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T H E

VISION OF HELL

BY

DANTE A L I G H I E R I

T R A N S L A T E D B Y

T H E R E V . H E N R Y F R A N C I S C A R Y , M .A .

A N D I L L U S T R A T E D W IT H T H E D E S IG N S OF

GUSTAVE DORE

With Critical and Explanatory Notes, Life o f Dante and Chronology

C A S S E L L AND COMPANY, LIMITED

LONDON, PARIS, NEW YO RK AND M ELBO URNE. MCMVI ALL R IG H T S RESERVED

ID. DR. SZIVAK IMRE

h a g y o m a n y a

Pocket Edition F irs t P rin te d Ju n e 1905.

R ep rin ted 1906.

iV T A flY A [\A O K M T A .’

KOISTYV'!!'A,i'A

CONTENTS.

PAGE Li f e of Da n t e... xiii

Ch ro n o lo g ical View oft h e Ag e of Da n t e . . . . x xxiii

T H E VISION OF HELL.

C A N T O I.

T h e w riter, h avin g lost his w ay in a gloom y forest, and being hindered by certain wild beasts from ascen din g a mountain, is met by V irg il, who prom ises to show him the punishments of H ell, and afterw ards of P u r g a to ry ; and that he shall then be conducted by B eatrice into P ara d ise. H e follow s the R om an p o e t ... ...

C A N T O I I .

A fter the invocation, which poets are used to prefix to their works, he shows that, on a consideration of his own strength, he doubted whether it sufficed for the jo u rn ey proposed to him, but that, being com forted by V irg il, he at last ..took courage, and follow ed him as his guide and m aster . . . 7

C A N T O I I I .

D an te, follow ing V irg il, comes to the gate of H e l l ; where, after h avin g read the dreadful words that are written thereon, they both enter. H ere, as he understands from V ir g il, those were punished who had passed their time (for livin g it could not be called) in a state of ap ath y and indifference both to good and evil. Then pursuing their w ay, they arrive at the river Acheron ; and there find the old ferrym an Charon, who takes the spirits over to the opposite shore ; which as soon a s D an te reaches, he is seized with terror, and fa lls into a trance . . . . 12

C A N T O I V .

The poet, being roused by a clap of thunder, and follow ing his guide onwards, descends into Lim bo, which is the first circle of H ell, where he finds the souls of those who, although they have

iv CONTENTS.

lived virtuously, and have not to suffer for g rea t sins, neverthe­

less, through lack of baptism , merit not the bliss of P arad ise.

H ence he is led on by V ir g il to descend into the second circle . C A N T O V .

Com ing into the second circle of H ell, D an te a t the entrance beholds M inos the In fern al Ju d g e , by whom he is admonished to beware how he enters those regions. H ere he w itnesses the punishment of ca rn al sinners, who are tost about ceaselessly in the d ark a ir by the most furious winds. Am ongst these, he meets with F ran ce sca of R im in i, through p ity at whose sad tale he fa lls fain tin g to the ground . . ...

C A N T O V I.

On his recovery, the poet finds him self in the third circle, where the gluttonous are punished. T h e ir torment is, to lie in the mire, under a continual and h eavy storm of h ail, snow, and d is­

coloured w a t e r ; Cerberus m eanwhile b ark in g over them with his threefold throat, and rending them piecem eal. One of these, who on earth w as named C iacco , foretells the divisions with which F loren ce is about to be distracted. D an te proposes a question to his guide, who solves i t ; and. they proceed towards the fourth c i r c l e ...

C A N T O V I I .

In the present canto D an te describes his descent into the fourth circle, a t the b egin n in g of which he sees P lu tu s stationed.

H ere one like doom aw aits the p ro d igal and the avariciou s ; which is to meet in direful conflict, rollin g g rea t w eights again st each other with m utual upbraidings. From hence V ir g il takes occasion to show how vain the goods that are committed into the ch arge of F ortun e ; and this moves our author to inquire what being that F ortun e is, of whom he speaks : which question being resolved, they go down into the fifth circle, where they find the w rathful and gloom y tormented in the Styg ia n lake.

H avin g made a com pass round g rea t part of this lake, they come a t la s t to the base of a lo fty to w e r ...

C A N T O V I I I .

A sign al having been m ade from the tower, P h legyas, the ferrym an of the lake, speedily crosses it, and conveys V irg il and D ante to the other side. On their p assag e they meet with Filip p o Argenti, whose fury and torment are described. T h ey then arrive at the city of D is, the entrance whereto is denied, and the portals closed against them by many demons . . . .

GON.TENTS.

A fter some hindrances, and h avin g seen the hellish furies and other monsters, the poet, by the help of an an g el, enters the city of D is, wherein he discovers th at the heretics are punished in tombs burning with intense fir e : and he, together with V irg il, passes onwards between the sepulchres and the w alls of the city

C A N T O X .

D an te, h avin g obtained perm ission from his guide, holds discourse with F a rin a ta d eg li U berti and C a v alca n te C a v alca n ti, who lie in their fiery tombs that are yet open, and not to be closed up till after the last judgm ent. F a rin a ta predicts the poet’ s exile from F lo ren ce ; and shows him that the condemned have know­

led ge of future things, but are ign oran t of what is at present passin g, unless it be revealed by some new comer from earth .

C A N T O X I .

D an te arrives a t the verge of a rocky precipice which encloses the seventh circle, where he sees the sepulchre of A n astasiu s the h e re tic ; behind the lid of which pausin g a little, to m ake him­

self cap ab le by degrees of enduring the fetid smell that steam ed upw ard from the abyss, he is instructed by V ir g il concerning the m anner in which the three follow in g circles are disposed, and w hat description of sinners is punished in each. H e then inquires the reason why the carn al, the gluttonous, the avaricio u s and pro digal, the w rathful and gloom y, suffer not their punishm ents within the city of D is. H e next asks how the crim e of usury is an offence a gain st G o d ; and at length the two poets go tow ards the place from whence a p a ssag e leads down to the seventh c i r c l e ...

CANTO IX. P

C A N T O X I I .

D escen din g by a very rugged w ay into the seventh circle, where the violent are punished, D ante and his lead er find it guarded by the M in o ta u r; whose fury being pacified by V irg il, they step downwards from cra g to cra g ; till, draw in g near the bottom, they descry a river of blood, wherein are tormented such as have committed violence a g ain st their neighbour. A t these, when they strive to emerge from the blood, a troop of C entaurs, running alon g the side of the river, aim their a rro w s; and three of their band opposing our travellers a t the foot of the steep, V irg il p revails so fa r, that one consents to carry them both across the stream ; and on their p a ssa g e D an te is inform ed by him of the course of the river, and of those that are punished t h e r e i n ...

v i

CONTENTS.

