CHAPTER III

THE DIVINE COMEDY

We have seen, at the end of the last chapter, how Dante had made a vow to glorify Beatrice, as no other woman had ever been glorified, and how he studied and labored to prepare himself for the lofty task. The Divine Comedy is the fulfilment of this "immense promise." Although it is probable that Dante did not begin to write this poem till after the death of Henry VII. (1313), yet there can be no doubt that it was slowly developing in his mind during all the years of his exile.

The Divine Comedy is divided into three parts or books, _canticas_, as they are called by Dante: Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, each one containing thirty-three cantos, with one additional introductory canto prefixed to the Hell. Even the number of lines in the three _canticas_ is approximately the same.[7] Dante's love for number-symbols was shown in the New Life, hence we are justified in accepting the theory that the threefold division of the poem is symbolical of the Trinity, and that the thirty-three cantos of each _cantica_ represent the years of the Savior's life. It is worthy of note that the last word in each of the three books is "stars."

The allegory of the Divine Comedy has been the subject of countless discussions. The consensus of the best modern commentators seems to be, however, that although the allegory is more or less political, it is chiefly religious. The great theme is the salvation of the human soul, represented by Dante himself, who is the protagonist of the poem. As he wanders first through hell, he sees in all its loathly horrors the "exceeding sinfulness of sin," and realizes its inevitable punishment; as he climbs the steep slopes of purgatory, at first with infinite difficulty, but with ever-increasing ease as he approaches the summit, he learns by his own experience how hard it is to root out the natural tendencies to sin that pull the soul downward; and finally, as he mounts from heaven to heaven, till he arrives in the very presence of God Himself, he experiences the joy unspeakable that comes to him who, having purged himself of all sin, is found worthy to join "the innumerable company of saints and the spirits of just men made perfect."

The Divine Comedy is a visionary journey through the three supernatural worlds, Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise. Such visions were by no means infrequent in the Middle Ages, and Dante had many predecessors. He simply adopted a poetical device well known to his contemporaries. What differentiated him from others is the dramatic and intensely personal character of his vision; the consummate skill with which he interwove into this one poem all the science, learning, philosophy, and history of the times; and the lovely poetry in which all these things are embalmed. To appreciate the vast difference between the Divine Comedy and previous works of a similar nature, we need only to read a few pages of such crude books as the Visions of Alberico, Tugdale, and Saint Brandon.

To Dante and his contemporaries the supernatural world was not what it is to us to-day, a vast, unbounded space filled with star-systems like our own: the topography of Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise seemed to them as definite as that of our own planet. The Ptolemaic system of astronomy (overthrown by Copernicus, yet still forming the framework of Milton's Paradise Lost) was accepted with implicit confidence. According to this system the universe consisted of ten heavens or concentric spheres, in the center of which was our earth, immovable itself, while around it revolved the heavenly spheres. The earth was surrounded by an atmosphere of air, then one of fire, and then came in order the heavens of the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, the fixed stars, and the Primum Mobile (the source of the motion of the spheres) beyond which stretched out to infinity the Empyrean, the heaven of light and love, the seat of God and the angels.

According to Dante, hell is situated in the interior of the earth, being in shape a sort of funnel with the point downward, and reaching to the center of the earth, which is also the center of the universe. Purgatory rises in the form of a truncated cone in the surface of the southern hemisphere, having in solid form, the same shape as the hollow funnel of hell. It was formed of the earth which fled before Lucifer, and splashed up behind him like water, when, after his revolt against the Almighty he was flung headlong from heaven and became fixed in the center of the earth, as far as possible according to the Ptolemaic system from the Empyrean and God.

Hell is formed of nine concentric, ever-narrowing terraces, or circles, exhibiting a great variety of landscapes, rivers, and lakes, gloomy forests and sandy deserts, all shrouded in utter darkness except where flickering flames tear the thick pall of night, or the red-hot walls of Dis gleam balefully over the waters of the Stygian marsh. Here are punished the various groups of sinners, whom Dante sees, whose suffering he describes, and with whom he converses as he makes his way downward from circle to circle.

It was in the year 1300, at Easter time, when Dante began his strange and eventful pilgrimage, "midway in this our mortal life," he says in the first line of the poem, that is when he himself was thirty-five years old. He finds himself lost in a dense forest, not knowing how he came there, and after wandering for some time, reaches the foot of a lofty mountain, whose top is lighted by the rays of the morning sun. He is about to make his way thither, when he is stopped by the appearance, one after the other, of three terrible beasts, a leopard, a lion, and a wolf. He falls back in terror to the forest, when suddenly he sees a figure advancing toward him and learns that this is Vergil, who has been sent by Beatrice (now in heaven) to lead her lover from the wood of sin to salvation. To do this it will be necessary for Dante to pass through the infernal world, then up the craggy heights of purgatory to the earthly paradise, where Beatrice herself will take charge of him and lead him from heaven to heaven, even to the presence of God Himself. Dante's courage and confidence fail at this prospect--he is not AEneas or St. Paul, he says, to undertake such supernatural journeys--but when Vergil tells him that Beatrice herself has sent him, Dante expresses his willingness to undertake the difficult and awe-inspiring task.

It is nightfall when they reach the gate of hell, over which is written the dread inscription:

"Through me you pass into the city of woe: Through me you pass into eternal pain: Through me among the people lost for aye: Justice the founder of my fabric moved: To rear me was the task of power divine, Supremest wisdom, and primeval love. Before me things create were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. All hope abandon, ye who enter here."

Entering in they are met with the sound of sighs, moans, and lamentations, mingled with curses hoarse and deep, and the beating of hands, all making a hideous din in the starless air, in which a long train of spirits is whirled about hither and thither stung by wasps and hornets. These spirits are the souls of those ignoble ones who were neither for God nor against him.

"The wretched souls of those, who lived Without or praise or blame, with that ill band Of angels mixed, who nor rebellious proved, Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth Not to impair his luster; nor the depth Of Hell receives them, lest the accursed tribe Should glory thence with exultation vain."

Here Dante recognizes the soul of him who made the "great refusal," recalling thus the strange story of the aged hermit, Peter Murrone, who after fifty-five years and more of solitary life in a cave high up among the Abruzzi Mountains, was forced to ascend the papal throne, and who after a short period of ineffectual reign under the name of Celestine V., resigned, thus making way for Boniface VIII., Dante's bitter enemy. Vergil's contemptuous remark concerning these souls,

"Speak not of them, but look and pass them by,"

has become proverbial.

Soon after this the two poets reach the shores of the river Acheron, where Charon, the infernal boatman, is busy ferrying the souls of the damned to the other side. He refuses to take Dante in his boat, and the latter falls into a swoon, and being aroused by a clap of thunder, finds himself on the other side. How he was carried over we are not told. The wanderers are now in limbo or the first circle of hell, in which are contained the souls of unbaptized children and of the great and good of the pagan world, especially the poets and philosophers of ancient Greece and Rome, who, having lived before the coming of Christ, had through no fault of their own died without faith in Him who alone can save. These souls are not punished by physical pain, as is the case with those in the following circles, but nourishing forever a desire which they have no hope of ever having satisfied, they pass the endless years of eternity in gentle melancholy. Here Dante meets the spirits of Homer, Ovid, Horace, and Lucan, who treat him kindly and make him one of the band, thus consecrating him as a great poet.

"When they together short discourse had held, They turned to me, with salutation kind Beckoning me; at the which my master smiled: Nor was this all; but greater honor still They gave me, for they made me of their tribe; And I was sixth amid so learn'd a band. "Far as the luminous beacon on we passed, Speaking of matters, then befitting well To speak, now fitter left untold. At foot Of a magnificent castle we arrived, Seven times with lofty walls begirt, and round Defended by a pleasant stream. O'er this As o'er dry land we passed. Next, through seven gates, I with those sages entered, and we came Into a mead with lively verdure fresh. "There dwelt a race, who slow their eyes around Majestically moved, and in their port Bore eminent authority: they spake Seldom, but all their words were tuneful sweet. "We to one side retired, into a place Open and bright and lofty, whence each one Stood manifest to view. Incontinent, There on the green enamel of the plain Were shown me the great spirits, by whose sight I am exalted in my own esteem."

