STORIES FROM THE ITALIAN POETS: WITH LIVES OF THE WRITERS. 

BY LEIGH HUNT. 

IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. 

MDCCCXLVI. 

TO SIR PERCY SHELLEY, BART. 

MY DEAR SIR PERCY, As I know no man who surpasses yourself either in combining a love ofthe most romantic fiction with the coolest good sense, or in passingfrom the driest metaphysical questions to the heartiest enjoyment ofhumour, --I trust that even a modesty so true as yours will not grudge methe satisfaction of inscribing these volumes with your name. 

That you should possess such varieties of taste is no wonder, considering what an abundance of intellectual honours you inherit; normight the world have been the better for it, had they been tastes, andnothing more. But that you should inherit also that zeal for justice tomankind, which has become so Christian a feature in the character of theage, and that you should include in that zeal a special regard for thewelfare of your Father's Friend, are subjects of constant pleasurablereflection to

Your obliged and affectionate

LEIGH HUNT. 

PREFACE. 

The purpose of these volumes is, to add to the stock of tales from theItalian writers; to retain as much of the poetry of the originals as itis in the power of the writer's prose to compass; and to furnish carefulbiographical notices of the authors. There have been several collectionsof stories from the Novellists of Italy, but none from the Poets; and itstruck me that prose versions from these, of the kind here offered tothe public, might not be unwillingly received. The stories are selectedfrom the five principal narrative poets, Dante, Pulci, Boiardo, Ariosto, and Tasso; they comprise the most popular of such as are fit fortranslation; are reduced into one continuous narrative, when diffusedand interrupted, as in the instances of those of Angelica, and Armida;are accompanied with critical and explanatory notes; and, in the case ofDante, consist of an abstract of the poet's whole work. The volumes are, furthermore, interspersed with the most favourite _morceaux_ of theoriginals, followed sometimes with attempts to versify them; and in theAppendix, for the furtherance of the study of the Italian language, aregiven entire stories, also in the original, and occasionally renderedin like manner. The book is particularly intended for such students orother lovers of the language as are pleased with any fresh endeavours torecommend it; and, at the same time, for such purely English readers aswish to know something about Italian poetry, without having leisure tocultivate its acquaintance. 

I did not intend in the first instance to depart from the planof selection in the case of Dante; but when I considered what anextraordinary person he was, --how intense is every thing which hesays, --how widely he has re-attracted of late the attention of theworld, --how willingly perhaps his poem might be regarded by the readeras being itself one continued story (which, in fact, it is), relatedpersonally of the writer, --and lastly, what a combination ofdifficulties have prevented his best translators in verse from givingthe public a just idea of his almost Scriptural simplicity, --I began tothink that an abstract of his entire work might possibly be looked uponas supplying something of a desideratum. I am aware that nothing butverse can do perfect justice to verse; but besides the imperfectionswhich are pardonable, because inevitable, in all such metricalendeavours, the desire to impress a grand and worshipful idea of Dantehas been too apt to lead his translators into a tone and manner thereverse of his passionate, practical, and creative style--a style whichmay be said to write things instead of words; and thus to render everyword that is put out of its place, or brought in for help and fillingup, a misrepresentation. I do not mean to say, that he himself neverdoes any thing of the sort, or does not occasionally assume too muchof the oracle and the schoolmaster, in manner as well as matter;but passion, and the absence of the superfluous, are the chiefcharacteristics of his poetry. Fortunately, this sincerity of purposeand utterance in Dante render him the least pervertible of poets in asincere prose translation; and, since I ventured on attempting one, Ihave had the pleasure of meeting with an express recommendation of sucha version in an early number of the _Edinburgh Review_. [1]

The abstract of Dante, therefore, in these volumes (with everydeprecation that becomes me of being supposed to pretend to give athorough idea of any poetry whatsoever, especially without its metricalform) aspires to be regarded as, at all events, not exhibiting a falseidea of the Dantesque spirit in point of feeling and expression. It istrue, I have omitted long tedious lectures of scholastic divinity, andother learned absurdities of the time, which are among the bars to thepoem's being read through, even in Italy (which Foscolo tells us isnever the case); and I have compressed the work in other passages notessentially necessary to the formation of a just idea of the author. But quite enough remains to suggest it to the intelligent; and in noinstance have I made additions or alterations. There is warrant--I hopeI may say letter--for every thing put down. Dante is the greatest poetfor intensity that ever lived; and he excites a corresponding emotionin his reader--I wish I could say, always on the poet's side; but hisferocious hates and bigotries too often tempt us to hate the bigot, and always compel us to take part with the fellow-creatures whom heoutrages. At least, such is their effect on myself. Nor will he or hisworshippers suffer us to criticise his faults with mere reference to theage in which he lived. I should have been glad to do so; but the claimsmade for him, even by himself, will not allow it. We are called upon tolook on him as a divine, a prophet, an oracle in all respects for alltime. Such a man, however, is the last whom a reporter is inclined tomisrepresent. We respect his sincerity too much, ferocious and arrogantthough it be; and we like to give him the full benefit of the recoil ofhis curses and maledictions. I hope I have not omitted one. On theother hand, as little have I closed my feelings against the lovelyand enchanting sweetness which this great semi-barbarian sometimes soaffectingly utters. On those occasions he is like an angel enclosedfor penance in some furious giant, and permitted to weep through thecreature's eyes. 

The stories from goodnatured Pulci I have been obliged to compress forother reasons--chiefly their excessive diffuseness. A paragraph of theversion will sometimes comprise many pages. Those of Boiardo and Ariostoare more exact; and the reader will be good enough to bear in mind, thatnothing is added to any of the poets, different as the case might seemhere and there on comparison with the originals. An equivalent forwhatever is said is to be found in some part of the context--generallyin letter, always in spirit. The least characteristically exact passagesare some in the love-scenes of Tasso; for I have omitted the plays uponwords and other corruptions in style, in which that poet permittedhimself to indulge. But I have noticed the circumstance in the comment. In other respects, I have endeavoured to make my version convey someidea of the different styles and genius of the writers, --of the severepassion of Dante; of the overflowing gaiety and affecting sympathiesof Pulci, several of whose passages in the Battle of Roncesvalles aremasterpieces of pathos; of the romantic and inventive elegance ofBoiardo; the great cheerful universality of Ariosto, like a healthy_anima mundi_; and the ambitious irritability, the fairy imagination, and tender but somewhat effeminate voluptuousness of the poet of Armidaand Rinaldo. I do not pretend that prose versions of passages from thesewriters can supersede the necessity of metrical ones, supposing propermetrical ones attainable. They suffice for them, in some respects, lessthan for Dante, the manner in their case being of more importance tothe effect. But with all due respect to such translators as Harrington, Rose, and Wiffen, their books are not Ariosto and Tasso, even in manner. Harrington, the gay "godson" of Queen Elizabeth, is not always unlikeAriosto; but when not in good spirits he becomes as dull as if hermajesty had frowned on him. Rose was a man of wit, and a scholar; yethe has undoubtedly turned the ease and animation of his original intoinversion and insipidity. And Wiffen, though elegant and even poetical, did an unfortunate thing for Tasso, when he gave an additional line anda number of paraphrastic thoughts to a stanza already tending to thesuperfluous. Fairfax himself, who, upon the whole, and with regard toa work of any length, is the best metrical translator our language hasseen, and, like Chapman, a genuine poet, strangely aggravated the sinsof prettiness and conceit in his original, and added to them a loveof tautology amounting to that of a lawyer. As to Hoole, he is belowcriticism; and other versions I have not happened to see. Now if I hadno acquaintance with the Italian language, I confess I would rather getany friend who had, to read to me a passage out of Dante, Tasso, orAriosto, into the first simple prose that offered itself, than go to anyof the above translators for a taste of it, Fairfax excepted; and wehave seen with how much allowance his sample would have to be taken. I have therefore, with some restrictions, only ventured to do for thepublic what I would have had a friend do for myself. 

The _Critical and Biographical Notices_ I did not intend to make so longat first; but the interest grew upon me; and I hope the reader willregard some of them--Dante's and Tasso's in particular--as being"stories" themselves, after their kind, --"stories, alas, too true;""romances of real life. " The extraordinary character of Dante, which ispersonally mixed up with his writings beyond that of any other poet, hasled me into references to his church and creed, unavoidable at anytime in the endeavour to give a thorough estimate of his genius, andsingularly demanded by certain phenomena of the present day. I holdthose phenomena to be alike feeble and fugitive; but only so by reasonof their being openly so proclaimed; for mankind have a tendency to theabsurd, if their imaginations are not properly directed; and one of theuses of poetry is, to keep the faculty in a healthy state, and cause itto know its duties. Dante, in the fierce egotism of his passions, andthe strange identification of his knowledge with all that was knowable, would fain have made his poetry both a sword against individuals, and aprop for the support of the superstition that corrupted them. This wasreversing the duty of a Christian and a great man; and there happen tobe existing reasons why it is salutary to chew that he had no right todo so, and must not have his barbarism confounded with his strength. Machiavelli was of opinion, that if Christianity had not reverted to itsfirst principles, by means of the poverty and pious lives of St. Francisand St. Dominic, [2] the faith would have been lost. It may have been;but such are not the secrets of its preservation in times of science andprogression, when the spirit of inquiry has established itself amongall classes, and nothing is taken for granted, as it used to be. A fewpersons here and there, who confound a small superstitious reaction inEngland with the reverse of the fact all over the rest of Europe, maypersuade themselves, if they please, that the world has not advanced inknowledge for the last three centuries, and so get up and cry aloud tous out of obsolete horn-books; but the community laugh at them. Everybody else is inquiring into first principles, while they are dogmatisingon a forty-ninth proposition. The Irish themselves, as they ought to do, care more for their pastors than for the Pope; and if any body wishes toknow what is thought of his Holiness at head-quarters, let him consultthe remarkable and admirable pamphlet which has lately issued from thepen of Mr. Mazzini. [3] I have the pleasure of knowing excellent RomanCatholics; I have suffered in behalf of their emancipation, and would doso again to-morrow; but I believe that if even their external form ofChristianity has any chance of survival three hundred years hence, itwill have been owing to the appearance meanwhile of some extraordinaryman in power, who, in the teeth of worldly interests, or rather incharitable and sage inclusion of them, shall have proclaimed that thetime had arrived for living in the flower of Christian charity, insteadof the husks and thorns which may have been necessary to guard it. If itwere possible for some new and wonderful Pope to make this change, anddraw a line between these two Christian epochs, like that between theOld and New Testaments, the world would feel inclined to prostrateitself again and for ever at the feet of Rome. In a catholic stateof things like that, delighted should I be, for one, to be among thehumblest of its communicants. How beautiful would their organs be then!how ascending to an unperplexing Heaven their incense! how unselfishtheir salvation! how intelligible their talk about justice and love! Itwould be far more easy, however, for the Church of England to do thisthan the Church of Rome; since the former would not feel itself hamperedwith pretensions to infallibility. A Church once reformed, may reformitself again and again, till it remove every blemish in the way of itsperfection. And God grant this may be the lot of the Church of my nativecountry. Its beautiful old ivied places of worship would then wantno harmony of accordance with its gentle and tranquil scenery; nocompleteness of attraction to the reflecting and the kind. 

But if Charity (and by Charity I do not mean mere toleration, or anyother pretended right to permit others to have eyes like ourselves, butwhatever the delightful Greek word implies of good and lovely), if thistruly and only divine consummation of all Christian doctrine be notthought capable of taking a form of belief "strong" enough, apart fromthreats that revolt alike the heart and the understanding, Superstitionmust look out for some new mode of dictation altogether; for the worldis outgrowing the old. 

 * * * * *

I cannot, in gratitude for the facilities afforded to myself, as wellas for a more obvious and public reason, dismiss this Preface withoutcongratulating men of letters on the establishment and increasingprosperity of the _London Library_, an institution founded for thepurpose of accommodating subscribers with such books, at their ownhouses, as could only be consulted hitherto at the British Museum. Thesole objection to the Museum is thus done away, and the literary worldhas a fair prospect of possessing two book-institutions instead of one, each with its distinct claims to regard, and presenting in combinationall that the student can wish; for while it is highly desirable thatauthors should be able to have standard works at their command, whensickness or other circumstances render it impossible for them to go tothe Museum, it is undoubtedly requisite that one great collection shouldexist in which they are sure to find the same works unremoved, in caseof necessity, --not to mention curious volumes of all sorts, manuscripts, and a world of books of reference. 

[Footnote 1: "It is probable that a prose translation would give abetter idea of the genius and manner of this poet than any metricalone. " Vol. I. P. 310. ]

[Footnote 2: _Discorsi sopra la Prinza Deca di Tito Livio_, lib. Iii. Cap. I. At p. 230 of the present volume I have too hastily calledSt. Dominic the "founder of the Inquisition. " It is generally conceded, Ibelieve, by candid Protestant inquirers, that he was not; whatever zealin the foundation and support of the tribunal may have been manifestedby his order. But this does not acquit him of the cruelty for which hehas been praised by Dante. He joined in the sanguinary persecution ofthe Albigenses. ]

[Footnote: 3 It is entitled, "_Italy, Austria, and the Pope_;" andis full, not only of the eloquence of zeal, and of evidencesof intellectual power, but of the most curious and instructiveinformation. ]

CONTENTS

OF

THE FIRST VOLUME. 

 * * * * *

DANTE. 

CRITICAL NOTICE OF HIS LIFE AND GENIUS

THE ITALIAN PILGRIMS PROGRESS

I. The Journey through Hell II. Purgatory. III. Heaven

PULCI. 

CRITICAL NOTICE OF HIS LIFE AND GENIUS

HUMOURS OF GIANTS

THE BATTLE OF RONCESVALLES

APPENDIX. 

I. Story of Paulo and Francesca. Translation. 

II. Accounts given by different writers of the circumstances relating toPaulo and Francesca; concluding with the only facts ascertained. 

III. Story of Ugolino. Translation. Real Story of Ugolino, and Chaucer'sfeeling respecting the Poem. 

IV. Picture of Florence in the time of Dante's Ancestors. Translation. 

V. The Monks and the Giants

VI. Passages in the Battle of Roncesvalles. 

DANTE

Critical Notice

OF

DANTE'S LIFE AND GENIUS. [1]

Dante was a very great poet, a man of the strongest passions, a claimantof unbounded powers to lead and enlighten the world; and he lived in asemi-barbarous age, as favourable to the intensity of his imagination, as it was otherwise to the rest of his pretensions. Party zeal, and thefluctuations of moral and critical opinion, have at different periodsover-rated and depreciated his memory; and if, in the following attemptto form its just estimate, I have found myself compelled, in someimportant respects, to differ with preceding writers, and to protest inparticular against his being regarded as a proper teacher on any onepoint, poetry excepted, and as far as all such genius and energy cannotin some degree help being, I have not been the less sensible of thewonderful nature of that genius, while acting within the circle to whichit belongs. Dante was indeed so great a poet, and at the same timeexhibited in his personal character such a mortifying exception to whatwe conceive to be the natural wisdom and temper of great poets; inother words, he was such a bigoted and exasperated man, and sulliedhis imagination with so much that is contradictory to good feeling, inmatters divine as well as human; that I should not have thought myselfjustified in assisting, however humbly, to extend the influence of hiswritings, had I not believed a time to have arrived, when the communitymay profit both from the marvels of his power and the melancholyabsurdity of its contradictions. 

Dante Alighieri, who has always been known by his Christian rather thansurname (partly owing to the Italian predilection for Christian names, and partly to the unsettled state of patronymics in his time), was theson of a lawyer of good family in Florence, and was born in that city onthe 14th of May 1265 (sixty-three years before the birth of Chaucer). The stock is said to have been of Roman origin, of the race of theFrangipani; but the only certain trace of it is to Cacciaguida, aFlorentine cavalier of the house of the Elisei, who died in theCrusades. Dante gives an account of him in his _Paradiso_. [2]Cacciaguida married a lady of the Alighieri family of the Valdipado;and, giving the name to one of his children, they subsequently retainedit as a patronymic in preference to their own. It would appear, from thesame poem, not only that the Alighieri were the more important house, but that some blot had darkened the scutcheon of the Elisei; perhapstheir having been poor, and transplanted (as he seems to imply) fromsome disreputable district. Perhaps they were known to have been ofignoble origin; for, in the course of one of his most philosophicaltreatises, he bursts into an extraordinary ebullition of ferocityagainst such as adduce a knowledge of that kind as an argument against afamily's acquired nobility; affirming that such brutal stuff should beanswered not with words, but with the dagger. [3]

The Elisei, however, must have been of some standing; for Macchiavelli, in his History of Florence, mentions them in his list of the earlyGuelph and Ghibelline parties, where the side which they take isdifferent from that of the poet's immediate progenitors. [4] The arms ofthe Alighieri (probably occasioned by the change in that name, for itwas previously written Aldighieri) are interesting on account of theirpoetical and aspiring character. They are a golden wing on a fieldazure. [5]

It is generally supposed that the name Dante is an abbreviation ofDurante; but this is not certain, though the poet had a nephew socalled. Dante is the name he goes by in the gravest records, inlaw-proceedings, in his epitaph, in the mention of him put by himselfinto the mouth of a blessed spirit. Boccaccio intimates that he waschristened Dante, and derives the name from the ablative case of _dans_(giving)--a probable etymology, especially for a Christian appellation. As an abbreviation of Durante, it would correspond in familiarity withthe Ben of Ben Jonson--a diminutive that would assuredly not have beenused by grave people on occasions like those mentioned, though a wit ofthe day gave the masons a shilling to carve "O rare Ben Jonson!" on hisgrave stone. On the other hand, if given at the font, the name of Benwould have acquired all the legal gravity of Benjamin. In the EnglishNavy List, not long ago, one of our gallant admirals used to figure as"Billy Douglas. "

Of the mother of Dante nothing is known except that she was his father'ssecond wife, and that her Christian name was Bella, or perhaps surnameBello. It might, however, be conjectured, from the remarkable and onlyopportunity which our author has taken of alluding to her, that hederived his disdainful character rather from his mother than father. [6]The father appears to have died during the boyhood of his illustriousson. 

The future poet, before he had completed his ninth year, conceived aromantic attachment to a little lady who had just entered hers, and whohas attained a celebrity of which she was destined to know nothing. Thiswas the famous Beatrice Portinari, daughter of a rich Florentine whofounded more than one charitable institution. She married another man, and died in her youth; but retained the Platonical homage of her youngadmirer, living and dead, and became the heroine of his great poem. 

It is unpleasant to reduce any portion of a romance to the events ofordinary life; but with the exception of those who merely copy fromone another, there has been such a conspiracy on the part of Dante'sbiographers to overlook at least one disenchanting conclusion to bedrawn to that effect from the poet's own writings, that the probabletruth of the matter must here for the first time be stated. The case, indeed, is clear enough from his account of it. The natural tendenciesof a poetical temperament (oftener evinced in a like manner than theworld in general suppose) not only made the boy-poet fall in love, but, in the truly Elysian state of the heart at that innocent and adoringtime of life, made him fancy he had discovered a goddess in the objectof his love; and strength of purpose as well as imagination made himgrow up in the fancy. He disclosed himself, as time advanced, only byhis manner--received complacent recognitions in company from the younglady--offended her by seeming to devote himself to another (see the poemin the _Vita Nuova_, beginning "Ballata io vo")--rendered himself thesport of her and her young friends by his adoring timidity (see the 5thand 6th sonnets in the same work)--in short, constituted her a paragonof perfection, and enabled her, by so doing, to shew that she was none. He says, that finding himself unexpectedly near her one day in company, he trembled so, and underwent such change of countenance, that many ofthe ladies present began to laugh with her about him--"_si gabbavano dime_. " And he adds, in verse, "Con l'altre donne mia vista gabbate, E non pensate, donna, onde si mova Ch'io vi rassembri sì figura nova, Quando riguardo la vostra beltate, " &c. Son. 5. 

"You laugh with the other ladies to see how I look (literally, you mockmy appearance); and do not think, lady, what it is that renders me sostrange a figure at sight of your beauty. "

And in the sonnet that follows, he accuses her of preventing pity of himin others, by such "killing mockery" as makes him wish for death ("_lapietà, che 'l vostro gabbo recinde_, " &c. )[7]

Now, it is to be admitted, that a young lady, if she is not very wise, may laugh at her lover with her companions, and yet return his love, after her fashion; but the fair Portinari laughs and marries another. Some less melancholy face, some more intelligible courtship, triumphedover the questionable flattery of the poet's gratuitous worship; and theidol of Dante Alighieri became the wife of Messer Simone de' Bardi. Nota word does he say on that mortifying point. It transpired from a clausein her father's will. And yet so bent are the poet's biographers onleaving a romantic doubt in one's mind, whether Beatrice may not havereturned his passion, that not only do all of them (as far as I haveobserved) agree in taking no notice of these sonnets, but the authorof the treatise entitled _Dante and the Catholic Philosophy of theThirteenth Century_, "in spite" (as a critic says) "of the _Beatrice, his daughter, wife of Messer Simone de' Bardi_, of the paternal will, "describes her as dying in "all the lustre of virginity. " [8] Theassumption appears to be thus gloriously stated, as a counterpart to thenotoriety of its untruth. It must be acknowledged, that Dante himselfgave the cue to it by more than silence; for he not only vaunts heracquaintance in the next world, but assumes that she returns his love inthat region, as if no such person as her husband could have existed, oras if he himself had not been married also. This life-long pertinacityof will is illustrative of his whole career. 

Meantime, though the young poet's father had died, nothing was wantingon the part of his guardians, or perhaps his mother, to furnish him withan excellent education. It was so complete, as to enable him to becomemaster of all the knowledge of his time; and he added to this learningmore than a taste for drawing and music. He speaks of himself as drawingan angel in his tablets on the first anniversary of Beatrice's death. [9]One of his instructors was Brunetto Latini, the most famous scholar thenliving; and he studied both at the universities of Padua and Bologna. Ateighteen, perhaps sooner, he had shown such a genius for poetry asto attract the friendship of Guido Cavalcante, a young noble of aphilosophical as well as poetical turn of mind, who has retained areputation with posterity: and it was probably at the same time hebecame acquainted with Giotto, who drew his likeness, and with Casella, the musician, whom he greets with so much tenderness in the other world. 

Nor were his duties as a citizen forgotten. The year before Beatrice'sdeath, he was at the battle of Campaldino, which his countrymen gainedagainst the people of Arezzo; and the year after it he was present atthe taking of Caprona from the Pisans. It has been supposed that he oncestudied medicine with a view to it as a profession; but the conjectureprobably originated in nothing more than his having entered himself ofone of the city-companies (which happened to be the medical) for thepurpose of qualifying himself to accept office; a condition exacted ofthe gentry by the then democratic tendencies of the republic. It isasserted also, by an early commentator, that he entered the Franciscanorder of friars, but quitted it before he was professed; and, indeed, the circumstance is not unlikely, considering his agitated and impatientturn of mind. Perhaps he fancied that he had done with the world when itlost the wife of Simone de' Bardi. 

Weddings that might have taken place but do not, are like the reignsof deceased heirs-apparent; every thing is assumable in their favour, checked only by the histories of husbands and kings. Would the greatbut splenetic poet have made an angel and a saint of Beatrice, had hemarried her? He never utters the name of the woman whom he did marry. 

Gemma Donati was a kinswoman of the powerful family of that name. Itseems not improbable, from some passages in his works, that she was theyoung lady whom he speaks of as taking pity on him on account of hispassion for Beatrice;[10] and in common justice to his feelings as a manand a gentleman, it is surely to be concluded, that he felt some sortof passion for his bride, if not of a very spiritual sort; though heafterwards did not scruple to intimate that he was ashamed of it, andBeatrice is made to rebuke him in the other world for thinking ofany body after herself. [11] At any rate, he probably roused what wasexcitable in his wife's temper, with provocations from his own; for thenature of the latter is not to be doubted, whereas there is nothing buttradition to shew for the bitterness of hers. Foscolo is of opinionthat the tradition itself arose simply from a rhetorical flourish ofBoccaccio's, in his Life of Dante, against the marriages of men ofletters; though Boccaccio himself expressly adds, that he knows nothingto the disadvantage of the poet's wife, except that her husband, afterquitting Florence, would never either come where she was, or sufferher to come to him, mother as she was by him of so many children;--astatement, it must be confessed, not a little encouraging to thetradition. [12] Be this as it may, Dante married in his twenty-sixthyear; wrote an adoring account of his first love (the _Vita Nuova_) inhis twenty-eighth; and among the six children which Gemma brought him, had a daughter whom he named Beatrice, in honour, it is understood, ofthe fair Portinari; which surely was either a very great compliment, orno mean trial to the temper of the mother. 

We shall see presently how their domestic intercourse was interrupted, and what absolute uncertainty there is respecting it, except as far asconclusions may be drawn from his own temper and history. 

Italy, in those days, was divided into the parties of Guelphs andGhibellines; the former, the advocates of general church-ascendancyand local government; the latter, of the pretensions of the Emperor ofGermany, who claimed to be the Roman Cæsar, and paramount over thePope. In Florence, the Guelphs had for a long time been so triumphant asto keep the Ghibellines in a state of banishment. Dante was born andbred a Guelph: he had twice borne arms for his country against Ghibellineneighbours; and now, at the age of thirty-five, in the ninth of hismarriage, and last of his residence with his wife, he was appointed chiefof the temporary administrators of affairs, called Priors;--functionarieswho held office only for two months. 

Unfortunately, at that moment, his party had become subdivided into thefactions of the Whites and Blacks, or adherents of two different sidesin a dispute that took place in Pistoia. The consequences becomingserious, the Blacks proposed to bring in, as mediator, the FrenchPrince, Charles of Valois, then in arms for the Pope against theEmperor; but the Whites, of whom Dante was one, were hostile to themeasure; and in order to prevent it, he and his brother magistratesexpelled for a time the heads of both factions, to the satisfaction ofneither. The Whites accused them of secretly leaning to the Ghibellines, and the Blacks of openly favouring the Whites; who being, indeed, allowed to come back before their time, on the alleged ground of theunwholesomeness of their place of exile, which was fatal to Dante'sfriend Cavalcante, gave a colour to the charge. Dante answered it bysaying, that he had then quitted office; but he could not shew that hehad lost his influence. Meantime, Charles was still urged to interfere, and Dante was sent ambassador to the Pope to obtain his disapprobationof the interference; but the Pope (Boniface the Eighth), who hadprobably discovered that the Whites had ceased to care for any thing buttheir own disputes, and who, at all events, did not like their objectionto his representative, beguiled the ambassador and encouraged the Frenchprince; the Blacks, in consequence, regained their ascendancy; andthe luckless poet, during his absence, was denounced as a corruptadministrator of affairs, guilty of peculation; was severelymulcted; banished from Tuscany for two years; and subsequently, forcontumaciousness, was sentenced to be _burnt alive_, in case he returnedever. He never did return. 

From that day forth, Dante never beheld again his home or his wife. Herrelations obtained possession of power, but no use was made of it exceptto keep him in exile. He had not accorded with them; and perhaps halfthe secret of his conjugal discomfort was owing to politics. It is theopinion of some, that the married couple were not sorry to part; othersthink that the wife remained behind, solely to scrape together whatproperty she could, and bring up the children. All that is known is, that she never lived with him more. 

Dante now certainly did what his enemies had accused him of wishing todo: he joined the old exiles whom he had helped to make such, the partyof the Ghibellines. He alleges, that he never was really of any partybut his own; a naïve confession, probably true in one sense, consideringhis scorn of other people, his great intellectual superiority, and thelarge views he had for the whole Italian people. And, indeed, he soonquarrelled in private with the individuals composing his new party, however stanch he apparently remained to their cause. His formerassociates he had learnt to hate for their differences with him and fortheir self-seeking; he hated the Pope for deceiving him; he hatedthe Pope's French allies for being his allies, and interfering withFlorence; and he had come to love the Emperor for being hated by themall, and for holding out (as he fancied) the only chance of reunitingItaly to their confusion, and making her the restorer of himself, andthe mistress of the world. 

With these feelings in his heart, no money in his purse, and no place inwhich to lay his head, except such as chance-patrons afforded him, he now began to wander over Italy, like some lonely lion of a man, "grudging in his great disdain. " At one moment he was conspiring andhoping; at another, despairing and endeavouring to conciliate hisbeautiful Florence: now again catching hope from some new movement ofthe Emperor's; and then, not very handsomely threatening and re-abusingher; but always pondering and grieving, or trying to appease histhoughts with some composition, chiefly of his great work. It isconjectured, that whenever anything particularly affected him, whetherwith joy or sorrow, he put it, hot with the impression, into his"sacred poem. " Every body who jarred against his sense of right or hisprejudices he sent to the infernal regions, friend or foe: the strangestpeople who sided with them (but certainly no personal foe) he exaltedto heaven. He encouraged, if not personally assisted, two ineffectualattempts of the Ghibellines against Florence; wrote, besides his greatwork, a book of mixed prose and poetry on "Love and Virtue" (the_Convito_, or Banquet); a Latin treatise on Monarchy (_de Monarchia_), recommending the "divine right" of the Emperor; another in two parts, and in the same language, on the Vernacular Tongue (_de VulgariEloquio_); and learnt to know meanwhile, as he affectingly tells us, "how hard it was to climb other people's stairs, and how salt the tasteof bread is that is not our own. " It is even thought not improbable, from one awful passage of his poem, that he may have "placed himself insome public way, " and, "stripping his visage of all shame, and tremblingin his very vitals, " have stretched out his hand "for charity" [13]--animage of suffering, which, proud as he was, yet considering how great aman, is almost enough to make one's common nature stoop down for pardonat his feet; and yet he should first prostrate himself at the feet ofthat nature for his outrages on God and man. Several of the princes andfeudal chieftains of Italy entertained the poet for a while in theirhouses; but genius and worldly power, unless for worldly purposes, findit difficult to accord, especially in tempers like his. There must begreat wisdom and amiableness on both sides to save them from jealousyof one another's pretensions. Dante was not the man to give and take insuch matters on equal terms; and hence he is at one time in a palace, and at another in a solitude. Now he is in Sienna, now in Arezzo, now inBologna; then probably in Verona with Can Grande's elder brother; then(if we are to believe those who have tracked his steps) in Casentino;then with the Marchese Moroello Malaspina in Lunigiana; then with thegreat Ghibelline chieftain Faggiuola in the mountains near Urbino; thenin Romagna, in Padua, in _Paris_ (arguing with the churchmen), some sayin Germany, and at _Oxford_; then again in Italy; in Lucca (where he issupposed to have relapsed from his fidelity to Beatrice in favour ofa certain "Gentucca"); then again in Verona with the new prince, thefamous Can Grande (where his sarcasms appear to have lost him a doubtfulhospitality); then in a monastery in the mountains of Umbria; in Udine;in Ravenna; and there at length he put up for the rest of his life withhis last and best friend, Guido Novello da Polenta, not the father, butthe nephew of the hapless Francesca. 

It was probably in the middle period of his exile, that in one of themoments of his greatest longing for his native country, he wrote thataffecting passage in the _Convito_, which was evidently a direct effortat conciliation. Excusing himself for some harshness and obscurity inthe style of that work, he exclaims, "Ah! would it had pleased theDispenser of all things that this excuse had never been needed;that neither others had done me wrong, nor myself undergone penaltyundeservedly--the penalty, I say, of exile and of poverty. For itpleased the citizens of the fairest and most renowned daughter ofRome--Florence--to cast me out of her most sweet bosom, where I wasborn, and bred, and passed half of the life of man, and in which, withher good leave, I still desire with all my heart to repose my wearyspirit, and finish the days allotted me; and so I have wandered inalmost every place to which our language extends, a stranger, almost abeggar, exposing against my will the wounds given me by fortune, toooften unjustly imputed to the sufferer's fault. Truly I have been avessel without sail and without rudder, driven about upon differentports 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, bysome better report had conceived of me a different impression, and inwhose sight not only has my person become thus debased, but an unworthyopinion created of every thing which I did, or which I had to do. " [14]

How simply and strongly written! How full of the touching yetundegrading commiseration which adversity has a right to take uponitself, when accompanied with the consciousness of manly endeavour and agood motive! How could such a man condescend at other times to rage withabuse, and to delight himself in images of infernal torment!

The dates of these fluctuations of feeling towards his native city arenot known; but it is supposed to have been not very long before hisabode with Can Grande that he received permission to return to Florence, on conditions which he justly refused and resented in the followingnoble letter to a kinsman. The old spelling of the original (in thenote) is retained as given by Foscolo in the article on "Dante" in the_Edinburgh Review_ (vol. XXX. No. 60); and I have retained also, withlittle difference, the translation which accompanies it:

"From your letter, which I received with due respect and affection, Iobserve how much you have at heart my restoration to my country. I ambound to you the more gratefully, inasmuch as an exile rarely finds afriend. But after mature consideration, I must, by my answer, disappointthe wishes of some little minds; and I confide in the judgment to whichyour impartiality and prudence will lead you. Your nephew and mine haswritten to me, what indeed had been mentioned by many other friends, that, by a decree concerning the exiles, I am allowed to return toFlorence, provided I pay a certain sum of money, and submit to thehumiliation of asking and receiving absolution: wherein, my father, Isee two propositions that are ridiculous and impertinent. I speak of theimpertinence of those who mention such conditions to me; for in yourletter, dictated by judgment and discretion, there is no such thing. Issuch an invitation, then, to return to his country glorious to d. All. (Dante Allighieri), after suffering in exile almost fifteen years? Is itthus they would recompense innocence which all the world knows, andthe labour and fatigue of unremitting study? Far from the man who isfamiliar with philosophy be the senseless baseness of a heart of earth, that could act like a little sciolist, and imitate the infamy of someothers, by offering himself up as it were in chains: far from the manwho cries aloud for justice, this compromise by his money with hispersecutors. No, my father, this is not the way that shall lead me backto my country. I will return with hasty steps, if you or any other canopen to me a way that shall not derogate from the fame and honour of d. (Dante); but if by no such way Florence can be entered, then Florence Ishall never enter. What! shall I not everywhere enjoy the light of thesun and stars? and may I not seek and contemplate, in every corner ofthe earth, under the canopy of heaven, consoling and delightful truth, without first rendering myself inglorious, nay infamous, to the peopleand republic of Florence? Bread, I hope, will not fail me. " [15]

Had Dante's pride and indignation always vented themselves in this trulyexalted manner, never could the admirers of his genius have refused himtheir sympathy; and never, I conceive, need he either have brought hisexile upon him, or closed it as he did. To that close we have now come, and it is truly melancholy and mortifying. Failure in a negotiation withthe Venetians for his patron, Guido Novello, is supposed to have beenthe last bitter drop which made the cup of his endurance run over. Hereturned from Venice to Ravenna, worn out, and there died, after fifteenyears' absence from his country, in the year 1231, aged fifty-seven. Hislife had been so agitated, that it probably would not have lasted solong, but for the solace of his poetry, and the glory which he knew itmust produce him. Guido gave him a sumptuous funeral, and intended togive him a monument; but such was the state of Italy in those times, that he himself died in exile the year after. The monument, however, andone of a noble sort, was subsequently bestowed by the father of CardinalBembo, in 1483; and another, still nobler, as late as 1780, by CardinalGonzaga. His countrymen, in after years, made two solemn applicationsfor the removal of his dust to Florence; but the just pride of theRavennese refused them. 

Of the exile's family, three sons died young; the daughter went into anunnery; and the two remaining brothers, who ultimately joined theirfather in his banishment, became respectable men of letters, and leftfamilies in Ravenna; where the race, though extinct in the male line, still survives through a daughter, in the noble house of SeregoAlighieri. No direct descent of the other kind from poets of formertimes is, I believe, known to exist. 

The manners and general appearance of Dante have been minutely recorded, and are in striking agreement with his character. Boccaccio and othernovelists are the chief relaters; and their accounts will be receivedaccordingly with the greater or less trust, as the reader considers themprobable; but the author of the Decameron personally knew some of hisfriends and relations, and he intermingles his least favourable reportswith expressions of undoubted reverence. The poet was of middle height, of slow and serious deportment, had a long dark visage, large piercingeyes, large jaws, an aquiline nose, a projecting under-lip, and thickcurling hair--an aspect announcing determination and melancholy. Thereis a sketch of his countenance, in his younger days, from the immaturebut sweet pencil of Giotto; and it is a refreshment to look at it, though pride and discontent, I think, are discernible in its lineaments. It is idle, and no true compliment to his nature, to pretend, as hismere worshippers do, that his face owes all its subsequent gloom andexacerbation to external causes, and that he was in every respect thepoor victim of events--the infant changed at nurse by the wicked. Whatcame out of him, he must have had in him, at least in the germ; and soinconsistent was his nature altogether, or, at any rate, such an epitomeof all the graver passions that are capable of co-existing, both sweetand bitter, thoughtful and outrageous, that one is sometimes tempted tothink he must have had an angel for one parent, and--I shall leave hisown toleration to say what--for the other. 

To continue the account of his manners and inclinations: He dressed witha becoming gravity; was temperate in his diet; a great student; seldomspoke, unless spoken to, but always to the purpose; and almost all theanecdotes recorded of him, except by himself, are full of pride andsarcasm. He was so swarthy, that a woman, as he was going by a door inVerona, is said to have pointed him out to another, with a remarkwhich made the saturnine poet smile--"That is the man who goes to hellwhenever he pleases, and brings back news of the people there. " On whichher companion observed--"Very likely; don't you see what a curly beard hehas, and what a dark face? owing, I dare say, to the heat and smoke. " Hewas evidently a passionate lover of painting and music--is thought tohave been less strict in his conduct with regard to the sex than mightbe supposed from his platonical aspirations--(Boccaccio says, that evena goitre did not repel him from the pretty face of a mountaineer)--couldbe very social when he was young, as may be gathered from the sonnetaddressed to his friend Cavalcante about a party for a boat--and thoughhis poetry was so intense and weighty, the laudable minuteness of abiographer has informed us, that his hand-writing, besides being neatand precise, was of a long and particularly thin character: "meagre" ishis word. 

There is a letter, said to be nearly coeval with his time, and to bewritten by the prior of a monastery to a celebrated Ghibelline leader, afriend of Dante's, which, though hitherto accounted apocryphal by most, has such an air of truth, and contains an image of the poet in his exileso exceedingly like what we conceive of the man, that it is difficultnot to believe it genuine, especially as the handwriting has lately beendiscovered to be that of Boccaccio. [16] At all events, I am sure thereader will not be sorry to have the substance of it. The writer says, that he perceived one day a man coming into the monastery, whom none ofits inmates knew. He asked him what he wanted; but the stranger sayingnothing, and continuing to gaze on the building as though contemplatingits architecture, the question was put a second time; upon which, looking round on his interrogators, he answered, "_Peace_!" The prior, whose curiosity was strongly excited, took the stranger apart, anddiscovering who he was, shewed him all the attention becoming his fame;and then Dante took a little book out of his bosom, aid observing thatperhaps the prior had not seen it, expressed a wish to leave it with hisnew friend as a memorial. It was "a portion, " he said, "of his work. "The prior received the volume with respect; and politely opening it atonce, and fixing his eyes on the contents, in order, it would seem, to shew the interest he took in it, appeared suddenly to check someobservation which they suggested. Dante found that his reader wassurprised at seeing the work written in the vulgar tongue instead ofLatin. He explained, that he wished to address himself to readers of allclasses; and concluded with requesting the prior to add some notes, withthe spirit of which he furnished him, and then forward it (transcribed, I presume, by the monks) to their common friend, the Ghibellinechieftain--a commission, which, knowing the prior's intimacy with thatpersonage, appears to have been the main object of his coming to theplace[17]. 

This letter has been adduced as an evidence of Dante's poem havingtranspired during his lifetime: a thing which, in the teeth ofBoccaccio's statement to that effect, and indeed the poet's owntestimony[18], Foscolo holds to be so impossible, that he turns theevidence against the letter. He thinks, that if such bitter invectiveshad been circulated, a hundred daggers would have been sheathed in thebosom of the exasperating poet[19]. But I cannot help being of opinion, with some writer whom I am unable at present to call to mind (Schlegel, I think), that the strong critical reaction of modern times in favourof Dante's genius has tended to exaggerate the idea conceived of him inrelation to his own. That he was of importance, and bitterly hated inhis native city, was a distinction he shared with other partisans whohave obtained no celebrity, though his poetry, no doubt, must haveincreased the bitterness; that his genius also became more and more feltout of the city, by the few individuals capable of estimating a man ofletters in those semi-barbarous times, may be regarded as certain; butthat busy politicians in general, war-making statesmen, and princesconstantly occupied in fighting for their existence with one another, were at all alive either to his merits or his invectives, or would haveregarded him as anything but a poor wandering scholar, solacing hisfoolish interference in the politics of this world with the old clericalthreats against his enemies in another, will hardly, I think, be doubtedby any one who reflects on the difference between a fame accumulated byages, and the living poverty that is obliged to seek its bread. A writeron a monkish subject may have acquired fame with monks, and even witha few distinguished persons, and yet have been little known, and lesscared for, out of the pale of that very private literary public, whichwas almost exclusively their own. When we read, now-a-days, of the greatpoet's being so politely received by Can Grande, lord of Verona, andsitting at his princely table, we are apt to fancy that nothing buthis great poetry procured him the reception, and that nobody presentcompeted with him in the eyes of his host. But, to say nothing of thedifferent kinds of retainers that could sit at a prince's table in thosedays, Can, who was more ostentatious than delicate in his munificence, kept a sort of caravansera for clever exiles, whom he distributed intolodgings classified according to their pursuits;[20] and Dante onlyshared his bounty with the rest, till the more delicate poet could nolonger endure either the buffoonery of his companions, or the amusementderived from it by the master. On one occasion, his platter is slilyheaped with their bones, which provokes him to call them dogs, as havingnone to shew for their own. Another time, Can Grande asks him how it isthat his companions give more pleasure at court than himself; to whichhe answers, "Because like loves like. " He then leaves the court, and hisdisgusted superiority is no doubt regarded as a pedantic assumption. 

He stopped long nowhere, except with Guido Novello; and when thatprince, whose downfal was at hand, sent him on the journey abovementioned to Venice, the senate (whom the poet had never offended) wereso little aware of his being of consequence, that they declined givinghim an audience. He went back, and broke his heart. Boccaccio says, thathe would get into such passions with the very boys and girls in thestreet, who plagued him with party-words, as to throw stones at them--athing that would be incredible, if persons acquainted with his great butultra-sensitive nation did not know what Italians could do in all ages, from Dante's own age down to the times of Alfieri and Foscolo. Itwould be as difficult, from the evidence of his own works and of theexasperation he created, to doubt the extremest reports of his irascibletemper, as it would be not to give implicit faith to his honesty. Thecharge of peculation which his enemies brought against this great poet, the world has universally scouted with an indignation that does ithonour. He himself seems never to have condescended to allude to it;and a biographer would feel bound to copy his silence, had not theaccusation been so atrociously recorded. But, on the other hand, whocan believe that a man so capable of doing his fellow-citizens good andhonour, would have experienced such excessive enmity, had he not carriedto excess the provocations of his pride and scorn? His whole historygoes to prove it, not omitting the confession he makes of pride as hischief sin, and the eulogies he bestows on the favourite vice of theage--revenge. His Christianity (at least as shewn in his poem) was notthat of Christ, but of a furious polemic. His motives for changing hisparty, though probably of a mixed nature, like those of most humanbeings, may reasonably be supposed to have originated in somethingbetter than interest or indignation. He had most likely not agreedthoroughly with any party, and had become hopeless of seeing disputebrought to an end, except by the representative of the Cæsars. Theinconsistency of the personal characters of the popes with the sacredclaims of the chair of St. Peter, was also calculated greatly to disgusthim; but still his own infirmities of pride and vindictivenessspoiled all; and when he loaded every body else with reproach for themisfortunes of his country, he should have recollected that, had his ownfaults been kept in subjection to his understanding, he might possiblyhave been its saviour. Dante's modesty has been asserted on the groundof his humbling himself to the fame of Virgil, and at the feet ofblessed spirits; but this kind of exalted humility does not repay aman's fellow-citizens for lording it over them with scorn and derision. We learn from Boccaccio, that when he was asked to go ambassadorfrom his party to the pope, he put to them the following useless andmortifying queries--"If I go, who is to stay?--and if I stay, who is togo?" [21] Neither did his pride make him tolerant of pride in others. A neighbour applying for his intercession with a magistrate, who hadsummoned him for some offence, Dante, who disliked the man for riding inan overbearing manner along the streets (stretching out his legs as wideas he could, and hindering people from going by), did intercede with themagistrate, but it was in behalf of doubling the fine in considerationof the horsemanship. The neighbour, who was a man of family, was soexasperated, that Sacchetti the novelist says it was the principal causeof Dante's expatriation. This will be considered the less improbable, if, as some suppose, the delinquent obtained possession of his derider'sconfiscated property; but, at all events, nothing is more likely tohave injured him. The bitterest animosities are generally of a personalnature; and bitter indeed must have been those which condemned a man ofofficial dignity and of genius to such a penalty as the stake. [22]

That the Florentines of old, like other half-Christianised people, werecapable of any extremity against an opponent, burning included, wasproved by the fates of Savonarola and others; and that Dante himselfcould admire the burners is evident from his eulogies and beatificationof such men as Folco and St. Dominic. The tragical as well as "fantastictricks" which

 "Man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, "

plays with his energy and bad passions under the guise of duty, is amongthe most perplexing of those spectacles, which, according to a greaterunderstanding than Dante's, "make the angels weep. " (Dante, by the way, has introduced in his heaven no such angels as those; though he hasplenty that scorn and denounce. ) Lope de Vega, though a poet, was anofficer of the Inquisition, and joined the famous Armada that was comingto thumb-screw and roast us into his views of Christian meekness. Whether the author of the story of _Paulo and Francesca_ could havecarried the Dominican theories into practice, had he been the banisherinstead of the banished, is a point that may happily be doubted; but atall events he revenged himself on his enemies after their own fashion;for he answered their decree of the stake by putting them into hell. 

Dante entitled the saddest poem in the world a Comedy, because it waswritten 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, beginning with hell (to some), it terminated with "heaven" (toothers). As well might they have said, that a morning's work in theInquisition ended happily, because, while people were being racked inthe dungeons, the officers were making merry in the drawing-room. Forthe much-injured epithet of "Divine, " Dante's memory is not responsible. He entitled his poem, arrogantly enough, yet still not with that impietyof arrogance, "The Comedy of Dante Alighieri, a Florentine by nation butnot by habits. " The word "divine" was added by some transcriber; and itheaped absurdity on absurdity, too much of it, alas! being literallyinfernal tragedy. I am not speaking in mockery, any further than thefact itself cannot help so speaking. I respect what is to be respectedin Dante; I admire in him what is admirable; would love (if hisinfernalities would let me) what is loveable; but this must not hinderone of the human race from protesting against what is erroneous in hisfame, when it jars against every best feeling, human and divine. Mr. Cary thinks that Dante had as much right to avail himself of "thepopular creed in all its extravagance" as Homer had of his gods, orShakspeare of his fairies. But the distinction is obvious. Homer did notpersonally identify himself with a creed, or do his utmost to perpetuatethe worst parts of it in behalf of a ferocious inquisitorial church, andto the risk of endangering the peace of millions of gentle minds. 

The great poem thus misnomered is partly a system of theology, partly anabstract of the knowledge of the day, but chiefly a series of passionateand imaginative pictures, altogether forming an account of the author'stimes, his friends, his enemies, and himself, written to vent the spleenof his exile, and the rest of his feelings, good and bad, and to reformchurch and state by a spirit of resentment and obloquy, which highlyneeded reform itself. It has also a design strictly self-referential. The author feigns, that the beatified spirit of his mistress hasobtained leave to warn and purify his soul by shewing him the state ofthings in the next world. She deputes the soul of his master Virgilto conduct him through hell and purgatory, and then takes him herselfthrough the spheres of heaven, where Saint Peter catechises and confirmshim, and where he is finally honoured with sights of the Virgin Mary, ofChrist, and even a glimpse of the Supreme Being!

His hell, considered as a place, is, to speak geologically, a mostfantastical formation. It descends from beneath Jerusalem to the centreof the earth, and is a funnel graduated in circles, each circle being aseparate place of torment for a different vice or its co-ordinates, andthe point of the funnel terminating with Satan stuck into ice. Purgatoryis a corresponding mountain on the other side of the globe, commencingwith the antipodes of Jerusalem, and divided into exterior circles ofexpiation, which end in a table-land forming the terrestrial paradise. From this the hero and his mistress ascend by a flight, exquisitelyconceived, to the stars; where the sun and the planets of the Ptolemaicsystem (for the true one was unknown in Dante's time) form a series ofheavens for different virtues, the whole terminating in the empyrean, orregion 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 soconfused in those days, and books were so rare, and the Latin poets heldin such invincible reverence, that Dante, in one and the same poem, speaks of the false gods of Paganism, and yet retains much of its lowermythology; nay, invokes Apollo himself at the door of paradise. Therewas, perhaps, some mystical and even philosophical inclusion of thepast in this medley, as recognising the constant superintendence ofProvidence; but that Dante partook of what may be called the literarysuperstition of the time, even for want of better knowledge, is clearfrom the grave historical use he makes of poetic fables in his treatiseon Monarchy, and in the very arguments which he puts into the mouths ofsaints and apostles. There are lingering feelings to this effect evennow among the peasantry of Italy; where, the reader need not be told, Pagan customs of all sorts, including religious and most reverend ones, are existing under the sanction of other names;--heathenisms christened. A Tuscan postilion, once enumerating to me some of the native poets, concluded his list with Apollo; and a plaster-cast man over here, inLondon, appeared much puzzled, when conversing on the subject with afriend of mine, how to discrepate Samson from Hercules. 

Dante accordingly, while, with the frightful bigotry of the schools, heputs the whole Pagan world into hell-borders (with the exception of twoor three, whose salvation adds to the absurdity), mingles the hell ofVirgil with that of Tertullian and St. Dominic; sets Minos at the dooras judge; retains Charon in his old office of boatman over the Stygianlake; puts fabulous people with real among the damned, Dido, and Cacus, and Ephialtes, with Ezzelino and Pope Nicholas the Fifth; and associatesthe Centaurs and the Furies with the agents of diabolical torture. Ithas pleased him also to elevate Cato of Utica to the office of warder ofpurgatory, though the censor's poor good wife, Marcia, is detained inthe regions below. By these and other far greater inconsistencies, the whole place of punishment becomes a _reductio ad absurdum_, asridiculous as it is melancholy; so that one is astonished how so great aman, and especially a man who thought himself so far advanced beyond hisage, and who possessed such powers of discerning the good and beautiful, could endure to let his mind live in so foul and foolish a region forany length of time, and there wreak and harden the unworthiest of hispassions. Genius, nevertheless, is so commensurate with absurditythroughout the book, and there are even such sweet and balmy as well assublime pictures in it occasionally, nay often, that not only willthe poem ever be worthy of admiration, but when those increasingpurifications of Christianity which our blessed reformers began, shallfinally precipitate the whole dregs of the author into the mythology towhich they belong, the world will derive a pleasure from it to an amountnot to be conceived till the arrival of that day. Dante, meantime, withan impartiality which has been admired by those who can approve theassumption of a theological tyranny at the expense of common feelingand decency, has put friends as well as foes into hell: tutors of hischildhood, kinsmen of those who treated him hospitably, even the fatherof his beloved friend, Guido Cavalcante--the last for not believing in aGod: therein doing the worst thing possible in behalf of the belief, andtotally differing both with the pious heathen Plutarch, and the greatChristian philosopher Bacon, who were of opinion that a contumeliousbelief is worse than none, and that it is far better and more pious tobelieve in "no God at all, " than in a God who would "eat his childrenas soon as they were born. " And Dante makes him do worse; for the wholeunbaptised infant world, Christian as well as Pagan, is in his Tartarus. 

Milton has spoken of the "milder shades of Purgatory;" and truly theypossess great beauties. Even in a theological point of view they aresomething like a bit of Christian refreshment after the horrors of the_Inferno_. The first emerging from the hideous gulf to the sight of theblue serenity of heaven, is painted in a manner inexpressibly charming. So is the sea-shore with the coming of the angel; the valley, with theangels in green; the repose at night on the rocks; and twenty otherpictures of gentleness and love. And yet, special and great has been theescape of the Protestant world from this part of Roman Catholic belief;for Purgatory is the heaviest stone that hangs about the neck of theold and feeble in that communion. Hell is avoidable by repentance; butPurgatory, what modest conscience shall escape? Mr. Cary, in a note on apassage in which Dante recommends his readers to think on what followsthis expiatory state, rather than what is suffered there, [23] looks uponthe poet's injunction as an "unanswerable objection to the doctrine ofpurgatory, " it being difficult to conceive "how the best can meet deathwithout horror, if they believe it must be followed by immediate andintense suffering. " Luckily, assent is not belief; and mankind'sfeelings are for the most part superior to their opinions; otherwisethe world would have been in a bad way indeed, and nature not beenvindicated of her children. But let us watch and be on our guard againstall resuscitations of superstition. 

As to our Florentine's Heaven, it is full of beauties also, thoughsometimes of a more questionable and pantomimical sort than is to befound in either of the other books. I shall speak of some of thempresently; but the general impression of the place is, that it is noheaven at all. He says it is, and talks much of its smiles and itsbeatitude; but always excepting the poetry--especially the similesbrought from the more heavenly earth--we realise little but afantastical assemblage of doctors and doubtful characters, far moreangry and theological than celestial; giddy raptures of monks andinquisitors dancing in circles, and saints denouncing popes andFlorentines; in short, a heaven libelling itself with invectives againstearth, and terminating in a great presumption. Many of the people putthere, a Calvinistic Dante would have consigned to the "other place;"and some, if now living, would not be admitted into decent society. Atthe beginning of one of the cantos, the poet congratulates himself, with a complacent superiority, on his being in heaven and occupied withcelestial matters, while his poor fellow-creatures are wandering andblundering on earth. But he had never got there! A divine--worthy ofthat name--of the Church of England (Dr. Whichcote), has beautifullysaid, that "heaven is first a temper, and then a place. " According tothis truly celestial topography, the implacable Florentine had notreached its outermost court. Again, his heavenly mistress, Beatrice, besides being far too didactic to sustain the womanly part of hercharacter properly, alternates her smiles and her sarcasms in a way thatjars horribly against the occasional enchantment of her aspect. She doesnot scruple to burst into taunts of the Florentines in the presence ofJesus himself; and the spirit of his ancestor, Cacciaguida, in the verybosom of Christian bliss, promises him revenge on his enemies! Is thisthe kind of zeal that is to be exempt from objection in a man whoobjected to all the world? or will it be thought a profaneness againstsuch profanity, to remind the reader of the philosopher in Swift, who"while gazing on the stars, was betrayed by his lower parts into aditch!"

The reader's time need not be wasted with the allegorical and othermystical significations given to the poem; still less on the questionwhether Beatrice is theology, or a young lady, or both; and least of allon the discovery of the ingenious Signor Rossetti, that Dante and allthe other great old Italian writers meant nothing, either by theirmistresses or their mythology, but attacks on the court of Rome. Sufficeit, that besides all other possible meanings, Dante himself has told usthat his poem has its obvious and literal meaning; that he means a spadeby a spade, purgatory by purgatory, and truly and unaffectedly to devotehis friends to the infernal regions whenever he does so. I confess Ithink it is a great pity that Guido Cavalcante did not live to read thepoem, especially the passage about his father. The understanding ofGuido, who had not the admiration for Virgil that Dante had (very likelyfor reasons that have been thought sound in modern times), was in allprobability as good as that of his friend in many respects, and perhapsmore so in one or two; and modern criticism might have been saved someof its pains of objection by the poet's contemporary. 

The author did not live to publish, in any formal manner, hisextraordinary poem, probably did not intend to do so, except under thosecircumstances of political triumph which he was always looking for; butas he shewed portions of it to his friends, it was no doubt talked ofto a certain extent, and must have exasperated such of his enemies asconsidered him worth their hostility. No wonder they did all they couldto keep him out of Florence. What would they have said of him, couldthey have written a counter poem? What would even his friends have saidof him? for we see in what manner he has treated even those; and yet howcould he possibly know, with respect either to friends or enemies, whatpassed between them and their consciences? or who was it that gavehim his right to generate the boasted distinction between an author'sfeelings as a man and his assumed office as a theologian, and paradethe latter at the former's expense? His own spleen, hatred, and avowedsentiments of vengeance, are manifest throughout the poem; and there isthis, indeed, to be said for the moral and religious inconsistenciesboth of the man and his verse, that in those violent times the spiritof Christian charity, and even the sentiment of personal shame, were solittle understood, that the author in one part of it is made to blush bya friend for not having avenged him; and it is said to have been thoughta compliment to put a lady herself into hell, that she might be talkedof, provided it was for something not odious. An admirer of thisinfernal kind of celebrity, even in later times, declared that he wouldhave given a sum of money (I forget to what amount) if Dante had butdone as much for one of his ancestors. It has been argued, that in allthe parties concerned in these curious ethics there is a generous loveof distinction, and a strong craving after life, action, and sympathyof some kind or other. Granted; there are all sorts of half-good, half-barbarous feelings in Dante's poem. Let justice be done to thegood half; but do not let us take the ferocity for wisdom and piety; orpretend, in the complacency of our own freedom from superstition, to seeno danger of harm to the less fortunate among our fellow-creatures inthe support it receives from a man of genius. Bedlams have been filledwith such horrors; thousands, nay millions of feeble minds are sufferingby them or from them, at this minute, all over the world. Dante's bestcritic, Foscolo, has said much of the heroical nature of the age inwhich the poet lived; but he adds, that its mixture of knowledge andabsurdity is almost inexplicable. The truth is, that like everythingelse which appears harsh and unaccountable in nature, it was an excessof the materials for good, working in an over-active and inexperiencedmanner; but knowing this, we are bound, for the sake of the good, notto retard its improvement by ignoring existing impieties, or blindourselves to the perpetuating tendencies of the bigotries of great men. Oh! had the first indoctrinators of Christian feeling, while enlistingthe "divine Plato" into the service of diviner charity, only kept thelatter just enough in mind to discern the beautiful difference betweenthe philosopher's unmalignant and improvable evil, and their ownmalignant and eternal one, what a world of folly and misery they mighthave saved us! But as the evil has happened, let us hope that even thisform of it has had its uses. If Dante thought it salutary to the worldto maintain a system of religious terror, the same charity which canhope that it may once have been so, has taught us how to commence abetter. But did he, after all, or did he not, think it salutary? Didhe think so, believing the creed himself? or did he think it from anunwilling sense of its necessity? Or, lastly, did he write only as amythologist, and care for nothing but the exercise of his spleen andgenius? If he had no other object than that, his conscientiousness wouldbe reduced to a low pitch indeed. Foscolo is of opinion he was not onlyin earnest, but that he was very near taking himself for an apostle, andwould have done so had his prophecies succeeded, perhaps with success tothe pretension. [24] Thank heaven, his "Hell" has not embittered the mildreading-desks of the Church of England. 

