No More Learning

The bonds
of tradition were broken. The Greek marble vase on the platform of
the Duomo at Pisa taught Niccola Pisano the right methods of sculp-
ture, and directed him to the source of his art in the study of
nature. His work was a new wonder and delight, and showed the
way along which many followed him. Painting took her lesson from
sculpture, and before the end of the century both arts had become
responsive to the demand of the time, and had entered upon that
course of triumph which was not to end till, three centuries later,
chisel and brush dropped from hands enfeebled in the general decline
of national vigor, and incapable of resistance to the tyrannous and
exclusive autocracy of the printed page.


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4322
DANTE
But it was not only the new birth of sentiment and emotion
which quickened these arts: it was also the aroused curiosity of men
concerning themselves, their history, and the earth. They felt their
own ignorance. The vast region of the unknown, which encircled
with its immeasurable spaces the little tract of the known world,
appealed to their fancy and their spirit of enterprise, with its bound-
less promise and its innumerable allurements to adventure. Learn-
ing, long confined and starved in the cell of the monk, was coming
out into the open world, and was gathering fresh stores alike from
the past and the present. The treasures of the wisdom and knowl-
edge of the Greeks were eagerly sought, especially in translations
of Aristotle,-translations which, though imperfect indeed, and dis-
figured by numberless misinterpretations and mistakes, nevertheless
contained a body of instruction invaluable as a guide and stimulant
to the awakened intelligence. Encyclopedic compends of knowledge
put at the disposition of students all that was known or fancied in
the various fields of science. The division between knowledge and
belief was not sharply drawn, and the wonders of legend and of
fable were accepted with as ready a faith as the actual facts of
observation and of experience. Travelers for gain or for adventure,
and missionaries for the sake of religion, were venturing to lands
hitherto unvisited. The growth of knowledge, small as it was com-
pared with later increase, widened thought and deepened life. The
increase of thought strengthened the faculties of the mind. Man
becomes more truly man in proportion to what he knows, and one of
the most striking and characteristic features of this great century is
the advance of man through increase of knowledge out of childish-
ness towards maturity. The insoluble problems which had been
discussed with astonishing acuteness by the schoolmen of the preced-
ing generation were giving place to a philosophy of more immediate
application to the conduct and discipline of life. The Summa Theo-
logica of St. Thomas Aquinas not only treated with incomparable
logic the vexed questions of scholastic philosophy, but brought all
the resources of a noble and well-trained intelligence and of a fine
moral sense to the study and determination of the order and govern-
ment of the universe, and of the nature and destiny of man.
The scope of learning remained, indeed, at the end of the cen-
tury, narrow in its range. The little tract of truth which men had
acquired lay encompassed by ignorance, like a scant garden-plot sur-
rounded by a high wall. But here and there the wall was broken
through, and paths were leading out into wider fields to be won for
culture, or into deserts wider still, in which the wanderers should
perish.
But as yet there was no comprehensive and philosophic grasp of
the new conditions in their total significance; no harmonizing of


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DANTE
4323
their various elements into one consistent scheme of human life; no
criticism of the new life as a whole. For this task was required not
only acquaintance with the whole range of existing knowledge, by
which the conceptions of men in regard to themselves and the uni-
verse were determined, but also a profound view of the meaning of
life itself, and an imaginative insight into the nature of man. A
mere image of the drama of life as presented to the eye would not
suffice. The meaning of it would be lost in the confusion and multi-
plicity of the scene. The only possible explanation and reconcile-
ment of its aspects lay in the universal application to them of the
moral law, and in the exhibition of man as a spiritual and immortal
being for whom this world was but the first stage of existence.
was the task undertaken and accomplished by Dante.
This
II
Of the events in Dante's life few are precisely ascertained, but of
its general course enough is known, either from his own statements
or from external testimony, to show the essential relations between
his life and his work, and the influence of his experience upon his
convictions and character. Most of the biographies of him are un-
trustworthy, being largely built up upon a foundation of inferences.
and suppositions, and often filled out with traditions and stories of
which the greater part are certainly false and few have a likelihood
of truth. The only strictly contemporary account of him is that
given by the excellent Chronicler of Florence, Giovanni Villani, a
man of weight and judgment, who in the ninth book of his Chron-
icle, under the year 1321, recording Dante's death, adds a brief nar-
rative of his life and works; because, as he says, «< on account of the
virtues and knowledge and worth of so great a citizen, it seems to
us to be fitting to give a perpetual memorial of him in this our
chronicle, although the noble works left by him in writing afford a
true testimonial to him, and honorable fame to our city. " "Dante
was," says Villani, an honorable and ancient citizen of Florence, of
the gate of San Piero, and our neighbor. " "He was a great master
in almost every branch of knowledge, although he was a layman; he
was a supreme poet and philosopher, and a perfect rhetorician alike
in prose and verse, as well as a most noble orator in public speech,
supreme in rhyme, with the most polished and beautiful style that
had ever been in our language.
Because of his knowledge
he was somewhat presumptuous, disdainful, and haughty; and, as it
were after the manner of a philosopher, having little graciousness,
he knew not well to bear himself with common people (conversare
con laici). "
«<


## p. 4324 (#90) ############################################

DANTE
4324
癞
​Dante was born in Florence, in May or June 1265. Of his family
little is positively known. * It was not among the nobles of the city,
but it had place among the well-to-do citizens who formed the body
of the State and the main support of the Guelf party. Of Dante's
early years, and the course of his education, nothing is known save
what he himself tells us in his various writings or what may be
inferred from them. Lionardo Bruni, eminent as an historian and as
a public man, who wrote a Life of Dante about a hundred years
after his death, cites a letter of which we have no other knowledge,
in which, if the letter be genuine, the poet says that he took part in
the battle of Campaldino, fought in June 1289. The words are:-" At
the battle of Campaldino, in which the Ghibelline party was almost
all slain and undone, I found myself not a child in arms, and I
experienced great fear, and finally the greatest joy, because of the
shifting fortunes of the fight. " It seems likely that Dante was pres-
ent, probably under arms, in the later part of the same summer, at
the surrender to the Florentines of the Pisan stronghold of Caprona,
where, he says ('Inferno,' xxi. 94-96), “I saw the foot soldiers afraid,
who came out under compact from Caprona, seeing themselves among
so many enemies. ”
Years passed before any other event in Dante's life is noted with
a certain date. An imperfect record preserved in the Florentine
archives mentions his taking part in a discussion in the so-called
Council of a Hundred Men, on the 5th of June, 1296. This is of import-
ance as indicating that he had before this time become a member of
one of the twelve Arts,-enrollment in one of which was required for
the acquisition of the right to exercise political functions in the
State, and also as indicating that he had a place in the chief of
those councils by which public measures were discussed and decided.
The Art of which he was a member was that of the physicians and
druggists (medici e speziali), an Art whose dealings included commerce
in many of the products of the East.
Not far from this time, but whether before or after 1296 is uncer-
tain, he married. His wife was Gemma dei Donati. The Donati
were a powerful family among the grandi of the city, and played a
leading part in the stormy life of Florence. Of Gemma nothing is
known but her marriage.
Between 1297 and 1299, Dante, together with his brother Fran-
cesco, as appears from existing documentary evidence, were borrowers
of considerable sums of money; and the largest of the debts thus
*In the 'Paradiso (canto xv. ) he introduces his great-great-grandfather
Cacciaguida, who tells of himself that he followed the Emperor Conrad to
fight against the Mohammedans, was made a knight by him, and was slain in
the war.


