Indeed who is not tired to death with pure description of scenery? Is it not the fact, that external objects never strongly excite our feelings but when they are contemplated in reference to man, as illustrating his destiny, or as influencing his character? The most beautiful object in the world, it will be allowed, is a beautiful woman.But who that can analyse his feelings is not sensible that she owes her fascination less to grace of outline and delicacy of colour, than to a thousand associations which, often unperceived by ourselves, connect those qualities with the source of our existence, with the nourishment of our infancy, with the passions of our youth, with the hopes of our age--with elegance, with vivacity, with tenderness, with the strongest of natural instincts, with the dearest of social ties?
To those who think thus, the insensibility of the Florentine poet to the beauties of nature will not appear an unpardonable deficiency.On mankind no writer, with the exception of Shakspeare, has looked with a more penetrating eye.I have said that his poetical character had derived a tinge from his peculiar temper.It is on the sterner and darker passions that he delights to dwell.All love excepting the half-mystic passion which he still felt for his buried Beatrice, had palled on the fierce and restless exile.The sad story of Rimini is almost a single exception.I know not whether it has been remarked, that, in one point, misanthropy seems to have affected his mind, as it did that of Swift.Nauseous and revolting images seem to have had a fascination for his mind; and he repeatedly places before his readers, with all the energy of his incomparable style, the most loathsome objects of the sewer and the dissecting-room.
There is another peculiarity in the poem of Dante, which, Ithink, deserves notice.Ancient mythology has hardly ever been successfully interwoven with modern poetry.One class of writers have introduced the fabulous deities merely as allegorical representatives of love, wine, or wisdom.This necessarily renders their works tame and cold.We may sometimes admire their ingenuity; but with what interest can we read of beings of whose personal existence the writer does not suffer us to entertain, for a moment, even a conventional belief? Even Spenser's allegory is scarcely tolerable, till we contrive to forget that Una signifies innocence, and consider her merely as an oppressed lady under the protection of a generous knight.
Those writers who have, more judiciously, attempted to preserve the personality of the classical divinities have failed from a different cause.They have been imitators, and imitators at a disadvantage.Euripides and Catullus believed in Bacchus and Cybele as little as we do.But they lived among men who did.
Their imaginations, if not their opinions, took the colour of the age.Hence the glorious inspiration of the Bacchae and the Atys.
Our minds are formed by circumstances: and I do not believe that it would be in the power of the greatest modern poet to lash himself up to a degree of enthusiasm adequate to the production of such works.
Dante, alone among the poets of later times, has been, in this respect, neither an allegorist nor an imitator; and, consequently, he alone has introduced the ancient fictions with effect.His Minos, his Charon, his Pluto, are absolutely terrific.Nothing can be more beautiful or original than the use which he has made of the River of Lethe.He has never assigned to his mythological characters any functions inconsistent with the creed of the Catholic Church.He has related nothing concerning them which a good Christian of that age might not believe possible.On this account there is nothing in these passages that appears puerile or pedantic.On the contrary, this singular use of classical names suggests to the mind a vague and awful idea of some mysterious revelation, anterior to all recorded history, of which the dispersed fragments might have been retained amidst the impostures and superstitions of later religions.Indeed the mythology of the Divine Comedy is of the elder and more colossal mould.It breathes the spirit of Homer and Aeschylus, not of Ovid and Claudian.