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DANTE

DANTE

THE DIVINA COMMEDIA AND
CANZONIERE

Translated by the late

E. H. PLUMPTRE D.D.

Dean of IVells

WITH NOTES, STUDIES AND ESTIMATES

IN FIVE VOLUMES

BOSTON, U.S.A.
D. C. HEATH ^ CO., Publishers

1899

CONTENTS

CANZONIERE

Sonnet

I.

1)

II.

Ballata

I.

Sonnet

III.

Ballata

II.

Sonnet

IV.

))

V.

Canzone

I.

Ballata

III.

,,

IV.

Sonnet

VI.

)>

VII.

n

VIII.

»

IX.

Canzone

II.

The First Vision of Love

What might have been

" De Profundis " .

Death of Beatrice's Friend (i)

Death of Beatrice's Friend (2)

Love as Pilgrim .

Separation .

The Lover's Plea for Pity

Eyes Dim with Sorrow

" Apologia pro Vita Sua "

Inner Conflict

Transformation .

Drunk, but not with Wine

" Nee Morbos, nee Remedia Pati

Possumus " . ,

Laudes Beatricis .
7

13
IS
i6
18

19

20
21

26
29

30
3»

33
34

CONTENTS

Canzone

III.

SONNIT

X.

N

XI.

n

XII.

n

XIII.

n

XIV.

»

XV.

Canzone

IV.

Sonnet

XVI.

»)

XVII.

)»

XVIII.

«

XIX.

Ballata

V.

Sonnet

XX.

))

XX K

))

XXII.

Canzone

V.

Stanza

Canzone

VI.

Sonnet

XXIII.

Canzone

VII.

Sonnet

XXIV.

>»

XXV.

»)

XXVI.

))

XXVII.

„ XXVIII.

»

XXIX.

»

XXX.

5>

XXXI.

Canzone

vm.

»»

IX.

Sonnet

XXXII.

Ballata

VI.

Retrospection

The Birth of Love
Beatrice's Salutation

Beatrice's Sorrow (i) .
Beatrice's Sorrow (2) .
The Company of Mourners
What Tidings of Beatrice?
Forebodings

Giovanna and Beatrice .
" Beatrice, God's True Praise
The Beauty of Holiness
All Saints' Day, iiSg .
Dawning of New Hope
Credentials Withdrawn
Repulsion and Attraction
The Moth and the Candle
" The Fear of Death is Fallen

Me" .
Sighs for Beatrice's Greeting
Beatrice in Paradise
Grief too Deep for Tears

, Beatrice with the Angels

, A Year After
The Relief of Tears .
Sorrow Finding Sympathy
The Wanderings of the Eyci

, Pity Akin to Love
Sighs and Thoughts
Pilgrims in Florence
Beatrice Transfigured

, Pain of Separation

, The Lover's Threats

. The Lover's Anathema

, Ignorance in Asking
8

upon

CONTENTS

FAGB

Ballata

VII.

Memories ....

92

»

VIII.

The Garland

93

Sonnet XXXIII.

Love's Sovereignty

94

»

XXXIV.

The Envoy's Instructions

. 96

>7

XXXV.

For Others' Sake .

97

Ballata

IX.

Terrible in Beauty

. 98

Sonnet

XXXVI.

Beautiful and Pitiless .

100

„ XXXVIl.

A Cry for Help .

lOI

„ XXXVIII.

Disappointment .

lOZ

„

XXXIX.

Stellar Influences .

. 103

Ballata

X.

The Scorn of Scorn

104

SeSTINA

I.

Similitudes of Love

106

J>

II.

Similitudes of Love

108

1)

III.

Similitudes of Love

no

Canzonc

X.

Hard as a Rock .

IIZ

»

XI.

Winter ....

116

)>

XII.

Return of Spring .

120

)»

XIII.

Love's Service

124

))

XIV.

The Angels of the Third Heaven

128

))

XV.

The Miracle of Beauty .

132

)>

XVI.

True Nobility

136

)»

XVII.

Virtus Sola Nobilitas .

'45

»?

XVIII.

Freedom and Bondage .

»Si

"

XIX.

The Three Exiles

158

jj

XX.

Laudes Florentiae .

163

Sonnet

XL.

Friendly Warning

16S

»

XLI.

Quis Locus Ingenio ? .

169

»

XLII.

Rivals or Partners . .

170

»>

XLIII.

Fair but Cruel

171

»5

XLIV.

Faith and Unfaith . . ,

172

Ballata

XI.

The Beatific Vision

173

)>

XII.

Spring-tide Joy . . . .

174

Sonnet

XLV.

What is Love ? . . .

177

II

XLVI.

Spring after Winter . . ,

178

CONTENTS

PAGE

Sonnet XLVII. Gold Tried in the Fire . . . 179

„ XLVIII. Ad Misericordiam . . . 180

„ XLIX. Strength in Wealcness . . . 181

Canzone XXI. In Metnoriam .... 182

Dante's Confession of Faith

Credo 188

Sacramenta ....... 193

Decalogus . . . . . . .196

Septem Peccata Mortalia . . . . ,198

Paternoster 199

Ave Maria ....... 201

ECLOGUES

I. Joannes de Virgilio to Dante Alighieri . . 202

II. Dante Alighieri to Joannes de Virgilio . . 208

III. Joannes de Virgilio to Dante Alighieri . . 213

IV. Dante Alighieri to Joannes de Virgilio . » 219

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CANZONIERE

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SONNET I

/

THE FIRST VISION OF LOVE p

A ctascun alma fresa, e gent'tl core *

To each enamoured soul, each gentle heart,
Within whose ken comes what I now indite.
That they their thoughts on what it means
may write,

Greeting in Love, their Lord, I now impart.

SONNET I

For us this Sonnet has the interest of being the earliest of
Dante's extant writings. It is obvious, however, that it is not the
work of a prentice-hand, and that though he was only eighteen,
there may well have been some four or five years' study and
practice, first of Latin, then of Proven5al, and then of Italian
poetry. The story is told in the V. N. (c. 3). Nine years after
Beatrice had inspired his precocious boyhood with a consuming
passion (1284), during which he had only had casual glimpses of
her, probably in the Church of S. Lucia, he had met her, accom-
panied by two older friends, after her marriage with Simon de'
Bardi, in the street, and she had for the first time given him a
friendly greeting with words as well as looks. As a married
woman, she was free to grant him a recognition which would before
have been unmaidenly. The old flame, which perhaps had slum-
bered after he had heard of her marriage, was rekindled, and he
went home to dream what is here recorded. As told in the
Sonnet, still more as told in the V. N., it is noteworthy as being
the only instance of any approach to the sensuous element of
passion. To see what Dante says he saw indicates a perilous,
though involuntary, nearness to temptation. Even here, however,
the corrective is near at hand. Joy is turned to mourning. The
sleep of the beloved one, even then, is as the shadow-sister of
death. After the manner of the time, perhaps with some exultation
in the consciousness of a new-bom power, Dante sent his poem to
II

, j^ • / 1- 3 V . je

, b. /w A-;

CANZONIERE

Night's hours were minished just by one-third

part, »

What time when every star shows brightest

sheen,
When all at once Love by mine eyes was seen,

Whose very memory makes my spirit start.

Joyous seemed Love, and he my heart did press
Within his hands, and in his arms he bare ^°

My lady, sleeping, wrapt in silken sheet;

Then woke her, and that burning heart to eat.
Gave her; she fed with timid, lowly air.

Then as he went, tears did his grief confess.

his friends, among them to Guido Cavalcanti, Cino da Pistoia,
Dante da Maiano. Of these, none understood the drift of what in
later years he felt had been an unconscious prophecy of Beatrice's
early death. Cavalcanti saw in it an instance of the melancholy
that mingles with the sweet dreams of love. Cino suggested that
Love came to bring him that which his heart desired, and then
wept for the sorrow which his passion would bring to Beatrice.
His namesake, more cynically, hinted that he was "off his head"
and had better consult a doctor.

" Four hours of the night had passed, sc, it was between i and
2 A.M., night beginning with Compline at 9 p.m. [furg-. ix. 8X
Repeatedljr Dante notes in the Commedia his belief that dreams
after midnight come true, and then their meaning is seen {H.
xxvi. 7 ; Purg. ix. 16-18, xix. 4).

B Comp. H. i. 6, xxxii. 72, as instances of the same shuddering
thrill of memory.

11 The word " Madonna " supplies the key to all that follows.
In the recognised use of Italian poetry, as in the speech of common
life, that term was applied to a married woman only (Canz. ii. 13 ;
Witte, L. G. ii. 19). The maiden was a donzella or frulzella
(comp. a Sonnet by Frescobaldi, in which he elaborately discusses
the advantages of loving one or the other, in Bart. Lett. Ital. iv.
p. 17). The title thus given proves Beatrice's marriage at the
commencement of the V. N. beyond the shadow of doubt. What
Dante tells us in the V. N. (c. 6), that he wrote a serventese on the
sixty fairest ladies of Florence, leads to the same conclusion. It
would have been a breach of conventional etiquette to have in-
serted a maiden's name in such a poem. A. Pucci, in a poem of
the same kind, names twenty-two ladies, and in each case has a
word of praise for the husband also {Lubin. p. 19). If that con-
clusion seems at first startling, we may remember that it was the
familiar practice of Provencjal poets to choose a married woman as
the object of a homage in which, ideally at least, there was no
element of sensuous desire, only the supreme reverence for grace,
beauty, purity. It was, we may admit, a strained relation, not
without its risks, and too often the "vaulting ambition" might
IZ

CANZONIERE

SO

NNET II ( 3-L . Q^~-3)

WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

Guido, •vorrei che tu e hafo ed io

GuiDO, I would that Lapo, thou, and I

Were taken by some skilled enchanter's spell,
And placed on board a barque that should
speed well

"o'erleap itself" and "fall o" the other side ;" but, as the sequel
shows, it was for Dante not a liaison dangerevse, but a purifying
pain. His love was like that of Sordello, not for Cunizza, but for
another Beatrice, the wife of Charles of Anjou {Purg. vi. 58 «.),
purer than that of Petrarch for his Laura, also a "donna," the
wife of Hugh de Sade. In the Sonnet before us, the first that he
cared to leave to future ages, he was perhaps following in Sordello's
footsteps, and in those of Guido Guinicelli, whom he recognised as
his master {Purg. xxvi. 98), claiming for himself, however, the dis-
tinctive merit of rising out of the tradition:<l conventionalities of the
Troubadours and other poets, and writing as love taught him
(Purg. xxiv. 52-54).

12 The meaning of the vision is not far to seek. His heart
burned with a reverential love, which Beatrice accepted, not as
another woman might have done, triumphant in a new conquest,
but with a timid meekness ; and Love wept at the coming sorrow,
in which, as a strange foreboding indicated, the homage was to
end.

SONNET II

Notable as the one Sonnet in which the element of a sportive joy,
what Quinet has called "the aureole of adolescence," is dominant.
How bright and happy might life be, it seems to say, could we but
live in an enchanted region, where its stern realities (among them
Beatrice's marriage) had no place. It is suggestive that he did not
think fit to include it in the V. N.

1 The Guido is Cavalcanti, then Dante's chiefest friend, before
his change of feeling as to Virgil's merits or the Epicurean
materialism which he inherited from his father had brought about
the cooloess and alienation which H, x, 52-63 n. at least suggests.

»3

CANZONIERE

Through wind and wave, and with our will

comply;
So that nor evil chance nor stormy sky °

Should be to our desire impediment.
So, living always in one full consent.
Desire should grow to dwell in company:
And Lady Vanna, Lady Bic& too,

With her who nobly fills my thirtieth

line— i«

Would that the good enchanter these might

move
With us to speak for evermore of Love ;
And each of them in full content combine,
E'en as I deem 'twould be with me and you !

8 Vanna, or Giovanna, known also as Primavera ( = Spring), and
mentioned again in K. N. c. 24, S. 16, was the object of Cavalc^nti's
love. Bice, as in her father's will {Frai. V. D. p. 98), stands for
Beatrice. The third is described as thirtieth in the list of sixty fair
ones of Florence, on whom Dante had written a poem of the serven-
tese type (see «. on .S". 1), which has rot come down to us, and in
which Beatrice's name appeared, as by the decree of fate, as the
ninth. She has been identified with the Donna (the beloved one,
not the wife) of Lapo Gianni, or, as some say, Lapo degli Uberti,
the son of Farinata, and father of the poet Fazio, who wrote the
Dittamondo, a kind of Gazetteer in terza rima. The fact that
Guido Cavalcanti married the daughter of the Farinata of H. x. 32
is in favour of the latter view, as also is the mention of Lapo in y. E.
i. 13. There also he is grouped with Cavalcanti, probably with
Dante himself. The leading thought of the Sonnet is the wish that
the ideal love could become a life-long reality. But he knows it
cannot be. Only the enchanter's wand could bring about such a
transformation. The actual history of what was then future presents
one of the strange contrasts which so often characterise the " irony
of history." Beatrice died in 1290. Cavalcanti was banished by
Dante to Sarrazzano, and died of a fever caught in its unwholesome
climate in 1300. For Dante himself there was a life of poverty and
exile. It may be noted that in some MSS. " Lagia" takes the place
of " Bice," as though the Sonnet had been written by Cino of
Pistoia, who addresses many of his poems to a Selvaggia, a name of
which Lagia may have been a diminutive.

14

CANZONIERE

BALLATA I V

->4w. 1

v^]

DE PROFUNDIS'

0 "vol, che per la "via ct Amor passate

O YE who on Love's path pursue your way.

Behold and say
If there be any sorrow grave as mine :

That ye would list to me is all I pray.

And then let Fancy's play
Judge if of all woe I am key and shrine.

Love, not for little good that in me lay,
But his own noble goodness to display.

BALLATA I

The V. iV (c. 7) gives the following account of the poem, which
is there called a Sonnet, that term being used, at first, in a less
restricted sense than it acquired afterwards. This particular form
was known as a Sonetto doppio or rinterzato. Dante had sought to
conceal his love, but he could not refrain from gazing on Beatrice as
he knelt in church, probably in that of S. Lucia, in the Via de'
Bardi, and near her husband's house. In so gazing, another fair
lady sat between him and his beloved one, and many thought, there-
fore, that he was in love with her. The poet saw in that mistake a
means at once of concealment and of utterance. He would en-
courage it by writing poems which should seem to be addressed to
her, and yet give vent to thoughts that were meant for Beatrice.
She was to be, as he says, his "screen" against whispering tongues
and over-curious gaze. And this went on, he says, for some months,
and even years. It was in connection with this phase of his passion
that he wrote the Serventese above referred to. Her departure from
Florence gave him an opportunity for pouring forth his sorrow as
though that had been its cause. For the history of the Serventese,
see Diez, Trottb., pp. 169-176.

2 The allusion to Lam. i. i finds a parallel in Dante's quotations
from the same prophet in his Epistle to the Cardinals {Ep. 9). See
also the note on H. i. 32, and V. N. c. 29, 31.

CANZONIERE

Placed me in life so pleasant and so fair,
That oft I heard behind me voices say, ^°

"Ah, through what merit may
His heart so light be, and so free from care ? "
Now have I all my wonted courage lost.
Which came of old from Love's great treasure-
store.
Whence I continue poor, "

And shrink when I would any one accost.

And thus, desiring still to act like those.

Who, in their shame, hide their deficiencies.

Cheerful I meet men's eyes.
And weep within and wail o'er all my woes. ^

SON

NET III f T ^'y r\f\']

DEATH OF Beatrice's friend (i)

Piangete, amantl, po'iche piange Amort

Weep, all ye lovers, seeing Love doth weep.
Hearing what cause calls forth his piteous cry:
Love hears fair ladies mourn in sympathy,

13 The change is like that of .S"._ i. 9-14. The first joy of the new
passion, the dream of the impossible, as in S. ii. had turned into a
consuming sorrow.

17 Wc note the characteristically subjective self-analysis, the fore-
runner of many like it in the Commedia (//. i. 6, xxxii. 72 ; Purg.
V. 20, vii. 10, XXX. 74-70, xxxi. 64-66 ; Par. vii. 10), the same proud
reticence and reserve which characterised the poet from first to last.

SONNET III

Early in the history of the V. N. (c. 8) — probably before 1285 —
one of Beatrice's best-loved friends died, in the full freshness of her
16

CANZONIERE

Whose eyes give outward proof of sorrow deep.

For villainous Death on gentle heart doth heap ^
The strokes of his most cruel workmanship,
Wasting what winneth praise from each man's
lip.

In lady fair, save th' honour she doth keep.

Hear ye what homage Love to her did pay:

For I saw him lament in very deed, *°

Over the lifeless form he came to view:

And often to high heaven his glance he threw.
Where finds a home the gentle spirit freed.
Who was a lady of such presence gay.

youth, and Dante laments her death in this and the following poem.
He describes her as in some respects the complement of Beatrice.
She is gay, bright, full of a ready courtesy. God had taken her to
Himself, and she was in the courts of Heaven. I have ventured
{Pur^. xxviii. 40 «.), on what seem to me sufficient grounds, to
identify her with the Matilda of the Earthly Paradise. In Dante's
admiration and reverence she clearly occupied a place second only
to Beatrice.

10 The Love who mourns is not the classical Cupid, but Beatrice
herself — Love incarnate, whom Dante had seen weeping over the
body of her friend {V. N. c. 8). That upward look implied the
prayer that they might meet again. In the Purgatory yisXon Dante
implies his belief that the prayer had been granted, though the
transfigured Beatrice dwelt in the higher region of the Empyrean
heaven, Matilda in the Earthly Paradise — the one symbolising the
wisdom of the contemplative life, the other the joy of active ministra-
tion.

*7

CANZONIERE

BALLATA II [ Xy^ , '-t ^

DEATH OF Beatrice's friend (2)

Morte •villana, di pieta nemica

O VILLAIN Death, of pity ruthless foe,
Old parent of great woe,
Inevitable doom and hard to bear.
Since thou hast filled my heart with sad

despair.
And to and fro I wander full of care, *

My tongue in blaming thee doth weary
grow;

And if I seek thee pitiless to show.
Needs must I make men know
Thy guilt, wherein all wrongs most wrong-
ful are.
Not that 'tis hidden from men's eyes afar, '°
But to rouse all to fiery heat of war.
Who henceforth shall with Love's true nur-
ture grow.

Thou from the world hast ta'en all courtesy.
And virtue, that which wins a lady praise :

In youth's first gladsome days ^*

Thou hast laid low all Love's sweet pleasantry.

BALLATA II

From V. JV. c. S, and a variation of the theme of 5. ilL
l8

CANZONIERE

More I tell not who that fair dame may be,
Than by the exceeding grace each act displays.

Who treads not life's true ways.
Let him not hope to have her company. '

SONNET IV

r^.

>

LOVE AS PILGRIM

Cavalcando /' altr^ ier per un cammino

Riding the other day along a road,

All pensive o'er the thought that made me sad,
I found Love half-way on my journey, clad

In the light garb that pilgrim's raiment showed.

Like one of low estate he on did plod, *

As though his lordship he had cast aside.
And sighing, full of thought, his course he
plied.

That he might look on none, with head low
bowed.

17-20 Grammatically the lines can only refer to the friend of
Beatrice, for whom Dante mourns ; but he assures us in the V. N.
that they were meant for Beatrice herself. Possibly the lines were
written at first for Matilda, found to be fitter for Beatrice, and so
mentally transferred to her. It must be remembered that he had
already in .5*. iii. identified Love with Beatrice.

SONNET IV

From V. N. c. p. where also we are told of the vision which it
embodies, and which came to him when he was ri'iing with many
others along a rushing stream. I surmise, with Witte, Krafft,
Wegele (p. 74), that it connects itself with the expedition against
Arezzo, in which Dante took part (1289), and which ended in the

»9

CANZONIERE

When he saw me he called me by my name.
And said, " I come from region distant far.
Where through my will, thy heart had ta'en
its flight.

And now I bring it for a new delight,"

Such measure full of him I then did share,
He fled, nor saw I how he went and came.

vik'rL

SONNET V i^r IC^^

SEPARATION

Se'l hello aspetto non mi fosse tolto

Were the sweet sight from me not ta'en away
Of that fair lady whom I long to see,
For whom I sigh and weep in misery.
Thus distant from her face so blithe and gay,

battle of Campaldino {H. xxii. 6 ; Purg. v. 92), and that the
stream was the Amo, and I find in it the expression of a new.
born sense of freedom rising out of the activities of that stirring
life. He is no longer under the despotism of Love ; his heart no
longer devoured by her to whom Love has given it. As he rides he
sees Love as a pilgrim (probably enough an actual pilgrim met the
cavaliers on their way), with that peculiarly humble look which
devout pilgrims affect, and that seems to him the symbol of the
state to which what had been the master-passion of his soul is now
reduced. The absorption of the mind by one engrossing thought,
the waking vision even while he is riding with a troop of horse, is
eminently characteristic of the seer-temperament (Pwy^. xv. 115, ».).
He is not far from the home of her who had screened his love, but
love gives him leave to turn his heart to any new delight, whether it
be that of battle or the beauty of some new fair one, to be in the
future what the " screen " lady had been in the past.

SONNET V

Not in the V. N. , but belonging probably to the same period as
20

CANZONIERE

That, which as heavy load on me doth weigh, '
And makes me feel such torment keen and

dire.
After such fashion, that I half expire.

Like one with whom his hope no more will stay,

Would be but light, and with no terror dread ;
But since no more I see her as of old, ^^

Love pains me, and my heart with grief is
cold.

And so of every comfort I lose hold.

That all things which delight on others shed
To me are troublous, and work woe instead.

CANZONE I I IL .^'^---1 J

THE LOVER S PLEA FOR PITY
La dispktata mente che pur mira

My sorrowing soul that only looks behind
On days gone by of which I now am reft.
On this side with my heart holds conflict sore ;

S. iv., distance from the object of love being the link that connects
the two. Here, however, the sense of freedom has passed away.
The pains of absence are more keenly felt, the lover misses the
daily glance, the occasional salutation, which have been the light of
his life. Such may well have been the state of Dante's soul during
the Campaldino or Caprona expedition. Fraticelli, however, con-
jectures that the absence complained of may be that caused by the
death of Beatrice, while Balbo assumes that the journey was one to
Bologna in company with other students. We owe the discovery
of the Sonnet to Witte's researches in the Ambrosian Library at
Milan.

CANZONE I

Not in the K. N., but connected by the fact of distance from

CANZONIERE

On that, fond longing that calls back my

mind
To the sweet country that I now have left, ''
With the strong might of Love prevaileth

more.
Nor feel I now within the strength of yore
That can for long ward off my sore defeat,
Unless, that help, dear Lady, comes from

thee.
Wherefore, if thine it be ^°

To set it free by vigorous emprise meet,
May it please thee to send thy greeting

dear.
To bid its virtue be of better cheer.

May it please thee, my Lady, yet again.

Thou fail not now the heart that loves thee

so, >*

Since from thee only succour it can claim.
A good knight never rides with tightened

rein.
To help a squire who calls him in his woe;
For not for him alone he fights, but fame.
And sure its grief now burns with fiercer

flame, ^

Florence (1. 5) in Beatrice's lifetime, with the two preceding
Sonnets.

In St. i. we have the story of an inner conflict. There is the
sorrow of remembering happier days, which lie behind him in the
distance {H, v. 122) ; there is the desire, though duty calls else-
where, to go back to the scene of those days. Will not his beloved
help him to find peace by sending him, written or orally, the salu-
tation which when spoken had filled his soul with such rapturous
delight {y. JV. c. 3, 9, 10, 18), which made saiuto and salute inter-
changeable terms ?

17-19 Few great poets delight more than Dante does in brini^ing
out the nobleness of the true relation of master and servant, knight
and squire. l"he three lines breathe the very spirit of an ideal
chivalry by which the young soldier was, we may believei inspired
in bis first campaign. H. xvii. 90 ; Par. xxiv. 148.
ZZ

CANZONIERE

When, I think, O my Lady fair, that thou
Art painted in it by the hands of Love;

So should'st thou much more prove
For him thy care in greater measure now,
Since He, from whom all good must needs

appear, »

For His own image in us holds us dear.

If thou would'st speak, thou Hope, of all most

sweet.
Of more delay of that which I request.
Know thou I cannot any longer wait,
For all my strength to bear doth waning

fleet; .^

And this 'tis fit thou know, since my unrest
Moves me to seek my last hope ere too late:
For man should bear with patience every

weight
Till the last burden which to death must

press,
Before he seek his greatest friend to prove, ^

Not knowing what his love:
And if it chance he heed not my distress
Then is there nothing that can cost more

dear.
For death has nought more rapid or more

drear.

22-26 The passage has often been misinterpreted, but its meaning
IS sufficiently clear. God, from whom all goodness flows, holds us
dear because He sees in us His own image ; so should Beatrice
have pity on her lover, for Love has painted her form on the canvas
of his soul. The thought is eminently characteristic of the poet,
who, even then, was also a theologian.

33 Another touch of the nobleness of chivalry. The young soldier
of Campaldino has learnt that he must not call for help, however
ready his friend may be to give it (1. 17), except under the strongest
pressure of necessity. That he appeals to Beatrice now (the poem
IS obviously addressed to her), is a proof that he has reached that
point.

*3

CANZONIERE

And thou alone art she whom most I love, *"

Who upon me canst greatest gift bestow.
In whom alone my hope finds fullest rest :
Only to serve thee would I long life prove.
And those things, whence to thee may honour

flow,
I seek and crave ; all else doth me molest ; ^^
Where others fail, thou canst grant all my

quest.
For Yes and No entirely in thy hand
Hath Love now left; whence I esteem me

great :
The trust thou dost create
Springs from thy bearing, pitiful and bland ; *
For whoso looks on thee in truth knows well
From fair outside that there doth mercy dwell.

Now, therefore, let thy greeting quickly speed,
And come within the heart that waits for it.
My gentle Lady; — thou my prayer hast

known. *'^

But know, the entrance there is barred indeed
With that same arrow wherewith I was hit.
Which Love shot when he made me all his

own:
By it the way is closed to every one.
Save to Love's envoys, who to ope have

skill, «"

By will of that same Power that doth it bar:

Wherefore, in this my war,
Its coming would to me be grievous ill,

<3-45 Evidence, if that were needed, of the purity of the poet's
passion. All that he craves for is the opportunity of serving his
beloved and doing honour to her name, and that service is its own
exceeding great reward.

85-65 One notes the recurrence of military imagery, the arrow used
as a bolt, the closed gate of the fortress, the arrows of love's artillery,
24

CANZONIERE

If it approach without the company

Of that Lord's envoys, who imprisons me. ®

Canzon', thy journey should be swift and short,
For well thou know'st how brief is now the

day
For him for whom thou speedest on thy way.

BALLATA III / J~, ^6^^J ]

EYES DIM WITH SORROW

In abito di saggia messagera

In fashion of an envoy wise and true,

Move on thine errand. Song, without delay,
To my fair dame thy message to convey.
And tell her my life's powers are faint and
few.

such as may have been suggested by the siege of Caprona, the
warfare by which the soul's peace is imperilled.

86 After the manner of the Provencal poets, the Canzone termi-
nates with what was known as the Tornato or L' Envoi of the poem,
considered as a messenger who has to bear tidings to her to whom
it is sent. The last two lines seem to indicate something like
an anticipation, which the state of Dante's health, as described
in V. N. c. 14, 23, might well warrant, of an early death. The time
was short ; Beatrice would do well to give a proof of her sympathy
before it was too late. See B. iii.

BALLATA III

The whole poem connects itself closely with the last lines of the
foregoing. In the "wreath of torturing fire" by which his eyes
were encirled (1. 10) we have the poet's version of the weakness of
sight described in .9. xxix. ; C. xl. ; Conv. iii. 9 ; and in y. N.

25

CANZONIERE

Thou wilt begin to tell her that mine eyes, *
Through looking on her angel-countenance,
Were wont to bear the garland of desires.
Now, since they cannot see the face they

prize.
Death with such terror on them doth advance.
That they have made a wreath of torturing

fires. «

Alas ! I know not whither they should fare
For their delight, and so thou me wilt find
As one half-dead, unless thou bring my mind
Comfort from her ; therefore tell her my

prayer.

BALLATA iV [ / ^ V'^ )

* APOLOGIA PRO VITA SUA

Ballata, to vo' che tu ritruovi Amore

I WILL that thou, my Song, find Love anew,
And that with him thou seek my lady fair.
So that my pleading, with thy sweet-voiced

air.
My Lord to her may speak in accents true.

C. II, 12. They, in their mute suffering, are even without words,
as an appeal ad tnisericordiam. Not in the V. If., but probably
one of the poems referred to in C. v. as addressed to the " screen '
lady.

BALLATA IV

From V. N c 12 The contrivance of the "screen," who was to
serve as a lay-figure of the true object of the poet's love, had led, as
z6

CANZONIERE

Thou goest, my Song, so full of courtesy, "

That, though no friend be near.
Thou oughtest to be bold on every side ;
But if thou seekest full security,

First find if Love be there.
It is not good without him far to ride; "

For she to whom thou should'st thy tale

confide.
If, as I deem, she is with me irate.
And thou shouldst go without him as thy

mate.
Might lightly on thee some dishonour do.

With a sweet sound, when with him thou shalt
be, ^'

Do thou these words begin.
As soon as thou her pity shalt have sued :
" My Lady, he who sends me now to thee.

Seeks, if thy will he win.
That thou should'st hear if his defence be

good. ^

'Tis Love who makes him, as may suit his
mood,

might have been expected, in the case of the second lady who was
selected for this purpose, to misunderstandings. Beatrice was
indignant at what appeared to her his ficlcleness, a fickleness which
brought some scandal on the lady's reputation, and he writes by way
of explanation, with a plea of " not guilty." He may have seemed
faithless, but his heart has all along been true. Love, indeed, has
told him in a vision that it is time that these screens and counterfeits
should cease. All that he seeks is to serve Beatrice whether in life,
or should she so will it, in his death (11. 25-34). ^^ "°tc th^t the
poem was to be set to music, " Di soaTe artnonia." A friend
(H. W. P.) notes the coincidence of thought in Merrick's poem to
Anthea —

" Bid me to live, and I will live ;

Bid me despair ; . . .
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en death to die for thee."

27

CANZONIERE

Change look and hue for your fair beauty's

sake :
Bethink thee, then, why he his eye doth make
On others look, though heart unchanged be

true."

Tell her, " O Lady, still his heart hath borne ^^
Such firm unwavering faith,
That every thought prompts him to service

due;
Quick was he thine, nor ever thence was
■ torn."

If she doubt what he saith,
Bid her of Love demand if it be true ; ^

And at the end with meek entreaty sue
To pardon him, if he hath caused her pain;
And if she bid me die by message plain.
Her slave that hest obeying she shall view.

And say to him who holds all pity's key, ^

Before thou leave my fair.
He put forth skill on my good plea to dwell.
Through grace of my sweet-flowing melody.

Remain thou with her there.
And of thy servant what thou wiliest, tell ; *"
And if thy prayer her pardon winneth well.
Bid her with aspect fair to speak of peace."
O gentle song of mine, if thee it please.
Speed at such time that honour may accrue.

*> The closing prayer is for a message of greeting {salute in its
twofold sense), such as had been asked for in Cam. i.

28

CANZONIERE

SONNET VI

[l y.-u.j

INNER CONFLICT
futti It miei fenskr par /an ctamore

My every thought is fain to speak of love,

And in them there is such variety.

That one constrains me own his sovereignty.
Another will his power a madness prove;
A third, by giving hope, sweet joy doth move, '

And many a time and oft one bids me cry;

Only in craving pity come they nigh
Accord, and with heart-tremblings sadly rove.
Whence I know not to what point I should
wend.

And wish to speak, yet know not what to

say: i°

So find myself in amorous wanderings lost.
And if I would agree with all the host,

I must needs now to her my fair foe pray,

That she, my Lady Pity, me defend.

SONNET VI

From V. N. c. 13. An expansion of the inner conflict of emotions
indicated in Cam. i. 1. 62. All however agree, and this is their
point of contact with Ball. iii. in their prayer for pity. Is love good
or not good ? Does the sweetness of the word ^^ Amore " correspond
with the reality, on the principle that Nontina sunt consequentia
rerum ? In applying the name " Madonna " to the " pity " which
he seeks, there is, he says in the V. N.,a touch of irony. Pity is
not the mistress of his souL

29

CANZONIERE

SONNET VII /I . Y.\x

TRANSFORMATION

CalP altre donne m'ta wsta gabbate

With other dames thou dost my looks deride,
And think'st not. Lady, what hath wrought

the change.
That makes me wear a face so new and
strange,
When on thy beauteous form mine eyes abide.
Did'st thou but know it, Pity had denied *

Longer to prove me with the old distress.
For Love, whene'er he sees me near thee
press.
Puts on such boldness and such sturdy pride,

SONNET VII

The history is given in V. JV. c. 14. The poet, returned to
Florence, had been at a wedding-feast, where there were many
guests. Suddenly Beatrice appeared among them. In part, per-
haps, through the confusion and shame implied in Bal/. iii. and iv.,
he turned giddy, leant against the wall to save himself from falling,
and had to be led back to his own house. As he goes out he hears
the ladies who were present, Beatrice among them (only married
ladies attended such gatherings, they were all donne, S. i. «.), talk
of him, not without a tone of derision, and when he comes to himself
in the " chamber of tears," he writes by w.-iy of protest against her
hastiness. He had not yet learnt the lesson, " Let the people talk."
(Purgr. V. 13.)

Many commentators infer that the marriage-feast was that of
Beatrice's own wedding, and that this was the cause of Dante's over-
powermg emotion. For the reasons given in the notes on .S". i., I am
compelled to think otherwise. I surmise rather that it may have
been the first time he had seen her since his return from Campaldiro,
and since the misunderstandings that had pained her {Ball. iv.). To
look on her as sharing in a wedding-feast may well have renewed
the feeling with which he had heard that she had been given to
another, and had cursed the altered fashions of the time and the
greed of gain which thus marred the happiness of his life (Par. xv.
103-105).

30

CANZONIERE

It smites my senses, making them afraid.
Dooms this to death, and that to banish-
ment,
So that I stand alone to gaze on thee.

Wherefore another's look I take on me,
Yet so that still I share the loud lament
Of those the sufferers that are exiles made.

SO

NNET VIII [} y. Ti .)

DRUNK, BUT NOT WITH WINE

CTo, cht m' incontra nella mente, more

That in my mind which clashes with it, dies,
Whene'er I come to see thee, my fair Joy,
And when I near thee stand, 1 hear Love's
cries.
Who saith, " Flee far, if death brings thee
annoy."

9 1 have translated s^riii by "senses," as the best equivalent.
In Dante's physiology every sense, hearing, sight, &c., had its own
special spirito (V. N. c. i), but that meaning would not be conveyed
to the reader by the English "spirits." Every such "sense "or
"spirit" had been stunned as he gazed on Beatrice, and so the
fashion of his countenance was altered and he became as another
man, only so far retaining consciousness as to hear, as it were, the
waitings of each banished sense. The concluding lines half suggest
that those waitings seemed to him as an anticipation of the misery of
the lost (H. iii. 25).

SONNET VIII

From V. N. c. 15. Obviously, in close connection with Sonn.
vii., painting in verse what he had sketched before in prose. Why,
be asked himself, should he seek to see her when the sight was so

3*

CANZONIERE

My features paint my heart's hue in mine eyes, *
Which, as in death-swoon, leans where rest

is nigh.
And drunken with great trembling and
surprise,
It seems the stones cry out to me, " Die, die."
Who sees me then is guilty of a sin,

Not comforting my soul, dismayed with ill, *"
At least in proving that my woe doth gain
Some pity for me, whom your mirth doth kill, —
That woe which shows itself in looks of pain
In eyes which seek death of their own free
will.

full of pain ? And yet there rose up such a form of beauty in his
mind that the desire to see her was stronger than ever. Would not
Beatrice's mirth, that had so vexed his soul, be turned into pity
when she read of it ?

8 We note the same reduplication in Par. viii. 75, and conjecture
that the story of the Sicilian Vespers (1282) must have reached
Florence within a few years of the date of the Sonnet, filling Dante's
soul with horror, and transmuting itself into a symbol of the "soul's
tragedy," through which he himself was passing. As before in
Bail, iii., he pleads the special sufferings of his eyes to move his
lady's pity.

CANZONIERE

SONNET IX

6^- Y.^..]

" NEC MORBOS, NEC REMEDIA PATI POSSUMUS
Speisejiate •venemi alia mente

Full many a time there comes into my thought
The melancholy hue which Love doth give,
And such woes come on me that I am
brought

To say, "Ah me ! doth one so burdened live ? "

For Love with me so suddenly hath fought, *

That 'tis as though life all my frame did

leave;
One living spirit only help hath wrought.

And that remains discourse of thee to weave.

Then I arise, resolved myself to aid.

And pale and wan, and of all strength bereft, ^^
I come to see thee, thinking health to find:

And if on thee my longing eyes are stayed.
My heart, as with an earthquake, then is cleft.
Which makes my pulse leave all its life
behind.

SONNET IX

From V. N. c i6. The conflict with the many "spirits" (in
Dante's sense of the word) is continued. One only holds out, and
that remains to tell the praises of the beloved one. Thus sore-
smitten he looks to her in hope of healing, but alas ! the remedy is
worse than the disease (1. ii) ; tearfulness and trembling once more
come on him.

33

CANZONIERE

CANZONE II U • ^-^J

LAUDES BEATRICIS

Donne cfi' a-veU inttlhtto et amcn'e

Ladies, who have intelligence of love,

I fain would of my Lady speak with you,
Not that I think to tell her praises due,
But speaking to set free my burdened soul.
I say that, as my thoughts on her worth

move, '

So sweetly Love thrills all my senses through.
That if I lost not all my courage true
My words would make the world own Love's

control.

CANZONE II

y. JV. c. i8 and ig. Memorable as probably the poem on which
Dante looked as the masterpiece of his earlier works. It is the
first Canzone which he inserts in the V. N'. He quotes from it as
his own in t^. E. ii. 12, 13. In Purg. xxiv. 51, he makes Biiona-
giunta of Lucca, himself a poet, eager to know whether he meets
the man who wrote it. His account of its genesis is that he was
asked one day by many married and unmarried women of rank
(fionne and donzelle, not /enimine) of Florence, when Beatrice was
not with them, whose relations with their worshippers were quiie
other than those between him and Beatrice, what his love meant,
what was to come of it all? And this is his reply. He who would
enter into the mind and heart of Dante should read it line by line
and word for word. He wished for nothing more than Beatrice's
greeting. That was the only blessedness he sought for. And in
saying this he was but repeating what Love itself had taught him.
The form in which that thought was expressed came to him, he
says, as he was walking by a clear river — probably the Amo.

1-14 TTie poet will not shrink from his task, though he feels that
it lies far beyond his powers. Love is mighty though he is weak.
Line 13 indicates the distinction between donna and donzella,
already noted in n. on Sonn. i.

34

CANZONIERE

Such lofty strains I choose not for my r6Ie,
Lest I, through coward fear, should vile

become ; ^°

But of her gentle life I'll not be dumb,
And sketch with light touch that surpassing

whole,
Ladies and damsels who know Love, with

you;
For not to others now my speech is due.

An Angel speaketh in the Eternal Mind ^^

And saith, " O Sire, in yonder world is shown
A wondrous thing, which hath to being grown
From a pure soul whose brightness shines on

high.
Heaven which no other sense of want doth

find
Than of her presence, asks of God that

boon ; *"

And every saint implores for that alone."
And Pity only comes to help our fears.
For thus speaks God, who of my Lady hears,
" My well-beloved, now suffer ye in peace
That this your hope, as long as I shall please, ^°
Wait, where one dwells whom loss of her

shall try.
And who shall tell the damned in hell's unrest
* I have beheld the hope of all the blest.' "

16 The lover has already taken a long stride towards the
apotheosis of the Commedia. Beatrice is already as " God's true
praise " (H . ii. 103). The saints in Paradise are waiting for her
presence to complete their bliss. Pity only pleads that she may be
left a little longer for her friends on earth.

28 One cannot read what follows without feeling that we have
the fiist germ of the thought which afterwards, as in V. JV. c. 23,
ripened into a vision and then into a purpose (K. IV. c. 43), and
lastly into the wonder of wonders, the Commedia itself.

