Delphi Complete Works Of Dante Alighiere
DANTE ALIGHIERI
(1265-1321)
Contents
The Poetry Collections
THE NEW LIFE
THE DIVINE COMEDY (VERSE)
THE DIVINE COMEDY (PROSE)
The Italian Texts
LIST OF WORKS
The Biography
DANTE: HIS TIMES AND HIS WORK by Arthur John Butler
© Delphi Classics 2012
Version 1
DANTE ALIGHIERI
By Delphi Classics, 2012
NOTE
When reading poetry on an eReader, it is advisable to use a small font size, which will allow the lines of poetry to display correctly.
The Poetry Collections
Dante’s birthplace, Florence
Medieval Florence by Giorgio Vasari
Florence today
THE NEW LIFE
Translated by Charles Eliot Norton
La Vita Nuova is a collection of verse and prose works written in 1295 by the Italian poet Dante Alighieri (1265–1321). Forming an expression of the medieval genre of courtly love, the collection was innovative for being written in Italian, instead of Latin – the favoured language of high literature at the time. As well as the poet’s other works, La Vita Nuova helped to establish the Tuscan dialect, promoting an Italian language that could be appreciated by readers of all backgrounds and not just the privileged few.
The work contains 42 short chapters, with commentaries on 25 sonnets and several other rarer forms of poems. In the prose sections, Dante constructs a narrative of sorts between the poems; recounting his encounters with Beatrice, a young Florentine maiden he meets and falls in love with at first sight. As the poet discusses the origins and context of each poem, he also explains, often in meticulous detail, his technical decisions in composition. The chapters containing poems are composed of three parts: the semi-autobiographical narrative, the lyric that resulted from those circumstances and a brief structural outline of the lyric.
La Vita Nuova was written with the purpose to elevate courtly love poetry, transposing its tropes and its language into a sacred form of love poetry. The collection is a landmark work in the development of emotional autobiography, finely delineating feelings of courtly love, as well as presenting an unprecedented insight of a poet’s workmanship.
A portrait of Dante attributed to Giotto
‘Dante meets Beatrice at the Santa Trinita bridge’, by Henry Holiday, 1883
CONTENTS
I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVI.
XXVII.
XXVIII.
XXIX.
XXX.
XXXI.
XXXII.
XXXIII.
XXXIV.
XXXV.
XXXVI.
XXXVII.
XXXVIII.
XXXIX.
XL.
XLI.
XLII.
XLIII.
A scene from the poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1871
I.
IN that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read is found a rubric which says: Incipit Vita Nova [The New Life begins]. Under which rubric I find the words written which it is my intention to copy into this little book, — and if not all of them, at least their meaning.
II.
Nine times now, since my birth, the heaven of light had turned almost to the same point in its own gyration, when the glorious Lady of my mind, who was called Beatrice by many who knew not what to call her, first appeared before my eyes. She had already been in this life so long that in its course the starry heaven had moved toward the region of the East one of the twelve parts of a degree; so that at about the beginning of her ninth year she appeared to me, and I near the end of my ninth year saw her. She appeared to me clothed in a most noble color, a modest and becoming crimson, and she was girt and adorned in such wise as befitted her very youthful age. At that instant, I say truly that the spirit of life, which dwells in the most secret chamber of the heart, began to tremble with such violence that it appeared fearfully in the least pulses, and, trembling, said these words: Ecce deus fortior me, qui veniens dominabitur mihi [Behold a god stronger than I, who coming shall rule over me].
At that instant the spirit of the soul, which dwells in the high chamber to which all the spirits of the senses carry their perceptions, began to marvel greatly, and, speaking especially to the spirit of the sight, said these words: Apparuit jam beatitudo vestra [Now has appeared your bliss].
At that instant the natural spirit, which dwells in that part where our nourishment is supplied, began to weep, and, weeping, said these words: Heu miser! quia frequenter impeditus ero deinceps [Woe is me, wretched! because often from this time forth shall I be hindered]. I say that from that time forward Love lorded it over my soul, which had been so speedily wedded to him: and he began to exercise over me such control and such lordship, through the power which my imagination gave to him, that it behoved me to do completely all his pleasure. He commanded me ofttimes that I should seek to see this youthful angel; so that I in my boyhood often went seeking her, and saw her of such noble and praiseworthy deportment, that truly of her might be said that word of the poet Homer, “She seems not the daughter of mortal man, but of God.” And though her image, which stayed constantly with me, gave assurance to Love to hold lordship over me, yet it was of such noble virtue that it never suffered Love to rule me without the faithful counsel of the reason in those matters in which it were useful to hear such counsel. And since to dwell upon the passions and actions of such early youth seems like telling an idle tale, I will leave them, and, passing over many things which might be drawn from the original where these lie hidden, I will come to those words which are written in my memory under larger paragraphs.
