Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  Jacopo said that he could not postpone coming to Messer Piero to tell him what he had seen, in order that together they might go and search the place — which he kept exactly in his memory — and learn whether it was a true spirit or a false delusion that had revealed this to him. While there still remained a good part of the night they set out together, and, coming to the designated spot, they found a matting fastened to the wall. Gently lifting this, they discovered a little opening which neither of them had ever seen or known of before. Therein they found some writings, all mildewed by the dampness of the wall, and on the point of rotting had they remained there a little longer. Carefully cleaning them of the mold, they read them, and found that they were the long sought thirteen cantos. With great joy, therefore, they copied them, and sent them first, according to the custom of the author, to Messer Cane, and then attached them, as was fitting, to the incomplete work. In such wise the poem that had been many years in composition was finished.

  XV. WHY THE COMMEDIA WAS WRITTEN IN THE VULGAR TONGUE

  MANY PERSONS, AND among them wise ones, ask some such question as this. Inasmuch as Dante was a most distinguished man of learning, why did he choose to compose so great and notable a work, and one dealing with so lofty a subject as that of his Commedia, in the Florentine idiom, and why not rather in Latin verse, as preceding poets had done? To this question I reply that two principal reasons, among many, occur to me. The first is that he did it in order to be of the most general use to his fellow-citizens and to other Italians. For he knew that if he wrote in Latin metre, as previous poets had done, he would have been useful only to the learned, while by writing in the vernacular he would accomplish something that had never been done before, without preventing his being understood by men of letters. While showing the beauty of our idiom and his own excellent art therein, he gave both delight and understanding of himself to the unlearned, who formerly had been neglected by every one.

  The second reason that moved him to employ the vernacular was this. When he saw that liberal studies had been forsaken by all, and especially by princes and other great men to whom poetic works are commonly dedicated, and that, as a result, the divine works of Virgil and of other lofty poets not only were come to be held in light regard, but were almost despised by the majority, he actually began, as his lofty subject demanded, in this manner:

  Ultima regna canam, fluido contermina mundo,

  Spiritibus que lata patent, que premia solvunt

  Pro meritis cuicumque suis, etc.

  There, however, he let it stand, for he believed that in vain would crusts of bread be put in the mouths of those who were still sucking milk. He therefore began his work anew in a style suited to modern feelings, and continued it in the vulgar tongue.

  This book of the Commedia, as some one tells us, he dedicated to three illustrious Italians, according to its three-fold division, to each one his part, as follows. The first part, the Inferno, he dedicated to Uguccione della Faggiuola, then greatly celebrated in Tuscany as the Lord of Pisa. The second part, the Purgatorio, he dedicated to the Marquis Moruello Malaspina; and the third, the Paradiso, to Frederick III, King of Sicily. There are some who maintain that he dedicated the whole to Messer Cane della Scala. As to which of these two statements is correct, we have no evidence save the gratuitous opinions of different persons; nor is it so important a matter as to need serious investigation.

  XVI. OF THE BOOK DE MONARCHIA AND OTHER WORKS

  AT THE COMING of the Emperor Henry VII, this illustrious author wrote another book, in Latin prose, called the De Monarchia. This he divided into three books, in accordance with three questions which he settled therein. In the first book he proves by argument of logic that the Empire is necessary for the well-being of the world. This is his first point. In the second book, proceeding by arguments drawn from history, he shows that Rome rightly holds the title of the Empire. This is his second point. In the third book by theological arguments he proves that the authority of the Empire proceeds directly from God, and not through the mediation of any vicar, as the clergy appear to maintain. This is his third point.

  This book, several years after the death of its author, was condemned by Cardinal Beltrando of Poggetto, Papal Legate in the parts of Lombardy, during the pontificate of John XXII. The reason of the condemnation was this. Louis, Duke of Bavaria, had been chosen King of the Romans by the Electors of Germany, and came to Rome for his coronation, against the pleasure of the aforenamed Pope John. And, while there, against ecclesiastical ordinances he created pope a Minor Friar called Brother Piero della Corvara, besides many cardinals and bishops; and had himself crowned there by this new pontiff.

  Now inasmuch as his authority was questioned in many cases, he and his followers, having found this book by Dante, began to make use of its arguments to defend themselves and their authority; whereby the book, which was scarcely known up to this time, became very famous. Afterwards, however, when Louis had returned to Germany, and his followers, especially the clergy, began to decline and disperse, the aforesaid Cardinal, since there was none to oppose him therein, seized the book and condemned it in public to the flames, charging that it contained heretical matters.

  In like manner he attempted to burn the bones of the author, and would have done so, to the eternal infamy and confusion of his own memory, had he not been opposed by a good and noble Florentine knight, by name Pino della Tosa. This man and Messer Ostagio da Polenta were great in the sight of the Cardinal, and happened to be in Bologna where this matter was being mooted.