S till in the seventh circle, D an te enters its second com partm ent, which contains both those who have done violence on their own persons and those who have violently consumed their goods ; the first changed into rough and knotted trees whereon the h arpies build their nests, the latter chased and torn by black fem ale mastiffs. Am ong the form er, P ierro delle V ig n e is one, who tells him the cause of his h avin g committed suicide, and moreover in what m anner the souls are transform ed into those trunks. Of the latter crew he recognises L an o , a Siennese, and G iacom o, a P ad u an ; and lastly , a F lo ren tin e, who had hung him self from his own roof, speaks to him of the calam ities of his c o u n t r y m e n ... 68

C A N T O X I V .

T h e y arrive a t the beginning of the third of those com partments into which this seventh circle is divided. It is a p lain of dry and hot sand, where three kinds of violence are p u n ish e d ; nam ely, a g ain st G od, a g ain st N atu re, and a g ain st A r t ; and those who have thus sinned are torm ented by flakes of fire, which are etern ally showering down upon them. Am ong the violent I again st G od is found C ap an eu s, whose blasphem ies they hear.

N ext, turning to the left a lo n g the fo rest of self-slayers, and h avin g journeyed a little onw ards, they meet with a stream let of blood that issues from the fo rest and traverses the sandy place.

H ere V irg il speaks to our poet of a huge ancient statue that stands within M ount Id a in C rete, from a fissure in which statue there is a d rippin g of tears, from which the said stream let, together with the three other in fern al rivers, are form ed . . 74

C A N T O X V .

T ak in g their way upon one of the mounds by which the stream let, spoken of in the last canto, w as em banked, and h avin g gone so fa r that they could no longer have discerned the forest if they had turned round to look fo r it, they meet a troop of spirits that come a lo n g the sand by the side of the pier. T h e se are they who have done violence to N a t u r e ; and am ongst them D an te distinguishes Brunetto L atin i, who had been form erly his m a ste r; with whom, turning a little backw ard, he holds a dis­

course which occupies the rem ainder of this canto . . . . 79

C A N T O X V I .

Jou rn eyin g a lon g the pier, which crosses the sand, they are now so near the end of it as to h ear the noise of the stream fa llin g into the eigh th circle, when they meet the spirits of three m ilitary men ; who ju d g in g D ante, from his dress, to be a countrym an of

CANTO X III

^{p AGE}

CONTENTS. ^vii

theirs, entreat him to stop. H e com plies, and speaks with them.

T h e two poets then reach the place where the w ater descends, being the term ination of this third compartment in the seventh c ir c le ; and here V irg il h avin g thrown down into the hollow a cord, wherewith D ante w as girt, they behold at that sig n a l a m onstrous and horrible figure come swimming up to them . . 85

C A N T O X V I I .

T he monster G eryon is described ; to whom while V irg il is speak­

ing in order that he m ay carry them both down to the next circle, D ante, by perm ission, goes a little further alon g the edge of the void, to descry the third species of sinners contained in this com partm ent, nam ely, those who have done violence to A r t ; and then returning to his m aster, they both descend, seated on the back of G e r y o n ...91

C A N T O X V I I I .

The poet describes the situation and form of the eighth circle, divided into ten gu lfs, which contain as many different descrip­

tions of fraudulent sinners ; but in the present canto he treats only of two sorts : the first is of those who, either for their own pleasu re or for that of another, have seduced a n y woman from her duty ; and these are scourged of demons in the first g u l f ; the other sort is of flatterers, who in the second gulf are con­

demned to rem ain immersed in f i l t h ... 95

C A N T O X I X .

T h ey come to the third gulf, wherein are punished those who have been guilty of simony. T hese are fixed with the head down­

wards in certain apertures, so that no more of them than the legs appears without, and on the soles of their feet are seen burning flames. D ante is taken down by his guide into the bottom of the g u l f ; and there finds Pope N ich olas V ., whose evil deeds, together with those of other pontiffs, are bitterly reprehended. V irg il then carries him up again to the arch, which affords them a p assag e over the follow in g gu lf . . . 100

C A N T O X X .

T h e poet relates the punishment of such as presumed, while living, to predict future events. It is to have their faces reversed and set the contrary w ay on their limbs, so that, being deprived of the power to see before them, they are constrained ever to walk backw ards. Am ong these V irg il points out to him

viii CONTENTS.

P A G E

Am phiaraus, T iresias, Aruns, and M anto (from the mention of whom he takes occasion to speak of the origin of M antua), together with several others, who had practised the arts of divination and a s t r o l o g y ...106

C A N T O X X I .

S till in the eighth circle, which bears the name of M aleb o lge, they look down from the bridge that passes over its fifth g u lf, upon the barterers or public peculators. T h ese are plunged in a lake of boiling pitch, and guarded by demons, to whom V irg il, leavin g D an te ap art, presents h im s e lf; and license being ob­

tained to pass onward, both pursue their w a y ...

C A N T O X X II.

V irg il and D ante proceed, accom panied by the demons, and see other sinners of the sam e description in the sam e gu lf. T h e device of Ciam polo, one of these, to escap e from the demons, who had laid hold on h i m ...

**7

C A N T O X X I I I .

T h e enraged demons pursue D an te, but he is preserved from them by V irg il. On reach in g the sixth gu lf, he beholds the punish­

ment of the h y p o c rite s; which is, to pace contin u ally round the g u lf under the pressure of caps and hoods that are g ilt on the outside, but leaden within. H e is addressed by two of these, C atalan o and L od erin go , knights of Sain t M ary, otherwise called Joy o u s F ria rs of B o lo g n a. C a iap h a s is seen fixed to a cross on the ground, and lies so stretched a lo n g the w ay, that all tread on him in p a s s i n g ... 122

C A N T O X X I V .

Under the escort of his faith fu l m aster, D ante, not without difficulty, makes his w ay out of the sixth gulf, and in the seventh sees the robbers tormented by venomous and pestilent serpents. T he soul of V an n i F u cc i, who had p illaged the sacristy of Sain t Jam es in P isto ia, predicts some calam ities that impended over that city, and over the F lo r e n tin e s ... 127

C A N T O XXV.

T he sacrilegious F u cc i vents his fury in blasphem y, is seized by serpents, and flying is pursued by C acus in the form of a centaur, who is described with a swarm of serpents on his haunch, and a dragon on his shoulders breathing forth fire

CONTENTS. ix

O ur poet then meets with the spirits of three of his countrymen, two of whom undergo a m arvellous transform ation in his p r e s e n c e ...

C A N T O X X V I .

Re-m ounting by the steps, down which they had descended to the seventh g u lf, they go forw ard to the arch that stretches over the eighth, and from thence behold num berless flames wherein are punished the evil counsellors, each flam e containing a sinner, save one, in which were Diom ede and U ly sses, the latter of whom relates the m anner of his d e a t h ... 138

C A N T O X X V I I .

T he poet, treatin g of the same punishm ent as in the last canto, relates th at he turned towards a flame in which w as the Count G uid o da M ontefeltro, whose in quiries respectin g the state of R o m ag n a he answers ; and G uido is thereby induced to declare who he is, and why condemned to that torment . . . . 143

C A N T O X X V I I I .

T h e y arrive in the ninth g u lf, where the sowers of scandal, schism atics, and heretics are seen with their lim bs m iserably maimed or divided in different w ays. Am ong these the poet finds M ahom et, Piero da M cdicin a, C urio, M osca, and Bertran d de B o r n ...149

C A N T O X X I X .

