Dante's Purgatorio: Canto XXVIII

The River Lethe. Matilda. The Nature of the Terrestrial Paradise.

Eager already to search in and round
   The heavenly forest, dense and living-green,
   Which tempered to the eyes the new-born day,

Withouten more delay I left the bank,
   Taking the level country slowly, slowly 5
   Over the soil that everywhere breathes fragrance.

A softly-breathing air, that no mutation
   Had in itself, upon the forehead smote me
   No heavier blow than of a gentle wind,

Whereat the branches, lightly tremulous, 10
   Did all of them bow downward toward that side
   Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;

Yet not from their upright direction swayed,
   So that the little birds upon their tops
   Should leave the practice of each art of theirs; 15

But with full ravishment the hours of prime,
   Singing, received they in the midst of leaves,
   That ever bore a burden to their rhymes,

Such as from branch to branch goes gathering on
   Through the pine forest on the shore of Chiassi, 20
   When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco.

Already my slow steps had carried me
   Into the ancient wood so far, that I
   Could not perceive where I had entered it.

And lo! my further course a stream cut off, 25
   Which tow'rd the left hand with its little waves
   Bent down the grass that on its margin sprang.

All waters that on earth most limpid are
   Would seem to have within themselves some mixture
   Compared with that which nothing doth conceal, 30

Although it moves on with a brown, brown current
   Under the shade perpetual, that never
   Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.

With feet I stayed, and with mine eyes I passed
   Beyond the rivulet, to look upon 35
   The great variety of the fresh may.

And there appeared to me (even as appears
   Suddenly something that doth turn aside
   Through very wonder every other thought)

A lady all alone, who went along 40
   Singing and culling floweret after floweret,
   With which her pathway was all painted over.

"Ah, beauteous lady, who in rays of love
   Dost warm thyself, if I may trust to looks,
   Which the heart's witnesses are wont to be, 45

May the desire come unto thee to draw
   Near to this river's bank," I said to her,
   "So much that I might hear what thou art singing.

Thou makest me remember where and what
   Proserpina that moment was when lost 50
   Her mother her, and she herself the Spring."

As turns herself, with feet together pressed
   And to the ground, a lady who is dancing,
   And hardly puts one foot before the other,

On the vermilion and the yellow flowerets 55
   She turned towards me, not in other wise
   Than maiden who her modest eyes casts down;

And my entreaties made to be content,
   So near approaching, that the dulcet sound
   Came unto me together with its meaning 60

As soon as she was where the grasses are.
   Bathed by the waters of the beauteous river,
   To lift her eyes she granted me the boon.

I do not think there shone so great a light
   Under the lids of Venus, when transfixed 65
   By her own son, beyond his usual custom!

Erect upon the other bank she smiled,
   Bearing full many colours in her hands,
   Which that high land produces without seed.

Apart three paces did the river make us; 70
   But Hellespont, where Xerxes passed across,
   (A curb still to all human arrogance,)

More hatred from Leander did not suffer
   For rolling between Sestos and Abydos,
   Than that from me, because it oped not then. 75

"Ye are new-comers; and because I smile,"
   Began she, "peradventure, in this place
   Elect to human nature for its nest,

Some apprehension keeps you marvelling;
   But the psalm 'Delectasti' giveth light 80
   Which has the power to uncloud your intellect.

And thou who foremost art, and didst entreat me,
   Speak, if thou wouldst hear more; for I came ready
   To all thy questionings, as far as needful."

"The water," said I, "and the forest's sound, 85
   Are combating within me my new faith
   In something which I heard opposed to this."

Whence she: "I will relate how from its cause
   Proceedeth that which maketh thee to wonder,
   And purge away the cloud that smites upon thee. 90

The Good Supreme, sole in itself delighting,
   Created man good, and this goodly place
   Gave him as hansel of eternal peace.

By his default short while he sojourned here;
   By his default to weeping and to toil 95
   He changed his innocent laughter and sweet play.

That the disturbance which below is made
   By exhalations of the land and water,
   (Which far as may be follow after heat,)

Might not upon mankind wage any war, 100
   This mount ascended tow'rds the heaven so high,
   And is exempt, from there where it is locked.

