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THE

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CLASSICS

THE

CONVIVIO OF

DANTE ALIGHIERI

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CONVIVIO

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CONTENTS

The First Treatise

Ode I. .

The Second Treatise

Ode II. .

The Third Treatise

Ode III.

The Fourth Treatise

Analytical Note .

Ode IV.

Ode V. .

Ode VI.

Ode VII.

Ode VIII.

Ode IX.

Ode X. .

Ode XI.

Ode XII.

Ode XIII.

Ode XIV.

The Mountain Ode

6i

63
135
138
224
228

383

388

390
394
396

398
400
40Z
404
408
410
412
417

ii CONTENTS

PAGE

Appendix I. — The Date of the Con-vi-vio, and
its relation to the De Vulgari
Eloqueiitia and the De Mon-
orchia ... 420

„ II. — On Dante's 'Second Love,' and

the relation of the Con-vi-vio
to the Vita Nuo'va and the
' ' Commtdia . . .428

„ III. — The Astronomy of the Cotfvi-vio 436

Partial Tabulation of the Second Main

Division of the Fourth Treatise . 443

Fuller Tabulation or II., a, |3 in the Fourth

Treatise ....... 444

Editorial Note ...... 445

List of Scholastic Terms explained in thk

Notes ....... 447

THE CONVIVIO

THE FIRST TREATISE

CHAPTER I

[Man naturally desires knowledge, but because of
inward and outward impediments may seldom
attain to it. The privileged few who so attain,
urged by natural benevolence, desire to give of
their precious possession to others ; and so likewise
the author who, sitting at their feet, has gathered
some fragments of wisdom, has in charity im-
parted thereof to others, in his odes ; and now
perceiving that those odes (and parts of the Vita
Nuova) are scarce intelligible without a literal
and allegorical commentary, he invites those
who are too busy or too slothful to study for
themselves (but not those who are too vicious or
too incompetent) to come and share of his intel-
lectual feast.]

As saith the Philosopher in the beginning of the The
First Philosophy, ' All men by nature desire to natural
know ' ; the reason whereof may be, that each J°^^ °^
thing, impelled by its own natural foresight, \^a^^
inclines to its own perfection ; wherefore, in-
asmuch as knowledge is the distinguishing
perfection of our soul, wherein consists our
distinguishing [[lo^ blessedness, all of us are
naturally subject to the longing for it. Yet of
this most noble perfection many are bereft, for
divers causes ; which, inside of the man and

2 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

How outside of him, keep him from acquiring the
baffled tidbit of knowledge.

Inside of the man there may be two defects
and impediments ; the one from the side of the
body, the other from the side of the soul.
From the side of the body is it, when the parts
[20J are unduly disposed, so that it can receive
nought ; as with the deaf and the dumb, and
their likes. From the side of the soul is it
when vice hath such supremacy in her that she
giveth herself to pursuing vicious delights,
wherein she is deluded to such a point that
for their sake she holds all things cheap.

Outside of the man, likewise, two causes may
be detected, one of which brings about compul-
sion, [30] the other indolence. The former is
that family and civic care which rightly engages to
itself the greater number of men, so that they may
not abide in leisure of speculation. The latter
is the defect of the place where the person is
born and nurtured, which may chance to be not
only void of all provision for study, but remote
from studious folk.

The two first of these causes, to wit the
! C40] first from the inner side and the first from
the outer side, are not to be blamed, but to be
excused, and deserve to be pardoned. The
two others (though one of them more than the
other) deserve to be blamed and abominated.
Manifestly then may he perceive who rightly
considers, that few be left who may reach to
that habit which is desired by all ; and well-
nigh beyond number are they which be hindered
and which {^$0'] live all their lives famished for
this universal food. Oh blessed those few who

I. THE FIRST TREATISE 3

sit at the table where the bread of angels is The
consumed, and wretched they who share the "read of
food of sheep ! But inasmuch as every man is
naturally friendly to every man, and every friend
is grieved by the defect of his friend, they who
are fed at so lofty a table are not without com-
passion towards [[603 those whom they see
browsing round on grass and acorns in the pas-
ture of brutes ; and inasmuch as compassion is
the mother of benefaction, they who know ever
proffer freely of their good wealth to those poor
indeed, and are as a living spring at whose waters
the natural thirst above spoken of is refreshed.
And_I, therefore^ who sit not at the blessed '^'^ r^vA"--'
table, but, having fled the pasture of the common V^ix^xs-t-'T
herd, gather, at the feet [^703 of them who sit
at meat, of that which falls from them ; and
who, by reason of the sweetness which I ex-
perience in that which little by little I gather,
recognise the wretched life of those whom I have
left behind me ; moved to compassion, though
not forgetting myself, have reserved somewhat for
the wretched ; which somewhat, already some
time agone, I have displayed to their eyes, and
thereby have made them the more eager. ■ Aiajai
Wherefore, desiring now to make provision for ^
r ther^ [80J I purpose to make a general banquet v... najiK
oTtnat which I have already displayed to them ^ ij^
and of the bread which is needful for suchlike "*»-
viand, without which they might not eat it at ^
this banquet; such bread, to wit, as is worthy of ^ '*Y^ 1
the viand which I well understand to have been 'ni^IvV'*^
offered them in vain.

And therefore I would not have any take his
seat who is ill-disposed as to his organs, inas-

4 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The much as he has neither tooth nor tongue nor

invita- [go^ palate ; nor any addicted to vice, inasmuch

" as his stomach is full of poisonous and contrary

humours, so that it would not retain my viands.

But let come whosoever, because of family and

civil care, hath been kept in human hunger, and

let him seat himself at the same table with others

impeded in like manner. And at their feet let all

those place themselves who have been excluded

by their sloth, for they are not worthy to sit

more high. And let these and those [lOo]

take my viand, together with the bread which

will enable them both to taste and to digest it.

I The viands of this banquet will be served in

uTa^" H. fourteen fashions, that is to say fourteen odes,
^ ' treating as well of love as of virtue, which

, i, without the present bread had the shadow of

'n\f A'J^ certain obscurity, so that to many their beauty

« *. ^^^ more in favour than their excellence. But

3 this bread, to wit the present exposition, will be

the light which j^iioj shall makeapparent every
hue of their significance. And if in the present
work (which is entitled, and which I wish to
be, the Banquet) the handling be more virile
than in the Ne'zv Life, I do not intend thereby
to throw a slight in any respect upon the
latter, but rather to strengthen that by this ;
seeing that it conforms to reason that that
should be fervid and impassioned, this temperate
and virile. For a different thing is comely to
say and to do at [i 20]] one age than at another ;
wherefore certain ways are suitable and laudable
at one age which are foul and blameworthy at
another, as will be shown on its own account
further on, in the fourth treatise of this book.

I. THE FIRST TREATISE 5

And in that I spoke before entrance on the Conviyio
prime of manhood, and in this when I had ^^ ^^**
already passed the same. And inasmuch as my
true purport was other than the aforesaid odes
outwardly [1303 display, I intend to set them
forth by allegorical exposition after having dis-
cussed the literal story. So that the one account
and the other will supply a relish to those who
are invited to this feast ; whom I pray, one and
all, that if the banquet be not so magnificent as
consorts with the proclamation thereof, they
shall impute every defect not to my will but to
my power ; because what my will herein aims
at is a full and ^140] hearty liberality. ...

Prefixed to each chapter is a summary of its contents,
the object of which is partly to serve as an index in
helping the reader to find any passages he may want,
partly to set the details of the work in their true propor-
tion and perspective, and partly to indicate the actual
meaning that underlies the sometimes fantastic imagery
of the author. These requirements, one and all, vary so
greatly in different portions of the Cormi-vio that it would
be unwise to adopt any rigid system in these summaries,
and the reader must therefore look for no formal con-
sistency in them.

A system of marginal notes has been adopted which it
is hoped will give the student material help in grasping
the articulation of the work as he reads it, and in finding
passages he may wish to recover subsequently. See the
'Analytical Note' on pp. 383 ff.

The notes appended to each chapter will for the most
part have no other object than (within the narrow limits
natural in a popular edition) to make the text intelligible by
explaining what Dante is talking about and what he says.
The many fascinating questions as to his methods of
work and sources of information which the study of the
Cotfv'fvio raises will seldom be touched upon for their own
sake. And in like manner, references to the Comedy, or
to Dante's other works, are only given when a comparison

§ H2: THE CONVIVIO Ch,

of two or more passages is likely to throw essential light
upon one or other of them, and even in such cases the
student will often be left to his own resources. The
mere occurrence of the same name or the same idea in
some other work of Dante's will not as a rule be noticed.
*^* TAe numbers inserted in the text in square brackets,
used for reference in the notes and elsenvhere, are those oj the
lines in Dr. Maoris Oxford Dante,

The Title. The proper title of this work is 11 Convrvio
(Latin, con-vi-viuni), ^and so it was called in the four
earliest editions. But in 1826 it was edited by Trevulzio
under the title of // Corfvito (Latin, con-victus'), which it
has retained ever since. Dr. Witte (^Essays on Dante,^
pp. 368-373) has shown that the manuscript authority is
overwhelmingly in favour of Conz/i-vio, and perhaps an
attempt should be made to restore it, though it may
be doubted whether the erroneous form is not now too
familiarly established to be dislodged,

1. The Philosophers Aristotle.

2. The First Philosophy = T\\t Metaphysics.

4-11. For the reason Dante assigns for our love of
knowledge compare Paradiso, I. 103 fF. , together with
the arguments and notes in the ' Temple Classics ' Dante.
Distinguishing perfection, in the original, ultima per-
fe-zione. For this use of ultimo, compare De Monorchia,
I. 3 : 30-65, If, for example, we divide beings into
corporeal and incorporeal, corporeal beings into animate
and inanimate, animate corporeal beings into those that
can feel and those that cannot, sensitive animals into
rational and irrational, then the qualification 'rational'
is the ' ultimate ' or ' last ' distinction. The differentia
of man, therefore, being the exercise of reason, is the
'conclusive,' 'differentiating,' ' specific ' or ' distinguish-
ing' excellence or perfection of man,

II, Subject. Compare Pwr^afor/o, XVI. 79-8 1, and «o?e.

15. Habit, This is a technical word, with the full
significance of which the reader will become gradually
familiar. It means tht possession oi s.n acquired capacity,
as distinct from the exercise of it. A man who can

1 Translated by Lawrence and Wicksteed. Duckworth & Co.,

I. THE FIRST TREATISE 7

read Latin has the 'habit' of Latin, a man who can
write has the ' habit' of writing. The acquisition of this
capacity is itself the actualisation of a potentiality which
was dormant until trained, but it is itself only a potenti-
ality with reference to the act of writing. The acquired
' habit ' or power is therefore sometimes called the ' first
actualising ' of the potentiality, the exercise of that
acquired capacity being the second or complete actualising
thereof. Compare II. 14 : 26, note (p. izi).

27-39. The claims of family and civic life are re-
cognised as laying a man under the necessity of giving
the greater part of his available energy to his practical
business. Compare Ecclesiasticus, xxxvii, 24-34, and
also ConTW/o, I. 1 1 : 40-46. Whereas the absence of help
and companionship in study only furnishes an excuse to the
mental indolence it begets. Provision for study. The
Italian is studio, the regular word for a university or
organised institution for the higher education.

55, 56. Dante regards love of self, love of others and
love of God as natural to man. Compare the notes on
the classification of sins at the end of the Inferno and
Purgatorio volumes of the ' Temple Classics.' Convivio,
III. I : 34-36; IV. 4 : 1-44. Purgatorio, XVII. 106-
III. Paradise, XXVI. 16-36, and many other passages.

74, 75. * Not forgetting mysef,' compare I. 13 :

76, fVhich sometvhat. This is an obvious reference to
the odes, and we may perhaps infer that the 14 odes on
which the Con-vi-vio was to comment already formed a
recognised collection. There can be little doubt as to
the order in which they were to stand. After the three
odes actually dealt with by Dante in this work, the
other eleven followed in the order in which they are
given on pp. 388-416 of this volume. The 15th ode
' Amor, dacche conwen pur ch'io mi doglia' (XI. in Moore's
edition), was probably written subsequently and was not
included in the scheme of the Convi'vio. What has
become of the ode referred to in the De Vulgari Elo-
quentia,!!. II : 22, beginning Trag'^cwi ^<;//fl mente amor la
stiva,' remains a mystery,

Mr Edmund Gardner supplies me with the following
note on the order of Dante's Canzoni or Odes : —

' The majority of the existing MSS. of Dante's Canzoni

9 HE THE CONVIVIO Ch.

give these 15 odes as a single and complete work, in a

definite and constant order, frequently with a rubric

prefixed to each, giving the number and subject of each

poem. The order is the same as that adopted here,

but with one notable difference — the canzone of the

" atpro far/are " (cost nel mio parlor •voglio esser aspro)

stands not 6th, but 1st, The earliest known MS. of this

type belongs to quite the latter part of the 14th century.

-iQ The few MSS. of the canzoni that can with certainty be

\ assigned to an earlier date than this are seldom complete,

. \^ do not present these poems as a whole or collection, and

'^ each MS. has a different order. But in one of the

.^ earliest and most authoritative of them there is evidence

, of an original arrangement of the canzoni in which this

canzone of the aspro parlare stood 6th, immediately after

the five poems of philosophic love. If we take the

arrangement given us by the MSS. just mentioned, but

transfer this canzone to this 6th place, the whole collection

falls at once into an order which is precisely that required

by the indications given in the Con-vi-vio itself as to the

subjects to be treated in three of the unwritten books.'

Treatise VII. {Ode VI.) is referred to in IV. 26 :
66 f., and probably in III. 10 : 41 ; treatise XIV. {Ode
XIII.) in I. 12 : 87 f., II. I : 35 f., IV. 27 : 100 ff. ;
treatise XV. {Ode XIV.) in I. 8 : 128-132, III. 15:
140-145.

86, 87. / noell understand, etc. See note on I. 2 : 1 1 1-
130.

126. Prime of manhood, l^a ItaWan, gioventute. Dante
defines it in IV. 24 ; 22-29 ^* extending from the twenty-
fifth to the forty-fifth year. The bearing of this passage
on the dates of the Vita Nuo-va and the Convi-v'to is dis-
cussed in the Appendix, p. 420.

123, 124. See chapters 23-28 of the fourth treatise.

105, 106. That their beauty should be felt without their
meaning was bad ; but perhaps not so bad as that their
sense should be understood without their beauty. Com-
pare 1.7 : 88-91 ; also the ode of the second treatise, line
31, and the commentary in II. 12 : 21-27, S2-67.

127-132. Compare I, 2 : 120-123, and note.

THE FIRST TREATISE

,' CHAPTER II q

[ ( I. ) The author must apologise (a) for speaking of
himself, and (d) for speaking darkly, {a) How,
in speaking of any man, we either praise or
blame him, and why a man's friends (of whom
he himself is closest) should not be rebuked nor
praised in public save for good cause. But as
there are occasions when we may rebuke or laud
others to their face, so there are occasions on
which we may speak of ourselves, and amongst
them are (a) self-defence from infamous charges,
and (/3) the opportunity of doing great service to
others, both of which apply to the author's case ;
for his explanations will clear him of the charge
of unrestrained passion suggested by the odes,
and will enable him to explain the principles of
allegorical poetry.]

At the beginning of every well-ordered banquet Cleansing
the servants are wont to take the bread that is set the breaa
out and cleanse it from every blemish. Where- I.
fore I, who in this present writing am taking
their place, purpose at the outset to cleanse this
exposition, which counts for the bread in my
repast, from two blenushes. The one is, that for a, b.
anyone to speak of himself seems \_i-0~\ un-
justifiable, and the other, that for an expounder
himself to discourse too profoundly seems un-
reasonable ; and this appearance of what is
unjustifiable and unreasonable the knife of my
judgment cleanses away in the fashion that
follows.

Rhetoricians forbid a man to speak of a.
himself, except on needful occasion. And
from this a man is prohibited, because it is
impossible to speak of any without the speaker

lo THE CONVIVIO Ch.

On self- either praising or blaming him [^203 of whom
^""^h?^" he speaks. And there is a want of urbanity in
either of these kinds of discourse finding a place on
a man's own proper lips. And to solve a doubt
which rises here, I say that it is worse to blame
than to praise, though neither the one nor the
other should be done. The reason is, that what
is directly blameworthy is fouler than what is
incidentally so.

To dispraise one's self is directly blameworthy,
because a man should tell his friend of ^30]] a
fault in secret, and there is no closer friend to a
man than himself; wherefore it is in the chamber
of his own thoughts that he should take himself
to task and bewail his faults, not openly. Again,
for lacking the power or the knowledge to con-
duct himself rightly a man for the most part is
not blamed ; but for lacking the will he always
is, for it is by willing and not willing that our
badness and goodness is judged. And so he
who blames [^403 himself, by showing that he
knows his fault, exposes his lack of goodness.
And, therefore, a man must refrain, on its own
account, from speaking in blame of himself.

Self-praise is to be avoided as evil by im-
plication, inasmuch as such praise cannot be
given without its turning to yet greater blame.
It is praise on the surface of the words, it is
Uame if we search into their entrails ; for words
'are produced to demonstrate what [^503 is not
known. Wherefore, whosoever praises himself
shows that he does not believe himself to be well
thought of, which will not happen unless he has
an evil conscience, which in his self-praise is
revealed, and when revealed is blamed.

II. THE FIRST TREATISE n

And further, self-praise and self-blame are to On the
be shunned for one common reason, as the bear- illusion
ing of fajse ^witness,; for there is no man who is ^^
a true and just measurer of himself, so does our
kindness [603 to ourselves deceive us. Whence
it happens that every one hath in his judgment
the measures of the unjust trader who sells with
one and buys with another ; and each orte takes
stock of his evil-doing with a large measure and
takes stock of his good with a little one, so that
the number and quantity and weight of the good
seems to him greater than if it were assayed
with a just measure, and that of the evil less.
Wherefore, when speaking of himself in praise or
the contrary, either he speaks [70] falsely with
respect to the thing of which he speaks, or he
speaks falsely with respect to his own belief;
and the one and the other is falsity. And this
is why (inasmuch as assenting to an opinion
is a way of professing it) he is guilty of
discourtesy who praises or blarhes another to his
face ; because he who is thus estimated can
neither assent nor protest without falling into
the error of praising or blaming himself. Save,
be it understood, in the way of due rebuke,
which cannot be without [80] blame of the
fault which is to be corrected ; and save in the
way of due honouring and magnifying, which
cannot come about without mention made of the
virtuous deeds or of the dignities virtuously
acquired.

But, returning to the main purport, I say, as
indicated above, that speaking of himself is per-
mitted on needful occasions ; and amongst other
needful [90] occasions two are most manifest.

12 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

On what The one is when it is impossible without speak-

occasiona jj,g q£ himself to quash great infamy and peril ;

sneak <^ ^^'^ ^^^^ '* ^^ allowed by reason that taking the

himself least evil path of two is in a way taking a good

(J o_ one. And this necessity moved Boethius to

speak of himself, so that under cover of consola-

Ciuptioif^'' ^ion he might ward off the perpetual infamy of
his exile, showing that it [[lOo]] was unjust;

AcJ'ffy £ since no other arose to ward it off. The other

i.i)''-.p>\ p^ J8 ^hen by a man discoursing of himself the
highest advantage, in the way of instruction,
follows therefrom to others ; and this reason
moved Augustine, in the Confessions, to speak of
himself; for by the progress of his life, which
t was from bad to good, and from good to better,

ifhCV^ and from better to best, he gave example and
instruction which could not have been received

'^^'" otherwise on such [no] sure testimony.

