mortal sin, it must according to the mind of Christ, who instituted the
sacrament of Penance for the remission of sin, submit to the power of
the keys committed to the priesthood and that will be the more necessary
if its contrition is imperfect. While perfect contrition without the
sacrament of Penance may remit sin, if the supernatural motive of sorrow
is not the love of God, but a motive less worthy, _e.g._, fear of
punishment, forgiveness is to be obtained only by the worthy reception
of Penance. In other words, the penitent must confess his sin to a duly
authorized priest, express his contrition, accept the penance enjoined
by the confessor for the satisfaction of sin and be absolved by virtue
of the words of Christ: "Whose sins you shall forgive they are forgiven
and whose sins you shall retain, they are retained."
All this is most beautifully expressed by Dante in his description of
the Gate of St. Peter and its angelic keeper:
"The lowest stair was marble white, so smooth
And polish'd that therein my mirror'd form
Distinct I saw. The next of hue more dark
Than sablest grain, a rough and singed block,
Cracked lengthwise and across. The third, that lay
Massy above, seemed prophyry, that flam'd
Red as the life-blood spouting from a vein.
On this God's angel either foot sustain'd,
Upon the threshold seated, which appear'd
A rock of diamond. Up the trinal steps
My leader cheerly drew me. 'Ask,' said he,
'With humble heart, that he unbar the bolt.'
Piously at his holy feet devolv'd
I cast me, praying him for pity's sake
That he would open to me: but first fell
Thrice on my bosom prostrate. Seven times
The letter, that denotes the inward stain,
He on my forehead with the blunted point
Of the drawn sword inscrib'd. And 'Look,' he cried,
'When enter'd, that thou wash these scars away.'
Ashes, or earth ta'en dry out of the ground,
Were of one colour with the robe he wore.
From underneath that vestment forth he drew
Two keys of metal twain: the one was gold,
Its fellow silver. With the pallid first,
And next the burnish'd, he so ply'd the gate,
As to content me well. 'Whenever one
Faileth of these, that in the keyhole straight
It turn not, to this alley then expect
Access in vain.' Such were the words he spake,
'One is more precious; but the other needs
Skill and sagacity, large share of each,
Ere its good task to disengage the knot
Be worthily perform'd. From Peter these
I hold, of him instructed, that I err
Rather in opening than in keeping fast,
So but the suppliant at my feet implore.'
Then of that hallow'd gate he thrust the door,
Exclaiming, 'Enter, but this warning hear:
He forth again departs who looks behind.'"
(IX, 75.)
The allegory back of these words is put forth in clear language by Maria
F. Rossetti. "We need hardly to be told" she writes in her Shadow of
Dante (pp. 112-13) "that the Gate of St. Peter is the Tribunal of
Penance. The triple stair stands revealed as candid Confession mirroring
the whole man, mournful Contrition breaking the hard heart of the gazer
on the Cross, Love all aflame offering up in Satisfaction the lifeblood
of body, soul, and spirit:--the adamantine threshold-seat as the
priceless merits of Christ the Door, Christ the Rock, Christ the sure
Foundation and the precious Corner-Stone. In the Angel of the Gate, as
in the Gospel Angel of Bethesda, is discerned the Confessor; in the
dazzling radiance of his countenance, the exceeding glory of the
ministration of righteousness; in the penitential robe, the sympathetic
meekness whereby, restoring one overtaken in a fault, he considers
himself lest he also be tempted; in the sword, the wholesome severity of
his discipline; in the golden key, his divine authority; in the silver,
the discernment of spirits whereby he denies absolution to the
impenitent, the learning and discretion whereby he directs the
penitent."
Dante's plan of Purgatorial punishment makes no distinction between the
punishment put forth for unforgiven venial sin and that due in
satisfaction for the violation of the moral order by one whose guilt has
been remitted. Both partake of the same penalty. Is that because the
poet thinks that if forgiveness is finally won by sorrow and suffering,
expiation for the offence is still to be made? Or does he hold that the
seven capital sins entailing temporal punishment either operate
effectively in every soul, or exist at least radically according to the
principle voiced by Hamilton Wright Mabie: "The man who slowly builds
Heaven with him, has constantly the terrible knowledge that he has only
to put his hand forth in another direction in order to build Hell?"