35

CANZONIERE

My Lady thus in highest heaven is sought:
Now will I ye her worth supreme should

hear. ^

1 say, who will as gentle dame appear,
Let her go with her, for where she doth go.
In basest souls a chill by Love is wrought,
Freezing each vile thought till to death 'tis

near :
And who Love wills should see with vision

clear ^

Must either die or else must noble grow.
And when he finds one who doth worthy

show
To look on her, he doth her worth attest ;
For that her greeting gives him peace and

rest.
So humbling him that he no wrath doth

know, *"

And, as yet greater grace, God gives her this ;
He who speaks with her cannot end amiss.

Love saith of her, "A thing of mortal birth,
How can it be so beautiful and pure ? "
Then he looks on her, inly swearing, " Sure ^
God means in her to work a wonder new."
Her hue is that of pearl of priceless worth,
Meet for a lady, fair without excess :
She is all good that Nature can express.
And in her, as a type, is beauty true, ^

S6 Literature can hardly, I imagine, present a parallel to the
nobleness of these lines. The holiness of a perfect and pure beauty-
freezes each thought of evil. Pride and desire alike are calmed.
To have conversed with her is the source of unfailing hope. Here
again we note the first germ of the Commedia. The natural
development of that germ is seen in the thought that she herself
must come to his rescue (as in H. ii. 103) in the " critical minute"
of his life.

47 One of the few artist's touches in a portrait which otherwise is
36

CANZONIERE

From her fair eyes, when we their glances view.
Spirits pass forth inflamed with Love's sweet

blaze,
And strike the eyes of him who then doth

gaze,
And so pass on, each finds his heart anew.
Ye see them there, Love painted in her

smile, 0*

Where fixed gaze they may not brook long

while.

Canzon', I know that thou to many a fair
Wilt go discoursing, when I thee have sped.
Now do I warn thee, since I thee have bred
As Love's own daughter in her lowly prime, ^
That, where thou goest, thou utter still the

prayer,
"Teach me to journey, for to her I'm sent
Whose praises are my one chief ornament;"
And if, as weak and vain, thou fear'st to

climb:
Stay not where they dwell who are base with

crime : ^

Learn, if thou canst, to hold thy converse free
Only with man or maid of courtesy;
Who soon will speed thy way in quickest

time.

almost purely spiritual. In the " pearl on forehead white " of Par.
iii. 14 we may well find a reminiscence of that touch. Comp.
Sonn. xxvi.

52 The ever recurring theory of " spirits " comes in where modern
poetry would speak of " influence " and "expression." The thrill
that pervades the lover's frame when fair eyes look on him, whence
can it come? So Dante asked, and made answer to himself,
Where but from some occult forces, for which " spirits " was at
least as good a term as any other (A^. N. c. a)? In 1. 55 a v. I. gives
visa (" face ") for riso.

60 The enz'oi of the poem s^hows that it was meant to reach

Beatrice herself, it may be as an atonement for the real or fancied

37

CANZONIERE

Thou wilt find Love with her, my Lady-
sweet,
Commend me thou to them, as it is meet. ^°

py^^A^:

CANZONE III

RETROSPECTION

£'»j' incresce di me si malamente

So sad and keen a grief comes over me,
That full as much of pain,
Doth pity, as the grief itself, excite.
Ah me ! for that, in saddest misery,

A power doth me constrain ^

neglect of the past {Ball. iv.). Dante hopes, however, for other
readers, but is content that they should be "{aw," if only they be
"fit." What he demands is the element, hard to be defined, of the
" courtesy " which was so favourite a word with him (//. ii. 58, 134,
iii. 121 ; Purg. ix. 92, xi. 85 ; Par. xii. iii), and was so eminently
characteristic of his own nature.

CANZONE III

Not In the V. N., but presenting so many points of contact with
C. ii. that it well may be regarded as a sketch or an echo of it, and
therefore as referring to Beatrice. Krafft, it is true, thinks that
Dante speaks of the fair one whom he loved in the Casentino, but
on grounds which seem to me quite inadequate ; nor can I accept
the view of another critic that it is addressed to the donna gentile,
either as a flesh and blood reality, or as the symbol of philosophy
(Oeynhausen). Yet one never feels quite sure that there may not
be some allegoric or mystic meaning.

3 The par.idox rises probably out of the "screen" arrangement
(Ball. iv.). Dante was pining for some token that Beatrice still
cared for him, but the pity which his manifest distress called forth
came from those who were not the objects of his love. The eyes
which had given the hope of peace were now averted from him and

38

CANZONIERE

To pour my last sigh in a breathing light,
Within the heart which those fair eyes did

smite,
When with his hands Love opened them to

see,
To lead me to this season of my woe.

Ah me ! how kind and free.
Pleasant and sweet, did they upon me rise.

When they, to my surprise.
Began to work the death which brings me

low.
Saying, "Our light brings peace for thee to

know:

Peace to thy heart we'll give, delight to thee." ^*
So to these eyes of mine
Those of my Lady fair did sometimes say;
But when, with knowledge clear, they came
to see
That through her power divine.
My spirit from me had nigh passed away, *^
They with Love's banners fled from out the

fray.
So that their glorious and triumphant gleam
Was to mine eyes no longer visible :

And saddened still doth seem
My soul, which looked thence to be com-
forted, ^
And now, as though 'twere dead.
It sees the heart with which 'twas wed to

dwell.
And it must part from that it loved so well.

left him desolate. He finds the meaning of a " sorrow's crown of
sorrow " {H. v. 122).

39

CANZONIERE

Yea, loving well, it goeth wailing sore,

From out this life's confine, ^

Disconsolate, for Love doth banish her.
She travels hence, so sorrowing more and more,

That, ere she pass the line.
Her Maker listens and doth pitying hear.
Within the heart, pent up in inmost sphere, ^
With what life yet remains all weak and

spent,
In that respect that she hath passed away.

There she pours her lament
For Love who drives her from the world to
flee;

And oft with them would be, *"

The spirits, which go sorrowing alway.
Because their help-mate doth no longer stay.

The image of this Lady fair doth dwell

Yet in my mind so clear.
Where Love hath placed it, he who was her

guide; **

Nor doth the ill she sees upon her tell :

So is she now more fair
Than ever, with a smile beatified:
And eyes that work my death she opens wide.
And wails o'er her who doth her going

weep. ^

"Go, wretched soul, thy way; yea, rise and
go,"
This cry from love doth leap,

29 The lover's sorrow pierces to the dividing asunder of soul and
body. The unity of life is gone, and the "spirits," i.e., the faculties
of sense, go mourning always, because the "soul," the higher life,
as distinct from the " heart," which represents the lower, their guide
and companion, is no longer with them. The misery is one which
God only knows, which He alone pities.

*^ The image of Beatrice is still present to his soul, more beautiful
40

CANZONIERE

Who vexeth me as he is wont to do,

Though less pain doth ensue.
Because the nerves of sense less keenness show, "
And I am nearer now to end my woe.

The day, when she in this my world
appeared, —

As stands in record true.
In tablets of the mind that now doth fail, —
My childish frame a strange emotion shared, *"

A passion keen and new,
So that it left me full of fear and frail :
For all my strength a curb did countervail.
So suddenly that on the earth I fell.
By reason of a voice that smote my heart : ^

And if the book truth tell.
The ruling spirit felt such trembling breath.

That it would seem that Death
Had, for it, ta'en in this our world new start :
Now is he sorely grieved who caused this

smart. '"

When the great beauty first upon me shone,

Which wrought so great a pain, —
Ye gentle ladies, unto whom I spoke, —
That virtue which hath highest praises won.
Its joy beholding plain, ^

than ever, and therefore inflicting fresh pa^gs of self-reproach, of
which the only mitigation is that her lover's strength is failing, and
that therefore the oveistiained nerves are less sensitive than they
were ; that he is also, it may be, nearing the bourne which is the end
of all such sorrow.

W Memory goes back to the hour when Beatrice first rose upon
the world of the poet's life, and reproduces what we read in the
opening chapter of the K. JV. (comp. Par. xxiii. 14). The " ruling
spirit" is, as in K. iV. c. 2, the reasoning faculty of the soul. Here
one interpreter has seen something like a parable of the history of the
human race in its strivings after wisdom, " He " in I. 70 = Love.

7'* The "virtue" which "wins highest praises" is, as before, the

4»

CANZONIERE

Felt that new trouble thence upon it broke;
And knew the keen desire that in it woke.
Through what it wrought of fixed gaze and

strong;
So that with tears it said unto the rest:

"Here will arrive ere long ^

Beauty, in place of that which I had seen,

Which worketh terror keen;
And she as queen shall be by us confest,
Soon as her eyes with joy our souls have
blest."

To you have I thus spoken, ladies young, ^
Who have bright eyes all beautiful and fair.
And mind by love subdued and sorrowful ;

Wherefore extend your care
To these my words wherever they may be ;
And in your presence grant I pardon free, *"
For this my death, to her so beautiful,
Who, though she caused it, ne'er was pitiful.

intellect which felt, even at the outset, that that moment of supremest
joy was also the beginning of a lifelong sorrow. Life had lost its
freedom, and was subject henceforth to the tyranny of a master-
passion. I take 1. 8i to refer to the form of the grown-up Beatrice,
as taking the place of the child whose beauty had at first won him,
and not to the Casentino lady, nor the donna gentile.

91 Is this only the poetic licence of an appeal ad niisericordiavt,
or may we infer from it, as from Cam. i., that the over-wrought
biain of the lover saw in his actual weakness the prognostic of aa
early death? I incline to the latter view. Comp. n. on 1. 43.

42

CANZONIERE

l/:,y\.)

SONNET X

THE BIRTH OF LOVE

Amor e cor gentil sono una cosa

Love and the gentle heart are one in kind,
As the wise Master in his verses wrote :
Nor one without the other may we find,
As without reason reasoning soul is not.
When Nature waxeth loving in her mind, *
Love she makes Lord, the heart his chosen

spot.
Within awhile deep slumber doth him
blind.
For little time or long, as fates allot :
Then in some wise fair dame doth beauty
come.
Which so doth please the eye, that in the

heart i°

Springs up desire for that so great delight;

SONNET X

2 From K. iV. c. 20. Dante had been asked by a friend to tell
him something of the nature and genesis of love, and this is his
answer. The sage is Guido Guinicelli (so Juvenal is a "sage,"
Conv. iv. 13), one of whose sonnets begins with the words —

" Al cor gentil ripara sentfrre afnore,
Siccome augello in selva alia, verdura."
" Still to the gentle heart doth Love repair
As bird doth to the greenwood's leafy screen ;
Not before gentle heart has Love e'er been.
Nor gentle heart before that Love was there ; "

and whom Dante recognised as the most honoured of his masters
(•' Maxinius Guido," V. E. i. 15) in Italian poetry {Purg. xi. 97,
xxvi. 977 ; and £ssay on Genesis and Growth 0/ the Commedia),
An echo of C. i. meets us in H. v. 100.
^ What Dante includes in gentleness of heart is as the good soil in

43

CANZONIERE

And sometimes so long while finds there a
home,
It bids Love's spirit wake to bear its part :
And so on lady fair works valiant knight.

SONNET XI

/ ■ y. "^ -)

BEATRICE S SALUTATION

Negli occhi porta la mia donna Amort

My Lady beareth Love in her fair eyes.
And by it all she sees doth noble make;
As she doth pass, all turn for her dear sake ;

The man she greeteth thrills in ecstacies,

And bending low, grows pale as one that dies, ^
And mourns for every least defect he hath.
And from her presence flee false pride and
wrath ;

Help me, fair ladies, to her praise to rise ;

which love sows the promise and potency of h'fe. Visible beauty,
as in Plato's Phadrus, wakens a desire which may be spiritual or
sensual, and turns the promise into a reality. What comes to pass
in the heart of man has its counterpart in the heart of woman.

SONNET XI

From V. N. c. 21. Growing out of S. x. and embodying the
recollections of K. iV. c. 2, as Canz. ii. 57 does those of V. N. c. 3.
The poet gives, as it were, an experimental instance of the truth
which he had just uttered. So it had been with him. So it might
be with others, Beatrice's salutation made all good thoughts stir
within her adorer's mind, and was the beginning of his blessedness,
so that then he knew why she was named Beatrice (" nomen et
omen ") ; but when she smiled, the rapture was beyond speech or
44

CANZONIERE

All sweetness, and all lowliness of thought
Springs up within the heart that hears her

speech, '

And the first sight of her brings sense of
bliss;
But when she doth a little smile, O this
May not be told, nor memory this can teach.
So new and fair a miracle is wrought.

SONNET XII h-i..V. "U-^
Beatrice's sorrow (i)

Vol, che fortate la semhianza umile

O YE, who, with a mien of lowliness.
And with bent glances testify your woe.
Whence come ye that your pallid look doth
show,

As though it pitying looked upon distress ?

memory. So in Par. xviii. 8-12, xxix. 7, her smiles are reserved till
the purified spirit is able to endure them (comp. Cam. ii. 5). Here,
however, a new element comes in, and Dante dwells on the power
of beauty to awaken the potency of love, even in a heart that had
not before been " gentle. ' It can prepare the soil as well as sow the
seed.

SONNET XII

From V. N. c. 22. Beatrice's father, Folco dei Portinari, had
died (Dec. 1289), and she was overwhelmed with sorrow. Her
friends came to her to comfort her, and Dante met them as they
left the house (apparently he stood outside, not far off, that he
might intercept them), and asked for tidings of her in words which
are embodied in the Sonnet. If we ask, as it is natural to ask,
where her husband was at this time of sorrow, the probable answer
is, " in Paris, or in London, or Somerset, attending to his banking
business " (comp. Par. xv. 120, n.).

4S

CANZONIERE

Saw ye our Lady in her gentleness, '

Her face all bathed in tears of love that flow?

Tell me, O ladies; — my heart tells me so —
For no base act doth look of yours express.
And if ye come from scene so piteous,

I pray you that with me awhile you stay, ''
Nor hide from me what chance doth grieve you
thus :

For I behold your eyes that weep alway.
And see your looks so changed and tremulous.

That seeing this my heart too faints away.

()^.Y'

SONNET XIII U ) • ¥ '"Vi
Beatrice's sorrow (2)

Se' tu colui c' ha trattato swente

"And art thou he, who hath so often sung

Of our dear Lady, telling us alone ?

Like him indeed thou art in voice and tone,
But thy face seems to strange expression strung.
And why so deeply is thy bosom wrung, ®

That thou mak'st others pity feel for thee ?

Hast thou seen her weep, that thou art not
free
To hide thy soul's grief with a silent tongue ?

SONNET XIII
From V. N. c. 22. The friends of Beatrice make answer to the
lover's question, and tell him of her depth of grief. They note that
he himself is so transformed by sorrow that they could scarcely
recoguibe hiin.

46

CANZONIERE

Leave tears to us, and mournful movement
slow, —
He sins who seeks our trouble to console, — ^'
For, as she wept, we heard her speech too flow:
So plain her looks betray her sorrowing soul,
That whoso would have sought to gauge her woe
Had fallen down and bowed to death's
control."

SO

NNET XIV J } ^CC^^T^ .^

THE COMPANY OF MOURNERS
foif donne, che petoio atto mostrate

" Ye ladies, who the mien of pity show.
Who is this lady that lies grief-opprest?
Can it be she who in my heart doth rest?

Ah ! if it be, no longer hide it so.

Truly her features are so changed by woe, ■*

And her face seems to me so worn and spent.
That in mine eyes she doth not represent

Her from whom power to bless was wont to
flow."

SONNET XIV

Not in the V. N., but apparently connected with the same
episode as S. xii. and xiii., embodying another question and
another answer. Had Dante seen his beloved one prostrate on the
ground, her eyes red with weeping, her face pale with watching?
The brightnefs and the smiles were gone. Was she the same?
" Yes," the wise ladies answer. " Vea," he makes answer to him-
self, "she is identified by her gentleness and calmness."

47

CANZONIERE

" If thou canst not our Lady recognise,

So downcast is she, 'tis no wonder great, ^

Since the same thing has happened to our eyes;
But if thou look well, by the light sedate

Of her calm glance fresh knowledge shall arise :
Weep then no more : too sad, e'en now, thy
state."

SONNET XV ( l^) ,^<Vv%7^

WHAT TIDINGS OF BEATRICE ?
Onde venite voi cos) pentose

Whence come ye thus with trouble so o'er-
wrought?

Tell me, I pray you, of your courtesy;

For 1 am full of doubt, lest it may be
My Lady makes you turn thus sorrow-fraught.
AL, gentle ladies, let no scornful thought *

Keep you from pausing somewhat on your way.

And to the mourner fail ye not to say
If ye of his fair Lady-love know aught.
Though it be grievous for me that to hear.

So far as Love from himself banished me, '"
That every act of his brings death more near.

Look well, and whether I am wasted see.
For every sense begins to leave its sphere.

If ye, O ladies, give not comfort free.

SONNET XV

Yet another utterauce of the same time of sorrow. Cannot the

48

CANZONIERE

CANZONE IV ("L-V 1^

FOREBODINGS
Donna pietosa e di novella etate

A LADY pitiful, in youth's fresh bloom,

And furnished well with human gentleness
Was nigh, when often I on Death did call.
And she mine eyes beholding full of gloom.
And hearing those my words of vain distress, '
Was moved to fear, and tears began to fall ;
And other ladies, who did me perceive,
Through her who mingled thus her grief with
mine.
Bade her elsewhere incline.
And then approached me so that I might hear. ^^

This said, " Sleep thou not here."
Another, " Wherefore doth thy soul thus

grieve ? "
Then rose I from that new-born fantasy.
And on my Lady's name was fain to cry.

gentle ladies with whom he has conversed give him some tidings of
nis Beatrice? Even if those tidings should be sorrowful, it will
be better than the blank uncertainty of hearing nothing. For
"courtesy" (1. a) see H. ii. 58, n.

CANZONE IV.

From V. N. c. 23. We enter on a strain of higher mood. The
tension implied in the last four Sonnets had ended in actual illness.
The lover took to his bed, suffering severe pain for nine days ; his
mind wandered ; there was the risk of a brain-fever. A cousin, or
perhaps sister, young, fair, gentle, came and sat by his side, weep-
ing as he called on death to end his sorrows. Other ladies followed,
and bade her leave him. What came next the Canzone records, the
mind at last finding power and leisure to make a psychological
study of its own delirium. He notes (I. 14) that he would not
audibly utter Beatrice's name.

13 In the first anguish of that delirium Dante had called on death
IV 49 O

CANZONIERE

So sorrowful and sad my voice became, "

And broken so with anguish and with woe,
That I alone the name heard in my heart;
And with my face suffused with blush of

shame
Which over all my features 'gan to flow.
Love made me turn to them, nor stand apart. ^
Such pallid hue my countenance then bore,
It made them speak of me as one half-dead,

"Come, let us comfort shed."
One prayed another in deep lowliness ;

And thus would questions press : ^

"What hast thou seen that thou art strong

no more r "
And when some comfort o'er my soul was

spread,
"Dear ladies, I will tell you all," I said.

" While with sad thoughts my frail life I did

weigh,
And dwelt upon its days so short and few, ^
Love wept within my heart which is his

home :
Wherefore my spirit went so far astray,
That sighing through my heart the whisper

flew,
'E'en to my Lady death will surely come.'
Then did my soul in such strange wanderings

roam, ^

(1. 3). The questions of his visitors rouse him, and he calls on
Beatrice, but the cry is still inaudible. They gaze alarmed at his
sudden flush and equally sudden pallor. " What has caused it ? "

34 Many readers will remember Wordsworth's unconscious paral-
lelism—

" ' Ah mercy ! ' to myself I cried,
' If Lucy should be dead ! ' "

Not many months had passed before the prophecy was fulfilled.

5°

CANZONIERE

I closed mine eyes beneath their sorrow's

weight;
And so disconsolate
Were all my senses that each failed and fled.

And then by fancy led
Beyond all knowledge, where Truth's voice is

dumb, *°

Fair ladies' faces sorrowing met mine eye.
Who said to me : ' Thou too shalt die, shalt

die.'

" Then saw I many things that made me muse
In that vain dream wherein I then was led.
I deemed I found myself I know not where, *^
And saw fair dames pass by with tresses loose.
One sobbed for grief; another salt tears shed,
All darted fire of sorrow and despair.
Then step by step it seemed that I saw there
The sun grow dark, and stars begin to peep, ^

And that with these did weep:
The birds fell down as they their flight did
take ;

The earth began to quake ;
And one came saying, hoarse and full of care:
'What, know'st thou not our news of sorrow

deep ? ^

Thy Lady, once so fair, in death doth sleep.'

Was this, too, among Dante's morning dreams? (ff. xxvi. 7; Purg.
ix. 16.) With that foreboding of his lady's death there came a like
anticipation of his own.

*2 As in S. vlii., the echoes of the cries of the Sicilian Vespers
are still ringing in his ears (Par. viii. 75), and they seem spoken
to him.

^ The vision of Beatrice's funeral comes before him, and the
whole world is darkened.

SI

CANZONIERE

" Then lifting up mine eyes all bathed in woe,
Angels I saw, who seemed a rain of manna,
And turning, upwards winged to Heaven their

flight;
And a small cloud in front of them did go; *"
And all behind it went and cried 'Hosanna.'
Had they said more I would have told you

right ;
Then Love said, * I'll not hide it from thy

sight;
Come see thy Lady as she there doth lie.'

Then dream-like phantasy ^

Led me upon my lady dead to look,

And as a glance I took,
Fair dames were wrapping her in cere-cloth

white ;
And with her was such true humility,
It seemed as though she said, ' In peace

am I.' '"

"And I became so humble in my woe.
Seeing in her such full lowliness exprest,
I said ' O Death, I find thee passing sweet :
Needs must thou as a thing all gentle show,
Since with my Lady thou hast been a guest, ^^
And pity in thee, not disdain, were meet.
Behold, that I with such strong wish entreat

68 The transfiguration, one might almost say the apotheosis, of
Beatrice coincides not with her actual death, but with the first
vision of it. We have an anticipation of her glory as she appears
in Purg. xxxi. 143. The " desire of the saints and angels " \Canz.
ii. 15-21) is satisfied, and the calm beauty of her corpse bears
witness that she is at peace. He had longed for death, if death
were like that. Wailing was over, and then his friends had come,
and " behold, it was a dream ! " Did the p- et reproduce the
symbolism of media;val art, in which the departing soul appeared
as a child borne up to Heaven in a bright cloud? Line 80, as in-
terpreted by the prose narrative, may be rendered, " When all due
rites were done."

5»

CANZONIERE

To be of thine that I like thee may be;

Come, for my heart calls thee.'
Then I departed, all my wailing done ; '

And when I was alone,
I said, with glance upraised to Heaven's high

seat :
' Blessed is he, fair Soul, who thee doth see !'
And then ye called me of your charity."

SONNET XVI f ^^ ' ^- ^

GIOVANNA AND BEATRICE
lo mi sent it svegUar dentro alio core

I FELT within, awakening in my heart,
A loving spirit that had slept till then,
And then I saw Love from afar off start

(So blithe that scarce I knew his face again),

SONNET XVI.

From V. N. c. 24. As in 5". ii., Vanna, the beloved of Guido
Cavalcanti, and Beatrice appear in close companionship. The
former was known, it tells us, as the Priniavera, or Spring, on
account of her beauty. The latter, as in Sonn. iii. 10, he identifies
with Love itself. The shortened form "Bice" appears in Sonn. ii.
Q^ in Par. vii. 14, and in the will of her father, Folco dei Portinari.
The poet's fancy plays on Giovanna, (i) as meaning in Hebrew
( Jochanan) the grace of God ; (2) as being derived from the name of
the forerunner of One greater than himself, even as Vanna went
before Beatrice ; (3) as having in the name commonly given her
(Primavera— prima verra = s)\c will come first) the witness of that
relation. The whole conception, measured by our standard, seems
singularly fantastic ; but those who have entered into the fulness
of Dante s ripened powers will recognise, if I mistake not, that this
efflorescence of ingenuity in tracking remote analogies and the
S3

CANZONIERE

And said: "In honouring me do now thy part," *
And at each word he still to smile was fain.
And as my Lord and I some time apart

Stood, looking thither whence he came, full
plain,

I Lady Vanna, Lady Bic^, saw

Come nigh towards the spot where I stood

there, i"

One close upon the other miracle ;

And e'en as now my thoughts true record draw.
Love said to me, " This is the Springtide fair.
And Love, the other's name, let likeness tell."

SONNET XVII iy Y.V

" BEATRICE, GOD 8 TRUE PRAISE
Tanto gentile e tanto onesta fare

So gentle and so fair she seems to be.
My Lady, when she others doth salute,
That every tongue becomes, all trembling,
mute.

And every eye is half afraid to see ;

mystic significance of names was an element eminently character-
istic. The meaning of Giovanna, e.g., is specially dwelt on in Par.
xii. 80. The Sonnet was addressed, he says, to his "chief friend,"
i.e., to Guido Cavalcanti.

SONNET XVII

From V. IV. c. 26. Hitherto the lover had spoken chiefly of the
impression made by Beatrice on himself. Now his words take a

54

CANZONIERE

She goes her way and hears men's praises free, *
Clothed in a garb of kindness, meek and low,
And seems as if from heaven she came, to
show
Upon the earth a wondrous mystery.
To one who looks on her she seems so kind.
That through the eyes a sweetness fills the

heart, i"

Which only he can know who doth it try.
And through her face there breatheth from her
mind
A spirit sweet and full of Love's true art.
Which to the soul saith, as it cometh, " Sigh."

wider range. He will tell of the impression made on others.
Whatever allowance we make for the hyperboles of love, the
Sonnet may be received as evidence that Dante was not alone in his
admiration, that Beatrice left on all her friends — and her father's
and her husband's position probably brought all the notables of
Florence, its men of culture and wealth and rank, within her circle
— the impression of an angel-like perfection. In her presence the
strife of tongues ceased, and the mockers were hushed into a
reverential silence by that stainless purity. Spenser's Una, in the
region of imagination, the devout and "gracious" Lady Margaret
Maynard, who was Ken's Beatrice («. on Purg. xxxi. 22) in that
of reality, supply suggestive parallels. Some of us may have
known, in the quiet life of Hurstmonceaux Rectory, one who left a
like impression on those who came in contact with her — not to
enter on the inner circle of her home-life — from Arthur Stanley,
Archbishop Trench, and Cardinal Manning, to John Sterling,
Walter Savage Landor, and George Eliot. " Face " for " /o^^ja "
is justified (L 12) by H. vii. 7 ; Purg. zxiiL 47.

5S

CANZONIERE

SONNET XVIII ^b V >|

THE BEAUTY OF HOLINESS
Vede perfettamente ogni salute

He sees completely fullest bliss abound
Who among ladies sees my Lady's face ;
Those that with her do go are surely bound

To give God thanks for such exceeding grace.

And in her beauty such strange might is found, ^
That envy finds in other hearts no place ;
So she makes them walk with her, clothed all
round

With love and faith and courteous gentleness.

The sight of her makes all things lowly be ;
Nor of herself alone she gives delight, '"

But each through her receiveth honour due.

And in her acts is such great courtesy,

That none can recollect that wondrous sight,
Who sighs not for it in Love's sweetness true.

SONNET XVIII.

The influence of the angelic presence is pursued still further.
Her companions are, as it were, radiant with her reflected light,
and are better for her presence. The voman whom many men
admire, who makes many "conquests," is seldom a favourite with
her own sex. With Beatrice it was otherwise, and men and women
alike loved and reverenced her.

56

CANZONIERE

SONNET XIX (l5<^^^^.'>

ALL saints' day, 1 2 89
Di donne io vidi una gentile schiera

I SAW a band of gentle dames pass by,

Upon the morn of this last All Saints' Day,

And one came on, as chief in dignity.
And on her right hand Love himself did stay.
A ray of light she darted from her eye, *

Which, like a burning spirit, made its way:

And I, such boldness had I, could descry
Her features fair an angel's face display.
To him who worthy was she greeting gave

With her bright eyes, that Lady good and

kind, i»

Filling the heart of each with valour brave.

In heaven I deem that she her birth did find.
And came upon the earth us men to save,

And blest is she who follows close behind.

SONNET XIX

Not in the V. N. It was probably the last All-Saints' Day
(Nov. I, 1289) of Beatrice's life. We see her as she went with a
company of friends to the /esta, probably in the Church of Ognis-
santi, Dante watching them, seeking to catch the "salute" which
was his salute (in the Italian the word in its twofold sense rhymes
with itself), and made him braver and truer than it found him.
The day was one much to be remembered, all the more so when
Beatrice herself was numbered with the saints.
12 Comp. S. xvii. 7.

57

CANZONIERE

BALLATA V - ^o^^y j

DAWNING OF NEW HOPE

Dth Nuvoletta, cht in ombra tT Amore

Ah Cloud, that, in Love's shadow sweeping past,
Hast suddenly appeared before mine eyes.
Have pity on the heart which wounded lies.
Which hopes in thee, yet, yearning, dies at last.
Thou Cloud, in beauty more than human

seen, '

A fire hast kindled in my inmost heart.
With speech of thine that slays ;

Then, with a glowing spirit's act and art.

Thou genderest hope, which doth to healing
lean.
When I on thy smile gaze, ^°

Ah, seek not why a new trust it doth raise.
But on my yearning look, whose fire is strong;
Ere now a thousand dames, through tarrying
long.
Have felt on them the grief of others cast.

BALLATA V

In the vision of Cam. iv. 60 the soul of Beatrice had been seen
rising to heaven as in a cloud (comp. H. xxvi. 37 ; Purg. xxx. 28),
and that thought is the starting-point of the present poem. Here,
as in Sonn, iii. and xvi., she is identified with Love himself That
vision of glory haunts him. The words that fall from it pierce his
soul, yet they bring hope, and therefore, like the spear of tne Greek
hero, heal as well as smite.

S8

CANZONIERE

Ck'^. -3

SONNET XX

CREDENTIALS WITHDRAWN
0 dolc'i rime, che parlando andate

Dear rhymes, who, as ye go, hold converse sweet
Of that fair dame who wins for others praise :
To you will come, perhaps with you now stays,

One ye will doubtless as your brother greet.

I, that ye list not to him, you entreat, ^

By that Lord who in ladies love doth raise;
For in his utterance dwelleth there always

A thing that is for Truth no comrade meet.

And if ye should be moved by words of his

To seek her presence whom as yours ye own, ^^
Stay not your steps, but to her feet draw
nigher,

And say, "O Lady, we have thus come on
To speak for one who all his joy doth miss.
Saying, 'Where is she whom my fond eyes
desire ? ' "

SONNET XX

Not in the V. N. The drift is so far clear that we see at once that
the Sonnet is of the nature of a recantation. The poems which
represent the lover's true self are not to admit one which will come
as claiming to be of their company. He is not a faithful messenger,
does not speak the poet's true mind, I surmise that Sonn. vii., with
its tone of somewhat petulant complaint, may have been that which
Dante sought to disclaim.

59

CANZONIERE

SONNET X

REPULSION AND ATTRACTION
Dagli occhi delta mia donna si muove

XI t^.a.-v^^^

From my dear Lady's eyes a light doth gleam,
So clear and noble that, where it doth shine,
Things are revealed no artist can define.

Lofty and strange beyond all fancy's dream.

And from their rays upon my heart doth

stream *

Such fear, it thrills through all my nerves

and brain,
And I say, "Here I will not turn again."

But soon my fixed resolves abandoned seem;

And there I turn whence cometh my dismay,
To find some comfort for my timorous eyes, ^'
Which erst that might and majesty did own:

When I arrive, ah me ! their vision dies.

And the desire which led them fades away ;
Wherefore let Love's care for my state be
shown.

SONNET XXI

No interest of circumstance, not much perhaps of any kind,
attaches to what is but one of the variations on the lover's ever-
recurring theme. S. viii. and .S". xi. may be compared with it, as
illustrating the subtle skill and delicacy of such variations. Its
vagueness and that of .S". xxii. may perhaps be connected with the
fact that they were written ostensibly for the "screen" lady of
y. If. c. 5.

60

CANZONIERE

[^y.co.

SONNET XXII

THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE
lo ton si vago della btlla luce

I AM SO eager for the beauteous light

Of those fair traitor eyes that me have slain,
That thither, whence I have my scorn and
pain,
I am led back by that my great delight:
And that which clear, or less clear, meets my

sight *

So dazzles both my soul's and body's eye
That, both from thought and virtue parted, I
Follow desire alone as leader right.
And he doth lead me on, so full of trust,

To pleasant death by pleasant fraud brought

on, 1°

I only know it when the harm is done.

And much I grieve for grief that scorn hath

won.

But most 1 murmur, ah ! for so I must.

That pity too is robbed of guerdon just.

SONNET XXII

The authorship has been assigned to Dante's friend Cino da
Pistoia, but it is received as Dante's own by Frat., iVitt., and others.
Internal evidence is, I think, in its favoiu-.

6t

CANZONIERE

CANZONE V n^\ .6/Wt-i

"the fear of death is fallen upon me"

Morttf fxilcK' to non truo-vo a cm mi doglia

Death, since I find not one who with me grieves.
None in whom pity for me moveth sighs.
Where turn mine eyes, or wheresoe'er I

stay;
And since that thou art he who me bereaves
Of all my strength, and robes in miseries, '
Till on me rise misfortune's blackest day;
Since thou, O Death, canst, as thy will may

sway.
Make my life rich, or plunge in poverty,
'Tis meet that I should turn my face to thee.
Portrayed like face where Death paints every

line; '"

To thee, as piteous friend, I make my way,
Wailing, O Death, that sweet tranquillity
Thy stroke takes from me, if it robbeth me
Of that fair dame who with her heart bears

mine.
Who of all good is portal true and shrine ^®

CANZONE V.

Not in the V. N. We are left in no room for doubt as to the date
and occasion of this Canzone. It was obviously written in the early
days of June 1290, when Beatrice was hovenng between life and
death. The prophetic vision of Cam, iv. was nearing its fulfilment,
and the poet turns to Death with an appeal for pity, asking, if it may
be, for some short respite ere the angels gain their wish (Cam. ii.
15-23). Line 56 shows that the apotheosis of Beatrice is still the
dominant thought in her lover's mind. It is suggestive that the
Canzone is found in a Breslau MS. prefixed to the Commedia by
way of introduction.

6z

CANZONIERE

Death, what may be the peace thou tak'st from

me.
Bewailing which to thee in tears I come.
Of this I'm dumb ; for thou canst see it

well,
If thou mine eyes all wet with weeping see.
Or see the grief that in them finds its home, ^
Or see the doom, of death so visible.
Ah, if fear now with strokes so keen and fell
Hath thus dealt with me, what will anguish

do.
If I see Death her eyes' clear light subdue,
That wont to be to mine so sweet a guide! •*
That thou dost seek mine end I clearly tell,
Great joy to thee from my woe will accrue:
For much I fear, as feeling that dread spell.
Lest, that I might by lesser grief be tried,
I should seek death, and none would death

provide. ^

Death, if thou smite this gentle lady fair.
Whose supreme virtue to the intellect
Shows as perfect what in her we may view,
Virtue thou driv'st to exile and despair,
Thou tak'st from grace the home that doth

protect.

35

And high effect dost rob of honour due ;
Thou wreckest all her beauteous form and hue.
Which shines with more of good than others

shine.
As that must needs do which brings light

divine
From heaven in form of creature worthiest.
Thou break'st and crushest all the good

faith true *"

63

CANZONIERE

Of that truth-loving Love who guides her right;

If thou, O Death, dost quench her lovely-
light,

Love may virell say where'er his sway doth
rest,

"Lo! I have lost my banner, fairest, best."

Death, grieve thou now for that exceeding ill, **
So sure to follow if my loved One dies;
Which all men's eyes as greatest woe will

own.
Slacken thy bow that in it linger still
The arrow that upon the string yet lies.
Which thou dost poise, its aim her heart

alone; ^

For pity's sake, look to it ere 'tis done.
Curb thou a little while thine uncurbed rage.
Now stirred against her life thy war to wage,
To whom God giveth such exceeding grace.
Ah! Death, if thou hast pity, be it shown ^*
Without delay. I see Heaven's heritage
Open; God's angels to our lower stage
Descend, to bear that blest soul to the place
Where hymn and song do honour to her

grace.

Canzon', thou see'st how subtle is the thread, *"
On which doth hang my hopes that slender

^"'
How strength doth flee without my Lady fair.

Wherefore, I pray thee, softly, gently tread.

My little song, nor slack to ope thy plea,

For upon thee dependeth all my prayer, *

And, with that lowly mien thou'rt wont to

bear,

64

CANZONIERE

Seek thou Death's presence now, my little

song,
That thou may'st shatter fierce wrath's

portals strong.
And gain the meed of worthy fruits of love:
And if by thee he may be moved to spare "^
That doom of death, take heed thou stay

not long
To bear thy comfort for my Lady's wrong.
So that to this our world she bounteous

prove,
That gentle Soul, for whom I live and move.

STANZA
SIGHS FOR Beatrice's greeting

Si lungamente m' ha tenuto Amore

So long have I been prisoner held by Love,
And thus trained to endure his sovereignty.
That as, before, he harsh was found to me.
So now he stays, my heart's sweet guest to
prove.

STANZA

From the V. N. c. 28. Not a Sonnet, though it commonly appears
with that title, but rather, as Dante himself tells, the Arst verse of a
Canzone which was interrupted by the death of Beatrice, and the
burden of which was the lover's desire for the greeting which, for
some cause, possibly the illness which ended fatally, he had missed.
For us the fragment has the interest of giving the last lines written
to the living ^»trice. ,'

IV 65 K

. 3 . Y -K .

CANZONIERE

Wherefore, when he my courage doth re-
move, ®
So that my spirits seem far off to flee.
Such sense of sweetness then comes over me,
That my frail soul with pallid face doth rove.
O'er me then Love such mastery doth show.
He sets my sighs afloat, with speech endowed;^"

And they cry out aloud
On my dear Lady, greeting to bestow.
This happens whensoe'er she looks on me.
So lowly, passing all belief, is she.

CANZONE VI ('^.'^^"^ )

BEATRICE IN PARADISE
Gli occhi dolentiper pkta del core

My sorrowing eyes, through pity for my mind,
Have through their weeping suffered pain so

great.
That now they stop, their tears all spent and

gone;
Whence, if an opening I for grief would find
That leads me, step by step, to Death's

estate, ^

CANZONE VI

1-2 (From V. N. c. 32.) The blow has at last fallen, and we can
understand from Cam. v. what its first effect must have been.
Critics who cannot "fathom" the "poet's mind," and therefore
" vex " it with their " shallow wit," have made merry over the letter
beginning with the words of Lam. i. i, which the young lover
66

CANZONIERE

Needs must I speak with many a sigh and groan.
And since I call to mind that I was known
Of my dear Lady, while she lived, to tell.
Ye gentle ladies, willingly with you,

I seek not hearers new, '°

But to the kind hearts that in ladies dwell
Will I now speak, while tears my cheeks bedew.
Since she hath gone to Heaven thus suddenly.
And leaves Love mourning in my company.

Into high Heaven hath Beatrice passed, ^^

That kingdom where the angels find their

peace.
And dwells with them; from you, fair dames,

doth fly.
It was not spell of cold that killed at last.
Nor that of heat, that other lives bids cease,

addressed to "all the princes of the land." Give these words their
true meaning, " to all the chief men of Florence," and I cannot see
anything in the act so supremely ridiculous. Tennyson's Jn
Memoriani has taught us how a perfectly sane poet may take the
whole world into the sanctuary of a buried friendship. Was it
strange that Dante should address an In Memoriam letter, afterwards
expanded into such a Canzone as this, to the many who had shared
his reverence and admiration for Beatrice, even as he had addressed
the Sonnet which had told of the new beginning of his New Life to
his brother poets? Of the circumstances of her death (June 9,
1290), we know but little, but that little is suggestive. It was no
common consumption or fever (11. 18, 19). Had she faded away
under the pressure of a loveless and joyless marriage with a man
older than herself, who left her alone in Florence while he was
occupied with the foreign business of his firm in France or England ?
(Par. XV. 121 «.) Something she had said on her death-bed which
Dante could not repeat without egotism {y. N. c. 29). _ Had she
left a dying message that she, at least, had understood him, appre-
ciated him, loved him, as far as the wife of another might love ?
Had she bidden him cherish the memory of that love as the safe-
guard of his faith and purity ? This is, at least, the natural inference,
and Purg. xxx. 103-145 goes far to confirm it. We, at all events,
may note at every step prophetic anticipations of all that is most
glorious in the Cotntnedia.

i-l'* The lover turns for sympathy to those who are mourners like
himself, to whom he has before spoken of his passion (Cam. ii.).