Leaving this beautiful oasis in the infernal desert, the poets enter the second circle, where Hell may be said really to begin. Here Dante sees the monster Minos, the judge of the infernal regions, who assigns to each soul its proper circle, indicating the number thereof by winding his tail about his body a corresponding number of times. In circle two are the souls of the licentious, blown about forever by a violent wind. Among them Dante recognizes the famous lovers of antiquity, Dido, Helen, Cleopatra. His attention is especially attracted toward two spirits, who, locked closely in each other's arms, are blown hither and thither like chaff before the wind. Calling upon them to tell him who they are, he hears the pathetic story of Francesca da Rimini, perhaps the most famous and beautiful passage in all poetry:

"When I had heard my sage instructor name Those dames and knights of antique days, o'erpowered By pity, well-nigh in amaze my mind Was lost; and I began: 'Bard! willingly I would address those two together coming, Which seem so light before the wind.' He thus: 'Note thou, when nearer they to us approach. Then by that love which carries them along, Entreat; and they will come.' Soon as the wind Swayed them toward us, I thus framed my speech: 'O wearied spirits! come, and hold discourse With us, if by none else restrained.' As doves By fond desire invited, on wide wings And firm, to their sweet nest returning home, Cleave the air, wafted by their will along; Thus issued, from that troop where Dido ranks, They, through the ill air speeding: with such force My cry prevailed, by strong affection urged. "'O gracious creature and benign! who go'st Visiting, through this element obscure, Us, who the world with bloody stain imbrued; If, for a friend, the King of all, we owned, Our prayer to him should for thy peace arise, Since thou hast pity on our evil plight. Of whatso'er to hear or to discourse It pleases thee, that will we hear, of that Freely with thee discourse, while e'er the wind, As now, is mute. The land, that gave me birth, Is situate on the coast, where Po descends To rest in ocean[8] with his sequent streams. "'Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt[9], Entangled him by that fair form, from me Ta'en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still: Love, that denial takes from none beloved, Caught me with pleasing him so passing well, That, as thou seest, he yet deserts me not. Love brought us to one death: Caina[10] waits The soul, who spilt our life.' Such were their words; At hearing which, downward I bent my looks, And held them there so long, that the bard cried: 'What art thou pondering?' I in answer thus: 'Alas! by what sweet thoughts, what fond desire Must they at length to that ill pass have reached!' "Then turning, I to them my speech addressed, And thus began: 'Francesca! your sad fate Even to tears my grief and pity moves. But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs, By what and how Love granted, that ye knew Your yet uncertain wishes?' She replied: 'No greater grief than to remember days Of joy, when misery is at hand. That kens Thy learn'd instructor yet so eagerly If thou art bent to know the primal root, From whence our love gat being, I will do As one who weeps and tells his tale. One day For our delight we read of Launcelot, How him love thralled. Alone we were, and no Suspicion near us. Oft times by that reading Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue Fled from our altered cheek. But at one point Alone we fell. When of that smile we read, The wished for smile so rapturously kissed By one so deep in love, then he, who ne'er From me shall separate, at once my lips All trembling kissed. The book and writer both Were love's purveyors. In its leaves that day We read no more.' While thus one spirit spake, The other wailed so sorely, that heart-struck I, through compassion fainting, seemed not far From death, and like a corse fell to the ground."

Passing rapidly over circle three, in which the gluttons lie in mire under a pelting storm of hail, snow, and rain, torn to pieces by the three-throated Cerberus; and circle four, where misers and spendthrifts roll great weights against each other and upbraid each the other with his besetting sin; we come to circle five, where in the dark and dismal waters of the Styx the wrathful and the melancholy are plunged. It is singular that Dante makes low spirits or mental depression as much a sin as violence and lack of self-control:

"The good instructor spake: 'Now seest thou, son! The souls of those, whom anger overcame. This, too, for certain know, that underneath The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs Into these bubbles make the surface heave,-- As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn. Fixed in the slime, they say: "Sad once were we, In the sweet air made gladsome by the sun, Carrying a foul and lazy mist within: Now in these murky settlings are we sad." Such dolorous strain they gurgle in their throats, But word distinct can utter none.'"

As they stand at the foot of a dark tower, a light flashes from its top and another light, far off above the waters, sends back an answer through the murky air. Dante, full of curiosity, turns to Vergil for explanation:

"'There on the filthy waters,' he replied, 'E'en now what next awaits us mayst thou see, If the marsh-gendered fog conceal it not.' "Never was arrow from the cord dismissed, That ran its way so nimbly through the air, As a small bark, that through the waves I spied Toward us coming, under the sole sway Of one that ferried it, who cried aloud: 'Art thou arrived, fell spirit?'--'Phlegyas, Phlegyas, This time thou criest in vain,' my lord replied; 'No longer shalt thou have us, but while o'er The slimy pool we pass.' As one who hears Of some great wrong he hath sustained, whereat Inly he pines: So Phlegyas inly pined In his fierce ire. My guide, descending, stepped Into the skiff, and bade me enter next, Close at his side; nor, till my entrance, seemed The vessel freighted. Soon as both embarked, Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow, More deeply than with others it is wont."

Thus they cross the Styx, and soon approach the other shore, where luridly picturesque in the ink-black atmosphere rise the red-hot walls and towers of the city of Dis:

"And thus the good instructor: 'Now, my son Draws near the city, that of Dis[11] is named, With its grave denizens, a mighty throng.' "I thus: 'The minarets already, sir! There, certes, in the valley I descry, Gleaming vermilion, as if they from fire Had issued.' He replied: 'Eternal fire, That inward burns shows them with ruddy flame Illumed; as in this nether hell thou seest.' "We came within the fosses deep, that moat This region comfortless. The walls appeared As they were framed of iron. We had made Wide circuit, ere a place we reached, where loud The mariner cried vehement: 'Go forth: The entrance is here.' Upon the gates I spied More than a thousand, who of old from heaven Were shower'd. With ireful gestures, 'Who is this,' They cried, 'that, without death first felt, goes through The regions of the dead?' My sapient guide Made sign that he for secret parley wished; Whereat their angry scorn abating, thus They spake: 'Come thou alone; and let him go, Who hath so hardily entered this realm. Alone return he by his witless way; If well he know it, let him prove. For thee, Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so dark Hast been his escort.' Now bethink thee, reader! What cheer was mine at sound of those curst words. I did believe I never should return."

While not only Dante but Vergil himself stand in dismay before the closed gates of the city, and the threatening devils on the walls, they hear a roar like that of a mighty wind, and behold! over the waters of the Styx a celestial messenger comes dry-shod, puts to flight the recalcitrant devils, and opening the gates with a touch of his wand, departs without having uttered a word.

Entering the city, Dante sees a vast cemetery covered with tombs, whence issue flames, and in which are shut up the souls of those who denied the immortality of the soul. Here occurs the celebrated scene between Dante and Farinata degli Uberti, who alone, after the battle of Montaperti, in 1260 (when the victorious Ghibellines seriously contemplated razing Florence to the ground), opposed the motion, and thus saved his native city from destruction. Here also Dante sees the father of his friend, Guido Cavalcanti.

In the center of the cemetery yawns a tremendous abyss, which leads to the lower regions of hell. Before they descend this, however, Vergil explains to Dante the various kinds of sins which are punished in hell. Those he has seen hitherto (gluttony, licentiousness, avarice, wrath, and melancholy) all belong to the category of incontinence; those which are to come are due to malice, and harm not only oneself but others. The sixth circle, that of the heretics, in which they now are, forms a transition between the above two general divisions. In circle seven, the next one below them, are punished the violent, subdivided into three classes: 1, those who were violent against their fellow-men,--tyrants, murderers, and robbers; 2, those who were violent against themselves,--suicides and gamblers; 3, those who were violent against God, nature, and art,--blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers. In circles eight and nine are the fraudulent and traitors, the various classes of which are given later.

After this explanation, the two poets descend the rocky cliff, and find at the bottom a blood-red river, where, guarded by centaurs, are plunged the souls of murderers and robbers, in various depths according to the heinousness of their cruelty and crimes. Crossing this stream they come to a dark and gloomy wood, composed of trees gnarled and twisted into all sorts of fantastic shapes, grimly recalling the contortions of a human body in pain, and covered with poisonous thorns. On the branches sit hideous harpies, half woman, half bird. Each of these trees contains the soul of a suicide. Dante, breaking off a small branch, is horrified to see human blood slowly ooze from the break, and a hissing noise like escaping steam, which resolves itself finally into words. From these he learns that the soul contained in this tree is that of Pier delle Vigne, prime minister of Frederick II., who tells his sad and pathetic story, how he became the victim of slander and court intrigue, and how, being unjustly imprisoned by his master, he committed suicide.