In any event Dante, who shows in Hell how men are made sin eternally, in
Purgatory exhibits the sinful disposition more or less under the control
of the will, yet of such a nature that only the grace of God held the
soul back from the Abyss. It must be purged of all tendency to evil so
as to be made "pure and ready to mount to the stars." (XXXIII, 140.) The
purgation is seen in process in a threefold manner according to Dante. A
material punishment is inflicted to mortify the evil passion and to
incite the soul to virtue; the soul meditates upon the capital sin and
its opposite virtue, moved to abhorrence of the evil and to admiration
of the good by examples drawn from sacred and profane history; vocal
prayer is addressed to God and it brings forth grace to purify and
strengthen the soul. Hard in the beginning is this work of repentance,
but it becomes easy as the habit of virtue is formed.
"The mountain is such, that ever
At the beginning down below, 'tis tiresome
And aye the more one climbs, the less it hurts."
(IV, 90.)
As purification from each capital sin is effected, the soul experiences
the removal of a heavy burden and the consequent enjoyment of new
liberty, Dante, purified from pride, asks Virgil: "Master, say what
heavy thing has been lifted from me, that scarce any toil is perceived
by me in journeying." He answered "When the P's which have remained
still nearly extinguished on thy face, shall like the one be wholly
rased out, thy feet shall be so vanquished by goodwill, that not only
will they feel it no toil, but it shall be a delight to them to be urged
upward." (XII, 118).
Mention was made of the material punishment of the souls in Purgatory.
Unlike the retributive penalties inflicted in Hell, this punishment is
reformative, confirming the penitent in good habits of thought and deed.
The proud here realize the irrevocable sentence "everyone who exalteth
himself shall be humbled." They creep round with huge burdens of stone
bowing them down to the very dust and so abased their hearts are turned
to humility.
The envious sing the praises of generosity while their eyes, the seat of
their sins, are tortured by sutures of wire shutting out the light.
The slothful cannot be restrained in their hurry forward, the leaders,
shouting with tears, examples of diligence, a pair in the rear crying
out instances of sloth.
Penitents expiating the sins of avarice and prodigality lie prostrate
and motionless bound hand and foot, with their faces to the ground,
murmuring the words of the psalmist: "My soul hath cleaved to the
pavement" (Ps., 118, 25.) During the day they eulogize the liberal;
during the night they denounce instances of avarice.
The gluttonous suffer so much from hunger and thirst that they are
reduced to a state of pitiable emaciation. All the while hungering for
righteousness, they glory in crucifying the old Adam in them.
The unchaste purify their passion in hot flames while other penitents
sing the loveliness of chastity and proclaim many examples of that
virtue.
Through this purification by suffering, the spirits not only submit
willingly but they exhibit real contentment if not actual love of the
chastisement imposed upon them. The unchaste not only heedfully keep
within the flames but gladly endure the fire because they are convinced
"with such treatment and with such diet must the last wound be healed"
(XXV, 136). And most beautiful and enlightening of all, one of the souls
tells Dante that the same impulse which brought Christ gladly to the
agony of the Cross throws them upon their sufferings. Forese, speaking
for the gluttonous, says that the mood in which they accept the
penitential pains is one of submission as well as of solace. "And not
only once, while circling this road, is our pain renewed. I say pain and
ought to say solace, for that desire leads us to the tree which led glad
Christ to say, 'Eli,' when He made us free with his blood." (XXIII, 71).
The avaricious confess "so long as it shall be the pleasure of the just
Lord, so long shall we lie here motionless and outstretched" (XIX, 125).
Among the envious, Guida del Duca prays Dante to continue his journey
instead of stopping to interrogate him, for he himself "delights far
more to weep than to talk" (XIV, 125). The slothful in their eagerness
not to interrupt their diligence in penance, by their conversing with
Virgil, entreat him not to ascribe this attitude to discourtesy, "We
are so filled with desire to speed on" they tell the poets "that stay we
cannot, therefore forgive if thou hold our penance for rudeness."
(XVIII, 115).
By such instances and by many others does our poet show the contented
spirit prevailing in Purgatory. He makes it, indeed, a realm whose very
atmosphere is one of peace, because the will of God is done there even
in the midst of suffering. The greeting there is "My brothers, may God
give us peace" (XXI, 13). The penitents pray for a far greater measure
of peace: "Voices I heard and every one appeared to supplicate for peace
and misericord the Lamb of God who takes away our sins" (XVI, 15). When
the wrathful finish their penance an angel says to them, "Blessed are
the peacemakers who are without ill anger" (XVII, 68).