Wherefore, if the one and the other of these
occasions excuses me, the bread of my leavening
is purged from its first blemishes. I am moved
by the fear of infamy, and T am moved by the
desire to give instruction which in very truth no

If*?'. other can give. I fear the infamy of having

pursued so great a passion as he who reads the
above-named odes conceives to have had ^^20]
dominion over me. Which infamy is entirely
quenched by this present discourse concerning
myself, which shows that not passion but virtue
was the moving cause. I purpose also to reveaT
the true meaning of the said odes, which none
may perceive unless I relate it, because it is
hidden under figure of allegory. And this will
not only give fair delight to hear, but subtle
instruction, both in discoursing after this fashion

-h

II. THE FIRST TREATISE 13

and in [^130]] understanding after this fashion The
the writings of others. meaning

^ of the

Odes

16. Necessaiia cagione. Compare Purgator'io, XXX.
55, 62, 63.

96. Boeth'tui (c. 475-525 A.D.) a scholar and states-
man under Theodoric. His studies were principally
philosophical and scientific, and he translated many of
Aristotle's logical works. See note on II. 14 : 105.
He was associated with the most eminent Christian
scholars of the day, professed Christianity, and wrote two
theological tracts, one on the doctrine of the Trinity and
the other on the two natures and one person of Christ.
His interest in these questions was philosophical rather
than religious, and he shows small knowledge either of .

the Scriptures or of other Christian writings. When Q#v^"44\\»l
condemned to death by Theodoric, on the charge of {.X/C^ ' »'''
treasonable practices, he wrote his celebrated Consolation
of Philosophy, which is in effect a book of lofty Pagan
religion and philosophy, from which it is evident that the
author's spiritual life had been fed from Pagan and not
Christian sources. The work, however, became a great
favourite in Christian circles, and was one of the most
popular books in the Middle Ages, Christian readers
probably finding unconscious support in the fact that it
supplemented the specifically Christian writings on their
weak side, by attempting to show that, apart from any
consideration of future rewards and punishments, and
apart from any guidance furnished by revealed truth, the
good man, judged merely by the results in this life and
by the candns'Bf feasbh, had made a better and happier
choice than the wicked man. It is probable, however,
' that oTKef"readers besides~Dante (compare Paradiso, X.
124-126) read into the text of Boethius a touch of
' other worldliness' that is not really there. One early
commentator, however, noted that it contained * certain
things contrary to the Catholic faith.' N.B. — The note
in the 'Temple Classics' Paradiso on Canto X. 124-129
(up to and including the 4th ed.) must be corrected by
this note.

104. j4ugust:ne (354-430 A.D.). Augustine more than
any one theologian, perhaps more than all of them to-

14 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

gether, must be regarded as the fountain head of the
theology of the Western Church. His Confessions carry
the story of his life up to his conversion and baptism in
his thirty-third year. In Book X. 3, 4 he explains how
he hopes that his self-revelation may be justified by its
effect upon others.

111-130. It is impossible to think that Dante really
believed that any conceivable interpretation or misinterpre-
tation of the ode that stands at the head of the second
treatise could have brought 'infamy' upon him. But if
we look at Ode VI. (that would have stood at the head
of the seventh treatise) we shall very well understand the
grounds of Dante's uneasiness, and why he wished to
dissociate himself from the moral implications of his
poetic record. See Appendix, p. 430 fF.

127-130. Compare II. i : 34-36.

CHAPTER III

\{b) A commentary so dark as itself to need a com-
mentary seems futile ; but the difficulty of the
present work has a deliberate purpose, for which
the author would to God there had been no
cause ; for it is founded on his wanderings as an
exile, and the contempt which his forlorn appear-
ance has everywhere brought upon him ; inas-
much as (a) fame magnifies but (/3) familiar
presence depreciates a man's qualities. (a)
■^Men magnify report, good or evil, partly from
emotional sympathy with the subject (which is
innocent), and partly from self-importance (which
is culpable).]

On Worthy of much blame is the thing which,

obscure ^gjjjg appointed to remove some special defect,

taries itself induces that same ; as if one should be

b. appointed to part a strife, and before he had

III. THE FIRST TREATISE 15

parted it had set another on foot. And now The
that my bread has been purged on one side, it author s
behoves me to purge it on the other, that I may haViich-
escape this latter blame ; for my present writing, ment
which may be called a kind of j^io^ commentary,
while commissioned to remove the defect of the
aforesaid odes, may perhaps in certain places
be a little difficult itself. Which difficulty is
here designed to avoid a greater defect, and not
in ignorance. Oh that it had pleased the dis-
poser of the universe that the occasion of my
excuse had never been ! For then neither
would others have sinned against me, nor should
I have unjustly suffered penalty, the penalty [^203
I mean of exile and of poverty. Since it was
the pleasure of the citizens of the most beauteous
and the most famous daughter of Rome, Flor-
ence, to cast me forth from her most sweet bosom
(wherein I was born, and nurtured until the
culmination of my life, wherein with their good
leave I long with all my heart to repose my
wearied mind and end the time which is granted
me), through well-nigh all the regions whereto
this tongue extends [30], a wanderer, almost a
beggar, have I paced, revealing, against my will,
the wound of fortune^ which is often wont to be
unjustly impu^'d" to him who is wounded.
Verily have I been a ship without sail and with-
out helm, drifted upon divers ports and straits
and shores by the dry wind that grievous poverty
exhales. And I have seemed cheap in the eyes
of many who perchance had conceived of me in
other guise by some certain fame ; [^403 in the
sight of whom not only has my person been
cheapened, but every work of mine, already

i6 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

On the accomplished or yet to do, has become of lower
dilation price.

The reason why this comes to pass (not only
"» ^' in me but in all) it is my pleasure here briefly
to touch uponj and first, why a man's reputa-
tion dilates 'things more than truth demands ;
and then, why, more than truth demands, his
o. presence makes them shrink. Good report,
begotten at the beginning [503 in the mind of a
friend by a good action, is first brought to birth
by this mind ; for the mind of an enemy, even
though it receive the seed, doth not conceive.
This mind which first gives it birth, further to
adorn its present and also for love of the friend
who receives it, does not restrain itself within
the limits of the truth, but passes beyond them.
And when it passes beyond them in order to
adorn its utterances, it speaks against conscience ;
when it is the illusion [60'] of love that makes
it pass beyond them, it does not speak against it.
The second mind, which receives it thus, is not
contented to abide by the dilating of the first
mind, but sets about to adorn its own report (as
being its own proper effect in the matter), and
so, both for the sake of so adorning it, and also
by means of the illusion which it receives from
the love begotten in it, it makes the dilation
more ample than it was when it came to it ; and
this in concord and in discord with conscience,
as before. And the like doth [^703 the third
receiving mind, and the fourth ; and so to infinity
it dilates. And in like manner, reversing the
aforesaid causes, we may see the reason why
infamy is magnified in like fashion. Wherefore
Virgil saith in the fourth of the Mneid * that

III. THE FIRST TREATISE 17

fame lives by moving, and grows by going.' On the
Clearly then may who so will perceive that the dilation
image begotten by fame alone [[80] is ever more »^™c
ample, whatsoever it may be, than the imagined
thing in its true state.

II, 12. For the occasional difficulty of this comment,
compare IV. 21 149 ff.

24, 25. ^Uf to the apex of my life.' That is till he was
thirty-five. Compare IV. 23 : 65-1 10, and /n/^mo, I. i.
The indication is not precise, since Dante was in his 37th
year when banished.

25-28. ConvpAre Paradise, XXV. 1-9, and Dante's first
Eclogue, 42-44.

30-33. Compare the Epistle to Can Grande, lines 600,
601 ; and Paradise, XVII. 52-60, in which latter
passage, as here, Dante complains that the infamy of an
outrage usually cleaves to the outraged rather than to the
outrageous.

50-60. The only way in which it seems possible to ex-
tract a satisfactory sense for this passage is to take the
'present' as made not to the person who receives the
good report, but to the person whom the good report con-
cerns, for so only can the 'illusion of love' be regarded
as honest and disinterested, and the parallel between the
first and the second 'dilation' be maintained. The
receiving mind conceives the good opinion and 'presents '
it (though not directly) to its father.

l8 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER IV

[(/3) But a man's familiar presence lowers our concep-
tion of him (i. ) because most of us. with childish
inconsequence, when we see that a man's outward
form does not correspond to the image we had
made of it, at once suppose that our idea of his
significance was equally at fault; (ii.) because,
when we see a man, he strikes us as not so very
different from ourselves ; and we become envious
of his reputation, as a saint or sinner, which
we think we might be able to rival ; and (iii.)
familiar presence reveals some weakness or
blemish which throws a shadow on the lustre of
a man's greatness, or reveals some amiable
quality which detracts from his reputation as a
villain. Wherefore^ since the author is familiarly
known to almost all the Italians, he feels it in-
cumbent upon him, by way of counterpoise, to
maintain a certain loftiness and severity of style
in his work. Hence its difficulty.]

On the The reason having now been shewn why fame

contempt dilates the good and the evil beyond their true

0 ^"^^^ magnitude, it remains in this chapter to shew

/ the reasons which reveal to us why a man's

' presence contracts them in the other direction ;

and when these have been shewn we shall easily

advance to our main purpose, which concerns

the above-mentioned excuse. I say, then, that

for three causes presence makes a person count for

i. ii. iii. less than his real worth. The first [lo] of which

is childishness, I do not mean of age but of

mind ; the second is envy ; and these two exist

in the judge. The third is the alloy of humanity,

and this is in the person judged.

i. The first can be briefly discoursed of thus :

The greater part of men live after sense and not

IV. THE FIRST TREATISE 19

after reason, like children ; and such [203 On light-
know not things save only on their outer surface, "ess of
and their excellence, which has reference to
their due end, they do not see, because they
have the eyes of their reason shut, which pene-
trate to the perception of that end. Whence
they quickly perceive every thing that they can
perceive at all, and judge according to their
jvision. And because they form a certain
opinion on the strength of a man's fame, by
hearsay, wherefrom in the man's presence the
[[30] imperfect judgment, which judges not after
reason but after sense alone, is at variance, they
hold all that they have heard before to be a lie,
and despise the person whom before they prized.
Wherefore with such as these (and almost every-
one is such) a man's presence makes the one
and the other quality shrink. Such as these are
quickly set a-longing and are quickly satisfied ;
they are often rejoiced and often saddened with
brief delights and glooms ; and they quickly
become (3403 friends and quickly enemies.
They do all things like children, without use
of reason.

The second may be understood by these con- ii.
siderations : Likeness, in the vicious, is the cause
of envy, and envy is the cause of hostile judg-
ment, because it suffers not reason to plead on
behalf of the object of envy ; and the power of
judgment is then like to the judge who listens
only to one side. Wherefore, when such as
these see the famous [50]] person, they are
straightway envious, because they look upon his
members and upon his faculties, which are like
their own, and they fear, because of the excel-

26 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The lence of such a one, to be the less prized. And
Biloy these not only pass a hostile judgment under
^^-V" the influence of passion, but, by defaming, cause
others also to pass a hostile judgment. Where-
fore with them presence makes the good and
the ill in every one presented to them shrink ;
and I say ' the ill ' because many, taking
delight in []6o]] ill deeds, envy ill-doers,
iii. The third is the alloy of humanity, which has
its source in him who is judged, and works not
save by some familiarity and intercourse. To
make which clear be it known that man is
blemished in many directions, and as Augustine
saith ' no man is without blemish.' One while
the man is blemished by some passion, which
^703, may be, he cannot resist; another while
he is blemished by some distorted member ;
and another by some stroke of fortune ; or he
is blemished by the infamy of his parents or of
someone nigh of kin to him. Which things are
not borne by fame ; but by the man's presence,
and by his intercourse he reveals them ; and
these blemishes throw some shadow over the
brightness of his excellence so as to make it
seem less clear and [80] less worthy. And
this is why every prophet is less honoured in
■ -, his own country; this is why a man of excel-
|g(ti\\*<t/*'' Jence should grant his presence to few and his
:j^a-^^\j(K^.<i ^jntimacy to fewer, that his name may have
»\\vv.Si4»L^ acceptance and not be despised. And this third
r^mSi^Y^ cause may operate in the case of evil as well as
good if each element in the argument concern-
ing it be turned the opposite way. Wherefore
it is [[90]] clearly seen that, because of the alloy
from which no man is free, presence contracts

IV. THE FIRST TREATISE 21

the good and the ill in every man further than The
truth wills. author's

Wherefore, because, as said above, 1 have 71^ ^^'
exposed myself to nearly all the Italians, and
therefore have perchance cheapened myself more
than the truth wills, not only to them whom
my reputation has reached, but to others also,
whereby all that [1003 I have done has doubt-
less been more lightly esteemed together with
myself, it behoves me to give something of
weight to the present work by a loftier style,
that it may seem a thing of more authority.
And let this excuse for the severity of my
comment suffice.

16-41. Comparel. 11 : 14-70 ; and IV. ij : 151-167.
43. Comparel. 11 : 112-117.

82-84. Compare II. i : 49-51; and Villani's asser-
tion that Dante himself was reserved.

2S THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER V

[(II.) Having apologised for certain qualities of his
work, the author proceeds to excuse its texture,
which is Italian and not Latin. This is (a) to
avoid a harsh inversion ; (b) to give scope to the
zeal of his generosity ; [c) to gratify his love of
his native language, (a) A commentary should
be subservient to its text and should therefore be
(a) self subordinating ; (^) sympathetic in its
insight and range ; (7) flexible to the demands of
the text. And (a) it were harsh and unnatural
for Latin to subordinate itself to Italian, because
(i.) the dignity of its fixed vocabulary and forms ;
(ii. ) its power of adequately handling every
subject, and (iii. ) the beauty of its elaborated
structure, all make it the superior of the
flucttiating, limited naive Italian.]

An Now that this bread has been cleansed of the

apology accidental blemishes it remains to apologise for

nacular ^ substantial one, to wit, that it is vernacular

comment ^"^^ "ot Latin, which by similitude may be

called oaten instead of wheaten. And in brief

II. a, h,c. the apology consists in three considerations

which moved me to choose this rather than the

other. The first springs from the desire to

avoid undue inversion [10]] of order ; the second

from zealous liberality ; the third from natural

love of one's own speech. And these reasons,

and the grounds on which they rest, that I may

satisfy the objections that might be urged on the

aforesaid ground, I purpose duly to discuss in

fashion as follows.

a. That which most adorns and commends the

doings of man, and which most directly leads

them to a prosperous end, is the habit \_zo~\ of

V. THE FIRST TREATISE 23

those dispositions which are ordained to the end Servant
in view ; as, for instance, courage of mind and ^^^
strength of body are ordained to the end of ™*^ ^^
chivalry. And so he who is appointed to the
service of another should have those dispositions
which are ordained to that end, to wit subjec- a, ^, 7.
tion, knowledge, and obedience, without which
a man is not duly disposed for service. For if
he be not subject in all his conditions (^30] he
ever goeth irksomely and heavily in his service,
and seldom continueth therein ; and if he be
not obedient he serveth not save at his own
discretion and will, which is rather the service
of a friend than of a servant. Wherefore to
avoid this inversion of order it behoves this
comment, which is made to be servant of the
odes hereinafter written, to be subject to them
in its whole ordainment ; and it should have
[40] acquaintance with the affairs of its lord ;
and should be obedient to him ; all which dis-
positions would be lacking to it were it Latin and
not vernacular, seeing that the odes are vernacular.

For firstly, if it were Latin it would not be a.
subject but sovran, both by reason of nobility i. ii. iii.
and of virtue and of beauty. Of nobility, because
Latin is stable and uncorruptible and the verna- i.
cular is unstable and [50] corruptible. Where-
fore we see in the ancient writings of the Latin
comedies and tragedies, which cannot be changed,
that same speech that we have to-day ; and this
is not the case with the vernacular, which takes
fashion at our will, and changes. Whence we
see in the cities of Italy, if we choose to look
closely, that within fifty years from now many
words have been quenched and born and changed,

24 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The and if a short time makes [603 so much change
virtue of far more change does greater time effect. So
* that I assert that if they who parted from
this life a thousand years agone were to return
to their cities they would believe them to be
inhabited by a strange folk, because of the
tongue discordant from their own. Of this I
shall discourse more at large elsewhere, in a
book which I intend to make, God granting,
concerning Vernacular Discourse [^703.
ii. Further, Latin were sovran rather than
subject, by reason of its virtue. Everything
hath virtue of nature which accomplishes that
for which it was ordained ; and the better it
doth it the more virtue it hath. Whence we
call the man virtuous who lives in the life of
contemplation or action to which he is naturally
ordained ; we speak of the equine virtue of
pacing swift and far, whereto the horse is or-
dained ; we speak of the virtue of a [So] sword
which smartly cuts things hard, whereto it is
ordained. Thus speech, which is ordained to
manifest human conceptions hath virtue when it
doth this thing ; and that speech hath the most
virtue which doth it most. Wherefore since
Latin revealeth many things conceived in the
mind which the vernacular may not reveal (as
they know who have the habit of the one speech
and the other), its virtue is more than that of the
[903 vernacular,
iii. Again, it were sovran rather than subject
by reason of its beauty. Men call that thing
beautiful the parts whereof duly correspond,
because from their harmony pleasure results.
Wherefore we think a man beautiful when his

V. THE FIRST TREATISE 25

members duly correspond to each other ; and we The
call singing beautiful when the voices correspond nobility
mutually according to the requirements [lOo] ° ^^"^
of the art. Therefore that speech is the more
beautiful wherein [|the words]] correspond more
duly []and they correspond more duly]] in Latin
than in the vernacular, because the vernacular
foUoweth use and the Latin art ; wherefore it is
admitted to be of more beauty, of more virtue,
and of more nobility. And hereby the chief
contention of this discourse is established, to wit
that a Latin comment would not have been the
subject of the odes but their sovran.

The long discussion of the relation which a Latin com-
mentary (had it been written) would have borne to the
text, will probably strike the reader at first as purely
fantastical, and will attract him, if at all, only by its
quaintness, and by the shrewdness or humour incidentally
displayed in treating of human relationships. There is,
however, a genuine underlying thought which I have
endeavoured to bring out in the arguments to this and
the next following chapters. The principle maintained
is that the atmosphere of the commentary should be as
far as possible harmonious with that of the text. The
reader should be kept approximately on the same plane,
whichever he is reading, and should not find himself
violently hurled out of one world and into another, as he
passes from text to commentary. Much light will be
thrown on the whole question by a consideration of the
inverse problem that has arisen in our own day as to
whether it is well to comment on classical texts in
modern European languages or only in Latin. The
verdict seems to have been conclusively given in favour
of the vernacular, but any scholar who has been accus-
tomed to read Latin commentaries on Latin authors (and
still more those who are familiar with Greek com-
mentaries on Greek texts as well) will admit the dis-
turbing effect of the constant breaking of the linguistic
atmosphere ; and it is impossible to read a commentary

26 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

on a classic in z. foreign modern language without feeling
the provincial limitations which the commentator has
imposed upon himself, or without the sense that, though
he may thereby lighten his own task, he does not
essentially widen the area of his appeal, even within the
range of his own language, while woefully contracting it
everywhere else. His vehicle, as Dante would say, errs
both by excess and defect, since he offers to many of his
own countrymen what they cannot take, and withholds
from many of his fellow scholars what they would gladly
have. His procedure is an intrusion of nationality upon
a region where the natural divisions are not national.
Dante maintains that his Latin commentary would suffer
from the inverse fault of allowing the division betv/een
the literate and illiterate, in the technical sense, to
obtrude itself into a region where it is irrelevant, and
where the divisions of nationality, which it ignores, are
natural and relevant.

2, 3. Accidental and substantial are here used in their
technical sense. A ' substance ' is anything that exists on
its own account ; and an ' accident ' is anything that can
only exist as an attribute or experience of something else.
A tree, a soul, or a chest is a substance. Whiteness, im-
mortality, weight, love, are accidents. To be egotistical
or obscure is a quality ; but to be an Italian commentary
is to be a different thing from a Latin commentary.

1 1. The Italian pronto and pronte%'z,a correspond to the
Greek irpdOvfios and wpodvfila. The ideas of zeal, eager-
ness, alacrity and spontaneity are conveyed by the
words.

19. Habit. See note on I. 1:15.

23. Compare IV. 9 : 169-173.

50-52. It was Dante's deliberate conviction that Latin
was a conventional language, adopted for the purpose of
stability and universality, by way of counteracting the
effects of the Tower of Babel. Tn a word, Latin was re-
garded by Dante as a successful attempt to secure the ob-
jects contemplated by the apostles of Volapuk or Esperanto,
see De Vulgari Eloquentia, I. 9 : especially 93-107.
Widely as this view departs from our own conceptions it
appears to have at least this foundation in fact, that the
Latin of Cicero and Vergil was highly conventionalised,
under literary influences, and that the spoken Latin was

VI. THE FIRST TREATISE a;

much nearer to Italian than is generally imagined. It is
strange, however, that Dante could have maintained,
even conventionally, that there was anything approaching
to complete fixity in the literary Latin. In II. 14 : 83-
89, he dwells expressly on the fluctuations of literary
Latin, quoting the well-known passage from Horace's
An Poetica, 60-71. A passage which is evidently in his
mind again in Paradtso, XXVI. 137, 138. See further
note to Paradise, XVI. 33, in the 'Temple Classics'
Dante.