## p. 4325 (#91) ############################################

DANTE
4325
incurred seem not to have been discharged till 1332, eleven years after
his death, when they were paid by his sons Jacopo and Pietro.
In May 1299 he was sent as envoy from Florence to the little, not
very distant, city of San Gemignano, to urge its community to take
part in a general council of the Guelf communes of Tuscany.
In the next year, 1300, he was elected one of the six priors of
Florence, to hold office from the 15th of June to the 15th of August.
The priors, together with the "gonfalonier of justice" (who had com-
mand of the body of one thousand men who stood at their service),
formed the chief magistracy of the city. Florence had such jealousy
of its rulers that the priors held office but two months, so that in
the course of each year thirty-six of the citizens were elected to this
magistracy. The outgoing priors, associated with twelve of the lead-
ing citizens, two from each of the sestieri or wards of the city, chose
their successors. Neither continuity nor steady vigor of policy was
possible with an administration so shifting and of such varied com-
position, which by its very constitution was exposed at all times to
intrigue and to attack. It was no wonder that Florence lay open to
the reproach that her counsels were such that what she spun in
October did not reach to mid-November (Purgatory,' vi. 142-144).
His election to the priorate was the most important event in Dante's
public life. "All my ills and all my troubles," he declared, "had
occasion and beginning from my misfortunate election to the priorate,
of which, though I was not worthy in respect of wisdom, yet I was
not unworthy in fidelity and in age. "*
The year 1300 was disastrous not only for Dante but for Florence.
She was, at the end of the thirteenth century, by far the most flour-
ishing and powerful city of Tuscany, full of vitality and energy, and
beautiful as she was strong. She was not free from civil discord,
but the predominance of the Guelf party was so complete within her
walls that she suffered little from the strife between Guelf and
Ghibelline, which for almost a century had divided Italy into two
hostile camps. In the main the Guelf party was that of the common
people and the industrious classes, and in general it afforded support
to the Papacy as against the Empire, while it received, in return,
support from the popes. The Ghibellines, on the other hand, were
mainly of the noble class, and maintainers of the Empire. The
growth of the industry and commerce of Florence in the last half of
the century had resulted in the establishment of the popular power,
and in the suppression of the Ghibelline interest. But a bitter quar-
rel broke out in one of the great families in the neighboring Guelf
city of Pistoia, a quarrel which raged so furiously that Florence
* From the letter already referred to, cited by Lionardo Bruni.


## p. 4326 (#92) ############################################

4326
DANTE
feared that it would result in the gain of power by the Ghibel-
lines, and she adopted the fatal policy of compelling the heads of the
contending factions to take up their residence within her walls. The
result was that she herself became the seat of discord. Each of the
two factions found ardent adherents, and, adopting the names by
which they had been distinguished in Pistoia, Florence was almost
instantly ablaze with the passionate quarrel between the Whites and
the Blacks (Bianchi and Neri). The flames burned so high that the
Pope, Boniface VIII. , intervened to quench them. His intervention
was vain.
worse.
It was just at this time that Dante became prior. The need of
action to restore peace to the city was imperative, and the priors
took the step of banishing the leaders of both divisions. Among
those of the Bianchi was Dante's own nearest friend, Guido Caval-
cante. The measure was insufficient to secure tranquillity and order.
The city was in constant tumult; its conditions went from bad to
But in spite of civil broils, common affairs must still be
attended to, and from a document preserved in the Archives at
Florence we learn that on the 28th April, 1301, Dante was appointed
superintendent, without salary, of works undertaken for the widening,
straightening, and paving of the street of San Procolo and making it
safe for travel. On the 13th of the same month he took part in a
discussion, in the Council of the Heads of the twelve greater Arts, as
to the mode of procedure in the election of future priors. On the
18th of June, in the Council of the Hundred Men, he advised against
providing the Pope with a force of one hundred men which had been
asked for; and again in September of the same year there is record,
for the last time, of his taking part in the Council, in a discussion
in regard "to the conservation of the Ordinances of Justice and the
Statutes of the People. "
These notices of the part taken by Dante in public affairs seem
at first sight comparatively slight and unimportant; but were one
constructing an ideal biography of him, it would be hard to devise
records more appropriate to the character and principles of the man
as they appear from his writings. The sense of the duty of the
individual to the community of which he forms a part was one
of his strongest convictions; and his being put in charge of the
opening of the street of San Procolo, and making it safe for travel,
"eo quod popularis comitatus absque strepitu et briga magnatum et
potentum possunt secure venire ad dominos priores et vexilliferum
justitiæ cum expedit" (so that the common people may, without uproar
and harassing of magnates and mighty men, have access whenever it
be desirable to the Lord Priors and the Standard-Bearer of Justice),
affords a comment on his own criticism of his fellow-citizens, whose


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DANTE
4327
disposition to shirk the burden of public duty is more than once
the subject of his satire. "Many refuse the common burden, but
thy people, my Florence, eagerly replies without being called on,
and cries, I load myself» (Purgatory,' vi. 133-135). His counsel
against providing the Pope with troops was in conformity with
his fixed political conviction that the function of the Papacy was to
be confined to the spiritual government of mankind; and nothing
could be more striking, as a chance incident, than that the last
occasion on which he, whose heart was set on justice, took part in
the counsels of his city, should have been for the discussion of the
means for "the conservation of the ordinances of justice and the
statutes of the people. "
In the course of events in 1300 and 1301 the Bianchi proved the
stronger of the two factions by which the city was divided, they
resisted with success the efforts of the Pope in support of their
rivals, and they were charged by their enemies with intent to restore
the rule of the city to the Ghibellines. While affairs were in this
state, Charles of Valois, brother to the King of France, Philip the
Fair, was passing through Italy with a troop of horsemen to join
Charles II. of Naples,* in the attempt to regain Sicily from the hands
of Frederic of Aragon. The Pope favored the expedition, and held
out flattering promises to Charles. The latter reached Anagni, where
Boniface was residing, in September 1301. Here it was arranged
that before proceeding to Sicily, Charles should undertake to reduce
to obedience the refractory opponents of the Pope in Tuscany. The
title of the Pacifier of Tuscany was bestowed on him, and he moved
toward Florence with his own troop and a considerable additional
force of men-at-arms. He was met on his way by deputies from
Florence, to whom he made fair promises; and trusting to his good
faith, the Florentines opened their gates to him and he entered the
city on All Saints' Day (November 1st), 1301.
Charles had hardly established himself in his quarters before he
cast his pledges to the wind. The exiled Neri, with his connivance,
broke into the city, and for six days worked their will upon their
enemies, slaying many of them, pillaging and burning their houses,
while Charles looked on with apparent unconcern at the wide-spread
ruin and devastation. New priors, all of them from the party of the
Neri, entered upon office in mid-November, and a new Podestà,
Cante dei Gabrielli of Agobbio, was charged with the administration
of justice. The persecution of the Bianchi was carried on with con-
sistent thoroughness: many were imprisoned, many fined, Charles
* Charles II. of Naples was the cousin of Philip III. , the Bold, of France,
the father of Charles of Valois; and in 1290 Charles of Valois had married
his daughter.


