When his good influence 'gan to bless the earth.
A dame, to whom one openeth pleasure's gate
More than to death, was 'gainst his father's will,
His stripling choice; and he did make her his,
Before the spiritual court, by nuptial bonds,
And in his father's sight: from day to day,
Then loved her more devoutly. She, bereaved
Of her first husband, slighted and obscure,
Thousand and hundred years and more, remain'd
Without a single suitor, till he came.
There concord and glad looks, wonder and love,
And sweet regard gave birth to holy thoughts,
So much that venerable Bernard first
Did bare his feet, and, in pursuit of peace
So heavenly, ran, yet deem'd his footing slow.
O hidden riches! O prolific good!
Egidius bares him next, and next Sylvester,
And follow, both, the bridegroom: so the bride
Can please them. Thenceforth goes he on his way
The father and the master, with his spouse,
And with that family, whom now the cord
Girt humbly: nor did abjectness of heart
Weigh down his eyelids, for that he was son
Of Pietro Bernardone, and by men
In wondrous sort despised. But royally
His hard intention he to Innocent
Set forth; and, from him, first received the seal
On his religion. Then, when numerous flock'd
The tribe of lowly ones, that traced _his_ steps,
Whose marvelous life deservedly were sung
In heights empyreal; through Honorius' hand
A second crown, to deck their Guardian's virtues,
Was by the eternal Spirit inwreathed: and when
He had, through thirst of martyrdom, stood up
In the proud Soldan's presence, and there preach'd
Christ and his followers, but found the race
Unripen'd for conversion; back once more
He hasted (not to intermit his toil),
And reap'd Ausonian lands. On the hard rock,
'Twixt Arno and the Tiber, he from Christ
Took the last signet, which his limbs two years
Did carry. Then, the season come that he,
Who to such good had destined him, was pleased
To advance him to the meed, which he had earn'd
By his self-humbling; to his brotherhood,
As their just heritage, he gave in charge
His dearest lady: and enjoin'd their love
And faith to her; and, from her bosom, will'd
His goodly spirit should move forth, returning
To its appointed kingdom; nor would have
His body laid upon another bier."
(XI, 55.)
At the conclusion of this discourse the spirits in both circles,
arranged like the concentric circles of a double rainbow, express their
joy by a gyrating dance and song.
If St. Francis was "a sun upon the world," St. Dominic is shown by the
next speaker, St. Bonaventure, to be "a splendor of cherubic delight."
"In happy Callaroga was born the passionate lover of the Christian
faith, the holy champion, gentle to his own, and without mercy to his
enemies. As soon as his soul had been created it was so replete with
energy that, within his mother's womb, it made her a prophetess. When
the pledges for his baptism had been given at the sacred font, and he
and Faith had become one, dowering each other with salvation, the lady
who had given assent for him, beheld in her sleep the wonderful fruit
which would one day come of him, and of his heirs. He was named Dominic.
I speak of him as the husbandman whom Christ chose to assist Him with
His garden. Of a truth did he seem Christ's messenger and friend, for
the very first inclination which he manifested was to follow the first
percept which Christ gave. Not for the world, love of which at present
makes men toil, but for love of the true manna, did he, in short while,
become a mighty teacher, such that he set about pruning the vineyard of
the church, which soon runs wild if the vinedresser be negligent.
"From the Papal chair which, in former days, was more generous to the
righteous poor, not because it has grown degenerate in itself, but
because of the degeneracy of him who sits upon it, Dominic begged not to
be allowed to dispense to the poor only two or three where six was due,
nor sought the first vacant benefice, the tithes of which belong to
God's poor. He begged rather for leave to fight against the erring world
in behalf of the seed of true faith, four and twenty plants of which
encircle you. Then, armed with doctrine and firm determination, together
with the sanction of the Papacy, he issued forth like a torrent from on
high, and on heretics his onslaught smote with greatest force where was
most resistance. Afterward, from him there burst forth various streams
by which the Catholic garden is watered so that the plants in it are
becoming vigorous." (XII, 48.)
Transported into the Heaven of Mars Dante is made aware of his ascent
thither only by the glow of the ruddy planet, so different from the
white sheen of the sun. At once he beholds a spectacle far more
marvelous than the circles of dancing lights he has just seen. It fills
him with such wonder and bliss that he falls into an ecstasy and only
after that does he look into the eyes of Beatrice, now more lovely than
ever. What is the new marvel? A starry cross traversing the sphere--a
cross, the arms and body of which, each like a Milky Way, are made up of
dazzling lights of the souls of those who laid down their lives for the
Faith. On the Cross is flashed the blood red image of the Crucified,
likewise formed by glowing stars, the souls of Christian warriors. Not
stationary do the splendors remain, but through the glittering mass they
dart to and fro like motes in a sunbeam that finds its way through a
shutter or screen. With eyes amazed the poet now hears such a wondrous
melody that he says: "I was so much enamoured therewith that up to this
point there had not been anything which bound me with fetters of such
delight." (XIV, 128.)
