The Iliad and the Odyssey do not become
antiquated
to us.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v06 to v10 - Cal to Fro
The horizon met the sea in a defined line. A painter could not
have painted so clear a sky. There was not a speck upon it.
Yet it was blowing great guns from the northwest. When you
can see a cloud to windward, you feel that there is a place for
the wind to come from; but here it seemed to come from no-
where. No person could have told from the heavens, by their
eyesight alone, that it was not a still summer's night. One reef
after another we took in the topsails, and before we could get
them hoisted up we heard a sound like a short quick rattling of
thunder, and the jib was blown to atoms out of the bolt-rope.
We got the topsails set, and the fragments of the jib stowed
away, and the foretopmast staysail set in its place, when the
great mainsail gaped open, and the sail ripped from head to
foot. "Lay up on that main yard and furl the sail, before it
blows to tatters! " shouted the captain; and in a moment we
were up, gathering the remains of it upon the yard. We got it
wrapped round the yard, and passed gaskets over it as snugly
as possible, and were just on deck again, when with another
loud rent, which was heard throughout the ship, the foretopsail,
which had been double-reefed, split in two athwartships, just
below the reef-band, from earing to earing. Here again it was—
## p. 4305 (#67) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
4305
down yard, haul out reef-tackles, and lay out upon the yard for
reefing. By hauling the reef-tackles chock-a-block we took the
strain from the other earings, and passing the close-reef earing,
and knotting the points carefully, we succeeded in setting the
sail, close reefed.
We had but just got the rigging coiled up, and were waiting
to hear "Go below the watch! " when the main royal worked
loose from the gaskets, and blew directly out to leeward, flap-
ping and shaking the mast like a wand. Here was a job for
somebody. The royal must come in or be cut adrift, or the mast
would be snapped short off. All the light hands in the starboard
watch were sent up one after another, but they could do nothing
with it. At length John, the tall Frenchman, the head of the
starboard watch (and a better sailor never stepped upon a deck),
sprang aloft, and by the help of his long arms and legs suc-
ceeded after a hard struggle,- the sail blowing over the yard-
arm to leeward, and the skysail adrift directly over his head,-
in smothering it and frapping it with long pieces of sinnet. He
came very near being blown or shaken from the yard several
times, but he was a true sailor, every finger a fish-hook. Hav-
ing made the sail snug, he prepared to send the yard down,
which was a long and difficult job; for frequently he was obliged
to stop and hold on with all his might for several minutes, the
ship pitching so as to make it impossible to do anything else at
that height. The yard at length came down safe, and after it
the fore and mizzen royal yards were sent down. All hands
were then sent aloft, and for an hour or two we were hard at
work, making the booms well fast, unreeving the studding sail
and royal and skysail gear, getting rolling-ropes on the yard,
setting up the weather breast-backstays, and making other prep-
arations for a storm. It was a fine night for a gale, just cool
and bracing enough for quick work, without being cold, and as
bright as day. It was sport to have a gale in such weather as
this. Yet it blew like a hurricane. The wind seemed to come
with a spite, an edge to it, which threatened to scrape us off the
yards. The force of the wind was greater than I had ever felt
it before; but darkness, cold, and wet are the worst parts of a
storm to a sailor.
-
Having got on deck again, we looked round to see what time
of night it was, and whose watch. In a few minutes the man.
at the wheel struck four bells, and we found that the other
VIII-270
## p. 4306 (#68) ############################################
4306
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
watch was out and our own half out. Accordingly the starboard
watch went below, and left the ship to us for a couple of hours,
yet with orders to stand by for a call.
