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they had entered; and as to Virgil and Dante, they are to traverse the interior of the earth right forward, and come out at the antipodes.

What I translate oft', is in the original more than seven times' words which some expounders (I think neither very naturally or poetically ) would make not an indefinite number, but an exact specification (yet certainly no very exact one) of nine distinct perils, which Dante had bitherto affronted the panther, lion, wolf, Charon, Minos, Cerberus, Plutus, Phlegyas, and Argenti.

The rede, or counsel which directed their unearthly journey (da tal n'e dato) was manifestly that recounted by Virgil in Canto the second : counsel, which he had affirmed proceeded from three saints, once Dante's mortal mistresses; one of whom was certainly intended for an immortal personification of supreme Philosophy, and the others, probably, for Mercy and Grace (1).

The words whispered to the infernal Cherubim were, it is presumable, the same which had been

(1) Hell, Comment, Canto 11. p. 153.

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addressed with such an effect to Charon, Minos, and Phlegyas -an assertion of the will and omnipotence of the Deity; and in now conveying them in a whisper, the poet shows much sublimity of judgment: for by this veil of mystery he is enabled to represent the fiends as rejecting with disdainful hardihood that solemn invocation, and at the same time to preserve all its force and solemnity. These could scarcely have escaped undiminished, had it been openly exposed to rejection (1). Perhaps even the invocation, instead of being enfeebled in our recollection, ( which would have been the neces-i sary consequence of noisy altercation) is invested by this obscurity with additional grandeur. Milton is reported to have studied closely the parliamentary orators of his day, and to have faithfully delineated their peculiarities in the debates of his Pandemonium. That he whom he imitated frequently, Dante, did similarly in his Divine Comedy may be; but it must have only been in those short exclamatory phrases, which occur occasionally at least if we may judge of the speeches of the Florentine leaders, by what remains of them. Cer

(1) This blind fury and recklesness of the damned must remind us of the Miltonic Moloch:

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tainly the remnants of their speeches are few; but they suffice to give an idea of their manner, because we know them to be authentic. Dino Compagni (who was one of the chief political men of the day, deeply engaged in the Government of Florence) has himself left us parts of his own orations and of those of his companions. Short yet confused, in the very lowest style of colloquial asseveration, nothing can be more unhappily devoid of any thing approaching to eloquence. Certainly it is beyond calculation immense, the distance between them and the diffusive energy and majesty, which Dante displays so very often in all his prose works, whether Latin or Italian. In his Vita Nuova, his Convito, and his Monarchia we find passages utterly astonishing when compared with Dino Compagni. It was then most justly that Dante's eloquence was rated so high in his time, and that its force enabled him to succeed in the generality of his many embassies. His manner also (without speaking) appears to have possessed something of gentle gravity, which was very attractive; and conciliated his audience, before a word had fallen from a voice said to have been of singular sweetness. The interview between him and Ilarius, as recounted by that monk himself, impresses one with the truth of this remark. After Dante had finished the first Canticle of his poem, or Hell, that is, after he left Malaspina, he passed by the monastery of Corvo, on his way, it would ap

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pear, to Verona; whither, as I have often repeated, he went in 1308. He seems at that period to have been wandering without a single attendant. 'He was on his road to cross the Appennines' (writes Ilarius) when, either through respect to the place. or from some other motive, he entered our cloisters. Neither I, nor any of my brother friars knew who he was. So, I asked him what he wanted. He replied not a word, appearing to be wholly intent on observing the architecture of the building. I spoke to him a second time, to learn what he wanted. He then turned round, and, seeing so many friars with me, answered PEACE. This made me but the more curious to know who it could be. And taking him by the hand I led him aside; and then I learned that he was a man with whose face indeed I was uuacquainted, but whom I had long known by reputation. When he perceived I was so entirely attracted by his manner and af fectionately melted by his accents, he drew forth from his bosom a little book, and, with the most friendly courtesy handing it to me, said: Here is a part of my Work, which you have probably never seen. I give it to you to keep in memory of me. After I had pressed the little volume to my heart, as a dear thing, I opened it; and, in his presence, began to look over it with fond feelings And seeing it was not in Latin, but in the vulgar tongue, I suppose I betrayed a look of surprise; for he asked me why I stopped. I answered that I was astonished

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at the language: for it appeared to me a wondrous difficulty to treat so asduous a theme in the dialect of the vulgar; and even scarcely proper that so mighty a production should be attired in the garb of the populace. To this he replied verbatim thus: what you think is very just. Know even, that when the first seeds of this poem (which were, perhaps, infused in my mind by heaven) began to spring up, I did not fail to select the idiom which is best adapted to my theme: nor did I only select it in idea, but actually began to compose my verses in it, thus:

Ultima regna oanam, etc. (1)

But when I considered better the state of the present age, and saw how neglected lie the composi tions of the most illustrious Latin poets; and that oa this account people of rank, for whom in happier ages such writings were composed, have (and with grief I say it) thrown aside the liberal arts,

(1) These are precisely the same that are given by Boccaccio too in his Vita di Dante, as was noticed before (Hell, Comment, Canto 1. p. 11). There is then no doubt but such was the beginning of his version; and not any other. How far Dante went on with this his Latin version, we do not know: only thrée lines of it are in priut. May I avow (with the most profound respect) that these three lines do not make me much desire to see any more? The same reasons, here given to lariu's for not writing in Latin, are given still more at length in the Convito. John de Virgilio (so named from his supposed resemblance to Virgil) blames Dante much for condescending to write in Italian nec preme Castalias indignå veste sorores: and Dante in his reply mildly vindicates his own choice, and probably with the less force, because he did not chuse to displease his friend, John; who seems to have been inflated with pretensions to Latinity. Ecl. 1. Johannis de Virgi. lio-Id. Dantis, ap. Dionisi, Aneddoti, No. iv.