“In your letter,” he writes in 1359,581 “there are many things that need no answer, for instance those of which we have lately spoken face to face. But there are two besides, which I have singled out, and these I do not wish to pass over in silence.... Firstly, then, you excuse yourself with some eagerness for having been so prodigal in your praise of our countryman, a poet for the people assuredly as to his style,582 yet undoubtedly noble if one consider the subject of which he writes. But you seek to justify yourself as though I might see in your praise of him or another a stain on my own reputation. You say too that all the praise you give him — if I look at it closely — turns to my glory. And you excuse too yourself by saying that in your youth he was the first guide, the first light in your studies. Well, then, you are acting with justice, with gratitude, in not forgetting him, and in short, with piety. If we owe everything to those who have given us life, if we owe much to those who have enriched us, what do we not owe to those who have nurtured and formed our spirits? Those who have cultivated our souls have indeed greater titles to our remembrance than those who have cared for our bodies.... Courage, then; I not only permit you, I invite you to celebrate and to honour this torch of your mind who has given you of his heat and of his light in this path along which you pass towards a glorious goal. It has been long blown upon and, so to say, wearied by the windy applause of the vulgar, and I bid you elevate it then even to the heaven by true praises worthy of him and of yourself. Such will be pleasing to me, because he is worthy of this commendation and, as you say, it is for you a duty. I approve then your commendatory verses,583 and in my turn I crown with praise the poet you commend.
But in your letter of excuse the only thing that has really hurt me is to see how little you know me even now; yet I thought you at least knew me altogether. What is this? You think I should not rejoice, that I should not even glory in the praise of illustrious men? But believe me, nothing is stranger to my character than envy, nothing is more unknown....”
Perhaps Petrarch protests too much. Yet one may well think that, noble as he was, he was at least above envying Dante Alighieri, for he knew very little about him, and sincerely thought him of small account since his greatest work was written not in Latin, the tongue as he so wonderfully thought absolutely necessary to immortality, but in the sweeter and lovelier “Florentine idiom,” the “glory” of which, as Boccaccio had already said in the Vita, Dante had revealed.
Thus all his life long we see Boccaccio as the enthusiastic lover and defender of the greatest of Italian poets, gently protesting against Petrarch’s neglect of him, passionately protesting against the treatment “Florence, noblest among all the cities of Italy,” had measured out to him, fiercely contemptuous of “those witless ones,” priests and the scholastics, who considered his works to be “vain and silly fables or marvels,” and could not perceive that “they have concealed within them the sweetest fruits of historical or philosophical truth.” Indeed, alone among his contemporaries he values the Divine Comedy at its true worth and for the right reasons. Nor in fact should we know half we do know concerning Dante — much more that is than we know of Chaucer and Shakespeare, for instance — if Boccaccio had not loved him and shared, as he says, “the general debt to his honour” in so far as he could, “that is to say in letters, poor though they be for so great a task. But hereof I have, hereof I will give; lest foreign peoples should have power to say that his fatherland had been alike unthankful to so great a poet, whether taken generally or man by man.”
It has become the fashion of late, and yet maybe it was always so, to sneer at, to doubt and to find fault with Boccaccio’s Vita di Dante584 in season and out of season on all possible points, and on some that are impossible. Scholars of Dante generally, with some eminent exceptions, seem to consider it a kind of impertinence in the author of the Decameron to have interested himself in Dante.