18 Comp. Par.

18 The lines, as noted above, are sufficiently suggestive.
67

CANZONIERE

But her own great and sweet benignity;
For the clear light of her humility
Passed into heaven with such exceeding

power
It roused great wonder in the Eternal Sire,

So that a sweet desire
Came on Him to call hence so bright a

flower,
And bade her pass from earth and mount up

higher,
Because He saw this troublous life of care
Was all unworthy of a thing so fair.

Now hath the gentle spirit ta'en its flight
From her fair form, so full of sweetest

grace.
And she shines glorious in a worthy home.
Who speaks of her, and doth not weep out-
right.
Hath heart of stone so evil and so base.
That into it no spirit kind can come.
No villain heart by skill of thought can

sum
The measure of her excellence complete.
And thence it is he hath no will to weep;

But he great woe doth keep,
And grief and sighs that fain for death

entreat,
And from his soul all consolation sweep.
Who in his thoughts doth sometimes con-
template
What she was like, and what hath been her
fate.

^ An echo of Cam. ii. 15-21.
68

CANZONIERE

My many sighs work in me anguish sore.
When in my saddened mind my troubled

thought
Brings back her form, whose beauty pierced

my heart; ^

And oftentimes, her death revolving o'er.
There comes a longing with such sweetness

fraught.
It makes all colour from my face depart;
And such pain comes to me from every part
When this imagination holds me fast, ^

I shudder as I feel my misery;

And so transformed am I,
That shame my lot apart from men has cast.
Then weeping in my sore lament I cry
On Beatrice, saying, "Art thou dead ? " **

And as I call, by her I'm comforted.

Tears of great grief and sighs of anguish keen
Sore vex my heart, when I am found alone,
That whosoe'er beheld it, 'twould distress :
And what the tenor of my life hath been, ^
Since my dear Lady that new world hath won,
There is no tongue that could in full express.
And therefore, ladies, not through will's full

stress
Could I to you what now I am declare;
Such travail sore my hard life works for me, *^

So bowed in misery.
Each seems to say, " I of thy life despair,"
Seeing my cold lips death-pale with agony.
But what I am my Lady sees full plain,
And I still hope her pity to obtain. '^

I** Comp. the " in dreams and other ways " of Purg. xxx. 134.
69 Looking on Beatrice as a saint, it was but natural that he
should turn to her, trusting in her pity and intercession.
69

CANZONIERE

Go on thy way, sad Canzon', weeping go,
And find the ladies and the maidens fair.
To whom thy sister songs were wont to bear

Much joy in days gone by;
And thou, the daughter of great misery, '

Taice thou thy place with them in thy despair.

SONNET XXIII lll-^'^)

GRIEF TOO DEEP FOR TEARS
Venhe a intender gli sospiri miei

Come now, and listen ye to each sad sigh,
O gentle hearts, for pity this doth pray;
Sighs that in deepest sorrow wend their way.

And if they did not, I of grief should die.

For now mine eyes are debtors still to cry ^

More often far than with my will doth stay.
Weeping, ah me ! my Lady passed away,

For weeping would assuage my misery.

Ye will hear them call often on the name

Of that my gentle Lady, who hath gone ^°

Into a world for her great virtue meet.

And ofttimes scorn the life I now drag on,
In likeness of a sorrowing spirit's frame.
Deprived for ever of her greeting sweet.

SONNET XXIII

From y. N. c. 33. The history which is thus embodied is briefly
told. Beatrice's brother, his dearest friend next to Guido Cavalcanti,
came to him and asked bim to write some verses on the death of a
70

CANZONIERE

CANZONE VII .. ^ Y ■'y\

BEATRICE WITH THE ANGELS
Sluantunque -volte {ahi lasso .') mi rimembra

Ah me ! as often as I call to mind

That I shall never more
See the fair Lady whom I wail and weep,
So great an inward grief my heart doth find

All gathered, heap on heap, "

That I say, " Soul, why dost thou not depart ?
For the keen torments that will vex thy heart
In that world which to thee much woe hath

brought,
Fill me with saddest thoughts and anxious fear;"

So 1 bid Death come near, ^''

As with a sweet and gentle quiet fraught.
And say " O come to me," so lovingly,
That I am envious of whoe'er doth die.

fair lady, not saying who she was. Dante, however, felt sure that
It was for her he had lost, and wrote acconiingly. As one point
specially noticeable is the growing weariness of life in 1. 12. One
notes, as an instance of the possibiliiies of interpretation, the
astounding conjecture {Flotko) that the friend who came to Dante
was Beatrice's husband.

CANZONE VII

From V. N. c. 34. _ Written as a sequel to S. xxiii. That seemed
to him, as he read it, inadequate for the occasion. With a curious
self-analysis, he distinguishes between the first stanza as expressing
the feehngs of the brother, and the second as uttering his own. As
one reads the Canzone it seems difficult to follow the distinction. He
himself lays stress on the fact that the words "my Lady fair"
occur only in the latter of the two stanzas. There also we may
perhaps note the prominence of the apotheosis element which was so
intensely personal. (Comp. Purg. xxx. 28-75.)

71

)

CANZONIERE

And in my sighs there comes and claims its part
An utterance of great woe, "

That alvvay calls on Death in its despair.
To him are turned all longings of my heart.

Since she, my Lady fair.
Felt of his cruel dart the deadly blow :
Because the joys that from her beauty flow, *
Departing far away from mortal sight.
Have grown to spirit's beauty perfected.
Which through the heavens doth shed.
Greeting the angels. Love and Love's clear light.
And bids their subtle high intelligence *

With wonder gaze ; so great her excellence.

r
SONNET XXIV» ( 1^ T >

A YEAR AFTER
Era venata nella matte km

That gentle Lady came upon my thought
For whom Love weeps of many tears a shower.
Just at the point when his exceeding power

Drew you to look at that which then I wrought.

SONNET XXIV
From y. y. c. 35. Twelve months had passed since the ^reat
sorrow, and the Corrv. iL 2, 13, tells us something of Dante's inner

1 As the Sonnet stands in the V'ita Nuava the first four lines run
thus:—

That gentle Lady on my thoughts did come
Who for her noble and exceeding worth
Is placed by Him, the Lord Supreme of eaitil.
In heaven of lowliness, our Mary s home.

7»

CANZONIERE

Lore, who to feel her pRseace Aexc was

brought, *

Woke op withia aj sad aad troriiled hcan^

And to Hf s^^said, "Up, ad oairanl
start,"
And so thef took their waj, with sorrow Baa^hi*
Weepii^ they jaracd forth fincMi oat taj breast,
WiA sack a voice as often doth collect "

The tears of sorrow into ■onniia§ eyes.
Bat those who straggled forth with wmost vucat,

Weat attering still, " O aoble iatrllfrT !

A jear hath passed since thoa to heaven £dst

He k ^ __

_ , SMS ^ ■■rticHV SP

BocdMH, Ot Csmaalmtimmt PMUmajftiK, tmA fTiiw^, A AmmilSt.

The KsoaaOr kcMka cftaacacr €r tfe fawr kMfc aad Ae dk»

r«fdhefcBMrhJii»aHwyfc— **

•K oT a fitfw XM^ Ihm kit fiE« kMc^ and aoiavB aiw faM Iv
fiat piilj (Airr- "^ n»-«6>- Vka itie iiifiimiMj «f iIk
^^,^ ^nv ^Bwi^c ^^HE iH^^A. ^ hc M^s d^k^^^ She ^^^ flT
IB avd (Am tMfics afaBhefeai tHM« a* an«M&s akw Wvor af
i«fcg.piiiiMj ■ III j»iACi— >irf«r<'wii»itii>— *

«cl he h^ hB MK ly hdfaM! hMV «■« ftikaHHV

WhiS,t»hcr— Mej

Is gfacad W m^ dte LDi« ^1

73

CANZONIERE

SONNET XXV (^K , y-V.

THE RELIEF OF TEARS
yidero gli occht miei quanta pietate

Mine eyes beheld what pity deep and true
Was in thy look and features manifest,
When on those acts and mien thy glance did
rest.

Which sorrow in me often doth renew.

Then I perceived how all thy thoughts did view ^
The state of this my life so dark and drear.
So that there sprang within my heart a fear

Lest with mine eyes I should my weakness show ;

SONNET XXV

From y. N. c. 36. The poet was alone in his chamber, sad and
lonely, when he looked out and saw a fair young face, pale as
Beatrice had been, watching him with looks of pity. Some, e.g^..
Sir Theodore Martin, have conjectured that it was Gemma Donati,
whom he afterwards married, and have built up what one may call
a Dante-Grandison romance. Pity grows into love. He tells
Gemma his story, asks her to accept his hand and the "widowed
heart " which can never be wholly hers, and so they are married, 1
cannot say that I think this even a probable conjecture. It would
probably have been better for Dante s happiness had there been that
foundation of sympathy in his marriage. Curiously enough, in the
Convito he identifies the "gentle lady" with Philosophy, and hence
a host of commentators, mostly those who reduce Beatrice to a
shadowjr symbol, have denied her any historical personality. I agree
with Witte and Krafft that the theory of the Convito was an after-
thought, with just so much foundation in fact as that, having begun
to idealise Beatrice as representing Divine Wisdom, it seemed to
him natural to identify the "gentle lady" with the human wisdom
of his philosophical teachers. It seems to me simply impossible to
read the V. N. and believe that either of the two was altogether a
phantom of the brain, though in the crucible of his imagination they
might be sublimated till they appeared so to others, and even to
himself. I incline to the belief that the "gentle lady" is the
^' PargoUtta," the "girl of little price," of Purg. xxxi. 59, but do
not assume that the affection passed beyond a so-called platonic
74

CANZONIERE

And I removed me from thee, feeling deep
Within me, that my heart's sad tears would

flow, '

Which in thy presence sweet their impulse
found.
Then in my sad soul did a cry resound,

" Now with this lady dear that Love doth go.
Who makes me thus to wend my way and
weep."

SONNET XXVI ["2-^ V ~'U

SORROW FINDING SYMPATHY

Color <r amore e di fieta semhlanti

Love's pallid hue and sorrow's signs of woe
Never laid hold with such a wondrous might
On lady fair, when looking on the sight

Of lowly eyes and mournful tears that flow,

sentimentalism, and believe that Beatrice's reproaches cover both
the literal and the allegorical meaning.

SONNET XXVI

From y. N. c. 37. The presence of the gentle lady recalled the
paleness, the looks, and movements of Beatrice. They called tears
to his eyes, and yet as long as he looked on her he could not weep.
So when he came to allegorise, he may have seen in Philosophy a
kind of sister-likeness— £?««& decet esse sororuni — to the higher
wisdom of Theology. For "the hue of love" compare " Palleat
omnis amans, pnllens color apttis antanti." Ovid, Ars Amandi,
i. 729 ; and " Tinctus viola pallor aniantiu/n," Hon, Od. iii,
10, 14.

75

CANZONIERE

As then on thine when first thou cam'st to
know
My face, where grief its record sad did write,
So that through thee did on my mind alight
A thought which will, 1 fear, my heart o'er-

throw.
I cannot keep mine eyes, o'erspent with grief,
From turning often upon thee their gaze, '
In the keen longing that they have to weep :
And thou that wish to such a height dost raise
That they are wasted, finding no relief,
And yet thy presence tears from them doth
keep.

SONNE

T XXVII C'^^ . V.It

THE WANDERINGS OF THE EYES

L'amaro lagrimar che •voifacette

"The many bitter tears ye made me shed,
O eyes of mine, so long a season's space.
Made others look with wonder on my case,

In this my grief, as ye have witnessed.

SONNET XXVII

From V. N. c. 38. We have a phase of feeling which indicates
that the first love is losing its power. It was wrong to forget the
past, yet the present had its attractions, and, as they drew him to
one who shared the memories of the past, was it not possible to
reconcile the two?

He represents himself in the prose of the V. N. as reproaching
his eyes because they looked on the living form of the " lady of the
window," instead of weeping for Beatrice, as they had done before.
76

CANZONIERE

But in jou now oblivion soon were bred.
Had I on my part been so caitiff base,
Not from you all occasion to efface.

Reminding you of her ye weep as dead.

Your fickle wanderings cause me many a groan
And so alarm me, that in truth I dread
The face of lady fair that looks on you.

Never should ye our Lady who is dead

Forget, till death claims you too as his own."
So speaks my heart, and thereat sighs anew.

SONNET XXVI

II (i^-V.v J

PITY AKIN TO LOVE

Gentil pensiero, c/ie parla di -vui

A GENTLE thought, which speaks to me of thee,
Within me cometh oftentimes to stay,
And doth of Love such sweet discourse display,

It makes my heart with it in sympathy.

My soul saith to my heart, " Who may this be, ^
That to our mind comes comfort to convey,
And hath in virtue such a potent sway

That other thoughts from us afar must flee?"

SOSNET XXVIII

From F. JV. c 39. The new love is growing stronger, and is
driving out the old. There is at least a drifting towards an entire
transfer of affection. The Sonnet is, as he says in the V. JV., the
outcome of a " battle of thought " between the soul (the higher
reason) and the '" heart," which yields to the passing emotions, and
the consolations which the latter offers the former rejects as utterly
vile and unworthy.

77

CANZONIERE

The heart replies, " O soul so sorrowful,

This is a spirit, new and young, of Love, ^
Who brings before me all his fond desires :

And all his life and all his virtue move
From the fair eyes of her so pitiful,
Who oft hath grieved o'er our consuming fires.

iNNET XXIX /"^"S.V.Ti

so:

SIGHS AND THOUGHTS

Lasso ! fer forza de' molti sospiri

Ah me ! by reason of the many sighs.

Which spring from thoughts that dwell within
my heart,

Mine eyes are spent, and lose their former art
To meet, with answering gaze, another's eyes,
And so are changed that they appear in guise *

Of two desires, to weep and prove my woe ;

And often they so mourn that Love doth
show
Round them the circles of my miseries.

SONNET XXIX

From y. N. c. 40. The spell of the enchantress was, however,
broken. A vision, as he records, in which he saw at noonday the
form of Beatrice arrayed in crimson, as he had seen her in ihe days
of her childhood, probably one of those referred to in Purg. xxx.
134, recalled him to his first love. His eyes, as in Conv. iii. 9, are
inflamed with weeping. In the Italian we have, in II. 5 and 8, the
suggestive rhymes desiri and ntartiri, as in B. iii. 8, 10 ; S. xxviii.
II, 14.

78

CANZONIERE

These thoughts and sighs I breathe into the air
Grow in my heart so full of grief and pain '
That Love grows faint as death for very woe ;

Wherefore in their deep sorrow they complain.
And have my Lady's sweet name written there,
And many words that from her death do flow.

SONNET XXX 1^ . y^ 1-^ I

PILGRIMS IN FLORENCE
Deh peregrinij che pensosi ar.date

Ye pilgrims, who pass on with thoughtful mien,
Musing, perchance, of things now far away.
Take ye from such a distant land your way,

As one may judge from what in you is seen ?

SONNET XXX.

From V. N. c. 41. Pilgrims were si'en in the streets of Florence
on th--ir way to Rome to see the sudarium of St. Veronica, the
vera icon of the face of Christ, which was exhibited annually at
St. Peter's. See Par. xxxi. 104, «. With a subtle power, which
we may almost call Shakespearean or Browning-like, Dante thinks
how little he can think their thoughts, how little they can think
his. Comp. Purg. viii. 1-9. We are reminded of the threefold " I
think he thought that 1 thought" of H. xiii. 25. They pass by
Beatrice's house, and little dream of all the memories of joys and
sorrows that it has for him. What if he should tell them that
Florence has lost her Beatrice, her blessedness, and that one, at
least, still weeps for that loss? If we connect this exhibition of the
Veronica with the Jubilee, of which it was one of the chief attrac-
tions, this would bring the close of the Vita Num'a to about the
beginning of a.d. 1300, and so would form a link with the assumed
date of the opening of the Inferno. There is no reason, however,
to think that the Veronica was not shown at certain seasons every
year. L. 6 gives us in la cittA dolente a link with H. i. i.

79

CANZONIERE

For ye weep not, as ye pass on between *

The woeful city's streets in sad array,
As they might do whose careless looks di'^play

That they know nought of all her anguish keen.

But if ye will remain with wish to hear.

My heart tells me in sooth with many a sigh, '"
That, as ye leave it, ye will surely weep :

She hath beheld her Beatrice die,

And what a man may wish to say of her.
Hath power the hearer's eyes in tears to steep.

SONNET XXXI /.Ly.V"))

BEATRICE TRANSFIGURED

Oltre la spera, che piu larga gira

Beyond the sphere that wheeleth widest round
Passeth the sigh that issues from my heart ;
New power of mind, that Love's might doth
impart

With tears to it, draws it to higher ground.

SONNET XXXI

From y. iV. c. 42, and the last poem in it. We are drawing near
the threshold of the definite resolve, after yet another vision (the
germ of that with which the Comtnedia opens ?), that he would say
of Beatrice what had never yet been said of woman. The Sonnet,
we are told, was written at the request of two noble ladies who
admired his poems, and asked him to write something new for
them. He accordingly wrote what follows, and sent it to them
with Sonnets xxiii. and xxx.

1 The "sphere" is the primum mobile, which includes all the

eight spheres of mediaeval astronomy. Beyond it is the Empyrean

Heaven, the abode of God. There is the "goal of all desire," and

80

CANZONIERE

When it the goal of all desire hath found.
It sees a lady clothed with honour bright,
And shineth so, that through that glorious
light

Clear visions for the pilgrim soul abound.

It sees her such that when its tale it tells,
I hear it not, it speaks so soft and low
To the sad heart that bids it speak of her;

Yet that it speaks of that fair dame I know.
Since on my Beatrice oft it dwells.
So that I hear it well, O ladies dear.

^4^^-^-.

CANZONE VIII 1} Cc^,^-).]

PAIN OF SEPARATION C<-^v *-T-~^- V \ "^ "i

AttOTf dacche convien pur ch^ to mi doglia xyiAj. » ,-^

Love, since 'tis meet that I should tell my woe,- vv ^x^w
That men may list to me.
And show myself with all my manhood gone, /'} j,
Grant that I may content in weeping know; ' f 1 L,

So that my grief set free 'vxit^o Lf '

« Hi

there is Beatrice (Conv. ii. 4). The "pilgrim soul" of 1. lo seems , . g-

to present a link with ^. xxx. ' , ' O (3 *

i « V / , r

CANZONE VIII * o ' ^ /^ I

A great gap divides the poems of the Vita N-uova from those that ■ ti } '
follow, and date, meaning, occasion, become more and more (if that, / ) J

indeed, be possible, looking to the wanderings of interpreters, even / • O^

within that region) matters of conjecture. Often there is but scanty • ^..^

evidence of authorship. In the present instance we have two </«/« I Lf i 1 ^^

connecting the Canzone with Dante's life. It was written when he , . /V^ r }

■ iLJ

81 r u.

ti

CANZONIERE

My words may utter, with my sense at one.
Thou will'st my death, and I consent

thereon ;
But who will pardon if I lack the art

To tell my pain of heart?
Who will believe what now doth me con-
strain ? "
But if from thee fit words for grief are won,
Grant, O my Lord, that, ere my life depart,
That cruel fair one may not hear my pain.
For, of my inward grief were she made ware,
Sorrow would make her beauteous face less
fair. «

was in exile (I. 78). It was a song of the mountains (61, 76), in the
valley of the river on whose banks he had feit the power of love.
All this points to the upper valley of the Arno, the Casentino dis-
trict, which is described in H. xxx. 65, and Purg. v. 94, xiv. 43,
and in which he found a temporary home with Alessandro da
Romena during his wanderings. A letter which Witte has brought
to light (Frat. O. M. iii. 430) is probably connected with it,
Dante writes ctrc. 1300 from the Casentino to the Marquis
Moroello Malaspina of the Lunigiana, to whom he is said to have
dedicated his Purgatorio. He dwells on the fact that in that
region he had found a lady whose manners and character had
attracted him. Of her rank or parentage or fortune we know
nothing. He says that he sends a poem with the letter which will
explain his feelings more fully. This Canzone is conjecturally
identified with that poem, and that would give circ. 1309 as its date.
One does not read it with any great satisfaction. I assume that a
man like Dante would not wiice to tell a friend and patron like
Moroello of the progress of a criminal intrigue, and that the attach-
ment was therefore of the platonic type. On the other hand, Dante
was now forty-four, and the sighs and piled-up agonies which were
real at twenty seem at that age somewhat artificial. Even the
platonic attachment seems to involve something like unfaithfulness
to the memory of Beatrice, after the ideal conversion of 1300, and
while he was actually writing the Purgatorio, as well as to poor
Gemma, who was left in Florence. On the other hand, one should
remember that Italian nature is not English ; that Dante's loneliness
of exile might well create a passionate longing for sympathy ; that
when he found one whose presence seemed to brighten the gloom of
life, his thoughts would run naturally in the old grooves and find
utterance after the old form. There would be a certain satisfaction
in feeling that the fountains which had once flowed so freely were
not dried up, even though there was more effort in drawing the
buckets from the well. 1 do not care to submit the water so drawn
to a minute analysis. Some allowance must be made, I believe, in
82

CANZONIERE

I cannot 'scape from her, but she will come
Within my phantasy,
More than I can the thought that brings her

there :
The frenzied soul that brings its own ill

home,
Painting her faithfully, ^

Lovely and stern, its own doom doth prepare:
Then looks on her, and when it filled doth

fare
With the great longing springing from mine

eyes.
Wroth with itself doth rise.
That lit the fire where it, poor soul ! doth

burn. ^

What plea of reason calms the stormy air
When such a tempest whirls o'er inward

skies?
The grief it cannot hold breaks forth in

sighs,
From out my lips that others too may learn,
And gives mine eyes the tears they truly

earn. ^

The image of my fair foe which doth stay

Victorious and proud.
And lords it o'er my faculty of will,
Desirous of itself, doth make me stray

There, where its truth is showed, ^

As like to like its course directing still.

that process for the allegorising tendency. The haughtiness and
coldness of the Casentinese lady would remind such a thinker as
Dante of what had been said of Wisdom herself ; that she at first is
found unpleasant to the unlearned (Eccius. vi. 20-28; Com', iii. 15),
and reserves the joy of her countenance for those who seek her with
a persevering love.

83

CANZONIERE

Like snow that seeks the sun, so fare I ill;
But I am powerless, and I am as they

Who thither take their way
As others bid, where they must fall as dead. *°
When I draw near, a voice mine ears doth

fill.
Which saith; "Away! seek'st thou his death

to sec?"
Then look I out, and search to whom to

flee
For succour : — to this pass I now am led
By those bright eyes that baleful lustre shed. "

What I become when smitten, thus, O Love,
Thou can'st relate, not I ;
For thou dost stay to look while I lie dead.
And if my soul back to my heart should
move.
Blind loss of memory *°

Hath been with her while she from earth

hath fled.
When I rise up, and see the wound that

bled.
And cast me down sore smitten by the blow.

No comfort can I know.
To keep me from the shuddering thrill of

fear ; "

And then my looks, with pallor o'er them

spread.
Show what that lightning was that laid me

low.
For, grant it came with sweet smile all

aglow.
Long time all clouded doth my face appear,
Because my spirit gains no safety clear. ^

84

CANZONIERE

Thus thou hast brought me, Love, to Alpine vale.
Where flows the river bright,
Along whose banks thou still o'er me dost reign.
Alive or dead thou dost at will assail,

Thanks to the fierce keen light, *"

Which flashing opes the way for Death's

campaign.
Alas ! for ladies fair I look in vain,
Or kindly men, to pity my deep woe.

If she unheeding go,
I have no hope that others help will send. ^°
And she, no longer bound to thy domain.
Cares not, O Sire, for dart that thou dost

throw;
Such shield of pride around her breast doth go.
That every dart thereon its course doth
end;
And thus her heart against them doth

defend. **

Dear mountain song of mine, thou goest thy way,
Perchance thou'lt Florence see, mine own

dear land,
That drives me doomed and batmed.
Showing no pity, and devoid of love.
If thou dost enter there, pass on, and say, ""
" My lord no more against you can wage war.
There, whence I come, his chains so heavy

are,
That, though thy fierce wrath placable should

prove.
No longer freedom hath he thence to move."

81 I have given above what seems the true explanation of the
words. Local ambitions have, however, led some Italian scholars to
identify the Alps with the mountains of the Lago di Garda, and the
river with the Adige. (Comp. H. xii. 5.)

8S

4 «5

,^

CANZONIERE

'll>

.CANZONE IX /|> •^'^^^

f\ VA;'> ^^^> THE lover's threats ^/^CtA/^-4 ^^^

Cw/ n^/ mio parlar voglio esser aspro ^ ,■>-

Fain in my speech would I be harsh and roughjk^ . -;
As is in all her acts that rock so fair,

Which hourly comes to share
More hardness, and less penetrable stufF,
And clothes itself all o'er with jasper bright, ^
So that, as stopped by it or halting there,

No arrow forth doth fare,

CANZONE IX

I own that I insert this Canzone with grave misgivings as to its
authorship. It is true that it appears in all printed editions, is found
with Dante's name in many MSS., and is accepted by experts like
Fraticelli and Witte. On the other hand, I fail to find in it the
grace, the subtlety, the pathos of the heart and hand of Dante.
The threats of 11. 67-79, have a wild sensual Swinburnian eagerness
of passion in them, of which we find no trace in Dante's other
writings. I am disposed to couple it with another poem, an auc-
tioneer's inventory of beauties, dealing largely with "blond and
curled locks" " lo jniro i c'respi e gli biondi capelli," which was at
one time, at Venice in 1508, printed as Dante's, and out of which an
Italian scholar (Mis^irini) constructed an ideal portrait of Beatrice,
but which is now generally assigned to Fazio degli Uberti, or some
other second or third class poet. Witte, it may be noted, is disposed
to find an allegorical meaning, like that which pervades the poetry
of the Persian mystics and the mediaeval interpretation of the Song
of Solomon, in the threats of which I have spoken, and in which he
sees the struggles of the intellect to attain the fruition of truth by its
own persistent efforts — efforts which the seeker afterwards renounced
for the submission of faith and hope. On the assumption of a literal
meaning, commentators, seeing that a reference to Beatrice is out of
the question, have identified the fair one to whom the Canzone is
addressed with the Gentucca of Purg. xxiv. 38, or the Casentino
lady of the Ep. to Moroello Malaspina, or to a Pietra de' Scrovigni
of Padua, the last conjecture resting on the paronomasia of 1. 2.

The allusion to Dido (1. 37) is almost the one point of contact with
anything that we know of Dante's thoughts and studies [fl, v. 85),
but it is scarcely conclusive as evidence of authorship.
86

CANZONIERE

That ever on unsheltered part doth light:
And shield and hauberk fail when she doth

smite,
Nor can a man escape those deadly blows, ^°

Which come upon her foes,
As if with wings, and crush each strong defence ;
So to resist her I make no pretence.

I find no shield that she cannot break through,
No place that hides me from her piercing

eyes ; '*

But as o'er spray doth rise
The blossom, so my mind with her is crowned ;
She seems as much to care for all my woe,
As ship for sea that calm and waveless lies ;

My deep-sunk grief defies ^

All power of utterance that in rhymes is

bound.
Ah, cruel pain, that, like sharp file, hast

ground.
So silently, my strength of life away,

Why hast thou no dismay
Thus to devour my whole heart, bit by bit, ^^
As I to tell who gives thee strength for it.

For more my heart doth tremble, njusing much
Of her, where I meet gaze of other eyes,

For fear lest no disguise ^

Should keep my thoughts from being by look

betrayed.
Than I from death do shrink, when he, with

touch
Of Love's sharp teeth, doth every sense
surprise:
Whence weak and prostrate lies
87

CANZONIERE

My mind's whole strength, all dull and

laggard made. ^

Low hath he smitten me now, and hath
displayed

The sword that Dido slew all ruthlessly.
E'en Love, to whom I cry,

Calling for mercy in my lowly prayer;

And he denies, and leaves me to despair. *"

Once and again he lifts his hand to smite,
That cruel Lord, and all hope passeth by;

So that I prostrate lie
Upon the earth, of power to stir bereft.
Then in my mind new troubles rise in might, ^
And all the blood, which through my veins
doth fly.
As hearing my heart's cry.
Flows thitherward, and thus I pale am left.
And on the left side I by him am cleft.
So sorely that my whole heart throbs with

pain. ^

Then say I, " Once again
Should he lift hand. Death will have gained

his prey
Before the fatal blow descends to slay."

Had I thus seen him cleave the heart in twain.
Of that harsh Fair who cleaves my heart in
four "

Death would be dark no more.
To whom I pass for her great beauty's sake.
For in the sun as well as in the rain
That ruthless deadly fair her scorn doth
pour.
Ah, why wails she no more ^

CANZONIERE

For me, as I for her in fiery lake?

For soon I'd cry, " I will not thee forsake."

Gladly I'd do it, as though he I were

Who, in those ringlets fair.
Which Love for my undoing crisps with

gold, . . ""

Should plunge his hand, and revel in their
hold.

And if I had those tresses in my hand, .
Which are as rod or scourge that makes me

mourn,
I would grasp them at morn,
And hold them till the bells of evensong. ^
Nor would I piteous be, nor gently bland.
But, like a bear at play, act out my scorn;
And if by Love's scourge torn,
For vengeance thousand-fold should I be

strong ;
And on her bright eyes, whence the flashes

throng ^

That set on fire the heart I bear half-slain,

I would my fixed glance strain,
To 'venge me for the flight that wrought my

pain.
And then with Love would grant her peace

again.

Canzon', go straight to that my Lady fair **

Who hath my heart so pierced, and takes by

wrong

That for which most I long;

And with thine arrow at her proud heart aim.

For in such vengeance win we chiefest fame.

89

CANZONIERE

{iV

SONNET XXXII PJ-'-^^^

THE lover's anathema
lo mahdico il d) cK h v'tdi m prima

1 CURSE the day when first I saw the light
Of thy bright eyes so treacherously fair,
The. hour when thou didst come upon the
height

Of this my heart to call my soul elsewhere; "

Love's filing tool with curse I also smite.
Which smoothed my songs, and colours rich

and rare.
That I have found for thee, and rhymed
aright.

So that the world to thee its praise might bear.

And I curse too my memory hard as steel.

So firm to keep what bringeth death to me, ^°

That is, thy looks which grace and guilt reveal.
Through which Love oft is led to perjury;

So that at him and me men's laugh rings free,

As though I would rob Fortune of her wheel.

SONNET XXXII

In some early collections the Sonnet appears with the name of
Cino da Pistoia, to whom I am myself disposed to assign it. If
Dante's, it must be referred to some pang of disappointment at the
rejection of his affection by the lady of the Casentino or Pietra de'
Scrovigni. See Cam. viii. and ix. I scarcely see how an alle-
gorical meaning can be read between the lines. An anathema on
the earthly philosophy which he was leaving for a higher wisdom is
peihaps conceivable, but is not, I think, probable.

* The words present an almost verbal coincidence with .S". xlii. i.
For the "wheel of fortune " see H. vii. 96.

90

CANZONIERE

IGNORANCE IN ASKING

Donne, io non so di che ml fregh'i Amort

Ladies, I know not what of Love to pray,
For he smites me, and death is hard to bear,
And yet to feel him less brings greater fear.

There shineth in the centre of my mind

The light of those fair eyes that I desire, ^

Which gives my soul content ;
True is it that at times a dart I find

Which drieth up my heart's well as with fire,
Ere all its force be spent;
This doeth Love as oft as he doth paint ^°

That gentle hand and that pure faithfulness.
Which should my life with sense of safety
bless.

BALLATA VI

Authorship, date, and occasion uncertain. The address to
" Ladies " reminds us of some of the poems of the Beatrice period
(Canz. ii. i; i". xii. i, xiv. i). Line 8 finds a parallel in H. i. 20.

^J

91

CANZONIERE

BALLATA VII / .tCy^^

[T/a

Madonna, quel signer, che voi portate

Lady, the sovran Lord thou so dost bear

In thy bright eyes, that he subdues all power,
Of surety gives me dow^er.
That thou with pity wilt full friendship share;

For there, where he doth find his home and

bower *

And has society so passing fair,

He draws what's good and rare
To him, as to the fountain-head of power.
Hence I find comfort for my hope, full store.
Which hath so long been rent and tempest

tost, »°

That it had sure been lost.

Had it not been that Love
Against all adverse fortune help doth prove.
With his bare look and with remembered lore
Of the sweet spot and of the flowery grove, '*
Which, with new hues, all hues of earth above,
Encircleth all my mind and memory,
Thanks to thy sweet and gracious courtesy.

BALLATA VII

What has been said of B. vi. holds good of this also. Line i
reads like a reproduction of 5". xt. i. It may have been one of the
many " cosette " (K. //. c. 5) which he wrote for the " screen " lady
between 1283 and 1285, of which Beatrice was the subject, but
which he did not care to include in the K. jV. Line 15 seems to
find an echo in the vision of the Earthly Paradise {furg. xxviiL
1-36).

9*

CANZONIERE

BALLATA VIII fj^ Cu

t THE GARLAND

Per una ghlrlandetta

By reason of a garland fair
That once I saw, each single flower
Now makes me breathe a sigh.

I saw thee, Lady, bear that garland fair.

Sweetest of flowers that blow.
And over it, as floating in the air
I saw Love's angel hover meek and low,
And in his song's sweet flow.
He said, "Who looks on me
Will praise my Lord on high."

Should I be haply where a floweret blows,

A sigh must I suspire.
And say, " Where'er my gentle lady goes,
Her brow doth bear the flowerets of my Sire:

But to increase desire.

My Lady sure will be

Crowned by Love's majesty.

BALLATA VIII

I incline to think that this also was addressed to Beatrice. Her
lover sees her adorned with a wreath of flowers (comp. Purg. xxx.
28), crowned as by the Lord of love, and over her hovers the angel
of love and lowliness.

93

CANZONIERE

My slender words a tale of flowers have told

In ballad quaint and new;
And for their brightness they a garment fold,

Not such as others knew.

Therefore I pray to you, *

That, when one sings it, ye

Should show it courtesy.

SONNET XXXIII |3L.6^^'
love's sovereignty

h sono stato con Amore im'ieme

I HAVE with Love in contact close been thrown,
From the ninth year the sun did mark for me,
And know how he now curb, now spur may
be,'

And how beneath him men may smile and groan.

SONNET XXXIII

Here we stand on somewhat surer ground. A Sonnet is extant
written by Cino da Pistoia to Dante, asking whether one who had
loved truly and passionately could ever come under the power of a
like love again. To that question this Sonnet is the affirmative
answer. It maintains that love comes on us, mastering our free-
will, and leaving us no choice but to obey, and so far agrees in
tone with the letter about the Casentino lady (£/>. 3) before referred
to. It may be, as Fraticelli conjectures, the Sonnet alluded to in
the letter, " exulanti Pistoriensi" (probably Cino), dealing with
the same question (Frat. O. M. iii. 434). Cecco d' Ascoli refers to
it, quoting the first line in his Acerba, iii. i. Neither Krafft nor
Witte, it may be noted, admits it in the editions they have severally
published.

1 For the fact see V. iV. c. i ; for the form of statement, Conv.
11.7.

94

CANZONIERE

Who strives with him, with skill and strength

alone, ^

Acts as he does who, when the storm plays

free.
Rings out a peal, as though the vaporous sea
And thunderous strife that music could atone.
Wherefore within the range of that his bow,

Free choice to act hath not its freedom true, '"
So that our counsels vain dart to and fro.
Well with new spur in flank may he us
prick.
And each new pleasure he before us lays.
We must needs follow, of the old joy sick.

6 The words probably refer to the practice of ringing church bells
during a thunderstorm. That, Dante says, in its impotence to stop
the tempest, is like the powerlessne^s of the will when the storms
of passion are rolling over it. It is his apologia, afterwards, we
may believe, recanted {Purg. xxxi. 31-66), for the passing affec-
tions that obscured the memory of Beatrice. Here also, of course,
an allegorical meaning is conceivable. For the custom see Brand's
Popular Antiquities, a. 317, 318 ; ed. 1875.

9y

CANZONIERE

TJRT II
SONNET XXXIV (/fl, Cu.ir-

THE envoy's instructions

. c^V

Parole mie, che per lo mondo siete

Ye words of mine, whose voice the world doth
fill,
Who had your birth when first my thoughts

began
To speak of her for whom astray I ran ;
" Te, who the third heaven move, by force of will *^
Knowing her well, to her your course fulfil, ^
So wailing that she may our sorrows scan:
Say to her, " We are thine, nor think we can
Present ourselves henceforth more numerous
still."

SONNET XXXIV

The quotation in line 4 of Cam. xiv. i is conclusive as to author-
ship. Ihe opening lines imply a consciousness of fame already
widely spread, resting on the older sister poems of the V. N.
The line quoted in line 4 is from the first of those explained alle-
gorically in the Conviio. The fact that it thus belongs to the
second stage of Dante's Trilogy, of which the Convito is the
embodiment, justifies its place as the opening of Part ii. Line 3
implies, as I render "in cut errai" (the words have been taken,
however, as "against whom I sinned"), an admission that he had
sinned in thought, in not remembering the Divine Wisdom of which
Beatrice had become the symbol. He bids these poems of Part ii.,
now collected, go to the Philosophy, who, as the ideal object of his
second love, is the subject of the Ccnviio, and tells her that their
number is complete. They cannot, however, hope to find in her
96

CANZONIERE

Stay not with her ; for Love is not found there,
But take your way around in sad array, ^^

Like your own sisters in the days that were.

And when ye find a lady kind and fair,
Right humbly at her feet your tribute lay,

And say, " To thee we gifts of honour bear."

SONNET XXXV (^^- ^^^^ j

FOR others' sake
CAi guardcra giammai sereza faura

Who now will ever look devoid of fear

Into this fair and tender maiden's eyes.

Which so have wrought on me that now
there lies
Before me nought but death, to me so drear ?

reciprocity of affection, for she is passionless in her beauty. The
Sonnet seems like a kind of apologia for the endeavour to combine
the new teachings of Philosophy with the old reverence for
Beatrice, an apologia of which Purg. xxx. 100-145 niay be looked
on as a recantation. The " sisters " are probably the poems of the
V. N. The " lady kind and fair" {donna di valore) is identified in
Conzi. iii. 14 with any noble soul that sympathises with the pursuit
of wisdom.

SONNET XXXV

The allegorical sense is again dominant. He had loved the " fair
maid " of whom he speaks (his use of the word " pargoleita" sug-
gests that that term in Purg. xxxi. S9 has both a literal and a
symbolic meaning) not wisely but too well. His long pursuit of
philosophy \iAd been exhausting and unsatisfying. His strength is
failing, life seems waning. Let others take warning by his example,
lest the attractions of her bright eyes, i.e., as in Conv. iii. 15, the
demonstrations of Philosophy, draw them to a like peril of death.
True life, he seems to say, is not found in that path. L. 10 seems an
echo oi John xi. 50.

IV 97 6

CANZONIERE

See how my evil fortune is severe ;

For from all lives, my life the destinies

Chose as the type of perilous emprise,
That none to gaze on that fair face dravv^ near.
To me this end was given by Fortune's might;

Since it must needs be that one man should
die,

That others to that peril come not nigh.

Therefore, alas! thus drawn along was I,
Attracting to me my life's opposite,
As doth the pearl the star of day's clear light.

[ tr ^^-wn.'

BALLATA IX

TERRIBLE IN BEAUTY
lo mi son pargoletta hella e nuo-va

"A MAIDEN young and beautiful am I,
And I am come that I may show to you
The beauties of the region where I grew:

1* The pearl was supposed to be formed by the power of the sun,
but if it was imperfect, tt could not receive that power (Conv. iv. 20).

BALLATA IX

The reappearance of " pargoletta " in line i leads to the conclusion
that she who speaks, manifesting what she is without speaking, is
neither the living nor the transfigured Beitrice, but the Philosophy
whom, in the Cofwito stage of his inner life, he had admittted to a
co-ordinate share in his affections, not without the risk of its be-
coming predominant. So taken. Philosophy boasts, as in Conv. ii.
16, of her heavenly origin. To that heaven she will return to give a
fresh joy to its inhabitants. The poet then transfers to her what he
had written of old of Beatrice herself. To assume, with Fraticelli,
98

CANZONIERE

I come from Heaven, and thither shall return,
To give to others joy in my clear light: ^

And he who sees me, nor with love doth burn,
Of love shall never have clear-visioned sight:
For nothing was denied to my delight.

When Nature begged me of him as her due.

