Song and Legend from the Middle Ages Part 20

Thou art most truly our heart's s.h.i.+ne Our sun wide joy-inspiring; A sweet heart's love for all that pine, For all the sad a joyful shrine, A spring divine For the thirsty and desiring.

--Tr. by Kroeger.

CHAPTER V. ITALIAN LITERATURE.

There was no folk poetry and no popular literature in Mediaeval Italy. There were two reasons for this: (1) Italian history, political and intellectual, attaches itself very closely to that of Rome. The traditions of cla.s.sic learning never died out. Hence the Italian nation was always too learned, too literary to develop a folk literature. (2) Italy was for many centuries dominated by ecclesiastical influence, and the people's minds were full of matters of religious and scholastic philosophy, which excluded art.

The Italians translated and adapted some of the epics, romances, and tales of other countries, during the earlier years of the Middle Ages; but they were written in Latin, or in a kind of French. They produced none of their own. There was no literature written in Italian before the thirteenth century.

In the thirteenth century (1250) there came the first outburst of Italian literature--religious songs, love songs, dramas, and tales. In almost every part of Italy men began to write. But it was in Tuscany, in Florence, that the most remarkable literary development of this period appeared. It was of the nature chiefly of lyric and allegoric poetry. The work of this group of Tuscan poets was really the beginning of Italian literary art. Yet it was a finished art product, not at all like the beginnings of poetry in other countries.

The group numbered a dozen poets of considerable power and skill.

The greatest of them and the greatest of Italian poets was Dante Alighieri. In Italian mediaeval literature three names stand out far above all others. They are Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio. So completely do they overshadow their contemporaries, that in making our selection of Italian literature we shall confine ourselves entirely to these three.

Dante Alighieri was born at Florence, in May, 1266, and died at Ravenna in September, 1321. He had an eventful and pathetic life.

He was much in public affairs. He was banished from his native city in 1302, and died in exile. His literary work is represented chiefly by the following t.i.tles: "Vita Nuova, The New Life"; "Convito, The Banquet"; "De Monarchia, A Treatise on Monarchy"; "De Vulgari Eloquio, A Treatise on the Vulgar Tongue"; and "Divina Commedia", his masterpiece and the master-work of the Middle Ages.

FROM THE VITA NUOVA.

The "Vita Nuova" is a work of Dante's youth, a record of his early life and love. The t.i.tle may be translated either Early Life or The New Life. From the nature of the work we may infer that the latter translation conveys the poet's thought. It implies that after his first sight of Beatrice he began a new existence. He saw her first when he was nine years old. Nine years later she greeted him for the first time. Inspired by this greeting he began the "Vita Nuova".[1] It is written in prose interspersed with sonnets and canzoni. We select for reproduction some of the sonnets from Rossetti's translation.

[1] When Dante first saw Beatrice she was eight years old. From that hour he says he loved her. She was the inspiration of his early poem; and afterward, in the Divine Comedy, she became the embodiment of his conception of divine wisdom. She was married quite young to Simon di Bardi, a citizen of Florence. She died in 1290, when only twenty-four years old.

I. Sonnets telling to other ladies the praise of Beatrice.

Ladies that have intelligence in love Of mine own lady I would speak with you; Not that I hope to count her praises through, But telling what I may to ease my mind.

And I declare that when I speak thereof Love sheds such perfect sweetness over me That if my courage failed not, certainly To him my listeners must be all resign'd.

Wherefore I will not speak in such large kind That mine own speech should foil me, which were base; But only will discourse of her high grace In these poor words, the best that I can find, With you alone dear dames and damozels: 'Twere ill to speak thereof with any else.

My lady is desired in the high Heaven; WHEREFORE, it now behoveth me to tell, saying: Let any maid that would be well Esteemed, keep with her; for as she goes by, Into foul hearts a deadly chill is driven By Love, that makes ill thoughts to perish there; While any who endures to gaze on her Must either be enn.o.bled, or else die.

When one deserving to be raised so high Is found, It is then her power attains its proof, Making his heart strong for his soul's behoof With the full strength of meek humility.

Also this virtue owns she, by G.o.d's will: Who speaks with her can never come to ill.

II. On the death of Beatrice.

When mine eyes had wept for some while until they were so weary with weeping that I could no longer through them give ease to my sorrow, I bethought me that a few mournful words might stand me instead of tears. And therefore I proposed to make a poem, that weeping I might speak therein of her for whom so much sorrow had destroyed my spirit; and I then began:

The eyes that weep for pity of the heart Have wept so long that their grief languisheth, And they have no more tears to weep withal: And now if I would ease me of a part Of what, little by little, leads to death, It must be done by speech, or not at all, And because often, thinking I recall How it was pleasant ere she went afar, To talk of her with you, kind damozels, I talk with no one else, But only with such hearts as women's are.

And I will say,--still sobbing as speech fails,-- That she hath gone to Heaven suddenly, And hath left Love below, to mourn with me.

III.

"Dante once prepared to paint an angel."

"You and I would rather see that angel Painted by the tenderness of Dante,-- Would we not?--than read a fresh Inferno."

--Browning's "One Word More".

On that day which fulfilled the year since my lady had been made of the citizens of eternal life, remembering me of her as I sat alone, I betook myself to draw the resemblance of an angel upon certain tablets. And while I did thus, chancing to turn my head, I perceived that some were standing beside me to whom I should have given courteous welcome, and that they were observing what I did; also I learned afterwards that they had been there a while before I perceived them. Perceiving whom, I arose for salutation and said: "Another was with me."

