THE DIVINITY OF DANTE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3523, 20 September 1921, Page 55

THE DIVINITY OF DANTE.

SIX HUNDRED YEARS OF FAME. HIS IMMORTAL PLACE. “HE WHO HATH BEEN TO HELL.” We have seen it—Rossetti’s picture of the meeting of Dante and Beatrice at the bridge of the Arno —the straightlimbed maiden with the clean folds of her gown, moving towards him with a youthful lack of consciousness, attended ■ by a woman companion. In the foreground i.s tile sombre figure and deeplylined face of him “who hath been to hell,” as the Florentine urchins were wont ■ to call after him in the street, his burn- > ing eyes half puzzled at the virginal : grace and sweetness of Beatrice Portin- [ ; ri. It is by this picture that we know l him best, nor will many remember that j six hundred years have passed since Dante - Alighieri was buried in the cloisters of 7 the Franciscan monastery at Ravenna in b the mid-September of 1321. , It is well to pause a moment over the 5 homelier characteristics of this sojourner f in high places. Boccaeio describes him i as “of middle height, who, after attain--1 ing mature years, went somewhat stoop--3 ing. His gait was grave and sedate, his t dress suited to the ripeness of his years. . His complexion was dark, his hair and 1 beard thick, black and crisp ; his conntenf ance was always sad and thoughtful. 7 “His features are shown in many a con--1 temporary portrait, and we do not doubt - the legend that he had no sense of 3 humour.

—Our Attitude Towards Dante.— What is his place with us to-day? What do most of us know, or care, for this mighty Italian, whose spirit has overpassed the bounds of mere nationality, and has become the property of the world? In searching for a questioned date. 1 had recourse to the two ponderous volumes of Dr Toynbee, who, with loving care, has traced the history and influence of Dante in English literature from Chaucer to the present day. Yet, these books upon the shelves of a University College lihary held uncut pages and many a sign that they had been long unopened. The age justly replies “The day of the tome and the obscure reference is passed ; give us four pages of simple facts about this mystic influence, which we have know by name from childhood, and we will read them willingly. Make for us some extracts of his finest work, or a concise account of his aims, and we will be grateful. But further than this—no.” It is scarcely possible for us, materialists and opportunists all, to conceive of a series of works devoid of “bright spots” a marvellous mosaic “of many of the most remarkable outcomes of all human literature.” Dean Farrar points out that the “Diviua Commedia” is autobiography, allegory, vision, a soul’s his-t-orv, and the cycle of heaven and hell. We h; ive no longer the power of assimilating eo colossal a feast.

—Personalia. — The poet, horn in Florence in 1260 of the noble family of Durante Alighieri, was a profound student. There is even a vague tradition that his search for learning carried him to Oxford. He lived busily as soldier and ambassador, fighting at Campaldino in his twenty-fifth year for his native city. In his time a fierce partisan warfare between the two parties of Guelf and Ghibelline resounded through the streets of Florence. Dantes Ghibelline leanings resulted in his banishment in his than 1 v-fifth year. So fierce indeed was the civic rancour against him that an order to burn him alive if captured was issued. It was under this shadow that the “Divina Commedia came to fullness. Therefore we may not marvel when Carlyle, gazing upon the portrait of him attributed to Giotto, writes: “I think it is the mournfulest face that ever was painted from reality. There is the softness, gentle c-.-rection. as of a child . . congealed into proud, hopeless pain.” He wedded Gemma Deiati, not happily, .and she bore children to him. Y;t he continued to live —a wanderer through Italy, proud and moody, unwilling to conciliate, and consequently unfriended. Thus he stood, unhampered by earthly tilings, and “grew lean,” in hi,- own phrase, over his great work. With a rent toil and tears he finished it, and died at the age of fiftysix: his life passed away into his work. Dante was not one who woke to find himself famous; he was profoundly aware of the importance of his labours, and does not scrapie to rank himself with the greatest of the world’s poets unto his time —with Homer, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, and Lucan. When with each other they had had some say They turned towards me with a welcoming sign; In that they made me comrade of their hand, So that I came sixth of that gifted line. The story of the life that was to lead to so great eminence is begun in the “Vita Nuova,” and continues through the “Convivio” into the “Commedia.” The first deals with the emotion of youth, a-nd contains an account of the poet’s precocious love for Beatrice at the age of nine. —The Legend of Beatrice.— Wc are not concerned with the allegorical or actual import of the tale, though we know that Beatrice Portinari was a real Florentine maiden, who-j the poet had known in early life. Her beauty, wit, and virtue was well-known through the city, but Dante makes no reference to the subsequent marriage of his beloved, which gives credence to the opinion held by some that she was a mere ideal of womanhood. The “C'anzoniere,” a mass of miscellaneous poems, contains reference to the other ladies who at times replaced Beatrice in his heart. This body of work, by the way, contains some of the most purely autobiographical studies of the poet that we possess; or rather we see him as he realised himself to be before adversity laid hands upon him. His sonnet, blaming the irrestible powers of love for all failings from the path of virtue, does not show us the Dante of the “Vita Nuova.” I have with Love in contact close been thrown From ihc- ninth year ilie sun did mark for me And know how he now curb, now spur may be, And how beneath him men may smile and frown. He continues t-o liken the action of those striving against love to that of villagers ringing a peal of bells to quell a tempest, and it concludes : Well with new spur in flank he may us prick And each new pleasure he before us lays, We needs must follow, of the old love sick. The conversion of this Dante to him who wrote of sensual sinners expiating their carnal wickedness in flame is memorable. Yet it enables him to speak with sympathy of unhappy Erancesco do Rimini, fulfilling the doom of her unhappy love for Paolo.