Who wills, dear ladies, me to join with you. '"

Each star that shines within mine eye doth rain
Showers of its light, and of its potency:

My beauties to the world as new remain,

Because from Heaven's high clime they come

to me;
Nor can men ever know them perfectly, ^*

Save by the knowledge of a man in whom

Love dwells, with joy all others to illume."

These words are read as written in the eye
Of a bright angel, seen with beauty rife.

Whence I who, to escape, looked steadfastly, ^
Incur the risk of forfeiting my life;
For such a wound I met in that fierce strife

From one whom I within her eyes beheld.

That I go weeping, all my peace dispelled.

that the " pargoletta" is Beatrice, seems to me at variance with
Purg. xxxi. 59, as interpreting the successive stages of Dante's inner
life, to say nothing of the fact that the term could hardly be applied
to one who, like Beatrice, was a '''donna."

11 Each planet had its own special influence, presided over its own
special study in the Trivium and Quadnviutn (Conv. ii. 14). All
were found combined in Philosophy, as the Queen of Sciences. To
understand their preciousness required the love which shows itself in
self-renunciation.

19 The "angel "is clearly the" maiden" of line i, i.e., Philosophy.
In gazing on her in the hope of an escape of some sort, we have a
reproduction of the thought of V. *V. c. 36, when he had found in
the " gentle lady " of the window, a refuge from over-much sorrow.
As it was, however, his devotion to that new affection, to the service
of the new mistress. Philosophy, had brought with it a new suffering,
and he was well nigh sick unto death. I do not see any adequate

99

CANZONIERE

SONNET XXXVI ' 3) , Qx/vi

BEAUTIFUL AND PITILESS
E' non i legno di siforti nocchi

No tree there is so gnarled and stiff to ply.
No rock that flinty hardness so doth fill.
But that the cruel fair who doth me kill

Can kindle love there with her beauteous eye.

Hence when one gazes as she passeth by, *

If he withdraw not, Death will work his will,
So fails his heart ; for vainly prays he still

That his stern office he may modify.

Ah ! wherefore was such wondrous power
assigned
To the fair eyes of lady so severe, *"

Who careth not to save her worshipper,
And in such ruthless mood doth persevere.

That if one dies for her, to that she's blind.

And hides her beauties that he may not find?

grounds for finding the " pargoUtta " in either Gentucca or the lady
of the Casentino.

SONNET XXXVI

The " stem lady " whose eyes have such terrible power is, as in i".
XXXV., B. ix., Philosophy. Having once started the idea that this
was the "gentle lady" who had pity on him (K. N. c. 38 ; Conv.
ii. 2), he plays with it, presents it in many aspects, writes poems
which half veil and half reveal his meaning, <f>ioyayTa <n;i'«Toio-n' —
words for the wise, puzzles for the Philistines — not without a certain
pleasure in the thought that they will mystify his readers.

Conv. ii. I explains the "stocks" and "stones" of men without
art or knowledge. Even there Philosophy, with her Orphic power,
moves to love ; but the love is one of the SetKol epoirei, the
"terrible passions" of which Plato speaks. She looks on at their
fruitless efforts, sees them wither and perish in striving to obtain her,
and yet she hides herself from them and they have no fruition.

The words " sispattocchi " in 1. 8, literally to deal out the grains
100

CANZONIERE

^^^'.C

SONNET XXXVII / ^ ^ - '^^"^

A CRY FOR HELP
& vedi gli occh'i miei di fianger vaghi

If thou dost see mine eyes so fain to weep,
Through the new sorrow that devours my

heart.
By her I pray, who ne'er from thee doth part,
That thou. Sire, them from their desire would'st

keep;
That is, that thy right hand should vengeance

heap *

On him who murders justice, and doth flee
To tyrant lord, and sucks his poison free.
Wherewith he fain would all the wide world
steep,

an ear of corn one by one, is, I thinlc, sufficiently expressed by
" modify." The judgment is to come bit by bit.

SONNET XXXVII

It is with a certain satisfaction that we come, in the midst of ail
the marvellous, half-morbid introspections of the Minor Poems, upon
one which brings us face to face with the man of action, v. hose
interests range widely over the kingdoms of the world. The Sonnet
takes its place among the many cries of " How long, O Lord, how
long?" which have gone up from the patriots and reformers of all
countries, of none more than of Italy. The vague words, distinct
enough to him who wrote them, leave us to guess to what special
crisis of Dante's life they belong. The Sonnet may be addressed to
the Emperor Henry VII. (comp. Efi. 5, vol. i. p. cv.), or, as I think
more probable, to the great Emperor of the Universe. She who
never parts from the earthly or the heavenly Emperor is the eternal
justice of God. He who " murders Justice " may be the Neri party
of Florence, or Charles of Valois, or Boniface VIII., or Philip the
Fair of France ; the " tyrant " may be, according as we adopt one
or other of these hypotheses, Charles, or Boniface VIII., or Philip,
or Clement V. The "poison" is the grasping gresed of gain, for
lOI

CANZONIERE

And hath of so great terror cast the chill
Into thy subjects' hearts, that all are dumb: *

But thou. Love's fire, whose light the Heaven
doth fill.
Raise thou that Virtue who lies all o'ercome.

Naked and cold, and screen her with thy veil,
For without her, all peace on earth doth fail.

SONNET XXXVIIl [U^ ,Co^^

DISAPPOINTMENT
Per quella -via che la hellez-za corre

Along the pathway Beauty loves to tread
When to awaken Love it seeks the mind.
There wends a lady, sportively inclined.

As one who deems that I by her am led,

which both Philip and Clement were conspicuous. I incline to the
last of the four combinations (comp. Pur^. xxxii. 151- i6o), and refer
the Sonnet to the indignation with which Dante looked on the sup-
pression of the Templars {Purg. xx. 93), to the hopes which he began
to cherish after the election of Henry VII.

SONNET XXXVIIl

The enigma deepens. Dark sayings become darker. We say, as
the Jews did of Ezekiel, " Doth be not speak parables?" The key
to the puzzle may be found, I believe, in the thought that the two
ladies are Human and Divine Wisdom; that the tower is, in
Bunyan's language, that of Man-soul ; that the path by which
beauty passes into the heart is that of sight; that the gate is that of
the will. I see in the Sonnet a kind of palinode of the praises
lavished on Philosophy in the Convito ; a recognition that a true
Theology has, after all, higher claims, a transition to the spirit of the
Purgatory and Paradise. The "gentle lady" must, after all. give
way to Beatrice- The poet returns to his first love. See Study on
the Genetis and Growth 0/ the Commedia, vol. v.
102

CANZONIERE

And when she comes where soars the high
tower's head,
Which opens when the soul consent doth find,
She hears a voice come floating swift as wind,

" Rise, Lady fair, nor enter there," it said.

For to that Lady who doth sit on high.

When she the sceptre of high lordship claimed,"
Love granted it, according to her will.

And when that fair one sees herself passed by.
Driven from that mansion which Love's home

is named.
She back returns and shame her face doth fill.

SONNET XXXIX ( ^ '^ C^-v^

STELLAR INFLUENCES

Da quella luce, cht il suo corso gira

From that bright star which moveth on its way
For ever at the Empyrean's will.
And between Mars and Saturn ruleth still,

E'en as the expert astrologer doth say,

SONNET XXXIX

We are still in the region of allegory. The Sonnet is a con-
densed expression of the theory of planetary influence and corres-
pondences, stated at length in Conv. ii. 14 (comp. Ball. ix. 11 ;
Cam. 14), where the seven spheres are placed over against the
seven studies of the Triviunt (Grammar, Dialectic, Rhetoric) and
the QuadHvium (Arithmetic, Music, Geometry, and Astronomy).
The sphere of the fixed stars corresponds in like manner to Physics
and Metaphysics ; the Primujtt Mobile to Ethics ; the Empyrean to
Theology. We are left to guess whether the poet speaVs of
Beatrice or the '''donna gentile," of Theology or Philosophv, and
103

CANZONIERE

She, who inspires me with her beauty's ray, "

Doth subtle art of sovereignty distil ;

And he whose glory doth the fourth heaven fill,
Gives her the power my longing soul to sway ;
And that fair planet known as Mercury

Colours her speech with all its virtue rare; ^^
And the first heaven its boon does not deny;

She who the third heaven ruleth as her share,
Makes her heart full of utterance pure and free :
So all the seven to perfect her agree.

BALLATA X ' ^ ^^^^

THE SCORN OF SCORN

yd che sapete raghnar d" amore

Ye who are skilled of Love discourse to hold.
Hear ye this ballad-song of mine forlorn,
Which telleth of a lady full of scorn,
Who, through her power, my whole heart hath
controlled.

the answer to that question must depend on the date which we
assign to the Sonnet. Assuming that it rightly follows 6'. xxxviii.,
I incline to the former view. The systematic arrangement of the
Paradise, according to the ten heavenly spheres, falls in with this
interpretation.

1 Jupiter lies between Mars and Saturn ; the sun, in the Ptole-
maic system, is in the fourth heaven (1. 7); the first heaven (1. n)
is that of the moon ; the third (1. 12) that of Venus, which repre-
sents the persuasive power of rhetoric. Comp. Cam. xiv.

BALLATA X.

Here the writer explains his own enigmas. He tells us (Canv.

lii. 9-15) that he wrote this Ballata to represent the aspect which

104

^^

CANZONIERE

So doth she scorn whoe'er on her doth gaze, ^

She makes him bend his eyes for very fear,

For still round hers she evermore displays

A portraiture of cruelty severe ;

While yet wfithin the image sweet they bear

Which makes the gentle soul speak thankful

praise ; ^°

So full of might that when 'tis seen, always
From every heart it draws forth sighs untold.

She seems to say, " I will not lowly be

Toward any one who gazeth on mine eyes;

For there I bear that Lord of courtesy "

Whose darts have made new feelings in me rise."

And, certes, I believe she in such wise

Keeps them, to gaze upon them as she please:

E'en so an upright lady acts, who sees

How those who would do honour her behold. ^

I have no hope that pity her will move
To deign on others to bestow a glance;
So proud a lady is she, she who Love
Shows in her eyes, so fair of countenance.
But let her hide and keep him, as may chance, ^
That such bliss I awhile should see no more;
Yet shall my longings have at last a power
Against the scorn of Love so proud and cold.

Philosophy presents to the man void of understanding, to the
seeker who as yet is unworthy of her gracious smile, and quotes in
Cam. XV., of which Conv. iii. is an exposition, the very epithets of
" proud " and " ruthless " which he here applies to her. She will
not be lowly towards one who looks too boldly into her eyes, and
requires in her lover the temper of reverential awe. But within,
for those who so seek her, she has an aspect full of grace, and so
his desires will have strength to persevere in their quest in spite of
her seeming harshness. 1 assign the poem, with little hesitation,
to the transition period of Dante's life, represented by the Convtto,
and therefore identify the " Lady " of whom it speaks with Philo-
sophy. We are renimded at once of Ecclus. iv. 16-18, and of the
Janus-like face of Wisdom in the Giotto fresco at Assisi.

CANZONIERE

Vr

•a

SESTINA I

SIMILITUDES OF LOVE

^l foco giorno, ed al gran cerchio eP ombra

To shortened days and circle wide of shade
I have now come, alas ! and snow-clad hills,
When all bright hues grow pale upon the grass ;
Yet my desire hath not yet lost its green.
And so is rooted in the flinty rock.
Which speaks and hears, as though it were a

lady.

SESTINA I.

We come upon three poems, obviously of the same period, of a
different type. They belong in their outward form to a class of
which the Proven5al poets were fond, and Arnauld Daniel, for
whom in Purg. xxvi. ii6 Dante expresses a profound reverence,
was the inventor, as perhaps of the ierza rinta, so also of the
sestina, ringing its manifold changes, like those of a chime of bells,
upon the six words which are chosen as a theme. The metre was
used afterwards by Petrarch and other poets. It is obvious that
such a form is in the highest degree artificial, but, as with the
equally artificial alphabetic Psalms of the Hebrews, the " Lamenta-
tions" of Jeremiah, or the strophes and antistrophes of a Greek
chorus, the power of the poet to master it becomes a triumph of his
strength. The performance, from our standpoint, seems to belong
to the acrobats of poetry, but that exercise, as a part of literary
gymnastic, may become part of the training of the athlete.
As such I conceive Dante tried it. It was in his nature, as in
the instance of Lucau {H. xxv. 94) and Ovid {H. xxv. 97), to
match his strength against the great masters of poetry precisely in
the points where they were supposed to be pre-eminent, and it will
be owned that here also he has succeeded. It may be noted that
the laws of the Sestina allowed the use of homonyms, sc, of words
of the same form and sound but different sense (as, e.g^., here in the
use of <:(7///= necks = hills), a licence of which the translator finds it
difficult to avail himself. Where, as in this instance, the form is
more than the matter, it is scarcely necessary to track the sequence
of thought line by line. What one wonders at is that, under such
conditions, there is any sequence at all. Briefly I take it that here
also the "lady" is Philosophy. Sest. i. opens with the winter of
discontent in which her worshipper finds himself (U. 1-6). He
106

CANZONIERE

So in like manner doth this fair young lady
Stand frozen, as the snow stands in the shade,
For she no more is moved than is the rock,
When the sweet season comes which warms the

hills, '«

And makes them change from white to pleasant

green,
Because it clothes them all with flowers and grass.

When on her brow she wears a wreath of grass.
From out our thoughts she drives each other lady,
Since mingle there the crisp gold and the green, '^
So well that Love comes there to seek their shade.
Who shuts me up amid the lowly hills.
More closely far than doth the flinty rock.

Her beauties have more power than any rock,
Her blow may not be healed by any grass ; ^

For I have fled through valleys and o'er hills.
That I might freedom gain from this fair lady.
But 'gainst her face I seek in vain for shade.
In hill, or wall, or tree with foliage green.

Aforetime I have seen her clothed in green, ^
So beautiful, she might have warmed a rock
With that Love which I bear to her mere shade ;
Whence in a meadow bright with greenest grass,
I wooed her, as a love-inspiring lady.
On all sides girt by highest-soaring hills. ^

would fain escape (II. 21-24), but cannot. He sees her clothed in
green, the hue of hope (1. 25), yet (or him iheie is small chance that
she will accept his love, though he would sleep on the rock and feed
on the grass, i.e., lead the life of a hermit, if only he might behold
but the skirts of her garment (11. 31-36), while she shines like a
piecious gem where the shadows fall daikest (11. 37-39). It may
be noted that this Stsrtna is twice quoted in the V. E. (ii. 10, 13),
in the latter case a.t an example of the highei style which is fit for
one " aulice foctanttm," In 1. 39 1 read " ta" instead of "git."
107

CANZONIERE

But sooner shall the streams flow up the hills
Ere this fair growth of plant so fresh and green
Shall kindle, as is wont with gentle lady,
For me, who fain would sleep upon the rock.
All my life long, and wander, eating grass, *

Only to see her garments give their shade.

Where'er the hills cast round their darkest shade.
Beneath the fresh green doth the fair young lady
Dispel it, like rock crystal in the grass.

^'^Mv. SESTINA II (':^S--'^-)

SIMILITUDES OF LOVE
yimor mi mena tal fiata aW omhra

Love leads me many times beneath the shade
Of ladies fair, whose necks are beauteous hills.
And whiter far than flower of any grass;
And one there cometh, clothed in robes of

green.
Who in my heart dwells, as strength dwells in

rock, ^

And among others seems as fairest lady.

SESTINA II

Philosophy appears, as before, clothed in green, and with a
wreath of flowers on her head. He feels, as before, the too seem-
ingly incompatible impressions of her rigour and her sweetness
(II. 7-18). Of one thing he is certain, that his love for her makes
him mi)re lowly towards all others who, in any measure, reproduce
her likeness. Never was any gem intaglio or painter's ideal of
108

CANZONIERE

And when I glance upon this gentle lady,
Whose brightness scatters every dusky shade,
Her light so smites my heart it turns to rock ;
I roam, as strangled, all among the hills, ^°

Till I revive, and am with love more green
Then ever yet was spring or freshest grass.

1 ween no virtue ever was in grass

With power to heal, as dwells in this fair lady.

Who takes my heart, yet leaves my life all

green. **

When she restores it, I am as a shade:
No longer have I life, save as the hills.
Which loftiest are, and of the hardest rock.

A heart I had as hard as any rock.

When I saw her as fresh as is the grass ^

In the sweet spring that clothes with flowers

the hills;
And now 'tis lowly found toward each fair lady:
Only through love of her who gives a shade
More precious than did ever foliage green.

For seasons hot or cold, or sere or green, ^

Still make me glad, to such sweet rest doth

rock
The great delight of resting in her shade.
O sight! how fair, to see her on the grass
Tripping more deftly than each other lady,
Dancing her way through valleys and o'er hills. ^

beauty so fair in its perfection as even the very shadow of her
gracious loveliness (11. 34-36). Neither this Sesiina nor the follow-
ing appears in the editions of Krafft and Witte, but Fraticelli gives
what seem to me adequate reasons for receiving them.
109

CANZONIERE

Long as I dwell 'mid mountains and 'mid hills,
Love leaves me not, but keeps me fresh and

green.
As none he yet has kept for fairest lady;
For never yet was graving seen on rock.
Nor any form of colour fair on grass.
Which might seem bright as is her very shade.

Thus Love contents me, while I live in shade,
To find my joy and bliss in this fair lady,
Who on her head hath placed a wreath of
grass.

iL^^ ^

SESTINA Ul(^-^'''^^)

y-%.'

,^, r'""^ SIMILITUDES OF LOVE

,V C""-^^ '*

Gran nobilta mi par vedere alP ombra

I SEEM to see great glory in the shade
Of ladies fair whose necks are ivory hills,
And each on other, as she goes, flings grass;
For she is there, through whom my life is

green.
And in her love fixed, as in wall a rock, ^

And stronger than was ever love for lady.

SESTINA III

The tour de force continues, as if the writer could go on for ever
with variations upon the same theme. I do not find that the
variation^ in this instance present any new features calling for
special annotation.

IIO

CANZONIERE

If I have heart-love for mine own dear lady,
Let no man marvel, nor thereon cast shade;
For my heart, through her, holds its joy like

rock,
Which, were it not so, would bring low the

hills,
And so would change them as the hue of

green
Fades from the aspect of the new-mown

grass.

I well may say that she adorns the grass,
Which for adornment every other lady
Blends with fair flowers and foliage fresh and

green;
Because so brightly shineth her sweet shade.
That it makes glad the valleys, plains, and

hills.
And, certes, gives a virtue to the rock.

I know that I should be more vile than rock.
If she were not to me as healing grass:
She hath attained to scale the highest hills.
Which have been mounted by no other lady.
Save her alone, whom I love in the shade.
Like little bird half-hid in foliage green.

And if I were like lowly plant and green,
I could disclose the virtue of each rock.
And none should hide itself beneath the

shade;
For I am hers, her flower, her fruit, her grass;
But none can do as doth my gentle lady.
Whether she cometh down, or climbs, the

hills.

CANZONIERE

I seem alway as one who climbs the hills.
When I part from her; and feel fresh and

green,
So do I joy, in looking on my lady:
And when I sec her not, like any rock
I stand, and watch in faith, still fresh as grass,
That soul who finds her chief joy in the shade.

More I seek not, than ever in her shade
To stand, who is of all the noblest lady.
Fairer than any flowers, or leaves, or grass.

CANZONE X (S<^'VrL VI

( >-*. ^ '^ ^ ^ 1^ HARD AS A ROCK

^ Amor^ tu -vedl hen, che questa donna

Love, thou see'st well that this my Lady fair
For thy great power cares not at any time,
Which rules as mistress over others fair:
And when she saw she was my Lady fair.
By that bright ray which on my face shed

light;
Of cruelty she grew the mistress fair,

CANZONE X

The form adopted, that of a double sestina, seems the ne plus
ultra of fantastic complication. There are sixty-six lines, and to
these five words only are allowed as rhymes, and the changes ara
rung on these with manifold iteration, till the reader is constrained
to say, " Enough, and more than enough," It is almost useless in
such A case to expect any subtle insight or profound emotion. It is
IIZ

CANZONIERE

And seemed to have no heart of lady fair,
But of some creature wild, to love most cold:
For, through the season hot and through the

cold,
I see her semblance as a lady fair, *"

Who had been fashioned out of goodly rock,
By hand of one who best can grave the rock.

And I, who am more steadfast than a rock,
Obeying thee, through love of lady fair.
In secret bear the pressure of the rock '*

With which thou woundedst me, as 'twere a

rock.
That had annoyed thee for long length of

time;
So that it reached my heart where I am

rock.
And never was discovered any rock,
Which, from the sun's great power or its

own light, ^

Had in it so much virtue or such light.
Which could protect me from that self-same

rock.
So that it should not lead me with its cold
Thither, where 1 shall be as dead with cold.

simply, as before, a tour de force, as of one who can dance his
hornpipe even in the heaviest fetters, exulting in the fact that he
at least keeps time ; that he can, even under this almost unendur-
able restiaint, succeed in making the verses say what he meant
them to say. It seems to me idle, in such a case, to draw bio-
graphical inferences and to identify the " Pietra " of the poem with
a supposed Pietra de' Scrovigni of Padua as one of Dante's lady-
loves (comp. Cam. 9, «.)• So far as the poem expresses a real
feeling, I refer it, as in the preceding poems, to Philosophy, as in
the '^ dnnna gentile" of the second stage of the Trilogy of the
poet's life.

20 Xhe thought connects itself with the belief that precious
stones, such as carbuncle, amethyst, heliotrope, or bloodstone (//.
xxiv. 93), and the like, derived their special virtues directly from
the sun.

IT 113 H

CANZONIERE

Thou knowest, O Sire, that by the freezing

cold, '

Water becomes a solid crystal rock,
Beneath the north-wind and its piercing

cold.
And aye the air, through elemental cold.
Is changed, that water, as a lady fair.
Reigns in that clime by reason of the cold. '
So before look that seemeth icy cold,
Freezes my very blood full many a time.
And that same thought which shortens most

my time
Is all transformed into a humour cold.
Which, through mine eyes, doth find its way

to light.
There, where it first received that ruthless

light.

In her is met all beauty's varied light,
As also of all cruelty the cold
Runs to her heart, where dwelleth not thy

light;
Since in my eyes she shines with such a

light.
When I behold her, that her form in rock
I see, or wheresoe'er I turn my light.
And from her eyes there comes so sweet a

light.
That I care not for other ladies fair.
Would that she were more piteous Lady

fair
To me, who ask of her, in dark and light.
To serve her only in each place and time.
Nor for aught else desire to live long

time.

114

CANZONIERE

Wherefore, O Power, that art before all time.
Before all motion and material light, *°

Pity thou me, who pass such grievous time.
Seek thou her heart now, for it is full time.
So that through thee may vanish all the cold.
Which lets me not, like others, live my time ;
For if there comes on me thy tempest time "
In this my state, that fair and goodly rock
Will see me slain and sepulchred in rock.
Never to rise again till past is Time,
When I shall see if ever lady fair
Was pitiless as is this Lady fair. ""

My Song, I bear in mind a Lady fair,
Such that she is to me as flinty rock ;
Give thou me courage, where all men seem

cold.
So that r dare, in spite of all that cold,
That new thing which thy form shall bring

to light, ^

Which never hath been done at any time.

65 We are reminded of Milton's " Things unattempted yet in
prose or rhyme."

'«S

Yf

CANZONIERE

CANZONE XI /^^^^''X^"]

v ^ V ( < 0 ^« < ^ WINTER ,/ .^ ,0 ^ 1-1^ ^, ^^ J

7o son -venuto al funto della rota

I to that point in the great wheel have come,
Wherein the horizon, when the sun doth set,
Brings forth the twin-starred heaven to our

sight;
And Love's fair star away from us doth roam,
Through the bright rays obliquely on it met '
In such wise that they veil its tender light;
That planet, which makes keen the cold of

night.
Shows himself to us in the circle great,
Where each star of the seven casts little

shade :
Yet lighter is not made ^^

One single thought of Love, that, with its

weight,
O'erloads my soul that is more hard than

rock.
For its fast hold of image all of rock.

CANZONE XI

1-10 We note the display of astronomical knowledge as reminding
us of numerous passages of the Commedia {Purg. ii. i-6, ix. 1-9,
XXV. 1-6, xxvii. 1-6, et al.). The fact to be stated is that it is
winter, when the sun is in Capricorn, when therefore the opposite
sign of the zodiac, the Gemini, ri^es as the sun is setting. Possibly
the verses that follow describe phenomena that met in some given
year, and if we could ascertain these (which, as yet, however, com-
mentators have not succeeded in doing), we might be able to fix the
date of the Canzone with absolute precision.

' The planet is Saturn, the coldest of the planets, to the influ-
ence of which was traced the severity of an exceptionally hard
116

CANZONIERE

There riseth up from Ethiopia's sands

A wind from far-off clime which rends the

air, »»

Through the sun's orb that heats it with its

ray.
The sea it crosses ; thence, o'er all the lands
Such clouds it brings that but for wind more

fair,
O'er all our hemisphere 'twould hold its sway;
And then it breaks, and falls in whitest spray ^
Of frozen snow and pestilential showers.
Whence all the air is filled with wail and

woe;
Yet Love who, when winds blow,
Draws up his net to heaven's eternal bowers,
Leaveth me not ; so dear a lady fair ^

Is found that proud one, mine own Lady fair.

Fled far is every bird that loves the heat
From Europe's clime, where evermore are •

seen
The seven bright stars that are the lords of

cold;
And others cease awhile their warblings

sweet, ^

To sound no more until the Spring be green,
Unless their song by sorrow be controlled :
And all the creatures that are gay and bold

winter. I follow Krafft and Witte in thus interpreting. The
phenomena of Ndture might seem to wither all tender emotions,
but the mind of the singer is still weighed down with the sad
memories of a love unreciprocated.

1* The south wind blows, and brings with it clouds which dis-
charge themselves in snow and rain, but still there is no change of
feeling, for the beloved one is still obdurate. I look on the poem
as describing, like its predecessors, the struggles of the seeker after
wisdom, who woos Philosophy and feels that he woos in vain, as far
as the full fruition of wisdom is concerned.

^^ Many birds have fled from Europe, which never loses sight
117

CANZONIERE

By nature, are from Love emancipate,
Because the cold their spirits' strength doth

kill: ^

Yet mine more Love doth fill ;
For my sweet thoughts still keep their first

estate,
Nor are they given me by the change of

time;
My Lady gives them in her youth's brief

time.

Now have the green leaves passed their fixed

bound, *">

Which the Ram's power to spring-tide life

did stir.
To clothe the world ; and all the grass is

dead.
And each fair bough of verdure stript is

found.
Unless it be in laurel, pine, or fir.
Or whatsoe'er its verdure doth not shed ; **
And now the season is so keen and dread,
It blights the flowerets on each wide cham-
paign.
And ill by them the hoar-frost keen is borne ;

Yet the sharp amorous thorn
Love from my heart will not draw out again, *"
For I to bear it still am strong alway.
Long as I live, though I should live alway.

of the Seven Stars of the North (Ursa Major ; comp. Purg. i. 30,
XXX. i), to a warmer clime. Those that remain and all other living
creatures feel the icy spell of winter and hybernate in silence, but
love is still glowing m the soul, for it does not depend on the change
of seasons, but on the might of its beloved one.

*0 The leaves which spring (Aries, as in H. i. 38) had called forth
are all, evergreens excepted, withered, but the lover's heart is still
pricked with the thorn of sorrow, and will be so for ever.
118

CANZONIERE

The watery mists enshrouded pour their stream
From vapours that earth holds within her

womb,
And sendeth upwards from the vasty deep ; **
And so the path on which the sun did gleam,
And gave me joy, a river is become,
And shall be long as winter sway doth keep.
Earth like a white enamelled form doth

sleep ;
And the still water turneth all to glass, *•

Through the sharp cold that binds it from

afar :
Yet I from this my war
Have not turned back a single step to pass;
Nor will I turn ; for, if the pain is sweet.
Death must surpass whatever else is sweet. ^

What then, my Canzon', will become of me
In the sweet spring-tide season when with

showers
Love the wide earth from all the heavens

shall fill :
When, in this freezing chill,
Love doth in me, not elsewhere, show his

powers ? "^

'Twill be the state of one as marble cold.
If maiden fair for heart hath marble cold.

63 The winter torrents rush down the watercourses that had been
dry in summer, and the earth is frozen, but the warfare goes on.
We note that the poet describes an Italian winter. The earth is
frozen, but not the rivers or the lakes. The very pain of the con-
flict is sweet. How far sweeter will be death that ends it !_

•*6 If this is the poet's state in winter, what will it be in spring,
when love is stronger? If the beloved one still shows a heart of
stone, the lover will be a stone also. As far as I know, the commen-
tators who play the part of detectives have not found the Casentino
latly or Gentucca in the '^ pargoletta" of the concluding lines,
perhaps, as Witte says, through pure inattention. In the Convito, had
It been completed, she would probably have appeared as Philosophy.
119

CANZONIERE

:anzone XII (^^ V.^J

RETURN OF SPRING
Amor, cht muov't tua virtu dal cielo

Love, who from Heaven thy virtue dost

unfold.
As the sun doth its light,
For there we learn most clearly what its

might,
Where its rays find the greatest nobleness;
And, as far off he drives the dark and

cold,
So thou, great Lord, enthronM in the

height,
In others' hearts all vile thoughts putt'st to

flight,
Nor against thee can wrath long conflict

press.
Well may each soul feel all thy power to

bless.
Which the whole world is striving to attain. '*•

Without thee lieth slain
Whatever power we have of doing good ;
E'en as a picture in the darkness seen,

Which cannot so be showed,
Nor give delight of varied skill and scene. ^*

CANZONE XII

1 The Canzone js quoted in V. E. ii. s, ii. Winter has passed

into spring, and with it come the sweet influences of love that warm

men's blood Without love our best efforts are but as a picture in a

dark place, where we can see neither form nor colour.

IZO

CANZONIERE

Upon my heart there smiteth still thy light.
As on the star, sun's ray.
Since that my soul as handmaid owned the

sway,
Ftom ray first youth, of thy supernal power :
Hence a thought springs to life which guides
her right, ^

With speech of subtle play.
To let my glance o'er each fair object stray
With more delight, the more it charms the

hour.
And through this gazing, to my spirit's bower
A Maiden fair, who hath enslaved me, came, **

And in me kindled flame.
As water, through its clearness, kindleth fire;
For at her coming those bright rays of thine.

With splendour I admire.
In those her fair eyes upward leap and shine. ^

Fair as she is in essence, and benign

In act, and full of love,
So still my fancy, which doth restless rove,
Doth paint her in my mind, where is her seat.
Not that it is itself so subtly fine ^

Such high emprise to prove,
But in thy might it onward dares to move

18 As the light to the eye, so is the light of love to the poet's
heart. Therefore he turns to all forms of visible beauty, at>d so a
maiden presents herself to him, in whom we recognise the familiar
features of Philosophy as the "donna gentile." Cold herself, she,
like a glass sphere full of water, kindles fire. One notes the simili-
tude as coming from the student of natural science (Par. ii 97-102).
Possibly, however, the words may simply describe the reflection of
fire in water.

17 Mediaeval astronomy taught that the light of the fixed stars
as well as of the planets was derived from the sun (Par. xxiii.
30, «.).

^1 Yet it is not so much her own beauty in itself as the power

of love that works through it that sways the soul. So fire neither

121

CANZONIERE

Beyond the power which Nature gives to us.
And with thy power her beauty groweth thus
As we may judge of work wrought out com-
plete, *°

On subject fit and meet.
E'en as the sun is archetype of fire,
Which nor gives power to him nor takes
away,

But lifts elsewhere far higher
The blissful influence of his glorious ray. **

Therefore, O Sire, of such a nature kind.
That this nobility.
Bestowed on earth, and all benignity
Doth from thy fount on high for ever flow.
Look on my life, my life so hard, with mind ^

And look of sympathy;
For thy fierce heat, through her fair majesty,
Pervades my heart with great excess of woe.
Oh ! by thy sweetness. Love, cause her to

know
The great desire I have on her to look ; "

I pray thee do not brook
That she, in her fresh youth, my life should

wrong ;
For she as yet sees not how she doth please.

Nor how my love is strong.
Nor how that in her eyes she bears my

peace. ^

adds to the sun's heat nor takes away, yet primatlly derives its
power from the sun as the source of all light and heat.

*8 Therefore the poet prays love to help him to make the object
of his love feel how greatly he desires to see her. Without that
knowledge she, in her youthful beauty, might inflict a pain which
she would shrink from inflicting, simply because she did not know
that i'j her eyes her lover found his peace.
122

CANZONIERE

Great honour will be thine if thou shalt aid,
And mine a gift full rare,

Beyond all knowledge, for I now am there,

Where e'en my life I can no more defend;

For all my spirits are so spent and frayed, ®*
That scarce can I declare.
Unless thy will shall pardon their despair.
How they can long endure, nor have an end.
Still to thy power shall men in homage bend.
In this fair Lady seen of worthiest might; ^°

For still, it seems, 'tis right,
To give her of all good great company.
As one who in the world her station took

To hold her sovereignty
Over the minds of all that on her look. ^^

Song, to the three least guilty of our land
Take thou thy way before thou elsewhere go;
Salute the two, and see thy power thou show.
To draw the third from evil company:
Tell them that good against good lifts not

hand, ««

Before with evil ones its strength it show:
Tell them that he is mad who doth not know,
Through fear of shame, from madness far to

flee.
He only fears who shrinks from war with ill,
For fleeing this all good he gains at will. ^

81 Such is the state in which the singer finds himself, that unless
love comes to his aid, destruction seems imminent. Will he not
incline the fair one to thoughts of pity?

78 The "envoy" of the Canzone is not admitted by Witte and
KraflFt as belonging to it. We ask in vain, in any case, who were
the three least guilty to whom it was addressed. The names which
suggest themselves as possible are Dino Compagni, G. Villani,
Jacopo di Certaldo (Faur. i. 201). Some light might be thrown on
the politics of Florence and on Dante's life if we could discover
why two out of the three are simply greeted, while the third
123

CANZONIERE

CANZONE XIII '^A^Tji

h wu» ^ ^ jhim- Im grmi fmtamut

I FEEL SO mach the potency of Lotc

That I may not endure
Long while to suffer; whence I sorrow so,
Because his might doth hourly stronger prore.

And I feel mine so poor ' -

Become, from wonted use I fall below.
I ask not Love beyond my wish to go;
For should he do as much as will demands.
That strength which Nature gave into my

hands
Would fail to meet it, vanquished in the strife: *
And this is that which worketh keenest woe.
That power keeps not its faith to will's com-
mands;
But if in will to good our guerdon stands,
I ask to gain a little longer life
From that sweet splendour of the beauteous

eyes, »

Which comfort brings, to soothe Love's agonies.

iecei»e& a special exboctatio* to tmemi Us wt^fi. If ve ooald
assarae a date for the Cmmamt befoce A.n. t joo^ «e Migllt dkak of
Gukio Cavalcanti as fiffiag to sya|iotibise wtth his fitiead*s |— ^ttI
of rhflnwophy, and drifting to tok timmmm ■alcrafisa.

CANZONE Xni

1 TW cwwtng power of love brings pain and Ae aeaae of
Strensth must be soucht 6oa the farighft eyes of Ak
t, £«., as in C^mp. iL 16^ fitOM Ae "ifc—iliitii»i of

124

CANZONIERE

The rays of those bright eyes find entrance

wide
To mine, which Love doth sway
And where I bitter taste, they sweetness bear.
And know the road, as travellers who have

tried, 20

Before, the well-trod way;
And know the place where they with Love did

fare.
When through mine eyes they brought and

left him there.
Wherefore they turn to me and show me grace:
And they wrong her, whose service I embrace, ^
Hiding from me who love with such keen fire,
That only for her service life is dear;
And all my thoughts, where Love fills every space.
As to their banner, to her service pace:
Wherefore to work for her I so desire **

That if I thought 'twould please her I should

fly.
Light were the task, yet know I, I should die.

Full true is Love which thus hath captured me

And bindeth me full fast.
Since I would do for him what now I say; ^

For no love with that love compared may be.

Which finds its joy at last
In death, another's wishes to obey:
And over me such purpose held its sway,

17 Those eyes have such a power to kindle love that the poet's
life is only dear to hira so far as it enables him to serve her. Yes, if
it would please her, he would be content to leave her, though he
knows that it would bring death.

33 The highest form of love is to seek death, if only that may be
a true form of service and help to the beloved one. He is her
servant, in the true sense of Uie word, a cavaliere servente. If her
youth (possibly his own youth or his inexperience as a student ot
Philosophy) denies him a present reward, he is content to wait.
125

CANZONIERE

As soon as that strong passion, in its might, *°
Was born from the exceeding great delight
Of her fair face in whom all beauty dwells.
Her slave am I, and when my fond thoughts

stray
On what she is, I am contented quite.
For well against his will may man serve right; *^
And if my youth all hope of prize repels,
I wait a time when reason shall mature,
If only life may long enough endure.

When in my thoughts on longing sweet I

dwell.
Of greater longings born, ^

Which all my power to deeds of goodness

woo.
My payment seems my service to excel;

And with more wrong is borne
By me, so deem I, name of servant true;
Thus in her eyes in whom my joy I view, ^*

Service is found, at others' hands, full pay.
But since beyond the truth I will not stray,
'Tis meet such longing should as service

count.
For if I seek my labours to pursue,
Not so on mine own good my fond thoughts

stay «*■

As upon hers who o'er me holdeth sway.
For this I do that she may higher mount;
And I am wholly hers, attaining this,
That Love has made me worthy of such bliss.

*9 Nay, but he is more than paid for a service which is its own
exceeding great reward. His service too is little more than the
will to serve, but the will may be counted for the deed.
126

CANZONIERE

No power but Love could me of such mood make,**

That I might worthily
Belong to her who yields not to Love's sway,
But stands as queen, who little heed doth take

Of love's intensity,
Who without her can never pass a day. ""

Ne'er have I seen her but she did display
A beauty new that still in her I found.
Whence in me Love's great might doth more

abound.
E'en as new joy is added to the old;
And hence it chances that I still do stay '*

In one condition, and Love me doth meet
With such keen anguish and such rapture sweet.
For all the time he lays on me his hold.
Which lasts from when I lost her from my view,
E'en to that hour when she is seen anew. ^

My Canzon' fair, if thou art like to me.

Thou wilt not look with scorn
As much as might befit thy goodness sweet;
Wherefore I pray that thou learn subtlety,

Dear song of true Love born, ^

To take the way and method that is meet.
If true knight thee with offered welcome greet;

6* Yet his passion is not returned. She (Philosophy) looks
calmly on. While he finds fresh beauty iu her face, a new pain
and a new joy, he does not find in her the fruition which he seeks.
She does not satisfy his quenchless thirst (Ccnv. iii. 15, iv. 12, 13).
In Par. iii. 70-90 we have the report of a different and higher
experience.

•ii As with Cam. xii.. so here the "envoi" seems to conceal a
hidden meaning. Is this " sect," the members of which alone it is
to trust, that of the seekers after wisdom, or Ghibelline idealists?
Each theory has its supporters. So the wicked of the last line are
either generally those who sin against truth and righteousness, or
especially the Guelph Neri of Florence. This stanza, it may be
noted, is not found in many MSS., and some editors (Witte) have
put the last stanza of Cam. xii. in the place which Fraticelli assigns
to this.

127

CANZONIERE

Before thou yield thyself to do his will.
See if his soul with thy love thou canst fill,
And if thou canst not, quickly let him go;
For good with good still sitteth on one seat.
But oft it chances one doth find him still
In such a company he fares but ill,
Through evil fame that others on him blow.
With the base dwell not, or in mind or heart;
For never was it wise to take their part.

i

•^»A,-_U CANZONE XIV '» - Cj-^^^

.^■■'il

THE ANGELS OF THE THIRD HEAVEN

'Jx

Vo'iy che, intendendo, ii terzo ciel movete

Ye who with wisdom high the third heaven
move.
Hear ye the reasonings that are in my heart;
I may not others tell, they seem so new.
The sphere whose motion from your might
doth start,

CANZONE XIV

This Canzone has for us the interest of being the first of the four-
teen of which the Convito, had it been completed, would have been
the exposition, and which is accordingly expounded at length in
Conv. li. In that work he defends himself against the charge of
having transferred the love which he had given to Beatrice to
another human object, and explains that the lady of whom the
Canzone speaks is none other than Philosophy, the daughter of the
great Emperor of the Universe. I agree with Witte and Krafft in
looking on the allegorical explanation as an afterthought, and hold
that the "letter" of a true history is to be found. V. JV. c. 36-40.