The waters of Purgatory are called "the waters of peace which are the
souls diffused from the eternal fountain" (XVI, 133). Dante addresses
the souls as certain of gaining the unending peace of Paradise. "O
Souls, sure in the possession whenever it may be of a state of peace"
(XXVI, 54). And when the day of release comes on which a soul attains
perfect peace, the whole mountain of Purgatory literally thrills with
joy and every voice is raised to join the harmonious concert of the
angelic hymn first sung at Bethlehem, _Gloria in Excelsis Deo_. In this
way does the poet teach us the lesson that both Purgatory proper and the
penitential discipline of life give us a peace wholly in contrast with
the uproar of sin whether heard in the halls of conscience or in the
eternal Hereafter. "How different are those openings from those in
Hell," he says, "for here we enter through songs and down there through
fierce wailings" (XII, 112).
Although our poet, imbued with the Catholic doctrine, teaches that
intercessory prayer helps the soul to shorten its term in Purgatory--a
doctrine bound up with the doctrine of the Communion of Saints--it must
never be forgotten that Dante is a Catholic preacher when he insists
that personal effort aided by God's grace, is the thing of supreme
importance in the matter of salvation and purification. Neither
lip-sorrow nor the sacraments themselves unless accompanied by true
sorrow and repentance, can profit the soul. "He cannot be absolved who
doth not first repent, nor can he repent the sin and will it at the same
time, for this were contradiction to which reason cannot assent" (Inf.,
XXVII, 118.) Prayer can help the soul struggling in life or in Purgatory
proper, but the assistance derived from prayer can never do away with
the necessity of personal penance. "Conquer thy panting with the soul
that conquers every battle if with its heavy body it sinks not down."
Let us now hear how Dante sings "of that second realm in which the human
soul is purified and becomes worthy to ascend to Heaven" (I, 5). Coming
out of the blackness of Hell just before dawn on Easter Sunday, Virgil
and Dante are entranced at the beautiful scene before them. Through a
cloudless sky of that deep blue for which the sapphire is noted, shines
Venus, the morning star; in the south appear four wonderful stars of
still greater brilliancy, seen before only by our first parents.
"Sweet sheen of oriental sapphire hue
That, mantling in the aspect calm and bright
Of the pure air, to the primal circle grew,
Began afresh to give my eyes delight
Soon as I issued from the deathful air
That had cast sadness o'er my mind and sight,
The beauteous planet that for love takes care
Was making the East laugh through all its span,
Veiling the Fish, that in its escort were
Turned to the right, I set my mind to scan
The other pole; and four stars met my gaze
Ne'er seen before, except by primal man
Heaven seemed rejoicing in their flaming rays."
The two poets looking to the north see Cato the Warder of Purgatory, his
face illuminated by the four stars, typical of the cardinal virtues,
Prudence, Justice, Fortitude and Temperance. Is Dante's selection of
Cato, the pagan suicide, as the guardian of Christian Purgatory, to be
taken as an example of the broadmindedness of the poet who believes "so
wide arms hath goodness infinite, that it receives all who turn to it?"
Or is it an instance showing how the leaven of the old Roman spirit in
the poet--a spirit which justifies suicide, prevails with his profession
of Christianity which condemns the taking of one's life? Whatever be the
answer "Cato's taking his own life rather than renounce liberty is
symbolical of the soul, destroying all selfishness that it may attain
the light and freedom of spiritual life." In the poem Cato is
represented as challenging the poets as if they were fugitives from
Hell. When he is told that it is by divine decree that the pilgrims are
making the journey, he bids Virgil cleanse Dante with dew and gird him
with a rush and he concludes by saying: "then be not this way your
return, the sun which now is rising, will show you how to take the mount
at an easier ascent"--words whose spiritual sense would seem to be that
once the soul has turned to virtue, it must never go back to sin and in
its upward path to perfection it will be guided by the rays of divine
grace (the sun) whose enlightenment will make the ascent easier.