D ante, at the desire of V irg il, proceeds onward to the bridge that crosses the tenth g u lf, from whence he hears the cries of the alchem ists and forgers, who are tormented th e re in ; but not being able to discern anythin g on account of the darkness, they descend the rock, that bounds this the last of the com partm ents in which the eighth circle is divided, and then behold the spirits who are afflicted with divers p lagu es and diseases. Tw o of them, nam ely, G rifolin o of Arezzo, and Capocchio of Sienna, are introduced s p e a k i n g ...

C A N T O X X X .

In the sam e gulf, other kinds of impostors, as those who have, counterfeited the persons of others, or debased the current coin, or deceived by speech under fa lse pretences, are described as suffering various diseases. Sinon of T ro y , and Adam o of B rescia , m utually reproach each other with their several im­

postures 160

A *

X

CONTENTS.

T he poets, follow ing the sound of a loud horn, are led by it to the ninth circle, in which there are four rounds, one enclosed

w ithin the other, and containing as m any sorts of traitors ; but the present canto shows only that the circle is encom passed with giants, one of whom, Antaeus, takes them both in his arms and places them a t the bottom of the c i r c l e ...165

CANTO XXXI. PAGE

C A N T O X X X I I .

T h is canto treats of the first, and, in part, of the second of those rounds, into which the ninth and last, or frozen circle, is divided. In the form er, called C a in a, D an te finds Cam iccione d e’ Pazzi, who gives him an account of other sinners who arc there p u n ish e d ; and in the next, named A ntenora, he hears in like m anner from B o cca d eg li A bbati who his fellow -sufferers

C A N T O X X X I I I .

T he poet is told by Count U go lin o de’ G h erardesch i of the cruel manner in which he and his children were fam ished in the tower at P isa , by command of the Archbishop R u g g ie ri. H e next dis­

courses of the third round, called Ptolom ea, wherein those are punished who have betrayed others under the sem blance of kin d n ess; and am ong these he finds the F ria r A lberigo d e ’ M an- fredi, who tells him of one whose soul w as a lread y tormented in that place, though his body appeared still to be alive upon the earth, being yield ed up to the governance of a fiend . . 175

C A N T O X X X I V .

In the fourth and last round of the ninth circle, those who have betrayed their benefactors are w holly covered with ice. And in the midst is L u cife r, at whose back D an te and V irg il ascend, till by a secret path they reach the surface of the other hemi­

sphere of the earth, and once more obtain sight of the stars . 181

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

P o rtrait of D an te A l i g h i e r i ...

Canto.

1. In the midway of this our m ortal life . . I.

2. Scarce the ascent b e g a n ... I.

3. A lion came, 'g a in s t me as it a p p ea r’ d . . I.

4. H e, soon a s he saw that I w as w eeping . I.

5. Onward he m o v e d ... I.

6. N ow w as the d a y departin g . . . . II.

7. I, who now bid tlice on this errand forth. . II.

8. A ll hope a b a n d o n ... I I I . 9. And, lo ! toward us in a bark comes on an old

m a n ... III.

10. E 'e n in like manner A dam 's evil brood cast t h e m s e l v e s ... III.

1 1. O nly so fa r a fflic t e d ... IV . 12. So I beheld united the bright school . . IV . 13. T here M inos s t a n d s ... V . 14. T h e stormy blast of hell with restless fury

drives the spirits o n ... V.

15. B a r d ! w illin gly I would address those two together c o m i n g ... V.

16. L o ve brought us to one death . . . . V.

17. In its leaves that d ay we read, no more . . V.

18. I , through com passion fain tin g . . . V.

19. T hen my g u i d e ... V I.

20. T h y city, h eap 'd with envy to the brim . . V I.

21. Curst w o lf! thy fu ry inward on th yself prey . V II.

32

. N ot a ll the gold that is beneath the moon . V II . 23. N ow seest thou, son ! the souls of those . . V II.

24. Soon as both em bark’d ... V II I . 25. M y teacher sage a w a r e ... V II I . 26. I could not hear w hat terms he offer’d them . V II I . 27. M ark how each dire E ryn n is . . . . IX . 38. T o the gate he c a m e ... IX . 29. H e answ er thus return’d ... IX . 30. H e, soon as there I stood at the tomb’ s foot . X . 31. From the profound a b y s s ... X I.

3a. And there at point of the disparted ridge la y s t r e t c h 'd ... X I I . 33. One cried from f a r ... X I I.

34. W e to those b e a s t s ... X I I.

35. H ere the brute harpies make their nest . . X I II .

Frontispiece T o face page

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3 5 5

7 9

• 12 14 16 16 18 18 . 20 26 29 29 31 33 35 37 39 4i

44

46

1 48

50

54

52 56 56

58

63 65 . 69

xli LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

3

^®- And straigh t the trunk exclaim ’ d .

Canto.

X I I I .

To face page

7

i 37. “ H a ste n o w ," the forem ost cried . X I I I .

73 38

- U n ce a sin g w as the p la y of wretched hands . X IV .

76

39

- Ser Brunetto ! and are y e here ? X V .

78

40. Forthw ith that im age vile of fraud a p p ea r’d . X V I I . . 80 41. N ew terror I conceived a t the steep plunge . X V I I .

84

42. A h ! how they m ade them bound at the first

s tr ip e ! ... X V I I I . 86

43

- W hy greedily thus bendest more on me . X V I I I .

95

44. T h a is is this, the h a r l o t ... X V III.

97 45

- T here stood I like the fria r . . . . X IX . 107 46. T h is said, they grap p led him with more than

hundred hooks ... X X I. 112

47

- B e none of you outrageous . . . . X X I. 116

48. In pursuit he therefore sped . . . . X X I I. 118

49. But the other proved a goshawk able to rend

well his f o e ... X X I I. 123 SO- Scarc ely had his feet reach ’d to the lowest

of the bed b e n e a t h ... X X I II . 125 Si. T u scan , who visitest the college of the

m ourning h y p o c r i t e s ... X X I I I . 125 52. T h a t pierced s p i r i t ... X X I II . 127

53

- Amid this dread exuberance of woe X X IV . 129

54

^- T he other two look’ d o n ... X X V .

135 55

- T h e guide, who m ark’ d how I did gaze

a t t e n t i v e ... X X V I. 142

56

^. Now mark how I do rip me X X V III. 148

57

- C all thou to mind P iero of M edicina . X X V III. 150

58

^. B y the h air it bore the sever’d member . X X V I I I . 152

59

- B u t V irg il roused m e ... X X IX . 152 60. Then my sight w as livelier to explore the

d e p t h ... X X IX .

154

61. T he crust cam e drawn from underneath in

f l a k e s ... ... X X IX .