Beyond this gruesome forest the wanderers come out upon a vast sandy desert, utterly treeless, where they see many wretched souls, some lying supine, some crouching down in a sitting posture, some walking incessantly about, all, however, forever trying, but in vain, to ward off from their naked bodies countless flakes of flame which fall slowly and steadily like snow

"On Alpine summits, when the wind is hushed."

Here are punished the blasphemers, violent against God; usurers, violent against art; and sodomites, violent against nature. Among the latter Dante recognizes and converses with his old friend, Brunetto Latini, who prophesies to him his future fame and his exile from Florence:

"'If thou,' he answer'd, 'follow but thy star, Thou canst not miss at last a glorious haven; Unless in fairer days my judgment erred. And if my fate so early had not chanced, Seeing the heavens thus bounteous to thee, I Had gladly given thee comfort in thy work. But that ungrateful and malignant race, Who in old times came down from Fiesole,[12] Ay and still smack of their rough mountain-flint, Will for thy good deeds show thee enmity.'"

To which the poet answers with noble courage:

"This only would I have thee clearly note: That, so my conscience have no plea against me, Do Fortune as she list, I stand prepared, Not new or strange such earnest to my ear. Speed Fortune then her wheel, as likes her best; The clown his mattock; all things have their course."

The poets then descend the tremendous cliff leading to circle eight, on the back of Geryon, a fantastic monster, with face of a good man, but body of a beast, many-colored and covered over with complicated figures, being a symbol of the fraud punished in the next circle. This is subdivided into ten concentric rings, or ditches, with the floor gradually descending to a well in the center, thus resembling the circular rows of seats in an amphitheater, converging to the arena. In these ten _malebolge_, as Dante calls them--_i. e._, evil pits--are ten different kinds of fraudulent, panderers, flatterers, those guilty of simony, false prophets, magicians, thieves, barterers (those who sell public offices), evil counselors, schismatics, and hypocrites, all punished with diabolic ingenuity, hewn asunder by the sword, boiled in lakes of burning pitch, bitten by poisonous snakes, wasted by dire and hideous disease. As an example of the horrors seen in these evil pits we give one vivid picture, that of the famous Troubadour Bertrand de Born, who, having incited the young son of Henry II., of England, to rebel against his father, is punished in hell by having his head cut off and carrying it in his hand:

"But I there Still lingered to behold the troop, and saw Thing, such as I may fear without more proof To tell of, but that conscience makes me firm, The boon companion, who her strong breastplate Buckles on him, that feels no guilt within, And bids him on and fear not. Without doubt I saw, and yet it seems to pass before me, A headless trunk, that even as the rest Of the sad flock paced onward. By the hair It bore the severed member, lantern-wise Pendent in hand, which look'd at us and said, 'Woe's me!' The spirit lighted thus himself; And two there were in one, and one in two. How that may be, he knows who ordereth so. "When at the bridge's foot direct he stood, His arm aloft he reared, thrusting the head Full in our view, that nearer we might hear The words, which thus it utter'd: 'Now behold This grievous torment, thou, who breathing go'st To spy the dead: behold, if any else Be terrible as this. And, that on earth Thou mayst bear tidings of me, know that I Am Bertrand, he of Born, who gave King John The counsel mischievous. Father and son I set at mutual war. For Absalom And David more did not Ahitophel, Spurring them on maliciously to strife. For parting those so closely knit, my brain Parted, alas! I carry from its source, That in this trunk inhabits. Thus the law Of retribution fiercely works in me.'"

In the eighth pit are the souls of evil counselors, so completely swathed in flames that their forms cannot be seen. Dante's attention is especially attracted to one of these moving flames, with a double-tipped point, which proves to contain the souls of Diomede and Ulysses, who, as they were together in fraud, are now inseparable in punishment. The story of his last voyage and final shipwreck, told by Ulysses, how in his old age, weary of the monotony of home life and longing to know the secret of the great Western ocean, he set sail with his old companions, is full of imaginative grandeur:

"Of the old flame forthwith the greater horn Began to roll, murmuring, as a fire That labors with the wind, then to and fro Wagging the top, as a tongue uttering sounds, Threw out its voice, and spake: when I escaped From Circe, who beyond a circling year Had held me near Caieta by her charms, Ere thus AEneas yet had named the shore; Nor fondness for my son, nor reverence Of my old father, nor return of love, That should have crowned Penelope with joy, Could overcome in me the zeal I had To explore the world, and search the ways of life, Man's evil and his virtue. Forth I sailed Into the deep, illimitable main, With but one bark, and the small faithful band That yet cleaved to me. As Iberia far, Far as Marocco, either shore I saw, And the Sardinian and each isle beside Which round that ocean bathes. Tardy with age Were I and my companions, when we came To the strait pass, where Hercules ordain'd The boundaries not to be o'erstepp'd by man The walls of Seville to my right I left, On the other hand already Ceuta past. 'O brothers!' I began, 'who to the West Through perils without number now have reached; To this the short remaining watch, that yet Our senses have to wake, refuse not proof Of the unpeopled world, following the track Of Phoebus. Call to mind from whence ye sprang: Ye were not formed to live the life of brutes, But virtue to pursue and knowledge high.' With these few words I sharpened for the voyage The mind of my associates, that I then Could scarcely have withheld them. To the dawn Our poop we turned, and for the witless flight Made our oars wings, still gaining on the left. Each star of the other pole night now beheld, And ours so low, that from the ocean floor It rose not. Five times re-illumed, as oft Vanish'd the light from underneath the moon, Since the deep way we entered, when from far Appear'd a mountain dim, loftiest methought Of all I e'er beheld. Joy seized us straight; But soon to mourning changed. From the new land A whirlwind sprung, and at her foremost side Did strike the vessel. Thrice it whirl'd her round With all the waves; the fourth time lifted up The poop, and sank the prow: so fate decreed: And over us the booming billow closed."

In the center of the amphitheater of Malebolge is a deep and vast well, guarded by giants, one of whom takes the poets in his arms and deposits them at the bottom. Here they find the ninth and last circle, where in four divisions the traitors against relatives, friends, country, and benefactors, are fixed like flies in amber in a solid lake of ice, swept by bitter, cold winds. Among the traitors to their country Dante sees one man who is gnawing in relentless rage at the head of another fixed in the ice in front of him. Inquiring the cause of this terrible cruelty, Dante hears the following story, couched in language which Goethe has declared to be without an equal in all poetry:

"His jaws uplifting from their fell repast, That sinner wiped them on the hairs o' the head, Which he behind had mangled, then began: 'Thy will obeying, I call up afresh Sorrow past cure; which, but to think of, wrings My heart, or ere I tell on 't. But if words, That I may utter, shall prove seed to bear Fruit of eternal infamy to him, The traitor whom I gnaw at, thou at once Shalt see me speak and weep. Who thou mayst be I know not, nor how here below art come: But Florentine thou seemest of a truth, When I do hear thee. Know, I was on earth Count Ugolino, and the Archbishop he Ruggieri. Why I neighbor him so close, Now list. That through effect of his ill thoughts In him my trust reposing, I was ta'en And after murdered, need is not I tell. What therefore thou canst not have heard, that is, How cruel was the murder, shalt thou hear, And know if he have wrong'd me. A small grate Within that mew, which for my sake the name Of famine bears, where others yet must pine, Already through its opening several moons Had shown me, when I slept the evil sleep That from the future tore the curtain off. This one, methought, as master of the sport, Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf, and his whelps, Unto the mountain which forbids the sight Of Lucca to the Pisan. With lean brachs Inquisitive and keen, before him ranged Lanfranchi with Sismondi and Gualandi. After short course the father and the sons Seemed tired and lagging, and methought I saw The sharp tusks gore their sides. When I awoke, Before the dawn, amid their sleep I heard My sons (for they were with me) weep and ask For bread. Right cruel art thou, if no pang Thou feel at thinking what my heart foretold; And if not now, why use thy tears to flow? Now had they wakened; and the hour drew near When they were wont to bring us food; the mind Of each misgave him through his dream, and I Heard, at its outlet underneath locked up The horrible tower: whence, uttering not a word, I look'd upon the visage of my sons. I wept not: so all stone I felt within. They wept: and one, my little Anselm, cried, "Thou lookest so! Father what ails thee?" Yet I shed no tear, nor answered all that day Nor the next night, until another sun Came out upon the world. When a faint beam Had to our doleful prison made its way, And in four countenances I descried The image of my own, on either hand Through agony I bit; and they, who thought I did it through desire of feeding, rose O' the sudden, and cried, "Father, we should grieve Far less, if thou wouldst eat of us: thou gavest These weeds of miserable flesh we wear; And do thou strip them off from us again." Then, not to make them sadder, I kept down My spirit in stillness. That day and the next We all were silent. Ah, obdurate earth! Why open'dst not upon us? When we came To the fourth day, then Gaddo at my feet Outstretched did fling him, crying, "Hast no help For me, my father!" There he died; and e'en Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three Fall one by one 'twixt the fifth day and sixth: Whence I betook me, now grown blind, to grope Over them all, and for three days aloud Called on them who were dead. Then, fasting got The mastery of grief.' Thus having spoke, Once more upon the wretched skull his teeth He fasten'd like a mastiff's 'gainst the bone, Firm and unyielding. Oh, thou Pisa! shame Of all the people, who their dwelling make In that fair region, where the Italian voice Is heard; since that thy neighbors are so slack To punish, from their deep foundations rise Capraia and Gorgona,[13] and dam up The mouth of Arno; that each soul in thee May perish in the waters. What if fame Reported that thy castles were betrayed By Ugolino, yet no right hadst thou To stretch his children on the rack. For them, Brigata, Uguccione, and the pair Of gentle ones, of whom my song hath told, Their tender years, thou modern Thebes, did make Uncapable of guilt. Onward we passed, Where others, skarfed in rugged folds of ice. Not on their feet were turned, but each reversed."

Arriving at the very bottom of hell, the poets see the body of Lucifer fixed in the center thereof (which is at the same time the center of earth and of the universe), with its upper part projecting into the freezing air. This monstrous figure, as hideous now as it had been beautiful before his revolt against God, has three pairs of wings and three heads, in the mouths of which he tears to pieces the three arch-traitors, Judas, Brutus, and Cassius.

The wanderers climb along the hairy sides of Lucifer and finally reach a cavity which corresponds to the lowest part of hell, and up into which are thrust the legs of the monster. They have thus passed the center of earth and are now in the other or southern hemisphere. Making their way upward along the course of a stream they finally come out into the open air, where the mount of purgatory rises sheer up from the surface of the great southern sea.

The first cantos of Purgatory are of wonderful beauty, and their loveliness is heightened by contrast, coming as it does after the darkness, filth, and horrors of hell. Issuing from the subterranean passage just before sunrise, the poets see before them a vast expanse of sea, lighted up by the soft rays of Venus, the morning star, and gradually becoming brighter as the dawn advances:

"Sweet hue of eastern sapphire, that was spread O'er the serene aspect of the pure air, High up as the first circle, to mine eyes Unwonted joy renew'd, soon as I 'scaped Forth from the atmosphere of deadly gloom, That had mine eyes and bosom fill'd with grief. The radiant planet, that to love invites, Made all the Orient laugh, and veiled beneath The Pisces' light, that in his escort came. "To the right hand I turned, and fixed my mind On the other pole attentive, where I saw Four stars ne'er seen before save by the ken Of our first parents. Heaven of their rays Seemed joyous. O thou northern site! bereft Indeed, and widowed, since of these deprived."

As they stand watching this scene, a venerable old man (Cato, the guardian of the island) approaches and tells them to go to the seashore and wipe off the stains of hell with the reeds that grow there:

"The dawn had chased the matin hour of prime, Which fled before it, so that from afar I spied the trembling of the ocean stream. "We traversed the deserted plain, as one Who, wandered from his track, thinks every step Trodden in vain till he regain the path. "When we had come where yet the tender dew Strove with the sun, and in a place where fresh The wind breathed o'er it, while it slowly dried; Both hands extended on the watery grass My master placed, in graceful act and kind. Whence I of his intent before apprized, Stretched out to him my cheeks suffused with tears. There to my visage he anew restored That hue which the dun shades of hell concealed. "Then on the solitary shore arrived, That never sailing on its waters saw Man that could after measure back his course, He girt me in such manner as had pleased Him who instructed; and O strange to tell! As he selected every humble plant, Wherever one was plucked another there Resembling, straightway in its place arose."

As they linger by the seaside, they suddenly see a bright light far off over the waters, which, as it approaches nearer, turns out to be a boat wafted by angelic wings and bearing to purgatory the souls of the saved, among them a musician, a friend of Dante's who at his request, sings one of the poet's own songs:

"Meanwhile we lingered by the water's brink, Like men, who, musing on their road, in thought Journey, while motionless the body rests. When lo! as, near upon the hour of dawn, Through the thick vapors Mars with fiery beam Glares down in west, over the ocean floor; So seemed, what once again I hope to view, A light, so swiftly coming through the sea, No winged course might equal its career. From which when for a space I had withdrawn Mine eyes, to make inquiry of my guide, Again I looked, and saw it grown in size And brightness: then on either side appeared Something, but what I knew not, of bright hue, And by degrees from underneath it came Another. My preceptor silent yet Stood, while the brightness, that we first discerned, Opened the form of wings: then when he knew The pilot, cried aloud, 'Down, down; bend low Thy knees; behold God's angel: fold thy hands: Now shalt thou see true ministers indeed. Lo! how all human means he sets at nought; So that nor oar he needs, nor other sail Except his wings, between such distant shores. Lo! how straight up to heaven he holds them reared, Winnowing the air with those eternal plumes, That not like mortal hairs fall off or change.' "As more and more toward us came, more bright Appeared the bird of God, nor could the eye Endure his splendor near: I mine bent down. He drove ashore in a small bark so swift And light, that in its course no wave it drank. The heavenly steersman at the prow was seen, Visibly written Blessed in his looks. Within, a hundred spirits and more there sat. "'In Exitu Israel de Egypto,' All with one voice together sang, with what In the remainder of that hymn is writ. Then soon as with the sign of holy cross He blessed them, they at once leaped out on land: He, swiftly as he came, returned. The crew, There left, appear'd astounded with the place, Gazing around, as one who sees new sights. "From every side the sun darted his beams, And with his arrowy radiance from mid heaven Had chased the Capricorn, when that strange tribe, Lifting their eyes toward us: 'If ye know, Declare what path will lead us to the mount.' "Them Vergil answered: 'Ye suppose, perchance, Us well acquainted with this place: but here, We, as yourselves, are strangers. Not long erst We came, before you but a little space, By other road so rough and hard, that now The ascent will seem to us as play.' The spirits, Who from my breathing had perceived I lived, Grew pale with wonder. As the multitude Flock round a herald sent with olive branch, To hear what news he brings, and in their haste Tread one another down; e'en so at sight Of me those happy spirits were fixed, each one Forgetful of its errand to depart Where, cleansed from sin, it might be made all fair. "Then one I saw darting before the rest With such fond ardor to embrace me, I To do the like was moved. O shadows vain! Except in outward semblance: thrice my hands I clasped behind it, they as oft return'd Empty into my breast again. Surprise I need must think was painted in my looks, For that the shadow smiled and backward drew. To follow it I hastened, but with voice Of sweetness it enjoined me to desist. Then who it was I knew, and pray'd of it, To talk with me it would a little pause. It answered: 'Thee as in my mortal frame I loved, so loosed from it I love thee still, And therefore pause: but why walkest thou here?' "'Not without purpose once more to return, Thou find'st me, my Casella, where I am, Journeying this way;' I said: 'but how of thee Hath so much time been lost?' He answered straight "'No outrage hath been done to me, if he, Who when and whom he chooses takes, hath oft Denied me passage here; since of just will His will he makes. These three months past indeed, He, whoso chose to enter, with free leave Hath taken; whence I wandering by the shore Where Tiber's wave grows salt, of him gain'd kind Admittance, at that river's mouth, toward which His wings are pointed; for there always throng All such as not to Acheron descend.' "Then I: '"If new law taketh not from thee Memory or custom of love-tuned song, That whilom all my cares had power to 'swage: Please thee therewith a little to console My spirit, that encumber'd with its frame, Traveling so far, of pain is overcome.' "'Love, that discourses in my thoughts,' he then Began in such soft accents, that within The sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guide, And all who came with him, so well were pleased, That seemed nought else might in their thoughts have room. "Fast fixed in mute attention to his notes We stood, when lo! that old man venerable Exclaiming, 'How is this, ye tardy spirits? What negligence detains you loitering here? Run to the mountain to cast off those scales, That from your eyes the sight of God conceal.' "As a wild flock of pigeons, to their food Collected, blade or tares, without their pride Accustomed, and in still and quiet sort, If aught alarm them, suddenly desert Their meal, assailed by more important care; So I that new-come troop beheld, the song Deserting, hasten to the mountain side, As one who goes, yet, where he tends, knows not. Nor with less hurried step did we depart."

