DINO FRESCOBALDI

I

SONNET

Of what his Lady is

THIS is the damsel by whom love is brought
To enter at his eyes that looks on her;
This is the righteous maid, the comforter,
Whom every virtue honours unbesought.
Love, journeying with her, unto smiles is wrought,
Showing the glory which surrounds her there;
Who, when a lowly heart prefers its prayer,
Can make that its transgression come to nought.
And, when she giveth greeting, by Love's rule,
With sweet reserve she somewhat lifts her eyes
Bestowing that desire which speaks to us.
Alone on what is noble looks she thus,

Its opposite rejecting in like wise,
This pitiful young maiden beautiful.

II

SONNET

Of the Star of his Love

THAT star the highest seen in heaven's expanse
Not yet forsakes me with its lovely light:
It gave me her who from her heaven's pure height
Gives all the grace mine intellect demands.
Thence a new arrow of strength is in my hands

Which bears good will whereso it may alight;
So barbed, that no man's body or soul its flight
Has wounded yet, nor shall wound any man's.
Glad am I therefore that her grace should fall
Not otherwise than thus; whose rich increase
Is such a power as evil cannot dim.

My sins within an instant perished all
When I inhaled the light of so much peace.

And this Love knows; for I have told it him.

GIOTTO DI BONDONE

CANZONE

Of the Doctrine of Voluntary Poverty

MANY there are, praisers of Poverty;
The which as man's best state is register'd
When by free choice preferred,
With strict observance having nothing here.
For this they find certain authority
Wrought of an over-nice interpreting.
Now as concerns such thing,

A hard extreme it doth to me appear,
Which to commend I fear,

For seldom are extremes without some vice.

Let every edifice,

Of work or word, secure foundation find;
Against the potent wind,

And all things perilous, so well prepar'd
That it need no correction afterward.

Of poverty which is against the will,
It never can be doubted that therein
Lies broad the way to sin.

For oftentimes it makes the judge unjust;
In dames and damsels doth their honour kill;
And begets violence and villanies,

And theft and wicked lies,

And casts a good man from his fellows' trust.
And for a little dust

Of gold that lacks, wit seems a lacking too.
If once the coat give view

Of the real back, farewell all dignity.

Each therefore strives that he

Should by no means admit her to his sight,
Who, only thought on, makes his face turn white.

Of poverty which seems by choice elect,
I may pronounce from plain experience,-
Not of mine own pretence,-

That 'tis observed or unobserved at will.
Nor its observance asks our full respect :
For no discernment, nor integrity,

Nor lore of life, nor plea

Of virtue, can her cold regard instil.
I call it shame and ill

To name as virtue that which stifles good.
I call it grossly rude,

On a thing bestial to make consequent

Virtue's inspired advent

To understanding hearts acceptable:

For the most wise most love with her to dwell.

Here mayst thou find some issue of demur :
For lo our Lord commendeth poverty.

Nay, what His meaning be

Search well His words are wonderfully deep,

Oft doubly sensed, asking interpreter.
The state for each most saving, is His will
For each. Thine eyes unseal,

And look within, the inmost truth to reap.
Behold what concord keep

His holy words with His most holy life.
In Him the power was rife

Which to all things apportions time and place.
On earth He chose such case;

And why? 'Twas His to point a higher life.

But here, on earth, our senses show us still

How they who preach this thing are least at peace,
And evermore increase

Much thought how from this thing they should escape.
For if one such a lofty station fill,

He shall assert his strength like a wild wolf,

Or daily mask himself

Afresh, until his will be brought to shape;

Ay, and so wear the cape

That direst wolf shall seem like sweetest lamb

Beneath the constant sham.

Hence, by their art, this doctrine plagues the world:
And hence, till they be hurl'd

From where they sit in high hypocrisy,

No corner of the world seems safe to me.

Go, Song, to some sworn owls that we have known
And on their folly bring them to reflect:

But if they be stiff-neck'd,

Belabour them until their heads are down.

