The Divine Love - Purgatorio
Title: The Divine Love - Purgatorio (mini-series)
Author:
thekeyholder (Brigi)
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: PG 13
Beta: The lovely
ms_belle10 :) Thank you, my dear!
Summary: end of the 13th century - beginning of the 14th ,Florence. This story is based on the Italian poet’s, Dante’s, life. Dominic is the poet who is marked by three distinct meetings with “the gentlest of angels”, Matthew. These will influence his entire life and works.
Feedback: would be lovely if you have some time! <3
Warnings: This story won't have a happy end.
Disclaimers: As you probably know, I don’t own Muse or Dante's works, but original aspects belong to me. So don't steal, please!
Author's note: I studied The Divine Comedy at Comparative Literature a couple of months ago and I was really impressed by Dante’s undying love for Beatrice. No, I didn’t copy his masterpiece, but I did use some structures and information from his autobiographical work, La Vita Nuova. You must also know that he had a thing for the number three and it’s multiples.
Hey, does anybody remember this story? I finished it! Here's the penultimate part. :)
Purgatorio doesn't continue from where Paradiso ended, but nine years later when Dominic meets Matthew for the second time. This is my favourite meeting, especially because of the imagery.
Previous parts: Prologue | Paradiso
The Divine Love - Purgatorio
After the lapse of so many days that nine years were completed since Mamma’s death, my life changed so dramatically that not even in my dreams could have I imagined it this way. I would say that these were changes for the worse, but I fear that God would punish me for my foolish thoughts. Padre was so imbibed with suffering, that I’d never see a smile on his face anymore. I know he cared for me and did everything that was in his power to raise me well, but he could never replace Mamma.
Then three years ago, when I was fifteen, Padre followed my mother to the world of the ever happy. I became an orphan. I was all alone. Luckily, Signore Latini was kind enough and assumed my upbringing by becoming my official guardian. He was so good to do this and I will never be able to pay back his enormous efforts, but I hope to make him immortal by laying down his memory here.
Signore Latini was a busy political man and an excellent philosopher, yet he still had time for my education. He taught me French, philosophy and most importantly, the art of poetry. I looked up to him; he was a genius among men. Everywhere he went, he would be surrounded by respect. However, I sometimes heard accusatory words thrown at him, but I didn’t understand their meaning. I often desired to tell him of Matthew and how the sight of him shook my world, but I was afraid that he would laugh at me, or even worse, despise me.
That was until one night of my seventeenth year when sleep didn’t want to come. I got out of my bed and thought about sneaking into the library. There were noises, odd noises coming from Signore Latini’s room, and I, driven by curiousity, tiptoed to his room whose door was left ajar. What I’d seen was the reason of the insults my guardian got. To put it simply, he was in the arms of another man. I ran back to my room with my heart beating fast in my throat.
Naturally, I didn’t sleep at all that night; I paced to and fro in my chamber, coming to wise conclusions when dawn was breaking. I must admit that I often felt as if I sinned by loving a man, but seeing that Signore Latini did the same, yet he was the most intelligent and kindest man on earth, put my mind at ease. It just hurt that he had to do it in secret; that meant that I had to keep my love for Matthew secret as well.
But, I deviate from the highlight of my eighteenth year. It was a bright morning and I was sat on the balustrade of the Ponte Vecchio, watching the dark waters of the Arno River absentmindedly. In the next moment I saw Matthew Bellamy, dressed in pure white and accompanied by two older men. He turned his eyes to where I stood sorely abashed: and by his unspeakable courtesy, he saluted me with so virtuous a bearing that I seemed then and there to behold the very limits of blessedness.
It was the first time that any words from him reached my ears and I came into such sweetness that I parted from that place as one intoxicated. Locking myself to the loneliness of my own room, I began thinking of this most courteous sir, thinking of whom I was overtaken by a pleasant slumber, in which a marvellous vision was presented to me. For there, a mist the colour of fire appeared to me in my room, within which I discerned the figure of a lord of terrible aspect. He said many things, but I only understood him declaring to be my lord, Amor.
In his arms, it seemed to me that a person was sleeping, covered only with a blood-coloured cloth; when I looked very attentively upon him, I knew that it was the sir of my fantasy. He also held in his hand a thing that was burning in flames, and he said to me: “Behold your heart.” I thought that the lord was about to awaken he who slept, after which he made the man in his arms eat that thing which flamed in his hand and he ate as one fearing. After a while, it seemed to me that the mysterious figure went with him up towards heaven; whereby such a great anguish came upon me that my light slumber could not endure through it, but was suddenly broken. Then, musing on what I had seen, I decided to put into words my vision. That’s how my first sonnet was born.
* * * * *From that night forth, the natural functions of my body began to be vexed and impeded, for I was given up wholly to thinking of this most gracious creature. I’d changed so dramatically that some of my friends avoided even looking at me, while others queried what was that I wished to conceal. I told them how it was Love himself who had thus dealt with me, which roused curiosity in them, but when they went on to ask: “And by whose help has love done this?” I looked in their faces, and, smiling, spoke no word in return.