Thus rebuked by Cato for delaying, even thus innocently, their first duty, which is to purge away their sins, the company of spirits breaks up and Dante and Vergil make their way to the mountain of purgatory, which lifts its seven terraces almost perpendicularly from the sea.

Before reaching the first of these terraces, however, they pass over a steep and rocky slope, ante-purgatory, as it may be called, where linger the souls of those who, although saved, neglected their repentance till late in life, or who died in contumacy with Holy Church. Among the latter Dante sees Manfred, the unfortunate son of Frederick II.,

"Comely and fair and gentle of aspect,"

who was slain at Benevento, in 1266; and likewise Buonconte da Montefeltro, who was killed in the battle of Campaldino (1289), and whose account of the post-mortem fate of his body is singularly impressive; "There is nothing like it in literature," says Ruskin:

"I thus: 'From Campaldino's field what force or chance Drew thee, that ne'er thy sepulture was known?' "'Oh!' answered he, 'at Casentino's foot A stream there courseth, named Archiano, sprung In Apennine above the hermit's seat. E'en where its name is cancel'd, there came I, Pierced in the throat, fleeing away on foot, And bloodying the plain. Here sight and speech Fail'd me; and, finishing with Mary's name, I fell, and tenantless my flesh remain'd. I will report the truth; which thou again Tell to the living. Me God's angel took, Whilst he of hell exclaimed: "O thou from heaven: Say wherefore hast thou robb'd me? Thou of him The eternal portion bear'st with thee away, For one poor tear that he deprives me of. But of the other, other rule I make." "'Thou know'st how in the atmosphere collects That vapor dank, returning into water Soon as it mounts where cold condenses it. That evil will, which in his intellect Still follows evil, came; and raised the wind And smoky mist, by virtue of the power Given by his nature. Thence the valley, soon As day was spent, he covered o'er with cloud, From Pratomagno to the mountain range; And stretched the sky above; so that the air Impregnate changed to water. Fell the rain; And to the fosses came all that the land Contained not; and, as mightiest streams are wont, To the great river, with such headlong sweep, Rushed, that nought stayed its course. My stiffened frame Laid at his mouth, the fell Archiano found, And dashed it into Arno; from my breast Loosening the cross, that of myself I made When overcome with pain. He hurled me on, Along the banks and bottom of his course; Then in his muddy spoils encircling wrapt."

After leaving Buonconte, Dante and Vergil make their way upward and finally come across the spirit of Sordello, the famous troubadour, a native of Mantua and thus a fellow citizen of Vergil. The cordiality with which they greet each other gives Dante an opportunity to vent his indignation at the discord existing in Italy:

"Ah, slavish Italy! thou inn of grief! Vessel without a pilot in loud storm! Lady no longer of fair provinces, But brothel-house impure! this gentle spirit, Even from the pleasant sound of his dear land Was prompt to greet a fellow citizen With such glad cheer: while now thy living ones In thee abide not without war; and one Malicious gnaws another; aye, of those Whom the same wall and the same moat contains. Seek, wretched one! around thy seacoasts wide; Then homeward to thy bosom turn; and mark, If any part of thee sweet peace enjoy. What boots it, that thy reins Justinian's hand Refitted, if thy saddle be unprest? Nought doth he now but aggravate thy shame. Ah, people! thou obedient still shouldst live, And in the saddle let thy Caesar sit, If well thou marked'st that which God commands."

As night is now coming on, during which upward progress cannot be made, Sordello conducts Dante and Vergil to a pleasant valley:

"Betwixt the steep and plain, a crooked path Led us traverse into the ridge's side, Where more than half the sloping edge expires. Refulgent gold, and silver thrice refined, And scarlet grain and ceruse, Indian wood Of lucid dye serene, fresh emeralds But newly broken, by the herbs and flowers Placed in that fair recess, in color all Had been surpassed, as great surpasses less. Nor nature only there lavish'd her hues. But of the sweetness of a thousand smells A rare and undistinguished fragrance made. "'Salve Regina,' on the grass and flowers, Here chanting, I beheld those spirits sit, Who not beyond the valley could be seen."

Here Sordello points out the souls of mighty princes who left deep traces in the history of the times, among them the Emperor Rudolph of Germany, Peter of Aragon, Philip III. of France, and

"The king of simple life and plain,"

Henry III. of England. The scene that follows is one of the most celebrated, as well as beautiful in the Divine Comedy:

"Now was the hour that wakens fond desire In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell, And pilgrim newly on his road with love Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far, That seems to mourn for the expiring day: When I, no longer taking heed to hear, Began, with wonder, from those spirits to mark One risen from its seat, which with its hand Audience implored. Both palms it joined and raised, Fixing its steadfast gaze toward the east, As telling God, 'I care for nought beside.' "'Te Lucis Ante,' so devoutly then Came from its lip, and in so soft a strain, That all my sense in ravishment was lost. And the rest after, softly and devout, Follow'd through all the hymn, with upward gaze Directed to the bright supernal wheels. "I saw that gentle band silently next Look up, as if in expectation held, Pale and in lowly guise; and, from on high, I saw, forth issuing descend beneath, Two angels, with two flame-illumined swords, Broken and mutilated of their points. Green as the tender leaves but newly born, Their vesture was, the which, by wings as green Beaten, they drew behind them, fanned in air. A little over us one took his stand; The other lighted on the opposing hill; So that the troop were in the midst contained. Well I descried the whiteness on their heads; But in their visages the dazzled eye Was lost, as faculty that by too much Is overpowered. 'From Mary's bosom both Are come,' exclaimed Sordello, 'as a guard Over the vale, 'gainst him, who hither tends, The serpent.' Whence not knowing by which path He came, I turned me round; and closely pressed All frozen, to my leader's trusted side." "My insatiate eyes Meanwhile to heaven had traveled, even there Where the bright stars are slowest, as a wheel Nearest the axle: When my guide inquired: 'What there aloft, my son, has caught thy gaze?' "I answered: 'The three torches, with which here The pole is all on fire.' He then to me: 'The four resplendent stars, thou saw'st this morn, Are there beneath; and these, risen in their stead.' "While yet he spoke, Sordello to himself Drew him, and cried: 'Lo there our enemy!' And with his hand pointed that way to look. "Along the side, where barrier none arose Around the little vale, a serpent lay, Such haply as gave Eve the bitter food, Between the grass and flowers, the evil snake Came on, reverting oft his lifted head; And, as a beast that smooths its polished coat, Licking his back. I saw not, nor can tell, How those celestial falcons from their seat Moved, but in motion each one well descried. Hearing the air cut by their verdant plumes, The serpent fled; and, to their stations, back The angels up return'd with equal flight."

After conversing with several friends whom he meets here, Dante falls asleep and is carried thus unconscious by Lucia (symbol of divine grace) to the gate of purgatory proper. When he awakes the sun is two hours high. Three steps lead to the gate, one dark and broken, symbol of a "broken and a contrite heart"; one of smooth, white marble, symbol of confession; and one purple, repentance. On the threshold of diamond (the immovable foundation of Holy Church) sits an angel with a sword and two keys; with the former he cuts seven P's on Dante's forehead (the Latin word for sin, _peccatum_), and with the latter he opens the gate, which as it swings open sends forth a sound of heavenly music:

"Attentively I turned, Listening the thunder that first issued forth; And 'We praise thee, O God,' methought I heard, In accents blended with sweet melody. The strains came o'er mine ear, e'en as the sound Of choral voices, that in solemn chant With organ mingle, and, now high and clear Come swelling, now float indistinct away."

