In Terrace I. are punished the proud, crushed beneath enormous weights.

On the side of the mountain wall are sculptured wonderful bas-reliefs, representing examples of humility; especially famous is the one which tells the story of Trajan's justice, a story which led Pope Gregory to make a prayer to G.o.d, who granted it, for the release of the pagan emperor's soul from h.e.l.l:

"There, was storied on the rock The exalted glory of the Roman prince, Whose mighty worth moved Gregory to earn His mighty conquest, Trajan the Emperor.

A widow at his bridle stood, attired In tears and mourning. Round about them trooped Full throng of knights; and overhead in gold The eagles floated, struggling with the wind.

The wretch appeared amid all these to say: 'Grant vengeance, Sire! for, woe beshrew this heart, My son is murdered.' He replying seemed: 'Wait now till I return.' And she, as one Made hasty by her grief: 'O Sire! if thou Dost not return?'--'Where I am, who then is, May right thee.'--'What to thee is other's good, If thou neglect thy own?'--'Now comfort thee;'

At length he answers. 'It beseemeth well My duty be perform'd, ere I move hence: So justice wills; and pity bids me stay.'

"He whose ken nothing new surveys, produced That visible speaking, new to us and strange, The like not found on earth. Fondly I gazed Upon those patterns of meek humbleness, Shapes yet more precious for their artist's sake."

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

Among the proud, Dante sees the miniature painter, Oderisi of Adubbio, who p.r.o.nounces those words on the vanity of earthly fame, which have been proverbial:

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

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

Pa.s.sing through Terrace II., where the envious sit sadly against the rocky wall, with their eye-lids sewn together, and Terrace III., where the wrathful are shrouded in a black, stifling mist, the poets reach Terrace IV., where the slothful are punished. Here Vergil explains the apparent paradox that love is the root of all evil as well as good.

Love, he says, is the desire for something; desire for those things which harm others--_i. e._, love for evil, produces pride, envy, and wrath. These are punished in the first three terraces. Insufficient desire or love for that which is good--_i. e._, G.o.d--is punished in Terrace IV., that of the "slothful in well-doing"; excessive desire for merely earthly things, which are not evil in themselves, but only in their excess, produces avarice, gluttony, and licentiousness; these are punished in the last three terraces.

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

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

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

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

"The escorting spirits turned with gentle looks Toward me; and the Mantuan spake: 'My son, Here torment thou mayst feel, but canst not death.

Remember thee, remember thee, if I Safe e'en on Geryon brought thee; now I come More near to G.o.d, wilt thou not trust me now?

Of this be sure; though in its womb that flame A thousand years contained thee, from thy head No hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth, Approach; and with thy hands thy vesture's hem Stretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief.

Lay now all fear, oh! lay all fear aside.

Turn hither, and come onward undismayed.'

"I still, though conscience urged, no step advanced.

"When still he saw me fixed and obstinate, Somewhat disturb'd he cried: 'Mark now, my son, From Beatrice thou art by this wall Divided.' As at Thisbe's name the eye Of Pyramus was open'd (when life ebbed Fast from his veins), and took one parting glance, While vermeil dyed the mulberry; thus I turned To my sage guide, relenting, when I heard The name that springs forever in my breast.

"He shook his forehead; and, 'How long,' he said, 'Linger we now?' then smiled, as one would smile Upon a child that eyes the fruit and yields.

Into the fire before me then he walked; And Statius, who erewhile no little s.p.a.ce Had parted us, he prayed to come behind.

"I would have cast me into molten gla.s.s To cool me, when I entered; so intense Raged the conflagrant ma.s.s. The sire beloved, To comfort me, as he proceeded, still Of Beatrice talked. 'Her eyes,' saith he, 'E'en now I seem to view.' From the other side A voice, that sang did guide us; and the voice Following, with heedful ear, we issued forth, There where the path led upward. 'Come,' we heard, 'Come, blessed of my father.' Such the sounds That hailed us from within a light; which shone So radiant, I could not endure the view."

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

"Each of us had made A stair his pallet; not that will, but power, Had failed us, by the nature of that mount Forbidden further travel. As the goats That late have skipt and wanton'd rapidly Upon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta'en Their supper on the herb, now silent lie And ruminate beneath the umbrage brown, While noon-day rages; and the goatherd leans Upon his staff, and leaning watches them: And as the swain, that lodges out all night In quiet by his flock, lest beast of prey Disperse them: even so all three abode; I as a goat, and as the shepherds they, Close pent on either side by shelving rock.