157

62. T h a t sprite of a ir is Schicchi . . . . X X X .

157 63

- T h a t is the ancient soul of wretched M yrrh a . X X X . 161 64. Oh, senseless s p ir it! ... X X X I. 161

65

- T h is proud one would of his strength a gain st

alm ighty Jo v e m ake trial . . . . X X X I. 165 66. Y e t in the a b y s s ... X X X I. 165 67. Look how thou w a l k e s t ... X X X II. . 169 68. Then seizing on his hinder scalp I cried X X X II . . 172 69. Not more furiously on M cn alip p u s’ temples

T ydeus gnaw ed . . . . X X X II .

*174

70. Then, not to make them sadder X X X II I . 176

7

^*. H ast no help fo r me, my fa th er! 176

72. Then, fastin g got the m astery of grief . X X X

111

^. . 180

73

- *' L o ! ” he exclaim ed, " lo D is ” . X X X IV . . 180

74

- By that hidden way my guide and I did enter X X X IV . . 184

75

- Thcnce issuing wc again beheld the stars . X X X IV . . 184

LIFE OF DANTE.

D

A N T E , a name abbreviated, as was the custom in those days, from Durante or Durando, w as of a very ancient Florentine fam ily. T he first of his ancestors, concern­

ing whom anything certain is known, w as C acciag u id a, a Florentine kn igh t, who died figh tin g in the holy w ar, under the Em peror Conrad I I I . C acciag u id a had two brothers, Moronto and Eliseo, the form er of whom is not recorded to have left any posterity ; the latter is the head of the fam ily of the Elisei, or perhaps (for it is doubtful which is the case) only transm itted to his descendants a name which he had him self inherited. From C acciag u id a him self were sprung the A ligh ieri, so called from one of his sons, who bore the appella­

tion from his m other’s fam ily, as is affirmed by the poet him self, under the person of C acciag u id a, in the fifteenth canto of the

“ P a ra d ise .” T h is name, A ligh ieri, is derived from the coat- of-arm s, a w in g o r, on a field azure, still borne by the descendants of our poet at V erona, in the days of Leonardo Aretino.

Dante w as born at Florence in M ay, 1265. H is m other's nam e w as B ella, but of what fam ily is no longer known. His father he had the m isfortune to lose in his childhood ; but- by the advice of his survivin g relations, and with the assistance of an able preceptor, Brunetto L atin i, he applied him self closely to polite literature and other liberal studies, at the sam e time that he omitted 110 pursuit necessary for the accomplishment of a m anly character, and mixed with the youth of his ag e in all honourable and noble exercises.

In tho tw enty-fourth year of his ag e he w as present at the m em orable battle of Cam paldino, where he served in the fore­

most troop of cavalry, and was exposed to imminent danger.

Leonardo Aretino refers to a letter of D ante, in which he described the order of that battle, and mentioned his having been en gaged in it. T he cavalry of the Aretini at the first onset gained so great un ad van tage ovnr the Florentine horse,

xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

36. And straigh t the trunk exclaim ’ d .

Canto.

X I II .

To face page 71 37. “ H a ste now ,” the forem ost cried . X I I I .

73

38. U n ceasin g w as the p la y of wretched hands . X IV .

76

39

- Ser B ru n e tto ! and are y e here ? X V .

78

40. Forthw ith that im age v ile of fraud a p p e a r’d . X V I I . . 80 41. N ew terror I conceived a t the steep plunge . X V I I .

84

42. A h ! how they m ade them bound at the first

s tr ip e ! ... X V I I I . 86

43

- W hy greedily thus bendest more on me . X V III.

95

44. T h a is is this, the h a r l o t ... X V III.

97 45

- T here stood I like the fria r . . . . X IX . 107 46. T h is said, they grap p led him with more than

X X I. 112

47

- B e none of you outrageous . . . . X X I. 116

48. In pursuit he therefore sped . . . . X X II. 118

49. But the other proved a goshawk able to rend

X X II. 123

So. S c arc ely had his feet reach 'd to the lowest

of the bed beneath . . . X X I II . 125

Si- T u scan , who visitest the college of the

m ourning h y p o c r i t e s ... X X I I I . 125

52

^. T h a t pierced s p i r i t ... X X I II . 127

53

- Amid this dread exuberance of woe X X IV . 129

54

- T he other two look’ d o n ... X X V .

135 55

- T h e guide, who m ark'd how I did gaze

a t t e n t i v e ... X X V I. 142

56

. Now m ark how I do rip me X X V III. 148

57

- C all thou to mind P iero of M edicina . X X V III. 150

58

^. B y the h air it bore the sever’d member . X X V III. 152

59

- But V irg il roused m e ... X X IX . 152 60. Then my sight w as livelier to explore the

d e p t h ... X X IX .

154

61. T he crust came drawn from underneath in

f l a k e s ... ... X X IX .

157

62. T h a t sprite of a ir is Schicchi . . . . X X X .

157 63

- T h at is the ancient soul of wretched M yrrh a . X X X . 161 64. Oh, senseless s p ir it! ... X X X I. 161

65

- T h is proud one would of his strength ag ain st

alm ighty Jo v e m ake trial . . . . X X X I. 165 66. Y e t in the a b y s s ... X X X I. 165 67. Look how thou w a l k e s t ... X X X II . . 169 68. Then seizing on his hinder scalp I cried X X X II . 172 69. N ot more furio u sly on M cn alippu s' temples

T yd eu s gnaw ed ... X X X II .

*174

70. Then, not to make them sadder X X X II I . 176

7

X* H ast no help fo r me, my fa t h e r ! 176

72. Then, fa stin g got the m astery of g rief . X X X I I I . . 180

73

- “ L o ! " he exclaim ed, 11 lo D is " . X X X IV . . 180

74

- By that hidden w ay my guide and I did enter X X X IV . . 184

75

- Thence issuing we again beheld the stars . X X X IV . • 184

LIFE OF DANTE.

D

A N T E , a name abbreviated, as w as the custom in those days, from Durante or Durando, w as of a very ancient Florentine fam ily. T he first of his ancestors, concern­

ing whom anything certain is known, w as C acciag u id a, a Florentine k n igh t, who died figh tin g in the holy w ar, under the Em peror Conrad I I I . C acciag u id a had two brothers, Moronto and Eliseo, the form er of whom is not recorded to have left any posterity ; the latter is the head of the fam ily of the Elisei, or perhaps (for it is doubtful which is the case) only transm itted to his descendants a name which he had him self inherited. From C acciag u id a him self were sprung the A ligh ieri, so called from one of his sons, who bore the appella­

tion from his m other’s fam ily, as is affirmed by the poet him self, under the person of C acciag u id a, in the fifteenth canto of the

“ P a ra d ise .” T h is name, A ligh ieri, is derived from the coat- of-arm s, a w in g or, on a field azure, still borne by the descendants of our poet at V erona, in the days of Leonardo Aretino.

Dante w as born at Florence in M ay, 1265. H is m other’s name w as Bella, but of what fam ily is no longer known. H is father lie had the m isfortune to lose in his childhood ; but- by the advice of his survivin g relations, and with the assistance of an able preceptor, Brunetto L atin i, he applied him self closely to polite literature and other liberal studies, at the sam e time that he omitted 110 pursuit necessary for the accomplishment of a m anly character, and mixed with the youth of his a g e in all honourable and noble exercises.