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4328
DANTE
sharing in the sums exacted from them. On the 27th of January,
1302, a decree was issued by the Podestà condemning five persons,
one of whom was Dante, to fine and banishment on account of
crimes alleged to have been committed by them while holding office
as priors. "According to public report," said the decree, "they com-
mitted barratry, sought illicit gains, and practiced unjust extortions
of money or goods. " These general charges are set forth with elab-
orate legal phraseology, and with much repetition of phrase, but
without statement of specific instances. The most important of them
are that the accused had spent money of the commune in opposing
the Pope, in resistance to the coming of Charles of Valois, and
against the peace of the city and the Guelf party; that they had
promoted discord in the city of Pistoia, and had caused the expulsion
from that city of the Neri, the faithful adherents of the Holy Roman
Church; and that they had caused Pistoia to break its union with
Florence, and to refuse subjection to the Church and to Charles the
Pacificator of Tuscany. These being the charges, the decree pro-
ceeded to declare that the accused, having been summoned to appear
within a fixed time before the Podestà and his court to make their
defense, under penalty for non-appearance of five thousand florins
each, and having failed to do so, were now condemned to pay this sum
and to restore their illicit gains; and if this were not done within
three days from the publication of this sentence against them, all their
possessions (bona) should be seized and destroyed; and should they
make the required payment, they were nevertheless to stand ban-
ished from Tuscany for two years; and for perpetual memory of
their misdeeds their names were to be inscribed in the Statutes of
the People, and as swindlers and barrators they were never to hold
office or benefice within the city or district of Florence.
Six weeks later, on the 10th of March, another decree of the
Podestà was published, declaring the five citizens named in the pre-
ceding decree, together with ten others, to have practically confessed
their guilt by their contumacy in non-appearance when summoned,
and condemning them, if at any time any one of them should come
into the power of Florence, to be burned to death (" talis perveniens
igne comburatur sic quod moriatur "). *
From this time forth till his death Dante was
an exile. The
character of the decrees is such that the charges brought against him
have no force, and leave no suspicion resting upon his actions as an
officer of the State. They are the outcome and expression of the
*These decrees and the other public documents relating to Dante are to be
found in various publications. They have all been collected and edited by
Professor George R. Carpenter, in the tenth and eleventh Annual Reports of
the Dante Society, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1891, 1892.


## p. 4329 (#95) ############################################

DANTE
4329
bitterness of party rage, and they testify clearly only to his having
been one of the leaders of the parties opposed to the pretensions of
the Pope, and desirous to maintain the freedom of Florence from
foreign intervention.
In April Charles left Florence, "having finished," says Villani, the
eye-witness of these events, "that for which he had come, namely,
under pretext of peace, having driven the White party from Flor-
ence; but from this proceeded many calamities and dangers to our
city. "
The course of Dante's external life in exile is hardly less obscure
than that of his early days. Much concerning it may be inferred
with some degree of probability from passages in his own writ-
ings, or from what is reported by others; but of actual certain facts
there are few. For a time he seems to have remained with his com-
panions in exile, of whom there were hundreds, but he soon sep-
arated himself from them in grave dissatisfaction, making a party by
himself (Paradiso,' xvii. 69), and found shelter at the court of the
Scaligeri at Verona. In August 1306 he was among the witnesses
to a contract at Padua. In October of the same year he was with
Franceschino, Marchese Malespina, in the district called the Luni-
giana, and empowered by him as his special procurator and envoy to
establish the terms of peace for him and his brothers with the Bishop
of Luni. His gratitude to the Malespini for their hospitality and
good-will toward him is proved by one of the most splendid compli-
ments ever paid in verse or prose, the magnificent eulogium of this
great and powerful house with which the eighth canto of the 'Purga-
tory' closes. How long Dante remained with the Malespini, and
whither he went after leaving them, is unknown. At some period of
his exile he was at Lucca (Purgatorio,' xxiv. 45); Villani states that
he was at Bologna, and afterwards at Paris, and in many parts of
the world. He wandered far and wide in Italy, and it may well be
that in the course of his years of exile he went to Paris, drawn
thither by the opportunities of learning which the University afforded;
but nothing is known definitely of his going.
In 1311 the mists which obscure the greater part of Dante's life
in exile are dispelled for a moment, by three letters of unquestioned
authenticity, and we gain a clear view of the poet. In 1310 Henry
of Luxemburg, a man who touched the imagination of his contempo-
raries by his striking presence and chivalric accomplishments as well
as by his high character and generous aims, "a man just, religious,
and strenuous in arms," having been elected Emperor, as Henry VII. ,
prepared to enter Italy, with intent to confirm the imperial rights
and to restore order to the distracted land. The Pope, Clement V. ,
favored his coming, and the prospect opened by it was hailed not


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4330
DANTE
only by the Ghibellines with joy, but by a large part of the Guelfs
as well; with the hope that the long discord and confusion, from
which all had suffered, might be brought to end and give place to
tranquillity and justice. Dante exulted in this new hope; and on the
coming of the Emperor, late in 1310, he addressed an animated
appeal to the rulers and people of Italy, exhorting them in impas-
sioned words to rise up and do reverence to him whom the Lord of
heaven and earth had ordained for their king. "Behold, now is the
accepted time; rejoice, O Italy, dry thy tears; efface, O most beauti-
ful, the traces of mourning; for he is at hand who shall deliver
thee. "
The first welcome of Henry was ardent, and with fair auspices he
assumed at Milan, in January 1311, the Iron Crown, the crown of the
King of Italy. Here at Milan Dante presented himself, and here with
full heart he did homage upon his knees to the Emperor. But the
popular welcome proved hollow; the illusions of hope speedily began
to vanish; revolt broke out in many cities of Lombardy; Florence
remained obdurate, and with great preparations for resistance put
herself at the head of the enemies of the Emperor. Dante, disap-
pointed and indignant, could not keep silence. He wrote a letter
headed "Dante Alaghieri, a Florentine and undeservedly in exile, to
the most wicked Florentines within the city. " It begins with calm
and eloquent words in regard to the divine foundation of the impe-
rial power, and to the sufferings of Italy due to her having been left
without its control to her own undivided will. Then it breaks forth
in passionate denunciation of Florence for her impious arrogance in
venturing to rise up in mad rebellion against the minister of God;
and, warning her of the calamities which her blind obstinacy is pre-
paring for her, it closes with threats of her impending ruin and
desolation. This letter is dated from the springs of the Arno, on
the 31st of March.
The growing force of the opposition which he encountered delayed
the progress of Henry. Dante, impatient of delay, eager to see the
accomplishment of his hope, on the 16th of April addressed Henry
himself in a letter of exalted prophetic exhortation, full of Biblical
language, and of illustrations drawn from sacred and profane story,
urging him not to tarry, but trusting in God, to go out to meet and
to slay the Goliath that stood against him. "Then the Philistines
will flee, and Israel will be delivered, and we, exiles in Babylon, who
groan as we remember the holy Jerusalem, shall then, as citizens
breathing in peace, recall in joy the miseries of confusion. " But
all was in vain. The drama which had opened with such brilliant
expectations was advancing to a tragic close. Italy became more
confused and distracted than ever. One sad event followed after