  Besides the foregoing, Dante composed two very beautiful eclogues, which he dedicated and sent, in reply to certain verses, to Master Giovanni del Virgilio, of whom mention has already been made. He composed also a comment in prose in the Florentine vulgar tongue on three of his elaborated canzoni. Although he seems to have had the intention, when he began, of commenting on them all, nevertheless, owing either to change of plan or to lack of time, we find no more than these three treated of by him. This comment he entitled the Convivio, a very beautiful and admirable little work.

  Later, when already near his death, he wrote a little book in Latin prose which he entitled De Vulgari Eloquentia, wherein he purposed to give instruction in the writing of rime to whoever wished to undertake it. Though he seems to have had in mind to compose four parts to this little work, either he was overtaken by death before he finished it, or the other parts have been lost, since only two remain. This excellent poet also wrote many letters in Latin prose, whereof several are still extant. Moreover he composed many elaborated canzoni, sonnets, and ballate, both on love and on morals, in addition to those that appear in the Vita Nuova, but of these I do not care at present to make especial mention.

  In such matters, then, as are told of above, this illustrious man consumed what time he could steal from amorous sighs, piteous tears, private and public cares, and from the various fluctuations of hostile fortune — works much more acceptable to God and man than the deceits, frauds, falsehoods, robberies, and treacheries which the majority of men practise to-day, seeking as they do by different ways one and the same goal, namely to become rich, as if on that rested all good, all honor, all felicity.

  O foolish minds! A brief portion of an hour, when the spirit is separated from the perishable body, will reduce all these shameful toils to naught. And time, wherein all things are consumed, will either straightway efface all memory of the rich man, or will preserve it for a certain period to his great shame. This certainly will not befall our poet, but rather, even as instruments of war become brighter through use, so will it be with his name; the more it is furbished by time, the more brilliant it will ever be. Therefore let him labor in his vanities who will, and let that suffice him, without desiring to blame the virtuous action of another with censure that he himself does not understand.

  XVII. EXPLANATION OF THE DREAM OF DANTE’S MOTHER AND CONCLUSION

  IT HAS BEEN briefly shown — besides certain other matters by way of digressio
n — what were the origin, studies, the life, habits, and works of that glorious man and illustrious poet, Dante Alighieri, so far as it has been granted me by Him who is the giver of every grace. I know well that it could have been told by many others much better and more discreetly, but of him who does what he can no more is required. That I have written as best I could, does not take away the power of speech from another who thinks he can write better than I have done. Indeed, if I have erred in any part, I shall give material to another for writing in order that he may tell the truth of our Dante; for I have found no one who has written of him down to this time. But my labor is not yet at an end. A small matter which I promised in the course of this little work, remains for me to declare — namely, the dream that the poet’s mother had when she was pregnant with him. Of this I intend to speak as briefly as I may, and bring my discourse to an end.

  This gentle lady in her pregnancy dreamed that she lay at the foot of a lofty laurel tree, beside a clear spring, and that she there brought forth a little son. He, as I have before narrated, while partaking of the berries that fell from the laurel and of the waters of the spring, suddenly became a great shepherd, and showed himself passing fond of the leaves of the tree. While he was endeavoring to obtain them he seemed to fall, and suddenly she seemed to see a most beautiful peacock in his stead. Stirred by this marvel, the gentle lady broke her sweet slumber, and saw him no more.

  The Divine Goodness, to-day and from eternity, foresees every future event, when nature, its general minister, is about to produce some strange effect among mortals. Moved by its own goodness, it is wont to make us aware thereof through some demonstration, either by sign or by dream, or in some other manner, to the end that we may be convinced by this foreshadowing that all knowledge rests in the Lord of nature, the all-producer.

  Such prefiguration, if we observe closely, was made for the coming into the world of that poet of whom so much has been said above. And by whom could He have made it seen or observed with such affection as by her who was to be, indeed was already, the mother of the thing revealed? Certainly to her only was it shown. And what God revealed to her is already manifest to us through the above account, but what He intended thereby must be scrutinized with a keener vision. It seemed to the lady that she gave birth to a son, and this in truth came to pass a little after the vision was seen, but what the lofty laurel signifies, beneath which she bore him, is now to be examined.

  It is the opinion of astrologers and of many natural philosophers that by the virtue and influence of the superior bodies the inferior are produced, nourished, and, if a most powerful cause illumined by divine grace does not resist, are guided. Wherefore, observing what superior body is most powerful in the degree which mounts above the horizon at the hour when any one is born, they say that that person is completely controlled by this more potent body, that is, in accordance with its qualities. It seems to me therefore that by the laurel, beneath which it appeared to the lady that she gave our Dante to the world, the disposition of heaven is shown, for this at his nativity foretold magnanimity and poetic eloquence. Both these qualities are signified by the laurel, the tree of Phoebus, with whose leaves poets are wont to be crowned, as has already been clearly shown above.