Mr. Wicksteed, for instance, to whom we owe a charming translation of the Vita585 — so charming and so full of Boccaccio’s own flavour that in all modesty I have taken leave to use it when I must — though he is himself its translator, finds it necessary not so much to commend it to us as to give us “some needful warnings” and “further cautions” in introducing us to it. He nowhere, I think, tells us how very valuable it is, nor instructs us why above all other works of the kind it is valuable to us. He nowhere takes the trouble to tell his readers that Boccaccio was the most eminent student of Dante in his day — the years that immediately followed the poet’s death — nor that he must have met and talked with many who had known Dante. He nowhere thinks it necessary to record that Boccaccio spent more than one considerable period of time in Romagna and the Marche, and even in the very city and at the same court where Dante lived and died. It did not occur to him as a point of honour before giving us his “warnings” and “cautions” to state that Boccaccio was well acquainted with Dante’s daughter Beatrice, nor to mention that it was probably during a sojourn in Ravenna, where she was a nun, that Boccaccio conceived, or at any rate “pondered” the Vita itself.586 Mr. Wicksteed does none of these things; but having spoken somewhat vaguely of the “versions” of the Vita and still more vaguely of its date, he proceeds to discuss its “documentary value,” assuring us a little reluctantly that “scholars appear to be settling down to the conclusion that ... [Boccaccio] is to be taken as a serious biographer, who made careful investigations and who used the material he had gathered with some degree of critical judgment.”587
It will be seen, then, that such scholars are right, and that we have indeed in the Vita not only the earliest, but incomparably the most authoritative life of Dante that has come down to us, for it was written not merely by the greatest lover and defender of Dante in the years that immediately followed his death in 1321, but by one who was then already a boy of eight years old, and who in his manhood was well acquainted with Dante’s daughter Beatrice, and with others who had known him in Ravenna and Romagna, where he had passed so much of his time.
The Vita then comes to us with a certain unassailable authority, and is besides a work of piety, of love, of vindication. It opens a little pedantically perhaps with an appeal to Solon, that “temple of human wisdom,” against the policy of the Florentine Commonwealth in its failure to reward the deserving and to punish the guilty. A passionate attack on those who had exiled Dante follows in which he demands: “If all the wrongs Florence hath wrought could be hidden from the all-seeing eye of God, would not this one alone suffice to call down His wrath upon her? Yea, verily!” Then follows the reason for his book, which it seems he has determined to write in expiation of the sin of Florence, “recognising that I myself am a part, though but a small one, of the same city whereof Dante Alighieri, considering his deserts, his nobility, and his virtue, was a very great one.” His book will consist, he tells us, of “those things as to which he [Dante] kept seemly silence concerning himself, to wit, the nobility of his origin, his life, his studies, and his character; and after that I will gather together the works he composed; wherein he hath rendered himself so illustrious amongst those to come....” And he will write in the vulgar “in style full humble, and light ... and in our Florentine idiom, that it may not depart from what he used in the greater part of his works.” He returns more than once to praise the vulgar tongue, praising Dante in one place as he who “was first to open the way for the return of the Muses banished from Italy. It was he who revealed the glory of the Florentine idiom. It was he that brought under the rule of due numbers every beauty of the vernacular speech. It was he who may be truly said to have brought back dead poesy to life.” In another place he says: “by his teachings he trained many scholars in poetry, especially in the vulgar, which to my thinking he first exalted and brought into repute among us Italians, no otherwise than did Homer his amongst the Greeks or Virgil his amongst the Latins.... He showed by the effect that every lofty matter may be treated in it; and made our vernacular glorious above every other.”
Having thus int
roduced his work to us, he proceeds to speak of the birth of Dante, who, he says, was born in 1265.588 He speaks then of his “boyhood continuously given to study in the liberal arts”; of his reading of Virgil, Horace, Ovid, and Statius; of his mastering history “by himself,” and philosophy under divers teachers by long study and toil. He then tells us of his places of study, naming Florence, Bologna, and Paris.589 He then passes on to his meeting in his ninth year with Beatrice, who, he tells us, was the little daughter of Folco Portinari, and recounts her death in her twenty-fourth year and Dante’s grief, his relations’ purpose to cure him by giving him a wife, and his marriage with Gemma. There follows the famous interpolation against marriage which I have already quoted at length,590 but which, as he confesses, has nothing to do with Dante.