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DANTE
4331
another. In May the brother of the Emperor fell at the siege of
Brescia; in September his dearly loved wife Margarita, "a holy and
good woman," died at Genoa. The forces hostile to him grew more
and more formidable. He succeeded however in entering Rome in
May 1312, but his enemies held half of the city, and the streets
became the scene of bloody battles; St. Peter's was closed to him,
and Henry, worn and disheartened and in peril, was compelled to
submit to be ingloriously crowned at St. John Lateran. With dimin-
ished strength and with loss of influence he withdrew to Tuscany,
and laid ineffectual siege to Florence. Month after month dragged
along with miserable continuance of futile war. In the summer of
1313, collecting all his forces, Henry prepared to move southward
against the King of Naples. But he was seized with illness, and on
the 24th of August he died at Buonconvento, not far from Siena.
With his death died the hope of union and of peace for Italy. His
work, undertaken with high purpose and courage, had wholly failed.
He had come to set Italy straight before she was ready (Paradiso,'
xxxi. 137). The clouds darkened over her. For Dante the cup of
bitterness overflowed.
How Dante was busied, where he was abiding, during the last
two years of Henry's stay in Italy, we have no knowledge. One
striking fact relating to him is all that is recorded. In the summer
of 1311 the Guelfs in Florence, in order to strengthen themselves
against the Emperor, determined to relieve from ban and to recall
from exile many of their banished fellow-citizens, confident that on
returning home they would strengthen the city in its resistance
against the Emperor. But to the general amnesty which was issued
on the 2d of September there were large exceptions; and impress-
ive evidence of the multitude of the exiles is afforded by the fact
that more than a thousand were expressly excluded from the benefit
of pardon, and were to remain banished and condemned as before.
In the list of those thus still regarded as enemies of Florence stands
the name of Dante.
The death of the Emperor was followed eight months later by
that of the Pope, Clement V. , under whom the papal throne had
been removed from Rome to Avignon. There seemed a chance, if
but feeble, that a new pope might restore the Church to the city
which was its proper home, and thus at least one of the wounds of
Italy be healed. The Conclave was bitterly divided; month after
month went by without a choice, the fate of the Church and of Italy
hanging uncertain in the balance. Dante, in whom religion and
patriotism combined as a single passion, saw with grief that the
return of the Church to Italy was likely to be lost through the
selfishness, the jealousies, and the avarice of her chief prelates;


## p. 4332 (#98) ############################################

4332
DANTE
and under the impulse of the deepest feeling he addressed a letter
of remonstrance, reproach, and exhortation to the Italian cardinals,
who formed but a small minority in the Conclave, but who might
by union and persistence still secure the election of a pope favorable
to the return. This letter is full of a noble but too vehement zeal.
"It is for you, being one at heart, to fight manfully for the Bride of
Christ; for the seat of the Bride, which is Rome; for our Italy, and
in a word, for the whole commonwealth of pilgrims upon earth. "
But words were in vain; and after a struggle kept up for two years
and three months, a pope was at last elected who was to fix the
seat of the Papacy only the more firmly at Avignon. Once more
Dante had to bear the pain of disappointment of hopes in which
selfishness had no part.
And now for years he disappears from sight. What his life was
he tells in a most touching passage near the beginning of his 'Con-
vito:-"From the time when it pleased the citizens of Florence, the
fairest and most famous daughter of Rome, to cast me out from her
sweetest bosom (in which I had been born and nourished even to
the summit of my life, and in which, at good peace with them, I
desire with all my heart to repose my weary soul, and to end the
time which is allotted to me), through almost all the regions to
which our tongue extends I have gone a pilgrim, almost a beggar,
displaying against my will the wound of fortune, which is wont often
to be imputed unjustly to [the discredit of] him who is wounded.
Truly I have been a bark without sail and without rudder, borne to
divers ports and bays and shores by that dry wind which grievous
poverty breathes forth, and I have appeared mean in the eyes of many
who perchance, through some report, had imagined me in other
form; and not only has my person been lowered in their sight, but
every work of mine, whether done or to be done, has been held in
less esteem. "
Once more, and for the last time, during these wanderings he
heard the voice of Florence addressed to him, and still in anger. A
decree was issued* on the 6th of November, 1315, renewing the con-
demnation and banishment of numerous citizens, denounced as Ghibel-
lines and rebels, including among them Dante Aldighieri and his sons.
The persons named in this decree are charged with contumacy, and
with the commission of ill deeds against the good state of the Com-
mune of Florence and the Guelf party; and it is ordered that "if any
*This decree was pronounced in a General Council of the Commune by
the Vicar of King Robert of Naples, into whose hands the Florentines
had given themselves in 1313 for a term of five years, -extended after-
wards to eight,- with the hope that by his authority order might be
preserved within the city.


## p. 4333 (#99) ############################################

DANTE
4333
of them shall fall into the power of the Commune he shall be taken
to the place of Justice and there be beheaded. " The motive is
unknown which led to the inclusion in this decree of the sons of
Dante, of whom there were two, now youths respectively a little
more or a little less than twenty years old. *
It is probable that the last years of Dante's life were passed in
Ravenna, under the protection of Guido da Polenta, lord of the city.
It was here that he died, on September 14th, 1321. His two sons
were with him, and probably also his daughter Beatrice. He was in
his fifty-seventh year when he went from suffering and from exile to
peace (Paradiso,' x. 128).
Such are the few absolute facts known concerning the external
events of Dante's life. A multitude of statements, often with much
circumstantial detail, concerning other incidents, have been made by
his biographers; a few rest upon a foundation of probability, but the
mass are guess-work. There is no need to report them; for small as
the sum of our actual knowledge is, it is enough for defining the field
within which his spiritual life was enacted, and for showing the con-
ditions under which his work was done, and by which its character
was largely determined.
III
No poet has recorded his own inner life more fully or with greater
sincerity than Dante. All his more important writings have essen-
tially the character of a spiritual autobiography, extending from his
boyhood to his latest years. Their quality and worth as works of
literature are largely dependent upon their quality and interest as
revelations of the nature of their writer. Their main significance lies
in this double character.
The earliest of them is the 'Vita Nuova,' or New Life. It is the
narrative in prose and verse of the beginning and course of the love
which made life new for him in his youth, and which became the
permanent inspiration of his later years, and the bond of union for
him between earth and heaven, between the actual and the ideal,
between the human and the divine. The little book begins with an
account of the boy's first meeting, when he was nine years old, with
* Among the letters ascribed to Dante is one, much noted, in reply to a
letter from a friend in Florence, in regard to terms of absolution on which he
might secure his re-admission to Florence. It is of very doubtful authenticity.
It has no external evidence to support it, and the internal evidence of its
rhetorical form and sentimental tone is all against it. It belongs in the same
class with the famous letter of Fra Ilario, and like that, seems not unlikely
to have been an invention of Boccaccio's.