* * * * *
One day it happened that this most gracious sir was sitting in the church and I was in a place where my eyes could behold his beatitude: and between him and me, in a direct line, there sat Signorina Beatrice, the sister of Matthew, who looked around at me many times, marvelling at my continued gaze which seemed to have her for its object. It was not only her who perceived that, because when departing from that place, I heard someone whispering behind me: “Have you seen how he stared at that lady?” and in saying this, they named her who had been midway between the most gentle Matthew and my eyes. Therefore, I was reassured and knew that for that day my secret had not become manifest.
Then immediately it came into my mind that I might make use of Beatrice as a screen to the truth, and so well did I play my part that the most of those who had hitherto watched and wondered at me now imagined they had found me out. By her means I kept my secret concealed till some years were gone over; for better security, I even composed some poems in her honour.
Once when I returned from a journey, Matthew, who was the destroyer of all evil and the king of all good, coming where I was, denied me his sweetest salutation, in which alone was my blessedness. Words couldn’t describe my miserable state; I became possessed with such grief that parting myself from others, I went into a lonely place to bathe the ground with the most bitter tears. Then I went home, slouched on my bed and fell asleep. Amor appeared in my dream and he seemed abandoned of all hope. I complained to him about the matter of my grief and after I’d questioned him about the cause, he said the following:
“Our Matthew has noticed that his sister is troubled and he found out that Beatrice is sorely disquieted by your solicitations. Therefore, this most gracious creature, who is the enemy of all disquiet, being fearful of such troubles, refused to salute you. Albeit, in very truth, your secret must have become known to him by familiar observation. For this reason, it is my will that you write a poem in which you shall set forth how strong a mastership I have obtained over you, through him, and how you were his even from your childhood.”
After I woke up, I wrote a ditty as my master commanded.
Certainly the Lordship of Amor is evil, seeing that the more homage his servants pay to him, the more grievous and painful are the torments wherewith he torments them.
At this point I had absolutely no idea of what torments were to follow.
A/N: Just for the record, I didn't invent the story about Signore Latini to make Dom okay with his love for Matt. From Wikipedia:
"According to John D. Sinclair, Dante respected Latini immensely but nonetheless felt it necessary to place him with the sodomites since, according to Sinclair, this sin of Latini's was well known in Florence at the time.
Other critics point to the fact that, outside of the Divine Comedy, Latini is nowhere else accused of sodomy or same-sex relations. Some therefore have suggested perhaps that Latini is placed in Canto XV for being violent against art and against his vernacular (Latini wrote in French instead of Florentine); or perhaps also to demonstrate and underline that even the greatest of men may be guilty of private sins."
Author:
thekeyholder (Brigi)
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: PG 13
Beta: The lovely
ms_belle10 :) Thank you, my dear!
Summary: end of the 13th century - beginning of the 14th ,Florence. This story is based on the Italian poet’s, Dante’s, life. Dominic is the poet who is marked by three distinct meetings with “the gentlest of angels”, Matthew. These will influence his entire life and works.
Feedback: would be lovely if you have some time! <3
Warnings: This story won't have a happy end.
Disclaimers: As you probably know, I don’t own Muse or Dante's works, but original aspects belong to me. So don't steal, please!
Author's note: I studied The Divine Comedy at Comparative Literature a couple of months ago and I was really impressed by Dante’s undying love for Beatrice. No, I didn’t copy his masterpiece, but I did use some structures and information from his autobiographical work, La Vita Nuova. You must also know that he had a thing for the number three and it’s multiples.
Hey, does anybody remember this story? I finished it! Here's the penultimate part. :)
Purgatorio doesn't continue from where Paradiso ended, but nine years later when Dominic meets Matthew for the second time. This is my favourite meeting, especially because of the imagery.
Previous parts: Prologue | Paradiso
The Divine Love - Purgatorio
After the lapse of so many days that nine years were completed since Mamma’s death, my life changed so dramatically that not even in my dreams could have I imagined it this way. I would say that these were changes for the worse, but I fear that God would punish me for my foolish thoughts. Padre was so imbibed with suffering, that I’d never see a smile on his face anymore. I know he cared for me and did everything that was in his power to raise me well, but he could never replace Mamma.
Then three years ago, when I was fifteen, Padre followed my mother to the world of the ever happy. I became an orphan. I was all alone. Luckily, Signore Latini was kind enough and assumed my upbringing by becoming my official guardian. He was so good to do this and I will never be able to pay back his enormous efforts, but I hope to make him immortal by laying down his memory here.
Signore Latini was a busy political man and an excellent philosopher, yet he still had time for my education. He taught me French, philosophy and most importantly, the art of poetry. I looked up to him; he was a genius among men. Everywhere he went, he would be surrounded by respect. However, I sometimes heard accusatory words thrown at him, but I didn’t understand their meaning. I often desired to tell him of Matthew and how the sight of him shook my world, but I was afraid that he would laugh at me, or even worse, despise me.