In the twenty-fourth year of his a g e he w as present at the mem orable battle of C'ampaldino, where he served in the fore­

most troop of cavalry, and w as exposed to imminent danger.

Leonardo Aretino refers to a letter of Dante, in which he described the order of that battle, and mentioned his having been en gaged in it. T h e cavalry of the Aretini at the first onset gam ed so g reat an ad van tage ovnr the Florentine horse,

xiv LIFE OF DANTE.

as to compel them to retreat to their body of infantry. T h is circum stance in the event proved highly fortunate to the F lo re n tin es; for their own cavalry being thus joined to their foot, while that of their enemies was led by the pursuit to a considerable distance from theirs, they w ere by these means enabled to defeat with ease their separate forces. In this battle the Uberti, L am berti, and Abati, with all the other ex­

citizens of Florence who adhered to the Ghibelline interest, were with the A re tin i; while those inhabitants of Arezzo who, ow ing to their attachm ent to the Guelph party, had been banished from their own city, were ranged on the side of the Florentines. In the follow in g year D ante took part in another engagem ent Between his countrymen and the citizens of Pisa, from whom they took the castle of Caprona, situated not far from that city.

From what the poet has told us in his treatise entitled the

“ V ita N u o v a ,” w e learn th at he w a s a lo v er lo n g before he was a soldier, and that his passion for the Beatrice whom he has immortalised commenced when she w as at the beginning and he near the end of his ninth year. T h eir first m eeting w as at a banquet in the house of Folco Portinari, her father ; and the impression then made on the susceptible and constant heart of Dante w as not obliterated by her death, which happened after an interval of sixteen years.

But neither w ar nor love prevented Dante from g ra tify in g the earnest desire which he had of know ledge and mental im ­ provement. By Benvenuto da Im ola, one of the earliest of his com mentators, it is stated that he studied in his youth at the universities of B ologn a and P adua, as well as in that of his native city, and devoted him self to the pursuit of natural and moral philosophy. T here is reason to believe that his e a g e r­

ness for the acquisition of learning, at some time of his life, led him as fa r as Paris, and even O xford ; in the form er of which universities he is said to have taken the degree of a Bachelor, ancj distinguished him self in the theological disputa­

tions, but to have been hindered from com m encing M aster by a failure in his pecuniary resources. Francesco da B uti, another of his com mentators in the fourteenth century, asserts that he entered the order of the F ra ti M inori, but laid aside the habit before he w as professed.

In his ovvn city, domestic troubles, and yet more severe public calam ities, aw aited him. In 129 1 he w as induced, by the solicitation of his friends, to console him self for the loss of Beatrice by a m atrim onial connection with G em m a, a lady of the noble fam ily of the Donati, by whom he had a numerous offspring. But the violence of her temper proved a source of the bitterest suffering to h im ; and in that passage of the

Infern o,” where one of the characters says—

LIFE OF DANTE. xv

" L a fiera m oglie piu ch' altro, mi nuoce,”

C anto x v i.;

“ M e, my w ife Of savage temper, more than aught beside, H ath to this evil brought ’—

his own conjugal unhappiness m ust have recurred forcibly and painfully to his mind. It is not improbable that political anim osity m ight have had some share in these d issen sio n s;

for his w ife was a kinsw om an of Corso D onati, one of the most form idable as he w as one of the most inveterate of his opponents.

In 1300 he was chosen chief of the P riors, who at that time possessed the supreme authority in the s ta t e ; his colleagues being Palm ieri degli Altoviti and N eri di Jacopo degli Alberti.

From this exaltation our poet dated the cause of all his sub­

sequent misfortunes in life.

In order to show the occasio n of D an te’ s exile, it m ay be necessary to enter more particularly into the state of parties at Florence. T he city, which had been disturbed by many divisions between the Guelphs and Ghibellines, at length re­

mained in the power of the fo r m e r ; but after some time these were ag ain split into two factions. T h is perverse occurrence originated with the inhabitants of Pistoia, who, from an unhappy quarrel between two powerful fam ilies in that city, were all separated into parties known by those denominations.

W ith the intention of com posing their differences, the principals on each side were summoned to the city of F lo re n ce ; but this m easure, instead of rem edying the evil, only contributed to increase its virulence, by com m unicating it to the citizens of Florence themselves. Fo r the contending parties were so fa r from being brought to a reconciliation, that each contrived to gain fresh partisans am ong the Florentines, with whom many of them were closely connected by the ties of blood and friend­

ship ; and who entered into the dispute with such acrim ony and eagerness, that the whole city w as soon en gaged either on one part or the other, and even brothers of the sam e fam ily were divided. It w as not long before they passed, by the usual gradations, from contumely to violence. T he factions were now known by the names of the Neri and the Bianchi, the form er generally siding with the Guelphs or adherents of the Papal power, the latter with the Ghibellines or those who supported the authority of the emperor. T he Neri assembled secretly in the church of the Holy T rin ity, and determined 011 interceding with Pope B oniface V I I I . to send C harles of V alois to pacify and reform the city. No sooner did this resolution come to the know ledge of the Bian chi, than, struck with apprehension at the consequences of such a m easure, they took arm s, and repaired to the P riors, dem anding of them

xvi LIFE OF DANTE.

the punishment of their adversaries, for having thus entered into private deliberations concerning the state, which they represented to have been done with the view of expelling them from the city. Those who had met, being alarm ed in their turn, had also recourse to arm s, and made their com plaints to the Priors. Accusing their opponents of h avin g arm ed them­

selves without any previous public discussion, and affirm ing that, under various pretexts, they had sought to drive them out of their country, they demanded that they m ight be punished as disturbers of the public tranquillity. T h e dread and danger became general, when, by the advice of Dante, the Priors called in the multitude to their protection and assistance, and then proceeded to banish the principals of the two factions, who were these : Corso Donati, G eri Spini, Giachonotto d e’

Pazzi, Rosso della T o sa, and others of the N eri party, who were exiled to the Castello della Pieve, in P e r u g ia ; and of the Bianchi party, who were banished to Serrazan a, Gentile and T o rrigian o d e’ C erchi, Guido C avalcan ti, B aschiera della T o sa, Baldinaccio Adim ari, N aldo, son of Lottino Gherardini, and others. On this occasion D ante w as accused of favo u rin g the B ian ch i, though he appears to have conducted him self with im partiality ; and the deliberation held by the N eri for intro­

ducing C harles of V alo is m ight, perhaps, have justified him in treatin g that party with yet greater rigo u r. T h e suspicion ag ain st him w as increased, when those whom he w as accused of favou ring were soon after allowed to return from their banish­

ment, while the sentence passed upon the other faction still remained in full force. T o this Dante replied that when those who had been sent to Serrazan a were recalled, he w as no longer in office ; and that their return had been permitted on account of the death of Guido C avalcan ti, which w as attributed to the unwholesome air of that place. T he partiality which had been shown, however, afforded a pretext to the Pope for dispatching Charles of V alo is to Florence, by whose influence a great reverse w as soon produced in the public a f fa ir s ; the ex-citizens being restored to their place, and the whole of the Bianchi party driven into exile. At this juncture Dante w as not in Florence, but at Rom e, whither he had a short time before been sent am bassador to the Pope, with the offer of a voluntary return to peace and am ity am ong the citizens. H is enemies had now an opportunity of revenge, and, du rin g his absence on this pacific mission, proceeded to pass an iniquitous decree of banishment a g ain st him and Palm ier! A lto v iti; and at the same time confiscated his possessions, which, indeed, had been previously given up to pillage.

