No More Learning

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.


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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


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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


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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


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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. "


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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,
-
-


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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.


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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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DANTE
4344
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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DANTE
4345
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. His description of his journey
through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise has a literal veracity; and un-
der the letter is the allegory of the conduct and consequences of all
human life. The literal meaning and the allegorical are the web and
woof of the fabric, in which the separate incidents are interwoven,
with twofold thread, in designs of infinite variety, complexity, and
beauty.
In the journey through Hell, Dante represents himself as guided
by Virgil, who has been sent to his aid on the perilous way by Bea-
trice, incited by the Holy Virgin herself, in her infinite compassion
for one who has strayed from the true way in the dark forest of the
world. Virgil is the type of the right reason, that reason whose
guidance, if followed, leads man to the attainment of the moral vir-
tues, by the practice of which sin may be avoided, but which by
themselves are not enough for salvation. These were the virtues of
the virtuous heathen, unenlightened by divine revelation. Through
the world, of whose evil Hell is the type and fulfillment, reason is
the sufficient guide and guard along the perilous paths which man
must traverse, exposed to the assaults of sin, subject to temptation,
and compelled to face the very Devil himself. And when at last,
worn and wearied by long-continued effort, and repentant of his fre-
quent errors, he has overcome temptation, and entered on a course
of purification through suffering and penitence, whereby he may
obtain forgiveness and struggle upward to the height of moral virtue,
reason still suffices to lead him on the difficult ascent, until he reaches
the security and the joy of having overcome the world. But now
reason no longer is sufficient. Another guide is needed to lead the
soul through heavenly paths to the attainment of the divine virtues
of faith, hope, and charity, by which the soul is made fit for Paradise.
And here Beatrice, the type of theology, or knowledge of the things


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4346
DANTE
of God, takes the place of Virgil, and conducts the purified and
redeemed soul on its return to its divine source, to the consumma-
tion of its desires and its bliss in the vision of God himself.
Such is the general scheme of the poem, in which the order of
the universe is displayed and the life of man depicted, in scenes of
immense dramatic variety and of unsurpassed imaginative reality. It
embraces the whole field of human experience. Nature, art, the
past, the present, learning, philosophy, all contribute to it. The
mastery of the poet over all material which can serve him is com-
plete; the force of his controlling imagination corresponds with the
depth and intensity of his moral purpose. And herein lies the
exceptional character of the poem, as at once a work of art of
supreme beauty and a work of didactic morals of supreme signifi-
cance. Art indeed cannot, if it would, divorce itself from morals.
Into every work of art, whether the artist intend it or not, enters a
moral element. But in art, beauty does not submit to be subor-
dinated to any other end, and it is the marvel in Dante that while
his main intent is didactic, he attains it by a means of art so per-
fect that only in a few rare passages does beauty fall a sacrifice to
doctrine. The 'Divine Comedy' is indeed not less incomparable in
its beauty than in its vast compass, the variety of its interest, and in
the harmony of its form with its spirit. In his lectures On Trans-
lating Homer' Mr. Arnold, speaking of the metre of 'Paradise Lost,'
says: "To this metre, as used in the Paradise Lost,' our country
owes the glory of having produced one of the only two poetical
works in the grand style which are to be found in the modern lan-
guages; the Divine Comedy' of Dante is the other. " But Mr. Arnold
does not point out the extraordinary fact, in regard to the style of
the Divine Comedy,' that this poem stands at the beginning of
modern literature, that there was no previous modern standard of style,
that the language was molded and the verse invented by Dante; that
he did not borrow his style from the ancients, and that when he
says to Virgil, «Thou art he from whom I took the fair style that
has done me honor," he meant only that he had learned from him
the principles of noble and adequate poetic expression. The style of
the 'Divine Comedy' is as different from that of the Æneid as it is
from that of Paradise Lost. '
(
There are few other works of man, perhaps there is no other,
which afford such evidence as the Divine Comedy' of uninterrupted
consistency of purpose, of sustained vigor of imagination, and of
steady force of character controlling alike the vagaries of the poetic
temperament, the wavering of human purpose, the fluctuation of
human powers, and the untowardness of circumstance.
From begin-
ning to end of this work of many years there is no flagging of