While lingering on the shore, undecided which way to turn, the poets see
a great marvel. Over the water dancing with sunlight comes a white boat
propelled by the white wings of an angel called the Divine Bird, red
with flame and bringing from the banks of the Tiber, the bosom of the
Church, over a hundred souls to begin their term in Purgatory. In
Charon's bark the reprobate souls fill the air with their imprecations;
in the angel-steered boat the spirits coming to Purgatory devoutly
chant: "When Israel went out of Egypt," the psalm so fittingly
descriptive of their own liberation from guilt and their coming into
peace. Here is the description of the scene:
"And lo! as when, upon the approach of morning,
Through the gross vapours Mars grown fiery red
Down in the West upon the ocean floor,
Appeared to me--may I again behold it!--
A light along the sea so swiftly coming,
Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled;
From which when I a little had withdrawn
Mine eyes, that I might question my Conductor,
Again I saw it brighter grown and larger.
Then on each side of it appeared to me
I knew not what of white, and underneath it
Little by little there came forth another.
My Master yet had uttered not a word
While the first whiteness into wings unfolded;
But when he clearly recognized the pilot,
He cried: 'Make haste, make haste to bow the knee!
Behold the Angel of God! fold thou thy hands!
Henceforward shalt thou see such officers!
See how he scorneth human arguments,
So that nor oar he wants, nor other sail
Than his own wings, between so distant shores.
See how he holds them pointed up to heaven,
Fanning the air with the eternal pinions,
That do not mount themselves like mortal hair!'
Then as still nearer and more near us came
The Bird Divine, more radiant he appeared,
So that near by the eye could not endure him,
But down I cast it; and he came to shore
With a small vessel, very swift and light,
So that the water swallowed naught thereof.
Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot;
Beatitude seemed written in his face,
And more than a hundred spirits sat within."
(II, 13.)
And now occurs a touching episode which shows how deep and rich is
friendship in Dante's heart. One of the shades recognizing him, steps
forward with a look so full of affection to embrace him that the poet
is moved to do likewise. Amazement ensues on both sides. The spirit
finds Dante alive in the flesh and he in turn on account of the
impalpability of the shade clasps only empty air. But there is mutual
recognition. Dante asks his newly-found friend Casella, the musician, to
sing as he used to do when his sweet voice soothed the troubled heart of
the poet and banished his cares. "May it please thee therewith to solace
awhile my soul that with its mortal form, journeying here, is sore
distressed." Casella's answer is as loving as it is surprising. He sings
one of Dante's canzoni and the whole party listen with intent delight
finally broken by the chiding words of Cato:
"What is this ye laggard spirits?
What negligence, what standing still is this?
Run to the mountain to strip off the slough
That lets not God be manifest to you."
(II, 117.)
At the foot of the mountain the poets meet a troop of spirits who,
though excommunicated, died contrite. For their delay in submitting to
the Church for absolution they must wait thirty times as long as the
period of their excommunication. One of them, King Manfred, Chief of the
Ghibellines, son of Emperor Frederick II, tells of his last moment
conversion and also how the Bishop of Cosenza at the word of Pope
Clement IV, enforcing the penalty of excommunication against the corpse
of the king, had it removed from the Papal realm and thrown into the
river Verde.
In narrating how a Christian may be saved even if he died under the ban
of the Church, Dante is only expressing what every Catholic knows as to
the effect of excommunication. This ecclesiastical censure incurred by a
contumacious member of the Church, a censure entailing forfeiture of all
rights and privileges common to a Christian, such as the right to the
sacraments,--a right restored through the confessor, however, whenever
there is danger of death--the right to public service and prayers, the
right to jurisdiction, and to benefices, the right to the canonical
forum, to social intercourse and to Christian burial, this censure of
excommunication does not in the mind of the Church carry with it
exclusion from Purgatory or Heaven.
According to a principle of canon law applied to censures, _Ecclesia de
internis non judicat_, the Church in the matter of crime does not
concern itself with interior dispositions, excommunication far from
being a sentence of damnation in the next world, is a penalty pertaining
to the external forum of the Church in this life. Even if the penalty
follows the corpse so far as to exclude it from Christian burial, even
here the purpose of the Church is not to pronounce a verdict of the loss
of the contumacious soul in the Hereafter, but to stigmatize among the
living, the memory of the person and so to inspire in them a hatred of
the evil condemned and a respect for law. The story of Manfred now
follows:
"And one of them began: 'Whoe'er thou art,
Thus going turn thine eyes, consider well
If e'er thou saw me in the other world'
I turned me tow'rds him, and looked at him closely;
Blond was he, beautiful, and of noble aspect,
But one of his eyebrows had a blow divided.
When with humility I had disclaimed
E'er having seen him, 'Now behold,' he said.
