Book X. On the homeward journey Venus, wishing to reward the brave

Lusitanians for all their pains and indemnify them for their past

hardships, leads them to her "Isle of Joy." Here she and her nymphs

entertain them in the most acceptable mythological style, and a siren

foretells in song all that will befall their native country between

Vasco da Gama's journey and Camoëns' time. Venus herself guides the

navigator to the top of a hill, whence she vouchsafes him a panoramic

view of all the kingdoms of the earth and of the spheres which compose

the universe.

In this canto we also have a synopsis of the life of St. Thomas, the

Apostle of India, and see the Portuguese sail happily off with the

beauteous brides they have won in Venus' Isle of Joy. The return home

is safely effected, and our bold sailors are welcomed in Lisbon with

delirious joy, for their journey has crowned Portugal with glory. The

poem concludes, as it began, with an apostrophe from the poet to the

king.

The Lusiad is so smoothly written, so harmonious, and so full of

similes that ever since Camoëns' day it has served as a model for

Portuguese poetry and is even yet an accepted and highly prized

classic in Portuguese Literature.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 14: See the author's "Story of the Thirteen Colonies."]

[Footnote 15: All the quotations in this chapter are from Mickle's

translation of the "Lusiad."]

ITALIAN EPICS

The fact that Latin remained so long the chief literary language of

Europe prevented an early development of literature in the Italian

language. Not only were all the popular European epics and romances

current in Italy in Latin, but many of them were also known in

Provençal in the northern part of the peninsula. It was, therefore,

chiefly imitations of the Provençal bards' work which first appeared

in Italian, in the thirteenth century, one of the best poets of that

time being the Sordello with whom Dante converses in Purgatory.

Stories relating to the Charlemagne cycle found particular favor in

Northern Italy, and especially at Venice. In consequence there were

many Italian versions of these old epics, as well as of the

allegorical Roman de la Rose.

It was at the court of Frederick II, in Sicily, that the first real

school of Italian poetry developed, and from there the custom of

composing exclusively in the vernacular spread over the remainder of

the country. These early poets chose love as their main topic, and

closely imitated the Provençal style. Then the "dolce stil nuovo," or

sweet new style, was introduced by Guinicelli, who is rightly

considered the first true Italian poet of any note. The earliest

Italian epic, the "Buovo d'Antona," and an adaptation of Reynard the

Fox, were current in the first half of the thirteenth century at

Venice and elsewhere. In the second half appeared prose romances, such

as tales about Arthur and his knights, the journey of Marco Polo, and

new renderings of the old story of Troy.

Professional story-tellers now began to wander from place to place in

Northern and Central Italy, entertaining auditors of all classes and

ages with stories derived from every attainable source. But the first

great epic poet in Italy was Dante (1265-1321), whose Divina Commedia,

begun in 1300, is treated separately in this volume. Although

Petrarch was prouder of his Latin than of his Italian verses, he too

greatly perfected Italian poetry, thus enabling his personal friend

Boccaccio to handle the language with lasting success in the tales

which compose his Decameron. These are the Italian equivalents of the

Canterbury Tales, and in several cases both writers have used the same

themes.

By the fifteenth century, and almost simultaneously with the

introduction of printing, came the Renaissance, when a number of old

epics were reworked. Roland--or, as he is known in Italy, Orlando--is

the stock-hero of this new school of poets, several of whom undertook

to relate his love adventures. Hence we have "Orlando Innamorato," by

Boiardo and Berni, as well as "Morgante Maggiore" by Pulci, where

Roland also figures. In style and tone these works are charming, but

the length of the poems and the involved adventures of their numerous

characters prove very wearisome to modern readers. Next to Dante, as a

poet, the Italians rank Ariosto, whose "Orlando Furioso," or Roland

Insane, is a continuation of Boiardo's "Orlando Innamorato." Drawing

much of his material from the French romances of the Middle Ages,

Ariosto breathes new life into the old subject and graces his tale

with a most charming style. His subject was parodied by Folengo in his

"Orlandino" when Roland began to pall upon the Italian public.

The next epic of note in Italian literature is Torquato Tasso's

"Gerusalemme Liberata," composed in the second half of the sixteenth

century, and still immensely popular owing to its exquisite style.

Besides this poem, of which Godfrey of Bouillon is the hero and which

is _par excellence_ the epic of the crusades, Tasso composed epics on

"Rinaldo," on "Gerusalemme Conquistata," and "Sette Giornate del Mundo

Creato."

Some of Ariosto's contemporaries also attempted the epic style,

including Trissino, who in his "Italia Liberata" relates the victories

of Belisarius over the Goths in blank verse. His fame, however, rests

on "Sofonisba," the first Italian tragedy, in fact "the first regular

tragedy in all modern literature."

Although no epics of great note were written thereafter, Alamanni

composed "Girone il Cortese" and the "Avarchide," which are

intolerably long and wearisome.

"The poet who set the fashion of fantastic ingenuity" was Marinus,

whose epic "Adone," in twenty cantos, dilates on the tale of Venus and

Adonis. He also wrote "Gerusalemme Distrutta" and "La Strage degl'

Innocenti," and his poetry is said to have much of the charm of

Spenser's.

The last Italian poet to produce a long epic poem was Fortiguerra,

whose "Ricciardetto" has many merits, although we are told the poet

wagered to complete it in as many days as it has cantos, and won his

bet.

The greatest of the Italian prose epics is Manzoni's novel "I Promessi

Sposi," which appeared in 1830. Since then Italian poets have not

written in the epic vein, save to give their contemporaries excellent

metrical translations of Milton's Paradise Lost, of the Iliad, the

Odyssey, the Argonautica, the Lusiad, etc.

DIVINE COMEDY

THE INFERNO

_Introduction._ In the Middle Ages it was popularly believed that

Lucifer, falling from heaven, punched a deep hole in the earth,

stopping only when he reached its centre. This funnel-shaped hole,

directly under Jerusalem, is divided by Dante into nine independent

circular ledges, communicating only by means of occasional rocky

stairways or bridges. In each of these nine circles are punished

sinners of a certain kind.

_Canto I._ In 1300, when thirty-five years of age, Dante claims to

have strayed from the straight path in the "journey of life," only to

encounter experiences bitter as death, which he relates in allegorical

form to serve as warning to other sinners. Rousing from a stupor not

unlike sleep, the poet finds himself in a strange forest at the foot

of a sun-kissed mountain. On trying to climb it, he is turned aside

by a spotted panther, an emblem of luxury or pleasure (Florence), a

fierce lion, personifying ambition or anger (France), and a ravening

wolf, the emblem of avarice (Rome). Fleeing in terror from these

monsters, Dante beseeches aid from the only fellow-creature he sees,

only to learn he is Virgil, the poet and master from whom he learned

"that style which for its beauty into fame exalts me."

Then Virgil reveals he has been sent to save Dante from the ravening

wolf (which also personifies the papal or Guelf party), only to guide

him through the horrors of the Inferno, and the sufferings of

Purgatory, up to Paradise, where a "worthier" spirit will attend him.

_Canto II._ The length of the journey proposed daunts Dante, until

Virgil reminds him that cowardice has often made men relinquish

honorable enterprises, and encourages him by stating that Beatrice,

moved by love, forsook her place in heaven to bid him serve as Dante's

guide. He adds that when he wondered how she could leave, even for a

moment, the heavenly abode, she explained that the Virgin Mary sent

Lucia, to bid her rescue the man who had loved her ever since she was

a child. Like a flower revived after a chilly night by the warmth of

the sun, Dante, invigorated by these words, intimates his readiness to

follow Virgil.

_Canto III._ The two travellers, passing through a wood, reach a gate,

above which Dante perceives this inscription:

"Through me you pass into the city of woe:

Through me you pass into eternal pain:

Through me among the people lost for aye.

Justice the founder of my fabric moved:

To rear me was the task of power divine,

Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.

Before me things create were none, save things

Eternal, and eternal I endure.

All hope abandon, ye who enter here."[16]

Unable to grasp its meaning, Dante begs Virgil to interpret, and

learns they are about to descend into Hades. Having visited this place

before, Virgil boldly leads Dante through this portal into an

ante-hell region, where sighs, lamentations, and groans pulse through

the starless air. Shuddering with horror, Dante inquires what it all

means, only to be told that the souls "who lived without praise or

blame," as well as the angels who remained neutral during the war in

heaven, are confined in this place, since Paradise, Purgatory, and

Inferno equally refuse to harbor them and death never visits them.

While he is speaking, a long train of these unfortunate spirits, stung

by gadflies, sweeps past them, and in their ranks Dante recognizes the

shade of Pope Celestine V, who, "through cowardice made the grand

renunciation,"--i.e., abdicated his office at the end of five months,

simply because he lacked courage to face the task intrusted to him.

Passing through these spirits with downcast eyes, Dante reaches

Acheron,--the river of death,--where he sees, steering toward them,

the ferry-man Charon, whose eyes are like fiery wheels and who marvels

at beholding a living man among the shades. When Charon grimly orders

Dante back to earth, Virgil silences him with the brief statement: "so

'tis will'd where will and power are one." So, without further

objection, Charon allows them to enter his skiff and hurries the rest

of his freight aboard, beating the laggards with the flat of his oar.

Because Dante wonders at such ill-treatment, Virgil explains that good

souls are never forced to cross this stream, and that the present

passengers have richly deserved their punishment. Just then an

earthquake shakes the whole region, and Dante swoons in terror.

_Canto IV._ When he recovers his senses, Dante finds himself no longer

in Charon's bark, but on the brink of a huge circular pit, whence arise,

like emanations, moans and wails, but wherein, owing to the dense gloom,

he can descry nothing. Warning him they are about to descend into the

"blind world," and that his sorrowful expression--which Dante ascribes

to fear--is caused by pity, Virgil conducts his disciple into the first

circle of hell. Instead of lamentations, only sighs are heard, while

Virgil explains that this semi-dark limbo is reserved for unbaptized

children, and for those who, having lived before Christ, must "live

desiring without hope." Full of compassion for these sufferers, Dante

inquires whether no one from above ever visited them, and is told that

One, bearing trophies of victory, once arrived there to ransom the

patriarchs Adam, Abel, Noah, and others, but that until then none had

ever been saved.