On h earing the tidings of his ruin, D ante instantly quitted Kome, :>nd passed with all possible expedition to Sienna, ere, being more fully apprised of the extent of the calam ity,

LIFE OF DANTE. xvii

for which he could see no remedy, he cam e to the desperate resolution of join ing him self to the other exiles. H is first m eeting with them w as at a consultation which they had at G orgonza, a small castle subject to the jurisdiction of Arezzo, in which city it w as finally, after a long deliberation, resolved that they should take up their station. H ither they accord­

ingly repaired in a numerous body, made the Count Alessandro da Rom ena their leader, and appointed a council of twelve, of which number Dante w as one. In the year 1304, h avin g been joined by a very strong force, which w as not only furnished them by Arezzo, but sent from B ologn a and Pistoia, they made a sudden attack on the city of Florence, gained possession of one of the gates, and conquered part of the territory, but were finally compelled to retreat without retainin g any of the ad­

van tages they had acquired.

Disappointed in this attem pt to reinstate him self in his country, Dante quitted A rezzo ; and his course is, for the most part, afterw ards to be traced only by notices casually dropped in his own w ritings, or discovered in documents, which either chance or the zeal of antiquaries m ay have brought to ligh t.

From an instrument in the possession of the M archesi P a p afa vi, of Padua, it has been ascertained that, in 1306, he w as at that citv and with that fam ily. Sim ilar proof exists of his h avin g been present in the follow ing year at a congress of the Ghibellines and the Bianchi, held in the sacristy of the church belonging to the abbey of S. Gaudenzio in M u g e llo ; and from a p a ssage in the “ P u rgato ry ” we collect, that before the expiration of 1307 he had found a refu ge in L u n ig ia n a.w ith the M archese Morello or M arcello M alaspina, who, though form erly a supporter of the opposite party, w as now m agnanim ous enough to welcome a noble enemy in his misfortune.

T he time at which he sought an asylum at V erona, under the hospitable roof of the Sign ori della Scala, is less distinctly m arked. It would seem as if those verses in the “ P a ra d ise ,”

where the shade of his ancestor declares to him

" L o primo tuo rifu gio e ’ l primo ostello S a r a la cortesia del gran L o m b ardo ,”

" F irst refu g e thou must find, first place of rest, In tlie g rea t L o m b ard 's co u rtesy /'

should not be interpreted too s tr ic tly ; but whether he ex­

perienced that courtesy at a very early period of his banish­

ment, or, as others have im agined, not till 1308, when he had quitted the M archese M orello, it is believed that he left Verona in disgust at the flippant levity of that court, or at some sligh t which he conceived to have been shown him by his munificent patron, Can Grande, on whose liberality he has passed so high an encomium. Supposing the latter to have been the cause of his departure, it must necessarily be placed

xviii LIFE OF DANTE.

at a date posterior to 13 0 8 ; for C an Grande, though associated with his am iable brother Alboino in the governm ent of Verona, w as then only seventeen years of a g e, and therefore incapabU of g iv in g the alleged offence to his guest.

T h e mortifications which he underwent during thesa wanderings w ill be best described in his own la n gu age. In hia

“ Convito ” he speaks of his banishm ent, and the poverty and distress which attended it, in very affecting term s. “ A las ! ” said h e ; “ had it pleased the Dispenser of the U niverse, that the occasion of this excuse had never e x is te d ; that neither others had committed w rong again st me, nor I suffered unjustly ; suffered, I say, the punishment of exile and p o v e rty;

since it w as the pleasure of the citizens of that fairest and most renowned daughter of Rom e, Florence, to cast me forth out of her sweet bosom, in which I had my birth and nourishment even to the ripeness of my a g e ; and in which, with her good will, I desire, with all my heart, to rest this wearied spirit of mine, and to term inate the time allotted to me on earth.

W andering over alm ost every part to which this our la n gu ag e extends, I have gone about like a m en d ican t; show ing, again st my w ill, the wound with which fortune has smitten me, and which is often imputed to his ill-deserving on whom it is inflicted. I have, indeed, been a vessel without sail and with­

out steerage, carried about to divers ports, and roads, and shores, by the dry wind that sprin gs out of sad poverty ; and have appeared before the eyes of m any, who, perhaps, from some report that had reached them, had im agined me of a different form ; in whose sig h t not only my person w as dis­

paraged, but every action of mine became of less value, as well already performed as those which yet remained for me to attem pt.” It is no wonder that, with feelin gs like these, he was now w illin g to obtain, by hum iliation and entreaty, what he had before been unable to effect by force.

He addressed several supplicatory epistles, not only to individuals who composed the governm ent, but to the people at la r g e ; particularly one letter, of considerable length, which Leonardo Aretino relates to have begun with this expostulation :

“ Popule m i, quid feci tib i? ”

W hile he anxiously waited the result of these endeavours to obtain his pardon, a different complexion w as given to the face of public affairs by the exaltation of H enry of Luxem b u rgh to the imperial th ro n e; and it w as generally expected that the most important political changes would follow, on the arrival of the new sovereign in Italy. Another prospect, more suitable to the temper of Dante, now disclosed itself to his hopes; he once more assum ed a lofty tone of defiance; and, as it should seem, without much regard either to consistency or prudence, broke out into bitter invectives again st the rulers

LIFE OF DANTE. xix

of Florence, threatening them with merited vengeance from the power of the emperor, which he declared that they had no adequate means of opposing. H e now decidedly relinquished the party of the Guelphs, which had been espoused by his ancestors, and under whose banners he had served in the earlier part of his life on the plains of Cam paldino, and attached him self to the cause of their opponents, the Ghibellines.

Reverence for his country, says one of his biographers, pre­

vailed on him to absent him self from the hostile arm y, when H enry of L uxem burgh encamped before the gates of Florence ; but it is difficult to g ive him credit for being now much influenced by a principle which had not form erly been sufficient to restrain him from sim ilar violence. It is probable that he w as actuated by some desire, however w eak, of preserving ap p e aran ce s; for of his personal courage no question can be made. Dante was fated to disappointment. T h e em peror’s cam paign ended in n o th in g ; the emperor him self died the follow ing sum mer (in 13 13 ) , at Buonconvento ; and, with him, all hopes of regain in g his native city expired in the breast of the unhappy exile. Several of his biographers affirm that he now made a second journey to P a ris, where Boccaccio adds that he held a public disputation on various questions of theology.