Now since the universal atmosphere
   Turns in a circuit with the primal motion
   Unless the circle is broken on some side, 105

Upon this height, that all is disengaged
   In living ether, doth this motion strike
   And make the forest sound, for it is dense;

And so much power the stricken plant possesses
   That with its virtue it impregns the air, 110
   And this, revolving, scatters it around;

And yonder earth, according as 'tis worthy
   In self or in its clime, conceives and bears
   Of divers qualities the divers trees;

It should not seem a marvel then on earth, 115
   This being heard, whenever any plant
   Without seed manifest there taketh root.

And thou must know, this holy table-land
   In which thou art is full of every seed,
   And fruit has in it never gathered there. 120

The water which thou seest springs not from vein
   Restored by vapour that the cold condenses,
   Like to a stream that gains or loses breath;

But issues from a fountain safe and certain,
   Which by the will of God as much regains 125
   As it discharges, open on two sides.

Upon this side with virtue it descends,
   Which takes away all memory of sin;
   On that, of every good deed done restores it.

Here Lethe, as upon the other side 130
   Eunoe, it is called; and worketh not
   If first on either side it be not tasted.

This every other savour doth transcend;
   And notwithstanding slaked so far may be
   Thy thirst, that I reveal to thee no more, 135

I'll give thee a corollary still in grace,
   Nor think my speech will be to thee less dear
   If it spread out beyond my promise to thee.

Those who in ancient times have feigned in song
   The Age of Gold and its felicity, 140
   Dreamed of this place perhaps upon Parnassus.

Here was the human race in innocence;
   Here evermore was Spring, and every fruit;
   This is the nectar of which each one speaks."

Then backward did I turn me wholly round 145
   Unto my Poets, and saw that with a smile
   They had been listening to these closing words;

Then to the beautiful lady turned mine eyes.

NOTES

1 - 1

The Terrestrial Paradise. Compare Milton, Parad. Lost, IV. 214: –

“In this pleasant soil His Far more pleasant garden God ordained: Out of the fertile ground he caused to grow All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste; And all amid them stood the Tree of Life, High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit Of vegetable gold; and next to Life, Our death, the Tree of Knowledge, grew fast by, Knowledge of good bought dear by knowing ill. Southward through Eden went a river large, Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill Passed underneath ingulfed; for God had thrown That mountain as his garden mould, high raised Upon the rapid current, which through veins Of porous earth with kindly thirst up drawn, Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill Watered the garden; thence united fell Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood, Which from his darksome passage now appears; And now, divided into four main streams, Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm And country, whereof here needs no account; But rather to tell how, if art could tell, How from that sapphire found the crisped brooks, Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold, With mazy error under pendent shades Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed Flowers worthy of Paradise; which not nice art In beds and curious knots, but nature boon Poured forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain; Both where the morning sun first warmly smote The open field, and where the unpierced shade Imbrowned the noontide bowers. Thus was this place A happy rural seat of various view: Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm; Others, whose fruit, burnished with golden rind, Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, If true, here only, and of delicious taste. Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks Grazing the tender herb, were interposed; Or palmy hillock, or the flowery lap Of some irriguous valley spread her store; Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose. Another side, umbrageous grots and caves Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps Luxuriant: meanwhile murmuring waters fall Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake, That to the fringed bank with myrtle crowned Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams. The birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves; while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Led on the eternal spring.”

2 - 2

Ruskin, Mod. Painters, III. 219: “As Homer gave us an ideal landscape, which even a god might have been pleased to behold, so Dante gives us, fortunately, an ideal landscape, which is specially intended for the terrestrial paradise. And it will doubtless be with some surprise, after our reflections above on the general tone of Dante's feelings, that we find ourselves here first entering a forest, and that even a thick forest.....

”This forest, then, is very like that of Colonos in several
respects, – in its peace and sweetness, the number of
birds; it differs from it only in letting a light breeze
through it, being therefore somewhat thinner than the Greek
wood; the tender lines which tell of the voices of the birds
mingling with the wind, and of the leaves all turning one
way before it, have been more or less copied by every poet
since Dante's time. They are, so far as I know, the
sweetest passage of wood description which exists in
literature.“

Homer's ideal ladscape, here referred to, in the Odyssey V., where he describes the visit of Mercury to the Island of Calypso. It is thus translated by Buckley: –