If King George the Third himself, with all his arbitrary notions, andwilling religious acquiescence, could not endure the creed of St. Athanasius with its damnatory enjoinments of the impossible, what wouldhave been said to the inscription over Dante's hell-gate, or theaccount of Ugolino eating an archbishop, in the gentle chapels of QueenVictoria? May those chapels have every beauty in them, and every air ofheaven, that painting and music can bestow--divine gifts, not unworthyto be set before their Divine Bestower; but far from them be kept thefoul fiends of inhumanity and superstition!

It is certainly impossible to get at a thorough knowledge of theopinions of Dante even in theology; and his morals, if judged accordingto the received standard, are not seldom puzzling. He rarely thinks asthe popes do; sometimes not as the Church does: he is lax, for instance, on the subject of absolution by the priest at death. [25] All you can besure of is, the predominance of his will, the most wonderful poetry, andthe notions he entertained of the degrees of vice and virtue. Towardsthe errors of love he is inclined to be so lenient (some think becausehe had indulged in them himself), that it is pretty clear he would nothave put Paulo and Francesca into hell, if their story had not beentoo recent, and their death too sudden, to allow him to assume theirrepentance in the teeth of the evidence required. He avails himself oforthodox license to put "the harlot Rahab" into heaven ("cette bonnefille de Jericho, " as Ginguéné calls her); nay, he puts her into theplanet Venus, as if to compliment her on her profession; and one of hercompanions there is a fair Ghibelline, sister of the tyrant Ezzelino, alady famous for her gallantries, of whom the poet good-naturedly says, that she "was overcome by her star"--to wit, the said planet Venus; andyet he makes her the organ of the most unfeminine triumphs over theGuelphs. But both these ladies, it is to be understood, repented--forthey had time for repentance; their good fortune saved them. Poormurdered Francesca had no time to repent; therefore her mischance washer damnation! Such are the compliments theology pays to the Creator. In fact, nothing is really punished in Dante's Catholic hell butimpenitence, deliberate or accidental. No delay of repentance, howeverdangerous, hinders the most hard-hearted villain from reaching hisheaven. The best man goes to hell for ever, if he does not think he hassinned as Dante thinks; the worst is beatified, if he agrees with him:the only thing which every body is sure of, is some dreadful durationof agony in purgatory--the great horror of Catholic death beds. Protestantism may well hug itself on having escaped it. O Luther!vast was the good you did us. O gentle Church of England! let nothingpersuade you that it is better to preach frightful and foolish ideas ofGod from your pulpits, than loving-kindness to all men, and peace aboveall things. 

If Dante had erred only on the side of indulgence, humanity could easilyhave forgiven him--for the excesses of charity are the extensions ofhope; but, unfortunately, where he is sweet-natured once, he is bitter ahundred times. This is the impression he makes on universalists of allcreeds and parties; that is to say, on men who having run the wholeround of sympathy with their fellow-creatures, become the only finaljudges of sovereign pretension. It is very well for individuals tomake a god of Dante for some encouragement of their own position orpretension; but a god for the world at large he never was, or can be;and I doubt if an impression to this effect was not always, from thevery dawn of our literature, the one entertained of him by the geniusof our native country, which could never long endure any kind ofunwarrantable dictation. Chaucer evidently thought him a man who wouldspare no unnecessary probe to the feelings (see the close of his versionof _Ugolino_). Spenser says not a word of him, though he copied Tasso, and eulogised Ariosto. Shakspeare would assuredly have put him intothe list of those presumptuous lookers into eternity who "_take uponthemselves to know" (Cymbeline_, act v. Sc. 4). Milton, in his sonnetto Henry Lawes, calls him "that sad Florentine"--a lamenting epithet, by which we do not designate a man whom we desire to resemble. Thehistorian of English poetry, admirably applying to him a passage out ofMilton, says that "Hell grows darker at his frown. " [26]

Walter Scott could not read him, at least not with pleasure. He tellsMiss Seward that the "plan" of the poem appeared to him "unhappy;the personal malignity and strange mode of revenge presumptuous anduninteresting. " [27] Uninteresting, I think, it is impossible to considerit. The known world is there, and the unknown pretends to be there; andboth are surely interesting to most people. 

Landor, in his delightful book the _Pentameron_--a book full of theprofoundest as well as sweetest humanity--makes Petrarch follow upBoccaccio's eulogies of the episode of Paulo and Francesca withebullitions of surprise and horror:

"_Petrarca_. Perfection of poetry! The greater is my wonder atdiscovering nothing else of the same order or cast in this whole sectionof the poem. He who fainted at the recital of Francesca, 'And he who fell as a dead body falls'

would exterminate all the inhabitants of every town in Italy! Whatexecrations against Florence, Pistoia, Pisa, Siena, Genoa! what hatredagainst the whole human race! what exultation and merriment at eternaland immitigable sufferings! Seeing this, I cannot but consider the_Inferno_ as the most immoral and impious book that ever was written. Yet, hopeless that our country shall ever see again such poetry, andcertain that without it our future poets would be more feebly urgedforward to excellence, I would have dissuaded Dante from cancelling it, if this had been his intention. " [28]

Most happily is the distinction here intimated between theundesirableness of Dante's book in a moral and religious point of view, and the greater desirableness of it, nevertheless, as a pattern ofpoetry; for absurdity, however potent, wears itself out in the end, andleaves what is good and beautiful to vindicate even so foul an origin. 

Again, Petrarch says, "What an object of sadness and of consternation, he who rises up from hell like a giant refreshed!

"_Boccaccio_. Strange perversion! A pillar of smoke by day and of fireby night, to guide no one. Paradise had fewer wants for him to satisfythan hell had, all which he fed to repletion; but let us rather look tohis poetry than his temper. "

See also what is said in that admirable book further on (p. 50), respecting the most impious and absurd passage in all Dante's poem, theassumption about Divine Love in the inscription over hell-gate--one ofthose monstrosities of conception which none ever had the effrontery topretend to vindicate, except theologians who profess to be superior tothe priests of Moloch, and who yet defy every feeling of decency andhumanity for the purpose of explaining their own worldly, frightened, or hard-hearted submission to the mistakes of the most wretchedunderstandings. Ugo Foscolo, an excellent critic where his own temperand violence did not interfere, sees nothing but jealousy in Petrarch'sdislike of Dante, and nothing but Jesuitism in similar feelingsentertained by such men as Tiraboschi. But all gentle and consideratehearts must dislike the rage and bigotry in Dante, even were it true (asthe Dantesque Foscolo thinks) that Italy will never be regenerated tillone-half of it is baptised in the blood of the other![29] Such men, withall their acuteness, are incapable of seeing what can be effected bynobler and serener times, and the progress of civilisation. They fancy, no doubt, that they are vindicating the energies of Nature herself, andthe inevitable necessity of "doing evil that good may come. " But Dantein so doing violated the Scripture he professed to revere; and men mustnot assume to themselves that final knowledge of results, which is theonly warrant of the privilege, and the possession of which is to bearrogated by no earthly wisdom. One calm discovery of science may doaway with all the boasted eternal necessities of the angry and theself-idolatrous. The passions that may be necessary to savages are notbound to remain so to civilised men, any more than the eating of man'sflesh or the worship of Jugghernaut. When we think of the wonderfulthings lately done by science for the intercourse of the world, andthe beautiful and tranquil books of philosophy written by men of equalenergy and benevolence, and opening the peacefulest hopes for mankind, and views of creation to which Dante's universe was a nutshell, --sucha vision as that of his poem (in a theological point of view) seems nobetter than the dream of an hypochondriacal savage, and his nutshell arottenness to be spit out of the mouth. 

Heaven send that the great poet's want of charity has not made myselfpresumptuous and uncharitable! But it is in the name of society Ispeak; and words, at all events, now-a-days are not the terrible, stake-preceding things they were in his. Readers in general, however--even those of the literary world--have little conception ofthe extent to which Dante carries either his cruelty or his abuse. Theformer (of which I shall give some examples presently) shews appallinghabits of personal resentment; the latter is outrageous to a pitch ofthe ludicrous--positively screaming. I will give some specimens of itout of Foscolo himself, who collects them for a different purpose;though, with all his idolatry of Dante, he was far from being insensibleto his mistakes. 

"The people of Sienna, " according to this national and Christian poet, were "a parcel of cox-combs; those of Arezzo, dogs; and of Casentino, hogs. Lucca made a trade of perjury. Pistoia was a den of beasts, andought to be reduced to ashes; and the river Arno should overflow anddrown every soul in Pisa. Almost all the women in Florence walkedhalf-naked in public, and were abandoned in private. Every brother, husband, son, and father, in Bologna, set their women to sale. In allLombardy were not to be found three men who were not rascals; and inGenoa and Romagna people went about pretending to be men, but in realitywere bodies inhabited by devils, their souls having gone to the 'lowestpit of hell' to join the betrayers of their friends and kinsmen. " [30]

So much for his beloved countrymen. As for foreigners, particularlykings, "Edward the First of England, and Robert of Scotland, were acouple of grasping fools; the Emperor Albert was an usurper; Alphonsothe Second, of Spain, a debauchee; the King of Bohemia a coward;Frederick of Arragon a coward and miser; the Kings of Portugal andNorway forgers; the King of Naples a man whose virtues were expressedby a unit, and his vices by a million; and the King of France, thedescendant of a Paris butcher, and of progenitors who poisoned St. Thomas Aquinas, their descendants conquering with the arms of Judasrather than of soldiers, and selling the flesh of their daughters to oldmen, in order to extricate themselves from a danger. " [31]

When we add to these invectives, damnations of friends as well as foes, of companions, lawyers, men of letters, princes, philosophers, popes, pagans, innocent people as well as guilty, fools and wise, capable andincapable, men, women, and children, --it is really no better than a kindof diabolical sublimation of Lord Thurlow's anathemas in the _Rolliad_, which begins with

 "Damnation seize ye all;"

and ends with

 "Damn them beyond what mortal tongue can tell, Confound, sink, plunge them all to deepest blackest hell. " [32]

In the gross, indeed, this is ridiculous enough. 

No burlesque can beat it. But in the particular, one is astonished andsaddened at the cruelties in which the poet allows his imagination toriot horrors generally described with too intense a verisimilitude notto excite our admiration, with too astounding a perseverance not toamaze our humanity, and sometimes with an amount of positive joyand delight that makes us ready to shut the book with disgust andindignation. Thus, in a circle in hell, where traitors are stuck upto their chins in ice (canto xxxii. ), the visitor, in walking about, happens to give one of their faces a kick; the sufferer weeps, andthen curses him--with such infernal truth does the writer combine themalignant with the pathetic! Dante replies to the curse by asking theman his name. He is refused it. He then seizes the miserable wretchby the hair, in order to force him to the disclosure; and Virgil isrepresented as commending the barbarity![33] But he does worse. Tobarbarity he adds treachery of his own. He tells another poor wretch, whose face is iced up with his tears, as if he had worn a crystal vizor, that if he will disclose his name and offence, he will relieve his eyesawhile, _that he may weep_. The man does so; and the ferocious poetthen refuses to perform his promise, adding mockery to falsehood, andobserving that ill manners are the only courtesy proper to wards sucha fellow![34] It has been conjectured, that Macchiavelli apparentlyencouraged the enormities of the princes of his time, with a design toexpose them to indignation. It might have been thought of Dante, if hehad not taken a part in the cruelty, that he detailed the horrors of hishell out of a wish to disgust the world with its frightful notions ofGod. This is certainly the effect of the worst part of his descriptionsin an age like the present. Black burning gulfs, full of outcriesand blasphemy, feet red-hot with fire, men eternally eating theirfellow-creatures, frozen wretches malignantly dashing their iced headsagainst one another, other adversaries mutually exchanging shapes byforce of an attraction at once irresistible and loathing, and spittingwith hate and disgust when it is done--Enough, enough, for God's sake!Take the disgust out of one's senses, O flower of true Christian wisdomand charity, now beginning to fill the air with fragrance!

But it will be said that Dante did all this out of his hate of crueltyitself, and of treachery itself. Partly no doubt he did; and entirely hethought he did. But see how the notions of such retribution react uponthe judge, and produce in him the bad passions he punishes. It is truethe punishments are imaginary. Were a human being actually to see suchthings, he must be dehumanised or he would cry out against them withhorror and detestation. But the poem draws them as truths; the writer'screed threatened them; he himself contributed to maintain the belief;and however we may suppose such a belief to have had its use in givingalarm to ruffian passions and barbarously ignorant times, an age arriveswhen a beneficent Providence permits itself to be better understood, anddissipates the superfluous horror. 

Many, indeed, of the absurdities of Dante's poem are too obviousnow-a-days to need remark. Even the composition of the poem, egotistically said to be faultless by such critics as Alfieri, whothought they resembled him, partakes, as every body's style does, of thefaults as well as good qualities of the man. It is nervous, concise, full almost as it can hold, picturesque, mighty, primeval; but it isoften obscure, often harsh, and forced in its constructions, defectivein melody, and wilful and superfluous in the rhyme. Sometimes, also, the writer is inconsistent in circumstance (probably from not havingcorrected the poem); and he is not above being filthy. Even in theepisode of Paulo and Francesca, which has so often been pronouncedfaultless, and which is unquestionably one of the most beautifulpieces of writing in the world, some of these faults are observable, particularly in the obscurity of the passage about _tolta forma_, thecessation of the incessant tempest, and the non-adjuration of the twolovers in the manner that Virgil prescribes. 

But truly it is said, that when Dante is great, nobody surpasses him. Idoubt if anybody equals him, as to the constant intensity and incessantvariety of his pictures; and whatever he paints, he throws, as it were, upon its own powers; as though an artist should draw figures thatstarted into life, and proceeded to action for themselves, frighteningtheir creator. Every motion, word, and look of these creatures becomesfull of sensibility and suggestions. The invisible is at the back of thevisible; darkness becomes palpable; silence describes a character, nay, forms the most striking part of a story; a word acts as a flash oflightning, which displays some gloomy neighbourhood, where a tower isstanding, with dreadful faces at the window; or where, at your feet, full of eternal voices, one abyss is beheld dropping out of another inthe lurid light of torment. In the present volume a story will be foundwhich tells a long tragedy in half-a-dozen lines. Dante has theminute probabilities of a Defoe in the midst of the loftiest and mostgeneralising poetry; and this feeling of matter-of-fact is impressed byfictions the most improbable, nay, the most ridiculous and revolting. You laugh at the absurdity; you are shocked at the detestable cruelty;yet, for the moment, the thing almost seems as if it must be true. Youfeel as you do in a dream, and after it;--you wake and laugh, but theabsurdity seemed true at the time; and while you laugh you shudder. 

Enough of this crueller part of his genius has been exhibited; but it isseldom you can have the genius without sadness. In the circle of hell, soothsayers walk along weeping, with their faces turned the wrong way, so that their tears fall between their shoulders. The picture is stillmore dreadful. Warton thinks it ridiculous. But I cannot help feelingwith the poet, that it is dreadfully pathetic. It is the last mortifyinginsult to human pretension. Warton, who has a grudge against Dantenatural to a man of happier piety, thinks him ridiculous also indescribing the monster Geryon lying upon the edge of one of the gulfsof hell "like a beaver" (canto xvii. ). He is of opinion that the writeronly does it to shew his knowledge of natural history. But surely theidea of so strange and awful a creature (a huge mild-faced man ending ina dragon's body) lying familiarly on the edge of the gulf, as a beaverdoes by the water, combines the supernatural with the familiar in a veryimpressive manner. It is this combination of extremes which is the lifeand soul of the whole poem; you have this world in the next; the samepersons, passions, remembrances, intensified by superhuman despairsor beatitudes; the speechless entrancements of bliss, the purgatorialtrials of hope and patience; the supports of hate and anger (such asthey are) in hell itself; nay, of loving despairs, and a self-pity madeunboundedly pathetic by endless suffering. Hence there it no love-storyso affecting as that of Paulo and Francesca thus told and perpetuated inanother world; no father's misery so enforced upon us as Ugolino's, who, for hundreds of years, has not grown tired of the revenge to which itwrought him. Dante even puts this weight and continuity of feeling intopassages of mere transient emotion or illustration, unconnected with thenext world; as in the famous instance of the verses about evening, andmany others which the reader will meet with in this volume. Indeed, ifpathos and the most impressive simplicity, and graceful beauty of allkinds, and abundant grandeur, can pay (as the reader, I believe, willthink it does even in a prose abstract), for the pangs of moral discordand absurdity inflicted by the perusal of Dante's poem, it may challengecompetition with any in point of interest. His Heaven, it is true, though containing both sublime and lovely passages, is not so good ashis Earth. The more unearthly he tried to make it, the less heavenlyit became. When he is content with earth in heaven itself, -when heliteralises a metaphor, and with exquisite felicity finds himself_arrived there_ in consequence of fixing his eyes on the eyes ofBeatrice, then he is most celestial. But his endeavours to expressdegrees of beatitude and holiness by varieties of flame and light, --ofdancing lights, revolving lights, lights of smiles, of stars, of starrycrosses, of didactic letters and sentences, of animal figures made up ofstars full of blessed souls, with saints _forming an eagle's beak_ andDavid in its _eye!_--such superhuman attempts become for the most parttricks of theatrical machinery, on which we gaze with little curiosityand no respect. 

His angels, however, are another matter. Belief was prepared for thosewinged human forms, and they furnished him with some of his mostbeautiful combinations of the natural with the supernatural. Ginguénéhas remarked the singular variety as well as beauty of Dante's angels. Milton's, indeed, are commonplace in the comparison. In the eighth cantoof the _Inferno_, the devils insolently refuse the poet and his guide anentrance into the city of Dis:--an angel comes sweeping over the Stygianlake to enforce it; the noise of his wings makes the shores tremble, andis like a crashing whirlwind such as beats down the trees and sends thepeasants and their herds flying before it. The heavenly messenger, afterrebuking the devils, touches the portals of the city with his wand; theyfly open; and he returns the way he came without uttering a word to thetwo companions. His face was that of one occupied with other thoughts. This angel is announced by a tempest. Another, who brings the souls ofthe departed to Purgatory, is first discovered at a distance, graduallydisclosing white splendours, which are his wings and garments. He comesin a boat, of which his wings are the sails; and as he approaches, it isimpossible to look him in the face for its brightness. Two other angelshave green wings and green garments, and the drapery is kept in motionlike a flag by the vehement action of the wings. A fifth has a face likethe morning star, casting forth quivering beams. A sixth is of a lustreso oppressive, that the poet feels a weight on his eyes before he knowswhat is coming. Another's presence affects the senses like the fragranceof a May-morning; and another is in garments dark as cinders, but hasa sword in his hand too sparkling to be gazed at. Dante's occasionalpictures of the beauties of external nature are worthy of these angeliccreations, and to the last degree fresh and lovely. You long to batheyour eyes, smarting with the fumes of hell, in his dews. You gazeenchanted on his green fields and his celestial blue skies, the more sofrom the pain and sorrow in midst of which the visions are created. 

Dante's grandeur of every kind is proportionate to that of his angels, almost to his ferocity; and that is saying every thing. It is notalways the spiritual grandeur of Milton, the subjection of the materialimpression to the moral; but it is equally such when he chooses, andfar more abundant. His infernal precipices--his black whirlwinds--hisinnumerable cries and claspings of hands--his very odours of hugeloathsomeness--his giants at twilight standing up to the middle in pits, like towers, and causing earthquakes when they move--his earthquake ofthe mountain in Purgatory, when a spirit is set free for heaven--hisdignified Mantuan Sordello, silently regarding him and his guide as theygo by, "like a lion on his watch"--his blasphemer, Capaneus, lying inunconquered rage and sullenness under an eternal rain of flakes of fire(human precursor of Milton's Satan)--his aspect of Paradise, "as if theuniverse had smiled"--his inhabitants of the whole planet Saturn cryingout _so loud_, in accordance with the anti-papal indignation of SaintPietro Damiano, that the poet, though among them, _could not hear whatthey said_--and the blushing eclipse, like red clouds at sunset, whichtakes place at the apostle Peter's denunciation of the sanguinary filthof the court of Rome--all these sublimities, and many more, make us notknow whether to be more astonished at the greatness of the poet or theraging littleness of the man. Grievous is it to be forced to bring twosuch opposites together; and I wish, for the honour and glory of poetry, I did not feel compelled to do so. But the swarthy Florentine had notthe healthy temperament of his brethren, and he fell upon evil times. Compared with Homer and Shakspeare, his very intensity seems onlysuperior to theirs from an excess of the morbid; and he is inferior toboth in other sovereign qualities of poetry--to the one, in giving youthe healthiest general impression of nature itself--to Shakspeare, inboundless universality--to most great poets, in thorough harmony anddelightfulness. He wanted (generally speaking) the music of a happy anda happy-making disposition. Homer, from his large vital bosom, breatheslike a broad fresh air over the world, amidst alternate storm andsunshine, making you aware that there is rough work to be faced, butalso activity and beauty to be enjoyed. The feeling of health andstrength is predominant. Life laughs at death itself, or meets it witha noble confidence--is not taught to dread it as a malignant goblin. Shakspeare has all the smiles as well as tears of nature, and discernsthe "soul of goodness in things evil. " He is comedy as well astragedy--the entire man in all his qualities, moods, and experiences;and he beautifies all. And both those truly divine poets make naturetheir subject through her own inspiriting medium--not throughthe darkened glass of one man's spleen and resentment. Dante, inconstituting himself the hero of his poem, not only renders her, in thegeneral impression, as dreary as himself, in spite of the occasionalbeautiful pictures he draws of her, but narrows her very immensity intohis pettiness. He fancied, alas, that he could build her universe overagain out of the politics of old Rome and the divinity of the schools!

Dante, besides his great poem, and a few Latin eclogues of no greatvalue, wrote lyrics full of Platonical sentiment, some of whichanticipated the loveliest of Petrarch's; and he was the author ofvarious prose works, political and philosophical, all more or lessmasterly for the time in which he lived, and all coadjutors of hispoetry in fixing his native tongue. His account of his Early Life (the_Vita Nuova_) is a most engaging history of a boyish passion, evidentlyas real and true on his own side as love and truth can be, whatevermight be its mistake as to its object. The treatise on the VernacularTongue (_de Vulgari Eloquio_) shews how critically he considered hismaterials for impressing the world, and what a reader he was of everyproduction of his contemporaries. The Banquet (_Convito_) is but anabstruse commentary on some of his minor poems; but the book on Monarchy(_de Monarchia_) is a compound of ability and absurdity, in which hisgreat genius is fairly overborne by the barbarous pedantry of the age. It is an argument to prove that the world must all be governed by oneman; that this one man must be the successor of the Roman Emperor--Godhaving manifestly designed the world to be subject for ever to the Romanempire; and lastly, that this Emperor is equally designed by God to beindependent of the Pope--spiritually subject to him, indeed, but so faronly as a good son is subject to the religious advice of his father;and thus making Church and State happy for ever in the two dividedsupremacies. And all this assumption of the obsolete and impossible theauthor gravely proves in all the forms of logic, by arguments drawn fromthe history of Æneas, and the providential cackle of the Roman geese!

How can the patriots of modern Italy, justified as they are in extollingthe poet to the skies, see him plunge into such depths of bigotry in hisverse and childishness in his prose, and consent to perplex the friendsof advancement with making a type of their success out of so erringthough so great a man? Such slavishness, even to such greatness, is apoor and unpromising thing, compared with an altogether unprejudicedand forward-looking self-reliance. To have no faith in names has beenannounced as one of their principles; and "God and Humanity" is theirmotto. What, therefore, has Dante's name to do with their principles? orwhat have the semi-barbarisms of the thirteenth century to do with thefinal triumph of "God and Humanity?" Dante's lauded wish for that unionof the Italian States, which his fame has led them so fondly to identifywith their own, was but a portion of his greater and prouder wish to seethe whole world at the feet of his boasted ancestress, Rome. Not, of course, that he had no view to what he considered good and justgovernment (for what sane despot purposes to rule without that?); buthis good and just government was always to be founded on the _sine quanon_ principle of universal Italian domination. [35]

All that Dante said or did has its interest for us in spite of hiserrors, 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 preposterouspolitician, a cruel theologian; but his wonderful imagination, and(considering the bitterness that was in him) still more wonderfulsweetness, have gone into the hearts of his fellow-creatures, and willremain there in spite of the moral and religious absurdities with whichthey are mingled, and of the inability which the best-natured readersfeel to associate his entire memory, as a poet, with their usualpersonal delight in a poet and his name. 

[Footnote 1: As notices of Dante's life have often been little butrepetitions of former ones, I think it due to the painstaking characterof this volume to state, that besides consulting various commentatorsand critics, from Boccaccio to Fraticelli and others, I have diligentlyperused the _Vita di Dante_, by Cesare Balbo, with Rocco's annotations;the _Histoire Littéraire d'Italie, _ by Ginguéné; the _Discorso sul Testodella Commedia_, by Foscolo; the _Amori e Rime di Dante_ of Arrivabene;the _Veltro Allegorico di Dante_, by Troja; and Ozanam's _Dante et laPhilosophie Catholique an Treixième Siècle. _]

[Footnote 2: Canto xv. 88. ]

[Footnote 3: For the doubt apparently implied respecting the district, see canto xvi. 43, or the summary of it in the present volume. Thefollowing is the passage alluded to in the philosophical treatise"Risponder si vorrebbe, non colle parole, ma col coltello, a tantabestialità. " _Convito, --Opere Minori_, 12mo, Fir. 1834, vol. II. P. 432. "Beautiful mode" (says Perticeri in a note) "of settling questions. "]

[Footnote 4: _Istorie Fiorentine, II_. 43 (in _Tutte le Opere_, 4to, 1550). ]

[Footnote 5: The name has been varied into _Allagheri_, _Aligieri_, _Alleghieri_, _Alligheri_, _Aligeri_, with the accent generally on thethird, but sometimes on the second syllable. See Foscolo, _Discorso sulTesto, p_. 432. He says, that in Verona, where descendants of the poetsurvive, they call it _Alìgeri_. But names, like other words, oftenwander so far from their source, that it is impossible to ascertain it. Who would suppose that _Pomfret_ came from _Pontefract_, or _wig_ from_parrucca_? Coats of arms, unless in very special instances, provenothing but the whims of the heralds. 

Those who like to hear of anything in connexion with Dante or hisname, may find something to stir their fancies in the following grimsignifications of the word in the dictionaries:

"_Dante_, a kind of great wild beast in Africa, that hath a very hardskin. "--_Florio's Dictionary_, edited by Torreggiano. 

"_Dante_, an animal called otherwise the Great Beast. "--_Vocabolariodella Crusca, Compendiato_, Ven. 1729. ]

[Footnote 6: See the passage in "Hell, " where Virgil, to express hisenthusiastic approbation of the scorn and cruelty which Dante chews toone of the condemned, embraces and kisses him for a right "disdainfulsoul, " and blesses the "mother that bore him. "]

[Footnote 7: _Opere minori_, vol iii 12. Flor. 1839, pp. 292 &c. ]

[Footnote 8: "Béatrix quitta la terre dans tout l'éclat de la jeunesseet de la virginité. " See the work as above entitled, Paris, 1840, p. 60. The words in Latin, as quoted from the will by the critic alluded to inthe _Foreign Quarterly Review_ (No. _ 65, art. _Dante Allighieri_), are, "Bici filiæ suæ et uxori D. (Domini) Simonis de Bardis. " "Bici" isthe Latin dative case of Bice, the abbreviation of Beatrice. Thisemployment, by the way, of an abbreviated name in a will, may seem togo counter to the deductions respecting the name of Dante. And itmay really do so. Yet a will is not an epitaph, nor the address of abeatified spirit; neither is equal familiarity perhaps implied, as amatter of course, in the abbreviated names of male and female. ]

[Footnote 9: _Vita Nuova_. Ut sup. P. 343]

[Footnote 10: _Vita Nuova_, p. 345. ]

[Footnote 11: In the article on _Dante, in_ the _Foreign QuarterlyReview_, (ut supra), the exordium of which made me hope that theeloquent and assumption-denouncing writer was going to supply a goodfinal account of his author, equally satisfactory for its feelingand its facts, but which ended in little better than the customarygratuitousness of wholesale panegyric, I was surprised to find theunion with Gemma Donati characterised as "calm and cold, --rather theaccomplishment of a social duty than the result of an irresistibleimpulse of the heart, " p. 15. The accomplishment of the "social duty" isan assumption, not very probable with regard to any body, and much lessso in a fiery Italian of twenty-six; but the addition of the epithets, "calm and cold, " gives it a sort of horror. A reader of this article, evidently the production of a man of ability but of great wilfulness, istempted to express the disappointment it has given him in plainer termsthan might be wished, in consequence of the extraordinary license whichits writer does not scruple to allow to his own fancies, in expressinghis opinion of what he is pleased to think the fancies of others. ]

[Footnote 12: "Le invettive contr' essa per tanti secoli originaronodalla enumerazione rettorica del Boccaccio di tutti gli inconvenientidel matrimonio, e dove per altro ei dichiara, --'Certo io non affermoqueste cose a Dante essere avvenute, che non lo so; comechè vero sia, che o a simili cose a queste, o ad altro che ne fusse cagione, egli unavolta da lei partitosi, che per consolazione de' suoi affanni gli erastata data, mai nè dove ella fusse volle venire, nè sofferse che doveegli fusse ella venisse giammai, con tutto che di più figliuoli egliinsieme con lei fusse parente. " _Discorso sul Testo_, ut sup. Londra, Pickering, 1825, p. 184. ]

[Footnote 13: Foscolo, in the _Edinburgh review_, vol. Xxx. P. 351. ]

[Footnote 14: "Ahi piaciuto fosse al Dispensatore dell'universo, che lacagione della mia scusa mai non fosse stata; che nè altri contro a meavria fallato, nè io sofferto avrei pena ingiustamente; pena, dico, d'esilio e di povertà. Poichè fu piacere de' cittadini della bellissimae famosissima figlia di Roma, Florenza, di gettarmi fuori del suodolcissimo seno (nel quale nato e nudrito fui sino al colmo della miavita, e nel quale, con buona pace di quella, desidero con tutto il coredi riposare l'animo stanco, e terminare il tempo che m'è dato); per leparti quasi tutte, alle quali questa lingua si stende, peregrino, quasimendicando, sono andato, mostrando contro a mia voglia la piaga dellafortuna, che suole ingiustamente al piagato molte volte essere imputata. Veramente io sono stato legno sanza vela e sanza governo, portato adiversi porti e foci e liti dal vento secco che vapora la dolorosapovertà; e sono vile apparito agli occhi a molti, che forse per alcunafama in altra forma mi aveano immaginato; nel cospetto de' quali nonsolamente mia persona inviliò, ma di minor pregio si fece ogni opera, sigià fatta, come quella che fosse a fare. "-_Opere Minori_, ut sup. Vol. Ii. P. 20. ]

[Footnote 15: "In licteris vestris et reverentia debita et affectionereceptis, quam repatriatio mea cure sit vobis ex animo grata mente acdiligenti animaversione concepi, etenim tanto me districtius obligastis, quanto rarius exules invenire amicos contingit. Ad illam verosignificata respondeo: et si non eatenus qualiter forsam pusillanimitasappeteret aliquorum, ut sub examine vestri consilii ante judicium, affectuose deposco. Ecce igitur quod per licteras vestri mei: quenepotis, necnon aliorum quamplurium amicorum significatum est mihi. Perordinamentum nuper factum Florentie super absolutione bannitorum. Quodsi solvere vellem certam pecunie quantitatem, vellemque pati notamoblationis et absolvi possem et redire ut presens. In quo quidem duoridenda et male perconciliata sunt. Pater, dico male perconciliata perillos qui tali expresserunt: nam vestre litere discretius et consultiusclausulate nicil de talibus continebant. Estne ista revocatio gloriosaqua d. All. (i. E. _Dantes Alligherius_) revocatur ad patriam pertrilustrium fere perpessus exilium? becne meruit conscientia manifestaquibuslibet? hec sudor et labor continuatus in studiis? absit a virophilosophie domestica temeraria terreni cordis humilitas, ut morecujusdam cioli et aliorum infamiam quasi vinctus ipse se patiaturofferri. Absit a viro predicante justitiam, ut perpessus injuriaminferentibus. Velud benemerentibus, pecuniam suam solvat. Non est hecvia redeundi ad patriam, Pater mi, sed si alia per vos, aut deinde peralios invenietur que fame d. _(Dantis)_ que onori non deroget, illam nonlentis passibus acceptabo. Quod si per nullam talem Florentia introitur, nunquam Florentiam introibo. Quidni? nonne solis astrorumque speculaubique conspiciam? nonne dulcissimas veritates potero speculari ubiquesub celo, ni prius inglorium, imo ignominiosum populo, Florentinequecivitati am reddam? quippe panis non deficiet. "]

[Footnote 16: _Opere minori_, ut sup. Vol iii. P. 186. ]

[Footnote 17: _Veltro Allegorico di Dante_, ut sup. P. 208, where theAppendix contains the Latin original. ]

[Footnote 18: See Fraticelli's Dissertation on the Convito, in _OpereMinori_, ut sup. Vol. Ii. P. 560. ]

[Footnote 19: _Discorso sul Testo_, p. 54. ]

[Footnote 20: _Balbo_. Naples edition, p. 132. ]

[Footnote 21: "Di se stesso presunse maravigliosamente tanto, cheessendo egli glorioso nel colmo del reggimento della republica, eragionandosi trà maggiori cittadini di mandare, per alcuna gran bisogna, ambasciata a Bonifazio Papa VIII. , e che principe della ambasciata fosseDante, ed egli in ciò in presenzia di tutti quegli che ciò consigliavanorichiesto, avvenne, che soprastando egli alla risposta, alcun disse, chepensi? alle quali parole egli rispose: penso, se io vo, chi rimane; es'io rimango, chi va: quasi esso solo fosse colui che tra tutti valessee per cui tutti gli altri valessero. " And he goes on to say respectingthe stone-throwing--"Appresso, come che il nostro poeta nelle suaavversità paziente o no si fosse, in una fu impazientissimo: ed egliinfino al cominciamento del suo esilio stato guelfissimo, non essendogliaperta la via del ritornare in casa sua, si fuor di modo diventòghibellino, che ogni femminella, ogni picciol fanciullo, e quantevolte avesse voluto, ragionando di parte, e la guelfa proponendo allaghibellino, l'avrebbe non solamente fatto turbare, ma a tanta insaniacommosso, che se taciuto non fosse, a gittar le pietre l'avrebbecondotto. " (_Vita di Dante_, prefixed to the Paris edition of theCommedia, 1844, p. XXV. ) And then the "buon Boccaccio, " with hisaccustomed sweetness of nature, begs pardon of so great a man, for beingobliged to relate such things of him, and doubts whether his spirit maynot be looking down on him that moment _disdainfully_ from _heaven_!Such an association of ideas had Dante produced between the celestialand the scornful!]

[Footnote 22: _Novelle di Franco Sacchetti_, Milan edition, 1804, vol. Ii. P. 148. It forms the setting, or frame-work, of an inferior story, and is not mentioned in the heading. ]

[Footnote 23: _The Vision; or, Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, of DanteAlighieri, &c. _ Smith's edition, 1844, p. 90. ]

[Footnote 24: _Discorso sul Testo_, pp. 64, 77-90, 335-338. ]

[Footnote 25: _Purgatorio_, canto III. 118, 138; referred to by Foscolo, in the _Discorso sul Testo_, p. 383. ]

[Footnote 26: Warton's _History of English Poetry_, edition of 1840, vol. Iii. P. 214. ]

[Footnote 27: _Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott_, Bart. Vol. Ii. P. 122. ]

[Footnote 28: _Pentameron and Pentalogia_, pp. 44-50. ]

[Footnote 29: _Discorso sul Testo_, p. 226. The whole passage (sect. Cx. ) is very eloquent, horrible, and _self-betraying_. ]

[Footnote 30: _Discorso_, as above, p. 101. ]

[Footnote 31: _Discorso_, p. 103. ]

[Footnote 32: _Criticisms on the Rolliad, and Probationary Odes for the__Laureateship_. Third edit. 17S5, p. 317. ]

[Footnote 33: The writer of the article on Dante in the _ForeignQuarterly Review_ (as above) concedes that his hero in this passagebecomes "_almost_ cruel. " Almost! Tormenting a man further, who is up tohis chin in everlasting ice, and whose face he has kicked!]

[Footnote 34: "Cortesia fu lui esser villano. " _Inferno_, canto xxxiii. 150. ]

[Footnote 35: Every body sees this who is not wilfully blind. "Passionate, " says the editor of the _Opere Minori_, "for the ancientItalian glories, and the greatness of the Roman name, he was ofopinion that it was only by means of combined strength, and one commongovernment, that Italy could be finally secured from discord in its ownbosom and enemies from without, _and recover its ancient empire overthe whole world_. " "Amantissimo delle antiche glorie Italiane, e dellagrandezza del nome romano, ei considerava, che soltanto pel mezzo d'unageneral forza ed autorita poteva l'Italia dalle interne contese e dallestraniere invasioni restarsi sicura, _e recuperare l'antico imperiosopra tutte le genti_. "--Ut sup. Vol. Iii. P. 8. ]

THE ITALIAN PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

I. 

THE JOURNEY THROUGH HELL. 

Argument. 

The infernal regions, according to Dante, are situate in the globe weinhabit, directly beneath Jerusalem, and consist of a succession ofgulfs or circles, narrowing as they descend, and terminating in thecentre; so that the general shape is that of a funnel. Commentators havediffered as to their magnitude; but the latest calculation gives 315miles for the diameter of the mouth or crater, and a quarter of a milefor that of its terminating point. In the middle is the abyss, pervadingthe whole depth, and 245 miles in diameter at the opening; which reducesthe different platforms, or territories that surround it, to a sizecomparatively small. These territories are more or less varied with landand water, lakes, precipices, &c. A precipice, fourteen miles high, divides the first of them from the second. The passages from the upperworld to the entrance are various; and the descents from one circleto another are effected by the poet and his guide in differentmanners-sometimes on foot through by-ways, sometimes by the conveyanceof supernatural beings. The crater he finds to be the abode of those whohave done neither good nor evil, caring for nothing but themselves. In the first circle are the whole unbaptised world--heathens andinfants--melancholy, though not tormented. Here also is found theElysium of Virgil, whose Charon and other infernal beings are among theagents of torment. In the second circle the torments commence with thesin of incontinence; and the punishment goes deepening with the crimefrom circle to circle, through gluttony, avarice, prodigality, wrath, sullenness, or unwillingness to be pleased with the creation, disbeliefin God and the soul (with which the punishment by fire commences), usury, murder, suicide, blasphemy, seduction and other carnalenormities, adulation, simony, soothsaying, astrology, witchcraft, trafficking with the public interest, hypocrisy, highway robbery (onthe great Italian scale), sacrilege, evil counsel, disturbance of theChurch, heresy, false apostleship, alchemy, forgery, coining (all these, from seduction downwards, in one circle); then, in the frozen or lowestcircle of all, treachery; and at the bottom of this is Satan, stuck intothe centre of the earth. 

With the centre of the globe commences the antipodean attraction of itsopposite side, together with a rocky ascent out of it, through ahuge ravine. The poet and his guide, on their arrival at this spot, accordingly find their position reversed; and so conclude their_downward_ journey _upwards_, till they issue forth to light on theborders of the sea which contains the island of Purgatory. 

THE JOURNEY THROUGH HELL. 

Dante says, that when he was half-way on his pilgrimage through thislife, he one day found himself, towards nightfall, in a wood where hecould no longer discern the right path. It was a place so gloomy andterrible, every thing in it growing in such a strange and savage manner, that the horror he felt returned on him whenever he thought of it. Thepass of death could hardly be more bitter. Travelling through it allnight with a beating heart, he at length came to the foot of a hill, andlooking up, as he began to ascend it, he perceived the shoulders of thehill clad in the beams of morning; a sight which gave him some littlecomfort. He felt like a man who has buffeted his way to land out of ashipwreck, and who, though still anxious to get farther from his peril, cannot help turning round to gaze on the wide waters. So did he standlooking back on the pass that contained that dreadful wood. Afterresting a while, he again betook him up the hill; but had not gone farwhen he beheld a leopard bounding in front of him, and hindering hisprogress. After the leopard came a lion, with his head aloft, mad withhunger, and seeming to frighten the very air;[1] and after the lion, more eager still, a she-wolf, so lean that she appeared to be sharpenedwith every wolfish want. The pilgrim fled back in terror to the wood, where he again found himself in a darkness to which the light neverpenetrated. In that place, he said, the sun never spoke word. [2] But thewolf was still close upon him. [3]

While thus flying, he beheld coming towards him a man, who spokesomething, but he knew not what. The voice sounded strange and feeble, as if from disuse. Dante loudly called out to him to save him, whetherhe was a man or only a spirit. The apparition, at whose sight the wildbeasts disappeared, said that he was no longer man, though man hehad been in the time of the false gods, and sung the history of theoffspring of Anchises. 

"And art thou, then, that Virgil, " said Dante, "who has filled the worldwith such floods of eloquence? O glory and light of all poets, thou artmy master, and thou mine _author_; thou alone the book from which I havegathered beauties that have gained me praise. Behold the peril I am in, and help me, for I tremble in every vein and pulse. "

Virgil comforted Dante. He told him that he must quit the wood byanother road, and that he himself would be his guide, leading him firstto behold the regions of woe underground, and then the spirits thatlived content in fire because it purified them for heaven; and then thathe would consign him to other hands worthier than his own, which shouldraise him to behold heaven itself; for as the Pagans, of whom he wasone, had been rebels to the law of him that reigns there, nobody couldarrive at Paradise by their means. [4]

So saying, Virgil moved on his way, and Dante closely followed. Heexpressed a fear, however, as they went, lest being "neither Æneas norSt. Paul, " his journey could not be worthily undertaken, nor end inwisdom. But Virgil, after sharply rebuking him for his faintheartedness, told him, that the spirit of her whom he loved, Beatrice, had come downfrom heaven on purpose to commend her lover to his care; upon which thedrooping courage of the pilgrim was raised to an undaunted confidence;as flowers that have been closed and bowed down by frosty nights, riseall up on their stems in the morning sun. [5]

 "Non vuol che 'n sua città per me sì vegna. "

The Pagans could not be rebels to a law they never heard of, anymore than Dante could be a rebel to Luther. But this is one of theabsurdities with which the impious effrontery or scarcely lessimpious admissions of Dante's teachers avowedly set reason atdefiance, --retaining, meanwhile, their right of contempt for theimpieties of Mahometans and Brahmins; "which is odd, " as the poet says;for being not less absurd, or, as the others argued, much more so, theyhad at least an equal claim on the submission of the reason; since thegreater the irrationality, the higher the theological triumph. 

 "Through me is the road to the dolorous city; Through me is the road to the everlasting sorrows; Through me is the road to the lost people. Justice was the motive of my exalted maker; I was made by divine power, by consummate wisdom, and by primal love; Before me was no created thing, if not eternal; and eternal am I also. Abandon hope, all ye who enter. "

Such were the words which Dante beheld written in dark characters over aportal. "Master, " said he to Virgil, "I find their meaning hard. "

"A man, " answered Virgil, "must conduct himself at this door like oneprepared. Hither must he bring no mistrust. Hither can come and live nocowardice. We have arrived at the place I told thee of. Here thou art tobehold the dolorous people who have lost all intellectual good. " [6]

So saying, Virgil placed his hand on Dante's, looking on him with acheerful countenance; and the Florentine passed with him through thedreadful gate. 

They entered upon a sightless gulf, in which was a black air withoutstars; and immediately heard a hubbub of groans; and wailings, andterrible things said in many languages, words of wretchedness, outcriesof rage, voices loud and hoarse, and sounds of the smitings of hands oneagainst another. Dante began to weep. The sound was as if the sand ina whirlwind were turned into noises, and filled the blind air withincessant conflict. 

Yet these were not the souls of the wicked. They were those only who hadlived without praise or blame, thinking of nothing but themselves. Thesemiserable creatures were mixed with the angels who stood neutral in thewar with Satan. Heaven would not dull its brightness with those angels, nor would lower hell receive them, lest the bad ones should triumph intheir company. 

"And what is it, " said Dante, "which makes them so grievously suffer?"

"Hopelessness of death, " said Virgil. "Their blind existence here, andimmemorable former life, make them so wretched, that they envy everyother lot. Mercy and justice alike disdain them. Let us speak of them nomore. Look, and pass. "

The companions went on till they came to a great river with a multitudewaiting on the banks. A hoary old man appeared crossing the rivertowards them in a boat; and as he came, he said, "Woe to the wicked. Never expect to see heaven. I come to bear you across to the darkregions of everlasting fire and ice. " Then looking at Dante, he said, "Get thee away from the dead, thou who standest there, live spirit. "

"Torment thyself not, Charon, " said Virgil. "He has a passport beyondthy power to question. "

The shaggy cheeks of the boatman of the livid lake, who had wheels offire about his eyes, fell at these words; and he was silent. But thenaked multitude of souls whom he had spoken to changed colour, andgnashed their teeth, blaspheming God, and their parents, and the humanspecies, and the place, and the hour, and the seed of the sowing oftheir birth; and all the while they felt themselves driven onwards, by afear which became a desire, towards the cruel river-side, which awaitsevery one destitute of the fear of God. The demon Charon, beckoning tothem with eyes like brasiers, collected them as they came, giving blowsto those that lingered, with his oar. One by one they dropped into theboat like leaves from a bough in autumn, till the bough is left bare; oras birds drop into the decoy at the sound of the bird-call. 

There was then an earthquake, so terrible that the recollection of itmade the poet burst into a sweat at every pore. A whirlwind issued fromthe lamenting ground, attended by vermilion flashes; and he lost hissenses, and fell like a man stupefied. 

A crash of thunder through his brain woke up the pilgrim so hastily, that he shook himself like a person roused by force. He found that hewas on the brink of a gulf, from which ascended a thunderous sound ofinnumerable groanings. He could see nothing down it. It was too darkwith sooty clouds. Virgil himself turned pale, but said, "We are to godown here. I will lead the way. "

"O master, " said Dante, "if even thou fearest, what is to become ofmyself?" "It is pity, not fear, " replied Virgil, "that makes me changecolour. "

With these words his guide led him into the first circle of hell, surrounding the abyss. The great noise gradually ceased to be heard, asthey journeyed inwards, till at last they became aware of a world ofsighs, which produced a trembling in the air. They were breathed by thesouls of such as had died without baptism, men, women, and infants; nomatter how good; no matter if they worshipped God before the coming ofChrist, for they worshipped him not "properly. " Virgil himself wasone of them. They were all lost for no other reason; and their "onlysuffering" consisted in "hopeless desire!"

Dante was struck with great sorrow when he heard this, knowing how manygood men must be in that place. He inquired if no one had ever beentaken out of it into heaven. Virgil told him there had, and he namedthem; to wit, Adam, Abel, Noah, Moses, King David, obedient Abraham thepatriarch, and Isaac, and Jacob, with their children, and Rachel, forwhom Jacob did so much, --and "many more;" adding, however, that therewas no instance of salvation before theirs. 

Journeying on through spirits as thick as leaves, Dante perceived alustre at a little distance, and observing shapes in it evidently ofgreat dignity, inquired who they were that thus lived apart from therest. Virgil said that heaven thus favoured them by reason of theirrenown on earth. A voice was then heard exclaiming, "Honour and glory tothe lofty poet! Lo, his shade returns. " Dante then saw four other noblefigures coming towards them, of aspect neither sad nor cheerful. 

"Observe him with the sword in his hand, " said Virgil, as they wereadvancing. "That is Homer, the poets' sovereign. Next to him comesHorace the satirist; then Ovid; and the last is Lucan. "

"And thus I beheld, " says Dante, "the bright school of the loftiest ofpoets, who flies above the rest like an eagle. "

For a while the illustrious spirits talked together, and then turned tothe Florentine with a benign salutation, at which his master smiled and"further honour they did me, " adds the father of Italian poetry, "forthey admitted me of their tribe; so that to a band of that high accountI added a sixth. " [7]

The spirits returned towards the bright light in which they lived, talking with Dante by the way, and brought him to a magnificent castle, girt with seven lofty walls, and further defended with a river, whichthey all passed as if it had been dry ground. Seven gates conducted theminto a meadow of fresh green, the resort of a race whose eyes moved witha deliberate soberness, and whose whole aspects were of great authority, their voices sweet, and their speech seldom. [8] Dante was taken apart toan elevation in the ground, so that he could behold them all distinctly;and there, on the "enamelled green, " [9] were pointed out to him thegreat spirits, by the sight of whom he felt exalted in his own esteem. He saw Electra with many companions, among whom were Hector and Æneas, and Cæsar in armour with his hawk's eyes; and on another side he beheldold King Latinus with his daughter Lavinia, and the Brutus that expelledTarquin, and Lucretia, and Julia, and Cato's wife Marcia, and the motherof the Gracchi, and, apart by himself, the Sultan Saladin. He thenraised his eyes a little, and beheld the "master of those who know" [10](Aristotle), sitting amidst the family of philosophers, and honouredby them all. Socrates and Plato were at his side. Among the rest wasDemocritus, who made the world a chance, and Diogenes, and Heraclitus, &c. And Dioscorides, the good gatherer of simples. Orpheus also he saw, and Cicero, and the moral Seneca, and Euclid, and Hippocrates, andAvicen, and Averroes, who wrote the great commentary, and others toonumerous to mention. The company of six became diminished to two, andVirgil took him forth on a far different road, leaving that serene airfor a stormy one; and so they descended again into darkness. 

It was the second circle into which they now came--a sphere narrowerthan the first, and by so much more the wretcheder. Minos sat at theentrance, gnarling--he that gives sentence on every one that comes, andintimates the circle into which each is to be plunged by the number offolds into which he casts his tail round about him. Minos admonishedDante to beware how he entered unbidden, and warned him against hisconductor; but Virgil sharply rebuked the judge, and bade him not sethis will against the will that was power. 

The pilgrims then descended through hell-mouth, till they came to aplace dark as pitch, that bellowed with furious cross-winds, like a seain a tempest. It was the first place of torment, and the habitation ofcarnal sinners. The winds, full of stifled voices, buffeted the soulsfor ever, whirling them away to and fro, and dashing them against oneanother. Whenever it seized them for that purpose, the wailing and theshrieking was loudest, crying out against the Divine Power. Sometimes awhole multitude came driven in a body like starlings before the wind, now hither and thither, now up, now down; sometimes they went in a linelike cranes, when a company of those birds is beheld sailing along inthe air, uttering its dolorous clangs. 

Dante, seeing a group of them advancing, inquired of Virgil who theywere. "Who are these, " said he, "coming hither, scourged in the blackestpart of the hurricane?"

"She at the head of them, " said Virgil, "was empress over many nations. So foul grew her heart with lust, that she ordained license to be law, to the end that herself might be held blameless. She is Semiramis, ofwhom it is said that she gave suck to Ninus, and espoused him. Leadingthe multitude next to her is Dido, she that slew herself for love, andbroke faith to the ashes of Sichaeus; and she that follows with the nextis the luxurious woman, Cleopatra. "

Dante then saw Helen, who produced such a world of misery; and the greatAchilles, who fought for love till it slew him; and Paris; and Tristan;and a thousand more whom his guide pointed at, naming their names, everyone of whom was lost through love. 

The poet stood for a while speechless for pity, and like one bereft ofhis wits. He then besought leave to speak to a particular couple whowent side by side, and who appeared to be borne before the wind withspeed lighter than the rest. His conductor bade him wait till they camenigher, and then to entreat them gently by the love which bore them inthat manner, and they would stop and speak with him. Dante waited histime, and then lifted up his voice between the gusts of wind, andadjured the two "weary souls" to halt and have speech with him, if noneforbade their doing so; upon which they came to him, like doves to thenest. [11]

There was a lull in the tempest, as if on purpose to let them speak;and the female addressed Dante, saying, that as he showed such pity fortheir state, they would have prayed heaven to give peace and repose tohis life, had they possessed the friendship of heaven. [12]

"Love, " she said, "which is soon kindled in a gentle heart, seized thismy companion for the fair body I once inhabited--how deprived of it, myspirit is bowed to recollect. Love, which compels the beloved personupon thoughts of love, seized me in turn with a delight in his passionso strong, that, as thou seest, even here it forsakes me not. Lovebrought us both to one end. The punishment of Cain awaits him that slewus. "

The poet was struck dumb by this story. He hung down his head, and stoodlooking on the ground so long, that his guide asked him what was in hismind. "Alas!" answered he, "such then was this love, so full of sweetthoughts; and such the pass to which it brought them! Oh, Francesca!" hecried, turning again to the sad couple, "thy sufferings make me weep. But tell me, I pray thee, what was it that first made thee know, for acertainty, that his love was returned?--that thou couldst refuse himthine no longer?"

"There is not a greater sorrow, " answered she, "than calling to mindhappy moments in the midst of wretchedness. [13] But since thy desire isso great to know our story to the root, hear me tell it as well as Imay for tears. It chanced, one day, that we sat reading the tale ofSir Launcelot, how love took him in thrall. We were alone, and had nosuspicion. Often, as we read, our eyes became suspended, [14] and wechanged colour; but one passage alone it was that overcame us. When weread how Genevra smiled, and how the lover, out of the depth of hislove, could not help kissing that smile, he that is never more to beparted from me kissed me himself on the mouth, all in a tremble. Neverhad we go-between but that book. The writer was the betrayer. That daywe read no more. "

While these words were being uttered by one of the spirits, the otherwailed so bitterly, that the poet thought he should have died for pity. His senses forsook him, and he fell flat on the ground, as a dead bodyfalls. [15]

On regaining his senses, the poet found himself in the third circle ofhell, a place of everlasting wet, darkness, and cold, one heavy slush ofhail and mud, emitting a squalid smell. The triple-headed dog Cerberus, with red eyes and greasy black beard, large belly, and hands with claws, barked above the heads of the wretches who floundered in the mud, tearing, skinning, and dismembering them, as they turned their sore andsoddened bodies from side to side. When he saw the two living men, heshowed his fangs, and shook in every limb for desire of their flesh. Virgil threw lumps of dirt into his mouth, and so they passed him. 

It was the place of Gluttons. The travellers passed over them, as ifthey had been ground to walk upon. But one of them sat up, and addressedthe Florentine as his acquaintance. Dante did not know him, for theagony in his countenance. He was a man nicknamed Hog (Ciacco), and by noother name does the poet, or any one else, mention him. His countrymanaddressed him by it, though declaring at the same time that he wept tosee him. Hog prophesied evil to his discordant native city, addingthat there were but two just men in it--all the rest being given up toavarice, envy, and pride. Dante inquired by name respecting the fate offive other Florentines, _who had done good_, and was informed that theywere all, for various offences, _in lower gulfs of hell_. Hog thenbegged that he would mention having seen him when he returned to thesweet world; and so, looking at him a little, bent his head, anddisappeared among his blinded companions. 

"Satan! hoa, Satan!" roared the demon Plutus, as the poets weredescending into the fourth circle. 

"Peace!" cried Virgil, "with thy swollen lip, thou accursed wolf. No onecan hinder his coming down. God wills it. " [16]

Flat fell Plutus, collapsed, like the sails of a vessel when the mast issplit. 

This circle was the most populous one they had yet come to. Thesufferers, gifted with supernatural might, kept eternally rolling roundit, one against another, with terrific violence, and so dashing apart, and returning. "Why grasp?" cried the one--"Why throw away?" cried theother; and thus exclaiming, they dashed furiously together. 

They were the Avaricious and the Prodigal. Multitudes of them werechurchmen, including cardinals and popes. Not all the gold beneath themoon could have purchased them a moment's rest. Dante asked if none ofthem were to be recognised by their countenances. Virgil said, "No;" forthe stupid and sullied lives which they led on earth swept their facesaway from all distinction for ever. 

In discoursing of fortune, they descend by the side of a torrent, blackas ink, into the fifth circle, or place of torment for the Angry, theSullen, and the Proud. Here they first beheld a filthy marsh, full ofdirty naked bodies, that in everlasting rage tore one another to pieces. In a quieter division of the pool were seen nothing but bubbles, carriedby the ascent, from its slimy bottom, of the stifled words of thesullen. They were always saying, "We were sad and dark within us in themidst of the sweet sunshine, and now we live sadly in the dark bogs. "The poets walked on till they came to the foot of a tower, which hungout two blazing signals to another just discernible in the distance. Aboat came rapidly towards them, ferried by the wrathful Phlegyas;[17]who cried out, "Aha, felon! and so thou hast come at last!"

"Thou errest, " said Virgil. "We come for no longer time than it willtake thee to ferry us across thy pool. "

Phlegyas looked like one defrauded of his right; but proceeded to conveythem. During their course a spirit rose out of the mire, looking Dantein the face, and said, "Who art thou, that comest before thy time?"

"Who art thou?" said Dante. 