## p. 4334 (#100) ###########################################

4334
DANTE
a little maiden about a year younger, who so touched his heart that
from that time forward Love lorded it over his soul. She was called
Beatrice; but whether this was her true name, or whether, because
of its significance of blessing, it was assigned to her as appropriate to
her nature, is left in doubt. Who her parents were, and what were
the events of her life, are also uncertain; though Boccaccio, who,
some thirty years after Dante's death, wrote a biography of the poet
in which fact and fancy are inextricably intermingled, reports that
he had it upon good authority that she was the daughter of Folco
Portinari, and became the wife of Simone de' Bardi. So far as
Dante's relation to her is concerned, these matters are of no concern.
Just nine years after their first meeting, years during which Dante
says he had often seen her, and her image had stayed constantly
with him, the lady of his love saluted him with such virtue that he
seemed to see all the bounds of bliss, and having already recognized
in himself the art of discoursing in rhyme, he made a sonnet in
which he set forth a vision which had come to him after receiving
his lady's salute. This sonnet has a twofold interest, as being the
earliest of Dante's poetic composition preserved to us, and as describ-
ing a vision which connects it in motive with the vision of the
'Divine Comedy. ' It is the poem of a 'prentice hand not yet master
of its craft, and neither in manner nor in conception has it any
marked distinction from the work of his predecessors and contem-
poraries. The narrative of the first incidents of his love forms the
subject of the first part of the little book, consisting of ten poems
and the prose comment upon them; then the poet takes up a new
theme and devotes ten poems to the praise of his lady. The last of
them is interrupted by her death, which took place on the 9th of
June, 1290, when Dante was twenty-five years old. Then he takes
up another new theme, and the next ten poems are devoted to his
grief, to an episode of temporary unfaithfulness to the memory of
Beatrice, and to the revival of fidelity of love for her.
One poem,
the last, remains; in which he tells how a sigh, issuing from his
heart, and guided by Love, beholds his lady in glory in the empy-
rean. The book closes with these words: -
"After this sonnet a wonderful vision appeared to me, in which I saw
things which made me resolve to speak no more of this blessed one until I
could more worthily treat of her. And to attain to this, I study to the utmost
of my power, as she truly knows. So that, if it shall please Him through
whom all things live that my life be prolonged for some years, I hope to say
of her what was never said of any woman. And then, may it please Him
who is the Lord of Grace, that my soul may go to behold the glory of its
lady, namely of that blessed Beatrice, who in glory looks upon the face of
Him qui est per omnia sæcula benedictus» (who is blessed forever).


## p. 4335 (#101) ###########################################

DANTE
4335
There is nothing in the 'New Life' which indicates whether
or not Beatrice was married, or which implies that the devotion of
Dante to her was recognized by any special expression of regard on
her part. No interviews between them are recorded; no tokens of
love were exchanged. The reserve, the simple and unconscious dig-
nity of Beatrice, distinguish her no less than her beauty, her grace,
and her ineffable courtesy. The story, based upon actual experience,
is ordered not in literal conformity with fact, but according to the
ideal of the imagination; and its reality does not consist in the exact-
ness of its record of events, but in the truth of its poetic conception.
Under the narrative lies an allegory of the power of love to trans-
figure earthly things into the likeness of heavenly, and to lift the
soul from things material and transitory to things spiritual and
eternal.
While the little book exhibits many features of a literature in an
early stage of development, and many of the characteristics of a
youthful production, it is yet the first book of modern times which
has such quality as to possess perpetual contemporaneousness. It has
become in part archaic, but it does not become antiquated. It is the
first book in a modern tongue in which prose begins to have freedom
of structure, and ease of control over the resources of the language.
It shows a steady progress in Dante's mastery of literary art. The
stiffness and lack of rhythmical charm of the poems with which it
begins disappear in the later sonnets and canzoni, and before its
close it exhibits the full development of the sweet new style begun
by Dante's predecessor Guido Guinicelli, and of which the secret lay
in obedience to the dictates of nature within the heart.
The date of its compilation cannot be fixed with precision, but
was probably not far from 1295; and the words with which it closes
seem to indicate that the design of the 'Divine Comedy' had already
taken a more or less definite shape in Dante's mind.
The deepest interest of the 'New Life' is the evidence which it
affords in regard to Dante's character. The tenderness, sensitive-
ness, and delicacy of feeling, the depth of passion, the purity of
soul which are manifest in it, leave no question as to the controlling
qualities of his disposition. These qualities rest upon a foundation
of manliness, and are buttressed by strong moral principles. At the
very beginning of the book is a sentence, which shows that he had
already gained that self-control which is the prime condition of
strength and worth of character. In speaking of the power which
his imagination gave to Love to rule over him, a power that had its
source in the image of his lady, he adds, "Yet was that image of
such noble virtue that it never suffered Love to rule me without the
faithful counsel of the reason in those matters in which to listen to