47-70. Note that in the De Fulgari Eloquentia, I.
I : 35-41, Dante declares the vernaculars to be 'nobler'
than the grammars, or classical languages. On lines 68,
69, compare De Vulgari Eloquentia, I. 9 : 44-93 ; and see
Appendix, p. 424.

74-77. Compare IV. 22 ; 103-210.

CHAPTER VI

[(^) The man who writes a Latin commentary on a
vernacular text (i.) deliberately renounces the
medium that can best follow every turn of ex-
pression that is to be illustrated, in favour of one
that stands in a neutral relation to ail national
idioms and has no innate sympathy with the one
in question; and (ii.) arbitrarily witholds his
services from all readers of the text who are not
Latinists, and by thus disobliging many of the
lovers of the literature he is professing to serve
he throws an indirect slight upon it.]

Having shown how the present comment would On the
not have been subject to the odes, had it been ways of
in Latin, it remains to show that it would not '"^S'^fs
have been familiar with them nor obedient to
them ; and then the conclusion will follow that
to avoid undue inversion of order it was need-
ful to speak in the vernacular.

28 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

9° I say that Latin would not have been familiar
masters ^^^^ C^°3 ^^^ vernacular master for this reason :
o The servant's familiarity with his master is
chiefly needed in order to give him perfect
i- "• understanding of two things. The first is the
nature of his master ; for there be masters of
such asinine nature that they order the contrary
of what they desire ; and others who desire
to be served and understood without giving
orders at all ; and others who will not have
the servant go about to do any needful thing
except they [20J command it. And why there
be such varieties amongst men I do not purpose
at present to expound (for it would make the
digression too multiplex) save so far as to say
generically that such are little other than beasts,
who have small good of their reason. Where-
fore if the servant does not understand his
master's nature it is manifest that he cannot
perfectly serve him. The second thing is that
the servant must needs be acquainted with his
[303 master's friends, for otherwise he could
neither honour nor serve them, and so would
not perfectly serve his own master ; for friends
are as it were parts of a single whole, that
whole being unity in willing and in not willing.
Now the Latin comment would not have had
knowledge of these things, whereas the ver-
nacular itself has.
i' That Latin hath no familiarity with the ver-
nacular and its [40] friends is thus proved :
To know a thing generically is not to know
it perfectly ; just as he who perceives an animal
afar off has no perfect understanding of it, not
knowing whether it be dog or wolf or goat,

VI. THE FIRST TREATISE 29

Latin has cognisance of vernacular speech Latin and
generically, but not in its distinctions, for if it the ver-
recognised its distinctions it would recognise '^^'Cuia^rs
all the vernaculars, since there is no reason why
it should recognise one more than [[50] another.
And therefore if any man had acquired complete
command of Latin, he would enjoy discriminat-
ing familiarity with vernacular speech. But this
is not so, for he who has perfect command of
Latin, if he be of Italy, does not recognise the
vernacular of the German ; nor if a German,
the Italian or the Proven9al. Whence it is
manifest that Latin is not familiar with ver-
nacular speech. Again, it is not familiar with ii.
its friends ; because it is impossible to []6o3
know the friends having no knowledge of the
principal ; wherefore if Latin is not acquainted
with the vernacular (and it has been shown
above that it is not) it is impossible for it to
be acquainted with its friends. Again, without
intercourse and familiarity it is impossible to
be acquainted with men, and Latin hath not
intercourse with so many in any tongue as the
vernacular of that tongue hath, to which they
all are friends ; and consequently it cannot [703
know the friends of the vernacular. And this
is not contradicted by what might be urged,
namely, that Latin does converse with certain
of the friends of the vernacular ; for it is not
therefoer familiar with them all, and so it is not
completely acquainted with the said friends ;
and it is complete and not defective knowledge
that is needed.

The reader should be warned that the Italian conoscente

30 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

and connoicen%a which run through 'this chapter have
been rendered by a great variety of English words,
'acquaintance,' 'familiarity,' 'understanding,' 'recogni-
tion,' 'knowledge.'

In this chapter Dante seems to have been led by his
illustration further away from his subject than usual.
The details can hardly be regarded as significant, but the
general idea is a sound one, and its truth will be re-
cognised by all who are familiar, for instance, with the
Latin commentaries on the Comedy. In the use of Latin
there is a fraudulent appearance of standing on higher
ground, whereas really the special resources of Italian for
explaining Italian are forfeited and nothing is gained
(for it is only the Italian scholar, after all, limited by his
comprehension of Italian, that speaks under the cloak
of the Latinist), while there is a perpetual tone of con-
descension— sometimes amounting almost to insolence —
in the way in which the classical language stoops to
explain the upstart Italian.

The only compensation is that the technical terms of
philosophy are easier to grasp and handle in Latin than
Italian ; and even this Dante ingeniously turns into
another disqualification, as we shall see under 7, ii.

45-58. The Latinist must be aware, in a general way,
that there is such a thing as a man's mother tongue (and
each Latinist, though not qua Latinist, must be ac-
quainted with his own mother tongue), but his knowledge
of Latin does not, in itself, enable him so much as to
distinguish between German and Provenyal.

VII. THE FIRST TREATISE 31

CHAPTER VII

[(7) The Latin commentary would have lacked flex-
ible self-adaption to the text (i. ) because of the
harshness already indicated of the more dignified
language being under command to the less digni-
fied ; (ii. ) because there is no real subordination
in going your own way even if someone tells you
to do it ; and as a knowledge of Latin already
involves the understanding of much that the
commentary is to explain, there would be no
real lending of itself to the text on the part of
the Latin commentary ; and (iii.) it would fail,
by excess and defect, to adapt itself to the
demands of a poetic text, for such a text would
naturally require that all they, and only they,
who could feel it as poetry should have its sense
expounded, whereas Latin would expound it to
many (foreigners) who could not feel its beauty,
and would fail to expound it to many (natives)
who could.]

Having shown that the Latin comment would On obedi-
not have served with understanding, I will tell ^^ce
how it would not have been obedient. He is
obedient who possesses that excellent disposition 7.
which is called obedience. True .obedience
must needs have three things, without which it
may not be. It must be sweetj^ not bitter ; and i. ii. iii.
completely under command, not self-moved ;
and measured, not out of [10] measure. The
which tliree things it were impossible for the
Latin comment to have, and therefore it were
impossible for it to be obedient.

That it would have been impossible for the
Latin to be obedient is manifested by the argu-
ment that follows. Whatsoever proceeds in in-
verted order is iiksome, and therefore bitter and i.

32 • THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Still on not sweet ; like sleeping by day and watching by
obedi- night, or going backwards and not forwards.
^"^^ For the subject to command the sovran is pro-
ceeding in inverted order ; for the right order
is for the sovran [^203 to command the subject :
wherefore it is bitter and not sweet. And since
it is impossible sweetly to obey a bitter command,
it is impossible when the subject commands for
the obedience of the sovran to be sweet. Where-
fore if the Latin is sovran of the vernacular, as
has been shown above by many arguments, and
the odes which take the place of commanders
are vernacular, it is impossible that their [30 J
relation should be sweet,
ii. Further, obedience is wholly commanded and
in no part self-moved when he who does a thing
in obedience would not, unless commanded, have
done it of his own motion either in whole or in
part. Wherefore if I were ordered to bear two
cloaks on my back, and should have borne one
without orders, I say that [^403 my obedience is
not wholly under command, but is in part self-
moved. And such would have been the obedi-
ence of the Latm comment; and consequently
it would not have been an obedience wholly
under command. That it would have been
such appears hereby, that Latin without the
command of this master would have expounded
many parts of his meaning (and actually expounds
it, if anyone closely inspect writings that are
written in Latin) which [[503 the vernacular
does not in any degree,
iii. Again, obedience is measured and not out of
measure when it goes to the edge of the com-
mand and not beyond it ; just as particular

VII. THE FIRST TREATISE 33

nature is obedient to universal nature when it On
gives a man thirty-two teeth, neither more nor Pleasured
less ; and when it gives five fingers to the hand, ° ^ lence
neither more nor less ; and man is obedient to
justice [when he does what shej commands to
thie evil-doer. Now this the [603 Latin would
not have done, but would have sinned not only in
defect and not only in excess, but in both ; and
thus its obedience would have been not measured
but out of measure, and consequently it would not
have been obedient. That Latin would not
have filled out its master's command, and that it
would also have exceeded it may easily be
shown. This master, to wit these odes, to
which [^70] this comment is ordained as servant,
command and will that they be expounded to
all such to whom their meaning can so come
that when they speak, they shall be understood.
And no one doubts that if they could utter their
commands in words this is what they would order.
Now Latin would only have expounded them 10
the lettered, for others would not have under-
stood it. Wherefore inasmuch as there are far
[803 more unlettered than lettered who desire to
understand them, it follows that Latin would not
have fully accomplished their order, as doth the
vernacular, which is understood alike by the
lettered and the unlettered. Moreover, Latin
would have expounded them to folk of another
tongue, such as Germans and English and others ;
and here it would have exceeded their command.
For, speaking at large, I declare that it would
have been against their will that their meaning
should be expounded [90^ where they them-
selves could not carry it together with their
c

34 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

On trans- beauty. And therefore let everyone know that
lations of nothing which hath the harmony of musical con-
P°^ ^ nection can be transferred from its own tongue
into another without shattering all its sweetness
and harmony. And this is the reason why
Homer is not translated from Greek into Latin,
as are the other writings that we have of theirs ;
and this is the reason why the verses of the
Psalter are without the sweetness of [^loo]]
music and of harmony, for they were translated
from Hebrew into Greek, and from Greek into
Latin, and in the first translation all their sweet-
ness perished. And thus is the conclusion
reached which was promised at the beginning
of the chapter immediately before this.

1 8. Going backwards and not forwards . Compare In-
ferno, XX. 1-30.

44-50. What I take to be the general meaning of this
passage is set forth in the argument ; but possibly it may
also have some reference to grammatical questions which
could not be discussed in Latin without much artificiality.
Compare IV. 25:123-126. In ' Et suam personam
adornat,' adornat would not be open to the ambiguity of
the Italian adorna, which may be — (i) an adjective;
(2) 2nd person imperative ; (3) 3rd person indicative.
A Latin comment, equivalent to the Italian comment
given by Dante on this word, would involve somewhat
elaborate precautions to prevent the difficulty from dis-
appearing before it had been explained, which the
vernacular might resent, something as a man who
stammers resents having his sentence finished for him
by his interlocutor,

53-58. The distinction between universal nature and
particular nature is frequently insisted on by the School-
men with reference to both physical and spiritual things.
Thus disease is 'unnatural' to the diseased creature, but
yet is part of the 'natural' sequence of cause and effect
taken generally, God, in his dealings with his creatures,
lometimes enables them to transcend the limits of their

VIII. THE FIRST TREATISE 3§

'particular' nature, but what happens then cannot be
called' 'unnatural ' in the absolute sense. Indeed, ulti-
mately ' what God gives to anything is its nature.'

The 'better,' the 'higher' or the 'most universal'
nature may be used as a circumlocution for God. Com-
pare Purgatorio, XVI. 79 ; De Monorchia, I. I ; 2.

jj ft". Letteratus and non-ktteratus, which I have ren-
dered lettered and unlettered, are the technical terms for
those who understand Latin and those who do not. 'Scis
litteras ? ' for example, means, * Do you understand Latin ? '

84-91. It must surely be impossible for any translator to 'O IBSS

handle this passage without a sharp sense of compunction " "' "^ -

and an involuntary desire to propitiate the injured shade
of Dante, May I exhort my readers to make use of this
translation not as a substitute for the original, but as a
stepping-stone to the enjoyment of that 'beauty' whicK •' '^
alone can bring full understanding of Dante's work ?
Thus, to speak with Boccaccio, may I excuse myself
before Dante, * who perchance looks down upon me, as I
write, with an eye of scorn, from some lofty region of
heaven.'

96. All Dante's quotations from Homer are taken at
second hand from the Latij^ truncations of Aristotle.

8t . <>J IQ^

'W^ ''i *j /!C> -Jimv J'.';/- .1

{(b) The giver who has a true zeal for giving will

confer gifts (a) on many, (^) with thoughtful

care that they shall be appropriate, (7) spon-

-1 taneously. For (a) there is a divine inclusive-

?•• ness in widely-extended gifts, and (yS) though a

gift as such may shew the giver's friendship, yet

it leaves the dissatisfied sense of a lost oppor-

' tunity if it is not appropriate ; and a discriminat-

flf ing gift (i.) has a certain cheeriness alike for

giver and receivei ; (ii.) objectively considered

has the merit of moving a thing to where it is

more wanted and where accordingly it has an

increased significance ; (iii.) impresses itself more

profoundly on the receiver's mind and therefore

36 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

better increases friendship in the world, and (iv.)
has the grace of an unforced air, as though it
were the natural thing, not brought about by
strain and effort. (7) The giver who gives not
spontaneously, but puts the receiver to begging,
destroys the virtue of his gift by the bitter price
of prayers which he extorts ; a price which en-
riches him not, though it beggar the other.] »»

Zeal of Now that it has been shown by sufficient reasons
liberality how, to avoid undue inversion of order, the
aforesaid odes must needs have a vernacular
and not a Latin comment to reveal and expound
/; I. them, I purpose to show how zealous liberality
likewise made me choose the one and drop the
other. Zealous liberality, then, is marked by
three things which cleave to this [^lo]] ver-
nacular and would not have cleft to the Latin.
«> Pi 7- The first is giving to many, the second is giving
things useful, the third is giving the gift without
a. its being asked. For to give to and to help one is
good, but to give to and to help many is zealous
goodness, inasmuch as it taketh its likeness from
the benefactions of God, who is the most uni-
versal benefactor. And, moreover, it is im-
possible to give to many without giving to one,
inasmuch as one is included in many ; [203
but it is entirely possible to give to one with-
out giving to many. Wherefore he who helps
many doth the one good deed and the other ;
he who helps one doth the one good deed only ;
whence we see the makers of the laws keeping
their eyes chiefly fixed on the general good in
making them.
/3. Again, to give things that are of no use to
him who receives them is indeed good, in so far

VIII. THE FIRST TREATISE 37

as he who gives shows at least his friendship; Onuseful-

but it is not perfectly good and so is not zealous ness in

giving ; [30]] as if a knight should give a &""

shield to a doctor, and the doctor should give a

copy of the Aphorisms of Hippocrates or the

Art of Galen to the knight ; wherefore the wise

say that the face of the gift ought to resemble

that of the receiver, that is to say should be

suitable to him, and should be useful ; and

herein is the liberality deemed zealous of the

man who is thus discerning in his gifts.

[403 But inasmuch as moral counsellings
are wont to create a desire to investigate their
origin, in this chapter I purpose briefly to ex-
pound four reasons why a gift must needs be i. ii. iii. iv.
useful to him who receives it in order that there
may be zealous liberality therein.

Firstly, because virtue should be cheerful, and i.
not gloomy in its every act. Wherefore, if the
gift be not cheerful in the giving and in the \j)0~\
receiving, there is not perfect nor zealous virtue
in it. This cheerfulness nought else can secure
save utility, which abides in the giver by the
giving and which comes to the receiver by the
receiving. The giver then must show foresight
in so doing that on his side remains the utility
of the comeliness which is above all utility ;
and in so doing that to the receiver shall go
over the utility of the use of the thing given ;
and thus the one and the other will be [^603
cheerful, and consequently there will be more
zealous liberality.

Secondly, because virtue should always move ii.
things for the better. Thus, as it would be a
blameworthy action to make a spade out of a

38 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

luV ' The beautiful sword, or to make a beautiful goblet
virtues of out of a beautiful lyre, so it is blameworthy to
^ ^ move a thing from a place where it is useful and
bear it to a place where it will be less useful.
And, because futile action is [^yoj blameworthy,
it is blameworthy not only to put a thing where
it will be less useful but also to put it where it
will be equally useful. Wherefore, in order that
the changing of things may be praiseworthy it
must ever be for the better because it should aim
at being praiseworthy in the highest degree ; and
the gift cannot effect this except it become more
dear by the change; nor can it become more
dear except it become more useful [SdJ for the
receiver to use than the giver. Whence th?
conclusion follows that the gift must be useful
to him who receives it in order that there may
be zealous liberality in the giving.
iii. Thirdly, because the operation of virtue ought
in itself to acquire friends ; since our life has
need of such, and the end of virtue is that our
life should be satisfied. Wherefore, in order that
the gift may make the receiver [[903 friendly,
it should be useful to him, because utility stamps
the memory with the image of the gift : which
same is the food of friendship ; and it stamps
it the more strongly in measure as the utility is
greater ; wherefore Martin is wont to say, * I
shall not forget the present which John made
me.' So that, in order for its proper virtue to
reside in the gift, to wit liberality, and for it to
be zealous, the gift must be useful to him' who
•'i receives it. ■ ■:\:-)'k r : , Ahi.o'.. s<-'.

iv. £1003 Finally, because virtue should be fired
and not constrained in its action. Action is

VIII. THE FIRST TREATISE 39

free when a person goes spontaneously in any Spon-
direction, and it is shown by his turning his taneity in
face that way. Action is constrained when a &*^^"&
man goes against his will, and it is cHown in
his not looking in the direction in which he is
going. Now the gift looks that way when it is
directed to the need of him who receives it.
And since it cannot be directed [[iio]] thereto
unless it be useful, in order that the virtue may
be free in its action the gift must have free
course in the direction in which it travels to-
gether with the receiver ; and consequently the
utility of the receiver must be comprised in the
gift in order that there may be zealous liberality
in it.

The third thing wherein zealous liberality 7.
may be noted is giving without being asked ;
because when a thing is asked for, then the trans-
action is, on one side, not a matter of virtue but
of commerce, inasmuch as he who receives
buys, though he who gives sells not ; wherefore
Seneca [[1203 saith 'that nothing is bought
more dear than that on which prayers are spent.'
Wherefore, in order that there may be zealous
liberality in the gift, and that it may be noted
therein, it behoves that it be clear of every
feature of merchandise ; and so the gift must
be unasked. Why the thing begged for costs
so dear I do not propose [130^ to discourse of
here, because it will be sufficiently discoursed of
in the last treatise of this book.

33. Hippocrates (460-357 B.C.) was the greatest of
Greek physicians. His Aphorisms were well-khown in
the later middle ages. Compare Paradise, XI. 4. Few
sayings are more familiar than the opening words of the

4^ THE CONVIVIO Ch.

first aphorism, which runs in its entirety : ' Life is short,
but art long ; opportunity is fleeting, experiment risky,
judgment hard. Nor must the physician only see to it
that he himself works right, but also that the patient,
the nurses, and the external appliances, do.' Galen (130-
200 A.D.). He commented on Hippocrates and wrote
numerous works of his own. His Tex*''? preserved its
Greek name (in the corrupt form of Tegni) in the
translations.

56. bomeitneis. The Latin honestum and honestas have
long been the despair of translators. The Italian onesto
and onestade add difficulties of their own. The word
is here used in contrast to ' utility,' as signifying that
which is inherently worthy, noble, or fitting,

94. For this use of John and Martin see Wll'iVi'Bfi
Compare ParWw, XIIL 139. ■"■'.■ '-I'-i'r

120-132. This identifies Ode XIV. as the text of the
fifteenth treatise. See lines 1 19-122.

CHAPTER IX

[Now had the author made the gift of a Latin com-
mentary it would have had none of the three
marks of zeal, whereas the Italian has them all.
For (a) the Latin would only have served those
few Italian scholars who have a true love of liter-
ature for its own sake and not for gain, whereas
the Italian commentary will serve the many
Italian men of affairs, and women, who care for
the high themes to be therein discussed, but have
no knowledge of Latin. And accordingly (j8) a
I^atin commentary would have been a useless
gift, for only one scholar here and there has
any interest in the knowledge and virtue it is
to inculcate, whereas the seeds of true noble-
ness are in the hearts of many readers of the
vernacular. And (7) there is the freshness of
spontaneity in the unexpected Italian commen-
tary, whereas Latin commentaries so often have
the laboured air of things done because they
are conventionally expected.]

