Virgil, during the night assists Dante up the steep to the entrance of Purgatory;* when the Angel who guards the gate imprints on his forehead seven P's, as the mark of seven sins, from which he is to purify himself in the seven rounds of the mountain. Admitted within the gate of Purgatory,+ the poets proceed upward by a narrow way to the first circle or ledge. In this, Pride is punished with severe inflictions; and on the sides of the marble rock are displayed examples of Humility-wrought by Dante in so striking and picturesque a manner, as to show most forcibly the peculiar skill of the imaginative sculptor. The remaining six circles, each devoted to the punishment of a particular vice, occupy several cantos. The fourteenth is distinguished for the bitter sarcasm and heart-felt sorrow with which the poet laments the degeneracy of Italy. Having effaced the stains of vice, and passed through the purifying fire, Dante is carried up a lofty stair to the summit of the mountain. A new scene here opens before us. The garden of Eden is discovered in all its pristine beauty-lovely and deserted, as it is supposed to have remained since the expulsion of our first Parents; and waiting in readiness to receive the Daughter of Jerusalem, on her descent from Heaven, and to admit the redeemed into the presence of their King, upon his Ib. xxviii. Noted by Alfieri as replete with beauty. holy mountain of Zion. A description of the terrestrial · Paradise follows,—the living verdure of the forest tempering the fervour of the early day-the leaves trembling before the soft impulse of a gentle wind-while the birds in many a throng are joyfully hailing the matin hour. And, as if Dante was determined to embellish this part of his poem with all the most soothing ideas that nature suggests, the river Lethe is seen running through the meadow, with its gentle wave bending down the grass that springs at its side, and-beyond all compare with earthly streams-clear and transparent : "And yet it moved in darkness on its way, Dark, in the depth of that perpetual shade.”* On the other side of the river, a lady now appears, walking alone, and singing, as she culls the flowers that adorn her path. The poet asks her the purport of her song; when, veiling her modest eyes, Matelda replies, that she is rejoicing in the works of her Creator;† and, in answer to further inquiries, proceeds to explain, that the works of nature in this holy place are subject to no such irregularities as prevail on earth-that the flowers and trees grow spontaneously-that the two streams, Lethe and Eunoë, are not replenished by the uncertain supplies of rain, but issue from a never-failing source; endued-the one with power to take away all memory of + Ib. xxix. 80. * Canto xxviii. 31, sin-the other, to call each virtuous deed to mind. Following Matelda along the opposite bank of the stream, Dante has not proceeded far, when the forest is suddenly illuminated, and a sound of melody runs through the glowing air. Contemplating these "primæval fruits of the eternal Love," he advances onward, till in the objects, whose dazzling splendour at first eluded his sight, he is able to distinguish seven candelabra, and in the music recognizes the song "Hosanna," proclaiming the approach of our Saviour and the Bride. A procession advances, consisting of Saints arrayed in white, and Elders crowned with lilies. A triumphal car follows, supposed to represent the chair of St. Peter, or the pure and primitive Church, before it was changed by Papal corruptions,-drawn, as afterwards appears, by a Griffon -in its two-fold nature, emblematical of our Saviour, and surrounded by four Cherubim. Rapt thus into the loftiest visions, Dante places before our eyes, with surprising distinctness, the mysterious images of Ezekiel and St John. Beatrice at last appears, descending from Heaven, veiled in white, like the sun shrouded in a silver mist, and encompassed by a cloud of flowers, showered down upon her by angelic hands.* At the sight of his long lost Lady, from whom he had at times suffered himself to be led astray, the poet is struck with awe, and acknowledges the full force of his ancient flame. * Canto xxx. 13. 22. In the mean time Virgil departs; when Dante, giving way to despair, is checked by Beatrice, who calls to him by name- "Dante, weep not ;" and tells him that he has greater cause for tears than the departure of Virgil. -Assuming a disdainful air, she reproaches him with tardiness in seeking the beautiful mountain, and suffering himself to be drawn away from his "first love." "If," she says, "at my decease you were bereaved of the fairest form that nature or art ever designed, it became you not to have stooped to delusive attractions, but rather to have soared upwards, and contemplated me in my more exalted state." "As little children with their eyes bent low, Stand listening-mute through consciousness of shame, Even so stood Dante ;-when Beatrice, perceiving him thus afflicted at merely hearing her words, desires him to look up, and complete the measure of his penitence. On the Angels ceasing to sprinkle the flowers which fell around her, he is enabled to obtain a clearer view of the heavenly Maid; and at the sight is so stung with remorse, that he declares his detestation of all earthly allurements. Recovering from a swoon into which he falls, he is led to the river Lethe by Matelda. After immersion, he is allowed to see the Griffon, and subse * Canto xxxi. 64. quently to gratify his longing eyes with a nearer contemplation of Beatrice, arrayed in all the charms of her second beauty.* The last two cantos are mainly occupied with an account of the allegorical procession before mentioned advancing to the foot of a wide spreading tree situated in the midst of the garden. Various mysterious events are there exhibited; when our Saviour and the Angels return to Heaven.+ Beatrice informs Dante that he will not now remain long in the garden, but rejoin her after death in the kingdom of Zion; that at present he must observe the changes which the car or Church is about to undergo, and record them, on his return to earth, for the benefit of mankind. After meeting with various disasters, the Church, which in its primitive state had been adorned with all virtues and Christian graces, is corrupted through the wealth and temporal dominion acquired by the Roman Bishops. Under their usurped authority the sacred edifice is completely transformed, to the great grief of Beatrice; who, witnessing their intrigues with the Kings of the Earth, predicts the downfal of the corrupt Church by the immediate agency of our Saviour. The poet is then led by Matelda to the river Euncë, whence he returns with invigorated powers, and with a capacity of soaring to the stars. * Canto xxxi. 138. + Ib. xxxii. 89. Ib. 100. |