"Thou seest who I am, " answered the other; "one among the mourners. "

"Then mourn still, and howl, accursed spirit, " returned the Florentine. "I know thee, all over filth as thou art. "

The wretch in fury laid hold of the boat, but Virgil thrust him back, exclaiming, "Down with thee! down among the other dogs!"

Then turning to Dante, he embraced and kissed him, saying, "O soul, thatknows how to disdain, blessed be she that bore thee! Arrogant, truly, upon earth was this sinner, nor is his memory graced by a single virtue. Hence the furiousness of his spirit now. How many kings are there atthis moment lording it as gods, who shall wallow here, as he does, likeswine in the mud, and be thought no better of by the world!" "I shouldlike to see him smothering in it, " said Dante, "before we go. "

"A right wish, " said Virgil, "and thou shalt, to thy heart's content. "

On a sudden the wretch's muddy companions seized and drenched him sohorribly that (exclaims Dante) "I laud and thank God for it now at thismoment. "

"Have at him!" cried they; "have at Filippo Argenti;" and the wild foolof a Florentine dashed his teeth for rage into his own flesh. [18]

The poet's attention was now drawn off by a noise of lamentation, andhe perceived that he was approaching the city of Dis. [19] The turretsglowed vermilion with the fire within it, the walls appeared to be ofiron, and moats were round about them. The boat circuited the walls tillthe travellers came to a gate, which Phlegyas, with a loud voice, toldthem to quit the boat and enter. But a thousand fallen angels crowdedover the top of the gate, refusing to open it, and making furiousgestures. At length they agreed to let Virgil speak with them inside;and he left Dante for a while, standing in terror without. The parleywas in vain. They would not let them pass. Virgil, however, bade hiscompanion be of good cheer, and then stood listening and talking tohimself; disclosing by his words his expectation of some extraordinaryassistance, and at the same time his anxiety for its arrival. On asudden, three raging figures arose over the gate, coloured with gore. Green hydras twisted about them; and their fierce temples had snakesinstead of hair. 

"Look, " said Virgil. "The Furies! The one on the left is Megæra; Alectois she that is wailing on the right; and in the middle is Tisiphone. "Virgil then hushed. The Furies stood clawing their breasts, smitingtheir hands together, and raising such hideous cries, that Dante clungto his friend. 

"Bring the Gorgon's head!" cried the Furies, looking down; "turn him toadamant!"

"Turn round, " said Virgil, "and hide thy face; for if thou beholdestthe Gorgon, never again wilt thou see the light of day. " And with thesewords he seized Dante and turned him round himself, clapping his handsover his companion's eyes. 

And now was heard coming over the water a terrible crashing noise, thatmade the banks on either side of it tremble. It was like a hurricanewhich comes roaring through the vain shelter of the woods, splitting andhurling away the boughs, sweeping along proudly in a huge cloud of dust, and making herds and herdsmen fly before it. "Now stretch your eyesightacross the water, " said Virgil, letting loose his hands;--"there, wherethe smoke of the foam is thickest. " Dante looked; and saw a thousand ofthe rebel angels, like frogs before a serpent, swept away into a heapbefore the coming of a single spirit, who flew over the tops of thebillows with unwet feet. The spirit frequently pushed the gross airfrom before his face, as if tired of the base obstacle; and as he camenearer, Dante, who saw it was a messenger from heaven, looked anxiouslyat Virgil. Virgil motioned him to be silent and bow down. 

The angel, with a face full of scorn, as soon as he arrived at the gate, touched it with a wand that he had in his hand, and it flew open. 

"Outcasts of heaven, " said he; "despicable race! whence this fantasticalarrogance? Do ye forget that your torments are laid oil thicker everytime ye kick against the Fates? Do ye forget how your Cerberus was boundand chained till he lost the hair off his neck like a common dog?"

So saying he turned swiftly and departed the way he came, not addressinga word to the travellers. His countenance had suddenly a look of someother business, totally different from the one he had terminated. 

The companions passed in, and beheld a place full of tombs red-hot. Itwas the region of Arch heretics and their followers. Dante and his guidepassed round betwixt the walls and the sepulchres as in a churchyard, and came to the quarter which held Epicurus and his sect, who denied theexistence of spirit apart from matter. The lids of the tombs remainingunclosed till the day of judgment, the soul of a noble Florentine, Farinata degli Uberti, hearing Dante speak, addressed him as acountryman, asking him to stop. [20] Dante, alarmed, beheld him rise halfout of his sepulchre, looking as lofty as if he scorned hell itself. Finding who Dante was, he boasted of having three times expelled theGuelphs. "Perhaps so, " said the poet; "but they came back again eachtime; an art which their enemies have not yet acquired. "

A visage then appeared from out another tomb, looking eagerly, as if itexpected to see some one else. Being disappointed, the tears came intoits eyes, and the sufferer said, "If it is thy genius that conducts theehither, where is my son, and why is he not with thee?"

"It is not my genius that conducts me, " said Dante, "but that of one, whom perhaps thy son held in contempt. "

"How sayest thou?" cried the shade;--"_held_ in contempt? He is deadthen? He beholds no longer the sweet light?" And with these wordshe dropped into his tomb, and was seen no more. It was CavalcanteCavalcanti, the father of the poet's friend, Guido. [21]

The shade of Farinata, who had meantime been looking on, now replied tothe taunt of Dante, prophesying that he should soon have good reason toknow that the art he spoke of _had_ been acquired; upon which Dante, speaking with more considerateness to the lofty sufferer, requested toknow how the gift of prophecy could belong to spirits who were ignorantof the time present. Farinata answered that so it was; just as there wasa kind of eyesight which could discern things at a distance thoughnot at hand. Dante then expressed his remorse at not having informedCavalcante that his son was alive. He said it was owing to his beingoverwhelmed with thought on the subject he had just mentioned, andentreated Farinata to tell him so. 

Quitting this part of the cemetery, Virgil led him through the midstof it towards a descent into a valley, from which there ascended aloathsome odour. They stood behind one of the tombs for a while, toaccustom themselves to the breath of it; and then began to descend awild fissure in a rock, near the mouth of which lay the infamy of Crete, the Minotaur. The monster beholding them gnawed himself for rage; andon their persisting to advance, began plunging like a bull when heis stricken by the knife of the butcher. They succeeded, however, inentering the fissure before he recovered sufficiently from his madnessto run at them; and at the foot of the descent, came to a river ofboiling blood, on the strand of which ran thousands of Centaurs armedwith bows and arrows. In the blood, more or less deep according to theamount of the crime, and shrieking as they boiled, were the souls of theInflicters of Violence; and if any of them emerged from it higher thanhe had a right to do, the Centaurs drove him down with their arrows. Nessus, the one that bequeathed Hercules the poisoned garment, camegalloping towards the pilgrims, bending his bow, and calling out froma distance to know who they were; but Virgil, disdaining his hastycharacter, would explain himself only to Chiron, the Centaur whoinstructed Achilles. Chiron, in consequence, bade Nessus accompanythem along the river; and there they saw tyrants immersed up to theeyebrows;--Alexander the Great among them, Dionysius of Syracuse, andEzzelino the Paduan. There was one of the Pazzi of Florence, and Rinieriof Corneto (infestors of the public ways), now shedding bloody tears, and Attila the Scourge, and Pyrrhus king of Epirus. Further on, amongthose immersed up to the throat, was Guy de Montfort the Englishman, whoslew his father's slayer, Prince Henry, during divine service, inthe bosom of God; and then by degrees the river became shallower andshallower till it covered only the feet; and here the Centaur quittedthe pilgrims, and they crossed over into a forest. 

The forest was a trackless and dreadful forest--the leaves not green, but black--the boughs not freely growing, but knotted and twisted--thefruit no fruit, but thorny poison. The Harpies wailed among the trees, occasionally showing their human faces; and on every side of him Danteheard lamenting human voices, but could see no one from whom they came. "Pluck one of the boughs, " said Virgil. Dante did so; and blood and acry followed it. 

"Why pluckest thou me?" said the trunk. "Men have we been, like thyself;but thou couldst not use us worse, had we been serpents. " The blood andwords came out together, as a green bough hisses and spits in the fire. 

The voice was that of Piero delle Vigne, the good chancellor of theEmperor Frederick the Second. Just though he had been to others, hewas thus tormented for having been unjust to himself; for, envy havingwronged him to his sovereign, who sentenced him to lose his eyes, hedashed his brains out against a wall. Piero entreated Dante to vindicatehis memory. The poet could not speak for pity; so Virgil made thepromise for him, inquiring at the same time in what manner it was thatSuicides became thus identified with trees, and how their souls were torejoin their bodies at the day of judgment. Piero said, that the momentthe fierce self-murderer's spirit tore itself from the body, and passedbefore Charon, it fell, like a grain of corn, into that wood, and sogrew into a tree. The Harpies then fed on its leaves, causing both painand a vent for lamentation. The body it would never again enter, havingthus cast away itself, but it would finally drag the body down to it bya violent attraction; and every suicide's carcass will be hung upon thethorn of its wretched shade. 

The naked souls of two men, whose profusion had brought them to aviolent end, here came running through the wood from the fangs of blackfemale mastiff's--leaving that of a suicide to mourn the havoc whichtheir passage had made of his tree. He begged his countryman to gatherhis leaves up, and lay them at the foot of his trunk, and Dante did so;and then he and Virgil proceeded on their journey. 

They issued from the wood on a barren sand, flaming hot, on whichmultitudes of naked souls lay down, or sat huddled up, or restlesslywalked about, trying to throw from them incessant flakes of fire, whichcame down like a fall of snow. They were the souls of the Impious. Amongthem was a great spirit, who lay scornfully submitting himself to thefiery shower, as though it had not yet ripened him. [22] OverhearingDante ask his guide who he was, he answered for himself, and said, "Thesame dead as living. Jove will tire his flames out before they conquerme. "

"Capaneus, " exclaimed Virgil, "thy pride is thy punishment. No martyrdomwere sufficient for thee, equal to thine own rage. " The besieger ofThebes made no reply. 

In another quarter of the fiery shower the pilgrims met a crowd ofFlorentines, mostly churchmen, whose offence is not to be named; afterwhich they beheld Usurers; and then arrived at a huge waterfall, whichfell into the eighth circle, or that of the Fraudulent. Here Virgil, byway of bait to the monster Geryon, or Fraud, let down over the sideof the waterfall the cord of St. Francis, which Dante wore about hiswaist, [23] and presently the dreadful creature came up, and sate on themargin of the fall, with his serpent's tail hanging behind him inthe air, after the manner of a beaver; but the point of the tail wasoccasionally seen glancing upwards. He was a gigantic reptile, with theface of a just man, very mild. He had shaggy claws for arms, and a bodyvariegated all over with colours that ran in knots and circles, eachwithin the other, richer than any Eastern drapery. Virgil spoke apartto him, and then mounted on his back, bidding his companion, who wasspeechless for terror, do the salve. Geryon pushed back with them fromthe edge of the precipice, like a ship leaving harbour; and then, turning about, wheeled, like a sullen successless falcon, slowly downthrough the air in many a circuit. Dante would not have known that hewas going downward, but for the air that struck up wards on his face. Presently they heard the crash of the waterfall on the circle below, and then distinguished flaming fires and the noises of suffering. The monster Geryon, ever sullen as the falcon who seats himself at adistance from his dissatisfied master, shook his riders from off hisback to the water's side, and then shot away like an arrow. 

This eighth circle of hell is called Evil-Budget, [24] and consists often compartments, or gulfs of torment, crossed and connected withone another by bridges of flint. In the first were beheld Pimps andSeducers, scourged like children by horned devils; in the second, Flatterers, begrimed with ordure; in the third, Simonists, who werestuck like plugs into circular apertures, with their heads downwards, and their legs only discernible, the soles of their feet glowing with afire which made them incessantly quiver. Dante, going down the side ofthe gulf with Virgil, was allowed to address one of them who seemed ingreater agony than the rest; and, doing so, the sufferer cried out in amalignant rapture, "Aha, is it thou that standest there, Boniface?[25]Thou hast come sooner than it was prophesied. " It was the soul of PopeNicholas the Third that spoke. Dante undeceived and then sternlyrebuked him for his avarice and depravity, telling him that nothing butreverence for the keys of St. Peter hindered him from using harsherwords, and that it was such as he that the Evangelist beheld in thevision, when he saw the woman with seven heads and ten horns, whocommitted whoredom with the kings of the earth. 

"O Constantine!" exclaimed the poet, "of what a world of evil was thatdowry the mother, which first converted the pastor of the church into arich man!" [26] The feet of the guilty pope spun with fiercer agony atthese words; and Virgil, looking pleased on Dante, returned with himthe way he came, till they found themselves on the margin of the fourthgulf, the habitation of the souls of False Prophets. 

It was a valley, in which the souls came walking along, silent andweeping, at the pace of choristers who chant litanies. Their faces wereturned the wrong way, so that the backs of their heads came foremost, and their tears fell on their loins. Dante was so overcome at the sight, that he leant against a rock and wept; but Virgil rebuked him, tellinghim that no pity at all was the only pity fit for that place. [27] Therewas Amphiaraus, whom the earth opened and swallowed up at Thebes; andTiresias, who was transformed from sex to sex; and Aruns, who lived ina cavern on the side of the marble mountains of Carrara, looking out onthe stars and ocean; and Manto, daughter of Tiresias (her hind tressesover her bosom), who wandered through the world till she came and livedin the solitary fen, whence afterwards arose the city of Mantua; andMichael Scot, the magician, with his slender loins;[28] and Eurypylus, the Grecian augur, who gave the signal with Calchas at Troy when to cutaway the cables for home. He came stooping along, projecting his faceover his swarthy shoulders. Guido Bonatti, too, was there, astrologer ofForli; and Ardente, shoemaker of Parma, who now wishes he had stuck tohis last; and the wretched women who quit the needle and the distaff towreak their malice with herbs and images. Such was the punishment ofthose who, desiring to see too far before them, now looked only behindthem, and walked the reverse way of their looking. 

The fifth gulf was a lake of boiling pitch, constantly heaving andsubsiding throughout, and bubbling with the breath of those within it. They were Public Peculators. Winged black devils were busy about thelake, pronging the sinners when they occasionally darted up their backsfor relief like dolphins, or thrust out their jaws like frogs. Danteat first looked eagerly down into the gulf, like one who feels that heshall turn away instantly out of the very horror that attracts him. "See--look behind thee!" said Virgil, dragging him at the same time fromthe place where he stood, to a covert behind a crag. Dante looked round, and beheld a devil coming up with a newly-arrived sinner across hisshoulders, whom he hurled into the lake, and then dashed down after him, like a mastiff let loose on a thief. It was a man from Lucca, whereevery soul was a false dealer except Bonturo. [29] The devil called outto other devils, and a heap of them fell upon the wretch with hooks ashe rose to the surface; telling him, that he must practise there insecret, if he practised at all; and thrusting him back into the boilingpitch, as cooks thrust back flesh into the pot. The devils were of thelowest and most revolting habits, of which they made disgusting jest andparade. 

Some of them, on a sudden, perceived Dante and his guide, and were goingto seize them, when Virgil resorted to his usual holy rebuke. For awhile they let him alone; and Dante saw one of them haul a sinner out ofthe pitch by the clotted locks, and hold him up sprawling like an otter. The rest then fell upon him and flayed him. 

It was Ciampolo, a peculator in the service of the good Thiebault, kingof Navarre. One of his companions under the pitch was Friar Gomita, governor of Gallura; and another, Michael Zanche, also a Sardinian. Ciampolo ultimately escaped by a trick out of the hands of the devils, who were so enraged that they turned upon the two pilgrims; but Virgil, catching up Dante with supernatural force, as a mother does a child ina burning house, plunged with him out of their jurisdiction into theborders of gulf the sixth, the region of Hypocrites. 

The hypocrites, in perpetual tears, walked about in a wearisome andexhausted manner, as if ready to faint. They wore huge cowls, which hungover their eyes, and the outsides of which were gilded, but the insidesof lead. Two of them had been rulers of Florence; and Dante waslistening to their story, when his attention was called off by the sightof a cross, on which Caiaphas the High Priest was writhing, breathinghard all the while through his beard with sighs. It was his office tosee that every soul which passed him, on its arrival in the place, wasoppressed with the due weight. His father-in-law, Annas, and all hiscouncil, were stuck in like manner on crosses round the borders of thegulf. The pilgrims beheld little else in this region of weariness, andsoon passed into the borders of one of the most terrible portions ofEvil-budget, the land of the transformation of Robbers. 

The place was thronged with serpents of the most appalling and unwonteddescription, among which ran tormented the naked spirits of therobbers, agonised with fear. Their hands were bound behind them withserpents--their bodies pierced and enfolded with serpents. Dante saw oneof the monsters leap up and transfix a man through the nape of the neck;when, lo! sooner than a pen could write _o_, or _i_, the sufferer burstinto flames, burnt up, fell to the earth a heap of ashes--was againbrought together, and again became a man, aghast with his agony, andstaring about him, sighing. [30] Virgil asked him who he was. 

"I was but lately rained down into this dire gullet, " said the man, "amidst a shower of Tuscans. The beast Vanni Fucci am I, who led abrutal life, like the mule that I was, in that den Pistoia. "

"Compel him to stop, " said Dante, "and relate what brought him hither. Iknew the bloody and choleric wretch when he was alive. "

The sinner, who did not pretend to be deaf to these words, turned roundto the speaker with the most painful shame in his face, and said, "Ifeel more bitterly at being caught here by thee in this condition, thanwhen I first arrived. A power which I cannot resist compels me to letthee know, that I am here because I committed sacrilege and chargedanother with the crime; but now, mark me, that thou mayest hearsomething not to render this encounter so pleasant: Pistoia hates thyparty of the Whites, and longs for the Blacks back again. It will havethem, and so will Florence; and there will be a bloody cloud shall burstover the battlefield of Piceno, which will dash many Whites to theearth. I tell thee this to make thee miserable. "

So saying, the wretch gave a gesture of contempt with his thumb andfinger towards heaven, and said, "Take it, God--a fig for thee!" [31]

"From that instant, " said Dante, "the serpents and I were friends; forone of them throttled him into silence, and another dashed his handsinto a knot behind his back. O Pistoia! Pistoia! why art not thouthyself turned into ashes, and swept from the face of the earth, sincethy race has surpassed in evil thine ancestors? Never, through thewhole darkness of hell, beheld I a blasphemer so dire as this--not evenCapaneus himself. "

The Pistoian fled away with the serpents upon him, followed by aCentaur, who came madly galloping up, crying, "Where is the caitiff?" Itwas the monster-thief Cacus, whose den upon earth often had a pond ofblood before it, and to whom Hercules, in his rage, when he slew him, gave a whole hundred blows with his club, though the wretch perceivednothing after the ninth. He was all over adders up to the mouth; andupon his shoulders lay a dragon with its wings open, breathing fire onwhomsoever it met. 

The Centaur tore away; and Dante and Virgil were gazing after him, whenthey heard voices beneath the bank on which they stood, crying, "Who areye?" The pilgrims turned their eyes downwards, and beheld three spirits, one of whom, looking about him, said, "Where's Cianfa?" Dante made asign to Virgil to say nothing. 

Cianfa came forth, a man lately, but now a serpent with six feet. [32]

"If thou art slow to believe, reader, what I am about to tell thee, "says the poet, "be so; it is no marvel; for I myself, even now, scarcelycredit what I beheld. "

The six-footed serpent sprang at one of the three men front to front, clasping him tightly with all its legs, and plunging his fangs intoeither cheek. Ivy never stuck so close to a tree as the horrible monstergrappled with every limb of that pinioned man. The two forms thengradually mingled into one another like melting wax, the colours oftheir skin giving way at the same time to a third colour, as the whitein a piece of burning paper recedes before the brown, till it allbecomes black. The other two human shapes looked on, exclaiming, "Oh, how thou changest, Agnello! See, thou art neither two nor yet one. "And truly, though the two heads first became one, there still remainedtwo countenances in the face. The four arms then became but two, andsuch also became the legs and thighs; and the two trunks became such abody as was never beheld; and the hideous twofold monster walked slowlyaway. [33]

A small black serpent on fire now flashed like lightning on to the bodyof one of the other two, piercing him in the navel, and then falling onthe ground, and lying stretched before him. The wounded man, fascinatedand mute, stood looking at the adder's eyes, and endeavouring to standsteady on his legs, yawning the while as if smitten with lethargy orfever; the adder, on his part, looked up at the eyes of the man, andboth of them breathed hard, and sent forth a smoke that mingled into onevolume. 

And now, let Lucan never speak more of the wretched Sabellus orNisidius, but listen and be silent; and now, let Ovid be silent, norspeak again of his serpent that was Cadmus, or his fountain that wasArethusa; for, says the Tuscan poet, I envy him not. Never did he changethe natures of two creatures face to face, so that each received theform of the other. 

With corresponding impulse, the serpent split his train into a fork, while the man drew his legs together into a train; the skin of theserpent grew soft, while the man's hardened; the serpent acquiredtresses of hair, the man grew hairless; the claws of the one projectedinto legs, while the arms of the other withdrew into his shoulders; theface of the serpent, as it rose from the ground, retreated towards thetemples, pushing out human ears; that of the man, as he fell to theground, thrust itself forth into a muzzle, withdrawing at the same timeits ears into its head, as the slug does its horns; and each creaturekept its impious eyes fixed on the other's, while the features beneaththe eyes were changing. The soul which had become the serpent thenturned to crawl away, hissing in scorn as he departed; and the serpent, which had become the man, spat after him, and spoke words at him. Thenew human-looking soul then turned his back on his late adversary, andsaid to the third spirit, who remained unchanged, "Let Buoso now take tohis crawl, as I have done. "

The two then hastened away together, leaving Dante in a state ofbewildered amazement, yet not so confused but that he recognised theunchanged one for another of his countrymen, Puccio the Lame. "Joy tothee, Florence!" cried the poet; "not content with having thy namebruited over land and sea, it flourishes throughout hell. "

The pilgrims now quitted the seventh, and looked down from its barrierinto the eighth gulf, where they saw innumerable flames, distinct fromone another, flickering all over the place like fire-flies. 

"In those flames, " said Virgil, "are souls, each tormented with the firethat swathes it. "

"I observe one, " said Dante, "divided at the summit. Are the Thebanbrothers in it?"

"No, " replied Virgil; "in that flame are Diomed and Ulysses. " Thesinners punished in this gulf were Evil Counsellors; and those two werethe advisers of the stratagem of the Trojan horse. 

Virgil addressed Ulysses, who told him the conclusion of his adventures, not to be found in books: how he tired of an idle life, and sailed forthagain into the wide ocean; and how he sailed so far that he came into aregion of new stars, and in sight of a mountain, the loftiest he eversaw; when, unfortunately, a hurricane fell upon them from the shore, thrice whirled their vessel round, then dashed the stern up in air andthe prow under water, and sent the billows over their heads. 

"Enough, " said Virgil; "I trouble thee no more. " The soul of Guido diMontefeltro, overhearing the great Mantuan speak in a Lombard dialect, asked him news of the state of things in Romagna; and then told him howhe had lost his chance of paradise, by thinking Pope Boniface could atonce absolve him from his sins, and use them for his purposes. [34] Hewas going to heaven, he said, by the help of St. Francis, who came onpurpose to fetch him, when a black angel met them, and demanded hisabsolved, indeed, but unrepented victim. "To repent evil, and to willto do it, at one and the same time, are, " said the dreadful angel, "impossible: therefore wrong me not. "

"Oh, how I shook, " said the unhappy Guido, "when he laid his hands uponme!" And with these words the flame writhed and beat itself about foragony, and so took its way. 

The pilgrims crossed over to the banks of the ninth gulf, where theSowers of Scandal, the Schismatics, Heretics, and Founders of FalseReligions, underwent the penalties of such as load themselves with thesins of those whom they seduce. 

The first sight they beheld was Mahomet, tearing open his own bowels, and calling out to them to mark him. Before him walked his son-in-law, Ali, weeping, and cloven to the chin; and the divisions in the churchwere punished in like manner upon all the schismatics in the place. Theyall walked round the circle, their gashes closing as they went; and ontheir reaching a certain point, a fiend hewed them open again with asword. The Arabian prophet, ere he passed on, bade the pilgrimswarn Friar Dolcino how he suffered himself to be surprised in hismountain-hold by the starvations of winter-time, if he did not wishspeedily to follow him. [35]

Among other mangled wretches, they beheld Piero of Medicina, a sower ofdissension, exhibiting to them his face and throat all over wounds; andCurio, compelled to shew his tongue cut out for advising Cæsar to crossthe Rubicon; and Mosca de' Lamberti, an adviser of assassination, andone of the authors of the Guelf and Ghibelline miseries, holding upthe bleeding stumps of his arms, which dripped on his face. "RememberMosca, " cried he; "remember him, alas! who said, 'A deed done is a thingended. ' A bad saying of mine was that for the Tuscan nation. "

"And death to thy family, " cried Dante. 

The assassin hurried away like a man driven mad with grief upon grief;and Dante now beheld a sight, which, if it were not, he says, for thetestimony of a good conscience--that best of friends, which gives aman assurance of himself under the breastplate of a spotlessinnocence[36]--he should be afraid to relate without further proof. Hesaw--and while he was writing the account of it he still appeared tosee--a headless trunk about to come past him with the others. It heldits severed head by the hair, like a lantern; and the head looked upat the two pilgrims, and said, "Woe is me!" The head was, in fact, alantern to the paths of the trunk; and thus there were two separatedthings in one, and one in two; and how that could be, he only can tellwho ordained it. As the figure came nearer, it lifted the head aloft, that the pilgrims might hear better what it said. "Behold, " it said, "behold, thou that walkest living among the dead, and say if there beany punishment like this. I am Bertrand de Born, he that incited Johnof England to rebel against his father. Father and son I set atvariance--closest affections I set at variance--and hence do I bear mybrain severed from the body on which it grew. In me behold the work ofretribution. " [37]

The eyes of Dante were so inebriate with all that diversity of bleedingwounds, that they longed to stay and weep ere his guide proceededfurther. Something also struck them on the sudden which added to hisdesire to stop. But Virgil asked what ailed him, and why he stood gazingstill on the wretched multitude. "Thou hast not done so, " continued he, "in any other portion of this circle; and the valley is twenty-two milesfurther about, and the moon already below us. Thou hast more yet to seethan thou wottest of, and the time is short. "

Dante, excusing himself for the delay, and proceeding to follow hisleader, said he thought he had seen, in the cavern at which he wasgazing so hard, a spirit that was one of his own family--and it was so. It was the soul of Geri del Bello, a cousin of the poet's. Virgil saidthat he had observed him, while Dante was occupied with Bertrand deBorn, pointing at his kinsman in a threatening manner. "Waste not athought on him, " concluded the Roman, "but leave him as he is. " "Ohonoured guide!" said Dante, "he died a violent death, which his kinsmenhave not yet avenged; and hence it is that he disdained to speak to me;and I must needs feel for him the more on that account. " [38]

They came now to the last partition of the circle of Evil-budget, andtheir ears were assailed with such a burst of sharp wailings, that Dantewas fain to close his with his hands. The misery there, accompanied bya horrible odour, was as if all the hospitals in the sultry marshes ofValdichiana had brought their maladies together into one infernal ditch. It was the place of punishment for pretended Alchemists, Coiners, Personators of other people, False Accusers, and Impostors of all suchdescriptions. They lay on one another in heaps, or attempted to crawlabout--some itching madly with leprosies--some swollen and gasping withdropsies--some wetly reeking, like hands washed in winter-time. Onewas an alchemist of Sienna, a nation vainer than the French; another aFlorentine, who tricked a man into making a wrong will; another, Sinonof Troy; another, Myrrha; another, the wife of Potiphar. Their miseriesdid not hinder them from giving one another malignant blows; and Dantewas listening eagerly to an abusive conversation between Sinon anda Brescian coiner, when Virgil rebuked him for the disgracefulcondescension, and said it was a pleasure fit only for vulgar minds. [39]

The blushing poet felt the reproof so deeply, that he could not speakfor shame, though he manifested by his demeanour that he longed to doso, and thus obtained the pardon he despaired of. He says he felt like aman that, during an unhappy dream, wishes himself dreaming while heis so, and does not know it. Virgil understood his emotion, and, asAchilles did with his spear, healed the wound with the tongue thatinflicted it. 

A silence now ensued between the companions; for they had quittedEvil-budget, and arrived at the ninth great circle of hell, on the moundof which they passed along, looking quietly and steadily before them. Daylight had given place to twilight; and Dante was advancing his heada little, and endeavouring to discern objects in the distance, when hiswhole attention was called to one particular spot, by a blast of ahorn so loud, that a thunder clap was a whisper in comparison. Orlandohimself blew no such terrific blast, after the dolorous rout, whenCharlemagne was defeated in his holy enterprise. [40] The poet raised hishead, thinking he perceived a multitude of lofty towers. He asked Virgilto what region they belonged; but Virgil said, "Those are no towers:they are giants, standing each up to his middle in the pit that goesround this circle. " Dante looked harder; and as objects clear up bylittle and little in the departing mist, he saw, with alarm, thetremendous giants that warred against Jove, standing half in andhalf out of the pit, like the towers that crowned the citadel ofMonteseggione. The one whom he saw plainest, and who stood with his armshanging down on each side, appeared to him to have a face as huge asthe pinnacle of St. Peter's, and limbs throughout in proportion. Themonster, as the pilgrims were going by, opened his dreadful mouth, fitfor no sweeter psalmody, and called after them, in the words of someunknown tongue, _Rafel, maee amech zabee almee_. [41] "Dull wretch!"exclaimed Virgil, "keep to thine horn, and so vent better whatsoeverfrenzy or other passion stuff thee. Feel the chain round thy throat, thou confusion! See, what a clenching hoop is about thy gorge!" Then hesaid to Dante, "His howl is its own mockery. This is Nimrod, he throughwhose evil ambition it was that mankind ceased to speak one language. Pass him, and say nothing; for every other tongue is to him, as his isto thee. "

The companions went on for about the length of a sling's throw, whenthey passed the second giant, who was much fiercer and linger thanNimrod. He was fettered round and round with chains, that fixed one armbefore him and the other behind him--Ephialtes his name, the same thatwould needs make trial of his strength against Jove himself. The handswhich he then wielded were now motionless, but he shook with passion;and Dante thought he should have died for terror, the effect on theground about him was so fearful. It surpassed that of a tower shaken byan earthquake. The poet expressed a wish to look at Briareus, but he wastoo far off. He saw, however, Antæus, who, not having fought againstheaven, was neither tongue-confounded nor shackled; and Virgil requestedthe "taker of a thousand lions, " by the fame which the living poet hadit in his power to give him, to bear the travellers in his arms down thesteep descent into this deeper portion of hell, which was the region oftormenting cold. Antmus, stooping, like the leaning tower of Bologna, to take them up, gathered them in his arms, and, depositing them in thegulf below, raised himself to depart like the mast of a ship. [42]

Had I hoarse and rugged words equal to my subject, says the poet, Iwould now make them fuller of expression, to suit the rocky horror ofthis hole of anguish; but I have not, and therefore approach it withfear, since it is no jesting enterprise to describe the depths of theuniverse, nor fit for a tongue that babbles of father and mother. [43]Let such of the Muses assist me as turned the words of Amphion intoTheban walls; so shall the speech be not too far different from thematter. 

Oh, ill-starred creatures! wretched beyond all others, to inhabit aplace so hard to speak of--better had ye been sheep or goats. 

The poet was beginning to walk with his guide along the place in whichthe giant had set them down, and was still looking up at the height fromwhich he had descended, when a voice close to him said, "Have a carewhere thou treadest. Hurt not with thy feet the heads of thy unhappybrethren. "

Dante looked down and before him, and saw that he was walking on a lakeof ice, in which were Murderous Traitors up to their chins, their teethchattering, their faces held down, their eyes locked up frozen withtears. Dante saw two at his feet so closely stuck together, that thevery hairs of their heads were mingled. He asked them who they were, andas they lifted up their heads for astonishment, and felt the cold doublycongeal them, they dashed their heads against one another for hate andfury. They were two brothers who had murdered each other. [44] Near themwere other Tuscans, one of whom the cold had deprived of his ears; andthousands more were seen grinning like dogs, for the pain. 

Dante, as he went along, _kicked_ the face of one of them, whether bychance, or fate, or _will_, [45] he could not say. The sufferer burstinto tears, and cried out, "Wherefore dost thou torment me? Art thoucome to revenge the defeat at Montaperto?" The pilgrim at this questionfelt eager to know who he was; but the unhappy wretch would not tell. His countryman seized him by the hair to force him; but still he saidhe would not tell, were he to be scalped a thousand times. Dante, uponthis, began plucking up his hairs by the roots, the man _barking_, [46]with his eyes squeezed up, at every pull; when another soul exclaimed, "Why, Bocca, what the devil ails thee? Must thou needs bark for cold aswell as chatter?" [47]

"Now, accursed traitor, betrayer of thy country's standard, " said Dante, "be dumb if thou wilt; for I shall tell thy name to the world. "

"Tell and begone!" said Bocca; "but carry the name of this babbler withthee; 'tis Buoso, who left the pass open to the enemy between Piedmontand Parma; and near him is the traitor for the pope, Beccaria; andGanellone, who betrayed Charlemagne; and Tribaldello, who opened Faenzato the enemy at night-time. "

The pilgrims went on, and beheld two other spirits so closely locked uptogether in one hole of the ice, that the head of one was right over theother's, like a cowl; and Dante, to his horror, saw that the upper headwas devouring the lower with all the eagerness of a man who is famished. The poet asked what could possibly make him skew a hate so brutal;adding, that if there were any ground for it, he would tell the story tothe world. [48]

The sinner raised his head from the dire repast, and after wiping hisjaws with the hair of it, said, "You ask a thing which it shakes me tothe heart to think of. It is a story to renew all my misery. But sinceit will produce this wretch his due infamy, hear it, and you shall seeme speak and weep at the same time. How thou tamest hither I know not;but I perceive by thy speech that thou art Florentine. 

"Learn, then, that I was the Count Ugolino, and this man was Ruggierithe Archbishop. How I trusted him, and was betrayed into prison, thereis no need to relate; but of his treatment of me there, and how cruel adeath I underwent, bear; and then judge if he has offended me. 

"I had been imprisoned with my children a long time in the tower whichhas since been called from me the Tower of Famine; and many a new moonhad I seen through the hole that served us for a window, when I dreamt adream that foreshadowed to me what was coming. Methought that this manheaded a great chase against the wolf, in the mountains between Pisaand Lucca. Among the foremost in his party were Gualandi, Sismondi, andLanfranchi, and the hounds were thin and eager, and high-bred; and in alittle while I saw the hounds fasten on the flanks of the wolf and thewolf's children, and tear them. At that moment I awoke with the voicesof my own children in my ears, asking for bread. Truly cruel must thoube, if thy heart does not ache to think of what I thought then. If thoufeel not for a pang like that, what is it for which thou art accustomedto feel? We were now all awake; and the time was at hand when theybrought us bread, and we had all dreamt dreams which made us anxious. Atthat moment I heard the key of the horrible tower turn in the lock ofthe door below, and fasten it. I looked at my children, and said not aword. I did not weep. I made a strong effort upon the soul within me. But my little Anselm said, 'Father, why do you look so? Is any thing thematter?' Nevertheless I did not weep, nor say a word all the day, northe night that followed. In the morning a ray of light fell upon usthrough the window of our sad prison, and I beheld in those four littlefaces the likeness of my own face, and then I began to gnaw my hands formisery. My children, thinking I did it for hunger, raised themselves onthe floor, and said, 'Father, we should be less miserable if you wouldeat our own flesh. It was you that gave it us. Take it again. ' Then Isat still, in order not to make them unhappier: and that day andthe next we all remained without speaking. On the fourth day, Gaddostretched himself at my feet, and said, 'Father, why won't you help me?'and there he died. And as surely as thou lookest on me, so surely Ibeheld the whole three die in the same manner. So I began in my miseryto grope about in the dark for them, for I had become blind; and threedays I kept calling on them by name, though they were dead; till faminedid for me what grief had been unable to do. "

With these words, the miserable man, his eyes starting from his head, seized that other wretch again with his teeth, and ground them againstthe skull as a dog does with a bone. 

O Pisa! scandal of the nations! since thy neighbours are so slow topunish thee, may the very islands tear themselves up from their roots inthe sea, and come and block up the mouth of thy river, and drown everysoul within thee. What if this Count Ugolino did, as report says he did, betray thy castles to the enemy? his children had not betrayed them; norought they to have been put to an agony like this. Their age was theirinnocence; and their deaths have given thee the infamy of a secondThebes. [49]

The pilgrims passed on, and beheld other traitors frozen up in swathesof ice, with their heads upside down. Their very tears had hindered themfrom shedding more; for their eyes were encrusted with the first theyshed, so as to be enclosed with them as in a crystal visor, which forcedback the others into an accumulation of anguish. One of the sufferersbegged Dante to relieve him of this ice, in order that he might vent alittle of the burden which it repressed. The poet said he would do so, provided he would disclose who he was. The man said he was the friarAlberigo, who invited some of his brotherhood to a banquet in order toslay them. 

"What!" exclaimed Dante, "art thou no longer, then, among the living?"

"Perhaps I appear to be, " answered the friar; "for the moment any onecommits a treachery like mine, his soul gives up his body to a demon, who thenceforward inhabits it in the man's likeness. Thou knowest BrancaDoria, who murdered his father-in-law, Zanche? He seems to be walkingthe earth still, and yet he has been in this place many years. " [50]

"Impossible!" cried Dante; "Branca Doria is still alive; he eats, drinks, and sleeps, like any other man. "

"I tell thee, " returned the friar, "that the soul of the man he slew hadnot reached that lake of boiling pitch in which thou sawest him, ere thesoul of his slayer was in this place, and his body occupied by a demonin its stead. But now stretch forth thy hand, and relieve mine eyes. "

Dante relieved them not. Ill manners, he said, were the only courtesyfit for such a wretch. [51]

O ye Genoese! he exclaims, --men that are perversity all over, and fullof every corruption to the core, why are ye not swept from the face ofthe earth? There is one of you whom you fancy to be walking about likeother men, and he is all the while in the lowest pit of hell!

"Look before thee, " said Virgil, as they advanced: "behold the bannersof the King of Hell. "

Dante looked, and beheld something which appeared like a windmill inmotion, as seen from a distance on a dark night. A wind of inconceivablesharpness came from it. 

The souls of those who had been traitors to their benefactors were herefrozen up in depths of pellucid ice, where they were seen in a varietyof attitudes, motionless; some upright, some downward, some bent double, head to foot. 

At length they came to where the being stood who was once eminent forall fair seeming. [52] This was the figure that seemed tossing its armsat a distance like a windmill. 

"Satan, " whispered Virgil; and put himself in front of Dante tore-assure him, halting him at the same time, and bidding him summon allhis fortitude. Dante stood benumbed, though conscious; as if he himselfhad been turned to ice. He felt neither alive nor dead. 

The lord of the dolorous empire, each of his arms as big as a giant, stood in the ice half-way up his breast. He had one head, but threefaces; the middle, vermilion; the one over the right shoulder a paleyellow; the other black. His sails of wings, huger than ever were beheldat sea, were in shape and texture those of a bat; and with these beconstantly flapped, so as to send forth the wind that froze the depthsof Tartarus. From his six eyes the tears ran down, mingling at his threechins with bloody foam; for at every mouth he crushed a sinner with histeeth, as substances are broken up by an engine. The middle sinner wasthe worst punished, for he was at once broken and flayed, and his headand trunk were inside the mouth. It was Judas Iscariot. 

Of the other two, whose heads were hanging out, one was Brutus, and theother Cassius. Cassius was very large-limbed. Brutus writhed with agony, but uttered not a word. [53]

"Night has returned, " said Virgil, "and all has been seen. It is time todepart onward. "

Dante then, at his bidding, clasped, as Virgil did, the huge inattentivebeing round the neck; and watching their opportunity, as the wingsopened and shut, they slipped round it, and so down his shaggy andfrozen sides, from pile to pile, clutching it as they went; tillsuddenly, with the greatest labour and pain, they were compelled to turnthemselves upside down, as it seemed, but in reality to regain theirproper footing; for they had passed the centre of gravity, and becomeAntipodes. 

Then looking down at what lately was upward, they saw Lucifer with hisfeet towards them; and so taking their departure, ascended a gloomyvault, till at a distance, through an opening above their heads, theybeheld the loveliness of the stars. [54]

[Footnote 1: "Parea che l'aer ne temesse. "]

[Footnote 2: "Là dove 'l sol tace. " "The sun to me is dark, And _silent_is the moon, Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. "--Milton. ]

[Footnote 3: There is great difference among the commentators respectingthe meaning of the three beasts; some supposing them passions, otherspolitical troubles, others personal enemies, &c. The point is not ofmuch importance, especially as a mystery was intended; but nobody, asMr. Cary says, can doubt that the passage was suggested by one in theprophet Jeremiah, v. 6: "Wherefore a lion out of the forest shall slaythem, and a wolf of the evenings shall spoil them; a leopard shall watchover their cities. "]

[Footnote 4:

 "Che quello 'mperador che là su regna Perch' i' fu'ribellante à la sua legge, Non vuol che 'n sua città per me sì vegna. " ]

[Footnote 5:

 "Quale i fioretti dal notturno gelo Chinati e chiusi, poi che 'l sol gl'imbianca, Si drizzan tutti aperti in loro stelo. "

 Like as the flowers that with the frosty night Are bowed and closed, soon as the sun returns, Rise on their stems, all open and upright. ]

[Footnote 6: This loss of intellectual good, and the confession of thepoet that he finds the inscription over hell-portal hard to understand(_il senso lor m'è duro_), are among the passages in Dante which leadsome critics to suppose that his hell is nothing but an allegory, intended at once to imply his own disbelief in it as understood by thevulgar part of mankind, and his employment of it, nevertheless, as asalutary check both to the foolish and the reflecting;--to the foolish, as an alarm; and to the reflecting, as a parable. It is possible, in theteeth of many appearances to the contrary, that such may have been thecase; but in the doubt that it affects either the foolish or the wise toany good purpose, and in the certainty that such doctrines do a worldof mischief to tender consciences and the cause of sound piety, suchmonstrous contradictions, in terms, of every sense of justice andcharity which God has implanted in the heart of man, are not to bepassed over without indignant comment. ]

[Footnote 7: It is seldom that a boast of this kind--not, it must beowned, bashful--has been allowed by posterity to be just; nay, in fourout of the five instances, below its claims. ]

[Footnote 8:

 "Genti v'eran, con occhi tardi e gravi, Di grande autorita ne' lor sembianti Parlavan rado, con voci soavi. " ]

[Footnote 9: "Sopra 'l verde smalto. " Mr. Cary has noticed theappearance, for the first time, of this beautiful but now commonplaceimage. ]

[Footnote 10: "Il maestro di color che sanno. "]

[Footnote 11: This is the famous episode of Paulo and Francesca. Shewas daughter to Count Guido da Polenta, lord of Ravenna, and wife toGiovanni Malatesta, one of the sons, of the lord of Rimini. Paulo washer brother-in-law. They were surprised together by the husband, andslain on the spot. Particulars of their history will be found in theAppendix, together with the whole original passage. 

 "Quali colombe, dal disio chiamate, Con l'ali aperte e ferme, al dolce nido Volan per l'aer dal voler portate

 Cotali uscir de la schiera ov'è Dido, A noi venendo per l'aer maligno, Sì forte fu l'affettuoso grido. "

 As doves, drawn home from where they circled still, Set firm their open wings, and through the air Come sweeping, wafted by their pure good-will

 So broke from Dido's flock that gentle pair, Cleaving, to where we stood, the air malign, Such strength to bring them had a loving prayer. ]

[Footnote 12: Francesca is to be conceived telling her story in anxiousintermitting sentences--now all tenderness for her lover, now angry attheir slayer; watching the poet's face, to see what he thinks, andat times averting her own. I take this excellent direction from UgoFoscolo. ]

[Footnote 13:

 "Nessun maggior dolore, Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Ne la miseria. " ]

[Footnote 14:

 "Per più fiate gli occhi ci sospinse Quella lettura. ""To look at one another, " says Boccaccio; and his interpretationhas been followed by Cary and Foscolo; but, with deference to suchauthorities, I beg leave to think that the poet meant no more than hesays, namely, that their eyes were simply "suspended"--hung, as it were, over the book, without being able to read on; which is what I intendedto express (if I may allude to a production of which both those criticswere pleased to speak well), when, in my youthful attempt to enlargethis story, I wrote "And o'er the book they hung, and nothing said, And every lingering page grew longer as they read. "

_Story of Rimini. _]

[Footnote 15:

 "Mentre che l'uno spirto questo disse, L'altro piangeva sì, che di pietade I' venni men così com'io morisse, E caddi come corpo morto cade. "

This last line has been greatly admired for the corresponding deadnessof its expression. 

 While thus one spoke, the other spirit mourn'd With wail so woful, that at his remorse I felt as though I should have died. I turn'd Stone-stiff; and to the ground, fell like a corse. 

The poet fell thus on the ground (some of the commentators think)because he had sinned in the same way; and if Foscolo's opinion couldbe established--that the incident of the book is invention--theirconclusion would receive curious collateral evidence, the circumstanceof the perusal of the romance in company with a lady being likely enoughto have occurred to Dante. But the same probability applies in the caseof the lovers. The reading of such books was equally the taste of theirown times; and nothing is more likely than the volume's having beenfound in the room where they perished. The Pagans could not be rebelsto a law they never heard of, any more than Dante could be a rebelto Luther. But this is one of the absurdities with which the impiouseffrontery or scarcely less impious admissions of Dante's teachersavowedly set reason at defiance, --retaining, meanwhile, their right ofcontempt for the impieties of Mahometans and Brahmins; "which is odd, "as the poet says; for being not less absurd, or, as the others argued, much more so, they had at least an equal claim on the submission of thereason; since the greater the irrationality, the higher the theologicaltriumph. ]

[Footnote 16: Plutus's exclamation about Satan is a great choke-pear tothe commentators. The line in the original is

 "Pape Satan, pape Satan aleppe. "

The words, as thus written, are not Italian. It is not the business ofthis abstract to discuss such points; and therefore I content myselfwith believing that the context implies a call of alarm on the Prince ofHell at the sight of the living creature and his guide. ]

[Footnote 17: Phlegyas, a son of Mars, was cast into hell by Apollo forsetting the god's temple on fire in resentment for the violation of hisdaughter Coronis. The actions of gods were not to be questioned, inDante's opinion, even though the gods turned out to be false Jugghanautis as good as any, while he lasts. It is an ethico-theological puzzle, involving very nice questions; but at any rate, had our poet been aBrahmin of Benares, we know how he would have written about it inSanscrit. ]

[Footnote 18: Filippo Argenti (Philip _Silver_, --so called from hisshoeing his horse with the precious metal) was a Florentine remarkablefor bodily strength and extreme irascibility. What a barbarous strengthand confusion of ideas is there in this whole passage about him!Arrogance punished by arrogance, a Christian mother blessed for theunchristian disdainfulness of her son, revenge boasted of and enjoyed, passion arguing in a circle! Filippo himself might have written it. Dante says, "Con piangere e con lutto Spirito maladetto, ti rimani. Via costà con gli altri cani, " &c. 

Then Virgil, kissing and embracing him, "Alma sdegnosa Benedetta colei che 'n te s'incinse, " &c. 

And Dante again, "Maestro, molto sarei vago Di vederlo attuffare in questa broda, " &c. ]

[Footnote 19: Dis, one of the Pagan names of Pluto, here used for Satan. Within the walls of the city of Dis commence the punishments by fire. ]

[Footnote 20: Farinata was a Ghibelline leader before the time of Dante, and had vanquished the poet's connexions at the battle of Montaperto. ]

[Footnote 21: What would Guido have said to this? More, I suspect, thanDante would have liked to hear, or known how to answer. But he diedbefore the verses transpired; probably before they were written; forDante, in the chronology of his poem, assumes what times and seasons hefinds most convenient. ]

[Footnote 22:

 "Sì che la pioggia non par che 'l maturi. "

This is one of the grandest passages in Dante. It was probably (asEnglish commentators have observed) in Milton's recollection when heconceived the character of Satan. ]

[Footnote 23: The satire of friarly hypocrisy is at least as fine asAriosto's discovery of Discord in a monastery. 

The monster Geryon, son of Chrysaor (_Golden-sword_), and theOcean-nymph Callirhoe (_Fair-flowing_), was rich in the possessionof sheep. His wealth, and perhaps his derivatives, rendered him thisinstrument of satire. The monstrosity, the mild face, the glancing pointof venom, and the beautiful skin, make it as fine as can be. ]

[Footnote 24: "_Malebolge_, " literally Evil-Budget. _Bolgia_ is an oldform of the modern _baule_, the common term for a valise or portmanteau. "Bolgia" (says the _Vocabolario della Crusca, compendiato_, Ven. 1792), "a valise; Latin, bulga, hippopera; Greek, ippopetha [Greek]. Inreference to valises which open lengthways like a chest, Dante uses theword to signify those compartments which he feigns in his Hell. " (Persimilitudine di quelle valigie, che s'aprono per lo lungo, a guisa dicassa, significa quegli spartimenti, che Dante finge nell' Inferno. )The reader will think of the homely figurative names in Bunyan, and thecontempt which great and awful states of mind have for conventionalnotions of rank in phraseology. It is a part, if well considered, oftheir grandeur. ]

[Footnote 25: Boniface the Eighth was the pope then living, and one ofthe causes of Dante's exile. It is thus the poet contrives to put hisenemies in hell before their time. ]

[Footnote 26: An allusion to the pretended gift of the Lateran byConstantine to Pope Sylvester, ridiculed so strongly by Ariosto andothers. ]

[Footnote 27: A truly infernal sentiment. The original is, "Quì vive la pietà quand' è ben morta. " Here pity lives when it is quite dead. 

 "Chi è più scellerato, " continues the poet, "di colui, Ch'al giudicio divin passion porta. "

That is: "Who is wickeder than he that sets his impassioned feelingsagainst the judgments of God?" The answer is: He that attributesjudgments to God which are to render humanity pitiless. ]

[Footnote 28: _Ne' fianchi così poco_. Michael Scot had been inFlorence; to which circumstance we are most probably indebted for thiscurious particular respecting his shape. The consignment of such men tohell is a mortifying instance of the great poet's participation in thevulgarest errors of his time. It is hardly, however, worth notice, considering what we see him swallowing every moment, or pretending toswallow. ]

[Footnote 29: "Bonturo must have sold him something cheap, " exclaimed ahearer of this passage. No:--the exception is an irony! There was notone honest man in all Lucca!]

[Footnote 30:

 "Intorno si mira Tutto smarrito da la grande angoscia Ch'egli ha sofferta, e guardando sospira. "

This is one of the most terribly natural pictures of agonisedastonishment ever painted. ]

[Footnote 31: I retain this passage, horrible as it is to Protestantears, because it is not only an instance of Dante's own audacity, buta salutary warning specimen of the extremes of impiety generated byextreme superstition; for their first cause is the degradation of theDivine character. Another, no doubt, is the impulsive vehemence of theSouth. I have heard more blasphemies, in the course of half an hour, from the lips of an Italian postilion, than are probably uttered inEngland, by people not out of their senses, for a whole year. Yet thewords, after all, were mere words; for the man was a good-naturedfellow, and I believe presented no image to his mind of anything he wassaying. Dante, however, would certainly not have taught him better byattempting to frighten him. A violent word would have only produced moreviolence. Yet this was the idle round which the great poet thought itbest to run!]

[Footnote 32: Cianfa, probably a condottiere of Mrs. Radcliffe's sort, and robber on a large scale, is said to have been one of the Donatifamily, connexions of the poet by marriage. ]

[Footnote 33: This, and the transformation that follows, may well excitethe pride of such a poet as Dante; though it is curious to see how heselects inventions of this kind as special grounds of self-complacency. They are the most appalling ever yet produced. ]

[Footnote 34: Guido, Conte di Montefeltro, a celebrated soldier of thatday, became a Franciscan in his old age, in order to repent of his sins;but, being consulted in his cloister by Pope Boniface on the best modeof getting possession of an estate belonging to the Colonna family, and being promised absolution for his sins in the lump, including theopinion requested, he recommended the holy father to "promise much, andperform nothing" (_molto promettere, e nulla attendere_). ]

[Footnote 35: Dolcino was a Lombard friar at the beginning of thefourteenth century, who is said to have preached a community of goods, including women, and to have pretended to a divine mission for reformingthe church. He appears to have made a considerable impression, havingthousands of followers, but was ultimately seized in the mountains wherethey lived, and burnt with his female companion Margarita, and manyothers. Landino says he was very eloquent, and that "both he andMargarita endured their fate with a firmness worthy of a better cause. "Probably his real history is not known, for want of somebody in suchtimes bold enough to write it. ]

[Footnote 36: Literally, "under the breastplate of knowing himself to bepure:"

 "Sotto l'osbergo del sentirsi pura. "

The expression is deservedly admired; but it is not allowable inEnglish, and it is the only one admitting no equivalent which I havemet with in the whole poem. It might be argued, perhaps, against theperfection of the passage, that a good "conscience, " and a man's"knowing himself to be pure, " are a tautology; for Dante himself hasalready used that word;

 "Conscienzia m'assicura; La buona compagnia che l'uom francheggia Sotto l'osbergo, " &c. 

But still we feel the impulsive beauty of the phrase; and I wish I couldhave kept it. ]

[Foonote 37: This ghastly fiction is a rare instance of the meeting ofphysical horror with the truest pathos. ]

[Footnote 38: The reader will not fail to notice this characteristicinstance of the ferocity of the time. ]

[Footnote 39: This is admirable sentiment; and it must have been noordinary consciousness of dignity in general which could have made Danteallow himself to be the person rebuked for having forgotten it. Perhapsit was a sort of penance for his having, on some occasion, fallen intothe unworthiness. ]

[Footnote 40: By the Saracens in Roncesvalles; afterwards so favouritea topic with the poets. The circumstance of the horn is taken from theChronicle of the pretended Archbishop Turpin, chapter xxiv. ]

[Footnote 41: The gaping monotony of this jargon, full of the vowel _a_, is admirably suited to the mouth of the vast, half-stupid speaker. It islike a babble of the gigantic infancy of the world. ]

[Footnote 42:

 "Nè sì chinato li fece dimora, E come albero in nave si levò. "

A magnificent image! I have retained the idiomatic expression of theoriginal, _raised himself_, instead of saying rose, because it seemed tome to give the more grand and deliberate image. ]

[Footnote 43: Of "_màmma_" and "_bàbbo_, " says the primitive poet. Wehave corresponding words in English, but the feeling they produce is notidentical. The lesser fervour of the northern nations renders them, insome respects, more sophisticate than they suspect, compared with the"artful" Italians. ]

[Footnote 44: Alessandro and Napoleon degli Alberti, sons of Alberto, lord of the valley of Falterona in Tuscany. After their father's deaththey tyrannised over the neighbouring districts, and finally had amortal quarrel. The name of Napoleon used to be so rare till of lateyears, even in Italian books, that it gives one a kind of interestingsurprise to meet with it. ]

[Footnote 45:

 "Se _voler_ fu, o destino o fortuna, Non so. "

What does the Christian reader think of that?]

[Footnote 46: Latrando. ]

[Footnote 47: Bocca degli Abbati, whose soul barks like a dog, occasioned the defeat of the Guelfs at Montaperto, in the year 1260, bytreacherously cutting off the hand of the standard-bearer. ]

[Footnote 48: This is the famous story of Ugolino, who betrayed thecastles of Pisa to the Florentines, and was starved with his children inthe Tower of Famine. ]

[Footnote 49: I should be loath to disturb the inimitable pathos of thisstory, if there did not seem grounds for believing that the poet was toohasty in giving credit to parts of it, particularly the ages of some ofhis fellow-prisoners, and the guilt of the archbishop. See the Appendixto this volume. ]

[Footnote 50: This is the most tremendous lampoon, as far as I am aware, in the whole circle of literature. ]

[Footnote 51: "Cortesia fu lui esser villano. " This is the foulest blotwhich Dante has cast on his own character in all his poem (short of thecruelties he thinks fit to attribute to God). It is argued that he iscruel and false, out of hatred to cruelty and falsehood. But why thenadd to the sum of both? and towards a man, too, supposed to be sufferingeternally? It is idle to discern in such barbarous inconsistencies anything but the writer's own contributions to the stock of them. Theutmost credit for right feeling is not to be given on every occasion toa man who refuses it to every one else. ]

[Footnote 52: "La creatura ch'ebbe il bel sembiante. "

This is touching; but the reader may as well be prepared for a totalfailure in Dante's conception of Satan, especially the English reader, accustomed to the sublimity of Milton's. Granting that the RomanCatholic poet intended to honour the fallen angel with no sublimity, but to render him an object of mere hate and dread, he has overdone anddegraded the picture into caricature. A great stupid being, stuck up inice, with three faces, one of which is yellow, and three mouths, eacheating a sinner, one of those sinners being Brutus, is an objectfor derision; and the way in which he eats these, his everlasting_bonnes-bouches, _ divides derision with disgust. The passage must begiven, otherwise the abstract of the poem would be incomplete; but Icannot help thinking it the worst anti-climax ever fallen into by agreat poet. ]

[Footnote 53: This silence is, at all events, a compliment to Brutus, especially from a man like Dante, and the more because it is extorted. Dante, no doubt, hated all treachery, particularly treachery to theleader of his beloved Roman emperors; forgetting three things; first, that Cæsar was guilty of treachery himself to the Roman people; second, that he, Dante, has put Curio in hell for advising Cæsar to cross theRubicon, though he has put the crosser among the good Pagans; and third, that Brutus was educated in the belief that the punishment of suchtreachery as Cæsar's by assassination was one of the first of duties. How differently has Shakspeare, himself an aristocratic rather thandemocratic poet, and full of just doubt of the motives of assassins ingeneral, treated the error of the thoughtful, conscientious, Platonicphilosopher!]