1 The third heaven is the sphere of Venus, as in Par. viii. 1-12 ;

Conv. u. 6. And in accordance with Dante's astronomy it is

128

CANZONIERE

Kind beings that ye are and full of love, *

Me to this state in which I now live drew;
Whence of the life I lead, an utterance true
To you might be addressed most worthily.
Wherefore I pray you that ye give me ear :
I of my heart to you new tidings bear ^^

How my sad soul breathes there full many a

sigh,
And how a spirit pleads those sighs to bar,
Which Cometh in the rays of your bright star.

As life in my sad heart was wont to be
A tender thought which oftentimes would

go.
And of your Lord and Master seek the feet,
Where a fair dame it saw all glorious show.
Of whom it spoke to me so pleasantly.
That ray soul said, "I too would thither

fleet."
Now appears one who bids that thought

retreat ; ^

And with such great might lords it over me,
That my heart throbs and brings its grief to

light.
He on another lady turns my sight.
And saith, "Who seeks true blessedness to

see.
Let him upon the eyes of this dame look, ^^
If he can sighs and anguish bravely brook."

moved by angels, or, more scientifically, by intelligent powers
{Conv. iv. ig), whose volition suffices for that purpose {Par. viii.
37, xxvii. 114). The influence of that planet has made him sorrow-
ful. He will tell them the tale of his woe. A comparison of y. JV.
c 36 with Conv. v. 2, 13, fixes the date of the Cartzone between
1292 and 1295, probably in the latter year.

f* The sweet thought is the memory of Beatrice as now glorified.
He would fain draw near to her. But then another thought drives
that out. There is a new master-passion. The love of Philosophy
IV IZ9 I

CANZONIERE

A spirit findeth, hostile to the death,

That meek thought that was wont to speak

to me
Of a dear angel, who is crowned in Heaven.
My soul bewails, so great its misery, ^

And saith, "Alas ! how from me vanisheth
That piteous thought which me hath comfort

given,"
Speaks of mine eyes, and saith this soul grief-
riven,
"What hour was that such lady them beheld?
And why believed they not my speech of

her?" "

I said, " Needs must he have his station there
In her bright eyes, who all my peers hath

quelled;"
And it availed not when I her had seen
That they saw him not, who my death hath
been.

"Thou art not dead, but thou art stupefied, *"
O soul of mine, who dost so sadly wail."
So speaks a spirit filled with gentlest love,
"For this fair dame who o'er thee doth

prevail.
Hath all thy life so changed and modified,

(I use the term to distinguish it from the heavenly wisdom of which
Beatrice was the representative) is driving out the memory of the
past.

27 Still, however, that memory, as of an angel crowned in heaven,
keeps its ground. But then, so far as it does, the new consoling
passion withdraws its influence and its joy. So he is in a strait
between two. Was it not an evil day when Philosophy drew him
iVom Beatrice? He knows that that new passion slays the peace
of those who have resumed the common pleasures and low am-
bitions of mankind {Conv. ii. i6), or who, like himself, are eager to
plunge into all mysteries and all knowledge.

*" The spirit of Love pleads the cause of Philosophy. It was not
death, but fear that oppressed him. The new mistress of his

CANZONIERE

That thou fear'st her, so recreant dost thou

prove ; *^

Behold how meek and gracious she doth

move,
How courteous in her greatness, and how

wise;
And in thy thought thy mistress let her be.
For if thyself thou do not cheat, thou'lt see
Such wealth of marvels and of mysteries, ^
That thou wilt say, 'O Love, mine own true

Lord, •

Behold thine handmaid ; work thou out thy

word.' "

Canzon', 1 deem that they will be but few
Who will thy meaning rightly understand.
So difficult and laboured is thy speech : ^

Whence if, perchance, such fortune thee

attend
That thou thy way to any should'st pursue
Who seem not 'ware what lore thine accents

teach,
I pray thee then, thou yet some comfort

reach.
By telling them, my tender, darling lamb, *
"At least take heed how beautiful I am."

soul had transformed his life, and, if he were faithful to her, he
would see yet greater wonders. Then his soul would be able to
say, " Behold thy handmaid ; work thou thy will on me " (Purg'. x.
44). The words are quoted iu the last-named passage, however,
as an example of the humility which in the later stage of his spiri-
tual life the poet had found to be more precious even than
Philosophy. Here again the Cotntnedia is the recantation of the
Con vito.

M There is obviously a sense of satisfaction in the thought that
the Canzone will be " caviare to the general." The poet's desire is
to speak what the wise will understand, while even those who fail
to grasp the inner meaning cannot fail to admire the beauty of the
verse. The tomata is translated in the Pre/ace to Shelley's
Epipsychidion,

131

CANZONIERE

r>^^^x^-.Jt- CANZONE XV 1 • C-v^w

fijiJ-r-i^<. ^"^ THE MIRACLE OF BEAUTY j^

' <. «, <^.^v. — } j4mor che nella mente mi raghna

Love, who doth often with my mind converse,
In eager longing, of my Lady fair.
Often of her doth utter things so rare
That all my reason goes thereon astray.
His speech such strains of sweetness doth

rehearse, '^

That my weak soul that listens and doth

hear,
Doth say, "Ah me ! for I no power do bear
To tell what he doth of my Lady say.
'Tis certain it behoves I put away,
If I would treat of what I hear of her, ^°

That which my mind fails utterly to reach,

And much of clearer speech ;
For want of knowledge then would me

deter."

Wherefore if these my rhymes be found to fail.
Which fain a worthy praise would minister, **
My feeble mind let all the blame assail.
And this our speech which hath no power to

spell
All that of her it hears Love often tell.

CANZONE XV

1-18 The second of the poems expounded in the Convito (B. iii.).

As in Purg. xxiv. 52, the poet claims the merit of writing as love

taught him to write. But he feels the impotence of speech to repro-

132

CANZONIERE

The Sun, that all the world encompasseth,

Sees nothing half so lovely any hour, ^

As when he shines where resteth in her

bower
The Lady for whose praise my tongue Love

frees.
Each spirit high sees her and wondereth,
And all the tribe that here own Love's sweet

power,
Shall find her presence as their thoughts*

high dower, ^

When Love gives them perception of her

peace ;
So doth her nature Him who gives it please,
Who aye in her His virtue doth infuse
Beyond our Nature's utmost claim or plea.

The soul of purity, *•

Which this great grace of healing power

imbues,
That gift displays, in that which it doth

guide.
For her fair form is that which eyesight

views;
And still their eyes who in her light abide
Send envoys to the heart whose wishes rise ^
In the clear air, and take the form of sighs.

duce what he has thus heard of his beloved one, the Philosophy who
now sways his soul. For a time, on which he afterwards looked
back with self-reproach and penitence {Purg. xxxi. 55-60), the.con-
flict described in Cam. xiv. had ceased, and Beatrice was practi-
cally superseded and dethroned by the new passion.

19-36 The parable is so well sustained, that, but for the exposition
in Conv. iii., we should be half tempted to think that it was Beatrice,
and not Philosophy that is spoken of. We have, as in Prov. viii.
22-31, Wisd. vii. 22-30, a picture of the beauty of Wisdom clad in
visible form, whose eyes are the higher and more transcendent
truths which she reveals to those who seek her. It is noticeable
that the ."sapiential books of the Bible — Proverbs, Ecclesiastes,
Wisdom, Kcclesiasticus — are those which he chiefly quotes in the

CANZONIERE

On her God's grace descendcth from on high,
As on an angel who His presence sees,
And if a gentle Lady's faith should cease.
Walk she with her, and see her bearing sweet. *°
There, where she speaks, doth ever down-
ward fly,
A heavenly spirit witnessing with these
How the high power she owns by heaven's

decrees
Goes beyond all things that for us are meet.
The gentle acts wherewith she all doth greet *^
Go calling upon Love in rivalry.
With speech that makes him lend a listening
ear.
Of her we this may hear.
"What in fair dame is kind in her we see,
And she is fair who most resembles her." *°
And we may hear that this her beauty free
Helps to gain faith for what doth wonder stir.
And thus our faith doth confirmation gain
From her, for this the Eternal did ordain.

Things in her aspect are made manifest "

That witness of the bliss of Paradise;
Of her sweet smile I speak, and beaming eyes,
Which Love brings there, the place of their

desire.
Our feeble mind by them is all opprest,

Convito. Then he thought that they spoke of the purely intellec-
tual philosophy to which he had devoted himself. Afterwards he
learnt to connect them with the higher spiritual wisdom of which
not the " donna gentile," but Beatrice was the symbol.

SJ-** In that Philosophy there is a virtue like that which belongs
to the angel who stands in the presence of God, as the Cherubim
and Seraphim stand (Par. xxi. 92). Whatever there is of gentle-
ness and beauty in human form is but the reflection of her loveli-
ness.

W-W In her beauty, her eyes, and her smile there is the joy of

CANZONIERE

As when the sun on vision weak doth rise: **
And since I may not gaze in steadfast wise.
Needs must I not beyond short speech aspire.
Her beauty showers down tongues of living fire,
All animate with spirit good and kind.
Which is the parent of all noble thought; *

And as with lightning fraught
They break the innate sins which shame and

blind.
Wherefore if any lady thinks that less
Of praise she hath for looks of haughty mind.
Let her behold this type of lowliness. '"

She is it who doth humble hearts perverse;
She was His thought, who launched the

universe.

My Song, it seems thou speak'st in diverse tones
From speech that came from sister fair of thine;
For this fair lady, who with thee doth shine ^*
As lowly, she calls proud and arrogant.
Thou know'st that heaven is clear and

bright alone.
And in itself nought mars its light divine.
But for full many a cause these eyes of mine

Paradise. The vices thaf cloud the soul perish in her presence.
And yet she is the pattern of all lowliness, even while she brings
low the perverseness of the proud. The eyes and the smile remind
us of Beatrice in Par. xxi. i, xxii. ii, xxiii. 48, but the comparison
of the two descriptions leads to the conclusion that what is here
said of Philosophy is re-transferred afterwards, in the closing and
higher experience, to the diviner Wisdom.

73-90 The reference is to Ball, x., in which he had spoken of the
mistress of his soul, now identified with Philosophy, as proid and
disdainful, as in Cam. vi. Dante luoks on his poems as forming
a sisterhood of song. The explanation of the apparent contradiction
is that the eye sees what it has the power to see. The sun, or,
better perhaps, the starry firmament, seems dim to those whose
sight is weak (a touch, it may be, of personal experience, Conv. iii.
9), and Wisdom seems stern to those who are yet in the early stages
of their search after her. The reader will remember the two faces

135

CANZONIERE

Deem the sun's glory dimmed as by a 'cloud. *•
Thus, when thy sister calls her stern and

proud,
She thinks not of her as she is in truth.
But only as to her she doth appear;

For my soul lived in fear,
And feareth still, so that devoid of ruth ^

She seems, vvhen I perc«ve she seeth me.
Thus plead, if any need arise, in sooth.
And when thou com'st, and she shall look

on thee.
Say thou, " O Lady, if it please thee well,
I will on every side thy praises tell." ^

2-

Kt.w-.<. CANZONE XVI i^'(^'--^j

TRUE NOBILITY
Le dolci rime et amore, cK io solia

The pleasant rhymes of Love which 'twas my
care
To seek out in my mind,
I now must leave, not that no hope I find

To turn to them again;
But that the mien disdainful and unkind, '
Which in my lady fair

of Wisdom in Giotto's fresco at Assisi. Comp. also Ecclus. iv. 17,
18, and Ball, x., n.

CANZONE XVI

1-20 xhe third of the Convito poems, expounded in B. iv. The

thought of the reserved and, as it were, disdainful aspect of Wisdom,

136

CANZONIERE

Hath shown itself, hath barred the thorough-
fare

Of wonted speech and plain.
And since to wait good reason doth con-
strain,
I now will lay aside my sweeter style, "

Which, when I write of love, pervadeth all,

And that high worth recall.
Through which a man grows noble without
guile,

With keen sharp rhymes awhile
Reproving still the judgment false and vile **
Of those who think that true nobility

In hoarded wealth doth lie;
And, at the outset on that Lord I call.
Who makes his dwelling in my Lady's eyes.
Whereby in her love of herself doth rise. ''"

One ruled of old, who thought nobility —
So he, at least, did deem —
In ancient wealth was found and high
esteem
With ordered life and fair:
Another did of poorer wisdom seem, ^*

Who scorned that maxim high,

to which reference had been made in the last stanza of Cam. xv.,
returns, and therefore the poet will for a time cease to sing her
pTai!>es and turn to another subject, the nature of true nobility. He
wishes to show how false is thejudgmentof the crowds who identify
it with wealth. One may trace, if I mistake not, in this change
of subject the beginning of the dissatisfaction with the pursuit of
Philosophy which uttered itself in the confessions of Purg. xxxi
and the joy of the Paradiso. He had found himself face to face
with problems which he could not solve, and which he afterwards
came to look upon as trivial {Conv. iv. a ; Par. xiii. 97-102).

21-40 The saying discussed is traditionally referred (we have
nothing, however, but the tradition) to the Emperor Frederick II.
That saying was but partially true at the best. Others had brought
it down to a yet lower level by omitting the condition expressed in
its closing words. Ancestry and wealth were believed to be an
adequate definition of nobility.

137

CANZONIERE

And thereof let the latter clause go by.

Having, perchance, nought there.
And after such as he all others fare,
Who reckon noble men by ancestry, ^

Which for long years hath run through
wealthy line.

And so long such malign,
False judgment among us hath come to be, ^

That him distinguish we
As noble who can say, " Behold in me ^

Grandson or son of knight who nobly
fought,"

Though his own worth be nought:
But basest he to those who truth divine,
Who sees the road and then doth turn aside,
Like one who, dead, doth yet on earth

abide. «

Whoso defined man as " a tree that lives '*
First says what is not true,
And with that falsehood takes defective
view;
May be, he sees no more.
So he who weighty cares of empire knew, *'

False definition gives;
For first he speaks what's false, and next
perceives
But half the truer lore.
For neither, as men think, can wealth's full
store,

41-60 Xhe definition is as imperfect as though one should define
man as a living tree, which would only be so far true as it predicated
life as part of man's being. Riches, as such, can give no real noble-
ness of character. The comparison that follows indicates Dante's
insight into the secret of all completeness in art. The artist who
paints must become like that which he depicts, or else he fails.
*' Fra Angelico could not paint the fiery glow of passion, nor
138

CANZONIERE

Or give nobility, or take away, "^

Because of its own nature it is base.

For he who paints a face
Must first ie that, ere picture it he may:

Nor can the river sway
A steadfast tower, as it from far doth stray. *'
That wealth is vile and incomplete 'tis
plain;

However much we gain,
It brings no rest, but heaps up cares apace;
Wherefore the soul that upright is and true,
Their loss with calm and tranquil mind doth
view. ®°

Nor let men deem a base churl can attain
To honour true; or that from churlish sire
A race may spring that shall to fame aspire:

This by them stands confest;
Thus do their self-confuted proofs retire, *®

So far as they maintain
That time to honour true doth appertain,

As is by them exprest.
And hence it follows from what they attest
That all of us or noble are or base, '°

Or that man never had beginning true:

But I take not this view,

Michael Angelo the joy of devout resignation " ( Witte). The other
simile compares true nobility to the tower standing on a rock, past
which the stream of earthly fortune and its chances flow by, leaving
it unshaken. Comp. H. vii. 61-96.

71-80 Xhe other part of the definition is now discussed. Does
nobility depend on a long line of ancestors ? To assert this is to
run counter to facts. The common man may rise ; the high-born
man may fall. Yes ; there must have been a time in every family
when its founder first rose to greatness, and became noble though
he had no noble ancestors. If the noble and the vulgar are so only
by heredity, then we are all of us gentle or simple by birth ; but
that assumption is at variance with the doctrine of the unity of the
human race as descended from Adam, and therefore no Christian
139

CANZONIERE

Nor even they, if they have Christian grace.

To minds in healthy case,
'Tis therefore clear their maxims have no

base, '^

And therefore them as false I still reprove,

And far from them remove.
And now will, as I think, proclaim anew.
What is the true Noblesse, and whence it

springs.
And what the notes that name of 'noble'

brings. ^

I say each virtue, in inception.

Comes from a single root,
Virtue, I mean, with happiness as fruit.

In all its actions right;
This is — so with our Ethics following suit — *

Right choice to habit grown,
The which doth dwell in the true mean
alone.

And such words brings to light.
I say that Noblesse doth, by reason's might.
Connote all good in him of whom 'tis said; **
As baseness evermore connoteth ill:

And such a virtue still

can receive it. Dante had learnt that lesson from his favourite,
Boethius (iiL 6) : —

" Otttne hominum genus in terris
Simili surgii ab ortu,
Unus enim pater est
Unus qui cuncta ministrat."

The two false definitions being cleared away, the ^ound is open for
a truer definition.

81-100 That definition is found in the thought that wherever there
is virtue there we recognise nobility. It does not follow, however,
that the definition is convertible. There may be a nobility of
character, as in youth or maiden, in whom virtue is not yet ethi-
cally complete, whose modest shyness is, in fact, not a virtue, but
almost a defect. Let no man, therefore, boast tnat he it noble
140

CANZONIERE

Gives knowledge of itself to those that seek;

Since 'neath the self-same head
Both meet, in one effect accomplished; ®*

Whence needs must be that this from that
should spring,

Or each some third cause bring;
But if this with the other like worth fill.
And more, that other rather springs from

this:
Proceed we then on this hypothesis. i°°

Noblesse wherever virtue dwells is found.

Virtue where noblesse, no;
E'en as 'tis heaven where'er the sun doth go.

Though not so the converse;
And we see ladies in their youth's fresh

glow, ^°^

With this great blessing crowned.
So far as they in shamefastness abound.

From virtue yet diverse.
Hence must proceed, as from black cometh

perse.
From this last every virtue singular, ""

Or from the parent-stock of all the host.

Wherefore let no man boast.
Saying, " By descent her fellowship I share,"

For all but gods they are
Who have such grace with every fault afar. "*

because he has a long pedigree. God alone gives the true nobility,
and those who have it are sharers, so to speak, in the Divine
nature.

101-120 xhe beauty of the Canzone rises to its highest point, and
we have an ideal picture of a noble life in all its successive stages,
the obedience and modesty of childhood, the temperance and man-
liness of youth, the wisdom, justice, munificence of maturity, the
contemplative devotion of old age. In the last we trace an echo of
what he had learnt from Cic. de Senectute. The thought of the
re-wedding of the soul to God meets us in Purg. zxiii. 8i.
141

125

CANZONIERE

For God alone bestows it on the mind,

Which He doth perfect find,
Resting in Him; so that in few at most
The seed of perfect blessedness is sown,
Planted by God in souls to fitness grown.

The soul whom that high goodness doth
adorn,
Doth not its presence hide.
For from the first she, as the body's bride,

Herself till death displays.
Obedient, gentle, modest, far from pride,

Is she in life's young morn;
And decks herself with many a grace new-
born.
In Wisdom's perfect ways;
Constant and temperate in life's young
days,

141-148 The "envoi" bids the Canzone speed to the mistress of
the poet's soul, i.e., to Philosophy. She will recognise its truth.

We are so familiar with the sentiments embodied in this poem,
that they come to us almost as commonplace platitudes. We must
put ourselves into the poet's position, as standmg apart, on the one
side, from the old feudal nobility of Florence, as represented by the
Uberti, Rusticucci, and others, and, on the other, from the
nouveaitx riches, represented by the Bardi, the Cerchi, and the
Frescobaldi, to understand how he may have seemed to himself to
be uttering a new or neglected truth with almost prophetic
solemnity. In reaching that truth he had to renounce not only
the dommant falsehood of his time, but even the authority of his
great master, Aristotle {Pol. iii. 12, 13), who assigns to ancestral
wealth (opxoidirAovToi) a far larger share in nobility than Dante
does, and to fall back upon what we have learnt to call the " flesh
and blood" argument of the brotherhood of mankind, as children
of the same earthly and the same heavenly Father. If there was
any special nobleness in any man that raised him above his fellows,
it was the gift of God. In Conv. iv. 20 he refers to his master,
Guido Guinicelli, as teaching the same truth in the Sonnet, " Al
cor gentile ripara senipre amore." In doing so he follows Aquinas
(Summ. ii. 2. 134, 3), where he ceased to follow Aristotle {Ozan.
PP- 397-398). Comp. also yEgidius Columna {De Regint. Princi-
pttm, iii. 2, 8). Two of his favourite poets, Ovid and Juvenal,
were probably among his teachers in this matter, and we can
142

CANZONIERE

Full of sweet love and praiseful courtesy, ^^
And finds in loyal deeds her sole delight;

In age's gathering night,
Prudent and just and of her bounty free;

And in her soul joys she
To hear or tell how worthy others be. '^

And then she reaches life's fourth period

Re-married unto God,
Waiting her end in contemplation's light,
And blesseth all the seasons of the past.
See now how many have in lies been cast ! ""

Thou, 'gainst those erring ones, my Song,
shah speed.
And when thou art, indeed,

scarcely fail to recognise echoes of their words in Dante's teaching.
Thus Ovid (Afet. xiii. 140) —

"At genus, et firoavos, et quce uon/ecintus ipsi,
Vix ea nostra voco."

Or Juvenal, Sat. viii. 272-276 —

" Et tamen, ut longe repeias hngegue rez'olvas,
Nomtn, ab in/ami gentent lieduch asylo.
Majorum primus quisquis fuit ttle tuorunt
Aut pastor fitit, aut illud qtuxi dicere nolo"

Or ag^ain Juvenal, Sat. viii. 20 —

" Tota licet veteres exoment undique certe
Atria, nobilitas sola est atque unica virtus"

In connection with Dante's other writings and with hb life, we
may note (i) that he has risen to a higher level of thought than
that of which we find traces in H. xv. 77 ; (2) that many of his
examples of goodness and greatness seem specially chosen to
illustrate the ideal for which he is here contending, as, e.g.,
Romeo in Par. vi. 128-142, Pier Peltinagno in Purg. xiii. 128 ;
(3) that he speaks in the same tone, as of one who had conquered
an error under the power of which he had himself at one time lived,
in Purg. xiii. 133^38 ; Par, xvi. 1-9. We may also, I think,
reasonably conjecture that the Canzone was written when he was
looking for the appearance of Henry VII. as the restorer of an
ideal empire, by the virtues the absence of which had made
Frederick II. its destroyer, and that it had a direct political
purpose in itself, and yet more as expounded in Conv. iv., as scttmg
before that Emperor the principles on which he was to act. If,
with Fiaticelli in O. M. iii. 31-33, we infer from Conv. iv. 3, 6, 16,

143

CANZONIERE

There where our lady fair her home doth

find,
Let not thine errand from her hidden be;

Tell her in verity, "'^

" I of thy true friend come to speak my

mind."

that the Canzone was written before 1300 — and I must own that his
arguments are of considerable weight— then we must look on the
manifesto as addressed to an ideal ruler such as he contemplated
when he wrote the De MonarchiA or H. i. 101-104. Lastly, it is
interesting to note the fact that few if anv of Dante's minor poems
have so impressed themselves on the minds of the generation that
followed. Comp. e.g., Cecco d' Ascoli (Z." Acerba, ii. 12, quoted
in Frat. O. M., 1. p. 190), and our own Chaucer, who quotes from
it as follows : —

" Here may ye see well how that genterie
Is not annexed to possession.

For God it wot, men may ful often find
A lordes son do shame and vilanie.
And he that would have prise of genterie
For he was boren of a gentil hous,
And had his elders noble and vertuous.
And n' ill himself do no gentil dedes,
Ne folowe his gentil auncester that ded is.
He n' is not gentil, be he duk or eri ;
For vilain's sinful dedes make a cherl ;
For gentilesse n' is but the renomee
Of thine auncestres, for hir high bountie,
Which is a strange thing to thy persone ;
Thy gentilesse cometh from God alone."

—H^ife 0/ Bath's Tale.

144

CANZONIERE

CANZONE XVII A/S y^

VIRTUS SOLA NOBILITAS

Poscia cV Amor del tut to m'ha laiciato

Since Love hath ceased my longing soul to fill.

Not by my choice of will.
For still a gladder state I could not know,

But that he pitied so

That anguish of my heart — *

To listen to my wail he could not bear.
Thus, disenamoured, I my song will trill

Against that form of ill
Which will its speech in terms perverse
bestow.

And call the base and low ^^

By name of worthiest part,

CANZONE XVII

1-19 In its form this Canzone presents a singular complication.
Each stanza of nineteen lines is divided into four sub•stan^a.s, the
first of four lines, the other three of five lines each. In each of the
first two, after two terminal rhymes at the beginning of the sub-
stanza, the rhyme is repeated, as in the translation, in the middle
of the third line. In the V. E. (ii. 12) Dante refers to this
Canzone, obviously with a special satisfaction, as giving the effect
in this peculiar rhyming of what he calls an "answering echo."
In its matter it is a kind of corollary from Canz. xvi. Men have
false notions on other matters besides nobility. They call evil
good and good evil, and give the name of gallantry, which ought
to include virtue aud liberality, to its counterfeits. We are
reminded of Tennyson's protest against those who thus abuse the
" grand old name of gentleman."

1-3 The lines find a parallel in the old Latin hymn^

" Blandus hie dolor est.
Qui tneus amor est ; "

and in the lines of Guido of Arezzo {Cam. xxxvi.) —

" Tutio 7 dolor cK to maiportaifu gioja." — (IVitte.
ir 145 K

CANZONIERE

The name of *' gallantry," which sounds so
fair,

That worthy of the rare
Imperial robe it makes him whom it sways.

This the true flag displays '®

Which indicates where Virtue hath her home.
Whence I am sure if her my speech defend

E'en as I apprehend,
That once more Love with favouring grace
shall come.

There are who, squandering all their wealth

away, ^

Believe that thus they may
Their way make thither where the good abide.

Who after death provide

A home within the mind
Of whosoever owneth wisdom true; ^

But to please good men this is not the way;

For greed as wisdom they
Display, and thus would 'scape full many an

To th* error cleaving still.

Of them and of their kind, ■"

In whom false teaching doth their lore
imbue.

Who will not folly view
In banquets rich and light luxurious play.

And proud and rich array,

^'5* So _ men looked on prodigality as a sign of generosity.
Dante, as in Jf. vii. 25-30, and in the teaching of Statius {Purg.
xxii. 31-45). saw that extremes meet, and that it stood on the same
footing of guilt as the avarice which was apparently its opposite
{Conv. iv. 27). What good was there in spending money in
banquets or dress. Manners, not clothes, make the man. Line
35 seems to point to the Italian prac tice of decorating animals that
146

CANZONIERE

As if for sale where buyers are unwise? **

Not by his dress the wise a man's worth
know —
This is but outward show —
But praise true wisdom and brave courtesies.

Others there are who, by the ready sneer.

Would fain appear, *°

Wit-clear, and prompt in ready intellect,
To hearers who are tricked
As they behold them smile
At what their mind doth fail to understand.
They speak in words that show of wisdom

wear, **

And count it dear.
To hear themselves with vulgar praises
decked.
Love ne'er did them affect
With ladies' love awhile:
In converse they all base jests have at

hand, "^

Ne'er would their foot have spanned
One pace for lady's sake, in knightly wise:

But as to robberies
The thief, haste they to steal some pleasure

base;
But not in ladies yet doth fade and die *

True sense of gallantry.
That they should seem to lose all wisdom's
trace,

are exposed for sale in a public market, as e.£'., in the Campo
Vaccino at Rome.

39-57 So, too, men passed for wise because they could smile
superciliously. That might win the praise of the vulgar, but they
know not what true praise or true love is. Their speech is cynical,
their pleasures base. To the women who are worthy of love they
are little better than beasts that have no understanding.

147

CANZONIERE

Virtue that leaves the straight path is not pure.

And hence of blame is sure;
Endure she cannot when we virtue need, *"

In those the good in deed.

By the true Spirit led,
Or habit which on Wisdom lays fast hold.
Therefore, if praise of it in knight endure,

Its cause we find in ure, ^

Full sure, of many mixed things; since indeed

It doth with one succeed.

With others falleth dead.
But Virtue pure its place in all doth hold.

Delight, that doth enfold '^

Within it love, hath thus the work per-
fected.

And by this last directed
Is gallantry, and hath her being there,
E'en as the sun, which gathers in its might

Round it both warmth and light, ''

Together with its form of beauty fair.

Though star with star should, with commingled
ray.
Turn gallantry away
To stray, as much and more than I may tell.
Yet I, who know it well, **

Thanks to a gentle one,
Who showed them to me in each action fair,

58-76 Virtue that leaves the true path is not pure. What is
needed for its perfection, either as in the devout life or as in that
of the students of wisdom, is the union of rectitude, and love, and
pleasantness.

77-95 Though the aspect of the heavens is against true gallantry,
yet the poet, who has seen it embodied in one he loved (obviously
a reference to Beatrice), will not hold his peace. He knows not
whom his song will reach. His hearers may be but few, but he
must bear his witness that there is no true praise but that which is
won by virtue. Witte inverts the order of the fourth and fifth
tanzas.

148

CANZONIERE

Will not be silent, for I should display-
Base soul of mire and clay,

Alway, and with her enemies seem one. ®

So I from this time on
Will with song subtly rare,

Thereof speak truth, not knowing who will
heed;
But this I swear indeed.

By him whose name is Love, of bliss com-
pact, ^
That virtue without act

Can ne'er acquire the guerdon of true praise,

Therefore if this hold good in argument.
As all will give assent,

'Twere virtue, and with virtue knit always. ^

To the great planet it is like, whose might,
From sunrise bright
Till night when it conceals its glorious ray,
And where its bright beams play.
Pours life and strength below, ^"^

As that on which it shines may bear its

power;
So she, in scorn of each unworthy wight

Who, in false light.
True knight appears in form that so
deceives.
That fruits belie their leaves, ^^

Since ill deeds from them flow.
Like gifts upon the gentle heart doth
shower;
Quickly with life doth dower,

96-114 True virtue is like the sun (reckoned in mediaeval astronomy
among the planets), shedding light and heat all around (Far. xxii.
ii6). She scorns all counterfeits of good, and all unworthy knights
are enemies of her who is as the sun m its glory.
149

CANZONIERE

With solace fair, and lovely manners new.
Which each hour brings to view; ™

He who takes her takes virtue as his guide.

O ye false knights, perverse and craven ye.
With her at enmity.

Who like the stars' king shineth far and
wide.

He freely takes and gives whom she doth

own, "*

Nor is with grief o'erdone;
The sun grieves not when it to stars gives
light.
Nor when from them aright
Comes help for its employ,
But each therein finds ever bliss renewed. ^
To wrath he never is by words urged on;

But those alone.
Are known by him, that are both good and
right.
And all his speech is bright.
Dear for himself is he and full of joy, ^^

Desired by wise and good;
For of the viler brood
He prizes equally the praise and blame;
Nor, through the loftiest fame,

118-133 The giving and receiving of 1. 115 are concerned not with
money, but with knowledge. Dante may have had in his thoughts
Augustine's apphcation of the words " God loveth a cheerful giver"
(£>e Catech. Rud. c. 14X Comp. Conv. i. 9. He in whom virtue
dwells gives as the sun gives to the planets and the fixed stars, both
of which were thought to derive from him theu- light, and grieves
not, but rejoices in all reciprocity of good. He is not easily led 10
wrath, is dear to the wise, cares little for the praise or blame of the
unwise, is not easily puffed up, shows his goodness to those who
are worthy of it (//. ii. 61 ; Purg. xi. 100-120). Witte finds a
parallel in the counsel given by St. Philip Neri, " Spernere it
stemi." Alas ! the men that are now do just the opposite of all
Uiis.

150

CANZONIERE

Swells high with pride, but when the time

arrives
When it is fit that he his courage show,

There praise for him doth flow:
Far otherwise than this are most men's lives.

CANZONE XVIII ( ''-^ • V ^ ."^

FREEDOM AND BONDAGE
Doglia mi reca nello core ardire

Grief brings within my heart a spirit bold
To help the will which loveth all that's true;

So, Ladies, if to you
I speak what seems against mankind as
thrown.
Marvel thereat the less; ^

But learn your low desires full cheap to

hold:
For beauty, which through love in you hath
grown
For virtue true alone,

CANZONE XVIIl

1-21 The preacher now takes beauty as his text, and moralises
much as he had done on gallantry. He may seem to say a strange
thing, but if beauty is given to woman, and valour to man, that love
may make of the twain one, then it were well that women should
hide their beauty and turn away from love, for true virtue, as things
are, is rarely to be found. Dante refers to this Canzone in the
V. E. ii. 2 as an example of his work as the " poet of righteousness,"
and apparently (ponv. i. 8) it was intended to nave been the ground-
work of Comi. XV. had the poet completed that work. It is largely
based upon Seneca, De Bene/iciis, ii. 2.

CANZONIERE

By his decree of old was fashioned;

Against which ye transgress. '"

I say to you who Love's great power con-
fess,

That if your dower be beauty.

As ours is virtuous duty,
And unto him is given to make both one.

Ye ought all love to shun, '^

And cover what of beauty is your share.
For that it hath not virtue, love's true sign.

Ah, where drifts speech of mine?

Fair scorn do I opine.
Were rightly honoured in a lady fair, *

Who should her beauty banish from her
care.

Man from himself hath virtue driven away,
True man no more, but brute in man's
estate:
Ah, God! what wonder great,
That man should wish from lord to slave to
fall, »

From life to death descend !
Virtue, to her Creator subject aye,
Obeys Him, giving Him true praise in all.

Ladies, that Love may call
Her as enrolled, where his true subjects

wend, "

In His blest court on high.
From the fair gates she cometh cheerfully.
And to her mistress turns.
Goes gladly and sojourns,

22-42 Yes ; man has become brute (Conv. ii. 7), the master has
become the slave. Virtue is ever true to her Creator, ready for
any service, caring not for death, a possession that is a perpetual
joy.

152

CANZONIERE

And with great joy fulfils her vassalage. "*

Through her short pilgrimage
She keeps, adorns, enriches what she finds,
And warreth so with death, he brings no
fear:

O Maiden pure and dear.

Shaped in the heavenly sphere, *°

Thou only makest noble; proof is this
That thou the treasure art that bringeth
bliss.

Slave, not of true lord, but of slave most base.
He makes himself who from this Master
strays.
Hear now how dear he pays, *^

If ye count up his loss on either side.

Who passeth virtue by :
This master-slave works out such foul dis-
grace.
That the clear eyes that mental light pro-
vide
Through him their vision hide, ^

So that he needs must tread in others' ways.

Where madness meets his eye.
But that my words with profit may apply,
From whole I pass to part.
And to constructive art "

More simple, that they tell an easier tale;

For seldom 'neath a veil
Doth speech obscure approach the mind
aright,

43-63 Look on that picture and then on this. To sen-e Mammon
is to be a "servo signor" the slave of a slave, and to find him the
hardest of all taskmasters. That he may rescue men from such a
bondage the poet will descend to particulars and use all plainness of
speech.

CANZONIERE

And hence with you my wish is to speak
plain.
This do I for your gain — ^

Not mine, I must explain —
That ye may hold each churl in deep

despite;
For too soon likeness springeth from de-
light.

He who is slave is like a man who goes

In his lord's track, and knows not where it
leads, *

But in dark path proceeds;
So fares the miser seeking money still.

Which over all doth reign :
Swift runs the miser, swifter flies repose
(O blinded soul, that neither can nor will ^'^

Discern its wishes ill !)
With that heaped hoard which every hour
exceeds,
And doth no goal attain.
Lo, they reach him who levelling doth
reign:
Tell me, what hast thou won, **

Blind miser, all undone?
Answer, if other answer be than nought.
With curse thy couch is fraught,

M-84 He who seeks to satisfy himself with riches attempts that
which is impossible. He is trying to grasp the infinite, for " Crtscit
amor nummi quantum ipsa fecunta crescit," Juv. xiv. 139 {Cotw.
iii. 15). And when Death, the great leveller, comes, what does he
find then? He can take nothing of all his heaped-up treasures
into the region behind the veiL We are reminded of the old
epitaph —

" What I gnve I have,
What I spent I had,
What I kept I lost."
IS4

CANZONIERE

Which flatters thee with foolish dreams of

night;
Curs'd is thy wasted bread, *

Less lost, if dogs it fed;
At morn and eve thy tread
Was prompt to gather, and with both hands

grip
What fleets so swiftly from thine ownership.

As wealth is gained without proportion due, ^
So is it without due proportion kept.

This is it which hath swept
Many to bondage, and if one repent,

'Tis not without great strife.

0 Death, O Fortune, what is it ye do ? ^
Why not set free the wealth which is not

spent ?
If thus, for whom is't meant?

1 know not; we within a sphere are swept
Which ruleth all our life.

Reason that fails to check with faults is

rife. "^

Does he say, " I am bound "?

What poor excuse is found
In this for ruler whom a slave commands!

Nay, doubly base these bands.
If well ye mark where my hand shows the

way. ><»

False to yourselves, to others harsh, are ye.

Who see men, wandering bare.

O'er hills and marshes fare,

85-10& Xhe bondage of the avaricious is the basest of all bondage.
No one gets so little out ot his wealth as he. He sees those oi
whom the world is not worthy wandering hungry and naked — (do
we trace the (eeling^i of the exile forced to "solicit the cold hand
of ctiarity " and to "solicit it in vain"? Purg. xi. 133-138; Par.

CANZONIERE

Men, before whom all vice hath fled away.
While ye heap rich robes on your mire and
clay. "«

The miser's eyes on purest virtue fall,

Virtue, who doth her foes to peace invite.

With lure full clear and bright
To draw them to her, but no good it brings.

For still he shuns the bait. ""

Then after many a turn and many a call,
The food to him, so great her care, she
flings.

Yet spreads he not his wings;
And if he comes when she hath vanished
quite.

His troubles seems as great "*

As if he gave not; so for him doth wait

No praise to kindness due:
I will that these my words be heard by you:
One with delay and one with vain parade.

And one with looks in shade, '^

Turns what he gives to bargain sold so dear.
As he knows only who such purchase pays.

Wilt know if his wound frays ?

Who takes he so dismays.
Less bitter 'twere to meet a simple No : '-^
And others and himself the miser woundeth
so.

xvii. 58) — and he clothes himself not even decently, but with vile
apparel.

106-126 The sensitiveness of the poet shows itself again. He can
tell how little the •avaricious man cares for all the attractions by
which Virtue seeks to win him ; how he can mar even his gifts, such
as they are, by a sourness or an ostentation that would make a
refusal almost less bitter than the gift {_Purg. xvii. 59 ; Par. xvii.
58-60). Even Can Grande's liberality may have been marred by
his want of considerate sympathy. The imagery of 11. 109-113,
reminds us of the similitudes from falconry in the Commedia (//,
xvii. 127, xxiL 130; Purg. xix. 64 ; Par. xix. 34).

CANZONIERE

Thus, ladies, have I laid before you bare,
One limb of that vile race that looks on
you,

That wroth ye may them view.
But more unsightly still is that concealed, ^^

Yea, far too foul to tell.
Of each 'tis true that each sin gathers there.
For friendship still in oneness is revealed;
And leaves that Love doth yield
Spring from the root of other blessing true; '^

Since like loves like indeed
Hear how to my conclusion I proceed;

Who to be fair doth deem

A good, must never dream
That she is loved indeed by such as these; "°

But if 'mong ills we please
To reckon beauty, she may trust it well,
Naming as love a brutal appetite.

May such dame perish quite

Who should her beauty bright '**

From natural goodness for such cause repel.
Nor deem love doth in Reason's garden
dwell !

Not far, my Canzon', doth a lady dwell,

Of our dear land the child.

Wise, beautiful, and mild; ^^

All call on her, yet none may her discern:

When they her name would learn,
Bianca, Vanna, courteous calling her,

127-147 Nor is this all. As every virtue carries with it the seeds
of other virtues, so the love of money is the root of all evil, and all
other vices go with it ; and the love of such a man is nothing better
than a brute appetite. Woe for the woman who commits herself to
such a man, and thinks that love is a plant which can grow else-
where than in the garden of right reason. Witte rejects the closing
stanza as spurious. A v. I. gives " Giovane Coniessa " for " Gio-

CANZONIERE

Go thou thy way to her in meekness drest,
There first thy course arrest; *"

To her first manifest

Who thou art, and for what I bid thee stir;

Then at her hest be thou a follower.