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DANTE
4347
energy, no indication of weakness. The shoulders, burdened by a
task almost too great for mortal strength, never tremble under their
load.
The contrast between the inner and the outer life of Dante is one
of the most impressive pictures of human experience; the pain, the
privation, the humiliation of outward circumstance so bitter, so pro-
longed; the joy, the fullness, the exaltation of inward condition so
complete, the achievement so great. Above all other poetry the
'Divine Comedy is the expression of high character, and of a manly
nature of surpassing breadth and tenderness of sympathy, of intensity
of moral earnestness, and elevation of purpose. One closes the nar-
rative of Dante's life and the study of his works with the conviction
that he was not only one of the greatest among poets, but a man
whose character gives to his poetry its highest and its most enduring
interest.
C. E. Morton.
NOTES
For the student of Italian, the following books may be recom-
mended as opening the way to the study of Dante's life and works:
1. Tutte le Opere di Dante Alighieri. Nuovamente rivedute nel
testo da Dr. E. Moore. Oxford, 1894, I vol. ; sm. 8vo; pp. x, 490.
[The best text of Dante's works, and the only edition of them in
one volume. Invaluable to the student. ]
e
2. La Divina Commedia di Dante Alighieri. Riveduta
commentata da G. A. Scartazzini. 2d ediz. , Milano, 1896, 1 vol. ; sm.
3vo; pp. xx, 1034; col Rimario ed Indice, pp. 122. On the whole the
most useful edition for the beginner. The historical and biographi-
cal notes and the references to the sources of Dante's allusions are
abundant and good; but interpretations of difficult passages or words
are not always unquestionable.
Scartazzini's edition of the Divina Commedia in three volumes,
with his volume of Prolegomeni,' may be commended to the more
advanced student, who will find it, especially the volume of the
'Paradise,' a rich storehouse of information.
For the English reader the following books and essays will be
useful:- Cary's translation of the Divine Comedy,' in blank verse.


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4348
DANTE
modeled on Milton's verse, and remote from the tone of the original.
This is the version of a refined scholar; it has been much admired
and is generally quoted in England. It is furnished with good notes.
Longfellow's verse-for-verse unrhymed translation is far the most
accurate of the English translations in verse, and is distinguished
also for the verbal felicity of its renderings. The comment accom-
panying it is extensive and of great value, by far the best in English.
Of literal prose translations, there are among others that of the
'Inferno by Dr. John Carlyle, which is of very great merit; that of
the whole poem, with a comment of interest, by Mr. A. J. Butler; and
that also of the whole poem and of he New Life' by C. E. Norton.
The various works on Dante by the Rev. Dr. Edward Moore, of
Oxford, are all of the highest worth, and quite indispensable to the
thorough student. Their titles are-Contributions to the Textual
Criticism of the Divina Commedia,' 'Time References in the Divina
Commedia,' 'Dante and his Early Biographers,' and 'Studies in
Dante. '
Lowell's essay on 'Dante' (prose works of James Russell Lowell,
Riverside edition, Vol. iv. ), and 'Dante,' an essay by the Rev. R. W.
Church, late Dean of St. Paul's, should be read by every student.
They will open the way to further reading. The Concordance to
the Divine Comedy,' by Dr. E. A. Fay, published by Ginn and Com-
pany, Boston, for the Dante Society, is a book which the student
should have always at hand.
C. E. N.


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추
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圈
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FARM R
DANTE'S HOUSE
FLORENCE, ITALY


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DANTE
SELECTIONS FROM THE WORKS OF DANTE
IN
N MAKING the following translations from Dante's chief works, my
attempt has been to choose passages which should each have
interest in itself, but which, taken together, should have a natu-
ral sequence and should illustrate the development of the ruling ideas
and controlling sentiment of Dante's life. But they lose much of their
power and beauty in being separated from their context, and the
reader should bear in mind that such is the closeness of texture of
Dante's work, and so complete its unity, that extracts, however
numerous and extended, fail to give an adequate impression of its
character as a whole. Moreover, no poems suffer greater loss in
translation than Dante's, for in no others is there so intimate a rela-
tion between the expression and the feeling, between the rhythmical
form and the poetic substance.
C. E. N.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
I.
I.
2.
3.
FROM THE NEW LIFE)
The beginning of love.
The first salutation of his Lady.
The praise of his Lady.
Her loveliness.
Her death.
The anniversary of her death.
The hope to speak more worthily of her.
FROM THE (BANQUET ›
The consolation of Philosophy.
The desire of the Soul.
The noble Soul at the end of Life.
4349
FROM THE DIVINE COMEDY>
Hell, Cantos i. and ii. The entrance on the journey through the
eternal world.
2.
Hell, Canto v. The punishment of carnal sinners.
3. Purgatory, Canto xxvii. The final purgation.
4. Purgatory, Cantos xxx, xxxi. The meeting with his Lady in the
Earthly Paradise.
5. Paradise, Canto xxxiii. The final vision.