The names of some of the spirits forming the Stellar Cross are made
known to the poet--Joshua and Judas Maccabaeus, the intrepid heroes of
the Old Testament, the Christian Knights, Charlemagne and Orlando the
Paladin, William of Aquitaine and Rainouart, Godfrey de Bouillon,
conqueror of Jerusalem, Robert Guiscard, military executor of Pope
Hildebrande.
Darting along the arm of the Stellar Cross and coming to its foot is a
splendor who greets Dante with warm affection. This is the spirit of his
great-great-grandfather, Cacciaguida, who sings the glory of ancient
Florence the better to describe the deterioration of the city in Dante's
day and to censure its people for their civil feuds, corruption and
opposition to the Imperial Eagle. Then at Dante's request the crusader
spirit interprets for his descendant the various predictions made to the
latter during his passage through Hell and Purgatory. Evil days will
come upon him (it must be remembered that this prophecy by Cacciaguida
is supposed to occur a year or two before Dante's exile), he will be
exiled from Florence and will become a homeless wanderer.
Let him, however, write his poem and declare his vision, no matter if
offense will be taken by the high ones of the earth. He, having a
prophet's work to do, must speak with all the boldness of a prophet
without fear or dissimulation. The words, while assuring the poet of the
sweetness of everlasting fame, bring to his mind, also, the bitterness
of the injustice of his exile and suffering, and apparently he harbors
the thought of vengeance upon his enemies. Beatrice, however, checks his
resentment, assuring him that she, so near to God, will assist him--a
most beautiful passage showing the relations between her and the poet,
whether the words are taken literally as exhibiting her as his
intercessor before the throne of the Most High, or allegorically
considered as declaring that Revealed Truth takes from man the desire of
vengeance and places his case in the hands of Him who has said:
"Vengeance is mine, I will repay." For Dante's spiritual perfection his
lovely guide bids him not simply look into her her eyes (allegorically
meaning not merely to contemplate theological truth) but follow the
example of men sturdy of faith and valiant of deed. The passage here
follows:
"Now was alone rejoicing in its word
That soul beatified, and I was tasting
My own, the bitter tempering with the sweet,
And the Lady who to God was leading me
Said: 'Change thy thought; consider that I am
Near unto Him who every wrong disburdens.'
Unto the loving accents of my comfort
I turned me round, and then what love I saw
Within those holy eyes I here relinquish
Not only that my language I distrust,
But that my mind cannot return so far
Above itself, unless another guide it.
Thus much upon that point can I repeat.
That, her again beholding, my affection
From every other longing was released.
While the eternal pleasure, which direct
Rayed upon Beatrice, from her fair face
Contented me with its reflected aspect,
Conquering me with the radiance of a smile
She said to me, 'Turn thee about and listen;
Not in mine eyes alone is Paradise.
Here are blessed spirits that below, ere yet
They came to Heaven, were of such great renown
That every Muse therewith would affluent be
Therefore look thou upon the cross' horns.'"
(XVIII, 4.)
Now rising to Jupiter, where appear the spirits of those who upon earth
in a signal manner loved and rightly administered justice, Dante is
again made aware of his uplifting by the increased beauty of Beatrice,
by the new light different from that of ruddy Mars, which envelopes him
and by the perception of his own increase of virtue and power. Here the
poet has recourse to a most ingenious system of symbols to give variety
to his descriptions and doctrine, and so to sustain the interest of the
reader. Many hundreds of the souls of the just appear as golden lights
and so group themselves as to spell against the glowing white background
of the light of the planet, the maxim from the Book of Wisdom:
"_Diligite justitiam qui judicatis terram_" (Love justice ye who judge
the earth.) Then fade away all the letters except the last one, the M of
terram, M, symbol of Monarchy, and that M stands out in general outline
somewhat like the Florentine lily, the armorial sign of Florence. And
now other golden lights come from the Empyrean and transform the M into
the figure of an eagle, the bird of Jove, with outstretched wings. But
the marvel is only partly revealed, for soon the Eagle speaks and its
voice, though made up of a thousand voices of the Just, comes forth a
single sound, like a single heat that comes from many brands or the one
odor that is exhaled from many flowers.