CANZONE XIX, /^/9 '^^^^/^^^^

THE THREE EXILES ^ ^ ~^ I / -^

Tre donne intorno al cor mi son -venute ' ^t-tot- c t JL

Three ladies meet together round my heart,

And sit outside its gate;

Within, Love holds his state,
And lords it o'er my life with sovran sway:
So fair are they, and with such winning art, "

That this lord, strong and great.

Who in my heart doth wait,

vanna, Cortese." We are in any case left to conjecture who
" Bianca " was.

CANZONE XIX

The Camont that follows takes its place among the noblest of
Dante's lyrics, and deserves, perhaps, Fraticelli's praise as the
noblest of all Italian poems of that form.

l"** The three ladies that present themselves in the poet's vision
have been differently identified as Justice, Generosity, and Temper-
ance, or as the three forms of Righteousness, natural, political, and
religious, or the Law of Nature, the Law of Moses, and the Law
of Grace. I incline to the first interpretation. Rossetti, as might
be expected, sees in them the Templars, the Albigenses, and the
Ghibellines (Spir, Aniifi., pp. 177-179); Keil, innocence, the love
of God, and the love of man. "The Canzone, it should be noted,
names the first as Kighteousness (Drittttra); the others are not
named, but are spoken of as respectively daughter and grand-
»58

■^r^6^3^^* .' ^^A^

CANZONIERE

To tell of them scarce knoweth what to say.
Each one of them seems full of sore dismay,
Like one who is to weary exile borne, '°

By this world left forlorn.
Whom nobleness and virtue nought avail.

There was — so runs their tale —
A time when all men loved them and did

bless,
Now with them all are wroth, or pass

them by. '^

So they, in loneliness,
Are come as those that do a friend's house

seek.
For well they know he's there of whom I

speak.

One mourns and wails in many a piteous tone.

And on her hand doth pose, ^

Like a dissevered rose;
Her naked arm, the pillar of her woe.
Feels the tear-gems that from her cheeks
flow down;

The other hand half hides

The face where grief abides; *

Unshod, unzoned, she still seems lady fair.
Soon as Love saw beneath the garment's tear

daughter of the first. This suggests the thought either (i) that
generosity and temperance have their birth in justice, or (2) of the
development and education of mankind by three successive mani-
festations in the Law of Nature, the Law of Moses, and the Law of
Christ.

»-is Comp. Purg. vi 88, xvi. 97, for a picture of like degeneracy.

2? The boldness of the imagery (comp, the same phrase in Purg.
XXV. 43) startles us, but is, after all, Biblical (/iai. iii. 17 ; Ezek.
xvi. 37). Men treat Righteousness or Purity, or whatever other
virtue may be symbolised, as if she were the vilest object of their
scorn. Love, however, looks on with wrath, and Righteousness
claims him as her next of kin. Possibly there may be a reference
to the myth that Astraea, the symbol of righteousness, was, like
»S9

CANZONIERE

That form whereof 'tis better not to speak,

He, wroth, yet pitying, meek,
Of herself questioned her, and that her woe. ^

'* O thou, whom few do know,"
She answered, in a voice all choked with

sighs,
** Our nature bids us that to thee we go.

1 whose grief deepest lies,
Thy mother's sister, am named Righteous-
ness, ^
How poor I am, let robes and zone confess."

When she had thus her name and state made
known.
Great gnef and shame inspired
My Lord, and he inquired
Who were the other two that with her

came. **

And she, who was to weep so ready shown,
Soon as his speech she heard.
To greater grief was stirred.
And said, " Dost thou for mine eyes feel no

shame?"
And then began : " The Nile, as known to
fame, **

Venus, a daughter of Jupiter, or to the other mythos which made
Nemesis and Dik^ the daughters of Themis.

** We ask.why Dante assigns to the second of the three virtues
a birthplace near the sources of the Nile. Possibly it was thought
of as the centre of the world's commerce, and therefore as the birth-
place ofihejus sfeniium. More probably the mediaival geography
of Fazio degli Uberti (DUtam. v. zq) may throw some light on it.
He describes those sources under the name Gion (the Gihon oi Gen,
ii. 13), and so the sources of the Nile aie connected with the Earthly
Paradise and with the natural virtues that belong to it. So in
Ecclus. xxiv. 27, " Gehon" (Vulg., but " Nile " in Luther) is named
as an ideal picture of the glorie< of Wisdom. The thought is there-
fore identical with that of Purg. i. 23. Men have abandoned the
virtues of the Paradise life, and those virtues are strangers and
pilgrims on the earth.

160

CANZONIERE

Forth from its fountain flows, a little stream.

There where the sun's hot beam
Robs the parched earth of willow's foliage
green;
By waters pure and clean
I brought her forth who standeth at my

side, **

And with fair locks to dry her tears is seen ;

And she, my child and pride,
Herself beholding in the fountain clear,
Brought forth the third who standeth not so
near."

Love paused awhile through sighs that from

him part, ^

And then with tender eyes.
Where erst wild thoughts did rise.
He greets the sisters three disconsolate.
And after taking of each kind a dart,

"Lift up your heads," he cries, *"

"Behold the arms I prize:
See how disuse their brightness doth abate.
Bounty and Temperance, and the rest

cognate
Of our high blood, must needs a-begging go;

Wherefore, if this be woe, "^

Let those eyes weep, those lips to wail it
learn.
Whom most it doth concern.
Who dwell beneath the rays of such a heaven;

62 Even Love's arrows, possibly the two arrows of gold and lead
(,Ovid), are blunted through long disuse. He has, however, the
thought that he and the virtues who claim kinship with him are
eternal. The two virtues named indicate an Aristotelian rather
than a theological classification (Aristot. Eih. Nic. ii. 7; Conv. iv.
17). Men may suffer, but they remain, and they heed not the
scorn of men. Comp. H, vii. 94.

IV 161 L

CANZONIERE

Not ours, who to the eternal Rock may turn;

For, be we now sore driven, ""^

We yet shall live, and yet shall find a race
Who with this dart shall each dark stain
efface."

And I, who hear, as told in speech divine,

How exiles, great as these.

Are grieved, yet find some ease, '^

This my long banishment as honour hold;
And if man's judgment, or fate's ordered line,

Will that the world should learn

White flowers to black to turn.
To fall among the good with praise is told. *°
And but that I no more the star behold
Which, now far off removed from my gaze,

Once burnt me with its blaze.
Light should I deem the burdens that oppress.

But this fire burns not less, ®

And has already eaten flesh and bone.
So that death's key upon my heart doth press.

Hence, though I guilt should own.
Many a month since that guilt is gone and

spent.
If guilt but dieth soon as men repent. "

69 That thought sustains the exiled poet. He too has his feet
planted on the Rock of Ages. Though the white flowers may be
turned to black (possibly, but only possibly, an allusive reference to
the Bianchi, who were unfaithful to the ideal monarchy with which
Dante had identified himself, and had joined the Guelph Neri,
comp. ff. ii. 128), yet he could glory in his loneliness and his suffer-
ings (Par. xvii. 6i-€6). _ The sharpest pang was that he was still
exiled from the city of his birth, which he loved with so passionate
a love (//. xix. 47 ; Par. xxv. i-p). Apparently that love led him
to a hypothetical confession of bis guilt, which stands in marked
contrast to the well-known letter in which he refuses the humiliating
conditions of the offered amnesty. The state of things implied
seems to point to a time before i3og, when the hope of a return to
Florence had become faint, and Henry VII. had not yet appeared
on the scene to rekindle it.

162

CANZONIERE

My Song, let no man on thy robes lay hands.
To see what lady fair hides from ail eyes:

Let parts unveiled suffice.
The sweeter fruit within to all deny,

To which hot hands draw nigh. "

And if It chance that thou on one dost light
The friend of virtue, and to thee he cry,

Clothe thee in colours bright.
Then show thyself to him, that loving heart
May long for flower that shows so fair a

part. ^""

[n)^r.

CANZONE XX

LAUDES FLORENTI^
0 fatria, degtia de trionfcd fama

Dear country, worthy of triumphal fame,
Mother of high-souled sons.
Thy sister's grief thine own is far above:

91 The Tornata with which the Canzone ends seems to justify
almost any amount of mystical interpretation, and so finds a parallel
in H. ix. 61-63. Whether the meaning that lies below the surface
is moral or political, whether the "friends of virtue" are those of
spiritual discernment, who can discover a profound ethical signifi-
cance, the secret beauty hidden from the eyes of the profane by the
veil of symbolism, or a secret society of the Illuminati, Freemason,
Cartranari type, readers will probably decide according to iheii
theories. As elsewhere, I incline to the simpler, and, as it seems to
me, more natural interpretation.

CANZONE XX

I. The " patria" is not Italy as a whole, but, as 1. 3 shows, the
city, the " sister of Rome," which was the poet's fatheiland. The
poem belongs obviously to his exile, but whether before or after
163

CANZONIERE

He, of thy children, feeleth grief and

shame, —
Hearing what traitorous ones ^

Do in thee, — more, as he the more doth

love.
Ah me, how prompt ill-doers are to move
In thee, for ever, plotting treachery,

With squint and envious eye.
Showing thy people still the false for true. ^"
Lift up the sinking hearts, and warm their

blood!
Upon the traitor's brood
Let judgment fall, that so with praises due
That grace may dwell in thee, which now

complains,
Wherein all good is source and home

attains. "

Thou reigned'st happy in the fair past days,
When each that was thine heir
Sought that all virtues might thy pillars be;
Home of true peace and mother of all praise.

Thou in one faith sincere ^

Wert blest, and with the sisters four and

three.
And now those fair forms have abandoned

thee,
In mourning clad, with vices all o'erdone.
Thy true Fabricii gone:

Henry VII. 's campaign is open to conjecture. The tone is a little
less bitter than that of Purg. vi. 145, or of the letter written to the
Florentines after Henry had appeared on the scene.

II. The praises of the " good old times " remind us of Par. xv.,
xvi. The seven ladies, i.e., the four cardinal virtues of natural
ethics and the three supernatural graces, remind us of Purg. i. 23,
xxxi. 103, III, xxix. 121, and may so far point to the same period.
So the reference to the " Fabricii " (who here stand for the Bianchi)
finds a parallel in Purg. xx. 25. To punish in Antenora {H. xxxii.
164

CANZONIERE

Haughty and vile, of true peace deadly foe; "
Dishonoured one, hot faction mirroring still.

Since Mars thy soul doth fill;
Thou doom'st true souls to Anten6ra's woe,
Who follow not the widowed lily's spear.
And those who love thee most have most to
fear. "»

Thin out that evil baleful root in thee.
Nor pity thou thy sons.
Who have thy fair flowers made all foul and

frail.
And wilt thou that the virtues victors be,

So that thy faithful ones, ^

Now hidden, rise with right, and sword in

hand.
Follow where still Justinian's beacons stand.
And thine unrighteous and revengeful laws

Correct, as wisdom draws,
That they may gain the praise of heaven

and earth. *°

Then with thy riches honour and endow

What sons best homage show.
Nor lavish them on those of little worth;
So that true Prudence and her sisters may
Dwell with thee still, nor thou disown their
sway. *^

88) is to treat as traitors. The "lily" of Florence is "widowed,"
not, as some have thought, because her chief leader, Corso Doiiati (?)
or Philip the Fair (?), was dead, but because, like Israel, she bad
forsaken her true Lord, forgotten the " first love of her espousals "
{Jer. ii. 2). Lam. i. 1 (quoted by Dante, V. N. c. 29 ; Ep. ix. 2)
was still apparently in his thoughts.

III. The "flower" implies an allusive reference to the name
Fiorenza. The name of Justinian, as in the magnificent eoisode of
Par. vi. 1-90, is, for Dante, the symbol of wise and impartial legis-
lation, standing out in marked contrast to the decree of banishment,
forfeiture, attamder, death by burning, which had been passed, as
before against the Uberti {H. x. 82-84), so more recently against
,65

CANZONIERE

Serene and glorious, on the whirling sphere
Of every creature blest,
If thou dost this, thou shalt in honour reign,
And thy high name, which now with shame
we hear.
On thee, Fiorenza, rest. ^

And soon as true affection thou shalt gain.
Blest shall the soul be, born in thy domain.
Thou wilt deserve all praise and majesty.

And the world's ensign be;
But if thy pilot thou refuse to change, ^

Then greater storms, and death predestinate

Expect thou, as thy fate ;
And through thy paths all discords wild shall

range.
Choose thou then now if peace of brother-
hood
Or wolf-like ravin make most for thy good. ^

Dante and the Bianchi who were associated with him {Purg.
vi. no).

We note the pathos with which, in spite of all that he had suffered,
the poet still clings to the city which he loved. Who could love her
with so intense a love as his? Comp. Par. xxv. i-g ; Conv. i. 3.
He will not give up the hope that she will yet welcome him back
and crown him with honour.

IV. The words imply the thought of stellar influences, not, as in
popular astrology, the result of blind chance or inexorable laws,
but as guided by the angelic intelligences, who in their turn were
under the control of the Divine Will which answered prayer, and
made all things work together for good to those who loved Him.
With this richness of blessing " Florence" would be at once nomen
et omen. We note the parallelism of the closing lines with Henry
VII, 's speech to the Italian delegates at Lausanne. What the
" good ship " needed was a better pilot across the troubled sea of
Italian politics, a pilot such as the Emperor or Dante himself might
prove. Line 60 finds a parallel in Par. xxv. 6, and confirms the
interpretation of H. i. 49, which sees in the "wolf" a symbol at
once of avarice as such, and of Florence, as being, with the Papal
Curia, its chief representative.

v. Even in Sodom there were ten righteous men. Even in
Florence there were a few lights shining in the darkness (comp.
H. vi. 73), such, e.g., as Dino Compagni and Giovanni Villam ;
perhaps also the friend to whom Ep. 10 was addressed was perhaps
in Dante's thoughts. He calls on them to come to the rescue of
166

CANZONIERE

Boldly and proudly now, my Canzon', go,
Since love thy steps doth guide;
Enter my land, for which I mourn and

weep,
And thou wilt find some good men there,
though low
Their light burns, nor spreads wide; •*

But they sink down, their virtues in the

mire.
Cry to them. Rise, my trumpet bids aspire;
Take arms, and raise her to her place on
high.
For she doth wasted lie.
For Capaneus and Crassus her devour, ^^

Aglauros, Simon Magus, the false Greek,

And Mahomet, the weak
Of sight, who wields Jugurtha's, Pharaoh's

power:
Then turn to her, good citizens and true,
And pray that she a nobler life renew. ^'

his beloved fatherland. The names that follow recall passag[es in
the Commedia. Crassus (Pk^. xx. n6), Simon Magus (M xix. i ;
Par. xxx. 147), Capaneus (H. xiv. 63, xxv. 15), Aglauros (Purg.
xiv. 139), the false Greek Sinon (If. xxx. 98), Mahomet (H.
xxviii. 31). The names of Pharaoh and Jugurtha point to the
regions of Egypt and Mauritania as under the rule of Islam.

167

CANZONIERE

SONNET XL

l3 V . f ..

FRIENDLY WARNING
lo mi credea del tutto esser partit

I THOUGHT that I had parted evermore.
Good Messer Cino, from those rhymes of

thine.
For now another course I must assign

To my good ship, already far from shore:

But since I hear it rumoured o'er and o'er ^

That thou art caught by any bait and line,
To give to this my pen I now incline,

A little while, my wearied fingers' lore.

Who falls in love, as is the case with thee.

Bound and set free by every new delight, "

Shows that but lightly Love hath aimed his dart.
If to so many wills thy heart gives plight,

I pray in Heaven's name, it reformed may be.

That to your sweet words deeds be counterpart.

SONNET XL

The Sonnet is addressed to Guidoncino dei Sinibaldi, better
■ known as Cino da Pistoia, one of Dante s early friends, the " poet
of love," as he himself was the "poet of righteousness " (K. E. ii. 2).
The parallelism of 11. 3, 4, with P^fX- >• 1-3. seems to indicate that
it was written in the later years of Dante's life. Other and higher
work than that of writing sonnets has occupied his thoughts. As
Cino returned to Pistoia in 1314, and was in exile when be answered
Dante, the Sonnet must have been written before that date. Cino
had apparently shown but little interest in his friend's graver work.
Dante had heard, on his side, that Cino was no longer the true poet
of love, faithful to the Selvaggia, who had been to him, in some
measure, what Beatrice had been to Dante, but had transferred his
devotion to another. Cyn cal critics, remembering the "donna
eentHe" of V. N. c. 36, the Gentucca of Purg. xxiv. 37, the
" Montanina" of the letter to Moroello Malaspina might ask
168

CANZONIERE

SONNET XLI [J^(d- ^'^^

QUIS LOCUS INGENIO ?

Poich' to non trovo chi meco ragioni

Since I have none who will with me converse
Of that Lord whom we serve, both you

and I,
Needs must I with the strong desire comply,

The good thoughts that stir in me to rehearse:

Naught else doth keep me in this mood per-
verse *
Of silence that I feel so painfully.
Save that my lot in such vile place doth He,

That Good finds none to shelter it ; yea, worse,

whether Dante was the man to cast the stone first at his friend's
failings. On the other hand, however, it may be argued that a
man, conscious that he was exposing himself to a retort, would
hardly have written as Dante did, and so far the Sonnet takes
its place as part of the evidence for the defence. Cino's answer
{Rim. Ant. p. 340) is that he is in exile, a wanderer on the
face of the earth, nigh unto death. He has not forsaken his first
love, but he is banished from her, and finds joy in all beauty that
resembles her. And as he finds that likeness in many fair ladies,
that is the explanation of his apparent fickleness.

SONNET XLI

This also is addressed to Cino da PIstoia, and belong^ to the
period when both friends were in exile. Dante complains that
where he is he finds none like-minded with himself. None know
what true love is. This was the explanation of the poet's long
silence. What the place was which he found so evil we are left to
conjecture ; probably Verona or Ravenna. The tone reminds us
of Par. xvii. 58-60. Rossetti, more sua, finds a political meaning
in the sonnet. Dante was in a Guelph city, and the " men " and
the " ladies " of whom he speaks were the two orders of those who
were initiated in the Ghibelline mysteries. On this theory " Love "
is, of course, the Emperor, or, more probably, the ideal Empire
(S^ir. Anti-Pap. p. 156).

169

CANZONIERE

Love finds no home in face of lady fair.
Nor is there any man who for him sighs.
And were there one, " fool " would they call
him there.

Ah ! Messer Cino, ill our changed times fare:
To our great loss, and to our poesy's,
Since goodness such a scanty crop doth bear.

SONNET XLII 3 0/ ^c^

RIVALS OR PARTNERS
Due donne in cima della menu mia

Two ladies to the summit of my mind

Had come to hold discourse concerning love.
In virtue clothed and kindness, one doth
move.

Prudence and honour follow close behind.

SONNET XLII

Among many other interpretations, of which I hardly need speak,
the "two ladies" have been identified literally with Featrice and
the " donna gentile " of K. jV. c. 36, mystically with the Theology
and Philosophy whom they are supposed to represent. So inter-
preted, the Sonnet seems intended to reconcile the yita Nucva
and the Convito. I question the interpretation altogether, and find
the key to the problem which the Sonnet presents in Purg. xxviii,
and Ball. ii. and iii. The " lady " of the first quatrain is, I admit,
Beatrice ; but in the other I find Matilda. Here also there is the
leggiadria, the "gaiety," the "gentleness," the "virtue," of which
we read in Bali. iii. And with it there is joined the high and noble
activity of which Matilda is the admitted symbol {Purg. xxviii.
40, ».). So understood, the lines throw light, if I mistake not, both
on the outward and inward life of Dante. He had loved both
Beatrice and Matilda with a pure and ardent love in his early youth
170

CANZONIERE

Beauty the other hath and grace refined,

And a fresh honour gentleness doth prove;

And I, by grace of my dear Lord above,
Do homage to their sovereignty combined.
Beauty and virtue both the soul invite,

And question, Can a heart, in loyalty
Of perfect love, to ladies twain be plight?

The fount of gentle utterance makes reply,
" Yea, Beauty may be loved for her delight.
And Virtue likewise for her workings high."

SONNET XLIII , 2>^ . Cc^^'-^^y j

FAIR BUT CRUEL
Nulla mi parra mat p'tii crudel cosa

Nought can to me more pitiless appear

Than she, to serve whom I my life have lost.
For her aifection is as lake in frost.

And mine dwells ever in Love's furnace clear.

{V. N. c. 8). He loved their transfigured memories in his manhood
and his age. He loved with an almost equal love the active and
contemplative life, which they respectively represented. Like
another Jacob, he could love both Leah and Rachel, and, in his
case, neither would be jealous of the other, and each, as in Purg.
xxviii.-xxxiii., would do her part in leading him to Lethe and
Eunoe, to the oblivion of all evil, and the revival of all good
memories, as the condition of his attaining to completeness.

SONNET XLIII

Apparently a reproduction in verse of the thought of Conv. iti.

11-15. Wisdom, as in the Assisi fresco, has turned her severer

aspect towards her worshipper. The " frozen lake " reminds us of

H. xxxiv. 22-24; the "fire of love," of the well-known hymn of

171

CANZONIERE

Of this fair maid, so proud and so severe, ^

I joy to see the beauty she doth boast.
And so with love of my great pain am tost.

No other pleasure to my eye comes near.

Not she, who ever turns the Sun to see,

And, changed herself, a love unchanged doth

keep, ^°

Had ever, as I have, a woe so deep;
Therefore, since never can thy full power sweep

O'er this fair proud one, Love, ere life shall flee.

For pity's sake, come, sigh awhile with me.

SONNET XLIV 3~^ C^wj

FAITH AND UNFAITH
Lo re, chc merta i suoi ser-vi a rhtoro

The king, who doth his servants recompense
In fullest measure, heaped and running o'er.
Bids me my rancorous pride indulge no more,

And to the highest Council look from hence:

St. Francis of Assisi ; 1. 9 refers to the story of Clytie {Met. iv. 270),
who loved Apollo, and was turned into a sunflower, so that she
might always gaze on him. " Vertitur ad solem, titutataque
servat amorem." It is noticeable that this and the following Sonnet
are addressed in the Ambrosian MSS. toa Giovanni Quirino, a poet
of Venice. Poems bearing that name are found in the MS. from
which this Sonnet is taken in the Ambrosian Library at Milan.

SONNET XLIV

The "dear friend" to whom the Sonnet is addressed is the Gio-
vanni Quirino just named {S. 43, «.). The thoughts and language
alike point to the time when Dante was finishing the Paradise. In
the Ambrosian MS. it comes as an answer to one in which the
172

CANZONIERE

And thinking on the choir of citizens.
Who in the heavenly city evermore
Praise their Creator, I, a creature, soar.

Eager to praise yet more His love immense.

For if the future prize I contemplate.

To which God calls all born of Christian race.
Nought else can in my wishes find a place.
But much I mourn for thee, dear friend,
whose face

Turns not to look upon that future state.

Losing sure good for shows that hope frustrate.

BALLATA XI '"'l . O^v-v-o

J

THE BEATIFIC VISION

Poichi saziar non foiso gli occhi miei

Since still I fail mine eyes to satisfy.
With looking on my lady's face so fair.

So fixed my glances there
Shall be, that bliss shall spring from seeing her.

writer congratulates Dante on the work he had accomplished in
honour of God and of the Virgin, but speaks mournfully of himself,
as being without hope, either for this world or the life to come, in
the tone of an epicurean who lives on, though life is no longer for
him worth living. Dante, in his reply, speaks in far different tones.
He has laid aside the bitterness of past years. He gazes on the
heavenly Consistory (Par. xxix. 67), on the citizens of the holy city
{Par. xxxi., xxxii.). He finds strength and comfort in the hope of
the great reward. He can but mourn that his friend is not a sharer
in that hope.

BALLATA XI

The evidence of authorship is not certain, the poem being found
in some MSS. as written by Cino of Pistoia. It is, however,
»73

CANZONIERE

E'en as an angel who in essence pure

Doth still on high endure,
And seeing God, in fullest bliss hath part:

Thus mortal, and no more.

Beholding the full store
Of beauty in her face who holds my heart,
I too of blessedness may learn the art.
Such is her virtue that it spreads and flows,

Though what it is none knows.
Save him whose yearnings honour true confer.

BALLATA XII ^'^ j

SPRING-TIDE JOY

Fresca rosa no-vella

Fresh rose, just newly born.

And joy-inspiring Spring,

As I in gladness sing.

Through meadow and by stream,

How high I you esteem *

I tell each green plantation.

received by Ftaticelli, Krafft, and Witte. The thought seems to
me sufficiently Dantesque. The bliss of the saints consists, as
throughout the Paradiso, in the beatific vision of God : so the lover
finds his joy in the vision of the beloved one. Here, as elsewhere,
we ask who was present to the poet's thoughts, Beatrice in the flesh,
or as transfigured into Divine Wisdom or Philosophy, or some
earthly pargoUtta. Probably here, as elsewhere, the first two
answers would both be true, melting into each other like dissolving
views.

BALLATA XII
We are once more In a region of conjecture. The poem has been
174

CANZONIERE

Yes, your high praise shall flow.
In joy renewed by all,
The great ones and the small,
Whatever path they go;
And birds shall trill their call
Each in the tongue they know,
In eve or morning's glow.
On the green shrubs and tall:
And all the world shall sing
(As is indeed most meet).
Since cometh spring-tide sweet.
Your high praise and glory.
Telling out your story.
Your angel-like creation.

Angelic beauty shining

In thee. Lady, showeth.

Heaven ! what joy he knoweth

Who for thee was pining !

Thy face, where true joy gloweth, ^

Since far behind it leaveth

All that use perceiveth.

Still in wonder groweth.

ascribed to Enzo, king of Sardinia, son of Frederick II., and to
Guido Cavalcanti ; to the latter chiefly on the strength of the face
that the " primavera "( = spring) in 1. 2 is supposed to allude to the
mistress of his affections, who was known by that name (K N.
c. 34), In tone and form the poem approximates mote closely to
the love-poems of Provencal literature than any of the poems recog-
nised without dispute as Dante's. On any assumption. I find it
hard to connect it with any definite fact in Dante's life, and am
inclined to look on it, assuming that he wrote it, as being, like the
three Sestinas, one of the metrical experiments by which he sought
to perfect his mastery over all forms of versification.

12 The use of the word latino in the original for the song of birds
may be noted as specially characteristic of the early Italian and
Provencal poets, notably of Dante's favourite, Arnauld Daniel
(Witte)i In Par. iii. 63 it is used for "clear speech" generally.

^7S

CANZONIERE

Goddess-like 'mong women.
As thou art, thou seemest.
With such beauty gleamest.
That 'tis past my telling.
Past Nature's power, excelling
E'en all imagination.

Yes, beyond man's nature,
Thy most beauteous presence,
God has made as essence
Of each fairest creature;
On me may that grace shine,
Nor far from me abide
The will of God benign !
And if it seem too daring
That I to love am driven.
Well may I yet be shriven;
For love my soul assaileth.
With whom nor strength availeth
Nor Reason's moderation.

f^S

CANZONIERE

SONNET XLV -^ ^^^

WHAT IS LOVE ?

Molt i J "vohndo dir che fosse Amort

Many who fain would tell what Love may be

Have spoken words enough, yet failed they still'

To say of him what half the truth should fill,
Or note of his high greatness the degree:
And one there was who in it heat did see ®

Of soul, through which the thoughts of fancy
thrill;

And others said that 'twas desire of will,
Born of the heart in joyous ecstasy.
But I affirm Love hath no substance true,

Nor is corporeal thing wirh shape imprest, ^^
Rather is it a passion, strong to woo,

Delight in beauty, gift by Nature blest,
So that the heart nought other doth pursue.

And this suffices, while in joy we rest.

SONNET XLV

Fraticelli places this Sonnet among the doubtful poems ; Witte
accepts it ; Krafft leaves it as an open question. The question
mooted in it is discussed with some fulness in the V. N. (c. 20),
where the solution of the problem is that Love is not in itself a
substance, but the accident of a substance. Line 5 seems to refer
to a Sonnet by Jacopo da Lentino, the Notary of Purg. xxiv, 56
{Rim. Ant. p. 318) —

" A ftior i un desio, che vien dal core
Per t abbondanza del gran piacintento."

" Love is desire, which springeth from the heart
Through great abundance of exceeding joy."

An apparent allusion to this Sonnet in the Acerba of Cecco
d'Ascoli suggests the inference that it was addressed to Cino of
Fistoia.

VI 177 M

u

CANZONIERE

{CfX.Co

SONNET XLVI (V- LAc^.

SPRING AFTER WINTER
Ora chel mondo ^ adprna t si veste

Now that the world hath donned her bright array
Of leaves and flowers, and smiles clothe every

field,
And cold and cloud to skies of brightness
yield,
And living creatures all are glad and gay:
And each one seems to own Love's gentle sway,*
And small birds, singing from their throats

unsealed.
Leave off the cries where tones of wailing
pealed,
And pour on hills and vales and woods their

lay:
Now that the season, sweet, and glad, and clear,
Of spring doth come in its own verdure clad, '"
My hope revives, and I once more am glad,
As one who life and praise hath ever had
From that dear Lord, above all others dear.
Who gives to me, his slave, no grudging cheer.

SONNET XLVI

The discovery of the Sonnet is due to Witte, who disinterred it
from the Ambrosian MS. Fraticelli thinks its authorship doubtful.
It seems intended to be a complement to Cam. xi., representing
the revival of ihe lover's hope under the sweet influences of spring
as that did the survival of his passion under the benumbing frosts
of winter. The last words of the Canzone seem to promise such
a complement. In the one, as in the other, it is open to us to find
both a literal and an allegorical meaning. The poet's passion may
be that for Beatrice, or the donna gentile, or Philosophy.
178

CANZONIERE

SONNET XLVII >J". ^^^---^

u

GOLD TRIED IN THE FIRE
Per wllania di -villana persona

Through baseness uttered by the base in mind,
Or through the whisper of the vile and rude,
It is not meet that lady wise and good.

Around whose brows the wreaths of praise are
twined,

Should grieve, or deem that fair fame twice

refined, ^

Which is throughout with clearest light imbued.
Can thus be lost; by her 'tis understood

That truth 'gainst her no cause of fault can find.

As is the rose among the brambles seen,

Or in the fiery furnace purest gold, ^°

So thee, where'er thou art, may men behold.
Let then the fools prate on with tongue
o'erbold,

For well 'tis known, thou greater praise dost glean

Than if such wretches' speech had fairer been.

SONNET XLVII

This, like the preceding Sonnet, was published by Witte from the
Ambrosian MS. ; is accepted by him; rejected by Krafft ; placed
by Fraticelli among the doubtful poems. To me it seems not
unworthy of Dante, and may possibly connect itself with the passage
in the Vita Niiova (c. 5, 9), in which he says that the poems which
he addressed ostensibly to one of the ladies of Florence whom he
chose as a "screen" for his passion for Beatrice, gave occasion to
the gossip of the scandalmongers (V. N. c. 12). In substance it is
an application of the converse of the " la-udari a laudato " maxim.
It reminds us of the " tascia dir le genti" ot Purg. v. 13, and of

" To be dispraised of some is no small praise."
179

CANZONIERE

SONNET XLVIII / ^7 '^"^

AD MISERICORDIAM

Po'tche, sguardando, il cor ferhte in tanto

Since with thy glance thou so hast pierced my
heart
With sharpest stroke, that it is nigh to bleed ^
For pity's sake some slight respite concede,
That my sad spirit may not all depart:
Dost thou not see mine eyes with weeping

smart, ^

Still grieving so for sorrows that exceed,
Which still my footsteps to death's con-
fines lead.
That I no refuge find in any part ?
Behold and see, O Lady ! if I mourn.
And if my voice hath passed to thinnest

tone, ^<*

While still to thee love's suppliant sighs are
borne,
And if it please thee. Lady dear, mine own,
That this my heart with sorrow should be
worn.
Yet still am I thy humblest servant known.

SONNET XLVIII

What has been said of Sonnets xlvi., xlvii., applies to this Sonnet
also, save that Krafft admits its genuineness. Lines 5-7 present a
parallel with Cam. vi. 1-3. In the Italian the verbs in 11. i and 9
are in the plural, those in 11. 3 and 5 in the singular, the former
being addressed to the lady of the poet's love, the latter to God.

180

CANZONIERE

SONNET XLI

X lS() ^^^-'■^^

STRENGTH IN WEAKNESS
Togliete "via U -vostre forte omat

"Throw open wide your gates in all men's
sight,
And she shall enter who doth others raise,
For she is one in whom dwells lasting praise.
And full of courage is, and great in might."
"Ah me! Alas!" — "What means this doleful

plight ? "— s

"I tremble so, that no strength with me

stays."
" Take heart, for I will be to thee always
A help and life, as thou shalt tell aright."
" Nay, I feel all my strength as bound in thrall
Of secret virtue that with her she brings, ^^
And I see Love who threatens fearful

things."
"Turn thee to me, for in me joy upsprings;
And let the strokes behind thee only fall;
Nor fear; soon will they vanish, one and all."

SONNET XLIX

Found in the Ambrosian and one other MS. as Dante's ; accepted
by Wiite; doubted by Fraticelli. There are apparently three
interlocutors in the dialogue. Love bids the poet open the gates of
his soul, that the lady whom he loves may enter. He, however,
shrinks once and again in the consciousness of his weakness (comp.
V. N. c. 2), till the beloved one herself interposes, as in I. 12, to
reassure him. Here once more letter and allegory probably inter-
penetrate. The beloved one may be Beatrice or Philosophy.

CANZONIERE

CANZONE XXI [)v«^t_

IN MEMORIAM './ - , . /

Poscia c/i' ;' Ao ferduta ogni iperanxa ^ *" ^-'^

Since every hope of mine hath from me gone.
Thy face again, my Lady fair, to see,

Nought is there, nor can be.
To comfort me in this my bitterness.

CANZONE XXI

1 The judgments of Dante experts are divided as to the authen-
ticity of this Canzone. Witte (Lyr. Ged., p. 159) receives it on the
strength of its having been published as Dante's in the Venice
edition of 1518, and of its appearing in one or two MSS. with his
name attached to it. He is followed by Fauriel {Dante, i. p. 233)
and Blanc. To them the style seems sufficiently on Dante's level,
and the facts which the poem implies to fit in with the records of
Dante's life. Fraticelli, on the other hand, rejects it (O. M. i. pp.
298-305) on the ground that it is wanting in many printed editions
of the Camoniere, and in the greater number of the MSS. of
Dante's minor poems ; that the style is too weak and diffuse to be
recognised as his, and that the facts do not fit in with what is
known of Dante's later years after the death of Henry VII. Krafft
{Lyr. Ged, pp. 460-46^) and Trivuhio (quoted in Frat. O. M. i.
p. 304) agree with him in this judgment. The last-named critic is
disposed to assign it to Dante's friend, Cino da Pistoia ; Fraticelli
to a friend of Petrarch's, Senuccio Benuccio, who appears as the
author in some MSS. It is difficult to speak positively in such a
case, but I incline, on the whole, \yith Witte, to accept the Canzone
as authentic, and have therefore included it in my translation. It
has, at any rate, the interest of being the expression of a sorrow
which, if not Dante's own, was at least, that of one like-minded
with himself, springing from the event which overthrew his hopes
fur himself and for the city which he loved with a passionate
enthusiasm. The notes which follow will naturally deal with the
internal evidence on the strength of which the poem has been
accepted or rejected by the critics I have named.

2 "The " Lady fair " is identified by Witte with Florence. Frati-
celli asserts that this is not after Dante's manner, but the opening
lines of Cam. xx. present a sufficient parallel. The whole passage
reminds us of the first stanza of Cam. vii., though there, of course,
he speak; of the personal Beatrice.
182

CANZONIERE

To look on thee again hope have I none, '
For Fate hath stopped the way that leads to
thee,

By which, perchance, for me
Had been return to thy high nobleness.
Therefore my heart abides in such distress.
That I consume myself in sighs and tears, '"

Waiting the many years
I bide, and yet my life Death quenches not.
What shall I do ? Love still on me doth

press.
And failing hope on every side appears.

No vesture safety bears, '*

Or succour, all brings torment as my lot.
Save only that I call on Death to slay,
And every life-pulse loudly calls alway.

That hope of mine, which whilome led me far
From thy fair charms, which charm me more
and more, ^

I now as false deplore.
Made false by Death, of every good the foe;
For Love, through whom thy hands trium-
phant are.
Had promised strength and peace on me to
pour.
Through wise and truthful lore *

6 The thought implied is that the success of Henry VI I. 's
enterprise might have opened the way to an honourable return to
Florence, which on its failure was closed to him, except on con-
ditions which, as in Ep. x., it was impossible for him to accept.

17 We are again reminded of Cam. vii. (11. 16-20).

19 The poet's hope in Henry of Luxemburg had led him to reject
all other means of returning to Florence. The subject-matter of
the poem ted him to dwell on that hope as the reason of his absence,
rather than on the fact that the city had banished him. That hope
the Emperor's death had frustrated, yet he could not regret that he
had followed one who was so worthy of all honour. Line 33 reminds

183

CANZONIERE

He my soul strengthened, poor and full of

woe,
And led me labours sweet, though hard, to

know:
He made me part from thee for honour's sake.

Wishful for thee to take
My way, to win more fame and high estate. ^
My lord I followed : should one say me " No "
When I proclaim him noblest lord on earth,

That " No " in lies hath birth;
For never was there one so good and great.
Wise, temperate, brave, and largely liberal, ^
More just than doth to lot of mortals fall.

This lord, by God's own justice fashioned
For virtue, of all men that are, elect,

Used with supreme effect
His power, far more than any erst had done. *"
By neither pride nor avarice was he led.
Nor fortune ill in him revealed defect;

For still one might detect
The strength which, dauntless, bade his foes

come on.
Wherefore by right and good choice was I

won **

us of Ball. ii. i, and the estimate of Henry's character of Par. xxx.
136, and £■/>/. v. 2, vii. 2.

3« Witte quotes a parallel from an unpublished canzone ascribed
in some MSS. to Dante —

" Questo magnifictnte, ver, giocondo,
Magnanitno, affabile, gentile." . . .

* The words find a striking parallel in E^. v. 1-5. Henry was,
in Dante's thoughts, the divinely chosen ruler who realised the
ideal of the De Mon.

41.42 Comp. the picture of the ideal deliverer mH. i. 103. Witte
quotes another parallel from the canzone thus named —

'^ Alia imprtsa manifesta ilvero
A Hcora eke gli 'I contrarii la ventura.
184

CANZONIERE

In retinue of lord so dear to stay;

And if such went astray
Who strove against his might with all their

power,
I might not with their hosts of falsehood

run.
I went with him, and shunned his foes

alway, ^

Nor should we pine away,
Though Death hath turned the sweet cup

into sour;
For men should still do good because 'tis

good,
Nor can he fail who doeth what he should.

Some are there who but use for wealth and

praise "*

The goods which they to Nature's bounty
owe;
Whence little heed, I trow.
They take how they their life may rightly

lead.
The honour others give no worth displays;
But honour which a man in act doth show, ^

As righteous uses grow.
That is his very own, and praised his deed.
How were such glory then as nought de-
creed
When Death a lord so loved and honoured
slew ?
No true soul takes that view, ^

Nor healthy thought, nor soul with vision
clear.

*' Comp. £■/. V. ^, in which Dante reproaches the Italian princes
for resisting the ordinance of God in rejecting Henry's sovereignty.
86-63 Almost a replica of Cam. xvi. 21-40, on true nobility.
185

CANZONIERE

0 saintly soul, raised to thy heavenly meed.
Subject and foe alike thy loss might rue,

Did but this world pursue
Its course as ruled by men who good

revere, — ^

Rue his own guilt, who from thee failed and

fell,—
Rue his own life, who loved and followed well.

I wail my life, for thou, my lord, art dead;
More than I love myself did I love thee,

In whom was hope for me '*

Of home-return, where I should be content.
And now, with all that hope of comfort fled,
More than all else, my life goes heavily.

Death, stern and harsh to see,
How hast thou ta'en from me the sweet in-
tent, **
Once more to see the fairest pleasures blent.
That e'er the power of Nature brought to
birth

In lady of great worth.
Whose beauty is so full of holiest grace !
This thou hast taken from me, and assigned ^
Such sorrow as men never know on earth;

For now, in life-long dearth,

1 have no hope to see the much-loved face;
For he is dead, and I am far off still.