Talking busily, the two wend their way through a forest of sighing

spirits, until they approach a fire, around which dignified shades

have gathered. Informing Dante these are men of honored reputations,

Virgil points out among them four mighty figures coming to meet them,

and whispers they are Homer, Horace, Ovid, and Lucan. After conversing

for a while with Virgil, these bards graciously welcome Dante as sixth

in their poetic galaxy. Talking of things which cannot be mentioned

save in such exalted company, Dante walks on with them until he nears

a castle girdled with sevenfold ramparts and moat. Through seven

consecutive portals the six poets pass on to a meadow, where Dante

beholds all the creations of their brains, and meets Hector, Aeneas,

Camilla, and Lucretia, as well as the philosophers, historians, and

mathematicians who from time to time have appeared upon our globe.

Although Dante would fain have lingered here, his guide leads him on,

and, as their four companions vanish, they two enter a place "where no

light shines."

_Canto V._ Stepping down from this circle to a lower one, Dante and

Virgil reach the second circle of the Inferno, where all who lived

unchaste lives are duly punished. Smaller in circumference than the

preceding circle,--for Dante's hell is shaped like a graduated

funnel,--this place is guarded by the judge Minos, who examines all

newly arrived souls, and consigns them to their appointed circles by

an equal number of convolutions in his tail.

For when before him comes the ill-fated soul,

It all confesses; and that judge severe

Of sins, considering what place in hell

Suits the transgression, with his tail so oft

Himself encircles, as degrees beneath

He dooms it to descend.

On beholding Dante, Minos speaks threateningly, but, when Virgil again

explains they have been sent hither by a higher power, Minos too

allows them to pass. Increasing sounds of woe now strike Dante's ear,

until presently they attain the intensity of a deafening roar. Next he

perceives that the whirlwind, sweeping violently round this abyss,

holds in its grasp innumerable spirits which are allowed no rest. Like

birds in a tempest they swirl past Dante, to whom Virgil hastily

points out Semiramis, Dido, Cleopatra, Helen, Achilles, Paris, and

Tristan, together with many others.

Obtaining permission to address two shades floating toward him, Dante

learns that the man is the Paolo who fell in love with his

sister-in-law, Francesca da Rimini. Asked how she happened to fall,

the female spirit, moaning there is no greater woe than to recall

happy times in the midst of misery, adds that while she and Paolo read

together the tale of Launcelot they suddenly realized they loved in

the same way, and thus fell into the very sin described in this work,

for "book and writer both were love's purveyors." Scarcely has she

confessed this when the wind, seizing Francesca and Paolo, again

sweeps them on, and Dante, hearing their pitiful moans, swoons from

compassion.

_Canto VI._ Recovering his senses, Dante finds Virgil has meantime

transferred him to the third circle, a region where chill rains ever

fall, accompanied by hail, sleet, and snow. Here all guilty of

gluttony are rent and torn by Cerberus, main ruler of this circle.

Flinging a huge fistful of dirt into the dog's gaping jaws to prevent

his snapping at them, Virgil leads Dante quickly past this

three-headed monster, to a place where they tread on the shades which

pave the muddy ground. One of these, sitting up, suddenly inquires of

Dante whether he does not recognize him, adding that he is the

notorious Florentine glutton Ciacco. Fancying this shade may possess

some insight into the future, Dante inquires what is to become of his

native city, and learns that one political party will drive out the

other, only to fall in its turn three years later. The glutton adds

that only two just men are left in Florence, and, when Dante asks what

has become of his friends, tells him he will doubtless meet them in

the various circles of Hades, should he continue his downward course.

Then the spirit begs that, on returning to the "pleasant world," Dante

will recall him to his friends' memory, and, closing his eyes, sinks

back among the other victims, all of whom are more or less blind.

Vouchsafing the information that this sinner will not rise again "ere

the last angel trumpet blow," Virgil leads Dante over the foul mixture

of shades and mud, explaining that, although the accursed can never

hope to attain perfection, they are not entirely debarred from

improvement.

_Canto VII._ Talking thus, the two travellers descend to the fourth

circle, ruled by Plutus, god of wealth, who allows them to proceed,

only after Virgil has informed him their journey is ordained, and is

to be pursued to the very spot where Michael confined Satan. The mere

mention of his master, the ex-archangel, causes Plutus to grovel; and

Dante and Virgil, proceeding on their journey, discover that the

fourth circle is occupied by all whom avarice mastered, as well as by

prodigals, who are here condemned to roll heavy rocks, because their

lives on earth were spent scuffling for money or because they failed

to make good use of their gold. Dante descries among the victims

tonsured polls, proving that monks themselves are not exempt from

these sins. Meanwhile Virgil expounds how the Creator decreed nations

should wield the mastery in turn, adding that these people are victims

of Fortune, whose proverbial fickleness he ably describes.

After passing a well, whose boiling waters overflow and form a stream,

they follow the latter's downward course to the marsh called Styx,

where hundreds of naked creatures wallow in the mire, madly clutching

and striking each other. Virgil explains that these are those "whom

anger overcame," and adds that the sullen are buried beneath the slimy

waters, where their presence is betrayed by bubbles caused by their

breath which continually rise to the surface. Edging around this

loathsome pool, the two poets finally arrive at the door of a tall

tower.

_Canto VIII._ From the lofty turret flash flaming signals, evidently

designed to summon some bark or ferry, since a vessel soon appears.

Once more Virgil has to silence a snarling boatman (Phlegyas) ere he

can enter his skiff, where he invites Dante to follow him. Then they

row across the mire, whence heads keep emerging from time to time. One

of the sufferers confined here suddenly asks Dante, "Who art thou that

earnest ere thine hour?" only to be hastily assured the poet does not

intend to stay. Just as Dante expresses the wish to know whom he is

addressing, he recognizes this sinner (Argenti) and turns from him in

loathing, an act which wins Virgil's approval. When Dante further

mutters he wishes this monster were stifled in the mud, Virgil

suddenly points to a squad of avenging spirits who, sweeping downward,

are about to fulfil this cruel wish, when the culprit rends himself to

pieces with his own teeth and plunges back into the Styx.

Sailing along, Virgil tries to prepare Dante for their arrival at the

city of Dis, whose minarets, colored by a fiery glow from within, now

shine in the distance. Steered into the moat surrounding this city,

the travellers slowly circle its iron walls, from which hosts of lost

souls lean clamoring, "Who is this that without death first felt goes

through the region of the dead?" When Virgil signals he will explain,

the demons disappear as if to admit them; but, when the travellers

reach the gates, they find them still tightly closed. Virgil then

explains that these very demons tried to oppose even Christ's entrance

to Hades, and adds that their power was broken on the first Easter

Day.

_Canto IX._ Quailing with terror, Dante hears Virgil admit that few

have undertaken to tread these paths, although they are familiar to

him, seeing that, guided by a witch (the Sibyl of Cumaea), he came

here with Aeneas. While Virgil is talking, the three Furies appear on

top of the tower, and, noting the intruders, clamor for Medusa to come

and turn them into stone! Bidding Dante avoid the Gorgon's petrifying

glance, Virgil further assures the safety of his charge by holding his

hands over Dante's eyes. While thus blinded, the author of the poem

hears waves splash against the shore, and, when Virgil's hands are

removed, perceives an angel walking dry-shod over the Styx. At a touch

from his hand, the gates of Dis open wide, and, without paying heed to

the poets, who have instinctively assumed the humblest attitude, their

divine rescuer recrosses the bog, leaving them free to enter into the

iron fortress. There they find countless sinners cased in red-hot

coffins sunk in burning marl. On questioning his guide, Dante learns

each open sepulchre contains an arch-heretic, or leader of some

religious sect, and that each tomb is heated to a degree corresponding

to the extent of the harm done by its occupant's teachings.

_Canto X._ Gingerly treading between burning tombs and fortress wall,

Virgil conducts Dante to an open sepulchre, where lies the Ghibelline

leader Farinata. Partly rising out of his glowing tomb, this warrior

informs Dante that the Guelfs--twice driven out of Florence--have

returned thither. At that moment another victim, peering over the edge

of his coffin, anxiously begs for news of his son Guido, thus proving

that, while these unfortunates know both past and future, the present

remains a mystery to them. Too amazed at first to speak, Dante

mentions Guido in the past tense, whereupon the unhappy father, rashly

inferring his son is dead, plunges back into his sepulchre with a

desperate cry. Not being able to correct his involuntary mistake and

thus comfort this sufferer, Dante begs Farinata to inform his

neighbor, as soon as possible, that his son is still alive. Then,

perplexed by all he has seen and heard, Dante passes thoughtfully on,

noting the victims punished in this place, until, seeing his dismay,

Virgil comforts him with the assurance that Beatrice will explain all

he wishes to know at the end of his journey.

_Canto XI._ The poets now approach a depression, whence arises a

stench so nauseating that they are compelled to take refuge behind a

stone tomb to avoid choking. While they pause there, Dante perceives

this sepulchre bears the name of Pope Anastasius, who has been led

astray. Tarrying there to become acclimated to the smell, Virgil

informs his companion they are about to pass through three gradations

of the seventh circle, where are punished the violent, or those who by

force worked injury to God, to themselves, or to their fellow-men.

_Canto XII._ His charge sufficiently prepared for what awaits him,

Virgil leads the way down a steep path to the next rim, where they are

confronted by the Minotaur, before whom Dante quails, but whom Virgil

defies by mentioning Theseus. Taking advantage of the moment when the

furious, bull-like monster charges at him with lowered head, Virgil

runs with Dante down a declivity, where the stones, unaccustomed to

the weight of mortal feet, slip and roll in ominous fashion. This

passage, Virgil declares, was less dangerous when he last descended

into Hades, for it has since been riven by the earthquake which shook

this region when Christ descended into hell.

Pointing to a boiling river of blood (Phlegethon) beneath them, Virgil

shows Dante sinners immersed in it at different depths, because while

on earth they offered violence to their neighbors. Although anxious to

escape from these bloody waters, the wicked are kept within their

appointed bounds by troops of centaurs, who, armed with bows and

arrows, continually patrol the banks. When these guards threateningly

challenge Virgil, he calmly rejoins he wishes to see their leader,

Chiron, and, while awaiting the arrival of this worthy, shows Dante

the monster who tried to kidnap Hercules' wife.