IX. THE FIRST TREATISE 41

Now from all the three above-named conditions, Sordid
which must unite in order that zealous liberality pursuit of
may reside in a benefaction, the Latin commen- ^ ^
tary would have been remote, whereas the ^ a y
vernacular is accompanied by them, as may be
manifestly demonstrated thus : The Latin would
not have served many ; for (if we call to mind
what was said above) lettered men who have
not the [^10] Italian tongue could not have
enjoyed this service. And as for those who
have this tongue (should we choose to examine
closely who they are), we shall find that they
would have been served by it perhaps in the
proportion of one to a thousand ; for the rest
would not have received it, so zealous are they
towards avarice, which parts them from all
nobility of mind, which is the chief cause for
desiring this food. And in reproof of them I
say that they ought not to be called lettered
[203 because they do not acquire literature for
its own use, but just in so far as they may gain
money or office by it ; just as we ought not to
call him a harper who hath a harp in his house
to hire out for a price, and not to use it to play
upon. Returning then to the main proposition, a.
I say that it is clear enough how the Latin
would have conferred its benefit upon few,
whereas verily the vernacular will be of service
to many. For [303 goodness of mind, which
awaits this service, is to be found in them who,
by the grievous disuse of the world, have
abandoned literature to such as have made her
a harlot instead of a lady ; which noble ones
are princes, barons and knights, and many other
noble folk, not only men but women, of which

4? THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Lettered men and women alike there are many of this
and un- tongue who command the vernacular but are not
lettered 1^^^^,^^.

/3. Further, Latin would not have been the
[403 giver of a useful gift which the vernacular
will be ; because nothing is useful save in so far
as it is used ; nor does its excellence consist in
potentiality which is not perfected existence ; as
in the case of gold, gems and other treasures
which be buried — albeit those which are in the
hand of a miser are in a baser place than is* the
earth wherein the treasure is hidden. Now
what this comment gives verily is the meaning
of the odes [^503, for which purpose it is made ;
the principal design whereof is to lead men to
knowledge and virtue, as will be seen in the
progress of the treatment of them. Of this
meaning none can avail themselves save such in
whom true nobility is sown, after the fashion
which will be related in the fourth treatise ; and
almost all of these command the vernacular only,
even as those noble ones named above in this
chapter. And this is not contradicted by [^603
a lettered man here and there being one of
them ; for as saith my master Aristotle in the
first of the Ethics, ' one swallow does not make
spring.' It is plain then that the vernacular
will give a useful thing, whereas the Latin
would not have given it.
7. Further, the vernacular will give a gift un-
asked, which the Latin would not have done;
for it will give itself as a commentary, which
was never yet asked by anyone ; and this cannot
be said of the [703 Latin, for it has been
demanded ere now as commentary and gloss to

IX. THE FIRST TREATISE 43

many writings, as may be seen clearly at the Latin
head of many of the same. And thus it is commen-
manifest that zealous liberality moved me to the ^''-^^
vernacular rather than to the Latin.

' 22 On sordid motives for study, compare III. 11 :
102 ff; ParadisOylX. 127-142, XII. 82-87.

32. Grievous disuse of the ivorld ; /.f. ,'the unhappy
fact that the laity have given up studying Latin.' Com-
pare the passage in Boccaccio's 'Life,' in which he says
that Dante wrote the comedy in Italian, ' Because he
perceived that liberal studies were utterly abandoned,
especially by princes and other great men to whom poetic
toils were wont to be dedicated.'

42 fF, If the text is sound (which may be doubted)
Cfante must be taken to mean that the potentiality of
good is not in itself goodness, only the actualising of good
being such. He instances buried gold and gems, but
suddenly remembers that their discovery may be the
actualising of untold evil rather than of beauty and joy.
Compare IV. 11: 36-50.

70 fF. This quaint remark of Dante's is doubtless
made in all simplicity, but to the modern student it
reads almost like a stroke of satire aimed at the constant
protestations of the ecclesiastical writers that they only
give publicity to their studies at the earnest entreaty of
their friends. Gregory, for instance, in dedicating his
colossal commentary on the Book of Job (commonly
known as the Magna Moralia) to his contemporary,
Leander, Bishop of Seville, after telling of his studious
conferences with certain brothers, adds, ' and then it
pleased the same brothers, supported by your insistence,
as you yourself remember, to urge me with pressing
request to expound the book of the Blessed Job ' ; and
Augustine tells us that when he was a presbyter in
Carthage, certain brothers with whom he had read the
Epistle to the Romans begged him to commit his remarks
to writing, which was the origin of his fragmentary com-
mentary. Such declarations perpetually occur, not only
in commentaries, but in treatises like Augustine's De
Triniiate, Peter Lombard's Sentences, Anselm's theo-
logical monographs, and so forth.

44 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER X

[Yet all this would scarce serve to excuse or prompt
so bold an innovation as an Italian comment-
ary unless supported by (c) the author's burning
love of his own language, which makes him (a)
exult in so handling it as to show its undeveloped
and unsuspected resources ; (j3) shrink from the
•^ possibility of causing clumsy and distorted
."" Italian to be written, as might come to pass
'^' should he write his comment in Latin and
should some other hand translate it for the
vulgar, and (7) desire to strip it of the arti-
ficial beauties of verse and display it in the
native and unadorned charm of prose, and so
■-,' give a practical refutation of those miserable
j.^ Italians who for base reasons of their own, that
''"' will be detailed in the next chapter, cry up
some other vernacular above their own.]

Dangers Great must be the excuse when at a banquet so
of inno- noble in its viands and so distinguished in its
'* ° guests, oaten and not wheaten bread is pre-
sented ; and evident must be the reason which
shall make a man depart from that which hath
long been observed by others, to wit comment-
ing in Latin. And therefore the reason must
be [10]] made manifest ; for the issue of new
things is uncertain, because there hath never
been experience thereof, by which things of
usage and tradition are regulated both in their
progress and in their end. And this is why
Reason was moved to commend that men should
have careful respect of entering on a new path,
saying * that in ordaining new things the reason
must be evident which shall make us depart
from that which hath long been of use.' Let
none [20]] marvel then if the digression of my

X. THE FIRST TREATISE 45

apology be long, but let him patiently endure its The
length, as necessary. And following it out I author's
declare that (inasmuch as it hath been shown T*J^f-°
how I was moved to the vernacular and forsook
the Latin commentary, to prevent undue inver-
sion of order, and in zeal of liberality) the order
of the whole apology will have me show how I
was moved thereto by the natural [^30] love of c i.
my own tongue ; which is the third and last
reason which moved me to it. Hereto, I say,
that natural love chiefly moves the lover to three
things ; the first is to magnify the loved object, a, /3, 7.
the next to be jealous for it, the third is to
defend it, as everyone may see continualiji
happening. And these three things made me .^.
adopt it, to wit the vernacular, for both natur-
ally and incidentally I [40^ love it and have
loved. ::

1 was movfed in the first place tofliagftify it. a.
And that herein I do magnify it may be seen by
this reason. Albeit things can be magnified,
that is made great, by many conditions of great-
ness, none of them makes so great as the great-
ness of their own proper excellence, which is
the mother and preserver of the other great-
nesses. Wherefore a man can have no greatness
more C50] than that of the virtuous operation
which is his own proper excellence, whereby
the greatness of true dignities and of true
honours, of true power, of true riches, of true
friends, of true and clear fame, are both acquired
and preserved. And this greatness do I give to
this friend, inasmuch as the excellence which
it had in potentiality and in secret I make it have
in actuality and publicity, in its own proper [603

46 ~ THE CONVIVIO Ch.

His operation, which is to make manifest the thought

jealousy conceived.

or lan j ^^^ moved in the second place by jealousy
P- for it. Jealousy for a friend makes a man take
anxious thought for his distant future. Where-
fore, reflecting that the desire to understand these
odes would have induced some unlettered man
to have the Latin commentary translated into
the vernacular, and fearing lest the vernacular
should be set down by one who should make it
appear [^70] hideous, as did he who translated
the Latin of the Ethics, I was careful myself to
set it down, trusting rather in myself than in
another.
7. I was further moved to defend it from its
many detractors who dispraise it and commend
the others, especially the Langue d'Oc, saying
that this is more beauteous and better than that ;
departing herein from the truth. C^°D ^^^ ^7
this comment the great excellence of the ver-
nacular of St will be perceived, to wit how by it
the most lofty and most novel conceptions are
expressed, well-nigh as aptly, as adequately, and
as gracefully as in Latin itself; for in rhymed
compositions, because of the incidental adorn-
ments which are inwoven therein, to wit rhyme
and rhythm and regulated number, its own
excellence cannot be made manifest ; no more
than the [^90] beauty of a woman can when the
adornment of decking and of garments brings
her more admiration than she brings herself.
Wherefore let him who would rightly judge of
a woman look on her when only her natural
beauty accompanies her, severed from all in-
cidental adornment ; even as this comment will

X. THE FIRST TREATISE 47

be wherein shall be perceived the smoothness of The
its syllables, the propriety of its rules, and the beauty of
sweet l^iooj discourses that are made of it; ^*"
all which he who shall rightly consider it will
perceive to be full of sweetest and most attractive
beauty. But since it is a most effective part of
invention to demonstrate the viciousness and
malice of the accuser, I will tell, to the con-
fusion of those who accuse the Italian speech,
what it is that moves them thereto. And of
this I will presently make a separate chapter,
that their infamy may be the more conspicuous.

14. Reason, i.e., The Roman Law. Ragione is used in
Italian to signify either ' reason,' or 'justice,' or the Code
of Just'm'mn. It may be interesting to note that while ^,~
English Law aspires to be 'the perfection of common _ 'V, -v ,
sense,' Roman Law was regarded as reason herself ''l. .,
reduced to writing. The phrase in the text is translated "^^ '*' °
from the D;|;ef/, Book I. Title iv. . :jj :j j

70. The translator in question is supposed to be the .,
physician Taddeo mentioned by Dante in Paradiso XII.
83 (Toynbee).

jj. Langue d'Oc= Provencal.

8 1 . Vernacular of S} = Ita lian .

103. In-vention. It seems strange that the editors
should allow the ititenztone of the MSS. to stand in the
text. If we substituted defen%ione the translation would
be very easy, but probably the real word is tn-venzione. In
that case there is a direct reference to Cicero's De In-
-ventione, one of the standard books of rhetoric in the
middle ages. In Lib. I. cap. 16 of that treatise the reader
is shown how he may strengthen his case by bringing his
adversary into ' hatred, envy, or contempt.' In-vention is
defined as ' thinking out things, true or verisimilar, which
make your cause credible,'

4^ THE CONVIVIO Ch.

,^^^/'^: , CHAPTER XI :

[This depi'ejfcia'tioil of Italian rests on (i.) mere thought-
less repetition; (ii.) the disingenuous excuses of
those who, being unable to handle their language
powerfully, say that it is the fault of the
language; (iii.) the vanity of those who, being
familiar with foreign literatures, exalt them
above their own to increase their personal dis-
tinction ; (iv. ) the envious detraction of those
who having no literary distinction themselves
insidiously detract from that of others about
them by slighting its instrument, and (v.) that
poverty of spirit which makes a man think that
nothing associated with his poor self can be

• 1 .' -tittythihg? bBt ^oK y-'-- '

The To the perpetual infamy and suppression of the
defamers evil men of Italy who prize the vernacular of
of Italian another and disprize their own, I declare that
i. ii. iii. their impulse arises from five detestable causes,
iv. v. The first, blindness in discernment ; the second,
disingenuous excusing ; the third, desire of vain-
glory; the fourth, the prompting of envy ; the fifth
and last, [lo]] abjectnessof mind or pusillanimity.
And each one of these guilty tendencies has so
great a following that there be few exempt from
them.
i. Of the first one may thus discourse : like as the
sensitive part of the mind hath its eyes whereby
it^pprehendeth the difference of things in so far as
they are coloured externally, even so hath the
rational part its eye whereby it apprehendeth the
[]2o3 difference of things in so far as they be or-
dained to some certain end ; and this same eye is
discernment. And like as he who is blind with
the eyes of sense must ever judge of evil or good

XL THE FIRST TREATISE 49

according to others, so he who is blind of the Sheeplike
light of discernment must ever follow in his opinion
judgment after mere report, true or false. And ■' '

so, whensoever the leader is blind, he himself,
and also the one, blind likewise, who [30]]
leaneth upon him, must needs come to an evil
end. Wherefore it is written, that the blind
shall lead the blind and so shall they both fall
into the ditch. Now this same report hath
long been counter to our vernacular, for reasons
which will be discoursed of below. Following
the which, the blind ones spoken of above, who
are almost without number, with their hands
upon the shoulders of these liars, have fallen into
the ditch of the false opinion from which they
know not how [403 to escape. To the habit
of this light of discernment the populace are
specially blinded, because they are occupied
from the beginning of their lives with some
trade, and so direct their minds to it, by force
of necessity, that they give heed to nought else.
And because the habit of a virtue, whether moral
or intellectual, may not be had of a sudden, but
must needs be acquired by practice, and they
1^50] devote their practice to some art, and are
not careful to discern other things, it is im-
possible for them to have discernment. Where-
fore it comes to pass that they often cry long live
their death and death to their life, if only some-
one raise the cry. And this is the most perilous
defect involved in their blindness. Where-
fore Boethius considers popular glory an empty
thing, because he sees that it has no discernment.
Such are to be regarded as sheep and not men ;
for if [60] one sheep were to fling itself over a

D

so THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Dis- precipice of a thousand paces all the others
ingenuous would go after it ; and if one sheep leap for any
excuses reason as it passes a street all the others leap,
although they see nothing to leap over. And
ere now I myself have seen one after another
leap into a well because one leapt into it (think-
ing, I suppose, that it was leaping over a wall),
although the shepherd, wailing and shouting, set
himself with \^Jo] arms and breast before them.
ii. The second sect who oppose our vernacular
is made up by disingenuous excusings. There
are many who love to be thought masters rather
than to be such ; and to avoid the opposite (to
wit, not being thought such) they ever find fault
with the material of their art that is furnished
them, or else the instrument ; for example, a
bad smith finds fault with the iron furnished him,
and a bad harper [jSoJ finds fault with the harp,
thinking to throw the blame of the bad knife or
the bad music upon the iron and upon the harp,
and to remove it from himself. And in like
manner there be some, and they are not few, who
would have men think them poets ; and to excuse
themselves for not poetising, or for poetising
badly, they accuse and blame the material, to wit
their own vernacular, and praise that of others,
which they are not required to forge. And if
anyone would see how far this iron is really
[[go]] to be blamed, let him look upon the works
which the good artificers make from it, and he
will recognise the disingenuousness of those who
by blaming it think to excuse themselves.
Against such as these Tully cries out in the
beginning of a book of his, which is called the
book Concerning the Goal of Good; because in

XI. THE FIRST TREATISE 51

his time they found fault with the Latin of the Vanity
Romans and commended the Grammar of the ^^'^ ^^^
Greeks, for the like reasons for which these
others now make the Italian speech cheap and
[]ioo3 that of Provence precious.

The third sect against our vernacular is made iii.
up by desire of vainglory. There are many
who by handling things composed in some tongue
not their own, and by commending the said
tongue, look to be more admired than by
handling things in their own tongue. And
doubtless it is a matter of some praise of intellect
rightly to apprehend a foreign tongue ; but it is
blameworthy to commend it beyond the truth,
in order to vaunt oneself for such [no] ac-
quirement.

The fourth is made up by the prompting of iv.
envy. As was said above, there is envy where-
ever there is similarity. Amongst men of one
tongue there is similarity in vernacular ; and
because one cannot handle it as another can,
envy springs up. So the envious man goes
subtly to work and doth not find with him who
poetises the fault of not knowing how to write,
but finds fault with that which is the material
[120] of his work, so that by slighting the
work on that side he may deprive the poet of
honour and of fame ; as one should find fault
with the steel of a sword for the sake of dis-
crediting not the steel, but the whole work of
the master.

The fifth and last sect is impelled by abject- v.
ness of mind. The large-souled man ever exalts
himself in his heart, and so counter wise the
small-souled man ever holds himself [1303 less

52 - THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Pusil- than he really is. And because magnifying

lanimity and minifying always have regard to something

in comparison to which the large-souled man

makes himself great and the small-souled man

makes himself little, it comes to pass that the

;;. large-souled man always makes others of less
account than they are, and the small-souled man
of more. And because with the same measure
wherewith a man measures himself he measures
the things that are his, which are as it were a
part of himself, n^40ll '^^ comes to pass that the
large-souled man's things always seem to him
better than they are, and the things of others
worse ; and the small-souled man always thinks
his things of little worth, and the things of
others of much. Wherefore many, by reason

. of this abjectness, depreciate their own vernacular
and praise that of others.

And all these together make up the detestable
wretches of Italy who hold cheap that costly
vernacular, if which be vile in ought it is [150^
only in so far as it sounds upon the prostitute
lips of these adulterers, by whose guidance the
blind men go of whom I made mention under
the head of the first cause.

40-46, Compare I. i : 30-35, where the same fact is
regarded from a somewhat different point of view.

58-70. Compare the very different temper in which
the same characteristics of sheep are treated in Purgatorio
III. 79-84.

84. Poets. The Italian is dicitori. Perhaps it may
mean orators (as Miss Hillard takes it), or -writers
generally.

97, 98. The grammar of the Greeks, Though Dante
generally uses the word grammar to mean Latin (as in
our ' Grammar School,' equivalent to the German

XIL THE FIRST TREATISE 53

'Lateinische Schule'), yet he regards it as applicable to
any language with (as he supposed) conventionally fixed
literary forms. See De f^ulgari Elcquentia, I. I : 27-34,
where it is asserted that all peoples have a vernacular
but only some (the Greeks amongst them) a grammar.
Compare I. 5 : 50-52, «ofe.

126-144. Aristotle's /xeyaXoxpvxos has always given
trouble both to commentators and translators. He is the
man of conscious superiority, who is worthy of great
things and estimates himself at his true worth (sec note
on IV. 17 : 44) ; and though, as represented by Aristotle,
he is already offensively 'superior,' yet in the present
passage Dante adds difficulties to the Aristotelian con-
ception by seeming to make his magnamnto overestimate
(instead of duly estimating) his own high significance
relatively to that of others, which would throw him into
one of Aristotle's vicious extremes.

CHAPTER XII

[The author's burning love of his native tongue,
manifested in the ways set forth above, itself
springs from two causes (a, /3) that beget, and
form three (7, 5, e) that foster love, (o) The
home feeling we have to the language we first
spoke as children breeds a love for it that can
never be superseded, and (/3) the proved ex-
cellence of Italian as a vehicle of thought makes
it the object of love, on its own account, apart
from all personal associations.]

If the flame of fire were Issuing plain to see Flames
from the windows of a house, and one should o* ^^'^^
ask whether there was a fire therein, and another
should answer him yea, I could not well judge
which of the two were most to be derided.
And of no other fashion were his question
and my answer should one ask me, after the

54 THE CONVIVIO Cir,

Nearness reasons set forth above, whether love of my

of a man's own tongue is in me [loj and should I answer

motner j^j^^ ^^^^ -^^^ none the less I have yet to show

that not only love but most perfect love of it

c 2. abides in me, and I have yet further to denounce

its adversaries. And in demonstrating this to

whoso shall rightly understand, I will tell how

I became its friend, and then how the friendship

was confirmed.

I say then (as Tully may be seen to write in
that of Friendship, not \J2.o~\ departing therein
from the teaching of the Philosopher, set forth
a, /3. in the eighth and ninth of the Ethics) that near-
ness and excellence are the natural causes which
7» 5> ^- generate love ; and benefaction, [community
of 3 study and comradeship are the causes whicla
foster love. And all these causes have been at
work begetting and strengthening the love which
I bear to my vernacular, as I will briefly show.
"■ C3°3 ^ thing is near in proportion as of all
the things of its kind it is most closely united to
a man ; wherefore a son is nearest to his father ;
and of all arts medicine is nearest to the doctor,
and music to the musician, because they are
more closely united to them than are the rest ;
of all lands that is nearest to a man wherein he
maintains himself, because it is more closely
united to him. And thus a man's proper ver-
nacular [403 is nearest to him, inasmuch as
it is most closely united to him ; for it is singly
and alone in his mind before any other; and
not only is it united to him essentially, in itself,
but also incidentally, inasmuch as it is con-
joined with the persons closest to him, as his
relatives, his fellow-citizens, and his own people.

