

tower  high, 

as  here  with  us  ; 

nor  dells  nor  dales, 

nor  mountain-caves, 

risings  nor  hilly  chains ; 

nor  thereon  rests 

aught  unsmouth, 

but  the  noble  field 

flourishes  under  the  skies 

with  delights  blooming. 

That  glorious  land  is 

higher  by  twelve 

fold  of  fathom  measure, 

(as  us  the  skilful  have  informed, 

sages  through  wisdom 

in  writings  show,) 

than  any  of  those  hills 

that  brightly  here  with  us 

tower  high, 

under  the  stars  of  heaven. 

Serene  is  the  glorious  plain, 

the  sunny  bower  glitters, 

the  woody  holt,  joyously ; 

the  fruits  fall  not, 

the  bright  products, 

but  the  trees  ever 

stand  green, 

as  them  God  hath  commanded  : 

in  winter  and  in  summer 

the  forest  is  alike 

hung  with  fruits, 

never  fade 

the  leaves  in  air, 

nor  will  flame  them  injure, 

ever  throughout  ages, 

ere  that  an  end 

to  the  world  shall  be. 

What  time  of  old  the  water's  mass 

all  mid -earth, 

the  sea 'flood  decked 


the  earth's  circumference, 
then  the  noble  plain 
in  all  ways  secure 
against  the  billowy  course 
stood  preserved, 
of  the  rough  waves, 
happy,  inviolate, 
through  God's  favour : 
it  shall  abide  thus  blooming 
until  the  coming  of  the  fire 
of  the  Lord's  doom  ; 
when  the  death-houses, 
men's  dark  chambers, 
shall  be  opened. 
There  is  not  in  that  land 
hateful  enmity, 
nor  wail  nor  vengeance, 
evil-token  none, 
old  age  nor  misery, 
nor  the  narrow  death, 
nor  loss  of  life, 
nor  coming  of  enemy, 
nor  sin  nor  strife, 
nor  painful  exile, 
nor  poor  one's  toil, 
nor  desire  of  wealth, 
nor  care  nor  sleep, 
nor  grievous  sickness, 
nor  winter's  darts, 
nor  dread  of  tempests 
rough  under  heaven, 
nor  the  hard  frost 
'vif.h  cold  chill  icicles 
stniteth  any. 
There  nor  nail  nor  rime 
on  the  land  descend, 
uo.  wmdy  cloud, 
nor  there  water  falls 
agitated  in  air, 
but  there  liquid  streams 
wonderously  curious, 
wells  spring  forth 
with  fair  bubblings  from  earth 
o'er  the  soil  glide 
pleasant  waters 
from  the  wood's  midst ; 
there  each  month 
from  the  turf  of  earth 
sea-cold  they  burst, 
all  the  grove  pervade 
at  times  abundantly. 
It  is  God's  behest, 
that  twelve  times 
the  glorious  land 
sports  over 

the  joy  of  water-floods. 
The  groves  are 
with  produce  hung, 
with  beauteous  fruits ; 
■  there  wane  not 
holy  under  heaven 
the  holt's  decorations, 
nor  fall  there  on  earth 
the  fallow  blossoms, 
beauty  of  forest-trees, 
but  there  wonderously 
on  the  trees  ever 
the  laden  branches, 
the  renovated  fruit, 
at  all  times 
on  the  grassy  plain 
stand  green. 


246 


ILL  USTRA  T/ONS. 


gloriously  adorned 
through  the  Holy's  might, 
brightest  of  groves ! 
Not  broken  is 
the  wood  in  aspect : 
here  a  holy  fragrance 


rests  o'er  the  pleasant  lana. 
That  shall  not  be  changed 
forever  throughout  ages, 
untH  shall  end 
his  wise  work  of  yore 
he  who  at  first  created  it 


PURGATORIO. 


» 


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  y:;ur  sins 
As  scarlet  be,"  and  ends  with  "  as  the  snow." 

With  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  in  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. 


a&gge^a 


CANTO  I. 

To  run  o'er  better  waters  hoists  its  sail 

The  Httle  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. 

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,  » 

Of  which  the  miserable  magpies  felt 

The  blow  so  great,  that  they  despaired  of  pardon. 
Sweet  colour  of  the  oriental  sapphire. 

That  was  upgathered  in  the  cloudless  aspect 

Of  the  pure  air,  as  far  as  the  first  circle,  15 

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,  » 

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.  ,-,  n 

O  thou  septentrional  and  widowed  site,  —  ">"v^f^AX-A^^y^  . 

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,  ao 


k 


250  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


I  saw  beside  me  an  old  man  alone,  O.-^V/O 

Worthy  of  so  much  reverence  in  his  look, 

That  more  owes  not  to  father  any  son. 
A  long  beard  and  with  white  hair  intenningled 

He  wore,  in  semblance  like  unto  the  tresses,  as 

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. 
"  Who  are  you  ?  ye  who,  counter  the  blind  river,  4° 

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?  -is 

The  laws  of  the  abyss,  are  they  thus  broken  ? 

Or  is  there  changed  in  heaven  some  council  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  1  have  said,  I  unto  him  was  sent 

To  rescue  him,  and  other  way  was  none 

Than  this  to  which  I  have  myself  betaken. 
I've  shown  him  all  the  people  of  perdition, 

And  now  those  spirits  I  intend  to  shiw  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 ;  yo 

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 


PVRGATORIOy   I.  251 


\ 


By  us  the  eternal  edicts  are  not  broken  ;  ji    ..  v.. 

Since  this  one  lives,  and  Minos  binds  not  me  ; 

But  of  that  circle  I,  where  are  the  chaste         ^       ^  .1 

Eyes  of  thy  Marcia,  who  in  looks  still  prays  thee,  -^  ,>\j^     vv^^A-- 

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  85 

While  I  was  on  the  other  side,"  then  said  he, 

"  That  every  grace  she  wished  of  me  I  granted  ; 
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  'tw^ere  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  100 

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" 
^Vith  this  he  vanished ;  and  I  raised  me  up 

Without  a  word,  and  wholly  drew  myself  no 

Unto  mv  Guide,  and  turned  mine  eyes  to  him. 
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  ns 

Which  fled  before  it,  so  that  from  afar 

I  recognised  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.  mo 


252  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

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  130 

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  135 

Suddenly  there  where  he  uprooted  it. 


CANTO   11. 

Already  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 
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. 

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  vapours  Mars  grows  fiery  red 
Down  in  ihe  West  upon  the  ocean  floor, 

Appeared  to  me — may  1  again  behold  it  ! — 
A  light  along  the  sea  so  swiftly  coming, 
Its  motion  by  no  flight  of  wing  is  equalled  ; 

From  which  when  I  a  little  had  withdrawn 

Mine  eyes,  that  I  might  question  my  Conductor, 
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. 


PURGATORIO,   n.  253 


My  Master  yet  had  uttered  not  a  word  as 

While  the  first  whiteness  into  wings  unfolded  ; 

But  when  he  clearly  recognised  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 !  30 

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,  3s 

That  do  not  mxjult  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  <o 

With  a  small  vessel,  very  swift  and  light. 

So  that  the  water  swallowed  naught  thereof. 
Upon  the  stern  stood  the  Celestial  Pilot ; 

Beatitude  seemed  written  in  his  face, 

And  more  than  a  hundred  spirits  sat  within.  45 

"  In  exitu  Israel  de  Aigypto  /" 

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,  so 

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  ss 

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."  f» 

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,  6f 

That  mounting  will  henceforth  seem  sport  to  us," 
The  souls  who  had,  from  seeing  me  draw  breath, 

Become  aware  that  I  was  still  alive, 

Pallid  in  their  astonishment  became ; 


254  '^^HE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

And  as  to  messenger  who  bears  the  oHve  7c 

The  people  throng  to  hsten  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.  ys 

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  ! 

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 

"  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  be  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, 

AVhich  used  to  quiet  in  me  all  my  longings, 
Thee  may  it  please  to  comfort  therewithal 

Somewhat  this  soul  of  mine,  that  with  its  body  no 

Hitherward  coming  is  so  much  distressed." 
"  Love,  that  within  my  mind  discourses  7c>ith  tne,'^ 

Forthwith  began  he  so  melodiously. 

The  melody  within  me  still  is  sounding. 


PURGATORIO,   III.  *» 


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  a:tentive 

Unto  his  notes  ;  and  lo !  the  grave  old  man, 

Exclaiminj; :  "  What  is  this,  ye  laggard  spirits?  ««» 

What  negligence,  what  standing  still  is  this  ? 

Run  to  the  mountain  to  strip  oti'  the  slough, 

That  lets  not  God  be  manifest  to  you." 
Even  as  when,  collecting  grain  or  tares. 

The  doves,  together  at  their  pasture  met,  >2S 

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  ^30 

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  ke])t  my  course  ? 
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 
W^hich  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. 

The  sun,  that  in  our  rear  was  flaming  red. 

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

Unto  one  side  I  turned  me,  with  the  fear 
Of  being  left  alone,  when  I  beheld 
Only  in  front  of  me  the  ground  obscured. 


256  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

"  Why  dost  thou  still  mistrust  ?"  my  Comforter 

Began  to  say  to  me  turned  wholly  round  ; 

"  Dost  thou  not  think  me  with  thee,  and  that  I  guide  thee  ? 
'Tis  evening  there  already  where  is  buried  25 

The  body  within  which  I  cast  a  shadow  ; 

'Tis  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  :•:■ 

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,  ?5 

Which  the  one  Substance  in  three  Persons  follows  I 
Mortals,  remain  contented  at  the  Quia ; 

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. 
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  50 

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  ss 

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.  60 

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

"  Behold,  on  this  side,  who  will  give  us  counsel, 

If  thou  of  thme  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." 


PURGATORIO,    III.  '  257 


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  80 

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° 

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  endeavour  to  surmount  this  wall." 
The  Master  thus ;  and  said  those  worthy  people  :  100 

"  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."  it^ 

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,  uo 

And  showed  me  high  upon  his  breast  a  wound. 


258  '  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Then  said  he  with  a  smile :  "  I  am  Manfredi, 

The  grandson  of  the  Empress  Costanza  ; 

Therefore,  when  thou  returnest,  I  beseech  thee 
Go  to  my  daughter  beautiful,  the  mother  »s 

Of  Sicily's  honour  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.  no 

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,  125 

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  ot  green.  135 

True  is  it,  who  in  contumacy  dies 

Of  Holy  Church,  though  penitent  at  last, 

Must  wait  upon  the  outside  this  bank 
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  imto  my  good  Costanza 

How  thou  hast  seen  me,  and  this  ban  beside, 
For  those  on  earth  can  much  advance  us  here."  '+5 


CANTO   IV. 

Whenever  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 
One  soul  above  another  kindles  in  us. 


PURGATOR/0,    IV.  259 

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,  » 

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." 
A  greater  opening  ofttimes  hedges  up 

With  but  a  little  forkful  of  his  thorns  w 

The  villager,  what  time  the  grape  imbrowns, 
Than  was  the  i)assage\vay  through  which  ascended 

Only  my  Leader  and  myself  behind  him, 

After  that  company  departed  from  us. 
One  climbs  Sanleo  and  descends  in  Noli,  25 

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.  30 

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,  « 

"  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,  40 

And  the  hillside  precipitous  far  more 

Than  line  from  middle  quadrant  to  the  centre. 
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,  v> 

Until  the  circle  was  beneath  my  feet. 


a6o  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

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,  ss 

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,  fa 

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. 

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'lt  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  1,  "  never  yet 
Saw^  I  so  clearly  as  I  now  discern. 
There  where  my  wit  appeared  incompetent. 

That  tlie  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  'tis  tiresome. 
And  aye  the  more  one  climbs,  the  less  it  hurts.  90 

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." 


i 


PURGATORIO,   IV.  2b i 


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, 
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  thi'ough  indolence  is  wont  to  stand. 

And  one  of  them,  who  seemed  to  me  fatigued, 

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

*'  O  my  sweet  Lord,"  I  said,  "  do  turn  thine  eye 
On  him  who  shows  himself  more  negligent 
Then  even  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." 

Then  knew  I  who  he  was ;  and  the  distress. 

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  ?  " 

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  ? 
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 
Outside  thereof,  as  in  my  life  it  did. 
Since  the  good  sighs  I  to  the  end  p)ostponed, 

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  ? '' 

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." 


2tz  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


CANTO  V. 

I  HAD  alreaay  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. 
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," 

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  ; 

For  evermore  the  man  in  whom  is  springing 

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

What  could  I  say  in  answer  but  "  I  come  "  ? 
I  said  it  somewhat  with  that  colour  tinged 
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 

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,        .^.J^/ 
"  Of  your  condition  make  us  cognisant."    '■  '"  " 

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  ; 
Him  let  them  honour,  it  may  profit  them." 

Vapours  enkindled  saw  I  ne'er  so  swiftly 
At  early  nightfall  cleave  the  air  serene. 
Nor,  at  the  set  of  sun,  the  clouds  of  August, 


PURGATORIO,    V.  ^\ 


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. 
"  This  folk  that  presses  unto  us  is  great, 

And  Cometh  to  implore  thee,"  said  the  Poet ; 

"  So  still  go  onward,  and  in  going  listen."  45 

"  O  soul  that  goest  to  beatitude 

With  the  same  members  wherewith  thou  wast  bom," 

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  ;  50 

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,  &> 

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

Which,  following  the  feet  of  such  a  Guide, 

From  w'orld  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 ; 
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,  i% 

There  where  I  thought  to  be  the  most  secure ; 

'Twas  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,  «o 

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  ray  veins  upon  the  grouncj," 

T 


264  THE  DIVINE    COMEDY. 

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."  90 

I         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,  bom  95 

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  «» 

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 

Sho Jted  :  '  O  thou  from  heaven,  why  dost  thou  rob  me  ?  105 
Thou  bearest  away  the  eternal  part  of  him. 

For  one  poor  little  tear,  that  takes  him  from  me ; 

But  with  the  rest  I'll  deal  in  other  fashion  !  * 
Well  knowest  thou  how  in  the  air  is  gathered 

That  humid  vapour  which  to  water  turns,  no 

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  ; 
Thereafter,  when  the  day  was  spent,  the  valley  "5 

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 ;  120 

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  iss 

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." 


PURGATORIO,  VI.  265 


"  Ah,  when  thou  hast  returned  unto  the  world, 
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. 

Espousing  me,  my  finger  with  his  gem." 


CANTO  VI. 

Whene'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, 
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, 

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. 

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

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 

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  m  some  text. 
That  orison  can  bend  decree  of  Heaven  ; 

And  ne'ertheless  these  people  pray  for  this. 
Might  then  their  expectation  bootless  be  ? 
Or  is  to  me  thy  saying  not  quite  clear  ?" 

T  a 


a66  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

And  he  to  me  :  "  My  writing  is  explicit, 

And  not  fallacious  is  the  hope  o£  these,  3s 

If  with  sane  intellect  'tis  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. 
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  6s 

After  the  manner  of  a  couchant  lion  ; 
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  70 

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.  7S 

Ah  !  servile  Italy,  griefs  hostelry  ! 

A  ship  without  a  pilot  in  great  tempest ! 

No  Lady  thou  of  Provinces,  but  brothel ! 


PURGATORIO,    VI.  267 


That  noble  soul  was  so  impatient,  only 

At  the  sweet  sound  of  his  own  native  land,  So 

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.  90 

Ah  !  people,  thou  that  oughtest  to  be  devout. 

And  to  let  Caesar  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,  9S 

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  «» 

Upon  thy  blood,  and  be  it  new  and  open, 

That  thy  successor  may  have  fear  thereof ; 
Because  thy  fether  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-dejiressed  ! 
Come,  cruel  one  !  come  and  behold  the  oppression 

Of  thy  nobility,  and  cure  their  wounds,  no 

And  thou  shalt  see  how  safe  is  Santafiore ! 
Come  and  behold  thy  Rome,  that  is  lamenting, 

Widowed,  alone,  and  day  and  night  exclaims, 

"  My  Caesar,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me?" 
Come  and  behold  how  loving  are  the  people ;  "5 

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?  i*> 

Or  preparation  is  't,  that,  in  the  abyss 

Of  thine  own  counsel,  for  some  good  thou  makest 
From  our  perception  utterly  cut  off? 


268  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

For  all  the  towns  of  Italy  are  full 

Of  tyrants,  and  becometh  a  Marcellus 
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, 
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." 

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. 

Athens  and  Lacedaemon,  they  who  made 

The  ancient  laws,  and  were  so  civilized. 
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, 
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, 

But  by  her  tossing  wardeth  off  her  pain. 


CANTO  VII. 

After  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, 
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 

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


PURGATORIO,    Vri.  269 


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

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

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

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 

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. 

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 
The  others  knew  and  followed  all  of  them. 

But  if  thou  know  and  can,  some  indication 

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

He  answered  :  "  No  fixed  place  has  been  assigned  us ; 
'Tis  lawful  for  me  to  go  up  and  round  ; 
So  far  as  I  can  go,  as  guide  I  join  thee. 

But  see  already  how  the  day  declines, 

And  to  go  up  by  night  we  are  not  able  ; 
Therefore  'tis  well  to  think  of  some  fair  sojourn. 

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 
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. 
To  going  up,  save  the  nocturnal  darkness  ; 
This  with  the  want  of  power  the  will  perplexes. 


270  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

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. 
"  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  awa) 
Gold  and  tine  silver,  and  scarlet  and  pearl-white, 

The  Indian  wood  resplendent  and  serene. 

Fresh  emerald  the  moment  it  is  broken,  7S 

By  herbage  and  by  flowers  within  that  hollow 

Planted,  each  one  in  colour  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  odours  80 

Made  there  a  mingled  fragrance  and  unknown, 
"  Salve  Hegina"  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  off  this  ledge  the  acts  and  faces 

Of  all  of  them  will  you  discriminate. 

Than  in  the  plain  below  received  among  them.  9° 

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. 


PURGATORIO,  VI TT:  rjx 


And  the  small-nosed,  who  close  in  council  seems 

With  him  that  has  an  aspect  so  benign, 

Died  fleeing  and  disflowering  the  lily ;  k»s 

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  valour  wore  begirt ; 
And  if  as  King  had  after  him  remained  ««s 

The  stripling  who  in  rear  of  him  is  sitting. 

Well  had  the  valour  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.  v» 

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;  ws 

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,  »3o 

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  Man^uis  William, 

For  whose  sake  Alessandria  and  her  war  13s 

Make  Monferrat  and  Canavese  weep." 


CANTO  VIII. 

'TwAS  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 
That  seemeth  to  deplore  the  dying  day, 


272  THE    DIVINE    COMEDY. 

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, 
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. 

And  then  the  others,  sweetly  and  devoutly. 

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

Here,  Reader,  fix  thine  eyes  well  on  the  truth, 
For  now  indeed  so  subtile  is  the  veil, 
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, 
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. 

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, 
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. 

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

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." 

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 
It  did  not  show  what  it  before  locked  up. 


PURGATORIO,   VIII.  ajj^ 

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  ;  55 

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  !  6$ 

Come  and  behold  what  God  in  grace  has  willed  !" 
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,  70 

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.  n 

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  80 

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  bumeth  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 

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  oui  Aoversary  ! "  95 

And  pointed  with  his  finger  to  Iook  thither. 


274  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Upon  the  side  on  which  the  httle  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, 
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. 

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 
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," 

Began  it,  "  if  some  true  intelligence 

Of  Valdimagra  or  its  neighbourhood 

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." 

"  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  honour  to  your  house. 
Proclaims  its  Signors  and  proclaims  its  land. 
So  that  he  knows  of  them  who  ne'er  was  there. 

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

It  is  so  privileged  by  use  and  nature. 

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  aH  his  four  feet  covers  and  bestrides,  • 

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." 


PURGATORIO,    IX.  275 


CANTO   IX. 

The  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,  «o 

Vanquished  by  sleep,  upon  the  grass  reclined, 

There  were  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. 
In  dreams  it  seemed  to  me  I  saw  suspended 

An  eagle  in  the  sky,  with  plumes  of  gold,  to 

With  wings  wide  open,  and  intent  to  stooj^, 
And  this,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  where  had  been  „         .        ,      ->     i 

By  Ganymede  his  kith  and  kin  abandoned,   ^  Vt'-^J-t^./^^'V    v*J   '-.v-o',*' 

When  to  the  high  consistory  he  was  rapt.  \ 

I  thought  within  myself,  perchance  he  strikes  ^s 

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.  30 

Therein  it  seemed  that  he  and  I  were  burning. 

And  the  imagmed  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. 


276  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

Than  I  upstarted,  when  from  off  my  face  40 

Sleep  fled  away  ;  and  pallid  I  became, 

As  doth  the  man  who  freezes  with  affright 
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.  43 

"  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 ;  sh 

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,  6s 

After  the  truth  has  been  discovered  to  him, 
So  did  I  change  ;  and  when  without  disquiet 

My  Leader  saw  me,  up  along  the  cliff 

He  moved,  and  I  behind  hirn,  tow'rd  the  height. 
Reader,  thou  seest  well  how  I  exalt  70 

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  colour,  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,  8« 

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. 


PURGATORIO,   IX.  277 


"  Tell  it  from  where  you  are,  what  is't  you  wish  ?  "  ss 

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  fo  us,  '  Thither  go ;  there  is  the  portal.'  "  90 

•'  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,  100 

Porphyry  seemed  to  me,  as  flaming  red 

As  blood  that  from  a  vein  is  spirtmg  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.  los 

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,  "o 

But  first  upon  my  breast  three  times  I  smote. 
Seven  P's  upon  my  forehead  he  described 

With  the  sword's  point,  and,  "  Take  heed  that  thou  wash 

These  wounds,  when  thou  shalt  be  within,"  he  said. 
Ashes,  or  earth  that  dry  is  excavated,  "s 

Of  the  same  colour  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.  mo 

"  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,  »s 

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" 


278  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

Then  pushed  the  portals  of  the  sacred  door, 

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, 

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

At  the  first  thunder-peal  I  turned  attentive, 

And  "  Te  Deum  latidamus"  seemed  to  hear 
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. 


CANTO   X. 

When  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, 
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," 

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, 

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, 

I  wearied  out,  and  both  of  us  uncertain 

About  our  way,  we  stopped  upon  a  plain 
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  ; 


PURGATORIO,   X.  479 


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

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,  -    30 

To  be  of  marble  white,  and  so  adorned  Ci    ''i-  "'''^ 

With  sculptures,  that  not  only  Polycletus,  -  ':;e>(jLA(-,y^  .  j  ft  j  \ 

But  Nature's  self,  had  there  been  put  to  shame.         ^'^^'•^^A    fi/CvAA/^^V 
The  Angel,  who  came  down  to  earth  with  tidings  I, 

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,  -j- 

•       He  did  not  seem  an  image  that  is  silent.  r      ^     ^. 

One  would  have  sworn  that  he  was  saying,  "  Ave^^ ;\jh\j.'  \)  aju^,.  ^^^ 

For  she  was  there  in  efligy  portrayed  ^\  >-.  f\ 

Who  turned  the  key  to  ope  the  exalted  love,  cn/va^/^       Vi 

And  in  her  mien  this  language  had  impressed,  ^s. 

'■'■  Ecce  atuilla  Dei,"  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  so 

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  5S 

The  cart  and  oxen,  drawing  the  holy  ark. 

Wherefore  one  dreads  an  oflice  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,   V^'.;^'  •  _  s 

Dancing  with  girded  loins,  the  humble  Psalmist,  0<^-y'-^^4i 

And  more  and  less  than  King  was  he  in  this. 
Opposite,  represented  at  the  window 

Of  a  great  palace,  Michal  looked  upon  him, 

Even  as  a  woman  scornful  and  afflicted. 

V 


•iSo  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


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

To  examine  near  at  hand  another  story, 

Which  after  Michal  ghmmered  white  upon  me. 
There  the  high  glory  of  the  Roman  Prince         '\jo^  o^v/i 

Was  chronicled,  whose  great  beneficence  V 

Moved  Gregory  to  his  great  victory ;  I  75 

'Tis  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  85 

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  ?  "  9° 

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  ^°^ 

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  »» 

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  GAT  OP  TO,   XL  281 


And  he  to  me :  "  The  grievous  quality  ns 

Of  this  their  torment  bows  them  so  to  ear.h, 

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."  tx> 

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. 

Bom  to  bring  forth  the  angelic  butterfly  125 

That  flieth  unto  judgment  without  screen  ? 
Why  floats  aloft  your  spirit  high  in  air  ? 

I>ike  are  ye  unto  insects  undeveloped. 

Even  as  the  worm  in  whom  formation  fails  ! 
As  to  sustain  a  ceiling  or  a  roof,  130 

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.  13$ 

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. 

"  Our  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 
To  render  thanks  to  thy  sweet  eflfluence. 

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

Even  as  thine  own  Angels  of  their  will 

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- 


28a  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


And  even  as  we  the  trespass  we  have  suffered 

Pardon  in  one  another,  pardon  thou 

Benignly,  and  regard  not  our  desert. 
Our  virtue,  which  is  easily  o'ercome. 

Put  not  to  proof  with  the  old  Adversary,  ao 

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  imploding,  went  beneath  a  weight 

Like  unto  that  of  which  we  sometimes  dream, 
Unequally  in  anguish  round  and  round 

\nd  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 ; 
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."  45 

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  50 

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,  ss 

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.  6« 


PURGATORIO,   XI.  183 


The  ancient  blood  and  deeds  of  gallantry 

Of  my  progenitors  so  arrogant  made  me 

That,  thinking  not  upon  the  common  mother, 
All  men  I  held  in  scorn  to  such  extent 

I  died  therefor,  as  know  the  Sienese,  «5 

And  every  child  in  Campagnatico. 
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  yo 

■^ill  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,         n 
And  looked  at  me,  and  knew  me,  and  called  out, 

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  honour,  and  honour  of  that  art  80 

Which  is  in  Paris  called  illuminating?" 
"  Brother,"  said  he,  "  more  laughing  are  the  leaves 

Touched  by  the  brush  of  Franco  Bolognese ; 

All  his  the  honour  now,  and  mine  in  part 
In  sooth  I  had  not  been  so  courteous  <5 

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» 

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,  «s 

So  that  the  other's  fame  is  growing  dim. 
So  has  one  Guido  from  the  other  taken 

The  glory  of  our  tongue,  and  he  perchance 

Is  bom,  who  from  the  nest  shall  chase  them  both. 
Naught  is  this  mundane  rumour  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 


284  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

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  ;  iw 

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  'tis  prostitute. 

Your  reputation  is  the  colour  of  grass  "s 

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

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

"  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  12s 

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,)  130 

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

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

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. 

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

Yet  little  time  shall  pass  before  thy  neighbours  ho 

Will  so  demean  themselves  that  thou  canst  gloss  it 

This  action  has  released  him  from  those  confines." 


CANTO   XII. 

Abreast,  like  oxen  going  in  a  yoke, 

I  with  that  heavy-laden  soul  went  on, 

As  long  as  the  sweet  pedagogue  permitted  ; 


PURGATORIO,   XII.  285 


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

For  here  'tis  good  that  with  the  sail  and  oars,  5 

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  w 

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 ; 

'Twere  well  for  thee,  to  alleviate  the  way. 

To  look  upon  the  bed  beneath  thy  feet."  if 

As,  that  some  memory  may  exist  of  them. 

Above  the  buried  dead  their  tombs  in  earth 

Bear  sculptured  on  them  what  they  were  before ; 
Whence  often  there  we  weep  for  them  afresh, 

From  pricking  of  remembrance,  which  alone  «» 

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  af 

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  Thymbrseus,  Pallas  saw,  and  Mars, 

Still  clad  in  armour  round  about  their  father, 

Gaze  at  the  scattered  members  of  the  giants.  «  -;     j 

I  saw,  at  foot  of  his  great  labour,  Nimrod,  -  -  '  -^  -v-v*  't*   *  -^^^^ 


As  if  bewildered,  looking  at  the  people  \         as 

Who  had  been  proud  with  him  in  Sennaar. 
O  Niobe  !  with  what  afflicted  eyes  .  \■i^„^^^._^  J  J.    ■  ^        '\    .  »  J^  1 

1  hee  I  beheld  upon  the  pathway  traced. 

Between  thy  seven  and  seven  children  slain ! 
O  Saul !  how  fallen  upon  thy  proper  sword  40 

Didst  thou  appear  there  lifeless  in  Gilboa, 

That  felt  thereafter  neither  rain  nor  dew  ! 
O  mad  Arachne !  so  I  thee  beheld     0  /  .      ,  \  ^\  ^    fJ^l^J^• 

E'en  then  half  spider,  sad  upon  the  shreds  ^"^ 

Of  fabric  wrought  in  evil  hour  for  thee !  4S 

O  Rehoboam  !  no  more  seems  to  threaten 

Thine  image  there ;  but  full  of  consternation 

A  chariot  bears  it  ofl,  when  none  pursues ! 


V 


286  THE  DIVINE  COMED  Y. 


Displayed  moreo'er  the  adamantine  pavement 

How  unto  his  own  mother  made  Alcmaeon  50 

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  ss 

That  Tomyris  wrought,  when  she  to  Cyrus  said, 

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

After  that  Holofernes  had  been  slain. 

And  likewise  the  remainder  of  that  slaughter.  60 

I  saw  there  Troy  in  ashes  and  in  caverns ; 

O  Ilion  !  thee,  how  abject  and  debased, 

Displayed  the  image  that  is  there  discerned  ! 
Whoe'er  of  pencil  master  was  or  stile, 

That  could  portray  the  shades  and  traits  which  there         65 

Would  cause  each  subtile  genius  to  admire  ? 
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,  70 

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, 

'Tis  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  8s 

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 

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." 


PURGATORIO,   XII.  287 


At  this  announcement  few  are  they  who  come  ! 

0  human  creatures,  born  to  soar  aloft,  9S 
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  »oc 

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  wefe  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  spiritu"  voices  mo 

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. 
We  now  were  mounting  up  the  sacred  stairs,  m5 

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  uplifted  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,  i« 

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,  130 

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 

1  found  but  six  the  letters,  that  had  carved 

Upon  my  temples  he  who  bore  the  keys;  13s 

Upon  beholding  which  my  Leader  smiled. 


288  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


CANTO   XIII. 

We  were  upon  the  summit  of  the  stairs. 
Where  for  the  second  time  is  cut  away 
The  mountain,  which  ascending  shriveth  alL 

There  in  hke  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  colour  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. 

Thou  warmest  the  world,  thou  shinest  over  it ; 
If  other  reason  prompt  not  otherwise, 
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 
They  were  not  visible,  spirits  uttering 
Unto  Love's  table  courteous  invitations, 

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

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, 
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. 


PURGA  TOR  10,    XIIT.  289 


The  bridle  of  another  sound  shall  be ;  ♦» 

I  think  that  thou  wilt  hear  it,  as  I  judge, 

Before  thou  comest  to  the  Pass  of  Pardon. 
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  colour  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  ss 

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,  «5 

But  at  their  aspect,  which  no  less  implores. 
And  as  unto  the  blind  the  sun  comes  not. 

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

Heaven's  light  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.  w 

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,  80 

Since  by  no  border  'tis  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. 


2go  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

To  them  I  turned  me,  and,  "  O  people,  certain,"  8s 

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 

Tell  me,  for  dear  'twill  be  to  me  and  gracious. 

If  any  soul  among  you  here  is  Latian, 

And  'twill  perchance  be  good  for  him  I  learn  it." 
"  O  brother  mine,  each  one  is  citizen 

Of  one  true  city  ;  but  thy  meaning  is,  9S 

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."  ips 

"  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, 
My  fellow-citizens  near  unto  Colle  "5 

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 ;  ho 

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  desired  with  God  at  the  extreme 

Of  my  existence,  and  as  yet  would  not  125 

My  debt  have  been  by  penitence  discharged, 
Had  it  not  been  that  in  remembrance  held  me 

Pier  Pettignano  in  his  holy  prayers, 

Who  out  of  charity  was  grieved  for  me. 


PURGATORIO,  XIV.  291 


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,  \j'>^^^ 

But  for  short  space ;  for  small  is  the  offence        ^     \,  .j^ 

Committed  by  their  being  turned  with  envy.         ^  >-^'^    X3s. 
Far  greater  is  the  fear,  wherein  suspended  a^^^' 

My  soul  is,  of  the  torment  underneath. 

For  even  now  the  load  down  there  weighs  on  me." 
And  she  to  me  :  "  Who  led  thee,  then,  among  us 

Up  here,  if  to  return  below  thou  thinkest  ?  "  X4« 

And  I  :  "  He  who  is  with  me,  and  speaks  not ; 
And  living  am  1  ;  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 

"  Who  is  this  one  that  goes  about  our  mountain, 
Or  ever  Death  has  given  him  power  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. 
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 
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." 


202  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


And  I  :  "  Through  midst  of  Tuscany  there  wanders 

A  streamlet  that  is  born  in  Falterona, 

And  not  a  hundred  miles  of  course  suffice  it ; 
From  thereupon  do  I  this  body  bring. 

To  tell  you  who  I  am  were  speech  in  vain,  «= 

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  Amo." 
And  said  the  other  to  him  :  "Why  concealed  ag 

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 

'Tis  fit  the  name  of  such  a  valley  perish  ;  ■y- 

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,  3; 

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  transfonned  their  nature  4= 

The  dwellers  in  that  miserable  valley. 

It  seems  that  Circe  had  them  in  her  pasture. 
'Mid  ugly  swine,  of  acorns  worthier 

Than  other  food  for  human  use  created. 

It  first  directeth  its  impoverished  way.  4S 

Curs  findeth  it  thereafter,  coming  downward, 

More  snarling  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,  50 

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  ;  55 

And  well  'twill  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  «« 


PURGA70RI0,  XIV.  293 


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  'tis  not  re-wooded." 
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'lt  not  do  for  me ; 
But  since  God  willeth  that  in  thee  shine  forth 

Such  grace  of  his,  I'll  not  be  chary  with  thee ;  So 

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  havp  seen  me  sprinkled  o'er  with  pallor. 
From  my  own  sowing  such  the  straw  I  reap  !  »5 

O  human  race  !  why  dost  thou  set  thy  heart 

Where  interdict  of  partnership  must  be  ? 
This  is  Renier ;  this  is  the  boast  and  honour 

Of  the  house  of  Calboli,  where  no  one  since 

Has  made  himself  the  heir  of  his  desert.  90 

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  9S 

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  Bemardin  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,  ws 


294  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

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,  «o 

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  ? 
Bagnacaval  does  well  in  not  begetting  us 

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.  wo 

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,  12s 

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  cpnfident. 
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.  13S 

As  soon  as  hearing  had  a  truce  from  this, 

Behold  another,  with  so  great  a  crash, 

That  it  resembled  thunderings  following  fast : 
"I  am  Aglaurus,  who  became  a  stone  !" 

And  then,  to  press  myself  close  to  the  Poet,  140 

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  i-is 

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 ;  is* 

Whence  He,  who  all  discerns,  chastises  you." 


PURGATORIO,   XV.  295 


CANTO   XV. 

As  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 ; 
There  it  was  isvening,  and  'twas  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 

Beneath  the  splendour  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. 

As  when  from  off  the  water,  or  a  mirror. 

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

That  it  descends,  and  deviates  as  far 

From  falling  of  a  stone  in  line  direct, 
(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 
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  'tis,  who  comes  to  invite  us  upward. 

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 
To  stairway  far  less  steep  than  are  the  others." 

We  mounting  were,  already  thence  departed, 
And  "  Bea/i  misericordes  "  was 
Behind  us  sung,  "  Rejoice,  thou  that  o'ercomest  I" 


296  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


My  Master  and  myself,  we  two  alone  40 

Were  going  upward,  and  I  thought,  in  going, 

Some  profit  to  acquire  from  words  of  his  ; 
And  I  to  him  directed  me,  thus  asking  : 

"What  did  the  spirit  of  Romagna  mean, 

Mentioning  interdict  and  partnership?"  4S 

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,  so 

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,  ss 

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  it^  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. 
That  goodness  infinite  and  ineffable 

Which  is  above  there,  runneth  unto  love. 

As  to  a  lucid  body  comes  the  sunbeam. 
So  much  it  gives  itself  as  it  finds  ardour,  70 

So  that  as  far  as  charity  extends, 

O'er  it  increases  the  eternal  valour. 
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.  7s 

And  if  my  reasoning  appease  thee  not. 

Thou  shalt  see  Beatrice  ;  and  she  will  fully 

Take  from  thee  this  and  every  other  longing. 
Endeavour,  then,  that  soon  may  be  extinct, 

As  are  the  two  already,  the  five  wounds  8« 

That  close  themselves  agam  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. 


PURGATORIO,  XV.  297 


There  it  appeared  to  me  that  in  a  vision 
Ecstatic  on  a  sudden  I  was  rapt, 
And  in  a  temple  many  persons  saw ; 

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

Lo,  sorrowing,  thy  father  and  myself 

Were  seeking  for  thee  f — 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 
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  godt", 
And  whence  doth  every  science  scintillate. 

Avenge  thyself  on  those  audacious  arms  « 

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?"  > 

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,  b:cause  of  death 

That  weighed  already  on  him,  to  the  earth,  1 

But  of  his  eyes  made  ever  gates  io  heaven, 

Imploring  the  high  Lord,  in  so  great  strife. 

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

Soon  as  my  soul  had  outwardly  returned  1 

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, 

Exclaimed  :  "  What  ails  thee,  that  thou  canst  not  stand  ? 

But  hast  been  coming  more  than  half  a  league  ' 

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'll  tell  thee,"  said  I,  "  what  appeared  to  me,  1 

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. 

X  a 


298  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

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,  »35 

But  asked  it  to  give  vigour  to  thy  feet ; 

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

We  passed  along,  athwart  the  twilight  peering 

Forward  as  far  as  ever  eye  could  stretch  *4o 

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 


CANTO   XVI. 

Darkness  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, 
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, 

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." 

Voices  I  heard,  and  every  one  appeared  / 

To  supplicate  for  peace  and  misericord    -   ^' 
The  Lamb  of  God  who  takes  away  our  sins. 
N   \  Still  "  Agnus  Dei  "  their  exordium  was  ; 
V^  One  word  there  was  in  all,  and  metre  one, 

^  So  that  all  harmony  appeared  among  them. 

"  Master,"  I  said,  "  are  spirits  those  I  hear  ?  " 
And  he  to  ijtie  :  "  Thou  apprehendest  truly, 
And  they  the  knot  of  anger  go  unloosing." 


PURGATORIO,   XVI.  299 


"  Now  who  art  thou,  that  cleavest  through  our  smoke  as 

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, 
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  50 

To  pray  for  me  when  thou  shalt  be  above." 
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  ss 

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 ! 
Ye  who  are  living  every  cause  refer 

Still  upward  to  the  heavens,  as  if  all  things 

They  of  necessity  moved  with  themselves. 


^oo  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


If  this  were  so,  in  you  would  be  destroyed  7° 

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,  75 

And  free  volition  ;  which,  if  some  fatigue 

In  the  first  battles  with  the  heavens  it  suffers, 

Afterwards  conquers  all,  if  well  'tis  nurtured. 
To  greater  force  and  to  a  better  nature. 

Though  free,  ye  subject  are,  and  that  creates  .80 

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  «s 

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.  90 

Of  trivial  good  at  first  it  tastes  the  savour ; 

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  95 

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.  105 

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  "o 

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. 


PURGATORIO,    XV  H.  Jflx 


In  the  land  laved  by  Po  and  Adige,  "s 

Valour  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,         tso 
True,  three  old  men  are  left,  in  whom  upbraids 

,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,  «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?"  »3S 

"  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 
By  other  surname  do  I  know  him  not, 

Unless  I  take  it  from  his  daughter  Gaia.  »4» 

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 — ere  he  appear." 
Thus  did  he  speak,  and  would  no  farther  hear  me.  ms 


C'^A^,'- 


CANTO  XVII. 


Remember,  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  vapours  humid  and  condensed 
Begin  to  dissipate  themselves,  the  sphere 
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. 


302  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

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. 

0  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. 
Of  her  impiety,  who  changed  her  form 

Into  the  bird  that  most  delights  in  singing,  « 

In  my  imagining  appeared  the  trace  ; 
And  hereupon  my  mind  was  so  withdrawn 

Within  itselfj  that  from  without  there  came 

Nothing  that  then  might  be  received  by  it. 
Then  reigned  within  my  lofty  fantasy  25 

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.  w 

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,  is 

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  ere  it  dieth  wholly, 
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 

1  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,  so 

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. 


PURGATORIO,  XVII.  303 


"  This  is  a  spirit  divine,  who  in  the  way  ss 

Of  going  up  directs  us  without  asking, 

And  who  with  his  own  hght  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.  6c 

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  ;  «5 

And  I,  as  soon  as  the  first  step  I  reached, 
Near  me  perceived  a  motion  as  of  wings,  -  , 

And  fanning  in  the  face,  and  saying,  '•'■  Beati  -    ^'^Ajtjcu.cr    -     . 

Pacifici^  who  are  without  ill  anger."  \j^v^%J^  -^^^'.^  ;t/^^ 

Already  over  us  were  so  uplifted  r> 

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  vigour  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 ;  sc 

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

Is  purged  here  in  the  circle  where  we  are  1 

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.  90 

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,  « 

Or  by  too  much,  or  by  too  little  vigour. 
While  in  the  first  it  well  directed  is. 

And  in  the  second  moderates  itself. 

It  cannot  be  the  cause  of  sinful  pleasure ; 


J04  THE   DIVINE    COMEDY, 

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

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,  "o 

Of  hating  Him  is  all  desire  cut  off. 
Hence  if,  discriminating,  I  judge  well, 

The  evil  that  one  loves  is  of  one's  neighbour. 

And  this  is  bom  in  three  modes  in  your  clay. 
There  are,  who,  by  abasement  of  their  neighbour,  "s 

Hope  to  excel,  and  therefore  only  long 

That  from  his  greatness  he  may  be  cast  down ; 
There  are,  who  power,  grace,  honour,  and  renown 

Fear  they  may  lose  because  another  rises. 

Thence  are  so  sad  that  the  reverse  they  love  ;  ao 

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,  as 

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 ; 

'Tis  not  felicity,  'tis  not  the  good 

Essence,  of  every  good  the  fruit  and  root  135 

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." 


PURGA70RI0,  XVIII.  yas 


CANTO   XVIII. 

An  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 
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 
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." 

**  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. 

The  soul,  which  is  created  apt  to  love. 

Is  mobile  unto  everything  that  pleases, 
Soon  as  by  pleasure  she  is  waked  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  ii(^when  turned,  towards  it  she  incline, 
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. 

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 
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." 


306  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

"  Thy  words,  and  my  sequacious  intellect,"  40 

I  answered  him,  "  have  love  revealed  to  me  ; 

But  that  has  made  me  more  impregned  with  doubt ; 
For  if  love  from  without  be  offered  us, 

And  with  another  foot  the  soul  go  not, 

If  right  or  wrong  she  go,  'tis  not  her  merit."  4; 

And  he  to  me  :  "  What  reason  seeth  here, 

Myself  can  tell  thee  ;  beyond  that  await 

For  Beatrice,  since  'tis  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  S5 

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. 
Those  who,  in  reasoning,  to  the  bottom  went. 

Were  of  this  innate  liberty  aware, 

Therefore  bequeathed  they  Ethics  to  the  world. 
Supposing,  then,  that  from  necessity  ^  70 

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  io 

Sees  it  'twixt  Sardes  and  Corsicans  go  down  ; 
And  that  ])atrician  shade,  for  whom  is  named 

Pietola  more  than  any  Mantuan  town, 

Had  laid  aside  the  burden  of  my  lading ; 


PURGATORIO,  XVIII.  307 


Whence  I,  who  reason  manifest  and  plain  8s 

In  answer  to  my  questions  had  received, 

Stood  hke  a  man  in  drowsy  reverie. 
But  taken  from  me  was  this  drowsiness 

Suddenly  by  a  people,  that  behind 

Our  backs  already  had  come  round  to  us.  90 

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,  9s 

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,  no 

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  ardour  in  well-doing  freshens  grace  !"  to% 

"  O  folk,  in  whom  an  eager  fervour  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  go  up,  if  but  the  sun  relight  us ;  no 

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  ; 
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  3  w) 

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-bom,  vm 

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. 


3o8  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

And  he  who  was  in  every  need  my  succour  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  ;  «35 

And  those  who  the  fatigue  did  not  endure 
Unto  the  issue,  with  Anchises'  son, 
Themselves  to  life  withouten  glory  offered." 

Then  when  from  us  so  separated  were 

Those  shades,  that  they  no  longer  could  be  seen,  h* 

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.  ms 


CANTO    XIX. 

It  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 
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 

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  colour. 

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. 

"  I  am,"  she  sang,  "  I  am  the  Siren  sweet 
Who  mariners  amid  the  main  unman 
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." 


PURGATORIO,  XIX.  309 


Her  mouth  was  not  yet  dosed  again,  before  »5 

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.  v 

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. 
1  turned  mine  eyes,  and  good  Virgilius  said  : 

"  At  least  thrice  have  I  called  thee  ;  rise  and  come  ;  35 

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  40 

Like  unto  one  who  has  it  laden  with  thought, 

Who  makes  himself  the  half  arch  of  a  bridge, 
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,  so 

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  55 

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?  6« 

Sufllice  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,  es 

Through  the  desire  of  food  that  draws  him  thither, 
Such  I  became,  and  such,  as  far  as  cleaves 

The  rock  to  give  a  way  to  him  who  mounts. 

Went  on  to  where  the  circling  doth  begin. 


3IO  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

On  the  fifth  circle  when  I  had  come  forth,  70 

People  I  saw  upon  it  who  were  weeping, 

Stretched  prone  upon  the  ground,  all  downward  turned. 
"•  Adhcesit  pavimefito  anima  mea" 

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  vvish  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 ;  ss 

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,  9° 

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  9s 

Anything  there  whence  living  I  departed." 
And  he  to  me  :  "  Wherefore  our  backs  the  heaven 

Turns  to  itself,  know  shalt  thou ;  but  beforehand 

Scias  quod  ego  fui  successor  Petri. 
Between  Siestri  and  Chiaveri  descends  joo 

A  river  beautiful,  and  of  its  name 

The  title  of  my  blood  its  summit  makes. 
A  month  and  little  more  essayed  I  how 

Weighs  the  great  cloak  on  him  from  mire  who  keeps  it; 

For  all  the  other  burdens  seem  a  feather.  10s 

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 


PURGATORIO,  XX.  311 


What  avarice  does  is  here  made  manifest 

In  the  purgation  of  these  souls  converted, 
And  no  more  bitter  pain  the  Mountain  has. 

Even  as  our  eye  did  not  upHft  itself 

Aloft,  being  fastened  upon  earthly  things. 
So  justice  here  has  merged  it  in  the  earth. 

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 
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. 
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. 

If  e'er  that  holy,  evangelic  sound, 

Which  sayeth  neque  niibent,  thou  hast  heard, 
Well  canst  thou  see  why  in  this  wise  I  speak. 

Now  go  ;  no  longer  will  I  have  thee  linger, 

Because  thy  stay  doth  incommode  my  weeping, 
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." 


CANTO   XX. 

Ill  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,  an:"  onward  moved  my  Leader, 
Through  vacant  places,  skirting  still  the  rock, 
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. 


312  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Accursed  mayst  thou  be,  thou  old  she-wolf,  «> 

That  more  than  all  the  other  beasts  hast  prey, 
Because  of  hunger  infinitely  hollow  I 

0  heaven,  in  whose  gyrations  some  appear 

To  think  conditions  here  below  are  changed, 

When  will  he  come  through  whom  she  shall  depart  ?  15 

Onward  we  went  with  footsteps  slow  and  scarce. 

And  I  attentive  to  the  shades  I  heard 

Piteously  weeping  and  bemoaning  them  ; 
And  I  by  peradventure  heard  "  Sweet  Mary  !  " 

Uttered  in  front  of  us  amid  the  weeping  •• 

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,  «5 

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.  30 

He  furthermore  was  speaking  of  the  largess 

Which  Nicholas  unto  the  maidens  gave. 

In  order  to  conduct  their  youth  to  honour. 
"  O  soul  that  dost  so  excellently  speak, 

Tell  me  who  wast  thou,"  said  I,  "  and  why  only  3S 

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'll  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. 

1  was  the  root  of  that  malignant  plant 

Which  overshadows  all  the  Christian  world, 

So  that  good  fruit  is  seldom  gathered  from  it ;  4S 

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  bom  the  Louises  and  Philips,  j» 

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. 


PURGATORIO,   XX.  313 


I  found  me  grasping  in  my  hands  the  rein  5S 

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, 

'Twas  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. 
Charles  came  to  Ital)',  and  for  amends 

A  victim  made  of  Conradin,  and  then 

Thrust  Thomas  back  to  heaven,  for  amends. 
A  time  I  see,  not  very  distant  now,  7° 

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  «o 

As  corsairs  do  with  other  ffemale  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,  85 

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 

I  see  the  modern  Pilate  so  relentless. 

This  does  not  sate  him,  but  without  decretal 

He  to  the  temple  bears  his  sordid  sails  1 
When,  O  my  Lord  !  shall  I  be  joyful  made 

By  looking  on  the  vengeance  which,  concealed,  gs 

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. 


114  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

So  long  has  been  ordained  to  all  our  prayers 

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  ; 

And  the  misery  of  avaricious  Midas, 

That  followed  his  inordinate  demand, 

At  which  forevermore  one  needs  but  laugh. 

The  foolish  Achan  each  one  then  records, 

And  how  he  stole  the  spoils  ;  so  that  the  wrath 
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 

Polymnestor  who  murdered  Polydorus. 

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, 

According  to  desire  of  speech,  that  spurs  us 
To  greater  now  and  now  to  lesser  pace. 

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  endeavour  to  o'ercome  the  road 
As  much  as  was  permitted  to  our  power, 
TW'hen  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, 

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." 

*'  Gloria  in  excchis  Deo"  all 

Were  saying,  from  what  near  I  comprehended, 
Where  it  was  possible  to  hear  the  cry. 

We  paused  immovable  and  in  suspense, 

•  Even  as  the  shepherds  who  first  heard  that  song, 
■  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. 


PURGATORIO,  XXL  315 

No  ignorance  ever  with  so  great  a  strife  hs 

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 ;  150 

So  I  went  onward  timorous  and  thoughtful. 


CANTO   XXL 

The  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 
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, 
Down  gazing  on  the  prostrate  multitude. 
Nor  were  we  ware  of  it,  until  it  spake. 

Saying,  "  My  brothers,  n;ay  God  give  you  peace  !  " 
We  turned  us  suddenly,  and  Virgilius  rendered 
To  him  the  countersign  thereto  conforming. 

Thereon  began  he  :  "  In  the  blessed  council, 

Thee  may  the  court  veracious  place  in  peace, 
That  me  doth  banish  in  eternal  exile  !  " 

"  How,"  said  he,  and  the  while  we  went  with  speed, 
"  If  ye  are  shades  whom  God  deigns  not  on  high. 
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 
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. 

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. 


?i6  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

But  tell  us,  if  thou  knowest,  why  such  a  shudder 

Erewhile  the  mountain  gave,  and  why  together  as 

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  4c 

May  the  religion  of  the  mountain  feel, 
Nor  aught  that  may  be  foreign  to  its  custom. 

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,  50 

That  often  upon  earth  her  region  shifts  ; 

No  arid  vapour  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,  ss 

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.  6« 

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,  ui)on  the  torment  sets.  , 

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  1  .ord,  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.  7S 

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. 


PURGATORIO,  XXI.  317 


Now  who  thou  wast  be  pleased  that  I  may  know ; 

And  why  so  many  centuries  thou  hast  here  80 

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  honours,  8s 

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 

Statins  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  ardour  were  the  sparks 

Of  that  celestial  flame  which  heated  me,  k 

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  leo 

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  ;  i<^ 

For  tears  and  laughter  are  such  pursuivants 

Unto  the  passion  from  which  each  springs  forth, 

In  the  most  tnithful  least  the  will  they  follow. 
I  only  smiled,  as  one  who  gives  the  wink  ; 

Whereat  the  shade  was  silent,  and  it  gazed  us 

Into  mine  eyes,  where  most  expression  dwells ; 
And,  "As  thou  well  mayst  consummate  a  labour 

So  great,"  it  said,  "  why  did  thy  face  just  now 

Display  to  me  the  lightning  of  a  smile  ?  " 
Now  am  I  caught  on  this  side  and  on  that ;  ns 

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."  «» 

Whence  I  :  "  Thou  peradventure  marvellest, 

O  antique  spirit,  at  the  smile  I  gave ; 

But  I  will  have  more  wonder  seize  upon  thee. 


31 8  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

This  one,  who  guides  on  high  these  eyes  of  mine, 

Is  that  VirgiHus,  from  whom  thou  didst  learn  "s 

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,  135 

Treating  a  shadow  as  substantial  thing." 


CANTO   XXII. 

Already  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. 
With  "  sitio"  and  without  more  ended  it 

And  I,  more  light  than  through  the  other  passes, 
Went  onward  so,  that  without  any  labour 
I  followed  upward  the  swift-footed  spirits ; 

When  thus  Virgilius  began  :  "  The  love 

Kindled  by  virtue  aye  another  kindles. 
Provided  outwardly  its  flame  appear. 

Hence  from  the  hour  that  Juvenal  descended 
Among  us  into  the  infernal  Limbo, 
Who  made  apparent  to  me  thy  affection, 

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. 

But  tell  me,  and  forgive  me  as  a  friend, 

If  too  great  confidence  let  loose  the  rein, 
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  Statius  at  first 

Somewhat  to  laughter ;  afterward  he  answered  : 
*'  Each  word  of  thine  is  love's  dear  sign  to  me. 


PURGATORIO,  XXII.  ^^ 


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. 
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  ;  4S 

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  so 

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  ss 

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,  «s 

And  first  concerning  God  didst  me  enlighten. 
Thou  didst  as  he  who  vvalketh  in  the  night. 

Who  bears  his  light  behind,  which  helps  him  not, 

But  wary  makes  the  persons  after  him. 
When  thou  didst  say :  '  The  age  renews  itself,  70 

Justice  returns,  and  man's  primeval  lime. 

And  a  new  progeny  descends  from  heaven,' 


320  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

Through  thee  I  Poet  was,  thro.ugh  thee  a  Christian  ; 

But  that  thou  better  see  what  I  design, 

To  colour  it  will  I  extend  my  hand.  7S 

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  ;  «o 

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 

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,  %     95 

While  in  ascending  we  have  time  to  spare, 
Tell  me,  in  what  place  is  our  friend  Terentius, 

Caecilius,  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,  no 

And  there  Ismene  mournful  as  of  old. 
There  she  is  seen  who  pointed  out  Lang^a ; 

There  is  Tire.sias'  daughter,  and  there  Thetis, 

And  there  Deidamia  with  her  sisters." 
Silent  already  were  the  poets  both,  "5 

Attent  once  more  in  looking  round  about. 

From  the  ascent  and  from  the  walls  released ; 


PURGATORIO,   XXIII.  321 


And  four  handmaidens  of  the  day  already 

Were  left  behind,  and  at  the  pole  the  fifth 
Was  pointing  upward  still  its"  burning  horn, 

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 
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 

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 

On  that  side  where  our  pathway  was  enclosed 
Fell  from  the  lofty  rock  a  limpid  water, 
And  spread  itself  abroad  upon  the  leaves. 

The  Poets  twain  unto  the  tree  drew  near. 
And  from  among  the  foliage  a  voice 
Cried  :  "  Of  this  food  ye  shall  have  scarcity." 

Then  said  :  "  More  thoughtful  Mary  was  of  making 
The  marriage  feast  complete  and  honourable, 
Than  of  her  mouth  which  now  for  you  responds  ; 

And  for  their  drink  the  ancient  Roman  women 
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. 

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. 

The  while  among  the  verdant  leaves  mine  eyes 
I  riveted,  as  he  is  wont  to  do 
Who  wastes  his  life  pursuing  little  birds, 


322  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

My  more  than  Father  said  unto  me  :  "  Son, 

Come  now  ;  because  the  time  that  is  ordained  us  5 

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  niea,  Domine,'''  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."  15 

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, 
Even  thus,  behind  us  with  a  swifter  motion- 
*  Coming  and  passing  onward,  gazed  upon  us  ao 

A  crowd  of  spirits  silent  and  devout. 
Each  in  his  eyes  was  dark  and  cavernous, 

Pallid  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.''  30 

Their  sockets  were  like  rings  without  the  gems  ; 

Whoever  in  the  face  of  men  reads  omo 

Might  well  in  these  have  recognised  the  m. 
Who  would  believe  the  odour  of  an  apple. 

Begetting  longing,  could  consume  them  so,  as 

And  that  of  water,  without  knowing  how  ? 
I  still  was  wondering  what  so  famished  them, 

For  the  oc<.:asion  not  yet  manifest 

Of  their  emaciation  and  sad  squalor ; 
And  lo  !  from  out  the  hollow  of  his  head  40 

His  eyes  a  shade  turned  on  me,  and  looked  keenly; 

Then  cried  aloud  :  "  What  grace  to  me  is  this?"' 
Never  should  I  have  known  him  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. 


PURGATORIO,    XXIIh  ^3 


"  Ah,  do  not  look  at  this  dry  leprosy," 

Entreated  he,  "  which  doth  my  skin  discdour,  3« 

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 ; 

Uo  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."  6e 

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. 
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  70 

Encompassing,  is  refreshed  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  Eli, 

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." 
A.nd  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.  90 

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  aione ; 


324  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY- 


For  the  Barbagia  of  Sardinia 

By  far  more  modest  in  its  women  is 

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  i 

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  ?  i 

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  i 

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.'' 
Whence  I  to  him  :  "  If  thou  bring  back  to  mind  i 

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,"  i 

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 

That  you  doth  straighten,  whom  the  world  made  crooked. 
He  says  that  he  will  bear  me  company, 

Till  I  shall  be  where  Beatrice  will  be  ; 

There  it  behoves  me  to  remain  without  him. 
This  is  Virgilius,  who  thus  says  to  me,"  i 

And  him  I  pointed  at  ;  "  the  other  is 

That  shade  for  whom  just  now  shook  every  slope 
Your  realm,  that  from  itself  discharges  him." 


PURGATORIO,  XXIV.  325 


CANTO   XXIV 

Nor  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  j: 

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 ;  » 

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."  aj 

So  said  he  first,  and  then  :  "  'Tis  not  forbidden 

To  name  each  other  here,  so  milked  away 

Is  our  resemblance  by  our  dieting. 
This,"  pointing  with  his  finger,  "  is  Buonagiunta, 

Buonagiunta,  of  Lucca  ;  and  that  face  ^ 

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 ;  n 

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  the  wound  / 

Of  justice,  that  doth  macerate  them  so. 


32b  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


"  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." 
"  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,  5° 

Ladies,  that  have  intei/igefice  of  love  V 
And  I  to  him  :  "  One  am  I,  who,  whenever 

Love  doth  inspire  me,  note,  and  in  that  m^^asure 

Which  he  within  me  dictates,  singing  go." 
"  O  brother,  now  I  see,"  he  said,  "  the  knot  55 

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. 
Everi  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  ; 
In  such  wise  all  the  people  who  were  there, 

Turning  their  faces,  hurried  on  their  steps, 

Both  by  their  leanness  and  their  wishes  light. 
And  as  a  man,  who  weary  is  with  trotting,  7<> 

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?"  7s 

"  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,  Sc 

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. 


PURGATORIO,  XXIV.  327 

Faster  at  every  step  the  beast  is  going,  Ss 

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.  90 

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,  9S 

And  seeks  the  honour  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.  «cs 

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. 
"  Pass  farther  onward  without  drawing  near  ;  ^15 

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  Virgilius,  Statius,  and  myself 

Went  crowding  forward  on  the  side  that  rises.  ia> 

"  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      125 

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 ; 

z 


338  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Then  set  at  large  upon  the  lonely  road,  13a 

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.  las 

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 
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,  14s 

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  odour  of  ambrosia  ;  150 

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. 

Now  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, 
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 

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. 


PURGATORIO,   XXV.  329 

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." 
With  confidence  I  opened  then  my  mouth, 

And  I  began  :  "  How  can  one  meagre  groAV  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  n 

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  Statins  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  Statins,  "  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'll  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 
Again  digest,  descends  it  where  'tis  better 

Silent  to  be  than  say  ;  and  then  drops  thence 

Upon  another's  blood  in  natural  vase.  45 

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  5° 

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  aiTived  already,) 
Then  works  so  much,  that  now  it  moves  and  feels  ss 

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 


330  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

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. 
For  he  no  organ  saw  by  this  assumed. 

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 
At  so  great  art  of  nature,  and  inspires 
A  spirit  new  with  virtue  all  replete, 

Whicii  what  it  finds  there  active  doth  attract 
Into  its  substance,  and  becomes  one  soul. 
Which  lives,  and  feels,  and  on  itself  revolves. 

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 
Bears  with  itself  the  human  and  divine  ; 

The  other  faculties  are  voiceless  all ; 

The  memory,  the  intelligence,  and  the  wiil 
In  action  far  more  vigorous  than  before. 

Without  a  pause  it  falleth  of  itself 

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. 

And  even  as  the  air,  when  full  of  rain. 

By  alien  rays  that  are  therein  reflected, 
With  divers  colours  shows  itself  adorned, 

So  there  the  neighboiuing  air  doth  shape  itself 
Into  that  form  which  doth  imjjress  upon  it 
Virtually  the  soul  that  has  stood  still. 

And  then  in  manner  of  the  little  flame. 

Which  follovveth  the  fire  where'er  it  shifts, 
After  the  spirit  followeth  its  new  form. 

Since  afterwards  it  takes  from  this  its  semblance, 
It  is  called  shade  ;  and  thence  it  organizes 
Thereafter  every  senoe,  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. 


PURGATORIO,  XXVI.  3i' 

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,  "» 

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. 
Hence  we  must  needs  go  on  the  open  side,  "s 

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."  "o 

"  Sumfnce  Dens  dementicB"  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  12s 

Apportioning  my  sight  from  time  to  time. 
After  the  close  which  to  that  hymn  is  made. 

Aloud  they  shouted,  "  Viriim  non  cognosco  :" 

Then  recommenced  the  hymn  with  voices  low. 
This  also  ended,  cried  they  :  "  To  the  wood  no 

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.  '3s 

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. 

While  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 
Changed  from  its  azure  aspect  into  white. 


532  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

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  » 

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.  is 

*'  O  thou  who  goest,  not  from  being  slower 

But  reverent  perhaps,  behind  the  others. 

Answer  me,  who  in  thirst  and  fire  am  burning. 
Nor  to  me  only  is  thine  answer  needful ; 

For  all  of  these  have  greater  thirst  for  it  « 

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  ^ 

Should  have  revealed  myself,  were  I  not  bent 

On  other  novelty  that  then  appeared. 
For  through  the  middle  of  the  burning  road 

I'here  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  3S 

Perchance  to  spy  their  journey  or  their  fortune. 
No  sooner  is  the  friendly  greeting  ended, 

Or  ever  the  first  footstep  passes  onward, 

Each  one  endeavours  to  outcry  the  other ; 
The  new-come  people  :  "Sodom  and  Oomorrah  !"  40 

The  rest :  "  Into  the  cow  Pasiphae  enters, 

So  that  the  bull  unto  her  lust  may  run  !" 
Then  as  the  cranes,  that  to  Riphaean  mountains 

Might  fly  in  part,  and  part  towards  the  sands, 

These  of  the  frost,  those  of  the  sun  avoidant,  ts 

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,  9 

Attent  to  listen  in  their  countenance. 


PURGATORIO,   XXVI.  333 

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  ss 

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  65 

Which  goes  upon  its  way  behind  your  backs  ?  " 
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  ;  70 

But  when  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 

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, 


334  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

The  moment  I  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 
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 

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 
In  word  and  look  that  dear  thou  holdest  me  ?  " 

And  I  to  him:  "Those  dulcet  lays  of  yours 

Which,  long  as  shall  endure  our  modern  fashion, 
Shall  make  for  ever  dear  their  very  ink  ! " 

"  O  brother,"  said  he,  "  he  whom  I  point  out, 
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. 

To  clamour  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, 

Until  the  truth  has  conquered  with  most  persons. 

Now,  if  thou  hast  such  ample  privilege 

'Tis  granted  thee  to  go  unto  the  cloister 
Wherein  is  Christ  the  abbot  of  the  college, 

To  him  repeat  for  me  a  Paternoster, 

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. 

I  moved  a  little  towrds  him  pointed  out. 

And  said  that  to  his  name  my  own  desire 
An  honourable  place  was  making  ready. 

He  of  his  own  free  will  began  to  say  : 
Tan  m'  abcllis  vostre  cortes  deman, 
Que  Jen  notri  puesc  ni  vueill  a  vos  cobrire  ; 


PURGATORIO,   XXVII.  335 


Jeu  sui  Arnaut,  que plor  e  vai  chantan  ; 

Consiros  vei  la  passada  folor, 

E  vei  jatizeii  lojorn  gu'  esper  denan. 
Ara  viis  prec  per  aquella  valor,  145 

Que  vus  condiis  al  som  de  la  scalina, 

Sovenga  vus  a  temprar  ma  dolor* 
Then  hid  him  in  the  fire  that  purifies  them. 


CANTO   XXVII 

As  when  he  vibrates  forth  his  earUest  rays, 

In  regions  where  his  Maker  shed  his  blood, 
(The  Ebro  faUing  under  lofty  Libra, 

And  waters  in  the  Ganges  burnt  with  noon,) 

So  stood  the  Sun ;  hence  was  the  day  departing, 
When  the  glad  x\ngel  of  God  appeared  to  us. 

Outside  the  flame  he  stood  upon  the  verge, 
And  chanted  forth,  "  Beati  tnundo  corde,'" 
In  voice  by  far  more  living  than  our  own. 

Then  :  "  No  one  farther  goes,  souls  sanctified. 
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. 

Upon  my  clasped  hands  I  straightened  me, 
Scanning  the  fire,  and  vividly  recalling 
The  human  bodies  I  had  once  seen  burned. 

Towards  me  turned  themselves  my  good  Conductors, 
And  unto  me  Virgilius  said  :  "  My  son, 
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  ? 


*  So  pleases  me  your  courteous  demand, 
I  cannot  and  I  will  not  hide  me  from  you. 

I  am  Aniaut,  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  ! 


336  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Believe  for  certain,  shouldst  thou  stand  a  full  25 

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.  30 

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. 
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,  ss 

Directed  us,  and  we,  attent  alone 

On  that,  came  forth  where  the  ascent  began. 
"  Venite,  benedicti  Fatris  ?iiei,'^ 

Sounded  within  a  splendour,  which  was  there 

Such  it  o'ercame  me,  and  I  could  not  look.  6« 

"  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  6; 

Before  me  of  the  sun,  that  now  was  low. 
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. 


PURGATORIO,   XXVII.  337 

And  ere  in  all  its  parts  immeasurable  7° 

The  horizon  of  one  aspect  had  become, 

And  Night  her  boundless  dispensation  held, 
Each  of  us  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 

Ev^en  as  in  ruminating  passive  grow 

The  goats,  who  have  been  swift  and  venturesome 

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  80 

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 

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,  95 

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  w^as  saying  : 
"  Know  whosoever  may  my  name  demand  100 

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  splendours 

That  unto  pilgrims  the  more  grateful  rise,  "c 

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. 


338  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

"  That  apple  sweet,  which  through  so  many  branches 
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. 

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, 
Virgihus  fastened  upon  me  his  eyes. 

And  said  :  "  The  temporal  fire  and  the  eternal. 
Son,  thou  hast  seen,  and  to  a  place  art  come 
Where  of  myself  no  farther  I  discern. 

By  intellect  and  art  I  here  have  brought  thee  ; 

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. 

Until  rejoicing  come  the  beauteous  eyes 

Which  weeping  caused  me  to  come  unto  thee. 

Thou  canst  sit  down,  and  thou  canst  walk  among  them. 

Expect  no  more  or  word  or  sign  from  me  ; 

Free  and  upright  and  sound  is  thy  free-will, 
And  error  were  it  not  to  do  its  bidding ; 

Thee  o'er  thyself  I  therefore  crown  and  mitre  !" 


CANTO   XXVIII. 

Eager  already  to  search  in  and  round 

The  heavenly  forest,  dense  and  living-green, 
Which  tempered  to  the  eyes  the  new-born  day, 

Withouten  more  delay  I  left  the  bank. 

Taking  the  level  country  slowly,  slowly 

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. 

Did  all  of  them  bow  downward  toward  that  side 
Where  its  first  shadow  casts  the  Holy  Mountain ; 


PURGATORIO,   XXVIII.  S3fi 

Yet  not  from  their  upright  direction  swayed, 

So  that  the  little  birds  upon  their  tops 

Should  leave  the  practice  of  each  art  of  theirs  ;  's 

But  with  full  ravishment  the  hours  of  prime, 

Singing,  received  they  in  the  midst  of  leaves, 

That  ever  bore  a  burden  to  their  rhymes, 
Such  as  from  branch  to  branch  goes  gathering  on 

Through  the  pine  forest  on  the  shore  of  Chiassi,  «> 

When  Eolus  unlooses  the  Sirocco. 
Already  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,  25 

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. 
"  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  so 

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  ss 

She  turned  towards  me,  not  in  other  wise 

Than  maiden  who  her  modest  eyes  casts  down  ; 


S40  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

And  my  entreaties  made  to  be  content, 

So  near  approaching,  that  the  dulcet  sound 

Came  unto  me  together  with  its  meaning.  oo 

As  soon  as  she  was  where  the  grasses  are 

Bathed  by  the  waters  of  the  beauteous  river, 

To  Hft  her  eyes  she  granted  me  the  boon. 
I  do  not  think  there  shone  so  great  a  hght 

Under  the  Uds  of  Venus,  when  transfixed  cs 

By  her  own  son,  beyond  his  usual  custom  ! 
Erect  upon  the  other  bank  she  smiled, 

Bearing  full  many  colours  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  Deledasti  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,  ss 

Are  combating  within  mc  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.  90 

The  (}ood  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  9s 

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,  io« 

This  mount  ascended  tow'rds  the  heaven  so  high, 

And  is  exempt,  from  there  wliere  it  is  locked. 


PURGATORIO,   XXVIII.  '\^\ 

Now  since  the  universal  atmosphere 

Turns  in  a  circuit  with  the  primal  motion 

Unless  the  circle  is  broken  on  some  side,  »<« 

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,  «« 

And  this,  revolving,  scatters  it  around  ; 
And  yonder  earth,  according  as  'tis  worthy 

In  self  or  in  its  clime,  conceives  and  bears 

Of  divers  qualities  the  divers  trees ;  ' 

It  should  not  seem  a  marvel  then  on  earth,  "s 

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.  im 

The  water  which  thou  seest  springs  not  from  vein 

Restored  by  vapour  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  12s 

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  savour  doth  transcend  ; 

And  notwithstanding  slaked  so  far  may  be 

Thy  thirst,  that  I  reveal  to  thee  no  more,  *3S 

I'll  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. 
Those  who  in  ancient  times  have  feigned  in  song 

The  Age  of  Gold  and  its  felicity,  «4o 

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  14$ 

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. 


342  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


CANTO   XXIX. 

Singing  like  unto  an  enamoured  lady 

She,  with  the  ending  of  her  words,  continued  : 
"  Beati  quoritm  tecta  sunt peccata." 

And  even  as  Nymphs,  that  wandered  all  alone 
Among  the  sylvan  shadows,  sedulous 
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  httle  steps  attending. 

Between  her  steps  and  mine  were  not  a  hundred, 
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  !" 

And  lo  !  a  sudden  lustre  ran  across 

On  every  side  athwart  the  spacious  forest. 
Such  that  it  made  me  doubt  if  it  were  lightning. 

But  since  the  lightning  ceases  as  it  comes. 

And  that  continuing  brightened  more  and  more, 
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, 
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. 

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, 
And  the  sweet  sound  as  singing  now  was  heard. 

G  Virgins  sacrosanct !  if  ever  hunger, 

Vigils,  or  cold  for  you  I  have  endured, 

The  occasion  spurs  me  their  reward  to  claim  I 


PURGATORIO,   XXIX.  34^1 


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. 
A  little  farther  on,  seven  trees  of  gold 

In  semblance  the  long  space  still  intervening 

Between  ourselves  and  them  did  counterfeit ;  45 

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  discou;'se  to  reason 

Did  apprehend  that  they  were  candlesticks,  so 

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,  ttS 

To  good  Virgilius,  and  he  answered  me 

With  visage  no  kss  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  (or  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,  65 

And  such  a  whiteness  never  was  on  earth. 
The  water  on  my  left  flank  was  resplendent, 

And  back  to  me  reflected  my  left  side. 

E'en  as  a  mirroi,  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  colours 

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. 


344  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

They  all  of  them  were  singing  :  "  Blessed  thou  85 

Among  the  daughters  of  Adam  art,  and  blessed 
For  evermore  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» 

Even  as  in  heaven  star  followeth  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  9s 

If  they  were  living  would  be  such  as  these. 

Reader  !  to  trace  their  forms  no  more  I  waste 

My  rhymes  ;  for  other  spcndings  press  me  so, 
That  I  in  this  cannot  be  prodigal. 

But  read  Ezekiel,  who  depicteth  them  '  too 

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  Grifiin's  neck  came  drawn  along  ; 

And  upward  he  extended  both  his  wings 

Between  the  middle  list  and  three  and  three,  "o 

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. 

Not  only  Rome  with  no  such  splendid  car  ns 

E'er  glaildened  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.  »» 

Three  maidens  at  tlie  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. 


PURGATORIO,    XXX.  t45 


Upon  the  left  hand  four  made  holiday 

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. 

One  showed  himself  as  one  of  the  disciples 

Of  that  supreme  Hippocrates,  whom  nature 
Made  for  the  animals  she  holds  most  dear  ; 

Contrary  care  the  other  manifested, 

With  sword  so  shining  and  so  sharp,  it  caused 
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 
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. 

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. 

When  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 
Whoever  turns  the  helm  to  come  to  port) 

Motionless  halted.,  the  veracious  people, 

That  came  at  first  between  it  and  the  Grifiin, 
Turned  themselves  to  the  car,  as  to  their  peace. 

And  one  of  them,  as  if  by  Heaven  commissioned, 
Singing,  "  Vent,  sponsa,  de  Liham'' 
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, 


346  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

So  upon  that  celestial  chariot 

A  hundred  rose  ad  vocem  tanti  senis, 

Ministers  and  messengers  of  life  eternal. 
They  all  were  saying,  '•^ Benedidus  qui  venis" 

And,  scattering  flowers  above  and  round  about,  ao 

"  Manibus  o  date  lilia  plenis." 
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  »5 

So  that  by  tempering  influence  of  vapours 

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,  30 

Over  her  snow-white  veil  with  olive  cinct 

Appeared  a  lady  under  a  green  mantle, 

Vested  in  colour  of  the  living  flame. 
And  my  own  spirit,  that  already  now 

So  long  a  time  had  been,  that  in  her  presence  35 

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  40 

Sublime,  that  had  already  pierced  me  through 

Ere  from  my  boyhood  I  had  yet  come  forth. 
To  the  left  hand  I  turned  with  that  reliance 

VV^ith  which  the  litde  child  runs  to  his  mother. 

When  he  has  fear,  or  when  he  is  afflicted,  4s 

To  sav  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,  so 

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 


PURGATORIO,  XXX.  347 


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. 
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  t 

■  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  savour  of  severe  compassion. 
Silent  became  she,  and  the  Angels  sang 

Suddenly,  "/«  /<?,  Domine,  speravi :  " 

But  beyond  pedes  nieos  did  not  pass. 
Even  as  the  snow  among  the  living  rafters  85 

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 

E'en  thus  was  I  without  a  tear  or  sigh. 

Before  the  song  of  those  who  sing  for  ever 

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 ;  xa|t 


34?  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

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,  iw 

According  as  the  stars  are  in  conjunction, 

But  by  the  largess  of  celestial  graces, 

Which  have  such  lofty  vapours  for  their  rain 
That  near  to  them  our  sight  approaches  not, 

Such  had  this  man  become  in  his  new  life  •  «s 

Potentially,  that  every  righteous  habit 
Would  have  made  admirable  proof  in  him  ; 

But  so  much  more  malignant  and  more  savage 
Becomes  the  land  untilled  and  with  bad  seed, 
The  more  good  earthly  vigour  it  possesses.  120 

Some  time  did  T  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,  xk 

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. 

For  this  I  visited  the  gntes  of  death, 

And  unto  him,  who  so  far  up  has  led  him,  mc 

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."  m 


PURGATORIOy  XXXI.  349 


CANTO   XXXI. 

"  O  THOU  who  art  Deyond  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  ?  10 

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.  is 

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, 
So  I  gave  way  beneath  that  heavy  burden. 

Outpouring  in  a  torrent  tears  and  sighs,  ao 

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  h 

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  ?"  30 

After  the  heaving  of  a  bitter  sigh. 

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. 


350  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


But  when  from  one's  own  cheeks  comes  bursting  forth  40 

The  accusal  of  the  sin,  in  our  tribunal 

Against  the  edge  the  wheel  doth  turn  itself. 
But  still,  that  thou  mayst  feel  a  greater  shame 

For  thy  transgression,  and  another  time 

Hearing  the  Sirens  thou  mayst^be  more  strong,  4S 

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  50 

I  was  enclosed,  which  scattered  are  in  earth. 
And  if  the  highest  pleasure  thus  did  fail  thee 

By  reason  of  my  death,  what  mortal  thing 

Should  then  have  dr&wn  thee  into  its  desire  ? 
Thou  oughtest  verily  at  the  first  shaft  55 

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 ; 
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,  8« 

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. 


PURGATORIO,  XX XL  35' 


So  pricked  me  then  the  thorn  of  penitence,  8s 

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 

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,  •<» 

Embraced  my  head,  and  plunged  me  underneatli. 

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  ])leasant 

Light  that  within  them  is,  shall  sharpen  thine  «o 

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. 
"  See  that  thou  dost  not  spare  thine  eyes,"  they  said  ;  ns 

"  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.  17-. 

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,  ia$ 

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. 


J52  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Themselves  revealing  of  the  highest  rank 

In  bearing,  did  the  other  three  advance, 
Singing  to  their  angelic  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. 

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." 

O  splendour  of  the  living  light  eternal  ! 

Who  underneath  the  shadow  of  Parnassus 
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  ? 


CANTO   XXXII. 

So  steadfast  and  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 
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 
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 
Splendour  from  which  perforce  I  had  withdrawn, 

I  saw  upon  its  riglit  wing  wheeled  about 

The  glorious  host,  returning  with  the  sun 
And  with  the  sevenfold  flames  upon  their  faces. 

As  underneath  its  shields,  to  save  itself, 

A  squadron  turns,  and  with  its  banner  wheels, 
Before  the  whole  thereof  can  change  its  front. 

That  soldiery  of  the  celestial  kingdom 

Which  marched  in  the  advance  had  wholly  parsed  us 
Before  the  chariot  had  turned  its  pole. 


PURGATORIO,  XXXII.  353 


Then  to  the  wheels  the  maidens  turned  themselves,  ^s 

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  Statius  and  myself  the  wheel 

Which  made  its  orbit  with  the  lesser  arc.  a* 

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,  3S 

As  we  had  moved  when  Beatrice  descended. 
I  heard  them  murmur  altogether,  "  Adam  ! " 

Then  circled  they  about  a  tree  despoiled 

Of  blooms  and  other  leafage  on  each  bough. 
Its  tresses,  which  so  much  the  more  dilate  40 

As  higher  they  ascend,  had  been  by  Indians 

Among  their  forests  marvelled  at  for  height. 
"  Blessed  art  thou,  O  Griffin,  who  dost  not 

Pluck  with  thy  beak  these  branches  sweet  to  taste. 

Since  appetite  by  this  was  turned  to  evil."  45 

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,  s* 

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,  ti 

Each  one  with  its  own  colour,  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.  «o 

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, 
Even  as  a  painter  who  from  model  paints 

I  would  portray  how  I  was  lulled  asleep  ; 

He  may,  who  well  can  picture  drowsihood. 


354  THE   DIVINE  COMEDY. 

Therefore  I  pass  to  what  time  I  awoke,  70 

And  say  a  splendour  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  loss 

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."  go 

And  if  her  speech  were  more  diffiase  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  96 

Which  I  had  seen  the  biform  monster  fasten. 

Encircling  her,  a  cloister  made  themselves 

The  seven  Nymphs,  vv'ith  those  lights  in  their  hands 
Which  are  secure  from  Aquilon  and  Auster. 

"Short  while  shalt  thou  be  here  a  forester,  «» 

And  thou  shalt  be  with  me  for  evermore 
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."  »o5 

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, 


PURGATOEIO,  XXXH.  355 


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. 
Theieafter  saw  I  leap  into  the  body 

Of  the  triumphal  vehicle  a  Fox, 

That  seemed  unfed  with  any  wholesome  food.  «9o 

''•it  for  his  hideous  sins  upbraiding  him. 

My  Lady  put  him  to  as  swift  a  flight 

As  such  a  fieshless  skeleton  could  bear. 
Then  by  the  way  that  it  before  had  come, 

Into  the  chariot's  chest  I  saw  the  Eagle  »5 

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,  offered 

Perhaps  with  pure  intention  and  benign, 
Reclothed  itself,  and  with  them  were  reclothed 

The  pole  and  both  the  wheels  feo  speedily,  x#« 

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  ^45 

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  W 

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  mide  of  that  alone 
A  shield  unto  the  whore  and  the  strange  beast.  *> 


I 


356  THE  D.l'hVE   COMEDY. 


CANTO    XXXIII. 

'■'■  Deus,  vencnmt  getites^'  alternating 

Now  t^ree,  now  four,  melodious  psalmody 
The  maidens  in  the  midst  of  tears  began  ; 

And  Beatrice,  compassionate  and  sighing, 

Listened  to  them  with  such  a  countenance, 
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  colour  as  of  fire,  she  made  response  : 

"  Modicum^  et  /ion  videbiiis  jne; 

Et  itennn,  my  sisters  predilect, 
Modicujn,  ct  vos  videbiiis  mey 

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. 

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, 

And  with  a  tranquil  aspect,  "  Come  more  quickly," 
To  me  she  said,  "  that,  if  I  speak  with  thee, 
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, 
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." 

And  she  to  me  :  "Of  fear  and  bashfulness 

Henceforward  I  will  have  thee  stri])  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 
Think  that  God's  vengeance  does  not  fear  a  sop. 

Without  an  heir  shall  not  for  ever  be 

The  Eagle  that  left  his  plumes  upon  the  car. 
Whence  it  became  a  monster,  then  a  prey ; 


PURGATORIO,   XXXIII.  357 

For  verily  I  see,  and  hence  narrate  it,  40 

The  stars  already  near  to  bring  the  time, 

From  every  hindrance  safe,  and  every  bar, 
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.  45 

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,  s« 

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,  :5 

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  ofifendeth  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  «5 

In  height,  and  so  inverted  in  its  summit. 
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  90 

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,  n 

I  will  too,  if  not  written,  at  least  painted. 

Thou  bear  it  back  within  thee,  for  the  reason 

That  cinct  with  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  ?" 


358  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

"  That  thou  mayst  recognize,"  she  said,  "  the  school  is 

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» 

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  9s 

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  xoo 

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  105 

When  halted  (as  he  cometh  to  a  halt. 

Who  goes  before  a  squadron  as  its  escort, 

If  something  new  he  find  upon  his  way) 
The  ladies  seven  at  a  dark  shadow's  edge, 

Such  as,  beneath  green  leaves  and  branches  black,  «» 

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. 
"  O  light,  O  glory  of  the  human  race  !  ■■ 

What  stream  is  this  which  here  unfolds  itself 

From  out  one  source,  and  from  itself  withdraws  ?" 
For  such  a  prayer,  'twas  said  unto  me,  "  Pray 

Matilda  that  she  tell  thee ;"  and  here  answered. 

As  one  does  who  doth  free  himself  from  blame,  >«> 

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."' 
\nd  Beatrice :  "  Perhaps  a  greater  care. 

Which  oftentimes  our  memory  takes  away,  »n 

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." 


PURGATORIO,    XX XI J  I.  359 

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."  135 

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  ; 
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.  Ha 


NOTES    TO    PURGATORIO. 


NOTES   TO    PURGATORIO. 


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"; 

and  in  Paradiso,  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  Purga- 
torio,  marked  only  by  more  elaborate 
preludes,  or  by  a  natural  pause  in  the 
action  of  the  poem,  is, —  i.  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  Pulsatory," 
says  Mr.  Alger,  Doctrine  of  a  Future 
Life,  p.  410,  "early  appear  among  the 
Christians.  Many  of  the  gravest  Fathers 
of  the  first  five  centuries  naturally  con- 
ceived and  taught, — as  is  indeed  intrin- 
sically reasonable,  —  that  after  death 
some  sou'is  will  be  punished  for  their 
sins  until  they  are  cleansed,  and  then 
will  be  released  from  pain.     The  Man- 


ichaeans  imagined  that  all  souls,  before 
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  future  punish- 
ment the  two  ethical  ideas  that  punish- 
ment should  partake  of  d^rees  pro- 
portioned 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  notions 
to  secure  an  enviable  power  to  the 
Church, — constructed,  established,  and 
gave  working  efficiency  to  the  dogmatic 
scheme  of  Purgatory  ever  since  firmly 
defended  by  the  Papal  adherents  as  an 
integral  part  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
sy.stem.  The  doctrine  as  matured  and 
promulgated  by  Gregory,  giving  to 
the  representatives  of  the  Church  an 
almost  unlimited  power  over  Purgatory, 
rapidly  grew  into  favour  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. 

n.  The  nine  daughters  of  Pierus, 
king  of  Macedonia,  called  the  Pierides. 
They  challenged  the  Muses  to  a  trial 
of  skill  in  singing,  and  being  vanquished 


364 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


were  changed  by  Apollo  into  magpies. 
Ovid,  Met.  V.,  Maynwaring's  Tr. : — 

'  Beneath  their  nails 
Feathers  they  feel,  and  on  their  faces  scales  ; 
Their  homy  beaks  at  once  each  other  scare, 
Their  arms  are  plumed,  and  on  their  backs  they 

bear 
Pied  wings,  and  flutter  in  the  fleeting  air. 
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  V'enus. 

20.  Chaucer,  Kiiightes  Tale: — 

"  The  besy  larke,  the  messager  of  day, 
Saleweth  in  hire  song  the  morwe  gray, 
And  firy  Phebus  riseth  up  so  bright. 
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  N'arrative,  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  Spaniards  ))eculiar 
motives  seem  to  increase  this  feeling ; 
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  perjiendicular  at  the 
moment  when  it  passes  the  meridian. 
This  circumstance  is  known  to  every 
nation  that  lives  l>eyond  the  tropics,  or 
in  the  Southern  hemisphere.  It  has 
been  observed  at  what  hour  of  the  night, 
in  different  seaw^ns,  the  Cross  of  the 
South  is  erect  or  inclined.     It  is  a  time- 


piece that  advances  very  regularly  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  savannahs  of  Venezuela,  or  in  the 
desert  extending  from  Lima  to  Truxillo, 
'  Midnight  is  past,  the  Cress  begins  Ut 
bend  ! '  How  often  those  words  re- 
minded us  of  that  affecting  scene,  where 
Paul  and  Virginia,  seated  near  the  source 
of  the  river  of  Lataniers,  conversed  toge- 
ther for  the  last  time,  and  where  the  old 
man,  at  the  sight  of  the  Southern  Cross, 
warns  them  that  it  is  time  to  separate." 

24.  By  the  "primal  people"  Dante 
does  not  mean  our  first  jiarents,  but 
"the  early  races  which  inhabited  Europe 
and  Asia,"  says  Dr.  Barlow,  Study  of 
Dante,  and  quotes  in  confirmation  of  his 
view  the  following  passage  from  Hum- 
boldt's Cosmos,  II.: 

"  In  consequence  of  the  precession  of 
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 
soutiiern  hemisphere  rise  before  them, 
which,  after  remaining  long  invisible, 
will  again  appear  in  those  latitudes  after 

a   lapse   of  thousands  of  years 

The  Southern  Cross  began  to  become 
invisible  in  52"  30'  north  latitude  2900 
years  before  our  era,  since,  according  to 
Galle,  this  constellation  might  previously 
have  reached  an  altitude  of  more  than 
10°.  When  it  disappeared  from  the 
horizon  of  the  countries  of  the  Baltic, 
the  great  Pyramid  of  Cheops  had 
already  been  erected  more  than  500 
years. " 

30.  Ilia  J,  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  deprived  of  the 
baths  of  O.eanus." 

31.  Cato  of  Utica.  "Pythagoras 
escapes,  in  the  fabulous  hell  of  Dante," 
says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  Urn  Purial, 
IV.,   "among. that   swarm   of  philoso- 

?hers,    wherein,    whilst    we    meet    with 
lato  and  .Socrates,  Cato  is  found  in  no 
lower  place  than  Purgatory." 


^rOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


36s 


In  the  description  of  the  shield  of 
y^neas,  ALneid,  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.  Marcia 
returning  to  him  in  her  widowhood,  he 
says,  "symbolizes  the  noble  soul  return- 
ing to  God  in  old  age."  And  continues: 
"  What  man  on  earth  was  more  worthy 
lo  symbolize  God,  than  Cato?  Surely 
none"; — ending  the  chapter  with  these 
words:  "In  his  name  it  is  beautiful  to 
close  what  I  have  had  to  say  of  the  signs 
of  nobility,  because  in  him  this  nobility 
displays  them  all  through  all  ages." 

Here,  on  the  shores  of  Purgatory,  his 
countenance  is  adorned  with  the  light  of 
the  four  stars,  which  are  the  four  virtues. 
Justice,  Pnidence,  Fortitude,  and  Tem- 
|ierance,  and  it  is  foretold  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  freedom  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  then  the  critics,  who 
accuse  him  of  "a  perverse  theology  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  cavern 
from  the  centre  of  the  earth  to  the  sur- 
face.    /;//  XXXIV.  130. 

42.   His  beard.      Ford,  Lady's  TiHal : 

"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,   Dr.   Barlow,  Study  of  Dante,  re- 


marks :  "  The  eighth  book  of  the  Te- 
soro  of  Brunetto  Latini  is  headed  Qiii 
comincia  la  Reitorica  che  c'  insegna  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  retorico  perfetto  tanto  in 
dittare  e  versificare  come  in  aringhiei-a 
parlare.  But  without  this  record  and 
without  acquaintance  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  Com  media,  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  persuasive 
eloquence.  The  sense  of  personal  dig- 
nity 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  favour  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- 
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'  fe  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  influence." 

77.  .See  Inf.  V.  4. 

78.  See  Inf.  IV.  128.  Also  Convito, 
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." 


366 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


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  ; 
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, 
Alod.  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  com- 
pare it  with  that  in  which  Dante  tells  us 
he  was  ordered  to  descend  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,  becomes  a  seed 
of  farther  thought !  For  follow  up  this 
image  of  the  girding  with  the  reed,  under 
trial,  and  see  to  wliose  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 
tmong  tiie  waters  of  affliction,  leads  us 
.0  the  place  wliere  a  stem  of  it  was  put 
into  our  lord's  hand  for  his  sceptre  ; 
and  in  the  crown  of  thorns,  and  the  rod 
uf  reed,  was  foreshown  the  everlasting 
truth  of  the   Christian   ages, — that  all.] 


glory  was  to  be  begun  in  suffering,  and 
all  power  in  humility." 

1 15.  Ruskin,  Mod.  Painters,  III.  248  : 
"  There  is  only  one  more  point  to  be 
noticed  in  the  Dantesque  landscape ; 
namely,  the  feeling  entertained  by  the 
poet  towards  the  sky.  And  the  love  of 
mountains  is  so  closely  connected  with 
the  love  of  clouds,  the  sublimity  of  both 
depending  much  on  their  association, 
that,  having  found  Dante  regardless  of 
the  Carrara  mountains  as  seen  from 
San  Miniato,  we  may  well  expect  to  find 
him  equally  regardless  of  the  clouds  in 
which  the  sun  sank  behind  them.  Ac- 
cordingly, we  find  that  his  only  pleasure 
in  the  sky  depends  on  its  '  wliite  clear- 
ness,'— that  turning  into  bianco  aspetto  di 
celestro,  which  is  so  peculiarly  character- 
istic of  fine  days  in  Italy.  His  pieces  of 
pure  pale  light  are  always  exquisite.  In 
the  dawn  on  the  purgatorial  mountain, 
first,  in  its  pale  white,   he  sees  the  tre- 

inolar  delta  marina, trembling  of  the 

sea  ;  then  it  becomes  vermilion  ;  and  at 
last,  near  sunrise,  orange.  These  are 
precisely  the  changes  of  a  calm  and  per- 
fect 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  coiild  be  seen.  When  Dante  and 
Virgil  reach  the  marsh  in  which  the  souls 
of  those  who  have  been  angry  and  sad  in 
their  lives  are  forever  plunged,  they  find 
it  covered  with  thick  fog  ;  and  the  con- 
demned souls  say  to  them, 

'  We  once  were  sad, 
In  the  srtveet  air,  made glndsome  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  conti- 
nually sweeps  it  with  his  hand  from 
Ijefore  his  face." 

123.  Some  commentators  interpret 
Ove  adornza,  by  "where  the  wind 
l)lows."  But  the  blowing  of  the  wind 
would  produce  an  effect  exactly  opposite 
to  that  here  described. 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


3'>7 


135.  Aineid,  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 
on  the  Ganges,  and  morning  at  the 
Mountain  of  Purgatory. 

The  sun  being  in  Aries,  the  night 
would  "come  forth  with  the  scales," 
or  the  sign  of  Libra,  which  is  opposite 
Aries.  These  scales  fall  from  the  hand 
of  night,  or  are  not  above  the  horizon 
by  night,  when  the  night  exceeds,  or  is 
longer  than  the  day. 

7.  Boccaccio,  Decamerone,  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  Quixote, 
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  sHd  into  the  ocean  flood  apart." 

80.  Odyssey,  XL,  Buckley's  Tr,  : 
"  But  I,  meditating  in  my  mind,  wished 
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  shadov/,  or  even  to  a  dream." 

And  ALneid,  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 
l^awes  : — 


"  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  reli- 
gious zeal.  Throughout  the  year  the 
roads  in  the  remotest  parts  of  Germany, 
Hungary,  Britain,  were  crowded  with 
pilgrims  of  all  ages,  of  both  sexes,  dm 
Savoyard  above  one  hundred  years  old 
determined  to  see  the  tombs  of  the  Apos- 
tles before  he  died.  There  were  at  times 
two  hundred  thousand  strangers  at  Rome. 
During  the  year  (no  doubt  the  calcula- 
tions 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  suffocation 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  ob- 
lations 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  offerings  or  subsidies  for  Crusades, 
to  be  devoted  to  special  uses,  the  accou- 
trements, provisions,  freight  of  armies. 
It  was  entirely  at  the  free  and  irrespon- 
sible disposal  of  the  Pope.  Christendom 
of  its  own  accord  was  heaping  at  the 
Pope's  feet  this  extraordinary  custom  ; 
and  receiving  back  the  gift  of  pardon 
and  everlasting  life." 

See  also  Inf  XVI II.,  Note  29. 

100.  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  Pur- 
gatory. Minutius  Felix,  a  Roman  law- 
yer of  the  third  centuiy,  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,    an^ 


^ 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


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,  Caecilius 
on  a  sudden  espied  the  statue  of  Serapis, 
and,  according  to  the  vulgar  mode  of 
superstition,  raised  his  hand  to  his 
Ihouth,  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,  how- 
ever, still  they  are  ;  — for  you  cannot  but 
be  sensible  that  your  peiTnitting  so  foul 
an  error  in  your  friend  redounds  no  less 
to  your  disgrace  than  his.'  This  dis- 
course 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,  beguiling  the 
way  with  our  stories." 

1 12.  This  is  the  first  line  of  the  second 
canzone  of  the  Cottvito. 


CANTO   III. 
15.  So  in  Paradiso,  XXVI.  139  :— 
"  The  mount  that  rises  highest  o'er  the  sea." 

27.  The  tomb  of  Virgil  is  on  the  pro- 
montory of  Pausilippo,  overlooking  the 
Bay  of  Naples.     The  inscription  upon  it 
is : — 
Mantua  me  genuit :  Calabri  rapuere  :  tenet  nunc 

Parthenope  :  cecini  pascua,  rura,  duces. 

"The  epitaph,"  says  Eustace,  Clas- 


sical Tour,  T.  499,  "which,  though  not 
genuine,  is  yet  ancient,  was  inscribed 
by  order  of  the  Duke  of  Pescolangiano, 
then  proprietor  of  the  place,  on  a 
marVile  slab  placed  in  the  side  of  the 
rock  opposite  the  entrance  of  the  tomb, 
where  it  still  remains. " 

Forsyth,  Italy,  p.  378,  says  :  "  Vir- 
gits  tomb  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  excava- 
tions 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  Demonsl ratio  quia,  and 
the  Demon stratio  propter  quid. 

49.  Places  on  the  mountainous  sea- 
side road  from  Genoa  to  Pisa,  known 
as  the  Riviera  di  I^iante.  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 
m  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 


NOTES  TO  PURGA  TORIO 


365 


south-eastern  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  considerably  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 
till  Nice  is  left  behind,  and  the  first 
height  of  the  Riviera  is  sunnounted, 
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 
Ghiliellines  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 
preferred  to  die  in  battle  rather  thar 
to  escape  with  shame.  And  puttin; 
on  his  helmet,  which  had  on  it  a  silver 
eagle  for  a  crest,  this  eagle  fell  on  th« 
saddle-bow  before  him  ;  and  seeing  thi 
he  was  greatly  disturbed,  and  said  ii 
Latin  to  the  barons  who  were  neai 
him,  '  Hoc  est  signuin  Dei  ;  for  this  cresi 


37° 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


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 
l)aron,  without  the  royal  insignia,  in 
order  not  to  be  recognized.  But  short 
wliile  it  lasted,  for  his  forces  were  al- 
ready in  flight  ;  and  tliey  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  jiow  night,  and  they  lost 
the  city  of  Benevento.  And  many  of 
Manfredi's  barons  were  made  priso- 
ners, among  whom  were  the  Count 
(iiordano,  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  lie 
were  dead,  or  a  prisoner,  or  had  es- 
caped ;  because  he  liad  not  worn  his 
royal  robes  in  tlie  battle.  And  after- 
wards he  was  recognized  by  one  of 
his  own  camp-followers,  from  certain 
marks  upon  his  i)erson,  in  the  middle  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  tliat  was  Manfredi ;  and 
timidly  they  answered  yes.  Count 
Giordano  smote  himself  in  the  face 
with  his  hands,  weeping  and  crying, 
;*  O  my  lord  ! '  whereupon  he  was  niucli 
commended  by  the  French,  and  certaiti 
Bretons  besought  that  he  inigiit  have 
honourable  burial.  Answered  tlie  king 
and  said,  '  I  would  do  it  willingly,  if 
he  were  not  excommunicated '  ;  and 
on  that  account  he  would  not  have 
him  laid  m  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  Church  land. 
And  he  was  buried  by  the  rivet  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 
must  be  remembered  that  Villani  was 
a  Guelph,  and  Manfredi  a  Ghibel- 
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 
demeanour,  so  that  he  was  much  be- 
loved and  gracious  ;  but  his  life  was 
wholly  epicurean,  hardly  caiing  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  condition,  sd 
that  it  rose  greatly  in  wealth  and  power, 
both  by  sea  and  bv  land." 

This  battle  of  Benevento  followed 
close  upon  that  mentioned  Inf.  XXVIII 
16:— 

"  At  Cepcrano,  where  a  renegade 
Was  each  Apulian." 

113.  Constance,  wife  of  the  Em- 
peror Henry  the  Sixth. 

115    His  daughter    Constance,    who 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


371 


was  married  to  Peter  of  Aragon,  and 
was  the  motlier  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  contumely 
of  holy  Church,"  or  under  excommuni- 
cation, were  buried  with  extinguished 
and  inverted  torches. 


CANTO  IV. 

6.  Plato's  doctrine  of  three  souls  :  the 
Vegetative  in  the  liver  ;  the  Sensative 
in  the  heart ;  and  the  Intellectual  in  the 
brain.     See  Convito,  IV.  7. 

15.  See  Convito,  II.  14,  quoted  Far, 
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 
Difficulty  in  Bunyan,  Pilgrim^s  Pro- 
Stress:  "  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  clamliering  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  CJemini,  or 
if  Vie  were  in  the  month  of  May,  you 
would  see  the  sun  still  farther  to  the 
norlii. 

64.  Riihecchio  is  generally  rendered 
red  or  ruddy.  But  Jacopo  dalla  Lana 
says:  '■'  Ruheechio  in  the  Tuscan  tongue 
signifies  an  indented  mill-wheel."  This 
interpretation  certainly  rendere  the  image 
more  distinct.  The  several  signs  of  the 
Zodiac  are  so  many  cogs  in  the  great 
wheel ;  and  the  wheel  is  an  image  which 
Dante  more  than  once  applies  to  the 
celestioi  bodies. 


71.  The  Ecliptic.  See  Inf.  XVII., 
Note  107. 

73.  This,  the  Mountain  of  Purgatory  ; 
and  that.  Mount  Zion. 

83.  The  Seven  Stars  of  Ursa  Major, 
the  North  Star. 

109.  Compare  Thomson's  description 
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  Ar- 
rivabene,  Comme/ito  Sturico,  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  inti- 
mately." This  seems  to  be  all  that  is 
known  of  Belacqua. 

133.  Aieasurefor  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  reininiscence 
of  street  gossip,  which  gives  perhaps  a 
little  credibility  to  the  otherwise  incre- 
dible anecdotes  of  Dante  told  by  Sac- 
chetti  and  others  ; — such  as  those  of  the 
ass-driver  whom  he  beat,  and  the  black- 
smith whose  tools  he  threw  into  the 
street  for  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 
mezza  notte,  midnight,  instead  oi  prima 
nolle,  early  nightfall. 

Of  meteors  Brunetto  Latini,  Iresor,  I. 
pt.  3,  ch.  107,  writes :  "  Likewise  it 
often  comes  to  pass  that  a  dry  vapour, 
when  it  has  mounted  so  high   that  il 


372 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


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  dragon 
or  a  star  which  falls." 

Milton,  Tarad.  Lost,  IV.  556,  de- 
scribing the  flight  of  Uriel,  says  :  — 

"  Swift  as  a  shooting  star 
In  Autumn  thwarts  the  night,  when  vapours 

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.  Lciitiius,  xvii.  2 :  "  The  life  of 
the  flesh  is  in  the  blood." 

75.  Among  the  Paduans,  who  are 
called  Antcnori,  because  their  city  was 
founded  by  Antenor  of  Troy.  Brunetto 
Latini,  Trcsor,  I.  ch.  39,  sayv  "Then 
Antenor  and  Priam  departed  thence, 
with  a  great  company  of  people,  and 
went  to  the  Marca  Trevisana,  not  far 
from  Venice,  and  there  they  built  an- 
other city  whicii  is  called  Padua,  where 
lies  the  body  of  Antenor,  and  his  se- 
pulchre is  still  there." 

79.  La  Mira  is  on  the  Brenta,  or  one 
of  its  caiinls,  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'Amo.  His 
body  was  never  found  ;  Dante  imagines 
its  fate. 

Kuskin,  Mod.  Painters,  \\\.  252,  re- 
marks :  — 

"  Observe,  Buonconte,  as  he  dies, 
crosses  his  arms  over  his  breast,  press- 
ing tliem  together,  partly  in  his  i)ain, 
partly  in  prayer.  His  body  thus  lies  by 
the  river  shore,  as  on  a  sepulchral  monu- 
ment, the  arms  folded  into  a  cross.  The 
rage  of  the  river,  under  the  influence  of 
the  evil  demon,  unlooses  this  cross,  dash- 
i  ig  the  ixKly  supinely  away,  and  rolling 
ii  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  hps, — 
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  trusted  for- 
getting 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  Corbies.'  " 

89.   The  wife  of  Buonconte. 

92.  Ampere,  Voyage  Daiitesque,  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  lith  of  June, 
1289,  a  rude  combat  between  theGuelphs 
of  Florence  and  the  fuontsciti  Ghibel- 
lines,  aided  by  the  Aretines.  Dante 
fought  in  the  front  rank  of  the  Floren- 
tine cavalry  ;  for  it  must  needs  l)e  that 
this  man,  whose  life  was  so  compkte, 
should  have  been  a  soldier,  before  being 
a  theologian,  a  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  fihibelline  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  cow- 
ardice, which  could  have  no  place  in  a 
soul  tempered  like  that  of  Alighieri. 
The  only  fear  he  had  was  lest  the  Imttle 
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  Foreyth,  Italy,  p.  II7  :  — 
I      "  Wc  now  crossed  the  beautiful  valo 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


373 


of  Prato  Vecchio,  rode  round  the  modest 
arcades  of  the  town,  and  arrived  at  the 
lower  convent  of  Cainaldoli,  just  at  shut- 
ting of  the  gates.  The  sun  was  set  and 
every  object  sinking  into  repose,  except 
the  stream  which  roared  among  the 
rocks,  and  the  convent-bells  which  were 
then  ringing  the  Angelus. 

"  This  monaster)'  is  sechided  from  the 
approach  of  woman  in  a  deep,  narrow, 
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 
rigour,  and  no  monks  can  reside  but  the 
sick  or  the  superannuated,  the  dignitary 
or  the  steward,  the  apothecary  or  the 
bead-turner.  Here  we  passed  the  night, 
and  next  morning  rode  up  by  the  steep  tra- 
verses to  the  Santo  Erenio,  where  Saint 
Romualdo  lived  and  established 

de*  tacenti  cenobiti  il  coto, 
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  nile  which  anticipates  the 
pains  of  Purgatory.  No  stranger  can 
behold  without  emotion  a  number  of 
noble,  interesting  young  men  bound  to 
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  institute 
the  climate  conspires  in  severity,  and 
selects  from  society  the  best  constitu- 
tions. 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  ioses  its 
name  by  flowing  into  the  Amo. 

104.  Epistle  of  Jiide,  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,  Th 
Lord  rebuke  thee." 

And  Jeremy  Taylor,  speaking  of  tlie 
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  difiiculty 
and  the  degrees  of  a  hard  progression." 

109.  Bnmetto  Latini,  Tresot;  L  ch, 
107  :  "  Then  arise  vapours  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  abundance 
of  water,  which  is  there  as  vapour,  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  ])ower  of  th* 
air." 

Compare  also  Inf.  XXIII.  16, 

"  If  anger  upon  evil  will  be  grafted  "  ; 

and  Ivf.  XXXL  55, 

"  Foi  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.  1 99, 
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  diffused  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  vapour,  in 


374 


NOTES    TO   rURGATORIO. 


creasing  from  below,  and  lying  on  or 
near  the  earth's  surface.  It  is  properly 
the  cloud  of  niglit,  and  first  nppears 
about  sunset,  usually  in  autumn  ;  it  com- 
prehends creeping  mists  and  fogs  which 
ascend  from  the  bottom  of  valleys,  and 
from  the  surface  of  lakes  and  rivers,  in 
consequence  of  air  colder  than  that  of 
the  surface  descending  and  mingling 
with  it,  and  from  the  air  over  the  ad- 
jacent land  cooling  down  more  rapidly 
than  that  over  the  water,  from  which 
increased  evaporation  is  taking  place." 
1 1 8.  Milton,  Farad.  Lost,  IV.  500  : 

"  As  Jupiter 
On  Juno  smiles,  when  he  impregns  the  clouds 
That  bring  May-flowers." 

126.  His  arms  crossed  upon  his 
breast. 

134.  Ampere,  Voyage Dantesque,  255  : 
"  Who  was  tliis  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 
atmospliere  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  tlian  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  palace 
[at  Siena],  they  say,  '  That  is  the  house 
of  the  Pia.'" 

Henvenuto  da  Imola  gives  a  different 
version  of  the  story,  and  says  that  by 
command  of  the  husband  she  was  thrown 
from  tile  window  of  her  palace  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,  Edi/tb.  Revieiv,  XXIX. 
458,  speaks  thus  :  — 

"  Shakespeare  unfolds  the  character 
of  his  persons,  and  presents  them  undei 
all  the  variety  of  forms  which  they  can 
naturally  assume.  He  surrounds  them 
with  all  the  splendour  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  developes  character.  On 
the  other  hand,  Dante,  if  compared  not 
only  to  Virgil,  the  most  sober  of  poets, 
but  even  to  Tacitus,  will  be  found  never 
to  employ  more  than  a  stroke  or  two  of 
his  pencil,  which  he  aims  at  imprinting 
almost  insensibly  on  the  hearts  of  his 
readers.  Virgil  has  related  the  story  of 
Eurydice  in  two  hundred  verses  ;  Dante, 
in  sixty  verses,  has  finished  his  master- 
piece,— the  tale  of  Francesca  da  Rimini. 
The  history  of  Desdemona  has  a  parallel 
in  the  following  passage  of  Dante.  Nello 
della  Pietra  had  espoused  a  lady  of  noble 
family  at  Siena,  named  Madonna  Pia. 
Her  be.auty  was  the  admiration  of  Tus- 
cany, and  excited  in  the  lieart  of  her 
husband  a  jealousy,  which,  exasperated 
by  false  reports  and  groundless  suspi- 
cions, at  length  drove  him  to  the  des- 
perate resolution  of  Othello.  It  is 
difficult  to  decide  whether  the  lady  was 
quite  innocent ;  but  so  Dante  represents 
her.  Her  husband  brought  her  into  the 
Maremma,  which,  tlien  as  now,  was  a 
district  destructive  to  health.  He  never 
told  his  unfortunate  wife  the  reason  of 
her  banishment  to  so  dangerous  a 
country.  He  did  not  deign  to  utter 
complaint  or  accusation.  He  lived  with 
her  alone,  in  cold  silence,  witJiout  an- 
swering 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  ol 
an  ample  and  very  poetical  narra- 
tive. But  he  bestows  on  it  only  four 
verses. 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


375 


For  a  description  of  the  Maremma, 
see  Inf.  XIII.  Note  9. 

Alio  Rogers,  Italy,  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. 

I.  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  Riiota  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 
Scpevola,  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  (ihino  di  Tacco  was 
a  nobleman  of  Asinalunga  in  the  terri- 
tory of  Siena  ;  one  of  those  splendid 
fellows,  who,  from  some  real  or  imaginary 
wrong  done  ihem,  take  to  the  mountains 
and  highways  to  avenge  themselves  on 
society.  He  is  tie  tine  type  of  the 
traditionary  stage  bandit,  the  magnani- 
mous melodramatic  hero,  who  utters 
such  noble  sentiments  and  commits  such 
atrocious  deeds. 

Benvenuto  is  evidently  dazzled  and  fas- 
cinated 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- 
cula-,  black-haired,  and  strong  ;  as  agile 
as  Scavi^la,   as  prudent  and   liberal   as 


Papirius  Cursor.  He  was  of  the  no- 
bles of  La  Fratta,  in  the  county  of 
Siena  ;  who  being  forcibly  banished  be 
the  Counts  of  Santafiore,  held  the  nobly 
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 
hundretl  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,  Decameron,  X.  2,  relates 
the  following  adventure  of  Ghino  di 
Tacco  and  the  Ablx>t  of  Cligni. 

"Ghino  di  'I'acco  was  a  man  fomous 
for  his  bold  and  insolent  robberies,  who 
being  banished  from  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  Pojie,  there  came  to  court 
the  Abbot  of  Cligni,  reputed  to  be  one 
of  the  richest  prelates  in  the  world,  and 
having  debauched  his  stomach  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  nimours  concerning 
this  robber.  Ghino  was  apprised  of  his 
coming,  and  took  his  measures  accord- 
ingly ;  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  favour  of  him  to  alight 
and  visit  him  at  his  castle.  Upon  which 
the  Abbot  replied,  with  a  great  deal  of 


376 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


passion,  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  excommunications  are 
kicked  out  of  doors  ;  then  please  to 
oblige  my  master  in  this  thing  ;  it  will 
be  your  best  ^\•ay.'  Whilst  they  were 
talking  together,  the  place  was  sur- 
rounded with  highwaymen,  and  the 
Abbot,  seeing  himself  a  prisoner,  went 
with  a  great  deal  of  ill-will  with  the 
fellow  to  the  castle,  followed  by  his 
whole  retinue,  where  he  dismounted, 
and  was  lodged,  by  Ghino's  appoint- 
ment, in  a  poor,  dark  little  room,  whilst 
every  other  person  was  well  accom- 
modated 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  favour  of  you  to  let  him 
know  whither  you  are  going,  and  upon 
what  account  ?  '  The  Abbot  was  wise 
enough  to  lay  all  his  haughtmess  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  constantly  in  his  room, 
coming  to  him  no  more  till  next  morn- 
ing, 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  tiie  very  best  medicine  for  a 
pain  in  the  stomach  is  what  he  has  now 
provided  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  indignation, 
and  drank  the  glass  of  wine  ;  after 
which  he  began  to  talk  a  little  arro- 
gantly, asking  many  questions,  and 
demanding  more  particularly  to  sec 
this  Ghino.  But  (Jhino  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  mu:h 
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 
making  himself  known.  But  after  tlie 
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.  tJhiiio 
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  hoi"ses,  when  he  said,  '  My 
Lord,  you  nuist  understand  it  was  no 
^vil  disposition,  but  his  being  driven 
a  poor  exile  from  his  own  house,  and 
persecuted  with  many  enemies,  that 
forced  Ghino  tli  Tacco,  whom  I  am,  to 
be  a  robber  upon  the  highways,  and  an 
enemy  to   the    court   of    Rome,      You 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


377 


seem,  however,  to  be  a  person  of  honour ; 
as,  therefore,  I  have  cured  you  of  your 
pain  in  your  stomach,  I  do  not  mean  to 
treat  you  as  I  would  do  another  person 
that  should  fall  into  my  hands,  that  is, 
to  take  what  I  please,  but  I  would  have 
you  consider  my  necessity,  and  then  give 
n>e  what  you  will  yourself.  Here  is  all 
that  belongs  to  you  ;  the  horses  you  may 
see  out  of  the  w  indow  :  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 
ind  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  con- 
cerned at  it,  yet,  upon  seeing  him,  he 
inquired  what  benefit  he  had  received 
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 
favour.  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  people  of  worth  that  I  ever  met 
vitli,  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  1  dare  say  you  will  have 
the  same  opinion  of  him  that  I  have.' 
The  Pope,  being  of  a  noble  spirit,  and 
a  great  encourager  of  merit,    promised 


to  do  so,  if  he  was  such  a  person  as  he 
leported,  and,  in  the  mean  time,  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  reconciled 
to  him,  giving  him  the  priory  of  an  hos- 
pital, 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  Pictramala, 
who,  according  to  the  Ottimo,  after  the 
fight  at  Bibbiena,  being  pursued  by  the 
enemy,  endeavoured  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  tnie 
one. 

17.  Federigo  Novello,  son  of  Ser 
Guido  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  Mar- 
zucco  to  show  his  fortitude  was  Mar- 
zucco's  own  son,  Farinata  degli  Scorin- 
giani.  He  was  slain  by  Beccio  da 
Caproni,  or,  as  Benvenuto  asserts,  de- 
claring that  Boccaccio  told  him  so,  by 
Count  Ugolino.  His  father,  Marzucco, 
who  had  become  a  Franciscan  friar, 
showed  no  resentment  at  the  murder, 
but  vi'ent  with  the  other  friars  to  his 
son's  funeral,  and  in  humility  kissed  the 
hand  of  the  murderer,  extorting  from 
him  the  exclamation,  "Thy  patience 
overcomes  my  obduracy."  This  was  an 
example  of  Christian  forgiveness  which 
even  that  vindictive  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  secre- 
tary of  Philip  le  Bel  of  France,  and 
suffered  at  his  hands  a  fate  similar  to 
that  which  befell  Pier  de  la  Vigna  at  the 
court  ot  Frederick  the  .Second.  See 
Inf.  XHI.  Note  58.  Being  accused  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 

C  C  2 


378 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


truth  of  the  innocence  of  Pierre  de  la 
lirosse. 

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. 
Measttre  for  Measure,  II.  2  : — 

"  How  would  you  be, 
If  He  who  is  the  top  ot  judgment  should 
But  judge  you  as  you  are  ?" 

51.  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  supposed 
to  be  Sordello  the  Troubadour.  But  is 
it  he  ?  Is  it  Sordello  the  Troubadour,  or 
Sordello  the  Podesta  of  Verona  ?  or  are 
they  one  and  the  same  pc-son  ?  After 
much  research,  it  is  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  Volgart 
Eloqitio,  L  15,  speaks  of  Sordello  of 
Mantua  as  "a  man  so  choice  in  his 
language,  ^lat  not  only  in  his  poems, 
buf  in  whatever  way  he  spoke,  he  aban- 
doned the  dialect  of  his  province. "  But 
here  there  is  mo  question  of  the  Proven9al 
in  which  Sordello  the  Troubadour  wrote, 
but  only  of  ItaHan  dialects  in  comparison 
with  the  universal  and  cultivated  Italian, 
which  Dante  says  "belongs  to  all  the 
Italian  catiefi,  and  seems  to  belong  exclu- 
sively to  none."  in  the  same  treatise, 
II.  13,  he  mentions  a  tcertain  Gotto  of 
Mantim  as  the  author  of  many  good 
songs  ;  and  this  Gotto  is  supposed  to  be 
Sortlello,  as  Sordello  was  bom  at  Goi'to 
in  the  province  of  Mantua.  But  would 
Dante  in  the  same  treatise  allude  to  the 
same  person  under  diderent  names  ?  Is 
not  this  rather  the  Sordel  de  Goi,  men- 
tioned liy  Raynouard,  IWsusdct  Troub., 

V.  445  ? 

In  the  old  Proven9al  manuscript 
quoted  by  Raynouard,  Potsies  dcs  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  honoured  him  greatly,  and  by  way 
of  pastime  {a  forma  de  solaiz)  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  nm  away  with 
her  ;  and  he  came  to  live  with  them  in 
great  content.  And  afterwards  he  went 
into  Provence,  and  received  great  honour 
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, 
famous  in  jousts  and  tournaments,  he 
won  the  love  of  Beatrice,  daughter  of 
Ezzelin  da  Romano,  Lord  of  the  Marca 
Trevigiana,  and  married  her  ;  he  gover- 
ned Mantua  as  Podest^  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  (Joito  ;  but  as  they  are  not 
apj)licable  to  our  poet,  we  presume  they 
refer  to  a  warrior  of  the  same  name,  and 
perhaps  of  a  different  family. 

"Among  the  pieces  of  Sordello, 
thirty-four  in  numl)er,  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 
Crcscimbeni,  Volgar  Poesia,  II.  105,  is 
as  follows  : — 

"  Sordello  was  a  Mantuan  poet,  who 
surjwssed  in  Provencal  song,  Calvo, 
Foichetto  of  Marseilles,   Laniranco  Ci- 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


379 


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 
productions,  took  him  into  his  service, 
as  Pietro  di  Castelnuovo,  himself  a  Pro- 
ven9al  poet,  informs  us.  He  also  wrote 
various  satires  in  the  same  language,  and 
among  others  one  in  which  he  reproves 
all  the  Christian  princes  ;  and  it  is  com- 
posed in  the  form  of  a  funeral  song  on 
the  death  of  Blancasso." 

In  the  Hist.  Litt.  de  la  France,  XIX. 
452,  Emeric-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  embracing  Virgil, 
gives  rise  to  this  sudden  explosion  of 
the  patriotic  sentiments  of  Dante?  Is 
it  a  singer  of  love  and  gallantry  ?  Im- 
possible. This  Sordello  is  the  old 
Podesta  of  Mantua,  as  decided  a  Ghi- 
belline  as  Dante  himself;  and  Dante 
utters  before  him  sentiments  which  he 
well  knows  the  zealous  Ghibelline  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 
Paradise.  She,  being  enamoured  of 
Sordello,  had  cautiously  contrived  that 
he  should  visit  her  at  night  by  a  back 
door  near  the  kitchen  of  her  palace  at 
Verona.  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 
Cunizza  stood  ready  to  receive  him. 
Ezzelino  having  heard  of  this,  one  even- 
ing, disguised  as  a  servant,  carried  Sor- 
dello, and  brought  him  back.  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,  humbly  be- 
sought pardon  ;  promising  never  more 
to  return  to  his  sister.  But  the  accursed 
Cunizza  again  enticed  him  into  his  former 
error.  Wherefore,  fearing  Ezzelino,  the 
most  formidable  man  of  his  time,  he 
left  the  city.  But  Ezzelino,  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  Goito, — 
' '  beautiful  of  person,  valiant  of  spirit,  ■ 
gentle  of  manner." 

Finally,  Quadrio,  Storia  d'ogni  Poesia, 
II.  130,  easily  cuts  the  knot  which  no  one 
can  untie  ;  but  unfortunately  he  does  not 
give  his  authorities.     He  writes  : — 

"Sordello,  native  of  Goiio,  (Sordel 
de  Goi,)  a  village  in  the  Mantuan  ter- 
ritory, was  born  in  1 1 84,  and  was  the 
son  of  a  poor  knight  named  Elcort." 
He  then  repeats  the  story  of  Count  Saint 
Boniface,  and  of  Sordello's  reception  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  Ag- 
nelli writes.  Finally  he  died,  very  old 
and  full  of  honour,  about  138Q.  He 
wrote  not  only  in  Provencal,  but  also  in 
our  own  common  Italian  tongue  ;   and 


386 


N07'ES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


he  was  one  of  those  poets  who  avoided 
the  dialect  of  his  own  province,  and  used 
the  good,  choice  language,  as  Dante  af- 
firms in  his  book  of  Vulgar  Eloqicenza." 

If  the  reader  is  not  already  sufficiently 
confused,  he  can  easily  become  so  by 
turning  to  Tiraboschi,  Storia  della  Lett. 
Ital.,  IV.  360,  where  he  will  find  the 
matter  thoroughly  discussed,  in  sixteen 
solid  pages,  by  the  patient  librarian  of 
Modena,  who  finally  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  Guittone 
had  said,  in  his  famous  Letter  to  the 
Floreiitiites :  "  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 
«[ueen  but  servant,  oppressed  and  subject 
to  tribute  !  no  longer  court  of  justice, 
but  cave  of  robbers,  and  school  of  all 
folly  and  madness,  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,  wherever  they 
go,  in  opprobrium  and  derision  by  others." 

See  also  Petrarca,  Canzone  XVI., 
Lady  Dacre's  Tr.,  beginning  : — 

"  O  my  own  Italy  !  though  words  are  vain 
The  mortal  wounds  to  close, 
Unnumbered,  that  thy  beauteous  bosom  stain. 
Yet  may  it  soothe  my  pain 
To  sigh  for  the  'fiber's  woes, 
And  Amo's  wrongs,  as  on  Po's  saddened  shore 
Sorrowing  I  wander  and  my  numbers  pour." 

And  Filicaja's  sonnet  : — 

•*  Italy  !  Italy  1  thou  who'rt  doomed  to  wear 
The  fatal  gift  of  beauty,  and  possess 
The  dower  funest  of  mfinite  wretchedness, 
Written  upon  thy  forehead  by  despair ; 
Ah  !  would  that   thou   wcrt  stronger,  or  less 
fair, 
That  they   might   fear  thee   more,  or  love 

thee  less, 
Who  in  the  splendour  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  reputation  with 
the  honour  and  interest  of  a  perpetual 
order  of  men. " 

92.  Luke  xii.  17  :  "Render  to  Caesar 
the  things  that  are  Caesar's,  and  to  God 
the  things  that  are  God's." 

And  in  the  Vision  of  Pters  Ploughman, 
563:— 

"  ReiMite  Ccesari,  quod  God, 

That  Ctesnri  bifalleth, 

F.t  quie  sunt  Dei  Deo, 

Or  ellis  ye  don  ille." 

97.  Albert,  son  of  the  Emperor  Ru- 
dolph, was  the  second  of  the  house  of 
Hapsburg  who  bore  the  title  of  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  Jolin, 
in  1308.  This  is  the  judgment  of  Heaven 
to  which  Danle  alludes. 

His  successor  was  Henry  of  Luxem- 
bourg, Dante's  "divine  and  triumphant 
Henry,"  who,  in  1311,  wa.s  crowned  at 
Milan  with  the  Iron  Crown  of  Lombardy, 
//  Sacro  Chiodo,  as  it  is  sometimes  called, 
from  the  plate  of  iron  with  which  the 
crown  is  lined,  being,  according  to  tra- 
dition, made  from  a  nail  of  the  Cross. 
In  1312,  he  was  again  crowned  whh  the 
Golden  Crown  at  Rome,  and  died  in  the 
following  year.  "  I5ut  the  end  of  his 
career  drew  on,"  says  Mil  man,  Latin 
Christ.,  VI.  520.  "  He  had  now  ad- 
vanced, at  the  head  of  an  army  which 
his  enemies  dared  not  meet  in  the  field, 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


383 


towards  Siena.  He  rode  still,  seemingly 
in  full  vigour  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  ai^my,  on  the 
festival  of  St.  Bartholomew.  Rumours 
of  foul  practice,  of  course,  spread  abroad; 
a  Dominican  monk  was  said  to  have 
administered  poison  in  the  Sacrament, 
which  he  received  with  profound  devo- 
tion. His  body  was  carried  in  sad  state, 
and  splendidly  interred  at  Pisa. 

"So  closed  that  empire,  in  which,  if 
the  more  factious  and  vulgar  Ghibellines 
beheld  their  restoration  to  their  native 
city,  their  triumph,  their  revenge,  their 
sole  administration  of  public  affairs,  the 
nobler  Ghibellinism  of  Dante  foresaw  the 
establishment  of  a  great  universal  mo- 
narchy necessary  to  the  peace  and  civili- 
zation 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  tliis  treatise.  The  attempt 
of  the  Pope  to  raise  himself  to  a  great 
pontifical  monarchy  had  manifestly  ig- 
nominiously  failed  :  the  Ghibelline  is 
neither  amazed  nor  distressed  at  this 
event.  It  is  now  the  turn  of  the  Impe- 
rialist to  unfold  his  noble  vision.  '  An 
universal  monarchy  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary 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 
more  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  intervening  with 
supreme  authority.'  Without  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  impersonated  in  the  Em- 
peror ;  a  monarch  who  should  leave  all 


the  nations,  all  the  free  Italian  cities,  in 
possession  of  their  lights  and  old  muni- 
cipal institutions." 

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. 
atid  Juliet: — 

"  Three  civil  brawls,  bred  of  an  airj'  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  neighbour- 
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  : — 

"On  the  slope  of  the  Quirinal  Hill,  in 
the  quiet  enclosure  of  the  convent  of  St. 
Catherine  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  towers  were  built 
for  the  purposes  of  private  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  remains  undiminished  in 
height  and  unaltered  in  appearance.  It 
was  a  new  building  when  Dante  visited 
Rome  ;  and  it  is  one  of  the  very  iew 
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  nmning  through  their 
intricacies.  The  Capitol  was  surrounded 
with  uneven  battlement ed  walls,  and 
bore  the  character  and  look  of  an  irre- 


3S2 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


gular  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  centuries  were 
still  to  pass  before  Michael  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  Guiscard,  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 
turbulent  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,  defeats  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  brawls,  nor  were  their  triumphs 
always  barren.  Even  the  twelfth  and 
thirteenth  centuries,  which  were  like  the 
coming  of  the  spring  after  a  long  winter, 
making  the  earth  to  blossom,  and  glad- 
dening the  hearts  of  men,-  the  centuries 
which  elsewhere  in  Italy,  and  over  the 
rest  of  Europe,  gave  birth  to  the  noblest 
media-val  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  h.nd  long  hidden  it,  shone 
everywhere  but  here.     While  Florence 


was  building  her  Cathedral  and  her 
Campanile,  and  Orvieto  her  matchless 
Duomo, — while  Pisa  was  showing  her 
piety  and  her  wealth  in  her  Cathedral, 
her  Camposanto,  her  Baptistery,  and 
her  Tower, — while  Siena  was  beginning 
a  church  greater  and  more  magnificent 
in  design  than  her  shifting  fortune  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." 

118.  This  recalls  Pope's  Universal 
Prayer, — 

"  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  engines 
and  burning-glasses,  but  a  descendant  of 
his,  who  in  the  civil  wars  took  part  with 
Pompey  and  was  banished  by  Caesar. 
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,  Napier 
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  ; 
bu?  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  launclied  its  arrows 
into  the  very  chambers  of  his  young 
bride's  jiarents  and  relations,  and  the 
bleeding  son,  the  murdered  brother,  or 
the  dymg  husband  were  the  evening 
visitors  of  Florentine  maids  and  ma- 
trons, and  aged  citizens.  Every  art 
was  practisetl  to  seduce  and  deceive, 
and  none  felt  secure  even  of  their 
nearest  and  dearest  relatives.  In  the 
morning  a  son  left    his   paternal    roof 


NOTES   TO  PVRGATORIO. 


383 


with  undiminished  love,  and  returned 
at  evening  a  corpse,  or  the  most  bitter 
enemy  !  Terror  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 
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 
neighbouring  states." 

147.  Upon  this  subject  Napier,  Flor. 
Hist.,  II.  626,  remarks  : — 

"A  characteristic,  and,  if  discreetly 
handled,  a  wise  regulation  of  the  Flo- 
rentines, 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  iifan.  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  1394,  after  forty  years' 
omission,  an  officer  was  nominated  for 
that  purpose,  but  whether  permanently 
or  not  is  doubtful." 


CANTO  VII. 

6.  See  Canto  III.  Note  7. 
28.   I.imbo,   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  soriow  without  toi  ■ 
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,  Pru- 
dence, Justice,  Fortitude,  and  Tempe- 
rance. 

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  tliat  walketh  in  darkness  knoweth 
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,  suggesting 
the  classic  meadows  of  Asphodel.  Dante 


■s^ 


NOTES  TO  PUR  GAT  OR  10. 


has  given  one  already  in   the  Inferno, 
and  gives  another  here. 

Compare  with  these  the  following 
from  The  Miracles  of  Our  Lady,  by 
Cionzalo  de  Herceo,  a  monk  of  Cala- 
horra,  who  lived  in  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury, and  is  the  oldest  of  the  Castilian 
poets  whose  name  has  come  down  to 
us  :— 

"  I,  Gonzalo  di  Berc^o,  in  the  gentle  summer- 
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  odours  filled  all  the 

sunnj'  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  thiclc  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  woen. 

The  verdure  of  the  meadow  green,  the  odour 

of  the  (lowers. 
The  grateful  shadows  of  the  trees,  tempered  with 

Iragrant  showers, 
Refreshed  me  ni  the  burning  heat  of  the  sultrj' 

noontide  hours  ; 
O,  one  might  live  upon  the  balm  and  fragrance 

ol  those  bowers. 

Ne'er  had  I   found  on  earth  a  spot  that  had 

such  power  to  please. 
Such  shadows  from  the  sunuuet  sun,  such  odours 

on  the  breeze ; 
I  threw  my  mantle  on  the  ground,  that  I  might 

rest  at  ca.se, 
And  stretched  upon  the  greensward  lay  in  the 

shadow  of  the  trees. 

I'here,  soft  reclining  in   the  shade,  all  cares 

beside  me  flimg, 
I  heard  ttic  solt  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,  Tesoretto, 
XIX.  ;  the  Vision  of  Pieis  J'/oughman  ; 
Gower's  Confessio  A  mantis,  VI  ll.,  <S:c. 

73.  Of  this  description  \KwiXJ\\\,  Modern 
tainUr^   ill.  228.  remarks: — 


"  Now,  almost  in  the  opening  ol 
the  Purgatory,  as  at  the  entrance 
of  the  Inferno,  we  find  a  company 
of  great  ones  resting  in  a  grassy 
place.  But  the  idea  of  the  grass  now 
is  very  different.  The  word  now  used 
is  not  '  anamel,'  but  'herb,'  and  in- 
stead of  being  merely  green,  it  is 
covered  with  flowers  of  many  colours. 
With  the  usual  mediaeval  accuracy, 
Dante  insists  on  telling  us  precisely 
what  these  colours  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  emeralil,  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  that  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  smallo 
of  the  Inferno  ;  but  the  colours  of  the 
variegation  are  illustrated  and  defined 
by  the  reference  to  actual  pigments ; 
and,  observe,  because  the  other  colours 
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  colour, 
distinguishing  it  jirecisely  as  a  painter 
would  (opposed  to  the  (ireek  careless- 
ness about  it)  ;  and,  secondly,  his  re- 
garding the  grass  for  its  greenness  and 
variegation,  rather  than,  as  a  (Jreek 
would  have  done,  for  its  depth  and 
freshness.  This  greenness  or  Jjriglit- 
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  colouring/ 


NOTES   TO    PURGATORIO. 


there  being  always  this  much  of  pro- 
priety about  it,  when  used  of  green- 
sward, that  such  sward  is  indeed,  Hke 
enamel,  a  coat  of  briglit  colour  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  colour  ;  as  by  Milton  of  the  flowers 
of  Paradise  showing  themselves  over 
its  wall  ;  but  it  retains,  nevertheless, 
through  all  its  jaded  inanity,  some  half- 
unconscious  vestige  of  the  old  sense, 
even  to  the  present  day." 

82.  The  old  church  hymn  attributed 
to  Arminius  or  Hermann,  Count  of 
Vehringen,  in  the  eleventh  century,  be- 
ginning :— 

"  Salve  Regina,  mater  misericordise , 
Vita,  dulcedo  et  spes  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  r  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  of  allegiance.  He 
seized  a  crucifix ;  This  is  my  sceptre, 
he  said,  and  all  paid  homage  to 
him.  This  single  act  of  firmness  made 
him  respected,  and  the  rest  of  his 
conduct  showed  him  to  be  worthy  of  the 
Empire." 

He  would  not  go  to  Rome  to  be 
<;rowned,  and  took  so  little  interest  in 
Italian  affairs,  that  Italy  became  almost 
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  nial/re  d'hilel.  de- 
claring he  had  paid  his  wages  and  owed 
him  nothing.  Whereupon  Rudolph  at- 
tacked and  subdued  him.  According  to 
Voltaire,  Annales  de  i' Empire,  I.  306, 
"  he  consented  to  pay  homage  to  the 
Emperor  as  his  liege-iord,  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  himself  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  conqueror,  whom  he  had 
often  called  his  maXtre  d^ko.'el,  and 
whose  Grand-Seneschal  he  now  became. 
This  story  is  accredited,  and  it  is  of 
little  importance  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. 

loi.  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  li»e  long."  Why  Dante 
accuses  him  of  living  in  luxury  and  ease 
does  not  appear. 

103.  Philip  the  Third  of  France,  sur- 
named  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  retreat. 

104.  He  with  the  benign  aspect,  who 
rests  his  cheek  upon  his  hand,  is  Heniy 
of  Navarre,  surnamed  the  Fat,  and 
brother  of  "  Good  King  Thibault,"  Inf. 
XXII.  52.  An  old  French  chronicle 
quoted  by  Philalethes  says,  that,  "though 
it  is  a  general  opinion  that  fat  men  are  of 
a  gentle  and  benign  nature,  nevertheie-ss 
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  (1285-13 14). 

112.  Peter  the  Third  of  Aragon  (1276- 
128  ),  the  enemy  of  Charles  of  Anjou 
and  competitor  with  him  for  the  king- 
dom of  Sicily.  He  is  counted  among 
the  Troubadours,  and  when  Philip  the 
Bold  invaded  his  kingdom,  Peter 
launched  a  song  against  him,  com- 
plaining  that  the  "  Hower-de-luce  kept 


386 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


him  sorrowing  in  his  house,"  and  calling 
on  the  Gascons  for  aid. 

113.  Charles  of  Anjou,  king  of  Sicily 
and  Naples  (1265).  Villani,  VII.  1, 
thus  describes  him  :  "This  Charles  was 
wise  and  prudent,  and  valiant  in  arms, 
and  rough,  and  much  feared  and  re- 
doubted by  all  the  kings  of  the  world  ; 
magnanimous  and  of  a  high  spirit ;  stead- 
fast in  carrying  on  every  great  enter- 
prise, 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  countenance  ; 
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  sayini? 
that  a  great  deal  of  time  was  lost  in 
sleeping.  He  was  generous  to  his 
knights,  but  eager  to  acquire  land,  lord- 
ship, and  money  wherever  he  could,  to 
furnish  means  for  his  enterprises  and 
wars.  In  courtiers,  minstrels,  and  play- 
ers he  never  took  delight*" 

Vet  this  is  the  monarch  whose  tyrrany 
in  Sicily  brought  about  the  bloody  re- 
venge <*f  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,  barren,  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,  Frederick, 
and  Peter.  Whethesr  the  stripling  here 
spoken  of  is  AtfoiH>o  or  Peter  does  not 
appear. 

121.   Chaucer,  Wif  of  Bathes   Tale: — 

"  Wcl  can  the  wise  poet  of  Florence, 
I'tu.t  hightc  Uaxit,  spekeii  of  this  xentence : 
Lo,  in  swicht  mancr  rime  is  Dantes  lale. 

Ful  sclJe  lip  riseth  by  his  branches  smale 
Prowesse  of  man,  lor  Ood  of  his  go xlncssc 
Wol  that  we  clainic  of  him  our  geiitillesse  : 
For  of  our  elders  may  we  n6thing  claimc 
But  tempore!  thing,  that  man  may  hurt  and 
maime." 

124.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
these  two  who  are  singing  together  in 
\his  Valley  of  Princes  were  deadly  foes 


on  earth  ;  and  one  had  challenged  the 
other  to  determine  their  quarrel  by  single 
combat. 

"  The  wager  of  battle  between  the 
kings,"  says  Milman,  Latin  Christianity, 
VI.  168,  "  which  maintained  its  solemn 
dignity  up  almost  to  the  appointed  time, 
ended  in  a  pitiful  comedy,  in  which 
Charles  of  Anjou  had  the  ignominy  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  cun- 
ning for  a  frank  and  generous  knight. 
He  had  embarked  with  his  knights  for 
the  South  of  ^"rance  ;  he  was  cast  back 
by  tempests  on  the  shores  of  Spain.  He 
set  off  with  some  of  his  armed  com- 
panions, crossed  the  Pyrenees  undis- 
covered, appeared  before  the  gates  of 
Bordeaux,  and  summoned  the  English 
Seneschal.  To  him  he  proclaimed  him- 
self 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- 

f)eared  under  the  walls,  and  had  chal- 
enged  him  in  vain.  Charles  presented 
himself  in  full  armour  on  the  appointed 
day,  summoned  Peter  to  appear,  and  pro- 
claimed him  a  recreant  and  a  dastardly 
craven,  unworthy  of  the  name  of 
knight." 

Charles  of  Anjou,  Peter  the  Tiiird  of 
Aragon,  and  Philip  the  Third  of  France, 
all  died  in  the  same  year,  1285. 

126.  These  kingdoms  being  badly 
governed  by  his  son  and  successor, 
Charles  the  Second,  called  the  Lame. 

128.  Daughters  of  Raymond  Beren- 
ger  the  Fifth,  Count  of  Provence  ;  the 
first  married  to  St.  Louis  of  F'rance, 
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. 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


m 


131.  Henry  the  Third  (1216-1272,) 
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  sermons 
and  masses ;  he  maintained  the  supe- 
riority of  the  latter,  and  affirmed  that  he 
would  rather  have  one  hour's  conversa- 
tion 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 
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 
1290,  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  consequence  be- 
tween Alessandria  and  the  Marquis's 
provinces  of  Monferrato  and  Canavese. 

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 
honour  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  Ghibellines, 


Alessandria  della  Paglia  (of  the  Straw) ; 
either  from  the  straw  used  in  the  bricks, 
or  more  probably  from  the  supposed  in- 
security of  a  city  built  in  so  short  a  space 
of  time. 


CANTO  vin. 

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  Jnan,  HI.  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  service 
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  polluantur  corpora. 

Presta,  Pater  piissime, 

Patrique  compar  Unice, 

Cum  Spiritu  Paraclito 

Regans  per  omne  sacculum."        ,, , 

This  hymn  would  seem  to  have  no 
great  applicability  to  disembodied  spir- 
its ;  and  perhaps  may  have  the  same 
reference  as  Jhe  last  petition  in  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  Canto  XL  19  : — 

"  Our  virtue,  which  is  easily  o'ercome, 

Put  not  to  proof  with  the  old  Adversary, 
But  thou  from  him  who  spurs  it  so,  dehver. 


388 


jVotes  to  purgatorio. 


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  che- 
rubims,  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  colour  of  hope,  which 
is  the  distinguishing  virtue  of  Purgatory. 
On  the  symbolism  of  colours,  Mrs.  Jame- 
son, Sacred  and  Legendary  Art,  Introd., 
says : — 

"  In  very  early  Art  we  find  colours 
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  colours  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  scrupu- 
lously 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  colour  consecrated  to  the  Virgin, 
who,  however,  never  wears  white  except 
in  pictures  of  the  Assumption, 

"  Kkd,  the  ruby,  signified  fire,  divine 
love,  the  Holy  Spirit,  heat,  or  the  crea- 
tive power,  and  royalty.  White  and  red 
roses  expressed  love  and  innocence,  or 
love  and  wisdom,  as  in  the  garland  with 
which  the  angel  crowns  St.  Cecilia.  In 
a  bad  sense,  red  signified  blood,  war, 
hatred,  and  punishment.  Red  and  black 
combined  were  the  colours  of  purgatory 
and  the  Devil. 

"Blue,  or  the  sapphire,  expressed 
heaven,  the  firmament,  truth,  constancy, 
fidelity.  Christ  and  the  Virgin  wear  the 
red  tunic  and  the  blue  inantle«  as  signi- 


fying heavenly  love  and  heavenly  truth.  * 
The  same  colours  were  given  to  St.  John 
the  Evangelist,  with  this  difference, — 
that  he  wore  the  blue  tunic  and  the  red 
mantle  ;  in  later  pictures  the  colours  are 
sometimes  red  and  green. 

"  Yellow,  or  gold,  was  the  symbol 
of  the  sun  ;  of  the  goodness  of  God  ; 
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,  jea- 
lousy, deceit  ;  in  this  sense  it  is  given 
to  the  traitor  Judas,  who  is  generally 
habited  in  dirty  yellow. 

"  Green,  the  emerald,  is  the  colour  of 
spring ;  of  hope,  particularly  hope  in 
immortality  ;  and  of  victory,  as  the  colour 
of  the  palm  and  the  laurel. 

"  Violet,  the  amethyst,  signified  love 
and  truth  ;  or,  passion  and  suffering. 
Hence  it  is  the  colour  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  cruci- 
fixion. Mary  Magdalene,  who  as  patron 
saint  wears  the  red  robe,  as  penitent 
wears  violet  and  blue,  the  colours  of 
sorrow  and  of  constancy.  In  the  devo- 
tional representation  of  her  by  Timoteo 
della  Vite,  she  weai-s  red  and  green,  the 
colours  of  love  antl  hope. 

"  Gray,  the  colour  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  wis  appropriate  to  the 
Prince  of  Darkness.  In  some  old  illu- 
minated MS.S.,  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  Car- 
melites." 

50.  It  was  not  so  dark  that  on  a  near 
approach  he  could  not  distinguish  objects 
indistinctly  visible  at  a  greater  distance. 

•  In  the  Spanish  schools  the  colour  of  out 
Saviour's  inantte  is  generally  a  deep  rich  violet 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


m 


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 
tiiis  "gentle  Judge,"  who  hanged  Friar 
Gomita  for  peculation.    Itif.  XXII.  82. 

71.  His  daughter,  still  young  and  in- 
nocent. 

75.  His  widow  married  Galeazzo  de' 
Visconti  of  Milan,  "and  much  discom- 
fort did  this  woman  suffer  with  her  hus- 
band," says  the  Ottinto,  "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.  "Accord- 
ing to  Fara,  a  writer  of  the  sixteenth 
century,"  says  Valery,  Voyage  en  Corse  et 
en  Sardaigne,  II.  37,  "  the  elegant  but 
somewhat  chimerical  historian  of  Sar- 
dinia, Gallura  is  a  Gallic  colony  ;  its 
arms  are  a  cock  ;  and  one  might  find 
some  analogy  between  the  natural  viva- 
city of  its  inhabitants  and  that  of  the 
P'rench."  Nino  thinks  it  would  look 
better  on  a  tombstone  than  a  viper. 

89.  These  three  stars  are  the  AlphtF 
of  Euridanus,  of  the  Ship,  and  of  the 
Golden  Fish  ;  allegorically,  if  any  alle- 
goiy  be  wanted,  the  three  Theological 
Virtues,  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity.  The 
four  morning  stars,  the  Cardinal  Virtues 
of  active  life,  are  already  set ;  these  an- 
nounce the  evening  and  the  life  contem- 
plative. 

100.  Compare  this  with  Milton's  de- 
scription of  the  serpent,  Farad.  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, 
Aniung  thick-wovtn  arborets,  and  flowers 
Imburdtred  on  each  bank. 

Not  with  indented  wave, 
Prone  on  the  ground,  as  since  ;   but  on  his 

rear, 
Circular  base  of  rismg  folds,  that  towered 
Fi'ld  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  oft  the  grass 
Floated  redundant :  pleasing  was  his  shape 
And  lovely  ;  never  since  of  serpent-kind 
Lovelier,  not  those  that  in  lUyria  changed 
Hermione  and  Cadmus,  or  the  god 
In  Epidaurus  ;  nor  to  which  transformed 
Ammonian  Jove  or  Capitoline  was  seen, — 
He  with  Olympias,  this  with  her  who  bore 
Scipio,    the    height    of   Rome.      With  track 

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." 

1 14.  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. 

1 16.  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." 

118.  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 
Inferno. 

131.   Pope  Boniface  the  Eighth. 

134.  Before  the  sun  shall  be  seven 
times  in  Aries,  or  before  seven  years  are 
passed. 

137.  Ecclesiastes,  xn.  il:  "The  words 
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, 
and  the  rising  of  the  stars  in  line  89. 


390 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


With  it  closes  also  the  first  subdivision 
of  this  part  of  the  poem,  indicated,  as 
the  reader  will  not  fail  to  notice,  by  the 
elaborate  introduction  of  the  next  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, 
1  he  vapours  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  mom." 

2.  Don  Quixote.,  I.  2:  "Scarcely  had 
ruddy  Phnebus  spread  the  golden 
tresses  of  his  Ijeauteous  hair  over  the 
face  of  the  wide  and  spacious  earth, 
and  scarcely  had  the  paintea  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  Iicrself  to  mortals  through 
the  gates  and  balconies  of  the  Manchegan 
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.  1  his  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 
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  re- 
venged. 

Shares  the  like  fate,  and  to  a  bird  is  changed  ; 

Fixed  on  his  he.id  the  crested  plumes  appe.ir, 

Long  is  his  beak,  and  sharpened  like  a  spear  ; 

Thus  armed,  his  looks  his  inward  mind  dis- 

And,  to  a  lapwing  turned,  he  fans  his  way. 

See  also  Gower,  Confes.  AmanL,  V. : — 

"  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  th»^  worlde  is  woxe  greno 
And  comen  is  the  somer  tide. 
Then  fleeth  she  forth  and  ginneth  to  chid* 
And  rhitereth  out  in  her  langage 
What  falshede  is  in  mariage, 
And  telleth  in  a  maner  speche 
Of  Tereus  the  spouse  brechc." 

18.  Pope,  Temple  of  Fame,  7  :— 

"  What  time  the  mom  mysterious  visions  brtnn 
While    purer   slumbers   spread   their  gokiei 
wtngt," 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


991 


22.   Mount  Ida. 

30.  To  the  region  of  fire.  Bmnetto 
Latini,  TV^^cr,  Ch.  CXIII.,  says  :  'Sl.f- 
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  Chiion,  the  Centaur,  and 
concealed  him  in  female  attire  in  the 
court  of  Lycomedes,  king  of  Scyros. 

53.  As  Richter  says:  "Ihe  hour 
when  sleep  is  nigh  unto  the  soul." 

55.  Lucia,  the  Enlightening  Grace  of 
heaven.     Inf.  II.  97. 

58.   Nino  and  Conrad. 

63.  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  btf.  V. 
Note  89. 

105.  The  gate  of  Paradise  is  thus 
described  by  Milton,  Parad.  Lost,  III. 
501  :— 

"  Far  distant  he  descries, 
Ascending  hy  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 
'I'he  portal  shone,  inimitable  on  earth 
By  model  or  by  shading  pencil  drawn. 
The  stairs  were  such  as  whereon  J.icob  saw 
Angels,  ascending  and  descending,  bands 
Of  guardians  bright,  when  he  from  Esau  fled 
To  Padan-Aram  in  the  field  of  Luz, 
Dreaming  by  night  under  the  open  sky, 
And    waking    cried,     '  This     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  bright  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  steed.s." 

112.  The  Seven  Sins,  which  are  pu- 
nished in  the  seven  circles  of  Purgatory  ; 
Pride,  Envy,  Anger,  Sloth,  Avarice, 
Gluttony,  LusL 


118.  The  golden  key  is  the  authority 
of  the  confessor ;  the  silver,  his  know- 
ledge: 

132.  Luke  ix.  62:  "No  man  having 
put  his  hand  to  the  plough,  and  look- 
ing back,  is  fit  for  the  kingdom  of  God." 
And  xvii.  32 :  "  Remember  Lot's 
wife." 

IJcethius,  Cons.  Phil.,  Lib.  III.  Met. 
12  :— 

"  Heu  !  noctis  prope  term:nos 
Orpheus  Eurydicen  suani 
Vidit,  perdidit,  occidit. 
Vos  haec  fabula  respicit, 
Quicumque  in  snperum  diem 
Mentem  ducere  quser!tis, 
Nam  qui  Tartareuin  in  specus 
Victus  lumina  flexerit, 
Qui'-quid  praecipuum  trahit, 
Perdit,  dum  videt  inferos." 

136.   Milton,  Parad.  Lost,  II.  879  : — 

"  On  a  sudden  open  fly 
With  impetuous  recoil  and  jarring  sound 
The  infernal  doors,  and  on  their  hinges  grate 
Harsh  thunder." 

138.  When  Caesar  robbed  the  Ro- 
man treasury  on  the  Tarpeian  hill,  the 
tribune  Metellus  strove  to  defend  it ;  but 
Caesar,  drawing  his  sword,  said  to  him, 
"It  is  easier  to  do  this  than  to  say 
it." 

Lucan,  Phars.,  III.  : — 

"  The  tribune  with  unwilling  steps  W'thdrew, 
While  impious  hands  the  rude  assault  renew  : 
The  brazen  gates   with   thundering  strokes  r^ 

sound. 
And  the  Tarpeian  mountain  rings  around. 
At  length  the  sacred  storehouse,  open  laid, 
'I'he  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  Flaminiusand  .(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  hundro-J  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  soldier's  lawless  prey  : 
And  wretched  Rome,  by  robbery  laid  low, 
Was  poorer  than  the  bankrupt  Caesar  now. " 

140.  The  hymn  of  St.  Ambrose,  uni- 
versally known  in  the  churches  as  the  Tt 
Deum. 

D  D 


J92 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


144.   'i'homson,  Hytnn  : — 

"  In  swarming  cities  vast 
Assembled  men  to  the  deep  organ  join 
The  long-resoiuiding  voice,  oft  breaking  clear 
At  solenm  pauses  throngh  the  swelling  bass, 
And,  as  each  mingling  flame  increases  each, 
In  one  united  ardour  rise  to  heaven." 


CANTO  X. 

T.  In  this  canto  is  describeri  the  First 
Circle  of  Purgatory,  wliere  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  Grecian 
sculptor,  among  whose  works  one,  re- 
presenting the  body-guard  of  the  king  of 
Persia,  acquired  such  fame  for  excellence 
as  to  be  called  "the  Rule." 

33.  With  this  description  of  the  sculp- 
tures on  the  wall  of  Purgatory  compare 
that  of  the  shield  which  Vulcan  made 
for  Achilles,  Iliad,  XVIII.  484,  Buck- 
ley'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  rejire- 
sented  all  the  constellations  with  which 
the  heaven  is  crowned,  the  Pleiades,  the 
Hyades,  and  the  strength  of  Orion,  and 
the  Bear,  which  they  also  call  by  the 
appellation  of  the  Wain,  which  there  re- 
volves, 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 
the  one,  indeed,  there  were  marriages 
and  feasts ;  and  they  were  conductmg 
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  people ;  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,  sup- 
porters 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.  More- 
over, 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,  however, 
had  not  yet  complied,  but  were  secretly 
arming  themselves  for  an  ambuscade. 
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  theii 
leader,  and  Pallas  Minerva,  both  golden, 
and  clad  in  golden  dresses,  beautiful  and 
large,  along  with  their  armour,  radiant 
all  round,  and  indeed  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 
settled,  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  shep- 
herds accompanied  them,  amusing  them- 
selves with  their  pipes,  for  they  had  not 
yet  perceived  the  stratagem.  Then  they, 
tiiscerning  them,  ran  in  upon  them,  and 
immediately  slaughtered  on  all  sides  the 
herds  of  oxen,  and  the  beautiful  flocki 
of  snow-white  sheep ;  and  slew  the  shep- 
herds besides.  But  they,  when  they 
heard  the  great  tumult  among  the  oxen, 
l)reviously  sitting  in  front  of  tlie  assembly, 
mounting  their  nimble-footed  steeds,  pur- 
sued ;  and  soon   came   up   with   them. 


NOTES   TO    PURGATORIO. 


393 


liien,  having  marshalled  themselves, 
they  fought  a  battle  on  the  banks  of 
the  river,  and  wounded  one  another  with 
their  brazen  spears.  Among  them  min- 
ified Discord  and  Tumult,  and  destruc- 
tive Fate,  holding  one  alive  recently 
wounded,  another  unwounded,  but  a 
third,  slain,  she  drew  by  the  feet  through 
the  battle  ;  and  had  the  garment  around 
her  shoulders  crimsoned  with  the  gore 
of  men.  But  they  turned  about,  like 
living  mortals,  and  fouglit,  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  ]iloughmen  drove  hither 
and  thither,  turning  round,  their  teams. 
But  wlien,  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  themselves  in 
serie>,  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  beyond  all  others. 

' '  On  it  likewise  he  ])laced  a  field  of 
deeji  corn,  where  reapers  were  cutting, 
having  sliarp  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 
rea]»ers,  while  behind  them  boys  gather- 
ing the  handfuls,  and  bearing  them  in 
their  arms,  continually  supplied  them  ; 
and  among  them  the  master  stood  by 
the  swatli  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  reapei-s. 

"  On  it  likewise  he  placed  a  vineyard, 
heavily  laden  with  graj^es,  beautiful, 
golden  ;  init  the  clusters  throughout  were 
black  ;  and  it  was  supported  throughout 
by  silver  poles.  Round  it  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,  beat- 
ing 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  pas- 
ture, beside  a  murmuring  stream,  along 
the  breeze-waving  reeds.  Four  golden 
herdsmen  accompanied  the  oxen,  and 
nine  dogs,  swift  of  foot,  followed.  But 
two  terrible  lions  detained  the  bull,  roar- 
ing among  the  foremost  o.xen,  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  shep- 
herds vainly  pressed  upon  them,  urging 
on  their  fleet  dogs.  These  however  re- 
fused to  bite  the  lions,  but,  standing  very 
near,  barked,  and  shunned  them. 

*'  On  it  illustrious  Vidcan  also  formed 
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,  Dcedalus  contrived 
for  fair-haired  Ariadne.  There  danced 
youths  and  alluring  virgins,  holding  each 
other's  hands  at  the  wrist.  Tiiese  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  skil- 
ful feet,  they  nimbly  bounded  round ; 
as  when  a  ]iotter,  sitting,  shall  make 
trial  of  a  wheel  fitted  to  his  hands,  whe- 
ther it  will  run  :  and  at  other  times  again 
they  ran  back  to  their  i^laces  through  one 
another.  But  a  great  crowd  surrounded 
the  pleasing  dance,  amusing  themselves; 
and  among  them  two  tumblers,  begin- 
ning 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  /Eneas,  yEtidif,  VIII.,  and  of 
the  representations  on  the  wafis  of  the 
Temple  of  Juno  at  Carthage,  yEneid,  L 


394 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


Also  the  description  of  the  Temple  of 
Ma'-s,  ill  Statins,  Thebaid,  VII.,  and 
that  of  the  tomb  of  the  Persian  queen 
in  the  Alexaudreis  of  Philip  Gaultier, 
noticed  in  Mr.  Sumner's  article,  Atlantic 
Monthly,  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  wel  eke  tell  you  all 
The  portreltiire  that  was  upon  the  wall 
Within  the  temple  of  mighty  Mars  the  Rede  f 

"  First  on  the  wall  was  painted  a  forest, 
In  which  ther  woiineth  neyther  man  ne  best ; 
With  knotty,  knarry,  barrein  trees  old,       , 
Of  stubbes  sharpe,  and  h  dous  to  behold  ; 
III  which  ther  ran  a  romble  and  a  swough. 
As  though  a  stornie  shuld  bresten  every  bough. 
And,  dounward  from  an  HMl,  under  a  bent, 
Ther  stcxxl  the  temple  of  Mars  Armipotent, 
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  mightcn  any  light  disceme. 
The  dore  was  all  of  athamant  etenie  ; 
Yclenched,  overthwart  and  endelong. 
With  yreii  tough.     And,  for  to  make  it  strong, 
Every  piler  the  temple  to  sustene 
Was  tonne-gret,  of  vren  bright  and  shene. 

"  Ther  saw  I,  first,  the  derke  imagining 
Of  felonie,  and  alle  the  coinpa.ssing ; 
The  cruel  ire,  red  as  any  glede  ; 
The  pikepurse  ;  and  eke  the  pale  drede  ; 
The  smiler,  with  the  knil  under  the  cloke  ; 
The  shepen  brennlng,  with  the  blake  smoke  ; 
The  treson  of  the  mordring  in  the  bedde  ; 
l"he  open  werre,  with  woimdes  all  beliledde  ; 
Conteke,  with  blody  knif  and  sharp  menace  : 
All  full  of  chirking  wa.s  that  sory  place. 
The  sleer  of  himself,  yet,  saw  I  there. 
His  herle-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  mUo  her  and  said,  Hail,  thou  that  art 
highly  favoured,  the  Lord  is  with  thee." 

44.  Luke  i.  38 :  "  .And  Mary  said, 
Behold  tiie  handmaid  of  the  Lord." 

57.  2  Samuel  vi.  6,  7  :  "  And  when 
they  came  to  Nachon's  threshing-floor, 
Uz/ah  put  forth  his  hand  to  the  ark  of 
(»o<l,  and  took  ht)ld  of  it ;  for  the  oxen 
shook  it.  AntI  the  anger  of  the  Lord 
was  kindled  against  L'zzah,  and  God 
smote  him  there  for  his  error ;  and  there 
he  died  by  the  ark  of  God." 

65.  2  Snviucl  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  ot  the  Lord  came  into  the  city  of 
David,  Michal,  Saul's  daughter,  looked 
through  a  window  and  saw  King  David 
leaping  and  dan;ing  before  the  Lord; 
and  she  despised  him  in  her  heart." 

73.  This  story  of  Trajan  is  told  in 
nearly  the  same  words,  though  in  ])rose, 
in  the  Fiore  Ui  Filosofi,  a  work  attril>uted 
to  Brunetto  Latini.  See  Nannucci, 
Manuale  dclla  Lefteratiira  del  I'rimo 
Secolo,  III.  291.  It  may  be  found  also 
in  the  L^egenda  Aurea,  in  the  Cento  No- 
velle  Antiche,  Nov.  67,  and  in  the  Life  of 
St.  Gregory,  by  Paulus  Diaconus. 

As  told  by  Ser  Brunetto  the  story  runs 
thus  :  "Trajan  was  a  very  just  Kniperor, 
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  ujion  those 
who  had  without  cause  ])ut  to  death  her 
son,  who  was  an  upright  young  man. 
And  he  answered  antl  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,  'Iiow  do  I  know  that? 
and  suppose  he  do  it,  what  is  it  to  thee 
if  another  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  owef^  ;  the  justice  of 
another  will  not  liberate  tliee,  and  it  will 
be  well  for  thy  successor  if  he  shall  lilie- 
rate  himself.'  Moved  by  these  words  the 
Em])eror  alighted,  and  did  justice,  and 
consoled  the  widow,  and  then  mounted 
his  horse,  and  went  to  battle,  an<l  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, 
exce|it  his  bones  and  his  tf>ngue,  which 
was  like  that  of  a  living  man.  And  by 
this  St.  (jregory  knew  his  justice,  for 
this  tongue  had  always  spoken  it  ;  so 
that  when  he  wejit  very  i>iteously  through 
com)-assion,  praying  ( ">o(l  that  he  woidd 
take  this  soul  out  of  Hell,  knowing  that 
he  had  been  a  Pagan.  Then  God,  be- 
cause of  these  prayers,  drew  that  soul 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


395 


from  pain,  and  put  it  into  glory.  And 
thereupon  the  angel  spoke  to  St.  Gre- 
gory, 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. 

1 24.  Jeremy  Taylor  says  :  "As  the 
silk-worm  eateth  itself  out  of  a  seed  to 
l)ecome  a  little  worm  ;  and  there  feeding 
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  sliape  of  a  flying  creature  : 
so  is  the  progress  of  souls." 

127.  Gower,  Confes.  Amant.,  i. : — 

"  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   XL 

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  inlluence  flowing  from  the 
glory  of  the  Almighty."  In  the  Vul- 
gate :    Vapor  est  enim  vij-tutis  Dei, 

45.   See  Inf.  XII.  Note  2. 

58.  Or  Italian.  The  speaker  is  Om- 
berto  Aldobraiuieschi,  Count  of  Santa- 
fiore,  in  the  Maremma  of  Siena.  "The 
Counts  of  Santafiore  were,  and  are,  and 
almost  always  will  be  at  war  with  the 
Sienese,"  says  the  Oltiino.  In  one  of 
these  wars  Omherto  was  slain,  at  the 
village  of  Campagnatico.  "The  author 
means,"  continues  the  same  commen- 
tator, "that  he  who  cannot  carry  his 
head  high  should  bow  it  down  like  a 
bulrush.  ' 

79.  \  asdiU,  Lives  of  the  Painters,  Mrs. 
Foster's  Tr. ,  I.  103,  .says  : — 

"  At  this  time  there  lived  la  Rome^- 


to  omit  nothing  relative  to  art  that  may 
be  worthy  of  commemoration — a  certain 
Oderigi  of  Agobbio,  an  excellent  minia- 
ture-painter of  those  times,  with  whom 
Giotto  lived  on  terms  of  close  friendship; 
and  who  was  therefore  invited  by  the 
Pope  to  illuminate  many  books  for  tiie 
library  of  the  palace  :  but  these  books 
have  in  great  part  perished  in  tiie  lapse 
of  time.  In  my  book  of  ancient  draw- 
ings 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  illumin- 
ating, 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  tniniare. 
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  honour  paid  to 
the  younger  artist. 

94.  Of  Cimabue,  Vasari,  Lives  oj  the 
Painters,  Mrs.  Foster's  Tr.,  I.  35,  says: — 

"  The  ovenvhelming  flood  of  evils  by 
which  unhappy  Italy  has  been  submerged 
and  devastated  had  not  only  destroyed 
whatever  could  properly  be  called  build- 
ings, but,  a  still  more  deplorable  conse- 
quence, had  totally  exterminated  theartists 
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  understand- 
ing, was  sent  to  Santa  Maria  Novella  to 
study  letters  under  a  relation,  who  was 
then  master  in  grammar  to  the  novices 
of  that  coiTvent.  But  Cimabue,  instead 
of  devoting  himself  to  letters,  consumed 
the  whole  day  in  drawing  men,  horses, 
houses,  and  other  various  fancies,  on  his 


1S9^ 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


books  and  different  papers, — an  occupa- 
tion to  which  he  felt  himself  impelled  by 
nature  ;  and  this  natural  inclination  was 
favouretl  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 
degenerated,  but  was  altogether  lost. 
These  artists,  among  other  works,  began 
to  paint  the  Chapel  of  the  Gondi,  sit- 
uate next  the  principal  chapel,  in  Santa 
Maria  Novella,  the  roof  and  walls  of 
which  are  now  almost  entirely  destroyed 
by  time,  — and  Cimabue,  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  laboured 
incessantly,  and  was  so  far  aided  by  his 
natural  ix)\vers  that  he  soqu  greatly  sur- 
passed his  teachers  both  in  design  and 
colouring.  For  these  masters,  caring 
liltle  for  the  progress  of  art,  had  exe- 
cuted their  works  as  we  now  see  them, 
not  in  the  excellent  manner  of  the  ancient 
Greeks,  but  in  the  rude  modem  style 
of  their  own  day.  Wherefore,  though 
Cimabue  imitated  his  C^reek  instructors, 
he  very  much  improved  the  art,  relieving 
it  greatly  from  their  uncouth  manner, 
and  doing  honour  to  his  country  liy  the 
name  he  acquired,  and  by  the  works  he 
performed.  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  pic- 
ture of  the  Virgin,  in  Santa  Croce, 
which  was,  and  is  still,  attached  to  one 
of  the  jiilasters  on  the  right  of  the  choir." 
95.  Shakesj^eare,    Troil.  and    Cres., 

in.  3 :- 

■'  TTie  present  eye  praises  the  present  object : 
Then  in:irvcl   nut,    thou   great  and  complete 

man, 
Th.at  all  the  Greeks  hegin  to  worship  Ajax  ; 
Since  things  in  motion  sooner  catch  t!.c  eye 
Than  what  not  stirs.     The  cry  went  once  on 

thee; 


And  still  it  might,  and  yet  it  may  again, 
If  thou  wouldbt  not  entomb  thyself  alive. 
And  case  thy  reputation  ii  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,  I.  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  loveliest  features, 
employs  himself  unweariedly  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  en- 
tombed beneath  the  ruins  of  war, — yet, 
by  the  favour  of  Heaven,  he,  I  say,  alone 
succeeded  in  resuscitating  Art,  and  re- 
storing 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  effectually  recalled  into  life.  The 
birth  of  this  great  man  took  place  in  the 
hamlet  of  Vesjiignano,  fourteen  miles 
from  the  city  of  Florence,  in  the  year 
1276.  His  father's  name  was  Bondone, 
a  simple  husbandman,  who  reared  the 
child,  to  whom  he  had  given  the  name 
of  Giotto,  with  such  decency  as  his  con- 
dition permitted.  The  lK>y  was  early 
remarked  for  extreme  vivacity  in  all  his 
childish  proceedings,  and  for  extraordi- 
nary 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  shee])  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 
periietually  drawing  on  the  stones,  the 
earth,  or  the  sand,  some  natural  object 
that  came  before  him,  or  some  fantasy 
that  presented  itself  to  his  thoughts.  It 
chanced  one  day  that  the  affairs  of  Ci- 
mabue took  him  from  Florence  to  Ves- 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORTO. 


^ 


pignano,  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  astonishment, 
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  requesting  the  con- 
sent 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  Nature  that  he 
totally  banished  the  rude  Greek  manner, 
restoring  art  to  the  better  path  adhered 
to  in  modern  times,  and  introducing  the 
custom  of  accurately  drawing  living  per- 
sons from  nature,  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 
famous  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  Rabat- 
ta,  and  of  Giotto  the  painter  himself. 
This  portrait  is  in  the  chapel  of  the 
palace  of  the  Podesta  in  Florence  ;  and 
in  the  same  chapel  are  the  portraits  of 
Ser  Bnmetto  Latini,  master  of  Dante, 
and  of  Messer  Corso  Donati,  an  illustri- 
ous citizen  of  that  day." 

Pope  Benedict  the  Ninth,  hearing  of 
Giotto's  fame,  sent  one  of  his  courtiers 
to  Tuscany,  to  propose  to  him  certain 
paintings  for  the  Church  of  St.  Peter. 
"  The  messenger,"  continues  Vasari, 
"when  on  his  way  to  visit  Cjiotto,  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  Flo- 
rence, and  repaired  one  morning  to  the 
workshop  where  Giotto  was  occupied 
with  his  labours.     He  declared  the  pur- 


pose of  the  Pope,  and  the  manner  in 
which  that  Pontiff  desired  to  avail  him- 
self of  his  assistance  ;  and,  finally,  re- 
quested to  have  a  drawing,  that  he  might 
send  it  to  his  Holiness.  Giotto,  who 
was  very  courteous,  took  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  a  pencil  dipped  in  a  red  colour,  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 
recognised.'  The  messenger,  unable  to 
obtain  anything  more,  went  away  vei-y 
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,  lie 
sent  that  of  Giotto  also,  relating  the 
mode  in  which  he  had  made  his  circle, 
without  moving  his  arm  and  without 
compasses  ;  from  which  the  Pope,  and 
such  of  the  courtiers  as  were  well  versed 
in  the  subject,  p)erceived  how  far  Giotto 
surpassed  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, — Tii  set 
piutondo  che  VO  di  Giotto  ;  the  signifi- 
cance of  which  consists  in  the  double 
meaning  of  the  word  'tondo,'  which  is 
used  in  the  Tuscan  for  slowness  of  in- 
tellect and  heaviness  of  comprehension, 
as  well  as  for  an  exact  circle.  The  pro- 
verb 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  paint- 
ing. " 

Boccaccio,  Decameron,  VI.  5,  tells  this 
tale  of  Giotto  : — 

"As  it  often  happens  that  fortune  hides 
under  the  meanest   trades    in   life  the. 


398 


J\rOT£S   TO  PURGATORFO. 


greatest  virtues,  which  has  been  proved 
by  Pampinea  ;  so  are  the  greatest  ge- 
niuses found  frequently  lodged  by  Nature 
in  the  most  deformed  and  misshapen 
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, 
v/ith  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  tiiotto,  had  such  a  prodigious 
fancy,  that  tiiere  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,  imagining  that  to  be  the  very 
thing  itself  which  was  only  his  painting  : 
therefore,  having  brought  that  art  again 
to  light,  which  had  lain  buried  for  many 
ages  under  the  errors  of  such  as  aimed 
more  to  captivate  the  eyes  of  the  ignorant, 
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,  notwithstanding 
his  modesty  would  never  suffer  himself 
to  be  so  esteemed ;  which  honour,  though 
rejected  by  him,  displayed  itself  in  him 
with  the  greater  lustre,  as  it  was  so 
eagerly  usurped  by  others  less  knowing 
than  himself,  and  by  many  also  who  had 
all  their  knowledge  from  him.  But 
though  his  excellence  in  his  profession 
was  so  wonderful,  yet  as  to  his  person 
and  as]5cct  he  had  no  way  the  advantage 
of  Signor  Forese.  To  come  then  to  my 
story.  These  two  worthies  had  each  his 
country-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  overtaken 
by  a  great  showe»  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, 
md  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 
shuffling  steeds  had  thrown  upon  them, 
and  which  by  no  means  improved  their 
looks,  it  liegan  to  clear  up  at  last,  and 
they,  who  had  hitherto  said  but  little  to 
each  other,  now  turned  to  discourse  to- 
gether ;  whilst  Forese,  riding  along  and 
listening  to  Giotto,  who  was  excellent  at 
telling  a  story,  b^an  at  last  to  view  him 
attentively  from  head  to  foot,  and,  seeing 
him  in  that  wretched,  dirty  pickle,  with- 
out 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  Ijefore, 
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  yoiir  A, 
B,  C. '  At  this  Forese  was  sensible  of  . 
his  mistake,  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 
("avalcanti,  Jnf.  X.  Note  63  ;  and  Guido 
Vf\xmK.^\\\,  Piirg.  XXVI.  Note  92,  whom 
he  calls 

"  The  father 
Of  me  and  of  my  betters,  who  had  ever 
Practised   the    sweet    and    gracious  rhymes  o( 
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  Uie  Death 
0/  Sir  H.  A/orison  :  — 

"  It  is  not  growing  like  a  tree 

In  bulk  doth  make  men  better  be  > 
Or  standing  lone  an  oak,  ttiree  hundred  year, 
To  fall  a  log  al  last,  dry,  bald,  and  scar : 
A  lily  of  a  day 
Is  fairer  far  in  May, 
Although  It  fall  and  die  tnat  night ; 
It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  fight." 

105.  The  babble  of  childhood  ;  pafipo 
for  pane,  bread,  and  dindi  for  danari, 
money. 

Halliwell,  Die.  of  Arch,  and  Prov. 
Words:  "DiNDERS,  small  coins  of  tiit 
Lower  Empire,  found  at  Wroxeter." 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


3» 


108.  The  revolution  of  the  fixed  stars, 
according  to  the  Ptolemaic  theory,  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,  Sacred  Poems  : 

"  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  tumours  of  a  troubled  mind." 

121.  A  haughty  and  ambitious  noble- 
man 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 
Colle  in  the  Val  d'  Elsa,  {Purg.  XIII. 
Note  115,)  he  was  taken  prisoner  "and 
his  head  was  cut  off,"  says  Villani,  VII. 
31,  "and  carried  through  all  the  camp 
fixed  upon  a  lance.  And  well  was  ful- 
filled 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  con- 
strained to  tell  how  he  would  succeed  in 
that  battle,  mendaciously  answered,  and 
said  :  '  Thou  shalt  go  forth  and  fight, 
thou  shalt  conquer  not  die  in  the  battle, 
and  thy  head  shall  be  highest  in  the 
camp.'  And  he,  believing  from  these 
words  that  he  should  be  victorious,  and 
believing  that  he  should  be  lord  over  all, 
did  not  put  a  stop  after  '  not '  (vincerai 
no,  tiiorrai,  thou  shalt  conquer  not,  thou 
snalt  die).  And  therefore  it  is  great 
folly  to  put  faith  in  the  devil's  advice. 
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  Tuscany  made 
him  their  chief,  and  he  was  very  pre- 
sumptuous in  his  will.''' 

The  humility  which  saved  him  was 
his  seating  himself  at  a  little  table  in  the 
public  square  of  Siena,  called  theCampo, 
and  begging  money  of  all  passers  to  pay 
the  ransom  of  a  friend  who  had  been 
taken  prisoner  by  Charles  of  Anjou,  as 
here  narrated  by  Dante.  .    • 


138.   Spenser,  Faery  Qtieene,  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. 


CANTO    XII. 

I.  In  the  first  part  of  this  canto  the 
same  subject  is  continued,  with  examples 
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," 

Jliad,  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  children, 
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." 

1 7.  Tombs  under  the  pavement  in  the 
aisles  of  churches,  in  contradistinction 
to  those  built  aloft  against  the  walls. 

25.  The  reader  will  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,  ParaJ.  Lost,  I.  44  : — 

"  Him  the  Almighty  Power 
Hurled  headlong  flaming  from  the  ethereal  skyv 
With  hideous  rum  and  combustion,  down 
To  bottomless  perdition,  there  to  dwell 
In  adamantine  chains  and  penal  Are, 
Who  durst  defy  the  Omnipotent  to  anas." 


0» 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


28.  Iliad,  I.  403  :  "  Him  of  the 
hundred  hands,  whom  the  gods  call 
Biiareus.  and  all  men  ^goeon."  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.  Thymbrseus,  a  surname  of  Apollo, 
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  scattered 
them  abroad  from  thence  upon  the  face 
of  all  the  earth  ;  and  they  left  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." 

See  also  luf.  XXXL  Note  77. 

36.  Lombard!  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  follows  : — 

"This  sepulchre  within  it  has  no  corse  ; 
1'his  corse  without  here  has  no  sepulchre, 
But  to  itself  is  sepulchre  and  corse." 

Ovid,  Mdamorph.,  VL,  Croxall's 
Tr.  :  — 

"  Widowed  and  childless,  lamentable  state  ! 
A  ctulcful  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,  hut  its  colour  dead, 
Faded  her  eyes,  and  set  within  her  head. 
Mo  more  her  pliant  tongue  its  motion  keeps. 
But  .stands  congealed  within  her  frozen  lips. 
SLignate  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 

win<ls, 
Borne  through  the   air,   her  native  country 

finds  ; 
There  fixed,  she  stands  upon  a  bleaky  hill, 
There  yet    her  marble  checks  eternal   tears 

«(wta." 


39.  Homer,  Iliad,  XXIV.  604, 
makes  them  but  twelve.  "Twelve  chil- 
dren perished  in  her  halls,  six  daughters 
and  six  blooming  sons  ;  these  Apollo 
slew  from  his  silver  bow,  enraged  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,  Metainorph.,  VI.,  says: — 

"  Seven  are  my  daughters  of  a  form  divine, 
With  seven  fair  sons,  an  indefective  line." 

40.  I  Samuel xx\\.  4,  5:  "Then  said 
Saul  luito  his  armour-bearer.  Draw  thy 
sword  and  thrust  me  through  therewith, 
lest  these  imcircumcised  come  and  thrust 
me  through  and  abuse  me.  But  his 
armour-bearer  would  not,  for  he  was 
sore  afraid ;  therefore  Saul  took  a  sword, 
and  fell  upon  it.  And  when  his  armour- 
bearer  saw  that  Saul  was  dead,  he  fell 
likewise  upon  his  sword,  and  died  with 
him." 

42.  2  Samuel  i.  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. 
This  the  proud  maid  with  scornful  air  denies. 
And  even  the  goddess  at  her  work  defies  ; 
Disowns  her  heavenly  mistress  every  hour, 
llor  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  foreheaa 
with  her  shuttle  of  box-wood. 

"  The  unhappy  maid,  impatient  of  the  wrong, 
Down  from  a  beam  her  injured  person  hung; 


NOTES   TO  rURGATQRlO. 


401 


When  Pallas,  pitying  her  wretched  state. 
At  once  prevented  and  pronounced  her  fate  : 
'  Live  ;  but  depend,  vile  wretch  ! '  the  goddess 

cried, 
'  Doomed  in  suspense  for  ever  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.  Amphiaratis,  the  soothsayer,  fore- 
seeing 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  Amphiaralis,  depart- 
ing, charged  his  son  Alcmeon  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,  Theb.,  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  Adram- 
melech  and  Sharezer,  his  sons,  smote 
him  with  the  sword  ;  and  they  escaped 
into  the  land  of  Armenia,  and  Esarhad- 
don,  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  barbarians  have 
engaged  among  themselves,  I  reckon  this 

to    have   been    the   fiercest The 

greater  part  of  the  army  of  the  Persians 
was  destroyed,  and  Cynis  himself  fell, 
after  reigning  nine  and  twenty  years. 
Search  was  made  among  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  be  the  most  worthy 
of  credit." 

59.  After  Judith  had  slain  Holofernes. 
yudith  XV.  I  :  "  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  neighbour,  but, 
rushing  out  altogether,  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  consent,  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  chiaros- 
curo, and  unrestrained  flights  of  fantastic 
imagination,  separated  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  j  eriotl, 
the  greatest  poet  of  that,  or  perhaps  ot 
any  other  age,  and  the  attached  friend  o» 


402 


NOTES  ro  PURGATORIO. 


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  carried 
to  its  highest  perfection  : — 

'  Qual  di  pennel  fu  maestro,  e  di  stile 
Che  ritraesse  1'  ombre,  e  i  tratti,  ch'  ivi 
Mirar  farieno  uno  ingegno  sottile. 
Mori  li  morti,  e  i  vivi  parean  vivi : 
Non  vide  me'  di  me,  chi  vide  il  vero. 
Quant'  io  calcai,  fin  che  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  pave- 
ment, for  ever  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  higliest  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  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  behold  the  Magdalene 
receiving  her  pardon  at  Christ's  feet,  or 
the  disciples  sitting  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  l)een  miraculously  com- 
manded to  retain  for  ever  the  colours 
that  had  flashed  u|Km  it  for  an  instant, — 
would  we  not  part  with  our  picture, 
Titian's  or  Veronese's  though  it  might 
be?" 

8i.  The  sixth  hour  of  the  day,  or 
noon  of  the  second  day. 

102.  Florence  is  here  callal  ironically 
"the  well  guided"  or  well  governed. 
Kubaconte  is  the  name  of  the  most 
easterly  of  the  bridges  over  the  Arno, 
and  takes  its  name  from  Messer  Kuba- 
conte, who  was  Fodesti  of  Florence  in 
1236,    when     this    bridge    was    built. 


Above  it  on  the  hill  stands  the  church  of 
San  Miniato.  This  is  the  hill  which 
Michael  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.  Matthews.  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  inferiors, 
lest  they  shf)uld  be  equal  to  them  ;  in 
respect  of  equals,  because  they  are  equal 
to  them.  Thrcjugh  envy  proceeded  the 
fall  of  the  world,  and  the  death  of 
Christ." 

9.  The  livid  colour  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.  Hoethius,  Cuiis.  rhil.,y.  Met.  2: 

"  Him  the  Sim,  then,  rightly  call, — 
God  who  sees  and  lightens  all." 

29.  John  ii.  3  :  "  And  when  they 
wanted  wine,  the  mother  of  Jesus  saith 
unto  him,  They  have  no  wine." 

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  Ije  supposed 
that  the  persons  alluded  to  are  actually 
passing  in  the  air. 

33.  The    name    of   Orestes    is   hert 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


403 


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  Cclle,  where  from  a  tower  she 
witnessed  the  battle  between  her  towns- 
men 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  discomfiture  of  the 
Sienese,  and  the  death  of  their  captain," 
(Provenzan  Salvani,  see  Canto  XL  Note 
121,)  "exultant  and  almost  beside  her- 
self, 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  prayers  are  answered, 
and  I  die  content.'" 

110.  Gower,  Confes.  Amant.,  IL  : — 

"  Whan  I  have  sene  another  blithe 
Of  love  and  hadde  a  goodly  chere, 
Ethna,  which  brenneth  yere  by  yere, 
Was  thaniie  nought  so  bote  as  I 
Of  thiike  sore  which  prively 
Mine  hertes  thought  withinne  brenneth." 

114.  tVwz'/^,  IV.  23  :  "  Every  effect, 
in  so  far  as  it  is  effect,  receiveth  the  like- 
ness 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  similitude 
of  an  arch.  Returning  then  to  our  life, 
of  which  it  is  now  question,  I  say  that 


it  proceeds  in  the  image  of  this  arcli, 
ascending  and  descending." 

122.  The  warm  days  near  the  end  of 
January  are  still  called  in  Lombardy  / 
giorni  della  merla,  the  days  of  the  black- 
bird ;  from  an  old  legend,  that  once  in 
the  sunny  weather  a  blackbird  sang,  "I 
fear  thee  no  ni'ore,  O  Lord,  for  the  winter 
is  over." 

128.  Peter  Pettignano,  or  Pettinajo, 
was  a  holy  hermit,  who  saw  visions  and 
wrought  miracles  at  Siena.  Forsyth, 
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  Peter,  a 
Sienese  comb-maker,  whom  the  Church 
had  neglected  to  canonize  till  now.  Poor 
Peter  was  honoured  with  all  the  solem- 
nity of  music,  high-mass,  and  officiating 
cardinal,  a  florid  panegyric,  pictured 
angels  bearing  his  tools  to  heaven,  and 
combing  their  own  hair  as  they  soared  ; 
but  he  received  five  hundred  years  ago  a 
greater  honour  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  of/;//  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  harbour  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  inhabitants  ;  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  yeai"s  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  per- 
severed, and  finally  succeeded  in  obtain- 
ing the  water  so  patiently  sought  for. 
The  Pozzo  Diana,  or  Diana's  Well,  is 


404 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


still  to  be  seen  at  the  Convent  of  the 
Carmen. 

154.  The  admirals  who  go  to  Tala- 
mone  to  superintend  the  works  will  lose 
there  more  than  their  hope,  namely,  their 
lives. 


CANTO  XIV. 

I.  The  subject  of  the  preceding  canto 
is  here  continued.  Compare  the  intro- 
ductory lines  with  those  of  Canto  V. 

7.  These  two  spirits  prove  to  be  Guido 
del  Duca  and  Rinieri  da  Calboli. 

17.  A  mountain  in  the  Apennines, 
north-east  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  Porciauo, 
which  is  said  to  have  been  inhabited  by 
Dante.  From  there  I  had  still  to  climb 
the  summits  of  the  Falterona.  I  started 
towards  midnight  in  order  to  arrive  be- 
fore 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  Romagr.a  or  friends  in 
Urbino,  his  heart  agitated  with  a  hope 
that  was  never  to  be  fulfilled.  I  figured 
to  myself  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 
diflficult  route,  impressions  which  he 
would  transfer  to  his  poem.  It  is  enough 
to  have  read  this  poem  to  be  certain 
that  its  auilior  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 
itars.  In  a  word,  one  finds  the  habits 
ind  souvenirs  of  the  traveller  in  every 
terse,  or  rather  at  every  step  of  his  poetic 
pilgrimage. 

"  Dante  has  certainly  climbed  the  top 
of  the  Falterona.  It  is  ujwn  this  sum- 
mit, from  which  all  the  Valley  of  the 
A  mo  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  invective.  The  far- 
ther he  goes,  the  more  his  hate  redoubles 
in  violence  and  bitterness.  It  is  a  piece 
of  topographical  satire,  of  which  I  know 
no  other  example." 

32.  The  Apennines,  whose  long  chain 
ends  in  Calabria,  opposite  Cape  Peloro 
in  Sicily,  ^neid,  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  of)en 
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  desolation  convulsed,  (such  revo- 
lutions a  long  course  of  time  is  able  to 
produce, )  slipped  asunder ;  when  in  con- 
tinuity 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  Sicilia's  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  invective 
against  the  inhabitants  of  the  \'al  d' Arno, 
he  probably  had  in  mind  the  following 
passage  of  Boethius,  Co/ts.  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 
slmjie,  which  still  remains,  testifies.  By 
degenerating  into  wickedness,  then,  they 
must  cease  to  be  men.  But  as  virtue 
alunc  can  exalt  a  man  above  what  ii 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


405 


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  wliom  the  desire  of  ano- 
ther'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  at- 
tacks 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  always 
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  gratifi- 
cations, but  a  hog  who  wallows  in  the 
mire?  Upon  the  whole,  it  is  an  unques- 
tionable 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.  Forsyth, 
Italy,  p.  126: — 

"  On  returning  down  to  the  Casentine, 
we  could  trace  along  the  Arno  the  mis- 
chief which  followed  a  late  attempt  to 
clear  some  Apennines  of  their  woods. 
Most  of  the  soil,  which  was  then  loosened 
from  the  roots  and  washed  down  by  the 
torrents,  lodged  in  this  plain  ;  and  left 
immense  beds  of  sand  and  large  rolling 
stones  on  the  very  spot  where  Dante  de- 
scribes 

'  Li  ruscel'.etti  che  de'  verdi  colli 

Del  Casentin  discendon  giuso  in  Arno, 
Facendo  i  lor  canali  e  freddi  e  moUi.' 

"  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  flavour  of  their 
hams,  which  are  esteemed  the  best  in 
Italy  and  require  no  cooking,  to  the  dry- 
ness of  the  air,  the  absence  of  stagnant 
water,  and  the  quantity  of  chestnuts 
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,  zwA  polenta." 

46.  The  people  of  Arezzb.  Forsyth, 
Itafy,  p.  128  : — 

"  The  Casentines  were  no  favourites 
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  pea- 
sants seem  to  inherit  the  coarse,  surly 
visages  of  their  ancestors,  whom  he 
styles  Bottoli.  Meeting  one  girl,  who 
appeared  more  cheerful  than  her  neigh- 
bours, we  asked  her  how  far  it  was 
from  Arezzo,  and  received  for  answer, 
''  Qnanto  c'e.' 

"  The  valley  widened  as  we  advanced, 
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  currish  race 

"On  entering  the  Val  di  Chiana,  we 
passed  through  a  peasantry  more  civil 
and  industrious  than  their  Aretine  neigh- 
bours. 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  man- 
ners of  two  cantons  so  near  as  Cortona 
to  Arezzo,  can  only  be  a  vestige  of  their 
ancient  rivality  while  separate  republics. 
Men  naturally  dislike  the  very  virtues 
of  their  enemies,  and  affect  qualities 
as  remote  from  theirs  as  they  can  well 
defend." 

50.  The  Florentines. 

53.  The  Fisans. 

57.  At  the  close  of  these  vitupera- 
tions, perhaps  to  soften  the  sarcasm  by 
making  it  more  general,  Benvenuto  ap- 
pends this  uote  :  ' '  What  Dante  says  of 


406 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


the  inhabitants  of  the  Val  d'  Amo  might 
he  said  of  the  greater  part  of  the  Ita- 
Hans,  nay,  of  the  world.  Dante,  being 
<ince  asked  why  he  had  put  more  Chris- 
tians than  Gentiles  into  Hell,  replied, 
'  Because  I  have  known  the  Christians 
better.' " 

58,  MesserFulcieridaCalboliof  Forli, 
nephew  of  Rinieri.  He  was  Podesti  of 
Florence  in  1302,  and,  being  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  prosperity. 

81.  Guido  del  Duca  of  Brettinoro,  near 
Forli,  in  Romagna ;  nothing  remains 
but  the  name.  He  and  his  companion 
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  Ottinio,  and  his- 
tory says  no  more.    In  the  Cento  Novelle 
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  pi^essed  upon 
her  was  that  of  his  own  suixjrior  wealth, 
elegance,  and  accomplishments,  espe- 
cially when  compared  with  the  merits 
of  her  own  liege-lord,  •  whose  extreme 
ugliness,  madam,'  he  continued,  '  I  tliink 
I  need  not  insist  upon.'  Her  husband, 
who  overheard  this  compliment  from  tiie 
place  of  his  concealment,  immediale!y 
replied,  '  Pray,  sir,  mend  your  ow  n 
manners,  and  do  not  vilify  other  people.' 
The  name  of  the  plain  gentleman  was 
Lizio  di  Vallnma,  and  Mcsser  Rinieri  da 
Calvoli  that  of  the  other." 

92.  In  Romagna,  which  is  bounded  by 
the  Po,  the  Apennines,  the  Adriatic,  and 
the  river  Reno,  that  passes  near  Bologna. 

93.  For  study  and  pleasure. 

97.  Of  Lizio  and  Manardi  the  Ottimo 
says:  "  Messer  Lizio  di  Valbona,  a 
courteous  gentleman,  in  order  to  give 
a  dinner  at  Forll,  sold  half  his  silken 
bedquill  for  sixty  florins.    Arri  jo  Manardi 


was  of  Brettinoro  ;  he  was  a  gentleman 
full  of  courtesy  and  honour,  was  fond 
of  entertaining  guests,  made  presents  of 
robes  and  horses,  loved  honourable  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  Deca- 
meron, 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 
Ca/pigna  :    "  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." 

ICO.  "  This  Messer  Fabbro,"  says  the 
Ottimo,  "  was  born  of  low  parents, 
and  lived  so  generously  that  the  author 
(Dante)  says  there  never  was  his  like  in 
Bologna. " 

loi.  The (?//'/>»<» again  :  "ThisMesser 
Bernardino,  son  of  Fosco,  a  farmer,  and 
of  humble  occupation,  became  so  excel- 
lent by  his  good  works,  that  he  was  an 
honour  to  Faenza  ;  and  he  was  named 
with  praise,  and  the  old  grandees  were 
not  ashamed  to  visit  him,  to  see  his  mag- 
nificence, and  to  hear  his  pleasant  jests." 

104.  Guido  da  Prata,  from  the  village 
of  that  name,  between  Faenza  and  F"orli, 
and  Ugolin  d'  Azzo  of  Faenza,  according 
to  the  same  authority,  though  "of  humble 
birth,  rose  to  such  great  honour,  that, 
leaving  their  native  places,  they  associated 
with  the  noblemen  before  mentioned." 

106.  Frederick  Tignoso  was  a  gentle- 
man of  Rimini,  living  in  Brettinoro.  "A 
man  of  great  mark,"  says  Buti,  "with 
his  band  of  friends."  According  to  Ben- 
venuto,  "he  had  beautiful  blond  hair, 
and  was  called  tignoso  (the  scurvy  fel- 
low) by  way  of  antiphrase."  The  Ottimo 
speaks  of  him  as  follows  :  "He  avoided 
the  city  as  much  as  possible,  as  a  place 
hostile  to  gentlemen,  but  when  he  was 
in  it,  he  kept  open  house." 

107.  Ancient  and  honourable  families 
of  Ravenna.  There  is  a  story  of  them  in 
the  Decameron,  Gior.  V.  Nov.  8,  which 
is  too  long  to  9^uote.     Upon  this  tale  i| 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


407 


founded  Dryden's  poem  of  Theodore  and 
Honoria. 

109.  Ariosto,  Orlando  Furioso,  I.  i : — 

"  The  dames,  the  cavaliers,  the  arms,  the  loves, 
The  courtesies,  the  daring  deeds  I  sing." 

112.  Brettinoro,  now  Bertinoro,  is  a 
small  town  in  Romagna,  between  Forli 
and  Cesena,  in  which  lived  many  of  the 
families  that  have  just  been  mentioned. 
The  hills  about  it  are  still  celebrated  for 
their  wines,  as  its  inhabitants  were  in 
old  times  for  their  hospitality.  The  fol- 
lowing anecdote  is  told  of  them  by  the 
Ottimo,  and  also  in  nearly  the  same 
words  in  the  Cento  Novelle  Antichc, 
"Nov.  89:  — 

"  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,  as  if  all  the 
front -doors  were  there  represented), 
"  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  honoured  according 
to  his  rank.  This  column  and  its  rings 
were  invented  to  remove  all  cause  of 
quarrel  among  the  noblemen,  who  used 
to  run  to  get  possession  of  a  stranger,  as 
now-a-days  they  almost  run  away  from 
him." 