SIMONE DALL' ANTELLA

PROLONGED Sonnet

In the last Days of the Emperor Henry VII

ALONG the road all shapes must travel by,
How swiftly, to my thinking, now doth fare
The wanderer who built his watchtower there
Where wind is torn with wind continually!
Lo from the world and its dull pain to fly,
Unto such pinnacle did he repair,

And of her presence was not made aware,
Whose face, that looks like Peace, is Death's own lie.
Alas, Ambition, thou his enemy,

Who lurest the poor wanderer on his way,

But never bring'st him where his rest may be,-

O leave him now, for he is gone astray

Himself out of his very self through thee,

Till now the broken stems his feet betray,

And, caught with boughs before and boughs behind,
Deep in thy tangled wood he sinks entwin'd.

GIOVANNI QUIRINO TO DANTE ALIGHIERI SONNET

He commends the work of Dante's life, then drawing to its close; and deplores his own deficiencies

GLORY to God and to God's Mother chaste,
Dear friend, is all the labour of thy days:
Thou art as he who evermore uplays

That heavenly wealth which the worm cannot waste :
So shalt thou render back with interest

The precious talent given thee by God's grace :
While I, for my part, follow in their ways
Who by the cares of this world are possess'd.
For, as the shadow of the earth doth make

The moon's globe dark, when so she is debarr'd
From the bright rays which lit her in the sky,-
So now, since thou my sun didst me forsake,
(Being distant from me), I grow dull and hard,
Even as a beast of Epicurus' sty.

DANTE ALIGHIERI TO GIOVANNI QUIRINO SONNET

He answers the foregoing Sonnet; saying what he feels at the approach of Death

THE King by whose rich grace His servants be
With plenty beyond measure set to dwell
Ordains that I my bitter wrath dispel
And lift mine eyes to the great consistory;
Till, noting how in glorious quires agree
The citizens of that fair citadel,

To the Creator I His creature swell

Their song, and all their love possesses me.

So, when I contemplate the great reward

To which our God has called the Christian seed,
I long for nothing else but only this.

And then my soul is grieved in thy regard,
Dear friend, who reck'st not of thy nearest need,
Renouncing for slight joys the perfect bliss.

APPENDIX TO PART I

I

FORESE DONATI

WHAT follows relates to the very filmiest of all the will-o'-the-wisps which have beset me in making this book. I should be glad to let it lose itself in its own quagmire, but am perhaps bound to follow it as far as may be.

Ubaldini, in his Glossary to Barberino, (published in 1640, and already several times referred to here,) has a rather startling entry under the word Vendetta.

After describing this "custom of the country," he says:—

"To leave a vengeance unaccomplished was considered very shameful; and on this account Forese de' Donati sneers at Dante, who did not avenge his father Alighieri: saying to him ironically,—

'Ben sò che fosti figliuol d' Alighieri;
Ed accorgomen pure alla vendetta
Che facesti di lui si bella e netta;'

and hence perhaps Dante is menaced in Hell by the Spirit of one of his race."

Now there is no hint to be found anywhere that Dante's father, who died about 1270, in the poet's childhood, came by his death in any violent way. The spirit met in Hell (C. xxix.) is Geri son of Bello Alighieri, and Dante's great-uncle; and he is there represented as passing his kinsman in contemptuous silence on account of his own death by the hand of one of the Sacchetti, which remained till then unavenged, and so continued till after Dante's death, when Cione Alighieri fulfilled the vendetta by slaying a Sacchetti at the door of his house. If Dante is really the person addressed in the sonnet quoted by Ubaldini, I think it probable (as I shall show presently when I give the whole sonnet) that the ironical allusion is to the death of Geri Alighieri. But indeed the real writer, the real subject, and the real object of this clumsy piece of satire, seem about equally puzzling.

Forese Donati, to whom this Sonnet and another I shall quote are attributed, was the brother of Gemma Donati, Dante's wife, and of Corso and Piccarda Donati. Dante introduces him in the Purgatory (C. xxiii.) as expiating the sin of gluttony. From what is there said, he seems to have been well known in youth to Dante, who speaks also of having wept his death; but at the same time he hints that the life they led together was disorderly and a subject for regret. This can hardly account for such violence as is shown in these sonnets, said to have been written from one to the other; but it is not impossible, of course, that a rancour, perhaps temporary, may have existed at some time between them, especially as Forese probably adhered with the