That was until one night of my seventeenth year when sleep didn’t want to come. I got out of my bed and thought about sneaking into the library. There were noises, odd noises coming from Signore Latini’s room, and I, driven by curiousity, tiptoed to his room whose door was left ajar. What I’d seen was the reason of the insults my guardian got. To put it simply, he was in the arms of another man. I ran back to my room with my heart beating fast in my throat.
Naturally, I didn’t sleep at all that night; I paced to and fro in my chamber, coming to wise conclusions when dawn was breaking. I must admit that I often felt as if I sinned by loving a man, but seeing that Signore Latini did the same, yet he was the most intelligent and kindest man on earth, put my mind at ease. It just hurt that he had to do it in secret; that meant that I had to keep my love for Matthew secret as well.
But, I deviate from the highlight of my eighteenth year. It was a bright morning and I was sat on the balustrade of the Ponte Vecchio, watching the dark waters of the Arno River absentmindedly. In the next moment I saw Matthew Bellamy, dressed in pure white and accompanied by two older men. He turned his eyes to where I stood sorely abashed: and by his unspeakable courtesy, he saluted me with so virtuous a bearing that I seemed then and there to behold the very limits of blessedness.
It was the first time that any words from him reached my ears and I came into such sweetness that I parted from that place as one intoxicated. Locking myself to the loneliness of my own room, I began thinking of this most courteous sir, thinking of whom I was overtaken by a pleasant slumber, in which a marvellous vision was presented to me. For there, a mist the colour of fire appeared to me in my room, within which I discerned the figure of a lord of terrible aspect. He said many things, but I only understood him declaring to be my lord, Amor.
In his arms, it seemed to me that a person was sleeping, covered only with a blood-coloured cloth; when I looked very attentively upon him, I knew that it was the sir of my fantasy. He also held in his hand a thing that was burning in flames, and he said to me: “Behold your heart.” I thought that the lord was about to awaken he who slept, after which he made the man in his arms eat that thing which flamed in his hand and he ate as one fearing. After a while, it seemed to me that the mysterious figure went with him up towards heaven; whereby such a great anguish came upon me that my light slumber could not endure through it, but was suddenly broken. Then, musing on what I had seen, I decided to put into words my vision. That’s how my first sonnet was born.
* * * * *From that night forth, the natural functions of my body began to be vexed and impeded, for I was given up wholly to thinking of this most gracious creature. I’d changed so dramatically that some of my friends avoided even looking at me, while others queried what was that I wished to conceal. I told them how it was Love himself who had thus dealt with me, which roused curiosity in them, but when they went on to ask: “And by whose help has love done this?” I looked in their faces, and, smiling, spoke no word in return.
* * * * *
One day it happened that this most gracious sir was sitting in the church and I was in a place where my eyes could behold his beatitude: and between him and me, in a direct line, there sat Signorina Beatrice, the sister of Matthew, who looked around at me many times, marvelling at my continued gaze which seemed to have her for its object. It was not only her who perceived that, because when departing from that place, I heard someone whispering behind me: “Have you seen how he stared at that lady?” and in saying this, they named her who had been midway between the most gentle Matthew and my eyes. Therefore, I was reassured and knew that for that day my secret had not become manifest.
Then immediately it came into my mind that I might make use of Beatrice as a screen to the truth, and so well did I play my part that the most of those who had hitherto watched and wondered at me now imagined they had found me out. By her means I kept my secret concealed till some years were gone over; for better security, I even composed some poems in her honour.
Once when I returned from a journey, Matthew, who was the destroyer of all evil and the king of all good, coming where I was, denied me his sweetest salutation, in which alone was my blessedness. Words couldn’t describe my miserable state; I became possessed with such grief that parting myself from others, I went into a lonely place to bathe the ground with the most bitter tears. Then I went home, slouched on my bed and fell asleep. Amor appeared in my dream and he seemed abandoned of all hope. I complained to him about the matter of my grief and after I’d questioned him about the cause, he said the following:
“Our Matthew has noticed that his sister is troubled and he found out that Beatrice is sorely disquieted by your solicitations. Therefore, this most gracious creature, who is the enemy of all disquiet, being fearful of such troubles, refused to salute you. Albeit, in very truth, your secret must have become known to him by familiar observation. For this reason, it is my will that you write a poem in which you shall set forth how strong a mastership I have obtained over you, through him, and how you were his even from your childhood.”
After I woke up, I wrote a ditty as my master commanded.
Certainly the Lordship of Amor is evil, seeing that the more homage his servants pay to him, the more grievous and painful are the torments wherewith he torments them.
At this point I had absolutely no idea of what torments were to follow.
A/N: Just for the record, I didn't invent the story about Signore Latini to make Dom okay with his love for Matt. From Wikipedia:
"According to John D. Sinclair, Dante respected Latini immensely but nonetheless felt it necessary to place him with the sodomites since, according to Sinclair, this sin of Latini's was well known in Florence at the time.
Other critics point to the fact that, outside of the Divine Comedy, Latini is nowhere else accused of sodomy or same-sex relations. Some therefore have suggested perhaps that Latini is placed in Canto XV for being violent against art and against his vernacular (Latini wrote in French instead of Florentine); or perhaps also to demonstrate and underline that even the greatest of men may be guilty of private sins."