115.  Towns  in  Romagna.  "  Bagna- 
cavallo,  and  Castrocaro,  and  Conio," 
says  the  Oltttno,  "were  all  habitations 
of  courtesy  and  honour.  Now  in  Bag- 
nacavallo  the  Counts  are  extinct ;  and  he 
(Dante)  says  it  does  well  to  produce  no 
more  of  them  because  they  had  degener- 
ated like  those  of  Conio  and  Castrocaro. 

1 1 8.  The  Pagani  were  Lords  of  Faenza 
and  Imola.  The  head  of  the  family, 
Mainardo,  was  sumamed  "the  Devil." 
—See  Inf.  XX  VII.  Note  49.  His  bad 
repute  will  always  be  a  reproach  to  the 
family. 

121.  A  nobleman  of  Faenza,  who 
died  without  heu-s,  and  thus  his  name 
was  safe. 

132.  Milton,  Comus : — 


"  Of  calling  .shapes  and  beckoning  shadows  dirlj 
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.  Aijlauros  through  envy  opposed 
the  interview  of  Mercury  with  her  sister 
Herse,  and  was  changed  by  the  god  into 
stone.  OviA,  Metamorph.,  L,  Addison's 
Tr. :— 

"  '  Then  keep  thy  seat  for  ever,'  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  nands  are 

pale. 
And  marble  now  appears  in  every  nail. 
As  when  a  cancer  in  the  body  feeds, 
And  gradual  death  from  limb  to  limb  proceeds, 
So  does  the  chill  ness  to  each  vital  part 
Spread  by  degrees,  and  creeps  into  her  heart ; 
Till   hardening  everj-where,    and    speechless 

grown, 
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,  Metamorpk.,  I.,  Dryden'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  0/  Candy,  IV.  i  : — 

"  Seldom  despairing  men  look  up  to  heaven, 
Although  it  still  speaks  to  'em  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  beginning  of  that 
division  of  the  canonical  day  called 
Vespers.  Dante  states  this  simple  fact 
with  curious  circumlocution,  as  if  he 
would  imitate  the  celestial  sphere  in  this 
schetzoso  movement.  The  beginning  of 
K  S 


408 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO 


the  day  is  sunrise  ;  consequently  the  end 
of  the  third  hour,  three  hours  after  sun- 
rise, is  represented  by  an  arc  of  the  celes- 
tial 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.  Matthnv  v.  7  :  "  Blessed  are  the 
merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy  ;" 
— sung  by  the  spirits  that  remained  be- 
hind.    See  Canto  XII.  Note  no. 

39.  Perhaps  an  allusion  to  "what  the 
Spirit  saith  unto  the  churches,"  Revela- 
tion ii.  7:  "To  him  that  overcometh 
will  I  give  to  eat  of  the  tree  of  life, 
which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  paradise  of 
God."  And  also  the  "hidden  manna," 
and  the  "  morning  star,"  and  the  "  white 
raiment,"  and  the  name  not  blotted  "out 
of  ihe  book  of  life." 

55.   Milton,  Par.  Lost,  V.  71  :— 

"  Since  good  the  more 
Communicated,  more  abundant  grows." 

67.  Coninto,  IV.  20:  "According  to 
the  Apostle,  '  Every  good  gift  and  every 
perfect  gift  is  from  above,  and  comet h 
down  from  the  Father  of  lights.'  He 
says  then  that  God  only  givetii  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  to  receive  this  blessed  and 
divine  infusion  ;  as  when  a  pearl  is  badly 
disposed,  or  is  imperfect,  it  cannot  re- 
ceive the  celestial  virtue,  as  the  noble 
Guido  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  teni])erament, 
or  of  time ;  and  in  such  a  soul  this  divine 
radiance  never  shines.  And  of  those 
whose  souls  arc  deprived  of  this  light  it 
may  be  said  that  they  are  like  valleys 
turned  toward  the  north,  or  like  sub- 
terranean caverns,  where  the  light  of  the 
sun  never  falls,  unless  reflected  ffom  some 
other  place  illuminated  by  it." 

The  following  are  the  first  two  stanzas 
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  ; 
And  thus  when  nature  doth  create  the  heart 
Noble,  and  pure,  and  high. 
Like  virtue  from   the  star,  love  comes  fron» 

woman's  eye." 

70.     Far.  XIV.  40  :— 

"  Its  brightness  is  proportioned  to  the  ardour. 
The  ardour  to  the  vision,  and  the  vision 
Equals  what  grace  it  has  above  its  merit." 

89.  Lt/ke  ii.  48:  "And  his  mothei 
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  thesubjectswhich  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; 
i'he  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  rork  ; 
When   from  the  stone  leapt  fortli  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,  implements 

of  war. 
Struck  with  her  pointed   lance,   the  teeming 

earth 
Seemed  to  produce  a  new,  surprising  birth  ; 
When  from  the  glebe  the  pledge  of  conqueaf 

sprung, 
A  tree  palc-greea  with  fairest  olivet  Lung." 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


405 


10 1.  Pisistratus,  the  tyrant  of  Athens, 
who  use<l  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  Vale- 
rius Maximus,  Fact,  ac  Did.,  VI.  i. 

106.  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." 

117.  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  ap- 
plied to  the  Arno,  Canto  XIV.  45,  to 
indicate  its  want  of  water. 

19.     In  the  Litany  of  the  Saittts : — 

"  Lamb  of  God,  who  takest  away  the 
sins  of  the  word,  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  learning 
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  valour  and  courtesy. 
Afterwards  he  depended  upon  those 
richer  than  himself,  and  lived  and  died 
honourably,"   There  are  some  anecdotes 


of  him   in  the    Cento  Novelle  Antiche, 
Nov.  41,  52,  hardly  worth  quoting. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  the  name  oi 
Lombardo  is  a  family  name,  or  only  in- 
dicates that  Marco  was  an  Italian,  after 
the  fashion  then  prevalent  among  the 
French  of  calling  all  Italians  Lombards. 
See  Note  124. 

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 
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  be- 
loved for  his  virtue,  and  much  was  given 
him  by  the  nobility  ;  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  Canto ' 
XIV. 

64.  Ovid,  Metamorph.,  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,  at,  inscribed  in  funeral  characters." 

67.  See  the  article  Cabala,  at  the  end 
of  Paradiso. 

69.  Boethius,  Cons.  Phil. ,  V.  Prosa  29 
Ridpath's  Tr. : — 

"'But  in  this  indissoluble  chain  of 
causes,  can  we  preserve  the  liberty  of  thei 
will  ?  Does  this  fatal  Necessity  restrain 
the  motions  of  the  human  soul  ? ' — 
'There  is  no  reasonable  being,'  replied 
she,  '  who  has  not  freedom  of  will  :  for 
every  being  distinguished  with  this  fa- 
culty is  endowed  with  judgment  to  per- 
ceive the  differences  of  things ;  to  discover 
what  he  is  to  avoid  or  pursue.  Now 
what  a  petson  esteems  desirable,  he  de- 
£  E  2 


410 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


sires  ;  but  what  he  thinks  ought  to  be 
avoided,  he  shuns.  Thus  every  rational 
creature  hath  a  liberty  of  choosing  and 
rejecting.  But  I  do  not  assert  thSt  this 
liberty  is  equal  in  all  beings.  Heavenly 
substances,  who  are  exalted  above  us, 
have  an  enlightened  judgment,  an  in- 
corruptible will,  and  a  power  ever  at 
command  effectually  to  accomplish  their 
desires.  With  regard  to  man,  his  im- 
material 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,  com- 
posed 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  supreme  truth  to  dark  and 
base  objects,  but  she  is  involved  in  a 
mist  of  ignorance,  assailed  by  impure 
olesires ;  by  yielding  to  which  she  in- 
creases her  thraldom,  and  thus  the  free- 
dom 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  Pro- 
vidence disjioses  everything  she  has  pre- 
destinated, in  the  order  it  deserves.  As 
Homer  says  of  the  sun,  It  sees  everything 
and  hears  everything.'  " 

Also  Milton,  Farad.  Lost,  II.  557  : — 

"  Others  apart  sat  on  a  hill  retired, 

In  thou|;nt.s  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.  XVPI.  Note  40. 

70.  BoethiHs,  Cons.  T./iil,,W.  Prosa  3, 
Ridp4th's  Tr.  :— 

*'  But  I  shall  now  endeavour  to  demon- 
strate, that,  in  whatever  vwny  the  chain 
of  caHses  is  disjrosed,  the  event  of  things 
which  are  foreseen  is  necessary ;  although 
prescience  may  not  api^ear  to  be  the 
necessitating  cause  of  their  befalling. 
For  example,  if  a  person  sits,  the  opinion 
formefl  of  him  that  he  is  seated  is  of 
necessity  tnie ;  Vnit  by  inverting  the 
phrase,  if  the  opinion  is  true  th.tt  he  is 
seated,  he  must  necessarily  sit.  In  both 
esses,  then,  there  is  a  necessity  ;  in  the 


latter,  that  the  person  sits ;  in  the  former, 
that  the  opinion  concerning  him  is  true : " 
but  the  person  doth  not  sit,  because  the  • 
opinion  of  his  sitting  is  true,  but  the 
opinion  is  rather  tnie  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  i 
foreseen  because  they  are  to  happen,  and  i 
that  they  do  not  befall  because  they  are  1 
foreseen,  it  is  still  necessary  that  what  j 
is  to  happen  must  be  foreseen  by  God,  ! 
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  j 
shall  control  the  stars  ;"  and  the  Turk-  1 
ish  proverb,  "  Wit  and  a  strong  will  are  | 
superior  to  Fate."  \ 

79.  Though  free,  you  are  subject  to  '. 
the  divine  power  which  has  immediately 
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.  Convito,lW.  12:  "  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  1 
written,  '  Let  us  make  man  in  our  image,  ; 
after  our  likeness,'  to  him  this  soul  chiefly  : 
desireth  to  return.  And  like  as  a  pil-  • 
grim,  who  goeth  upon  a  road  on  which .; 
he  never  was  before,  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  man-1 
ner  our  soul,  presently  as  she  enterethl 
the  new  and  untravelled  road  of  this  life,| 
turneth  her  eyes  to  the  goal  of  her  su«fv 
preme  good  ;  and  therefore  whatever; 
thing  she  seeth  that  seemeth  to  havft^ : 
some  good  in  it,  she  believeth  to  be  that. 
And  because  her  knowledge  at  first  \t^\ 
imperfect,   not    being  experienced   noP  ^ 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


4ft 


trained,  small  goods  seem  great,  and 
therefore  with  them  beginneth  her  de- 
sire. Hence  we  see  children  desire  ex- 
ceedingly 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  Poems : — 

"  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  be- 
cause he  cheweth  the  cud,  but  divideth 
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  passS  du  sifecle  d'or, 
Crosse  de  bois,  eveque  d'or ; 
Maintenant  changent  les  lois, 
Crosse  d'or,  ^v§que  de  bois." 

107.  The  Emperor  and  the  Pope ;  the 
temporal  and  spiritual  power. 

1 1 5.    Lombardy  and  Romagna. 

117.  The  dissension  and  war  between 
the  Emperor  Frederick  the  Second  and 
Pope  Gregory  the  Ninth.  Milman,  Hist. 
Lot.  Christ.,  Book  X.  Ch.  3,  says  : — 

"The  Empire  and  the  Papacy  were 
now  to  meet  in  their  last  mortal  and  im- 
placable strife  ;  the  two  first  acts  of  this 
tremendous  drama,  separated  by  an  in- 
terval of  many  years,  were  to  be  deve- 
loped 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  dispute,  like  the 
right  of  investiture,  but  avowedly  for 
supremacy  on  one  side,  which  hardly 
deigned  to  call  itself  independence  ;  for 
independence,  on  the  other,  which  re- 
motely at  least  aspired  after  suprem.acy. 
Cjesar  would  bear  no  superior,  the  suc- 
cessor of  St.  Peter  no  equal.  The  con- 
test could  not  have  begun  under  men 
more  strongly  contrasted,  or  more  deter- 
minedly oppugnant  in  character,  than 
Gregory  the   Ninth  and  Frederick   the 


Second.  Gregory  retained  the  ambition, 
the  vigour,  almost  the  activity  of  youth, 
with  the  stubborn  obstinacy,  and  some- 
thing of  the  irritable  petulance,  of  old 
age.  He  was  still  master  of  all  his 
powerful  faculties  ;  his  knowledge  of 
affairs,  of  mankind,  of  the  peculiar  in- 
terests of  almost  all  the  nations  in 
Christendom,  acquired  by  long  employ- 
ment 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  ; 
profound  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  com- 
mand, and  they  were  to  him  as  much 
the  law  of  God  as  the  Gospels  them- 
selves, or  the  primary  principles  of  mo- 
rality. The  jealous  reverence  and  attach- 
ment of  a  great  lawyer  to  his  science 
strengthened  the  lofty  pretensions  of  the 
churchman. 

"  Frederick  the  Second,  with  many  of 
the  noblest  qualities  which  could  capti- 
vate 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  un- 
paralleled 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  tur- 
bulent magnates  of  his  realm,  and  the 
depressing  tutelage  of  the  Papal  See ; 
he  had  crossed  the  Alps  a  boyish  adven- 
turer, and  won  so  much  through  his  owr> 
valour  and  daring  that  he  might  well 
ascribe  to  himself  his  conquest,  the  king- 
dom of  Germany,  the  imperial  crown ; 
he  was  in  undisputed  possession  of  the 
Empire,  with  all  its  rights  in  Northern 
Italy  ;  King  of  Apulia,  Sicily,  and  Jeru- 
salem. He  was  beginning  to  be  at  once 
the  Magnificent  Sovereign,  the  J^night, 
the  poet,  the  lawgiver,  the  patron  of 
arts,  letters,  and  sciencp ;  the  Magnir 
ficent  Spvereign,  nqw  holding  his  cpur^ 
m,  erie  pf  the  oM  t>afbftr-o  aR4  figui^ 


4M 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORlO. 


cities  of  Germany  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  trouba- 
dour Poet,  not  forbidding  himself  those 
amorous  indulgences  which  were  the  re- 
ward of  chivalrous  valour  and  of  the 
'  gay  science ; '  the  Lawgiver,  whose 
far-seeing  wisdom  seemed  to  anticipate 
some  of  those  views  of  equal  justice,  of 
the  advantages  of  commerce,  of  the  cul- 
tivation 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  in- 
difference. Frederick  must  appear  before 
us«^in  the  course  of  our  history  in  the  full 
development  of  all  these  shades  of  cha- 
racter ;  but  besides  all  this,  PVederick's 
views  of  the  temporal  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  in- 
fidelity to  the  head  of  Christendom  ;  the 
independence  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  Supreme 
Pontiff.  If  ever  Emperor  might  be 
tempted  by  the  vision  of  a  vast  heredi- 
tary monarchy  to  be  perpetuated  in  his 
house,  the  princely  house  of  Hohen- 
staufen,  it  was  Frederick.  He  had  heirs 
of  his  greatness  ;  his  eldest  son  was  King 
of  the  Romans  ;  from  his  loins  might  yet 
spring  an  inexhaustible  race  of  princes  ; 
the  failure  of  his  imperial  line  was  his 
last  fear.  The  character  of  the  man 
seemed  formed  to  achieve  and  to  main- 
tain this  vast  design  ;  he  was  at  once 
terrible  and  popular,  courteous,  generous, 
placable  to  his  foes  ;  yet  there  was  a 
depth  of  cruelty  in  the  heart  of  Frederick 
towards  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  rebellion 

*'  It  is  impossible  lo  conceive  a  contrast 


more  strong  or  more  irreconcilable  than 
the  octogenarian  Gregory,  in  his  cloister 
palace,  in  his  conclave  of  stem  ascetics, 
with  all  but  severe  imprisonment  within 
conventual  walls,  completely  monastic 
in  manners,  habits,  views,  in  corporate 
spirit,  in  celibacy,  in  rigid  seclusion  from 
the  rest  of  mankind,  in  the  conscientious 
determination  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  reli- 
gion, at  least  the  awful  authority  of 
churchmen  was  examined  with  free- 
dom, sometimes  ridiculed  with  s;'ortive 
wit." 

See  also  Inf.  X.  Note  119. 

124.  Currado  (Conrad)  da  Palazzo  of 
Brescia  ;  Gherardo  da  Camino  of  Tre- 
viso  ;  and  Guido  da  Castello  of  Reggio. 
Of  these  three  the  Ottivio  thus  speaks : — 

"  Messer  Currado  was  laden  with 
honour  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  i;\ 
honouring  men  of  worth,  who  passed  on 
their  way  to  France,  and  furnished  many 
with  horses  and  arms,  who  came  hither- 
ward  from  France.  To  all  who  had 
honourably  consumed  their  property, 
and  returned  more  poorly  furnished  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."    Benvenuto  da  Imola 
sdys  that  all   Italians  were  called  Lom- 
bards by  the  French.     In  the  Ihstoin  d  ' 
Croniijiie  du  petit  ')ehan  de  Sahitri,  fol.  , 
219,  ch.  iv.,  the  author  remarks  :  "The 
fifteenth  day  after  Saintre's  return,  thert  ^ 
came  to  Paris  tw6  young,  noble,  vai 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


%n 


brave  Italians,  whom  we  call  Lom- 
bards." 

132.  Deuteronomy  ihsvlx.  2:  "There- 
fore shall  they  have  no  inheritance 
among  their  brethren  :  the  Lord  is 
their  inheritance,  as  he  hath  said  unto 
them." 

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  different 
and  more  equivocal  account.  He  says  : 
"  Madonna  Gaia  was  the  daughter  of 
Messer  Gherardo  da  Camino :  she  was  a 
lady  of  such  conduct  in  amorous  delecta- 
tions, that  her  name  was  notorious 
throughout  all  Italy ;  and  therefore  she 
is  thus  spoken  of  here." 


CANTO  XVIL 

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,  beginning 
with  the  murder  of  Itys  by  his  mother, 
I'rocne,  and  her  sister,  Philomela.  Ovid, 
VL  :— 

"  Now,  at  her  lap  arrived,  the  flattering  boy 
Salutes  his  parent  with  a  smiling  joy  ; 
Alrout  her  neck  his  little  arms  are  thrown, 
And  he  accosts  her  in  a  prattling  tone. 

When  Procne,  on  revengeful  mischief  bent, 
Home  to  h'.s  heart  a  piercing  poniard  sent. 
Itys,  with  nieful  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  newly  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  witk 
the  brass  through  ignorance." 

25.  Esther  vii.  9,  lo  :  "  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  spoken 
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  Latinus 
and  Queen  Amata,  betrothed  to  Tumus. 
Amata,  thinking  Tumus  dead,  hanged 
herself  in  anger  and  despair.  jEneid, 
XII.  875,  Dryden's  Tr.  :— 

"  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  ungovemed 

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 //// VH.  Note  115. 
And   Brunetto   Latini,    Tesoretto,   XXI. 

'45:— 

"  In  ira  nasce  e  posa 
Accidia  niquitosa." 

97.  The  first,  the  object ;  the  second, 
too  much  or  too  little  vigour. 

124.  The  sins  of  Pride,  Envy,  and 
Anger.  The  other  is  Sloth,  or  luke- 
warmness  in  well-doing,  punished  in  this 
circle. 


4*4 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


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,  V.  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  foims  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.  Bnmetto 
Latini,  Tresor.  Ch.  CVIII. :  "  After  the 
zone  of  the  air  is  placed  the  fourth  ele- 
ment. This  is  an  orb  of  fire  without 
any  moisture,  which  extends  as  far  as 
the  moon,  and  surrounds  this  atmosphere 
in  wliich  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 
natiiralis,  or  goes  not  with  another  foot 
than  that  of  nature. 

49.  In  the  language  of  the  Scholastics, 
Form  was  the  passing  from  the  potential 
to  the  actual.  "  Whatever  is  Act,"  says 
Thomas  Aquinas,  Summa  Theol.,  Queest. 
I.XVI.  Art.  I,  "whatever  is  Act  is  Fonn ; 
quod  est  actus  est  forma."  And  again 
Form  wasdividetl  into  .Substantial  Form, 
which  caused  a  thing  to  be  ;  and  Acci- 
dental 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  AngeHc 
Doctor,  Qua?st.  LXXVi.  Art.  4,  "is  the 
substantial  form  of  man  ;  anima  est  forma 
siihstantialis  honiinis."  It  is  segregate 
or  distinct  from  matter,  though  united 
with  it. 

61.  "This"  refers  to  the  power  that 
counsels,  or  the  faculty  of  Reason. 

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  doih 
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  inhabitants  of 
Rome  to  sit  between  the  islands  of  Cor- 
sica and  Sardinia. 

83.  Virgil,  bom  at  Pietola,  near 
Mantua. 

84.  The  burden  of  Dante's  doubts 
and  questions,  laid  upon  Virgil. 

91.  Rivers  of  Bceotia,  on  whose  banks 
the  Thebans  crowded  at  night  to  invoke 
the  aid  of  Bacchus  to  give  them  rain  for 
their  vineyards, 

94.  The  word  falcare,  in  French 
faucher,  here  translated  "curve,"  is  a 
term  of  equitation,  describing  the  motion 
of  the  outer  fore-leg  of  a  horse  in  going 
round  in  a  circle.  It  is  the  sweep  of  a 
mower's  scythe. 

100.  Ltike  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. 

118.  Nothing  is  known  of  this  Abbot, 
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  defini- 
tions in  the  Cmsca,  which,  instead  of 
the  interpretation  of  a  Dantesque  word,  . 
give  you  back  the  passage  in  which  it  \ 
occurs.  \ 

119.  This   is    the   famous    Emperor] 
Frederick  Barbarossa,  wlio,  according  to  • 
the  German    popular  tradition,   is  still  ' 
sitting  in  a  cave  in  the  Kipphaiiser  moun- 
tains, waiting  for  some'hiiig  to  happen, 
while  his  beard  has  grown  tlirough  the 
stone-table   before    him.      In    1162   he 
burned  and  devastated  Milan,  Brescia, 
riacenz.!,     and     Cremona.       He     was 
drowned  in   the   Salef  in   Armenia,  on 
his  crusade  in    I190,   endeavouring   ta 


NOTES  TO  PURGATOKIO. 


4i5 


ford  the  river  on  horseback  in  his  impa- 
tience to  cross.  His  character  is  thus 
drawn  by.  Milman,  Lat.  Christ.,  Boolv 
VIII.  Ch.  7,  and  sufficiently  explains 
why  Dante  calls  him  "the  good  Barba- 
rossa  "  : — 

*'  Frederick  was  a  prince  of  intrepid 
valour,  consummate  prudence,  unmea- 
sured ambition,  justice  which  hardened 
into  severity,  the  ferocity  of  a  barbarian 
somewhat  tempered  with  a  high  chival- 
rous gallantry ;  above  all,  with  a  strength 
of  character  which  subjugated  alike  the 
great  temporal  and  ecclesiastical  princes 
of  Germany  ;  and  was  prepared  to  assert 
the  Imperial  rights  in  Italy  to  the  utmost. 
Of  the  constitutional  rights  of  the  Em- 
f>eror,  of  his  unlimited  supremacy,  his 
absolute  independence  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  contraiy  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  commentators 
repeat,  Abbot  of  the  Monastery  of  San 
Zeno. 

132.  See  /;;/  VU.  Note  115. 

135.  Numbers  y.x\\\.  II,  12:  "Surely 
none  of  the  men  that  came  out  of  Egypt, 
from  twenty  years  old  and  upward,  shall 
see  the  l.'uid  which  I  sware  unto  Abra- 
ham, unto  Isaac,  and  unto  Jacob  ;  be- 
cause they  liave  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  f(jllovving 
.i4£neas  to  Italy.  Aiueid,  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.  Bnmetto  Latini,  Tresor.  Ch.  CXL 
"  Saturn,  who  is  sovereign  over  all,  is 
cruel  and  malign  and  of  a  cold  nature." 

4.  Geomancy  is  divination  liy  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  effiDrt  of  imagination 
can  also  be  formed  out  of  some  of  the 
last  stars  of  Aquarius,  and  some  of  the 
first  of  Pisces. 

Chaucer,  Troil.  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, 
I'ortuna  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.  T  he 
"  lady  saintly  and  alert  "  is  Reason,  the 
same  that  tied  Ulysses  to  the  mast,  and 
stojiped  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  mclodie  of  heven 
In  womannishe  vois  they  singe 
With  notes  of  so  great  likinge, 
Of  suche  mesure,  of  suche  musike, 
Whereo;  the  shijipes  they  besvvike 
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." 

Matlhew  v.  4:  "Blessed  are  they 
that  mourn :  for  they  shall  be  com- 
forted.'" 


■4i6 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


59.  The  three  remaining  sins  to  1^ 
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  taking 
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  Cardinal  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.  Matthezu  xxn.  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  distinctions  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  Maltspini,  that  friend  of  Uante 
with  whom,  during  his  wanderings  he 
took  refuge  in  the  Lunigiana,  in  1307. 


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,  Poj>e  Ad- 
riaa  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  Panrdiso, 

15.  Tills  is  generally  supposed  to  refer 
to  C"an  Grande  della  .Scala.  See  Inf.  I. 
Note  lOi. 


23.   The  inn  at  Bethlehem. 

25.  The  Roman  Consul  who  rejected 
with  disdain  the  bribes  of  Pyrrhus,  and 
died  so  poor  that  he  was  buried  at  the 
public  expense,  and  the  Romans  were 
oliliged  to  give  a  dowry  to  his  daughters. 
Virgil,  ALneid,  VI.  844,  calls  him 
"powerful  in  poverty."  Dante  also 
extols  him  in  the  Cotivito,  IV.  5. 

31.  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 
Slant  and  govemeth  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  mediaeval  won- 
ders. 

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  daugh- 
ters, and,  from  being  rich,  he  became 
poor  ;  so  poor  that  there  remained  no 
means  of  obtaining  food  for  his  daugh- 
ters but  by  sacrificing  them  o  an  infa- 
mous life  ;  and  oftentimes  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  hand- 
ful of  gold,  and,  tying  it  up  in  a  hand- 
kerchief, 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 
father,  who,  when  he  found  it,  returned 
thanks,  and  with  it  he  portioned  his 
eldest  daughter.  A  second  time  Nicho- 
las provided  a  similar  sum,  and  again  he 


NOTES  TO  PVRGATORIO. 


'4if 


threw  it  in  by  night ;  and  with  it  the 
nobleman  married  -his  second  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  pre- 
pared 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  thy- 
self?' 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  per- 
form in  his  native  city." 

43.  If  we  knew  from  what  old  chro- 
nicle, or  from  what  Professor  of  the  Rue 
du  Fouarre,  Dante  derived  his  know- 
ledge of  French  history,  we  might  pos- 
sibly 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,  J?ec/t.  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  M artel. 

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  cam- 
paigns were  conducted  with  bravery  and 
skill,  but  Philip  ever  preferred  the  subtle 
negotiation,  the  slow  and  wily  encroach- 
ment ;  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  suffering,  if  necessary  to  the  pro- 
secution of  his  schemes ;  not  so  much 
rapacious  as,  finding  money  indispen- 
sable to  his  aggrandizement,  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  enonnously  the  royal  pre- 
rogative, the  influence  of  France,  because 
he  was  King  of  France.  His  rapacity, 
which  persecuted  the  Templars,  his  vin- 
dictiveness,  which  warred  on  Boniface 
after  death  as  through  life,  was  this  sel- 
fishness 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  im- 
precated upon  him  by  Dante. 

50.  For  two  centuries  and  a  half,  that 
is,  from  1060  to  1316,  there  was  either  a 
Louis  or  a  Phiiip  on  the  throne  of 
France.  The  succession  was  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

Philip  I.  the  Amorous.         .     1060 

Louis  VI.  the  Fat  .         ,     .     1108 

Louis  VII.  the  Young.         .     1137 

Philip  II.  Augustus  .     .      1180 

Louis  VIII.  the  Lion  .         .     1223 

Louis  IX.  the  .Saint  .     .      1226 

Philip  HI.  the  Bold     .         .     1270 

Philip  IV.  the  Fair  .     .      1285 

Louis  X.     .         .         .         .  ■    1314 

52.    It  is  doubtful  whether  this  passage 

is   to  be  taken  literally  or  figuratively. 

Pasquier,    Kech.   de  la  France,  Liv.  VI. 

Ch.   I   (thinking  it  is   the   King   Hugh 

Capet  that  speaks),  breaks  forth  in  in-, 

dignant  protest  as  follows: — 

"  From  this  you  can  perceive  the  fata- 
lity there  was  in  this  family  from  its 
beginning  to  its  end,  to  the  disadvantage 
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  inves- 
tigated the  antiquities  of  our  France  have 
fallen  into  this  same  heresy.  Frangois 
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 
Qi.i  fut  extrait  de  boucherie.'  ,' 

And  since  then  Agrippa  Alamanni,  in 


H8 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


his  book  on  the  Vanity  of  Science,  chap- 
ter Of  Nobility,  on  this  first  ignorance 
declares  impudently  against  the  genea- 
logy of  our  Capet.  If  Dante  thought 
that  Hugh  the  Great,  Capet's  father,  was 
a  l)Utcher,  he  was  not  a  clever  man.  But 
if  he  used  this  expression  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  interdict 
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  understood  it  thus,  I 
forgive  hirtl ;  if  otherwise,  he  was  a  veiy 
Ignorant  poet." 

Benvenuto  says  that  the  name  of  Capet 
comes  from  the  fact  that  Hugh,  in  play- 
ing with  his  companions  in  boyhood, 
'*  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  jn  the  haliit  of  wearing. 

The  belief  that  the  family  descended 
from  a  butclier  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  Carli  vingian  race  were 
all  dead  but  one.  And  who  was  he  ? 
The  Otlimo  .says  it  was  Rudolph,  who 
•  became  a  monk  and  afterwards  Arch- 
bishop of  Klieims.  Benvenuto  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 
sjjoken  of.  Others  say  Charles  of  Lor- 
raine ;  and  Biagioli  decides  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  Grey  re- 
mains 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  dynasty. 

61.  Until  the  shame  of  the  low  origin  | 
of  the  family  was  removed  by  the  mar-  ; 
riage  of  Charles  of  Anjou,  brother  of  i 
Saint  Louis,  to  the  daughter  of  Raimond  j 
Berenger,  who  brought  him  Provence  as  ■ 
her  dower.  I 

65.   Making  amends  for  one  crime  by    i 
committing   a  greater.      The  particular    ' 
transaction  here  alluded  to  is  the  seizing    '■ 
by  fraud  and  holding  by  force  these  pro- 
vinces in  the  time  of  Philip  the  P'air.  \ 

67.  Charles  of  Anjou. 

68.  Curradino,  or  Conradin,  son  of  i 
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  \ 
A  finales  de  f  Empire,  says, 

"  C'est  en  soixante-huit  que  la  main  d'un  ' 

bourreau  1 

Dans  Conradin  son  fils  ^teint  un  sang  si  \ 
beau." 

Endeavouring  to  escape  to  Sicily  after  i 
his  defeat  at  Tagliacozzo,  he  was  carried  . 
to  Naples  and  imprisoned  in  the  Castel  . 
deir  Uovo.  "Christendom  heard  with  J 
horror,"  says  Milman,  Lat.  Christ.,  a 
Book  XI.  Ch.  3,  "that  the  royal  brother  | 
of  St.  Louis,  that  the  champion  of  the  «. 
Church,  after  a  mock  trial,  by  the  sen-  % 
tence  of  one  judge,  Robert  di  Lavena, —  g 
after  an  unanswerable  pleading  by  Guido  ; 
de  Suzaria,  a  famous  jurist, —had  con-  ■' 
demned  the  last  heir  of  the  .Swabian 
house — a  rival  king  who  had  fought  gal- 
lantly for  his  hereditary  throne — to  be  i 
executed  as  ajelon  and  a  rebel  on  a  pub-  ' 
lie  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  1 
the  fatal  sentence,  *do  you  dare  to  con-  | 
demn  as  a  criminal  the  son  and  heir  o(  \ 
kings  ?  Knows  not  your  master  that  he  \ 
is  my  equal,  not  my  judge?'    He  added, 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


4»9 


'  I  am  a  mortal,  and  must  die  ;  yet  ask 
the  kings  of  the  earth  if  a  prince  be  cri- 
minal for  seeking  to  win  back  the  heri- 
tage 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 
their  death.'  They  died  devoutly,  nobly. 
Every  circumstance  aggravated  the  ab- 
horrence ;  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  execu- 
tioner, he  uttered  these  last  words,  '  O 
my  mother  !  how  deep  will  be  thy  sor- 
row at  the  news  of  this  day  ! '  Even  the 
followers  of  Charles  could  hardly  restrain 
their  pity  and  indignation.  With  Con- 
radin 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 
permit  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/«/I  VI.  69. 

74.  There  is  in  old  French  literature 
a  poem  entitled  Le  Tournoyemettt  de 
V Antechrist,  written  by  Hugues  de  Mery, 
a  monk  -of  the  Abbey  of  St.  Germain- 
des-Pres,  in  the  thirteenth  centuiy,  in 
which  he  describes  a  battle  between  the 
Virtues  under  the  banner  of  Christ,  and 
the  Vices  under  that  of  Antichrist. 

In  the  Vision  of  Piers  Ploughman, 
there  is  a  joust  between  Christ  and  the 
foul  fiend : — 

"  Thanne  was  Feith  in  a  fenestre. 
And  cryde  ^fili  David, 
As  dooth  a  heraud  of  armes. 
Whan  aventrous  Cometh  to  justes. 
Old  ^ewes  of  Jerusalem 
For  joye  thei  songen, 
Benedictus  qui  venit  in  nomine  Domini. 

"  Than  I  frayned  at  Feith, 
What  all  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  Sicilian  Vespers. 
In  an  engagement  with  the  Spanish  fleet 
under  Admiral  Rugieri  d'Oria,  he  was 
taken  prisoner.  Dante  says  he  sold  his 
daughter,  because  he  married  her  for  a 
large  sum  of  money  to  Azzo  the  Sixth  of 
Este. 

82.  ^neid,  III.  56.  "Cursed  thirst 
of  gold,  to  what  dost  thou  not  drive  the 
hearts  of  men." 

86.  The  flower-de-luce  is  in  the  ban- 
ner of  France.  Borel,  Tresor  de  Re- 
cherches,  cited  by  Roquefort,  Glossairc, 
under  the  word  Leye,  says:  "The  ori- 
flamme  is  so  called  from  gold  and  flame ; 
that  is  to  say,  a  lily  of  the  marshes.  The 
lilies  are  the  arms  of  France  on  a  field  of 
azure,  which  denotes  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  environs 
of  the  Lys,  a  river  of  the  Low  Countries, 
whose  banks  are  still  covered  with  a  kind 
of  iris  or  flag  of  a  yellow  colour,  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  tq 
choose  a  symbol  to  which  the  name  of 
armorial  bearings  has  since  been  given, 
should  take  in  its  compos,ition  a  beautiful 
and  remarkable  flower,  which  they  had 
before  their  eyes,  and  that  they  should 


420 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


name  it,  from  the  place  where  it  grew  in 
abundance,  flower  of  the  river  Lys. " 

These  are  the  Hlies  of  which  Drayton 
speaks  in  his  Ballad  of  Agiiicvtirt : — 

"    ....  when  our  grandsire  g^eat. 
Claiming  the  regal  seat, 
By  many  a  warlike  feat 
Lopped  the  French  lilies." 

87.  This  passage  alludes  to  the  seizure 
and  imprisonment  of  Pope  Boniface  the 
Eighth  by  the  troops  of  Philip  the  Fair 
at  Alagna  or  Anagiii,  in  1303.  Milman, 
Lat.  Christ.,  Book  XI.  Ch.  9,  thus 
describes  the  event : — 

"  On  a  sudden,  on  the  7th  September 
(the  8th  was  the  day  for  the  publication 
of  the  Bull),  the  peaceful  streets  of 
Anagni  were  disturbed.  The  Pope  and 
the  Cardinals,  who  were  all  assembled 
around  him,  were  startled  with  the  tram- 
pling of  armed  horse,  and  the  terrible 
cry,  which  ran  like  wildfire  through  the 
city,  '  Death  to  Pope  Boniface  !  Long 
live  the  King  of  France ! '  Sciarra  Co- 
lonna,  at  the  head  of  three  hundred 
horsemen,  the  Barons  of  Cercano  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  ungrate- 
ful citizens  of  Anagni,  forgetful  of  their 
pride  in  their  holy  comjiatriot,  of  the 
honour  and  advantage  to  their  town  from 
the  splendour  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  jxjople  of  Anagni.  The 
first  attack  was  on  the  palace  of  the 
Pope,  on  that  of  the  Marquis  (Jaetani, 
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 
doors  of  those  of  the  Cardinals  were 
beaten  down,  the  trea.sures  ransacked 
and  carried  off;  the  Cardinals  them- 
selves Hcd  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  per- 
haps been  suborned  by  Reginald  of 
Supino.  With  him  were  the  sons  of 
Chiton,  whose  father  was  pining  in  the 
dungeons  of  Boniface.  Instead  of  resist- 
ing, they  joined  the  attack  on  the  palace 
of  the  Pope  s  nephew  and  his  ow^n.  The 
Pope  and  his  nephew  implored  a  truce  ; 
it  was  granted  for  eight  hours.  This 
time  the  Pope  employed  in  endeavouring 
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 
conspirators.  '  If  the  Pope  would  save  his 
life,  let  him  instantly  restore  the  Colonna 
Cardinals  to  their  dignity,  and  reinstate 
the  whole  house  in  their  honours  and  pos- 
sessions ;  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 
tliere  was  obstinate  resistance.  The 
principal  church  of  Anagni,  that  of  Santa 
Maria,  protected  the  Pope's  palace. 
Sciarra  Colonna's  lawless  band  set  fire 
to  the  gates  ;  the  church  was  crowded 
with  clergy  and  laity  and  traders  who 
had  brought  tlieir  precious  wares  into  the 
sacred  building.  They  were  plundered 
with  such  rapacity  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  tiie 
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  Pontiff  alone  lost  not  his  self- 
command.  He  had  declared  himself 
ready  to  perish  in  his  glorious  cause  ;  he 
determined  to  fall  with  dignity.  '  If  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 
scat  on  the  Papal  throne,  and,  like  the 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


m 


Roman  senators  of  old,  awaited  the 
approach  of  the  Gaul. 

"  But  the  pride  and  cruehy  of  Boni- 
face had  raised  and  infixed  deep  in  the 
hearts  of  men  passions  which  acknow- 
ledged no  awe  of  age,  of  intrepidity,  or 
religious  majesty.  In  William  of  No- 
garet  the  blood  of  his  Tolosan  ancestors, 
in  Colonna,  the  wrongs,  the  degradation, 
the  beggary,  the  exile  of  all  his  house, 
had  extinguished  every  feeling  but  re- 
venge. They  insulted  him  with  contu- 
melious reproaches  ;  they  menaced  his 
life.  The  Pope  answered  not  a  word. 
They  insisted  that  he  should  at  once  ab- 
dicate the  Papacy.  '  Behold  my  neck, 
behold  my  head,'  was  the  only  reply. 
But  fiercer  words  passed  between  the 
Pope  and  William  of  Nogaret.  Nogaret 
threatened  to  drag  him  before  the  Coun- 
cil of  Lyons,  where  he  should  be  deposed 
from  the  Papacy.  '  Shall  I  suffer  my- 
self to  be  degraded  and  deposed  by 
Paterins  like  thee,  whose  fathers  were 
righteously  burned  as  Paterins  ?  '  Wil- 
liam turned  fiery  red,  with  shame 
thought  the  partisans  of  Boniface, 
more  likely  with  wrath.  Sciarra,  it  was 
said,  would  have  slain  him  outright ; 
he  was  prevented  by  some  of  his  own 
followers,  even  by  Nogaret.  '  Wretched 
Pope,  even  at  this  distance  the  good- 
ness of  my  lord  the  King  guards  thy 
life. ' 

"  He  was  placed  under  close  custody, 
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  im- 
prisonment. The  palaces  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  trea- 
sures found  and  carried  off  by  Sciarra's 
freebooting  soldiers.  His  very  private 
chamber  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  over- 
awed, now  gorged  with   plunder,   and 


doubtless  not  unwilling  to  withdraw. 
The  Pope  was  rescued,  and  led  out  into 
the  street,  where  the  old  man  addressed 
a  few  words  to  the  people  :  '  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  carried 
him  back  to  his  naked  palace.  They 
crowded,  the  women  especially,  with 
provisions,  bread,  meat,  water,  and 
wine.  They  could  not  find  a  single 
vessel  :  they  poured  a  supply  of  water 
into  a  chest.  The  Pope  proclaimed  a 
general  absolution  to  all,  except  the 
plunderers  of  his  palace.  He  even  de- 
clared 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  indig- 
nation the  sacrilegious  attack  on  the  per- 
son of  the  Supreme  Pontiff.  Four  hun- 
dred horse  under  Matteo  and  Gaetano 
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  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  College,  the  gold 
of  France  had  made  him  more.  This 
general  revolt  is  his  severest  condemna- 
tion. Among  his  first  enemies  was  the 
Cardinal  Napoleon  Orsini,  Orsini  had 
followed  the  triumphal  entrance  of  the 
Pope.  Boniface,  to  show  that  he  desired 
to  reconcile  himself  with  all,  courteously 
invited  him  to  his  table.  The  Orsini 
coldly  answered,  '  that  he  must  receive 
the  Colonna  Cardinals  into  his  favour  ; 
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 


422 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


compulsion.'  He  found  himself  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,  eitlier  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  pillows.  More  friendly, 
probably  more  trustworthy,  accounts 
describe  him  as  sadly  but  quietly  breath- 
ing his  last,  surrounded  by  eight  Cardi- 
nals, having  confessed  the  faith  and 
received  the  consoling  offices  of  the 
Church.  The  Cardinal-Poet  anticipates 
his  mild  sentence  from  the  Divine  Judge. 

"  The  religious  mind  of  Christendom 
was  at  once  perplexed  and  horror- 
stricken  by  this  act  of  sacrilegious  vio- 
lence 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  terrible  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  ex- 
presses the  almost  universal  feeling. 
Christendom  shuddered  to  behold  the 
Fleur-de-lis  enter  into  Anagni,  and 
Christ  again  captive  in  his  Vicar,  the 
mockery,  the  gall  and  vinegar,  the  cruci- 
fixion between  living  robbers,  the  inso- 
lent and  sacrilegious  cruelty  of  the  second 
Pilate." 

Compare  this  scene  with  that  of  his 
•   inauguration  as  Pope,  Inf.  XIX.    Note 

53- 

91.  This  "modem  Pilate"  is  Philip 
the  Fair,  and  the  allusion  in  the  follow- 
ing lines  is  to  the  persecution  and  sup- 
pression of  the  Order  of  the  Kniglits 
Templars,  in  1307— 1312.  See  Milman, 
Lat.  Christ.,  Book  XII.  Ch.  2,  and 
Villani,  VIII.  92,  who  says  the  act  was 
committed  per  cupidi^a  di  guadagtiarc, 
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  Boni- 
face." 

97.  What  he  was  saying  of  the  Vir- 
gin Mary,  line  19. 

103.  The  brother  of  Dido  and  mur- 
derer of  her  husband.  yEueid,  I.,  350. 
"  He,  impious  and  blinded  with  the  love 
of  gold,  having  taken  Sichaeus  by  sur- 
prise, secretly  assassinates  him  before 
the  altar,  regardless  of  his  sister'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  laugh- 
able thing  about  him  vi-as  his  wearing 
ass's  ears,  as  a  punishment  for  preferring 
the  music  of  Pan  to  that  of  Apollo. 

Ovid,  XI.,  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  T/ie 
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  of  my  tent,  and 
the  silver  under  it." 

112.  Acts  V.  I,  2  :  "But  a  certain 
man  named  Ananias,  with  Sappbira  his 
wife,  sold  a  possession,  and  kept  back 
part  of  the  price,  his  wife  also  being 
privy  to  it,  and  brought  a  certain  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 
Seleucus,  went  there  to  remove  the  trea- 
sure. 2  Maccabees  iii.  25  :  "  For  there 
appeared  unto  them  an  horse  with  a  ter- 
rible 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." 

1 15.  Aineid,  III.  49,  Davidson's  Tr..* 
"This  Polydore  unhappy  Priam  had  for. 
merly  sent  in  secrecy,  with  a  great  weight 
of  gold,  to  be  brought  up  by  the  king  of 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


423 


Thrace,  when  he  now  began  to  distrust 
the  arms  of  Troy,  and  saw  the  city  with 
close  siege  blocked  up.  He,  [Polym- 
nestor,]  as  soon  as  the  power  of  the 
Trojans  was  crushed,  and  their  fortune 
gone,  espousing  Agamemnon's  interest 
and  victorious  arms,  breaks  every  sacred 
bond,  assassinates  Polydore,  and  by  vio- 
lence 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  Pompey, 
and  on  one  occasion  displayed  his  vast 
(V'ealth  by  giving  an  entertainment  to  the 
populace,  at  which  the  guests  were  so 
numerous  that  they  occupied  ten  thou- 
sand 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  circum- 
stance in  his  Life  of  Crassus,  but  says:  — 

"  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  Bacchte  of  Euripides 
concerning  Agave.  He  was  receiving 
much  applause,  when  Sillaces  coming  to 
the  room,  and  having  made  obeisance  to 
the  king,  threw  down  the  head  of  Cras- 
sus into  the  midst  of  the  company.  The 
Parthians  receiving  it  with  joy  and  accla- 
mations, Sillaces,  by  the  king's  com- 
mand, was  made  to  sit  down,  while 
Jason  handed  over  the  costume  of  Pen- 
theus  to  one  of  the  dancers  in  the  chorus, 
and  taking  up  the  head  of  Crassus,  and 
acting  the  part  of  a  bacchante  in  her 
frenzy,  in  a  rapturous,  impassioned  man- 
ner, 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  ^-Egean  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\\.  13,14:  "  And  suddenly 
there  was  with  the  angel  a  multitude  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.,  HI.  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  inter- 
view with  the  poet  Statins,  whose  release 
from  punishment  was  announced  by  the 
earthquake  and  the  outcry  at  the  end  of 
the  last  canto. 

3.  yokn  iv.  14,  15 :  "  Whosoever 
drinketh  of  the  water  that  I  shall  give 
him,  shall  never  thirst  ....  The 
woman  saith  unto  him.  Sir,  give  me  this 
water,  that  I  thirst  not,  neither  come 
hither  to  draw." 

7.  Ljikex\iv.  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- 
muned together  and  reasoned,  Jesus 
himself  drew  near,  and,  went  with 
them." 

15.  Among  the  monks  of  the  Middle 
Ages  there  were  certain  salutations, 
which  had  their  customary  replies  or 
countersigns.  Thus  one  would  say, 
"  Peace  be  with  thee  ! "  and  the  answer 
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 
F  F 


424 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


Fates,  Lachesis,  Clotho,  and  Atropos  ; 
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  XVIII.  46:— 

"  What  reason  seeth  here, 
Myself  can  tell  thee  ;  beyond  that  await 
For  Beatrice,  since  'tis  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  'tis  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  received  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  and  Electra;  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  Man- 
kind, "  took  place  in  the  year  70.  Statins, 
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  honours,"  that  is,  as  a 
poet.  His  works  are  the  Sih>(E,  or  mis- 
cellaneous poems ;  the  Thebaid,  an  epic 
in  twelve  books;  and  the  Achilleid,  left  i 
unfinished.  He  wrote  also  a  tragedy, 
Agave,  which  is  lost. 

Juvenal  says  of  him,  Satire  VII., 
Dryden's  Tr, : — 

"  All   Rome  is  pleased  when   Statius  will  re- 

hcarv;, 
And   longing  crowds   expect   the   promised 

verse  ; 
His  lofty  numl>ers  with  so  ^reat  a  gust 
They  hear,  and  swallow  Wkth  such  eager  lust ; 


But  while  the  common  sufTrage  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." 

Dante  shows  his  admiration  of  him 
by  placing  him  here. 

89.  Statius  was  not  bom  in  Toulouse, 
as  Dante  supposes,  but  in  Naples,  as  he 
himself  states  in  his  Silv/v,  which  work 
was  not  discovered  till  after  Dante's 
death.  The  passage  occurs  in  Book  III, 
Eclogue  v..  To  Claudia  his  Wife,  where 
he  describes  the  beauties  of  Parthenope, 
and  calls  her  the  mother  and  nurse  of 
both,  amborum  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  Toulouse. 

ioi\  Would  be  willing  to  remain 
another  year  in  Purgatory. 

114.  Petrarca  uses  the  same  expres- 
sion,—the  lightning  of  the  angelic  smile, 
il  lampeggiar  delV  angelico  riso. 

131.   See  Canto  XIX.  133. 


CANTO   XXII. 

I.  The  ascent  to  tlie  Sixth  Circle, 
where  the  sin  of  Gluttony  is  punished. 

5.  Alatthew  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  second, 
aged  eighty.  He  was  a  contemporary 
of  Statius,  and  survived  him  some  thirty 
years. 

40.  ALneid,  III.  56  :  "  O  cursed 
hunger  of  gold,  to  what  dost  thou  not 
drive  the  hearts  of  men." 

42.  The  punishment  of  the  Avaricious 
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:— 

"  These  from  the  sepulchre  shall  rise  again 
With  the  fist  closed,  and  these  with  tressei 
shorn." 

56.  Her  two  sons,  Eteocles  and  Poly 


u 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


4*5 


11  ices,  of  whom  Statius  sings  in  the 
ThehaiJ,  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. 

55:— 

"  What  first,  O  Clio,  shall  adorn  thy  page. 
The  expiring  prophet,  or  jEtoIian'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:— 
"  Of  hevenly  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  Cumeean  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  Purgatory, 
where  Sloth  is  punished.  Canto  XVII. 
85:- 

"  The  love  of  good,  remiss 
In  what  it  should  have  done,  is  here  restored  ; 
Here  plied  again  the  ill-belated  oar." 

97.  Some  editions  read  in  this  line, 
instead  of  nostra  amico,  —  nostro  aittico, 
our  ancient  Terence;  but  the  epithet 
would  be  more  a])propriate  to  Plautus, 
who  was  the  earlier  writer. 

97,  98.  Plautus,  CDecilius,  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  Jiow 
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. 

100.  Persius,  the  Latin  satirist. 

loi.   Homer. 

106.  Mrs.  Browning,  Wine  oj  Cy- 
prus:—- 

"  Our  Euripides,  the  human, — 

With  his  droppings  of  warm  tears ; 
And.  his  toui'hings  of  things  common, 
llll  they  rose  to  touch  the  sp.ieres." 


But  why  does  Dante  make  no  mention 
here  of  "^^ischyles  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  Statius 
introduces  into  his  poems.  Antigone, 
daughter  of  CEdipus;  Deiphile,  wife  of 
Tideus  ;  Argia,  her  sister,  wife  of  Poly- 
nices  ;  Ismene,  another  daughter  of 
Qidipus,  who  is  here  represented  as  still 
lamenting  the  death  of  Atys,  her  be- 
trothed. 

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  Tire- 
sias  only  Manto  is  mentioned  by  Statius 
in  the  Thebaid.  But  Dante  places  Manto 
among  the  Soothsayers,  Jnf.  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  per- 
sonages in  the  Achilleid  of  Statius. 

118.  Four  hours  of  the  day  were 
already  passed. 

131.  Cowley,  The  Tree  of  Know- 
ledge : — 

"  The  sacred  tree  'midst  the  fair  orchard  grew. 
The  phoenix  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  colour  and  divine 
The  very  shade  they  cast  did  other  lights  out- 
shine. " 
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  starving 
souls  beneath  it,  by  holding  its  fresh  and 
dewy  fruit  beyond  their  reach. 
F   F  2 


426 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


142.  John  ii.  3:  "And  when  they 
wanted  wine,  the  mother  of  Jesus  saith 
unto  liim,  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  suicere ; 
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  w.xs  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  fiirnLshed  out  a  feast. 
The    flowers  unsown  in    fields    and    meadows 

reigned ; 
And  western  winds  immortal  spring  maintained. 
In  following  years,  the  be-^rded  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/4w;«/a,  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 

For  ever  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  Kilely  that  that  vain 
And  breath-invented  pain 


That  idol  of  mistake,  that  worshipped  cheat. 
That  Honour, — 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-kmd ; 
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  Quix.,  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  attentively,  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  labour  ;  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  inviting 
him  liberally  to  taste  of  their  sweet  and 
relishing  fruit.  The  limjiid  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  provident  bees  form  their 
commonwealths,  offering  to  every  hand, 
without  usury,  the  fertile  produce  of 
their  most  delicious  toil.  The  stout 
cork  trees,  without  any  other  induce- 
ment than  that  of  their  own  courtesy, 
divested  themselves  of  their  light  and 
expanded  bark,  with  whicii  men  began 
to  oover  their  houses,  supported  by  rough 
pole«,'tonly  for  a  defence  against  the  in- 
clemency of  the  seasons.  All  then  was  , 
peace,  all  amity,  all  concord.  As  yet 
the  heavy  coulter  of  the  crooked  ploitgh 
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 
besom,  whatever  might  feed,  sustain, 
and  delight  those  her  children,  who  then 
had  her  in  possession.     Then  did  the 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORJO. 


427 


simple  and  beauteous  young  shepherd- 
esses trip  it  from  dale  to  dale,  and  from 
hill  to  hill,  their  tresses  sometimes 
plaited,  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  expressions,  in  the  same  way 
and  manner  they  were  conceived,  without 
seeking  artificial  phrases  to  set  them  off. 
Nor  as  yet  were  fraud,  deceit,  and  malice 
intermixed  with  truth  and  plain-dealing. 
Justice  kept  within  her  proper  bounds ; 
favour  and  interest,  which  now  so  much 
depreciate,  confound,  and  persecute  her, 
not  daring  then  to  disturb  or  offend  her. 
As  yet  the  judge  did  not  make  his  own 
will  the  measure  of  justice  ;  for  then 
there  was  neither  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, 
S'arves  at  full  tables,  and  complains  of  v^ant. 
What  to  a  people  might  in  dole  be  p^id, 
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  blaz* 
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 
Josephus,  '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  rapacious  guards,  who 
came  every  day  running  into  her  house 
for  that  purpose.  This  put  the  poor 
woman  into  a  very  great  passion,  and  by 
the  frequent  reproaches  and  imprecations 
she  cast  at  these  rapacious  villains,  she 
had  provoked  them  to  anger  against  her; 
but  none  of  them,  either  out  of  the  in- 
dignation 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  labours 
were  for  others  and  not  for  herself ;  and 
it  was  now  become  impossible  for  her 
any  way  to  find  any  more  food,  while 
the  famine  pierced  through  her  very 
bowels  and  marrow,  when  also  her  pas- 
sion 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 


42^ 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


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  u^kju  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  then, 
what  food  she  had  gotten  ready.  She 
replied,  that  she  had  saved  a  very  fine 
portion  of  it  for  them ;  and  withal  un- 
covered what  was  left  of  her  son.  Here- 
upon they  were  seized  with  a  horror  and 
amazement  of  mind,  and  stood  aston- 
ished 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 
'nore  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  re- 
served for  me  also.'  After  which  those 
men  went  out  trembling,  l^eing  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  everybcxiy  laid  this  miserable  case 
before  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  desi- 
rous to  die,  and  those  already  dead  were 
esteemed  happy,  l)ecause  they  had  not 
lived  long  enough  either  to  hear  or  to 
see  such  miseries." 

31.  Shakespeare,  King  Lear,  V.  3: — 

"  And  in  this  habit 
Met  I  my  father  with  hi»  bleeding  rings, 
Their  precious  stones  new  lost" 

32.  In  this  fanciful  recognition  of  the 


word  omo  {homo,  man)  in  the  human 
face,  so  written  as  to  place  the  two  o\ 
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  century, 
makes  the  following  allusion  to  it  in 
one  of  his  sermons.  See  VVackernagel,  ■ 
Deutsches  Lesebuch,  I.  678.  The  monk 
carries  out  the  resemblance  into  still  ftir- 
ther  detail : —  . 

"  Now  behold,  ye  blessed  children  of  | 
God,  the  Almighty  has  created  you  soul  i 
and  body.  And  he  has  written  it  under  ' 
your  eyes  and  on  your  faces,  that  you  ; 
are  created  in  his  likeness.  He  has  1 
written  it  upon  your  very  faces  with  or-  1 
namented  letters.  With  great  diligence  j 
are  they  embellished  and  ornamented,  i 
This  your  learned  men  will  understand,  | 
but  the  unlearned  may  not  understand  it.  \ 
The  two  eyes  are  two  o\.  The  h  is  1 
properly  no  letter ;  it  only  helps  the  ] 
others  ;  so  that  homo  with  an  h  means  ■ 
Man.  Likewise  the  brows  arched  above 
and  the  nose  down  lietween  them  are  an 
m,  beautiful  with  three  strokes.  So  is  \ 
the  ear  a  d,  beautifully  rounded  and  or- 
namented. So  are  the  nostrils  beauti-  ■ 
fully  formed  like  a  Greek  f,  beautifully  ' 
rounded  and  ornamented.  So  is  the 
mouth  an  /,  beautifully  adorned  and  or-  • 
namented.  Now  behold,  ye  good  Chris-  i 
tian  people,  how  skilfully  he  has  adorned  : 
you  with  these  six  letters,  to  show  that  \ 
ye  are  his  own,  and  tliat  he  has  created  ;; 
you  !  Now  read  me  an  o  and  an  ///  and  i 
another  o  together;  that  spells  homo,  j 
Then  read  me  a  d  and  an  e  and  an  /  toge-  \ 
ther ;  that  spells  dei.  Homo  dci,  man  oi  % 
God,  man  of  God  !  "  X, 

48,  Forese  Donati,  the  brother-in-law^ 
and  intimate  friend  of  Dante.  "ThisJ 
F'orese,"  says  Buti,  "  was  a  citizen  of-^ 
Florence,  and  was  brother  of  Messei  * 
Corso  Donati,  and  was  very  gluttonous;  ' 
and  therefore  the  author  feigns  that  hej 
found  him  here,  where  the  Gluttons  apftf? 
punished."  '\ 

Certain  vituperative  sonnets,  addressed  j 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORTO. 


425 


to  Dante,  have  been  attributed  to  Forese. 
If  authentic,  they  prove  that  the  friend- 
ship between  the  two  poets  was  not  un- 
interrupted. See  Rossetti,  Early  Italian 
Poets,  Appendix  to  Part  II. 

74.  The  same  desire  that  sacrifice  and 
atonement  may  be  complete. 

75.  Mattheiu  xxvii,  46 :  "  Eli,  Eli, 
lama  sabachthani  ?  that  is  to  say.  My 
God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken 
me  ?  " 

83.  Outside  the  gate  of  Purgatory, 
where  those  who  had  postponed  repent- 
ance 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  Giovannella, 
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 
Italia,  p.  52,  says:  "In  the  district  of 
Arhwrea,  on  the  slopes  of  the  Gennar- 
gentu,  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  Florentines,  and  their 
sudden  changes,  which  he  says  it  would 
take  a  whole  volume  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  ver- 
sion, 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  alx>ut  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    babe^.      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  thei» 
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  hav« 
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  dav  the  fashion 
is  changed  a  thousand  times  :  all  seek 
lil>erty,  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  for  ever  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. 


CANTO  XXIV. 

1.  Continuation  of  the  punishment  of 
Gluttony. 

7.  Continuing  the  words  with  which 
the  preceding  canto  closes,  and  referring 
to  Statius. 

10.  Picarda,  sister  of  Forese  and 
Corso  Donati.  She  was  a  nun  of  Santa 
Clara,  and  is  placed  by  Dante  in  the 
first  heaven  of  Paradise,  which  Forese 
calls  "high  Olympus."  .See  Par.  III. 
48,  where  her  story  is  told  more  in 
detail. 

19.  Buonagiunta  Urbisani  of  Lucca  is 


430 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


one  of  the  early  minor  poets  of  Italy,  a 
contemporary  of  Dante.  Rossetti,  Early 
Italian  Poets,  77,  gives  some  specimens 
of  his  sonnets  and  canzoni.  All  that  is 
known  of  him  is  contained  in  Benve- 
nuto's  brief  notice  :  "  Buonagiunta  of 
Urbisani,  an  honourable  man  of  the  city 
of  Lucca,  a  brilliant  orator  in  his  mother 
tongue,  a  facile  producer  of  rhymes,  and 
still  more  facile  consumer  of  wines ;  who 
knew  our  author  in  his  lifetime,  and 
sometimes  corresponded  with  him." 

Tiraboschi  also  mentions  him,  Storia 
ddla  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  ridi- 
culed in  the  well-known  epigram, — 

"Gaudent  anguillse,  quod  mortuus  hie  jacet  ille 
Qui  quasi  morte  reas  excoriabat  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  Ipfty  character 
of  the  Churchman.  He  excommunicated 
the  Viterbans  for  their  sacrilegious  mal- 
treatment of  the  Cardinals ;  Rinaldo 
Annibaldeschi,  the  Lord  of  Viterbo,  was 
compelled  to  ask  pardon  on  his  knees  of 
the  Cardinal  Rosso,  and  forgiven  only 
at  the  intervention  of  the  Pope.  Martin 
the  Fourth  retired  to  Orvieto. 

"  But  the  Frenchman  soon  began  to 
predominate  over  the  Pontiff;  he  sunk 
mto  the  vassal  of  Charles  of  Anjou. 
The  great  policy  of  liis  predecessor,  to 
assuage  the  feuds  of  Guelph  and  Ghi- 
belline,  was  an  Italian  policy  ;  it  was 
altogether  abandoned.  The  Ghibellines 
in  every  city  were  menaced  or  smitten 
with  excommunication ;  the  Lambertazzi 
were  driven  from  Bologna.  Forlt  was 
placed  under  interdict  for  harbouring  the 
exiles ;  the  goods  of  the  citizens  were 
confiscated  for  the  benefit  of  the  Pope. 
Bertoldo  Orsini  was  deposed  from  the 
Countship  of  Romagna ;  the  office  was 
bestowed  on  John  of  Appia,  with  in- 
structions everywhere  to  coerce  or  to 
chastise  the  refractory  Ghibellines." 

Villani,    Book   VI.    Ch.     106,   says : 


"  He  was  a  good  man,  and  very  favour- 
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  Montefiascone, : 
in  the  neighbourhood  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,  has  led  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  malaria  in  its  mostl 
fatal  forms  ;  and  its  shores,  although' 
there  are  no  traces  of  a  marsh,  are  de- 
serted, excepting  where  a  few  sickly' 
hamlets  are  scattered  on  their  western j 
slopes.  The  ground  is  cultivated  inj 
many  parts  down  to  the  water's  edge,, 
but  the  labourers  dare  not  sleep  for  4< 
single  night  during  the  summer  or  au-| 
tumn  on  the  plains  where  they  work  by' 
day  ;  and  a  large  tract  of  beautiful  and' 
productive  country  is  reduced  to  a  per- 
fect solitude  by  this  invisible  calamity,  j 
Nothing  can  be  more  striking  than  the S 
appearance  of  the  lake,  without  a  single , 
sail  upon  its  waters,  and  with  scarcely  a^ 
human  habitation  within  sight  of  Bol-j 
sena  ;  and  nothing  perhaps  can  give  thei 
traveller  who  visits  Italy  for  the  first) 
time  a  more  impressive  idea  of  the  effects; 
of  malaria. "  « 

Of  the  Vernaccia  or  Vemage,  in  which* 
Pope  Martin  cooked  his  eels,  HendersooJ 
says,  Hist.  Anc.  and  Mod.  Wines,  p.  296 » 
"  The  Vemage  ....  was  a  red  wine,! 
of  a  bright  colour,  and  a  sweetish  anq| 
somewhat  rough  flavour,  which  waft 
grown  in  Tuscany  and  other  parts  oK 
Italy,  and  derived  its  name  from  the'i 
thick-skinned  grape,  vernaccia  (corre«i 
spending  with  the  vinaciola  of  the  an*  1 
cients),  that  was  used  in  the  preparatioft  ,1 
of  it."  ^ 

Chaucer  mentions  it  in  the  Merchanft  \ 
Tale  :— 

3 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORTO. 


431 


"  He  drlnketh  ipocras,  clarre,  and  vernage  | 

Of  spices  hot,  to  eiicreasen  his  corege.'  I 

And  Redi,  Bacchus  in  Tuscany,  Leigh 
Hunt's  Tr.,  p.  30,  sings  of  it  thus  : — • 

"If  anybody  doesn'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  Erisich- 
thon,  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,"  con- 
tinues the  novelist,  "put  him  into  his 
church  ;  of  which  one  may  say  he  made 
a  pigsty  ;  for  he  did  not  put  in  a  priest, 
hut  a  pig  in  the  way  of  eating  and  drink- 
ing, who  had  neither  grammar  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  pas- 
turing many  people  alludes  to  his  keep- 
ing 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  l.ucca  with  whom 
Dante  is  supposed  to  have  been  en- 
amoured. "  Let  us  pass  over  in 
silence,"  says  Balbo,  Life  and  Times  of 
Dante,  II.  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  modesty, 
and  not  with  any  other  love." 

Benvenuto  and  the  Ottimo  interpret 
the  passage  differently,  making  getttucca 
2L  common  noun,  — gente  bassa,  low 
people.  But  the  passage  which  imme- 
uiately  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  tjiat  have  intelligence  in  love, 

Of  mine  own  lady  I  would  speak  with  you  ; 

Not  that  I  hope  to  count  her  praises  through, 

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.  Pocsia,  III. 
43,  says  that  Dante  *'  esteemed  him  so 
highly,  that  he  even  mentions  him  in 
his  Comedy,  doing  him  the  favour  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  PoeSs,  of  which  the  fol- 
lowing is  one : — 

"Of  his  Lady  in  Heaven. 

"  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  nought,   I 

know. 
Look  you,  I  say  not  this  to  such  intent 
As  that  I  there  would  deal  in  any  sin  : 
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'  Arezzo,  a  contem- 
porary of  the  Notary,  was  one  of  the 
Frati  Gaudentl,  or  Jovial  Friars,  men- 
tioned in  /«/  XXIII.  Note  103.  He 
first  brought  the  Italian  Sonnet  to  the 
perfect  form  it  has  since  preserved,  and 


4S« 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


left  behind  the  earliest  specimens  of 
Italian  letter-writing.  These  letters  are 
written  in  a  veiy  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  general 
assembly  of  the  armed  citizens,  laid  a 
formal  accusation  before  the  Podest^ 
Piero  Branca  d'  Agobbio  against  him 
for  conspiring  to  overthrow  the  liberties 
of  his  country,  and  endeavouring  to 
make  himself  Tyrant  of  Florence:  he 
was  immediately  cited  to  appear,  and, 
not  complying,  from  a  reasonable  dis- 
trust of  his  judges,  was  within  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 
Seignory,  preceded  by  the  Gonfalonier 
of  justice,  and  followed  by  the  Podest^, 
the  captain  of  the  people,  and  the  exe- 
cutor,— 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  prose- 
cution, had  hastily  barricaded  all  the 
approaches  to  his  palace,  but,  disabled 
by  the  gout,  could  only  direct  the  neces- 
sary operations  from  his  lied ;  yet  thus 
helpless,  thus  abandoned  by  all  but  his 
own  immediate  friends  and  vassals ; 
suddenly  condemned  to  death  ;  encom- 
passed by  the  bitterest  foes,  with  the 
whole  force    of    Uie    republic    banded  ] 


against  him,  he  never  cowered  for  an 
instant,  but  courageously  determined  to 
resist,  until  succoured  by  Uguccione 
della  Faggiola,  to  whom  he  had  sent 
for  aid.  This  attack  continued  during 
the  greater  part  of  the  day,  and  gene- 
rally 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- 
zens. The  former  were  intimidated, 
the  latter  turned  back  on  hearing  how 
matters  stood  ;  and  then  only  did 
Corso's  adherents  lose  heart  and  slink 
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,  seeing  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  endeavouring 
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  seve- 
ral 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  noble- 
man in  Italy :  he  was  handsome  in 
person  and  of  the  most  gracious  man- 
ners, but  very  worldly,  and  caused 
infinite  disturiiance  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 
speaker;  but  in  truth,  his  life  was  dan- 
gerous, and  his  death  reprehensible.  Ha 
wa&  a  knight  of  great  mind  and  name, 

•  Villani,  VIII.  Ch.  96. 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


433 


gentle  in  manners  as  in  blood ;  of  a  fine 
figure  even  in  his  old  age,  with  a  beauti- 
fi.ll  countenance,  delicate  features,  and  a 
fair  complexion;  pleasing,  wise  ;  and  an 
eloquent  speaker.  His  attention  was 
ever  fixed  on  important  things ;  he  was 
intimate  with  all  the  great  and  noble, 
had  an  extensive  influence,  and  was 
famous  throughout  Italy.  He  was  an 
enemy  of  the  middle  classes  and  their 
supporters,  beloved  by  the  troops,  but 
full  of  malicious  thoughts,  wicked,  and 
artful.  He  was  thus  basely  murdered 
by  a  foreign  soldier,  and  his  fellow-citi- 
zens well  knew  the  man,  for  he  was 
instantly  conveyed  away :  tho'se  who 
ordered  his  death  were  Rosso  della  Tosa 
and  I'azzino  de'  Pazzi,  as  is  commonly 
said  by  all ;  and  some  bless  him  and 
some  the  contrary.  Many  believe  thai 
the  two  said  knights  killed  him,  and  I, 
wishing  to  ascertain  tlie  truth,  inquired 
diligently,  and  found  what  I  have  said  to 
be  true.'*  Such  is  the  character  of  Corso 
Donati,  which  has  come  down  to  us  from 
two  authors  who  must  have  been  perso- 
nally acquainted  with  this  distinguished 
chief,  Init  opposed  to  each  other  in  the 
general  ptililics  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 
distance  to  distance  encircle  the  moun- 
tain. 

116.  In  the  Terrestrial  Paradise  on  the 
top  of  the  mountain. 

121.  The  Centaurs,  bom  of  Ixion  and 
the  Cloud,  and  having  the  "double 
breasts "  of  man  and  horse,  became 
drunk  with  wine  at  the  marriage  of  Hip- 
podamia  and  Pirithous,  and  strove  to 
carry  off  the  bride  and  the  other  women 
by  violence.  Theseus  and  the  rest  of  the 
Lapithne  opposed  them,  and  drove  them 
from  the  feast.  This  famous  battle  is 
described  at  great  length  by  Ovid,  Met. 
XII.,  Dryden's  Tr. : — 

"  For  one,  most  brutal  of  tlie  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, 


*  Dine  Compagni,  III.  76. 


He  seized  with  sudden  force  the  frighted  fair. 

"I'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. 

"The  cave  resounds  with  female  shrieks;  we 

rise 
Mad  with  revenge,  to  make  a  swift  reprice  : 
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.  yiidges  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  |)eople  bowed  down  upon  their  knees 
to  drink  water." 

139.  The  Angel  of  the  Seventh 
Circle. 


CANTO   XXV. 

I.  The  ascent  to  the  Seventh  Circle  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  Althjea,  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. 

Ovid,  Met.  VIII.  :— 

"  There  lay  a  log  unlighted  on  the  hearth. 
When  she  was  labouring  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  the^ 
O  new-.bom  babe,  we  give  an  equal  destiny  ;  * 


♦S4 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


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  ex])edition,  and  afterwards  in 
tlie  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  a  rage 
threw  the  brand  upon  the  fire  again, 
and,  as  it  was  consumed,  Meleager 
perished. 

Mr.  Swinburne,  Atalanta  in  Calydon  : 

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. 

(ENEUS. 

"  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  splendour  of  spears. 


"  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. 


"  Dost  thou  mock  at  our  praise 

And  the  singing  begun 

And  the  men  of  strange  days 

Praising  my  s<m 

In  the  folds  of  the  hills  of  home,  high  places  of 

Calydon  f 

MBLBAGER. 

"  For  the  dead  man  no  home  Is  ; 
Ah,  better  to  Ixr 
What  the  flower  of  the  foam  is 
In  fields  of  the  sea, 
rhat  the  sea-wave«  might  be  a*  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  dust  and  crumblings  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  fl  )wer  of  l;;"-; 
Disbranched  and  desecrated  miserably, 
And   minished  all   that  god-like  nmscl:;  and 

might 
And  lesser  than  a  man's  :  for  all  my  veins 
Fail    me,    and    all    mine    ashen    life    burni 

down." 

37.  The  dissertation  which  Dante 
here  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Statins  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,  philoso- 
pher, 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  instruction, 
and  consequently  new  difficulties." 

This  subject  is  also  discussed  in  part 
by  Thomas  Aquinas,  Sum.  Theol.,  I. 
Qucest.  cxix.,  De  propagatione  hominis 
qiiaiitiim  ad  corpus. 

Milton,  in  his  Latin  poem,  De  Idea 
Platotika,  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 
diffi;rence  between  Dante  and  Milton, 
than  this  canto  and  Plato's  Archetypal 
Man,  which  in  Leigh  Hunt's  translation 
runs  as  follows  : — 

"  Say,  guardian  goddesses  of  woods, 
Aspects,  felt  in  solitudes  ;  1 

And  Memory,  at  whose  blessed  knee 
The  Nine,  which  thy  dear  daught.rs  be,         • 
Learnt  of  the  majestic  past :  - 

And  thou,  that  in  some  antre  vast  \ 

Leaning  afar  off  dost  lie, 
Otiose  fcternity. 
Keeping  the  tablets  and  decrees 
Of  Jove,  and  the  ephemcridci 
or  the  gods,  and  calendars, 
Of  the  ever  festal  stars  ; 
S.iy,  who  was  he,  the  suntes.^  shade. 
After  whose  pattern  man  was  made ; 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


43S 


He  first,  the  full  of  ages,  bom 

With  the  old  pale  polar  mom. 

Sole,  yet  all  ;  first  visible  thought, 

After  which  the  Deity  wrought  ? 

Twin-birth  with  Pallas,  not  remain 

Doth  he  in  Jove's  o'ershadowed  brain ; 

But  though  of  wid'J  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  neighbouring  moon  ; 

Or  sits  with  body-waiting  souls, 

Dozing  by  the  Lethean  pools  : — 

Or  whether,  haply,  placed  afar 

In  some  blank  region  of  our  star, 

He  stalks,  an  imsuhstantial  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  t 

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  sb^oes  of  all  the  skies. 

Left  him  in  his  sacred  verse 

Revealed  to  Nature's  worshippers. 

"  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  ; 
Or  folU  w  through  the  self-same  gate, 
Thou,  the  founder  of  the  state." 

48.  "P-e  heart,  where  the  blood  takes 
the  "  virtue  informative,"  as  stated  in 
line  40. 

52.  The  vegetitive  soul,  which  in 
man  rliffers  from  that  in  plants,  as  being 
in  a  state  of  devnlopment,  while  that  of 
plants  is  complets  already. 

SS-  ^he  vegtftative  becomes  a  sensi- 
tive soul. 

65.  "  This  was  the  opinion  of  Aver- 
roes,"  sa-^  the  Ottimo,  "which  is  false, 
and  contriiy  tc  the  Catholic  faith." 

•  Tire=ias,  who  was  blind.      +  Sanchoniathoa 
X  Whom  Plato  banished  from  his  imaginary 
republic 


In  the  language  of  the  Schools,  th^ 
Possible  Intellect,  intelitctus  possibilis, 
is  the  faculty  which  receives  impressions 
through  the  senses,  and  forms  from 
them  pictures  or  fhantasmata  in  the 
mind.  The  Active  Intellect,  intelleclus 
agens,  draws  from  these  pictures  various 
ideas,  notions,  and  conclusions.  They 
represent  the  Understanding  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  entang  ed 
And  caught  in  the  net  of  the  many  vines." 

79.  When  Lachesis  has  spun  out  the 
thread  of  life. 

81.  Thomas  Aquinas,  Sum.  Theol., 
I.  Quaest.  cxviii.  Art.  3:  '•'' Anima  in- 
iellcctiva  remand  destructo  corpore. " 

86.  Either  upon  the  shores  of  Acheron 
or  of  the  Tiber. 

103.  yEneid,  VI.  723,  Davidson's 
Tr.  :- 

"  In  the  first  place,  the  spirit  within 
nourishes  the  heavens,  the  earth,  and 
watery  plains,  the  moon's  enlightened 
orb,  and  the  Titanian  stars ;  and  the 
mind,  diffused  through  all  the  members, 
actuates  the  whole  frame,  and  mingles 
with  the  vast  body  of  the  universe. 
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  desire,  grieve  and 
rejoice  ;  and,  shut  up  in  darkness  and  a 
gloomy  prison,  lose  sight  of  their  native 
skies.  Even  when  with  the  last  beains 
of  light  their  life  is  gone,  yet  not  every 
ill,  nor  all  corporeal  stains,  are  quite 
removed  from  the  unhappy  beings  ;  and 
it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  many 
imperfections  which  have  long  been 
joined  to  the  soul  should  be  in  marvellous 
ways  increased  and  riveted  therein. 
Therefore  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 


43« 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORTO. 


out  in  a  vast  watery  abyss,  or  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,  seeing 
1  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  Jiino 
turned  her  into  a  bear.  Areas  was  the 
offspring  of  this  amour.  Jupiter  changed 
them  to  the  constellations  of  the  Great 
and  Liitle  Bear. 

Ovid,  Met.  II.,  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  ; 
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'll  see,  when  Night  has  covered  all  things 

o'er, 

{ove's  starry  bastard  and  triumphant  whore 
Isurp  the  heavens  ;  you'll  see  them  proudly  roll 
lu  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  I 
sky  is  white,  as  the  sky  always  is  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  sun. 

12.  A  ghostly  or  spiritual  body. 

41.  Pasiphae,  wife  of  Minos,  king  of 
Crete,  and  mother  of  the  Minotaur. 
Virgil,  Eclogue  VI.  45,  Davidson's 
Tr.  :—  j 

"  And  he  soothes  Pasiphae  in  her 
passion  for  the  snow-white  bull  :  happy  ■ 
woman  if  herds  had  never  been  !  Ah,  i 
ill-fated  maid,  what  madness  seized  thee  ?  i 
The  daughters  of  Prcetus  with  imaginary  j 
lowings  filled  the  fields  ;  yet  none  of  i 
them  pursued  such  vile  embraces  of  a 
beast,  however  they  might  dread  the  ' 
plough  about  their  necks,  and  often  feel  ; 
for  horns  on  their  smooth  foreheads,  i 
Ah,  ill-fated-  maid,  thou  now  art  roam-  ; 
ing  on  the  mountains  !  He,  resting  his 
snowy  side  on  the  soft  hyacinth,  nimi-  ■ 
nates  the  blanched  herbs  under  some  J 
gloomy  oak,  or  courts  some  female  in  : 
the  numerous  herd."  j 

43.  The  Riphaean  mountains  are  in  1 
the  north  of  Russia.  The  sands  are  the  \ 
sands  of  the  deserts.  ■ 

59.   Beatrice.  • 

62.  The  highest  heaven.  Par.  \ 
XXVII.  \ 

78.  In  one  of  Caesar's  triumphs  the  ■ 
Roman  soldiery  around  his  chariot  \ 
called  him  "Queen  ;"  thus  reviling  him  ^ 
for  his  youthful  debaucheries  with  j 
Nicomedes,  king  of  Bithynia.  ^ 

87.  The  cow  made  by  Daedalus.  ; 

92.  Guido  Guiniceiii,  the  best  of.' 
the  Italian  poets  Ijefore  Dante,  flourished  \ 
in  the  first  half  of  the  thirteenth  century.  '* 
He  was  a  native  of  Bologna,  but  of  his  life  \ 
nothing  is  known.  His  most  celebrated  f 
poem  is  a  Canzone  on  the  Nature  of^ 
Love,  which  goes  far  to  justify  the* 
warmth  and  tenderness  of  Dante'sl 
praise.  Rossetti,  Early  Italian  Poets^f 
p.  24,  gives  the  following  version  of  it,  J 
under  the  title  of  The  Gentle  Heart : — 


"  Within  the  gentle  heart  Love  shelters  him, 
As  birds  within   the  green    sltade   of  th«-l 
grove. 
Before  the  gentle  heart,  in  Nature's  schema 
Love  was  not,  nor  the  gentle  heart  ere  Lovft 
For  with  the  sun,  at  once, 
So  sprang  the  light  immediately  ;  nor  was 
lis  birth  Ixiforc  the  sim's. 
And  Ix)ve  hath  his  eflTcct  iii  gentleness 

Ol  very  self :  even  as 
W.thin  the  middle  fire  the  hiMs  excess. 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


437 


"  The  fire  of  Love  comes  to  the  gentle  heart 
Like  as  its  virtue  to  a  precious  stone  ; 
To  which  no  star  its  influence  can  impart 
TiJl  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,  enamoureth. 

"  In  gentle  heart  Love  for  like  reason  is 

For  which  the  lamp's  high  flame  is  fanned 
and  bowed  : 
Clear,  piercing  bright,   it  shines  few  its  own 
bliss  ; 
Nor  would  it  bum  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  radiance. 

"  God,  in  the  understanding  of  high  Heaven, 
Bums  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 
rescutid  by  her  sons  Eumenius  and 
Thoas,  (whose  father  was  the  "bland 
Jason,"  as  Statins  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  Hypsipyle  : — 

"  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  generally 
to  all  narrative  poems,  and  particularly 
to  the  monorhythmic  romances.  Thus 
Gonzalo  de  Berceo,  a  Spanish  poet  of 
the  thirteenth  century,  begins  a  poem  on 
the  Vida  del  Glorioso  Confessor  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  &  su  vecino, 
Ca  non  so  tan  letrado  per  fer  otro  Latino." 

120.  Gerault  de  Bemeil  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  Proven9al 
biographer,  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  poems 
is  from  [Taylor's]  Lays  of  the  Min- 
nesingers and  Troubadours,  p.  247.  It 
is  an  Aubade,  or  song  of  the  morning: — 

"  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  mom,  the  mom  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  mom  is  near. 

"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  mom,  the  mom  is  near. 


438 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


"  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  mom,  the  mom  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  mom  is  near. 

Answer. 
"  Companion  dear  !  so  happily  sojourning, 
So  blest  am  1,  I  care  not  forth  to  speed  : 
Here    brightest     beauty    reigns,    her    smiles 
adorning 
Her  dwelling-place, — then  wherefore  should 
I  heed 
The  mom  or  jealous  eyes  ?  " 

According  to  Nostrodamus  he  died  in 
1278.  Notwithstanding  his  great  repute, 
Dante  gives  the  pahn  of  excellence  to 
Arnaiid  Daniel,  his  rival  and  contem- 
poraiy.  But  this  is  not  the  general 
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  compliment 
after  the  manner  of  the  French  ;  in  the 
Italian  fashion  we  should  say,  '  You  will 
do  me  a  favour,  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  l)orn  of  a  noble  family  at  the  cxstle 
of  RiWyrac  in  Perigord.  Millot,  Hist, 
des  Trotib.,  II.  479,  says  of  him  :  "  In 
all  ages  there  have  been  false  reputations, 
founded  on  some  individual  judgment, 
whose  authority  has  prevaded  without 
examination,  until  at  last  criticism  dis- 
cusses, the  truth  penetrates,  and  the 
phantom  of  prejudice  vanishes.  Such 
nas  l)een  the  reputation  of  Arnaud 
D.'iniel." 

Raynouard  confirms  this  judgment, 
and  says  that,  "in  reading  the  works  of 


this  Troubadour,  it  is  difficult  to  con- 
ceive the  cause  of  the  great  celebrity  he 
enjoyed  during  his  life." 

Arnaud    Daniel  was  the  inventor  of  1 
the  Sestina,  a  song  of  six  stanzas  of  six  | 
lines  each,  with  the  same  rhymes  ref)eated  ' 
in  all,  though  arranged  in  different  and 
intricate  oider,  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 //vjt"  di  , 
romanzi,    or   proses   of  romance.     The  i 
following  anecdote  is  from  the  old  Pro- 
ven9al  authority,  quoted  both  by  Millot"^ 
and  Raynouard,   and  is  thus  translated 
by  Miss  Costello,  Early  Poetry  of  France,  \ 

P-  37 :—  ! 

"  Arnaud  visited  the  court  of  Richard  ! 
Coeur  de  Lion  in  England,  and  encoun- 
tered there  a  jongleur,  who  defied  him  y 
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  dial-  ' 
lenge,  and  the  two  poets  separated,  and  : 
retired  to  their  respective  chambere  to 
prepare  for  the  contest.  The  Muse  of ; 
Arnaud  was  not  propitious,  and  he  vainly  \ 
endeavoured  tostiing  two  rhymes  toge-  ' 
ther.  His  rival,  on  the  other  hand,  : 
quickly  caught  the  inspiration.  The  ■ 
king  had  allowed  ten  days  as  the  term  , 
of  preparation,  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  finishel ', 
his  poem,  and  was  ready  to  recite  it,  but  i 
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,  S 
and  Arnaud,  who  was  in  vain  endeavour-  *^ 
ing  to  devise  some  means  to  save  himself 
from  the  mockery  of  the  court  at  being  , 
outdone  in  this  contest,  hapjjened  to  ; 
overhear  the  jongleur  singing.  He  went  ) 
to  his  door  and  listened,  and  succeeded  J 
in  retaining  the  words  and  the  air.  On  \ 
the  day  appointed  they  both  appeared  j 
before  the  king.  Arnaud  desired  to  Ihj  | 
allowed  to  sing  first,  and  immediately  ; 
gave  the  song  which  the  jongleur  haa  | 
composed.  The  latter,  slupified  with  \ 
astonishment,  could  only  exclaim  :  '  It  ^ 
is  niysong,  it  is  my  song.'   *  Impossiblel'  ] 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


43^ 


cried  the  king  ;  but  the  jongleur,  per- 
sisting, requested  Richard  to  interrogate 
Amaud,  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,  Amaud 
died  about  1 189.  There  is  no  other 
reason  for  making  him  speak  in  Pro- 
venyal  than  the  evident  delight  which 
Dante  took  in  the  sound  of  the  words, 
and  the  peculiar  flavour  they  give  to  the 
close  of  the  canto.  Raynouard  says  that 
the  writings  of  none  of  the  Troubadours 
have  been  so  disfigured  by  copyists  as 
those  of  Amaud.  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- 
vengal  and  part  Catalan,  joining  together 
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  presump- 
tuous ignorance  and  impertinence." 


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  "  dolce  pcdag^ogo"  Biagioli  lets  him 
escape  without  the  usual  reprimand. 

8.  Matthew  v.  8  :  '*  Blessed  are  the 
pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God." 


16.  *  With  the  hands  clasped  and 
turned  palm  downwards,  and  the  body 
straightened  backward  in  attitude  of  re- 
sistance. 

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.  Matthezv  xx\.  2,A'-  "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  Arma, 

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  Beatrice 
in  the  Terrestrial  Paradise.  In  the  Old 
Testament  Leah  is  a  symbol  of  the 
Active  Life,  and  Rachel  of  the  Contem- 
plative ;  as  Martha  and  Mary  are  in  the 
New  Testament,  and  Matilda  and  Bea- 
trice in  the  Divine  Comedy.  "  Happy 
is  that  house,"  says  Saint  Bemard,  "and 
blessed  is  that  congregation,  where  Mar- 
tha still  complaineth  of  Mary." 

Dante  says  in  the  Convito,  IV.  17  ; 
O  Q 


440 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


"  Truly  it  should  be  known  that  We  can 
have  in  this  life  two  felicities,  by  follow- 
ing two  different  and  excellent  roads, 
which  lead  thereto  ;  namely,  the  Active 
life  and  the  Contemplative." 

And  Owen  Feltham  in  his  Resolves : — 

"  The  mind  can  walk  beyond  the  sight 
of  the  eye,  and,  though  in  a  cloud,  can 
lift  us  into  heaven  while  we  live.  Medi- 
tation is  the  soul's  perspective  glass, 
whereby,  in  her  long  remove,  she  dis- 
cemeth  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  soids.  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  advise- 
ments, so  is  man,  when  contemplation 
is  seconded  by  action.  Contemplation 
generates  ;  action  propagates.  Without 
the  first,  the  latter  is  defective.  With- 
out the  last,  the  first  is  but  abortive  and 
embryous.  Saint  Bernard  compares  con- 
templation 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  idleness,  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,  Moi/.  Painters,  III.  22 1 : 
"  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  Para- 
dise which  Dante  is  alwut  to  enter. 
Therefore  the  unwearied  spirit  of  the 
Countes<;  Matilda  is  understood  to  re- 
present 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  hersrlf,  and  delights 
in  lur  tncn  Lal>our.  Rachel  sits  silent, 
contemplating  herself,   and  delights  in 


ker  (nvn  Image.  These  are  the  types  of 
the  Unglorified  Active  and  Contempla- 
tive powers  of  Man.  But  Beatrice  and 
Matilda  are  the  same  powers,  glorified. 
And  how  are  they  glorified  ?  Leah  took 
delight  in  her  own  labour;  but  Matilda, 
in  Pperibiis  mainnim  Ttiarnm,—in  GoiVs 
labour :  Rachel,  in  the  sight  of  her  own 
face ;  Beatrice,  in  the  sight  of  God''s 
fact. " 

112.  The  morning  of  the  Fourth  Day 
of  Purgatory. 

115.     Happiness. 


CANTO   XXVIII. 

I.  The  Terrestrial  Paradise.    Compare 
Milton,  Farad,  Lost,  IV.  214: — 

"  Ir)  this  pleasant  soil 
His  far  more  pleasant  g,irden  God  ordained : 
Out  of  the  fertile  ground  he  caused  to  grow 
All  trees  of  noblest  kind  for  sight,  smell,  taste 
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  b^'  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  thecrisi)ed  brooks, 
Rolling  on  orient  pearl  and  sands  of  gold. 
With  mazy  error  under  pendent  shades 
Ran  nectar,  visiting  eacn  plant,  and  fed 
Flowers  worthy  of  Paradise  ;  which  not  nice  art 
In  beds  and  curious  knots,  but  nature  bo<m 
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, 
If  true,  here  only,  and  of  delicious  taste. 
Betwixt  them  lawns,  or  level  downs,  and  flock* 
Graiing  the  tender  herb,  were  interposed ; 
Or  palm)r  hillock,  or  the  flowery  lap 
Of  some  irrieuoiis  valley  spre.-icl  her  store  ; 
Flowers  of  all  hue,  and  without  thorn  the  rose. 
Another  side,  umbrageous  grots  and  caves 


n 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


441 


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  tiance. 
Led  on  the  eternal  spring." 

2.  Ruskin,  Mod.  Painters,  III.  219  : 
"  As  Homer  gave  us  an  ideal  landscape, 
which  even  a  god  might  have  been  pleased 
to  behold,  so  Dante  gives  us,  fortunately, 
an  ideal  landscape,  which  is  specially  in- 
tended for  the  terrestrial  paradise.  And 
it  will  doubtless  be  with  some  surprise, 
after  our  reflections  above  on  the  general 
tone  of  Dante's  feelings,  that  we  find  our- 
selves here  first  entering  ^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  differs  from  it  only  in  letting  a 
light  breeze  through  it,  being  therefore 
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  pas- 
sage of  wood  description  which  exists  in 
literature." 

Homer's  ideal  landscape,  here  referred 
to,  is  in  Odyssey  V.,  where  he  describes 
the  visit  of  Mercury  to  the  Island  of 
Calypso.  It  is  thus  translated  by  Buck- 
ley: — 

"  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  burn- 
ing on  the  hearth,  and  at  a  distance  the 


smell  of  well-cleft  cedar,  and  of  frank- 
incense, that  were  burning,  slied  odour 
through  the  island  :  but  she  within  was 
singing  with  a  beautiful  voice,  andj 
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  employ- 
ments are  a  care.  There  a  vine  in  its 
prime  was  spread  about  the  hollow  tjrot, 
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  flour- 
ished soft  meadows  of  violets  and  of 
parsley.  There  indeed  even  an  immortal 
coming  would  admire  it  when  he  beheld, 
and  would  be  delighted  in  his  mind  ; 
there  the  messenger,  the  slayer  of  Argus, 
standing,  admired." 

And  again,  at  the  close  of  the  same 
book,  where  Ulysses  reaches  theshore  at 
Phseacia  :— 

"  Then  he  hastened  to  the  wood  ;  and 
found  it  near  the  water  in  a  conspicuous 
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  shin- 
ing 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  described 
in  one  of  the  Choruses  of  the  CEdipus 
Colonetts  of  Sophocles,  Oxford  rr.. 
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  vocal  night- 
ingale, chief  abounding,  trills  her  plain- 
tive note  in  the  green  vales,  tenanting 
the  dark-hued  ivy  and  the  leafy  grove 
of  the  god,  untrodden  [by  mortal  foot], 
teeming  with  fruits,  impervious  to  the 
sun,  and  unshaken  by  the  winds  of  ever)- 
storm  ;  where  Bacchus  ever  roams  in 
revelry  companioning  his  divine  nurses. 
And  ever  day  by  day  the  narcissus,  with 
its  beauteous  clusters,  burst  into  bloom 
u  a  2 


44? 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


by  heaven's  dew,  the  ancient  coronet 
of  the  mighty  goddesses,  and  tlie  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,  ferti- 
lizing 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,  mark- 
ing for  destruction,  and  having  laid  it 
waste  with  his  hand,  set  its  divinity  at 
paught  ;  for  the  eye  that  never  closes  of 
Morian  Jove  regards  it,  and  the  blue- 
eyed  Minerva." 

We  have  also  Homer's  description  of 
the  Garden  of  Alcinoiis,  Odyssey,  VII., 
Uuckley's  Tr.  : — 

"  But  without  the  hall  there  is  a  large 
garden,  near  the  gates,  of  four  acres  ; 
but  around  it  a  hedge  was  extended  on 
both  sides.  And  there  tall,  flourishing 
trees  grew,  pears,  and  pomegranates,  and 
apple-trees  producing  beautiful  fruit,  and 
sweet  figs,  and  flourishing  olives.  Of 
these  the  fruit  never  perishes,  nor  does  it 
fail  in  winter  or  summer,  lasting  through- 
out 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  ng.  There  a  fruitful  vine- 
yard 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 
tney  are  treading,  and  further  on  are 
Mnri|)e  grapes,  having  thrown  off"  the 
:lower,  and  others  are  slightly  changing 
colour.  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  fountain.s, 
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 
tu  draw  water." 


Dante's  description  of  the  Terrestrial 
Paradise  will  hardly  fail  to  recall  that  of 
M  ount  Acidale  in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queette, 
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  sun^  aloud  ; 
And  in  their  tops  the  soring  hauke  did  towre, 

Sitting  like  king  of  fowles  in  maiesty  and  powre. 

"  And  at  the  foote  thereof  a  gentle  flud 
His  silver  waves  did  softly  tumble  downe, 
Unmard  with  ragged  mosse  or  filthy  mud  ; 
Ne  mote  wylde  beastes,  ne  mote  the  ruder 

clowne, 
Thereto    approch  ;    ne     filth    mote     therein 

drowne  : 
But  Nymphes    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  uquall  hight 
Did  seeme  to  overlooke  the  lowly  vale ; 
TTierefore     it     rightly    cleeped     was     Mount 

Acidale." 

See  also  Tasso's  Garden  of  Armida,  in 
the  Gei-usalemme,  XVI. 

20.  Chiassi  is  on  the  sea-shore  near 
Ravenna.  "  Here  grows  a  spacious  pine 
forest,"  says  Covino,  Descr.  Geof^.,  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  XXXIII.  119, 
calls  Matilda,  is  generally  supposed  by 
the  commentators  to  be  the  celebrated 
Countess  Matilda,  daughter  of  Boniface, 
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  pic- 
ture of  the  times.  Napier,  Flor.  Hist., 
I.  Ch.  4  and  6,  gives  these  glimpses  of 
the  Countess : — 

"This  heroine  died  in  1 1 15,  after  a 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


443 


reign  of  active  exertion  for  herself  and 
the  Church  against  the  Emperors,  which 
generated  the  infant  and  as  yet  nameless 
factions  of  Guelf  and  Ghibelline.  Matilda 
endured  this  contest  with  all  the  enthu- 
siasm and  constancy  of  a  woman,  com- 
bined with  a  manly  courage  that  must 
ever  render  her  name  respectable,  whe- 
ther proceeding  from  the  bigoti-y  of  the 
age,  or  to  oppose  imperial  ambition  in 
defence  of  her  own  defective  title.  Ac- 
cording to  the  laws  of  that  time,  she 
could  not  as  a  female  inherit  her  father's 
states,  for  even  male  heirs  required  a 
royal  confirmation.  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  forward 
as  the  friend  of  her  house,  and  from 
childhood  she  had  breathed  an  atmo- 
sphere of  blind  and  devoted  submission 
to  its  authority  ;  even  when  only  fifteen 
she  had  appeared  in  arms  against  its 
enemies,  and  made  two  successful  expedi- 
tions to  assist  Pope  Alexander  the  Second 
during  her  mother's  lifetime. 

"  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  salvation  :  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  rever- 
enced by  a  girl  whose  feelings  so  har- 
monized with  the  sacred  strains  of  ancient 
tradition  and  priestly  dignity.  But  from 
whatever  motive,  the  result  was  a  con- 
tinual aggrandizement  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  over- 
looked by  the  young  Italian  communities 
under  Matilda's  rule,  who  were  already 
accused  by  imp>erial  legitimacy  of  poli- 
tical innovation  and  visionary  notions  of 

government 

"Being  then  at  a  place  caDed  Monte 


Baroncione,  and  in  her  sixty-ninth  year, 
this  celebrated  woman  breathed  her  last, 
after  a  long  and  glorious  reign  of  inces- 
sant activity,  during  which  she  displayed 
a  wisdom,  vigour,  and  determination  of 
character  rarely  seen  even  in  men.  She 
bequeathed  to  the  Church  all  those  patri- 
monial estates  of  which  she  had  previ- 
ously disposed  by  an  act  of  gift  to 
Gregory  the  Seventh,  without,  however, 
any  immediate  royal  power  over  the 
cities  and  other  possessions  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  pre- 
sent. 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  debas- 
ing 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  tem- 
poral power,  but  reserving  her  own 
independence ;  a  policy  subsequently 
pursued,  at  least  in  spirit,  by  the  Guel- 
phic  states  of  Italy.  She  therefore  pro- 
tected subordinate  members  of  the 
Church  against  feudal  chieftains,  and  its 
head  against  the  feudal  Emperor.  True 
to  her  religious  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  cele- 
bration of  Christ's  nativity  in  the  depth 
of  a  freezing  and  unusually  inclement 
winter." 

50.  Ovid,  Met.  V.,  Maynwaring's 
Tr.  :— 

"  Here,  while  young  Proserpine,  among  the 
maids. 
Diverts  herself  in  these  delicious  shades  : 


444 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


While  like  a  child  with  busy  speed  and  care 
She  gathers  lilies  here,  and  violets  there  ; 
While  first  lo  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  m  his  sooty  car  away. 
TTie  frighted  goddess  to  her  mother  cries, 
But  all  in  vain,  for  now  far  off"  she  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 ; 
Her  lilies,  ah  !  are  lost,  her  violets  gone." 

65.  Ovid,  Met.  X.,  Eu.sclen's  Tr.  :— 

"  For  CytherSa'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  unsought, 
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  arrogance." 

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, 
enamoured  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, 
HLs    ears    are    deafened   with    the   wildering 

noise  ; 
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  ofgrecn  turf  and  hillucks  green. 

"  And  where  he  swam,   the   constant   sun   lie* 
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  : 
[  will  triumph  iu  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  the  short,  little  stairway  of  three  step.s." 

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  Statins  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,  Parad. 
Lost,  VII.  I,  makes  the  same  invoca- 
tion : — 

"  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  Pega.sean  wine. 
The  meaning,  not  the  name,  1  call  :  for  thou 
Nor  of  the  Muses  nine,  nor  on  the  top 
Of  old  Olympus  dwell'st ;  but,  heavenly-bom. 
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  objects 
may  have  in  common,  and  by  which 
they  resemble  each  other. 

49.  The  faculty  which  lends  discourse 
to  reason  is  apprehension,  or  the  faculty 


NOTES  TO  PURGA7VRT0. 


445 


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. 

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  sup- 
posed to  symbolize  here  the  four  and 
twenty  books  of  the  Old  Testament. 
The  crown  of  lilies  indicates  the  purity 
of  faith  and  doctrine. 

85.  The  salutation  of  the  angel  to  the 
Virgin  Mary.  Luke\.  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  Ezekiel 
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  com- 
mentary on  Ezekiel,  has  since  his  time 
prevailed  universally.  Thus,  then, — i. 
To  St.  Matthew  was  given  the  Cherub, 
or  human  semblance,  because  he  begins 
his  Gospel  with  the  human  generation  of 
Christ ;  or,  according  to  others,  because 
in  his  Gospel  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  LlON,  because  he 
has  set  forth  the  royal  dignity  of  Christ ; 
or,  according  to  others,  because  he  begins 
with  the  mission  of  the  Baptist,  —  "■  tht 
voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness,  '— 
which  is  figured  by  the  lion  :  or,  accord- 
ing to  a  third  interpretation,  the  lion  was 
allotted  to  St.  Mark  because  there  was, 
in  the  Middle  Ages,  a  popular  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  ap- 
plication 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  resur- 
rection. '  Another  commentator  observes 
that  Mark  begins  his  Gospel  with  '  roar- 
ing,'— '  the  voice  of  one  crying  in  the 
wilderness  ; '  and  ends  it  fearfully  with 
a  curse,  — '  He  that  believeth  not  shall 
be  damned ; '  and  that,  therefore,  his 
appropriate  attribute  is  the  most  terrible 
of  beasts,  the  lion.  3.  Luke  has  the 
O.K,  because  he  has  dwelt  on  the  priest- 
hood of  Christ,  the  ox  being  the  emblem 
of  sacrifice.  4.  John  has  the  Eagle, 
which  is  the  symbol  ot  the  highest  in- 
spiration, because  he  soared  upwards  to 
the  contemplation  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  thereof,  as  the  colour  of 
amber,  out  of  the  midst  of  the  fire.  Also 
out  of  the  midst  thereof  came  the  like- 
ness of  four  living  creatures.  And  this 
was  their  appearance;  they  had  the  like- 
ness 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 
colour  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  generally 
interpreted  as  meaning  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments  ;  but  Dante,  Par.  XII.  106, 


446 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


speaks  of  them  as  St.  Dominic  and  St. 
Francis. 

io8.  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  Chi-istian  Iconography.,  interprets  it 
differently.  He  says,  Millington's  Tr., 
I.  458  :- 

"The  mystical  bird  of  two  colours  is 
understood  in  the  manuscript  of  Herrade 
to  mean  the  Church  ;  in  Dante,  the  bi- 
fornied  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  persons  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  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  commen- 
tators 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  describing 
the  car  as  drawn  by  God  as  by  a  beast 
of  burden.  It  is  very  doubtful  even 
whether  Dante  can  be  altogether  freed 
from  the  imputation  of  a  want  of  re- 
verence in  harnessing  the  Pope  to  the 
car  of  the  Church." 

1 10.  The  wings  of  the  Griffin  extend 
upward  between  the  middle  list  or  trail 
of  splendour  of  the  seven  candles  and  the 
three  outer  ones  on  each  side. 

117.  The  chariot  of  the  sun,  which 
Pliaclon  had  leave  to  drive  for  a  day,  is 
thus  described  by  Ovid,  Met.  II.,  Addi- 
son's Tr.  : — 

"A  rnlden  axle  did  the  work  uphold. 
Gold  was  the  beam,  the  wheels  were  orbed 

with  gold. 
Tlie  spokes  in  rows  of  silver  pleased  the  sight, 
The  Beat  with  party-coloured  gems  was  bright ; 
Apollo  shincd  amid  the  glare  of  light." 

120.  In  smiting  Phaeton  with  a 
thunderiwll.     Ovid,  Met.  H.  :— 

"  Jove  called  to  witness  every  power  above, 
And  even  the  god  wliusc  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, 

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  Evan- 
gelical Virtues,  Charity,  Hope,  and 
Faith.  For  the  symbolism  of  colours  in 
Art,  see  Mrs.  Jameson,  Sacred  and 
Legendary  Art,  QuoiedCanio  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  re- 
presented with  three  eyes,  as  looking  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  0:1 
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  Legendaty  Art,  I.  188, 
says : — 

"At  what  period  the  sword  was  given 
to  St.  Paul  as  his  distinctive  attribute  is 
with  antiquaries  a  disputed  point  ;  cer- 
tainly 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  suc- 
cessive 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  monu- 
ments which  can  be  absolutely  trusted 
as  regards  the  introduction  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  devotional  effigies  I  can  remember 
no  instance  in  which  it  is  omitted.  When 
St.  Paul  is  leaning  on  the  sword,  it  ex< 


M 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


m- 


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  Nurem- 
berg." 

142,  The  four  Apostles  James,  Peter, 
John,  and  Jude,  writers  of  the  Canonical 
Epistles.  The  red  flowers,  with  which 
their  foreheads  seem  all  aflame,  are  sym- 
bols 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 
day,  and  heard  behind  him  a  great  voice 
as  of  a  trumpet."  Or  perhaps  the  allu- 
sion 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  repre- 
sented in  mediaeval  Art  as  follows. 
Mre.  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;  'being  reserved 
alive  with  Enoch  and  Elijah  (who  also 
knew  not  death),  to  preach  against  the 
Antichrist  in  the  last  days.'  This  fanci- 
ful 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  fol- 
low, Dr.  Barlow,  Study  of  the  Div.  Com., 
p.  270,  says:  — 

"  Dante's  sublime  pageant  of  the 
Church  Militant  is  one  of  the  most  mar- 


vellous processions  ever  marshalled  on 
paper.  In  the  invention,  arrangement, 
grouping,  and  colouring  the  poet  has 
shown  himself  a  great  master  in  art, 
familiar  with  all  the  stately  requirements 
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  joyoi:;; 
population,  her  May-day  dancers,  and 
the  military  pomp  of  her  magnificent 
Carroccio,  like  the  ark  of  the  covenant 
going  forth  with  the  host,  has  here  been 
sui"passed  in  invention  and  erudition,  and 
a  picture  produced  at  once  as  original  as 
it  is  impressive,  as  significant  as  it  is 
grand.  Petrarca  was,  probably,  indebted 
to  it  for  his  'Trionfi,'  so  frequently  in 
favour  with  Italian  artists. 

"  This  canto  with  the  four  that  follow 
form  a  poem  which,  though  an  essential 
portion  of  the  Divina  Commedia,  may 
be  separately  considered  as  the  continua- 
tion of  the  poetic  vision  mentioned  in  the 
Vita  Nuova,  and  the  fulfilment  of  the 
intention  there  expressed. 

"  It  represents  the  symbolical  passage 
of  the  Christian  Church,  preceded  by  the 
Hebrew  dispensation,  and  followed  by 
the  disastrous  effects  of  schism,  and  the 
comiptions  induced  by  the  unholy  con- 
duct of  political  Pontiffs.  The  soul  of 
this  solemn  exhibition,  the  living  and 
glorified  principle  of  the  beatitude  which 
Religion  pure  and  holy  confers  upon 
those  who  embrace  it,  is  personified  in 
the  'Donna,'  to  whom  Dante  from  his 
earliest  youth  had  been  more  or  less  de- 
voted, the  Beatrice  of  the  Vita  Nuova, 
'  Loda  di  Dio  vera,'  who  concentrates  in 
herself  the  divine  wisdom  with  which  the 
Church  is  inspired,  whom  angels  delight 
to  honour,  and  whose  advent  on  earth 
had  been  prepared  from  all  eternity  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  hus- 
band '  (Rev.  xxi.  2);  a  representation  of 
which,  in  the  manner  of  Raphael,  occurs 
in  one  of  the  tapestries  of  the  Vatican, 
and,  though  not  arrayed  in  the  colouxs 


448 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


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  Icono- 
graphy, 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  re- 
sembles that  drawn  by  Raphael  and  the 
masters  of  the  period  of  Renaissance, 
agreeing  with  the  description  given  by 
Lentulus  and  Damascenus;  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,  symboliz- 
ing 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  Pojie,  the 
Cardinal,  the  Archbishop,  and  Bishop, 
or  by  the  four  chief  Fathers,  St.  Gregory, 
.St.  Jerome,  St.  Ambrose,  and  St.  Augus- 
tine, drives  the  four-wheeled  car,  and,  in 
conjunction  with  the  Evangelists,  urges 
it  onward.  Jesus  guides  nis  triumph, 
not  holding  reins,  but  shedding  blessings 
from  his  right  hand  wherever  he  passes. 

"  The  entire  assemblage  of  persons 
represente<l  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  represented 
with  long  golden  hair,  white  transparent 
robes,  and  wings  of  yellow,  red,  violet, 
and  green ;  they  are  all  painted  on  a 
background  of  azuie,  like  the  sky,  and 
celebrate  with  blended  voices,  or  with 
musical  instruments,  the  glory  of  Christ. 
Some  have  in  their  hands  instruments  ol 
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  pro- 
cession 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  angels,  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  in- 
teresting differences.  The  Florentine 
poet  formed  his  cortege  of  figures  taken 
from  the  Apo.alypse  and  Christian  sym- 
bolism. At  Brou,  with  the  exception  of 
the  attributes  of  the  Evangelists,  every- 
thing is  historical.  In  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury,  in  fact,  history  began  to  predomi- 
nate over  symbolism,  which  in  the  thir- 
teenth and  fourteenth  centuries  had 
reigned  supreme.  Dante,  who  was  a 
politic  poet,  drew  the  triumph,  not  of 
Christ,  but  of  the  Church ;  the  triumph 
of  Catholicism  rather  than  of  Chris- 
tianity. The  chariot  by  which  he  repre- 
sents the  Church  is  widowed  of  Christ, 
whose  figure  is  so  important  on  the  win- 
dow of  Brou  ;  the  chariot  is  empty,  andi 
Dante  neither  discovered  this  deficiency, 
nor  was  concemed  to  rectify  it ;  for  he 
was  less  anxious  to  celebrate  Christ  and 
his  doctrine,  for  their  own  sake,  than  asi 
connected  with  the  organization  and. 
administration  of  the  Church.  Hei 
described  the  car  as  drawn  by  & ' 
griffin,  thereby  representing  the  Pope, . 
for  the  griffin  unites  in  itself  the  charac- 
teristics of  both  eagle  and  lion.  Now 
the  Pope  is  also  twofold  in  character;  as 
priest  he  is  the  eagle  floating  in  tiie  air; 
as  king,  he  is  a  lion,  walking  upon  the 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


449 


earth.  The  Ultramontane  poet  regarded 
the  Church,  that  is  the  Papacy,  in  the 
light  of  an  absolute  monarchy;  not  a 
limited  monarchy  as  with  us,  and  still 
less  a  republic,  as  amongst  the  schisma- 
tics of  Greece  and  of  the  East.  Conse- 
quently, 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  dignitaries. 
At  Brou  the  car  is  guided  by  the  Evan- 
gelists, or  by  their  attributes ;  ecclesiasti- 
cal power  is  content  merely  to  lend  its 
aid.  According  to  the  Italian  poet,  the 
Evangelists,  although  present  at  the  Iri- 
umph,  do  not  conduct  it;  the  Pope  is 
himself  the  sole  guide  of  the  Church,  and 
permits  neither  the  Evangelists  to  direct 
nor  ecclesiastics  to  assist  him.  The  Pope 
seems  to  require  no  assistance ;  his  eye 
and  arm  alone  are  sufficient  for  him." 


CANTO   XXX. 

I.  In  this  canto  Beatrice  appears. 
The  Seven  Stars,  or  Septentrion  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  Cynosure,  or  Pole  Star. 
These  lights  precede  the  triumphal  cha- 
riot, 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  con- 
stellations 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  ; 
He  sat  naked  as  a  child, 
Seven  stars  in  his  hand  and  Charles's  Wain'." 

Spenser,  Faerie  Queetie,  I.  IL  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  ftxt,  and  sendeth  light  from  farre 
To  all  that  in  the  wide  deep  wandering  arre." 

II.  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.  Matthew 
xxi.  9:  "Blessed  is  he  that  cometh  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord." 

21.  jEndd,  VI.  833:  "Give  me 
lilies  in  handfuls ;  let  me  scatter  purple 
flowers. " 

25.  Milton,  Parad.  Lost,  I.  194: — 

"  As  when  the  sun  new-risen 
Shines  through  the  horizontal  misty  air 
Shorn  of  his  beams." 

32.  It  will  be  observ'ed  that  Dante 
makes  Beatrice  appear  clothed  in  the 
colours  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  denotes  wisdom. 
This  attire  somewhat  resembles  that  given 
by  artists  to  the  Vii^n.  "  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  imderstand  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  Bea- 
trice, and  particularly  the  first,  which  is 
thus  rendered  by  Mr.  Norton  in  his  Nrw 
Life  of  Dante,  p.  20 : — 

"  Nine  times  now,  since  my  birth,  the 
heaven  of  light  had  turned  almost  to  the 
same  point  in  its  gyration,  when  first  ap- 
peared before  my  eyes  the  glorious  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  twelfth  parts  of  a  degree ;  so  that 
about  the  beginning  of  her  ninth  year  she 
appeared  to  me,  and  I  near  the  end  of 
my  ninth  year  saw  her.  She  appeared 
to  me  clothed  in  a  most  noble  colour,  a 
becoming  and  motiest  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, 


450 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


which  dvvells  in  the  most  secret  chamber 
of  the  heart,  began  to  tremble  with  such 
violence,  that  it  appeared  fearfully  in  the 
least  pulses,  and,  trembling,  said  these 
words  :  Kcce  deus  fortior  me,  qui  veniens 
doininabitiir  miki !  'Behold  a  god, 
stronger  than  I,  who,  coming,  shall  rule 
me  ! ' 

"  At  that  instant,  the  spirit  of  the 
soul,  which  dwells  in  the  high  chamber 
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  ap- 
peared your  bliss.'  At  that  instant  the 
natural  spirit,  which  dwells  in  that  part 
where  the  nourishment  is  supplied, 
began  to  weep,  and,  weeping,  said 
these  words  :  Heu  miser  I  quia  fre- 
quenter imped  it  us  ero  deinceps, —  'Woe 
is  me  wretched !  because  frequently 
henceforth  shall  I  be  hindered.' 

"  From  this  time  forward  1  say  that 
Love  lorded  it  over  my  soul,  which  had 
lieen  thus  quickly  put  at  his  disposal ; 
and  he  began  lo  exercise  over  me  such 
control  and  such  lordship,  through  the 
power  which  my  imagination  gave  to 
him,  that  it  behoved  me  to  perform 
completely  all  his  pleasure.  He  com- 
manded me  many  times  that  I  should 
seek  to  see  this  youthful  angel,  so  that 
I  in  my  boyhood  often  went  seeking  her, 
and  saw  her  of  such  noble  and  praise- 
worthy deportment,  that  truly  of  her 
might  be  said  that  saying  of  the  poet 
Homet :  '  She  does  not  seem  the  daugh- 
ter of  mortal  man,  but  of  God.'  And 
though  her  image,  which  stayed  con- 
stantly with  me,  mspired  confidence  in 
Love  to  hold  lordship  over  me,  yet  it 
was  of  such  noble  virtue,  that  it  never 
suffered  that  Love  should  rule  without 
•  jc  faithful  counsel  of  Reason  in  those 
r.ialters  in  which  such  counsel  could  be 
.iseful. " 

48.  Dante  here  translates  Virgil's  own 
words,  as  lie  lias  done  so  many  times 
before.  /Eiieid,  IV.  23  :  Agnosco 
veteris  vestigia  flatnmiB. 

52.  The  Terrestrial  Paradise  lost  by 
Eve. 

83.   Psalm  xxxi.  I,  8:   "In  thee,   O 

Lor.l,  have  I  put  my  tnist 

Thou  hast  set  my  feet  in  a  large  room." 


85.  ^neid,  VL  180:  "  Dovra  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. " 

Denistoun,  Mem.  of  the  Duke  of  Ur- 
biito,  \.  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,   Winter's  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." 

XI 3.  Which  are  formed  in  such  lofty 
regions,  that  they  are  beyond  human 
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  expressions 
of  a  sensitive  and  excited  conscience,  we 
have  no  means  of  determining.  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  liccn  and  I  with  thee,  , 
The  present  memory  will  be  grievous  stilL"       j 

•  But  what  shall  we  say  of  this  sonnet  j 
addressed    to    Dante    by    his    intimate  i 
friend,    Guido    Cavalcanti  ?       Rossetti, 
Early  Italian  Poets,  p.  358 : — 

"  I  come  to  thee  by  daytime  constantly, 

But  in  thy  thoughts  too  much  of  bajCBeM 

find: 
Greatly  it  Brieves  me  for  thy  gentle  mind, 
And  for  thy  many  virtues  gone  from  thee. 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


45* 


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  dishonoured  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. 

30.  As  one  fascinated  and  enamoured 
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  gossiping 
among  the  commentators  about  this  little 
girl  or  PargoUtta.  Some  suppose  it  to 
be  the  same  as  the  Gentucca  of  Canto 
XXIV.  37,  and  the  Pargoletta  of  one  of 
the  poems  in  the  Canzoniere,  which  in 
Mr.  Lyell's  translation  rans  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  enamoured. 
Of  Love  shall  never  comprehend  the  charm  ; 
For  every  pleasing  gift  was  freely  given. 
When  Nature  sought  the  grant  of  me  from 

him 
Who  willed  that  your  companion  I  should  be. 
Elach  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  abo\  e  ; 
And  ever  must  their  essence  rest  unknown. 
Unless  through    consciousness    of  him    in 

whom 
Love  shall  abide  through  pleasure  of  another. 
These  words  a  youthful  angel  bore  inscribed 
Upon  her  brow,  whose  vision  we  beheld ; 
And  I,  who  to  find  safety  gazed  on  her, 


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 
2lS, pargultd,  ox  pargolezza,  "childishness 
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  future 
time: — 

'"A  maid  is  bom,  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  building 
Carthage. 

77.  The  angels  described  in  Canto 
XXX.  20,  as 

"  Scattering  flowers  above  and  round  about." 

92.  Matilda,  described  in  Canto 
XXVIIL  40:- 

"  A  lady  all  alone,  who  went  along 

Singing  and  culling  floweret  after  floweret. 
With  which  her  pathway  was  all  painted 
over." 

95.  Bunyan,  Pilgrim^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 


452 


NOTES  TO  PUKGATOKIO. 


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  salva- 
tion.' " 

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.  See 
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  Evan- 
gelical Virtues  quicken  the  sight  to  pene- 
trate more  deeply  into  it. 

1 14.  Standing  upon  the  chariot  still ; 
she  does  not  alight  till  line  36  of  the 
next  canto. 

116.  The  colour  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  colour  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  properties,  and 
considering  that  griffins  watch  over 
emeralds.  The  emerald  is.  the  prince 
of  all  green  stones  ;  no  gem  nor.  herb 
has  greater  greenness ;  it  rfeflects  an 
image  like  a  mirror  ;  increases  wealth  ; 
is  useful  in  litigation  and  to  orators ;  is 
good  for  convulsions  and  epilepsy  ;  pre- 
serves and  strengthens  the  sight ;  restrains 
lu»t  ;    restores    memory  ;    is    powerful 


against  phantoms  and  demons  ;  calm; 
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  otlier 
countries.  Lycophron  in  his  "  tenebrous 
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.  Thr'at.  Franq.,  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  thesersc 
of  marvel  or  prodigy. 

123.  Now  as  an  eagle,  now  as  a  lion. 
The  two  natures,  divine  and  human,  of 
Christ  are  reflected  in  Theology,  or 
Divine  Wisdom.  Didron,  who  thinks 
the  Griffin  a  symbol  of  the  Pope,  applies 
this  to  his  spiritual  and  temporal  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  Eng- 
lish 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  List  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  colours." 

35.  A  disfrenata  saetta,  an  uncurbe<l 
arrow,  like  that  which  Pandarus  shot  at 
Menelaus,  ///«</,  IV.  124:  "The  sharp- 
pointed  aiTow  sprang  forth,  eager  to  rush 
among  the  crowd." 


NOTES   TO  PURGATORIO. 


453 


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  Empire. 

41.  Virgil,  Georgics,  II.  123:  "The 
groves  which  India,  nearer  the  ocean, 
the  utmost  skirts  of  the  globe,  produces, 
where  no  arrows  by  their  flight  have 
been  able  to  surmount  the  airy  summit 
of  the  tree  ;  and  yet  that  nation  is  not 
slow  at  archery." 

43.  Christ's  renunciation  of  temporal 
power. 

51.  The  pole  of  the  chariot,  which 
was  made  of  this  tree,  he  left  bound  to 
the  tree. 

Buti  says:  "This  chariot  represents 
the  Holy  Church,  which  is  the  congrega- 
tion 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  entrance,  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  v.ood,"  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  taken  from  LimiSo 
and  led  by  Christ  into  eternal  life." 

54.  In  the  month  of  Februaiy,  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- 
blossonos  is  symbolical  of  the  blood  and 


water  which  flowed  from  the  wound  in 
Christ's  side.  At  least  so  thinks  Vellu- 
telli. 

Ruskin,  Mod.  Painters,  III,  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  colour  'less  than  that  of  roses,  but  more 
than  that  of  violets.'  It  certainly  would 
not  be  possible,  in  words,  to  come  nearer 
to  the  definition  of  the  exact  hue  which 
Dante  meant, — that  of  the  apple-blossom. 
Had  he  employed  any  simple  colour- 
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  per- 
haps 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  ineffable ;  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.,  I.,  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  supprest. 
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  Trans- 
figuration the  blossoming  of  that  tree. 

77.  Matthew  xvii.  5  :  "While  he  5'et 
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 


454 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


disciples  heard  it,  they  fell  on  their  face, 
and  were  sore  affaid.  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. 

H2.  The  descent  of  the  eagle  upon 
the  tr^e  is  interpreted  by  Buti  as  the 
persecution  of  the  Christians  by  tlie 
Emperors.  The  rending  of  the  bark 
of  the  tree  is  the  "breaking  down  of 
the  constancy  and  fortitude  of  holy 
men";  the  blossoms  arc  "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  ihe  chariot,  and  the  smiting 
it,  mean  the  persecution  of  the  Holy 
Church  and  of  the  Christians  by  the 
Emperors,  as  appears  in  the  chronicles 
down  to  the  time  of  Constantine." 

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  xii.  3  : 
"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  cartli." 

144.  These  seven  heads,  say  the 
Ollhiio  and  others,  "denote  the  seven 
deadly  sins."  But  Biagioli,  following 
Buti,  says  :  "  There  is  no  doui)t  that 
these  heads  and  the  horns  represent  the 
Sbme  that  we  have  .said  in  Canto  XIX. 
of  the  htferiio  ;  namely,  the  ten  horns, 
the  Ten  Commandnienls  of  God  ;  and 
the  seven  heads,  the  Seven  Sacraments 
of  the  Ciuirch."  Never  was  there  a 
wider  difference  of  interpretation.  The 
context  certainly  favours  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  maltreatment 
of  Boniface  by  the  troops  of  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  ;  the  seven  Nymphs,  the  Virtues 
Cardinal  and  Evangelical  ;  the  seven 
candlesticks,  the  seven  gifts  of  the  Holy 
Spirit ;  the  tree  of  knowledge,  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 
drmk  of  the  river  Eunoe,  the  memory 
of  things  good. 

Psalm  Ixxix.,  beginning:  "O  God, 
the  heathen  are  come  into  thine  inherit- 
ance ;  thy  holy  temple  have  they 
defded."  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  syllable. 

7.    When  their  singing  was  ended. 

10  Jo/in  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  Statins. 

27.    As  in  Canto  XXXI.  7  :— 

"  My  facuhies  were  in  so  great  confusion, 
That  the  voice  moved,  but  sooner  was  extinct, 
Than  by  its  organs  11  was  set  at  large." 

34.  Is  no  longer  what  it  was.  Reve- 
lation 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  prevent 
this  they  kept  watch  at  the  tomb.  There 
is  no  evading  the  vengeance  of  God  in 


NOTES  TO  PURGATORIO. 


455 


this  way.  Such  is  the  interpretation  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  Albert,"  Alberto 
tedesco,  as  no  Emperor,  because  he  never 
came  into  Italy.  See  the  appeal  to  him, 
Canto  VI.  96,  and  the  malediction, 
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 
preceding  note,  after  an  interregnum  of 
one  year.  He  died  in  13 12,  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  magnanimous  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,  Turin, 
or  Milan,  is  uncertain  ;  nor  is  there  any 
record  of  it,  except  the  allusion  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 
disappointed  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  wilnesseth,  was 
left  us,  that  in  the  marvellous  sweetness 
thereof  our  hard  warfare  might  be  soft- 
ened, and  by  the  use  thereof  we  might 
deserve  the  joys  of  our  triumphant  coun- 
try.    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  protector,  despoiled  us  also,  who 
were  unwilling.  Wherefore  we  wept 
long  by  the  rivers  of  confusion,  and  in- 
cessantly 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,  successor  of 
Caesar  and  of  Augustus,  crossing  the 
chain  of  the  Apennines,  brought  back 
the  venerable  Tarpeian  ensigns,  our  long 
sighings  straightway  ceased,  the  foun- 
tains 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  fer- 
vour of  desire  suggests  it,  or  the  aspect 
of  truth)  is  already  believed  to  have  de- 
layed, or  is  supposed  to  be  going  back 
in  his  course,  as  if  a  new  Joshua  or  the 
son  of  Amos  had  commanded,  we  are 
compelled  in  our  uncertainty  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  because  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,  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  exulted  within  me,  and 
I  silently  said  to  myself,  '  Behold  the 
lamb  of  God,  who  taketh  away  the  sins 
of  the  world,"* 

Dante,  Far.  XXX.  133,  sees  the 
crown  and  throne  that  await  the  "  noble 
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  ithat  b  to  be  Augustus 
On  earth)  of  noble  Henry,  who  shall  come 
To  reform  Italy  ere  she  be  prepared." 

H  H 


456 


NOTES   TO  rURGATORIO. 


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  be- 
hind them." 

The  Sphinx,  the  famous  monster  born 
of  Chimoera,  and  having  the  head  of  a 
woman,  the  wingii  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  puzzled  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  uncomfortable  monster  ;  a 
feat  accomplished  by  CEdipus  apparently 
without  much  difficulty. 

49.  The  Naiades  having  undertaken 
to  solve  the  enigmas  of  oracles,  Themis, 
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  obvious.  The  tradition  is 
founded   on  a  passage   in  Ovid,   Met.^ 

"Carmina  Naiades  non  intellecta  priorum 
Solvunt." 

Heinsius  and  other  critics  say  that  the 
lines  should  read, — 

"  Carmina  Lalades  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- 
lanias  for  making  the  Naiades  inter- 
preters of  oracles. 

54.    Coplas  de  Manrique : — 

"  Our  cradle  is  the  starting  place, 
Life  is  the  running  of  the  race." 

57.  First  by  the  P^agle,  who  rent  its 
bark  and  leaves  ;  then  by  the  giant,  who 
liore  away  the  chariot  which  had  been 
bound  to  it. 

61.  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, 
risking  in  the  mountains  near  Colle,  and 
flowing  northward   into  the  Amo,  be- 


tween Florence  and  Pisa.  Its  waters 
have  the  power  of  incrusting  or  petrify- 
ing anything  left  in  them.  "  This  power 
of  incrustation,"  says  Covino,  Descriz. 
Geog.  deir  Italia,  "  is  especially  manifest 
a  little  above  Colle,  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  TJie  Friar  of  Orders 
Gray : — 

"  And  how  should  I  your  true  love  know 
From  many  another  one? 
O  by  his  cockle-hat  and  staff. 
And  by  his  sandal-shoone.' 

In  the  Vita  Nuova,^\.x.  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,  because  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  hi^er  than  the 
earth,  so  are  my  ways  higher  than  your 
ways,  and  my  thoughts  than  your 
thoughts." 

104.  Noon  of  the  Fourth  Day  of  Pur- 
gatory. 

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  Progiess : — 

"  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.' 


NOTES    ro  PURGATORIO. 


457 


Now  their  way  lay  just  upon  the  bank 
of  the  river  :  here  therefore  Christian 
and  his  companion  walked  with  great 
delight :  they  drank  also  of  the  water  of 
the  river,  which  was  pleasant,  and  enli- 
vening 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  incident 
to  those  that  heat  their  blood  by  travels. 
On  either  side  of  the  river  was  also  a 
meadow,  curiously  beautified  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. 


THE  HERO  AS  POET. 

From  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship,  by  Thoinas 
Carlyle. 

Many  volumes  have  been  written  by 
way  of  commentary  on  Dante  and  his 
Book  ;  yet,  on  the  whole,  with  no  great 
result.  His  biography  is,  as  it  were, 
irrecoverably  lost  for  us.  An  unimpor- 
tant, wandering,  sorrow-stricken  man, 
not  much  note  was  taken  of  him  while 
he  lived  ;  and  the  most  of  that  has  van- 
ished, in  the  long  space  that  now  inter- 
venes. It  is  five  centuries  since  he 
ceased  writing  and  living  here.  After 
all  commentaries,  the  Book  itself  is 
mainly  what  we  know  of  him.  The 
Book, — and  one  might  add  that  Portrait 
commonly  attributed  to  Giotto,  which, 
looking  on  it,  you  cannot  help  inclining 
to  think  genuine,  whoever  did  it.  To 
me  it  is  a  most  touching  face  ;  perhaps, 
of  all  faces  that  I  know,  the  most  so. 
Lonely  there,  painted  as  on  vacancy, 
with  the  simple  laurel  wound  round  it  ; 
the  deathless  sorrow  and  pain,  the  known 
victory  which  is  also  deathless  ; — signifi- 
cant of  the  whole  history  of  Dante  !  I 
think  it  is  the  mournfulest  face  that  ever 
was  j)ainted  from  reality  ;  an  altogether 
tragic,  heart-affecting  face.  There  is  in 
it,  as  foundation  of  it,  the  softness,  ten- 
derness, gentle  affection  as  of  a  child  ; 
but  all  this  is  as  if  congealed  into  sharp 
contradittion,  into  abnegation,  isolation, 
proud,  hopeless  pain.  A  soft  etherial 
soul  looking  out  so  stern,  implacal)le, 
grim-trencliant,  as  from  imprisonment  of 
thick-ribbed  ice  !  Withal  it  is  a  silent 
pain  too,  a  silent,  scornful  one  :  the  lip 
is  curled  in  a  kind  of  godlike  disdain  of 
the  thing  that  is  eating  out  his  heart,  — 
as  if  it  were  withal  a  mean,  insignificant 
thing,  as  if  he  whom  it  had  power  to 
torture  and  strangle  were  greater  than  it. 
The  face  of  one  wholly  in  protest,  and 


life- long,  uns'.irrendering  battle,  against 
the  world.  Affection  all  converted  into 
indignation  ;  an  implacable  indignation  ; 
slow,  equable,  silent,  like  that  of  a  god  ! 
The  eye  too,  it  looks  out  as  in  a  kind  of 
surprise,  a  kind  of  inquiry.  Why  the 
world  was  of  such  a  sort  ?  This  is 
Dante:  so  lie  looks,  this  "  voice  of  ten 
silent  centuries,"  and  sings  us  "his  mys- 
tic, unfathomable  song." 

The  little  that   we  know  of  Dante's 
Life  corresponds  well   enough  with  his 
Portrait  and  this  Book.     He  was  l)orn 
at  Florence,   in  the  upper  class  of  so- 
ciety, in  the  year  1265.      His  education 
was  the  best  then  going  ;  much  school- 
divinity,  Aristotelean  logic,  some  Latin 
classics, — no  inconsiderable  insight  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  understanding,    and  of  great 
subtlety  ;  this  best  fruit  of  education  he 
had  contrived  to  realize  from  these  scho- 
lastics.    He  knows  accurately  and  well 
what  lies  close  to  him  ;  but  in  such  a 
time,   without  printed  books  or  free  in- 
tercourse, he  could  not  know  well  what  | 
was  distant  :  the  small,  clear  light,  most  ; 
luminous  for  what  is  near,  breaks  itself  j 
into  singular  chiaroscuro  striking  on  what  j 
is  far  off.     This  was   Dante's   learning  1 
from  the  schools.     In  life,  he  had  goiiel 
through  the  usual  destinies  ;— been  twices 
out   campaigning  as   a  soldier    for  thpl 
Florentine  state  ;  been  on  embassy  rhad  J 
in  his  thirty-fifth  year,  by  natural  grada-^ 
tion  of  talent  and  service,  become  one  of 
the  chief  magistrates  of  F'lorence.     He 
had  met  in  Ijoyhood  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 


fi 


THE  HERO  AS  POET. 


459 


his  graceful,  affecting  account  of  this; 
and  tlien  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,  PodestSi,  or  whatsoever  they  call 
it,  of  Florence,  well  accepted  among 
neighbours,  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  Cominedia  to 
hear !  We  will  complain  of  nothing. 
A  nobler  destiny  was  appointed  for  this 
Dante ;  and  he,  struggling  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- 
Ghibbeline,  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  banishment ; 
doomed  thenceforth  to  a  life  of  woe  and 
wandering.  His  property  was  all  confis- 
cated, and  more;  he  had  the  fiercest 
feeling  that  it  was  entirely  unjust,  ne- 
farious in  the  sight  of  God  and  man. 
He  tried  what  was  in  him  to  get  rein- 
stated ;  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, 
wheresoever  caught,  to  be  burnt  alive. 
I  Burnt  alive ;  so  it  stands,  they  say  :  a 
I  very  curious  civic  document.    Another 


curious  document,  some  considerable 
number  of  years  later,  is  a  Letter  of 
Dante's  to  the  Florentine  Magistrates, 
written  in  answer  to  a  milder  proposal  ol 
theirs,  that  he  should  return  on  condition 
of  apologizing  and  paying  a  fine.  He  an- 
swers, with  fixed,  stern  pride  :  "If  I  can- 
not return  without  calling  myself  guilty,  I 
will  never  return,  niinquam  revertarJ''' 

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  calie."  The  wretched 
are  not  cheerful  company.  Dante,  poor 
and  banished,  with  his  proud,  earnest 
nature,  with  his  moody  humours,  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  (nebiilones  ac  histrioi^S) 
makmg  him  heartily  merry;  when,  turn- 
ing 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  bitterly :  "  No,  not 
strange  ;  your  Highness  is  to  recollect 
the  proverb,  Like  to  Z//&^;"— 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  Eter- 
nal World  impress  itself  on  him  ;  that 
awful  reality  over  which,  after  all,  this 
Time-world,  with  its  Florences  and  ban- 
ishments, 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  alto- 
gether? Eternity:  thither,  of  a  truth, 
not  elsewhither,  art  thcu  and  all  things 
bound  !  The  great  soul  of  Dante,  home- 
less on  earth,  made  its  home  more  and 


.t6o 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


more  in  that  awful  other  world.  Natu- 
rally iiis  thoughts  brooded  on  that,  as  on 
the  one  fact  important  for  him.  Bodied 
or  bodiless,  it  is  the  one  fact  important 
for  all  men :  but  to  Dante,  in  that  age, 
it  was  bodied  in  fixed  certainty  of  scien- 
tific shape  ;  he  no  more  doubted  of  that 
Malebolge  Pool,  that  it  all  lay  there  with 
its  gloomy  circles,  with  its  alti  guai,  and 
that  he  himself  should  see  it,  than  we 
doubt  that  we  should  see  Constantinople 
f  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  hin;  from  doing  it,  or 
e\^  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  segiii  tua  stella, " — 
so  could  the  Hero,  in  his  forsakenness, 
in  his  extreme  need,  still  say  to  himself: 
"  Follow  thou  thy  star,  thou  shalt  not 
fail  of  a  glorious  haven ! "  The  labour 
of  writing,  we  find,  and  indeed  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  fifly-six  ;  broken-hearted  rather, 
as  is  said.  He  lies  buried  in  his  death- 
city  Ravenna:  Hic  claudor  Dantes patriis 
extorris  ab  orris.  The  Florentines  begged 
back  his  botly,  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  literally 
the  character  of  it.  Coleridge  remarks 
very  pertinently  somewhere,  that  wher- 
eyer    you    find    a    sentence    musically 


worded,  of  true  rhythm  and  melody  in  i 
the  words,  there  is  something  deep  and  ] 
good  in  the  meaning  too.  For  body  and  i 
soul,  word  and  idea,  go  strangely  toge-  , 
ther  here  as  everywhere.  Song  :  we  said  j 
before,  it  was  the  Heroic  of  Speech !  All  ; 
old  Poems,  Homer's  and  the  rest,  are,  \ 
authentically  Songs.  I  would  say,  in  ■ 
strictness,  that  all  right  Poems  are  ;  that 
whatsoever  is  not  simg  is  properly  no 
Poem,  but  a  piece  of  Prose  cramped  into 
jingling  lines, — to  the  great  injury  of  the 
gcimmar,  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  i 
of  him,  according  to  Coleridge's  remark,  i 
become  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  as  j 
the  Heroic  of  Speakers,  — whose  speech  \ 
is  song.  Pretenders  to  this  are  many ;  i 
and  to  an  earnest  reader,  I  doubt,  it  is  . 
for  most  part  a  very  melancholy,  not  to  ' 
say  an  insupportable  business,  that  of  ; 
reading  rhyme  !  Kliyme  that  had  no  \ 
inward  necessity  to  be  rhymed;  —  it  • 
ought  to  have  told  us  plainly,  without  i 
any  jingle,  what  it  was  aiming  at.  \\ 
would  advise  all  men  who  can  speak  jj 
their  thought,  not  to  sing  it  ;  to  under- J 
stand  that,  in  a  serious  time,  among! 
serious  men,  there  is  no  vocation  in,' 
them  for  singing  it.  Precisely  as  wej 
love  the  true  song,  and  are  charmed  byJ 
it  as  by  something  divine,  so  shall  wej 
hate  the  false  song,  and  account  it  a£ 
mere  wooden  noise,  a  thing  hollow,  Jfj 
superfluous,  altogether  an  insincere  and^, 
offensive  thing.  .ii 

I  give  Dante  my  highest  praise  when  \j\ 
say  of  his  Divine  Comedy  that  it  is,  in  aU!|  i 
senses,  genuinely  a  Song,  In  the  vttfA. 
sound  of  it  there  is  a  canto  fermo ;  it  prof  ■ 
ceeds  as  by  a  chant.  The  language,  his  ; 
simple  terza  rima,  doubtless  helped  him  j 
in  tins.  One  reads  along  naturally  with  j 
a  sort  of  lilt.  But  I  add,  that  it  could  \ 
not  l)e  otherwise  ;  for  the  essence  and  \ 
material  of  the  work  are  themselves  \ 
rhythmic.  Its  depth,  and  rapt  passion  \ 
and  sincerity,   makes  it  musical; — g«   j 


THE  HERO  AS  POET. 


461 


ieep  enough,  there  is  music  everywhere. 
A  true  inward  symmetry,  what  one  calls 
an  architectural  harmony,  reigns  in  it, 
proportionates  it  all :  architectural ;  which 
also  partakes  of  the  character  of  music. 
The  three  kingdoms.  Inferno,  Purgatorw, 
Paradise,  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 
tincerest  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:  '■^ Eccavi t  uom  cK  e 
stato  al"  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.  Com- 
medias  that  come  out  divine  are  not  ac- 
complished otherwise.  Thought,  true 
labour  of  any  kind,  highest  virtue  itself, 
is  it  not  the  daughter  of  Pain  ?  Bom  as 
out  of  the  black  whirlwind  ;  true  effort, 
in  fact,  as  of  a  captive  struggling  to  free 
himself:  that  is  Thought.  In  all  ways 
we  are  "to  become  perfect  through 
tiiffcriiig."  —  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  compart- 
ment 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  for  ever  rhythmically 
visible  there.  No  light  task  ;  a  right 
intense  one  :  but  a  task  which  is  done. 

Perhaps  one  would  say  intensity,  with 
the  much  that  depends  on  it,  is  the 
p«"evailing  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 
i  of  his  age  and  position,  but  partly  too  of 
his  own  nature.  His  greatness  has,  in 
all  senses,  concentred  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  immensity  of  gloom  ;  so 
vivid,  so  distinct,  visible  at  once  and  for 
ever  !  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  tnie 
likeness  of  a  matter ;  cuts  into  the  matter 
as  with  a  pen  of  fire.  Plutus,  the  blus- 
tering giant,  collapses  at  Virgil's  rebuke; 
it  is  "as  the  sails  sink,  the  mast  being 
suddenly  broken."  Or  that  poor  Bni- 
netto,  with  the  cotto aspetto,  "i-a.ce baked," 
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-burning  Hell,  each  with  its 
Soul  in  torment ;  the  lids  laid  open  there ; 
they  are  to  be  shut  at  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment, through  Eternity.  And  how 
Earinata  rises  ;  and  how  Cavalcante  falls 
— at  hearing  of  his  Son,  and  the  past 
tense  "yw/"  The  very  movements  in 
Dante  have  something  brief ;  swift,  de- 
cisive, aknost  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 


462 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


liis  manner  of  doing  it,  as  very  charac- 1 
teristic  of  him.  In  the  first  place,  he  j 
could  not  have  discerned  the  object  at  j 
all,  or  seen  the  vital  type  of  it,  unless  he  ■ 
liad,  what  we  may  call,  sympathised  with 
it, — had  sympathy  in  him  to  bestow  on 
objects.  He  must  have  been  sincere 
about  it  too ;  sincere  and  sympathetic  : 
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  intellect  altogether 
expresses  itself  in  this  power  of  discern- 
ing 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  of 
morality  is  in  the  kind  of  insight  we  get 
of  anything;  "the  eye  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.  Raphael,  the  painters 
tell  us,  is  the  best  of  all  Portrait-painters 
withal.  No  most  gifted  eye  can  exhaust 
the  significance  of  any  object.  In  the 
commonest  human  face  there  lies  more 
than  Raphael  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  :  iMla  bella  persona,  che  mi  fn 
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  /i7nno, 
whirl  them  away  again,  to  wail  for  ever! 
Strange  to  think :  l5ante  was  the  friendof 
this  poor  Francesca's  father  ;  Francesca 
herself  may  have  sat  upon  the  Poet's  knee, 
as  a  bright  innocent  little  child.  Infinite 
pity,  yet  also  infinite  rigour  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  avenjed  upon  on  earth  !  I  sup« 
p<ise  if  ever  pity,  tender  as  a  mother's, 
was  in  the  heart  of  any  man,  it  was  in 
Dante's.  But  a  man  wlio  does  not  know 
rigour  cannot  pity  either.  His  very  pity 
will  be  cowardly,  egotistic,-  sentimen- 
tality, 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 
iliolian  harps,  soft,  soft ;  like  a  child's 
young  heart ;  —and  tlien  that  stern,  sore- 
saddened  heart !  These  longings  of  his 
towards  his  Beatrice  ;  their  meeting 
together  in  the  Paradiso;  his  gazing  inj 
her  pure  transfigured  eyes,  her  that  ha(f 
been  purified  by  death  so  long,  separate^ 
from  him  so  far: — one  likens  it  to  tlM^ 
song  of  angels ;  it  is  among  the  purest 
utterances  of  affection,  perhaps  the  verj^ 
purest  that  ever  came  out  of  a  human  souU* 

For  the  intense  Dante  is  intense  in  alt 
things  ;  he  has  got  into  the  essence  a| 
all.  His  intellectual  insight,  as  paintei^ 
on  occasion  too  as  reasoner,  is  but  thft 
result  of  all  other  sorts  of  intensity! 
Morally  great,  above  all,  we  must  caft 
him  ;  it  is  the  beginning  of  all.  Hi| 
scorn,  his  grief,  are  as  transcendent 
his  love  ; — as,  indee<l,  what  are  they 
the  inverse  or  converse  of  his  love  ?  ' 
Dio  Spiacenti,  ed  a^  nemicisnt.  Hateful  1 
God  and  to  the  enemies  of  God:"  lofl 
scorn,  unappeasable  silent  reprobatio 
and  aversion  :  ^''Non  ragionam  di  lor,  \yi 
will  not  speak  of  them,  look  only  an 
pass."  Or  think  of  this:  "They  hai§i 
not  the  hope  to  die,  Non  Han  speransa  mi 
morie."  One  day,  it  had  risen  steml|'. 
benign  on  the  scathed  heart  of  Dant^^ 
that  he,  wretched,  never-resting,  worn  11] 
he  was,  would  full  surely  die;  "that\ 
Destiny  itself  could  not  doom  him  not; 
to  die."  Such  words  are  in  this  man.] 
For  rigour,  earnestness,  and  depth  he  ill 
not  to  be  paralleled  in  the  moden^ 
world  ;  to  seek  his  parallel  we  must  gOj 
into  the  Hebrew  Bible,  and  live  with  tM: 
antique  Prophets  there.  i 

I   do  not  agree   with   much   modal  1 
criticism,  in  greatly  preferring  the  /» \ 


^    \ 


THE  HERO  AS  POET. 


463 


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 
Pitradiso,  especially  the  former,  one 
would  almost  say,  is  even  more  excellent 
than  it.  It  is  a  noble  thing  that  Pttr- 
i;atorio,  "  Mountain  of  Purification  ;  "  an 
emblem  of  the  noblest  conception  of  that 
age.  If  Sin  is  so  fatal,  and  Hell  is  and 
must  be  so  rigorous,  awful,  yet  in  Re- 
pentance too  is  man  purified  ;  Repent- 
ance is  the  grand  Christian  act.  It  is 
beautiful  how  Dante  works  it  out.  The 
tremolar  deW  onde,  that  "trembling"  of 
the  ocean-waves  under  the  first  pure 
gleam  of  morning,  dawning  afar  on  the 
■wandering  Two,  is  as  the  fype  of  an 
altered  mood.  Hope  has  now  dawned  ; 
never-dying  Hope,  if  in  company  still 
with  heavy  sorrow.  The  obscure  sojourn 
of  daemons  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  winding  steep, 
"  bent  down  like  corbels  of  a  building," 
«>ome  of  them,  —  crushed  together  so 
"  for  the  sin  of  pride  ;  "  yet  nevertheless 
in  years,  in  ages,  and  aeons  they  shall 
have  reached  the  top,  which  is  Heaven's 
gate,  and  by  Mercy  shall  have  been  ad- 
mitted in.  The  joy  too  of  all,  when  one 
has  prevailed  ;  the  whole  Mountain 
shakes  with  joy,  and  a  psalm  of  j^raise 
rises,  when  one  soul  has  {perfected  re- 
pentance, and  got  its  sin  and  misery  left 
iiehind  !  I  call  all  this  a  noble  embodi- 
ment of  a  true,  noble  thought. 

But  indeed  the  Three  compartments 
mutually  support  one  another,  are  in- 
dispensable to  one  another.  The  Pa- 
radiso,  a  kind  of  inarticulate  music  to 
me,  is  the  redeeming  side  of  the  Inferno; 
the  Inferno  without  it  were  untrue.  All 
three  make  up  the  true  Unseen  World, 
as  figured  in  the  Christianity  of  the 
Middle  Ages ;  a  thing  for  ever  memo- 
rable, for  ever  true  in  the  essence  of  it, 
to  all  men.  It  was  perhaps  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  Invisible  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  zuere  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 
pretei-naXnxdX  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  always. 

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  embodiment,  our  sub- 
limest,  of  the  soul  of  Christianity.  It 
expresses,  as  in  huge  world-wide  archi- 
tectural emblems,  how  the  Christian 
Dante  felt  Good  and  Fvil  to  be  the  two 
polar  elements  of  this  Creation,  on  which 
it  all  turns  ;  that  these  two  differ  not  by 
preferabilUy  of  one  to  the  other,  but  by  in- 
compatibility absolute  and  infinite  ;  that 
the  one  is  excellent  and  high  as  light  and 
Heaven,  the  other  hideous,  black  as  Ge- 
henna and  the  Pit  of  Hell ;  Everlasting 
Justice,  yet  with  Penitence,  with  ever- 
lasting Pity, — all  Chris'.iauism,  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  imconscious  of  any  em- 
bleming !  Hell,  Purgatory,  Paradise : 
these  things  were  not  fashioned  as  em- 
blems ;  was  there,  in  our  Modern  Euro- 
pean Mind,  any  thought  at  all  of  their 
being  emblems  !  Were  they  not  indubit- 
able, awful  facts ;  the  whole  heart  of 
man  taking  them  for  practically  true,  all 
Nature  everywhere  confirming  them?  So 
is  it  always  in  these  things.  Men  do  not 
believe  in  Allegory.  The  future  Critic, 
*  whatever  his  new  thought  may  be,  who 


454 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


considers  this  of  Dante  to  have  been  all 
got  up  as  an  Allegory,  will  commit  one 
sore  mistake  ! — Paganism  we  recognised 
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  difference  of  Paganism  and 
Christianism  ;  one  great  difference. 
Paganism  emblemed  chiefly  the  Opera- 
tions of  Nature  ;  the  destinies,  efforts, 
combinations,  vicissitudes  of  things  and 
men  in  this  world :  Christianism  em- 
blemed the  Law  of  Human  Duty,  the 
Moral  Law  of  Man.  One  was  for  the 
sensuous  nature :  a  rude  helpless  utter- 
ance of  the  ^rj/  Thought  of  men,— the 
chief  recognised  virtue,  Courage,  Supe- 
riority 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  Diviria  Corn- 
media  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  his,  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  indeed  with  all  of  us,  in  all  things. 
Dante  is  the  spokesman  of  the  Middle 
Ages  ;  the  Thought  they  lived  by  stands 
here,  in  everlasting  music.  These  sub- 
lime ideas  of  his,  terrible  and  beautiful, 
are  the  fruit  of  the  Christian  Meditation 
of  all  the  good  men  who  had  gone  be- 
fore 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  realised 
for  itself?  Christianism,  as  Dante  sings 
it,  is  another  than  Paganism  in  the  rude 
Norse  mind  ;  another  than  "  liastarti 
Christianism"  half- articulately  spoken 
in  the  Arab  Desert,  seven  hundred  years 
before!— The  noblest  idea  made  real 
hitherto  among  men  is  sung,  and  em- 
blemed forth  abidingly,  by  one  of  the 


noblest  men.  In  the  one  sense  and  in 
the  other,  are  we  not  right  glad  to  pos- 
sess 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  em- 
pire of  mode  ;  the  outer  passes  away,  in 
swift  endless  changes  ;  the  inmost  is  the 
same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever. 
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  Pro- 
phet, 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 
nothing  so  endures  as  a  truly  sp<>ke'i 
word.  All  cathedrals,  pontificalities, 
brass  and  stone,  and  outer  arrangement 
never  so  lasting,  are  brief  in  comparison 
to  an  unfathomable  heart-song  like  this  : 
one  feels  as  if  it  might  survive,  .still  of 
importance  to  men,  when  these  had  all 
sunk  into  new  irrecognisable  combina- 
tions, and  had  ceased  individually  to  be. 


DANTE. 

From  the  Essays  of  T.  B   Macaulay. 

The  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury was,  as  Machiavelli  has  remarked, 
the  era  of  a  great  revival  of  this  extra- 
ordinary system.  The  policy  of  Inno- 
cent,— the  growth  of  the  Inquisition  ami 
the  mendicant  orders, — the  wars  against 
the  Albigenses,  the  Pag.ins  of  the  East, 
and  the  unfortunate  princes  of  the  house 
of  Swabia,  agiated  Italy  during  the  two 
following    generations.       In   thi*  point 


f,    i 


DANTE. 


465 


Dante  was  completely  under  the  influ- 
ence of  his  age.  He  was  a  man  of 
a  turbid  and  melancholy  spirit.  In  early 
youth  he  had  entertained  a  strong  and 
unfortunate  passion,  which,  long  after 
the  death  of  her  whom  he  loved,  con- 
tinued to  haunt  him.  Dissipation,  am- 
bition, misfortunes,  had  not  effaced  it. 
He  was  not  only  a  sincere,  but  a  pas- 
sionate, believer.  The  crimes  and  abuses 
of  the  Church  of  Rome  were  indeed 
loathsome  to  him  ;  but  to  all  its  doc- 
trines and  all  its  rites,  he  adhered  with 
enthus'astic  fondness  and  veneration  ; 
and  at  length,  driven  from  his  native 
country,  reduced  to  a  situation  the  most 
painful  to  a  man  of  his  disposition,  con- 
demned to  learn  by  experience  that  no 
food  is  so  bitter  as  the  bread  of  depen- 
dence, and  no  ascent  so  painful  as  the 
staircase  of  a  patron,  his  wounded  spirit 
took  refuge  in  visionaiy  devotion.  Bea- 
trice, the  unforgotten  object  of  his  early 
tenderness,  was  invested  by  his  imagina- 
tion with  glorious  and  mysterious  attri- 
butes ;  she  was  enthroned  among  the 
highest  of  the  celestial  hierarchy  :  Al- 
mighty 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  na- 
ture, 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  enthu- 
siast from  the  terrors  of  death  had  not 
rendered  his  speculations  on  human  life 
more  cheerful.  This  is  an  inconsistency 
which  may  often  be  observed  in  men  of 
a  similar  tem])erament.  He  hoped  for 
happinesss  beyond  the  grave  :  but  he 
felt  none  on  earth.  It  is  from  this  cause, 
more  than  from  any  other,  that  his  de- 
scription 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  sympathy.  But 
among  the  beatified  he  appears  as  one 
who  has  nothing  in  common  with  them, 
— as  one  who  is  incapable  of  compre- 
hending, not  only  the  degree,  but  the 
nature  of  their  enjoyment.  We  think 
that  we  see  him  standing  amidst  those 


smiling  and  radiant  spirits  with  that 
scowl  of  unutterable  misery  on  his  brow, 
and  that  curl  of  bitter  disdain  on  his 
lips,  which  all  h'ls  portraits  liave  pre- 
served, and  which  might  furnish  Chan- 
trey  with  hints  for  the  head  of  his  pro- 
jected Satan. 

There  is  no  poet  whose  intellectual 
and  moral  character  are  so  closely  con- 
nected. The  great  source,  as  it  api<ears 
to  me,  of  the  power  of  the  Divine 
Comedy  is  the  strong  belief  with  which 
the  story  seems  to  be  told.  In  this 
respect,  the  only  books  which  apjiroach 
to  its  excellence  are  Gulliver's  Travels 
and  Robinson  Crusoe.  The  solemnity 
of  his  asseverations,  the  consistency  and 
minuteness  of  his  details,  the  earnestness 
with  which  he  labours  to  make  the 
reader  understand  the  exact  shape  and 
size  of  everything  tliat  he  describes,  give 
an  air  of  reality  to  his  wildest  fictions. 
I  should  only  weaken  this  statement  by 
quoting  instances  of  a  feeling  which  per- 
vades the  whole  work,  and  to  which  it 
owes  much  of  its  fascination.  This  is 
the  real  justification  of  the  many  pas- 
sages 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  man- 
ner as  to  bring  them  withm  the  circle  of 
our  vision,  and  to  subject  them  to  the 
power  of  the  pencil,  renders  liim  little 
better  than  grotesque,  where  Milton  has 
since  taught  us  to  expect  sublimity."  It 
is  true  that  Dante  has  never  shrunk  from 
embodying  his  conceptions  in  determi- 
nate words,  that  he  has  even  given 
measures  and  numbers,  where  Milton 
would  have  left  his  images  to  float  unde- 
fined in  a  gorgeous  haze  of  language. 
Both  were  right.  Milton  did  not  ])rofess 
to  have  been  in  heaven  or  hell.  He  might, 
therefore,  reasonably  confine  himself  to 
magnificent  generalities.  Far  diffeient 
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  resem- 
bling the  splendid  lines  of  the  English 
poet,  — had  he  told  us  of 


466 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"  An  universe  of  death,  which  God  by  curse 
Created  evil,  for  evil  only  good, 
Where  all  life  dies,  death  lives,  and  Nature 

breeds 
Perrerse  all  monstrous,  all  prodigious  things, 
Abominable,  unutterable,  and  worse 
Than  fables  yet   have  feigned,  or  fear  con- 
ceived, 
Gorgons,  and  hydras,  and  chimaeras  dire," — 

this  would  doubtless  have  been  noble 
writing.  But  where  would  have  been 
that  strong  impression  of  reality,  which, 
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  liis 
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  expres- 
sion, 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  feelily.  It  is  when 
the  great  gulf  which  separates  them 
from  us  is  passed,  when  we  suspect 
some  strange  and  undcfinable  relation 
between  the  laws  of  the  visil)le  and 
the  invisible  world,  that  they  rouse, 
perliaps,  the  strongest  emotions  of 
which  our  nature  is  capable.  (low 
many  children,  and  how  many  men, 
are  afraid  of  ghosts,  who  are  not  afraid 
of  Go<l  !  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  appreiiensiou  that  he  will  manifest 
himstlf  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  of  humanity,  may  be  grotesque, 
unphilosophical,  inconsistent  ;  but  it  will 
be  the  only  mode  of  workmg  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  suck- 
ing in  the  cups  of  llowers  with  the  bee  ? 
Who  does  not  shudder  at  the  caldron  oi 
Macbeth  ?  Where  is  the  philosopher 
who  is  not  moved  when  he  thinks  of  the 
strange  connection  between  the  infernal 
spirits  and  "  the  sow's  blood  that  hath 
eaten  her  nine  farrow  ?  "  But  this  diffi- 
cult task  of  representing  supernatural 
beings  to  our  minds  in  a  manner  whicit 
shall  be  neither  unintelligible  to  our  in- 
tellects, nor  wholly  inconsistent  with  our 
ideas  of  their  nature,  has  never  been 
so  well  performed  as  by  Dante.  I  will 
refer  to  three  instances,  whicli  are, 
perhaps,  the  most  striking  ; — the  de- 
scription of  the  transformation  of  tlie 
serpents  and  the  rol)be:s,  in  the  twenty- 
fifth  canto  of  the  Inferno,  —  the  passage 
concerning  Nimrod,  in  the  thirty-first 
canto  of  the  same  part, — and  the  mag- 
nificent 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 
cnaracter.  He  is  perhaps  the  only 
jx)et  whose  writings  become  niuch  less 
intelligible  if  all  illustrations  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  object! 
which  he  is  describing,  by  comparing 
them    with    others    generally   knowa 


DANTE. 


467 


The  boiling  pitch  ia  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- 
pressed. 

No  person  can  have  attended  to  the 


Divine  Comedy  without  observing  how 
little  impression  the  forms  of  the  ex- 
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  na 
more. 

The  feeling  of  the  present  age  has 
taken  a  direction  diametrically  oppo- 
site. The  magnificence  of  the  physical 
world,  and  its  influence  upon  the  hu- 
man mind,  have  been  the  favourite 
themes  of  our  most  eminent  poets.  The 
herd  of  blue-stocking  ladies  and  son- 
neteering gentlemen  seems  to  consider 
a  strong  sensibility  to  the  "splendour 
of  the  grass,  the  glory  of  the  flower," 
as  an  ingredient  absolutely  indispen- 
sable 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  ; 
!iut  she  has  placed  her  home  and  her 
sanctuary  amidst  the  inexhaustible  va- 
rieties  and  the  impenetrable  mysteries  of 
the  mind. 

"  In  tutte  parti  impera,  e  quivi  regge 
Quivi  6  la  sua  cittade,  e  1'  alto  seggia" 

Othello  is  perhaps  the  greatest  work  m 
the  world.  From  what  does  it  derive 
its  power?  From  the  clouds?  From 
the  ocean  ?    From  the  mountains  ?    Or 


468 


ILLUSTRA  TIOMS. 


from  love  strong  as  death,  and  jea- 
lousy cmel  as  the  grave  !  What  is  it 
that  Vk^e  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  influ- 
encing his  character?  The  most  beau- 
tiful 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 
colour,  liian  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 
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  insen- 
sibility of  the  Florentine  poet  to  the 
beauties  of  nature  will  not  appear  an  un- 
pardonable deficiency.  On  mankind  no 
writer,  with  the  exception  of  Shake- 
speare, has  looked  with  a  more  penetra- 
ting eye.  I  have  said  that  his  poetical 
character  had  derived  a  tinge  from  his 
peculiar  temi>er.  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 
Kiniini  is  almost  a  single  exception.  I 
know  not  wheiher  it  has  been  remarked, 
that,  in  one  poin",  misantliropy  seems 
to  have  affected  his  mind  as  it  did  that 
of  Swift.  Nauseous  and  revolting  images 
seem  to  have  had  a  fascination  for  his 
mind  ;  and  he  repeatedly  places  before 
bis  readers,  with  all  the  energy  of  his 


incomparable  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  interwoven 
with  modern  poetry.  One  class  of 
writers  have  mtroduced  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  suffer 
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  in- 
nocence, 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  colour  of  the 
age.  Hence  the  glorious  inspiration 
of  the  Bacchaj  and  the  Atys.  Our 
minds  are  formed  by  circumstances  :  and 
I  do  not  believe  that  it  would  be  in  the 
power  of  the  greatest  modem  poet  to 
lash  himself  up  to  a  degree  of  enthu- 
siasm 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  bi  nutiful  or  original  than  the  use 
which  he  has  made  of  the  river  of 
Lethe.  He  has  never  assigned  to  his 
mythological  characters  any  umctions  in- 
consistent with  the  creed  of  the  Catholic 
Church.  He  has  related  nothing  con- 
cerning them  which  a  good  Christian  of 
that  age  might  not  b  lieve  possible.     On 


DANTE  AND   MILTON. 


469 


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 
revelation,  anterior  to  all  recorded  his- 
tory, of  which  the  dispersed  fragments 
might  have  been  retained  amidst  the  im- 
postures and  superstitions  of  later  reli- 
gions. Indeed  the  mythology  of  the 
Divine  Comedy  is  of  the  elder  and  more 
colossal  mould.  It  breathes  the  spirit  of 
Homer  and  iEschylus,  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 
favourite  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  Virgil, 
who,  elegant  and  splendid  as  he  is,  has 
no  pretensions  to  the  depth  and  origi- 
nality of  mind  which  characterize  his 
Tuscan  woi^shipper.  In  truth,  it  may  be 
laid  down  as  an  almost  universal  rule 
that  good  poets  are  bad  critics.  Their 
minds  are  under  the  tyranny  of  ten  thou- 
sand associations  imperceptible  to 
others.  The  worst  writer  may  easily 
happen  to  touch  a  spring  which  is  con- 
nected in  their  minds  with  a  long  suc- 
cession of  beautiful  images.  They  are 
like  the  gigantic  slaves  of  Aladdin, 
gifted  with  matchless  ]iower,  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 
vassals.  It  has  more  than  once  hap- 
pened to  me  to  see  minds,  graceful  and 
majestic  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  sweetest 
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 
.1$^  upon  the  face  of  them.      Yet  how 


many  men  of  genius  have  panegyrized 
and  imitated  them  ! 

The  style  of  Dante  is,  if  not  his 
highest,  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  pro- 
bably 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 
parts  of  the  poem.  The  force  and 
felicity  of  the  diction,  however,  irresis- 
tibly attract  the  reader  through  the 
theological  lectures  and  the  sketches  of 
ecclesiastical  biography,  with  which 
this  division  of  the  work  too  much 
abounds.  It  may  seem  almost  absurd 
to  quote  particular  specimens  of  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  re- 
collect 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  Demo- 
sthenes, 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 


470 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


respecting  our  own  great  poet,  than  by 
contrasting  him  with  the  father  of  Tus- 
can hterature. 

The  poetry  of  Milton  differs  from  that 
of  Dante,  as  the  hieroglyphics  of  Egypt 
differed  from  the  picture-writing  of 
Mexico.  The  images  which  Dante  em- 
ploys 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  re- 
motely suggest.  However  strange,  how- 
ever grotesque,  may  be  the  appearance 
which  Dante  undertakes  to  describe,  he 
never  shrinks  from  describing  it.  He 
gives  us  the  shape,  the  colour,  the  sound, 
the  smell,  the  taste  ;  he  counts  the  num- 
bers ;  he  measures  the  size.  His  similes 
are  tiie  illustrations  of  a  traveller.  Un- 
like 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.  The  cataract  of 
rhlegethon  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 
roo<l,  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  Teneriffc  or  Atlas  :  his  stature 
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  i 
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  j 
hair."  We  are  sensible  that  we  do  no 
justice  to  the  admirable  style  of  the  ' 
Florentine  poet.  But  Mr.  Gary's  trans-  i 
lation  is  not  at  hand  ;  and  our  version,  i 
however  rude,  is  sufficient  to  illustrate  j 
our  meaning.  ; 

Once  more,  compare  the  lazar-house  • 
in  the  eleventh  book  of  the  Paradise  i 
Lost  with  the  last  ward  of  Malebolge  in  j 
Dante.  Milton  avoids  the  loathsome  \ 
details,  and  takes  refuge  in  indistinct  i 
but  solemn  and  tremendous  imagery,  j 
Despair  hurrying  from  couch  to  couch  ': 
to  mock  the  wretches  with  his  attend-  j 
ance.  Death  shaking  his  dart  over  them,  ■ 
but,  in  spite  of  supplications,  delaying^ 
to  strike.  What  says  Dante?  " There  J 
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,  j 
and  of  Sardinia,  were  in  one  pit  to- ; 
gether  ;  and  such  a  stench  was  issuing 
forth  as  is  wont  to  issue  from  decayed  \ 
limbs."  I 

We  will  not  take  upon  ourselves  thcij 
invidious  office  of   settling  precedency  | 
between  two  such  writers.     Each  in  his  l, 
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  i 
advantage.     The   Divine   Comedy  is  a  * 
personal   narrative.     Dante  is  the  eye-  J 
witness  and  ear-witness  of  that  which  he  \ 
relates.     He  is  the  very  man  who  has  ^ 
heard  the  tormented  spirits  cn'ing  out   . 
for  the  second  death,  wlio  has  read  the 
dusky  characters  on  the   portal   withm 
which  there  is  no  hope,  who  has  hidden   ■ 
his  face  from  the  terrors  of  the  Gorgon, 
who  has  fled  from    the  hooks  and  the  \ 
seething  pitch  of  Barbariccia  and  Drag-    | 
hignazzo.     His  own  hands  have  grasped 
the  shaggy  sides  of  Lucifer.     His  own 
feet  have  climbed  the  mountain  of  expia-    i 
tion.     His  own  brow  has  been  marked   '■■ 
by  the  purifying   angel.      The    reader   \ 


4J 


THE  ITALIAN  PILGRIATS  PROGRESS. 


471 


would  throw  aside  such  a  tale  in  in- 
credulous 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  adventures  of  Amadis  differ  from 

those  of  Gulliver 

Poetry  which  relates  to  the  beings  of 
another  world  ought  to  be  at  once  mys- 
terious and  picturesque.  That  of  Milton 
is  so.  That  of  Dante  is  picturesque 
indeed  beyond  any  that  ever  was  written. 
Its  effect  approaches  to  that  produced 
by  the  pencil  or  the  chisel.  But  it  is 
picturesque  to  the  exclusion  of  all  mys- 
tery. This  is  a  fault  on  the  right  side,  a 
fault  inseparable  from  the  plan  of  Dante's 
poem,  which,  as  we  have  already  ob- 
served, rendered  the  utmost  accuracy  of 
description  necessary.  Still  it  is  a  fault. 
The  supernatural  agents  excite  an  in- 
terest ;  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  un- 
earthly awe.  We  could,  like  Don  Juan, 
ask  them  to  supper,  and  eat  heartily  in 
their  company.  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  between  the 
poet  and  Farinata  is  justly  celebrated. 
.Still,  P'arinata  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   PILGRIM'S. 

PROGRESS. 

Leigh  Hunt's  Stories  from  the  Italian  Poets. 

Dante  entitled   the  saddest  poem  in 

the  world  a   Comedy,    because  it   was 

•arritten  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" (toothers).  As  well 
might  they  have  said,  that  a  morning's 
work  in  the  Inquisition  ended  happily, 
because,  while  people  were  being  racked 
in  the  dungeons,  the  officers  were  making 
merry  in  the  drawing-room.  For  the 
much-injured  epithet  "Divine,"  Dante's 
memory  is  not  responsible.  He  entitled 
his  poem,  arrogantly  enough,  yet  still 
not  with  that  impiety  of  arrogance,  "The 
Comedy  of  Dante  Alighieri,  a  Floren- 
tine by  nation,  but  not  by  habits."  The 
word  "divine"  was  added  by  some 
transcriber  ;  and  it  heaped  absurdity  on 
absurdity,  too  much  of  it,  alas  I  being 
literally  infernal  tragedy.  I  am  not 
spea'iiing  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  infernalities 
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  himself  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  him- 
self with  a  creed,  or  do  his  utmost  to 
perf>etuate  the  worst  parts  of  it  in  be- 
half of  a  ferocious,  inquisitorial  church, 
and  to  the  risk  of  endangering  the  peace 
of  millions  of  gentle  minds. 

The  great  poem  thus  misnomered  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  fomiing 
an  account  of  the  author's  times,  his 
friends,  his  enemies,  and  himself,  written 
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  has  also  a  de- 
sign strictly  self-referential.  The  author 
feigns  that  the  beatified  spirit  of  his  mis- 
tress has  obtained   leave   to   warn   and 


47* 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


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  cate- 
chises and  confirms  him,  and  where  he  is 
finally  honoured  with  sights  of  the  Virgin 
Mary,  of  Christ,  and  even  a  glimpse  of 
the  Supreme  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  of  torment 
for  a  different  vice  or  its  co-oidinates, 
and  the  point  of  the  funnel  terminating 
with  Satan  stuck  into  ice.  Purgatory  is 
a  corresponding  mountain  on  the  other 
side  of  the  globe,  commencing  with  the 
antipodes  of  Jerusalem,  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  planets  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,  were  so  con- 
fused 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  mythology ;  nay,  invokes 
Apollo  himself  at  the  door  of  Paradise. 
There  was,  perhaps,  some  mystical  and 
even  philosophical  inclusion  of  the  past 
in  this  medley,  as  recognising  the  con- 
stant superintendence  of  Providence  ;  but 
that  Dante  partook  of  what  may  be 
called  the  literary  superstition  of  the 
time,  even  for  want  of  better  knowledge, 
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  feel- 
ings 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  re- 
verend ones,  are  existing  under  the ; 
sanction  of  other  names,  —  heathenisms! 
christened.  A  Tuscan  postilion,  once^ 
enumerating  to  me  some  of  the  native  I 
poets,  concluded  his  list  with  Apollo  ; . 
and  a  plaster-cast  man  over  here,  in ; 
London,  appeared  much  puzzled,  when  i 
conversing  on  the  subject  with  a  friend  i 
of  mine,  how  to  discrepate  Samson  from  i 
Hercules. 

Dante,  accordingly,  while,  with  the ; 
frightful  bigotry  of  the  schools,  he  puts  ■ 
the  whole  Pagan  world  into  hell-borders,  i 
(with  the  exception  of  two  or  three, 
whose  salvation  adds  to  the  absurdity,)  j 
mingles  the  hell  of  Virgil  with  that  of  1 
Tertullian  and  St.  Dominic  ;  sets  Minos  ■ 
at  the  door  as  judge  ;  retains  Charon  in  \ 
his  old  office  of  boatman  over  the  Stygian  '; 
lake ;  puts  fabulous  people  with  real  { 
among  the  damned.  Dido,  and  Cacus,  ; 
and  Ephialtes,  with  Ezzelino  and  Pope  \ 
Nicholas  the  Fifth  ;  and  associates  the  j 
Centaurs  and  the  Furies  with  the  agents  • 
of  diabolical  torture.  It  has  pleased  him  j 
also  to  elevate  Cato  of  Utica  to  the  office  j 
of  warder  of  purgatory,  though  the  cen-  j 
sor's  poor,  good  wife,  Marcia,  is  detained  J 
in  the  regions  below.  By  these  and  other  \ 
far  greater  inconsistencies,  the  whole  ^ 
place  of  punishment  becomes  a  reduction 
ad  absiirdum,  as  ridiculous  as  it  is  melan«| 
choly  ;  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  powersS 
of  discerning  the  good  and  beautiful,  J 
could  endure  to  let  his  mind  live  in  so5l 
foul  and  foolish  a  region  for  any  length 
of  time,  and  there  wreak  and  harden  the^j 
unworthiest  of  his  passions.  Genius,  ) 
nevertheless,  is  so  commensurate  with 
absurdity  throughout  the  book,  and  there  i 
are  even  such  sweet  and  balmy  as  well 
as  sublime  pictures  in  it  occasionally,  nay  ; 
often,  that  not  only  will  the  poem  ever  i 
be  worthy  of  admiration,  but,  when  those  ! 
increasing  purifications  of  Christianity 
which  our  blessed  reformers  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,  mean-  ; 

j 


ti 


THE  ITALIAN  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS. 


473 


time,  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,  kins- 
men of  those  who  treated  him  hospitably, 
even  the  father  of  his  beloved  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  something 
like  a  bit  of  Christian  refreshment  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  inexpressibly  charm- 
ing. 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  gen- 
tleness and  love.  And  yet  special  and 
great  has  been  the  escape  of  the  Pro- 
testant world  from  this  part  of  Roman 
Catholic  belief;  for  Purgatory  is  the 
heaviest  stone  that  hangs  upon  the  neck 
of  the  old  and  feeble  in  that  communion. 
Hell  is  avoidable  by  repentance ;  but 
Purgatory  what  modest  conscience  shall 
escape  ?  Mr.  Cary,  in  a  note  on  a  pas- 
sage in  which  Dante  recommends  his 
readers  to  think  on  what  follows  this 
expiatory  state,  rather  than  what  is  suf- 
fered there,  looks  upon  the  poet's  injunc- 
tion as  an  "unanswerable  objection  to 
the  doctrine  of  purgatory,"  it  being  dif- 
ficult 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  mankind's  feelings  are 
for  the  most  part  superior  to  their  opi- 
nions ;  otherwise  the  world  would  have 
been  in  a  bad  way  indeed,  and  Nature 
not  been  vindicated  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  pantomimical 
sort  than  is  to  be  found  in  either  of  the 
other  books.  I  shall  speak  of  some  of 
them  presently  ;  but  the  general  impres- 
sion of  the  place  is,  that  it  is  no  heaven 
at  alL     He  says  it  is,  and  talks  much  of 


its  smiles  and  its  beatitude  ;  but  always 
excepting  the  poetry,  —  especially  the 
similes  brought  from  the  more  heavenly 
earth, — we  realise  little  but  a  fantastical 
assemblage  of  doctors  and  doubtful  cha- 
racters, far  more  angry  and  theological 
than  celestial ;  giddy  raptures  of  monks 
and  inquisitors  dancing  in  circles,  and 
saints  denouncing  popes  and  Florentines ; 
in  short,  a  heaven  libelling  itself  with 
invectives  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  reduced  to  ashes  ; 
and  the  river  Arno  should  overflow  and 
drown  every  soul  in  Pisa.  Almost  all 
the  women  in  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  pre- 
tending to  be  men,  but  in  reality  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  countrymen. 
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  Aragon,  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  milHon  ;  and  the 
King  of  France,  the  descendant  of  a 
Paris  butcher,  and  of  progenitors  who 
poisoned  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  their  de- 
scendants conquering  with  the  arms  of 
Judas  rather  than  of  soldiers,  and  selling 
the  flesh  of  their  daughters  to  old  men, 
in  order  to  extricate  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  constant 
intensity  and  incessant  variety  of  his  pic- 


474 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


tures ;  and  whatever  he  paints,  he  throws, 
as  it  were,  upon  its  own  powers  ;  as 
though  an  artist  should  draw  figures  that 
started  into  Hfe,  and  proceeded  to  action 
for  themselves,  frightening  their  creator. 
'  Every  motion,  word,  and  look  of  these 
creatures  becomes  full  of  sensibility  and 
suggestions.  The  invisible  is  at  the  back 
of  the  visible  ;  darkness  becomes  palpa- 
ble ;  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  neighbourhood, 
where  a  tower  is  standing,  with  dreadful 
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  remarked  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  insolently 
refuse  the  poet  and  his  guide  an  entrance 
into  the  city  of  Dis.  An  angel  comes 
sweeping  over  the  Stygian  lake  to  en- 
force 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  rebuking  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.  Another, 
who  brings  the  souls  of  the  departed  to 
Purgatory,  is  first  discovered  at  a  dis- 
tance, gradually  disclosing  white  splen- 
dours, which  are  his  wings  and  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  dra- 
pery is  kept  in  motion  like  a  flag  by  the 
vehement  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  fragrance  of  a  May 
morning  ;    and   another  is  in   garments 


dark  as  cinders,  but  has  a  sword  in  his 
hand  too  sparkling  to  be  gazed  at. 
Dante's  occasional  pictures  of  the  beau- 
ties of  external  nature  are  worthy  of 
these  angelic  creations,  and  to  the  last 
degree  fresh  and  lovely.  You  long  to 
bathe  you  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  pro- 
portionate to  that  of  his  angels,  almost 
to  his  ferocity  ;  and  that  is  saying  every- 
thing. It  is  not  always  the  spiritual 
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 
odours  of  huge  loathsomeness — his  giants 
at  twilight  standing  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  of  fire 
(human  precursor  of  Milton's  Satan) — 
his  aspect  of  Paradise,  "as  if  the  universe 
had  smiled "  —  his  inhabitants  of  the 
whole  planet  Satum  crying  out  so  loud, 
in  accordance  with  the  anti-Papal  indig- 
nation of  Saint  Pietro  Damiano,  that  the 
poet,  though  among  them,  could  not  hear 
■what  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  honour  and  glory  of  poetry,  I  did  not 
feel  compelled  to  do  so.  But  the  swarthy 
P'lorentine  had  not  the  healthy  tempera- 
ment of  his  brethren,  and  he  fell  upon 
evil  times.  Compared  with  Homer  and 
Shakespeare,    his   very    intensity  seem* 


DANTE  AND  TACITUS. 


475 


only  superior  to  theirs  from  an  excess  of 
the  morbid  ;  and  he  is  inferior  to  both  in 
other  sovereign  qualities  of  poetiy,— to 
the  one,  in  giving  you  the  healthiest 
general  impression  of  nature  itself,  —  to 
Shakespeare,  in  boundless  universality, 
— to  most  great  poets,  in  thorough  har- 
mony and  delightfulness.  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  sunshine,  making  you 
aware  that  there  is  rough  work  to  be 
faced,  but  also  activity  and  beauty  to  be 
enjoyed.  The  feeling  of  health  and 
strength  is  predominant.  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  quali- 
ties, moods,  and  experiences;  and  he 
beautifies  all.  And  both  those  truly  di- 
vine 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  im- 
pression, as  dreary  as  himself,  in  spite  of 
the  occasional  beautiful  pictures  he  draws 
of  her,  but  narrows  her  very  immensity 
into  his  pettiness.  He  fancied,  alas ! 
that  he  could  build  her  universe  over 
again  out  of  the  politics  of  old  Rome 
and  the  divinity  of  the  schools  !    .     .     . 

All  that  Dante  said  or  did  has  its  in- 
terest 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  poli- 
tician, a  cruel  theologian ;  but  his  won- 
derful imagination,  and  (considering  the 
bitterness  that  was  in  him)  still  more 
wonderful  sweetness,  have  gone  into  the 
hearts  of  his  fellow-creatures,  and  will 
remain  there  in  spite  of  the  moral  and 
religious  absurdities  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.  ch.  5. 

Christendom  owes  to  Dante  the  crea- 
tion of  Italian  Poetry,  through  Italian,  of 
Christian  Poetry.  It  required  all  the 
courage,  firmness,  and  prophetic  sagacity 
of  Dante  to  throw  aside  the  inflexible 
bondage  of  the  established  hierarchical 
Latin  of  Europe.  He  had  almost  yielded, 
and  had  actually  commenced  the  Divine 
Comedy  in  the  ancient,  it  seemed,  the 
universal  and  eternal  language.  But  the 
poet  had  profoundly  meditated,  and  de- 
liberately 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  in- 
telligible, which  was  to  become  native 
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,  peculiar,  separate, 
distinct,  rude  in  construction,  harsh,  in 
different  degrees,  in  utterance.  Dante 
in  his  book  on  Vulgar  Eloquence, 
ranges  over  the  whole  land,  rapidly  dis- 
cusses the  Sicilian  and  Apulian,  the 
Roman  and  Spoletan,  the  Tuscan  and 
Genoese,  the  Romagnole  and  the  Lom- 
bard, the  Trevisan  and  Venetian,  the 
Istrianand  Friulian ;  all  are  coarse,  harsh, 
mutilated,  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  lang[uage  which  he  de- 
scribes as  Illustrious,  Cardinal,  Courtly, 
if  we  may  use  our  phrase,  Parliamentary, 
that  is,  of  the  palace,  the  courts  of  jus- 
tice, and  of  public  affairs.  No  doubt  it 
sprung,  though  its  affiliation  is  by  no 
means  clear,  out  of  the  universal  dege- 
nerate Latin,  the  rustic  tongue,  common 
not  in  Italy  alone,  but  in  all  the  provinces 
of  the  Roman  Empire.  Its  first  domicile 
was  the  splendid  Sicilian  and  Apulian 
Court  of  Frederick  the  Second,  and  of 


476 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


his  accomplished  son.  It  has  been  boldly 
said,  that  it  was  part  of  Frederick's  mag- 
nificent 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  Poetiy.  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  Vigna,  of  King  Enzio,  of 
King  Manfred,  with  some  peculiarities  in 
the  formation,  orthography,  use,  and 
sounds  of  words,  are  intelligible  from  one 
end  of  the  peninsula  to  the  other.  The 
language  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.  Per- 
haps Dante,  the  Italian,  the  Ghibelline, 
the  assertor  of  the  universal  temporal 
monarchy,  dwelt  not  less  fondly  in  his 
imagination  on  this  universal  and  noble 
Italian  language,  because  it  would  super- 
sede the  Papal  and  hierarchical  Latin ; 
the  Latin,  with  the  Pope  him.self,  would 
withdraw  into  the  sanctuary,  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, 
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 
I>atin  verses  he  laid  up,  as  he  fondly 
thought,  an  imperishable  treasure  of 
fame.  Even  lioccaccio,  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,  to- 
wards the  close  of  his  life,  whether  the 
Divine  Comedy  had  not  been  more  sub- 
lime, and  therefore  destined  to  a  more 
secure  eternity,  in  I^tin. 

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  Italian 
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  ecclesiastical 
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  Occidentalism,  in  the 
language  ?  From  the  time  of  Trajan, 
except  Claudian,  Latin  letters  are  almost 
exclusively  Christian ;  and  Christian 
letters  are  Latin,  as  it  were,  in  a  second- 
ary and  degenerate  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  tnith  of  observa- 
tion as  to  man  and  the  external  world 
of  man  ;  the  same  power  of  expressing 
that  truth.  They  have  the  common  gift 
of  flashing  a  whole  train  of  thought,  a 
vast  range  of  images  on  the  mind,  by  a 
few  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  sympathies  :  each  has  the 
intuitive  judgment  of  saying  just  enough  j 
the  stem  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  pos- 
sible 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   th« 


DANTE  AND   TACITUS. 


ATI 


Christian  poet  aggravates  that  gloomy 
immortality  of  this  world  by  ratifying  it 
ill  the  next.  Each  might  seem  to  em- 
body remorse.  Patrician,  high,  im- 
perial, princely,  Papal  criminals  are 
compelled  to  acknowledge  the  justice 
of  their  doom.  Each,  too,  writing,  one 
of  times  just  passed,  of  which  the  in- 
fluences were  strongly  felt  in  the  social 
state  and  fortunes  of  Rome,  —  the  other 
of  his  own,  in  which  he  had  been  ac- 
tively concerned, — throws  a  personal 
passion  (Dante  of  course  the  most)  into 
his  judgments  and  his  language,  which, 
whatever  may  be  its  effect  on  their  jus- 
lice,  adds  wonderfully  to  their  force  and 
reality.  Each,  too,  has  a  lofty  sym- 
pathy with  good,  only  that  the  highest 
ideal  of  Tacitus  is  a  death-defying  Stoic, 
or  an  all-accomplished  Roman  Procon- 
sul, an  Helvidius  Thrasea,  or  an  Agri- 
cola;  that  of  Dante,  a  suffering,  and  so 
purified  and  beatified  Christian  saint,  or 
martyr;  in  Tacitus  it  is  a  majestic  and 
virtuous  Romn.n  matron,  an  Agrippina, 
in  Dante  an  unreal  mysterious  Beatrice. 

Dante  is  not  merely  the  religious  poet 
of  Latin  or  medieval  Christianity  ;  in 
him  that  mediaeval  Christianity  is  summed 
up  as  it  were,  and  embodied  for  per- 
petuity. The  Divine  Comedy  contains 
in  its  sublimest  form  the  whole  mytho- 
logy, and  at  the  same  time  the  quint- 
essence, the  living  substance,  the  ulti- 
mate conclusions  of  the  Scholastic  Theo- 
logy. The  whole  course  of  Legend,  the 
Demonology,  Angelology,  the  extra 
mundane  world,  which  in  the  popular 
belief  was  vague,  fragmentary,  incohe- 
rent, in  Dante,  as  we  have  seen,  becomes 
an  actual,  visible,  harmonious  system. 
In  Dante  heathen  images  images,  hea- 
then mythology,  are  blended  in  the 
same  living  reality  with  those  of  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  preg- 


nant stanzas,  have  the  full  meaning  of 
pages  or  chapters  of  divinity.  But 
though  his  doctrine  is  that  of  Aquinas, 
Dante  has  all  the  fervour  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  reve- 
rence 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  temporal, 
they  scrupled  not  to  condemn  with  the 
fiercest  reprobation,  to  hate  with  the 
bitterest  cordiality :  Dante  damns  pon- 
tiffs without  fear  or  remorse.  But  the 
other,  the  Spiritual  Pope,  was  worthy 
of  all  awe  or  reverence ;  his  sacred  per- 
son must  be  inviolate ;  his  words,  if  not 
infallible,  must  be  heard  with  the  pro- 
foundest  respect ;  he  is  the  Vicar  of 
Christ,  the  representative  of  God  upon 
earth.  With  his  Ghibelline  brethren 
Dante  closed  his  eyes  against  the  incon- 
gruity, 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  lughest  height  of  ho- 
liness, St.  Benedict,  St.  Dominic,  St. 
Francis.  To  the  religious  adversaries 
of  the  Church  he  has  all  the  stern  re- 
morselessness  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  of  his 
dearest  friend  and  brother  poet  Guido 
Cavalcanti.  Whatever  latent  sympathy 
seems  to  transpire  for  Fra  Dolcino,  he 
is  unrelentingly  thrust  down  to  the  com- 


478 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


panionship  of  Mohammed.  The  Ca- 
tholic 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  fo)'- 
mality  of  its  landscape. 

Milton's  effort,  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  mediaeval  tradition, — but  rivers 
which  flow  through  a  waste  of  moun- 
taiu  and  moorland,  and  by  "many  a 
frozen,  many  a  fiery  alp."  But  Dante's 
Inferno  is  accurately  separated  into  cir- 
cles drawn  with  well-pointed  compasses; 
ma])ped  and  properly  surveyed  in  every 
direction,  trenched  in  a  thoroughly  good 
style  of  engineering  from  depth  to  depth, 
and  divided  in  the  ^^ accurate  middle" 
(dritto  mezzo)  of  its  deepest  abyss  into  a 
concentric  series  of  ten  moats  and  em- 
bankments, like  those  about  a  castle, 
with  bridges  from  each  embankment  to 
the  next ;  precisely  in  the  manner  of 
those  bridges  over  Hiddekel  and  Eu- 
phrates, which  Mr.  Macaulay  thinks 
so  innocently  designed,  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  embankments,  in  which  he 
anxiously  points  out  to  us  not  only  the 
formality,  but  the  neatness  and  perfect- 
ness,  of  the  stone-work.  For  instance, 
in  describing  the  river  Phlegethon,  he 
tells  us  tliat  it  was  "'  paved  with  stone  at 
the  Ijoltom,  and  at  the  sides,  and  over 
the  iifi^cs  of  the  sidc^,"  just  as  the  water  is 
at  tlie  baths  of  Hulicame ;  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  iu  Lombardy  which 


bank  the  Brenta,  only  "  not  so  higK 
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  surrounded 
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  faculty  ;  that 
which  obscures  or  conceals  may  be  judg- 
ment, or  feeling,  but  not  invention. 
The  invention,  whether  good  or  bad,  is 
in  the  accurate  engineering,  not  in  the 
fog  and  uncertainty. 

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    determinate 


DANTE'S  LANDSCAPES. 


419 


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- 
ceive that  the  first  striking  character  of 
its  sceneiy  is  intense  definition  ;  pre- 
cisely the  reflection  of  that  definitiveness 
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  reserved  for 
the  Inferno  ;  and  that  the  entire  terri- 
tory of  the  Purgatory  is  a  mountain, 
thus  marking  the  sense  of  that  purifying 
and  perfecting  influence  in  mountains 
which  we  saw  the  mediaeval  mind  was 
so  ready  to  suggest.  The  same  general 
idea  is  indicated  at  the  very  commence- 
ment of  the  poem,  in  which  Dante  is  over- 
whelmed 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 
honour  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  par- 
ticular 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  afliection  by  So- 
phocles, 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  neigh- 
bourhood of  Athens,  has  the  spot  de- 
«crjbed  to  him  as  haunted  perpetually  by 


nightingales,  which  sing  "  in  the  green 
glades  and  in  the  dark  ivy,  and  in  the 
thousand-fruited,  sunless,  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  con- 
veniently by  the  sea  ;  "  but  the  promi- 
nence 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  expiess  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,  (wi'li 
only  one  exception,)  whenever  tlic 
country  is  to  be  beautiful,  we  find  our- 
selves coming  out  into  open  air  and  open 
meadows. 

It  is  quite  true  that  this  is  partly  a 
characteristic,  not  merely  of  Dante,  or 
of  medieval  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  Italian 
could  not  have  understood.  Hence 
Chaucer,  Spenser,  and  Shakespeare  send 
their  favourites  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  mediaeval 
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. 


48o 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


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 
of>en  ground  as  long  as  he  could,  and 
regarded  the  forests,  in  general,  with 
anything  but  an  eye  of  favour. 

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  landscape, 
which  even  a  god  might  have  been 
pleased  to  behold,  so  l3ante  gives  us, 
fortunately,  an  ideal  landscape,  which  is 
sjiecially  intended  for  the  terrestrial  para- 
dise. And  it  will  doubtless  be  with 
some  surprise,  after  our  reflections  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  peculiar  meaning  in  this. 
With  any  other  poet  than  Dante,  it 
might  have  been  regarded  as  a  wanton 
inconsistency.  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 

Eurified  and  noble  human  creature, 
aving  no  pleasure  but  in  right,  is  past 
nil  effort,  and  past  all  rttle.  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  lilxsrty,  and  of  the  purity  and 
sinlessness  of  the  new  nature,  converting 
pathless  ways  into  ha])py  ones.  So  that 
all  those  fences  and  formalisms  which 
bad  been  needed  for  him  in  imperfection 


are  removed  in  this  paradise;  and  even 
the  pathlessness  of  the  wood,  the  most! 
dreadful  thing  possible  to  him  in  his 
days  of  sin  and  shortcoming,  is  now  a 
joy  to  him  in  his  days  of  purity.  And 
as  the  fenceles-sness  and  thicket  of  sin 
led  to  the  fettered  and  fearful  order  of 
eternal  punishment,  so  the  fencelessness 
and  thicket  of  the  free  virtue  lead  to  the 
loving  and  constellated  order  of  eternal 
happiness. 

This  forest,  then,  is  very  like  that 
of  Colonos  in  several  respects, — in  its: 
peace  and  sweetness,  and  number  o^ 
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'i 
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  fari 
in  this  wood, — that  is  to  say,  only  soi 
far  as  to  have  lost  sight  of  the  placd 
where  he  entered  it,  or  rather,  1  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  notj 
do  this  in  some  quarter  of  a  mile's; 
walk, — he  comes  to  a  little  river,  threei 
paces  over,  which  bends  the  blades  of 
grass  to  the  left,  with  a  meadow  oii' 
the  other  side  of  it ;  and  in  thiS; 
meadow  ;' 

"  A  lady,  graced  with  solitude,  who  went  1 

Singing  and  setting  flower  by  flower  apart,  \ 
By  which  the  path  she  walked  on  was  besprent  \ 

'  Ah,  lady  beautilul,  that  basking  art  ! 

in  beams  of  love,  if  1  nuty  trust  thy  face, 

Which  uselh  to  bear  witness  of  the  heart,  ( 

Let  Uking  come  on  thee,'  said  I,  '  to  trace  i 

'I"hy  path  a  httle  closer  to  the  shore,  i 

Where  I  may  reap  the  hearing  of  thy  lays.  " 

Thou  niindcst  me,  how  Proserpine  of  yore  i 
Appeared  in  such  a  place,  what  time  her  mo  ' 

ther  i 
Lost  her,  and  she  did  spring,  forevermore.' 
As,  pointing  downwards  and  to  one  another 

Her  feet,  a  lady  bendeth  in  the  dance,  \ 
And  barely  settolh  one  More  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,  I 

Approaching,  so  that  her  sweet  melodies  j 

Arrived  upon  mine  ear  with  what  they  meant  j 

( 


J 


DANTE'S  LANDSCAPES. 