And therefore hopeless sorrow works its

will. <«

80.88 The critics who reject Dante's authorship lay stress on the
inconsistency between this language and the bitterness with which
he speaks of the Florentines in £/>. vi. and generally throughout
the Cotnmedia ; and Trivulzio assumes, on the supposition that the
Canzone was written by Cino de Pistoia, that the lady who is thus
praised was one of flesh and blood, Selvaggia, or another, whom the
poet had hoped to see on returning to his native city. I own that
l86

100

CANZONIERE

My song, thou journeyest into Tuscan land,
To that great joy above all others dear ;

End then thy journey there,
Telling in words of woe my sad estate.
But, ere thou pass from Lunigiana's strand.
To Marquis Franceschino draw thou near.

And, with thy sweet speech clear.
Tell him some hope in him with me doth

wait ;
And since my distance from him sore doth

grieve.
Pray him that I his answer may receive.

I do not see the alleged incompatibility. Dante's burning indig.
nation against the citizens of Florence might well co-exist, as Par-
XXV. 1-9 shows that it did, with a passionate affection for the city
of his birth, with an equally passionate eagerness to end his days
there, if that were possible, as it had once seemed possible, consis-
tently with his self-respect.

9^ The envoi of the Canzone has furnished arguments for the
adverse critics. If it had to pass through the Lunigiana on its way
to Tuscany, it must, they urge, have been sent from France or
Provence, or at least Liguria or Lombardy, and we have no record
of Dante's presence in any of those regions till we find him in 131 7
with Can Grande at Verona. It is, I think, a sufficient answer to
this objection to say, that the very incompleteness of our know-
ledge of Dante's wanderings after the death of Henry VII., admits
the possibility of a visit to Verona or to Brescia, where Moroello
Malaspina had been appointed by Henry as Imperial vicar. Dante,
as Purg. viii. 121-132 shows, was largely indebted to the friendship
and hospitality of the whole family, and the Franceschino who is
here named was named with him as procurator in the negotiation of
the treaty of Sarzana (1306), between the Malaspina family and the
Bishop of Luni. So far as I know, there was no like connection
between that family and either of the two other poets to whom
the Canzone has been conjectiurally ascribed.

187

CANZONIERE

DANTE'S CONFESSION OF FAITH

Full oft have I of Love writ many rhymes,
As sweet and fair and pleasant as I might,
And much have sought to polish them
betimes ;

But now my every wish is altered quite,

Because I know that I have spent in vain ^
My labours, and scant wage may claim of
right.

From that false Love I now my hand restrain ;
The pen that wrote of him aside being laid.
And, as a Christian, speak of God full plain.

It is not without a certain measure of hesitation that I have
decided on translating and publishing the series of didactic poems
that follow. I must own that I do not find in them the traces of
the master's hand. The narrative which introduces them is sus-
piciously defective as to date and place. It comes to us through an
anonymous MS. (ion in the Bibl. Riccardiana of Florence) ; is not
mentioned by Boccaccio, or any of the earlier commentators on the
Commedia. On the other hand, it is received by Fraticelli, Witte,
and KrafTt, and included by the two latter in their translations
of Dante's Minor Poems. The tradition connected with it has a
certain biographical interest. The poems themselves represent
fairly enough the current theology and ethics of the Latin Church
of the 13th and 14th centuries, and thus serve to throw light on
Dante's teaching. And so the scale was turned in favour of trans-
lating, and the reader can exercise his own judgment. I begin with
epitomising the tradition to which I have referred.

After the Commedia was published, it was studied by many
theologians, among others by those of the Franciscan Order. They
read m Par. xi. 121-139 the lamentations of St. Francis over the
degeneracy of his Order, and the poet's own words as to that
degeneracy. They were irritated, and set to work to see if they
could find materials in his book for accusing him of heresy. He
was brought before the Inquisitor on that charge. He asked for a
short respite to prepare his defence. It was then past vespers
(6 P.M.). By 9 AM. next day he appeared with his Profession of
Faith, written during the night, in the same metre as the Commedia.
As soon as the Inquisitor had read ir, with twelve masters in theology

CANZONIERE

I. In God the Father I believe. Who made ^°
All things that are, from Whom all

good doth flow
That is through all their varied forms
displayed.
II. Through heaven and earth His grace
still worketh so,
And out of nothing He created all,
Perfect, serene, and bright with beauty's

glow.

15

as his assessors, who were unable to find heresy in it, he pro-
nounced a sentence of acquittal, and dismissed the accusers with a
reprimand.

I own that the story reminds me overmuch of Defoe's Introduc-
tion to Drelincourt on Death., and I see in it something like a pious
fraud, the object of which was to gain the sanction of a great name
for an edifyine manual of faith and devotion. The Dittamondo of
Fazio degli Uberti shows that the form of the terza rivia soon
attracted many imitators, and I take the writer of these poems to
have been one of them. Possibly also — for the motives of the
writers of apocrypha are often manifold — he may have thought he
was doing something to vindicate the fair fame of Dante against
the charge of heresy. It will be remembered that the De MonarchiA
had been condemned and burnt as heretical by the Cardinal del
Poggetto, with the authority of Pope John XXII., after Dante's
death (Bocc. V. D. p. 259, ed. 1733).

With regard to the paraphrase of the Seven Penitential Psalms in
terza rima, which are commonly printed with the Profession of
Faith, there seemed to me to be even less reason for entering on
the work of a translator. I do not find any adequate evidence,
external or internal, of their genuineness. They present no special
points of interest in connection with Dante's acknowledged work, or
with the belief of the Mediaeval Church, and without such points of
contact a translation of a translation of yet another translation
has but little chance of being more than a weak dilution of the
original.

The reader will hardly, I think, be surprised that, with this view
of the characters of the poems, 1 have thought it best to minimise
my work as a commentator. I have not thought it necessary to
give scriptural proofs of the doctrines asserted in the Credo, or to

Coint out how the pseudo (I can scarcely say the deutero) Dante,
y following in the footsteps of the Church's Creeds, avoids the
errors of Ebion and Cerinthus, of Arius and Sabellius, of Nestorius
and Eutyches. The writer apparently knows nothing of the
Coinmedia, and yet the tradition which introduces the Paraphrase
makes that the starting-point of the charge of heresy. Would it
not have been enough, one asks, to refer to the poet's examination
by the three great Apostles in Paradise if it had been necessary to
vindicate its orthodoxy t And further, the writer thinks of the

CANZONIERE

III. Both things that under sight, touch, hear-

ing, fall.
Were fashioned by His goodness infinite.
And those which we things intellectual

call.

IV. And I believe the Son did flesh unite,

Man's flesh and life, in womb of Virgin
blest, ^

Who helps us with her prayers by day
and night :
And that the Godhead's glory thus did rest

On Christ, in all His sinless holiness,

As holy Church doth in her praise attest.

V. Him thus we perfect God and man confess, ^^

The only Son of God, eternally
Begotten, God of God, whose Name we
bless :
VI. Begotten, not created, God most High,

Like to the Father, with the Father One,
And with the Holy Ghost; mysteriously ^
vii. Incarnate, Who that He might all atone.
Upon the holy Cross was crucified.
Not for His fault, but of free grace alone.
Then did He pass to that pit deep and wide
Of darkness that He might the souls set

free ^

Of the old fathers that did there abide,

Dante whom he personates only as the author of the poems of the
yiia Nuova, and those poems simply amatory. The allegorical
significance of the " donna gefttiU " as one with Philosophy, of the
idealised Beatrice as one with Theology, is clearly unknown to him
even by report. He puts into Dante's lips a confession like that
which we find in Chaucer's Persone's Tale, that also being probably
the pious fraud of a personated authorship.

17 Comp. the inference of H. iii. 1-9 as deduced from the received
dogmas of the Church. If Hell be part of God's creation, it must
owe its origin to Supreme Goodness as well as to Supreme Power.

39 We note the mediaeval views of the Descent into Hades as
seen in H. iv. 52 60.

190 "

CANZONIERE

With watching hearts, till God and man
should be
United, and throw wide their prison

door.
And by His passion give them liberty.
Certain it is that who holds this true lore *°
Complete, and with unswerving fealty,
Is through that Passion saved for ever-
more.
And him who doubteth this, or doth deny,
As heretic we blame, his own worst foe,
Losing his soul that doth not this

descry. ^^

VIII. From the Cross taken, in the grave laid low.
On the third day, with body and with

soul,
He rose again, as we believe and know.
IX. And with the self-same flesh, complete and
whole,
He took from her, the Virgin Mother

blest, ^

He soared on high beyond the starry
pole ;
X. And sits, and shares the Eternal Father's
rest.
Till He shall come to judge the quick

and dead,
And recompense them both with interest.
Wherefore let each man's work of good be
sped, '^

And for good deeds let him hope

Paradise,
Where God's grace shall on us His heirs
be shed.

*> The Paraphrase of the Creeds, like the Creerls themselves,
i9l

CANZONIERE

And he who sunk in sin and vices lies,
Let him expect in Hell all grief and pain,
Sharing with demons their dread

miseries. *"

And of these woes no respite may he gain,
For they unchanging last for evermore,
And cries of anguish pour their ceaseless
strain.
XI. From such a doom may He whom we
adore.
The Holy Spirit, save poor souls

undone, ^

Third Person, where is neither less nor
more.
For as the Father is, such is the Son,
And such the Holy Spirit equally.
One God, and of three Holies, Holy
One.
Such is in truth the Blessed Trinity, '°

That Son and Father, equally divine,
Are with the Spirit One mysteriously;
From this desire and love, as both combine.
Proceeding, from the Father and the Son,
Not made nor yet begotten — this Creed's
mine. ''^

XII. He from that Love and Purpose high alone.
Of Son and Father doth proceed and

reign.
Nor this nor that as single source doth
own.
Who so attempts more subtly to explain
What the full Being of our God may be, *
Wastes all his labour, and his toil is vain.

Ignores the doctrine of Purgatory, which occupies so prominent a
place in the Comtnedia.

192

CANZONIERE

XIII. Alone let it suffice that firmly we

Believe in that which Holy Church doth

teach,
Who thereof giveth us the true decree.

SACRAMENTA

I. Baptism, I do believe, adorneth each ^

With grace divine and makes him wholly

clean
Of sin, and doth to every virtue reach:
The fruit of water and the word is here.
Nor more than once is it to any given,
Though he from deadly sin return in

fear. "^

And failing this, all hope from each is
riven
Of passing onward to the life eterne.
Although he own all virtues under
Heaven.
Light of that lamp that doth so brightly
burn.
From the blest Spirit oft in us doth

show, ^

And all our wishes in the right way turn.
For keen desire for Baptism burneth so
In us, that for his right volition still,
No less than deed, the righteous man
we know.

85 Accedit verbvm ad eletnenia et fit sacramentum was the
definition of mediseval theology. From the Creed we pass to an
account of the Seven Sacraments of the Latin Church, Baptism,
Penance, the Eucharist, Ordination, Confirmation (the Chrism of
1. 143), Extreme Unction, Matrimony. The order in which they are
nan<ed is not that of theological systems. Possibly the necessities
of rhyme may have led to the variation.

IV 193 N

CANZONIERE

II. And to cleanse us from our unrighteous

will, "»

And from the sins that from God

separate,
We Penance have for wholesome
chastening still;
ill. Nor by our power, nor skill, however great.
Can we return to win God's bounteous

grace,
Unless Confession comes to renovate. "'^
This first involves contrition to efface
Ills thou hast done, with thine own

mouth then speed
To own the sin that works in us apace.
Then Satisfaction we, as next stage, reach.
Which with the acts aforesaid doth

unite, ""

Used well, to win the pardon we
beseech.
IV. But since our evil foe doth still incite

Our weak will unto wrong, to our great

woe.
And little fears our virtue's vaunted
might
That we may 'scape the fraud that cruel

foe "5

Still ever plans our weakness to ensnare.
E'en he from whom all world-wide evils
flow, —
Our Lord and God doth in His love
prepare,
Father and Friend, Christ's Body and

His Blood,
And on the altar shows them to us

there, ^

194

CANZONIERE

His own dear Body, which upon the wood
Of the blest Cross hung, and Its blood

there shed
To liberate us from the foul fiend's
brood.
And if, apart from error, truth be read.
We see the very Christ, the Virgin's

Son
Veiled in the Host beneath the form of
bread,
True God commingled with true Man in
One,
Beneath that outward show of bread

and wine.
That gift by which our Paradise is won.
So great and holy, wondrous and divine.
Is that mysterious awful sacrament.
That my best speech the truth may not
define.
This gives us boldness, gives encourage-
ment.
Against the cunning tempter's subtlest

art.
So that his skill on us is vainly spent;
For there God hears the pleadings of our
heart.
Which flow from fervent faith in love

intense.
And from sincere contrition take their
start.
The power to work this miracle immense,
To sing the hours, and others to

baptise.
These gifts of might priests only may
dispense.

195

CANZONIERE

v.vi. And to confirm our Christian mysteries,
We chrisma and the holy oil possess,
Through which our faith gains stronger
energies,
vn. Our flesh, which evermore to sin doth

press, "^

Its pulses stirred by sensual appetite.
Oft prompts to deeds of foul lascivious-
ness.
To check this evil God, in wise foresight.
Appointed Marriage as a remedy.
So that this sin might lose its baneful

might. ^^

And thus from Satan's snare that we may

fly,

The seven blest sacraments a way

provide.
With prayers and alms and fasts con

tinually.

DECALOGUS

I. Ten great Commandments God has given
as guide.
The first that we should worship Him

alone, ^^^

Nor to false gods and idols turn aside.
II. Nor to His holy Name should wrong be
done.
Or by false swearing, or by deed unblest,
But ever should we bless the Holy One.

155 As in the received arrangement of the Latin Church, what we

know as the Second Commandment is incorporated with the First.

The position given to the Sixth, as coming between the Ninth and

Tenth, has, so far as I know, no authority. The division of the

196

160

CANZONIERE

HI. The third that we should from all labour
rest
On one day of the week, the Lord's

own day,
As in the Church's law is manifest.
IV. And 'tis His will that we should duly pay
To Father and to Mother reverence

meek,
Since we from them derive our mortal
clay. ^^

v. VI. No wrong on life or goods of others wreak,
VII. But chastely live, in stainless purity.
Nor shame for others nor dishonour
seek.
VIII. For naught of good we find beneath the
sky.
Should we false v/itness 'gainst our

neighbour bear, ""

Lest false and true in common ruin lie.
Nor should fierce wrath of passion us
ensnare
To shed another's blood, and so to mar
That face of God which we. His
creatures, share.
IX. Nor will he from a deadly sin be far "^

Who shall his neighbour's wife or goods

desire,
For then his base desires love's entrance
bar.
X. The last of all is that our wills aspire

No more to gain what is another's right,
For that too parts us from our heavenly
Sire. '8«

Tenth into two separate precepts was needed, after the amalgama-
tion of the First and Second, to keep up the numerical idea of the
Decalogue.

197

CANZONIERE

And that we may be ready, day and night,
To keep His holy Law continually,
Vice shun we, for it sweeps us from His
sight.

SEPTEM PECCATA MORTALIA

I. In Pride the root of every sin doth lie;
Hence man himself doth hold in loftier

fame ^^

Than others, and deserving lot more

II. Envy is that which makes us blush for

shame.
With grief beholding others' happiness,
Like him whom we the foe of God

proclaim.

III. Wrath still more woe doth on the wrathful

press, ^^

For its fierce mood lights up Hell's fiery

heat;
Then ill deeds come, and loss of

holiness.

IV. Sloth looks with hate on every action

meet,
And to ill-doing ever turns the will.
Is slow to work, and quick to make

retreat. ^'^

V. Then Avarice comes, through which the

whole world still
Vexes its soul, and breaks through every

law
And tempts with gain to every deed of ill.

184 The list of the seven deadly sins has at least the interest of
198

CANZONIERE

VI. Both fool and wise foul Gluttony doth
draw.
And he who pampers still his appetite, ^^
Shortens his life, to fill his greedy maw.
VII. And Lust that comes the seventh in order
right.
The bonds of friendship breaks and

brotherhood,
At variance still with Truth and
Reason's light.
Let us against these sins have fortitude, '"*
(They need but little ink to register)
So may we pass where loftiest pleasures
brood.
I say, to enter in that cloister fair.
Behoves we lift our orisons to God,
Whereof is first our Paternoster prayer. ^'^

PATERNOSTER

I. Our Father, who in Heaven hast Thine

abode,
II. Thy name be ever hallowed in our
praise.
And thanks for all Thy goodness hath
bestowed.

presenting a parallel to the Seven P.'s oi Purg. ix. 112. We may
compare Chaucer's Persont's Tale as dealing more fully with the
same subject.

211 Here we have an opportunity of comparing the real with the
apocryphal Dante. A comparison of this Paraphrase of the Pater-
noster with that of Purg. xi. 1-21 will, I believe, enable us to
measure the difference between the two. Here again one thinks
that if the apocryphal story had been true, it would have been more
effective to quote what had already appeared in the Conimedia,
It is suggestive that we find the same explanation of the Libera nos
a malo.

199

CANZONIERE

III. Thy kingdom come, e'en as its meaning

weighs

IV. This prayer of ours, and may Thy will

prevail ^'^

V. On earth, as it in Heaven is done

always.
VI. Give, Father, of our bread the daily tale,
And may our sins be of Thy grace

forgiven,
Nor aught we do of Thy good pleasure
fail.

VII. And as we too forgive, do Thou from

Heaven ^^

Grant, for Thy part, forgiveness full

and free.
To save us from the foes with whom

we've striven.

VIII. Our God and Father, Fount of Charity,

Protect and save us from the subtle

snare
Of Satan and his darts that deadly be; ^
So that to Thee we may uplift our prayer
That we Thy grace may merit, and

may come
Thy kingdom by devotion full to share.
IX. We pray Thee, Lord, whose glory lights

our gloom.
Guard us from troubles. Lo! to Thee

our heart ^

With lowly glance looks upward to its

Home.
The blessed Virgin-mother too has part.
And rightly, in our praises; well may

prove
Fit close for this, the service of our art.

200

210

CANZONIERE

We pray her that to grace of God's great

love 8»

She lead us, by the might of her blest

prayer,
And from the snares of Hell our souls
remove.
And all who, through their sins in dark-
ness fare
May she relume, and loose with gracious

mien
Unbinding from the toils of Hell's
despair.

AVE MARIA

Ave Maria, Mother, Maid, and Qu^en
Most Gracious, God doth ever with thee

stay;
Above all women high in heaven serene!

Blest also be thy Son, to whom I pray,
Our Jesus Christ, to guard us from all

And lead us with Him to eternal day.

Blest Virgin, may it ever be thy will
To let thy prayer to God for us arise,
That He may here be our Protector
still,

And bring us at the last to Paradise.

CANZONIERE

ECLOGUES
I

JOANNES DE VIRGILIO TO DANTE ALIGHIERI

Ah, gentle voice, to all the Muses dear,
Who with new rhymes dost soothe the troubled

world,
Still striving, with the branch of life's true tree.
To cleanse it from the taint that bringeth

death,

JOANNES DE VIRGILIO TO DANTK ALIGHIERI

There is to me something singularly touching in the poetical
correspondence which now meets us. It belongs to the last years
of Dante's life. The Inferno and Purgatorio were already finished
when it began, and in some sense published. Before it closed the
Paradise also was completed, and Eel. iv. contains, therefore, the
last words that are extant from the poet's hand. It did not reach
the friend to whom it was addressed till that hand was cold in
death. After the manner of the style which they had chosen, the
scholar records in his epitaph to the memory of the master that
death had interrupted him in this return to the lighter and more
graceful forms of Latin scholarship.

" Pascua Pieriis dentum resonalat avenisl
Atropos tuw ! ledum livida rupit opus."

And the poems throw light on the occupations of the later years of
Dante's life. The great work to which heaven and earth had lent
their hands is finished, and there is no other work to take its place.
What more natural than that the worn and weary spirit — worn and
weary, and yet calmer and brighter than when he began the
Cotnvtedia — should fall back upon the forms of composition in
which he had gained his first laurels, and attained his first con-
sciousness of the excellence of the ''hello stile" {//. i. 87) which
had won men's praise. That return to the classical studies of their
boyhood has been familiar enough to us in the lives of English
statesmen and men of letters. Fox and Lord Wellesley, and Lord
Derby and Mr. Gladstone and Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, may
serve by way of sample for a more complete induction.
One wishes that we had more information as to the young scholar
202

CANZONIERE

By laying bare to view the threefold coasts, *
Assigned to souls, as merits may demand:
Hell for the lost; for those that seek the stars
Lethe; and realms above the sun for saints;

who was thus honoured by the poet's friendship. The epithet
Magister, applied to him by Boccaccio and an anonymous com-
mentator of the 14th century (Frat. O. M. i. 407), implies that he
was recognised as, in some sense, a teacher or professor. The
poems themselves show that he wrote from Bologna. It may
perhaps be reasonably inferred from the fact that the title de
Virgilio took the place of a patronymic that he did not belong to
the class that piqued itself upon a descent from the older noble
families of Italy. That name, however, obviously tells us more
than this. It implies that he too had found in Virgil, as Dante, his
master and his guide. As the Church historian of Cassarea chose
to call himself Eusebius Pamphili, that he might thus acknowledge
his obligations to his early friend and instructor ; as Peter Damian
took his second name from the brother whom he loved {Par. xxi.
106, «.), so Giovanni identified himself by the new name, which
thus indicated the poet whom he delighted to honour ; and this, we
may well believe, was the starting-point of Dante's regard for him.
He addresses his friend as senex, and we may infer therefore that
he was considerably the younger of the two. We can well under-
stand, remembering how a difference of feeling as to the transcend-
ing merits of Virgil's genius had divided Dante from the pritno
amico of his own yuuth, Guido de' Cavalcanti (/¥. x. 52, «.), the
joy with which he would welcome the affection of the young
scholar, who, in this matter, was altogether like-minded with him-
self. Of the other facts recorded of the younger of the two, we
may note that he is said to have taught Virgil, Statius, Lucan,
Ovid, the four poets of H. iv., in a state-supported school at
Bologna up to 1321, and to have removed afterwards to Cesena,
where he probably died, and that he carried on a literary corres-
pondence, of the same type as that on which we now enter, with
the poet Albertino Musatto of Padua. Altogether I see in him one
of the most noteworthy representatives of the earlier Italian renais-
sance. Eel. i. 13 fixes the opening of the correspondence at a date
subsequent to 1318. It is noticeable too, as Giovanni himself
boasts in a poem to Musatto after Dante's death, that this was,
as far as he knew (the Eclogues of Calpurnius were not discovered
till the isth century), the first revival of the Virgilian type.

^'Fistula tuMt posthac nostris inflata fioetis.
Donee ea tneeum certaret Tityrus olim
Lydius, A driaco qui nwtc in litore dorntit,
Qu& pituta sacras prcciexunt saliibus umbras."

" That reed our later bards have left untouched
Till Tityrus, in days now past, with me
Competed, — Lydian Tityrus, who now
Sleeps on the Adrian shore, where pine-woods spread
Their sacred sliadows on the grassy mead."
203

CANZONIERE

Why wilt thou still such lofty topics treat
For the rude herd, while we, with study pale, ^°
Read nothing from thee, poet though thou art ?
Sooner the wary dolphin with his lyre
Shall Davus guide, or solve the riddling Sphinx
Her knotty problems, than the headlong herd
Illiterate figure Tartarean depths, ^

And secrets of the Heaven, by Plato's self
Scarce fathomed; yet these things the town^

buffoon.
Who would drive Horace from the world,

croaks out,

ECLOGUE I

1 It will be noted that Eel. i. is simply an epistle in Latin verse.
The bucolic form, with its Tityrus and Mopsus, is, characteristic-
ally enough, introduced by Dante in Eel. ii. The opening lines
show that the writer knew at least the scope and plan of the Com-
tnedia, as i. 25 indicates a special acquaintance with the Statius
episode in Purg. xxi. 86-136. Joannes had probably been allowed
to see the MS. of the first two cantiques. "Lethe" implies a
knowledge of Purg. xxx. 143. The "bough" has been identified
with the "laurel' of the poet, or the "wood" of Exod. xv. 25.
More probably the writer alludes to the "golden branch" which
served ^neas as a passport through the unseen world (^jEn. vi.

143)-

" The scholar remonstrates with the master on the form which
he had chosen. Why treat of such grave themes in the vulgar
tongue and for the common people ? We may infer that Dante's
apology for his beloved volgare in V. E. i. 16, Conv. i. 6-13, had
not come under his young friend's eyes. Davus (as in the " Davus
sum, nan iEdipus" of Terence, Andr. i. 2) is the typical man of
no culture. Sooner might we think of him as equally able with
CEdipus to solve the riddle of the Sphinx as to imagine him enter-
ing into the mysteries, beyond Plato's ken, of Purgatory and
Paradise. Surely those who had grown pale with study had a
claim on the poet they honoured.

1'' Was the 'buffoon reciter to bawl out in the street the things he
could not understand? If the words are taken as describing what
had actually happened, they imply something like a general
publication of the Commedia. Prtjjjably, however, they are only
an anticipation of what may be, and the scholar appeals to the
irritable sensitiveness which his friend had shown when, as in the
stories told by {Nov. 114, 115) Sacchetti and others, he heard his
earlier Italian poems mangled by blacksmiths and donkey-drivers
as they pursued their calling.

204^

CANZONIERE

By reason undigested. Thou wilt say,

"Not to these speak I, but to expert souls, ^

Though in the people's language." Well, the

world
Of scholars scorns that language, were it one
Unvarying, not in thousand dialects.
And none of those with whom thou rank'st as

sixth,
Nor he thou followest on thy heavenward

path, 25

Wrote in the speech that through the market

rings.
Wherefore, out-spoken critic of our bards.
If thou wilt give free course I'll speak my mind.
Be not too wasteful, throwing pearls to swine.
Nor clothe the sisterhood of Castaly **

In unmeet raiment, but, I pray thee, choose
The speech that will most widely give thee

fame
For thy prophetic song, the common lot
Of this and of that nation. Even now
Full many a theme there is that waits thy

speech. ^

19 Dante might answer that he wrote not for the common herd,
but for the men of culture. "Well," is the reply, "men of culture
won't have the ' vulgar tongue' at any price." That would be true
even if there was a recognised Italian language ; how much more
when there were only a thousand dialects?

24 Why not follow the five great Latin poets with whom Dante
had joined himself in H. iv. 102, or Statius, whom he had met in
Purg. xxi. 83-99 ? We are tempted to ask whether Joannes
thought that they had written in a language "not understauded of
the people " among whom they lived ?

27 The words might refer to the criticisms in the V. £., but, as
we have seen reason to believe that the writer had not read that
book, we may more probably connect them with passages like
Purg. xxiv. 55-63, XXVI. 97-126, which he had just been reading.

35 Yes, a Latin poem would give Dante a wider fame, not

limited to his own nation ; and as for subjects, the scholar can

suggest a round half-dozen for his master's choice. There was the

Italian campaign of Henry VII., the war of Uguccione della

20s

CANZONIERE

Tell with what flight the bearer of Jove's bolts
Made for the stars: tell what the flowerets fair
And what the lilies that the plowman crushed:
Tell of the Phrygian does that wounded lie,
Torn by the teeth of fierce Molossian hounds; *"
Tell of Ligurian mountains, and the fleets
Of fair Parthenope, in verse of thine.
So that thy fame may spread to Gades old,
Alcides' city, and that Ister's stream
May hear and wonder, as will Pharos too, *^

And where Elissa once was owned as queen.
If fame delight thee, it will scarce content
To be cooped up within a narrower sphere.
And find thy glory in the vile herd's praise.
Lo I, the priest — if thou that claim concede — ^
Of those fair nymphs who haunt Aonian hills,
And Maro's servant, bearing Virgil's name.
Will gladly be the first to lead thee forth,
*Mid crowds of loud-applauding worshippers,
Thy temples crowned with wreaths of fragrant

bays, ^

E'en as the herald, mounted on his horse,

Faggiuola {Ball, xv.) against the "lilies" of the city of flowers,
or that of Can Grande, the Molossian mastiff, against the Paduans
(1312), who, as claiming descent from Antenor, are described as
Phrygians, or that of Robert II. of Naples against Piedmont and
Genoa. A poem on such subjects as these might win a widespread
fame, for which the Commedia could never hope, from east and
west, and north and south. "Pharos," of course, points to Alex-
andria, and " Elissa" is Dido. What a field was open to ambition
there ! What an example, we add, of the irony of history we
might have had, had the master followed the scholar's counsels !

80 The ambition of the scholar led him to picture to himself his
own share in the triumph. Would it not be a proud moment for
Dante as well as for himself to crown him in the school of Bologna
with the poet's wreath? What he had said as to subjects for an
epic was not enough. There was yet a wider choice. Mountains
and seas were alike full of wars and rumours of war, only waiting
for the touch of the poet's hand, and without that, destined to be
left unsung. He hints even that his friend's song might restrain
the fierce passions of the combatants.
206

CANZONIERE

Exults, proclaiming loud with echoing voice
His leader's trophies to the joyful crowd.
E'en now the alarm of war affrights mine ears:
What threats are those of father Apennine ? *•
Why are Tyrrhenian waves by Nereus lashed ?
Why rages Mars on this side or on that ?
Take thou thy lyre, and calm that tumult wild.
Unless thou sing of this, while other bards
Hang on thee, that alone thou sing to all, ^.

They will remain untold. Yet even now,
If thou, who dwell'st hard by Eridanus,
Give me the hope that thou wilt visit me.
And count me worthy of some kindly lines.
And if it irk thee not to read my verse, ''°

Weak though it be — e'en such as goose o'er-

bold
Might cackle to the swan of sweetest song —
Or answer. Master mine, or grant my prayer.

^ As sojourning in Ravenna, communicating with one of the
mouths of the Po by a canal, Dante was described as a dweller by
that river. He had given his friend the hope that he would some
day »T other visit him at Bologna, and show that he counted him
worthy of his friendship. To that visit Joannes looked forward.
Meanwhile l^e swan of Italian poetry will perhaps condescend to
listen even to the cackling of the goose. One feels, however, as
one reads that last line, that the young poet looked on himself as at
least an ugly duckling growing towards swanhood.

207

CANZONIERE

II

DANTE ALIGHIERI TO JOANNES DE VIRGILIO

Those letters black on patient paper traced
We read, those warblings from Pierian breast.
Flowing so softly, flowing too for us.
And so it chanced we told our tale of goats
Fresh from their pastures, I beneath the oak, ^
And Melibceus with me. He indeed —
For much he sought with me to read that

song —
" O Tityrus," began, " I pray thee tell
What Mopsus means ? " And I, O Mopsus,

smiled.
And then he urged his question more and

more. ^°

ECLOGUE II

We can imagine the half-amused feeling with which the master
read the scholar's letter. In adopting as the form of his answer the
pattern presented by the Virgilian Eclogues, there is perhaps a
playful reminder that he too knows something of Virgil ; that he is
as skilled in that " bello stilo " as the young poet who assumed the
cognomen of " de Virgilio." Yes, he will be Tityrus, the "/<»■■
tunatus setux " of Eel. i. 47. And the Meliboeus who is with him
is (so the early commentators tell us) the Dino Perini of Florence,
the poet's friend, whose name has met us in the story of the first
seven cantos of the Inferno. In designating Joannes as Mopsus
there is possibly a sportive reference to Eel. v. 2—

" Boni guoniam convenitntts ambo,
Tu calamos in/2 are Uves, ego dictre versus."

It was well that the younger bard should be reminded of the nature
and limits of his gift.

* The two friends are together when the letter comes. Perini

waits to know its contents. Dante smiles instead of answering

(comp. V. N, c. 4). The goatherd had belter look after his goats

(Purg. xzvii. 86), i.e., his scholars.

208

15

CANZONIERE

Conquered at last by my great love for him,
My laughter scarce repressed, I answered him.
" Why ravest thou, O foolish one ? " said I,
" The goats thou tendest, they demand thy

care.
E'en though thy meagre fare may vex thee too.
Unknown to thee the pastures where the shade
Of Maenalus o'erhangs, and hides the sun
With sloping summit — pastures decked in tints
Of thousand hues of grasses and of flowers.
A lowly stream, by willow boughs o'erhung, ^
Surrounds them, from its surface scattering dew
O'er all its banks, and hollows out a way
Where waters wander at their own sweet will,
From the high summit flowing. Mopsus there,
While o'er the pliant grass his oxen rove, ^

Contemplates, at his ease, of men and gods
The labours. Then, through pipes that swell

with wind.
He to his inner joys gives utterance,
So that his sweet songs draw his herds to him.
And lions calmed rush from the mountain's

height ^

Down to the plain, and waters stay their course
And mountain height and forest nod their

heads."
" O Tityrus," spake he, " if Mopsus sings
In unknown pastures, yet his unknown songs

17 Maenalus, the mountain of Arcadia, stands for the bucolic
poetry in which Dante claims to be an expert. It " conceals the
sun," because it interposes the veil of allegory between the reader
and its true meaning. The description of the stream which flows
from the mountain reminds us of Dante's account of his own special
excellence as a poet in Purg. xxiv. 52-54. The description of
Mopsus as a second Orpheus is obviously not without a touch of
playful irony.

33 Meliboeus presses his inquiries. It might be well for his
scholars to learn the Virgilian verses which Mopsus had jus sent

IV Z09 o

CANZONIERE

I yet may teach to these my wandering goats ^
With thee to guide me." What then could I

do,
When he thus urged me, panting eagerly ?
*'0 Meliboeus, to Aonian hills
Mopsus has given himself, year following year,
While others toil o'er law and equity, *"

And in the holy mountain's shade grows pale,
Washed in the stream that quickens poets' life.
And full, till breast, throat, palate overflow
With milk of song; my Mopsus summons me
To take the leaves that grow on Peneus*

shore, **

Where Daphne was transformed."

"What wilt thou do?"
Said Meliboeus. "Wilt thou ever keep
Thy brows undecked with laurels, through the

fields
As shepherd known ? " " Nay, name and fame

of seer, ^

Oft vanish, Meliboeus, into air,
And scarcely has the Muse our Mopsus brought
To full completeness, spite of sleepless nights."
Then spake I, indignation finding voice:

to his master. Tityrus can no longer refuse to answer his ques-
tions. " Mopsus is a votary of the Muses, dwelling on the Aonian
Mount. He summons me to put in my claim to the laureate
wreath." The daughter of Peneus is Daphne, loved by Apollo,
and transformed into a laurel (Met. i. 452-567).

47 "Well," is Meliboeus Perini's natural question, " will you act
on that suggestion, write a poem, submit it to the judgment of
scholars, and claim the laurel ? "

^ The poet's answer is twofold. He has fallen on evil days, and
scarcely even Mopsus, with all his restless study, has gained the
reputation of a poet. But great as might be the honour of the
laureate wreath, Bologna does not attract him. The Guelph anti-
imperial city is no place for him. Rather will he wait till he can
return to Florence (Par. xxv. 1-12), and claim it there. The
" flavescere " of the original in 1. 62 points to a less swarthy com-
plexion than that which we commonly associate with Dante's name,
and so far agrees with the Bargello portrait.
ZIO

CANZONIERE

" What echoes will from hills and fields

resound, "

If with a laurelled brow I tune my lyre
To psan hymns? And yet I own I fear
The thickets wild, and fields that know not

God.
Were it not better done to deck my locks
With triumph-wreath, and should I e'er return ^
Where my own Arno flows, to hide them there,
Now grey, once golden, 'neath the laurel

crown ? "
And he, "Who doubts this ? Yet, O Tityrus,
Bethink thee, therefore, how the time flies fast.
The she-goats are grown old whom once we

paired, ®

That they might bring forth young."

Then I replied,
" When in my song the sea-girt mountain high.
And those who dwell within the starry spheres.
Shall be revealed, as now the realms of Hell, ™
Then 'twill be well with ivy and with bay
To crown my brows. Will Mopsus grant me

this ? "
" Mopsus ! " he answered, " See'st thou not

that he
Condemns the speech of that thy Comedy,

63 Meliboeus reminds his friend that time passes quickly. The
young scholars who would welcome his poem are growing up into
manhood.

67 " Yes," is the poet's answer ; " when I have finished my
Purgatory and my Paradise, then, and resting my claims on them,
the poet's wreath will be welcome." Mopsus, perhaps, will allow
that. This leads to the question what Mopsus had snid, and then
to this Dante replies that he, Mopsus, contemns that form of poetry
in the vulgar tongue which even women can read and recite, and
he reads the Eclogue which he had received. Meliboeus naturally
asks how they shall convert Mopsus to a better mind. And the
answer is not far to seek. In bucolic language Dante has an ewe-
goat from whose udders the milk flows freely and without constraint.
211

CANZONIERE

As by the lips of women trite and worn, **

Rejected by the nymphs of Castaly?"

"So is it," I replied, and then again

I read thy verses, Mopsus. With a shrug

He answered, " What then lies within our reach

Our Mopsus to convert ? " And then I said, *

*' I have an ewe, thou know'st her goodliest far

Of all the flock, in milk abounding so

That scarce she bears the weight of udders

full,—
'Neath the vast rock just now she chews the

cud, —
Joined to no flock, accustomed to no fold. ^

Of her free will, unforced, she never fails
To seek the milk-pail. Her 'tis in my mind
To milk with ready hands, and ten jugs full
Will I to Mopsus send." " Do thou meanwhile
Watch all the frolics of the gamesome goats, *
And learn to fix thy teeth in hardest crusts,"
So sang we then beneath our oak boughs, I
And Meliboeus, while our poor abode
Saw homely meal preparing on the hearth.

He will send him ten pails of that milk, that he may taste and
judge. In other words he will let him see ten Cantos of the
Paradiso.

89-91 I assign these words to Melibosus. He warns Dante to
beware of the men whom he has held up to reproof in the Cotn-
media, and has thvis made his enemies, and of the hardships (/"an
xvii. ii6-i2o) which result from that enmity.

CANZONIERE

III

JOANNES DE VIRGILIO TO DANTE ALIGHIERI

Beneath the hills well watered, where we see
Savcna meet with Reno, sportive nymph.
Her snowy locks entwined with wreaths of

green,
I found a shelter in a rock-hewn cave.
My heifers cropped the herbage on the banks, *
Lambs browsed on tender grass, the goats on

shrubs.
What should I do } for I alone was there
As dweller in the woods, the rest being gone
Full speed into the city, business-pressed;
No Nysa or Alexis answered me, '"

Before, such constant comrades. With my hook
I carved me pipes of water-reeds ; — best cure
Is that for hours that linger — when the shade
Of Adrian shore, there where the crowded pines
In their long rows and stretching up to heaven, '*
O'erhang the fields as guardian deities,

ECLOGUE III

1 The Sarpina (Savena) and Reno are the two rivers of Bologna.
The former divides into two branches, known as the Old and the
New, to which the epithets "green" and "snowy" respectively
refer. Adopting the bucolic style of his master, Joannes describes
himself as in solitude while his scholars had left him for their business
in the city, and he was tuning his flageolet, i.e., taking up his pen to
write, when he heard the pipe of Tityrus resounding on the Adrian
shore. In other words, he has received Dante's Eclofue and the ten
Cantos which accompanied it. The former he admires. It is long
since the poets of Italy had heard anything like it. It charms not
only Virgilian scholars like himsel'", but even men of rougher moods
and lower culture. It stirs him up to imitation. He too will play
on the Virgilian reed, and for a time lay aside his graver tasks.
Benacus ( = Lago di Garda], from which the Mincio flows to Mantua,
represents the birthplace of VirgiL
213

CANZONIERE

Fields sweet with myrtles and with thousand

flowers,
And where the watery Ram leaves no sands dry,
But craves for showers his soft fleece to

bedew —
The whistling wind of Eurus blowing soft, ^

Brought to my ears the song of Tityrus,
Borne on the vocal fragrance, o'er the heights
Of Maenalus, balm-breathing on the ear,
And in the mouth milk-dropping, like to which
For many a day the guardians of the flock ^

Remember not, though all Arcadians be.
Arcadian nymphs rejoice to hear the son^.
Shepherds, and sheep, and shaggy goats, and

kine;
E'en the wild asses run with pricked-up ears.
And fauns come dancing from Lyceian heights. ^
And to myself I said, "If Tityrus
Thus charm the sheep, the cattle, and the goats
Whilst thou, a dweller in the town, didst sing
The song of cities, how long is it since
The reed, Benacus-grown, has touched thy lips ^
In shepherd's song ? Nay, let him hear that

thou.
Thou too a shepherd, singest in the woods."
Nor did I linger then, but laid aside
The greater reeds, and seized the slender ones,
To breathe a new strain with my labouring

lips. «

81 Characteristically the scholar thinks more of the Eclogue than
of the Paradiso. If the " divine old man " would but write always
like this, he would be a second Virgil — Virgil himself reappearing
on earth, as in the Pythagorean doctrine of transmigration. His
friends Mopsus and Meliboeus may now follow — the latter, indeed,
had already followed — his example.