T o w hat other places he m ight have roamed du rin g his banishment is very uncertain. W e are told that he w as in Casentino, with the Conte Guido Salvatico, at one tim e ; and, at another, in the m ountains near U rbino, with the Sign ori della F a g g io la . At the m onastery of Sa n ta Croce di Konte A vellana, a wild and solitary retreat in the territory of Gubbio, w as shown a cham ber, in which, as a L atin inscription declared, it w as believed that he had composed no sm all portion of his divine w ork. A tower, belonging to the Conti Falcucci, in Gubbio, claim s for itself a sim ilar honour. In the castle of Colm ollaro, near the river Saonda, and about six miles from the sam e city, he w as courteously entertained by Busone da Gubbio, whom he had form erly met at Arezzo. T here are some traces of his having made a tem porary abode at Udine, and particularly of his having been in the Friu li with P a g a n a della T orre, the patriarch of Aquileia, at the castle of Tolm ino, where he is also said to have employed him self on the “ D ivina C om m ed ia,” and where a rock w as pointed out that w as called the “ seat of D an te.” W hat is know n with greater certainty is, that he at last found a refu ge at Raven na, with Guido N ovella da P o le n ta ; a splendid protector of learn­

in g ; him self a p o e t; and the kinsm an of that unfortunate Fran cesca, whose story has been told by Dante with such un­

rivalled pathos.

It would appear from one of his Epistles that about the year 13 16 he had the option given him of returning to Florence,

XX

LIFE OF DANTE.

on the ignom inious terms of paying a fine, and of m ak in g a public avow al of his offence. It m ay, perhaps, be in reference to this offer, which, for the sam e reason that Socrates refused to save his life on sim ilar conditions, he indignantly rejected, that he prom ises him self he shall one day return “ in other g u ise ,”

" And standin g up A t his baptism al font, shall claim the w reath D u e to the poet’ s te m p les."—P u r g a to r y , xxv.

Such, indeed, w as the glo ry which his compositions in his native tongue had now gained him, that he declares, in the treatise, “ De V u lg a ri E loq uen tia,” it had in some m easure reconciled him even to his banishment.

In the service of his last patron, in whom he seems to have met with a more congenial mind than in any of the former, his talents were gratefu lly exerted, and his affections interested but too deeply ; for, h avin g been sent by Guido on an em bassy to the V enetians, and not being able even to obtain an audience, on account of the rancorous anim osity with which they regarded that prince, Dante returned to R aven n a so over­

whelmed with disappointment and g rief, that he w as seized by an illness which terminated fatally, either in Ju ly or September, 1 3 2 1. Guido testified his sorrow and respect by the sum ptuous­

ness of his obsequies, and by his intention to erect a monument, which he did not live to complete. H is countrymen showed, too late, that they knew the value of w hat they had lost. At the beginning of the next century, their posterity m arked their regret by entreating that the m ortal rem ains of their illustrious citizen m ight be restored to them, and deposited am ong the tombs of their fathers. B u t the people of R aven n a were unw illing to part with the sad and honourable m em orial of their own hospitality. No better success attended the sub­

sequent negotiations of the Florentines for the sam e purpose, though renewed under the auspices of Leo X ., and conducted through the powerful mediation of M ichael Angelo.

T he sepulchre, designed and commenced by Guido da Polenta, w as, in 1483, erected by Bernardo Bembo, the father of the card in a l; and, by him, decorated, besides other orna­

ments, with an efligy of the poet in bas-relief, the sculpture of Pietro Lom bardo, and with the follow ing epitaph :

“ E xigu & tum uli, D anthes, hie sorte jac eb a s, Squalenti n ulli cognite penfc situ.

At nunc marmoreo subnixus conderis arcu, Omnibus et cultu splendidiore nites.

N imirum Bem bus M usis incensus E tru scis H oc tibl, quem im primis hie coluere, dedit/*

A yet more m agnificent mem orial was raised so lately as the year 1780, by the C ardin al Gonzaga.

LIFE OF DANTE. xxi

H is children consisted of one daughter and five sons, two of whom, Pietro and Jacopo, inherited some portion of their fa th e r’s abilities, which they employed chiefly in the pious task of illu stratin g his “ D ivin a C om m ed ia.” T he form er of these possessed acquirem ents of a more profitable kind, and obtained considerable wealth at V erona, where he w as settled, by the exercise of the legal profession. H e w as honoured with the friendship of Petrarch, by whom some verses were addressed to him at T re v ig i, in 13 6 1.

H is daughter Beatrice (whom he is said to have named after the daughter of Folco Portinari) became a nun in the convent of S. Stefano dell’ U liva, at R a v e n n a ; and, am ong the entries of expenditure by the Florentine Republic, appears a present of ten golden florins sent to her in 1350, by the hands of Boccaccio, from the state. T he im agination can picture to itself few objects more interesting than the daughter of Dante, dedicated to the service of religion in the city where her fa th e r’s ashes were deposited, and receiving from his countrymen this tardy tribute of their reverence for his divine genius, and her own virtues.

It is but justice to the w ife of D ante not to om it w hat Boccaccio relates of h e r ; that after the banishment of her husband, she secured some share of his property from the popular fury, under the name of her dow ry ; that out of this she contrived to support their little fam ily with exem plary discretion ; and that she even removed from them the pressure of poverty, by such industrious efforts as in her form er affluence she had never been called 011 to exert. W ho does not regret, that with qualities so estimable, she wanted the sweetness of temper necessary for rivetin g the affections of her husband ?

Dante w as a man of middle stature and grav e deportm ent;

of a v isa g e rather long ; la rg e eyes ; an aquiline nose ; dark complexion ; large and prominent cheek-bones; black curling hair and b eard ; the under lip projecting beyond the upper.

H e mentions, in the “ C o n vito ,” that his sigh t had been transiently impaired by intense application to books. In his dress, he studied as much plainness as w as suitable with his rank and station in life ; and observed a strict tem perance in his diet. He w as at tim es extrem ely absent and ab stracted ; and appears to have indulged too much a disposition to sarcasm . At the table of Can Grande, when the com pany was amused by (he conversation and tricks of a buffoon, he was asked by his patron why Can Grande him self, and the guests who were present, failed of receiving as much pleasure from the exertion of his talents as this m an had been able to give them. “ Because all creatures delight in their own re­

sem blance,” was the reply of Dante. In other respects, his manners are said to have been dignified and polite. H e was

xxii LIFE OF DANTE.

particularly careful not to m ake any approaches to flattery, a vice which he justly held in the utmost abhoYrence. He spoke seldom, and in a slow v o ic e ; but w hat he said derived authority from the subtileness of his observations, som ewhat like his own poetical heroes, who

** P a rla v a n rado con voci soa v i.”

“ Spake Seldom , but a ll their words were tuneful sw e et."—H e l l, iv.

He w as connected in habits of intim acy and friendship with the most ingenious men of his tim e ; with Guido C avalcan ti, with Bun on aggiu nta da Lu cca, with Forese Donati, with Cino da Pistoia, with Giotto, the celebrated painter, by whose hand his likeness w as preserved ; with O derigi da Gubbio, the illum ina­

tor, and with an eminent m usician—

“ H is C a se lla , whom he wooed to sing, M et in the m ilder shades of P u rg a to ry .” —M ilt o n 's S o n n ets.