481 


SVhen  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  opposite 
side  of  the  little  stream,  which,  pre- 
sently, she  explains  to  Dante  is  Lethe, 
having  power  to  cause  forgetfulness  of 
all  evil,  and  she  stands  just  among  the 
bent  blades  of  grass  at  its  edge.  She  is 
first  seen  gathering  flower  from  flower, 
then  "  passing  continually  the  multitu- 
dinous flowers  through  her  hands,"  smil- 
ing 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  Fsalm,  beginning  *  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  exi4tabo." 

Now  we  could  not  for  an  instant  have 
had  any  difficulty  in  understanding  this, 
but  that,  some  way  farther  on  in  the 
poem,  this  lady  is  called  Matilda,  and  it 
is  with  reason  supposed  by  the  commen- 
tators to  be  the  great  Countess  Matilda 
of  the  eleventh  century ;  notable  equally 
for  her  ceaseless  activity,   her   brilliant 

Eolitical  genius,  her  perfect  piety,  and 
er  deep  reverence  for  the  see  of  Rome. 
This  Countess  Matilda  is  therefore  Dante's 
guide  in  the  terrestrial  paradise,  as  Bea- 
tiice  is  afterwards  in  the  celestial ;  each 
of  them  having  a  spiritual  and  symbolic 
character  in  their  glorified  state,  yet 
retaining  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  m  labour  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  spiiit  of  the 
Countess  Matilda  is  understood  to  re- 
present 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  delights 
in  Her  Own  Labor.  Rachel  sits  silent, 
contemplating  herself,  and  delights  in 
Her  (him  Image.  These  are  the  types 
of  the  Unglorified  Active  and  Contem- 
plative powers  of  Man.  But  Beatrice 
and  Matilda  are  the  same  powers.  Glori- 
fied. And  how  are  they  Glorified  ?  Leah 
took  delight  in  her  own  labour ;  but 
Matilda — "in  operibus  manuum  Tua- 
rum"— in  God's  ill 6our  ;— 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 
her  that,  when  he  himself  shall  die, 
she  would  receive  him  with  kindness, 
Beatrice  merely  looks  down  for  an 
instant,  and  answers  with  a  single 
smile,  then  "  towards  the  eternal  foun- 
tain turns." 

Therefore  it  is  evident  that  Dante  dis- 
tinguishes in  both  cases,  not  between 
earth  and  heaven,  but  between  perfect 
and  imperfect  happiness,  whether  in 
earth  or  heaven.  The  active  life  which 
has  only  the  service  of  man  for  its  end, 
and  therefore  gathers  flowers,  with  Leah, 


4Sa 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


for  its  own  decoration,  is  indeed  happy, 
but  not  perfectly  so;  it  has  only  the 
happiness  of  the  dream,  belonging  essen- 
tially to  the  dream  of  human  life,  and 
passing  away  with  it.  But  the  active 
life  which  labours  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  ves- 
tibule. So  also  the  contemplative  life 
which  is  concerned  with  human  feeling 
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  contempla- 
tive life  which  has  God's  person  and 
love  in  Christ  for  its  object,  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  eyes ;  as 
the  flowers,  which  are,  to  the  me- 
diaeval heart,  the  chief  work  of  God, 
are  for  ever  passing  through  Matilda's 
hattds. 

Now,  therefore,  we  see  that  Dante,  as 
tlie  great  prophetic  exponent  of  the  heart 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  has,  by  the  lips  of 
the  spirit  of  Matilda,  declared  the  me- 
diaeval faith, — that  all  perfect  active  life 
was  "the  expression  of  man's  delight  in 
Gocfs  work:"  and  that  all  their  political 
and  warlike  enei^,  as  fully  shown  in 
the  mortal  life  of  Matilda,  was  yet  in- 
ferior and  impure, — the  energy  of  the 
dream,  — compared  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  l>eing  the 
person  who  draws  Dante  through  the 
stream  of  Lethe,  so  as  to  make  him 
forget  all  sin,  and  all  sorrow  :  throwing 
iier  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. 

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  instinctively  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  complete  individual  incarnation 
of  this  aim  that  we  know,  and,  notwith- 
standing, this  is  just  the  point  upon 
which  his  biographers  are  the  most  un- 
certain  

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  magni- 
ficent 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  de- 
cide this  point.  What  we  have  to  do  is 
to  show  what  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  ATonarchia,  for  our  authority. 
The  following,  then,  is  a  summary  of 
what,  in  the  thirteenth  centiiry,  Dante 
believed. 

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 


DANTE'S   CREED. 


483 


great  ocean  of  existence,  but  they  are  a;ll 
moved  by  the  same  will.  Flowers  in  the 
garden  of  God  all  merit  our  love  accord- 
ing to  the  degree  of  excellence  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  con- 
tinuous scale  of  being,  that  man  whose 
nature  is  the  most  degraded  touches 
upon  the  animal ;  he  whose  nature  is 
the  most  noble  approaches  that  of  the 
angel.  Everything  that  comes  from  the 
hand  of  God  tends  towards  the  perfec- 
tion of  which  it  is  susceptible,  and  man 
more  fervently  and  more  vigorously  than 
all  the  rest.  There  is  this  difference 
between  him  and  other  creatures,  that 
his  perfectibility  is  what  Dante  calls 
possible,  meaning inde^ni/e.  Coming  from 
the  bosom  of  God,  the  human  soul  in- 
cessantly aspires  towards  Him,  and  en- 
deavours 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  hu- 
man 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  accomphshed 
by  them  all.  Whatever  this  aim  may 
be,  it  does  certainly  exist,  and  we  must 
endeavour  to  discover  and  attain  it. 
Mankind,  then,  ought  to  work  together, 
in  order  that  all  the  intellectual  powers 
that  are  bestowed  amongst  them  may 
receive  the  highest  possible  development^ 
whether  in  the  sphere  of  thought  or  ac- 
tion. It  is  only  by  harmony,  consequently 
by  association,  that  this  is  possible. 
Mankind  must  be  one,  even  as  God  is 
one  ; — one  in  organization,  as  it  is  already 
one  in  its  principle.  Unity  is  taught  by 
the  manifest  design  of  God  in  the  ex- 
ternal 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  mankind 
ascends,  thence  to  flow  down  again  in 
the  fonn  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  employments, — 
itself  performing  the  part  of  pilot,  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 
affirmation,  like  a  man  in  whom  the 
least  expression  of  doubt  excites  asto- 
nishment. 

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, — "  There  is  the  seat  of 
empire."  There  never  was,  and  there 
never  will  be,  a  people  endowed  with 
more  gentleness  for  the  exercise  of  com- 
mand, with  more  vigour  to  maintain  it, 
and  more  capacity  to  acquire  it,  than  the 
Italian  nation,  and  above  all,  the  Holy 
Roman  people. 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA. 
From  the  German  of  Schelling. 

In  the  sanctuary  where  Religion  "is 
married  to  immortal  verse  "  stands  Dante 
as  high-priest,  and  consecrates  all  modem 
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  "  Divine  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 


4&J 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


Divine  was  given  it  by  its  author,*  be- 
cause it  treats  of  theology  and  things 
divine;  Comedy  he  called  it,  after  the 
simplest  notion"  of  this  and  its  opposite 
kind,  on  account  of  its  fearful  beginning 
and  its  happy  ending,  and  because  the 
mixed  nature  of  the  poem,  whose  mate- 
rial 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  exhaust  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  like- 
wise impossible,  because  it  is  written 
with  a  far  less  restricted  form  and  aim 
than  that  of  teaching.  It  belongs,  there- 
fore, to  none  of  these  classes  in  parti- 
cular, nor  is  it  merely  a  compound  of 
them  ;  but  an  entirely  unique,  and  as  it 
Were  organic,  mixture  of  all  their  ele- 
rtients,  not  to  be  reproduced  by  any 
arV)itrary  rules  of  art, — an  absolute  in- 
dividuality, 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  appli- 
cation, 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  motlem  times,  which 
hitherto  has  announced  itself  only  rhap- 
sodically  and  in  broken  glimpses,  shall 
present  itself  as  a  perfect  whole,  is  this, 
—that  the  individual  gives  shape  and 


•  The  title  of  "  Divina "  was  not  given  to 
the  poem  till  lon^  after  Dante's  death.  It  first 
appears  in  the  edition  of  1516. — Tr. 


unity  to  that  portion  of  the  world  which 
is  revealed  to  him,  and  out  of  the  mate- 
rials of  his  time,  its  history,  and  its 
science,  creates  his  own  mythology.  For 
as  the  ancient  world  is,  in  general,  the 
world  of  classes,  so  the  modem  is  that 
of  individuals.  In  the  former  the  Uni- 
versal 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  constant  mutation  is  the 
fixed  law ;  no  narrow  circle  limits  its 
ends,  but  one  which  through  Individu- 
ality widens  itself  to  infinitude.  And 
since  Universality  bekmgs  to  the  essence 
of  poetry,  it  is  a  necessaiy  condition  that 
the  Individual  through  the  highest  pecu- 
liarity should  again  become  Universal, 
and  by  his  complete  speciality  become 
again  absolute.  Thus,  through  the  per- 
fect individuality  and  uniqueness  of  his 
poem,  Dante  is  the  creator  of  modem 
art,  which  without  this  arbitrary  neces- 
sity, and  necessary  arbitrariness,  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  be- 
came the  antipodes  of  each  other.  They 
in  vain,  by  allegorical  interpretations  of 
the  Homeric  poems,  sought  artificially  to 
create  a  harmony  between  the  two.  In 
modem  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  culture.  Science,  Reli- 
gion, and  even  Art,  and  joining  in  a 
^perfect  unity  the  material  not  only  of  the 
present  but  of  the  past.  Into  this  strug- 
gle (since  Art  demands  somethingdefinite 
and  limited,  while  the  spirit  of  the  world 
rushes  towards  the  unlimited,  and  with 
ceaseless  power  sweeps  down  all  bar- 
riers) must  the  Individual  enter,  but  with 
absolute  freedom  seek  to  rescue  perma- 
nent shapes  from  the  fluctuations  of  time, 
and  within  arbitrarily  assumed  fomis  to 
give  to  the  structure  of  his  poem,  by  iti 


THE   DIVI^A   COMMEDIA. 


485 


absolute  peculiarity,  internal  necessity 
and  external  universality. 

This  Dante  has  done.  He  had  before 
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  completeness  be- 
longed also  the  astronomy,  the  theology, 
and  the  philosophy  of  the  time.  To 
these  he  could  not  give  expression  in  a 
didactic  poem,  for  by  so  doing  he  would 
again  have  limited  himself.  Conse- 
quently, in  order  to  make  his  poem 
universal,  he  was  obliged  to  make  it 
historical.  An  invention  entirely  un- 
controlled, and  proceeding  from  his  own 
individuality,  was  necessary  to  unite 
these  materials,  and  form  them  into  an 
organic  whole.  To  represent  the  ideas 
of  Philosophy  and  Theology  in  symbols 
was  impossible,  for  there  then  existed  no 
symbolic  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  clue  of 
this  kind  was  possible.  The  Individual 
only  could  lay  hold  of  it,  and  only  an 
uncontrolled  invention  follow  it. 

The  poem  of  Dante  is  not  allegorical 
in  the  sense  that  its  figures  only  signified 
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-objective 
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  com- 
panions ;  so  many  other  characters. 
But  at  the  same  time  they  count  for 
themselves,  and  appear  on  the  scene  as 
historic  personages,  without  on  that  ac- 
count being  symbols. 

In  this  respect  Dante  is  archetypal, 
since  he  has  proclaimed  what  the  modern 


poet  has  to  do,  in  order  to  embody  into 
a  poetic  whole  the  entire  history  and 
culture  of  his  age, — the  only  mytholo- 
gical material  which  lies  before  him. 
He  must,  from  absolute  arbitrariness, 
join  together  the  allegorical  and  histori- 
cal :  he  must  be  allegorical,  (and  he  is  so, 
too,  against  his  will, )  because  he  cannot 
be  symbolical ;  and  he  must  be  histori- 
cal, because  he  wishes  to  be  poetical. 
In  this  respect  his  invention  is  always 
peculiar,  a  world  by  itself,  and  alto- 
gether 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  individual 
embodies  the  singular  mixture  of  the 
materials  which  lie  before  him  in  his  age 
and  his  life,  determines  the  measure  in 
which  he  possesses  mythological  power. 
Dante's  personages  possess  a  kind  of 
eternity  from  the  position  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  in- 
vention, as  the  death  of  Ulysses  and  his 
companions,  has  in  the  connection  of  his 
poem  a  real  mythological  truth. 

It  would  be  of  but  subordinate  interest 
to  represent  by  itself  the  Philosophy, 
Physics,  and  Astronomy  of  Dante,  since 
his  true  peculiarity  lies  only  in  his  man- 
ner of  fusing  them  with  •is  poetry.  The 
Ptolemaic  system,  which  to  a  certain 
degree  is  the  foundation  of  his  poetic 
structure,  has  already  in  itself  a  mytho- 
logical colouring.  If,  however,  his  phi- 
losophy 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  wjth 
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  naiveti  of  separate 


486 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


{)ictures,  in  which  he  expresses  his  phi- 
osophical  views,  as  the  well-known  de- 
scription of  the  soul  which  comes  from 
the  hand  of  God  as  a  little  girl  "weep- 
ing 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  any- 
thing else,  the  universal  value  and  im- 
mortality of  this  poem  is  recognized. 

If  the  union  of  Philosophy  and  Poetry, 
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  intention  (of  instructing) 
should  lose  itself  in  it,  and  be  changed 
into  an  absoluteness  [in  eine  Absoluthdt 
verwandelt),  so  that  the  poem  may  seem 
to  exist  for  its  own  sake.  And  this  is 
only  conceivable,  when  Science  (con- 
sidered as  a  picture  of  the  universe,  and 
in  perfect  harmony  therewith,  as  xhe 
most  original  and  beautiful  Poetry)  is  in 
itself  already  poetical.  Dante's  poem  is 
a  much  higher  iiiterpenetration  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  according 
to  the  three  kingdoms  of  Hell,  Purga- 
tory, and  Paradise,  independently  of  the 
peculiar  meaning  of  these  ideas  in  Chris- 
tian theology,  are  also  a  general  symbolic 
form,  so  that  one  docs  not  see  why 
under  the  same  form  every  remarkable 
age  should  nc#  have  its  own  Divine 
Comedy.  As  in  the  modern  Drama 
the  form  of  five  acts  is  assumed  as  the 
usual  one,  liecause  every  event  may  be 
regarded  in  its  Beginning,  its  Progress, 
its  Culmination,  its  Dinouemeut,  and 
ts  final  Consummation,  so  this  tricho- 
tomy, or  threefold  division  of  Dante  in 
th^  higher  prophetic  poetry,  which  is  to 
be  the  expression  of  a  whole  age,  is  con- 
ceivable as  a  general  form,  which  in  its 
filling  up  may  Vie  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 
internal  type  of  all  Science  and  Poetry, 
is  that  form  eternal,  and  capable  of  em- 
bracing in  itself  the  three  great  objects 
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  them- 
selves, it  is  the  aphelion  of  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 
absolute  condition.  This  can  nowhere 
be  found  save  in  Art,  which  anticipates 
eternity,  is  the  paradise  of  hfe,  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  ui\ites  with  the 
most  absolute  individuality,— by  its  uni- 
versality, in  virtue  of  which  it  excludes 
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  externally  imaged 
forth,  through  the  form,  colour,  sound, 
of  the  three  great  divisions  of  the  poem. 

From  the  extraordinary  nature  of  his 
material,  Dante  needed  for  the  form  of 
his  creations  in  detail  some  kind  of  cre- 
dentials 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  Ijeing  allegorical,  without  ceasing  to  be 
historical  and  poetical.  Hell,  Pui^tory, 
and  Paradise  are,  as  it  were,  only  his 
system  of  Theology  in  its  concrete  and 
architectural  development.  The  propor- 
tion, number,  and  relations  which  he 
observes  in  their  internal  structure  were 
prescribed  by  this  science,  and  herein  he 
renounced  intentionally  the  freedom  ol 


U 


THE  DIVINA  COMMEDIA. 


487 


invention,  in  order  to  give,  by  means 
of  form,  necessity  and  limitation  to  his 
poem,  which  in  its  materials  was  unli- 
mited. The  universal  sanctity  and  signi- 
ficancy  of  numbers  is  another  external 
form  upon  which  his  poetry  rests.  So 
in  general  the  entire  logical  and  syllo- 
gistic lore  of  that  age  is  for  him  only 
fomi,  which  must  be  granted  to  him  in 
order  to  attain  to  that  region  in  which 
his  poetry  moves. 

And  yet  in  this  adherence  to  religious 
and  philosophical  notions,  as  the  most 
universally  interesting  thing  which  his 
age  offered,  Dante  never  seeks  an  ordi- 
nary kind  of  poetic  probability ;  but 
rather  renounces  all  intention  of  flatter- 
ing the  baser  senses.  His  first  entrance 
into  Hell  takes  place,  as  it  should  take 
place,  without  any  unpoetical  attempt 
to  assign  a  motive  for  it  or  to  make  it 
intelligible,  in  a  condition  like  that  of  a 
Vision,  without,  however,  any  intention 
of  making  it  appear  such.  His  being 
drawn  up  by  Beatrice's  eyes,  through 
which  the  divine  power  is  communicated 
to  him,  he'  expresses  in  a  single  line : 
what  is  wonderful  in  his  own  adventures 
he  immediately  changes  to  a  likeness  of 
the  mysteries  of  religion,  and  gives  it 
credibility  by  a  yet  higher  mystery,  as 
when  he  makes  his  entrance  into  the 
moon,  which  he  compares  to  that  of  light 
into  the  unbroken  surface  of  water,  an 
image  of  God's  incarnation. 

To  show  the  perfection  of  art  and  the 
depth  of  purpose  which  was  carried  even 
into  the  minor  details  of  the  inner  struc- 
ture of  the  three  worlds,  would  be  a 
science  in  itself.  This  was  recognized 
shortly  after  the  poet's  death  by  his 
nation,  in  their  appointing  a  distinct 
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  contradistinguished  from 
each  other.  The  Inferno,  as  it  is  the 
most  fearful  in  its  objects,  is  likewise 
the  strongest  in  expression,  the  severest 
in  diction,  and  in  its  very  words  dark 
and  awful.     In  one  portion  of  the  Pur- 


gatorio  deep  silence  reigns,  for  the 
lamentations  of  the  lower  world  grow 
mute  ;  upon  its  summits,  the  forecourts 
of  Heaven,  all  becomes  colour :  the  Para- 
diso  is  the  true  music  of  the  spheres. 

The  variety  and  difference  of  the 
punishments  in  the  Inferno  are  con- 
ceived with  almost  unexampled  inven- 
tion. Between  the  crime  and  the  punish  - 
ment  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  sometimes  pointed  out 
as  low,  is  not  so  in  their  sense  of  the 
term,  but  it  is  a  necessary  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  god- 
like spirit,  which  are  expressed  in  Dante's 
fearful  composition,  are  not  the  inherit- 
ance of  common  souls.  It  is  indeed  very 
doubtful  still,  though  quite  generally 
believed,  whether  his  banishment  from 
Florence,  after  he  had  previously  dedi- 
cated his  poetry  to  Love,  first  spurred 
on  his  spirit,  naturally  inclined  to  what- 
ever 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  indignation  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 

Erophetic  power,  not  from  personal  hate, 
ut  with  a  pious  soul  roused  by  the  abo- 
minations of  the  times,  and  a  love  of  his 
native  land  long  dead  in  others,  ^  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. 

Conquer  the  cruelty  that  shuts  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  Aall  he  take  the  crown  of  laurel." 

He  tempers  the  horror  of  the  torments 
of  the  damned  by  his  own  feeling  for 
K  ic 


488 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


them,  which  at  the  end  of  so  much  suf- 
fering 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  rela- 
tion. Of  this  kind  is,  in  particular,  the 
representation  of  a  metamorphosis,  in 
which  two  natures  are  mutually  in- 
terchanged, and  their  substance  trans- 
muted. No  metamorphosis  of  Antiquity 
can  comnpare  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  cir- 
cumstance that  it  is  peculiarly  the  realm 
Oi'  forms,  and  conseciuently  the  plastic 

Eart  of  the  poem.  The  Purgatorio  must 
e  recognized  as  the  picturesque  part. 
Not  only  are  the  penances  here  inifKjsed 
upon  sinners  at  times  pictorially  treated, 
even  to  brightness  of  colouring,  but  the 
journey  up  the  holy  mountain  of  Purga- 
tory presents  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  highest 
pomp  of  painting  and  colour  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 
wh^n  he  meets  upon  its  banks,  and  the 
descent  of  Beatrice  in  a  cloud  of  flowers, 
l>eneath  a  white  veil,  crowned  with  olive, 
wrapped  in  a  green  mantle,  and  "vested 
in  colours  of  the  living  flame." 

The  poet  has  urged  his  way  to  light 
through  the  very  heart  of  the  earth  :  in 
J.he  darkness  of  the  lower  world  forms 
alOkne  could  be  distinguished  :  in  Purga- 
tory i^ight  is  kindled,  but  still  in  con- 
nection' with  earthly  matter,  and  be- 
comes coPour.  In  Paradise  there  remains 
nothing  biVu  the  pure  music  of  the  light ; 
reflection  ceases,  and  the  Poet  rises  gra- 


dually to  behold  the  colourless  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  bis  inventions,  in 
this  part  of  the  poem,  rest.  And  if  he 
in  this  sphere  of  the  unconditioned  still 
suffers  degrees  and  differences  to  exist, 
he  again  removes  them  by  the  glorious 
word  which  he  puts  into  the  mouth  of 
one  of  the  sister-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  Para- 
dise, the  loftiest  speculations  of  theology 
should  be  discussed.  His  deep  reverence 
for  this  science  is  symbolized  by  his  love 
of  Beatrice.  In  proportion  as  the  field 
of  vision  enlarges  itself  into  the  purely 
Universal,  it  is  necessary  that  Poetry 
should  become  Music,  foim  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  absolutely 
mipossible  to  take  things  separately ;  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  neces- 
sarily recognize  the  Paradiso  as  the 
purely  musical  and  lyrical  portion,  even 
in  the  design  of  the  poet,  who  ex- 
presses 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  mingling  of  all 
the  elements  of  poetry  and  art,  reaches 
in  this  way  a  perfect  manifestation. 
This  divine  work  is  not  plastic,  not 
picturesque,  not  musical,  but  all  of  these 
at  once  and  in  accordant  harmony.  It 
is  not  dramatic,  not  epic,  not  lyric,  but  a 

fieculiar,  unique,  and  unexampled  ming- 
ing  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,  stretching  itself  above 
the  earth  and  toward  the  heavens, — the 


THE   DIVINA    COMMEDIA. 


489 


first  fruit  of  transfiguration.  Those  who 
would  become  acquainted  with  the  poetry 
of  modern  times,  not  superficially,  but  at 
its  fountain-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 
together  by  a  loosely  woven  band.  They 
who  have  no  vocation  for  this  can  apply 
to  themselves  the  words  at  the  beginning 
of  the  first  part, — 

"  Lasciate  ogni  speranza  voi  ch'  intrate." 


END  OF  PURGATORia 


PARADISOe 


I  LOT  mine  eyes,  and  all  the  windows  blaze 

With  forms  of  saints  and  holy  men  who  died, 

Here  martyred  and  hereafter  glorified  ; 

And  the  great  Rose  upon  its  leaves  displays 
Christ's  Triumph,  and  the  angelic  roundelays. 

With  splendor  upon  splendor  multiplied  ; 

And  Beatrice  again  at  Dante's  side 

No  more  rebukes,  but  smiles  her  words  of  praise. 
And  then  the  organ  sounds,  and  unseen  choirs 

Sing  the  old  Latin  hymns  of  peace  and  love 

And  benedictions  of  the  Holy  Ghost ; 
And  the  melodious  bells  among  the  spires 

O'er  all  the  house-tops  and  through  heaven  above 

Proclaim  the  elevation  of  the  Host ! 

O  star  of  morning  and  of  liberty  ! 

O  bringer  of  the  light,  whose  splendor  shines 
Above  the  darkness  of  the  Apennines, 
Forerunner  of  the  day  that  is  to  be  ! 

The  voices  of  the  city  and  the  sea, 

The  voices  of  the  mountains  and  the  pines, 
Repeat  thy  song,  till  the  familiar  lines 
Are  footpaths  for  the  thought  of  Italy  ! 

Thy  fame  is  blown  abroad  from  all  the  heights. 
Through  all  the  nations  ;  and  a  sound  is  heard, 
As  of  a  mighty  wind,  and  men  devout. 

Strangers  of  Rome,  and  the  new  proselytes, 

In  their  own  language  hear  thy  wondrous  word, 
And  many  are  amazed  and  many  doubt. 


J 


PARADISO. 


CANTO   I. 

The  glory  of  Him  who  moveth  everything 
Doth  penetrate  the  universe,  and  shine 
In  one  part  more  and  in  another  less. 

Within  that  heaven  which  most  his  Hght  receivs 
Was  I,  and  things  beheld  which  to  repeat 
Nor  knows,  nor  can,  who  from  above  descends ; 

Because  in  drawing  near  to  its  desire 
Our  intellect  ingulphs  itself  so  far, 
That  after  it  the  memory  cannot  go. 

Truly  whatever  of  the  holy  realm 

I  had  the  power  to  treasure  in  my  mind 
Shall  now  become  the  subject  of  my  song. 

O  good  Apollo,  for  this  last  emprise 

Make  of  me  such  a  vessel  of  thy  power 
As  giving  the  beloved  laurel  asks  ! 

One  summit  of  Parnassus  hitherto 

Has  been  enough  for  me,  but  now  with  both 
I  needs  must  enter  the  arena  left 

Enter  into  my  bosom,  thou,  and  breathe 

As  at  the  time  when  Marsyas  thou  didst  draw 
Out  of  the  scabbard  of  those  limbs  of  his. 

O  power  divine,  lend'st  thou  thyself  to  me 
So  that  the  shadow  of  the  blessed  realm 
Stamped  in  my  brain  I  can  make  inanifest, 

Thou'lt  see  me  come  unto  thy  darling  tree, 

And  crown  myself  thereafter  with  those  leaves 

Of  which  the  theme  and  thou  shall  make  me  worthy. 

So  seldom.  Father,  do  we  gather  them 
For  triumph  or  of  Caesar  or  of  Poet, 
(The  fault  and  shame  of  human  inclinations,) 

L  L2 


494  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

That  the  Peneian  foliage  should  bring  forth 

Joy  to  the  joyous  Delphic  deity, 

When  any  one  it  makes  to  thirst  for  it. 
A  little  spark  is  followed  by  great  flame ; 

Perchance  with  better  voices  after  me 

Shall  prayer  be  made  that  Cyrrha  may  respond  ! 
To  mortal  men  by  passages  diverse 

Uprises  the  world's  lamp  ;  but  by  that  one 

Which  circles  four  uniteth  with  three  crosses, 
With  better  course  and  with  a  better  star 

Conjoined  it  issues,  and  the  mundane  wax 

Tempers  and  stamps  more  after  its  own  fashion. 
Almost  that  passage  had  made  morning  there 

And  evening  here,  and  there  was  wholly  white 

That  hemisphere,  and  black  the  other  part, 
When  Beatnce  towards  the  left-hand  side 

I  saw  turned  round,  and  gazing  at  the  sun ; 

Never  did  eagle  fasten  so  upon  it ! 
And  even  as  a  second  ray  is  wont 

To  issue  from  the  first  and  reascend, 

Like  to  a  pilgrim  who  would  fain  return, 
Thus  of  her  action,  through  the  eyes  infused 

In  my  imagination,  mine  I  made. 

And  sunward  fixed  mine  eyes  beyond  our  wont 
There  much  is  lawful  which  is  here  unlawful 

Unto  our  powers,  by  virtue  of  the  place 

Made  for  the  human  species  as  its  own. 
Not  long  I  bore  it,  nor  so  little  while 

But  I  beheld  it  sparkle  round  about 

Like  iron  thai  comes  molten  from  the  fire  ; 
And  suddenly  it  seemed  that  day  to  day 

Was  added,  as  if  He  who  has  the  power 

Had  with  another  sun  the  heaven  adorned. 
With  eyes  upon  the  everlasting  wheels 

Stood  Beatrice  all  intent,  and  I,  on  her 

Fixing  my  vision  from  above  removed, 
Such  at  her  aspect  inwardly  became 

As  Glaucus,  tasting  of  the  herb  that  made  him 

Peer  of  the  other  gods  beneath  the  sea. 
To  represent  transhumanise  in  words 

Impossible  were;  the  example,  then,  suffice 

Him  for  whom  Grace  the  experience  reserves. 
If  I  was  merely  what  of  me  thou  newly 

Createdst,  Love  who  governest  the  heaven, 

Thou  knowest,  who  didst  lift  me  with  thy  light !  Wi 


PARADISO,   I.  495 

When  now  the  wheel,  which  thou  dost  make  eternal 

Desiring  thee,  made  me  attentive  to  it 

By  harmony  thou  dost  modulate  and  measure, 
Then  seemed  to  me  so  much  of  heaven  enkindled 

By  the  sun's  flame,  that  neither  rain  nor  river  80 

E'er  made  a  lake  so  widely  spread  abroad. 
The  newness  of  the  sound  and  the  great  light 

Kindled  in  me  a  longing  for  their  cause. 

Never  before  with  such  acuteness  felt ; 
Whence,  she,  who  saw  me  as  I  saw  myself,  85 

To  quiet  in  me  my  perturbed  mind. 

Opened  her  mouth,  ere  I  did  mine  to  ask, 
And  she  began  :  "  Thou  makest  thyself  so  dull 

With  false  imagining,  that  thou  seest  not 

What  thou  wouldst  see  if  thou  hadst  shaken  it  off.  90 

Thou  art  not  upon  earth,  as  thou  believest ; 

But  lightning,  fleeing  its  appropriate  site. 

Ne'er  ran  as  thou,  who  thitherward  returnest." 
If  of  my  former  doubt  I  was  divested 

By  these  brief  little  words  more  smiled  than  spoken,  95 

I  in  a  new  one  was  the  more  ensnared  ; 
And  said  :  "  Already  did  I  rest  content 

From  great  amazement ;  but  am  now  amazed 

In  what  way  I  transcend  these  bodies  light." 
Whereupon  she,  after  a  pitying  sigh,  100 

Her  eyes  directed  tow'rds  me  with  that  look 

A  mother  casts  on  a  dehrious  child  ; 
And  she  began  :  "  All  things  whate'er  they  be 

Have  order  among  themselves,  and  this  is  form, 

That  makes  the  universe  resemble  God.  w>s 

Here  do  the  higher  creatures  see  the  footprints 

Of  the  Eternal  Power,  which  is  the  end 

Whereto  is  made  the  law  already  mentioned. 
In  the  order  that  I  speak  of  are  inclined 

All  natures,  by  their  destinies  diverse,  no 

More  or  less  near  unto  their  origin  ; 
Hence  they  move  onward  unto  ports  diverse 

O'er  the  great  sea  of  being  ;  and  each  one 

With  instinct  given  it  which  bears  it  on. 
This  bears  away  the  fire  towards  the  moon ;  us 

This  is  in  mortal  hearts  the  motive  power 

This  binds  together  and  unites  the  earth. 
Nor  only  the  created  things  that  are 

Without  intelligence  this  bow  shoots  forth, 

But  those  that  have  both  intellect  and  love.  x* 


k 


496  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

The  Providence  that  regulates  all  this 

Makes  with  its  light  the  heaven  forever  (|uiet, 

Wherein  that  turns  which  has  the  greatest  haste. 
And  thither  now,  as  to  a  site  decreed, 

Bears  us  away  the  virtue  of  that  cord  las 

Which  aims  its  arrows  at  a  joyous  mark. 
True  is  it,  that  as  oftentimes  the  form 

Accords  not  with  the  intention  of  the  art, 

Because  in  answering  is  matter  deaf, 
So  likewise  from  this  course  doth  deviate  130 

Sometimes  the  creature,  who  the  power  possesses, 

Though  thus  impelled,  to  swerve  some  other  way, 
(In  the  same  wise  as  one  may  see  the  fire 

Fall  from  a  cloud,)  if  the  first  impetus 

Earthward  is  wrested  by  some  false  delight.  135 

Thou  shouldst  not  wonder  more,  if  well  I  judge, 

At  thine  ascent,  than  at  a  rivulet 

From  some  high  mount  descending  to  the  lowland. 
Marvel  it  would  be  in  thee,  if  deprived 

Of  hindrance,  thou  wert  seated  down  below,  *4o 

As  if  on  earth  the  living  fire  were  quiet." 
Thereat  she  heavenward  turned  again  her  face. 


CANTO   II. 

O  Ye,  who  in  some  pretty  little  boat. 
Eager  to  listen,  have  been  following 
Behind  my  ship,  that  singing  sails  along, 

Turn  back  to  look  again  upon  your  shores  ; 
Do  not  put  out  to  sea,  lest  peradventure, 
In  losing  me,  you  might  yourselves  be  lost. 

The  sea  I  sail  has  never  yet  been  passed ; 
Minerva  breathes,  and  pilots  me  Apollo, 
And  Muses  nine  point  out  to  me  the  Bears. 

Ye  other  few  who  have  the  neck  uplifted 

Betimes  to  th'  bread  of  Angels  upon  which 
One  liveth  here  and  grows  not  sated  by  it, 

Well  may  you  launch  upon  the  deep  salt-sea 

Your  vessel,  keeping  still  my  wake  before  you 
Upon  the  water  that  grows  smooth  again. 

Those  glorious  ones  who  unto  Colchos  passed 
Were  not  so  wonder-struck  as  you  shall  be, 
When  Jason  they  beheld  a  ploughman  made  ! 


Ji 


PARADISO,   II.  497 


The  con-created  and  perpetual  thirst 

For  the  reahn  deiform  did  bear  us  on, 

As  swift  almost  as  ye  the  heavens  behold. 
Upward  gazed  Beatrice,  and  I  at  her ; 

And  in  such  space  perchance  as  strikes  a  bolt 

And  flies,  and  from  the  notch  unlocks  itself, 
Arrived  I  saw  me  where  a  wondrous  thing 

Drew  to  itself  my  sight ;  and  therefore  she 

From  whom  no  care  of  mine  could  be  concealed, 
Towards  me  turning,  blithe  as  beautiful, 

Said  unto  me  :  "  Fix  gratefully  thy  mind 

On  God,  who  unto  the  first  star  has  brought  us,"  3° 

It  seemed  to  me  a  cloud  encompassed  us. 

Luminous,  dense,  consolidate  and  bright 

As  adamant  on  which  the  sun  is  striking. 
Into  itself  did  the  eternal  pearl 

Receive  us,  even  as  water  doth  receive  3 

A  ray  of  light,  remaining  still  unbroken. 
If  I  was  body,  (and  we  here  conceive  not 

How  one  dimension  tolerates  another, 

Which  needs  must  be  if  body  enter  body,) 
More  the  desire  should  be  enkindled  in  us  40 

That  essence  to  behold,  wherein  is  seen 

How  God  and  our  own  nature  were  united. 
There  will  be  seen  what  we  receive  by  faith. 

Not  demonstrated,  but  self-evident 

In  guise  of  the  first  truth  that  man  believes.  •♦5 

I  made  reply  :  "  Madonna,  as  devoutly 

As  most  I  can  do  I  give  thanks  to  Him 

Who  has  removed  me  from  the  mortal  world. 
But  tell  me  what  the  dusky  spots  may  be 

Upon  this  body,  which  below  on  earth  5° 

Make  people  tell  that  fabulous  tale  of  Cain  ?" 
Somewhat  she  smiled  ;  and  then,  "  If  the  opinion 

Of  mortals  be  erroneous,"  she  said, 

"  Where'er  the  key  of  sense  doth  not  unlock, 
Certes,  the  shafts  of  wonder  should  not  pierce  thee  ss 

Now,  forasmuch  as,  following  the  senses. 

Thou  seest  that  the  reason  has  short  wings. 
But  tell  me  what  thou  think'st  of  it  thyself" 

And  I :  "  What  seems  to  us  up  here  diverse. 

Is  caused,  I  think,  by  bodies  rare  and  dense."  6* 

And  she  :  "  Right  truly  shalt  thou  see  immersed 

In  error  thy  belief,  if  well  thou  hearest 

The  argument  that  I  shall  make  against  it. 


498  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Lights  many  the  eighth  sphere  displays  to  you  ; 

Which  in  their  quality  and  quantity  65  \ 

May  noted  be  of  aspects  different.  i 

If  this  were  caused  by  rare  and  dense  alone,  ■ 

One  only  virtue  would  there  be  in  all  : 

Or  more  or  less  diffused,  or  equally.  j 

Virtues  diverse  must  be  perforce  the  fruits  70  . 

Of  formal  principles  ;  and  these,  save  one. 

Of  course  would  by  thy  reasoning  be  destroyed. 
Besides,  if  rarity  were  of  this  dimness  : 

The  cause- thou  askest,  either  through  and  through  ] 

This  planet  thus  attenuate  were  of  matter,  75   ' 

Or  else,  as  in  a  body  is  apportioned  : 

The  fat  and  lean,  so  in  like  manner  this  ; 

Would  in  its  volume  interchange  the  leaves.  i 

Were  it  the  former,  in  the  sun's  eclipse  \ 

It  would  be  manifest  by  the  shining  through  80  \ 

Of  light,  as  through  aught  tenuous  interfused.  1 

This  is  not  so  ;  hence  we  must  scan  the  other,  j 

And  if  it  chance  the  other  I  demolish,  j 

Then  falsified  will  thy  opinion  be,  \ 

But  if  this  rarity  go  not  through  and  through,  85  ■ 

There  needs  must  be  a  limit,  beyond  which  -{ 

Its  contrary  prevents  the  further  passing,  j 

And  thence  the  foreign  radiance  is  reflected,  1 

Even  as  a  colour  cometh  back  from  glass,  | 

The  which  behind  itself  concealeth  lead,  ^  1 

Now  thou  wilt  say  the  sunbeam  shows  itself 

More  dimly  there  than  in  the  other  parts, 

By  being  there  reflected  farther  back. 
From  this  reply  experiment  will  free  thee 

If  e'er  thou  try  it,  which  is  wont  to  be 

The  fountain  to  the  rivers  of  your  arts. 
Three  mirrors  shalt  thou  take,  and  two  remove 

Alike  from  thee,  the  other  more  remote 

Between  the  former  two  shall  meet  thine  eyes. 
Turned  towards  these,  cause  that  behind  thy  back 

Be  placed  a  light,  illuming  the  three  mirrors 

And  coming  back  to  thee  by  all  reflected. 
Though  in  its  quantity  be  not  so  ample 

The  image  most  remote,  there  shalt  thou  see 

How  it  perforce  is  equally  resplendent. 
Now,  as  beneath  the  touches  of  warm  rays 

Naked  the  subject  of  the  snow  remains 

Both  of  its  former  colour  and  its  cold, 


PARADISO,    II.  499 


Thee  thus  remaining  in  thy  intellect, 

Will  I  inform  with  such  a  living  light,  no 

That  it  shall  tremble  in  its  aspect  to  thee. 
Within  the  heaven  of  the  divine  repose 

Revolves  a  body,  in  whose  virtue  lies 

The  being  of  whatever  it  contains. 
The  following  heaven,  that  has  so  many  eyes,  ns 

Divides  this  being  by  essences  diverse. 

Distinguished  from  it,  and  by  it  contained. 
The  other  spheres,  by  various  differences, 

All  the  distinctions  which  they  have  within  them 

Dispose  unto  their  ends  and  their  effects.  «2o 

Thus  do  these  organs  of  the  world  proceed. 

As  thou  perceivest  now,  from  grade  to  grade  ; 

Since  from  above  they  take,  and  act  beneath. 
Observe  me  well,  how  through  this  place  I  come 

Unto  the  truth  thou  wishest,  that  hereafter  125 

Thou  mayst  alone  know  how  to  keep  the  ford 
The  power  and  motion  of  the  holy  spheres. 

As  from  the  artisan  the  hammer's  craft, 

Forth  from  the  blessed  motors  must  proceed. 
The  heaven,  which  lights  so  manifold  make  fair,  130 

From  the  Intelligence  profound,  which  turns  it. 

The  image  takes,  and  makes  of  it  a  seal. 
And  even  as  the  soul  within  your  dust 

Through  members  different  and  accommodated 

To  faculties  diverse  expands  itself,  135 

So  likewise  this  Intelligence  diffuses 

Its  virtue  multiplied  among  the  stars. 

Itself  revolving  on  its  unity. 
Virtue  diverse  doth  a  diverse  alloyage 

Make  with  the  precious  body  that  it  quickens.  mo 

In  which,  as  life  in  you,  it  is  combined. 
From  the  glad  nature  whence  it  is  derived, 

The  mingled  virtue  through  the  body  shines, 

Even  as  gladness  through  the  living  pupil. 
From  this  proceeds  whate'er  from  light  to  light  J4S 

Appeareth  different,  not  from  dense  and  rare  : 

This  is  the  formal  principle  that  produces, 
According  to  its  goodness,  dark  and  bright." 


500  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


CANTO    III.  ] 

i 
That  Sun,  which  erst  with  love  my  bosom  warmed, 

Of  beauteous  truth  had  unto  me  discovered, 

By  proving  and  reproving,  the  sweet  aspect. 
And,  that  I  might  confess  myself  convinced 

And  confident,  so  far  as  was  befitting,  s 

I  lifted  more  erect  my  head  to  speak. 
But  there  appeared  a  vision,  which  withdrew  me 

So  close  to  it,  in  order  to  be  seen, 

That  my  confession  I  remembered  not. 
Such  as  through  polished  and  transparent  glass, 

Or  waters  crystalline  and  undisturbed, 

But  not  so  deep  as  that  their  bed  be  lost, 
Come  back  again  the  outlines  of  our  faces 

So  feeble,  that  a  pearl  on  forehead  white 

Comes  not  less  speedily  unto  our  eyes ; 
Such  saw  I  many  faces  prompt  to  speak, 

So  that  I  ran  in  error  opposite 

To  that  which  kindled  love  'twixt  man  and  fountain. 
As  soon  as  I  became  aware  of  them. 

Esteeming  them  as  mirrored  semblances, 

To  see  of  whom  they  were,  mine  eyes  I  turned, 
And  nothing  saw,  and  once  more  turned  them  forward 

Direct  into  the  light  of  my  sweet  Guide, 

Who  smiling  kindled  in  her  holy  eyes. 
"  Marvel  thou  not,"  she  said  to  me,  "  because 

I  smile  at  this  thy  puerile  conceit. 

Since  on  the  truth  it  trusts  not  yet  its  foot, 
But  turns  thee,  as  'tis  wont,  on  emptiness. 

True  substances  are  these  which  thou  beholdest, 

Here  relegate  for  breaking  of  some  vow. 
Therefore  speak  with  them,  listen  and  believe  ; 

For  the  true  light,  which  giveth  peace  to  them, 

Permits  them  not  to  turn  from  it  their  feet." 
And  I  unto  the  shade  that  seemed  most  wishful 

To  speak  directed  me,  and  I  began, 

As  one  whom  too  great  eagerness  bewilders  : 
"O  well-created  spirit,  who  in  the  rays  ^  jj. 

Of  life  eternal  dost  the  sweetness  taste  "t*  S] 

Which  being  untasted  ne'er  is  comprehended,  i 


PARADISO,    III.  SOI 


Grateful  'twill  be  to  me,  if  thou  content  me  +0 

Both  with  thy  name  and  with  your  destiny." 

Whereat  she  promptly  and  with  laughing  eyes  : 
"  Our  charity  doth  never  shut  the  doors 

Against  a  just  desire,  except  as  one 

Who  wills  that  all  her  court  be  like  herself.  4s 

I  was  a  virgin  sister  in  the  world ; 

And  if  thy  mind  doth  contemplate  me  well, 

The  being  more  fair  will  not  conceal  me  from  thee, 
But  thou  shalt  recognise  I  am  Piccarda, 

Who,  stationed  here  among  these  other  blessed,  50 

Myself  am  blessed  in  the  slowest  sphere. 
All  our  affections,  that  alone  inflamed 

Are  in  the  pleasure  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 

Rejoice  at  being  of  his  order  formed ; 
And  this  allotment,  which  appears  so  low,  w 

Therefore  is  given  us,  because  our  vows 

Have  been  neglected  and  in  some  part  void." 
Whence  I  to  her  :  "  In  your  miraculous  aspects 

There  shines  I  know  not  what  of  the  divine, 

Which  doth  transform  you  from  our  first  conceptions,        6c 
Therefore  I  was  not  swift  in  my  remembrance ; 

But  what  thou  tellest  me  now  aids  me  so. 

That  the  refiguring  is  easier  to  me. 
But  tell  me,  ye  who  in  this  place  are  happy. 

Are  you  desirous  of  a  higher  place,  65 

To  see  more  or  to  make  yourselves  more  friends  ?  " 
First  with  those  other  shades  she  smiled  a  little ; 

Thereafter  answered  me  so  full  of  gladness, 

She  seemed  to  burn  in  the  first  fire  of  love : 
"Brother,  our  will  is  quieted  by  virtue  70 

Of  charity,  that  makes  us  wish  alone 

For  what  we  have,  nor  gives  us  thirst  for  more. 
If  to  be  more  exalted  we  aspired, 

Discordant  would  our  aspirations  be 

Unto  the  will  of  Him  who  here  secludes  us ;  75 

Which  thou  shalt  see  finds  no  place  in  these  circles. 

If  being  in  charity  is  needful  here. 

And  if  thou  lookest  well  into  its  nature ; 
Nay,  'tis  essential  to  this  blest  existence 

To  keep  itself  within  the  will  divine,  8« 

Whereby  our  very  wishes  are  made  one ; 
So  that,  as  we  are  station  above  station 

Throughout  this  realm,  to  all  the  realm  'tis  pleasing, 

As  to  the  King,  who  makes  his  will  our  will. 


9<  i 


502  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

And  his  will  is  our  peace  ;  this  is  the  sea  85 

To  which  is  moving  onward  whatsoever 

It  doth  create,  and  all  that  nature  makes." 
Then  it  was  clear  to  me  how  everywhere 

In  heaven  is  Paradise,  although  the  grace 

Of  good  supreme  there  rain  not  in  one  measure. 
But  as  it  comes  to  pass,  if  one  food  sates,  j 

And  for  another  still  remains  the  longing, 

We  ask  for  this,  and  that  decline  with  thanks, 
E'en  thus  did  I,  with  gesture  and  with  word. 

To  learn  from  her  what  was  the  web  wherein  ^; 

She  did  not  ply  the  shuttle  to  the  end. 
"  A  perfect  life  and  merit  high  in-heaven 

A  lady  o'er  us,"  said  she,  "  by  whose  rule 

Down  in  your  world  they  vest  and  veil  themselves, 
That  until  death  they  may  both  watch  and  sleep 

Beside  that  Spouse  who  every  vow  accepts 

Which  charity  conformeth  to  his  pleasure. 
To  follow  her,  in  girlhood  from  the  world 

I  fled,  and  in  her  habit  shut  myself, 

And  pledged  me  to  the  pathway  of  her  sect. 
Then  men  accustomed  unto  evil  more 

Than  unto  good,  from  the  sweet  cloister  tore  me  ; 

God  knows  what  afterward  my  life  became. 
This  other  splendour,  which  to  thee  reveals 

Itself  on  my  right  side,  and  is  enkindled 

With  all  the  illumination  of  our  sphere. 
What  of  myself  I  say  applies  to  her  ; 

A  nun  was  she,  and  likewise  from  her  head 

Was  ta'en  the  shadow  of  the  sacred  wimple. 
But  when  she  too  was  to  the  world  returned 

Against  her  wishes  and  against  good  usage, 

Of  the  heart's  veil  she  never  was  divested. 
Of  great  Costanza  this  is  the  effulgence, 

Who  from  the  second  wind  of  Suabia 

Brought  forth  the  third  and  latest  puissance." 
Thus  unto  me  she  spake,  and  then  began 

"  Ave  Maria  "  singing,  and  in  singing 

Vanished,  as  through  deep  water  something  heavy. 
My  sight,  that  followed  her  as  long  a  time 

As  it  was  possible,  when  it  had  lost  her 

Turned  round  unto  the  mark  of  more  desire, 
And  wholly  unto  Beatrice  reverted  ;  * 

But  she  such  lightnings  flashed  into  mine  eyes, 

That  at  the  first  my  sight  endured  it  not ; 
And  this  in  questioning  more  backward  made  me.  db 


i\ 


PARADISO,  IV.  503 


CANTO   IV. 

Between  two  viands,  equally  removed 

And  tempting,  a  free  man  would  die  of  hunger 
Ere  either  he  could  bring  unto  his  teeth. 

So  would  a  lamb  between  the  ravenings 

Of  two  fierce  wolves  stand  fearing  both  alike  ; 
And  so  would  stand  a  dog  between  two  does. 

Hence,  if  I  held  my  peace,  myself  I  blame  not, 
Impelled  in  equal  measure  by  my  doubts, 
Since  it  must  be  so,  nor  do  1  commend. 

I  held  my  peace  ;  but  my  desire  was  painted 
Upon  my  face,  and  questioning  with  that 
More  fervent  far  than  by  articulate  speech. 

Beatrice  did  as  Daniel  had  done 

Relieving  Nebuchadnezzar  from  the  wrath 
Which  rendered  him  unjustly  merciless, 

And  said  :  "  Well  see  I  how  attracteth  thee 
One  and  the  other  wish,  so  that  thy  care 
Binds  itself  so  that  forth  it  does  not  breathe. 

Thou  arguest,  if  good  will  be  permanent. 
The  violence  of  others,  for  what  reason 
Doth  it  decrease  the  measure  of  my  merit  ? 

Again  for  doubting  furnish  thee  occasion 
Souls  seeming  to  return  unto  the  stars, 
According  to  the  sentiment  of  Plato. 

These  are  the  questions  which  upon  thy  wish 
Are  thrusting  equally  ;  and  therefore  first 
Will  I  treat  that  which  hath  the  most  of  galL 

He  of  the  Seraphim  most  absorbed  in  God, 
Moses,  and  Samuel,  and  whichever  John 
Thou  mayst  select,  I  say,  and  even  Mary, 

Have  not  in  any  other  heaven  their  seats, 

Than  have  those  spirits  that  just  appeared  to  thee, 
Nor  of  existence  more  or  fewer  years  ; 

But  all  make  beautiful  the  primal  circle. 

And  have  sweet  life  in  different  degrees. 
By  feeling  more  or  less  the  eternal  breath. 

They  showed  themselves  here,  not  because  allotted 
This  sphere  has  been  to  them,  but  to  give  sign 
Of  the  celestial  which  is  least  exalted. 


504  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


To  speak  thus  is  adapted  to  your  mind,  40 

Since  only  through  the  sense  it  apprehendeth 

What  then  it  worthy  makes  of  intellect.  ' 

On  this  account  the  Scripture  condescends  ; 

Unto  your  faculties,  and  feet  and  hands  i 

'    To  God  attributes,  and  means  something  else  ;  45    ; 

And  Holy  Church  under  an  aspect  human 

Gabriel  and  Michael  represent  to  you,  t 

And  him  who  made  Tobias  whole  again.  I 

That  which  Timaeus  argues  of  the  soul  ^ 

Doth  not  resemble  that  which  here  is  seen,  v>    \ 

Because  it  seems  that  as  he  speaks  he  thinks. 
He  says  the  soul  unto  its  star  returns, 

Believing  it  to  have  been  severed  thence 

Whenever  nature  gave  it  as  a  form  ; 

Perhaps  his  doctrine  is  of  other  guise  ss    \ 

Than  the  words  sound,  and  possibly  may  be  \ 

With  meaning  that  is  not  to  be  derided.  \ 

If  he  doth  mean  that  to  these  wheels  return  \ 

The  honour  of  their  influence  and  the  blame,  \ 

Perhaps  his  bow  doth  hit  upon  some  truth.  60    \ 

This  principle  ill  understood  once  warped  J 

The  whole  world  nearly,  till  it  went  astray 

Invoking  Jove  and  Mercury  and  Mars. 
The  other  doubt  which  doth  disquiet  thee 

Less  venom  has,  for  its  malevolence  cs 

Could  never  lead  thee  otherwhere  from  me. 
That  as  unjust  our  justice  should  appear 

In  eyes  of  mortals,  is  an  argument 

Of  faith,  and  not  of  sin  heretical. 
But  still,  that  your  perception  may  be  able  70 

To  thoroughly  penetrate  this  verity, 

As  thou  desirest,  I  will  satisfy  thee. 
If  it  be  violence  when  he  who  suffers 

Co-operates  not  with  him  who  uses  force. 

These  souls  were  not  on  that  account  excused  ;  rs 

For  will  is  never  quenched  unless  it  will. 

But  operates  as  nature  doth  in  fire. 

If  violence  a  thousand  times  distort  it. 
Hence,  if  it  yieldeth  more  or  less,  it  seconds 

The  force  ;  and  these  have  done  so,  having  power  «• 

Of  turning  back  unto  the  holy  place. 
If  their  will  had  been  perfect,  like  to  that 

Which  Lawrence  fast  upon  his  gridiron  held, 

And  Mutius  made  severe  to  his  own  hand, 


PARADISO.  IV.  5Q<; 


It  would  "have  urged  them  back  along  the  road  8- 

Whence  they  were  dragged,  as  soon  as  they  were  free  ; 

But  such  a  solid  will  is  all  too  rare. 
And  by  these  words,  if  thou  hast  gathered  them 

As  thou  shouldst  do,  the  argument  is  refuted 

That  would  have  still  annoyed  thee  many  times.  * 

But  now  another  passage  runs  across 

Before  thine  eyes,  and  such  that  by  thyself 

Thou  couldst  not  thread  it  ere  thou  wouldst  be  weary. 
I  have  for  certain  put  into  thy  mind 

That  soul  beatified  could  never  lie,  '  95 

For  it  is  ever  near  the  primal  Truth, 
And  then  thou  from  Piccarda  might'st  have  heard 

Costanza  kept  affection  for  the  veil. 

So  that  she  seemeth  here  to  contradict  me. 
Many  times,  brother,  has  it  come  to  pass,  toe 

That,  to  escape  from  peril,  with  reluctance 

That  has  been  done  it  was  not  right  to  do, 
E'en  as  Alcmaeon  (who,  being  by  his  father 

Thereto  entreated,  his  own  mother  slew) 

Not  to  lose  pity  pitiless  became.  los 

At  this  point  I  desire  thee  to  remember 

That  force  with  will  commingles;  and  they  cause 

That  the  offences  cannot  be  excused. 
Will  absolute  consenteth  not  to  evil  ; 

But  in  so  far  consenteth  as  it  fears,  no 

If  it  refrain,  to  fall  into  more  harm. 
Hence  when  Piccarda  uses  this  expression, 

She  meaneth  the  will  absolute,  and  I 

The  other,  so  that  both  of  us  speak  truth." 
Such  was  the  flowing  of  the  holy  river  "s 

That  issued  from  the  fount  whence  springs  all  truth  ; 

This  put  to  rest  my  wishes  one  and  all. 
"  O  love  of  the  first  lover,  O  divine," 

Said  I  forthwith,  "  whose  speech  inundates  me 

And  wanns  me  so,  it  more  and  more  revives  me,  rza 

My  own  affection  is  not  so  profound 

As  to  suffice  in  rendering  grace  for  grace  ; 

Let  Him,  who  sees  and  can,  thereto  respond. 
Well  I  perceive  that  never  sated  is 

Our  intellect  unless  the  Truth  illume  it,  j^s 

Beyond  which  nothing  true  expands  itself. 
It  rests  therein,  as  wild  beast  in  his  lair. 

When  it  attains  it  ;  and  it  can  attain  it ; 

If  not,  then  each  desire  would  frustrate  be. 


5o6  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Therefore  springs  up,  in  fashion  of  a  shoot,  jjo 

Doubt  at  the  foot  of  truth  ;  and  this  is  nature, 
Which  to  the  top  from  height  to  height  impels  us. 

This  doth  invite  me,  this  assurance  give  me 
With  reverence.  Lady,  to  inquire  of  you 
Another  truth,  which  is  obscure  to  me.  i3S 

I  wish  to  know  if  man  can  satisfy  you 

For  broken  vows  with  other  good  deeds,  so 
That  in  your  balance  they  will  not  be  light." 

Beatrice  gazed  upon  me  with  her  eyes 

Full  of  the  sparks  of  love,  and  so  divine,  *♦<» 

That,  overcome  my  power,  I  turned  my  back 

And  almost  lost  myself  with  eyes  downcast. 


CANTO   V. 

"  If  in  the  heat  of  love  I  flame  upon  thee 

Beyond  the  measure  that  on  earth  is  seen, 
So  that  the  valour  of  thine  eyes  I  vanquish. 

Marvel  thou  not  thereat ;  for  this  proceeds 

From  perfect  sight,  which  as  it  apprehends 
To  the  good  apprehended  moves  its  feet. 

Well  I  perceive  how  is  already  shining 
Into  thine  intellect  the  eternal  light, 
That  only  seen  enkindles  always  love ; 

And  if  some  other  thing  your  love  seduce, 
'Tis  nothing  but  a  vestige  of  the  same, 
111  understood,  which  there  is  shining  througe. 

Thou  fain  wouldst  know  if  with  another  service 
For  broken  vow  can  such  return  be  made 
As  to  secure  the  soul  from  further  claim." 

Tliis  Canto  thus  did  Beatrice  begin  ; 

And,  as  a  man  who  breaks  not  off  his  speech, 
Continued  thus  her  holy  argument : 

*'  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. 

Now  M'ilt  thou  .see,  if  thence  thou  reasonest, 
The  high  worth  of  a  vow,  if  it  be  made 
So  that  when  thou  consentest  (iod  consents : 


PARADISO,    V.  507 

For,  closing  between  God  and  man  the  compact, 

A  sacrifice  is  of  this  treasure  made. 

Such  as  I  say,  and  made  by  its  own  act.  30 

What  can  be  rendered  then  as  compensation  ? 

Think'st  thou  to  make  good  use  of  what  thou'st  offered. 

With  gains  ill  gotten  thou  wouldst  do  good  deed. 
Now  art  thou  certain  of  the  greater  point ; 

But  because  Holy  Church  in  this  dispenses,  35 

Which  seems  against  the  truth  which  I  have  shown  thee, 
Behoves  thee  still  to  sit  awhile  at  table. 

Because  the  solid  food  which  thou  hast  taken 

Requireth  further  aid  for  thy  digestion. 
Open  thy  mind  to  that  which  I  reveal,  40 

And  fix  it  there  within  ;  for  'tis  not  knowledge, 

The  having  heard  without  retaining  it. 
In  the  essence  of  this  sacrifice  two  things 

Convene  together  ;  and  the  one  is  that 

Of  which  'tis  made,  the  other  is  the  agreement.  45 

This  last  for  evermore  is  cancelled  not 

Unless  complied  with,  and  concerning  this 

With  such  precision  has  above  been  spoken. 
Therefore  it  was  enjoined  upon  the  Hebrews 

To  offer  still,  though  sometimes  what  was  offered  50 

Might  be  commuted,  as  thou  ought'st  to  know. 
The  other,  which  is  known  to  thee  as  matter, 

May  well  indeed  be  such  that  one  errs  not 

If  it  for  other  matter  be  exchanged. 
But  let  none  shift  the  burden  on  his  shoulder  55 

At  his  arbitrament,  without  the  turning 

Both  of  the  white  and  of  the  yellow  key ; 
And  every  permutation  deem  as  foolish, 

If  in  the  substitute  the  thing  relinquished, 

As  the  four  is  in  six,  be  not  contained.  60 

Therefore  whatever  thing  has  so  great  weight 

In  value  that  it  drags  down  every  balance. 

Cannot  be  satisfied  with  other  spending. 
Let  mortals  never  take  a  vow  in  jest ; 

Be  faithful  and  not  blind  in  doing  that,  65 

As  Jephthah  was  in  his  first  offering. 
Whom  more  beseemed  to  say,  '  I  have  done  wrong, 

Than  to  do  worse  by  keeping  ;  and  as  foolish 

Thou  the  great  leader  of  the  Greeks  wilt  find, 
Whence  wept  Iphigenia  her  fair  face,  7° 

And  made  for  her  both  wise  and  simple  weep, 

Who  heard  such  kind  of  worship  spoken  of.' 


5o8  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Christians,  be  ye  more  serious  in  your  movements ; 

Be  ye  not  like  a  feather  at  each  wind, 

And  think  not  every  water  washes  you.  75 

Ye  have  the  Old  and  the  New  Testament, 

And  the  Pastor  of  the  Church  who  guideth  you 

Let  this  suffice  you  unto  your  salvation. 
If  evil  appetite  cry  aught  else  to  you, 

Be  ye  as  men,  and  not  as  silly  sheep,  80 

So  that  the  Jew  among  you  may  not  mock  you. 
Be  ye  not  as  the  lamb  that  doth  abandon 

Its  mother's  milk,  and  frolicsome  and  simple 

Combats  at  its  own  pleasure  with  itself." 
Thus  Beatrice  to  me  even  as  I  write  it ;  85 

Then  all  desireful  turned  herself  again 

To  that  part  where  the  world  is  most  alive. 
Her  silence  and  her  change  of  countenance 

Silence  imposed  upon  my  eager  mind, 

That  had  already  in  advance  new  questions ;  9° 

And  as  an  arrow  that  upon  the  mark 

Strikes  ere  the  bowstring  quiet  hath  become. 

So  did  we  speed  into  the  second  realm. 
My  Lady  there  so  joyful  I  beheld, 

As  into  the  brightness  of  that  heaven  she  entered,  9s 

More  luminous  thereat  the  planet  grew  ; 
And  if  the  star  itself  was  changed  and  smiled, 

What  became  I,  who  by  my  nature  am 

Exceeding  mutable  in  every  guise  ! 
As,  in  a  fish-pond  which  is  pure  and  tranquil,  too 

The  fishes  draw  to  that  which  from  without 

Comes  in  such  fashion  that  their  food  they  deem  it ; 
So  I  beheld  more  than  a  thousand  splendours 

Drawing  towards  us,  and  in  each  was  heard  :  ■ 

"  Lo,  this  is  she  who  shall  increase  our  love."  »«« j 

And  as  each  one  was  coming  unto  us, 

Full  of  beatitude  the  shade  was  seen. 

By  the  effulgence  clear  that  issued  from  it. 
Think,  Reader,  if  what  here  is  just  beginning 

No  farther  should  proceed,  how  thou  wouldst  have  "o  ] 

An  agonizing  need  of  knowing  more  ;  <% 

And  of  thyself  thou'lt  see  how  I  from  these  |i 

Was  in  desire  of  hearing  their  conditions, 

As  they  unto  mine  eyes  were  manifest. 
"  O  thou  well-born,  unto  whom  (irace  concedes 

To  see  the  thrones  of  the  eternal  triumph, 

Or  ever  yet  the  warfare  be  abandoned 


PARADTSO,    VL  509 

With  light  that  through  the  whole  of  heaven  is  spread 

Kindled  are  we,  and  hence  if  thou  desirest 

To  know  of  us,  at  thine  own  pleasure  sate  thee."  >ao 

Thus  by  some  one  among  those  holy  spirits 

Was  spoken,  and  by  Beatrice  :  "  Speak,  speak 

Securely,  and  believe  them  even  as  Gods." 
"  Well  I  perceive  how  thou  dost  nest  thyself 

In  thine  own  light,  and  drawest  it  from  thine  eyes,  i^s 

Because  they  coruscate  when  thou  dost  smile, 
But  know  not  who  thou  art,  nor  why  thou  hast, 

Spirit  august,  thy  station  in  the  sphere 

That  veils  itself  to  men  in  ahen  rays." 
This  said  I  in  direction  of  the  light  130 

Which  first  had  spoken  to  me ;  whence  it  became 

By  far  more  lucent  than  it  was  before. 
Even  as  the  sun,  that  doth  conceal  himself 

By  too  much  light,  when  heat  has  worn  away 

The  tempering  influence  of  the  vapours  dej^e,  »3s 

By  greater  rapture  thus  concealed  itself 

In  its  own  radiance  the  figure  saintly. 

And  thus  close,  close  enfolded  answered  me 
In  fashion  as  the  following  Canto  sings. 


CANTO   VL 

"  After  that  Constantine  the  eagle  turned 

Against  the  course  of  heaven,  which  it  had  followed 
Behind  the  ancient  who  Lavinia  took, 

Two  hundred  years  and  more  the  bird  of  God 
In  the  extreme  of  Europe  held  itself. 
Near  to  the  mountains  whence  it  issued  first ; 

And  under  shadow  of  the  sacred  plumes 

It  governed  there  the  world  from  hand  to  hand, 
And,  changing  thus,  upon  mine  own  alighted. 

Caesar  I  was,  and  am  Justinian, 

Who,  by  the  will  of  primal  Love  I  feel, 

Took  from  the  laws  the  useless  and  redundant ; 

And  ere  unto  the  work  I  was  attent, 

One  nature  to  exist  in  Christ,  not  more. 
Believed,  and  with  such  faith  was  I  contented. 

But  blessed  Agapetus,  he  who  was 

The  supreme  pastor,  to  the  faith  sincere 
Pointed  me  out  the  way  by  words  of  his. 

M  M  2 


I 


5IO  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Him  I  believed,  and  what  was  his  assertion 
I  now  see  clearly,  even  as  thou  seest 
Each  contradiction  to  be  false  and  true. 

As  soon  as  with  the  Church  I  moved  my  feet, 

God  in  his  grace  it  pleased  with  this  high  task 
To  inspire  me,  and  I  gave  me  wholly  to  it, 
'         And  to  my  Belisarius  I  commended 

The  arms,  to  which  was  heaven's  right  hand  so  joined 
It  was  a  signal  that  I  should  repose. 

Now  here  to  the  first  question  terminates 
My  answer ;  but  the  character  thereof 
Constrains  me  to  continue  with  a  sequel. 

In  order  that  thou  see  with  how  great  reason 
Men  move  against  the  standard  sacrosanct, 
Both  who  appropriate  and  who  oppose  it. 

Behold  how  great  a  power  has  made  it  worthy 
Of  reverence,  beginning  from  the  hour 
When  Bbllas  died  to  give  it  sovereignty. 

Thou  knowest  it  made  in  Alba  its  abode 

Three  hundred  years  and  upward,  till  at  last 
The  three  to  three  fought  for  it  yet  again. 

Thou  knowest  what  it  achieved  from  Sabine  wrong 
Down  to  Lucretia's  sorrow,  in  seven  kings 
O'ercoming  round  about  the  neighboring  nations  ; 

Thou  knowest  what  it  achieved,  borne  by  the  Romans 
Illustrious  against  Brennus,  against  Pyrrhus, 
Against  the  other  princes  and  confederates. 

Torquatus  thence  and  Quinctius,  who  from  locks 
Unkempt  was  named,  Decii  and  Fabii, 
Received  the  fame  I  willingly  embalm  ; 

It  struck  to  earth  the  pride  of  the  Arabians, 

Who,  following  Hannibal,  had  passed  across 
The  Alpine  ridges,  Po,  from  which  thou  glidest ; 

Beneath  it  triumphed  while  they  yet  were  young 
Pompey  and  Scipio,  and  to  the  hill 
Beneath  which  thou  wast  born  it  bitter  seemed  ; 

Then,  near  unto  the  time  when  heaven  had  willed 
To  bring  the  whole  world  to  its  mood  serene, 
Did  Ceesar  by  the  will  of  Rome  assume  it. 

What  it  achieved  from  Var  unto  the  Rhine, 
Isbre  beheld  and  Saone,  beheld  the  Seine, 
And  every  valley  whence  the  Rhone  is  filled  ; 

What  it  achieved  when  it  had  left  Ravenna, 

And  leaped  the  Rubicon,  was  such  a  flight 
That  neither  tongue  nor  pen  could  follow  it. 


PARADISO,    VI.  511 


Round  towards  Spain  it  wheeled  its  legions ;  then 

Towards  Durazzo,  and  Pharsalia  smote  65 

That  to  the  calid  Nile  was  felt  the  pain. 
Antandros  and  the  Simois,  whence  it  started, 

It  saw  again,  and  there  where  Hector  lies, 

And  ill  for  Ptolemy  then  roused  itself. 
From  thence  it  came  like  lightning  upon  Juba ;  7" 

Then  wheeled  itself  again  into  your  West, 

Where  the  Pompeian  clarion  it  heard. 
From  what  it  wrought  with  the  next  standard-bearer 

Brutus  and  Cassius  howl  in  Hell  together, 

And  Modena  and  Perugia  dolent  were  ;  "75 

Still  doth  the  mournful  Cleopatra  weep 

Because  thereof,  who,  fleeing  from  before  it. 

Took  from  the  adder  sudden  and  black  death. 
With  him  it  ran  even  to  the  Red  Sea  shore ; 

With  him  it  placed  the  world  in  so  great  peace,  so 

That  unto  Janus  was  his  temple  closed. 
But  what  the  standard  that  has  made  me  speak 

Achieved  before,  and  after  should  achieve 

Throughout  the  mortal  realm  that  lies  beneath  it,  • 

Becometh  in  appearance  mean  and  dim,  ss 

If  in  the  hand  of  the  third  Caesar  seen 

With  eye  unclouded  and  affection  pure. 
Because  the  living  Justice  that  inspires  me 

Granted  it,  in  the  hand  of  him  I  speak  of. 

The  glory  of  doing  vengeance  for  its  wrath,  so 

Now  here  attend  to  what  I  answer  thee  ; 

Later  it  ran  with  Titus  to  do  vengeance 

Upon  the  vengeance  of  the  ancient  sin. 
And  when  the  tooth  of  Lombardy  had  bitten 

The  Holy  Church,  then  underneath  its  wings  -95 

Did  Charlemagne  victorious  succor  her. 
Now  hast  thou  power  to  judge  of  such  as  those 

Whom  I  accused  above,  and  of  their  crimes, 

Which  are  the  cause  of  all  your  miseries. 
To  the  public  standard  one  the  yellow  lilies  100 

Opposes,  the  other  claims  it  for  a  party. 

So  that  'tis  hard  to  see  which  sins  the  most. 
Let,  let  the  Ghibellines  ply  their  handicraft 

Beneath  some  other  standard  ;  for  this  ever 

111  follows  he  who  it  and  justice  parts.  xos 

And  let  not  this  new  Charles  e'er  strike  it  down, 

He  and  his  Guelfs,  but  let  him  fear  the  talons 

That  from  a  nobler  lion  stripped  the  fell. 


5 1 2  THE  DIVINE  COMED  Y. 

. i 

Already  oitentimes  the  sons  have  wept 

The  father's  crime  ;  and  \et  him  not  beheve  "o 

That  God  will  change  His  scutcheon  for  the  lilies.  1 

This  little  planet  doth  adorn  itself  | 

With  the  good  spirits  that  have  active  been, 

That  fame  and  honour  might  come  after  them ;  ; 

And  whensoever  the  desires  mount  thither,  "s      i 

Thus  deviating,  must  perforce  the  rays  ] 

Of  the  true  love  less  vividly  mount  upward.  ' 

But  in  commensuration  of  our  wages  ' 

With  our  desert  is  portion  of  our  joy,  ; 

Because  we  see  them  neither  less  nor  greater.  i»o     ' 

Herein  doth  living  Justice  sweeten  so  ; 

Affection  in  us,  that  for  evermore  \ 

It  cannot  warp  to  any  iniquity.  j 

Voices  diverse  make  up  sweet  melodies  ;  ; 

So  in  this  life  of  ours  the  seats  diverse  "s    i 

Render  sweet  harmony  among  these  spheres  ;  ; 

And  in  the  compass  of  this  present  pearl  : 

Shineth  the  sheen  of  Romeo,  of  whom  , 

^  The  grand  and  beauteous  work  was  ill  rewarded.  1 

But  the  Provengals  who  against  him  wrought,  i.^o   i 

They  have  not  laughed,  and  therefore  ill  goes  he  \ 

Who  makes  his  hurt  of  the  good  deeds  of  others.  I 

Four  daughters,  and  each  one  of  them  a  queen,  j 

Had  Raymond  Berenger,  and  this  for  him 

Did  Romeo,  a  poor  man  and  a  pilgrim  ; 
And  then  malicious  words  incited  him 

To  summon  to  a  reckoning  this  just  man. 

Who  rendered  to  him  seven  and  five  for  ten. 
Then  he  departed  poor  and  stricken  in  years. 

And  if  the  world  could  know  the  heart  he  had,  m"  ! 

In  begging  bit  by  bit  his  livelihood,  | 

Though  much  it  laud  him,  it  would  laud  him  more." 


CANTO  VII. 

"  OsANNA  sancius  Deus  Sahaoih, 
Superillustrans  daritate  tua 
Felices  igtics  horum  malahoth  /  ' 

In  this  wise,  to  his  melody  returning, 

This  substance,  upon  which  a  double  light 
Doubles  itself,  was  seen  by  me  to  sing, 


PARADISO,    Vn.  513 


And  to  their  dance  this  and  the  others  moved, 

And  in  the  manner  of  swift-hurrying  sparks 

Veiled  themselves  from  me  with  a  sudden  distance. 
Doubting  was  I,  and  saying,  "  Tell  her,  tell  her,"  10 

Within  me,  "  tell  her,"  saying,  "  tell  my  Lady," 

Who  slakes  my  thirst  with  her  sweet  effluences ; 
And  yet  that  reverence  which  doth  lord  it  over 

The  whole  of  me  only  by  B  and  ICE, 

Bowed  me  again  like  unto  one  who  drowses.  is 

Short  while  did  Beatrice  endure  me  thus ; 

And  she  began,  lighting  me  with  a  smile 

Such  as  would  make  one  happy  in  the  fire  : 
"  According  to  infallible  advisement. 

After  what  manner  a  just  vengeance  justly  90 

Could  be  avenged  has  put  thee  upon  thinking, 
But  I  will  speedily  thy  mind  unloose  ; 

And  do  thou  listen,  for  these  words  of  mine 

Of  a  great  doctrine  will  a  present  make  thee. 
By  not  enduring  on  the  power  that  wills  as 

Curb  for  his  good,  that  man  who  ne'er  was  bom, 

Damning  himself  damned  all  his  progeny  ; 
Whereby  the  human  species  down  below 

Lay  sick  for  many  centuries  in  great  error, 

Till  to  descend  it  pleased  the  Word  of  God  *> 

To  where  the  nature,  which  from  its  own  Maker 

Estranged  itself,  he  joined  to  him  in  person 

By  the  sole  act  of  his  eternal  love. 
Now  unto  what  is  said  direct  thy  sight ; 

This  nature  when  united  to  its  Maker,  3S 

Such  as  created,  was  sincere  and  good ; 
But  by  itself  alone  was  banished  forth 

From  Paradise,  because  it  turned  aside 

Out  of  the  way  of  truth  and  of  its  life. 
Therefore  the  penalty  the  cross  held  out,  40 

If  measured  by  the  nature  thus  assumed, 

None  ever  yet  with  so  great  justice  stung, 
And  none  was  ever  of  so  great  injustice, 

Considering  who  the  Person  was  that  suffered. 

Within  whom  such  a  nature  was  contracted.  4S 

From  one  act  therefore  issued  things  diverse ; 

To  God  and  to  the  Jews  one  death  was  pleasing  ; 

Earth  trembled  at  it  and  the  Heaven  was  opened. 
It  should  no  longer  now  seem  difficult 

To  thee,  when  it  is  said  that  a  just  vengeance  50 

By  a  just  court  was  afterward  avenged. 


514  THE    DIVINE    COMEDY. 

But  now  do  I  behold  thy  mind  entangled 

From  thought  to  thought  within  a  knot,  from  which 

With  great  desire  it  waits  to  free  itself.  i 

Thou  sayest,  '  Well  discern  I  what  I  hear ;  ss    , 

But  it  is  hidden  from  me  why  God  willed  ; 

For  our  redemption  only  this  one  mode.'  ; 

Buried  reniaineth,  brother,  this  decree  ! 

Unto  the  eyes  of  every  one  whose  nature 

Is  in  the  flame  of  love  not  yet  adult.  60    , 

Verily,  inasmuch  as  at  this  mark  i 

One  gazes  long  and  little  is  discerned, 

Wherefore  this  mode  was  worthiest  will  I  say. 
Goodness  Divine,  which  from  itself  doth  spurn 

All  envy,  burning  in  itself  so  sparkles  «S    \ 

That  the  eternal  beauties  it  unfolds.  ' 

Whate'er  from  this  immediately  distils 

Has  afterwards  no  end,  for  ne'er  removed 

Is  its  impression  when  it  sets  its  seal.  \ 

Whate'er  from  this  immediately  rains  down  ro   -i 

Is  wholly  free,  because  it  is  not  subject  ; 

Unto  the  influences  of  novel  things.  ; 

The  more  conformed  thereto,  the  more  it  pleases;  | 

For  the  blest  ardour  that  irradiates  all  things  \ 

In  that  most  like  itself  is  most  vivacious.  n  , 

With  all  of  these  things  has  advantaged  been  \ 

The  human  creature  ;  and  if  one  be  wanting. 

From  his  nobility  he  needs  must  fall. 
Tis  sin  alone  which  doth  disfranchise  him. 

And  render  him  unlike  the  Good  Supreme, 

So  that  he  little  with  its  light  is  blanched, 
And  to  his  dignity  no  more  returns. 

Unless  he  fill  up  where  transgression  empties 

With  righteous  pains  for  criminal  delights. 
-    Your  nature  when  it  sinned  so  utterly 

In  its  own  .seed  out  of  these  dignities 

Kven  as  out  of  Paradise  was  driven, 
■Nor  could  itself  recover,  if  thou  notest 

With  nicest  subtilty,  by  any  way, 

Except  by  passing  one  of  these  two  fords : 
"Either  that  God  through  clemency  alone 

Had  pardon  granted,  or  that  man  himself 

Had  satisfaction  for  his  folly  made. 
Fix  now  thine  eye  deep  into  the  abyss 

Of  the  eternal  counsel,  to  my  speech 

As  far  as  may  be  fastened  steadfastly  ! 


PAR  AD  I  so,    VJI.  51S 


Man  in  his  limitations  had  not  power 

To  satisfy,  not  having  power  to  sink 

In  his  humility  obeying  then, 
Far  as  he  disobeying  thought  to  rise  ;  100 

And  for  this  reason  man  has  been  from  power 

Of  satisfying  by  himself  excluded. 
Therefore  it  God  behoved  in  his  own  ways 

Man  to  restore  unto  his  perfect  life, 

I  say  in  one,  or  else  in  both  of  them.  i^ 

But  since  the  action  of  the  doer  is 

So  much  more  grateful,  as  it  more  presents 

The  goodness  of  the  heart  from  which  it  issues, 
Goodness  Divine,  that  doth  imprint  the  world, 

Has  been  contented  to  proceed  by  each  a» 

And  all  its  ways  to  lift  you  up  again  ; 
Nor  'twixt  the  first  day  and  the  final  night 

Such  high  and  such  magnificent  proceeding 

By  one  or  by  the  other  was  or  shall  be ; 
For  God  more  bounteous  was  himself  to  give  305 

To  make  man  able  to  uplift  himself, 

Than  if  he  only  of  himself  had  pardoned  ; 
And  all  the  other  modes  were  insufficient 

For  justice,  were  it  not  the  Son  of  God 

Himself  had  humbled  to  become  incarnate.  «» 

Now,  to  fill  fully  each  desire  of  thine, 

Return  I  to  elucidate  one  place. 

In  order  that  thou  there  mayst  see  as  I  do. 
Thou  sayst :  '  I  see  the  air,  I  see  the  fire, 

The  water,  and  the  earth,  and  all  their  mixtures  ws 

Come  to  corruption,  and  short  while  endure  ; 
And  these  things  notwithstanding  were  created  ; ' 

Therefore  if  that  which  I  have  said  were  true. 

They  should  have  been  secure  against  corruption. 
The  Angels,  brother,  and  the  land  sincere  >3» 

In  which  thou  art,  created  may  be  called 

Just  as  they  are  in  their  entire  existence ; 
But  all  the  elements  which  thou  hast  named, 

And  all  those  things  which  out  of  them  are  made, 

By  a  created  virtue  are  informed.  13s 

Created  was  the  matter  which  they  have ; 

Created  was  the  informing  influence 

Within  these  stars  that  round  about  them  go. 
The  soul  of  every  brute  and  of  the  plants 

By  its  potential  temperament  attracts  '     140 

The  ray  and  motion  of  the  holy  lights ; 


5l6  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

But  your  own  life  immediately  inspires 

Supreme  Beneficence,  and  enamours  it 
So  with  herself,  it  evermore  desires  her. 

And  thou  from  this  mayst  argue  furthermore 
Your  resurrection,  if  thou  think  again 
How  human  flesh  was  fashioned  at  that  time 

When  the  first  parents  both  of  them  were  made." 


CANTO   VIII. 

The  world  used  in  its  peril  to  believe  1 

That  the  fair  Cypria  delirious  love  ; 

Rayed  out,  in  the  third  epicycle  turning ;  j 

Wherefore  not  only  unto  her  paid  honour  I 

Of  sacrifices  and  of  votive  cry  s 

The  ancient  nations  in  the  ancient  error,  ; 

But  both  Dione  honoured  they  and  Cupid,  \ 

That  as  her  mother,  this  one  as  her  son,  ) 

And  said  that  he  had  sat  in  Dido's  lap ;  i 

And  they  from  her,  whence  I  beginning  take,  lo  ■ 

Took  the  denomination  of  the  star  ; 

That  wooes  the  sun,  now  following,  now  in  front.  i 

I  was  not  ware  of  our  ascending  to  it ;  \ 

But  of  our  being  in  it  gave  full  faith 

My  Lady  whom  I  saw  more  beauteous  grow. 
And  as  within  a  flame  a  spark  is  seen. 

And  as  within  a  voice  a  voice  discerned. 

When  one  is  steadfast,  and  one  comes  and  goes, 
Within  that  light  beheld  I  other  lamps 

Move  in  a  circle,  speeding  more  and  less, 

Methinks  in  measure  of  their  inward  vision. 
From  a  cold  cloud  descended  never  winds, 

Or  visible  or  not,  so  rapidly 

They  would  not  laggard  and  impeded  seem 
To  any  one  who  had  those  lights  divine 

Seen  come  towards  us,  leaving  the  gyration 

Begun  at  first  in  the  high  Seraphim. 
And  behind  those  that  most  in  front  appeared  ft 

Sounded  "  Osanna  !  "  so  that  never  since  ^\ 

To  hear  again  was  I  without  desire. 
Then  unto  us  more  nearly  one  approached, 

And  it  alone  began :  "  We  all  are  ready 

Unto  thy  pleasure,  that  thou  joy  in  us. 


PAKADISO,    VIJI.  517 


We  turn  around  with  the  celestial  Princes, 

One  gyre  and  one  gyration  and  one  thirst,  35 

To  whom  thou  in  the  world  of  old  didst  say, 
'  Ye  who,  intelligent,  the  third  heaven  are  moving; ' 

And  are  so  full  of  love,  to  pleasure  thee 

A  litde  quiet  will  not  be  less  sweet." 
After  these  eyes  of  mine  themselves  had  offered  a' 

Unto  my  Lady  reverently,  and  she 

Content.and  certain  of  herself  had  made  them, 
Back  to  the  light  they  turned,  which  so  great  promise 

Made  of  itself,  and  "  Say,  who  art  thou  ?  "  was 

My  voice,  imprinted  with  a  great  affection.  45 

O  how  and  how  much  1  beheld  it  grow 

With  the  new  joy  that  superadded  was 

Unto  its  joys,  as  soon  as  I  had  spoken  ! 
Thus  changed,  it  said  to  me  :  "  The  world  possessed  me 

Short  time  below ;  and,  if  it  had  been  more,  5° 

Much  evil  will  be  which  would  not  have  been. 
My  gladness  keepeth  me  concealed  from  thee. 

Which  rayeth  round  about  me,  and  doth  hide  me 

Like  as  a  creature  swathed  in  its  own  silk. 
Much  didst  thou  love  me,  and  thou  hadst  good  reason  ;  ss 

For  had  I  been  below,  I  should  have  shown  thee 

Somewhat  beyond  the  foliage  of  my  love. 
That  left-hand  margin,  which  doth  bathe  itself 

In  Rhone,  when  it  is  mingled  with  the  Sorgue, 

Me  for  its  lord  awaited  in  due  time,  *^ 

And  that  horn  of  Ausonia,  which  is  tovvned 

With  Bari,  with  Gaeta  and  Catena, 

Whence  Tronto  and  Verde  in  the  sea  disgorge. 
Already  flashed  upon  my  brow  the  crown 

Of  that  dominion  which  the  Danube  waters  6; 

After  the  German  borders  it  abandons ; 
And  beautiful  Trinacria,  that  is  murky 

'Twixt  Pachino  and  Peloro,  (on  the  gulf 

Which  greatest,  scath  from  Eurus  doth  receive,) 
Not  through  Typhoeus,  but  through  nascent  sulphur,  70 

Would  have  awaited  her  own  monarchs  still, 

Through  me  from  Charles  descended  and  from  Rudolph, 
If  evil  lordship,  that  exasperates  ever 

The  subject  populations,  had  not  moved 

Palermo  to  the  outcry  of  '  Death  !  death  !'  -5 

And  if  my  brother  could  but  this  foresee, 

The  greedy  poverty  of  Catalonia 

Straight  would  he  flee,  that  it  might  not  molest  him  ; 


5i8  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY.  \ 

For  verily  'tis  needful  to  provide,  \ 

Through  him  or  other,  so  that  on  his  bark  80    ■ 

Already  freighted  no  more  freight  be  placed.  ' 

His  nature,  which  from  liberal  covetous  i 

Descended,  such  a  soldiery  would  need  \ 

As  should  not  care  for  hoarding  in  a  chest."  •   ^ 

\        "  Because  I  do  believe  the  lofty  joy  Sj    \ 

Thy  speech  infuses  into  me,  my  Lord,  \ 

Where  every  good  thing  doth  begin  and  end  \ 

Thou  seest  as  I  see  it,  the  more  grateful  . 

Is  it  to  me ;  and  this  too  hold  I  dear. 

That  gazing  upon  God  thou  dost  discern  it.  «•  \ 

Glad  hast  thou  made  me ;  so  make  clear  to  me,  j 

Since  speaking  thou  hast  stirred  me  up  to  doubt,  j 

How  from  sweet  seed  can  bitter  issue  forth."  j 

This  I  to  him  ;  and  he  to  me :  '*  If  I 

Can  show  to  thee  a  truth,  to  what  thou  askest  95   ! 

Thy  face  thou'lt  hold  as  thou  dost  hold  thy  back.  \ 

The  Good  which  all  the  realm  thou  art  ascending  \ 

Turns  and  contents,  maketh  its  providence  \ 

To  be  a  power  within  these  bodies  vast ; 
And  not  alone  the  natures  are  foreseen  "w  \ 

Within  the  mind  that  in  itself  is  perfect,  \ 

But  they  together  with  their  preservation.  j 

For  whatsoever  thing  this  bow  shoots  forth 

Falls  foreordained  unto  an  end  foreseen, 

Even  as  a  shaft  directed  to  its  mark.  »«»s 

If  that  were  not,  the  heaven  which  thou  dost  walk 

Would  in  such  manner  its  effects  produce. 

That  they  no  longer  would  be  arts,  but  ruins. 
This  cannot  be,  if  the  Intelligences 
-  That  keep  these  stars  in  motion  are  not  maimed, 

And  maimed  the  First  that  has  not  made  them  perfect. 
Wilt  thou  this  truth  have  clearer  made  to  thee  ?  " 

And  I  :  "  Not  so  ;  for  'tis  impossible 

That  nature  tire,  I  see,  in  what  is  needful."  . 
Whence  he  again  :  "  Now  say,  would  it  be  worse 

For  men  on  earth  were  they  not  citizens  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  ;  "  and  here  I  ask  no  reason." 
*'  And  can  they  be  so,  if  below  they  live  not 

Diversely  unto  offices  diverse  ? 

No,  if  your  master  writcth  well  for  you.' 
So  came  he  with  deductions  to  this  point ; 

Then  he  concluded  :  "  Therefore  it  behoves 

The  roots  of  your  effects  to  be  diverse. 


PARADISO,  IX.  qig 


Hence  one  is  Solon  born,  another  Xerxes, 
Another  Melchisedec,  and  another  he 
Who,  flying  through  the  air,  his  son  did  lose. 

Revolving  Nature,  which  a  signet  is 

To  mortal  wax,  doth  practise  well  her  art. 
But  not  one  inn  distinguish  from  another ; 

Thence  happens  it  that  Esau  differeth 

In  seed  from  Jacob ;  and  Quirinus  comes 
From  sire  so  vile  that  he  is  given  to  Mars. 

A  generated  nature  its  own  way 

Would  always  make  like  its  progenitors. 
If  Providence  divine  were  not  triumphant. 

Now  that  which  was  behind  thee  is  before  thee  •, 

But  that  thou  know  that  I  with  thee  am  pleased, 
With  a  corollary  will  I  mantle  thee. 

Evermore  nature,  if  it  fortune  find 

Discordant  to  it,  like  each  other  seed 
Out  of  its  region,  maketh  evil  thrift ; 

And  if  the  world  below  would  fix  its  mind 

On  the  foundation  which  is  laid  by  nature. 
Pursuing  that,  'twould  have  the  people  good. 

But  you  unto  religion  wrench  aside 

Him  who  was  born  to  gird  him  with  the  sword. 
And  make  a  king  of  him  who  is  for  sermons ; 

Therefore  your  footsteps  wander  from  the  road." 


CANTO   IX. 

Beautiful  Clemence,  after  that  thy  Charles 
Had  me  enlightened,  he  narrated  to  me 
The  treacheries  his  seed  should  undergo ; 

But  said  :  "  Be  still  and  let  the  years  roll  round  ; " 
So  I  can  only  say,  that  lamentation 
Legitimate  shall  follow  on  your  wrongs. 

And  of  that  holy  light  the  life  already 

Had  to  the  Sun  which  fills  it  turned  again, 
As  to  that  good  which  for  each  thing  sufficeth. 

Ah,  souls  deceived,  and  creatures  impious. 

Who  from  such  good  do  turn  away  your  hearts' 
Directing  upon  vanity  your  foreheads  ! 

And  now,  behold,  another  of  those  splendours 
Approached  me,  and  its  will  to  pleasure  me 
It  signified  by  brightening  outwardly. 


^2o  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

The  eyes  of  Beatrice,  that  fastened  were 
Upon  me,  as  before^  of  dear  assent 
To  my  desire  assurance  gave  to  me, 
"  All,  bring  swift  compensation  to  my  wish, 

Thou  blessed  spirit,"  I  said,  "  and  give  me  proof 
That  what  I  think  in  thee  I  can  reflect !" 
Whereat  the  light,  that  still  was  new  to  me, 

Out  of  its  depths,  whence  it  before  was  singing, 
As  one  delighted  to  do  good,  continued  : 
"  Within  that  region  of  the  land  depraved 
Of  Italy,  that  lies  between  Rialto 
And  fountain-heads  of  Brenta  and  of  Piava, 
Rises  a  hill,  and  mounts  not  very  high, 

Wherefrom  descended  formerly  a  torch 
That  made  upon  that  region  great  assault. 
Out  of  one  root  were  born  both  I  and  it ; 
Cunizza  was  I  called,  and  here  I  shine 
Because  the  splendour  of  this  star  o'ercame  me. 
But  gladly  to  myself  the  cause  T  pardon 

Of  my  allotment,  and  it  does  not  grieve  me  ; 
Which  would  perhaps  seem  strong  unto  your  vulgar. 
Of  this  so  luculent  and  precious  jewel. 

Which  of  our  heaven  is  nearest  unto  me. 
Great  fame  remained  ;  and  ere  it  die  away 
This  hundredth  year  shall  yet  quintupled  be. 
See  if  man  ought  to  make  him  excellent. 
So  that  another  life  the  first  may  leave  ! 
And  thus  thinks  not  the  present  multitude 
Shut  in  by  Adige  and  Tagliamento, 
Nor  yet  for  being  scourged  is  penitent.  4S| 

But  soon  'twill  be  that  Padua  in  the  marsh 

Will  change  the  water  that  Vicenza  bathes, 
Because  the  folk  are  stubborn  against  duty  ; 
And  where  the  Sile  and  Cagnano  join 

One  lordeth  it,  and  goes  with  lofty  head,  s« 

For  catching  whom  e'en  now  the  net  is  making. 
Feltro  moreover  of  her  impious  pastor 

Shall  weep  the  crime,  which  shall  so  monstrous  be 
That  for  the  like  none  ever  entered  Malta, 
.^mple  exceedingly  would  be  the  vat  5S 

Thctt  of  the  Ferrarese  could  hold  the  blood, 
.\nd  weary  who  should  weigh  it  ounce  by  ounce, 
Of  which  this  courteous  priest  shall  make  a  gift 
To  show  himself  a  partisan  ;  and  such  gifts 
Will  to  the  living  of  the  land  conform. 


PARADISO,  IX.  521 


Above  us  there  are  mirrors,  Thrones  you  call  them, 

From  which  shines  out  on  us  God  Judicant, 

So  that  this  utterance  seems  good  to  us," 
Here  it  was  silent,  and  it  had  the  semblance 

Of  being  turned  elsewhither,  by  the  wheel  65 

On  which  it  entered  as  it  was  before. 
The  other  joy.  already  known  to  me, 

Became  a  thing  transplendent  in  my  sight, 

As  a  fine  ruby  smitten  by  the  sun. 
Through  joy  effulgence  is  acquired  above,  70 

As  here  a  smile ;  but  down  below,  the  shade 

Outwardly  darkens,  as  the  mind  is  sad. 
'*  God  seeth  all  things,  and  in  Him,  blest  spirit, 

Thy  sight  is,"  said  I,  "  so  that  never  will 

Of  his  can  possibly  from  thee  be  hidden  ;  75 

Thy  voice,  then,  that  for  ever  makes  the  heavens 

Glad,  with  the  singing  of  those  holy  fires 

Which  of  their  six  wings  make  themselves  a  cowl, 
Wherefore  does  it  not  satisfy  my  longings  ? 

Indeed,  I  would  not  wait  thy  questioning  80 

If  I  in  thee  were  as  thou  art  in  me." 
"  The  greatest  of  the  valleys  where  the  water 

Expands  itself,"  forthwith  its  words  began, 

"  That  sea  excepted  which  the  earth  engarlands, 
Between  discordant  shores  against  the  sun  8s 

Extends  so  far,  that  it  meridian  makes 

Where  it  was  wont  before  to  make  the  horizon. 
I  was  a  dweller  on  that  valley's  shore 

'Twixt  Ebro  and  Magra  that  with  journey  short 

Doth  from  the  Tuscan  part  the  Genoese.  90 

With  the  same  sunset  and  same  sunrise  nearly 

Sit  Buggia  and  the  city  whence  I  was, 

That  with  its  blood  once  made  the  harbour  hot 
Folco  that  people  called  me  unto  whom 

My  name  was  known  ;  and  now  with  me  this  heaven         95 

Imprints  itself,  as  I  did  once  with  it ; 
For  more  the  daughter  of  Belus  never  burned, 

Offending  both  Sichasus  and  Creusa, 

Than  I,  so  long  as  it  became  my  locks, 
Nor  yet  that  Rodophean,  who  deluded  100 

Was  by  Demophoon,  nor  yet  Alcides, 

When  lole  he  in  his  heart  had  locked. 
Yet  here  is  no  repenting,  but  we  smile, 

Not  at  the  fault,  which  comes  not  bark  to  mind, 

But  at  the  power  which  ordered  and  foret^aw.  wj 


522  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Here  we  behold  the  art  that  doth  adorn  ; 

With  such  affection,  and  the  good  discover 

Whereby  the  world  above  turns  that  below. 
But  that  thou  wholly  satisfied  mayst  bear  ; 

Thy  wishes  hence  which  in  this  sphere  are  born,  no  , 

Still  farther  to  proceed  behoveth  me. 
Thou  fain  wouldst  know  who  is  within  this  light  ^ 

That  here  beside  me  thus  is  scintillating,  ■ 

Even  as  a  sunbeam  in  the  limpid  water.  \ 

Then  know  thou,  that  within  there  is  at  rest  us  \ 

Rahab,  and  being  to  our  order  joined,  1 

With  her  in  its  supremest  grade  'tis  sealed.  I 

Into  this  heaven,  where  ends  the  shadowy  cone  \ 

Cast  by  your  world,  before  all  other  souls 

First  of  Christ's  triumph  was  she  taken  up.  3-0  | 

Full  meet  it  was  to  leave  her  in  some  heaven,  ' 

Even  as  a  palm  of  the  high  victory  j 

Which  he  acquired  v/ith  one  palm  and  the  other,  ; 

Because  she  favoured  the  first  glorious  deed  ' 

Of  Joshua  upon  the  Holy  Land,  i?j  j 

That  little  stirs  the  memory  of  the  Pope.  ! 

Thy  city,  which  an  offshoot  is  of  him  { 

Who  first  upon  his  Maker  turned  his  back,  \ 

And  whose  ambition  is  so  sorely  wept, 
Brings  forth  and  scatters  the  accursed  flower 

Which  both  the  sheep  and  lambs  hath  led  astray, 

Since  it  has  turned  the  shepherd  to  a  wolf. 
For  this  the  Evangel  and  the  mighty  Doctors 

Are  derelict,  and  only  the  Decretals 

So  studied  that  it  shows  upon  their  margins. 
On  this  are  Pope  and  Cardinals  intent ; 

Their  meditations  reach  not  Nazareth, 

There  where  his  pinions  Gabriel  unfolded  ; 
But  Vatican  and  the  other  parts  elect 

Of  Rome,  which  have  a  cemetery  been 

Unto  the  soldiery  that  followed  I'eier, 
Shall  soon  be  free  from  this  adultery." 


CANTO   X. 

Looking  into  his  Son  with  all  the  Love 

Which  each  of  them  eternally  breathes  forth, 
The  Primal  and  unutterable  Power 


PARADTSO,    X.  5^3 


Whate'er  before  the  mind  or  eye  revolves 

With  so  much  order  made,  there  can  be  none  5 

Who  this  beholds  without  enjoying  Him. 
Lift  up  then,  Reader,  to  the  lofty  wheels 

With  me  thy  vision  straight  unto  that  part 

Where  the  one  motion  on  the  other  strikes, 
And  there  begin  to  contemplate  with  joy  10 

That  Master's  art,  who  in  himself  so  loves  it 

That  never  doth  his  eye  depart  therefrom. 
Behold  how  from  that  point  goes  branching  off 

The  oblique  circle,  which  conveys  the  planets, 

To  satisfy  the  world  that  calls  upon  them  ;  15 

And  if  their  pathway  were  not  thus  inflected, 

Much  virtue  in  the  heavens  would  be  in  vain, 

And  almost  every  power  below  here  dead. 
If  from  the  straight  line  distant  more  or  less 

Were  the  departure,  much  would  wanting  be  «> 

Above  and  underneath  of  mundane  order. 
Remain  now,  Reader,  still  upon  thy  bench, 

In  thought  pursuing  that  which  is  foretasted, 

If  thou  wouldst  jocund  be  instead  of  weary. 
I've  set  before  thee  ;  henceforth  feed  thyself,  as 

For  to  itself  diverteth  all  my  care 

That  theme  whereof  I  have  been  made  the  scribe, 
The  greatest  of  the  ministers  of  nature. 

Who  with  the  power  of  heaven  the  world  imprints 

And  measures  with  his  light  the  time  for  us,  30 

With  that  part  which  above  is  called  to  mind 

Conjoined,  along  the  spirals  was  revolving, 

Where  each  time  earlier  he  presents  himself; 
And  I  was  with  him  ;  but  of  the  ascendmg 

I  was  not  conscious,  saving  as  a  man  3? 

Of  a  first  thought  is  conscious  ere  it  come  ; 
And  Beatrice,  she  who  is  seen  to  pass 

From  good  to  better,  and  so  suddenly 

That  not  by  time"  her  action  is  expressed. 
How  lucent  in  herself  must  she  have  been  !  40 

And  what  was  in  the  sun,  wherein  I  entered. 

Apparent  not  by  colour  but  by  light, 
I,  though  I  call  on  genius,  art,  and  practice. 

Cannot  so  tell  that  it  could  be  imagined ; 

Believe  one  can,  and  let  him  long  to  see  it.  45 

And  if  our  fantasies  too  lowly  are 

For  altitude  so  great,  it  is  no  marvel. 

Since  o  er  the  sun  was  never  eye  could  go. 

NN 


i':\ 


524  T7/£  DIVINE   COMEDY.  \ 

Such  in  this  place  was  the  fourth  family 

Of  the  high  Father,  who  forever  sates  it,  so    \ 

Showing  how  he  breathes  forth  and  how  begets.  \ 

And  Beatrice  began  :  "  Give  thanks,  give  thanks 
Unto  the  Sun  of  Angels,  who  to  this 
Sensible  one  has  raised  thee  by  his  grace  ! "  j 

Never  was  heart  of  mortal  so  disposed  ss 

To  worship,  nor  to  give  itself  to  God  > 

With  all  its  gratitude  was  it  so  ready,  j 

As  at  those  words  did  I  myself  become  ;  ■ 

And  all  my  love  was  so  absorbed  in  Him,  \ 

That  in  oblivion  Beatrice  was  eclipsed.  «o     ; 

Nor  this  displeased  her  ;  but  she  smiled  at  it  . 

So  that  the  splendour  of  her  laughing  eyes 
My  single  mind  on  many  things  divided.  ; 

Lights  many  saw  I,  vivid  and  triumphant, 

Make  us  a  centre  and  themselves  a  circle,  ©s    < 

More  sweet  in  voice  than  luminous  in  aspect.  i 

Thus  girt  about  the  daughter  of  Latona  .      ■ 

AVe  sometimes  see,  when  pregnant  is  the  air,  I 

So  that  it  holds  the  thread  which  makes  her  zone.  ■ 

Within  the  court  of  Heaven,  whence  I  return,  70    j 

Are  many  jewels  found,  so  fair  and  precious 
They  cannot  be  transported  from  the  realm ; 

And  of  them  was  the  singing  of  those*lights. 

Who  takes  not  wings  that  he  may  fly  up  thither, 
The  tidings  thence  may  from  the  dumb  await  ! 

As  soon  as  singing  thus  those  burning  suns 

Had  round  about  us  whirled  themselves  three  times, 
Like  unto  stars  neighbouring  the  steadfast  poles, 

Ladies  they  seemed,  not  from  the  dance  released, 
But  who  stop  short,  in  silence  listening 
Till  they  have  gathered  the  new  melody. 

And  within  one  I  heard  beginning  :  "  When 
The  radiance  of  grace,  by  which  is  kindled 
True  love,  and  which  thereafter  grows  by  loving, 

Within  thee  multiplied  is  so  resplendent  85 

That  it  conducts  thee  upward  by  that  stair,  ^ 

Where  without  reascending  none  descends,  j 

Who  should  deny  the  wine  out  of  his  vial  j 

Unto  thy  thirst,  in  liberty  were  not 
Except  as  water  which  descentls  not  seaward.  9<> 

Fain  would?t  thou  know  with  what  plants  is  enflowered 
This  garland  that  encircles  with  delight 
The  Lady  fair  who  makes  thee  strong  for  heaven. 


PARADISO,    X.  525 


Of  the  lambs  was  I  of  the  holy  flock 

Which  Dominic  conducteth  by  a  road 
Where  well  one  fattens  if  he  strayeth  not. 

He  who  is  nearest  to  me  on  the  right 

My  brother  and  master  was  ;  and  he  Albertus 
Is  of  Cologne,  I  Thomas  of  Aquinum. 

If  thou  of  all  the  others  wouldst  be  certain, 

Follow  behind  my  speaking  with  thy  sight 
Upward  along  the  blessed  garland  turning. 

That  next  effulgence  issues  from  the  smile 
Of  Gratian,  who  assisted  both  the  courts 
In  such  wise  that  it  pleased  in  Paradise. 

The  other  which  near  by  adorns  our  choir 

That  Peter  was  who,  e'en  as  the  poor  widow, 
Offered  his  treasure  unto  Holy  Church.,  •  ^^^^ 

The  fifth  light,  that  among  us  is  the  fairest,  kr^J'^'^ 
Breathes  forth  from  such  a  love,  that  all  the  world 
Below  is  greedy  to  learn  tidings  of  it. 

Within  it  is  the  lofty  mind,  where  knowledge 
So  deep  was  put,  that,  if  the  true  be  true, 
To  see  so  much  there  never  rose  a  second. 

Thou  seest  next  the  lustre  of  that  taper, 

Which  in  the  flesh  below  looked  most  within 
The  angelic  nature  and  its  ministry. 

Within  that  other  little  light  is  smiling 

The  advocate  of  the  Christian  centuries, 

Out  of  whose  rhetoric  Augustine  was  furnished. 

Now  if  thou  trainest  thy  mind's  eye  along 

From  light  to  light  pursuant  of  my  praise, 
With  thirst  already  of  the  eighth  thou  waitest. 

By  seeing  every  good  therein  exults 

The  sainted  soul,  which  the  fallacious  world 
Makes  manifest  to  him  who  listeneth  well; 

The  body  whence  'twas  hunted  forth  is  lying 
Down  in  Cieldauro,  and  from  martyrdom 
And  banishment  it  came  unto  this  peace. 

See  farther  onward  flame  the  burning  breath 

Of  Isidore,  of  Beda,  and  of  Richard         '      ^Xi^J^ 
Who  was  in  contemplation  more  than  man. 

This,  whence  to  me  returneth  thy  regard, 
The  light  is  of  a  spirit  unto  whom 
In  his  grave  meditations  death  seemed  slow. 

It  is  the  light  eternal  of  Sigier, 

Who,  reading  lectures  in  the  Street  of  Straw, 
Did  syllogize  invidious  verities." 

N  N  2 


$26  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

Then,  as  a  horologe  that  calleth  us 

What  time  the  Bride  of  God  is  rising  up  140 

With  matins  to  her  Spouse  that  he  may  love  her. 

Wherein  one  part  the  other  draws  and  urges, 

Ting  !  ting  !  resounding  with  so  sweet  a  note, 
That  swells  with  love  the  spirit  well  disposed, 

Thus  I  beheld  the  glorious  wheel  move  round,  M5 

And  render  voice  to  voice,  in  modulation 
And  sweetness  that  can  not  be  comprehended, 

Excepting  there  where  joy  is  made  eternal. 


CANTO   XI. 

O  Thou  insensate  care  of  mortal  men,  ; 

How  inconclusive  are  the  syllogisms  ' 

That  make  thee  beat  thy  wings  in  downward  flight !  ] 

One  after  laws  and  one  to  aphorisms 

Was  going,  and  one  following  the  priesthood,  s   j 

And  one  to  reign  by  force  or  sophistry,  ,      ,  ' 

And  one  in  theft,  and  one  in  state  affairs,       >    >  i^^.l  •<',  ^-^^^  --    --^ 

One  in  the  pleasures  of  the  flesh  involved      \  \ 

Wearied  himself,  one  gave  himself  to  ease  ; 
When  I,  from  all  these  things  emancipate,  « 

With  Beatrice  above  there  in  the  Heavens 

AVith  such  exceeding  glory  was  received  ! 
When  each  one  had  returned  unto  that  point 

Within  the  circle  where  it  was  before. 

It  stood  as  in  a  candlestick  a  candle ;  u 

And  from  within  the  effulgence  which  at  first 

Had  spoken  unto  me,  I  heard  begin 

Smiling  while  it  more  luminous  became  : 
"  Even  as  I  am  kindled  in  its  ray. 

So,  looking  into  the  Eternal  Light,  • 

The  occasion  of  thy  thoughts  I  apprehend. 
Thou  doubtest,  and  wouldst  have  me  to  resift 

In  language  so  extended  and  so  open 

My  speech,  that  to  thy  sense  it  may  be  plain. 
Where  just  before  I  said,  '  where  well  one  fattens,*  n 

And  where  I  said,  '  there  never  rose  a  second  ' ;  '  \ 

And  here  'tis  needful  we  distinguish  well.  \ 

The  Providence,  which  governeth  the  world  li 

With  counsel,  wherein  all  created  vision  1 

Is  vanquished  ere  it  reach  unto  the  bottom^  s*    \ 


PARADISO,   XI.  ...  527 

(So  that  towards  her  own  Beloved  might  go 

The  bride  of  Him  who,  uttering  a  loud  cry,  tA    ■ 

Espoused  her  with  his  consecrated  blood,  )j^      \ 

Self-confident  and  unto  Him  more  faithful,)     \  j  '^'  ' 

Two  Princes  did  ordain  in  her  behoof,  ^"  as 

Which  on  this  side  and  that  might  be  her  guide. 
The  one  was  all  seraph ical  in  ardour ; 

The  other  by  his  wisdom  upon  earth 

A  splendour  was  of  light  cherubical. 
One  will  I  speak  of,  for  of  both  is  spoken  40 

In  praising  one,  whichever  may  be  taken. 

Because  unto  one  end  their  labours  were. 
Between  Tupino  and  the  stream  that  falls 

Down  from  the  hill  elect  of  blessed  Ubald, 

A  fertile  slope  of  lofty  mountain  hangs,  45 

From  which  Perugia  feels  the  cold  and  heat 

Through  Porta  Sole,  and  behind  it  weep 

Gualdo  and  Nocera  their  grievous  yoke. 
From  out  that  slope,  there  where  it  breaketh  most 

Its  steepness,  rose  upon  the  world  a  sun  ^   10 

As  this  one  does  sometimes  from  out  the  Ganges  ; 
Therefore  let  him  who  speaketh  of  that  place. 

Say  not  Ascesi,  for  he  would  say  little, 

But  Orient,  if  he  properly  would  speak. 
He  was  not  yet  far  distant  from  his  rising  55 

Before  he  had  begun  to  make  the  earth 

Some  comfort  from  his  mighty  virtue  feel.    .  ' 

For  he  in  youth  his  father's  wrath  incurred    '-     -'^o- — ^^^.^^^a. 

For  certain  Dame,  to  whom,  as  unto  death, 

The  gate  of  pleasure  no  one  doth  unlock  ;  60 

And  was  before  his  spiritual  court 

Et  coram  patre  unto  her  united  ; 

Then  day  by  day  more  fervently  he  loved  her. 
She,  reft  of  her  first  husband,  scorned,  obscure, 

One  thousand  and  one  hundred  years  and  more,  cs 

Waited  without  a  suitor  till  he  came. 
Naught  it  availed  to  hear,  that  with  Amyclas 

Found  her  unmoved  at  sounding  of  his  voice 

He  who  struck  terror  into  all  the  world  ; 
Naught  it  availed  being  constant  and  undaunted,  yo 

So  that,  when  Mary  still  remained  below. 

She  mounted  up  with  Christ  upon  the  cross  .' 
But  that  too  darkly  I  may  not  proceed,  ' 

Francis  and  Poverty  for  these  two  lovers 

Take  thou  henceforward  in  my  speech  diffuse.  75 


528  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Their  concord  and  their  joyous  semblances, 

The  love,  the  wonder,  and  the  sweet  regard,  \ 

They  made  to  be  the  cause  of  holy  thoughts ; 

So  much  so  that  the  venerable  Bernard  i 

First  bared  his  feet,  and  after  so  great  peace  8c   i 

Ran,  and,  in  running,  thought  himself  too  slow.  i 

O  wealth  unknown  !     O  veritable  good  !  ' 

Giles  bares  his  feet,  and  bares  his  feet  Sylvester  * 

Behind  the  bridegroom,  so  doth  please  the  bride !  i 

Then  goes  his  way  that  father  and  that  master,  »5   ; 

He  and  his  Lady  and  that  family  ( 

Which  now  was  girding  on  the  humble  cord  ; 

Nor  cowardice  of  heart  weighed  down  his  btow 

At, being  son  of  Peter  Bernardone,  \ 

Nor  for  appearing  marvellously  scorned  ;  go  ■ 

But  regally  his  hard  determination  , 

To  Innocent  he  opened,  and  from  him  J 

Received  the  primal  seal  upon  his  Order.  ' 

After  the  people  mendicant  increased  \ 

Behind  this  man,  whose  admirable  life  95  \ 

Better  in  glory  of  the  heavens  were  sung, 

Incoronated  with  a  second  crown  \ 

Was  through  Honorius  by  the  Eternal  Spirit  j 

The  holy  purpose  of  this  Archimandrite.  I 

And  when  he  had,  through  thirst  of  martyrdom,  «x  j 

In  the  proud  presence  of  the  Sultan  preached  ^ 

Christ  and  the  others  who  came  after  him,  • 

And,  finding  for  conversion  too  unripe 

The  folk,  and  not  to  tarry  there  in  vain, 
Returned  to  fruit  of  the  Italic  grass. 

On  the  rude  rock  'twixt  Tiber  and  the  Arno 
From  Christ  did  he  receive  the  final  seal, 
Which  during  two  whole  years  his  members  bore 

When  He,  who  chose  him  unto  so  mucl;  good. 
Was  pleased  to  draw  him  up  to  the  reward 
That  he  had  merited  by  being  lowly, 

Unto  his  friars,  as  to  the  rightful  heirs. 

His  most  dear  Lady  did  he  recommend, 
And  bade  that  they  should  love  her  faithfully ; 

And  from  her  bosom  the  illustrious  soul  nf; 

Wished  to  depart,  returning  to  its  realm,  Jj 

And  for  its  body  wished  no  other  bier. 

Think  now  what  man  was  he,  who  was  a  fit 
Companion  over  the  high  seas  to  keep 
The  bark  of  Peter  to  its  proper  bearings.  -^^ 


m 


PARADISO,   XII.  529 


And  this  man  was  our  Patriarch  ;  hence  whoever 
Doth  follow  him  as  he  commands  can  see 
That  he  is  laden  with  good  merchandise. 

But  for  new  pasturage  his  flock  has  grown 
So  greedy,  that  it  is  impossible 
They  be  not  scattered  over  fields  diverse ; 

And  in  proportion  as  his  sheep  remote 

And  vagabond  go  farther  off  from  him, 
More  void  of  milk  return  they  to  the  fold. 

Verily  some  there  are  that  fear  a  hurt, 

And  keep  close  to  the  shepherd ;  but  so  few. 
That  little  cloth  doth  furnish  forth  their  hoods. 

Now  if  my  utterance  be  not  indistinct, 

If  thine  own  hearing  hath  attentive  been. 
If  thou  recall  to  mind  what  I  have  said, 

In  part  contented  shall  thy  wishes  be  ; 

For  thou  shalt  see  the  plant  that's  chipped  away, 
And  ihe  rebuke  that  lieth  in  the  words, 

'Where  well  one  fattens,  if  he  strayeth  not.   ' 


CANTO   XII. 

Soon  as  the  blessed  flame  had  taken  up 
The  final  word  to  give  it  utterance. 
Began  the  holy  millstone  to  revolve. 

And  in  its  gyre  had  not  turned  wholly  round. 
Before  another  in  a  ring  enclosed  it, 
And  motion  joined  to  motion,  song  to  song ; 

Song  that  as  greatly  doth  transcend  our  Muses, 
Our  Sirens,  in  those  dulcet  clarions. 
As  primal  splendour  that  which  is  reflected. 

And  as  are  spanned  athwart  a  tender  cloud 
Two  rainbows  parallel  and  like  in  colour, 
When  Juno  to  her  handmaid  gives  command, 

(The  one  without  born  of  the  one  within, 

Like  to  the  speaking  of  that  vagrant  one 

Whom  love  consumed  as  doth  the  sun  the  vapours,) 

And  make  the  people  here,  through  covenant 
God  set  with  Noah,  presageful  of  the  world 
That  shall  no  more  be  covered  with  a  flood, 

In  such  wise  of  those  sempiternal  roses 

The  garlands  twain  encompassed  us  about, 
And  thus  the  outer  to  the  inner  answered. 


530  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

After  the  dance,  and  other  grand  rejoicings,  \ 

Both  of  the  singing,  and  the  flaming  forth  \ 

Effulgence  with  effulgence  blithe  and  tender,  : 

Together,  at  once,  with  one  accord  had  stopped,  25  ; 

(Even  as  the  eyes,  that,  as  volition  moves  them. 
Must  needs  together  shut  and  lift  themselves,) 

Out  of  the  heart  of  one  ot  the  new  lights  ' 

There  came  a  voice,  that  needle  to  the  star  \ 

Made  me  appear  in  turning  thitherward.  30  \ 

And  it  began  :  "  The  love  that  makes  me  fair  : 

Draws  me  to  speak  about  the  other  leader,  ' 

By  whom  so  well  is  spoken  here  of  mine.  \ 

'Tis  right,  where  one  is,  to  bring  in  the  other,  i 

That,  as  they  were  united  in  their  warfare,  3S  ' 

Together  likewise  may  their  glory  shine.  < 

The  soldiery  of  Christ,  which  it  had  cost  1 

So  dear  to  arm  again,  behind  the  standard  i 

Moved  slow  and  doubtful  and  in  numbers  few,  ■ 

AVhen  the  Emperor  who  reigneth  evermore  40  \ 

Provided  for  the  host  that  was  in  peril,  j 

Through  grace  alone  and  not  that  it  was  worthy  ;  i 

And,  as  was  said,  he  to  his  Bride  brought  succour  \ 

With  champions  twain,  at  whose  deed,  at  whose  word  * 

The  straggling  people  were  together  drawn. 

Within  that  region  where  the  sweet  west  wind 
Rises  to  open  the  new  leaves,  wherewith 
Europe  is  seen  to  clothe  herself  afresh. 

Not  far  off  from  the  beating  of  the  waves. 
Behind  which  in  his  long  career  the  sun 
Sometimes  conceals  himself  from  every  man, 

Is  situate  the  fortunate  Calahorra, 

Under  protection  of  the  mighty  shield 

In  which  the  Lion  subject  is  and  sovereign. 

Therein  was  born  the  amorous  paramour 

Of  Christian  Faith,  the  athlete  consecrate, 
Kind  to  his  own  and  cruel  to  his  foes ; 

And  when  it  was  created  was  his  mind 
Replete  with  such  a  living  energy^ 
I'hat  in  his  mother  her  it  made  prophetic. 

As  soon  as  the  espousals  were  complete 

Between  him  and  the  Faith  at  holy  font, 

Where  they  with  mutual  safety  dowered  each  other, 

The  woman,  who  for  him  had  given  assent, 

Saw  in  a  dream  the  admirable  fruit  fll 

That  issue  would  from  him  and  from  his  heirs  ; 

I 


PARADISO,   XII.  531 

And  that  he  might  be  construed  as  he  was, 

A  spirit  from  this  place  went  forth  to  name  him 

With  His  possessive  whose  he  wholly  was. 
Dominic  was  he  called  ;  and  him  I  speak  of  70 

Even  as  of  the  husbandman  whom  Christ 

Elected  to  his  garden  to  assist  him. 
Envoy  and  servant  sooth  he  seemed  of  Christ, 

For  the  first  love  made  manifest  in  him 

Was  the  first  counsel  that  was  given  by  Christ.  7s 

Silent  and  wakeful  many  a  time  was  he 

Discovered  by  his  nurse  upon  the  ground, 

As  if  he  would  have  said,  '  For  this  I  came.' 
O  thou  his  father,  Felix  verily  ! 

O  thou  his  mother,  verily  Joanna,  80 

If  this,  interpreted,  means  as  is  said  ! 
Not  for  the  world  which  people  toil  for  now 

In  following  Ostiense  and  Taddeo, 

But  through  his  longing  after  the  true  manna, 
He  in  short  time  became  so  great  a  teacher,  85 

That  he  began  to  go  about  the  vineyard, 

Which  fadeth  soon,  if  faithless  be  the  dresser ; 
And  of  the  See,  (that  once  was  more  benignant 

Unto  the  righteous  poor,  not  through  itself, 

But  him  who  sits  there  and  degenerates,)  9° 

Not  to  dispense  or  two  or  three  for  six, 

Not  any  fortune  of  first  vacancy, 

Non  decimas  qiice  sujit  pauperiim  Dei, 
He  asked  for,  but  against  the  errant  world 

Permission  to  do  battle  for  the  seed,  95 

Of  which  these  four  and  twenty  plants  surround  thee 
Then  with  the  doctrine  and  the  will  together. 

With  office  apostolical  he  moved. 

Like  torrent  which  some  lofty  vein  out-presses  ; 
And  in  among  the  shoots  heretical  100 

His  impetus  with  greater  fury  smote, 

WHierever  the  resistance  was  thi^  greatest. 
Of  him  were  made  thereafter  divers  runnels, 

Whereby  the  garden  catholic  is  watered. 

So  that  more  living  its  plantations  stand.  los 

If  such  the  one  wheel  of  the  Biga  was. 

In  which  the  Holy  Church  itself  defended 

And  in  the  field  its  civic  battle  won. 
Truly  full  manifest  should  be  to  thee 

The  excellence  of  the  other,  unto  whom  xro 

Thomas  so  courteous  was  before  my  coming. 


532  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

But  still  the  orbit,  which  the  highest  part 
Of  its  circumference  made,  is  derelict, 
So  that  the  mould  is  where  was  once  the  crust. 

His  family,  that  had  straight  forward  moved 

With  feet  upon  his  footprints,  are  turned  round 
So  that  they  set  the  point  upon  the  heel. 

And  soon  aware  they  will  be  of  the  harvest 

Of  this  bad  husbandry,  when  shall  the  tares 
Complain  the  granary  is  taken  from  them. 

Yet  say  I,  he  who  searcheth  leaf  by  leaf 

Our  volume  through,  would  still  some  page  discover 
Where  he  could  read,  '  I  am  as  I  am  wont.' 

'Twill  not  be  from  Casal  nor  Acquasparta, 

From  whence  come  such  unto  the  written  word 
That  one  avoids  it,  and  the  other  narrows. 

Bonaventura  of  Bagnoregio's  life 

Am  I,  who  always  in  great  offices 
Postponed  considerations  sinister. 

Here  are  Illuminato  and  Agostino, 

Who  of  the  first  barefooted  beggars  were 
That  with  the  cord  the  friends  of  God  became. 

Hugh  of  Saint  Victor  is  among  them  here, 

And  Peter  Mangiador,  and  Peter  of  Spain, 
Who  down  below  in  volumes  twelve  is  shining ; 

Nathan  the  seer,  and  metropolitan 

Chrysostom,  and  Anselmus,  and  Donatus 
Who  deigned  to  lay  his  hand  to  the  first  art ; 

Here  is  Rabanus,  and  beside  me  here 

Shines  the  Calabrian  Abbot  Joachim, 
He  with  the  spirit  of  prophecy  endowed. 

To  celebrate  so  great  a  paladin 

Have  moved  me  the  impassioned  courtesy 
y\nd  the  discreet  discourses  of  Friar  Thomas, 

And  with  me  they  have  moved  this  company." 


CANTO   XIII. 

Let  him  imagine,  who  would  well  cor.ceive 

\Vhat  now  I  saw,  and  let  him  while  1  speak 
Retain  the  image  as  a  steadfas-t  rock. 

The  fifteen  stars,  that  in  their  divers  regions 
The  sky  enliven  with  a  light  so  great 
That  it  transceiids  all  clusters  of  the  air; 


PARADISO,   XIII.  533 


Let  him  the  Wain  imagine  unto  which 

Our  vault  of  heaven  sufficeth  night  and  day, 

So  that  in  turning  of  its  pole  it  fails  not ; 
Let  him  the  mouth  imagine  of  the  horn  «> 

That  in  the  point  beginneth  of  the  axis 

Round  about  which  the  primal  wheel  revolves, — 
To  have  fashioned  of  themselves  two  signs  in  heaven, 

Like  unto  that  which  Minos'  daughter  made, 

The  moment  when  she  felt  the  frost  of  death  ;  u 

And  one  to  have  its  rays  within  the  other, 

And  both  to  whirl  themselves  in  such  a  manner 

That  one  should  forward  go,  the  other  backward ; 
And  he  will  have  some  shadowing  forth  of  that 

True  constellation  and  the  double  dance  » 

That  circled  round  the  point  at  which  I  was ; 
Because  it  is  as  much  beyond  our  wont, 

As  swifter  than  the  motion  of  the  Chiana 

Moveth  the  heaven  that  all  the  rest  outspeeds. 
There  sang  they  neither  Bacchus,  nor  Apollo,  « 

But  in  the  divine  nature  Persons  three, 

And  in  one  person  the  divine  and  human. 
The  singing  and  the  dance  fulfilled  their  measure, 

And  unto  us  those  holy  lights  gave  need, 

Growing  in  happiness  from  care  to  care.  30 

Then  broke  the  silence  of  those  saints  concordant 

The  light  in  which  the  admirable  life 

Of  God's  own  mendicant  was  told  to  me, 
And  .said  :  "Noav  that  one  straw  is  trodden  out 

Now  that  its  seed  is  garnered  up  already,  as 

Sweet  love  invites  me  to  thresh  out  the  other. 
Into  that  bosom,  thou  believest,  whence 

Was  drawn  the  rib  to  form  the  beauteous  cheek 

Whose  taste  to  all  the  world  is  costing  dear, 
And  into  that  Avhich,  by  the  lance  transfixed,  40 

Before  and  since,  such  satisfaction  made 

That  it  weighs  down  the  balance  of  all  sin, 
Whate'er  of  light  it  has  to  human  nature 

Been  lawful  to  possess  was  all  infused 

By  the  same  power  that  both  of  them  created  ;  4S 

And  hence  at  what  I  said  above  dost  wonder. 

When  I  narrated  that  no  second  had 

The  good  which  in  the  fifth  light  is  enclosed. 
Now  ope  thine  eyes  to  what  I  answer  thee. 

And  thou  shalt  see  thy  creed  and  my  discourse  90 

Fit  in  the  truth  as  centre  in  a  circle. 


534  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


That  which  can  die,  and  that  which  dieth  not, 

Are  nothing  but  the  splendour  of  the  idea 

Which  by  his  love  our  Lord  brings  into  being ; 
Because  that  living  Light,  which  from  its  fount 

Effulgent  flows,  so  that  it  disunites  not 

From  Him  nor  from  the  Love  in  them  intrined. 
Through  its  own  goodness  reunites  its  rays 

\\\  nine  subsistences,  as  in  a  mirror. 

Itself  eternally  remaining  One. 
Thence  it  descends  to  the  last  potencies. 

Downward  from  act  to  act  becoming  such 

That  only  brief  contingencies  it  makes  ; 
And  these  contingencies  I  hold  to  be 

Things  generated,  which  the  heaven  produces 

By  its  own  motion,  with  seed  and  without. 
Neither  their  wax,  nor  that  which  tempers  it. 

Remains  immutable,  and  hence  beneath 

The  ideal  signet  more  and  less  shines  through  ; 
Therefore  it  happens,  that  the  selfsame  tree 

After  its  kind  bears  worse  and  better  fruit. 

And  ye  are  born  with  characters  diverse. 
If  in  perfection  tempered  were  the  wax. 

And  were  the  heaven  in  its  supremest  virtue, 

The  brilliance  of  the  seal  would  all  appear ; 
But  nature  gives  it  evermore  deficient. 

In  the  like  manner  working  as  the  artist, 

Who  has  the  skill  of  art  and  hand  that  trembles. 
If  then  the  fervent  Love,  the  Vision  clear, 

Of  primal  Virtue  do  dispose  and  seal, 

Perfection  absolute  is  there  acquired. 
Thus  was  of  old  the  earth  created  worthy 

Of  all  and  every  animal  perfection  ; 

And  thus  the  Virgin  was  impregnate  made ; 
So  that  thine  own  opinion  I  commend,  8s 

That  human  nature  never  yet  has  been. 

Nor  will  be,  what  it  was  in  those  two  persons. 
Now  if  no  farther  forth  I  should  proceed, 

'  Then  in  what  way  was  he  without  a  peer  ?' 

Would  be  the  first  beginning  of  thy  words. 
But,  that  may  well  appear  what  now  appears  not, 

Think  who  he  was,  and  what  occasion  moved  him 

To  make  request,  when  it  was  told  him,  '  Ask.' 
I've  not  so  spoken  that  thou  canst  not  see 

Clearly  he  was  a  king  who  asked  for  wisdom,  m 

That  he  might  be  sufficiently  a  king ; 


PARADISO,    XIII.  lis 


'Twas  not  to  know  the  number  in  which  are 
The  motors  here  above,  or  if  necesse 
With  a  contingent  e'er  necesse  make, 

Non  si  est  dare  prim  um  motiitn  esse, 
Or  if  in  semicircle  can  be  made 
Triangle  so  that  it  have  no  right  angle. 

Whence,  if  thou  notest  this  and  what  I  said, 
A  regal  prudence  is  that  peerless  seeing 
In  which  the  shaft  of  my  intention  strikes 

And  if  on  '  rose '  thou  turnest  thy  clear  eyes, 
Thou'lt  see  that  it  has  reference  alone 
To  kings  who're  many,  and  the  good  are  rare. 

With  this  distinction ^ake  thou  what  I  said, 
And  thus  it  can  consist  with  thy  belief 
Of  the  first  father  and  of  our  Delight. 

And  lead  shall  this  be  always  to  thy  feet, 

To  make  thee,  like  a  weary  man,  move  slowly 
Both  to  the  Yes  and  No  thou  seest  not ; 

For  very  low  among  the  fools  is  he 

Who  affirms  without  distinction,  or  denies, 
As  well  in  one  as  in  the  other  case  ; 

Because  it  happens  that  full  often  bends 
Current  opinion  in  the  false  direction, 
And  then  the  feelings  bind  the  intellect. 

Far  more  than  uselessly  he  leaves  the  shore, 
(Since  he  retumeth  not  the  same  he  went,) 
Who  fishes  for  the  truth,  and  has  no  skill ; 

And  in  the  world  proofs  manifest  thereof 
Parmenides,  Melissus,  Brissus  are, 
And  many  who  went  on  and  knew  not  whither ; 

Thus  did  Sabellius,  Arius,  and  those  fools 

Who  have  been  even  as  swords  unto  the  Scriptures 
In  rendering  distorted  their  straight  faces. 

Nor  yet  shall  people  be  too  confident 

In  judging,  even  as  he  is  who  doth  count 
The  corn  in  field  or  ever  it  be  ripe. 

For  I  have  seen  all  winter  long  the  thorn 
First  show  itself  intractable  and  fierce, 
And  after  bear  the  rose  upon  its  top ; 

And  I  have  seen  a  ship  direct  and  swift 

Run  o'er  the  sea  throughout  its  course  entire, 
To  perish  at  the  harbour's  mouth  at  last. 

Let  not  Dame  Bertha  nor  Ser  Martin  think, 
Seeing  one  steal,  another  offering  make, 
To  see  them  in  the  arbitrament  divine ; 

For  one  may  rise,  and  fall  the  other  may." 


536  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


CANTO   XIV. 

From  centre  unto  rim,  from  rim  to  centre, 
In  a  round  vase  the  water  moves  itself, 
As  from  without  'tis  struck  or  from  within. 

Into  my  mind  upon  a  sudden  dropped 

What  I  am  saying,  at  the  moment  when 
Silent  became  the  glorious  life  of  Thomas, 

Because  of  the  resemblance  that  was  b(frn 
Of  his  discourse  and  that  of  Beatrice, 
Whom,  after  him,  it  pleased  thus  to  begin  : 

"  This  man  has  need  (and  does  not  tell  you  so. 
Nor  with  the  voice,  nor  even  in  his  thought) 
Of  going  to  the  root  of  one  truth  more. 

Declare  unto  him  if  the  light  wherewith 

Blossoms  your  substance  shall  remain  with  you 
Eternally  the  same  that  it  is  now ; 

And  if  it  do  remain,  say  in  what  manner, 
After  ye  are  again  made  visible. 
It  can  be  that  it  injure  not  your  sight.'' 

As  by  a  greater  gladness  urged  and  drawn 

They  who  are  dancing  in  a  ring  sometimes 
Uplift  their  voices  and  their  motions  quicken  ; 

So,  at  that  orison  devout  and  prompt. 

The  holy  circles  a  new  joy  displayed 

In  their  revolving  and  their  wondrous  song. 

Whoso  lamenteth  him  that  here  we  die 

That  we  may  live  above,  has  never  there 
Seen  the  refreshment  of  the  eternal  rain. 

The  One  and  Two  and  Three  who  ever  liveth, 

And  reigneth  ever  in  Three  and  Two  and  One, 
Not  circumscribed  and  all  things  circumscribing, 

Three  several  times  was  chanted  by  each  one 
Among  those  spirits,  with  such  melody 
That  for  all  merit  it  were  just  reward  ; 

And,  in  the  lustre  most  divine  of  all 

The  lesser  ring,  I  heard  a  modest  voice, 
Such  as  perhaps  the  Angel's  was  to  Mary, 

Answer :  "  As  long  as  the  festivity 

Of  Paradise  shall  be,  so  long  our  love 
Shall  radiate  round  about  us  such  a  vesture. 


PAR  A  Dl so,  XIV.  537 


Its  brightness  is  proportioned  to  the  ardour, 
The  ardour  to  the  vision  ;  and  the  vision 
Equals  what  grace  it  has  above  its  worth. 

When,  glorious  and  sanctified,  our  flesh 

Is  reassumed,  then  shall  our  persons  be 
More  pleasing  by  their  being  all  complete  ; 

For  will  increase  whate'er  bestows  on  us 
Of  light  gratuitous  the  Good  Supreme, 
Light  which  enables  us  to  look  on  Him  ; 

Therefore  the  vision  must  perforce  increase. 

Increase  the  ardour  which  from  that  is  kindled, 
Increase  the  radiance  which  from  this  proceeds. 

But  even  as  a  coal  that  sends  forth  flame, 

And  by  its  vivid  whiteness  overpowers  it 
So  that  its  own  appearance  it  maintains, 

Thus  the  effulgence  that  surrounds  us  now 

Shall  be  o'erpowered  in  aspect  by  the  flesh, 
Which  still  to-day  the  earth  doth  cover  up  : 

Nor  can  so  great  a  splendour  weary  us. 

For  strong  will  be  the  organs  of  the  body 

To  everything  which  hath  the  power  to  please  us." 

So  sudden  and  alert  appeared  to  me 

Both  one  and  the  other  choir  to  say  Amen, 

That  well  they  showed  desire  for  their  dead  bodies  ; 

Nor  sole  for  them  perhaps,  but  for  the  mothers, 
The  fathers,  arid  the  rest  who  had  been  dear 
Or  ever  they  became  eternal  flames. 

And  lo  !  all  round  about  of  equal  brightness 
Arose  a  lustre  over  what  was  there. 
Like  an  horizon  that  is  clearing  up. 

And  as  at  rise  of  early  eve  begin 

Along  the  welkin  new  appearances. 
So  that  the  sight  seems  real  and  unreal. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  new  subsistences 

Began  there  to  be  seen,  and  make  a  circle 
Outside  the  other  two  circumferences. 

O  very  sparkling  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 

How  sudden  and  incandescent  it  became 
Unto  mine  eyes,  that  vanquished  bore  it  not ! 

But  Beatrice  so  beautiful  and  smiling 

Appeared  to  me,  that  with  the  other  sights 
That  followed  not  my  memory  I  must  leave  her. 

Then  to  uplift  themselves  mine  eyes  resumed 
The  power,  and  I  beheld  myself  translated 
To  higher  salvation  with  my  Lady  only. 


538  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Well  was  1  ware  that  I  was  more  uplifted  8s 

By  the  enkindled  smiling  of  the  star, 

That  seemed  to  me  more  ruddy  than  its  wont. 
With  all  my  heart,  and  in  that  dialect 

Which  is  the  same  in  all,  such  holocaust 

To  God  I  made  as  the  new  grace  beseemed  ;  9<j 

And  not  yet  from  my  bosom  was  exhausted 

The  ardour  of  sacrifice,  before  I  knew 

This  offering  was  accepted  and  auspicious; 
For  with  so  great  a  lustre  and  so  red 

Splendours  appeared  to  me  in  twofold  rays,  9S 

I  said  :  "  O  Helios  who  dost  so  adorn  them  ! " 
Even  as  distinct  with  less  and  greater  lights 

Glimmers  between  the  two  poles  of  the  world 

The  Galaxy  that  maketh  wise  men  doubt, 
Thus  constellated  in  the  depths  ot  Mars, 

Those  rays  described  the  venerable  sign  ' 

That  quadrants  joining  in  a  circle  make.  \ 

Here  doth  my  memory  overcome  my  genius  ;  ^ 

For  on  that  cross  as  levin  gleamed  forth  Christ,  \ 

So  that  I  cannot  find  ensample  worthy;  105' 

But  he  who  takes  his  cross  and  follows  Christ  j 

Again  will  pardon  me  what  I  omit,  i 

Seeing  in  that  aurora  lighten  Christ. 
From  horn  to  horn,  and  'twixt  the  top  and  base. 

Lights  were  in  motion,  brightly  scintillating 

As  they  together  met  and  passed  each  other ; 
Thus  level  and  aslant  and  swift  and  slow 

We  here  behold,  renewing  still  the  sight, 

The  particles  of  bodies  long  and  short,  V* 

Across  the  sunbeam  move,  wherewith  is  listed  «|^ 

Sometimes  the  shade,  which  for  their  own  defence  \ 

People  with  cunning  and  with  art  contrive. 
And  as  a  lute  and  harp,  accordant  strung 

With  many  strings,  a  dulcet  tinkling  make 

To  him  by  whom  the  notes  are  not  distinguished,  ^\ 

So  from  the  lights  that  there  to  me  appeared  ; 

Upgathered  through  the  cross  a  melody,  j 

Which  rapt  me,  not  distinguishing  the  hymn.  j 

Well  was  I  ware  it  was  of  lofty  laud,  { 

Because  there  came  to  me,  "  Arise  and  conquer  ! "  »sif 

As  unto  him  who  hears  and  comprehends  not 
So  much  enamoured  I  became  therewith. 

That  until  then  there  was  not  anything 

That  e'er  had  fettered  me  with  such  sweet  bonds. 


PAR  AD  ISO,  XV,  539 


Perhaps  my  word  appears  somewhat  too  bold,  ^3© 

Postponing  the  delight  of  those  fair  eyes, 

Into  which  gazing  my  desire  has  rest ; 
But  who  bethinks  him  that  the  living  seals 

Of  every  beauty  grow  in  power  ascending, 

And  that  I  there  had  not  turned  round  to  those,  t^ 

Can  me  excuse,  if  I  myself  accuse 

To  excuse  myself,  and  see  that  I  speak  truly : 

For  here  the  holy  joy  is  not  disclosed, 
Because  ascending  it  become§  more  pure. 


CANTO   XV. 

A  WILL  benign,  in  which  reveals  itself 

Ever  the  love  that  righteously  inspires, 

As  in  the  iniquitous,  cupidity. 
Silence  imposed  upon  that  dulcet  lyre, 

And  quieted  the  consecrated  chords,  5 

That  Heaven's  right  hand  doth  tighten  and  relax. 
How  unto  just  entreaties  shall  be  deaf 

Those  substances,  which,  to  give  me  desire 

Of  praying  them,  with  one  accord  grew  silent? 
'Tis  well  that  without  end  he  should  lament,  *o 

Who  for  the  love  of  thing  that  doth  not  last 

Eternally  despoils  him  of  that  love  ! 
As  through  the  pure  and  tranquil  evening  air 

There  shoots  from  time  to  time  a  sudden  fire, 

Moving  the  eyes  that  steadfast  were  before,  '5 

And  seems  to  be  a  star  that  changeth  place, 

Except  that  in  the  part  where  it  is  kindled 

Nothing  is  missed,  and  this  endureth  little ; 
So  from  the  horn  that  to  the  right  extends 

Unto  that  cross's  foot  there  ran  a  star  30 

Out  of  the  constellation  shining  there  ; 
Nor  was  the  gem  dissevered  from  its  ribbon. 

But  down  the  radiant  fillet  ran  along, 

So  that  fire  seemed  it  behind  alabaster. 
Thus  piteous  did  Anchises'  shade  reach  forward,  35 

If  any  faith  our  greatest  Muse  deserve, 

When  in  Elysium  he  his  son  perceived. 
"  O  sanguis  nims,  O  super  infusa 

Gratia  Dei,  sicut  tibi,  cui 

Bis  tinquam  Coeii  janua  reclusa  i  "  3° 


5/.C  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Thus  that  effulgence  ;  whence  I  gave  it  heed  ; 

Then  round  unto  my  Lady  turned  my  sight,  j 

And  on  this  side  and  that  was  stupefied  ; 
For  in  her  eyes  was  burning  such  a  smile 

That  with  mine  own  methought  I  touched  the  bottom       35  j 

Both  of  my  grace  and  of  my  Paradise  ! 
Then,  pleasant  to  the  hearing  and  the  sight, 

The  spirit  joined  to  its  beginning  things  .         1 

I  understood  not,  so  profound  it  spake  ; 
Nor  did  it  hide  itself  from  me  by  choice,  40  . 

But  by  necessity ;  for  its  conception  i 

Above  the  mark  of  mortals  set  itself.  i 

And  when  the  bow  of  burning  sympathy  ; 

Was  so  far  slackened,  that  its  speech  descended  < 

Towards  the  mark  of  our  intelligence,  4S  \ 

The  first  thing  that  was  understood  by  me  , 

Was  "  Benedight  be  Thou,  O  Trine  and  One,  i 

Who  hast  unto  my  seed  so  courteous  been  ! "  j 

•     And  it  continued  :  "  Hunger  long  and  grateful,  \ 

Drawn  from  the  reading  of  the  mighty  volume  so  \ 

Wherein  is  never  changed  the  white  nor  dark, 
Thou  hast  appeased,  my  son,  within  this  light 

In  which  I  speak  to  thee,  by  grace  of  her  ! 

Who  to  this  lofty  flight  with  plumage  clothed  thee. 
Thou  thinkest  that  to  me  thy  thought  doth  pass  55  j 

From  Him  who  is  the  first,  as  from  the  unit,  \ 

If  that  be  known,  ray  out  the  five  and  six ; 
And  therefore  who  I  am  thou  askest  not,  \ 

And  why  I  seem  more  joyous  unto  thee  ■ 

Than  any  other  of  this  gladsome  crowd.  60  ' 

Thou  think'st  the  truth  ;  because  the  small  and  great  ■ 

Of  this  existence  look  into  the  mirror  | 

Wherein,  before  thou  think'st,  thy  thought  thou  showest.      I 
But  that  the  sacred  love,  in  which  I  watch  ' 

With  sight  perpetual,  and  which  makes  me  thirst  . 

With  sweet  desire,  may  better  be  fulfilled, 
Now  let  thy  voice  secure  and  frank  and  glad 

Proclaim  the  wishes,  the  desire  proclaim, 

To  which  my  answer  is  decreed  already." 
To  Beatrice  I  turned  me,  and  she  heard 

Before  I  spake,  and  smiled  to  me  a  sign, 

That  made  the  wings  of  my  desire  increase  ; 
Then  in  this  wise  began  I :  "  Love  and  knowledge, 

When  on  you  dawned  the  first  Equality, 

Of  the  same  weight  for  each  of  you  became  ; 


PARADISO,  XV.  54* 


For  in  the  Sun,  which  lighted  you  and  burned 

With  heat  and  radiance,  they  so  equal  are, 

That  all  similitudes  are  insufficient 
But  among  mortals  will  and  argument, 

For  reason  that  to  you  is  manifest,  «<> 

Diversely  feathered  in  their  pinions  are. 
Whence  I,  who  mortal  am,  feel  in  myself 

This  inequality  ;  so  give  not  thanks. 

Save  in  my  heart,  for  this  paternal  welcome. 
Truly  do  I  entreat  thee,  living  topaz  !  «s 

Set  in  this  precious  jewel  as  a  gem, 

That  thou  wilt  satisfy  me  with  thy  name." 
"  O  leaf  of  mine,  in  whom  I  pleasure  took 

E'en  while  awaiting,  I  was  thine  own  root ! " 

Such  a  beginning  he  in  answer  made  me.  9° 

Then  said  to  me  :  "  That  one  from  whom  is  named 

Thy  race,  and  who  a  hundred  years  and  more 

Has  circled  round  the  mount  on  the  first  cornice, 
A  son  of  mine  and  thy  great-grantlsire  was  ; 

Well  it  behoves  thee  that  the  long  fatigue  « 

Thou  shouldst  for  him  make  shoiter  with  thy  works. 
Florence,  within  the  ancient  boundary 

From  which  she  taketh  still  her  tierce  and  nones, 

Abode  in  quiet,  temperate  and  chaste. 
No  golden  chain  she  had,  nor  coronal,  ««» 

Nor  ladies  shod  with  sandal  shoon,  nor  girdle 

That  caught  the  eye  more  than  the  person  did. 
Not  yet  the  daughter  at  her  birth  struck  fear 

Into  the  father,  for  the  time  and  dower 

Did  not  o'errun  this  side  or  that  the  measure.  «>§ 

No  house's  had  she  void  of  families. 

Not  yet  had  thither  come  Sardanapalus 

To  show  what  in  a  chamber  can  be  done ; 
Not  yet  surpassed  had  Montemalo  been 

By  your  Uccellatojo,  which  surpassed  "• 

Shall  in  its  downfall  be  as  in  its  rise. 
Bellincion  Berti  saw  I  go  begirt 

With  leather  and  with  bone,  and  from  the  mirror 

His  dame  depart  without  a  painted  face  ; 
And  him  of  Nerli  saw,  and  him  of  Vecchio,  »«s 

Contented  with  their  simple  suits  of  buff, 

And  with  the  spindle  and  the  flax  their  dames. 
O  fortunate  women  !  and  each  one  was  certain 

Of  her  own  burial-place,  and  none  as  yet 

For  sake  of  France  was  in  her  bed  deserted.  "• 

002 


542.  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


One  o'er  the  cradle  kept  her  studious  watch,  ; 
And  in  her  lullaby  the  language  used 
That  first  delights  the  fathers  and  the  mothers  ; 

Another,  drawing  tresses  from  her  distaff, 

Told  o'er  among  her  family  the  tales  "s    ' 
Of  Trojans  and  of  Fesole  and  Rome. 

As  great  a  marvel  then  would  have  been  held  J 

A  Lapo  Salterello,  a  Cianghella,  \ 

As  Cincinnatus  or  Cornelia  now.  \ 

To  such  a  quiet,  such  a  beautiful  130    | 

Life  of  the  citizen,  to  such  a  safe  ; 

Community,  and  to  so  sweet  an  inn,  ■ 

Did  Mary  give  me,  with  loud  cries  invoked, 

And  in  your  ancient  Baptistery  at  once  | 

Christian  and  Cacciaguida  I  became.  135  '^ 

Moronto  was  my  brother,  and  Eliseo  ;  '\ 

From  Val  di  Pado  came  to  me  my  wife,  \ 
And  from  that  place  thy  surname  was  derived. 

I  followed  afterward  the  Emperor  Conrad,  , 

And  he  begirt  me  of  his  chivalry,  140    j 

So  much  I  pleased  him  with  my  noble  deeds.  j 

I  followed  in  his  train  against  that  law's  .: 

Iniquity,  whose  people  doth  usurp  i 

Your  just  possession,  through  your  Pastor's  fault.  " 

There  by  that  execrable  race  was  I  145    > 

Released  from  bonds  of  the  fallacious  world,  j 

The  love  of  which  defileth  many  souls,  ; 

And  came  from  martyrdom  unto  this  peace."  ^ 


CANTO   XVI. 

O  THOU  our  poor  nobility  of  blood, 

If  thou  dost  make  the  people  glory  in  thee 
Down  here  where  our  affection  languishes, 

A  marvellous  thing  it  ne'er  will  be  to  me ; 

For  there  where  appetite  is  not  perverted, 
I  say  in  Heaven,  of  thee  I  made  a  boast ! 

Tnily  thou  art  a  cloak  that  quickly  shortens. 
So  that  unless  we  piece  thee  day  by  day 
Time  goeth  round  about  thee  with  his  shears  ! 

With  You^  which  Rome  was  first  to  tolerate, 
(Wherein  her  family  less  perseveres,) 
Yet  once  again  my  words  beginning  made ; 


PARADISO,  XVI.  541 


Whence  Beatrice,  who  stood  somewhat  apart, 

Smiling,  appeared  like  unto  her  who  coughed 

At  the  first  failing  writ  of  Guenever.  is 

And  I  began  :  "  You  are  my  ancestor, 

You  give  to  me  all  hardihood  to  speak, 

You  lift  me  so  that  I  am  more  than  I. 
So  many  rivulets  with  gladness  fill 

My  mind,  that  of  itself  it  makes  a  joy  » 

Because  it  can  endure  this  and  not  burst. 
Then  tell  me,  my  beloved  root  ancestral. 

Who  were  your  ancestors,  and  what  the  years 

That  in  your  boyhood  chronicled  themselves  ? 
Tell  me  about  the  sheepfold  of  Saint  John,  aj 

How  large  it  was,  and  who  the  people  were 

Within  it  worthy  of  the  highest  seats." 
As  at  the  blowing  of  tlit  winds  a  coal 

Quickens  to  flame,  so  1  beheld  that  light 

Become  resplendent  at  my  blan(Ushments.  ac 

And  as  unto  mine  eyes  it  grew  more  f:\ir, 

With  voice  more  sweet  and  tender,  i)ut  not  in 

This  modern  dialect,  it  said  to  me  : 
"  From  uttering  of  the  Ave,  till  the  birth 

In  which  my  mother,  who  is  now  a  saint,  3S 

Of  me  was  lightened  who  had  been  her  burden, 
Unto  its  Lion  had  this  fire  returned 

Five  hundred  fifty  times  and  thirty  more. 

To  reinflame  itself  beneath  his  paw. 
My  ancestors  and  I  our  birthplace  hiid  40 

Where  first  is  found  the  last  ward  of  the  city 

By  him  who  runneth  in  your  annual  game. 
Suffice  it  of  my  elders  to  hear  this  ; 

But  who  they  were,  and  whence  they  thither  came, 

Silence  is  more  considerate  than  speech.  45 

All  those  who  at  that  tniie  were  there  between 

Mars  and  the  Baptis:t,  fit  for  bearing  arms, 

Were  a  fifth  part  of  those  who  now  are  living  ; 
But  the  community,  that  row  is  mixed 

With  Campi  and  Certaldo  and  Figghine,  5° 

Pure  in  the  lowest  artisan  was  seen. 
O  how  much  better  'twere  to  have  as  neighbours 

The  folk  of  whom  I  speak,  and  at  Galluzzo 

And  at  Trespiano  have  your  boundary. 
Than  have  them  in  the  town,  and  bear  the  stench  ss 

Of  Aguglione's  churl,  and  him  of  Signa 

Who  has  sharp  eyes  for  trickery  already. 


544  '  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Had  not  the  folk,  which  most  of  all  the  work! 

Degenerates,  been  a  siep-dame  unto  Caesar, 

But  as  a  mother  to  her  son  benignant,  60 

Some  who  turn  Florentines,  and  trade  and  discount, 

Would  have  gone  back  again  to  Simifonte 

There  where  their  grandsires  went  about  as  beggars. 
At  Montemurlo  still  would  be  the  Counts, 

The  Cerchi  in  the  parish  of  Acone,  65 

Perhaps  in  Valdigrieve  the  Buondelmonti. 
Ever  the  intermingling  of  the  people 

Has  been  the  source  of  malady  in  cities, 

As  in  the  body  food  it  surfeits  on  ; 
And  a  blind  bull  more  headlong  plunges  down  70 

Than  a  blind  lamb  ;  and  very  often  cuts 

Better  and  more  a  single  sword  than  five. 
If  Luni  thou  regard,  and  Urbisaglia,  * 

How  they  have  passed  away,  and  how  are  passing 

Chiusi  and  Sinigaglia  after  them,  7S 

To  hear  how  races  waste  themselves  away, 

Will  seem  to  thee  no  novel  thing  nor  hard, 

Seeing  that  even  cities  have  an  end. 
All  things  of  yours  have  their  mortality. 

Even  as  yourselves ;  but  it  is  hidden  in  some  80 

That  a  long  while  endure,  and  lives  are  short ; 
And  as  the  turning  of  the  lunar  heaven 

Covers  and  bares  the  shores  without  a  pause, 

In  the  like  manner  fortune  does  with  Florence. 
Therefore  should  not  appear  a  marvellous  thing  «5 

What  I  shall  say  of  the  great  Florentines 

Of  whom  the  fame  is  hidden  in  the  Past. 
I  saw  the  Ughi,  saw  the  Catellini, 

Filippi,  Greci,  Ormanni,  and  Alberichi, 

Even  in  their  fall  illustrious  citizens  ;  90 

And  saw,  as  mighty  as  they  ancient  were. 

With  him  of  La  Sannella  him  of  Area, 

.And  Soldanier,  Ardinghi,  and  Bostichi. 
Near  to  the  gate  that  is  at  present  laden 

With  a  new  felony  of  so  much  weight  95 

That  soon  it  shall  be  jetsam  from  the  bark, 
The  Ravignani  were,  from  whom  descended 

The  County  Guido,  and  whoe'er  the  name 

f  )f  the  great  Bellincione  since  hath  taken. 
He  of  La  Pressa  knew  the  art  of  ruling 

Already,  and  already  (laligajo 

Had  hilt  and  pommel  gilded  in  his  house. 


PARADISO,    XVI.  545 


Mighty  already  was  the  Column  Vair, 

Sacchetti,  Giuochi,  Fifant,  and  Barucci, 

And  Galli,  and  they  who  for  the  bushel  blush.  los 

The  stock  from  which  were  the  Calfucci  born 

Was  great  already,  and  already  chosen 

To  curule  chairs  the  Sizii  and  Arrigucci. 
O  how  beheld  I  those  who  are  undone 

By  their  own  pride  !  and  how  the  Balls  of  Gold  no 

Florence  entlowered  in  all  their  mighty  deeds  ! 
So  likewise  did  the  ancestors  of  tl>ose 

Who  evermore,  when  vacant  is  your  church, 

Fatten  by  staying  in  consistory. 
The  insolent  race,  that  like  a  dragon  follows  ng 

Whoever  flees,  and  unto  him  that  shows 

His  teeth  or  purse  is  gentle  as  a  lamb, 
Already  rising  was,  but  from  low  people ; 

So  that  it  pleased  not  Ubertin  Donato 

That  his  wife's  father  should  make  him  their  kin.  no 

Already  had  Caponsacco  to  the  Market 

From  Fesole  descended,  and  already 

Giuda  9.nd  Infangato  were  good  burghers. 
I'll  tell  a  thing  incredible,  but  true  ; 

One  entered  the  small  circuit  by  a  gate  las 

Which  from  the  Delia  Pera  took  its  name ! 
Each  one  that  bears  the  beautiful  escutcheon 

Of  the  great  baron  whose  renown  and  name 

The  festival  of  Thomas  keepeth  fresh. 
Knighthood  and  privilege  from  him  received  ;  13° 

Though  with  the  populace  unites  hiniself 

To-day  the  man  who  binds  it  with  a  border. 
Already  were  Gualterotti  and  Importuni ; 

And  still  more  quiet  would  the  Borgo  be 

If  with  new  neighbours  it  remained  unfed.  13s 

The  house  from  which  is  born  your  lamentation. 

Through  just  disdain  that  death  among  you  brought 

And  put  an  end  unto  your  joyous  life, 
Was  honoured  in  itself  and  its  companions. 

O  Buondelmonte,  how  in  evil  hour  140 

Thou  fled'st  the  bridal  at  another's  promptings  ! 
Many  would  be  rejoicing  who  are  sad. 

If  God  had  thee  surrendered  to  the  Ema 

The  first  time  that  thou  camest  to  the  city. 
But  it  behoved  the  mutilated  stone  t4S 

Which  guards  the  bridge,  that  Florence  should  provide 

A  victim  in  her  latest  hour  of  peace,     ,    ^..  ...     . 


546  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

With  all  these  families,  and  others  with  them, 
Florence  beheld  I  in  so  great  repose, 
That  no  occasion  had  she  whence  to  weep ; 

With  all  these  families  beheld  so  just 

And  glorious  her  people,  that  the  lily 
Never  upon  the  spear  was  placed  reversed, 

Nor  by  division  was  vermilion  made." 


\ 


\      \  CANTO   XVII. 

'■-      '^, 
As  came  to  Clymene,  to  be  made  certain 

Of  that  which  he  had  heard  against  himself, 

He  who  makes  fathers  chary  still  to  children. 

Even  such  was  I,  and  such  was  I  perceived 
By  Beatrice  and  by  the  holy  light 
That  first  on  my  account  had  changed  its  place. 

Therefore  my  Lady  said  to  me  :  "  Send  forth 
The  flame  of  thy  desire,  so  that  it  issue 
Imprinted  well  with  the  internal  stamp ; 

Not  that  our  knowledge  may  be  greater  made 
By  speech  of  thine,  but  to  accustom  thee 
To  tell  thy  thirst,  that  we  may  give  thee  drink." 

"  O  my  beloved  tree,  (that  so  dost  lift  thee. 
That  even  as  minds  terrestrial  perceive 
No  triangle  containeth  two  obtuse, 

So  thou  beholdest  the  contingent  things 

Ere  in  themselves  they  are,  fixing  thine  eyes 
Upon  the  point  in  which  all  times  are  present,) 

While  I  was  with  Virgilius  conjoined 

Upon  the  mountain  that  the  souls  doth  heal. 
And  when  descending  into  the  dead  world. 

Were  spoken  to  me  of  my  future  life 

Some  grievous  words ;  although  I  feel  myself 
In  sooth  foursquare  against  the  blows  of  chance. 

On  this  accoimt  my  wish  would  be  content 
To  hear  what  fortune  is  approaching  me. 
Because  foreseen  an  arrow  comes  more  slowly." 

Thus  did  I  say  unto  that  selfsame  light 

That  unto  me  had  spoken  before  ;  and  even 
As  Beatrice  willed  was  my  own  will  confessed. 

Not  in  vague  phrase,  in  which  the  foolish  folk 
Ensnared  themselves  of  old,  ere  yet  was  slain 
The  I^mb  of  God  who  taketh  sins  away. 


PARADISO,   XVII.  547 


But  with  clear  words  and  unambiguous 

Language  responded  that  paternal  love,  35 

Hid  and  revealed  by  its  own  proper  smile : 
"  Contingency,  that  outside  of  the  volume 

Of  your  materiality  extends  not, 

Is  all  depicted  in  the  eternal  aspect. 
Necessity  however  thence  it  takes  not,  4° 

Except  as  from  the  eye,  in  which  'tis  mirrored, 

A  ship  that  with  the  current  down  descends. 
From  thence,  e'en  as  there  cometh  to  the  ear 

Sweet  harmony  from  an  organ,  comes  in  sight 

To  me  the  time  that  is  preparing  for  thee.  <5 

As  forth  from  Athens  went  Hippolytus, 

By  reason  of  his  step-dame  false  and  cruel, 

So  thou  from  Florence  must  perforce  depart. 
Already  this  is  willed,  and  this  is  sought  for ; 

And  soon  it  shall  be  done  by  him  who  thinks  it,  s«» 

Where  every  day  the  Christ  is  bought  and  sold. 
The  blame  shall  follow  the  offended  party 

In  outcry  as  is  usual ;  but  the  vengeance 

Shall  witness  to  the  truth  that  doth  dispense  it. 
Thou  shalt  abandon  everything  beloved  » 

Most  tenderly,  and  this  the  arrow  is 
x'       Which  first  the  bow  of  banishment  shoots  forth. 
Thou  shalt  have  proof  how  savoureth  of  salt 

The  bread  of  others,  and  how  hard  a  road    '\^^ 

The  going  down  and  up  another's  stairs,  ,  fc 

And  that  which  most  shall  weigh  upon  thy  sh^oulders 

Will  be  the  bad  and  foolish  company 

With  which  into  this  valley  thou  shalt  fall ; 
For  all  ingrate,  all  mad  and  impious 

Will  they  become  against  thee  ;  but  soon  after  «5 

They,  and  not  thou,  shall  have  the  forehead  scarlet 
Of  their  bestiality  their  own  proceedings 

Shall  furnish  proof;  so  'twill  be  well  for  thee 

A  party  to  have  made  thee  by  thyself. 
Thine  earliest  refuge  and  thine  earliest  inn  v> 

Shall  be  the  mighty  Lombard's  courtesy, 

Who  on  the  Ladder  bears  the  holy  bird, 
Who  such  benign  regard  shall  have  for  thee 

That  'twixt  you  twain,  in  doing  and  in  asking, 

That  shall  be  first  which  is  with  others  last.  75 

With  him  shalt  thou  see  one  who  at  his  birth 

Has  by  this  star  of  strength  been  so  impressed, 

That  notable  shall  his  achievements  be. 


ft. 


548  THE  DIVINJ^ COMEDY. 

Not  yet  the  people  are  aware  of  him 

Through  his  young  age,  since  only  nine  years  yet  so    ; 

Around  about  him  have  these  wheels  revolved^  j 

But  ere  the  Gascon  cheat  the  noble  Henry,  ■ 

Some  sparkles  of  his  virtue  shall  appear 

In  caring  not  for  silver  nor  for  toil. 
So  recognized  shall  hismagnificence  Ss    j 

Become  hereafter,  that  his  enemies  | 

Will  not  have  power  to  keep  mute  tongues  about  it. 
On  him  rely,  and  on  his  benefits ;  ; 

By  him  shall  many  people  be  transformed,  ,' 

'  Changing  condition  rich  and  mendicant ;  go   \ 

And  written  in  thy  mind  thou  hence  shalt  bear  i 

Of  him,  but  shalt  not  say  it " — and  things  said  he  ; 

Incredible  to  those  who  shall  be  present.  ; 

Then  added  :  "  Son,  these  are  the  commentaries  - 

On  what  was  said  to  thee  ;  behold  the  snares  9S   3 

That  are  concealed  behind  few  revolutions  ;  ■ 

Yet  would  I  not  thy  neighbours  thou  shouldst  envy,  ■ 

Because  thy  life  into  the  future  reaches  I 

Beyond  the  punishment  of  their  perfidies."  j 

When  by  its  silence  showed  that  sainted  soul  loo  \ 

That  it  had  finished  putting  in  the  woof 

Into  that  web  which  I  had  given  it  warped, 
Began  I,  even  as  he  who  yearneth  after, 

Being  in  doubt,  some  counsel  from  a  person 

Who  seeth,  and  upiightly  wills,  and  loves:  105 

"  Well  see  I,  father  mine,  how  spurreth  on 

The  time  towards  me  such  a  blow  to  deal  me 

As  heaviest  is  to  him  who  most  gives  way. 
Therefore  with  foresight  it  is  well  I  arm  me. 

That,  if  tlie  dearest  place  be  taken  from  me, 

I  may  not  lose  the  others  by  my  songs. 
Down  through  the  world  of  infinite  bitterness. 

And  o'er  the  mountain,  from  whose  beauteous  summit 

The  eyes  of  my  own  Lady  lifted  me. 
And  afterward  through  heaven  from  light  to  light, 

I  have  learned  that  which,  if  I  tell  again. 

Will  be  a  savour  of  strong  herbs  to  many. 
And  if  I  am  a  timid  friend  to  truth, 

I  fear  lest  I  may  lose  my  life  with  those 

Who  will  hereafter  call  this  time  the  olden." 
The  light  in  which  was  smiling  my  own  treasure 

Which  there  I  had  discovered,  flashed  at  first 

As  in  the  sunshine  doth  a  golden  mirror ; 


*  % 


r\ 


PARADISO,   XVIIl.  549 


Then  made  reply  :  "A  conscience  overcast 

Or  with  its  own  or  with  another's  shame,  i»5 

Will  taste  forsooth  the  tartness  of  thy  word  \ 
But  ne'ertheless,  all  falsehood  laid  aside, 

Make  manifest  thy  vision  utterly. 

And  let  them  scratch  wherever  is  the  itch ; 
For  if  thine  utterance  shall  offensive  be  -i-^ 

At  the  first  taste,  a  vital  nutriment 

'Twill  leave  thereafter,  when  it  is  digested. 
This  cry  of  thine  shall  do  as  doth  the  wind, 

Which  smiteth  most  the  most  exalted  summits, 

And  that  is  no  slight  argument  of  honour.  J3S 

Therefore  are  shown  to  thee  within  these  wheels. 

Upon  the  mount  and  in  the  dolorous  valley, 

Only  the  souls  that  unto  fame  are  known  ; 
Because  the  spirit  of  the  hearer  rests  not, 

Nor  doth  confirm  its  faith  by  an  example  m* 

Which  has  the  root  of  it  unknown  and  hidden, 
Or  other  reason  that' is  not  apparent." 


CANTO   XVIIL 

Now  was  alone  rejoicing  in  its  word 

That  soul  beatified,  and  I  was  tasting 

My  own,  the  bitter  tempering  with  the  sweet, 

And  the  Lady  who  to  God  was  leading  me 

Said  :  "  Change  thy  thought ;  consider  that  I  am 
Near  unto  Him  who  every  wrong  disburdens." 

Unto  the  loving  accents  of  my  comfort 

I  turned  me  round,  and  then  what  love  I  saw 
Within  those  holy  eyes  I  here  relinquish  ; 

Not  only  that  my  language  I  distrust, 

But  that  my  mind  cannot  return  so  far 
Above  itself,  unless  another  guide  it. 

Thus  much  upon  that  point  can  I  repeat. 
That,  her  again  beholding,  my  affection 
From  every  other  longing  was  released. 

While  the  eternal  pleasure,  which  direct 

Rayed  upon  Beatrice,  from  her  fair  face 
Contented  me  with  its  reflected  aspect, 

Conquering  me  with  the  radiance  of  a  smile. 

She  said  to  me,  "  Turn  thee  about  and  listen ; 
Not  in  mine  eyes  alone  is  Paradise." 


± 


5SO  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Even  as  sometimes  here  do  we  behold 

The  affection  in  the  look,  if  it  be  such 
That  all  the  soul  is  wrapt  away  by  it, 

So,  by  the  flaming  of  the  effulgence  holy 

To  which  I  turned,  I  recognized  therein 
The  wish  of  speaking  to  nie  somewhat  farther. 

And  it  began  :  "  In  this  fifth  resting-place 
Upon  the  tree  that  liveth  by  its  summit. 
And  aye  bears  fruit,  and  never  loses  leaf, 

Are  blessed  spirits  that  below,  ere  yet 

They  came  to  Heaven,  were  of  such  great  renown 
That  every  Muse  therewith  would  affluent  be. 

Therefore  look  thou  upon  the  cross's  horns  ; 

He  whom  I  now  shall  name  will  there  enact 
What  doth  within  a  cloud  its  own  swift  fire." 

I  saw  athwart  the  Cross  a  splendour  drawn 
By  naming  Joshua,  (even  as  he  did  it,) 
Nor  noted  I  the  word  before  the  deed ; 

And  at  the  name  of  the  great  Maccabee 
I  saw  another  move  itself  revolving. 
And  gladness  was  the  whip  unto  that  top. 

Likewise  for  Charlemagne  and  for  Orlando, 
Two  of  them  my  regard  attentive  followed 
As  followeth  the  eye  its  falcon  flying. 

William  thereafterward,  and  Renouard, 

And  the  Duke  Godfrey,  did  attract  my  sight 
Along  upon  that  Cross,  and  Robert  Guiscard. 

Then,  moved  and  mingled  with  the  other  lights, 

The  soul  that  had  addressed  me  showed  how  great 
An  artist  'twas  among  the  heavenly  singers. 

To  my  right  side  I  turned  myself  around, 
My  duty  to  behold  in  Beatrice 
Either  by  words  or  gesture  signified  ; 

And  so  translucent  I  beheld  her  eyes. 

So  full  of  pleasure,  that  her  countenance 
Surpassed  its  other  and  its  latest  wont. 

And  as,  by  feeling  greater  delectation, 

A  man  in  doing  good  from  day  to  day 
Becomes  aware  his  virtue  is  increasing, 

So  I  became  aware  that  my  gyration 

With  heaven  together  had  increased  its  arc, 
That  miracle  beholding  more  adorned. 

And  such  as  is  the  change,  in  little  lapse 

Of  time,  in  a  pale  woman,  when  her  face 
Is  from  the  load  of  bashfulness  unladen^ 


PARADISO,    XVJII.  551 


Such  was  it  in  mine  eyes,  when  I  had  turned, 

Caused  by  the  whiteness  of  the  temperate  star, 

The  sixth,  which  to  itself  had  gathered  me. 
Within  that  Jovial  torch  did  I  behold  70 

The  sparkling  of  the  love  which  was  therein 

Delineate  our  language  to  mine  eyes. 
And  even  as  birds  uprisen  from  the  shore. 

As  in  congratulation  o'er  their  food, 

Make  squadrons  of  themselves,  now  round,  now  long,       75 
So  from  within  those  lights  the  holy  creatures 

Sang  flying  to  and  fro,  and  in  their  figures 

Made  of  themselves  now  D,  now  I,  now  L. 
First  singing  they  to  their  own  music  moved  ; 

Then  one  becoming  of  these  characters,  80 

A  little  while  they  rested  and  were  silent. 
O  divine  Pegasea,  thou  who  genius 

Dost  glorious  make,  and  render  it  long-lived. 

And  this  through  thee  the  cities  and  the  kingdoms, 
Illume  me  with  thyself,  that  I  may  bring  8i 

Their  figures  out  as  1  have  them  conceived  ! 

Apparent  be  thy  power  in  these  brief  verses  ! 
Themselves  then  they  displayed  in  five  times  seven 

Vowels  and  consonants  ;  and  I  observed 

The  parts  as  they  seemed  spoken  unto  me.  9< 

Diligite justitiam,  these  were 

First  verb  and  noun  of  all  that  was  depicted ; 

Qui  judicatis  terram  were  the  last. 
Thereafter  in  the  M  of  the  fifth  word 

Remained  they  so  arranged,  that  Jupiter  9J 

Seemed  to  be  silver  there  with  gold  inlaid. 
And  other  lights  I  saw  descend  where  was 

The  summit  of  the  M,  and  pause  there  singing 

The  good,  I  think,  that  draws  them  to  itself 
Then,  as  in  striking  upon  burning  logs  too 

Upward  there  fly  innumerable  sparks, 

Whence  fools  are  wont  to  look  for  auguries, 
More  than  a  thousand  lights  seemed  thence  to  rise, 

And  to  ascend,  some  more,  and  others  less. 

Even  as  the  Sun  that  lights  them  had  allotted ;  ips 

And,  each  one  being  quiet  in  its  place, 

The  head  and  neck  beheld  I  of  an  eagle 

Delineated  by  that  inlaid  fire. 
He  who  there  paints  has  none  to  be  his  guide ; 

But  Himself  guides  ;  and  is  fi-om  Him  remembered  «<> 

That  virtue  which  is  form  unto  the  nest 


552                                     THE  DIVINE   COMEDY.  , 

The  other  beatitude,  that  contented  seemed 

At  first  to  bloom  a  lily  on  the  M,  • 

By  a  slight  motion  followed  out  the  imprint. 

O  gentle  star  !  what  and  how  many  gems  v.% 

Did  demonstrate  to  me,  that  all  our  justice 

Effect  is  of  that  heaven  which  thou  ingemmest !  ; 

Wherefore  I  pray  the  Mind,  in  which  begin  \ 

.Thy  motion  and  thy  virtue,  to  regard 

Whence  comes  the  smoke  that  vitiates  thy  rays ;  lao 

So  that  a  second  time  it  now  be  wroth  i 

With  buying  and  with  selling  in  the  temple  j 

Whose  walls  were  built  with  signs  and  martyrdoms  !  , 

O  soldiery  of  heaven,  whom  I  contemplate,  ■ 

Implore  for  those  who  are  upon  the  earth  »?s    j 

All  gone  astray  after  the  bad  example  !  ' 
Once  'twas  the  custom  to  make  war  with  swords ; 

But  now  'tis  made  by  taking  here  and  there 

The  bread  the  pitying  Father  shuts  from  none.  . 

Yet  thou,  who  writest  but  to  cancel,  think  130    '■ 

That  Peter  and  that  Paul,  who  for  this  vineyard  j 

Which  thou  art  spoiling  died,  are  still  alive  !  • 

Well  canst  thou  say  :  "  So  steadfast  my  desire  \ 

Is  unto  him  who  willed  to  live  alone,  1 

And  for  a  dance  was  led  to  martyrdom,  131   J 

That  I  know  not  the  Fisherman  nor  Paul."  | 


CANTO   XIX. 

Appeared  before  me  with  its  wings  outspread 
The  beautiful  image  that  in  sweet  fruition 
Made  jubilant  the  interwoven  souls  ; 

Appeared  a  little  ruby  each,  wherein 

Ray  of  the  sun  was  burning  so  enkindled 
That  each  into  mine  eyes  refracted  it. 

And  what  it  now  behoves  me  to  retrace 

Nor  voice  has  e'er  reported,  nor  ink  written, 
Nor  was  by  fantasy  e'er  comprehended  ; 

For  speak  I  saw,  and  likewise  heard,  the  beak, 
And  utter  with  its  voice  both  /  and  My, 
When  in  conception  it  was  We  and  Our. 

And  it  began  :  "  Being  just  and  merciful 
Am  I  exalted  here  unto  that  glory 
Which  cannot  be  exceeded  by  desire  \ 


m 


PARADISO,    XIX.  SS3 


And  upon  earth  I  left  my  memory 

Such,  that  the  evil-minded  people  there 

Commend  it,  but  continue  not  the  story." 
So  doth  a  single  heat  from  many  embers 

Make  itself  felt,  even  as  from  many  loves  » 

Issued  a  single  sound  from  out  that  image. 
Whence  I  thereafter :  "  O  perpetual  flowers 

Of  the  eternal  joy,  that  only  one 

Make  me  perceive  your  odours  manifold, 
Exhaling,  break  within  me  the  great  fast  ^ 

Which  a  long  season  has  in  hunger  held  me, 

Not  finding  for  it  any  food  on  earth. 
Well  do  I  know,  that  if  in  heaven  its  mirror 

Justice  Divine  another  realm  doth  make, 

Yours  apprehends  it  not  through  any  veil.  30 

You  know  how  I  attentively  address  me 

To  listen ;  and  you  know  what  is  the  doubt 

That  is  in  me  so  very  old  a  fast." 
Even  as  a  falcon,  issuing  from  his  hood. 

Doth  move  his  head,  and  with  his  wings  applaud  him,       35 

Showing  desire,  and  making  himself  fine, 
Saw  I  become  that  standard,  which  of  lauds 

Was  interwoven  of  the  grace  divine, 

With  such  songs  as  he  knows  who  there  rejoices. 
Then  it  began  :  "  He  who  a  compass  turned  40 

On  the  world's  outer  verge,  and  who  within  it 

Devised  so  much  occult  and  manifest, 
Could  not  the  impress  of  his  power  so  make 

On  all  the  universe,  as  that  his  Word 

Should  not  remain- in  infinite  excess.  4S 

And  this  makes  certain  that  the  first  proud  being. 

Who  was  the  paragon  of  every  creature. 

By  not  awaiting  light  fell  immature. 
And  hence  appears  it,  that  each  minor  nature 

Is  scant  receptacle  unto  that  good  so 

Which  has  no  end,  and  by  itself  is  measured. 
In  consequence  our  vision,  which  perforce 

Must  be  some  ray  of  that  intelligence 

With  which  all  things  whatever  are  replete, 
Cannot  in  its  own  nature  be  so  potent,  ss 

That  it  shall  not  its  origin  discern 

Far  beyond  that  which  is  apparent  to  it. 
Therefore  into  the  justice  sempiternal 

The  power  of  vision  that  your  world  receives, 

As  eye  into  the  ocean,  penetrates ;  '60 


554  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY.  \ 

Which,  though  it  see  the  bottom  near  the  shore,  i 

Upon  the  deep  perceives  it  not,  and  yet 
'Tis  there,  but  it  is  hidden  by  the  depth.  J 

Th^re  is  no  Ught  but  comes  from  the  serene  ! 

That  never  is  o'ercast,  nay,  it  is  darkness  65       ' 

Or  shadow  of  the  flesh,  or  else  its  poison.  i 

Amply  to  thee  is  opened  now  the  cavern  *i 

Which  has  concealed  from  thee  the  living  justice  ■ 

Of  which  thou  mad'st  such  frequent  questioning.  - 

For  saidst  thou  :  '  Born  a  man  is  on  the  shore  7°      i 

Of  Indus,  and  is  none  who  there  can  speak 
Of  Christ,  nor  who  can  read,  nor  who  can  write  ;  I 

And  all  his  inclinations  and  his  actions 

Are  good,  so  far  as  human  reason  sees,  i 

Without  a  sin  in  life  or  in  discourse  :  •  75      | 

He  dieth  unbaptised  and  without  faith  ;  ] 

Where  is  this  justice  that  condemneth  him  ?  \ 

W^here  is  his  fault,  if  he  do  not  believe  ? '  ■ 

Now  who  art  thou,  that  on  the  bench  wouldst  sit  ' 

In  judgment  at  a  thousand  miles  away,  8«      ' 

With  the  short  vision  of  a  single  span  ?  : 

Truly  to  him  who  with  me  subtilizes,  - 

If  so  the  Scripture  were  not  over  you. 
For  doubting  there  were  marvellous  occasion. 

O  animals  terrene,  O  stolid  minds,  8$ 

The  primal  will,  that  in  itself  is  good. 
Ne'er  from  itself,  the  Good  Supreme,  has  moved. 

So  much  is  just  as  is  accordant  with  it ; 
No  good  created  draws  it  to  itself. 
But  it,  by  raying  forth,  occasions  that."  90 

Even  as  above  her  nest  goes  circling  round 

The  stork  when  she  has  fed  her  little  ones. 
And  he  who  has  been  fed  looks  up  at  her. 

So  lifted  I  my  brows,  and  even  such 

Became  the  blessed  image,  which  its  wings  9; 

Was  moving,  by  so  many  counsels  urged. 

Circling  around  it  sang,  and  said  :  "  As  are 

My  notes  to  thee,  who  dost  not  comprehend  them. 
Such  is  the  eternal  judgment  to  you  mortals." 

Those  lucent  splendours  of  the  Holy  Spirit  »o" 

(Jrew  quiet  then,  but  still  within  the  standard 
That  made  the  Romans  reverend  to  the  world. 

It  recommenced  :  "  Unto  this  kingdom  never 
Ascended  one  who  had  not  feith  in  Christ, 
Before  or  since  he  to  the  tree  was  nailed.  «<»s 


PARADISO,   XIX.  555 


But  look  thou,  many  crying  are,  *  Christ,  Christ ! ' 

Who  at  the  judgment  shall  be  far  less  near 

To  him  than  some  shall  be  who  knew  not  Christ. 
Such  Christians  shall  the  Ethiop  condemn, 

When  the  two  companies  shall  be  divided,  »» 

The  one  for  ever  rich,  the  other  poor. 
What  to  your  kings  may  not  the  Persians  say, 

When  they  that  volume  opened  shall  behold 

In  which  are  written  down  all  their  dispraises  ? 
There  .shall  be  seen,  among  the  deeds  of  Albert,  "s 

That  which  ere  long  shall  set  the  pen  in  motion, 

For  which  the  realm  of  Prague  shall  be  deserted. 
There  shall  be  seen  the  woe  that  on  the  Seine 

He  brings  by  falsifying  of  the  coin. 

Who  by  the  blow  of  a  wild  boar  shall  die.  120 

There  shall  be  seen  the  pride  that  causes  thirst, 

Which  makes  the  Scot  and  Englishman  so  mad 

That  they  within  their  boundaries  cannot  rest ; 
Be  seen  the  luxury  and  effeminate  life 

Of  him  of  Spain,  and  the  Bohemian,  xas 

Who  valour  never  knew  and  never  wished ; 
Be  seen  the  Cripple  of  Jerusalem, 

His  goodness  represented  by  an  I, 

While  the  reverse  an  M  shall  represent ; 
Be  seen  the  avarice  and  poltroonery  130 

Of  him  who  guards  the  Island  of  the  Fire, 

Wherein  Anchises  finished  his  long  life ; 
And  to  declare  how  pitiful  he  is 

Shall  be  his  record  in  contracted  letters 

Which  shall  make  note  of  much  in  little  space.  135 

And  shall  appear  to  each  one  the  foul  deeds 

Of  uncle  and  of  brother  who  a  nation 

So  famous  have  dishonoured,  and  two  crowns. 
And  he  of  Portugal  and  he  of  Norway 

Shall  there  be  known,  and  he  of  Rascia  too,  uo 

Who  saw  in  evil  hour  the  coin  of  Venice. 
O  happy  Hungary,  if  she  let  herself 

Be  wronged  no  farther  !  and  Navarre  the  happy. 

If  with  the  hills  that  gird  her  she  be  armed  I 
And  each  one  may  believe  that  now,  as  hansel  ms 

Thereof,  do  Nicosia  and  Famagosta 

Lament  and  rage  because  of  their  own  beast. 
Who  from  the  others'  flank  departeth  not." 


pp 


556  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


CANTO   XX. 

When  he  who  all  the  world  illuminates  1 

Out  of  our  hemisphere  so  far  descends  5 

That  on  all  sides  the  daylight  is  consumed,  \ 

The  heaven,  that  erst  by  him  alone  was  kindled,  \ 

Doth  suddenly  reveal  itself  again  s      ] 

By  many  lights,  wherein  is  one  resplendent.  \ 

And  came  into  my  mind  this  act  of  heaven,  i 

When  the  ensign  of  the  world  and  of  its  leaders  | 

Had  silent  in  the  blessed  beak  become;  ^ 

Because  those  living  luminaries  all,  10      j 

By  far  more  luminous,  did  songs  begin  . 

Lapsing  and  falling  from  my  memory.  | 

0  gentle  Love,  that  with  a  smile  dost  cloak  thee,  ; 

How  ardent  in  those  sparks  didst  thou  appear,  ; 

That  had  the  breath  alone  of  holy  thoughts  !  is 

After  the  precious  and  pellucid  crystals,  i 

With  which  begemmed  the  sixth  light  I  beheld,  '\ 

Silence  imposed  on  the  angelic  bells,  j 

1  seemed  to  hear  the  murmuring  of  a  river 

That  clear  descendeth  down  from  rock  to  rock,  2°      \ 

Showing  the  affluence  of  its  mountain-top.  : 

And  as  the  sound  upon  the  cithern's  neck  ■ 

Taketh  its  form,  and  as  upon  the  vent  J 

Of  rustic  pipe  the  wind  that  enters  it,  \ 

Even  thus,  relieved  from  the  delay  of  waiting,  -ni      \ 

That  murmuring  of  the  eagle  mounted  up  \ 

Along  its  neck,  as  if  it  had  been  hollow.  \ 

I'here  it  became  a  voice,  and  issued  thence  ^ 

From  out  its  beak,  in  such  a  form  of  words  [ 
As  the  heart  waited  for  wherein  I  wrote  them.             •      30      \ 

"  The  part  in  me  which  sees  and  bears  the  sun  \ 

In  mortal  eagles,"  it  began  to  me,  I 

"  Now  fixedly  must  needs  be  looked  upon  ;  I 

For  of  the  fires  of  which  I  make  my  figure,  I 

Those  whence  the  eye  doth  sparkle  in  my  head  as      | 

Of  all  their  orders  the  supremest  are.  2 

He  who  is  shining  in  the  midst  as  pupil  J 
Was  once  the  singer  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
Who  bore  the  ark  from  city  unto  city ; 


PARADISO,   XX.  557 


Now  knoweth  he  the  merit  of  his  song,  40 

In  so  far  as  effect  of  his  own  counsel, 

By  the  reward  which  is  commensurate. 
Of  five,  that  make  a  circle  for  my  brow, 

He  that  approacheth  nearest  to  my  beak 

Did  the  poor  widow  for  her  son  console  ;  45 

Now  knoweth  he  how  dearly  it  doth  cost 

Not  following  Christ,  by  the  experience 

Of  this  sweet  life  and  of  its  opposite. 
He  who  comes  next  in  the  circumference 

Of  which  I  speak,  upon  its  highest  arc,'  s» 

Did  death  postpone  by  penitence  sincere  ; 
Now  knoweth  he  that  the  eternal  judgment 

Suffers  no  change,  albeit  worthy  prayer 

Maketh  below  to-morrow  of  to-day. 
The  next  who  follows,  with  the  laws  and  me,  55 

Under  the  good  intent  that  bore  bad  fruit 

Became  a  Greek  by  ceding  to  the  pastor ; 
Now  knoweth  he  how  all  the  ill  deduced 

From  his  good  action  is  not  harmful  to  him. 

Although  the  world  thereby  may  be  destroyed,  *o 

And  he,  whom  in  the  downward  arc  thou  seest, 

Guglielmo  was,  whom  the  same  land  deplores 

That  weepeth  Charles  and  Frederick  yet  alive  ; 
Now  knoweth  he  how  heaven  enamoured  is 

With  a  just  king ;  and  in  the  outward  show  65 

Of  his  effulgence  he  reveals  it  still. 
Who  would  believe,  down  in  the  errant  world, 

That  e'er  the  Trojan  Ripheus  in  this  round 

Could  be  the  fifth  one  of  the  holy  lights  ? 
Now  knoweth  he  enough  of  what  the  world  70 

Has  not  the  power  to  see  of  grace  divine, 

Although  his  sight  may  not  discern  the  bottom." 
Like  as  a  lark  that  in  the  air  expatiates, 

First  singing  and  then  silent  with  content 
r     Of  the  last  sweetness  that  doth  satisfy  her,  7$ 

Such  seemed  to  me  the  image  of  the  imprint 

Of  the  eternal  pleasure,  by  whose  will 

Doth  everything  become  the  thing  it  is. 
And  notwithstanding  to  my  doubt  I  was 

As  glass  is  to  the  colour  that  invests  it,  80 

To  wait  the  time  in  silence  it  endured  not, 
But  forth  from  out  my  mouth,  "  What  things  are  these  ?  " 

Extorted  with  the  force  of  its  own  weight ; 

Whereat  I  saw  great  joy  of  coruscation. 

p  p  2 


558  ■  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Thereafterward  with  eye  still  more  enkindled  8s 

The  blessed  standard  made  to  me  reply, 

To  keep  me  not  in  wonderment  suspended  : 
"  I  see  that  thou  believest  in  these  things 

Because  I  say  them,  but  thou  seest  not  how ; 

So  that,  although  believed  in,  they  are  hidden.  90 

Thou  doest  as  he  doth  who  a  thing  by  name 

Well  apprehendeth,  but  its  quiddity 

Cannot  perceive,  unless  another  show  it. 
Regnum  caeiorum  suffereth  violence 

From  fervent  love,  and  from  that  living  hope  9S 

That  overcometh  the  Divine  volition  ; 
Not  in  the  guise  that  man  o'ercometh  man, 

But  conquers  it  because  it  will  be  conquered, 

And  conquered  conquers  by  benignity. 
The  first  life  of  the  eyebrow  and  the  fifth  «» 

Cause  thee  astonishment,  because  with  them 

Thou  seest  the  region  of  the  angels  painted. 
They  passed  not  from  their  bodies,  as  thou  thinkest, 

Gentiles,  but  Christians  in  the  steadfast  faith 

Of  feet  that  were  to  suffer  and  had  suffered.  ws 

For  one  from  Hell,  where  no  one  e'er  turns  back 

Unto  good  will,  returned  unto  his  bones, 

And  that  of  living  hope  was  the  reward, — 
Of  living  hope,  that  placed  its  efficacy 

In  prayers  to  God  made  to  resuscitate  him,  wo 

So  that  'twere  possible  to  move  his  will. 
The  glorious  soul  concerning  which  I  speak. 

Returning  to  the  flesh,  where  brief  its  stay, 

Believed  in  Him  who  had  the  power  to  aid  it ; 
And,  in  believing,  kindled  to  such  fire  "S 

Of  genuine  love,  that  at  the  second  death 

Worthy  it  was  to  come  unto  this  joy. 
The  other  one,  through  grace,  that  from  so  deep 

A  fountain  wells  that  never  hath  the  eye 

Of  any  creature  reached  its  primal  wave,  ««o 

Set  all  his  love  below  on  righteousness ; 

Wherefore  from  grace  to  grace  did  God  unclose 

His  eye  to  our  redemption  yet  to  be, 
Whence  he  believed  therein,  and  suffered  not 

From  that  day  forth  the  stench  of  paganism,  «»s 

And  he  reproved  therefor  the  folk  perverse. 
Those  Maidens  three,  whom  at  the  right-hand  wheel 

Thou  didst  behold,  were  unto  him  for  baptism 

More  than  a  thousand  years  before  baptizing. 


PARADISO,   XXI.  559 


O  thou  predestination,  how  remote 

Thy  root  is  from  the  aspect  of  all  those 
"WTio  the  First  Cause  do  not  behold  entire  ! 

And  you,  O  mortals  !  hold  yourselves  restrained 
In  judging ;  for  ourselves,  who  look  on  God, 
We  do  not  know  as  yet  all  the  elect ; 

And  sweet  to  us  is  such  a  deprivation. 

Because  our  good  in  this  good  is  made  perfect, 
That  whatsoe'er  God  wills,  we  also  will." 

After  this  manner  by  that  shape  divine. 

To  make  clear  in  me  my  short-sightedness, 
Was  given  to  me  a  pleasant  medicine ; 

And  as  good  singer  a  good  lutanist 

Accompanies  with  vibrations  of  the  chords. 
Whereby  more  pleasantness  the  song  acquires, 

So,  while  it  spake,  do  I  remember  me 

That  I  beheld  both  of  those  blessed  lights, 
Even  as  the  winking  of  the  eyes  concords, 

Moving  unto  the  words  their  little  flames. 


CANTO   XXI. 

Already  on  my  Lady's  face  mine  eyes 

Again  were  fastened,  and  with  these  my  mind, 
And  from  all  other  purpose  was  withdrawn ; 

And  she  smiled  not ;  but  "  If  I  were  to  smile," 
She  unto  me  began,  "  thou  wouldst  become 
Like  Semele,  when  she  was  turned  to  ashes. 

Because  my  beauty,  that  along  the  stairs 
Of  the  eternal  palace  more  enkindles, 
As  thou  hast  seen,  the  farther  we  ascend. 

If  it  were  tempered  not,  is  so  resplendent 

That  all  thy  mortal  power  in  its  effulgence 
Would  seem  a  leaflet  that  the  thunder  crushes. 

We  are  uplifted  to  the  seventh  splendour, 

That  underneath  the  burning  Lion's  breast 
Now  radiates  downward  mingled  with  his  power. 

Fix  in  direction  of  thine  eyes  the  mind, 

And  make  of  them  a  mirror  for  the  figure 
That  in  this  mirror  shall  appear  to  thee." 

He  who  could  know  what  was  the  pasturage 
My  sight  had  in  that  blessed  countenance. 
When  I  transferred  me  to  another  care. 


56o  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

Would  recognize  how  grateful  was  to  me 
Obedience  unto  my  celestial  escort, 
By  counterpoising  one  side  with  the  other. 

Within  the  crystal  which,  around  the  world 

Revolving,  bears  the  name  of  its  dear  leader, 
Under  whom  every  wickedness  lay  dead, 

Coloured  like  gold,  on  which  the  sunshine  gleams, 
A  stairway  I  beheld  to  such  a  height 
Uplifted,  that  mine  eye  pursued  it  not. 

Likewise  beheld  I  down  the  steps  descending 

So  many  splendours,  that  I  thought  each  light 
That  in  the  heaven  appears  was  there  diffused. 

And  as  accordant  with  their  natural  custom 
The  rooks  together  at  the  break  of  day 
Bestir  themselves  to  warm  their  feathers  cold ; 

Then  some  of  them  fly  off  without  return, 

Others  come  back  to  where  they  started  from. 
And  others,  wheeling  round,  still  keep  at  home ; 

Such  fashion  it  appeared  to  me  was  there 
Within  the  sparkling  that  together  came, 
As  soon  as  on  a  certain  step  it  struck, 

And  that  which  nearest  unto  us  remained 

Became  so  clear,  that  in  my  thought  I  said, 
"  Well  I  perceive  the  love  thou  showest  me ; 

But  she,  from  whom  I  wait  the  how  and  when 

Of  speech  and  silence,  standeth  still ;  whence  I 
Against  desire  do  well  if  I  ask  not" 

She  thereupon,  who  saw  my  silentness 

In  the  sight  of  Him  who  seeth  everything, 
Said  unto  me,  "  Let  loose  thy  warm  desire." 

And  I  began :  "  No  merit  of  my  own 

Renders  me  worthy  of  response  from  thee ; 
But  for  her  sake  who  granteth  me  the  asking, 

Thou  blessed  life  that  dost  remain  concealed 
In  thy  beatitude,  make  known  to  me 
The  cause  which  draweth  thee  so  near  my  side ; 

And  tell  me  why  is  silent  in  this  wheel 
The  dulcet  symphony  of  Paradise, 
That  through  the  rest  below  sounds  so  devoutly." 

**  Thou  hast  thy  hearing  mortal  as  thy  sight," 

It  answer  made  to  me  ;  "  they  sing  not  here, 
For  the  same  cause  that  Beatrice  has  not  smiled. 