"A little glimpse of sky was seen above; Yet by that little I beheld the stars, In magnitude and l.u.s.tre shining forth With more than wonted glory. As I lay, Gazing on them, and in that fit of musing Sleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oft Tidings of future hap. About the hour, As I believe, when Venus from the east First lighten'd on the mountain, she whose orb Seems alway glowing with the fire of love, A lady young and beautiful, I dreamed, Was pa.s.sing o'er a lea; and, as she came, Methought I saw her ever and anon Bending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang: 'Know ye, whoever of my name would ask, That I am Leah:[15] for my brow to weave A garland, these fair hands unwearied ply.

To please me at the crystal mirror, here I deck me. But my sister Rachel, she Before her gla.s.s abides the livelong day Her radiant eyes beholding, charmed no less, Than I with this delightful task. Her joy In contemplation, as in labor mine.'

"And now as glimmering dawn appeared, that breaks More welcome to the pilgrim still, as he Sojourns less distant on his homeward way, Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fled My slumber; whence I rose, and saw my guide Already risen. 'That delicious fruit, Which through so many a branch the zealous care Of mortals roams in quest of, shall this day Appease thy hunger.' Such the words I heard From Vergil's lip; and never greeting heard, So pleasant as the sounds. Within me straight Desire so grew upon desire to mount, Thenceforward at each step I felt the wings Increasing for my flight. When we had run O'er all the ladder to its topmost round, As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fixed His eyes, and thus he spake: 'Both fires, my son, The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen; And art arrived, where of itself my ken No further reaches. I, with skill and art, Thus far have drawn thee. Now thy pleasure take For guide. Thou hast o'ercome the steeper way, O'ercome the straiter. Lo! the sun, that darts His beam upon thy forehead: lo! the herb, The arborets and flowers, which of itself This land pours forth profuse. Till those bright eyes With gladness come, which, weeping, made me haste To succor thee, thou mayst or seat thee down, Or wander where thou wilt.'"

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

The descriptions of the landscape in the earthly paradise are of surpa.s.sing beauty and choice of quotation is exceedingly difficult. Only a few pa.s.sages can be given here:

"Through that celestial forest, whose thick shade With lively greenness the new-springing day Attemper'd, eager now to roam, and search Its limits round, forthwith I left the bank; Along the champain leisurely my way Pursuing, o'er the ground, that on all sides Delicious odor breathed. A pleasant air, That intermitted never, never veered, Smote on my temples, gently, as a wind Of softest influence: at which the sprays, Obedient all, lean'd trembling to that part Where first the holy mountain casts his shade; Yet were not so disorder'd, but that still Upon their top the feathered quiristers Applied their wonted art, and with full joy Welcomed those hours of prime, and warbled shrill Amid the leaves, that to their jocund lays Kept tenor; even as from branch to branch, Along the piny forests on the sh.o.r.e Of Chia.s.si,[16] rolls the gathering melody, When Eolus hath from his cavern loosed The dripping south. Already had my steps, Though slow, so far into that ancient wood Transported me, I could not ken the place Where I had entered; when, behold! my path Was bounded by a rill, which, to the left, With little rippling waters bent the gra.s.s That issued from its brink. On earth no wave, How clean soe'er, that would not seem to have Some mixture in itself, compared with this, Transpicuous clear; yet darkly on it rolled, Darkly beneath perpetual gloom, which ne'er Admits or sun or moon-light there to shine.

"My feet advanced not; but my wondering eyes Pa.s.sed onward, o'er the streamlet, to survey The tender may-bloom, flush'd through many a hue, In prodigal variety: and there, As object, rising suddenly to view, That from our bosom every thought beside With the rare marvel chases, I beheld A lady all alone, who, singing, went, And culling flower from flower, wherewith her way Was all o'er painted. 'Lady beautiful!

Thou, who (if looks, that used to speak the heart, Are worthy of our trust) with love's own beam Dost warm thee,' thus to her my speech I framed; 'Ah! please thee hither towards the streamlet bend Thy steps so near, that I may list thy song.

Beholding thee and this fair place, methinks, I call to mind where wander'd and how look'd Proserpine, in that season, when her child The mother lost, and she the bloomy spring.'