What a startling spectacle it must have been to the mind of the
thirteenth century, used to candles as the ordinary means of
illumination, to have visualized before it the blessed spirits in the
light of Heaven, dancing, whirling, circling in perfect harmony and
making more formal designs to express their bliss by the rapidity of
their rhythmical movements! Even though exquisitely quaint as the
picture may appear to us, it has been executed so reverently that
criticism has rarely if ever attacked this conception of our poet. With
light as his principal material to make known to us the joys of Heaven,
he has to paint everything in high light, using no shadows and he solves
his artistic problem by the variety of his "splendors" and by the deep
symbolism of their action. His nine Heavens are not meant to be a
picture true to reality of what the Souls in Heaven are doing. These
nine Heavens, as we said before, are only myths to which from the
Empyrean come forth the Elect in condescension to Dante's sense-bound
faculties, in order to symbolize certain truths. So in this sixth sphere
the poet would teach us that the Heaven of Jupiter represents justice on
earth and on the screen of this sphere he would put forth by means of
the Imperial Eagle the arguments he has already advanced in his
Monarchia that the Roman Empire is divine in its origin--that only from
such an institution can human justice proceed from civil government. He
represents unity coming from the Roman Empire by his showing to us the
unison with which all the splendors of the Eagle speak in a voice
blended as one sound--clearly also an allegory for the Guelf forces to
become an integral part of the Universal Monarchy.
Justice is the quality which this Heaven symbolizes and the Eagle reads
in Dante's mind a doubt against the operation of justice and proceeds to
dispel it.
"For saidst thou: 'Born a man is on the shore
Of Indus, and is none who there can speak
Of Christ, nor who can read, nor who can write;
And all his inclinations and his actions
Are good, so far as human reason sees,
Without a sin in life or in discourse:
He dieth unbaptized and without faith;
Where is this justice that condemneth him?
Where is his fault, if he do not believe?'"
(XIX, 70.)
The question is answered both directly and indirectly. The exclusion of
the virtuous pagan from Heaven is assumed to be an act of injustice "but
who art thou who wouldst set upon the seat to judge at a thousand miles
away with the short sight that carries but a span?" (XIX, 79.) As our
very idea of justice comes from God all just and all wise, that thought
ought to assure us that not even the virtuous heathen will be excluded
from Heaven. Faith indeed is required for salvation, but many having
faith will be condemned, while many seemingly without it will be
admitted into Heaven.
"But look thou, many crying are, 'Christ, Christ'!
Who at the judgment will be far less near
To him than some shall be who knew not Christ.
Such Christians shall the Ethiop condemn
When the two companies shall be divided,
The one forever rich, the other poor."
(XIX, 106.)
The indirect answer to Dante's objection as to the exclusion of the
virtuous heathen from Heaven is given by the poet speaking through the
beak of the Eagle and showing in this Heaven as one of the lights of the
Eagle itself, the soul of Rhipeus mentioned by Æneas "as above all
others the most just among the Trojans and the strictest observer of
right." "So now," says Benvenuto, the fourteenth century lecturer on
Dante, "our author fitly introduces a pagan infidel in the person of
Rhipeus, of whose salvation there would seem the very slightest chance
of all; by reason of the time, so many centuries before the advent of
Christ; by reason of the place, for he was of Troy where exceeding pride
was then paramount; by reason of the sect, for he was a pagan and
gentile, not a Jew. Briefly then our author wishes us to gather from
this fiction--this conclusion,--that even such a pagan of whose
salvation no one hoped, is capable of salvation."
In the Heaven of Saturn, Beatrice tells the poet that she does not smile
out of regard for his human vision not powerful enough to sustain her
excess of beauty. The lovely symphonies of Paradise are also silent for
the same reason. This in effect is a poetical way of saying that the
bliss and glory in Saturn are greater than any beatitude in the lower
spheres.
This seventh Heaven is the Heaven where appear saints distinguished for
contemplation, the principle representatives being St. Peter Damian and
St. Benedict. The latter wrote a treatise in which he likened the rule
of his order to a ladder having twelve rungs by means of which the
mystic might mount to Heaven. The second rung in that ladder is silence.