[Footnote 54: At the close of this medley of genius, pathos, absurdity, sublimity, horror, and revoltingness, it is impossible for anyreflecting heart to avoid asking, _Cui bono?_ What is the good of itto the poor wretches, if we are to suppose it true? and what to theworld--except, indeed, as a poetic study and a warning against degradingnotions of God--if we are to take it simply as a fiction? Theology, disdaining both questions, has an answer confessedly incomprehensible. Humanity replies: Assume not premises for which you have worse than noproofs. ]

II. 

THE JOURNEY THROUGH PURGATORY. 

Argument. 

Purgatory, in the system of Dante, is a mountain at the Antipodes, onthe top of which is the Terrestrial Paradise, once the seat of Adam andEve. It forms the principal part of an island in a sea, and possessesa pure air. Its lowest region, with one or two exceptions of redeemedPagans, is occupied by Excommunicated Penitents and by Delayers ofPenitence, all of whom are compelled to lose time before their atonementcommences. The other and greater portion of the ascent is divided intocircles or plains, in which are expiated the Seven Deadly Sins. The Poetascends from circle to circle with Virgil and Statius, and is met ina forest on the top by the spirit of Beatrice, who transports him toHeaven. 

THE JOURNEY THROUGH PURGATORY. 

When the pilgrims emerged from the opening through which they beheld thestars, they found themselves in a scene which enchanted them with hopeand joy. It was dawn: a sweet pure air came on their faces; and theybeheld a sky of the loveliest oriental sapphire, whose colour seemedto pervade the whole serene hollow from earth to heaven. The beautifulplanet which encourages loving thoughts made all the orient laugh, obscuring by its very radiance the stars in its train; and among thosewhich were still lingering and sparkling in the southern horizon, Dante saw four in the shape of a cross, never beheld by man since theygladdened the eyes of our first parents. Heaven seemed to rejoice intheir possession. O widowed northern pole! bereaved art thou, indeed, since thou canst not gaze upon them![1]

The poet turned to look at the north where he had been accustomed to seestars that no longer appeared, and beheld, at his side, an old man, whostruck his beholder with a veneration like that of a son for his father. He had grey hairs, and a long beard which parted in two down hisbosom; and the four southern stars beamed on his face with such lustre, that his aspect was as radiant as if he had stood in the sun. 

"Who are ye?" said the old man, "that have escaped from the dreadfulprison-house? Can the laws of the abyss be violated? Or has Heavenchanged its mind, that thus ye are allowed to come from the regions ofcondemnation into mine?"

It was the spirit of Cato of Utica, the warder of the ascent ofpurgatory. 

The Roman poet explained to his countryman who they were, and how Dantewas under heavenly protection; and then he prayed leave of passage ofhim by the love he bore to the chaste eyes of his Marcia, who sent him amessage from the Pagan circle, hoping that he would still own her. 

Cato replied, that although he was so fond of Marcia while on earth thathe could deny her nothing, he had ceased, in obedience to new laws, tohave any affection for her, now that she dwelt beyond the evil river;but as the pilgrim, his companion, was under heavenly protection, hewould of course do what he desired. [2] He then desired him to gird hiscompanion with one of the simplest and completest rushes he would see bythe water's side, and to wash the stain of the lower world out of hisface, and so take their journey up the mountain before them, by apath which the rising sun would disclose. And with these words hedisappeared. [3]

The pilgrims passed on, with the eagerness of one who thinks every stepin vain till he finds the path he has lost. The full dawn by this timehad arisen, and they saw the trembling of the sea in the distance. [4]Virgil then dipped his hands into a spot of dewy grass, where the sunhad least affected it, and with the moisture bathed the face of Dante, who held it out to him, suffused with tears;[5] and then they went ontill they came to a solitary shore, whence no voyager had ever returned, and there the loins of the Florentine were girt with the rush. 

On this shore they were standing in doubt how to proceed, --movingonward, as it were, in mind, while yet their feet were staying, --whenthey be held a light over the water at a distance, rayless at first asthe planet Mars when he looks redly out of the horizon through a fog, but speedily growing brighter and brighter with amazing swiftness. Dantehad but turned for an instant to ask his guide what it was, when, onlooking again, it had grown far brighter. Two splendid phenomena, heknew not what, then developed themselves from it on either side; and, bydegrees, another below it. The two splendours quickly turned out to bewings; and Virgil, who had hitherto watched its coming in silence, criedout, "Down, down, --on thy knees! It is God's angel. Clasp thine hands. Now thou shalt behold operancy indeed. Lo, how he needs neither sail noroar, coming all this way with nothing but his wings! Lo, how he holdsthem aloft, using the air with them at his will, and knowing they cannever be weary. "

The "divine bird" grew brighter and brighter as he came, so that theeye at last could not sustain the lustre; and Dante turned his to theground. A boat then rushed to shore which the angel had brought withhim, so light that it drew not a drop of water. The celestial pilotstood at the helm, with bliss written in his face; and a hundred spiritswere seen within the boat, who, lifting up their voices, sang the psalmbeginning "When Israel came out of Egypt. " At the close of the psalm, the angel blessed them with the sign of the cross, and they all leapedto shore; upon which he turned round, and departed as swiftly as hecame. 

The new-comers, after gazing about them for a while, in the manner ofthose who are astonished to see new sights, inquired of Virgil and hiscompanion the best way to the mountain. Virgil explained who they were;and the spirits, pale with astonishment at beholding in Dante a livingand breathing man, crowded about him, in spite of their anxiety toshorten the period of their trials. One of them came darting out of thepress to embrace him, in a manner so affectionate as to move the poet toreturn his warmth; but his arms again and again found themselves crossedon his own bosom, having encircled nothing. The shadow, smiling at theastonishment in the other's face, drew back; and Dante hastened as muchforward to shew his zeal in the greeting, when the spirit in a sweetvoice recommended him to desist. The Florentine then knew who itwas, --Casella, a musician, to whom he had been much attached. Aftermutual explanations as to their meeting, Dante requested his friend, ifno ordinance opposed it, to refresh his spirit awhile with one of thetender airs that used to charm away all his troubles on earth. Casellaimmediately began one of his friend's own productions, commencing withthe words, "Love, that delights to talk unto my soul Of all the wonders of mylady's nature. "

And he sang it so beautifully, that the sweetness rang within the poet'sheart while recording the circumstance. The other spirits listened withsuch attention, that they seemed to have forgotten the very purposeof their coming; when suddenly the voice of Cato was heard, sternlyrebuking their delay; and the whole party speeded in trepidation towardsthe mountain. [6]

The two pilgrims, who had at first hastened with the others, in a littlewhile slackened their steps; and Dante found that his body projected ashadow, while the form of Virgil had none. When arrived at the foot ofthe mountain, they were joined by a second party of spirits, of whomVirgil inquired the way up it. One of the spirits, of a noble aspect, but with a gaping wound in his forehead, stepped forth, and asked Danteif he remembered him. The poet humbly answering in the negative, thestranger disclosed a second wound, that was in his bosom; and then, witha smile, announced himself as Manfredi, king of Naples, who was slain inbattle against Charles of Anjou, and died excommunicated. Manfredi gaveDante a message to his daughter Costanza, queen of Arragon, begging herto shorten the consequences of the excommunication by her prayers;since he, like the rest of the party with him, though repenting of hiscontumacy against the church, would have to wander on the outskirts ofPurgatory three times as long as the presumption had lasted, unlessrelieved by such petitions from the living. [7]

Dante went on, with his thoughts so full of this request, that he didnot perceive he had arrived at the path which Virgil asked for, till thewandering spirits called out to them to say so. The pilgrims then, withgreat difficulty, began to ascend through an extremely narrow passage;and Virgil, after explaining to Dante how it was that in this antipodalregion his eastward face beheld the sun in the north instead of thesouth, was encouraging him to proceed manfully in the hope of findingthe path easier by degrees, and of reposing at the end of it, when theyheard a voice observing, that they would most likely find it expedientto repose a little sooner. The pilgrims looked about them, and observedclose at hand a crag of a rock, in the shade of which some spirits werestanding, as men stand idly at noon. Another was sitting down, as iftired out, with his arms about his knees, and his face bent down betweenthem. [8]

"Dearest master!" exclaimed Dante to his guide, "what thinkest thou of acroucher like this, for manful journeying? Verily he seems to have beentwin-born with Idleness herself. "

The croucher, lifting up his eyes at these words, looked hard at Dante, and said, "Since thou art so stout, push on. "

Dante then saw it was Belacqua, a pleasant acquaintance of his, famousfor his indolence. 

"That was a good lesson, " said Belacqua, "that was given thee just nowin astronomy. "

The poet could not help smiling at the manner in which his acquaintanceuttered these words, it was so like his ways of old. Belacqua pretended, even in another world, that it was of no use to make haste, since theangel had prohibited his going higher up the mountain. He and hiscompanions had to walk round the foot of it as many years as they haddelayed repenting; unless, as in the case of Manfredi, their time wasshortened by the prayers of good people. 

A little further on, the pilgrims encountered the spirits of suchDelayers of Penitence as, having died violent deaths, repented at thelast moment. One of them, Buonconte da Montefeltro, who died in battle, and whose body could not be found, described how the devil, having beenhindered from seizing him by the shedding of a single tear, had raisedin his fury a tremendous tempest, which sent the body down the riverArno, and buried it in the mud. [9]

Another spirit, a female, said to Dante, "Ah! when thou returnest toearth, and shalt have rested from thy long journey, remember me, --Pia. Sienna gave me life; the Marshes took it from me. This he knows, who puton my finger the wedding-ring. "[10]

The majority of this party were so importunate with the Florentineto procure them the prayers of their friends, that he had as muchdifficulty to get away, as a winner at dice has to free himself from themercenary congratulations of the by-standers. On resuming their way, Dante quoted to Virgil a passage in the Æneid, decrying the utility ofprayer, and begged him to explain how it was to be reconciled with whatthey had just heard. Virgil advised him to wait for the explanation tillhe saw Beatrice, whom, he now said, he should meet at the top of themountain. Dante, at this information, expressed a desire to hasten theirprogress; and Virgil, seeing a spirit looking towards them as theyadvanced, requested him to acquaint them with the shortest road. 

The spirit, maintaining a lofty and reserved aspect, was as silent as ifhe had not heard the request; intimating by his manner that they mightas well proceed without repeating it, and eyeing them like a lion on thewatch. Virgil, however, went up to him, and gently urged it; but theonly reply was a question as to who they were and of what country. TheLatin poet beginning to answer him, had scarcely mentioned the word"Mantua, " when the stranger went as eagerly up to his interrogator asthe latter had done to him, and said, "Mantua! My own country! My nameis Sordello. " And the compatriots embraced. 

O degenerate Italy! exclaims Dante; land without affections, withoutprinciple, without faith in any one good thing! here was a man who couldnot hear the sweet sound of a fellow-citizen's voice without feeling hisheart gush towards him, and there are no people now in any one of thytowns that do not hate and torment one another. 

Sordello, in another tone, now exclaimed, "But who are ye?"

Virgil disclosed himself, and Sordello fell at his feet. [11]

Sordello now undertook to accompany the great Roman poet and his friendto a certain distance on their ascent towards the penal quarters of themountain; but as evening was drawing nigh, and the ascent could notbe made properly in the dark, he proposed that they should await thedawning of the next day in a recess that overlooked a flowery hollow. The hollow was a lovely spot of ground, enamelled with flowers thatsurpassed the exquisitest dyes, and green with a grass brighter thanemeralds newly broken. [12] There rose from it also a fragrance of athousand different kinds of sweetness, all mingled into one that was newand indescribable; and with the fragrance there ascended the chant ofthe prayer beginning "Hail, Queen of Heaven, "[13] which was sung by amultitude of souls that appeared sitting on the flowery sward. 

Virgil pointed them out. They were penitent delayers of penitence, ofsovereign rank. Among them, however, were spirits who sat mute; oneof whom was the Emperor Rodolph, who ought to have attended better toItaly, the garden of the empire; and another, Ottocar, king of Bohemia, his enemy, who now comforted him; and another, with a small nose, [14]Philip the Third of France, who died a fugitive, shedding the leaves ofthe lily; he sat beating his breast; and with him was Henry the Third ofNavarre, sighing with his cheek on his hand. One was the father, and onethe father-in-law of Philip the Handsome, the bane of France; and it wason account of his unworthiness they grieved. 

But among the singers Virgil pointed out the strong-limbed King ofArragon, Pedro; and Charles, king of Naples, with his masculine nose(these two were singing together); and Henry the Third of England, theking of the simple life, sitting by himself;[15] and below these, butwith his eyes in heaven, Guglielmo marquis of Montferrat. 

It was now the hour when men at sea think longingly of home, and feeltheir hearts melt within them to remember the day on which they badeadieu to beloved friends; and now, too, was the hour when the pilgrim, new to his journey, is thrilled with the like tenderness, when he hearsthe vesper-bell in the distance, which seems to mourn for the expiringday. [16] At this hour of the coming darkness, Dante beheld one of thespirits in the flowery hollow arise, and after giving a signal to theothers to do as he did, stretch forth both hands, palm to palm, towardsthe East, and with softest emotion commence the hymn beginning, "Thee before the closing light. "[17]

Upon which all the rest devoutly and softly followed him, keeping theireyes fixed on the heavens. At the end of it they remained, with palecountenances, in an attitude of humble expectation; and Dante saw theangels issue from the quarter to which they looked, and descend towardsthem with flaming swords in their hands, broken short of the point. Their wings were as green as the leaves in spring; and they woregarments equally green, which the fanning of the wings kept in a stateof streaming fluctuation behind them as they came. One of them took hisstand on a part of the hill just over where the pilgrims stood, and theother on a hill opposite, so that the party in the valley were betweenthem. Dante could discern their heads of hair, notwithstanding itsbrightness; but their faces were so dazzling as to be undistinguishable. 

"They come from Mary's bosom, " whispered Sordello, "to protect thevalley from the designs of our enemy yonder, --the Serpent. "

Dante looked in trepidation towards the only undefended side of thevalley, and beheld the Serpent of Eve coming softly among the grass andflowers, occasionally turning its head, and licking its polished back. Before he could take off his eyes from the evil thing, the two angelshad come down like falcons, and at the whirring of their pinions theserpent fled. The angels returned as swiftly to their stations. 

Aurora was now looking palely over the eastern cliff on the other sideof the globe, and the stars of midnight shining over the heads of Danteand his friends, when they seated themselves for rest on the mountain'sside. The Florentine, being still in the flesh, lay down for weariness, and was overcome with sleep. In his sleep he dreamt that a golden eagleflashed down like lightning upon him, and bore him up to the regionof fire, where the heat was so intense that it woke him, staring andlooking round about with a pale face. His dream was a shadowing ofthe truth. He had actually come to another place, --to the entrance ofPurgatory itself. Sordello had been left behind, Virgil alone remained, looking him cheerfully in the face. Saint Lucy had come from heaven, and shortened the fatigue of his journey by carrying him upwards as heslept, the heathen poet following them. On arriving where they stood, the fair saint intimated the entrance of Purgatory to Virgil by a glancethither of her beautiful eyes, and then vanished as Dante woke. [18]

The portal by which Purgatory was entered was embedded in a cliff. Ithad three steps, each of a different colour; and on the highest of thesethere sat, mute and watching, an angel in ash-coloured garments, holdinga naked sword, which glanced with such intolerable brightness on Dante, whenever he attempted to look, that he gave up the endeavour. The angeldemanded who they were, and receiving the right answer, gently bade themadvance. 

Dante now saw, that the lowest step was of marble, so white and clearthat he beheld his face in it. The colour of the next was a deadlyblack, and it was all rough, scorched, and full of cracks. The third wasof flaming porphyry, red as a man's blood when it leaps forth underthe lancet. [19] The angel, whose feet were on the porphyry, sat on athreshold which appeared to be rock-diamond. Dante, ascending the steps, with the encouragement of Virgil, fell at the angel's feet, and, afterthrice beating himself on the breast, humbly asked admittance. Theangel, with the point of his sword, inscribed the first letter of theword _peccatum_ (sin) seven times on the petitioner's forehead; then, bidding him pray with tears for their erasement, and be cautious how helooked back, opened the portal with a silver and a golden key. [20]The hinges roared, as they turned, like thunder; and the pilgrims, onentering, thought they heard, mingling with the sound, a chorus ofvoices singing, "We praise thee, O God!"[21] It was like the chant thatmingles with a cathedral organ, when the words that the choristers utterare at one moment to be distinguished, and at another fade away. 

The companions continued ascending till they reached a plain. Itstretched as far as the eye could see, and was as lonely as roads acrossdeserts. 

This was the first flat, or table-land, of the ascending gradations ofPurgatory, and the place of trial for the souls of the Proud. It wasbordered with a mound, or natural wall, of white marble, sculptured allover with stories of humility. Dante beheld among them the Annunciation, represented with so much life, that the sweet action of the angel seemedto be uttering the very word, "Hail!" and the submissive spirit of theVirgin to be no less impressed, like very wax, in her demeanour. Thenext story was that of David dancing and harping before the ark, --anaction in which he seemed both less and greater than a king. Michalwas looking out upon him from a window, like a lady full of scorn andsorrow. Next to the story of David was that of the Emperor Trajan, whenhe did a thing so glorious, as moved St. Gregory to gain the greatest ofall his conquests--the delivering of the emperor's soul from hell. 

A widow, in tears and mourning, was laying hold of his bridle as he rodeamidst his court with a noise of horses and horsemen, while the Romaneagles floated in gold over his head. The miserable creature spoke outloudly among them all, crying for vengeance on the murderers of hersons. The emperor seemed to say, "Wait till I return. "

But she, in the hastiness of her misery, said, "Suppose thou returnestnot?"

"Then my successor will attend to thee, " replied the emperor. 

"And what hast thou to do with the duties of another man, " cried she, "if thou attendest not to thine own?"

"Now, be of good comfort, " concluded Trajan, "for verily my duty shallbe done before I go; justice wills it, and pity arrests me. "

Dante was proceeding to delight himself further with these sculptures, when Virgil whispered hint to look round and see what was coming. He didso, and beheld strange figures advancing, the nature of which he couldnot make out at first, for they seemed neither human, nor aught elsewhich he could call to mind. They were souls of the proud, bent doubleunder enormous burdens. 

"O proud, miserable, woe-begone Christians!" exclaims the poet; "ye who, in the shortness of your sight, see no reason for advancing in theright path! Know ye not that we are worms, born to compose the angelicbutterfly, provided we throw off the husks that impede our flight?"[22]

The souls came slowly on, each bending down in proportion to his burden. They looked like the crouching figures in architecture that are usedto support roofs or balconies, and that excite piteous fancies in thebeholders. The one that appeared to have the most patience, yet seemedas if he said, "I can endure no further. "

The sufferers, notwithstanding their anguish, raised their voices ina paraphrase on the Lord's Prayer, which they concluded with humblystating, that they repeated the clause against temptation, not forthemselves, but for those who were yet living. 

Virgil, wishing them a speedy deliverance, requested them to spew thebest way of going up to the next circle. Who it was that answered himcould not be discerned, on account of their all being so bent down; buta voice gave them the required direction; the speaker adding, that hewished he could raise his eyes, so as to see the living creature thatstood near him. He said that his name was Omberto--that he came ofthe great Tuscan race of Aldobrandesco--and that his countrymen, theSiennese, murdered him on account of his arrogance. 

Dante had bent down his own head to listen, and in so doing he wasrecognised by one of the sufferers, who, eyeing him as well as he could, addressed him by name. The poet replied by exclaiming, "Art thou notOderisi, the glory of Agubbio, the master of the art of illumination?"

"Ah!" said Oderisi, "Franco of Bologna has all the glory now. Hiscolours make the pages of books laugh with beauty, compared with whatmine do. [23] I could not have owned it while on earth, for the sin whichhas brought me hither; but so it is; and so will it ever be, let a man'sfame be never so green and flourishing, unless he can secure a dull ageto come after him. Cimabue, in painting, lately kept the field againstall comers, and now the cry is 'Giotto. ' Thus, in song, a new Guido hasdeprived the first of his glory, and he perhaps is born who shall driveboth out of the nest. [24] Fame is but a wind that changes about from allquarters. What does glory amount to at best, that a man should preferliving and growing old for it, to dying in the days of his nurse andhis pap-boat, even if it should last him a thousand years? A thousandyears!--the twinkling of an eye. Behold this man, who weeps before me;his name resounded once over all our Tuscany, and now it is scarcelywhispered in his native place. He was lord there at the time that youronce proud but now loathsome Florence had such a lesson given to itsfrenzy at the battle of Arbia. "

"And what is his name?" inquired Dante. 

"Salvani, " returned the limner. "He is here, because he had thepresumption to think that he could hold Sienna in the hollow of hishand. Fifty years has he paced in this manner. Such is the punishmentfor audacity. "

"But why is he here at all, " said Dante, "and not in the outer region, among the delayers of repentance?"

"Because, " exclaimed the other, "in the height of his ascendancy he didnot disdain to stand in the public place in Sienna, and, trembling inevery vein, beg money from the people to ransom a friend from captivity. Do I appear to thee to speak with mysterious significance? Thycountrymen shall too soon help thee to understand me. "[25]

Virgil now called Dante away from Oderisi, and bade him notice theground on which they were treading. It was pavement, wrought all overwith figures, like sculptured tombstones. There was Lucifer among them, struck flaming down from heaven; and Briareus, pinned to the earth withthe thunderbolt, and, with the other giants, amazing the gods with hishugeness; and Nimrod, standing confounded at the foot of Babel; andNiobe, with her despairing eyes, turned into stone amidst her children;and Saul, dead on his own sword in Gilboa; and Arachne, now half spider, at fault on her own broken web; and Rehoboam, for all his insolence, flying in terror in his chariot; and Alcmæon, who made his mother paywith her life for the ornament she received to betray his father; andSennacherib, left dead by his son in the temple; and the head of Cyrus, thrown by the motherless woman into the goblet of blood, that it mightswill what it had thirsted for; and Holofernes, beheaded; and hisAssyrians flying at his death; and Troy, all become cinders and hollowplaces. Oh! what a fall from pride was there! Now, maintain theloftiness of your looks, ye sons of Eve, and walk with proud steps, bending not your eyes on the dust ye were, lest ye perceive the evil ofyour ways. [26]

"Behold, " said Virgil, "there is an angel coming. "

The angel came on, clad in white, with a face that sent trembling beamsbefore it, like the morning star. He skewed the pilgrims the way up tothe second circle; and then, beating his wings against the forehead ofDante, on which the seven initials of sin were written, told him heshould go safely, and disappeared. 

On reaching the new circle, Dante, instead of the fierce wailings thatused to meet him at every turn in hell, heard voices singing, "Blessedare the poor in spirit. "[27] As he went, he perceived that he walkedlighter, and was told by Virgil that the angel had freed him from one ofthe letters on his forehead. He put his hand up to make sure, as a mandoes in the street when people take notice of something on his head ofwhich he is not aware; and Virgil smiled. 

In this new circle the sin of Envy was expiated. After the pilgrims hadproceeded a mile, they heard the voices of invisible spirits passingthem, uttering sentiments of love and charity; for it was charity itselfthat had to punish envy. 

The souls of the envious, clad in sackcloth, sat leaning for support andhumiliation, partly against the rocky wall of the circle, and partly onone another's shoulders, after the manner of beggars that ask alms nearplaces of worship. Their eyes were sewn up, like those of hawks intraining, but not so as to hinder them from shedding tears, which theydid in abundance; and they cried, "Mary, pray for us!--Michael, Peter, and all the saints, pray for us!"

Dante spoke to them; and one, a female, lifted up her chin as a blindperson does when expressing consciousness of notice, and said she wasSapia of Sienna, who used to be pleased at people's misfortunes, and hadrejoiced when her countrymen lost the battle of Colle. "_Sapia_ wasmy name, " she said, "but _sapient_ I was not[28], for I prayed God todefeat my countrymen; and when he had done so (as he had willed to do), I raised my bold face to heaven, and cried out to him, 'Now do thyworst, for I fear thee not!' I was like the bird in the fable, whothought the fine day was to last for ever. What I should have done in mylatter days to make up for the imperfect amends of my repentance, I knownot, if the holy Piero Pettignano had not assisted me with his prayers. But who art thou that goest with open eyes, and breathest in thy talk?"

"Mine eyes, " answered Dante, "may yet have to endure the blindness inthis place, though for no long period. Far more do I fear the sufferingsin the one that I have just left. I seem to feel the weight already uponme. "[29]

The Florentine then informed Sapia how he came thither, which, she said, was a great sign that God loved him; and she begged his prayers. Theconversation excited the curiosity of two spirits who overheard it; andone of them, Guido del Duca, a noble Romagnese, asked the poet ofwhat country he was. Dante, without mentioning the name of the river, intimated that he came from the banks of the Arno; upon which the otherspirit, Rinier da Calboli, asked his friend why the stranger suppressedthe name, as though it was something horrible. Guido said he well might;for the river, throughout its course, beheld none but bad men andpersecutors of virtue. First, he said, it made its petty way by thesties of those brutal hogs, the people of Casentino, and then arrived atthe dignity of watering the kennels of the curs of Arezzo, who excelledmore in barking than in biting; then, growing unluckier as it grewlarger, like the cursed and miserable ditch that it was, it found inFlorence the dogs become wolves; and finally, ere it went into the sea, it passed the den of those foxes, the Pisans, who were full of suchcunning that they held traps in contempt. 

"It will be well, " continued Guido, "for this man to remember what hehears;" and then, after prophesying evil to Florence, and confessing toDante his sin of envy, which used to make him pale when any one lookedhappy, he added, "This is Rinieri, the glory of that house of Calboliwhich now inherits not a spark of it. Not a spark of it, did I say, inthe house of Calboli? Where is there a spark in all Romagna? Where isthe good Lizio?--where Manardi, Traversaro, Carpigna? The Romagnese haveall become bastards. A mechanic founds a house in Bologna! a Bernardindi Fosco finds his dog-grass become a tree in Faenza! Wonder not, Tuscan, to see me weep, when I think of the noble spirits that we havelived with--of the Guidos of Prata, and the Ugolins of Azzo--of FederigoTignoso and his band--of the Traversaros and Anastagios, families nowruined--and all the ladies and the cavaliers, the alternate employmentsand delights which wrapped us in a round of love and courtesy, where nowthere is nothing but ill-will! O castle of Brettinoro! why dost thounot fall? Well has the lord of Bagnacavallo done, who will have no morechildren. Who would propagate a race of Counties from such blood as theCastrocaros and the Conios? Is not the son of Pagani called the Demon?and would it not be better that such a son were swept out of the family?Nay, let him live to chew to what a pitch of villany it has arrived. Ubaldini alone is blest, for his name is good, and he is too old toleave a child after him. Go, Tuscan--go; for I would be left to mytears. "

Dante and Virgil turned to move onward, and had scarcely done so, when atremendous voice met them, splitting the air like peals of thunder, andcrying out, "Whoever finds me will slay me!" then dashed apart, like thethunder-bolt when it falls. It was Cain. The air had scarcely recoveredits silence, when a second crash ensued from a different quarter nearthem, like thunder when the claps break swiftly into one another. "I amAglauros, " it said, "that was turned into stone. " Dante drew closer tohis guide, and there ensued a dead silence. [30]

The sun was now in the west, and the pilgrims were journeying towardsit, when Dante suddenly felt such a weight of splendour on his eyes, asforced him to screen them with both his hands. It was an angel coming toshow them the ascent to the next circle, a way that was less steep thanthe last. While mounting, they heard the angel's voice singing behindthem, "Blessed are the merciful; for they shall obtain mercy!" and onhis leaving them to proceed by themselves, the second letter on Dante'sforehead was found to have been effaced by the splendour. 

The poet looked round in wonder on the new circle, where the sinof Anger was expiated, and beheld, as in a dream, three successivespectacles illustrative of the virtue of patience. The first was that ofa crowded temple, on the threshold of which a female said to her son, inthe sweet manner of a mother, "Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us?Behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing:"[31]--and here shebecame silent, and the vision ended. The next was the lord of Athens, Pisistratus, calmly reproving his wife for wishing him to put to deathher daughter's lover, who, in a transport, had embraced her in public. "If we are to be thus severe, " said Pisistratus, "with those that loveus, what is to be done with such as hate?" The last spectacle was thatof a furious multitude shouting and stoning to death a youth, who, as hefell to the ground, still kept his face towards heaven, making his eyesthe gates through which his soul reached it, and imploring forgivenessfor his murderers. [32]

The visions passed away, leaving the poet staggering as if but halfawake. They were succeeded by a thick and noisome fog, through which hefollowed his leader with the caution of a blind man, Virgil repeatedlytelling him not to quit him a moment. Here they heard voices praying inunison for pardon to the "Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of theworld. " They were the spirits of the angry. Dante conversed with one ofthem on free-will and necessity; and after quitting him, and issuing bydegrees from the cloud, beheld illustrative visions of anger; such asthe impious mother, who was changed into the bird that most delights insinging; Haman, retaining his look of spite and rage on the cross; andLavinia, mourning for her mother, who slew herself for rage at the deathof Turnus. [33]

These visions were broken off by a great light, as sleep is broken; andDante heard a voice out of it saying, "The ascent is here. " He then, asVirgil and he ascended into the fourth circle, felt an air on his face, as if caused by the fanning of wings, accompanied by the utteranceof the words, "Blessed are the peace-makers;" and his forehead waslightened of the third letter. [34]

In this fourth circle was expiated Lukewarmness, or defect of zeal forgood. The sufferers came speeding and weeping round the mountain, makingamends for the old indifference by the haste and fire of the new lovethat was in them. "Blessed Mary made haste, " cried one, "to saluteElizabeth. " "And Cæsar, " cried another, "to smite Pompey at Lerida. "[35]"And the disobedient among the Israelites, " cried others, "died beforethey reached the promised land. " "And the tired among the Trojanspreferred ease in Sicily to glory in Latium. "--It was now midnight, andDante slept and had a dream. 

His dream was of a woman who came to him, having a tongue that triedineffectually to speak, squinting eyes, feet whose distortion drew hertowards the earth, stumps of hands, and a pallid face. Dante lookedearnestly at her, and his look acted upon her like sunshine upon cold. Her tongue was loosened; her feet made straight; she stood upright; herpaleness became a lovely rose-colour; and she warbled so beautifully, that the poet could not have refused to listen had he wished it. 

"I am the sweet Syren, " she said, "who made the mariners turn pale forpleasure in the sea. I drew Ulysses out of his course with my song; andhe that harbours with me once, rarely departs ever, so well I pay himfor what he abandons. "

Her lips were not yet closed, when a lady of holy and earliestcountenance came up to shame her. "O Virgil!" she cried angrily, "who isthis?" Virgil approached, with his eyes fixed on the lady; and the ladytore away the garments of the woman, and spewed her to be a creature soloathly, that the sleeper awoke with the horror. [36]

Virgil said, "I have called thee three times to no purpose. Let us move, and find the place at which we are to go higher. "

It was broad day, with a sun that came warm on the shoulders; and Dantewas proceeding with his companion, when the softest voice they everheard directed them where to ascend, and they found an angel with them, who pointed his swan-like wings upward, and then flapped them againstthe pilgrims, taking away the fourth letter from the forehead of Dante. "Blessed are they that mourn, " said the angel, "for they shall becomforted. "

The pilgrims ascended into the fifth circle, and beheld the expiators ofAvarice grovelling on the ground, and exclaiming, as loud as they couldfor the tears that choked them, "My soul hath cleaved to the dust. "Dante spoke to one, who turned out to be Pope Adrian the Fifth. Thepoet fell on his knees; but Adrian bade him arise and err not. "I am nolonger, " said he, "spouse of the Church, here; but fellow-servant withthee and with all others. Go thy ways, and delay not the time of mydeliverance. "

The pilgrims moving onward, Dante heard a spirit exclaim, in thestruggling tones of a woman in child-bed, "O blessed Virgin! That was apoor roof thou hadst when thou wast delivered of thy sacred burden. Ogood Fabricius! Virtue with poverty was thy choice, and not vice withriches. " And then it told the story of Nicholas, who, hearing that afather was about to sacrifice the honour of his three daughters for wantof money, threw bags of it in at his window, containing portions forthem all. 

Dante earnestly addressed this spirit to know who he was; and the spiritsaid it would tell him, not for the sake of help, for which it lookedelsewhere, but because of the shining grace that was in his questioner, though yet alive. 

"I was root, " said the spirit, "of that evil plant which overshadows allChristendom to such little profit. Hugh Capet was I, ancestor of thePhilips and Louises of France, offspring of a butcher of Paris, when theold race of kings was worn out. [37] We began by seizing the governmentin Paris; then plundered in Provence; then, to make amends, laid hold ofPoitou, Normandy, and Gascony; then, still to make amends, put Conradinto death and seized Naples; then, always to make amends, gave SaintAquinas his dismissal to Heaven by poison. I see the time at hand when adescendant of mine will be called into Italy, and the spear that Judas_jousted with_[38] shall transfix the bowels of Florence. Another of myposterity sells his daughter for a sum of money to a Marquis of Ferrara. Another seizes the pope in Alagna, and mocks Christ over again in theperson of his Vicar. A fourth rends the veil of the temple, solely toseize its money. O Lord, how shall I rejoice to see the vengeance whicheven now thou huggest in delight to thy bosom![39]

"Of loving and liberal things, " continued Capet, "we speak while it islight; such as thou heardest me record, when I addressed myself to theblessed Virgin. But when night comes, we take another tone. Then wedenounce Pygmalion, [39] the traitor, the robber, and the parricide, eachthe result of his gluttonous love of gold; and Midas, who obtained hiswish, to the laughter of all time; and the thief Achan, who still seemsfrightened at the wrath of Joshua; and Sapphira and her husband, whom weaccuse over again before the Apostles; and Heliodorus, whom we bless thehoofs of the angel's horse for trampling;[40] and Crassus, on whom wecall with shouts of derision to tell us the flavour of his molten gold. Thus we record our thoughts in the night-time, now high, now low, now atgreater or less length, as each man is prompted by his impulses. And itwas thus thou didst hear me recording also by day-time, though I had norespondent near me. "

The pilgrims quitted Hugh Capet, and were eagerly pursuing theirjourney, when, to the terror of Dante, they felt the whole mountain ofPurgatory tremble, as though it were about to fall in. The island ofDelos shook not so awfully when Latona, hiding there, brought forth thetwin eyes of Heaven. A shout then arose on every side, so enormous, thatVirgil stood nigher to his companion, and bade him be of good heart. "Glory be to God in the highest, " cried the shout; but Dante couldgather the words only from those who were near him. 

It was Purgatory rejoicing for the deliverance of a soul out of itsbounds. [41]

The soul overtook the pilgrims as they were journeying in amazementonwards; and it turned out to be that of Statius, who had been convertedto Christianity in the reign of Domitian. [42] Mutual astonishment led toinquiries that explained who the other Latin poet was; and Statius fellat his master's feet. 

Statius had expiated his sins in the circle of Avarice, not for thatvice, but for the opposite one of Prodigality. 

An angel now, as before, took the fifth letter from Dante's forehead;and the three poets having ascended into the sixth round of themountain, were journeying on lovingly together, Dante listening withreverence to the talk of the two ancients, when they came up to asweet-smelling fruit-tree, upon which a clear stream came tumbling froma rock beside it, and diffusing itself through the branches. The Latinpoets went up to the tree, and were met by a voice which said, "Bechary of the fruit. Mary thought not of herself at Galilee, but of thevisitors, when she said, 'They have no wine. ' The women of oldest Romedrank water. The beautiful age of gold feasted on acorns. Its thirstmade nectar out of the rivulet. The Baptist fed on locusts and wildhoney, and became great as you see him in the gospel. "

The poets went on their way; and Dante was still listening to theothers, when they heard behind them a mingled sound of chanting andweeping, which produced an effect at once sad and delightful. It was thepsalm, "O Lord, open thou our lips!" and the chanters were expiatorsof the sin of Intemperance in Meats and Drinks. They were condemned tocircuit the mountain, famished, and to long for the fruit and waters ofthe tree in vain. They soon came up with the poets--a pallid multitude, with hollow eyes, and bones staring through the skin. The sockets oftheir eyes looked like rings from which the gems had dropped. [43] One ofthem knew and accosted Dante, who could not recognise him till heheard him speak. It was Forese Donati, one of the poet's most intimateconnexions. Dante, who had wept over his face when dead, could as littleforbear weeping to see him thus hungering and thirsting, though he hadexpected to find him in the outskirts of the place, among the delayersof repentance. He asked his friend how he had so quickly got higher. Forese said it was owing to the prayers and tears of his good wifeNella; and then he burst into a strain of indignation against thecontrast exhibited to her virtue by the general depravity of theFlorentine women, whom he described as less modest than the half-nakedsavages in the mountains of Sardinia. 

"What is to be said of such creatures?" continued he. "O my dear cousin!I see a day at hand, when these impudent women shall be for bidden fromthe pulpit to go exposing their naked bosoms. What savages or whatinfidels ever needed that? Oh! if they could see what Heaven has instore for them, their mouths would be this instant opened wide forhowling. "[44]

Forese then asked Dante to explain to himself and his astonishedfellow-sufferers how it was that he stood there, a living body of fleshand blood, casting a shadow with his substance. 

"If thou callest to mind, " said Dante, "what sort of life thou and I ledtogether, the recollection may still grieve thee sorely. He that walkshere before us took me out of that life; and through his guidance itis that I have visited in the body the world of the dead, and am nowtraversing the mountain which leads us to the right path. "[45]

After some further explanation, Forese pointed out to his friend, amongthe expiators of intemperance, Buonaggiunta of Lucca, the poet; and PopeMartin the Fourth, with a face made sharper than the rest for the eelswhich he used to smother in wine; and Ubaldino of Pila, grinding histeeth on air; and Archbishop Boniface of Ravenna, who fed jovially onhis flock; and Rigogliosi of Forli, who had had time enough to drink inthe other world, and yet never was satisfied. Buonaggiunta and Danteeyed one another with curiosity; and the former murmured something abouta lady of the name of Gentucca. 

"Thou seemest to wish to speak with me, " said Dante. 

"Thou art no admirer, I believe, of my native place, " said Buonaggiunta;"and yet, if thou art he whom I take thee to be, there is a damsel thereshall make it please thee. Art thou not author of the poem beginning

"Ladies, that understand the lore of love?"[46]

"I am one, " replied Dante, "who writes as Love would have him, heedingno manner but his dictator's, and uttering simply what he suggests. "[47]

"Ay, that is the sweet new style, " returned Buonaggiunta; "and I now seewhat it was that hindered the notary, and Guittone, and myself, fromhitting the right natural point. " And here he ceased speaking, lookinglike one contented to have ascertained a truth. [48]

The whole multitude then, except Forese, skimmed away like cranes, swiftalike through eagerness and through leanness. Forese lingered a momentto have a parting word with his friend, and to prophesy the violent endof the chief of his family, Corso, run away with and dragged at theheels of his horse faster and faster, till the frenzied animal smiteshim dead. Having given the poet this information, the prophet speededafter the others. 

The companions now came to a second fruit-tree, to which a multitudewere in vain lifting up their hands, just as children lift them to a manwho tantalises them with shewing something which he withholds; but avoice out of a thicket by the road-side warned the travellers not tostop, telling them that the tree was an offset from that of which Evetasted. "Call to mind, " said the voice, "those creatures of the clouds, the Centaurs, whose feasting cost them their lives. Remember theHebrews, how they dropped away from the ranks of Gideon to quench theireffeminate thirst. "[49]

The poets proceeded, wrapt in thought, till they heard another voice ofa nature that made Dante start and shake as if he had been some paltryhackney. 

"Of what value is thought, " said the voice, "if it lose its way? Thepath lies hither. "

Dante turned toward the voice, and beheld a shape glowing red as ina furnace, with a visage too dazzling to be looked upon. It met him, nevertheless, as he drew nigh, with an air from the fanning of its wingsfresh as the first breathing of the wind on a May morning, and fragrantas all its flowers; and Dante lost the sixth letter on his forehead, andascended with the two other poets into the seventh and last circle ofthe mountain. 

This circle was all in flames, except a narrow path on the edge of itsprecipice, along which the pilgrims walked. A great wind from outside ofthe precipice kept the flames from raging beyond the path; and in themidst of the fire went spirits expiating the sin of Incontinence. Theysang the hymn beginning "God of consummate mercy!"[50] Dante wascompelled to divide his attention between his own footsteps and theirs, in order to move without destruction. At the close of the hymn theycried aloud, "I know not a man!"[51] and then recommenced it; afterwhich they again cried aloud, saying, "Diana ran to the wood, and droveCalisto out of it, because she knew the poison of Venus!" And thenagain they sang the hymn, and then extolled the memories of chastewomen and husbands; and so they went on without ceasing, as long astheir time of trial lasted. 

Occasionally the multitude that went in one direction met anotherwhich mingled with and passed through it, individuals of both greetingtenderly by the way, as emmets appear to do, when in passing they touchthe antennæ of one another. These two multitudes parted with loud andsorrowful cries, proclaiming the offences of which they had been guilty;and then each renewed their spiritual songs and prayers. 

The souls here, as in former circles, knew Dante to be a living creatureby the shadow which he cast; and after the wonted explanations, helearned who some of them were. One was his predecessor in poetry, GuidoGuinicelli, from whom he could not take his eyes for love and reverence, till the sufferer, who told him there was a greater than himself inthe crowd, vanished away through the fire as a fish does in water. Thegreater one was Arnauld Daniel, the Provençal poet, who, after beggingthe prayers of the traveller, disappeared in like manner. 

The sun by this time was setting on the fires of Purgatory, when anangel came crossing the road through them, and then, standing on theedge of the precipice, with joy in his looks, and singing, "Blessed arethe pure in heart!" invited the three poets to plunge into the flamesthemselves, and so cross the road to the ascent by which the summit ofthe mountain was gained. Dante, clasping his hands, and raising themaloft, recoiled in horror. The thought of all that he had just witnessedmade him feel as if his own hour of death was come. His companionencouraged him to obey the angel; but he could not stir. Virgil said, "Now mark me, son; this is the only remaining obstacle between theeand Beatrice;" and then himself and Statius entering the fire, Dantefollowed them. 

"I could have cast myself, " said he, "into molten glass to cool myself, so raging was the furnace. " Virgil talked of Beatrice to animate him. Hesaid, "Methinks I see her eyes beholding us. " There was, indeed, a greatlight upon the quarter to which they were crossing; and out of the lightissued a voice, which drew them onwards, singing, "Come, blessed of myFather! Behold, the sun is going down, and the night cometh, and theascent is to be gained. "

The travellers gained the ascent, issuing out of the fire; and the voiceand the light ceased, and night was come. Unable to ascend farther inthe darkness, they made themselves a bed, each of a stair in the rock;and Dante, in his happy humility, felt as if he had been a goat lyingdown for the night near two shepherds. 

Towards dawn, at the hour of the rising of the star of love, he had adream, in which he saw a young and beautiful lady coming over a lea, and bending every now and then to gather flowers; and as she bound theflowers into a garland, she sang, "I am Leah, gathering flowers to adornmyself, that my looks may seem pleasant to me in the mirror. But mysister Rachel abides before the mirror, flowerless; contented withher beautiful eyes. To behold is my sister's pleasure, and to work ismine. "[52]

When Dante awoke, the beams of the dawn were visible; and they nowproduced a happiness like that of the traveller, who every time heawakes knows himself to be nearer home. Virgil and Statius were alreadyup; and all three, resuming their way to the mountain's top, stood uponit at last, and gazed round about them on the skirts of the terrestrialParadise. The sun was sparkling bright over a green land, full of treesand flowers. Virgil then announced to Dante, that here his guidanceterminated, and that the creature of flesh and blood was at length tobe master of his own movements, to rest or to wander as he pleased, thetried and purified lord over himself. 

The Florentine, eager to taste his new liberty, left his companionsawhile, and strolled away through the celestial forest, whose thick andlively verdure gave coolness to the senses in the midst of thebrightest sun. A fragrance came from every part of the soil; a sweetunintermitting air streamed against the walker's face; and as thefull-hearted birds, warbling on all sides, welcomed the morning'sradiance into the trees, the trees themselves joined in the concert witha swelling breath, like that which rises among the pines of Chiassi, when Eolus lets loose the south-wind, and the gathering melody comesrolling through the forest from bough to bough. [53]

Dante had proceeded far enough to lose sight of the point at which heentered, when he found himself on the bank of a rivulet, compared withwhose crystal purity the limpidest waters on earth were clouded. And yetit flowed under a perpetual depth of shade, which no beam either of sunor moon penetrated. Nevertheless the darkness was coloured with endlessdiversities of May-blossoms; and the poet was standing in admiration, looking up at it along its course, when he beheld something that tookaway every other thought; to wit, a lady, all alone, on the other sideof the water, singing and culling flowers. 

"Ah, lady!" said the poet, "who, to judge by the cordial beauty in thylooks, hast a heart overflowing with love, be pleased to draw theenearer to the stream, that I may understand the words thou singest. Thouremindest me of Proserpine, of the place she was straying in, and ofwhat sort of creature she looked, when her mother lost her, and sheherself lost the spring-time on earth. "

As a lady turns in the dance when it goes smoothest, moving round withlovely self-possession, and scarcely seeming to put one foot beforethe other, so turned the lady towards the water over the yellow andvermilion flowers, dropping her eyes gently as she came, and singingso that Dante could hear her. Then when she arrived at the water, shestopped, and raised her eyes towards him, and smiled, shewing him theflowers in her hands, and shifting them with her fingers into a displayof all their beauties. Never were such eyes beheld, not even when Venusherself was in love. The stream was a little stream; yet Dante feltit as great an intervention between them, as if it had been Leander'sHellespont. 

The lady explained to him the nature of the place, and how the rivuletwas the Lethe of Paradise;--Lethe, where he stood, but called Eunoehigher up; the drink of the one doing away all remembrance of evildeeds, and that of the other restoring all remembrance of good. [54] Itwas the region, she said, in which Adam and Eve had lived; and the poetshad beheld it perhaps in their dreams on Mount Parnassus, and henceimagined their golden age;--and at these words she looked at Virgil andStatius, who by this time had come up, and who stood smiling at herkindly words. 

Resuming her song, the lady turned and passed up along the rivulet thecontrary way of the stream, Dante proceeding at the same rate of time onhis side of it; till on a sudden she cried, "Behold, and listen!" and alight of exceeding lustre came streaming through the woods, followedby a dulcet melody. The poets resumed their way in a rapture ofexpectation, and saw the air before them glowing under the green boughslike fire. A divine spectacle ensued of holy mystery, with evangelicaland apocalyptic images, which gradually gave way and disclosed a carbrighter than the chariot of the sun, accompanied by celestial nymphs, and showered upon by angels with a cloud of flowers, in the midst ofwhich stood a maiden in a white veil, crowned with olive. 

The love that had never left Dante's heart from childhood told him whoit was; and trembling in every vein, he turned round to Virgil forencouragement. Virgil was gone. At that moment, Paradise and Beatriceherself could not requite the pilgrim for the loss of his friend; andthe tears ran down his cheeks. 

"Dante, " said the veiled maiden across the stream, "weep not that Virgilleaves thee. Weep thou not yet. The stroke of a sharper sword is coming, at which it will behove thee to weep. " Then assuming a sterner attitude, and speaking in the tone of one who reserves the bitterest speechfor the last, she added, "Observe me well. I am, as thou suspectest, Beatrice indeed;--Beatrice, who has to congratulate thee on deigning toseek the mountain at last. And hadst thou so long indeed to learn, thathere only can man be happy?"

Dante, casting down his eyes at these words, beheld his face in thewater, and hastily turned aside, he saw it so full of shame. 

Beatrice had the dignified manner of an offended parent; such a flavourof bitterness was mingled with her pity. 

She held her peace; and the angels abruptly began singing, "In thee, OLord, have I put my trust;" but went no farther in the psalm than thewords, "Thou hast set my feet in a large room. " The tears of Dante hadhitherto been suppressed; but when the singing began, they again rolleddown his cheeks. 

Beatrice, in a milder tone, said to the angels, "This man, when heproposed to himself in his youth to lead a new life, was of a truth sogifted, that every good habit ought to have thrived with him; but thericher the soil, the greater peril of weeds. For a while, the innocentlight of my countenance drew him the right way; but when I quittedmortal life, he took away his thoughts from remembrance of me, and gavehimself to others. When I had risen from flesh to spirit, and increasedin worth and beauty, then did I sink in his estimation, and he turnedinto other paths, and pursued false images of good that never keep theirpromise. In vain I obtained from Heaven the power of interfering in hisbehalf, and endeavoured to affect him with it night and day. So littlewas he concerned, and into such depths he fell, that nothing remainedbut to shew him the state of the condemned; and therefore I went totheir outer regions, and commended him with tears to the guide thatbrought him hither. The decrees of Heaven would be nought, if Lethecould be passed, and the fruit beyond it tasted, without any payment ofremorse. [55]

"O thou, " she continued, addressing herself to Dante, "who standest onthe other side of the holy stream, say, have I not spoken truth?"

Dante was so confused and penitent, that the words failed as they passedhis lips. 

"What could induce thee, " resumed his monitress, "when I had given theeaims indeed, to abandon them for objects that could end in nothing?"

Dante said, "Thy face was taken from me, and the presence of falsepleasure led me astray. "

"Never didst thou behold, " cried the maiden, "loveliness like mine; andif bliss failed thee because of my death, how couldst thou be allured bymortal inferiority? That first blow should have taught thee to disdainall perishable things, and aspire after the soul that had gone beforethee. How could thy spirit endure to stoop to further chances, or to achildish girl, or any other fleeting vanity? The bird that is newly outof the nest may be twice or thrice tempted by the snare; but in vain, surely, is the net spread in sight of one that is older. "[56]

Dante stood as silent and abashed as a sorry child. 

"If but to hear me, " said Beatrice, "thus afflicts thee, lift up thybeard, and see what sight can do. "

Dante, though feeling the sting intended by the word "beard, " did as hewas desired. The angels had ceased to scatter their clouds of flowersabout the maiden; and be beheld her, though still beneath her veil, asfar surpassing her former self in loveliness, as that self had surpassedothers. The sight pierced him with such pangs, that the more he hadloved any thing else, the more he now loathed it; and he fell senselessto the ground. 

When he recovered his senses, he found himself in the hands of the ladyhe had first seen in the place, who bidding him keep firm hold of her, drew him into the river Lethe, and so through and across it to the otherside, speeding as she went like a weaver's shuttle, and immersing himwhen she arrived, the angels all the while singing, "Wash me, and Ishall be whiter than snow. "[57] She then delivered him into the hands ofthe nymphs that had danced about the car, --nymphs on earth, but starsand cardinal virtues in heaven; a song burst from the lips of theangels; and Faith, Hope, and Charity, calling upon Beatrice to unveilher face, she did so; and Dante quenched the ten-years thirst of hiseyes in her ineffable beauty. [58]

After a while he and Statius were made thoroughly regenerate with thewaters of Eunoe; and he felt pure with a new being, and fit to soar intothe stars. 

[Footnote 1:

 "Dolce color d'oriental zaffiro Che s'accoglieva nel serenoaspetto De l'aer puro infino al primo giro, A gli occhi miei ricomincio diletto, Tosto ch'io usci' fuor de l'aura morta Che m'avea contristati gli occhi e 'l petto. 

 Lo bel pianeta, ch'ad amar conforta, Faceva tutto rider l'oriente, Velando i Pesci, ch'erano in sua scorta. 

 Io mi volsi a man destra, e posi mente All'altro polo, e vidi quattro stelle Non viste mai, fuor ch'a la prima gente;

 Goder pareva 'l ciel di lor fiammelle. O settentrional vedovo sito, Poi che privato sei di mirar quelle!"

 The sweetest oriental sapphire blue, Which the whole air in its pure bosom had, Greeted mine eyes, far as the heavens withdrew;

 So that again they felt assured and glad, Soon as they issued forth from the dead air, Where every sight and thought had made them sad. 

 The beauteous star, which lets no love despair, Made all the orient laugh with loveliness, Veiling the Fish that glimmered in its hair. 

 I turned me to the right to gaze and bless, And saw four more, never of living wight Beheld, since Adam brought us our distress;

 Heaven seemed rejoicing in their happy light. O widowed northern pole, bereaved indeed, Since thou hast had no power to see that sight!

Readers who may have gone thus far with the "Italian Pilgrim'sProgress, " will allow me to congratulate them on arriving at this lovelyscene, one of the most admired in the poem. 

This is one of the passages which make the religious admirers of Danteinclined to pronounce him divinely inspired; for how could he otherwisehave seen stars, they ask us, which were not discovered till afterhis time, and which compose the constellation of the Cross? But othercommentators are of opinion, that the Cross, though not so named tillsubsequently (and Dante, we see, gives no prophetic hint about thename), _had_ been seen, probably by stray navigators. An Arabian globeis even mentioned by M. Artaud (see Cary), in which the Southern Crossis set down. Mr. Cary, in his note on the passage, refers to Seneca'sprediction of the discovery of America; most likely suggested by similarinformation. "But whatever, " he adds, "may be thought of this, it iscertain that the four stars are here symbolical of the four cardinalvirtues;" and he refers to canto xxxi, where those virtues areretrospectively associated with these stars. The symbol, however, isnot, necessary. Dante was a very curious inquirer on all subjects, andevidently acquainted with ships and seamen as well as geography; and hisimagination would eagerly have seized a magnificent novelty like this, and used it the first opportunity. Columbus's discovery, as the readerwill see, was anticipated by Pulci. ]

[Footnote 2: Generous and disinterested!--Cato, the republican enemy ofCæsar, and committer of suicide, is not luckily chosen for his presentoffice by the poet who has put Brutus into the devil's mouth in spite ofhis agreeing with Cato, and the suicide Piero delle Vigne into hell inspite of his virtues. But Dante thought Cato's austere manners like hisown. ]

[Footnote 3: The girding with the rush (_giunco schietto_) is_ supposedby the commentators to be an injunction of simplicity and patience. Perhaps it is to enjoin sincerity; especially as the region of expiationhas now been entered, and sincerity is the first step to repentance. It will be recollected that Dante's former girdle, the cord of theFranciscan friars, has been left in the hands of Fraud. ]

[Footnote 4:

 "L'alba vinceva l'ora mattutina Che fuggia 'nnanzi, sì che di lontano Conobbi il tremolar de la marina. "

 The lingering shadows now began to flee Before the whitening dawn, so that mine eyes Discerned far off the trembling of the sea. 

 "Conobbi il tremolar de la marina"is a beautiful verse, both for the picture and the sound. ]

[Footnote 5: This evidence of humility and gratitude on the part ofDante would be very affecting, if we could forget all the pride andpassion he has been shewing elsewhere, and the torments in which he hasleft his fellow-creatures. With these recollections upon us, it lookslike an overweening piece of self-congratulation at other people'sexpense. ]

[Footnote 6:

 "Amor che ne la mente mi ragiona De la mia donna disiosamente, "

is the beginning of the ode sung by Dante's friend. The incident isbeautifully introduced; and Casella's being made to select a productionfrom the pen of the man who asks him to sing, very delicately implies agraceful cordiality in the musician's character. 

Milton alludes to the passage in his sonnet to Henry Lawes:

 "Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her wing To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire, That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn or story. Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing, Met in the milder shades of Purgatory. " ]

[Footnote 7: Manfredi was the natural son of the Emperor Frederick theSecond. "He was lively and agreeable in his manners, " observes Mr. Cary, "and delighted in poetry, music, and dancing. But he was luxuriousand ambitious, void of religion, and in his philosophy an epicurean. "_Translation of Dante_, Smith's edition, p. 77. Thus King Manfredi oughtto have been in a red-hot tomb, roasting for ever with Epicurus himself, and with the father of the poet's beloved friend, Guido Cavalcante: buthe was the son of an emperor, and a foe to the house of Anjou; so Dantegives him a passport to heaven. There is no ground whatever for therepentance assumed in the text. ]

[Footnote 8: The unexpected bit of comedy here ensuing is veryremarkable and pleasant. Belacqua, according to an old commentator, wasa musician. ]

[Footnote 9: Buonconte was the son of that Guido da Montefeltro, whosesoul we have seen carried off from St. Francis by a devil, for havingviolated the conditions of penitence. It is curious that both father andson should have been contested for in this manner. ]

[Footnote 10: This is the most affecting and comprehensive of all briefstories. 

 "Deh quando to sarai tornato al mondo, E riposato de la lunga via, Seguitò 'l terzo spirito al secondo, Ricorditi di me che son la Pia: Siena mi fè; disfecemi Maremma; Salsi colui che 'nnanellata pria

 Disposando m' avea con la sua gemma. "

 Ah, when thou findest thee again on earth (Said then a female soul), remember me, -- Pia. Sienna was my place of birth, The Marshes of my death. This knoweth he, Who placed upon my hand the spousal ring. 