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DANTE
4350
The selections from the New Life' are from Professor Norton's translation,
copyrighted 1867, 1892, 1895, and reprinted by permission of Professor
Norton and of Houghton, Mifflin and Company, Boston, Mass.
THE NEW LIFE
I
THE BEGINNING OF LOVE
NT
JINE times now, since my birth, the heaven of light had
turned almost to the same point in its own gyration, when
the glorious Lady of my mind, who was called Beatrice by
many who knew not why she was so called, first appeared before
my eyes. She had already been in this life so long that in its
course the starry heaven had moved toward the region of the
East one of the twelve parts of a degree; so that at about the
beginning of her ninth year she appeared to me, and I near the
end of my ninth year saw her. She appeared to me clothed in
a most noble color, a modest and becoming crimson, and she
was girt and adorned in such wise as befitted her very youthful
age.
over
From that time forward Love lorded it over my soul, which
had been so speedily wedded to him: and he began to exercise
me such control and such lordship, through the power
which my imagination gave to him, that it behoved me to do
completely all his pleasure. He commanded me ofttimes that I
should seek to see this youthful angel; so that I in my boyhood
often went seeking her, and saw her of such noble and praise-
worthy deportment, that truly of her might be said that word of
the poet Homer, "She seems not the daughter of mortal man,
but of God. " And though her image, which stayed constantly
with me, gave assurance to Love to hold lordship over me, yet
it was of such noble virtue that it never suffered Love to rule
me without the faithful counsel of the reason in those matters in
which it was useful to hear such counsel. And since to dwell
upon the passions and actions of such early youth seems like
telling an idle tale, I will leave them, and, passing over many
things which might be drawn from the original where these lie
hidden, I will come to those words which are written in my
memory under larger paragraphs.


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DANTE
I
H
L
J
1
e
4351
II
THE FIRST SALUTATION OF HIS LADY
When so many days had passed that nine years were exactly
complete since the above-described apparition of this most gentle
lady, on the last of these days it happened that this admirable
lady appeared to me, clothed in purest white, between two gentle
ladies, who were of greater age; and, passing along a street, she
turned her eyes toward that place where I stood very timidly,
and by her ineffable courtesy, which is to-day rewarded in the
eternal world, saluted me with such virtue that it seemed to me
then that I saw all the bounds of bliss. . . . And since it
was the first time that her words came to my ears, I took in
such sweetness that, as it were intoxicated, I turned away from
the folk, and betaking myself to the solitude of my own chamber,
I sat myself down to think of this most courteous lady.
And thinking of her, a sweet slumber overcame me, in which
a marvelous vision appeared to
. And [when I
awoke] thinking on what had appeared to me, I resolved to
make it known to many who were famous poets at that time;
and since I had already seen in myself the art of discoursing in
rhyme, I resolved to make a sonnet, in which I would salute all
the liegemen of Love, and would write to them that which I had
seen in my slumber.
III
THE PRAISE OF HIS LADY
Inasmuch as through my looks many persons had learned the
secret of my heart, certain ladies who were met together, taking
pleasure in one another's company, were well acquainted with my
heart, because each of them had witnessed many of my discom-
fitures. And I, passing near them, as chance led me, was called
by one of these gentle ladies; and she who had called me was a
lady of very pleasing speech; so that when I drew nigh to them
and saw plainly that my most gentle lady was not among them,
reassuring myself, I saluted them and asked what might be
their pleasure. The ladies were many, and certain of them were
laughing together. There were others who were looking at me,
awaiting what I might say. There were others who were talking
together, one of whom, turning her eyes toward me, and calling
me by name, said these words: -"To what end lovest thou this


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4352
DANTE
thy lady, since thou canst not sustain her presence? Tell it to
us, for surely the end of such a love must be most strange. »
And when she had said these words to me, not only she, but all
the others, began to await with their look my reply. Then I
said to them these words: -"My ladies, the end of my love was
formerly the salutation of this lady of whom you perchance are
thinking, and in that dwelt the beatitude which was the end of
all my desires. But since it has pleased her to deny it to me,
my lord Love, through his grace, has placed all my beatitude
in that which cannot fail me.