Afterwards, when they had left me, I set myself again to mine occupation, to wit, to the drawing figures of angels; in doing which, I conceived to write of this matter in rhyme, as for her anniversary, and to address my rhymes unto those who had just left me. It was then that I wrote the sonnet which saith "That Lady":

That lady of all gentle memories Had lighted on my soul; whose new abode Lies now, as it was well ordained of G.o.d, Among the poor in heart where Mary is.

Love, knowing that dear image to be his, Woke up within the sick heart sorrow-bowed, Unto the sighs which are its weary load, Saying, "Go forth." And they went forth, I wis Forth went they from my breast that throbbed and ached; With such a pang as oftentimes will bathe Mine eyes with tears when I am left alone.

And still those sighs which drew the heaviest breath Came whispering thus: "O n.o.ble intellect!

It is a year to-day that thou art gone."

IV. The Close of the Vita Nuova.

Beyond the sphere which spreads to widest s.p.a.ce Now soars the sigh that my heart sends above; A new perception born of grieving Love Guideth it upward the untrodden ways.

When it hath reached unto the end and stays, It sees a lady round whom splendors move In homage; till, by the great light thereof Abashed, the pilgrim spirit stands at gaze.

It sees her such, that when it tells me this Which it hath seen, I understand it not; It hath a speech so subtile and so fine And yet I know its voice within my thought Often remembereth me of Beatrice: So that I understand it, ladies mine.

After writing this sonnet, it was given unto me to behold a very wonderful vision,[1] wherein I saw things which determined me that I would say nothing further of this most blessed one, until such time as I could discourse more worthily of her. And to this end I labor all I can; as she well knoweth. Wherefore if it be His pleasure through whom is the life of all things, that my life continue with me a few years, it is my hope that I shall yet write concerning her what hath not before been written of any woman. After the which may it seem good unto Him who is the Master of Grace, that my spirit should go hence to behold the glory of its lady: to wit, the blessed Beatrice, who now gazeth continually on His countenance qui est per omnia soecula benedictus. Laus Deo.[2]

[1] This we may believe to be the vision of h.e.l.l, Purgatory, and Paradise, the vision which gave him the argument of the Divine Comedy.

[2] Who is blessed throughout all ages. Praise to G.o.d.

FROM THE DIVINE COMEDY.[1]

[1] Dante called his poem a comedy, he says, for two reasons: because it has a sad beginning and a cheerful ending, and because it is written in a "middle" style, treating alike of lowly and lofty things. Midway in life the poet finds himself lost in the forest of worldly cares, beset by the three beasts, Pride, Avarice, and Worldly Pleasure. Virgil, who is the embodiment of moral philosophy, appears and leads him through the h.e.l.l of worldly sin and suffering, through the Purgatory of repentance, to the calm of the earthly Paradise. Mere philosophy can go no further. The poet is here taken under the guidance of Beatrice, the embodiment of divine wisdom, who leads him through Paradise to the throne of G.o.d. Such, in the briefest form, is the argument of the Divine Comedy; this statement carries the actual story and the allegory side by side. The first division of the triple vision is the Inferno. Dante's Inferno is an inverted cone, having its mouth in a deep rugged valley, its sides sloping down to the center of the earth. When Lucifer fell from heaven the earth retired before him, making this hollow cone. This is divided into nine circles, in which the lost souls suffer. These souls are grouped into three main cla.s.ses: the incontinent, the violent, and the fraudulent. The first circle of the Inferno is Limbo, where are the souls of children and the unbaptized; of the heathen philosophers and poets. They are neither in pain nor glory, they do not shriek nor groan but only sigh.

I. The Poets in Limbo.--From the Inferno.

Broke the deep slumber in my brain a crash Of heavy thunder, that I shook myself, As one by main force roused. Risen upright, My rested eyes I moved around, and search'd, With fixed ken, to know what place it was Wherein I stood. For certain, on the brink I found me of the lamentable vale, The dread abyss, that joins a thundrous sound Of plaints innumerable. Dark and deep, And thick with clouds o'erspread, mine eye in vain Explored its bottom, nor could aught discern.

"Now let us to the blind world there beneath Descend;" the bard began, all pale of look: "I go the first, and thou shalt follow next."

Then I his alter'd hue perceiving, thus: "How may I speed, if thou yieldest to dread, Who still art wont to comfort me in doubt?"

He then: "The anguish of that race below With pity stains my cheek, which thou for fear Mistakest. Let us on. Our length of way Urges to haste." Onward, this said, he moved; And entering led me with him, on the bounds Of the first circle that surrounds the abyss.

We were not far On this side from the summit, when I kenn'd A flame, that o'er the darken'd hemisphere Prevailing s.h.i.+ned. Yet we a little s.p.a.ce Were distant, not so far but I in part Discover'd that a tribe in honour high That place possess'd. "O thou, who every art And science valuest I who are these that boast Such honour, separate from all the rest?"

He answer'd: "The renown of their great names, That echoes through your world above, acquires Favour in heaven, which holds them thus advanced."

Meantime a voice I heard: "Honour the bard Sublime![1] his shade returns, that left us late!

No sooner ceased the sound, than I beheld Four mighty spirits toward us bend their steps, Of semblance neither sorrowful nor glad.

When thus my master kind began: "Mark him, Who in his right hand bears that falchion keen, The other three preceding, as their lord.

This is that Homer, of all bards supreme: Flaccus the next, in satire's vein excelling; The third is Naso; Lucan is the last.

Because they all that appellation own, With which the voice singly accosted me, Honouring they greet me thus, and well they judge."

So I beheld united the bright school Of him the monarch of sublimest song,[2]