"Nello della Pietra, " says M. Beyle, in his work entitled _De l'Amour, _"obtained in marriage the hand of Madonna Pia, sole heiress of thePtolomei, the richest and most noble family of Sienna. Her beauty, whichwas the admiration of all Tuscany, gave rise to a jealousy in thebreast of her husband, that, envenomed by wrong reports and suspicionscontinually reviving, led to a frightful catastrophe. It is not easy todetermine at this day if his wife was altogether innocent; but Dantehas represented her as such. Her husband carried her with him intothe marshes of Volterra, celebrated then, as now, for the pestiferouseffects of the air. Never would he tell his wife the reason of herbanishment into so dangerous a place. His pride did not deign topronounce either complaint or accusation. He lived with her alone, in adeserted tower, of which I have been to see the ruins on the seashore;he never broke his disdainful silence, never replied to the questions ofhis youthful bride, never listened to her entreaties. He waited, unmovedby her, for the air to produce its fatal effects. The vapours ofthis unwholesome swamp were not long in tarnishing features the mostbeautiful, they say, that in that age had appeared upon earth. In a fewmonths she died. Some chroniclers of these remote times report thatNello employed the dagger to hasten her end: she died in the marshes insome horrible manner; but the mode of her death remained a mystery, evento her contemporaries. Nello della Pietra survived, to pass the restof his days in a silence which was never broken. " Hazlitt's _Journeythrough France and Italy_, p. 315. ]

[Footnote 11: Sordello was a famous Provençal poet; with whose writingsthe world has but lately been made acquainted through the researches ofM. Raynouard, in his _Choix des Poésies des Troubadours_, &c. ]

[Footnote 12: "Fresco smeraldo in l'ora che si fiacca. " An exquisiteimage of newness and brilliancy. ]

[Footnote 13: "Salve, Regina:" the beginning of a Roman-Catholic chantto the Virgin. ]

[Footnote 14: "With nose deprest, " says Mr. Cary. But Dante says, literally, "small nose, "--_nasetto_. So, further on, he says, "masculinenose, "--_maschio naso_. He meant to imply the greater or lessdetermination of character, which the size of that feature is supposedto indicate. ]

[Footnote 15: An English reader is surprised to find here a sovereignfor whom he has been taught to entertain little respect. But Henry was adevout servant of the Church. ]

[Footnote 16:

 "Era già l'ora che volge 'l desio A' naviganti, e intenerisce 'l cuore Lo dì ch' an detto a' dolci amici a Dio;

 E che lo nuovo peregrin d'amore Punge, se ode squilla di lontano Che paia 'l giorno pianger che si muore. "

A famous passage, untiring in the repetition. It is, indeed, worthy tobe the voice of Evening herself. 

 'Twas now the hour, when love of home melts through Men's hearts at sea, and longing thoughts portray The moment when they bade sweet friends adieu; And the new pilgrim now, on his lone way, Thrills, if he hears the distant vesper-bell, That seems to mourn for the expiring day. 

Every body knows the line in Gray's Elegy, not unworthily echoed fromDante's--

 "The curfew tolls the knell of parting day. "

Nothing can equal, however, the _tone_ in the Italian original, --the

 "Pàia 'l giorno pianger the si muòre. "

Alas! why could not the great Tuscan have been superior enough to hispersonal griefs to write a whole book full of such beauties, and so haveleft us a work truly to be called Divine?]

[Footnote 17:

"Te lucis ante terminum;"--a hymn sung at evening service. ]

[Footnote 18: Lucy, _Lucia_ (supposed to be derived from _lux, lucis_), is the goddess (I was almost going to say) who in Roman Catholiccountries may be said to preside over _light_, and who is really invokedin maladies of the eyes. She was Dante's favourite saint, possibly forthat reason among others, for he had once hurt his eyes with study, andthey had been cured. In her spiritual character she represents the lightof grace. ]

[Footnote 19: The first step typifies consciousness of sin; the second, horror of it; the third, zeal to amend. ]

[Footnote 20: The keys of St. Peter. The gold is said by thecommentators to mean power to absolve; the silver, the learning andjudgment requisite to use it. ]

[Footnote 21: "Te Deum laudamus, " the well-known hymn of St. Ambrose andSt. Augustine. ]

[Footnote 22:

 "Non v'accorgete voi, che noi siam vermi, Nati a formar l'angelica farfalla, Che vola a giustizia senza schermi?"

 "Know you not, we are worms Born to compose the angelic butterfly, That flies to heaven when freed from what deforms?"

[Footnote 23:

 "Più ridon le carte Che penelleggia Franco Bolognese: L'onore è tutto or suo, e mio in parte. "

[Footnote 24: The "new Guido" is his friend Guido Cavalcante (now dead);the "first" is Guido Guinicelli, for whose writings Dante had an esteem;and the poet, who is to "chase them from the nest, " _caccerà di nido_(as the not very friendly metaphor states it), is with good reasonsupposed to be himself! He was right; but was the statement becoming? Itwas certainly not necessary. Dante, notwithstanding his friendshipwith Guido, appears to have had a grudge against both the Cavalcanti, probably for some scorn they had shewn to his superstition; far theycould be proud themselves; and the son has the reputation of scepticism, as well as the father. See the _Decameron, Giorn_. Vi. _Nov. 9_. ]

[Footnote 25: This is the passage from which it is conjectured thatDante knew what it was to "tremble in every vein, " from the awfulnecessity of begging. Mr. Cary, with some other commentators, thinksthat the "trembling" implies fear of being refused. But does it notrather mean the agony of the humiliation? In Salvani's case it certainlydoes; for it was in consideration of the pang to his pride, that thegood deed rescued him from worse punishment. ]

[Footnote 26: The reader will have noticed the extraordinary mixture ofPaganism and the Bible in this passage, especially the introduction ofsuch fables as Niobe and Arachne. It would be difficult not to supposeit intended to work out some half sceptical purpose, if we did not callto mind the grave authority given to fables in the poet's treatise onMonarchy, and the whole strange spirit, at once logical and gratuitous, of the learning of his age, when the acuter the mind, the subtler becamethe reconcilement with absurdity. ]

[Footnote 27: _Beati pauperes spiritu_. "Blessed are the poor in spirit;for theirs is the kingdom of heaven"--one of the beautiful passages ofthe beautiful sermon on the Mount. How could the great poet read andadmire such passages, and yet fill his books so full of all which theyrenounced? "Oh, " say his idolators, "he did it out of his very love forthem, and his impatience to see them triumph. " So said the Inquisition. The evil was continued for the sake of the good which it prevented! Theresult in the long-run may be so, but not for the reasons they supposed, or from blindness to the indulgence of their bad passions. ]

[Footnote 28:

 "_Sàvia_ non fui, avvegna che _Sapìa_ Fosse chiamata. "The pun is poorer even than it sounds in English: for though the Italianname may possibly remind its readers of _sapienza_ (sapience), there isthe difference of a _v_ in the adjective _savia_, which is also accentedon the first syllable. It is almost as bad as if she had said inEnglish, "Sophist I found myself, though Sophia is my name. " Itis pleasant, however, to see the great saturnine poet among thepunsters. --It appears, from the commentators, that Sapia was in exile atthe time of the battle, but they do not say for what; probably from somezeal of faction]

[Footnote 29: We are here let into Dante's confessions. He owns to alittle envy, but far more pride:

 "Gli occhi, diss' io, mi fieno ancor qui tolti, Ma picciol tempo; che poch' è l'offesa Fatta per esser con invidia volti. Troppa è più la paura ond' è sospesa L'anima mia del tormento di sotto Che già lo 'ncarco di là giù mi pesa. "

The first confession is singularly ingenuous and modest; the second, affecting. It is curious to guess what sort of persons Dante could haveallowed himself to envy--probably those who were more acceptable towomen. ]

[Footnote 29: Aglauros, daughter of Cecrops, king of Athens, was turnedto stone by Mercury, for disturbing with her envy his passion for hersister Herse. 

The passage about Cain is one of the sublimest in Dante. Truly wonderfuland characteristic is the way in which he has made physical noise andviolence express the anguish of the wanderer's mind. We are not tosuppose, I conceive, that we see Cain. We know he has passed us, by histhunderous and headlong words. Dante may well make him invisible, forhis words are things--veritable thunderbolts. 

Cain comes in rapid successions of thunder-claps. The voice of Aglaurosis thunder-claps crashing into one another--broken thunder. This isexceedingly fine also, and wonderful as a variation upon that awfulmusic; but Cain is the astonishment and the overwhelmingness. If it werenot, however, for the second thunder, we should not have had the twosilences; for I doubt whether they are not better even than one. At allevents, the final silence is tremendous. ]

[Footnote 30: St. Luke ii. 48. ]

[Footnote 31: The stoning of Stephen. ]

[Footnote 32: These illustrative spectacles are not among the bestinventions of Dante. Their introduction is forced, and the instances notalways pointed. A murderess, too, of her son, changed into such a birdas the nightingale, was not a happy association of ideas in Homer, whereDante found it; and I am surprised he made use of it, intimate ashe must have been with the less inconsistent story of her namesake, Philomela, in the _Metamorphoses_. ]

[Footnote 33: So, at least, I conceive, by what appears afterwards; andI may here add, once for all, that I have supplied the similar requisiteintimations at each successive step in Purgatory, the poet seeminglyhaving forgotten to do so. It is necessary to what he implied in theoutset. The whole poem, it is to be remembered, is thought to havewanted his final revision. ]

[Footnote 34: What an instance to put among those of haste to do good!But the fame and accomplishments of Cæsar, and his being at the head ofour Ghibelline's beloved emperors, fairly overwhelmed Dante's boastedimpartiality. ]

[Footnote 35: A masterly allegory of Worldly Pleasure. But the close ofit in the original has an intensity of the revolting, which outrages thelast recesses of feeling, and disgusts us with the denouncer. ]

[Footnote 36: The fierce Hugh Capet, soliloquising about the Virgin inthe tones of a lady in child-bed, is rather too ludicrous an associationof ideas. It was for calling this prince the son of a butcher, thatFrancis the First prohibited the admission of Dante's poem into hisdominions. Mr. Cary thinks the king might have been mistaken in hisinterpretation of the passage, and that "butcher" may be simply ametaphorical term for the blood-thirstiness of Capet's father. But whenwe find the man called, not _the_ butcher, or _that_ butcher, or butcherin reference to his species, but in plain local parlance "a butcher ofParis" (_un beccaio di Parigi_), and when this designation is followedup by the allusion to the extinction of the previous dynasty, theordinary construction of the words appears indisputable. Dante seemsto have had no ground for what his aristocratical pride doubtlessconsidered a hard blow, and what King Francis, indeed, condescended tofeel as such. He met with the notion somewhere, and chose to believe it, in order to vex the French and their princes. The spirit of the tauntcontradicts his own theories elsewhere; for he has repeatedly said, thatthe only true nobility is in the mind. But his writings (poetical truthexcepted) are a heap of contradictions. ]

[Footnote 37: Mr. Cary thought he had seen an old romance in which thereis a combat of this kind between Jesus and his betrayer. I have animpression to the same effect. ]

[Footnote 38:

 "O Signor mio, quando sarò io lieto A veder la vendetta the nascosa Fa dolce l'ira tua nel tuo segreto!"

The spirit of the blasphemous witticism attributed to another Italian, viz. That the reason why God prohibited revenge to mankind was its being"too delicate a morsel for any but himself, " is here gravely anticipatedas a positive compliment to God by the fierce poet of the thirteenthcentury, who has been held up as a great Christian divine! God hugsrevenge to his bosom with delight! The Supreme Being confounded with apoor grinning Florentine!]

[Footnote 39: A ludicrous anti-climax this to modern ears! The allusionis to the Pygmalion who was Dido's brother, and who murdered herhusband, the priest Sichæus, for his riches. The term "parricide" ishere applied in its secondary sense of--the murderer of any one to whomwe owe reverence. ]

[Footnote 40: Heliodorus was a plunderer of the Temple, thussupernaturally punished. The subject has been nobly treated by Raphael. ]

[Footnote 41: A grand and beautiful fiction. ]

[Footnote 42: Readers need hardly be told that there is no foundationfor this fancy, except in the invention of the churchmen. Dante, inanother passage, not necessary to give, confounds the poet Statius whowas from Naples, with a rhetorician of the same name from Thoulouse. ]

[Footnote 43:

 "Parèn l'occhiaje anella senza gemme. "

This beautiful and affecting image is followed in the original by oneof the most fantastical conceits of the time. The poet says, that thephysiognomist who "reads the word OMO (_homo_, man), written in the faceof the human being, might easily have seen the letter _m_ in theirs. "

 "Chi nel viso de gli uomini legge _o m o_, Bene avria quivi conosciuto l'_emme_. "

The meaning is, that the perpendicular lines of the nose and templesform the letter M, and the eyes the two O's. The enthusiast for Romandomination must have been delighted to find that Nature wrote in Latin!]

[Footnote 44:

 "Se le svergognate fosser certe Di quel che l' ciel veloce loro ammanna, Gia per urlare avrian le bocche aperte. "

This will remind the reader of the style of that gentle Christian, JohnKnox, who, instead of offering his own "cheek to the smiters, " delightedto smite the cheeks of women. Fury was his mode of preaching meekness, and threats of everlasting howling his reproof of a tune on Sundays. But, it will be said, he looked to consequences. Yes; and produced theworst himself, both spiritual and temporal. Let the whisky-shops answerhim. However, he helped to save Scotland from Purgatory: so we must takegood and bad together, and hope the best in the end. 

Forese, like many of Dante's preachers, seems to have been one of thoseself-ignorant or self-exasperated denouncers, who "Compound for sinsthey are inclined to, By damning those they have no mind to. " He wasa glutton, who could not bear to see ladies too little clothed. Thedefacing of "God's image" in his own person he considered nothing. ]

[Footnote 45: The passage respecting his past life is unequivocaltestimony to the fact, confidently disputed by some, of Dante's havingavailed himself of the license of the time; though, in justice to suchcandour, we are bound not to think worse of it than can be helped. Thewords in the original are

 "Se ti riduci a mente Qual fosti meco, e quale io teco fui, Ancor fia grave il memorar presente. "

Literally: "If thou recallest to mind what (sort of person) thou wastwith me, and what I was with thee, the recollection may oppress theestill. "

His having been taken out of that kind of life by Virgil (construed inthe literal sense, in which, among other senses, he has directed us toconstrue him), may imply, either that the delight of reading Virgilfirst made him think of living in a manner more becoming a man ofintellect, or (possibly) that the Latin poet's description of Æneas'sdescent into hell turned his thoughts to religious penitence. Be thisas it may, his life, though surely it could at no time have been of anyvery licentious kind, never, if we are to believe Boccaccio, becamespotless. ]

[Footnote 46: The mention of Gentucca might be thought a compliment tothe lady, if Dante had not made Beatrice afterwards treat his regard forany one else but herself with so much contempt. (See page 216 of thepresent volume. ) Under that circumstance, it is hardly acting like agentleman to speak of her at all; unless, indeed, he thought her aperson who would be pleased with the notoriety arising even from therecord of a fugitive regard; and in that case the good taste of therecord would still remain doubtful. The probability seems to be, thatDante was resolved, at all events, to take this opportunity of beardingsome rumour. ]

[Footnote 47: A celebrated and charming passage:

 "Io mi son un, che quando Amore spira, noto; e a quel modo Che detta dentro, vo significando. "

 I am one that notes When Love inspires; and what he speaks I tell In his own way, embodying but his thoughts. 

[Footnote 48: Exquisite truth of painting! and a very elegant complimentto the handsome nature of Buonaggiunta. Jacopo da Lentino, called theNotary, and Fra Guittone of Arezzo, were celebrated verse-writers ofthe day. The latter, in a sonnet given by Mr. Cary in the notes to histranslation, says he shall be delighted to hear the trumpet, at the lastday, dividing mankind into the happy and the tormented (sufferers under_crudel martire_), _because_ an inscription will then be seen on hisforehead, shewing that he had been a slave to love! An odd way for apoet to shew his feelings, and a friar his religion!]

[Footnote 49: Judges vii. 6. ]

[Footnote 50: _Summæ Deus clementiæ_. The ancient beginning of a hymn inthe Roman Catholic church; now altered, say the commentators, to "Summæparens clementiæ. "]

[Footnote 51: _Virum non cognosco_. "Then said Mary unto the angel, Howshall this be, seeing I know not a man?"--_Luke_ i. 34. 

The placing of Mary's interview with the angel, and Ovid's story ofCalisto, upon apparently the same identical footing of authority, byspirits in all the sincerity of agonised penitence, is very remarkable. A dissertation, by some competent antiquary, on the curious questionsuggested by these anomalies, would be a welcome novelty in the world ofletters. ]

[Footnote 52: An allegory of the Active and Contemplative Life;--not, Ithink, a happy one, though beautifully painted. It presents, apartfrom its terminating comment no necessary intellectual suggestion; isrendered, by the, comment itself, hardly consistent with Leah's expresslove of ornament; and, if it were not for the last sentence, might betaken for a picture of two different forms of Vanity. ]

[Footnote 53:

 "Tal, qual di ramo in ramo si raccoglie Per la pineta in sul lito di Chiassi, Quand' Eolo scirocco fuor discioglie. "

 Even as from branch to branch Along the piny forests on the shore Of Chiassi, rolls the gathering melody, When Eolus hath from his cavern loosed The dripping south. "--_Cary_. 

"This is the wood, " says Mr. Cary, "where the scene of Boccaccio'ssublimest story (taken entirely from Elinaud, as I learn in the notes tothe Decameron, ediz. Giunti, 1573, p. 62) is laid. See Dec. , G. 5, N. 8, and Dryden's Theodore and Honoria. Our poet perhaps wandered init during his abode with Guido Novello da Polenta. "--_Translation ofDante_, ut sup. P. 121. ]

[Footnote 54: Lethe, _Forgetfulness_; Eunoe, _Well-mindedness_. ]

[Footnote 55:

 "Senza alcuno scotto Di pentimento. "

Literally, _scot-free_. --"Scotto, " scot;--"payment for dinner or supperin a tavern" (says Rubbi, the Petrarchal rather than Dantesque editorof the _Parnaso Italiano_, and a very summary gentleman); "here usedfiguratively, though it is not a word fit to be employed on serious andgrand occasions" (in cose gravi ed illustri). See his "Dante" in thatcollection, vol. Ii. P. 297. ]

[Footnote 56: The allusion to the childish girl (_pargoletta_) or anyother fleeting vanity, "O altra vanità con sì breve use, "

is not handsome. It was not the fault of the childish girls that heliked them; and he should not have taunted them, whatever else theymight have been. What answer could they make to the great poet?

Nor does Beatrice make a good figure throughout this scene, whether asa woman or an allegory. If she is Theology, or Heavenly Grace, &c. Thesternness of the allegory should not have been put into female shape;and when she is to be taken in her literal sense (as the poet also tellsus she is), her treatment of the poor submissive lover, with leave ofSignor Rubbi, is no better than _snubbing_;--to say nothing of thevanity with which she pays compliments to her own beauty. 

I must, furthermore, beg leave to differ with the poet's thinking it anexalted symptom on his part to hate every thing he had loved before, outof supposed compliment the transcendental object of his affections andhis own awakened merits. All the heights of love and wisdom terminate incharity; and charity, by very reason of its knowing the poorness of somany things, hates nothing. Besides, it is any thing but handsome orhigh-minded to turn round upon objects whom we have helped to lower withour own gratified passions, and pretend a right to scorn them. ]

[Footnote 57:

"Tu asperges me, et mundabor, " &c. "Purge me with hyssop, and I shall beclean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. "--Psalm li. 7. ]

[Footnote 58: Beatrice had been dead ten years. ]

III. 

THE JOURNEY THROUGH HEAVEN. Argument. 

The Paradise or Heaven of Dante, in whose time the received system ofastronomy was the Ptolemaic, consists of the Seven successive Planetsaccording to that system, or the Moon, Mercury, Venus, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn; of the Eighth Sphere beyond these, or that of theFixed Stars; of the Primum Mobile, or First Mover of them all round themoveless Earth; and of the Empyrean, or Region of Pure Light, in whichis the Beatific Vision. Each of these ascending spheres is occupied byits proportionate degree of Faith and Virtue; and Dante visits eachunder the guidance of Beatrice, receiving many lessons, as he goes, on theological and other subjects (here left out), and being finallyadmitted, after the sight of Christ and the Virgin, to a glimpse of theGreat First Cause. 

THE JOURNEY THROUGH HEAVEN. 

It was evening now on earth, and morning on the top of the hill inPurgatory, when Beatrice having fixed her eyes upon the sun, Dante fixedhis eyes upon hers, and suddenly found himself in Heaven. 

He had been transported by the attraction of love, and Beatrice was byhis side. 

The poet beheld from where he stood the blaze of the empyrean, and heardthe music of the spheres; yet he was only in the first or lowest Heaven, the circle of the orb of the moon. 

This orb, with his new guide, he proceeded to enter. It had seemed, outside, as solid, though as lucid, as diamond; yet they entered it, assunbeams are admitted into water without dividing the substance. It nowappeared, as it enclosed them, like a pearl, through the essence ofwhich they saw but dimly; and they beheld many faces eagerly looking atthem, as if about to speak, but not more distinct from the surroundingwhiteness than pearls themselves are from the forehead they adorn. [1]Dante thought them only reflected faces, and turned round to see to whomthey belonged, when his smiling companion set him right; and he enteredinto discourse with the spirit that seemed the most anxious to accosthim. It was Piccarda, the sister of his friend Forese Donati, whom hehad met in the sixth region of Purgatory. He did not know her, by reasonof her wonderful increase in beauty. She and her associates were suchas had been Vowed to a Life of Chastity and Religion, but had beenCompelled by Others to Break their Vows. This had been done, inPiccarda's instance, by her brother Corso. [2] On

Dante's asking if they did not long for a higher state of bliss, she andher sister-spirits gently smiled; and then answered, with faces as happyas first love, [3] that they willed only what it pleased God to givethem, and therefore were truly blest. The poet found by this answer, that every place in Heaven was Paradise, though the bliss might be ofdifferent degrees. Piccarda then shewed him the spirit at her side, lustrous with all the glory of the region, Costanza, daughter of theking of Sicily, who had been forced out of the cloister to become thewife of the Emperor Henry. Having given him this information, she begansinging _Ave Maria_; and, while singing, disappeared with the rest, assubstances disappear in water. [4]

A loving will transported the two companions, as before, to the nextcircle of Heaven, where they found themselves in the planet Mercury, theresidence of those who had acted rather out of Desire of Fame than Loveof God. The spirits here, as in the former Heaven, crowded towards them, as fish in a clear pond crowd to the hand that offers them food. Theireyes sparkled with celestial joy; and the more they thought of theirjoy, the brighter they grew; till one of them who addressed the poetbecame indistinguishable for excess of splendour. It was the soul ofthe Emperor Justinian. Justinian told him the whole story of the Romanempire up to his time; and then gave an account of one of his associatesin bliss, Romèo, who had been minister to Raymond Beranger, Count ofProvence. Four daughters had been born to Raymond Beranger, and everyone became a queen; and all this had been brought about by Romèo, a poorstranger from another country. The courtiers, envying Romèo, incitedRaymond to demand of him an account of his stewardship, though he hadbrought his master's treasury twelve-fold for every ten it disbursed. Romeo quitted the court, poor and old; "and if the world, " saidJustinian, "could know the heart such a man must have had, begging hisbread as he went, crust by crust--praise him as it does, it would praisehim a great deal more. "[5]

 "Hosanna, Holy God of Sabaoth, Superillumining with light of light The happy fires of these thy Malahoth!"[6]

Thus began singing the soul of the Emperor Justinian; and then, turningas he sang, vanished with those about him, like sparks of fire. 

Dante now found himself, before he was aware, in the third Heaven, or planet Venus, the abode of the Amorous. [7] He only knew it by theincreased loveliness in the face of his companion. 

The spirits in this orb, who came and went in the light of it likesparks in fire, or like voices chanting in harmony with voice, were spunround in circles of delight, each with more or less swiftness, accordingto its share of the beatific vision. Several of them came sweeping outof their dance towards the poet who had sung of Love, among whom was hispatron, Charles Martel, king of Hungary, who shewed him the reason whydiversities of natures must occur in families; and Cunizza, sister ofthe tyrant Ezzelino, who was overcome by this her star when on earth;and Folco the Troubadour, whose place was next Cunizza in Heaven; andRahab the harlot, who favoured the entrance of the Jews into the HolyLand, and whose place was next Folco. [8] Cunizza said that she did notat all regret a lot which carried her no higher, whatever the vulgarmight think of such an opinion. She spoke of the glories of the jewelwho was close to her, Folco--contrasted his zeal with the inertness ofher contemptible countrymen--and foretold the bloodshed that awaited thelatter from wars and treacheries. The Troubadour, meanwhile, glowedin his aspect like a ruby stricken with the sun; for in heaven joy isexpressed by effulgence, as on earth by laughter. He confessed thelawless fires of his youth, as great (he said) as those of Dido orHercules; but added, that he had no recollection of them, except ajoyous one, not for the fault (which does not come to mind in heaven), but for the good which heaven brings out of it. Folco concluded withexplaining how Rahab had come into the third Heaven, and with denouncingthe indifference of popes and cardinals (those adulterers of the Church)to every thing but accursed money-getting. [9]

In an instant, before he could think about it, Dante was in the fourthHeaven, the sun, the abode of Blessed Doctors of the Church. A band ofthem came encircling him and his guide, as a halo encircles the moon, singing a song, the beauty of which, like jewels too rich to beexported, was not conveyable by expression to mortal fancy. The spiritscomposing the band were those of St. Thomas Aquinas, Albertus Magnus, Gratian the Benedictine, Pietro Lombardo, Solomon, Saint Dionysiusthe Areopagite, Paulus Orosius, Boetius, Isidore, the Venerable Bede, Richard of St. Victor, and Sigebert of Gemblours. St. Thomas was thenamer of them to Dante. Their song had paused that he might speak; butwhen he had done speaking, they began resuming it, one by one, andcircling as they moved, like the wheels of church-clocks that sound oneafter another with a sweet tinkling, when they summon the hearts of thedevout to morning prayer. [10]

Again they stopped, and again St. Thomas addressed the poet. He was ofthe order of St. Dominic; but with generous grace he held up the founderof the Franciscans, with his vow of poverty, as the example of what apope should be, and reproved the errors of no order but his own. Onthe other hand, a new circle of doctors of the Church making theirappearance, and enclosing the first as rainbow encloses rainbow, rollinground with it in the unison of a two-fold joy, a voice from the newcircle attracted the poet's ear, as the pole attracts the needle, and Saint Buonaventura, a Franciscan, opened upon the praises of St. Dominic, the loving minion of Christianity, the holy wrestler, --benignto his friends and cruel to his enemies;[11]--and so confined hisreproofs to his own Franciscan order. He then, as St. Thomas had donewith the doctors in the inner circle, named those who constituted theouter: to wit, Illuminato, and Agostino, and Hugues of St. Victor, andPetrus Comestor, and Pope John the Twenty-first, Nathan the Prophet, Chrysostom, Anselmo of Canterbury, Donatus who deigned to teach grammar, Raban of Mentz, and Joachim of Calabria. The two circles then variedtheir movement by wheeling round one another in counter directions; andafter they had chanted, not of Bacchus or Apollo, but of Three Personsin One, St. Thomas, who knew Dante's thoughts by intuition, againaddressed him, discoursing of mysteries human and divine, exhortinghim to be slow in giving assent or denial to propositions withoutexamination, and bidding him warn people in general how they presumedto anticipate the divine judgment as to who should be saved and whonot. [12] The spirit of Solomon then related how souls could resume theirbodies glorified; and the two circles uttering a rapturous amen, glowedwith such intolerable brightness, that the eyes of Beatrice only wereable to sustain it. Dante gazed on her with a delight ineffable, andsuddenly found himself in the fifth Heaven. 

It was the planet Mars, the receptacle of those who had Died Fightingfor the Cross. In the middle of its ruddy light stood a cross itself, ofenormous dimensions, made of light still greater, and exhibiting, first, in the body of it, the Crucified Presence, glittering all over withindescribable flashes like lightning; and secondly, in addition to andacross the Presence, innumerable sparkles of the intensest mixtureof white and red, darting to and fro through the whole extent of thecrucifix. The movement was like that of motes in a sunbeam. And as asweet dinning arises from the multitudinous touching of harps and viols, before the ear distinguishes the notes, there issued in like manner fromthe whole glittering ferment a harmony indistinct but exquisite, whichentranced the poet beyond all he had ever felt. He heard even the words, "Arise and conquer, " as one who hears and yet hears not. 

On a sudden, with a glide like a falling star, there ran down from theright horn of the Cross to the foot of it, one of the lights of thiscluster of splendours, distinguishing itself, as it went, like flame inalabaster. 

"O flesh of my flesh!" it exclaimed to Dante; "O superabounding DivineGrace! when was the door of Paradise ever twice opened, as it Shall havebeen to thee?"[13] Dante, in astonishment, turned to Beatrice, and sawsuch a rapture of delight in her eyes, that he seemed, at that instant, as if his own had touched the depth of his acceptance and of hisheaven. [14]

The light resumed its speech, but in words too profound in their meaningfor Dante to comprehend. They seemed to be returning thanks to God. Thisrapturous absorption being ended, the speaker expressed in more humanterms his gratitude to Beatrice; and then, after inciting Dante to askhis name, declared himself thus:

"O branch of mine, whom I have long desired to behold, I am the root ofthy stock; of him thy great-grandsire, who first brought from his motherthe family-name into thy house, and whom thou sawest expiating his sinof pride on the first circle of the mountain. Well it befitteth thee toshorten his long suffering with thy good works. Florence, [15] while yetshe was confined within the ancient boundary which still contains thebell that summons her to prayer, abided in peace, for she was chasteand sober. She had no trinkets of chains then, no head-tires, no gaudysandals, no girdles more worth looking at than the wearers. Fathers werenot then afraid of having daughters, for fear they should want dowriestoo great, and husbands before their time. Families were in no haste toseparate; nor had chamberers arisen to shew what enormities they daredto practise. The heights of Rome had not been surpassed by your tower ofUccellatoio, whose fall shall be in proportion to its aspiring. I sawBellincion Berti walking the streets in a leathern girdle fastened withbone; and his wife come from her looking-glass without a painted face. I saw the Nerlis and the Vecchios contented with the simplest doublets, and their good dames hard at work at their spindles. O happy they! Theywere sure of burial in their native earth, and none were left desolateby husbands that loved France better than Italy. One kept awake to tendher child in its cradle, lulling it with the household words that hadfondled her own infancy. Another, as she sat in the midst of her family, drawing the flax from the distaff, told them stories of Troy, andFiesole, and Rome. It would have been as great a wonder, then, to seesuch a woman as Cianghella, or such a man as Lapo Salterello, as itwould now be to meet with a Cincinnatus or a Cornelia. [16]

"It was at that peaceful, at that beautiful time, " continued the poet'sancestor, "when we all lived in such good faith and fellowship, and inso sweet a place, that the blessed Virgin vouchsafed the first sightof me to the cries of my mother; and there, in your old Baptistery, Ibecame, at once, Christian and Cacciaguida. My brothers were calledMoronto and Eliseo. It was my wife that brought thee, from Valdipado, thy family name of Alighieri. I then followed the Emperor Conrad, andhe made me a knight for my good service, and I went with him to fightagainst the wicked Saracen law, whose people usurp the fold that remainslost through the fault of the shepherd. There, by that foul crew, was Idelivered from the snares and pollutions of the world; and so, from themartyrdom, came to this peace. "

Cacciaguida was silent. But his descendant praying to be told more ofhis family and of the old state of Florence, the beatified soldierresumed. He would not, however, speak of his own predecessors. He saidit would be more becoming to say nothing as to who they were, or theplace they came from. All he disclosed was, that his father andmother lived near the gate San Piero. [17] With regard to Florence, hecontinued, the number of the inhabitants fit to carry arms was at thattime not a fifth of its present amount; but then the blood of thewhole city was pure. It had not been mixed up with that of Campi, andCertaldo, and Figghine. It ran clear in the veins of the humblestmechanic. 

"Oh, how much better would it have been, " cried the soul of the oldFlorentine, "had my countrymen still kept it as it was, and not broughtupon themselves the stench of the peasant knave out of Aguglione, andthat other from Signa, with his eye to a bribe! Had Rome done its dutyto the emperor, and so prevented the factions that have ruined us, Simifonte would have kept its beggarly upstart to itself; the Contiwould have stuck to their parish of Acone, and perhaps the Buondelmontito Valdigrieve. Crude mixtures do as much harm to the body politic as tothe natural body; and size is not strength. The blind bull falls with aspeedier plunge than the blind lamb. One sword often slashes round aboutit better than five. Cities themselves perish. See what has become ofLuni and of Urbisaglia; and what will soon become of Sinigaglia too, andof Chiusi! And if cities perish, what is to be expected of families? Inmy time the Ughi, the Catellini, the Filippi, were great names. So werethe Alberichi, the Ormanni, and twenty others. The golden sword ofknighthood was then to be seen in the house of Galigaio. The Column, Verrey, was then a great thing in the herald's eye. The Galli, theSacchetti, were great; so was the old trunk of the Calfucci; so was thatof the peculators who now blush to hear of a measure of wheat; and theSizii and the Arrigucci were drawn in pomp to their civic chairs. Oh, how mighty I saw them then, and how low has their pride brought them!_Florence_ in those days deserved her name. She _flourished_ indeed; andthe balls of gold were ever at the top of the flower. [18] And now thedescendants of these men sit in priestly stalls and grow fat. Theover-weening Adimari, who are such dragons when their foes run, and suchlambs when they turn, were then of note so little, that Albertino Donatowas angry with Bellincion, his father-in-law, for making him brotherto one of their females. On the other hand, thy foes, the Amidei, theorigin of all thy tears through the just anger which has slain thehappiness of thy life, were honoured in those days; and the honour waspar taken by their friends. O Buondelmonte! why didst thou break thytroth to thy first love, and become wedded to another? Many who are nowmiserable would have been happy, had God given thee to the river Ema, when it rose against thy first coming to Florence. But the Arno hadswept our Palladium from its bridge, and Florence was to be the victimon its altar. "[19]

Cacciaguida was again silent; but his descendant begged him to speakyet a little more. He had heard, as he came through the nether regions, alarming intimations of the ill fortune that awaited him, and he wasanxious to know, from so high and certain an authority, what it wouldreally be. 

Cacciaguida said, "As Hippolytus was forced to depart from Athens by thewiles of his cruel step-dame, so must even thou depart out of Florence. Such is the wish, such this very moment the plot, and soon will it bethe deed, of those, the business of whose lives is to make a traffic ofChrist with Rome. Thou shalt quit every thing that is dearest to theein the world. That is the first arrow shot from the bow of exile. Thoushalt experience how salt is the taste of bread eaten at the expense ofothers; how hard is the going up and down others' stairs. But what shallmost bow thee down, is the worthless and disgusting company with whomthy lot must be partaken; for they shall all turn against thee, thewhole mad, heartless, and ungrateful set. Nevertheless, it shall not belong first, before themselves, and not thou, shall have cause to hangdown their heads for shame. The brutishness of all they do, will shewhow well it became thee to be of no party, but the party of thyself. [20]

"Thy first refuge thou shalt owe to the courtesy of the great Lombard, who bears the Ladder charged with the Holy Bird. [21] So benignlyshall he regard thee, that in the matter of asking and receiving, thecustomary order of things shall be reversed between you two, and thegift anticipate the request. With him thou shalt behold the mortal, bornunder so strong an influence of this our star, that the nations shalltake note of him. They are not aware of him yet, by reasonof his tender age; but ere the Gascon practise on the greatHenry, sparkles of his worth shall break forth in his contemptof money and of ease; and when his munificence appears in allits lustre, his very enemies shall not be able to hold theirtongues for admiration. [22] Look thou to this second benefactoralso; for many a change of the lots of people shall he make, both richand poor; and do thou bear in mind, but repeat not, what further I shallnow tell thee of thy life. " Here the spirit, says the poet, foretold things which afterwards appeared incredible to their verybeholders;--and then added: "Such, my son, is the heart and mystery ofthe things thou hast desired to learn. The snares will shortly gatherabout thee; but wish not to change places with the contrivers; for thydays will outlast those of their retribution. "

Again was the spirit silent; and yet again once more did his descendantquestion him, anxious to have the advice of one that saw so far, andthat spoke the truth so purely, and loved him so well. 

"Too plainly, my father, " said Dante, "do I see the time coming, when ablow is to be struck me, heaviest ever to the man that is not true tohimself. For which reason it is fit that I so far arm myself beforehand, that in losing the spot dearest to me on earth, I do not let my versesdeprive me of every other refuge. Now I have been down below through theregion whose grief is without end; and I have scaled the mountain fromthe top of which I was lifted by my lady's eyes; and I have come thusfar through heaven, from luminary to luminary; and in the course of thismy pilgrimage I have heard things which, if I tell again, may bitterlydisrelish with many. Yet, on the other hand, if I prove but a timidfriend to truth, I fear I shall not survive with the generations by whomthe present times will be called times of old. "

The light that enclosed the treasure which its descendant had found inheaven, first flashed at this speech like a golden mirror against thesun, and then it replied thus:

"Let the consciences blush at thy words that have reason to blush. Dothou, far from shadow of misrepresentation, make manifest all which thouhast seen, and let the sore places be galled that deserve it. Thy bittertruths shall carry with them vital nourishment--thy voice, as the winddoes, shall smite loudest the loftiest summits; and no little shall thatredound to thy praise. It is for this reason that, in all thy journey, thou hast been shewn none but spirits of note, since little heed wouldhave been taken of such as excite doubt by their obscurity. "

The spirit of Cacciaguida now relapsed into the silent joy of itsreflections, and the poet was standing absorbed in the mingled feelingsof his own, when Beatrice said to him, "Change the current of thythoughts. Consider how near I am in heaven to one that repayeth everywrong. "

Dante turned at the sound of this comfort, and felt no longer any otherwish than to look upon her eyes; but she said, with a smile, "Turn theeround again, and attend. I am not thy only Paradise. " And Dante againturned, and saw his ancestor prepared to say more. 

Cacciaguida bade him look again on the Cross, and he should see variousspirits, as he named them, flash over it like lightning; and they didso. That of Joshua, which was first mentioned, darted along the Crossin a stream. The light of Judas Maccabeus went spinning, as if joy hadscourged it. [23] Charlemagne and Orlando swept away together, pursuedby the poet's eyes. Guglielmo[24] followed, and Rinaldo, and Godfrey ofBouillon, and Robert Guiscard of Naples; and the light of Cacciaguidahimself darted back to its place, and, uttering another sort of voice, began shewing how sweet a singer he too was amidst the glittering choir. 

Dante turned to share the joy with Beatrice, and, by the lovely palingof her cheek, like a maiden's when it delivers itself of the burden ofa blush, [25] knew that he was in another and whiter star. It was theplanet Jupiter, the abode of blessed Administrators of Justice. 

Here he beheld troops of dazzling essences, warbling as they flew, andshaping their flights hither and thither, like birds when they rise fromthe banks of rivers, and rejoice with one another in new-found pasture. But the figures into which the flights were shaped were of a morespecial sort, being mystical compositions of letters of the alphabet, now a D, now an I, now an L, and so on, till the poet observed that theycompleted the whole text of Scripture, which says, _Diligite justitiam, qui judicatis terram_--(Love righteousness, ye that be judges of theearth). The last letter, M, they did not decompose like the rest, butkept it entire for a while, and glowed so deeply within it, that thesilvery orb thereabout seemed burning with gold. Other lights, with asong of rapture, then descended like a crown of lilies, on the top, ofthe letter; and then, from the body of it, rose thousands of sparks, asfrom a shaken firebrand, and, gradually expanding into the form of aneagle, the lights which had descended like lilies distributed themselvesover the whole bird, encrusting it with rubies flashing in the sun. 

But what, says the poet, was never yet heard of, written, orimagined, --the beak of the eagle spoke! It uttered many minds in onevoice, just as one heat is given out by many embers; and proclaimeditself to have been thus exalted, because it united justice and mercywhile on earth. 

Dante addressed this splendid phenomenon, and prayed it to ease his mindof the perplexities of its worldly reason respecting the Divine natureand government, and the exclusion from heaven of goodness itself, unlesswithin the Christian pale. 

The celestial bird, rousing itself into motion with delight, like afalcon in the conscious energy of its will and beauty, when, upon beingset free from its hood, it glances above it into the air, and claps itsself-congratulating wings, answered nevertheless somewhat disdainfully, that it was impossible for man, in his mortal state, to comprehend suchthings; and that the astonishment he feels at them, though doubtless itwould be excusable under other circumstances, must rest satisfied withthe affirmations of Scripture. 

The bird then bent over its questioner, as a stork does over thenestling newly fed when it looks up at her, and then wheeling round, andrenewing its warble, concluded it with saying, "As my notes are to theethat understandest them not, so are the judgments of the Eternal tothine earthly brethren. None ever yet ascended into these heavenlyregions that did not believe in Christ, either after he was crucified orbefore it. Yet many, who call Christ! Christ! shall at the last day befound less near to him than such as knew him not. What shall the kingsof Islam say to your Christian kings, when they see the book of judgmentopened, and hear all that is set down in it to their dishonour? Inthat book shall be read the desolation which Albert will inflicton Bohemia:[26]--in that book, the woes inflicted on Paris by thatadulterator of his kingdom's money, who shall die by the hog'steeth:--in that book, the ambition which makes such mad fools of theScotch and English kings, that they cannot keep within their bounds:--inthat book, the luxury of the Spaniard, and the effeminate life of theBohemian, who neither knows nor cares for any thing worthy:--in thatbook, the lame wretch of Jerusalem, whose value will be expressed by aunit, and his worthlessness by a million:--in that book, the avarice andcowardice of the warder of the Isle of Fire, in which old Anchises died;and that the record may answer the better to his abundant littleness, the writing shall be in short-hand; and his uncle's and his brother'sfilthy doings shall be read in that book--they who have made suchrottenness of a good old house and two diadems; and there also shall thePortuguese and the Norwegian be known for what they are, and the coinerof Dalmatia, who beheld with such covetous eyes the Venetian ducat. Oblessed Hungary, if thou wouldst resolve to endure no longer!--O blessedNavarre, if thou wouldst but keep out the Frenchman with thy mountainwalls! May the cries and groans of Nicosia and Famagosta be an earnestof those happier days, proclaiming as they do the vile habits of thebeast, who keeps so close in the path of the herd his brethren. "

The blessed bird for a moment was silent; but as, at the going down ofthe sun, the heavens are darkened, and then break forth into innumerablestars which the sun lights up, [27] so the splendours within the figureof the bird suddenly became more splendid, and broke forth into songstoo beautiful for mortal to remember. 

O dulcet love, that dost shew thee forth in smiles, how ardent was thymanifestation in the lustrous sparkles which arose out of the merethoughts of those pious hearts!

After the gems in that glittering figure had ceased chiming theirangelic songs, the poet seemed to hear the murmur of a river which comesfalling from rock to rock, and chews, by the fulness of its tone, theabundance of its mountain spring; and as the sound of the guitar ismodulated on the neck of it, and the breath of the pipe is accordant tothe spiracle from which it issues, so the murmuring within the eaglesuddenly took voice, and, rising through the neck, again issued forth inwords. The bird now bade the poet fix his attention on its eye; because, of all the fires that composed its figure, those that sparkled in theeye were the noblest. The spirit (it said) which Dante beheld in thepupil was that of the royal singer who danced before the ark, nowenjoying the reward of his superiority to vulgar discernment. Of thefive spirits that composed the eyebrow, the one nearest the beak wasTrajan, now experienced above all others in the knowledge of what itcosts not to follow Christ, by reason of his having been in hellbefore he was translated to heaven. Next to Trajan was Hezekiah, whose penitence delayed for him the hour of his death: next Hezekiah, Constantine, though, in letting the pope become a prince instead ofa pastor, he had unwittingly brought destruction on the world: nextConstantine, William the Good of Sicily, whose death is not morelamented than the lives of those who contest his crown and lastly, nextWilliam, Riphaeus the Trojan. "What erring mortal, " cried the bird, "would believe it possible to find Riphæus the Trojan among theblest?--but so it is; and he now knows more respecting the divine gracethan mortals do, though even he discerns it not to the depth. "[28]

The bird again relapsing into silence, appeared to repose on thehappiness of its thoughts, like the lark which, after quivering andexpatiating through all its airy warble, becomes mute and content, having satisfied its soul to the last drop of its sweetness. [29]

But again Dante could not help speaking, being astonished to find Pagansin Heaven; and once more the celestial figure indulged his curiosity. It told him that Trajan had been delivered from hell, for his love ofjustice, by the prayers of St. Gregory; and that Riphaeus, for the samereason, had been gifted with a prophetic knowledge of the Redemption;and then it ended with a rapture on the hidden mysteries ofPredestination, and on the joy of ignorance itself when submitting tothe divine will. The two blessed spirits, meanwhile, whom the birdmentioned, like the fingers of sweet lutenist to sweet singer, when theyquiver to his warble as it goes, manifested the delight they experiencedby movements of accord simultaneous as the twinkling of two eyes. [30]

Dante turned to receive his own final delight from the eyes of Beatrice, and he found it, though the customary smile on her face was no longerthere. She told him that her beauty increased with such intensity atevery fresh ascent among the stars, that he would no longer have beenable to bear the smile; and they were now in the seventh Heaven, or theplanet Saturn, the retreat of those who had passed their lives in HolyContemplation. 

In this crystal sphere, called after the name of the monarch who reignedover the Age of Innocence, Dante looked up, and beheld a ladder, the hueof which was like gold when the sun glisters it, and the height so greatthat its top was out of sight; and down the steps of this ladder he sawcoming such multitudes of shining spirits, that it seemed as if all thelights of heaven must have been there poured forth; but not a sound wasin the whole splendour. It was spared to the poet for the same reasonthat he missed the smile of Beatrice. When they came to a certain stepin the ladder, some of the spirits flew off it in circles or othercareers, like rooks when they issue from their trees in the morningto dry their feathers in the sun, part of them going away withoutreturning, others returning to the point they left, and otherscontenting themselves with flying round about it. One of them came sonear Dante and Beatrice, and brightened with such ardour, that the poetsaw it was done in affection towards them, and begged the loving spiritto tell them who it was. 

"Between the two coasts of Italy, " said the spirit, "and not far fromthine own country, the stony mountains ascend into a ridge so loftythat the thunder rolls beneath it. Catria is its name. Beneath it is aconsecrated cell; and in that cell I was called Pietro Damiano. [31] I sodevoted myself to the service of God, that with no other sustenance thanthe juice of the olive, I forgot both heat and cold, happy in heavenlymeditation. That cloister made abundant returns in its season to thesegranaries of the Lord; but so idle has it become now, that it is fitthe world should know its barrenness. The days of my mortal life weredrawing to a close, when I was besought and drawn into wearing the hatwhich descends every day from bad head to worse. [32] St. Peter and St. Paul came lean and barefoot, getting their bread where they could; butpastors now-a-days must be lifted from the ground, and have ushers goingbefore them, and train-bearers behind them, and ride upon palfreyscovered with their spreading mantles, so that two beasts go under oneskin. [33] O Lord, how long!"

At these words Dante saw more splendours come pouring down the ladder, and wheel round and round, and become at every wheel more beautiful. The whole dazzling body then gathered round the indignant speaker, andshouted something in a voice so tremendous, that the poet could liken itto nothing on earth. The thunder was so overwhelming, that he did noteven hear what they said. [34]

Pallid and stunned, he turned in affright to Beatrice, who comforted himas a mother comforts a child that wants breath to speak. The shout wasprophetic of the vengeance about to overtake the Church. Beatrice thendirected hisattention to a multitude of small orbs, which increased oneanother's beauty by interchanging their splendours. They enclosed thespirits of those who most combined meditation with love. One of them wasSaint Benedict; and others Macarius and Romoaldo. [35] The light of St. Benedict issued forth from among its companions to address the poet;and after explaining how its occupant was unable farther to disclosehimself, inveighed against the degeneracy of the religious orders. Itthen rejoined its fellows, and the whole company clustering into onemeteor, swept aloft like a whirlwind. Beatrice beckoned the poet toascend after them. He did so, gifted with the usual virtue by her eyes;and found himself in the twin light of the Gemini, the constellationthat presided over his birth. He was now in the region of the fixedstars. 

"Thou art now, " said his guide, "so near the summit of thy prayers, thatit behoves thee to take a last look at things below thee, and seehow little they should account in thine eyes. " Dante turned hiseyes downwards through all the seven spheres, and saw the earth sodiminutive, that he smiled at its miserable appearance. Wisest, thoughthe, is the man that esteems it least; and truly worthy he that sets histhoughts on the world to come. He now saw the moon without those spotsin it which made him formerly attribute the variation to dense and rare. He sustained the brightness of the face of the sun, and discerned allthe signs and motions and relative distances of the planets. Finally, hesaw, as he rolled round with the sphere in which he stood, and by virtueof his gifted sight, the petty arena, from hill to harbour, which filledhis countrymen with such ferocious ambition; and then he turned his eyesto the sweet eyes beside him. [36]

Beatrice stood wrapt in attention, looking earnestly towards the south, as if she expected some appearance. She resembled the bird that sitsamong the dewy leaves in the darkness of night, yearning for the comingof the morning, that she may again behold her young, and have light bywhich to seek the food, that renders her fatigue for them a joy. Sostood Beatrice, looking; which caused Dante to watch in the samedirection, with the feelings of one that is already possessed of somenew delight by the assuredness of his expectation. [37]

The quarter on which they were gazing soon became brighter and brighter, and Beatrice exclaimed, "Behold the armies of the triumph of Christ!"Her face appeared all fire, and her eyes so full of love, that the poetcould find no words to express them. 

As the moon, when the depths of heaven are serene with her fulness, looks abroad smiling among her eternal handmaids the stars, that paintevery gulf of the great hollow with beauty;[38] so brightest, abovemyriads of splendours around it, appeared a sun which gave radiance tothem all, even as our earthly sun gives light to the constellations. 

"O Beatrice!" exclaimed Dante, overpowered, "sweet and beloved guide!"

"Overwhelming, " said Beatrice, "is the virtue with which nothing cancompare. What thou hast seen is the Wisdom and the Power, by whom thepath between heaven and earth has been laid open. "[39]

Dante's soul--like the fire which falls to earth out of the swollenthunder-cloud, instead of rising according to the wont of fire--hadgrown too great for his still mortal nature; and he could afterwardsfind within him no memory of what it did. 

"Open thine eyes, " said Beatrice, "and see me now indeed. Thou hastbeheld things that empower thee to sustain my smiling. "

Dante, while doing as he was desired, felt like one who has suddenlywaked up from a dream, and endeavours in vain to recollect it. 

"Never, " said he, "can that moment be erased from the book of the past. If all the tongues were granted me that were fed with the richest milkof Polyhymnia and her sisters, they could not express one thousandthpart of the beauty of that divine smile, or of the thorough perfectionwhich it made of the whole of her divine countenance. "

But Beatrice said, "Why dost thou so enamour thee of this face, andlose the sight of the beautiful guide, blossoming beneath the beams ofChrist? Behold the rose, in which the Word was made flesh. [40] Beholdthe lilies, by whose odour the way of life is tracked. "

Dante looked, and gave battle to the sight with his weak eyes. [41]

As flowers on a cloudy day in a meadow are suddenly lit up by a gleam ofsunshine, he beheld multitudes of splendours effulgent with beaming raysthat smote on them from above, though he could not discern the source ofthe effulgence. He had invoked the name of the Virgin when he looked;and the gracious fountain of the light had drawn itself higher up withinthe heaven, to accommodate the radiance to his faculties. He then beheldthe Virgin herself bodily present, --her who is fairest now in heaven, as she was on earth; and while his eyes were being painted with herbeauty, [42] there fell on a sudden a seraphic light from heaven, which, spinning into a circle as it came, formed a diadem round her head, stillspinning, and warbling as it spun. The sweetest melody that ever drewthe soul to it on earth would have seemed like the splitting of athunder-cloud, compared with the music that sung around the head of thatjewel of Paradise. [43]

"I am Angelic Love, " said the light, "and I spin for joy of the womb inwhich our Hope abided; and ever, O Lady of Heaven, must I thus attendthee, as long as thou art pleased to attend thy Son, journeying in hisloving-kindness from sphere to sphere. "

All the other splendours now resounded the name of Mary. The Virginbegan ascending to pursue the path of her Son; and Dante, unable toendure her beauty as it rose, turned his eyes to the angelical callerson the name of Mary, who remained yearning after her with their handsoutstretched, as a babe yearns after the bosom withdrawn from his lips. Then rising after her themselves, they halted ere they went out ofsight, and sung "O Queen of Heaven" so sweetly, that the delight neverquitted the air. 

A flame now approached and thrice encircled Beatrice, singing all thewhile so divinely, that the poet could retain no idea expressive of itssweetness. Mortal imagination cannot unfold such wonder. It was SaintPeter, whom she had besought to come down from his higher sphere, inorder to catechise and discourse with her companion on the subject offaith. 

The catechising and the discourse ensued, and were concluded by theApostle's giving the poet the benediction, and encircling his foreheadthrice with his holy light. "So well, " says Dante, "was he pleased withmy answers. "[44]

"If ever, " continued the Florentine, "the sacred poem to which heavenand earth have set their hands, and which for years past has wasted myflesh in the writing, shall prevail against the cruelty that shut me outof the sweet fold in which I slept like a lamb, wishing harm to none butthe wolves that beset it, --with another voice, and in another guise thannow, will I return, a poet, and standing by the fount of my baptism, assume the crown that belongs to me; for I there first entered on thefaith which gives souls to God; and for that faith did Peter thusencircle my forehead. "[45]

A flame enclosing Saint James now succeeded to that of Saint Peter, andafter greeting his predecessor as doves greet one another, murmuring andmoving round, proceeded to examine the mortal visitant on the subjectof Hope. The examination was closed amidst resounding anthems of, "Let their hope be in thee;"[46] and a third apostolic flame ensued, enclosing Saint John, who completed the catechism with the topic ofCharity. Dante acquitted himself with skill throughout; the spheresresounded with songs of "Holy, holy, " Beatrice joining in the warble;and the poet suddenly found Adam beside him. The parent of the humanrace knew by intuition what his descendant wished to learn of him; andmanifesting his assent before he spoke, as an animal sometimes does bymovements and quiverings of the flesh within its coat, correspondingwith its good-will, [47] told him, that his fall was not owing to thefruit which he tasted, but to the violation of the injunction not totaste it; that he remained in the Limbo on hell-borders upwards of fivethousand years; and that the language he spoke had become obsoletebefore the days of Nimrod. 

The gentle fire of Saint Peter now began to assume an awful brightness, such as the planet Jupiter might assume, if Mars and it were birds, and exchanged the colour of their plumage. [48] Silence fell upon thecelestial choristers; and the Apostle spoke thus:

"Wonder not if thou seest me change colour. Thou wilt see, while Ispeak, all which is round about us colour in like manner. He who usurpsmy place on earth, --_my_ place, I say, --ay, _mine_, --which before God isnow vacant, --has converted the city in which my dust lies buried into acommon-sewer of filth and blood; so that the fiend who fell from hencerejoices himself down there. "

At these words of the Apostle the whole face of Heaven was covered witha blush, red as dawn or sunset; and Beatrice changed colour, like amaiden that shrinks in alarm from the report of blame in another. Theeclipse was like that which took place when the Supreme died upon theCross. 

Saint Peter resumed with a voice not less awfully changed than hisappearance:

"Not for the purpose of being sold for money was the spouse of Christfed and nourished with my blood, and with the blood of Linus, --the bloodof Cletus. Sextus did not bleed for it, nor Pius, nor Callixtus, norUrban; men, for whose deaths all Christendom wept. They died that soulsmight be innocent and go to Heaven. Never was it intention of ours, thatthe sitters in the holy chair should divide one half of Christendomagainst the other; should turn my keys into ensigns of war against thefaithful; and stamp my very image upon mercenary and lying documents, which make me, here in Heaven, blush and turn cold to think of. Armof God, why sleepest thou? Men out of Gascony and Cahors are evennow making ready to drink our blood. O lofty beginning, to what vileconclusion must thou come! But the high Providence, which made Scipiothe sustainer of the Roman sovereignty of the world, will fail not itstimely succour. And thou, my son, that for weight of thy mortal clothingmust again descend to earth, see thou that thou openest thy mouth, andhidest not from others what has not been hidden from thyself. "

As white and thick as the snows go streaming athwart the air when thesun is in Capricorn, so the angelical spirits that had been gathered inthe air of Saturn streamed away after the Apostle, as he turned with theother saints to depart; and the eyes of Dante followed them till theybecame viewless. [49]

The divine eyes of Beatrice recalled him to herself; and at the sameinstant the two companions found themselves in the ninth Heaven or_Primum Mobile_, the last of the material Heavens, and the mover ofthose beneath it. 

[Footnote 49: In spite of the unheavenly nature of invective, ofsomething of a lurking conceit in the making an eclipse out of a blush, and in the positive bathos, and I fear almost indecent irrelevancy ofthe introduction of Beatrice at all on such an occasion, much more underthe feeble aspect of one young lady blushing for another, --this scenealtogether is a very grand one; and the violence itself of the holyinvective awful. 

Here he had a glimpse of the divine essence, in likeness of a point ofinconceivably sharp brightness enringed with the angelic hierarchies. All earth, and heaven, and nature, hung from it. Beatrice explainedmany mysteries to him connected with that sight; and then vehementlydenounced the false and foolish teachers that quit the authority of theBible for speculations of their own, and degrade the preaching of thegospel with ribald jests, and legends of Saint Anthony and his pig. [50]

Returning, however, to more celestial thoughts, her face became so fullof beauty, that Dante declares he must cease to endeavour to speak ofit, and that he doubts whether the sight can ever be thoroughly enjoyedby any save its Maker. [51] Her look carried him upward as before, andhe was now in the Empyrean, or region of Pure Light;--of light made ofintellect full of love; love of truth, full of joy; joy, transcendantabove all sweetness. 

Streams of living radiance came rushing and flashing round about him, swathing him with light, as the lightning sometimes enwraps and dashesagainst the blinded eyes; but the light was love here, and instead ofinjuring, gave new power to the object it embraced. 