Thus  far  adown  the  holy  stairway's  steps 

Have  I  descended  but  to  give  thee  welcome 
With  words,  and  with  the  light  that  mantles  nie ; 


PARADISO,   XXI.  561 


Nor  did  more  love  cause  me  to  be  more  ready, 

For  love  as  much  and  more  up  there  is  burning, 

As  doth  the  flaming  manifest  to  thee. 
But  the  high  charity,  that  makes  us  servants  70 

Prompt  to  the  counsel  which  controls  the  world, 

AUotteth  here,  even  as  thou  dost  observe." 
"  I  see  full  well,"  said  I,  "  O  sacred  lamp  ! 

How  love  unfettered  in  this  court  sufficeth 

To  follow  the  eternal  Providence ;  75 

But  this  is  what  seems  hard  for  me  to  see, 

Wherefore  predestinate  wast  thou  alone 

Unto  this  office  from  among  thy  consorts." 
No  sooner  had  I  come  to  the  last  word. 

Than  of  its  middle  made  the  light  a  centre,  80 

Whirling  itself  about  like  a  swift  millstone. 
When  answer  made  the  love  that  was  therein  : 

"  On  me  directed  is  a  light  divine. 

Piercing  through  this  in  which  I  am  embosomed, 
Of  which  the  virtue  with  my  sight  conjoined  8s 

Lifts  me  above  ;nyself  so  far,  I  see 

The  supreme  essence  from  which  this  is  drawn. 
Hence  comes  the  joyfulness  with  which  I  flame, 

For  to  my  sight,  as  far  as  it  is  clear. 

The  clearness  of  the  flame  I  equal  make.  90 

But  that  soul  in  the  heaven  which  is  most  pure. 

That  seraph  which  his  eye  on  God  most  fixes, 

Could  this  demand  of  thine  not  satisfy; 
Because  so  deeply  sinks  in  the  abyss 

Of  the  eternal  statute  what  thou  askest,  9s 

From  all  created  sight  it  is  cut  off". 
And  to  the  mortal  world,  when  thou  returnest, 

This  carry  back,  that  it  may  not  presume 

Longer  tow'rd  such  a  goal  to  move  its  feet. 
The  mind,  that  shineth  here,  on  earth  doth  smoke ;  100 

From  this  observe  how.  can  it  do  below 

That  which  it  cannot  though  the  heaven  assume  it?" 
Such  limit  did  its  words  prescribe  to  me, 

The  question  I  relinquished,  and  restricted 

Myself  to  ask  it  humbly  who  it  was.  105 

"  Between  two  shores  of  Italy  rise  cliffs. 

And  not  far  distant  from  thy  native  place. 

So  high,  the  thunders  far  below  them  sound, 
And  form  a  ridge  that  Catria  is  called, 

'Neath  which  is  consecrate  a  hermitage  "o 

Wont  to  be  dedicate  to  worship  only." 


562  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Thus  unto  me  the  third  speech  recommenced, 

And  then,  continuing,  it  said  :  "  Therein 

Unto  God's  service  I  became  so  steadfast, 
That  feeding  only  on  the  juice  of  ohves  ks 

Lightly  I  passed  away  the  heats  and  frosts, 

Contented  in  my  thoughts  contemplative.  ; 

That  cloister  used  to  render  to  these  heavens  , 

Abundantly,  and  now  is  empty  grown,  j 

So  that  perforce  it  soon  must  be  revealed,  i"^    \ 

I  in  that  place  was  Peter  Damiano ;  j 

And  Peter  the  Sinner  was  I  in  the  house  I 

Of  Our  Lady  on  the  Adriatic  shore.  .     ; 

Little  of  mortal  life  remained  to  me, 

When  I  was  called  and  dragged  forth  to  the  hat  "s 

Which  shifteth  evermore  from  bad  to  worse.  \ 

Came  Cephas,  and  the  mighty  Vessel  came  I 

Of  the  Holy  Spirit,  meagre  and  barefooted, 

Taking  the  food  of  any  hostelry. 
Now  some  one  to  support  them  on  each  side  '30 

The  modern  shepherds  need,  and  some  to  lead  them,  j 

So  heavy  are  they,  and  to  hold  their  trains.  i 

They  cover  up  their  palfreys  with  their  cloaks, 

So  that  two  beasts  go  underneath  one  skin ;  | 

O  Patience,  that  dost  tolerate  so  much  ! "  »35    ] 

At  this  voice  saw  I  many  little  flames  i 

'     From  step  to  step  descending  and  revolving,  ■ 

And  every  revolution  made  them  fairer. 
Round  about  this  one  came  they  and  stood  still,  j 

And  a  cry  uttered  of  so  loud  a  sound,  140  J 

It  here  could  find  no  parallel,  nor  I  \ 

Distinguished  it,  the  thunder  so  o'ercame  rae. 


CANTO  XXIL 

Oppressed  with  stupor,  T  unto  my  guide 

Turned  like  a  little  child  who  always  runs 
For  refuge  there  where  he  confideth  most ; 

And  she,  even  as  a  mother  who  straightway 

Gives  comfort  to  her  pale  and  breathless  boy 
With  voice  whose  wont  it  is  to  reassure  him, 

Said  to  me  :  "  Knowest  thou  not  thou  art  in  heaven. 
And  knowest  thou  not  that  heaven  is  holy  ail, 
And  what  is  done  here  cometh  from  good  zeal  ? 


PARADISO,    XXII.  563 


After  what  wise  the  singing  would  have  changed  thee  10 

And  I  by  smiling,  thou  canst  now  imagine, 

Since  that  the  cry  has  startled  thee  so  much. 
In  which  if  thou  hadst  understood  its  prayers 

Already  would  be  known  to  thee  the  vengeance 

Which  thou  shalt  look  upon  before  thou  diest.  15 

The  sword  above  here  smiteth  not  in  haste 

Nor  tardily,  howe'er  it  seem  to  him 

Who  fearing  or  desiring  waits  for  it. 
But  turn  thee  round  towards  the  others  now, 

For  very  illustrious  spirits  shalt  thou  see,  *> 

If  thou  thy  sight  directest  as  I  say." 
As  it  seemed  good  to  her  mine  eyes  I  turned, 

And  saw  a  hundred  spherules  that  together 

With  mutual  rays  each  other  more  embellished. 
I  stood  as  one  who  in  himself  represses  as 

The  point  of  his  desire,  and  ventures  not 

To  question,  he  so  feareth  the  too  much. 
And  now  the  largest  and  most  luculent 

Among  those  pearls  came  forward,  that  it  might 

Make  my  desire  concerning  it  content.  30 

Within  it  then  I  heard  :  "  If  thou  couldst  see 

Even  as  myself  the  charity  that  burns 

Among  us,  thy  conceits  would  be  expressed ; 
But,  that  by  waiting  thou  mayst  not  come  late 

To  the  high  end,  I  will  make  answer  even  3S 

Unto  the  thought  of  which  thou  art  so  chary. 
That  mountain  on  whose  slope  Cassino  stands 

Was  frequented  of  old  upon  its  summit 

By  a  deluded  folk  and  ill-disposed ; 
And  I  am  he  who  first  up  thither  bore  4* 

The  name  of  Him  who  brought  upon  the  earth 

The  truth  that  so  much  sublimateth  us. 
And  such  abundant  grace  upon  me  shone 

That  all  the  neighbouring  towns  I  drew  away 

From  the  impious  worship  that  seduced  the  world.  4s 

These  other  fires,  each  one  of  them,  were  men 

Contemplative,  enkindled  by  that  heat 
•  Which  maketh  holy  flowers  and  fruits  spring  up. 
Here  is  Macarius,  here  is  Romualdus, 

Here  are  my  brethren,  who  within  the  cloisters  v* 

Their  footsteps  stayed  and  kept  a  steadfast  heart." 
And  I  to  him  :  "  The  affection  which  thou  showest 

Speaking  with  me,  and  the  good  countenance 

Which  I  behold  and  note  in  all  your  ardours, 


564  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

■  In  me  have  so  my  confidence  dilated  55 

As  the  sun  doth  the  rose,  when  it  becomes 

As  far  unfolded  as  it  hath  the  power. 
Therefore  I  pray,  and  thou  assure  me,  father,  1 

If  I  may  so  much  grace  receive,  that  I 

May  thee  behold  with  countenance  unveiled."  <!o     j 

He  thereupon  :  "  Brother,  thy  high  desire  ! 

In  the  remotest  sphere  shall  be  fulfilled,  ; 

Where  are  fulfilled  all  others  and  my  own.  ' 

There  perfect  is,  and  ripened,  and  complete,  ; 

Every  desire  ;  within  that  one  alone  <s     \ 

Is  every  part  where  it  has  always  been ; 
For  it  is  not  in  space,  nor  turns  on  poles,  '  i 

And  unto  it  our  stairway  reaches  up,  \ 

Whence  thus  from  out  thy  sight  it  steals  away. 
Up  to  that  height  the  Patriarch  Jacob  saw  it  70 

Extending  its  supernal  part,  what  time 

So  thronged  with  angels  it  appeared  to  him. 
But  to  ascend  it  now  no  one  uplifts  ] 

His  feet  from  off  the  earth,  and  now  my  Rule 

Below  remaineth  for  mere  waste  of  paper.  75 

The  walls  that  used  of  old  to  be  an  Abbey 

Are  changed  to  dens  of  robbers,  and  the  cowls  \ 

Are  sacks  filled  full  of  miserable  flour.  \ 

But  heavy  usury  is  not  taken  up  \ 

So  much  against  God's  pleasure  as  that  fruit 

Which  maketh  so  insane  the  heart  of  monks  ; 
For  whatsoever  hath  the  Church  in  keeping 

Is  for  the  folk  that  ask  it  in  God's  name, 

Not  for  one's  kindred  or  for  something  worse. 
The  flesh  of  mortals  is  so  very  soft, 

That  good  beginnings  down  below  suffice  not 

From  springing  of  the  oak  to  bearing  acorns. 
Peter  began  with  neither  gold  nor  silver. 

And  1  with  orison  and  abstinence. 

And  Francis  with  humility  his  convent. 
And  if  thou  lookest  at  each  one's  beginning. 

And  then  regardest  whither  he  has  run, 

Thou  shalt  behold  the  white  changed  into  brown. 
In  verity  the  Jordan  backward  turned, 

-And  the  sea's  fleeing,  when  God  willed  were  more 

\  wonder  to  behold,  than  succour  hcte." 
Thus  unto  me  he  said  ;  and  then  withdrew 

To  his  own  band,  and  the  band  closed  together ; 

Then  like  a  whirlwind  all  was  upward  rapt. 


PARADISO,  XXII.  565 


The  gentle  Lady  urged  me  on  behind  them  t  ^ 

Up  o'er  that  stairway  by  a  single  sign, 

So  did  her  virtue  overcome  my  nature ; 
Nor  here  below,  where  one  goes  up  and  down 

By  natural  law,  was  motion  e'er  so  swift 

That  it  could  be  compared  unto  my  wing.  jos 

Reader,  as  I  may  unto  that  devout 

Triumph  return,  on  whose  account  I  often 

For  my  transgressions  weep  and  beat  my  breast, — 
Thou  hadst  not  thrust  thy  finger  in  the  fire 

And  drawn  it  out  again,  before  I  saw  no 

The  sign  that  follows  Taurus,  and  was  in  it. 

0  glorious  stars,  O  light  impregnated 

With  mighty  virtue,  from  which  I  acknowledge 

All  of  my  genius,  whatsoe'er  it  be. 
With  you  was  born,  and  hid  himself  with  you,  «i 

He  who  is  father  of  all  mortal  life, 

When  first  I  tasted  of  the  Tuscan  air ; 
And  then  when  grace  was  freely  given  to  me 

To  enter  the  high  wheel  which  turns  you  round, 

Your  region  was  allotted  unto  me.  "c 

To  you  devoutly  at  this  hour  my  soul 

Is  sighing,  that  it  virtue  may  acquire 

For  the  stem  pass  that  draws  it  to  itself. 
"  Thou  art  so  near  unto  the  last  salvation," 

Thus  Beatrice  began,  "  thou  oughtest  now  J2s 

To  have  thine  eyes  unclouded  and  acute  ; 
And  therefore,  ere  thou  enter  farther  in. 

Look  down  once  more,  and  see  how  vast  a  world 

Thou  hast  already  put  beneath  thy  feet ; 
So  that  thy  heart,  as  jocund  as  it  may,  130 

Present  itself  to  the  triumphant  throng 

That  comes  rejoicing  through  this  rounded  ether." 

1  with  my  sight  returned  through  one  and  all 

The  sevenfold  spheres,  and  I  beheld  this  globe 

Such  that  I  smiled  at  its  ignoble  semblance ;  ijs 

And  that  opinion  I  approve  as  best 

Which  doth  account  it  least  \  and  he  who  thinks 

Of  something  else  may  truly  be  called  just. 
I  saw  the  daughter  of  Latona  shining 

Without  that  shadow,  which  to  me  was  cause  uc 

That  once  I  had  believed  her  rare  and  dense. 
The  aspect  of  thy  son,  Hyperion, 

Here  I  sustained,  and  saw  how  move  themselves 

Around  and  near  him  Maia  and  Dione. 


5t>6  THE  DJV/.VE   COMEDY. 

Thence  there  appeared  the  temperateness  of  Jove 
'Tvvixt  son  and  father,  and  to  me  was  clear 
The  change  that  of  their  whereabout  they  make  ; 

And  all  the  seven  made  manifest  to  me 

How  great  they  are,  and  eke  how  swift  they  are, 
And  how  they  are  in  distant  habitations. 

The  threshing-floor  that  maketh  us  so  proud, 
To  me  revolving  with  the  eternal  Twins, 
Was  all  apparent  made  from  hill  to  harbour  ! 

Then  to  the  beauteous  eyes  mine  eyes  I  turned. 


CANTO   XXIII. 

Even  as  a  bird,  'mid  the  beloved  leaves, 
Quiet  upon  the  nest  of  her  sweet  brood 
Throughout  the  night,  that  hideth  all  things  from  us, 

Who,  that  she  may  behold  their  longed-for  looks 
And  find  the  food  wherewith  to  nourish  them, 
In  which,  to  her,  grave  labours  grateful  are,- 

Anticipates  the  time  on  open  spray 

And  with  an  ardent  longing  waits  the  sun, 
Gazing  intent  as  soon  as  breaks  the  dawn  : 

Even  thus  my  Lady  standing  was,  erect 

And  vigilant,  turned  round  towards  the  zone 
Underneath  which  the  sun  displays  less  haste ; 

So  that  beholding  her  distraught  and  wistful. 
Such  I  became  as  he  is  who  desiring 
For  something  yearns,  and  hoping  is  appeased.  «•' 

But  brief  the  space  from  one  When  to  the  other ; 
Of  my  awaiting,  say  I,  and  the  seeing 
The  welkin  grow  resplendent  more  and  more. 

And  Beatrice  exclaimed  :  "  Behold  the  hosts 

Of  Christ's  triumphal  march,  and  all  the  fruit 
Harvested  by  the  rolling  of  these  spheres  1 " 

It  seemed  to  me  her  face  was  all  aflame  ; 
And  eyes  she  had  so  full  of  ecstasy 
That  I  must  needs  pass  on  without  describing. 

As  when  in  nights  serene  of  the  full  moon 
Smiles  Trivia  among  the  nymphs  eternal 
Who  paint  the  firmament  through  all  its  gulfs, 

Saw  I,  above  the  myriads  of  lamps, 

A  Sun  that  one  and  all  of  them  enkindled, 
E'en  as  our  own  doth  the  supernal  sights, 


PARADISO,  XXIII.  567 

And  through  the  Hving  Hght  transparent  shone 
The  lucent  substance  so  intensely  clear 
Into  my  sight,  that  I  sustained  it  not. 

0  Beatrice,  thou  gentle  guide  and  dear ! 

To  me  she  said  :  "  What  overmasters  thee  35 

A  virtue  is  from  which  naught  shields  itself. 
There  are  the  wisdom  and  the  omnipotence 

That  oped  the  thoroughfares  'twixt  heaven  and  earth, 

For  which  there  erst  had  been  so  long  a  yearning." 
As  fire  from  out  a  cloud  unlocks  itself,  4« 

Dilating  so  it  finds  not  room  therein, 

And  down,  against  its  nature,  falls  to  earth. 
So  did  my  mind,  among  those  aliments 

Becoming  larger,  issue  from  itself. 

And  that  which  it  became  cannot  remember.  4s 

" Open  thine  eyes,  and  look  at  what  I  am: 

Thou  hast  beheld  such  things,  that  strong  enough 

Hast  thou  become  to  tolerate  my  smile." 

1  was  as  one  who  still  retains  the  feeling 

Of  a  forgotten  vision,  and  endeavours  so 

In  vain  to  bring  it  back  into  his  mind, 
When  I  this  invitation  heard,  deserving 

Of  so  much  gratitude,  it  never  fades 

Out  of  the  book  that  chronicles  the  past 
Jf  at  this  moment  sounded  all  the  tongues  55 

That  Polyhymnia  and  her  sisters  made 

Most  lubrical  with  their  delicious  milk. 
To  aid  me,  to  a  thousandth  of  the  truth 

It  would  not  reach,  singing  the  holy  smile 

And  how  the  holy  aspect  it  illumed.  flo 

And  therefore,  representing  Paradise, 

The  sacred  poem  must  perforce  leap  over, 

Even  as  a  man  who  finds  his  way  cut  off; 
But  whoso  thinketh  of  the  ponderous  theme. 

And  of  the  mortal  shoulder  laden  with  it,  65 

Should  blame  it  not,  if  under  this  it  tremble. 
It  is  no  passage  for  a  little  boat 

This  which  goes  cleaving  the  audacious  prow, 

Nor  for  a  pilot  who  would  spare  himself 
"  Why  doth  my  face  so  much  enamour  thee,  *  70 

That  to  the  garden  fair  thou  turnest  not. 

Which  under  the  rays  of  Christ  is  blossoming? 
There  is  the  Rose  in  which  the  Word  Divine 

Became  incarnate  ;  there  the  lilies  are 

By  whose  perfume  the  good  way  was  discovered"  w 


568  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Thus  Beatrice  ;  and  I,  who  to  her  counsels 
Was  wholly  ready,  once  again  betook  me 
Unto  the  battle  of  the  feeble  brows. 

As  in  the  sunshine,  that  unsullied  streams  ■ 

Through  fractured  cloud,  ere  now  a  meadow  of  flowers      so 
Mine  eyes  with  shadow  covered  o'er  have  seen, 

So  troops  of  splendours  manifold  1  saw  ; 

Illumined  from  above  with  burning  rays,  ' 

Beholding  not  the  source  of  the  effulgence.  ' 

O  power  benignant  that  dost  so  imprint  them  !  85  ' 

Thou  didst  exalt  thyself  to  give  more  scope  \ 

There  to  mine  eyes,  that  were  not  strong  enough. 

The  name  of  that  fair  flower  I  e'er  invoke  i 

Morning  and  evening  utterly  enthralled 
My  soul  to  gaze  upon  the  greater  fire.  90  ; 

And  when  in  both  mine  eyes  depicted  were 

The  glory  and  greatness  of  the  living  star  ' 

Which  there  excelleth,  as  it  here  excelled,  i 

Athwart  the  heavens  a  little  torch  descended  -j 

Formed  in  a  circle  like  a  coronal,  95  i 

And  cinctured  it,  and  whirled  itself  about  it.  ; 

Whatever  melody  most  sweetly  souhdeth  \ 

On  earth,  and  to  itself  most  draws  the  soul,  i 

W^ould  seem  a  cloud  that,  rent  asunder,  thunders,  I 

Compared  unto  the  sounding  of  that  lyre  'oo  1 

Wherewith  was  crowned  the  sapphire  beautiful,  J 

Which  gives  the  clearest  heaven  its  sapphire  hue. 

"  I  am  Angelic  Love,  that  circle  round 

The  joy  sublime  which  breathes  from  out  the  womb 

That  was  the  hostelry  of  our  Desire ;  ms 

And  I  shall  circle,  Lady  of  Heaven,  while . 

Thou  followest  thy  Son,  and  mak'st  diviner 

The  sphere  supreme,  because  thou  enterest  there." 

Thus  did  the  circulated  melody 

Seal  itself  up ;  and  all  the  other  lights 
Were  making  to  resound  the  name  of  Mary. 

The  regal  mantle  of  the  volumes  all 

Of  that  world,  which  most  fervid  is  and  living 
With  breath  of  God  and  with  his  works  and  ways, 

Extended  over  us  its  inner  border. 

So  very  distant,  that  the  semblance  of  it 
There  where  I  was  not  yet  appeared  to  me. 

Therefore  mine  eyes  did  not  possess  the  power 
Of  following  the  incoronated  flame, 
Which  mounted  upward  near  to  its  '»w^i4  seed. 


■J 


PARADISO,  XXIV.  569 


And  as  a  little  child,  that  towards  its  mother 

Stretches  its  arms,  when  it  the  milk  has  taken, 
Through  impulse  kindled  into  outward  flame. 

Each  of  those  gleams  of  whiteness  upward  reached 

So  with  its  summit,  that  the  deep  affection  175 

They  had  for  Mary  was  revealed  to  me. 

Thereafter  they  remained  there  in  my  sight, 
Regina  cceli  singing  with  such  sweetness. 
That  ne'er  from  me  has  the  delight  departed. 

O,  what  exuberance  is  garnered  up  13c 

Within  those  richest  coffers,  which  had  been 
Good  husbandmen  for  sowing  here  below ! 

There  they  enjoy  and  live  upon  the  treasure 

Which  was  acquired  while  weeping  in  the  exile 

Of  Babylon,  wherein  the  gold  was  left.  13s 

There  triumpheth,  beneath  the  exalted  Son 
Of  God  and  Mary,  in  his  victory, 
Both  with  the  ancient  council  and  the  new. 

He  who  doth  keep  the  keys  of  such  a  glory. 


CANTO  XXIV. 

"  O  COMPANY  elect  to  the  great  supper 

Of  the  Lamb  benedight,  who  feedeth  you 
So  that  for  ever  full  is  your  desire, 

If  by  the  grace  of  God  this  man  foretaste 

Something  of  that  which  falleth  from  your  table, 
Or  ever  death  prescribe  to  him  the  time, 

Direct  your  mind  to  his  immense  desire, 

And  him  somewhat  bedew  \  ye  drinking  are 
For  ever  at  the  fount  whence  comes  his  thought" 

Thus  Beatrice  ;  and  those  souls  beatified 

Transformed  themselves  to  spheres  on  steadfast  poles, 
Flaming  intensely  in  the  guise  of  comets. 

And  as  the  wheels  in  works  of  horologes 

Revolve  so  that  the  first  to  the  beholder 
Motionless  seems,  and  the  last  one  to  fly. 

So  in  like  manner  did  those  carols,  dancing 
In  different  measure,  of  tljeir  affluence 
Give  me  the  gauge,  as  they  were  swift  or  slow. 

From  that  one  which  I  noted  of  most  beauty 
Beheld  I  issue  forth  a  fire  so  happy 
That  none  it  left  there  of  a  greater  brightness ; 


570  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


And  around  Beatrice  three  several  times 
It  whirled  itself  with  so  divine  a  song, 
My  fantasy  repeats  it  not  to  me  ; 

Therefore  the  pen  skips,  and  I  write  it  not, 
Since  our  imagination  for  such  folds, 
Much  more  our  speech,  is  of  a  tint  too  glaring. 

"  O  holy  sister  mine,  who  us  implorest 

With  such  devotion,  by  thine  ardent  love 

Thou  dost  unbind  me  from  that  beautiful  sphere  ! " 

Thereafter,  having  stopped,  the  blessed  fire 
Unto  my  Lady  did  direct  its  breath. 
Which  spake  in  fashion  as  I  here  have  said. 

And  she  :  "  O  light  eteme  of  the  great  man 
To  whom  our  Lord  delivered  up  the  keys 
He  carried  down  of  this  miraculous  joy. 

This  one  examine  on  points  light  and  grave. 
As  good  beseemeth  thee,  about  the  Faith 
By  means  of  which  thou  on  the  sea  didst  walk. 

If  he  love  well,  and  hope  well,  and  believe. 

From  thee  'tis  hid  not ;  for  thou  hast  thy  sight 
There  where  depicted  everything  is  seen. 

But  since  this  kingdom  has  made  citizens 
By  means  of  the  true  Faith,  to  glorify  it 
'Tis  well  he  have  the  chance  to  speak  thereof." 

As  baccalaureate  arms  himself,  and  speaks  not 
Until  the  master  doth  propose  the  question, 
To  argue  it,  and  not  to  terminate  it, 

So  did  I  arm  myself  with  every  reason. 

While  she  was  speaking,  that  I  might  be  ready 
For  such  a  questioner  and  such  profession. 

"  Say,  thou  good  Christian  ;  manifest  thyself; 

What  is  the  Faith  ?  "     Whereat  I  raised  my  brow 
Unto  that  light  wherefrom  was  this  breathed  forth. 

Then  turned  I  round  to  Beatrice,  and  she 

Prompt  signals  made  to  me  that  I  should  pour 
The  water  forth  from  my  internal  fountain. 

"  May  grace,  that  suffers  me  to  make  confession," 
Began  I,  "  to  the  great  centurion. 
Cause  my  conceptions  all  to  be  explicit ! " 

And  I  continued  :  "  As  the  truthful  pen. 
Father,  of  thy  dear  brother  wrote  of  it, 
Who  put  with  thee  Rome  into  the  good  way, 

Faith  is  the  substance  of  the  things  we  hope  for, 
And  evidence  of  those  that  are  not  seen  ; 
And  this  appears  to  me  its  quiddity." 


PARADISO,  XXIV.  571 


Then  heard  I  :  "  Very  rightly  thou  perceivest, 

If  well  thou  understandest  why  he  placed  it 

With  substances  and  then  with  evidences," 
And  I  thereafterward  :  "  The  things  profound,  ?• 

That  here  vouchsafe  to  me  their  apparition, 

Unto  all  eyes  below  are  so  concealed, 
That  they  exist  there  only  in  belief, 

Upon  the  which  is  founded  the  high  hope, 

And  hence  it  takes  the  nature  of  a  substance.  n 

And  it  behoveth  us  from  this  belief 

To  reason  without  having  other  sight, 

And  hence  it  has  the  nature  of  evidence." 
Then  heard  I :  "If  whatever  is  acquired 

Below  by  doctrine  were  thus  understood,  »» 

No  sophist's  subtlety  would  there  find  place." 
Thus  was  breathed  forth  from  that  enkindled  love ; 

Then  added  :  "  Very  well  has  been  gone  over 

Already  of  this  coin  the  alloy  and  weight ; 
But  tell  me  if  thou  hast  it  in  thy  purse  ?  "  85 

And  I :  "  Yes,  both  so  shining  and  so  round. 

That  in  its  stamp  there  is  no  perad venture." 
Thereafter  issued  from  the  light  profound 

That  there  resplendent  was  :  "  This  precious  jewel. 

Upon  the  which  is  every  virtue  founded,  90 

Whence  hadst  thou  it  ?  "     And  I :  "  The  large  outpouring 

Of  Holy  Spirit,  which  has  been  diffused 

Upon  the  ancient  parchments  and  the  new, 
A  syllogism  is,  which  proved  it  to  me 

With  such  acuteness,  that,  compared  therewith,  9s 

All  demonstration  seems  to  me  obtuse." 
And  then  I  heard  :  "  The  ancient  and  the  new 

Postulates,  that  to  thee  are  so  conclusive. 

Why  dost  thou  take  them  for  the  word  divine  ?  " 
And  I :  "  The  proofs,  which  show  the  truth  to  me,  »<» 

Are  the  works  subsequent,  whereunto  Nature 

Ne'er  heated  iron  yet,  nor  anvil  beat." 
'Twas  answered  me  :  "  Say,  who  assureth  thee 

That  those  works  ever  were  ?  the  thing  itself 

That  must  be  proved,  nought  else  to  thee  affirms  it."        «« 
"  Were  the  world  to  Christianity  converted," 

I  said,  "  withouten  miracles,  this  one 

Is  such,  the  rest  are  not  its  hundredth  part ; 
Because  that  poor  and  fasting  thou  didst  enter 

Into  the  field  to  sow  there  the  good  plant,  i«» 

Which  was  a  vine  and  has  become  a  thorn  !  ** 

QQ 


L 


ff»  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


This  being  finished,  the  high,  holy  Court 

Resounded  through  the  spheres,  "  One  God  we  praise  !  "        i 

In  melody  that  there  above  is  chanted. 
And  then  that  Baron,  who  firom  branch  to  branch,  "s 

Examining,  had  thus  conducted  me, 

Till  the  extremest  leaves  we  were  approachmg, 
Again  began  :  "  The  Grace  that  dallying 

Plays  with  thine  intellect  thy  mouth  has  opened, 

Up  to  this  point,  as  it  should  opened  be,  im    ; 

So  that  I  do  approve  what  forth  emerged  ;  , 

But  now  thou  must  express  what  thou  believest, 

And  whence  to  thy  belief  it  was  presented." 
"  O  holy  father,  spirit  who  beholdest  \ 

What  thou  believedst  so  that  thou  o'ercamest,  laj    \ 

Towards  the  sepulchre,  more  youthful  feet,"  \ 

Began  I,  "  thou  dost  wish  me  in  this  place 

The  form  to  manifest  of  my  prompt  belief. 

And  likewise  thou  the  cause  thereof  demandest.  i 

And  I  respond  :  In  one  God  I  believe,  130    ' 

Sole  and  eterne,  who  moveth  all  the  heavens  j 

With  love  and  with  desire,  himself  unmoved ;  | 

And  of  such  faith  not  only  have  I  proofs  \ 

Physical  and  metaphysical,  but  gives  them  j 

Likewise  the  truth  that  from  this  place  rains  down  135    \ 

Through  Moses,  through  the  Prophets  and  the  Psalms, 

Through  the  Evangel,  and  through  you,  who  wrote 

After  the  fiery  Spirit  sanctified  you  ; 
In  Persons  three  eterne  believe,  and  these 

One  essence  I  believe,  so  one  and  trine  uo 

They  bear  conjunction  both  with  sunt  and  est. 
With  the  profound  condition  and  divine 

Which  now  I  touch  upon,  doth  stamp  my  mind 

Ofttimes  the  doctrine  evangelical. 
This  the  beginning  is,  this  is  the  spark  145 

Which  afterwards  dilates  to  vivid  flame, 

And,  like  a  star  in  heaven,  is  sparkling  in  me."  ] 

Even  as  a  lord  who  hears  what  pleaseth  him 

His  servant  straight  embraces,  gratulating  \, 

For  the  good  news  as  soon  as  he  is  silent ;  is*  \\ 

So,  giving  me  its  benediction,  singing,  V; 

Three  times  encircled  me,  when  I  was  silent,  l| 

The  apostolic  light,  at  whose  command  *) 

I  spoken  had,  in  speaking  I  so  pleased  him. 


PARADISO,  XXV.  S73 


CANTO  XXV.     , 

If  e'er  it  happen  that  the  Poem  Sacred, 

To  which  both  heaven  and  earth  have  set  their  hand, 
So  that  it  many  a  year  hath  made  me  lean, 

O'ercome  the  cruelty  that  bars  me  out 

From  the  fair  sheepfold,  where  a  lamb  I  slumbered, 
An  enemy  to  the  wolves  that  war  upon  it, 

With  other  voice  forthwith,  with  other  fleece 
Poet  will  I  return,  and  at  my  font 
Baptismal  will  I  take  the  laurel  crown  ; 

Because  into  the  Faith  that  maketh  known 

All  souls  to  God  there  entered  I,  and  then 
Peter  for  her  sake  thus  my  brow  encircled. 

Thereafterward  towards  us  moved  a  light 

Out  of  that  band  whence  issued  the  first-fruits 
Which  of  his  vicars  Christ  behind  him  left. 

And  then  my  Lady,  full  of  ecstasy, 

Said  unto  me :  "  Look,  look  !  behold  the  Baron 
For  whom  below  Galicia  is  frequented," 

In  the  same  way  as,  when  a  dove  alights 

Near  his  companion,  both  of  them  pour  forth, 
Circling  about  and  murmuring,  their  affection, 

So  one  beheld  I  by  the  other  grand 

Prince  glorified  to  be  with  welcome  greeted, 
Lauding  the  food  that  there  above  is  eaten. 

But  when  their  gratulations  were  complete. 
Silently  coram  me  each  one  stood  still, 
So  incandescent  it  o'ercame  my  sight. 

Smiling  thereafterwards,  said  Beatrice  ; 

"  Illustrious  life,  by  whom  the  benefactions 
Of  our  Basilica  have  been  described, 

Make  Hope  resound  within  this  altitude  ; 

Thou  knowest  as  oft  thou  dost  personify  it 

As  Jesus  to  the  three  gave  greater  clearness." — 

"  Lift  up  thy  head,  and  make  thyself  assured  ; 

For  what  comes  hither  from  the  mortal  world 
Must  needs  be  ripened  m  our  radiance," 

This  comfort  came  to  me  from  the  second  fire ; 
Wherefore  mine  eyes  I  lifted  to  the  hills. 
Which  bent  them  down  before  with  too  great  weight, 

QQ  2 


574  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

"  Since,  through  his  grace,  our  Emperor  wills  that  thou 
Shouldst  find  thee  face  to  face,  before  thy  death. 
In  the  most  secret  chamber,  with  his  Counts, 

So  that,  the  truth  beholden  of  this  court, 

Hope,  which  below  there  rightfully  enamours, 
Thereby  thou  strengthen  in  thyself  and  others, 
'         Say  what  it  is,  and  how  is  flowering  with  it 

Thy  mind,  and  say  from  whence  it  came  to  thee." 
Thus  did  the  second  light  again  continue. 

And  the  Compassionate,  who  piloted 

The  plumage  of  my  wings  in  such  high  flight, 
Did  in  reply  anticipate  me  thus  : 

"  No  child  whatever  the  Church  Militant 
Of  greater  hope  possesses,  as  is  written 
In  that  Sun  which  irradiates  all  our  band ; 

Therefore  it  is  conceded  him  from  Egypt 
To  come  into  Jerusalem  to  see. 
Or  ever  yet  his  warfare  be  completed. 

The  two  remaining  points,  that  not  for  knowledge 
Have  been  demanded,  but  that  he  report 
How  much  this  virtue  unto  thee  is  pleasing, 

To  him  I  leave ;  for  hard  he  will  not  find  them. 
Nor  of  self-praise  ;  and  let  him  answer  them  ; 
And  may  the  grace  of  God  in  this  assist  him  1 " 

As  a  disciple,  who  his  teacher  follows, 

Ready  and  willing,  where  he  is  expert, 
That  his  proficiency  may  be  displayed, 

"  Hope,"  said  I,  "  is  the  certain  expectation 
Of  future  glory,  which  is  the  effect 
Of  grace  divine  and  merit  precedent. 

From  many  stars  this  light  comes  unto  me ; 
But  he  instilled  it  first  into  my  heart 
Who  was  chief  singer  unto  the  chief  captain. 

'  Sperent  in  te^  in  the  high  Theody 

He  sayeth,  '  those  who  know  thy  name  ; '  and  who 
Knoweth  it  not,  if  he  my  faith  possess? 

Thou  didst  instil  me,  then,  with  his  instilling 
In  the  Epistle,  so  that  I  am  full. 
And  upon  others  rain  again  your  rain." 

While  I  was  speaking,  in  the  living  bosom 

Of  that  combustion  quivered  an  eff"ulgence, 
Sudden  and  frequent,  in  the  guise  of  lightning ; 

Then  breathed  :  "  'I'he  love  wherewith  I  am  inflamed 
Towards  the  virtue  still  which  followed  me 
Unto  the  palm  and  issue  of  the  fieldj 


PARADISO,  XXV.  575 


Wills  that  I  breathe  to  thee  that  thou  delight  8$ 

In  her ;  and  grateful  to  me  is  thy  telling 

Whatever  things  Hope  promises  to  thee." 
And  I  :  "  The  ancient  Scriptures  and  the  new 

The  mark  establish,  and  this  shows  it  me, 

Of  all  the  souls  whom  God  hath  made  his  friends.  9" 

Isaiah  saith,  that  each  one  garmented 

In  his  own  land  shall  be  with  twofold  garments 

And  his  own  land  is  this  delightful  life. 
Thy  brother,  too,  far  more  explicitly, 

There  where  he  treateth  of  the  robes  of  white,  vs 

This  revelation  manifests  to  us." 
And  first,  and  near  the  ending  of  these  words, 

"  Sperent  in  te  "  from  over  us  was  heard, 

To  which  responsive  answered  all  the  carols. 
Thereafterward  a  light  among  them  brightened,  ««o 

So  that,  if  Cancer  one  such  crystal  had, 

Winter  would  have  a  month  of  one  sole  day. 
And  as  uprises,  goes,  and  enters  the  dance 

A  winsome  maiden,  only  to  do  honour 

To  the  new  bride,  and  not  from  any  failing,  w>5 

Even  thus  did  I  behold  the  brightened  splendour 

Approach  the  two,  who  in  a  wheel  revolved 

As  was  beseeming  to  their  ardent  love. 
Into  the  song  and  music  there  it  entered  ; 

And  fixed  on  them  my  Lady  kept  her  look,  «?(, 

Even  as  a  bride  silent  and  motionless. 
"  This  is  the  one  who  lay  upon  the  breast 

Of  him  our  Pelican  ;  and  this  is  he 

To  the  great  office  from  the  cross  elected." 
My  Lady  thus  ;  but  therefore  none  the  more  «« 

Did  move  her  sight  from  its  attentive  gaze 

Before  or  afterward  these  words  of  hers. 
Even  as  a  man  who  gazes,  and  endeavours 

To  see  the  eclipsing  of  the  sun  a  little, 

•  And  who,  by  seeing,  sightless  doth  become,  i-o 

So  I  became  before  that  latest  fire. 

While  it  was  said,  "  Why  dost  thou  daze  thyself 

To  see  a  thing  which  here  hath  no  existence  ? 
Earth  in  the  earth  my  body  is,  and  shall  be 

With  all  the  others  there,  until  our  number  a^ 

With  the  eternal  proposition  tallies. 
With  the  two  garments  in  the  blessed  cloister 

Are  the  two  lights  alone  that  have  ascended  : 

And  this  shalt  ihou  take  back  into  your  world." 


576  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

And  at  this  utterance  the  flaming  circle 

Grew  quiet,  with  the  dulcet  intermingling 
Of  sound  that  by  the  trinal  breath  was  made, 

As  to  escape  from  danger  or  fatigue 

The  oars  that  erst  were  in  the  water  beaten 
Are  all  suspended  at  a  whistle's  sound. 

Ah,  how  much  in  my  mind  was  I  disturbed, 
When  I  turned  round  to  look  on  Beatrice, 
That  her  I  could  not  see,  although  I  was 

Close  at  her  side  and  in  the  Happy  World  ! 


CANTO   XXVI. 

While  I  was  doubting  for  my  vision  quenched. 

Out  of  the  flame  refulgent  that  had  quenched  it 
Issued  a  breathing,  that  attentive  made  me, 

Saying :  "  While  thou  recoverest  the  sense 

Of  seeing  which  in  me  thou  hast  consumed,  s 

'Tis  well  that  speaking  thou  shouldst  compensate  it. 

Begin  then,  and  declare  to  what  thy  soul 
Is  aimed,  and  count  it  for  a  certainty, 
Sight  is  in  thee  bewildered  and  not  dead  ; 

Because  the  Lady,  who  through  this  divine  » ! 

Region  conducteth  thee,  has  in  her  look 
The  power  the  hand  of  Ananias  had."  j 

I  said  :  "  As  pleaseth  her,  or  soon  or  late  • 

Let  the  cure  come  to  eyes  that  portals  were  j 

When  she  with  fire  I  ever  burn  with  entered.  n  \ 

The  Good,  that  gives  contentment  to  this  Court, 

The  Alpha  and  Omega  is  of  all  ■ 

The  writing  that  love  reads  me  low  or  loud."  | 

The  selfsame  voice,  that  taken  had  from  me  ' 

The  terror  of  the  sudden  dazzlement,  «»^ 

To  speak  still  farther  put  it  in  my  thought ;  * 

And  said  :  "  In  verity  with  finer  sieve  '- 

Behoveth  thee  to  sift ;  thee  it  behovetn  \ 

To  say  who  aimed  thy  bow  at  such  a  target."  ,' 

And  I  :  "  By  philosophic  arguments,  •»! 

And  by  authority  that  hence  descends,  | 

Such  love  must  needs  imprint  itself  in  me  ;  | 

For  Good,  so  far  as  good,  when  comprehended  *^ 

Doth  straight  enkindle  love,  and  so  much  greater 
As  more  of  goodness  in  itself  it  holds ;  i»  ^ 


PARADTSO,  XX VL  577 

Then  to  that  Essence  (whose  is  such  advantage 

That  every  good  which  out  of  it  is  found 

Is  nothing  but  a  ray  of  its  own  hght) 
More  than  elsewhither  must  the  mind  be  moved 

Of  every  one,  in  loving,  who  discerns  3S 

The  truth  in  which  this  evidence  is  founded. 
Such  truth  he  to  my  intellect  reveals 

Who  demonstrates  to  me  the  primal  love 

Of  all  the  sempiternal  substances. 
The  voice  reveals  it  of  the  truthful  Author,  40 

Who  says  to  Moses,  speaking  of  Himself, 

'  I  will  make  all  my  goodness  pass  before  thee.' 
Thou  too  revealest  it  to  me,  beginning 

The  loud  Evangel,  that  proclaims  the  secret 

Of  heaven  to  earth  above  all  other  edict."  45 

And  I  heard  say  :  "  By  human  intellect 

And  by  authority  concordant  with  it, 

Of  all  thy  loves  reserve  for  God  the  highest. 
But  say  again  if  other  cords  thou  feelest, 

Draw  thee  towards  Him,  that  thou  mayst  proclaim  so 

With  how  many  teeth  this  love  is  biting  thee." 
The  holy  purpose  of  the  Eagle  of  Christ 

Not  latent  was  nay,  rather  I  perceived 

Whither  he  fain  would  my  profession  lead. 
Therefore  I  recommenced  :  "  All  of  those  bites  i& 

Which  have  the  power  to  turn  the  heart  to  God 

Unto  my  charity  have  been  concurrent. 
The  being  of  the  world,  and  my  own  being. 

The  death  which  He  endured  that  I  may  live, 

And  that  which  all  the  faithful  hope,  as  I  do,  60 

With  the  forementioned  vivid  consciousness 

Have  drawn  me  from  the  sea  of  love  perverse, 

And  of  the  right  have  placed  me  on  the  shore. 
The  leaves,  wherewith  embowered  is  all  the  garden 

Of  the  Eternal  Gardener,  do  I  love  te 

As  much  as  he  has  granted  them  of  good." 
As  soon  as  I  had  ceased,  a  song  most  sweet 

Throughout  the  heaven  resounded,  and  my  1-ady 

Said  with  the  others,  "  Holy,  holy,  holy  ! " 
And  as  at  some  keen  light  one  wakes  from  sleep  70 

By  reason  of  the  visual  spirit  that  nms 

Unto  the  splendour  passed  from  coat  to  coat, 
And  he  who  wakes  aHiorreth  what  he  sees, 

So  all  unconscious  is  his  sudden  waking, 

Until  the  judgment  cometh  to  his  aid,  75 


578  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

So  from  before  mine  eyes  did  Beatrice 

Chase  every  mote  with  radiance  of  her  own,  ; 

That  cast  its  light  a  thousand  miles  and  more.  ■ 

Whence  better  after  than  before  I  saw,  \ 

And  in  a  kind  of  wonderment  I  asked  so  ^ 

About  a  fourth  hght  that  I  saw  with  us.  \ 

And  said  my  Lady  :  "  There  within  those  rays  • 

Gazes  upon  its  Maker  the  first  soul 

That  ever  the  first  virtue  did  create."  i 

Even  as  the  bough  that  downward  bends  its  top  ss  ; 

At  transit  of  the  wind,  and  then  is  lifted 

By  its  own  virtue,  which  inclines  it  upward,  ; 

Likewise  did  I,  the  while  that  she  was  speaking,  i 

Being  amazed,  and  then  I  was  made  bold  j 

By  a  desire  to  speak  wherewith  I  burned.  90  ; 

And  I  began:  "O  apple,  that  mature  ' 

Alone  hast  been  produced,  O  ancient  father,  j 

To  whom  each  wife  is  daughter  and  daughter-in  law,  ) 

Devoutly  as  I  can  I  supplicate  thee  \ 

That  thou  wouldst  speak  to  me  ;  thou  seest  my  wish  ;        95  1 

And  I,  to  hear  thee  quickly,  speak  it  not."  i 

Sometimes  an  animal,  when  covered,  struggles  j 

So  that  his  impulse  needs  must  be  apparent, 

By  reason  of  the  wrappage  following  it ; 
And  in  like  manner  the  primeval  soul 

Made  clear  to  me  athwart  its  covering 

How  jubilant  it  was  to  give  me  pleasure. 
Then  breathed  :  "  Without  thy  uttering  it  to  me. 

Thine  inclination  better  I  discern 

Than  thou  whatever  thing  is  surest  to  thee ; 
For  I  behold  it  in  the  truthful  mirror. 

That  of  Himself  all  things  parhelion  makes. 

And  none  makes  Him  parhelion  of  itself 
Thou  fain  wouldst  hear  how  long  ago  God  placed  me 

Within  the  lofty  garden,  where  this  Lady 

Unto  so  long  a  stairway  thee  disposed. 
And  how  long  to  mine  eyes  it  was  a  pleasure. 

And  of  the  great  disdain  the  proper  cause, 

And  the  language  that  I  used  and  that  I  made. 
Now,  son  of  mine,  the  tasting  of  the  tree 

Not  in  itself  was  cause  of  so  great  exile, 

But  solely  the  o'erstepping  of  the  bounds. 
There,  whence  thy  Lady  moved  Virgilius, 

Four  thousand  and  three  hundred  and  two  circtiifs 

Made  by  the  sun,  this  Council  I  desired ; 


PARADISO,  XXVII.  579 


And  him  I  saw  return  to  all  the  lights 

Of  his  highway  nine  hundred  times  and  thirty, 
Whilst  I  upon  the  earth  was  tanying. 

The  language  that  I  spake  was  quite  extinct 
Before  that  in  the  work  interminable 
The  people  under  Nimrod  were  employed ; 

For  nevermore  result  of  reasoning 

(Because  of  human  pleasure  that  doth  change, 
Obedient  to  the  heavens)  was  durable. 

A  natural  action  is  it  that  man  speaks ; 

But  whether  thus  or  thus,  doth  nature  leave 
To  your  own  art,  as  seemeth  best  to  you. 

Ere  I  descended  to  the  infernal  anguish, 

El  was  on  earth  the  name  of  the  Chief  Good, 
From  whom  comes  all  the  joy  that  wraps  me  round 

Eli  he  then  was  called,  and  that  is  proper. 
Because  the  use  of  men  is  like  a  leaf 
On  bough,  which  goeth  and  another  cometh. 

Upon  the  mount  that  highest  o'er  the  wave 
Rises  was  I,  in  life  or  pure  or  sinful, 
From  the  first  hour  to  that  which  is  the  second. 

As  the  sun  changes  quadrant,  to  the  sixth." 


CANTO   XXVII. 

•'  Glory  be  to  the  Father,  to  the  Son,  r 

And  Holy  Ghost ! "  all  Paradise  began^ 

So  that  the  melody  inebriate  made  me. 
What  I  beheld  seemed  unto  me  a  smile 

Of  the  universe  ;  for  my  inebriation 

Found  entrance  through  the  hearing  and  the  sight. 
O  joy  !     O  gladness  inexpressible  ! 

O  perfect  life  of  love  and  peacefulness ! 

O  riches  without  hankering  secure  ! 
Before  mine  eyes  were  standing  the  four  torches 

Enkindled,  and  the  one  that  first  had  come 

Began  to  make  itself  more  luminous ; 
And  even  such  in  semblance  it  became 

As  Jupiter  would  become,  if  he  and  Mars 

Were  birds,  and  they  should  interchange  their  feathers. 
That  Providence,  which  here  distributeth 

Season  and  service,  in  the  blessed  choir 

Had  silence  upon  every  side  imposed. 


58o  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

When  I  heard  say :  "  If  I  my  colour  change, 
Marvel  not  at  it ;  for  while  I  am  speaking 
Thou  shalt  behold  all  these  their  colour  change. 

He  who  usurps  upon  the  earth  my  place, 

My  place,  my  place,  which  vacant  has  become 
Before  the  presence  of  the  Son  of  God, 

Has  of  my.  cemetery  made  a  sewer 

Of  blood  and  stench,  whereby  the  Perverse  One, 
Who  fell  from  here,  below  there  is  appeased  ! " 

With  the  same  colour  which,  through  sun  adverse, 
Painteth  the  clouds  at  evening  or  at  morn. 
Beheld  I  then  the  whole  of  heaven  suffused. 

And  as  a  modest  woman,  who  abides 

Sure  of  herself,  and  at  another's  failing, 
From  listening  only,  timorous  becomes, 

Even  thus  did  Beatrice  change  countenance  ; 
And  I  believe  in  heaven  was  such  eclipse. 
When  suffered  the  supreme  Omnipotence ; 

Thereaftervvard  proceeded  forth  his  words 

With  voice  so  much  transmuted  from  itself, 
The  very  countenance  was  not  more  changed. 

*•  The  spouse  of  Christ  has  never  nurtured  been 
On  blood  of  mine,  of  Linus  and  of  Cletus, 
To  be  made  use  of  in  acquest  of  gold  ; 

But  in  acquest  of  this  delightful  life 

Sixtus  and  Pius,  Urban  and  Calixtus, 
After  much  lamentation,  shed  their  blood. 

Our  purpose  was  not,  that  on  the  right  hand 
Of  our  successors  should  in  part  be  seated 
The  Christian  folk,  in  part  upon  the  other ; 

Nor  that  the  keys  which  were  to  me  confided 

Should  e'er  become  the  escutcheon  on  a  banner. 
That  should  wage  war  on  those  who  are  baptized  ; 

Nor  I  be  made  the  figure  of  a  seal 

To  privileges  venal  and  mendacious, 
Whereat  1  often  redden  and  flash  with  fire. 

In  garb  of  shepherds  the  rapacious  wolves 

Are  seen  from  here  above  o'er  all  the  pastures ! 
O  wrath  of  God,  why  dost  thou  slumber  still  ? 

To  drink  our  blood  the  Caorsines  and  Gascons 
Are  making  ready.     O  thou  good  beginning. 
Unto  how  vile  an  end  must  thou  needs  fall  ! 

But  the  high  Providence,  that  with  Scipio 

At  Rome  the  glory  of  the  world  defended. 
Will  speedily  bring  aid,  as  I  conceive ; 


PARADISO,  XXVII.  581 

And  thou,  my  son,  who  by  thy  mortal  weight 

Shalt  down  return  again,  open  thy  mouth  ;  6s 

What  I  conceal  not,  do  not  thou  conceal.' 
As  with  its  frozen  vapours  downward  falls 

In  flakes  our  atmosphere,  what  time  the  horn 

Of  the  celestial  Goat  doth  touch  the  sun. 
Upward  in  such  array  saw  I  the  ether  70 

Become,  and  flaked  with  the  triumphant  vapours, 

Which  there  together  with  us  had  remained. 
My  sight  was  following  up  their  semblances. 

And  followed  till  the  medium,  by  excess. 

The  passing  farther  onward  took  from  it ;  75 

Whereat  the  Lady,  who  beheld  me  freed 

From  gazing  upward,  said  to  me  :  *''  Cast  down 

Thy  sight,  and  see  how  far  thou  art  turned  round." 
Since  the  first  time  that  I  had  downward  looked, 

I  saw  that  I  had  moved  through  the  whole  arc  80 

Which  the  first  climate  makes  from  midst  to  end  ; 
So  that  I  saw  the  mad  track  of  Ulysses 

Past  Gades,  and  this  side,  well  nigh  the  shore 

Whereon  became  Europa  a  sweet  burden. 
And  of  this  threshing-floor  the  site  to  me  85 

Were  more  unveiled,  but  the  sun  was  proceeding 

Under  my  feet,  a  sign  and  more  removed. 
My  mind  enamoured,  which  is  dallying 

At  all  times  with  my  Lady,  to  bring  back 

To  her  mine  eyes  was  more  than  ever  ardent.  90 

And  if  or  Art  or  Nature  has  made  bait 

To  catch  the  eyes  and  so  possess  the  mind. 

In  human  flesh  or  in  its  portraiture. 
All  joined  together  would  appear  as  nought 

To  the  divine  delight  which  shone  upon  me  93 

When  to  her  smiling  face  I  turned  me  round. 
The  virtue  that  her  look  endowed  me  with 

From  the  fair  nest  of  Leda  tore  me  forth. 

And  up  into  the  swiftest  heaven  impelled  me. 
Its  parts  exceeding  full  of  life  and  lofty  juo 

Are  all  so  uniform,  I  cannot  say 

Which  Beatrice  selected  for  my  place. 
But  she,  who  was  aware  of  my  desire, 

Began,  the  while  she  smiled  so  joyously 

That  God  seemed  in  her  countenance  to  rejoice  :  105 

"  The  nature  of  that  motion,  which  keeps  quiet 

The  centre,  and  all  the  rest  about  it  moves. 

From  hence  begins  as  from  its  starting  point 


582  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


And  in  this  heaven  there  is  no  other  Where  _, 

I'han  in  the  Mind  Divine,  wherein  is  kindled  no 

The  love  that  turns  it,  and  the  power  it  rains. 

Within  a  circle  light  and  love  embrace  it,  •■ 

Even  as  this  doth  the  others,  and  that  precinct 
He  who  encircles  it  alone  controls.  ■ 

Its  motion  is  not  by  another  meted,  "s    \ 

But  all  the  others  measured  are  by  this, 
As  ten  is  by  the  half  and  by  the  fifth. 

And  in  what  manner  time  in  such  a  pot 

May  have  its  roots,  and  in  the  rest  its  leaves. 

Now  unto  thee  can  manifest  be  made.  "o    ' 

O  Covetousness,  that  mortals  dost  ingulf  \ 

Beneath  thee  so,  that  no  one  hath  the  power  \ 

Of  drawing  back  his  eyes  from  out  thy  waves  !  ' 

Full  fairly  blossoms  in  mankind  the  will ;  \ 

But  the  uninterrupted  rain  converts  laa    \ 

Into  abortive  wildings  the  true  plums,  \ 

Fidelity  and  innocence  are  found 

Only  in  children  ;  afterwards  they  both  \ 

Take  flight  or  e'er  the  cheeks  with  down  are  covered.  ; 

One,  while  he  prattles  still,  observes  the  fasts,  13c    ; 

Who,  when  his  tongue  is  loosed,  forthwith  devours  I 

Whatever  food  under  whatever  moon  ;  ,       \ 

Another,  while  he  prattles,  loves  and  listens 

Unto  his  mother,  who  when  speech  is  perfect 

Forthwith  desires  to  see  her  in  her  grave.  13s 

Even  thus  is  swarthy  made  the  skin  so  white 
In  its  first  aspect  of  the  daughter  fair 
Of  him  who  brings  the  morn,  and  leaves  the  night. 

Thou,  that  it  may  not  be  a  marvel  to  thee, 

Think  that  on  earth  there  is  no  one  who  governs  ;  140 

Whence  goes  astray  the  human  family. 

Ere  January  be  unwintered  wholly 

By  the  centesimal  on  earth  neglected, 
Shall  these  supernal  circles  roar  so  loud 

The  tempest  that  has  been  so  long  awaited  h$ 

Shall  whirl  the  poops  about  where  are  the  prows  ; 
So  that  the  fleet  shall  run  its  course  direct, 

And  the  true  fruit  shall  follow  on  the  flower." 


N 


I 


PARADISO,  XXVIII.  S83 


CANTO   XXVIII. 

After  the  truth  against  the  present  Ufe 
Of  miserable  mortals  was  unfolded 
By  her  who  doth  imparadise  my  mind, 

As  in  a  looking-glass  a  taper's  flame 

He  sees  who  from  behind  is  lighted  by  it, 
Before  he  has  it  in  his  sight  or  thought, 

And  turns  him  round  to  see  if  so  the  glass 

Tell  him  the  truth,  and  sees  that  it  accords 
Therewith  as  doth  a  music  with  its  metre. 

In  similar  wise  my  memory  recoUecteth 

That  I  did,  looking  into  those  fair  eyes, 

Of  which  Love  made  the  springes  to  ensnare  me. 

And  as  I  turned  me  round,  and  mine  were  touched 
By  that  which  is  apparent  in  that  volume. 
Whenever  on  its  gyre  we  gaze  intent, 

A  point  beheld  I,  that  was  raying  out 

Light  so  acute,  the  sight  which  it  enkindles 
Must  close  perforce  before  such  great  acuteness. 

And  whatsoever  star  seems  smallest  here 

Would  seem  to  be  a  moon,  if  placed  beside  it 
As  one  star  with  another  star  is  placed. 

Perhaps  at  such  a  distance  as  appears 

A  halo  cincturing  the  light  that  paints  it. 
When  densest  is  the  vapour  that  sustains  it. 

Thus  distant  round  the  point  a  circle  of  fire 

So  swiftly  whirled,  that  it  would  have  surpassed 
Whatever  motion  soonest  girds  the  world  ; 

And  this  was  by  another  circumcinct, 

That  by  a  third,  the  third  then  by  a  fourth, 

By  a  fifth  the  fourth,  and  then  by  a  sixth  the  fifth  ; 

The  seventh  followed  thereupon  in  width 
So  ample  now,  that  Juno's  messenger 
Entire  would  be  too  narrow  to  contain  it. 

Even  so  the  eighth  and  ninth  ;  and  every  one 
More  slowly  moved,  according  as  it  was 
In  number  distant  farther  from  the  first. 

And  that  one  had  its  flame  most  crystalline 

From  which  less  distant  was  the  stainless  spark, 
I  think  because  more  with  its  truth  imbued. 


584  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


My  Lady,  who  in  my  anxiety  ^o  | 

Beheld  me  much  perplexed,  said  :  "  From  that  point  \ 

Dependent  is  the  heaven  and  nature  all.  ■ 

Behold  that  circle  most  conjoined  to  it,  . 

And  know  thou,  that  its  motion  is  so  swift  -\ 

Through  burning  love  whereby  it  is  spurred  on."  45  i 

And  I  to  her  :  "  If  the  world  were  arranged  j 

In  the  order  which  I  see  in  yonder  wheels, 

What's  set  before  me  would  have  satisfied  me ; 
But  in  the  world  of  sense  we  can  perceive 

That  evermore  the  circles  are  diviner  so  | 

As  they  are  from  the  centre  more  remote  J 

Wherefore  if  my  desire  is  to  be  ended 

In  this  miraculous  and  angelic  temple, 

That  has  for  confines  only  love  and  light,  . 

To  hear  behoves  me  still  how  the  example  55 .' 

And  the  exemplar  go  not  in  one  fashion, 

Since  for  myself  in  vain  I  contemplate  it."  3 

"  If  thine  own  fingers  unto  such  a  knot  \ 

Be  insufficient,  it  is  no  great  wonder,  \ 

So  hard  hath  it  become  for  want  of  trying."  60  i 

My  Lady  thus  ;  then  said  she  :  "  Do  thou  take 

What  I  shall  tell  thee,  if  thou  wouldst  be  sated, 

And  exercise  on  that  thy  subtlety. 
The  circles  corporal  are  wide  and  narrow 

According  to  the  more  or  less  of  virtue 

Which  is  distributed  through  all  their  parts. 
The  greater  goodness  works  the  greater  weal, 

The  greater  weal  the  greater  body  holds, 

If  perfect  equally  are  all  its  parts. 
Therefore  this  one  which  sweeps  along  with  it 

The  universe  sublime,  doth  correspond 

Unto  the  circle  which  most  loves  and  knows. 
On  which  account,  if  thou  unto  the  virtue 

Apply  thy  measure,  not  to  the  appearance 

Of  substances  that  unto  thee  seem  round, 
Thou  wilt  behold  a  marvellous  agreement, 

Of  more  to  greater,  and  of  less  to  smaller, 

In  every  heaven,  with  its  Intelligence." 
Even  as  remaineth  splendid  and  serene 

The  hemisphere  of  air,  when  Boreas 

Is  blowing  from  that  cheek  where  he  is  mildest. 
Because  is  purified  and  resolved  the  nack 

That  erst  disturbed  it,  till  the  welkin  laughs 

With  all  the  beauties  of  its  pageantry ; 


PARADISO,  XXVIIL  585 


Thus  did  I  likewise,  after  that  my  Lady  8s 

Had  me  provided  with  her  clear  response, 

And  like  a  star  in  heaven  the  truth  was  seen. 
And  soon  as  to  a  stop  her  words  had  come, 

Not  otherwise  does  iron  scintillate 

When  molten,  than  those  circles  scintillated.  9« 

Their  coruscation  all  the  sparks  repeated, 

And  they  so  many  were,  their  number  makes 

More  millions  than  the  doubling  of  the  chess. 
I  heard  them  sing  hosanna  choir  by  choir 

To  the  fixed  point  which  holds  them  at  the  Ubi^  95 

And  ever  will,  where  they  have  ever  been. 
And  she,  who  saw  the  dubious  meditations 

Within  my  mind,  "  The  primal  circles,"  said, 

"  Have  shown  tliee  Seraphim  and  Cherubim. 
Thus  rapidly  they  follow  their  own  bonds,  100 

To  be  as  like  the  point  as  most  they  can. 

And  can  as  far  as  they  are  high  in  vision. 
Those  other  Loves,  that  round  about  them  go, 

Thrones  of  the  countenance  divine  are  called, 

Because  they  terminate  the  primal  Triad.  k>s 

And  thou  shouldst  know  that  they  all  have  delight 

As  much  as  their  own  vision  penetrates 

The  Truth,  in  which  all  intellect  finds  rest. 
From  this  it  may  be  seen  how  blessedness 

Ls  founded  in  the  faculty  which  sees,  «o 

And  not  in  that  which  loves,  and  follows  next; 
And  of  this  seeing  merit  is  the  measure, 

Which  is  brought  forth  by  grace,  and  by  good  will ;  , 

Thus  on  from  grade  to  grade  doth  it  proceed. 
The  second  Triad,  which  is  germinatmg  ns 

In  such  wise  in  this  sempiternal  spring, 

That  no  nocturnal  Aries  despoils, 
Perpetually  hosanna  warbles  forth 

With  threefold  melody,  that  sounds  in  three 

Orders  of  joy,  with  which  it  is  intrined.  130 

The  three  Divine  are  in  this  hierarchy. 

First  the  Dominions,  and  the  Virtues  next ; 

And  the  third  order  is  that  of  the  Powers. 
Then  in  the  dances  twain  penultimate 

The  Principalities  and  Archangels  wheel ;  »5 

The  last  is  wholly  of  angeiic  sports. 
These  orders  upward  all  of  them  are  gazing. 

And  downward  so  prevail,  that  unto  God 

They  all  attracted  are  and  all  attract 


586  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

And  Dionysius  with  so  great  desire 

To  contemplate  these  Orders  set  himself, 

He  named  them  and  distinguished  them  as  I  do. 

But  Gregory  afterwards  dissented  from  him  ; 
Wherefore,  as  soon  as  he  unclosed  his  eyes 
Within  this  heaven,  he  at  himself  did  smile. 

And  if  so  much  of  secret  truth  a  mortal 

Proffered  on  earth,  I  would  not  have  thee  marvel, 
For  he  who  saw  it  here  revealed  it  to  him. 

With  much  more  of  the  truth  about  these  circles." 


CANTO   XXIX. 

At  what  time  both  the  children  of  Latona, 

Surmounted  by  the  Ram  and  by  the  Scales, 

Together  make  a  zone  of  the  horizon. 
As  long  as  from  the  time  the  zenith  holds  them 

In  equipoise,  till  from  that  girdle  both 

Changing  their  hemisphere  disturb  the  balance, 
So  long,  her  face  depicted  with  a  smile, 

Did  Beatrice  keep  silence  while  she  gazed 

Fixedly  at  the  point  which  had  o'ercome  me. 
Then  she  began  :  "  I  say,  and  I  ask  not 

What  thou  dost  wish  to  hear,  for  I  have  seen  it 

Where  centres  every  When  and  every  Ubi. 
Not  to  acquire  some  good  unto  himself, 
.     Which  is  impossible,  but  that  his  splendour 

In  its  resplendency  may  say,  '  Subsisto^ 
In  his  eternity  outside  of  time, 

Outside  all  other  limits,  as  it  pleased  him. 

Into  new  Loves  the  Eternal  Love  unfolded. 
Nor  as  if  torpid  did  he  lie  before  ; 

For  neither  after  nor  before  proceeded 

The  going  forth  of  God  upon  these  waters. 
Matter  and  Form  unmingled  and  conjoined 

Came  into  being  that  had  no  defect, 

E'en  as  three  arrows  from  a  three-stringed  bow.  '% 

And  as  in  glass,  in  amber,  or  in  crystal  as 

A  sunbeam  flashes  so,  that  from  its  coming 

To  its  full  being  is  no  interval. 
So  from  its  Lord  did  the  triform  effect 

Ray  forth  into  its  being  all  together,  w 

Without  discrimination  of  beginning.  ja 


PARADISO,  XXIX.  587 


Order  was  con-created  and  constructed 

In  substances,  and  summit  of  the  world 

Were  those  wherein  the  pure  act  was  produced. 
Pure  potentiaHty  held  the  lowest  part ; 

Midway  bound  potentiality  with  act  35 

Such  bond  that  it  shall  never  be  unbound. 
Jerome  has  written  unto  you  of  angels 

Created  a  long  lapse  of  centuries 

Or  ever  yet  the  other  world  was  made ; 
But  written  is  this  truth  in  many  places  4« 

By  writers  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  thou 

Shalt  see  it,  if  thou  lookest  well  thereat. 
And  even  reason  seeth  it  somewhat, 

For  it  would  not  concede  that  for  so  long 

Could  be  the  motors  without  their  perfection.  4S 

Now  dost  thou  know  both  where  and  when  these  Loves 

Created  were,  and  how  ;  so  that  extinct 

In  thy  desire  already  are  three  fires. 
Nor  could  one  reach,  in  counting,  unto  twenty 

So  swiftly,  as  a  portion  of  these  angels  .  $• 

Disturbed  the  subject  of  your  elements. 
The  rest  remained,  and  they  began  this  art 

Which  thou  discemest,  with  so  great  delight 

That  never  from  their  circling  do  they  cease. 
The  occasion  of  the  fall  was  the  accursed  si 

Presumption  of  that  One,  whom  thou  hast  seen 

By  all  the  burden  of  the  world  constrained. 
Those  whom  thou  here  beholdest  modest  were 

To  recognise  themselves  as  of  that  goodness 

Which  made  them  apt  for  so  much  understanding  ;  60 

On  which  account  their  vision  was  exalted 

By  the  enlightening  grace  and  their  own  merit, 

So  that  they  have  a  full  and  steadfast  will. 
I  would  not  have  thee  doubt,  but  certain  be, 

'Tis  meritorious  to  receive  this  grace,  65 

According  as  the  affection  opens  to  it. 
Now  round  about  in  this  consistory  • 

Much  mayst  thou  contemplate,  if  these  my  words 

Be  gathered  up,  without  all  further  aid. 
But  since  upon  the  earth,  throughout  your  schools,  70 

They  teach  that  such  is  the  angelic  nature 

That  it  doth  hear,  and  recollect,  and  will, 
More  will  I  say,  that  thou  mayst  see  unmixed 

The  truth  that  is  confounded  there  below, 

Equivocating  in  such  like  prelections.  7S 


588  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

These  substances,  since  in  God's  countenance 

They  jocund  were,  turned  not  away  their  sight 
From  tliat  wherefrom  not  anything  is  hidden  ] 

Hence  they  have  not  their  vision  intercepted 

By  object  new,  and  hence  they  do  not  need 
To  recollect,  through  interrupted  thought 

So  that  below,  not  sleeping,  people  dream, 

Believing  they  speak  truth,  and  not  believing  ; 
And  in  the  last  is  greater  sin  and  shame. 

Below  you  do  not  journey  by  one  path 
Philosophising  ;  so  transporteth  you 
Love  of  appearance  and  the  thought  thereof. 

And  even  this  above  here  is  endured 

With  less  disdain,  than  when  is  set  aside 
The  Holy  Writ,  or  when  it  is  distorted. 

They  think  not  there  how  much  of  blood  it  costs 
To  sow  it  in  the  world,  and  how  he  pleases 
Who  in  humility  keeps  close  to  it. 

Each  striveth  for  appearance,  and  doth  make 
His  own  inventions  ;  and  these  treated  are 
By  preachers,  and  the  Evangel  holds  its  peace. 

One  sayeth  that  the  moon  did  backward  turn. 

In  the  Passion  of  Christ,  and  interpose  herself 
So  that  the  sunlight  reached  not  down  below  ; 

And  lies  ;  for  of  its  own  accord  the  light 

Hid  itself;  whence  to  Spaniards  and  to  Indians, 
As  to  the  Jews,  did  such  eclipse  respond. 

Florence  has  not  so  many  Lapi  and  Bindi 
As  fables  such  as  these,  that  every  year 
Are  shouted  from  the  pulpit  back  and  forth, 

In-  such  wise  that  the  lambs,  who  do  not  know, 
Come  back  from  pasture  fed  upon  the  wind, 
And  not  to  see  the  harm  doth  not  excuse  them. 

Christ  did  not  to  his  first  disciples  say, 

'  Go  forth,  and  to  the  world  preach  idle  tales,' 
But  unto  them  a  true  foundation  gave ; 

And  thifi  so  loudly  sounded  from  their  lips, 
That,  in  the  warfare  to  enkindle  Faith, 
They  made  of  the  Evangel  shields  and  lances. 

Now  men  go  forth  with  jests  and  drolleries 

To  preach,  and  if  but  well  the  people  laugh, 
The  hood  puffs  out,  and  nothing  more  is  asked. 

But  in  the  cowl  there  nestles  such  a  bird. 

That,  if  the  common  people  were  to  see  it, 

'I'hey  would  perceive  what  pardons  they  confide  in. 


PAKADISO,  XXX.  589 


For  which  so  great  on  earth  has  grown  the  folly, 

That,  without  proof  of  any  testimony, 

To  each  indulgence  they  would  flock  together. 
By  this  Saint  Anthony  his  pig  doth  fatten, 

And  many  others,  who  are  worse  than  pigs,  125 

Paying  in  money  without  mark  of  coinage. 
But  since  we  have  digressed  abundantly, 

Turn  back  thine  eyes  forthwith  to  the  right  path. 

So  that  the  way  be  shortened  with  the  time. 
This  nature  doth  so  multiply  itself  130 

In  numbers,  that  there  never  yet  was  speech 

Nor  mortal  fancy  that  can  go  so  far. 
And  if  thou  notest  that  which  is  revealed 

By  Daniel,  thou  wilt  see  that  in  his  thousands 

Number  determinate  is  kept  concealed.  13s 

The  primal  light,  that  all  irradiates  it. 

By  modes  as  many  is  received  therein. 

As  are  the  splendours  wherewith  it  is  mated. 
Hence,  inasmuch  as  on  the  act  conceptive 

The  affection  followeth,  of  love  the  sweetness  uo 

Therein  diversely  fervid  is  or  tepid. 
The  height  behold  now  and  the  amplitude 

Of  the  eternal  power,  since  it  hath  made 

Itself  so  many  miiTors,  where  'tis  broken, 
One  in  itself  remaining  as  before."  14s 

CANTO  XXX. 

Perchance  six  thousand  miles  remote  from  us 

Is  glowing  the  sixth  hour,  and  now  this  world 

Inclines  its  shadow  almost  to  a  level, 
When  the  mid-heaven  begins  to  make  itself 

So  deep  to  us,  that  here  and  there  a  star  s 

Ceases  to  shine  so  far  down  as  this  depth. 
And  as  advances  bright  exceedingly 

The  handmaid  of  the  sun,  the  heaven  is  closed 

Light  after  light  to  the  most  beautiful ; 
Not  otherwise  the  Triumph,  which  for  ever  »• 

Plays  round  about  the  point  that  vanquished  me, 

Seeming  enclosed  by  what  itself  encloses, 
Little  by  little  from  my  vision  faded  ; 

Whereat  to  turn  mine  eyes  on  Beatrice 

My  seeing  nothing  and  my  love  constrained  me,  '5 

R  R  2 


Sqo  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

If  what  has  hitherto  been  said  of  her  \ 

Were  all  concluded  in  a  single  praise,  i 

Scant  would  it  be  to  serve  the  present  turn.  j 

Not  only  does  the  beauty  I  beheld  j 

Transcend  ourselves,  but  truly  I  believe  «o  ; 

Its  Maker  only  may  enjoy  it  all. 
Vanquished  do  I  confess  me  by  this  passage  ■ 

More  than  by  problem  of  his  theme  was  ever 

O'ercome  the  comic  or  the  tragic  poet ;  ! 

For  as  the  sun  the  sight  that  trembles  most,  n  \ 

Even  so  the  memory  of  that  sweet  smile 

My  mind  depriveth  of  its  very  self  \ 

From  the  first  day  that  I  beheld  her  face  \ 

In  this  life,  to  the  moment  of  this  look,  j 

The  sequence  of  my  song  has  ne'er  been  severed  ;  y^  y 

But  now  perforce  this  sequence  must  desist  j 

From  following  her  beauty  with  my  verse,  ' 

As  every  artist  at  his  uttermost.  ^ 

Such  as  I  leave  her  to  a  greater  fame 

Than  any  of  my  trumpet,  which  is  bringing  35 

Its  arduous  matter  to  a  final  close. 
With  voice  and  gesture  of  a  perfect  leader 

She  recommenced  :  "  We  from  the  greatest  body 

Have  issued  to  the  heaven  that  is  pure  light ; 
Light  intellectual  replete  with  love, 

Love  of  true  good  replete  with  ecstasy. 

Ecstasy  that  transcendeth  every  sweetness. 
Here  shalt  thou  see  the  one  host  and  the  other 

Of  Paradise,  and  one  in  the  same  aspects 

Which  at  the  final  judgment  thou  shalt  see." 
Even  as  a  sudden  lightning  that  disperses 

The  visual  spirits,  so  that  it  deprives 

The  eye  of  impress  from  the  strongest  objects 
Thus  round  about  me  flashed  a  living  light, 

And  left  me  swathed  around  with  such  a  veil 

Of  its  effulgence,  that  I  nothing  saw. 
*  Ever  the  Love  which  quieteth  this  heaven 

Welcomes  into  itself  with  such  salute, 

To  make  the  candle  ready  for  its  flame." 
No  sooner  had  within  me  these  brief  words 

An  entrance  found,  than  I  perceived  myself 

To  be  uplifted  over  my  own  power. 
And  I  with  vision  new  rekindled  me. 

Such  that  no  light  whatever  is  so  pure 

But  that  mine  eyes  were  fortified  against  it 


PARADISO,  XXX.  591 


And  light  I  saw  in  fashion  of  a  river 

Fulvid  with  its  effulgence,  'twixt  two  banks 

Depicted  with  an  admirable  Spring. 
Out  of  this  river  issued  living  sparks, 

And  on  all  sides  sank  down  into  the  flowers,  6s 

Like  unto  rubies  that  are  set  in  gold ; 
And  then,  as  if  inebriate  with  the  odours, 

They  plunged  again  into  the  wondrous  torrent, 

And  as  one  entered  issued  forth  another. 
"  The  high  desire,  that  now  inflames  and  moves  thee  7<> 

To  have  intelligence  of  what  thou  seest, 

Pleaseth  me  all  the  more,  the  more  it  swells. 
But  of  this  water  it  behoves  thee  drink 

Before  so  great  a  thirst  in  thee  be  slaked." 

Thus  said  to  me  the  sunshine  of  mine  eyes  ;  7S 

And  added  :  "  The  river  and  the  topazes 

Going  in  and  out,  and  the  laughing  of  the  herbage. 

Are  of  their  truth  foreshadowing  prefaces  ; 
Not  that  these  things  are  difficult  in  themselves, 

But  the  deficiency  is  on  thy  side,  80 

For  yet  thou  hast  not  vision  so  exalted." 
There  is  no  babe  that  leaps  so  suddenly 

With  face  towards  the  milk,  if  he  awake 

Much  later  than  his  usual  custom  is. 
As  I  did,  that  I  might  make  better  mirrors  8.s 

Still  of  mine  eyes,  down  stooping  to  the  wave 

Which  flows  that  we  therein  be  better  made. 
And  even  as  the  penthouse  of  mine  eyelids 

Drank  of  it,  it  forthwith  appeared  to  me 

Out  of  its  length  to  be  transformed  to  round.  90 

Then  as  a  folk  who  have  been  under  masks 

Seem  other  than  before,  if  they  divest 

The  semblance  not  their  own  they  disappeared  in. 
Thus  into  greater  pomp  were  changed  for  me 

The  flowerets  and  the  sparks,  so  that  I  saw  95 

Both  of  the  Courts  of  Heaven  made  manifest. 
O  splendour  of  God  !  by  means  of  which  I  saw 

The  lofty  triumph  of  the  realm  veracious, 

Give  me  the  power  to  say  how  it  I  saw  ! 
There  is  a  light  above,  which  visible  »<» 

Makes  the  Creator  unto  every  creature. 

Who  only  in  beholding  Him  has  peace, 
And  it  expands  itself  in  circular  form 

To  such  extent,  that  its  circumference 

Would  be  too  large  a  girdle  for  the  sun.  sog 


592  7HE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


The  semblance  of  it  is  all  made  of  rays 

Reflected  from  the  top  of  Primal  Motion, 

Which  takes  therefrom  vitality  and  power 
And  as  a  hill  in  water  at  its  base 

Mirrors  itself,  as  if  to  see  its  beauty  "« 

When  affluent  most  in  verdure  and  in  flowers, 
So,  ranged  aloft  all  round  about  the  light, 

Mirrored  I  saw  in  more  ranks  than  a  thousand 

All  who  above  there  have  from  us  returned 
And  if  the  lowest  row  collect  within  it  "S 

So  great  a  light,  how  vast  the  amplitude 

Is  of  this  Rose  in  its  extremest  leaves ! 
My  vision  in  the  vastness  and  the  height 

Lost  not  itself,  but  comprehended  all 

The  quantity  and  quality  of  that  gladness,  '20 

There  near  and  far  nor  add  nor  take  away  ; 

For  there  where  God  immediately  doth  govern, 

The  natural  law  in  naught  is  relevant. 
Into  the  yellow  of  the  Rose  Eternal 

That  spreads,  and  multiplies,  and  breathes  an  odour         125 

Of  praise  unto  the  ever-vernal  Sun, 
As  one  who  silent  is  and  fain  would  speak. 

Me  Beatrice  drew  on,  and  said  :  "  Behold  „        I 

Of  the  white  stoles  how  vast  the  convent  is  !    t^yv^J^-v/^^Jvt^A 
Behold  how  vast  the  circuit  of  our  city  !  130 

Behold  our  seats  so  filled  to  overflowing. 

That  here  henceforward  are  few  people  wanting ! 
On  that  great  throne  whereon  thine  eyes  are  fixed 

For  the  crown's  sake  already  placed  upon  it. 

Before  thou  suppest  at  this  wedding  feast  13s 

Shall  sit  the  soul  (that  is  to  be  Augustus 

On  earth)  of  noble  Henry,  who  shall  come 

To  redress  Italy  ere  she  be  ready. 
Blind  covetousness,  that  casts  its  spell  upon  you, 

Has  made  you  like  unto  the  little  child,  ho 

Who  dies  of  hunger  and  drives  oft"  the  nurse. 
And  in  the  sacred  forum  then  shall  be 

A  Prefect  such,  that  openly  or  covert 

On  the  same  road  he  will  not  walk  with  him. 
But  long  of  God  he  will  not  be  endured  us 

In  holy  oflFice  ;  he  shall  be  thrust  down 

Where  Simon  Magus  is  for  his  deserts, 
And  make  him  of  Alagna  lower  go  ! " 


PARADISO,   XXXI. 


593 


CANTO   XXXI. 


In  fashion  then  as  of  a  snow-white  rose  ,  , 

Displayed  itself  to  me  the  saintly  host,  'f> 

Whom  Christ  in  his  own  blood  had  made  his  bride, 

But  the  other  host,  that  flying  sees  and  sings 
The  glory  of  Him  who  doth  enamour  it, 
And  the  goodness  that  created  it  so  noble, 

Even  as  a  swarm  of  bees,  that  sinks  in  flowers 
One  moment,  and  the  next  returns  again 
To  where  its  labour  is  to  sweetness  turned, 

Sank  into  the  great  flower,  that  is  adorned 

With  leaves  so  many,  and  thence  reascended 
To  where  its  love  abideth  evermore. 

Their  faces  had  they  all  of  living  flame, 

And  wings  of  gold,  and  all  the  rest  so  white 
No  snow  unto  that  limit  doth  attain. 

From  bench  to  bench,  into  the  flower  descending, 
They  carried  something  of  the  peace  and  ardour 
Which  by  the  fanning  of  their  flanks  they  won. 

Nor  did  the  interposing  'twixt  the  flower 
And  what  was  o'er  it  of  such  plenitude 
Of  flying  shapes  impede  the  sight  and  splendour; 

Because  the  light  divine  so  penetrates 
The  universe,  according  to  its  merit. 
That  naught  can  be  an  obstacle  against  it. 

This  realm  secure  and  full  of  gladsomeness, 

Crowded  with  ancient  people  and  with  modern, 
Unto  one  mark  had  all  its  look  and  love. 

0  Trinal  T^ight,  that  in  a  single  star    "      -^^  -   A^    - 

Sparkling  upon  their  sight  so  satisfies  them,      /  ' 
Look  down  upon  our  tempest  here  below !        ^ 

If  the  barbarians,  coming  from  some  region 
That  every  day  by  Helice  is  covered. 
Revolving  with  her  son  whom  she  delights  in, 

Beholding  Rome  and  all  her  noble  works, 

Were  wonder-struck,  what  time  the  Lateran 
Above  all  mortal  things  was  eminent, — 

1  who  to  the  divine  had  from  the  human, 

From  time  unto  eternity,  had  come, 
From  Florence  to  a  people  just  and  sane, 


35 


•1 


594  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


With  what  amazement  must  I  have  been  filled  !  4c     j 

Truly  between  this  and  the  joy,  it  was  ; 

My  pleasure  not  to  hear,  and  to  be  mute.  \ 

And  as  a  pilgrim  who  delighteth  him  : 

In  gazing  round  the  temple  of  his  vow, 

And  hopes  some  day  to  retell  how  it  was,  4s    j 

So  through  the  living  light  my  way  pursuing  \ 

Directed  I  mine  eyes  o'er  all  the  ranks,  : 

Now  up,  now  down,  and  now  all  round  about.  ; 

Faces  I  saw  of  charity  persuasive,  ' 

Embellished  by  His  light  and  their  own  smile,  50    ! 

And  attitudes  adorned  with  every  grace. 
The  general  form  of  Paradise  already  \ 

My  glance  had  comprehended  as  a  whole,  \ 

In  no  part  hitherto  remaining  fixed,  ' 

And  round  I  turned  me  with  rekindled  wish  ss    ■ 

My  Lady  to  interrogate  of  things  i 

Concerning  which  my  mind  was  in  suspense.  ] 

One  thing  I  meant,  another  answered  me  ;  \ 

I  thought  I  should  see  Beatrice,  and  saw  \ 

An  Old  Man  habited  like  the  glorious  people.  60    1 

O  erflowing  was  he  in  his  eyes  and  cheeks  ■ 

With  joy  benign,  in  attitude  of  pity  j 

As  to  a  tender  father  is  becoming.  \ 

And  "  She,  where  is  she  ?  "  instantly  I  said  ;  i 

Whence  he  :  "  To  put  an  end  to  thy  desire,  «s    \ 

Me  Beatrice  hath  sent  from  mine  own  place.  < 

And  if  thou  lookest  up  to  the  third  round  ^ 

Of  the  first  rank,  again  shalt  thou  behold  her 

Upon  the  throne  her  merits  have  assigned  her." 
Without  reply  I  lifted  up  mine  eyes, 

And  saw  her,  as  she  made  herself  a  crown 

Reflecting  from  herself  the  eternal  rays. 
Not  from  that  region  which  the  highest  thunders 

Is  any  mortal  eye  so  far  removed. 

In  whatsoever  sea  it  deepest  sinks, 
As  there  from  Beatrice  my  sight ;  but  this 

Was  nothing  unto  me  ;  because  her  image 

Descended  not  to  me  by  medium  blurred. 
"  O  Lady,  thou  in  whom  my  hope  is  strong. 

And  who  for  my  salvation  didst  endure 

In  Hell  to  leave  the  imprint  of  thy  feet, 
Of  whatsoever  things  I  have  beheld, 

As  coming  from  thy  power  and  from  thy  goodness 

I  recognise  the  virtue  and  the  grace. 


PARADISO,   XXXI.  S9S 

Thou  from  a  slave  hast  brought  me  unto  freedom,  85 

By  all  those  ways,  by  all  the  expedients, 

Whereby  thou  hadst  the  power  of  doing  it. 
Preserve  towards  me  thy  magnificence, 

So  that  this  soul  of  mine,  which  thou  hast  healed. 

Pleasing  to  thee  be  loosened  from  the  body."  ?=  j 

Thus  I  implored  ;  and  she,  so  far  away, 

Smiled,  as  it  seemed,  and  looked  once  more  at  me ; 

Then  unto  the  eternal  fountain  turned. 
And  said  the  Old  Man  holy  :  "  That  thou  mayst 

Accomplish  perfectly  thy  journeying,  95 

Whereunto  prayer  and  holy  love  have  sent  me,  j 

Fly  with  thine  eyes  all  round  about  this  garden ;  ] 

For  seeing  it  will  discipline  thy  sight 

Farther  to  mount  along  the  ray  divine.  / 

And  she,  the  Queen  of  Heaven,  for  whom  I  burn  ^  ■^-'•x-oys^-v./i  iooYv'on^tva^ 

Wholly  with  love,  will  grant  us  every  grace,  \. 

Because  that  I  her  faithful  Bernard  am." 
As  he  who  peradventure  from  Croatia 

Cometh  to  gaze  at  our  Veronica,  J  y  ,  ,'        .  .  i 

Who  through  its  ancient  fame  is  never  sa^a,"^  '""^'■^  «>s..    '  ^ 

But  says  in  thought,  the  while  it  is  displayed,  "^"^'^P  *,^x,^^^  v^w^    J    J^j^ 

"My  Lord,  Christ  Jesus,  God  of  very  God,       yp^cj  \   ^ 

Now  was  your  semblance  made  like  unto  this?  \  '"^^  • 

Even  such  was  I  while  gazing  at  the  living 

Charity  of  the  man,  who  in  this  world  no 

By  contemplation  tasted  of  that  peace, 
"Thou  son  of  grace,  this  jocund  life,"  began  he, 

"  Will  not  be  known  to  thee  by  keeping  ever 

Thine  eyes  below  here  on  the  lowest  place  ; 
But  mark  the  circles  to  the  most  remote,  hj  j 

Until  thou  shalt  behold  enthroned  the  Queen  ^ 

To  whom  this  realm  is  subject  and  devoted." 
I  lifted  up  mine  eyes,  and  as  at  morn 

The  oriental  part  of  the  horizon 

Surpasses  that  wherein  the  sun  goes  down,  iw 

Thus,  as  if  going  with  mine  eyes  from  vale 

To  mount,  I  saw  a  part  in  the  remoteness 

Surpass  in  splendour  all  the  other  front. 
And  even  as  there  where  we  await  the  pole 

That  Phaeton  drove  badly,  blazes  more  i?5 

The  Ught,  and  is  on  either  side  diminished, 
So  likewise  that  pacific  oriflamme 

Gleamed  brightest  in  the  centre,  and  each  side 

In  equal  measure  did  the  flame  abate. 


5o6  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 

And  at  that  centre,  with  their  wings  expanded, 
More  than  a  thousand  jubilant  Angels  saw  I, 
Each  differing  in  effulgence  and  in  kind. 

I  saw  there  at  their  sports  and  at  their  songs 
A  beauty  smiling,  which  the  gladness  was 
Within  the  eyes  of  all  the  other  saints ; 

And  if  I  had  in  speaking  as  much  wealth 
As  in  imagining,  I  should  not  dare 
To  attempt  the  smallest  part  of  its  delight 

Bernard,  as  soon  as  he  beheld  mine  eyes 

Fixed  and  intent  upon  its  fervid  fervour, 
His  own  with  such  affection  turned  to  her 

That  it  made  mine  more  ardent  to  behold. 


CANTO   XXXII. 

Absorbed  in  his  delight,  that  contemplator  /a^v    *  iVvy.^,t5.-\       i 
Assumed  the  willing  office  of  a  teacher,  \ 

And  gave  beginning  to  these  holy  words  : 

"  The  wound  that  Mary  closed  up  and  anointed,  ! 

She  at  her  feet  who  is  so  beautiful,  5  \ 

She  is  the  one  who  opened  it  and  pierced  it.   '  ,  ,^j  • 

Within  that  order  which  the  third  seats  make  j 

Is  seated  Rachel,  lower  than  the  other,  | 

With  Beatrice,  in  manner  as  thou  seest.  \ 

Sarah,  Rebecca,  Judith,  and  her  who  was  ^    a  0      ^  \  t  «» I 

Ancestress  of  the  Singer,  who  for  dole  ^"^^^^^  •    >J'— ^  -   J 
Of  the  misdeed  said,  '  Miserere  met,'  ^ 

Canst  thou  behold  from  seat  to  seat  descending  j 

Down  in  gradation,  as  with  each  one's  name  / 

1  through  the  Rose  go  down  from  leaf  to  leaf  »s  | 

And  downward  from  the  seventh  row,  even  as  | 

Above  the  same,  succeed  the  Hebrew  women,  I 

Dividing  all  the  tresses  of  the  flower  ;  | 

Because,  according  to  the  view  which  Faith 

In  Christ  had  taken,  these  are  the  partition 
By  which  the  sacred  stairways  are  divided. 

Upon  this  side,  where  perfect  is  the  flower 
With  each  one  of  its  petals,  seated  are 
I'hose  who  believed  in  Christ  who  was  to  come. 

Upon  the  other  side,  where  intersected 

With  vacant  sj)aces  are  the  semicircles, 

Are  those  who  looked  to  Christ  already  come. 


il 


PARADISO,  XXXII.  597 


And  as,  upon  this  side,  the  glorious  seat 

Of  the  Lady  of  Heaven,  and  the  other  seats 

Below  it,  such  a  great  division  make,  jo 

So  opposite  doth  that  of  the  great  John,    - } ^^     V»Lt)J|p\A><iA 

Who,  ever  holy,  desert  and  martyrdom  u 

Endured,  and  afterwards  two  years  in  Hell, 
And  under  him  thus  to  divide  were  chosen 

Francis,  and  Benedict,  and  Augustine,  33 

And  down  to  us  the  rest  from  round  to  round. 
Behold  now  the  high  providence  divine ; 

For  one  and  other  aspect  of  the  Faith 

In  equal  measure  shall  this  garden  fill. 
And  know  that  downward  from  that  rank  which  cleaves  40 

Midway  the  sequence  of  the  two  divisions, 

Not  by  their  proper  merit  are  they  seated  ; 
But  by  another's  under  fixed  conditions  ; 

For  these  are  spirits  one  and  all  assoiled 

Before  they  any  true  election  had.  45 

Well  canst  thou  recognise  it  in  their  faces, 

And  also  in  their  voices  puerile. 

If  thou  regard  them  well  and  hearken  to  them. 
Now  doubtest  thou,  and  doubting  thou  art  silent ; 

But  I  will  loosen  for  thee  the  strong  bond  so 

In  which  thy  subtile  fancies  hold  thee  fast. 
Within  the  amplitude  of  this  domain 

No  casual  point  can  possibly  find  place. 

No  more  than  sadness  can,  or  thirst,  or  hunger ; 
For  by  eternal  law  has  been  established  ss 

Whatever  thou  beholdest,  so  that  closely 

The  ring  is  fitted  to  the  finger  here. 
And  therefore  are  these  people,  festinate 

Unto  true  life,  not  sine  causa  here 

More  and  less  excellent  among  themselves.  ^ 

The  King,  by  means  of  whom  this  realm  reposes 

In  so  great  love  and  in  so  great  delight 

That  no  Avill  ventureth  to  ask  for  more, 
In  his  own  joyous  aspect  every  mind 

Creating,  at  his  pleasure  dowers  with  grace  6s 

Diversely  ;  and  let  here  the  effect  suffice. 
And  this  is  clearly  and  expressly  noted 

For  you  in  Holy  Scripture,  in  those  twins 

Who  in  their  mother  had  their  anger  roused. 
According  to  the  colour  of  the  hair,  r> 

Therefore,  with  such  a  grace  the  light  supreme 

Consenteth  that  they  worthily  be  crowned. 


5«)>5'  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 


Without,  then,  any  merit  of  their  deeds,  1 

Stationed  are  they  in  different  gradations,  \ 

Differing  only  in  their  first  acuteness.  75  ] 

'Tis  true  that  in  the  early  centuries,  '- 

With  innocence,  to  work  out  their  salvation  '\ 

Sufficient  was  the  faith  of  parents  only.  ; 

After  the  earlier  ages  were  completed,  ' 

Behoved  it  that  the  males  by  circumcision  Soj 

Unto  their  innocent  wings  should  virtue  add  ;  j 

But  after  that  the  time  of  grace  had  come  i 

Without  the  baptism  absolute  of  Christ,  : 

Such  innocence  below  there  was  retained.       ,  | 

Look  now  into  the  face  that  unto  Christ       -^y^/^ory-^  ssi 

Hath  most  resemblance  ;  for  its  brightness  on^y 

Is  able  to  prepare  thee  to  see  Christ."  ; 

On  her  did  I  behold  so  great  a  gladness  \ 

Rain  down,  borne  onward  in  the  holy  minds 

Created  through  that  altitude  to  fly. 
That  whatsoever  I  had  seen  before 

Did  not  suspend  me  in  such  admiration. 

Nor  show  me  such  similitude  of  God. 
And  the  same  Love  that  first  descended  there, 

''''Ave  Maria,  gratia  plena"  singing. 

In  front  of  her  his  wings  expanded  wide. 
Unto  the  canticle  divine  responded 

From  every  part  the  court  beatified, 

So  that  each  sight  became  serener  for  it. 
"  O  holy  father,  who  for  me  endurest 

To  be  below  here,  leaving  the  sweet  place 

In  which  thou  sittest  by  eternal  lot. 
Who  is  the  Angel  that  with  so  much  joy 

Into  the  eyes  is  looking  of  our  Queen, 

Enamoured  so  that  he  seems  made  of  fire  ?" 
Thus  I  again  recourse  had  to  the  teaching 

Of  that  one  who  delighted  him  in  Mary 

As  doth  the  star  of  morning  in  the  sun. 
And  he  to  me  :  "  Such  gallantry  and  grace 

As  there  can  be  in  Angel  and  in  soul, 

All  is  in  him  ;  and  thus  we  fain  would  have  it ; 
Because  he  is  the  one  who  bore  the  palm 

Down  unto  Mary,  when  the  Son  of  God 

To  take  our  burden  on  himself  decreed. 
But  now  come  onward  with  thine  eyes,  as  I 

Speaking  shall  go,  and  note  the  great  patricians 

Of  this  most  just  and  merciful  of  empires. 


i 


k..\. 


PARADTSO,   XXXIL  S99 


Those  two  that  sit  above  there  most  enrapture 

As  being  very  near  unto  Augusta, 

Are  as  it  were  the  two  roots  of  this  Rose.  «ac 

He  who  upon  the  left  is  near  her  placed   .^^^^/j,,,.^^^ 

The  father  is,  by  whose  audacious  taste  , 

The  human  species  so  much  bitter  tastes. 
Upon  the  right  thou  seest  that  ancient  father  ' 

Of  Holy  Church,  into  whose  keeping  Christ  hK  •»  kKj^''^ 

The  keys  committed  of  this  lovely  flower. 
And  he  who  all  the  evil  days  beheld,  ^  ^. 

Before  his  death,  of  her  the  beauteous  bride     ^>w->^>   -J^-r^X  LA>a.'»^V 

Who  with  the  spear  and  with  the  nails  was  woHj^ 
Beside  him  sits,  and  by  the  other  rests  130 

That  leader  under  whom  on  manna  lived    C\''\>  %<uw^ 

The  people  ingrate,  fickle,  and  stiff-necked.  .  4  ,   L-        C\ 

Opposite  Peter  seest  thou  Anna  seated,    .  v^^^sX/WLv    k       ^-^  '^^  vvcvs 

So  well  content  to  look  upon  her  daughter,  \ 

Her  eyes  she  moves  not  while  she  sings  Hosanna.  ,13s 

And  opposite  the  eldest  household  father 

Lucia  sits,  she  who  thy  Lady  moved 

When  to  rush  downward  thou  didst  bend  thy  brows. 
But  since  the  moments  of  thy  vision  fly, 

Here  will  we  make  full  stop,  as  a  good  tailor  uc 

\  Who  makes  the  gown  according  to  his  cloth,  1 
And  unto  the  first  I>ove  will  turn  our  eyes, 

That  looking  upon  Him  thou  penetrate 

As  far  as  possible  through  his  effulgence. 
Truly,  lest  peradventure  thou  recede,  m> 

Moving  thy  wings  believing  to  advance, 

By  prayer  behoves  it  that  grace  be  obtained ; 
Grace  from  that  one  who  has  the  power  to  aid  thee ; 

And  thou  shalt  follow  me  with  thy  aff^ection 

That  from  my  words  thy  heart  turn  not  aside."  is*"  j 

And  he  began  this  holy  orison. 


6po  THE  DIVINE  COMEDY. 


CANTO   XXXIII. 

**  Thou  Virgin  Mother,  daughter  of  thy  Son, 

Humble  and  high  beyond  all  other  creature, 

The  limit  fixed  of  the  eternal  counsel. 
Thou  art  the  one  who  such  nobility 

To  human  nature  gave,  that  its  Creator 

Did  not  disdain  to  make  himself  its  cieature. 
Within  thy  womb  rekindled  was  the  love, 

By  heat  of  which  in  the  eternal  peace 

After  such  wise  this  flower  has  germinated. 
Here  unto  us  thou  art  a  noonday  torch 

Of  charity,  and  below  there  among  mortals 

Thou  art  the  living  fountain-head  of  hope. 
Lady,  thou  art  so  great,  and  so  prevailing, 

That  he  who  wishes  grace,  nor  runs  to  thee, 

His  aspirations  without  wings  would  fly. 
Not  only  thy  benignity  gives  succour 

To  him  who  asketh  it,  but  oftentimes 

Forerunneth  of  its  own  accord  the  asking. 
In  thee  compassion  is,  in  thee  is  pity, 

In  thee  magnificence ;  in  thee  unites 

Whate'er  of  goodness  is  in  any  creature. 
Now  doth  this  man,  who  from  the  lowest  depth 

Of  the  universe  as  far  as  here  has  seen 

One  after  one  the  spiritual  lives, 
Supplicate  thee  through  grace  for  so  much  power 

That  with  his  eyes  he  may  uplift  himself 

Higher  towards  the  uttermost  salvation. 
And  I,  who  never  burned  for  my  own  seeing 

More  than  I  do  for  his,  all  of  my  prayers 

Proffer  to  thee,  and  pray  they  come  not  short, 
That  thou  wouldst  scatter  from  him  every  cloud 

Of  his  mortality  so  with  thy  prayers, 

That  the  Chief  Pleasure  be  to  him  displayed. 
Still  farther  do  I  pray  thee,  Queen,  who  canst  \ 

Whate'er  thou  wilt,  that  sound  thou  mayst  preserve  ss  ,  \ 

After  so  great  a  vision  his  affections.  -M^ 

Let  thy  protection  conquer  human  movements ;  wi 

See  Beatrice  and  all  the  blessed  ones  \ 

My  prayers  to  second  clasp  their  hands  to  thee  I" 


PARADISO,  XXXIII.  6oi 

'J'he  eyes  beloved  and  revered  of  God,  40 

Fastened  upon  the  speaker,  showed  to  us 

How  grateful  unto  her  are  prayers  devout ; 
Then  unto  the  Eternal  Light  they  turned, 

On  which  it  is  not  credible  could  be 

By  any  creature  bent  an  eye  so  clear.  4» 

And  I,  who  to  the  end  of  all  desires 

Was  now  approaching,  even  as  I  ought 

The  ardour  of  desire  within  me  ended. 
Bernard  was  beckoning  unto  me,  and  smiling, 

That  I  should  upward  look ;  but  I  already  sb 

.  Was  of  my  own  accord  such  as  he  wished  ; 
Because  my  sight,  becoming  purified, 

Was  entering  more  and  more  into  the  ray 

Of  the  High  Light  which  of  itself  is  true. 
From  that  time  forward  what  I  saw  was  greater  s 

Than  our  discourse,  that  to  such  vision  yields, 

And  yields  the  memory  unto  such  excess. 
Even  as  he  is  who  seeth  in  a  dream, 

And  after  dreaming  the  imprinted  passion 

Remains,  and  to  his  mind  the  rest  returns  not,  «o 

Even  such  am  I,  for  almost  utterly 

Ceases  my  vision,  and  dis^tilleth  yet 

Within  my  heart  the  sweetness  bom  of  it ; 
Even  thus  the  snow  is  in  the  sun  unsealed. 

Even  thus  upon  the  wind  in  the  light  leaves  <s 

Were  the  soothsayings  of  the  Sibyl  lost. 

0  Light  Supreme,  that  dost  so  far  uplift  thee 

From  the  conceits  of  mortals,  to  my  mind 

Of  what  thou  didst  appear  re-lend  a  little, 
And  make  my  tongue  of  so  great  puissance,  -jo 

That  but  a  single  sparkle  of  thy  glory 

It  may  bequeath  unto  the  future  people ; 
For  by  returning  to  my  memory  somewhat, 

And  by  a  little  sounding  in  these  verses. 

More  of  thy  victory  shall  be  conceived  !  js 

1  think  the  keenness  of  the  living  ray 

Which  I  endured  would  have  bewildered  me, 

If  but  mine  eyes  had  been  averted  from  it ; 
And  I  remember  that  I  was  more  bold 

On  this  account  to  bear,  so  that  I  joined  •• 

My  aspect  with  the  Glory  Infinite. 
O  grace  abundant,  by  which  I  presumed 

To  fix  my  sight  upon  the  Light  Eternal, 

So  that  the  seeing  I  consumed  therein  ! 


6o2  THE  DIVINE   COMEDY. 

I  saw  that  in  its  depth  far  down  is  lying 

Bound  up  with  love  together  in  one  volume, 
What  through  the  universe  in  leaves  is  scattered  ; 

Substance,  and  accident,  and  their  operations. 
All  interfused  together  in  such  wise 
That  what  I  speak  of  is  one  simple  light. 

The  universal  fashion  of  this  knot 

Methinks  I  saw,  since  more  abundantly 
In  saying  this  I  feel  that  I  rejoice. 

One  moment  is  more  lethargy  to  me, 

Than  five  and  twenty  centuries  to  the  emprise 
That  startled  Neptune  with  the  shade  of  Argo  ! 

My  mind  in  this  wise  wholly  in  suspense, 
Steadfast,  immovable,  attentive  gazed, 
And  evermore  with  gazing  grew  enkindled. 

In  presence  of  that  light  one  such  becomes, 

That  to  withdraw  therefrom  for  other  prospect 
It  is  impossible  he  e'er  consent  ; 

Because  the  good,  which  object  is  of  will, 
Is  gathered  all  in  this,  and  out  of  it 
That  is  defective  which  is  perfect  there. 

Shorter  henceforward  will  my  language  fall 
Of  what  I  yet  remember,  than  an  infant's 
Who  still  his  tongue  doth  moisten  at  the  breast. 

Not  because  more  than  one  unmingled  semblance 
Was  in  the  living  light  on  which  I  looked, 
For  it  is  always  what  it  was  before ; 

But  through  the  sight,  that  fortified  itself 
In  me  by  looking,  one  appearance  only 
,  To  me  was  ever  changing  as  I  changed. 

Within  the  deep  and  luminous  subsistence 

Of  the  High  Light  appeared  to  me  three  circles, '. 
Of  threefold  colour  and  of  one  dimension. 

And  by  the  second  seemed  the  first  reflected 
As  Iris  is  by  Iris,  and  the  third 
Seemed  fire  that  equally  from  both  is  breathed. 

O  how  all  speech  is  feeble  and  falls  short 
Of  my  conceit,  and  this  to  what  I  saw 
Is  such,  'tis  not  enough  to  call  it  little  ! 

O  Light  Eteme,  sole  in  thyself  that  dwellest, 

Sole  knowest  thyself,  and,  known  unto  thyself 
And  knowing,  lovest  and  smilest  on  thyself ! 

That  circulation,  which  being  thus  conceived 
Appeared  in  thee  as  a  reflected  light, 
When  somewhat  contemplated  by  mine  eyes, 


PARADISO,  XXXni.  603 


Within  itself,  of  its  own  very  colour  130 

Seemed  to  me  painted  with  our  effigy, 

Wherefore  my  sight  was  all  absorbed  therein. 
\s  the  geometrician,  who  endeavours 

To  square  the  circle,  and  discovers  not, 

By  taking  thought,  the  principle  he  wants,  135 

Even  such  was  I  at  that  new  apparition  ; 

I  wished  to  see  how  the  image  to  the  circle 

Conformed  itself,  and  how  it  there  finds  place  ; 
But  my  own  wings  were  not  enough  for  this, 

Had  it  not  been  that  then  my  mind  there  smote  mo 

A  flash  of  lightning,  wherein  came  its  wish. 
Here  vigour  failed  the  lofty  fantasy : 

But  now  was  turning  my  desire  and  will. 

Even  as  a  wheel  that  equally  is  moved, 
The  Love  which  moves  the  sun  and  the  other  stars.  «45 


^n^ 


NOTES   TO    PARADISO. 


NOTES    TO    PARADISO. 


CANTO  I. 

I.  Dante's  theory  of  the  universe  is 
the  old  one,  which  made  the  earth  a 
stationary  central  point,  around  which 
all  the  heavenly  bodies  revolved ;  a 
theoiy,  that,  according  to  Milton,  Par. 
Lost,  VIII.  15,  astonished  even  Adam 
in  Paradise  : — 

"  When  I  behold  this  goodly  frame,  this  world, 
Of  heaven  and  earth  consisting,  and  compute 
Their  magnitudes  ;  this  earth,  a  spot,  a  grain, 
An  atom,  with  the  firmament  compared 
And  all  her  numbered  stars,  that  seem  to  roll 

•    Spaces  incomprehensible  (for  such 

Their  distance  argues,  and  their  swift  return 
DiurnaP,  merely  to  officiate  light 
Round  this  opacous  earth,  this  punctual  spot, 
One  day  and  night ;  in  all  their  vast  survey 
Useless  besides  ;  reasoning  I  oft  admire. 
How  Nature,  wise  and  frugal,  could  commit 
Such  disproportions,  with  superfluous  hand 
So  many  nobler  bodies  to  create. 
Greater  so  manifold,  to  this  one  use. 
For  aught  appears,  and  on  their  orbs  impose 
Such  restless  revolution  day  by  day 
Repented  ;  while  the  sedentary  earth, 
That  better  might  with  far  less  compass  move. 
Served  by  more  noble  than  herself,  attains 
Her  end  without  least  motion,  and  receives, 
As  tribute,  such  a  sumless  journey  brought 
Of  incorporeal  speed,  her  warmth  and  light, — 
Speed,    to  describe  whose  swiftness  number 
fails." 

The  reply  that  Raphael  makes  to 
'•our  general  ancestor,"  may  be  ad- 
dressed to  every  reader  of  the  Para- 
dise : — 

"  Whether  the  sun,  predominant  in  heaven, 
Rise  on  the  earth,  or  earth  rise  on  the  sun  ; 
He  from  the  east  his  flaming  road  begin. 
Or  she  from  west  her  silent  course  advance, 
With  inoffensive  pace  that  spinning  sleeps 
On  her  soft  axle  ;  while  she  paces  even. 
And  bears  thee  soft  with  the  smooth  air  along  ; 
Solicit  not  thy  thoughts  with  matters  hid." 

Thus,   taking  the  earth  as  the  central 

f)mt,  and  speaking  of  the  order  of  the 
en  Heavens,  Dante  says,  Convito,  II.  4: 
"  The  first  is  that  where  the  Moon  is  ; 


the  second  is  that  where  Mercury  is  ; 
the  third  is  that  where  Venus  is ;  the 
fourth  is  that  where  the  Sun  is  ;  the 
fifth  is  that  where  Mars  is  ;  the  sixth 
is  that  where  Jupiter  is  ;  the  seventh  is 
that  where  Saturn  is ;  the  eighth  is  that 
of  the  Stars  ;  the  ninth  is  not  visible, 
save  by  the  motion  mentioned  above, 
and  is  called  by  many  the  Crystalline : 
that  is,  diaphanous,  or  wholly  trans- 
parent. Beyond  all  these,  indeed,  the 
Catholics  place  the  Empyrean  Heaven  ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  Heaven  of  flame,  or 
luminous  ;  and  this  they  suppose  to  be 
immovable,  from  having  within  itself, 
in  every  part,  that  which  its  matter  de- 
mands. And  this  is  the  cause  why  the 
Pritnum  Mobile  has  a  very  swift  mo- 
tion ;  from  the  fervent  longing  which 
each  part  of  that  ninth  heaven  has  to  be 
conjoined  with  that  Divinest  Heaven, 
the  Heaven  of  Rest,  which  is  next  to 
it,  it  revolves  therein  with  so  great 
desire,  that  its  velocity  is  almost  in- 
comprehensible ;  and  quiet  and  p>eace- 
ful  is  the  place  of  that  supreme  Deity, 
who  alone  doth  perfectly  see  himself." 

Of  the  symbolism  of  these  Heavens 
he  says,  Convito,  H.  14:  "As  narrated 
above,  the  seven  Heavens  nearest  to  us 
are  those  of  the  Planets ;  and  above 
these  are  two  movable  Heavens,  and 
one  motionless  oyer  all.  To  the  first 
seven  correspond  the  seven  sciences  of 
the  Trivium  and  Ouadrivium  ;  that  is. 
Grammar,  Dialectics,  Rhetoric,  Arith- 
metic, Music,  Geometry,  and  Astro- 
logy. To  the  eighth,  that  is,  to  the 
starry  sphere,  Natural  Science,  called 
Physics,  corresponds,  and  the  first 
science  which  is  called  Metaphysics  ; 
and  to  the  ninth  sphere  corresponds 
Moral  Science  ;  and  to  the  Heaven  of 
Rest,  the  Divine  Science,  which  is 
called  Theology." 


6o8 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


The  details  of  these  correspondences 
will  be  given  later  in  iheir  appropriate 
places. 

These  Ten  Heavens  are  the  heavens 
of  the  Paradiso ;  nine  of  them  revolv- 
ing about  the  earth  as  a  central  point, 
and  the  motionless  Empyrean  encircling 
and  containing  all. 

In  the  first  Heaven,  or  that  of  the 
Moon,  are  seen  the  spirits  of  those 
who,  having  taken  monastic  vows,  were 
forced  to  violate  them.  In  the  second, 
or  that  of  Mercury,  the  spirits  of  those 
whom  desire  of  fame,  incited  to  noble 
deeds.  In  the  third,  or  that  of  Venus, 
the  spirits  of  Lovers.  In  the  fourth, 
or  that  of  the  Sun,  the  spirits  of  Theo- 
logians and  Fathers  of  the  Church. 
In  the  fifth,  or  that  of  Mars,  the  spirits 
of  Crusaders  and  those  who  died  for 
the  true  Faith.  In  the  sixth,  or  that 
of  Jupiter,  the  spirits  of  righteous  Kings 
and  Ruiers.  In  the  seventh,  or  that  of 
Saturn,  the  spirits  of  the  Contemplative. 
In  the  eighth,  or  that  of  the  Fixed  Stars 
the  Triumph  of  Christ.  In  the  ninth, 
or  Primum  Mobile,  the  Angelic  Hier- 
archies. In  the  tenth,  or  the  Empyrean, 
is  the  Visible  Presence  of  God. 

It  must  be  observed,  however,  that 
the  lower  spheres,  in  which  the  spirits 
appear,  are  not  assigned  them  as  their 
places  or  dwellings.  They  show  them- 
selves in  these  different  places  only  to 
indicate  to  Dante  the  different  degrees 
of  glory  which  they  enjoy,  and  to  show 
that  while  on  earth  they  were  under  the 
influence  of  the  planets  in  which  they 
here  appear.  Dante  expressly  says,  in 
Canto  IV.  28:  — 

**  He  of  the  Seraphim  most  absorWd  in  God, 
Moses,  and  Samuel,  and  whichever  John 
Thou  inayst  select,  I  say,  and  even  Mary, 

Have  not  in  any  otiier  heaven  their  thrones 
Than  have  those  spirits  that  just  ap|>eared  to 

thee, 
Nor  of  existence  more  or  fewer  years 

But  all  make  beautiful  the  i>rimal  circle, 
And  have  sweet  life  in  different  decrees, 
By  feeling  more  or  less  the  eternal  breath, 

They  showed  themselves  here,  not  because  al- 
lotted 
This  sphere  has  been  to  them,  but  to  give  sign 
Of  the  celestial  which  is  least  exalted. 

The  threefold  main  division  of  the 
Paradiso,  indicated  by  a  longer  prelude, 
or  by  a  natural  pause  in  the  action  of  the 
poem,  is  :  — i.  From  Canto  I.  to  Canto 


X.  2.  From  Canto  X.  to  Canto  XXIII. 
3.  From  Canto  XX II  I.  to  the  end. 

2.  Wisdom  of  Solomon,  i.  7  :  "  For  the 
spirit  of  the  Lord  filleth  the  world  "  ; 
and  Ecclesiasticus,  xlii.  16  :  "  The  sun 
thatgiveth  light  looketh  upon  all  things, 
and  the  work  thereof  is  full  of  the  glory 
of  the  Lord." 

4.  Tiie  Empyrean.  Milton,  Par. 
Lost,  III.  57  :  — 

"  From  the  pure  Empyrean  where  he  sits 
High  throned  above  all  highth." 

5.  2  Corinthians,  xii.  2  :  "I  knew 
a  man  in  Christ  about  fourteen  years 
ago,  (whether  in  the  body,  I  cannot 
tell ;  or  whether  out  of  the  body,  I  can- 
not tell  :  God  knoweth  ;)  such  an  one 
caught  up  to  the  third  heaven.  And 
I  knew  such  a  man,  (whether  in  the 
body,  or  out  of  the  body,  I  cannot  tell ; 
God  knoweth  :)  how  that  he  was  caught 
up  into  paradise,  and  heard  unspeakable 
words,  which  it  is  not  lawful  for  a  man 
to  utter." 

7.  Convito,  III.  2  :  "  Hence  the 
human  soul,  which  is  the  noblest  form 
of  those  created  under  heaven,  receiveih 
more  of  the  divine  nature  than  any  other. 

And    inasmuch   as   its   being 

depends  upon  God,  and  is  preserved  by 
him,  it  naturally  desires  and  wishes 
to  be  united  with  God,  in  order  tO' 
strengthen  its  being."  l 

And  again,  Convito,  III.  6  :  "  EachT 
thing  chiefly  desireth  its  own  perfection, 
and  in  it  quieteth  every  desire,  and  for 
it  is  each  thing  desired.  And  this  is 
the  desire  which  always  maketh  each 
delight  seem  insufl^cient ;  for  in  this 
life  is  no  delight  so  great  that  it  can 
satisfy  the  thirst  of  the  soul,  so  that  the 
desire  I  speak  of  shall  not  remain  in 
our  thoughts." 

13.    Chaucer,    House  of  Fame,   III 
I  :  — 


'  God  of  science  and  of  light, 
Apollo  I  thorough  thy  grete  might 
This  litel  last  boke  now  thou  gye. 

Aiid  if  that  divine  virtue  thou 
Wilte  helpen  me  to  showen  now 
That  ill  my  hed  ymarked  is. 

Thou  shah  yse  mc  go  as  blive 
Unto  the  next  laurer  I  »e, 
And  kysse  it  for  ii  is  thy  tre. 
Nowe  entrc  in  my  brest  anone>" 


NOTES   TO  PARADISC. 


6cg 


19.  Chaucer,  Ballade  in  Commen- 
iacion  of  Our  Ladie,  12  : — 

"  O  winde  of  grace  !  now  blowe  unto  my  saile  ; 
O  annate  licour  of  Clio  !  to  write 
My  penne  enspire,  of  that  I  woU  indite." 

20.  Ovid,  Met.,  VI.,  Croxall's  Tr.  :— 

"  When  straight  another  pictures  to  their  view 
The  Satyr's  fate,  whom  angry  Phoebus  slew  ; 
Who,    raised   with  high  conceit,   and    puffed 

with  pride. 
At  his  own  pipe  the  skilful  God  defied. 
Why  do  you  tear  me  from  myself,  he  cries  ? 
Ah,  cruel  !  must  my  skin  be  made  the  prize? 
This  for  a  silly  pipe  ?  he  roaring  said, 
Meanwhile  the  skin  from   off  his  limbs  was 
flayed." 

And  Chaucer,  House  of  Fame,  139, 
changing  the  sex  of  Marsyas  : — 

"And  Mercia  that  lost  hire  skinne, 
Bothe  in  the  face,  bodie,  and  chinne. 
For  that  she  would  envyen,  lo  ! 
To  pipen  bette  than  Apollo." 

36.  A  town  at  the  foot  of  Parnassus, 
dedicated  to  Apollo,  and  here  used  for 
Apollo. 

Cliaiicer,  Quene  Annelida  and  False 
Arcite,  15  :  — 

"  Be  favorable  eke  thou,  Polymnia  ! 
On  Parnassus  that,  with  thy  .susters  glade 
By  Helicon,  and  not  I'erre  from  Cirrha, 
Singed,  with  voice  memoriall,  in  the  shade 
Under  the  laurer,  which  that  male  not  fade." 

39.  That  point  of  the  horizon  where 
the  sun  rises  at  the  equinox  ;  and  where 
the  Equator,  the  Zodiac,  and  the  equi- 
noctial Coiure  meet,  and  form  each  a 
cross  with  the  Horizon. 

41.  The  world  is  as  wax,  which  the 
sun  softens  and  stamps  with  his  seal. 

44.  "This  word  nhnost,"  says  Buti, 
"  gives  us  to  understand  that  it  was  not 
the  exact  moment  when  the  sun  enters 
Aries. " 

60.    Milton,  Par.  Lost,  III.  593  :  — 

"  Not  all  parts  like,  but  all  alike  informed 
With  radiant  light,  as  glowing  iron  with  fire." 

6i.    Milton,    Par.  Lost,  V.  310: — 

"  Seems  another  mom 
Risen  on  mid-noon." 

68.  Glaucus,  changed  to  a  sea-god 
by  eating  of  the  salt-meadow  grass. 
Ovid,  Met.,  XIII. ,  Rowe's  Tr.  :— 


"  Restless  I  grew,  and  every  place  forsook, 
And  still  upon  the  seas  I  bent  my  look. 
Farewell  for  ever  !  Farewell,  land  !  I  said  ; 
And  plungedamidst  the  waves  my  sinking  head. 
The  gentle  powers,  who  that  low  empire  keep. 
Received  me  as  a  brother  of  the  deep  ; 
To  Tethys,  and  to  Ocean  old,  they  pray 
To  purge  my  mortal  earthy  parts  away." 

"  As  Glaucus,"  says  Buti,  ,  "  was 
changed  from  a  fisherman  to  a  sea-god 
by  tasting  of  the  grass  that  had  that 
power,  so  the  human  soul,  tasting  of 
things  divine,  becomes  divine." 

73.  Whether  I  were  spirit  only.  2 
Corinthians,  xii.  3:  "Whether  in  the 
body,  or  out  of  the  body,  I  cannot  tell ; 
God  knoweth." 

One  of  the  questions  which  exercised 
the  minds  of  the  Fathers  and  the  School- 
men was,  whether  the  soul  were  created 
before  the  body  or  after  it.  Origen, 
following  Plato,  supposes  all  souls  to 
have  been  created  at  once,  and  to  await 
their  bodies.  Thomas  Aquinas  combats 
this  opinion.  Sum.  Theol.,  I.  Quaest. 
cxviii.  3,  and  maintains,  that  "creation 
and  infusion  are  simultaneous  in  regard 
to  the  soul."  This  seems  also  to  be 
Dante's  belief.     See  Ptirg.  XXV.  70:  — 

"  The  primal  Motor  turns  to  it  well  pleased 
At  so  great  art  of  nature,  and  inspires 
A  spirit  new,  with  virtue  all  replete." 

76.  It  is  a  doctrine  of  Plato  that  the 
heavens  are  always  in  motion,  seeking 
the  Soul  of  the  World,  which  has  no 
determinate  place,  but  is  everywhere 
diffused.     See  also  Note  i. 

78.  The  music  of  the  spheres. 

Shakespeare,  Merchant  of  Venice,  V. 
I  :  — 

"  Look,  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold  ; 
There's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  behold'st. 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubins 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls  ; 
But,  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it." 

And  Milton,  Hymn  on  Chrisfs  Na- 
tivity : — 

"  Ring  out,  ye  crystal  spheres, 
Once  bless  our  human  ears, 

If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  m  . 
And  let  your  silver  chime 
Move  in  melodious  time  ; 

And  let  the  bass  of  Heaven's  deep  orgai 
blow  ; 
And,  with  your  ninefold  harmony, 
Make  up  full  consort  to  the  angelic  symphony.' 


i. 


6io 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


Rixner,  Handbuch  der  Geschichte  der 
Pfiilosophie,  I.  lOO,  speaking  of  the  ten 
heavens,  or  the  Lyre  of  Pythagoras, 
says:  "These  ten  celestial  spheres  are 
arranged  among  themselves  in  an  order 
so  mathematical  and  musical,  that  is  so 
harmonious,  that  the  sphere  of  the  fixed 
stars,  which  is  above  the  sphere  of 
Saturn,  ^ives  forth  the  deepest  tone  in 
the  music  of  the  universe  (the  World- 
Lyre  strung  with  ten  strings),  and  that 
of  the  Moon  the  highest. " 

Cicero,  in  his  Vision  of  Scipio,  inverts 
the  tones.     He  says,  Edmonds's  Tr. : — 

' '  Which  as  I  was  gazing  at  in  amaze- 
ment, I  said,  as  I  recovered  myself, 
from  whence  proceed  these  sounds  so 
strong,  and  yet  so  sweet,  that  fill  my 
ears?  '  The  melody,' replies  he,  'which 
you  hear,  and  which,  though  composed 
in  unequal  time',  is  nevertheless  divided 
into  regular  harmony,  is  effected  by  the 
impulse  and  motion  of  the  spheres 
themselves,  which,  by  a  happy  temper 
of  sharp  and  grave  notes,  regularly  pro- 
duces various  harmonic  effects.  Now 
it  is  impossible  that  such  prodigious 
movements  should  pass  in  silence  ;  and 
nature  teaches  that  the  sounds  which 
the  spheres  at  one  extremity  utter  must 
be  sharp,  and  those  on  the  other  ex- 
tremity must  be  grave  ;  on  which  ac- 
count, that  highest  revolution  of  the 
star-studded  heaven,  whose  motion  is 
more  rapid,  is  carried  on  with  a  sharp 
and  quick  sound  ;  whereas  this  of  the 
moon,  which  is  situated  the  lowest,  and 
at  the  other  extremity,  moves  with  the 
gravest  sound.  For  the  earth,  the  ninth 
sphere,  remaining  motionlese,  abides  in- 
variably in  the  innermost  position,  occu- 
pying the  central  spot  in  the  universe. 

"  '  Now  these  eight  directions,  two 
of  which  have  the  same  powers,  effect 
seven  sounds,  differing  in  their  modula- 
tions, which  number  is  the  connecting 
principle  of  almost  all  things.  Some 
learned  men,  by  imitating  this  harmony 
with  strings  and  vocal  melodies,  have 
opened  a  way  for  their  return  to  this 
place  :  as  all  others  have  done,  who, 
endued  with  pre-eminent  qualities,  have 
cultivated  in  their  mortal  life  the  pursuits 
of  heaven. 

'* '  The  ears  of  mankind,  filled  with 
these  liounds,  have  become  deaf,  fur  of 


all  your  senses  it  is  the  most  blunted. 
Thus,  the  people  who  live  near  the  place 
where  the  Nile  rushes  down  from  very 
high  mountains  to  the  parts  which  are 
called  Catadupa,  are  destitute  of  the 
sense  of  hearing,  by  reason  of  the  great- 
ness of  the  noise.  Now  this  sound, 
which  is  effected  by  the  rapid  rotation 
of  the  whole  system  of  nature,  is  so 
powerful  that  human  hearing  cannot 
comprehend  it,  just  as  you  cannot  look 
directly  upon  the  sun,  because  your 
sight  and  sense  are  overcome  by  his 
beams.'  " 

92.  The  region  of  fire.  Brunetto 
Latini,  Tresor,  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. " 

109.    Milton,  Par.  Lost.  V.  469  : — 

"  One  Almighty  is,  from  whom 
All  things  proceed,  and  up  to  him  return. 
If  not  depraved  from  good  ;  created  all 
Such  to  perfection,  one  first  matter  all, 
Endued  with  various  forms,  various  degrees 
Of  substance,  and,  in  things  that  live,  ol  life  ; 
But  more  refined,  more  spiritous,  and  pure. 
As  nearer  to  him  placed,  or  nearer  tending 
Each  in  their  several  active  spheres  assigned, 
'I'lU  body  up  to  spirit  work,  in  bounds 
Proportioned  to  each  kind.     So  from  the  root 
Sprmgs  lighter  the  green  stalk  ;  from  thence  the 

leaves 
More  aery ;  last,  the  bright  consummate  flower 
Spirits  odorous  breathes  ;  flowers  and  their  fruit, 
Man's  nourishment,  by  gradual  scale  sublimed. 
To  vital  spirits  aspire,  to  animal, 
To  intellectual ;  give  both  life  and  sense. 
Fancy  and  understanding  :  whence  the  soul 
Reason  receives,  and  reason  is  her  being, 
Discursive  or  intuitive."' 

121.    Filicaja's    beautiful    sonnet 
Providence  is  thus  translated  by  Leigh 
Hunt  :  — 

"  Just  as  a  nother,  with  sweet,  pious  face. 

Yearns  towards  her  little  children  fVom  her 

seat. 
Gives  one  a  kiss,  another  an  embrace, 
Takes  this  upon  her  knees,  that  on  her  feet : 
And   while  from   actions,   looks,   complaints 

pretences, 
She  learns  their  feelings  and  their  various 

will, 
To  this  a  look,  to  that  a  word,  dispenses. 
And,  whether  stern  or  smiling,  loves  them 

still  :— 


NOTES  ro   PARADISO. 


6ii 


So  Providence  for  us,  high,  infinite, 
Makes  our  necessities  its  watchful  task, 
Hearkens  to  all  our  prayers,  helps  all  our 
wants, 

And  even  if  it  denies  what  seems  our  right. 
Either  denies  because  'twould  have  us  ask, 
Or  seems  but  to  deny,  or  in  denying  grants." 

122.  The  Empyrean,  within  which 
the  Primum  Mobile  revolves  "with  so 
great  desire  that  its  velocity  is  almost 
incomprehensible. " 

141.  Convito,  III.  2:  "The  human 
soul,  ennobled  by  the  highest  power, 
that  is  by  reason,  partakes  of  the  divine 
nature  in  the  manner  of  an  eternal  In- 
telligence ;  because  the  soul  is  so  en- 
nobled by  that  sovereign  power,  and 
denuded  of  matter,  that  the  divine  light 
shines  in  it  as  in  an  angel ;  and  there- 
fore man  has  been  called  by  the  philo- 
sophers a  divine  animal." 


CANTO   II. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  the  Moon,  in  which 
are  seen  the  spirits  of  those  who,  having 
taken  monastic  vows,  were  forced  to 
violate  them. 

In  Dante's  symbolism  this  heaven  re- 
presents the  first  science  of  the  Trivium. 
Convito,  II.  14  :  "I  say  that  the  heaven 
of  the  Moon  resembles  Grammar ;  be- 
cause it  may  be  compared  therewith ;  for 
if  the  Moon  be  well  observed,  two  things 
are  seen  peculiar  to  it,  which  are  not  seen 
in  the  other  stars.  One  is  the  shadow 
in  it,  which  is  nothing  but  the  rarity  of 
its  body,  in  which  the  rays  of  the  sun 
cannot  terminate  and  be  reflected  as  in 
the  other  parts.  The  other  is  the  varia- 
tion of  its  brightness,  which  now  shines 
on  one  side,  and  now  upon  the  other, 
according  as  the  sun  looks  upon  it.  And 
Grammar  has  these  two  properties  ; 
since,  on  account  of  its  infinity,  the  rays 
of  reason  do  not  terminate  in  it  in  any 
special  part  of  its  words  ;  and  it  shines 
now  on  this  side,  and  now  on  that,  inas- 
much as  certain  words,  certain  declina- 
tions, certain  constructions,  are  in  use 
which  once  were  not,  and  many  once 
were  which  will  be  again. " 

For  the  influences  of  the  Moon,  see 
Canto  III.  Note  30. 

The  introduction  to  this  canto  is  at 
8oce  a  warning  and  an  invitation.  Balbi, 


Life  and  Times  of  Dante,  II.  Ch.  15, 
Mrs.  Bunbury's  Tr.,  says  : — 

"  The  last   part   of   the   Commedia, 
which   Dante   finished   about   this  time 

(1320) is  said  to   be   the   most 

diflkult  and  obscure  part  of  the  whole 
poem.  And  it  is  so  ;  and  it  would  be  in 
vain  for  us  to  attempt  to  awaken  in  the 
generality  of  readers  that  attention  which 
Dante  has  not  been  able  to  obtain  for 
himself. "  Readers  in  general  will  always 
be  repulsed  by  the  difficulties  of  its 
numerous  allegories,  by  the  series  of 
heavens,  arranged  according  to  the  now 
forgotten  Ptolemaic  system,  and  more 
than  all  by  disquisitions  on  philosophy 
and  theology  which  often  degenerate  into 
mere  scholastic  themes.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  the  three  cantos  relating  to 
Cacciaguida,  and  a  i&vr  other  episodes 
which  recall  us  to  earth,  as  well  as  those 
verses  in  which  frequently  Dante's  love 
for  Beatrice  shines  forth,  the  Paradiso 
must  not  be  considered  as  pleasant  read- 
ing for  the  general  reader,  but  as  an 
especial  recreation  for  those  who  find 
there,  expressed  in  sublime  verse,  those 
contemplations  that  have  been  the  sub- 
jects of  their  philosophical  and  theological 

studies But  few  will  always  be 

the  students  of  philosophy  and  theology, 
and  much  fewer  those  who  look  upon 
these  sciences  as  almost  one  and  the  same 
thing,  pursued  by  two  different  methods ; 
these,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  will  find  in 
Dante's  Paradiso,  a  treasure  of  thought, 
and  the  loftiest  and  most  soothing  words 
of  comfort,  forerunners  of  the  joys  of 
Heaven  itself.  Above  all,  the  Paradiso 
will  delight  those  who  find  themselves, 
when  they  are  reading  it,  in  a  somewhat 
similar  disposition  of  mind  to  that  of 
Dante  when  he  was  writing  it  ;  those  in 
short  who,  after  having  in  their  youth 
lived  in  the  world,  and  sought  happiness 
in  it,  have  now  arrived  at  maturity,  old 
age,  or  satiety,  and  seek  by  the  means  of 
philosophy  and  theology  to  know  as  far 
as  possible  of  that  other  world  on  which 
their  hopes  now  rest.  Philosophy  is  the 
romance  of  the  aged,  and  Religion  the 
only  future  history  for  us  all.  Both  these 
subjects  of  contemplation  we  find  in 
Dante's  Paradiso,  and  pursued  with  a 
rare  modesty,  not  beyond  the  limits  ot 
our  understanding,  and  with  due  sub- 


6l2 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


mission  to  the  Divine  Law  which  placed 
these  limits." 

8.  In  the  other  parts  of  the  poem  "one 
summit  of  Parnassus"  has  sufficed  ;  but 
in  this  Minerva,  Apollo,  and  the  nine 
Muses  come  to  his  aid,  as  wind,  helms- 
man, and  compass. 

1 1.  The  bread  of  the  Angels  is  Know- 
ledge or  Science,  which  Dante  calls  the 
"ultimate  perfection."  Convito,  I.  i  : — 
"  Everything,  impelled  by  the  provi- 
dence of  its  own  nature,  inclines  towards 
its  own  perfection  ;  whence,  inasmuch 
as  knowledge  is  the  ultimate  perfection 
of  our  soul,  wherein  consists  our  ultimate 
felicity,  we  are  all  naturally  subject  to  its 

desire O  blessed  those  few  who 

sit  at  the  table  where  the  bread  of  the 
Angels  is  eaten." 

i6.  The  Argonauts,  when  they  saw 
their  leader  Jason  ploughing  with  the 
wild  bulls  of  ^etes,  and  sowing  the  land 
with  serpents'  teeth.  Ovid,  Met.,  VII., 
Tate's  Tr.  : — 

"  To  unknown  yokes  their  brawny  necks,  they 
yield, 

And,  like  tame  oxen,  plough  the  wondering 
field. 

The  Colchians  stare ;  the  Grecians  shout,  and 
raise 

Their  champion's  courage  with  inspiring 
praise. 

Emboldened  now,  on  fresh  attempts  he  goes, 

With  serpents'  teeth  the  fertile  furrows  sows  ; 

The  glebe,  fermenting  with  enchanted  j  uice. 

Makes  the  snakes'  teeth  a  human  crop  pro- 
duce." 

19.  This  is  generally  interpreted  as 
referring  to  the  natural  aspiration  of  the 
soul  for  higher  things ;  characterized  in 
Purg.  XXI.  I,  as 

"  The  natural  tliirst  that  ne'er  is  satisfied, 

Excepting  with  the  water  for  whose  grace 
The  woman  of  Samaria  besought." 

But  Venturi  says  that  it  means  the  "being 
liome  onward  by  the  motion  of  the  Pri- 
mum  Mobile,  and  swept  round  so  as  to 
find  himself  directly  beneath  the  moon." 

23.  As  if  looking'  back  upon  his  jour- 
ney through  the  air,  Dante  thus  rapidly 
describes  it  in  an  inverseorder,  the  arrival, 
the  ascent,  the  departure  ;  — the  striking 
of  the  shaft,  the  flight,  the  discharge 
from  the  bow-string.  Here  again  we 
are  reminded  of  the  arrow  of  Pandarus, 
Iliad,  IV.  120. 

51.  Cain  with  his  bust- of  thorns.  See 
Inf.  XX.  Note  126. 


59.  The  spots  in  the  Moon,  whicn 
Dante  thought  were  caused  by  rarity  o; 
density  of  the  substance  of  the  planet. 
Convito,  II.  14  :  "  The  shadow  in  it, 
which  is  nothing  but  the  rarity  of  its  body, 
in  which  the  rays  of  the  sun  cannot  ter- 
minate and  be  reflected,  as  in  the  other 
parts." 

Milton,  Par.  Lost,  V.  419  : — 

"  Whence  in  her  visage  round  those   spots  un- 
purged, 
Vapours  not  yet  into  her  substance  turned." 

64.  The  Heaven  of  the  Fixed  Stars. 

73.  Either  the  diaphanous  parts  must 
run  through  the  body  of  the  Moon,  or 
the  rarity  and  density  must  be  in  layers 
one  above  the  other. 

90.  As  in  a  mirror,  which  Dante  else- 
where. Inf.  XXIII.  25,  csWs  impiombato 
vetro,  leaded  glass. 

107.  The  subject  of  the  snow  is  what 
lies  under  it ;  "the  mountain  that  remains 
naked,"  says  Buti.  Others  give  a  schol- 
astic interpretation  to  the  word,  defining 
it  "the  cause  of  accident,"  the  cause  of 
colour  and  cold. 

111.  Shall  tremble  like  a  star.  "When 
a  man  looks  at  the  stars,"  says  Buti,  "  he 
sees  their  effulgence  tremble,  and  this  is 
because  their  splendour  scintillates  as  fire 
does,  and  moves  to  and  fro  like  the  flame 
of  the  fire."  The  brighter  they  burn,  the 
more  they  tremble. 

112.  The  Primum  Mobile,  revolving 
in  the  Empyrean,  and  giving  motion  to 
all  the  heavens  beneath  it. 

115.  The  Heaven  of  the  Fixed  Stars. 
Greek  Epigrams,  III.  62  : — 

"  If  I  were  heaven, 
With  all  the  eyes  of  heaven  would  I  look  down 
on  thee." 

Also  Catullus,  Carm.,  V.  : — 

"  How  many  stars,  when  night  is  silent. 
Look  on  the  furtive  loves  of  men." 

And  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  V.  44  : — 

"  Heaven  wakes  with  all  his  eyes 
Whom  to  behold  but  thee,  nature's  desire?  " 

131,  The  Intelligences,  ruling  and 
guiding  the  several  heavens  (receiving 
power  from  above,  and  distributing  it 
downward,  taking  their  impression  froni 
God  and  stamping  it  like  a  seal  upon  the 
spheres  below),  according  to  Dionysiuj 
the  Areopagite  are  as  follows  : — 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


6»3 


The  Seraphim,  Primum  Mobile. 

The  Cherubim,         The  Fixed  Stars. 
The  Thrones,  Saturn. 

The  Dominions,        Jupiter. 
The  Virtues,  Mars. 

The  Powers,  The  Sun. 

The  Principalities,    Venus. 
The  Archangels,       Mercury. 
The  Angels,  The  Moon. 

See  Canto  XXVIII.  Note  99,  ana 
also  the  article  Cabala  at  the  end  of  the 
volume. 

147.  The  principle  which  gives  being 
to  all  created  things. 


CANTO   III. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  the  Moon  continued. 
Of  the  influence  of  this  planet,  Buti, 
quoting  the  astrologer  Albumasar,  says  : 
"The  Moon  is  cold,  moist,  and  phleg- 
matic, sometimes  warm,  and  gives  light- 
ness, aptitude  in  all  things,  desire  of  joy, 
of  beauty,  and  of  praise,  beginning  of  all 
works,  knowledge  of  the  rich  and  noble, 
prosperity  in  life,  acquisition  of  things 
desired,  devotion  in  faith,  superior 
sciences,  multitude  of  thoughts,  necro- 
mancy, acuteness  of  mind  in  things,  geo- 
metry, knowledge  of  lands  and  waters 
and  of  their  measure  and  number,  weak- 
ness of  the  sentiments,  noble  women, 
marriages,  pregnancies,  nursings,  em- 
bassies, falsehoods,  accusations  ;  the 
being  lord  among  lords,  servant  among 
servants,  and  conformity  with  every  man 
of  like  nature,  oblivion  thereof,  timid,  of 
simple  heart,  flattering,  honourable  to- 
wards men,  useful  to  them,  not  betraying 
secrets,  a  multitude  of  infirmities  and  the 
care  of  healing  bodies,  cutting  hair, 
liberality  of  food,  chastity.  These  are 
the  significations  (influences)  of  the  Moon 
upon  the  things  it  finds,  the  blame  and 
honour  of  which,  according  to  the  astro- 
logers, belong  to  the  planet  ;  but  the 
wise  man  follows  the  good  influences,  and 
leaves  the  bad  ;  though  all  are  good  and 
necessary  to  the  life  of  the  universe." 

18.  Narcissus  mistook  his  shadow  for 
a.  substance  ;  Dante,  falling  into  the 
opposite  error,  mistakes  these  substances 
for  shadows. 


41.  Your  destiny  ;  that  is,  of  yourself 
and  the  others  with  you. 

49.  Piccarda  was  a  sister  of  Forese 
and  Corso  Donati,  and  of  Gemma, 
Dante's  wife.  In  Purg.  XXIV.  13, 
Forese  says  of  her  : — 

"  My  sister,  who,  'twixt  beautiful  and  good, 

I  know  not  which  was  more,  triumphs  re- 
joicing 
Already  m  her  crown  on  high  Olympus." 

She  was  a  nun  of  Santa  Clara,  and  was 
dragged  by  violence  from  the  cloister  by 
her  brother  Corso  Donati,  who  married 
her  to  Rosselin  della  Tosa.  As  she 
herself  says  : — 

"God  knows  what  afterward  my  life  became." 

It  was  such  that  she  did  not  live  long. 
For  this  crime  the  "excellent  Baron," 
according  to  the  Ottimo,  had  to  do  pen- 
ance in  his  shirt. 

70.   Milton,  Par.  Lost,  XII.  583  :— 

' '  Add  Love, 
By  name  to  come  called  Charity,  the  soul 
Of  all  the  rest." 

118.  Constance,  daughter  of  Roger  of 
Sicily.  She  was  a  nun  at  Palermo,  but 
was  taken  from  the  convent  and  married 
to  the  Emperor  Henry  V. ,  son  of  Barba- 
rossa  and  father  of  Frederic  II.  Of 
these  "winds  of  Suabia,"  or  Emperors 
of  the  house  of  Suabia,  Barbarossa  was 
the  first,  Henry  V.  the  second,  and 
Frederic  II.  the  third,  and,  as  Dante 
calls  him  in  the  Convito,  IV.  3,  "the 
last  of  the  Roman  Emperors,"  meaning 
the  last  of  the  Suabian  line. 


CANTO  IV. 

1.  The  Heaven  of  the  Moon  con- 
tinued. 

2.  Montaigne  says :  "  If  any  oiie  should 
place  us  between  the  bottle  and  the 
bacon  (entre  la  bouteille  et  le  jatnbon), 
with  an  equal  appetite  for  food  and  drink, 
there  would  doubtless  be  no  remedy  but 
to  die  of  thirst  and  hunger. " 

6.  Ovid,  Alet. ,  V. ,  Maynwaring's  Tr.  :— 

"  As  when  a  hungry  tiger  near  him  hears 
Two  lowing  herds,  awhile'  he  both  forbears  ; 
Nor  can  his  hopes  of  this  or  that  renounce, 
So  strong  he  lusts  to  prey  on  both  at  once." 


6i4 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


9.  "  A  similitude,"  says  Venturi,  "  of 
great  poetic  beauty,  but  of  little  philo- 
sophic soundness." 

13.  When  he  recalled  and  interpreted 
the  forgotten  dream  of  Nebuchadnezzar, 
Daniel,  ii.  lO :  "The  Chaldeans  an- 
swered before  the  king,  and  said,  There 
is  not  a  man  upon  the  earth  that  can 
show  the  king's  matter  :  therefore  there 
is  no  king,  lord,  nor  ruler,  that  asked 
such  things  at  any  magician,  or  astrologer, 
or  Chaldean.  And  it  is  a  rare  thing  that 
the  king  requireth  :  and  there  is  none 
other  that  can  show  it  before  the  king 
except  the  gods,  whose  dwelling  is  not 
with  flesh. " 

24.  Plato,  Timaus,  Davis's  Tr. ,  says : 
"  And  after  having  thus  framed  the 
universe,  he  allotted  to  it  souls  equal  in 
number  to  the  stars,   inserting  each  in 

each And  he  declared  also,  that 

after  living  well  for  the  time  appointed 
to  him,  each  one  should  once  more  re- 
turn to  the  habitation  of  his  associate 
star,  and  spend  a  blessed  and  suitable 
existence. " 

26.  The  word  "thrust,"  pontano,  is 
here  used  in  its  architectural  sense,  as  in 
Inf.  XXXII.  3.  There  it  is  literal,  here 
figurative. 

28.  Ckepiu  j'  india,  that  most  in-God's 
himself.  As  in  Canto  IX.  81,  S'  to  ni" 
intuassi  come  tu  t  imtnii,  '  if  I  could  in- 
thee  myself  as  thou  dost  in-me  thyself" ; 
and  other  expressions  of  a  similar  kind. 

42.  The  dogma  of  the  Peripatetics, 
that  nothing  is  in  Intellect  which  was 
not  first  in  Sense. 

48.  Raphael,  "  the  affable  archangel," 
of  whom  Milton  says,  Par.  Lost,  V. 
220:  — 

"  Raphael,  the  sociable  spirit,  that  deigned 
To  travel  with  Tobias,  and  secured 
His  marriage   with  the  seven-times-wedded 
maid." 

See  Tobit  xii.  14  :  "  And  now  God 
hath  sent  me  to  heal  thee  and  Sara  thy 
daughter-in-law.  I  am  Raphael,  one  of 
the  seven  holy  angels  which  present  the 
prayers  of  the  saints,  and  which  go  in 
and  out  before  the  glory  of  the  Holy 
One." 

Dante  say.s  in  this  line  Tobia,  be- 
cause in  the  Vuls^nte  both  father  and 
»on  are  called  Tobias. 


49.  Plato's  Dialogue,  entitled  Timceus^ 
the  name  of  the  philosopher  of  Locri. 

51.  Plato  means  it  literally,  and  the 
Scriptures  figuratively. 

54.  When  it  was  infused  into  the  body, 
or  the  body  became  informed  with  it. 

Thomas  Aquinas,  Sum.  Theol.,  I., 
QuEest.  LXXVI.  I,  says  :  "  Form  is  that 
by  which  a  thing  is This  prin- 
ciple therefore,  by  which  we  first  think, 
whether  it  be  called  intellect,  or  intellec- 
tual soul,  is  the  form  of  the  body. " 

And  Spenser,  Hymne  in  Honour  oj 
Beaiitie,  says  : — 

"  For  of  the  soule  the  bodie  forme  doth  take. 
For  soule  is  forme  and  doth  the  bodie  make."" 

63.  Joachim  di  Flora,  Dante's  "  Ca- 
labrian  Abbot  Joachim,"  the  mystic  ot 
the  twelfth  century,  says  in  his  Exposi- 
tion of  the  Apocalypse:  "The  deceived 
Gentiles  believed  that  the  planets  to 
which  they  gave  the  names  of  Jupiter, 
Saturn,  Venus,  Mercury,  Mars,  the  Moon, 
and  the  Sun,  were  gods." 

64.  Stated  in  line  20  : — 

"  The  violence  of  others,  for  what  reason 
Doth  it  decrease  the  measure  of  my  merit?" 

83.  St.  Lawrence.  In  Mrs.  Jameson's 
Sacred  and  Legendary  Art,  II.  156,  his 
martyrdom  is  thus  described  : — 

"The  satellites  of  the  tyrant,  hearing 
that  the  treasures  of  the  church  liad  been 
confided  to  Lawrence,  carried  him  before 
the  tribunal,  and  he  was  questioned,  but 
replied  not  one  word  ;  therefore  he  was 
put  into  a  dungeon,  under  the  charg-i  of 
a  man  named  Hippolytus,  whom  with 
his  whole  family  he  converted  to  the 
faith  of  Christ,  and  baptized  ;  and  when 
he  was  called  again  before  the  Prefect, 
and  required  to  say  where  the  treasures 
were  concealed,  he  answered  that  in 
three  days  he  would  show  them.  The 
third  day  being  come,  St.  Lawrence 
gathered  together  the  sick  and  the  poor, 
to  whom  he  had  dispensed  alms,  and, 
placing  them  before  the  Prefect,  said, 
'  Behold,  here  are  the  treasures  of  Christ's 
Church.'  Upon  this  the  Prefect,  thinking 
he  was  mocked,  fell  into  a  great  rage, 
and  ordered  St.  Lawrence  to  be  tortured 
till  he  had  made  known  where  the  trea- 
sures were  concealed  ;  but  no  suffering 
could  subdue  the  patience  and  constancy 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


6iS 


of  the  holy  martyr.  Then  the  Prefect 
commanded  that  he  sliould  be  carried  by 
night  to  the  baths  of  Olympias,  near  the 
villa  of  Sallust  the  historian,  and  that  a 
new  kind  of  torture  should  Idc  prepared 
for  him,  more  strange  and  cruel  than  had 
ever  entered  into  the  heart  of  a  tyrant  to 
conceive ;  for  he  ordered  him  to  be 
.stretched  on  a  sort  of  bed,  formed  of  iron 
bars  in  the  manner  of  a  gridiron,  and  a 
fire  to  be  lighted  beneath,  which  should 
gradually  consume  his  body  to  ashes  : 
and  the  executioners  did  as  they  were 
commanded,  kindling  the  fire  and  adding 
coals  from  time  to  time,  so  that  the  vic- 
tim was  in  a  manner  roasted  alive ;  and 
those  who  were  present  looked  on  with 
horror,  and  wondered  at  the  cruelty  of 
the  Prefect,  wh.o  could  condemn  to  such 
torments  a  youth  of  such  fair  person  and 
courteous  and  gentle  bearing,  and  all  for 
the  lust  of  gold." 

84.  Plutarch  thus  relates  the  story  of 
Mutius  Scsevola,  Dryden'sTr.  : — 

"The  story  of  Mutius  is  variously 
given  ;  we,  like  others,  must  follow  the 
commonly  received  statement.  He  was 
a  man  endowed  with  every  virtue,  but 
most  eminent  in  war;  and  resolving  to 
kill  Porsenna,  attired  himself  in  the  Tus- 
can habit,  and  using  the  Tuscan  language, 
came  to  the  camp,  and  approaching  the 
seat  where  the  king  sat  amongst  his 
nobles,  but  not  certainly  knowing  the 
king,  and  fearful  to  inquire,  drew  out  his 
sword,  and  stabbed  one  who  he  thought 
had  most  the  appearance  of  king.  Mutius 
was  taken  in  the  act,  and  whilst  he  was 
under  examination,  a  pan  of  fire  was 
brought  to  the  king,  who  intended  to 
sacrifice  ;  Mutius  thrust  his  right  hand 
into  the  flame,  and  whilst  it  burnt  stood 
looking  at  Porsenna  with  a  steadfast  and 
undaunted  countenance ;  Porsenna  at  last 
in  admiration  dismissed  him,  and  returned 
his  sword,  reaching  it  from  his  seat  ; 
Mutius  received  it  in  his  left  hand,  which 
occasioned  the  name  of  Scaevola,  left- 
handed,  and  said,  '  I  have  overcome  the 
terrors  of  Porsenna,  yet  am  vanquished 
by  his  generosity,  and  gratitude  obliges 
me  to  disclose  what  no  punishment  could 
extort ;'  and  assured  him  then,  that  three 
hundred  Romans,  all  of  the  same  resolu- 
tion, lurked  about  his  camp  only  waiting 
for  an  opportunity  ;  he,  by  lot  appointed 


to  the  enterprise,  was  not  sorry  that  he 
had  miscarried  in  it,  because  so  brave 
and  good  a  man  deserved  rather  to  be  a 
friend  to  the  Romans  than  an  enemy. " 

103.  Alcmaeon,  who  slew  his  mother 
Eriphyle  to  avenge  his  father  Amphia- 
raiis  the  soothsayer.  See  Ping.  XII. 
Note  50. 

Ovid,  Met.,  IX.  :— 

"  The  son  shall  bathe  his  hands  in   parent's 
blood 
And  in  one  act  be  both  unjust  and  good." 

1 18.  Beatrice,  beloved  of  God  ;  "  that 
blessed  Beatrice,  who  lives  in  heaven 
with  the  angels  and  on  earth  with  my 
soul." 

131.  Lessing,  Theol.  Sckriji.,  I.  108  : 
"If  God  held  all  Truth  shut  up  in  his 
right  hand,  and  in  his  left  only  the  ever 
restless  instinct  for  Truth,  ....  and 
said  to  me.  Choose !  I  should  humbly 
fall  down  at  his  left,  and  say,  Father, 
give !     Pure  Truth  ie  for  Thee  alone  ! " 

139.  It  must  not  be  forgotten,  that 
Beatrice  is  the  symbol  of  Divine  Wisdom. 
Dante  says,  Convito,  III.  15:  "In  her 
countenance  appear  things  which  display 
some  of  the  pleasures  of  Paradise  ;"  and 
notes  particularly  "the  eyes  and  smile." 
He  then  adds  :  "And  here  it  should  be 
known  that  the  eyes  of  Wisdom  are  its 
demonstrations,  by  which  the  truth  is 
most  clearly  seen  ;  and  its  smile  the  per- 
suasions, in  which  is  displayed  the  in- 
terior light  of  Wisdom  under  a  veil  ;  and 
in  these  two  things  is  felt  the  exceeding 
pleasure  of  beatitude,  which  is  the  chief 
good  in  Paradise.  This  pleasure  cannot 
exist  in  anything  here  below,  except  in 
beholding  these  eyes  and  this  smile." 


CANTO   V. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  Mercury,  where  are 
seen  the  spirits  of  those  who  for  the  love 
of  fame  achieved  great  deeds.  Of  its 
symbolism  Dante  says,  Convito,  II.  14  : 
"  The  Heaven  of  Mercury  may  be  com- 
pared to  Dialectics,  on  account  of  two 
properties  ;  for  Mercury  is  the  smallest 
star  of  heaven,  since  the  quantity  of  its 
diameter  is  not  more  than  two  thousand 
and  thirty-two  miles,  according  to  the 
estimate  of  Alfergano-  who  declares  it  to 


6i6 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


be  one  twenty-eighth  part  of  the  diameter 
of  the  Earth,  which  is  six  thousand  and 
fifty-two  miles.  The  other  property  is, 
that  it  is  more  veiled  by  the  rays  of  the 
Sun  than  any  other  star.  And  these  two 
properties  are  in  Dialectics  ;  for  Dialec- 
tics are  less  in  body  than  any  Science  ; 
since  in  them  is  perfectly  compiled  and 
bounded  as  much  doctrine  as  is  found  in 
ancient  and  modem  Art ;  and  it  is  more 
veiled  than  any  Science,  inasmuch  as  it 
proceeds  by  more  sophistic  and  probable 
arguments  than  any  other." 

For  the  influences  of  Mercury,  see 
Canto  VI.  Note  114. 

10.   Burns,  The  Vision  : — 

"  I  saw  thy  pulse's  maddening  play 
Wild  send  thee  pleasure's  devious  way, 
Misled  by  fancy's  meteor  ray, 

By  passion  driven ; 
And  yet  the  light  that  led  astray 

Was  light  from  heaven." 

24.   Milton,  Par.  Lost,  V.  235  : — 

"  Happiness  in  his  power  left  free  to  will, 
Left  to  his  own  free  will,  his  will  though  free. 
Yet  mutable." 

33.  In  illustration  of  this  line,  Venturi 
quotes  the  following  epigram  : — 

"  This  hospital  a  pious  person  built. 
But  first  he  made  the  poor  wherewith  to  fiU't. " 

And  Biagioli  this  : — 

"  C'est  un  homme  d'honneur,  de  pi^ttf  profonde, 
Et  qui  veut  rendre  \  Dieu  ce  qu'il  a  pris  au 
monde.'' 

52.  That  which  is  sacrificed,  or  of 
which  an  offering  is  made. 

57.  Without  the  permission  of  Holy 
Church,  symbolized  by  the  two  keys  ; 
the  silver  key  of  Knowledge,  and  the 
golden  key  of  Authority.  See  Purg. 
IX.  n8:- 

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

.    More  precious  one  is,  but  the  other  needs 
More  art  and  intellect  ere  it  unlock, 
For  it  is  that  which  doth  the  knot  unloose." 

60.  The  thing  substituted  must  be 
greater  than  the  thing  relinquished. 

66.  ytidi^es  xi.  30:  "  And  Jephthah 
vowed  a  vow  unto  the  Lord,  and  said,  If 
thou  shalt  without  fail  deliver  the  children 
uf  Amnion  into  my  hands,  then  it  shall 


be,  that  whatsoever  cometh  forth  of  the 
doors  of  my  house  to  meet  me,  when  I 
return  in  peace  from  the  children  of 
Ammon,  shall  surely  be  the  Lord's,  and 
I  will  offer  it  up  for  a  burnt-offering.  .  ,  . 
And  Jephthah  came  to  Mizpeh  unto  his 
house,  and,  behold,  his  daughter  came 
out  to  meet  him  with  timbrels  and  with 
dances  ;  and  she  was  his  only  child  :  be- 
sides her  he  had  neither  son  nor  daughter." 

69.  Agamemnon. 

70.  Euripides,  Jphigenia  in  Taitris,  I. 
I,  Buckley's  Tr.  : — 

"  O  thou  who  rulest  over  this  Grecian 
expedition,  Agamemnon,  thou  wilt  not 
lead  forth  thy  ships  from  the  ports  of  this 
land,  before  Diana  shall  receive  thy 
daughter  Iphigenia  as  a  victim  ;  for  thou 
didst  vow  to  sacrifice  to  the  liglit-bearirg 
Goddess  whatsoever  the  year  should  bring 
forth  most  beautiful.  Now  your  wife 
Clytaemnestra  has  brought  forth  a  daugh- 
ter in  your  house,  referring  to  me  the 
title  of  the  most  beautiful,  whom  thou 
must  needs  sacrifice.  And  so,  by  the 
arts  of  Ulysses,  they  drew  me  from  my 
mother  under  pretence  of  being  wedded 
to  Achilles.  But  I  wretched  coming  to 
Aulis,  being  seized  and  raised  aloft  above 
the  pyre,  would  have  been  slain  by  the 
sword  ;  but  Diana,  giving  to  the  Greeks 
a  stag  in  my  stead,  stole  me  away,  and, 
sending  me  through  the  clear  ether,  she 
settled  me  in  this  land  of  the  Tauri, 
where  barbarian  Thoas  rules  the  land." 

80.  Dante,  Convito,  I.  ii:  "These 
should  be  called  sheep,  and  not  men  ; 
for  if  one  sheep  should  throw  itself  down 
a  precipice  of  a  thousand  feet,  all  the 
others  would  follow,  and  if  one  sheep,  in 
passing  along  the  road,  leaps  from  any 
cause,  all  the  others  leap,  though  seeing 
no  cause  for  it.  And  I  once  saw  several 
leap  into  a  well,  on  account  of  one  that 
had  leaped  in,  thinking  perhaps  it  was 
leaping  over  a  wall  ;  notwithstanding 
that  the  shepherd,  weeping  and  wailing, 
opposed  them  with  arms  and  breast." 

82.  Lucretius,  Nature  of  Things,  II. 
324,  Good's  Tr.  : — 


"  The  fleecy  flocks,  o'er  yonder  hill  that  browse, 
From  glebe  to  glebe,  where'er,  impcarled  with 

dew, 
The  jocund  clover  call  them,  and  the  lambs 
That  round  them  gambol,  saturate  with  milki 
Proving  their  frontlets  in  the  mimic  fray." 


NOTES  TO  FARAD  ISO. 


617 


87.  Towards  the  Sun,  where  the  heaven 
is  brightest. 

95.  The  Heaven  of  Mercury. 

97.  Brunetto  Latini,  Trewr,  I.,  Ch. 
3,  says,  the  planet  Mercury  "is  easily 
moved  according  to  the  goodness  or 
malice  of  the  planets  to  which  it  is 
joined."  Dante  here  represents  himself 
as  being  of  a  peculiarly  mercurial  tem- 
perament. 

108.  The  joy  of  spirits  in  Paradise  is 
shown  by  greater  brightness. 

121.   The  spirit  of  Justinian. 

129.  Mercuiy  is  the  planet  nearest  the 
Sun,  and  being  thus  "veiled  with  alien 
rays,"  is  only  visible  to  the  naked  eye  at 
the  time  of  its  greatest  elongation,  and 
then  but  fpr  a  few  minutes. 

Dante,  Convito,  II.  14,  says,  that  Mer- 
cury "  is  more  veiled  by  the  rays  of  the 
Sun  than  any  other  star."  And  yet  it 
will  be  observed  that  in  his  planetary 
system  he  places  Venus  between  Mercury 
and  the  Sun. 

133.   Milton,  Par.  Lost,  III.  380  :— 

"Dark  with  excessive  bright  thy  skirts  appear, 
Yet  dazzle  heaven." 

And  again,  V.  598  : — 

"  A  flalning  mount,  whose  top 
Brightness  had  made  invisible." 


CANTO  VI. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  Mercury  continued. 

In  the  year  330,  Constantine,  after  his 
conversion  and  baptism  by  Sylvester  (77tf. 
XXVII.  Note  94),  removed  the  seat  of 
empire  from  Rome  to  Byzantium,  which 
received  from  him  its  more  modem  name 
of  Constantinople.  He  called  it  also 
New  Rome ;  and,  having  promised  to 
the  Senators  and  their  families  that  they 
should  «oon  tread  again  on  Roman  soil, 
he  had  the  streets  of  Constantinople 
strewn  with  earth  which  he  had  brought 
from  Rome  in  ships. 

The  transfer  of  the  empire  from  west 
to  east  was  turning  the  imperial  eagle 
against  the  course  of  heaven,  which  it 
had  followed  in  coming  from  Troy  to 
Italy  with  ^neas,  who  married  Lavinia, 
daughter  of  King  Latinus,  and  was  the 
founder  of  the  Roman  Empire. 


4.  From  324,  when  the  seat  of  empire 
was  transferred  to  Constantinople  by 
Constantine,  to  527,  when  the  reign  of 
Justinian  began. 

5.  The  mountains  of  Asia,  between 
Constantinople  and  the  site  of  Troy. 

10.  Csesar,  or  Kaiser,  the  general 
title  of  all  the  Roman  Emperors. 

The  character  of  Justinian  is  thus 
sketched  by  Gibbon,  Decline  and  Fall, 
Ch.  XLIII.  :- 

"The  Emperor  was  easy  of  access, 
patient  of  hearing,  courteous  and  affable 
in  discourse,  and  a  master  of  the  angry 
passions,  which  rage  with  such  destruc- 
tive violence  in  the  breast  of  a  despot. 
Procopius  praises  his  temper  to  reproach 
him  with  calm  and  deliberate  cruelty  ; 
but  in  the  conspiracies  which  attacked 
his  authority  and  person,  a  more  candid 
judge  will  approve  the  justice  or  admire 
the  clemency  of  Justinian.  He  excelled 
in  the  private  virtues  of  chastity  and  tem- 
perance ;  but  the  impartial  love  of 
beauty  would  have  been  less  mischievous 
than' his  conjugal  tenderness  for  Theo- 
dora ;  and  his  abstemious  diet  was  regu- 
lated, not  by  the  prudence  of  a  philo- 
sopher, but  the  superstition  of  a  monk. 
His  repasts  were  short  and  fnigal  ;  on 
solemn  fasts  he  contented  himself  with 
water  and  vegetables  ;  and  such  was  his 
strength  as  well  as  fervour,  that  he  fre- 
quently passed  two  days,  and  as  many 
nights,  without  tasting  any  food.  The 
measure  of  his  sleep  was  not  less  rigo- 
rous ;  after  the  repose  of  a  single  hour  the 
body  was  awakened  by  the  soul,  and,  to 
the  astonishment  of  his  chamberlain,  Jus- 
tinian walked  or  studied  till  the  morning 
light.  Such  restless  application  pro- 
longed his  time  for  the  acquisition  of 
knowledge  and  the  despatch  of  business  ; 
and  he  might  seriously  deserve  the  re- 
proach of  confounding,  by  minute  and 
preposterous  diligence,  the  general  order 
of  his  administration.  The  Emperor 
professed  himself  a  musician  and  archi- 
tect, a  poet  and  philosopher,  a  lawyer 
and  theologian  ;  and  if  he  failed  in  the 
enterprise  of  reconciling  the  Christian 
sects,  the  review  of  the  Roman  jurispru- 
dence is  a  noble  monument  of  his  spirit 
and  industry.  In  the  government  of  the 
empire  he  was  less  wise  or  less  success- 
ful :  the  age  was  unfortunate ;  the  people 


6i8 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


was  oppressed  and  discontented  ;  Theo- 
dora abused  her  power  ;  a  succession  of 
bad  ministers  disgraced  his  judgment ;  and 
Justinian  was  neither  beloved  in  his  life, 
nor  regretted  at  his  death.  The  love  of 
fame  was  deeply  implanted  in  his  breast, 
but  he  condescended  to  the  poor  ambition 
of  titles,  honours,  and  contemporary 
praise  ;  and  while  he  laboured  to  fix  the 
admiration,  he  forfeited  the  esteem  and 
affection  of  the  Romans." 

12.  Of  the  reform  of  the  Roman  Laws, 
by  which  they  were  reduced  from  two 
thousand  volumes  to  fifty.  Gibbon,  De- 
clitie  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  ever- 
lasting monument.  Under  his  reign, 
and  by  his  care,  the  civil  jurisprudence 
was  digested  in  the  immortal  works  of 
the  Code,  the  Pandect,  and  the  Insti- 
tutes ;  the  public  reason  of  the  Romans 
has  been  silently  or  studiously  transfused 
into  the  domestic  institutions  of  Europe, 
and  the  laws  of  Justinian  still  command 
the  respect  or  obedience  of  independent 
nations.  Wise  or  fortunat?  is  the  prince 
who  connects  his  own  reputation  with 
the  honour  and  interest  of  a  perpetual 
order  of  men." 

This  is  what  Dante  alludes  to,  Turg. 
VI.  89  :— 

"  What  boots  it,  that  for  thee  Justinian 
The  bridle  mend,  if  empty  be  the  saddle  ?  " 

14.  The  heresy  of  Eutyches,  who  main- 
tained that  only  the  Divine  nature  existed 
in  Christ,  not  the  human  ;  and  conse- 

auently  that  the  Christ  crucified  was  not 
le  real  Christ,  but  a  phantom, 
16.  Agapetus  was  Pope,  or  Bishop  of 
Rome,  in  the  year  515,  and  was  compelled 
by  King  Theodotus  the  Ostrogoth,  logo 
upon  an  embassy  to  the  Emperor  Jus- 
tinian at  Constantinople,  where  he  re- 
fused to  hold  any  communication  with 
Anthimus,  Bishop  of  Trebizond,  who, 
against  the  canon  of  the  Churcb,  had  been 
transferred  from  his  own  see  to  that  of 
Constantinople,  Milman,  Hist.  iMtin 
Christ.,  I.  460,  says ;  "  Agaj>«tus,  in  a 
conference,  condescended  to  satisfy  the 
F-mperor  as  to  his  own  unimpeachable 
orthodoxy.  Justinian  sternly  commanded 
bim  to  communicnte  with    Anthimus, 


'  With  the  Bishop  of  Trebiz.ond,'  replied 
the  unawed  ecclesiastic,  '  when  he  luis 
returned  to  his  diocese,  and  accepted  the 
Council  of  Chalcedon  and  the  letters  of 
Leo,'  The  Emperor  in  a  louder  voice 
commanded  him  to  acknowledge  the 
Bishop  of  Constantinople  on  pain  of 
immediate  exile.  '  I  came  hither  in  my 
old  age  to  see,  as  I  supposed,  a  religious 
and  a  Christian  Emperor ;  I  find  a  new 
Diocletian.  But  I  fear  not  kings'  me- 
naces, I  am  ready  to  lay  down  my  life 
for  the  truth.'  The  feeble  mind  of  Jus- 
tinian passed  at  once  from  the  height  of 
arrogance  to  admiration  and  respect  ;  he 
listened  to  the  charges  advanced  by  Aga- 
petus against  the  orthodoxy  of  Anthimus. 
In  his  turn  the  Bishop  of  Constantinople 
was  summoned  to  render  an  account  of 
his  theology  before  the  Emperor,  con- 
victed of  Eutychianism,  and  degraded 
from  the  see." 

25.  Belisarius,  the  famous  general,  to 
whom  Justinian  gave  the  leadership  of 
his  armies  in  Africa  and  Italy.  In  his 
old  age  he  was  suspected  of  conspiring 
against  the  Emperor's  life  ;  but  the  accus- 
ation was  not  pioved.  Gibbon,  Decline 
and  Fall.,  Ch.  XLI.,  speaks  of  him  thus  : 
"  The  Africanus  of  new  Rome  was  born, 
and  perhaps  educated,  among  the  Thra- 
cian  peasants,  without  any  of  those  advan- 
tages which  had  formed  the  virtues  of  the 
elder  and  the  younger  Scipio, — a  noble 
origin,  liberal  studies,  and  the  emulation 
of  a  free  state.  The  silence  of  a  loqua- 
cious secretaiy  may  be  admitted,  to  prove 
that  the  youth  of  Belisarius  could  not 
afford  any  subject  of  praise  :  he  served, 
most  assuredly  with  valour  and  reputation 
among  the  private  gtiards  of  Justinian  ; 
and  when  his  patron  became  Emperor, 
the  domestic  was  promoted  to  military 
coniimand, " 

And  of  his  last  years  as  follows,  Ch, 
XLIII.  ;  "Capricious  pardon  and  arbi- 
trary punishment  embittered  the  irksome- 
ness  and  discontent  of  a  long  reign  ;  a 
conspiracy  was  formed  in  the  palace,  and, 
unless  we  are  deceived  by  the  names  of 
Marccllus  and  Sergius,  the  most  virtuous 
and  the  most  profligate  of  the  courtiers 
were  associated  in  the  same  designs. 
They  had  fixed  the  time  of  the  execution  i 
their  rank  gave  them  access  to  the  roynl 
banquet,  and  their  black   slaves  were 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


619 


stationed  in  the  vestibule  and  porticoes 
to  announce  the  death  of  the  tyrant,  and 
to  excite  a  sedition  in  the  capital.  But 
the  indiscretion  of  an  accomplice  saved 
the  poor  remnant  of  the  days  of  Justinian. 
The  conspirators  were  detected  and  seized, 
with  daggers  hidden  under  their  gar- 
ments ;  Marcellus  died  by  his  own  hand, 
and  Sergius  was  dragged  from  the  sanc- 
tuary. Pressed  by  remorse,  or  tempted 
by  the  hopes  of  safety,  he  accused  two 
officers  of  the  household  of  Belisarius  ; 
and  torture  forced  them  to  declare  that 
they  had  acted  according  to  the  secret 
instructions  of  their  patron.  Posterity 
will  not  hastily  believe  that  a  hero  who, 
in  the  vigour  of  life,  had  disdained  the 
fairest  offers  of  ambition  and  revenge, 
should  stoop  to  the  murder  of  his  prince, 
whom  he  could  not  long  exjject  to  sur- 
vive. His  followers  were  impatient  to 
fly  ;  but  flight  must  have  been  supported 
by  rebellion,  and  he  had  lived  enough 
for  natuie  and  for  glory.  Belisarius  ap- 
peared before  the  council  with  less  fear 
than  indignation ;  after  forty  years'  ser- 
vice, the  Emperor  had  prejudged  his 
guilt ;  and  injustice  was  sanctified  by  the 
presence  and  authority  of  the  patriarch. 
The  life  of  Belisarius  was  graciously 
spared ;  but  hisfortunes  were  sequestered, 
and  from  December  to  July  he  was 
guarded  as  a  prisoner  in  his  own  palace. 
At  length  his  innocence  was  acknow- 
ledged ;  his  freedom  and  honours  were 
restored  ;  and  death,  which  might  be 
hastened  by  resentment  and  grief,  re- 
moved him  from  the  world  about  eight 
months  after  his  deliverance.  The  name 
of  Belisarius  can  never  die  ;  but  instead 
of  the  funeral,  the  monuments,  the  sta- 
tues, so  justly  due  to  his  memory,  I  only 
read  that  his  treasures,  the  spoils  of  the 
Goths  and  Vandals,  were  immediately 
confiscated  for  the  Emperor.  Some  de- 
cent portion  was  reserved,  however,  for 
the  use  of  his  widow ;  and  as  Antonina 
had  much  to  repent,  she  devoted  the  last 
remains  of  her  life  and  fortune  to  the 
foundation  of  a  convent.  Such  is  the 
simple  and  genuine  narrative  of  the  fall 
af  Belisarius  and  the  ingratitude  of  Jus- 
tinian. That  he  was  deprived  of  his  eyes, 
md  reduced  by  envy  to  beg  his  bread, — 
'  Give  a  penny  to  Belisarius  the  general  ' ' 
—is  a  fiction  of  later  times,  which  has 


obtained  credit,  or  rather  favour,  as  a 
strange  example  of  the  vicissitudes  of 
fortune." 

36.  The  son  of  Evander,  sent  to  assist 
iEneas,  and  slain  by  Turnus.  Virgil, 
ALueid,  X.,  Davidson's  Tr.  :  "Turnus, 
long  poising  a  javelin  tipped  with  sharp- 
ened steel,  darts  it  at  Pallas,  and  thus 
speaks :  See  whether  ours  be  not  the 
more  penetrating  dart.  He  said  ;  and 
with  a  quivering  stroke  the  point  pierces 
through  the  mid-shield,  through  so  many 
plates  of  iron,  so  many  of  brass,  while 
the  bull's  hide  so  many  times  encompasses 
it,  and  through  the  corslet's  cumbrous 
folds  transfixes  his  breast  with  a  hideous 
gash.  He  in  vain  w  renches  out  the  reek- 
ing weapon  from  the  wound  ;  at  one  and 
the  same  passage  the  blood  and  soul  issue 
forth.  Down  on  his  wound  he  falls  : 
over  him  his  armour  gave  a  clang ;  and 
in  death  with  bloody  jaws  he  bites  the 
hostile  ground." 

37.  In  Alba  Longa,  built  by  Ascanius, 
son  of  ^neas,  on  the  borders  of  the 
Alban  Lake.  The  period  of  three  hundred 
years  is  traditionary,  not  historic. 

39.  The  Horatii  and  Curatii. 

40.  From  the  rape  of  the  Sabine 
women,  in  the  days  of  Romulus,  the 
first  of  the  seven  kings  of  Rome,  down 
to  the  violence  done  to  Lucretia  by  Tar- 
quinius  Superbus,  the  last  of  them. 

44.  Brennus  was  the  king  of  the  Gauls, 
who,  entering  Rome  unopposed,  found 
the  city  deserted,  and  the  Senators  seated 
in  their  ivory  chaiis  in  the  Forum,  so 
silent  and  motionless  that  his  soldiers 
took  them  for  the  statues  of  gods.  He 
burned  the  city  and  laid  siege  to  the 
Capitol,  whither  the  people  had  fled  for 
safety,  and  which  was  preserved  from 
surprise  by  the  cackling  of  the  sacred 
geese  in  the  Temple  of  Juno,  Finally 
Brennus  and  his  army  were  routed  by 
Camillus,  and  tradition  says  that  not  one 
escaped. 

Pyrrhus  was  a  king  of  Epims,  who 
boasted  his  descent  from  Achilles,  and 
whom  Hannibal  called  "  the  greatest  of 
commanders."  He  was  nevertheless 
driven  out  of  Italy  by  Curius,  his  army 
of  eighty  thousand  being  routed  by  thirty 
thousand  Romans ;  whereupon  he  said 
that,  "  if  he  had  soldiers  like  the  Romans, 
or  if  the  Romans  had  him  for  a  general, 
T  T 


620 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


he  would  leave  no  corner  of  the  earth 
unseen,  and  no  nation  unconquered." 

46.  Titus  Manlius,  surnamed  Tor- 
quatus,  fsom  the  collar  {torques)  which  he 
took  from  a  fallen  foe;  and  Quinctius, 
surnamed  Cincinnatus,  or  "the  curly 
haired. " 

47.  Three  of  the  Decii,  father,  son, 
and  grandson,  sacrificed  their  lives  in 
battle  at  different  times  for  their  country. 
The  Fabii  also  rendered  signal  services 
to  the  state,  but  are  chiefly  known  in 
history  through  one  of  their  number, 
Quinctius  Maximus,  surnamed  Cunctator, 
or  the  Delayer,  from  whom  we  have  "the 
Fabian  policy." 

53.  The  hill  of  Fiesole,  overlooking 
Florence,  where  Dante  was  bom.  Fie- 
sole was  destroyed  by  the  Romans  for 
giving  refuge  to  Catiline  and  his  fellow 
conspirators. 

55.  The  birth  of  Christ.  Milton, 
Hymn  on  the  Morning  of  Chrisfs  Na- 
tivity, 3,  4  :— 

>"  But  he,  her  fears  to  cease, 

Sent  down  the  meek-eyed  Peace  : 

She,  crowned  with  oUve-green,  came  softly 
sliding 
Down  through  the  turning  sphere. 
His  ready  harbinger, 

With   turtle   wmg   the  amorous   clouds   di- 
viding ; 
And,  waving  wide  her  myrtle  wand, 
She  strikes  a  universal  peace  through  sea  and 
land. 

"No  war  or  battle's  sound 
Was  heard  the  world  around  : 

The  idle  spear  and   shield  were  high  up 
hung ; 
The  hooked  chariot  stood 
Unstained  with  hostile  blood  : 

The  trumpet  spake  not  to  the  arm^d  throng ; 
And  kings  sat  still  with  awful  eye. 
As  it  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  Lord  was 
by." 

65.  Durazzo  in  Macedonia,  and  Phar- 
salia  in  Thessaly. 

66.  Gower,  Conf.  Amant.,  II.  : — 

*'  That  one  sleeth,  and  that  other  stervcth. 
But  aJxjven  all  his  prise  dcscrveth 
ThU  knightly  Romain  ;  where  he  rode 
His  dedly  swerd  no  man  alx)dc, 
Ayen  the  which  w.is  no  defence  : 
Kgipte  fledde  in  his  presence." 

67.  Antandros,  a  city,  and  Simois,  a 
river,  near  Troy,  whence  came  the  Roman 
eagle  with  /Eneas  into  Italy. 

69.  It  was  an  evil  hour  for  Ptolemy, 


when  Caesar  took  from  him  the  kingdom 
of  Egypt,  and  gave  it  to  Cleopatra. 

70.  Juba,  king  of  Numidia,  who  pro- 
tected Pompey,  Cato,  and  Scipio  after 
the  battle  of  Pharsalia.  Being  conquered 
by  Caesar,  his  realm  became  a  Roman 
province,  of  which  .Sallust  the  historian 
was  the  first  governor. 

Milton,  Sams.  Agon.,  1695: — 

"  But  as  an  eagle 
His  cloudless  thunder  bolted  on  their  heads." 

71.  Towards  Spain,  where  some  rem- 
nants of  Pompey's  army  still  remained 
under  his  two  soiTS.  When  these  were 
subdued  the  civil  war  was  at  an  end. 

73.  Octavius  Augustus,  nephew  of 
Julius  Caesar.  At  the  battle  of  Philippi 
he  defeated  Brutus  and  Cassius,  and 
established  the  Empire. 

75.  On  account  of  the  great  slaughter 
made  by  Augustus  in  his  battles  witli 
Mark  Antony  and  his  brother  Lucius,  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  these  cities. 

81.  Augustus  closed  the  gates  of  the 
temple  of  Janus  as  a  sign  of  universal 
peace,  in  the  year  of  Christ's  birth. 

86.   Tiberius  Caesar. 

90.  The  crucifixion  of  Christ,  in  which 
the  Romans  took  part  in  the  person  of 
Pontius  Pilate. 

92.  The  destruction  of  Jerusalem  under 
Titus,  which  avenged  the  crucifixion. 

94.  When  the  Church  was  assailed  by 
the  Lombards,  who  were  subdued  by 
Charlemagne. 

98.   Referring  back  to  line  31  : — 

"  In  order  that  thou  see  with  how  great  reason 
Men  move  against  the  standard  sacrosanct. 
Both  who  appropriate  and  who  oppose  it." 

100.  The  Golden  Lily,  or  Fleur-de-lis 
of  France.  The  Guelfs,  uniting  with  the 
French,  opposed  the  Ghibeliines,  who 
had  appropriated  the  imperial  standard 
to  their  own  party  purposes. 

106.  Charles  II.  of  Apulia,  son  of 
Charles  of  Anjou.  • 

1 1 1.  Change  the  imperial  eagle  for  the 
lilies  of  France. 

112.  Mercury  is  the  smallest  of  the 
planets,  with  the  exception  of  the  Aste- 
roids, being  sixteen  times  smaller  than 
the  Earth. 

114.  Speaking  of  the  planet  Mercury, 
Buti  says  :  "  We  are  now  to  consider  (h« 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


621 


eflfects  which  Mercury  produces  upon  us 
in  the  world  below,  for  which  honour 
and  blame  are  given  to  the  planet ;  for 
as  Albumasar  says  in  the  introduction  to 
his  seventh  treatise,  ninth  division,  where 
he  treats  of  the  nature  of  the  planets  and 
of  their  properties.  Mercury  signifies 
these  twenty-two  things  among  others, 
namely,  desire  of  knowledge  and  of  seeing 
secret  things  ;  interpretation  of  the  Deity, 
of  oracles  and  prophecies;  foreknowledge 
of  things  future  ;  knowledge  and  pro- 
fundity of  knowledge  in  profound  books  ; 
study  of  wisdom  ;  memoiy  ol  stones  and 
tales ;  eloquence  with  polish  ol  language; 
subtilty  of  genius  ;  desire  of  lordship  ; 
appetite  of  praise  and  fame ;  colour  and 
subtilty  of  speech  ;  subtilty  of  genius  in 
ever)'thing  to  which  man  betakes  him- 
self ;  desire  of  perfection ;  cunning  of 
hand  in  all  aits ;  practice  of  trade ;  selling, 
buying,  giving,  receiving,  stealing,  cheat- 
ing ;  concealing  thoughts  in  the  mind  ; 
change  of  habits  ;  youthfulness,  lust, 
abundance,  murmurs,  lies,  false  testimony, 
and  many  other  things  as  being  therein 
contained.  And  therefore  our  author 
feigns,  that  those  who  have  been  active 
in  the  world,  and  have  lived  with  politi- 
cal and  moral  virtues,  show  themselves 
in  the  sphere  of  Mercury,  because  Mer- 
cury exercises  such  influence,  according 
to  the  astrologers,  as  has  been  shown  ; 
but  it  is  in  man's  free  will  to  follow  the 
good  influence  and  avoid  the  bad,  and 
hence  springs  the  merit  and  demerit." 
Milton,  Lycidas,  70': — 

"  Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise, 
(That  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind,) 
To  scorn  delights,  and  live  laborious  days  ; 
But  the  fair  guerdon  when  we  hope  to  find, 
And  think  to  burst  out  into  sudden  blaze, 
Comes  the  blind  Furj' with  the  abhorred  shears 
And  slits   the   thin-spun   life.      '  But  not  the 

praise,' 
Phoebus  replied,  and  touched  my  trembling 

ears  : 
'  Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil, 
Nor  in  the  glistering  foil 

Set  off  to  the  world,  nor  in  broad  rumour  lies  ; 
But  lives  and  spreads  aloft  by  those  pure  eyes. 
And  perfect  witness  of  all-judging  Jove  : 
As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed. 
Of  so  much  fame  in  heaven  expect  thy  meed. 

121.   Piccarda,  Canto  III.  70,  says: — 

*  Brother,  our  will  is  quieted  by  virtue 
Of  charity,  that  makes  us  wish  alone 
For  what  we  have,  nor  gives  us  thirst  for 
more." 


128.   Villani,  VI.  Ch.  90,  relates  the 
story  of  Romeo  (in  Italian  Romeo)  as 
follows,  though  it  will  be  observed  that 
he  uses  the  word  romeo  not  as  a  proper, 
but  as  a  common  noun,  in  its  sense  of 
pilgrim  :  ' '  There  arrived  at  his  court  a 
pilgrim,    who    was    returning   from    St. 
James  ;  and  hearing  of  the  goodness  of 
Count  Raymond,  he  tarried  in  his  court, 
and  was  so  wise  and  worthy,  and  found 
such  favour  with  the  Count,  that  he  made 
him  master  and  director  of  all  things. 
He  was  always   clacl   in   a  decent   and 
clerical  habit,  and  in  a  short  time,  by 
his  dexterity  and  wisdom,   increased  the 
income  of  his  lord  threefold,  maintaining 
always  a  grand  and  honourable  court. 
.  .  .  .  Four  daughters  had  the  Count, 
and  no  son.     By  the  wisdom  and  address 
of  the  good  pilgrim,  he  first  married  the 
eldest  to  the  good  King  Louis  of  France 
by  means  of  money,  saying  to  the  Count, 
'  Let  me  manage  this,  and   do  not  be 
troubled  at  the  cost ;  for  if  thou  marrj' 
the  first  well,  on  account  of  this  relation- 
ship thou  wilt  marry  all  the  others  better, 
and  at  less  cost.'     And  so  it  came  to 
pass ;  for  straightway  the  King  of  Eng- 
land, in  order  to  be  brother-in-law  of  the 
King  of  France,  took  the  second  for  a 
small  sum  of  money  ;  then  his  brother, 
being  elected  King  of  the  Romans,  took 
the  third  ;  and  the  fourth  still  remaining 
to  be  married,   the  good  pilgrim   said, 
'  With  this  one  I  want  thee  to  have  a 
brave  son,  who  shall  be  thy  heir  ;'  and 
so  he  did.     Finding  Charles,  Count  of 
Anjou,  brother  of  King  Louis  of  France, 
he  said,  'Give  her  to  this  man,  for  he 
will  be  the  best  man  in  the  world  ;'  pro- 
phesying concerning  him,  and  so  it  was 
done.      Then  it  came  to  pass  through 
envy,  which  spoils  eveiygood  thing,  that 
the  barons  of  Provence  accused  the  good 
pilgrim   of  having   badly  managed   the 
treasury  of  the   Count,    and   had    him 
called  to  a  reckoning.    The  noble  pilgrim 
said  :   '  Count,  I  have  served  thee  a  long 
time,  and  brought  thee  from  low  to  high 
estate,  and  for  this,  through  false  counsel 
of  thy  folk,  thou  art  little  grateful.     I 
came  to  thy  court  a  poor  pilgrim,  and 
have    lived    modestly    on    thy    bounty. 
Have  my  mule  and  my  staff  and  scrip 
given  back  to  me  as  when  I  came,  and  I 
ask    no    further    wages.'      The    Count 
T  T  : 


r'y 


622 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


would  not  have  him  go  ;  but  on  no  ac- 
count would  he  remain  ;  and  he  departed 
as  he  had  come,  and  never  was  it  known 
whence  he  came,  nor  whither  he  went. 
Many  thought  that  his  was  a  sainted 
soul." 

142.  Lord  Bacon  says  in  his  Essay  on 
Adversity:  "Prosperity  is  the  blessing 
of  the  Old  Testament  ;  adversity  is  the 
blessing  of  the  New,  which  cafrieth  the 
greater  benediction  and  the  clearer  reve- 
lation of  God's  favour.  Yet,  even  in  the 
Old  Testament,  if  you  listen  to  David's 
harp,  you  shall  hear  as  many  hearse-like 
airs  as  carols  ;  and  the  pencil  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  hath  laboured  more  in  describing 
the  afflictions  of  Job  than  the  felicities  of 
Solomon. " 


CANTO   VII. 

I.  "  Hosanna,  holy  God  of  Sabaoth, 
illuminating  with  thy  brightness  the 
happy  fires  of  these  realms." 

Dante  is  still  in  the  planet  Mercury, 
which  receives  from  the  sun  six  times 
more  light  and  heat  than  the  earth. 

5.  By  Substance  is  here  meant  spirit, 
or  angel ;  the  word  having  the  sense  of 
Subsistence.    See  Canto  XIII.  Note  58. 

7.  The  rapidity  of  the  motion  of  the 
flying  spirits  is  beautifully  expressed  in 
these  lines. 

10.  Namely,  the  doubt  in  his  mind. 

14.  Bice,  or  Beatrice. 

17.  Convilo,  III.  8  :  "  And  in  these 
two  places  I  say  these  pleasures  appear, 
saying.  In  her  eyes  and  in  her  sweet 
smile ;  which  two  places  by  a  beautiful 
similitude  may  be  called  balconies  of 
the  Lady  who  inhabits  the  edifice  of 
the  body,  that  is,  the  Soul ;  since  here, 
although  as  if  veiled,  she  often  shows 
herself.  She  shows  herself  in  the  eyes 
so  manifestly,  that  he  wlio  looks  care- 
fully can  recognize  her  present  passion. 
Hence,  inasmuch  as  six  passions  are 
peculiar  to  the  human  soul,  of  which 
the  Philosopher  makes  mention  in  his 
Rhetoric,  tnat  is,  grace,  zeal,  mercy, 
envy,  love,  and  shame,  with  none  of 
these  can  the  .Soul  be  impassioned,  with- 
out its  semblance  coming  to  the  window 
of  the  eyes,  unless  it  be  kept  within  by 
great  effort.  Hence  one  of  old  plucked 
out  his  eyes,  so  that  his  inward  shame 


might  not  appear  outwardly,  as  Statius 
the  poet  relates  of  Theban  CEdipus, 
when  he  says,  that  in  eternal  night  he 
hid  his  shame  accursed.  She  shows 
herself  in  the  mouth,  as  colour  behind 
glass.  And  what  is  laughter  but  a  co- 
ruscation of  the  delight  of  the  soul,  that 
is,  a  light  appearing  outwardly,  as  it 
exists  within  ?  And  therefore  it  beho- 
veth  man  to  show  his  soul  in  moderate 
joy,  to  laugh  moderately  with  dignified 
severity,  and  with  slight  motion  of  the 
arms  ;  so  that  the  Lady  who  then  shows 
herself,  as  has  been  said,  may  appear 
modest,  and  not  dissolute.  Hence  the 
Book  of  the  Four  Cardinal  Virtues  com- 
mands us,  '  Let  thy  laughter  be  without 
cachinnation,  that  is  to  say,  without 
cackling  like  a  hen.'  Ah,  wonderful 
laughter  of  my  Lady,  that  never  was 
perceived  but  by  the  eye  !  " 

20.  Referring  back  to  Canto  VI. 
92:— 

"  To  do  vengeance 
Upon  the  vengeance  of  the  ancient  sin.' 

27.  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  I.  i,  the 
story 

"  Of  man's  first  disobedience,  and  the  fruit 
Of  that  forbidden  tree,  whose  mortal  taste 
Brought  death  into  the  world,  and  all  our  woe, 
With  loss  of  Eden,  till  one  greater  Man 
Restore  us,  and  regain  the  blissful  seat." 

36.  Sincere  in  the  sense  of  pure. 

65  Plato,  Timcctis,  Davis's  Tr.,  X.  : 
"  Let  us  declare  then  on  what  account 
the  framing  Artificer  settled  the  forma- 
tion of  this  universe.  He  was  good  ; 
and  in  the  good  envy  is  never  engen- 
dered about  anything  whatever.  Hence, 
being  free  from  this,  he  desired  that  all 
things  should  as  much  as  possible  re- 
semble himself," 

Also  Milton,    Par.  Lost,    I.    259:  — 

"  The  Almighty  hath  not  built 
Here  for  his  envy." 

And  again,  VHI.  491  : — 

"  Thou  hast  fulfilled 
Thy  words.  Creator  bounteous  and  benign, 
Giver  of  all  things  fair  !  b>it  fairest  this 
Of  .ill  thy  gifts  !  nor  enviest." 

67.  Dante  here  discriminates  between 
the  direct  or  immediate  inspirations  (A 
God,  and  those  influences  that  come 
indirectly  through  the  stars.  In  th« 
Cottvito,  VII.  3,  he  says  .  "  The  good* 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


fi^^ 


ness  of  God  is  received  in  one  manner 
by  disembodied  substances,  that  is,  by 
the  Angels  (who  are  without  material 
grossness,  and  as  it  were  diaphanous  on 
account  of  the  purity  of  their  form),  and 
in  another  manner  by  the  human  soul, 
which,  though  in  one  part  it  is  free  from 
matter,  in  another  is  impeded  by  it ;  (as 
a  man  who  is  wholly  in  the  water, 
except  his  head,  of  whom  it  cannot  be 
said  he  is  wholly  in  the  water  nor  wholly 
out  of  it ; )  and  in  another  manner  by 
the  animals,  whose  soul  is  all  absorbed 
in  matter,  but  somewhat  ennobled  ;  and 
in  another  manner  by  the  metals,  and  in 
another  by  the  earth  ;  because  it  is  the 
most  material,  and  therefore  the  most 
remote  from  and  the  most  inappropriate 
for  the  first  most  simple  and  noble 
virtue,  which  is  solely  intellectual,  that 
is,  God." 

And  in  Canto  XXIX.  136  :— 

"  The  primal  light,  that  all  irradiates, 

By  modes  as  many  is  received  therein. 

As  are  the  splendours  wherewith  it  is  mated." 

76.  Convito,  VII.  3  :  "  Between  the 
angelic  nature,  which  is  an  intellec- 
tual thing,  and  the  human  soul  there  is 
no  step,  but  they  are  both  almost  con- 
tinuous in  the  order  of  gradation 

Thus  we  are  to  suppose  and  firmly  to 
believe,  that  a  man  may  be  so  noble, 
and  of  such  lofty  condition,  that  he  shall 
be  almost  an  angel." 

130.  The  Angels,  and  the  Heavens, 
and  the  human  soul,  being  immediately 
inspired  by  God,  are  immutable  and  in- 
destructible. But  the  elements  and  the 
souls  of  brutes  and  plants  are  controlled 
by  the  stars,  and  are  mutable  and  perish- 
able. 

142.   See  Purg.  XVI.  85  :— 

'  Fortli  from  the  hand  of  Him,  who  fondles  it 
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  iJca- 


And.  also  Purg.  XXV.  70  :— 

"  ITie  primal  Motor  turns  to  it  well  pleased 
At  so  great  art  of  nature,  and  inspires 
A  spirit  new  with  virtue  all  replete." 