In Terrace I. are punished the proud, crushed beneath enormous weights. On the side of the mountain wall are sculptured wonderful bas-reliefs, representing examples of humility; especially famous is the one which tells the story of Trajan's justice, a story which led Pope Gregory to make a prayer to God, who granted it, for the release of the pagan emperor's soul from hell:

"There, was storied on the rock The exalted glory of the Roman prince, Whose mighty worth moved Gregory to earn His mighty conquest, Trajan the Emperor. A widow at his bridle stood, attired In tears and mourning. Round about them trooped Full throng of knights; and overhead in gold The eagles floated, struggling with the wind. The wretch appeared amid all these to say: 'Grant vengeance, Sire! for, woe beshrew this heart, My son is murdered.' He replying seemed: 'Wait now till I return.' And she, as one Made hasty by her grief: 'O Sire! if thou Dost not return?'--'Where I am, who then is, May right thee.'--'What to thee is other's good, If thou neglect thy own?'--'Now comfort thee;' At length he answers. 'It beseemeth well My duty be perform'd, ere I move hence: So justice wills; and pity bids me stay.' "He whose ken nothing new surveys, produced That visible speaking, new to us and strange, The like not found on earth. Fondly I gazed Upon those patterns of meek humbleness, Shapes yet more precious for their artist's sake."

Farther on in the same terrace they see similar sculptures representing examples of punished pride, such as the fall of Lucifer, and the destruction of Niobe. In each of the following terraces these examples of sin and the opposite virtue are given, represented, however, by various means.

Among the proud, Dante sees the miniature painter, Oderisi of Adubbio, who pronounces those words on the vanity of earthly fame, which have been proverbial:

"The noise Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind, That blows from diverse points, and shifts its name, Shifting the point it blows from.

* * * * *

"Your renown Is as the herb, whose hue doth come and go; And his[14] might withers it, by whom it sprang Crude from the lap of earth."

Passing through Terrace II., where the envious sit sadly against the rocky wall, with their eye-lids sewn together, and Terrace III., where the wrathful are shrouded in a black, stifling mist, the poets reach Terrace IV., where the slothful are punished. Here Vergil explains the apparent paradox that love is the root of all evil as well as good. Love, he says, is the desire for something; desire for those things which harm others--_i. e._, love for evil, produces pride, envy, and wrath. These are punished in the first three terraces. Insufficient desire or love for that which is good--_i. e._, God--is punished in Terrace IV., that of the "slothful in well-doing"; excessive desire for merely earthly things, which are not evil in themselves, but only in their excess, produces avarice, gluttony, and licentiousness; these are punished in the last three terraces.

Ascending now to Terrace V., Dante sees the souls of Pope Adrian, and Hugh Capet, founder of the long dynasty of the kings of France, who gives a brief but admirable summary of the development of the monarchy in France. As they are walking along this terrace, suddenly a mighty earthquake shakes the whole mountain, and while Dante is still filled with amazement and dread at this strange phenomenon, they are overtaken by the spirit of Statius, who explains the cause of the earthquake, telling how, when a soul has been completely purged of its sins, and the time of its redemption has arrived, it rises spontaneously from its place, and joyfully makes its way toward the heavens above, while the whole mountain rejoices with him, and the souls along the slope above and below cry out: "Glory to God in the highest!"

Statius now accompanies Dante and Vergil and all three mount to Terrace VI., where the gluttons are punished, being worn to skin and bone by hunger and thirst, which are only increased by the sight of waterfalls and trees laden with fruit. The last terrace is swathed in flames of fire, within which move about the licentious. Here Dante sees many famous poets and greets with especial joy Guido Guinicelli of Bologna, who he says:

"Was a father to me, and to those My betters, who have ever used the sweet And pleasant rhymes of love."

Through this wall of living flame, Dante, too, must pass before he can reach the summit of purgatory. His spirit, indeed, is willing, but his flesh is weak; he hesitates long before daring to enter the fiery furnace. Vergil urges him on in the tenderest manner:

"The escorting spirits turned with gentle looks Toward me; and the Mantuan spake: 'My son, Here torment thou mayst feel, but canst not death. Remember thee, remember thee, if I Safe e'en on Geryon brought thee; now I come More near to God, wilt thou not trust me now? Of this be sure; though in its womb that flame A thousand years contained thee, from thy head No hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth, Approach; and with thy hands thy vesture's hem Stretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief. Lay now all fear, oh! lay all fear aside. Turn hither, and come onward undismayed.' "I still, though conscience urged, no step advanced. "When still he saw me fixed and obstinate, Somewhat disturb'd he cried: 'Mark now, my son, From Beatrice thou art by this wall Divided.' As at Thisbe's name the eye Of Pyramus was open'd (when life ebbed Fast from his veins), and took one parting glance, While vermeil dyed the mulberry; thus I turned To my sage guide, relenting, when I heard The name that springs forever in my breast. "He shook his forehead; and, 'How long,' he said, 'Linger we now?' then smiled, as one would smile Upon a child that eyes the fruit and yields. Into the fire before me then he walked; And Statius, who erewhile no little space Had parted us, he prayed to come behind. "I would have cast me into molten glass To cool me, when I entered; so intense Raged the conflagrant mass. The sire beloved, To comfort me, as he proceeded, still Of Beatrice talked. 'Her eyes,' saith he, 'E'en now I seem to view.' From the other side A voice, that sang did guide us; and the voice Following, with heedful ear, we issued forth, There where the path led upward. 'Come,' we heard, 'Come, blessed of my father.' Such the sounds That hailed us from within a light; which shone So radiant, I could not endure the view."

Above this last terrace stretches out the lovely earthly paradise, but before the poets can reach it night comes on, and Dante sleeps on the steps, guarded by Vergil and Statius, as a flock is watched over by its shepherd. The passage which describes this scene, and Dante's vision, is a beautiful one:

"Each of us had made A stair his pallet; not that will, but power, Had failed us, by the nature of that mount Forbidden further travel. As the goats That late have skipt and wanton'd rapidly Upon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta'en Their supper on the herb, now silent lie And ruminate beneath the umbrage brown, While noon-day rages; and the goatherd leans Upon his staff, and leaning watches them: And as the swain, that lodges out all night In quiet by his flock, lest beast of prey Disperse them: even so all three abode; I as a goat, and as the shepherds they, Close pent on either side by shelving rock. "A little glimpse of sky was seen above; Yet by that little I beheld the stars, In magnitude and lustre shining forth With more than wonted glory. As I lay, Gazing on them, and in that fit of musing Sleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oft Tidings of future hap. About the hour, As I believe, when Venus from the east First lighten'd on the mountain, she whose orb Seems alway glowing with the fire of love, 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:[15] for my brow to weave A garland, these fair hands unwearied ply. To please me at the crystal mirror, here I deck me. But my sister Rachel, she Before her glass abides the livelong day Her radiant eyes beholding, charmed no less, Than I with this delightful task. Her joy In contemplation, as in labor mine.' "And now as glimmering dawn appeared, that breaks More welcome to the pilgrim still, as he Sojourns less distant on his homeward way, Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fled My slumber; whence I rose, and saw my guide Already risen. 'That delicious fruit, Which through so many a branch the zealous care Of mortals roams in quest of, shall this day Appease thy hunger.' Such the words I heard From Vergil's lip; and never greeting heard, So pleasant as the sounds. Within me straight Desire so grew upon desire to mount, Thenceforward at each step I felt the wings Increasing for my flight. When we had run O'er all the ladder to its topmost round, As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fixed His eyes, and thus he spake: 'Both fires, my son, The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen; And art arrived, where of itself my ken No further reaches. I, with skill and art, Thus far have drawn thee. Now thy pleasure take For guide. Thou hast o'ercome the steeper way, O'ercome the straiter. Lo! the sun, that darts His beam upon thy forehead: lo! the herb, The arborets and flowers, which of itself This land pours forth profuse. Till those bright eyes With gladness come, which, weeping, made me haste To succor thee, thou mayst or seat thee down, Or wander where thou wilt.'"

Thus Dante, having been led by reason (represented by Vergil) to purge himself of sin and vice, is now to put himself under the guidance of heavenly wisdom (represented by Beatrice), by whom he is to visit the homes of the blessed. First, however, he lingers in the earthly paradise which forms the summit of purgatory, and sees strange sights before Beatrice reveals herself to him.