  The berries whereof the child took nourishment I understand to be the issues proceeding from such a disposition of heaven. These issues are the books of poetry and their teachings whereon our Dante was most deeply nourished, that is to say, instructed. The clear spring, of whose waters he seemed to drink, signifies naught else, I think, save the richness of the teachings of moral and natural philosophy. Even as a spring proceeds from abundance hidden in the bowels of the earth, so these teachings take essence and cause from a wealth of demonstrative reasonings, which we may call earthly abundance. And even as food cannot be well digested without drink, so no knowledge can be well adapted to the intellect unless it be ordered and disposed by philosophic demonstration. Wherefore we may definitely conclude that by the clear water, that is by philosophy, ‘he digested in his stomach, in other words in his intellect, the berries whereon he fed, namely poetry, which, as has already been said, he studied with all industry.

  His sudden transformation into a shepherd illustrates the excellence of his genius, for he straightway became a man of such power that in a short time he comprehended through study that which was needed to become a shepherd, that is, a giver of pasturage to other minds that have need thereof. Now, as every one may easily understand, there are two kinds of shepherds: the one, shepherds of the body; the other, shepherds of the soul. Those of the body are of two sorts. First there are those who are commonly called shepherds, namely, the keepers of sheep, oxen, and of other animals. The second class is made up of fathers of families, by whose care the flocks of children, servants, and of others subject to them, must be fed, guarded, and governed.

  Likewise the shepherds of the soul may be divided into two classes: those who feed the souls of the living with the word of God, such as prelates, priests, and preachers, to whose custody are committed the frail souls of those who are subject to the government ordained for each one; and secondly, those of an excellent learning who, either by reading what men in the past have written, or by writing what seems to them to have been omitted or not very clearly explained, inform the minds and souls of hearers and readers. This latter class are generally called doctors, in whatever faculty it may be. This kind of shepherd our poet immediately, or in a short time, became.

  To verify this let us pass over his other works, and observe his Commedia, which by the beauty and agreeableness of its text feeds not only men, but women and children as well, while by the admirable sweetness of the profound meaning therein concealed it refreshes and nourishes great intellects, after it has for a while held them in suspense. His endeavor to acquire the leaves of the tree whose fruit had fed him signifies naught else save his ardent desire for the laurel crown, which was touched on above, for the one cause of this desire is that the leaves may bear witness to the fruit. His mother says that while he was most ardently longing for the leaves she saw him fall, this falling being none other than that which all of us make without rising, namely, the act of dying. This, if we well recall what was said above, we shall find to have occurred while he was most desirous of his laureation.

  Continuing, his mother says that she saw him suddenly change from a shepherd into a peacock. By this transformation we may easily understand his posthumous fame, which, though it rests upon his other works, lives especially through his Commedia. This book, according to my judgment, is in perfect conformity with the peacock, if the properties of each are observed. The peacock, it appears, has four notable characteristics. The first is his angelic plumage, whereon are a hundred eyes. The second is his foul feet and noiseless step. The third is his voice, horrible to hear. The fourth and last is his fragrant and incorruptible flesh. The Commedia of our poet also fully possesses these four attributes. But inasmuch as the given order cannot fittingly be followed, I will proceed to adapt now one, now another, as they come most to my purpose, beginning with the last.

  I say that the sense of our Commedia is like the flesh of the peacock, for, whether you call its sense moral or theological, it is, in whatever part of the book most pleases you, simple and immutable truth, and as such not only cannot receive corruption, but, the more it is examined, the greater odor of its incorruptible sweetness does it bring to those who perceive it. Of this many examples might easily be given, if the present subject permitted. I shall not advance any, but leave the search thereof to men of understanding.

  Angelic plumage covers his flesh. I say angelic, not because I know that angels have such plumage; but, hearing that angels fly, I reason as a mortal that they must have feathers. And since I do not know of any plumage so rare and beautiful as the plumage of the peacock, I imagine their plumage to resemble his. Now I do not name the plumage of the angels from that of the peacock, but the peacock’s plumage from that of the angels, for the angel is a nobler b
ird than the peacock. By the feathers wherewith his body is covered I understand the beauty of the rare narrative, seen in the letter and on the surface of the Commedia. Witness the descent into Hell; the sight of the place; its character and the various conditions of its inhabitants; the ascent of the Mountain of Purgatory, together with the tears and laments of those who aspire to be holy; and finally the ascent into Paradise and the vision of the ineffable glory of the blessed — a story so beautiful and rare that no man ever imagined or heard one more so. It is divided into a hundred cantos, even as the peacock is said to have a hundred eyes on its tail. These cantos distinguish the fitting varieties of the work, even as the eyes distinguish the colors and diversity of the things presented to them. It is clear, therefore, that the flesh of our peacock is covered with angelic plumage.

  Similarly the feet of the peacock are foul, and his step soft, which things perfectly correspond with the Commedia of our author. For even as it is clear that the whole body is sustained by the feet, so prima facie it appears that every written work is sustained by its manner of expression. And the vulgar tongue, by which and on which every joint of this poem is upheld, is foul in comparison with the lofty, masterful style used by every other poet, although it is more beautiful than other styles, and is conformable to our present ways of thinking. The soft tread of the peacock signifies the humility of the style. This is demanded in comedies, as is known to those who understand what comedy means.