”Immediately then he bound his beautiful sandals beneath his
feet, ambrosial, golden; which carried him both over the
moist wave, and over the boundless earth, with the breath of
the wind.....Then he rushed over the wave like a bird, a
sea-gull, which, hunting for fish in the terrible bays of
the barren sea, dips frequently its wings in the brine; like
unto this Mercury rode over many waves. But when he came to
the distant island, then, going from the blue sea, he went
to the continent; until he came to the great cave in which
the fair-haired Nymph dwelt; and he found her within. A
large fire was burning on the hearth, and at a distance the
smell of well-cleft cedar, and of frankincense, that were
burning, shed odor through the island: but she within was
singing with a beautiful voice, and, going over the web,
wove with a golden shuttle. But a flourishing wood sprung
up around her grot, alder and poplar, and sweet-smelling
cypress. There also birds with spreading wings slept, owls
and hawks, and wide-tongued crows of the ocean, to which
maritime employments are a care. There a vine in its prime
was spread about the hollow grot, and it flourished with
clusters. But four fountains flowed in succession with
white water, turned near one another, each in different
ways; but around there flourished soft meadows of violets
and of parsley. There indeed even an immortal coming would
admire it when he beheld, and would be delighted in his
mind; there the messenger, the slayer of Argus, standing,
admired.“

And again, at the close of the same book, where Ulysses reaches the shore at Phaeacia: –

”Then he hastened to the wood; and found it near the water
in a conspicuous place, and he came under two shrubs, which
sprang from the same place; one of wild olive, the other of
olive. Neither the strength of the moistly blowing winds
breathes through them, nor has the shining sun ever struck
them with its beam, nor has the shower penetrated entirely
through them: so thick were they grown entangled with one
another; under which Ulysses came.“

The wood of Colonos is thus described in one of the Choruses of the OEdipus Coloneus of Sophocles, Oxford Tr., Anon.: –

”Thou hast come, O stranger, to the seats of this land,
renowned for the steed; to seats the fairest on earth, the
chalky Colonus; where the vocal nightingale, chief
abounding, trills her plaintive note in the green vales,
tenanting the dark-hued ivy and the leafy grove of the god,
untrodden [by mortal foot], teeming with fruits, impervious
to the sun, and unshaken by the winds of every storm; where
Bacchus ever roams in revlry companioning his divine nurses.
And ever day by day the narcissus, with its beauteous
clusters, burst into bloom by heaven's dew, the ancient
coronet of the mighty goddesses, and the saffron with golden
ray; nor do the sleepless founts that feed the channels of
Cephissus fail, but ever, each day, it rushes o'er the
plains with its stainless wave, fertilizing the bosom of the
earth; nor have the choirs of the Muses spurned his clime;
nor Venus, too, of the golden rein. And there is a tree,
such as I hear not to have ever sprung in the land of Asia,
nor in the mighty Doric island of Pelops, a tree unplanted
by hand, of spontaneous growth, terror of the hostile spear,
which flourishes chiefly in this region, the leaf of the
azure olive that nourishes our young. This shall neither
any one in youth nor in old age, marking for destruction,
and having laid it waste with his hand, set its divinity at
naught; for the eye that never closes of Morian Jove regards
it, and the blue-eyed Minerva.“

We have also Homer's description of the Garden of Alcinoüs, Odyssey, VII., Buckley's Tr.: –

”But without the hall there is a large garden, near the
gates, of four acres; but around it a hedge was extended on
both sides. And there tall, flourishing trees grew, pears,
and pomegranates, and apple-trees producing beautiful fruit,
and sweet figs, and flourishing olives. Of these the fruit
never perishes, nor does it fail in winter or summer,
lasting throughout the whole year; but the west wind ever
blowing makes some bud forth, and ripens others. Pear grows
old after pear, apple after apple, grape also after grape,
and fig after fig. There a fruitful vineyard was planted:
one part of this ground, exposed to the sun in a wide place,
is dried by the sun; and some [grapes] they are gathering,
and others they are treading, and further on are unripe
grapes, having thrown off the flower, and others are
slightly changing color. And there are all kinds of beds
laid out in order, to the furthest part of the ground,
flourishing throughout the whole year: and in it are two
fountains, one is spread through the whole garden, but the
other on the other side goes under the threshold of the hall
to the lofty house, from whence the citizens are wont to
draw water.“

Dante's description of the Terrestrial Paradise will hardly fail to recall that of Mount Acidale in Spencer's Faerie Queene VI. x. 6: –

”It was an Hill plaste in an open plaine,
That round about was bordered with a wood
Of matchlesse high, that seemed th'earth to disdaine;
In which all trees of honour stately stood,
And did all winter as in sommer bud,
Spredding pavilions for the birds to bowre,
Which in their lower braunches sung aloud;
And in their tops the soring hauke did towre,
Sitting like king of fowles in maiesty and powre.