On drawing near them, Chiron is amazed to perceive one of the

intruders is alive, as is proved by the fact that he casts a shadow

and that stones roll beneath his tread! Noticing his amazement, Virgil

explains he has been sent here to guide his mortal companion through

the Inferno, and beseeches Chiron to detail a centaur to carry Dante

across the river of blood, since he cannot, spirit-like, tread air.

Selecting Nessus for this duty, Chiron bids him convey the poet safely

across the bloody stream, and, while performing this office, the

centaur explains that the victims more or less deeply immersed in

blood are tyrants who delighted in bloodshed, such as Alexander,

Dionysius, and others. Borne by Nessus and escorted by Virgil, Dante

reaches the other shore, and, taking leave of them, the centaur "alone

repass'd the ford."

_Canto XIII._ The travellers now enter a wild forest, which occupies

the second division of the seventh circle, where Virgil declares each

barren thorn-tree is inhabited by the soul of a suicide. In the gnarly

branches perch the Harpies, whose uncouth lamentations echo through

the air, and who greedily devour every leaf that sprouts. Appalled by

the sighs and wailings around him, Dante questions Virgil, who directs

him to break off a twig. No sooner has he done so than he sees blood

trickle from the break and hears a voice reproach him for his cruelty.

Thus Dante learns that the inmate of this tree was once private

secretary to Frederick II, and that, having fallen into unmerited

disgrace, he basely took refuge in suicide. This victim's words have

barely died away when the blast of a horn is heard, and two naked

forms are seen fleeing madly before a huntsman and a pack of mastiffs.

The latter, pouncing upon one victim, tears him to pieces, while Dante

shudders at this sight. Meantime Virgil explains that the culprit was

a young spendthrift, and that huntsman and hounds represent the

creditors whose pursuit he tried to escape by killing himself.

_Canto XIV._ Leaving this ghastly forest, Dante is led to the third

division of this circle, a region of burning sands, where hosts of

naked souls lie on the ground, blistered and scathed by the rain of

fire and vainly trying to lessen their pain by thrashing themselves

with their hands. One figure, the mightiest among them, alone seems

indifferent to the burning rain, and, when Dante inquires who this may

be, Virgil returns it is Capaneus (one of the seven kings who besieged

Thèbes[17]), who, in his indomitable pride, taunted Jupiter and was

slain by his thunder-bolt.

Treading warily to avoid the burning sands, Virgil and his disciple

cross a ruddy brook which flows straight down from Mount Ida in Crete,

where it rises at the foot of a statue whose face is turned toward

Rome. Virgil explains that the waters of this stream are formed by the

tears of the unhappy, which are plentiful enough to feed the four

mighty rivers of Hades! While following the banks of this torrent,

Dante questions why they have not yet encountered the other two rivers

which fall into the pit; and discovers that, although they have been

travelling in a circle, they have not by far completed one whole round

of the gigantic funnel, but have stepped down from one ledge to the

other after walking only a short distance around each circumference.

_Canto XV._ The high banks of the stream of tears protect our

travellers from the burning sands and the rain of fire, until they

encounter a procession of souls, each one of which stares fixedly at

them. One of these recognizes Dante, who in his turn is amazed to find

there his old school-master Ser Brunetto, whom he accompanies on his

way, after he learns he and his fellow-sufferers are not allowed to

stop, under penalty of lying a hundred years without fanning

themselves beneath the rain of fire. Walking by his former pupil's

side, Brunetto in his turn questions Dante and learns how and why he

has come down here, ere he predicts that in spite of persecutions the

poet will ultimately attain great fame.

_Canto XVI._ Reaching a spot where the stream they are following

suddenly thunders down into the eighth circle, Dante beholds three

spirits running toward him, whirling round one another "in one

restless wheel," while loudly exclaiming his garb denotes he is their

fellow countryman! Gazing into their fire-scarred faces, Dante learns

these are three powerful Guelfs; and when they crave tidings of their

native city, he tells them all that has recently occurred there.

Before vanishing these spirits piteously implore him to speak of them

to mortals on his return to earth, and leave Dante and Virgil to

follow the stream to the verge of the abyss. There Virgil loosens the

rope knotted around Dante's waist, and, casting one end of it down

into the abyss, intimates that what he is awaiting will soon appear. A

moment later a monster rises from the depths, climbing hand over hand

up the rope.

_Canto XVII._ This monster is Geryon, the personification of fraud,

and therefore a mixture of man, beast, and serpent. When he reaches

the upper ledge, Virgil bargains with him to carry them down, while

Dante converses with neighboring sorrowful souls, who are perched on

the top of the cliff and hide their faces in their hands. All these

spirits wear purses around their necks, because as usurers while on

earth they lived on ill-gotten gains. Not daring to keep his guide

waiting, Dante leaves these sinners, and hurries back just as Virgil

is taking his seat on the monster's back. Grasping the hand stretched

out to him, Dante then timorously mounts beside his guide.

"As one, who hath an ague fit so near,

His nails already are turn'd blue, and he

Quivers all o'er, if he but eye the shade;

Such was my cheer at hearing of his words.

But shame soon interposed her threat, who makes

The servant bold in presence of his lord.

I settled me upon those shoulders huge,

And would have said, but that the words to aid

My purpose came not, 'Look thou clasp me firm.'"

Then, bidding Dante hold fast so as not to fall, Virgil gives the

signal for departure. Wheeling slowly, Geryon flies downward,

moderating his speed so as not to unseat his passengers. Comparing

his sensations to those of Phaeton falling from the sun-chariot, or to

Icarus' horror when he dropped into the sea, Dante describes how, as

they circled down on the beast's back, he caught fleeting glimpses of

fiery pools and was almost deafened by the rising chorus of wails.

With a falcon-like swoop Geryon finally alights on the next level,

and, having deposited his passengers at the foot of a splintered rock,

darts away like an arrow from a taut bow-string.

_Canto XVIII._ The eighth circle, called Malebolge (Evil Pits), is

divided into ten gulfs, between which rocky arches form bridge-like

passages. This whole region is of stone and ice, and from the pit in

the centre continually rise horrid exhalations. Among the unfortunates

incessantly lashed by horned demons in the first gulf, Dante perceives

one who was a notorious pander on earth and who is justly suffering

the penalty of his crimes. Later on, watching a train of culprits

driven by other demons, Dante recognizes among them Jason, who secured

the Golden Fleece, thanks to Medea, but proved faithless toward her in

the end.

Crossing to the second division, Dante beholds sinners buried in dung,

in punishment for having led astray their fellow-creatures by

flattery. One of them,--whom the poet recognizes,--emerging from his

filthy bath, sadly confesses, "Me thus low down my flatteries have

sunk, wherewith I ne'er enough could glut my tongue." In this place

Dante also notes the harlot Thais, expiating her sins, with other

notorious seducers and flatterers.

_Canto XIX._ By means of another rocky bridge the travellers reach the

third gulf, where are punished all who have been guilty of simony.

These are sunk, head first, in a series of burning pits, whence emerge

only the red-hot soles of their convulsively agitated feet. Seeing a

ruddier flame hover over one pair of soles, Dante timidly inquires to

whom they belong, whereupon Virgil, carrying him down to this spot,

bids him seek his answer from the culprit himself. Peering down into

the stone-pit, Dante then timidly proffers his request, only to be

hotly reviled by Pope Nicholas III, who first mistakes his

interlocutor for Pope Boniface, and confesses he was brought to this

state by nepotism. But, when he predicts a worse pope will ultimately

follow him down into this region, Dante sternly rebukes him.

_Canto XX._ Virgil is so pleased with Dante's speech to Pope Nicholas

that, seizing him in his arms, he carries him swiftly over the bridge

which leads to the fourth division. Here Dante beholds a procession of

chanting criminals whose heads are turned to face their backs. This

sight proves so awful that Dante weeps, until Virgil bids him note the

different culprits. Among them is the witch Manto, to whom Mantua, his

native city, owes its name, and Dante soon learns that all these

culprits are the famous soothsayers, diviners, magicians, and witches

of the world, who thus are punished for having presumed to predict the

future.

_Canto XXI._ From the top of the next bridge they gaze into a dark

pit, where public peculators are plunged into boiling pitch, as Dante

discovers by the odor, which keenly reminds him of the shipyards at

Venice. Virgil there directs Dante's attention toward a demon, who

hurls a sinner headlong into the boiling tar, and, without watching to

see what becomes of him, departs in quest of some other victim. The

poet also perceives that, whenever a sinner's head emerges from the

pitchy waves, demons thrust him down again by means of long forks. To

prevent his charge falling a prey to these active evil spirits, Virgil

directs Dante to hide behind a pillar of the bridge and from thence

watch all that is going on.

While Dante lurks there, a demon, descrying him, is about to attack

him, but Virgil so vehemently proclaims they are here by Heaven's will

that the evil spirit drops his fork and becomes powerless to harm

them. Perceiving the effect he has produced, Virgil then summons Dante

from his hiding-place, and sternly orders the demon to guide them

safely through the ranks of his grimacing fellows, all of whom make

obscene gestures as they pass.

_Canto XXII._ Dante, having taken part in battles, is familiar with

military manoeuvres, but he declares he never behold such ably

marshalled troops as the demon hosts through which they pass. From

time to time he sees a devil emerge from the ranks to plunge sinners

back into the lake of pitch, or to spear one with his fork and, after

letting him squirm aloft for a while, hurl him back into the asphalt

lake. One of these victims, questioned by Virgil, acknowledges he once

held office in Navarre, but, rather than suffer at the hands of the

demon tormentors, this peculator voluntarily plunges back into the

pitch. Seeing this, the baffled demons fight each other, until two

actually fall into the lake, whence they are fished in sorry plight by

fellow-fiends.

_Canto XXIII._ By a passage-way so narrow they are obliged to proceed

single file, Dante and Virgil reach the next division, the author of

this poem continually gazing behind him for fear lest the demons

pursue him. His fears are only too justified, and Virgil, seeing his

peril, catches him up in his arms and runs with him to the next gulf,

knowing demons never pass beyond their beat.

"Never ran water with such hurrying pace

Adown the tube to turn a land-mill's wheel,

When nearest it approaches to the spokes,

As then along that edge my master ran,

Carrying me in his bosom, as a child,

Not a companion."