III.
When so many days had passed that nine years were exactly complete since the above-described apparition of this most gentle lady, on the last of these days it happened that this admirable lady appeared to me, clothed in purest white, between two gentle ladies who were of greater age; and, passing along a street, turned her eyes toward that place where I stood very timidly; and by her ineffable courtesy, which is to-day rewarded in the eternal world, saluted me with such virtue that it seemed to me then that I saw all the bounds of bliss. The hour when her most sweet salutation reached me was precisely the ninth of that day; and since it was the first time that her words came to my ears, I took in such sweetness, that, as it were intoxicated, I turned away from the folk; and, betaking myself to the solitude of my own chamber, I sat myself down to think of this most courteous lady.
And thinking of her, a sweet slumber overcame me, in which a marvellous vision appeared to me; for methought I saw in my chamber a cloud of the color of fire, within which I discerned a shape of a Lord of aspect fearful to whoso might look upon him; and he seemed to me so joyful within himself that a marvellous thing it was; and in his words he said many things which I understood not, save a few, among which I understood these: Ego Dominus tuus [I am thy Lord]. In his arms meseemed to see a person sleeping, naked, save that she seemed to me to be wrapped lightly in a crimson cloth; whom I, regarding very intentl
y, recognized as the lady of the salutation, who had the day before deigned to salute me. And in one of his hands it seemed to me that he held a thing which was all on fire; and it seemed to me that he said to me these words: Vide cor tuum [Behold thy heart]. And when he had remained awhile, it seemed to me that he awoke her that slept; and he so far prevailed upon her with his craft as to make her eat that thing which was burning in his hand; and she ate it timidly. After this, it was but a short while before his joy turned into the most bitter lament; and as he wept he gathered up this lady in his arms, and with her it seemed to me that he went away toward heaven. Whereat I felt such great anguish, that my weak slumber could not endure it, but was broken, and I awoke. And straightway I began to reflect, and found that the hour in which this vision had appeared to me had been the fourth of the night; so that, it plainly appears, it was the first hour of the nine last hours of the night.
And thinking on what had appeared to me, I resolved to make it known to many who were famous poets at that time; and since I had already seen in myself the art of discoursing in rhyme, I resolved to make a sonnet in which I would salute all the liegemen of Love, and, praying them to give an interpretation of my vision, would write to them that which I had seen in my slumber. And I began then this sonnet: —
To every captive soul and gentle heart
Unto whose sight may come the present word,
That they thereof to me their thoughts impart,
Be greeting in Love’s name, who is their Lord.
Now of those hours wellnigh one third had gone
What time doth every star appear most bright,
When on a sudden Love before me shone,
Remembrance of whose nature gives me fright.
Joyful to me seemed Love, and he was keeping
My heart within his hands, while on his arm
He held my lady, covered o’er, and sleeping.
Then waking her, he with this flaming heart
Did humble feed her fearful of some harm.
Thereon I saw him thence in tears depart.
This sonnet is divided into two parts. In the first part I offer greeting, and ask for a reply; in the second I signify to what the reply is to be made. The second part begins here: “Now of.”
To this sonnet reply was made by many, and of diverse opinions. Among those who replied to it was he whom I call first of my friends, and he then wrote a sonnet which begins, “All worth, in my opinion, thou hast seen.” And this was, as it were, the beginning of the friendship between him and me, when he knew that I was he who had sent it to him.
The true meaning of this dream was not then seen by any one, but now it is plain to the simplest.
IV.
After this vision my natural spirit began to be hindered in its operation, for my soul was wholly given over to the thought of this most gentle lady; whereby in brief time I fell into so frail and feeble a condition, that my appearance was grievous to many of my friends; and many full of envy eagerly sought to know from me that which above all I wished to conceal from others. And I, perceiving their evil questioning, through the will of Love, who commanded me according to the counsel of reason, replied to them, that it was Love who had brought me to this pass. I spoke of Love, because I bore on my face so many of his signs that this could not be concealed. And when they asked me: “For whom has Love thus wasted thee?” I, smiling, looked at them and said nothing.
V.
