"Sa réputation s'affermira toujours, parcequ'on ne le lit guère." To La Harpe, the Divine Comedy was "un poëme monstrueux et rempli d'extravagances." In his own country Dante did not fare well. There were indeed Italian scholars who assigned to Dante the first place among Italian poets; but, in the opening of the present century, Alfieri complained that, even among his countrymen, the readers of Dante were few in number.

Three generations have wrought a change. Everywhere Dante is studied, written about, translated and commented upon. The poet's life, times and works, have been submitted to searching investigation, with the result that Dante takes his place unchallenged among the demi-gods. Careful research, minute inquiry and keen criticism, have served to bring his genius into clearer light. He now ranks among the mightiest of poets. It is, perhaps, a weakness to speak in superlatives, and he hazards too much who calls Dante the greatest among poets, for Dante lacks some qualities which the very greatest should possess; but it is less hazardous to speak of the Divine Comedy as a poem which holds a lonely and unchallenged place. He who was not the greatest of poets is yet the author, perhaps, of the greatest poem of the world.

Dante, in his great work, displays many of the farreaching and varied gifts which belong to the highest order of poet-lofty imagination, quick and clear insight, close and careful observation of men and things, sound judgment, a happy sense of proportion, deep and tender feeling. He may be said with justice

to be lacking in humour; but, amid the stern and sublime regions through which he takes us, the lack of a quality whose exercise would be incongruous is little missed. He is the close observer of men and things. He is the Dante who "saw everything." He is one to whom the flower unfolding at the kiss of sunshine when the frosty night has passed (Inf. c. ii), the sight of the cattle going peacefully to their rest at sundown (Inf. c. ii), the hoarse voice of the sea when agonized by tempest (Inf. v, 29, 30), the close-clinging flight of doves (Inf. v, 82-84), were full of ineffable charm. He is one to whom all the changing passions of man's nature, his doubts and misgivings, the subtle changefulness of his moods, his strange despondency, his remorse, the liberation of his spirit into joy, were worthy of the deepest reflection. Stories of human life, the quiet comedy, the startling tragedy, and the incident of unspeakable pathos, are embedded in his great poem; strange and heart-moving tales are told or hinted at in a few unforgetable words. When we study it more deeply, the poem, we find, is full of erudition. Whatever was to be known in the learning of his times Dante knew; but, though the poem is full of erudition, it is free from pedantry. Weaker minds than his would have been encumbered by their learning; vainer minds than his would have debased their art by a vulgar ripple of ostentatious scholarship; but Dante is master of his learning; he does not clumsily drag it along with him; he uses it easily and skilfully as one who has proved it; he carries it as a warrior carries his weapon. He is saved from the calamitous

failure of the pedantic poet, because he possesses a sweet reasonableness. He delights us because, though he dwells upon exalted themes, though he has an eye that pierces heaven, and an ear which can hear celestial melodies and words unspeakable, he maintains a right and level judgment. His robust good sense seldom, if ever, deserts him. He is a standing refutation of the theorists who would have us believe that genius is allied to insanity. Like all those who belong to the first rank of genius-like Shakespeare, Milton, Goëthe, he possesses what Professor Dowden aptly calls a "large and wholesome sanity." He holds his mind in calm self-possession. He seldom lets his judgment go. He has, for example, a zeal for right thinking in matters of belief, but he stands firm upon the ethical basis of faith. He has a reverence for the Church of God, but he opens his eyes wide to real evils. None spoke so clearly or solemnly against the corruptions of his times; none repudiated so completely the validity of mere official pardons. He can recognize the value and need of discipline, but he sees clearly that man is incapable of finally judging of man (Par. xiii, 130-142; cf. iv, 58-62). He dislikes the extravagant and obstinate pride of consistency. Jephtha had better have said "Mal feci" than have kept his rash vow (Par. v, 67). He hates the narrowness and nascent injustice of partizanship (Par. vi, 101). Thus Dante's sound level sense holds its place in his great work. His greatness is the greatness, not of great imaginative gifts alone, nor of great erudition alone, nor of sound judgment alone, nor of musical expression alone; but

of all these mingled together, and made to contribute their share in his matchless work. This means a genius which can handle with a master hand the materials at his command. His art is not baffled by reluctant matter. To Dante "la materia" non "è sorda."

But the gift of genius, which gives coherence to matter and beauty to form, cannot bestow the subtle and immortal quality which reaches the hearts of men. For this there must be the personal human element. This personal element makes itself felt in the poem. For many readers the sweet human element constitutes the charm of the Divine Comedy. Sainte-Beuve acknowledged that the passages which awakened the quickest response in his heart were those which expressed the dear, tender, instinctive affection of Beatrice guiding and watching over the poet-traveller. These touches of simple human feeling appeal to the individual heart. But these alone, sweet and delicate as they are, would never have given to the Divine Comedy its lasting and far-reaching interest. There is a personal element in the poem deeper than a dear human friendship-deeper and more eternal. The poem is the journey of a soul: it is the journey of one not seeking adventure but meeting it in the search for truth. It is the story of the discipline of a much tried and much troubled man. The great "I" of personal experience gives piquancy, depth and fascination to the Divine Comedy. In this it is like Bunyan's great allegory that, beneath the form of the narrative, we may read the story of a travailing soul. The great and

sombre pilgrimage must be undertaken because for Dante himself there was no other way (Inf. i, 91). Over the man Dante the heavenly powers watched in sweet and loving solicitude (Inf. ii, 124, 125); into his life had come evils which it was needful he should recognize, and from his former self he must turn completely away (Inf. xxxiv, 76-84) in the steep ascent of the Purgatory hill he must learn to gain the mastery over the root faults which had wrought him ill (Purg. i, 121-136; and xxvii, 31-59): he must himself win that self-control which meant the crowning of his manhood with the crown and mitre of lordship over self (Purg. xxvii, 142). He must be quickened with the mysterious and heavenly impulse (Par. i, 121-126), which made possible the movement through the realms of Paradise. We meet in the poem a wide range of subjects-historical, philosophical, theological-but the main thread of its purpose is never lost sight of. The personal element in the story continues to the close. As we move from the Inferno to the Purgatorio, and pass on to the Paradiso, we read the record of the wandering, the awakening, the disciplining, and the emancipation of a soul. The poem is the Pilgrim's Progress of the middle ages. Dante had experiences of life and people, and he expresses these with wondrous force and magnificent elaboration, but there are lessons which he wishes to teach. Beyond all else there are some deep truths which he yearns to tell. Compared with these soul truths, all the rest of his poem-to use the comparison which, as Mr. W. Warren Vernon reminds us, Benvenuto da Imola employed-consists