In the sixth division where they now arrive, they behold a procession

of victims, weighed down by gilded leaden cowls, creeping along so

slowly that Dante and Virgil pass all along their line although they

are not walking fast. Hearing one of these bowed figures address him,

Dante learns that, because he and his companions were hypocrites on

earth, they are doomed to travel constantly around this circle of the

Inferno, fainting beneath heavy loads.

A moment later Dante notices that the narrow path ahead of them is

blocked by a writhing figure pinned to the ground by three stakes.

This is Caiaphas, who insisted it was fitting that one man suffer for

the people and who, having thus sentenced Christ to the cross, has to

endure the whole procession to tramp over his prostrate form. The

cowled figure with whom Dante is conversing informs him, besides, that

in other parts of the circle are Ananias and the other members of the

Sanhedrim who condemned Christ. Deeming Dante has now seen enough of

this region, Virgil inquires where they can find an exit from this

gulf, and is shown by a spirit a steep ascent.

_Canto XXIV._ So precipitous is this passage that Virgil half carries

his charge, and, panting hard, both scramble to a ledge overhanging

the seventh gulf of Malebolge, where innumerable serpents prey upon

naked robbers, whose hands are bound behind them by writhing snakes.

Beneath the constant bites of these reptiles, the robber-victims turn

to ashes, only to rise phoenix-like a moment later and undergo renewed

torments. Dante converses with one of these spirits, who, after

describing his own misdeeds, prophesies in regard to the future of

Florence.

_Canto XXV._ The blasphemous speeches and gestures of this speaker are

silenced by an onslaught of snakes, before whose attack he attempts to

flee, only to be overtaken and tortured by a serpent-ridden centaur,

whom Virgil designates as Cacus. Further on, the travellers behold

three culprits who are alternately men and writhing snakes, always,

however, revealing more of the reptile than of the human nature and

form.

"The other two

Look'd on, exclaiming, 'Ah! How dost thou change,

Agnello! See! thou art nor double now

Nor only one.' The two heads now became

One, and two figures blended in one form

Appear'd, where both were lost. Of the four lengths

Two arms were made: the belly and the chest,

The thighs and legs, into such members changed

As never eye hath seen."

_Canto XXVI._ From another bridge Dante gazes down into the eighth

gulf, where, in the midst of the flames, are those who gave evil

advice to their fellow-creatures. Here Dante recognizes Diomedes,

Ulysses, and sundry other heroes of the Iliad,--with whom his guide

speaks,--and learns that Ulysses, after his return to Ithaca, resumed

his explorations, ventured beyond the pillars of Hercules, and, while

sailing in the track of the sun, was drowned in sight of a high

mountain.

_Canto XXVII._ In the midst of another bed of flames, Dante next

discovers another culprit, to whom he gives the history of the

Romagna, and whose life-story he hears before following his leader

down to the ninth gulf of Malebolge.

_Canto XXVIII._ In this place Dante discovers the sowers of scandal,

schism, and heresy, who exhibit more wounds than all the Italian wars

occasioned. Watching them, Dante perceives that each victim is ripped

open by a demon's sword, but that his wounds heal so rapidly that

every time the spirit passes a demon again his torture is renewed.

Among these victims Dante recognizes Mahomet, who, wondering that a

living man should visit hell, points out Dante to his fellow-shades.

Passing by the travellers, sundry victims mention their names, and

Dante thus discovers among them the leaders of strife between sundry

Italian states, and shudders when Bertrand de Born, a fellow minstrel,

appears bearing his own head instead of a lantern, in punishment for

persuading the son of Henry II, of England, to rebel.

_Canto XXIX._ Gazing in a dazed way at the awful sights of this

circle, Dante learns it is twenty-one miles in circumference, ere he

passes on to the next bridge, where lamentations such as assail one's

ears in a hospital constantly arise. In the depths of the tenth pit,

into which he now peers, Dante distinguishes victims of all manners of

diseases, and learns these are the alchemists and forgers undergoing

the penalty of their sins. Among them Dante perceives a man who was

buried alive on earth for offering to teach mortals to fly! So

preposterous did such a claim appear to Minos--judge of the dead--that

he ruthlessly condemned its originator to undergo the punishment

awarded to magicians, alchemists, and other pretenders.

_Canto XXX._ Virgil now points out to Dante sundry impostors,

perpetrators of fraud, and false-coiners, among whom we note the woman

who falsely accused Joseph, and Sinon, who persuaded the Trojans to

convey the wooden horse into their city. Not content with the tortures

inflicted upon them, these criminals further increase each others'

sufferings by cruel taunts, and Dante, fascinated by what he sees,

lingers beside this pit, until Virgil cuttingly intimates "to hear

such wrangling is a joy for vulgar minds."

_Canto XXXI._ Touched by the remorseful shame which Dante now shows,

Virgil draws him on until they are almost deafened by a louder blast

than was uttered by Roland's horn at Roncevaux. Peering in the

direction of the sound, Dante descries what he takes for lofty towers,

until Virgil informs him that when they draw nearer still he will

discover they are giants standing in the lowest pit but looming far

above it in the mist. Ere long Dante stares in wonder at chained

giants seventy feet tall, whom Virgil designates as Nimrod, Ephialtes,

and Antaeus.

As with circling round

Of turrets, Montereggion crowns his walls;

E'en thus the shore, encompassing the abyss,

Was turreted with giants, half their length

Uprearing, horrible, whom Jove from heaven

Yet threatens, when his muttering thunder rolls.

Antaeus being unchained, Virgil persuades him to lift them both down

in the hollow of his hands to the next level, "where guilt is at its

depth." Although Dante's terror in the giant's grip is almost

overwhelming, he is relieved when his feet touch the ground once more,

and he watches with awe as the giant straightens up again like the

mast of a huge ship.

"Yet in the abyss,

That Lucifer with Judas low ingulfs,

Lightly he placed us; nor, there leaning, stay'd;

But rose, as in a barque the stately mast."

_Canto XXXII._ Confessing that it is no easy task to describe the

bottom of the universe which he has now reached, Dante relates how

perpendicular rocks reached up on all sides as far as he could see. He

is gazing upward in silent wonder, when Virgil suddenly cautions him

to beware lest he tread upon some unfortunate. Gazing down at his

feet, Dante then becomes aware that he is standing on a frozen lake,

wherein stick fast innumerable sinners, whose heads alone emerge,

eased in ice owing to the tears constantly flowing down their cheeks.

Seeing two so close together that their very hair seems to mingle,

Dante, on inquiring, learns they are two brothers who slew each other

in an inheritance quarrel, for this is Caina, the region where the

worst murderers are punished, and, like every other part of the

Inferno, it is crowded with figures.

"A thousand visages

Then mark'd, I, which the keen and eager cold

Had shaped into a doggish grin; whence creeps

A shivering horror o'er me, at the thought

Of those frore shallows."

It happens that, while following his guide over the ice, Dante's foot

strikes a projecting head. Permission being granted him to question

its owner, Dante, because he at first refuses to speak, threatens to

pull every hair out of his head, and actually gives him a few hard

tugs. Then the man admits he is a traitor and that there are many

others of his ilk in Antenora, the second division of the lowest

circle.

_Canto XXXIII._ Beholding another culprit greedily gnawing the head of

a companion, Dante learns that while on earth this culprit was Count

Ugolino de'Gherardeschi, whom his political opponents, headed by the

Archbishop Ruggiero, seized by treachery and locked up in the

Famine-tower at Pisa, with two sons and two grandsons. Ugolino

feelingly describes his horror when one morning he heard them nail up

the door of the prison, and realized he and his were doomed to starve!

Not a word did the prisoners exchange regarding their fate, although

all were aware of the suffering awaiting them. At the end of

twenty-four hours, beholding traces of hunger in the beloved faces of

his children, Ugolino gnawed his fists in pain. One of his grandsons,

interpreting this as a sign of unbearable hunger, then suggested that

he eat one of them, whereupon he realized how needful it was to

exercise self-control if he did not wish to increase the sufferings of

the rest. Ugolino then describes how they daily grew weaker, until his

grandsons died at the end of the fourth day, vainly begging him to

help them. Then his sons passed away, and, groping blindly among the

dead, he lingered on, until, famine becoming more potent than anything

else, he yielded to its demands. Having finished this grewsome tale,

Ugolino continued his feast upon the head of his foe!

"Thus having spoke,

Once more upon the wretched skull his teeth

He fasten'd like a mastiff's 'gainst the bone,

Firm and unyielding."

Dante, passing on, discovers many other victims encased in the ice,

and is so chilled by a glacial breeze that his face muscles stiffen.

He is about to ask Virgil whence this wind proceeds, when one of the

ice-encrusted victims implores him to remove its hard mask from his

face. Promising to do so in return for the man's story, Dante learns

he is a friar who, in order to rid himself of inconvenient kinsmen,

invited them all to dinner, where he suddenly uttered the fatal words

which served as a signal for hidden assassins to despatch them. When

Dante indignantly exclaims the perpetrator of this heinous deed is on

earth, the criminal admits that, although his shadow still lingers

above ground, his soul is down here in Ptolomea, undergoing the

penalty for his sins. Hearing this, Dante refuses to clear away the

ice, and excuses himself to his readers by stating "ill manners were

best courtesy to him." _Canto XXXIV._ Virgil now directs Dante's

glance ahead, until our poet dimly descries what looks like an immense

windmill. Placing Dante behind him to shield him a little from the

cruel blast, Virgil leads him past countless culprits, declaring they

have reached Judecca, a place where it behooves him to arm his heart

with strength. So stiff with cold that he is hovering between life and

death, Dante now beholds Dis or Satan,--Emperor of the Infernal

Regions,--sunk in ice down to his waist, and discovers that the wind

is caused by the constant flutter of his bat-like wings. He also

perceives that Satan is as much larger than the giants just seen, as

they surpass mankind, and states that, were the father of evil as fair

as he is foul, one might understand his daring to defy God.

"If he were beautiful

As he is hideous now, and yet did dare

To scowl upon his Maker, well from him

May all our misery flow."

Then Dante describes Satan's three heads, one red, one yellow and

white, and one green, declaring that the arch-fiend munches in each

mouth the sinners Judas, Cassius, and Brutus. After allowing Dante to

gaze a while at this appalling sight, Virgil informs his charge that,

having seen all, it behooves them to depart. With a brief order to

Dante to cling tightly around his neck, Virgil, seizing a moment when

Satan's wings are raised, darts beneath them, and clutching the

demon's shaggy sides painfully descends toward the centre of the

earth. Down, down they go until they reach the evil spirit's thighs,

where, the centre of earth's gravity being reached, Virgil suddenly

turns around and begins an upward climb with his burden. Although

Dante fully expects soon to behold Satan's head once more, he is

amazed to discover they are climbing up his leg. Then, through a

chimney-like ascent, where the climbing demands all their strength,

Dante and Virgil ascend toward the upper air.