## p. 4336 (#102) ###########################################

4336
DANTE
its counsel was useful. " His faculties were already disciplined by
study, and his gifts enriched with learning. He was scholar hardly less
than poet.
The range of his acquisitions was already wide, and it is
plain that he had had the best instruction which Florence could pro-
vide; and nowhere else could better have been found.
The death of Beatrice was the beginning of a new period of
Dante's self-development. So long as she lived she had led him
along toward the right way. For a time, during the first ecstasy of
grief at her loss, she still sustained him. After a while, he tells us,
his mind, which was endeavoring to heal itself, sought for comfort
in the mode which other comfortless ones had accepted for their
consolation. He read Boëthius on the Consolations of Philosophy,'
and the words of comfort in Cicero's Treatise on Friendship. ' By
these he was led to further studies of philosophy, and giving himself
with ardor to its pursuit, he devoted himself to the acquisition of the
wisdom of this earth, to the neglect, for a time, of the teachings of
Divine revelation. He entered upon paths of study which did not
lead to the higher truth, and at the same time he began to take
active part himself in the affairs of the world. He was attracted by
the allurements of life. He married; he took office. He shared in
the pleasures of the day. He no longer listened to the voice of the
spirit, nor was faithful to the image of Beatrice in following on
earth the way which should lead him to her in heaven. But mean-
while he wrote verses which under the form of poems of love were
celebrations of the beauty of Philosophy; and he was accomplishing
himself in learning till he became master of all the erudition of his
time; he was meditating deeply on politics, he was studying life
even more than books, he was becoming one of the deepest of
thinkers and one of the most accomplished of literary artists. But
his life was of the world, worldly, and it did not satisfy him. At
last a change came. He suddenly awoke to consciousness of how
far he had strayed from that good of which Beatrice was the type;
how basely he had deserted the true ideals of his youth; how peril-
ous was the life of the world; how near he was to the loss of the
hope of salvation. We know not fully how this change was wrought.
All we know concerning it is to be gathered from passages in his
later works, in which, as in the 'Convito,' he explains the allegorical
significance of some of his poems, or as in the Divine Comedy,' he
gives poetic form to his experience as it had shaped itself in his
imagination. There are often difficulties in the interpretation of his
words, nor are all his statements reconcilable with each other in
detail. But I believe that in what I have set forth as the course of
his life between the death of Beatrice and his exile, I have stated
nothing which may not be confirmed by Dante's own testimony.


## p. 4337 (#103) ###########################################

DANTE
4337
It is possible that during the latter part of this period Dante
wrote the treatise 'On Monarchy,' in which he set forth his views as
to the government of mankind. To ascertain the date of its compo-
sition is both less easy and less important than in the case of his
other long works; because it contains few personal references, and no
indications of the immediate conditions under which it was written.
But it is of importance not only as an exposition of Dante's political
theories and the broad principles upon which those theories rested,
but still more as exhibiting his high ideals in regard to the order of
society and the government of mankind. Its main doctrine might
be called that of ideal Ghibellinism; and though its arguments are
often unsound, and based upon fanciful propositions and incorrect
analogies, though it exhibits the defects frequent in the reasoning
of the time, a lack of discrimination in regard to the value of
authorities, and no sense of the true nature of evidence,- yet the
spirit with which it is animated is so generous, and its object of
such importance, that it possesses interest alike as an illustration
of Dante's character, and as a monument in the history of political
speculation.
Its purpose was, first, to establish the proposition that the empire,
or supreme universal temporal monarchy, was necessary for the good
order of the world; secondly, that the Roman people had rightfully
attained the dignity of this empire; and thirdly, that the authority
thus obtained was derived immediately from God, and was not de-
pendent on any earthly agent or vicar of God. The discussion of
the first proposition is the most interesting part of the treatise, for
it involves the statement of Dante's general conception of the end
of government and of the true political order. His argument begins
with the striking assertion that the proper work of the human race,
taken as a whole, is to bring into activity all the possibilities of the
intelligence, first to the end of speculation, and secondly in the appli-
cation of speculation to action. He goes on to declare that this can
be achieved only in a state of peace; that peace is only to be secured
under the rule of one supreme monarch; that thus the government
of the earth is brought into correspondence with the Divine govern-
ment of the universe; and that only under a universal supreme mon-
archy can justice be fully established and complete liberty enjoyed.
The arguments to maintain these theses are ingenious, and in some
instances forcible; but are too abstract, and too disregardful of the
actual conditions of society. Dante's loftiness of view, his fine ideal
of the possibilities of human life, and his ardent desire to improve
its actual conditions, are manifest throughout, and give value to the
little book as a treatise of morals beyond that which it possesses as
a manual of practical politics.
VIII-272


## p. 4338 (#104) ###########################################

4338
DANTE
There is little in the 'De Monarchia' which reflects the heat of
the great secular debate between Guelf and Ghibelline; but some-
thing of the passion engendered by it finds expression in the open-
ing of the third book, where Dante, after citing the words of the
prophet Daniel, "He hath shut the lions' mouths and they have not
hurt me, forasmuch as before him justice was found in me," goes
on in substance as follows:-
"The truth concerning the matter which remains to be treated may per-
chance arouse indignation against me. But since Truth from her changeless
throne appeals to me, and Solomon teaches us to meditate on truth, and to
hate the wicked,' and the philosopher [Aristotle], our instructor in morals,
urges us for the sake of truth to disregard what is dear to us, I, taking
confidence from the words of Daniel in which the Divine power is declared to
be the shield of the defenders of the truth, . . will enter on the present
contest; and by the arm of Him who by his blood delivered us from the
power of darkness, I will drive out from the lists the impious and the liar.
Wherefore should I fear? since the Spirit, co-eternal with the Father and the
Son, says through the mouth of David, The righteous shall be had in ever-
lasting remembrance, he shall not be afraid of evil tidings. › »
These words perhaps justify the inference that the treatise was
written before his exile, since after it his experience of calamity
would have freed him from the anticipation of further evil from the
hostility of those to whom his doctrine might be unacceptable.
But whether or not this be a correct inference, there can be no
doubt that the years between the compilation of the 'New Life' and
his banishment were years of rapid maturity of his powers, and
largely devoted to the studies which made him a master in the field
of learning. Keenly observant of the aspects of contemporary life,
fascinated by the "immense and magic spectacle of human affairs,”
questioning deeply its significance, engaged actively in practical con-
cerns, he ardently sought for the solution of the mysteries and the
reconcilement of the confusions of human existence. The way to this
solution seemed to lie through philosophy and learning, and in acquir-
ing them he lifted himself above the turmoil of earth. All observa-
tion, experience, and acquisition served as material for his poetic and
idealizing imagination, wherewith to construct an orderly scheme of
the universe; all served for the defining and confirming of his moral
judgments, all worked together for the harmonious development of
his intellectual powers; all served to prepare him for the work
which, already beginning to shape itself in his mind, was to become
the main occupation of the remainder of his life, and to prove one
of the abiding monuments of the highest achievements of mankind.
The 'De Monarchia' is written in Latin, and so also is a brief
unfinished treatise, the work of some period during his exile, on the