Besides these, his acquaintance extended to some others, whose names illustrate the first dawn of Italian literature : Lapo degli Uberti, D ante da M ajano, Cecco A n giolieri, Dino Frescobaldi, Giovanni di V irg ilio , G iovanni Quirino, and Francesco Stabili, who is better known by the appellation of Cecco D ’Ascoli ; most of them either honestly declared their sense of his superiority, or betrayed it by their vain endeavours to detract from the estim ation in which he was held.

He is said to have attained some excellence in the art of designing ; which m ay easily be believed, when we consider that no poet has afforded more lessons to the statuary and (he painter, in the variety of objects which he represents, and in the accuracy and spirit with which they are brought before the eye. Indeed, on one occasion, he mentions that he w as em­

ployed in delineating the figure of an an gel, on the first an niversary of B eatrice’s death. It is not unlikely that the seed of the “ Paradiso ” w as thus cast into his mind ; and that he was now endeavouring to express by the pencil an idea of celestial beatitude, which could only be conveyed in its full perfection through the medium of song.

As nothing that related to such a m an w as thought unworthy of notice, one of his biographers, who had seen his handw riting, has recorded that it w as of a long and delicate character, and rem arkable for neatness and accuracy.

Dante wrote in L atin a treatise “ De M o n arch ic,” and two books “ De V u lg a ri Eloq u io .” In the form er he defends the im perial righ ts again st the pretentions of the Pope, with argum ents that are sometimes chim erical and som etimes sound and conclusive. T h e latter, which he left unfinished, contains not only much inform ation concerning the progress which the vernacular poetry of Italy had then made, but some reflections

on the art itself, that prove him to have entertained la rg e and philosophical principles respecting it.

H is L atin style, however, is gen erally rude and unclassical.

It is fortunate that he did not trust to it, as he once intended, for the work by which his nam e w as to be perpetuated. In tfie use of his own la n g u ag e he w as, beyond measure, more successful. T he prose of his “ V ita N u o v a,” and his

“ C o n vito ,” although six centuries have intervened since its composition, is probably, to an Italian eye, still devoid neither of freshness nor elegance. In the “ V ita N u ova,*’ which he appears to have written about his twenty-eighth year, he gives an account of his youthful attachm ent to B eatrice. It is, according to the taste of those times, som ewhat m ystical : yet there are some particulars in it which have not at all the air of a fiction, such as the death of B eatrice’s father, Folco P o r tin a ri; her relation to the friend whom he esteemed next a/ter Guido C a v a lc a n ti; his own attempt to conceal his passion, by a pretended attachm ent to another lady ; and the an guish he felt at the death of his m istress. H e tells us, too, that at the time of her decease, he chanced to be com posing a canzone in her praise, and that he w as interrupted by that event at the conclusion of the first stanza ; a circum stance which we can scarcely suppose to have been a mere invention.

O f the poetrv, with which the “ V ita Nuova ” is plentifully interspersed, the two sonnets that follow m ay be taken as a specimen. N ear the beginning he relates a m arvellous vision, which appeared to him in sleep, soon after his m istress had for the first time addressed her speech to him ; and of this dream he thus asks for an interpretation :—

“ T o every heart that feels the gen tle flame.

T o whom this present say in g comes in sight, In that to me their thoughts they m ay indite, A ll h e a lth ! in L o ve , our lord and m aster's name.

Now on its w ay the second quarter came

O f those tw elve hours, wherein the stars are bright, W hen L o ve w as seen before me, in such might, As to remember shakes with awe my frame.

Suddenly cam c he, seem ing g lad , and keeping M y h eart in hand ; and in his arm s he had M y lad y in a folded garm ent sleepin g : H e w aked h e r; and that h eart a ll burning bade

H er feed upon, in lowly guise and sad :

T hen from my view he tu rn ed ; and parted, w eepin g.”

T o this sonnet Guido C avalcan ti, am ongst others, returned an answ er in a composition of the sam e form , endeavouring to give a happy turn to the dream , by which the mind of the poet had been so deeply impressed. From the intercourse thus begun, when Dante w as eighteen years of age, arose that friendship which terminated only with the death of Guido.

T he other sonnet is one that w as written after the death of B eatrice :—

LIFE OF DANTE. xxiii

xxiv LIFE OF DA.NTE,

“ Ali, p ilg rim s! ye that, h aply m using, go,

On aught save that which on your road ye meet, From lan d so distant, tell me, I entreat, Come ye, a s by your mien and looks y e show?

W hy mourn ye not, a s through these g a tes of woe Y e wend alon g our city’ s midmost street, E ven like those who nothing seem to weet W hat chance hath fa ll'n , why she is g rievin g so?

I f ye listen but a w'hile would stay,

W ell knows this heart, which in ly sigheth sore, T h a t ye would then pass, w eeping on your way.

Oh, h e a r : her B ea trice is no more ;

And words there are a man of her m ight say, W ould m ake a stra n g e r's eye that loss deplore.”

In the “ C o n vito ,” or Banquet, which did not follow till some time after his banishm ent, he explains very much at larg e the sense of three out of fourteen of his canzoni, the remainder of which he had intended to open in the sam e m anner. “ The viands at his ban qu et,” he tells his readers, quaintly enough,

“ w ill be set out in fourteen different m anners ; that is, will consist of fourteen canzoni, the m aterials of which are love and virtue. W ithout the present bread, they would not be free from some shade of obscurity, so as to be prized by many less for their usefulness than for their beauty ; but the bread will, in the form of the present exposition, be that ligh t which will brin g forth all their colours, and display their true mean­

ing to the view . And if the present w ork, which is named a Banquet, and I wish m ay prove so, be handled after a more manly gu ise than the ‘ V ita N u o v a,’ I intend not, therefore, that the form er should in any part derogate from the latter, but that the one should be a help to the other : seeing that it is fitting in reason for this to be fervid and impassioned ; that, temperate and m anly. For it becomes us to act and speak otherwise at one ag e than at another ; since at one a g e certain manners are suitable and praisew orthy, which at another be­

come disproportionate and blam eable.” H e then apologises for speaking of him self. “ I fear the d isg ra c e ,’ * says he, “ of having been subject to so much passion as one, reading these canzoni, m ay conceive me to have been ; a d isgrace that is removed by my speak in g thus unreservedly of m yself, which shows not passion, but virtue, to have been the m oving cause.

I intend, moreover, to set forth their true m eaning, which some m ay not perceive, if I declare it n o t.” H e next proceeds to give many reasons why his com m entary w as not written rather in L atin than in Italian ; for which, if no excuse be now thought necessary, it must be recollected that the Italian language w as then in its infancy, and scarce supposed to possess dignity enough for the purposes of instruction. “ T he L a tin ,”

he allow s, “ would have explained his canzoni better to oreigners, as to the G erm ans, the E n glish , and others ; but len it must have expounded their sense, without the power of,