With this new infusion of strength into his organs of vision, Dantelooked, and saw a vast flood of it, effulgent with flashing splendours, and pouring down like a river between banks painted with the loveliestflowers. Fiery living sparkles arose from it on all sides, and pitchedthemselves into the cups of the flowers, where they remained awhile, like rubies set in gold; till inebriated with the odours, they recastthemselves into the bosom of the flood; and ever as one returned, another leaped forth. Beatrice bade him dip his eyes into the light, that he might obtain power to see deeper into its nature; for the river, and the jewels that sprang out of it to and fro, and the laughingflowers on the banks, were themselves but shadows of the truth whichthey included; not, indeed, in their essential selves, but inasmuch aswithout further assistance the beholder's eyes could not see them asthey were. Dante rushed to the stream as eagerly as the lips of aninfant to the breast, when it has slept beyond its time; and hiseyelashes had no sooner touched it, than the length of the river becamea breadth and a circle, and its real nature lay unveiled before him, like a face when a mask is taken off. It was the whole two combinedcourts of Heaven, the angelical and the human, in circumference largerthan would hold the sun, and all blazing beneath a light, which wasreflected downwards in its turn upon the sphere of the Primum Mobilebelow it, the mover of the universe. And as a green cliff by the water'sside seems to delight in seeing itself reflected from head to foot withall its verdure and its flowers; so, round about on all sides, uponthousands of thrones, the blessed spirits that once lived on earth satbeholding themselves in the light. And yet even all these togetherformed but the lowest part of the spectacle, which ascended above them, tier upon tier, in the manner of an immeasurable rose, --all dilatingitself, doubling still and doubling, and all odorous with the praisesof an ever-vernal sun. Into the base of it, as into the yellow of theflower, with a dumb glance that yet promised to speak, Beatrice drewforward her companion, and said, "Behold the innumerable assemblage ofthe white garments! Behold our city, how large its circuit! Behold ourseats, which are, nevertheless, so full, that few comers are wanted tofill them! On that lofty one at which thou art looking, surmounted withthe crown, and which shall be occupied before thou joinest this bridalfeast, shall be seated the soul of the great Henry, who would fain setItaly right before she is prepared for it. [52] The blind waywardness ofwhich ye are sick renders ye like the bantling who, while he is dying ofhunger, kicks away his nurse. And Rome is governed by one that cannotwalk in the same path with such a man, whatever be the road. [53] But Godwill not long endure him. He will be thrust down into the pit with SimonMagus; and his feet, when he arrives there, will thrust down the man ofAlagna still lower. [54]"

In the form, then, of a white rose the blessed multitude of human soulslay manifest before the eyes of the poet; and now he observed, that thewinged portion of the blest, the angels, who fly up with their wingsnearer to Him that fills them with love, came to and fro upon the roselike bees; now descending into its bosom, now streaming back to thesource of their affection. Their faces were all fire, their wingsgolden, their garments whiter than snow. Whenever they descended onthe flower, they went from fold to fold, fanning their loins, andcommunicating the peace and ardour which they gathered as they gave. Dante beheld all, --every flight and action of the whole wingedmultitude, --without let or shadow; for he stood in the region of lightitself, and light has no obstacle where it is deservedly vouchsafed. 

"Oh, " cries the poet, "if the barbarians that came from the north stooddumb with amazement to behold the magnificence of Rome, thinking theysaw unearthly greatness in the Lateran, what must I have thought, whohad thus come from human to divine, from time to eternity, from thepeople of Florence to beings just and sane?"

Dante stood, without a wish either to speak or to hear. He felt like apilgrim who has arrived within the place of his devotion, and who looksround about him, hoping some day to relate what he sees. He gazedupwards and downwards, and on every side round about, and saw movementsgraceful with every truth of innocence, and faces full of lovingpersuasion, rich in their own smiles and in the light of the smiles ofothers. 

He turned to Beatrice, but she was gone;--gone, as a messenger fromherself told him, to resume her seat in the blessed rose, which themessenger accordingly pointed out. She sat in the third circle from thetop, as far from Dante as the bottom of the sea is from the region ofthunder; and yet he saw her as plainly as if she had been close at hand. He addressed words to her of thanks for all she had done for him, anda hope for her assistance after death; and she looked down at him andsmiled. 

The messenger was St. Bernard. He bade the poet lift his eyes higher;and Dante beheld the Virgin Mary sitting above the rose, in the centreof an intense redness of light, like another dawn. Thousands of angelswere hanging buoyant around her, each having its own distinct splendourand adornment, and all were singing, and expressing heavenly mirth; andshe smiled on them with such loveliness, that joy was in the eyes of allthe blessed. 

At Mary's feet was sitting Eve, beautiful--she that opened the woundwhich Mary closed; and at the feet of Eve was Rachel, with Beatrice; andat the feet of Rachel was Sarah, and then Judith, then Rebecca, thenRuth, ancestress of him out of whose penitence came the song of theMiserere;[55] and so other Hebrew women, down all the gradations of theflower, dividing, by the line which they made, the Christians who livedbefore Christ from those who lived after; a line which, on the oppositeside of the rose, was answered by a similar one of Founders of theChurch, at the top of whom was John the Baptist. The rose also wasdivided horizontally by a step which projected beyond the others, andunderneath which, known by the childishness of their looks and voices, were the souls of such as were too young to have attained Heaven byassistance of good works. 

St. Bernard then directed his companion to look again at the Virgin, andgather from her countenance the power of beholding the face of Christ asGod. Her aspect was flooded with gladness from the spirits around her;while the angel who had descended to her on earth now hailed her abovewith "Ave, Maria!" singing till the whole host of Heaven joined inthe song. St. Bernard then prayed to her for help to his companion'seyesight. Beatrice, with others of the blest, was seen joining in theprayer, their hands stretched upwards; and the Virgin, after benignlylooking on the petitioners, gazed upwards herself, shewing the way withher own eyes to the still greater vision. Dante then looked also, andbeheld what he had no words to speak, or memory to endure. 

He awoke as from a dream, retaining only a sense of sweetness that evertrickled to his heart. 

Earnestly praying afterwards, however, that grace might be so farvouchsafed to a portion of his recollection, as to enable him to conveyto his fellow-creatures one smallest glimpse of the glory of what hesaw, his ardour was so emboldened by help of the very mystery at whosesight he must have perished had he faltered, that his eyes, unblasted, attained to a perception of the Sum of Infinitude. He beheld, concentrated in one spot--written in one volume of Love--all which isdiffused, and can become the subject of thought and study throughout theuniverse--all substance and accident and mode--all so compounded thatthey become one light. He thought he beheld at one and the same timethe oneness of this knot, and the universality of all which it implies;because, when it came to his recollection, his heart dilated, and in thecourse of one moment he felt ages of impatience to speak of it. 

But thoughts as well as words failed him; and though ever afterwards hecould no more cease to yearn towards it, than he could take defect forcompletion, or separate the idea of happiness from the wish to attainit, still the utmost he could say of what he remembered would fall asshort of right speech as the sounds of an infant's tongue while it ismurmuring over the nipple; for the more he had looked at that light, the more he found in it to amaze him, so that his brain toiled withthe succession of the astonishments. He saw, in the deep but clearself-subsistence, three circles of three different colours of the samebreadth, one of them reflecting one of the others as rainbow doesrainbow, and the third consisting of a fire equally breathing fromboth. [56]

O eternal Light! thou that dwellest in thyself alone, thou aloneunderstandest thyself, and art by thyself understood, and, sounderstanding, thou laughest at thyself, and lovest. 

The second, or reflected circle, as it went round, seemed to be paintedby its own colours with the likeness of a human face. [57]

But how this was done, or how the beholder was to express it, threwhis mind into the same state of bewilderment as the mathematicianexperiences when he vainly pores over the circle to discover theprinciple by which he is to square it. 

He did, however, in a manner discern it. A flash of light was vouchsafedhim for the purpose; but the light left him no power to impart thediscernment; nor did he feel any longer impatient for the gift. Desirebecame absorbed in submission, moving in as smooth unison as theparticles of a wheel, with the Love that is the mover of the sun and thestars. [58]

[Footnote 1: A curious and happy image. 

 "Tornan de' nostri visi le postille Debili sì, che perla in bianca fronte Non vien men tosto a le nostre pupille: Tali vid' io più facce a parlar pronte. " ]

[Footnote 2: "Rodolfo da Tossignano, _Hist. Seraph. Relig. _ P. I. P. 138, as cited by Lombardi, relates the following legend of Piccarda:'Her brother Corso, inflamed with rage against his virgin sister, having joined with him Farinata, an infamous assassin, and twelve otherabandoned ruffians, entered the monastery by a ladder, and carriedaway his sister forcibly to his own house; and then, tearing off herreligious habit, compelled her to go in a secular garment to hernuptials. Before the spouse of Christ came together with her newhusband, she knelt down before a crucifix, and recommended her virginityto Christ. Soon after, her whole body was smitten with leprosy, so asto strike grief and horror into the beholders; and thus, in a few days, through the divine disposal, she passed with a palm of virginity to theLord. Perhaps (adds the worthy Franciscan), our poet not being able tocertify himself entirely of this occurrence, has chosen to pass it overdiscreetly, by making Piccarda say, 'God knows how, after that, my lifewas framed. '"--_Cary_, ut sup. P. 137. ]

[Footnote 3: A lovely simile indeed. 

 "Tanto lieta Ch' arder parea d'amor nel primo foco. "

[Footnote 4: Costanza, daughter of Ruggieri, king of Sicily, thus takenout of the monastery, was mother to the Emperor Frederick the Second. "She was fifty years old or more at the time" (says Mr. Cary, quotingfrom Muratori and others); "and because it was not credited that shecould have a child at that age, she was delivered in a pavilion; and itwas given out, that any lady who pleased was at liberty to see her. Manycame and saw her, and the suspicion ceased. "--_Translation of Dante_, utsup. P. 137. ]

[Footnote 5: Probably an allusion to Dante's own wanderings. ]

[Footnote 6:

 "Hosanna Sanctus Deus Sabaoth Superillustrans claritate tuâ Felices ignes horum Malahoth. " _Malahoth_; Hebrew, _kingdoms_. ]

[Footnote 7: The epithet is not too strong, as will be seen by thenature of the inhabitants. ]

[Footnote 8: Charles Martel, son of the king of Naples and Sicily, andcrowned king of Hungary, seems to have become acquainted with Danteduring the poet's youth, when the prince met his royal father in thecity of Florence. He was brother of Robert, who succeeded the father, and who was the friend of Petrarch. 

"The adventures of Cunizza, overcome by the influence of her star, " saysCary, "are related by the chronicler Rolandino of Padua, lib. I. Cap. 3, in Muratori, Rer. Ital. Script. Tom. Viii. P. 173. She eloped from herfirst husband, Richard of St. Boniface, in the company of Sordello (seePurg. Canto vi. And vii. ); with whom she is supposed to have cohabitedbefore her marriage: then lived with a soldier of Trevigi, whose wifewas living at the same time in the same city; and, on his being murderedby her brother the tyrant, was by her brother married to a nobleman ofBraganzo: lastly, when he also had fallen by the same hand, she, afterher brother's death, was again wedded in Verona. "--_Translation ofDante_, ut sup. P. 147. See what Foscolo says of her in the _Discorsosul Testo_, p. 329. 

Folco, the gallant Troubadour, here placed between Cunizza and Rahab, is no other than Folques, bishop of Thoulouse, the persecutor of theAlbigenses. It is of him the brutal anecdote is related, that, beingasked, during an indiscriminate attack on that people, how the orthodoxand heterodox were to be distinguished, he said, "Kill all: God willknow his own. "

For Rahab, see _Joshua_, chap. Ii. And vi. ; and _Hebrews_. Xi. 31]

[Footnote 9: The reader need not be required to attend to theextraordinary theological disclosures in the whole of the precedingpassage, nor yet to consider how much more they disclose, than theologyor the poet might have desired. ]

[Footnote 10: These fifteen personages are chiefly theologians andschoolmen, whose names and obsolete writings are, for the most part, nolonger worth mention. The same may be said of the band that comes afterthem. 

Dante should not have set them dancing. It is impossible (everyrespectfulness of endeavour notwithstanding) to maintain the gravityof one's imagination at the thought of a set of doctors of the Church, Venerable Bede included, wheeling about in giddy rapture like so manydancing dervises, and keeping time to their ecstatic anilities withvoices tinkling like church-clocks. You may invest them with as muchlight or other blessed indistinctness as you please; the beards and theold ages will break through. In vain theologians may tell us that ourimaginations are not exalted enough. The answer (if such a charge mustbe gravely met) is, that Dante's whole Heaven itself is not exaltedenough, how ever wonderful and beautiful in parts. The schools, and theforms of Catholic worship, held even his imagination down. There ismore heaven in one placid idea of love than in all these dances andtinklings. ]

[Footnote 11:

 "Benigno a' suoi, ed a' nimici crudo. "

Cruel indeed;--the founder of the Inquisition! The "loving minion"is Mr. Cary's excellent translation of "_amoroso drudo_. " But what aminion, and how loving! With fire and sword and devilry, and no wish (ofcourse) to thrust his own will and pleasure, and bad arguments, downother people's throats! St. Dominic was a Spaniard. So was Borgia. So was Philip the Second. There seems to have been an inherentsemi-barbarism in the character of Spain, which it has never got rid ofto this day. If it were not for Cervantes, and some modern patriots, itwould hardly appear to belong to the right European community. EvenLope de Vega was an inquisitor; and Mendoza, the entertaining author ofLazarillo de Tormes, a cruel statesman. Cervantes, however, is enough tosweeten a whole peninsula. ]

[Footnote 12: What a pity the reporter of this advice had not humilityenough to apply it to himself!]

[Footnote 13:

 "O sanguis meus, o superinfusa Gratia Dei, sicut tibi, cui Bis unquam coeli janua reclusa?"

The spirit says this in Latin, as if to veil the compliment to the poetin "the obscurity of a learned language. " And in truth it is a littlestrong. ]

[Footnote 14:

 "Che dentro a gli occhi suoi ardeva un riso Tal, ch' io pensai co' miei toccar lo fondo De la mia grazia e del mio Paradiso. "

That is, says Lombardi, "I thought my eyes could not possibly be morefavoured and imparadised" (Pensai che non potessero gli occhi mieiessere graziati ed imparadisati maggiormente)--_Variorum edition ofDante_, Padua, 1822, vol. Iii. P. 373. ]

[Footnote 15: Here ensues the famous description of those earlier timesin Florence, which Dante eulogises at the expense of his own. See theoriginal passage, with another version, in the Appendix. ]

[Footnote 16: Bellincion Berti was a noble Florentine, of the house ofthe Ravignani. Cianghella is said to have been an abandoned woman, of manners as shameless as her morals. Lapo Salterelli, one of theco-exiles of Dante, and specially hated by him, was a personage whoappears to have exhibited the rare combination of judge and fop. An oldcommentator, in recording his attention to his hair, seems to intimatethat Dante alludes to it in contrasting him with Cincinnatus. If so, Lapo might have reminded the poet of what Cicero says of his belovedCæsar;--that he once saw him scratching the top of his head with the tipof his finger, that he might not discompose the locks. ]

[Footnote 17:

 "Chi ei si furo, e onde venner quivi, Più è tacer che ragionare onesto. "

Some think Dante was ashamed to speak of these ancestors, from thelowness of their origin; others that he did not choose to make them aboast, for the height of it. I suspect, with Lombardi, from his generalcharacter, and from the willingness he has avowed to make such boasts(see the opening of canto xvi. , Paradise, in the original), that whilehe claimed for them a descent from the Romans (see Inferno, cantoxv. 73, &c. ), he knew them to be] poor in fortune, perhaps of humblecondition. What follows, in the text of our abstract, about the purityof the old Florentine blood, even in the veins of the humblest mechanic, may seem to intimate some corroboration of this; and is a curiousspecimen of republican pride and scorn. This horror of one's neighboursis neither good Christianity, nor surely any very good omen of thatItalian union, of which "Young Italy" wishes to think Dante such aharbinger. 

All this too, observe, is said in the presence of a vision of Christ onthe Cross!]

[Footnote 18: The _Column, Verrey_ (vair, variegated, checkered withargent and azure), and the _Balls_ or (Palle d'oro), were arms of oldfamilies. I do not trouble the reader with notes upon mere family-names, of which nothing else is recorded. ]

[Footnote 19: An allusion, apparently acquiescent, to the superstitiouspopular opinion that the peace of Florence was bound up with the statueof Mars on the old bridge, at the base of which Buondelmonte was slain. 

With this Buondelmonte the dissensions in Florence were supposed to havefirst begun. Macchiavelli's account of him is, that he was about tomarry a young lady of the Amidei family, when a widow of one of theDonati, who had designed her own daughter for him, contrived thathe should see her; the consequence of which was, that he broke hisengagement, and was assassinated. _Historie Fiorentine_, lib. Ii. ]

[Footnote 20:

 "Tu lascerai ogni cosa diletta Più caramente; e questo e quello strale Che l'arco de l'esilio pria saetta. 

 Tu proverai sì come sa di sale Lo pane altrui, e com'è duro calle Lo scendere e 'l salir per l'altrui scale. 

 E quel che più ti graverà le spalle, Sarà la compagnia malvagia e scempia Con la qual tu cadrai in questa valle:

 Che tutta ingrata, tutta matta ed empia Si farà contra te: ma poco appresso Ella, non tu, n'avrà rossa la tempia. 

 Di sua bestialitate il suo processo Farà la pruova, sì ch' a te fia bello Averti fatta parte per te stesso. "

[Footnote 21: The Roman eagle. These are the arms of the Scaligers ofVerona. ]

[Footnote 22: A prophecy of the renown of Can Grande della Scala, whohad received Dante at his court. ]

[Footnote 23: "Letizia era ferza del paléo"]

[Footnote 24: Supposed to be one of the early Williams, Princes ofOrange; but it is doubted whether the First, in the time of Charlemagne, or the Second, who followed Godfrey of Bouillon. Mr. Cary thinks theformer; and the mention of his kinsman Rinaldo (Ariosto's Paladin?)seems to confirm his opinion; yet the situation of the name in the textbrings it nearer to Godfrey; and Rinoardo (the name of Rinaldo in Dante)might possibly mean "Raimbaud, " the kinsman and associate of the secondWilliam. Robert Guiscard is the Norman who conquered Naples. ]

[Footnote 25: Exquisitely beautiful feeling!

[Footnote 29: Most beautiful is this simile of the lark:

 "Prima cantando, e poi tace contenta De l'ultima dolcezza che la sazia. "

In the _Pentameron and Pentalogia_, Petrarch is made to say, "All theverses that ever were written on the nightingale are scarcely worth thebeautiful triad of this divine poet on the lark [and then he repeatsthem]. In the first of them, do you not see the trembling of her wingsagainst the sky? As often as I repeat them, my ear is satisfied, myheart (like hers) contented. 

"_Boccaccio. _--I agree with you in the perfect and unrivalled beauty ofthe first; but in the third there is a redundance. Is not _contenta_quite enough without _che la sazia?_The picture is before us, thesentiment within us; and, behold, we kick when we are full of manna. 

"_Petrarch. _--I acknowledge the correctness and propriety of yourremark; and yet beauties in poetry must be examined as carefully asblemishes, and even more. "--p. 92. 

Perhaps Dante would have argued that _sazia_ expresses the satietyitself, so that the very superfluousness becomes a propriety. ]

[Footnote 30:

 "E come a buon cantor buon citarista Fa seguitar to guizzo de la corda In che più di piacer lo canto acquista;

 Sì, mentre che parlò, mi si ricorda, Ch'io vidi le due luci benedette, Pur come batter d'occhi si concorda, Con le parole muover le fiammette. " ]

[Footnote 31: A corrector of clerical abuses, who, though a cardinal, and much employed in public affairs, preferred the simplicity of aprivate life. He has left writings, the eloquence of which, according toTiraboschi, is "worthy of a better age. " Petrarch also makes honourablemention of him. See _Cary_, ut sup. P. 169. Dante lived a good whilein the monastery of Catria, and is said to have finished his poemthere. --_Lombardi in loc. _ vol. III. P. 547. ]

[Footnote 32: The cardinal's hat. ]

[Footnote 33: "Sì che duo bestie van sott' una pelle. "]

[Footnote 34:

 "Dintorno a questa (voce) vennero e fermarsi, E fero un grido di sì alto suono, Che non potrebbe qui assomigliarsi;

 Nè io lo 'ntesi, sì mi vinse il tuono. "

 Around this voice they flocked, a mighty crowd, And raised a shout so huge, that earthly wonder Knoweth no likeness for a peal so loud;

 Nor could I hear the words, it spoke such thunder. 

If a Longinus had written after Dante, he would have put this passageinto his treatise on the Sublime. ]

[Footnote 35: Benedict, the founder of the order called after his name. Macarius, an Egyptian monk and moralist. Romoaldo, founder of theCamaldoli. ]

[Footnote 36: The reader of English poetry will be reminded of a passagein Cowley

 "Lo, I mount; and lo, How small the biggest parts of earth's proud title shew! Where shall I find the noble British land? Lo, I at last a northern speck espy, Which in the sea does lie, And seems a grain o' the sand. For this will any sin, or bleed? Of civil wars is this the meed? And is it this, alas, which we, Oh, irony of words! do call Great Brittanie?"

And he afterwards, on reaching higher depths of silence, says veryfinely, and with a beautiful intimation of the all-inclusiveness of theDeity by the use of a singular instead of a plural verb, --

 "Where am I now? angels and God is here. "

All which follows in Dante, up to the appearance of Saint Peter, is fullof grandeur and loveliness. ]

[Footnote 37:

 "Come l' augello intra l'amate fronde, Posato al nido de' suoi dolci nati La notte che le cose ci nasconde, Che per veder gli aspetti desiati, E per trovar lo cibo onde gli pasca, In che i gravi labor gli sono aggrati, Previene 'l tempo in su l'aperta frasca, E con ardente affetto il sole aspetta, Fiso guardando pur che l'alba nasca;

 Così la donna mia si stava eretta E attenta, involta in ver la plaga Sotto la quale il sol mostra men fretta:

 Sì the veggendola io sospesa e vaga, Fecimi quale è quei che disiando Altro vorria, e sperando s'appaga. " ]

[Footnote 38:

 "Quale ne' plenilunii sereni Trivia ride tra le Ninfe eterne, Che dipingono 'l ciel per tutti i seni. "

[Footnote 39: He has seen Christ in his own unreflected person. ]

[Footnote 40: The Virgin Mary. ]

[Footnote 41:

 "Mi rendei A la battaglia de' debili cigli. "]

[Footnote 42:

 "Ambo le luci mi dipinse. "

[Footnote 43:

 "Qualunque melodia più dolce suona Qua giù, e più a se l'anima tira, Parebbe nube che squarciata tuona, Comparata al sonar di quella lira Onde si coronava il bel zaffiro Del quale il ciel più chiaro s' inzaffira. " ]

 [Footnote 44:

 "Benedicendomi cantando Tre volte cinse me, sì com' io tacqui, L' Apostolico lume, al cui comando

 Io avea detto; sì nel dir gli piacqui. "

It was this passage, and the one that follows it, which led Foscolo tosuspect that Dante wished to lay claim to a divine mission; an opinionwhich has excited great indignation among the orthodox. See his_Discorso sul Testo_, ut sup. Pp. 61, 77-90 and 335-338; and the prefaceof the Milanese Editors to the "Convito" of Dante, --_Opere Minori_, 12mo, vol ii. P. Xvii. Foscolo's conjecture seems hardly borne out bythe context; but I think Dante had boldness and self-estimation enoughto have advanced any claim whatsoever, had events turned out as heexpected. What man but himself (supposing him the believer he professedto be) would have thought of thus making himself free of the courts ofHeaven, and constituting St. Peter his applauding catechist!]

[Footnote 45: The verses quoted in the preceding note conclude thetwenty-fourth canto of Paradise; and those, of which the passage justgiven is a translation, commence the twenty-fifth:

 "Se mai continga, che 'l poema sacro Al quale ha posto mano e cielo e terra Sì che m' ha fatto per più anni macro, Vinca la crudeltà che fuor mi serra Del bello ovile ov' io dormi' agnello Nimico a' lupi che gli danno guerra;

 Con altra voce omai, con altro vello Ritornerò poeta, ed in sul fonte Del mio battesmo prenderò 'l capello:

 Perocchè ne la fede che fa conte L' anime a Dio, quiv' entra' io, e poi Pietro per lei sì mi girò la fronte. " ]

[Footnote 46: "Sperent in te. " _Psalm_ ix. 10. The English version says, "And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee. "]

[Footnote 47:

 "Tal volta un animal coverto broglia Sì che l' affetto convien che si paia Per lo seguir che face a lui la 'nvoglia. "

A natural, but strange, and surely not sufficiently dignified image forthe occasion. It is difficult to be quite content with a former one, inwhich the greetings of St. Peter and St. James are compared to those ofdoves murmuring and sidling round about one another; though Christiansentiment may warrant it, if we do not too strongly present the Apostlesto one's imagination. ]

[Footnote 48:

 "Tal ne la sembianza sua divenne, Qual diverebbe Giove, s' egli e Marte Fossero augelli e cambiassersi penne. "

Nobody who opened the Commedia for the first time at this fantasticalimage would suppose the author was a great poet, or expect thetremendous passage that ensues!]

[Footnote 49: In spite of the unheavenly nature of invective, ofsomething of a lurking conceit in the making an eclipse out of a blush, and in the positive bathos, and I fear almost indecent irrelevancy ofthe introduction of Beatrice at all on such an occasion, much more underthe feeble aspect of one young lady blushing for another, --this scenealtogether is a very grand one; and the violence itself of the holyinvective awful. 

A curious subject for reflection is here presented. What sort of popewould Dante himself have made? Would he have taken to the loving or thehating side of his genius? To the St. John or the St. Peter of his ownpoem? St. Francis or St. Dominic?--I am afraid, all things considered, we should have had in him rather a Gregory the Seventh or Juliusthe Second, than a Benedict the Eleventh or a Ganganelli. What fineChurch-hymns he would have written!]

[Footnote 50: She does not see (so blind is even holy vehemence!) thatfor the same reason the denouncement itself is out of its place. Thepreachers brought St. Anthony and his pig into their pulpits; she bringsthem into Heaven!]

[Footnote 51:

 "Certo io credo Che solo il suo fattor tutta la goda. " ]

[Footnote 52: The Emperor Henry of Luxembourg, Dante's idol; at theclose of whose brief and inefficient appearance in Italy, his hopes ofrestoration to his country were at an end. ]

[Footnote 53: Pope Clement the Fifth. Dante's enemy, Boniface, was nowdead, and of course in Tartarus, in the red-hot tomb which the poet hadprepared for him. ]

[Footnote 54: Boniface himself. Pope Clement's red hot feet are tothrust down Pope Boniface into a gulf still hotter. So says the gentleBeatrice in Heaven, and in the face of all that is angelical!]

[Footnote 55: David. ]

[Footnote 56: The Trinity. ]

[Footnote 57: The Incarnation. ]

[Footnote 58: In the Variorum edition of Dante, ut sup. Vol. Iii. P. 845, we are informed that a gentleman of Naples, the Cavaliere Giuseppede Cesare, was the first to notice (not long since, I presume) thecurious circumstance of Dante's having terminated the three portions ofhis poem with the word "stars. " He thinks that it was done as a happyaugury of life and renown to the subject. The literal intention, however, seems to have been to shew us, how all his aspirationsterminated. ]

PULCI:

Critical Notice

of

PULCI'S LIFE AND GENIUS. 

Pulci, who is the first genuine romantic poet, in point of time, afterDante, seems, at first sight, in the juxtaposition, like farce aftertragedy; and indeed, in many parts of his poem, he is not only what heseems, but follows his saturnine countryman with a peculiar proprietyof contrast, much of his liveliest banter being directed against theabsurdities of Dante's theology. But hasty and most erroneous would bethe conclusion that he was nothing but a banterar. He was a true poetof the mixed order, grave as well as gay; had a reflecting mind, asusceptible and most affectionate heart; and perhaps was never more inearnest than when he gave vent to his dislike of bigotry in his mostlaughable sallies. 

Luigi Pulci, son of Jacopo Pulci and Brigida de' Bardi, was of a noblefamily, so ancient as to be supposed to have come from France intoTuscany with his hero Charlemagne. He was born in Florence on the 3d ofDecember, 1431, and was the youngest of three brothers, all possessed ofa poetical vein, though it did not flow with equal felicity. Bernardo, the eldest, was the earliest translator of the Eclogues of Virgil; andLucca wrote a romance called the _Ciriffo Calvaneo_, and is commendedfor his _Heroic Epistles_. Little else is known of these brothers; andnot much more of Luigi himself, except that he married a lady of thename of Lucrezia degli Albizzi; journeyed in Lombardy and elsewhere; wasone of the most intimate friends of Lorenzo de Medici and his literarycircle; and apparently led a life the most delightful to a poet, alwaysmeditating some composition, and buried in his woods and gardens. Nothing is known of his latter days. An unpublished work of littlecredit (Zilioli _On the Italian Poets_), and an earlier printed book, which, according to Tiraboschi, is of not much greater (Scardeone _DeAntiquitatibus Orbis Patavinæ_), say that he died miserably in Padua, and was refused Christian burial on account of his impieties. It isnot improbable that, during the eclipse of the fortunes of the Medicifamily, after the death of Lorenzo, Pulci may have partaken of itstroubles; and there is certainly no knowing how badly his or theirenemies may have treated him; but miserable ends are a favouriteallegation with theological opponents. The Calvinists affirm of theirmaster, the burner of Servetus, that he died like a saint; but Ihave seen a biography in Italian, which attributed the most horribledeath-bed, not only to the atrocious Genevese, but to the genial Luther, calling them both the greatest villains (_sceleratissimi_); and adding, that one of them (I forget which) was found dashed on the floor of hisbedroom, and torn limb from limb. 

Pulci appears to have been slender in person, with small eyes and aruddy face. I gather this from the caricature of him in the poeticalpaper-war carried on between him and his friend Matteo Franco, aFlorentine canon, which is understood to have been all in goodhumour--sport to amuse their friends--a perilous speculation. Besideshis share in these verses, he is supposed to have had a hand in hisbrother's romance, and was certainly the author of some devout poems, and of a burlesque panegyric on a country damsel, _La Beca_, inemulation of the charming poem _La Nencia_, the first of its kind, written by that extraordinary person, his illustrious friend Lorenzo, who, in the midst of his cares and glories as the balancer of the powerof Italy, was one of the liveliest of the native wits, and wrote songsfor the people to dance to in Carnival time. 

The intercourse between Lorenzo and Pulci was of the most familiar kind. Pulci was sixteen years older, but of a nature which makes no suchdifferences felt between associates. He had known Lorenzo from thelatter's youth, probably from his birth--is spoken of in a tone ofdomestic intimacy by his wife--and is enumerated by him among hiscompanions in a very special and characteristic manner in his poem onHawking _(La Caccia col Falcone_), when, calling his fellow-sportsmenabout him, and missing Luigi, one of them says that he has strolled intoa neighbouring wood, to put something which has struck his fancy into asonnet:

"'Luigi Pulci ov' è, che non si sente?' 'Egli se n' andò dianzi in quelboschetto, Che qualche fantasia ha per la mente; Vorr à fantasticarforse un sonetto. '"

"And where's Luigi Pulci? I saw _him_. " "Oh, in the wood there. Gone, depend upon it, To vent some fancy in his brain--some whim, That willnot let him rest till it's a sonnet. "

In a letter written to Lorenzo, when the future statesman, then in hisseventeenth year, was making himself personally acquainted with thecourts of Italy, Pulci speaks of himself as struggling hard to keep downthe poetic propensity in his friend's absence. "If you were with me, " hesays, "I should produce heaps of sonnets as big as the clubs they makeof the cherry-blossoms for May-day. I am always muttering some verse orother betwixt my teeth; but I say to myself, 'My Lorenzo is not here--hewho is my only hope and refuge;' and so I suppress it. " Such is thefirst, and of a like nature are the latest accounts we possess of thesequestered though companionable poet. He preferred one congeniallistener who understood him, to twenty critics that were puzzled withthe vivacity of his impulses. Most of the learned men patronised byLorenzo probably quarrelled with him on account of it, plaguing him insomewhat the same spirit, though in more friendly guise, as the DellaCruscans and others afterwards plagued Tasso; so he banters them inturn, and takes refuge from their critical rules and common-places inthe larger indulgence of his friend Politian and the laughing wisdom ofLorenzo. 

"So che andar diritto mi bisogna, Ch' io non ci mescolassi una bugia, Che questa non è storia da menzogna; Che come in esco un passo de lavia, Chi gracchia, chi riprende, e chi rampogna: Ognun poi mi riesce lapazzia;

Tanto ch' eletto ho solitaria vita, Che la turba di questi è infinita. 

La mia Accademia un tempo, o mia Ginnasia, E stata volentier ne' mieiboschetti; E puossi ben veder l' Affrica e l' Asia: Vengon le Ninfe conlor canestretti, E portanmi o narciso o colocasia; E così fuggo milleurban dispetti: Sì ch' io non torno a' vostri Areopaghi, Gente pursempre di mal dicer vaghi. 

I know I ought to make no dereliction From the straight path to thisside or to that; I know the story I relate's no fiction, And thatthe moment that I quit some flat, Folks are all puff, and blame, andcontradiction, And swear I never know what I'd be at; In short, suchcrowds, I find, can mend one's poem, I live retired, on purpose not toknow 'em. 

Yes, gentlemen, my only 'Academe, ' My sole 'Gymnasium, ' are my woodsand bowers; Of Afric and of Asia there I dream; And the Nymphs bring mebaskets full of flowers, Arums, and sweet narcissus from the stream; Andthus my Muse escapeth your town-hours And town-disdains; and I eschewyour bites, Judges of books, grim Areopagites. "

He is here jesting, as Foscolo has observed, on the academy institutedby Lorenzo for encouraging the Greek language, doubtless with thelaughing approbation of the founder, who was sometimes not a littletroubled himself with the squabbles of his literati. 

Our author probably had good reason to call his illustrious friend his"refuge. " The _Morgante Maggiore_, the work which has rendered the nameof Pulci renowned, was an attempt to elevate the popular and homelynarrative poetry chanted in the streets into the dignity of a productionthat should last. The age was in a state of transition on all points. The dogmatic authority of the schoolmen in matters of religion, whichprevailed in the time of Dante, had come to nought before the advanceof knowledge in general, and the indifference of the court of Rome. The Council of Trent, as Crescimbeni advised the critics, had not thensettled what Christendom was to believe; and men, provided they compliedwith forms, and admitted certain main articles, were allowed to think, and even in great measure talk, as they pleased. The lovers of thePlatonic philosophy took the opportunity of exalting some of its dreamsto an influence, which at one time was supposed to threaten Christianityitself, and which in fact had already succeeded in affecting Christiantheology to an extent which the scorners of Paganism little suspect. Most of these Hellenists pushed their admiration of Greek literature toan excess. They were opposed by the Virgilian predilections of Pulci'sfriend, Politian, who had nevertheless universality enough to sympathisewith the delight the other took in their native Tuscan, and itsliveliest and most idiomatic effusions. From all these circumstances incombination arose, first, Pulci's determination to write a poem of amixed order, which should retain for him the ear of the many, and at thesame time give rise to a poetry of romance worthy of higher auditors;second, his banter of what he considered unessential and injuriousdogmas of belief, in favour of those principles of the religion ofcharity which inflict no contradiction on the heart and understanding;third, the trouble which seems to have been given him by critics, "sacred and profane, " in consequence of these originalities; and lastly, a doubt which has strangely existed with some, as to whether he intendedto write a serious or a comic poem, or on any one point was in earnestat all. One writer thinks he cannot have been in earnest, because heopens every canto with some pious invocation; another asserts that thepiety itself is a banter; a similar critic is of opinion, that to mixlevities with gravities proves the gravities to have been nought, andthe levities all in all; a fourth allows him to have been serious in hisdescription of the battle of Roncesvalles, but says he was laughing inall the rest of his poem; while a fifth candidly gives up the question, as one of those puzzles occasioned by the caprices of the human mind, which it is impossible for reasonable people to solve. Even Sismondi, who was well acquainted with the age in which Pulci wrote, and who, ifnot a profound, is generally an acute and liberal critic, confesseshimself to be thus confounded. "Pulci, " he says, "commences all hiscantos by a sacred invocation; and the interests of religion areconstantly intermingled with the adventures of his story, in a mannercapricious and little instructive. We know not how to reconcile thismonkish spirit with the semi-pagan character of society under Lorenzodi Medici, nor whether we ought to accuse Pulci of gross bigotry or ofprofane derision. " [1] Sismondi did not consider that the livelyand impassioned people of the south take what may be calledhousehold-liberties with the objects of their worship greater thannortherns can easily conceive; that levity of manner, therefore, doesnot always imply the absence of the gravest belief; that, be this asit may, the belief may be as grave on some points as light on others, perhaps the more so for that reason; and that, although some poems, likesome people, are altogether grave, or the reverse, there really issuch a thing as tragi-comedy both in the world itself and in therepresentations of it. A jesting writer may be quite as much in earnestwhen he professes to be so, as a pleasant companion who feels for hisown or for other people's misfortunes, and who is perhaps obliged toaffect or resort to his very pleasantry sometimes, because he feels moreacutely than the gravest. The sources of tears and smiles lie close to, ay and help to refine one another. If Dante had been capable of morelevity, he would have been guilty of less melancholy absurdities. IfRabelais had been able to weep as well as to laugh, and to love as wellas to be licentious, he would have had faith and therefore support insomething earnest, and not have been obliged to place the consummationof all things in a wine-bottle. People's every-day experiences mightexplain to them the greatest apparent inconsistencies of Pulci's muse, if habit itself did not blind them to the illustration. Was nobody everpresent in a well-ordered family, when a lively conversation having beeninterrupted by the announcement of dinner, the company, after listeningwith the greatest seriousness to a grace delivered with equalseriousness, perhaps by a clergyman, resumed it the instant afterwardsin all its gaiety, with the first spoonful of soup? Well, the sacredinvocations at the beginning of Pulci's cantos were compliances of thelike sort with a custom. They were recited and listened to just asgravely at Lorenzo di Medici's table; and yet neither compromised thereciters, nor were at all associated with the enjoyment of the fare thatensued. So with regard to the intermixture of grave and gay throughoutthe poem. How many campaigning adventures have been written by gallantofficers, whose animal spirits saw food for gaiety in half thecircumstances that occurred, and who could crack a jest and a helmetperhaps with almost equal vivacity, and yet be as serious as the gravestat a moment's notice, mourn heartily over the deaths of their friends, and shudder with indignation and horror at the outrages committed in acaptured city? It is thus that Pulci writes, full no less of feelingthan of whim and mirth. And the whole honest round of humanity not onlywarrants his plan, but in the twofold sense of the word embraces it. 

If any thing more were necessary to shew the gravity with which ourauthor addressed himself to his subject, it is the fact, related byhimself, of its having been recommended to him by Lorenzo's mother, Lucrezia Tornabuoni, a good and earnest woman, herself a poetess, whowrote a number of sacred narratives, and whose virtues he more thanonce records with the greatest respect and tenderness. The _Morgante_concludes with an address respecting this lady to the Virgin, and witha hope that her "devout and sincere" spirit may obtain peace for himin Paradise. These are the last words in the book. Is it credible thatexpressions of this kind, and employed on such an occasion, could havehad no serious meaning? or that Lorenzo listened to such praises of hismother as to a jest?

I have no doubt that, making allowance for the age in which he lived, Pulci was an excellent Christian. His orthodoxy, it is true, was not theorthodoxy of the times of Dante or St. Dominic, nor yet of that of theCouncil of Trent. His opinions respecting the mystery of the Trinityappear to have been more like those of Sir Isaac Newton than ofArchdeacon Travis. And assuredly he agreed with Origen respectingeternal punishment, rather than with Calvin and Mr. Toplady. But a manmay accord with Newton, and yet be thought not unworthy of the "starryspheres. " He may think, with Origen, that God intends all his creaturesto be ultimately happy, [2] and yet be considered as loving a followerof Christ as a "dealer of damnation round the land, " or the burner of afellow-creature. 

Pulci was in advance of his time on more subjects than one. Hepronounced the existence of a new and inhabited world, before theappearance of Columbus. [3] He made the conclusion, doubtless, asColumbus did, from the speculations of more scientific men, and therumours of seamen; but how rare are the minds that are foremost to throwaside even the most innocent prejudices, and anticipate the enlargementsof the public mind! How many also are calumniated and persecuted for sodoing, whose memories, for the same identical reason, are loved, perhapsadored, by the descendants of the calumniators! In a public library, inPulci's native place, is preserved a little withered relic, to whichthe attention of the visitor is drawn with reverential complacency. Itstands, pointing upwards, under a glass-case, looking like a mysteriousbit of parchment; and is the finger of Galileo;--of that Galileo, whosehand, possessing that finger, is supposed to have been tortured by theInquisition for writing what every one now believes. He was certainlypersecuted and imprisoned by the Inquisition. Milton saw and visitedhim under the restraint of that scientific body in his own house. YetGalileo did more by his disclosures of the stars towards elevating ourideas of the Creator, than all the so-called saints and polemics thatscreamed at one another in the pulpits of East and West. 

Like the _Commedia_ of Dante, Pulci's "Commedia" (for such also inregard to its general cheerfulness, [4] and probably to its mediocrity ofstyle, he calls it) is a representative in great measure of the feelingand knowledge of his time; and though not entirely such in a learned andeclectic sense, and not to be compared to that sublime monstrosity inpoint of genius and power, is as superior to it in liberal opinionand in a certain pervading lovingness, as the author's affectionatedisposition, and his country's advance in civilisation, combined torender it. The editor of the _Parnaso Italiano_ had reason to noticethis engaging personal character in our author's work. He says, speakingof the principal romantic poets of Italy, that the reader will "admireTasso, will adore Ariosto, but will love Pulci. "[5] And all minds, inwhich lovingness produces love, will agree with him. 

The _Morgante Maggiore_ is a history of the fabulous exploits and deathof Orlando, the great hero of Italian romance, and of the warsand calamities brought on his fellow Paladins and their sovereignCharlemagne by the envy, ambition, and treachery of the misguidedmonarch's favourite, Gail of Magauza (Mayence), Count of Poictiers. Itis founded on the pseudo-history of Archbishop Turpin, which, though itreceived the formal sanction of the Church, is a manifest forgery, andbecame such a jest with the wits, that they took a delight in palmingupon it their most incredible fictions. The title (_Morgante the Great_)seems to have been either a whim to draw attention to an old subject, orthe result of an intention to do more with the giant so called than tookplace; for though he is a conspicuous actor in the earlier part of thepoem, he dies when it is not much more than half completed. Orlando, thechampion of the faith, is the real hero of it, and Gan the anti-hero orvice. Charlemagne, the reader hardly need be told, is represented, for the most part, as a very different person from what he appears inhistory. In truth, as Ellis and Panizzi have shewn, he is either anexaggeration (still misrepresented) of Charles Martel, the Armoricanchieftain, who conquered the Saracens at Poictiers, or a concretion ofall the Charleses of the Carlovingian race, wise and simple, potent andweak. [6]

The story may be thus briefly told. Orlando quits the court ofCharlemagne in disgust, but is always ready to return to it when theemperor needs his help. The best Paladins follow, to seek him. He meetswith and converts the giant Morgante, whose aid he receives in manyadventures, among which is the taking of Babylon. The other Paladins, his cousin Rinaldo especially, have their separate adventures, all moreor less mixed up with the treacheries and thanklessness of Gan (for theyassist even him), and the provoking trust reposed in him by Charlemagne;and at length the villain crowns his infamy by luring Orlando with mostof the Paladins into the pass of Roncesvalles, where the hero himselfand almost all his companions are slain by the armies of Gan'sfellow-traitor, Marsilius, king of Spain. They die, however, victorious;and the two royal and noble scoundrels, by a piece of prosaical justicebetter than poetical, are despatched like common malefactors, with ahalter. 

There is, perhaps, no pure invention in the whole of this enlargement ofold ballads and chronicles, except the characters of another giant, andof a rebel angel; for even Morgante's history, though told in a verydifferent manner, has its prototype in the fictions of the pretendedarchbishop. [7] The Paladins are well distinguished from one another;Orlando as foremost alike in prowess and magnanimity, Rinaldo by hisvehemence, Ricciardetto by his amours, Astolfo by an ostentatiousrashness and self-committal; but in all these respects they appear tohave been made to the author's hand. Neither does the poem exhibitany prevailing force of imagery, or of expression, apart from popularidiomatic phraseology; still less, though it has plenty of infernalmagic, does it present us with any magical enchantments of the alluringorder, as in Ariosto; or with love-stories as good as Boiardo's, or evenwith any of the luxuries of landscape and description that are to befound in both of those poets; albeit, in the fourteenth canto, there isa long _catalogue raisonné_ of the whole animal creation, which a ladyhas worked for Rinaldo on a pavilion of silk and gold. 

To these negative faults must be added the positive ones of too manytrifling, unconnected, and uninteresting incidents (at least to readerswho cannot taste the flavour of the racy Tuscan idiom); great occasionalprolixity, even in the best as well as worst passages, not exceptingOrlando's dying speeches; harshness in spite of his fluency (accordingto Foscolo), and even bad grammar; too many low or over-familiar formsof speech (so the graver critics allege, though, perhaps, from want ofanimal spirits or a more comprehensive discernment); and lastly (to saynothing of the question as to the gravity or levity of the theology), the strange exhibition of whole successive stanzas, containing as manyquestions or affirmations as lines, and commencing each line with thesame words. They meet the eye like palisadoes, or a file of soldiers, and turn truth and pathos itself into a jest. They were most likelyimitated from the popular ballads. The following is the order of wordsin which a young lady thinks fit to complain of a desert, into which shehas been carried away by a giant. After seven initiatory O's addressedto her friends and to life in general, she changes the key into E:

"E' questa, la mia patria dov' io nacqui? E' questo il mio palagio e 'lmio castello? E' questo il nido ov' alcun tempo giacqui? E' questo ilpadre e 'l mio dolce fratello? E' questo il popol dov' io tanto piacqui?E' questo il regno giusto antico e bello? E' questo il porto de la miasalute? E' questo il premio d' ogni mia virtute?

Ove son or le mie purpuree veste? Ove son or le gemme e le ricchezze?Ove son or già le notturne feste? Ove son or le mie delicatezze? Ove sonor le mie compagne oneste? Ove son or le fuggite dolcezze? Ove son or ledamigelle mie? Ove son, dice? omè, non son già quie. "[8]

Is this the country, then, where I was born? Is this my palace, and mycastle this? Is this the nest I woke in, every morn? Is this my father'sand my brother's kiss? Is this the land they bred me to adorn? Is thisthe good old bower of all my bliss? Is this the haven of my youth andbeauty? Is this the sure reward of all my duty?

Where now are all my wardrobes and their treasures? Where now are allmy riches and my rights? Where now are all the midnight feasts andmeasures? Where now are all the delicate delights? Where now are all thepartners of my pleasures? Where now are all the sweets of sounds andsights? Where now are all my maidens ever near? Where, do I say? Alas, alas, not here!

There are seven more "where nows, " including lovers, and "profferedhusbands, " and "romances, " and ending with the startling question andanswer, --the counterpoint of the former close, --

"Ove son l' aspre selve e i lupi adesso, E gli orsi, e i draghi, e itigri? Son qui presso. "

Where now are all the woods and forests drear, Wolves, tigers, bears, and dragons? Alas, here!

These are all very natural thoughts, and such, no doubt, as wouldactually pass through the mind of the young lady, in the candour ofdesolation; but the mechanical iteration of her mode of putting themrenders them irresistibly ludicrous. It reminds us of the wager laid bythe poor queen in the play of _Richard the Second_, when she overhearsthe discourse of the gardener:

"My wretchedness _unto a roar of pins_, They'll talk of state. "

Did Pulci expect his friend Lorenzo to keep a grave face duringthe recital of these passages? Or did he flatter himself, that thecomprehensive mind of his hearer could at one and the same time beamused with the banter of some old song and the pathos of the newone?[9]

The want both of good love-episodes and of descriptions of externalnature, in the _Morgante_, is remarkable; for Pulci's tenderness ofheart is constantly manifest, and he describes himself as being almostabsorbed in his woods. That he understood love well in all its force anddelicacy is apparent from a passage connected with this pavilion. Thefair embroiderer, in presenting it to her idol Rinaldo, undervaluesit as a gift which his great heart, nevertheless, will not disdain toaccept; adding, with the true lavishment of the passion, that "shewishes she could give him the sun;" and that if she were to say, afterall, that it was her own hands which had worked the pavilion, she shouldbe wrong, for Love himself did it. Rinaldo wishes to thank her, but isso struck with her magnificence and affection, that the words die on hislips. The way also in which another of these loving admirers of Paladinsconceives her affection for one of them, and persuades a vehementlyhostile suitor quietly to withdraw his claims by presenting him witha ring and a graceful speech, is in a taste as high as any thing inBoiardo, and superior to the more animal passion of the love in theirgreat successor. [10] Yet the tenderness of Pulci rather shews itself inthe friendship of the Paladins for one another, and in perpetual littleescapes of generous and affectionate impulse. This is one of the greatcharms of the _Morgante_. The first adventure in the book is Orlando'sencounter with three giants in behalf of a good abbot, in whom hediscovers a kinsman; and this goodness and relationship combined movethe Achilles of Christendom to tears. Morgante, one of these giants, whois converted, becomes a sort of squire to his conqueror, and takes sucha liking to him, that, seeing him one day deliver himself not withoutperil out of the clutches of a devil, he longs to go and set free thewhole of the other world from devils. Indeed there is no end to hisaffection for him. Rinaldo and other Paladins, meantime, cannot resttill they have set out in search of Orlando. They never meet or partwith him without manifesting a tenderness proportionate to theirvalour, --the old Homeric candour of emotion. The devil Ashtarothhimself, who is a great and proud devil, assures Rinaldo, for whom hehas conceived a regard, that there is good feeling (_gentilezza_) evenin hell; and Rinaldo, not to hurt the feeling, answers that he has nodoubt of it, or of the capability of "friendship" in that quarter; andhe says he is as "sorry to part with him as with a brother. " The passagewill be found in our abstract. There are no such devils as these inDante; though Milton has something like them:

 "Devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds: men only disagree. "

It is supposed that the character of Ashtaroth, which is a very newand extraordinary one, and does great honour to the daring goodnessof Pulci's imagination, was not lost upon Milton, who was not onlyacquainted with the poem, but expressly intimates the pleasure he tookin it. [11] Rinaldo advises this devil, as Burns did Lucifer, to "take athought and mend. " Ashtaroth, who had been a seraph, takes no notice ofthe advice, except with a waving of the recollection of happier times. He bids the hero farewell, and says he has only to summon him in orderto receive his aid. This retention of a sense of his former angelicaldignity has been noticed by Foscolo and Panizzi, the two best writers onthese Italian poems. [12] A Calvinist would call the expression of thesympathy "hardened. " A humanist knows it to be the result of a spiritexquisitely softened. An unbounded tenderness is the secret of all thatis beautiful in the serious portion of our author's genius. Orlando'sgood-natured giant weeps even for the death of the scoundrel Margutte;and the awful hero himself, at whose death nature is convulsed and theheavens open, begs his dying horse to forgive him if ever he has wrongedit. 

A charm of another sort in Pulci, and yet in most instances, perhaps, owing the best part of its charmingness to its being connected with thesame feeling, is his wit. Foscolo, it is true, says it is, in general, more severe than refined; and it is perilous to differ with such acritic on such a point; for much of it, unfortunately, is lost to aforeign reader, in consequence of its dependance on the piquant oldTuscan idiom, and on popular sayings and allusions. Yet I should thinkit impossible for Pulci in general to be severe at the expense of somemore agreeable quality; and I am sure that the portion of his wit mostobvious to a foreigner may claim, if not to have originated, at leastto have been very like the style of one who was among its declaredadmirers, --and who was a very polished writer, --Voltaire. It consists intreating an absurdity with an air as if it were none; or as if it hadbeen a pure matter of course, erroneously mistaken for an absurdity. Thus the good abbot, whose monastery is blockaded by the giants (for thevirtue and simplicity of his character must be borne in mind), afterobserving that the ancient fathers in the desert had not only locusts toeat, but manna, which he has no doubt was rained down on purpose fromheaven, laments that the "relishes" provided for himself and hisbrethren should have consisted of "showers of stones. " The stones, whilethe abbot is speaking, come thundering down, and he exclaims, "For God'ssake, knight, come in, for the manna is falling!" This is exactly in thestyle of the _Dictionnaire Philosophique_. So when Margutte is askedwhat he believes in, and says he believes in "neither black nor blue, "but in a good capon, "whether roast or boiled, " the reader is forciblyreminded of Voltaire's Traveller, _Scarmentado_, who, when he is desiredby the Tartars to declare which of their two parties he is for, theparty of the black-mutton or the white-mutton, answers, that the dish is"equally indifferent to him, provided it is tender. " Voltaire, however, does injustice to Pulci, when he pretends that in matters of belief heis like himself, --a mere scoffer. The friend of Lucrezia Tornabuoni hasevidently the tenderest veneration for all that is good and lovely inthe Catholic faith; and whatever liberties he might have allowed himselfin professed _extravaganzas_, when an age without Church-authorityencouraged them, and a reverend canon could take part in those (it mustbe acknowledged) unseemly "high jinks, " he never, in the _Morgante_, when speaking in his own person, and not in that of the worstcharacters, intimates disrespect towards any opinion which he did nothold to be irrelevant to a right faith. It is observable that his freestexpressions are put in the mouth of the giant Margutte, the lowestof these characters, who is an invention of the author's, and a mostextraordinary personage. He is the first unmitigated blackguard infiction, and is the greatest as well as first. Pulci is conjectured, with great probability, to have designed him as a caricature of somereal person; for Margutte is a Greek who, in point of morals, has beenhorribly brought up, and some of the Greek refugees in Italy weregreatly disliked for the cynicism of their manners and the grossness oftheir lives. Margutte is a glutton, a drunkard, a liar, a thief, anda blasphemer. He boasts of having every vice, and no virtue exceptfidelity; which is meant to reconcile Morgante to his company; butthough the latter endures and even likes it for his amusement, he giveshim to understand that he looks on his fidelity as only securable bythe bastinado, and makes him the subject of his practical jokes. Therespectable giant Morgante dies of the bite of a crab, as if to spew onwhat trivial chances depends the life of the strongest. Margutte laughshimself to death at sight of a monkey putting his boots on and off; asthough the good-natured poet meant at once to express his contempt ofa merely and grossly anti-serious mode of existence, and hisconsideration, nevertheless, towards the poor selfish wretch who had hadno better training. 

To this wit and this pathos let the reader add a style of singular easeand fluency, --rhymes often the most unexpected, but never at a loss, --apurity of Tuscan acknowledged by every body, and ranking him among theauthorities of the language, --and a modesty in speaking of his ownpretensions equalled only by his enthusiastic extolments of genius inothers; and the reader has before him the lively and affecting, hopeful, charitable, large-hearted Luigi Pulci, the precursor, and in somerespects exemplar, of Ariosto, and, in Milton's opinion, a poet worthreading for the "good use" that may be made of him. It has beenstrangely supposed that his friend Politian, and Ficino the Platonist, not merely helped him with their books (as he takes a pride in tellingus), but wrote a good deal of the latter part of the Morgante, particularly the speculations in matters of opinion. As if (to saynothing of the difference of style) a man of genius, however lively, didnot go through the gravest reflections in the course of his life, orcould not enter into any theological or metaphysical question, to whichhe chose to direct his attention. Animal spirits themselves are toooften but a counterbalance to the most thoughtful melancholy; and onefit of jaundice or hypochondria might have enabled the poet to see morevisions of the unknown and the inscrutable in a single day, than perhapsever entered the imagination of the elegant Latin scholar, or even thedisciple of Plato. 

[Footnote 1: _Literature of the South of Europe_, Thomas Roscoe'sTranslation, vol. Ii. P. 54. For the opinions of other writers, here andelsewhere alluded to, see Tiraboschi (who is quite frightened at him), _Storia della Poesia Italiana_, cap. V. Sect. 25; Gravina, who is moreso, _Della Ragion Poetica_ (quoted in Ginguéné, as below); Crescimbeni, _Commentari Intorno all' Istoria della Poesia_, &c. Lib. Vi. Cap. 3(Mathias's edition), and the biographical additions to the same work, 4to, Rome, 1710, vol. Ii. Part ii. P. 151, where he says that Pulci wasperhaps the "modestest sad most temperate writer" of his age ("il pinmodesto e moderato"); Ginguéné, _Histoire Littéraire d'Italie_, tom. Iv. P. 214; Foscolo, in the _Quarterly Review_, as further on; Panizzi onthe _Romantic Poetry of the Italians_, ditto; Stebbing, _Lives of theItalian Poets_, second edition, vol, i. ; and the first volume of _Livesof Literary and Scientific Men_, in _Lardner's Cyclopædia_. ]

[Footnote 2: Canto xxv. The passage will be found in the presentvolume. ]

[Footnote 3: Id. And this also. ]

[Footnote 4: Canto xxvii. Stanza 2. 

 "S' altro ajuto qui non si dimostra, Sarà pur tragedía la istoria nostra. 

 Ed io pur commedía pensato avea Iscriver del mio Carlo finalmente, Ed _Alcuin_ così mi promettea, " &c. ]

[Footnote 5:

"In fine to adorerai l'Ariosto, tu ammirerei il Tasso, ma tu amerai ilPulci. "--_Parn. Ital_. Vol. Ix. P. 344. ]

[Footnote 6: Ellis's _Specimens of Early English Poetical Romances_, vol. Ii. P. 287; and Panizzi's _Essay on the Romantic Narrative Poetryof the Italians_; in his edition of Boiardo and Ariosto, vol. I. P. 113. ]

[Footnote 7: _De Vita Caroli Magni et Rolandi Historia_, &c. Cap. Xviii. P. 39 (Ciampi's edition). The giant in Turpin is named Ferracutus, orFergus. He was of the race of Goliath, had the strength of forty men, and was twenty cubits high. During the suspension of a mortal combatwith Orlando, they discuss the mysteries of the Christian faith, whichits champion explains by a variety of similes and the most beautifulbeggings of the question; after which the giant stakes the credit oftheir respective beliefs on the event of their encounter. ]

[Footnote 8: Canto xix. St. 21. ]

[Footnote 9: When a proper name happens to be a part of the tautology, the look is still more extraordinary. Orlando is remonstrating withRinaldo on his being unseasonably in love:

 "Ov' è, Rinaldo, la tua gagliardia? Ov' è, Rinaldo, il tuo sommo potere? Ov' è, Rinaldo, il tuo senno di pria? Ov' è, Rinaldo, il tuo antivedere? Ov' è, Rinaldo, la tua fantasia? Ov' è, Rinaldo, l' arme e 'l tuo destriere? Ov' è, Rinaldo, la tua gloria e fama? Ov' è, Rinaldo, il tuo core? a la dama. "

Canto xvi. St. 50. 