If Dante was familiar with the Benedictine treatise, the significance of
silence in Saturn is at once suggested. The figure of a ladder is a very
common one in mystical theology, which borrows the conception from the
experience of Jacob (Gen. XXVIII, 12). "And he saw in his sleep a ladder
standing upon the earth and the top thereof touching heaven, the angels
also of God ascending and descending." To symbolize the truth that
Heaven is to be reached through the Church by means of the contemplation
of eternal things Dante now shows us the Golden Ladder, down which gleam
so many radiant spirits that it seems as if all the stars of Heaven are
approaching.
"Colored like gold, on which the sunshine gleams,
A stairway I beheld to such a height
Uplifted, that mine eye pursued it not.
Likewise beheld I down the steps descending
So many splendors, that I thought each light
That in the heaven appears was there diffused."
(XXI, 28.)
In the Heaven of the Fixed Stars the triumph of Christ gladdens the
wondering eyes of the poet:
"Behold the hosts of Christ's triumphal march and all the fruit
harvested by the rolling of these spheres."
At these words of Beatrice Dante turns and beholds all the saints seen
in the other spheres and many other spirits gathered round the God-man
to praise Him for the Redemption and Atonement. Christ here reveals
Himself in the form of a gorgeous Sun surrounded by those countless
spirits, appearing as lights or flowers. Apparently the poet gets just
a momentary glimpse of the glorified humanity of the Saviour. The direct
rays of the divine splendor cannot long be endured, so, in condescension
to Dante's weakness of vision, a cloudy screen permits the poet to
sustain the Vision now irradiating its light on the living, spiritual
flowers.
"Saw I, above the myriad of lamps,
A sun that one and all of them enkindled,
E'en as our own doth the supernal sights,
And through the living light transparent shone
The lucent substance so intensely clear
Into my sight, that I sustained it not.
'O Beatrice, thou gentle guide and dear!'
To me she said: 'What overmasters thee
A virtue is from which naught shields itself.
There are the wisdom and the omnipotence
That ope the thoroughfares 'twixt heaven and earth
For which there erst had been so long a yearning.'"
(XXIII, 28.)
After Christ withdraws to the Empyrean the poet finds that he has been
so much strengthened and enlightened by the Vision that increased power
of sight is given to him again to behold the smile of his guide. She
says to him:
"Open thine eyes and look at what I am
Thou has beheld such things, that strong enough
Hast thou become to tolerate my smile."
(XXIII, 46.)
He continues in ecstasy to gaze upon her surpassing beauty until she
bids him look upon the "meadow of flowers," the angels and saints:
"Why doth my face so much enamor thee,
That to the garden fair thou turnest not,
Which under the rays of Christ is blossoming?
There is the Rose in which the Word Divine
Became incarnate; there the lilies are
By whose perfume the good way was discovered."
(XXIII, 70.)
The lilies are the apostles, the Rose the Blessed Virgin Mary. "Mary,"
says Cardinal Newman, "is the most beautiful flower that ever was seen
in the spiritual world. She is the Queen of spiritual flowers and
therefore she is called Rose, for the rose is fitly called of all
flowers that most beautiful." Dante says: "The name of the fair flower
that I e'er invoke morning and night utterly enthralled my soul to gaze
upon the greater fire." Now with joy the poet sees the coronation by the
spirits of Mary, Mystical Rose, and then his eyes follow her as she
mounts to the Empyrean in the wake of her divine Son while the gleaming
saints sing her praises in the _Regina Coeli_.
The eight Heavens through which the poet has come, have been so many
stages of preparation for the final vision of Paradise. His eyes have
been gradually gaining strength by gazing upon miracles of light and
beauty and by seeing truth embodied in many representative forms to fit
him finally to see God in His Essence. Before that consummation,
however, one more preparatory vision is necessary. The poet must first
see the symbolic image of God. "What!" you may exclaim, "will Dante be
audacious enough to attempt to picture the Invisible Himself? Granted
that 'he is all wings and pure imagination' can he hope to image the
Incomprehensible Being 'who only hath immortality and inhabiteth light
inaccessible, whom no man hath seen nor can see?' (I Tim. VI, 16). Will
he not defeat his purpose by employing a symbol circumscribing Him who
is beyond circumscription?" But the genius of Dante does not fail him in
his daring undertaking, and this is the more remarkable because instead
of selecting as a symbol something infinitely large, he choses something
atomically small. In the ninth Heaven surrounded by the nine orders of
pure spirits God is represented "as an indivisible atomic Point
radiating light and symbolizing the unity of the Divinity as a fitting
prelude to the more intimate vision of the Blessed Trinity which will be
vouchsafed in the Empyrean." "A Point I saw that darted light so sharp
no lid unclosing may bear up against its keenness. On that Point depend
the heavens and the whole of nature" (XXXVIII, 16).