Tire “ Convivo. ” The “Convivio” or “Banquet is meant to regale those who hunger for knowledge 'and are unable to appease _ their appetites: it is a fragment, consisting of four books only, where 15 were designed. They instruct" in philology, astrnonomy, the movement of the heavens, and also in ethics and philosophy. It is regarded by some commentators as a display of his varied talents, by way of atoning for his ground lost by ‘the sensual songs of the “Canzoniere. It is most noteworthy for the poetical and eloquent terms in which Dante bemoans his banishment from Florence. A vitally important passage deals with the difficulty of translating poetry, peculiarly interesting in view of many experiments in translating the “Commedia.” Many translators have, of course, attempted to reproduce the charm of the original “terza lima,” but with little success. The “Divina Commedia.”— And then to the ‘Commedia,” which has been acclaimed as “Divina” by posterity. “Commedia” it was named liecause of its happy ending in the Elysian fields. It, is described as “the epic of Christendom,” and Dante himself has described it as "dealing with the state of the souls after death”; but, in an allegorical sense, “the subject is man, in so far as. by merit or demerit, he i.s liable to just punishment or reward.” Its three main divisions are well known—the “Inferno,” the “Purgatorio,” and the final “Paradise.” Into it Dante poured all his varied and accumulated knowledge of things, binding it all together with his- heart blood. It opens in the middle of his life when, so he begins, “1 found myself astray in a dark wood, because the right way was entirely lost.” He seeks to escape from it to the high ground of Christian life, but is instantly hindered by pleasure, anger, and money in the form of wild beasts. He appeals

for help to one who approaches—'.he poet \ irgil himself, the personification of human wisdom and conscience, who guides him through the dark land. Thus does Dante set, before us the horrors of sin in a definite and clearly-marked place of circles and doors, through which the two travellers pass from one place of remorse to another. From the dull torments of those who are expiating the blind nullity of their fives, they go to the Hell of Incontinence ; down to the lowest circle, where, frozen in the icy pool, they find those who, ostensibly alive, have lest their souls and whose bodies alone remain upon e arth. We cannot, however, follow them through almost 5000 lines of the “Inferno, ’ and we pass with the travellers to the ‘Purgatorio,” conceded the finest of the three divisions. We leave the horrors and the “silent burning tombs” and reach the Anie-Pureatory, under the rule of stern Cato. Their way is now sometimes crossed by white beings, who urge him eternally onward—it is the level of those who have repented, yet, still must watch and pray. The brow of Dante is marked with seven P's, the “Peecata,” or seven cleanly sins, each of which is singly obliterated as they pass through the seven terraces, on which sloth, avarice, and gluttony are expiated. Here Virgil leaves him. and his place is taken bv the beloved Beatrice. And. moving onward again to the stars, the sight of which ends each canticle, they enter the “Faradiso,” bathed in an ethereal glory and music—a place of saints beatified, happy fires, and the glory of the White and Eternal Rose. Thcv visit the lowest heaven of the moon, then that of Mercury and that of Holy Love. In the fourth heaven of the Sun thev have converse with many a saint and holy doctor. The fifth holds a vision of Christ upon the cross, with warriors passing before it. hymning the Conqueror of Death. The seventh heaven of Saturn is a place of Same-like spirits and chanting multitudes; then comes that of the triumph of Christ, and finally that “where there is neither time nor place and no other where than the Mind of God.” It is difficult to return to common earth again after these celestial soiournings; but it is interesting to note its effect upon minds of lesser worth that have yet achieved great eminence. The massive intellect of Goethe, even, revolts from it, and he describes the three cantides in turn as “revolting, dull, and unreadable”; while Savage Landor thought the “Inferno” the “most immoral and impious book ever written.-” Yet Milton and Shelley have lauded him, and Carlyle’s human appreciation of his greatness is the highest of tributes. He needs no other.