XII. THE FIRST TREATISE 55

Such, then, is a man's own vernacular, which Excel-
we will not call near, but most nearest to him. lence of
Wherefore, if nearness be the seed of [503 "^^^^"
friendship, as was said above, it is clear that it
is amongst the causes of the love which I bear
to my tongue, which is most near to me above
the others. It was the abovesaid cause, namely
that that is most closely united which at first
has sole possession of the mind, that gave rise
to the custom which makes first-born sons
succeed alone, as the closer, and because closer,
more loved.

[603 Again its excellence makes me its /3.
friend. And here you are to know that every
excellence proper to a thing is to be loved in
that thing ; as in masculinity to be well bearded,
and in femininity to be well smooth of beard
over all the face. As in a setter, good scent,
and in a boarhound, good speed. And the
more proper is the excellence the better is it to
be loved ; wherefore, though every virtue is to
be [703 loved in man, that is most to be loved
in him which is most human ; and that is
justice, which abides only in the rational or
intellectual part, that is in the will. This is
so much to be loved that, as the Philosopher
says in the fifth of the Ethics, they who are its
foes, as are robbers and plunderers, love it ;
and therefore we see that its contrary, to wit
injustice, is most hated; as [^803 treachery,
ingratitude, forgery, theft, rapine, cheating and
their likes. Which be such inhuman sins that,
to shield himself from the infamy thereof, long
usage alloweth that man may speak of himself,
as was said above, and that he have leave to

56 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Its declare himself faithful and loyal. Of this virtue
efficiency i shall hereafter speak more at length in the four-
teenth treatise, and here leaving it I return to the
matter in hand. That has been shown, then,
to be the most proper [90] excellence of a
thing which is most loved and praised in it ;
and we must see in each case what that ex-
cellence is. Now we see that in all matters
of speech rightly to manifest the conception is
the most loved and commended. This, then,
is its prime excellence. And inasmuch as
this excellence abideth in our vernacular, as
• hath been shown above, in another chapter, it is
clear that it is of the causes of the love [[loo^
which I bear to the said vernacular ; because,
as already said, excellence is a cause that
generates love.

18. May be seen to ivr'tte. This is apparently Dante's
form of reference when he is not quoting any specific
passage from a work but is giving his impression of what
an intelligent man may gather from his study of it.
Compare II. 3 : 28 f., note, and II. 13 : 29.

75, 76. Dante's memory appears to have misled him
here as Aristotle does not quite say this.

82. Inhuman. Yet inasmuch as they are the abuse of
the specifically human sense of justice, they might, from
another point of view, be regarded as specifically human.
And this is more nearly the view taken in Inferno XI.,
see specially line 25. Compare the note at the end of
the 'Temple Classics' Inferno,

86 fF. Since justice was to be dealt with in the
fourteenth treatise, which was also to give occasion for
a special discourse on allegory (see II. 1:35, 3^)> '•^ '*
clear that the beautifjil Ode XIII. was to have been its
text. Gardner infers from Dante's words, to shield himself
etc., that in this fourteenth treatise he would have ex-
pressly defended himself against the charge of malversa-
tion of public money brought against him in his sentence
of exile.

XIII. THE FIRST TREATISE 57

CHAPTER XIII

[(7) Moreover, the author has supreme obligations to
Italian, for (i.) since language is the specific
bond of human society, bringing contemporaries
into relation with each other and linking the
generations together, the specific language of a
country is one of the determining influences to
,if. which people of that country owe their very
existence ; and so the author owes his existence
in part to that Italian language which was the
medium in which his parents lived and loved ;
yi, and (ii.) it was Italian that introduced him to
-jT, Latin, and therefore it is to Italian that he is
ultimately indebted for his share of that know-
ledge which is the distinguishing excellence of
man. And further (5) community of interest
binds him to Italian, for all his passion has been
to give it stability and glory, so that if it be not
honoured his life has failed ; and (e) the pene- *
trating intimacy of his intercourse with Italian,
which has entered into the very texture of his
spiritual being, has confirmed his love of it.
Hence he has every reason to love his native
tongue ; and herewith his apology is complete.
So now let the new light of this Italian tongue
shine upon those who sit in darkness which no
ray of the Latin tongue has reached !]

Having told how these two things exist The
in my own tongue, whereby I was made its food of
friend — to wit, its nearness to myself and its friendship
own excellence — I will tell how, by benefaction
and harmony of study, and the good-will of
long comradeship, the friendship has been con-
firmed and fostered.

I say first that I, in myself, have received the 7.
greatest of benefactions from it. And there-
fore [_io'] be it known that amongst all bene-

58 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Being factions that is greatest which is most precious

and well- ^q him who receives it ; and nothing is so

^"^o precious as that for the sake of which all the

others are desired ; and all other things are desired

for the perfection of him who desires them.

i. ii. Wherefore, since a man hath two perfections —

the first and the second (the first gives him being

and the second gives him well-being), if my

proper tongue hath been [20] the cause both

of the one and of the other I have received the

very greatest benefaction from it. And that it

hath been the cause of my existence — if my

being here at all did not establish it — may be

briefly shown.

i. May not there be many efficient causes with
respect to one thing, though one of them be so
in a higher degree than the others ? For the
fire and the hammer are efficient causes of the
knife, though the smith is so in chiefest [30J
place. Now this my vernacular it was that
brought together them who begat me, for by
it they spoke ; even as the fire disposes the
iron for the smith who is making the knife ;
wherefore it is manifest that it took part in my
begetting and so was a certain cause of my

ii. being. Moreover, this my vernacular led me
into the way of knowledge, which is our specific
perfection ; inasmuch as by it 1 [[403 entered
upon Latin, which was explained to me in it ;
which Latin was then my path to further
advance ; wherefore, it is plain, and is acknow-
ledged by me, that it hath been my benefactor
in the highest degree. ' '^"^'^ '•''

d. Also it hath been of one same purposef with
me, which I can thus prove. Everything

XIII. THE FIRST TREATISE 59

naturally studies its own preservation ; where- The
fore, if the vernacular could in itself pursue any founda-
purpose, it would study this preservation; ^"^cr°od°'ll
[^50] this would be adapting itself to greater
stability ; and greater stability it could not have
save by binding itself in numbers and in rhymes.
And this same study hath been mine, as is so
manifest as to need no witness. Wherefore
one same study hath been common to it and to
me ; whence by this harmony our friendship
hath been confirmed and fostered.

Further, ours is the goodwill of (^603 com- e.
radeship ; for from the beginning of my life I
have abode in goodwill and communion with it,
and have used it in pondering, in explaining
and in questioning. Wherefore if friendship
grows by comradeship, as is plain to the sense,
it is manifest that it hath grown in me to the
highest, since I have passed all my time in
company with this same vernacular. Where-
fore it appears that all the causes which can
[_jo2 generate and foster friendship have com-
bined for this friendship ; whence the conclusion
that not only love but most perfect love for it,
is that which I ought to have and which I have.

So turning back our eyes, and gathering up
the reasons already noted, it may be seen that
this bread with which the viands of the odes
written below must be eaten is sufficiently
purged [80] from its blemishes, and from
being made of oats ; wherefore it is time to
set about serving the viands. This shall be
that oaten bread whereby thousands shall be
sated and my baskets shall be left full for me.
This shall be the new light, the new sun, which

6o :^ THE CONVIVIO Ch. XIII.

Light in shall rise when the wonted sun shall set, and
darkness ^^^\\ gjyg jjgjj^ jq them who are in darkness

and in shadow as to the wonted sun, which

shines not for them.

16-44. See II. 14 : 26 ff., note.

22,23. Of my being here, ttc. The text may be corrupt,
and the interpretation is certainly doubtful.
84. My baskets, etc. Compare I. i : 75.

SO 99P

• sn
A

THE SECOND TREATISE

ODE I

Voi eke intendendo il terzo del movete.

I

Ye who by understanding move the third heaven hear-

ken to the discourse which is in my heart for I may not

tell it to any other, so strange it seeraeth me.

'Tis the heaven which followeth your worth, gentle

creatures that ye be, that draweth me into the state

wherein I find me. [6]

Wherefore the discoufie of tfadlife which I endure

( z Meseems were worthily directed unto you ; therefore

I pray that ye give me heed anent it. I will tell the

wondrous story of my heart

How the sad soul waileth in it, and how a spirit dis-

courseth counter to her that cometh upon the rays of

your star. [13}

II

Is wont to be the life of my grieving heart a sweet

thought that would take its way many a time to the

feet of your Sire,

Where it beheld a lady in glory of whom it discoursed

to me so sweetly that my soul said ever : ' Fain would

I go thither.' [19]

Now one appears who puts him to flight

And lords it over me with such might that my heart

so trembles thereat as to reveal it in outward semblance. He
makes me gaze upon a lady.

And saith : ' Who would behold salvation heedfuUy let
him look upon this lady's eyes if he fear not the anguish

ofsighings.' [26]

III
Findeth such an adversary as destroyeth him the

61

62 THE CONVIVIO

humble thought that is wont to discourse to me of an

angel who is crowned in heaven.

The soul wails, so doth she still grieve thereat, and

saith : ' O wretched me, how fleeth that tender one who

hath consoled me.' [32]

Of my eyes this afflicted one exclaimeth :

' What hour was that wherein such lady looked upon
them ! and wherefore did they not believe me concerning

her? I ever said : Verily in her eyes

Must he needs sta?id who slays my peers. And my

perceiving it availed me nought against their gazing

upon such an one that I am slain thereby.' [39]

IV

' Thou art not slain, only thou art dismayed O soul of

ours, who dost so lament thee,' saith a little spirit of

gentle love ;

' For this fair lady, whom thou perceivest, hath so

transformed thy life, that thiou art terrified, so cowardly

hast thou become. ''"' 1 !' "! [^-j

See how tender she is and humble,

$ag6 and courteous in her greatness, and think hence-

forth to call her lady : for, if thou deceive not thyself, thou

shalt see

Adornment of such lofty miracles, that thou shalt

say: Love, very lord, behold thy handmaid ; do as

pUaseih iA4«.' ,a:.A. / / [52]

Jj lij-iiioo;!:; ; Tomata ■.:,\ii

Ode t'tlxlieve that they shall be but rare whoishall

rightly understand thy meaning, so intricate and knotty

is thy utterance of it:

Wherefore if perchance it come about . that thou take
thy way into the presence of folk, ' who seem not
rightly to perceive it"; [58]

Then I pray thee to take heart again,

And say to them, O my beloved lastling : ' Give heed

at least how beautiful I am.' [61]

Ch. I. THE SECOND TREATISE 63

CHAPTER I

[Of the four chief senses according to which a text
may be expounded, and why it were (a) im-
possible (for three reasons) and (i) irrational to
make the allegorical or any other interpretation
precede the literal. Wherefore the order of
exposition will be first the literal, then the
*^^' allegorical, with such incidental notices of the
9ii moral and anagogical as may seem fitting.]

Now that, by way of introductory discourse, my Of
bread has been sufficiently prepared by my minis- the four
tration in the preceding treatise, time calls and senses of
requires that my ship should issue from the port. ^^
Wherefore adjusting the sail of reason to the
breeze of my longing I enter upon the open sea,
with the hope of a fair journey and of a whole-
some port and praiseworthy, at the close of this
my feast. But [^lo] that this my food be the
more profitable, ere the first viands are served I
would show how it must be eaten.

I say that, as was told in the first chapter,
this exposition must be both literal and alle-
gorical ; and that this may be understood it
should be known that writings may be taken
and should be expounded chiefly in four i. ii. iii. iv.
senses. [_'io] The first is called the literal, i.
and it is the one that extends no further than
the letter as it btands ; the second is called the ii.
allegorical, and is the one that hides itself under
the mantle of these tales, and is a truth hidden
under beauteous fiction. As when Ovid says
that Orpheus with his lyre made wild beasts
tame and made trees and rocks approach him ;
which would say that the wise man with the

64 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of the instrument of his voice maketh cruel [30J hearts
divers tender and humble ; and moveth to his will

senses of g^^jj as have [not] the life of science and of
art ; for they that have not the rational life are
as good as stones. And why this way of hiding
was devised by the sages will be shown in the
last treatise but one. It is true that the theo-
logians take this sense otherwise than the poets
do, but since it is my purpose here to follow the
method of the poets I shall take [40] the alle-
gorical sense after the use of the poets.
^ iii. The third sense is called moral, and this is

*■•''"■' the one that lecturers should go intently noting
throughout the scriptures for their own behoof
and that of their disciples. Thus we may note
in the Gospel, when Christ ascended the moun-
tain for the transfiguration, that of the twelve
apostles he took with him but three ; wherein
the moral may be understood that [50] in the
most secret things we should have but few
companions,
iv. The fourth sense is called the anagogical,
that is to say ' above the sense ' ; and this is
when a scripture is spiritually expounded which
even in the literal sense, by the very things it
signifies, signifies again some portion of the
supernal things of eternal glory ; as may be seen
in that song of the prophet which saith that
when the people of Israel came out of Egypt,
[603 Judea was made whole and free. Which
although it be manifestly true according to the
letter is none the less true in its spiritual inten-
tion ; to wit, that when the soul goeth forth out
of sin, it is made holy and free in its power.
And in thus expounding, the literal sense

I. THE SECOND TREATISE 65

should always come first as the one in the The
meaning whereof the others are included, and literal
without which it were impossible and [_'Jo'] sense the
irrational to attend to the others, and especi- ^j
ally to the allegorical. It is impossible, be-
cause in everything that has an inside and an a, b.
outside it is impossible to come at the inside a.
save we first come at the outside. Wherefore
inasmuch as in the scriptures Qhe literal sensej
is ever outside, it is impossible to come at the i.
others without first coming at the literal. Again
it is impossible, because [803 in every natural ii.
and artificial thing it is impossible to proceed to
the form without first duly disposing the subject
on which the form must be impressed. Just as
it is impossible for the form of gold to accrue if
the material, to wit its subject, be not first
digested and prepared ; or for the form of a chest
to come if the material, to wit the wood, be not
first disposed and prepared. Wherefore inasmuch
as the literal \j)o\ meaning is always the subject
and material of the others, especially the alle-
gorical, it is impossible to come at the knowledge
of the others before coming at the knowledge of
it. Further, it is impossible because in every iii.
natural or artificial thing it is impossible to
proceed unless the foundation be first made ; as
in a house, and as in study. Wherefore since
demonstration is the building up of knowledge
and the [^100] literal demonstration is the
foundation of the others, especially the alle-
gorical, it is impossible to come at the others
before coming at this.

Again, suppose it were possible it would be h.
irrational, that is to say out of order, and would

66 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

From therefore be carried on with much irksomeness
known to a^d with much error. Wherefore, as saith the
unknown pi^iiosopher in the first of the Physics, nature
wills that we should proceed in due order in
[^iio] our learning, to wit by proceeding from
that which we know better to that which we
know not so well. I say that nature wills it,
inasmuch as this way of learning is naturally
born in us. And therefore if the other senses
are less known than the literal (which it is
manifestly apparent that they are) it would be
irrational to proceed to demonstrate them if the
literal had not been demonstrated first. There-
fore, [120] for these reasons, I shall always first
discourse concerning each ode as to the literal
sense of the same ; and after that I shall dis-
course of its allegory, that is its hidden truth ;
and from time to time I shall touch upon the
other senses incidentally as shall suit place and
time.

14-16. Seel. 1; 127-132.

19 fF. The four senses here spoken of are much more
crisply distinguished in Epistle X. (to Can Grande), lines
1 33-161 ; 'In evidence then of what has been said, be
it known that the sense of the work [The Comedy] is not
simple, but may rather be called polysemous, that is
of many senses. For the sense that is gathered by the
letter is one, and the sense that is gathered by the things
signified by the letter another ; and the first is called
literal, but the second allegorical or mystical ; which
method of treatment, for its better explanation, may be
considered with reference to this verse : —

^When Israel came out of Egypt, the house of Jacob out of
a barbarous people, Judea became his sa/ictif cation, Israel
his po-ver.

' For should we consider the letter only, the exit of the
children of Israel from Egypt in the time of Moses is
what is signified to us ; if the allegory, our redemption

I. THE SECOND TREATISE 67

accomplished through Christ is signified to us ; if the
moral sense, the conversion of the mind from the grief
and misery of sin to the state of grace is signified to us ;
if the anagogical, the exit of the holy soul from the
slavery of this corruption to the liberty of eternal glory is
signified. And although these mystic senses are called
by various names they may all in general be called
allegorical, since they differ from the literal or historical.'
20-25. The text is that of a Paris MS. reported by
Dr. Moore, but it does not seem very satisfactory. The
phrase 'these tales' implies that some mention of the
'tales' was made in defining the literal meaning.

35, 36. Compare I, 12 : 86 f. andnote.

36, 37. The theologians, for one thing, do not regard
the literal sense of the scriptures as a ' beauteous
fiction.'

44. Scriptures, The word is applied to the Latin
poets as well as to the Bible. Compare Epistle X. to Can
Grande, line 424. Both alike were freely 'moralised.'

55, 56, Aquinas says that God has the power of fitting
not only words but things themselves to a signification ;
and thus in interpreting Scripture we must understand
that the words may signify things, which things them-
selves signify other things. So Dante says here that the
literal meaning itself, by the things it signifies, may signify
eternal things.

63-65. This is a moral rather than an anagogical
interpretation, and is given as such in the Epistle to Can
Grande (see note above).

79-88. The form, being that which makes the thing
what it is, is here regarded as a kind of signet, stamped
upon the material, which material is therefore the
'subject,' or underlying somewhat, on which it is im-
pressed. For the meaning of 'form' see II. 14: 140,
note, p. 143.

124-126. Instances in which the moral significance of
texts is insisted upon may be found in II. 16: 50-58,
III. i: 45, IV. 17: 106 ff. We may perhaps regard
such passages as the conclusion of IV. 22 as instances of
the anagogical interpretation, which always refers in
some direct way to things of heaven.

68 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER II

[The author tells how this ode arose out of the con-
flict in his mind between the memory of the lost
Beatrice and a growing love for the gentle lady
whose pity sought to console him ; and how the
victorious power of this last wrung from him a
cry to the spirits from whose influence it came.
Of the method of exposition by division to be
followed throughout this work ; and of the
division of this ode into (I. ) the invocation ;
(II.) the tale of the internal conflict ; and (III.)
the tornata or envoie.]

The lady To begin with, then, I say that the star of
of the Venus had twice already revolved in that circle
winaow q£ j^gj.g ^jji(;jj makes her appear at even or at
morn, according to the two divers periods, since
the passing away of that blessed Beatrice who
liveth in heaven with the angels and on earth
with my soul, when that gentle lady, of whom I
made mention in the end of the Vita [lo] NuovUf
first appeared to my eyes accompanied with love,
and took some place in my mind. And, as is
told by me in the aforesaid book, more of her
gentleness than of my choice it came to pass
that I consented to be hers ; for she showed
herself to be impassioned by so great pity for
my widowed life that the spirits of my eyes be-
came in supreme degree her friends. And
when thus affected, they so [[203 wrought with-
in me that my pleasure was content to put itself
at the disposal of this image. But because love
cometh not to birth and growth and perfect state
in a moment, but needeth some certain time and
nourishment of thoughts, especially where there
be counter thoughts that impede it, it was neces-

II. THE SECOND TREATISE 69

sary ere this new love became perfect that there Conflict
should be much strife between the thought which of loves
nourished it and that [^30j which was counter to
it, and which still held the citadel of my mind
on behalf of that glorified Beatrice. Where-
fore the one was constantly reinforced from
before, and the other by memory from behind.
And the reinforcement from before increased
day by day (which the other might not) as
hindering me, in a certain sense, from turning
my face backwards. Wherefore it seemed to
me so strange, and also so hard [40]] to endure,
that I might not sustain it ; and with a kind of
cry (to excuse myself for the change wherein,
methought, I showed lack of firmness) I
directed my voice to that quarter whence came
the victory of the new thought (and the same,
being a celestial virtue, was most victorious), and
I began to say, —

Te ivho by understanding move the third heaven.