“And at the foote thereof a gentle flud
His silver waves did softly tumble downe,
Unmard with ragged mosse or filthy mud;
Ne mote wylde beastes, ne mote the ruder clowne,
Thereto approach; ne filth mote therein drowne:
But Nymphes and Faeries by the bancks did sit
In the woods shade which did the waters crowne,
Keeping all noysome things away from it,
And to the waters fall turning their accents fit.

”And on the top thereof a spacious plaine
Did spred itselfe, to serve to all delight,
Either to daunce, when they to daunce would faine,
Or else to course-about their bases light;
Ne ought there wanted, which for pleasure might
Desired be, or thence to banish bale:
So pleasauntly the Hill with equall hight
Did seeme to overlooke the lowly vale;
Therefore it rightly cleeped was Mount Acidale.“

See also Tasso's Garden of Armida, in the Gerusalemme, XVI.

20 - 20

Chiassi is on the sea-shore near Ravenna. ”Here grows a spacious pine forest,“ says Covino, Descr. Geog., p. 39, ”which stretches along the sea between Ravenna and Cervia.“

25 - 25

The river Lethe.

40 - 40

This lady, who represents the Active life to Dante's walking eyes, as Leah had done in his vision, and whom Dante afterwards, Canto XXXIII. 119, calls Matilda, is generally supposed by the commentators to be the celebrated Countess Matilda, daughter of Boniface, Count of Tuscany, and wife of Guelf, of the house of Suabia. Of this marriage Villani, IV. 21, gives a very strange account, which, if true, is a singular picture of the times. Napier, Flor. Hist., I. Ch. 4 and 6, gives these glimpses of the Countess: –

”This heroine died in 1115, after a reign of active exertion
for herself and the Church against the Emperors, which
generated the infant and as yet nameless factions of Guelf
and Ghibelline. Mathilda endured this contest with all the
enthusiasm and constancy of a woman, combined with a manly
courage that must ever render her name respectable, whether
proceeding from the bigotry of the age, or to oppose
imperial ambition in defence of her own defective title.
According to the laws of that time, she could not as a
female inherit her father's states, for even male heirs
required a royal confirmation. Matilda therefore, having no
legal right, feard the Emperor and clung to the Popes, who
already claimed, among other prerogatives, the supreme
disposal of kingdoms.....

“The Church had ever come forward as the friend of her
house, and from childhood she had breathed an atmosphere of
blind and devoted submission to its authority; even when
only fifteen she had appeared in arms against its enemies,
an made two successful expeditions to assist Pope Alexander
the Second during her mother's lifetime.

”No wonder, then, that in a superstitious age, when monarchs
trembled at an angry voice from the Lateran, the habits of
early youth should have mingled with every action of
Matilda's life, and spread an agreeable mirage over the
prospect of her eternal salvation: the power that tamed a
Henry's pride, a Barbarossa's fierceness, and afterwards
withstood the vast ability of a Frederic, might without
shame have been reverenced by a girl whose feelings so
harmonized with the sacred strains of ancient tradition and
priestly dignity. But from whatever motive, the result was
a continual aggrandizement of ecclesiastics; in prosperity
and adversity; during life and death; from the lowliest
priest to the proudest pontiff.

“The fearless assertion of her own independence by
successful struggles with the Emperor was an example not
overooked by the young Italian communities under Matilda's
rule, who were already accused by imperial legitimacy of
political innovation and visionary notions of
government.....

”Being then at a place called Monte Baroncione, and in her
sixty-ninth year, this celebrated woman breathed her last,
after a long and glorious reign of incessant activity,
during which she displayed a wisdom, vigor, and
determination of character rarely seen even in men. She
bequeathed to the Church all those patrimonial estates of
which she had previously disposed by an act of gift to
Gregory the Seventh, without, however, any immediate royal
power over the cities and other possessions thus given, as
her will expresses it, 'for the good of her soul, and the
souls of her parents.'