Hardly had they got below before away went the foretop-
mast staysail, blown to ribands. This was a small sail, which
we could manage in the watch, so that we were not obliged to
call up the other watch. We laid upon the bowsprit, where we
were under water half the time, and took in the fragments of
the sail; and as she must have some headsail on her, prepared
to bend another staysail. We got the new one out into the net-
tings; seized on the tack, sheets, and halyards, and the hanks;
manned the halyards, cut adrift the frapping-lines, and hoisted
away; but before it was half-way up the stay it was blown all
to pieces. When we belayed the halyards, there was nothing
left but the bolt-rope. Now large eyes began to show them-
selves in the foresail; and knowing that it must soon go, the
mate ordered us upon the yard to furl it. Being unwilling to
call up the watch, who had been on deck all night, he roused
out the carpenter, sailmaker, cook, and steward, and with their
help we manned the foreyard, and after nearly half an hour's
struggle, mastered the sail and got it well furled round the
yard. The force of the wind had never been greater than at
this moment. In going up the rigging it seemed absolutely to
pin us down to the shrouds; and on the yard there was no such
thing as turning a face to windward. Yet there was no driving
sleet and darkness and wet and cold as off Cape Horn; and
instead of stiff oilcloth suits, southwester caps, and thick boots,
we had on hats, round jackets, duck trousers, light shoes, and
everything light and easy. These things make a great differ-
ence to a sailor. When we got on deck the man at the wheel
struck eight bells (four o'clock in the morning), and "All star-
bowlines, ahoy! " brought the other watch up, but there was no
going below for us. The gale was now at its height, "blowing
like scissors and thumb-screws"; the captain was on deck; the
ship, which was light, rolling and pitching as though she would
shake the long sticks out of her, and the sails were gaping open
and splitting in every direction. The mizzen-topsail, which was
a comparatively new sail and close reefed, split from head to
foot in the bunt; the foretopsail went in one rent from clew to
earing, and was blowing to tatters; one of the chain bobstays
parted; the spritsailyard sprung in the slings, the martingale
## p. 4307 (#69) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
4307
had slued away off to leeward; and owing to the long dry
weather the lee rigging hung in large bights at every lurch.
One of the main-topgallant shrouds had parted; and to crown
all, the galley had got adrift and gone over to leeward, and the
anchor on the lee bow had worked loose and was thumping the
side. Here was work enough for all hands for half a day. Our
gang laid out on the mizzen-topsailyard, and after more than
half an hour's hard work furled the sail, though it bellied out
over our heads, and again, by a slat of the wind, blew in
under the yard with a fearful jerk and almost threw us off
from the foot-ropes.
Double gaskets were passed round the yards, rolling tackles
and other gear bowsed taut, and everything made as secure as it
could be. Coming down, we found the rest of the crew just
coming down the fore rigging, having furled the tattered top-
sail, or rather, swathed it round the yard, which looked like a
broken limb bandaged. There was no sail now on the ship but
the spanker and the close-reefed main-topsail, which still held
good. But this was too much after-sail, and order was given to
furl the spanker. The brails were hauled up, and all the light
hands in the starboard watch sent out on the gaff to pass the
gaskets; but they could do nothing with it. The second mate
swore at them for a parcel of "sogers," and sent up a couple of
the best men; but they could do no better, and the gaff was
lowered down. All hands were now employed in setting up the
lee rigging, fishing the spritsail yard, lashing the galley, and
getting tackles upon the martingale, to bowse it to windward.
Being in the larboard watch, my duty was forward, to assist in
setting up the martingale. Three of us were out on the martin-
gale guys and back-ropes for more than half an hour, carrying
out, hooking, and unhooking the tackles, several times buried in
the seas, until the mate ordered us in from fear of our being
washed off. The anchors were then to be taken up on the rail,
which kept all hands on the forecastle for an hour, though every
now and then the seas broke over it, washing the rigging off to
leeward, filling the lee scuppers breast-high, and washing chock
aft to the taffrail.
Having got everything secure again, we were promising our-
selves some breakfast, for it was now nearly nine o'clock in the
forenoon, when the main-topsail showed evident signs of giving
way. Some sail must be kept on the ship, and the captain
## p. 4308 (#70) ############################################
4308
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
ordered the fore and main spencer gaffs to be lowered down,
and the two spencers (which were storm sails; brand-new, small,
and made of the strongest canvas) to be got up and bent; leav-
ing the main-topsail to blow away, with a blessing on it, if it
would only last until we could set the spencers. These we bent
on very carefully, with strong robands and seizings, and making
tackles fast to the clews, bowsed them down to the water-ways.
By this time the main-topsail was among the things that have
been, and we went aloft to stow away the remnant of the last
sail of all those which were on the ship twenty-four hours before.
The spencers were now the only whole sails on the ship, and
being strong and small, and near the deck, presenting but little
surface to the wind above the rail, promised to hold out well.
Hove-to under these, and eased by having no sail above the
tops, the ship rose and fell, and drifted off to leeward like a line-
of-battle ship.
It was now eleven o'clock, and the watch was sent below to
get breakfast, and at eight bells (noon), as everything was snug,
although the gale had not in the least abated, the watch was
set and the other watch and idlers sent below. For three days
and three nights the gale continued with unabated fury, and
with singular regularity. There were no lulls, and very little
variation in its fierceness. Our ship, being light, rolled so as
almost to send the fore yard-arm under water, and drifted off
bodily to leeward. All this time there was not a cloud to be
seen in the sky, day or night; no, not so large as a man's hand.