Rightly to grasp the [_$0^ meaning of the
ode it is necessary first to understand its divi-
sions, so that it may thereafter be easy to per-
ceive its meaning. And that there may be no
need of setting these same words in front of the
expositions of the other odes, I say that this
same order which will be observed in this
treatise it is my intention to follow in all the
others.

I say then that the ode before us is composed
of three chief parts. The \_^o~\ first is the first I.
verse of it, wherein are introduced, that they may
hearken to that which I intend to say, certain
Intelligences, or, to name them after the more

70 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Main customary use, certain Angels, which are set

divisions over the revolution of the heaven of Venus, as

II. its movers. The second is the three verses

which follow after the first, wherein is shown

that which was heard in the spirit within as

III. between the divers thoughts. The third is the

[^7oJ fifth and last verse, wherein a man is wont

to address the work itself, as though to hearten

it. And all these three parts in order are to be

expounded after the fashion above expressed.

On the astronomical questions raised in this and the
following chapter, see Appendix, p. 440 fF. ; and on the
relations between the narrative here and in the Vita
Nuo-va, p. 432 fF.

49-57. The divisions, which are generally felt as a
mere disturbance by the reader of the Vita Nucma, and
which seem needlessly elaborate even in the Con-vi-vio, may
be regarded, in part, as a cumbrous method of punctuation.
They are copied from the Aristotelian commentaries of
Thomas Aquinas, where they are more in place.

CHAPTER III

[(I.) {a) Of the spirits invoked, and (3) of the heaven
which they move ; and first of the latter, {d)
Of Aristotle's unripe theories, and the explana-
tion thereof. Of Ptolemy's conclusive dis-
coveries and the nine revolving heavens.]

The The more clearly to discern the literal sense

hteral (^bich is our present concern) of the first part,

according to the above division, we must know

I- who and how many are they who are summoned

a, b. to hear me ; and what is this third heaven which

I declare that they move. And first I will

b. speak of the heaven, and then I will speak of

III. THE SECOND TREATISE 71

those to whom I address myself. And albeit Number
these things, in proportion to the reality, may be of the
but little [10] known, yet what little human heavens
reason sees of them hath more delight than the
much and the certain concerning things whereof
we judge [more fully^, according to the opinion
of the Philosopher in that Of the Animals.

I say then that concerning the number of the
heavens and their position divers opinions have
been held by many, although the truth hath at
last been found. Aristotle, following [203
only the ancient grossness of the astrologers,
believed that there were no more than eight
heavens, the extremest of which, containing all
the sum of things, was that whereon the stars
are fixed, to wit the eighth sphere ; and that
outside of that there was no other. Moreover,
he believed that the heaven of the sun came
next after that of the moon, that is that it was
the second from us. And this so erroneous
opinion of his, whoso wills may see in the second
Of Heaven and the [303 World, which is in the
second of the Books of Nature. But truly he
shows his excuse for this in the twelfth of the
Metaphysics, where he lets us clearly see that
he was just following the opinion of others where
he had to speak of Astrology.

Thereafter Ptolemy, perceiving that the eighth
sphere had more than one movement, since he
saw that its circle departed from the direct circle
which turns the whole from east to [40^ west,
constrained by the principles of philosophy
(which of necessity will have a primum mobile of
perfect simplicity) laid down the existence of
another heaven, outside that of the stars, which

n THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Order should make that revolution from the east to the
of the west. And I say that it is completed in about
heavens four-and-twenty hours, that is in twenty hours
and three hours and fourteen out of fifteen parts
of another, roughly reckoning. So that accord-
ing to him and according to the tenets of \j)0~\
astrology and philosophy (after the observation
of these motions) the moving heavens are nine ;
and their relative position is manifested and
determined according as, by the arts of per-
spective arithmetic and geometry, it is perceived
by sense and reason ; and by further observation
of the senses, as in the eclipse of the sun, it
appears sensibly that the moon is beneath the
sun ; and by the testimony of Aristotle, {_^o~\
who saw with his own eyes (as he tells us in the
second Of Heaven and the World) the moon,
being at the half, pass below Mars with her
darkened side, and Mars remain hidden till he
reappeared from the other shining side of the
moon which was facing the west.

28, 29. Whoso luills may see. See note on I. 12 : 18,
19. Aristotle lays down the principle (Df Caelo, II. 10)
that the ' proper motion ' of each sphere (see Appendix,
p. 438 ff.) is slower in order of its remoteness from the
primum mobile, and (as Averroes points out in the com-
mentary) this would involve the ' so erroneous opinion '
mentioned in the text that the sun comes next after the
moon, counting outwards from the earth.

31-35. The passage referred to is in Metaphysics,
XII. 8. Aristotle says that in such inquiries we must
investigate some things ourselves and accept others from
those who have looked into them, and where two authori-
ties differ we must ' be grateful to both, and follow the
more trustworthy.'

36. Ptolemy, etc. See Appendix, p. 442.

46-48. This corresponds, of course, to the sidereal (not
the solar) day.

IV. THE SECOND TREATISE 73

CHAPTER IV

[Of the order and succession of the nine revolving

heavens. Of the empyrean, unknown to Gentile

^*' science but affirmed by the Church, embracing

r all space, existing not in space but in the mind
of God, the abode of the blessed spirits, itself
still but the source and goal of all motion by the
longing it begets in the outmost revolving heaven.
Of Aristotle's premonition and of the Psalmist's
proclamation of the same. That the heaven of
Venus is third amongst the ten. Of the relatively
fixed poles of the inner revolving spheres, and the
absolutely fixed poles of the outmost one. Of
their equators and the virtue of the same. Of
the epicycle of Venus and of the planet situate on
the most virtuous region of the same. Of the
sense in which there are ten heavens and the
sense in which there are more.]

And the order of their position is this: The Enumera-
first in the enumeration is that wherein is the *J0" o^
moon ; the second is that wherein is Mercury ; . ^
the third is that wherein is Venus ; the fourth
is that wherein is the sun ; the fifth is that
wherein is Mars ; the sixth is that wherein is
Jupiter ; the seventh is that wherein is Saturn ;
the eighth is that of the fixed stars ; the ninth
is that which is not perceived by the senses
[[lo] save by that movement which was spoicen
of above ; and it is called by many the crystal-
line heaven, that is the diaphanous, or all trans-
parent. But beyond all these the Catholics
assert the empyrean heaven, which is as much
as to say the heaven of flame, or the luminous
heaven ; and they assert it to be immovable,
because it hath in itself with respect to every
part that which its matter demandeth. And

74 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The this is the cause of the [20]] primum mobile having
empyrean the swiftest motion, because by reason of the
most fervid appetite wherewith every part of
this ninth heaven, which is next below it,
longeth to be conjoined with every part of this
divinest, and tranquil heaven, it revolves therein
with so great yearning that its swiftness is scarce
to be comprehended. But still and tranquil is
the place of that supreme deity which alone
completely perceiveth [[303 itself. This is
the place of the blessed spirits, according as
holy Church, which may not lie, will have it ;
and Aristotle likewise seemeth to agree hereto
(to whoso rightly understandeth) in the first Of
Heaven and the World. This is the sovran
edifice of the world, wherein all the world is
included, and outside of which there is nought ;
and it is not itself in space, but was formed only
in the primal mind, which the Greeks call
protonoe. [40] This is that * magnificence '
whereof the Psalmist spoke when he saith to
God : ' Thy magnificence is exalted above the
heavens.' And thus, gathering up what hath
been discoursed, it appears that there are ten
heavens, of which that of Venus is the third ;
whereof mention is made in that passage which
I am intent on expounding.

And be it known that every heaven beneath
the crystalline has two poles fixed [_'yO~\ with
respect to itself; and the ninth has them firm
and fixed, and immutable in every respect ; and
each one, the ninth as well as the rest, has a
circle which may be called the equator of its
proper heaven ; which is equally distant in every
part of its revolution from either pole, as he may

IV. THE SECOND TREATISE 75

see by the senses who revolves an apple or other Poles,
circular thing. And this circle in each heaven equators
hath [60] greater swiftness of motion than any ^ .
other part in that heaven, as may be seen by
whoso rightly considereth. And each part in
proportion as it is nearer thereto moveth more
rapidly, and in proportion as it is remote there-
from and nearer to the pole more slowly ;
because its revolution is smaller and must of
necessity take place in the same time as the
greater. I say, further, that in proportion as
the heaven is nearer to the [70] equatorial
circle, it is more noble in comparison to its
poles ; because it hath more movement, and more
actuality, and more life, and more form, and it
touches more of the one which is above it, and
by consequence hath more virtue. And so the
stars of the starry heaven are fuller of virtue, as
between themselves, the nearer they are to this
circle.

And upon the hump of this circle in the
heaven of Venus, of which we are at present
treating, [^80'] is a spherule, which revolves on
its own account in that heaven ; the circle of
which the astrologers call an ' epicycle.' And
even as the great sphere revolves Qon]] two poles
so does this little one ; and so has this little one
its equatorial circle ; and so is it more noble in
proportion as it is nearer thereto ; and upon the
arc or hump of this circle is fixed the most
shining star of Venus. And although it be
said that there are ten heavens, yet [90] accord-
ing to very truth this number doth not embrace
them all ; for this of which mention hath been
made, to wit the epicycle whereon the star is

76 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The third fixed, is a heaven or sphere of Itself; and it
heaven h^th not one same essence with that which
beareth it, though it be more connatural to it than
to the others, and is spoken of as one heaven
with it, and the one and the other is called the
heaven of the star. How the other heavens
and the other stars be we are not at []ioo]
present to treat ; let that suffice which hath
been said of the truth of the third heaven, with
which I am at present concerned and as to which
all that is needful to us for the present purpose
has been completely expounded.

33, 34. It is Aristotle's consistent teaching that physical
motion cannot be ultimately explained on physical prin-
ciples, but implies and depends upon some immaterial
existence ; for the only physical explanation of movement
consists in showing how one body is moved by another,
but this other body must itself be in motion, and therefore
the problem remains exactly where it was. Therefore
there must ultimately be something which moves a
physical body without itself being in motion ; and this
cannot be a material thing, and must therefore be of the
nature of mind. It is in fact the deity, the immaterial
principle on which heaven and all nature depend. The
outmost heaven loves and longs for this immaterial or
divine essence, and moves in obedience to that love and
longing ; for motion, when not caused by a physical im-
pulse, is the expression of unsatisfied longing. This
heaven, then, is the primum mobile, or ' first thing cap-
able of motion,' and it conveys motion to all else. The
divine and immaterial principle, then, is, by the love and
longing it inspires, the ultimate source of all motion.
Compare Paradiso, I. 1-3 : 76-78, etc. In the passage
to which Dante here refers (£)« Caelo, I, 9^ Aristotle
has just attempted to prove that space itself must be
limited, because * body ' cannot possibly be infinite, and
therefore space, which is ' possibility of body,' cannot be
infinite either ; nor can there be time there, since time is
the succession of material movements. He then proceeds,
* It is clear then that neither is there space nor vacuum

V. THE SECOND TREATISE 77

nor time outside of it ; wherefore the nature of the
things that are there is not spacial, nor doth time make
them grow old ; nor is there any change of any of those
things which are ranged above the outmost rotation, but
they are unchangeable and passionless, enjoying the
superlative existence, and passing in absolute self-
sufficiency their eternal life.' More of like import
follows. Dante might well consider such passages as
this to be premonitions of the doctrine of the Church,
for in fact the doctrine of the Church was no more than
the elaboration of them.

36-39. Compare Paradiso, XXVII. 109-114.

42. Psalm viii, 2 : ' Sjuonlam elevata est magnijicentia
tua super caelos.''

72, 73. The potentiality of a thing is actualised and the
thing itself informed in proportion as it becomes or does
what it is capable of being or doing Compare also
Paradiso, V. 87, note.

CHAPTER V

{{a) Of the intelligences (or angels) which move this
heaven. How Aristotle seems to number the
like beings after the number of the heavenly
movements, and how Plato numbers them after
the number of the kinds of things. How the
Gentiles worshipped them as deities. How all
these errors sprang from lack (a) of reasoning
and (/3) of instruction, (a) How reason will
have it (i.) that there be more of such beings
contemplating than active, and (ii.) that in
creating the same God should transcend such
number as man hath power to conceive. Why
it is no scandal that these reasons and others be
not demonstrative.]

Now that it has been demonstrated in the pre- The
ceding chapter what this third heaven is, and movers
how it is disposed in itself, it remains to expound '^•
who they be who move it. Be it known, there-

78 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of angels fore, firstly, that the movers thereof are substances
sejunct from matter, to wit, Intelligences, which
are vulgarly called Angels. And of these
creatures, as of the heavens, divers [^loj have
held divers opinions albeit the truth has been
now found. There were certain philosophers,
of whom Aristotle appears to be in his Meta-
physics (although in the first Of Heaven and the
World he incidentally appears to think other-
wise), who believed that there were only so many
of them as there were circulatings in the heavens,
and no more ; saying that the rest would have
been eternally in vain, without operation ; which,
they held, was [20^ impossible, inasmuch as
their being consists in their operation. Others
were there such as Plato, a man of supreme
excellence, who laid down not only as many
Intelligences as there are movements of heaven,
but just as many as there are kinds of things ;
as all men one kind, and all gold another kind,
and all riches another, and so throughout the
whole ; and they would have it that as the In-
telligences of the heavens are the generators of
[303 the same, each of his own, so those others
were the generators of the other things, and the
exemplars each one of his own kind ; and Plato
calls them Ideas, which is as much as to say
Forms, and Universals. The Gentiles called
them gods and goddesses, though they did not
conceive them so philosophically as did Plato ;
and they adored images of them, and made most
magnificent temples for them ; for Juno, for
example, whom 1^403 they called the goddess of
power ; for Vulcan, whom they called god of fire ;
for Pallas or Minerva, whom they called goddess

V. THE SECOND TREATISE 79

of wisdom ; and for Ceres, whom they called Of
goddess of corn. The which opinion is mani- contem-
rested by the testimony of the poets, who from P**«'"*S
time to time outline the fashion of the Gentiles
both in their sacrifices and in their faith ; and
it is also manifested in many ancient names,
which survive either as names [^$0'] or as sur-
names of places and of ancient buildings, as
whoso will may easily discover.

And although the above-mentioned opinions
were furnished by human reason and by no small
observation, the truth was not yet perceived,
and this both by defect of reason and by defect a, /3.
of instruction ; for even reason may perceive a.
that the abovesaid creatures are in far greater
number than are the effects which men [^603 are
able to note. And one reason is this ; no one — i.
neither philosopher, nor Gentile, nor Jew, nor
Christian, nor any sect — doubts that either all
of them, or the greater part, are full of all
blessedness, or doubts that these blessed ones are
in the most perfect state. And as, inasmuch as
human nature, as it here exists, hath not only
one blessedness but two, to wit that of the civil
life and that [^70] of the contemplative life, it
were irrational did we perceive those others to
have the blessedness of the active that is the
civil life, in guiding the world, and not that of
the contemplative life, which is more excellent
and more divine. And inasmuch as the one
that hath the blessedness of guiding may not
have the other, because their intellect is one and
continuous, there must needs be others exempt
from this ministry whose [SoJ life consists only
in speculation. And because this life is the

8q THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of the more divine, and because in proportion as a
number of thing is more divine it is more like to God, it

angels jg manifest that this life is more loved by God ;
and if it be more loved, its share of blessedness
hath been more ample ; and if it be more ample,
he hath assigned more living beings to it than
to the other. Wherefore we conclude that
the number of these creatures is very far in
excess of what the effects reveal. And this
is not counter [90] to what Aristotle seems
to say in the tenth of the Ethics., to wit that
the speculative life alone fits with the sejunct
substances, for if we allow that the speculative
life alone fits with them, yet upon the speculation
of certain of these followeth the circulation of the
heavens, which is the guiding of the world ;
which world is a kind of ordered civility per-
ceived in the speculation of its movers. The
ii. second reason is tliat no effect is greater than
its cause; for n^'-'^D ^^^ cause cannot give
what itself hath not. Wherefore, since the
divine intellect is the cause of everything, especi-
ally of the human intellect, pt follows^ that the
human intellect transcendeth not the divine, but
is out of all proportion transcended by it ; so that
if we, for the reason above given and for many
others, understand that God could have made
almost innumerable spiritual creatures, it is mani-
fest that he hath indeed made this greater \_i 10]
number. Many other reasons may be perceived,
but let these suffice for the present.

Nor let any marvel if these and other reasons
which we may have for this belief are not
brought to complete demonstration ; because for
that very reason we should wonder at the

V. THE SECOND TREATISE 8i

excellence of these beings (which transcends the Seeing in
eyes of the human mind, as saith the Philosopher blindness
in the second of the Metaphysics), and should
affirm their existence. For albeit we have no
[[120]] perception of them by sense, wherefrom
our knowledge hath its rise, yet is there in our
intellect a kind of reflected glow of the light of
their most vivid existence, in so far as we per-
ceive the above said reasons and many others ;
just as a man whose eyes are closed may affirm
that the air is luminous, because of some certain
glow, or as a ray that passes through the pupils
of the bat; for even so are the eyes of our
intellect closed, so long as [130] the mind is
bound and imprisoned by the organs of our body.

6, 7. Angels are beings (jub stances, compare I. 5 ; 3,
note) essentially and eternally immaterial and separate
or distinct (sejunct) from matter. Compare Purgatorio,
XVIII. 49, 50, note.

12-20. Inthe Metaf/iysics (XI. viii.), Aristotle elaborates
the correspondence between the movements of the
heavens and their immaterial movers. In the De Caelo
(I. iii.) he appeals to the general conception of deities,
entertained alike by Barbarians and Greeks, as consort-
ing with his conception of an eternal and unalterable
heaven, which is regarded as their seat. Perhaps this is
the passage which Dante took as implying that Aristotle
shared the general conception of an indefinite number of
divine beings, but the inference seems hardly justified.

21-34. The parallel between Plato's ' ideas,' the Aris-
totelian ' forms ' and the scholastic ' universals,' is
perfectly legitimate. The great controversy between the
Realists and the Nominalists turned on the question of
whether such general conceptions as 'fish' or 'man'
corresponded to any real things, or whether these ' uni-
versals ' were only names, not things.

The mediaeval scholars were very imperfectly acquainted
with Plato, the Timaus being the only one of his Dialogues
F

82 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

to which they had access, in a Latin translation. Aquinas
expressly declares that he called ' universal forms ' gods.

34-51. Compare II, 6: 117-126; Paradiso, IV. 61-
63 ; VIII. 1-9. This group of passages throws much
light on Dante's attitude towards the Pagan religions.
If the Pagan mythology was a misreading of the angelic
influences we can understand how Dante could regard
opposition to the heathen deities and worship of them as
alike impious. Compare Inferno, I. 72, and innumerable
passages of the type of Inferno, XIV. 46-72, or Purgatorio,
I. 7-12, and the examples of punished pride in Purgatorio,
XII.

50. Dante doubtless has in view such names as Camarte
= ' House of Mars.*

64. The reservation refers to the fallen angels.

76, jj. The passage appears to mean that since the
life of angels has no succession, but is one continuous
actualising of their whole powers, it must follow that it
has no complexity ; and consequently if an angel, by its
active intellect, moves a heaven, though this may itself
be a kind of speculation (see line 94), yet the direct con-
templation of God would be thereby excluded. If this
is the true interpretation of the passage, it is clear that
Dante's conception of the angelic psychology had received
indefinite expansion when he wrote the Paradiso, for
there both the redeemed and the angels are thought of as
contemplating all things in God — that is to say as perfect
parts of the perfect whole. Though the angelic intellect
is continuous its simplicity is reached not by excluding
all objects of contemplation except one, but by fusing all
objects of contemplation into one. Compare Paradiso,
XXVIII. and XXIX.

83, 84. Compare Paradiso VII. 73-75.

VI. THE SECOND TREATISE 83

CHAPTER VI

[(j3) How instruction concerning these spiritual
creatures, which they lacked of old, hath come
to us through Christ and his secretary the
Church. Of the three hierarchies and nine
orders of angels, and what they severally con-
template. Of them that fell. Of the movers
of the heavens severally, and how they that
move the heaven of Venus be of the Thrones,
whose nature and influence is of love ; wherefore
the ancients held Love to be the son of Venus.
; Of the number of these same movers of the third
heaven, and of a doubtful question thereanent.

