informs his noble patron that in the beginning of every doctrinal work six things have to be investigated the subject, the agent, the form, the end or object, the title of the book, and its kind of philosophy. In three of these things -the subject, the form, and the title-this cantica of the Paradiso differs from the rest of the poem; in the others it does not. He then proceeds to state that this work has many senses; the literal and the allegorical, which latter is moral or anagogical. These he illustrates, as also the preliminary matters to be considered. The subject of the whole work is "The state of souls after death, considered simply as such"; but, allegorically, the subject "is man, who, in the exercise of his free will, according to his merits or demerits, is subject to the justice of reward or punishment." The end of all or each part is both immediate and remote; but, omitting all subtle researches, it is "to remove those now living from a state of misery, and to lead them to a state of happiness." This short definition, however, gives no idea of the encyclopedic character of the poem, nor of the treasures of learning which it contains. It is a résumé of medieval lore, the final expression of the ethics, the metaphysics, and the theology of the schools. It also exhibits the physical science of the period. It contains examples of fervid eloquence. It is a middle-age manual of the symbolical mythology of the classic poets. It presents the political movements of the time in Italy, and in an essentially dramatic form brings us into personal intercourse with the leading men of the period. The poet marked out for his countrymen a policy for the future— namely, the unification of Italy under one head; the deprivation of the temporal power of the Papacy, and the limitation of the papal power to spiritual things. As a lover of Nature, Dante regarded her beauties with the eye of an artist and described them with the pen of a poet; never obtruding them, but presenting a finished picture in a few pregnant lines. Himself skilled in design, he has given descriptions of imaginary works of art which seem to reflect the marbles of Phidias. As a teacher of morality by examples, and of kindness by winning illustrations, no writer surpasses Dante. Envy was the root of all bitterness among his countrymen and the moral source of their national calamities; this vice the poet endeavours to root out. Nay, more-he sought to make this great poem, as Dr. Barlow expresses it, "a hand-book to Heaven, a treasure of religious sentiments, and of aids to the perfection of spiritual life." Hence we cannot wonder "that Christian advocates should quote its authority in their pulpits as inferior only to that of the Scriptures.” There is one thing, however, that Dante is not. He is not sentimental. Throughout this great poem I have been able to find but one sentimental passage, and that fits in admirably with the context. The passage referred to includes the two tercets which introduce the eighth canto of the Purgatorio : 'Twas now the hour that wakes to longing who Should hear from far away a little bell * That seems a-weeping o'er the dying day. According to the astrological science of Dante's time, the earth was regarded as the fixed centre of creation, and the sun a planet revolving around her, together with the other planets, not in obedience to the mechanical laws as we now understand them, but under the immediate guidance of Angels, Archangels, Thrones, Principalities, and Powers. When Satan was hurled from heaven, that part of the earth on which he fell, shrinking from the polluting contact, formed a vast conical cavity, or hell, the destined abode of The Ave Maria the unrepenting soul, and the portion of earth thus displaced formed an enormous mountain in the Southern hemisphere, the Mount of Purgatory, where the repentant soul should become purged from its sin. During this great convulsion the terrestrial Paradise was removed to the summit of the Purgatorial Mount, so that the purified soul had to pass through the abode of our first parents on his way to Heaven. According to this scheme, the earth and its inhabitants are the central objects of God's care, and there is a constant interchange of relationship between the earth and the heavens. The earth is surrounded by the spheres of air and of fire, the latter producing lightning, the aurora, fiery meteors, &c. Beyond the sphere of fire is the heaven of the moon, the abode of those who on earth had failed in the religious vow of continence. Mercury contains the souls of patriot kings and active spirits; Venus is the fit abode of lovers; the Sun of schoolmen; Mars of Christian warriors; Jupiter of righteous rulers; and Saturn of contemplative saints. The heaven of the fixed stars contains the Host of the triumph of Christ; the Primum Mobile is the sphere of the Divine Glory, and the Empyrean the sphere of God's visible presence. Dante writes throughout in the first person, and begins by stating that, having attained the middle age of thirtyfive, he found himself in a dark, entangled forest, symbolical of life full of sin and error, in which the beaten path was lost. Ah, me! how hard it were to make it clear, What was this strong, rough forest, tangled o'er, So bitter 'tis, e'en Death is little more. So bitter is it to recall the sins of one's youth. But, while struggling on, he saw in the distance the delectable mountain, the top of which was illuminated by Christ, the Sun of Righteousness; and, pressing eagerly forward to climb it, he was arrested by a panther, symbolical of sensual pleasure, which drove him out of his path. Proceeding in another direction he was arrested by a furious lion, symbolical of pride or ambition, and also by a hungry she-wolf, the symbol of avarice. These three beasts wrought such terror in him that he fled, and was thus still further removed from the delectable mountain. While swiftly running, he became aware of the presence of one Who hoarse appeared through silence long sustained; thus referring in the usual figurative language to the general neglect of the study of Virgil, for it was the shade of the Bard of Mantua that now stood before him. O light and pride of all the Bards that sing! For thou art he alone, from whom I won The beauteous style that made me honoured be. Then, imploring protection against the beasts, especially the she-wolf, which is further symbolical of the Court of Rome, and the temporal power, Virgil explains to him that it is necessary for his welfare that he traverse Hell in order to see how sinful sin is, and how awful its punishments; after which he must see Purgatory, in order to know something of repentance, before he can witness the joys of Heaven. Virgil will be his guide through Hell and Purgatory, but for the higher vision A soul shall come, worthier for that than I; I'll place thee 'neath her guidance, quitting mine. This is the first allusion to Beatrice, and, although she does not actually appear until towards the end of the second cantica, yet we never lose sight of her, and it is upon the proper understanding of her character and function that the real meaning of the poem becomes apparent. In the second canto Dante expresses doubt as to whether his manhood is equal to the tremendous undertaking that has been proposed to him; he urges that he is not Æneas, nor Paul, and no one would deem him worthy to emulate them. Virgil replies that if he has understood him rightly, his soul is infected with cowardice, which has kept many a man back from an honoured deed. He then proceeds to explain how he came to that desert place to meet Dante. "I was 'mong those who in suspension be" (that is, in Limbo, so suspended as to be neither blessed in glory, nor tormented with punishment; neither saved nor lost)— A saintly Lady called me, one so fair, I begged her to command my service free. Her eyes shone brighter than the star ;* and clear And soft her angel voice, when she began In her own tongue thus to address mine ear: "O courteous spirit of the Mantuan ! Whose fame yet in the world hath known no end, A friend of mine, of Fortune not a friend, Now on the desert slope upon his way Is hindered, and through dread would backward wend: He may, I fear, be so much gone astray, That I have risen to his aid too late, From that which I of him in Heaven heard say. And with what else it needs for his release, I who now bid thee go am Beatrice." Virgil eagerly accepts the commission, but expresses his surprise that Beatrice should venture into Hell to seek him out. She replies: "Since thou desir'st my inward thoughts to trace, I'll tell thee briefly,' she replied to me, 'Why I fear not to come within this place. |