Every morning the sun rose cloudless from the sea, and set
again at night in the sea in a flood of light. The stars, too,
came out of the blue one after another, night after night, unob-
scured, and twinkled as clear as on a still frosty night at home,
until the day came upon them. All this time the sea was roll-
ing in immense surges, white with foam, as far as the eye could
reach, on every side; for we were now leagues and leagues
from shore.
## p. 4309 (#71) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
4309
EVERY-DAY SEA LIFE
From Two Years Before the Mast
THE
HE sole object was to make the time pass on. Any change
was sought for which would break the monotony of the
time; and even the two-hours' trick at the wheel, which
came round to us in turn, once in every other watch, was looked
upon as a relief. The never-failing resource of long yarns,
which eke out many a watch, seemed to have failed us now; for
we had been so long together that we had heard each other's
stories told over and over again till we had them by heart; each
one knew the whole history of each of the others, and we were
fairly and literally talked out. Singing and joking we were in
no humor for; and in fact any sound of mirth or laughter would
have struck strangely upon our ears, and would not have been
tolerated any more than whistling or a wind instrument. The
last resort, that of speculating upon the future, seemed now to
fail us; for our discouraging situation, and the danger we were
really in (as we expected every day to find ourselves drifted
back among the ice), "clapped a stopper" upon all that. From
saying when we get home," we began insensibly to alter it "if
we get home," and at last the subject was dropped by a tacit
«<
consent.
struck out, and a
In this state of things a new light was
new field opened, by a change in the watch. One of our watch
was laid up for two or three days by a bad hand (for in cold
weather the least cut or bruise ripens into a sore), and his place
was supplied by the carpenter. This was a windfall, and there
was a contest who should have the carpenter to walk with him.
As "Chips" was a man of some little education, and he and I
had had a good deal of intercourse with each other, he fell in
with me in my walk. He was a Finn, but spoke English well,
and gave me long accounts of his country,- the customs, the
trade, the towns, what little he knew of the government (I found
he was no friend of Russia), his voyages, his first arrival in
America, his marriage and courtship; he had married a country-
woman of his, a dressmaker, whom he met with in Boston. I
had very little to tell him of my quiet sedentary life at home;
and in spite of our best efforts, which had protracted these yarns
through five or six watches, we fairly talked each other out, and
## p. 4310 (#72) ############################################
4310
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
I turned him over to another man in the watch and put myself
upon my own resources.
I commenced a deliberate system of time-killing, which united
some profit with a cheering-up of the heavy hours. As soon as
I came on deck, and took my place and regular walk, I began
with repeating over to myself in regular order a string of mat-
ters which I had in my memory,-the multiplication table and
the table of weights and measures; the Kanaka numerals; then
the States of the Union, with their capitals; the counties of
England, with their shire towns, and the kings of England in
their order, and other things. This carried me through my
facts, and being repeated deliberately, with long intervals, often
eked out the first two bells. Then came the Ten Command-
ments, the thirty-ninth chapter of Job, and a few other passages
from Scripture. The next in the order, which I seldom varied
from, came Cowper's 'Castaway,' which was a great favorite
with me; its solemn measure and gloomy character, as well as
the incident it was founded upon, making it well suited to a
lonely watch at sea. Then his 'Lines to Mary,' his address to the
Jackdaw, and a short extract from Table Talk' (I abounded in
Cowper, for I happened to have a volume of his poems in my
chest); 'Ille et nefasto' from Horace, and Goethe's 'Erl-König. '
After I had got through these, I allowed myself a more general
range among everything that I could remember, both in prose
and verse. In this way, with an occasional break by relieving
the wheel, heaving the log, and going to the scuttle-butt for a
drink of water, the longest watch was passed away; and I was
so regular in my silent recitations that if there was no inter-
ruption by ship's duty I could tell very nearly the number of
bells by my progress.
Our watches below were no more varied than the watch on
deck. All washing, sewing, and reading was given up, and we did
nothing but eat, sleep, and stand our watch, leading what might
be called a Cape Horn life. The forecastle was too uncomfort-
able to sit up in; and whenever we were below, we were in our
berths. To prevent the rain and the sea-water which broke over
the bows from washing down, we were obliged to keep the scut-
tle closed, so that the forecastle was nearly air-tight. In this little
wet leaky hole we were all quartered, in an atmosphere so bad
that our lamp, which swung in the middle from the beams,
sometimes actually burned blue, with a large circle of foul air
## p. 4311 (#73) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
4311
about it. Still I was never in better health than after three'
weeks of this life. I gained a great deal of flesh, and we all ate
like horses. At every watch when we came below, before turn-
ing in, the bread barge and beef kid were overhauled. Each
man drank his quart of hot tea night and morning, and glad
enough we were to get it; for no nectar and ambrosia were
sweeter to the lazy immortals than was a pot of hot tea, a hard
biscuit, and a slice of cold salt beef to us after a watch on deck.