' Of the nature of their moving. ]

It hath been said that by defect of instruction Truth
the ancients perceived not the truth concerning about
the spiritual creatures, albeit the people of Israel ^"ffcls
were in part instructed by their prophets, through /3.
whom, after many manners of speech and by
many modes, God spoke to them, even as saith
the Apostle. But as for us, we have been
taught about this by him who came from him,
by him who [^lo^ made them, by him who
preserves them, to wit the emperor of the uni-
verse, who is Christ, son of the sovran God,
and son of the Virgin Mary (very woman, and
daughter of Joachim and Anna), very man, who
was slain by us ; whereby he brought us life.
And he was the light which lightens us in the
darkness, as says John the evangelist ; and he
told us the truth of these things, which we
might not know [^20] without him, nor see
them as they are in truth. The first thing, and
the first secret which he showed us thereanent,
was one of the aforesaid creatures themselves ;

84 THE CONVIVIO Ch,

Angelic which was that great ambassador of his who
*"?'"' came to Mary, a young damsel of thirteen years,

^^ ^®^ on the part of the holy king celestial.

This our Saviour said with his own mouth
that the Father could give him many legions of
angels. When it was said to him that the
Father had [^30^ given commandment to his
angels to minister unto him and serve him, he
denied it not. Wherefore it is manifest to us
that these creatures exist in most extended
number ; because his spouse and secretary, holy
Church (of whom Solomon saith, ' Who is this
that cometh up from the wilderness, full of those
things that give delight, leaning upon her
friend?') affirms, believes and preaches that these
most noble creatures are, as it were, innumerable ;
and she divides them into three hierarchies [403,
which is to say three holy or divine principalities.
And each hierarchy has three orders, so that
the Church holds and affirms nine orders of
spiritual creatures. The first is that of the
Angels, the second of the Arch-angels, the
third of the Thrones : and these three orders
make the first hierarchy ; not first in order of
nobility, nor in order of creation (for the others
are more noble, and all were created at once),
but first [[50] in the order of our ascent to
their loftiness. Next come the Dominations,
afterwards the Virtues, then the Principalities ;
and these make the second hierarchy. Above
these are the Powers, and the Cherubim, and
above all are the Seraphim ; and these make the
third hierarchy. And the number of the
hierarchies and that of the orders constitutes a
most potent system of their speculation. For

VI. THE SECOND TREATISE 85

inasmuch as the divine majesty is in three Their
[60] persons, which have one substance, they contem-
may be contemplated in three-fold manner. P ^ ^°"
For the supreme power of the Father may
be contemplated ; and this it is that the first
hierarchy, to wit first in nobility and last in our
enumeration, gazes upon; and the supreme
wisdom of the Son may be contemplated ; and
this it is that the second hierarchy gazes upon ;
and the supreme and most burning love of the
Holy C70] Spirit may be contemplated ; and
this it is that the third hierarchy gazes upon :
the which being nearest unto us gives us of the
gifts which it receiveth. And inasmuch as
each person of the divine Trinity may be con-
sidered in three-fold manner, there are in each
hierarchy three orders diversely contemplating.
The Father may be considered without respect
to aught save himself; and this contemplation
the Seraphim do use, who see more of the
[80] first cause than any other angelic nature.
The Father may be considered according as
he hath relation to the Son, to wit how he
is parted from him and how united with him,
and this do the Cherubim contemplate. The
Father may further be considered according as
from him proceedeth the Holy Spirit, and how
he is parted from him and how united with him ;
and this contemplation the Powers do use. And
in like fashion may there be [[90] speculation of
the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Wherefore it
behoves that there be nine manners of con-
templating spirits to gaze upon the light which
alone seeth itself completely. And here is a
word which may not be passed in silence. I

86 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Their say that out of all these orders some certain were
action lost so soon as they were created, I take it to
the number of a tenth part ; for the restoration
of which human nature was afterward created.

The revolving heavens, [loo^ which are nine,
declare the numbers, the orders and the hier-
archies ; and the tenth proclaimeth the very
oneness and stability of God. And therefore,
saith the Psalmist, ' the heavens declare the glory
of God and the firmament proclaimeth the works
of his hands.' Wherefore it is rational to
believe that the movers of the moon be of the
order of Angels ; and those of Mercury be
Arch-angels ; and those of Venus be Thrones,
the which Ciioj taking their nature from the
love of the Holy Spirit make their work
connatural thereto, to wit the movement of that
heaven which is full of love. Whence the form
of the said heaven conceiveth an ardour of
virtue to kindle souls down here to love, accord-
ing to their disposition. And because the
ancients perceived that this heaven was the
cause of love down here, they said that Love
was the son of Venus; even as [^1203 Virgil
testifieth in the first of the JEneid, where Venus
saith to Love, ' my son, my power, son of the
supreme Father, who heedest not the darts
of Typhoeus ' ; and Ovid in the fifth of the
Metamorphoses, when he tells how Venus said
to Love, * my son, my arms, my might.' And
it is these Thrones that be appointed for the
guidance of this heaven, in no great number ;
but the philosophers and the astrologers have
diversely estimated it [130] according as they
diversely estimated the circulation of the heavens,

VI. THE SECOND TREATISE 87

although all be at one in this that they be so Move-
many as be the movements which the heaven ments of
makes ; which movements are (according as we }y^ third
find the best demonstration of the astrologers
summarised in the book of the Co/lection of the
Stars) three ; one according to which the star
moves in its epicycle ; the second according as
the epicycle moves together with its whole
heaven, equally with that [^140^ of the Sun;
the third, according as that same whole heaven
moves, following the movement of the starry
sphere, from west to east one degree in a
hundred years. So that for these three move-
ments there are three movers. Further, the
whole of this heaven is moved and revolves,
together with the epicycle, from east to west
once every natural day. Whether which move-
ment be of some Intellect or whether it be of the
swaying of the primum [_i$o'2 mobile God know-
eth ; for to me it seemeth presumptuous to judge.
It is by understanding solely that these movers
produce the circulation in that proper subject
which each moveth. The most noble form of
heaven, which hath in itself the principle of this
passive nature, revolves at the touch of the mov-
ing virtue which understandeth it ; and I mean
by * touch ' not bodily touch, but virtue which
directeth itself thereto. And these [160]
movers be they to whom my speech is addressed,
and to whom I make my demand.

35-37. Song of Solomon viii. 5. S^uae est ista, quae
ascend it de deserto, deliciis affluens, tnnixa super dilectum
suum.

39-55. The order of the hierarchies here given is the
same as is found in Brunetto Latini's Tresor, Book I. '

fa THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Part i. Chapter 12, from which Dante no doubt took it.
It is not known whence Brunetto (on whom see Inferno,
XV. 23, note^ himself derived it. The order adopted
by Gregory (compare Paratiiso,XXVHl. 133 fF. and note)
in the fourth book of the Dialogues is different. Dante
expressly corrects both his own and Gregory's arrange-
ment in the Paradiso.

56-58. The syntax of this passage is a little doubtful,
but the sense is not to be mistaken, namely, that there is
an intimate connection between the number of the hier-
archies and orders and the nature of the object of their
contemplation.

121-123. The passage referred to is JEneld, I. 664, 665.

' Nate, meae vires, mea magna potentia, solus,
Nate, patris summi qui tela Typhoi'a temnis ; '

* My son, my power, my strength, my son who alone
dost despise the Typhbian darts of the supreme Father.'

Dante's translation is curiously incorrect. Compare
Purgatorio, XXII. 37-42, note.

134. The book referred to is the elementary astronomy
of Alfraganus (ninth century) ; first translated into Latin
from the Arabic in 1142. It was Dante's favourite text-
book of Astronomy. The passage in question occurs in
the fourteenth chapter.

153. That proper iuhject. That is to say the special
heaven ; the nature of which specially adapted it to underlie,
or receive, the impress of each angel's intellectual act.

VII. THE SECOND TREATISE

CHAPTER VII

[In what sort such beings hear, and how the author
for two sufficient reasons calls upon them to
hearken to the conflict within him. How he
would win them to give heed. Why he calls the
memory of Beatrice his ' soul ' and the thought
of the new lady a ' spirit ' ; and why he declares
this spirit to come upon the rays of the planet
Venus. ]

According as was said above in the third Angels
chapter of this treatise, rightly to understand hearing,
the first part of the ode before us it was needful P "

Dv S6tlSC

to discourse of those heavens, and of their
movers ; and discoiu"sed it hath been in the
three preceding chapters, I say then to those
whom I have shown to be the movers of the
heaven of Venus,

Ye 'who by understanding

(to wit with the intellect alone, as [lo] said
above)

move the third heaven^ hearken to the eSs-

course,

and I say not ' hearken ' as though they hear any
sound ; for they have not sense ; but I say
' hearken ' to wit with that hearing which they
have, which is understanding by the intellect.
I say :

hearken to the discourse which is in my heart,

to wit inside of me, for it hath not yet appeared
without. Be it known that in all this ode,
according to the one sense and the other, the

90 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Why and < heart ' is [^203 to be taken as the secret recess
how ad- within and not as any other special part of the
soul or of the body.

When I have called them to hearken to that
which I would say, I assign two reasons why I
should fitly speak to them ; the one is the
strangeness of my state, which since it hath not
been experienced by other men might not be so
well understood by them as by those beings who
understand their own [30^ effects in their opera-
tion. And this reason I hint at when I say.

For I may not tell it to any other, so strange
It seemeth me.

The other reason is, that when a man receiveth a
benefit or a hurt he should rehearse it to him
who doth it to him, if he may, ere he rehearse
it to another ; so that if it be a benefit he who
receiveth it may show himself grateful towards
the benefactor ; and if it be a hurt he may
lead the doer by his gentle \_\o\ words to
salutary compassion. And this reason I hint at
when I say,

'77j the heaven which folloiveth your
ivorth, gentle creatures that ye be, that

draiueth me into the state tuherein I find me,

that is to say * your operation,' to wit * your
circulation,' is it that has drawn me into my
present state. Wherefore I conclude and say,
that my speech ought to be to them, as was
declared above ; and this I say here.

Wherefore the discourse of the life ivhich 1
endure meseems, \^^o'] were 'worthily directed

unto you.

VII. THE SECOND TREATISE 91

And after assigning these reasons I pray them The soul
to give heed, when I say, and the

Therefore I pray that ye give me heed anent it.

But inasmuch as in every manner of discourse
the speaker should be chiefly intent on persuasion,
— to wit on the propitiating those who hear him,
which is the beginning of all other persuasions,
as the rhetoricians know, — and since the most
potent persuasion to [60] render the hearer
attentive is the promise to tell novel and imposing
things, — I add this persuasion, or propitiation,
to the prayers which I have made for a hearing ;
announcing to them my intention, which is to
relate strange things to them, to wit the strife
which there is in my mind ; and great things, to
wit, the worth of their star. And this I say in
these last words of this first part,

/ will tell the wondrous story of my

heart, how the sad [jO~\ soul waileth in

it; and how a spirit di scours eth counter

to her, that cometh upon the rays of your
star.

And for the full understanding of these words
I say that this [spirit] is nought else than a
frequent thinking upon and commending and
propitiating of this new lady ; and this * soul ' is
nought else than another thought, accompanied
by assent, which, repelling the former, commends
and propitiates the [80] memory of Beatrice in
glory. But inasmuch as the final verdict of
the mind, that is its assent, was still retained by
that thought which supported the memory, I
call it the * soul ' and the other a * spirit ' ; just

spirit

gi THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The rays as when we speak of ' the city ' we are wont to
of Venus mean those who are in possession of it, not those
who are attacking it, albeit the one and the other
be citizens.

I say then that this spirit comes upon the
' rays of the star,' because you are to know C903
that the rays of each heaven are the path
whereby their virtue descends upon things that
are here below. And inasmuch as rays are
no other than the shining which cometh from
the source of the light through the air even
to the thing enlightened, and the light is only
in that part where the star is, because the rest of
the heaven is diaphanous (that is transparent), I
say not that this * spirit,' to wit this thought,
cometh from their heaven in its totality [100]
but from their star. Which star, by reason of
nobility in them who move it, is of so great
virtue that it has extreme power upon our souls
and upon other aiFairs of ours, notwithstanding
that it be distant, when nighest to us, one
hundred and sixty seven times as far as it is to
the middle of the earth, which is a space of
3250 miles. And this is the literal exposition
of the first part of the ode.

19-22. Compare this emphatic declaration with f^ita
Nuova, § 39 : 35-51 ; where in line 45 read intendo not
non intendo. See further, Appendix, pp. 432-434.

88-100. See III. 14 : 42-48, and note.

95 f. And the light, etc. Compare IV. 19 : 30-32.

VIII. THE SECOND TREATISE 93

CHAPTER VIII

[(II.) The second part of the ode tells (a) of the two
adversaries (a, j3) and (6) of the contention of (a)
the losing, and of (/3) the victorious combatant,
(a) Why the author calls (a) a certain thought
of Beatrice the life of his heart, and how one of
the contending powers in him draws its strength
therefrom, and whereto he is urged by the same ;
and (|3) of the source and might of the other
contending power, and whereto it urgeth him.]

A SUFFICIENT understanding may be had, by the The
above words, of the literal meaning of the first conflict
part ; wherefore attention is to be turned to the II.
second, wherein is declared what I experienced
within in the matter of this conflict. And this
part hath two divisions ; for in the first, to wit a.
in the first verse, I tell the quality of these con-
flicting thoughts according to their root, which
was [lo] within me; then I tell that which ^.
was urged by the one and the other conflicting
thought, and so first that which the losing side
urged ; and this is in the verse which is the
second of this part and the third of the ode.

To make evident, then, the meaning of the first a.
division, be it known that things should be named
from the distinguishing nobility of their form ;
as man from reason, and not from sense nor from
[20] aught else that is less noble. Hence
when we say that a man is living, it should be
understood that the man hath the use of his
reason, which is his special life, and is the
actualising of his most noble part. And there-
fore he who severs himself from reason, and
hath only use of his sensitive part, doth not live

94 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Life as a man, but liveth as a beast ; as saith that
of the most excellent Boethius, • He liveth as an ass,'
nearc — j jghtly, as I maintain, because thought is the
proper act of the reason, since beasts think [^303
not, because they have not reason. And I affirm
this not only of the lesser beasts, but of those
who have the semblance of man and the spirit
of sheep or some other detestable beast. I say
o. then, that 'the life of my heart' (that is my
inner life) * was wont to be a sweet thought '
(' sweet ' is the same as ' suasive,' that is ' in-
gratiated,' ' dulcet,' ' pleasing,' * delightsome '),
namely, that thought which often went to the
' Sire ' of them to whom I speak, [403 which
is God ; that is to say that I, in thought, con-
templated the kingdom of the blessed. And
straightway I declare the final cause why I rose
up there in my thought, when I say :

Where it beheld a lady in glory ;

to give to understand that I was certain (as I
am, by her gracious revelation) that she was in
heaven. Wherefore, many a time, pondering
on her as deeply as I might, I went thither as
though rapt.

Then following on I tell the effect of [^50]
this thought, to give to understand its sweetness,
which was so great that it made me long for
death, to go thither where it went ; and this I
say here :

Of whom it discoursed to me so sweet-
ly that my soul said ever : ' Fain would I
go thither J*

And this is the root of one of the conflicting

VIII. THE SECOND TREATISE 95

sides in me. And you are to know that I call The new
it a * thought,' and not the * soul ' which rose to thought
look upon this one in bliss, because it was the
special [60] thought addressed to this act.
' Soul,' as was said in the preceding chapter,
means * thought in general, with assent.'
Then when I say :

Nonv one appears ivho putteth him tojl'tght,

I tell of the root of the other conflicting side, /3.
saying that even as this thought, spoken of above,
was wont to be my life, so another appeareth
which maketh it cease. I say putteth him * to
flight * to show C70] that this is an adversary,
for naturally one adversary flees the other ; and
the one that flees shows that it is by defect of
valour that it flees. And I say that this thought,
which newly appears, has power to lay hold of
me, and to conquer the whole soul, saying that
it so lords it that • the heart,' that is my in-
ward self, * trembles,' and it is revealed ' without '
by a certain changed semblance.

[80] Following on I show the power of this
new thought by its efi^ect, saying that it maketh
me gaze upon * a lady ' and saith flattering words
to me, that is discourseth before the eyes of my
intellectual affection the better to draw me over,
promising me that the sight of her eyes is its
weal. And the better to gain this credence
with the experienced soul, it says that the eyes
of this lady are not to be looked upon by \j^o~]
any who fears ' anguish of sighs.' And this is
a fine figure of rhetoric, when there is the out-
ward appearance of depreciating a thing, and the
inward reality of embellishing it. This new

96 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Its subtle thought of love could not better draw my mind
pleading to consent than by so deeply discoursing of the
virtue of that lady's eyes.

25 ff. Compare IV. 7 : 102 ff.

42. Final cause. That is to say the object for which a
thing is done. Thus health is the ' final ' cause of my
talcing exercise, but exercise is the 'efficient' cause of
my keeping my health.

CHAPTER IX

[(^) Why the victorious combatant is to speak last.
Why the spirits of Venus take this part rather
than that. A digression on immortality and on
Beatrice in bliss.]

The Now that it has been shown how and why love
soul s ^gg born, and the conflict which distracted me,

" it is meet that we proceed to unveil the meaning
of that part wherein divers thoughts fight within
b. me. I say that it is meet first to speak on the
side of the soul, that is to say the ancient
thought, and then of the other ; for this reason,
that that upon which the speaker doth purpose
to lay chiefest [[lo^ stress should ever be
reserved for the last ; because that which is last
said doth most abide in the mind of the hearer.
Wherefore since it is my purpose to speak and
to discourse more fully of that which the work
of those beings whom I address, makes, than of
that which it unmakes, it was reasonable first to
speak and discourse of the condition of that side
which was being destroyed, and then of that
side which was being produced.

IX. THE SECOND TREATISE 97

[20] But here arises a difficulty which is not Of J

to be passed over without explanation. Since Beatrice!
love is the effect of these Intelligences whom I ^^^^^^
am addressing, and the former thought was book
love as much as the latter, someone may ask
why their power destroys the one and
produces the other ; whereas it should rather
preserve []than destroy] the former, for the
reason that every cause loves CS^D ^^^
effect, and loving it preserves it. To this
question the answer may easily be given ;
to wit, that their effect is indeed love, as hath
been said, and inasmuch as they cannot preserve
it save in those objects which are subject to
their circulation, they change it from that region
which is outside their power to that which is
within it ; that is to say, from the soul which
has departed from this life to the soul which is yet
in it ; just as human [40] nature transfers its
preservation in the human form from father to
son, because it may not perpetually preserve its
effect in the father himself. I say ' its effect,'
inasmuch as the soul united with the body is in
truth its effect ; for the soul which is parted
endureth perpetually in a nature more than
human. And so is the problem solved.

But inasmuch as the immortality of the [50]
soul has here been touched upon, I will make a
digression, discoursing thereof, for in such dis-
course will be a fair ending of my speech con-
cerning that living Beatrice, in bliss, of whom I
propose to speak no further in this book. And
by way of preface I say that of all stupidities
that is the most foolish, the basest, and the most
pernicious, which believes that after this life

G

98 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Universal there is no other ; for if we turn over all the
testimony []6o] scriptures both of the philosophers and of
° ^"^?5' the other sage writers, all agree in this that
within us there is a certain part that endures.
And this we see is the earnest contention of
Aristotle, in that Of the Soul, this the earnest
contention of all the Stoics, this the contention
of Tully, especially in that booklet Of Old Age ;
this we see is the contention of every poet who
has spoken according to the faith of the Gentiles ;
this Q70]] the contention of every religion, Jews,
Saracens, and Tartars, and all others who live
according to any law. So that if all of them
were deceived there would follow an impossi-
bility which it would be horrible even to handle.
Everyone is assured that human nature is the
most perfect of all other natures here below ;
and this is denied of none ; and Aristotle
averreth it when he saith in the twelfth Of the
Animals that man is [80] the most perfect of
all the animals. Whence, inasmuch as many
living creatures are entirely mortal, as are the
brute beasts ; and are all, so long as they live,
without this hope, to wit of another life ; if our
hope were vain the flaw in us would be greater
than in any other animal ; because there have
been many ere now who have surrendered this
life for the sake of that ; and so it would follow
that the most \j)o~\ perfect animal, to wit man,
was the most imperfect, which is impossible ;
and that part, to wit the reason, which is his
chief perfection, would be the cause to him of
having this greater flaw ; which seemeth a
strange thing indeed to aver. Further it would
follow that nature had set this hope in the

IX. THE SECOND TREATISE 99

human mind in opposition fo herself, since we The
have said that many have hastened to the death testimony
of the body, for to live in the other [loo] life; o^ Christ
and this is also impossible.