Explaining they are about to emerge at the antipodes of the spot

where they entered Hades, where they will behold the great Western

Sea, Virgil adds they will find in its centre the Mount of Purgatory,

constructed of the earth displaced by Satan's fall. Thus, Dante and

his leader return to the bright world, and, issuing from the dark

passage in which they have been travelling, once more behold the

stars!

"By that hidden way

My guide and I did enter, to return

To the fair world: and heedless of repose

We climb'd, he first, I following his steps,

Till on our view the beautiful lights of heaven

Dawn'd through a circular opening in the cave:

Thence issuing we again beheld the stars."

PURGATORY

_Canto I._ About to sing of a region where human spirits are purged of

their sins and prepared to enter heaven, Dante invokes the aid of the

muses. Then, gazing about him, he discovers he is in an atmosphere of

sapphire hue, all the more lovely because of the contrast with the

infernal gloom whence he has just emerged. It is just before dawn, and

he beholds with awe four bright stars,--the Southern Cross,--which

symbolize the four cardinal virtues (Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, and

Temperance).

After contemplating these stars awhile, Dante, turning to the north to

get his bearings, perceives Virgil has been joined in this

ante-purgatorial region by Cato, who wonderingly inquires how they

escaped "the eternal prison-house."

Virgil's gesture and example have meantime forced Dante to his knees,

so it is in this position that the Latin poet explains how a lady in

heaven bade him rescue Dante--before it was too late--by guiding him

through hell and showing him how sinners are cleansed in Purgatory.

The latter part of Virgil's task can, however, be accomplished only if

Cato will allow them to enter the realm which he guards. Moved by so

eloquent a plea, Cato directs Virgil to wash all traces of tears and

of infernal mirk from Dante's face, girdle him with a reed in token

of humility, and then ascend the Mount of Purgatory,--formed of the

earthy core ejected from Hades,--which he points out in the middle of

a lake with reedy shores.

Leading his charge in the early dawn across a meadow, Virgil draws his

hands first through the dewy grass and then over Dante's face, and,

having thus removed all visible traces of the passage through Hades,

takes him down to the shore to girdle him with a pliant reed, the

emblem of humility.

_Canto II._ Against the whitening east they now behold a ghostly

vessel advancing toward them, and when it approaches near enough they

descry an angel standing at its prow, his outspread wings serving as

sails. While Dante again sinks upon his knees, he hears, faintly at

first, the passengers in the boat singing the psalm "When Israel went

out of Egypt."

Making a sign of the cross upon each passenger's brow, the angel

allows his charges to land, and vanishes at sunrise, just as the

new-comers, turning to Virgil, humbly inquire the way to the mountain.

Virgil rejoins that he too is a recent arrival, although he and his

companion travelled a far harder road than theirs. His words making

them aware of the fact that Dante is a living man, the spirits crowd

around him, eager to touch him. Among them he recognizes the musician

Casella, his friend. Unable to embrace a spirit,--although he tries to

do so,--Dante, after explaining his own presence here, begs Casella to

comfort all present by singing of love. Just as this strain ends, Cato

reappears, urging them to hasten to the mountain and there cast aside

the scales which conceal God from their eyes. At these words all the

souls present scatter like a covey of pigeons, and begin ascending the

mountain, whither Virgil and Dante slowly follow them.

"As a wild flock of pigeons, to their food

Collected, blade or tares, without their pride

Accustom'd, and in still and quiet sort,

If aught alarm them, suddenly desert

Their meal, assail'd by more important care;

So I that new-come troop beheld, the song

Deserting, hasten to the mountain's side,

As one who goes, yet, where he tends, knows not."

_Canto III._ While painfully ascending the steep slope, Dante, seeing

only his own shadow lengthening out before him, fears his guide has

abandoned him, and is relieved to see Virgil close behind him and to

hear him explain that disembodied spirits cast no shadow. While they

are talking, they reach the foot of the mountain and are daunted by

its steep and rocky sides. They are vainly searching for some crevice

whereby they may hope to ascend, when they behold a slowly advancing

procession of white-robed figures, from whom Virgil humbly inquires

the way.

"As sheep, that step from forth their fold, by one,

Or pairs, or three at once; meanwhile the rest

Stand fearfully, bending the eye and nose

To ground, and what the foremost does, that do

The others, gathering round her if she stops,

Simple and quiet, nor the cause discern;

So saw I moving to advance the first,

Who of the fortunate crew were at the head,

Of modest mien, and graceful in their gait.

When they before me had beheld the light

From my right side fall broken on the ground,

So that the shadow reach'd the cave; they stopp'd,

And somewhat back retired: the same did all

Who follow'd, though unwitting of the cause."

These spirits too are startled at the sight of a living being, but,

when Virgil assures them Dante is not here without warrant, they

obligingly point out "the straight and narrow way" which serves as

entrance to Purgatory. This done, one spirit, detaching itself from

the rest, inquires whether Dante does not remember Manfred, King of

Naples and Sicily, and whether he will not, on his return to earth,

inform the princess that her father repented of his sins at the moment

of death and now bespeaks her prayers to shorten his time of

probation.

_Canto IV._ Dazed by what he has just seen and heard, Dante becomes

conscious of his surroundings once more, only when the sun stands

considerably higher, and when he has arrived at the foot of a rocky

pathway, up which he painfully follows Virgil, helping himself with

his hands as well as his feet. Arrived at its top, both gaze

wonderingly around them, and perceive by the position of the sun that

they must be at the antipodes of Florence, where their journey began.

Panting with the exertions he has just made, Dante expresses some fear

lest his strength may fail him, whereupon Virgil kindly assures him

the way, so arduous at first, will become easier and easier the higher

they ascend.

Just then a voice, addressing them, advises them to rest, and Dante,

turning, perceives, among other spirits, a sitting figure, in whom he

recognizes a friend noted for his laziness. On questioning this

spirit, Dante learns that this friend, Belacqua, instead of exerting

himself to climb the mount of Purgatory, is idly waiting in hopes of

being wafted upward by the prayers of some "heart which lives in

grace." Such slothfulness irritates Virgil, who hurries Dante on,

warning him the sun has already reached its meridian and night will

all too soon overtake them.

_Canto V._ Heedless of the whispered comments behind him because he is

opaque and not transparent like the other spirits, Dante follows

Virgil, until they overtake a band of spirits chanting the Miserere.

These too seem surprised at Dante's density, and, when assured he is

alive, eagerly inquire whether he can give them any tidings of friends

and families left on earth. Although all present are sinners who died

violent deaths, as they repented at the last minute they are not

wholly excluded from hope of bliss. Unable to recognize any of these,

Dante nevertheless listens to their descriptions of their violent

ends, and promises to enlighten their friends and kinsmen in regard to

their fate.

_Canto VI._ Because Virgil moves on, Dante feels constrained to

follow, although the spirits continue to pluck at his mantle,

imploring him to hear what they have to say. Touched by the sorrows of

men of his own time or famous in history, Dante wistfully asks his

guide whether prayers can ever change Heaven's decrees, and learns

that true love can work miracles, as he will perceive when he beholds

Beatrice. The hope of meeting his beloved face to face causes Dante to

urge his guide to greater speed and almost gives wings to his feet.

Presently Virgil directs his companion's attention to a spirit

standing apart, in whom Dante recognizes the poet Sordello, who mourns

because Mantua--his native city as well as Virgil's--drifts in these

political upheavals like a pilotless vessel in the midst of a storm.

_Canto VII._ Virgil now informs Sordello that he, Virgil, is debarred

from all hope of heaven through lack of faith. Thereupon Sordello

reverently approaches him, calling him "Glory of Latium," and

inquiring whence he comes. Virgil explains how, led by heavenly

influence, he left the dim limbo of ante-hell, passed through all the

stages of the Inferno, and is now seeking the place "Where Purgatory

its true beginning takes." Sordello rejoins that, while he will gladly

serve as guide, the day is already so far gone that they had better

spend the night in a neighboring dell. He then leads Virgil and Dante

to a hollow, where, resting upon fragrant flowers, they prepare to

spend the night, with a company of spirits who chant "Salve Regina."

Among these the new-comers recognize with surprise sundry renowned

monarchs, whose doings are briefly described.

_Canto VIII._ Meantime the hour of rest has come, the hour described

by the poet as--

Now was the hour that wakens fond desire

In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart

Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell,

And pilgrim newly on his road with love

Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far

That seems to mourn for the expiring day.

Dante and Virgil then witness the evening devotions of these spirits,

which conclude with a hymn so soft, so devout, that their senses are

lost in ravishment. When it has ended, the spirits all gaze

expectantly upward, and soon behold two green-clad angels, with

flaming swords, who alight on eminences at either end of the glade.

These heavenly warriors are sent by Mary to mount guard during the

hours of darkness so as to prevent the serpent from gliding unseen

into their miniature Eden. Still led by Sordello, the poets withdraw

to a leafy recess, where Dante discovers a friend whom he had cause to

believe detained in hell. This spirit explains he is not indeed

languishing there simply because of the prayers of his daughter

Giovanna, who has not forgotten him although his wife has married

again.

Dante is just gazing with admiration at three stars (symbols of Faith,

Hope, and Charity), when Sordello suddenly points out the serpent, who

is no sooner descried by the angels than they swoop down and put him

to flight.

"I saw not, nor can tell,

How those celestial falcons from their seat

Moved, but in motion each one well descried.

Hearing the air cut by their verdant plumes,

The serpent fled; and, to their stations, back

The angels up return'd with equal flight."

_Canto IX._ Dante falls asleep in this valley, but, just as the first

gleams of light appear, he is favored by a vision, wherein--like

Ganymede--he is borne by a golden-feathered eagle into a glowing fire

where both are consumed. Wakening with a start from this disquieting

dream, Dante finds himself in a different spot, with no companion save

Virgil, and notes the sun is at least two hours high.