CANTO  VIII. 

1.  The  ascent  to  the  Third  Heaven, 
or  that  of  Venus,  where  are  seen  the 
spirits  of  Lovers.  Of  this  Heaven  Dante 
says,  Convito,  II.  14 : — 

"  The  Heaven  of  Venus  may  be  com- 
pared to  Rhetoric  for  two  properties  ; 
the  first  is  the  brightness  of  its  aspect, 
which  is  most  sweet  to  look  upon,  more 
than  any  other  star  ;  the  second  is  its 
appearance,  now  in  the  morning,  now  in 
the  evening.  And  these  two  properties 
are  in  Rhetoric,  the  sweetest  of  all  the 
sciences,  for  that  is  principally  its  inten- 
tion. It  appears  in  the  moming  when 
the  rhetorician  speaks  before  the  face  of 
his  audience  ;  it  appears  in  the  evening, 
that  is,  retrograde,  when  the  letter  in 
part  remote  speaks  for  the  rhetorician." 

For  the  influences  of  Venus,  see  Canto 
IX.  Note  33. 

2.  In  the  days  of  "  the  false  and  lying 
gods,"  when  the  world  was  in  peril  of 
damnation  for  misbelief.  Cypria,  or 
Cyprigna,  was  a  title  of  Venus,  from  the 
place  of  her  birth,  Cyprus. 

3.  The  third  Epicycle,  or  that  ot# 
Venus,  the  third  planet,  was  its  sup- 
posed motion  from  west  to  east,  while 
the  whole  heavens  were  swept  onward 
from  east  to  west  by  the  motion  of  the 
Primum  Mobile. 

In  the  Convito,  11.  4,  Dante  says : 
"  Upon  the  back  of  this  circle  (the 
Equatorial)  in  the  Heaven  of  Venus, 
of  which  we  are  now  treating,  is  a  little 
sphere,  which  revolves  of  itself  in  this 
heaven,  and  whose  orbit  the  astrologers 
call  Epicycle."  And  again,  II.  7:  "All 
this  heaven  moves  and  revolves  with  its 
Epicycle  from  east  to  west,  once  every 
natural  day  ;  but  whether  this  movement 
be  by  any  Intelligence,  or  by  the  sweep 
of  the  Primum  Mobile,  God  knoweth ; 
in  me  it  would  be  presumptuous  to 
judge." 

Milton,  Par.  Lost,  VIII.  72  :— 

"  From  man  or  angel  the  great  Architect 
Did  wisely  to  conceal,  and  not  divulge 
His  secrets  to  be  scanned  by  them  who  ought 
Rather  admire ;  or,  if  they  list  to  try 
Conject\ire,  He  his  fabric  of  the  heavens 
Hath  left  to  their  disputes  ;  perhaps  to  move 
His  laughter  at  their  quaint  opinions  wide 
Hereafter,  when  they  come  to  model  heaven 
And  calculate  the  stars ;  how  they  will  wield 


fe 


624 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


The  mighty  frame:  how  build,  unbuild,  contrive, 
To  save  appearances  ;  how  gird  the  sphere 
With  centric  and  eccentric  scribbled  o'er, 
Cycle  and  epicycle,  orb  in  orb." 
See  also  Nichol,  Solar  System,  p.  7  : 
"  Nothing  in  later  times  ought  to  ob- 
scure the  glory  of  Hipparchus,  and,  as 
some  think,  the  still  greater  Ptolemy. 
Amid  the  bewilderment  of  these  plane- 
tary motions,  what  could  they  say,  ex- 
cept that  the  'gods  never  act  without 
design ; '  and  thereon  resolve  to  discern 
it  ?  The  motion  of  the  Earth  was  con- 
cealed from  them  :  nor  was  aught  intel- 
ligible or  explicable  concerning  the 
wanderings  of  the  planets,  except  the 
grand  revolution  of  the  sky  around  the 
Earth.  That  Earth,  small  to  us,  they 
therefore,  on  the  ground  of  phenomena, 
considered  the  centre  of  the  Universe, — 
thinking,  perhaps,  not  more  confinedly 
than  persons  in  repute  in  modem  days. 
Around  that  centre  all  motion  seemed 
to  pass  in  order  the  most  regular  ;  and 
if  a  few  bodies  appeared  to  interrupt  the 
regularity  of  that  order,  why  not  conceive 
the  existence  of  some  arrangement  by 
which  they  might  be  reconciled  with  it  ? 
it  was  a  strange,  but  most  ingenious 
idea.  They  could  not  tell  how,  by  any 
simple  system  of  circular  and  uniform 
motion,  the  ascertained  courses  of  the 
planets,  as  directly  observed,  were  to  be 
accounted  for ;  but  they  made  a  most 
artificial  scheme,  that  still  saved  the  im- 
mobility of  the  Earth.  Suppose  a  person 
passing  around  a  room  holding  a  lamp, 
and  all  the  while  turning  on  his  heel. 
If  he  turned  round  uniformly,  there 
would  be  no  actual  interruption  of  the 
uniform  circular  motion  both  of  the 
carrier  and  the  carried  ;  but  the  light,  m 
seen  by  an  obsei  ver  in  the  interior,  would 
make  strange  gyrations.  Unable  to  ac- 
count otherwise  for  the  irregularities  of 
the  planets,  they  mounted  them  in  this 
manner,  on  small  circles,  whose  centres 
only  revolved  regularly  around  the  Earth, 
but  which,  during  their  revolutionary 
motion,  also  revolved  around  their  own 
centres.  Styling  these  cycles  and  epi- 
cycles, the  ancient  learned  men  framed 
that  grand  system  of  the  Heavens  con- 
cerning which  Ptolemy  composed  his 
'  Syntax. ' " 

7.  Shakespeare,  Lovis  Labour's  Lost, 
III.  I  :— 


"  This  wimpled,   whining,  purblind,    wayward  | 

boy :  ' 
This  senior-junior,  giant-dwarf,  Dan  Cupid ; 

Regent  of  love-rhymes,  lord  of  folded  arms,  1 
The  anointed  sovereign  of  sighs  and  groans, 

Liege  of  all  loiterers  and  malcontents."  ' 

9.  Cupid  in  the  semblance  of  Asca-  i 
nius.  ALneid,  I.  718,  Davidson's  Tr.  :  | 
"  She  clings  to  him  with  her  eyes,  her  \ 
whole  soul,  and  sometimes  fondles  him  1 
in  her  lap.  Dido  not  thinking  what  a  j 
powerful  god  is  settling  on  her,  hapless 
one.  Meanwhile  he,*  mindful  of  his  Aci-  j 
dalian  mother,  Ijegins  insensibly  to  efface  1 
the  memory  of  Sichseus,  and  with  a  j 
living  flame  tries  to  prepossess  her  Ian-  1 
guid  affections,  and  her  heart,  chilled  i 
by  long  disuse." 

10.  Venus,  with  whose  name  this 
canto  begins.  j 

12.  Bnmetto  Latini,  Tresor,  I.  Ch.  3,  1 
says  that  Venus  "  always  follows  the  ' 
sun,  and  is  beautiful  and  gentle,  anJl  is  f 
called  the  Goddess  of  Love."  \ 

Dante  says,  it  plays  with  or  caresses  ' 
the  sun,  "  now  behind  and  now  in  . 
front."  When  it  follows,  it  is  Hespe-  '■ 
rus,  the  Evening  Star;  when  it  precedes,  1 
it  is  Phosphor,  the  Morning  Star.  ^ 

21.  The  rapidity  of  the  motion  of  the  ^ 
spirits,  as  well  as  their  brightness,  is  in 
proportion  to  their  vision  of  God.    Com- 
pare Canto  XIV.  40  : — 

"  Its  brightness  is  proportioned  to  the  ardour, 
The  ardour  to  the  vision  ;  and  the  vision 
Equals  what  grace  it  has  above  its  worth." 

23.  Made  visible  by  mist  and  cloud- 
rack. 

27.  Their  motion  originates  in  the 
Primiim  Mobile,  whose  Regents,  or  In- 
telligences, are  the  Seraphim. 

34.  The  Regents,  or  Intelligences,  of 
Venus  are  the  Principalities. 

37.  This  is  the  first  line  of  the  first 
canzone  in  the  Convito,  and  in  his  com- 
mentary upon  it,  II.  5,  Dante  says : 
"In  the  first  place,  then,  be  it  known, 
that  the  movers  of  this  heaven  are  sub- 
stances separate  from  matter,  that  is. 
Intelligences,  which  the  common  people 
call  Angels."  And  farther  on,  II.  6: 
"It  is  reasonable  to  believe  that  the 
motors  of  the  Heaven  of  the  Moon  are 
of  the  order  of  the  Angels  ;  and  those 
of  Mercury  are  the  Archangels ;  and 
those  of  Venus  are  the  Thrones."     D 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


625 


will  be  observed,  however,  that  in  line 
34  he  alludes  to  the  Principalities  as  the 
Regents  of  Venus ;  and  in  Canto  IX.  61, 
speaks  of  the  Thrones  as  reflecting  the 
justice  of  God  : — 

"  Above  us  there  are  mirrors.  Thrones  you  call 
them, 
From  which  shines  out  on  us  God  Judicant ;" 

thus  referring  the  Thrones  to  a  higher 
heaven  than  that  of  Venus. 

40.  After  he  had  by  looks  asked  and 
gained  assent  from  Beatrice. 

46.  The  spirit  shows  its  increase  of 
joy  by  increase  of  brightness.  As  Picar- 
da  in  Canto  III.  67  :  — 

"  First  with  those  other  shades  she  smiled  a 
little  ; 
Thereafter  answered  me  so  joyous'.y, 
She  seemed  to  burn  in  the  first  fire  of  love.'* 

And  Justinian,  in  Canto  V.  133  : — 

"  Even  as  the  sun,  that  doth  conceal  himself 
By  too  much  light,  when  heat  has  worn 

away 
The  tempering  influence  of  the  vapoursdense. 
By  greater  rapture  thus  concealed  itself 
In  its  own  radiance  the  figure  saintly." 

49.  The  spirit  who  speaks  is  Charles 
Martel  of  Hungary,  tlie  friend  and  bene- 
factor of  Dante.  He  was  the  eldest  son 
of  Charles  the  Lame  (Charles  II.  of 
Naples)  and  of  Mary  of  Hungary.  He 
was  born  in  1272,  and  in  1 291  married 
the  "beautiful  Clemence,"  daughter  of 
Rudolph  of  Hapsburg,  Emperor  of  Ger- 
many, He  died  in  1295,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-three,  to  which  he  alludes  in  the 
words, 

"  The  world  possessed  me 
Short  time  below. " 

58.  That  part  of  Provence,  embra- 
cing Avignon,  Aix,  Aries,  and  Mar- 
seilles, of  which  his  father  was  lord,  and 
which  he  would  have  inherited  had  he 
lived.  This  is  "  the  great  dowry  of 
Provence,"  which  the  daughter  of  Ray- 
mond Berenger  brought  to  Charles  of 
Anjou  in  marriage,  and  which  is  men- 
tioned in  Purg.  XX.  61,  as  taking  the 
sense  of  shame  out  of  the  blood  of  the 
Capets. 

01.  The  kingdom  of  Apulia  in  Au- 
sonia,  or  Lower  Italy,  embracing  Bari 
on  the  Adriatic,  Gaeta  in  the  Terra  di 
Lavoro  on  the  Mediterranean,  and  Cro- 
tona  in  Calabria ;  a  region  bounded  on 


the  north  by  the  Tronto  emptying  into 
the  Adriatic,  and  the  Verde  (or  Garig- 
liano)  emptying  into  the  Mediterranean. 
65.  The  kingdom  of  Hungary. 

67.  Sicily,  called  of  old  Trinacria, 
from  its  three  promontories  Peloro,  Pa- 
chino,  and  Lilibeo. 

68.  Pachino  is  the  south-eastern  pro- 
montory of  Sicily,  and  Peloro  the  north- 
eastern. Between  them  lies  the  Gulf  of 
Catania,  receiving  \yith  open  arms  the 
east  wind.  Horace  speaks  of  Eurus  as 
"  riding  the  Sicilian  seas." 

70.  Both  Pindar  and  Ovid  speak  ot 
the  giant  Typhoeus,  as  struck  by  Jove's 
thunderbolt,  and  lying  buried  under 
MXw^.  Virgil  says  it  is  Enceladus,  a 
brother  of  Typhceus.  Charles  Martel 
here  gives  the  philosophical,  not  the 
poetical,  cause  of  the  murky  atmosphere 
of  the  bay. 

72.  Through  him  from  his  grand- 
father Charles  of  Anjou,  and  his  father- 
in-law  the  Emperor  Rudolph. 

75.  The  Sicilian  Vespers  and  revolt 
of  Palermo,  in  1282.  Milman,  Hist. 
Latin  Christ.,  VI.  155  :  "  It  was  at  a 
festival  on  Easter  Tuesday  that  a  multi- 
tude of  the  inhabitants  of  Palermo  and 
the  neighbourhood  had  thronged  to  a 
church,  about  half  a  mile  out  of  the 
town,  dedicated  to  the  Holy  Ghost. 
The  religious  service  was  over,  the  mer- 
riment begun  ;  tables  were  spread,  the 
amusements  of  all  sorts,  games,  dances 
under  the  trees,  were  going  gaily  on ; 
when  the  harmony  was  suddenly  inter- 
rupted and  the  joyousness  chilled  by 
the  appearance  of  a  body  of  French 
soldiery,  under  the  pretext  of  keeping 
the  peace.  The  French  mingled  fami- 
liarly with  the  people,  paid  court,  not  in 
tlie  most  respectful  manner,  to  the 
women  ;  the  young  men  made  sullen 
remonstrances,  and  told  them  to  go  their 
way.  The  Frenchmen  began  to  draw 
together.  'These  rebellious  Paterins 
must  have  arms,  or  they  would  not  ven- 
ture on  such  insolence.'  They  began  to 
search  some  of  them  for  arms.  The  two 
parties  were  already  glaring  at  each 
other  in  angry  hostility.  At  that  mo- 
ment the  beautiful  daughter  of  Roger 
Mastrangplo,  a  maiden  of  exquisite  love- 
liness and  modesty,  with  her  bridegroom, 
approached  the  church.     A  Frenchman, 


626 


NOTES  TO  PA  RAD  ISO. 


named  Drouet,  either  in  wantonness  or 
insult,  came  up  to  her,  and,  under  the 
pretence  of  searching  for  arms,  thrust 
his  hand  into  her  bosom.  The  g^irl 
fainted  in  her  bridegroom's  arms.  He 
uttered  in  his  agony  thf  fatal  cry,  '  Death 
to  tlie  French  ! '  A  youth  rushed  for- 
ward, stabbed  Drouet  to  the  heart  with 
his  own  sword,  was  himself  struck  down. 
The  cry,  the  shriek,  ran  through  the 
crowd,  '  Death  to  the  French  !  '  Many 
Sicilians  fell,  but,  of  two  hundred  on  the 
spot,  not  one  Frenchman  escaped.  The 
cry  spread  to  the  city :  Mastrangelo 
took  t!ie  lead  ;  every  house  was  stormed, 
every  hole  and  corner  searched  ;  their 
dress,  their  speech,  their  persons,  their 
manners,  denounced  the  French.  The 
palace  was  forced  ;  the  Justiciary,  being 
luckily  wounded  in  the  face,  and  rolled 
in  the  dust,  and  so  undetected,  mounted 
a  horse,  and  fled  with  two  followers. 
Two  thousand  French  were  slain.  They 
denied  them  decent  burial,  heaped  them 
together  in  a  great  pit.  The  horrors  of 
the  scene  were  indescribable  ;  the  insur- 
gents broke  into  the  convents,  the 
churches.  The  friars,  especial  objects 
of  hatred,  were  massacred  ;  they  slew 
the  French  monks,  the  French  priests. 
Neither  old  age,  nor  sex,  nor  infancy 
was  spared." 

76.  Robert,  Duke  of  Calabria,  third 
son  of  Charles  II.  and  younger  brother 
of  Charles  Martel.  He  was  King  of 
Sicily  from  1309  to  1343.  He  brought 
with  him  from  Catalonia  a  band  of 
needy  adventurers,  whom  he  put  into 
high  offices  of  state,  "  and  like  so  many 
leeches,"  says  Biagioli,  "  they  filled 
themselves  with  the  blood  of  that  poor 
people,  not  dropping  off  so  long  as  there 
remained  a  drop  to  suck." 

80.  Sicily  already  heavily  laden  with 
taxes  of  all  kinds. 

82.  Born  of  generous  ancestors,  he 
was  himself  avaricious. 

84.  Namely,  ministers  and  officials 
who  were  not  greedy  of  gain. 

87.  In  (lod,  where  all  things  are 
reflected  as  in  a  mirror.  Rev.  xxi.  6  : 
"  I  am  Alpha  and  Omega  ;  the  begin- 
ning and  the  end."  Buti  interprets 
thus  :  "  Because  I  believe  ihat  thou 
«ce«t  my  joy  in  God,  even  as  I  see  it,  I 
am  pleased  ;    and  this  also  is  dear  to 


me,  that  thou  seest  in  God,  that  I  be- 
lieve it." 

97.  CoHvito,\l\.  14:  "The  first  agent, 
that  is,  God,  sends  his  influence  into 
some  things  by  means  of  direct  rays,  and 
into  others  by  means  of  reflected  splen- 
dour. Hence  into  the  Intelligences  the 
divine  light  rays  out  immediately ;  in 
others  it  is  reflected  from  these  Intelli- 
gences first  illuminated.  But  as  mention 
is  here  made  of  light  and  splendour,  in 
order  to  a  perfect  understanding,  I  will 
show  the  difference  of  these  words, 
according  to  Avicenna.  I  say,  the  cus- 
tom of  the  philosophers  is  to  call  the 
Heaven  light,  in  reference  to  its  existence 
in  its  fountain  head  ;  to  call  it  ray,  in 
reference  to  its  passing  from  the  fountain- 
head  to  the  first  body,  in  which  it  is 
arrested  ;  to  call  it  splendour,  in  refer- 
ence to  its  reflection  upon  some  other 
part  illuminated." 

116.  If  men  lived  isolated  from  each 
other,  and  not  in  communities. 

120.  Aristotle,  whom  Dante  in  the 
CoHvito,  III.  5,  calls  "  that  glorious 
philosopher  to  whom  Nature  most  laid 
open  her  secrets  ;  "  and  in  Jnf.  IV.  131, 
"the  master  of  those  who  know." 

124.  The  Jurist,  the  Warrior,  the 
Priest  and  the  Artisan  are  here  typified 
in  Solon,  Xerxes,  Melchisedec,  and 
Daedalus. 

129.  Nature,  like  death,  makes  no 
distinction  between  palace  and  hoveL 
Her  gentlemen  are  born  alike  in  each, 
and  so  her  churls. 

130.  Esau  and  Jacob,  though  twin 
brothers,  differed  in  character,  Esau 
being  warlike  and  Jacob  peaceable. 
Genesis  xxv.  27:  "  And  the  boys  grew  : 
and  Esau  was  a  cunning  hunter,  a  man 
cf  the  field  ;  and  Jacob  was  a  plain  man, 
dwelling  in  tents.  ' 

131.  Romulus,  called  Quirinus,  be- 
cause he  always  carried  a  spear  {(/uiris), 
was  of  such  obscure  birth,  that  the 
Romans,  to  dignify  their  origin,  preten- 
ded he  was  born  of  Mars. 

141.  Cottvito,  III.  3  :  "  Animate 
plants  have  a  very  manifest  affection  for 
certain  places,  according  to  their  cha- 
racter ;  and  therefore  we  see  certain 
plants  rooting  themselves  by  the  water- 
side, and  others  upon  mountainouj 
places,  and  others  on  the  slopes  and  at 


NOTES  TO  TARADISO. 


627 


the  foot  of  the  mountains,  which,  if  they 
are  transplanted,  either  wholly  perish, 
or  live  a  kind  of  melancholy  life,  as 
things  separated  from  what  is  friendly  to 
them." 

145.  Another  allusion  to  King  Robert 
of  Sicily.  Villani,  XII.  9,  says  of  him  : 
"  This  king  Robert  was  the  wisest  king 
that  had  been  known  among  Christians 
for  five  hundred  years,  both  in  natural 
ability  and  in  knowledge,  being  a  very 
great  master  in  theology,  and  a  consum- 
mate philosopher."  And  the  Postillatore 
of  the  Monte  Cassino  Codex:  "This 
King  Robert  delighted  in  preaching  and 
studying,  and  would  have  made  a  better 
monk  than  king." 


CANTO   IX. 

1.  The  Heaven  of  Venus  is  continued 
in  this  canto.  The  beautiful  Clemence 
here  addressed  is  the  daughter  of  the 
Emperor  Rudolph,  and  wife  of  Charles 
Martel.  Some  commentators  say  it  is 
his  daughter,  but  for  what  reason  is  not 
apparent,  as  the  form  of  address  would 
rather  indicate  the  wife  than  the 
daughter ;  and  moreover,  at  the  date  of 
the  poem,  1300,  the  daughter  was  only 
six  or  seven  years  old.  So  great  was  the 
affection  of  this  "beautiful  Clemence" 
for  her  husband,  that  she  is  said  to  have 
fallen  dead  on  hearing  the  news  of  his 
death. 

3.  Charles  the  Lame,  dying  in  1309, 
gave  the  kingdom  of  Naples  and  Sicily 
to  his  third  son,  Robert,  Duke  of  Ca- 
labria, thus  dispossessing  Carlo  Roberto 
(or  Caroberto)  son  of  Charles  Martel 
and  Clemence,  and  rightful  heir  to  the 
throne. 

22.  Unknown  to  me  by  name. 

25.  The  region  here  described  is  the 
Marca  Trivigiana,  lying  between  Venice 
(here  indicated  by  one  of  its  principal 
wards,  the  Rialto)  and  the  Alps,  dividing 
Italy  from  Germany. 

28.  The  hill  on  which  stands  the  Cas- 
tello  di  Romano,  the  birthplace  of  the 
tyrant  Ezzelino,  or  Azzolino,  whom,  for 
his  cruelties,  Dante  punished  in  the  river 
of  boiling  blood.  Inf.  XII.  no.  Before 
his  birth  his  mother  is  said  to  have 
dreamed  of  a  lighted  torch,  as  Hecuba 


did  before  the  birth  of  Paris,  Althaea 
before  the  birth  of  Meleager,  and  the 
mother  of  St.  Dominic  before  the  birth  of 

"  The  amorous  paramour 
Of  Christian  Faith,  the  athlete  consecrate, 
Kind  to  his  own  and  cruel  to  his  foes." 

32.  Cunizza  was  the  sister  of  Azzolino 
di  Romano.  Her  story  is  told  by  Ro- 
landino.  Liber  Chronicorum,  in  Muratori, 
Rer.  Ital.  Script.,  VIII.  173.  He  says 
that  she  was  first  married  to  Richard  of 
St.  Boniface ;  and  soon  after  had  an 
intrigue  with  Sordello,  as  already  men- 
tioned, Purg.  VI  Note  74.  Afterwards 
she  wandered  about  the  world  with  a 
soldier  of  Treviso,  named  Bonius,  "tak- 
ing much  solace,"  says  the  old  chronicler, 
"and  spending  much  money," — multa 
habendo  solatia,  et  tnaximas  faciendo  ex- 
pensas.  After  the  death  of  Bonius,  she 
was  married  to  a  nobleman  of  Braganzo  ; 
and  finally  and  for  a  third  time  to  a 
gentleman  of  Verona 

The  Ottimo  alone  among  the  commen- 
tators takes  up  the  defence  of  Cunizza, 
and  says:  "This  lady  lived  lovingly  in 
dress,  song,  and  sport  ;  but  consented 
not  to  any  impropriety  or  unlawful  act ; 
and  she  passed  her  life  in  enjoyment,  as 
Solomon  says  inEcclesiastes," — alluding 
probably  to  the  first  verse  of  the  second 
chapter,  "  I  said  in  my  heart.  Go  to  now, 
I  will  prove  thee  with  mirth  ;  therefore 
enjoy  pleasure  ;  and,  behold,  this  is  also 
vanity." 

33.  Of  the  influences  of  the  planet 
Venus,  quoting  Albumasar,  as  before, 
Buti  says :  "Venus  is  cold  and  moist,  and 
of  phlegmatic  temperament,  and  signifies 
beauty,  liberality,  patience,  sweetness, 
dignity  of  manners,  love  of  dress  and 
ornaments  of  gold  and  silver,  humility 
towards  friends,  pride  and  adjunction, 
delectation  and  delight  in  singing  and  use 
of  ornaments,  joy  and  gladness,  dancing, 
song  with  pipe  and  lite,  bridals,  orna- 
ments and  precious  ointments,  cunning 
in  the  composition  of  songs,  skill  in  the 
game  of  chess,  indolence,  drunkenness, 
lust,  adultery,  gesticulations,  and  lasci- 
viousness  of  courtesans,  abundance  of 
perjuries,  of  lies  and  all  kinds  of  wanton- 
ness, love  of  children,  delight  in  men, 
strength  of  body,  weakness  of  mind, 
abundance  of  food  and  corporal  delights, 


628 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


observance  of  faith  and  justice,  traffic  in 
odoriferous  merchandise  ;  and  as  was  said 
of  the  Moon,  all  are  not  found  in  one 
man,  but  a  part  in  one,  and  a  part  in 
another,  according  to  Divine  Providence ; 
and  the  wise  man  adheres  to  the  good, 
and  overcomes  the  others." 

34.  Since  God  has  pardoned  me,  I  am 
no  longer  troubled  for  my  past  errors, 
on  account  of  which  I  attain  no  higher 
glory  in  Paradise.  She  had  tasted  of 
the  waters  of  Lethe,  and  all  the  ills  and 
errors  of  the  past  were  forgotten.  Purg. 
XXXIII.  94  :— 

"  '  And  if  thou  art  not  able  to  remember,' 

Smiling  she  answered,  '  recollect  thee  now 
How  thou   this  very  day  hast  drunk  of 
Lethe.'" 

Hugo  of  St.  Victor,  in  a  passage 
quoted  by  Philalethes  in  the  notes  to  his 
translation  of  the  Divina  Commedia,  says  : 
"  In  that  city  ....  there  will  be  Free 
Will,  emancipated  from  all  evil,  and 
filled  with  all  good,  enjoying  without  in- 
terruption the  delight  of  eternal  joys, 
oblivious  of  sins,  oblivious  of  punish- 
ments ;  yet  not  so  oblivious  of  its  libera- 
tion as  to  be  ungrateful  to  its  liberator. 
So  far,  therefore,  as  regards  intellectual 
Ifnowledge,  it  will  be  mindful  of  its 
past  evils ;  but  wholly  unmindful,  as 
regards  any  feeling  of  what  it  has  passed 
through." 

37.  The  spirit  of  Folco,  or  FoVchetto, 
of  Marseilles,  as  mentioned  later  in  this 
canto ;  the  famous  Troubadour  whose 
renown  was  not  to  perish  for  five  cen- 
turies, but  is  small  enough  now,  save  in 
the  literary  histories  of  Millot  and  the 
Benedictines  of  St.  Maur. 

44-  The  Marca  Trivigiana  is  again 
alluded  to,  lying  between  the  Adige,  that 
empties  into  the  Adriatic  south  of  Venice, 
and  the  Tagliamento  to  the  north-east, 
towards  Trieste.  This  region  embraces 
the  cities  of  Pac^a  and  Vicenza  in  the 
south,  Trevi.so  in  the  centre,  and  Feltro 
in  the  north. 

46.  The  rout  of  the  Paduane  near 
Vicenza,  in  those  endless  quarrels  that 
run  through  Italian  history  like  the  roll 
of  a  drum.  Three  times  the  Paduan 
Guelphs  were  defeated  by  the  Ghibel- 
lines,  — in  1311,  in  1314,  and  in  1318, 
when  Can  Grande  della  Scala  was  chief 
of  the   Ghibclline   league.      The   river 


stained  with  blood  is  the  Bacchiglione,  j 
on  which  Vicenza  stands. 

49.  In  Treviso,  where  the  Sile  and  j 
Cagnano  unite,  ! 

50,  Riccardo  da  Camino,  who  was  ( 
assassinated  while  playing  at  chess.  He  ' 
was  a  son  of  the  "  good  Gherardo, "  and  i 
brother  of  the  beautiful  Gaja,  mentioned  \ 
Purg.  XVI.  40.  He  succeeded  his  i 
father  as  lord  of  Treviso;  but  carried  on  \ 
his  love  adventures  so  openly  and  with  1 
so  high  a  hand,  that  he  was  finally  assas-  ; 
sinated  by  an  outraged  husband.  The  i 
story  of  his  assassination  is  told  in  the  ] 
Hist.  Cartusiorum  in  Muratori,  XII.  ' 
784.                           _  ] 

53.  A  certain  bishop  of  the  town  of  ' 
Feltro  in  the  Marca  Trivigiana,  whose 
name  is  doubtful,  but  who  was  lx)th  lord 
spiritual  and  temporal  of  the  town,  broke 
faith  with  certain  gentlemen  of  Ferrara,  ; 
guilty  of  political  crimes,    who   sought  \ 
refuge   and    protection    in   his  diocese.  ' 
They  were  delivered  up,  and  executed  in  ; 
Ferrara,     Afterward  the  Bishop  himself  ; 
came  to  a  violent  end,  being  beaten  to 
death  with  bags  of  sand. 

54.  Malta  was  a  prison  on  the  shores  > 
of  Lake  Bolsena,  where. priests  were  in- 
carcerated for  their  crimes.  There  Pope  : 
Boniface  VIII.  imprisoned  the  Abbot  of  i 
Monte  Cassino  for  letting  the  fugitive  ''■ 
Celestine  V.  escajie  from  his  convent. 

58.  This   "courteous  priest"   was   a  i 

Guelph,  and  showed  his  zeal  for  his  party  j 

in  the  persecution  of  the  Ghibellines,  j 

60.  The  treachery  and  cruelty  of  this 
man  will  be  in  conformity  to  the  customs  i 
of  the  country.  i 

61.  Above  in  the  Crystalline  Heaven,  : 
or  Primutn  Mobile,  is  the  Order  of  Angels 
called     Thrones.       These    are    mirrors 
reflecting  the  justice  and  judgments  of  ■ 
God.  \ 

69.  The    Balascio    (in    French    ruhi  ] 

balais)   is    supposed    to   take  its  name  '. 

from  the  place  in  the  East  where  it  wtu>  5 
found. 

Chaucer,  Court  0/ Love,  78  : —  '\ 

"No  Kaphire  of  Inde,  no  rube  riche  of  price,  j 

I'here  lacked  then,  nor  emcraude  so  grene,  , 

Balais  TurkiB,  ne  thing  to  my  devise  / 

That  may  the  cantel  maken  ior  to  (bene. "  1 

The  mystic  virtues  of  this  stone  arc  ' 

thus  enumerated  by  Mr.  King,  Atttiqui  ,. 

Gems,   p.    419  :    "  The    BaUxis    Ruby  \ 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


629 


represses  vain  and  lascivious  thoughts, 
appeases  quarrels  between  friends,  and 
gives  health  of  body.  Its  povt^der  taken 
in  water  cures  diseases  of  the  eyes,  and 
pains  in  the  liver.  If  you  touch  with  this 
gem  the  four  comers  of  a  house,  orchard, 
or  vineyard,  they  will  be  safe  fron)  light- 
ning, storms,  and  blight." 

70.  Joy  is  shown  in  heaven  by  greater 
light,  as  here  on  earth  by  smiles,  and  as 
in  the  infernal  regions  the  grief  of  souls 
in  torment  is  by  greater  darkness. 

73.  In  Him  thy  sight  is ;  in  the  original, 
tuo  veder  /  inluia,  thy  sight  in-Hitns- 
Uself. 

76.  There  is  a  similar  passage  in  one 
of  the  Troubadours,  who,  in  an  Elegy, 
commends  his  departed  friend  to  the 
Virgin  as  a  good  singer.  "  He  sang  so 
well,  that  the  nightingales  grew  silent 
with  admiration,  and  listened  to  him. 
Therefore  God  took   him  for  his   own 

service If  the   Virgin  Mary  is 

fond  of  genteel  young  men,  I  advise  her 
to  take  him." 

77.  The  Seraphim,  clothed  with  six 
wings,  as  seen  in  the  vision  of  the  Prophet 
Isaiah  vi.  2  :  "  Above  it  stood  the  sera- 
phims  :  each  one  had  six  wings  ;  with 
twain  he  covered  his  face,  and  with  twain 
he  covered  his  feet,  and  with  twain  he 
did  fly." 

81.  In  the  original,  S'  io  nC  intuassi 
come  til  fimmii  ;  if  I  in-theed  myself  as 
thou  in-meest  thyself.  Dantesque  words, 
like  inluia.  Note  73. 

82.  The  Mediterranean,  the  greatest 
of  seas,  except  the  ocean,  surrounding 
the  earth. 

Bryant,  Thanatopsis : — 

"  And  poured  round  all 
Old  Ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste." 

85.  Extending  eastward  between  Eu- 
rope and  Africa.  Dante  gives  the  length 
of  the  Mediterranean  as  ninety  degrees. 
Modem  geographers  make  it  less  than 
fifty. 

89,  Marseilles,  about  equidistant  from 
the  Ebro,  in  Spain,  and  the  Magra,  which 
divides  the  Genoese  and  Tuscan  terri- 
tories. Being  a  small  river,  it  has  but  a 
short  journey  to  make. 

92.  Buggia  is  a  city  in  Africa,  on  nearly 
the  same  parallel  of  longitude  as  Mar- 
seilles. 


93.  The  allusion  here  is  to  the  siege 
of  Marseilles  by  a  portion  of  Caesar's 
army  under  Tribonius,  and  the  fleet  under 
Bmtus.  Purg.  XVIII.  loi  :— 

"  And  Cae.sar,  that  he  might  subdue  Ilerda, 

Thrust  at   Marseilles,    and   then   ran   into 
Spain." 

Lucan,  who  describes  the  siege  and 
sea-fight  in  the  third  book  of  his  Phar- 
salia,  says  ; — 

"  Meanwhile,  impatient  of  the  lingering  war, 
The  chieftain  to  Iberia  bends  afar, 
And  gives  the  leaguer  to  Tribonius'  care." 

94.  Folco,  or  Folchetto,  of  Marseilles 
(Folquet  de  Marseilles)  was  a  noted  Trou- 
badour, who  flourished  at  the  end  of  the 
twelfth  century.  He  was  the  son  of  a 
rich  merchant  of  Marseilles,  and  after 
his  father's  death,  giving  up  business  for 
pleasure  and  poetry,  became  a  frequenter 
of  courts  and  favourite  of  lords  and  princes. 
Among  his  patrons  are  mentioned  King 
Richard  of  England,  King  Alfonso  of 
Aragon,  Count  Raymond  of  Toulouse, 
and  the  Sire  Barral  of  Marseilles.  The 
old  Proven9al  chronicler  in  Raynouard, 
V.  150,  says :  "He  was  a  good  Trouba- 
dour, and  very  attractive  in  person.  He 
paid  court  to  the  wife  of  his  lord.  Sire 
Barral,  and  besought  her  love,  and  made 
songs  about  her.  But  neither  for  prayers 
nor  songs  could  he  find  favour  with  her 
so  as  to  procure  any  mark  of  love,  of 
which  he  was  always  complaining  in  his 
songs." 

Nevertheless  this  Lady  Alazais  listened 
with  pleasure  to  his  songs  and  praises ; 
and  was  finally  moved  to  jealousy,  if  not 
to  love.  The  Troubadour  was  at  the 
same  time  paying  his  homage  to  the  two 
sisters  of  the  Sire  Barral,  Lady  Laura 
and  Lady  Mabel,  both  beautiful  and  de 
gran  valor,  and  being  accused  thereof, 
fell  into  disfavour  and  banishment,  the 
Lady  Alazais  wishing  to  hear  no  more 
his  prayers  nor  his  songs.  In  his  despair 
he  took  refuge  at  the  court  of  William, 
Lord  of  Montpellier,  whose  wife,  daugh- 
ter of  the  Emperor  Manuel,  ' '  comforted 
him  a  little,  and  besought  him  not  to  be 
downcast  and  despairing,  but  for  love  of 
her  to  sing  and  make  songs. " 

And  now  a  great  change  came  over 
him.  The  old  chronicler  goes  on  to  say  : 
"  And  it  came  to  pass  that  the  Ladj 


630 


NOTES   TO  FARAD  ISO. 


Alazais  died  ;  and  the  Sire  Barral,  her 
husband  and  his  lord,  died  ;  and  died 
the  good  King  Richard,  and  the  good 
Count  Raymond  of  Toulouse,  and  King 
Alfonso  of  Aragon  :  whereat,  in  grief  for 
his  lady  and  for  the  princes  who  were 
dead,  he  abandoned  the  world,  and  re- 
tired to  a  Cistercian  convent,  with  his 
wife  and  two  sons.  And  he  became 
Abbot  of  a  rich  abbey  in  Provence, 
called  Torondet,  and  afterwards  Bishop 
of  Toulouse,  and  there  he  died." 

It  was  in  I2CX3  that  he  became  a  Cis- 
tercian, and  he  died  in  1233.  It  would 
be  pleasant  to  know  that  he  atoned  for 
his  youthful  follies  by  an  old  age  of  vir- 
tues. But  unfortunately  for  his  fame,  the 
old  nightingale  became  a  bird  of  prey. 
He  was  deeply  implicated  in  the  persecu- 
tions of  the  Albigenses,  and  the  blood  of 
those  "slaughtered  saints"  makes  a 
ghastly  rubric  in  his  breviary. 

97.  Dido,  queen  of  Carthage.  The 
Ottimo  says  :  "  He  seems  to  mean,  that 
Folco  loved  indifferently  married  women, 
virgins,  and  widows,  gentle  and  simple. " 

100.  Phillis  of  Thrace,  called  Rodopeia 
from  Mount  Rodope  near  which  she 
lived,  was  deserted  by  her  Athenian  lover 
Demophoon,  of  whom  Chaucer,  Legende 
of  Good  Women,  2442,  gives  this  por- 
trait :— 

"  Men  knewe  him  well  and  didden  hym  honour, 
For  at  Athenis  duke  and  lorde  was  he, 
As  Theseus  his  father  hath  ibe, 
That  in  his  tyme  was  of  grete  renown, 
No  man  so  grete  in  all  his  regioun, 
And  like  his  father  of  face  and  of  stature ; 
And  false  of  love,  it  came  hym  of  nature  ; 
As  doeth  the  foxe,  Rcnarde  the  foxes  sonne. 
Of  kinde,  he  coulde  his  olde  father  wonne, 
Withouten  lore  ;  as  can  a  drake  swmime. 
When  it  is  caught  and  caried  to  the  brimme." 

loi.  Hercules  was  so  subdued  by  love 
for  lole,  that  he  sat  among  her  maidens 
spinning  with  a  distaff. 

103.  See  Note  34  of  this  caiito. 

106.  Tile  ways  of  Providence, 

"  From  seeming  evil  still  educing  good." 

116.  Rahab,  who  concealed  the  spies 
of  Joshua  among  the  rtax-stalks  on  the 
roof  of  her*  house.     Joshua,  ii.  6. 

118.   Milton,  Par.  Lost,  IV.  776  :— 

"  Now  hid  night  measured  with  her  shadowy 
cone 
Half-way  up  hill  this  vast  sublunar  rault." 


1 20.  The  first  soul  redeemed  when 
Christ  descended  into  Limbo.  "  The 
first  shall  be  last,  and  the  last  first." 

123.  The  Crucifixion.  If  any  one  is 
disposed  to  criticise  the  play  upon  words 
in  this  beautifid  passage,  let  him  remem- 
ber the  Tues  Petrus  et  super  hanc petram 
edificabo  ecclesiam  meatn. 

124.  Hebrews  xi.  31  :  "By  faith  the 
harlot  Rahab  perished  not  with  them  that 
believed  not,  when  she  had  received  the 
spies  with  peace." 

1 25.  Forgetful  that  it  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  Saracens. 

127.  The  heathen  Gods  were  looked 
upon  by  the  Christians  as  demons.  Hence 
Florence  was  the  city  of  Satan  to  Dante 
in  his  dark  hours,  when  he  thought  of 
Mars  ;  but  in  his  better  moments,  when 
he  remembered  John  the  Baptist,  it  was 
"  the  fairest  and  most  renowned  daughter 
of  Rome." 

130.  The  Lily  on  the  golden  florin  of 
Florence. 

133.  To  gain  the  golden  florin  the 
study  of  the  Gospels  and  the  Fathers  was 
abandoned,  and  the  Decretals,  or  books 
of  Ecclesiastical  Law,  sodiligently  conned, 
that  their  margins  were  worn  and  soiled 
with  thumb-marks.  The  first  five  books 
of  the  Decretals  werecompiled  by  Gregory 
IX.,  and  the  sixth  by  Boniface  VIII. 

138.  A  prophecy  of  the  death  of  Boni- 
face VIII.  in  1303,  and  the  removal  of 
the  Holy  See  to  Avignon  in  1305. 


CANTO   X. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  the  Sun,  "  a  good 
planet  and  imperial,"  says  Brunette 
Latini.  Dante  makes  it  the  symbol  of 
Arithmetic.  Convito,  II.  14:  "The 
Heaven  of  the  Sun  may  be  compared 
to  Arithmetic  on  account  of  two  proper- 
ties; the  first  is,  that  with  its  light  all 
the  other  stars  are  informed ;  the  second 
is,  that  the  eye  caimot  behold  it.  And 
these  two  properties  are  in  Arithmetic, 
for  with  its  light  all  the  sciences  are 
illuminated,  since  their  subjects  are  all 
considered  under  some  number,  and  in 
the  consideration  thereof  we  always  pro- 
ceed with  numbers  ;  as  in  natural  science 
the  subject  is  the  movable  body,  which 
movable   body  has   in  it  ratio  of  con> 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


631 


tinuity,  and  this  has  in  it  ratio  of  infinite 
number.  And  the  chief  consideration  of 
natural  science  is  to  consider  the  prin- 
ciples of  natural  things,  which  are  three, 
namely,  matter,  species,  and  form  ;  in 
which  this  number  is  visible,  not  only  in 
all  together,  but,  if  we  consider  well,  in 
each  one  separately.  Therefore  Pytha- 
goras, according  to  Aristotle  in  the  first 
book  of  his  Physics,  gives  the  odd  and 
even  as  the  principles  of  natural  things, 
considering  all  things  to  be  number.  The 
other  property  of  the  Sun  is  also  seen  in 
number,  to  which  Arithmetic  belongs,  for 
the  eye  of  the  intellect  cannot  behold  it, 
for  number  considered  in  itself  is  infinite ; 
and  this  we  cannot  comprehend." 

In  this  Heaven  of  the  Sun  are  seen  the 
spirits  of  theologians  and  Fathers  of  the 
Church  ;  and  its  influences,  according  to 
Albumasar,  cited  by  Buti,  are  as  follows  : 
*'  The  Sun  signifies  the  vital  soul,  light 
and  splendour,  reason  and  intellect, 
science  and  the  measure  of  life ;  it  sig- 
nifies kings,  princes  and  leaders,  nobles 
and  magnates  and  congregations  of  men, 
strength  and  victory,  voluptuousness, 
beauty  and  grandeur,  subtleness  of  mind, 
pride  and  praise,  good  desire  of  kingdom 
and  of  subjects,  and  gi"eat  love  of  gold, 
and  aflHuence  of  speech,  and  delight  in 
neatness  and  beauty.  It  signifies  faith 
and  the  worship  of  God,  judges  and  wise 
men,  fathers  and  brothers  and  mediators  ; 
it  joins  itself  to  men  and  mingles  among 
them,  it  gives  what  is  asked  for,  and  is 
strong  in  vengeance,  that  is  to  say,  it 
punishes  rebels  and  malefactors." 

2.  Adam  of  St.  Victor,  Hymn  to  the 
Holy  Ghost: — 

"  Veni,  Creator  Spiritus, 
Spiritus  recreator, 
I'u  dans,  tu  datus  coelitus, 
Tu  donum,  tu  donator  ; 
Tu  lex,  tu  digitus, 
Alens  et  alitus, 
Spirans  et  spiritus, 
Spiratus  et  spirator." 

9.  Where  the  Zodiac  crosses  the  Equa- 
tor, and  the  motion  of  the  planets,  which 
is  parallel  to  the  former,  comes  into 
apparent  collision  with  that  of  the  fixed 
stars,  which  is  parallel  to  the  latter. 

14.  The  Zodiac,  which  cuts  the  Equa- 
tor obliquely. 

16.  Milton.  Par.  Lost,  X.  668  :— 


"  Some  say,  he  bid  his  angels  turn  askance 
The  poles   of  earth,    twice   ten  degrees  and 

more. 
From  the  sun's  axle ;  they  with  labour  pushed 
Oblique  the  centric  globe :  some  say,  the  sun 
Was  bid  turn  reins  from  the  equinoctial  road 
Like-distant  breadth  to  Taurus  with  the  seven 
Atlantic  Sisters,  and  the  Spartan  twins, 
Up  to  the  tropic  Crab  :  thence  down  amain 
By  Leo,  and  the  Virgin,  and  the  Scales, 
As  deep  as  Capricorn  ;  to  bring  in  change 
Of  seasons  to  each  clime  :  else  had  the  spring 
Perpetual  smiled  on  earth  with  vemant  floorers. 
Equal  in  days  and  nights,  except  to  those 
Beyond  the  polar  circles  ;  to  them  day 
Had  unbenighted  shone  ;  while  the  low  sun, 
To  recompense  his  distance,  in  their  sight 
Had  rounded  still  the  horizon,  and  not  known 
Or  east  or  west ;  which  had  forbid  the  snow 
From  cold  Estotiland,  and  south  as  far 
Beneath  Magellan." 

28.  The  Sun. 

31.  The  Sun  in  Aries,  as  indicated  in 
line  9  ;  that  being  the  sign  in  which  the 
Sun  is  at  the  vernal  equinox. 

32.  Such  is  the  apparent  motion  of  the 
Sun  round  the  earth,  as  he  rises  earlier 
and  earlier  in  .Spring. 

48.  No  eye  has  ever  seen  any  light 
greater  than  that  of  the  Sun,  nor  can  we 
conceive  of  any  greater. 

51.  How  the  Son  is  begotten  of  the 
Father,  and  how  from  these  two  is 
breathed  forth  the  Holy  Ghost.  The 
Heaven  of  the  Sun  being  the  Fourth 
Heaven,  the  spirits  seen  in  it  are  called 
the  fourth  family  of  the  Father  ;  and  to 
these  theologians  is  revealed  the  mystery 
of  the  Trinity. 

67.  The  moon  with  a  halo  about  her. 

82.  The  spirit  of  Thomas  Aquinas. 

87.  The  stairway  of  Jacob's  dream, 
with  its  angels  ascending  and  descending. 

89.  Whoever  should  refuse  to  gratify 
thy  desire  for  knowledge,  would  no  more 
follow  his  natural  inclination  than  water 
which  did  not  (low  downward. 

98.  Albertus  Magnus,  at  whose  twenty- 
one  ponderous  folios  one  gazes  with  awe 
and  amazement,  was  bom  of  a  noble 
Swabian  family  at  the  beginning  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  In  his  youth  he 
studied  at  Paris  and  at  Padua  ;  became 
a  Dominican  monk,  and,  retiri.ig  to  a 
convent  in  Cologne,  taught  in  the  schools 
of  that  city.  He  became  Provincial  of 
his  Order  in  Germany  ;  and  was  after- 
ward made  Grand-Master  of  the  Palace 
at  Rome,  and  then  Bishop  of  Ratisbon. 
Resigning  his  bishopric  in  1262,  he  re 


632 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


turned  to  his  convent  in  Cologne,  where 
he  died  in  1280,  leaving  behind  him  great 
fame  for  his  learning  and  his  labour. 

Milman,  Hist.  Latin  Christ.,  VIII.  259, 
says  of  him  :  "  Albert  the  Great  at  once 
awed  by  his  immense  erudition  and  ap- 
palled his  age.  His  name,  the  Universal 
Doctor,  was  the  homage  to  his  all-em- 
bracing knowledge.  Hequotes,  as  equally 
familiar,  Latin,  Greek,  Arabic,  Jewish 
philosophers.  He  was  the  first  School- 
man who  lectured  on  Aristotle  himself, 
on  Aristotle  from  Graeco- Latin  or  Arabo- 
Latin  copies.  The  whole  range  of  the 
Stagirite's  physical  and  metaphysical 
philosophy  was  within  the  scope  of  Al- 
bert's teaching.  In  later  days  he  was 
called  the  Ape  of  Aristotle ;  he  had  dared 
to  introduce  Aristotle  into  the  Sanctuary 
itself.  One  of  his  Treatises  is  a  refuta- 
tion of  the  Arabian  Averrhoes.  Nor  is 
it  Aristotle  and  Averrhoes  alone  that 
come  within  the  pale  of  Albert's  erudi- 
tion ;  the  commentators  and  glossators 
of  Aristotle,  the  whole  circle  of  the  Arab- 
ians, are  quoted  ;  their  opinions,  their 
reasonings,  even  their  words,  with  the 
utmost  familiarity.  But  with  Albert, 
Theology  was  still  the  master-science. 
The  Bishop  of  Ratisbon  was  of  unim- 

E cached  orthodoxy  ;  the  vulgar  only,  in 
is  wonderful  knowledge  of  the  secrets 
of  Nature,  in  his  studies  of  Natural  His- 
tory, could  not  but  see  something  of  the 
magician.  Albert  had  the  ambition  of 
reconciling  Plato  and  Aristotle,  and  of 
reconciling  this  harmonized  Aristotelian 
and  Platonic  philosophy  with  Christian 
Divinity.  He  thus,  in  some  degree, 
misrepresented  or  misconceived  both  the 
Greeks  ;  he  hardened  Plato  into  Aris- 
totelism,  expanded  Arisfotelism  into  Pla- 
tonism  ;  and  his  Christianity,  though 
Albert  was  a  devout  man,  while  it  con- 
stantly subordinates,  in  strong  and  fervent 
language,  knowledge  to  faith  and  love, 
became  less  a  religion  than  aphilosophy." 
99.  Thomas  Aquinas,  the  Angelic  Doc- 
tor of  the  Schools.  Milman,  Hist.  Latin 
Christ.,  VIII.  265,  gives  the  following 
sketch  of  him  :  — 

"  Of  all  the  schoolmen  Thomas  Aquinas 
has  left  the  greatest  name.  He  was  a 
son  of  the  Count  of  Aouino,  a  rich  fief  in 
the  kingdom  of  Naples.  His  mother, 
Theodora,  was  of  the  line  of  the  old 


Norman  kings  ;  his  brothers,  Reginald 
and  Landolph,  held  high  rank  in  the 
Imperial  armies.  His  family  was  con- 
nected by  marriage  with  the  Hohen- 
staufens ;  they  had  Swabian  blood  in 
their  veins,  and  so  the  great  schoolman 
was  of  the  race  of  Frederick  II.  Monasti- 
cism  seized  on  Thomas  in  his  early  youth ; 
he  became  an  inmate  of  Monte  Casino ; 
at  sixteen  years  of  age  he  caught  the 
more  fiery  and  vigorous  enthusiasm  of 
the  Dominicans.  By  them  he  was  sent 
— no  unwilling  proselyte  and  pupil — to 
France.  He  was  seized  by  his  worldly 
brothers,  and  sent  back  to  Naples  ;  he 
was  imprisoned  in  one  of  the  family 
castles,  but  resisted  even  the  fond  en- 
treaties of  his  mother  and  his  sisters.  He 
Eersisted  in  his  pious  disobedience,  his 
oly  hardness  of  heart ;  he  was  released 
after  two  years'  imprisonment — it  might 
seem  strange — at  the  command  of  the 
Emperor  Frederick  II.  The  godless 
Emperor,  as  he  was  called,  gave  Thomas 
to  the  Church.  Aquinas  took  the  ine- 
vocable  vow  of  a  Friar  Preacher.  He 
became  a  scholar  of  Albert  the  Great  at 
Cologne  and  at  Paris.  He  was  dark, 
silent,  unapproachable  even  by  his  bre- 
thren, perpetually  wrapt  in  profound  me- 
ditation. He  was  called,  in  mockery,  the 
great  dumb  ox  of  Sicily.  Albert  ques- 
tioned the  mute  disciple  on  the  most 
deep  and  knotty  points  of  theology  ;  he 
found,  as  he  confessed,  his  equal,  his 
superior.  '  That  dumb  ox  will  make  the 
world  resound  with  his  doctrines.'  With 
Albert  the  faithful  disciple  returned  to 
Cologne.  Again  he  went  back  to  Paris, 
received  his  academic  degrees,  and  taught 
with  universal  wonder.  Under  Alex- 
ander IV.  he  stood  up  in  Rome  in  de- 
fence of  his  Order  against  the  eloquent 
William  de  St.  Amour ;  he  repudiated 
for  his  Order,  and  condemned  by  his 
authority,  the  prophesies  of  the  Abbot 
Joachim.  He  taught  at  Cologne  with 
Albert  the  Great ;  also  at  Paris,  at  Rome, 
at  Orvieto,  at  Viterbo,  at  Perugia.  Where 
he  taught,  the  world  listened  in  respectful 
silence.  He  was  acknowledged  by  two 
Popes,  Urban  IV.  and  Clement  IV.,  as 
the  first  theologian  of  the  age.  He  re- 
fused the  Archbishopric  of  Naples.  He 
was  expected  at  the  Council  of  Lyons,  as 
the  authority  before  whom  all  Christen- 


NOTES  TO  i'ARADISO. 


•633 


doin  niij^ht  be  expected  to  bow  down. 
He  died  ere  be  had  passed  the  borders  of 
Naples,  at  the  Abbey  of  Rcssa  Nuova, 
near  Terracina,  at  the  age  of  forty-eight. 
Dark  tales  were  told  of  his  death  ;  only 
the  wickedness  of  man  could  deprive  the 
workl  so  early  of  such  a  wonder.  The 
University  of  Paris  claimed,  but  in  vain, 
the  treasure  of  his  mortal  remains.  He 
was  canonized  by  John  XXII. 

"Thomas  Aquinas  is  throughout, 
above  all,  the  Theologian.  God  and 
the  soul  of  man  are  the  only  objects 
truly  worthy  of  his  philosophic  inves- 
tigation. This  is  the  function  of  the 
Angelic  Doctor,  the  mission  of  the 
Angel  of  the  Schools.  In  his  works, 
or  rather  in  his  one  great  work,  is 
the  final  result  of  all  which  has  been 
decided  by  I-'ope  or  Council,  taught  by 
the  Fathers,  accepted  by  tradition, 
argued  in  the  schools,  inculcated  in  the 
confessional.  The  Sum  of  Theology 
is  the  authentic,  authoritative,  acknow- 
ledged code  of  Latin  Christianity.  We 
cannot  but  contrast  this  vast  work  with 
the  original  Gospel  :  to  this  bulk  has 
grown  the  New  Testament,  or  rather 
the  doctrinal  and  moral  part  of  the  New 
Testament.  But  Aquinas  is  an  intellec- 
tual theologian :  he  approaches  more 
nearly  than  most  philosophers,  certainly 
than  most  divines,  to  pure  embodied 
intellect.  He  is  perfectly  passionless  ; 
he  has  no  polemic  indignation,  nothing 
of  the  Churchman's  jealousy  and  sus- 
picion ;  he  has  no  fear  of  the  result  of 
any  investigation  ;  he  hates  nothing, 
hardly  heresy  ;  loves  nothing,  unless 
perhaps  naked,  abstract  truth.  In  his 
serene  confidence  that  all  must  end  in 
good,  he  moves  the  most  startling  and 
even  perilous  questions,  as  if  they  were 
the  most  indifferent,  the  very  Being  of 
God.  God  must  be  revealed  by  syllo- 
gistic process.  Himself  inwardly  con- 
scious of  the  absolute  harmony  of  his 
own  intellectual  and  moral  being,  he 
places  sin  not  so  much  in  the  will  as  in 
the  understanding.  The  perfection  of 
man  is  the  perfection  of  his  intelligence. 
He  examines  with  the  same  perfect  self- 
command,  it  might  almost  be  said  apa- 
thy, the  converse  as  well  as  the  proof  of 
the  most  vital  religious  truths.  He  is 
nearly  as  consummate  a  sceptic,  almost 


atheist,  as  he  is  a  divine  and  theologian. 
Secure,  as  it  should  seem,  in  impene- 
trable armour,  he  has  not  only  no  appre- 
hension, but  seems  not  to  suppose  the 
])ossibility  of  danger  ;  he  has  nothing  of 
the  boastfulness  of  self-confidence,  but, 
in  calm  assurance  of  victory,  gives  eveiy 
advantage  to  his  adversary.  On  both 
sides  of  every  question  he  casts  the 
argument  into  one  of  his  clear,  distinct 
syllogisms,  and  calmly  places  himself  as 
Arbiter,  and  passes  judgment  in  one  or 
a  series  of  still  more  unanswerable 
syllogisms.  He  has  assigned  its  un- 
assailable province  to  Church  authority, 
to  tradition  or  the  Fathers,  faith  and 
works  ;  but  beyond,  within  the  proper 
sphere  of  philosophy,  he  asserts  full 
freedom.  There  is  no  Father,  even  St. 
Augustine,  who  may  not  be  examined 
by  the  fearless  intellect." 

104.  Gratian  was  a  Franciscan  friar, 
and  teacher  in  the  school  of  the  convent 
of  St.  Felix  in  Bologna.  He  wrote  the 
Decretum  Gratiaui,  or  "Concord  of  the 
Discordant  Canons,"  in  which  he 
brought  into  agreement  the  laws  of  the 
courts  secular  and  ecclesiastical. 

107.  Peter  Lombard,  the  "  Master  of 
Sentences,"  so  called  from  his  Libri 
Seiitentiarum.  In  the  dedication  of  this 
work  to  the  Church  he  says  that  he 
wishes  "  to  contribute,  like  the  poor 
widow,  his  mite  to  the  treasury  of  the 
Lord."  The  following  account  of  him 
and  his  doctrines  is  from  Milman,  Hist. 
Latin  Christ.,  VIII.  238  :  "  Peter  the 
Lombard  vi'as  born  near  Novara,  the 
native  place  of  Lanfranc  and  of  Anselm. 
He  was  Bishop  of  Paris  in  1 159.  His 
famous  Book  of  the  Sentences  was  in- 
tended to  be,  and  became  to  a  great 
extent,  the  Alanual  of  the  Schools. 
Peter  knew  not,  or  disdainfully  threw 
aside,  the  philosophical  cultivation  of 
his  day.  He  adhered  rigidly  to  all 
which  passed  for  Scripture,  and  was ; 
the  authorized  interpretation  of  the 
Scripture,  to  all  which  had  become  the 
creed  in  the  traditions,  and  law  in  the 
decretals,  of  the  Church.  He  seems  to 
have  no  apprehension  of  doubt  in  his 
stem  dogmatism  ;  he  will  not  recognir.e 
any  of  the  difficulties  suggested  by  philo- 
sophy ;  he  cannot,  or  will  not,  perceive 
the  weak  pouits  of  his  own  system.     He 


0^4 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


has  the  great  merit  that,  opposed  as  he 
was  to  the  prevailing  Platonism,  through- 
out tlie  Sentences  the  ethical  principle 
predominates  ;  his  excellence  is  per- 
spicuity, simplicity,  definiteness  of  moral 
purpose.  His  distinctions  are  endless, 
subtile,  idle  ;  but  he  wrote  from  conflict- 
ing authorities  to  reconcile  writers  at 
war  with  each  other,  at  war  with  them- 
selves. Their  quarrels  had  been  wrought 
to  intentional  or  unintentional  antago- 
nism in  the  '  Sic  et  Non '  of  Abelard. 
That  philosopher,  whether  Pyrrhonist  or 
more  tiian  Pyrrhonist,  had  left  them  all 
in  the  confusion  of  strife  ;  he  had  set 
Fathers  against  Fathers,  each  Father 
against  himself,  the  Church  against  the 
(Jhurch,  tradition  against  tradition,  law 
against  law.  The  Lombard  announced 
himself  and  was  accepted  as  the  me- 
diator, the  final  arbiter  in  this  endless 
litigation;  he  would  sternly  fix  the 
positive,  proscribe  the  negative  or  scep- 
tical view  in  all  these  questions.  The 
litigation  might  still  go  on,  but  within 
the  limits  which  he  had  rigidly  estab- 
lished ;  he  had  determined  those  ulti- 
mate results  against  which  there  was  no 
appeal.  The  mode  of  proof  might  be 
interminably  contested  in  the  schools  ; 
the  conclusion  was  already  irrefragably 
fixed.  On  the  sacramental  system  Peter 
the  I^ombard  is  loftily,  severely  hier- 
archical. Yet  he  is  moderate  on  the 
power  of  the  keys ;  he  holds  only  a 
declaratory  power  of  binding  and  loosing, 
— of  showing  how  the  souls  of  men  were 
to  be  bound  and  loosed. " 

Peter   Lombard   was  born  at  the  be- 

S'nning  of  the  twelfth  century,  when  the 
ovarese  territoiy,  his  birth])lace,  was  a 
fart  of  Lombardy,  and  hence  his  name. 
ie  studied  at  the  University  of  Paris, 
under  Abelard  ;  was  afterwards  made 
Professor  of  Theologv  in  the  University, 
and  then  Bishop  of  Paris.  He  died 
in  1 164. 

109.  Solomon,  whose  Song  of  Songs 
breathes  such  impassioned  love. 

lit.  To  know  if  he  were  saved  or 
not,  a  grave  <|Ui'stion  having  been  raised 
upon  that  point  by  theologians. 

115.  Dionysius  the  Areopagite,  who 
was  converted  by  .St.  Paul.  Acts  xvii. 
34  :  "  n()wl)eit,  certain  men  clave  unto 
him,   and  Ijclicvcd  :   among   the  which 


was  Dionysius  the  Areopagite."  A 
book  attributed  to  him,  on  the  "Ce- 
lestial Hierarchy,"  was  translated  into 
Latin  by  Johannes  Erigena,  and  became 
in  the  Middle  Ages  the  text-book  of 
angelic  lore.  "  The  author  of  those 
extraordinary  treatises,"  says  Milman, 
Hist.  Latin  Christ.,  VIIL  189,  "which, 
from  their  obscure  and  doubtful  parent- 
age, now  perhaps  hardly  maintain  their 
fame  for  imaginative  richness,  for  the 
occasional  beauty  of  their  language,  and 
their  deep  piety, — those  treatises  which, 
widely  popular  in  the  West,  almost 
created  tlie  angel-worship  of  the  popular 
creed,  and  were  also  the  parents  of 
Mystic  Theology  and  of  tlie  higher 
Scholasticism,  — this  Poet -Theoioginii 
was  a  Greek.  The  writmgs  which  bear 
the  venerable  name  of  Dionysms  the 
Areopagite,  the  ])roselyte  of  St.  Paul, 
first  appear  under  a  suspicious  and  sus- 
pected form,  as  authorities  cited  by  the 
heterodox  .Severians  in  a  conference  at 
Constantinople.  The  orthodox  stood 
aghast  :  how  was  it  that  writings  of  the 
holy  convert  of  St.  Paul  had  never  been 
heard  of  before?  that  Cyril  of  Alexan- 
dria, that  Athanasius  himself,  were 
ignorant  of  their  existence?  But  these 
writings  were  in  themselves  of  too  great 
power,  too  captivating,  too  congenial  to 
the  monastic  mind,  not  to  find  bold 
defenders.  Bearing  this  venerable  name 
in  their  front,  and  leaving  behind  them, 
in  the  East,  if  at  first  a  doulnful,  a 
growing  faith  in  their  authenticity,  they 
appeared  in  the  West  as  a  precious  gift 
from  the  Byzantine  Emperor  to  the 
Emperor  Louis  the  Pious.  France  in 
that  age  was  not  likely  to  throw  cold 
and  jealous  doubts  on  writings  which 
bore  the  hallowed  name  of  that  great 
Saint,  whom  she  had  already  boasted  to 
have  left  his  primal  Bishopric  of  Athens 
to  convert  her  forefathers,  whom  Paris 
already  held  to  be  her  tutelar  patron, 
the  rich  and  powerful  Abbey  of  St. 
Dcnys  to  be  her  founder.  There  was 
living  in  the  West,  by  happy  coinci- 
dence, the  one  man  who  at  that  period, 
by  his  knowledge  of  (jreek,  by  the  con- 
genial speculativeness  of  his  mind,  by 
the  vigour  and  richness  of  his  imagina- 
tion, was(]ualified  to  translate  into  Latin 
the  mysterious  doctrints  of  the  Areopft- 


NOTES  TO    PA  RAD/SO. 


635 


gite,  both  as  to  the  angelic  world  and 
the  subtile  theology.  John  Erigena 
hastened  to  make  known  in  the  West 
the  'Celestial  Hierarchy,'  the  treatise 
'on  the  Name  of  God,'  and  the  brief 
chapters  on  the  '  Mystic  Philosophy.'" 

119.  Paul  Orosius.  He  was  a  Spanish 
presbyter,  born  at  Tarragona  near  the 
close  of  the  fourth  century.  In  his  youth 
he  visited  St.  Augustine  in  Africa,  who 
in  one  of  his  books  describes  him  thus  : 
"  There  came  to  me  a  young  monk,  in 
the  catholic  peace  our  brother,  in  age 
our  son,  in  honour  our  fellow-presl)yter, 
Orosius,  alert  in  intellect,  ready  of 
speech,  eager  in  study,  desiring  to  be  a 
us'eful  vessel  in  the  house  of  the  Lord 
for  the  refutation  of  false  and  pernicious 
doctrines,  which  have  slain  the  souls  of 
the  Spaniards  much  more  unhappily 
than  the  sword  of  the  barbarians  their 
bodies." 

On  leaving  St.  Augustine,  he  went  to 
Palestine  to  complete  his  studies  under 
St.  Jerome  at  15ethlehem,  and  while 
there  arraigned  Palagius  for  heresy  be- 
fore the  Bishop  of  Jerusalem.  The 
work  by  which  he  is  chiefly  known  is 
his  "Seven  Books  of  Histories;"  a 
world-chronicle  from  the  creation  to  his 
own  time.  Of  this  work  St.  Augustine 
availed  himself  in  writing  his  "  City  of 
God  ; "  and  it  had  also  the  honour  of 
being  translated  into  Anglo- Saxon  by 
King  Alfred.  Dante  calls  Orosius  "  the 
advocate  of  the  Christian  centuries," 
because  this  work  was  written  to  refute 
the  misbelievers  who  asserted  that  Chvis- 
tianity  had  done  more  harm  to  the 
world  than  good. 

125.  Severinus  Boethius,  the  Roman 
Senator  and  philosopher  in  the  days  of 
Theodoric  the  Goth,  born  in  475,  and 
put  to  death  in  524.  His  portrait  is 
thus  drawn  by  Gibbon,  Decline  and 
Fall,  Ch.  XXXIX.:  "The  Senator 
Boethius  is  the  last  of  the  Romans 
whom  Cato  or  Tully  could  have  ac- 
knowledged for  their  countryman.  As 
a  wealthy  orphan,  he  inherited  the 
patrimony  and  honours  of  the  Anician 
family,  a  name  ambitiously  assumed  by 
the  kings  and  emperors  of  the  age  ;  and 
the  appellation  of  Manlius  asserted  his 
genuine  or  fabulous  descent  from  a  race 
of  consuls  and  dictators,   who  had   re- 


pulsed the  Gauls  from  the  Capitol,  and 
sacrificed  their  sons  to  the  discipline  of 
the  Republic.  In  the  youth  of  Boethius, 
the  studies  of  Rome  were  not  totally 
abandoned  ;  a  Virgil  is  now  extant, 
corrected  by  the  hand  of  a  consul  ;  and 
the  professors  of  grammar,  rhetoric,  and 
jurisprudence  were  maintained  in  their 
privileges  and  pensions  by  the  liberality 
of  the  Goths.  But  tlie  erudition  of  the 
Latin  language  was  insufficient  to  satiate 
his  ardent  curiosity  ;  and  Boethius  is 
said  so  have  employed  eighteen  laborious 
years  in  the  schools  of  Athens,  which 
were  supported  by  the  zeal,  the  learning, 
and  the  diligence  of  Proclus  and  his  dis- 
ciples. The  reason  and  piety  of  their 
Roman  pupil  were  fortunately  saved 
from  the  contagion  of  mystery  and 
magic,  which  polluted  the  groves  of  the 
Academy  ;  but  he  imbibed  the  spirit, 
and  imitated  the  method  of  his  dead  and 
living  masters,  who  attempted  to  recon- 
cile the  strong  and  subtle  sense  of  Aris- 
totle with  the  devout  contemplation  and 
sublime  fancy  of  Plato.  After  his  re- 
turn to  Rome,  and  his  marriage  with 
the  daughter  of  his  friend,  the  patrician 
Symmachus,  Boethius  still  continued  in 
a  palace  of  ivory  and  marble  to  prose- 
cute the  same  studies.  The  Church  was 
edified  by  his  profound  defence  of  the 
orthodox  creed  against  the  Arian,  the 
Eutychian,  and  the  Nestorian  heresies :, 
and  the  Catholic  unity  was  explained  or 
exposed  in  a  formal  treatise  by  the 
indifference  of  three  distinct,  though  con- 
substantial  persons.  For  the  benefit  of 
his  Latin  readers,  his  genius  submitted 
to  teach  the  first  elements  of  the  arts* 
and  sciences  of  Greece.  The  geometry 
of  Euclid,  the  music  of  Pythagoras,  tlte 
arithmetic  of  Nicomachus,  the  mechanics 
of  Archimedes,  the  astronomy  of  Pto- 
lemy, the  theology  of  Plato,  and  tlie 
logic  of  Aristotle,  with  the  commentary 
erf  Porphyiy,  were  translated  and  illus- 
trated by  the  indefatigable  pen  of  the 
Roman  Senator.  And  he  alone  was 
esteemed  capable  of  describing  the  won- 
ders of  art,  a  sun-dial,  a  water-clock,  or 
a  sphere  which  represented  the  motion-* 
of  the  planets.  From  these  abstru^ 
speculations  Boethius  stooped,  or,  to 
speak  more  truly,  he  rose  to  the  social 
duties  of  public  and  private  life  :  the 
'  u  u 


636 


NOTES  TO   PARADISO. 


indigent  were  relieved  by  his  liberality  ; 
and  his  eloquence,  which  flattery  might 
compare  to  the  voice  of  Demosthenes  or 
Cicero,  was  uniformly  exerted  in  the 
cause  of  innocence  and  humanity.  Such 
conspicuous  merit  was  felt  and  rewarded 
by  a  discerning  prince  ;  the  dignity  of 
Poethius  was  adorned  with  the  titles  of 
Consul  and  Patrician,  and  his  talents 
•were  usefully  employed  in  the  important 
station  of  Master  of  the  Offices." 

Being  suspected  of  some  participation 
in  a  plot  against  Theodoric,  he  was 
confined  in  the  tower  of  Pavia,  where  he 
wrote  the  work  which  has  immortalized 
his  name.  Of  this  Gibbon  speaks  as 
follows:  "While  Boethius,  oppressed 
M'ith  fetters,  expecf^ed  each  moment  the 
sentence  or  the  stroke  of  death,  he  com- 
posed in  the  tower  of  Pavia  the  Consola- 
tion of  Philosophy  ;  a  golden  volume  not 
unworthy  of  the  leisure  of  Plato  or 
Tully,  but  which  claims  incomparable 
merit  from  the  barbarism  of  the  times 
and  the  situation  of  the  author.  The 
celestial  guide  whom  he  had  so  loig 
invoked  at  Rome  and  Athens  now  con- 
descended to  illumine  his  dungeon,  to 
revive  his  courage,  and  to  pour  into  his 
wounds  her  salutaiy  balm.  She  taught 
him  to  compare  his  long  prosperity  and 
his  recent  distress,  and  to  conceive  new 
hopes  from  the  inconstancy  of  fortune. 
Reason  had  informed  him  of  the  pre- 
carious condition  of  her  gifts ;  experience 
had  satisfied  him  of  their  real  vali\e  ;  he 
had  enjoyed  them  without  guilt  ;  he 
might  resign  them  without  a  sigh,  and 
calmly  disdain  the  impotent  malice  of 
his  enemies,  who  had  left  him  happi- 
ness, since  they  h.ad  left  him  virtue. 
From  the  earth  Boethius  ascended  to 
heaven  in  search  of  the  sih'Rf.me  good; 
explored  the  meatphysical  labyrinth  of 
chance  and  destiny,  of' prescience  and 
free-will,  of  time  and  eternity  ;  and 
generously  attempted  to  reconcile  tlie 
perfect  attributes  of  the  Deity  with  the 
apparent  disorders  of  his  moral  and 
))hysical  government.  Such  topics  of 
consolation,  so  obvious,  so  vague,  or  so 
ab.struse,  are  ineffectual  to  subdue  the 
feelings  of  human  nature.  Yet  the 
sense  of  misfortune  may  be  diverted 
l>y  the  labour  of  thought  ;  and  the  sage 
who  could  artfully  combine,  in  the  same 


work,  the  various  riches  of  philosophy, 
poetry,  and  eloquence,  must  already 
have  possessed  the  intrepid  calmness 
which  he  affected  to  seek.  Suspen  e, 
the  worst  of  evils,  was  at  length  deter- 
mined by  the  ministers  of  death,  who 
executed,  and  perhaps  exceeded,  the 
inhuman  mandate  of  Theodoric.  A 
strong  cord  was  fastened  round  the  head 
of  Boethius,  and  forcibly  tightened,  till 
his  eyes  almost  started  from  their 
sockets  ;  and  some  mercy  may  be  dis- 
covered in  the  milder  torture  of  beating 
him  with  clubs  till  he  expired.  But  his 
genius  survived  to  diffuse  a  ray  of  know- 
ledge over  the  darkest  ages  of  the  Latin 
world  ;  the  writings  of  the  philosopher 
were  translated  by  the  most  glorious  of 
the  English  kings,  and  the  third  Em- 
peror of  the  name  of  Otho  removed  to  a 
more  honourable  tomb  the  bones  of  a 
Catholic  saint,  who,  from  his  Arian 
persecutors,  had  acquired  the  honours 
of  martyrdom,  and  the  fame  of  mira- 
cles." 

128.  Boethius  was  buried  in  the 
church  of  San  Pietro  di  Cieldauro  in 
Pavia. 

131.  St.  Isidore,  a  learned  prelate 
of  Spain,  was  born  in  Cartagena,  date 
unknown.  In  600  he  became  IJishop 
of  Seville,  and  died  636.  He  was  inde- 
fatigable in  converting  the  Visigoths 
from  Arianism,  wrote  many  theological 
and  scientific  works,  and  finished  the 
Mosarabic  missal  and  breviary,  begun 
by  his  brother  and  predecessor,  St. 
Leander. 

"The  Venerable  Bede,"  or  Beda,  an 
Anglo-Saxon  monk,  was  born  at  Wear- 
mouth  in  672,  and  in  735  died  and  was 
buried  in  the  monastery  of  Yairow, 
where  he  had  been  educated  and  had 
passed  his  life.  His  bones  were  after- 
ward removed  to  the  Cathedral  of 
Durham,  and  placed  in  the  same  coffin 
with  those  of  .St.  Cuthbert.  He  was 
the  author  of  more  than  forty  volumes  ; 
among  which  his  KccUsiastical  History  of 
Eii}^UiH(i  is  the  most  known  and  valued, 
and,  like  the  Histories  of  Orosius,  had 
the  honour  of  being  translated  by  King 
Alfred  from  the  Latin  into  Anglo-.Saxon. 
On  his  death-bed  he  dictated  the  close 
of  Iiis  translation  of  the  Gospel  of  John. 
"  Dearest    master,"    said     his     scribe^ 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


63/ 


"one  chapter  still  remains,  but  it  is 
difficult  for  thee  to  speak."  The  dying 
monk  replied,  "  Take  thy  pen  and 
write  quickly."  Later  the  scribe  said, 
"  Only  one  sentence  remains  ;  "  and  the 
monk  said  again,  *'  Write  quickly." 
And  writing,  the  scribe  said,  "  It  is 
done."  "Thou  hast  said  rightly," 
answered  Bede,  "it  is  done;"  and 
died,  repeating  the  Gloria  Patri,  closing 
the  service  of  his  long  life  with  the 
closing  words  of  the  service  of  the 
Church.  The  following  legend  of  him 
is  from  Wright's  Bios^.  Britan.  Lit.,  I. 
269  :  "  The  reputation  of  Bede  in- 
creased daily,  and  we  find  him  spoken 
of  by  the  title  of  Saint  very  soon  after 
his  death.  Boniface  in  his  epistles 
describes  him  as  the  lamp  of  the 
Church.  Towards  the  ninth  century  he 
received  the  appellation  of  The  Vener- 
able, which  has  ever  since  been  attached 
to  his  name.  As  a  specimen  of  the 
fables  by  which  his  biography  was 
gradually  obscured,  we  may  cite  the 
legends  invented  to  account  for  the 
origin  of  this  latter  title.  According  to 
one,  the  Anglo-Saxon  scholar  was  on  a 
visit  to  Rome,  and  there  saw  a  gate  of 
iron,  on  which  were  inscribed  the  letters 
P.P.P.S.S.S.R.R.R.F.F.F.,  which  no 
one  was  able  to  interpret.  Whilst  Bede 
was  attentively  considering  the  inscrip- 
tion, a  Roman  who  was  passing  by  said 
to  him  rudely,  '  What  seest  thou  there, 
English  ox?'  to  which  Bede  replied, 
'I  see  your  confusion;'  and  he  im- 
mediately explained  the  characters  thus: 
Pater  Patria  Perditus,  Sapientia  Secum 
Sitl'lata,  Kiiet  Regnum  Komce,  Ferro 
F'amma  Fame.  The  Romans  were  as- 
tonished at  the  acuteness  of  their  Eng- 
lish visitor,  and  decreed  that  the  title  of 
Venerable  should  be  thenceforth  given 
to  him.  According  to  another  story, 
Bede,  having  become  blind  in  his  old 
age,  was  walking  abroad  with  one  of 
his  disciples  for  a  guide,  when  they 
arrived  at  an  open  place  where  there 
was  a  large  heap  of  stones  ;  and  Bede's 
companion  persuaded  his  master  to 
preach  to  the  people  who,  as  he  pre- 
tended, were  assembled  there  and  wait- 
ing in  great  silence  and  expectation. 
Bede  delivered  a  most  eloquent  and 
moving  discourse,   and  when    he    had  \ 


uttered  the  concluding  phrase,  Per  om- 
nia sa:cula  sicailonim,  to  the  great  ad- 
miration of  his  disciple,  the  stones,  we 
are  told,  cried  out  aloud,  '  Amen,  Vene- 
rabilis  Beda  !  '  There  is  also  a  third 
legend  on  this  subject  which  informs  us 
that,  soon  after  Bede's  death,  one  of  his 
disciples  was  appointed  to  compose  an 
epitaph  in  Latin  Leonines,  and  carve  it 
on  his  monument,  and  he  began  thus, 

'  Hac  sunt  in  fossa  Bedae  ossa,' 

intending  to  introduce  the  word  sancti 
or  presbyteri ;  but  as  neither  of  these 
words  would  suit  the  metre,  whilst  he 
was  puzzling  himself  to  find  one  more 
convenient,  he  fell  asleep.  On  awak- 
ing he  prepared  to  resume  his  work, 
when  to  his  great  astonishment  he  found 
that  the  line  had  already  been  com- 
pleted on  the  stone  (by  an  angel,  as  he 
supposed),  and  that  it  stood  thus  : 

'  Hac  sunt  in  fossa  Bedae  Venerabilis  ossa.'" 

Richard  of  St.  Victor  was  a  monk  in 
the  monastery  of  that  name  near  Paris, 
"and  wrote  a  book  on  the  Trinity," 
says  the  Ottimo,  "and  many  other 
beautiful  and  sublime  works"  ;  praise 
which  seems  justified  by  Dante's  words, 
if  not  suggested  by  them.  Milman, 
Hist.  Latin  Christ.,  VIII.  241,  says  of 
him  and  his  brother  Hugo:  "Richard 
de  St.  Victor  was  at  once  more  logical 
and  more  devout,  raising  higher  at  once 
the  unassisted  power  of  man,  yet  with 
even  more  supernatural  interference, — 
less  ecclesiastical,  more  religious.  Thus 
the  silent,  solemn  cloister  was,  as  it 
were,  constantly  balancing  the  noisy  and 
pugnacious  school.  The  system  of  the 
St.  Victors  is  the  contemplative  phi- 
losophy of  deep-thinking  minds  m  their 
profound  seclusion,  not  of  intellectual 
gladiators  :  it  is  that  of  men  following 
out  the  train  of  their  own  thoughts,  not 
perpetually  crossed  by  the  objections  of 
subtle  rival  disputants.  Its  end  is  not 
victory,  but  the  inward  satisfaction  of 
the  soul.  It  is  not  so  much  conscious 
of  ecclesiastical  restraint,  it  is  rather 
self-restrained  by  its  inborn  reverence; 
it  has  no  doubt,  therefore  no  fear  ;  it  is 
bold  from  the  inward  consciousness  of 
its  orthodoxy." 

u  U  a 


638 


NOTES  TO  PARA  DISC. 


135.  As  to  many  other  life-weary  men, 
like  those  mentioned  in  Furg.  XVI. 
122  : — 

"  And  laic  they  deem  it 
That  God  restore  them  to  the  better  life." 

136.  "This  is  Master  Sigier,"  says 
the  Ottimo,  "who  wrote  and  lectured 
on  Logic  in  Paris."  Very  liltie  more  is 
known  of  him  than  this,  and  that  he  was 
supposed  to  hold  some  odious,  if  not 
heretical  opinions.  Even  his  name  has 
perished  out  of  literary  history,  and  sur- 
vives only  in  the  verse  of  Dante  and  the 
notes  of  his  commentators. 

137.  The  Rue  du  Fouarre,  or  Street 
of  Straw,  originally  called  Rue  de  I'Ecole, 
is  famous  among  the  old  streets  of  Paris, 
as  having  been  the  cradle  of  the  Uni- 
versity. It  was  in  early  times  a  hay  and 
straw  market,  and  hence  derives  its 
name.  In  the  old  poem  of  Les  Rties  de 
Paris,  Barbazan,  II.  247,  are  these 
lines  : — 

"  Enpres  est  nie  de  I'F.cole, 
L?i  demeure  Dame  Nicole  ; 
En  celle  rue,  ce  me  samble, 
Vent-on  et  fain  et  fuerre  ensatnble." 

Others  derive  the  name  from  the  fact, 
that  the  students  covered  the  benches  of 
their  lecture-rooms  with  straw,  or  used 
it  instead  of  benches  ;  which  they  would 
not  have  done  if  a  straw-market  had  not 
been  near  at  hand. 

Dante,  moved  perhaps  by  some  plea- 
sant memory  of  the  past,  pays  the  old 
scholastic  street  the  tribute  of  a  verse. 
The  elegant  Petrarca  mentions  it  fre- 
quently in  his  Latin  writings,  and  always 
'vith  a  sneer.  Me  remembers  only  "the 
Hispulatious  city  of  Paris,  and  the  noisy 
Street  of  Straw  "  ;  or  "  the  plaudits  of 
the  Petit  Pont  and  the  Rue  du  Fouarre, 
the  most  famous  places  on  earth." 

Rabelais  s])eaks  of  it  as  the  place 
where  Pantagriiel  first  held  disputes 
with  the  learned  dfx:toi-s,  "having  posted 
up  his  nine  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
sixty-four  theses  in  all  the  carrefouns  of 
the  city  "  ;  and  Ruskin,  Mod.  Painters, 
III.  85,  justifies  the  mention  of  it  in 
Paradise  as  follows  :  — 

"  A  common  idealist  would  have 
been  rather  alarmed  at  the  thought  of 
introducing    the    name    of  a  street   in 


Paris — Straw  Street  (Rue  du  Fouarre) 
— into    the    midst    of    a   description    of 

the  highest  heavens What  did  it 

matter  to  Dante,  up  in  heaven  there, 
whether  the  mob  below  thought  hiin 
vulgar  or  not !  Sigier  had  read  in  Straw 
Street ;  that  was  the  fact,  and  he  had  to 
say  so,  and  there  an  end. 

"  There  is,  indeed,  perhaps,  no 
greater  sign  of  innate  and  real  vulgarity 
of  mind  or  defective  education,  than 
the  want  of  power  to  understand  the 
universality  of  the  ideal  truth  ;  the 
absence  of  sympathy  with  the  colossal 
grasp  of  those  intellects,  which  have  in 
them  so  much  of  divine,  that  nothing  is 
small  to  them,  and  nothing  large  ;  but 
with  equal  and  unoffended  vision  they 
take  in  the  sum  of  the  world,  Straw 
Street  and  the  seventh  heavens,  in  the 
same  instant.  A  certain  portion  of  thi.s 
divine  s])irit  is  visible  even  in  the  lower 
examples  of  all  the  true  men  ;  it  is, 
indeed,  perhaps  the  clearest  test  of  their 
belonging  to  the  true  and  great  group, 
that  they  are  continually  touching  what 
to  the  multitude  appear  vulgarities.  The 
higher  a  man  stands,  the  more  the  word 
'vulgar'  becomes  unintelligible  to  him." 

The  following  sketch  from  the  note- 
book of  a  recent  traveller  shows  the 
Street  of  Straw  in  its  present  condition  : 
"  I  went  yesterday  in  search  of  the  Rue 
du  Fouarre.  I  had  been  hearing  Wil- 
liam Guizot's  lecture  on  Montaigne,  and 
from  the  College  de  France  went  down 
the  Rue  St.  Jacques,  passing  at  the  back 
of  the  old  church  of  St.  Severin,  whose 
gargoyles  still  stretch  out  their  long 
necks  over  the  street.  Turning  into  the 
Rue  Gal.ande,  a  few  steps  brought  me  to 
the  Fouarre.  It  is  a  short  and  narrow 
street,  with  a  scanty  footway  on  one 
side,  on  the  other  only  a  gutter.  The 
opening  at  the  farther  end  is  filled  by  a 
pictures(iue  vista  of  the  transept  gable 
and  great  rose-window  of  Notre  Dame, 
over  the  river,  with  the  slender  centr.tl 
spire.  Some  of  the  houses  on  either 
side  of  the  street  were  evidently  of  a 
comparatively  modern  date  ;  but  others 
were  of  the  oldest,  and  the  sculpture') 
stone  wreaths  over  the  doorways,  and 
the  remains  of  artistic  iron-work  in  the 
balconies,  showed  them  to  have  been 
once    of    some    consideration.      Some 


NOTES   TO   PA  RAD  ISO. 


639 


dirty  chilchen  were  playing  at  the  door 
of  a  shop  where  fi'^ots  and  charbon  iie 
terre  de  Paris  were  sold.  A  coachman 
in  glazed  hat  sat  asleep  on  his  box  before 
the  shop  of  a  Maitc/iissciise  de  Jin.  A 
woman  in  a  bookbinder's  window  was 
folding  the  sheets  of  a  French  grammar. 
In  an  angle  of  the  houses  under  the  high 
wall  of  the  hospital  garden  was  a  cob- 
bler's stall.  A  stout,  red-faced  woman, 
standing  before  it,  seeing  me  gazing 
round,  asked  if  Monsieur  was  seeking 
anything  in  special.  I  said  I  was  only 
looking  at  the  old  street  ;  it  must  be 
very  old.  '  Yes,  one  of  the  oldest  in 
Paris.'  'And  why  is  it  called  "  du 
Fouarre  "  ?  '  '  O,  that  is  the  old  French 
{ox  foin  ;  and  hay  used  to  be  sold  here. 
Then,  there  were  famous  schools  here  in 
the  old  days  ;  Abelard  used  to  lecture 
here.'  1  was  delighted  to  find  the  tra- 
ditions of  the  place  still  surviving,  though 
I  cannot  say  whether  she  was  right  about 
Abelard,  whose  name  may  have  become 
merely  typical  ;  it  is  not  improbable, 
however,  that  he  may  have  made  and 
annihilated  many  a  man  of  straw,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  doctors  of  dialectics, 
in  the  Fouarre.  His  house  was  not  far 
off  on  the  Quai  Napoleon  in  the  Cite  ; 
and  that  of  the  Canon  Fulbert  on  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  Basse  des  Ursins. 
Passing  through  to  the  Pont  au  Double, 
I  stopped  to  look  at  the  books  on  the 
parapet,  and  found  a  voluminous  Dic- 
tioiuiaire  Uistorique,  but,  oddly  enough, 
it  contained  neither  Sigier's  name,  nor 
Abelard's.  I  asked  a  ruddy-cheeked 
boy  on  a  doorstep  if  he  went  to  school. 
He  said  he  worked  in  the  day-time,  and 
went  to  an  evening  school  in  the  Rue  du 
Fouarre,  No.  5.  That  primary  night 
school  seems  to  be  the  last  feeble  de- 
scendant of  the  ancient  learning.  As  to 
straw,  I  saw  none  except  a  kind  of  rude 
straw  matting  placed  round  the  corner 
of  a  wine-shop  at  the  entrance  of  the 
street ;  a  sign  that  oysters  are  sold  within, 
they  being  brought  to  Paris  in  this  kind 
of  matting." 

138.  Buti  interprets  thus  :  "Lecturing 
on  the  Elenchi  of  Aristotle,  to  prove 
some  truths  he  formed  certain  syllogisms 
so  well  and  artfully,  as  to  excite  envy." 
Others  interpret  the  word  iuvidiosi  m 
the  Latin  sense  of  odious, — truths  that 


were  odious  to  somebody  ;  which  inter- 
pretation is  supported  by  the  fact  that 
Sigier  was  summoned  before  the  primate 
of  the  Dominicans  on  suspicion  of  heresy, 
but  not  convicted. 

147.   Milton,  At  a  Solemn  Mustek: — 

"  Blest  pair  of  Sirens,  pledges  of  Heaven's 

Sphere-born   harmonious    sisters.   Voice  and 

Verse  ; 
Wed   your  divine  sounds,  and  mixed  power  , 

employ 
Dead    things  with   inbreathed  sense  able  to 

pierce  ; 
And  to  our  high-raised  fantasy  present 
That  undisturbed  song  of  pure  concent. 
Aye  sung  before  the  sapphire-coloured  throne , 
To  Him  that  sits  thereon, 
With  saintly  shout,  and  solemn  jubilee; 
Where  the  bright  Seraphim,  in  burning  row, 
Their  loud  uplifted  angel  trumpets  blow  : 
And  the  cherubic  host,  in  thousand  qu  res, 
Touch  their  inmiortal  harps  of  golden  wires. 
With   those  just  spirits  that  wear  victorious 

palms, 
Hymns  devout  and  holy  psalms 
Smging  everlastingly : 

That  we  on  earth,  with  undiscording  voice. 
May  rightly  answer  that  .melodious  noise  ; 
As  once  we  did,  till  disproportioned  sin 
Jarred  against  Nature's  chime,  and  with  harsh 

din 
Broke  the  fair  music  that  all  creatures  made 
To  their  great  Lord,  whose  love  their  motion 

swayed 
In  perfect  diapason,  whilst  they  stood 
In  first  obedience,  and  their  sL-ite  of  good. 
O,  may  we  soon  again  renew  that  song. 
And  keep  in  tune  with  Heaven,  till  God  ere- 
long 
To  his  celestial  concert  us  unite. 
To  live  w.th  him,  and  sing  in  endless  morn  of 

light!" 


CANTO   XL 

1.  The  Heaven  of  the  Sun  continued. 
The  prflise  of  St.  F"rancis  by  Thomas 
Aquinas,  a  Dominican. 

4.  Lucretius,  Nature  of  T/tin^s,  Book 
H.  I,  Good's  Tr.  : — 

"  How  sweet  to  stand,  when  tempests  tear  the 
mam. 
On  the  firm  ciiflT,  and  mark  the  seaman's  toil ! 
Not  that  ano  her's  danger  soothes  the  soul. 
But  from  such  toil  how  sweet  to  feel  secure  ! 
How  sweet,  at  dist.anre  from  the  strife,  to  view 
Contend  ng  hosts,  and  hear  the  clash  of  war ! 
But  sweeter  far  on  Wisdom's  heights  serene, 
Upheld  by  Truth,  to  fix  our  firm  alx)de  ; 
To  watch  the  giddy  crowd  that,  deep  below, 
For  ever  wander  in  pursuit  of  bliss  : 
To  mark  the  strife  for  honours  and  renown. 
For  wit  and  wealth,  insatiate,  ceaseless  :irged 
Day  after  day,  with  labour  unrestrained." 


640 


NOTES    TO  PAKADISO. 


16.  Thomas  Aquinas. 
20.    The  spirits  see  the  thoughts  of 
men  in  God,  as  in  Canto  VIII.  87  :  — 

"  Because  I  am  assured  the  lofty  joy 

Thy  speech  infuses  into  ine,  my  Lord, 
Where  every  good  thing  doth  begin  and  end, 
Thou  seest  as  1  see  it." 

25.  Canto  X.  94  : — 

"  The  holy  flock 
Which  Dominic  conducteth  by  a  road 
Where  well  one  fattens  if  he  strayeth  not." 

26.  Canto  X.  112  : — 

"  Where  knowledge 
,     So  deep  was  put,  that,  i(  the  true  be  true. 
To  see  so  much  there  never  rose  a  second." 

32.  The  Church.  Luke  xxiii.  46 : 
"And  when  Jesus  had  cried  with  a  loud 
voice,  he  said,  Father,  into  thy  hands  I 
commend  my  spirit ;  and  having  said 
thus,  he  gave  up  tlie  gliost." 

34.  A'oiiiaiis  viii.  38:  "For  I  am 
persuaded,  tliat  neither  death,  nor  Hfe, 
nor  angels,  nor  principalities,  nor  pow- 
ers, nor  things  present,  nor  things  to 
come,  nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor  any 
other  creature,  sliall  be  able  to  separate 
us  from  the  love  of  God,  which  is  in 
Christ  Jesus  our  Lord." 

35.  St.  Francis  and  St.  Dominic. 
Mr.  Perkins,  Tuscan  Sculptors,  I.  7, 
s.nys :  "  In  warring  against  Frederic, 
whose  courage,  cunning,  and  ambition 
gave  them  ceaseless  cause  for  alarm, 
and  in  strengthening  and  extending  the 
influence  of  the  Church,  much  shaken 
by  the  many  heresies  which  had  sprung 
up  in  Italy  and  France,  the  Popes  re- 
ceived invaluable  assistance  from  the 
Minorites  and  the  Preaching  Friars, 
wliose  ortlers  had  been  established  by 
Pope  Innocent  III.  in  the  early  part  of 
the  century,  in  consequence  of  a  vision, 
in  which  he  saw  the  tottering  walls  of 
the  Latcran  basilica  supported  by  an 
Italian  and  a  Spaniard,  in  whom  he 
afterwards  recognized  their  respective 
founders,  SS.  Francis  and  Dominic. 
Nothing  could  be  more  opposite  than 
the  means  which  these  two  celebrated 
mm  employed  in  the  work  of  conver- 
sion ;  for  while  St.  Francis  used  persua- 
»ir)n  and  tenderness  to  melt  the  hard- 
hearted, .St.  Dominic  forced  and  crushed 
them  into  submission.      St.  Francis, 


'  La  cui  mirabil  vita 
Meglio  in  gloria  del  ciel  si  canterebbe,' 


was  inspired  by  love  for  all  created 
things,  in  the  most  insignificant  of 
which  he  recognized  a  common  origin 
with  himself.  The  little  lambs  hung  up 
for  slaughter  excited  his  pity,  and  the 
captive  birds  his  tender  sympathy  ;  the 
swallows  he  called  his  sisters,  sororcu/,v 
mccE,  when  he  begged  thein  to  cease 
their  twitterings  while  he  preached  ; 
the  worm  he  carefully  removed  from 
his  path,  lest  it  should  be  trampled  on 
by  a  less  careful  foot  ;  and,  in  love 
with  poverty,  he  lived  upon  the  sim- 
plest food,  went  clad  in  the  scantiest 
garb,  and  enjoined  chastity  and  obedi- 
ence upon  his  followers,  who  within 
four  years  numbered  no  less  than  fifty 
thousand  ;  but  St.  Dominic,  though 
originally  of  a  kind  and  compassionate 
nature,  sacrificed  whole  hecatombs  of 
victims  in  his  zeal  for  the  Church, 
showing  how  far  fanaticism  can  change 
the  kindest  heart,  and  make  it  look 
with  complacency  upon  deeds  which 
would  have  formerly  excited  its  ab- 
horrence." 

37.  The  Seraphs  love  most,  the 
Cherubs  know  most.  Thomas  Aqui- 
nas, Sum.  TheoL,  I.  Quscst.  cviii.  5, 
says,  in  substance,  that  the  Seraphim  are 
so  called  from  burning;  according  to  the 
three  properties  of  fire,  namely,  con- 
tinual motion  upward,  excess  of  heat, 
and  of  light.  And  again,  in  the  same 
article,  that  Cherubim,  being  interpre- 
ted, is  plenitude  of  knowledge,  which 
in  them  is  fourfold  ;  namely,  perfect 
vision  of  God,  full  reception  of  divine 
light,  contemplation  of  beauty  in  the 
order  of  things,  and  copious  effusion 
of  the  divine  cognition  upon  others. 

40.  Thomas  Aquinas,  a  Dominican, 
here  celebrates  the  life  and  deeds  of  St. 
Francis,  leaving  the  praise  of  his  own 
Saint  to  Bonaventura,  a  Franciscan,  to 
show  that  in  heaven  there  are  no  ri- 
valries nor  jealousies  between  the  two 
orders,  as  there  were  on  earth. 

43.  The  town  of  Ascesi,  or  Assisi, 
as  it  is  now  called,  where  St.  Francis 
was  born,  is  situated  between  the  rivers 
Tu])ino  and  Chiasi,  on  the  slope  of 
Monte   Subaso,   where   St.    Ubald   had 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


641 


his  hermitage.  From  this  mountain 
the  summer  heats  are  reflected,  and  the 
cold  winds  of  winter  blow  through  the 
Porta  Sole  of  Perugia.  The  towns  of 
Nocera  and  Gualdo  are  neighbouring 
towns,  that  suffered  under  the  oppres- 
sion of  the  Perugians. 

Ampere,  Voyaf^e  Dautcsqtte,  p.  256, 
says:  "Having  been  twice  at  Perugia, 
I  have  experienced  the  double  effect 
of  Mount  Ubaldo,  which  the  poet  says 
makes  this  city  feel  the  cold  and  heat. 

'  Onde  Perugia  sente  freddo  e  caldo,' 

that  is,  which  by  turns  reflects  upon  it 
the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  sends  it  icy 
winds.  I  have  but  too  well  verified 
the  justice  of  Dante's  observation,  par- 
ticularly as  regards  the  cold  tempera- 
ture, which  Perugia,  when  it  is  not 
burning  hot,  owes  to  Mount  Ubaldo. 
I  arrived  in  front  of  this  city  on  a  bril- 
liant autumnal  night,  and  had  time  to 
comment  at  leisure  upon  the  winds  of 
the  Ubaldo,  as  I  slowly  climbed  the 
winding  road  which  leads  to  the  gates 
of  the  city  fortified  by  a  Pope." 

50.  Rci'elation  vii.  2  :  "  And  I  saw 
another  angel  ascending  from  the  east, 
having  the  seal  of  the  living  God." 
These  words  Bonaventura  applies  to 
St.  Francis,  the  beautiful  enthusiast  and 
Pater  Seraphicus  of  the  Church,  to  fol- 
low out  whose  wonderful  life  through 
the  details  of  history  and  legend  would 
be  too  long  for  these  notes.  A  few 
hints  must  suflice. 

St.  Francis  wai  the  son  of  Peter  Ber- 
nadone,  a  wool-merchant  of  Assisi,  and 
was  born  in  I182.  The  first  glimpse 
we  catch  of  him  is  that  of  a  joyous 
youth  in  gay  apparel,  given  up  to  plea- 
sure, and  singing  with  his  companions 
through  the  streets  of  his  native  town, 
like  St.  Augustme  in  the  streets  of  Car- 
thage. He  was  in  the  war  between 
Assisi  and  Perugia,  was  taken  prisoner, 
and  passed  a  year  in  confinement.  On 
his  return  home  a  severe  illness  fell 
upon  him,  which  gave  him  more  seri- 
ous thoughts.  He  again  appeared  in 
the  streets  of  Assisi  in  gay  apparel,  but 
meeting  a  beggar,  a  fellow-soldier,  he 
changed  clothes  with  him.  He  now  be- 
gan to  visit  hospitals  and  kiss  the  sores 
of  lepers.     He  prayed  in  the  churches, 


and  saw  visions.  In  the  church  of 
St.  Damiano  he  heard  a  voice  say  three 
times,  "  Francis,  re])air.  my  house, 
which  thou  seest  falling."  In  order 
to  do  this,  he  sold  his  father's  horse 
and  some  cloth  at  Poligno,  and  took 
the  money  to  the  priest  of  St.  Da- 
miano, who  to  his  credit  refused  to 
receive  it.  Through  fear  of  his  father, 
he  hid  himself;  and  when  he  re- 
appeared in  the  streets  was  so  ill-clad 
that  the  boys  pelted  him  and  called  him 
mad.  His  father  shut  him  up  in  his 
house  ;  his  mother  set  him  free.  In  the 
presence  of  his  father  and  the  Bishop 
he  renounced  all  right  to  his  inherit- 
ance, even  giving  up  his  clothes,  and 
putting  en  those  of  a  servant  which 
the  Bishop  gave  him.  He  wandered 
about  the  country,  singing  the  praises 
of  the  Lord  aloud  on  the  highways. 
He  met  with  a  band  of  robbers,  and 
said  to  them,  "I  am  the  herald  of  the 
Great  King."  They  beat  him  and 
threw  him  into  a  ditch  filled  with  snow. 
He  only  rejoiced  and  sang  the  louder. 
A  friend  in  Gubbio  gave  him  a  suit  of 
clothes,  which  he  wore  for  two  years, 
with  a  girdle  and  a  staff.  He  washed 
the  feet  of  lepers  in  the  hospital,  and 
kissed  their  sores.  He  begged  from 
door  to  door  in  Assisi  for  the  repairs 
of  the  church  of  St.  Damiano,  and  car- 
ried stones  for  the  masons.  He  did 
the  same  for  the  church  of  St.  Peter  ; 
he  did  the  same  for  the  church  of  Our 
Lady  of  Angels  at  Portiuncula,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Assisi,  where  he  re- 
mained two  years.  Hearing  one  day  in 
church  the  injunction  of  Christ  to  his 
Apostles,  "  Provide  neither  gold  nor  sil- 
ver, nor  brass  in  your  purse,  nor  scrip 
for  your  journey,  neither  two  coats, 
neither  shoes,  nor  yet  staves,"  he  left 
off  shoes  and  staff  and  girdle,  and  girt 
himself  with  a  cord,  after  the  manner 
of  the  shepherds  in  that  neighbourhood.  "- 
This  cord  became  the  distinguishing 
mark  of  his  future  Order.  He  kissed 
the  ulcer  of  a  man  from  Spoleto,  and 
healed  him  ;  and  St.  Bonaventura  says, 
"  I  know  not  which  I  ought  most  to 
admire,  such  a  kiss  or  such  a  cure." 
Bernard  of  Quintavalle  and  others  as- 
sociated themselves  with  him,  and  the 
Order  of  the  Benedictines  was  founded. 


642 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


As  his  convent  increased,  so  did  his 
humility  and  his  austerities.  He  sewed 
his  rough  habit  with  pack-thread  to 
make  it  rougher ;  he  s!e])t  on  the  ground 
with  a  stone  for  his  pillow  ;  he  drank 
M'ater ;  lie  ate  bread  ;  he  fasted  eight 
lents  in  the  year  ;  he  called  his  body 
"  Brother  Ass,"  and  bound  it  with  a 
haher,  the  cord  of  his  Order ;  but 
a  few  days  before  his  death  he  begged 
pardon  of  his  body  for  having  treated 
it  so  harshly.  As  a  penance,  he  rolled 
himself  naked  in  the  snow  and  among 
brambles  ;  he  commanded  Ivis  friars 
to  revile  him,  and  when  he  said,  "O 
Brother  Francis,  for  thy  sins  thou  hast 
deserved  to  be  plunged  into  hell  ; " 
Brother  Leo  was  to  answer  "It  is 
true  ;  thou  hast  deserved  to  be  buried 
in  the  very  bottom  of  hell." 

In  1215  his,  convent  was  removed  to 
Alvemia,  among  the  solitudes  of  the 
Apennines.  In  1219  he  went  to  Egypt 
to  convert  the  Sultan,  and  preached  to 
liini  in  his  camp  near  Damietta,  but 
vfithout  the  desired  effect.  He  re- 
turned to  the  duties  of  his  convent  with 
unabated  zeal ;  an<l  was  sometimes  seen 
by  his  followers  lifted  from  the  ground 
by  the  fervour  of  his  prayers  ;  and  here 
he  received  in  a  vision  of  the  Cruci- 
fixion the  slii^tnata  in  his  hands  and 
feet  and  side.  Butler,  Lives  of  the 
Saints,  X.  100,  says:  "The  marks  of 
nails  began  to  appear  on  his  hands  and 
feet,  resembling  those  he  had  seen  in 
tiie  vision  of  the  man  crucified.  His 
hands  and  feet  seemed  bored  through 
in  the  middle  with  four  wounds,  and 
these  holes  appeared  to  be  pierced 
with  nails  of  hard  flesh  ;  the  heads 
were  round  and  black,  and  were  seen 
in  the  paln.'s  of  his  hands,  and  in  his 
feet  in  the  upper  i)art  of  the  instep. 
The  points  wcie  long,  and  ap)ieared 
beyond  the  skin  on  the  other  side,  and 
were  turned  back  as  if  they  had  been 
clenched  with  a  hauimei.  Tliere  was 
also  in  his  right  side  a  red  wound,  as 
if  made  by  the  piercing  of  a  lance  ; 
and  this  often  threw  out  blood,  which 
stained  the  tunic  and  drawers  of  the 
saint." 

Two  years  afterwards  St.  Francis 
died,  exclaiming,  "  Welcome,  .Sister 
Death  ; "  and  multitudes  came  tu  kiss 


his  sacred  wounds.  His  body  was 
buried  in  the  church  of  St.  George 
at  Assisi,  but  four  years  afterwards  re- 
moved to  a  church  outside  the  walls. 
See  Note  1 17  of  this  canto. 

In  the  life  of  St.  Francis  it  is  some- 
times difficult  to  distinguish  between 
the  facts  of  history  and  the  myths  of 
tradition ;  but  through  all  we  see  the 
outlines  of  a  gentle,  beautiful,  and  noble 
character.  All  living  creatures  were 
his  brothers  and  sisters.  To  him  the 
lark  was  an  emblem  of  the  Cheru- 
bim, and  the  lamb  an  image  of  the 
Lamb  of  God.  He  is  said  to  have 
preached  to  the  birds  ;  and  his  sermon 
was,  "  Brother  birds,  greatly  are  ye 
bound  to  praise  the  Creator,  who 
clotheth  yon  with  feathers,  and  givelh 
you  wings  to  fly  with,  and  a  purer  air 
to  breathe,  and  who  careth  for  yon, 
who  have  so  little  care  for  yourselves.'' 

Foi-syth,  describing  his  visit  to  La 
Verna,  Italy,  p.  123,  says:  "Francis 
appears  to  me  a  genuine  hero,  original, 
independent,  magnanimous,  incorrupt- 
ible. His  powers  seemed  designed  to 
regenerate  society  ;  l>ut,  taking  a  wrong 
direction,  they  sank  men  into  beggars." 

Finally,  the  phrase  he  often  uttered 
when  others  praised  him  may  be  here 
repeated,  "  \Vhat  every  one  is  in  the 
eyes  of  God,  that  he  is  and  no  more." 

51.  Namely,  in  winter,  when  the  sun 
is  far  south  ;  or,  as  Biagioli  prefers, 
glowing  with  unwonted  splendour. 

53.  It  will  be  noticed  that  there  is  a 
play  of  words  on  the  name  Ascesi  (I 
ascended),  which  Padre  Venturi  irreve- 
rently calls  a  concetto  di  tre  (juattrini. 

59.  His  vow  of  jioverty,  in  opposition 
to  the  wishes  of  his  father. 

61.  In  the  presence  of  his  father  and 
of  the  Bishop  of  the  diocese. 

65.  After  the  death  of  Christ,  she 
waited  eleven,  hundred  years  and  more 
till  St.  Francis  came. 

67.  The  story  of  Caesar's  waking  the 
fisherman  Amyclas  to  take  him  across 
the  Adriatic  is  told  by  Lucan,  Phar- 
salia,  V.  : — 

"There  through  the  gl(x<m  hia  searching  eyes 

explored. 
Where   to   the   mouldering   rock  a  bark  wai 

niocred. 
The  mij{hiy  m.ister  of  this  little  boat 
Securely  slept  \t  ith.ii  d  neighbouring  cot : 


NOTES  TO   PARADISO. 


643 


No  massy  beams  support  his  humble  hall, 
Hut  reeds  and  marshy  rushes  wove  the  wall  ; 
Old,  shattered  planking  for  a  roof  was  spread, 
And  covered  in  from  rain  the  needy  shed. 
Thrice  on  the  feeble  door  the  warrior  struck, 
Beneath  the  blow  the  trembling  dwelling  shook. 
'  What  wretch  forlorn,'  the  poor  Amvclas  cries, 
'  Driven  by  the  raging  seas,  and  stormy  skie.s, 
To  my  poor  lowly  roof  for  slielter  flies?' 

'  O  happy  poverty  !  thou  greatest  good, 
Bestowed  by  Heaven,  but  seldom  understood ! 
Here  nor  the  cruel  spoiler  seeks  his  prey, 
Nor  ruthless  armies  take  their  dreaclful  way  : 
Security  thy  narrow  limits  keeps, 
Safe  are  thy  cottages,  and  sound  thy  sleeps. 
Behold  !  ye  dangerous  dwellings  of  the  great, 
Where  gods  and  godlike  princes  choose  their 

seat  ; 
See  in  what  peace  the  poor  Amyclas  lies, 
Nor  starts,  though  Caesar's  call  commands  to 

rise." 

Dante  also  writes,  Convito,  IV.  13  : 
"And  therefore  the  wise  man  says,  that 
the  traveller  empty-handed  on  his  way 
would  sing  in  the  very  presence  of 
robbers.  And  that  is  what  Liican  refers 
to  in  his  fifth  book,  when  he  commends 
the  security  of  poverty,  saying  :  O  safe 
condition  of  poverty  !  O  narrow  habi- 
tations and  hovels  !  O  riches  of  the 
(lods  not  yet  understood  !  At  what 
times  and  at  what  walls  could  it  happen, 
the  not  being  afraid  of  any  noise,  when 
the  hand  of  Cnesar  was  knocking?  And 
this  says  Lucan,  M'hen  he  describes  how 
Caesar  came  by  night  to  the  hut  of  the 
fisherman  Amyclas,  to  pass  the  Adrian 
Sea." 

74.  St.  Francis,  according  to  Butler, 
I^ives  of  the  Saints,  X.  78,  used  to  say 
that  "he  posses.sed  nothing  of  earthly 
goods,  being  a  disciple  of  Him  who,  for 
our  sakes,  was  born  a  stranger  in  an 
open  stable,  lived  without  a  place  of 
his  own  wherein  to  lay  his  head,  sub- 
sisting by  the  charily  of  good  people, 
and  died  naked  on  a  cross  in  the  close 
embraces  of  holy  poverty." 

79.  Bernard  of  Quintavalle,  the  first 
follower  of  St.  Francis.  Butler,  Live:  of 
the  Saints,  X.  75,  says:  "  Many  began  to 
admire  the  heroic  and  uniform  virtue  of 
this  great  servant  of  God,  and  some 
desired  to  be  his  companions  and  dis- 
ciples. The  first  of  these  was  Bernard 
of  Quintaval,  a  rich  tradesman  of 
Assisium,  a  person  of  singular  prudence, 
and  of  great  authority  in  tiiat  city, 
which  had   been   long  directed   by  his 


counsels.  Seeing  the  extraordinary 
conduct  of  St.  Francis,  he  invited  him 
to  sup  at  his  house,  and  had  a  good  bed 
made  ready  for  him  near  his  own. 
When  Bernard  seemed  to  be  fallen 
asleep,  the  servant  of  God  arose,  and 
falling  on  his  knees,  with  his  eyes  lifted 
up,  and  his  arms  across,  repeated  veiy 
slow,  with  abundance  of  tears,  the 
whole  night.  Dens  mens  et  Omnia,  '  My 
God  and  my  AIL'  ....  Bernard  secretly 
watched  the  saint  all  night,  by  the  light 
of  a  lamp,  saying  to  himself,  '  This  man 
is  truly  a  servant  of  God  ; '  and  admiring 
the  happiness  of  such  a  one,  whose 
heart  is  entirely  filled  with  God,  and  to 
whom  the  whole  world  is  nothing. 
After  many  other  proofs  of  the  sincere 
and  admirable  sanctity  of  Francis,  being 
charmed  and  vanquished  by  his  example, 
he  begged  the  saint  to  make  him  his 
companion.  Francis  recommended  the 
matter  to  God  for  some  time  ;  they  both, 
heard  mass  together,  and  took  advice 
that  they  might  learn  the  will  of  God. 
The  design  being  approved,  Bernard 
sold  all  his  effects,  and  divided  the  sum 
aipong  the  poor  in  one  day." 

83.  Giles,  or  Egidius,  the  second 
follower  of  St.  Francis,  died  at  Perugia, 
in  1272.  He  was  the  author  of  a  book 
called  Verba  Attrea,  Golden  Words. 
Butler,  Lives  of  the  Saints,  VH.  162, 
note,  says  of  him:  "None  among  the 
first  disciples  of  St.  Francis  seems  to 
have  been  more  perfectly  replenished 
with  his  spirit  of  perfect  charity,  humi- 
lity, meekness,  and  simplicity,  as 
appears  from  the  golden  maxims  and 
lessons  of  piety  which  he  gave  to 
others." 

He  gives  also  this  anecdote  of  him  on 
p.  164:  "Brother  Giles  said,  'Can  a 
dull  idiot  love  God  as  perfectly  as  a 
great  scholar?'  St.  Bonaventure  re- 
plied, '  A  poor  old  woman  may  love 
him  more  than  the  most  learned  master 
and  doctor  in  theology.'  At  this 
Brother  Giles,  in  a  sudden  fervour  and 
jubilation  of  spirit,  went  into  a  garden, 
and,  standing  at  a  gate  toward  the  city 
(of  Rome),  he  looked  that  way,  ami 
cried  out  with  a  loud  voice,  '  Come,  the 
poorest,  most  smiple,  and  most  illiterate 
old  woman,  love  the  Lord  our  (jod,  and 
vou  may  attain  to  an  higher  degree  of 


644 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


eminence  and  happiness  than  Brother 
Bonaventure  with  all  his  learning.' 
After  this  he  fell  into  an  ecstacy,  in 
which  he  continued  in  sweet  contempla- 
tion without  motion  for  the  space  of 
three  hours." 

Sylvester,  the  third  disciple,  was  a 
priest  who  sold  stone  to  St.  Francis  for 
the  repaire  of  the  church  of  St.  Da- 
miano.  Some  question  arising  about 
the  payment,  St.  Francis  thrust  his 
hand  into  Bernard's  bosom  and  drew 
forth  a  handful  of  gold,  which  he  added 
to  the  previous  payment.  Sylvester, 
smitten  with  remorse  that  he,  an  old 
man,  should  be  so  greedy  of  gold,  while 
a  young  man  despised  it  for  the  love  of 
(.Jod,  soon  after  became  a  disciple  of  the 
saint. 

89.  Peter  Bernadone,  the  father  of 
St.  Francis,  was  a  wool-merchant.  Of 
this  humble  origin  the  saint  was  not 
ashamed. 

93.  The  permission  to  establish  his 
religious  Order,  granted  by  Pope  In- 
nocent III.,  in  1 2 14. 

96.  Better  here  in  heaven  by  the 
.Angels,  than  on  earth  by  Franciscan 
friars  in  their  churches,  as  the  custom 
was.  Or  perliajw,  as  Buti  interjirets  it, 
better  above  in  the  glory  of  Paradise, 
"  where  is  the  College  of  all  the 
Saints,"  than  here  in  the  Sun. 

98.  The  permission  to  found  the 
Order  of  Minor  Friars,  or  Franciscans, 
granted  by  Pope  Innocent  III.,  in  12 14, 
was  confirmed  by  Pope  Ilonorius  HI., 
in  1223. 

99.  The  title  of  Archimandrite,  or 
Patriarch,  was  given  in  the  Greek 
Church  to  one  who  had  supervision 
over  many  convents. 

loi.   Namely,    before    the   Sultan   of 
E'jypt  in  his  camp  near  Damietta. 
104.   In  the  words  of  Ben  Jonson, 

"  Potential  merit  stands  for  actual, 
Where  only  oppirtunity  doth  want, 
Not  will  nor  power." 

lo6.  On  Mount  Alvernia,  St.  Fran- 
cis, absorbed  in  prayer,  received  in  his 
hands  and  feet  and  breast  the  stifrniata 
of  Christ,  that  is,  the  wounds  of  the 
nails  and  the  spear  of  the  crucifixion, 
the  final  seal  of  the  Order. 

Forsyth,    Italy^   p.   122:    "This  sin- 


gular convent,  which  stands  on  the  cliflFs 
of  a  lofty  Apennine.  was  built  by  St. 
Francis  himself,  and  is  celebrated  for 
the  miracle  which  the  motto  records. 
Here  reigns  all  the  terrible  of  nature, — 
a  rocky  mountain,  a  ruin  of  the  ele- 
ments, broken,  sawn,  and  piled  in 
sublime  confusion, — precipices  crowned 
with  old,  gloomy,  visionary  woods, — 
black  chasms  in  the  rock  where  curi- 
osity shudders  to  look  down, — haunted 
caverns,  sanctified  by  miraculous  crosses, 
— long  excavated  stairs  that  restore  you 

to  daylight On  entering  the  Chapel 

of  the  Stigmata,  we  caught  the  religion 
of  the  place ;  we  knelt  round  the  rail, 
and  gazed  with  a  kind  of  local  devotion 
at  the  holy  spot  where  St.  Francis 
received  the  five  wounds  of  Christ. 
The  whole  hill  is  legendary  ground. 
Here  the  Seraphic  Father  was  saluted 
by  two  crows  which  still  haunt  the 
convent ;  there  the  Devil  hurled  him 
down  a  precipice,  yet  was  not  permitted 
to  bruise  a  bone  of  him." 

117.  When  St.  Francis  was  dying,  he 
desired  to  be  buried  among  the  male- 
factors at  the  place  of  execution,  called 
the  CoUe  if  Inferno,  or  Hill  of  Hell. 
A  church  was  afterwards  built  on  this 
spot ;  its  name  was  changed  to  Colic  Ui 
Paradiso,  and  the  body  of  the  saint 
transferred  thither  in  1230.  The  po- 
pular tradition  is,  that  it  is  standing 
upright  under  the  princi})al  altar  of  the 
chapel  devoted  to  the  saint. 

118.  If  .St.  Francis  were  as  here  de- 
scribed, what  must  his  companion,  St. 
Dominic,  have  been,  who  was  Patriarch, 
or  founder  of  the  Order  to  which 
Thomas  Aquinas  belonged.  To  the 
degeneracy  of  this  Order  the  remainder 
of  the  canto  is  devoted. 

137.  The  Order  of  the  Dominicans 
diminished  in  numbers,  by  its  members 
going  in  search  of  prelacies  and  other 
ecclesiastical  othces,  till  it  is  like  a  tree 
hacked  and  hewn. 

138.  Buti  interprets  this  passage  dif- 
ferently. He  says  :  "  Vedrai  'I  cor- 
rci^gcr ;  that  is,  thou,  Dante,  shalt  see 
St.  Dominic,  whom  he  calls  corres^ger, 
because  he  wore  about  his  waist  the 
correi^i^a,  or  leatheni  thong,  and  made 
his  friars  wear  it,  as  St.  Francis  made 
his  wear  the  cord  ; — che  argotnenta,  that 


NOTES   TO    PARADISO. 


645 


is,  who  proves  by  ti'ue  arguments  in  his 
constitutions,  that  his  friars  ought  to 
study  sacred  theology,  studying  which 
their  souls  will  grow  fat  with  a  good 
fatness  ;  that  is,  with  the  grace  of  God, 
and  the  knowledge  of  things  divine,  if 
they  do  not  go  astray  after  the  other 
sciences,  which  are  vanity,  and  make 
the  soul  vain  and  proud." 


CANTO   XII. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  the  Sun  continued. 
The  praise  of  St.  Dominic  by  St.  Bona- 
ventura,  a  Franciscan. 

3.  By  this  figure  Dante  indicates  that 
the  circle  of  spirits  was  revolving  hori- 
zontally, and  not  vertically.  In  the 
Convito,  III.  5,  he  makes  the  same 
comparison  in  speaking  of  the  apparent 
motion  of  the  sun  ;  noii  a  modo  di  mola, 
ma  di  rota,  not  in  fashion  of  a  mill- 
stone, but  of  a  wheel. 

II.  Ezekiel  i.  28:  "As  the  appear- 
ance of  the  bow  that  is  in  the  cloud  in 
the  day  of  rain,  so  was  the  appearance 
of  the  brightness  round  about." 

12.   Iris,  Juno's  messenger. 
14.   Echo.      Ovid,    Met.,    III.,    Ad- 
dison's Tr.  : — 

*'  The  Nymph,  when  nothing  could  Naicissus 
move, 
Still  'lashed  with  blushes  for  her  slighted  love, 
Lived  in  the  shady  covert  of  the  woods, 
In  solit.'iry  caves  and  dark  abodes  ; 
Where  pining  wandered  the  rejected  fair, 
Till  harassed  out,  and  worn  away  with  car  , 
'J'he  sounding  skeleton,  of  blood  bereft, 
Besides  her  bones  and  voice  had  nothing  left. 
Her  bones  are  petrified,  her  voice  is  found 
In  vaults,  where  still  it  doubles  every  sound." 

16.    Genesis  ix.    13  :    "I   do  set   my 

bow  in  the  cloud,  and  it  shall  be  for  a 
token  of  a  covenant  betweeirme  and  the 
earth. " 

And  Campbell,  To  the  Rainbow : — 

"  When  o'er  the  green  undeluged  earth 
Heaven's  covenant  thou  didst  shine, 
How  came  the  grey  old  fathers  forth 
To  watch  thy  sacred  sign." 

31.  It  is  the  spirit  of  St.  Bonaventura, 
a  Franciscan,  that  speaks. 

32.  St.  Dominic,  by  whom,  through 
the  mouth  of  his  follower,  St.  Francis 
has  been  eulogized. 


34.   As  in  Canto  XI.  40 : — 

"  One  will  I  speak  of,  for  of  both  is  spoken 
In  praising  one,  whichever  may  be  taken. 
Because  unto  one  end  their  labours  were." 

38.  The  Church  rallied  and  re-armed 
by  the  death  of  Christ  against  "all  evil 
and  mischief,"  and  "the  crafts  and 
assaults  of  the  Devil." 

43.   In  Canto  XI.  35  : — 

"  Two  Princes  did  ordain  in  her  behoof, 
Which  on  this  side  and   that  might  be  her 
guide." 

46.  In  the  west  of  FLurope,  namely  in 
Spain. 

52.  The  town  of  Calahorra,  the  birth- 
place of  St.  Dominic,  is  situated  in  the 
province  of  Old  Castile. 

53.  In  one  of  the  quarterings  of  the 
arms  of  Spain  the  Lion  is  above  the 
Castle,  in  another  beneath  it. 

55.   St.  Dominic. 

58.  Dante  believed  with  Thomas 
Aquinas,  that  "  the  creation  and  infu- 
sion "  of  the  soul  were  simultaneous. 

60.  Before  the  birth  of  St.  Dominic, 
his  mother  dreamed  that  she  had  brought 
forth  a  dog,  spotted  black  and  white, 
and  bearing  a  lighted  torch  in  his  mouth; 
symbols  of  the  black  and  white  habit  of 
the  Ordei,  and  of  the  fiery  zeal  of  its 
founder.  In  art  the  dog  has  become  the 
attribute  of  St.  Dommic,  as  may  be  seen 
in  many  paintings,  and  m  the  statue  over 
the  portal  of  the  convent  of  St.  Mark  at 
Florence. 

64.  The  godmother  of  St.  Dominic 
dreamed  that  he  had  a  star  on  the  fore- 
head, and  another  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  which  illuminated  the  east  and  the 
west. 

69.  Dominicus,  from  Dominus,  the 
Lord. 

70.  St.  Dominic,  Founder  of  the 
Preaching  Friars,  and  Persecutor  of 
Heretics,  was  born  in  the  town  of  Cal- 
aroga,  now  Calahona,  in  Old  Castile, 
in  the  year  11 70,  and  died  in  Bologna 
in  1 22 1.  He  was  of  the  illustrious 
family  of  the  Guzmans  ;  in  his  youth  he 
studied  ten  years  at  the  University  of 
Palencia;  was  devout,  abstemious,  cha- 
ritable ;  sold  his  clothes  to  feed  the  poor, 
and  even  offered  to  sell  himself  to  the 
Moors,  to  ransom  the  brother  of  a  poor 


64^ 


NOTES   TO    PARADISO. 


woman  who  sought  his  aid.  In  his 
twenty-fiftii  year  he  became  a  canon 
under  the  Bishop  of  Osma,  preaching  in 
the  various  churches  of  the  province 
for  nine  years,  and  at  times  teaching 
theology  at  Palencia.  In  1203  he  ac- 
companied his  Bishop  on  a  diplomatic 
.  mission  to  Denmark  ;  and  on  his  return 
•  stopped  in  Languedoc,  to  help  root  out 
the  Albigensian  ^>eresy  ;  but  how  far  he 
authorized  or  justified  the  religious  cru- 
sades against  these  persecuted  people, 
and  what  part  he  took  in  them,  is  a 
contested  point, — enough  it  would  seem 
to  obtain  for  him,  from  the  Inquisition 
of  Toulouse,  the  title  of  the  Persecutor 
of  Heretics. 

In  1215,  St.  Dominic  founded  the 
Order  of  Preaching  Friars,  and  in  the 
year  following  was  made  Master  of  the 
Sacred  Palace  at  Rome.  In  1219  the 
centre  of  the  Order  was  established  at 
Bologna,  and  there,  in  1221,  St.  Domi- 
nic died,  and  was  buried  in  the  Church 
of  St.  Nicholas. 

It  has  been  generally  supposed  that 
St.  Dominic  founded  the  Inquisition. 
It  would  apjjear,  however,  that  the 
special  guardianship  of  that  institution 
was  not  intrusted  to  the  Dominicans  till 
the  year  1233,  o""  twelve  years  after  the 
death  of  their  founder. 

75.  Matthew  xix.  21  :  "Jesus  said 
unto  him.  If  thou  wilt  be  perfect,  go 
and  sell  that  thou  hast,  and  give  to  the 
poor,  and  thou  shalt  have  treasure  in 
heaven  :  and  come  and  follow  me." 

While  still  a  young  man  and  a  stu- 
dent, in  a  season  of  great  want,  St. 
Dominic  sold  his  books,  and  all  that  he 
possessed,  to  feed  the  poor. 

79.  Felix  signifying  happy,  and  Jo- 
anna, full  of  grace. 

83.  Henry  of  Susa,  Canlinal,  and 
Bishop  of  Ostia,  and  thence  called 
Ostiense.  He  lived  in  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  wrote  a  commentary  on 
the  Decretals  or  Books  of  Ecclesiastical 
Law. 

Taddeo  Alderotti  was  a  distinguished 
physician  and  Professor  of  Bologna, 
who  flourished  in  the  thirteenth  century, 
and  translated  the  Ethics  of  Aristotle. 
Villani,  VHI.  66,  says  of  him  :  "At 
this  tinie  (1303)  died  in  Bologna  Maes- 
tro Taddeo,   surnamed  the   Bolognese, 


though  he  was  a  Florentine,  and  our 
fellow -citizen  ;  he  was  the  greatest 
physicist  in  all  Christendom." 

The  allusion  here  is  to  the  pursuit 
of  worldly  things,  instt-ad  of  divine, 
the  same  as  in  the  introduction  to 
Canto  XI.  : — 

"  One  after  laws  and  one  to  aphorisms." 

88.  Buti  says  that  in  early  times  the 
prelates  used  to  divide  the  incomes  of 
the  Church  into  four  parts  ;  "  the  first, 
for  the  prelate  personally  ;  the  second, 
for  the  clergy  who  performed  tiie  ser- 
vices ;  the  third,  for  the  embellisliment 
of  the  Church  ;  the  fourth,  for  Christ's 
poor ;  which  division  is  now-a-days  little 
observed. " 

90.  Pope  Boniface  VIII.,  whom 
Dante  never  forgets,  and  to  whom  he 
never  fails  to  deal  a  blow. 

91.  He  did  not  ask  of  the  Holy  See 
the  power  of  grasping  six,  and  giving 
but  two  or  three  to  pious  uses  ;  not  the 
first  vacant  benefice  ;  nor  the  tithes  that 
belonged  to  God's  poor  ;  but  the  right 
to  defend  the  faith,  of  which  the  four- 
and-twenty  spirits  in  the  two  circles 
around  them  were  the  seed. 

106.  One  wheel  of  the  chariot  of  the 
Church  Militant,  of  which  St.  Francis 
was  the  other. 

1 12.  The  track  made  by  this  wheel  of 
the  chariot  ;  that  is,  the  strict  rule  ot 
.St.  Francis,  is  now  abandoned  by  his 
followers. 

1 14.  Good  wine  produces  crust  in  the 
cask,  bad  wine  mould. 

117.  Set  the  points  of  their  feet  upon 
the  heel  of  the  footprints,  showing  tiiat 
they  walked  in  a  direction  directly  op- 
posite to  that  of  their  founder. 

120.  When  they  find  themselves  in 
Hell,  and  not  in  Paradise.  Matthew 
xiii.  30  :  "  Let  both  grow  together  until 
the  harvest :  and  in  the  time  of  harvest 
I  will  say  to  the  reapers.  Gather  ye 
together  first  the  tares,  and  bind  them 
in  bundles  to  burn  them :  but  gather 
the  wheat  into  my  Vmrn." 

121.  Whoever  examines  one  by  one 
the  members  of  our  Order,  as  he  would 
turn  over  a  book  leaf  by  leaf,  will  find 
some  as  good  and  faithful  as  the  fii-st. 

124.  In  1287,  Matteo  d' Acouasparta, 
general  of  the  Franciscans,  relaxed  th« 


NOTES    TO  PARADISO. 


«4y 


severities  of  the  Order.  Later  a  re- 
action followed  ;  and  in  13  lo  Frate 
Ubaldino  of  Casale  became  the  head 
of  a  party  of  zer.lots  among  the  Francis- 
cans who  took  the  name  of  Spiritualists, 
and  produced  a  kind  of  schism  in  the 
Order,  by  narrower  or  stricter  interpre- 
tation of#the  Scriptures. 

127.  In  this  line  Dante  uses  the  word 
life  for  spirit. 

John  of  Fidanza,  sumamed  Bonaven- 
tura, — who  "postponed  considerations 
sinister,"  or  made  things  temporal  sub- 
servient to  things  spiritual,  and  of  whom 
one  of  his  teachers  said  that  it  seemed 
as  if  in  him  "  Adam  had  not  sinned," — 
was  born  in  1221  at  Bagnoregio,  near 
Orvieto.  In  his  childhood,  being  ex- 
tremely ill,  he  was  laid  by  his  mother  at 
the  feet  of  St.  Francis,  and  healed  by 
the  prayers  of  the  Saint,  who,  when  he 
beheld  him,  exclaimed  "  O  buotia  Ven- 
tura !^^  and  by  this  name  the  mother 
dedicated  her  son  to  God.  He  lived  to 
become  a  F"ranciscan,  to  be  called  the 
"Seraphic  Doctor,"  and  to  write  the 
Life  of  St.  Francis  ;  which,  according 
to  tl)e  Spani'ih  legend,  being  left  un- 
finished at  his  deatii,  he  was  allowed  to 
return  to  earth  for  three  days  to  com- 
plete it.  There  is  a  strange  picture  in 
the  Louvre,  attributed  to  Murillo,  repre- 
.seiiting  this  event.  Mrs.  Jameson  gives 
an  engraving  of  it  in  her  Legends  of  the 
Monastic  Orders,  p.  303. 

St.  Bonaventura  was  educated  in 
Paris  unfler  Alexander  Hales,  the  Irre- 
fr.iga!)Ie  Doctor,  and  in  1245,  at  the  age 
of  twenty-four,  became  a  Professor  of 
Theology  in  the  University.  In  1256 
he  was  made  General  of  his  Order  ;  in 
1273,  Cardinal  and  Bishop  o(  Albano. 
The  nunciis  of  Pope  Gregory,  who 
were  sent  to  carry  him  his  cardinal's 
hat,  found  him  in  the  garden  of  a 
convent  near  Florence,  washing  the 
dishes  ;  and  he  requested  them  to  hang 
the  hat  on  a  tree,  till  he  was  ready  to 
take  it. 

St.  Bonaventura  was  one  of  the  great 
Schoolmen,  and  his  works  are  volu- 
minous, consisting  of  seven  imposing 
folios,  two  of  which  are  devoted  to 
txpositions  of  tlie  .Scriptures,  one  to 
Sermons,  two  to  Peter  l.ond)ard's  Book 
of  Sentences,  and  two  lo  minor  works. 


Among  these  may  be  mentioned  the 
Legend  of  St.  Francis  ;  the  Itinerary  of 
the  Mind  towards  God  ;  the  Ecclesias- 
tical Hierarchy  ;  the  Bible  of  the  Poor, 
which  is  a  volume  of  essays  on  moral" 
and  religious  subjects  ;  and  Meditations 
on  the  Life  of  Christ.  Of  others  the 
mystic  titles  are,  The  Mirror  of  the 
Soul;  The  Mirror  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  ; 
On  the  Si.x  Wings  of  the  .Seraphim  ; 
On  the  Six  Wings  of  the  Clierubim  ; 
On  the  Sandals  of  the  Apostles.  One 
golden  sentence  of  liis  cannot  be  too 
often  repeated  ;  "The  best  perfection  of 
a  religious  man  is  to  do  common  things 
in  a  perfect  manner.  A  constant  fidelity  in 
small  things  is  a  great  and  heroic  virtue." 

Milman,  Hist.  Latin  Christ.,  VHI. 
274,  276,  says  of  him  :  "  In  Bonaven- 
tura the  philosopher  recedes;  religious 
edification  is  his  mission.  A  much 
smaller  proportion  of  his  volun^inous 
works  is  pure  .Scholasticism  ;  he  is 
teaching  by  the  Life  of  his  Holy  Foun- 
der, St.  Francis,  and  by  what  may  be 
called  a  new  Gospel,  a  legendary  Life  of 
the  Saviour,  which  seems  to  claim,  with 
all  its  wild  traditions,  equal  right  to  the 
belief  with  that  of  the  Evangelists. 
Boiiaventura  himself  seems  to  deliver  it 
as  his  own  unquestioning  faith.  Bona- 
ventura, if  not  ignorant  of,  feared  or 
disdained  to  know  much  of  Aristotle  or 
the  Arabians  :  he  philosophizes  only 
because  in  his  age  he  could  not  avoid 

philosophy The    raptures   of 

Bonaventura,  like  the  raptures  of  all 
Mystics,  tremble  on  the  borders  of 
Pantheism  :  he  would  still  keep  up  the 
distinction  between  the  soul  and  God  ; 
but  the  soul  must  aspire  to  absolute 
unity  with  God,  in  whom  all  ideas  are 
in  reality  one,  though  many  according 
to  human  thought  and  speech.  But 
the  soul,  by  contemplation,  by  beatific 
vision,  is,  as  it  were,  to  be  lost  and 
merged  in  that  Unity." 

130.  Of  these  two  barefooted  friars 
nothing  remains  but  the  name  and  the 
good  report  of  holy  lives.  The  Ottimo 
savs  they  were  authors  of  l)ooks. 

Bonaventura  says  that  Illuminate  ac- 
companied St.  Francis  to  Egypt,  and 
was  present  when  he  preached  in  the 
camp  .of  the  Sultan.  Later  he  over- 
came the  scruples  of  the  Saint,  and  per- 


«48 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


suaded    him    to   make    known    to    the 
world  tlie  miracle  of  the  stigmala. 

Agostiiio  became  the  liead  of  his 
Order  in  the  Terra  di  Lavoro,  and  there 
received  a  miraculous  revelation  of  the 
death  of  St.  Francis.  He  was  lying  ill 
in  his  bed,  when  suddenly  he  cried  out, 
"  Wait  for  me  !  Wait  for  me  !  I  am 
coming  with  thee  !  "  And  when  asked 
to  whom  he  was  speaking,  he  answered, 
"  Do  ye  not  see  our  Father  Francis  as- 
cending into  heaven  ?  "  and  immediately 
expired. 

133.  Hugh  of  St.  Victor  was  a  monk 
in  the  monastery  of  that  name  near 
Paris.  Milman,  Hist.  Latin  Christ., 
VHI.  240,  thus  speaks  of  him  :  "The 
mysticism  of  Hugo  de  St.  Victor  with- 
drew the  conten)piator  altogether  from 
the  outward  to  the  inner  world, — from 
Clod  in  the  works  of  nature,  to  God  in 
his  w*)rkings  on  the  soul  of  man.  ']'his 
conteinplation  of  God,  the  consunmiate 
perfection  of  man,  is  immediate,  not 
ine<liate.  Through  the  Angels  and  the 
Celestial  Hierarchy  of  the  Areopagite  it 
aspires  to  one  (jod,  not  in  his  Theo- 
])hany,  but  in  his  inmost  essence.  All 
ideas  and  forms  of  things  are  latent  in 
the  human  soul,  as  in  God,  only  they 
are  manifested  to  the  soul  by  its  own 
activity,  its  meditative  power.  Vet  St. 
Victor  is  not  exempt  from  the  grosser 
phraseology  of  the  Mystic, — the  tasting 
God,  and  other  degrading  images  from 
the  senses  of  men.  The  ethical  system 
of  Hugo  de  St.  Victor  is  that  of  the 
Church,  more  free  and  lofty  than  the 
dry  an('.  barren  discipline  of  Peter 
I^ombard." 

134.  Peter  Mangiadore,  or  Peter 
Comestor,  as  he  is  more  genei-ally 
called,  was  bom  at  Troves  in  France, 
and  became  in  1164  Chancellor  of  the 
University  of  Paris.  He  w.as  the  author 
of  a  work  on  Kcclesiastical  History, 
"  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  to  the 
times  of  the  Ajwstles  ;"  and  died  in  the 
monastery  of  .St.  Victor  in  1198.  He 
was  surnamed  Comestor,  the  Kater,  be- 
cause he  was  a  great  devourer  of  books. 

Peter  of  Sjiain  was  the  son  of  a  phy- 
sician of  Lisbon,  and  was  the  author  of 
a  work  on  Logic.  He  was  Bishop  of 
Braga,  afterwards  Cardinal  and  Bishop 
of  Tusculum,  and  in  1276  became  Pope, 


under  the  title  of  John  XIX.  In  the 
following  year  he  was  killed  by  the  fall 
of  a  portion  of  the  Papal  palace  at 
Viterbo. 

136.  Why  Nathan  the  Prophet  should 
be  put  here  is  a  great  puzzle  to  the  com- 
mentators. "  Bit07i  salto  !  a  good  leap," 
says  Venturi.  Tombardi  thinks  it  is  no 
leap  at  all.  Tiie  only  reason  given  is, 
that  Nathan  said  to  David,  "Thou  art 
the  man."  As  Buti  says  :  "The  author 
puts  him  among  these  Doctors,  because 
he  revealed  his  sin  to  David,  as  these 
revealed  the  vices  and  virtues  in  their 
writings." 

137.  John,  surnamed  from  his  elo- 
quence Chrysostom,  or  Golden  Mouth, 
was  born  in  Antioch,  about  the  year 
344.  He  was  first  a  lawyer,  then  a 
monk,  next  a  popular  preacher,  and 
finally  metropolitan  Bisiiop  of  Constan- 
tinople. His  whole  life,  fiom  his  boyhood 
in  Antioch  to  his  death  in  banishment 
on  the  borders  of  the  Black  Sea, — his 
austerities  as  a  monk,  his  fame  as  a 
preacher,  his  troubles  as  Bisliop  of  Con- 
stantino]>!e,  his  controversy  with  Theo- 
philus  of  Alexandria,  his  exile  by  the 
Kmperor  Arcadius  and  the  earthquake 
that  followed  it,  his  triumphant  return, 
his  second  banishment,  and  his  death, — 
is  more  like  a  romance  than  a  narrative 
of  facts. 

"  The  monuments  of  that  eloquence," 
says  (iijjbon,  Diriinc  and  Fall,  Ch. 
XXXII. ,  "which  was  admired  near 
twenty  years  at  Antioch  and  Constan- 
tinople, have  been  carefully  preserved  ; 
and  the  possession  of  near  one  thousand 
sermons  or  homilies  has  authorized  the 
critics  of  succeeding  ti.nes  to  appreciate 
the  genuine  merit  of  Chrysostom.  They 
unanimously  attribute  to  the  Christian 
orator  the  free  conmiand  of  an  elegant 
and  copious  language  ;  the  judgment  to 
conceal  the  advantages  wlwch  he  derived 
from  the  knowledge  of  rhetoric  and 
philosophy  ;  an  inexhaustible  fund  of 
metajihors  and  similitudes,  of  ideas  and 
images,  to  vary  and  illustrate  the  most 
familiar  to])ics  ;  the  happy  art  of  en- 
gaging the  passions  in  the  service  of 
virtue  ;  arnl  of  ex]iosing  the  folly,  as 
well  as  the  turpitude,  of  vice,  almost 
with  the  truth  and  spirit  of  a  dramatic 
representation. " 


NOTES  TO   PARADISO. 


649 


Anselm,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
was  born  at  Aost  in  Piedmont,  about 
the  year  1033,  and  was  educated  at  the 
abbey  of  Bee  in  Normandy,  where,  in 
the  year  1060,  he  became  a  monk,  and 
afterwards  prior  and  abbot.  In  1093  he 
was  made  Archbisliop  of  Canterbury  by 
King  William  Rufus  ;  and  after  many 
troubles  died,  and  was  buried  in  his 
cathedral,  in  1 109.  His  life  was  written 
by  the  monk  Eadmer  of  Canterbury. 
Wright,  Biog.  Briian.  Lit.,  Anglo- 
Norman  Period,  p.  59)  says  of  him  : 
"  Anselm  was  equal  to  Lanfranc  in 
learning,  and  far  exceeded  him  in  piety. 
In  his  private  life  he  was  modest,  hum- 
ble, and  sober  in  the  extreme.  He  was 
obstinate  only  in  defending  the  interests 
of  the  Church  of  Rome,  and,  however 
we  may  judge  the  ,claims  themselves,  we 
must  acknowledge  that  he  supported 
them  from  conscientious  motives.  Read- 
ing and  contemplation  were  the  favourite 
occupations  of  his  life,  and  even  the  time 
required  for  his  meals,  which  were  ex- 
tremely frugal,  he  employed  in  discussing 
philosophical  and  tlieological  questions." 

ililius  Donatus  was  a  Roman  gram- 
marian, who  flourished  about  the  middle 
of  the  fourth  century.  He  had  St. 
Jerome  among  his  pupils,  and  was 
immortalized  by  his  Latin  Grammar, 
which  was  used  in  all  the  schools  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  so  that  the  name  passed 
into  a  proverb.  In  the  Vision  of  Pia-s 
Plotighmait,  2889,  we  find  it  alluded 
to,— 

"  Then  drewe  I  me  among  drapers 
My  donet  to  lerne  ;" 

and  Chaucer,  Testament  of  Love,  says, 

"  No  passe  I  to  vertues  of  this  Marguerite 
But  therein  all  my  donet  can  I  lerne." 

According  to  the  note  in  Warton,  F.ng. 
Poet.,  Sect.  VIII.,  to  which  I  owe  these 
quotations,  Bishop  Pecock  wrote  a  work 
with  the  title  of  ■"  Donat  into  Christian 
Religion,"  using  the  word  in  the  sense 
of  Introduction. 

139.  Rabanus  Maurus,  a  learned 
theologian  was  born  at  Mayence  in  786, 
and  died  at  Winfel,  in  the  same  neigh- 
bourhood, in  856.  He  studied  first  at 
the  abbey  of  Fulda,  and  then  at  St. 
Martin's  of  Tours,  under  the  celebrated 


Alcuin.  He  became  a  teacher  at  Fulda, 
then  Abbot,  then  Bishop  of  Mayence. 
He  left  behind  him  works  that  fill  six 
folios.  One  of  them  is  entitled  "The 
Universe,  or  a  Book  about  All  Things;" 
but  they  chiefly  consist  of  homilies,  and 
commentaries  on  the  Bible. 

140.  This  distinguished  mystic  and 
enthusiast  of  the  twelfth  century  was 
born  in  1 130  at  the  village  of  Celio, 
near  Cosenza  in  Calabria,  on  the  river 
Busento,  in  whose  bed  the  remains  of 
Attila  were  buried.  A  part  o''  his  youth 
was  passed  at  Naples,  where  his  father 
held  some  office  in  the  court  of  King 
Roger  ;  but  from  the  temptations  of  this 
gay  capital  he  escaped,  and,  like  St. 
Francis,  renouncing  the  world,  gave 
himself  up  to  monastic  life. 

"  A  tender  and  religious  soul,"  says 
Rousselot  in  his  Hist,  de  /'  Eva7igile 
Eternel,  p.  15,  "an  imagination  ardent 
and  early  turned  towards  asceticism,  led 
him  from  his  first  youth  to  embrace  the 
monastic  life.  His  spirit,  naturally 
exalted,  must  have  received  the  most 
lively  impressions  from  the  spectacle 
offered  him  by  the  place  of  his  birth  : 
mountains  arid  or  burdened  with  forests, 
deep  valleys  furrowed  by  the  waters  of 
torrents  ;  a  soil,  rough  in  some  places, 
and  covered  in  others  with  a  brilliant 
vegetation  ;  a  heaven  of  fire  ;  solitude, 
so  easily  found  in  Calabria,  and  so  dear 
to  souls  inclined  to  mysticism, — all  com- 
bined to  exalt  in  Joachim  the  religious 
sentiment.  There  are  places  where  life 
is  naturally  poetical,  and  when  the  soul, 
thus  nourished  by  things  external,  plunges 
into  the  divine  world,  it  produces  men 
like  St.  Francis  of  Accesi  and  Joachim 
of  Flora. 

"On  leaving  Naples  he  had  resolved 
to  embrace  the  monastic  life,  but  he  was 
unwilling  to  do  it  till  he  had  visited  the 
Holy  Land.  He  started  forthwith,  fol- 
lowed by  n.any  pilgrims  whose  expenses 
he  paid  ;  and  as  to  himself,  clad  in  a 
white  dress  of  some  coarse  stuff,  he  made 
a  great  part  of  the  journey  barefootetl. 
In  order  to  stop  in  the  Thebaid,  the 
first  centre  of  Christian  asceticism,  he 
suffered  his  companions  to  go  on  before  ; 
and  there  he  was  nigh  perishing  from 
thirst.  Overcome  by  the  heat  in  a  desert 
place,  where  he  could  not  find  a  drop  of 


6so 


NOTES   TO   PAR  AD  ISO. 


water,  he  dug  a  grave  in  the  sand,  and 
lay  down  in  it  to  die,  hoping  that  his 
body,  soon  Innied  by  the  sand  heaped 
up  l)y  the  wind,  woukl  not  fall  a  prey  to 
wild  beasts.  Barius  attributes  to  him  a 
dream,  in  which  he  thouglit  lie  was 
drinking  copiously  ;  at  all  events,  after 
sleeping  some  hours  he  awoke  in  con- 
dition to  continue  his  journey.  After 
visiting  Jerusalem,  he  went  to  Mount 
Tabor,  where  he  remained  forty  days. 
He  there  lived  in  an  old  cistern  ;  and  it 
was  amid  watchings  and  prayers  on  the 
scene  of  the  Transfiguration  that  he  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  his  principal  writings  : 
'  The  Harmony  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments '  ;  '  The  Exposition  of  the 
Apocalyiwe  '  ;  and  '  The  Psalter  of  Ten 
Strings.'" 

On  his  return  to  Italy,  Joachim  became 
a  Cistercian  monk  in  the  monastery  of 
Corazzo  in  Calabria,  of  which  ere  long 
he  became  Abbot ;  but,  wishing  for 
greater  seclusion,  he  soon  withdrew  to 
Flora,  among  the  mountains,  where  he 
founded  another  monastery,  and  passed 
the  remainder  of  his  life  in  study  and 
contemplation.  He  died  in  1202,  being 
seventy-two  years  of  age. 

"  His  renown  was  ^reat,"  ,  says 
Rousselot,  Hist,  dc  /'  Evaiig.  Eteniel, 
p.  27,  "  and  his  duties  numerous  ; 
nevertheless  his  functions  as  Abbot  of 
the  monastery  which  he  had  founded 
did  not  prevent  him  from  giving  himself 
up  to  the  composition  of  the  writings 
which  he  had  for  a  long  time  meditated. 
This  was  the  end  he  had  proposed  to 
himself ;  it  was  to  attain  it  that  he  had 
wished  to  live  in  solitude.  If  his  desire 
was  not  wholly  realized,  it  was  so  in 
great  ]wrt  ;  and  Joachim  succeeded  in 
laying  the  foundations  of  the  Eternal 
Gospel.  He  passsd  his  days  and  nights 
in  writing  and  in  dictating.  '  I  used  to 
write,'  says  his  secretary  Lucas,  'day 
and  night  in  copy-i)ooks,  what  he  dic- 
tated and  corrected  on  scraps  of  pajier, 
with  two  other  monks  whom  he  em- 
ployed in  the  same  work.'  It  was  in 
llie  nuddle  of  these  labours  that  death 
surprised  him." 

In  Ahl)ot  Joachim's  time  at  least,  this 
Eternal  Gospel  was  not  a  book,  but  a 
doctrine,  jiervading  all  his  writings. 
Later,  in  the  middle  of  the. thirteenth 


century,  some  such  book  existed,  and 
was  attributed  to  John  of  Parma.  In 
ihe  Romance  0/ the  Rose,  Chaucer's  Tr., 
1798,  it  is  thus  spoken  of : — 

"  ■  A  thou^ande  and  two  hundred  yere 
Five-and-fifte.  ferther  ne  nere, 
Broughten  a  boke  with  sorie  grace, 
To  yeveii  ensample  in  common  place, — 
That  sayed  thus,  though  it  were  fable, 
'J'kis  is  the  Gosfiell  pardurable 
Tliat/j-o  the  Holie  Glwsi  is  sent. 
Well  were  it  worthy  to  be  ybrent. 
Entitled  was  in  soche  manere. 
This  boke  of  whiche  I  tell  here  ; 
There  n'as  no  wight  in  al  Paris, 
Be/orne  on?-  Luiiie  at  Pnt-ins 
That  thei  ne  might  the  boke  by. 

"  The  Universite,  that  was  a  sbpe, 
Gin  for  to  braied.  and  taken  kepe  ; 
And  at  the  noise  the  hedde  up  cast ; 
Ne  never,  sithen,  slept  it  [so)  fast : 
But  up  it  stert,  and  amies  toke 
Ayenst  th.s  false  horrible  boke. 
All  redy  battaile  for  to  make. 
And  to  the  judge  the  boke  thei  take." 

The  Eternal  Gospel  taught  that  there 
were  three  epochs  in  the  history  of  tiie 
world,  two  of  which  were  already  pnss.'d, 
and  the  third  about  to  begin.  The  fir.st 
was  that  of  the  Old  Testament,  or  the 
reign  of  the  Father  ;  the  second,  that  of 
the  New  Testament,  or  the  reign  of  the 
Son ;  and  the  third,  that  of  Love,  or  the 
reign  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  To  use  his 
own  words,  ,as  quoted  by  Rous.selot, 
Hist,  de  /'  Eva7tg.  Eteniel,  p.  78  :  "As 
the  letter  of  the  Old  Testament  seems 
to  belong  to  the  Father,  by  a  certain 
peculiarity  of  resemblance,  and  the  letter 
of  the  New  Testament  to  the  Son  ;  so 
the  spiritual  intelligence,  which  proceeds 
from  both,  belongs  to  the  Holy  .S])irit. 
.\ccordingly,  the  age  when  men  were 
joined  in  marriage  was  the  reign  of  the 
Father  ;  that  of  the  Preachers  is  the 
reign  of  the  Son  ;  and  the  age  of  Monks, 
ordo  nioiuu/ipriiin,  the  last,  is  to  be  that 
of  the  Holy  Spirit.  The  first  before 
the  law,  the  second  under  the  law,  the  ■ 
third  with  grace." 

The  germ  of  this  doctrine,  says  the 
same  authority,  p.  59,  is  in  Origen,  who 
had  said  before  the  Abbot  Joachim, 
"  We  must  leave  to  believers  the  his- 
toric Christ  and  the  Gospel,  the  Gospel 
of  the  letter ;  but  to  the  Cinostics  alone 
belongs  the  Divine  Word,  the  Fiternal 
Gospel,  the  Gospel  of  the  Spirit." 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


^ 


CANTO    XIII. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  the  Sun  continued. 
Let  the  reader  imagine  fifteen  of  the 
largest  stars,  and  to  these  add  the  seven 
of  Charles's  Wain,  and  the  two  last  stars 
of  the  Little  Bear,  making  in  all  twenty- 
four,  and  let  him  arrange  them  in  two 
concentric  circles,  revolving  in  opposite 
directions,  and  he  will  have  the  image 
of  what  Dante  now  beheld. 

7.  Iliad,  XVIII.  487  :  "  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. " 

10.  The  constellation  of  the  Little 
Bear'  as  milch  resembles  a  Horn  as  it 
does  a  bear.  Of  this  horn  the  Pole  Star 
forms  the  smaller  end. 

14.  Ariadne,  whose  crown  was,  at 
her  death,  changed  by  Bacchus  into  a 
constellation. 

Ovid,  Met.,  VIIL,  Croxall's  Tr. :— 

"  And  bids  her  crown  among  the  stars  be  placed. 
With  an  eternal  constellation  graced. 
The  golden  circlet  mounts  ;  and,  as  it  flies, 
Its  diamonds  twinkle  in  the  distant  skies  ; 
There,  in  their  pristine  form,  the  gemmy  rays 
Between  Alcides  and  the  dragon  blaze." 

Chaucer,  Legende  of  Good  Women: — 

"  And  in  the  sygne  of  Taurus  men  may  se 
The  stones  of  hire  corowne  shyne  clerc." 

And    Spenser,    Faerie    Queene,    VI.    x. 

13:— 

"  Looke  !  how  the  crowne  which  Ariadne  wore 
Upon  her  yvory  forehead  that  same  day 
That  Theseus  her  untp  his  bridale  bore, 
When  the  bold  Centaures  made  that  bloudy 

fray 
With    the    fierce    Lapithes  which   did    them 

dismay. 
Being  now  placed  in  the  firmament. 
Through  the  bright  heaven  doth  her  beams 

display, 
And  is  unto  the  starres  an  ornament, 
Which  round  about  her  move  in  order  excellent." 

23.  The  Chiana  empties  into  the 
Amo  near  Arezzo.  In  Dante's  time  it 
was  a  sluggish  stream,  stagnating  in  the 
marshes  of  Valdichiana.  See  Inf. 
XXIX.  Note  46. 

24.  The  Prinmm  Mobile. 

32.  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  who  had 
related  the  life  of  St.  Francis. 

34.  The  first  doubt  in   Dante's  mind 


was  in  regard  to  the  expression  in  Canto 
X.  96, 

"Where  well  one  fattens  if  he  strayeth  not," 

which  was  explained  by  Thomas  Aqui- 
nas in  Canto  XL  The  second,  which 
he  now  prepares  to  thresh  out,  is  in 
Canto  X.  114, 

"  To  see  so  much  there  never  rose  a  second," 

referring  to  Solomon,  as  being  peerless 
in  knowledge. 

37.   Adam. 

40.    Christ. 

48.   Solomon. 

52.  All  things  are  but  the  thought  of 
God,  and  by  Him  created  in  love. 

55.  The  living  Light,  the  W^ord,  pro- 
ceeding from  the  Father,  is  not  separated 
from  Him  nor  from  his  I^ove,  the  Holy 
Spirit. 

58.  Its  rays  are  centred  in  the  nine 
choirs  of  Angels,  ruling  the  nine  hea- 
vens, here  called  subsistences,  according 
to  the  definition  of  Thomas  Aquinas, 
Sum.  Theol.,  I.  Qusest.  xxix.  2:  "What 
exists  by  itself,  and  not  in  anything  else, 
is  called  subsistence." 

61.  From  those  nine  heavens  it  de- 
scends to  the  elements,  the  lowest  po- 
tencies, till  it  produces  only  imperfect 
and  perishable  results,  or  mere  contin- 
gencies. 

64.  These  contingencies  are  animals, 
plants,  and  the  like,  produced  by  the 
influences  of  the  planets  from  seeds,  ana 
certain  insects  and  plants,  believed  of 
old  to  be  born  without  seed. 

67.  Neither  their  matter  nor  the 
influences  of  the  planets  being  immu- 
table, the  stamp  of  the  divinity  is  more 
or  less  clearly  seen  in  them,  and  hence 
the  varieties  in  plants  and  animals. 

73.  If  the  matter  were  perfect,  and 
the  divine  influence  at  its  highest  power, 
the  result  would  likewise  be  perfect ; 
but  by  transmission  through  the  planets 
it  becomes  more  and  more  deficient,  the 
hand  of  nature  trembles,  and  imperfec- 
tion is  the  result. 

79.  But  if  Love  (the  Holy  Spirit) 
and  the  Vision  (the  Son),  proceeding 
from  the  Primal  Power  (the  Father),  act 
immediately,  then  the  work  is  perfect, 
as  in  Adam  and  the  human  nature  of 
Christ. 


652 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


89.  Then  how  was  Solomon  so  peer- 
less, that  none  like  him  ever  existed  ? 

93.  I  Kings  iii.  5:  "In  Gibeon  the 
Lord  appeared  to  Solomon  in  a  dream 
by  night  :  and  God   said,    Ask  what   I 

shall    give    thee Give     therefore 

thy  servant  an  understanding  heart  to 
judge  thy  people,  that  I  may  discern 
between  go<id  and  bad  :  for  who  is  able 
to  judge  this  thy  so  great  a  people  ? 
And  the  speech  pleased  the  Lord,  that 
Solomon  had  asked  this  thing.  And 
God  said  unto  him.  Because  thou  hast 
asked  this  thing,  and  hast  not  asked  for 
thyself  long  life,  neither  hast  asked 
riches  for  thyself,  nor  hast  asked  the 
life  of  thine  enemies,  but  hast  asked  for 
thyself  understanding  to  discern  judg- 
ment. Behold,  1  have  done  according  to 
thy  words  :  lo,  I  have  given  thee  a  wise 
and  an  understanding  heart  ;  so  that 
there  was  none  like  thee  before  thee, 
neither  after  thee  shall  any  arise  like 
unto  thee." 

98.  The  number  of  the  celestial  In- 
telligences, or  Regents  of  the  Planets. 

99.  Whether  from  two  premises,  one 
of  which  is  necessary,  and  the  other 
contingent,  or  only  possible,  the  conclu- 
sion drawn  will  be  neces.sary  ;  which 
Buti  says  is  a  question  belonging  to 
"  the  garrulity  of  dialectics." 

100.  Wliether  the  existence  of  a  first 
motion  is  to  be  conceded. 

102.  That  is,  a  triangle,  one  side 
of  which  shall  be  the  diameter  of  the 
circle. 

103.  If  thou  notest,  in  a  word,  that 
Solomon  did  not  ask  for  wisdom  in  as- 
trology, nor  in  dialects,  nor  in  meta- 
physics, nor  in  geometry. 

104.  The  peerless  seeing  is  a  refer- 
ence to  Canto  X.  114  : — 

"  To  see  so  much  there  never  rose  a  second." 

It  will  !>e  observed  that  the  word  "rose" 
is  the  Bii)lical  word  in  the  phrase 
"  neither  after  thee  shall  any  rise  like 
unto  thee,"  as  given  in  note  93. 

125.  c'armenides  was  an  Eieatic  phi- 
losopher, and  pupil  of  Xenophanes, 
According  to  Kitter,  Ilist.  Ane.  Phil., 
I.  450,  Morri.son's  Tr.,  his  theory  was, 
that,  "  Being  is  uncreated  and  unchange- 
able,— 


'  Whole   and  self-generate,   unchangeable,   illi- 
mitable, 
Never  was  nor  yet  shall  be  its  birth ;   All  is 

already 
One  from  eternity.'" 

And  farther  on  :  "  It  is  but  a  mere 
human  opinion  that  things  are  produced 
and  decay,  are  and  are  not,  and  change 
place  and  colour.  The  whole  has  its 
principle  in  itself,  and  is  in  eternal  rest  ; 
for  powerful  necessity  holds  it  within 
the  bonds  of  its  ovvn  limits,  and  en- 
closes it  on  all  sides  :  being  cannot  be 
imperfect  ;  for  it  is  not  in  want  of  any- 
thing,— for  if  it  were  so,  it  would  be  in 
want  of  all." 

Melissus  of  Samos  was  a  follower  of 
Parmenides,  and  maintained  substan- 
tially the  same  doctrines. 

Brissus  was  a  philosopher  of  les?  note. 
Mention  is  hardly  made  of  him  in  the 
histories  of  philosophy,  except  as  one  of 
those  who  pursued  that  Pata  Morgana 
of  mathematicians,  the  quadrature  of 
the  cfrcle. 

127.  "Infamous  heresiarchs,"  ex- 
claims Venturi,  "put  as  an  example  of 
innumerable  others,  who,  having  erred 
in  the  understanding  of  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures, persevered  in  their  errors." 

Sabellius  was  by  birth  an  African, 
and  flourished  as  Presbyter  of  Ptole- 
mais,  in  the  third  century.  He  denied 
the  three  persons  in  the  Godhead,  main- 
taining that  the  .Son  and  Holy  Ghost 
were  only  temporary  manifestations  of 
God  in  creation,  redemption,  and  sanc- 
tification,  and  would  finally  return  to 
the  Father. 

Arius  was  a  Presbyter  of  Alexandria 
in  the  fourth  century.  He  believed  the 
Son  to  be  e(iual  in  power  with  the 
Father,  but  of  a  different  essence  or 
nature,  a  doctrine  which  gave  rise  to  the 
famous  Heterousian  and  Homoiousian 
contioversy,  that  distracted  the  Church 
for  three  hundred  years. 

These  dnctrines  of  Sabellius  and  oC 
Arius  are  both  heretical,  when  tried  by 
the  stanilard  of  the  QuicutKjnc  vult,  the 
authoritative  formula  of  the  Catholic 
faith  ;  "which  faith,  except  every  one 
do  keep  whole  and  undefiled,  without 
doubt  he  shall  perish  everlastingly,"  says 
St.  Athanasius,  or  some  one  in  his 
name. 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


653 


128.  These  men,  say  some  of  the 
commentators,  were  as  swords  that 
mutilated  and  distorted  the  Scriptures. 
Others,  that  in  them  the  features  of  the 
Scriptures  were  distorted,  as  the  features 
of  a  man  reflected  in  the  grooved  or 
concave  surface  of  a  sword. 

139.  Names  used  to  indicate  any 
common  simpletons  and  gossips. 

I41.  In  writing  this  line  Dante  had 
evidently  in  mind  the  beautiful  wise 
words  of  St.  Francis :  "  What  every 
one  is  in  the  eyes  of  God,  that  he  is, 
and  no  more." 

Mr.  Wright,  in  the  notes  to  his  trans- 
lation, here  quotes  ths  w«ll-known  lines 
of  Bums,  Address  to  the  Unco  Guid : — 

"  Then  gently  scan  your  brother  man. 

Still  gentler  sister  woman  ; 
Though  they  may  gang  a  kennin'  wrang, 

I'o  step  aside  is  human  : 
One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark. 

The  moving  why  they  do  it : 
And  just  as  lamely  can  ye  mark 

How  far  perhaps  they  rue  it. 

"  Who  made  the  heart,  'tis  He  alone 

Decidedly  can  try  us  ; 
He  knows  each  chord — its  various  tone. 

Each  spring — its  various  bias. 
Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  mute  ; 

We  never  can  adjust  it ; 
What's  done  we  partly  may  compute. 

But  know  not  what's  resisted." 


CANTO   XIV. 

1.  The  ascent  to  the  planet  Mars, 
where  are  seen  the  spirits  of  Martyrs, 
and  Crusaders  who  died  fighting  for  the 
Faith. 

2.  In  this  similitude  Dante  describes 
the  effect  of  the  alternate  voices  of  St. 
Tliomas  Aquinas  in  the  circumference  of 
the  circle,  and  of  Beatrice  in  the  centre. 

6.  Life  is  here  used,  as  before,  in  the 
sense  of  spirit. 

28.  Chaucer,  Troil.  and  Cres.,  the 
last  stanza  : — 

"  Thou  One,  and  Two,  and  Thre  !  eteme  on 
live, 
That  raignest  aie  in  Thre,  and  Two,  and  One, 
Uncircumscript,  and  all  maist  circumscrive  1" 

Also  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  III.  372:— 

"  Thee,  Father,  first  they  sung,  Omnipotent, 
Immutable,  Immortal,  Infinite, 
Eternal  King;  thee,  Author  of  all  being, 
Fountain  of  light,  thyself  invisible 


Amidst   the  glorious    brightness  where   thou 

sitt'st 
Throned  inaccessible  ;  but  when  thou  shadest 
The  full  blaze  of  thy  beams,  and  througli  a 

cloud 
Drawn  round  about  thee  like  a  radiant  shrine, 
Dark  with  excessive  bright  thy  skirts  appear. 
Yet  dazzle  heaven  ;  that  brightest  seraphim 
Approach  not,  but  with  both  wings  veil  their 

eyes. 
Thee  ne.ft  they  sang  of  all  creation  first. 
Begotten  Son,  Divine  Similitude, 
In  whose   conspicuous  countenance,  without 

cloud 
Made  visible,  the  Almi^ty  Father  shines, 
Whom  else  no  creature  can  behold  :  on  thee 
Impressed  the  effulgence  of  his  glory  abides  ; 
Transfused  on  thee  his  ample  Spirit  rests." 

35.  The  voice  of  Solomon. 

73.  According  to  Buti,  "  Spirits 
newly  amved  ;  "  or  Angels,  such  being 
the  interpretation  given  by  the  School- 
men to  the  word  Subsistences.  See 
Canto  XIII.  Note  58. 

86.  The  planet  Mars.  Of  this  planet 
Brunette  Latini,  Tresor,  I.  iii.  3,  say.>  : 
"  Mars  is  hot  and  warlike  and  evil,  and 
is  called  the  God  of  Battles." 

Of  its  symbolism  Dante,  Convito,  II. 
14,  says  :  "The  Heaven  of  Mars  may 
be  compared  to  Music,  for  two  proper- 
ties. The  first  is  its  very  beautiful 
relation  [to  the  others] ;  for,  enumerat- 
ing the  moveable  heavens,  from  which- 
soever you  begin,  whether  from  the 
lowest  or  the  highest,  the  Heaven  of 
M.^rs   is   the   fifth ;    it   is  the  centre   of 

all The  other  is,  that  Mars  dries 

up  and  bums  things,  because  its  heat  is 
like  to  thdt  of  the  fire  ;  and  this  is  the 
reason  why  it  appears  fiery  in  colour, 
sometimes  more,  and  sometimes  less, 
according  to  the  density  and  rarity  of 
the  vapours  which  follow  it,  which 
sometimes  take  fire  of  themselves,  as  is 
declared  in  the  first  book  of  Meteors. 
(And  therefore  Albumasar  says,  that 
the  ignition  of  these  vapours  signifies 
death  of  kings,  and  change  of  empires, 
being  effects  of  the  dominion  of  Mars. 
And  accordingly  Seneca  says  that  at  the 
death  of  the  Emperor  Augustus  a  ball  of 
fire  was  seen  in  the  heavens.  And  in 
Florence,  at  the  beginning  of  its  down- 
fall, a  great  quantity  of  these  vapours, 
which  follow  Mars,  were  seen  in  the  air 
in  the  form  of  a  cross.)  And  these  two 
properties  are  in  Music,  which  is  wholly 
relative,  as  may  be  seen  in  harmonized 
X  X  2 


65* 


I^OTES  TO  PARADISO. 


words,  and  in  songs,  in  which  the  more 
beautiful  the  relation,  the  sweeter  the 
harmony,  since  such  is  chiefly  its  intent. 
Also  Music  attracts  to  itself  the  spirits 
of  men,  which  are  principally  as  it  were 
vapours  of  the  heart,  so  tliat  they  almost 
cease  from  any  operation  ;  so  entire  is 
the  soul  when  it  listens,  and  the  power 
of  all  as  it  were  runs  to  the  sensible 
spirit  that  hears  the  sounds." 

Of  the  influences  of  Mars,  Buti,  as 
usual  following  Albumasar,  writes:  "Its 
nature  is  hot,  igneous,  dry,  choleric,  of 
a  bitter  savour,  and  it  signifies  youth, 
strength,  and  acuteness  of  mind  ;  heats, 
fires,  and  burnings,  and  every  sudden 
event ;  powerful  kings,  consuls,  dukes, 
and  knights,  and  companies  of  soldiery  ; 
desire  of  praise  and  memory  of  one's 
name ;  strategies  and  instruments  of 
battle  ;  robberies  and  machinations,  and 
scattering  of  relations  by  plunderings 
and  highway  robberies  ;  boldness  and 
anger  ;  the  unlawful  for  the  lawful  ; 
torments  and  imprisonments  ;  scourges 
and  bonds  ;  anguish,  flight,  thefts,  pil- 
fering of  servants,  fears,  contentions, 
insults,  acuteness  of  mind,  impiety,  in- 
constancy, want  of  foresight,  celerity 
and  anticipation  in  things,  evil  eloquence 
and  ferocity  of  speech,  foulness  of  words, 
incontinence  of  tongue,  demonstrations 
of  love,  gay  ajiparel,  insolence  and 
falseness  of  words,  swiftness  of  reply 
and  sudden  penitence  therefor,  want  of 
religion,  unfaithfulness  to  promises, 
mujtitude  of  lies  and  whisperings,  de- 
ceits and  perjuries ;  machinations  and 
evil  deeds  ;  want  of  means  ;  waste  of 
means ;  multitude  of  thoughts  about 
things ;  instability  and  change  of  opinion 
in  things,  from  one  to  another  ;  haste  to 
return  ;  want  of  shame ;  multitude  of 
toils  and  cares  ;  peregrinations,  solitaiy 
existence,  bad  comjiany  ;  .  .  .  .  break - 
i;ig  open  of  tombs,  and  spoliations  of 
the  dead." 

87.  Kuti  interprets  this,  as  redder 
than  the  Sun,  to  whose  light  Dante  had 
become  accustomed,  and  continues  : 
"Literally,  it  is  true  that  the  splendour, 
of  Mars  is  more  fiery  than  that  of  the 
Sun,  because  it  is  red,  and  the  .Sun  is 
yellow  ;  but  allcgorically  we  are  to 
understand,  th.it  a  greater  ardour  of 
love,  that  is,  more  burning,  is  in  those 


who  fight  and  conquer  the  three  enemies 
mentioned  above  [the  world,  the  flesh, 
and  the  devil],  than  in  those  who  exer- 
cise themselves  with  the  Scriptures." 

88.  The  silent  language  of  the  heart. 

96.  In  Hebrew,  El,  Eli,  God,  from 
which  the  Greeks  made  Helios,  the 
Sun.  As  in  St.  Hildebert's  hymn  Ad 
Patreni  : — 

"  Alpha  et  Omega,  magne  Deus, 
Heli,  Heli,  Deus  meus." 

99.  Dante,  Cotwito,  II.  15,  says : 
"  It  must  be  known  that  philosophers 
have  different  opinions  concerning  this 
Galaxy.  For  the  Pythagoreans  said 
that  the  .Sun  once  wandered  out  of  his 
way,  and  passing  through  other  regions 
not  adapted  to  his  heat,  he  burned  the 
place  through  which  he  passed,  and 
traces  of  the  burning  remained.  I 
think  they  took  this  from  the  fable  of 
Phaeton,  which  Ovid  narrates  in  the 
beginning  of  the  second  book  of  the 
Metamorphoses.  Others,  and  among 
them  Anaxagoras  and  Democritus,  that 
it  was  the  light  of  the  Sun  reflected  in 
that  part.  And  these  opinions  they 
prove  by  demonstrative  reasons.  What 
Aristotle  says  of  this  we  cannot  well 
know  ;  for  his  opinion  is  not  the  same 
in  one  translation  as  in  the  other.  And 
I  think  this  was  an  error  of  the  trans- 
lators ;  for  in  the  new  one  he  appears  to 
say,  that  it  was  a  gathering  of  vapours 
under  the  stai-s  of  that  region,  for  they 
always  attract  them;  and  this  does,  not 
appear  to  be  the  true  reason.  In  the 
old,  it  says,  that  the  Galaxy  is  only  a 
multitude  of  fixed  stars  in  that  region, 
so  small  that  they  cannot  be  distin- 
guished here  below  ;  but  from  them  is 
apparent  that  whiteness  which  we  call 
the  Galaxy.  And  it  may  be  that  the 
heaven  in  that  part  is  more  dense,  and 
therefore  retains  and  reflects  that  light ; 
and  this  opinion  seems  to  h.ave  been 
entertained  by  Aristotle,  Avicenna,  and 
Ptolemy." 

Milton,  Par.  Lost,  VII.  577  :— 

"  A  broad  and  ample  road,  whose  dust  is  gold, 
And  pavement  stars,  as  stars  to  thee  appear, 
Seen  in  the  Galaxy,  that  Milky  Way, 
Which  nightly,  as  a  circKng  «oiie,  thou  seest 
Powdered  with  stars." 

loi.   The   sign   of   the   cross,    drawn 


NOTES  TO  PAR  A  DISC. 


655 


upon  the  planet  Mars,  as  upon  the 
breast  of  a  cnisader.  The  following 
Legend  of  the  Cross,  and  its  signifi- 
cance, is  from  Didron,  Chrislian  Icono- 
graphy, Millington's  Tr.,  I.  367  :  — 

"  The  cross  is  more  than  a  mere 
figure  of  Christ  ;  it  is  in  Iconography 
either  Christ  himself  or  his  symbol.  A 
legend  has,  consequently,  been  invented, 
giving  the  history  of  the  cross,  as  if  it 
had  been  a  living  being.  It  has  been 
made  the  theme  and  hero  of  an  epic 
poem,  the  germ  of  which  may  be  dis- 
covered in  books  of  apocryphal  tradi- 
tion. This  story  is  given  at  lengtli  in 
the  Golden  Legend,  Legenda  Aurea, 
and  is  detailed  and  completed  in  works 
of  painting  and  sculpture  from  the  four- 
teenth century  down  to  the  sixteenth. 
....  After  the  death  of  Adam,  Seth 
planted  on  the  tomb  of  his  father  a 
shoot  from  the  Tree  of  Life,  which 
grew  in  the  terrestrial  Paradise.  From 
it  sprang  three  little  trees,  united  by  one 
single  trunk.  Moses  thence  gathered 
the  rod  with  which  he  by  his  miracles 
astonished  the  people  of  Egypt,  and  the 
inhabitants  of  the  desert.  Solomon  de- 
sirefl  to  convert  that  same  tree,  which 
had  become  gigantic  in  size,  into  a 
column  for  his  palace  ;  being  either  too 
short  or  too  long,  it  was  rejected,  and 
served  as  a  bridge  over  a  torrent.  The 
Queen  of  Sheba  refused  to  pass  over  on 
that  tree,  declaring  that  it  would  one 
day  occasion  the  destruction  of  the  Jews. 
Solomon  commanded  that  the  predes- 
tined beam  should  be  thrown  into  the 
probationary  pool  (Pool  of  Bethesda), 
and  its  virtues  were  immediately  com- 
municated to  tlie  waters.  When  Christ 
had  been  condfemned  to  suffer  the  death 
of  a  malefactor,  his  cross  was  made  of 
the  wood  of  that  very  tree.  It  was 
buried  on  Golgotha,  and  afterwards  dis- 
covered by  St.  Helena.  It  was  carried 
into  captivity  by  Chosroes,  king  of 
Persia,  delivered,  and  brought  back  in 
triumph  to  Jerusalem,  by  the  Emperor 
Heraclius.  Being  afterwards  dispersed 
in  a  multitude  of  fragments  throughout 
the  Christian  universe,  countless  miracles 
Were  performed  by  it ;  it  restored  the 
dead  to  life,  and  gave  sight  to  the  blind, 
cured  the  paralytic,  cleansed  lepers,  put 
demons  to  flight,  and  dispelled  various 


maladies  with  which  whole  nations  were 
afflicted,  extinguished  conflagrations,  and 
calmned  the  fury  of  the  raging  waves. 

"The  wood  of  the  cross  was  bom 
with  the  world,  in  the  terrestial  para- 
dise ;  it  will  reappear  in  heaven  at  the 
end  of  time,  borne  in  the  arms  of 
Christ  or  of  his  angels,  when  the  Lord 
descends  to  judge  the  world  at  the  last 
day. 

"After  reading  this  history,  some 
conception  may  be  formed  of  the  im- 
portant place  held  by  the  cross  in 
Christian  Iconography.  The  cross,  as 
has  been  said,  is  not  merely  the  instru- 
ment of  the  punishment  of  Jesus  Christ, 
but  is  also  the  figure  and  symbol  of  the 
Saviour.  Jesus,  to  an  Iconologist,  is 
present  in  the  cross  as  well  as  in  the 
lamb,  or  in  the  lion.  Chosroes  flat- 
tered himself  that,  in  possessing  the 
cross,  he  possessed  the  Son  of  God, 
and  he  had  it  enthroned  on  his  right 
hand,  just  as  the  Son  is  enthroned  by 
God  the  Father.  So  also  the  earliest 
Christian  artists,  when  making  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  Trinity,  placed  a  cross 
beside  the  Father  and  the  Holy  Spirit  ; 
a  cross  only,  without  our  cnicified  Lord. 
The  cross  did  not  only  recall  Christ  to 
mind,  but  actually  showed  him.  In 
Christian  Iconography,  Christ  is  actu- 
ally present  under  the  form  and  sem- 
blance of  the  cross. 

"  The  cross  is  our  crucified  Lord  in 
person.  Where  the  cross  is,  there  is 
the  martyr,  says  St.  Paulinus.  Con- 
sequently it  works  miracles,  as  does 
Jesus  himself:  and  the  list  of  wonders 
operated  by  its  power  is  in  truth  im- 
mense  

"The  world  is  in  the  form  of  a 
cross  ;  for  the  east  shines  above  our 
heads,  the  north  is  on  the  right,  the 
south  at  the  left,  and  the  west  stretches 
out  beneath  our  feet.  Birds,  that  they 
may  rise  in  air,  extend  their  wings  in 
the  form  of  a  cross  :  men,  when  pray- 
ing, or  when  beating  aside  the  water 
while  swimming,  assume  the  form  of  a 
cross.  Man  differs  from  the  inferior 
animals,  in  his  power  of  standing  erect, 
and  extending  his  arms. 

"  A  vessel,  to  fly  upon  the  seas,  dis- 
plays her  yard  arms  in  the  form  of  a 
cross,  and  cannot  cut  the  waves  unlesB  . 


656 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


her  mast  stands  cross-like,  erect  in  air  ; 
finally,  the  ground  cannot  be  tilled 
without  the  sacred  sign,  and  the  iaii, 
the  cruciform  letter,  is  tne  letter  of 
salvation. 

"  The  cross,  it  is  thus  seen,  has  been 
the  object  of  a  worship  and  adoration 
resembling,  if  not  equal  to,  that  offered 
to  Christ.  That  sacred  tree  is  adored 
almost  as  if  it  were  equal  with  God 
himself;  a  number  of  churches  have 
been  dedicated  to  it  under  the  name  of 
the  Holy  Cross.  In  addition  to  this, 
most  of  our  churches,  the  greatest  as 
well  as  the  smallest,  cathedrals  as  well 
as  chapels,  present  in  their  ground  plan 
he  form  of  a  cross." 

104.  Chaucer,  Lament  of  Marie  Mag- 
daleine,  204  : — 

"  I,  loking  lip  unto  that  riiftiU  rode, 
Sawe  first  the  visage  pale  of  that  figure  ; 
P.ut  so  pitous  a  sight  spotted  with  blode 
Sawe  never,  yet,  no  living  creature  ; 
So  it  exceded  the  boiindes  of  mesure. 
That  inanncs  minde  with  al  his  wittes  five 
Is  nothing  able  that  paine  to  discrive." 

109.  From  arm  to  arm  of  the  cross, 
and  from  top  to  lx)ttom. 

112.  Mr.  Carv  here  quotes  Chaucer, 
Wife/ Bath's  Tale,  6540  :— 

"  As  thikke  as  motes  n  the  sonnebeme." 

And  Milton,  Penseroso,  8  :  — 

"  As  thick  and  numberless 
As  the  gay  motes  that  people  the  sunbeam." 

To  these  Mr.  Wright  adds  the  following 
from  Lucretius,  II.  113,  which  in  Good's 
Tr.  runs  as  follows  : — 

"  Not  unrcsembling,  if  aright  I  deem, 
Those  motes  minute,  that,  when  the  obtrusive 

sun 
Peeps  through  some  crevice  in  the  shuttered 

shade 
The  d.-iy-dark  hall  illuming,  float  amain 
In  his  bright  beam,  and  wage  eternal  war." 

125.  Words  from  a  hymn  in  praise  of 
Christ,  say  the  commentators,  but  they 
do  not  say  from  what  hymn. 

133.  The  living  seals  are  the  celestial 
spheres,  which  impress  themselves  on  all 
beneath  them,  and  increase  in  power  as 
they  are  higher. 

135.  That  is,  to  the  eyes  of  Bea- 
trice, whose  beauty  he  may  seem  to 
postpone,  ur  rejjard  as  inferior  lo   the 


splendours  that  surround  him.  He  ex- 
cuses himself  by  saying  that  he  does  not 
speak  of  them,  well  knowing  that  they 
have  grown  more  beautiful  in  ascending. 
He  describes  them  in  line  33  of  the  next 
canto  : — 

"  For  in  her  eyes  was  burning  such  a  smile 

That  with  mine  own  methought  I  touched 

the  bottom 
Both  of  my  grace  and  of  my  Paradise  !  " 

139.   Sincere  in  the  sense  of  pure  ;  as 
in  Dryden's  line, — 

"  A  joy  which  never  was  sincere  till  now." 


CANTO  XV. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  Mars  continued. 

22.  This  star,  or  spirit,  did  not,  in 
changing  place,  pass  out  of  the  cross, 
but  along  the  right  arm  and  down  the 
trunk  or  body  of  it. 

24.  A  light  in  a  vase  of  alabaster. 

25.  ALiteid,  VI.,  Davidson's  Tr.  : 
"  But  father  Anchises,  deep  in  a  ver- 
dant dale,  was  surveying  with  studious 
care  the  souls  there  enclosed,  who  were 
to  revisit  the  light  above  ;  and  happened 
to  be  reviewing  the  whole  number  of 
his  race,  his  dear  descendants,  their 
fates  and  fortunes,  their  manners  and 
achievements.  As  soon  as  he  beheld 
/Eneas  advancing  toward  him  across 
the  meads,  he  joyfully  stretched  out 
both  his  hands,  and  tears  poured  down 
his  cheeks,  and  these  words  dropped 
from  his  mouth  :  Are  you  come  at 
length,  and  has  that  piety  experienced 
by  your  sire  surmounted  the  arduous 
journey  ? " 

28.  Biagioli  and  Fraticelli  think  that 
this  ancestor  of  Dante,  Cacciagnida, 
who  is  speaking,  makes  use  of  the  Latin 
language  because  it  was  the  language 
of  his  day  in  Italy.  It  certainly  gives 
to  the  passage  a  certain  gravity  and  tinge 
of  antiquity,  which  is  in  keeping  with 
this  antique  spirit  and  with  what  he 
afterwards  says.  His  words  may  be  thus 
translated  : — 

"  O  blood  of  mine  !    O  grace  of  God  infused 
Superlative  !     To  whom  as  unto  thee 
Were  ever  twice  the  gates  of  heaven  u» 
closed." 

49.  His  longing  to  see  Dante. 


NOTES  TO   PARADISO. 


^T 


50.  The  mighty  volume  of  the  Di- 
vine Mind,  in  which  the  dark  or  written 
parts  are  not  changed  by  erasures,  nor 
the  white  spaces  by  interlineations. 

56.  The  Pythagorean  doctrine  of 
numbers.  Ritter,  Hist.  Aiic.  Phil., 
Morrison's  Tr.,  \.  361,  says  : — 

"  In  the  Pythagorean  doctrine,  num- 
ber comprises  within  itself  two  species, 
—  odd  and  even ;  it  is  therefore  the 
unity  of  these  two  contraries  ;  it  is  the 
odd  and  the  even.  Now  the  Pythago- 
reans said  also  that  one,  or  the  unit,  is 
the  odd  and  the  even  ;  and  thus  we 
arrive  at  this  result,  that  one,  or  the 
unit,  is  the  essence  of  number,  or  num- 
ber absolutely.  As  such,  it  is  also  the 
ground  of  all  numbers,  and  is  therefore 
named  the  first  one,  of  whose  origin 
nothing  further  can  be  said.  In  this 
respect  the  Pythagorean  theory  of  num- 
bers is  merely  an  expression  for  'all 
is  from  the  original  one,' — from  one 
being,  to  which  they  also  gave  the 
name  of  God;  for  in  the  words  of 
Philolaus,  '  God  embraces  and  actuates 
all,  and  is  but  one.'  .... 

"But  in  the  essence  of  number,  or 
in  the  first  original  one,  all  other  num- 
bers, and  consequently  the  elements  of 
numljers,  and  the  elements  of  the  whole 
world,  and  all  nature,  are  contained. 
The  elements  of  number  are  the  even 
and  the  odd  ;  on  this  account  the  first 
one  is  the  even-odd,  which  the  Pytha- 
goreans, in  their  occasionally  strained 
mode  of  symbolizing,  attempted  to 
prove  thus  ;  that  one  being  added  to  the 
even  makes  odd,  and  to  the  odd,  even." 

Cowley,  Rural  Solitude: — 

"  Before  the  branchy  head  of  Number's  tree 
Sprang  from  the  trunk  of  one." 

61.  All  the  spirits  of  Paradise  look 
upon  God,  and  see  in  him  as  in  a  mirror 
even  the  thoughts  of  men. 

74.  The  firs'  Equality  is  God,  all 
whose  attributes  are  equal  and  eternal  ; 
and  living  in  Him,  the  love  and  know- 
\edge  of  spirits  are  also  equal. 

79.  Will  and  power.  Dante  would 
fain  thank  the  spirit  that  has  addressed 
him,  but  knows  not  how.  He  has  the 
will,  but  not  the  power.  Dante  uses  the 
word  argument  in  this  sense  of  power, 
or  means,  or  appliance,  Purg.  II.  31  ; — 


"  See  how  he  scorns  all  human  arguments, 
So  that  nor  oar  he  wants,  nor  other  sail 
Than   his   own   wings,    between   so  distant 
shores." 

85.  Dante  calls  the  spirit  of  Caccia- 
guida  a  living  topaz  set  in  the  celestial 
cross,  probably  from  the  brilliancy  and 
golden  light  of  this  precious  stone.  He 
may  also  have  had  in  his  mind  the  many 
wonderful  qualities,  as  well  as  the  beauty, 
of  the  gem.  He  makes  use  of  the  same 
epithet  in  Canto  XXX.  76. 

The  Ottimo  says,  that  he  who  wears 
the  topaz  cannot  be  injured  by  an 
enemy  ;  and  Mr.  King,  Antique  Gems, 
p.  427,  says:  "If  thrown  into  boiling 
water,  the  water  cools  immediately  ; 
hence  this  gem  cools  lust,  calms  mad- 
ness and  attacks  of  frenzy."  In  the 
same  work  he  gives  a  translation  of  the 
Lafidarium  of  Marbodus,  or  Marboeuf, 
Bikhop  of  Rennes  in  1081.  Of  the 
chrysolite,  which  is  supposed  to  be  the 
same  as  the  topaz,  this  author  says  : — 

"  The  golden  Chrysolite  a  fiery  blaze 
Mixed  with  the  hua  of  ocean's  green  displays ; 
Enchased  in  gold,  its  strong  protective  might 
Drives  far  away  the  terrors  of  the  night ; 
Strung  on  a  hair  plucked  from  an  ass's  tail. 
The    mightiest    demons   'neath   its   influence 
quail." 

89.  He  had  been  waiting  for  the 
coming  of  Dante,  with  the  "hunger 
long  and  grateful "  spoken  of  in  line  49. 

91.   The  first  of  the  family  who  bore 
the  name  of  Alighieri,  still  punished  in 
the  circle  of  Pride  in    Purgatory,    and . 
needing  the  prayers  and  good  offices  of 
Dante  to  set  him  free. 

97.  Barlow,  Study  of  Div.  Com.,  p. 
441,  says  :  — 

"  The  name  of  Florence  has  been 
variously  explained.  With  the  old 
chroniclers,  the  prevalent  opinion  was, 
that  it  was  derived  from  Fiorino,  the 
Praetor  of  Metellus,  who  during  the 
long  siege  of  Fiesole  by  the  Romans 
commanded  an  intrenched  camp  be- 
tween the  River  and  the  Rock,  and 
was  here  surprised  and  slain  iiy  the 
enemy.  The  meadows  abounded  in 
flowers,  especially  lilies,  and  the  an- 
cient ensign,  a  white  lily  on  a  red 
ground,  subsequently  reversed  (XVI. 
154),  and  similar  to  the  form  on  the 
florin    [fiorino],    with   the   name  given 


658 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


to  the  Duomo,  St.  Maria  del  Fiore, 
tend  to  show  that  the  name  was  taken 
from  the  flowery  mead,  rather  than 
from  the  name  of  a  Roman  praetor. 
Leonardo  Aretino  states  that  the  name 
of  tlie  city  o.iginally  was  Fluentia,  so 
called  because  situated  between  the  Ar- 
no  and  the  Mugnone  :  and  that  subse- 
quently, from  the  flourishing  state  of  the 
colony,  it  was  called  Ftorentia.  Sci- 
pione  Ammiraio  affirms  that  its  name 
from  the  first  was  Floreuzia. 

"The  form  and  dimensions  of  the 
original  city  have  not  been  very  accu- 
rately recorded.  In  shape,  probably, 
it  resembled  a  Roman  camp.  Male- 
spini  says  that  it  was  'quasi  a  simili- 
tudine  di  bastie.'  The  wall  was  of 
burnt  bricks,  with  solid  round  towers 
at  intervals  of  twenty  cubits,  and  it  had 
four  gates,  and  six  posterns.  The  Cam- 
pidoglio,  where  now  is  the  Mercato 
Vecchio,  was  an  imitation  of  that  of  the 
parent  city,  Rome,  whose  fortunes  her 
daughter  for  many  centuries  shared.  .  .  . 

"The  cerchia  anlica  of  Cacciaguida 
was  the  first  circle  of  the  new  city,  which 
arose  from  the  ruins  of  the  Roman  one 
destroyed  by  Totila ;  it  included  the 
Badia,  which  the  former  did  not;  Dante, 
therefore,  in  mentioning  this  circum- 
stance, shows  how  accurately  he  had  in- 
formed himself  of  the  course  of  the  pre- 
vious wall.  The  walls  of  Dante's  time 
were  begim  in  1284,  but  not  finished 
until  nine  years  after  his  death  ;  they 
are  those  of  the  present  day." 

98.  Tierce,  or  Terza,  is  the  first  divi- 
sion of  the  canonical  day,  from  six  to 
nine;  Nones,  or  IVona,  the  third,  from 
twelve  to  three  in  the  afternoon.  See 
////  XXXIV.  Note  95.  The  bells  of 
the  Abbey  within  the  old  walls  of  Flo- 
rence still  rang  these  hours  in  Dante's 
time,  antl  measured  the  day  of  the 
Florentines,  like  the  bells  of  morning, 
noon,  and  night  in  our  New  England 
towns.  In  the  Convito,  IV.  23,  Dante 
says;  "The  service  of  the  first  part  of 
the  day,  that  is,  of  Tierce,  is  said  at  the 
end  of  it ;    and   that  of  the  third  and 

fourth,    at   the   beginning And 

therefore  be  it  known  unto  all,  that 
proiK-'rly  Nones  should  always  ring  at 
the  beginning  of  the  seventh  hour  of  the 
■day." 