Having thus brought Dante to manhood, Boccaccio speaks of his entrance into politics, “wherein the vain honours that are attached to public office so entangled him that, without considering whence he had departed nor whither he was going, with loosened rein he gave himself almost wholly up to the management of these things; and therein fortune was so favourable to him that never an embassy was heard nor answered, never a law enacted nor cancelled, never a peace made, never a war undertaken, and, in short, never a deliberation of any weight conducted till he first had given his opinion thereon.” We are told of the factions into which the city was divided, and how the faction opposed to that of which Dante was in some sense the leader got the mastery and “hurled Dante in a single moment from the height of government of his city,” so that he was cast out from it an exile, his house gutted and plundered, and his real property confiscated.
He shows us the poet wandering hither and thither through Tuscany “without anxiety” on account of his wife and children, because he knew Gemma “to be related to one of the chiefs of the hostile faction ... and some little portion of his possessions she had with difficulty defended from the rage of the citizens, under the title of her dowry, on the proceeds of which she provided in narrow style enough for herself and for his children; whilst he in his poverty must needs provide for his own sustenance by industry, to which he was all unused.... Year after year he remained (turning from Verona, where he had gone to Messer Alberto della Scala on his first flight, and had been graciously received by him), now with the Count Salvatico in the Casentino, now with the Marquis Moruello Malespina in the Lunigiana, now with the Della Faggiola in the mountains near Urbino, held in much honour so far as consisted with the times and with their power.” Thence Boccaccio tells us he went to Bologna and Padua, and again to Verona. It was at this time, seeing no way yet of returning to Florence, that he went to Paris and there studied philosophy and theology. While he was in Paris, Henry of Luxemburg was elected King of the Romans and had left Germany to subdue Italy. Dante “supposed for many reasons that he must prove victorious, and conceived the hope of returning to Florence by his power ... although he heard Florence had taken sides against him.” So he crossed the Alps, “he joined with the enemies of the Florentines, and both by embassies and letters strove to draw the Emperor from the siege of Brescia in order to lay siege to Florence ... declaring that if she were overcome, little or no toil would remain to secure the possession and dominion of all Italy free and unimpeded.” This proved a failure, for Florence was not to be beaten, and the death of the Emperor “cast into despair all who were looking to him, and Dante most of all; wherefore no longer going about to seek his return, he passed the heights of the Apennines and departed to Romagna, where his last day that was to put an end to all his toils awaited him.” There in Ravenna ruled Guido Novello da Polenta, who, as Boccaccio says, “did not wait to be requested” to receive him, “but considering with how great shame men of worth ask such favours, with liberal mind and with free proffers he approached him, requesting from Dante of special grace that which he knew Dante must needs have begged of him, to wit, that it might please him to abide with him.... Highly pleased by the liberality of the noble knight, and also constrained by his necessities, Dante awaited no further invitation but the first, and took his way to Ravenna....” There in “the middle or thereabout of his fifty-sixth year he fell sick ... and in the month of September in the years of Christ one thousand three hundred and twenty-one, on the day whereon the Exaltation of the Holy Cross is celebrated by the Church, not without the greatest grief on the part of the aforesaid Guido, and generally all the other Ravennese, he rendered up to his Creator his toilworn spirit, the which I doubt not was received into the arms of his most noble Beatrice, with whom ... he now lives most joyously in that life the felicity of which expects no end.” Then after speaking of the plans of Guido for Dante’s tomb, and again reproaching Florence for her ingratitude, and inciting her for her own honour to demand his body, “not but that I am certain he will not be surrendered to thee,” what we may call the first part of the Vita comes to an end.
The second part opens with a portrait of the poet very careful and minute in its description.