The descriptions of the landscape in the earthly paradise are of surpassing beauty and choice of quotation is exceedingly difficult. Only a few passages can be given here:

"Through that celestial forest, whose thick shade With lively greenness the new-springing day Attemper'd, eager now to roam, and search Its limits round, forthwith I left the bank; Along the champain leisurely my way Pursuing, o'er the ground, that on all sides Delicious odor breathed. A pleasant air, That intermitted never, never veered, Smote on my temples, gently, as a wind Of softest influence: at which the sprays, Obedient all, lean'd trembling to that part Where first the holy mountain casts his shade; Yet were not so disorder'd, but that still Upon their top the feathered quiristers Applied their wonted art, and with full joy Welcomed those hours of prime, and warbled shrill Amid the leaves, that to their jocund lays Kept tenor; even as from branch to branch, Along the piny forests on the shore Of Chiassi,[16] rolls the gathering melody, When Eolus hath from his cavern loosed The dripping south. Already had my steps, Though slow, so far into that ancient wood Transported me, I could not ken the place Where I had entered; when, behold! my path Was bounded by a rill, which, to the left, With little rippling waters bent the grass That issued from its brink. On earth no wave, How clean soe'er, that would not seem to have Some mixture in itself, compared with this, Transpicuous clear; yet darkly on it rolled, Darkly beneath perpetual gloom, which ne'er Admits or sun or moon-light there to shine. "My feet advanced not; but my wondering eyes Passed onward, o'er the streamlet, to survey The tender may-bloom, flush'd through many a hue, In prodigal variety: and there, As object, rising suddenly to view, That from our bosom every thought beside With the rare marvel chases, I beheld A lady all alone, who, singing, went, And culling flower from flower, wherewith her way Was all o'er painted. 'Lady beautiful! Thou, who (if looks, that used to speak the heart, Are worthy of our trust) with love's own beam Dost warm thee,' thus to her my speech I framed; 'Ah! please thee hither towards the streamlet bend Thy steps so near, that I may list thy song. Beholding thee and this fair place, methinks, I call to mind where wander'd and how look'd Proserpine, in that season, when her child The mother lost, and she the bloomy spring.' "As when a lady, turning in the dance, Doth foot it featly, and advances scarce One step before the other to the ground; Over the yellow and vermilion flowers Thus turned she at my suit, most maiden-like Veiling her sober eyes; and came so near, That I distinctly caught the dulcet sound. Arriving where the limpid waters now Laved the green swerd, her eyes she deigned to raise, That shot such splendor on me, as I ween Ne'er glanced from Cytherea's, when her son Had sped his keenest weapon to her heart. Upon the opposite bank she stood and smiled; As through her graceful fingers shifted still The intermingling dyes, which without seed That lofty land unbosoms. By the stream Three paces only were we sunder'd: yet, The Hellespont, where Xerxes pass'd it o'er (A curb forever to the pride of man), Was by Leander not more hateful held For floating, with inhospitable wave, 'Twixt Sestus and Abydos, than by me That flood, because it gave no passage thence. "'Strangers ye come; and haply in this place, That cradled human nature in her birth, Wondering, ye not without suspicion view My smiles: but that sweet strain of psalmody, "Thou, Lord! hast made me glad," will give ye light, Which may uncloud your minds.

* * * * *

"Singing, as if enamored, she resumed And closed the song, with 'Blessed they whose sins Are covered.' Like the wood-nymphs then, that tripped Singly across the sylvan shadows; one Eager to view, and one to escape the sun; So moved she on, against the current, up The verdant rivage. I, her mincing step Observing, with as tardy step pursued. "Between us not an hundred paces trod, The bank, on each side bending equally, Gave me to face the Orient. Nor our way Far onward brought us, when to me at once She turned, and cried: 'My brother! look, and hearken.' And lo! a sudden lustre ran across Through the great forest on all parts, so bright, I doubted whether lightning were abroad; But that, expiring ever in the spleen That doth unfold it, and this during still, And waxing still in splendor, made me question What it might be: and a sweet melody Ran through the luminous air. Then did I chide, With warrantable zeal, the hardihood Of our first parent; for that there, where earth Stood in obedience to the heavens, she only, Woman, the creature of an hour, endured not Restraint of any veil, which had she borne Devoutly, joys, ineffable as these, Had from the first, and long time since, been mine. "While, through that wilderness of primy sweets That never fade, suspense I walked, and yet Expectant of beatitude more high; Before us, like a blazing fire, the air Under the green boughs glowed; and, for a song, Distinct the sound of melody was heard."

The poet now beholds a mystical procession of strange and wonderful beasts, venerable old men, beautiful maidens dressed in red, white, green, and purple, all accompanying a chariot drawn by a griffin and representing the Church of Christ. On the chariot itself stands Beatrice.

"At the last audit, so The blest shall rise, from forth his cavern each Uplifting lightly his new-vested flesh; As, on the sacred litter, at the voice Authoritative of that elder, sprang A hundred ministers and messengers Of life eternal. 'Blessed thou, who comest!' And, 'Oh!' they cried, 'from full hands scatter ye Unwithering lilies:' and, so saying, cast Flowers over head and round them on all sides. "I have beheld, ere now, at break of day, The eastern clime all roseate; and the sky Opposed, one deep and beautiful serene; And the sun's face so shaded, and with mists Attempered, at his rising, that the eye Long while endured the sight: thus, in a cloud Of flowers, that from those hands angelic rose, And down within and outside of the car Fell showering, in white veil with olive wreathed, A virgin in my view appeared, beneath Green mantle, robed in hue of living flame. And o'er my spirit, that so long a time Had from her presence felt no shuddering dread, Albeit mine eyes discerned her not, there moved A hidden virtue from her, at whose touch The power of ancient love was strong within me."

After Beatrice has rebuked Dante for his wayward conduct in life, and he repents in bitter tears, he is led by Matilda to the streams of Lethe and Eunoe, and bathing therein, is made "pure and apt for mounting to the stars."

As we have already seen, the paradise of Dante is composed of nine spheres enclosed by the Empyrean, which itself is boundless, and is the seat of the Godhead, surrounded by the celestial hierarchy of seraphim, cherubim, thrones, dominions, virtues, powers, principalities, archangels, and angels. The blessed are here arranged on seats in the form of a rose, surrounding a lake of liquid light, in which they, gazing, see all the fulness of the glory of God. These souls, however, by a mystical virtue of ubiquity, are likewise seen by Dante in the various heavens through which he, with Beatrice, passes, and manifest themselves to him in various forms of light, flames, flashes, sparkles, or shapes made of fiery particles. The souls of the blessed, which are thus distributed over the nine heavens, have varying degrees of felicity. Thus, in the first heaven--that of the moon--Piccarda, sister of Corso Donati, appears to Dante, faint and dim in that tenuous atmosphere, as a "pearl set on a white forehead," and tells him how, having been forced by her brother to break her vows as a nun, and not having shown tenacity of purpose in opposing his tyranny, she now occupies the lowest sphere of Paradise. Yet this she does with perfect content and happiness, since such is the will of God, for, she says, to quote that one incomparable line, as Matthew Arnold calls it:

"In la sua voluntade e nostra pace." (In His will is our peace.)

Rising from heaven to heaven with Beatrice, Dante passes through Mercury and Venus, in the former of which are the souls of Christians who sought with over-much zeal for earthly glory, and in the latter those who were inclined too much to mere human love, and finally reaches the sun, where he sees the great doctors of theology. Here Saint Thomas Aquinas, a Dominican himself, tells in beautiful language the story of St. Francis of Assisi and the establishment of his order; while the Franciscan, St. Bonaventura, with the same exquisite courtesy, tells the story of St. Dominic.

In Mars, Dante sees the souls of Christian martyrs and warriors, many of whom form themselves before the eyes of the poet into a wonderful cross of roseate light, flashing in countless splendors. Here, as we have already seen, he meets and converses with his ancestor, Cacciaguida. In Saturn the poet beholds a wonderful ladder of light, with spirits mounting and descending upon it, a ladder such as

"Crowded with angels unnumbered By Jacob was seen as he slumbered Alone in the desert at night."

Here Peter Damian tells of the mystery of predestination, and St. Benedict describes the founding of his order at Montecassino.