And showed me high upon his breast a wound.
Then said he with a smile: 'I am Manfredi,
The grandson of the Empress Costanza;
Therefore, when thou returnest, I beseech thee
Go to my daughter beautiful, the mother
Of Sicily's honor and of Aragon's,
And the truth tell her, if aught else be told.
After I had my body lacerated
By these two mortal stabs, I gave myself
Weeping to Him, who willingly doth pardon.
Horrible my iniquities had been;
But Infinite Goodness hath such ample arms,
That it receives whatever turns to it,
Had but Cosenza's pastor, who in chase
Of me was sent by Clement at that time,
In God read understandingly this page,
The bones of my dead body still would be
At the bridge-head, near unto Benevento,
Under the safeguard of the heavy cairn.
Now the rain bathes and moveth them the wind,
Beyond the realm, almost beside the Verde,
Where he transported them with tapers quenched.
By malison of theirs is not so lost
Eternal Love, that it cannot return,
So long as hope has anything of green.'"
(III, 105.)
Following the directions given by Manfred and his companions our
travelers continue their way upward until they reach a broad ledge cut
out in the side of the mountain. While resting here Dante sees a spirit
whom he recognizes as Balaqua, a maker of musical instruments, whose
laziness was a byword in Florence. Our poet who knew the man intimately
had often upbraided him for his indolence. It is said that to excuse
himself in the days of his mortal life, Balaqua quoted a line of
Aristotle: "By sitting down and resting the soul is rendered wise," to
which Dante retorted: "Certainly if one becomes wise by sitting down
none was ever so wise as thou." Now in Purgatory there is amused
indulgence upon Dante's part as he addresses his former fellow citizen
"sitting and clasping his knees, holding his face down between them,
lazier than if sloth were his very sister" (IV, 10).
"His sluggish attitude and his curt words
A little unto laughter moved my lips
Then I began: 'Balaqua I grieve not
For thee henceforth; but tell me wherefore seated
In this place art thou? Waitest thou an escort?
Or has thy usual habit seized upon thee?'
And he: 'O brother, what's the use of climbing?
Since to my torment would not let me go
The angel of the Lord who sitteth at the gate.
First heaven must needs so long revolve me round
Outside thereof, as in my life it did,
Since the good sighs I to the end postponed,
Unless e'er that some prayer may bring me aid
Which rises from a heart that lives in grace."
(IV, 120.)
Unless assisted by the prayer of the sinless faithful upon earth,
Balaqua and his class must stay in Outer-Purgatory, each for a term
equal to the period of his natural life. The third and the fourth
classes in Outer-Purgatory, viz., those who died of violence, deferring
their repentance to the last hour, and kings and princes who because of
temporal concerns of state put off their conversion to the last--all
those also must remain in Outer-Purgatory for a period equal to that of
their lives upon earth, unless the time be shortened by intercessory
prayer. It is to be noted that the souls of the violently slain press so
closely and so insistently about Dante in their eagerness to obtain his
good offices in favor of prayerful intercession for them by their
friends upon earth that he has great difficulty in getting away from
these souls. He succeeds by making promises to execute their
desires--comparing his difficulty of advancing to the trouble a winner
at dice experiences when bystanders crowd about him in obstructive
congratulations and make his way impracticable until he gives some of
his winnings to this one, and some to that one.
"When from their game of dice men separate
He who hath lost remains in sadness fix'd,
Revolving in his mind what luckless throws
He cast; but meanwhile all the company
Go with the other; one before him runs,
And one behind his mantle twitches, one
Fast by his side bids him remember him,
He stops not, and each one to whom his hand
Is stretch'd, well knows he bids him stand aside,
And thus he from the crowd defends himself.
E'en such was I in that close-crowding throng;
And turning so my face around to all,
And promising, I 'scaped from it with pains."
(VI, 1.)
Higher up the mountain occurs a touching instance of love of country.
Virgil draws near a spirit "praying that it would show us the best
ascent"; and that spirit answered not his demand but of our country and
of our life did ask us. And the sweet Leader (Virgil) began "Mantua ..."
And the shade all rapt in self leaped toward him saying, "O Mantuan, I
am Sordello of thy city. And one embraced the other" (VI, 67). This
episode gives to Dante the opportunity to contrast on the one hand the
love of those two fellow citizens drawn together by no other bond than
affection for their native place and on the other hand hatred with which
living contemporaries rend one another.