To be sure, we were mere animals, and had this life lasted a
year instead of a month, we should have been little better than
the ropes in the ship. Not a razor, nor a brush, nor a drop of
water, except the rain and the spray, had come near us all the
time: for we were on an allowance of fresh water-and who
would strip and wash himself in salt water on deck, in the snow
and ice, with the thermometer at zero?
A START; AND PARTING COMPANY
From Two Years before the Mast
THE
HE California had finished discharging her cargo, and was to
get under way at the same time with us. Having washed
down decks and got breakfast, the two vessels lay side by
side in complete readiness for sea, our ensigns hanging from the
peaks and our tall spars reflected from the glassy surface of the
river, which since sunrise had been unbroken by a ripple. At
length a few whiffs came across the water, and by eleven o'clock
the regular northwest wind set steadily in. There was no need
of calling all hands, for we had all been hanging about the fore
castle the whole forenoon, and were ready for a start upon the
first sign of a breeze. Often we turned our eyes aft upon the
captain, who was walking the deck, with every now and then a
look to windward. He made a sign to the mate, who came for-
ward, took his station deliberately between the knightheads, cast
a glance aloft, and called out, "All hands lay aloft and loose the
sails! " We were half in the rigging before the order came, and
never since we left Boston were the gaskets off the yards and
the rigging overhauled in a shorter time. "All ready forward,
sir! " "All ready the main! ” "Crossjack yards all ready, sir! "
## p. 4312 (#74) ############################################
4312
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
"Lay down, all hands but one on each yard! " The yard-arm
and bunt gaskets were cast off; and each sail hung by the jig-
ger, with one man standing by the tie to let it go. At the same
moment that we sprang aloft a dozen hands sprang into the
rigging of the California, and in an instant were all over her
yards; and her sails too were ready to be dropped at the word.
In the mean time our bow gun had been loaded and run out,
and its discharge was to be the signal for dropping the sails. A
cloud of smoke came out of our bows; the echoes of the gun
rattled our farewell among the hills of California, and the two
ships were covered from head to foot with their white canvas.
For a few minutes all was uproar and apparent confusion; men
jumping about like monkeys in the rigging; ropes and blocks
flying, orders given and answered amid the confused noises of
men singing out at the ropes. The topsails came to the mast-
heads with "Cheerly, men! " and in a few minutes every sail
was set, for the wind was light. The head sails were backed,
the windlass came round "slip-slap" to the cry of the sailors;
"Hove short, sir," said the mate; - "Up with him! - "Ay,
ay, sir. " A few hearty and long heaves, and the anchor showed
its head. "Hook cat! " The fall was stretched along the decks;
all hands laid hold; -"Hurrah, for the last time," said the
mate; and the anchor came to the cathead to the tune of
'Time for us to go,' with a rollicking chorus. Everything
was done quick, as though it was for the last time. The head
yards were filled away, and our ship began to move through
the water on her homeward-bound course.
>>>>
-
--
The California had got under way at the same moment,
and we sailed down the narrow bay abreast, and were just off
the mouth, and, gradually drawing ahead of her, were on the
point of giving her three parting cheers, when suddenly we
found ourselves stopped short, and the California ranging fast
ahead of us. A bar stretches across the mouth of the harbor,
with water enough to float common vessels; but being low in
the water, and having kept well to leeward, as we were
bound to the southward, we had stuck fast, while the Cali-
fornia, being light, had floated over.
We kept all sail on, in the hope of forcing over; but failing.
in this, we hove back into the channel. This was something
of a damper to us, and the captain looked not a little mortified
and vexed. "This is the same place where the Rosa got ashore,
## p. 4313 (#75) ############################################
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
4313
sir," observed our red-headed second mate, most mal-àpropos.
A malediction on the Rosa, and him too, was all the answer
he got, and he slunk off to leeward. In a few minutes the
force of the wind and the rising of the tide backed us into the
stream, and we were on our way to our old anchoring place,
the tide setting swiftly up, and the ship barely manageable in
the light breeze. We came-to in Our old berth opposite the
hide-house, whose inmates were not a little surprised to see us
return. We felt as though we were tied to California; and
some of the crew swore that they never should get clear of the
"bloody" coast.