In the heaven of the fixed stars Dante beholds the triumph of Christ:

"Short space ensued; I was not held, I say, Long in expectance, when I saw the heaven Wax more and more resplendent; and, 'Behold,' Cried Beatrice, 'the triumphal hosts Of Christ, and all the harvest gathered in, Made ripe by these revolving spheres.' Meseemed, That, while she spake, her image all did burn; And in her eyes such fulness was of joy, As I am fain to pass unconstrued by. "As in the calm full moon, when Trivia smiles, In peerless beauty, 'mid the eternal nymphs, That paint through all its gulfs the blue profound; In bright preeminence so saw I there O'er million lamps a sun, from whom all drew Their radiance, as from ours the starry train: And, through the living light, so lustrous glowed The substance, that my ken endured it not.

* * * * *

"Prompt I heard Her bidding, and encountered once again The strife of aching vision. As, erewhile, Through glance of sunlight, streamed through broken cloud, Mine eyes a flower-besprinkled mead have seen; Though veiled themselves in shade: so saw I there Legions of splendors, on whom burning rays Shed lightnings from above; yet saw I not The fountain whence they flowed. O gracious virtue! Thou, whose broad stamp is on them, higher up Thou didst exalt thy glory, to give room To my o'erlabored sight; when at the name Of that fair flower, whom duly I invoke Both morn and eve, my soul with all her might Collected, on the goodliest ardor fix'd. And, as the bright dimensions of the star In heaven excelling, as once here on earth, Were, in my eyeballs livelily portrayed; Lo! from within the sky a cresset fell, Circling in fashion of a diadem; And girt the star; and, hovering, round it wheel'd. "Whatever melody sounds sweetest here, And draws the spirit most unto itself, Might seem a rent cloud when it grates the thunder; Compared unto the sounding of that lyre, Wherewith the goodliest sapphire, that inlays The floor of heaven was crown'd. 'Angelic Love I am, who thus with hovering flight enwheel The lofty rapture from that womb inspired. Where our desire did dwell: and round thee so, Lady of Heaven! will hover; long as thou Thy Son shalt follow, and diviner joy Shall from thy presence gild the highest sphere.' "Such close was to the circling melody: And, as it ended, all the other lights Took up the strain, and echoed Mary's name. "The robe,[17] that with its regal folds enwraps The world, and with the nearer breath of God Doth burn and quiver, held so far retired Its inner hem and skirting over us, That yet no glimmer of its majesty Had stream'd unto me: therefore were mine eyes Unequal to pursue the crowned flame, That towering rose, and sought the seed it bore. And like to babe that stretches forth its arms For very eagerness toward the breast, After the milk is taken; so outstretch'd Their wavy summits all the fervent band, Through zealous love to Mary: then, in view, There halted; and 'Regina Coeli' sang So sweetly, the delight hath left me never."

After the passing away of this glorious vision Dante is examined as to his faith by St. Peter, his hope by St. James, and his love by St. John; then being found worthy of being admitted into the presence of God, he rises to the Empyrean, beholds the Blessed Rose, where are seated the saints of all ages, and finally catches an instantaneous glimpse of the glory and mystery of the Trinity. In this supreme vision his desires find full fruition, and his spirit, overcome by the overwhelming glory of the Godhead, fails him, and thus his vision comes to an end,

"Here vigor failed the towering fantasy: But yet the will rolled onward, like a wheel In even motion, by the love impell'd, That moves the sun in heaven and all the stars."

Such is the Divine Comedy of Dante, which has won the undying admiration of all great minds from the poet's own time down to the present. It would lead us too far to go into a detailed analysis of its greatness here, but with one consent men like Carlyle, Ruskin, Gladstone, Browning, and Tennyson in England; Tholuck, Witte, and Kraus, in Germany; Longfellow and Lowell in America, attribute the title of supreme genius to this poem.

The Divine Comedy is universal in its compass, containing the elements of dramatic, epic, and lyric poetry; full of sublime imaginations, touching and pathetic episodes, and not deficient even in humor, grotesque at times, but often of a strangely sweet and tender nature. The language is astonishingly simple and concise, and invariably represents the thought of the poet with absolute truth and fidelity. We find in this wonderfully condensed poem no mere epithets, no mere arabesques of style such as adorn the lesser thoughts of lesser men. Each word is in its right place. "It is amazing," says Ruskin, "how every word, almost every syllable, reveals new meanings the more we study them." The metaphors of Dante are especially famous, for the most part simple and drawn from everyday life, yet unexcelled in beauty and especially in their perfect and complete adaptation to the point they are meant to illustrate. Such are those of the old tailor threading his needle, the sheep leaving the fold in huddling groups, the fish disappearing from view in the depths of clear water, and the pearl faintly discernible on a white forehead.

Above all, the personality of the author lends a dramatic interest to the poem and exercises a fascination on the reader. As Lowell says, "The man behind the verse is far greater than the verse itself."[18] In the midst of the wonderful landscapes of his own creation, dark and terrible, soft and beautiful, he walks among the men and woman of all ages; he talks to them and hears their stories of half-forgotten crimes and tragedies; he brands them with infamy or sets upon their brows the wreath of praise. It is his love for Beatrice--now become the symbol of spiritual life--which leads him through the realms of sin over the steep rocks of Purgatory to the glory ineffable of God.

Completely a man of his age, Dante incorporates into the Divine Comedy all its science and learning, its theology, philosophy, astronomy, use of classical authors, way of looking at the insignificance of the present life in comparison with the life to come. All these things have still a distinct medieval stamp. Yet Dante is at the same time the most original of poets. It is his mighty individuality which, rising above the conventionality of his age and country, has made him a world-poet, as true to-day as ever in his depiction of the human heart in all its sin and sorrow, virtue, and vice, in its love and hate and its inextinguishable aspiration toward a better and happier existence in the world beyond the grave.

SUMMARY AND QUESTIONS FOR REVIEW

Visionary journeys to the unseen world in the Middle Ages--How Dante differs from them--The Ptolemaic system--Year of Dante's supposed journey--Entrance to Hell--Souls of the Ignoble--Limbo and the Unbaptized--Circle II and the Licentious--III and IV, Gluttons and Misers--V, The Styx--VI, Heretics--VII, The Violent: River of blood, Wood of Suicides, Sandy Plain--VIII, The Fraudulent--IX, The Traitors. Purgatory and its seven terraces--The Earthly Paradise--The Supreme Vision--Characteristic features of the Divine Comedy--Its beauty and greatness.

1. Did Dante invent the framework of the Divine Comedy?

2. Give briefly the Ptolemaic system of the universe.

3. How old was Dante when he is supposed to have begun his journey?

4. Give the various sins punished in the nine circles of Hell.

5. Who was Francesca da Rimini?

6. Mention some of the most famous passages in Dante's Hell.

7. Describe the scene before the gates of Dis.

8. What was the shape of Malebolge, and what kinds of sin were there punished?

9. Tell the story of the last voyage of Ulysses.

10. Describe the lowest circle of Hell.

11. Story of Ugolino and the Tower of Hunger.

12. Describe the appearance of Lucifer and the three arch-traitors.

13. Where is Purgatory situated?

14. Describe the scene on the seashore.

15. Who were Cato, Casella, Manfred, and Buonconte?

16. What souls are punished in Ante-Purgatory?

17. Describe the scene in the Valley of the Princes.

18. How does Dante reach the gate of Purgatory?

19. Name the various sins punished in the seven terraces of Purgatory.

20. Describe the Earthly Paradise.

21. What happens to Dante there?

22. Name the various heavens in their order.

23. In which of these heavens does Dante see the souls of Piccarda, St. Thomas Aquinas, Cacciaguida, and St. Peter?

24. How does the Divine Comedy end?

25. What is your idea of the greatness and beauty of the Divine Comedy?

BIBLIOGRAPHY

(See Chapter II.)

FOOTNOTES:

[7] Hell, 4,720; Purgatory, 4,755; Paradise, 4,758.

[8] The Adriatic.

[9] Compare with what is said in Chapter 1.

[10] One of the divisions of the last circle, where traitors are punished.

[11] Dis--the emperor of the infernal regions, according to the ancients.

[12] Fiesole is a town on a high hill near Florence--the latter was said to have been settled by the people of Fiesole.

[13] Two islands in the Mediterranean near the mouth of the Arno.

[14] The sun's.

[15] Symbol of active life, as Rachel is of contemplative life.

[16] Forest near Ravenna.

[17] The Empyrean.

[18] Carducci says Dante is a "most great poet because he is a great man, and a great man because he had a great conscience."