“This our poet, then, was of middle height; and when he had reached maturity he went somewhat bowed, his gait grave and gentle, and ever clad in most seemly apparel, in such garb as befitted his ripe years. His face was long, his nose aquiline, and his eyes rather large than small; his jaws big, and the under lip protruding beyond the upper. His complexion was dark, his hair and beard thick, black, and curling, and his expression was ever melancholy and thoughtful.”591 There follow several stories about him in Verona and at Paris. And Boccaccio seems to have come very near to the secret of Dante’s tragedy when he tells us at last that “he longed most ardently for honour and glory; perchance more than befitted his illustrious virtue.” He understood the enormous pride of the man, his insatiable superiority, his scorn of those who had wronged him; and he is full of excuses for him, full of pity too for his sorrows and eager to heap praise on praise of the great poet he so much reverenced and loved.592
The rest of the Vita is concerned with Dante’s work, and forms, as it were, a third part, introduced by a long dissertation on poetry and poets, followed by a short chapter on Dante’s pride and some in which he gives certain instances of it. Then he passes to the consideration of the Vita Nuova, of the Divine Comedy,593 the De Monarchia, the Convivio, the De Vulgari Eloquentia, and the Rime in the briefest possible manner. As a critic it must be confessed Boccaccio is lacking in judgment, but the facts he gives us, the assertions he makes in matters of fact regarding these works must be received, I think, with the utmost seriousness. It is impossible to doubt that Boccaccio wrote in all good faith, and it must be remembered that there were any number of people living who had he departed from the truth could have contradicted him. No one of whom we have any record did contradict him; we hear no whisper of any protest. Most of those who busied themselves with Dante, on the contrary, gladly copied him. Had he been a liar with regard to Dante the Republic of Florence would scarcely have appointed him to the first Cathedra Dantesca; but they gave him the lectureship just because he was the one person who could fill it with honour.
And so when he tells us that in his maturer years Dante was ashamed of the Vita Nuova we must accept it, reminding ourselves that this was no impossibility, for Petrarch too was ashamed of his Italian sonnets, while Boccaccio actually destroyed a great part of his own. When he tells us again that Dante left behind him seven cantos of the Inferno when he fled from Florence, we must accept it in the same way as we must accept the story of the recovery of the last thirteen cantos of theParadiso by Dante’s son Jacopo. Indeed, there is no good reason to find Boccaccio either careless or a liar anywhere in the work. The immense care he bestowed upon the collection of his facts has, on the contrary, been admitted by one of the best Dante scholars of our day594 and proved by another not less learned,595 so that we have no right at all to regard his work as anything less than the most valuable document we possess on Dante’s life. It has often been treated as a mere romance, it has been sneered at and abused, but it has never yet been proved to be at faul
t in any matter of the least importance touching Dante, or in any matter of personal fact. Of course it is not the work of a modern historian; it has not the reassurance of dullness or the mechanical accuracy of “scientific” history. But to sneer at it because its “account of the Guelf and Ghibelline disputes and of the political events in which Dante was chiefly concerned” may seem “vague and inadequate in the extreme” is merely absurd. Boccaccio is not writing of these events, he does not propose to give an account of them; he confesses in the most sincere fashion that he does not rightly know what the words Guelf and Ghibelline originally implied. He is writing of Dante; and on Dante’s life, on Dante’s work, he had enquired and studied and read and, as he himself says, “pondered” for many years.
We must not demand from the Vita more than it will readily give us. It was written with a purpose. Its intention was both to praise Dante and to arrest the attention of the Florentines to the wrong they had done him; Boccaccio wished to set the facts before them as an advocate of the dead. The facts: he had known Beatrice, Dante’s daughter, and three other relations or friends of Dante’s whom he names, Pier Giardino of Ravenna,596 one of Dante’s most intimate friends; Andrea Poggio,597 Dante’s nephew, and Dino Perini, Andrea’s rival in the discovery of the lost cantos of the Inferno, and many others who had known both Dante and Beatrice;598 thus he could if he wished come by facts; and that he set down just facts has been proved over and over again. And then there were still living those who had hated Dante bitterly and would gladly have found fault if they could. There were others too who would certainly have allowed nothing entirely to the detriment of Dante to pass unchallenged: they made no sign. That they were silent is in itself a sufficient tribute to the truthfulness of the book.
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 475
