Folco, the gallant Troubadour, here placed between Cunizza and Rahab, is no other than Folques, bishop of Thoulouse, the persecutor of the Albigenses.  It is of him the brutal anecdote is related, that, being asked, during an indiscriminate attack on that people, how the orthodox and heterodox were to be distinguished, he said, “Kill all:  God will know his own.”

For Rahab, see Joshua, chap. ii. and vi.; and Hebrews. xi. 31]

[Footnote 9:  The reader need not be required to attend to the extraordinary theological disclosures in the whole of the preceding passage, nor yet to consider how much more they disclose, than theology or the poet might have desired.]

[Footnote 10:  These fifteen personages are chiefly theologians and schoolmen, whose names and obsolete writings are, for the most part, no longer worth mention.  The same may be said of the band that comes after them.

Dante should not have set them dancing.  It is impossible (every respectfulness of endeavour notwithstanding) to maintain the gravity of one’s imagination at the thought of a set of doctors of the Church, Venerable Bede included, wheeling about in giddy rapture like so many dancing dervises, and keeping time to their ecstatic anilities with voices tinkling like church-clocks.  You may invest them with as much light or other blessed indistinctness as you please; the beards and the old ages will break through.  In vain theologians may tell us that our imaginations are not exalted enough.  The answer (if such a charge must be gravely met) is, that Dante’s whole Heaven itself is not exalted enough, how ever wonderful and beautiful in parts.  The schools, and the forms of Catholic worship, held even his imagination down.  There is more heaven in one placid idea of love than in all these dances and tinklings.]

[Footnote 11: 

  “Benigno a’ suoi, ed a’ nimici crudo.”

Cruel indeed;—­the founder of the Inquisition!  The “loving minion” is Mr. Cary’s excellent translation of “amoroso drudo.”  But what a minion, and how loving!  With fire and sword and devilry, and no wish (of course) to thrust his own will and pleasure, and bad arguments, down other people’s throats!  St. Dominic was a Spaniard.  So was Borgia.  So was Philip the Second.  There seems to have been an inherent semi-barbarism in the character of Spain, which it has never got rid of to this day.  If it were not for Cervantes, and some modern patriots, it would hardly appear to belong to the right European community.  Even Lope de Vega was an inquisitor; and Mendoza, the entertaining author of Lazarillo de Tormes, a cruel statesman.  Cervantes, however, is enough to sweeten a whole peninsula.]

[Footnote 12:  What a pity the reporter of this advice had not humility enough to apply it to himself!]

[Footnote 13: 

  “O sanguis meus, o superinfusa
  Gratia Dei, sicut tibi, cui
  Bis unquam coeli janua reclusa?”