Virgil now assures him that, thanks to Santa Lucia (type of God's

grace), he has in sleep been conveyed to the very entrance of

Purgatory. Gazing at the high cliffs which encircle the mountain,

Dante now perceives a deep cleft, through which he and Virgil arrive

at a vast portal (the gate of penitence), to which three huge steps of

varying color and size afford access. At the top of these steps, on a

diamond threshold, sits the Angel of Absolution with his flashing

sword. Challenged by this warder, Virgil explains that they have been

guided hither by Santa Lucia, at whose name the angel bids them draw

near. Up a polished step of white marble (which typifies sincerity), a

dark step of cracked stone (symbol of contrition), and one of red

porphyry (emblem of self-sacrifice), Dante arrives at the angel's feet

and humbly begs him to unbar the door. In reply the angel inscribes

upon the poet's brow, by means of his sword, seven _P's_, to represent

the seven deadly sins (in Italian _peccata_), of which mortals must be

purged ere they can enter Paradise.

After bidding Dante have these signs properly effaced, the angel draws

from beneath his ash-hued mantle the golden key of authority and the

silver key of discernment, stating that when St. Peter entrusted them

to his keeping he bade him err "rather in opening than in keeping

fast." Then, the gate open, the angel bids them enter, adding the

solemn warning "he forth again departs who looks behind."

_Canto X._ Mindful of this caution, Dante does not turn, although the

gates close with a clash behind him, but follows his guide along a

steep pathway. It is only after painful exertions they reach the first

terrace of Purgatory, or place where the sin of pride is punished.

They now pass along a white marble cornice,--some eighteen feet

wide,--whose walls are decorated with sculptures which would not have

shamed the best masters of Greek art. Here are represented such

subjects as the Annunciation, David dancing before the Ark, and Trajan

granting the petition of the unfortunate widow. Proceeding along this

path, they soon see a procession of spirits approaching, all bent

almost double beneath huge burdens. As they creep along, one or

another gasps from time to time, "I can endure no more."

_Canto XI._ The oppressed spirits fervently pray for aid and

forgiveness, while continuing their weary tramp around this cornice,

where they do penance for undue pride. Praying they may soon be

delivered, Virgil inquires of them where he can find means to

ascend to the next circle, and is told to accompany the procession

which will soon pass the place. The speaker, although unable to raise

his head, confesses his arrogance while on earth so incensed his

fellow-creatures that they finally rose up against him and murdered

him. Stooping so as to catch a glimpse of the bent face, Dante

realizes he is talking to a miniature painter who claimed to be

without equal, and therefore has to do penance.

The noise

Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind,

That blows from diverse points, and shifts its name,

Shifting the point it blows from.

_Canto XII._ Journeying beside the bowed painter (who names some of

his fellow-sufferers), Dante's attention is directed by Virgil to the

pavement beneath his feet, where he sees carved Briareus, Nimrod,

Niobe, Arachne, Saul, etc.,--in short, all those who dared measure

themselves with the gods or who cherished overweening opinions of

their attainments. So absorbed is Dante in contemplation of these

subjects that he starts when told an angel is coming to meet them,

who, if entreated with sufficient humility, will doubtless help them

reach the next level.

The radiant-faced angel, robed in dazzling white, instead of waiting

to be implored to help the travellers, graciously points out steps

where the rocks are sundered by a cleft, and, when Dante obediently

climbs past him, a soft touch from his wings brushes away the P. which

stands for pride, and thus frees our poet of all trace of this heinous

sin. But it is only on reaching the top of the stairway that Dante

becomes aware of this fact.

_Canto XIII._ The second ledge of purgatory, which they have now

reached, is faced with plain gray stone, and Virgil leads his

companion a full mile along it ere they become aware of a flight of

invisible spirits, some of whom chant "They have no wine!" while the

others respond "Love ye those who have wrong'd you." These are those

who, having sinned through envy, can be freed only by the exercise of

charity. Then, bidding Dante gaze fixedly, Virgil points out this

shadowy host, clothed in sackcloth, sitting back against the rocks,

and Dante takes particular note of two figures supporting each other.

He next discovers that one and all of these victims have their eyelids

sewn so tightly together with wire that passage is left only for

streams of penitential tears.

When allowed to address them, Dante, hoping to comfort them, offers to

bear back to earth any message they wish to send. It is then that one

of these spirits informs Dante that on earth she was Sapia, a learned

Siennese, who, having rejoiced when her country was defeated, is

obliged to do penance for heartlessness. Marvelling that any one

should wander among them with eyes unclosed, she inquires by what

means Dante has come here, bespeaks his prayers, and implores him to

warn her countrymen not to cherish vain hopes of greatness or to sin

through envy.

_Canto XIV._ The two spirits leaning close together, in their turn

question who Virgil and Dante may be? When they hear mention of Rome

and Florence, they hotly inveigh against the degeneracy of dwellers on

the banks of the Tiber and Arno.

Shortly after leaving this place with his guide, Dante hears the wail:

"Whosoever finds will slay me," a cry followed by a deafening crash.

_Canto XV._ Circling round the mountain, always in the same direction,

Dante notes the sun is about to set, when another dazzling angel

invites them up to the next level,--where anger is punished,--by means

of a stairway less steep than any of the preceding. As they climb, the

angel softly chants "Blessed the merciful" and "Happy thou that

conquer'st," while he brushes aside the second _P ._, and thus

cleanses Dante from envy. But, when Dante craves an explanation of

what he has heard and seen, Virgil assures him that only when the five

remaining "scars" have vanished from his brow, Beatrice herself can

satisfy his curiosity.

On reaching the third level, they find themselves enveloped in a dense

fog, through which Dante dimly beholds the twelve-year-old Christ in

the Temple and overhears his mother chiding him. Next he sees a woman

weeping, and lastly Stephen stoned to death.

_Canto XVI._ Urged by his guide to hasten through this bitter blinding

fog--a symbol of anger which is punished here--Dante stumbles along,

mindful of Virgil's caution, "Look that from me thou part not."

Meanwhile voices on all sides invoke "the Lamb of God that taketh away

the sins of the world." Then, all at once, a voice addresses Dante,

who, prompted by Virgil, inquires where the next stairway may be? His

interlocutor, after bespeaking Dante's prayers, holds forth against

Rome, which, boasting of two suns,--the pope and the emperor,--has

seen the one quench the other. But the arrival of an angel, sent to

guide our travellers to the next level, soon ends this conversation.

_Canto XVII._ Out of the vapors of anger--as dense as any Alpine

fog--Dante, who has caught glimpses of famous victims of anger, such

as Haman and Lavinia, emerges with Virgil, only to be dazzled by the

glorious light of the sun. Then, climbing the ladder the angel points

out, Dante feels him brush away the third obnoxious P., while

chanting, "Blessed are the peacemakers." They now reach the fourth

ledge, where the sin of indifference or sloth is punished, and, as

they trudge along it, Virgil explains that all indifference is due to

a lack of love, a virtue on which he eloquently discourses.

_Canto XVIII._ A multitude of spirits now interrupt Virgil, and, when

he questions them, two, who lead the rest, volubly quote examples of

fervent affection and zealous haste. They are closely followed by

other spirits, the backsliders, who, not having had the strength or

patience to endure, preferred inglorious ease to adventurous life and

are now consumed with regret.

_Canto XIX._ In the midst of a trance which overtakes him, Dante next

has a vision of the Siren which beguiled Ulysses and of Philosophy or

Truth. Then, morning having dawned, Virgil leads him to the next

stairway, up which an angel wafts them, chanting "Blessed are they

that mourn, for they shall be comforted," while he brushes away

another sin scar from our poet's forehead.

In this fifth circle those guilty of avarice undergo punishment by

being chained fast to the earth to which they clung, and which they

bedew with penitent tears. One of these, questioned by Dante, reveals

he was Pope Adrian V., who, dying a month after his elevation to the

papal chair, repented in time of his grasping past. When Dante kneels

compassionately beside this august sufferer, he is implored to warn

the pope's kinswoman to eschew the besetting sin of their house.

_Canto XX._ A little further on, among the grovelling figures which

closely pave this fifth cornice, Dante beholds Hugues Capet, founder

of the third dynasty of French kings, and stigmatized as "root of that

ill plant," because this poem was composed only a few years after

Philip IV's criminal attempt against Pope Boniface at Agnani. The

poets also recognize there Pygmalion (brother of Dido), Midas, Achan,

Heliodorus, and Crassus, [18] ere they are startled by feeling the

whole mountain tremble beneath them and by hearing the spirits

exultantly cry "Glory to God!"

_Canto XXI._ Clinging to Virgil in speechless terror, Dante hears his

guide assure the spirit which suddenly appears before them that the

Fates have not yet finished spinning the thread of his companion's

life. When questioned by the travellers in regard to the noise and

earthquake, this spirit informs them that the mountain quivers with

joy whenever a sinner is released, and that, after undergoing a

punishment of five hundred years, he--Statius--is now free to go in

quest of his master Virgil, whom he has always longed to meet. Dante's

smile at these words, together with his meaning glance at Virgil,

suddenly reveal to the spirit that his dearest wish is granted, and

Statius reverently does obeisance to the poet from whose fount he

drew his inspiration.

_Canto XXII._ The three bards are next led by an angel up another

staircase, to the sixth cornice (Dante losing another _P._ on the

way), where the sins of gluttony and drunkenness are punished. As they

circle around this ledge, Dante questions how Statius became guilty of

the sin of covetousness, for which he was doomed to tramp around the

fifth circle. In reply Statius rejoins that it was not because of

covetousness, but of its counterpart, over-lavishness, that he

suffered so long, and principally because he was not brave enough to

own himself a Christian. Then he inquires of Virgil what have become

of their fellow-countrymen Terence, Caecilius, Plautus, and Varro,

only to learn that they too linger in the dark regions of ante-hell,

where they hold sweet converse with other pagan poets.

Reverently listening to the conversation of his companions, Dante

drinks in "mysterious lessons of sweet poesy" and silently follows

them until they draw near a tree laden with fruit and growing beside a

crystal stream. Issuing from this tree a voice warns them against the

sin of gluttony--which is punished in this circle--and quotes such

marked examples of abstinence as Daniel feeding on pulse and John the

Baptist living on locusts and wild honey.