One day it happened that this most gentle lady was sitting apart, where words concerning the Queen of Glory were to be heard; and I was in a place from which I saw my bliss. And in the direct line between her and me sat a gentle lady of very pleasing aspect, who often looked at me, wondering at my gaze, which seemed as if it ended upon her; so that many observed her looking. And such note was taken of it, that, as I departed from this place, I heard say near me: “Behold how that lady wastes the life of this man;” and naming her, I understood that they spoke of her who had been in the path of the straight line which, parting from the most gentle Beatrice, had ended in my eyes. Then I took great comfort, being sure that my secret had not been communicated to others on that day through my eyes; and at once I thought to make of this gentle lady a screen of the truth; and in a short time I made such show of it that many persons who held discourse about me believed that they knew my secret.
With this lady I dissembled for some months and years; and in order to establish in others a firmer credence, I wrote for her certain trifles in rhyme, which it is not my intention to transcribe here, save in so far as they might serve to treat of that most gentle Beatrice; and therefore I will leave them all, save that I will write something of them which seems to be praise of her.
VI.
I say that, during the time while this lady was the screen of so great a love as possessed me, the will came to me to record the name of that most gentle one, and to accompany it with many names of ladies, and especially with the name of this gentle lady; and I took the names of sixty of the most beautiful ladies of the city where my lady had been placed by the Most High Lord, and I composed an epistle in the form of a serventese, which I will not transcribe; and of which I would not have made mention, but for the sake of telling this which fell out marvellously in its composition, namely, that in no other place did the name of my lady endure to stand, but as the ninth in number among the names of these ladies.
VII.
The lady with whom I had so long concealed my will was obliged to depart from the above-mentioned city, and go to a very distant place; whereat I, wellnigh dismayed by reason of the fair defence which had failed me, did more discomfort me than I myself would beforehand have believed. And, thinking that, if I did not speak somewhat grievingly of her departure, people would sooner become acquainted with my secret, I resolved to make some lament for it in a sonnet, which I will transcribe because my lady was the immediate occasion of certain words which are in the sonnet, as is evident to whoever understands it; and then I devised this sonnet: —
O ye who turn your steps along Love’s way,
Consider, and then say,
If there be any grief than mine more great;
That ye to hear me deign, I only pray;
Then fancy, as ye may,
If I am every torment’s inn and gate.
‘T was not my little goodness to repay,
But bounty to display,
Love gave me such a sweet and pleasant fate,
That many times I heard behind me say,
”Ah, through what merit, pray,
Hath this man’s heart become so light of late?”
But now is wholly lost my hardihead,
Which came from out a treasure of Love’s own,
And I stay poor alone,
So that of speech there cometh to me dread.
Thus wishing now to do like unto one
Who, out of shame, concealeth his disgrace,
I wear a joyful face,
While in my heart I waste away and groan.
This sonnet has two principal parts; for in the first I intend to cry to the liegemen of Love with those words of Jeremy the prophet: O vos omnes qui transitis per viam, attendite et videte, si est dolor sicut dolor meus [All ye that pass by, behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow]: and to pray them to deign to listen to me. In the second I relate where Love had set me, with other intent than that which the last parts of the sonnet indicate; and I tell that which I have lost. The second part begins here: “‘T was not my.”
VIII.
After the departure of this gentle lady it pleased the Lord of the Angels to call unto His glory a lady young and of exceeding gentle aspect, who had been very lovely in the above-mentioned city; whose body I saw lying without its soul, in midst of many ladies who were weeping very pitifully. Then, remembering that formerly I had seen her in company with that most gentle one, I could not restrain some tears; nay, weeping, I resolved to say some words about her death, in guerdon for that I had seen her s
ometimes with my lady. And thereon I touched somewhat in the last part of the words that I said of her, as plainly appears to him who understands them. And I devised then these two sonnets; the first of which begins, Lovers, lament; the second, Discourteous death: —
Lovers, lament, since Love himself now cries,
Hearing what cause ‘t is maketh him to weep.
Love seëth ladies mourn in sorrow deep,
Showing their bitter grieving through their eyes;
Because discourteous Death, on gentle heart
Working his cruel, unrelenting ways,
Hath all despoiled which in the world wins praise
For gentle dame, excepting honor’s part.
Hear ye what honor Love to her did pay;
For him in real form I saw lament
Above the lovely image of the dead;
And often toward the heaven he raised his head,
Whereto the gentle soul had made ascent
Which had been mistress of a shape so gay.
This first sonnet is divided into three parts. In the first, I call and solicit the liegemen of Love to weep; and I say that their Lord weeps, and that, hearing the cause why he weeps, they should be the more ready to listen to me. In the second, I relate the cause. In the third, I speak of certain honor that Love paid to this lady. The second part begins here: “Love seëth:” the third, here: “Hear ye.”