In about half an hour, which was near high water, the
order was given to man the windlass, and again the anchor
was catted; but there was no song, and not a word was said
about the last time. The California had come back on finding
that we had returned, and was hove-to, waiting for us, off the
point. This time we passed the bar safely, and were soon up
with the California, who filled away, and kept us company.
She seemed desirous of a trial of speed, and our captain
accepted the challenge, although we were loaded down to the
bolts of our chain-plates, as deep as a sand-barge, and bound
so taut with our cargo that we were no more fit for a race
than a man in fetters; while our antagonist was in her best
trim. Being clear of the point, the breeze became stiff, and
the royal-masts bent under our sails, but we would not
take them in until we saw three boys spring aloft into the
rigging of the California; when they were all furled at once,
but with orders to our boys to stay aloft at the topgallant
mastheads and loose them again at the word. It was my duty
to furl the fore-royal; and, while standing by to loose it again,
I had a fine view of the scene. From where I stood, the
two vessels seemed nothing but spars and sails, while their
narrow decks, far below, slanting over by the force of the
wind aloft, appeared hardly capable of supporting the great
fabrics raised upon them. The California was to windward of
us, and had every advantage; yet, while the breeze was stiff,
we held our own. As soon as it began to slacken, she ranged
a little ahead, and the order was given to loose the royals.
In an instant the gaskets were off and the bunt dropped.
"Sheet home the fore royal! " "Weather sheets home! "—"Lee
sheets home! ” - "Hoist
is
away, sir! "
bawled from
-
aloft.
## p. 4314 (#76) ############################################
4314
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JUNIOR
"Overhaul your clew-lines! " shouts the mate.
"Ay, ay, sir!
all clear! " "Taut leech! belay! Well the lee brace; haul taut
to windward," and the royals were set. These brought us
up again; but the wind continuing light, the California set
hers, and it was soon evident that she was walking away from
us. Our captain then hailed and said that he should keep off
to his course; adding, "She isn't the Alert now. If I had
her in your trim she would have been out of sight by this
time. " This was good-naturedly answered from the California,
and she braced sharp up, and stood close upon the wind up
the coast; while we squared away our yards, and stood before
the wind to the
the south-southwest. The California's crew
manned her weather rigging, waved their hats in the air, and
gave us three hearty cheers, which we answered as heartily,
and the customary single cheer came back to us from over
the water. She stood on her way, doomed to eighteen months'
or two years' hard service upon that hated coast; while we
were making our way home, to which every hour and every
mile was bringing us nearer.
――――――
## p. 4314 (#77) ############################################
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## p. 4315 (#81) ############################################
4315
DANTE
(1265-1321)
BY CHARLES ELIOT NORTON
I
O ACQUIRE a love for the best poetry, and a just understand-
ing of it, is the chief end of the study of literature; for it
is by means of poetry that the imagination is quickened,
nurtured, and invigorated, and it is only through the exercise of his
imagination that man can live a life that is in a true sense worth
living. For it is the imagination which lifts him from the petty,
transient, and physical interests that engross the greater part of his
time and thoughts in self-regarding pursuits, to the large, permanent,
and spiritual interests that ennoble his nature, and transform him
from a solitary individual into a member of the brotherhood of the
human race.
In the poet the imagination works more powerfully and consist-
ently than in other men, and thus qualifies him to become the
teacher and inspirer of his fellows. He sees men, by its means,
more clearly than they see themselves; he discloses them to them-
selves, and reveals to them their own dim ideals. He becomes the
interpreter of his age to itself; and not merely of his own age is he
the interpreter, but of man to man in all ages. For change as the
world may in outward aspect, with the rise and fall of empires,-
change as men may, from generation to generation, in knowledge,
belief, and manners,-human nature remains unalterable in its ele-
ments, unchanged from age to age; and it is human nature, under its
various guises, with which the great poets deal.
The Iliad and the Odyssey do not become antiquated to us. The
characters of Shakespeare are perpetually modern. Homer, Dante,
Shakespeare, stand alone in the closeness of their relation to nature.
Each after his own manner gives us a view of life, as seen by the
poetic imagination, such as no other poet has given to us. Homer,
first of all poets, shows us individual personages sharply defined, but
in the early stages of intellectual and moral development, the first
representatives of the race at its conscious entrance upon the path of
progress, with simple motives, simple theories of existence, simple
and limited experience. He is plain and direct in the presentation
## p. 4316 (#82) ############################################
4316
DANTE
of life, and in the substance no less than in the expression of his
thought.