_Canto XXIII._ Dante is still dumbly staring at the mysterious tree

when Virgil bids him follow, for they still have far to go. They next

meet weeping, hollow-eyed spirits, so emaciated that their bones start

through their skin. One of these recognizes Dante, who is aghast that

his friend Forese should be in such a state and escorted by two

skeleton spirits. Forese replies that he and his companions are

consumed by endless hunger and thirst, although they eat and drink

without ever being satisfied. When Dante expresses surprise because a

man only five years dead should already be so high up the mount of

Purgatory, Forese explains that his wife's constant prayers have

successively freed him from detention in the other circles. In return

Dante states why he is here and names his companions.

_Canto XXIV._ Escorting the three travellers on their way, Forese

inquires what has become of his sister, Piccarda, ere he points out

sundry spirits, with whom Dante converses, and who predict the coming

downfall of his political foes. But these spirits suddenly leave Dante

to dart toward trees, which tantalizingly withold their fruit from

their eager hands, while hidden voices loudly extol temperance.

_Canto XXV._ In single file the three poets continue their tramp,

commenting on what they have seen, and Statius expounds his theories

of life. Then they ascend to the seventh ledge, where glowing fires

purge mortals of all sensuality. Even as they toil toward this level,

an angel voice extols chastity, and Dante once more feels the light

touch which he now associates with the removal of one of the scars

made by the angel at the entrance of Purgatory. Arrived above, the

poets have to tread a narrow path between the roaring fires and the

abyss. So narrow is the way, that Virgil bids Dante beware or he will

be lost!

"Behoved us, one by one, along the side,

That border'd on the void, to pass; and I

Fear'd on one hand the fire, on the other fear'd

Headlong to fall: when thus the instructor warn'd:

'Strict rein must in this place direct the eyes.

A little swerving and the way is lost.'"

As all three warily proceed, Dante hears voices in the fiery furnace

alternately imploring the mercy of God and quoting examples of

chastity, such as Mary and Diana, and couples who proved chaste though

married.

_Canto XXVI._ As the poets move along the rim, Dante's shadow, cast

upon the roaring flames, causes such wonder to the victims undergoing

purification that one of them inquires who he may be. Just as Dante is

about to answer, his attention is attracted by hosts of shadows, who,

after exchanging hasty kisses, dash on, mentioning such famous

examples of dissoluteness as Pasiphae, and the men who caused the

destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Turning to his interlocutor, Dante

then explains how he came hither and expresses a hope he may soon be

received in bliss. The grateful spirit then gives his name, admits he

sang too freely of carnal love, and adds that Dante would surely

recognize many of his fellow-sufferers were he to point them out.

Then, bespeaking Dante's prayers, he plunges back into the fiery

element which is to make him fit for Paradise.

_Canto XXVII._ Just as the sun is about to set, an angel approaches

them, chanting "Blessed are the pure in heart," and bids them

fearlessly pass through the wall of fire which alone stands between

them and Paradise. Seeing Dante hang back timorously, Virgil reminds

him he will find Beatrice on the other side, whereupon our poet

plunges recklessly into the glowing furnace, where both his companions

precede him, and whence all three issue on an upward path. There they

make their couch on separate steps, and Dante gazes up at the stars

until he falls asleep and dreams of a lovely lady, culling flowers in

a meadow, singing she is Lea (the mediaeval type of active life), and

stating that her sister Rachel (the emblem of contemplative life)

spends the day gazing at herself in a mirror.

At dawn the pilgrims awake, and Virgil assures Dante before this day

ends his hunger for a sight of Beatrice will be appeased. This

prospect so lightens Dante's heart that he almost soars to the top of

the stairway. There Virgil, who has led him through temporal and

eternal fires, bids him follow his pleasure, until he meets the fair

lady who bade him undertake this journey.

"Till those bright eyes

With gladness come, which, weeping, made me haste

To succor thee, thou mayst or seat thee down

Or wander where thou wilt. Expect no more

Sanction of warning voice or sign from me,

Free of thine own arbitrament to choose.

Discreet, judicious. To distrust thy sense

Were henceforth error. I invest thee then

With crown and mitre, sovereign o'er thyself."

_Canto XXVIII._ Through the Garden of Eden Dante now strolls with

Statius and Virgil, until he beholds, on the other side of a pellucid

stream (whose waters have the "power to take away remembrance of

offence"), a beautiful lady (the countess Matilda), who smiles upon

him. Then she informs Dante she has come to "answer every doubt" he

cherishes, and, as they wander along on opposite sides of the stream,

she expounds for his benefit the creation of man, the fall and its

consequences, and informs him how all the plants that grow on earth

originate here. The water at his feet issues from an unquenchable

fountain, and divides into two streams, the first of which, Lethe,

"chases from the mind the memory of sin," while the waters of the

second, Eunoe, have the power to recall "good deeds to one's mind."

_Canto XXIX._ Suddenly the lady bids Dante pause, look, and hearken.

Then he sees a great light on the opposite shore, hears a wonderful

music, and soon beholds a procession of spirits, so bright that they

leave behind them a trail of rainbow-colored light. First among them

march the four and twenty elders of the Book of Revelations; they are

followed by four beasts (the Evangelists), and a gryphon, drawing a

chariot (the Christian Church or Papal chair), far grander than any

that ever graced imperial triumph at Rome. Personifications of the

three evangelical virtues (Charity, Faith, and Hope) and of the four

moral virtues (Prudence, etc.), together with St. Luke and St. Paul,

the four great Doctors of the Church, and the apostle St. John, serve

as body-guard for this chariot, which comes to a stop opposite Dante

with a noise like thunder.

_Canto XXX._ The wonderful light, our poet now perceives, emanates

from a seven-branched candlestick, and illuminates all the heavens

like an aurora borealis. Then, amid the chanting, and while angels

shower flowers down upon her, he beholds in the chariot a lady veiled

in white, in whom, although transfigured, he instinctively recognizes

Beatrice (a personification of Heavenly Wisdom). In his surprise

Dante impulsively turns toward Virgil, only to discover that he has

vanished!

Beatrice comforts him, however, by promising to be his guide

hereafter, and gently reproaches him for the past until he casts

shamefaced glances at his feet. There, in the stream (which serves as

nature's mirror), he catches a reflection of his utter loathsomeness,

and becomes so penitent, that Beatrice explains she purposely brought

him hither by the awful road he has travelled to induce him to lead a

changed life hereafter.

_Canto XXXI._ Beatrice then accuses him of yielding to the world's

deceitful pleasures after she left him, and explains how he should, on

the contrary, have striven to be virtuous so as to rejoin her. When

she finally forgives him and bids him gaze into her face once more, he

sees she surpasses her former self in loveliness as greatly as on

earth she outshone all other women. Dante is so overcome by a sense of

his utter unworthiness that he falls down unconscious, and on

recovering his senses finds himself in the stream, upheld by the hand

of a nymph (Matilda), who sweeps him along, "swift as a shuttle

bounding o'er the wave," while angels chant "Thou shalt wash me" and

"I shall be whiter than snow."

Freed from all haunting memories of past sins by Lethe's waters, Dante

finally lands on the "blessed shore." There Beatrice's hand-maidens

welcome him, and beseech her to complete her work by revealing her

inner beauty to this mortal, so he can portray it for mankind. But,

although Dante gazes at her in breathless admiration, words fail him

to render what he sees.

"O splendor!

O sacred light eternal! who is he,

So pale with musing in Pierian shades,

Or with that fount so lavishly imbued,

Whose spirit should not fail him in the essay

To represent thee such as thou didst seem,

When under cope of the still-chiming heaven

Thou gavest to open air thy charms reveal'd?"

_Canto XXXII._ Dante is still quenching a "ten-years thirst" by

staring at his beloved, when her attendants admonish him to desist.

But, although he obediently turns aside his eyes, like a man who has

gazed too long at the sun, he sees her image stamped on all he looks

at. He and Statius now humbly follow the glorious procession, which

enters a forest and circles gravely round a barren tree-trunk, to

which the chariot is tethered. Immediately the dry branches burst into

bud and leaf, and, soothed by angelic music, Dante falls asleep, only

to be favored by a vision so startling, that on awakening he eagerly

looks around for Beatrice. The nymph who bore him safely through the

waters then points her out, resting beneath the mystic tree, and

Beatrice, rousing too, bids Dante note the fate of her chariot. The

poet then sees an eagle (the Empire), swoop down from heaven, tear the

tree asunder, and attack the Chariot (the Church), into which a fox

(heresy) has sprung as if in quest of prey. Although the fox is soon

routed by Beatrice, the eagle makes its nest in the chariot, beneath

which arises a seven-headed monster (the seven capital sins), bearing

on its back a giant, who alternately caresses and chastises a whore.

_Canto XXXIII._ The seven Virtues having chanted a hymn, Beatrice

motions to Statius and Dante to follow her, asking the latter why he

is so mute? Rejoining she best knows what he needs, Dante receives

from her lips an explanation of what he has just seen, which he is

bidden reveal to mankind. Conversing thus, they reach the second

stream, of whose waters Beatrice bids her friend drink, and after that

renovating draught Dante realizes he has now been made pure and "apt

for mounting to the stars."

PARADISE

_Introduction._ The Paradise of Dante consists of nine crystalline

spheres of different sizes, the Moon, Mercury, Venus, the Sun, Mars,

Jupiter, Saturn, the Fixed Stars, and the Empyrean, enclosed one

within the other, and revolved by the Angels, Archangels, Princedoms,

Powers, Virtues, Dominations, Thrones, Cherubim, and Seraphim. Beyond

these orbs, whose whirling motions cause "the music of the spheres,"

lies a tenth circle, the real heaven (a Rose), where "peace divine

inhabits," and of which the Divine Essence or Trinity forms the very

core.

_Canto I._ Paradise opens with Dante's statement that in heaven he was

"witness of things, which to relate again, surpasseth the power of him

who comes from thence." He therefore invokes the help of Apollo to

describe that part of the universe upon which is lavished the greatest

share of light. Then, while gazing up into Beatrice's eyes, Dante,

freed from earth's trammels, suddenly feels himself soar upward, and

is transferred with indescribable swiftness into a totally different

medium.

_Canto II._ Perceiving his bewilderment, Beatrice reassures him in a

motherly strain, and, gazing around him, Dante realizes they have

entered the translucent circle of the moon (revolved by angels). After

warning his fellow-men "the way I pass ne'er yet was run," Dante goes

on to relate what Beatrice teaches him in regard to the heavenly

spheres and spiritual evolution, and how she promises to reveal to him

"the truth thou lovest."

