Dante. An essay. To which is added a translation of De Monarchia.

by R. W. Church; Dante Alighieri

Di tutte parti saettava il giorno Lo sol ch'avea con le saette conte Di mezzo 'l ciel cacciato 'l Capricorno.—Purg. 2.[139]

But light in general is his special and chosen source of poetic beauty. No poet that we know has shown such singular sensibility to its varied appearances—has shown that he felt it in itself the cause of a distinct and peculiar pleasure, delighting the eye apart from form, as music delights the ear apart from words, and capable, like music, of definite character, of endless variety, and infinite meanings. He must have studied and dwelt upon it like music. His mind is charged with its effects and combinations, and they are rendered with a force, a brevity, a precision, a heedlessness and unconsciousness of ornament, an indifference to circumstance and detail; they flash out with a spontaneous readiness, a suitableness and felicity, which show the familiarity and grasp given only by daily observation, daily thought, daily pleasure. Light everywhere—in the sky and earth and sea—in the star, the flame, the lamp, the gem—broken in the water, reflected from the mirror, transmitted pure through the glass, or coloured through the edge of the fractured emerald—dimmed in the mist, the halo, the deep water—streaming through the rent cloud, glowing in the coal, quivering in the lightning, flashing in the topaz and the ruby, veiled behind the pure alabaster, mellowed and clouding itself in the pearl—light contrasted with shadow—shading off and copying itself in the double rainbow, like voice and echo—light seen within light, as voice discerned within voice, "quando una è ferma, e l'altra va e riede"—the brighter "nestling" itself in the fainter—the purer set off on the less clear, "come perla in bianca fronte"—light in the human eye and face, displaying, figuring, and confounded with its expressions—light blended with joy in the eye:

luce Come letizia in pupilla viva;

and in the smile:

Vincendo me col lume d'un sorriso;

joy lending its expression to light:

Quivi la donna mia vid'io sì lieta— Che più lucente se ne fè il pianeta. E se la stella si cambiò, e rise, Qual mi fec'io;—Parad. 5.

light from every source, and in all its shapes, illuminates, irradiates, gives its glory to the Commedia. The remembrance of our "serene life" beneath the "fair stars" keeps up continually the gloom of the Inferno. Light, such as we see it and recognise it, the light of morning and evening growing and fading, takes off from the unearthliness of the Purgatorio; peopled, as it is, by the undying, who, though suffering for sin, can sin no more, it is thus made like our familiar world, made to touch our sympathies as an image of our own purification in the flesh. And when he rises beyond the regions of earthly day, light, simple, unalloyed, unshadowed, eternal, lifts the creations of his thought above all affinity to time and matter; light never fails him, as the expression of the gradations of bliss; never reappears the same, never refuses the new shapes of his invention, never becomes confused or dim, though it is seldom thrown into distinct figure, and still more seldom coloured. Only once, that we remember, is the thought of colour forced on us; when the bright joy of heaven suffers change and eclipse, and deepens into red at the sacrilege of men.[140]

Yet his eye is everywhere, not confined to the beauty or character of the sky and its lights. His range of observation and largeness of interest prevent that line of imagery, which is his peculiar instrument and predilection, from becoming, in spite of its brightness and variety, dreamy and monotonous; prevent it from arming against itself sympathies which it does not touch. He has watched with equal attention, and draws with not less power, the occurrences and sights of Italian country life; the summer whirlwind sweeping over the plain—"dinanzi polveroso va superbo" (Inf. 9); the rain-storm of the Apennines (Purg. 5); the peasant's alternations of feeling in spring:

In quella parte del giovinetto anno Che 'l sole i crin sotto l'Aquario tempra, E già le notti al mezzo dì sen vanno; Quando la brina in su la terra assempra L'imagine di sua sorella bianca, Ma poco dura alla sua penna tempra, Lo villanello a cui la roba manca Si leva e guarda, e vede la campagna Biancheggiar tutta; ond'ei si batte l'anca; Ritorna a casa, e qua e là si lagna Come 'l tapin che non sa che si faccia: Poi riede e la speranza ringavagna Veggendo 'l mondo aver cangiata faccia In poco d'ora, e prende il suo vincastro E fuor le pecorelle a pascer caccia:—Inf. 24.[141]