In Shakespeare's work the individual man is no less sharply
defined, no less true to nature, but the long procession of his per-
sonages is wholly different in effect from that of the Iliad and the
Odyssey. They have lost the simplicity of the older race; they are
the products of a longer and more varied experience; they have
become more complex. And Shakespeare is plain and direct neither
in the substance of his thought nor in the expression of it. The
world has grown older, and in the evolution of his nature man has
become conscious of the irreconcilable paradoxes of life, and more or
less aware that while he is infinite in faculty, he is also the quint-
essence of dust. But there is one essential characteristic in which
Shakespeare and Homer resemble each other as poets,—that they
both show to us the scene of life without the interference of their
own personality. Each simply holds the mirror up to nature, and
lets us see the reflection, without making comment on the show. If
there be a lesson in it we must learn it for ourselves.
Dante comes between the two, and differs more widely from each
of them than they from one another. They are primarily poets.
He is primarily a moralist who is also a poet. Of Homer the man,
and of Shakespeare the man, we know, and need to know, nothing;
it is only with them as poets that we are concerned. But it is need-
ful to know Dante as man, in order fully to appreciate him as poet.
He gives us his world not as reflection from an unconscious and
indifferent mirror, but as from a mirror that shapes and orders its
reflections for a definite end beyond that of art, and extraneous to it.
And in this lies the secret of Dante's hold upon so many and so
various minds. He is the chief poet of man as a moral being.
To understand aright the work of any great poet we must know
the conditions of his times; but this is not enough in the case of
Dante. We must know not only the conditions of the generation to
which he belonged, we must also know the specific conditions which
shaped him into the man he was, and differentiated him from his
fellows. How came he, endowed with a poetic imagination which
puts him in the same class with Homer and Shakespeare, not to be
content, like them, to give us a simple view of the phantasmagoria of
life, but eager to use the fleeting images as instruments by which to
enforce the lesson of righteousness, to set forth theory of existence
and a scheme of the universe?
The question cannot be answered without a consideration of the
change wrought in the life and thoughts of men in Europe by the
Christian doctrine as expounded and enforced by the Roman Church,
and of the simultaneous changes in outward conditions resulting from
## p. 4317 (#83) ############################################
DANTE
4317
the destruction of the ancient civilization, and the slow evolution of
the modern world as it rose from the ruins of the old. The period
which immediately preceded and followed the fall of the Roman
Empire was too disorderly, confused, and broken for men during its
course to be conscious of the directions in which they were treading.
Century after century passed without settled institutions, without
orderly language, without literature, without art. But institutions,
languages, literature and art were germinating, and before the end.
of the eleventh century clear signs of a new civilization were mani-
fest in Western Europe. The nations, distinguished by differences of
race and history, were settling down within definite geographical
limits; the various languages were shaping themselves for the uses
of intercourse and of literature; institutions accommodated to actual
needs were growing strong; here and there the social order was
becoming comparatively tranquil and secure. Progress once begun
became rapid, and the twelfth century is one of the most splendid
periods of the intellectual life of man expressing itself in an infinite
variety of noble and attractive forms. These new conditions were
most strongly marked in France: in Provence at the South, and in
and around the Île de France at the North; and from both these
regions a quickening influence diffused itself eastward into Italy.
The conditions of Italy throughout the Dark and Middle Ages
were widely different from those of other parts of Europe. Through
all the ruin and confusion of these centuries a tradition of ancient
culture and ancient power was handed down from generation to gen-
eration, strongly affecting the imagination of the Italian people,
whether recent invaders or descendants of the old population. Italy
had never had a national unity and life, and the divisions of her dif-
ferent regions remained as wide in the later as in the earlier times;
but there was one sentiment which bound all her various and con-
flicting elements in a common bond, which touched every Italian
heart and roused every Italian imagination,- the sentiment of the
imperial grandeur and authority of Rome. Shrunken, feeble, fallen
as the city was, the thought of what she had once been still occupied
the fancy of the Italian people, determined their conceptions of the
government of the world, and quickened within them a glow of patri-
otic pride. Her laws were still the main fount of whatsoever law
existed for the maintenance of public and private right; the imperial
dignity, however interrupted in transmission, however often assumed
by foreign and barbarian conquerors, was still, to the imagination,
supreme above all other earthly titles; the story of Roman deeds
was known of all men; the legends of Roman heroes were the famil-
iar tales of infancy and age. Cities that had risen since Rome fell
claimed, with pardonable falsehood, to have had their origin from her,
## p. 4318 (#84) ############################################
4318
DANTE
and their rulers adopted the designations of her consuls and her sen-
ators. The fragments of her literature that had survived the destruc-
tion of her culture were the models for the rude writers of ignorant
centuries, and her language formed the basis for the new language
which was gradually shaping itself in accordance with the slowly
growing needs of expression. The traces of her material dominion,
the ruins of her wide arch of empire, were still to be found from the
far West to the farther East, and were but the types and emblems
of her moral dominion in the law, the language, the customs, the
traditions of the different lands. Nothing in the whole course of
profane history has so affected the imaginations of men, or so influ-
enced their destinies, as the achievements and authority of Rome.