_Canto III._ In the pearl-hued atmosphere of the moon, Dante beholds,

"as through a glass, darkly," shadowy, nun-like forms, and is told by

Beatrice to communicate with them. Addressing the form nearest him,

Dante learns she is Piccarda (sister of Forese), who was kidnapped by

her husband after she had taken the veil. Although she would fain have

kept her religious vows, Piccarda proved a faithful wife, and declares

she and her fellow-spirits are content to remain in their appointed

sphere until called higher by the Almighty.

"She with those other spirits gently smiled;

Then answer'd with such gladness, that she seem'd

With love's first flame to glow: 'Brother! our will

Is, in composure, settled by the power

Of charity, who makes us will alone

What we possess, and nought beyond desire.'"

All her companions also wished to be brides of Christ, but patiently

did their duty, and, knowing that "in His will is our tranquillity,"

they now spend all their time singing "Ave Maria." When these nun-like

forms vanish, Dante gazes at Beatrice in hopes of learning more.

_Canto IV._ In reply to Dante's inquiring glance, Beatrice explains

that those compelled to sin against their desire are ever held

blameless in Heaven. Then, stating:

"Not seldom, brother, it hath, chanced for men

To do what they had gladly left undone;"

she adds that "the will that wills not, still survives unquenched,"

and that by will power only St. Lawrence and Mucius Scevola were

enabled to brave fire. Then she makes him see how truth alone can

satisfy a mind athirst for knowledge.

_Canto V._ Beatrice asserts that the most precious gift bestowed upon

mankind was freedom of will, and that "knowledge comes of learning

well retain'd." She concludes that when man makes a vow he offers his

will in sacrifice to God, and that for that reason no vow should be

thoughtlessly made, but all should be rigidly kept. Still, she admits

it is better to break a promise than, like Jephthah and Agamemnon, to

subscribe to a heinous crime, and states that either Testament can

serve as guide for Jews or Christians. Again drawing Dante upward by

the very intensity of her gaze, she conveys him to the second circle,

the heaven of Mercury (revolved by Archangels). Here, in an atmosphere

as pellucid as water, Dante perceives thousands of angels, coming

toward him, singing "Lo! one arrived to multiply our loves!" These

spirits assure Dante he was born in a happy hour, since he is allowed,

ere the "close of fleshly warfare," to view the glories of

heaven,--and express a desire to share their lights with him. So Dante

questions the spirit nearest him, which immediately glows with loving

eagerness to serve him, until it becomes a dazzling point of light.

_Canto VI._ This spirit announces he is Justinian, chosen to clear

"from vain excess the encumbered laws," five hundred years after the

Christian era began, and that it was in order to devote all his time

to this task that he consigned the military power to Belisarius. He

proceeds to give Dante a _résumé_ of Roman history, from the

kidnapping of the Sabines to his own day, laying stress on the

triumphs won by great generals. He also specially mentions the hour

"When Heaven was minded that o'er all the world his own deep calm

should brood," the troublous days of the empire, and the feud of the

Guelfs and Ghibellines, the two principal political factions of

Dante's time. Next he explains that Mercury is inhabited by "good

spirits whose mortal lives were busied to that end that honor and

renown might wait on them," and quotes in particular Raymond Bérenger,

whose four daughters became queens.

_Canto VII._ After this speech Justinian vanishes with his angelic

companions, and Dante, duly encouraged, inquires of Beatrice how "just

revenge could be with justice punished!" She informs him that, as in

Adam all die through the power of sin, all can by faith live again

through Christ, thanks to God's goodness.

_Canto VIII._ Although unaware of the fact, Dante, whose eyes have

been fixed on Beatrice, has during her exposition been wafted up to

the third heaven, that of Venus (revolved by Princedoms). In the

planet of love--where Beatrice glows with increased beauty--are

innumerable souls "imperfect through excess of love," which are

grouped in constantly revolving circles. All at once one of these

luminous spirits approaches Dante, and, after expressing great

readiness to serve him, introduces himself as Charles Martel, King of

Hungary, brother of Robert of Naples. Thirsting for information, Dante

inquires of him "how bitter can spring when sweet is sown?" In a

lengthy disquisition in reply, this spirit mentions how children often

differ from their parents, quotes Esau and Jacob as marked examples

thereof, and adds that nature, guided by Providence, produces at will

a Solon, Xerxes, Melchisedec, or Daedalus. _Canto IX._ The next

spirit with whom Beatrice converses is the fair Cunizza, who like the

Magdalen "loved much," and therefor obtained pardon for her sins.

Before vanishing, she foretells coming political events, and

introduces the Provençal bard Folco, whose poems on love were to be

republished after five hundred years of oblivion. After relating his

life, this poet informs Dante the harlot Rahab was admitted to this

heaven in reward for saving Joshua's spies. This spirit concludes his

interview by censuring the present papal policy, declaring it far too

worldly, avaricious, and time-serving to find favor in heaven.

_Canto X._ Drawn upward this time by the attraction of the sun, Dante

finds himself in a dazzling sphere (revolved by Powers), where he and

Beatrice behold consecutive moving wreaths, each composed of twelve

blessed spirits who while on earth were noted as teachers of divinity

and philosophy. One of these singing, revolving wreaths encompasses

our travellers, until one of its members, St. Thomas Aquinas, ceases

his ineffable song long enough to present his companions and explain

their titles to immortal glory.

_Canto XI._ St. Thomas Aquinas, in his conversation with Dante,

relates the life of St. Francis of Assisi, dwelling particularly upon

his noble character, and describing how, after becoming wedded to

Poverty, he founded the order of the Franciscans, received the

stigmata, and died in odor of sanctity, leaving worthy disciples and

emulators, such as St. Dominic, to continue and further the good work

he had begun. He adds that many of the saint's followers are

represented in the innumerable glowing wreaths which people the heaven

of the Sun.

_Canto XII._ Still encompassed by one rainbow circle after another,

Dante is told by St. Buonaventura of Dominic's inestimable services to

mankind, and hears about his fervent zeal and deep faith.

_Canto XIII._ While Dante and Beatrice gaze with awe and admiration

upon the circles of light which revolve through all the signs of the

zodiac, St. Thomas Aquinas solves sundry of Dante's doubts, and

cautions him never to accede to any proposition without having duly

weighed it.

"Let not the people be too swift to judge;

As one who reckons on the blades in field,

Or e'er the crop be ripe. For I have seen

The thorn frown rudely all the winter long,

And after bear the rose upon its top;

And bark, that all her way across the sea

Ran straight and speedy, perish at the last

E'en in the haven's mouth."

_Canto XIV._ Proceeding from circle to circle, Dante and Beatrice

reach the innermost ring, where the latter bids Solomon solve Dante's

doubts by describing the appearance of the blest after the

resurrection of the body. In words almost as eloquent as those

wherewith St. Gabriel transmitted his message to Mary, Solomon

complies.

"Long as the joy of Paradise shall last,

Our love shall shine around that raiment, bright

As fervent; fervent as, in vision, blest;

And that as far, in blessedness, exceeding,

As it hath grace, beyond its virtue, great.

Our shape, regarmented with glorious weeds

Of saintly flesh, must, being thus entire,

Show yet more gracious. Therefore shall increase

Whate'er, of light, gratuitous imparts

The Supreme Good; light, ministering aid,

The better to disclose his glory: whence,

The vision needs increasing, must increase

The fervor, which it kindles; and that too

The ray, that comes from it."

As he concludes his explanation, a chorus of spiritual voices chant

"Amen," and Solomon, directing Dante's glance upward, shows him how

the bright spirits of this sphere group themselves in the form of a

cross,--glowing with light and pulsing with music,--whereon "Christ

beamed," a sight none can hope to see save those who "take up their

cross and follow him."

_Cantos XV, XVI._ In the midst of the rapture caused by these sights

and sounds, Dante is amazed to recognize, in one of the angels which

continually shift places in the glowing cross, his ancestor

Cacciaguida, who assures him Florence proved happy as long as its

inhabitants led simple and virtuous lives, but rapidly degenerated and

became corrupt when covetousness, luxury, and pleasure took up their

abode within its walls.

_Canto XVII._ Encouraged by Beatrice, who stands at a short distance

to leave him more freedom, Dante begs his great ancestor to reveal

what is about to befall him, so that, forewarned, he may most wisely

meet his fate. In reply Cacciaguida tells him he will be exiled from

Florence, and compelled to associate with people who will turn against

him, only to rue this fact with shame later on. He adds Dante will

learn how bitter is the savor of other's bread and how hard to climb

another's stairs.

"Thou shalt leave each thing

Beloved most dearly: this is the first shaft

Shot from the bow of exile. Thou shalt prove

How salt the savor is of other's bread;

How hard the passage, to descend and climb

By other's stairs."

Then Cacciaguida goes on to state that Dante shall finally find refuge

in Lombardy, with Can Grande, and while there will compose the poems

depicting his memorable journey down through sin to the lowest pit and

upward through repentance to the realm of bliss.

"For this, there only have been shown to thee,

Throughout these orbs, the mountain, and the deep,

Spirit, whom fame hath note of. For the mind

Of him, who hears, is loath to acquiesce

And fix its faith, unless the instance brought

Be palpable, and proof apparent urge."

Seeing Dante's dismay at this prediction, Beatrice comforts him by a

smile, and, seeing he is again wrapped in contemplation of her, warns

him that "these eyes are not thy only Paradise."

_Canto XVIII._ Then Beatrice leads her charge into the fifth heaven,

that of Mars, revolved by Virtues and inhabited by transfigured

martyrs, confessors, and holy warriors, such as Joshua, the Maccabees,

Charlemagne, Orlando, Godfrey of Bouillon, and other men of note.

These worthies form a part of the mystic cross, and each glows with

transcendent light as Beatrice points them out one after another. Then

Beatrice wafts her change into the sixth heaven, that of Jupiter

(revolved by Dominations). Here the spirits of rulers famous for

justice, moving with kaleidoscopic tints and rapidity, alternately

form mystic letters spelling "Love righteousness ye that be judges of

the earth," or settle silently into the shape of a gigantic eagle.

This sight proves so impressive that Dante sinks to his knees,

fervently praying justice may indeed reign on earth as in heaven.