## p. 4339 (#105) ###########################################

DANTE
4339
Common Speech, 'De Vulgari Eloquio. '
It has intrinsic interest as
the first critical study of language and of literature in modern times,
as well as from the acute and sound judgments with which it
abounds, and from its discussion of the various forms and topics of
poetry, but still more from its numerous illustrations of Dante's per-
sonal experience and sentiment. Its object is to teach the right use
of the common speech; instruction required by all, since all make use
of the speech, it being that which all learn from birth, "by imita-
tion and without rule. The other speech, which the Romans called
Grammatica, is learned by study and according to rule.
Of
these two the Common is the more noble, because it was the first
used by the human race, and also because it is in use over all the
world, though in different tongues; and again because it is natural to
us, while the other is artificial. " Speech, Dante declares, is the pre-
rogative of man alone, not required by the angels and not possible
for brutes; there was originally but one language, the Hebrew. In
treating of this latter topic Dante introduces a personal reference of
extraordinary interest in its bearing on his feeling in respect to his
exile:-
"It is for those of such debased intelligence that they believe the place
of their birth to be the most delightful under the sun, to prefer their own
peculiar tongue, and to believe that it was that of Adam. But we whose
country is the world, as the sea is for fishes, although we drank of the Arno
before we were weaned, and so love Florence that because we loved it we
suffer exile unjustly, support our judgment by reason rather than feeling.
And though in respect to our pleasure and the repose of our senses, no
sweeter place exists on earth than Florence, . . . yet we hold it for cer-
tain that there are many more delightful regions and cities than Tuscany and
Florence, where I was born and of which I am a citizen, and that many
nations and people use a more pleasing and serviceable speech than the
Italians. »
The conclusion of this speculation is, that the Hebrew, which was
the original language spoken by Adam, was preserved by the Hebrew
people after the confusion of tongues at the building of the Tower
of Babel, and thus became the language used by our Redeemer,-
the language not of confusion but of grace.
But the purpose of the present treatise is not to consider all the
divers languages even of Europe, but only that of Italy. Yet in Italy.
alone there is an immense variety of speech, and no one of the
varieties is the true Italian language. That true, illustrious, courtly
tongue is to be found nowhere in common use, but everywhere in
select usage.
It is the common speech "freed from rude words,
involved constructions, defective pronunciation, and rustic accent;
excellent, clear, perfect, urbane, and elect, as it may be seen in the


## p. 4340 (#106) ###########################################

4340
DANTE
---
poems of Cino da Pistoia and his friend,'». - that friend being Dante
himself. They have attained to the glory of the tongue, and "how
glorious truly it renders its servants we ourselves know, who to the
sweetness of its glory hold our exile as naught. "* This illustrious
language, then, is the select Italian tongue, the tongue of the
excellent poets in every part of Italy; and how and by whom it is
to be used it is the purpose of this treatise to show.
The second book begins with the doctrine that the best speech is
appropriate to the best conceptions; but the best conceptions exist
only where there is learning and genius, and the best speech is con-
sequently that only of those who possess them, and only the best
subjects are worthy of being treated in it. These subjects fall under
three heads: that of utility, or safety, which it is the object of arms
to secure; that of delight, which is the end of love; that of worthi-
ness, which is attained by virtue. These are the topics of the illus-
trious poets in the vulgar tongue; and of these, among the Italians,
Cino da Pistoia has treated of love, and his friend (Dante) of rec-
titude.
The remainder of the second book is given to the various forms
of poetry, the canzone, the ballata, the sonnet,- and to the rules of
versification. The work breaks off unfinished, in the middle of a
sentence. There were to have been at least two books more; but,
fragment as it is, the treatise is an invaluable document in the illus-
tration of Dante's study of his own art, in its exhibition of his
breadth of view, and in its testimony to his own consciousness of his
position as the master of his native tongue, and as the poet of
righteousness. He failed in his estimate of himself only as it fell
short of the truth. He found the common tongue of Italy unformed,
unstable, limited in powers of expression. He shaped it not only for
his own needs, but for the needs of the Italian race. He developed
its latent powers, enlarged its resources, and determined its form.
The language as he used it is essentially the language of to-day,-
not less so than the language of Shakespeare is the English of our
use. In his poetic diction there is little that is not in accord with
later usage; and while in prose the language has become more flexi-
ble, its constructions more varied and complex, its rhythm more
perfected, his prose style at its best still remains unsurpassed in
vigor, in directness, and in simplicity. Changeful from generation
to generation as language is, and as Dante recognized it to be,
it has not so changed in six hundred years that his tongue has
become strange. There is no similar example in any other modern
* Literally, "who by the sweetness of its glory put exile behind our
back. "


## p. 4341 (#107) ###########################################

DANTE
4341
literature The force of his genius, which thus gave to the form
of his work a perpetual contemporaneousness, gave it also to the sub-
stance; and though the intellectual convictions of men have changed
far more than their language, yet Dante's position as the poet of
righteousness remains supreme.
It is surprising that with such a vast and difficult work as the
'Divine Comedy' engaging him, Dante should have found time and
strength during his exile for the writing of treatises in prose so con-
siderable as that on the Common Tongue, and the much longer and
more important book which he called 'Il Convivio' or 'Il Convito'
(The Banquet). It is apparent from various references in the course
of the work that it was at least mainly written between 1307 and
1310. Its design was of large scope. It was to be composed of
fifteen parts or treatises; but of these only four were completed, and
such is their character both as regards their exhibition of the poet's
nature and their exposition of the multifarious topics of philosophy,
of science, and of morals treated in them, that the student of Dante
and of medieval thought cannot but feel a deep regret at the failure
of the poet to carry his undertaking to its intended close. But
though the work is imperfect as a whole, each of its four parts is
complete and practically independent in itself.
Dante's object in the book was twofold. His opening words are a
translation of what Matthew Arnold calls "that buoyant and immortal
sentence with which Aristotle begins his Metaphysics,”. "All mankind
naturally desire knowledge. " But few can attain to what is desired
by all, and innumerable are they who live always famished for want
of this food. "Oh, blessed are the few who sit at that table where
the bread of the angels is eaten, and wretched they who have food
in common with the herds. " "I, therefore, who do not sit at the
blessed table, but having fled from the pasture of the crowd, gather
up at the feet of those who sit at it what falls from them, and
through the sweetness I taste in that which little by little I pick up,
know the wretched life of those whom I have left behind me, and
moved with pity for them, not forgetting myself, have reserved
something for these wretched ones. " These crumbs were the sub-
stance of the banquet which he proposed to spread for them.
It was
to have fourteen courses, and each of these courses was to have for
its principal viand a canzone of which the subject should be Love
and Virtue, and the bread served with each course was to be the
exposition of these poems,- poems which for want of this exposition
lay under the shadow of obscurity, so that by many their beauty was
more esteemed than their goodness. They were in appearance mere
poems of love, but under this aspect they concealed their true mean-
ing, for the lady of his love was none other than Philosophy herself,
-
-