 Oh where, Rinaldo, is thy gagliardize? Oh where, Rinaldo, is thy might indeed? Oh where, Rinaldo, thy repute for wise? Oh where, Rinaldo, thy sagacious heed? Oh where, Rinaldo, thy free-thoughted eyes? Oh where, Rinaldo, thy good arms and steed? Oh where, Rinaldo, thy renown and glory? Oh where, Rinaldo, _thou?_--In a love-story. 

The incessant repetition of the names in the burdens of modern songsis hardly so bad as this. The single line questions and answers in theGreek drama were nothing to it. Yet there is a still more extraordinaryplay upon words in canto xxiii. St. 49, consisting of the descriptionof a hermitage. It is the only one of the kind which I remember in thepoem, and would have driven some of our old hunters after alliterationmad with envy:--

 "La _casa cosa_ parea _bretta_ e _brutta_, _Vinta_ dal _vento_; e la _notta_ e la _notte_ _Stilla_ le _stelle_, ch' a _tetto_ era _tutto_: Del _pane appena_ ne _dette_ ta' _dotte_. _Pere_ avea _pure_, e qualche _fratta frutta_; E _svina_ e _svena_ di _botto_ una _botte_ _Poscia_ per _pesci lasche_ prese a _l'esca_; Ma il _letto allotta_ a la _frasca_ fu _fresca_. "

 This _holy hole_ was a vile _thin_-built _thing_, _Blown_ by the _blast_; the _night nought_ else o'erhead But _staring stars_ the _rude roof_ entering; Their _sup_ of _supper_ was no _splendid spread_; _Poor pears_ their fare, and such-_like libelling_ Of quantum suff;--their _butt_ all _but_;--_bad bread_;-- A _flash_ of _fish_ instead of _flush_ of _flesh_; Their bed a _frisk al-fresco_, _freezing fresh_. 

Really, if Sir Philip Sidney and other serious and exquisite gentlemenhad not sometimes taken a positively grave interest in the like pastimesof paronomasia, one should hardly conceive it possible to meet withthem even in tragi-comedy. Did Pulci find these also in hisballad-authorities? If his Greek-loving critics made objections here, they had the advantage of him: unless indeed they too, in theirAlexandrian predilections, had a sneaking regard for certain shapingsof verse into altars and hatchets, such as have been charged uponTheocritus himself, and which might be supposed to warrant any otherconceit on occasion. ]

[Footnote 10: See, in the original, the story of Meridiana, canto vii. King Manfredonio has come in loving hostility against her to endeavourto win her affection by his prowess. He finds her assisted by thePaladins, and engaged by her own heart to Uliviero; and in he despair ofhis discomfiture, expresses a wish to die by her hand. Meridiana, withgraceful pity, begs his acceptance of a jewel, and recommends him togo home with his army; to which he grievingly consents. This indeed isbeautiful; and perhaps I ought to have given an abstract of it, as aspecimen of what Pulci could have done in this way, had he chosen. ]

[Footnote 11: "Perhaps it was from that same politic drift that thedevil whipt St. Jerome in a lenten dream for reading Cicero; or else itwas a fantasm bred by the fever which had then seized him. For had anangel been his discipliner, unless it were for dwelling too much uponCiceronianisms, and had chastised the reading and not the vanity, it hadbeen plainly partial; first to correct him for grave Cicero, and notfor scurrile Plautus, whom he confesses to have been reading not longbefore; next, to correct him only, and let so many more ancient fatherswax old in those pleasant and florid studies without the lash of such atutoring apparition; insomuch that Basil teaches how some good use maybe made of Margites, a sportful poem, not now extant, writ by Homer;and why not then of Morgante, an Italian romance much to the samepurpose?"--_Areopagitica, a Speech for the Liberty of UnlicensedPrinting_, Prose Works, folio, 1697, p. 378. I quote the passageas extracted by Mr. Merivale in the preface to his "Orlando inRoncesvalles, "--_Poems_, vol. Ii. P. 41. ]

[Footnote 12: Ut sup. P. 222. Foscolo's remark is to be found in hisadmirable article on the _Narrative and Romantic Poems of the Italians_, in the _Quarterly Review_, vol. Xxi. P. 525. ]

 * * * * *

HUMOURS OF GIANTS

Twelve Paladins had the Emperor Charlemagne in his court; and the mostwise and famous of them was Orlando. It is of him I am about to speak, and of his friend Morgante, and of Gan the traitor, who beguiled him tohis death in Roncesvalles, where he sounded his horn so mightily afterthe dolorous rout. 

It was Easter, and Charles had all his court with him in Paris, makinghigh feast and triumph. There was Orlando, the first among them, andOgier the Dane, and Astolfo the Englishman, and Ansuigi; and there cameAngiolin of Bayonne, and Uliviero, and the gentle Berlinghieri; andthere was also Avolio and Avino, and Otho of Normandy, and Richard, andthe wise Namo, and the aged Salamon, and Walter of Monlione, and Baldwinwho was the son of the wretched Gan. The good emperor was too happy, andoftentimes fairly groaned for joy at seeing all his Paladins together. Now Morgante, the only surviving brother, had a palace made, aftergiant's fashion, of earth, and boughs, and shingles, in which he shuthimself up at night. Orlando knocked, and disturbed him from his sleep, so that he came staring to the door like a madman, for he had had abewildering dream. 

"Who knocks there?" quoth he. 

"You will know too soon, " answered Orlando; "I am come to make you dopenance for your sins, like your brothers. Divine Providence has sent meto avenge the wrongs of the monks upon the whole set of you. Doubt itnot; for Passamonte and Alabastro are already as cold as a couple ofpilasters. ". 

"Noble knight, " said Morgante, "do me no ill; but if you are aChristian, tell me in courtesy who you are. "

"I will satisfy you of my faith, " replied Orlando; "I adore Christ; andif you please, you may adore him also. "

"I have had a strange vision, " replied Morgante, with a low voice wasassailed by a dreadful serpent, and called upon Mahomet in vain; then Icalled upon your God who was crucified, and he succoured me, and I wasdelivered from the serpent; so I am disposed to become a Christian. "

"If you keep in this mind, " returned Orlando, "you shall worship thetrue God, and come with me and be my companion, and I will love you withperfect love. Your idols are false and vain; the true God is the God ofthe Christians. Deny the unjust and villanous worship of your Mahomet, and be baptised in the name of my God, who alone is worthy. "

"I am content, " said Morgante. 

Then Orlando embraced him, and said, "I will lead you to the abbey. "

"Let us go quickly, " replied Morgante, for he was impatient to make hispeace with the monks. 

Orlando rejoiced, saying, "My good brother, and devout withal, you mustask pardon of the abbot; for God has enlightened you, and accepted you, and he would have you practise humility. "

"Yes, " said Morgante, "thanks to you, your God shall henceforth be myGod. Tell me your name, and afterwards dispose of me as you will. " Andhe told him that he was Orlando. 

But Fortune stands watching in secret to baffle our designs. WhileCharles was thus hugging himself with delight, Orlando governed everything at court, and this made Gan burst with envy; so that he began oneday talking with Charles after the following manner--"Are we always tohave Orlando for our master? I have thought of speaking to you about ita thousand times. Orlando has a great deal too much presumption. Hereare we, counts, dukes, and kings, at your service, but not at his; andwe have resolved not to be governed any longer by one so much youngerthan ourselves. You began in Aspramont to give him to understand howvaliant he was, and that he did great things at that fountain; whereas, if it had not been for the good Gerard, I know very well where thevictory would have been. The truth is, he has an eye upon the crown. This, Charles, is the worthy who has deserved so much! All your generalsare afflicted at it. As for me, I shall repass those mountains overwhich I came to you with seventy-two counts. Do you take him for aMars?"

Orlando happened to hear these words as he sat apart, and it displeasedhim with the lord of Pontiers that he should speak so, but much morethat Charles should believe him. He would have killed Gan, if Ulivierohad not prevented him and taken his sword out of his hand; nay, he wouldhave killed Charlemagne; but at last he went from Paris by himself, raging with scorn and grief. He borrowed, as he went, of Ermillinathe wife of Ogier, the Dane's sword Cortana and his horse Rondel, andproceeded on his way to Brava. His wife, Alda the Fair, hastened toembrace him; but while she was saying, "Welcome, my Orlando, " he wasgoing to strike her with his sword, for his head was bewildered, and hetook her for the traitor. The fair Alda marvelled greatly, but Orlandorecollected himself, and she took hold of the bridle, and he leaped fromhis horse, and told her all that had passed, and rested himself with herfor some days. 

He then took his leave, being still carried away by his disdain, andresolved to pass over into Heathendom; and as he rode, he thought, everystep of the way, of the traitor Gan; and so, riding on wherever the roadtook him, he reached the confines between the Christian countries andthe Pagan, and came upon an abbey, situate in a dark place in a desert. 

Now above the abbey was a great mountain, inhabited by three fiercegiants, one of whom was named Passamonte, another Alabastro, and thethird Morgante; and these giants used to disturb the abbey by throwingthings down upon it from the mountain with slings, so that the poorlittle monks could not go out to fetch wood or water. Orlando knocked, but nobody would open till the abbot was spoken to. At last the abbotcame himself, and opening the door bade him welcome. The good man toldhim the reason of the delay, and said that since the arrival of thegiants they had been so perplexed that they did not know what to do. "Our ancient fathers in the desert, " quoth he, "were rewarded accordingto their holiness. It is not to be supposed that they lived only uponlocusts; doubtless, it also rained manna upon them from heaven; buthere one is regaled with stones, which the giants pour on us from themountain. These are our nice bits and relishes. The fiercest of thethree, Morgante, plucks up pines and other great trees by the roots, andcasts them on us. " While they were talking thus in the cemetery, therecame a stone which seemed as if it would break Rondel's back. 

"For God's sake, cavalier, " said the abbot, "come in, for the manna isfalling. "

"My dear abbot, " answered Orlando, "this fellow, methinks, does not wishto let my horse feed; he wants to cure him of being restive; the stoneseems as if it came from a good arm. " "Yes, " replied the holy father, "I did not deceive you. I think, some day or other, they will cast themountain itself on us. "

Orlando quieted his horse, and then sat down to a meal; after which hesaid, "Abbot, I must go and return the present that has been made to myhorse. " The abbot with great tenderness endeavoured to dissuade him, butin vain; upon which he crossed him on the forehead, and said, "Go, then;and the blessing of God be with you. "

Orlando scaled the mountain, and came where Passamonte was, who, seeinghim alone, measured him with his eyes, and asked him if he wouldstay with him for a page, promising to make him comfortable. "StupidSaracen, " said Orlando, "I come to you, according to the will of God, tobe your death, and not your foot-boy. You have displeased his servantshere, and are no longer to be endured, dog that you are!"

The giant, finding himself thus insulted, ran in a fury to his weapons;and returning to Orlando, slung at him a large stone, which struck himon the head with such force, as not only made his helmet ring again, butfelled him to the earth. Passamonte thought he was dead. "What couldhave brought that paltry fellow here?" said he, as he turned away. ButChrist never forsakes his followers. While Passamonte was going away, Orlando recovered, and cried aloud, "How now, giant? do you fancy youhave killed me? Turn back, for unless you have wings, your escape isout of the question, dog of a renegade!" The giant, greatly marvelling, turned back; and stooping to pick up a stone, Orlando, who had Cortananaked in his hand, cleft his skull; upon which, cursing Mahomet, themonster tumbled, dying and blaspheming, to the ground. Blaspheming fellthe sour-hearted and cruel wretch; but Orlando, in the mean while, thanked the Father and the Word. 

The Paladin went on, seeking for Alabastro, the second giant; who, whenhe saw him, endeavoured to pluck up a great piece of stony earth by theroots. "Ho, ho!" cried Orlando, "you too are for throwing stones, are you?" Then Alabastro took his sling, and flung at him so large afragment as forced Orlando to defend himself, for if it had struck him, he would no more have needed a surgeon;[1] but collecting his strength, he thrust his sword into the giant's breast, and the loggerhead felldead. 

"Blessed Jesus be thanked, " said the giant, "for I have always heard youcalled a perfect knight; and as I said, I will follow you all my lifelong. "

And so conversing, they went together towards the abbey; and by the wayOrlando talked with Morgante of the dead giants, and sought to comforthim, saying they had done the monks a thousand injuries, and "ourScripture says the good shall be rewarded and the evil punished, and wemust submit to the will of God. The doctors of our Church, " continuedhe, "are all agreed, that if those who are glorified in heaven were tofeel pity for their miserable kindred who lie in such horrible confusionin hell, their beatitude would come to nothing; and this, you see, wouldplainly be unjust on the part of God. But such is the firmness of theirfaith, that what appears good to him appears good to them. Do what hemay, they hold it to be done well, and that it is impossible for him toerr; so that if their very fathers and mothers are suffering everlastingpunishment, it does not disturb them an atom. This is the custom, Iassure you, in the choirs above. "[2]

"A word to the wise, " said Morgante; "you shall see if I grieve for mybrethren, and whether or no I submit to the will of God, and behavemyself like an angel. So dust to dust; and now let us enjoy ourselves. Iwill cut off their hands, all four of them, and take them to these holymonks, that they may be sure they are dead, and not fear to go outalone into the desert. They will then be certain also that the Lord haspurified me, and taken me out of darkness, and assured to me the kingdomof heaven. " So saying, the giant cut off the hands of his brethren, andleft their bodies to the beasts and birds. 

They went to the abbey, where the abbot was expecting Orlando in greatanxiety; but the monks not knowing what had happened, ran to the abbotin great haste and alarm, saying, "Will you suffer this giant to comein?" And when the abbot saw the giant, he changed countenance. Orlando, perceiving him thus disturbed, made haste and said, "Abbot, peace bewith you! The giant is a Christian; he believes in Christ, and hasrenounced his false prophet, Mahomet. " And Morgante shewing the hands inproof of his faith, the abbot thanked Heaven with great contentment ofmind. 

The abbot did much honour to Morgante, comparing him with St. Paul; andthey rested there many days. One day, wandering over the house, theyentered a room where the abbot kept a quantity of armour; and Morgantesaw a bow which pleased him, and he fastened it on. Now there was inthe place a great scarcity of water; and Orlando said, like his goodbrother, "Morgante, I wish you would fetch us some water. " "Command meas you please, " said he; and placing a great tub on his shoulders, hewent towards a spring at which he had been accustomed to drink, at thefoot of the mountain. Having reached the spring, he suddenly heard agreat noise in the forest. He took an arrow from the quiver, placed itin the bow, and raising his head, saw a great herd of swine rushingtowards the spring where he stood. Morgante shot one of them cleanthrough the head, and laid him sprawling. Another, as if in revenge, rantowards the giant, without giving him time to use a second arrow; so helent him a cuff on the head which broke the bone, and killed him also;which stroke the rest seeing fled in haste through the valley. Morgantethen placed the tub full of water upon one of his shoulders, and thetwo porkers on the other, and returned to the abbey which was at somedistance, without spilling a drop. 

The monks were delighted to see the fresh water, but still more thepork; for there is no animal to whom food comes amiss. They let theirbreviaries therefore go to sleep a while, and fell heartily to work, sothat the cats and dogs had reason to lament the polish of the bones. 

"But why do we stay here doing nothing?" said Orlando one day toMorgante; and he shook hands with the abbot, and told him he must takehis leave. "I must go, " said he, "and make up for lost time. I ought tohave gone long ago, my good father; but I cannot tell you what I feelwithin me, at the content I have enjoyed here in your company. I shallbear in mind and in heart with me for ever the abbot, the abbey, andthis desert, so great is the love they have raised in me in so short atime. The great God, who reigns above, must thank you for me, in hisown abode. Bestow on us your benediction, and do not forget us in yourprayers. "

When the abbot heard the County Orlando talk thus, his heart meltedwithin him for tenderness, and he said, "Knight, if we have failed inany courtesy due to your prowess and great gentleness (and indeed whatwe have done has been but little), pray put it to the account of ourignorance, and of the place which we inhabit. We are but poor men ofthe cloister, better able to regale you with masses and orisons andpaternosters, than with dinners and suppers. You have so taken thisheart of mine by the many noble qualities I have seen in you, that Ishall be with you still wherever you go; and, on the other hand, youwill always be present here with me. This seems a contradiction; but youare wise, and will take my meaning discreetly. You have saved the verylife and spirit within us; for so much perplexity had those giants castabout our place, that the way to the Lord among us was blocked up. MayHe who sent you into these woods reward the justice and piety by whichwe are delivered from our trouble. Thanks be to him and to you. We shallall be disconsolate at your departure. We shall grieve that we cannotdetain you among us for months and years; but you do not wear theseweeds; you bear arms and armour; and you may possibly merit as well incarrying those, as in wearing this cap. You read your Bible, and yourvirtue has been the means of shewing the giant the way to heaven. Go inpeace then, and prosper, whoever you may be. I do not seek your name;but if ever I am asked who it was that came among us, I shall say thatit was an angel from God. If there is any armour or other thing that youwould have, go into the room where it is, and take it. "

"If you have any armour that would suit my companion, " replied Orlando, "that I will accept with pleasure. "

"Come and see, " said the abbot; and they went to a room that was full ofarmour. Morgante looked all about, but could find nothing large enough, except a rusty breast-plate, which fitted him marvellously. It hadbelonged to an enormous giant, who was killed there of old by Orlando'sfather, Milo of Angrante. There was a painting on the wall which toldthe whole story: how the giant had laid cruel and long siege to theabbey; and how he had been overthrown at last by the great Milo. Orlandoseeing this, said within himself: "O God, unto whom all things areknown, how came Milo here, who destroyed this giant?" And readingcertain inscriptions which were there, he could no longer keep a firmcountenance, but the tears ran down his cheeks. 

When the abbot saw Orlando weep, and his brow redden, and the light ofhis eyes become child-like for sweetness, he asked him the reason; but, finding him still dumb with emotion, he said, "I do not know whether youare overpowered by admiration of what is painted in this chamber. Youmust know that I am of high descent, though not through lawful wedlock. I believe I may say I am nephew or sister's son to no less a man thanthat Rinaldo, who was so great a Paladin in the world, though my ownfather was not of a lawful mother. Ansuigi was his name; my own, out inthe world, was Chiaramonte; and this Milo was my father's brother. Ah, gentle baron, for blessed Jesus' sake, tell me what name is yours!"

Orlando, all glowing with affection, and bathed in tears, replied, "Mydear abbot and cousin, he before you is your Orlando. " Upon this, theyran for tenderness into each other's arms, weeping on both sides witha sovereign affection, too high to be expressed. The abbot was soover-joyed, that he seemed as if he would never have done embracingOrlando. "By what fortune, " said the knight, "do I find you in thisobscure place? Tell me, my dear abbot, how was it you became a monk, anddid not follow arms, like myself and the rest of us?"

"It is the will of God, " replied the abbot, hastening to give hisfeelings utterance. "Many and divers are the paths he points out for usby which to arrive at his city; some walk it with the sword--some withpastoral staff. Nature makes the inclination different, and thereforethere are different ways for us to take: enough if we all arrive safelyat one and the same place, the last as well as the first. We are allpilgrims through many kingdoms. We all wish to go to Rome, Orlando;but we go picking out our journey through different roads. Such is thetrouble in body and soul brought upon us by that sin of the old apple. Day and night am I here with my book in hand--day and night do you rideabout, holding your sword, and sweating oft both in sun and shadow; andall to get round at last to the home from which we departed--I say, allout of anxiety and hope to get back to our home of old. " And the gianthearing them talk of these things, shed tears also. 

The Paladin and the giant quitted the abbey, the one on horseback andthe other on foot, and journeyed through the desert till they came toa magnificent castle, the door of which stood open. They entered, andfound rooms furnished in the most splendid manner--beds covered withcloth of gold, and floors rejoicing in variegated marbles. There waseven a feast prepared in the saloon, but nobody to eat it, or to speakto them. 

Orlando suspected some trap, and did not quite like it; but Morgantethought nothing worth considering but the feast. "Who cares for thehost, " said he, "when there's such a dinner? Let us eat as much as wecan, and bear off the rest. I always do that when I have the picking ofcastles. "

They accordingly sat down, and being very hungry with their day'sjourney, devoured heaps of the good things before them, eating with allthe vigour of health, and drinking to a pitch of weakness. [3] They satlate in this manner enjoying themselves, and then retired for the nightinto rich beds. 

But what was their astonishment in the morning at finding that theycould not get out of the place! There was no door. All the entrances hadvanished, even to any feasible window. 

"We must be dreaming, " said Orlando. 

"My dinner was no dream, I'll swear, " said the giant. "As for the rest, let it be a dream if it pleases. "

Continuing to search up and down, they at length found a vault witha tomb in it; and out of the tomb came a voice, saying, "You mustencounter with me, or stay here for ever. Lift, therefore, the stonethat covers me. "

"Do you hear that?" said Morgante; "I'll have him out, if it's the devilhimself. Perhaps it's two devils, Filthy-dog and Foul-mouth, or Itchingand Evil-tail. "[4]

"Have him out, " said Orlando, "whoever he is, even were it as manydevils as were rained out of heaven into the centre. "

Morgante lifted up the stone, and out leaped, surely enough, a devil inthe likeness of a dried-up dead body, black as a coal. Orlando seizedhim, and the devil grappled with Orlando. Morgante was for joining him, but the Paladin bade him keep back. It was a hard struggle, andthe devil grinned and laughed, till the giant, who was a master ofwrestling, could bear it no longer: so he doubled him up, and, in spiteof all his efforts, thrust him back into the tomb. 

"You'll never get out, " said the devil, "if you leave me shut up. "

"Why not?" inquired the Paladin. 

"Because your giant's baptism and my deliverance must go together, "answered the devil. "If he is not baptised, you can have no deliverance;and if I am not delivered, I can prevent it still, take my word for it. "

Orlando baptised the giant. The two companions then issued forth, and hearing a mighty noise in the house, looked back, and saw it allvanished. 

"I could find it in my heart, " said Morgante, "to go down to those sameregions below, and make all the devils disappear in like manner. Whyshouldn't we do it? We'd set free all the poor souls there. Egad, I'dcut off Minos's tail--I'd pull out Charon's beard by the roots--make asop of Phlegyas, and a sup of Phlegethon--unseat Pluto, --kill Cerberusand the Furies with a punch of the face a-piece--and set Beelzebubscampering like a dromedary. "

"You might find more trouble than you wot of, " quoth Orlando, "and getworsted besides. Better keep the straight path, than thrust your headinto out-of-the-way places. "

Morgante took his lord's advice, and went straightforward with himthrough many great adventures, helping him with loving good-will asoften as he was permitted, sometimes as his pioneer, and sometimes ashis finisher of troublesome work, such as a slaughter of some thousandsof infidels. Now he chucked a spy into a river--now felled a rudeambassador to the earth (for he didn't stand upon ceremony)--now cleareda space round him in battle with the clapper of an old bell which he hadfound at the monastery--now doubled up a king in his tent, and bore himaway, tent and all, and a Paladin with him, because he would not let thePaladin go. 

In the course of these services, the giant was left to take care of alady, and lost his master for a time; but the office being at an end, heset out to rejoin him, and, arriving at a cross-road, met with a veryextraordinary personage. 

This was a giant huger than himself, swarthy-faced, horrible, brutish. He came out of a wood, and appeared to be journeying somewhere. Morgante, who had the great bell-clapper in his hand above-mentioned, struck it on the ground with astonishment, as much as to say, "Who thedevil is this?" and then set himself on a stone by the way-side toobserve the creature. 

"What's your name, traveller?" said Morgante, as it came up. 

"My name's Margutte, " said the phenomenon. "I intended to be a giantmyself, but altered my mind, you see, and stopped half-way; so that I amonly twenty feet or so. "

"I'm glad to see you, " quoth his brother-giant. "But tell me, are youChristian or Saracen? Do you believe in Christ or in _Apollo_?"

"To tell you the truth, " said the other, "I believe neither in blacknor blue, but in a good capon, whether it be roast or boiled. Ibelieve sometimes also in butter, and, when I can get it, in new wine, particularly the rough sort; but, above all, I believe in wine that'sgood and old. Mahomet's prohibition of it is all moonshine. I am theson, you must know, of a Greek nun and a Turkish bishop; and the firstthing I learned was to play the fiddle. I used to sing Homer to it. I was then concerned in a brawl in a mosque, in which the old bishopsomehow happened to be killed; so I tied a sword to my side, and went toseek my fortune, accompanied by all the possible sins of Turk and Greek. People talk of the seven deadly sins; but I have seventy-seven thatnever quit me, summer or winter; by which you may judge of the amountof my venial ones. I am a gambler, a cheat, a ruffian, a highwayman, apick-pocket, a glutton (at beef or blows); have no shame whatever; loveto let every body know what I can do; lie, besides, about what I can'tdo; have a particular attachment to sacrilege; swallow perjuries likefigs; never give a farthing to any body, but beg of every body, andabuse them into the bargain; look upon not spilling a drop of liquor asthe chief of all the cardinal virtues; but must own I am not much givento assassination, murder being inconvenient; and one thing I am bound toacknowledge, which is, that I never betrayed a messmate. "

"That's as well, " observed Morgante; "because you see, as you don'tbelieve in any thing else, I'd have you believe in this bell-clapper ofmine. So now, as you have been candid with me, and I am well instructedin your ways, we'll pursue our journey together. "

The best of giants, in those days, were not scrupulous in their modes ofliving; so that one of the best and one of the worst got on pretty welltogether, emptying the larders on the road, and paying nothing butdouses on the chops. When they could find no inn, they hunted elephantsand crocodiles. Morgante, who was the braver of the two, delighted tobanter, and sometimes to cheat, Margutte; and he ate up all the fare;which made the other, notwithstanding the credit he gave himself forreadiness of wit and tongue, cut a very sorry figure, and seriouslyremonstrate: "I reverence you, " said Margutte, "in other matters; but ineating, you really don't behave well. He who deprives me of my share atmeals is no friend; at every mouthful of which he robs me, I seem tolose an eye. I'm for sharing every thing to a nicety, even if it be nobetter than a fig. "

"You are a fine fellow, " said Morgante; "you gain upon me very much. Youare 'the master of those who know. '"[6]

So saying, he made him put some wood on the fire, and perform a hundredother offices to render every thing snug; and then he slept: and nextday he cheated his great scoundrelly companion at drink, as he haddone the day before at meat; and the poor shabby devil complained; andMorgante laughed till he was ready to burst, and again and again alwayscheated him. 

There was a levity, nevertheless, in Margutte, which restored hisspirits on the slightest glimpse of good fortune; and if he realised ahearty meal, he became the happiest, beastliest, and most confident ofgiants. The companions, in the course of their journey, delivered adamsel from the clutches of three other giants. She was the daughter ofa great lord; and when she got home, she did honour to Morgante as toan equal, and put Margutte into the kitchen, where he was in a state ofbliss. He did nothing but swill, stuff, surfeit, be sick, play at dice, cheat, filch, go to sleep, guzzle again, laugh, chatter, and tell athousand lies. 

Morgante took leave of the young lady, who made him rich presents. Margutte, seeing this, and being always drunk and impudent, daubed hisface like a Christmas clown, and making up to her with a frying-pan inhis hand, demanded "something for the cook. " The fair hostess gave hima jewel; and the vagabond skewed such a brutal eagerness in seizing itwith his filthy hands, and making not the least acknowledgment, thatwhen they got out of the house, Morgante was ready to fell him to theearth. He called him scoundrel and poltroon, and said he had disgracedhim for ever. 

"Softly!" said the brute-beast. "Didn't you take me with you, knowingwhat sort of fellow I was? Didn't I tell you I had every sin and shameunder heaven; and have I deceived you by the exhibition of a singlevirtue?"

Morgante could not help laughing at a candour of this excessive nature. So they went on their way till they came to a wood, where they restedthemselves by a fountain, and Margutte fell fast asleep. He had a pairof boots on, which Morgante felt tempted to draw off, that he might seewhat he would do on waking. He accordingly did so, and threw them to alittle distance among the bushes. The sleeper awoke in good time, and, looking and searching round about, suddenly burst into roars oflaughter. A monkey had got the boots, and sat pulling them on and off, making the most ridiculous gestures. The monkey busied himself, and thelight-minded drunkard laughed; and at every fresh gesticulation of thenew boot-wearer, the laugh grew louder and more tremendous, till atlength it was found impossible to be restrained. The glutton had alaughing-fit. In vain he tried to stop himself; in vain his fingerswould have loosened the buttons of his doublet, to give his lungs roomto play. They couldn't do it; so he laughed and roared till he burst. The snap was like the splitting of a cannon. Morgante ran up to him, butit was of no use. He was dead. 

Alas! it was not the only death; it was not even the most trivial causeof a death. Giants are big fellows, but Death's a bigger, though he maycome in a little shape. Morgante had succeeded in joining his master. He helped him to take Babylon; he killed a whale for him at sea thatobstructed his passage; he played the part of a main-sail during astorm, holding out his arms and a great hide; but on coming to shore, a crab bit him in the heel; and behold the lot of the great giant--hedied! He laughed, and thought it a very little thing, but it proved amighty one. 

"He made the East tremble, " said Orlando; "and the bite of a crab hasslain him!"

O life of ours, weak, and a fallacy![7]

Orlando embalmed his huge friend, and had him taken to Babylon, andhonourably interred; and, after many an adventure, in which he regrettedhim, his own days were closed by a far baser, though not so petty acause. 

How shall I speak of it? exclaims the poet. How think of the horribleslaughter about to fall on the Christians and their greatest men, sothat not a dry eye shall be left in France? How express my disgust atthe traitor Gan, whose heart a thousand pardons from his sovereign, andthe most undeserved rescues of him by the warrior he betrayed, could notshame or soften? How mourn the weakness of Charles, always deceived byhim, and always trusting? How dare to present to my mind the good, the great, the ever-generous Orlando, brought by the traitor into thedoleful pass of Roncesvalles and the hands of myriads of his enemies, sothat even his superhuman strength availed not to deliver him out of theslaughterhouse, and he blew the blast with his dying breath, which wasthe mightiest, the farthest heard, and the most melancholy sound thatever came to the ears of the undeceived?

Gan was known well to every body but his confiding sovereign. ThePaladins knew him well; and in their moments of indignant disgust oftentold him so, though they spared him the consequences of his misdeeds, and even incurred the most frightful perils to deliver him out of thehands of his enemies. But he was brave; he was in favour with thesovereign, who was also their kinsman; and they were loyal and lovingmen, and knew that the wretch envied them for the greatness of theirachievements, and might do the state a mischief; so they allowedthemselves to take a kind of scornful pleasure in putting up with him. Their cousin Malagigi, the enchanter, had himself assisted Gan, thoughhe knew him best of all, and had prophesied that the innumerableendeavours of his envy to destroy his king and country would bring someterrible evil at last to all Chistendom. The evil, alas! is at hand. Thedoleful time has come. It will be followed, it is true, by a worse fateof the wretch himself; but not till the valleys of the Pyrenees have runrivers of blood, and all France is in mourning. 

[Footnote 1: A common pleasantry in the old romances--"Galaor went in, and then the halberders attacked him on one side, and the knight on theother. He snatched an axe from one, and turned to the knight and smotehim, so that he had no need of a surgeon. "--Southey's _Amadis of Gaul_, vol. I. P. 146. ]

[Footnote 2:

 "Sonsi i nostri dottori accordati, Pigliando tutti una conclusione, Che que' che son nel ciel glorificati, S' avessin nel pensier compassione De' miseri parenti che dannati Son ne lo inferno in gran confusione, La lor felicità nulla sarebbe E vedi the qui ingiusto Iddio parebbe. 

 Ma egli anno posto in Gesù ferma spene; E tanto pare a lor, quanto a lui pare: Afferman cio ch' e' fu, che facci bene, E che non possi in nessun modo errare: Se padre o madre è ne l'eterne pene, Di questo non si posson conturbare: Che quel che piace a Dio, sol piace a loro Questo s'osserva ne l'eterno core. 

 Al savio suol bastar poche parole, Disse Morgante: tu il potrai vedere, De' miei fratelli, Orlando, se mi duole, E s'io m'accordero di Dio al volere, Come tu di che in ciel servar si suole: Morti co' morti; or pensiam di godere: Io vo' tagliar le mani a tutti quanti, E porterolle a que' monaci santi. "

This doctrine, which is horrible blasphemy in the eyes of naturalfeeling, is good reasoning in Catholic and Calvinistic theology. They first make the Deity's actions a necessity from some barbarousassumption, then square them according to a dictum of the Councils, thencompliment him by laying all that he has made good and kindly within usmangled and mad at his feet. Meantime they think themselves qualified todenounce Moloch and Jugghanaut!]

[Footnote 3:

 "E furno al here infermi, al mangiar sani. "

I am not sure that I am right in my construction of this passage. Perhaps Pulci means to say, that they had the appetites of men inhealth, and the thirst of a fever. ]

[Footnote 5: Cagnazzo, Farfarello. Libicocco, and Malacoda; names ofdevils in Dante. ]

[Footnote 6: "Il maestro di color che sanno. " A jocose application ofDante's praise of Aristotle. ]

[Footnote 7: "O vita nostra, debole e fallace!"]

THE

BATTLE OF RONCESVALLES. 

Notice. 

This is the

 "sad and fearful story Of the Roncesvalles fight;"

an event which national and religious exaggeration impressed deeply onthe popular mind of Europe. Hence Italian romances and Spanish ballads:hence the famous passage in Milton, "When Charlemain with all his peerage fell By Fontarabbia:"

hence Dante's record of the _dolorosa rotta_ (dolorous rout) in the_Inferno_, where he compares the voice of Nimrod with the horn soundedby the dying Orlando: hence the peasant in Cervantes, who is met by DonQuixote singing the battle as he comes along the road in the morning:and hence the song of Roland actually thundered forth by the army ofWilliam the Conqueror as they advanced against the English. 

But Charlemagne did not "fall, " as Milton has stated. Nor does Pulcimake him do so. In this respect, if in little else, the Italian poetadhered to the fact. The whole story is a remarkable instance of whatcan be done by poetry and popularity towards misrepresenting andaggrandising a petty though striking adventure. The simple fact was thecutting off the rear of Charlemagne's army by the revolted Gascons, ashe returned from a successful expedition into Spain. Two or three onlyof his nobles perished, among whom was his nephew Roland, the obscurewarden of his marches of Brittany. But Charlemagne was the temporal headof Christendom; the poets constituted his nephew its champion; and henceall the glories and superhuman exploits of the Orlando of Pulci andAriosto. The whole assumption of the wickedness of the Saracens, particularly of the then Saracen king of Spain, whom Pulci's authority, the pseudo-Archbishop Turpin, strangely called Marsilius, was nothingbut a pious fraud; the pretended Marsilius having been no less a personthan the great and good Abdoùlrahmaùn the First, who wrested thedominion of that country out of the hands of the usurpers of hisfamily-rights. Yet so potent and long-lived are the most extravagantfictions, when genius has put its heart into them, that to this day weread of the devoted Orlando and his friends not only with gravity, butwith the liveliest emotion. 

THE

BATTLE OF RONCESVALLES

A miserable man am I, cries the poet; for Orlando, beyond a doubt, diedin Roncesvalles; and die therefore he must in my verses. Altogetherimpossible is it to save him. I thought to make a pleasant ending ofthis my poem, so that it should be happier somehow, throughout, thanmelancholy; but though Gan will die at last, Orlando must diebefore him, and that makes a tragedy of all. I had a doubt whether, consistently with the truth, I could give the reader even that sorrysatisfaction; for at the beginning of the dreadful battle, Orlando'scousin, Rinaldo, who is said to have joined it before it was over, andthere, as well as afterwards, to have avenged his death, was far awayfrom the seat of slaughter, in Egypt; and how was I to suppose that hecould arrive soon enough in the valleys of the Pyrenees? But an angelupon earth shewed me the secret, even Angelo Poliziano, the glory of hisage and country. He informed me how Arnauld, the Provençal poet, hadwritten of this very matter, and brought the Paladin from Egypt toFrance by means of the wonderful skill in occult science possessed byhis cousin Malagigi--a wonder to the ignorant, but not so marvellous tothose who know that all the creation is full of wonders, and who havedifferent modes of relating the same events. By and by, a great manythings will be done in the world, of which we have no conception now, and people will be inclined to believe them works of the devil, when, infact, they will be very good works, and contribute to angelical effects, whether the devil be forced to have a hand in them or not; for evilitself can work only in subordination to good. So listen when theastonishment comes, and reflect and think the best. Meantime, we mustspeak of another and more truly devilish astonishment, and of the pangsof mortal flesh and blood. 

The traitor Gan, for the fiftieth time, had secretly brought theinfidels from all quarters against his friend and master, the EmperorCharles; and Charles, by the help of Orlando, had conquered them all. The worst of them, Marsilius, king of Spain, had agreed to pay the courtof France tribute; and Gan, in spite of all the suspicions he excitedin this particular instance, and his known villany at all times, hadsucceeded in persuading his credulous sovereign to let him go ambassadorinto Spain, where he put a final seal to his enormities, by plottingthe destruction of his employer, and the special overthrow of Orlando. Charles was now old and white-haired, and Gan was so too; but the onewas only confirmed in his credulity, and the other in his crimes. Thetraitor embraced Orlando over and over again at taking leave, prayinghim to write if he had any thing to say before the arrangements withMarsilius, and taking such pains to seem loving and sincere, that hisvillany was manifest to every one but the old monarch. He fastened withequal tenderness on Uliviero, who smiled contemptuously in his face, andthought to himself, "You may make as many fair speeches as you choose, but you lie. " All the other Paladins who were present thought the sameand they said as much to the emperor; adding, that on no account shouldGan be sent ambassador to Marsilius. But Charles was infatuated. Hisbeard and his credulity had grown old together. 

Gan was received with great honour in Spain by Marsilius. The king, attended by his lords, came fifteen miles out of Saragossa to meet him, and then conducted him into the city amid tumults of delight. Therewas nothing for several days but balls, and games, and exhibitionsof chivalry, the ladies throwing flowers on the heads of the Frenchknights, and the people shouting "France! France! Mountjoy and St. Denis!"

Gan made a speech, "like a Demosthenes, " to King Marsilius in public;but he made him another in private, like nobody but himself. The kingand he were sitting in a garden; they were traitors both, and beganto understand, from one another's looks, that the real object of theambassador was yet to be discussed. Marsilius accordingly assumed a morethan usually cheerful and confidential aspect; and, taking his visitorby the hand, said, "You know the proverb, Mr. Ambassador--'At dawn, themountain; afternoon, the fountain. ' Different things at different hours. So here is a fountain to accommodate us. "

It was a very beautiful fountain, so clear that you saw your face init as in a mirror; and the spot was encircled with fruit-trees thatquivered with the fresh air. Gan praised it very much, contriving toinsinuate, on one subject, his satisfaction with the glimpses hegot into another. Marsilius understood him; and as he resumed theconversation, and gradually encouraged a mutual disclosure of theirthoughts, Gan, without appearing to look him in the face, was enabled todo so by contemplating the royal visage in the water, where he saw itsexpression become more and more what he desired. Marsilius, meantime, saw the like symptoms in the face of Gan. By degrees, he began to touchon that dissatisfaction with Charlemagne and his court, which he knewwas in both their minds: he lamented, not as to the ambassador, but asto the friend, the injuries which he said he had received from Charlesin the repeated attacks on his dominions, and the emperor's wish tocrown Orlando king of them; till at length he plainly uttered hisbelief, that if that tremendous Paladin were but dead, good men wouldget their rights, and his visitor and himself have all things at theirdisposal. 

Gan heaved a sigh, as if he was unwillingly compelled to allow the forceof what the king said; but, unable to contain himself long, he lifted uphis face, radiant with triumphant wickedness, and exclaimed, "Every wordyou utter is truth. Die he must; and die also must Uliviero, who struckme that foul blow at court. Is it treachery to punish affronts likethose? I have planned every thing--I have settled every thing alreadywith their besotted master. Orlando could not be expected to be broughthither, where he has been accustomed to look for a crown; but he willcome to the Spanish borders--to Roncesvalles--for the purpose ofreceiving the tribute. Charles will await him, at no great distance, inSt. John Pied de Port. Orlando will bring but a small band with him;you, when you meet him, will have secretly your whole army at your back. You surround him; and who receives tribute then?"

The new Judas had scarcely uttered these words, when the delight of himand his associate was interrupted by a change in the face of nature. The sky was suddenly overcast; it thundered and lightened; a laurel wassplit in two from head to foot; the fountain ran into burning blood;there was an earthquake, and the carob-tree under which Gan was sitting, and which was of the species on which Judas Iscariot hung himself, dropped some of its fruit on his head. The hair of the head rose inhorror. 

Marsilius, as well as Gan, was appalled at this omen; but on assemblinghis soothsayers, they came to the conclusion that the laurel-tree turnedthe omen against the emperor, the successor of the Cæsars; though oneof them renewed the consternation of Gan, by saying that he did notunderstand the meaning of the tree of Judas, and intimating that perhapsthe ambassador could explain it. Gan relieved his consternation withanger; the habit of wickedness prevailed over all considerations; andthe king prepared to march for Roncesvalles at the head of all hisforces. 

Gan wrote to Charlemagne, to say how humbly and properly Marsilius wascoming to pay the tribute into the hands of Orlando, and how handsome itwould be of the emperor to meet him halfway, as agreed upon, at St. JohnPied de Port, and so be ready to receive him, after the payment, athis footstool. He added a brilliant account of the tribute and itsaccompanying presents. They included a crown in the shape of a garlandwhich had a carbuncle in it that gave light in darkness; two lions ofan "immeasurable length, and aspects that frightened every body;" some"lively buffalos, " leopards, crocodiles, and giraffes; arms and armourof all sorts; and apes and monkeys seated among the rich merchandisethat loaded the backs of the camels. This imaginary treasure contained, furthermore, two enchanted spirits, called "Floro and Faresse, " who wereconfined in a mirror, and were to tell the emperor wonderful things, particularly Floro (for there is nothing so nice in its details aslying): and Orlando was to have heaps of caravans full of Easternwealth, and a hundred white horses, all with saddles and bridles ofgold. There was a beautiful vest, too, for Uliviero, all over jewels, worth ten thousand "seraffi, " or more. 

The good emperor wrote in turn to say how pleased he was with theambassador's diligence, and that matters were arranged precisely ashe wished. His court, however, had its suspicions still. Nobody couldbelieve that Gan had not some new mischief in contemplation. Little, nevertheless, did they imagine, after the base endeavours he had butlately made against them, that he had immediately plotted a newand greater one, and that his object in bringing Charles into theneighbourhood of Roncesvalles was to deliver him more speedily into thehands of Marsilius, in the event of the latter's destruction of Orlando. 

Orlando, however, did as his lord and sovereign desired. He went toRoncesvalles, accompanied by a moderate train of warriors, not dreamingof the atrocity that awaited him. Gan himself, meantime, had hastened onto France before Marsilius, in order to shew himself free and easy inthe presence of Charles, and secure the success of his plot; whileMarsilius, to make assurance doubly sure, brought into the passes ofRoncesvalles no less than three armies, who were successively to fall onthe Paladin, in case of the worst, and so extinguish him with numbers. He had also, by Gan's advice, brought heaps of wine and good cheer tobe set before his victims in the first instance; "for that, " said thetraitor, "will render the onset the more effective, the feasters beingunarmed; and, supposing prodigies of valour to await even the attack ofyour second army, you will have no trouble with your third. One thing, however, I must not forget, " added he; "my son Baldwin is sure to bewith Orlando; you must take care of his life for my sake. " "I give himthis vest off my own body, " said the king; "let him wear it in thebattle, and have no fear. My soldiers shall be directed not to touchhim. "

Gan went away rejoicing to France. He embraced the court and hissovereign all round, with the air of a man who had brought them nothingbut blessings; and the old king wept for very tenderness and delight. 

"Something is going on wrong, and looks very black, " thought Malagigi, the good wizard; "and Rinaldo is not here, and it is indispensablynecessary that he should be. I must find out where he is, andRicciardetto too, and send for them with all speed, and at any price. "Malagigi called up, by his art, a wise, terrible, and cruel spirit, named Ashtaroth;--no light personage to deal with--no little spirit, such as plays tricks with you like a fairy. A much blacker visitant wasthis. 

"Tell me, and tell me truly of Rinaldo, " said Malagigi to the spirit. 

Hard looked the demon at the Paladin, and said nothing. His aspect wasclouded and violent. He wished to see whether his summoner retained allthe force of his art. 

The enchanter, with an aspect still cloudier, bade Ashtaroth lay downthat look. While giving this order, he also made signs indicative of adisposition to resort to angrier compulsion; and the devil, apprehendingthat he would confine him in some hateful place, loosened his tongue, and said, "You have not told me what you desire to know of Rinaldo. "

"I desire to know what he has been doing, and where he is, " returned theenchanter. 

"He has been conquering and baptising the world, east and west, " saidthe demon, "and is now in Egypt with Ricciardetto. "

"And what has Gan been plotting with Marsilius, " inquired Malagigi, "andwhat is to come of it?"

"On neither of those points can I enlighten you, " said the devil. "I wasnot attending to Gan at the time, and we fallen spirits know not thefuture. Had we done so, we had not been so willing to incur the dangerof falling. All I discern is, that, by the signs and comets in theheavens, something dreadful is about to happen--something very strange, treacherous, and bloody; and that Gan has a seat ready prepared for himin hell. "

"Within three days, " cried the enchanter, loudly, "fetch Rinaldoand Ricciardetto into the pass of Roncesvalles. Do it, and I herebyundertake never to summon thee more. "

"Suppose they will not trust themselves with me, " said the spirit. 

"Enter Rinaldo's horse, and bring him, whether he trust thee or not. "

"It shall be done, " returned the demon; "and my serving-devilFoul-Mouth, or Fire-Red, shall enter the horse of Ricciardetto. Doubt itnot. Am I not wise, and thyself powerful?"

There was an earthquake, and Ashtaroth disappeared. 

Marsilius has now made his first movement towards the destruction ofOrlando, by sending before him his vassal-king Blanchardin with hispresents of wines and other luxuries. The temperate but courteous herotook them in good part, and distributed them as the traitor wished; andthen Blanchardin, on pretence of going forward to salute Charlemagneat St. John Pied de Port, returned and put himself at the head of thesecond army, which was the post assigned him by his liege lord. Thedevice on his flag was an "Apollo" on a field azure. King Falseron, whose son Orlando had slain in battle, headed the first army, the deviceof which was a black figure of the devil Belphegor on a dapple-greyfield. The third army was under King Balugante, and had for ensign aMahomet with golden wings in a field of red. Marsilius made a speech tothem at night, in which he confessed his ill faith, but defended it onthe ground of Charles's hatred of their religion, and of the exampleof "Judith and Holofernes. " He said, that he had not come there to paytribute, and sell his countrymen for slaves, but to make all Christendompay tribute to them as conquerors; and he concluded by recommending totheir good-will the son of his friend Gan, whom they would know by thevest he had sent him, and who was the only soul among the Christiansthey were to spare. 

This son of Gan, meantime, and several of the Paladins who weredisgusted with Charles's credulity, and anxious at all events to be withOrlando, had joined the hero in the fated valley; so that the littleChristian host, considering the tremendous valour of their lord and hisfriends, and the comparative inefficiency of that of the infidels, were at any rate not to be sold for nothing. Rinaldo, alas! the secondthunderbolt of Christendom, was destined not to be there in time to savetheir lives. He could only avenge the dreadful tragedy, and preventstill worse consequences to the whole Christian court and empire. The Paladins had in vain begged Orlando to be on his guard againsttreachery, and send for a more numerous body of men. The great heart ofthe Champion of the Faith was unwilling to think the worst as long ashe could help it. He refused to summon aid that might be superfluous;neither would he do any thing but what his liege lord had desired. Andyet he could not wholly repress a misgiving. A shadow had fallen on hisheart, great and cheerful as it was. The anticipations of his friendsdisturbed him, in spite of the face with which he met them. I am notsure that he did not, by a certain instinctive foresight, expect deathitself; but he felt bound not to encourage the impression. Besides, timepressed; the moment of the looked-for tribute was at hand; and littlecombinations of circumstances determine often the greatest events. 

King Blanchardin had brought Orlando's people a luxurious supper; KingMarsilius was to arrive early next day with the tribute; and Ulivieroaccordingly, with the morning sun, rode forth to reconnoitre, and seeif he could discover the peaceful pomp of the Spanish court in thedistance. Guottibuoffi was with him, a warrior who had expected the veryworst, and repeatedly implored Orlando to believe it possible. Ulivieroand he rode up the mountain nearest them, and from the top of it beheldthe first army of Marsilius already forming in the passes. 

"O Guottibuoffi!" exclaimed he, "behold thy prophecies come true! beholdthe last day of the glory of Charles! Every where I see the arms of thetraitors around us. I feel Paris tremble all the way through France, tothe ground beneath my feet. O Malagigi, too much in the right wert thou!O devil Gan, this then is the consummation of thy good offices!"

Uliviero put spurs to his horse, and galloped back down the mountain toOrlando. 

"Well, " cried the hero, "what news?"

"Bad news, " said his cousin; "such as you would not hear of yesterday. Marsilius is here in arms, and all the world has come with him. "

The Paladins pressed round Orlando, and entreated him to sound his horn, in token that he needed help. His only answer was, to mount his horse, and ride up the mountain with Sansonetto. 

As soon, however, as he cast forth his eyes and beheld what was roundabout him, he turned in sorrow, and looked down into Roncesvalles, andsaid, "O valley, miserable indeed! the blood that is shed in thee thisday will colour thy name for ever. "

Many of the Paladins had ridden after him, and they again pressed him tosound his horn, if only in pity to his own people. He said, "If Cæsarand Alexander were here, Scipio and Hannibal, and Nebuchadnezzar withall his flags, and Death stared me in the face with his knife in hishand, never would I sound my horn for the baseness of fear. "

Orlando's little camp were furious against the Saracens. They armedthemselves with the greatest impatience. There was nothing but lacingof helmets and mounting of horses; and good Archbishop Turpin wentfrom rank to rank, exhorting and encouraging the warriors of Christ. Accoutrements and habiliments were put on the wrong way; words anddeeds mixed in confusion; men running against one another out of veryabsorption in themselves; all the place full of cries of "Arm! arm! theenemy!" and the trumpets clanged over all against the mountain-echoes. 

Orlando and his captains withdrew for a moment to consultation. Hefairly groaned for sorrow, and at first had not a word to say; sowretched he felt at having brought his people to die in Roncesvalles. 

Uliviero spoke first. He could not resist the opportunity of comfortinghimself a little in his despair, with referring to his unheeded advice. 

"You see, cousin, " said he, "what has come at last. Would to God you hadattended to what I said; to what Malagigi said; to what we all said! Itold you Marsilius was nothing but an anointed scoundrel. Yet forsooth, he was to bring us tribute! and Charles is this moment expecting hismummeries at St. John Pied de Port! Did ever any body believe a wordthat Gan said, but Charles? And now you see this rotten fruit has cometo a head;--this medlar has got its crown. "

Orlando said nothing in answer to Uliviero; for in truth he had nothingto say. He broke away to give orders to the camp; bade them takerefreshment; and then addressing both officers and men, he said, "Iconfess, that if it had entered my heart to conceive the king of Spainto be such a villain, never would you have seen this day. He hasexchanged with me a thousand courtesies and good words; and I thoughtthat the worse enemies we had been before, the better friends we hadbecome now. I fancied every human being capable of this kind of virtueon a good opportunity, saving, indeed, such base-hearted wretches as cannever forgive their very forgivers; and of these I certainly did notsuppose him to be one. Let us die, if we must die, like honest andgallant men; so that it shall be said of us, it was only our bodies thatdied. It becomes our souls to be invincible, and our glory immortal. Our motto must be, 'A good heart and no hope. ' The reason why I did notsound the horn was, partly because I thought it did not become us, andpartly because our liege lord could be of little use, even if he heardit. Let Gan have his glut of us like a carrion crow; but let him findus under heaps of his Saracens, an example for all time. Heaven, myfriends, is with us, if earth is against us. Methinks I see it openthis moment, ready to receive our souls amidst crowns of glory; andtherefore, as the champion of God's church, I give you my benediction;and the good archbishop here will absolve you; and so, please God, weshall all go to Heaven and be happy. "

And with these words Orlando sprang to his horse, crying, "Away againstthe Saracens!" but he had no sooner turned his face than he weptbitterly, and said, "O holy Virgin, think not of me, the sinner Orlando, but have pity on these thy servants. "

Archbishop Turpin did as Orlando said, giving the whole band hisbenediction at once, and absolving them from their sins, so that everybody took comfort in the thought of dying for Christ, and thus theyembraced one another, weeping; and then lance was put to thigh, and thebanner was raised that was won in the jousting at Aspramont. 

And now with a mighty dust, and an infinite sound of horns, andtambours, and trumpets, which came filling the valley, the first armyof the infidels made its appearance, horses neighing, and a thousandpennons flying in the air. King Falseron led them on, saying to hisofficers, "Now, gentlemen, recollect what I said. The first battle isfor the leaders only;--and, above all, let nobody dare to lay a fingeron Orlando. He belongs to myself. The revenge of my son's death is mine. I will cut the man down that comes between us. "

"Now, friends, " said Orlando, "every man for himself, and St. Michaelfor us all. There is no one here that is not a perfect knight. "

And he might well say it; for the flower of all France was there, exceptRinaldo and Ricciardetto; every man a picked man; all friends andconstant companions of Orlando. There was Richard of Normandy, andGuottibuoffi, and Uliviero, and Count Anselm, and Avolio, and Avino, andthe gentle Berlinghieri, and his brother, and Sansonetto, and the goodDuke Egibard, and Astolfo the Englishman, and Angiolin of Bayona, andall the other Paladins of France, excepting those two whom I havementioned. And so the captains of the little troop and of the greatarray sat looking at one another, and singling one another out, as thelatter came on; and then either side began raising their war-cries, andthe mob of the infidels halted, and the knights put spear in rest, andran for a while, two and two in succession, each one against the other. 

Astolfo was the first to move. He ran against Arlotto of Soria; andAngiolin then ran against Malducco; and Mazzarigi the Renegade cameagainst Avino; and Uliviero was borne forth by his horse Rondel, whocouldn't stand still, against Malprimo, the first of the captains ofFalseron. 

And now lances began to be painted red, without any brush butthemselves; and the new colour extended itself to the bucklers, and thecuishes, and the cuirasses, and the trappings of the steeds. 

Astolfo thrust his antagonist's body out of the saddle, and his soulinto the other world; and Angiolin gave and took a terrible blow withMalducco; but his horse bore him onward; and Avino had something of thelike encounter with Mazzarigi; but Uliviero, though he received a thrustwhich hurt him, sent his lance right through the heart of Malprimo. 

Falseron was daunted at this blow. "Verily, " thought he, "this is amiracle. " Uliviero did not press on among the Saracens, his wound wastoo painful; but Orlando now put himself and his whole band into motion, and you may guess what an uproar ensued. The sound of the rattling ofthe blows and helmets was as if the forge of Vulcan had been thrownopen. Falseron beheld Orlando coming so furiously, that he thought him aLucifer who had burst his chain, and was quite of another mind than whenhe proposed to have him all to himself. On the contrary, he recommendedhimself to his gods; and turning away, begged for a more auspiciousseason of revenge. But Orlando hailed and arrested him with a terriblevoice, saying, "O thou traitor! Was this the end to which old quarrelswere made up? Dost thou not blush, thou and thy fellow-traitorMarsilius, to have kissed me on the cheek like a Judas, when last thouwert in France?"

Orlando had never shewn such anger in his countenance as he did thatday. He dashed at Falseron with a fury so swift, and at the same timea mastery of his lance so marvellous, that though he plunged it in theman's body so as instantly to kill him, the body did not move in thesaddle. The hero himself, as he rushed onwards, was fain to see the endof a stroke so perfect, and, turning his horse back, he touched thecarcass with his sword, and it fell on the instant. They say, that ithad no sooner fallen than it disappeared. People got off their horsesto lift up the body, for it seemed to be there still, the armour beingleft; but when they came to handle the armour, it was found as empty asthe shell that is cast by a lobster. O new, and strange, and portentousevent!--proof manifest of the anger with which God regards treachery. 

When the first infidel army beheld their leader dead, such fear fellupon them, that they were for leaving the field to the Paladins; butthey were unable. Marsilius had drawn the rest of his forces round thevalley like a net, so that their shoulders were turned in vain. Orlandorode into the thick of them, with Count Anselm by his side. He rushedlike a tempest; and wherever he went, thunderbolts fell upon helmets. The Paladins drove here and there after them, each making a whirlwindround about him, and a bloody circle. Uliviero was again in the _mêlée_;and Walter of Amulion threw himself into it; and Baldwin roared likea lion; and Avino and Avolio reaped the wretches' heads like aturnip-field; and blows blinded men's eyes; and Archbishop Turpinhimself had changed his crozier for a lance, and chased a new flockbefore him to the mountains. 

Yet what could be done against foes without number? Multitudes fillup the spaces left by the dead without stopping. Marsilius, from hisanxious and raging post, constantly pours them in. The Paladins are asunits to thousands. Why tarry the horses of Rinaldo and Ricciardetto?