99.  Napier,  Floreut.  Hist.,  I.  572, 
writes  as  follows:  "The  simplicity  of 
Florentine  manners  in  1260,  described 
by  Villani  and  Malespini,  justifies  a 
similar  picture  as  drawn  by  their  great 
poet.  'Then,'  say  these  writers,  'the 
Florentines  lived  soberly  on  the  sim- 
plest food  at  little  expense  ;  many  of 
their  customs  were  rough  and  rude,  and 
both  men  and  women  went  coarsely 
clad  ;  many  even  wearing  plain  leather 
garments  without  fur  or  lining  :  they 
wore  boots  on  their  feet  and  caps  on 
their  heads  :  the  women  used  unorna- 
mented  buskins,  and  even  the  most 
distinguished  were  content  with  a  close 
gown  of  scarlet  serge  or  camlet,  confined 
by  a  leathern  waist-belt  of  the  ancient 
fashion,  and  a  hooded  cloak  lined  with 
miniver ;  and  the  poorer  classes  wore 
a  coarse  green  cloth  dress  of  the  same 
form.  A  hundred  lire  was  the  common 
dowry  of  a  giri,  and  two  and  three 
hundred  were  then  considered  splendid 
fortunes  :  most  young  women  waited 
until  they  were  twenty  years  old  and 
upwards  before  they  married.  And  such 
was  the  dress,  and  such  the  manners 
and  simple  habits  of  the  Florentines  of 
that  day ;  but  loyal  in  heart,  faithful 
to  each  other,  zealous  and  honest  in 
the  execution  of  public  duties  ;  and  with 
their  coarse  and  homely  mode  of  life, 
they  gained  more  virtue  and  honour  for 
themselves  and  their  country  than  they 
who  now  live  so  delicately  are  able  to 
accomplish.'  " 

What  Florence  had  become  in  Dante's 
time  may  be  seen  from  the  following 
extract  from  Frate  Francesco  Pippino, 
who  wrote  in  13 13,  and  whose  account 
is  thus  given  by  Napier,  II.  542  :  "  Now 
indeed,  in  the  present  luxurious  age, 
many  shameful  practices  are  introduced 
instead  of  the  former  customs ;  many 
indeed  to  the  injury  of  people's  minds, 
because  frugality  is  exchanged  for  mag- 
nificence ;  the  clothing  bemg  now  re- 
markable for  its  exquisite  materials, 
workmanship,  and  su])erfluous  orna- 
ments of  silver,  g(»ld,  and  i)earls;  admir- 
able fabrics ;  wide-spreading  embroi- 
dery ;  silk  for  vests,  painted  or  variously 
coloured,  and  lined  with  divers  precious 
furs  from  foreign  countries.  Excitement 
to  gluttony  is  not  wanting ;  foreign  winei 


NOTES  TO  PAR  AD  ISO. 


659; 


are  much  esteemed,  and  almost  all  the 
people  drink  in  public.  The  viands  are 
sumptuous  ;  the  chief  cooks  are  held  in 
great  honour  ;  provocatives  of  the  palate 
are  eagerly  sought  after  ;  ostentation 
increases ;  money-makers  exert  them- 
selves to  supply  these  tastes ;  hence 
usuries,  frauds,  rapine,  extortion,  pillage, 
and  contentions  in  the  commonwealth  : 
also  unlawful  taxes  ;  oppression  of  the 
innocent  ;  banishment  of  citizens,  and 
the  combinations  of  rich  men.  Our  true 
god  is  our  belly ;  we  adhere  to  the 
pomps  which  were  renounced  at  our 
baptism,  and  thus  desert  to  the  great 
enemy  of  our  race.  Well  indeed  does 
Seneca,  the  instructor  of  morals,  in  his 
book  of  orations,  curse  our  times  in  the 
following  words  :  '  Daily,  things  grow 
"worse  because  the  whole  contest  is  for 
dishonourable  matters.  Behold  !  the 
indolent  senses  of  youth  are  numbed, 
nor  are  they  active  in  the  pursuit  of  any 
one  honest  thing.  Sleep,  languor,  and 
a  carefulness  for  bad  things,  worse  than 
sleep  and  languor,  have  seized  upon 
their  minds ;  the  love  of  singing,  dancing, 
arid  other  unworthy  occupations  possesses 
them ':  they  are  effeminate  :  to  soften  the 
hair,  to  lower  the  tone  of  their  voice  to 
female  compliments  ;  to  vie  with  women 
in  effeminacy  of  person,  and  adorn 
themselves  with  unbecoming  delicacy, 
is  the  object  ot  our  youth.'  " 

lOO.  Villani,  Cronica,  VI.,  69,  as 
quoted  in  Note  99  :  "  The  women  used 
unornamented  buskins,  and  even  the 
most  distinguished  were  content  with 
a  close  gown  of  scarlet  serge  or  camlet, 
confined  by  a  leathern  waist-belt  of  the 
ancient  fashion,  and  a  hooded  cloak 
lined  with  miniver;  and  the  poorer  classes 
wore  a  coarse  green  cloth  dress  of  the 
same  form." 

102.  Dante,  Convito,  I.  10 :  "  Like 
the  beauty  of  a  woman,  when  the  orna- 
ments of  her  apparel  cause  more  admi- 
ration than  she  herself." 

108.  Eastern  effeminacy  in  general ; 
what  Boccaccio  calls  the  morbidezze  (T 
Egitto.  Paul  Orosius,  "the  advocate 
of  the  Christian  centuries,"  as  quoted  by 
the  Ottimo,  says:  "The  last  king  of 
Syria  was  Sardanapalus,  a  man  more 
corrupt  than  a  woman,  {corroitv  piu  eke 
^mmina,)  who  was  seen  by  his  prefect 


Arabetes,  among  a  herd  cf  courtesans, 
clad  in  female  attire. " 

109.  Montemalo,  or  Montemario, 
is  the  hill  from  which  the  traveller 
coming  from  Viterbo  first  catches  sight 
of  Rome.  The  Uccellatojo  is  the  hill 
from  which  the  traveller  coming  from 
Bologna  first  catches  sight  of  Florence. 
Here  the  two  hills  are  used  to  signify 
what  is  seen  from  them  ;  namely,  the 
two  cities  ;  and  Dante  means  to  say, 
that  Florence  had  not  yet  sui-passed 
Rome  in  the  splendour  of  its  buildings  ; 
but  as  Rome  would  one  day  be  surpassed 
by  Florence  in  its  rise,  so  would  it  be  in 
its  downfall. 

Speaking  of  the  splendour  of  Florence 
in  Dante's  age,  Napier,  Florent.  Hist., 
II.  581,  says  : — 

"  Florence  was  at  this  period  well 
studded  with  handsome  dwellings  ;  the 
citizens  were  continually  building,  re- 
pairing, altering,  and  embellishing  their 
houses  ;  adding  every  day  to  their  ease 
and  comforts,  and  introducing  improve- 
ments from  foreign  nations.  Sacred 
architecture  of  every  kind  partook  of 
this  taste;  and  there  was  no  popular 
citizen  or  nobleman  but  either  had  built 
or  was  building  fine  country  palaces  and 
villas,  far  exceeding  their  city  residence 
in  size  and  magnificence  ;  so  that  many 
were  accounted  crazy  for  their  extrava- 
gance. 

"  '  And  so  magnificent  was  the  sight,' 
says  Villani,  '  that  strangers  unused  to 
Florence,  on  coming  from  abroad,  when 
they  beheld  the  vast  assemblage  of  rich 
buildings  and  beautiful  palaces  with 
which  the  country  was  so  thickly  studded 
for  three  miles  round  the  ramparts,  be- 
lieved that  all  was  city  like  that  within 
the  Roman  walls ;  and  this  was  inde- 
pendent of  the  rich  jialaces,  towers, 
courts,  and  walled  gardens  at  a  greater 
distance,  which  in  other  countries  would 
be  denominated  castles.  In  short,'  he 
continues,  '  it  is  estimated  that  within  a, 
circuit  of  six  miles  round  the  town  there 
are  rich  and  noble  dwellings  enough  to 
make  two  cities  like  Florence.'  And 
Ariosto  seems  to  have  caught  the  same 
idea  when  he  exclaims, — 

■  While  gazing  on  thy  villa-sUidded  hills 
'Twould  seem  as  though  the  earth  grew  pa- 
laces 


660 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


As  she  is  wont  by  nature  to  bring  forth 
Young  <Oioots,  and  leafy  plants,  ana  flowery 

shrubs : 
And  if  within  one  wall  and  single  name 
Could  be  collected  all  thy  scattered  halls, 
Two  Romes  would  scarcely  form  thy  parallel.'" 

no.  The  "which  "  in  this  line  refers 
to  Montenialo  of  the  preceding. 

112.  Bellincion  Berti,  whom  Dante 
selects  as  a  type  of  the  good  citizen  of 
Florence  in  the  olden  time,  and  whom 
Villani  calls  "the  best  and  most  honoured 
gentleman  of  Florence,"  was  of  the  noble 
family  of  the  Ravignani.  He  was  the 
father  of  the  "good  Gualdrada,"  whose 
story  shines  out  so  pleasantly  in  Boc- 
caccio's commentary.  See  Inf.  XVI. 
Note  37. 

115.  "Two  ancient  houses  of  the 
city,"  says  the  Ottimo ;  "  and  he  saw  the 
chiefs  of  these  houses  were  content  with 
leathern  jerkins  without  any  drapery  ; 
he  who  should  dress  so  now-a-davs 
would  be  laughed  at :  and  he  saw  their 
dames  spinning,  as  who  should  say, 
'  Now-a-days  not  even  the  maid  will 
spin,  much  less  the  lady.'  "  And  Buti 
upon  the  same  text  :  "  They  wore 
leathern  dresses  without  any  cloth  over 
them  ;  they  did  not  make  to  themselves 
long  rolies,  nor  cloaks  of  scarlet  lined 
with  vaire,  as  they  do  now." 

120.  They  were  not  abandoned  by 
their  husbands,  who,  content  with  little, 
did  not  go  to  traffic  in  France. 

128.  Monna  Cianghella  della  Tosa 
was  a  gay  widow  of  Florence,  who  led 
such  a  life  of  pleasure  that  her  name  has 
pa.ssed  into  a  proverb,  or  a  common 
name  for  a  dissolute  woman. 

Lapo  Salterello  was  a  Florentine 
lawyer,  and  a  man  of  dissipated  habits  ; 
and  Crescimbeni,  whose  mill  grinds 
everything  that  comes  to  it,  counts  him 
among  the  poets,  I'olffar  Poesia,  III. 
82,  and  calls  him  a  Rimatore  di  von  poco 
grido,  a  rhymer  of  no  little  renown. 
Unluckily  he  quotes  one  of  his  sonnets. 

129.  Quinctius,  surnamed  Cincin- 
natus  from  his  neglected  locks,  taken 
from  his  plough  and  made  Dictator  by 
the  Roman  Senate,  and,  after  he  had 
defeated  the  Volsciaiis  and  saved  the 
city,  returning  to  his  plough  again. 

Cornelia,  daughter  of  Scipio  Africa- 
nuB,  and  mother  of  the  Gracchi,  who 
preferred   for  her    husband    a    Roman 


citizen  to  a  king,  and   boasted  that  her 
children  were  her  only  jewels. 

Shakespeare,  Tit.  Andron.,  IV.  I :  — 

"  Ah,  boy,  Cornelia  never  with  more  care 
Read  to  her  sons,  than  she  hath  read  to  thee 
Sweet  poetry,  and  TuUy's  Orator." 

133.  The  Virgin  Mary,  invoked  in 
the  pains  of  childbirth,  as  mentioned 
Purg.  XX.  19  : — 

"And  I  by  perad  venture  heard  '  Sweet  Mary  ! ' 
Uttered  in  front  of  us  amid  the  weeping. 
Even  as  a  woman  does  who  is  in  child-birth." 

134.  The  baptistery  of  the  church  ,of 
St.  John  in  Florence  ;  //  tnio  hel  San 
Giozauiti,  my  beautiful  St.  John,  as 
Dante  calls  it.  Iiif.  XIX.  17. 

135.  Of  this  ancestor  of  Dante, 
Cacciaguida,  nothing  is  known  but 
what  the  poet  here  tells  us,  and  so 
clearly  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  repeat 
it  in  prose. 

137.  Cacciaguida's  wife  came  from 
F'errara  in  the  Val  di  Pado,  or  Val  di 
Po,  the  Valley  of  the  Po.  She  was  of 
the  Aldighieri  or  Alighieri  family,  and 
from  her  Dante  derived  his  surname. 

139.  The  Emperor  Conrad  III.  of 
.Swabia,  uncle  of  Frederic  Barbarossa. 
In  1 143  he  joined  Louis  VII.  of  France 
in  the  Second  Crusade,  of  which  St. 
Bernard  was  the  great  preacher.  He 
died  in  1 152,  after  his  return  from  this 
crusade. 

140.  Cacciaguida  was  knighted  by 
the  Emperor  Conrad. 

143.  The  law  or  religion  of  Mahomet. 


CANTO  XVI. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  Mars  continued. 

Boethius,  De  Cons.  Phil.,  Book  III. 
Prgsa  6,  Ridpath's  Tr.  :  "  But  who  is 
there  that  does  not  perceive  tiie  euipti- 
ness  and  futility  of  what  men  dignify 
with  the  name  of  high  extraction,  or 
nobility  of  birth  ?  The  splendour  you 
attribute  to  this  is  quite  foreign  to  you  : 
for  nobility  of  descent  is  notliiiig  else  but 
the  credit  derived  from  the  merit  of  your 
ancestors.  If  it  is  the  applause  of  man- 
kind, and  nothing  besides,  that  illustrates 
and  confers  fame  upon  a  person,  no 
others  can  be  celebrated  and  famous,  but 
such  as  are  universally  applauded.  If 
you  are  not  therefore  esteemed  illustriom 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


j66ii 


from  your  own  worth,  you  can  derive  no 
real  splendour  from  the  merits  of  others : 
so  that,  in  my  o])inion,  nobility  is  in  no 
other  respect  good,  than  as  it  imposes  an 
obligation  upon  its  possessors  not  to 
degenerate  from  the  merit  of  their  an- 
cestors. " 

lo.  The  use  of  You  for  Thou,  the 
plural  for  the  singular,  is  said  to  have 
been  introduced  in  the  time  of  Julius 
Caesar.     Lucan,  V.,  Rowe's  Tr.  ; — 

"  Then  was  the  time  when  sycophants  began 
To  heap  all  titles  on  one  lordly  man." 

Dante  uses  it  by  way  of  compliment  to 
his  ancestor ;  though  he  says  the  de- 
scendants of  the  Romans  were  not  so 
persevering  in  its  use  as  other  Italians. 

14.  Beatrice  smiled  to  give  notice  to 
Dante  that  she  observed  his  flattering 
style  of  address  ;  as  the  Lady  of  Male- 
hault  coughed  when  she  saw  Launcelot 
kiss  Queen  Guinevere,  as  related  in  the 
old  romance  of  Launcelot  of  the  Lake. 

20.  Rejoiced  within  itself  that  it  can 
endure  so  much  joy. 

25.  The  city  of  Florence,  which,  in 
Canto  XXV.  5,  Dante  calls  "  the  fair 
sheepfold,  where  a  lamb  I  slumbered." 
It  will  be  remembered  that  St.  John 
the  Baptist  is  the  patron  saint  of  Flor- 
ence. 

33.  Not  in  Italian,  but  in  Latin, 
which  was  the  language  of  cultivated 
people  in  Cacciaguida's  time. 

34.  From  the  Incarnation  of  Christ 
down  to  his  own  birth,  the  planet  Mars 
had  returned  to  the  sign  of  the  Lion  five 
hundred  and  eighty  times,  or  made  this 
number  of  revolutions  in  its  orbit.  Bru- 
netto  Latini,  Dante's  schoolmaster,  Tre- 
sor,  I.  Ch.  cxi.,  says,  that  Mars  "goes 
through  all  the  signs  in  ii.  years  and  i. 
month  and  xxx.  days."  This  would 
make  Cacciaguida  born  long  after  the 
crusade  in  which  he  died.  But  Dante, 
who  had  perhaps  seen  the  astronomical 
tables  of  King  Alfonso  of  Castile,  knew 
more  of  the  matter  than  his  schoolmaster, 
and-was  aware  that  the  period  of  a  revo- 
lution of  Mars  is  less  than  two  years. 
Witte,  who  cites  these  tables  in  his 
notes  to  this  canto,  says  they  give  "686 
days  22  hours  and  24  minutes " ;  and 
continues  :  ' '  Five  hundred  and  eighty 
such  revolutions  gi\'e  then  (due  regard 


being  had  to  the  leap-years)  1090  years 
and  not  quite  four  months.  Cacciaguida, 
therefore,  at  the  time  of  the  Second  Cru- 
sade, was  in  his  fifty-seventh  year." 

Pietro  di  Dante  (the  poet's  son  and 
commentator,  and  who,  as  Biagioli,  with 
rather  gratuitous  harshness,  says,  was 
"  smaller  compared  to  his  father  than  a 
point  is  to  the  universe  ")  assumed  two 
years  as  a  revolution  of  Mars  ;  but  as  this 
made  Cacciaguida  bom  in  1160,  twelve 
years  after  his  death,  he  suggested  the 
reading  of  "  three,"  instead  of  "thirty," 
in  the  text,  which  reading  was  adopted 
by  the  Cruscan  Academy,  and  makes  the 
year  of  Caccinguida's  birth  1106. 

But  that  Dante  computed  the  revolu- 
tion of  Mars  at  less  than  two  years  is 
evident  from  a  passage  in  the  Convtto, 
H.  15,  referred  to  by  Philalethes,  where 
he  speaks  of  half  a  revolution  of  this 
planet  as  vn  anno  quasi,  almost  a  year. 
The  common  reading  of  "  thirty "  is 
undoubtedly  then  the  true  one. 

In  Astrology,  the  Lion  is  the  House 
of  the  Sun  ;  but  Mars,  as  well  as  the 
Sun  and  Jupiter,  is  a  Lord  of  the  Lion  ; 
and  hence  Dante  says  "  its  Lion." 

41.  The  house  in  which  Cacciaguida 
was  born  stood  in  the  Mercato  Vecchio, 
or  Old  Market,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
last  ward  or  sesto  of  Florence  toward  the 
east,  called  the  Porta  San  Pietro. 

The  city  of  Horence  was  originally 
divided  into  Quarters  or  Gates,  which 
were,  San  Pancrazio  on  the  east,  San 
Pietro  on  the  west,  the  Duomo  on  the 
north,  and  Santa  Maria  on  the  south. 
Afterwards,  when  the  new  walls  were 
built  and  the  city  enlarged,  these  Quar- 
ters were  changed  to  Sesti,  or  Sixths,  by 
dividing  Santa  Maria  into  the  Borgo  and 
San  Pietro  Scheraggio,  and  adding  the 
Oltrarno  (beyond  the  Arno)  on  the 
southern  bank. 

42.  The  annual  races  of  Florence  on 
the  24th  of  June,  the  festival  of  St.  John 
the  Baptist.  The  prize  was  the  Pallio, 
or  mantle  of  "  crimson  silk  velvet,"  as 
Villani  says  ;  and  the  race  was  run  from 
San  Pancrazio,  the  western  ward  of  the 
city,  through  the  Mercato  Vecchio,  to 
the  eastern  ward  of  San  Piero.  Accord- 
ing to  Benvenuto,  the  Florentine  races 
were  hoise-races  ;  but  the  Pallio  of  Ve- 
rona, where  the  prize  was  the  ' '  Green 


662 


NOTES   TO  PARADfSO. 


Mantle,"  was  manifestly  a  foot-race.  See 
Inf.  XV.  122. 

47.  Between  the  Ponte  Vecchio, 
where  once  stood  the  statue  of  Mars,  and 
the  church  of  St.  John  the  Baptist. 

50.  Campi  is  a  village  between  Prato 
and  Florence,  in 

"  The  valley  whence  Bisenzio  descends." 

Certaldo  is  in  the  Val  d'Elsa,  and  is 
chiefly  celebrated  as  being  the  birthplace 
of  Boccaccio,  —  "true  Bocca  (fOro,  or 
Mouth  of  Gold,"  says  Benvenuto,  with 
enthusiasm,  "  my  venerated  master,  and 
a  most  diligent  and  familiar  student  of 
Dante,  and  who  wrote  a  certain  book 
that  greatly  helps  us  to  understand  him." 

Figghine,  or  Figline,  is  a  town  in  the 
Val  d'Arno,  some  twelve  miles  distant 
from  Florence ;  and  hateful  to  Dante  as 
the  birthplace  of  the  "ribald  lawyer, 
Ser  Dego,"  as  Campi  was  of  another 
ribald  lawyer,  Ser  Fozio  ;  and  Certaldo 
of  a  certain  Giacomo,  who  thrust  •  the 
Podesta  of  Florence  from  his  seat,  and 
imdertook  to  govern  the  city.  These 
men,  mingling  with  the  old  Florentines, 
corrupted  the  simple  manners  of  the 
town. 

53.  Galluzzo  lies  to  the  south  of  Flor- 
ence on  the  road  to  Siena,  and  Tres- 
piano  about  the  same  distance  to  the 
north,  on  the  road  to  Bologna. 

56.  Aguglione  and  Signa  are  also 
Tuscan  towns  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Florence.  According  to  Covino,  De- 
scriz.  Geoo.  deW  Itnlia^  p.  18,  it  was  a 
certain  Baldo  d' Aguglione,  who  con- 
demned Dante  to  be  burned  ;  and  Boni- 
'fazio  da  Signa,  according  to  Buti,  "  ty- 
rannized over  the  city,  and  sold  the 
favours  and  offices  of  the  Commune." 

58.  The  clergy.  "  Popes,  canlinals, 
bishops,  and  archbishops,  who  povern 
the  Holy  Church,"  says  Buti  ;  and  con- 
tinues :  "If  the  Church  had  been  a 
mother,  instead  of  a  step-mother  to  the 
Emperors,  and  had  not  excommunicated, 
and  |)ersecuted,  and  published  them  as 
heretics,  Italy  would  have  been  well 
governed,  and  there  would  have  been 
none  of  tliose  civil  wars,  that  dismantled 
and  devastated  the  smaller  towns,  and 
drove  their  inhabitants  into  Florence,  to 
trade  and  discount." 

Napier,  Fhrent.   Hist,,  I.  597,  says  : 


"  The  Arte  dd  Cambio,  or  money-trade, 
in  which  Florence  shone  pre-eminent, 
soon  made  her  bankers  known  and  al- 
most necessary  to  all  Europe.  .  .  .  But 
amongst  all  foreign  nations  they  were 
justly  considered,  according  to  the  ad- 
mission of  their  own  countrymen,  as 
hard,  griping,  and  exacting  ;  they  were 
called  Lombard  dogs ;  hated  and  insulted 
by  nations  less  acquainted  with  trade  and 
certainly  less  civilized  than  themselves, 
when  they  may  only  have  demanded  a 
fair  interest  for  money  lent  at  a  great 
risk  to  lawless  men  in  a  foreign  country. 
.  .  .  All  counting-houses  of  Florentine 
bankers  were  confined  to  the  old  and  new 
market-places,  where  alone  they  were 
allowed  to  transact  business  :  before  the 
door  was  placed  a  bench,  and  a  table 
covered  with  carpet,  on  which  stood 
their  money-bags  and  account-book  for 
the  daily  transactions  of  trade." 

62.  .Simifonte,  a  village  near  Certaldo. 
It  was  captured  by  the  Florentines,  and 
made  part  of  their  territory,  in  1202. 

64.  In  the  valley  of  the  Ombrone, 
east  of  Pistoia,  are  still  to  be  seen  the 
ruins  of  Montemurlo,  once  owned  by  the 
Counts  Guidi,  and  by  them  sold  to  the 
Florentines  in  1203,  because  they  could 
not  defend  it  against  the  Pistoians. 

65.  The  Pivier  d^ Acone,  or  parish  of 
Acone,  is  in  the  Val  di  Sieve,  or  Valley 
of  the  Sieve,  one  of  the  affluents  of  the 
Arno.  Here  the  powerful  family  of  the 
Cerchi  had  their  castle  of  Monte  di 
Croce,  which  was  taken  and  destroyed 
by  the  Florentines  in  1053,  and  the 
Cerchi  and  othei-s  came  to  live  in  Flor- 
ence, where  they  became  the  leaders  of 
the  Parte  Biauca.  See  Itif.  VI.  Note 
65. 

66.  The  Buondelmonti  were  a  wealthy 
and  powerful  family  of  Valdigrievc,  or 
Valley  of  the  Grieve,  which,  like  the 
.Sieve,  is  an  affluent  of  the  Anio.  They 
too,  like  the  Cerchi,  came  to  Florence, 
when  their  lands  were  taken  by  the 
Florentines,  and  were  in  a  certain  sense 
the  cause  of  Guelph  and  Ghibelline  quar- 
rels in  the  city.     See  Inf.  X.  Note  51, 

70.  The  downfall  of  a  great  city  is 
more  swift  and  terrible  than  that  of  a 
smaller  one ;  or,  as  Venturi  interprets, 
"  The  size  of  the  body  and  greater  ro- 
bustness of  strength  in  a  city  and  state 


NOTES   TO  TARADISO. 


«3 


are  not  helpful,  but  injurious  to  their 
preservation,  unless  men  live  in  peace 
and  without  the  blindness  of  the  pas- 
sions, and  Florence,  more  poor  and 
humble,  would  have  flourished  longer." 
Perhaps  the  best  commentary  of  all 
is  that  contained  in  the  two  lines  of 
Chaucer's  Troilus  and  Cresseide,  II. 
1385, — aptly  quoted  by  Mr.  Cary  : — 

"  For  swifter  course  coineth    thing  that   is  of 
wight, 
Whan  it  descendeth,  than  done  thinges  light." 

72.  In  this  line  we  have  in  brief 
Dante's  political  faith,  which  is  given 
in  detail  in  his  treatise  De  Monarchia. 
Sec  the  article  "  Dante's  Creed,"  among 
the  illustrations  of  Vol.  II. 

73.  Luni,  an  old  Etruscan  city  in  the 
I-unigiana  ;  and  Urbisaglia,  a  Roman 
city  in  the  Marca  d'Ancona. 

75.  Chiusi  is  in  the  Sienese  territory, 
and  Sinis^aglia  on  the  Adriatic,  east  of 
Rome.  This  latter  place  has  somewhat 
revived  since  Dante's  time. 

76.  Boccaccio  seems  to  have  caught 
something  of  the  spirit  of  this  canto, 
when,  lamenting  the  desolation  of  Flor- 
ence by  the  plague  in  1348,  he  says  in 
the  Introduction  to  the  Decamerone: 
"  How  many  vast  palaces,  how  many 
beautiful  houses,  how  many  noble  dwell- 
ings, aforetime  filled  with  lords  and 
ladies  and  trains  of  servants,  were  now 
untenanted  even  by  the  lowest  menial  ! 
How  many  memorable  families,  how 
many  ample  heritages,  how  many  re- 
nowned possessions,  were  left  without 
an  heir  !  How  many  valiant  men,  how 
many  beautiful  women,  how  many  gen- 
tle youths,  breakfasted  in  the  morning 
with  their  relatives,  companions,  and 
friends,  and,  when  the  evening  came, 
supped  with  their  ancestors  in  the  other 
world  !  " 

78.     Lowell,  To  the  Past:— 

"  Still  as  a  city  buried  'neath  the  sea. 

Thy  courts  and  temples  stand  ; 
Idle  as  forms  on  wind-waved  tapestry 

Of  saints  and  heroes  grand, 

Thy  phantasms  grope  and  shiver, 
Or  watch  the  loose  shores  crumbling  silently 

Into  Time's  gnawing  river." 

' '  Our  fathers, "  says  Sir  Thomas 
Browne,  [/rn  Burial,  V.,  "find  their 
graves  in  our  short  memories,  and  sadly 


tell  us  how  we  may  be  buried  in  our 
survivors.  Grave-stones  tell  truth  scarce 
forty  years.  Generations  pass  while 
some  trees  stand,  and  old  families  last 
not  three  oaks.  .  .  .  Oblivion  is  not  to 
be  hired.  The  greater  part  must  be 
content  to  be  as  though  they  had  not 
been,  to  be  found  in  the  register  of  God, 
not  in  the  record  of  man.  Twenty-seven 
names  make  up  the  first  story,  and  the 
recorded  names  ever  since  contain  not 
one  living  century.  The  number  of  the 
dead  long  exceedeth  all  that  shall  live. 
The  night  of  time  far  surpasseth  the 
day;  and  who  knows  when  was  the 
equinox?  Every  hour  adds  unto  that 
current  arithmetic,  which  scarce  stands 
one  moment." 

79,  Shirley,  DeatKs  Final  Con- 
quest : — 

"  The  glories  of  our  birth  and  state 

Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things  : 
There  is  no  armour  against  Fate  ; 
Death  lays  his  icy  hand  on  kings  ; 
Sceptre  and  crown 
Must  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 
With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade." 

81.  The  lives  of  men  are  too  short  for 
them  to  measure  the  decay  of  things 
around  them. 

86.  It  would  be  an  unprofitable  task 
to  repeat  in  notes  the  names  of  these 

"  Great  Flordntines 
Of  whom  the  fame  is  hidden  in  the  Past," 

and  who  flourished  in  the  days  of  Cac- 
ciaguida  and  the  Emperor  Conrad.  It 
will  be  better  to  follow  Villani,  as  he 
points  out  with  a  sigh  their  dwellings  in 
the  old  town,  and  laments  over  their 
decay.  In  his  Cronica,  Book  IV.,  he 
speaks  as  follows  : — 

"Ch.  X.  As  already  mentioned,  the 
first  rebuilding  of  Little  Florence  was 
divided  by  Quarters,  that  is,  by  four 
gates ;  and  that  we  may  the  better 
make  known  the  noble  races  and  houses, 
which  in  those  times,  after  Fiesole  was 
destroyed,  were  great  and  powerful  in 
Florence,  we  will  enumerate  thera  by 
the  quarters  where  they  lived. 

"And  first  those  of  the  Porta  del 
Duomo,  which  was  the  first  fold  and 
habitation  of  the  new  Florence,  and  the 
place  where  all  the  noble  citizens  re- 
sorted and  met  together  on  Sunday,  and 


^ 


NOTES    TO   PA/? AD/SO. 


where  all  marriages  were  made,  and  all 
reconciliations,  and  all  pomps  and  so- 
lemnities of  the  Commune.  ...  At  the 
Porta  del  Duomo  lived  the  descendants 
of  the  Giovanni  and  of  the  Guineldi,  who 
were  the  first  ihat  rebuilt  the  city  of 
Florence,  and  from  whom  descended 
many  noble  families  in  Mugello  and  in 
Valdarno,  and  many  in  the  city,  who 
now  are  common  people,  and  almost 
come  to  an  end.  Such  were  the 
Karucci,  who  lived  at  Santa  Maria  Mag- 
giore,  who  are  now  extinct  ;  and  of 
their  race  were  the  Scali  and  Palermini. 
In  the  same  quarter  were  also  the  Arri- 
gucci,  the  Sizii,  and  the  sons  of  Delia 
Tosa ;  and  the  Delia  Tosa  were  the 
same  race  as  the  Bisdomini,  and  custo- 
dians and  defenders  of  the  bishopric  ; 
but  one  of  them  left  his  family  at  the 
Porta  San  Piero,  and  took  to  wife  a  lady 
named  Delia  Tosa,  wlio  had  the  inheri- 
tance, whence  the  name  was  derived. 
And  there  were  the  Delia  Pressa,  who 
lived  among  the  Chiavaiuoli,  men  of 
gentle  birth. 

"Ch.  XI.  In  the  quarter  of  Porta 
San  Piero  were  the  Bisdomini,  who,  as 
above  mentioned,  were  custodians  of  the 
bishopric  ;  and  the  Alberighi,  to  whom 
belonged  the  church  of  Santa  Maria 
Alberighi,  of  the  house  of  the  Donati, 
and  now  they  are  naught.  The  Rovig- 
nani  were  very  great,  and  lived  at  the 
Porta  .San  Pietro  ;  and  then  came  the 
bouses  of  the  Counts  Cuidi,  and  then  of 
the  Cerchi,  and  from  them  in  the  female 
line  were  born  all  the  Counts  Guidi,  as 
before  mentioned,  of  tlie  daughter  of 
gootl  Messer  Bellincion  Berti  ;  in  our 
day  all  this  race  is  extinct.  The  Galli- 
gari  and  Chiarmontesi  and  Ardinghi, 
who  lived  in  the  Orto  San  Michele, 
were  very  ancient  ;  and  so  were  the 
Giuochi,  who  now  are />o/>o/aui,  living  at 
.Santa  Margherita  ;  the  lilisei,  who  like- 
wise are  now  popolaiii,  living  near  the 
Mercato  Vecchio.  And  in  that  place 
lived  the  Caponsacchi,  who  were  nobles 
of  Fiesole  ;  the  Donati,  or  Calfucci,  for 
they  were  all  one  race,  but  the  Calfucci 
are  extinct ;  and  the  Delia  Bella  of  San 
Martino,  also  hccome /wpolani ;  and  the 
Adiniari,  who  descended  from  the  house 
of  Cosi,  who  now  live  at  Porta  Rossa, 
and  who  built  Santa  Maria  Nipoteco&a  ; 


and  although  they  are  now  the  prin- 
cipal family  of  that  ward  of  Florence, 
in  those  days  they  were  not  of  the 
oldest. 

"Ch.  XII.  At  the  Porta  San  Pan- 
crazio,  of  great  rank  and  power  were 
the  Lamberti,  descended  from  the  Delia 
Magna ;  the  Ughi  were  very  ancient, 
and  built  -Santa  Maria  Ughi,  and  all  the 
hill  of  Montughi  belonged  to  them,  and 
now  they  have  died  out  ;  the  Catellini 
were  very  ancient,  and  now  they  are  for- 
gotten. It  is  said  that  the  Tieri  were 
illegitimate  descendants  of  theirs.  The 
Pigli  were  great  and  noble  in  those 
times,  and  the  Soldanieri  and  Vecchietti. 
Very  ancient  were  the  Dell'  Area,  and 
now  they  are  extinct  ;  and  the  Migli- 
orelli,  who  now  are  naught ;  and  tiie 
Trinciavelli  da  Mosciano  were  very 
ancient. 

"Ch.  XIII.  In  the  quarter  of  Porta 
Santa  Maria,  which  is  now  in  the  ward 
of  San  Piero  Scheraggio  and  of  Borgo, 
there  were  many  powerful  and  ancient 
families.  The  greatest  were  the  U berti, 
whose  ancestors  were  the  Delia  Magna, 
and  who  lived  where  now  stand  the 
Piazza  de'  Priori  and  the  Palazzo  del 
Popolo ;  the  Fifanti,  called  Bogolesi, 
lived  at  the  corner  of  Porta  Santa  Maria ; 
the  Galli,  Cappiardi,  Guidi,  and  Filippi, 
who  now  are  nothing,  were  then  great 
and  powerful,  and  lived  in  the  Mercato 
Nuovo.  Likewise  the  Greci,  to  whom 
all  the  Borgo  de'  Greci  belonged,  have 
now  perished  and  passed  away,  except 
some  of  the  race  in  Bologna  ;  and  the 
Ormanni,  who  lived  where  now  stands 
the  forementioned  Palazzo  del  Popolo, 
and  are  now  called  Foral)oschi.  And 
behind  San  Piero  Scheraggio,  where  are 
now  the  houses  of  the  Petri,  lived  the 
Delia  Pera,  or  Peruzza,  and  from  them 
the  postern  gate  there  was  called  Porta 
Peruzza.  Some  say  that  the  Peruzzi  of 
the  present  day  are  of  that  family,  but  I 
do  not  aflfirm  it.  The  Sacchetti,  who 
lived  in  the  Garbo,  were  very  ancient  ; 
around  the  Mercato  Nuovo  the  liostichi 
were  great  people,  and  the  Delia  Sanella, 
and  Giandonati  and  Infangati  ;  great  in 
Borgo  Santi  Apostoli  were  the  Gualter- 
otli  and  Ini|X)rtuni,  who  now  are  popO' 
iaiii.  The  Buondelmonti  were  noble 
and  ancient  citizens  in  the  rural  districts, 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


66s 


and  Montebuoni  was  their  castle,  and 
many  others  in  Valdigrieve  ;  at  first  they 
lived  in  Oltramo,  and  then  came  to  the 
Borgo.  The  Pulci,  and  the  Counts  of 
Gangalandi,  Ciuffagni,  and  Nerli  of 
Ohrarno  were  at  one  time  great  and 
powerful,  together  with  the  Giandonati 
and  Delia  Bella,  named  above  ;  and 
from  the  Marquis  Hugo,  who  built  the 
Abbey,  or  Badia,  of  Florence,  received 
arms  and  knighthood,  for  they  were  very 
great  around  him." 

To  the  better  understanding  of  this 
extract  from  Villani,  it  must  be  borne  in 
mind  that,  at  the  time  when  he  wrote, 
the  population  of  Florence  was  divided 
into  three  classes,  the  Nobles,  the  Popo- 
lani,  or  middle  class,  and  the  Plebeians. 

93.  Gianni  del  Soldanier  is  put  among 
the  traitors  "with  Ganellon  and  Tebal- 
dello,"  /;//  XXXII.  121. 

95.  The  Cerchi,  who  lived  near  the 
Porta  San  Piero,  and  produced  dissen- 
sion in  the  city  with  their  White  and 
Black  factions  ; — such  a  cargo,  that  it 
must  be  thrown  overboard  to  save  the 
ship.     See  Inf.  VI.  Note  65. 

98.  The  County  Guido,  for  Count 
Guido,  as  in  Shakespeare  the  County 
Paris  and  County  Palatine,  and  in  the 
old  song  in  Scott's  Qtientin  Dwward : — 

"  Ah,  County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh, 
The  sun  has  left  the  lea." 

99.  Bellincion  Berti.  See  Canto  XV. 
112,  and  Inf.  XVI.  Note  87. 

102.  The  insignia  of  knighthood. 

103.  The  Billi,  or  Pigli,  family ;  their 
arms  being  "a  Column  Vair  in  a  red 
field."  The  Column  Vair  was  the  bar 
of  the  shield  "  variegated  with  argent 
and  azure."  The  vair,  in  Italian  vajo, 
is  a  kind  of  squirrel  ;  and  the  heraldic 
mingling  of  colours  was  taken  from  its 
spotted  skin. 

105.  The  Chiaramontesi,  one  of  whom, 
a  certain  Ser  Durante,  an  officer  in  the 
customs,  falsified  the  bushel,  or  stajo,  of 
Florence,  by  having  it  made  one  stave 
less,  so  as  to  defraud  in  the  measure. 
Dante  alludes  to  this  in  Purg.  XII.  105. 

109.  The  Uberti,  of  whom  was  Fari- 
nata.     See  Inf.  X.  32. 

1 10.  The  Balls  of  Gold  were  the  arms 
of  the  Lamberti  family.  Dante  men- 
lions  them  by  their  arms,  says  the  Otti- 


tno,  "  as  who  should  say,  as  the  ball  is 
the  symbol  of  the  universe,  and  gold 
surpasses  every  other  metal,  so  in  good- 
ness and  valour  these  surpassed  the  other 
citizens."  Dante  puts  Mosca  d^'  Lam- 
berti among  the  Schismatics  in  Inf. 
XXVIII.  103,  with  both  hands  cut  off, 
and 

"  The  stumps  uplifting  through  the  dusky  air.' 

112.  The  Vidomini,  Tosinghi,  and  ' 
Cortigiani,  custodians  and  defenders  of 
the  Bishopric  of  Florence.  Their  fathers 
were  honourable  men,  and,  like  the 
Lamberti,  embellished  the  city  with  their 
good  name  and  deeds ;  but  they,  when 
a  bishop  died,  took  possession  of  the 
episcopal  palace,  and,  as  custodians  and 
defenders,  feasted  and  slept  there  till  his 
successor  was  appointed. 

115.  The  Adimari.  One  of  this 
family,  Boccaccio  Adimari,  got  posses- 
sion of  Dante's  property  in  Florence 
when  he  was  banished,  and  always  bit- 
terly opposed  his  return. 

119.  Ubertin  Donato,  a  gentleman  of 
Florence,  had  married  one  of  the  Ravig- 
nani,  and  was  offended  that  her  sister 
should  be  given  in  marriage  to  one  of 
the  Adimari,  who  were  of  ignoble  origin. 

121.  The  Caponsacchi  lived  in  the 
Mercato  Vecchio,  or  Old  Market.  One 
of  the  daughters  was  the  wife  of  Folco 
Portinari  and  mother  of  Beatrice. 

124.  The  thing  incredible  is  tha'i 
there  should  have  been  so  little  jealousy 
among  the  citizens  of  Florence  as  to 
suffer  one  of  the  city  gates,  Porta  Pe- 
nizza,  to  be  named  after  a  particular 
family. 

127.  Five  Florentine  families,  accord- 
ing to  Benvenuto,  bore  the  arms  of  the 
Marquis  Hugo  of  Brandenburg,  and  re- 
ceived from  him  the  titles  and  privileges 
of  nobility.  These  were  the  Pulci, 
Nerli,  Giandonati,  Gangalandi,  and 
Delia  Bella. 

This  Marquis  Hugo,  whom  Dante 
here  calls  "  the  great  baron,"  was  Vice- 
roy of  the  Emperor  Otho  III.  in  Tus- 
cany. Villani,  Cronica,  IV.,  Ch.  2, 
relates  the  following  story  of  him  : — "It 
came  to  pass,  as  it  pleased  God,  that, 
while  hunting  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Bonsollazzo,  he  was  lost  in  the  forest, 
and  came,  as  it  seemed    to  him,  to  a 


666 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


smithy.      Finding    there    men    swarthy 
and    hideous,    who,     instead    of    iron, 
seemed  to  be  tormenting  human  beings 
with   fire  and  hammers,    he    asked  the 
meaning  of  it.     He  was  told  that   these 
were  lost  souls,  and  that  to  a  like  punish- ! 
ment'  was  condemned  the   soul  of   the 
Marquis  Hugo,  on  account  of  his  worldly  ; 
life,  unless  he  repented.     In  great  terror  • 
he   commended    himself  to    the  Virgin  ^ 
Mary ;  and,  when  the  vision  vanished, 
remained    so    contrite    in    spirit,    that, 
having  returned  to  Florence,  he  had  all 
his   patrimony   in    Germany    sold,    and 
ordered  seven  abbeys  to  be  built  ;  the 
fi  :"st  of  which  was  the  Badia  of  Florence, 
in  honour  of  .Santa  Maria  ;  the  second, 
that  of  Bonsoliazzo,  where  he  saw  the 
vision." 

The  Marquis  Hugo  died  on  St. 
Thomas's  day,  December  31,  ick)6,  and 
was  buried  in  the  Badia  of  Florence, 
where  every  year  on  that  day  the  monks, 
in  grateful  memory  of  him,  kept  the 
anniversary  of  his  death  with  great 
solemnity. 

130.  Giano  della  Bella,  who  disguised 
the  arms  of  Hugo,  quartered  in  his  own, 
with  a  fringe  of  gold.  A  nobleman  l>y 
birth  and  education,  he  was  by  convic- 
tion a  friend  of  the  people,  and  espoused 
their  cause  against  the  nobles.  By  re- 
forming the  abuses  of  both  parties,  he 
gained  the  ill-will  of  both  ;  and  in  1294, 
after  some  popular  tumult  which  he  in 
vain  strove  to  quell,  went  into  voluntary 
exile,  and  died  in  France. 

Sismondi, //rtf/.  Nep.,^.  113  (Lardner's 
Cyclopcedia),  gives  the  following  succinct 
account  of  the  abuses  which  Giano  strove 
to  reform,  and  of  his  summary  manner 
of  doing  it :  "  The  arrogance  of  the 
nobles,  their  quarrels,  and  the  dis- 
turbance of  the  public  peace  by  their 
frequent  battles  in  the  streets,  had,  in 
1292,  irritated  the  whole  population 
against  them.  Giano  della  Bella,  him- 
self a  noble,  but  sympathizing  in  the 
passions  and  resentment  of  the  people, 
proposed  to  bring  them  to  order  by 
summary  justice,  and  to  confide  the 
execution  of  it  to  the  gonfalonier  whom 
he  caused  to  be  elected.  The  Guelfs 
had  l)een  so  long  at  the  head  of  the 
republic,  that  their  noble  families,  whose 
wealth  had  immensely  increased,  placed  ' 


themselves  above  all  law.  Giano  deter- . 
mined  that  their  nobility  itself  should  be 
a  title  of  exclusion,  and  a  commencement 
of  punishment ;  a  rigorous  edict,  bearing 
the  title  of  'ordinance  of  justice,'  first 
designated  thirty-seven  Giielf  families  of 
Florence,  whom  it  declared  noble  and 
great,  and  on  this  account  excluded  for- 
ever from  the  sigtioria ;  refusing  them 
at  the  same  time  the  privilege  of  re- 
nouncing their  nobility,  in  order  to  place 
themselves  on  a  footing  with  the  other 
citizens.  When  these  families  troubled 
the  public  peace  by  battle  or  assassina- 
tion, a  summary  information,  or  even 
common  report,  was  sufficient  to  induce 
the  gonfalonier  to  attack  them  at  the 
head  of  the  militia,  raze  their  houses  to 
the  ground,  and  deliver  their  persons  to 
the  Podesti,  to  be  punished  according 
to  their  crimes.  If  other  families  com- 
mitted the  same  disorders,  if  they 
troubled  the  state  by  their  private  feuds 
and  outrages,  the  signoria  was  autho- 
rized to  ennoble  them,  as  a  punishment 
of  their  crimes,  in  order  to  subject  them 
to  the  same  summary  justice. " 

Dino  Compagni,  a  contemporary  of 
Giano,  Cronica  Fiorentina,  Book  I.,  says 
of  him  :  "  He  was  a  manly  man,  of 
great  courage,  and  so  bold  that  he  de- 
fended those  causes  which  others  aban- 
doned, and  said  those  things  which 
others  kept  silent,  and  did  all  in  favour 
of  justice  against  the  guilty,  and  was  so 
much  feared  by  the  magistrates  that  they 
were  afraid  to  screen  the  evil-doers. 
The  great  began  to  speak  against  him, 
threatening  him,  and  they  did  it,  not 
for  the  sake  of  justice,  but  to  destroy 
their  enemies,  abominating  him  and  the 
laws." 

Villani,  Cronica,  VIII.  ch.  8,  says  : 
"  Giano  della  Bella  was  condemned  and 
banished  for  contumacy,  ....  and  all 
his  possessions  confiscated,  ....  whence 
great  mischief  accnied  to  our  city,  and 
chiefly  to  the  people,  for  he  was  the 
most  loyal  and  upright  popolatw  and 
lover  of  the  public  good  of  any  man  in 
Florence. " . 

And  finally  Macchiavelli,  Istorie  Fio- 
renliiie,  Book  II.,  calls  him  "a  lover  of 
the  liberty  of  his  country,"  and  says, 
"he  was  hated  by  the  nobility  for 
undermining  their  authority,  and  envied 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


6f>7 


by  the  richer  of  the  commonalty,  who 
were  jealous  of  his  power  ; "  and  that  he 
went  into  voluntary  exile  in  order  "  to 
deprive  his  enemies  of  all  opportunity  of 
injuring  him,  and  his  friends  of  all 
opportunity  of  injuring  the  country  ; " 
and  that  "  to  free  the  citizens  from  the 
fear  they  had  of  him,  he  resolved  to 
leave  the  city,  which,  at  his  own  charge 
and  danger,  he  had  liberated  from  the 
servitude  of  the  powerftil." 

134.  The  Borgo  Santi  Apostoli  would 
be  a  quieter  place,  if  the  Buondelmonti 
had  not  moved  into  it  from  Oltramo. 

136.  The  house  of  Amidei,  whose 
quarrel  with  the  Buondelmonti  was  the 
origin  of  the  Guelf  and  Ghibelline  par- 
ties in  Florence,  and  put  an  end  to  the 
joyous  life  of  her  citizens.  See  Inf.  X. 
Note  51. 

140.  See  the  story  of  Baondelmonte, 
as  told  by  Giovanni  Fiorentino  in  his 
Pecorone,  and  quoted  Inf.  X.  Note  51. 

142.  Much  sorrow  and  suffering 
would  have  been  spared,  if  the  first 
Buondelmonte  that  came  from  his  castle 
of  Montebuono  to  Florence  had  been 
drowned  in  the  Ema,  a  small  stream  he 
had  to  cross  on  the  way. 

145.  Young  Buondelmonte  was  mur- 
dered at  the  foot  of  the  mutilated  statue 
of  Mars  on  the  Ponte  Vecchio,  and 
after  this  Florence  had  no  more  p)eace. 

153.  The  banner  of  Florence  had 
never  been  reversed  in  sign  of  defeat. 

154.  The  arms  of  Florence  were  a 
white  lily  in  a  field  of  red  ;  after  the 
expulsion  of  the  Ghibellines,  the  Guelfs 
changed  them  to  a  red  lily  in  a  field  of 
white. 


CANTO  XVII. 

r.  The  Heaven  of  Mars  continued. 
The  prophecy  of  Dante's  banishment. 

In  Inf.  X.  127,  as  Dante  is  meditating 
on  the  dark  words  of  Farinata  that  fore- 
shadow his  exile,  Virgil  says  to  him  : — 

"  '  Let  memory  preserve  what  thou  hast  heard 
Against  thyself,'  that  Sage  commanded  me, 
'  And  now  attend  here ; '  and  he  raised  his 
finger. 
■  When  thou  shalt  be  before  the  radiance  sweet 
Of  her  whos6  beauteous  eyes  all  things  be- 
hold. 
From  her  thou'lt  learn  the  journey  of  thy 
life.'" 


And  afterwards,  in  reply  to  Brunette 
Latini,  Dante  says,  Inf.  XV.  88  :— 

"  What  you  narrate  of  my  career  I  write. 
And  keep  it  for  a  lady,  who  will  know, 
To  gloss  with  other  text,  if  e'er  I  reach  her." 

The  time  for  this  revelation  has  now 
come  ;  but  it  is  made  by  Cacciaguida, 
not  by  Beatrice. 

3.  Phaeton,  having  heard  from  Epa- 
phus  that  he  was  not  the  son  of  Apollo, 
ran  in  great  eagerness  and  anxiety  to  his 
mother,  Clymene,  to  ascertain  the  truth. 
Ovid,  Met.,  I.,  Dryden's  Tr.  : — 

"  Mother,  said  he,  this  infamy  was  thrown 
By  Epaphus  on  you,  and  me  your  son. 
He  spoke  in  public,  told  it  to  my  face  ; 
Nor  durst  I  vindicate  the  dire  disgrace  : 
Even  I,  the  bold,  the  sensible  of  wrong. 
Restrained  by  shame,  was  forced  to  hold  my 

tongue. 
To  hear  an  open  slander,  is  a  curse  : 
But  not  to  find  an  answer,  is  a  worse. 
If  I  am  heaven-begot,  assert  your  son 
By  some   sure   sign ;  and   make   my   father 

known. 
To  right  my  honour,  and  redeem  your  own. 
He  said,  and,  saying,  cast  his  arms  about 
Her  neck,  and  begged  her  to  resolve  the  doubt  " 

The  disaster  that  befell  Phaeton  while 
driving  the  steeds  of  Apollo,  makes 
fathers  chary  of  granting  all  the  wishes 
of  children. 

16.  Who  seest  in  God  all  possible 
contingencies  as  clearly  as  the  human 
mind  perceives  the  commonest  geome- 
trical problem. 

18.  God,  "whose  centre  is  every- 
where, whose  circumference  nowhere. " 

20.  The  heavy  words  which  Dante 
heard  on  the  mount  of  Purgatory,  fore- 
shadowing his  exile,  are  those  of  Cur- 
rado  Malaspina,  Purg.  VIII.  133 : — 

"  For  the  sun  shall  not  lie 
Seven  times  upon  the  pillow  which  the  Ram 
With  all  his  four  feet  covers  and  bestrides, 

Before  that  such  a  courteous  opinion 

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

Unless  the  course  of  justice  standeth  still  : " 

and  those  of  Oderisi  d'Agobbio,  Purg. 
XI.  139:- 

"  I  say  no  more,  and  know  that  I  speak  darkly  ; 
Yet  little  time  shall  pass  before  thy  neighbours 
Will  so  demean  themselves  that  thou  canst 
gloss  it." 


21. 


The    words   he    heard    "  wl.eii 

T   Y 


c^ 


NOTES    TO  PARADTSO. 


descending  into   the  dead  world,"'   are 
those  of  Farinata,  Inf.  X.  79 ; — 

"  But  fifty  times  shall  not  rekindled  be 

The   countenance  oi    the  Lady  who  reigns 

here, 
Ere  thou  shalt  know  how  heavy  is  that  art , 

and  those  of  Brunetto  Latini,  Inf.  XV. 
61:  - 

"  But  that  ungrateful  and  malignant  people, 
Wliich  from  Fiesole  of  old  descended, 
And  smacks  still  of  the  mountain  and   the 
granite. 
Will  make  itself,  for  thy  good  deeds,  thy  foe.'" 

24.  Aristotle,  Ethics,  I.  ch.  10 : 
"  Always  and  everywhere  the  virtuous 
man  bears  prosperous  and  adverse  for- 
tune prudently,  as  a  perfect  tetragon." 

28.     To  the  spirit  of  Cacciaguida. 

31.  Not  like  the  ambiguous  utter- 
ance of  oracles  in  Pagan  times. 

35.  The  word  here  rendered  Lan- 
guage is  in  the  original  Latin ;  used  as 
in  Canto  XII.  144. 

37.  Contingency,  accident,  or  casu- 
alty, belongs  only  to  the  material  world, 
and  in  the  spiritual  world  finds  no  place. 
As  Dante  makes  St.  Bernard  say,  in 
Canto  XXXII.  53  :— 

"  Within  the  amplitude  of  this  domain 

No  casual  point  can  possibly  find  place, 
No  more   than    sadness  can,    or   thirst,   or 
hunger ; 
For  by  eternal  law  has  been  established 
Whatever  thou  beholdesL" 

40.  Boethius,  Consol.  Phil. ,  V.  Prosa 
3,  Ridpath's  Tr.  :  "  But  I  shall  now 
endeavour  to  demonstrate,  that,  in  what- 
ever 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  befalling.  For  example,  if  a  per- 
son sits,  the  opinion  formed  of  him  that 
he  is  seated,  is  of  necessity  true  ;  but  by 
inverting  the  phrase,  if  the  opinion  is 
true  that  he  is  seated,  he  must  necessarily 
sit.  In  both  cases  then  there  is  a  neces- 
sity ;  in  the  latter,  that  the  person  sits  ; 
in  the  former,  that  the  opinion  concern- 
ing him  is  true :  but  the  person  doth 
not  sit,  because  the  opinion  of  his  sitting 
is  true ;  but  the  opinion  is  rather  true, 
because  the  action  of  his  being  seated 
WM  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, 
1  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  neces- 
sary, that  what  is  to  happen  must  be 
foreseen  by  God,  and  that  what  is  fore- 
seen must  take  place." 

And  again,  in  Prosa  4  of  the  same 
Book  :  "  But  how  is  it  possible,  said  I, 
that  those  things  which  are  foreseen 
should  not  befall  Y — I  do  not  say,  replied 
she,  that  we  are  to  entertain  any  doubt 
but  the  events  will  take  place,  which 
Providence  foresees  are  to  happen  ;  but 
we  are  rather  to  believe,  that  although 
they  do  happen,  yet  that  there  is  no 
necessity  in  the  events  themselves,  which 
constrains  them  to  do  so.  The  tnith  of 
which  I  shall  thus  endeavour  to  illustrate. 
We  behold  many  things  done  under  our 
view,  such  as  a  coachman  conducting 
his  chariot  and  governing  his  horses,  and 
other  things  of  a  like  nature.  Now,  do 
you  suppose  these  things  are  done  by 
the  compulsion  of  a  necessity? — No, 
answered  I  ;  for,  if  everything  were 
moved  by  compulsion,  the  effects  of  art 
would  be  vain  and  fruitless. — If  things 
then,  which  are  doing  under  our  eye, 
added  she,  are  under  no  present  necessity 
of  happening,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
these  same  things,  before  they  befell, 
were  under  no  necessity  of  taking  place. 
It  is  plain,  therefore,  that  some  things 
befall,  the  event  of  which  is  altogether 
unconstrained  by  necessity.  For  I  do 
not  think  any  person  will  say  that  such 
things  as  are  at  present  done,  were  not 
to  happen  before  they  were  done.  Why, 
therefore,  may  not  things  be  foreseen, 
and  net  necessitated  in  their  events  ?  As 
the  knowledge  then  of  what  is  present 
imposes  no  necessity  on  things  now  done, 
so  neither  does  the  foreknowledge  of 
what  is  to  hnppen  in  future  necessitate 
the  things  whicn  are  to  take  place." 

Also  Chaucer,  Trot/,  and  Cres.,  IV., 

995:— 

"  Eke,  this  is  an  opinion  of  some 
That  have  hir  top  fuf  high  and  smoth  ichore ; 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


669 


Thei  sain  right  thus  ;  that  thing  is  nat  to  come 
For-that  the  prescience  hath  sene  before. 
That  it  shal  come  :  but  thei  sain  that  therefore 
That  it  shall  come,  therefore  the  purveiaunce 
Wote  it  beforne  withouten  ignoraunce. 

"  And  in  this  maner,  this  necessite, 
Retoumeth  in  his  place  contrary^,  againe  ; 
For  nedefully,  behoveth  it  nat  be. 
That  thillce  thinges  fallen  in  certaine 
That  ben  purveyed  ;  but,  nedefully,  as  thei  saine, 
Behoveth  it,  that  thinges  which  that  fall, 
That  thei  in  certaine  ben  purveyed  all  : 

"  I  mene,  as  though  I  laboured  me  in  this. 
To  enquire  which  thing  cause  of  which  thing  be. 
As  whether  that  the  prescience  of  God  is 
The  certaine  cause  of  the  necessite 
Of  thinges  that  to  comen  be,  parde, 
Or,  if  necessite  of  thing  coming 
Be  the  cause  certaine  of  the  purveying  ? 

"  But,  now,  ne  enforce  I  me  not,  in  shewing 
MoiN  the  order  of  the  causes  stant ;  but  wot  I, 
That  it  behoveth  that  the  befalling 
Of  thinges,  wistfe  before  certainly, 
Be  necessarie — al  seme  it  not  therby 
That  prescience  put  falling  necessayre 
To  thing  to  come,  al  fal  it  foule  or  faire  : 

"  For,  if  there  sit  a  man  yonde  on  a  see, — 
ITian  by  necessite  behoveth  it 
That,  certes,  thine  opinion  sothe  be 
That  wenest  or  conjectest  that  he  sit 
And,  furtherover,  now  ayenwarde  yet, — 
Lo,  right  so  is  it  on  the  part  contrarie  ; 
As  thus ;  now  herken,  for  I  wol  nat  tarie  : 

"  I  say,  that  if  the  opinion  of  the 
Be  sothe,  for-that  he  sit ;  than  say  I  this. 
That  he  mote  sitten,  by  necessite. 
And  thus  necessite,  in  either,  is. 
For  in  him  nede  of  sitting  is,  iwis  ; 
And  in  the,  nede  of  sothe  :  and  thus,  forsothe, 
There  mote  necessite  ben  in  you  bodie. 

"  But  thou  maist  saine,  the  man  sit  nat  therefore 
That  thine  opinion  of  his  sitting  soth  is  : 
But,  rather,  for  the  man  sate  there  before, 
Therefore  is  thine  opinion  sothe  iwis  : 
And  I  say,  Though  the  cause  of  sothe  of  this 
Cometh  of  his  sitting  ;  yet  necessite 
Is  enterchaunged  bothe  in  him  and  the." 

46.  As  Hippolytus  was  banished 
from  Athens  on  the  false  and  cruel  accu- 
sations of  Phcedra,  his  step-mother,  so 
Dante  shall  be  from  Florence  on  accu- 
sations equally  false  and  cruel. 

50.  By  instigation  of  Pope  Boniface 
VIII.  in  Rome,  as  Dante  here  declares. 
In  April,  1302,  the  Bianchi  were  ban- 
ished from  Florence  on  account  or  under 
pretext  of  a  conspiracy  against  Charles 
of  Valois,  who  had  been  called  to  Flo- 
rence by  the  Guelfs  as  pacificator  of 
Tuscany.      In    this    conspiracy    Dante 


could  have  had  no  part,  as  he  was  then 
absent  on  an  embassy  to  Rome. 

Dino  Compagni,  Cron.  Flor.,  II., 
gives  a  list  of  many  of  the  exiles. 
Among  them  is  "  Dante  Aldighieri,  am- 
bassador at  Rome  ; "  and  at  the  end  of 
the  names  given  he  adds,  "and  many 
more,  as  many  as  six  hundred  men,  who 
wandered  here  and  there  about  the 
world,  suffering  much  want."  At  firet, 
the  banishment-  was  for  two  years  only, 
but  a  second  decree  made  it  for  life, 
with  the  penalty  that,  if  any  one  of  the 
exiles  returned  to  Florence,  he  should 
be  burned  to  death. 

On  the  exile  of  Dante,  M.  Ampere 
has  written  an  interesting  work  under 
the  title  of  Voyage  Dantesque,  from  which 
frequent  extracts  have  been  made  in  these 
notes.  "  1  have  followed  him,  step  by 
step,"  he  says,  "in  the  cities  where  he 
lived,  in  the  mountains  where  he  wan- 
dered, in  the  asylums  that  welcomed 
him,  always  guided  by  the  poem,  in 
which  he  has  recorded,  with  all  tiie 
sentiments  of  his  soul  and  all  the  specu- 
lations of  his  intelligence,  all  the  recol- 
lections of  his  life  ;  a  poem  which  is  no 
less  a  confession  than  a  vast  encyclo- 
paedia." 

See  also  the  Letter  of  Frate  Ilario,  the 
passage  from  the  Convito,  ^and  Dante's 
Letter  to  a  Friend,  among  the  Illustra- 
tions to  Inferno. 

52.  Boethius,  Cons.  Phil.,  I.  Prosa  4, 
Ridpath's  Tr.  :  *'  But  my  miseries  are 
complete,  when  I  reflect  that  the  majority 
of  mankind  attend  less  to  the  merit  of 
things,  than  to  their  fortuitous  event ; 
and  believe  that  no  undertakings  are 
crowned  T/ith  success,  but  such  as  are 
formed  with  a  prudent  foresight.  Hence 
it  is,  that  the  unprosperous  immediately 
lose,  the  good  opinion  of  mankind.  It 
would  give  me  pain  to  relate  to  you  the 
ruiaours  that  are  flying  among  the 
people,  and  the  variety  of  discordant 
and  inconsistent  opinions  entertained 
concerning  me." 

53.  At  the  beginning  of  Inf.  XXVI. 
Dante  foreshadows  the  vengeance  of 
God  that  is  to  fall  on  Florence,  and  ex- 
claims :— 

"  And  if  it  now  were,  it  were  not  too  soon  ; 

Would  that  it  were,  seeing  it  needs  must  be. 
For  'twill  aggrieve  me  more  the  more  I  age. 

y  y  2 


670 


NOTES   TO  PA  RAD/SO. 


For  an  account  of  these  disasters  see 
Inf.  XXVI.  Note  9. 

58.  Upon  this  passage  Mr.  Wright, 
in  the  notes  to  his  translation,  makes 
the  following  extracts  from  the  Bible, 
Shakespeare,  and  Spenser  : — 

Ecclesiasticus  xxix.  24  and  xl.  28,  29 : 
"  It  is  a  miserable  thing  to  go  from 
house  to  house  ;  for  where  thou  art  a 
stranger,  thou  darest  not  open  thy 
mouth.  Thou  shalt  entertain,  and  feast, 
and   have   no   thanks :    moreover,   thou 

shalt  hear  bitter  words These 

things  are  grievous  to  a  man  of  under- 
standing, —  the  upbraiding  of  house- 
room,  and  reproaching  of  the  lender." 
"  My  son,  lead  not  a  beggar's  life,  for 
better  it  is  to  die  than  to  beg.  The  life 
of  him  that  dependeth  on  another  man's 
table  is  not  to  be  counted  for  a  life." 

Richard  II.,  III.  i  :- 

"  Myself 
Have  stooped  my  neck  under  your  inj  uries, 
And  sighed  my  English  breath  in  foreign  clouds, 
Eating  the  bitter  bread  of  banishment.' 

Spenser,  Mother  Hubberd^s  Tale, 
895:- 

"  Full  little  knowest  thou,  that  hast  not  tried, 
What  Hell  it  is,  in  suing  long  to  bide  : 
■To  lose  good  days,  that  might  be  better  spent ; 
To  waste  long /lights,  in  pensive  discontent ; 
To  speed  to-day,  to  be  put  back  to-morrow  ; 
To  feed  on  hope,  to  pine  with  fear  and  sorrow  ; 
To  have  thy  Prince's  grace,  yet  want  her  Peer's, 
To  have  thy  asking,  yet  wait  many  years  ; 
To  fret  thy  soul  with  crosses  and  with  cares ; 
To  eat  thy  heart  with  comfortless  despairs  ; 
To  fawn,  to  crouch,  to  wait,  to  ride,  to  run. 
To  spend,  to  give, — to  want, — to  be  undone." 

62.  Among  the  fellow-exiles  of  Dante, 
as  appears  by  the  list  of  names  preserved, 
was  Lapo  Salterello,  the  Florentine 
lawyer,  of  whom  Dante  speaks  so  con- 
temptuously in  Canto  XV.  128.  Ben- 
venuto  says  he  was  "a  litigious  and 
loquacious  man,  and  very  annoying  to 
Dante  during  his  exile.  Altogether  the 
company  of  his  fellow-exiles  .seems  to 
have  Ijeen  disagreeable  to  him,  and  it 
l)etter  suited  him  to  "make  a  party  by 
himself." 

66,     Shall  blush  with  shame. 

71.  Bartolommeo  della  Scala,  I-ord 
of  Verona.  The  arms  of  the  Scaligers 
were  a  golden  ladder  in  a  red  field,  sur- 
mounted by  a  black  eagle.      "For  a 


tyrant,"  says  Benvenuto,  "he  was  re- 
puted just  and  prudent." 

76.  Can  Grande  della  Scala,  at  this 
time  only  nine  years  old,  but  showing, 
says  Benvenuto,  "that  he  would  be  a 
true  son  of  Mars,  bold  and  prompt  in 
battle,  and  victorious  exceedingly."  He 
was  a  younger  brother  of  Bartolommeo, 
and  became  sole  Lord  of  Verona  in  131 1. 
He  was  the  chief  captain  of  the  Ghibel- 
lines,  and  his  court  the  refuge  of  some  of 
the  principal  of  the  exiles.  Dante  was 
there  in  1317  with  Guido  da  Castello 
and  Uguccione  della  Faggiuola.  To 
Can  Grande  he  dedicated  some  cantos 
of  the  Paradiso,  and  presented  them  with 
that  long  Latin  letter  so  difficult  to 
associate  with  the  name  of  Dante. 

At  this  time  the  court  of  Verona 
seems  to  have  displayed  a  kind  of  bar- 
baric splendour  and  magnificence,  as  if 
in  imitation  of  the  gay  court  of  Fre- 
derick II.  of  Sicily.  Arrivabene,  Comento 
Storico,  III.  255,  says:  "Can  Grande 
gathered  around  him  those  distipguished 
personages  whom  unfortunate  raverses 
had  driven  from  their  country  ;  but  he 
also  kept  in  his  pay  buffoons  and  mu- 
sicians, and  other  merry  persons,  who 
were  more  caressed  by  the  courtiers 
than  the  men  famous  for  their  deeds 
and  learning.  One  of  the  guests  was 
Sagacio  Muzio  Gazzata,  the  historian 
of  Reggio,  who  has  left  us  an  account 
of  the  treatment  which  the  illustrious 
and  unfortunate  exiles  received.  Va- 
rious apartments  were  assigned  to  them 
in  the  palace,  designated  by  various 
symbols  ;  a  Triumph  for  the  warriors  ; 
Groves  of  the  Muses  for  the  poets ; 
Mercury  for  the  artists ;  Paradise  for 
the  preachers  ;  and  for  all,  inconstant 
Fortune.  Can  Grande  likewise  re- 
ceived at  his  court  his  illustrious  pri- 
soners of  war,  Giacomo  di  Carrara, 
Vanne  Scornazano,  Albertino  Mussato, 
and  many  others.  All  had  their  pri- 
vate attendants,  and  a  table  equally  well 
served.  At  times  Can  Grande  invited 
some  of  them  to  his  own  table,  par- 
ticularly Dante,  and  Guido  di  Castel 
of  Reggio,  exiled  from  his  country  with 
the  friends  of  liberty,  and  who  for  his 
simplicity  was  called  'the  simple 
Lombard.' " 

The    harmony    of   their   intercourse 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


671 


seerps  finally  to  have  been  intenupteil, 
and  Dante  to  have  fallen  into  that  dis- 
favour, which  he  hints  at  below,  hoping 
that,  having  been  driven  from  Flo- 
rence, he  may  not  also  be  driven  from 
Verona  : — 

"  That,  if  the  dearest  place  be  taken  from  me, 
I  may  not  lose  the  others  by  my  sonjjs." 

Balbo,  Life  of  Dante,  Mrs.  Bunbury's 
Tr.,  II.  207,  says:  "History,  tradi- 
tion, and  the  after  fortunes  of  Dante, 
all  agree  in  proving  that  there  was  a 
rupture  between  him  and  Cane  ;  if  it 
did  not  amount  to  a  quarrel,  there 
seems  to  have  been  some  misunder- 
standing between  the  magnificent  pro- 
tector and  his  haughty  client.  But 
which  of  the  two  was  in  fault  ?  I  have 
collected  all  the  memorials  that  remain 
relating  to  this,  and  let  every  one  judge 
for  himself.  But  I  must  warn  my 
readers  that  Petrarch,  the  second  of  the 
three  fathers  of  the  Italian  language, 
showed  much  less  veneration  than  our 
good  Boccacci(}  for  their  common  pre- 
decessor Datite.  Petrarch  speaks  as 
follows  :  '  My  fellow-citizen,  Dante 
Alighieri,  was  a  man  highly  distinguished 
in  the  vulgar  tongue,  but  in  his  style 
and  speech  a  little  daring  and  rather 
freer  than  was  pleasing  to  delicate 
and  studious  ears,  or  gratifying  to  the 
princes  of  our  times.  He  then,  whiie 
banished  from  his  country,  resided  at 
the  court  of  Can  Grande,  where  the 
afflicted  universally  found  consolation 
and  an  asylum.  He  at  first  was  held 
in  much  honour  by  Cane,  but  after- 
wards he  by  degrees  fell  out  of  favour, 
and  day  by  day  less  pleased  that  lord. 
Actors  and  parasites  of  every  descrip- 
tion used  to  be  collected  together  at  the 
same  banquet ;  one  of  these,  most  im- 
pudent in  his  words  and  in  his  obscene 
gestures,  obtained  much  importance  and 
favour  with  many.  And  Cane,  suspect- 
ing that  Dante  disliked  this,  called  the 
man  before  him,  and,  having  greatly 
praised  him  to  our  poet,  said;  "I 
wonder  how  it  is  that  this  silly  fellow 
should  know  how  to  please  all,  and 
should  be  loved  by  all,  and  that  thou 
canst  not,  who  art  said  to  be  so  wise  ! " 
Dante  answered:  "Thou  wouldst  not 
wonder  if  thou  knewest  that  friendship 


is  founded  on  similarity  of  habits  and 
dispositions."  ' 

"It  is  also  related,  that  at  his  table, 
which  was  too  indiscriminately  hos- 
pil.'ible,  where  buffoons  sat  down  with 
Dante,  and  where  jests  passed  which 
must  have  been  offensive  to  every  per- 
son of  refinement,  but  disgraceful  when 
uttered  by  the  superior  in  rank  to  his 
inferior,  a  boy  was  once  concealed 
under  the  table,  who,  collecting  the 
bones  that  were  thrown  there  by  the 
guests,  according  to  the  custom  of  those 
times,  heaped  them  up  at  Dante's  feet. 
When  the  tables  were  removed,  the 
great  heap  appearing.  Cane  pretended 
to  show  much  astonishment,  and  said, 
'  Certainly,  Dante  is  a  great  devourer 
of  meat.'  To  which  Dante  readily  re- 
plied, '  My  lord,  you  would  not  have 
seen  so  many  bones  had  I  been  a  dog 
(cane). '  " 

Can  Grande  died  in  the  midst  of  his 
wars,  in  July,  1329,  from  drinking  at  a 
fountain.  A  very  lively  picture  of  his 
court,  and  of  the  life  that  Dante  led 
there,  is  given  by  Ferrari  in  his  conied}- 
of  Dante  a  Verona. 

82.  The  Gascon  is  Clement  V., 
Archbishop  of  Bordeaux,  and  elected 
Pope  in  1305.  The  noble  Henry  is 
the  Emperor  Henry  of  Luxemburg, 
who,  the  Oltimo  says,  "  was  valiant  in 
arms,  liberal  and  courteous,  compas- 
sionate and  gentle,  and  the  friend  of 
virtue."  Pope  Clement  is  said  to  have 
been  secretly  his  enemy,  while  pub- 
licly he  professed  to  be  his  friend  ;  and 
finally  to  have  instigated  or  connived 
at  his  death  by  poison.  See  Turg.  VI. 
Note  97.  Henry  came  to  Italy  in  1310, 
when  Can  Grande  was  about  nineteen 
years  of  age. 

94.  The  commentary  on  the  things 
told  to  Dante  in  the  Inferno  and  Pui- 
gatorio.     See  Note  i. 

128.  Habakknk  ii.  2:  "Write  the 
vision,  and  make  it  plain  upon  tables, 
that  he  may  run  that  readeth  it." 

129.  Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  III.  2 : 
"Let  the  galled  jade  wince,  our  withers 
are  unwrung." 

CANTO  XVIII. 
I.  The  Heaven  of  Mars  continued  ; 


672 


NOTES  TO   PAR  AD/SO. 


and  the  ascent  to  the  Heaven  of  Jupiter, 
where  are  seen  the  spirits  of  righteous 
kings  and  rulers. 

2.  Enjoying  his  own  thought  in  si- 
lence. 

Shakespeare,  Sonnet  XXX  : — 

'When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 
I  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past." 

9.  Relinquish  the  hope  and  attempt  of 
expressing. 

II.  Wordsworth,  Excursio?i,  Book 
IV.  :— 

"  Tis  by  comparison  an  easy  task 
Eaith  to  despise  ;  but  to  converse  with  heaven, — 
That  is  not  easy  :  -  to  rehnquish  all 
We  have,  or  hope,  of  happiness  and  joy, 
And  stand  in  freedom  loosened  from  this  world, 
I  deem  not  arduous  ;  but  must  needs  confess 
That  'tis  a  thing  impossible  to  frame 
< Conceptions  equal  to  the  soul's  desires ; 
And  the  most  difficult  of  tasks  to  kee/> 
Heights  which  the  soul  is  competent  to  gain. 
— Man  is  of  dust :  ethereal  hopes  are  his, 
Which,  when    they   should   sustain    themselves 

aloft. 
Want  due  consistence  ;  like  a  pillar  of  smoke, 
That  with  majestic  energy  from  earth 
Rises  :  but,  having  reached  the  thinner  air, 
Melts,  and  dissolves,  and  is  no  longer  seen." 

And  again  in  Tint er 71  Abbey  -. — 

"  That  blessed  mood, 
In  which  the  burden  of  the  mystery, 
In  which  the  heavy  and  the  weary  weight 
Of  all  this  unintelligible  world 
Is  lightened." 

29.  Paradise,  or  the  system  of  the 
heavens,  which  lives  by  the  divine  in- 
fluences from  above,  and  whose  fruit 
and  foliage  are  eternal.  The  fifth  rest- 
ing-place or  division  of  this  tree  is  the 
planet  Mars. 

38.  Joshua,  the  leader  of  the  Israel- 
ites after  the  death  of  Moses,  to  whom 
God  said,  Joshua  i.  S  :  "  As  I  was  with 
Moses,  so  will  I  be  with  thee  :  I  will 
not  fail  thee,  nor  forsake  thee." 

40.  The  great  Maccabee  was  Judas 
Macca1)a"us,  who,  as  is  stated  in  Hib- 
lical  history,  1  Maccabees  iii.  3,  "gat  his 
people  great  honour,  and  put  ou  a 
nreast- plate  as  a  giant,  and  girt  his  war- 
like harness  about  him,  and  he  made 
battles,  protecting  the  host  with  his 
sword.  In  his  acts  he  was  like  a  lion, 
and  like  a  lion's  whelp  roaring  for  his 
prey." 

42.  yJittcid,  VII.,  Davidson's  Tr.  : 
"As  at  times  a  whip-top  whirling  un- 


der the  twisted  lash,  which  boys  intent 
on  their  sport  drive  in  a  large  circuit 
round  some  empty  court,  the  engine 
driven  about  by  the  scourge  is  hurried 
round  and  round  in  circling  courses  ; 
the  unpractised  throng  and  beardless 
band  are  lost  in  admiration  of  the  voluble 
box-wood  :  they  lend  their  souls  to  the 
stroke.." 

43.  The  form  in  which  Charle- 
magne presented  himself  to  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  Middle  Ages  may  be  seen 
by  the  following  extract  from  Turpin's 
Chrpiiicle,  Ch.  XX.  :  "The  Emperor 
was  of  a  ruddy  complexion,  with  l)rown 
hair ;  of  a  well  made,  handsome  form, 
but  a  stern  visage.  His  height  was 
about  eight  of  his  own  feet,  which  were 
very  long.  He  was  of  a  strong,  robust 
make  ;  his  legs  and  thighs  very  stout, 
and  his  sinews  firm.  His  face  was 
thirteen  inches  long  ;  his  beard  a  palm  ; 
his  nose  half  a  palm  ;  his  forehead  a 
foot  over.  His  lion-like  eyes  flashed 
fire  like  carbimcles  ;  his  eyebrows  were 
half  a  palm  over.  When  he  was  angry, 
it  was  a  terror  to  look  upon  him.  He 
required  eight  spans  for  his  girdle,  be- 
sides what  hung  loose.  He  ate  sparingly 
of  bread  ;  but  a  whole  quarter  of  lamb, 
two  fowls,  a  goose,  or  a  large  por- 
tion of  pork  ;  a  peacock,  a  crane,  or 
a  whole  hare.  He  drank  moderately 
of  wine  and  water.  He  was  so  strong, 
that  he  could  at  a  single  blow  cleave 
asunder  an  armed  soldier  on  horse- 
back, from  the  head  to  the  waist,  and 
the  horse  likewise.  He  easily  vaulted 
over  four  horses  harnessed  together, 
and  could  raise  an  armed  man  from  the 
ground  to  his  head,  as  he  stood  erect 
upon  his  hand." 

Orlando,  the  famous  paladin,  who 
died  at  Roncesvalles  ;  the  hero  of  Pulci's 
Morgante  Maggiore,  Bojardo's  Orlando 
Innamorato,  and  Ariosto's  Orlando  Fu- 
rioso.  His  sword  Durandel  is  renowned 
in  fiction,  and  his  ivory  horn  Olivant 
could  be  heard  eight  miles. 

46.  "This  William,"  says  Buti,  being 
obliged  to  say  something,  ' '  was  a  great 
prince,  who  fought  and  died  for  the 
faith  of  Christ  ;  I  have  not  been  able 
to  find  out  distinctly  who  he  was," 
The  Oltimo  says  it  is  William,  Count 
of  Orange    in    Provence ;    who,    after 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


673 


fighting  for  the  faith  against  the  Sara- 
cens, "took  the  cowl,  and  finished  his 
life  holily  in  the  service  of  God  ;  and 
he  is  called  Saint  William  of  the 
Desert." 

He  is  the  same  hero,  then,  that  fi- 
gures in  the  old  romances  of  the  Twelve 
Peers  of  France,  as  Guillaume  au  Court 
Nez,  or  William  of  the  Short  Nose, 
so  called  from  having  had  his  nose  cut 
off  by  a  Saracen  in  battle.  In  the 
monorhythmic  romance  which  bears  his 
name,  he  is  thus  represented  :  — 

"  Great  was  the  court  in  the  hall  of  Lo6n, 
The  tables  were  full  of  fowl  and  venison, 
On  flesh  and  fish  they  feasted  every  one  ; 
But  Guillaume  of  these  viands  tasted  none, 
Brown  crusts  ate  he,  and  water  drank  alone. 
When  had  feasted  every  noble  baron. 
The  cloths  were  removed  by  squire  and  scullion. 
Count   Guillaume  then  with  the  king  did   thus 

reason  : 
'  What   thinketh  now,'   quoth  he,    '  the  gallant 

Charlon  ? 
Will  he  aid  me  against  the  prowess  of  Mahon  ? ' 
Quoth  Loeis,  '  We  will  take  counsel  thereon, 
To-morrow  in  the  morning  shalt  thou  conne, 
If  aught  by  us  in  this  matter  can  be  done.' 
Guillaume  heard  this, — black  was  he  as  carbon. 
He  louted  low,  and  seized  a  baton. 
And  said  to  the  king,  '  Of  your  fief  will  I  none, 
I  will  not  keep  so  much  as  a  spur's  iron  ; 
Your  friend  and  vassal  I  cease  to  be  anon  ; 
But  come  you  shall,  whether  you  will  or  non.'  " 

He  is  said  to  have  been  taken  prisoner 
and  carried  to  Africa  by  the  Moorish 
King  Tobaldo,  whose  wife  Arabella  he 
first  converted  to  Christianity,  and  then 
eloped  with. 

And  who  was  Renouard?  He  was 
a  young  Moor,  who  was  taken  prisoner 
and  brought  up  at  the  court  of  Saint 
Louis  with  the  king's  daughter  Alice, 
whom,  after  achieving  unheard  of  won- 
ders in  battle  and  siege,  he,  being  duly 
baptized,  married.  Later  in  life  he  also 
became  a  monk,  and  frightened  the  bro- 
therhood by  his  greediness,  and  by  going 
to  sleep  when  he  should  have  gone  to 
mass.     So  say  the  old  romances. 

47.  Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  Duke  of 
Lorraine,  and  leader  of  the  First  Cru- 
sade. He  was  bom  in  1061,  and  died, 
king  of  Jerusalem,  in  1109.  Gibbon 
thus  sketches  his  character,  Decline  and 
Fall,  Ch.  LVHL  :  "The  first  rank 
both  in  war  and  council  is  justly  due  to 
Godfrey  of  Bouillon  ;  and  happy  would 
it  have  been  for  the  Crusaders,  if  they 


had  trusted  themselves  to  the  sole  con- 
duct of  that  accomplished  hero,  a  worthy 
representative  of  Charlemagne,  from 
whom  he  was  descended  in  the  female 
line.  His  father  was  of  the  noble  race 
of  the  Counts  of  Boulogne  ;  Brabant,  the 
lower  province  of  Lorraine,  was  the  inhe- 
ritance of  his  mother ;  and  by  the  Em- 
peror's bounty  he  was  himself  invested 
with  that  ducal  title  which  has  been 
improperly  transferred  to  his  lordship  of 
Bouillon  in  the  Ardennes.  In  the  service 
of  Henry  IV.  he  bore  the  great  standard 
of  the  Empire,  and  pierced  with  his  lance 
the  breast  of  Rodolph,  the  rebel  king  ; 
Godfrey  was  the  first  who  ascended  the 
walls  of  Rome  ;  and  his  sickness,  his 
vow,  perhaps  his  remorse  for  bearing 
arms  against  the  Pope,  confinned  an 
early  resolution  of  visiting  the  holy 
sepulchre,  not  as  a  pilgrim,  but  a  de- 
liverer. His  valour  was  matured  by 
prudence  and  moderation ;  his  piety, 
though  blind,  was  sincere;  and,  in  the 
tumult  of  a  camp,  he  practised  the  real 
and  fictitious  virtues  of  a  convent.  Su- 
perior to  the  private  factions  of  the 
chiefs,  he  reserved  his  enmity  for  the 
enemies  of  Christ;  and  though  he 
gained  a  kingdom  by  the  attempt,  his 
pure  and  disinterested  zeal  was  acknow- 
ledged by  his  rivals.  Godfrey  of  Bouil- 
lon was  accompanied  by  his  two  brothers, 
— by  Eustace,  the  elder,  who  had  suc- 
ceeded to  the  county  of  Boulogne,  and 
by  the  younger,  Baldwin,  a  character  of 
more  ambiguous  virtue.  The  Duke  of 
Lorraine  was  alike  celebrated  on  either 
side  of  the  Rhine  ;  from  his  birth  and 
education  he  was  equally  conversant  with 
the  French  and  Teutonic  languages ;  the 
barons  of  France,  Germany,  and  Lorraine 
assembled  their  vassals ;  and  the  confe- 
derate force  that  marched  under  his  ban- 
ner was  composed  of  four-score  thousand 
foot  and  about  ten  thousand  horse. " 

48.  Robert  Guiscard,  foundkr  of  the 
kingdom  of  Naples,  was  the  sixth  of  the 
twelve  sons  of  the  Baron  Tancred  de 
Hauteville  of  the  diocese  of  Coutance 
in  Lower  Normandy,  where  he  was  born 
in  the  year  1015.  In  his  youth  he  left 
his  father's  castle  as  a  military  adven- 
turer, and  crossed  the  Alps  to  join  the 
Norman  anny  in  Apulia,  whither  three 
of  his  brothers  had  gone  before  him,  and 


674 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


whither  at  different  times  six  others 
followed  him.  Here  he  gradually  won 
his  way  by  his  sword  ;  and  having  ren- 
dered some  signal  service  to  Pope 
Nicholas  II.,  he  was  made  Duke  of 
Apulia  and  Calabria,  and  of  the  lands 
in  Italy  and  Sicily  which  he  wrested 
■Vom  the  Greeks  and  Saracens.  Thus 
from  a  needy  adventurer  he  rose  to  be 
the  founder  of  a  kingdom.  "The  Italian 
conquests  of  Robert,"  says  Gibbon, 
"  correspond  with  the  innits  of  the 
present  kingdom  of  Naples ;  and  the 
countries  united  by  his  arms  have  not 
been  dissevered  by  the  revolutions  of 
seven  hundred  years." 

The  same  historian,  Rise  and  Fall, 
Ch.  LVL,  gives  the  following  character 
of  Guiscard.  "Robert  was  the  eldest  of 
the  seven  sons  of  the  second  marriage  ; 
and  even  the  reluctant  praise  of  his  foes 
has  endowed  him  with  the  heroic  quali- 
ties of  a  soldier  and  a  statesman.  His 
lofty  stature  surpassed  the  tallest  of  his 
army  ;  his  limbs  were  cast  in  the  true 
proportion  of  strength  and  gracefulness  ; 
and  to  the  decline  of  life,  he  maintained 
the  patient  vigour  of  health  and  the 
commanding  dignity  of  his  form.  His 
complexion  was  ruddy,  his  shoulders 
were  broad,  his  hair  and  beard  were 
long  and  of  a  flaxen  colour,  his  eyes 
sparkled  with  fire,  and  his  voice,  like 
that  of  .\chilles,  could  impress  obedience 
and  terror  amidst  the  tumult  of  battle. 
In  the  ruder  ages  of  chivalry,  such  quali- 
fications are  not  below  the  notice  of  the 
poet  or  historian ;  they  may  observe  that 
Robert,  at  once,  and  with  equal  dexterity, 
could  wield  in  the  right  hand  his  sword, 
his  lance  in  the  left ;  that  in  the  battle  of 
Civiteila  he  was  thrice  unhorsed  ;  and 
that  in  the  close  of  that  memorable  day 
he  was  adjudged  to  have  borne  away  the 
prize  of  valour  from  the  warriors  of  the 
two  armies.  His  boundless  ambition 
was  founded  on  the  consciousness  of 
superior  worth  ;  in  the  pursuit  of  great- 
ness he  was  never  arrested  by  the  scruples 
of  justice,  and  seldom  moved  by  the 
feelings  of  humanity  ;  though  not  msen- 
sible  of  fame,  the  choice  of  open  or  clan- 
destine means  was  determined  only  by 
his  present  advantage.  The  surname  of 
Guucard  was  applied  to  this  master  of 
political  wisdom,  which  is  too  often  con> 


founded  with  the  practice  of  dissimula- 
tion and  deceit  ;  and  Robert  is  praised 
by  the  Apulian  poet  for  excelling  the 
cunning  of  Ulysses  and  the  eloquence  ot 
Cicero.  Yet  these  arts  were  disguised 
by  an  appearance  of  military  frankness  ; 
in  his  highest  fortune  he  was  accessible 
and  courteous  to  his  fellow-soldiers ;  and 
while  he  indulged  the  prejudices  of  his 
new  subjects,  he  affected  in  his  dress  and 
manners  to  maintain  the  ancient  fashion 
of  his  country.  He  grasped  with  a  rapa- 
cious, that  he  might  distribute  with  a 
liberal  hand  ;  his  primitive  indigence 
had  taught  the  habits  of  frugality  ;  the 
gain  of  a  merchant  was  not  below  his 
attention  ;  and  his  prisoners  were  tor- 
tured with  slow  and  unfeeling  cruelty  to 
force  a  discovery  of  their  secret  treasure. 
According  to  the  Greeks,  he  departed 
from  Normandy  with  only  five  followers 
on  horseback  and  thirty  on  foot  ;  yet 
even  this  allowance  appears  too  bounti- 
ful ;  the  sixth  son  of  Tancred  of  Haute- 
ville  passed  the  Alps  as  a  pilgrim  ;  and 
his  first  military  band  was  levied  among 
the  adventurers  of  Italy.  His  brothers 
and  countrymen  had  divided  the  fertile 
lands  of  Apulia  ;  but  they  guarded  their 
shares  with  the  jealousy  of  avarice  ;  the 
aspiring  youth  was  driven  forwards  to 
the  mountains  of  Calabria,  and  in  his 
first  exploits  against  the  Greeks  and  the 
natives  it  is  not  easy  to  discriminate  the 
hero  from  the  robber.  To  surprise  a 
castle  or  a  convent,  to  ensnare  a  wealthy 
citizen,  to  plunder  the  adjacent  villages 
for  necessary  food,  were  the  obscure 
labours  which  formed  and  exercised  the 
powers  of  his  mind  and  body.  The 
volunteers  of  Normandy  adhered  to  his 
standard ;  and,  under  his  command,  the 
peasants  of  Calabria  assumed  the  name 
and  character  of  Normans. " 

Robert  died  in  1085,  on  an  expedition 
agaiiist  Constantinople,  undertaken  at 
the  venerable  age  of  seventy-five.  Such 
was  the  career  of  Robert  the  Cunning, 
this  being  the  meaning  of  the  old  Nor- 
man word  guiscard,  or  guischard.  For 
an  instance  of  his  cunning  see  Inf. 
XXVIII.  Note  14. 

63.  The  miracle  is  Beatrice,  of  whom 
Dante  says,  in  the  Vita  Nuova:  "Many, 
when  she  had  passed,  said,  'This  is  not 
a  woman,  rather  is  she  one  of  the  most 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


675 


beautiful  angels  of  heaven.'  Others  said, 
'  She  is  a  miracle.  Blessed  be  the  Lord, 
who  can  perform  such  a  marvel ! ' " 

67.  The  change  from  the  red  light  of 
Mars  to  the  white  light  of  Jupiter.  "This 
planet,"  says  Brunetto  Latini,  Tresor,  I. 
Ch.  CXI.,  "is  gentle  and  piteous,. and 
full  of  all  good  things."  Of  its  symbol- 
ism Dante,  Cenvito,  II.  I4,  says:  "The 
heaven  of  Jupiter  may  be  compared  to 
Geometry  on  account  of  two  properties. 
The  first  is,  that  it  moves  between  two 
heavens  repugnant  to  its  good  temperate- 
ness,  as  are  that  of  Mars  and  that  of 
Saturn  ;  whence  Ptolemy  says,  in  the 
book  cited,  that  Jupiter  is  a  star  of  a 
temperate  complexion,  midway  between 
the  coldness  of  Saturn  and  the  heat  of 
Mars.  The  second  is,  that  among  all 
the  stars  it  shows  itself  white,  almost 
silvery.  And  these  two  things  are  in 
Geometry.  Geometry  moves  between 
two  opposites  ;  as  between  the  point  and 
the  circle  (and  I  call  in  general  every- 
thing round,  whether  a  solid  or  a  surface, 
a  circle) ;  for,  as  Euclid  says,  the  point 
is  the  beginning  of  Geometry,  and,  as 
he  says,  the  circle  is  its  most  perfect 
figure,  and  may  therefore  be  considered 
its  end  ;  so  that  between  the  point  and 
the  circle,  as  between  beginning  and  end. 
Geometry  moves.  And  these  two  are 
opposed  to  its  exactness  ;  for  the  point, 
on  account  of  its  indivisibility,  is  immea- 
surable ;  and  the  circle,  on  account  of 
its  arc,  it  is  impossible  to  square,  and 
therefore  it  is  impossible  to  measure  it 
exactly.  And  moreover  Geometry  is 
very  white,  inasmuch  as  it  is  without  spot 
of  error,  and  very  exact  in  itself  and  its 
handmaiden,  which  is  called  Perspective." 

Of  the  influences  of  Jupiter,  Buti, 
quoting  as  usual  Albumasar,  speaks 
thus  :  "  The  planet  Jupiter  is  of  a  cold, 
humid,  airy,  temperate  nature,  and  sig- 
nifies the  natural  soul,  and  life,  and 
animate  bodies,  children  and  grand- 
children, and  beauty,  and  wise  men  and 
doctors  of  laws,  and  just  judges,  and 
firmness,  and  knowledge,  and  intellect, 
and  interpretation  of  dreams,  truth  and 
divine  worship,  doctrine  of  law  and  faith, 
religion,  veneration  and  fear  of  God, 
unity  of  faith  and  providence  thereof, 
and  regulation  of  manners  and  behaviour, 
and  will  be  laudable,  and  signifies  patient 


observation,  and  perhaps  also  to  it  belong 
swiftness  of  mind,  improvidence  and 
boldness  m  dangers,  and  patience  and 
delay,  and  it  signifies  beatitude,  and 
acquisition,  and  victory,  ,  .  .  ,  and  vene- 
ration, and  kingdom,  and  kings,  and 
rich  men,  nobles  and  magnates,  hope  and 
joy,  and  cupidity  in  commodities,  also 
of  fortune,  in  new  kinds  of  grain,  and 
harvests,  and  wealth,  and  security  in  all 
things,  and  good  habits  of  mind,  and 
liberality,  command  and  goodness,  boast- 
ing and  bravery  of  mind,  and  boldness, 
true  love  and  delight  of  supremacy  over 
the  citizens  of  a  city,  delight  of  poten- 
tates and  magnates,  ....  and  beauty 
and  ornament  of  dress,  and  joy  and 
laughter,  and  affluence  of  speech,  and 
glibness  of  tongue,  ....  and  hate  of 
evil,  and  attachments  among  men,  and 
command  of  the  known,  and  avoidance 
of  the  unknown.  These  are  the  signifi- 
cations of  the  planet  Jupiter,  and  such 
the  influences  it  exerts." 

75.  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  VII.  425 : — 

"  Part  loosely  wing  the  region,  part  more  wise 
In   common,   ranged  in   figure,   wedj?e    their 

way, 
Intelligent  of  seasons,  and  set  forth 
Their  aery  caravan,  high  over  seas 
Flying,  and  over  lands,  with  mutual  wing 
Easing   their  flight ;  —  so   steers    the    prudent 

crane 
Her  annual  voyage,  borne  on  winds  ;— the  air 
Hoats  as  they  pass." 

78.  The  first  letters  of  the  word 
Diligite,  completed  afterward. 

82.  Dante  gives  this  title  to  the  Muse, 
because  from  the  hoof-beat  of  Pegasus 
sprang  the  fountain  of  the  Muses,  Hip- 
pocrene.  The  invocation  is  here  to 
Calliope,  the  Muse  of  epic  verse. 

91,  93.  Wisdom  of  Solomon  i.  i  ; 
"Love  righteousness,  ye  that  be  judges 
of  the  earth." 

100,    Tennyson,    Morte   d* Arthur: — 

"  And  drove  his  heel  into  the  smouldered  log, 
That  sent  a  blast  of  sparkles  up  the  flue." 

103.  Divination  by  fire,  and  other 
childish  fancies  about  sparks,  such  as 
wishes  for  golden  sequins,  and  nuns 
going  into  a  chapel. 

Cowper,  Names  of  Little  Note  in  the 
Biogr.  Brit.  : — 

"  So  when  a  child,  as  playful  children  use, 
Has  burnt  to  tinder  a  stale  last  year's  news. 


676 


NOTES   TO   PARADISO. 


The  flame  extinct,  he  views  the  roving  fire, — 
There  goes  my  lady,  and  there  goes  the  squire. 
There  goes  the  parson,  O  illustrious  spark  ! 
And  there,   scarce   less  illustrious,   goes  the 
clerk ! " 

107.  In  this  eagle,  the  symbol  of 
Imperialism,  Dante  displays  his  political 
faith.  Among  just  rulers,  this  is  the 
shape  in  which  the  true  government  of 
the  world  appears  to  him.  In  the  invec- 
tive against  Pope  Boniface  VIII.,  with 
which  the  canto  closes,  he  gives  still 
further  expression  of  his  intense  Impe- 
rialism. 

111.  The  simplest  interpretation  of 
this  line  seems  to  me  preferable  to  the 
mystic  meaning  which  some  commen- 
tators lend  it.  The  Architect  who  built 
the  heavens  teaches  the  bird  how  to 
build  its  nest  after  the  same  model ; — 

"  The  Power  which   built    the   starry  dome  on 
high. 
And  poised  the  vaulted  rafters  of  the  sky, 
Teaches  the  linnet  with  unconscious  breast 
To  round  the  inverted  heaven  of  her  nest." 

112.  The  other  group  of  beatified 
spirits. 

123.  As  Tertullian  says:  "  The  blood 
of  the  martyrs  is  the  seed  of  the  Church." 

126.  The  bad  example  of  the  head  of 
the  Church. 

128.  By  excommunication,  which  shut 
out  its  victims  from  the  table  of  the 
Lord. 

130.  Pope  Boniface  VIII.,  who  is 
here  accused  of  dealing  out  ecclesiasti- 
cal censures  only  to  be  paid  for  revoking 
them. . 

'.35'  John  the  Baptist.  But  here  is 
meant  his  image  on  the  golden  florin  of 
Florence. 


CANTO  XIX. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  Jupiter  continued. 

12.  The  eagle  speaks  as  one  person, 
though  composed  of  a  multitude  of 
spirits.  Here  Dante's  idea  of  unity 
under  the  Empire  finds  expression. 

28.  This  Mirror  of  Divine  Justic?  is 
the  planet  Saturn,  to  which  Dante  al- 
ludes in  Canto  IX.  61,  where,  speak- 
ing of  the  Intelligences  of  Saturn,  he 
says: — 

"  Above  us  there  arc  mirrors,  Thrones  you  call 
them, 
From  which  shines  out  on  us  Cod  Judi- 
cant" 


32.  Whether  a  good  life  outside  the 
pale  of  the  holy  Catholic  faith  could  lead 
to  Paradise. 

37.  Dante  here  calls  the  blessed 
sptrits  lauds,  or  "praises  of  the  grace 
divine,"  as  in  Inf.  II.  103,  he  calls  Bea- 
trice "  the  true  praise  of  God." 

40.  Mr.  Cary  quotes.  Proverbs  viii. 
27  :  "  When  he  prepared  the  heavens, 
I  was  there  ;  when  he  set  a  compass 
upon  the  face  of  the  depth,  ....  then 
I  was  by  him. " 

And  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  VII.  221  : — 

"And  in  his  hand 
He  took  the  golden  compasses,  prepared 
In  God's  eternal  store,  to  circumscribe 
This  Universe,  and  all  created  things. 
One  foot  he  centred,  and  the  other  turned 
Round  through  the  vast  profundity  obscure. 
And  said :  '  Thus  far  extend,  thus  far  thy  bounds. 
This  be  thy  just  circumference,  O  World  !' " 

44.  The  Word  or  Wisdom  of  the 
Deity  far  exceeds  any  manifestation  of  it 
in  the  creation. 

48.  Shakespeare,  Henry  VIIL,  III. 
2: — 

"  Fling  away  ambition, 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels." 

49.  Dryden,  Religio  Laid,  39  : — 

"  How  can  the  less  the  greater  comprehend  f 
Or  finite  reason  reach  infinity  ? 
For  what  could  fathom  God  is  more  than  He.'' 

54.  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  VII.  168  :— 

"  Boundless  the  deep,  because  I  Am,  who  fill 
Infinitude,  nor  vacuous  the  space." 

55.  The  human  mind  can  never  be 
so  powerful  but  that  it  will  perceive  the 
Divine  Mind  to  be  infinitely  beyond  its 
comprehension  ;  or,  as  Buti  interprets, 
— reading _^// e/rt;T'^«/<i',  which  reading  I 
have  followed,  —  "  much  greater  than 
what  appears  to  the  human  mind,  and 
what  the  human  intellect  sees." 

65.     Milton,  Par.  Lost,  I.  63  : — 

"  No  light,  but  rather  darkness  visible." 

104,  Galatians  iii.  23  :  "  But  before 
faith  came,  we  were  kept  under  the  law, 
shut  up  unto  the  faith  which  should 
afterwards  be  revealed." 

106.  Matthew  vii.  21  :  "Not  every 
one  that  saith  unto  me,  Lord,  Lord, 
shall  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven ; 
but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  my  Fathei 
which  is  in  heaven." 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


677 


108.  Dryden,  Rcligio  Laid,  208  :  — 

"  Then  those   who  followed   Reason's  dictates 
right. 
Lived  up,  and  lifted  high  her  natural  light, 
With  Socrates  may  see  their  Maker's  face, 
While  thousand  rubric  martyrs  want  a  place." 

109.  Matthew  xii.  41  :  "The  men  of 
Nineveh  shall  rise  in  judgment  with  this 
generation,  and  shall  condemn  it." 

1 10.  The  righteous  and  the  unright- 
eous at  the  day  of  judgment. 

113.  Revelation  xy..  12:  "And  I  saw 
the  dead,  small  and  great,  stand  before 
God  ;  and  the  books  were  opened  :  and 
another  book  was  opened,  which  is  the 
book  of  life  :  and  the  dead  were  judged 
out  of  those  things  which  were  written  in 
the  books,  according  to  their  works." 

115.  This  is  the  "German  Albert  " 
of  Pwg.  VI.  97  : — 

"  O  German  Albert,  who  abandonest  her 
That  has  grown  savage  and  indomitable. 
And  oiightest  to  bestride  her  saddle-bow. 

May  a  just  judgment  from  the  stars  down  fall 
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  dis- 
trained, 
The  garden  of  the  empire  to  be  waste." 

The  deed  which  was  so  soon  to  move 
the  pen  of  the  Recording  Angel  was  the 
invasion  of  Bohemia  in  1303. 

120.  Philip  the  Fair  of  France,  who, 
after  his  deieat  at  Courtray  in  1302,  fal- 
sified the  coin  of  the  realm,  with  which 
he  paid  his  troops.  He  was  killed  in 
1314  by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  caused  by 
the  attack  of  a  wild  boar.  Dante  uses 
the  word  coteiina,  the  skin  of  the  wild 
boar,  for  the  boar  itself. 

122.  The  allusion  here  is  to  the  border 
wars  between  John  Baliol  of  Scotland, 
and  Edward  I.  of  England. 

125.  Most  of  the  commentatoi"s  say 
that  this  king  of  Spain  was  one  of  the 
Alphonsos,  but  do  not  agree  as  to  which 
one.  Tommaseo  says  it  was  Ferdinand 
IV.  (1295- 13 1 2),  an^  he  is  probably 
right  It  was  this  monarch,  or  rather 
his  generals,  who  took  Gibraltar  from 
the  Moors.  In  13 12  he  put  to  death 
unjustly  the  brothers  Carvajal,  who  on 
the  scaffold  summoned  him  to  appear 
before  the  judgment-seat  of  God  within 
thirty  days  ;  and  before  the  time  had 
expired  he  was  found  dead  upon  his  sofa. 


From  this  event  he  received  the  surname 
oi  El  Emplazado,  the  Summoned.  It  is 
said  that  his  death  was  caused  by  intem- 
perance. 

The  Bohemian  is  Winceslaus  II.,  son 
of  Ottocar.  He  is  mentioned,  Purg. 
VII.  loi,  as  one  "who  feeds  in  luxury 
and  ease." 

127.  Charles  II.,  king  of  Apulia, 
whose  virtues  may  be  represented  by  a 
unit  and  his  vices  by  a  thousand.  He 
was  called  the  "  Cripple  of  Jerusalem," 
on  account  of  his  lameness,  and  because 
as  king  of  Apulia  he  also  bore  the  title  of 
King  of  Jemsalem.  See  Purg.  XX. 
Note  79. 

131.  Frederick,  son  of  Peter  of  Ara- 
gon,  and  king,  or  in  some  form  ruler 
of  Sicily,  called  from  Mount  Etna  the 
"  Island  of  the  Fire."  The  Ottimo  com- 
ments thus  :  "  Peter  of  Aragon  was 
liberal  and  magnanimous,  and  the  author 
says  that  this  man  is  avaricious  and 
pusillanimous."  Perhaps  his  greatest 
crime  in  the  eyes  of  Dante  was  his  aban- 
doning the  cause  of  the  Imperialists. 

132.  According  to  Virgil,  Anchises 
died  in  Sicily,  "  on  the  joyless  coast  of 
Drepanum."  ALneid,  III  708,  David- 
son's Tr.  :  "  Here,  alas  !  after  being 
tossed  by  so  many  storms  at  sea,  I  lose 
my  sire  Anchises,  my  solace  in  every  care 
and  suffering.  Here  thou,  best  of  fathers, 
whom  in  vain,  alas !  I  saved  from  so 
great  dangers,  forsakest  me,  spent  with 
toils." 

134.  'In  diminutive  letters,  and  not  in 
Romanfcapitals,  like  the  Diligite  Jus- 
TITIAM  of  Canto  XVIII.  91,  and  the 
record  of  the  virtues  and  vices  of  the 
"  Cripple  of  Jerusalem." 

137.  The  uncle  of  Frederick  of  Sicily 
was  James,  king  of  the  Balearic  Islands. 
He  joined  Philip  the  Bold  of  France  in 
his  disastrous  invasion  of  Catalonia  ;  and 
in  consequence  lost  his  own  crown. 

The  brother  of  Frederick  was  James 
of  Aragon,  who,  on  becoming  king  of 
that  realm,  gave  up  Sicily,  which  his 
father  had  acquired. 

By  these  acts  they  dishonoured  their 
native  land  and  the  crowns  they  wore. 

139.  Dionysius,  king  of  Portugal,  who 
reigned  from  1279  to  1325.  The  Ottimo 
says  that,  "given  up  wholly  to  the  ac- 
quisition of  wealth,  he  led  the  life  of  a 


678 


NOTES  TO   FARAD/SO. 


merchant,  and  had  money  dealings  with 
all  the  great  merchants  of  his  reign  ;  no- 
thing regal,  nothing  magnificent,  can  be 
recorded  of  him." 

Philalethes  is  disposed  to  vindicate 
the  character  of  Dionysius  against  these 
aspersions,  and  to  think  them  founded 
only  in  the  fact  that  Dionysius  loved 
the  arts  of  peace  better  than  the  more 
shining  art  of  war,  joined  in  no  crusade 
against  the  Moors,  and  was  a  patron  of 
manufactures  and  commerce. 

The  Ottimd's  note  on  this  nameless 
Norwegian  is  curious  :  "As  his  islands  are 
situated  at  the  uttermost  extremities  of 
the  earth,  so  his  life  is  on  the  extreme  of 
reasonableness  and  civilization." 

Benvenuto  remarks  only  that  "  Nor- 
way is  a  cold  northern  region,  where  the 
days  are  very  short,  and  whence  come 
excellent  falcons."  Buti  is  still  more 
brief.  He  says  :  "  That  is,  the  king  of 
Norway."  Neither  of  these  commenta- 
tors, nor  any  of  the  later  ones,  suggest 
the  name  of  this  monarch,  except  the 
Germans,  Philalethes  and  Witte,  who 
think  it  may  be  Eric  the  Priest-hater,  or 
Hakon  Longshanks. 

140.  Rascia  or  Ragusa  is  a  city  in 
Dalmatia,  situated  on  the  Adriatic,  and 
capital  of  the  kingdom  of  that  name. 
The  king  here  alluded  to  is  Uroscius  II., 
who  married  a  daughter  of  the  Emperor 
Michael  Palaeologus,  and  counterfeited 
the  Venetian  coin. 

141.  In  this  line  I  have  followed  the 
reading  male  ha  vislo,  instead  of  the  more 
common  one,  male  aggiustb. 

142.  The  Ottimo  comments  as  fol- 
lows :  "Here  he  reproves  the  vile  and 
unseemly  lives  of  the  kings  of  Hungary, 
down  to  Andrea  "  (Dante's  contempo- 
rary), "whose  life  tlie  Hungarians 
praised,  and  whose  death  they  wept." 

144.  If  it  can  make  the  Pyrenees  a 
bulwark  to  protect  it  against  the  invasion 
of  Philip  the  Fair  of  France.  It  was  not 
till  four  centuries  later  that  Louis  XIV. 
niade  his  famous  boast,  '■'■  Iln'y  a plusde 
Pyrenees. " 

145.  In  proof  of  this  prediction  the 
examj)lc  of  Cyprus  is  given. 

146.  Nicosia  and  Famagosta  are  cities 
of  Cyprus,  here  taken  for  the  whole 
island,  in  1300  badly  governed  by  Henry 
II.  of  the  house  of  the  Lusignaui.    "And 


well  he  may  call  him  beast,"  says  the 
Ottimo,  "  for  he  was  wholly  given  up  to 
lust  and  sensuality,  which  should  be  far 
removed  from  every  king." 

148.  Upon  this  line  Benvenuto  com- 
ments with  unusual  vehemence.  "This 
king,"  he  says,  "does  not  differ  nor 
depart  from  the  side  of  the  other  beasts  ; 
that  is,  of  the  other  vicious  kings.  And 
of  a  truth,  Cyprus  with  her  people  dif- 
fereth  not,  nor  is  separated  from  the 
bestial  life  of  the  rest  ;  rather  it  stir- 
passeth  and  exceedeth  all  peoples  and 
kings  of  the  kingdoms  of  Christendom 
in  superfluity  of  luxury,  gluttony,  ef- 
feminacy, and  every  kind  of  pleasure. 
But  to  attempt  to  describe  the  kinds, 
the  sumptuousness,  the  variety,  and  the 
frequency  of  their  banquets,  would  be 
disgusting  to  narrate,  and  tedious  and 
harmful  to  write.  Therefore  men  who 
live  soberly  and  temperately  should  avert 
tiieir  eyes  from  beholding,  and  their  ears 
from  hearing,  tlie  meretricious,  lewd, 
and  fetid  manners  of  that  island,  which, 
with  God's  permission,  the  Genoese  have 
now  invaded,  captured,  and  evil  en- 
treated and  laid  under  contribution." 


CANTO  XX. 

I.    The  Heaven  of  Jupiter  continued. 
3.   Coleridge,  Ancient  Mariner : — 

'  The  sun's  rim  dips  ;  the  stars  rush  out ; 
At  one  stride  comes  the  dark," 

5.  Blanco  White,  M^/tt  ;— 

'  Mysterious  Night!  when  our  first  parent  knew 
Thee,  from  report   divine,   and   heard    th> 

name, 
Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 
This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue? 
Yet  'neath  a  curtain  of  translucent  dew, 

Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  creat  setting  flame, 
Hesperus  with  the  host  ot  neaven  came, 
And  lo  !  creation  widened  in  man's  view. 
Who  could  have   thought  such  darkness  lay 

concealed 
Within   thy  beams,  O  Sun  I   or  who  could 

find. 
Whilst  fly,  and  leaf,  and   insect  stood   re- 
vealed, 
lliat  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  mad'st  us 

blind  ? 
Why  do  we,  then,  shun  death  with  anxious 

strife  ? 
If  Light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not 

Life  f  '■ 

37.  King  David,  who  carried  the  Arl^ 


NOTES  TO  FARAD  ISO. 


679 


of  the  Covenant  from  Kirjath-jearim  to 
the  house  of  Obed-Edom,  and  thence  to 
Jerusalem.     See  2  Samuel  vi. 

41.  In  so  far  as  the  Psalms  were  the 
result  of  his  own  free  will,  and  not  of 
divine  inspiration.  As  in  Canto  VI. 
118:— 

"  But  in  commensuration  of  our  wages 
With  our  desert  is  portion  of  our  joy, 
Because   we    see   them    neither    less    nor 
greater." 

44.  The  Emperor  Trajan,  whose  soul 
was  saved  by  the  prayers  of  St.  Gregory. 
For  the  story  of  the  poor  widow,  see 
Purg.  X.  73,  and  note. 

49.  King  Ilezekiah. 

51.  2  Kings  XX.  II  : — "And  Isaiah 
the  prophet  cried  unto  the  Lord  ;  and 
he  brought  the  shadow  ten  degrees  back- 
ward, by  which  it  had  gone  down  in  the 
dialofAhaz." 

55.  Constantine,  who  transferred  the 
seat  of  empire,  the  Roman  law^s,  and  the 
Roman  standard  to  Byzantium,  thus  in 
a  poetic  sense  becoming  a  Greek. 

56.  This  refers  to  the  supposed  gift  of 
Constantine  to  Pope  Sylvester,  known 
in  ecclesiastical  history  as  the  patrimony 
of  Saint  Peter,     Inf.  XXI,  115  :— 

"  Ah,   Constantine !    of  how    much    woe    was 
mother, 
Not    thy    conversion,    but    that    marriage- 
dower 
Which  the  first  wealthy  Father  took  from 
thee  !  " 

See  also  the  note, 

62.  William  the  Second,  sumamed 
the  Good,  son  of  Robert  Guiscard,  and 
king  of  Apulia  and  Sicily,  which  king- 
doms were  then  lamenting  the  living 
presence  of  such  kings  as  Charles  the 
Lame,  "the  Cripple  of  Jerusalem," 
king  of  Apulia,  and  Frederick  of  Ara- 
gon,  king  of  Sicily. 

"  King  Guilielmo,"  says  the  Ottinio, 
"  was  just  and  reasonable,  loved  his  sub- 
jects, and  kept  them  in  such  peace,  that 
living  in  Sicily  might  then  be  esteemed 
living  in  a  terrestrial  paradise.  He  was 
liberal  to  all,  and  proportioned  his 
bounties  to  the  virtue  [of  the  receiver]. 
And  he  had  this  rule,  that  if  a  vicious  or 
evil-speaking  courtier  came  to  his  court, 
he  was  immediately  noticed  by  the 
masters  of  ceremony,  and  provided  with 


gifts  .md  robes,  so  that  he  might  have  a 
cause  to  depart.  If  he  was  wise,  he  de- 
parted ;  if  not,  he  was  politely  dis- 
missed." The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  seems 
to  have  followed  the  example  of  the  good 
King  William,  for  he  says  :  "  When 
any  one  of  our  relations  was  found  to  be 
a  person  of  very  bad  character,  a  trouble- 
some guest,  or  one  we  desired  to  get  rid 
of,  upon  his  leaving  my  house  I  ever 
took  care  to  lend  him  a  riding-coat,  or  a 
pair  of  boots,  or  sometimes  a  horse  of 
small  value,  and  I  always  had  the  satis- 
faction of  finding  he  never  came  back  to 
return  them." 

68.  A  Trojan  hero  slain  at  the  sack  of 
Troy,  ALiieid,  II.  426  :  "  Ripheus  also 
falls,  the  most  just  among  the  Trojan?, 
and  most  observant  of  the  right." 

Venturi  thinks  that,  if  Dante  must 
needs  introduce  a  Pagan  into  Paradise, 
he  would  have  done  better  to  have 
chosen  ^neas,  who  was  the  hero  of  his 
master,  Virgil,  and,  moreover,  the 
founder  of  the  Roman  empire. 

73,  The  word  "  expatiate"  is  here 
used  in  the  sense  given  it  by  Milton  in 
the  following  passage.  Par.  Lost.  I. 
768:— 

"  As  bees, 
In  spring-time  when  the  sun  with  Taurus  rides, 
Pour  forth  their  populous  youth  about  the  hive 
In  clusters ;  they,  among  fresh  dews  and  flowers, 
Fly  to  and  fro,  or  on  the  smoothed  plank, 
The  suburb  of  their  straw-'.tuilt  citadel, 
New  rubbed  with  balm,  expatiate  and  confer 
Their  state-affairs." 

Landor,  Pentameron,  p.  92,  says  : 
"  All  the  verses  that  ever  were  written 
on  the  nightingale  are  scarcely  worth  the 
beautiful  triad  of  this  divine  poet  on  the 
lark.  In  the  first  of  them,  do  not  you 
see  the  twinkling  of  her  wings  against 
the  sky  ?  As  often  as  I  repeat  them,  my 
ear  is  satisfied,  my  heart  (like  hers)  con- 
tented." 

92,  In  scholastic  language  the  quid- 
dity of  a  thing  is  its  essence,  or  that  by 
which  it  is  what  it  is. 

94.  Matthew  xi.  12  :  "  And  from  the 
days  of  John  the  Baptist  until  now  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  suffereth  violence, 
and  the  violent  take  it  by  force." 

100,   Trajan  and  Ripheus, 

105,  Ripheus  lived  before  Christ,  and 
Trajan  after. 

Shakespeare,  King  Henry  IV.,  I.  I : — 


68o 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


"  In  those  holy  fields 
Over  whose  acres  walked  those  blessed  feet, 
\Vhich  fourteen  hundred  years  ago  were  nailed, 
For  our  advantage,  on  the  bitter  cross." 

1 06.  Trajan. 

111.  Being  in  hell,  he  could  not  re- 
pent ;  being  resuscitated,  his  inclinations 
could  turn  towards  good. 

112.  The  legend  of  Trajan  is,  that  by 
the  prayers  of  St.  Gregory  the  Great  he 
was  restored  to  life,  after  he  had  been 
dead  four  hundred  years  ;  that  he  lived 
long  enough  to  be  baptized,  and  was  then 
received  into  Paradise.  See  Ptfg.  X. 
Note  73. 

118.  Ripheus.  "This  is  a  fiction  of 
our  author,"  says  Buti,  "as  the  intelli- 
gent reader  may  imagine  ;  for  there  is 
no  proof  that  Ripheus  the  Trojan  is 
saved." 

127.  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity. 
Pu?g.  XXIX.  121  :— 

"  Three  ladies  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  ; 
The  third   appeared    as   snow    but    newly 
fallen." 

F30.  Romans  ix.  20:  "Nay  but,  O 
man,  who  art  thou  that  repliest  against 
God  ?  Shall  the  thing  formed  say  to 
him  that  formed  it.  Why  hast  thou  made 
me  thus  ?  Had  not  the  potter  power 
over  the  clay,  of  the  same  lump  to  make 
one  vessel  unto  honour,  and  another  unto 
dishonour  ?" 


CANTO   XXL 

I.  The  Heaven  of  Saturn,  where  are 
seen  the  Spirits  of  the  Contemplative. 

"This  planet,"  says  Brunetto  Latini, 
"  is  cruel,  felonious,  and  of  a  cold 
nature."  Danle,  Convito,  H.  14,  makes 
it  the  symbol  of  Astrology.  "The 
Heaven  of  Saturn,"  he  says,  "has  two 
l)roperties  by  whicii  it  may  be  compared 
to  Astrology.  The  first  is  the  slowness 
of  its  movement  through  the  twelve 
signs  ;  for,  according  to  the  writings  of 
Astrologers,  its  revolution  requires 
twenty-nine  years  and  more.  The 
second  is,  that  it  is  the  highest  of  all  the 
planets.  And  these  two  properties  are 
m  Astrology  ;  for  in  completing  its 
circle,  that  is,  in  learning  it,  a  great  space 


of  time  passes  ;  both  on  acco^tr.t  of  it\- 
demonstrations,  which  are  more  than  in 
any  of  the  above-mentioned  sciences, 
and  on  account  of  the  experience  whicli 
is  necessary  to  judge  rightly  in  it.  And, 
moreover,  it  is  the  highest  of  all  ;  for,  as 
Aristotle  says  at  the  beginning  of  his 
treatise  on  the  Soul,  Science  is  of  higli 
nobility,  from  the  nobleness  of  its  sub- 
ject, and  from  its  certainty  ;  and  this 
more  than  any  of  the  above-mentioned 
is  noble  and  high,  from  its  noble  and 
high  subject,  which  is  the  movement  of 
the  heavens  ;  and  high  and  noble  from 
its  certainty,  which  is  without  any  defect, 
as  one  that  proceeds  from  a  most  perfect 
and  regular  source.  And  if  any  one 
thinks  there  is  any  defect  in  it,  the  defect 
is  not  on  the  side  of  the  Science,  but,  as 
Ptolemy  says,  it  comes  from  our  negli- 
gence, and  to  that  it  should  be  attri- 
buted." 

Of  the  influences  of  Saturn,  Buti, 
quoting  Albumasar,  says  :  "The  nature 
of  Saturn  is  cold,  dry,  melancholy, 
sombre,  of  grave  asperity,  and  may  be 
cold  and  moist,  and  of  ugly  colour,  and 
is  of  much  eating  and  of  true  love.  .  .  . 
And  it  signifies  ships  at  sea,  and  jour- 
neyings  long  and  perilous,  and  malice, 
and  envy,  and  tricks,  and  seductions, 
and  boldness  in  dangers,  .  .  .  and  sin- 
gularity, and  little  companionship  of 
men,  and  pride  and  magnanimity,  and 
simulation  and  boasting,  and  servitude 
of  rulers,  and  every  deed  done  with  force 
and  malice,  and  injuries,  and  anger,  and 
strife,  and  bonds  and  imprisonment, 
truth  in  words,  delight,  and  beauty,  and 
intellect ;  experiments  and  diligence  in 
cunning,  and  affluence  of  thought,  and 
profoundness  of  counsel.  ,  .  .  And  it 
signifies  old  and  ponderous  men,  and 
gravity  and  fear,  lamentation  and.  sad- 
ness, embarrassment  of  mind,  and  fraud, 
and  affliction,  and  destruction,  and  loss, 
and  dead  men,  and  remains  of  the  dead  ; 
weeping  and  orphanhood,  and  ancient 
things,  ancestors,  uncles,  elder  brothers, 
servants  and  muleteers,  and  men  de- 
spised, and  robbers,  and  those  who  dig 
graves,  and  those  who  steal  the  garments 
of  the  dead,  and  tanners,  vituperators, 
magicians,  and  warriors,  and  vile  men." 

6.   Semele,   the  daughter  of  Cadmus, 
who  besought  her  lover,  Jupiter,  to  come 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


68i 


to  her,  as  he  went  to  Juno,  "in  all  the 
pomp  of  his  divinity."  Ovid,  Alet., 
III.,  Addison's  Tr.  :- 

"  The  mortal  dame,  too  feeble  to  engage 
The  lightning's  flashes  and  the  thunder's  rage, 
Consumed  amidst  the  glories  she  desired, 
And  in  the  terrible  embrace  expired." 

13.  To  the  planet  Saturn,  which  was 
now  in  the  sign  of  the  Lion,  and  sent 
down  its  influence  warmed  by  the  heat 
of  tliis  constellation. 

27.  I'he  peaceful  reign  of  Saturn,  in 
the  Age  of  Gold. 

29.  "As  in  Mars,"  comments  the 
Ottimo,  "  he  placed  the  Cross  for  a  stair- 
way, to  denote  that  through  martyrdom 
the  spirits  had  ascended  to  God  ;  and  in 
Jupiter,  the  Eagle,  as  a  sign  of  the 
Empire ;  so  here  he  places  a  golden 
stairway,  to  denote  that  the  ascent  of 
these  souls,  which  was  by  contemplation, 
is  more  supreme  and  more  lofty  than  any 
other." 

35.   Shakespeare,  Macbeth,  III.  2  : — 

"The  crow 
Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood." 

Henry  Vaughan,  The  Bee : — 

"  And  hard  by  shelters  on  some  bough 
Hilarion's  servant,  the  wise  crow." 

And  Tennyson,  Locksley  Hall : — 

"  As   the    many-wintered    crow   that   leads  the 
clanging  rookery  home." 

43.  The  spirit  of  Peter  Damiano. 

46.   Beatrice. 

63.  Because  your  mortal  ear  could  not 
endure  the  sound  of  our  singing,  as  your 
mortal  eye  could  not  the  splendour  of 
Beatrice's  smile. 

81.   As  in  Canto  XII.  3  :— 

"  Began  the  holy  millstone  to  revolve." 
90.  As  in  Canto  XIV.  40  : — 

"  Its  brightness  is  proportioned  to  its  ardour. 
The  ardour  to  the  vision  ;  and  the  vision 
Equals  what  grace  it  has  above  its  worth." 

106.  AmonjT  the  Apennines,  east  of 
Arezzo,  rises  Mount  Catria,  sometimes 
called,  from  its  forked  or  double  sum- 
mit, the  Forca  di  Fano.  On  its  slope 
stands  the  monastery  of  Santa  Croce  di 
Fonte  Avellana.  Troya,  in  his  Veltro 
Alkgorico,  as  quoted  in  Balbo's  Life  and 


Times  of  Dante,  Mrs.  Bunbury's  Tr., 
II.  218,  describes  this  region  as  follows: 
"The  monastery  is  built  on  the  steepest 
mountains  of  Umbria.  Catria,  the  giant 
of  the  Apennines,  hangs  over  it,  and  so 
overshadows  it  that  in  some  months  of 
the  year  the  light  is  frequently  shut  out. 
A  difficult  and  lonely  path  through  the 
forests  leads  to  the  ancient  hospitium  of 
these  courteous  hermits,  who  point  out 
the  apartments  where  their  predecessors 
lodged  Alighieri.  We  may  read  his 
name  repeatedly  on  the  walls  ;  the 
marble  effigy  of  him  bears  witness  to  the 
honourable  care  with  which  the  memory 
of  the  great  Italian  is  preserved  from  age 
to  age  in  that  silent  retirement.  The 
Prior  Moricone  received  him  there  in 
1318,  and  the  annals  of  Avellana  relate 
this  event  with  pride.  But  if  they  had 
been  silent,  it  would  be  quite  sufficient 
to  have  seen  Catria,  and  to  liave  read 
Dante's  description  of  it,  to  be  assured 
that  he  ascended  it.  There,  from  the 
woody  summit  of  the  rock,  he  gazed 
upon  his  country,  and  rejoiced  in  the 
thought  that  he  was  not  far  from  her. 
He  struggled  with  his  desire  to  return  to 
her  ;  and  when  he  was  able  to  return,  he 
banished  himself  anew,  not  to  submit  to 
dishonour.  Having  descended  the  moun- 
tain, he  admired  the  ancient  manners 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Avellana,  but  he 
showed  little  indulgence  to  his  hosts, 
who  appeared  to  him  to  have  lost  their 
old  virtues.  At  this  time,  and  dunng 
his  residence  near  Gubbio,  it  seems  that 
he  must  have  written  the  five  cantos  of 
the  Paradiso  after  the  twentieth  ;  because 
when  he  mentions  Florence  in  the  twenty- 
first  canto  he  speaks  of  Catria,  and  in 
what  he  says  in  the  twenty-fifth,  of  wish- 
ing to  receive  his  poetic  crown  at  his 
baptismal  font,  we  can  perceive  his  hope 
to  be  restored  to  his  country  and  his 
beautiful  fold  (ovile)  when  time  should 
have  overcome  the  difficulties  of  the 
manner  of  his  return." 

Ampere,  Voyage  Dantesqite,  p.  265, 
describes  his  visit  to  the  monastery  of 
Fonte  Avellana,  and  closes  thus  :  — 

"  They  took  particular  pleasure  in 
leading  us  to  an  echo,  the  wonder  of 
Avellana,  and  the  most  powerful  I  ever 
heard.  It  repeats  distinctly  a  whole  line 
of  verse,  and  even  a  line  and  a  half.     I 


682 


NOTES  TO  PAR  A  DISC. 


amused  myself  in  making  the  rocks 
address  to  the  great  poet,  whom  they 
had  seen  wandering  among  their  sum- 
mits, what  he  said  of  Homer, — 

"  Onorate  l'  altissimo  poeta." 

The  Une  was  distinctly  articulated  by 
the  voice  of  the  mountain,  which  seemed 
to  be  the  far-off  and  mysterious  voice  of 
the  poet  hjmsel£    .... 

"  In  order  to  find  the  recollection  of 
Dante  more  present  tlian  in  the  cells, 
and  even  in  the  chamber  of  the  inscrip- 
tion, I  went  out  at  night,  and  sat  upon  a 
jgtone  a  little  above  the  monastery.  The 
moon  was  not  visible,  being  still  hidden 
by  the  immense  peaks  ;  but  I  could  see 
some  of  the  less  elevated  summits  struck 
by  her  first  glimmerings.  The  chants  of 
the  monks  came  up  to  me  through  the 
darkness,  and  mingled  with  the  bleating 
of  a  kid  lost  in  the  mountains.  I  saw 
through  the  window  of  the  choir  a  white 
monk  prostrate  in  prayer.  I  thought 
that  perhaps  Dante  had  sat  upon  that 
stone,  that  he  had  contemplated  those 
rocks,  that  moon,  and  heard  those  chants 
always  the  same,  like  the  sky  and  the 
mountains." 

no.  This  hermitage,  according  to 
Butler,  Lives  of  the  Saints,  IL  2I2,  was 
founded  by  the  blessed  Ludolf,  about 
twenty  years  before  Peter  Damiano  came 
to  it. 

1 1 2.  Thus  it  began  speaking  £or  the 
third  time, 

121.  St,  Peter  Damiano  was  bom  of 
a  poor  family  at  Ravenna,  about  988 ; 
and,  being  left  an  orphan  in  his  child- 
hood, went  to  live  with  an  elder  brother, 
who  set  him  to  tending  swine.  Another 
brother,  who  was  a  priest  at  Ravenna, 
took  compassion  on  him,  and  educated 
him.  He  in  turn  became  a  teacher ; 
and,  being  of  an  ascetic  turn  of  mind,  he 
called  himself  Peter  the  .Sinner,  wore  a 
hair  shiit,  and  was  assiduous  in  fasting 
and  prayer.  Two  Benedictine  monks  of 
the  monastery  of  Fonte  Avellapa,  pass- 
ing  through  Ravenna,  stopped  at  the 
house  wliere  lie  lodged  ;  and  he  resolvefl 
to  join  their  brotherhood,  which  he  did 
soon  afterward.  In  1041  he  became 
Abbot  of  the  monastery,  and  in  1057, 
Cardinal.  Bishop  of  Ostia.  In  1062  he 
returned   to   Fonte  Avellana ;    and  in 


1072,  being  "fourscore  and  three  years 
old,"  died  on  his  way  to  Rome,  in  the 
convent  of  our  Lady  near  Faenza. 

Of  his  life  at  Fonte  Avellana,  Butler, 
Lwes  of  the  Saints,  (Feb.  23,)  II.  217, 
says  :  "  Whatever  austerities  he  pre- 
scribed to  others  he  was  tlie  fii'st  to 
practise  himself,  remitting  nothir^  of 
them  even  in  his  old  age.  He  lived 
shut  up  in  his  cell  as  in  a  prison,  fisted 
every  day,  except  festivals,  and  allowed 
himself  no  other  subsistence  than  coai"se 
bread,  bran,  herbs,  and  water,  and  this 
he  never  drank  fresh,  but  what  he  had 
kept  from  the  day  before.  He  tortured 
his  body  with  iron  girdles  and  frequent 
disciplines,  to  render  it  more  obedient  to 
the  spirit.  He  passed  the  three  first 
days  of  every  Lent  and  Advent  without 
taking  any  kind  of  nourishment  whatso- 
ever ;  and  often  for  forty  days  together 
lived  only  on  raw  herbs  and  fruits,  or  on 
pulse  steeped  in  cold  water,  without 
touching  so  much  as  bread,  or  anything 
which  nad  passed  the  fire.  A  mat 
spread  on  tlie  floor  was  his  bed.  He 
used  to  make  wooden  spoons  and  such 
like  useful  mean  things  to  exercise  him- 
self at  certain  hours  in  manual  labour." 

122.  It  is  a  question  whether  Peter 
Damiano  and  Peter  the  Sinner  are  the 
same  person,  or  whether  by  the  latter 
is  meant  Peter  Onesti  of  Ravenna ;  for 
both  in  their  humility  took  that  name. 
The  solution  of  the  question  depends 
upon  the  reading  fui  or  fu  in  this  line  ; 
and  of  twenty-eight  printed  editions  con- 
sulted by  Barlow,  fourteen  were  for  fui, 
and  fourteen  for  fu.  Of  the  older  com- 
mentators,  the  Ottimo  thinks  two  distinct 
persons  are  meant ;  Benvenuto  and  Buti 
decitle  in  favour  of  one, 

Benvenuto  interprets  thusj  "In  Ca- 
trja  I  was  called  Peter  Damiano,  and  I 
was  Peter  the  Sinner  in  the  monastery  of 
Santa  Maria  in  Porto  at  Ravenna  on  the 
shore  of  the  Adriatic.  Some  persons 
maintain,  that  this  Peter  the  Sinner  was 
another  monk  of  the  order,  which  is 
evidently  false,  because  Damiano  gives 
his  real  name  in  Catria,  and  here  names 
himself  [Sinner]  from  humility  " 

Buti  says;  "  I  was  first  a  friar  called 
Peter  the  Sinner,  in  the  Order  of  Santa 

Maria And  aftei-wards  he  went 

from  tliere   to  the   monastery  at    the 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


683 


hermitage  of  Catria,  having  become  a 
monk." 

125.  In  1057,  when  he  was  made  Car- 
dinal-Bishop of  Ostia. 

127.  Cephas  is  St.  Peter.  John  i. 
42  :  "  Thou  art  Simon  the  son  of  Jona  ; 
Thou  shalt  be  called  Cephas,  which  is, 
by  interpretation,  a  stone."  The  Ottimo 
seems  to  have  forgotten  this  passage  of 
Scripture  when  he  wrote:  "Cephas, 
that  is,  St.  Peter,  so  called  from  the 
large  head  he  had  (cephas,  that  is  to  say, 
head)." 

The  mighty  Vessel  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
is  St.  Paul.  Acts  ix.  15 :  "  He  is  a 
chosen  vessel  unto  me." 

129.  Luke  X.  1 :  "And  in  the  same 
house  remain,  eating  and  drinking  such 
things  as  they  give  :  for  the  labourer  is 
worthy  of  his  hire." 

130.  The  commentary  of  Benvenuto 
da  Imola  upon  this  passage  is  too  strik- 
ing to  be  omitted  here.  The  reader  may 
imagine  the  impression  it  produced  upon 
the  audience  when  the  Professor  first 
read  it  publicly  in  his  lectures  at  Bologna, 
in  1389,  eighty-eight  years  a'fter  Dante's 
death,  though  this  impression  may  have 
been  somewhat  softened  by  its  being  de- 
livered in  Latin : — 

"  Here  Peter  Damiano  openly  rebukes 
the  modern  shepherds  as  being  the  oppo- 
site of  the  Apostles  before-mentioned, 
saying, — 

'  Now  some  one  to  support  them  on  each  side 
The  modem  shepherds  need ' ; 

that  is  to  say,  on  the  right  and  on  the 

left; 

'  And  some  to  lead  them, 
So  heavy  are  they' ; 

that  is,  so  fat  and  corpulent.  I  have 
seen  many  such  at  the  Court  of  Rome. 
And  this  is  in  contrast  with  the  lean- 
ness of  Peter  and  Paul  before  men- 
tioned. 

'  And  to  hold  their  trains," 

because  they  have  long  cloaks,  sweeping 
the  ground  with  their  trains.  And  this 
too  is  in  contrast  with  the  nakedness  of 
the  afore-mentioned  Apostles.  And 
therefore,  stung  with  grief,  he  adds, 

'  They  cover  up  their  palfreys  with  their  cloaks,' 

fat  and  sleek,  as  they  themselves  are ; 


for  their  mantles  are  so  long,  ample,  and 
capacious,  that  they  cover  man  and  horse. 
Hence,  he  says, 

'  So  that  two  beasts  go  underneath  one  skin ' ; 

that  is  the  beast  who  carries,  and  he  who 
is  carried,  and  is  more  beastly  than  the 
beast  himself.  And,  truly,  had  the  author 
lived  at  the  present  day  he  might  have 
changed  this  phrase  and  said, 

'  So  that  three  beasts  go  underneath  one  skin ' ; 

namely,  cardinal,  concubine,  and  horse ; 
as  I  have  heard  of  one,  whom  I  knew 
well,  who  used  to  carry  his  concubine  to 
hunt  on  the  crupper  of  his  horse  or  mule. 
And  truly  he  was  like  a  horse  or  mule, 
in  which  there  is  no  understanding  j 
that  is,  without  reason.  On  account  oi 
these  things,  Peter  in  anger  cries  out  to 
God, 

'  O  Patience,  that  dost  tolerate  so  much  ! ' " 

142.  A  cry  so  loud  that  he  could 
not  distinguish  the  words  these  spirits 
uttered. 


CANTO  xxn. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  Saturn  continued  ; 
and  the  ascent  to  the  Heaven  of  the 
Fixed  Stars. 

31.  It  is  the  spirit  of  St.  Benedict  that 
speaks. 

37.  Not  far  from  Aquinum  in  the 
Terra  di  Lavoro,  the  birthplace  of  Juve- 
nal and  of  Thomas  Aquinas,  rises  Monte 
Cassino,  celebrated  for  its  Benedictine 
monastery.  The  following  description 
of  the  spot  is  from  a  letter  in  the  London 
Daily  Nnw,  February  26,  1866,  in  which 
the  writer  pleads  earnestly  that  this  mo- 
nastery may  escape  the  doom  of  all  the 
Religious  Orders  in  Italy,  lately  pro- 
nounced by  the  Italian  Parliament. 

"  The  monastery  of  Monte  Cagsino 
stands  exactly  half-way  between  Rome 
and  Naples,  From  the  top  of  the  Monte 
Cairo,  which  rises  immediately  above  it, 
can  be  seen  to  the  north  the  summit  ol 
Monte  Cave,  so  conspicuous  from  Rome  ; 
and  to  the  south,  the  hill  of  the  Neapo- 
litan Camaldoli.  From  the  terrace  ol 
the  monastery  the  eye  rr.  :es  t)\er  the 
£  2 


684 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


richest  and  most  beautiful  valley  of  Italy, 
the 

'  Rura  quae  Liris  qiiieta 
Mordet  aqua  tacitumus  amnis. ' 

The  river  can  be  traced  through  the  lands 
of  Aquinum  and  Pontecorvo,  till  it  is  lost 
in  the  haze  which  covers  the  plain  of 
Sinuessa  and  Minturnae ;  a  small  strip 
of  sea  is  visible  just  beyond  the  mole  of 
Gaeta 

"  In  this  interesting  but  little  known 
and  uncivilized  country,  the  monastery 
has  been  the  only  centre  of  religion  and 
intelligence  for  nearly  1350  years.  It 
wjs  founded  by  St.  Benedict  in  529,  and 
is  the  parent  of  all  the  greatest  Bene- 
dictine monasteries  in  .the  world.  In 
589  the  monks,  driven  out  by  the  Lom- 
bards, took  refuge  in  Rome,  and  re- 
mained there  for  130  years.  In  884  the 
monasteiy  was  burned  by  the  Saracens, 
but  it  was  soon  after  restored.  With 
these  exceptions  it  has  existed  without  a 
break  from  its  foundation  till  the  present 
day. 

"  There  is  scarcely  a  Pope  or  Emperor 
of  importance  who  has  not  been  per- 
sonally connected  with  its  history.  From 
its  mountain  crag  it  has  seen  Goths,  Lom- 
bards, Saracens,  Normans,  Frenchmen, 
Spaniards,  Germans,  scour  and  devastate 
the  land  which,  through  all  modem  his- 
tory, has  attracted  every  invader. 

"It  is  hard  that,  after  it  has  escaped 
the  storms  of  war  and  rapine,  it  should 
be  destroyed  by  peaceful  and  enlightened 
legislation. 

"  I  do  not,  however,  wish  to  plead  its 
cause  on  sentimental  grounds.  The  mo- 
nastery contains  a  library  which,  in  spite 
of  the  pilfering  of  the  Popes,  and  the  wan- 
ton burnings  of  Championnet,  is  still  one 
of  the  richest  in  Italy  ;  while  its  archives 
are,  I  believe,  unequalled  in  the  world. 
Letters  of  the  Lombard  kings  who 
reigned  at  Pavia,  of  Hildebrand  and  the 
Countess  Matilda,  of  Gregory  and  Char- 
lemagne, are  here  no  rarities.  Since 
the  days  of  Panlus  Diaconus  in  the  eighth 
century,  it  has  contained  a  succession 
of  monks  devoted  to  literature.  His 
mantle  has  descended  in  these  later  days 
to  Abate  Tosti,  one  of  the  most  accom- 

flished  of  contemporary  Italian  writers, 
n  the  Easter  of  last  year,  I  found  twenty 
iBonkv  in  the  monastery  :  they  worked' 


harder  than  any  body  of  Oxford  or  Cam- 
bridge fellows  I  am  acquainted  with ; 
they  educated  two  hundred  boys,  and 
fifty  novices;  they  kept  up  all  the  ser- 
vices of  their  cathedral  ;  the  care  of  the 
archives  included  a  laborious  correspon- 
dence with  literary  men  of  all  nations  ; 
they  entertained  hospitably  any  visitors 
who  came  to  them  ;  besides  this,  they 
had  just  completed  a  fac-simile  of  their 
splendid  manuscript  of  Dante,  in  a  large 
folio  volume,  which  was  edited  and 
printed  by  their  own  unassisted  labour. 
This  was  intended  as  an  offering  to  the 
kingdom  of  Italy  in  its  new  capital,  and 
rumour  says  that  they  have  incurred  the 
displeasure  of  the  Pope  by  their  liberal 
opinions.  On  eveiy  ground  of  respect 
for  prescription  and  civilization,  it  would 
be  a  gross  injustice  to  destroy  this  mo- 
nastery. 

"  '  If  we  are  saved,'  one  of  the  monks 
said  to  me,  'it  will  be  by  tlie  public 
opinion  of  Europe.'  It  is  the  most  en- 
lightened part  of  that  opinion  which  I  am 
anxious  to  rouse  in  their  behalf. " 

In  the  palmy  days  of  the  monastery 
the  Abbot  of  Monte  Cassino  was  the 
First  Baron  of  the  realm,  and  is  said  to 
have  held  all  the  rights  and  privileges 
of  other  barons,  and  even  criminal  juris- 
diction in  the  land.  This  the  inhabitants 
of  the  town  of  Cassino  found  so  intoler- 
able, that  they  tried  to  buy  the  right 
with  all  the  jewels  of  the  women  and  all 
the  silver  of  their  households.  When 
the  law  for  the  suppression  of  the  con- 
vents passed,  they  are  said  to  have  cele- 
brated the  event  with  great  enthusiasm  ; 
but  the  monks,  as  well  they  might,  sang 
an  Oremtis  in  their  chapel,  instead  of  a 
Te  Deum. 

For  a  description  of  the  library  of 
Monte  Cassino  in  Boccaccio's  time,  see 
Note  75  of  this  canto. 

40.  St.  Benedict  was  born  at  Norcia, 
in  the  Duchy  of  Spoleto,  in  480,  and 
died  at  Monte  Cassino  in  543.  In  his 
early  youth  he  was  sent  to  school  in 
Rome  ;  but  being  shocked  at  the  wild 
life  of  Roman  school-boys,  he  fled  from 
the  city  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  and  hid 
himself  among  the  mountains  of  Subiaco, 
some  forty  miles  away.  A  monk  from  a 
neighbouring  convent  gave  him  a  mo- 
nastic dress,  and  pointed  out  to  him  a 


NOTES  TO  PAR  AD  ISO. 


685 


cave,  in  which  he  lived  for  three  years, 
the  monk  supplying  him  with  food, 
which  he  let  down  to  him  from  above  by 
a  cord. 

In  this  retreat  he  was  finally  discovered 
by  some  shepherds,  and  the  fame  of  his 
sanctity  was  spread  through  the  land. 
The  mojiks  of  Vicovara  chose  him  for 
their  Abbot,  and  then  tried  to  poison 
him  in  his  wine.  He  left  them  and 
returned  to  Subiaco  ;  and  there  built 
twelve  monasteries,  placing  twelve  monks 
with  a  superior  in  each. 

Of  the  scenery  of  Subiaco,  Lowell, 
Fireside  Travels,  p.  271,  gives  the  fol- 
lowing sketch  :  "  Nothing  can  be  more 
lovely  than  the  scenery  about  Subiaco. 
The  town  itself  is  built  on  a  kind  of  cone 
rising  from  the  midst  of  a  valley  abound- 
ing in  olives  and  vines,  with  a  superb 
mountain  horizon  around  it,  and  the 
green  Anio  cascading  at  its  feet.  As 
you  walk  to  the  high-perched  convent  of 
San  Benedetto,  you  look  across  the  river 
on  your  right  just  after  leaving  the  town, 
to  a  cliff  over  which  the  ivy  pours  in  tor- 
rents, and  in  which  dwellings  have  been 
hollowed  out.  In  the  black  doorway  of 
every  one  sits  a  woman  in  scarlet  bodice 
and  white  head-gear,  with  a  distaff, 
spinning,  while  overhead  countless  night- 
ingales sing  at  once  from  the  fringe  of 
shrubbery.  The  glorious  great  white 
clouds  look  over  the  mountain-tops  into 
our  enchanted  valley,  and  sometimes  a 
lock  of  their  vapoury  wool  would  be  torn 
off,  to  lie  for  awhile  in  some  inaccessible 
ravine  like  a  snow-drift ;  but  it  seemed 
as  if  no  shadow  could  fly  over  our  privacy 
of  sunshine  to-day.  The  approach  to 
the  monastery  is  delicious.  You  pass 
out  of  the  hot  sun  into  the  green  shadows 
of  ancient  ilexes,  leaning  and  twisting 
every  way  that  is  graceful,  their  branches 
velvety  with  brilliant  moss,  in  which 
grow  feathery  ferns,  fringing  them  with 
a  halo  of  verdure.  Then  comes  the  con- 
vent, with  its  pleasant  old  monks,  who 
show  their  sacred  vessels  (one  by  Cellini) 
and  their  relics,  among  which  is  a  finger- 
bone  of  one  of  the  Innocents.  Lower 
down  is  a  convent  of  Santa  Scolastica, 
where  the  first  book  was  printed  in 
Italy." 

In  the  gardens  of  the  convent  of  San 
Benedetto  still  bloom,  in  their  season, 


the  roses,  which  the  legend  says  have 
been  propagated  from  the  briers  in  which 
the  saint  rolled  himself  as  a  penance. 
But  he  had  outward  foss,  as  well  as  in- 
ward, to  contend  with,  and  they  finally 
drove  him  from  Subiaco  to  Monte  Cas- 
sino. 

Montalemlyert,  Monks  of  the  West, 
Authorised  Tr.,  II.,  16,  says  : — 

"However,  Benedict  had  the  ordinary 
fate  of  great  men  and  saints.  The  g;reat 
number  of  conversions  worked  by  the 
example  and  fame  of  his  austerity,  awak- 
ened a  homicidal  envy  against  him.  A 
wicked  priest  of  the  neighbourhood  at- 
tempted first  to  decry  and  then  to  poison 
him.  Being  unsuccessful  in  both,  he 
endeavoured,  at  least,  to  injure  him  in 
the  object  of  his  most  tender  solicitude — 
in  the  souls  of  his  young  disciples.  For 
that  purpose  he  sent,  even  into  the  gar- 
den of  the  monastery  where  Benedict 
dwelt  and  where  the  monks  laboured, 
seven  wretched  women,  whose  gestures, 
sports,  and  shameful  nudity  were  de- 
signed to  tempt  the  young  monks  to 
certain  fall.  Who  does  not  recognise  in 
this  incident  the  mixture  of  barbarian 
rudeness  and  frightful  corruption  which 
characterise  ages  of  decay  and  transition? 
When  Benedict,  from  the  threshold  of 
his  cell,  perceived  these  shameless  crea- 
tures, he  despaired  of  his  work  ;  he 
acknowledged  that  the  interest  of  his 
beloved  children  constrained  him  to  dis- 
arm so  cruel  an  enmity  by  retreat.  He 
appointed  superiors  to  the  twelve  mo- 
nasteries which  he  had  founded,  and, 
taking  with  him  a  small  number  of  dis- 
ciples, he  left  for  ever  the  wild  gorges  of 
Subiaco,  where  he  had  lived  for  thirty- 
five  years. 

"  Without  withdrawing  from  the 
mountainous  region  which  extends  along 
the  western  side  of  the  Apennines, 
Benedict  directed  his  steps  towards  the 
south,  along  the  Abruzzi,  gind  penetrated 
into  that  Land  of  Labour,  the  name  ol 
which  seems  naturally  suited  to  a  soil 
destined  to  be  the  cradle  of  the  most 
laborious  men  whom  the  world  has 
known.  He  ended  his  journey  in  a 
scene  very  different  from  that  of  Subiaco, 
but  of  incomparable  grandeur  and  ma- 
jesty. There,  upon  the  boundaries  of 
Samnium  and  Campania,  in  the  centre 
Z  Z  2 


686 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


of  a  large  basin,  half  surrounded  by 
abrupt  and  picturesque  heights,  rises  a 
scarped  and  isolated  hill,  the  vast  and 
rounded  summit  of  which  overlooks  the 
course  of  the  Liris  near  its  fountain- 
head,  and  the  undulating  plain  which 
extends  south  towards  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean,  and  the  narrow  valleys 
which,  towards  the  north,  the  east,  and 
the  west,  lose  themselves  in  the  lines  of 
the  mountainous  horizon.  This  is  Monte 
Cassino.  At  the  foot  of  this  rock,  Bene- 
dict found  an  amphitheatre  of  the  time 
of  the  Caesars,  amidst  the  ruins  of  the 
town  of  Casinum,  which  the  most 
learned  and  pious  of  Romans,  Varro, 
that  pagan  Benedictine,  whose  memory 
and  knowledge  the  sons  of  Benedict 
took  pleasure  in  honouring,  had  rendered 
illustrious.  From  the  summit  the  pros- 
pect extended  on  one  side  towards  Arpi- 
num,  where  the  prince  of  Roman  orators 
was  bom,  and  on  the  other  towards 
Aquinum,  already  celebrated  as  the 
birthplace  of  Juvenal,  before  it  was 
known  as  the  country  of  the  Doctor 
Angelicus,  which  latter  distinction  should 
make  the  name  of  this  little  town  known 
among  all  Christians. 

"It  was  amidst  these  noble  recollec- 
tions, this  solemn  nature,  and  upon  that 
predestinated  height,  that  the  patriarch 
of  the  monks  of  the  West  founded  the 
capital  of  the  monastic  order.  He 
found  paganism  still  surviving  there. 
Two  hundred  years  after  Constantine, 
in  the  heart  of  Christendom,  and  so  near 
Rome,  there  still  existed  a  very  ancient 
temple  of  Apollo  and  a  sacred  wood, 
where  a  multitude  of  peasants  sacrificed 
to  the  gods  and  demons.  Benedict 
preached  the  faith  of  Christ  to  these  for- 
gotten people ;  he  persuaded  them  to 
cut  down  the  wood,  to  overthrow  the 
temple  and  the  idol." 

On  the  ruins  of  this  temple  he  built 
two  chapels,  and  higher  up  the  moun- 
tain, in  529,  laid  the  foundation  of  his 
famous  monastery.  Fourteen  years 
afterwards  he  died  in  the  church  of 
this  monastery,  standing  with  his  arms 
stretched  out  in  prayer. 

"  St.  Bennet,  says  Butler,  Lives  of 
the  Saints,  III.  235,  "calls  his  Order 
a  schcol  in  which  men  learn  how  to 
ler ve  God  ;  aud  his  life  was  to  his  dis- 


ciples a  perfect  model  for  their  imitation, 
and  a  transcript  of  his  rule.  Being 
chosen  by  God,  like  another  Moses,  to 
conduct  faithful  souls  into  the  true  pro- 
mised land,  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  he 
was  enriched  with  eminent  supernatural 
gifts,  even  those  of  miracles  and  pro- 
phecy. He  seemed  like  another  Eliseus, 
endued  by  God  with  an  extraordinary 
power,  commanding  all  nature,  and,  like 
the  ancient  prophets,  foreseeing  future 
events.  He  often  raised  the  sinking 
courage  of  his  monks,  and  liaffled  the 
various  artifices  of  the  Devil  with  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  rendered  the  heaviest 
stone  light  in  building  his  monastery  by 
a  short  prayer,  and,  in  presence  of  a 
multitude  of  people,  raised  to  life  a 
novice  who  had  been  crushed  by  the  fall 
of  a  wall  at  Mount  Cassino. " 

A  story  of  St.  Benedict  and  his  sister 
Scholastica  is  thus  told  by  Mrs.  Jame- 
son, Legends  of  Monastic  Orders,  p.  12  : 
"  I'owards  the  close  of  his  long  life 
Benedict  was  consoled  for  many  trou- 
bles by  the  arrival  of  his  sister  Scholas- 
tica, who  had  already  devoted  herself  to 
a  religious  life,  and  now  took  up  her 
residence  in  a  retired  cell  about  a  league 
and  a  half  from  his  convent.  Very  little 
is  known  of  Scholastica,  except  that  she 
emulated  her  brother's  piety  and  self- 
denial  ;  and  although  it  is  not  said  that 
she  took  any  vows,  she  is  generally  con- 
sidered as  the  first  Benedictine  nun. 
When  she  followed  her  brother  to  Monte 
Cassino,  she  drew  around  her  there  a 
small  community  of  pious  women  ;  but 
nothing  more  is  recorded  of  her,  except 
that  he  used  to  visit  her  once  a  year. 
On  one  occasion,  when  they  had  been 
conversing  together  on  spiritual  matters 
till  rather  late  in  the  evening,  Benedict 
rose  to  depart ;  his  sister  entreated  him 
to  remain  a  little  longer,  but  he  refused. 
Scholastica  then,  bending  her  head  over 
her  clasped  hands,  prayed  that  Heaven 
would  interfere  and  render  it  impossible 
for  her  brother  to  leave  her.  Imme- 
diately there  came  on  such  a  furious 
tempest  of  rain,  thunder,  and  lightning, 
that  Benedict  was  obliged  to  delay  his 
departure  for  some  hours.  As  soon  as 
the  storm  had  subsided,  he  took  leave  of 
his  sister,  and  returned  to  the  monas- 
tery ;  it  was  a  last  meeting ;  .St.   Scho- 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


687 


lastica  died  two  days  afterwards,  and  St. 
Benedict,  as  he  was  praying  in  his  cell, 
beheld  the  soul  of  his  sister  ascending  to 
heaven  in  the  fonii  of  a  dove.  This 
incident  is  often  found  in  the  pictures 
painted  for  the  Benedictine  nuns." 

For  the  history  of  the  monastery  of 
Monte  Cassino  see  the  Chron.  Monast. 
Casiniettsis,  in  Muratori,  Script.  Ker. 
Ital.,  IV.,  and  Dantier,  Monastlres 
Binedictiiis  a'ltalie. 

49.  St.  Macarius,  who  established 
the  monastic  rule  of  the  East,  as  St. 
Benedict  did  that  of  the  West,  was  a 
confectioner  of  Alexandria,  who,  carried 
away  by  religious  enthusiasm,  became 
an  anchorite  in  the  Thebaid  of  Upper 
Egypt,  about  335.  In  373  he  came  to 
Lower  Egypt,  and  lived  in  the  Desert  of 
the  Cells,  so  called  from  the  great  mul- 
titude of  its  hermit-cells.  He  had  also 
hermitages  in  the  deserts  of  Scete  and 
Nitria  ;  and  in  these  several  places  he 
passed  upwards  of  sixty  years  in  holy 
contemplation,  saying  to  his  soul,  "Hav- 
ing taken  up  thine  abode  in  heaven, 
where  thou  hast  God  and  his  holy  angels 
to  converse  with,  see  that  thou  descend 
not  thence  ;  regard  not  earthly  things." 

Among  other  anecdotes  of  St.  Ma- 
carius, Butler,  Lives  of  the  Saints,  I.  50, 
relates  the  following  :  "  Our  saint  hap- 
pened one  day  inadvertently  to  kill  a 
gnat  that  was  biti  g  him  in  his  cell ; 
reflecting  that  he  had  lost  the  oppor- 
tunity of  suffering  that  mortification,  he 
hastened  from  his  cell  for  the  marshes  of 
Scete,  which  abound  with  great  flies, 
whose  stings  pierce  even  wild  boars. 
There  he  continued  six  months  exposed 
to  those  ravaging  insects  ;  and  to  such  a 
degree  was  his  whole  body  disfigured  by 
them  with  sores  and  swellings,  that  when 
he  returned  he  was  only  to  be  known  by 
his  voice." 

St.  Romualdus,  founder  of  the  Order 
of  Camaldoli,  or  Reformed  Benedic- 
tines, vt^as  born  of  the  noble  family  of 
the  Onesti,  in  Ravenna,  about  956. 
Brought  up  in  luxury  and  ease,  he  still 
had  glimpses  of  better  things,  and,  while 
hunting  the  wild  boar  in  the  pine  woods 
of  Ravenna,  would  sometimes  stop  to 
muse,  and,  uttering  a  prayer,  exclaim  : 
"How  happy  were  the  ancient  hermits 
who  had  such  habitations." 


At  the  age  of  twenty  he  saw  his  father 
kill  his  adversary  in  a  duel ;  and,  smit- 
ten with  remorse,  imagined  that  he  must 
expiate  the  crime  by  doing  penance  in 
his  own  person.  He  accordingly  retired 
to  a  Benedictine  convent  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Ravenna,  and  became  a 
monk.  At  the  end  of  seven  years, 
scandalised  with  the  irregular  lives  of 
the  brotherhood,  and  their  disregard  of 
the  rules  of  the  Order,  he  undertook  the 
difficult  task  of  bringing  them  back  to 
the  austere  life  of  their  founder.  After 
a  conflict  of  many  years,  during  which 
he  encountered  and  overcame  the  usual 
perils  that  beset  the  path  of  a  reformer, 
he  succeeded  in  winning  over  some  hun- 
dreds of  his  brethren,  and  established 
his  new  Order  of  Reformed  Benedic- 
tines. 

St.  Romualdus  built  many  monas- 
teries ;  but  chief  among  them  is  that  of 
Camaldoli,  thirty  miles  east  of  Florence, 
which  was  founded  in  1009.  It  takes 
its  name  from  the  former  owner  of  the 
land,  a  certain  Maldoli,  who  gave  it  to 
St.  Romualdus.  Campo  Maldoli,  say  the 
authorities,  became  Camaldoli.  It  is 
more  likely  to  be  the  Tuscan  Ca'  Mal- 
doli, for  Casa  Maldoli. 

"  In  this  place,"  says  Butler,  Lives  of 
the  Saints,  II.  86,  "  St.  Romuald  built 
a  monastery,  and,  by  the  several  obser- 
vances he  added  to  St.  Benedict's  rule, 
gave  birth  to  that  new  Order  called  Ca- 
maldoli, in  which  he  united  the  cenobitic 
and  eremitical  life.  After  seeing  in  a 
vision  his  monks  mounting  up  a  ladder 
to  heaven  all  in  white,  he  changed  their 
habit  from  black  to  white.  The  her- 
mitage is  two  short  miles  distant  from 
the  monastery.  It  is  a  mountain  quite 
overshadowed  by  a  dark  wood  of  fir- 
trees.  In  it  are  seven  clear  springs  of 
water.  The  very  sight  of  this  solitude 
in  the  midst  of  the  forest  helps  to  fill  the 
mind  with  compunction,  and  a  love  of 
heavenly  contemplation.  On  entering 
it,  we  meet  with  a  chapel  of  St.  Antony 
for  travellers  to  pray  in  before  they  ad- 
vance any  farther.  Next  are  the  cells 
and  lodgings  for  the  porters.  Some- 
what farther  is  the  church,  which  is 
large,  well  built,  and  richly  adorned. 
Over  the  door  is  a  clock,  which  strikes 
so  loud  that  it  may  be  heard  all  over 


688 


NOTES  TO   PA  RAD  ISO. 


the  desert.  On  the  left  side  of  the 
church  is  the  cell  in  which  St.  Romuald 
lived,  when  he  first  established  these 
hermits.  Their  cells,  built  of  stone, 
have  each  a  little  garden  walled  round. 
A  constant  fire  is  allowed  to  be  kept  in 
every  cell  on  account  of  the  coldness  of 
the  air  throughout  the  year ;  each  cell 
has  also  a  chapel  in  which  they  may  say 
mass." 

See  also  Purg.  V.  Note  96.  The 
legend  of  St.  Romualdus  says  that  he 
lived  to  the  age  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty.  It  says,  also,  that  in  1466, 
nearly  four  hundred  years  after  his 
death,  his  body  was  found  still  un- 
cornipted  ;  but  that  four  years  later, 
when  it  was  stolen  from  its  tomb,  it 
crumbled  into  dust. 

65.  In  that  sphere  alone ;  that  is,  in 
the  Empyrean,  which  is  eternal  and  im- 
mutable. 

Lucretius,  Nature  of  Things,  III.  530, 
Good's  Tr,  : — 

"  But  things  immortal  ne'er  can  be  transposed, 
Ne'er  take  addition,  nor  encounter  loss  ; 
For  what  once  changes,  by  the  change  alone 
Subverts  immediate  its  anterior  life.' 

70.  Genesis  xxviii.  12 :  "  And  he 
dreamed,  and,  behold,  a  ladder  set  up 
on  the  earth,  and  the  top  of  it  reached 
to  heaven  :  and,  behold,  the  angels  of 
God  ascending  and  descending  on  it." 

74.  So  neglected,  that  it  is  mere 
waste  of  paper  to  transcribe  it.  In 
commenting  upon  this  line,  Benvenuto 
gives  an  interesting  description  of  Boc- 
caccio's visit  to  the  library  of  Monte 
Cassino,  which  he  had  from  his  own 
lips.  ' '  To  the  clearer  understanding 
of  this  passage,"  he  says,  "  I  will  repeat 
what  my  venerable  preceptor,  Boccaccio 
of  Certaido,  pleasantly  narrated  to  me. 
He  said,  that  when  he  was  in  Apulia, 
being  attracted  by  the  fame  of  the  place, 
he  went  to  the  noble  monastery  of  Monte 
Cassino,  of  which  we  are  speaking.  And 
being  eager  to  see  the  library,  which  he 
had  heard  was  very  noble,  he  humbly — 
gsntle  creature  that  he  was ! — besought 
a  monk  to  do  him  the  favour  to  open  it. 
Pointing  to  a  lofty  staircase,  he  answered 
stiffly,  'Go  up;  it  is  open.'  Joyfully 
ascending,  he  found  the  place  of  so  great 
a  treasure  without  door  or  fastening ;  and 


having  entered,  he  saw  the  grass  growing 
upon  the  windows,  and  all  the  books  and 
shelves  covered  with  dust.  And,  won- 
dering, he  began  to  open  and  turn  over, 
now  this  book  and  now  that,  and  found 
there  many  and  various  volumes  of  ancient 
and  rare  works.  From  some  of  them 
whole  sheets  had  been  torn  out,  in  others 
the  margins  of  the  leaves  were  clipped, 
and  thus  they  were  greatly  defaced.  At 
length,  full  of  pity  that  the  labours  and 
studies  of  so  many  illustrious  minds  should 
have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  such  profli- 
gate men,  grieving  and  weeping  he  with- 
drew. And  coming  into  the  cloister,  he 
asked  a  monk  whom  he  met,  wliy  those 
most  precious  books  were  so  vilely  muti- 
lated. He  replied,  that  some  of  the 
monks,  wishing  to  gain  a  few  ducats,  cut 
out  a  handful  of  leaves,  and  made  psalters 
which  they  sold  to  boys;  and  likewise  of 
the  margins  they  made  breviaries  which 
they  sold  to  women.  Now,  therefore,  O 
scholar,  rack  thy  brains  in  the  making  of 
books  !" 

77.  To  dens  of  thieves.  "And  the 
monks'  hoods  and  habits  are  full,"  says 
Buti,  "of  wicked  and  sinful  souls,  of 
evil  thoughts  and  ill-will.  And  as  from 
bad  flour  bad  bread  is  made,  so  from  ill- 
will,  which  is  in  the  monks,  come  evil 
deeds." 

79.  The  usurer  is  not  so  offensive  to 
God  as  the  monk  who  squanders  the 
revenues  of  the  Church  in  his  own  plea- 
sures and  vices. 

94.  Psalm  cxiv.  5  :  "What  ailed  thee, 
O  thou  sea,  that  thou  fleddest  ?  thou 
Jordan,  that  thou  wast  driven  back  ?" 

The  power  that  wrought  these  miracles 
can  also  bring  help  to  the  corruptions  of 
the  Church,  great  as  the  impossibility 
may  seem. 

107.  Paradise.  "Truly,"  says  Buti, 
"  the  glory  of  Paradise  may  be  called  a 
triumph,  for  the  blessed  triumph  in  their 
victory  over  the  world,  the  flesh,  and 
the  Devil." 

111.  The  sign  that  follows  Taurus  is 
the  sign  of  the  Gemini,  under  which 
Dante  was  born. 

112.  Of  the  influences  of  Gemini, 
Buti,  quoting  Albumasar,  says:  "The 
sign  of  the  Gemini  signifies  great  devo- 
tion and  genius,  such  as  became  our 
author  speaking  of  such  lofty  theme.     It 


NOTES,   TO  PARADISO. 


689 


signifies,  also,  sterility,  and  moderation 
'in  manners  and  in  religion,  beauty,  and 
deportment,  and  cleanliness,  when  this 
sign  is  in  the  ascendant,  or  the  lord  of 
the  descendant  is  present,  or  the  Moon  ; 
and  largeness  of  mind,  and  goodness,  and 
liberality  in  spending." 

115.  Dante  was  bom  May  14th,  1265, 
when  the  Sun  rose  and  set  in  Gemini ;  or 
as  Barlow,  Study  of  Div.  Com.,  p.  505, 
says,  "  the  day  on  which  in  that  year  the 
Sun  entered  the  constellation  Gemini." 
He  continues  :  "  Giovanni  Villani  (Lib. 
VI.  Ch.  92)  gives  an  account  of  a  re- 
markable comet  which  preceded  the  birth 
of  Dante    by  nine   months,   and  lasted 

three,  from  July  to  October This 

marvellous  meteor,  much  more  worthy 
of  notice  than  Donna  Bella's  dream  re- 
lated by  Boccaccio,  has  not  hitherto 
found  its  way  into  the  biography  of  the 
poet." 

119.  The  Heaven  of  the  Fixed  Stars. 
Of  the  symbolism  of  this  heaven,  Dante, 
Cotivito,  II.  15,  says:  "The  Starry 
Heaven  may  be  compared  to  Physics  on 
account  of  three  properties,  and  to  Meta- 
physics on  account  of  three  others  ;  for 
it  shows  us  two  visible  things,  such  as 
its  many  stars,  and  the  Galaxy;  that  is, 
the  white  circle  which  the  vulgar  call 
the  Road  of  St.  James  ;  and  it  shows 
us  one  of  its  poles,  and  the  other  it  con- 
ceals from  us  ;  and  it  shows  us  only  one 
motion  from  east  to  west,  and  another 
which  it  has  from  west  to  east  it  keeps 
almost  hidden  from  us.  I'herefore  we 
must  note  in  order,  first  its  comparison 
with  Physics,  and  then  with  Metaphysics. 
The  Stariy  Heaven,  I  say,  shows  us 
many  stars ;  for,  according  as  the  wise 
men  of  Egypt  have  computed,  down  to 
the  last  star  that  appears  in  their  meri- 
dian, there  are  one  thousand  and  twenty- 
two  clusters  of  the  stars  I  speak  of.  And 
in  this  it  bears  a  great  resemblance  to 
Physics,  if  these  three  members,  namely, 
two  and  twenty  and  a  thousand,  are 
carefully  considered  ;  for  by  the  two  is 
understood  the  local  movement,  which  of 
necessity  is  from  one  point  to  another ; 
and  by  the  twenty  is  signified  the  move- 
ment of  modification  ;  for,  inasmuch  as 
from  the  ten  upwards  we  proceed  only 
by  modifying  this  ten  with  the  other 
nine,   and  with    itself,    and    the   most 


beautiful  modification  which  it  receives 
is  that  with  itself,  and  the  first  which 
it  receives  is  twenty,  consequently  the 
movement  aforesaid  is  signified  by  this 
number.  And  by  the  thousand  is  signi- 
fied the  movement  of  increase  ;  for  in 
name  this  thousand  is  the  greatest  num- 
ber, and  cannot  increase  except  by  multi- 
plying itself.  And  Physics  show  these 
three  movements  only,  as  is  proved  in 
the  fifth  chapter  of  its  first  book.  And 
on  account  of  the  Galaxy  this  heaven  has 
great  resemblance  to  Metaphysics.  For 
it  must  be  known  that  of  this  Galaxy  the 
philosophers  have  held  diverse  opinions. 
For  the  Pythagoreans  said  that  the  Sun 
once  wandered  out  of  his  path  ;  and, 
passing  through  other  parts  not  adapted 
to  his  heat,  he  burned  the  place  through 
which  he  passed,  and  the  appearance  of 
the  burning  remained  there.  I  think 
they  were  influenced  by  the  fable  of 
Phaeton  which  Ovid  narrates  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  second  book  of  his  Meta- 
morphoses. Others,  as  Anaxagoras  and 
Democritus,  said  that  it  was  the  light  of 
the  Sun  reflected  in  that  part.  And 
these  opinions  they  proved  by  demon- 
strative reasons.  What  Aristotle  said 
upon  this  subject  cannot  be  exactly 
known,  because  his  opinion  is  not  the 
same  in  one  translation  as  in  the  other. 
And  I  think  this  was  an  error  of  the 
translators  ;  for  in  the  new  he  seems  to 
say  that  it  is  a  collection  of  vapours  be- 
neath the  stars  in  that  part,  which  always 
attract  them  ;  and  this  does  not  seem  to 
be  veiy  reasonable.  In  the  old  he  says, 
that  the  Galaxy  is  nothing  but  a  multi- 
tude of  fixed  stars  in  that  part,  so  small 
that  we  cannot  distinguish  them  here 
below,  but  from  them  proceeds  that 
brightness  which  we  call  the  Galaxy. 
And  it  may  be  that  the  heaven  in  that 
part  is  more  dense,  and  therefore  retains 
and  reflects  that  light ;  and  this  seems  to 
be  the  opinion  of  Aristotle,  Avicenna, 
and  Ptolemy.  Hence,  inasmuch  as  the 
Galaxy  is  an  effect  of  those  stars  which 
we  cannot  see,  but  comprehend  by  their 
effects,  and  Metaphysics  treats  of  first 
substances,  which  likewise  we  cannot 
comprehend  except  by  their  effects,  it  is 
manifest  that  the  starry  heaven  has  great 
resemblance  to  Metaphysics.  Still  fur- 
ther, by  the  pole  which  we  see  it  signi- 


690 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


fies  things  obvious  to  sense,  of  which, 
taking  thera  as  a  whole,  Physics  treats  ; 
and  by  the  pole  which  we  do  not  see  it 
signifies  the  things  which  are  immaterial, 
which  are  not  obvious  to  sense,  of  which 
Metaphysics  treats ;  and  therefore  the 
aforesaid  heaven  bears  a  great  resem- 
blance to  both  these  sciences.  Still 
further,  by  its  two  movements  it  signifies 
these  two  sciences ;  for,  by  the  move- 
ment in  which  it  revolves  daily  and 
makes  a  new  circuit  from  point  to  point, 
it  signifies  the  corruptible  things  in  na- 
ture, which  daily  complete  their  course, 
and  their  matter  is  changed  from  form 
to  form  ;  and  of  this  Physics  treats ;  and 
by  the  almost  insensible  movement  which 
it  makes  from  west  to  east  of  one  degree 
in  a  hundred  years,  it  signifies  the  things 
incorruptible,  which  had  from  God  the 
beginning  of  existence,  and  shall  never 
have  an  end  ;  and  of  these  Metaphysics 
treats." 

135,  Cicero,  Vision  oj  Scipio,  Ed- 
monds's Tr. ,  p.  294 : — 

"Now  the  place  my  father  spoke  of 
was  a  radiant  circle  of  dazzling  bright- 
ness amid  the  flaming  bodies,  which  you, 
as  you  have  learned  from  the  Greeks, 
term  the  Milky  Way ;  from  which  posi- 
tion all  other  objects  seemed  to  me,  as  I 
surveyed  them,  marvellous  and  glorious. 
There  were  stars  which  we  never  saw 
from  this  place,  and  their  magnitudes 
were  such  as  we  never  imagined  ;  the 
smallest  of  which  was  that  which,  placed 
upon  the  extremity  of  the  heavens,  but 
nearest  to  the  earth,  shone  with  borrowed 
light.  But  the  globular  bodies  of  the 
stars  greatly  exceeded  the  magnitude  of 
the  earth,  which  now  to  me  appeared  so 
small,  that  I  was  grieved  to  see  our  em- 
pire contracted,  as  it  were,  into  a  very 
point 

"  Which  as  I  was  gazing  at  in  amaze- 
ment, I  said,  as  I  recovered  myself,  from 
whence  proceed  these  sounds  so  strong, 
and  yet  so  sweet,  that  fill  my  ears?  '  The 
melody,'  replies  he,  '  which  you  hear, 
and  which,  though  composed  in  unequal 
time,  is  nevertheless  divided  into  regular 
harmony,  is  effected  by  the  impulse  and 
motion  of  the  spheres  themselves,  which, 
by  a  happy  temper  of  sharp  and  grave 
notes,  regularly  produces  various  har- 
monic effects.    Now  it  is  impossible  that 


such  prodigious  movements  should  pass 
in  silence ;  and  nature  teaches  that  the 
sounds  which  the  spheres  at  one  ex- 
tremity utter  must  be  sharp,  and  those 
on  the  other  extremity  must  be  grave ; 
on  which  account  that  highest  revolution 
of  the  star-studded  heaven,  whose  motion 
is  more  rapid,  is  carried  on  with  a  sharp 
and  quick  sound  ;  whereas  this  of  the 
moon,  which  is  situated  the  lowest,  and 
at  the  other  extremity,  moves  with  the 
gravest  sound.  For  the  earth,  the  ninth 
sphere,  remaining  motionless,  abides 
invariably  in  the  innermost  position, 
occupying  the  central  spot  in  the  uni- 
verse. 

"  '  Now  these  eight  directions,  two 
of  which  have  the  same  powers,  effect 
seven  sounds,  diftering  in  their  modu- 
lations, which  number  is  the  connecting 
principle  of  almost  all  things.  Some 
learned  men,  by  imitating  this  harmony 
with  strings  and  vocal  melodies,  have 
opened  a  way  for  their  return  to  this 
place ;  as  all  others  have  done,  who, 
endued  with  pre-eminent  qualities,  have 
cultivated  in  their  mortal  life  the  pur- 
suits of  heaven.  | 

"  '  The  ears  of  mankind,  filled  with  j 
these  sounds,  have  become  deaf,  for  of  * 
all  your  senses  it  is  the  most  blunted,  | 
Thus  the  people  who  live  near  the  ' 
place  where  the  Nile  rushes  down  from  5 
very  high  mountains  to  the  parts  which  i 
are  called  Catadupa,  are  destitute  of  the 
sense  of  hearing,  by  reason  of  the  , 
greatness  of  the  noise.  Now  this  sound,  | 
which  is  effected  by  the  rapid  rotation  of  \ 
the  whole  system  of  nature,  is  so  power-  • 
ful,  that  human  hearing  cannot  compre-  < 
hend  it,  just  as  you  cannot  look  directly 
upon  the  sun,  because  your  sight  and  ■ 
sense  are  overcome  by  his  beams. '  " 

Also  Milton,  Far.  Lost,  II,  105 1  : —      ! 

"  And  fast  by,  han^ng  in  a  g;o1den  chain,  \ 

This  pendent  world,  in  bigness  a.s  a  star  I 

Of  smallest  magnitude  close  by  the  moon."      ' 

139.  The    Moon,    called    in    heaven  ; 

Diana,   on  earth  Luna,   and  in  the  in*  - 
fernal    regions    Proserpina ;    as   in  the 

curious  Latin  distich  : —  ; 

I 

"  Terrct,  hwtrat,  agit,  Proserpina,  Lun.i,  Diana,    i 

I  ma,  supreaw,  fcnu,  »ceptro,  fulgore,  sagitti,'    I 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


691 


141.  See  Canto  II.  59  : — 

"  And  I :  '  What  seems  to  us  up  here  diverse. 
Is    caused,   I    think,    by  bodies   rare  and 
dense.' " 

142.  The  Sun. 

144.  Mercury,  son  of  Maia,  and 
Venus,  daughter  of  Dione. 

145.  The  temperate  planet  Jupiter, 
between  Mars  and  Saturn.  In  Canto 
XVIII.  68,  Dante  calls  it  "the  tem- 
perate star ; "  and  in  the  Convito,  II. 
14,  quoting  the  opinion  of  Ptolemy  : 
"  Jupiter  is  a  star  of  a  temperate  com- 
plexion, midway  between  the  coldness 
of  Saturn  and  the  heat  of  Mars. " 

149.   Bryant,    Song    of  the  Stars :  — 

"  Look,  look,  through  our  gUttering  ranks  afar. 
In  the  infinite  azure,  star  after  star, 
How  they  brighten  and  bloom  as  they  swiftly 

pass  ! 
How  the  verdure  runs  o'er  each  rolling  mass  ! 
And  the  path  of  the  gentle  winds  is  seen, 
Where  the  small  waves  dance,  and  the  young 
woods  lean. 

"And  see,  where  the  brighter  day-beams  pour. 
How  the  rainbows  hang  in  the  sunny  shower  ; 
And  the  mom  and  eve,  with  their  pomp  of 

hues, 
Shift  o'er  the  bright  planets  and  shed  their 

dews ; 
And  'twixt  them  both,  o'er  the  teeming  ground. 
With  her  shadowy  cone  the  night  goes  round ! " 

151.  The  threshing-floor,  or  little 
area  of  our  earth.  The  word  aj'uola 
would  also  bear  the  rendering  of  gar- 
den-plot ;  but  to  Dante  this  world  was 
rather  a  threshing-floor  than  a  flower- 
bed. The  word  occurs  again  in  Canto 
XXVII.  86,  and  in  its  Latin  form  in 
Xhe  Monarchia,  III.  :  Ut  scilicet  in  areola 
mortaliuin  libere  cum  pace  vivatur.  Per- 
haps Dante  uses  it  to  signify  in  general 
any  small  enclosure. 

Boethius,  Cons.  Pkil.,  II.  Prosa  7, 
Ridpath's  Tr.  :  "You  have  learned 
from  astronomy  that  this  globe  of 
earth  is  but  as  a  point  in  respect  to 
the  vast  extent  of  the  heavens ;  that  is, 
the  immensity  of  the  celestial  sphere 
is  such  that  ours,  when  compared  with 
it,  is  as  nothing,  and  vanishes.  You 
know  likewise,  from  the  proofs  that 
Ptolemy  adduces,  there  is  only  one 
fourth  part  of  this  earth,  which  is  of 
itself  so  small  a  portion  of  the  universe, 
inhabited  by  creatures  known  to  us.     If 


from  this  fourth  you  deduct  the  space 
occupied  by  the  seas  and  lakes,  and  the 
vast  sandy  regions  which  extreme  heat 
and  want  of  water  render  uninhabitable, 
there  remains  but  a  very  small  propor- 
tion of  the  terrestrial  sphere  for  the 
habitation  of  men.  Enclosed  then  and 
locked  up  as  you  are,  in  an  unperceiv- 
able  point  of  a  point,  do  you  think  of 
nothing  but  of  blazing  far  and  wide  your 
name  and  reputation  ?  What  can  there 
be  great  or  pompous  in  a  glory  circum- 
scribed in  so  narrow  a  circuit  ?  " 


CANTO  XXIII. 

I.  The  Heaven   of  the   Fixed   Stars 
continued.     The  Triumph  of  Christ. 
3.  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  III.  38  :— 

"  As  the  wakeful  bird 
Sings  darkling,  and  in  shadiest  covert  hid 
Tunes  her  nocturnal  note." 

12.  Towards  the  meridian,  where  the 
sun  seems  to  move  slower  than  when 
nearer  the  horizon. 

20.  Didron,  Christ.  Iconog.,  Mil- 
lington"s  Tr.,  I.  308  :  "  The  triumph  of 
Christ  is,  of  all  subjects,  that  which  has 
excited  the  most  enthusiasm  amongst 
artists ;  it  is  seen  in  numerous  monu- 
ments, and  is  represented  both  in  paint- 
ing and  sculpture,  but  always  with  such 
remarkable  modifications  as  impart  to 
it  the  character  of  a  new  work.  The 
eastern  portion  of  the  crypt  of  the 
cathedral  of  Auxerre  contains,  in  the 
vaulting  of  that  part  which  corresponds 
with  the  sanctuar}',  a  fresco  painting, 
executed  about  the  end  of  the  twelfth 
century,  and  representing,  in  the  most 
simple  form  imaginable,  the  triumph 
of  Christ.  The  background  of  the  pic- 
ture is  intersected  by  a  cross,  which, 
if  the  transverse  branches  were  a  little 
longer,  would  be  a  perfect  Greek  cross. 
This  cross  is  adorned  with  imitations  of 
precious  stones,  round,  oval,  and  loz- 
enge-shaped, disposed  in  quincunxes. 
In  the  centre  is  a  figure  of  Christ,  on 
a  white  horse  with  a  saddle  ;  he  holds 
the  bridle  in  his  left  hand,  and  in  the 
right,  the  hand  of  power  and  authority, 
a  black  staff",  the  rod  of  iron  by  which 
he  governs  the  nations.  He  advances 
thus,  having  his  head  adorned  with  an 


692 


NOTES  TO  PAR  AD  ISO. 


azure  or  bluish  nimbus,  intersected  by 
a  cross  gules  ;  his  face  is  turned  towards 
the  spectator.  In  the  four  compart- 
ments formed  by  the  square  in  which 
the  cross  is  enclosed  are  four  angels 
who  form  the  escort  of  Jesus  ;  they  are 
all  on  horseback,  like  their  master,  and 
with  wings  outspread ;  the  right  hand 
of  each,  which  is  free,  is  open  and 
raised,  in  token  of  adoring  admiration. 
'And  I  saw  heaven  opened,  and  be- 
hold a  white  horse;  and  he  that  sat 
upon  him  was  called  Faithful  and  True, 
and  in  righteousness  he  doth  judge  and 
make  war.  His  eyes  were  as  a  flame 
of  fire,  and  on  his  head  were  many 
crowns  ;  and  he  had  a  name  written 
that  no  man  knew  but  he  himself 
And  he  was  clothed  with  a  vesture 
dipped  in  blood ;  and  his  name  is 
called  the  Word  of  God.  And  the 
armies  which  were  in  heaven  followed 
him  upon  white  horses,  clothed  in  fine 
linen  white  and  clean.'  Such  is  the 
language  of  the  Apocalypse,  and  this 
the  fresco  at  Auxerre  interprets,  al- 
though with  some  slight  alterations, 
which  it  will  be  well  to  observe." 

See  also  Purg.  XXIX.  Note  154. 

21.  By  the  beneficent  influences  of  the 
stars. 

26.  The  Moon.  Trivia  is  one  of  the 
surnames  of  Diana,  given'  her  because 
she  presided  over  all  the  places  where 
three  roads  met. 

Purg.  XXXI.  106  :  - 

"  We  here  are  Nymphs,  and  in  the  Heaven  are 
stars. " 

Iliad,  VIII.  550,  Anon.  Tr.  :  "As 
when  in  heaven  the  beauteous  stars  ap- 
pear round  the  bright  moon,  when  the 
air  is  breatiiless,  and  all  the  hills  and 
lofty  summits  and  forests  are  visible, 
and  in  the  sky  the  boundless  ether  opens, 
and  all  the  stars  are  seen,  and  the  shep- 
herd is  delighted  in  his  soul." 

29.  Christ. 

30.  The  old  belief  that  the  stars  were 
fed  by  the  light  of  the  sun.  Milton,  Par. 
Lost,  VII.  364  :— 

"  Hither  as  to  their  fountain  other  stars 
Kepairing,  in  their  golden  urns  draw  light." 

And  Calderon,  El  Prituipt  ConstanU, 
scooet  in  Jor,  II.  : — 


"  Those  glimmerings  of  light,  those  scintillations, 
That  by  supernal  influences  draw 
Their  nutriment  in  splendours  from  the  sun." 

46.  Beatrice  speaks. 
56.  The  Muse  of  harmony. 
Skelton,  Elegy  on  the  Earl  of  North- 
umberland, 155  : — 

"  If  the  hole  quere  of  the  musis  nyiie 

In  me  all  onely  wer  sett  and  comprisyde, 
Enbreathed  with  the  blast  of  influence  dyvyne, 
And  perfightly  as  could  be  thought  or  de- 

vysyde ; 
To  me  also  allthouche  it  were  promysyde 
Of  laureal  Phebus  holy  the  eloquence, 
All  were  to  littill  for  his  magnyficence." 

70.  Beatrice  speaks  again. 

73.  The  Virgin  Mary,  Rosa  Mundi, 
Rosa  Mystica. 

74.  The  Apostles,  by  following  whom 
the  good  way  was  found. 

Shirley,  Death'' s  Final  Conquest: — 

"  Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  the  dust." 

78.  The  struggle  between  his  eyes  and 
the  light. 

85.  Christ,  who  had  re-ascended,  so 
that  Dante's  eyes,  too  feeble  to  bear 
the  light  of  his  presence,  could  now 
behold  the  splendour  of  this  "meadow 
of  flowers. " 

88.  The  Rose,  or  the  Virgin  Mary, 
to  whom  Beatrice  alludes  in  line  73. 
Afterwards  he  hears  the  hosts  of  heaven 
repeat  her  name,  as  described  in  line 
no: — 

"  And  all  the  other  lights 

Were  making  to  resound  the  name  of  Mary." 

90.  This  greater  fire  is  also  the  Vir- 
gin, greatest  of  the  remaining  splendours. 
92.  Stella  Maris,  Stella  Matutina,  are 
likewise  titles  of  the  Virgin,   who  sur- 
passes in    brightness  all  other  souls   in 
heaven,  as  she  did  here  on  earth. 
94.  The  Angel  Gabriel. 
10 1.  The  mystic  virtues  of  the   sap- 
phire are  thus  enumerated  by  Marbodus 
in  his  Lapidarium,  King's  Antique  Genu, 
P-  395 :— 

"  By  nature  with  superior  honours  graced, 
As  gem  of  gems  above  all  others  placed  : 
Health  to  preserve  and  tre.ichcry  to  disarm, 
And  guard  the  wearer  from  intended  harm. 
No  envy  bends  him,  and  no  terror  shakes  ; 
The  captive's  chains  its  mighty  virtue  breaks 
The  gates  fly  open,  fetters  fall  away, 
And  send  their  prisoner  to  the  light  of  day. 
K'en  Heaven  is  mov6d  by  its  force  divine 
To  list  to  vows  presented  at  its  shrine." 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


<593 


Sapphire  is  the  colour  in  which  the 
old  painters  arrayed  the  Virgin,  "  its 
hue,  says  Mr.  King,  ".being  the 
exact  shade  of  the  air  or  atmosphere 
in  the  climate  of  Rome."  This  is 
Dante's 

"  Dolce  color  d'  oriental  zaffiro," 

in  Purg.  I.  13. 

105.  Haggai  ii.  7  :  "  The  desire  of 
all  nations  shall  come." 

112.  The  Primutn  Mobile,  or  Crys- 
talline Heaven,  which  infolds  all  the 
other  volumes  or  rolling  orbs  of  the 
universe  like  a  mantle. 

115.  Qo^Xt^,  Hymn  to  Light: — 

*'  Thou  Scythian-like  dost  round  thy  lands  above 
The  sun's  gilt  tent  for  ever  move  ; 
And  still  as  thou  in  pomp  dost  go, 
The  shining  pageants  of  the  world  attend  thy 
chow. 

120.  The  Virgin  ascending  to  her  son. 
Fray  Luis  Ponce  de  Leon,  Assumption 
of  the  Virgin  : — 

"  Lady  !  thine  upward  flight 
The  opening  heavens  receive  with  joyful  song ; 

Blest  who  thy  mantle  bright 

May  seize  amid  the  throng, 
And  to  the    sacred    mount  float    peacefully 
along ! 

"  Bright  angels  are  around  thee. 
They  that  have  served  thee  from  tny  birth  are 
there  ; 

Their  hands  with  stars  have  crowned  thee ; 

Thou,  peerless  Queen  of  air. 
As  sandals  to  thy  feet  the  silver  moon  dost 


128.  An  Easter  Hymn  to  the  Vir- 
gin :- 

"  Retina  coeli,  Ixtare  !  Alleluia. 
Quia  quem  meruisti  portare.  Alleluia. 
Resurrexit,  sicut  dixit.     Alleluia." 

This  hymn,  according  to  Collin  de 
Pl^ncy,  Ligendes  des  Commandements  de 
VEglise,  p.  14,  Pope  Gregory  the  Great 
heard  the  angels  singing,  in  the  pesti- 
lence of  Rome  in  890,  and  on  hearing 
it  added  another  line : — 

"  Ora  pro  nobis  Deum  I    Alleluia." 

135.  Caring  not  for  gold  and  silver 
in  the  Babylonian  exile  of  this  life,  they 
laid  up  treasures  in  the  other. 

139.  St.  Peter,  keeper  of  the  keys, 
with  the  saints  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testament. 


Milton,  Lycidas,  108  : — 

"  Last  came,  and  last  did  go. 
The  pilot  of  the  Galilean  lake  ; 
Two  massy  keys  he  bore  of  metals  twain, 
(The  golden  opes,  the  iron  shuts  amain)." 

And    Fletcher,     Purple    Island,     VH. 
62:— 

"  Not  in  his  lips,  but  hands,  two  keys  he  bore. 
Heaven's  doors  and  Hell's  to  shut  and  open 
wide." 


CANTO  XXIV. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  the  Fixed  Stars 
continued.  St.  Peter  examines  Dante 
on  Faith. 

Revelation  xix.  9  :  "  And  he  saith 
unto  me,  Write,  Blessed  are  they  which 
are  called  unto  the  marriage-supper  of 
the  Lamb." 

16.  The  carol  was  a  dance  as  well 
as  a  song  ;  or,  to  speak  more  exactly, 
a  (3ance  accompanied  by  a  song. 

Gower,  Confes.  Antant,,  VL  : — 

"  And  if  it  nedes  so  betide. 
That  I  in  company  abide. 
Where  as  I  must  daunce  and  singe 
The  hove  daunce  and  carolinge." 

It  is  from  the  old  French  karole. 
See  passage  from  the  Roman  de  la  Rose, 
in  Note  118  of  this  canto.  See  also 
Roquefort,  Glossaire:  "  Karole,  dance, 
concert,  divertissement;  de  chorea,  cho 
rus ;"  and  "Karoler,  sauter,  danser^ 
se  divertir. 

Et  li  borj^ois  y  furent  en  present 
Karolent  main  &  main,   et  chantent   haute- 
ment. 

Vie  de  Du  Gutsclin.' 

Milton,  Par.  Lost,  V.  618  :— 

"  That  day,  as  other  solemn  days,  they  spent 
In  song  and  dance  about  the  sacred  hill. 
Mystical  dance,  which  yonder  starry  sphere 
Of'^planets  and  of  fixed  in  all  her  wheels 
Resembles  nearest,  mazes  intricate. 
Eccentric,  interA'olved,  yet  regular 
Then  most  when  most  irregular  they  seem ; 
And  in  their  motions  harmony  divine 
So  smooths  her  charming  tones,  that  God's 

own  ear 
Listens  delighted." 

17.  "That   is,"   says   Buti,    "of  the 

abundance  of  their  beatitude And 

this  swiftness  and  slowness  signified  the 
fervour  of  love  which  was  in  them." 


694 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


19.  From  the  brightest  of  these  carols 
or  dances. 

20.  St.  Peter. 

22.  Three  times,  in  sign  of  the  Trinity. 

27.  Tints  too  coarse  and  glaring  to 
paint  such  delicate  draperies  of  song. 

28.  St.  Peter  speaks  to  Beatrice. 

41.  Fixed  upon"  God,  in  whom  all 
things  are  reflected. 

59.  The  captain  of  the  first  cohort  of 
the  Church  Militant. 

62.  St.  Paul.  Mrs.  Jameson,  Sacred 
and  Legendary  Art,  I.  159,  says:  "The 
early  Christian  Church  was  always  con- 
sidered under  two  great  divisions  :  the 
church  of  the  converted  Jews,  and  the 
church  of  the  Gentiles.  The  first  was 
represented  by  St.  Peter,  the  second  by 
St.  Paul.  Standing  together  in  this 
mutual  relation,  they  represent  the  uni- 
versal church  of  Christ  ;  hence  in  works 
of  art  they  are  seldom  separated,  and 
are  indispensable  in  all  ecclesiastical 
decoration.  Their  proper  place  is  on 
each  side  of  the  Saviour,  or  of  the  Virgin 
throned  ;  or  on  each  side  of  the  altar ; 
or  on  each  side  of  the  arch  over  the  choir. 
In  any  case,  where  they  stand  together, 
not  merely  as  Apostles,  but  Founders, 
their  place  is  next  af'er  the  Evangelists 
and  the  Prophets." 

