Pride: Perspective

Valedictory victory of the kindergarten class,
remember that the greatness of your glory soon will pass.
I'll come along in first grade, and I'll force you to salute;
if I should reign 'til second grade, why that would still be moot.
For no one will remember the rank in which we rate--
other matters matter more when we all graduate.
And if a Tiffany window should adorn your palace bright,
may it remind you of the leaves that dabble in the light.

Pride: The Penitant Poet

Do these sweet winging words condemn their flight?
Had they yet bowed beneath repentant load,
the words could not have been that which they showed.
Even as sharp longing turns toward keener sight,
the lofty thoughts inquire of their right;
by mind's ascent shall will's long climb be slowed?
Do these bright visions shine a guiding light,
or do they lure me off the narrow road?

As now and then, we climbers pause to see
our footprints on that long and spiraled path,
then with redoubled strength renew our climb,
so must the poet pause to do and be,
with eyelids closed to hold their salty bath,
to find the place of penitence in rhyme.

Canto VIII

“So may the lamp which leads you still to rise
find in your own free will sufficient wax
to reach the glittering heights of Paradise…” (viii.112-114)

This tercet confuses me. Lamp…rise…wax??

Thinking as I write here… none of the translators comment on this, but I wonder if Dante is reversing the myth of Icarus. Icarus flew too high, the sun melted the wax which held his wings together, and he fell to his death. Dante, in the lowest places, is being drawn upward by the “lamp” (divine grace, according to Sayers and Esolen—also, Virgil earlier used the sun as an image of God). This lamp apparently works upon the “wax” of his free will—not to destroy it, but to shape it more perfectly. Maybe Dante has Mt 23:12 in mind: “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

Ante-Purgatory: Plea for Prayer

Pray for me; the climbing here below
is rough for me, distractable and slow.
So filled with self that shadows seem more strong
than light itself, and darkness all I know.
Pray for me, as shadows still wax long;
the lingering serpent bids me still to wrong.
Pray my wandering heart would turn to prayer,
that dark of night would fill my lips with song.
Closer to that mountain bright and fair,
further on that sanctifying stair,
help me find the way that I must go,
that Jesus Christ might be my only care.
Pray for me, that I in prayer might grow;
Christ to me, as me to Christ, you show.

Canto IV

“ ‘Such is this mountain’s fashion,’ he replied,
‘it’s always heavy going at the start.
As you go farther up it’s not so hard.
So when it seems to you the mountainside
is sloped so easily that going up
feels like a ship that slips down with the tide,
Then you’ll have reached the finish of this path.’ ”

Two experiences of Lent (or other difficulties or disciplines) conflict in my head here. Virgil says that being made holy is really hard at first but gets easier as you go. However, Lewis offers a different model in The Horse and His Boy: “He had not yet learned that if you do one good deed your reward usually is to be set to do another and harder and better one.” Shasta’s journey does not get easier, but harder. I am guessing that both models are true in different ways or at different times, and to some extent I can identify with both, but I’m curious about other people’s experiences of this sort (Lenten or otherwise). What do you suppose causes the seeming contradiction? Why is the first week of Lent sometimes deceptively easy and fun, and sometimes grey and dull and endless?

I don’t know, maybe dwelling on the experience of it is a bad idea... but Dante at least notices it in passing, so perhaps we can too. :-)

Cantos I-III

"My master gently ran his open hands
over the little tufts of grass, and I,
who understood the reason for his art,
Presented him my cheeks, still stained and teared..."

This seems like a good attitude to emulate at the beginning of Lent... I want not only to have my face washed, but to anticipate having my face washed and want my face washed and put myself in the right posture to have my face washed. Herbert's line about "a face not fearing light" comes to mind-- both in the sense that Dante's face will be clean in the sunrise and in the sense that he does not hide from Virgil's ministrations.

Jess, the line about liberty caught my eye too. Particularly as we set extra limitations or rules or disciplines on ourselves for a short period: not because we are slaves to these things, but because we are slaves of Christ who is making us free.

A couple of intriguing patterns (not sure I understand what is going on, but I am interested!):

-Virgil keeps having to tell Dante to show reverence (to Cato and to the angel of the ship), or even physically remind him to kneel. Why? Does he get courtesy/proper reverence better than Dante does?

-In Canto III, Virgil mourns that Plato and Aristotle (and Virgil himself) have no hope in Limbo of finding the knowledge they sought while living. A little later, he urges Dante, "And my sweet son, you keep your hope strong now." He also speaks winsomely to the Excommunicate about their hope and expectation of heaven. There is probably more going on here, but Virgil's unselfconscious desire for Dante and the Excommunicate to have what he has not is both tragic and beautiful.

Ekphrasis: Dante's Virgil

The leaves that led me down through hell back
have folded on themselves to guide me straight,
with clarity revealing what they lack,
and drawing me to purgatory's gate.
To the brink of law's dominion, law has led,
while barring fast the gates of its high walls.
Within are feasts; the satisfied are fed,
and yet in vain the hungry exile calls.
Young Moses hid amid papyrus reeds;
the Temple shone with Egypt's treasure's bright.
But flesh, not stone, the spirit's temple needs,
so gird me with thy easy yoke and light,
that rooted in thy true word I may stay
when the cleansing wind has blown all leaves away.