36 Tityrus, in the bitterness of his life as an exile, might rightly

pour out the vials of his wrath on Florence, but he might spare the

214

CANZONIERE

And so, divine old man, thou wilt be found
A second Tityrus; nay, the very man, —
If we give credit to the Samian. So
Let Mopsus speak as Meliboeus spoke.
Ah me ! that thou shouldst dwell in squalid

hut, *5

With dust o'erlaid, and shouldst in righteous

wrath,
Mourn for the fields of Arno, fields from thee
Stolen, and from thy flocks. Ah, deed of

shame
For that ungrateful city! Yet I pray
Wet not thy Mopsus' cheeks with flowing

tears, ™

Nor in thy wrath torment thyself and him.
Whose love clings round thee full as close — I

say.
As close, O good old man, as doth the vine.
That with a hundred tendrils clasps the elm.
Oh, that once more thou mightest see thy

locks, **

Locks grey and sacred, gain a second youth.
Grown golden, and be trimmed by Phyllis' self.
How wilt thou then behold with wondering

look

scholar who loved him and clung round him as the vine clings round
the elm.

** Ah ! if he could but return to Florence and revisit his home
once again ! Is Phjllis, we ask, the Gemma, of whom we hear so
little ? Did Joannes know that it was the grief of Dante's life to
have been parted from her? (/'ar. xvii. 55). But meanwhile will
he not visit him at Bologna and join him in his studies? Each poet
might write according to his age. He describes his home and the
hospitality which he offers in glowing colours, but, of cou rse, after
the bucolic fashion. The " wild thyme " perhaps stands for philo-
sophic studies ; " poppy " for the soothing influences of the medical
studies in which Dante found refreshment. We note, at all events,
a reference to the sleeplessness from which Dante apparently suffered.
The mushroom and pepper, the garlic, the honey and the apples,
itaud, we may suppose, for different forms of liteiature, the words

ai5

CANZONIERE

Thy vine-clad cottage! Yet, lest long delay-
Bring weariness, thou may'st awhile rejoice ^
To see my joy, the caves where I find rest;
Refresh thyself with me. We both will sing ;
I, with my slender reed, thou playing still
The part of master, with more majesty.
So that age find his fitting place for each. "^

The place itself invites thee, flowing stream
Purls through the cavern which the rocks

protect,
And where the shrubs waft breezes; and

around
Wild marjoram pours its fragrance, and for

sleep
The poppy grows, and brings — so men report — ™
A sweet forgetfulness; a couch for thee
Of wilding thyme shall our Alexis strew
Whom Corydon bids me call, and willingly
Will Nysa gird herself to wash thy feet,
And get thy supper ready. Thestylis '^

Shall season mushrooms with the pungent dust
Of pepper, and subdue the garlic strong.
If Melibceus chance to gather that.
Too rashly, in his garden. Hum of bees
Shall bid thee to eat honey. Apples sweet *'

of the wise, the satires, the sonnets, the canzoni which made up a
poet's feast.

65 And all honour will be paid to the visitor. Ivy is there for the
poet's wreath. The students of Bologna ( Parrhasius, as an Arcadian
mountain, is the symbol of culture), and they will rejoice in the new
poems {qu. the Eclogue ?) and the old ({>«. the Coinmcdia T). They
will bring their tributes of honour (qu. panegyric verses ?), such as
Meliboeus-Perini had delighted in when he received them at
Bologna.

Tl And why should Tityrus fear Bologna ? Men of high and low
estate are ready to give pledges of their faithfulness. He might, at
least, visitthescholar to whom he was so dear. Chiron and Apollo
had not disdained the shepherd's life in a strange land, and why
should he ?

80 Then a new thought occurs to him, and Mopsus makes answer
2l6

CANZONIERE

Shall be for thee to gather and to taste.
Rosy as Nysa's cheeks are; much beside
Thou wilt not touch as being all too fair;
And o'er the cave the ivy creeps and creeps.
With wreaths prepared for thee. And, in a

word, **

No pleasure shall be lacking. Come thou

then.
And with thee come all those who wish to see
Thy presence with us, young and old alike.
From hills Parrhasian, all who would admire
In joy thy newer songs, and learn the old. *•

These will to thee their offerings bring, or

goats,
Fresh from the woods, or spotted hides of lynx.
As Melibceus once was wont to do.
Come then, and fear not, Tityrus, our fields:
The lofty pines with waving heads give

pledge '■'^

Of safety for thee; even so the shrubs.
And acorn-bearing oaks. No wiles are here,
No plots, as thou dost deem, of frauds and

wrong.
Wilt thou not trust thyself to me who love

thee ?
Perchance thou scornest this my poor abode: ^"^
And yet the gods have not disdained to dwell
In hollow caverns, witness Chiron old,

to himself. lolas (Virg. Eel. iv. 57, makes him the rich lover of
Alexis), i.e.. Guide da Polenta of Ravenna, Dante's host and patron,
will not allow him to leave, and Dante himself will prefer Ravenna
to Bologna. Why should the scholar thus seek after the unattain-
able ? Well, he can only plead that he follows the law of his nature.
He admires, and therefore he must love.

^ In the absence of Tityrus, Mopsus will console himself with

Muso, sc. with Musatto, a Latin poet of Padua of some eminence.

Dante, who " drank of the waters of the Arno," i.e., wrote Italian

poetry, and cared little for the Latin verses of his contemporaries,

217

CANZONIERE

Achilles' foster-father, and Apollo,

Who lived a shepherd with the sons of men.

"Art thou mad, Mopsus ? Nay, tolas, he, ^**
The man of polished culture, will refuse.
Seeing that thy gifts are but a peasant's store.
Nor is thy cave as safe as are the tents
Where Tityrus seeks repose. But what desire,
So eager, leads thee, what new impulse stirs ""
Thy feet ? " The maid still gazes on the

youth.
The youth on bird, the bird upon the woods,
Mopsus on thee, O Tityrus, and that gaze
Engenders love. Reject me then, and I
Will quench my thirst with Muso, Phrygian-
born. "=*
Truly thou know'st this not ; thou drinkest

still
Of thine own country's waters.

Why then, why
Hear I my heifers lowing ? Why flow streams
Fourfold of milk between the dropping thighs ? *^
I have it: I will haste to fill the pails
With fresh warm milk wherein the hardest

crusts
Shall pass to softness. Come then to the pail,
We'll send as many jugs to Tityrus
As he has promised us. And yet, perchance, ^*
'Tis a bold thing to offer milk to one
Himself a shepherd.

Even while I speak
My friends draw near, and on the mountain

height
The setting sun sinks down behind the ridge.

was p«'rhaps ignorant of his fame. Lastly, he ends by sending ten
poems of his own in return for those which he had received.
ZlS

CANZONIERE

IV

DANTE ALIGHIERI TO JOANNES DE VIRGILIO

Eous, with the Colchian fleece bedecked,
And all the other winged steeds were bearing.
With headlong course, the Titan wondrous fair.
His orbit, where it just begins co slope
From its mid-height, held each wheel of the

car ^

In even balance, and the glittering rays,
By shadows oft o'ercome, now, in their turn,
O'ercame the shadows, and the fields grew hot.
And therefore, in their pity for their flocks,
Alphesibceus, yea, and Tityrus, '"

Fled to the woods, the woods wherein the ash.
Together with the plane and linden, grows,
And while the sheep that wander in the fields.
Goats mingled with them, lie upon the grass,
And sniff the breeze, lo! Tityrus reclined, '^

Now full of years, beneath a maple's shade,

ECLOGUE IV

1 The opening lines remind us of Purg. ix. 1-9, both being based
upon Met. ii. 1-30. Eous ( = the Dawn) was the name of one of the
horses of the sun (i1/f/. ii. 153). The epithet "Colchian" points,
with its allusions to the golden fleece, to the spring-tide when the
sun was in Aries (H. i. 38). It was noon and the sun was hot.

7 The newinterlocutor Alphesibceus, is identified by commentators
with Fiducio de' Milotti of Certaldo (Boccaccio's birthplace), a
physician of high repute, then staying at Ravenna.

16 The subjects of which Alphesibceus spoke were naturally
enough partly physical, partly metaphysical, such as two students
of science might discuss together. Of some of them we find traces
in Dante's other writings ; as, e.g., of the return of souls to the stars
under whose influence they had been born, from which, in one form
of Platoiiism, they were believed to have come (/"ar. iv. 52). The
other questions turn mainly on the zoology of the time, such as
suited the studies of the physician.
219

CANZONIERE

By the soft, slumbrous fragrance sleep-
oppressed.
While on his thick-knobbed staff, from pear-
tree torn,
Alphesiboeus leant, that he might speak.
And then he said, " That souls of men

ascend ^

Up to those stars whence they came down to us,
Within our bodies a new home to find;
That snow-white swans make all Cayster's

banks
Re-echo with their songs, in mildest clime
Rejoicing, and the marshes of the vale ; — ^

That the dumb fishes leave the deeper sea
In shoals, where rivers first approach the

bounds
Of Nereus; — that Hyrcanian tigers stain.
With crimson gore, the heights of Caucasus;
That Libyan serpent with its scaly tail *

Makes furrows in the sand: — at all this I
Have ceased to wonder; for to all that live
Appropriate environment brings joy;
But Mopsus moves my wonder, moves it too

25 In all these instances there were the workings of the law of
" like to like," or at least of the choice of a suitable environment.
What Alphesiboeus could not understand was that Mopsus should
be content to remain in such a Cyclops' den as Bologna. The
personal Cyclops is identified with Romeo He' Pepoli, then ruler of
that city, under whose protection Joannes lived. Romeo is reported
to have been a Ghibelline (K///. ix. 132 ; Troja, Veltro, pp. 179-180X
but Dante apparently had personal reasons for distrusting him.

29 At this point Meliboeus-Perini arrives, panting in hot haste as
the bearer of the last Eclogue from Joannes. The older scholars
smile as when the Sicilians saw Sergestus torn from the rock to
which he clung when his boat foundered {^n. v. 200-283).

3*1 Tityrus raises his head and asks the reason of the breathless
haste. Then, as wich a taste for a marvel after the manner of Ovid,
lo ! of its own accord — for Melibceus is too much out of breath to
play on it — the reed breathes forth the first line of the Eclogue which
the scholar had sent to his master. The hundred verses stand for
the actual ninety-seven of the Eclogue.
220

CANZONIERE

In all the shepherds that with me abide ^

In fair Sicilian fields, that he prefers
Where vEtna smokes, the Cyclops' cave and

rocks."
So spake he. Then all hot with panting

breath
Comes Meliboeus: scarce had he exclaimed
"O Tityrus! " when all the elders mocked ***

His youthful, high-pitched voice, as once of

yore
Sicanians mocked when they Sergestus saw
Snatched from the rock. And then the old

man raised
His grey hairs from the grass, and to the youth,
Whose nostrils still were panting, thus began: *^
" Ah friend o'er-young, what fresh-born care

is this.
That makes thee vex thy lungs with pace so

quick?"
He nothing answered, but his lips then

touched.
His trembling lips, the pipe of oaten straw.
And thence no single note fell on the ear, ^°

But, as the youth was striving to draw out
Tones from his reed, the reed itself breathes

forth —

* Pelorus stands for Ravenna, as the true Sicily, the true home
of shepherds and their poets.

82 The king is Midas, who asked and obtained the power of turn-
ing whatever he touched into gold. When Bromius (= Bacchus)
taught him that he might free himself from the power which had
become a bondage by bathing in the Pactolus, the reeds whispered
the fact that the king had ass's ears {Met. xi. 143-146). That spon-
taneous utterance found, so Alphesibceus thought, a parallel in the
Eclogue-song that had flowed from the reed without human lips
applied to it. He excuses himself for thinking that a marvel like
that might have overcome Dante's hesitation. He urges that he
should still refuse to trust himself. The Dryads of Ravenna and all
his friends call on him to stay. They felt that be could not venture
without risk to his life.

CANZONIERE

I speak a thing most wonderful yet true —
" Beneath the hills well watered, where we

see
Savena meet with Reno." Had he then
But thrice upon the mouth-piece blown, I

trow
That he with five-score songs had soothed

the ear
Of silent shepherds, and that Tityrus
Had listened, and with him Alphesibceus.
And him Alphesibceus thus addressed.
Our Tityrus, " Would'st thou, honoured old

man, dare
To leave Pelorum's dewy plains, and seek
The Cyclops' cavern ? "

And he made reply :
" Why dost thou doubt ? Why, dear friend,

question me ? "
" Why do I doubt ? Why question thee ? "

then spake
Alphesibceus. " Hear'st thou not what sound
Comes from the flute in its melodious might,
God-given, like the reeds, the breeze-born

reeds,
As rumour spreads far off the change that

passed
O'er the king's temples, in their foul dis-
grace,
When he, as Bromios bade him, straightway

changed
Pactolus' sands to hue of glittering gold ?
Since he calls thee to where the shore is

strewn
With Etna's pumice dust, O blest old man.
Trust not delusive favour ; look with pity

222

CANZONIERE

Upon the hallowed spot where Dryads haunt.
And on thy flocks. The mountain height, the

downs.
The streams, will weep, bereaved of thee : the

Nymphs,
Fearing worse things, will weep for thee with

me. ^

And the ill-will Pachynus bears to us.
Will all subside. And we too shall regret.
We shepherds, having known thee. Blest old

man.
Abandon not the pastures and the springs.
On which thy name hath stamped a deathless

life." 85

" O more, by merit more, than half this

heart,"
Touching his breast, spake aged Tityrus,
" Mopsus, in love bound up with me for

those
Who fled Pyreneus' passion wild of yore,
Because I dwell, the Po upon my right, ^

And on the left the Rubicon, where sea

81 Pachynus, the southern promontory of Sicily, stands probably
for the kingdom of Naples, whose ruler, Robert II. {Purg: vii.
119; Par. xix. 130, xx. 63) had shown himself one of Dante's
bitterest enemies. His hostility would cease because it would be
satisfied with what would be Dante's ruin. That ruin might even
bring trouble on his friends.

85 The poet's consciousness that his name will live, and that with-
out writing a Latin epic, reminds us of H. iv. 102 ; Purg. xi. 98 ;
Par. xvii. 118-120.

88 Alphesiboeus was a bosom friend, but Mopsus also, as a votary
of the Muses, might claim some share in his affections. The lines
allude to the story in Met. v. 287-331, that Pyreneus had invited the
Muses to take shelter beneath his roof ; that he then offered them
violence ; that they took their winged flight from the tower of his
house, and that he threw himself after them and perished. Was
this a gentle warning to Joannes not to claim too exclusive an in-
timacy with the Muses whom he loved ?

80 Mopsus had written as though Dante were livinp;(as, of course,

he was literally) between the Po and the Rubicon, in the v^milian

region of Romagnuola, and sang the praises of his own iCtna {.i.e.,

223

CANZONIERE

Of Adria bounds the fair ^milian land,

Commends to us the pastures by the shore

Of iEtna, little knowing that we both

Dwell in the soft grass of Trinacrian height, ^'

More fruitful far than all Sicilian hills

In food for flocks and herds. And yet,

though rocks
Of -^tna fall far short of those green fields
Pelorum boasts, I fain would leave my flock.
And as thou wishest, come to visit thee, ^"^

My Mopsus, but for fear of Polypheme."

And then Alphesiboeus made reply,
" Who fears not Polypheme, with human

blood
Still wont to stain his lips, from that same

hour
When Galatea saw her Acis' limbs, ^^

Poor Acis ! torn asunder ! Scarcely she
Herself escaped. Would spell of love pre-
vail
When his fierce rage was kindled to such

heat ?
And scarce could Achaemenides restrain
His soul from parting, when he looked and

saw ""

Bologna), as though that were the home of poets. He was ignorant
that Ravenna was the true Trinacria ( = Sicily), the land where
Theocritus would have loved to dwell. And his Pelorum was
" green." It was the symbol of the national poetry, in the spoken
.anguage of the people, which Mopsus despised, but which was
destined to be far more fertile than the ^tnaean region, the classical
poetry, which he loved.

101 Polyphemus is, as before, Romeo de' Pepoli (1. 25). It was
Dante's distrust of him that led him to decline his friend's invitation.
The outrages named are those attributed to the literal Polyphemus
{Met. xiii. 739-898). Possibly they refer to some recent acts of
cruelty on Romeo's part.

1U9 Achaemenides was one of the companions of Ulysses, whom
jEneas encountered in Sicily (yff«. iii. 590-681). Here also there
may probably be an historical allusion now irrecoverably lost to us.
224

CANZONIERE

Tlie Cyclops, with his comrades' blood

besprent.
Ah, thou, my bosom friend, I pray thee,

check
That fearful wish that Reno and the Nymph
Thou praisest, close, within their boundaries,
This honoured head, to gather wreaths for

which "5

Wreaths that fade not e'en now prepares

himself
The dresser of the vineyard."

Tityrus,
Smiling in concord with him, heart and

soul,
In silence listened to his scholar's words,
As by the whole flock spoken. But be-
cause ^°
The horses of the chariot of the Sun
Were moving downwards through the ether

pure,
So that the shadows o'er all nature spread.
The shepherds, leaving valley cool, and

woods,

113 The Naiad is the nymph of the Savena joined with the Reno,
as in Ec/. iii. i. The "Virgin" is, of course. Daphne, transformed
into a laurel (Met. i. 486).

The expectation that the laurel wreath was ready to be cut for
him had an unlooked-for fulfilment. The Eclogue did uot reach his
scholar-friend till the hand that wrote it was cold in death, and the
laurel wreath was placed upon his brow by Guido da Polenta.

11'' Tityrus-Dante recognised that the words of Alphesiboeus were
those of the whole company of his friends. He therefore would
abide by his decision, and would not go to Bologna.

121 The steeds are those of the sun-chariot, now hasting to its
setting. The conversation was over, and the friends separated.
Meanwhile lolas (Guido da Polenta) had been listening, and he it
was (the writer of the Eclogue seems now to distinguish between
himself and the ideal Tityrus of the poem) who had reported the
dialogue to Dante, as he did to his scholar at Bologna. In the
original the last words of the last line poiinus (as an equivalent for
■Ko\.ov\>.iv) we have a noteworthy instance of Dante's boldness as
IV 725 t

CANZONIERE

Followed their flocks that took their home-
ward way, ^^
And shaggy goats went foremost, as they

took
Their path to soft green meadows ; and

meanwhile
lolas crafty, listening stood hard by.
Who heard all this and told all this to us :
He sings to us, O Mopsus, we to thee. **

the coiner of new words to meet his wants, a proof also that he had
at least some knowledge of Greek.

226

INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF THE
MINOR POEMS

{Italian and Latin*)

A ciascun' alma presa e gen til core (Son. i.) . , ii

■>« Al poco giorno, ed al gran cerchio d'ombra {Sest. i.) io6

^yAmor, clie muovi tua virtu dal cielo ( Ca«*. *•«. ) . 120

n/ Amor che nella mente mia ragiona (Cam. xv.) . . 132

^ Amor, dacche convien pur ch' io mi doglia (Cam.

via.) 81

~^ Amor e cor gentil sono una cosa (Son. x.) . . . 43

'•^Amor mi mena tal fiata all' ombra (Sest. ii.) . . 108

/Amor, tu vedi ben, che questa donna (Cam. x.) , 112

^Ballata, io vo' che tu ritruovi Amore (Ball, iv.) . 26

"^.■Cavalcando 1' altr' ier per un cammino (Son. iv.) . 19

''MUhi guarderi giammai senza paura (5<7«. ar:»rjrw. ) . 97

^Cio, che m' incontra nella mente, muore (Son. viii.) 31

-^ Coll' altre donne mia vista gabbate (5o«. vjj.) . . 30

-^ Color d' amore e di pieta sembianti (Son. xxvi.) . 75

«/'Cosi nel mio parlar voglio esser aspro (Cam. ix.) . 86

"•^ Dagli occhi della mia donna si muove (Son. xxi. ) , 60

-/ Da quella luce, che il suo corso gira (Son. xxxix.) . 103

V Deh Nuvoletta, che in ombra d' Amore (Ball, v.) . 58

■^ Deh peregrini, che pensosi andate (Son. xxx.) . . 79

—fD\ donne io vidi una gentile schiera (Son. xix.) . 57

— ■ Doglia mi reca nello core ardire (Cam. xviii.) . . 151

NV Donna pietosa e di novello etate ( Cam. iv.) . . 49

V* Donne ch' avete intelletto d' amore ( Cam. ii. ) . . 34

V" Donne, io non so di' che mi preghi Amore (Ball. vi. ) 91

• Due donne in cima della mente mia (Son. xlii.) . 170

v^'m' incresce di me si malamente ( Cam. Hi. ) . . 38

-^ E' non e legno di si forti nocchi (Son. xxxvi.) . . 100

'^' Era venuta nella mente mia (5o«. arjTjV.) ... 72

Forte sub irriguos coUes, ubi Sarpina Rheno (Eel. Hi.) 213

■-' Fresca rosa novella (Ball, xii.) 174

Gentil pensiero, che parla di vui (Son. xxviii.) . . 77

• Ball., Ballata ; Cam., Canzone ; Eel., Eclogue ; Sest., Ses-
tina; Son., Sonetto ; St., Stanza.

227

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

^ Gli occhi dolenti per pieti del core {Cam. vi.) .

' Gran nobilt^ mi par vedere all' ombra {Sesi. iii.)

' Guido, vorrei che tu e Lapo ed io (Son. ii.)

^- In abito di saggia messagera [Ball, iii.) .

s Io maledico il di ch' io vidi in prima (Son xxxii.)

v' Io mi credea del tutto esser partito (Son. xl.) .

V Io mi sentii svegliar dentro alio core (Son. xvi.)
N Io mi son pargoletta bella e nuova (Ball ix.)

Io scrissi gii d' amor piii volte rime (Prof, di Fede)
~ 'Io sento sTd' Amor la gran possanza (Canz. xiii.)

\ Io son si vago della bella luce (Son. xxii.) .

-^" Io son venuto al punto della rota (Cam. xi.)
' Io sono stato con Amore insieme (Son. xxxiii.)

V La dispietata mente che pur mira (Canz. i.)

•/ L' amaro lagrimar chi voi faceste (Son. xxvii.) ,

V Lasso! per forza de' molti sospiri (Son. xxix.) .
• /Le dolci rime d' amor, ch' io solia (Canz. xvi.) .

\ Lo re, che merta i suoi servi a ristoro (Son. xHv.)
Madonna, quel signer, che voi portate (Ball, vii.)
Molti, volendo dir che fosse Amore (Son. xlv.) .

■ Morte, poich' io non truovo a cui mi doglia ( Canz. v.

■ Morte villana, di pieta nemica (Ball, ii.) ,
Negli occhi porta la mia donna Amore (Son. xi. )
Nulla mi parra mai piii crudel cosa (Son. xliii.)

\ O dolci rime, che parlando andate (Son. xx.) .
Oltre la spera, che piii larga gira (Son. xxxi.) .
Onde venite voi cosi pensose (5o«. jrv.)
O patria, degna di trionfal fama (Canz. xx.)
Ora che'l mondo s' adorna e si veste (Son. xlvi.)

J O voi, che per la via d" Amor passate (Ball. i. ) .

■-- Parole mie, che per lo mondo siete (Son. xxxiv.)

V Per quella via che la bellezza corre (Son. xxxviii. )
-. Per una ghirlandetta (^fl//. I'm.)

- Per villania di villana persona (Son. xlvii.)

V Piangete, amanti, poiche piange Amore (Son. iii.)

..■ Pieridum vox alma, novis qui cantibus orbem (Eel. i.
I Poichfe saziar non posso gli occhi miei (Ball, xi.)

V Poiche, sguardando, ilcorferiste in tanto (Son. xlviii.
•' Poich' io non trovo chi meco ragioni (Son. xli.)
~/Poscia ch' Amor del tutto m'ha lasciato (Canz. xvii.

Poscia ch' i' ho perduta ogni speranza (Canz. xxi.)

- Quantunque volte (ahi lasso !) mi ri membra (C<2«s. vii.
• Se'l bello aspetto non mi fosse tolto (Son. v.)

Se' tu colui c' ha trattato sovente (Son. xiii.)
-, Se vedi gli occhi miei di pianger vaghi (Son. xxxvii.
-. Si lungamente m" ha tenuto Amore (St. ) .
s Spesse fiate venemi alia mente (Son. ix.) .

zzg

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare (5o«. ^TiiV.) . . 54

Togliete via le vostre porte otnai (5o«. ;<?/»:(?.) . . 181

Tre donne intorno al cor mi son venule (Cam. xix.) . 158

Tiitti li miei pansier parlan d" Amore (Son. vi.) . 29

Vede perfettamente ogni salute (5o«. AT/jiV.) . , 56

Velleribus Colchis praepes detectus E6us (Eel. iv ) . 219

Venite a inlander gli sospiri miei (Son. xxiii.) . . 70

Videro gli occhi miei quanta pietale (Son. xxv.) . 74

Vidimus in nigris albo patienie lituris (Eel. it.) . . 208

Voi che, intendendo, il lerzo ciel moveta (Cam. xiv.) 128

Voi, cha portate la sambianza umile (Son, xii ) . . 45

Voi che sapete ragionar d' amore (Ball, x.) . . 104

Voi, donne, che pietoso atto mostrate (Son, xiv.) 47

129

INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF THE
MINOR POEMS

( Translation)

A gentle thought, which speaks to mc of thee

{Son. xxviii.) .......

Ah cloud, that, in Love's shadow sweeping past

(Ball.v.)

Ah, gentle voice, to all the Muses dear (Eel. i )
Ah, me ! as often as I call to mind {Canz. vii ) .
Ah, me ! by reason of the many sighs [Son. xxix.)
A lady pitiful, in youth's fresh bloom (Canz. iv.)
Along the pathway Beauty loves to tread (Son

X xxviii.) .......

A maiden young and beautiful am I (Ball. ix. )
And art thou he, who hath so often sung (Son. xiii.)
Beneath the hills well-watered, where we see (Eel. Hi.
Beyond the sphere that wheeleth widest round (Sun.

xxxi.)

By reason of a garland fair (Ball, viii.)
Come now, and listen ye to each sad sigh (Son. xxiii.
Dear country, worthy of triumphal fame (Cam. xx.)
Dear rhymes, who, as ye go, hold converse sweet

(Son. XX.) ........

Death, since I find not one who with me grieves

(Canz. V.)

Eous, with the Colchian fleece bedecked (Eel. iv.)
Fain in my speech would I be harsh and rough

(Cam. ix.) ........

Fresh rose, just newly born (Ball, xii)

From my dear Lady's eyes alight 6o\.\\g\e&m(Son.xxi.)

From that bright star which moveth on its way

(Son. xxxix.) .......

Full many a time there comes into my thought {5c«. ix.)
Full oft have I of Love writ many rhymes (Con. of

Faith)

Grief brings within my heart a spirit bold (Cam. xviii.)
Guido, I would that Lapo, thou, and I (Son. it.)
231

77

58
202

71

78

49

102
98
46

213

80

93
70
163

59

62
219

86

174
60

103
33

188

151

13

NDEX OF FIRST LINES

He sees completely fullest bliss abound {Son. xviii.) . 56

I am so eager for the beauteous light {Son. xxii.) . 61

I curse the day when first I saw the light {Son. xxxii, ) 90

I feel so much the potency of Love {Canz. xiii.) . 124

I felt within, awakening in my heart {Son. xvi.) . 53

If thou dost see mine eyes so fain to weep (^ow.arjrJWiV.) 101
1 have with Love in contact close been thrown

{Son. xxxiii.) 94

In fashion of an envoy wise and true {Ball. Hi.) . 25

I saw a band of gentle dames pass by {Son. xix. ) . 57

I seem to see great glory in the shade (5«/. «'?.) . no

I thought that I had parted evermore {Son. xl. ) . 168
I to that point in the great wheel have come

(Canz. xi.) 116

I will that thou, my Song, find Love anew {Ball, iv.) 26

Ladies, I know not what of Love to pray {Ball, vi.) . 91

Ladies, who have intelligence of love {Cauz. ii.) . 34

Lady, the sovran Lord thou so dost bear {Ball, vii ) 92

Love and the gentle heart are one in kind {Son. x.) . 43
Love leads me many times beneaih the shade

{Sest. it.) 108

Love, since 'tis meet that I should tell my woe

{Cam. via.) ....... 81

Love, thou see'st well that this my lady fair {Canz. x.) 112
Love, who doth often with my mind converse {Canz.

XV.) 132

Love, who from heaven thy virtue dost unfold

{Canz.xii) 120

Love's pallid hue and sorrow's signs of woe {Son. xxvi. ) 75
Many who fain would tell what Love may be

{Son. xlv.) f^j

Mine eyes beheld what pity deep and true {Son. xxv.) 74

My every thought is fain to speak of love {Son. vi.) . 29

My lady beareth Love in her fair eyes {Son. xi ) . 44
My sorrowing eyes, through pity for my mind

( Canz. vi.) . . . . . . . . 65

My sorrowing soul, that only looks behind {Canz. i.) 21
No tree there is so gnarled and stiff to ply (Son.

xxxvi.) ........ IOC

Nought can to me more pitiless appear (Son. xliii.) . 171
Now that the world hath donned her bright array

(Son. xlvi.) 17S

O villain Death, of pity ruthless foe (Ball, ii.) . , 18

O ye who on Love's path pursue your way (Ball, i.) . 15

O ye who with a mien of lowliness (Son. xii.) . , 45

Riding the other day along a road (Son. iv.) . . jo

Since every hope of mine hat h from me gone ( Cam. xxi.) tSss

232

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

Since I have none who will with me converse

{Son. xli.) 169

Since Love hath ceased my longing soul to fill

{Cam. xvii.) ....... 145

Since still I fail mine eyes to satisfy {Ball, xi.) . . 173
Since with thy glance thou so hast pierced my heart

{Son. xlviii.) 180

So gentle and so fair she seems to be {Son. xvii.) , 54
So long have I been prisoner held by Love {St.) , 65
So sad and keen a grief comes over me {Cam. Hi.) . 38
That gentle Lady came upon my thought {Son. xxiv.) 72
That in my mind which clashes with it, dies {Son.

via.) ......... 31

The king, who doth his servants recompense {Son.

xliv.) 172

The many bitter tears ye made me shed {Son. xxvii.) 76
The pleasant rhymes of love which 'twas my care

{Cam. xvi.) . ....... 136

Those letters black on patient paper traced {Eel. it.) 208
Three ladies meet together round my heart {Cam.

xix.) 158

Through baseness uttered by the base in mind

{Son. xlvii.) 179

Throw open wide your gates in all men's sight

{Son. xlix.) 181

To each enamoured soul, each gentle heart {Son. i.) 11

To shortened days and circle wide of shade {Sest. i.) 106
Two ladies to the summit of my mind {Son. xlii.) . 170
Weep, all ye lovers, seeing Love doth weep {Son.

Hi.) 16

Were the sweet sight from me not ta'en away

(Son. V.) . . . . . . . . 20

Whence come ye thus with trouble so o'erwrought

{Son. XV.) 48

Who now will ever look devoid of fear {Son. xxxv. ) . 97
With other dames thou dost my looks deride {Son.

vii.) ......... 30

Ye ladies, who the mien of pity show {Son. xiv.) . 47
Ye pilgrims, who pass on with thoughtful mien

{Son. XXX.) 79

Ye who are skilled of Love discourse to hold

{Ball. X.) 104

Ye who with wisdom high the third heaven move

{Cam. xiv.) ....... 128

Ye words of mine, whose voice the world doth fill

{Son, xxxiv.) 96

*33

LIFE OF DANTE.

'*I fear the disgrace," says he, *'of having been si
so much passion, as one, reading these canzoni, i
ceive me to have been; a disgrace, that is remove
speaking thus unreservedly of myself, which si
passion, but virtue, to have been the moving (
intend, moreover, to set forth their true meanin
some may not perceive, if I declare it not." He
ceeds to give many reasons why his commentarj
written rather in Latin than in Italian ; for whi
excuse be now thought necessary, it must be r€
that the Italian language was then in its infa
scarce supposed to possess dignity enough for the
of instruction. *' The Latin," he allows, " would
plained his canzoni better to foreigners, as to the <
the English, and others; but then it must have es
their sense, without the power of, at the same tin

INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES

" AccEDiT verbum &a," 193
iEneas, 204. 224
Archaemenides, 224
Alexandria, 206
Alexis, 213, 216-17
All Saints' Day 1289, 57
AlphesibcEus, 219-21, 225
Ambrosian Library at Milan,

21, 178-79, 181
Antenora, 164
Apples, 215-16
Aquinas, St. Thomas, 142
Arcadia, 209

Arezzo, exp)edition against, 19
Aristotle, 142, 161
Arius, 189
Arno, 20, 34
Augiistine, St. , 150
Avarice, 154-56
Ave Maria, 201

Bacchus, 221

Beatific vision, 173-74

Beatrice, 11-17, 19, 21, 23, 27,
30-32, 34, 37-38, 41-42,
44-45. 4S^-S8. 62, 65, 76,
78, 79, 92, 98, 102, 128,
133-35, 170, 178-79, 181
(apotheosis of), 52, 64

Beatrice of Provence, wife of
Charles of Anjou, 13

Bells, rung during thunder-
storm, 95

Benacus LaJce, 213-14

Bice, 14, 53-54

Birds, migratory, 117

Boccaccio, 203, 219

Boethius, 73, 140

Bologna, 203, 206,210, 215-16,

220
Boniface VIII., loi
Bunyan, 102
Buonagiunta of Lucca, 34

Calpurnius, 203
Campaldino, battle of, 20-21,

23, 30
Campo Vaccino, Rome, 147
Can Grande, 187
Caprona, the siege of, 2t, 25
Casentino. the, 82 (the Lady

of), 38, 42, 86, 90, 94, 100,

119
Cecco d'Ascoli, 94, 144, 177
Cerchi, the, 142
Cerinthus, 189
Certaldo, Jacopo di, 123
Cesena, 203
Charles of Anjou, 13
Charles of Valois, loi
Chaucer, 144, 190, 199
Chivalry, true, 22
Cicero, 73, 141
Cimabue, 73
Cina da Pistoia, 14, 61, 90, 94,

168-69, i73> 177> 182, 186
Clement V., Pope, loi
Clytie, 172

Columna. Egidius, 142
Commandments, the Ten,

196
Commedia, the {see Dante)

23J

INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES

Cunizza, 13
Cyclops, 220-21, 224

Damiani, St. Peter, 203

Daniel, Arnaud, 106, 175

Dante (art studies), 73 (astro-
nomical lore), 116, 128
(and Beatrice ; first meet-
ing after her marriage), 11,
(last lines written to her
alive). 65, (Commedia,
the, first germs of), 35-36,
(Greek, his knowledge of),
226, (his Credo), 189,
(sight, weakness of), 25,
32, (unpublished canzone
attributed to him), 184

Dante de Maiano, 12

Defoe, 189

Derby, Lord, 202

Dino Compagni, 123, 166

Dino Perini, 208, 210

" Dittamondo, the," 189

Donna, 34, 99, (gentile), 38,
42, 102-3, "3> ^^^

Donzella, 34

Dreams, 12, 49-50

" Drelincourt," 189

Ebion, 189

" Emperor," applied to God,

loi, 128
Empyrean, the, 17, 80, 103
Enzo, King of Sardinia, 175
Eunoe, 171

Eusebius Pamphili, 203
Ezekiel, 102

Faggiuola, Uguccione della,

206
Farinata, 14
Fazio degli Uberti,i4, 86, 160,

189
Fiducio de' Milotti, of Cer-

taldo, 219
Florence, 14, 30, 32, 55, 67,

79, 85, 142, 162, 165-66,

182, 186, (ode in praise

of), 163
Folco de' Portinari, 45, 53
Fox, C. J., 202
Franceschino, Marquis, 187
Francis, St., 172, 188
Frederick II., Emperor, 137,

Fresco baldi, 142

Gallantry, true and false,

148
Garda, Lago di, 85, 213
Garlic, 215-16
Gemma Donati, 74, 82, 215
Gentucca, 86, 100, 119
Ghibellines, 127, 158, 220
Gianni, Lapo, 14
Gihon, 160
Giotto, 73, 105, 136
Gladstone, W. E., 202
Great Bear, the, 117
Guido Cavalcanti, 12, 13, 53,

70, 124, 175, 203
Guido Guinicelli, 13. 43, 142
Guido da Polenta, 225
Guido dei Sinibaldi, i68
Guittone d'Arezzo, 145

Hades, our Lord's descent,
190

Happier days, sorrow of re-
membering, 21

Henry VII. of Luxemburg,
102, 143, 162, 164, 166,
182-85, 187, 205

Herrick, 27

Honey, 215-6

Hugh de Sade, 13

lOLAS, 217

Irony of History, 14, 206

Joannes de Virgilio, 202-3
John XXII., Pope, 189
Jubilee, the, of 1300, 79
Jupiter, the planet, 104

236

INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES

Juvenal, 142-43, 154

Ken, Bishop, 55

Lagia, 14

Lago di Garda, 85, 213
Landor, W. S. , 55
Lapo degli Uberti, 14
Lapo Gianni, 14
Lentino, Jacopo da, 177
Lethe, 171, 204
LiUes of Florence, 206
Lucia St. (church), ir, 15
Luni, Bishop of, 187
Lunigiana, 187

" Madonna," use of the word,

12
Manning, Cardinal, 55
Martin, Theodore, 74
Matilda, 17, 19, 170
Maynard, Lady Margaret, 55
Melibceus, 208-11, 216, 220
Midas, 221
Mopsus, 208
Moroello di Malaspina, 82,

86, 187
Musatto, Albertino, 203, 217
Mushrooms, 215
Muso, 217

Naples, 223
Neri, St. Philip, 150
Neri, the, loi, 127, 162
Nile, the, 160
Nobility, true, 137, 140

Ovid, 142-43

Pachynus, 223
Pactolus, 221
Padua, 203, 217
Paradise, joy in, 134
Pargoletta, 74, 98-99, 119
Paternoster, the, 199
Pearls, 98
Pepper, 215

Perini, 210-11, 216

Persian mystics, 86

Peter Damian, 203

Petrarch, 13, 106

Pettinagno, Pier, 143

Pharos, 206

Philip le Bel, 101

Phyllis, 215

Pietra de' Scrovigni, 86, 90,

"3
Pilgrims, 19-20, 79
Plato, 44, loo

• Poggetto, Cardinal de, 189
Polyphemus, 224
Poppy, the, 215-16
Precious stones, 98, 113
Primavera {see Vanna)
Primum Mobile, the, 80, 103
Proven9al poets, 12, 25, 106,

174-75
Pucci, A., 12
Pulzella, 12
Purgatory, doctrine of, 192

QuiRiNO, Giovanni, 172

Ravenna, 169, 207, 217,

219-21
Robert of Naples, 206, 223
Romagnuola, 223
Romena, Alessandro da, 82
Romeo de' Pepoli, 220, 224
Romeo of Provence, 143
Rossetti, Gabriel, 158, 169
Rusticucci, 142

Sacchetti, 204
Sacraments, the seven, 193
Sarra/zano, 14
Saturn, 104, 116
"Screen," the lady, 15, 20,

26-27, 38, 60, 92, 179
Selvaggia, 14, 186
Seneca, 151

Senuccio Benuccio, 182
Serventese, 12, 15
Sestina, the, 106, 112

237

INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES

Sicilian Vespers, 32, 51

Simon de' Bardi, 11

"Sonettodoppio," 15

Sordello, 13

Spenser, 55

"Spiriti," 31, 33.37.40

Stanley, Dean, 55

Stars, 220, (influences) 103,

106
Statins, 148
Sterling, John, 55
Stratford de Redcliffe, Lord,

202
Sun, horses of the, 225

Templars, the, 102, 158
Tennyson, Lord, 67, 145
Terence, 204
Terza rima, 106, i8g
Thyme, wild, 215
Tityrus, 208, et seq.
Tornata (L' envoi), 25

Transmigration, 214
Trench, Archbishop, 55
Trivium and quadrivium, 99,

103
Troubadours, 12

Uberti, 142, 165
Uguccioni della Faggiuola,
206

Vanna, 14, S3

Venus, 104, 128

Verona, 169, 187

Veronica, 79

Via de' Bardi, 15

Villani, 123, 166

Virgil, 13, 203, 208, 213-14

Wellesley, Lord, 202
Winter, 116

Witte, researches, 21, 178-79
Wordiswortb, 50

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