64.  Hebrews -a.  i:  "  Now  faith  is  the 
substance  of  things  hoped  for,  the  evi- 
dence of  things  not  seen." 

66.  In  Scholastic  language  the  essence 
of  a  thing,  distinguishing  it  from  all  other 
things,  is  called  its  quiddity;  in  answer 
to  the  question.  Quid  est  ? 

78.  Jeremy  Taylor  says  :  "  Faith  is  a 
certain  image  of  eternity ;  all  things  are 
present  to  it ;  things  past  and  things  to 
come  are  all  so  before  the  eyes  of  faith, 
that  he  in  whose  eye  that  candle  is  en- 
kindled beholds  heaven  as  present,  and 
sees  how  blessed  a  thing  it  is  to  die  in 
God's  favour,  and  to  be  chimed  to  our 
grave  with  the  music  of  a  good  con- 
science. Faith  converses  with  the  angels, 
and  antedates  the  hymns  of  glory  ;  every 
man  that  hath  this  grace  is  as  certain 
that  there  are  glories  for  him,  if  he  per- 
severes in  duty,  as  if  he  had  heard  and 
sung  the  thanksgiving-song  for  the  blessed 
sentence  of  doomsday." 

87.  "The  purified,  righteous  man," 
says  Tertuliian,  "  has  become  a  coin  of 


the  Lord,  and  has  the  impress  of  his 
King  stamped  upon  him." 

93.  The  Old  and  New  Testaments. 

115.  In  the  Middle  Ages  titles  of 
nobility  were  given  to  the  saints  and  to 
other  renowned  personages  of  sacred 
history.  Thus  Boccaccio,  in  his  story 
of  Fra  Cipolla,  Decamerone,  Gior.  VI. 
Nov.  10,  speaks  of  the  Baron  Messer 
Santo  Antonio  ;  and  in  Juan  Lorenzo's 
Poema  de  Alexandra,  we  have  Don  Job, 
Don  Bacchus,  and  Don  Satan. 

u8.  The  word  donnea,  which  I  have 
rendered  "like  a  lover  plays,"  is  from 
the  Provenyal  domnear.  In  its  old 
French  form,  dosnoier,  it  occurs  in  some 
editions  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose,  line 
1305 :— 

"  Les  karoles  'yk  remanoient ; 
Car  tuit  li  plusors  s'en  aloient 
O  leurs  amies  umbroier 
Sous  ces  arbres  pour  dosnoier." 

Chaucer  translates  the  passage  thus : — 

"The  daunces  then  ended  ywere  ; 
For  many  of  hem  that  daunced  there 
Were,  with  hir  loves,  went  away 
Under  the  trees  to  have  hir  play." 

The  word  expresses  the  gallantry  of 
the  knight  towards  his  lady. 

126.  St.  John  was  the  first  to  reach 
the  sepulchre,  but  St.  Peter  the  first  to 
enter  it.  John  xx.  4 :  "So  they  ran 
both  together  ;  and  the  other  disciple 
did  outrun  Peter,  and  came  first  to  the 
sepulchre.  And  he,  stooping  down,  and 
looking  in,  saw  the  linen  clothes  lying  ; 
yet  went  he  not  in.  Then  cometh 
Simon  Peter  following  him,  and  went 
into  the  sepulchre,  and  seeth  the  linen 
clothes  lie.' 

132.  Dante,  Convito,  II.  4,  speaking 
of  the  motion  of  the  Prinium  Mobile,  or 
Crystalline  Heaven,  which  moves  all  the 
others,  says  :  "P'rom  the  fervent  longing 
which  each  part  of  that  ninth  heaven 
has  to  be  conjoined  with  that  Divinest 
Heaven,  the  Heaven  of  Rest,  which  is 
next  to  it,  it  revolves  therein  with  so 
great  desire,  that  its  velocity  is  almost 
mcomprehensible. " 

137.  St.  Peter  and  the  other  Apostles 
after  Pentecost. 

141.  Both  three  and  one,  both  plural 
and  singular. 

152.  Again  the  sign  of  the  Trinity. 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


695 


CANTO  XXV. 

I,  The  Heaven  of  the  Fixed  Stars 
continued.  St.  James  examines  Dante 
on  Hope. 

5.  Florence  the  Fair,  Fiorenza  la 
bella.  In  one  of  his  Canzoni,  Dante 
says  : — 

"  O  mountain  song  of  mine,  thou  goest  thy  way  ; 
Florence  my  town  thou  shalt  perchance  be- 
hold, 
Which  bars  me  from  itself, 
Devoid  of  love  and  naked  of  compassion." 

7.  In  one  of  Dante's  Eclogues,  written 
at  Ravenna  and  addressed  to  Giovanni 
del  Virgilio  of  Bologna,  who  had  invited 
him  to  that  city  to  receive  the  poet's 
crown,  he  says  :  "  Were  it  not  better, 
on  the  banks  of  my  native  Amo,  if  ever 
I  should  return  thither,  to  adorn  and 
hide  beneath  the  interwoven  leaves  my 
triumphal  gray  hairs,  which  once  were 
golden  ?  .  .  .  .  When  the  bodies  that 
wander  round  the  earth,  and  the  dwellers 
among  the  stars,  shall  be  revealed  in  my 
song,  as  the  infernal  realm  has  been, 
then  it  will  delight  me  to  encircle  my 
head  with  ivy  and  with  laurel." 

It  would  seem  from  this  extract  that 
Dante's  hair  had  once  been  light,  and 
not  black,  as  Boccaccio  describes  it. 

See  also  the  Extract  from  the  Convito, 
and  Dante's  Letter  to  a  Friend,  among 
the  Illustrations  in  Vol.  I. 

8.  This  allusion  to  the  church  of  San 
Giovanni,  where  Dante  was  baptized, 
and  which  in  Inf.  XIX.  17  he  calls  "?/ 
mio  bel San  Giovanni"  is  a  fitting  pre- 
lude to  the  canto  in  which  St.  John  is 
to  appear. 

12.  As  described  in  Canto  XXIV. 
152:— 

"  So,  giving  me  its  benediction,  singing. 

Three  times  encircled  me,  when  1  was  silent. 
The  apostolic  light." 

14.  The  band  or  carol  in  which  St. 
Peter  was.  James  i.  18:  "That  we 
should  be  a  kind  of  first-fruits  of  his 
creatures." 

17.  St.  James,  to  whose  tomb  at  Com- 
postella,  in  Galicia,  pilgrimages  were 
and  are  still  made.  The  legend  says 
that  the  body  of  St.  James  was  put  on 
board  a  ship  and  abandoned  to  the  sea  ; 
but  the  ship,  being  guided  by  an  angel, 


landed  safely  in  Galicia.  There  the 
body  was  buried  ;  but  in  the  course  of 
time  the  place  of  its  burial  was  for- 
gotten, and  not  discovered  again  till  the 
year  800,  when  it  was  miraculously  re- 
vealed to  a  friar. 

Mrs.  Jameson,  Sacred  and  Legendary 
Art,  I.  211,  says:  "Then  they  caused 
the  body  of  the  saint  to  be  transported 
to  Compostella ;  and  in  consequence  of 
the  surprising  miracles  which  graced  his 
shrine,  he  was  honoured  not  merely  in 
Galicia,  but  throughout  all  Spain.  He 
became  the  patron  saint  of  the  Spaniards, 
and  Compostella,  as  a  place  of  pilgrim- 
age, was  renowned  throughout  Europe. 
From  all  countries  bands  of  pilgrims  re- 
sorted there,  so  that  sometimes  there 
were  no  less  than  a  hundred  thousand  in 
one  year.  The  military  order  of  Saint 
Jago,  enrolled  by  Don  Alphonso  for  their 
protection,  became  one  of  the  greatest 
and  richest  in  Spain. 

"  Now,  if  I  should  proceed  to  recount 
all  the  wonderful  deeds  enacted  by  San- 
tiagoin  behalf  of  his  chosen  people,  they 
would  fill  a  volume.  The  Spanish  his- 
torians number  thirty-eight  visible  appa- 
ritions, in  which  this  glorious  saint  de- 
scended from  heaven  in  person,  and  took 
the  command  of  their  armies  against  the 
Moors." 

26.  Before  me. 

29.  James  i.  5  and  17  :  "If  any  of  you 
lack  wisdom,  let  him  ask  of  God,  that 
giveth  to  all  men  liberally,  and  up- 
braideth  not  ;  and  it  shall  be  given  him. 
....  Every  good  gift  and  every  per- 
fect gift  is  from  above,  and  cometh  down 
from  the  Father  of  lights,  with  whom 
is  no  variableness,  neither  shadow  of 
turning." 

In  this  line,  instead  of  largezza,  some 
editions  read  allegrezza ;  but  as  James 
describes  the  bounties  of  heaven,  and 
not  its  joys,  the  former  reading  is  un- 
doubtedly the  correct  one. 

32.  St.  Peter  personifies  Faith ;  St. 
James,  Hope ;  and  St.  John,  Charity. 
These  three  were  distinguished'  above 
the  other  Apostles  by  clearer  manifes- 
tations of  their  Master's  favour,  as,  for 
example,  their  being  present  at  the 
Transfiguration. 

34.  These  words  are  addressed  by  St. 
James  to  Dante. 


696 


AZOTES  TO   PARADISO. 


36.  In  the  radiance  of  the  three 
theological  virtues,  Faith,  Hope,  and 
Charity. 

38.  To  the  three  Apostles  luminous 
above  him  and  overwhelming  him  with 
their  light.  Psalm  cxxi.  i  :  "I  will 
lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from 
whence  cometh  my  help." 

42.  With  the  most  august  spirits  of 
the  celestial  city.  See  Canto  XXIV. 
Note  115. 

49.   Beatrice. 

54.  In  God,  or,  as  Dante  says  in 
Canto  XXIV.  42  .— 

"  There  where  depicted  everything  is  seen." 
And  again,  Canto  XXVI.  106  : — 

"  For  I  behold  it  in  the  truth'ul  mirror, 
That  of  Himself  all  things  parhelion  makes, 
And  none  makes  Him  parhelion  of  itself." 

58.  "Say  what  it  is,"  and  "whence 
it  came  to  be." 

62.  The  answer  to  these  two  ques- 
tions involves  no  self-praise,  as  the  an- 
swer to  the  other  would  have  done,*if  it 
had  come  from  Dante's  lips. 

67.  This  definition  of  Hope  is  from 
Peter  Lombard's  Lib.  Sent.,  Book  III. 
Dist.  26:  *' Est  spes  certa  expectatio  fu- 
turcE  beatitudinis,  venUns  ex  Dei  gratia, 
et  meritis  fracedentibus." 

72.  The  Psalmist  David. 

73.  In  his  divine  songs,  or  songs  of 
God.  Psalm  ix.  10  :  "  And  they  that 
know  thy  name  will  put  their  trust  in 
thee." 

78.  Your  rain  ;  that  is,  of  David  and 
St.  James. 

84.  According  to  the  legend,  St. 
James  suffered  martyrdom  under  Herod 
Agrippa. 

89.  "  The  mark  of  the  high  calling 
and  ejection  sure,"  namely.  Paradise, 
which  is  the  aim  and  object  of  all  the 
"  friends  of  God  ; "  or,  as  St.  James 
expresses  it  in  his  Epistle,  i.  12 : 
"  Blessed  is  the  man  that  endureth 
temptation  :  for  when  he  is  tried,  he 
shall  receive  the  crown  of  life,  which 
the  Lord  hath  promised  to  them  that 
love  him." 

90.  This  expression  is  from  the  Epistle 
of  James,  ii.  23  :  "And  he  was  called 
the  Friend  of  God," 

91.  The  spiritual  body  and  the  glo- 


rified earthly  body.  Isaiah  Ixi.  7  : 
"  Therefore  in  their  land  they  shall  pos- 
sess the  double  ;  everlasting  joy  shall  be 
unto  them." 

95.  St.  John  in  Revelation  vii.  9  : 
"  After  this  I  beheld,  and  lo,  a  great 
multitude,  which  no  man  could  num- 
ber, of  all  nations,  and  kindreds,  and 
people,  and  tongues,  stood  before  the 
throne,  and  before  the  Lamb,  clothed 
with  white  robes  and  palms  in  their 
hands." 

100.   St.  John. 

loi.  If  Cancer,  which  in  winter  rises 
at  sunset,  had  one  star  as  bright  as  this, 
it  would  turn  night  into  day. 

105.  Any  failing,  such  as  vanity, 
ostentation,  or  the  like. 

107.  St.  Peter  and  St.  James. 

113.  This  symbol  or  allegory  of  the 
Pelican,  applied  to  Christ,  was  popular 
during  the  Middle  Ages,  and  was  seen 
not  only  in  the  songs  of  poets,  but  in 
sculpture  on  the  portals  of  churches. 

Thibaut,  Roi  de  Navarre,  Chanson 
LXV.,  says  : — 

"  Diex  est  ensi  comme  li  Pelicans, 
Qui  fait  son  nit  el  plus  haut  arbre  sus, 
Et  li  mauvais  oseau,  qui  vient  de  jus 
Ses  oisellons  ocist,  tant  est  puans  ; 
Li  pere  vient  destrois  et  angosseux, 
Dou  bee  s'ocist,  de  son  sane  dolereus 
Vivre  refait  tantost  ses  oisellons  ; 
Diex  fist  autel,  quant  vint  sa  passions, 
De  son  douc  sane  racheta  ses  enfans 
Dou  Deauble,  qui  tant  parest  poissans." 

114.  John  xix.  27:  "Then  saith  he 
to  the  disciple.  Behold  thy  mother ! 
And  from  that  hour  that  disciple  took 
her  unto  his  own  home." 

121.  St.  John.  Dante— bearing  in 
mind  the  words  of  Christ,  John  xxi. 
22,  "  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  " — looks  to  .see  if  the  spiritual  body 
of  the  saint  be  in  any  way  eclipsed  by 
his  earthly  body.  St.  John,  reading 
his  unspoken  thought,  immediately  un- 
deceives him. 

Mrs.  Jameson,  Sacred  and  Legendary 
Art,  I.  139,  remarks  :  "  The  legend 
which  supposes  St.  John  reserved  alive 
has  not  been  generally  received  in  the 
Church,  and  as  a  subject  of  painting  it 
is   very   uncommon.     It   occurs   in   the 


NOTES  TO  PAR  AD  I  SO. 


697 


Menologium  Gracum,  where  the  grave  j 
into  which  St.  John  descends  is,  accord- 
ing to  the  legend,  fossa  in  criicis  figttram 
(in  the  form  of  a  cross).  In  a  series 
of  the  deaths  of  the  Apostles,  St.  John 
is  ascending  from  the  grave ;  for,  ac- 
cording to  the  Greek  legend,  St.  John 
died  without  pain  or  change,  and  im- 
mediately rose  again  in  bodily  form, 
and  ascended  into  heaven  to  rejoin 
Christ  and  the  Virgin." 

126.  Till  the  predestined  number  of 
the  elect  is  complete.  Revelation  vi. 
H  :  "  And  white  robes  were  given  unto 
eveiy  one  of  them  ;  and  it  was  said  unto 
them,  that  they  should  rest  yet  for  a 
little  season,  until  their  fellow-servants 
also  and  their  brethren,  that  should 
be  killed  as  they  were,  should  be  ful- 
filled." 

127.  The  spiritual  body  and  the  glori- 
fied earthly  body. 

128.  Christ  and  the  Virgin  Mary. 
Butler,  Lives  of  the  Saints,  VIII.  173, 
says  :  "  It  is  a  traditionary  pious  belief, 
that  the  body  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  was 
raised  by  God  soon  after  her  death, 
and  assumed  to  glory,  by  a  singular 
privilege,  before  the  general  resurrection 
of  the  dead.  This  is  mentioned  by  the 
learned  Andrew  of  Crete  in  the  East, 
in  the  seventh,  and  by  St.  Gregory  of 
Tours  in  the  West,  in  tlie  sixth  cen- 
tury  So  great  was  the  respect  and 

veneration  of  the  fathers  towards  this 
most  holy  and  most  exalted  of  all  pure 
creatures,  that  St.  Epiphanius  durst  not 
affirm  that  she  ever  died,  because  he 
had  never  found  any  mention  of  her 
death,  and  because  she  might  have  been 
preser\'ed  immortal,  and  translated  to 
gloi-y  without  dying." 

132.  By  the  sacred  trio  of  St.  Peter, 
St.  James,  and  St.  John. 

138.  Because  his  eyes  were  so  blinded 
by  the  splendour  of  the  beloved  disciple. 
Speaking  of  St.  John,  Claudius,  the 
German  poet,  says  :  "It  delights  me 
most  of  all  to  read  in  John  :  there  is  in 
him  something  so  entirely  wonderful, — 
twilight  and  night,  and  through  it  the 
swiftly  darting  lightning, — a  soft  even- 
ing cloud,  and  behind  the  cloud  the 
broad  full  moon  bodily ;  something  so 
deeply,  sadly  pensive,  so  high,  so  full 
of  anticipation,   that   one    cannot  ha\e 


enough  of  it.  In  reading  John  it  is 
always  with  me  as  though  I  saw  him 
before  me,  lying  on  the  bosom  of  his 
Master  at  the  last  supper :  as  though 
his  angel  were  holding  the  light  for  me, 
and  in  certain  passages  would  fall  upon 
my  neck  and  whisper  something  in  mine 
ear.  I  am  far  from  understanding  all  I 
read,  but  it  often  seems  to  me  as  if  what 
John  meant  were  floating  before  in  the 
distance  ;  and  even  when  I  look  into  a  pas- 
sage altogether  dark,  I  have  a  foretaste 
of  some  great,  glorious  meaning,  which 
I  shall  one  day  understand,  and  for  this 
reason  I  grasp  so  eagerly  after  every 
new  interpretation  of  the  Gospel  of 
John.  Indeed,  most  of  them  only  play 
upon  the  edge  of  the  evening  cloud,  and 
the  moon  behind  it  has  quiet  rest." 

CANTO  XXVI. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  the  Fixed  Stars 
continued.  St.  John  examines  Dante  on 
Charity,  in  the  sense  of  Love,  as  in 
Milton,  Par.  Lost,  XII.  583  :— 

"  Love, 
By  name  tacooie  called  Charity." 

12.  Ananias,  the  disciple  at  Damas- 
cus, whose  touch  restored  the  sight  of 
Saul.  Acts  ix.  17 :  "  And  Ananias 
went  his  way,  and  entered  into  the 
house,  and  putting  his  hands  on  him, 
said.  Brother  -Saul,  the  Lord,  even 
Jesus,  that  appeared  unto  thee  in  the 
way  as  thou  earnest,  hath  sent  me,  that 
thou  mightest  receive  thy  sight,  and  be 
filled  with  the  Holy  Ghost.  And  imme- 
diately there  fell  from  his  eyes  as  it  had 
been  scales  ;  and  he  received  sight  forth- 
with, and  arose,  and  was  baptized." 

1 7.  God  is  the  beginning  and  end  ot 
all  my  love. 

38.  The  commentators  differ  as  to 
which  of  the  philosophers  Dante  here 
refers  ;  whether  to  Aristotle,  Plato,  or 
Pythagoras. 

39.  The  angels. 

42.  Exodus  xxxiii.  19 :  "  And  he 
said,  I  will  make  all  my  goodness  pass 
before  thee." 

44.  Jolm  i,  I :  "  In  the  beginning 
was  the   Word,  and  the  Word  was  with 

God,   and  the  Word  was  God 

And  the    Word  was   made   flesh,   and 


698 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


dwelt  among   us,    ....  full   of  grace 
and  truth." 

46.  By  all  the  dictates  of  human  rea- 
son and  divine  authority. 

52.  In  Christian  art  the  eagle  is  the 
symbol  of  St.  John,  indicating  his  more 
fervid  imagination  and  deeper  insight 
into  divine  mysteries.  Sometimes  even 
the  saint  was  represented  with  the  head 
and  feet  of  an  eagle,  and  the  hands  and 
body  of  a  man. 

64.   All  living  creatures. 

69.  Isaiah  vi.  3  :  "As  one  cried 
unto  another,  and  said.  Holy,  holy,  holy 
is  the  Lord  of  Hosts ;  the  whole  earth  is 
full  of  his  glory." 

83.  The  soul  of  Adam. 

91.  "Tell  me,  of  what  age  was  Adam 
when  he  was  created  ? "  is  one  of  the 
qiestions  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  Dialogue 
hehveen  Saturn  and  Solomon  ;  and  the 
answer  is,  "  I  tell  thee,  he  was  thirty 
winters  old."  And  Buti  says  :  "  He  was 
created  of  the  age  of  thirty-three,  or 
thereabout ;  and  therefore  the  author 
says  that  Adam  alone  was  created  by 
God  in  perfect  age  and  stature,  and  no 
other  man."  And  Sir  Thomas  Browne, 
Religio  Medici,  §  39:  "Some  divines 
count  Adam  thirty  years  old  at  his 
creation,  because  they  suppose  him 
created  in  the  perfect  age  and  stature  of 
man. " 

Stehelin,  Traditions  of  the  Je^vs,  I.  16, 
quotes  Rabbi  Eliezer  a's  saying  "  that 
the  first  man  reached  from  the  earth  to 
the  firmament  of  heaven  ;  but  that,  after 
he  had  sinned,  God  laid  his  hands  on 
him  and  reduced  him  to  a  less  size." 
And  Rabbi  Salomon  writes,  that  "when 
he  lay  down,  his  head  was  in  the  east 
and  his  feet  in  the  west." 

107.  Parhelion  is  an  imperfect  image 
of  the  sun,  formed  l)y  retlection  in  the 
clouds.  All  things  are  such  faint  reflec- 
tions of  the  Creator  ;  but  he  is  the  re- 
flccti<»n  of  none  of  them. 

Buti  interprets  the  passage  differently, 
giving  to  the  word  paregiio  the  meaning 
of  j-icfttacolo,  receptacle. 

118.  In  limlio,  longing  for  Para- 
d  se,  where  the  only  punishment  is  to 
live  in  desire,  but  without  hope.  Inf. 
IV.  41:  - 

"  Lost  are  wc,  and  arc  only  so  f.»r  punished, 
That  without  hope  we  hvc  on  in  desire  " 


124.  Most  of  the  Oriental  languages 
claim  the  honour  of  being  the  language 
sjx)ken  by  Ailam  in  Paradise.  Juan 
Bautista  de  Erro  claims  it  for  the  Basque, 
or  Vascongada.  'Si^&  Alphabet  of  Prim. 
Lang,  of  Spain,  Pt.  II.  Ch.  2,  Erving's 
Tr. 

129.   See  Canto  XVI.  79  : — 

"  All  things  of  yours  have  their  mortality, 
Even  as  yourselves." 

134.  Dante,  De  Volg.  Eloq.,  I.  Ch. 
4,  says,  speaking  of  Adam  :  "  What  was 
the  first  word  he  spake  will,  I  doubt  not, 
readily  suggest  itself  to  every  one  of  sound 
mind  as  being  what  God  is,  namely,  El, 
either  in  the  way  of  question  or  of  an- 
swer." 

136.  The  word  used  by  Matthew, 
xxvii.  46,  is  Eli,  and  by  Mark,  xv.  34, 
Eloi,  which  Dante  assumes  to  be  of  later 
use  than  El.  There  is,  I  believe,  no 
authority  for  this.  El  is  God ;  Eli,  or 
Eloi,  my  God. 

137.  Horace,  ^rj/>(7(?/.,  60  :  "  As  the 
woods  change  their  leaves  in  autumn, 
and  the  earliest  fall,  so  the  ancient  words 
pass  away,  and  the  new  flourish  in  the 

freshness  of  youth Many  that  now 

have  fallen  shall  spring  up  again,  and 
others  fall  which  now  are  held  in  honour, 
if  usage  wills,  which  is  the  judge,  the 
law,  and  the  rule  of  language." 

139.  The  mount  of  Purgatory,  on 
whose  summit  was  the  Terrestrial  Para- 
dise. 

142.  The  sixth  hour  is  noon  in  the 
old  way  of  reckoning  ;  and  at  noon  the 
sun  has  completed  one  quarter  or  quad- 
rant of  the  arc  of  his  revolution,  and 
changes  to  the  next.  The  hour  which  is 
second  to  the  sixth,  is  the  hour  which 
follows  it,  or  one  o'clock.  This  gives 
seven  hours  for  Adam's  stay  in  Paradise ; 
and  so  says  Peter  Comestor  (Dante's 
Peter  Mangiador)  in  his  ecclesiastical 
history. 

The  Talmud,  as  quoted  by  Stehelin, 
Traditions  of  the  ftws,  I.  20,  gives  the 
following  account  :  "The day  has  twelve 
hours.  In  the  first  hour  the  dust  of 
which  Adam  was  formed  was  brought 
together.  In  the  second,  this  dust  was 
made  a  rude,  unshapely  mass.  In  the 
third,  the  liml)s  were  stretched  out.  In 
the  fourth,  a  soul  was  lodged  in  it.     In 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


^ 


the  fifth,  Adam  stodcl  upon  his  feet.  In 
the  sixth  he  assigned  the  names  of  all 
things  that  were  created.  In  the  seventh, 
he  received  Eve  for  his  consort.  In 
the  eighth,  two  went  to  bed  and  four 
rose  out  of  it ;  the  begetting  and  birth  of 
two  children  in  that  time,  namely,  Cain 
and  his  sister.  In  the  ninth,  he  was  forbid 
to  eat  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree.  In  the  tenth, 
he  disobeyed.  In  the  eleventh,  he  was 
tried,  convicted,  -and  sentenced.  In  the  | 
twelfth,  lie  was  banished,  or  driven  out  [ 
of  tile  garden. " 


CANTO    XXVII. 

I.  The  Heaven  of  the  Fixed  Stars 
continued.  The  anger  of  St.  Peter ; 
and  the  ascent  to  the  Primum  Mobile, 
or  Crystalline  Heaven. 

Dante,  Convito  II.  15,  makes  this 
Crystalline  Heaven  the  symbol  of  Moral 
Philosophy.  He  says  :  "  The  Crystal- 
line Heaven,  which  has  previously  been 
called  the  Primum  Mobile,  has  a  very 
manifest  resemblance  to  Moral  Philo- 
sophy ;  for  Moral  Philosophy,  as  Thomas 
says  in  treating  of  the  second  book  of  the 
Ethics,  directs  us  to  the  other  sciences. 
For,  as  the  Philosopher  says  in  the  fifth 
of  the  Ethics,  legal  justice  directs  us  to 
learn  the  sciences,  and  orders  them  to 
be  learned  and  mastered,  so  that  they 
may  not  be  abandoned  ;  so  this  heaven 
directs  with  its  movement  the  daily  re- 
volutions of  all  the  others,  by  which 
daily  they  all  receive  here  below  the 
virtue  of  all  their  parts.  For  if  its  revo- 
lution did  not  thus  direct,  little  of  their 
virtues  would  reach  here  below,  and 
little  of  their  sight.  Hence,  supposing 
it  were  possible  for  this  ninth  heaven  to 
stand  still,  the  third  part  of  heaven 
would  not  be  seen  in  each  part  of  the 
earth ;  and  .Saturn  would  be  hidden 
from  each  part  of  the  earth  fourteen 
years  and  a  half;  and  Jupiter,  six  years  ; 
and  Mars,  almost  a  year  ;  and  the  Sun, 
one  hundred  and  eighty-two  days  and 
fourteen  hours  (I  say  days,  that  is,  so 
much  time  as  so  many  days  would  mea- 
sure) ;  and  Venus  and  Mercuiy  would 
conceal  and  show  themselves  nearly  as 
the  Sun ;  and  the  Moon  would  be  hidden 
from  all  people  for  the  space  of  fourteen 
days  and  a  half.     Truly  there  would  be 


here  below  no  production,  nor  life  of 
animals,  nor  plants;  there  would  be 
neither  night,  nor  day,  nor  week,  nor 
month,  nor  year  ;  but  the  whole  universe 
would  be  deranged,  and  the  movement 
of  the  stars  in  vain.  And  not  otherwise, 
were  Moral  Philosophy  to  cease,  the 
other  sciences  would  be  for  a  time  con- 
cealed, and  there  would  be  no  produc- 
tion, nor  life  of  felicity,  and  in  vain 
would  be  the  writings  or  discoveries  of 
antiquity.  Wherefore  it  is  very  manifest 
that  this  heaven  bears  a  resemblance  to 
Moral  Philosophy. 

9.  Without  desire  for  more. 

10.  St.  Peter,  St.  James,  St.  John, 
and  Adam. 

14.  If  the  white  planet  Jupiter  should 
become  as  red  as  Mars. 

22.  Pope  Boniface  VIII.,  who  won 
his  way  to  the  Popedom  by  intrigue. 
See  Inf.  III.  Note  59,  and  XIX.  Note 

53- 

25.  The  Vatican  hill,  to  which  the 
body  of  St.  Peter  was  transferred  from 
the  catacombs. 

36.  Luke  y.v^\\\.  44:  "And  there  was 

drrrkness  over  all  the  earth And 

the  sun  was  darkened." 

41.  Linus  was  the  immediate  successor 
of  St.  Peter  as  Bishop  of  Rome,  and 
Cletus  of  Linus.  They  were  both  mar- 
tyrs of  the  first  age  of  the  Church. 

44.  Sixtus  and  Pius  were  Popes 
and  martyrs  of  the  second  age  of  the 
Church  ;  Calixtus  and  Urban,  of  the 
third. 

47.  On  the  right  hand  of  the  Pope  the 
favoured  Guelfs,  and  on  the  left  the  per- 
secuted Ghibellines. 

50.  The  Papal  banner,  on  which  are 
the  keys  of  St.  Peter. 

51.  The  wars  against  the  Ghibellines 
in  general,  and  particularly  that  waged 
against  the  Colonna  family,  ending  in 
the  destniction  of  Palestrina.  Jnf. 
XXVII.  85:— 

"  But  he,  the  Prince  of  the  new  Pharisees, 
Having  a  war  near  unto  Lateran, 
And  not  with  Saracens  nor  with  the  Jews, 
For  each  one  of  his  enemies  was  Christian, 
And  none  of  them  had  been  to  com  juer  Acre, 
Nor  merchandising  in  the  Sultan*s  land." 

53.  The  sale  of  indulgences,  stamped 
with  the  Papal  seal,  bearing  the  head  of 
St.  Peter. 

3  A 


ioo 


AZOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


55.  Mattkezv  vii.  15  :  *'  Beware  of 
false  propliets,  which  come  to  you  in 
sheep's  clothing,  but  inwardly  they  are 
ravening  wolves." 

57.  Psalm  xliv.  23  :  "  Awake,  why 
sleepest  thou,  O  Lord  ?" 

58.  Clement  V.  of  Gascony,  made 
Pope  in  1305,  and  John  XXII.  of  Ca- 
hors  in  France,  in  13 16.  Buti  makes 
the  allusion  more  general :  "  They  of 
Cahors  and  Gascony  are  preparing  to 
drink  the  blood  of  the  martyrs,  because 
they  were  preparing  to  be  Popes,  car- 
dinals, archbishops  and  bishops,  and 
prelates  in  the  Church  of  God,  that  is 
built  with  the  blood  of  the  martyrs. " 

61.  Dante  alludes  elsewhere  to  this 
intervention  of  Providence  to  save  the 
Roman  Empire  by  the  hand  of  Scipio. 
Cotjvito,  IV.  5,  he  says:  "Is  not  the 
hand  of  God  visible,  when  in  the  war 
with  Hannibal,  having  lost  so  many 
citizens,  that  three  bushels  of  rings  were 
carried  to  Africa,  the  Romans  would 
have  abandoned  the  land,  if  that  blessed 
youth  Scipio  had  not  undertaken  the 
expedition  to  Africa,  to  secure  its  free- 
dom ?  " 

69.  When  the  sun  is  in  Capricorn  ; 
that  is,  from  the  middle  of  December  to 
the  middle  of  January. 

68.  Boccaccio,  NinfaU  (FAmeto,  de- 
scribing a  battle  between  two  flocks  of 
swans,  says  the  spectators  "saw  the 
air  full  of  feathers,  as  when  the  nurse 
of  Jove  [Amalthaea,  the  Goat]  holds 
Apollo,  the  white  snow  is  seen  to  fall 
in  flakes." 

And  Whittier,  Snonf- Bound: — 

"  Unwarra^  by  any  sunset  light, 
The  gray  day  darkened  into  night, 
A  night  made  hoary  with  the  swarm 
And  whirl-dance  of  the  blinding  sturm. 
As  zigzag  wavering  to  and  fro 
Crossed  and  reciosscd  the  winged  snow." 

72.  The  spirits  described  in  Canto 
XXII.  131,  as 

"  The  triumphant  throng 
That   comes    rejoicing    through    this    rounded 
ether," 

and  had  remained  behind  when  Christ 
and  the  Virgin  Mary  ascended. 

74.  Till  his  sight  could  follow  them 
no  more,  on  account  of  the  exceeding 
vastneis  of  the  space  between. 


79.  Canto  XXII.  133. 

81.  The  first  climate  is  the  torrid 
zone,  the  first  from  the  equator.  From 
midst  to  end,  is  from  the  meridian  to 
the  horizon.  Dante  had  been,  then, 
six  hours  in  the  Heaven  of  the  Fixed 
Stars  ;  for,  as  Milton  says,  rai:  Lost, 
V.  580:— 

"  Time,  though  in  eternity,  applied 
To  motion,  measures  all  things  durable. 
By  present,  past,  and  future. ' 

82.  Being  now  in  the  meridian  oi 
the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  Dante  sees  to 
the  westward  of  Cadiz  the  sea  Ulysses 
sailed,  when  he  turned  his  stern  unto 
the  morning  and  made  his  oars  wings 
for  his  mad  flight,  as  described  in  Iiif. 
XXVI. 

83.  Eastward  he  almost  sees  the 
Phoenician  coast ;  almost,  and  not  quite, 
because,  say  the  commentators,  it  was 
already  night  there. 

84.  Europa,  daughter  of  King  Age- 
nor,  lx)rne  to  the  island  of  Crete  on 
the  back  of  Jupiter,  who  had  taken  the 
shape  of  a  bull. 

Ovid,  Met.,  II.,  Addison's  Tr.  :— 

"  Agenor's  royal  daughter,  as  she  played 
Among  the  fields,  the  milk-white  bull  .surveyed. 
And  viewed  his  spotless  body  with  delight. 
And  at  a  distance  kept  him  in  her  sight. 
At  length  she  plucked  the  rising  flowers,  and  fed 
The  gentle  beast,  and  fondly  stroked  his  head. 

Till  now  grown  wanton  and  devoid  of  fear, 
Not  knowing  th.it  she  pressed  the  Thunderer, 
She  placed  herself  upon  his  Isack,  and  rcxie 
O'er  fields  and  meadows,  seated  on  the  god. 

"  He  gently  marched  along,  and  by  degrees 
Left  the  dry  raeadoWj  and  approached  the  seas ; 
Where  now  he  dips  his  hoofs  and  wets  his  thighs^ 
Now  plunges  in,  and  carries  off  the  prize." 

85.  See  Canto  XXII.  Note  151. 

87.  The  sun  was  in  Aries,  two  signs 
in  advance  of  Gemini,  in  which  Dante 
then  was. 

88.  Z><J«««?  again.  See  Canto  XXIV. 
Note  118. 

91.  Purg.  XXXI.  49  :— 

"  Never  to  thee  pre.sented  art  or  nature 

Pleasure  so  great  as  the  fair  limbs  wherein 
I   was    enclosed,    which    scattered   are    in 
earth." 

98.  The  Gemini,  or  Twin.s,  are 
Castor  and  Pollux,  the  sons  of  Leda. 
And   as  Jupiter,  their  father,   came  to 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


701 


her  in  the  shape  of  a  swan,  this  sign  of 
the  zodiac  is  called  the  nest  of  Leda. 
Dante  now  mounts  up  from  the.  Heaven 
of  the  fixed  stars  to  the  Primum  Mobile, 
or  Crystalline  Heaven. 

103.  Dante's  desire  to  know  ia  what 
part  of  this  heaven  he  was. 

109.  All  the  other  heavens  have  their 
Regents  or  Intelligences.  See  Canto 
II.  Note  131.  But  the  Primum  Mobile 
has  the  Divine  Mind  alone. 

113.  By  that  precinct  Dante  means 
the  Empyrean,  which  embraces  the  Pri- 
mum Mobile,  as  that  does  all  the  other 
heavens  below  it. 

117.  The  half  of  ten  is  five,  and  the 
fifth  is  two.  The  product  of  these, 
when  multiplied  together,  is  ten. 

127.  Wordsworth,  Ifitimations  of  Im- 
mortality:— 

"  Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting  : 
The  Soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  Star, 
Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 

And  Cometh  from  afar  : 
Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 
And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory,  do  we  come 

From  God,  who  is  our  home : 
Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy ! 
Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  Boy, 
But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows. 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy  : 
The  Youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 
Must  travel,  still  is  Nature's  Priest, 
And  by  the  vision  splendid 
Is  on  his  way  attended  ; 
At  length  the  Man  perceives  it  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day." 

137.  Aurora,  daughter  of  Hyperion, 
or  the  Sun.     Purg.  II.  7  : — 

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

140.  Or,  perhaps,  to  steer,  and 

"  Over  the  high  seas  to  keep 
The  barque  of  Peter  to  its  proper  bearings." 

143.  This  neglected  centesimal  was 
the  omission  of  some  inconsiderable 
fraction  or  centesimal  part,  in  the  com- 
putation of  the  year  according  to  the 
Julian  calendar,  which  was  corrected  in 
the  Gregorian,  some  two  centuries  and 
a  half  after  Dante's  death.  By  this 
error,  in  a  long  lapse  of  time,  the 
montlis  would  cease  to  correspond  to 


the  seasons,  and  January  be  no  longer  a 
winter,  but  a  spring  month." 

Sir  John  Herschel,  Treatise  on  As- 
trotiomy,  Ch.  XIIL,  says:  "The  Julian 
rule  made  every  fourth  year,  without 
exception,  a  bissextile.  This  is,  in  fact, 
an  over-correction  ;  it  supposes  the 
length  of  the  tropical  year  to  be  365  J  d., 
which  is  too  great,  and  thereby  induces 
an  error  of  7  days  in  900  years,  as  will 
easily  appear  on  trial.  Accordingly, 
so  early  as  the  year  1414,  it  began  to 
be  perceived  tliat  the  equinoxes  were 
gradually  creeping  away  from  the  2ist 
of  March  and  September,  where  they 
ought  to  have  always  fallen  had  the 
Julian  year  been  exact,  and  happening 
(as  it  appeared)  too  early.  The  ne- 
cessity of  a  fresh  and  effectual  reform 
in  the  calendar  was  from  that  time 
continually  urged,  and  at  length  ad- 
mitted. The  change  (which  took  place 
under  the  Popedom  of  Gregory  XIII. ) 
consisted  in  the  omission  of  ten  nominal 
days  after  the  4th  of  October,  1582,  (so 
that  the  next  day  was  called  the  15th 
and  not  the  5th),  and  the  promulgation 
of  the  rule  already  explained  for  future 
regulation." 

It  will  appear  from  the  verse  of 
Dante,  that  this  error  and  its  conse- 
quences had  been  noticed  a  century 
earlier  than  the  year  mentioned  by 
Herschel.  Dante  speaks  ironically ; 
naming  a  very  long  period,  and  mean- 
ing a  very  short  one. 

145.  Dante  here  refers  either  to  the 
reforms  he  expected  from  the  Emperor 
Henry  VII.,  or  to  those  he  as  confi- 
dently looked  for  from  Can  Grande 
della  Scala,  the  Veltro,  or  greyhound, 
of  Inf.  I.  loi,  who  was  to  slay  the 
she-wolf,  and  make  her  "perish  in  her 
pain,"  and  whom  he  so  warmly  eulo- 
gizes in  Canto  XVII,  of  the  Paradise. 
Alas  for  the  vanity  of  human  wishes ! 
Patient  Italy  has  waited  more  than 
five  centuries  for  the  fulfilment  of  this 
prophecy,  but  at  length  she  has  touched 
the  bones  of  her  prophet,  and  "is  re- 
vived and  stands  upon  her  feet." 

CANTO   XXVIII. 

I.  The  Primum  Mobile,  or  Crystal- 
linq  Heaven,  continued. 

3  A  2 


702 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


3.  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  IV.  505  : — 

"  Thus  these  two, 
Imparadised  in  one  another's  arms. 
The  happier  Eden,  shall  enjoy  their  fill 
Of  bliss  on  bliss.'' 

14.  That  Crystalline  Heaven,  which 
Dante  calls  a  volume,  or  scroll,  as  in 
Canto  XXIII.  112:— 

"  The  regal  mantle  of  the  volumes  all." 

16.  The  light  of  God,  represented  as 
a  single  point,  to  indicate  its  unity  and 
indivisibility. 

32.   Iris,  or  the  rainbow. 

34.  These  nine  circles  of  fire  are 
the  nine  Orders  of  Angels  in  tlie  three 
Celestial  Hierarchies.  Dante,  Convito, 
II.  16,  says  that  the  Holy  Church  di- 
vides the  Angels  into  *'  three  Hier- 
archies, that  is  to  say,  three  holy  or 
divine  Principalities  ;  and  each  Hier- 
archy has  three  Orders  ;  so  that  the 
Church  believes  and  affirms  nine  Or- 
ders of  spiritual  beings.  The  first  is 
that  of  the  Angels  ;  the  second,  that 
of  the  Archangels  ;  the  third,  that  of 
the  Thrones.  And  these  three  Orders 
form  the  first  Hierarchy;  not  first  in 
reference  to  rank  nor  creation  (for  the 
others  are  more  noble,  and  all  were 
created  together),  but  first  in  reference 
to  our  ascent  to  their  height.  Then 
follow  the  Dominions  ;  next  the  Vir- 
tues ;  then  the  Principalities  ;  and  these 
form  the  second  Hierarchy.  Above 
these  are  the  Powers,  and  the  Cheru- 
bim, and  above  all  are  the  Seraphim  ; 
and  these  form  the  third  Hierarchy." 

It  will  be  observed  that  this  arrange- 
ment of  the  several  Orders  does  not 
agree  with  that  followed  in  the  poem. 

55.  Barlow,  .Study  0/  the  Div.  Com., 
p.  533,  remarks :  "  Within  a  circle  of 
ineffal)le  joy,  circumscribed  only  by 
light  and  love,  a  point  of  intense  bright- 
ness so  dazzled  the  eyes  of  Dante  that 
he  could  not  sustain  the  sight  of  it. 
Around  this  vivid  centre,  from  which 
the  heavens  and  all  nature  «lepend, 
nine  concentric  circles  of  the  Celestial 
Hierarchy  revolved  with  a  velocity  in- 
versely proportioned  to  their  distance 
from  it,  the  nearer  circles  moving  more 
rapidly,  the  remoter  ones  less.  The 
poet  at  first  is  surprised  at  this,  it  be- 


ing the  reverse  of  the  relative  move- 
ment, from  the  same  source  of  propul- 
sion, of  the  heavens  themselves  arouiul 
the  earth  as  their  centre.  But  the  in- 
fallible Beatrice  assures  him  that  this 
difference  arises,  in  fact,  from  the  same 
cause,  proximity  to  the  Divine  presence, 
which  in  the  celestial  spheres  is  greater 
the  farther  they  are  from  the  centre,  but 
in  the  circles  of  angels,  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  greater  the  nearer  they  are  to  it." 

60.  Because  the  subject  has  not  been 
investigated  and  discussed. 

64.  The  nine  heavens  are  here  called 
corporal  circles,  as  we  call  the  stais  the 
heavenly  bodies.  Latimer  says  :  "  A  cor- 
poral heaven, where  the  stare 

are." 

70.  The  Primum  Mobile,  in  which 
Dante  and  Beatrice  now  are. 

77.  The  nearer  God  the  circle  is,  so 
much  greater  virtue  it  possesses.  Hence 
the  outermost  of  the  heavens,  revolving 
round  the  earth,  corresponds  to  the  in- 
nermost of  the  Orders  of  Angels  revolv- 
ing round  God,  and  is  controlled  by  it  as 
its  Regent  or  Intelligence.  To  make  this 
more  intelligible  I  will  repeat  here  the 
three  Triads  of  Angels,  and  the  heavens 
of  which  they  are  severally  the  intelli- 
gences, as  already  given  in  Canto  II. 
Note  131. 

The  Seraphim,  Primum  Mobile. 

The  Cherubim,  The  Fixed  Stars. 

The  Thrones,  Saturn. 


The  Dominions, 
The  Virtues, 
The  Powers, 


Jupiter. 
Mars. 
The  Sun. 


The  Principalities,     Venus. 
The  Archangels,        Mercury. 
The  Angels,  The  Moon. 

80.  ./«««>/,  XII.  365,  Davidson's  Tr. : 
"  As  when  the  blast  of  Thracian  Boreas 
roare  on  the  ^gean  Sea,  and  to  the  shore 
pursues  the  waves,  wherever  tiic  winds 
exert  their  incuml:)ent  force,  the  clouds 
fly  through  the  air." 

Each  of  the  four  winds  blow  three  dif- 
ferent blasts;  either  directly  in  front,  or 
from  the  right  cheek,  or  the  left.  Ac- 
cording to  Boccaccio,  the  north-east  wind 
in  Italy  is  milder  than  the  north-west 


NOTES   TO  FAR  AD  ISO. 


703 


9a  Dante  uses  this  comparison  before, 
Canto  I.  60: — 

"  But  I  beheld  it  sparkle  round  about 

Like  iron  that  comes  molten  from  the  fire. " 

93.  The  inventor  of  the  game  of  chess 
broiiglit  it  to  a  Persian  king,  who  was  so 
deligiiteci  with  it,  that  he  offered  liim  in 
return  whatever  reward  he  might  ask. 
Tile  inventor  said  he  wished  only  a  grain 
of  wheat,  doubled  as  many  times  as  there 
were  squares  on  the  chess-board ;  that  is, 
one  grain  for  the  first  square,  two  for  the 
second,  four  for  the  third,  and  so  on  to 
sixty-four.  This  the  king  readily  granted  ; 
but  when  the  amount  was  reckoned  up, 
he  had  not  wheat  enough  in  his  whole 
kingdom  to  pay  it. 

95.  Their  appointed  place  or  where- 
about. 

99.  Thomas  Aquinas,  the  Doctor  An- 
geliais  of  the  .Schools,  treats  the  subject 
of  Angels  at  great  length  in  the  first 
volume  of  his  Sttmma  Theologica,  from 
Qunsst.  L.  to  LXIV.,  and  from  Qaa:st.  cvi. 
to  CXI  V.  He  constantly  quotes  Dionysius, 
sometimes  giving  his  exact  words,  but 
oftener  amplifying  and  interpreting  his 
meaning.  In  Qutest.  cviii.  he  discusses 
the  names  of  th^  Angels,  and  of  the 
Seraphim  and  Cherubim  speaks  as  fol- 
lows:— 

"The  name  of  Seraphim  is  not  given 
from  love  alone,  but  from  excess  of  love, 
which  the  name  of  heat  or  burning  im- 
plies. Hence  Dionysius  (Cap.  VII.  Cai. 
Hie?:,  a  princ. )  interprets  the  name  Sera- 
phim according  to  the  properties  of  fire, 
in  which  is  excess  of  heat.  In  fire,  how- 
ever, we  may  consider  three  things. 
First,  a  certain  motion  which  is  upward, 
and  which  is  continuous;  by  which  is  sig- 
nified, that  they  are  unchangingly  moving 
towards  Ciod.  .Secondly,  it>  aciive  power, 
which  is  heat ;  .  .  .  .  and  by  this  is  sig- 
nified the  influence  of  this  kind  of  Angels, 
which  they  exercise  powerfully  on  those 
beneath  them,  exciting  them  to  a  sublime 
fervour,  and  thoroiigiily  purifying  them 
by  burning.  Thirdly,  in  fire  its  bright- 
ness must  be  considered  ;  and  this  signi-  ; 
fies  that  such  angels  have  within  them- 
selves an  inextinguishable  light,  and  that 
they  i^erfectly  illuminate  others.  ■ 

"  In  the  same  way  tlie  name  of  Cheni- 
bim    is  given   from  a  certain    excess  of 


knowledge ;  hence  it  is  interpreted  pleni- 
tiiiio  scieitfiic;  which  Dionysius  (Cap. VI I. 
CceL  Hier.,  a  princ.)  expl.xins  in  four 
ways:  first,  as  perfect  vision  of  God; 
secondly,  full  recepfion  of  divine  light; 
thirdly,  that  in  Go  1  himself  they  contem- 
plate the  beauty  of  the  ordei  of  things 
emanating  from  God;  fourthly,  that, 
being  themselves  full  of  this  kind  of  know- 
ledge, they  copiously  pour  it  out  upon 
others. " 

lOO.  The  love  of  God,  which  holds 
them  fast  to  this  central  point  as  will)  a 
band.  ^)<^xxxviii.  31 :  "Canst  ihou  bind 
the  sweet  influences  of  Pleiades,  or  loose 
the  bands  of  Orion?" 

104.  Canto  IX.  6i : — 

"  Above  tis  there  are  mirrors,  Thrones  you  ca'l 
them. 
From  which  shines  out  on  us  God  Judicant." 

Of  the  Thrones,  Thomas  Aquinas, 
Sum.  T/ieoL,  CVIII.  5,  says:  "The 
Order  of  Thrones  excels  the  inferior 
Orders  in  this,  that  it  has  the  power 
of  perceiving   immediately  in    God   the 

reasons  of  the  Divine  operations 

Dionysius  (Cap.  VII.  Ca'l.  Hier.)  ex- 
plains the  name  of  Thrones  from  their 
resemiilance  to  material  chairs,  in  which 
four  things  are  to  be  considered.  First, 
in  reference  to  position,  because  chairs 
are  raised  above  the  ground  ;  and  thus 
these  Angels,  which  are  called  Tiirones, 
are  raised  so  far  that  they  can  perceive 
immediately  in  God  the  reasons  of  things. 
Secondly,  in  material  chairs  firmness 
must  be  considered,  becau.se  one  sits 
firmly  in  them  ;  but  this  is  e  coiiverso,  for 
the  Angels  themselves  are  made  firm  by 
God-  Thirdly,  because  the  chair  receives 
the  sitter,  and  he  can  be  carried  in  it ;  and 
thus  the  Angels  receive  God  in  them- 
selves, and  in  a  certain  sense  carry  him 
to  their  inferiors.  Fourthly,  from  their 
shape,  because  the  chair  is  open  on  one 
side,  to  receive  the  sitter;  and  thus  these 
Angels,  by  their  promptitude,  are  open 
to  receive  God  and  to  serve  him." 

1 10.  Dante,  Couvito,  I.  I,  says: 
'•  Knowledge  is  the  ultimate  perfection 
of  our  soul,  in  which  consists  our  ulti- 
mate felicity."  It  was  one  of  the  great 
questions  of  the  Schools,  whether  the 
beatitude  of  the  soul  consisted  in  know- 
ing or  in  lovmg.  Thomas  Aquinas  main- 


■704 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


tains  the  former  part  of  this  proposition, 
and  Duns  Scotus  tiie  latter. 

1 13.  By  the  grace  of  God,  and  the  co- 
operation of  the  good  will  of  the  recipient. 

1 16.  The  perpetual  spring  of  Paradise, 
which  knows  no  falling  autumnal  leiaves, 
no  season  in  which  Aries  is  a  nocturnal 
sign. 

122.  Thomas  Aquinas,  Stun.  ThcoL, 
I.  Qurest.  cvm.  6,  says:  "And  thus 
Dionysius  (Cap.  VII.  Cal.  Hicr.),  from 
the  names  of  the  Orders  inferring  the 
properties  thereof,  placed  in  the  first 
Hierarchy  those  Orders  whose  names 
were  given  them  in  reference  to  God, 
namely,  the  Seraphim,  Cherubim,  and 
Thrones ;  but  in  the  middle  Hierarchy  he 
placed  those  whose  names  designate  a 
certain  common  government  or  disposi- 
tion, that  is,  the  Doviinions,  Virtues, 
and  Pirwers ;  an^l  in  the  third  Order  he 
jilaced  those  whose  names  designate  the 
execution  of  the  work,  namely,  the 
Prhicipalities,  Attgels,  and  Archangels. 
.  .  .  But  to  the  rule  of  govenjiment  three 
things  belong,  the  first  of  which  is  the 
distmction  of  the  things  to  be  done, 
which  is  the  province  of  the  Dominious  ; 
the  second  is  to  provide  the  faculty  of 
fulfilling,  which  belongs  to  the  Firfues ; 
but  the  third  is  to  arrange  in  what  way 
the  things  prescribed,  or  defined,  can  be 
fulfille<l,  so  that  some  one  may  execute 
them,  and  this  belongs  to  the  Pmvers. 
But  the  execution  of  the  angelic  ministry 
consists  in  announcing  things  divine.  In 
llie  execution,  however,  of  any  act,  there 
are  some  who  begin  the  act,  and  lead  the 
others,  as  in  singing  the  precentors,  and 
in  battle  those  who  lead  and  direct  the 
rest ;  and  this  belongs  to  the  I'rtiicipali- 
ties.  There  are  others  who  simply  execute, 
and  this  is  the  part  of  the  Augels.  Others 
hold  an  intermediate  position,  which  be- 
longs to  the  Archangels." 

130.  The  Athenian  convert  of  St.  Paul. 
Ac/s  xvii.  34:  "  Howbeit,  certain  men 
clave  unto  him,  and  believed  ;  among  the 
which  was  Dionysius  the  Areopagite." 
Dante  places  him  among  the  theologians 
in  the  Heaven  of-the  Sun.  See  Canto  X. 
115:- 

"  Ncir  by  behold  the  lustre  of  that  taper, 

Which  in  the  flesh  below  looked  most  within 
The  angelic  nature  and  its  ministry." 

To   Dionysius   was  attributed   a   work, 


called  The  Celestial  Hierarchy,  which 
is  the  great  storehouse  of  all  that  relates 
to  the  nature  and  operations  of  Angels. 
Venturi  calls  him  "the  false  Areo- 
pagite;" and  Dalbseus,  De  Script.  Dion. 
Areop.,  says  that  this  work  was  not 
known  till  the  sixth  century. 

The  Legenda  Aurea  confounds  St. 
Dionysius  the  Areopagite  with  St.  Denis, 
Bishop  of  Paris  in  the  third  century,  and 
patron  saint  of  France.  It  says  he  wr.s 
called  the  Areopagite  from  the  quarter 
where  he  lived  ;  that  he  was  surnamed 
Theosoph,  or  the  Wise  in  God  ;  that  he 
was  converted,  not  by  the  preaching  of 
St.  Paul,  but  by  a  miracle  the  saint 
wrought  in  restoring  a  blind  man  to 
sight;  and  that  "the  woman  named 
Damaris,"  who  was  converted  with  him, 
was  his  wife.  It  quotes  from  a  letter  of 
his  to  Polycarp,  written  from  Egypt, 
where  he  was  with  his  friend  and  fellow- 
student  Apoliophanes,  and  where  he  wit- 
nessed the  darkening  of  the  sun  at  the 
Crucifixion:  "We  were  both  at  Helio- 
polis,  when  suddenly  we  saw  the  moon 
conceal  the  surface  of  the  sun,  though 
this  was  not  the  time  for  an  eclipse,  and 
this  darkness  continued  for  three  hours, 
and  the  light  returned  at  the  ninth  hour 
and  lasted  till  evening."  And  finally  it 
narrates,  that  when  Dionysius  was  lie- 
headed,  in  Paris,  where  he  had  converted 
many  souls  and  built  many  churches, 
"straightway  the  body  arose,  and,  tak- 
ing its  head  in  its  arms,  led  by  an  angel, 
and  surrounded  by  a  celestial  light,  car- 
ried it  a  distance  of  two  miles,  from  a 
place  called  the  Mount  of  Martyrs,  to  the 
])lace  where  it  now  re]ioses." 

For  an  account  of  the  Celestial  Hier- 
archy, see  Canto  X.  Note  115. 

133.  St.  Gregory  differed  from  St. 
Dionysius  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
Orders,  placing  the  Principalities  in  the 
second  triad,  and  the  Virtues  in  the 
third. 

138.  St.  Paul,  who,  2  Corinthians 
xii.  4,  "was  caught  up  into  paradise, 
and  heard  unspeakable  words,  which  it 
is  not  lawful  for  a  man  to  utter." 


CANTO   XXIX. 
I.  The  Primum  Mobile,  or  Crystalline 
Heaven,  continued. 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


705 


The  children  of  I.atona  are  Apollo  and 
Diana,  the  Sun  and  Moon. 

2.  When  the  Sun  is  in  Aries  and  the 
Moon  in  Libra,   and  when  the  Sun   is  i 
setting  and  the  full  Moon  rising,  so  that 
they  are  both  on  the  horizon  at  the  same 
time. 

3.  So  long  as  they  remained  thus  equi- 
poised, as  if  in  the  opposite  scales  of  an 
invisible  balance  suspended  from  the 
zenith. 

9.  God,  whom  Dante  could  not  look 
upon,  even  as  reflected  in  the  eyes  of 
Beatrice. 

11.  What  Dante  wishes  to  know  is, 
where,  when,  and  how  the  Angels  were 
created. 

12.  Every  When  and  every  Where. 
14.   Dante,    Coiivito,   III.    14,    defines 

splendour  as  "  reflected  light."  Here  it 
means  the  creation;  the  reflected  light  of 
God. 

yob  xxxviii.  7  :  "  When  the  morning 
stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  sons  of 
God  shouted  for  joy."  And  again,  35: 
"  Canst  thou  send  lightnings,  that  they 
may  go,  and  say  unto  thee,  Here  we 
are  ?" 

16.  Thomas  Aquinas,  Sum.  TheuL, 
I.  Quoest.  LXI.  3:  "The  angelic  nature 
was  madelbefore  the  creation  of  time, 
and  after  eternity." 

18.  In  the  creation  of  the  Angels. 
Some  editions  read  not>e  Amori,  the  nine 
Toves,  or  nine  choirs  of  Angels. 

21.  Genesis  i.  2:  "And  the  Spirit 
of  God  moved  upon  the  face  of  the 
waters." 

22.  Pure  Matter,  or  the  elements  ; 
pure  Form,  or  the  Angels  ;  and  the  two 
conjoined,  tlie  human  race.  '■ 

Form,  in  the  language  of  the  Schools,  I 
and  as  defined   by  Thomas  Aquinas,  is  ! 
the  principle  "by  which  we  first  think, 
whetlier  it  be  called   intellect,   or  intel- 
lectual soul."     See  Canto  IV.  Note  54- 

23.  Genesis  \.  31:  "And  God  saw 
everything  that  he  had  made,  and,  be- 
hold, it  was  veiy  good." 

33.  The  Angels.      Thomas  Aquinas, 
Slim.    TheoL,    I.    Quoest.    L.     2,    says :  [ 
"  Form  is  act.     Therefore  whatever  is  | 
form  alone,  is  pure  act."     For  his  defi- 1 
nition  of  form,  see  Note  22.  I 

34.  Pure  matter,  which  is  passive  and  | 
Bnly  possesses  potentiality,  or  power  of ' 


assuming  various  forms  when  imited 
witjh  mind.  "  It  is  called  potentiality," 
comments  Buti,  "  because  it  can  receive 
many  forms  ;  and  the  forms  are  called 
act,  because  they  change,  and  act  by 
changing  matter  into  various  forms." 

35.  The  union  of  the  soul  and  body  in 
man,  who  occupies  the  intermediate 
place  between  Angels  and  pure  matter. 

36.  This  bond,  though  susjiended  by 
death,  will  be  resumed  again  at  the 
resurrection,  and  remain  for  ever. 

37.  St.  Jerome,  the  greatest  of  the 
Latin  Fathers  of  the  Cliurch,  and  au- 
thor of  the  translation  of  the  Scriptures 
known  as  the  Vulgate,  was  born  of 
wealthy  parents  in  Dalmatia,  in  342. 
He  studied  at  Rome  under  tlie  gram- 
marian Donatus,  and  became  a  lawyer 
in  that  city.  At  the  age  of  thirty  he 
visited  the  Holy  Land,  and,  withdraw- 
ing from  the  world,  became  an  ancho- 
rite in  the  desert  of  Chalcida,  on  the 
i)orders  of  Arabia.  Here  he  under- 
went tlie  bodily  privations  and  teni])ta- 
tions,  and  enjoyed  the  spiritual  triumphs, 
of  the  hermit's  life.  He  was  "haunted 
by  demons,  and  consoled  by  voices  and 
visions  from  heaven."  In  one  of  his. 
letters,  cited  by  Butler,  Lives  of  the 
Saints,  IX.  362,  he  writes:  "In  the 
remotest  part  of  a  wild  and  sharp  de- 
sert, which,  being  burnt  up  with  the 
heats  of  the  scorching  sun,  strikes  with 
horror  and  terror  even  the  monks  that 
inhabit  it,  I  seemed  to  myself  to  be  in 
the  midst  of  the  delights  and  assemblies  • 
of  Rome.  I  loved  solitude,  that  in  the 
Ijillerness  of  my  soul  I  might  more . 
freely  bewail  my  miseries,  and  call 
upon  my  Saviour.  My  hideous  ema- 
ciated limbs  were  covered  with  sack- 
cloth :  my  skin  was  parched  dry  and 
black,  and  my  flesh  was  almost  wasted 
away.  The  days  I  passed  in  tears  and 
groans,  and  when  sleep  overpowered 
me  against  my  will,  I  cast  my  wearied  •. 
bones,  which  hardly  hung  together, 
upon  the  bare  ground,  not  so  properly 
to  give  them  rest,  as  to  torture  myself. 

I  say  nothing  of  my  eating  and  drink- 
ing ;  for  the  monks  in  that  desert, 
when  they  are  sick,  know  no  -other 
drink  but  cold  water,  and  look  upon  , 
it  as  sensuality  ever  to  eat  anything 
dressed  by  fire.     In  this  exile  and  pri- . 


7o6 


A'OTES   TO  PARADISO. 


son,  to  wliich,  for  the  fear  of  hell,  I  had 
vohmtarily  condemned  myself,  having 
no  other  company  but  scorjjions  and 
wild  beasts,  I  many  times  found  my 
imagination  filled  with  lively  represen- 
tations of  dances  in  the  company  of 
Roman  ladies,  as  if  I  had  been  in  the 

midst   of  them 1  often   joined 

whole  nights  to  the  days,  crying,  sigh- 
ing, and  beating  my  breast  till  the  de- 
sired calm  returned.  I  feared  the  very 
cell  in  which  I  lived,  because  it  was 
witness  to  the  foul  suggestions  of  my 
enemy ;  and  being  angry  and  armed  with 
severity  against  myself,  I  went  alone  into 
tlie  most  secret  parts  of  the  wilderness, 
and  if  I  discovered  anywhere  a  deep 
valley,  or  a  craggy  rock,  that  was  the 
place  of  my  prayer,  there  I  threw  this 
miserable  sack  of  my  body.  The  same 
Lord  is  my  witness,  that  after  so  many 
sobs  and  tears,  after  having  in  so  much 
sorrow  looked  long  up  to  heaven,  I  felt 
most  deligiitful  comforts  and  interior 
sweetness ;  and  these  so  great,  that, 
transjiorted  and  absorpt,  I  seemed  to 
myself  to  be  amidst  the  choirs  of  angels; 
and  glnd  and  joyful  I  sung  to  God  : 
After  Thee,  O  Lord,  we  will  run  in  the 
fragrancy  of  thy  celestial  ointments.''^ 

In  another  letter,  cited  by  Montalem- 
bert.  Monks  of  the  West,  Auth.  Tr.,  I. 
404,  he  exclaims:  "  O  desert,  enamelled 
with  the  flowers  of  Christ  !  O  solitude, 
where  those  stones  are  born  of  which, 
in  the  AjK>calypse,  is  built  the  city  of 
the  Great  King!  O  retreat,  which  re- 
joicest  in  the  friendship  of  God  !  What 
<loest  thou  in  tlie  world,  my  brother, 
with  thy  soul  greater  than  the  world? 
How  long  wilt  thon  remain  in  the  shadow 
of  roofs,  and  in  the  smoky  dungeons  of 
cities  ?  Hdicve  me,  I  see  here  more  of 
the  light." 

At  the  end  of  five  years  he  was  driven 
from  his  solitude  by  the  pereecution  of 
the  Eastern  monks,  and  lived  succes- 
sively in  Jerusalem,  Antioch,  Constanti- 
nople, Rome,  and  Alexandria.  Finally, 
in  385,  he  returneil  to  the  Holy  Land, 
and  built  a  monastery  at  Heihlehem. 
Here  he  wrote  his  translation  of  the 
Scriptures,  and  his  Lives  of  the  Fathers 
tif  the  Desert ;  but  in  416  this  monastery, 
nnd  otljcrs  that  had  risen  up  in  its  ncigh- 
l)<)urhoo<i,  were  burned  by  the  Pelayans, 


and  St.  Jerome  took  refuge  in  a  strong 
tower  or  fortified  castle.  Four  years 
afterwards  he  died,  and  was  buried  in  the 
ruins  of  his  monastery. 

40.  This  truth  of  the  simultaneous 
creation  of  mind  and  matter,  as  stated  in 
line  29. 

41.  The  opinion  of  St.  Jerome  and 
other  Fathers  of  the  Church,  that  the 
Angels  were  created  long  ages  before 
the   rest  of  the  universe,  is  refuted   by 

ihomas  Aquinas,  Sum.  Theol.,  L  Qusest. 
i.xi.  3. 

45.  That  the  Intelligences  or  Motors 
of  the  heavens  should  be  so  long  without 
any  heavens  to  move. 

51.  The  subject  of  the  elements  is  the 
earth,  so  called  as  being  the  lowest,  or 
underlying  the  others,  fire,  air,  and  water. 

56.   The  pride  of  Lucifer,  who  lies  at 
the  centre  of  the  earth,  towards  which 
all  things  gravitate,  and 
"  Down  upon  which  thrust  all  the  other  rocks." 

Milton,  Par.  Lost,  V.  856,  makes  the 
rebel  angels  deny  that  they  were  created 
by  God  : — 

"  Who  saw 
When  this  creation  was?     Rememberest  thou 
Thy  making,  while  the  Maker  gave  thee  being? 
We  know  no  time  when  we  were  not  as  now  ; 
Know  none  before  us ;  self-begot,  self-raised 
By  our  own  quickening  power,  when  fatal  course 
Had  circled  his  full  orb,  the  birth  mature 
Of  this  our  native  heaven,  ethereal  sons." 

65.  The  merit  consists  in  being  willing 
to  receive  this  grace. 

95.  St.  Chrysostom,  who  in  his  preach- 
ing so  carried  away  his  audiences  that 
they  beat  the  pavement  with  their  swords 
and  called  him  the  "Thirteenth  Apostle," 
in  one  of  his  Homilies  thus  upbraids  the 
custom  of  applauding  the  jireacher : 
"  What  do  your  praises  advantage  me, 
when  I  see  not  your  progress  in  virtue  ? 
Or  what  harm  shall  I  receive  from  the 
silence  of  my  auditors,  when  I  behold 
the  increase  of  their  piety?  The  praise 
of  the  speaker  is  not  the  acclamation  of 
his  hearers,  but  their  zeal  for  piety  and 
jeligion  ;  not  their  making  a  great  stir  in 
the  times  of  hearing,  but  their  showing 
diligence  at  all  other  times.  Applause, 
as  soon  as  it  is  out  of  the  mouth,  is  dis- 
persed  into  the  air,  and  vanishes,  but 
when  the  hearers  grow  better,  this  brings 
an    incorruptible   and    immortal    reward 


NOTES   TO  PARAD7S0. 


707 


both  to  the  speaker  and  the  hearer.  The 
praise  of  your  acclamation  may  render 
the  orator  more  ilhistrious  here,  but  the 
piety  of  your  souls  will  give  him  greater 
confidence  before  the  tribunal  of  Christ. 
Therefore,  if  any  one  love  the  preacher, 
or  if  any  preacher  love  his  people,  let 
him  not  be  enamoured  with  applause, 
but  with  the  benefit  of  the  hearers." 

103.  Lapo  is  the  abbreviation  of 
Jacopo,  and  Bindi  of  Aldobrandi,  both 
familiar  names  in  Florence. 

107.   Milton,  Lycidas,  113: — 

"  How  well  could  I  have  .spared  for  thee,  young 

swain, 
Enow  of  such  as  for  their  bellies'  sake 
Creep,  and  intrude,  and  climb  into  the  fold  ! 
Of  other  care  they  little  reckoning  make, 
Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers'  feast, 
And  shove  away  the  worthy  bidden  guest ! 
Blind  mouths  !    that  scarce  themselves  know 

how  to  hold 
A  sheep-hook,  or  have  learned  aught  else  the 

least 
TTiat  to  the  faithful  herdman's  art  belongs  ! 
What  recks  it  them  ?   What  need  they  ?   They 

are  sped ; 
And,    when  they  list,   their  lean  and   flashy 

songs 
Grate  on   their   scrannel    pipes  of  wretched 

straw : 
The  hungry  sheep  look  up,  and  are  not  frd  ; 
But  swoln  with  wind,  and  the  rank  mist  they 

draw. 
Rot  inwardly,  and  foul  contagion  spread  : 
Besides  what  the  grim  wolf  with  privy  paw 
Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  said  : 
But  that  two-handed  engine  at  the  door 
Stands  ready   to  smite   once,   and  smite  no 

more." 

115.   Cowper,  Task,  II.: — 

"  He  that  negotiates  between  God  and  man. 
As  God's  ambassador,  the  grand  concerns 
Of  judgment  and  of  mercy,  should  beware 
Of  lightness  in  his  speech.     'T  is  pitiful 
To  court  a  §rin,  when  you  should  woo  a  soul  ; 
To  break  a  jest,  when  pity  would  inspire 
Pat'aetic  exhortation  ;  and  t'  address 
The  skittish  fancy  with  facetious  tales, 
When    sent     with     God's    commission    to    the 
heart ! " 

For  a  specimen  of  the  style  of  popular 
preachers  in  the  Middle  Ages,  see  the 
story  of  Frate  Cipolla,  in  the  Decame- 
rone,  Gior.  VI.  Nov.  10.  See  also 
Scheible's  Kloster,  and  Menin's  Pridica- 
toriana. 

118.  The  Devil,  who  is  often  repre- 
sented in  early  Christian  art  under  the 
shape  of  a  coal-black  bird.  See  Didron, 
Christ.  Iconog.,  I. 

124,   In  early  paintings   the  swine  is 


the  symbol  of  St.  Anthony,  as  the  cherub 
is  of  St.  Matthew,  the  lion  of  St.  Mark, 
and  the  eagle  of  St.  John.  There  is  an 
old  tradition  that  St.  Anthony  was  once 
a  swineherd.  Brand,  Pop.  Antiquities^ 
I.,  358,  says  :  — 

"  In  the  World  of  Wonders  is  the  fol- 
lowing translation  of  an  epigram  : — 

'  Once  fed'st  thou,  Anthony,  an  heard  of  swine. 
And  now  an  heard  of  monkes  thou  feedesl 
still  :— 
For  wit  and  gut,  alike  both  charges  bin  : 
Both  loven  filth  alike  ;  both  like  to  fill 
Their  greedy  paunch  alike.    Nor  was  that  kind 
More  beastly,  sottish,  swinish  than  this  last. 
All  else  agrees  :  one  fault  I  onely  find, 
Thou   feedest  not  thy   monkes  with   okcn 
mast.' 

"The  author  mentions  before,  per- 
sons '  who  runne  up  and  downe  the 
country,  ci"ying.  Have  you  anything 
to  bestow  upon  my  lord  .S.  Anthonie's 
swine?'  " 

Mrs.  Jarrteson,  Sacred  and  Legendary 
Art,  II.,  380,  remarks:  "I  have  read 
somewhere  that  the  hog  is  given  to  St. 
Anthony,  because  he  had  been  a  swine- 
herd, and  cured  the  diseases  of  swine. 
This  is  quite  a  mistake.  The  hog  was 
the  representative  of  the  demon  of  sen- 
suality and  gluttony,  which  Anthony  is 
supposed  to  have  vanquished  by  the 
exercises  of  piety  and  by  divine  aid. 
The  ancient  custom  of  placing  in  all  his 
effigies  a  black  pig  at  his  feet,  or  under 
his  feet,  gave  rise  to  the  superstition 
that  this  unclean  animal  was  especially 
dedicated  to  him,  and  under  his  pro- 
tection. The  monks  of  the  Order  of 
.St.  Anthony  kept  herds  of  consecrated 
pigs,  which  were  allowed  to  feed  at 
the  public  charge,  and  which  it  was  a 
profanation  to  steal  or  kill  :  hence  the 
proverb  about  the  fatness  of  a  '  Tantony " 

pig-'  " 

Halliwell,  Did.  of  Arch,  and  Prcrv. 
Words,  has  the  following  definition  : 
"Anthony-Pig.  The  favourite  or 
smallest  pig  of  the  litter.  A  Kentish 
expression,  according  to  Grose.  '  To 
follow  like  a  tantony  pig,'  i.  e.  to  follow 
close  at  one's  heels.  Some  derive  this 
saying  from  a  privilege  enjoyed  by  the 
friars  of  certain  convents  in  England  and 
France,  sons  of  St.  Anthony,  whose 
swine  were  permitted  to  feed  in  the 
streets.     These  swine  would  follow  any 


7o8 


NOTES  TO  PA  RAD/SO. 


one  having  greens  or  other  provisions, 
till  they  obtained  some  of  them  ;  and  it 
was  in  those  days  considered  an  act  of 
charity  and  religion  to  feed  them.  St. 
Anthony  was  invoked  for  the  pig." 

Mr.  Howell's  Venetian  Life,  p.  341, 
alludes  to  the  same  custom  as  once  pre- 
valent in  Italy:  "Among  other  privi- 
leges of  the  Church,  abolished  in  Venice 
long  ago,  was  that  ancient  right  of  the 
monks  of  St.  Anthony  Abbot,  by  which 
their  herds  of  swine  were  made  free  of 
the  whole  city.  These  animals,  en- 
veloped in  an  odour  of  sanctity,  wan- 
dered here  and  there,  and  were  piously 
fed  by  devout  people,  until  the  year  1409, 
when,  being  found  dangerous  to  children, 
and  inconvenient  to  everybody,  they  were 
made  the  subject  of  a  special  decree, 
which  deprived  them  of  their  freedom  of 
movement.  The  Republic  was  always 
opposing  and  limiting  the  privileges  of 
the  Church  !" 

126.  Giving  false  indulgences,  without 
the  true  stamp  upon  them,  in  return  for 
the  alms  received. 

130.  The  nature  of  the  Angels. 

134.  Daniel  vii.  10 :  *'  Thousand 
thousands  ministered  unto  him,  and  ten 
thousand  times  ten  thousand  stood  before 
him." 

136.  That  irradiates  this  angelic  na- 
ture. 

138.  The  splendours  are  the  reflected 
lights,  or  the  Angels. 

140.  The  fervour  of  the  Angels  is  pro- 
portioned to  their  capacity  of  receiving 
the  divine  light. 


CANTO  XXX. 

I.  The  ascent  to  the  Empyrean,  the 
tenth  and  last  Heaven.  Of  this  Heaven, 
Dante,  Cotn'ito,  II.  4,  says:  "  This  is 
the  sovereign  e<iifice  of  the  world,  in 
which  the  whole  world  is  included,  and 
outside  of  which  nothing  is.  And  jt  is 
not  in  space,  but  was  formed  solely  in 
the  primal  Mind,  which  the  Greeks  call 
J'rotonoe.  This  is  that  magnificence  of 
which  the  Psalmist  spake,  when  he  says 
to  God,  *  Thy  magnificence  is  exalted 
above  the  heavens.    ' 

Milton,  Par.  Lost,  HI.  56  :— 

"  Now  had  the  Almif^hty  Father  from  above, 
Ftoin  the  pure  empyrean  where  he  >it« 


High  throned  above  all  highth,  bent  down  his  eye 
His  own  works  and  their  works  at  once  to  view. 
About  him  all  the  sanctities  of  heaven 
Stood  thick  as  stars,  and  from  his  sight  received 
Beatitude  past  utterance." 

2.  The  sixth  hour  is  noon,  and  when 
noon  is  some  six  thousand  miles  away 
from  us,  the  dawn  is  approaching,  the 
shadow  of  the  earth  lies  almost  on  a 
plane  with  it,  and  gradually  the  stars 
disappear. 

lo.  The  nine  circles  of  Angels,  de- 
scribed in  Canto  XXVIII. 

38.  From  the  Crystalline  Heaven  to 
the  Empyiean.  Dante,  Convito,  II.  15, 
makes  the  Empyrean  the  symbol  of 
Theology,  the  Divine  Science  :  "  The 
Empyrean  Heaven,  by  its  peace,  re- 
sembles the  Divine  Science,  which  is 
full  of  all  peace ;  and  which  suffers  no 
strife  of  opinions  or  sophistical  argu- 
ments, because  of  the  exceeding  certi- 
tude of  its  subject,  which  is  God.  And 
of  this  he  says  to  his  disciples,  '  My 
peace  I  give  unto  you  ;  my  peace  I  leave 
you  ; '  giving  and  leaving  them  his  doc- 
trine, which  is  this  science  of  which  I 
speak.  Of  this  Solomon  says  :  '  There 
are  threescore  queens,  and  foui^score  con- 
cubines, and  virgins  without  number ; 
my  dove,  my  undefiled,  is  but  one.'  All 
sciences  he  calls  queens  and  paramours 
and  virgins  ;  and  this  he  calls  a  dove, 
l)ecause  it  is  without  blemish  of  strife  ; 
and  this  he  calls  perfect,  because  it 
makes  us  perfectly  to  see  the  truth  in 
which  our  soul  has  rest." 

42.  Philippians  iv.  7  :  "  The  peace 
of  God,  which  passethall  understanding." 

43.  The  Angels  and  the  souls  of  the 
saints. 

45.  The  Angels  will  be  seen  in  the 
same  aspect  after  the  last  judgment  as 
before  ;  but  the  souls  of  the  saints  will 
wear  "the  twofold  gannents,"  spoken 
of  in  Canto  XXV.  92,  the  spiritual 
body,  and  the  glorified  earthly  body. 

61.  Daniel  vii.  10 :  "A  fiery  stream 
issued  and  came  forth  from  before  him." 
And  Revelation  xxii.  I  :  "And  he 
showed  me  a  jnire  river  of  water  of  life, 
clear  as  crystal,  proceeding  out  of  the 
throne  of  Gcxl  and  of  the  Lamb." 

64.  The  sparks  arc  Angels,  and  th» 
flowers  the  souls  of  the  blessed. 

66.  For  the  mystic  virtues  of  the  ruby, 
see  Canto  IX.  Note  69. 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


709 


76.  For  the  mystic  virtues  of  the 
topaz,  see  Canto  XV.  Note  85. 

90.  "  By  the  length,"  says  Venturi, 
"was  represented  the  outpouring  of 
God  upon  his  creatures  ;  by  the  round- 
ness, the  return  of  this  outpouring  to  God, 
as  to  its  first  source  and  ultimate  end." 

99.  Dante  repeats  the  word  vidi,  I 
saw,  tliree  times,  as  a  rhyme,  to  express 
tlie  intenseness  of  liis  vision. 

ICX3.  Buti  thinks  that  this  light  is  the 
Holy  Ghost ;  Philalethes,  tiiat  it  is  the 
Logos,  or  second  person  of  the  Trinity  ; 
Tommaseo,  that  it  is  Illuminating  Grace. 

124.  Didron,  Christ.  Icoiioi^.,  I.  234, 
says :  "  It  was  in  the  centre,  at  the 
very  heart  of  this  luminous  eternity,  that 
the  Deity  shone  forth.  Dante  no  doubt 
wished  to  describe  one  of  those  roses 
with  a  thousand  petals,  which  light  the 
porches  of  our  noblest  cathedrals, — the 
rose-windows,  which  were  contemp«ra- 
neous  witli  the  Florentine  poet,  and 
which  he  had  no  doubt  seen  in  his  tra- 
vels in  France.  There,  in  fact,  in  the 
very  depth  of  the  chalice  of  that  rose  of 
coloured  glass,  the  Divine  Majesty  shines 
out  resplendently." 

129.  The  word  convent  is  here  used 
in  its  original  meaning  of  a  coming  to- 
gether, or  assembly. 

136.  The  name  of  Augustus  is  equiva- 
lent to  Kaiser,  Caesar,  or  Emperor.  In 
Canto  XXXTI.  119,  the  Virgin  Mary  is 
called  Augusta,  the  Queen  of  the  King- 
dom of  Heaven,  the  Empress  of  "the 
most  just  and  merciful  of  empires." 

137.  This  is  Henry  of  Luxemburg,  to 
whom  in  1300  Dante  was  looking  as  the 
regenerator  of  Italy.  He  tecame  Em- 
peror in  1308,  and  died  in  1311,  ten 
years  before  Dante.  See  Ptirg.  VI. 
Note  97,  and  XXXIII.  Note  43. 

142.  At  the  Curia  Romana,  or  Papal 
court. 

143.  Pope  Clement  V.  (1305 — 1314). 
See  htf.  XIX.  Note  83.  The  allusion 
here  is  to  his  double  dealing  with  Heniy 
of  Luxemburg.  See  Canto  XVII.  Note 
82. 

147.  Among  the  Simoniacs  in  the 
third  round  of  Malebolge.  Of  Simon 
Magus,  Milman,  Hist.  Christ.,  II.  97, 
writes  thus  :  "  Unless  Simon  was  in 
fact  a  personage  of  considerable  import- 
ance during  the  early  history  of  Chris- 


tianity, it  is  difficult  to  account  for  his 
becoming,  as  he  is  called  by  Beausobre, 
the  hero  of  the  Romance  of  Heresy.  If 
Simon  was  the  same  with  that  magician, 
a  Cypriot  by  birth,  who  was  employed 
by  Felix  as  agent  in  his  intrigue  to 
detach  Drusilla  from  her  husband,  this 
part  of  his  character  accords  with  the 
charge  of  licentiousness  advanced  both 
against  his  life  and  his  doctrines  by  his 
Christian  opponents.  This  is  by  no 
means  improbable  ;  and,  indeed,  even  if 
he  was  not  a  person  thus  politically  pro- 
minent and  influential,  the  early  writers 
of  Christianity  would  scarcely  have  con- 
curred in  representing  him  as  a  formid- 
able and  dangerous  antagonist  of  the 
Faith,  as  a  kind  of  personal  rival  of  St. 
Peter,  without  some  other  groundwork 
for  the  fiction  besides  the  collision  re- 
corded in  tlie  Acts.  The  doctrines 
which  are  ascribed  to  him  and  to  his 
followers,  who  continued  to  exist  for 
several  centuries,  harmonise  with  the 
glimpse  of  his  character  and  teneft  in 
ihe  writings  of  St.  Luke.  Simon  pro- 
bably was  one  of  that  class  of  adven- 
turers which  abounded  at  this  period, 
or  like  Apollonius  of  Tyana,  and  others 
at  a  later  time,  with  whom  the  oppo- 
nents of  Christianity  attempted  to  con- 
found Jesus  and  his  Apostles.  His  doc- 
trine was  Oriental  in  its  language  and  in 
its  pretensions.  He  was  the  first  yEon 
or  emanation,  or  rather  perhaps  the  first 
manifestation  of  the  primal  Deity.  He 
assumed  not  merely  the  title  of  the  Great 
Power  or  Virtue  of  God,  but  all  the 
other  Appellations, — the  Word,  the  Per- 
fection, the  Paraclete,  the  Almighty,  the 
whole  combined  attributes  of  the  Deity. 
He  had  a  companion,  Helena,  according 
to  the  statement  of  his  enemies,  a  beau- 
tiful prostitute,  whom  he  found  at  Tyre, 
who  became  in  like  manner  the  first 
conception  (the  Ennoea)  of  the  Deity ; 
but  who,  by  her  conjunction  with  mat- 
ter, had  been  enslaved  to  its  malignant 
influence,  and,  having  fallen  under  the 
power  of  evil  angels,  had  been  in  a  con- 
stant state  of  transmigration,  and,  among 
other  mortal  bodies,  had  occupied  that 
of  the  famous  Helen  of  Troy.  Beau- 
sobre, who  elevates  Simon  into  a  Pla- 
tonic philosopher,  explains  the  Helena 
as  a  sublime  allegory.      She  was  the 


7IO 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


Psyche  of  his  philosophic  romance.    The 
soul,  by  evil  influences,  had  become  im- 
prisoned in  matter.     By  her  the   Deity 
had    created    the    angels ;    the    angels, 
enamoured  of  her,  had  inextricably  en- 
tangled her  in  that  polluting  bondage,  in 
order  to  prevent  her  return  to  heaven. 
To    fly   from    their    embraces   she    had 
•  passed  from  body  to  body.     Connecting 
'  this  fiction  with  the  Grecian  mythology, 
she  was  Minerva,  or  impei-sonated  Wis- 
dom ;    perhaps,    also,    Helena,    or  em- 
bodied Beauty." 

148.  Pope  Boniface  VIII.,  a  native  of 
Alagna,  now  Anagni.  See  Inf.  XIX. 
Note  53,  and  Ptirg.  XX.  Note  87. 

Dante  has  already  his  punishment 
prepared.  He  is  to  be  thrust  head 
downward  into  a  narrow  hole  in  the 
rock  of  Malebolge,  and  to  be  driven 
down  still  lower  when  Clement  V.  shall 
follow  him. 


CANTO  XXXI. 

I.  The  White  Rose  of  Paradise. 

7.  Iliad,  II.  86,  Anon.  Tr.  :  "And 
the  troops  thronged  together,  as  swarms 
of  crowding  bees,  which  come  ever  in 
fresh  numbers  from  the  hollow  rock, 
and  fly  in  clusters  over  the  vernal  flowers, 
and  thickly  some  fly  in  this  direction, 
and  some  in  that." 

32.  The  nymph  Callisto,  or  Helice, 
was  changed  by  Jupiter  into  the  con- 
stellation of  the  Great  Bear,  and  Ijer  son 
into  that  of  the  Little  Bear.  See  Purg. 
XXV.,  Note  131. 

34.  Rome  and  her  superb  edifices, 
before  the  removal  of  the  Papal  See  to 
Avignon. 

35.  Speaking  of  Petrarch's  visit  to 
Rome,  Mr.  Norton,  Travel  and  Study  in 
Italy,  p.  288,  says:  "The  great  church 
of  .St.  John  Lateran,  '  the  mother  and 
head  of  all  the  churches  of  the  city  and 
the  world,' — mater  urbis  el  orbis, — had 
been  almost  destroyed  by  fire,  with  its 
adjoining  palace,  and  the  houses  of  the 
canons,  on  the  Eve  of  St.  John,  in  1308. 
The  palace  and  the  canons'  houses  were 
Tebuilt  not  long  after ;  but  at  the  lime  of 
Petrarch's  latest  visit  to  Rome,  and  for 
years  afterward,  the  church  was  without 
a  roof,  and  its  walls  were  ruinous.  The 
poet  addressed  three  at  least  of  the  Popes 


at  Avignon  with  urgent  appeals  that  this 
disgrace  should  no  longer  be  permitted, 
— but  the  Popes  gave  no  heed  to  his 
words  ;  for  the  ruin  of  Roman  churches, 
or  of  Rome  itself,  was  a  matter  of  little 
concern  to  these  Transalpine  prelates." 

73.  From  the  highest  regions  of  the 
air  to  the  lowest  deptii  of  the  sea. 

102.  St.  Bernard,  the  great  Abbot  of 
Clairvaux,  the  Doctor  Mellijlitus  of  the 
Church,  and  preacher  of  the  disastrous 
Second  Crusade,  was  born  of  noble  pa- 
rents in  the  village  of  Fontaine,  near 
Dijon,  in  Burgundy,  in  the  year  1190. 
After  studying  at  Paris,  at  the  age  of 
twenty  he  entered  the  Benedictine  mon- 
astery of  Citeaux ;  and  when,  five  yeai"s 
later,  this  monastery  had  l^ecome  over- 
crowded with  monks,  he  was  sent  out 
to  found  a  new  one. 

Mrs.  Jameson,  Legends  of  the  Monastic 
Orders,  p.  149,  says :  "  The  manner  of 
going  forth  on  these  occasions  was  strik- 
ingly characteristic  of  the  age  ;  —  the 
abbot  chose  twelve  monks,  representing 
the  twelve  Apostles,  and  placed  at  their 
head  a  leader,  representing  Jesus  Christ, 
who,  with  a  cross  in  his  hand,  weiit 
before  them.  The  gates  of  the  convent 
ojjened, — then  closed  behind  them, — 
and  they  wandered  into  tiie  wide  wo'id, 
trusting  in  God  to  show  them  their  des- 
tined abotle. 

"  Bernard  led  his  followers  to  a  wil- 
derness, called  the  Valley  of  IVornnvood, 
and  there,  at  his  biding,  arose  the  since 
renowned  abbey  of  Clairvaux.  They 
felled  the  trees,  built  themselves  huts, 
tilled  and  sowed  the  ground,  and  ciianged 
the  whole  face  of  the  country  round  ; 
till  that  which  had  been  a  dismal  soli- 
tude, the  resort  of  wolves  and  rolibers, 
became  a  land  of  vines  and  corn,  rich, 
populous,  and  prosperous." 

This  incident  forms  tlie  subject  of  one 
of  Murillo's  most  famous  paintings,  and 
is  suggestive  of  the  saint's  intense  devo- 
tion to  the  Virgin,  which  Dante  ex- 
presses in  this  line. 

Mr.  Vaughan,  Hours  with  the  Mystics,  . 
I.  145,  gives  th»  following  sketch  of  St. 
Bernard  : — 

*'  With  Bernard  the  monastic  life  is 
the  one  thing  needful.  He  began  life 
by  drawing  after  him  into  the  convent 
all  his  kindred  i  sweeping  them  oae  lyr 


NOTES  TO  FARAD/SO. 


7" 


one  from  the  high  seas  of  the  world  with 
the  irresistible  vortex  of  his  own  religious 
fervour.  His  incessant  cry  for  Europe 
is,  Better  monasteries,  and  more  of  them. 
Let  these  ecclesiastical  castles  multiply  ; 
let  them  cover  and  command  the  land, 
well  garrisoned  with  men  of  God,  and 
then,  despite  all  heresy  and  schism, 
theocracy  will  flourish,  tlie  earth  shall 
yield  her  increase,  and  all  people  praise 
tile  Lord.  Who  so  wise  as  Bernard  to 
win  souls  for  Christ,  that  is  to  say,  re- 
cruits for  the  cloister?  With  what  elo- 
quence he  paints  the  raptures  of  con- 
templation, the  vanity  and  sin  of  earthly 
ambition  or  of  earthly  love  !  Wherever 
in  his  travels  Bernard  may  have  preached, 
there,  presently,  exultant  monks  must 
open  wide  their  doors  to  admit  new 
converts.  Wherever  he  goes,  he  be- 
reaves mothers  of  their  children,  the 
aged  of  their  last  solace  and  last  sup- 
]wrt  ;  praising  those  the  most  who  leave 
most  misery  behind  them.  How  sternly 
does  he  rebuke  those  Rachels  who  mourn 
and  will  not  be  comforted  for  children 
(lead  to  them  for  ever !  What  vitriol 
does  he  pour  into  the  wounds  when  he 
asks  if  they  will  drag  their  son  down  to 
perdition  with  themselves  by  resisting 
the  vocation  of  Heaven  ;  whether  it  was 
not  enough  that  they  brought  him  forth 
sinful  to  a  world  of  sin,  and  will  they 
now,  in  their  insane  affection,  cast  him 
into  the  fires  of  hell  ?  Yet  I3ernard  is 
not  hard-hearted  by  nature.  He  can 
pity  this  disgraceful  weakness  of  the 
flesh.  He  makes  such  amends  as  super- 
stition may.  I  will  be  a  father  to  him, 
he  says.  Alas !  cold  comfort.  You, 
their  hearts  will  answer,  whose  flocks 
are  countless,  would  nothing  content 
you  but  our  ewe  lamb  ?  Perhaps  some 
cloister  will  be,  for  them  too,  the  last 
resource  of  their  desolation.  They  will 
fly  for  ease  in  their  pain  to  the  system 
which  caused  it.  Bernard  hopes  so.  .So 
inhuman  is  the  humanity  of  asceticism  ; 
cruel  its  tender  mercies  ;  thus  does  it 
depopulate  the  world  of  its  best  in  order 

to  improve  it 

"  Bernard   had    his  wish.      He  made 
Clairvaux   the   cynosure  of  all  contem- 
plative eyes.     For  any  one  who  could  I 
exist  at  all  as  a-  monk,  with  any  satis-  i 
faction  to  himself,   that  was  the  place  | 


above  all  others.  Brother  Godfrey,  sent 
out  to  be  first  Abbot  of  Fontenay, — as 
soon  as  he  has  set  all  things  in  order 
there,  returns,  only  too  gladly,  from  that 
rich  and  lovely  region,  to  re-enter  his  old 
cell,  to  walk  around,  delightedly  revisit- 
ing the  well-remembered  spots  among 
the  trees  or  by  the  water-side,  marking 
how  the  fields  and  gardens  have  come 
on,  and  relating  to  the  eager  brethren 
(for  even  Bernard's  monks  have  curio- 
sity) all  that  befell  him  in  his  work. 
He  would  sooner  be  third  Prior  at  Clair- 
vaux, than  .Abbot  of  Fontenay.  So,  too, 
with  Brother  Humbert,  commissioned 
in  like  manner  to  regulate  Igny  Abbey 
(fourth  daughter  of  Clairvaux).  He  soon 
comes  back,  weary  of  the  labour  and  sick 
for  home,  to  look  on  the  Aube  once 
more,  to  hear  the  old  mills  go  drum- 
ming and  droning,  with  that  monotony 
of  muffled  sound — the  associate  of  his 
pious  reveries — often  heard  in  his  dreams 
when  far  away ;  to  set  his  feet  on  the 
very  same  flagstone  in  the  choir  where 
he  used  to  stand,  and  to  be  happy.  But 
Bernard,  though  away  in  Italy,  toiling 
in  the  matter  of  the  schism,  gets  to  hear 
of  his  return,  and  finds  time  to  send  him 
across  the  Alps  a  letter  of  rebuke  for 
this  criminal  self-pleasing,  whose  teirible 
sharpness  must  have  darkened  the  poor 
man's  meditations  for  many  a  day. 

"  Bernard  had  further  the  satisfaction 
of  improving  and  extending  monasticisni 
to  the  utmost ;  of  sewing  together,  with 
tolerable  success,  the  rended  vesture  of 
the  Papacy ;  of  suppressing  a  more  po- 
pular and  more  Scriptural  Christianity, 
for  the  benefit  of  his  despotic  order  ;  of 
quenching  for  a  time,  by  the  extinction 
of  Abelard,  the  spirit  of  free  inquiry ; 
and  of  seeing  his  ascetic  and  superhuman 
ideal  of  religion  everywhere  accepted  as 
the  genuine  type  of  Christian  virtue." 

104.  The  Veronica  is  the  portrait  of 
our  Saviour  impressed  upon  a  veil  or 
kercliief,  preserved  with  great  care  in 
the  church  of  the  Santi  Apostoli  at 
Rome.  Collin  de  Plancy,  Legemfes  dcs 
Saintes  Images,  p.  11,  gives  the  follow- 
ing account  of  it : — ^- 

"  Properly  speaking,  the  Veronica 
[vera  icon)  is  the  true  likeness  of  Our 
Lord  ;  and  the  same  nami;  has  been  given 
to  the  holy  woman  who  obtained  it,  be- 


712 


NOTES   TO  PARADTSO. 


cause  the  name  of  this  holy  woman  was 
imcertain.  According  to  some,  she  Atas 
a  pious  Jewess,  called  Seraphia  ;  accord- 
ing to  others,  she  was  Berenice,  niece  of 
Herod.  It  is  impossible  to  decide  be- 
tween the  different  traditions,  some  of 
which  make  her  a  virgin,  and  others  the 
wife  of  Zaccheus. 

"  However  this  may  be,  the  happy 
woman  who  obtained  the  venerable  im- 
print of  the  holy  face  lived  not  far  from 
the  palace  of  Pilate.  Her  house  is  still 
shown  to  pilgrims  at  Jerasalem  ;  and  a 
Canon  of  Mayence,  who  went  to  the 
Holy  Land  in  1483,  reported  that  he  had 
visited  the  house  of  the  Veronica. 

"  When  she  saw  Our  Lord  pass,  bear- 
ing his  cross,  covered  with  blood,  spittle, 
sweat,  and  dust,  she  ran  to  meet  him, 
and,  presenting  her  kerchief,  tried  to 
wipe  his  adorable  face.  Our  Lord, 
leaving  for  an  instant  the  burden  of  the 
cross  to  .Simon  the  Cyrenean,  took  the 
kerchief,  a]ip]ied  it  to  his  face,  nnd  gave 
it  back  to  the  pious  woman,  marked  with 
the  exact  imprint  of  his  august  counte- 
nance." 

Of  the  Veronica  there  are  four  copies 
in  existence,  each  claiming  to  be  the  ori- 
ginal ;  one  at  Rome,  another  at  Paris,  a 
third  at  Laon,  and  a  fourth  at  Xaea  in 
Andalusia.  The  travellerwho  has  crossed 
the  Sierra  Morena  cannot  easily  forget 
the  stone  column,  surmounted  by  an  iron 
cross,  which  marks  the  boundary  between 
La  Mancha  and  Andalusia,  with  the  me- 
lancholy stone  face  upon  it,  and  the  in- 
scription, "/;"/  verdadero  Retrato  de  la 
Santa  Vara  del  Dios  de  Xaen. " 

116.  The  Virgin  Mary,  Regina  Ceeli. 

125.  The  chariot  of  the  sun. 


CANTO  XXXIL 

I.  St.  Bernard,  absorbed  in  contem- 
plation of  the  Virgin. 

5.  Eve.  St.  Augustine,  Serm.  18 
De  satutisy  says  :  "  Jlla  percussit,  ista 
satiavit." 

8.  Rachel  is  an  emblem  of  Divine 
Contemplation.  Jti/.  \\.  loi,  Beatrice 
says  : — 

"  And  came  unto  the  place 
Where  I  was  sitting  with  the  ancient  R.-ichcl." 

II.  Ruth  the  Monbitess,  ancestress  of 
King  DaviA 


12.  "  Have  mercy  upon  me,"  are  the 
first  words  of  Psalm  li.,  "-a  Psalm  of 
David,  when  Nathan  the  prophet  came 
unto  him." 

24.  The  saints  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment. 

27.   The  saints  of  the  New  Testament. 

31.  John  the  Baptist,  seated  at  the 
point  of  the  mystic  Rose,  opposite  to 
the  Virgin  Mary.  He  died  two  year* 
before  Christ's  resurrection,  and  during 
these  two  years  was  in  the  Limbo  of  the 
Fathers. 

40.  The  row  of  scats  which  divides 
the  Rose  horizontally,  and  crosses  the 
two  vertical  lines  of  division,  made  by 
the  seat  of  the  Virgin  Mary  and  those 
of  the  other  Hebrew  women  on  one 
side,  and  on  the  other  the  seats  of  John 
the  Baptist  and  of  the  other  saints  of 
the  New  Testament  beneath  him. 

43.  That  is  to  say,  by  the  faith  of 
their  parents,  by  circumcision,  and  by 
baptism,  as  explained  line  76  et  set]. 

58.  Festinata  geute,  dying  in  infancy, 
and  thus  hurried  into  the  life  eternal. 
Shakespeare,  King  Lear,  \\\.  7  :  "Ad- 
vise the  Duke,  where  you  are  going  to  a 
most  festinatc  preparation." 

68.  Jacob  and  Esau.  Genesis  xxv. 
22:  "And  the  children  struggled  to- 
gether within  her."  And  Rotiiaus  ix. 
H:  "For  the  children  being  not  yet 
born,  neither  having  done  any  good  or 
evil,  that  the  purpose  of  God,  according 
to  election,  might  stand,  not  of  works, 
but  of  him  that  calleth." 

70.  Buti  comments  thus :  "  As  it 
pleased  God  to  give  black  hair  to  one, 
and  to  the  other  red,  so  it  ]>leased  him. 
to  give  more  grace  to  one  than  to  the 
other."  And  the  Oitimo  says:  "One 
was  red,  the  other  black  ;  which  colours 
denote  the  temperaments  of  men,  and 
accordingly  the  inclination  of  their 
minds." 

75.  The  keenness  of  vision  with  which 
they  are  originally  endowed. 

76.  Prom  Adam  to  Abraham. 

79.  From  Abraham  to  Christ.  Genesis. 
xvii.  10:  "This  is  my  covenant,  which 
ye  shall  keep,  between  me  and  you,  and 
thy  seed  after  thee  :  Every  man-child 
among  you  shall  be  circumcised." 

85.  The  face  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 
Didron,   in   his  Christ  Iconog.,   \.  24a, 


NOTES  TO  PARADISO. 


7»3 


devotes  a  chapter  to  the  "History  of 
the  Portraits  of  God  the  Son."  Be- 
sides the  Veronica  and  the  Santo  Volto, 
attributed  to  Nicodemus,  he  mentions 
others  which  tradition  traces  back  to 
Pilate  and  St.  Luke,  and  a  statue 
erected  to  Christ  by  the  woman  who 
was  cured  of  the  bloody  flux.  In  the 
following  extract  several  others  are  re- 
ferred to  : — 

"  Abgarus,  king  of  Edessa,  having 
learnt,  says  Daniascenus,  the  wonderful 
things  related  of  our  Saviour,  became 
inflamed  with  Divine  love  ;  he  sent 
ambassadors  to  the  Son  of  God,  in- 
viting him  to  come  and  visit  him,  and 
should  the  Saviour  refuse  to  grant  his 
request,  he  charged  his  ambassadors  to 
employ  some  artist  to  make  a  portrait 
of  our  Lord.  Jesus,  from  whom  nothing 
is  hidden,  and  to  whom  nothing  is 
impossible,  being  aware  of  the  inten- 
tion of  Abgarus,  took  a  piece  of  linen, 
applied  it  to  his  face,  and  depicted 
tliereon  his  own  image.  This  very  por- 
trait, continues  Damascenus,  is  in  ex- 
istence at  the  present  day,  and  in  perfect 
preservation. 

"  At  the  same  epoch,  a  minute  ver- 
bal description  of  the  appearance  of 
Christ  was  in  circulation.  The  fol- 
lowing description,  which  is  of  great 
importance,  was  sent  to  the  Roman 
Senate  by  Publius  Lentulus,  Proconsul 
of  Judaea,  before  Herod.  Lentulus  had 
seen  the  Saviour,  and  had  made  him  sit 
to  hini,  as  it  were,  that  he  might  give 
a  written  description  of  his  features  and 
physiognomy.  His  portrait,  apociyphal 
though  it  1^,  is  at  least  one  of  the  first 
upon  record  ;  it  dates  from  the  earliest 
period  of  the  Church,  and  has  been 
mentioned  by  the  most  ancient  fathers. 
Lentulus  writes  to  the  Senate  as  follows : 
'  At  this  time  appeared  a  man  who  is 
still  living  and  endowed  with  mighty 
power  ;  his  name  is  Jesus  Christ.  His 
disciples  call  him  the  .Son  of  fiod  ;  others 
regard  him  as  a  powerful  prophet.  He 
raises  the  dead  to  life,  and  heals  the 
sick  of  every  description  of  infirmity  and 
disease.  This  man  is  of  lofty  stature, 
and  wel!-]iroportioned  ;  his  countenance 
severe  and  virtuous,  so  that  he  inspires 
beholders  with  feelings  both  of  fear  and 
love.     The    hair  of  his  head  is  of  the 


colour  of  wine,  and  from  the  top  of  the 
head  to  the  ears  straight  and  without 
radiance,  but  it  descends  from  the  ears 
to  the  shoulders  in  shining  curls.  Frorn 
the  shoulders  the  hair  flows  down  the 
back,  divided  into  two  portions,  after 
the  manner  of  the  Nazarenes  ;  his  fore- 
head is  clear  and  without  wrinkle,  his 
face  free  from  blemish,  and  slightly 
tinged  with  red,  his  physiognomy  noble 
and  gracious.  The  nose  and  mouth 
faultless.  His  beard  is  abundant,  the 
same  colour  as  the  hair,  and  forked.  His 
eyes  blue  and  very  brilliant.  In  reprov- 
ing or  censuring  he  is  awe-inspiring  ;  in 
exhorting  and  teaching,  his  speech  is 
gentle  and  caressing.  His  countenance 
is  marvellous  in  seriousness  and  grace. 
He  has  never  once  been  seen  to  laugh  ; 
but  many  have  seen  him  weep.  He  is 
slender  in  person,  his  hands  are  straight 
and  long,  his  arms  beautiful.  Grave 
and  solemn  in  his  discourse,  his  lan- 
guage is  simple  and  quiet.  He  is  in 
appearance  the  most  beautiful  of  the 
children  of  men. ' 

"  The  Emperor  Constantine  caused 
pictures  of  the  Son  of  God  to  be  painted 
from  this  ancient  description. 

"  In  the  eighth  century,  at  the  period 
in  which  Saint  John  Damascenus  wrote, 
the  lineaments  of  this  remarkable  figuie 
continued  to  be  the  same  as  they  are  to 
this  day. 

"The  hair  and  the  beard,  the  colour  of 
which  is  somewhat  undetermined  in  the 
letter  of  Lentulus,  for  wine  may  be  pale, 
golden,  red,  or  violet  colour,  is  distinctly 
noted  by  Damascenus,  who  also  ailds 
the  tint  of  the  complexion  ;  moreover, 
the  opinion  of  Damascenus,  like  that  of 
Lentulus,  is  decidedly  in  favour  of  the 
beauty  of  Christ,  and  the  former  severely 
censures  the  Manichaeans,  who  enter- 
tained a  contrary  opinion.  Thus,  then, 
Christ,  in  taking  upon  him  the  form  of 
Adam,  assumed  features  exactly  resem- 
bling those  of  tire  Virgin  Mary 

In  the  West,  a  century  later  than 
the  time  of  Damascenus,  Christ  was 
always  thus  dejected.  S.  Anschaire, 
Archbishop  of  Hamburg  and  Bremen, 
who  beheld  Christ  [in  a  vision],  de- 
scribed iiim  as  '  tall,  clal  in  the  manner 
of  the  Jews,  and  beautiful  in  face,  the 
splendour  of  Divinity  darted  like  a  flame 


TH 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


from  the  eyes  of  the  Redeemer,  but  his 
voice  was  full  of  sweetness." 

94.  Tlie  Angel  Gabriel.  Luke  i.  28  : 
"  And  the  angel  came  in  unto  her,  and 
said,  Hail,  tliou  that  art  higldy  favoured, 
the  Lord  is  with  thee  :  blessed  art  thou 
among  women." 

99.  The  countenance  of  each  saint  be- 
came brighter. 

107.  The  word  in  the  original  is  ah- 
belliva,  which  Dante  here  uses  in  the 
sense  of  the  Proven9al,  abellis,  of  Furt;. 
XXVL  140.  He  uses  tiie  word  in  the 
same  sense  in  Convito,  H.  7  :  "  In  all 
speech  the  speaker  is  chiefly  bent  on 
persuasion,  that  is,  on  pleasing  the  au- 
dience, aW  abbellire  delP  aiidienza, 
which  is  the  source  of  all  other  per- 
suasions." 

108.  The  star  of  morning  delighting 
in  the  sun,  is  from  Canto  VHL  12, 
where  Dante  speaks  of  Venus  as 

"  The  star 
That   wooes   the  sun,   now  following,   now    in 
front " 

119.  The  Virgin  Mary,  the  Queen  of 
this  empire. 

121.   Adam. 

124.  St.  Peter. 

127.  .St.  John,  who  lived  till  the  evil 
days  and  persecutions  of  the  Church, 
the  bride  of  Christ,  won  by  the  cruci- 
fixion. 

131.  Moses. 

132.  Exodus  xxxii.  9 :  "  And  the 
I<ord  said  unto  Moses,  I  have  seen  this 
people,  and,  behold,  it  is  a  stiff-necked 
people." 

133.  Anna,  mother  of  the  Virgin 
Mary. 

137,  Santa  Lucia,  virgin  and  martyr. 
Dante,  Inf.  \\.  100,  makes  her,  as  the 
emblem  of  illuminating  grace,  intercede 
with  Beatrice  for  his  salvation. 

146.  Trusting  only  to  thine  own 
efforts. 


CANTO   XXXHL 

I.  Chaucer,  Second  Noitues  Tale:— 

"  Thou  maide  and  mother,  dotighter  of  thy 
Ron, 
Thou  well  of  merry,  sinful  soules  cure, 
In  whom  that  (loa  of  buuntee  chces  to  won  ; 
Thou  humble  and  high  over  every  creature, 
Tbou  DoU«dc»t  to  for  forth  our  nature. 


That  no  desd.iine  the  maker  had  of  kinde 
His  son  in  blood  and  flesh  to  clothe  and  winde. 

"  Within  the  cloystre  blisful  of  thy  sides, 
Toke  maniies  shape  the  eternal  love  and  pees. 
That  of  the  trine  compas  Lord  and  gide  is. 
Whom  erthe,  and  see,  and  heven  out  of  relees 
Ay  herien  ;  and  thou,  virgine  wemmeles, 
Bare  of  thy  body  (and  dweltest  maiden  pure) 
The  creatour  of  every  creatute. 

"  Assembled  is  in  thee  magnificence 
With  mercy,  goodncsse,  and  with  swiche  pitec, 
That  thou,  that  art  the  sonne  of  excellence. 
Not  only  helpest  hem  that  praien  thee. 
But  oftentime  of  thy  benignitee 
Ful  freely,  or  that  men  thin  helpe  beserhe. 
Thou  goest  beforne,  and  art  hir  lives  leche." 

See  also  his  Ballade  of  Our  iMdie,  and 
La  Priere  de  A^ostre  Dame. 

36.  As  St.  Macarius  .said  to  his  soul  : 
"  Having  taken  up  thine  al>ode  in 
heaven,  where  thou  hast  (Jod  and  his 
holy  angels  to  converse  with,  see  that 
thou  descend  not  thence ;  regard  not 
earthly  things." 

48.  Finished  the  ardour  of  desire  in 
its  accomplishment. 

66.  Aineid,  \\\.  442,  Davidson's  Tr  : 
"  When,  wafted  thither,  you  reach  the 
city  Cumae,  the  hallowed  lakes,  and 
Avernus  resounding  through  the  woods, 
you  will  see  the  raving  proj^hete.ss,  who, 
lieneath  a  deep  rock,  reveals  the  fates, 
and  commits  to  the  leaves  of  trees  her 
characters  and  words.  Whatever  verses 
the  virgin  has  inscribed  on  the  leaves,  she 
ranges  in  harmonious  order,  and  leaves 
in  the  cave  enclosed  by  themselves :  un- 
covered they  remain  in  their  position, 
nor  recede  from  their  order.  lUit  when, 
u)ion  turning  the  hinge,  a  small  breath 
of  wind  has  blown  upon  them,  and  the 
door  [by  o))ening]  hath  discomposed  the 
tender  leaves,  she  never  afterward  cares 
to  catch  the  verses  as  they  are  fluttering 
in  the  hollow  cave,  nor  to  recover  their 
situation,  or  join  them  together." 

78.   Luke  ix.  62  :    "  No    man    having 
put  his  hand  to  the  plough,  and  looking  ' 
back,  is  fit  for  the  kingdom  of  Cod." 

86.  Thomas  Aquinas,  Sum.  Theol.^  L 
Qusest,  iv.  2  :  "If  therefore  Cod  be 
the  first  efficient  cause  of  things,  the 
perfections  of  all  things  must  pre-exist 
pre-eminently  in  (jixI."  And  Buti : 
"  In  Ciod  are  all  things  that  are  made,  as 
in  the  Fii-st  Cause,  lliat  foresees  every- 
thing." 


NOTES   TO  PARADISO. 


7iS 


90.  Of  all  the  commentaries  which 
I  have  consulted,  tliat  of  Htiti  alone 
sustains  this  rendering  of  the  line.  The 
rest  interpret  it,  "  Wjiat  I  say  is  but 
a  simple  or  feeble  glimmer  of  what  I 
saw  " 

94.  There  are  almost  as  many  inter- 
pretations of  this  passage  as  there  are 
commentators.  The  most  intelligible  is, 
that  Dante  forgot  in  a  single  moment 
more  of  the  glory  he  had  seen,  than 
the  world  had  forgotten  in  five-and- 
twenty  centuries  of  the  Argonaulic  ex- 
pedition, when  Neptune  w  ondered  at  the 
shadow  of  the  first  ship  that  ever  crossed 
the  sea. 

103.  Aristotle,  Ethics,  I.,  I,  Giilies's 
Tr.  :  "Since  every  art  and  every  kind 
of  knowledge,  as  well  as  all  the  actions 
and  all  the  deliberations  of  men,  con- 
stantly aim  at  something  which  they  call 
good,  good  in  general  may  be  justly  de- 
fined, that  which  all  desire." 

114.  In  the  same  manner  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  Griffin  in  Beatrice's  eyes, 
Purg.  XXXI.  124,  is  described  as  chang- 
ing, while  the  object  itself  remained  un- 
changed : — 


"  Think,  Reader,  if  within  myself  I  marvelled. 

When  I  beheld  the  thing  itself  stand  still, 
And  in  its  image  it  transformed  itself." 

115.  Thomas  Aquinas,  Sum.  T/ieol., 
I.  Qutest.  xxix.  2:  "What  exists  by 
itself,  and  not  in  another,  is  called  sub- 
sistence." 

116.  The  three  Persons  of  the  Tri- 
nity. 

128.  The  second  circle,  or  second 
Person  of  the  Trinity. 

131.  The  human  nature  of  Christ;  the 
incarnation  of  the  Word. 

141.  In  this  new  light  of  God's  grace, 
the  mystery  of  the  union  of  the  Divine 
and  human  nature  in  Christ  is  revealed 
to  Dante. 

144.  Wordsworth,  Resolution  and  In- 
dependence : — 

"  As  a  cloud  .  .  . 
That  heareth  not  the  loud  winds  when  they  call. 
And  moveth  all  together,  if  it  move  at  all." 

145.  I  yb/in  iv.  16  :  "  God  is  love  ; 
and  he  that  dwelleth  in  love  dwelleth  in 
God,  and  God  in  him." 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


LE  DANTE. 

Voltaire,  Dicdonnaire  Philosophique. 

Vous  voulez  connaitre  le  Dante. 
Des  Italians  I'appellent  divin  :  mais 
c'est  une  divinite  cachee  ;  peu  de  -gens 
entendent  ses  oracles  ;  il  a  des  com- 
mentateurs  :  c'est  peut-etre  encore  une 
raison  de  plus  pour  n'etre  pas  compris. 
Sa  reputation  s'affermira  toujours  parce 
qu'on  ne  le  lit  guere.  11  y  a  de  lui  une 
viiigtaine  de  traits  qu'on  salt  par  cceur  : 
cela  suffit  pour  s'epargner  la  peine  d'  ex- 
aminer le  reste. 

Ce  divin  Dante  fut,  dit-on,  un  homme 
nssez  malheureux.  Ne  croyez  pas  qu'il 
fut  divin  de  son  temps,  ni  qu'il  fut  pro- 
pliete  chez  lui.  II  est  vrai  qu'il  fut 
prieur,  non  pas  prieur  de  moines,  mais 
prieur  de  Florence,  c'est-k-dire  i'un  des 
senateurs. 

II  etait  ne  en  1260,  a  ce  que  disent 
ses  compatriotes.  Bayle,  qui  ecrivait  k 
Rotterdam,  ciirrente  calamo,  pour  son 
libraire,  environ  quatre  siecles  entiers 
apres  le  Dante,  le  fit  naitre  en  1265,* 
et  je  n'en  estime  Bayle  ni  plus  ni  moins 
pour  s'etre  tromi)e  de  cinq  ans :  la 
grande  affaire  est  de  ne  se  tromiier  ni 
en  fait  de  gout  ni  en  fait  de  raisonnemens. 

Les  arts  commen9aient  alors  ^  naitre 
dans  la  patrie  du  Dante.  Florence  etait 
comnie  Athenes,  pleine  d'esprit,  de 
grandeur,  de  leg^rete,  d'inconstance  et 
de  factions.  I,e  faction  blanche  avait 
un  grand  credit :  elle  se  nommait  ainsi 
dti  nom  de  la  signora  Bianca.  I>e  parti 
op|K>se  s'intitulait  \^  parti  des  noirs,  jx)ur 
niieux  se  distinguer  des  blancs.  Ces 
<leux  partis  ne  suffisaient  pas  aux  Flo- 
rentine, lis  avaient  encore  les  f^vdfes 
et  les  f;ibdins.  La  pi  u  part  des  b'ancs 
etaient  f^ibelins  du  jiarti  des  empereurs, 

•  Dante  naquit  en  cffet  ^  Florence,  en  1365, 
Au  mois  de  inaL 


et  les  noirs  penchaient  pour  les  gtielfa 
attaches  aux  papes. 

Toutes  ces  factions  aimaient  la  liberte, 
et  fesaint  pourtant  ce  qu'elles  pouvaient 
pour  la  detruire.  Le  pape  Boniface 
VIII.  voulut  profiler  de  ces  divisions 
pour  aneantir  le  pouvoir  des  empereurs 
en  Italie.  11  declara  Charles  de  Valois, 
frere  du  roi  de  France  Philippe-le-Bel, 
son  vicaire  en  Toscane.  Le  vicaire 
vint  bien  arme,  chassa  les  blancs  et  les 
gibelins,  et  se  fit  detester  des  noirs  et  des 
gitelfes.  Le  Dante  etait  blanc,  et  gibe- 
lin  ;  il  fut  chasse  des  premiers,  et  sa 
maison  rasee.  On  peut  juger  de  la  s'il 
fut  le  reste  de  sa  vie  affectionne  a  la 
maison  de  France  et  aux  papes  ;  on 
pretend  pourtant  qu'il  alia  (aire  un 
voyage  a  Paris,  et  que  pour  se  desen- 
nuyer  il  se  fit  theologien,  et  disputa 
vigoureusement  dans  les  ecoles.  On 
ajoute  que  I'empereur  Henri  VII.  ne 
fit  rien  pour  lui,  tout  gibelin  qu'il  etait  ; 
qu'il  alia  chez  Frederic  d'Aragon,  roi  de 
.Sicile,  et  qu'il  en  revint  aussi  pauvre 
qu'il  y  etait  alle.  II  fut  reduit  au  mar- 
quis de  Malaspina,  et  au  grand-kan  de 
Verone.  \jt  marquis  et  le  grand-kan 
ne  le  dedommagerent  pas  ;  il  mourut 
pauvre  a  Ravenne,  ^  I'age  de  cinquante- 
six  ans.  Ce  fut  dans  ces  divei^s  lieux 
qu'il  composa  sa  Coniedie  de  Venfer,  dn 
pitrgatoire  el  dn  paradis  ;  on  a  regard  c  ce 
salmigondiscommeunl)eauix)emecpique. 

II  trouva  d'abord  a  I'entree  de  I'enfer 
un  lion  et  une  louve.  Tout  d'un  coup 
Virgile  se  piesente  4  lui  pour  I'en- 
courager ;  Virgile  lui  dit  qu'il  est  n^ 
Lombard  ;  c'est  precisement  comme  si 
Momere  disait  qu'il  est  ne  Turc.  Vir- 
gile offre  de  faire  au  Dante  les  hon- 
neurs  de  I'enfer  et  du  purgatoire,  et  de 
le  mener  jusqu'a  la  porte  de  saint 
Pierre  ;  mais  il  avoue  qu'il  ne  pourra 
pa«  entrer  avec  lui 


LA  DIVINE  COMkDIE. 


717 


Cependant  Charon  les  passe  tous 
deux  dans  sa  barque.  Virgile  lui  ra- 
conte  que,  peu  de  temps  apres  son 
arrivee  en  enfer,  il  y  vit  un  etre  puis- 
sant qui  vint  cliercher  les  ames  d'Abel, 
de  Not,  d'Abraham,  de  Moi'se,  de  David. 
En  avan5ant  chemin,  ils  d^couvrent  dans 
I'enfer  des  demeures  tres  agreables  : 
dans  I'une  sont  Homere,  Horace,  Ovide 
et  Lucain  ;  dans  une  autre  on  voit 
filectre.  Hector,  £nee,  Lucrece,  Brutus 
et  le  Turc  Saladin  ;  dans  une  troisieme, 
Socrate,  Platen,  Hippocrate  et  I'Arabe 
Averroes. 

Enfin  parait  le  veritable  enfer,  ou 
Phiton  juge  les  condamnes.  Le  voya- 
geur  y  reconnait  quelques  cardinaux, 
quelques  papes,  et  beaucoup  de  Flo- 
rentins.  Tout  cela  est-il  dans  le  style 
comique  ?  Non.  Tout  est-il  dans  le 
genre  heroique  ?  Non.  Dans  quel 
gout  est  done  ce  poeme  ?  Dans  un  gout 
bizarre. 

Mais  il  y  a  des  vers  si  henreux  et  si 
nails,  qu'ils  n'ont  point  vieilli  depuis 
quatre  cents  ans,  et  qu'ils  ne  vieilliront 
jamais.  Un  poeme  d'ailleurs  oil  Ton 
met  des  papes  en  enfer  reveille  beau- 
coup  I'attention  ;  et  les  commentateurs 
epuisent  toute  la  sagacite  de  leur  esprit 
a  determiner  au  juste  qui  sont  ceux  que 
le  Dante  a  damnes,  et  a  ne  se  pas 
tromper  dans  une  matiere  si  grave. 

On  a  fonde  une  chaire,  une  lecture 
pour  expliquer  cet  auteur  classique. 
Vous  me  demanderez  comment  I'in- 
quisition  ne  s'y  oppose  pas.  Je  vous 
repondrai  que  I'inquisition  entend  rail- 
lerie  en  Italic  ;  elle  sait  bien  que  des 
plaisanteries  en  vers  ne  peuvent  point 
faire  de  mal :  vous  en  allez  jnger  par 
cette  petite  traduction  tres  libre  d  un 
morceau  du  chant  vingt-troisieme ;  il 
s'agit  d'un  damne  de  la  connaissance  de 
I'auteur.     Le  damne  parle  ainsi  : — 

Je  m'appelais  le  comte  de  Guidon  ; 
Je  fus  -sur  terre  et  soldat  et  poltron  ; 
Puis  m'enrOlai  sous  saint  Francois  d' Assise, 
Afin  qu'nn  jour  le  bout  de  son  cordon 
Me  donnat  place  en  la  celeste  eglise  ; 
Et  j'y  serais  sans  ce  pape  (&ot\. 
Qui  m'ordonna  de  servir  sa  feintise, 
Et  me  rendit  mix  griffes  du  demon. 
Voici  le  fait.     Quand  j'etais  sur  la  terre. 
Vers  Rimini  je  fis  long-temps  la  guerre, 
Moins,  )-.  I'avoue,  en  neros  qu'en  fripon. 
L'art  de  fourber  me  fit  un  grand  renom. 
Mais  qujnd  nion  chef  eut  porte  poil  grison. 
Temps  de  rptraite  ou  convient  la  sagesse. 


Le  rcpentir  vint  ronger  ma  vieillesse 

Et  j'eus  lecours  a  la  confession. 

O  repentir  tardif  et  peu  durable  ! 

Le  bon  saint-pere  en  ce  temps  guerroyait, 

Non  le  soudan,  non  le  Turc  intraitable, 

Mais  les  chretiens  qu'en  vrai  Turc  il  pillait. 

Or,  sans  respect  pour  tiare  et  tonsure, 

Pour  saint  Francois,  son  froc  et  sa  ceinture  ; 

Frere,  dit-il,  il  me  convient  d'avoir 

Incessamnient  Preneste  en  mon  pouvoir. 

Conseille-moi,  cherche  sous  ton  capuce 

Quelque  beau  tour,  quelque  gentille  astucft. 

Pour  ajouter  eu  bref  a  mes  etats 

Ce  qui  me  tente  et  ne  m'appartient  jjas. 

J'ai  les  deux  clefs  du  ciel  en  ma  puissance. 

De  Celestin  la  devote  imprudence 

S"en  servit  mal,  et  moi  je  sais  ouvrir 

Et  refermer  le  ciel  a  mon  plaisir. 

Si  tu  me  sers,  ce  ciel  est  ton  partage. 

Je  le  servis,  et  trop  bien  :  dont  jenrage. 

1 1  eut  Preneste,  et  la  mort  me  saisit. 

Lors  devers  moi  saint  Fran5ois  descendit, 

Comptant  an  ciel  amener  ma  bonne  amc ; 

Mais  Belzebiit  vint  en  poste,  et  lui  dit : 

Monsieur  d' Assise,  arretez  :  je  reclame 

Ce  conseiller  du  saint-pere,  il  est  mien  ; 

Bon  saint  Franjois,  que  chacim  ait  le  sien 

Lors  tout  psnaud  le  bon  homme  d'Assise 

M'abandonnait  au  grand  di;«ble  d'enfer. 

Je  lui  criai :  Monsieur  de  Lucifer, 

Je  suis  un  saint,  voyez  ma  robe  grise  ; 

Je  fus  absous  par  le  chef  de  I'eglise. 

J'aurai  toujours,  repondit  le  demon, 

Un  grand  respect  pour  rabsolution  : 

On  est  lave  de  ses  vieilles  .sottises, 

Pourvu  qu'apres  autres  ne  soicnt  commises. 

J'ai  fail  souvent  cette  distinction 

A  tes  pareils ;  et  grace  a  I'ltalie, 

Le  diable  sait  de  la  theologie. 

II  dit,  et  rit :  je  ne  repliquai  Hen 

A  Belzebut  ;  il  raisonnait  trop  bien. 

Lors  il  m'empoigne,  et  d'un  bras  raide  et  ferme 

11  appliqua  sur  mon  triste  epiderme 

Vingt  coups  de  fouet,  dont  bien  fort  il  me  cuit : 

Que  Dieu  le  rende  a  Boniface  huit. 


LA  DIVINE  COMfiDIE. 
Rivarol.  £tude  sur  Dante, 
fitrange  et  admirable  entreprise ! 
Remonter  du  dernier  gouffre  des  En- 
fers,  jusqu'au  sublime  sanctuaire  des. 
Cieux  ;  cmbrasser  la  double  hierarchie 
des  vices  et  des  vertus,  I'extreme  mi- 
s^re  et  la  supreme  felicite,  le  temps  et 
I'etemite ;  peindre  a-Ia-fois  I'ange  et 
I'homme,  I'autenr  de  tout  mal,  et  le 
saint  des  saints  !  Aussi  on  ne  pent  se 
figiirer  la  sensation  prodigieuse  que  fit 
sur  toute  ITtalie  ce  Poeme  national, 
rempli  de  hardiesses  centre  les  Papes  ; 
d'allnsions  anx  evenemens  recens  et  anx 
questions  qui  agitoient  les  esprits  ;  ecrit 
d'ailleurs  dans  une  langne  an  berceau, 
qui  prenoit  entre  les  mains  dn  Dante 
une  fierte  qu'elle  n'eut  plus  apres  lui, 

3   B  2 


718 


lU.USTRA  TIONS. 


et  qu'on  ne  lui  connoissoh  pas  avant. 
L'effet  qu'il  pioduisit  fut  tel,  que  lors- 
que  son  langage  nide  et  original  ne  fut 
presque  plus  entendu,  et  qu'on  cut  yier- 
du  la  clef  des  allusions,  sa  grande  repu- 
tation ne  laissa  pas  de  s'etendre  dans  un 
espace  de  cinq  cents  ans,  comme  ces 
fortes  commotions  dont  I'ebranlement  se 
propage  a  d'immenses  distances. 

L'ltalie  donna  le  nom  de  diviit  a  ce 
Poeme  et  a  son  Auteur  ;  et  quoiqu'on 
I'eilt  laisse  mourir  en  exil,  cependant 
ses  amis  et  ses  nombreux  admirateurs 
eurent  assez  de  credit,  sept  a  huit  ans 
apres  sa  mort,  pour  faire  condamner  le 
Poete  Cecco  d'Ascoii  a  etre  briile  pub- 
liquement  a  Florence,  sous  pretexte  de 
magie  et  d'lieresie,  mais  reellement 
parce  qu'il  avoit  ose  critiquer  le  Dante. 
Sa  patrie  lui  eleva  des  monumens,  et 
envoya,  par  decret  du  .Senat,  une  depu- 
tation a  un  de  ses  petits-fils,  qui  refusa 
d'entrer  dans  la  maison  et  les  biens  de 
son  aieul.  Trois  Papes  ont  depuis  ac- 
cepte  la  dedicace  de  i.A  Divina  Come- 
DIA,  et  on  a  fonde  des  chaires  pour  ex- 
pliquer  les  oracles  de  cette  obscure  di- 
vinite.* 

Les  longs  cortimentaires  n'ont  pas 
eclairci  les  difficultes,  la  foule  des  Com- 
mentateurs  n'ayant  \\\  par-tout  que  la 
theologie :  mais  ils  auroient  du  voir 
aussi  la  mythologie,  car  le  Poete  les  a 
melees.  lis  veulent  tous  absolument 
que  le  Dante  soil  la  pnrtie  auimale,  ou 
les  sens  ;  Virgile,  la  philosopkie  morale, 
ou  la  simple  raison  ;  et  Beatrix,  la  lii- 
miere  rH'Hie,  ou  la  theologie.  Ainsi, 
I'homme  grossier  reprtsente  par  le 
Dante,  apres  s'etre  egare  dans  une  foret 
obscure,  qui  signifie,  suivant  eux,  les 
•orages  de  la  jeunesse,  est  ramene  par  la 
raison  &  la  connoissance  des  vices  et  des 
peines  qu'ils  meritent  ;  c'est-a-dire,  aux 
Enfers  et  au  Purgatoire  :  mais  quand  il 
se  presente  aux  portes  du  Ciel,  Beatrix 
se  montre,  et  Virgile  disparoit.  C'est 
la  raison  qui  fuit  devaijt  la  theologie. 

•  Le  Dante  n'a  pas  donn^  le  nom  Ae'ComMie 
aux  troi»  grandes  parties  de  son  Poime,  parce 
(lu'il  finit  d'une  manicre  heureuse,  ayant  le 
Paradis  pour  ddnuAment,  aInsi  que  I'onl  cru 
les  Commcntitcurs  :  mais  parce  qu  ayant  honor^ 
I'Kndide  du  nom  d'Al.TA  TRAOKUIA,  il  a  voulu 
prendre  un  litre  plus  humble,  qui  convint  mieux 
■u  style  qu'il  cmploie,  si  difTdrent  en  cffet  de 
c«lui  do  son  maltrc 


II  est  difficile  de  se  figurer  qu'on 
puisse  faire  un  beau  Poeme  avec  de 
telles  idees  ;  et  ce  qui  doit  nous  mettre 
en  garde  contre  ces  sortes  d'explica- 
tions,  c'est  qu'il  n'est  rien  qu'on  ne 
puisse  plier  sous  I'allegorie  avec  plus 
ou  moins  de  bonheur.  On  n'a  qu'i 
voir  celle  que  le  Tasse  a  lui-meme 
trouvde  dans  sa  Jerusalem. 

Mais  11  est  temps  de  nous  occuper 
du  Poeme  de  I'Enfer  en  particulier,  de 
son  coloris,  de  ses  beautes  et  de  ses 
defauts. 

Au  temps  oit  le  Dante  ecrivoit,  la 
Litterature  se  reduisoit  en  France, 
comme  en  Espagne,  aux  petites  poe- 
sies des  Troubadours.  En  Italic,  on 
ne  faisoit  rien  d'important  dans  la  lan- 
gue  du  peuple  ;  tout  s' ecrivoit  en  latin. 
Mais  le  Dante  ayant  a  construire  son 
monde  ideal,  et  voulant  peindre  pour 
son  siecle  et  sa  nation,*  prit  ses  mate- 
riaux  oil  il  les  trouva  :  il  fit  parler  une 
langue  qui  avoit  begaye  jusqu'alors, 
et  les  mots  extraordinaires  qu'il  creoit 
au  besoin,  n'ont  servi  qu'a  lui  seul. 
Voila  une  des  causes  de  son  obscurite. 
D'ailleurs  il  n'est  point  de  Poete  qui 
tende  plus  de  pi^ges  k  son  Traducleur  j 
c'est  presque  toujours  des  bizarreries, 
des  enigmes  ou  des  horreurs  qu'il  lui 
propose :  il  entasse  les  comparaisons 
les  plus  degoutantes,  les  allusions,  les 
termes  de  I'ecole  et  les  expressions  les 
plus  basses  :  rien  ne  lui  paroit  mepri- 
sable,  et  la  langue  fran9aise  chaste  et 
timoree  s'effarouche  h.  chaque  phrase. 
Le  Traducteur  a  sans  cesse  fi  luttei 
contre  un  style  affame  de  poesie,  qui 
est  riche  et  point  delicat,  et  qui  dans 
cinq  ou  six  tirades  epuise  ses  ressources, 
et  lui  desseche  ses  palettes.  Quel 
parti  done  prendre  ?  Celui  de  menager 
ses  couleurs  ;  car  il  s'agit  d'en  foumir 
aux  dessins  les  plus  fiers  qui  aient  et^ 
traces  de  main  d'homme  ;  et  lors- 
qu'on  est  pauvre  et  delicat,  il  con- 
vient  d'etre  sobre.  II  faut  surtout  va- 
rier  ses   inversions  :    le   Dante  dessine 


•  C'est  un  des  grands  d«?fa<its  du  Poeme, 
d'fitre  fait  un  peu  trop  pour  le  moment  :  deli 
vient  que  I'Autcur  ne  s'attachant  qu'a  prc'sonter 
sjins  cesse  les  nouvelles  tortures  qu'il  iiivente, 
court  toujours  en  avant,  et  ne  fait  q  I'indiquer 
les  a  ventures.  C'^toit  assez  pour  st.n  tempt- 
pas  a&sez  pour  le  nCtre. 


LA  DIVINE  COM&DIE. 


719 


quelquefois  I'attitude  de  ses  person- 
nages  par  la  coupe  de  ses  phrases  ;  il  a 
des  brusqueries  de  style  qui  produisent 
de  grands  effets  ;  et  souvent  dans  la 
peiiiture  de  ses  supplices  il  emploie 
une  fatigue  de  mots  qui  rend  merveil- 
leusement  celie  des  tourment6s.  L'ima- 
gination  passe  toujours  de  la  surprise 
que  lui  cause  la  description  d'une  chose 
incroyable,  a  reffroi  que  lui  donne  ne- 
cessairement  la  verite  du  tableau :  il 
arrive  de-la  que  ce  monde  visible  ayant 
fourni  au  Poete  assez  d'images  pour 
peindre  son  monde  ideal,  il  conduit  et 
ramene  sans  cesse  le  Lecteur  de  I'un  a 
I'autre  ;  et  ce  melange  d'evenemens  si 
invraisemblables  et  de  couleurs  si  vraies, 
fait  toute  la  magie  de  son  Poeme. 

Le  Dante  a  versifie  par  tercets,  ou 
i  rimes  triplees ;  et  c'est  de  tons  les 
I'oetes  celui  qui,  pour  mieux  porter  le 
joug,  s'est  permis  le  plus  d'expressions 
impropres  et  bizarres  :  mais  aussi  quand 
il  est  beau,  rien  ne  lui  est  comparable. 
Son  vers  se  tient  debout  par  le  seule 
force  du  substantif  et  du  verl>e,  sans  le 
concours  d'une  seule  epithete.* 

Si  Ifs  comparaisons  et  les  tortures 
que  le  Dante  imagine,  sont  quelquefois 
horribles,  elks  ont  toujours  un  cote 
iiigenieux,  et  chaque  supplice  est  pris 
dans  la  nature  du  crime  qu'il  punit. 
Quant  a  ses  idees  les  plus  bizarres,  elles 
offrent  aussi  je  ne  sais  quoi  de  grand  et 
de  rare  qui  etonne  et  attache  le  Lec- 
teur. Son  dialogue  e^t  souvent  plein 
de  vigneur  et  de  nature!,  et  tous  ses 
personnages  sont  fierement  dessines. 
La  plupart  de  ses  peintures  ont  encore 
aujourd'hui  la  force  de  I'antique  et  la 
fraicheur  du  moderne,  et  peuvent  etre 
comparees  a  ces  tableaux  d'un  coloris 
sombre  et  effrayant,  qui  sorloient  des 
ateliers  des  Michel-Ange  et  des  Car- 
raches,  et  donnoient  a  des  snjets  em- 
pnmtes  de  la  Religion,  une  sublimite 
qui  parloit  a  tous  les  yeux. 

•  Tels  sont  sans  doute  aussi  les  beaux  vers 
de  Virgile  et  d'Homere  ;  ils  offrent  a-la-fcis  la 
pense'e,  I'image  et  le  sentiment ;  ce  sont  de 
vrais  polypes,  vivans  dans  le  tout,  et  vivans 
dans  chaque  partie  ;  et  dans  cette  plenitude  de 
poeMe,  il  ne  peut  se  trouver  un  mot  qui  n'ait  une 
grande  intention.  Mais  on  n'y  sent  pas  ce  goflt 
apie  ct  sauvage,  cette  franchise  qui  ne  peut 
f'alller  avec  la  perfection,  et  qui  fait  le  caractere 
el  le  charnie  du  Dante. 


II  est  vrai  que  dans  cette  immense 
galerie  de  supplices,  on  ne  rencontre 
pas  assez  d'episodes  ;  et  malgre  la  brie- 
vete  des  Chants,  qui  sont  comme  des 
repos  places  de  tres-pres,  le  Lecteur  le 
plus  intrepide  ne  pent  echapper  a  la 
fatigue.  C'est  le  vice  fondamental  du 
Poeme. 

Enfin,  du  melange  d^  ses  beautes  et 
de  ses  defauts,  il  resulte  un  Poeme  qui 
ne  ressemble  a  rien  de  ce  qu'on  a  vu, 
et  qui  laisse  dans  Tame  une  impression 
durable.  On  se  demande,  apres  I'avoir 
lu,  comment  un  homme  a  pu  trouver 
dans  son  imagination  tant  de  supplices 
difierens,  qu'il  senible  avoir  epuise  les 
ressources  de  la  vengeance  divine ; 
comment  il  a  pu,  dans  une  langue  nais- 
sante,  les  peindre  avec  des  couleurs  si 
chaudes  et  si  vraies  ;  et  dans  une  car- 
riere  de  trente-quatre  Chants  se  tenir 
sans  cesse  la  tete  courbee  dans  les  En- 
fers. 

Au  reste,  ce  Poeme  ne  pouvoit  pa- 
roitre  dans  des  circonstances  plus  mal- 
heureuses  :  nous  sommes  trop  pres  ou 
trop  loin  de  son  sujet.  Le  Dante  par- 
loit a  des  esprits  religieux,  pour  qui  ses 
paroles  etoient  des  paroles  de  vie,  et 
qui  t'entendoient  a  demi-mot  :  mais  il 
semble  qu'aujourdUnti  on  ne  puisse  plus 
trailer  les  grands  sujets  mystiques  d'une 
maniere  serieuse.  Si  jamais,  ce  qu'il 
n'est  pas  permis  de  croire,  notrc  theo- 
logie  devenoit  une  langue  morte,  et 
s'il  arrivoit  qu'elle  obtint,  comme  la 
mythologie,  les  honneurs  de  I'antique  ; 
alors  le  Dante  inspireroit  une  autre 
espece  d'interet  :  son  Poeme  s'eleveroit 
comme  un  grand  monument  au  milieu 
des  mines  des  Litteratures  et  des  Reli- 
gions :  il  scroit  plus  facile  a  cette  pos- 
terite  reculee,  de  s'accommoder  des 
peintures  serieuses  du  Poete,  et  de  se 
penetrer  de  la  veritable  terreur  de  son 
Enfer ;  on  se  feroit  chretien  avec  le 
Dante,  comme  on  se  fait  payen  avec 
Homere.  * 

•  Je  serois  tent^  de  croire  que  ce  Pofeme 
auroit  produit  de  I'effet  sous  Louis  XIV.,  quand 
je  vois  Pascal  avouer  dans  ce  siecle,  que  la 
severity  de  Dieu  envers  les  damnes  le  surprend 
moins  que  sa  niisericorde  envers  les  elus.  On 
verra  par  quelques  citations  de  cct  eloquent  niys- 
anthrope,  qu'il  ^loit  bien  digne  de  faire  I'En- 
fer,  et  que  pent-etre  celui  du  Dante  lui  efit 
semble  trop  doux. 


720 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


NOTES  SUR  LE  DANTE. 

Par  Alphonse  de  Lamartine. 

Nous  alloiis  froisser  tons  les  fana- 
tismes  ;  n'importe,  disons  ce  que  nous 
pensons. 

On  peut  classer  le  poeme  du  Dante 
de  VEn/er,  du  Pni'gatoire  et  du  Paradis 
parmi  les  poemes  populaires,  c'est-a-dire 
paimi  ces  poesies  locales,  nationales, 
temporaires,  qui  emanent  du  genie  du 
lieu,  de  la  nation,  du  temps  (genius  loci), 
et  qui  s'adressent  aux  croyances,  aux 
superstitions,  aux  passions  infimes  de 
la  multitude.  Quand  le  poete  est  aussi 
mediocre  que  son  pays,  son  peuple  et 
son  temps,  ces  poesies  sont  entrainees 
dans  le  courant  ou  dans  I'egout  des  ages 
avec  la  multitude  qui  les  goute  ;  quand 
le  poete  est  un  grand  liomme  d'expres- 
sion,  comme  le  Dante,  le  poete  survit 
eternellement,  et  on  essaie,  eternelle- 
ment  aussi  de  faire  survivre  le  poeme  ; 
mais  on  n'y  parvient  pas.  L'oeuvre, 
jadis  intelligible  et  populaire,  aujour- 
d'hui  tenebreuse  et  inexplicable,  resiste, 
comme  le  sphinx,  aux  interrogations  des 
erudits,  il  n'en  subsiste  que  des  frag- 
ments plus  semblables  k  des  enigmes 
qu'a  des  monuments. 

Pour  comprendre  le  Dante,  il  faudrait 
ressusciter  toute  la  ^pulace  florentine 
de  son  epoque  :  car  ce  sont  ses  croy- 
ances, ses  haines,  ses  popularites  et  ses 
impopuiarites  qu'il  a  chantees.      II   est 

[)uni  par  oil  il  a  peche  :  il  a  chants  pour 
a  place  publique,  la  posterite  ne  le 
comprend  plus. 

Tout  ce  qu'on  peut  comprendre, 
c'est  que  le  poeme  exclusivement  tos- 
can  du  Dante  etait  une  espece  de  satire 
vengeresse  du  poete  et  de  I'homme 
d'filat  contre  les  hommes  et  le  partis 
auxquels  il  avait  voue  sa  baine.  L'idee 
ctait  mesquine  et  indigne  du  poete. 
I.e  genie  n  est  pas  un  jouet  mis  au  ser- 
vice de  nos  petites  coleres ;  c'est  un 
don  de  Dieu  qu'on  peut  profaner  en  le 
ravalant  k  des  petitesses.  I-a  lyre, 
pour  nous  servir  de  I'expression  an- 
tique, n'est  pas  une  tenaille  pour  tor- 
turer nos  adversaires,  une  claie  pour 
trainer  des  cadavres  aux  g^monies ;  il 
faut  laisser  cela  4  faire  au  bourreau :  ce 
n'est  i^as  oeuvre  de  po^te.  I.e  Dante 
eut  ce  tort ;    il  crut  que  les  si^cles,   in- 


fatues  par  ses  vers,  prendraient  parti 
contre  on  ne  salt  quels  rivaux  ou  quels 
ennemis  inconnus  qui  battaient  alors  le 
pav^  de  Florence.  Ces  amities  ou  ces 
inimitids  d'hommes  obscurs  sont  par- 
faitement  indifferentes  a  la  posterity. 
Elle  aime  mieux  un  beau  vers,  une  belle 
image,  un  beau  sentiment,  que  toute  cette 
chronique  rimee  de  la  i)lace  du  Vieux- 
Palais  {Palazzo -Vecchio)  a  Florence. 

Au  lieu  de  faire  un  poeme  ^pique 
vaste  et  immortel  comme  la  nature,  le 
Dante  a  fait  la  gazette  florentine  de  la 
posterite.  C'est  la  le  vice  de  VEn/er 
du  Dante.  Une  gazette  ne  vit  qu'un 
jour  ;  mais  le  style  dans  lequel  le  Dante 
a  ^crit  cette  gazette  est  imperissable. 
R^duisons  done  ce  poeme  bizarre  a  sa 
vraie  valeur,  le  style,  ou  plutot  quelques 
fragments  de  style.  Nous  pensons  a  cet 
dgard  comme  Voltaire,  le  propliete  du 
bon  sens  :  "  Otez  du  Dante  soixante 
ou  quatre-vingts  vers  sublimes  et  ve'ri- 
tablement  s^culaires,  il  n'y  a  guere  que 
nuage,  barbaric,  triviality  et  Idnebres 
dans  le  reste." 

Nous  sjjvons  bien  que  nous  choquons, 
en  parlant  ainsi,  toute  une  ^cole  litt^raire 
r^cente  qui  s'acbame  sur  le  poeme  du 
Dante  sans  le  comprendre,  comme  les 
mangeurs  d'opium  s'acharnent  a  regarder 
le  vide  du  firmament  pour  y  decouvrir 
Dieu.  Mais  nous  avons  vdcu  de  longues 
anndes  eu  Italic,  dans  la  soci^t^  de  ces 
commeutateurs  et  explicateursdu  Dante, 
qui  se  succedent  de  generation  en  g^n^- 
ration,  comme  les  ombres  sur  les  bicro- 
glyphes  des  obelisques  de  Tliebes  ;  nous 
avons  v(5cu  meme  de  longues  anndes  a 
Florence,  parmi  les  lidritiers  des  hommes 
et  j)armi  les  traditions  des  choses  chan- 
tdes,  vantdes  ou  invectivdes  par  le  poete, 
et  nous  pouvons  affirmer  cju  aucun  d'eux  ^ 
n'a  fait  que  ddchiffrer  des  choses  sou- 
vent  bien  pen  dignes  d'etre  ddchi(Tr<5es. 
La  pers«$v6rance  meme  de  ces  commen- 
tateurs  est  la  meillcure  preuve  de  I'ini- 
puissance  du  commentaire  i  dlucider  le 
texte.  Un  secret  une  fois  trouvd  ne  ce 
chcrche  plus  avec  tant  d'acharnement. 
De  jeunes  Fran^ais  se  sont  dvertuds 
maintenant  i  poursuivre  ce  qui  a  lass^ 
les  Toscans  eux-memes.  Que  le  dieu 
du  chaos  leur  soil  propice  ! 

Quant  i  nous,  nous  n'avons  trouv^, 
comme  Voltaire,  dans  le  Dante,  qu'un 


LA    COMEDIE  DIVINE. 


721 


grand  inventeur  de  style,  un  grand 
crdateur  de  langue  ^gar^  dans  une  con- 
ception de  tenebies,  un  immense  frag- 
ment de  poete  dans  un  petit  nombre  de 
fragments  de  vers  graves,  plotot  qu'e- 
crits,  avec  le  ciseau  de  ce  Michel-Ange 
de  la  poesie  ;  une  trivialite  grossiere 
qui  descend  jusqu'au  cynisme  du  mot 
it  jusqu'a  la  crapule  de  I'image  ;  une 
[uintessence  de  th^ologie  scholastique 
qui  s'^leve  jusqu'a  la  vaporisation  de 
I'idee  ;  enfin,  pour  tout  dire  d'un  mot, 
un  grand  homme  et  un  mauvais  livre. 


LA  COMfiDIE  DIVINE. 

Edgar  Quinet,  I^s  Revolutions  d'ltalie, 
Cliap.  VII. 

Comme  dans  chaque  detail  d'une 
cathedrale  vous  retiouvez  le  caractere 
de  I'ensemble,  de  meme  dans  chaque 
partie  du  pocme  de  Dante  vous  retrou- 
vez  en  abreg^  toutes  les  autres.  Les 
souvenirs  politiques  dominent  dans 
I'Enfer  ;  la  politique  s'unit  a  la  philo- 
sopliie  dans  le  Purgatoire,  la  philo- 
sophic a  la  theologie  dans  le  Paradis  ; 
en  sorte  que  dans  ce  long  itineraire, 
les  bruits  du  monde  s'evanouissent  peu 
a  peu  et  achevent  de  se  perdre  dans 
I'extase  des  derniers  chants.  II  y  a 
dans  I'Enfer  des  eclairs  d'une  joie  per- 
due qui  rappellent  et  entr'ouvrent  le 
Paradis  ;  11  y  a  dans  le  Paradis  des 
plaintes  lamentables,  des  proph^ties  de 
malheur  comme  si  le  firmament  lui- 
meme  s'abimait  dans  le  gouffre,  et  que 
I'extreme  douieur  ressaisit  rhomme  au 
sein  de  I'extreme  joie. 

Diviser  par  fragments  le  poeme  de 
Dante,  comme  on  le  fait  ordinairement, 
c'est  le  meconnaitre  ;  il  faut  au  moins 
suivre  une  fois,  tout  d'une  haleine,  le 
poete  dans  ces  trois  mondes  qui  se 
touc'iient,  embrasser  d'un  seul  regard 
I'horizoii  des  tenel^res  et  de  la  lumiere, 
suivre  le  chemin  de  la  torture  qui  mene 
.\  la  felicite,  recueillir  tout  les  eclios  de 
doulcur  et  de  joie  qui  s'appellent  sans 
trouver  de  reponse,  et  place  au  sonmiet 
du  poeme,  s'orienter  dans  la  cite  du 
Dieu  et  du  Demon  :  il  faut  entendre 
une  fois  le  miserere  des  damncs  dans  les 
fleuves  de  sang,  en  meme  temps  que 
I'hosannah  des  bienheureux,  puisque 
c'est  de  ce   melange  que  st  forme  I'ac- 


cord  complet  de  la  Cumidie  divine.  Le 
demon  couve  le  fond  de  I'abime  en 
meme  temps  que  I'aile  des  seraphins 
traverse  les  jardins  de  I'Etheree.  Cette 
infinite  de  joie  qui  confine  a  cette  infinite 
de  douieur,  cet  echo  infemal  qui  repond 
a  un  echo  emparadise,  cet  abime  qui 
vous  enveloppe  dans  tous  les  sens,  cette 
malediction  qui  repond  a  cette  benedic- 
tion, cet  ordre  dans  I'incommensurable, 
c'est  la  ))ensee  qui  donne  le  jirix  a  toutes 
les  autres.  A  cela  joignez,  pour  ac- 
croitre  la  realite  de  la  cite  de  I'abime,  le 
cortege  des  souvenirs  poignants  que  le 
poete  emporte  avec  lui,  le  sentiment  de 
personnalite  qui  non-seulement  survit, 
mais  semble  encore  s'exalter  dans  la 
mort.  Les  heresies  avaient  deja,  pour 
un  moment,  ebranle  le  vieux  dogma. 
Mais  il  etait  une  chose  qu'aucune  secte 
n'avait  encore  mise  en  doute  au  treizieme 
siecie ;  la  fois  dans  I'immortalite  et  la 
resurrection.  On  croyait  a  cet  empire 
des  morts,  au  moins  autant  qu'a  I'enqiire 
des  vivants  ;  et  comme  les  esprits  s'en 
etaient  beaucoup  plus  occupes,  on  le 
connaissait  mieux  que  le  monde  visible. 
Les  families  humaines  etaient  si  cer- 
taines  de  se  retrouver  la,  chacune  avec 
sa  langue,  son  accent,  sa  physionomie 
Chez  Dante,  ce  ne  sont  pas  seulement 
les  personnes,  mais  aussi  les  choses,  les 
obje's,  les  lieux  aimes  qui  sont  trans- 
portes  dans  le  pays  des  morts.  Vous 
retrouvez  dans  I'Enfer  les  chateaux  forts, 
les  villes,  les  mumilles  crenelees,  le 
ponts-levis  des  Guelfes  et  des  Gibelins 
Chaque  endroit  de  I'abime  est  decrit 
avec  une  precision  qui  vous  le  fait  toucher 
du  doigt.  La  Jerusalem  mystique  est 
construite  des  debris  de  Florence.  Les 
principaux  lieux  de  I'ltalie  reparaissent 
assombris  par  le  triste  soleil  des  morts. 
C'est  le  beau  lac  de  CJarda,  ce  sont  les 
lagunes  de  Venise,  ou  les  digues  de  la 
Bienta,  ou  les  flancs  mines  des  Alpes 
Tarentines  qui  forment  en  partie  Thorizon 
de  la  cite  eternelle.  Ce  melange  de 
merveilleux  et  de  reel  vous  saisit  a  chaque 
i  pas ;  c'est  encore  I'llalie,  mais  renversee, 
du  haut  des  monts,  au  bruit  de  la  trompe 
des  archanges,  sous  les  pieds  du  dernier 
juge. 

Le  desordre,  le  chaos,  tous  les  tons 
qui  se  brisent,  voila  le  genie  veritable- 
ment  satanique.     Plus  la  confusion  est 


722 


ILLUSTRA  TIONS. 


grande,  plus  les  inventions  sont  efFre- 
nees,  et  mo!ns  vous  soup^onnez  Tart  de 
les  avoirs  arrangees  pour  iin  effet  du 
moment.  Le  comhie  de  Tart,  ici,  est 
d'etre  naturellement  desordonne.  L'an- 
tiquite  grecque  venant  a  se  rencontrer 
avec  le  moyen  age,  produit  une  disso- 
nance eTroyal)le,  harmonie  de  I'enfer. 
Quand  I'esprit  se  heurte  a  ces  anachro- 
uismes  monstrueux  qui  enchahient  a  la 
meme  pensee,  souvent  a  la  meme  place, 
les  paiens  et  les  Chretiens,  melant  indis- 
tinctement  toutes  ies  generations,  joi- 
gnant  Fyrrhus  et  Attila,  il  semble  que 
les  differences  des  siecles  s'effacent,  et 
que  le  temps  meme  disparaisse  dans  le 
poeme  de  I'eternite. 

Quelles  sont,  au  milieu  de  ce  chaos, 
les  relations  du  poete  et  du  poenie  ? 
L'auteur  tremble  devant  ses  propres 
conceptions.  Pendant  que  les  appari- 
tions surgissent,  il  voudrait  fermer  ses 
yeux  et  ses  oreilles.  Vous  voyez  une 
oeuvre  formidal)le,  qui  s'accomplit,  pour 
ainsi  dire,  d'elle-nieme,  et  l'auteur  qui 
demande  grace  a  son  genie.  C'est  en 
vain  ;  I'oeuvre  inexorable  se  deroule ; 
elle  s'accroit  comme  une  force  invincible, 
elle  entraine  avec  elle  le  poete.  Muse 
assurement  infernale,  elle  Tentoure,  I'in- 
vestit  de  toutes  parts ;  malgre  ses  trem- 
blements,  ses  cris  etouffes,  elle  le  precipite 
de  tourbillons  en  tourbillons,  de  terreurs 
en  terreurs.  Les  i)uissances  de  son  esprit 
evoquees,  Dante  ne  s'appartient  plus  ;  il 
a  trace  autour  de  lui  le  cercle  des  incan- 
tations, il  n'en  sortira  pas.  Poitant 
d'avance  son  chatiment,  il  tente  de  rentrer 
dans  le  moade  reel  ;  mais  cela  lui  est 
imi)ossible.  Aussi  suis-je  tout  pres  de  le 
croire  quand,  accable  sous  le  poids  de  sa 
pensee,  epouvante  par  son  ceuvre,  il 
m'appelle  et  me  (lit  :  "  Lecteur,  je 
t'assure  que  je  I'ai  vu,  et  mes  cheveux  en 
sont  encore  lierisses  cle  pcur."  Comme 
je  ne  puis  m'empecher  de  donner  ma 
sym|}athie  et  mon  ca-ur  k  cet  homme 
si  simple  qui  m'appelle  ^  son  sccours  et 
tend  vers  moi  les  mains,  je  le  suis  des 
yeux  dans  les  profondeurs  de  I'abinie  oi^ 
il  m'atiire.  I'enche  sur  le  gouffre, 
j'eprouve  avec  les  encliantcments  du 
vertigc  I'envie  de  me  prccipiter  dans  ces 
certles  et  ces  tourbillons  qui,  toujours 
diminuant  au  bruit  des  hymnes  infernaux 
et  des  suupirs  de  Fran9oi»e  de  Rimini  et 


d'Ugolin,    ni'cnlrainent   sans  defense  au 
sein  de  I'Infini  lui-meme. 

L'liomme  ecrase  par  sa  propre  pensee, 
voila  une  situation  que  le  genie  antique 
no  connaissait  pas  ;  elle  conduit  a  un 
principe  tout  nouveau  de  style.  Vous 
avez  vu  dans  le  tableau  du  jugement  der 
nier  de  Michel-Ange,  les  c^prits  effrayes 
par  le  son  de  la  trompette  des  anges  et 
par  la  splendeur  du  Christ  juge,  se 
couvrir  les  yeux  de  leurs  mains.  C'est 
la  un  geste  naturel  au  Uante.  Plus  sa 
pensee  est  formidable,  et  plus  il  craint  de 
I'augmenter  par  ses  paroles  ;  il  la  cache, 
la  retient  sous  une  expression  qui  semble 
d'abord  I'attt-nuer  ;  mais  la  hnniere  mau- 
dite  perce  plus  formidable  sous  ce  voile. 
L'echo  de  I'enfer  rugit  avec  plus  de  force 
sous  ces  paroles  detounu'es  qui  seir.'jlaient 
dabord  faites  \io\xx  I'etoufFer. 

Les  seuls  etres  qui  n'efifrayent  pas 
Dante  et  qui  paraissent  ses  interlocuteurs 
naturels,  ce  sont  les  morts.  Comme  il 
converse  familierement  avec  eux  I  cjuelle 
intimite  d'une  nature  toute  nouvelle  I  11 
est  vrai  que  ce  ne  sont  plus  seuiement 
des  fantomes  comme  dans  I'antiquite ; 
jamais,  au  contraire,  sous  le  soleil,  vies 
ne  furent  plus  ardentes,  ni  personnalites 
plus  indestructibles !  Au  milieu  de 
toutes  les  tortures,  le  doute  en  I'immor- 
talite  n'a  jamais  penetre  dans  le  creur  de 
ces  damnes.  Puis,  une  jwrtie  de  ces 
morts  sont  d'hier  ;  et  cependant,  qu'ils 
ont  appris  de  choses_  dans  les  Klysees  du 
Christ  !  ils  se  souviennent  du  passe  ;  ils 
prevoient  I'avenir  ;  ils  n'ignorent  que  le 
present. 

Sans  doute,  les  supplices  semblent 
trop  mattriels  ;  mais  n'oubliez  pas  qu'ik 
ne  sont  que  le  signe  du  supplice  interifjur; 
ni  Farinata,  ni  Hertrand  de  Born,  ni 
Ugolin,  ni  Franyoise  de  Rimini,  ces 
figures  si  connues  qui  parlent  en  pleurant, 
ne  se  plaignent  des  blessures  de  leurs 
corps,  do  la  tempete  eternelle,  du  bitume 
brulant,  ou  du  lac  glace.  lis  n'accuseni 
que  la  blessure  interieure  ;  et  peut-^tre 
jamais  I'obsession  de  la  pensee  n'a-t-elle 
mieux  paru  que  dans  la  fiertc  terrible 
d'une  jiartie  de  ces  damnes  qui  au  milieu 
des  tf)rtures  des  sens  ne  parlent  jamais 
que  des  tortures  de  I'esprit.  Leurs  dis- 
cours,  leurs  recits,  contrastent  avec  lea 
fureurs  du  sujiplice  ;  vous  croiriez  qu'ils 
ne  sont  occupts  que  de  ce  qui  est  autour 


LA    COMEDIE  DIVINE. 


723 


d'eux  ;  au  contraire,  c'est  le  souvenir 
d'un  certain  jour,  d'une  certaine  heure 
^loignee  dont  I'enfer  tout  entier  ne  ])eut 
les  distraire.  lis  se  repaissent  eternelle- 
ment  de  ce  souvenir,  en  sorte  que  tout 
cet  appareil  de  tourments  materiels  ne 
sert  qu'a  mieux  montrer  la  plaie  invisible 
de  Tame. 

Qiiand  les  f)eintres  du  moyen  age  ont 
tente  de  fixer  les  visions  de  Dante  sur  les 
murailies,  ils  ont  reussi  a  representer  son 
Paradis  ;  ils  ont  ete  incapables  de  copier 
son  Enfer.  Dans  les  anges  couronnts 
d'aureoles  sur  les  fiesques  de  Gozzoli,  de 
Thaddeo  Gaddi,  rayonnent  la  foi,  le 
repos,  I'extase  du  sejour  des  seraphins  ; 
les  levres  benies  murmurent  les  tercets 
emparadises  de  Beatrix.  Mais  sitot  que 
ces  memes  hommes  veulent  representer 
i'Enfer,  ils  perdent  leur  genie.  Le 
pinceau  veritablement  beat  de  Fra  An- 
gelico  ne  pent  suivre  le  poete  dans  le 
chaos  de  la  cite  maudite  ;  il  n'en  exprime 
tout  au  plus  qu'urjp  ombre  burlesque. 
Les  pieuses  confreries  d'artistes  sont  in- 
capables, au  quatorzieme  siecle,  de 
descendre  de  sang-froid  dans  I'abime  du 
mal. 

Voulez-vous  rencontrer  iin  spectacle 
tout  oppose,  il  faut  arriver  au  seizienie 
siecle,  devant  le  Juge/noit  dernier  de 
Michel-Ange.  C'est  ici  le  regne  de 
I'enfer  ;  la  terreur  a  penetre  jusque  dans 
le  paradis.  Au  milieu  de  I'liorreur  uni- 
verselle,  il  senible  que  la  tempete  gronde, 
et  que  la  cite  dolente  ait  tout  envahi. 
Dans  cette  barque  maudite,  chargee  de 
damnes,  que  conduit  un  noir  cherubin,  je 
reconnais  celle  que  Dante  a  rencontree 
pres  du  fleuve  de  sang.  Voila  sur  le 
rivage  le  serpent  qui  entoure  de  ses  replis 
le  pretre  sacrilege  ;  voila  le  Minos  de  la 
Coinedie  divine.  Mais  la  beatitude  des 
cieux  de  Fiesole,  de  Perugin,  qu'est-elle 
de  venue  ?  oii  est  le  sourire  de  Beatrix  ? 
ou  est  la  r<5gion  de  paix,  I'hosannah  des 
bienheureux  ?  Nulle  part.  Que  s'est-il 
done  pass^  ?  Le  mpyen  age  est  fini ;  la 
reformation  a  dechire  le  rideau  du  temple  ; 
ia  serenite  des  anciens  maitres  est  perdue 
sans  retour ;  le  ciel  de  Michel-Ange  est 
tout  chargd  de  la  tempete  qui  delate  sur 
la  societe  modeme. 

Chacune  des  parties  du  poeme  de 
Dante  correspond  a  une  epoque  de  sa  vie 
et   en   reproduit   le    caractere.     L'Enfer 


a  ^t^  compost  dans  les  ann^s  qui  ont 

suivi  immodiatement  son  exil.  Dans 
chaque  vers  la  plaie  est  saignante  ;  vous 
entendez  I'echo,  les  hurlements  de  la 
guerre  civile.  Au  contraire,  au  moment 
de  compK>ser  le  Purgatoire,  il  s'eloigiie 
de  r Italic  et  ses  angoisses  s'apaisent. 
Bientot  I'avenement  de  Henri  VII. 
reveille  chez  le  Gibelin  des  espdrances 
exaltees ;  c'est  alors  qu'il  ecrit  cetle 
lettre  de  pacification  qui  tranche  si  vive- 
ment  avec  les  autres :  "A  tous  et  k 
chaque  roi  d'ltalie,  aux  s^iiateui-s  de 
Rome,  aux  dues,  aux  marquis,  aux 
comtes,  a  tous  les  peuples,  I'humble 
Italien,  Dante  Alighieri  de  Florence, 
injustement  exile,  envoie  la  paix."  Puis 
apres  quelques  mots : 

"  Console-toi,  Italie,  conso!e-toi,  jxirce 
que  ton  ^poux,  qui  est  la  joie  du  siecle 
et  la  gloire  de  ton  peuple,  se  hate  de 
venir  a  tes  noces  :  essuie  tes  lamies,  6  la 
plus  belle  des  belles  !  et  vous  tous  qui 
pleurez,  rcjouissez-vous,  parce  que  votre 
saliit  est  proche  !  Pardonnez,  pardonnez, 
mes  bien-aimes,  vous  tous  qui  avez  souf- 
fert  injustement  avec  moi  1 " 

D'autres  circonstances  de  sa  vie  mon- 
trent  la  meme  lassitude.  Un  jour,  de 
la  fenetre  d'un  convent  place  sur  les 
rochers  du  golfe  de  Spezia,  un  moiue 
voit  un  inconnu  errer  autour  de  I'ermi- 
tage.  "Que  cherches-tu  ?  lui  dit-il. — 
La  paix, "  repond  Dante,  qui  sortait  de 
I'Enfer. 

Imaginez  que  ce  sentiment  de  dou- 
ceur se  communique  a  son  poem-j  :  vous 
aurez  le  secret  de  cette  muse  angelique 
qui  tout  a  I'heure  repelait  Jes  ricane- 
ments  des  demons  ;  c'est  dans  sa  situa- 
tion interieure  qu'il  puise  des  accords 
tout  nouveaux.  L'ame  desesperee  re- 
commence a  sourire  dans  le  Purgatoire  ; 
les  haines  infernales  sont  remj^lacees 
par  des  rttours  vers  les  amities  de  la 
jeunesse  et  la  7>ita  iniova.  L'arbre 
frappe  de  la  foudre  rajeunit  et  reverdit 
sous  un  souffle  printanier  ;  ces  impres- 
sions melees  et  Cv>nfondues  (car  I'amour 
n'est  pas  encore  si  puissant  que  Ton  ne 
se  souvienne  de  I'enfer),  repau' lent  dans 
le  Purgatoire  toutes  les  melodies  du 
monde  moral.  Les  jeunes  femmes  qui 
traversent  le  poeme,  la  Pia,  Gentucca, 
Maihilde,  qui  cueille  des  fleurs  du  ciel, 
Nella  et  au-dessus  de  toutes  les   autres. 


724 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


Beatrix  toujours  presente,  ram^nent  les 
visions  des  plus  belles  et  des  meilleures 
annees  :  puis  les  compagnons  de  jeu- 
nesse,  CaselJa  le  musicien,  qui  lui  rap- 
pelle  ses  premiers  chants  d'amour, 
Oderisi  le  peintre,  les  troubadours  Sor- 
del,  Arnault  Daniel,  c'est  la  reunion  de 
tous  ceux  qui  ont  accompagne  les  jours 
sereins  et  radieux.  Les  vers  trempes 
dans  le  goufFre  de  bitume  au  souffle  des 
demons,  s'amollissent  au  regard  de  Bea- 
trix ;  Tame  etait  montee  au  ton  de  la 
terreur  ;  par  une  transition  inattendue, 
cette  terreur  aboutit  a  la  plenitude  de 
I'esperance,  comme  ces  melodies  qui, 
commen9ant  par  un  soupir  de  detresse, 
s'aclievent  et  se  relevent  dans'  un  accent 
de  joie  celeste. 

Le  dirai-je?  I^  Paradis  de  Dante 
me  parait  incomparablement  plus  triste 
que  son  Purgatoire  ?  II  le  coniposa 
dans  les  dernieres  annees  de  sa  vie. 
Les  esperances  par  lesquelies  il  s'etait 
laisse  rep.rentlre  venaient  de  tomber  de- 
vant  la  realite.  Les  emjiereurs  n'avai- 
ent  rien  fait  de  ce  que  le  Gibelin  avait 
attendu.  Aussi,  dans  le  Paradis,  il  est 
visible  que  le  cceur  de  Dante  ne  re- 
grette  plus  rien  de  la  terre.  Les  par- 
tis, les  individus  s'evanouissent  pour  lui ; 
ils  Tout  trop  souvent  abuse  !  L'ltalie 
eile-meme  acheve  de  disparaitre  :  une 
seule  fois  il  la  rajipelle,  en  rencontrant 
son  aieul  Cacciaguida;  et  c'est  pour  en- 
foncer  lui-meme  a  jamais  dans  son  coeur 
ce  qu'il  appellele  trait  de  I'exil ;  en  sorte 
que  le  I'atadis  le  frapjie  du  dernier  coup 
que  lui  avait  epargne  I'Enfer. 

Que  lui  ont  fait  ces  figures  cbarmantes 
qu'il  avait  rencontrees  ici-bas  ?  Pour- 
qiiot  ne  vcut-il  pas  s'en  environner  dans 
le  ciel  ?  Pourfpioi  ne  revoit-on  pas  ses 
jeunes  amis.  Guide  Cavalcanti,  Lap]x», 
avec  lesquels  il  souhaitait  d'al)ord  de 
navigner  sur  un  vaisseau  eternel  ?  Pour- 
quoi  ne  les  suit-on  pas  avec  lui  dans  la 
barque  des  anges,  au  milieu  de  I'ocean 
celeste?  Pounpioi  se  fail-il  un  ciel 
desert  dans  Icquel  personne,  excepte 
JJeatrix,  ne  lui  rappelle  la  vie  rcelle? 
On  dirait  (et  cela  n'est  point  impossible) 
que  cette  partie  a  ete  composee  dans  le 
tilence  du  monastere  de  Clulibio  ou 
Dante  s'est  en  eflet  retire.  Je  retrouve 
en  cet  endroit  du  poeme  la  paix  de  ces 
•rmitagcs  des  Camaldules,  Kur  les  som- 


mets  des  Apennins  ou  ne  monte  aucun 
bruit  de  la  terre  ;  Thomme  a  peine  a  y 
respirer  et  y  vivre.  Les  figures  des 
saints  represent^s  sur  les  fiesques  de  ces 
ermitages  sembleut  en  etre  les  botes 
^ternels.  De  meme  les  seuls  habitant 
du  Paradis  de  Dante  sont  quelques 
anachoretes  ]Terdus  dans  I'immensite  ;  9^ 
et  la  un  paien,  par  une  derniere  ironie, 
jet^e  sur  l'ltalie  chr^tienne ;  mais  du 
reste,  personne  qu'il  ait  connu  ou  qu'il 
ait  aimd  sur  terre.  Du  plus  haut  du  ciel, 
le  vieux  Gil)elin  laisse  tomber  son  arret 
de  proscription  contre  tout  le  monde 
visible  qui  I'a  tromp^,  et  contre  cette 
patrie  meme  qu'il  n'a  pu  se  donner. 

Apres  avoir  achev^  I'Enfer,  Dante 
avait  fait  un  voyage  en  F  ranee  et  passd 
pres  de  deux  ans  a  Paris.  La  trace  de 
ce  voyage  est  facile  a  reconnaitre  dans  . 
le  poete.  Attir^  par  le  bruit  des  ^coles 
qui  n'avaient  cess^  de  retentir  depuis 
Abeilard,  il  ^tait  venu  k  ce  rendez-vous 
que  les  philosophes,se  donnaient  alors 
sur  la  montagne  de  Sainte-Genevieve  ; 
il  ne  retrouvait  plus  pour  maitre  ses 
compatriotes  saint  Thomas,  saint  Bona- 
venture  ;  mais  leur  tradition  subsistait, 
et  leur  enseignement  ^tait  encore  tout 
vivant. 

Du  combat  de  Campaldino  aux  pu- 
gilats  de  paroles  de  la  scolastique,  quel 
changement  !  Comment  une  imagina- 
tion nourrie  des  coleres  des  partis  s'in- 
spirera-t-elle  de  ces  dcSbats  oil  I'esprit 
humain  se  tend  incessamment  des  pidges 
i  lui-m6me  ?  Je  doute  que  Dante  se 
S()it  asservi  k  aucun  systeme  ;  je  vols, 
au  contraire,  qu'il  s'enivre  i  toutes  les 
sources  a  la  fois  :  Aristote,  saint  Tho- 
mas, Albert  le  Grand.  Quand  Goethe 
peint  I'exaltation  de  Faust,  le  savant  du 
moyen  age,  au  milieu  du  d<<sordre  de 
ses  instruments  d'alchimie,  de  ses  livres 
de  philosophic,  de  thdologie,  il  cxj^lique  j 
sans  y  penser,  mieux  que  tous  les  com- 
mentaires,  I'auteur  de  la  Coftiidie  divine.  ; 

Dante  et  Faust  marquent  en  effct  les        \ 
deux   5.gcs   opposes    de    la    science    hu- 
maine,    et    ils  se    rencontrent  ft  ces   ex-         ' 
frdmil^s.      Dante,  c'est  I'adolescence  de         ' 
I'esprit    humain  ;   comme    il    n'a  jamais         ' 
<<prouv<$     I'impnissance     du     savoir     de 
Thomnie,    il    a   pour   la    philoso]ihie    la 
m^me  adoration  que  pour   la  religion  ;         ! 
il  est  ccivaincu  que  Tor  pur  de  la  v^riti        1 


LA    COM^DIE  DIVINE, 


725 


est  ail  fond  de  son  creuset,  qii'il  poss^de 
dans  un  livre  les  secrets  de  I'lmivers,  que 
le  syllogisme  de  Sigier  lui  ouvrira  les 
{wrtes  de  tons  les  mysteres.  Science 
naive,  il  s'en  abrenve  comme  du  lait 
matemel,  et  croit  gouter  la  sagesse  de 
Dieu.  Faust,  au  contraire,  tel  que 
Goethe  I'a  montr^,  c'est  I'esprit  hiimain 
dans  sa  vieillesse  ;  pins  il  sait,  plus  il 
doute  :  a  mesure  qu'il  apprend,  il 
o'eloigne  du  terme ;  las  de  penser,  il 
voudrait  pouvoir  oiiblier.  Surtout  ces 
contradictions  se  montrent  a  deconvert 
dans  la  maniere  differente  de  sentir  et 
de  concevoir  I'amour.  La  femine  que 
Dante  place  au-dessns  de  toutes  les 
autres,  personnifie  pour  lui  le  savoir  et 
la  philosophie.  Quelle  est,  au  contraire, 
la  Beatrix  de  Faust  rassasie  de  science  ? 
qui  lui  reprfeente  la  f^licit^  ?  Une  jeune 
fille  qui  ne  sait  rien,  Marguerite,  un 
enfant  du  peuple,  I'image  de  la  supreme, 
de  la  cdleste  ignorance. 

Voila  la  clef  qui  acheve  d'onvrir  le 
mystene.  L'auteur  de  I'Enfer  vient 
d'entrevoir  dans  le  commerce  des  phi- 
losophes  le  royanme  des  idees ;  il  veut 
les  transporter  toutes  vivantes  dans  son 
eeuvre,  comme  il  a  fait  des  partis  poli- 
tiques.  Sans  oWir  a  un  maitre,  a  une 
^cole  particuliere,  il  s'attache  a  I'esprit 
de  la  scholastique  qui  attribue  a  chaque 
chose  un  double  sens,  le  litteral  et 
le  spirituel.  On  n'a  rien  dit  lorsque, 
pour  expliquer  la  puissance  de  Dante, 
on  parle  de  la  beaute  de  quelques  epi- 
sodes ou  de  I'emportement  des  passions 
politiques ;  car  son  poeme,  ^crit  au 
point  de  vue  d'un  parti,  aurait  ^t^  re- 
jet^  par  tons  les  autres.  Fourquoi  done 
les  a-t-il  tous  ^galement  seduits  ?  parce 
qu'il  renfermait  Fame  meme  du  moyen 
age,  et  qu'il  rfepondait  a  ce  d^sir  una- 
nime  de  saisir  un  sens  cach^  sous  les 
formes  de  la  nature  et  de  I'art.  Cet 
id^lisme,  qui  trouve  a  peine  place 
dans  I'Enfer,  va  toiijours  croissant  avec 
Te  r6gne  de  I'esprit  dans  le  Purgatoire 
et  le  Paradis  ;  outre  que  la  langue,  de 
cercle  en  cercle,  s'illumine  davantage  ; 
car    une    flamme    interieure    Claire    la 

{)arole.  Attire  par  ces  clart^s  de  Time, 
e  moyen  age  savait  qu'un  tr(5sor  devait 
etre  enfoui  a  chaque  endroit,  et  il  inter- 
pr^tait  le  poeme  comme  un  apocalypse 
ie  la  soci^t^  laique.     Chacun  voulait  y 


de'couvrir  une  face  nouvelle  du  monde 
moral, 

Aussi  longtemps  que  la  Comidie  di- 
vine a  ete  luc  dans  I'esprit  qui  I'a  in- 
spiree,  la  tradition  de  ce  sens  cache  a 
ete  pieusement  gardee  par  les  commen- 
tatenrs,  Depuis  Benvenuto  d'Imola 
jusqu'a  Landini,  ils  sont  iinanimes  a  cet 
egard.  Boccace,  lui-meme,  si  amou- 
reux  du  monde  exferieur,  se  plonge  dans 
ces  abimes  ;  c'est  lui  qui  declare  que  la 
Comedie  divine  enveloppe  la  pensie 
catholiqiie  tout  entiere  sons  Fecorce 
vnlgaire  de  la  parole.  D'apres  cette  tra- 
dition, la  foret  solitaire  dans  laquelle 
Dante  s'egare,  c'est  le  chemin  de  la  vie 
contemplative  ;  sainte  Lucie  qui  s'eveille 
pour  le  sauver,  c'est  la  divine  clemence  ; 
le  fleuve  t^nebreux  de  I'Enfer,  c'est  le 
fleuve  de  la  vie  humaine  qui  roule  de 
noirs  soucis  ;  les  animaux  monstnieux  et 
hurlants  sont  les  passions  des  sens.  Le 
passage  de  I'Enfer  an  Purgatoire  a  pour 
gardien  Cat  on  d'Utiqne.  Pourquoi  ce 
personnage  ?  Quel  caprice !  Cette 
fantaisie  change  de  nom  si  Ton  adraet  la 
tradition  des  vieux  commentateurs ;  sui- 
vant  eux,  nnl  ne  pouvant  sortir  du 
royaume  du  mal  sans  un  effort  heroique 
de  liberte,  Caton  d'Utique,  qui  s'est 
dechire  de  ses  mains  pour  echapper  a  la 
servitude,  est  I'etemel  representant  du 
libre  arbitre  snr  les  confins  du  bien  et  du 
mal.  Ailleurs,  I'aigle  qui  enleve  le 
poete  au  ciel,  c'est  la  foi  anx  ailes  eten- 
dues  ;  les  trois  degres  de  la  porte  du 
purgatoire  sont  les  trois  degres  du  sacre- 
ment  de  penitence. 

Qu'est-ce  done  que  la  Coniedie  divine? 
I'Odyssee  du  chretien  ;  un  voyage  dans 
I'infini,  mele  d'angoisses  et  de  chants  de 
sirenes  ;  un  itineraire  de  I'homme  vers 
Dieu.  Au  commencement,  I'homme 
reduit  a  ses  seules  forces,  egare  au  mi- 
lien  de  la  foret  des  sens,  tombe  de  chute 
en  chute,  de  cercle  en  cercle  dans  I'abime 
des  reprouves.  Par  la  douleur  il  se 
repare,  il  se  releve,  il  gravit  les  degres 
du  purgatoire,  amere  vallee  d'expiation. 
Pnrifie  par  un  nonveau  bapteme,  il 
monte,  ilatteint  lesgloires,  les  hierarchies 
celestes;  et  par  dela  les  bienhenreux 
eux-memes,  il  entre  jusque  dans  le  sein 
de  Dieu  oil  le  poeme  et  la  verite  s'ache- 
vent.  A  chacun  de  ces  degres  se  trcnive 
un  guide  particulier.     Dans  les  cercles 


726 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


iiiferieurs  ou  I'homnie  se  debat  avec  lui- 
iiieme,  le  conducteur  est  Virgile,  qui 
lepiesente  la  raison  humaine,  livree  a 
ses  seules  forces  ;  avec  Virgile,  I'esprit 
pai'en  se  retire,  et  une  aiue  nouvelle  se 
communique  a  toutes  clioses.  Plus 
liaut,  la  oil  commence  la  grace  illunii- 
naute,  sui'git  Beatrix,  I'amour  couronne 
du  souvenir.  Les  anachoretes,  saint 
Benoit,  saint  Bernard,  que  Ton  rencontre 
de  sphere  en  sphere,  d'astre  en  astre,  ont 
chacun  autour  de  soi  un  monde  pour 
ermitage  ;  ils  fonnent  a  travers  I'iiifini 
une  procession  au-devant  de  Dieu.  Les 
conversations  de  ces  pelerins  de  I'im- 
niensite  marquent  les  stationsde  I'univers. 
Enfin  au  terme  de  I'eternel  voyage,  le 
Christ  est  le  seul  compagnon. 

Tel  est  I'esprit  dans  lequel  le  moyen 
age  lisait  son  poete.  II  y  a  entre  les 
vieux  commentateurs  une  emulation  de 
plonger  plus  avant  dans  le  mystere ; 
quelquefois  la  curiosite  de  Tame  leur 
arrache  des  jiaroles  d'inspires  :  "Quand 
j'ouvre  mes  yeux  a  cette  doctrine  cachee 
tie  Dante,  dit  Landini,  une  horreur 
soudaine  me  saisit  ;  je  deviens  tel  qu'un 
oiseau  de  nuit  surpris  par  la  lumiere." 

Apres  la  renaissance  du  seizieme  siecle, 
on  j)erdit  peu  a  peu  la  trace  de  ce  genie 
intdrieur.  L'^popde  du  moyen  age 
frappa  le  dix-hu/tieme  siecle  jxir  un  cotd 
qui  n'avait  pas  dtd  vu  encore,  par  les 
dehors,  les  peintures  physiques,  I'har- 
monie  des  mots,  semblable  a  un  astre 
qui,  dans  sa  lente  rotation,  montrerait  i 
des  siecles  difli(5rents  des  faces  op  poshes. 

Ce  qui  est  de  tous  les  temps,  de  tous 
les  lieux,  c'est  I'union  de  Beatrix  et  de 
Dante  par  dela  les  siecles.  Bdatrix 
n'apparait  qu'au  milieu  du  grand  voyage, 
l.orsque  vous  commencez  a  vous  dgarer 
dans  Timniensitd,  la  jeune  fiUe  de  Flo- 
rence descend  de  haul  des  cieux ;  elle 
est  voilde  et  elle  sourit.  Les  sdraphins 
jettent  au-devant  d'elle  un  nuage  de 
licurs,  Ses  souvenirs  de  la  vallde  de 
I'Arno,  ses  reproches,  la  contenance 
Iremblante  du  poete,  tout  atteste  la  xi- 
ihtd  ;  les  mysleres  des  mondes  sont 
dvWoiles  comme  la  conversation  de  deux 
amants.  C'est  le  ciialogue  de  Romdo  et 
de  Juliette  au  bord  de  Tinfini  dans 
I'auroie  6temcllc 

Dante  acheve  de  boire  dans  le  fleuve 
Kunue    I'oubli  du    monde    antique  :    il 


attache  ses  yeux  sur  Bdatrix,  Bdatrix  sur 
les  hauteurs  du  ciel  ;  et  tous  deux  ravis, 
de  rdgion  en  rdgion  ]:)dnetrent  jusc|u'au 
milieu  des  chceurs  des  saints  et  des 
archanges.  A  mesure  qu'ils  s'dlevent, 
Beatrix  tient  moins  de  I'humauite.  La 
fille  de  Portinari  se  confond  par  degres 
avec  la  vierge  des  cath§cirales.  Cette 
apotli^ose,  que  le  jeune  Dante  avait 
revde  sur  un  tombeau,  se  consomme  en 
meme  temps  que  le  culte  de  la  vierge 
envahissait  le  catholicisme.  Absente  de 
la  societd  uaienne,  la  femme  se  revele 
en  ouvrant  les  cieux  nouveaux  ;  I'amour 
Chretien  la  ddifie.  La  Madone  de  Beth- 
Idem  dtait  devenue  I'ame  de  I'Eglise, 
Beatrix  devient  I'ame  du  poeme. 

Malgrd  une  alliance  si  intime  avec  les 
sentiments  populaires,  qui  croirait  que 
I'Homere  italien  a  si  faiblement  agi  sur 
I'education  de  I'ltalie  ?  il  n'a  pu  raviver, 
transformer  la  religion  nationale ;  il  a 
trouvd  dans  I'immutabilitd  du  culte  un 
obstacle  invincible  a  la  evi* //M/7r//<'qu'il 
portait  en  lui-meme  et  voulait  prt)pager, 
C'est-a-dire  que  son  influence  a  etd  im- 
mense sur  les  individus,  et  nulle  sur  la 
socidte  ;  il  a  dlevd  des  horn  mes,  non  un 
peuple  ;  il  a  remud  des  personnes,  il  u'a 
pu  dbranler  une  nation. 

Mais  dans  ces  limites,  oil  est  I'ltalien 
qui  ne  lui  ait  empruntd  quelque  chose  ? 
De  ces  grands  individus,  qui  9a  et  la 
tiennent  la  place  d'un  peuple,  quel  est 
celui  qui  ne  lui  doive  une  jiartie  de  sa 
grandeur?  Raphael  et  Michel-Ange 
viverU  de  la  vie  nouvelle  dans  leurs 
peintures,  Machiavel  dans  sa  politique, 
Vico  dans  sa  philosophie.  Toutes  les 
ames,  extenuees  par  de  trop  grandes 
epreuves,  se  retrempent  dans  cette  ame 
invulndrable.  L'ltalie  ne  I'oublie  que 
lorsqu'elle  s'oublie  elle-meme :  toules 
les  fois  qu'elle  se  reveille,  elle  trouve  4 
son  chevet  les  pages  de  Dante.  Pen- 
dant le  moyen  age,  elle  tient  le  volume 
ouvert  et  le  commente  comme  un  codi- 
cille  du  Nouveau  Testament  ;  quand  le 
despotisme  I'ecrase,  elle  abandonne  les 
pages  sibyllines,  parce  qu'elle  aban- 
donne I'espoir.  Mais  alors  le  livre  est 
emporle  par  les  exiles,  les  ])roscrits, 
par  tous  ceux  qui  vont  errant  de  lieux 
en  lieux,  pour  ne  pas  voir  la  face  de 
I'etranger  sur  le  sol  de  leur  pays.  \x 
pamphlet    du    auntnrzieme     siecle    est 


LA   PHILOSOPHIE  ITALIENNE. 


727 


cntre  leurs  mains  une  conspiration  per- 
nianente  pour  la  libeite,  riiidependance 
d'une  patrie  perdue :  ils  y  retrouvent 
leurs  larmes  et  leurs  pensees  d'aujour- 
d'hui.  L'obscurile  nieme  du  texte  les 
protege ;  car  ils  cherclient  a  y  ejjier 
i'aurore  du  lendemain ;  quelquefois, 
passant  comma  Dante  des  tourments  de 
i'enfer  aux  felicites  du  ciel,  ils  voient 
soudainement  I'ltalie  renaitre  sous  la 
figure  de  cette  Beatrix  radieuse  qui 
cache,  disent-ils,  dans  les  plis  vcrts  de 
sa  robe,  les  ve7ies  vallees  des  Apennins 
et  de  la  Calabre. 


LA  PHILOSOPHIE  ITALIENNE. 

Ozanam,   Dante  et  la  Philosophic  Catholique 
au  Treizienie  Siecle,  Partie  I.  Ch.  III. 

1.  Trois  choses  inseparables,  le  vrai, 
le  bien  et  le  beau,  sollicitent  I'ame  de 
I'homme  a  la  fois  par  le  sentiment  de 
leur  absence  actuelle  et  par  I'espoir  d'un 
rapprochement  possible.  Le  desir  du 
bien  fut  la  premiere  preoccupation  des 
premiers  sages,  et  la  philosophic  a  son 
origine,  ainsi  que  son  nom  le  temoigne 
(*t\o<ro<pia),  fut  I'ceuvre  de  I'amour. 
Mais,  le  bien  ne  pouvant  se  faire  sans 
etre  d'abord  per9u  comme  vrai,  la  pra- 
tique incertaine  appela  le  secours  de  la 
speculation  :  il  fallut  etudier  les  etres 
pour  determiner  les  lois  qui  les  unissent. 
On  ne  pouvait  approcher  du  vrai  sans 
etre  frappe  de  sa  splendeur,  qui  est  le 
beau  :  I'harmonie  des  etres,  se  refiechis- 
sant  dans  les  conceptions  des  savants, 
devait  se  reproduire  jusque  dans  leurs 
discours.  La  philosophie  des  premiers 
temps  fut  done  morale  dans  sa  direction 
et  poetique  dans  sa  forme. 

Telle  au  sein  de  I'ecole  pythagori- 
cienne  elle  apparut  pour  la  premiere  fois 
en  Italic.  Alors  les  villes  lui  demande- 
rent  des  lois,  et  plus  tard  les  metaphy- 
siciens  d'Elec  et  Empedoclc  d'Agrigente 
chanterent  les  mysteres  de  la  nature 
dans  la  langue  des  dieux.  —  Puis  Rome 
fut,  et,  comme  son  nom  rannon9ait 
CPwfm)),  Rome  fut  la  force  ;  et  cette 
force,  mise  en  action,  devint  I'empire  du 
nionde.  Lc  peuple  romain  devait  done 
etre  doue  surtout  de  genie  de  Taction. 
Cependant  le  sentiment  de  I'art  ne  lui 
manquait  pas  non  plus  :  il  fallait  d'har- 
munieuses  paroles  a  sa  tnbune,  des  chants 


a  ses  triomphes.  Lors  done  qu'il  ac- 
cucillit  la  philosophie,  c'est  qu'elle  se 
presenta  sous  les  auspices  de  Scipion  et 
d'Ennius,  s'engageant  ainsi  a  servir  et  a 
plairc  ;  et  depuis  elle  ne  cessa  pas  de  se 
prevaloir  du  patronage  commim  des 
hommes  d'Etat  et  des  poetes.  Elle  visi- 
tait  la  retraitc  de  Ciceron,  accompagnait 
Seneque  dans  I'exil,  mourait  avec  Thra- 
seas,  dictait  a  Tacite,  regnait  avec  Marc- 
Aurele,  et  s'asseyait  dans  I'ecole  des 
jurisconsultes,  qui  ramenaient  toute  la 
science  des  choses  divines  et  humaines 
a  la  determination  du  bien  et  du  mal. 
Elle  avail  convie  a  ses  lemons  Lucrece, 
Virgile,  Horace,  Ovid  et  Lucain.  Les 
systemes  de  Zenon  et  d'Epicure,  prompts 
a  se  resoudre  en  consequences  morales, 
les  traditions  de  Pythagore  empreintes 
d'une  inefra9ablc  beaute,  obtinrent  seuls 
lc  droit  de  cite  romaine.  —  Lc  Christian- 
isme  vint  feconder  dc  nouveau  lc  sol 
italien  que  tant  d'illustres  enfantements 
semblaient  devoir  epuiscr.  Apres  Pan- 
thenus,  I'abeillc  de  Sicile  et  le  premier 
fondateur  de  I'ecole  chretienne  d'Alex- 
andric;  apres Laclance  et  saint  Ambroise, 
le  genie  des  anciens  domains  revecut  au 
sixieme  et  au  septieme  siecle  dans  deux 
de  leurs  plus  nobles  descendants,  Boece 
et  saint  Gregoirc.  L'un,  martyr  du 
courage  civil,  sut  preter  a  la  philosophie 
un  langage  harmonieux  et  consolateur  ; 
I'autre,  infatigable  pontife,  laissa  pour 
monuments  dans  I'histoire  de  I'esprit 
humain  ses  livres  admirablcs  sur  les  di- 
vines ficritures  et  lc  systeme  de  chant 
demcure  sous  son  nom. — Aux  derniers 
temps,  le  soleil  italien  ne  cessa  pas  de  luire 
sur  des  generations  de  philosophes,  mo- 
ralistcs  jurisconsultes,  publicistes,  et  de 
poetes  qui  se  firent  honneur  de  philoso- 
pher. C'est  Marsile  Ficin,  confondant 
en  son  enlhousiasme  neoplatonique  la 
science,  I'art  et  la  vertu;  c'est  Machiavel, 
qu'il  suflfit  de  nommer;  Vico  et  Gravina, 
tracant  les  lois  fondamcntales  de  la  so- 
ciety, l'un  avec  dliicroplyphiqucs  sym- 
boles,  I'autre  avec  la  meme  plume  qui 
^crira  plus  tard  les  statuts  de  I'academie 
des  Arcades  ;  c'est  aussi  P^trarque,  de- 
scendant couronn^  du  Capitole  pour  aller 
m^diter  k  la  clart^  de  sa  lampc  solitaire 
"  les  remedes  de  I'une  et  de  I'autre  for- 
tune ;"  Tasse  se  reposant  des  combats 
de  la  Jirttsalem  delivree  dans  d'admir 


728 


ILL  USTRATlOlSrS. 


ables  dialogues  ;  et,  s'il  est  permis  de 
citer  des  celebriles  plus  rdcentes  et  non 
moins  cheres,  Manzoni  et  I'ellico. 