"As when a lady, turning in the dance, Doth foot it featly, and advances scarce One step before the other to the ground; Over the yellow and vermilion flowers Thus turned she at my suit, most maiden-like Veiling her sober eyes; and came so near, That I distinctly caught the dulcet sound.

Arriving where the limpid waters now Laved the green swerd, her eyes she deigned to raise, That shot such splendor on me, as I ween Ne'er glanced from Cytherea's, when her son Had sped his keenest weapon to her heart.

Upon the opposite bank she stood and smiled; As through her graceful fingers shifted still The intermingling dyes, which without seed That lofty land unbosoms. By the stream Three paces only were we sunder'd: yet, The h.e.l.lespont, where Xerxes pa.s.s'd it o'er (A curb forever to the pride of man), Was by Leander not more hateful held For floating, with inhospitable wave, 'Twixt Sestus and Abydos, than by me That flood, because it gave no pa.s.sage thence.

"'Strangers ye come; and haply in this place, That cradled human nature in her birth, Wondering, ye not without suspicion view My smiles: but that sweet strain of psalmody, "Thou, Lord! hast made me glad," will give ye light, Which may uncloud your minds.

"Singing, as if enamored, she resumed And closed the song, with 'Blessed they whose sins Are covered.' Like the wood-nymphs then, that tripped Singly across the sylvan shadows; one Eager to view, and one to escape the sun; So moved she on, against the current, up The verdant rivage. I, her mincing step Observing, with as tardy step pursued.

"Between us not an hundred paces trod, The bank, on each side bending equally, Gave me to face the Orient. Nor our way Far onward brought us, when to me at once She turned, and cried: 'My brother! look, and hearken.'

And lo! a sudden l.u.s.tre ran across Through the great forest on all parts, so bright, I doubted whether lightning were abroad; But that, expiring ever in the spleen That doth unfold it, and this during still, And waxing still in splendor, made me question What it might be: and a sweet melody Ran through the luminous air. Then did I chide, With warrantable zeal, the hardihood Of our first parent; for that there, where earth Stood in obedience to the heavens, she only, Woman, the creature of an hour, endured not Restraint of any veil, which had she borne Devoutly, joys, ineffable as these, Had from the first, and long time since, been mine.

"While, through that wilderness of primy sweets That never fade, suspense I walked, and yet Expectant of beat.i.tude more high; Before us, like a blazing fire, the air Under the green boughs glowed; and, for a song, Distinct the sound of melody was heard."

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

"At the last audit, so The blest shall rise, from forth his cavern each Uplifting lightly his new-vested flesh; As, on the sacred litter, at the voice Authoritative of that elder, sprang A hundred ministers and messengers Of life eternal. 'Blessed thou, who comest!'

And, 'Oh!' they cried, 'from full hands scatter ye Unwithering lilies:' and, so saying, cast Flowers over head and round them on all sides.

"I have beheld, ere now, at break of day, The eastern clime all roseate; and the sky Opposed, one deep and beautiful serene; And the sun's face so shaded, and with mists Attempered, at his rising, that the eye Long while endured the sight: thus, in a cloud Of flowers, that from those hands angelic rose, And down within and outside of the car Fell showering, in white veil with olive wreathed, A virgin in my view appeared, beneath Green mantle, robed in hue of living flame.

And o'er my spirit, that so long a time Had from her presence felt no shuddering dread, Albeit mine eyes discerned her not, there moved A hidden virtue from her, at whose touch The power of ancient love was strong within me."

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

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

"In la sua voluntade e nostra pace."

(In His will is our peace.)

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

Bonaventura, with the same exquisite courtesy, tells the story of St.

Dominic.

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

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

Here Peter Damian tells of the mystery of predestination, and St.

Benedict describes the founding of his order at Monteca.s.sino.

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

"Short s.p.a.ce ensued; I was not held, I say, Long in expectance, when I saw the heaven Wax more and more resplendent; and, 'Behold,'

Cried Beatrice, 'the triumphal hosts Of Christ, and all the harvest gathered in, Made ripe by these revolving spheres.' Meseemed, That, while she spake, her image all did burn; And in her eyes such fulness was of joy, As I am fain to pa.s.s unconstrued by.

"As in the calm full moon, when Trivia smiles, In peerless beauty, 'mid the eternal nymphs, That paint through all its gulfs the blue profound; In bright preeminence so saw I there O'er million lamps a sun, from whom all drew Their radiance, as from ours the starry train: And, through the living light, so l.u.s.trous glowed The substance, that my ken endured it not.