The horses did not tarry; but fate had been quicker than enchantment. Ashtaroth, nevertheless, had presented himself to Rinaldo in Egypt, asthough he had issued out of a flash of lightning. After telling hismission, and giving orders to hundreds of invisible spirits round abouthim (for the air was full of them), he and Foul-Mouth, his servant, entered the horses of Rinaldo and Ricciardetto, which began to neigh andsnort and leap with the fiends within them, till off they flew throughthe air over the pyramids, crowds of spirits going like a tempest beforethem. Ricciardetto shut his eyes at first, on perceiving himself so highin the air; but he speedily became used to it, though he looked downon the sun at last. In this manner they passed the desert, and thesea-coast, and the ocean, and swept the tops of the Pyrenees, Ashtarothtalking to them of wonders by the way; for he was one of the wisest ofthe devils, and knew a great many things which were then unknown to man. He laughed, for instance, as they went over sea, at the notion, amongother vain fancies, that nothing was to be found beyond the pillars ofHercules; "for, " said he, "the earth is round, and the sea has an evensurface all over it; and there are nations on the other side of theglobe, who walk with their feet opposed to yours, and worship other godsthan the Christians. "

"Hah!" said Rinaldo; "and may I ask whether they can be saved?"

"It is a bold thing to ask, " said the devil; "but do you take theRedeemer for a partisan, and fancy he died for you only? Be assured hedied for the whole world, Antipodes and all. Perhaps not one soul willbe left out the pale of salvation at last, but the whole human raceadore the truth, and find mercy. The Christian is the only truereligion; but Heaven loves all goodness that believes honestly, whatsoever the belief may be. "

Rinaldo was mightily taken with the humanity of the devil's opinions:but they were now approaching the end of their journey, and began tohear the noise of the battle; and he could no longer think of any thingbut the delight of being near Orlando, and plunging into the middle ofit. 

"You shall be in the very heart of it instantly, " said his bearer. "I love you, and would fain do all you desire. Do not fancy that allnobleness of spirit is lost among us people below. You know what theproverb says, 'There's never a fruit, however degenerate, but will tasteof its stock. ' I was of a different order of beings once, and--But it isas well not to talk of happy times. Yonder is Marsilius; and there goesOrlando. Farewell, and give me a place in your memory. "

Rinaldo could not find words to express his sense of the devil'sgood-will, nor of that of Foul Mouth himself. He said: "Ashtaroth, I amas sorry to part with you as if you were a brother; and I certainly dobelieve that nobleness of spirit exists, as you say, among your peoplebelow. I shall be glad to see you both sometimes, if you can come; and Ipray God (if my poor prayer be worth any thing) that you may all repent, and obtain his pardon; for without repentance, you know, nothing can bedone for you. "

"If I might suggest a favour, " returned Ashtaroth, "since you are sogood as to wish to do me one, persuade Malagigi to free me from hisservice, and I am yours for ever. To serve you will be a pleasure to me. You will only have to say, 'Ashtaroth, ' and my good friend here will bewith you in an instant. "

"I am obliged to you, " cried Rinaldo, "and so is my brother. I willwrite Malagigi, not merely a letter, but a whole packet-full of yourpraises; and so I will to Orlando; and you shall be set free, depend onit, your company has been so perfectly agreeable. "

"Your humble servant, " said Ashtaroth, and vanished with his companionlike lightning. 

But they did not go far. 

There was a little chapel by the road-side in Roncesvalles, which hada couple of bells; and on the top of that chapel did the devils placethemselves, in order that they might catch the souls of the infidels asthey died, and so carry them off to the infernal regions. Guess if theirwings had plenty to do that day! Guess if Minos and Rhadamanthus werebusy, and Charon sung in his boat, and Lucifer hugged himself for joy. Guess, also, if the tables in heaven groaned with nectar and ambrosia, and good old St. Peter had a dry hair in his beard. 

The two Paladins, on their horses, dropped right into the middle of theSaracens, and began making such havoc about them, that Marsilius, whooverlooked the fight from a mountain, thought his soldiers had turnedone against the other. He therefore descended in fury with his thirdarmy; and Rinaldo, seeing him coming, said to Ricciardetto, "We hadbetter be off here, and join Orlando;" and with these words, he gave hishorse one turn round before he retreated, so as to enable his sword tomake a bloody circle about him; and stories say, that he sheared offtwenty heads in the whirl of it. He then dashed through the astonishedbeholders towards the battle of Orlando, who guessed it could be noother than his cousin, and almost dropped from his horse, out of desireto meet him. Ricciardetto followed Rinaldo; and Uliviero coming up atthe same moment, the rapture of the whole party is not to be expressed. They almost died for joy. After a thousand embraces, and questions, andexplanations, and expressions of astonishment (for the infidels heldaloof awhile, to take breath from the horror and mischief they hadundergone), Orlando refreshed his little band of heroes, and then drewRinaldo apart, and said, "O my brother, I feel such delight at seeingyou, I can hardly persuade myself I am not dreaming. Heaven be praisedfor it. I have no other wish on earth, now that I see you before I die. Why didn't you write? But never mind. Here you are, and I shall not diefor nothing. "

"I did write, " said Rinaldo, "and so did Ricciardetto; but villanyintercepted our letters. Tell me what to do, my dear cousin; for timepresses, and all the world is upon us. "

"Gan has brought us here, " said Orlando, "under pretence of receivingtribute from Marsilius--you see of what sort; and Charles, poor old man, is waiting to receive his homage at the town of St. John! I have neverseen a lucky day since you left us. I believe I have done for Charlesmore than in duty bound, and that my sins pursue me, and I and mine mustall perish in Roncesvalles. "

"Look to Marsilius, " exclaimed Rinaldo; "he is right upon us. "

Marsilius was upon them, surely enough, at once furious and frightenedat the coming of the new Paladins; for his camp, numerous as it was, hadnot only held aloof, but turned about to fly like herds before the lion;so he was forced to drive them back, and bring up his other troops, reasonably thinking that such numbers must overwhelm at last, if theycould but be kept together. 

Not the less, however, for this, did the Paladins continue to fight asif with joy. They killed and trampled wheresoever they went; Rinaldofatiguing himself with sending infinite numbers of souls to Ashtaroth, and Orlando making a bloody passage towards Marsilius, whom he hoped tosettle as he had done Falseron. 

In the course of this his tremendous progress, the hero struck a youthon the head, whose helmet was so good as to resist the blow, but at thesame time flew off; and Orlando seized him by the hair to kill him. "Hold!" cried the youth, as loud as want of breath could let him; "youloved my father--I'm Bujaforte. "

The Paladin had never seen Bujaforte; but he saw the likeness to thegood old Man of the Mountain, his father; and he let go the youth'shair, and embraced and kissed him. "O Bujaforte!" said he; "I loved himindeed my good old man; but what does his son do here, fighting againsthis friend?"

Bujaforte was a long time before he could speak for weeping. At lengthhe said, "Orlando, let not your noble heart be pained with ill thoughtsof my father's son. I am forced to be here by my lord and masterMarsilius. I had no friend left me in the world, and he took me into hiscourt, and has brought me here before I knew what it was for; and I havemade a shew of fighting, but have not hurt a single Christian. Treacheryis on every side of you. Baldwin himself has a vest given him byMarsilius, that every body may know the son of his friend Gan, and dohim no injury. See there--look how the lances avoid him. "

"Put your helmet on again, " said Orlando, "and behave just as you havedone. Never will your father's friend be an enemy to the son. Only takecare not to come across Rinaldo. "

The hero then turned in fury to look for Baldwin, who was hasteningtowards him at that moment with friendliness in his looks. 

"'Tis strange, " said Baldwin; "I have done my duty as well as I could, yet no body will come against me. I have slain right and left, andcannot comprehend what it is that makes the stoutest infidels avoid me. "

"Take off your vest, " cried Orlando, contemptuously, "and you will soondiscover the secret, if you wish to know it. Your father has sold us toMarsilius, all but his honourable son. "

"If my father, " cried Baldwin, impetuously tearing off the vest, "hasbeen such a villain, and I escape dying any longer, by God! I willplunge this sword through his heart. But I am no traitor, Orlando;and you do me wrong to say it. You do me foul dishonour, and I'll notsurvive it. Never more shall you behold me alive. "

Baldwin spurred off into the fight, not waiting to hear another wordfrom Orlando, but constantly crying out, "You have done me dishonour;"and Orlando was very sorry for what he had said, for he perceived thatthe youth was in despair. 

And now the fight raged beyond all it had done before; and the Paladinsthemselves began to fall, the enemy were driven forward in suchmultitudes by Marsilius. There was unhorsing of foes, and re-seating offriends, and great cries, and anguish, and unceasing labour; and twentyPagans went down for one Christian; but still the Christians fell. OnePaladin disappeared after another, having too much to do for mortal men. Some could not make way through the press for very fatigue of killing, and others were hampered with the falling horses and men. Sansonetto wasthus beaten to earth by the club of Grandonio; and Walter d'Amulion hadhis shoulders broken; and Angiolin of Bayona, having lost his lance, was thrust down by Marsilius, and Angiolin of Bellonda by Sirionne; andBerlinghieri and Ottone are gone; and then Astolfo went, in revenge ofwhose death Orlando turned the spot on which he died into a gulf ofSaracen blood. Rinaldo met the luckless Bujaforte, who had just begun toexplain how he seemed to be fighting on the side which his father hated, when the impatient hero exclaimed, "He who is not with me is againstme;" and gave him a volley of such horrible cuffs about the head andears, that Bujaforte died without being able to speak another word. Orlando, cutting his way to a spot in which there was a great struggleand uproar, found the poor youth Baldwin, the son of Gan, with twospears in his breast. "I am no traitor now, " said Baldwin; and sosaying, fell dead to the earth; and Orlando lifted up his voice andwept, for he was bitterly sorry to have been the cause of his death. Hethen joined Rinaldo in the hottest of the tumult; and all the survivingPaladins gathered about them, including Turpin the archbishop, whofought as hardily as the rest; and the slaughter was lavish andhorrible, so that the eddies of the wind chucked the blood into the air, and earth appeared a very seething-cauldron of hell. At length down wentUliviero himself. He had become blind with his own blood, and smittenOrlando without knowing him, who had never received such a blow in hislife. 

"How now, cousin!" cried Orlando; "have you too gone over to the enemy?"

"O, my lord and master, Orlando, " cried the other, "I ask your pardon, if I have struck you. I can see nothing--I am dying. The traitorArcaliffe has stabbed me in the back; but I killed him for it. If youlove me, lead my horse into the thick of them, so that I may not dieunavenged. "

"I shall die myself before long, " said Orlando, "out of very toil andgrief; so we will go together. I have lost all hope, all pride, all wishto live any longer; but not my love for Uliviero. Come--let us give thema few blows yet; let them see what you can do with your dying hands. Onefaith, one death, one only wish be ours. "

Orlando led his cousin's horse where the press was thickest, anddreadful was the strength of the dying man and of his half-dyingcompanion. They made a street, through which they passed out of thebattle; and Orlando led his cousin away to his tent, and said, "Waita little till I return, for I will go and sound the horn on the hillyonder. "

"'Tis of no use, " said Uliviero; "and my spirit is fast going, anddesires to be with its Lord and Saviour. " He would have said more, buthis words came from him imperfectly, like those of a man in a dream;only his cousin gathered that he meant to commend to him his sister, Orlando's wife, Alda the Fair, of whom indeed the great Paladin had notthought so much in this world as he might have done. And with theseimperfect words he expired. 

But Orlando no sooner saw him dead, than he felt as if he was left aloneon the earth; and he was quite willing to leave it; only he wished thatCharles at St. John Pied de Port should hear how the case stood beforehe went; and so he took up the horn, and blew it three times with suchforce that the blood burst out of his nose and mouth. Turpin says, thatat the third blast the horn broke in two. 

In spite of all the noise of the battle, the sound of the horn brokeover it like a voice out of the other world. They say that birds felldead at it, and that the whole Saracen army drew back in terror. Butfearfuller still was its effect at St. John Pied de Port. Charlemagnewas sitting in the midst of his court when the sound reached him; andGan was there. The emperor was the first to hear it. 

"Do you hear that?" said he to his nobles. "Did you hear the horn, as Iheard it?"

Upon this they all listened; and Gan felt his heart misgive him. 

The horn sounded the second time. 

"What is the meaning of this?" said Charles. 

"Orlando is hunting, " observed Gan, "and the stag is killed. He is atthe old pastime that he was so fond of in Aspramonte. "

But when the horn sounded yet a third time, and the blast was one of sodreadful a vehemence, every body looked at the other, and then they alllooked at Gan in fury. Charles rose from his seat. "This is no huntingof the stag, " said he. "The sound goes to my very heart, and, I confess, makes me tremble. I am awakened out of a great dream. O Gan! O Gan! Notfor thee do I blush, but for myself, and for nobody else. O my God, whatis to be done! But whatever is to be done, must be done quickly. Takethis villain, gentlemen, and keep him in hard prison. O foul andmonstrous villain! Would to God I had not lived to see this day! Oobstinate and enormous folly! O Malagigi, had I but believed thyforesight! 'Tis thou went the wise man, and I the grey-headed fool. "

Ogier the Dane, and Namo and others, in the bitterness of their griefand anger, could not help reminding the emperor of all which they hadforetold. But it was no time for words. They put the traitor intoprison; and then Charles, with all his court, took his way toRoncesvalles, grieving and praying. 

It was afternoon when the horn sounded, and half an hour after it whenthe emperor set out; and meantime Orlando had returned to the fight thathe might do his duty, however hopeless, as long as he could sit hishorse, and the Paladins were now reduced to four; and though theSaracens suffered themselves to be mowed down like grass by them andtheir little band, he found his end approaching for toil and fever, and so at length he withdrew out of the fight, and rode all alone to afountain which he knew of, where he had before quenched his thirst. 

His horse was wearier still than he, and no sooner had its masteralighted, than the beast, kneeling down as if to take leave, and tosay, "I have brought you to your place of rest, " fell dead at his feet. Orlando cast water on him from the fountain, not wishing to believe himdead; but when he found it to no purpose, he grieved for him as if hehad been a human being, and addressed him by name in tears, and askedforgiveness if ever he had done him wrong. They say, that the horse atthese words once more opened his eyes a little, and looked kindly at hismaster, and so stirred never more. 

They say also that Orlando then, summoning all his strength, smote arock near him with his beautiful sword Durlindana, thinking to shiverthe steel in pieces, and so prevent its falling into the hands of theenemy; but though the rock split like a slate, and a deep fissureremained ever after to astonish the eyes of pilgrims, the sword remainedunhurt. 

"O strong Durlindana, " cried he, "O noble and worthy sword, had I knownthee from the first, as I know thee now, never would I have been broughtto this pass. "

And now Rinaldo and Ricciardetto and Turpin came up, having given chaseto the Saracens till they were weary, and Orlando gave joyful welcome tohis cousin, and they told him how the battle was won, and then Orlandoknelt before Turpin, his face all in tears, and begged remission of hissins and confessed them, and Turpin gave him absolution; and suddenly alight came down upon him from heaven like a rainbow, accompanied witha sound of music, and an angel stood in the air blessing him, and thendisappeared; upon which Orlando fixed his eyes on the hilt of his swordas on a crucifix, and embraced it, and said, "Lord, vouchsafe that I maylook on this poor instrument as on the symbol of the tree upon whichThou sufferedst thy unspeakable martyrdom!" and so adjusting the swordto his bosom, and embracing it closer, he raised his eyes, and appearedlike a creature seraphical and transfigured; and in bowing his head hebreathed out his pure soul. A thunder was then heard in the heavens, and the heavens opened and seemed to stoop to the earth, and a flock ofangels was seen like a white cloud ascending with his spirit, who wereknown to be what they were by the trembling of their wings. The whitecloud shot out golden fires, so that the whole air was full of them; andthe voices of the angels mingled in song with the instruments of theirbrethren above, which made an inexpressible harmony, at once deep anddulcet. The priestly warrior Turpin, and the two Paladins, and thehero's squire Terigi, who were all on their knees, forgot their ownbeings, in following the miracle with their eyes. 

It was now the office of that squire to take horse and ride off tothe emperor at Saint John Pied de Port, and tell him of all that hadoccurred; but in spite of what he had just seen, he lay for a timeoverwhelmed with grief. He then rose, and mounted his steed, and leftthe Paladins and the archbishop with the dead body, who knelt about it, guarding it with weeping love. 

The good squire Terigi met the emperor and his cavalcade coming towardsRoncesvalles, and alighted and fell on his knees, telling him themiserable news, and how all his people were slain but two of hisPaladins, and himself, and the good archbishop. Charles for anguishbegan tearing his white locks; but Terigi comforted him against sodoing, by giving an account of the manner of Orlando's death, and howhe had surely gone to heaven. Nevertheless, the squire himself wasbroken-hearted with grief and toil; and he had scarcely added adenouncement of the traitor Gan, and a hope that the emperor wouldappease Heaven finally by giving his body to the winds, than he said, "The cold of death is upon me;" and so he fell dead at the emperor'sfeet. 

Charles was ready to drop from his saddle for wretchedness. He criedout, "Let nobody comfort me more. I will have no comfort. Cursed be Gan, and cursed this horrible day, and this place, and every thing. Let us goon, like blind miserable men that we are, into Roncesvalles; and havepatience if we can, out of pure misery, like Job, till we do all thatcan be done. "

So Charles rode on with his nobles; and they say, that for the sake ofthe champion of Christendom and the martyrs that died with him, the sunstood still in the sky till the emperor had seen Orlando, and till thedead were buried. 

Horrible to his eyes was the sight of the field of Roncesvalles. TheSaracens, indeed, had forsaken it, conquered; but all his Paladins buttwo were left on it dead, and the slaughtered heaps among which they laymade the whole valley like a great dumb slaughter-house, trampled upinto blood and dirt, and reeking to the heat. The very trees weredropping with blood; and every thing, so to speak, seemed tired out, andgone to a horrible sleep. 

Charles trembled to his heart's core for wonder and agony. After dumblygazing on the place, he again cursed it with a solemn curse, and wishedthat never grass might grow within it again, nor seed of any kind, neither within it, nor on any of its mountains around with their proudshoulders; but the anger of Heaven abide over it for ever, as on a pitmade by hell upon earth. 

Then he rode on, and came up to where the body of Orlando awaited himwith the Paladins, and the old man, weeping, threw himself as if he hadbeen a reckless youth from his horse, and embraced and kissed the deadbody, and said, "I bless thee, Orlando. I bless thy whole life, and allthat thou wast, and all that thou ever didst, and thy mighty and holyvalour, and the father that begot thee; and I ask pardon of thee forbelieving those who brought thee to thine end. They shall have theirreward, O thou beloved one! But, indeed, it is thou that livest, and Ithat am worse than dead. "

And now, behold a wonder. For the emperor, in the fervour of his heartand of the memory of what had passed between them, called to mind thatOrlando had promised to give him his sword, should he die before him;and he lifted up his voice more bravely, and adjured him even now toreturn it to him gladly; and it pleased God that the dead body ofOrlando should rise on its feet, and kneel as he was wont to do at thefeet of his liege lord, and gladly, and with a smile on its face, returnthe sword to the Emperor Charles. As Orlando rose, the Paladins andTurpin knelt down out of fear and horror, especially seeing him lookwith a stern countenance; but when they saw that he knelt also, andsmiled, and returned the sword, their hearts became re-assured, andCharles took the sword like his liege lord, though trembling with wonderand affection: and in truth he could hardly clench his fingers aroundit. 

Orlando was buried in a great sepulchre in Aquisgrana, and the deadPaladins were all embalmed and sent with majestic cavalcades to theirrespective counties and principalities, and every Christian washonourably and reverently put in the earth, and recorded among themartyrs of the Church. 

But meantime the flying Saracens, thinking to bury their own dead, andignorant of what still awaited them, came back into the valley, andRinaldo beheld them with a dreadful joy, and shewed them to Charles. Nowthe emperor's cavalcade had increased every moment; and they fell uponthe Saracens with a new and unexpected battle, and the old emperor, addressing the sword of Orlando, exclaimed, "My strength is little, butdo thou do thy duty to thy master, thou famous sword, seeing that hereturned it to me smiling, and that his revenge is in my hands. " And sosaying, he met Balugante, the leader of the infidels, as he came bornealong by his frightened horse; and the old man, raising the sword withboth hands, cleaved him, with a delighted mind, to the chin. 

O sacred Emperor Charles! O well-lived old man! Defender of the Faith!light and glory of the old time! thou hast cut off the other ear ofMalchus, and shown how rightly thou wert born into the world, to save ita second time from the abyss. 

Again fled the Saracens, never to come to Christendom more: but Charleswent after them into Spain, he and Rinaldo and Ricciardetto and the goodTurpin; and they took and fired Saragossa; and Marsilius was hung to thecarob-tree under which he had planned his villany with Gan; and Gan washung, and drawn and quartered, in Roncesvalles, amidst the execrationsof the country. 

And if you ask, how it happened that Charles ever put faith in such awretch, I shall tell you that it was because the good old emperor, withall his faults, was a divine man, and believed in others out of theexcellence of his own heart and truth. And such was the case withOrlando himself. 

APPENDIX. 

No. I. 

STORY OF PAULO AND FRANCESCA. 

 Poscia ch' i' ebbi il mio dottore udito Nomar le donne antiche e i cavalieri, Pietà mi vinse, e fui quasi smarrito. 

 I' cominciai: Poeta, volentieri Parlerei a que' duo the 'nsieme vanno, E pajon sì al vento esser leggieri. 

 Ed egli a me: Vedrai, quando saranno Più presso a noi: e tu allor gli piega, Per quell' amor ch' ei mena; e quei verranno. 

 Si tosto come 'l vento a noi gli piega, Mossi la voce: O anime affannate, Venite a not parlar, s' altri nol niega. 

 Quali colombe dal disio chiamate, Con l' ali aperte e ferme, al dolce nido Volan per l' aer dal voter portate:

 Cotali uscir de la schiera ov' è Dido, A noi venendo per l' aer maligno, Si forte fu l' affettuoso grido. 

 O animal grazioso e benigno, Che visitando vai per l' aer perso Noi che tignemmo it mondo di sanguigno; Se fosse amico il Re de l'Universo, Noi pregheremmo lui per la tua pace, Poich' hai pietà del nostro mal perverso. 

 Di quel ch'udire e che parlar ti piace, Noi udiremo, e parleremo a vui, Mentre che 'l vento, come fa, si tace. 

 Siede la terra, dove nata fui, Su la marina, dove 'l Pò discende, Per aver pace co' seguaci sui. 

 Amor ch'al cor gentil ratto s'apprende, Prese costui de la bella persona Che mi fu tolta, e 'l modo ancor m'offende

 Amer ch'a null'amato amar perdona, Mi prese del costui piacer si forte, Che come vedi ancor non m'abbandona

 Amor condusse noi ad una morte Caina attende chi 'n vita ci spense. Queste parole da lor ci fur porte. 

 Da ch'io 'ntesi quell'anime offense, Chinai 'l viso, e tanto 'l tenni basso, Finchè 'l poeta mi disse: Che pense?

 Quando risposi, cominciai: O lasso, Quanti dolci pensier, quanto disio Menò costoro al doloroso passo!

 Po' mi rivolsi a loro, e parla' io, E cominciai: Francesca, i tuoi martiri A lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pie. 

 Ma dimmi: al tempo de' dolci sospiri, A che, e come concedette amore Che conosceste i dubbiosi desiri?

 Ed ella a me: Nessun maggior dolore, Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Ne la miseria; e ciò sa 'l tuo dottore. Ma s'a conoscer la prima radice Del nostro amor to hai cotanto affetto, Farò come colui the piange e dice. 

 Noi leggiavamo tin giorno per diletto Di Lancilotto, come amor to strinse Soli eravamo, e senza alcun sospetto. 

 Per più fiate gli occhi ci sospinse Quella lettura, e scolorocci 'l viso Ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse. 

 Quando leggemmo il disiato riso Esser baciato da cotanto amante, Questi che mai da me non sia diviso, La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante: Galeotto fu il libro, e chi to scrisse: Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante. 

 Mentre the l'uno spirto questo disse, L'altro piangeva si, che di pietade I' venni men cosi com' io morisse, E caddi come corpo morto cade. 

 * * * * *

_Translation in the terza rima of the original. _

 Scarce had I learnt the names of all that press Of knights and dames, than I beheld a sight Nigh reft my wits for very tenderness. 

 "O guide!" I said, "fain would I, if I might, Have speech with yonder pair, that hand in hand Seem borne before the dreadful wind so light. "

 "Wait, " said my guide, "until then seest their band Sweep round. Then beg them, by that lose, to stay; And they will come, and hover where we stand. "

 Anon the whirlwind flung them round that way; And then I cried, "Oh, if I ask nought ill, Poor weary souls, have speech with me, I pray. "

 As doves, that leave some bevy circling still, Set firm their open wings, and through the air Sweep homewards, wafted by their pure good will;

 So broke from Dido's flock that gentle pair, Cleaving, to where we stood, the air malign; Such strength to bring them had a loving prayer. 

 The female spoke. "O living soul benign!" She said, "thus, in this lost air, visiting Us who with blood stain'd the sweet earth divine;

 Had we a friend in heaven's eternal King, We would beseech him keep thy conscience clear, Since to our anguish thou dost pity bring. 

 Of what it pleaseth thee to speak and hear, To that we also, till this lull be o'er That falleth now, will speak and will give ear. 

 The place where I was born is on the shore, Where Po brings all his rivers to depart In peace, and fuse them with the ocean floor. 

 Love, that soon kindleth in a gentle heart, Seized him thou look'st on for the form and face, Whose end still haunts me like a rankling dart. 

 Love, which by love will be denied no grace, Gave me a transport in my turn so true, That to! 'tis with me, even in this place. 

 Love brought us to one grave. The hand that slew Is doom'd to mourn us in the pit of Cain. " Such were the words that told me of those two. 

 Downcast I stood, looking so full of pain To think how hard and sad a case it was, That my guide ask'd what held me in that vein. 

 His voiced aroused me; and I said, "Alas All their sweet thoughts then, all the steps that led To love, but brought them to this dolorous pass. "

 Then turning my sad eyes to theirs, I said, "Francesca, see--these human cheeks are wet-- Truer and sadder tears were never shed. 

 But tell me. At the time when sighs were sweet, What made thee strive no longer?--hurried thee To the last step where bliss and sorrow meet?"

 "There is no greater sorrow, " answered she, "And this thy teacher here knoweth full well, Than calling to mind joy in misery. 

 But since thy wish be great to hear us tell How we lost all but love, tell it I will, As well as tears will let me. It befel, One day, we read how Lancelot gazed his fill At her he loved, and what his lady said. We were alone, thinking of nothing ill. 

 Oft were our eyes suspended as we read, And in our cheeks the colour went and came; Yet one sole passage struck resistance dead. 

 'Twas where the lover, moth-like in his flame, Drawn by her sweet smile, kiss'd it. O then, he Whose lot and mine are now for aye the same, All in a tremble, on the mouth kiss'd _me_. The book did all. Our hearts within us burn'd Through that alone. That day no more read we. "

 While thus one spoke, the other spirit mourn'd With wail so woful, that at his remorse I felt as though I should have died. I turned

 Stone-stiff; and to the ground fell like a corse. ]

No. II. 

ACCOUNTS GIVEN BY DIFFERENT WRITERS OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES RELATING TOPAULO AND FRANCESCA; CONCLUDING WITH THE ONLY FACTS ASCERTAINED. 

BOCCACCIO'S ACCOUNT

Translated from his Commentary on the Passage. 

"You must know, that this lady, Madonna Francesca, was daughter ofMesser Guido the Elder, lord of Ravenna and of Cervia, and that a longand grievous war having been waged between him and the lords Malatestaof Rimini, a treaty of peace by certain mediators was at lengthconcluded between them; the which, to the end that it might be the morefirmly established, it pleased both parties to desire to fortify byrelationship; and the matter of this relationship was so discoursed, that the said Messer Guido agreed to give his young and fair daughterin marriage to Gianciotto, the son of Messer Malatesta. Now, this beingmade known to certain of the friends of Messer Guido, one of themsaid to him, 'Take care what you do; for if you contrive not mattersdiscreetly, such relationship will beget scandal. You know what mannerof person your daughter is, and of how lofty a spirit; and if she seeGianciotto before the bond is tied, neither you nor any one else willhave power to persuade her to marry him; therefore, if it so please you, it seems to me that it would be good to conduct the matter thus: namely, that Gianciotto should not come hither himself to marry her, but that abrother of his should come and espouse her in his name. '

"Gianciotto was a man of great spirit, and hoped, after his father'sdeath, to become lord of Rimini; in the contemplation of which event, albeit he was rude in appearance and a cripple, Messer Guido desired himfor a son-in-law above any one of his brothers. Discerning, therefore, the reasonableness of what his friend counselled, he secretly disposedmatters according to his device; and a day being appointed, Polo, abrother of Gianciotto, came to Ravenna with full authority to espouseMadonna Francesca. Polo was a handsome man, very pleasant, and of acourteous breeding; and passing with other gentlemen over the court-yardof the palace of Messer Guido, a damsel who knew him pointed him out toMadonna Francesca through an opening in the casement, saying, 'That ishe that is to be your husband;' and so indeed the poor lady believed, and incontinently placed in him her whole affection; and the ceremony ofthe marriage having been thus brought about, and the lady conveyed toRimini, she became not aware of the deceit till the morning ensuingthe marriage, when she beheld Gianciotto rise from her side; the whichdiscovery moved her to such disdain, that she became not a whit the lessrooted in her love for Polo. Nevertheless, that it grew to be unlawfulI never heard, except in what is written by this author (Dante), andpossibly it might so have become; albeit I take what he says to havebeen an invention framed on the possibility, rather than any thingwhich he knew of his own knowledge. Be this as it may, Polo and MadonnaFrancesca living in the same house, and Gianciotto being gone intoa certain neighbouring district as governor, they fell into greatcompanionship with one another, suspecting nothing; but a servant ofGianciotto's noting it, went to his master and told him how matterslooked; with the which Gianciotto being fiercely moved, secretlyreturned to Rimini; and seeing Polo enter the room of Madonna Francescathe while he himself was arriving, went straight to the door, andfinding it locked inside, called to his lady to come out; for, MadonnaFrancesca and Polo having descried him, Polo thought to escape suddenlythrough an opening in the wall, by means of which there was a descentinto another room; and therefore, thinking to conceal his fault eitherwholly or in part, he threw himself into the opening, telling the ladyto go and open the door. But his hope did not turn out as he expected;for the hem of a mantle which he had on caught upon a nail, and thelady opening the door meantime, in the belief that all would be well byreason of Polo's not being there, Gianciotto caught sight of Polo ashe was detained by the hem of the mantle, and straightway ran with hisdagger in his hand to kill him; whereupon the lady, to prevent it, ranbetween them; but Gianciotto having lifted the dagger, and put the wholeforce of his arm into the blow, there came to pass what he had notdesired--namely, that he struck the dagger into the bosom of the ladybefore it could reach Polo; by which accident, being as one who hadloved the lady better than himself, he withdrew the dagger, and againstruck at Polo, and slew him; and so leaving them both dead, he hastilywent his way and betook him to his wonted affairs; and the next morningthe two lovers, with many tears, were buried together in the samegrave. "

The reader of this account will have observed, that while Dante assumesthe guilt of all parties, and puts them into the infernal regions, thegood-natured Boccaccio is for doubting it, and consequently for sendingthem all to heaven. He will ignore as much of the business as agentleman can; boldly doubts any guilt in the case; says nothing of thecircumstance of the book; and affirms that the husband loved his wife, and was miserable at having slain her. There is, however, one negativepoint in common between the two narrators; they both say nothing ofcertain particulars connected with the date of Francesca's marriage, andnot a little qualifying the first romantic look of the story. 

Now, it is the absence of these particulars, combined with the traditionof the father's artifice (omitted perhaps by Dante out of personalfavour), and with that of the husband's ferocity of character (thebelief in which Boccaccio did not succeed in displacing), that hasleft the prevailing impression on the minds of posterity, which isthis:--that Francesca was beguiled by her father into the marriage withthe deformed and unamiable Giovanni, and that the unconscious medium ofthe artifice was the amiable and handsome Paulo; that one or both ofthe victims of the artifice fell in love with the other; that theirintercourse, whatever it was, took place not long after the marriage;and that when Paulo and Francesca were slain in consequence, they wereyoung lovers, with no other ties to the world. 

It is not pleasant in general to dispel the illusions of romance, thoughDante's will bear the operation with less hurt to a reader's feelingsthan most; and I suspect, that if nine out of ten of all the impliedconclusions of other narratives in his poem could be compared with thefacts, he would be found to be one of the greatest of romancers in a newand not very desirable sense, however excusable he may have been in hisparty-prejudice. But a romance may be displaced, only to substituteperhaps matters of fact more really touching, by reason of their greaterprobability. The following is the whole of what modern inquirers haveascertained respecting Paulo and Francesca. Future enlargers on thestory may suppress what they please, as Dante did; but if any one ofthem, like the writer of the present remarks, is anxious to speaknothing but the truth, I advise him (especially if he is for troublinghimself with making changes in his story) not to think that he has seenall the authorities on the subject, or even remembered all he has seen, until he has searched every corner of his library and his memory. Allthe poems hitherto written upon this popular subject are indeed only tobe regarded as so many probable pieces of fancy, that of Dante himselfincluded. 

 * * * * *

THE ONLY PARTICULARS HITHERTO REALLY ASCERTAINED RESPECTING THE HISTORYOF PAULO AND FRANCESCA. 

Francesca was daughter of Guido Novello da Polenta, lord of Ravenna. 

She was married to Giovanni, surnamed the Lame, one of the sons ofMalatesta da Verrucchio, lord of Rimini. 

Giovanni the Lame had a brother named Paulo the Handsome, who was awidower, and left a son. 

Twelve years after Francesca's marriage, by which time she had becomemother of a son who died, and of a daughter who survived her, she andher brother-in-law Paulo were slain together by the husband, and buriedin one grave. 

Two hundred years afterwards, the grave was opened, and the bodies foundlying together in silken garments, the silk itself being entire. 

Now, a far more touching history may have lurked under these facts thanin the half-concealed and misleading circumstances of the receivedstory--long patience, long duty, struggling conscience, exhausted hope. 

On the other hand, it may have been a mere heartless case of intrigueand folly. 

But tradition is to be allowed its reasonable weight; and theprobability is, that the marriage was an affair of state, the ladyunhappy, and the brothers too different from one another. 

The event took place in Dante's twenty-fourth year; so that he, wholooks so much older to our imaginations than his heroine, was younger;and this renders more than probable what the latest biographers haveasserted--namely, that the lord of Ravenna, at whose house he finishedhis days, was not her father, Guido da Polenta, the third of that name, but her nephew, Guido the Fifth. 

 * * * * *

No. IIII

STORY OF UGOLINO. 

 Non eravam partiti già da ello, Ch' i' vidi duo ghiacciati in una buca Si, che l'un capo a l'altro era capello:

 E come 'l pan per fame si manduca, Così 'l sovran li denti a l'altro pose Là've 'l cervel s'aggiunge con la nuca. 

 Non altrimenti Tideo sì rose Le tempie a Menalippo per disdegno, Che quei faceva 'l teschio e l'altre cose. 

 O tu che mostri per sì bestial segno Odio sovra colui che tu ti mangi Dimmi 'l perchè, diss' io, per tal convegno, Che se tu a ragion di lui ti piangi, Sappiendo chi voi siete, e la sua pecca, Nel mondo suso ancor io te ne cangi, Se quella con ch' i' parlo non si secca. 

 La bocca sollevò dal fiero pasto Quel peccator, forbendola a' capelli Del capo ch' egli avea diretro guasto:

 Poi cominciò: tu vuoi ch' i' rinnovelli Disperato dolor the 'l cuor mi preme Già pur pensando, pria ch' i' ne favelli. 

 Ma se le mie parole esser den seme, Che frutti infamia al traditor ch' i' rodo, Parlare e lagrimar vedrai insieme. 

 I' non so chi tu sei, nè per che modo Venuto se' qua giù: ma Fiorentino Mi sembri veramente, quand' i' t' odo. 

 Tu de' saper ch' i' fu 'l Conte Ugolino, E questi l' Arcivescovo Ruggieri: Or ti dirò perch' i' son tal vicino. 

 Che per l' effetto de' suo' ma' pensieri, Fidandomi di lui, io fossi preso, E poscia morto, dir non è mestieri. 

 Però quel che non puoi avere inteso, Cioè, come la morte mia fu cruda, Udirai e saprai se m' ha offeso. 

 Breve pertugio dentro da la muda, La qual per me ha 'l titol da la fame, E 'n che conviene ancor ch' altrui si chiuda, M' avea mostrato per lo suo forame Più lone già, quand' i' feci 'l mal sonno, Che del futuro mi squarciò 'l velame. 

 Questi pareva a me maestro e donno, Cacciando 'l lupo e i lupicirui al monte, Perchè i Pisan veder Lucca non ponno. 

 Con cagne magre studiose e conte Gualandi con Sismondi e con Lanfranchi S' avea messi dinanzi da la fronte. 

 In picciol corso mi pareano stanchi Lo padre e i figli, e con l' agute scane Mi parea lor veder fender li fianchi. 

 Quando fui desto innanzi la dimane, Pianger senti' fra 'l sonno miei figliuoli Ch' eran con meco, e dimandar del pane. 

 Ben se' crudel, se uo già non ti duoli Pensando ciò ch' al mio cuor s' annunziava E se non piangi, di che pianger suoli?

 Già eram desti, e l'ora s'appressava Che 'l cibo ne soleva essere addotto, E per suo sogno ciascun dubitava, Ed io senti' chiavar l'uscio di sotto A l'orribile torre: ond' io guardai Nel viso a miei figliuoi senza far motto:

 I' non piangeva, sì dentro impietrai: Piangevan' elli; ed Anselmuccio mio Disse, Tu guardi sì, padre: che hai?

 Però non lagrimai nè rispos' io Tutto quel giorno nè la notte appresso, Infin che l'altro sol nel mondo uscío. 

 Com' un poco di raggio si fu messo Nel doloroso carcere, ed io scorsi Per quattro visi il mio aspetto stesso, Ambo le mani per dolor mi morsi: E quei pensando ch' i 'l fessi per voglia Di manicar, di subito levorsi

 E disser: Padre, assai ci sia men doglia, Se tu mangi di noi: tu ne vestisti Queste misere carni, e tu le spoglia. 

 Quetàmi allor per non fargli più tristi: Quel dì e l'altro stemmo tutti muti: Ahi dura terra, perchè non t'apristi?

 Posciachè fummo al quarto di venuti, Gaddo mi si gittò disteso a' piedi, Dicendo: Padre mio, che non m' ajuti?

 Quivi morì: e come tu mi vedi, Vid' io cascar li tre ad uno ad uno Tra 'l quinto di, e 'l sesto: ond' i' mi diedi

 Già cieco a brancolar sovra ciascuno, E tre di gli chiamai poich' e 'fur morti: Poscia, più che 'l dolor, pote 'l digiuno. 

 Quand' ebbe detto ciò, con gli occhj torti Riprese 'l teschio misero co' denti, Che furo a l'osso come d' un can forti. 

 Ahi Pisa, vituperio de le genti, Del bel paese là dove 'l sì suona; Poiche i vicini a te punir son lenti, Muovasi la Capraja e la Gorgona, E faccian siepe ad Arno in su la foce, Si ch' egli annieghi in te ogni persona:

 Che se 'l Conte Ugolino aveva voce D'aver tradita te de le castella, Non dovei tu i figliuoi porre a tal croce. 

 Innocenti facea 'l eta novella; Novella Tebe, Uguccione, e 'l Brigata, E gli altri duo che 'l canto suso appella. 

 * * * * *

 _Translation in the heroic couplet. _

 Quitting the traitor Bocca's barking soul, We saw two more, so iced up in one hole, That the one's visage capp'd the other's head; And as a famish'd man devoureth bread, So rent the top one's teeth the skull below 'Twixt nape and brain. Tydeus, as stories show, Thus to the brain of Menalippus ate:-- "O thou!" I cried, "showing such bestial hate To him thou tearest, read us whence it rose; That, if thy cause be juster than thy foe's, The world, when I return, knowing the truth, May of thy story have the greater ruth. "

 His mouth he lifted from his dreadful fare, That sinner, wiping it with the grey hair Whose roots he had laid waste; and thus he said:-- "A desperate thing thou askest; what I dread Even to think of. Yet, to sow a seed Of infamy to him on whom I feed, Tell it I will:--ay, and thine eyes shall see Mine own weep all the while for misery. Who thou may'st be, I know not; nor can dream How thou cam'st hither; but thy tongue doth seem To skew thee, of a surety, Florentine. Know then, that I was once Count Ugoline, And this man was Ruggieri, the archpriest. Still thou may'st wonder at my raging feast; For though his snares be known, and how his key He turn'd upon my trust, and murder'd me, Yet what the murder was, of what strange sort And cruel, few have had the true report. Hear then, and judge. --In the tower, called since then The Tower of Famine, I had lain and seen Full many a moon fade through the narrow bars. When, in a dream one night, mine evil stars Shew'd me the future with its dreadful face. Methought this man led a great lordly chase Against a wolf and cubs, across the height Which barreth Lucca from the Pisan's sight. Lean were the hounds, high-bred, and sharp for blood; And foremost in the press Gualandi rode, Lanfranchi, and Sismondi. Soon were seen The father and his sons, those wolves I mean, Limping, and by the hounds all crush'd and torn And as the cry awoke me in the morn, I heard my boys, the while they dozed in bed (For they were with me), wail, and ask for bread. Full cruel, if it move thee not, thou art, To think what thoughts then rush'd into my heart. What wouldst thou weep at, weeping not at this? All had now waked, and something seem'd amiss, For 'twas the time they used to bring us bread, And from our dreams had grown a horrid dread. I listen'd; and a key, down stairs, I heard Lock up the dreadful turret. Not a word I spoke, but look'd my children in the face No tear I shed, so firmly did I brace My soul; but _they_ did; and my Anselm said, 'Father, you look so!--Won't they bring us bread?' E'en then I wept not, nor did answer word All day, nor the next night. And now was stirr'd, Upon the world without, another day; And of its light there came a little ray, Which mingled with the gloom of our sad jail; And looking to my children's bed, full pale, In four small faces mine own face I saw. Oh, then both hands for misery did I gnaw; And they, thinking I did it, being mad For food, said, 'Father, we should be less sad If you would feed on us. Children, they say, Are their own father's flesh. Starve not to-day. ' Thenceforth they saw me shake not, hand nor foot. That day, and next, we all continued mute. O thou hard Earth!--why opened'st thou not? Next day (it was the fourth in our sad lot) My Gaddo stretched him at my feet, and cried, 'Dear father, won't you help me?' and he died. And surely as thou seest me here undone, I saw my whole three children, one by one, Between the fifth day and the sixth, all die. I became blind; and in my misery Went groping for them, as I knelt and crawl'd About the room; and for three days I call'd Upon their names, as though they could speak too, Till famine did what grief had fail'd to do. "

 Having spoke thus, he seiz'd with fiery eyes That wretch again, his feast and sacrifice, And fasten'd on the skull, over a groan, With teeth as strong as mastiff's on a bone. Ah, Pisa! thou that shame and scandal be To the sweet land that speaks the tongue of Sì. [1]

 Since Florence spareth thy vile neck the yoke, Would that the very isles would rise, and choke Thy river, and drown every soul within Thy loathsome walls. What if this Ugolin Did play the traitor, and give up (for so The rumour runs) thy castles to the foe, Thou hadst no right to put to rack like this His children. Childhood innocency is. But that same innocence, and that man's name, Have damn'd thee, Pisa, to a Theban fame?[2]

 * * * * *

REAL STORY OF UGOLINO, AND CHAUCER'S FEELING RESPECTING THE POEM. 

Chaucer has told the greater part of this story beautifully in his"Canterbury Tales;" but he had not the heart to finish it. He refersfor the conclusion to his original, hight "Dant, " the "grete poeteof Itaille;" adding, that Dante will not fail his readers a singleword--that is to say, not an atom of the cruelty. 

Our great gentle-hearted countryman, who tells Fortune that it was

 "great cruelty Such birdes for to put in such a cage, "

adds a touch of pathos in the behaviour of one of the children, whichDante does not seem to have thought of:

 "There day by day this child began to cry, Till in his father's barme (lap) adown he lay; And said, 'Farewell, father, I muste die, ' And _kiss'd his father_, and died the same day. "

It will be a relief, perhaps, instead of a disappointment, to thereaders of this appalling story, to hear that Dante's particulars of itare as little to be relied on as those of the Paulo and Francesca. Theonly facts known of Ugolino are, that he was an ambitious traitor, whodid actually deliver up the fortified places, as Dante acknowledges; andthat his rivals, infamous as he, or more infamous, prevailed againsthim, and did shut him up and starve him and some of his family. Butthe "little" children are an invention of the poet's, or probably hisbelief, when he was a young man, and first heard the story; for some ofUgolino's fellow-prisoners may have been youths, but others were grownup--none so childish as he intimates; and they were not all his ownsons; some were his nephews. 

And as to Archbishop Ruggieri, there is no proof whatever of his havinghad any share in the business--hardly a ground of suspicion; so thathistorians look upon him as an "ill-used gentleman. " Dante, in allprobability, must have learnt the real circumstances of the case, as headvanced in years; but if charity is bound to hope that he would havealtered the passage accordingly, had he revised his poem, it is forcedto admit that he left it unaltered, and that his "will and pleasure"might have found means of reconciling the retention to his conscience. Pride, unfortunately, includes the power to do things which it pretendsto be very foreign to its nature; and in proportion as detraction iseasy to it, retraction becomes insupportable. [3]

Rabelais, to shew his contempt for the knights of chivalry, has madethem galley-slaves in the next world, their business being to helpCharon row his boat over the river Styx, and their payment a piece ofmouldy bread and a fillip on the nose. Somebody should write a burlesqueof the enormities in Dante's poem, and invent some Rabelaesquepunishment for a great poet's pride and presumption. What should it be?

 * * * * *

No. IV. 

PICTURE OF FLORENCE IN THE TIME OF DANTE'S ANCESTORS. 

 Fiorenza dentro da la cerchia antica, Ond' ella toglie ancora e Terza e Nona, Si stava in pace sobria e pudica. 

 Non avea catenella, non corona, Non donne contigiate, non cintura Che fosse a veder più che la persona. 

 Non faceva nascendo ancor paura La figlia al padre, che 'l tempo e la dotte Non fuggian quindi e quindi la misura. 

 Non avea case di famiglia vote Non v'era giunto ancor Sardanapalo A mostrar ciò che 'n camera si puote. 

 Non era vinto ancora Montemalo Dal vostro Uccellatojo, che com' è vinto Nel montar su, così sarà nel calo. 

 Bellincion Berti vid' io andar cinto Di cuojo e d'osso, e venir da lo specchio La donna sua sanza 'l viso dipinto:

 E vidi quel de' Nerli e quel del Vecchio Esser contenti a la pelle scoverta, E le sue donne al fuso ed al pennecchio. 

 O fortunate! e ciascuna era certa De la sua sepoltura, ed ancor nulla Era per Francia nel lotto deserta. 

 L'una vegghiava a studio de la culla, E consolando usava l'idioma Che pria li padri e le madri trastulla:

 L'altra traendo a la rocca la chioma Favoleggiava con la sua famiglia Di Trojani e di Fiesole e di Roma. 

 Saria tenuta allor tal maraviglia Una Cianghella, un Lapo Salterello, Qual or saria Cincinnato e Corniglia. 

 * * * * *

_Translation in blank verse. _

 Florence, before she broke the good old bounds, Whence yet are heard the chimes of eve and morn. Abided well in modesty and peace. No coronets had she--no chains of gold-- No gaudy sandals--no rich girdles rare That caught the eye more than the person did. Fathers then feared no daughter's birth, for dread Of wantons courting wealth; nor were their homes Emptied with exile. Chamberers had not shown What they could dare, to prove their scorn of shame. Your neighbouring uplands then beheld no towers Prouder than Rome's, only to know worse fall. I saw Bellincion Berti walk abroad Girt with a thong of leather; and his wife Come from the glass without a painted face. Nerlis I saw, and Vecchios, and the like, In doublets without cloaks; and their good dames Contented while they spun. Blest women those They know the place where they should lie when dead; Nor were their beds deserted while they liv'd. They nurs'd their babies; lull'd them with the songs And household words of their own infancy; And while they drew the distaff's hair away, In the sweet bosoms of their families, Told tales of Troy, and Fiesole, and Rome. It had been then as marvellous to see A man of Lapo Salterello's sort, Or woman like Cianghella, as to find A Cincinnatus or Cornelia now. 

 * * * * *

No. V. 

THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 

PULCI. 

 L'abate si chiamava Chiaramonte, Era del sangue disceso d'Angrante: Di sopra a la badia v'era un gran monte, Dove abitava alcun fiero gigante, De' quali uno avea nome Passamonte, L'altro Alabastro, e 'l terzo era Morgante: Con certe frombe gittavan da alto, Ed ogni di facevan qualche assalto. 

 I monachetti non potieno uscire Del monistero, o per legne, o per acque. Orlando picchia, e non volieno aprire, Fin che a l'abate a la fine pur piacque: Entrato drento cominciava a dire, Come colui che di Maria già nacque, Adora, ed era cristian battezzato, E com' egli era a la badia arrivato. 

 Disse l' abate: Il ben venuto sia: Di quel ch' io ho, volentier ti daremo, Poi the tu credi al figliuol di Maria; E la cagion, cavalier, ti diremo, Acciò che non l'imputi a villania, Perchè a l'entrar resistenza facemo, E non ti volle aprir quel monachetto; Così intervien chi vive con sospetto. 

 Quando ci venni al principio abitare Queste montagne, benchè sieno oscure Come tu vedi, pur si potea stare Sanza sospetto, ch' ell' eran sicure: Sol da le fiere t'avevi a guardare: Fernoci spesso di brutte paure; Or ci bisogna, se vogliamo starci, Da le bestie dimestiche guardarci. 

 Queste ci fan piutosto stare a segno: Sonci appariti tre fiere giganti, Non so di qual paese o di qual regno, Ma molto son feroci tutti quanti: La forza e 'l malvoler giunt' a lo 'ngegno Sai che può 'l tutto; e noi non siam bastanti: Questi perturban si l'orazion nostra, Che non so più che far, s'altri nol mostra. 

 Gli antichi padri nostri nel deserto, Se le lor opre sante erano e giuste, Del ben servir da Dio n'avean buon merto: Nè creder sol vivessin di locuste: Piovea dal ciel la manna, guesto è certo; Ma qui convien che spesso assaggi e gust Sassi, che piovon di sopra quel monte, Che gettano Alabastro e Passamonte. 

 E 'l terzo ch' è Morgante, assai più fiero, Isveglie e pini e faggi e cerri e gli oppi, E gettagli infin quì; questo è pur vero: Non posso far che d'ira non iscoppi. Mentre che parlan così in cimitero, Un sasso par che Rondel quasi sgroppi; Che da' giganti giù venne da altro Tanto, ch' e' prese sotto il tetto un salto. 

 Tirati drento, cavalier, per Dio, Disse l'abate, che la manna casca. Rispose Orlando: Caro abate mio, Costui non vuol che 'l mio caval più pasca: Veggo che lo guarebbe del restio: Quel sasso par che di buon braccio nasca. Rispose il santo padre: Io non t' inganno; Credo che 'l monte un giorno gitteranno. 

 * * * * *

No. VI. 

PASSAGES IN THE BATTLE OF RONCESVALLES. 

THE SAME. 

_Orlando and Bujaforte. _

 La battaglia veniva rinforzando, E in ogni parte apparisce la morte: E mentre in quà e in là, combatte Orlando, Un tratto a caso trovò Bujaforte, E in su la testa gli dette col brando: E perchè l'elmo è temperato e forte, O forse incantato era, al colpo ha retto: Ma de la testa gli balzò di netto. 

 Orlando prese costui per le chiome, E disse: Dimmi, se non ch' io t'uccido. Di questo tradimento appunto e come: E se tu il di', de la morte ti fido, E vo' che tu mi dica presto il nome. Onde il pagan rispose con gran grido, Aspetta: Bujaforte io te lo dico, De la montagna del Veglio tuo amico. 

 Orlando, quando intese il giovinetto, Subito al padre suo raffigurollo: Lasciò la chioma, e poi l'abbracciò stretto Per tenerezza, e con l'elmo baciollo; E disse: O Bujaforte, il vero hai detto Il Veglio mio: e da canto tirollo: Di questo tradimento dimmi appunto, Poi the così la fortuna m' ha giunto. 

 Ma ben ti dico per la fede mia, Che di combatter con mie genti hai torto; E so che 'l padre tuo, dovunque e' sia, Non ti perdona questo, così morto. Bujaforte piangeva tuttavia; Poi disse: Orlando mio, datti conforto; Il mio signore a forza quà mi manda; E obbedir convien quel che comanda. 

 Io son de la mia patria sbandeggiato: Marsilio in corte sua m' ha ritenuto, E promesso rimettermi in istato: Io vo cercando consiglio ed ajuto, Poi ch' io son da ognuno abbandonato: E per questa cagion quà son venuto: E bench' i mostri far grande schermaglia. Non ho morto nessun ne la battaglia. 

 Io t' ho tanto per fama ricordare Sentito a tutto il mondo, che nel core Sempre poi t' ebbi: e mi puoi comandare: E so del padre mio l'antico amore: Del tradimento tu tel puoi pensare: Sai che Gano e Marsilio è traditore: E so per discrezion tu intendi bene, Che tanta gente per tua morte viene. 

 E Baldovin di Marsilio ha la vesta; Che così il vostro Gano ba ordinato: Vedi che ignun non gli pon lancia in resta: Che 'l signor nostro ce l'ha comandato. Disse Orlando: Rimetti l'elmo in testa, E torna a la battaglia al modo usato: Vedrem che segnirà: tanto ti dico, Ch' io t'arò sempre come il Veglio amico. 

 Poi disse: Aspetta un poco, intendi saldo, Che non ti punga qualche strana ortica: Sappi ch' egli è ne la zuffa Rinaldo: Guarda che il nome per nulla non dica: Che non dicesse in quella furia caldo, Dunque tu se' da la parte nimica: Si che tu giuochi netto, destro e largo: Che ti bisogua aver quì gli occhi d'Argo. 

 Rispose Bujaforte: Bene hai detto: Se la battaglia passerà a tuo modo, Ti mostrerò che amico son perfetto, Come fu il padre mio, ch' ancor ne godo. 

The poor youth takes his way through the fight, and unfortunately meetswith Rinaldo. 

 Rinaldo ritrovò quel Bujaforte, Al mio parer, che sarebbe scoppiato, Se non avesse trovato la morte: E come egli ebbe a parlar cominciato Del re Marsilio, e di stare in suo corte. Rinaldo gli rispose infuriato: Chi non è ineco, avverso me sia detto; E cominciogli a trassinar l'elmetto. E trasse un mandiretto e due e tre Con tanta furia, e quattro e cinque e sei, Che non ebbe agio a domandar merzè, E morto cadde sanza dire omei. 

 _Orlando and Baldwin. _

 Orlando, poi che lasciò Bujaforte, Pargli mill'anni trovar Baldovino, Che cerca pure e non truova la morte: E ricognobbe il caval Vegliantino Per la battaglia, e va correndo forte Dov' era Orlando, e diceva il meschino: Sappi ch' io ho fatto oggi il mio dovuto; E contra me nessun mai e venuto. 

 Molti pagani ho pur fatti morire; Però quel che ciò sia pensar non posso, Se non ch' io veggo la gente fuggire. Rispose Orlando: Tu ti fai ben grosso; Di questo fatto stu ti vuoi chiarire, La soppravvesta ti cava di dosso: Vedrai che Gan, come tu te la cavi, Ci ha venduti a Marsilio per ischiavi. 

 Rispose Baldwin: Se il padre mio Ci ha qui condotti come traditore, S' i' posso oggi campar, pel nostro Iddio Con questa spada passerogli il core: Ma traditore, Orlando, non so io, Ch' io t' ho seguito con perfetto amore: Non mi potresti dir maggiore ingiuria. -- Poi si stracciò la vesta con gran furia, E disse: Io tornerò ne la battaglia, Poi che tu m' hai per traditore scorto: Io non son traditor, se Dio mi vaglia: Non mi vedrai più oggi se non morto. E in verso l'oste de' pagan si scaglia Dicendo sempre: Tu m' hai fatto torto. Orlando si pentea d'aver cio detto, Che disperato vide il giovinetto. 

 Per la battaglia cornea Baldovino, E riscontrò quel crudel Mazzarigi, E disse: Tu se' qui, can Saracino, Per distrugger la gente di Parigi? O marran rinnegato paterino, Tu sarai presto giù ne' bassi Stigi: E trasse con la spada in modo a questo, Che lo mandò dov' egli disse presto. 

Orlando meets again with Baldwin, who has kept his word. 

 Orlando corse a le grida e 'l romore, E trovò Baldovino il poveretto Ch' era gia presso a l'ultime sue ore, E da due lance avea passato il petto; E disse. Or non son io più traditore-- E cadde in terra morto così detto: De la qual cosa duolsi Orlando forte, E pianse esser cagion de la sua morte. 

[Footnote 1: Sì, the Italian _yes_. A similar territorial designation isfamiliar to the reader in the word "Languedoc, " meaning _langue d'oc_, or tongue of Oc, which was the pronunciation of the _oui_ or _yes_ ofthe French in that quarter. ]

[Footnote 2: Alluding to the cruel stories in the mythology of Boeotia. ]

[Footnote 3: The controversial character of Dante's genius, and thediscordant estimate formed of it in so many respects by differentwriters, have already carried the author of this book so far beyond hisintended limits, that he is obliged to refer for evidence in the casesof Ugolino and Francesca to Balbo, _Vita di Dante_ (Napoli, 1840), p. 33; and to Troya, _Del Vettro Allegorico di Dante_ (Firenze, _1826), pp. 28, 32, and 176. ]

END OF VOL. I.