The Roman Church inherited, together with the city, the tradition
of Roman dominion over the world. Ancient Rome largely shaped
modern Christianity,- by the transmission of the idea of the author-
ity which the Empire once exerted to the Church which grew up
upon its ruins.
The tremendous drama of Roman history displayed
itself to the imagination from scene to scene, from act to act, with
completeness of poetic progress and climax,- first the growth, the
extension, the absoluteness of material supremacy, the heathen being
made the instruments of Divine power for preparing the world for
the revelation of the true God; then the tragedy of Christ's death
wrought by Roman hands, and the expiation of it in the fall of the
Roman imperial power; followed by the new era in which Rome
again was asserting herself as mistress of the world, but now with
spiritual instead of material supremacy, and with a dominion against
which the gates of hell itself should not prevail.
It was, indeed, not at once that this conception of the Church as
the inheritor of the rights of Rome to the obedience of mankind
took form. It grew slowly and against opposition. But at the end
of the eleventh century, through the genius of Pope Gregory VII. ,
the ideas hitherto disputed, of the supreme authority of the Pope
within the Church and of the supremacy of the Church over the
State, were established as the accepted ecclesiastical theory, and
adopted as the basis of the definitely organized ecclesiastical system.
Little more than a hundred years later, at the beginning of the thir-
teenth century, Innocent III. enforced the claims of the Church with
a vigor and ability hardly less than that of his great predecessor,
maintaining openly that the Pope-Pontifex Maximus — was the
vicar of God upon earth.
This theory was the logical conclusion from a long series of his-
toric premises; and resting upon a firm foundation of dogma, it was
supported by the genuine belief, no less than by the worldly inter-
ests and ambitions, of those who profited by it. The ideal it
## p. 4319 (#85) ############################################
DANTE
4319
presented was at once a simple and a noble conception,— narrow
indeed, for the ignorance of men was such that only narrow concep-
tions, in matters relating to the nature and destiny of man and the
order of the universe, were possible. But it was a theory that
offered an apparently sufficient solution of the mysteries of religion,
of the relation between God and man, between the visible creation
and the unseen world. It was a theory of a material rather than a
spiritual order: it reduced the things of the spirit into terms of the
things of the flesh. It was crude, it was easily comprehensible, it
was fitted to the mental conditions of the age.
The power which the Church claimed, and which to a large
degree it exercised over the imagination and over the conduct of the
Middle Ages, was the power which belonged to its head as the
earthly representative and vicegerent of God. No wonder that such
power was often abused, and that the corruption among the ministers
of the Church was wide-spread. Yet in spite of abuse, in spite of
corruption, the Church was the ark of civilization.
―
The religious - no less than the intellectual-life of Europe had
revived in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and had displayed its
fervor in the marvels of Crusades and of church-building,— external
modes of manifesting zeal for the glory of God, and ardor for per-
sonal salvation. But with the progress of intelligence the spirit
which had found its expression in these modes of service, now, in
the thirteenth century in Italy, fired the hearts of men with an even
more intense and far more vital flame, quickening within them
sympathies which had long lain dormant, and which now at last
burst into activity in efforts and sacrifices for the relief of misery,
and for the bringing of all men within the fold of Christian brother-
hood. St. Francis and St. Dominic, in founding their orders, and
in setting an example to their brethren, only gave measure and direc-
tion to a common impulse.
Yet such were the general hardness of heart and cruelty of tem-
per which had resulted from the centuries of violence, oppression,
and suffering, out of which Italy with the rest of Europe was slowly
emerging, that the strivings of religious emotion and the efforts of
humane sympathy were less powerful to bring about an improve-
ment in social order than influences which had their root in material
conditions. Chief among these was the increasing strength of the
civic communities, through the development of industry and of com-
merce. The people of the cities, united for the protection of their
common interests, were gaining a sense of power. The little people,
as they were called,-mechanics, tradesmen, and the like,
organizing themselves, and growing strong enough to compel the
great to submit to the restrictions of a more or less orderly and
were
――――
## p. 4320 (#86) ############################################
4320
DANTE
peaceful life. In spite of the violent contentions of the great, in
spite of frequent civic uproar, of war with neighbors, of impassioned
party disputes, in spite of incessant interruptions of their tranquillity,
many of the cities of Italy were advancing in prosperity and wealth.
