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Aerial men and women, with obscene words and still more obscene gestures, seemed to invade her little cell, sweeping round her like the souls of the damned in Dante's "Hell," inviting her simple and chaste soul to the banquet of lust.
Dante's grave profile, a cast of Keats' face and brow taken after death, a pen-and-ink sketch of Tennyson, the genial face of John Kenyon, Mrs. Browning's good friend and relative, little paintings of the boy Browning, all attracted the eye in turn, and gave rise to a thousand musings. But the glory of all, and that which sanctified all, was seated in a low armchair near the door.
For love is crowned with the prime, In the springtime, the springtime, The only pretty ring-time, When birds do sing hey ding a ding! Sweet lovers love the Spring. His greatest work is undoubtedly his symphonic prologue to Dante's story of "Francesca da Rimini," for full orchestra.
The fourth canto was written at Ravenna; it is so said within itself; and the description of Dante's sepulchre there may be quoted for its truth, and the sweet modulation of the moral reflection interwoven with it. The fifth canto was also written in Ravenna. But it is not my intention to analyze this eccentric and meandering poem; a composition which cannot be well estimated by extracts.
Since the female sex has been much more injured and abused by monarchs and other tyrants than the masculine sex, Beatrice Dante's departed wife was found as most suitable Heavenly messenger by whom the great prophecy in the 33d and last Song of Purgatory was communicated to the Poet and most remarkable Prophet Dante, and my mother was found most suitable to deliver the above mentioned communication and to make greater impression than any other Heavenly messenger upon me, when the first message was to be delivered to understand that great prophecy and thousands of other prophecies which have been locked until that time.
A waiter brought the tea and set it on a little table between them. "You had coffee yesterday," she said. "It seems years ago." "I have forgotten yesterday, Incipit vita nuova! Do you remember I came to you dressed in Dante's red lucco?" "Yes, but you are not a bit like him." She came to the point presently. "Filippo, you say you want me?" "More than anything in this world."
The neighbour, who was a man of family, was so exasperated, that Sacchetti the novelist says it was the principal cause of Dante's expatriation. This will be considered the less improbable, if, as some suppose, the delinquent obtained possession of his derider's confiscated property; but, at all events, nothing is more likely to have injured him.
As soon as the sounds of retiring footsteps were heard no more in the great echoing church, uprose, like one of Dante's damned out of a torture-tomb, the form of Murdoch Malison, above the edge of the pulpit.
The sky is overcast, and Italy without sun is like a face in a mask. P. S. Dante's monument is fine. FLORENCE, March 30, 1891. I am in Florence. To-morrow we are going to Rome. It's cold. We have the spleen. You can't take a step in Florence without coming to a picture-shop or a statue-shop. P. S. Send my watch to be mended. ROME, April 1, 1891.
Calm majesty is in the face of Washington; pathetic patience and divine dignity in that of Lincoln; unyielding granite is in John Brown's face, though sympathy hath tempered hardness into softness; intellect is in Newton's; pure imagination is in Keats' and in Milton's; heroic substance is in the face of Cromwell and in that of Luther; pathetic sorrow is found in Dante's eyes; conscience and love shine in the face of Fénelon.
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