On  peut  done  reconnaitre  parmi  le 
philosophes  d'outie-monts  un  doublt 
caractere,  antique,  permanent  et  poui 
ainsi  dire  national  ;  car  la  permanence 
des  habitudes,  qui  fait  la  personnalilf 
chez  les  individus,  constitne  aussi  la  na- 
tionalite  parmi  les  populations.  On  peut 
dire  qu'il  existe  une  philosophic  italiennt 
qui  a  su  maintenir  dans  leur  primitive 
alliance  la  direction  morale  et  la  formt 
po^tique  ;  soit  que  sur  cette  terre  l)^ni( 
du  ciel,  en  presence  d'une  nature  m 
active,  I'homme  aussi  apporte  dans 
Taction  plus  de  vivacite  et  plus  de  bon- 
heur,  soit  qu'un  dessein  d'en  haul  ait 
ainsi  fait  I'ltalie  pour  etre  le  sidge  prin- 
cipal du  catliolicisme,  en  qui  (levaient 
se  rencontrer  une  philosophic  excel- 
Icmment  pratique  et  poetique,  les  iddes 
reunies  et  rdalis^es  du  vrai,  du  bien  et  du 
beau. 

II.  Au  moyen  age,  la  philosophic 
italienne  n'etait  ni  moins  florissante  ni 
moins  fidelc  a  son  double  caractere. 
A  la  fin  des  siecle»  barbares,  le  B.  Le- 
franc  et  saint  Anselmc,  sortis  de  Pavie 
et  d'Aoste  pour  aller  prendre  possession 
i'un  apres  I'aulre  du  siege  primatial  de 
Cantorbcry,  inaugurerent  dans  1' Europe 
septentrionale  les  etudes  regenerees. 
Le  Lombard  Pierre  fut  porte  par  I'ad- 
miration  universelle,  de  sa  chaire  de 
professeur,  a  Teveche  de  Paris.  Pen- 
dant q-ie  Jean  Italus  faisait  honorer  son 
nom  dans  I'ecole  de  Constantinople, 
Gerard  de  Crcmone,  fixe  a  Tolede,  in- 
terrogeait  la  science  des  Arabes,  et  ap- 
prenait  aux  P^spagnols  i  s'enricher  des 
depouilles  scientifiques  de  leurs  enne- 
mis.  Bologne  avait  efe  le  siege  d'un 
enseignement  philosophiques  qui  ne 
manqua  pas  d'eclat,  avant  de  voir  com- 
mencer  ces  lemons  de  jurisprudence  qui 
la  rendirent  si  celebre.  La  logique  et 
ia  physique  ne  cesserent  point  d'y  etre 
assidiiment  professees  au  treizieme  sie- 
cle.  Padoue  n'avait  rien  4  envier  i  sa 
rivale.  Milan  comptait  pres  de  deux 
cents  maitres  de  grammaire,  de  logique, 
de  mwlccine  et  de  philosophic.  Knfin, 
la  renoin^e  des  ]K;nseurs  de  la  Penin- 
sule  etait  si  grandc  dans  toutes  les  pro- 
vinces   du    continent,   qu'cile    servait  ^ 


expliquer  I'origine  des  doctrines  nou- 
vellement  apparucs,  et  qu'Arnaud  de 
Villeneuve,  par  exemple,  passait  pour 
I'adepte  d'une  secte  pythagoricienne 
disseminee  dans  les  principales  villes 
de  la  Pouille  et  de  la  Toscane.  —  Mais 
la  vigueur  exuberante  de  la  philosophic 
italienne  ne  manifeste  surtout  dans  la 
memorable  lutte  qui  s'engagea,  et  qui, 
analogue  a  celle  du  sacerdoce  et  de 
I'empire,  continua  pendant  plus  de  deux 
cents  ans  entre  les  systemes  orihodoxes 
et  les  systemes  hostiles.  11  y  aurait 
peut-etre  le  sujet  d'interessantes  recher- 
ches  a  faire  dans  les  doctrines  des  Fra- 
tricelles,  dc  Guillemine  de  Milan,  des 
Freres  Spirituels,  oil  la  conmiunaute 
absolue  de  corps  et  de  biens,  I'dmanci- 
pation  religieuse  des  femmes,  la  predi- 
cation d'un  evangile  eternel,  rappellc- 
raient  les  tentatives  modernes  du  saint- 
simonisme.  Mais,  en  se  restreignant 
aux  faits  purement  philosophiques,  on 
en  rencontre  de  plus  surprenants  en- 
core. Des  I'annce  1 1 15,  les  epicuriens 
etaient  assez  nombreux  a  Florence  pour 
y  former  une  faction  redoutee  et  pour 
provoquer  des  querelles  sanglantcs  ;  plus 
tard,  le  materialisme  y  apparaissait 
comme  la  doctrine  publique  des  Gi- 
belins.  Les  petits-fils  d'Averrhoes  fu- 
rent  accueillis  a  la  cour  italienne  des 
Hohenstaufen  en  meme  temps  qu'une 
colonic  sarrasine  etait  fondec  a  Nocera 
et  faisait  trembler  Rome.  Frederic  II. 
ralliait  autour  de  lui  toutes  les  oi)inions 
perverses,  et  semblait  vouloir  constituer 
une  ecole  antagoniste  de  I'enseigne- 
ment  catholique.  Cette  ecole,  quelque 
temps  reduite  au  silence  apres  la  chute 
de  la  dynastie  qui  I'avait  prot<5gee, 
reprit  des  forces  lorsqu'un  autre  empe- 
reur,  Louis  de  Baviere,  descendit  des 
Alpss  pour  aller  recevoir  la  couronne 
des  mains  d'un  antipape.  Un  pen  plus 
tard  Petrarque,  en  citant  dans  ses  dis- 
cours  saint  Paul  et  saint  Augustin, 
excitait  un  sourire  detlaigneux  sur  les 
levres  des  savants  qui  I'entouraient,  ado- 
rateurs  d'Aristole  et  des  commentateurs 
aral)es.  Ces  doctrines  irrdligieuses 
etaient  pressees  de  ce  reduire  en  volup- 
tes  savantes :  elles  eurent  des  poetcs 
pour  les  chanter. — La  veritc  toutefois 
ne  demeura  point  sans  dcfenseurs,  pour 
die  furent  suscites  deux   honuncs  que 


LA  DIVINE   COMEDIE. 


729 


nous  avons  deja  rencontres  parmi  les 
plus  grands  de  leur  age,  saint  Thomas 
d'Aquin  et  saint  Bonaventure,  qu'il  faut 
rappeler  ici  comme  deux  gloires  ita- 
liennes.  Moralistes  profonds,  ils  furent 
encore  poetiquement  inspires,  I'un  quand 
il  composa  les  hymnes,  qui  devaient  un 
jour  desesperer  Santeuil  ;  I'autre,  lors- 
qu'il  ecrivit  le  cantique  traduit  par 
Comeille.  ^gidius  Colonna  comliattit 
aussi  raverrhoi'sme  de  cette  meme  plume 
qui  tragait  des  le5ons  aux  rois.  Alber- 
tano  de  Brescia  publia  trois  traites 
d'ethique  en  langue  vulgaire.  On  en 
pourrait  citer  d'autres  encore  qui  furent 
vantes  ci  leur  epoque,  et  qui  ont  ^prouv^ 
ce  qu'il  y  a  de  trompeur  dans  les  ap- 
plaudissements  des  hommes. 

Mais  de  toutes  les  cites  assises  au 
pied  de  I'Apennin,  aucune  ne  put  s'en- 
orgueillir  d'une  plus  heureuse  f^condit^ 
que  la  belle  Florence.  Dechir^e  par 
les  guerres  intestines,  si  elle  enfantait 
dans  la  douleur,  elle  se  donnait  des 
enfants  immortels.  Sans  compter  Lapo 
Fiorentino,  qui  professa  la  philosophic 
a  Bologne,  et  Sandro  de  Pipozzo,  au- 
teur  d'un  trait^  d' economic  dont  le 
succes  fut  populaire,  elle  avait  vu  naitre 
Brunetto  Latini  et  Guido  Cavalcanti. 
Brunetto,  notaire  de  la  r^publique, 
avait  su,  sans  faillir  a  ses  patriotiques 
functions,  servir  utilement  la  science  : 
il  avait  traduit  en  italien  la  Morale 
d'Aristote  ;  il  r^igea,  sous  le  titre  de 
Trlsor,  une  encyclopedic  des  connais- 
sances  de  son  temps,  et  donna  dans 
son  Tewretto  I'exemple  d'une  poesie 
didactique  oil  ne  manquait  ni  la  justesse 
de  la  pens^e  ni  la  grace  de  I'expression. 
Guido  Cavalcanti  fut  salu^  le  prince  de 
la  Lyre  :  un  chant  qu'il  composa  sur 
I'amour  obtint  les  honneurs  de  plusieurs 
commentaires  auxquels  les  th^ologiens 
les  plus  ven^r^s  ne  dedaignerent  pas  de 
mettre  la  main.  II  aurait  ete  admir^ 
comme  philosophe  si  son  orthodoxie 
fut  demeuree  irreprochablc.  C'etait 
assez  de  deux  citoyens  de  ce  merite 
pour  honorer  une  ville  deja  fameuse  : 
un  troisieme  pourtant  etait  proche,  qui 
les  allait  faire  oublier. 

III.  La  philosophie  du  treizi^me 
siecle  devait  done  demander  a  I'ltalie 
ie  poete  dont  elle  avait  besoin  ;  mais 
r  Italic    devait    le    donner    marqu^    de 


I'empreinte  nationale,  pourvu  avec  une 
^gale  lib^ralit^  des  facult^s  contempla- 
tives  et  des  facult^s  actives,  non  moins 
^minemment  dou^  de  I'instinct  moral 
que  du  sentiment  litt^raire.  II  fallait 
trouver  quelque  part  une  ame  en  qui 
ces  dispositions  r^unies  par  la  nature 
fussent  d^veloppdes  encore  par  les 
^preuves  d'une  vie  providentiellement 
predestin^e,  et  qui,  fidele  aux  impres- 
sions venues  du  dehors,  eflt  toutefois 
I'energie  n^cessaire  pour  les  rassembler 
et  produire  a  son  tour. 


LA  DIVINE  COMfiDIE. 

Lainennais,  Introduction  sur  la  Vie  et  les 
CEuvres  de  Dante. 

Quoi  qu'il  en  soit,  le  po6me  entier, 
sous  ses  nombreux  aspects,  politique, 
historique,  philosophique,  theologique, 
offre  le  tableau  complet  d'une  epoque, 
des  doctrines  re9ues,  de  la  science  vraie 
ou  erronee,  du  mouvement  de  I'esprit, 
des  passions,  des  moeurs,  de  la  vie  enfin 
dans  tons  les  ordres,  et  c'est  avec  raison 
qu'a  ce  point  de  vue  la  Divina  Comviedia 
a  ete  appelee  un  poeme  encydope'dique. 
Rien,  chez  les  anciens  comme  chez  les 
modernes,  ne  saurait  y  etre  compare. 
En  quoi  rappelle-t-elle  I'epopee  antique, 
qui,  dans  un  sujet  purement  national, 
n'est  que  la  poesie  de  I'histoire,  soit 
qu'elle  raconte  avec  Homere  les  legendes 
heroiques  de  la  Grece,  soit  qu'avec  Vir- 
gile  elle  celebre  les  lointaines  origines  de 
Rome  liees  aux  destins  d'Enee  ?  D'une 
ordre  different  et  plus  general,  le  Paradis 
perdu  n'offre  lui-meme  que  le  developpe- 
ment  d'un  fait,  pour  ainsi  parler,  dog- 
matique  :  la  creation  de  I'homme,  pousse 
a  sa  perte  par  I'envie  de  Satan,  sa  deso- 
beissance,  la  punition  qui  la  suit  de  pres, 
I'exil  de  I'Eden,  les  maux  qui,  sur  une 
terre  maudite,  seront  desormais  son  par- 
tage  et  celui  de  ses  descendants,  et,  pour 
consoler  tant  de  misere,  la  promesse  d'une 
redemption  future.  Qu'ont  de  commun 
ces  poemes,  circonscrits  en  un  sujet  spe- 
cial, avec  le  poeme  immense  qui  em- 
brasse  non-seulement  les  divers  etats  de 
I'homme  avant  et  apres  la  chute,  mais 
encore,  par  I'influx  divin  qui  de  cieux 
en  cieux  descend  jusqu'i  lui,  revolution 
de  ses  fiacultes,  de  ses  energies  de  tous 


73° 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


genres,  ses  lois  individuelles  et  ses  lois 
sociales,  ses  passions  varices,  ses  vertus, 
ses  vices,  ses  joies,  ses  douleurs ;  et  non- 
seuiement  I'homme  dans  la  plenitude  de 
sa  propre  nature,  mais  I'univers,  mais  la 
creation  et  spirituelle  et  materielle,  mais 
I'ceuvre  entiere  de  la  Toute-Puissance, 
de  la  Sagesse  supreme  et  de  I'Etemel 
Amour  ? 

Dans  cette  vaste  conception,  Dante 
toutefois  ne  pouvait  depasser  les  limites 
oil  son  siecle  etait  enferme.  Son  epopee 
est  tout  un  monde,  mais  vm  monde  cor- 
respondant  au  developpement  de  la  pen- 
se'e  et  de  la  societe  en  un  point  du  temps 
et  sur  un  point  de  la  terre,  le  monde  du 
Moyen  age.  Si  le  sujet  est  universel, 
I'imperfection  de  la  connaissance  le  ra- 
mene  en  une  sphere  aussi  bomee  que 
i'etait,  comparee  a  la  science  posterieure, 
celle  qu'enveloppaient  dans  son  etroit 
berceau  les  langues  de  I'ficole.  En  reli- 
gion, en  philosophic,  I'autorite  tra9ait 
autour  de  Tesprit  un  cercle  infranchis- 
sable.  Des  origines  du  genre  humain, 
de  son  etat  primordial,  des  premieres 
idees  qu'il  se  fit  des  choses,  des  premiers 
sentiments  qu'elles  evcillerent  en  lui,  des 
antiques  civilisations,  des  religions  primi- 
tives, que  savait-on  ?  Rien.  L'Asie 
presque  entiere,  ses  doctrines,  ses  arts, 
ses  langues,  ses  monuments,  n'etaient 
pas  moins  ignores  que  la  vieille  £gypte, 
que  les  peujjles  du  nord  et  de  Test  de 
1  Europe,  leurs  idiomes,  leurs  mceurs, 
leurs  croyances,  leurs  lois.  On  ne  soup- 
9onnait  meme  pas  I'existence  de  la  moitie 
du  globe  habite.  Le  cercle  embrasse  par 
la  vue  delerminait  I'etendue  des  cieux. 
La  veritable  astronomic,  la  physique,  la 
chimie,  I'anatomie,  I'organogenie  etaient 
i  naitre :  il  faut  done  se  reporter  k  I'e- 
poque  de  Dante  pour  comprendre  la 
grandeur  et  la  magnificence  de  son 
ceuvre. 

Nous  avons  explique  les  causes  des 
obscurites  qui  s'y  rencontrcnt,  causes 
diverses  auxquelles  on  pourrait  ajouter 
encore  les  subtilitds  d'une  m^taphysique 
avec  laquelle  t  res- pen  cfe  lecteurs  s«Mit 
auiourd'nui  familiarisds,  et  dont  la  langue 
meme,  pour  etre  entendue,  exige  i>ne 
6tude  sp6ciale  et  aride.  Mais,  en  lais- 
sanl  in  part  le  cot4  obscur,  il  reste  cc  qui 
apparticnt  it  la  nature  hun)aine  dans  tous 
ics  temps  et  dans  tous  les  lieux,  I'Etemel 


domaine  du  poete,  et  c'est  la  qu'on  re- 
trouve  Dante  tout  enticr,  la  qu'il  prend 
sa  place  parmi  ces  hauts  g<?nies  dont  la 
gloire  est  celle  de  I'humanit^  meme. 
Aucun  n'est  plus  soi,  aucun  n'est  dou^ 
d'une  originality  plus  puissante,  aucun 
ne  poss^da  jamais  plus  de  force  et  de 
variete  d'invention,  aucun  ne  pen^tra 
plus  avant  dans  les  secrets  replis  de  I'ame 
et  dans  les  abimes  du  coeur,  n'observa 
mieux  et  ne  peignit  avec  plus  de  v^rit^ 
la  nature,  ne  fut  a  la  fois  plus  riche  et 
plus  concis.  Si  Ton  peut  lui  reprocher 
des  m^taphores  moins  hardies  qu'^- 
tranges,  des  bizarreries  que  r^prouve  le 
gout,  presque  toujours,  comme  nous 
I'avons  dit,  elles  proviennent  des  efforts 
qu'il  fait  pour  cacher  un  sens  sous  un 
autre  sens,  pour  ^veille:  par  un  seul  mot 
des  iddes  differentes  et  parfois  dispa- 
rates. Ces  fautes  contre  le  goiit,  qui 
ne  se  forme  qu'apres  une  longue  culture 
chez  les  peuples  dont  la  langue  est  fixde, 
sont  d'ailleurs  communes  a  tous  les  poetes 
par  qui  commence  une  ere  nouvelle.  Ce 
sont,  dans  les  oeuvres  de  g<5nie,  les  taches 
dont  parle  Horace, — 

"  Ubi  plura  nitent  in  carmine,  non  ego  paucis 
OfTendar  maculis." 

Elles  ressemblent  k  I'ombre  de  ces 
nuages  lagers  qui  passent  sur  des  cam- 
pagnes  splendides. 

Lorsque  apres  I'hiver  de  la  barbaric 
le  printemps  renalt,  qu'aux  rayons  du 
soleil  interne  qui  ^claire  et  rechauffe, 
et  ranime  les  aines  engourdies  dans  de 
froides  ombres,  la  poesie  reflcurit,  ses 
premieres  fleurs  ont  un  ^clat  et  uh  par- 
fum  qu'on  ne  retrouve  plus  en  celles 
qui  s'^panouissent  ensuite.  Les  pro- 
ductions de  I'art,  moins  d^pendantes  de 
I'imitation  et  des  regies  convenues,  of- 
frent  quelque  chose  de  plus  personnel, 
une  originalite  plus  marquee,  plus  puis- 
sajite.  Dante  en  est  un  cxemple  frap- 
pant.  Doublement  creatcur,  il  cree 
tout  k  la  fois  un  poeme  sans  modele  et 
une  langue  magnifique  dont  il  a  garde 
le  secret  ;  car,  quelle  qu'en  ait  ^te  Tin- 
fluence  sur  le  developpement  de  la  lan- 
gue litteraire  de  I'ltalie,  elle  a  nean- 
moins  conserve  un  caractere  k  part, 
qui  la  lui  rend  exclusivcmcnt  propre. 
La  nettete  et  la  precision,  je  ne  sais 
quoi  de  bref  et  de  pittoresque,   la  dis- 


LA  DIVINE   COMEDIE. 


73» 


tinguent  particulierement.  Elle  reflete, 
en  quelque  fa9on,  le  genie  de  Dante, 
nerveux,  concis,  ennemi  de  la  phrase, 
abr^geant  tout,  faisant  passer  de  son 
esprit  dans  les  autres  esprits,  de  son 
ame  dans  les  autres  ames,  idees,  senti- 
ments, images,  par  une  sorte  de  directe 
communication  presque  independante 
des  paroles. 

Ne  dans  une  societe  toute  foiTnee,  et 
artificiellement  formee,  il  n'a  ni  le 
genre  de  simplicite,  ni  la  naivete  des 
poetes  des  premiers  ages,  mais,  au  con- 
traire,  quelque  chose  de  combine,  de 
travaille,  et  cependant,  sous  ce  travail, 
un  fond  de  naturel  qui  brille  \  travers 
ses  singularit^s  meme.  C'est  qu'il  ne 
cherche  point  I'effet,  lequel  nait  de  soi- 
meme  par  I'expression  vraie  de  ce  que 
le  Poete  a  pense,  senti.  Jamais  rien  de 
vague :  ce  qu'il  peint,  il  le  voit,  et  son 
style  plein  de  relief  est  moins  encore 
de  la  peint  u  re  que  de  la  plastique. 

Lorsque  parut  son  ceuvre,  ce  fut 
parmi  ses  contemporains  un  cri  una- 
nime  d'etonnement  et  d'admiration. 
Puis  des  siecles  se  passent,  durant  les- 
quels  pen  4  peu  s'obscurcit  cette  grande 
renommee.  Le  sens  du  poeme  etait 
perdu,  le  gout  retreci  et  deprave  par 
I'influence  d'une  litterature  non  moins 
vide  que  factice.  Au  milieu  du  dix- 
huitieme  siecle,  Voltaire  ecrivait  a  Bet- 
tinelli :  "Je  fais  grand  cas  du  courage 
avec  lequel  vous  avez  ose  dire  que  le 
Dante  etait  un  fou,  et  son  ouvrage  un 
monstre.  J'aime  encore  mieux  pour- 
tant,  dans  ce  monstre,  une  cinquantaine 
de  vers  superieurs  a  son  siecle,  que 
tout  les  vermisseaux  appeles  sonetti,  qui 
naissent  et  qui  meurent  a  milliers  au- 
jourd'hui  dans  I'ltalie,  de  Milan  jusqu'a 
Otrante." 

Voltaire,  qui  ne  savait  guere  mieux 
I'italien  que  le  grec,  a  juge  Dante 
comme  il  a  juge  Homere,  sans  les  en- 
tendre et  sans  les  connaitre.  II  n'eut, 
d'ailleurs,  jamais  le  sentiment  ni  de  la 
haute  antiquity,  ni  de  tout  ce  qui  sor- 
tait  du  cercle  dans  lequel  les  modemes 
avaient  renferme  I'art.  Avec  un  goflt 
delicat  et  sflr,  il  discemait  certaines 
beautes.  D' autres  lui  echappaient.  La 
nature  I'avait  doue  d'une  vue  nette,  mais 
cette  vue  n'embrassait  qu'un  horizon 
borne. 


L'enthousiasme  pour  Dante  s'est  re- 
nouvele  depuis,  et  comme  un  exces  en- 
gendre  un  autre  exces,  on  a  voulu  tout 
justifier,  tout  admirer  dans  son  ceuvre, 
faire  de  lui,  non-seulement  un  des  plus 
grands  genies  qui  aient  honord  I'huma- 
nit^,  mais  encore  un  poete  sans  d^fauts, 
infaillible,  inspire,  un  prophete.  Ce 
n'est  pas  Ici  servir  sa  gloire,  c'est  foumir 
des  armes  a  ceux  qui  seraient  tenths  de 
la  rabaisser. 

Un  des  reproches  qu'on  a  faits  i 
son  poeme  est  I'ennui,  dit-on,  qu'on 
eprouve  a  le  lire.  Ce  reproche,  qu'au 
reste  on  adresse  ^galement  aux  an- 
ciens,  n'est  pas  de  tout  point  injuste. 
Mais,  pour  en  appr^cier  la  valeur  ve- 
ritable, il  faut  distinguer  les  ^poques. 
Ce  qui  ennuie  aujourd'hui,  les  details 
d'une  science  fausse,  les  subtiles  argu- 
mentations sur  les  doctrines  th^olo- 
giques  et  philosophiques  de  I'Ecole, 
rendent,  sans  aucun  doute,  cette  partie 
du  poeme  fatigante  et  fastidieuse  meme. 
Mais  elle  ^tait  loin  de  produire  le 
meme  eflfet  au  quatorzieme  siecle.  Cette 
science  ^tait  la  science  du  temps,  ces 
doctrines,  fortement  empreintes  dans 
les  esprits  et  dans  la  conscience,  for- 
maient  I'^l^ment  principal  de  la  vie  de 
la  society,  et  gouvemaient  le  monde. 
Voila  ce  qu'il  faudrait  ne  point  oublier. 
Lucrece  en  est-il  moins  un  grand  poete, 
parce  qu'il  a  rempli  son  poeme  des  ari- 
des  doctrines  d'une  philosophie  main- 
tenant  morte?  Et  cette  philosophie, 
dans  Lucrece,  c'est  tout  le  poeme  ; 
tandis  que  celle  de  Dante  et  sa  th^o- 
logie,  n  occupent,  dans  le  sien,  qu'une 
place  incomparablement  plus  restseinte. 
Qui  ne  sait  pas  se  transporter  dans  des 
spheres  d'id6es,  de  croyances,  de  moeurs, 
differentes  de  celles  otl  le  hasard  I'a  fait 
naltre,  ne  vit  que  d'une  vie  imparfaite, 
perdue  dans  I'oc^an  de  la  vie  progres- 
sive, multiple,  immense,  de  I'humanit^. 

Dante,  au  reste,  a  congu  son  poeme 
comme  ont  ^t^  conjues  toutes  les  Epo- 
pees, et  sp^cialement  les  plus  anciennes. 
Celle  de  I'lnde,  si  riches  en  beautes 
de  tout  genre,  ne  sont-elles  pas,  au 
fond,  des  poemes  theologiques  ?  Que 
serait  Vlliade,  si  I'on  en  retranchait  les 
dieux  partout  melds  i  la  contexture 
de  la  fable  ?  Seulement  la  Gr^ce,  au 
temps  d' Homere,  avait  d4ji  rompu  les 
3  c 


732 


ILL  US  TRA  TIONS. 


liens  qui  entravaient  le  libre  essor  de 
I'esprit.  Sa  religion,  depourvue  de 
dogmes  abstraits,  ne  commandait  au- 
cunes  croyances,  et,  dans  son  culte 
vaguement  symbolique,  ne  parlait  gufere 
qu  aux  sens  et  a  I'imagination.  II 
en  fut  de  meme  chez  les  Remains,  a 
cet  ^gard  fils  de  la  Grece.  Avec  le 
christianisme,  un  changement  profond 
s'op^ra  dans  I'^tat  religieux.  La  foi 
en  des  dogmes  precis  devint  le  fonde- 
ment  principal  de  la  religion  nouvelle  : 
d'ou  I'importance  que  Dante,  poete 
Chretien,  dut  attacher  \  ces  dogmes 
rigoureux,  a  cette  foi  n^cessaire.  Au- 
jourd'hui  que  les  esprits,  entrevoyant 
d'autres  conceptions  obscures  encore, 
mais  vers  lesquelles  un  secret  instinct 
les  attire,  se  d^tachent  d'un  syst^me 
qu'a  us^  le  progres  de  la  pens^e  et  de 
la  science,  il  a  cess^  d'avoir  pour  eux 
I'int^ret  qu'il  avait  pour  les  generations 
ant^rieures.  Mais,  quelles  que  puissent 
etre  les  doctrines  destinies  a  le  rem- 
placer,  elles  seront,  durant  la  p^riode 
qu'elles  caract^riseront  i  leur  tour,  la 
source  eiev^e  de  la  po^sie,  dont  la  vie 
est  la  vie  de  I'esprit,  et  qui  meurt  sitot 
qu'elle  s'absorbe  dans  le  monde  materiel. 


DANTE,   IMITATEURET 
CRfiATEUR. 

Labitte,  La  Divine  Com^die  avant  Dante. 

On  ne  dispute  plus  ^  Dante  le  role 
inattendu  de  conquerant  intellectuel  que 
son  genie  a  su  se  creer  tout  i  coup  au 
milieu  de  la  barbaric  des  temps.  L'au- 
teur  de  la  Divine  Comldie  n'est  pas 
pour  rien  le  representant  poetique  du 
moyen  age.  Place  comme  au  carre- 
four  de  cette  ere  et  range,  toutes  les 
routes  minent  ^  lui,  et  sans  cesse  on 
le  retrouve  k  rhorizon.  Societe,  in- 
telligence, religion,  tout  se  reflate  en 
lui.  En  philosophie,  il  complete  saint 
Thomas  ;  en  hisloire,  il  est  le  com- 
mentaire  vivant  de  Villani :  le  secret 
des  sentiments  et  des  tristesses  d'alors 
»e  lit  dans  son  poeme.  C'est  un  homme 
complet,  4  la  maniere  des  ^crivains  de 
I'antiquit^  :  il  tient  lVp6e  d'une  main, 
la  plume  de  I'autre  ;  il  est  savant,  il  est 
diplomate,  il  est  grand  poete.  Son 
ajuvrc  est  un  des  plus  vastes  monuments 


de  I'esprit  humain  ;  sa  vie  est  un  com- 
bat :  rien  n'y  manque,  les  larmes,  la 
faim,  I'exil,  I'amour,  les  gloires,  les 
faiblesses.  Et  remarquez  que  les  inter- 
valles  de  son  inspiration,  que  la  sauvage 
durete  de  son  caractere,  que  I'aristo- 
cratie  hautaine  de  son  genie,  sont  des 
traits  de  plus  qui  le  rattachent  k  son 
epoque,  et  qui  en  meme  temps  I'en 
separent  et  I'isolent.  Oil  que  vous 
portiez  vos  pas  dans  les  landes  ingrates 
du  moyen  age,  cette  figure,  \  la  fois 
sombre  et  lumineuse,  apparait  a  vos 
cotes  comme  un  guide  inevitable. 

On  est  done  amene  naturellement  k 
se  demander  ce  qu'est  Dante,  ce  qu'est 
cette  intelligence  egaree  et  solitaire,  sans 
lien  presque,  sans  cohesion  avec  I'art 
grossier  de  son  age  ?  d'oii  vient  cette 
intervention  subite  du  genie,  cette  dic- 
tature  inattendue  ?  Comment  I'oeuvre 
d'Alighieri  surgit-elle  tout  k  coup  dans 
les  tenebres  de  I'histoire,  proleni  sine 
niatre  creatam  ?  Est-ce  une  exception 
unique  4  travers  les  siecles  ?  C'est 
mieux  que  cela,  c'est  I'alliance  puis- 
sante  de  I'esprit  createur  et  de  I'esprit 
traditionnel ;  c'est  la  rencontre  feconde 
de  la  poesie  des  temps  accomplis  et  de 
la  poesie  des  ages  nouveaux.  Ayant 
devant  les  yeux  les  idoles  du  paganisme 
et  les  chastes  statues  des  saints,  I'image 
de  I'ascetisme  et  de  la  volupte,  Dante 
garda  le  sentiment  de  I'antiquite  sans 
perdre  le  sentiment  chretien  ;  il  resta 
fidele  au  passe,  il  comprit  le  present,  il 
demanda  aux  plus  terribles  dogmes  de 
la  religion  le  secret  de  I'avenir.  Ja- 
mais le  mot  d'Aristote  :  "la  poesie  est 
plus  vraie  que  I'histoire,"  ne  s'est  mieux 
verifie  que  chez  Dante ;  mais  ce  ne  fut 
pas  du  monde  exterieur  du  moyen  age 
que  se  saisit  le  genie  inventif  d'Alighi- 
eri ;  ce  fut  au  contraire  du  monde  in- 
terne, du  monde  des  idees.  De  14 
viennent  la  grandeur,  les  defauts  aussi, 
de  14  la  valeur  immense,  4  quelque 
point  de  vue  qu'on  I'envisage,  de  ce 
livre  ou  est  semee  4  profusion  une 
poesie  eternellement  jeune  et  brillante. 
L'int^ret  philosophique  vient  encore 
ici  s'ajouter  4  I'interet  litt^raire  et  his- 
torique.  C'est  la  Bible,  en  effet,  qui 
inspire  Milton ;  c'est  I'Evangile  qui 
inspire  Klopstock :  dans  la  Divine  Co- 
niidie,   au  contraire,  c'est  I'inconnu,  Cw 


DANTE,   IMITATEUR  ET  CREATEUR. 


733 


sont  les  mysteres  de  I'autre  vie  auxquels 
riiomme  est  initie.  La  question  de  1  im- 
mortaiite  est  en  jeu,  et  Dante  a  atteint 
la  souveraine  poesie. 

La  preoccupation,  I'insistance  de  la 
critique   sont    done   legitimes :    ce   per- 

f)etue!  retour  vers  le  premier  maitre  de 
a  culture  italienne  s'explique  et  se  jus- 
tifie.  Jusqu'ici  les  apologistes  n'ont 
pas  manque  a  I'ecrivain  :  investigations 
biographiques,  jugements  litteraires,  in- 
terpretations de  toute  sorte,  hypotheses 
meme  pedantes  ou  futiles,  tout  semble 
veritablement  epuise.  Peut-etre  n'y 
a-t-il  pas  grand  mal:  il  s'agit  d'unpoete, 
et  si  le  vrai  poete  gagne  toujours  a  etre 
lu,  il  perd  souvent  a  etre  commente. 
Un  point  curieux  et  moins  explore 
reste  cependant,  qui,  si  je  ne  m'abuse, 
demande  a  etre  particulierement  mis  en 
lumiere  :  je  veux  parler  des  antecedents 
de  la  Divine  Comidie.  Ce  poeme,  en 
effet,  si  original  et  si  bizarre  meme  qu'il 
semble,  n'est  pas  une  creation  subite, 
le  sublime  caprice  d'un  artiste  divine- 
ment  doue.  II  se  rattache  au  contraire 
a  tout  un  cycle  anterieur,  a  une  pen- 
see  permanente  qu'on  voit  se  repro- 
duire  periodiquement  dans  les  ages  pre- 
cedents ;  pensee  informe  d'abord,  qui 
se  degage  peu  a  peu,  qui  s'essaye  di- 
verscment  a  travers  les  siecles,  jusqu'a 
ce  qu'un  grand  homme  s'en  empare  et 
la  fixe  definitivement  dans  un  chef- 
d'oeuvre. 

Voyez  la  puissance  du  genie  !  Le 
monde  oublie  pour  lui  ses  habitudes  : 
d'ordinaire  la  noblesse  se  rejoit  des 
peres  ;  ici,  au  contraire,  elle  est  ascen- 
dante.  L'histoire  recueille  avec  em- 
pressement  le  nom  de  je  ne  sais  quel 
croise  obscur,  parce  qu'a  lui  remonte 
la  famille  de  Dante  ;  la  critique  analyse 
des  legendes  oubliees,  parce  que  ces 
legendes  sont  la  source  premiere  de  la 
Divine  Comedie.  La  foule  ne  con- 
naitra,    n'acceptera    que    le    nom    du 

I)oete,  et  la  foule  aura  raison.  C'est 
a  destinee  des  hommes  superieurs  de 
Jeter  ainsi  I'ombre  sur  ce  qui  est  der- 
riere  eux,  et  de  ne  briller  que  par  eux- 
memes.  Mais  pourquoi  ne  remonte- 
rions-nous  point  aux  origines,  pourquoi 
ne  retablirions-nous  pas  la  genealogie 
intellectuelle  des  eminents  ecrivains  ? 
Aristocratic  peu  dangereuse,  et  qui  n'a 


chance  de  choquer  personne  dans  ce 
temps  d'egalite. 

Ce  serait  une  folie  de  soutenir  que 
Dante  lut  tous  les  visionnaires  qui  I'a- 
vaient  precede.  Chez  lui,  heureuse- 
ment,  le  poete  effa9ait  I'erudit.  Cepen- 
dant, comme  I'a  dit  un  ecrivain  digne 
de  sentir  mieux  que  personne  le  genie 
synthetique  de  Dante,  "  il  n'y  a  que  la 
rhetorique  qui  puisse  jamais  supposer 
que  le  plan  d'un  grand  ouvrage  appar- 
tient  a  qui  I'execute."  Ce  mot  ex- 
plique  precisement  ce  qui  est  arrive  a 
I'auteur  de  la  Divine  Comedie.  Dante 
a  resume  avec  puissance  une  donnee 
philosophique  et  litteraire  qui  avail 
cours  de  son  temps ;  il  a  donne  sa 
formule  definitive  a  une  poesie  flottante 
et  dispersee  autour  de  lui,  avant  lui. 
11  eu  est  de  ces  sortes  de  legs  poetiques 
comme  d'un  patrimoine  dont  on  herite  : 
sait-on  seulement  d'ou  il  vient,  com- 
ment il  s'est  forme,  a  qui  il  appartenait 
avant  d'etre  au  possesseur  d'hier  ?  .  .  .  . 

Quand  je  disais  tout  a  I'heure  que 
Dante  vint  tard,  il  ne  faudrait  pas  en- 
tendre qu'il  vint  trop  tard  ;  I'heure  de 
pareils  hommes  est  designee  ;  seulement 
il  arriva  le  dernier,  il  ferma  la  marche, 
pour  ainsi  dire.  D'ailleurs,  quoique  la 
societe  religieuse  d'alors  commen^at  a 
etre  ebranlee  dans  ses  fondements  par  le 
sourd  et  lent  effort  du  doute,  elle  avail 
encore  garde  intact  I'heritage  de  la  foi. 
La  forme  rigoureuse  de  la  vieille  con- 
stitution ecclesiastique  demeurail  sans 
echecs  app&rents,  el  Ton  etait  encore  a 
deux  siecles  de  la  Reforme  ;  la  papaute, 
en  abusanl  des  indulgences,  n'apaisait 
pas  les  scrupules  des  consciences  chre- 
tiennes  sur  les  chaliments  de  I'enfer. 

Mais  quel  fut  le  resultal  immediat  du 
relachement  qui  commen9ait  a  se  ma- 
nifester  5a  et  Ik  dans  les  croyances  ? 
C'est  que  les  predicateurs,  pour  parer 
a  ce  danger,  evoquerent  plus  qu'aupara- 
vant  les  idees  de  vengeance,  et  rede- 
manderenl  4  la  mort  ces  enseignemenls 
que  leur  permanence  meme  rend  plus 
terribles.  De  14,  ces  teneurs  profondes 
de  la  fin  de  I'homme,  ces  inquietudes, 
ces  ebranlements  en  quelque  sorte  qu'on 
retrouve  dans  beaucoup  d'imaginations 
d'alors,  et  qui  furenl  si  favorables  4 
I'excitalion  du  genie  de  Dante.  Les 
anciens  figuraient  volontiers  la  morl  sous 
3  C  2 


734 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


des  formes  aimables  ;  dans  les  temps  qui 
avoisinent  I'Alighieri,  on  en  fait,  au  con- 
traire,  des  images  repoussantes.  Ce 
n'est  plus  cette  maigre  jeune  femme  des 
premiers  temps  du  christianisme ;  c'est 
plus  que  jamais  un  hideux  squelette,  le 
squelette  prochain  des  danses  macabres. 
Le  symptome  est  significatif 

De  quelque  cote  qu'il  jetat  les  yeux 
autour  de  lui,  Dante  voyait  cette  figure 
de  la  Mort  qui  lui  montrait  de  son  doigt 
decharne  les  mysterieux  pays  qu'il  lui 
etait  enjoint  de  visiter.  Je  ne  crois  pas 
exagerer  en  affirmant  que  Dante  a  beau- 
coup  emprunte  aussi  aux  divers  monu- 
ments des  arts  plastiques.  Les  legendes 
infernales,  les  visions  celestes,  avaient 
ete  traduites  sur  la  pierre  et  avaient 
trouve  chez  les  artistes  du  moyen  Sge 
d'ardents  commentateurs.  Les  peintures 
sur  mur  ont  disparu  presque  toutes  ;  il 
n'en  reste  que  des  lambeaux.  Ainsi, 
dans  la  crypte  de  la  cathedrale  d' Auxerre, 
on  voit  un  fragment  oil  est  figure  le 
triomphe  du  Christ,  tel  precisement 
qu'Alighieri  I'a  represente  dans  le  Pur- 
qatoire.  Les  peintures  sur  verre  ou  se 
retrouvent  I'enfer  et  le  paradis  abondent 
dans  nos  cathedrales,  et  la  plupart 
datent  de  la  fin  du  douzieme  siecle  et  du 
courant  du  treizieme.  Dante  avait  du 
encore  en  voir  executer  plus  d'une  dans 
sa  jeunesse.  Enfre  les  plus  curieuses,  on 
peut  citer  la  rose  occidentale  de  I'eglise 
de  Chartres.  Quant  aux  sculptures, 
elles  sont  egalement  tres-multipliees  :  le 
tympan  du  portail  occidental  d'Autun, 
celui  du  grand  portail  de  Conques,  le 
portail  de  Moissac,  offrent,  par  exemple, 
des  details  tres-bizarres  et  tres-divers. 
Toutes  les  fonnes  du  chatiment  s'y 
trouvent  pour  ainsi  dire  epuisees,  de 
meme  que  dans  P Eufer  du  poete ;  les 
recompenses  aussi,  comnie  dans  le  Pa- 
radis, sont  tris-nombreuses,  mais  beau- 
coup  moins  varices.  Est-ce  parce  que 
notre   incomplete   nature  est   plus  faite 

Emr  sentir  le  mal  que  le  bien  ?  Lorsque 
ante  fit  son  voyage  de  France,  tout 
cela  exisfait,  meme  le  portail  occidental 
de  Notre- Dame  de  Pans,  ou  sont  figures 
plusieurs  degres  de  peines  et  de  remu- 
nerations. Sans  sortir  de  nos  fronfitres, 
notre  infatigable  archeologue  M.  Didron 
A  pu  compter  plus  de  cinquantc  illustra- 
U0ns  de  (a  Divine  Comidie,  toutes  an- 


terieures  au  poeme.  £videmment  Ali- 
ghieri  s'est  inspire  de  ce  vivant  spectacle. 
Les  artistes  ont  done  leur  part,  a  cote 
des  legendaires,  dans  ces  antecedents  de 
I'epopee  chretienne,  tandis  que  Dante 
lui-meme,  par  un  glorieux  retour,  semble 
avoir  ete  present  a  la  pensee  de  celui  qui 
peignit  le  jfugement  dernier.  Noble  et 
touchante  solidarite  des  arts  !  Qui  n'ai- 
merait  a  lire  une  page  de  la  Divine 
Comidie  devant  les  fresques  de  la 
chapelle  Sixtime  ?  Qui  n'aimerait  k 
reconnailre  dans  Michel-Ange  le  seul 
commentateur  legitime  de  Dante?  A 
une  certaine  hauteur,  tout  ce  qui  est  beau 

et  vrai  se  tejoint  et  se  confond 

La  question  des  epopees,  si  vivement 
et  si  frequemment  debattue  par  la  cri- 
tique moderne,  ne  peut-elle  pas  recevoir 
quelque  profit  du  tableau  que  nous  avons 
vu  se  derouler  sous  nos  yeux  ?  On  salt 
maintenant,  par  un  exemple  consider- 
able, (quel  est  le  nom  k  cote  duquel  ne 
pourrait  elre  cite  celui  de  Dante  ?)  on 
salt  comment  derriere  chaque  grand 
poete  primitif  il  y  a  des  generations 
oubilees,  pour  ainsi  dire,  qui  ont  prelude 
aux  memes  harmonies,  qui  ont  prepare 
le  concert.  Ces  oeuvres  capitales,  qui 
apparaissent  5a  et  1^  aux  heures  solen- 
nelles  et  chez  les  nations  privilegiees, 
sont  comme  ces  moissons  des  champs  de 
bataille  qui  croissent  fecondees  par  les 
morts.  Dante  explique  Homere.  Au 
lieu  de  I'inspiration  religieuse  mettez 
I'inspiration  nationale,  et  vous  saurez  com- 
ment s'est  faite  F  Iliade ;  seulement  la 
trace  des  rapsodes  a  disparu,  tandis  que 
celle  des  jegendaires  est  encore  accessible 
i  I'erudition.  Ces  deux  poetes  ont  eu  en 
quelque  sorte  pour  soutiens  les  temps  qui 
les  ont  precedes  et  leur  siecle  meme ;  I'un 
a  redit  ce  que  les  Grecs  pensaient  de  la 
vie  publique,  I'autre  ce  que  les  hommes 
du  moyen  ige  pensaient  de  la  vie  future. 
Sont-ils  moins  grands  pour  cela  ?  Cette 
collaboration  de  la  foule,  au  contraire, 
est  un  privilege  qui  ne  s'accorde  qu'i  de 
bien  rares  intervalles  et  a  des  genies  tout 
i  fait  exceptionnels.  Pour  s  emparer  ^ 
leur  profit  de  I'inspiration  gencrale,  pour 
ftre  les  interprctes  des  sentiments  et  des 
passions  d'une  grande  ^poque,  pour  faire 
ainsi  de  la  litt^rature  qui  devienne  de 
I'histoire,  les  poetes  doivent  ^tre  marqu^ 
au  front.     Les  pensees  des  temps  ant^- 


DANTE,   IMITATEITR  ET  CREATE UR. 


735 


rieurs  eclatent  tout  a  coup  en  eux  et  s'y 
resolvent  avec  une  fecondite  et  une  puis- 
sance inconnues.  A  eux  de  dire  sous 
une  forme  meilleure,  souveraine,  a  eux 
de  fixer  sous  retemelle  poesie  ce  qui  se 
repete  a  I'entour ! 

Ce  spectacle  a  sa  morality  :  n'y  a-t-il 
pas  IS,  en  effet,  en  dehors  des  noms 
propres,  quelque  chose  de  vraiment 
grandiose  par  la  simplicite  meme  ? 
Dans  I'ordre  esth^tique,  la  poesie  est 
la  premiere  de  toutes  les  puissances 
donnees  a  I'homme.  Elle  est  a  I'eter- 
nel  beau  ce  qu'est  la  vertu  a  I'eter- 
nel  bien,  ce  qu'est  la  sagesse  a  I'etemel 
vrai,  c'est-a-dire  un  rayon  echappe  d'en 
haut ;  elle  nous  rapproche  de  Dieu. 
Eh  bien  !  Dieu,  qui  partout  est  le 
dispensateur  du  genie,  et  qui  I'aime, 
n'a  pas  voulu  que  les  faibles,  que  les 
petits  fi.issent  tout  a  fait  desherites  de 
ce  don  sublime.  Aussi,  dans  ces 
grandes  oeuvres  poetiques  qui  ouvrent 
les  eres  litteraires,  toute  une  foule  ano- 
nyme  semble  avoir  sa  part,  C'est  pour 
ces  inconnus,  eclaireurs  predestines  a 
I'oubli,  qu'est  la  plus  rude  tache  ;  ils 
tracent  instinctivement  les  voies  a  une 
sorte  de  conquerant  au  profit  de  qui  ils 
n'auront  qu  a  abdiquer  un  jour ;  ils 
preparent  a  grand'-peine  le  metal  qui 
sera  marque  plus  tard  a  une  autre  et 
definitive  empreinte ;  car,  une  fois  les 
tentatives  epuisees,  arrive  I'homme  de 
genie.  Aussitot  il  s'empare  de  tous 
ces  elements  disperses  et  leur  imprime 
cette  unite  imposante  qui  equivaut  k  la 
creation.  Et  alors,  qu'on  me  passe 
I'expression,  on  ne  distingue  plus  rien 
dans  ce  faisceau,  naguere  epars,  main- 
tenant  relie  avec  tant  de  puissance, 
dans  cet  imposant  faisceau  du  dictateur 
poetique,  qu'il  s'appelle  Horoere  ou 
Dante.  II  y  a  done  la  une  loi  de  I'his- 
toire  litteraire  qui  rend  un  peu  a  tous, 
qui  prete  quelque  chose  a  I'humanite, 
qui  donne  leur  part  aux  humbles,  et 
cela  sans  rien  oter  au  poete ;  car,  je  le 
ref)ete,  les  plus  grands  hommes  evidem- 
ment  sont  seuls  appeles  ainsi  a  formuler 
une  pensee  collective,  k  concentrer, 
a  absorber,  a  ranger  sous  la  discipline 
de  leur  genie  tout  ce  qui  s'est  produit 
d'idees  autour  d'eux,  avant  eux.  C'est 
le  miroir  d'Archimede 

II  y  a  done  deux  parts  a  faire  dans 


la  Divine  Comidie,  sinon  pour  le  lec- 
teur,  au  moins  pour  le  critique :  la 
part  de  I'imilation,  la  part  de  la  crea- 
tion. Dante  est  un  genie  double,  a  la 
fois  ecleclique  et  original.  II  ne  veut 
pas  imposer  au  monde  sa  fantaisie  et 
son  reve  par  le  seul  despotisme  du 
genie.  Loin  de  la,  il  va  au-devant  de 
son  temps,  tout  en  attirant  son  temps 
a  lui.  C'est  ainsi  que  font  les  grands 
hommes  :  ils  s'emparent.sans  dedain  des 
forces  d'alentour  et  y  ajoutent  la  leur. 

Dirai-je  ce  que  Dante  a  imite,  ou 
plutot  ce  qu'il  a  conquis  sur  les  autres, 
ce  qu'il  a  incorpore  a  son  oeuvre?  II 
faudrait  en  rechercher  les  traces  par- 
tout,  dans  la  forme,  dans  le  fond,  dans 
la  langue  meme  de  son  admirable  livre. 
L'antiquite  s'y  trahirait  vite :  Platon 
par  ses  ideales  theories,  Virgile  par  la 
melopee  de  ses  vers.  Le  moyen  age, 
a  son  tour,  s'y  rencontrerait  en  entier  : 
mystiques  elans  de  la  foi,  reveries  che- 
valeresques,  violences  theologiques,  feo- 
dales,  municipales,  tout  jusqu'aux  bouf- 
fonneries  ;  c'est  un  tableau  complet  de 
I'epoque  :  le  genie  disputeur  de  la  sco- 
lastique  y  donne  la  main  a  la  muse 
etrange  des  legendaires.  Si  la  chevale- 
rie  introduit  dans  les  moeurs  le  devoue- 
ment  a  la  femme,  si  les  troubadours 
alidiquent  leur  cynisme  pour  chanter 
une  heroine  imaginaire,  si  Gauthier  de 
Coinsy  et  les  pieux  trouveres  redou- 
blent  le  lis  virginal  sur  le  front  de 
Marie,  si  les  sculpteurs  enfin  taillent 
ces  chastes  et  syeltes  statues  dont  les 
yeux  sont  baisses,  dont  les  mains  sont 
jointes,  dont  les  traits  respirent  je  ne 
sais  quelle  angelique  candeur,  ce  sont 
autant  de  modeles  pour  Dante,  qui  con- 
centre ces  traits  epars,  les  idealise,  et 
les  reunit  dans  I'adorable  creation  de 
Beatrice.  Cet  habile  et  souverain 
eclectisme,  Alighieri  le  poursuit  dans 
les  plus  petits  details.  Ainsi,  par  un 
admirable  procede  d'elimination  et  de 
choix,  son  rhythme  il  I'emprunte  aux 
cantilenes  des  Proven9aux ;  sa  langue 
splendide,  celte  langue  auliqun  et  car- 
airtalesqtte,  comme  il  I'appelle,  il  la 
prend  a  tous  les  patois  italiens,  qu'il 
emonde  et  qu'il  transforme.  On  dirait 
meme  qu'il  sut  mettre  a  profit  jusqu'k 
ses  liaisons,  jusqu'aux  amities  de  sa 
jeunesse.     Au  musicien  Casella  ne  put' 


736 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


il  pas  demander  ces  harmonieuses  dou- 
ceurs de  la  langue  toscane  dont  herita 
plus  tard  Petrarque ;  au  peintre  Giotto, 
le  modele  de  ces  figures  pensives  dont 
le  pinceau  toucha  a  peine  Ics  lignes 
suaves,  et  qui,  dans  les  vieilles  oeuvres 
italiennes,  se  detachent  au  milieu  d'une 
lumiere  d'or  ;  a  I'architecte  Arnolfo 
enfin,  la  hardiesse  de  ses  belles  con- 
structions, pour  batir  aussi  son  edifice, 
sa  sombre  tour  feodale  maintenant  noir- 
cie  par  les  annees,  mais  qui  domine 
tout  I'art  du  moyen  age. 

Ainsi  Dante  ne  dedaigne  rien  :  phi- 
losophe,  poete,  philologue,  il  prend  de 
toutes  mains,  il  imite  humblement  I'a- 
beille.  Vous  voyez  bien  qu'il  n'a  rien 
cree,  ou  plutot  il  a  tout  cree.  C'est 
de  la  sorte  que  proc^dent  les  inven- 
teurs  :  chacun  sait  les  elements  dont  ils 
se  servent,  personne  ne  sait  le  secret 
de  leur  mise  en  oeuvre.  Ce  qui  d'ail- 
leurs  appartient  en  propre  a  Dante,  ce 
qui  suffirait  a  sa  gloire,  c'est  le  genie  ; 
I'imposante  grandeur  de  I'ensemble  et 
en  meme  temps  la  supreme  beaute  du 
detail  et  du  style,  ce  je  ne  sais  quoi 
qui  est  propre  a  sa  phrase,  cette  allure 
souveraine  et  inexprimable  de  sa  poe- 
sie,  tant  d'^nergie  i  la  fois  et  tant 
de  grace,  tant  de  sobri^te  s^v^re  dans 
la  forme,  et  cependant  tout  un  ^crin 
^blouissant,  des  couleurs  diapr^es  et 
fuyantes,  et  comme  un  rayonnement 
divin  dans  chaque  vers. 

Ce  n'est  pas  qu'il  faille  porter  le  culte 
jusqu'a  la  superstition.  Les  ultras,  il 
est  vrai,  sont  moins  dangereux  en  lit- 
t^rature  qu'en  politique :  en  politique, 
ils  perdent  les  gouvemements  qu'ils 
flattent  ;  en  litterature,  ils  ne  font  que 
compromettre  un  instant  les  ecrivains 
qu'ils  exaltent,  et  qui,  apres  tout,  sont 
toujours  surs  de  retrouver  leur  vrai 
niveau.  Mais  pourquoi  ces  exagera- 
tions  ?  Comment  la  vogue  a-t-elle  ose 
toucher  ^  I'aust^re  genie  de  Dante  ? 
L' oeuvre  d'  Alighieri,  j'en  veux  convenir, 
ressemble  4  ces  inimenses  cath^drales 
du  moyen  age  que  j'admire  beaucoup, 
autant  que  persoiuie,  mais  qui,  en  defin- 
itive, sont  le  protUiit  d'un  temps  a  demi 
barbare,  et  oii  toutes  les  hardiesses 
«ianc^es  de  I'architecture,  ou  les  mer- 
veilles  ciselees  et  les  delicatesses  sculp- 
turales  s'entremelent  souvent,  ^  travers 


les  epoques,  a  de  lourds  massifs,  i  des 
statues  diflformes,  a  des  parties  ina- 
chevees.  Apprecions  Dante  en  cri- 
tiques, et  sachons  ou  vont  nos  adhe- 
sions. Sans  doute  il  y  a  sympathie 
permanente  en  nous  pour  ce  passe  que 
chante  le  poete ;  mais  nous  sentons 
bien  que  c'est  du  passe.  Soyons  francs : 
la  fibre  erudite  est  ici  en  jeu  aussi  bien 
que  la  fibre  poetique  ;  la  curiosite  est 
eveillee  en  meme  temps  que  I'admira- 
tion.  Si  I'on  est  frappe  de  ces  cata- 
combes  gigantesques,  on  sait  qu'elles 
sont  I'asile  de  la  mort.  En  un  mot, 
nous  comprenons,  nous  expliquons,  nous 
ne  croyons  plus.  La  foi  de  Dante 
nous  parait  touchante,  aux  heures  de 
tristesse,  elle  nous  fait  meme  envie 
quelquefois ;  mais  personne  ne  prend 
plus  au  serieux,  dans  I'ordre  moral,  le 
cadre  d'Alighieri.  N'est-ce  pas  pour 
nous  un  reve  bizarre  qui  a  sa  grandeur, 
sa  grandeur  en  philosophic  et  en  his- 
toire  ?  Et  a  qui,  je  la  demande,  cette 
lecture  laisse-t-elle  une  terreur  sincere  et 
melee  de  joie,  comme  au  moyen  age  ? 
Helas !  ce  qui  nous  frappe  surtout  dans  la 
Divine  Comidie,  ce  sont  les  beaux  vers. 

Heureusement  la  forme  seule  a  vieilli ; 
le  probleme  au  fond  est  demeure  le 
meme,  et  la  poetique  solution  tentee 
par  1' Alighieri  reste  immortelle.  Les 
sentiments  qu'il  a  touches  avec  tant 
d'art,  les  vcrites  qu'il  a  revetues  de 
parures  si  splendides,  sont  de  tons  les 
temps.  Convenons  seulement  que  dans 
cette  foret  oil  s'egare  le  poete,  on  ren- 
contre bien  des  aspects  sauvages,  bien 
des  rochers  inabordables.  Dante,  genie 
capricieux  et  subtil,  est,  ne  I'oublions 
pas,  un  homme  du  moyen  age ;  incom- 
parablement  superieur  k  son  temps,  il 
en  a  cependant  ci  et  la  les  inegalit^s, 
le  tour  bizarre,  la  barbaric,  le  pedan- 
tisme  :  legitime  satisfaction  qu'il  faut 
donner  k  la  critique.  Qu'importe  apres 
tout  ?  S'il  y  a  9^  et  la  des  broussailles 
pedantesques  qui  obstruent  la  voie  et 
qui  fatiguent,  tout  k  cote,  et  comme  au 
detour  du  buisson,  on  est  sflr  de  re- 
trouver les  idees  grandioses,  les  images 
^latantes,  et  aussi  cette  simplicite 
naive,  ces  grace*  discretes,  qui  n  inter- 
disent  pas  la  science  am^re  de  la  vie. 
Laissons  done  I'ombre  descendre  et 
couvrir  les  parties  de  I'oeuvre  de  Dante 


DANTE,   IMITATEUR  ET  CREATEUR. 


737 


d'oii  la  poesie  s'est  de  bonne  heiire 
retiree,  et  contemplons  plutot  celles  que 
retemelle  aurore  de  la  beaute  semble 
rajeunir  encore  avec  les  siecles. 

Cette  forme,  si  longtemps  populaire, 
ii  universellement  repandue,  de  la  vi- 
sion, semble  disparaitre  avec  Alighieri, 
qui  sort  radieux  du  fatras  des  commen- 
taires  et  des  imitateurs.  Apres  lui, 
qu'on  me  passe  le  mot,  il  n'y  a  plus 
de  pelerinage  de  Childe- Harold  dans 
I'autre  monde.  Le  poete  avail  fait  de 
la  vision  son  inalienable  domaine ;  c'e- 
tait  une  forme  desormais  arretee  en  lui, 
et  qui  ne  devait  pas  avoir  k  subir  d'e- 
preuves  nouvelles.  Quelles  avaient  ete 
pendant  treize  cents  sans  les  craintes, 
les  esperances  de  I'humanite  sur  la  vie 
a  venir  :  voila  le  programme  que  s'etait 
trace  Dante,  et  qu'il  avait  pour  jamais 
rempli  dans  son  poeme. 

Sur  la  pente  rapide  qu'elles  descen- 
daient,  comment  les  generations  qui  suc- 
cederent  a  I'Alighieri  auraient-elles  pris 
desormais  un  interet  autre  que  I'interet 
poetique  a  ces  questions  du  monde  fu- 
tur  ainsi  resolues  par  des  visionnaires  ? 
Dante,  il  est  bon  de  le  rappeler  encore, 
n'esl  pas  un  genie  precurseur  par  les 
idees  ;  il  ne  devance  pas  I'avenir,  il  re- 
sume le  passe  :  son  poeme  est  comme  le 
dernier  mot  de  la  theologie  du  moyen 
age.  Cela  est  triste  a  dire  peut-etre, 
mais  le  cynique  Boccace  est  bien  plutot 
I'homme  de  I'avenir  que  Dante.  Dante 
parle  a  ceux  qui  croient,  Boccace  a  ceux 
qui  doutent.  La  Reforme  est  en  germe 
dans  le  Dtcameron,  tandis  que  la  Divine 
Comedie  est  le  livre  des  generations  qui 
avaient  la  foi.  C'est  qu'on  marche 
vite  dans  ces  siecles  agites  de  la  Renais- 
sance. Prenez  plutot  I'ltalie,  cette 
vieille  reine  du  catholicisme  ;  la  France, 
cette  fiUe  ainee  de  I'figlise ;  I'Espagne 
meme,  cette  terre  privilegiee  de  la  foi, 
et  interrogez-les.  Qu'elles  vous  disent 
:e  que  font  leurs  ecrivains  des  souve- 
nirs de  Dante  et  des  revelations  sur 
I'autre  vie ;  qu'elles  vous  disent  s'ils 
n'ont  pas  bien  plutot  dans  la  memoire 
le  scepticisme  goguenard  des  trouveres. 
Voici  en  effet  que  Folengo,  un  moine 
italien,  donne  brusquement  un  enfer 
burlesque  pour  denoument  k  sa  celebre 
macaronee  de  Baldus,  et  qu'il  y  laisse 
sans  fagon  son  heros,  sous  pretexte  que 


les  poetes,  ces  menteurs  par  excellence, 
ont  leur  place  marquee  chez  Satan,  et 
qu'il  n'a,  lui,  qu'a  y  rester.  Voila  que 
Rabelais,  a  son  tour,  verse  au  hasard 
les  grossieres  enluminures  de  sa  palette 
sur  ce  tableau  oil  le  vieux  gibelin  avait 
a  I'avance  mis  les  couleurs  de  Rem- 
brandt. Le  prosa'ique  enfer  de  Rabe- 
lais, c'est  le  monde  renverse.  Je  me 
garderai  de  citer  des  exemples  :  qu'on 
se  rappelle  seulement  qu'il  ne  sait  que 
faire  raccommoder  des  chausses  a  Alex- 
andre le  Grand,  a  ce  conquerant  qu'Ali- 
ghieri  avait  plonge  dans  un  flueve  de 
sang  bouillant.  C'est  a  ces  trivialites 
que  r  Italic  et  la  France  retombent  avec 
Folengo  et  Rabelais.  L'Espagne  aussi, 
un  peu  plus  tard,  aura  son  tour  ;  pre- 
nez patience.  Laissez  sainte  Therese, 
ce  grand  genie  mystique  egare  au  sei- 
zieme  siecle  laissez-la  evoquer  I'enfer 
dans  ses  songes,  et  rever  que  deux  mu- 
railles  enflammees  viennent  a  elle,  qui 
finissent  par  I'etreindre  dans  un  em- 
brassenient  de  feu  ;  laissez  la  foi  et  la 
mode  des  atitos  sacramentaUs  conserver 
encore  quelque  importance  aux  com- 
positions religieuses.  Deji,  quand  Cal- 
deron  met  sur  la  scene  la  legende  du 
Purgatoire  de  saint  Patrice,  il  n'a  plus,  a 
beaucoup  pres,  ces  males  accents  de  la 
chanson  du  Romancero,  oil  etaient  si 
energiquement  depeints  les  chatiments 
que  Dieu  inflige  en  enfer  aux  mauvais 
rois.  La  transformation  s'annonce  :  on 
louche  aux  railleries  de  Quevedo,  a 
cette  bouffonne  composition  des  Etables 
de  Pluton,  par  laquelle  I'Espagne  vint  la 
derniere  rejoindre  les  cyniques  tableaux 
du  Baldus  et  du  Pantagruel, 

Tels  sont  les  successeurs  de  Dante, 
qui  I'ont  un  instant  fait  descendre  de 
ce  trone  de  I'art  chretien,  oil  notre 
equitable  admiration  I'a  si  legitime- 
ment  et  a  jamais  replace.  Comment, 
en  demeurant  au  degre  oil  nous  I'avons 
vu,  I'homme  de  son  epoque,  I'Alighi- 
eri a-t-il  empreinl  a  un  si  haut  point 
son  oeuvre  d'un  sceau  personnel  et  ori- 
ginal ?  comment  la  creation  et  I'imita- 
tion  se  sont-elles  si  bien  fondues  dans 
la  spontaneite  de  I'art?  Inexplicables 
mysteres  du  talent !  C'est  dans  ce  de- 
veloppement  simultane  du  genie  indivi- 
duel,  d'une  part,  et  du  genie  contem- 
porain,  de  I'autre,  qu'est  la  marque  des 


73« 


ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


esprits  souverains.  Voilk  I'ideal  que 
Dante  a  atteint ;  il  ne  faut  lui  disputer 
auciine  des  portions,  meme  les  nioin- 
dres,  de  son  oeuvre :  tout  lui  appartient 
par  la  double  legitimile  de  la  naissance 
et  de  la  conquete.  11  etait  creatcur,  et 
il  s'est  fait  en  meme  temps  I'homme 
de  la  tradition,  parce  que  la  poesie  res- 
semhle  a  ces  lumieres  qu'on  se  passait 
de  main  en  main  dans  les  jeux  du 
stade,  k  ces  torches  des  coureurs  aux- 
quelles  Lucrece  compare  si  admirable- 
ment  la  vie.  Le  flambeau  poetique 
ne  s'eteint  jamais  :  Dante  I'a  pris  des 
mains  de  Virgile  pour  en  eclairer  le 
monde  modeme. 

Chaque  epoque  a  sa  poesie  qui  lui 
est  propre,  et  qui  ne  saurait  etre  pour- 
tant  qu'une  maniere  diverse  d'envisager, 
sous  ses  formes  varices,  le  probleme  de 
la  destinde  humaine  ;  car  nous  sommes 
de  ceux  qui  croient,  avec  Theodore 
Jouffroy,  que  toute  poesie  veritable, 
que  toute  grande  poesie  est  14,  que  ce 
qui  ne  s'y  rapporte  point  n'en  est  que 
la  vague  apparence  et  le  reflet.  Cette 
blessure  au  flanc  que  I'humanitd  porte 
apres  elle,  ce  besoin  toujours  inassouvi 
qui  est  en  nous  et  que  la  lyre  doit 
cdldbrer ;  en  un  mot,  tout  ce  qu'Es- 
chyle  pressentait  dans  le  Prom6t/i£e, 
tout  ce  que  Shakespeare  a  peint  dans 
Hamlet,  ce  pourquoi  dont  Manfred 
demande  la  solution  4  I'univers,  ce 
doute  que  Faust  cherche  4  combler  par 
[a  science,  Werther  par  I'amour,  don 
Juan  par  le  mal,  ce  contraste  de  notre 
ndant  et  de  notre  immortality,  toutes 
ces  sources  de  l'<5ternelle  podsie  dtaient 
ouvertes  dans  le  coeur  d'Alighieri. 
Lassd  de  la  vie,  ddgoiitd  des  hommes, 
Dante  s'est  mis  au  deli  du  tombeau 
pour  les  juger,  pour  chatier  le  vice, 
pour  chanter  I'hymne  du  bien,  du 
vrai  et  du  beau.  C'est  un  de  ces 
mattres  aimds  qui  sont  sfirs  de  ne  ja- 
mais mourir,  car  I'humanitd,  qui  a 
coopdrd  h.  leur  oeuvre,  reconnaifra  tou- 
jours en  eux  sa  grandeur  et  sa  mis^re. 


CABALA. 

SCehelin,  Rabbinical  Literature,  Vul.  I.  p.  156. 

We  sliall  now  lay  before  the  Reader 
some    Account  of  the  Radix,  or  First 


Elements,  of  the  Cabala.  The  Radix 
of  this  mysterious  Science  is  the  Hebrew- 
Alphabet ;  which  the  Cahalists  divide 
into  Three  Portions  ;  annexing  to  each 
Portion  a  peculiar  Province  of  the 
Cabala.  These  Three  Provinces  of 
their  Mysteries  are  referr'd,  One  to  the 
Angelic  World,  or  the  several  Orders  of 
Angels  or  pure  intellectual  Beings  in 
Heaven  ;  Another  to  the  Starry  World  ; 
and  the  Third  to  the  Elementary  World; 
for  after  this  Manner  the  Cabalists 
divide  the  Universe.  The  Letters  from 
Aleph  to  yod,  inclusive,  are  Symbols, 
say  they,  of  the  Orders  of  Angels,  stil'd, 
by  their  Sages,  Incorporal  Beings,  and 
pure  Intellects,  free  from  all  Matter, 
and  flowing  immediately  from,  or  being 
the  purest  and  most  sublime  Eff"ect  of, 
the  Power  of  God.  The  Letters  from 
Caph  to  Tzade,  likewise  inclusive,  re- 
present the  Orders  of  the  Heavens,  or 
the  Starry  World  ;  which  the  Cabalists 
place  under  the  Influence  or  Govern- 
ment of  the  Angels  ;  and  sometimes  call 
the  World  of  Rounds  or  Circles.  The 
remaining  Letters,  up  to  the  Letter 
l^han,  are  referr'd  to  the  Four  Ele- 
ments, or  Prime  Species  of  Matter,  and 
to  all  their  various  Forms  and  Com- 
binations ;  which  Elements,  say  the 
Cabalists,  have  Influence  or  Dominion 
over  Sense  and  Life  ;  and  are  them- 
selves under  the  Influence  or  Direction 
of  the  Angels  and  the  Coelestial  Circles, 
or  Starry  World,  The  Radical  Cabal- 
istical  References  of  each  Letter  in  the 
/i^^r^f-Alphabet  the  Cabalists  set  forth 
in  the  following  Manner. 

I.  The  Letter  Aleph  (Doctrine)  de- 
notes, among  the  Cabalists,  the  Holy 
Name  Hu,  assign 'd  to  the  Inaccessible 
Light  of  the  Divine  Being,  who  is  sig- 
nified by  the  Word  Ensnph,  i.e.  In- 
finite.    It  is  referr'd  to  tlie  First  Sephi- 

roth  or  Number;  call'd  Kether,  i.e. 
Crown,  as  being  the  Symbol  of  the 
most  sublime  and  perfect  Beings  ;  that 
is  to  say,  those  Angels  which  are  up- 
held through  the  Prime  Influence,  or 
the  Prime  Favour,  or  Goodness  of  God, 
and  are  call'd  Hajoth  hakodesch,  i.e. 
Holy  Animals.  By  these  the  Cabalists 
mean  the  Seraphims. 

II.  The  Letter  Beth  {House)  denotes 
the   Holy  name   Ehie,   assign'd  to   the 


CABALA^ 


739 


Wisdom  of  God ;  and  signifying  like- 
wise a  Being,  from  which  all  other 
Beings  are  deriv'd.  It  is  referr'd  to  the 
Second  Sephira,  call'd  Chochma,  i.e. 
Wisdom;  which  is  annex'd  to  the  Order 
of  Angels,  call'd  Ophanim,  i.e.  Wheels, 
which  is  the  Order  of  Cherubims ;  who 
were  deriv'd  from  the  Power  of  God, 
through,  and  next  after,  the  Intelligences 
above-mention'd ;  that  is  to  say,  the 
Seraphims ;  and,  from  them,  descend 
(irtflneiitially)  into  the  Terrestrial  Beings. 

III.  Gimel  {Restoring,  or  Reivarding) 
denotes  the  Holy  name  AscA,  signify- 
ing the  Fire  of  Laze,  or  the  Holy  Spirit, 
and  is  referr'd  to  the  Third  Sephira  or 
Number,  call'd  Binah,  i.e.  Prudence; 
representing  an  Order  of  Angels,  call'd 
Aralim,  i.e.  Great,  Valiant,  Angels  of 
Might ;  who  make  up  the  Third  Class 
of  Intelligences,  or  intellectual  Beings, 
flowing  from  the  Divine  Goodness ; 
and  who  are  illumin'd  by  the  Power 
of  God,  through  the  .Second  Class,  or 
Order  (i.e.  the  Cherubims)  and  descend 
therewith  (influentially)  to  the  lower- 
most Beings.  The  Angels  of  this  Order 
are  taken  to  be  the  same  with  the 
Angels  which  are  call'd  Thrones. 

IV.  Daleth  [a  Gate)  denotes  the 
Holy  Name  Ell ;  and  is  referr'd  to  the 
Fourth  Sephira  or  Number,  call'd  Che- 
sed,  i.e.  Grace,  or  Afercy;  which  is 
appropriated  to  the  Maschemalim,  an 
Order  of  Angels  which  is  taken  to  be 
the  same  with  That  call'd  Dominions ; 
and  which  flows,  from  the  Power  of 
God,  through  the  Third  Order  of  In- 
telligences (i.e.  the  Aralim),  and,  with 
it,  descends  influentially  on  the  Beings 
below. 

V.  He  {Behold)  denotes  the  Holy 
Name  Elohim,  and  the  Fifth  Sephira, 
call'd  Pashad ;  which  denotes  Severity, 
Judgement,  Awe,  the  Left  Side,  or  the 
Sword  of  God.  This  Sephira  is  assign'd, 
by  some  Hebrews,  to  the  Seraphims ; 
but  by  others,  more  reasonably,  to  the 
Order  of  Angels  call'd  Gnaz  {Strength) 
which  flows  from  the  Power  of  God, 
through  the  Fourth  Class  of  Intelli- 
gences, and,  with  it,  sends  down  its 
Influence  to  Inferiour  Beings. 

VI.  Vau  {a  Hook)  denotes  the  Mys- 
teries of  the  Holy  Name  Eloah  ;  and  is 
referr'd  to  the  Fifth  Sephira,  which  is 


call'd  Tiphereth,  denoting  Beauty,  Or- 
nament, and  the  Upper  Coelestial  Sun ; 
and  representing  the  Melachim,  or  Order 
of  Angels  call'd  Paiuers ;  which  are 
derived  from  the  Power  of  God,  through 
the  Fifth  Order  of  Intelligences,  and 
send,  with  that  Order,  their  Influence 
down  to  Inferiour  Creatures. 

VII.  Sajin  {Armour)  denotes  the 
Name  Zebaoth,  i.e.  the  God  of  Hosts , 
and  the  Seventh  Sephira,  call'd  Net- 
sach,  i.e.  Conquering,  answering  to  the 
Order  of  Angels  call'd  Elohim,  or  Prin- 
cipalities, which  flow  from  the  Power 
of  God,  through  the  Angels  of  the 
Sixth  Order,  and,  with  them,  send  their 
Influences  down  upon  the  Inferiour 
Creation. 

VIII.  Heth  denotes  the  Name  of 
God,  Elohe  Zebaoth,  and  the  Eighth 
Sephira,  call'd  Tehilim,  i.e.  Praise, 
and  appropriated  to  the  Angels  Benelo- 
him,  or  the  Sons  of  God ;  the  same  with 
the  Arch  -  Angels.  And  these  flow 
from  the  Power  of  God,  through  the 
Angels  of  the  Seventh  Order  ;  -and  de- 
scend, with  them,  influentially  on  In- 
feriour Beings. 

IX.  Teth  {Departing,  or  Escaping) 
denotes  the  Name  of  God,  Sadai,  and 
the  Ninth  Sephira,  call'd  Musad,  i.e. 
Ground,  or  Foundation  ;  and  answering 
to  the  Cherubims ;  which  flow  from 
the  Power  of  God,  through  the  Angels 
of  the  Eighth  Order ;  and  send,  in 
Conjunction  with  them,  their  Influence 
down  on  the  Creation  beneath  them. 

X.  Jod  {Beginning)  denotes  the 
Name  of  God,  Adonai  Melcch,  i.  e. 
The  Lord  is  King ;  and  is  referr'd  to 
the  Tenth  Sephira,  call'd  Malcut,  i.  e. 
Kingdom;  and  likewise  Ischim,  i.  e. 
Strong  Men  ;  and  is  appropriated  to  the 
lowest  of  the  Holy  Orders  ( The  Orders 
of  Angels) ;  which  Order  is  illumin'd 
by  the  Power  of  God,  through  the  Ninth 
Order,  and,  with  the  Power  of  that 
Order,  descends  influentially  on  the 
Sense  and  Knowledge  of  Men,  referr'd 
to  Things  uncommon.  Such  are  the 
References  of  this  Part  of  the  Htbrew- 
Alphabet  to  the  several  Orders  in  the 
Angelic  World.  We  now  proceed  to 
the  Alphabetical  References  to  the 
World  of  Rounds  or  Circles,  or  the 
Starry  World. 


740 


ILLVSTRA  TIONS. 


XI.  Caph,  Initial  [the  Palm  or  Hollow 
of  the  Hand)  denotes  the  Escadai,  i.  e. 
the  Primuvi  Mobile,  or  First  Mover  ; 
which  is  put  in  Motion  immediately  by 
the  First  Cause.  The  Intelligence  of  this 
First  Mover  is  stiled  Metraton  Sera- 
phanim,  or  the  Prince  of  Countenance. 
'Tis  the  Prime,  Regular  Mover,  or  In- 
fluencer  of  the  Sensible  World  ;  flowing, 
through  the  Power  of  God,  into  all 
Things  that  have  Motion,  and  endowing 
all  the  Lower  Creation,  by  penetrating 
deep  into  the  Forms  thereof,  with  Life. 

XII.  Caph,  Final,  denotes  the  Circle 
of  the  Fixed  Stars  ;  that  is  to  say,  Those 
which  make  up  the  Signs  of  the  Zodiac, 
call'd,  by  the  Hebrews,  Galgal  Ham- 
maziloth,  i.  e.  The  Circle  of  Signs.  This 
Circle  hath  for  its  Intelligence  the  Angel 
Raziel,  Adam's  Instructer  or  Familiar 
Spirit ;  and  its  Influence  is,  through  the 
Power  of  God,  by  Means  of  the  above- 
mention'd  Intelligence,  the  Angel  Me- 
traton, diffus'd  through  the  Lower  Crea- 
tion. 

Xlir.  Lamed  denotes  the  Heaven  or 
Circle  of  Saturn,  the  First  and  Principal 
Circle  of  the  Planets,  or  Erratic  Stars. 
Saturn  the  Hebrews  call  Schebtai,  and 
his  Intelligence,  Schebtaiel ;  infus'd  by 
the  Power  of  God,  and  descending,  by 
Means  of  the  Intelligence  Raziel,  influ- 
entially  upon  Lower  Beings. 

XIV.  Mem,  Initial,  denotes  the 
Heaven  or  Circle  of  jfupiter,  call'd,  by 
the  Hebrews,  Tsedeck ;  the  Intelligence 
of  which  is  Tsadkiel,  the  Protecting 
Angel,  or  Familiar  Spirit,  oi  Abraham  ; 
diffus'd  through  the  Power  of  God,  by 
Means  of  the  Intelligence  Schebtaiel, 
throughout  the  Lower  Creation. 

XV.  Metn,  Final,  denotes  the  Heaven 
of  Mars,  call'd,  by  the  Cabalists,  Alaa- 
daim.  His  Intelligence  is  CamaSl; 
so  call'd  from  the  Heat -of  Mars.  And 
this  Intelligence  flows,  in  the  same 
Course  and  through  the  same  Power 
with  the  Intelligences  above-mention'd, 
influentinlly  upon  all  Things  beneath  it. 

XVL  Nun,  Initial,  denotes  the 
Heaven  of  the  Sun,  call'd,  by  the  He- 
brews, Schemsch.  His  Intelligence  is 
the  Angel  Raphael,  the  Instructer  of 
Iscuu ;  flowing  through  the  Power  of 
God,  by  Means  of  the  Intelligence 
CanuUl,  upon  all  Things  below. 


XVII.  Nun,  Final,  denotes  the  Cir- 
cle of  Venus,  call'd,  by  the  Hebrews, 
Nogu.  Her  Intelligence  is  Haniel,  i.e. 
Reconciler  of  Mercy ;  infus'd  by  the 
power  of  God,  through  the  Intelligence 
Raphael,  and  diffus'd,  by  the  same 
Means,  upon  all  Terrestrial  Beings. 

XVIII.  Samech  denotes  the  Heaven 
of  Mercury,  call'd  Cochah,  i.e.  Star. 
His  Intelligence  is  Michael,  derived 
from  the  Power  of  God,  by  Means  of 
the  Intelligence  Raphael ;  and,  by 
Means  of  the  same  Intelligence,  descend- 
ing influentially  upon  all  Things  below. 

XIX.  Hajim  denotes  the  Heaven  of 
the  Moon,  call'd  Jareach,  The  Left  Eye 
of  the  World.  Her  Intelligence  is  Ga- 
briel, infus'd  by  the  Power  of  God, 
through  the  Intelligence  Michael ;  and 
descending,  as  the  'foremention'd,  in- 
fluentially upon  all  the  Terrestrial  Crea- 
tion. Such  is  the  Cabalistical  Account 
of  the  References  of  these  Letters  of 
the  //(f^r«f-Alphabet  to  the  World  of 
Circles  or  Stars.  And  to  these  may  be 
added  the  References  of  the  Three 
Letters  following. 

XX.  Pe,  Initial,  denotes  the  Reason- 
able Soul ;  which,  in  the  Opinion  of  the 
Hebrews,  is  govem'd  by  various  Intelli- 
gences. 

XXI.  Pe,  Final,  denotes  all  Spirits  of 
the  Animal  Nature :  which,  through 
the  Power  and  Command  of  God,  are 
govem'd,  or  influenc'd,  by  the  Intelli- 
gences above. 

XXII.  Tzade,  Initial,  is  referr'd  to 
the  Intelligible  coelestial  Matter,  and 
to  the  sensible  Elements,  or  the  Ele- 
ments of  Sense,  in  all  compound  or 
mixt  Bodies ;  which  Matter  and  Ele- 
ments are,  through  the  Power  of  God, 
govem'd  by  different  Intelligences,  ac- 
cording to  their  different  Natures  and 
Forms. 

We  now  come  to  the  Alphabetical 
References  the  Cabalists  make  to  their 
Elementary  World. 

XXHI.  Tzade,  Final,  is  referr'd  to 
the  Four  Elements  of  Matter  ;  namely, 
Fire,  Air,  Water,  and  Earth  ;  which 
are  govern'd,  through  the  Power  of 
God,  by  certain  coelestial  Powers  and 
Angels ;  as  is  the  Prima  Materia,  or 
First  Matter,  which  is  the  grand  Foun 
tain  or  Origin  of  all  the  Elements. 


CABALA. 


741 


XXIV.  JCopk  is  referr'd  to  inanimate 
or  insensitive  Bodies  ;  as  Minerals,  &c. 
whether  simple  or  compound.  These 
Bodies  are,  througli  the  Power  of  God, 
governed  by  the  Coelestial  Beings,  and 
their  respective  Intelligences. 

XXV.  Resch  is  referr'd  to  all  the 
Productions  in  the  Vegetable  World  ; 
as  Trees,  Herbs,  Roots,  &c.  and  to  the 
Coelestial  Influences  that  are  derived 
upon  them.  There  is  not,  say  the 
Cabalists,  an  Herb  upon  Earth  that 
hath  not  its  Intelligence,  or  Influence, 
which  saith  to  it,  Encrease  and  multiply 
thy  self. 

XXVI.  Schin  is  referr'd  to  all  the 
Species  of  the  Animal  Nature  ;  as 
Quadrupeds,  Birds,  Fish,  and  Insects, 
and  every  Thing,  beneath  the  Rational 
Nature,  that  hath  Life  and  Motion. 
These  receive,  through  the  Power  of 
God,  the  Influences  of  the  Coelestial 
Bodies,  and  of  their  respective  Intelli- 
gences. 

XXVII.  Thau  is  the  Symbol  of  the 
little  World,  Man ;  because  as  Man, 
with  respect  to  this  World,  was  the 
Being  created  last,  so  is  this  Letter  the 
last  of  the  A^^;vw- Alphabet.  He  is 
govern'd  of  God,  through  the  Qualities 
of  the  First  Matler,  and  according  to 


the  Influences  of  the  Stars,  and  like- 
wise by  Guardian-Angels,  which  attend 
him,  and  which,  in  Hebrew,  are  call'd 
Ischitn,  i.  e.  Strong  Men  ;  who  are  said 
to  have  been  the  Last  of  the  Angelic 
Creation,  as  Man  was  the  Last  of  This. 

Such  are  the  References  of  the  Let- 
ters of  tlie  Hebrew- AX^h&hei,  towards 
the  Accomplishment  of  the  Mysteries 
of  the  Cabala,  extracted,  not  without 
great  Labour,  from  the  Writings  of 
Rabbi  Akkiva,  who  was,  it  seems,  a 
most  profound  Cabalist,  and  who  hath 
been  already  frequently  mention'd  in 
the  Course  of  these  Papers.  They 
pass,  from  God,  down  to  all  the  Stages 
of  the  known  Creation  ;  the  Letter 
Alepk,  the  First  in  the  Hebrew- K\^a.- 
bet,  being  referr'd  to  God,  who  is 
the  First  Cause  of  all  Things,  and 
who,  through  his  unsearchable  Power 
and  Judgment,  comprehends,  directs, 
and  governs  all  Things  ;  working  by, 
and  diffusing  his  Power  upon,  Second 
Causes  ;  and,  from  them,  deriving  his 
Power  upon  Third  Causes,  &c.  Which 
Causes  are  the  Sacred  Hosts  and  Prin- 
cipalities ;  who  have  their  different 
Degrees  of  Influence;  rising  gradually, 
one  Class  above  another,  to  different 
Stages  of  Power  arwi  Perfection. 


INDEX 


OF    NAMES    AND    PLACES 


IN   TEXT  OR   NOTES. 


Abati,  family.  Inf.  xxxii.  io6.  Par.  xvi. 

109. 
Abbagliato.  Inf.  xxix.  132. 
Abbey  of  San  Benedetto.  Inf.  xvi.  100. 
Abel.   Inf.  iv.  56. 
\braham.   Inf.  iv.  58. 
Absalom.  Inf.  xxviii.  137. 
Abydos.   PuRG.  xxviii.  74. 
Accorso,  Francis  of,  Inf.  xv.  1 10. 
Achan.   Purg.  xx.  109. 
Acheron.  Inf.  iii.  78;  xiv.  116.  Purg. 

ii.  105. 
Achilles.  Inf.  v.  65  ;  xii.  71  ;  xxvi.  62; 

xxxi.  4.   Purg.  ix.  34;  xxi.  92. 
Achitophel.  Inf.  xxviiL  137. 
Acone.  Par.  xvi.  65. 
Acquacheta.  Inf.  xvi.  97. 
Acquasparta.    Par.  xii.  124. 
Acre.   Inf.  xxvii.  89. 
Adalagia.   Par.  ix.  96. 
Adam.  Inf.  iii.  1 15  ;  iv.  55.  PURG.  ix.  10 ; 

xi.    44;   xxix.    86;   xxxii.   37;  xxxiii. 

62.   Par.  vii.  26 ;  xiii.  37,  III;  xxvi. 

83,  91,  100;  xxxii.  122,  136. 
Adam  of  Brescia.   Inf.  xxx.  61,  104. 
Adige.  Inf.  xii.  5.  PDrg.  xvi.  115.  Par. 

ix.  44. 
Adimari,  family.  Par.  xvi.  115. 
Adrian  IV.  Purg.  xix.  99. 
^gidius.  Par.  xi.  83. 
iEgina.  Inf.  xxix.  59. 
,/Egypt.  Purg.  ii.  46.  Par,  xxv.  55. 


.^neas.  Inf.  ii.  32;  iv.    122;  xxvi.  93. 

Purg.  xviii.  137.  Par.  vi.  3;  xv.  27. 
yEneid  of  Virgil.  Purg.  xxi.  97. 
.(Eolus.  Purg.  xxviii.  21. 
yEsop.   Inf.  xxiii.  4. 
.lEthiop.  Purg.  xxvi.  21.  Par.  xix.  1091 
.(Ethiopia.  Inf.  xxiv.  89. 
^Ethiopians.  Inf.  xxxiv.  44. 
iEtna  or  Mongibello.  Par.  viii.  67. 
Africanus,  Scipio.   Purg.  xxix.  116. 
Agamemnon.   Par.  v.  69. 
Agapetus.  Par.  vi.  16. 
Agatho.  Purg.  xxii.  107. 
Aglaurus.  Purg.  xiv.  139. 
Agnello  Brunelleschi.  Inf.  xxv.  68. 
Agobbio  or  Gubbio.   Purg.  xi.  80. 
Agostino.   Par.  xii.  130. 
Aguglione.    Par.  xvi.  56. 
Ahasuerus,  King.   Purg.  xvii.  28. 
Alagia.  Purg.  xix.  142. 
Alagna,  or  Anagni.  Purg.  xx.  86.  Par. 

xxx.  148. 
Alardo.  Inf.  xxviii.  18. 
Alba  Longa.  Par.  vi.  37. 
Alberichi,  family.   Par.  xvi.  89. 
Alberigo,    Frate    Gaudente,    or   Jovial 

Friar.  Inf.  xxxiii.  118. 
Albert  of  Austria.   Purg.  vi.  97.  Par. 

xix.  115. 
Albert  of  Siena.  Inf.  xxix.  no. 
Alberti,  Alessandro  and  Napoleon.  Inf. 

xxxii.  55. 


744 


INDEX. 


Alberto  degli  Alberti.     Ink.  xxxii.  57. 
Alberto  della  Scala.     Purg.  xviii.  121. 
Albertus  Magnus.  Par.  x.  98. 
Alboino  della  Scala.   Par.  xvii.  71. 
Alchemists.  Inf.  xxix. 
Alcides.  Par.  ix.  loi. 
Alcmaeon.   Purg.  xii.  50.  Par.  iv.  103. 
Aldobrandeschi,   Guglielmo.    PuRG.  xi. 

59- 
Aldobrandi,  Tegghiaio.  Inf.  xvi.  41. 
Alecto.  Inf.  ix.  47. 
Alessandria,  Pukg.  vii.  135. 
Alessandro,  Count   of    Romena.     Inf. 

XXX.  77. 
Alessandro  degli  Alberti.  Inf.  xxxii.  55. 
Alessio  Interminei.   Inf.  xviii.  122. 
Alexander,  Tyrant  of  Pherae.  Inf.  xii. 

107. 
Alexander  the  Great.  Inf.  xiv.  31. 
Alfonso  of  Aragon.     Purg.  vii.  116. 
Alfonso  of  Majorca.     Par.  xix.  137. 
Alfonso  of  Spain.   Par.  xix.  125. 
Ali,  disciple  of  Mahomet.  Inf.   xxviii. 

32. 
Alichino,  demon.   Inf.  xxi.   118;  xxii. 

112. 
Alighieri,  family.  Par.  xv.  138. 
Alps.  Inf.  xx.  62.  Purg.  xvii.  i ;  xxxiii. 

III. 
Altaforte.  Inf.  xxix.  29. 
Alverna.  Par.  xi.  106. 
Amata.  Purg.  xvii.  35. 
Amidei,  family.  Par.  xvi.  136. 
Amphiaraus.  Inf.  xx.  34. 
Amphion.  Inf.  xxxii.  11. 
Amphisbsena,  serpent.   Inf.  xxi  v.  87. 
Amyclas.  Par.  xi.  67. 
Anagni  or  Alagna.  Purg.  xx.  86. 
Ananias.   Par.  xxvi.  12. 
Anastagi,  family.  Purg.  xiv.  107. 
Anastasius,  Pojie.  Inf.  xi.  8. 
Anaxagoras.  Inf.  iv.  137. 
Anchises.  Inf.  i.  74.  Purg.  xviii.  137. 

Par.  XV.  25  ;  xix.  132. 
Angels.  Par.  xxviii.  126  ;  xxxi.  13. 
Angels,  rebel.  Par.  xxix.  50 
Angiolelloda  Cagnano.  Inf.  xxviii.  77. 
Anna,  St.,  mother  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 

Par.  xxxii.  133. 
Annas,  Inf.  xxiii.  121. 
Anselm,  St.  Par.  xii.  137. 
Anselmuccio.  Inf.  xxxiii.  50. 
Ant.xus.  Inf.  xxxi.  100,  113,  139. 
Antandros.     Par.  vi.  67. 
Antenora.   Inf.  xxxii.  88. 
Antenori  (Paduans).  Purg.  v.  75. 


Antigone.   Purg.  xxii.  no. 
Antiochus  Epiphanes.  Inf.  xix.  86. 
Antiphon.   PURO.  xxii.  106. 
Antony,  St.  Par.  xxix.  124. 
Apennines.  Inf.  xvi.  96;  xx.  65  ;  xxvii, 

29.  Purg.  v.  96  ;  xiv.  31,  92  ;  xxx 

86.  Par.  xxi.  106. 
Apocalypse.  Inf.  xix.  108.  Purg.  xxix, 

105. 
Apollo.  Purg.  xx.  132.  Par.  i.  13  ;  ii.  8 
Apostles.  Purg.  xxii.  78. 
Apulia.  Inf.  xxviii.   9.    Purg.    v.  69 

vii.  126.  Par.  viii.  61. 
Apulians.  Inf.  xxviii.  17. 
Aquarius,   sign  of    the    Zodiac.      Inf. 

xxiv.  2. 
Aquilon.   PuRG.  iv.  60  ;  xxxii.  99. 
Aquinas,  St.  Thomas.   Par.  x.  98. 
Arabians.  Par.  vi.  49. 
Arachne.  Inf.  xvii.  18.  PuRG.  xii.  43. 
Aragon.  PuRG.  iii.  116. 
Aragonese.   Par.  xix.  137. 
Arbia.  Inf.  x.  86. 
Area,  family.  Par.  xvi.  92. 
Archangels.  Par.  xxviii.  125. 
Archiano.   PURG.  v.  95,  125. 
Ardinghi,  family.  Par.  xvi.  93. 
Arethusa.  Inf.  xxv.  97. 
Aretine,  Benincasa.   PuRG.  vi.  13. 
Aretine,  Griffolino.  Inf.  xxix.  109;  xxx. 

31- 
Aretines.  Inf.  xxii.  5.  Purg.  xiv.  46. 
Arezzo.  Inf.  xxix.  109. 
Argenti,  Philippo.  Inf.  viii.  61. 
Argia.  PuRG.  xxii.  no. 
Argo.  Par.  xxxiii.  96. 
Argonauts.  Par.  ii.  16  ;  xxxiii.  96. 
Argus.   Purg.  xxix.  95  ;  xxxii.  65. 
Argolic  people.  Inf.  xxviii.  84. 
Ariadne.  Inf.  xii.  20.   Par.  xiii.  14. 
Aries,  sign  of  the  Zodiac.   Purg.  xxxii. 

53.   Par.  i.  40;  xxviii.  117. 
Aristotle.  Inf.  iv.   131.    Purg.  iii.  43. 

Par.  viii.  120;  xxvi.  38. 
Arius.  Par.  xiii.  127. 
.\rk,  the  holy.  PuRG.  x.  56.  Par.  xx.  39. 
Aries.   Inf.  ix.  I12. 
Amo.  Inf.  xiii.   146:    xv.   113;    xxiii. 

95;  XXX.   65;  xxxiii.  83.     Purg.  v. 

122,  125;  XIV.    17,  Z4,  51.  Par.  xi. 

106. 
Amaldo  Daniello.  Purg.  xxvi.  115,  142, 
Arrigo  Manardi.  Purg.  xiv.  97. 
Arrigucci,  family.    Par.  xvi.  108. 
Arsenal  of  Venice,   Inf.  xxi.  7. 
Arthur,  King.  Inf.  xxxii.  62. 


INDEX. 


745 


Aruns.  Inf.  xx.  46. 

Ascesi,  or  Assisi.   Par.  xi.  53. 

Asciano.  Ink.  xxix.  131. 

Asdente.  Inf.  xx.  118. 

Asopiis.   PuRG.  xviii.  91 

Assyrians.   PuRG.  xii.  58. 

-Athamas.  Inf.  xxx.  4. 

Athens.    Inf.   xii.    17.   PuRG.  vi.    139; 

XV.  98.  Par.  xvii.  46. 
Atropos.  Inf.  xxxiii.  126. 
.Attila.  Inf.  xii.  134  ;  xiii.  149. 
.\ugusta  (the  Virgin).   Par.  xxxii.  119. 
.•\ugustine,  St.  Par.  x.  120;  xxxii.  35. 
Augustus  Caesar.  Inf.  i.  71.  Purg.  xxix, 

116.  Par.  vi.  73. 
Augustus  (Frederick  II.).   Inf.  xiii.  68. 

(Henry  of  Luxemburg),  xxx.  36. 
Aulis.  Inf.  xx.  hi. 
Aurora.   PuRG.  ii.  8  ;  ix.  I. 
Ausonia.  Par.  viii.  61 
Auster.  Purg.  xxxii.  99. 
Austiia.  Inf.  xxxii.  26. 
Avaricious.  Inf.  vii.  Purg. xix.,  xx.,xxi. 
.\ventine,  Mount.  Inf.  xxv.  26. 
Averroes.  Inf.  iv.  144. 
Avicenna.   Inf.  iv.  143. 
Azzo  degli  Ubaldini.   Purg.  xiv.  105. 
Azzolino,    or   Ezzelino.    Inf.    xii.    110. 

Par.  ix.  29. 
Azzone  III.  of  Este.  PuRG.  v.  77. 

B  and  Ice,  Bice  (Beatrice).  Par.  vii,  14. 
Babylon.   Par.  xxiii.  135. 
Bacchantes.  Purg.  xviii.  92. 
Bacchiglione.  Inf.  xv.  113.  Par.  ix.  47. 
Bacchus.  Inf.  xx.  59.  Purg.  xviii.  93. 

Par.  xiii.  25. 
Bagnacavallo.     PURG.  xiv.  115. 
Bagnoregio.    Par.  xii.  128. 
Baldo  d'  Aguglione.   Par.  xvi.  56. 
Baptist,  St.  John  the.   Inf.   xiii.    143  ; 

xxx.   74.   Purg.  xxii.   152.   Par.  xvi. 

25,  47  ;  xviii.  134  ;  xxxii.  31. 
Barbagia  of  Sardinia.   PuRG.  xxiii.  9 
]?arbarians,  Northern.   Par.  xxxi.  31. 
Barbariccia,    demon.     Inf.    xxi.     I20  ; 

xxii.  29,  59,  145. 
Barbarossa,    Frederick   I.    PuRG.    xviii. 

119. 
Ban.  Par.  viii.  62. 
Barrators  (peculators).   Inf.  xxi. 
Bartolomeo  della  Scala.   Par.  xvii.  71. 
Barucci,  family.  Par.  xvi.  104. 
Baptistry  of  Florence.   Par.  xv.  134. 
Bear,  constellation  of  the.  PuRG.  iv.  65. 

Par.  ii.  9;  xiii.  7. 


Beatrice,  Inf.  ii.  70,  103  ;  x.  131  ;  xiL 

88 ;  XV.   90.    Purg.    i.  53  ;   vi.    47  ; 

XV.    77 ;    xviii.    48,    73  ;    xxiii.    128  ; 

xxvii.    36,    53,    136;    xxx,    73  ;   xxxi. 

80,  107,  114,  133  ;  xxxii.  36,  85,  106; 

xxxiii.  4,  124.   Par.  i.  46,  65  ;  ii.  22  ; 

iii.  127  ;  iv.  13,  139  ;  v.  16,  85,  122  ; 

vii.  16  ;  ix.  16  ;  x.  37,  52,  60 ;  xi.  II  ; 

xiv.   8,  79  ;  XV.   70 ;  xvi.    13  ;  xvii.  5, 

30;  xviii.  17,  53;  xxi.  63  ;  xxii.  125  ; 

xxiii.   34,  76  ;  xxiv.    10,  22,  55  ;  xxv, 

28,    137  ;  xxvi.    76  ;   xxvii.    34,    102  ; 

xxix.  8  ;  xxx.   14,    128  ;  xxxi.   59,  66, 

76  ;  xxxii.  9  ;  xxxiii.  38. 
Beatrice,  Queen.  Purg.  vii.  128. 
Beccaria,  Abbot  of.  Inf.  xxxii.  119. 
Beda  (the  Venerable  Bede).  Par.  x,  131. 
Beelzebub.   Inf.  xxxiv,  127. 
Belacqua.   PURG.  iv.  123. 
Belisarius.   Par.  vi.  25. 
Bellincion  Berti.   Par.  xv.  112;  xvi.  "9. 
Bello,  Geri  del.  Inf.  xxix.  27. 
Belus,  King  of  Tyre.  Par.  ix.  97. 
Benaco.  Inf.  xx.  63,  74,  77. 
Benedetto,  San,  Abbey  of.  Inf.  xvi.  100. 
Benedict,  St.  Par.  xxii.  40;  xxxii.  35. 
Benevento.   Purg.  iii.  128. 
Benincasa  of  Arezzo.   PuRG.  vi.  13. 
Berenger,  Raymond.  Par.  vi.  134, 
Bergamasks.   Inf.  xx.  71. 
Bernard,  Friar.  Par.  xi.  79.  , 

Bernard,    St.,    Abbot.   Par.  xxxi.   102, 

139  ;  xxxii.  I. 
Bernardin  di  Fosco.    PuRG.  xiv.  loi. 
Bemardone,  Peter.  Par.  xi.  89. 
Bertha,  Dame.  Par.  xiii.  139. 
Berti,  Bellincion.  Par.  xv.  112;  xvi.  99. 
Bertrand  de  Born.   Inf.  xxviii.  134. 
Bianchi,  White  Party.   Inf.  vi.  65. 
Bice  (Beatrice).   Inf.  ii.  70,  103. 
Billi,  or  Pigli  family.   Par.  xvi.  103. 
Bindi,  abbreviation  of  Aldobrandi.  Par. 

xxix.  103. 
Bisenzio.  Inf.  xxxii.  56. 
Bismantova.    PURG.  iv.  26. 
Bocca  degli  Abati.   Inf.  xxxii.  106, 
Boethius,  Severinus.   Par.  x.  125. 
Bohemia.  Purg.  vii.  98.  Par.  xix,  125. 
Bologna.  Inf.  xxiii.  142,  Purg.  xiv.  100. 
Bolognese.  Inf.  xxiii.  103. 
Bolognese,  Franco.  Purg.  xi.  83. 
Bolsena.   Purg.  xxiv.  24. 
Bonatti,  Guido.  Inf.  xx.  Ii8. 
Bonaventura,  St.  Par.  xii.  127. 
Boniface,  Archbishop  of  Ravenna.  FURG. 

xxiv.  29. 


746 


INDEX. 


Boniface  VIII.  Inf.  xix.  53  ;  xxvii.  70, 
85.  PuRG.  XX.  87;  xxxii.  149  ;  xxxiii. 
44.  Par.  ix.  132  ;  xii.  90  ;  xvii.  50 ; 
xxvii.  22  ;  XXX.  148. 

Boniface  of  Signa,   Par.  xvi.  56. 

Bonturo  de'  Dati.  Inf.  xxi.  41. 

Boreas.   Par.  xxviii.  80. 

Borgo  (Borough)  of  Florence.  Par.  xvL 

'34- 
Born,  Bertrand  de.  Inf.  xxviii.  132; 
Borsiere,  Guglielmo.   Inf.  xvi.  70. 
Bostichi,  family.  Par.  xvi.  93. 
Brabant,  Lady  of.  Purg.  vi,  23. 
Branca  d'  Oria.  Inf.  xxxiii.  137,  140. 
Branda,  fountain  of.  Inf.  xxx.  78. 
Brennus.   Par.  vi.  44. 
Brenta.  Inf.  xv.  7.   Par.  ix.  27. 
Brescia.   Inf.  xx.  68. 
Brescians,   Inf.  xx.  71. 
Brettinoro,   Purg.  xiv.  112. 
Briareus,  Inf.  xxxi.  98.   Purg.  xii.  28. 
Bridge  of  St.  Angelo.   Inf.  xviii.  29. 
Brigata,   Inf.  xxxiii.  89. 
Brissus.   Par.  xiii.  125. 
Bruges.  Inf.  xv.  4,  Purg.  xx.  46. 
Brundusium.   Purg.  iii.  27. 
Brunellesclii,  Agnello.   Inf.  xxv.  68. 
Brunetto  Latini.   Inf.  xv.  30,  32,  101. 
Brutus,  enemy  of  Tarquin.  Inf.  iv.  127. 
Brutus,  murderer  of  Caesar.   Inf.  xxxiv. 

Brutus  and  Cassius.   Par.  vi.  74. 
Buggia.  Par,  ix.  92. 
Bujamonte,  Giovanni,  Inf.  xvii.  73. 
Bulicame,   hot  spring  of  Viterbo,    Inf. 

xiv.  79. 
Buonagiunta  degli  Orbisani.  Purg.  xxiv. 

«9.  20,  35,  56.! 
Buonconte  di  Montefeltro.  Purg.  v.  88. 
BuondelmoiUe.   Par.  xvi.  140. 
Buondelmonti,  family.   Par.  xvi.  66. 
Buoso  da  Duera.   Inf.  xxxii.  116. 
Buoso  degli  Abati.  Inf.  xxv.  140. 
Buoso  Donati.  Inf.  xxx.  44. 

Caccia  d'  Asciano.  Inf.  xxix.  131. 
Cacciaguida.  Par.  xv.  20,  94,  135,  145 ; 

xvi.  29 ;  xviii.  i,  28,  50. 
Caccianimico,  Venedico.  Inf.  xviii.  50. 
Cacus,   I.VF.  xxv.  25. 
Cadmus.   Ink.  xxv.  97. 
Cadsand.   Inf.  xv.  4. 
Caecilius.   Purg.  xxii.  98. 
Caesar.   Ink.  xiii.  65,  68.   PURO.  vi.  93, 

114.   Par.  i.  29  ;  vi.  10  ;  xvL  59. 
Caesar,  Julius.    Inf.    i.    70;    iv.    123; 


xxviii.   98.   Purg.    xviii.    loi  ;   xxvL 

77.  Par.  vi.  57. 
Caesar,  Tiberius.    Par.  vi.  86. 
Cagnano,  Angiolello  da.  Inf.  xxviii.  77. 
Cagnano.    Par.  ix.  49. 
Cagnazzo,  demon.   Inf.  xxi.  I19;  xxiL 

106. 
Cahors.  Inf.  xi.  50. 
Caiaphas.   Inf.  xxiii.  115. 
Cain.   Purg.  xiv.  132. 
Cain  and  his  thorns  (Man  in  the  mooii\ 

Inf.  XX.  126.  Par.  ii.  51. 
Caina.  Inf.  v.  107  ;  xxxii.  58. 
Calahorra.   Par.  xii.  52. 
Calboli,  family.   Purg.  xiv.  89. 
Calcabrina,  demon.  Inf.  xxi.  118  ;  xxiL 

133. 
Calchas.  Inf.  xx.  1 10. 
Calfucci,  family.  Par.  xvi.  106. 
Calixtus  I.  Par.  xxvii.  44. 
Calliope.   Pukg.  i.  9. 
Callisto  (Helice).  Purg.  xxv.  131, 
Camaldoli.  Purg.  v.  96. 
Camicion  de'  Pazzi.  Inf.  xxxii.  68. 
Camilla.  Inf.  i.  107  ;  iv.  124. 
Cammino,   or  Camino,   family.     Purg. 

xvi;  124,  133,  138. 
Cammino,    or    Camino,    Riccardo    da. 

Par.  ix.  50. 
Camonica,  Val.  Inf.  xx.  65. 
Campagnatico.   Purg.  xi.  66. 
Campaldino.   Purg.  v.  92. 
Campi.  Par.  xvi.  50. 
Canavese,   Purg.  vii.  136. 
Cancellieri,  family.   Inf.  xxxii.  63. 
Cancer,  sign  of  the  Zodiac.   Par.  xxv. 

loi. 
Can  Grande  della  Scala.   Inf.    i.    loi. 

Par.  xvii.  76. 
Caorsines,   Par.  xxvii.  58. 
Capaneus.  Inf.  xiv.  63  :  xxv.  15. 
Capet,  Hugh.  PuRG.  xx.  43,  49. 
Capocchio.  Inf.  xxix.  136  ;  xxx.  28. 
Caponsacchi,  family.   Par.  xvi.  121. 
Cappelletti  (Capulets).  Purg.  vi.  106, 
Capraia,  Inf.  xxxiii.  82. 
Capricorn,  sign  of  the  Zodiac.  Purg.  ii. 

57.  Par.  xxvii.  69. 
Caprona.  Inf.  xxi.  95. 
Cardinal,  the  (Ottaviano  degli  Ubaldini), 

Inf.  X.  120. 
Carisenda.   iNF.  xxxi.  136, 
Carlino  de'  Pazzi.   Inf.  xxxii.  69. 
Carpigna,  Guido  di.   Purg.  xiv,  9& 
Carrare-se.   Inf.  xx.  48. 
Casale.  Par.  xii.  124. 


INDEX. 


747 


Casalodi,  family.  Inf.  xx.  95. 

Casella.  Purg.  ii.  91. 

Casentino.  Inf.  xxx.  65.   PuRG.  v.  94 ; 

xiv.  43. 
Cassero,  Guido  del.  Inf.  xxviii.  77. 
Cassero,  Jacopo  del.  PuRO.  v.  67. 
Cassino,  Monte.  Par.  xxii.  37. 
Cassias,  murderer  of  Caesar.  Inf.  xxxiv. 

67. 
Cassius  and  Brutus.  Par.  vi.  74. 
Castello,  family.   Purg.  xvi.  125. 
Castile.  Par.  xii.  53. 
Castle  of  St.  Angelo  in  Rome.  Inf.  xviii. 

31- 

Castor  and  Pollux.   PuRG.  iv.  61. 

Castrocaro.  PuRG.  xiv.  116. 

Catalan  de'  Malavolti.  Inf.  xxiii.  104, 
114. 

Catalonia.  Par.  viii.  77. 

Catellini,  family.  Par.  xvi.  88. 

Cato  of  Utica.  Inf.  xiv.  15.  Purg.  i. 
31  ;  ii.  119. 

Catria.   Par.  xxi.  109. 

Cattolica.  Inf.  xxviii.  80. 

Caurus,  northwest  wind.   iNF.  xi.  1 14. 

Cavalcante  de'  Cavalcanti.  Inf.  x.  53. 

Cavalcanti,  Guercio.  Inf.  xxv.  151. 

Cavalcanti,  Guido.   Inf.  x.  63. 

Cecina.  Inf.  xiii.  9. 

Celestine  V.  Inf.  iii.  59 ;  xxvii.  105. 

Cenchri,  serpents.  Inf.  xxiv.  87. 

Centaurs.  Inf.  xii.  56.  Purg.  xxiv.  I2i. 

Ceperano.  Inf.  xxviii.  l6. 

Cephas.  Par.  xxi.  127. 

Cerberus.  Inf.  vi.   13,  22,  32  ;  ix.  98. 

Cerchi,  family.   Par.  xvi.  65. 

Ceres.  Purg.  xxviii.  51. 

Certaldo.  Par.  xvi.  50. 

Cervia.  Inf.  xxvii.  42. 

Cesena.  Inf.  xxvii.  52. 

Ceuta.  Inf.  xxvi.  iii. 

Chaos.  Inf.  xii.  43. 

Charity,  Dante  and  St.  John.  Par.  xxvi. 

Charlemagne,  Emperor.  Inf.  xxxi.  17. 
Par.  vi.  96 ;  xviii.  43. 

Charles  of  Anjou.  Purg.  vii,  113,  124; 
xi.  137. 

Charles  of  Valois  {Senzatcrra,  Lack- 
land). Inf.  vi.  69.   Purg.  v.  69 ;  xx. 

71- 
Charles  Martel.   Par.  viii.  49,  55  ;  ix.  i. 
Charles  Robert  of  Hungary.    Par.  viii. 

72. 
Charles  II.  of  Apulia.   Purg.  vii.   127  ; 

XX.   79.  Par.  vi.  106 ;  xix.   127  ;  xx. 

63. 


Charles's  Wain,  the  Great  Bear.    Inf. 

xi.  114.   Purg.  i.  30.  Par.  xiii.  7. 
Charon.   Inf.  iii.  94,  109,  128. 
Charybdis.  Inf.  vii.  22. 
Chastity,  examples  of.   PuRG.  xxv.  121. 
Chelydri,  serpents.   Inf.  xxiv.  86. 
Cherubim.   Par.  xxviii.  99. 
Cherubim,  black.  Inf.  xxvii.  113. 
Chiana.  Par.  xiii.  23. 
Chiarentana.   iNF.  xv.  9. 
Chiasi.   Par.  xi.  43. 
Chiassi.   Purg.  xxviii.  2a 
Chiaveri.   Purg.  xix.  100.  ' 

Chiron.    Inf.  xii.  65,  71,  77,  97,  104. 

Purg.  ix.  37. 
Chiusi.   Par.  xvi.  75. 
Christ.  Inf.  xxxiv.  115.    Purg.  xv.  89  ; 

XX.  87  ;  xxi.  8  ;  xxiii.  74  ;  xxvi.  129  ; 

xxxii.   73,  102 ;    xxxiii.  63.     Par.  vi. 

14;  ix.  120  ;  xi.  72,  102,  107  ;  xii.  37, 

7i>  73.  75;  xiv.  104,  106,  108;  xvii. 

33,  51  ;    xix.   72,    104,   106,    108;  XX. 

47  ;  xxiii.  20,  72,   105,  136  ;  xxv.  15, 

33,  113,  128  ;  xxix.  98,  109  ;  xxxi.  3, 

107  ;    xxxii.    20,   24,    27,  83,   85,  87, 

125  ;  xxxiii.  121. 
Christians.   PuRG.  x.  121.    Par.  v.  73  ; 

xix.  109  ;  XX.  104. 
Chiysostom,  St.   Par.  xii.  137. 
Church  of  Rome.  Purg.  xvi.  127. 
Ciacco.  Inf.  vi.  52,  58. 
Ciampolo,    or    Giampolo.      Inf.    xxii. 

48,  121. 
Cianfa  de'  Donati.    Inf.  xxv.  43. 
Cianghella.   PAR.  xv.  128. 
Cieldauro.   Par.  x.  128. 
Cimabue.   PuRG.  xi.  94. 
Cincinnatus,  Quintius.  Par.  vi.  46 ;  xv. 

129. 
Clone  de'  Tarlati.  Purg.  vi.  15. 
Circe.  Inf.  xxvi.  91.  Purg.  xiv.  42. 
Ciriatto,  demon.  Inf.  xxi.  122  ;  xxii.  55 
Clara,  St.,  of  Assist.     Par.  iii.  98. 
Clemence,  Queen.   Par.  ix.  i. 
Clement  IV.  Purg.  iii.  125. 
Clement  V.  Inf.  xix.  83  ;  Par.  xvii.  8a 

xxx.  143. 
Cleopatra.  Inf.  v.  63.  Par.  vi.  76. 
Cletus.   Par.  xxvii.  41. 
Clio.  Purg.  xxii.  58. 
Clothe.  Purg.  xxi.  27. 
Clymene.  Par.  xvii.  i. 
Cock,  arms  of  Gallura.     Purg.  viii.  81. 
Cocytus.     Inf.   xiv.    119;    xxxi.    123  j 

xxxiii.  156  ;  xxxiv.  52. 
Colchians.  Inf.  xviii.  87. 

3D 


748 


INDEX. 


Colchis.   Par.  ii.  i6. 

Colle.   PURC.  xiii.  1 15. 

Cologne.   Inf.  xxiii.  63.  Par.  x.  99. 

Colonnesi,  family.   Inf.  xxvii.  86. 

Comedy,  Dante  thus  names  his  poem. 
Inf.  xvi.  128. 

Conio.  PURG.  xiv.  ri6. 

Conradin.     PuRG.  xx.  68. 

Conrad  or  Currado  I.,  Emperor.  Par. 
XV.  139. 

Conrad  or  Currado  da  Palazzo.  PuRG. 
xvi.  124. 

Conrad  or  Currado  Malaspina.  PuRG. 
viii.  65,  109,  u8. 

Conscience.  Inf.  xxviii.  115. 

Constantine  the  Great.  Inf.  xix.  115; 
xxvii.  94.  PuRG.  xxxii,  125.  Par. 
vi.  I  ;  XX.  55. 

Constantinople.   Par.  vi.  5. 

Contemplative  and  solitary.     Par.  xxi. 

Cornelia.   Inf.  iv.  128.     Par.  xv.  129. 

Corneto.  Inf.  xii.  137  ;  xiiL  9. 

Corsica.   PuRG.  xviii.  81. 

Corso  Donati.   PuRG.  xxiv.  82. 

Cortigiani,  family.     Par.  xvi.  112. 

Cosenza.   Purg.  iii.  124. 

Costanza,  Queen  of  Arragon.  PURG.  iiu 
115,  143  ;  vii.  129. 

Costanza,  wife  of  Henry  VI.  of  Ger- 
many. Purg.  iii.  113.  Par.  iii.  118; 
iv.  98. 

Counsellors,  evil.  Inf.  xxvL 

Counterfeiters  of  money,  speech,  or  per- 
son. Inf.  XXX. 

Crassus.  Purg.  xx.  116. 

Crete.   Inf.  xii.  12  ;  xiv.  95. 

Creusa.   Par.  ix.  98. 

Cripple  of  Jerusalem.   Par.  xix.  127. 

Croatia.    Par.  xxxi.  103. 

Crotona.   Par.  viii.  62. 

Crusaders  and  Soldiers  of  the  Faith. 
Par.  xiv. 

Cunizza,  sister  of  Ezzelino  III.  Par. 
ix.  32. 

Cupid.   Par.  viii.  7. 

Curiatii,  the.   Par.  vi.  39. 

Curio.    Inf.  xxviii.  93,  102. 

Cyclops.   Inf.  xiv.  55. 

Cypria  (Venus).   Par.  viii.  2. 

Cyprus.  Inf.  xxviii.  82.   Par.  xix.  147. 

Cyrrha.   Par.  i.  36. 

Cyrus.   Purg.  xii.  56. 

Cythera.   Purg.  xxvii.  95. 

Pa-d.-iius.  Ink.  xvii.  iii  ;  xxix.  116. 
Par   viii.  126, 


Damiano,  Peter.  Par.  xxi.  12 1. 

Damietta.  Inf.  xiv.  104. 

Daniel,  Prophet.   Purg.  xxii.  146.   Par. 

iv.  13  ;  xxix.  134, 
Daniello,   Amaldo.    Purg.   xxvi.    115, 

142. 
Dante.  Purg.  xxx.  55. 
Danube.  Inf.  xxxii.  26.  Par.  vni.  65. 
David,  King.    Inf.  iv.  58  ;  xxviii.  138. 

Purg.  x.  65.    Par.  xx.  38 ;  xxv.  72  ; 

xxxii.  II. 
Decii.  Par.  vi.  47. 
Decretals,  Book  of.  Par.  ix.  134. 
Deidamia.    Inf.  xxvi,  62.    Purg.  xxii. 

114. 
Deiphile.  Purg.  xxii.  no. 
Dejanira.  Inf.  xii.  68. 
De  la  Brosse,  Pierre.  Purg.  vi.  22. 
Delia  (the  Moon).      Purg.    xx.     132 ; 

xxix.  78. 
Delos.  Purg.  xx.  130. 
Democritus.  Inf.  iv.  136. 
Demophoon.  Par.  ix.  loi. 
Diana.  PuRG.  xx.  132  ;  xxv.  131.  Par. 

xxiii.  26. 
Diana,  subterranean  river.    Purg.  xiii. 

153- 
Dido.  Inf.  v.  61,  85.  Par.  viii.  9. 
Diligence,    examples  of.     Purg.   xviii. 

99- 
Diogenes.  Inf.  iv.  137. 
Diomedes.  Inf.  xxvi.  56. 
Dione,    Venus.     Par.    viii.    7.    Planet 

Venus,  xxii.  144. 
Dionysius  the  Areopagite.  Par.  x.  11$  ; 

xxviii.  130. 
Dionysius,  King.   Par.  xix.  139. 
Dionysius,  Tyrant.   Inf.  xii.  107. 
Dioscorides.  Inf.  iv.  140. 
Dis,  city  of.  Inf.  viii.  68 ;  xi.  65  ;  xii. 

39  ;  xxxiv.  20. 
Dolcino,  Fra.   Inf.  xxviii.  55. 
Dominions,  order  of  angels.  Par.  xxviii. 

122. 
Dominic,  St.    Par.  x.  95  ;  xi.  38,  121  ; 

xii.  55,  70. 
Dominicans.  Par.  xi.  124. 
Domitian,  Emperor.   PuRG.  xxii.  83. 
Don,  river.  Inf.  xxxii.  27. 
Donati,  Buoso.  Inf.  xxv.  140 ;  xxx.  44, 
Donati,  Corso.     PuRG.  xxiv.  82. 
Donato,  Ubertin.  Par.  xvi.  119. 
Donatus.   Par.  xii.  137. 
Douay.  Purg.  xx.  46. 
Diaghignazzo,  demon.    Inf.   xxi.    121) 

xxii.  73. 


INDEX. 


749 


Dragon.  Purg.  xxxii.  131. 

Duca,  Guido  del.    PuRG.  xiv.  81  ;  xv. 

44. 
Duera,  Buoso  da.  Inf.  xxxii.  116. 
Duke  of  Athens,  Theseus.  Inf.  ix.  54 ; 

xii.  17.  Purg.  xxiv.  123. 
Durazzo.  Par.  vi.  65. 

Ebro.   PUKG.  xxvii.  3.   PAR.  ix.  89. 

Eclogue  IV.  of  Virgil.  Purg.  xxii.  70. 

Elbe.  Purg.  vii.  99. 

Electra.  Inf.  iv.  121. 

El  and  Eli,  names  of  God.    Par.  xxvi. 

134,  136. 
Elijah  (Elias),  Prophet.    Inf.  xxvi.  35. 

Purg.  xxxii,  80. 
Eliseo,   ancestor  of  Dante.     Par.    xv. 

136. 
Elisha,  Prophet.  Inf.  xxvi.  34. 
Elsa.   Purg.  xxxiii.  67. 
Elysium.  Par.  xv.  27. 
Ema.  Par.  xvi.  143. 
Empedocles.  Inf.  iv.  138. 
Empyrean.  Par.  xxx. 
Engi.-ind.  Purg.  vii.  131. 
Envious,  the.  PuRG.  xiii.,  xiv. 
Epliialtes.  Inf.  xxxi.  94,  108. 
Epicurus.  Inf.  x.  14. 
Equator.  PuRG.  iv.  80. 
Equinoctial  sunrise.   Par.  i.  38. 
Erichtho.  Inf.  ix.  23. 
Erinnys,  the  Furies.   Inf.  ix.  45. 
Eriphyle.   Purg.  xii.  50. 
Erisichthon.   Purg.  xxiii.  26. 
Eiyphylus.  Inf.  xx.  112. 
Esau.   Par.  viii.  130  ;  xxxii.  68,  70. 
Essence,  the  Divine.  Par.  xxviii.  16. 
Este  or  Esti,  Azzone  da.  Purg.  v.  77. 
Este  or  Esti,  Obizzo  da.   Inf.  xii.  ill  ; 

xviii.  56. 
Esther,  PuRG.  xvii.  29. 
Eteocles  and  Polynices.    Inf.  xxvi.  54. 

Purg.  xxii.  56. 
Euclid.   Inf.  iv.  142. 
Eumenius  and  Ihoas.   Purg.  xxvi.  95. 
Eunoe.   Purg.  xxviii.  131  ;  xxxiii.  127. 
Euphrates.    PuRG.  xxxiii.  112. 
Euripides.   PuRG.  xxii.  106. 
Europa,    daughter    of    Agenor.      Par. 

xxvii.  84. 
Eurus,  southeast  wind.  Par.  viii.  69. 
Euryalus.   Inf.  i.  108. 
Evangelists,  the  four.   PuRG.  xxix.  92. 
Eve.   Pjrg.  viii.  99;  xii.  71  ;  xxiv.  116. 

xxix.  24  ;  xxx.  52  ;  xxxiL  32.    Par. 

xiii.  38 ;  xxxii.  6. 


Evil  counsellors.  iNF.  xxvi. 
Ezekiel,  Prophet.  Purg.  xxix.  100. 
Ezzelino  or  Azzolino.     Inf.   xii.    no. 
Par.  ix.  29. 

Fabbro.  PuRG.  xiv.  icx). 

Fabii.  Par.  vi.  47. 

Fabricius.  Purg.  xx.  25. 

Faenza.     Inf.    xxvii.    49 ;    xxxii.    123. 

Purg.  xiv.  10 1. 
Faith,    St.    Peter  examines  Dante  on. 

Par.  xxiv. 
Falterona.     Purg.  xiv.  17. 
Famagosta.  Par.  xix.  146. 
Fame,  seekers  of  by  noble  enterprises. 

Par.  v. 
Fano.  Inf.  xxviii.  76.  PuRG.  v.  71. 
P'antoli,  Ugolin  de'.   PuRG.  xiv.  I2I. 
Farfarello,  demon.    Inf.  xxi.  123  ;  xxii. 

94- 
Farinata  Marzucco.  PuRG.  vi.  18. 
Karinata  degli  Uberti.    Inf.  vi.  79 ;  x. 

32- 
Felix  Guzman.  Par.  xii.  79. 
Feltro.  Inf.  i.  105.  Par.  ix.  52. 
Ferrara.  Par.  xv.  137. 
Fieschi,  Counts  of  La vagno.  Purg.  xix. 

100. 
Fiesole  or  Fesole.  Inf.  xv.  62.  Par.  vi. 

53  ;  XV.  126 ;  xvi.  122. 
Figghine.   Par.  xvi.  50. 

Fillipeschi  and  Monaldi,  families.  PURG. 

vi.  107. 
Fishes,  sign  of  the  Zodiac.  Inf.  xi.  113. 

Purg.  i.  21  ;  xxxii.  54. 
Flatterers.  Inf.  xviii. 
Flemings.  Inf.  xv.  4. 
Florence.    Inf.   x.   92  ;   xiii.    143  ;  xvi. 

75  ;    xxiii.    95  ;    xxiv.    144  ;    xxvi.    I  ; 

xxxii.   120.   Purg.  vi.   127  ;  xii.  102  ; 

xiv.  64 ;   XX.  75  ;   xxiv.  79.   Par.  vi. 

54  ;  ix.  127  ;  xv.  97  ;  xvi.  25,  40, 
84,  1 1 1,  146,  149  ;  xvii.  48 ;  xxv.  5  ; 
xxix.  103  ;  xxxi.  39. 

Florentines.   Inf.  xv.  61  ;  xvi.  73  ;  xvii. 

70.  Purg.  xiv.  50.  Par.  xvi.  86. 
Florentine  women.  Purg.  xxiii.  94,  lOl. 
Flower-de-luce,  arms  of  France.   PuRG. 

XX.  86. 
Focaccia,  Cancellieri.   Inf.  xxxii.  63. 
Focara.  Inf.  xxviii.  89. 
Foraboschi,  family.  Par.  xvi.  109. 
Forese  Donati.    PuRG.    xxiii.    48,    76  ; 

xxiv.  73. 
ForlL  Inf.  xvi.  99  ;  xxvii.  43.    PuRO. 

xxiv.  32. 

303 


7SO 


INDEX. 


Fortune.  Inf.  vii.  62. 
Fortuna  Major.   Purg.  xix.  4. 
Fo5co,  Bemardin  di.  Purg.  xiv.  lOl. 
Fiance.  Inf.  xix.  87.     Purg.  vii.  109  : 

XX.  51,  71.  Par.  xv.  120. 
Francesca  da  Rimini.  Inf.  v.  116. 
Francis  of  Accorso.  Inf.  xv.  iio. 
Francis  of  Assisi,  St.    Inf.  xxvii,  112. 

Par.  xi.   37,  50,  74 ;   xiii.  33  ;  xxii. 

90  ;  xxxii.  35. 
Franciscans.     Par.  xii.  112. 
Franco  Bolognese.   Purg.  xi.  83. 
Frati  Godenti  or  Gaudenti,  Jovial  Friars. 

Inf.  xxiii.  103. 
Frederick  I.,  Barbarossa.   Purg.   xviii. 

119. 
Frederick  II.,  Emperor.     Inf.  x.   119; 

xiii.    59,  68 ;  xxiii.   66.    Purg.   xvi. 

117.  Par.  iii.  120. 
Frederick  Novello.  Purg.  vi.  17. 
Frederick  Tignoso.  Purg.  xiv.  106. 
Frederick,   King  of  Sicily.     Purg.  vii. 

119.  Par.  xix.  130;  xx.  63. 
Free  will.   PuRG.  xvi.  71 ;  xviii.  74. 
French  people.    Inf.  xxvii.   44 ;    xxix. 

123  ;  xxxii.  115.  Par.  viii.  75. 
Friars,  Jovial  {Frati  Gaudenti),  of  St. 

Mary's.  Inf.  xxiii.  103. 
Fucci,  Vanni.  Inf.  xxiv.  125. 
Fulcieri  da  Calboli.  Purg.  xiv.  58. 
Furies.  Inf.  ix.  38. 

Gabriel,  Archangel.   PURG.  x.  34.   Par. 

iv.  47  ;  ix.   138  ;  xiv.  36  ;  xxiii.   103  ; 

xxxii.  94,  112. 
Gaddo,  son  of  Ugolino.  iNF.  xxxiii.  68. 
Gades,  Cadiz.  Par.  xxvii.  83. 
Gaeta.  Inf.  xxvi.  92.  Par.  viii.  62. 
Ga;a,  lady  of  Treviso.   PuRG.  xvi.  140. 
Galaxy.  Par.  xiv.  99. 
Galen.  Inf.  iv.  143. 
Galeotto.  Inf.  v.  137. 
Galicia.  Par.  xxv.  18. 
Galigajo.   Par.  xvi.  loi. 
Galli,  family.  Par.  xvi.  105. 
Gallura.  Inf.  xxii.  82.  PuRG  viii.  81. 
Galluzzo.  Par.  xvi.  53. 
Ganellone,  or  Gano,  of  Maganza.  Inf. 

xxxii.  122. 
Ganges.   PuRG.  ii.  5  ;  xxvii.  4.  PAR.  xi. 

5»- 
Ganymede.   PuRG.  ix.  23. 
Garda.   Inf.  xx.  65. 
Gardingo,  street  of  Florence.  Inf.  xxiii. 

108. 
Gascons.  Par.  xxvii.  58. 


Gascony.  PuRG.  xx.  66. 

Gate  of  Purgatory.  Purg.  ix.  90. 

Gaville.  Inf.  xxv.  151. 

Gemini,  sign  of  the  Zodiac.  Par.  xxii 

152, 
Genesis.  Inf.  xi.  107. 
Genoa.  Par.  ix.  92. 
Genoese.  Inf.  xxxiii.  151. 
Gentucca.   Purg.  xxiv.  37. 
Geomancers.   Purg.  xix.  4. 
Gerault  de  Berneil.  Purg.  xxvi.  120. 
Geri  del  Bello.  Inf.  xxix.  27. 
Germans.  Inf.  xvii.  21. 
Geryon.  Inf.  xvii.   97,    133  ;  xviii.  20. 

Purg.  xxvii.  23. 
Ghent.  Purg.  xx.  46, 
Gherardo  da  Camino.  Purg.  xvi.   124, 

133.  138. 
Ghibellines  and  Guelfs,  origin  of.  iNF. 

X.  51. 
Ghino  di  Tacco.  Purg.  vi.  14. 
Ghisola,   sister  of  Caccianimico.     Inf. 

xviii.  55. 
Giampolo,  or  Ciampolo,  the  Navarrese. 

Inf.  xxii.  48,  121. 
Gianfigliazzi,  family.   Inf.  xvii.  59. 
Gianni  Schicchi.  Inf.  xxx.  32,  44. 
Gianni  del  Soldanieri.   Inf.  xxxii.  121. 
Giano  della  Bella.   Par.  xvi.  132. 
Giants.  Inf.  xxxi.  44.  Purg.  xii.  33. 
Gideon.  Purg.  xxiv.  125. 
Gilbo^,  Mount.  PuRG.  xii.  41. 
Giotto.  Purg.  xi.  95. 
Giovanna  di  Montefeltro.   PuRG.  v.  89. 
Giovanna  Visconti  of  Pisa.  Purg.  viii. 

71- 
Giuda.   Par.  xvi.  123. 
Giuochi,  family.  Par.  xvi.  104. 
Glaucus.  Par.  i.  68. 
Gluttons.  Inf.    vi.   Puro.   xxii.,  xxiii.. 

xxiv. 
Godfrey  of  Bouillon.  Par.  xviii.  47. 
Gomita,  Fra.   Inf.  xxii.  81. 
Gomorrah.  PURG.  xxvi.  40. 
Gorgon,  head  of  Medusa.   Inf.  ix.  56. 
Gorgona.  Inf.  xxxiii.  82. 
Governo,  now  Governolo.   Inf.  xx.  78. 
Graffiacane,  demon.  Inf.  xxi.  122  ;  xxii. 

34. 
Gratian.  Par.  x.  104. 
Greet,  family.   Par.  xvi.  89. 
Greece.  Inf.  xx.  108. 
Greeks.  Inf.  xxvi.  75.   PuRG.    ix.  39; 

xxii.  88.  Par.  v.  69. 
Gregory  the  Great,  St.     PVRG.  x.  75; 

XX.  108  ;  xxviii.  133. 


INDEX. 


751 


Greyhound.  Inf.  i.  101. 

Griffblino  d'   Arezzo.    Inf.    xxix.    109; 

XXX.  31. 
Griffin.   PURG.  xxix.  108  ;  xxxii.  26. 
Gualandi,  family.  Inf.  xxxiii.  32, 
Gualdo.  Par.  xi.  48. 
Gualdrada.  Inf.  xvi.  37. 
Gualterotti,  family.  Par.  xvi.  133. 
Guelfs  and  Ghibellines,  origin  of.  Inf. 

X.  51- 
Guglielmo  Aldobrandeschi.  PuRG.  xi.  59. 
Guglielmo  Boisiere.   Inf.  xvi.  70. 
Guglielmo,  King  of  Navarre.  PuRG.  vii. 

104. 
Guglielmo,  King  of  Sicily.  Par.  xx.  62. 
Guenever.   Par.  xvi.  15. 
Guidi,  Counts.   Par.  xxi.  64. 
Guido  Bonatti.   Inf.  xx.  118. 
Guido  di  Carpigna.   PuRG.  xiv.  98. 
Guido  del  Cassero.  Inf.  xxviii.  77. 
Guido  da  Castello.  Purg.  xvi.  125. 
Guido   Cavalcanti.    Inf.    x.    63,     iii, 

Purg.  xi.  97. 
Guido,  Count  of  Montefeltro.  Inf.  xxvii. 

67. 
Guido,  Count  of  Romena.  Inf.  xxx.  77. 
Guido  da  Monforte.  Inf.  xii.  119. 
Guido  del  Duca.  Purg.  xiv.  81. 
Guidoguerra.  Ink.  xvi.  38. 
Guido   Guinicelli.  Purg.   xi.  97 ;  xxvi. 

92,  97- 
Guido  da  Prata.   PuRG.  xiv.  104. 
Guido  Ravignani.   Par.  xvi.  98. 
Guiscard,  Robert.  Inf.  xxviii.  14.  Par. 

xviii.  48. 
Guittone  d'  Arezzo.    PuRG.   xxiv.   56  ; 

xxvi.  124. 

Haman.   PuRG.  xvii.  26. 

Hannibal.  Inf.  xxxi.  117.  Par.  vi.  50. 

Harpies,   Ink.  xiii.  10,  loi. 

Hebrews.    Purg.    iv.    83;    xviii.    134; 

xxiv.  124.  Par.  v.  49  ;  xxxii.  132. 
Hebrew  women.  Par.  xxxii.  17. 
Hector.  Inf.  iv.  122.   Par.  vi.  68. 
Hecuba.   Inf.  xxx.  16. 
Helen.  Inf.  v.  64. 
Helice  (Callisto).  PuRG.  xxv.  131. 
Helice  (Great  Bear).  Par.  xxxi.  32. 
Helicon,  Purg.  xxix.  40. 
Heliodonis.  Purg,  xx.  113. 
Helios  (the  Sun),  God.   Par.  xiv,  96. 
Hellespont.  Purg.  xxviii.  71. 
Henry  (iXrrigo)  Fifanti.  Inf.  vi.  80. 
Henry  ill.  of  England.  PuRG.  vii.  131. 
Henry  V.,  Emperor.  Par.  iii.  1 19. 


Henry   VII.,   Emperor.    Purg.    xxxiii. 

43.     Par.  xvii.  82 ;  xxvii.  63  ;  xxx, 

137- 
Henry,  the  Young  King.  Inf.  xxviii.  135. 
Heraclitus.  Inf.  iv.  138. 
Hercules,     Inf.    xxv,    32;    xxvi,    108; 

xxxi.  132. 
Heretics.  Inf.  x. 

Hermitage  of  Camaldoli.  Purg.  v.  96. 
Hezekiah,  King.  Par.  xx.  51. 
Hierarchies,  Angelic.  Par.  xxviii. 
Hippocrates.    Inf.  iv.  143.   Purg.  xxix. 

.137- 
Hippolytus,  son  of  Theseus.  Par.  xvii. 

46. 
Holofemes.  Purg.  xii.  59. 
Holy  Ghost.   Purg.  xx.  98.   Par.   iii. 

53- 
Holy  Land.  Par.  xv.  142. 
Homer.  Inf.  iv.  88.  Purg.  xxii.  loi. 
Homicides.  Inf.  xii.  ^ 

Honorius  III.  Par.  xi.  98. 
Hope,    St.  James  examines  Dante  on. 

Par.  xxv. 
Horace.   Inf.  iv.  89. 
Horatii.  Par.  vi.  39. 
Hugh  Capet.  Purg.  xx,  43,  49. 
Hugh  of  St.  Victor.  Par.  xii.  133, 
Humility,  examples  of   PuRG.  xii. 
Hungary.  Par.  viii.  65 ;  xix.  142. 
Hyperion.   Par.  xxii.  142. 
Hypocrites.  Inf.  xxiii. 
Hypsipyle.  iNF.  xviii.  92  ;  PURG.  xxii, 

112  ;  xxvi.  95. 

larbas.   PURG.  xxxi.  72. 

Icanis.  Inf.  xvii.  109.   Par.  viii.  126. 

Ida,  Mount.  Inf.  xiv.  98. 

Ilerda.    PuRG.  xviii.  loi. 

Ilion.  Inf.  i.  75.   Purg.  xii.  62. 

Illuminato.   Par.  xii.  130. 

Imola.   Inf.  xxvii.  49. 

Importuni,  family.  Par.  xvi,  133. 

India.   Inf.  xiv.  32. 

Indians.    PuRG,  xxxii,  41.    Par.  xxix. 

loi. 
Indulgences.  Par.  xxix.  120. 
Indus.  Par.  xix.  71. 
Infangato.  Par.  xvi.  123. 
Innocent  III.   Par.  xi.  92. 
Ino,  wife  of  Athamas.  Inf.  xxx.  5. 
Interminei,  Alessio.  Inf.  xviii.  122. 
lole.  Par.  ix.  102. 
Iphigenia.  Par.  v.  70. 
Irascible,    the.    Inf.    vii.,   viii.    PURG* 

XV.,  xvi. 


752 


INDEX. 


Iris.  PuRG.  xxi.  50 ;  xxix.  78.  Par.  xii. 

12  ;  xxviii.  32  ;  xxxiii.  1 19 
Isaac,  patriarch.   Inf.  iv.  59. 
Isaiah,  prophet.   Par.  xxv.  91. 
Isfere.   Par.  vi.  59. 
Isidore,  St.   Par.  x.  131. 
Ismene,    daughter    of  CEdipus.    PuRG. 

xxii.  III. 
Ismenus.   Purg.  xviii.  91. 
Israel,  (Jacob,)  patriarch.  Inf.  iv.  59. 
Israel,  people  of.   Purg.  ii.  46. 
Italy.    Inp.    i.    106;    ix.    114;    xx.    61  ; 

xxvii.    26  ;  xxxiii.   80.    PuRG.  vi.   76, 

105,  124;  vii.   95  ;  xiii.   96;  xx.   67; 

xxx.  86.   Par.  xxi.  106 ;  xxx.  138. 

Jacob,  patriarch.    Par.   viii.   131  ;  xxii. 

70 ;  xxxii.  68. 
Jacomo,  of  Navarre.    PuRG.   vii.    119; 

Par.  xix.  137. 
Jacopo  da  Lentino,  the  Notary.    PuRG. 

xxiv.  56. 
Jacopo  del  Cassero.  Purg.  v.  67. 
Jacopo  of  Sant'  Andrea.   Inf.  xiii.  133 
Jacopo  Rusticucci.  Inf.  vi.  80  ;  xvi.  44. 
Jacuii  (serpents).  Inf.  xxiv.  86. 
James,  St.  (the  elder),  apostle.   Purg. 

xxix.  142  ;  xxxii.  76.  Par.  xxv.  17,  77. 
Janiculum,  Mount.   iNF   xViii.  33. 
Janus.  Par.  vi.  81. 
Jason,    leader  of  the   Argonauts.    Inf. 

xviii.  86.   Par.  ii.  18. 
Jason,  Hebrew.  Inf.  xix.  85. 
Jehosaphat,   Inf.  x.  ii. 
jephthah.  Par.  v.  66. 
Jericho.   Pak.  ix.  125. 
Jerome,  St.   Par.  xxix.  37. 
Jerusalem.  Inf.  xxxiv.   114.    Purg.   ii. 

3  ;  xxiii.  29.   Par.  xix.  127  ;  xxv.  56. 
Jews.  Inf.  xxiii.   123  ;  xxvii.  87.  Par. 

vii.  47  ;  xxix.  I02. 
Joachim,  Abbot.  Par.  xii.  140. 
Joanna,  mother  of  St.   Dominic.   Par. 

xii.  80. 
Jocasta,  Queen  of  Thebes.  Purg.  xxii. 

56. 
John  the  Baptist,   St.     Inf.  xiii.   143 ; 

xxx.  74.  Purg.  xxii.  152.  Par.  xvi. 

25,  47  ;  xviii.  134 ;  xxxii.  31. 
John  Chrysostom,  St.  Par.  xii.  137. 
John,   St.,   evangelist.    Inf.    xix.    106. 

Purg.   xxix.    105,    143  ;    xxxii.    76. 

Par.  xxiv.  126;  xxv.  94,  112  ;  xxxii. 

127. 
John,  St.,  church  in  Florence.  Inf.  xix. 

»7. 


John  XXII.,  Pope.   Par.  xxvii.  58. 
Jordan.   PuRG.  xviii.  135.  Par.  xxii.  94. 
Joseph,  patriarch.   Inf.  xxx.  97. 
Joseph,  St.,  husband  of  Virgin    Mary. 

Purg.  xv.  91. 
Joshua.  Purg.  XX.   iii.  Par.  ix.   125; 

xviii.  38. 
Jove.  Inf.  xiv.  52;  xxxi.  44,  92.  Purg. 

xii.  32;  xxix.   120;  xxxii.   112.   Par. 

iv.  63. 
Jove  Supreme.  Purg.  vi.  118. 
Juba.  Par.  vi.  70. 
Jubilee  of  the  year  1300.  Inf.  xviii.  29. 

Purg.  ii.  98. 
Judas  Iscariot.    Inf.   ix.    27  ;    xix.   96 ; 

xxi.   143;  xxxiv.  62.   Purg.  xx.   74; 

xxi.  84. 
Judas  Maccabaeus.   Par.  xviii.  40. 
Judecca.  Inf.  xxxiv.  117. 
Judith.   Par.  xxxii.  10. 
Julia,  daughter  of  Coesar.   Inf.  iv.  128. 
Julius    Cresar.     Inf.   i.    70;    iv.     123; 

xxviii.  98.    Purg.  xviii.    loi.  ;  xxvi. 

77.  Par.  vi.  57  ;  xi.  69. 
Juno.  Inf.  xxx  I.  Par.  xii.  12 ;  xxviii.  32. 
Jupiter,  planet.   Par.  xviii.  68,   70,  95, 

115  ;  xxii.  145  ;  xxvii.  14. 
Justinian,  Emperor.   PuRG.  vi.  88.  Par. 

vi.  ID  ;  vii.  5- 
Juvenal.  Purg.  xxii.  13. 

Lacedeemon  (Sparta).   Purg.  vi.  139. 
Lachesis.   PuRG.  xxi.  25  ;  xxv.  79. 
Ladislaus,  King  of  Bohemia.    Par.  xix, 

125- 
Lamberti,  family.  Par.  xvi.  109. 
Lamone.   Inf.  xxvii.  49. 
Lancelot.  Inf.  v.  128. 
Lanciotto  Malatesta.  Inf.  v.  107. 
Lanfranchi,  family.  Inf.  xxxiii.  32. 
Langia,  fountain  of.  PuRG.  xxii.  112. 
Lano.  Inf.  xiii.  120. 
Lapo,    abbreviation   of  Jacopo,    plural 

Lapi.  Par.  xxix.  103. 
Lapo  Salterello.  Par.  xv.  128. 
Lasca,  the  celestial.   PuRG.  xxxii.  54. 
Lateran,  church.  Inf.  xxvii.  86. 
Latian,  for  Italian.  Inf.  xxii.  65  ;  xxvii. 

33  ;  xxix.  88,  91.   PuRG.  vii.  16  ;  xi. 

58  ;  xiii.  92. 
Latian    land,    Italy.     Inf.     xxvii.    26 

xxviii.  71. 
Latini,  Brunetto.   Inf.  xv.  30,  32,  loi. 
Latinus,  King.   Inf.  iv.  125. 
Latona.  Purg.   xx.   131  ;  Par.  x.  67; 

xxii.  139  :  xxix.  I. 


INDEX. 


753 


I^avagno.   PuRG.  xix.  loi. 

Lavinia.  Inf.  iv.   126.  PuRG.  xvii.  37. 

Par.  vi.  3. 
Lawrence,  St.,  martyr.   Par.  iv.  83. 
Leah.   PuRO.  xxvii.  loi. 
Leander.   Purg.  xxviii.  73. 
Learchus  and  Melicerta.    Inf.  xxx.   5, 

10. 
Lebanon.  Purg.  xxx.  ii. 
Leda.  Par.  xxvii.  98. 
Lemnos.  Inf.  xviii.  88. 
Lentino,  Jacopo  da.  PuRG.  xxiv.  56. 
Lerlce.  Purg.  iii.  49. 
Lethe.  Inf.  xiv.  131,  136.   Purg.  xxvi. 

108  ;    xxviii.    130  j   xxx.    143  ;  xxxiii. 

96,  123. 
Levi.  Purg.  xvi.  131. 
Liberality,  example  of.   Purg.  xx.  31. 
Libicocco,  demon.  Inf.  xxi.  121;  xxii. 

70. 
Libra,     sign    of    the    Zodiac.     Purg. 

xxvii.  3. 
Lily  (Flower-de-luce),  arms  of  France. 

Purg.  vii.  105. 
Limbo.  Inf.  ii.  52  ;  iv.  24,  45.  PuRG. 

xxii.  14.  Par.  xxxii.  84. 
Limoges.   Purg.  xxvi.  120. 
Linus.  Par.  xxvii.  41. 
Lion,  sign  of  the  Zodiac.   Par.  xvi.  37 ; 

xxi.  14. 
Livy.   Inf.  iv.  141  ;  xxviii.  12. 
Lizio,  or  Licio,  of  Valbona.   PuRG.   xiv. 

97-  . 
Loderingo degli  Andalo.   Inf.  xxiii.  104. 
Logodoro.   Inf.  xxii.  89. 
Lombard  dialect.  Inf.  xxvii.  20. 
Lombard,  the  Great,  Bartolommeo  della 

Scala.   Par.  xvii.  71. 
Lombard,  the  Simple,   Guido  da  Cas- 

tello.  Purg.  xvi.  126. 
Lombardo  Marco.  Purg.  xvi.  46. 
Lombards.  Inf.  xxii.  99. 
Lombardy  and   the   Marca  Trivigiana. 

Inf.  xxviii.  74.  Purg.  xvi.  115. 
Louises,   kings  of  France.    Purg.    xx. 

50. 
Lovers.   Par.  viii. 
Lucan.  Inf.  iv.  90;  xxv.  94. 
Lucca.  Inf.  xviii.  122  ;  xxi.  38 ;  xxxiii. 

30.  Purg.  xxiv.  20,  35. 
Lucia,  St.  Inf.  ii.  97,   100.  Purg.  ix, 

55.  Par.  xxxii.  137. 
Lucifer.    Inf.    xxxi.    143  ;    xxxiv.    89. 

Purg.    xii.    25.    Par.    ix.   128;  xix. 

47  ;  xxvii.  26  ;  xxix.  56. 
Lucretia.  Inf.  iv.  128.  Par.  vi.  41. 


Luke,  St.  Purg.  xxi.  7  ;  xxix.  136. 
Luni.  Inf.  xx.  47.  Par.  xvi.  73. 
Lybia.  Inf.  xxiv.  85. 
Lycurgus.   PuRG.  xxvi.  94. 

Maccabseus,  Judas.   Par.  xviii.  40. 
Maccabees.   Inf.  xix.  86. 
Maccarius,  St.   Par:  xxii.  49. 
Mainardo  Pagani.  Inf.  xxvii.  50.  PuRG, 

xiv.  118. 
Macra,  or  Magra,  river.  Par.  ix.  89. 
Magus,  Simon.  Inf.  xix.  i. 
Mahomet.   Inf.  xxviii.  31,  62. 
Maia  (Mercury),  planet.   Par.  xxii.  144. 
Majorca.     Inf.   xxviii.    82.    Par.    xix. 

138. 
Malacoda,   demon.    Inf.    xxi.    76,    79  ; 

xxiii.  141. 
Malaspina,  Currado.   Purg.  viii.  118. 
Malatesta  di  Rimini.  Inf.  xxvii.  46. 
Malatestino.   Inf.  xxviii.  85. 
Malebolge.  Inf.  xviii.  i  ;  xxi.  5  ;  xxiv. 

37  ;  xxix.  41. 
Malebranche,    demons.    Inf.    xxi.    37 ; 

xxii.  100  ;  xxiii.  23  ;  xxxiii.  142. 
Malta,  prison.  Par.  ix.  54. 
Manardi,  Arrigo.   PURG.  xiv.  97. 
Manfredi,    King  of  Apulia.    PuRG.   iii. 

112. 
Manfredi  of  Faenza.  Inf.  xxxiii.  118. 
Manfredi,    Tebaldello   de'.    Inf.   xxxii. 

122. 
Mangiadore,  Peter.   Par.  xii.  134. 
Manto.  Inf.  xx.  55.  Purg.  xxii.  113. 
Mantua.   Inf.  xx.  93.  Purg.  vi.  72. 
Mantuans.  Inf.  i.  69. 
Marcab6.  Inf.  xxviii.  75, 
Marca  d'Ancona.   FURG.  v.  68. 
Marca     Trivigiana.     PuRG.     xvi.      1 15. 

Par.  ix.  25. 
Marcellus.  Purg.  vi.  125.  *    * 

Marchese,  Messer.   PuRG.  xxiv.  31. 
Marcia.   Inf.  iv.  128.   Purg.  i.  79.  85. 
Marco  Lombardo.  Purg.  xvi.  46,  130. 
Maremma.    Inf.    xxv.     19 ;    xxix.    48. 

Purg.  v.  134. 
Margaret,  Queen.   Purg.  vii.  128. 
Marquis  Obizzo  da  Esti.   Inf.  xviii.  56. 
Marquis  William  (Guglielmo)  of  Mon- 

ferrato.   PURG.  vii.  134. 
Mars.  Inf.  xiii.   143  ;  xxiv.  145  ;  xxxi. 

51.  Purg.  xii.  31.  Par.  iv.  63  ;  viii. 

132  ;  xvi.  47,  145  ;  xxii.  146. 
Mars,  planet.   Purg.  ii.   14.  Par.  xiv. 

100  ;  xvi.  37  ;  xvii.  77  ;  xxvii.  14. 
Marseilles.  Purg.  xviii.  102. 


754 


INDEX. 


Marsyas.  Par.  i.  20. 

Martin  IV.,  Pope.  Purg.  xxiv.  22. 

Martino,   or  Ser  Martino.    Par.    xiii. 

139- 
Mary,    Hebrew   woman.     Purg.    xxiii. 

Mary,    the   Virgin.    PtTRG.    111.    39 ;    v. 

loi  ;  viii.   37;   x.*4l,  50;   xiii.    50; 

XV.  88  ;  xviii.  100 ;  xx.   19,  97  ;  xxii. 

142;  xxxiii.  6.  Par.  iii,  122;  iv.  30; 

xi.  71  ;  xiii.  84 ;   xiv,   36  ;  xv.   133  ; 

xvi.   34;   xxiii.    88,    1 11,    126,    137; 

XXV.  128  ;  xxxi.  100,  116,  127  ;  xxxii. 

4.  29,  85,95,  104,  107,  113,  119,  134; 

xxxiii.  I,  34. 
Marzucco  degli  Scoringiani.   PURO.   vi. 

18. 
Mascberoni,  Sass«»Jo.  Inf.  xxxii.  65. 
Matilda,   Countess.   Purg.    xxviii.    40 ; 

xxxi.  92;  xxxii.   28,  82  ;  xxxiii.    119, 

121. 
Matteo  d'  Acquasparta,  Cardinal.   Par. 

xii.  124. 
Matthias,  St.,  Apostle.  Inf.  xix.  94. 
Medea.   Inf.  xviii.  96. 
Medici,  family.   Par.  xvi.  109. 
Medicina,  Pier  da.   Inf.  xxviii.  73. 
Mediterranean  Sea.   Par.  ix.  82. 
Medusa.  Inf.  ix.  52. 
Megaera.   Inf.  ix.  46. 
Melchisedec.   Par.  viii.  125. 
Meleager.  Purg.  xxv.  22. 
Melicerta  and  Learchus.  Inf.  xxx.  5, 
Melissus,     Par,  xiii.  125. 
Menalippus.   Ink.  xxxii.  131. 
Mercury.   Par.  iv.  63. 
Mercury,  planet.  Par.  v.  96. 
Metellus,   Purg.  ix.  138. 
Michael,  Archangel.  Inf.  vii.  11.  Purg. 
y  xiii.  51,  Par.  iv.  47. 
MicTiael  Scott.  Inf.  xx.  116. 
Michael  Zanche.    iNF.  xxiu  88 ;  xxxiii. 

144. 
Michal,  Saul's  daughter.  Purg.  x.  68, 

72. 
Midas.  Purg.  xx,  106. 
Midian,  Purg,  xxiv.  126, 
Milan.  Purg,  xviii.  120. 
Milanese,   PuKG,  viii.  80. 
Mincio.  Inf.  xx.  77, 
Minerva,  Purg.  xxx.  68.  Par.  ii.  8, 
Minos.  Ink,  v.  4,  17  ;  xiii.  96;  xx.  36; 

xxvii,   124;  xxix,   120.  Purg,   i,   77. 

Par.  xiii,  14. 
Minotaur.  Ink.  xii.  12,  25. 
Mira,  Purg,  v,  79, 


Miserere.  Purg.  v.  24. 

Modena.  Par.  vi.  75. 

Moldau,   Purg.  vii.  99. 

Monaldi  and  Filippeschi,  families.  PuRtt 

vi.  107. 
Monferrato.   Purg.  vii.  136. 
Mongibello  (Mt.   MXwai).  Inf.  xiv.  56. 

Par.  viii.  67, 
Montagna,  cavalier.  Inf.  xxvii.  47, 
Montaperti.   Inf.  xxxii.  81, 
Montecchi     and    CappeUetti,     families. 

Purg.  vi,  106. 
Monte  Feltro.  iNF.  i.  105.  Purg.  v.  88, 
Montemalo  (now  Montemario).  Par,  xv. 

109, 
Montemurlo.   Par.  xvi.  64. 
Montereggione.   Inf.  xxxi.  41. 
Monforte,  Guido  da.  Inf.  xii.  119. 
Montone.  Inf.  xvi.  94. 
Moon.  Inf.  x.  80.  Par.  xvi.  82. 
Mordecai.  Purg.  xvii.  29, 
Mordrec.  Inf.  xxxii.  61. 
Morocco.  Inf.  xxvi.  104.  Purg.  iv,  139. 
Moronto.  Par.  xv,  136. 
Mosca  degli  Uberti,  or  LambertL   Inf. 

vi.  80  ;  xxviii.  106. 
Moses.   Inf..  iv.  57,   Purg,   xxxii.   80. 

Par.  iv.  29  ;  xxiv,  136  ;  xxvi.  41. 
Mozzi,  Andrea  dei.  Inf.  xv.  112. 
Muses.   Inf.  ii.    7;  xxxii.    10.    PURG.  i, 

8 ;  xxii.    105  ;  xxix.  37,    Par.  ii.  9 ; 

xii.  7  ;  xxiii.  56. 
Mutius  Scaevola.   Par.  iv.  84. 
Myrrha.  Inf.  xxx,  38. 

Naiades.   PuRG.  xxxiii,  49, 
Naples,  Purg.  iii.  27. 
Napoleone  degli  Albert!.  Inf.  xxxii.  55. 
Narcissus.  Inf.  xxx.  128.  Par.  iii.  18. 
Nasidius.  Inf.  xxv.  95. 
Nathan,  Prophet.  Par.  xii,  136, 
Navarre.  Inf.  xxii.  48,   Par.  xix.  143. 
Navarrese,   the  (Ciampolo),   Inf.   xxiL 

121 
Nazareth.  Par,  ix.  137. 
Nebuchadnezzar,   Par.  iv.  14. 
Negligent  of  repentance.  Purg.  ii.  to  vii, 
Nella,  wife  of  Forese,  Pukg,  xxiii.  87. 
Neptune,  Ink.  xxviii,   83,  Par.  xxxiiL 

96, 
Neri,  Black  Party,  Inf,  vi.  65. 
Nerli,  family.   Par,  xv.  115, 
Nessus.  Inf.  xii.  67,  98,  104,  115,  129 

xiii.  I. 
Nicholas  Salimbeni.  Inf.  xxix.  127. 
Nicholas,  St.,  of  Bwi  Purg.  xx.  3a. 


INDEX. 


7SS 


Nicholas  III.,  Pope.  Inf.  xix.  31. 

Nicosia.  Par.  xix.  146. 

Nile.  Inf.   xxxiv.  45.  Purg.  xxiv.  64. 

Par.  vi.  66. 
Nimrod.  Inf.  xxxi.  77.  Purg.  xii.  34. 

Par.  xxvi.  126. 
Ninus.  Inf.  v.  59. 
Nino  Visconti,  of  Pisa.  Purg.  viii.  53, 

109. 
Niobe,  Queen  of  Thebes.  Purg.  xii.  37. 
Nisus.  Inf.  i.  io8. 
Noah.  Inf.  iv.  56.  Par.  xii.  17. 
Nocera.  Par.  xi.  48. 
Noli.  Purg.  iv.  25. 
Normandy.   PuRG.  xx.  66. 
Norway.    Par.  xix.  139. 
Notaiy,  the,  Jacopo  da  Lentino.  PuRG. 

xxiv.  56. 
Novarese.  Inf.  xxviii.  59. 
Novello,  Frederick.  Purg.  vi.  17. 
Numidia.  Purg.  xxxi.  72. 
Nymphs,  stars.   Par.  xxiii.  26. 
Nymphs,  Naiades.  Purg.  xxix.  4  ;  xxxi. 

100. 
Nymphs,  Virtues.   PuRG.  xxxii.  98. 

Obizzo  of  Esti.  Inf.  xii.  Ili;  xviiL  56. 

Ocean.  Par.  ix.  84. 

Octavian  Augustus.  Inf.  i.  71.  Purg. 

vii.  6. 
Oderisi  d'  Agobbio.  Purg.  xi.  79. 
Olympus.  Purg.  xxiv.  15. 
Omberto  di  Santafiore.   Purg.   xi.  58, 

67. 
Orbisani,  Buonagiunta.  Purg.  xxiv.  19. 

35- 
Ordelaffi  of  Forli.  Inf.  xxvii.  45. 
Orestes.  Purg.  xiii.  33. 
Oriaco.  Purg.  v,  80. 
Orlando.  Inf.  xxxi.  18.   Par.  xviii.  43. 
Ormanni,  family.  Par.  xvi.  89. 
Orpheus.  Inf.  iv.  140. 
Orsini,  family.  Inf.  xix.  70. 
Orso,  Count.  Purg.  vi.  19. 
Ostia.  Purg.  ii.  loi. 
Ostiense,  Cardinal.  Par.  xii.  83. 
Ottocar,  King  of  Boliemia.   Purg.   vii. 

100. 
Ovid.  Inf.  iv.  90;  XXV.  97. 

Pachino.  Par.  viii.  68. 
Padua.   Par.  ix.  46. 
Paduans.  Inf.  xv.  7.;  xvii.  70. 
Pagani,  family.   iNF.   xxvii.   50.    PuRG. 

xiv.  118. 
Palazzo,  Conrad,  Purg.  xvi.  124. 


Palermo.  Par.  viii.  75. 
Palestrina.   Inf.  xxvii.  102. 
Palladium.   Inf.  xxvi.  63. 
Pallas  (Minerva).   Purg.  xii.  31. 
Pallas,  son  of  Evander.   Par.  vi.  36. 
Paradise,  Terrestrial.   PuRG.  xxviii. 
Paris,  city.   Purg.  xi.  81  ;  xx.  52. 
Paris,  Trojan.   Inf.  v.  67. 
Parmenides.  Par.  xiii.  125. 
Parnassus.   PURG.    xxii.    65,  104;  xxviii. 

141  ;  xxxi.  140.   Par.  i.  16. 
Pasiphae.  Inf.  xii.  13.   I'urg.  xxvi.  41, 

86. 
Paul,  Apostle.  Inf.  ii.  32.   Purg.  xxix. 

139.    Par.  xviii.  131,  136  ;  xxi.   127  : 

xxiv.  62  ;  xxviii.  138. 
Paul  Orosius.   Par.  x.  119. 
Pazzi,  family.  Inf.  xii.  137  ;  xxxii,  68. 
Peculators.  Inf.  xxi.,  xxii. 
Pegasea  (Calliope).   Par.  xviii.  82. 
Peleus.  Inf.  xxxi.  5. 
Pelican  (Christ).  Par.  xxv.  113. 
Peloro.   Purg.  xiv.  32.  Par   viii.  68. 
Penelope.  Inf.  xxvi.  96. 
Pennine  (Pennine  Alps).   Inf.  xx.  63. 
Penthesilea.  Inf'  iv.  1-24. 
Pera,  family.  Par.  xvi.  126. 
Perillus.  Inf.  xxvii.  8. 
Persians.  Par.  xix.  112. 
Persius.  Purg.  xxii.  loo. 
Perugia.   Par.  vi.  75  ;  xi.  46. 
Peschiera.  Inf.  xx.  70. 
Peter,  St.,  Apostle.  Inf.  i.  134;  ii.  24; 

xix.  91,  94.  Purg.  ix.  127;  xiii.  51  ; 

xix.  99 ;  xxi.  54  ;  xxii.  63  ;  xxxii.  76. 

Par.  ix.  141  ;  xi.  120;  xviii.  131,  136; 

xxi.  127;  xxiii.  139  ;  xxiv.  34,  39,  59, 

124;  xxy.    12,   14;  xxvii.    19;  xxxiu 

124,  133- 
Peter,    St.,  Church  of.    Inf.  xviii.  32, 

xxxi.  59. 
Peter  Bemardone.  Par.  xi.  89. 
Peter  Damiano.   Par,  xxi.  121 ;  xxii.  88. 
Peter  Lombard.  Par.  x.  107. 
Peter  Mangiadore.  Par.  xii.  134. 
Peter  of  Aragon.  Purg.  vii.  Ii2,  125. 
Peter  of  Spam.   Par.  xii.  134. 
Peter  Peccatore.  Par.  xxi.  122. 
Pettignano,  Pier.  Purg.  xiii.  128. 
Phsedra.   Par.  xvii.  47. 
Phaeton.  iNF.  xvii.  107.   Purg.  iv.  72  ; 

xxix.  119.  Par.  xvii.  3  ;  xxxi.  125. 
Phalaris.  Inf.  xxvii.  7. 
Pharese,  serpents.  Inf.  xxiv.  86. 
Pharisees.  INF.  xxiii.  116;  xxvii.  85, 
Pharsalia.  Par,  vi,  65, 


756 


INDEX. 


Philipjx)  Argenti.  Inf.  viii.  6l. 
Philip  III.  of  France.   Purg.  vii.  103. 
Philip  IV.,  the  Fair,  of  France.    Inf. 

xix.  87.  Purg.  vii.    109  ;  xx.  46,  86 ; 

xxxii.  152  ;  xxxiii.  45.    Par.  xix.  120. 
Philippi,  family.  Par.  xvi.  89. 
Philips,  Kings  of  France.  Purg.  xx.  50. 
Phlegethon.   Inf.  xiv.  116,  131,  134. 
Phlegra.  Inf.  xiv.  58. 
Phlegyas.  Inf.  viii.  19,  24. 
Phoenicia.  Par.  xxvii.  83. 
Phoenix.   Inf.  xxiv.  107. 
Pholus.  Inf.  xii.  72. 
Photinus.   Inf.  xi.  9. 
Phyllis.  Par.  ix.  100. 
Pia,  lady  of  Siena.   PURG.  v.  133. 
Piava.  Par.  ix.  27. 

Piccarda.  PuRG.  xxiv.  10.  Par.  iii.  49 ; 
•    iv.  97,  112. 

Piceno,  Campo.  Inf.  xxiv.  148. 
Pierre  de  la  Brosse.   PuRG.  vi.  22. 
Pier  da  Medicina.  Inf.  xxviii.  73. 
Pier  Pettignano.  Purg.  xiii.  128. 
Pier  Traversaro.   PuRG.  xiv.  98. 
Pier  della  Vigna.  Inf.  xiii.  58. 
Pietola.   Purg.  xviii.  83. 
Pietrapana.  Inf.  xxxii.  29. 
Pigli  or  Billi,  family.   Par.  xvi.  103. 
Pila,  Ubaldin  dalla.   Purg.  xxiv.  29. 
Pilate,    the   modern    (Philip   the   Fair). 

Purg.  xx.  91. 
Pinamonte,  liuonacossi.   iNF.  xx.  96. 
Pine  Cone  of  St.  Peter's.   Inf.  xxxi.  59. 
Pisa.  Inf.  xxxiii.  79.  Purg.  vi.  17. 
Pisans.  Inf.  xxxiii.  30.   Purg.  xiv.  53. 
Pisistratus.   PuRG.  xv.  loi. 
Pistoia.   Inf.  xxiv.  126,  143  ;  xxv.  10. 
Pius  I.  Par.  xxvii.  44. 
Plato.  Inf.  iv.  134.  Purg.  iii.  43.  Par. 

iv.  24,  49. 
Plautus.  Purg.  xxii,  98. 
Plutus.  Inf.  vi.  115  ;  vii.  2. 
Po.    Inf.  v.  98 ;   xx,  78.   Purg.  xiv. 

92;  xvi.  115.  Par.  vi.  51  ;  xv.  137. 
Ponthieu.   PuRG.  xx.  66. 
Pola.   Inf.  ix.  113. 
Pole,  North.   Purg,  i.  29. 
Pole,  Souih.  Purg.  i.  23. 
Polenta,  family.  Inf.  xxvii.  41. 
Pollux,  Castor  and.   Purg.  iv.  61. 
Polycletus.  Purg,  x.  32, 
Polydorus.  Inf.  xxx.  18.  Purg.  xx.  115. 
Polyhymnia.  Par,  xxiii.  56, 
Polymnestor.  Purg.  xx.  115. 
Polyniccs,   Inf.  xxvi.  54.   Purg.  xxii. 

56. 


Polyxena.  Inf.  xxx.  17. 
Pompey  the  Great.   Par.  vi.  53. 
Porta  Sole  of  Perugia.   Par.  xi.  47. 
Portugal.   Par.  xix.  139. 
Potiphar's  wife.     Inf.  xxx.  97. 
Poverty,  examples  of.     Purg.  xx.  22, 
Powers,   order  of  angels.     Par.   xxviii 

123. 
Prague.  Par.  xix.  117. 
Prata,  Guido  da.    Pukg.  xiv.  104. 
Prato.  Inf.  xxvi.  9. 
Pratomagno.   PuRG.  v.  116. 
Preachers.  Par.  xxix.  96. 
Pressa,  family.  Par.  xvi.  100. 
Priest,   the  High,  Boniface  VIII.   iNF. 

xxvii.  70. 
Priam,  King  of  Troy.  Inf.  xxx.  15. 
Primum  Mobile.   Par.  xxvii.  106. 
Principalities,  order  of  angels.  Par.  viii. 

34  ;  xxviii.  125. 
Priscian.  Inf.  xv.  109. 
Procne.   Purg.  xvii.  19. 
Prodigal,  the.  Inf.  vii. 
Proserpine.    Inf.  ix.  44 ;   x.  80.  Purq. 

xxviii.  50. 
Proud,  the.   Purg.  x.,  xi.,  xii. 
Provengals.   Par.  vi.  130. 
Provence.   PuRG.  vii.  126;  xx,  61.  Par. 

viii.  58. 
Provenzan  Salvani.   Purg.  xi.  121. 
Psalmist  David.   PuRG.  x.  65. 
Ptolemy,  Claudius.   Inf.'  iv.  142. 
Ptolemy,  King  of  Egypt.  Par.  vi,  69. 
Ptoloma;a.  Inf.  xxxiii.  124. 
Puccio  Sciancato.  Inf.  xxv.  148. 
Pygmalion.    PuRG.  xx.  103. 
Pyramus.   PURG.  xxvii.  38;  xxxiii.  69, 
Pyrenees.  Par.  xix.  144. 
Pyrrhus.  Inf.  xii.  135.  Par.  vi.  44. 

Quamaro,  Gulf  of.  Inf.  ix.   113, 
Quinctius  Cincinnatus.   Par.  vi.  46. 
Quirinus  (Romulus).   Par.  viii.  131. 

Rabanus.  Par.  xii.  139. 

Rachel.    Inf.    iL    102  ;   iv,  60.   PuRG, 

xxvii.   104.   Par.  xxxii.  8. 
Rahab.  Par.  ix.  116, 
Ram,   sign  of  the  Zodiac.    PuRG.  viii 

134.  Par,  xxix.  2. 
Raphael,  Archangel.   Par.  iv.  48. 
Rascia,  part  of  Hungary.   Par.  xix.  14a 
Ravenna.  Inf    v.  97 ;  xxvii.    40,   1'ar, 

vi.  61  ;  xxi.  123. 
Ravignani,  family.   Par,  xvi,  97, 
Raymond  Berenger,  Par.  vi.  134. 


INDEX. 


757 


Rebecca.   Par.  xxxii.  lo. 

Red  Sea.    Inf.  xxiv.  90.    PuRG.  xviii, 

134.  Par.  vi,  79. 
Rehoboam.   PuRG.  xii.  46. 
Reno.   Inf.  xviii.  61.   PuRG.  xiv.  92. 
Renouard.   Par.  xviii.  46. 
Rhea.  Inf.  xiv.  100. 
Rhine.  Par.  vi.  58, 

Rhodophean,  the  (Phyllis).  Par.  ix.  loo. 
Rhone.   Inf.  ix.  112.  Par.  vi.  60;  viii. 

59- 
Rialto  (Venice).    Par.  ix.  26. 

Riccardo  da  Camino,  or  Cammino.   Par, 

ix.  50. 
Richard  of  St.  Victor.   Par.  x.  131. 
Rigogliosi,  family.     PuRG.  xxiv.  31. 
Rimini.  Inf.  xxviii.  86. 
Rinier.da  Calboli.   Purg.  xiv.  88. 
Rinier  da  Corneto.   Inf.  xii.  137. 
Rinier  Pazzo.  Inf.  xii.  137. 
Riphsean  Mountains.   Purg.  xxvi.  43. 
Ripheus.  Par.  xx.  68. 
Robert  Guiscard.  Inf.  xxviii.  14.    Par. 

xviii.  48. 
Robert,  King  of  Apulia.  Par.  viii.  75. 
Romagna.  Inf.  xxvii.   37  ;  xxxiii.    154. 

PtJRG.  V.  69  ;  xiv.  92  ;  xv.  44. 
Romagnuoli.  Inf.  xxvii.  28.  Pitrg.  xiv. 

99- 
Roman  buildings.   Par.  xv.  109. 
Roman  Church.  Inf.  xix.  57.  Par.  xvii. 

5'- 
Roman  Emperors.   Pijrg.  xxxii.  1 12. 
Roman  Kings.    Par.  vi.  41. 
Roman  Prince.   Pu-RG.  x.  74. 
Romans.  Inf.  xv.   77;  xviii.  28;  xxvi. 

60  ;  xxviii.  lo.  Par.  vi.  44;  xix.  102. 
Roman  shepherd.  Purg.  xix.  107. 
Roman    women,    ancient.    Purg.    xxii. 

145- 
Rome,  city.  Inf.  i.  71  ;  ii.  20;  xiv,  105; 

xxxi.   59.    Purg.   vi.    112;  xvi.    106, 

127;  xviii.    80;  xxi.   88;  xxix.    115; 

xxxii.  102.   Par.  vi.  57 ;  ix,  140  ;  xv, 

126  ;  xvi.  10  ;  xxiv.  63  :  xxvii.  25,  62  ; 

xxxi.  34. 
Romena.  Inf.  xxx.  73. 
Romeo  of  Provence.  Par.  vi.  128,  135. 
Romualdus,  St.  PAR.«xxii.  49.    . 
Romulus  (Quirinus).   Par.  viii,  131. 
Roncesvalles.  Inf.  xxxi.  17, 
Rose,  the  Heavenly.  Par.  xxx.,  xxxi. 
Rubaconte.     Purg.  xii.  102, 
Rubicante,  demon.  Inf.  xxi.  123  ;  xxii, 

40, 
Rubicon.  Par.  vi.  62. 


Rudolph  of  Hapsburg.  Purg.  vi.   103; 

vii.  94.  Par.  viii.  72. 
Ruggieri  Ubaldini.  Inf.  xxxiii.  14. 
Rulers,  just.  Par.  xviii. 
Rusticucci,  Jacopo.  Inf.  vi.  80  ;  xvi.  44. 
Ruth.  Par.  xxxii.  u. 

Sabellius.  Par.  xiii.  127. 

Sabellus.  Inf.  xxv.  95. 

Sabine  women.   Par.  vi.  40. 

Sacchetti,  family.  Par.  xvi.  104. 

Sant'  Andrea,  Jacopo  da.  Inf.  xiii.  133. 

Saint  Victor,  Hugh  of   Par.  xii    133. 

Saints  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament. 

Par.  xxxii. 
Saladin.  Inf.  iv.  129. 
Salimbeni,  Nicholas.  Inf.  xxix.  127. 
Salterello,  Lapo,  Par.  xv.  128. 
Salvani,  Provenzano.   Purg.  xi.  121. 
Samaria,  Woman  of.   PURG.  xxi.  3. 
Samuel,  Prophet.  Par.  iv.  29. 
Sanleo.  Purg.  iv.  25. 
San  Miniato.   Purg.  xii.  loi. 
.Sannella,  family.  Par.  xvi.  92. 
Santafiore,   Counts  of.  Purg.  vi.    Ill  ; 

xi.  58,  67. 
Santemo.  Inf.  xxvii.  49. 
Santo  Volto.  Inf.  xxi.  48. 
Saone.  Par.  vi.  59. 
Sapia,  lady  of  Siena.  PuRG.  xiii.  109. 
Sapphira  and  Ananias.  Purg.  xx.  H2, 
Saracens.  Inf.  xxvii.  87.  Purg.  xxiii.  103. 
Sarah,  wife  of  Abraham.  Par.  xxxii.  10. 
Sardanapalus.  Par.  xv.  107. 
Sardinia.  iNF.  xxii.  89  ;  xxix.  48.  PuRG. 

xxiii.  94. 
Sardinians.  PuRG.  xviii.  81. 
Satan.  Inf.  vii.  i. 
Saturn.  Inf.  xiv.  96.  Par.  xxi.  26. 
Saturn,  planet.  Purg.  xix.  3.  Par.  xxi. 

13  ;  xxii.  146. 
Saul.  Purg.  xii.  40. 
Savena.  Inf.  xviii.  6l. 
Savio.  Inf.  xxvii.  52, 
ScKvola,  Mutius.  Par.  iv.  84. 
Scala,  Alberto  della.  Purg.  xviii.  I2I, 
Scala,   Bartolommeo  della.    Par.   xvii. 

71,  72. 
Scala,  Can  Grande  della.  Inf.  1.   loi. 

Par.  xvii.  76. 
Scales,  sign  of  the  Zodiac.  Purg.  ii.  5 

Par.  xxix.  2. 
Scarmiglione,  demon.  Inf.  xxi.  105. 
Schicchi,  Gianni.  Inf.  xxx.  32. 
Schismatics.  Inf.  xxviii.,  xxbc 
Sciancato,  Puccio.  Inf.  xxv.  148. 


758 


INDEX. 


Scipio  Africanus.  Inf.  xxxi.  Ii6.  PuRG. 

xxix.  Ii6.   Par.  vi.  53  ;  xxvii.  61. 
Sclavonian  winds.   PuRG.  xxx.  87. 
Scorpio,  sign  of  the  Zodiac.  PfRG.  ix. 

5  ;  xviii.  79  ;  xxv.  3. 
Scott,  Michael.  Inf.  xx.  116. 
Scrovigni,  family.  Inf.  xvii.  64. 
Scyros.   Purg.  ix.  38. 
Seal  of  Christ.  Par.  xi.  107. 
Seducers.  Inf.  xviii. 
Seine.  Par.  vi.  59;  xix.  118. 
Semele.  Inf.  xxx.  2.  Par.  xxi.  6. 
Semiramis.   Inf.  v.  58. 
Seneca.  Inf.  iv.  141. 
Sennaar.   PuRG.  xii.  36. 
Sennacherib.    PuRG.  xii.  53. 
Seraphim.  Par.  iv.  28 ;  viii.  27  ;  ix.  77; 

xxviii.  72,  99. 
Serchio.  Inf.  xxi.  49. 
Serpents  of  Libya.  Inf.  xxiv.  85. 
Sestos.  Purg.  xxviii.  74. 
Seven  Kings  against  Thebes.  iNF.  xiv. 

68. 
Seville.  Inf.  xx.  125  ;  xxvi.  no. 
Sextus  I.,  Pof>e.   Par.  xxvii.  44. 
Sextus  Tarquinius.  Inf.  xii.  135. 
Sibyl,  Cumsean.   Par.  xxxiii.  66. 
Sichseus.  Inf.  v.  62.  Par.  ix.  98. 
Sicilian  Vespers.   Par.  viii.  75- 
Sicily.  Inf.   xii.    108.   Purg.  iii.   116. 

Par.  viii.  67  ;  xix.  131. 
Siena.   Inf.   xxix.    no,   129.   Purg.  v. 

134;  xi.  Ill,  123,  134. 
Sienese.  Inf.  xxix.  122,  134.  Purg.  xi. 

65  ;  xiii.  106,  118,  151. 
Slestri.  Pur(;.  xix.  100. 
Sifanti,  or  Fifanti,  family.  Par.  xvi.  104. 
Sigier.   Par.  x.  136. 
Sile.  Par.  ix.  49. 
Silvius.  Inf.  ii.  13. 
Simifonte.  Par.  xvi.  62. 
Simois.   Par.  vi.  67. 
.Simoniacs.  Inf.  xix. 
Simonides.  PuRG.  xxii.  107. 
Simon  Magus.  Inf.  xix,    i.   Par.  xxx. 

Sinigaglia.  Par.  xvi.  75. 

Sinon  the  Greek.  Inf.  xxx.  98. 

Siren.  Purg.  xix.  19. 

Sirens.   PuRG.  xxxi.  45.  Par.  xii.  8. 

Sirocco.  Purg.  xxviii.  21. 

Sismondi,  family.   Inf.  xxxiii.  32. 

Sizii,  family.   Par.  xvi.  108. 

Slothful.    Inf.   vii.,    viii.    Purg.    xvii., 

xviii. 
Socrates.  Imp.  iv.  134. 


Sodom.  Inf.  xi.  50.  Purg.  xxvi.  40,  79. 
Sodomites.   Inf.  xv. 
Soldanieri,  family.   Par.  xvi.  93. 
Soldanieri,  Gianni  del.   Inf.  xxxii.  121. 
Solitary  and  Contemplative.  Par.  xxi.  31. 
Solomon.    Par.    x.    112;  xiii.   48,  92; 

xiv.  35. 
Solon.  Par.  viii.  124. 
Soothsayers.  Inf.  xx. 
Soracte.  Inf.  xxvii.  95. 
Sordello.   PURG.  vi.  74  ;  vii.  3,  $2,  86 ; 

viii.  38,  43,  62,  94 ;  ix.  58. 
Sorgue.  Par.  viii.  59. 
Souls  of  infants.  Inf.  iv.  30.  Par.  xxxii. 

44. 
Sow,  arms  of  the  Scrovigni.    Inf.  xvii. 

64. 
Spain.  Inf.  xxvi.  103.  Purg.  xviii.  102. 

Par.  vi.  64;  xii.  46;  xix.  125. 
Spaniards.   Par.  xxix.  loi. 
Sphinx.  Purg.  xxxiii.  47. 
Spirit,   Holy.    Purg.  xx.  98.    Par.  iii. 

53- 
Stars,  Fixed.   Par.  xxii. 
Stars,  last  word  of  Inf.,  Purg.,  Par. 
Stars  of  the  South  Polar  r^on.  Purg. 

i.  23. 
Statins.  Purg.  xxi.  10,  89,  91  ;  xxii.  25, 

64;    xxiv.    119;  xxv.   29,   32;    xxvii. 

47  ;  xxxii.  29 ;  xxxiii.  134. 
Statue   of    Time,    source    of    Acheron, 

Styx,  Phlegethon.  Inf.  xiv.  103. 
Stephen,  St.   PuRG.  xv.  107. 
Stigmata  of  St.  Francis.   Par.  xi.  107. 
Street  of  Straw  (Rue  du  Fouarre).   Par. 

X.  137. 
Stricca.  Inf.  xxix.  125. 
Strophades.  Inf.  xiii.  II. 
Styx.  Inf.  vii.  106  ;  ix.  81  ;  xiv.  116. 
Suabia.   Par.  iii.  119. 
Suicides.  Inf.  xiii. 
Sultan.   Inf.  v.  60 ;  xxvii.  90,   Par.  xi. 

lOI. 

Sylvester,  Fra.   Par.  xi.  83. 

Sylvester,   St.,    Pope.    Inf.    xix.    117; 

xxvii.  94.  Par.  XX.  57. 
Syrinx.   PURG.  xxxii.  65. 

Tacco,  Ghin  di.  PuRG.  vi.  14. 
Taddeo.  Par.  xii.  83. 
Tagliacozzo.  iNF.  xxviii.  17. 
TagUamento.  Par.  ix.  44. 
Talamone.  PURG.  xiii.  152. 
Tambemich.  Inf.  xxxii.  28.  . 
Tarlati,  Clone  de'.   PuRG.  vi.  1$. 
Tarpeian  Rock.  Purg.  ix.  137. 


INDEX. 


759 


Tarquin.  Inf.  iv.  127. 

Tartars.  Inf.  xvii.  17. 

Tannis,  sign  of  the  Zodiac.  PuRG.  xxv. 
3.  Par.  xxii.  iii. 

Tebaldello.   iNF.  xxxii.  122. 

Tegghiaio  Aldobrandi.  Inf.  vi.  79  ; 
y.\\.  41. 

Telemachiis.  Inf.  xxvi.  94. 

Templars.   Pl/RG.  xx.  93. 

Terence.   PURG.  xxii.  97. 

Terra.  Purg.  xxix.  119. 

Tesoro  of  Bninetto  Latini.   Inf.  xv.  1 19. 

Thais.  Inf.  xviii.  133. 

Thales.  Inf.  iv.  137. 

Thames.  Inf.  xii.  120. 

Thaumas.  Purg.  xxi.  50. 

Thebaid,  poem  of  Statius.  PuRG.  xxi. 
92. 

Theban  blood.  Inf.  xxx.  2. 

Thebans.  Inf.  xx.  32.  Purg.  xviii.  93. 

Thebes.  Inf.  xiv.  69  ;  xx.  59  ;  xxv.  15 ; 
XXX.  22;  xxxii.  II  ;  xxxiii.  88.  PuRG. 
xxi.  92  ;  xxii.-  89. 

Thebes,  Modem  (Pisa).  Inf.  xxxiii.  88. 

Themis.  Purg.  xxxiii.  47. 

Theologians.   Par.  x. 

Theseus,  Inf.  ix.  54 ;  xii.  17.  PuRG. 
xxiv.  123. 

Thetis.   Purg.  ix.  37;  xxii.  113. 

Thibaidt,  King..  Inf.  Xxii.  52. 

Thieves.   Inf.  xxiv. 

Thisbe.   Purg.  xxvii.  37  ;  xxxiii.  69. 

Thoas  and  Eumenius.   Purg.  xxvi.  95. 

Thomas,  St.,  Apostle.   Par.  xvi.  129.  • 
Thomas  Aquinas.   Purg.  xx.  69.  Par. 
X.  59  ;  xii.  1 1 1,  144  ;  xiil.  33  ;  xiv.  6. 
Throne  and  Crown  for  Henry  VII.  of 

Luxemburg.  Par.  xxx.  133. 
Thrones,  order  of  angels.   Par.  ix.  61  ; 

xxviii.  104. 
Thymbrreus  (Apollo).  PuRG.  xii.  31, 
Tiber.    Inf.   xxvii.  30.    PuRG.  ii.  loi. 

Par.  xi.  106. 
Tiberius  Caesar.  Par.  vi.  86. 
Tignoso,  Frederick.  Purg.  xiv.  106. 
Tigris.  Purg.  xxxiii.  112. 
Timseus.  Par.  iv.  49. 
Tiresias.  Inf.  xx.  40.   Pitrg.  xxii.  113. 
Tisiphone.  Inf.  ix.  48. 
Tithonus.  Purg.  ix.  i. 
Titus,  Emperor.    Purg.   xxi.  82.  Par. 

vi.  92. 
Tityus.  Inf.  xxxi.  124. 
Tobias.  Par.  iv.  48. 
Tomyris,  Purg.  xii.  56. 
Toppo,  Inf.  xiii.  121 


Torquatus,  Titus  Manlius.  Par.  vi.  46. 
Tosinghi,  family.  Par.  xvi.  114. 
Tours.  "Purg.  xxiv.  23. 
Traitors.  Inf.  xxxii.  xxxiii.,  xxxiv. 
Trajan,    Emperor.      PuRG.    x.    73,    761 

Par.  XX.  44,  112. 
Transfiguration,  the.   Purg.  xxxii.  73. 
Traversara,  family.  PuRG.  xiv.  107. 
Traversaro,  Piero.   Purg.  xiv.  98. 
Trent.  Inf.  xii.  5. 
Trentine  Pastor.  Inf.  xx.  67. 
Trespiano.  Par.  xvi.  54. 
Trinacria  (Sicily).  Par.  viii.  67. 
Trinity.  Par.  xiii.  79;  xxxiii.  116. 
Tristan.  Inf.  v.  67. 
Trivia  (Diana).   Par.  xxiii.  26. 
Tronto.  Par.  viii.  63. 
Trojan  Furies.  Inf.  xxx.  22. 
Trojans.   Inf.  xiii.  11  ;  xxx.  14.  PuRC. 

xviii.  136.  Par.  xv.  126. 
Troy.  Inf.  i.  74;  xxx.  98,  114.  Purg, 

xii.  61.  Par.  vi.  6. 
Tully.  Inf.* iv.  141. 
Tupino.  Par.  xi.  43. 
Turbia.  Purg.  iii.  49.  ' 

Turks.  Inf.  xvii.  17.  Par.  xv.  142. 
Tumus.  Inf.  i.  108. 
Tuscan  language.  Purg.  xvi.  137. 
Tuscans.  Inf.  xxii.  99. 
Tuscany.    Inf.    xxiv.    122.    Purg.    xi. 

no ;  xiii.  149  ;  xiv.  16. 
Tydeus.  Inf.  xxxii.  130. 
Tyrants.  Inf.  xii.  104. 
Typhseus.  Inf.  xxxi.  124.   Par.  viii.  70. 
Tyrol.  Inf.  xx.  63. 

Ubaldini,  Octaviano  degli.   Inf.  x.  120. 
Ubaldini,  Ruggieri  degli.  Inf.  xxxiii.  14. 
Ubaldin  dalla  Pila.  Purg.  xxiv.  29. 
Ubaldo,  St.,  d' Agobbio.   Par.  xi.  44. 
Ubbriachi,  family.  Inf.  xvii.  63. 
Uberti,  family.  Inf.  vi,  80  ;  xxviii.  106. 

Par.  xvi.  109. 
Ubertin  Donati.  Par.  xvi.  119. 
Ubertino,  Frate.  Par.  xii.  124. 
L' ccellatojo.  Mount.  Par.  xv.  iio. 
Ughi,  family.  Par.  xvi.  88. 
Ugolin  d'  Azzo.  Purg.  xiv.  105. 
Ugolin  de'  Fantoli.  Purg.  xiv.  121. 
Ugolino  della  Gherardesca.  Inf.  xxxiii. 

Uguccione.  Inf.  xxxiii.  89. 

Ulysses.  Inf.  xxvi.  56.  Purg.  xix.  22. 

Par.  xxvii.  83. 
Unbelievers.  Inf.  x 
Urania.  Purg,  xxix.  A\. 

3D+ 


•jSo 


INDEX. 


Urban  T.  Par.  xxvii.  44. 
Urbino.   iNF.  xxvii.  30. 
Urbisaglia.   Par.  xvi.  73. 
Utica.   PURG.  i.  74. 
Uzzah.   PuRG.  X.  57. 

Valbona,  Lizio  di.  PuRG.  xiv.  97. 

Val  Camoiiica.  Inf.  xx.  65. 

Valdamo,  in  Tuscany.   Purg.  xiv.   30, 

41. 
Valdichiana,  in  Tuscany.  Inf.  xxix.  47. 
Valdigrieve,  in  Tuscany.   Par.  xvi.  66. 
Valdimagra,  or  Lunigiana,    Inf.   xxiv. 

145.  Purg.  viii.  116. 
Val  di  Pado  (Ferrara).   Par.  xv.  137. 
Vanni  Fucci.   Inf.  xxiv.  125. 
Vanni  deila  Nona.  Inf.  xxiv.  139. 
Van  Par.  vi.  58. 
Varro.  Purg.  xxii.  98. 
Vatican.  Par.  ix.  139. 
Vecchio,  family.   Par.  xv.  115. 
Venetians.   Inf.  xxi.  7. 
Venice.  Par.  ix.  26  ;  xix.  141. 
Venus.  Purg.  xxv.  132  ;  xxviii.  65. 
Venus,  planet.    Purg.  i.  19.    Par.  viii. 

2  ;  ix.  108. 
Vercelli.   Inf.  xxviii.  75. 
Verde.   Purg.  iii.  131.   Par.  viii.  63. 
Verona.   Inf.  xv.  122.  Purg.  xviii.  118. 
Veronese.  Inf.  xx.  68. 
Veronica.  Par.  xxxi.  104. 
Verrucchio.  Inf.  xxvii.  46. 
Veso,  Mount.  Inf.  xvi.  95. 
Vespers,  Sicilian.  Par.  viii.  75. 
Vicenza.   Par.  ix.  47. 
Vigna,  Pier  della.  Inf.  xiii.  58. 
Violators  of  monastic  vows.  Par.  iii. 
Violent,  the,  against  others.    Inf.  xii.  ; 


against    themselves,     xiii.   ;      against 

God,  xiv.  ;  against  Nature,  xv.,  xvi. ; 

against  Art.  xvii. 
Viper,  arms  of  the  Milanese  Visconti. 

Purg.  viii.  80. 
Virgilius.   Inf.  i.  79.   Purg.  iii.  27;  vii. 

16  ;  xviii.  82.   Par.  xv.  26  ;  xvii.  19  ; 

xxvi.  118. 
Virtues,    order  of  angels.    Par.   xxviii. 

122. 
Vision,  the  Beatific.   Par.  xxxiii. 
Visconti  of  Milan.  PuRG.  viii.  80. 
Visconti  of  Pisa.   Purg.  viii.  53,  109. 
Visdomini,  family.   Par.  xvi.  112. 
Vitaliano  del  Dente.  Inf.  xvii.  68. 
Vows,  not  performed.  Par.  iv.  138. 
Vulcan.  Inf.  xiv.  57. 

Wain,  Charles's.  Inf.  xi.  114.   Purg.  i. 

30.  Par.  xiii.  7. 
Wanton.  Inf.  v.    Purg.  xxv. 
Will,  free.    Purg.  xvi.  71  ;  xviii.  74. 
William,  Marquis  of  Monferrato.  Purg. 

vii.  134. 
Winceslaus  II.  of  Bohemia.  Purg.  vii. 

loi.  Par.  xix.  125. 

Xerxes.  Purg.  xxviii.  71.  Par.  viii.  124. 

Zanche,  Michael.   Inf.  xxii.  88;  xxxiii. 

144. 
Zara,  game  of  hazard.  Purg.  vi.  i. 
Zeno.  Inf.  iv.  138. 
Zeno,  Santo.  Purg.  xviii.  118. 
Zephyr.  Par.  xii.  47. 
Zion,  Mount.  PuRG.  iv.  68. 
Zita,  Saint.  Inf.  xxi.  38. 
Zodiac.  Purg.  iv.  64.  Par.  x.  13. 


IHE  END. 


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