On the appropriateness of this symbol Ozanam makes this interesting
comment: "God reveals Himself as necessarily indivisible and
consequently incapable of having ascribed to Him the abstraction of
quantity and quality by which we know creatures: indefinable, because
every definition is an analysis which decomposes the subject defined;
incomparable because there are no terms to institute a comparison; so
that one may say, giving the words an oblique meaning, that He is
infinitely little, that He is nothing. But on the other hand, that which
is without extension, moves without resistance; that which is not to be
grasped, cannot be contained; that which can be enclosed within no
limits, either actual or logical is by that very fact limitless. The
infinitely little is then also the infinitely great and we may say that
it is all." The indivisible atomic Point of intensest light as a symbol
of God is indeed a sublime conception of faith and genius that appeals
equally to the child, the philosopher and the mystic.
The supreme thing still necessary for the consummation of Dante's
pilgrimage is the Beatific Vision of God. That occurs in the Empyrean
where symbol gives way to reality, where the Elect are seen no longer in
forms veiled in light but in the glorified semblance of their earthly
bodies, where contemplation gives direct vision of God in His essence.
How will the poet, while still in the flesh, endure this vision of the
Infinite, Incomprehensible Eternal God? Prepared as he has been by the
experiences of the nine Heavens, he has still further need of
supernatural assistance. That is now given to him by means of a flash
wrapping him in a garment of light, which blinds him and then
illuminates his sight and intellect and enables him to see a more
complete foreshadowing of truth dissolving into Divine Wisdom.
The spectacle he now beholds, perhaps suggested to the poet by the
passage from the Apocalypse (XXII, 1). "And he showed me a river of
water of life, clear as crystal proceeding from the throne of God and of
the Lamb,"--the spectacle which now presents itself is that of a river
of light flowing between two banks of flowers and vivid with darting
sparks. The river represents illuminating grace, the sparks angels, the
flowers saints. This river of light wherein are reflected the Elect, as
verdure and flowers on a hillside are mirrored in a limpid stream at
its foot, is poetically represented as having the effect of a
sacrament. It bestows grace and that grace called _lumen gloriae_, light
of glory, endowing the soul with a faculty beyond its natural needs or
merits, so disposes the soul that it becomes deiform and is rendered
capable of immediate intuition of the Divine Essence.
"There is a light above, which visible
Makes the Creator unto every creature
Who only in beholding Him, has peace."
(XXX, 100.)
Beatrice tells Dante that he must drink his fill of the stupendous
splendor by gazing intently on the river of pure light, so that he may
be able to contemplate the whole unveiled glory and then see God
directly.
As Dante gazes on the illuminating stream it undergoes a marvelous
transformation, taking the form of a Rose the center of which is a sea
of radiance.
"And even as the penthouse of mine eyelids
Drank of it, it forthwith appeared to me
Out of its length to be transformed to round.
Then as a folk who have been under masks
Seem other than before, if they divest
The semblance not their own they disappeared in,
Thus into greater pomp were changed for me
The flowerets and the sparks, so that I saw
Both of the Courts of Heaven made manifest."
(XXX, 87.)
The two courts of Heaven, angels and saints, are made manifest in the
Rose which spreads out like a vast amphitheatre the lowest circle of
which is wider than the circumference of the sun. Above the center of
the Rose as the Point of light, is God in all His glory and love, adored
in blissful raptures by the saints who form the petals of the heavenly
flower. Angels with faces aflame, in white garments and with golden
wings fly down to the petals as bees to flowers, bringing God's
blessings to the saints and fly back to God as bees to their hive,
carrying the adoration of the Elect.
Beatrice leads the poet into the center of the Heavenly Rose.
"Into the yellow of the Rose Eternal
That spreads, and multiplies, and breathes an odor
Of praise unto the ever-vernal Sun,
As one who silent is and fain would speak,
Me Beatrice drew on, and said: 'Behold
Of the white stoles how vast the convent is!
Behold how vast the circuit of our city!
Behold our seats so filled to overflowing,
That here henceforward are few people wanting!'"
(XXX, 124.)
While Dante gazes on the supernatural spectacle Beatrice slips away to
take her place the third seat below the throne of the Blessed Virgin. As
his guide she has led him to the highest Heaven and has instructed him
in all that concerns God and His attributes. Her mission as Revelation
or Divine Science being finished, she withdraws and sends St. Bernard to
bring the poet into intimate union with the Godhead.