Mr. Ruskin,[14] describing the emblematical griffins on the front of the Duomo of Verona, points out that the Lombard carver was enabled to form so intense a conception, mainly by the fact that his griffin is a great and profoundly felt symbolism. Two wheels are under its eagle’s wings, which connect it with the living creatures of the vision of Ezekiel, “where they went the wheels went by them, and whithersoever the spirit was to go, they went, and the wheels were lifted up over against them, for the spirit of the living creatures was in the wheels.” The winged shape thus became at once one of the acknowledged symbols of the divine nature. Elsewhere, we think in the “Stones of Venice,” the connection is pointed out between the Assyrian and Gothic personations.
Gian-Paolo Baglione (+ 1520), who usurped the sovereignty of Perugia, bore a silver griffin on a red field with the motto, “Unguibus et rostro atque alis armatus in hostem” (“Armed against the enemy with talons and beak and wings”), which means of defence proved of no avail when he was seized by Pope Leo X., who, pretending to consult Baglione on affairs of importance, sent him a safe conduct to Rome, but when he arrived, he caused him to be tortured and beheaded, and afterwards took possession of his states. This gave occasion to his enemies to say, “This ugly bird has not used his wings as at other times, to flee from the snare which has been laid for him.”[15]
In Dante’s description of the triumph of the Church, in the “Purgatorio,” we have the mediæval conception of this wondrous creature, the gryphon. “The mystic shape that joins two natures in one form”—as he is called by the noble Italian poet—draws the car to which he is harnessed, and
“He above
Stretched either wing uplifted ’tween the midst
···· ···
And out of sight they rode. The members, far
As he was bird, were golden; white the rest,
With vermeil interveined.”
And when the eyes of Beatrice
“stood
Still, fix’d toward the gryphon, motionless.
As the sun strikes a mirror, even thus
Within those orbs the twyfold being shone;
For ever varying, in one figure now
Reflected, now in other. Reader! muse
How wondrous in my sight it seem’d, to mark
A thing, albeit steadfast in itself,
Yet in its imaged semblance mutable.”
Cary’s Dante, Purgatory, c. xxix.
“Some commentators of Dante,” says M. Dideron,[16] “have supposed the griffin to be the emblem of Christ, who, in fact, is one single person with two natures; of Christ in whom God and man are combined. But in this,” says M. Dideron, “they are mistaken. There is, in the first place, a manifest impropriety in describing the car as drawn by God as a beast of burden.” “Commentators,” it is added, “have been misled by the two-fold nature of the gryphon, but that difficulty is removed by recollecting that the Pope resembles the eagle in his spiritual character, and in his temporal authority the lion. The Pope is one person, but of two natures and two distinct forms. Thus considered the allegory of Dante becomes clear and intelligible.”
The gryphon is very frequently seen sculptured in Gothic churches, more especially in those of the Lombard and early Norman style, and is evidently intended to refer to the union of the divine and human natures.
A curious example of this compound form of bird and beast occurs on an Italian bronze medal of the fifteenth century, about 3½ in. in diameter (No. 57.51 in the fine collection in South Kensington Museum). On one side it bears a portrait of Niccolo Picininus of Perugia, a celebrated mercenary soldier—and on the reverse a griffin, the eagle’s head, wings, and feet united to the Roman she-wolf, with Romulus and Remus suckling. Dante’s emblem of the Popedom is here apparently adapted to the peculiarly Roman national symbol—the nursing mother of nations and the Catholic religion.