No one of them made more rapid and steady progress than Florence.
The history of Florence during the thirteenth century is a splendid
tale of civic energy and resolute self-confidence. The little city was
full of eager and vigorous life. Her story abounds in picturesque
incident. She had her experience of the turn of the wheel of
Fortune, being now at the summit of power in Tuscany, now in the
depths of defeat and humiliation.
The spiritual emotion, the improvement in the conditions of
society, the increase of wealth, the growth in power of the cities of
Italy, were naturally accompanied by a corresponding intellectual
development, and the thirteenth century became for Italy what the
twelfth had been for France, a period of splendid activity in the
expression of her new life. Every mode of expression in literature
and in the arts was sought and practiced, at first with feeble and
ignorant hands, but with steady gain of mastery. At the beginning
of the century the language was a mere spoken tongue, not yet
shaped for literary use. But the example of Provence was strongly
felt at the court of the Emperor Frederick II. in Sicily, and the first
half of the century was not ended before many poets were imitating
in the Italian tongue the poems of the troubadours. Form and sub-
stance were alike copied; there is scarcely a single original note; but
the practice was of service in giving suppleness to the language, in
forming it for nobler uses, and in opening the way for poetry which
should be Italian in sentiment as well as in words. At the north of
Italy the influence of the trouvères was felt in like manner. Every-
where the desire for expression was manifest. The spring had come,
the young birds had begun to twitter, but no full song was yet heard.
Love was the main theme of the poets, but it had few accents of
sincerity; the common tone was artificial, was unreal.
In the second half of the century new voices are heard, with
accents of genuine and natural feeling; the poets begin to treat the
old themes with more freshness, and to deal with religion, politics,
and morals, as well as with love. The language still possesses,
indeed, the quality of youth; it is still pliant, its forms have not
become stiffened by age, it is fit for larger use than has yet been
made of it, and lies ready and waiting, like a noble instrument, for
the hand of the master which shall draw from it its full harmonies
and reveal its latent power in the service he exacts from it.
But it was not in poetry alone that the life of Italy found expres-
sion. Before the invention of printing,- which gave to the literary
## p. 4321 (#87) ############################################
DANTE
VIII-271
4321
arts such an advantage as secured their pre-eminence,- architecture,
sculpture, and painting were hardly less important means for the ex-
pression of the ideals of the imagination and the creative energy of
man. The practice of them had never wholly ceased in Italy; but
her native artists had lost the traditions of technical skill; their work
was rude and childish. The conventional and lifeless forms of Byzan-
tine art in its decline were adopted by workmen who no longer felt
the impulse, and no longer possessed the capacity, of original design.
Venice and Pisa, early enriched by Eastern commerce, and with citi-
zens both instructed and inspired by knowledge of foreign lands, had
begun great works of building even in the eleventh century; but
these works had been designed, and mainly executed, by masters
from abroad. But now the awakened soul of Italy breathed new life
into all the arts in its efforts at self-expression. A splendid revival
began. The inspiring influence of France was felt in the arts of
construction and design as it had been felt in poetry. The magnifi-
cent display of the highest powers of the imagination and the intelli-
gence in France, the creation during the twelfth and early thirteenth
centuries of the unrivaled productions of Gothic art, stimulated and
quickened the growth of the native art of Italy. But the French
forms were seldom adopted for direct imitation, as the forms of Pro-
vençal poetry had been. The power of classic tradition was strong
enough to resist their attraction. The taste of Italy rejected the
marvels of Gothic design in favor of modes of expression inherited
from her own past, but vivified with fresh spirit, and adapted to her
new requirements. The inland cities, as they grew rich through
native industry and powerful through the organization of their citi-
zens, were stirred with rivalry to make themselves beautiful, and the
motives of religion no less than those of civic pride contributed to
their adornment. The Church was the object of interest common to
all. Piety, superstition, pride, emulation, all alike called for art in
which their spirit should be embodied. The imagination answered to
the call. The eyes of the artist were once more opened to see the
beauty of life, and his hand sought to reproduce it. 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.
## p. 4322 (#88) ############################################
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
## p. 4323 (#89) ############################################
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
## p. 4327 (#93) ############################################
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.