## p. 4342 (#108) ###########################################

4342
DANTE
and not sensual passion but virtue was their moving cause. The fear
of reproach to which this misinterpretation might give occasion, and
the desire to impart teaching which others could not give, were the
two motives of his work.
There is much in the method and style of the 'Convito' which in
its cumbrous artificiality exhibits an early stage in the exposition of
thought in literary form, but Dante's earnestness of purpose is appar-
ent in many passages of manly simplicity, and inspires life into the
dry bones of his formal scholasticism. The book is a mingling of
biographical narrative, shaped largely by the ideals of the imagina-
tion, with expositions of philosophical doctrine, disquisitions on mat-
ters of science, and discussion of moral truths. But one controlling
purpose runs through all, to help men to attain that knowledge
which shall lead them into the paths of righteousness.
For his theory of knowledge is, that it is the natural and innate
desire of the soul, as essential to its own perfection in its ultimate
union with God. The use of the reason, through which he partakes
of the Divine nature, is the true life of man. Its right use in the
pursuit of knowledge leads to philosophy, which is, as its name sig-
nifies, the love of wisdom, and its end is the attainment of virtue.
It is because of imperfect knowledge that the love of man is turned
to fallacious objects of desire, and his reason is perverted. Knowl-
edge, then, is the prime source of good; ignorance, of evil. Through
knowledge to wisdom is the true path of the soul in this life on her
return to her Maker, to know whom is her native desire, and her
perfect beatitude.
In the exposition of these truths in their various relations a multi-
tude of topics of interest are touched upon, and a multitude of opin-
ions expressed which exhibit the character of Dante's mind and the
vast extent of the acquisitions by which his studies had enriched it.
The intensity of his moral convictions and the firmness of his moral
principles are no less striking in the discourse than the nobility of
his genius and the breadth of his intellectual view. Limited and
erroneous as are many of his scientific conceptions, there is little
trace of superstition or bigotry in his opinions; and though his spec-
ulations rest on a false conception of the universe, the revolting
dogmas of the common mediæval theology in respect to the human
and the Divine nature find no place in them. The mingling of fancy
with fact, the unsoundness of the premises from which conclusions
are drawn, the errors in belief and in argument, do not affect the
main object of his writing, and the 'Convito' may still be read with
sympathy and with profit, as a treatise of moral doctrine by a man
the loftiness of whose intelligence rose superior to the hampering
limitations of his age.


## p. 4343 (#109) ###########################################


DANTE
4343
In its general character and in its biographical revelations the
'Banquet' forms a connecting link between the 'New Life' and the
'Divine Comedy. ' It is not possible to frame a complete reconcilia-
tion between all the statements of the 'Banquet' in respect to
Dante's experience after the death of Beatrice, and the narrative of
them in the New Life'; nor is it necessary, if we allow due place
to the poetic and allegoric interpretation of events natural to Dante's
genius. In the last part of the New Life' he tells of his infidelity
to Beatrice in yielding himself to the attraction of a compassionate
lady, in whose sight he found consolation. But the infidelity was of
short duration, and, repenting it, he returned with renewed devotion
to his only love. In the 'Convito' he tells us that the compassionate
lady was no living person, but was the image of Philosophy, in whose
teaching he had found comfort; and the poems which he then wrote
and which had the form, and were in the terms of, poems of Love,
were properly to be understood as addressed-not to any earthly
lady, but to the lady of the understanding, the most noble and
beautiful Philosophy, the daughter of God. And as this image of
Philosophy, as the fairest of women, whose eyes and whose smile
reveal the joys of Paradise, gradually took clear form, it coalesced
with the image of Beatrice herself, she who on earth had been the
type to her lover of the beauty of eternal things, and who had
revealed to him the Creator in his creature. But now having become
one of the blessed in heaven, with a spiritual beauty transcending
all earthly charm, she was no longer merely a type of heavenly
things, but herself the guide to the knowledge of them, and the
divinely commissioned revealer of the wisdom of God. She looking
on the face of God reflected its light upon him who loved her. She
was one with Divine Philosophy, and as such she appears, in living
form, in the 'Divine Comedy,' and discloses to her lover the truth
which is the native desire of the soul, and in the attainment of
which is beatitude.
It is this conception which forms the bond of union between the
'New Life,' the 'Banquet,' and the 'Divine Comedy,' and not merely
as literary compositions but as autobiographical records. Dante's life
and his work are not to be regarded apart; they form a single whole,
and they possess a dramatic development of unparalleled consist-
ency and unity. The course of the events of his life shaped itself
in accordance with an ideal of the imagination, and to this ideal his
works correspond. His first writing, in his poems of love and in
the story of the New Life,' forms as it were the first act of a
drama which proceeds from act to act in its presentation of his life,
with just proportion and due sequence, to its climax and final scene
in the last words of the 'Divine Comedy. ' It is as if Fate had


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foreordained the dramatic unity of his life and work, and impress-
ing her decree upon his imagination, had made him her more or less
conscious instrument in its fulfillment.
Had Dante written only his prose treatises and his minor poems,
he would still have come down to us as the most commanding liter-
ary figure of the Middle Ages, the first modern with a true literary
sense, the writer of love verses whose imagination was at once more
delicate and more profound than that of any among the long train of
his successors, save Shakespeare alone, and more free from sensual
stain than that of Shakespeare; the poet of sweetest strain and full-
est control of the resources of his art, the scholar of largest acquisi-
tion and of completest mastery over his acquisitions, and the moralist
with higher ideals of conduct and more enlightened conceptions of
duty than any other of the period to which he belonged. All this
he would have been, and this would have secured for him a place
among the immortals. But all this has but a comparatively small
part in raising him to the station which he actually occupies, and in
giving to him the influence which he still exerts. It was in the
'Divine Comedy' that his genius found its full expression, and it is
to this supreme poem that all his other work serves as substructure.
The general scheme of this poem seems to have been early
formed by him; and its actual composition was the main occupation
of his years of exile, and must have been its main, one might say
its sufficient, consolation. Never was a book of wider scope devised
by man; and never was one more elaborate in detail, more varied in
substance, or more complete in execution. It is unique in the con-
sistency of its form with its spirit. It possesses such organic unity
and proportion as to resemble a work of the creative spirit of Nature
herself.
The motive which inspired Dante in the 'Divine Comedy' had its
source in his sense of the wretchedness of man in this mortal life,
owing to the false direction of his desires, through his ignorance and
his misuse of his free will, the chief gift of God to him. The only
means of rescue from this wretchedness was the exercise by man of
his reason, enlightened by the divine grace, in the guidance of his
life. To convince man of this truth, to bring home to him the con-
viction of the eternal consequences of his conduct in this world, to
show him the path of salvation, was Dante's aim. As poet he had
received a Divine commission to perform this work. To him the ten
talents had been given, and it was for him to put them to the use
for which they had been bestowed. It was a consecrated task to
which both heaven and earth set their hand, and a loftier task was
never undertaken. It was to be accomplished by expounding the
design of God in the creation, by setting forth the material and


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moral order of the universe and the share of man in that order, and
his consequent duty and destiny. This was not to be done in the
form of abstract propositions addressed to the understanding, but in
a poetic narrative which should appeal to the heart and arouse the
imagination; a narrative in which human life should be portrayed as
an unbroken spiritual existence, prefiguring in its mortal aspects and
experience its immortal destiny. The poem was not to be a mere
criticism of life, but a solution of its mystery, an explanation of its
meaning, and a guide of its course.
To give force and effect to such a design the narrative must be
one of personal experience, so conceived as to be a type of the uni-
versal experience of man. The poem was to be an allegory, and in
making himself its protagonist Dante assumed a double part. He
represents both the individual Dante, the actual man, and that man
as the symbol of man in general.