“Whatever may now be thought of her chivalrous support, her
bold defence, and her deep devotion to the Church, it was in
perfect harmony with the spirit of that age, and has formed
one of her chief merits with many even in the present. Her
unflinching adherence to the cause she had so
conscientiously embraced was far more noble than the Emperor
Henry's conduct. Swinging between the extremes of
unmeasured insolence and abject humiliation, he died a
victim to Papal influence over superstitious minds; an
influence which, amongst other debasing lessons, then taught
the world that a breach of the most sacred ties and dearest
affections of human nature was one means of gaining the
approbation of a Being who it all truth and beneficience.

”Matilda's object was to strengthen the chief spiritual
against the chief temporal power, but reserving her own
independence; a policy subsequently pursued, at least in
spirit, by the Guelphic states of Italy. She therefore
protected subordinate members of the Church against feudal
chieftains, and its head against the feudal Emperor. True
to her religious and warlike character, she died between the
sword and the crucifix, and two of her last acts, even when
the hand of death was already cold on her brow, were the
chastisement of revolted Mantua, and the midnight
celebration of Christ's nativity in the depth of a freezing
and unusually inclement winter.“

50 - 50

Ovid, Met. V., Maynwaring's Tr.: –

”Here, while young Proserpine, among the maids,
Diverts herself in these delicious shades;
While like a child with busy speed and care
She gathers lilies here, and violets there;
While first to fill her little lap she strives,
Hell's grizzly monarch at the shade arrives;
Sees her thus sporting on the flowery green,
And loves the blooming maid, as soon as seen.
His urgent flame impatient of delay,
Swift as his thought he seized the beauteous prey,
And bore her in his sooty car away.
The frighted goddess to her mother cries,
But all in vain, for now far off she flies.
Far she behind her leaves her virgin train;
To them too cries, and cries to them in vain.
And while with passion she repeats her call,
The violets from her lap, and lilies fall:
She misses them, poor heart! and makes new moan;
Her lilies, ah! are lost, her violets gone.“

65 - 65

Ovid, Met. X., Eusden's Tr.: –

”For Cytherëa's lips while Cupid prest,
THe with a heedless arrow razed her breast.
The goddess felt it, and, with fury stung,
The wanton mischief from her bosom flung:
Yet thought at first the danger slight, but found
The dart too faithful, and too deep the wound.
Fired with a mortal beauty, she disdains
To haunt th' Idalian mount, or Phrygian plains.
She seeks not Cnidos, nor her Paphian shrines,
Nor Amathus, that teems with brazen mines:
Even Heaven itself with all its sweets sought,
Adonis far a sweeter Heaven is thought.“

72 - 72

When Xerxes invaded Greece he crossed the Hellespont on a bridge of boats with an army of five million. So say the historians. On his return he crossed it in a fishing boat almost alone, – ”a warning to all human arrogance.“

Leander naturally hated the Hellespont, having to swim it so many times. The last time, according to Thomas Hood, he met with a sea nymph, who, enamored of his beauty, carried him to the bottom of the sea. See Hero and Leander, stanza 45: –

”His eyes are blinded with the sleety brine,
His ears are deafened with the wildering noise;
He asks the purpose of her fell design,
But foamy waves choke up his struggling voice,
Under the ponderous sea his body dips,
And Hero's name dies bubbling on his lips.

“Look how a man is lowered to his grave,
A yearning hollow in the green earth's lap;
So he is sunk into the yawning wave,
The plunging sea fills up the watery gap;
Anon he is all gone, and nothing seen,
But likeness of green turf and hillocks green.

”And where he swam, the constant sun lies sleeping,
Over the verdant plain that makes his bed;
And all the noisy waves go freshly leaping,
Like gamesome boys over the churchyard dead;
The light in vain keeps looking for his face,
Now screaming sea-fowl settle in his place.“

80 - 80

Psalm xcii. 4: ”For thou, Lord, hast made me glad through thy work: I will triumph in the works of thy hands.“

87 - 87

Canto XXI. 46: –

”Because that neither rain, nor hail, nor snow,
Nor dew, nor hoar-frost any higher falls
Than the short, little stairway of three steps.“

94 - 94

Only six hours, according to Adam's own account in Par. XXI. 139: –

”Upon the mount which highest o'er the wave
Rises was I, with life or pure or sinful,
From the first hour to that which is the second,
As the sun changes quadrant to the sixth.“

102 - 102

Above the gate described in Canto IX.

146 - 146

Virgil and Statius smile at this allusion to the dreams of poets.