Further we witness unbroken experience of
our immortality in the divinations of our dreams,
which might not be if there were not some
immortal part in us ; inasmuch as the revealer,
whether corporeal or incorporeal, must needs be
immortal if we think it out subtly (and I say
' whether corporeal or incorporeal ' because of
the diversity of opinion which I find [^iio^ in
this matter) and that which is set in motion, or
informed, by an immediate informer must stand
in some ratio to the informer ; and between the
mortal and the immortal there is no ratio.

And further we are assured of it by the most
truthful teaching of Christ, which is the way,
the truth and the light ; the way, because in it
we advance unimpeded to the blessedness of this
very immortality ; the truth, because it suffereth
no error ; the light, because it lighteth us [1203
in the darkness of earthly ignorance. This
teaching, I say, assureth us above all other
reasons ; because he hath given it to us who
seeth and measureth our immortality, the which
we ourselves may not perfectly see, so long as our
immortal part is mingled with our mortal part ;
but by faith we see it perfectly, and by reason we
see it with a shadow of obscurity, which cometh
about because of the mingling of the mortal
Q1303 with the immortal. And this should be
the most potent argument that both the two
exist in us ; and so I believe, so aver, and so am
assured, of the passage after this life to another

loo THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Beatrice better life, where this lady liveth in glory, of
in heaven whom my soul was enamoured when I strove in
such fashion as shall be told in the following
chapter.

30. Preserves tt. Moore's text is salva quel altro, but
the ' altro ' seems to destroy the sense.

44. Its effect. The angelic or heavenly influences
have not control over the soul as such ; but they can
exercise an influence on the human being, body and soul,
during the earthly life. Compare Purgatorio, XVI. 73-8 1 .
The whole sum of natural influences upon man is in-
cluded, and as it were personified, in ^ human nature,'
Compare I. 7: 53-57. ,j

52-55. Compare, however, II. 13: 5, 6, etc. ,

56. Stupidities, or, as Miss Hillard has it, idiocies.
The Italian is bestialitadi. There is no specific connec-
tion between the particular opinion which Dante is here
denouncing and the term hestialita. Thus in IV. 14 ;
loi-iio, he declares of a silly argument as to nobility,
which he puts into the mouth of his adversary, that the
natural answer to such a hestialita would be given with a
dagger. Hence the inference that when I>ante speaks of
hestialita in Inferno, XI. 83, he is referring specially to
the heretics who denied the immortality of the soul is
quite unwarranted. Since reason is the special charac-
teristic of man, a man without reason is beast-like.
Thus the most general meaning of bestialitade, as illus-
trated in the two passages from the Con-vi-vio just
mentioned, is 'stupidity.' Compare the French betise.
The word occurs elsewhere in various narrower significa-
tions, but always in contrast to some specifically human
characteristic or institution. Thus in Purgatorio, XXVI.
82-87, '^ i* mtA for transgression of the specifically
human law of marriage; and in Inferno, XI. 83, it is
used (following the Latin translation of Aristotle's
technical term OijpiirrTjs) to signify the absence, or viola-
tion, of tastes and impulses natural to man, and so for
all kinds of monstrous passions and offences,

74. I understand the reference to be not to any
suppressed inference, but to that which is drawn out in
the following sentences ; but if this is so, the syntax is a
little strange.

X. THE SECOND TREATISE loi

101-113. The argument (if such it can be deemed)
appears to be that when our senses are dulled in sleep we
are given the power of receiving revelations, which revela-
tions are clearly made to us by spiritual and immortal
beings (though possibly they may assume some corporeal
shape for the occasion), and since these spiritual beings
are themselves immortal and by their action directly
actualise, or inform, our capacity for such revelations, it
follows that there must be in the perceiving self a some-
thing akin to, or commensurable with, the immortal
being that acts upon it. Cicero, De Divinatior.e, I. 30,
51, dwells upon (though he does not accept) the
doctrine of the prophetic significance of dreams, and
bases an argument (differing however from Dante's)
for the immortality of the soul upon this pheno-
menon. The question whether angels assume a bodily
form when they appear to men, and, generally, what is
the precise nature of theophanies, is discussed in
Augustine's third book, De Trinitate.

CHAPTER X

[(a) The complaint of the soul when the old thought
is attacked by the new. The soul accuseth the
eyes and declareth them guilty of her death.]

Returning to the subject, I say that in this Defence
verse which begins : of the

Findeth such an adversary as destroyeth him, thought
I intend to reveal what my soul discoursed within
me, that is to say the discourse of the ancient a.
thought in opposition to the new. And first I
briefly reveal the cause of her woeful speech,
when I say :

Findeth such an adversary as destroyeth
htm^ the humble thought that is ivont

[] 1 03 to discourse to me of an angel who

is crozvned in heaven.

102 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The soul This is that special thought of which it is said
■"^^s above that it was wont to be the h'fe of the
grieving heart.

Then when I say :

The soul ivalls, so doth she still grieve
thereatj

I show that my soul is still on its side, and
speaks with sadness ; and I say that she speaks
words of lamentation, as though amazed at the
sudden change, saying :

Oh []2o]| ivretched me ! hoivjleelh that

tender one nvho hath consoled me. ,

She may rightly say ' consoled,' for in her great
loss this thought, which would ascend to heaven,
had given her great consolation.

Then afterwards, in her excuse, I say that all
my thought, to wit my * soul,' of whom I use
the phrase * this afflicted one,' turns upon the eyes
and denounces them ; and this is manifested
here ;

Of my (yes this afflicted one exclaimeth. Q303

i. ii. iii. And I tell how she says three things of them,
i. and against them ; the first is that she curses the
hour when this lady looked upon them. And
here be it known that though many things may
pass into the eye at the same time, yet the one
which comes along the straight line into the
centre of the pupil is the only one that is really
and truly seen, and that stamps itself upon the
imagination. And this is because the nerve
along which the visual spirit runs \_^o~\ faces in
this direction ; and therefore one eye cannot

X. THE SECOND TREATISE 103

really look upon another without being seen The soul
by it ; for just as the one which looks receives accuses
the form in the pupil along the straight line, so ® ^
along that same straight line its form proceeds
into the one whereon it is looking : and many
times it is in thus directing the straight line that
his bow is discharged against whom all arms are
light. Wherefore when I say that

such lady looked upon them {_$0~\

it is as much as to say that her eyes and mine
looked upon one another.

The second thing that she saith is that she ii.
rebukes their disobedience, when she saith :

j4nd ivherefore did they not believe me con-
cerning her P

Then she proceeds to the third thing, and iii-
says that the reproach is not hers, as though she
had not foreseen, but theirs in that they did not
obey ; wherefore she says that from time to time,
discoursing of this lady, she said, ' In her eyes
must [60] needs reside a power over me, were
the path of access open to it ' ; and this she saith
here :

/ ever said : ' Verily In her eyes must

he needs stand ivho slays my peers.^

And in truth we are to believe that my soul
recognised its own disposition, prone to receive
the efficacy of this lady, and therefore feared
her ; for the efficacy of the agent is apprehended
in the duly disposed patient, as saith the Philo-
sopher in the second Of the Soul. And therefore
if wax had the spirit of fear, it would more [jo'}

I04 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The greatly dread coining into the ray of the sun than
soul's pre- would a stone; because its disposition receiveth
sentiment j^, j^j ^^^^.^ potent operation.

Finally the soul makes manifest in her dis-
course that their presumption was perilous, when
she saith :

Jnd my perceiving it availed me
nought against their gazing upon such an

one that I am slain thereby.

She means, from looking there upon him of
whom she has before said, that [[So] he ' slays
my peers ' ; and so she ends her words, to which
the new thought answers as shall be set forth in
the following chapter.

67. The Latin words pati, patkns, pass'io are all used
.. for the person or thing in any way acted upon. Thus
patient is opposed to agent, in its full extent, and passion
includes almost any experience or state of mind which
cannot be regarded as action. In the sequel of this trans-
lation passio is frequently rendered by emotion, as in II.
11:43.

CHAPTER XI

[()3) The new thought would (i.) comfort and revive
the soul, and then (ii.) lead her to the service of
the new lady, by bidding note in her two things
that should remove fear and three that should
win love.]

The new The meaning has been expounded of that part

thought wherein the soul speaks, to wit the ancient

thought which was being destroyed. And now,

i8. in sequence, the meaning should be explained

XI. THE SECOND TREATISE 105

of the part wherein the new and adverse thought Con-
speaks. And this part is all contained in the fidence of
verse which begins : thought

Thou art not slain.

Which part, that it may be rightly understood,

is to be divided into two, for in [^10] the first i. ii.

part which begins :

Thou art not slain, and the rest,

he proceeds to say (attaching himself to her two
final words), * it is not true that thou art slain, but i.
the reason that it seemeth thee that thou art
slain is a certain dismay wherein thou art basely
fallen, because of the lady who hath appeared to
thee.' And here be it noted that, as Boethius
saith in his Consolation, * no sudden change of
things Cometh to pass without ^20] some certain
running asunder of the mind.' And this is the
meaning of the reproof made by that thought.
And he is called a ' little spirit of love ' to give to
understand that my assent was swaying towards
him ; and thus what follows may be better under-
stood and his victory recognised, since he says
already :

0 soul of ours,

making himself her familiar.

Then, as was said, he gives command as to ii.
what this soul that he reproves is to do to come
(^303 to this lady, and he thus discourses to her :

• fc ''^^ See how tender she Is and humble.

Oil

Now these are two things which are the proper
remedy for fear, whereby the soul was seen to

io6 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of tender- be impassioned, and, especially when united, they
ness beget good hope concerning a person ; and chiefly
courteCT '^^"^i^fo^ss, which maketh every other excellence
glow with its light. Wherefore, Virgil, speaking
of ^neas, calls him tender as his greatest praise,
and tenderness is not [40] what the common herd
suppose it to be, namely, grieving at another's
woe, which is rather a special effect of it which
is called pity, and is an emotion. But tender-
ness is not an emotion, but rather a noble dis-
position of mind, ready to receive love, pity and
other charitous emotions.
Then he saith, see also how

sage and courteous in her greatness

she is. Here he mentions [50] three things,
which, amongst things which we have power to
acquire, most chiefly make a person pleasing.
He says ' sage.' Now, what is more beautiful
in woman than to be wise ? He says ' courteous.'
Nothing is more becoming in woman than
courtesy. And let not the wretched vulgar be
deceived as to this word also, thinking that
courtesy is no other than openhandedness, for
openhandedness is a special form of courtesy,
and not courtesy in general. Courtesy (^60]
and honour are all one, and because in courts of
old time virtuous and fair manners were in use
(as now the contrary), this word was derived
from courts, and * courtesy ' was as much as to say
* after the usage of courts.' Which word, if it
were now taken from courts, especially of Italy,
would mean nought else than baseness. He
says < in her greatness.' Temporal greatness,
which is here [70]] intended, is then most

XI. THE SECOND TREATISE 107

comely when accompanied by the two aforesaid The
excellencies, because it is the light which brings soul s
out with clearness the good in a person and its mistress
opposite. And how much wisdom and how
much virtuous disposition remains concealed by
not having this light, and how great madness
and how great vices are exposed to view by
having this light. Better were it for the
wretched magnates, mad, foolish and vicious,- ^'l^^O
to be in base estate, for so neither in [SoJ the
world nor after their lives' end would they be
infamous. Truly it is for them that Solomon
saith in Eccleslastes : 'Another most grievous
infirmity have I seen beneath the sun, to wit
riches kept to the hurt of their master.' Then
in sequence he lays it upon her (to wit upon
my soul) that she is henceforth to call her her
lady, promising her that therefrom she will have
much solace when she shall be aware of her
graces ; and this [90] he saith here : i

For if thou dec five not thyself thou shalt see.

Nor does he speak of aught else even to the end of
this verse. And here endeth the literal meaning
of all that I say in this ode addressing these
celestial intelligences.

1 1 . He^ namely the ' thought.'

39. Tendernets. The Italian is pieta,

57. The Italian cortesia would in many respects have
been better translated ' liberality ' or ' generosity ' than
' courtesy,' but it was necessary to adopt the latter in
order to preserve the etymological connection with court.

io8 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER XII

[(III. ) Of the tornata. Its musical origin and its use
by the author for indirect address to his readers.
Wherein the excellent meaning of this ode was
concealed and wherein its beauteous form was
openly displayed.]

Of the Finally (as the text of this comment said above,
tornata when dividing out the chief parts of this ode), I
turn me with the face of my discourse to the
III. ode itself, and speak to it. And in order that
this part may be the more fully understood I say
that generally, in every ode, it is called the
tornata, because the poets who were first [loj
used to make it, did so in order that when the ode
had been sung they should return to it again
with a certain part of the air. But I seldom
made it with this intention ; and, that folk might
perceive this, I seldom composed it after the
arrangement of the ode, in point of numbers,
which is essential to the music ; but I made it
when there was need to say something for the
adornment of the ode outside of its own purport ;
as [203 may be seen in this and in the others.
And therefore I say, for the present turn, that
the excellence and the beauty of every discourse
are separate and diverse the one from the other ;
for its excellence lies in its meaning, and its
beauty in the adornment of the words ; and borh
the one and the other give delight ; although
the excellence is most delightsome. And so,
since the excellence of this ode was difficult to
perceive, because of the divers (^30] persons
who are introduced as speaking, wherein many

Xir. THE SECOND TREATISE 109

divisions are needful, and since the beauty was Of pre-
easy to perceive, meseemed it was for the behoof sumptu-
of the ode that folk should pay more heed to its SyQ-jf^J.
beauty than to its excellence. And this it is ment
that I declare in this part.

But inasmuch as it often comes to pass that
admonishment seems presumptuous under certain
conditions, the rhetorician is wont to speak [40]
indirectly to a man, addressing his words not to
him on whose account he is speaking, but to
another. And this method is in fact observed
in this instance, for the words are addressed to
the ode and their purport to men. I say, then :

Ode ! I believe that they shall be but rare,

that is to say few, who * rightly understand '
thee, and I tell the reason, which is twofold.
First because thy speech is ' intricate ' (I call it
' intricate ' for the reason that [^50] has been
said) ; and secondly because thy speech is
' knotty ' (I call it ' knotty ' with reference to
the strangeness of the meaning). Now after-
wards I admonish it, and say :

If perchance it come alout^

* that thou go ' where are * folk ' who seem to
thee to be perplexed by thy discourse, be not
thou dismayed ; but say to them : * Since ye per-
ceive not my excellence, give heed at least to my
beauty.' For herein I aim at saying nought else
(as declared above) save : [60] ' O men, who ;*'-^
cannot perceive the meaning of this ode, do not
therefore reject it ; but give heed to its beauty
which is great, both in virtue of syntax, which
pertains to grammarians ; and in virtue of the

no THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of excel- ordering of the discourse, which pertains to
lence and rhetoricians ; and by virtue of numbers in its
beauty p^j.j.g^ which pertains to musicians. Which
things may be seen to be beautiful in it by him
who giveth good heed. And this is all the Qyo]
literal meaning of the first ode, which is signified
by the first-served dish spoken of above.

15. If apart of the air to which the successive stanzas
had been sung was to be repeated in the tcrnata, the
number of syllables in the several lines of the latter must,
of course, correspond line for line with a succession of
lines in some portion of the stanza ; and Dante says that
as a rule he deliberately avoided this coincidence in
order to impress upon the reader that his purpose in the
tornata was dictated by other considerations than those of
musical effect. It should be noted, however, that
many of Dante's odes conform to the usual practice ;
and in the majority of them the tornata could be sung to a
repetition of a part or the whole of the air of the stanza.

CHAPTER XIII

Turning to the true or inner meaning of the ode, the
author tells how, when mourning for Beatrice, he
found consolation in Boethius and Tully, and how
thereupon this love of Philosophy stole into his
heart and obscured the memory of Beatrice.
Wherefore he called in dismay upon the powers
that move the third heaven.]

The Now that the literal meaning has been adequately

allegory explained, we are to proceed to the allegorical

and true exposition. And therefore, beginning

again from the beginning, I say that when I

/. lost the first delight of my soul, whereof mention

is made above, I was pierced by so great

XIII. THE SECOND TREATISE in

sorrow that no comfort availed me. Yet after Of con-
a certain time [[loj my mind, which was casting solation
about to heal itself, made proof (since neither
my own consolation nor that of others availed)
to fall back upon the manner which a certain
disconsolate one had erst followed to console
himself. And I set myself to read that book
of Boethius, not known to many, wherein, a
captive and an exile, he had consoled himself.
And hearing further that Tully had written
another book wherein, treating Of Friendship,
he had touched upon words of the {_2o^ con-
solation of Lelius, a man of highest excellence,
on the death of Scipio his friend, I set myself
to reading it. And although it was at first
difficult for me to enter into their meaning,
finally I entered as deeply into it as my com-
mand of Latin, and what little wit I had,
enabled me to do ; by which wit I already
began to perceive many things as in a dream ;
as may be seen in the Fita Nuova.

[^30]] And as it is wont to chance that a man
goeth in search of silver and beyond his purpose
findeth gold, the which some hidden cause pre-
sents, not, I take it, without divine command ;
so I, who was seeking to console myself, found
not only a cure for my tears, but words of
authors, and of sciences, and of books, ponder-
ing upon which I judged that Philosophy, who
was the lady of these authors, of these sciences,
and of these books, [^403 was a thing supreme ;
and I conceived her after the fashion of a gentle
lady, and I might not conceive her in any
attitude save that of compassion ; wherefore the
sense for truth so loved to gaze upon her that I

112 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Growing could scarce turn it away from her ; and im-
ioveior pelled by this imagination of her, I began to go
soohv w^h^'"^ ^h^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^y truth revealed, to wit, to
the schools of the religious orders, and to the
disputations of the philosophers ; so that in a
short time, I suppose some [50] thirty months,
I began to feel so much of her sweetness that
the love of her expelled and destroyed every
other thought. Wherefore, feeling myself
raised from the thought of that first love even
to the virtue of this, as though in amazement I
opened my mouth in the utterance of the ode
before us, expressing my state under the figure
of other things ; because rhyme in any ver-
nacular [603 was unworthy to speak in open
terms of the lady of whom I was enamoured ;
nor were the hearers so well prepared as to have
easily apprehended straightforward words ; nor
would they have given credence to the true
meaning, as they did to the fictitious ; and,
accordingly, folk did, in fact, altogether believe
that I had been disposed to this love, which
they did not believe of the other. I began
therefore to say :

Te <who hy understanding move the third heaven

\jo~\ And since, as has been said, this lady
was daughter of God, queen of all, most noble
and most beauteous Philosophy, we are to con-
a. b, sider who were these movers, and this third
heaven,
b. And first of the third heaven, according to
the order already observed. And there is no
need here to proceed to dividing and expounding
text by text ; for by turning the fictitious words

XIII. THE SECOND TREATISE 113

from their sound to their import the exposition From
that has already been made will adequately literal to
explain this present [80]] meaning. allegon-

On the general question of the relation of the literal to
the allegorical meaning of this ode see Appendix, p. 432 ff.
In this and the following treatise the marginal notation
to the allegorical interpretation will repeat the notation
to the literal interpretation of the corresponding passages,
substituting /. CI, etc., for I. a, etc.

14, 15. Not knoTvn to many. Seeing that in the middle
ages the Consolation of Boethius was a very popular and
well-known book, this phrase has given rise to much
speculation. Perhaps Dante only means that few people
penetrate its meaning as he did. The whole passage
undoubtedly implies that Dante's graver studies were
subsequent to Beatrice's death ; but the inference which
some have drawn, that when he wrote the Vita Nucva
he was a man without technical learning, is falsified by
the work itself, which shows acquaintance with the
Latin poets and with several of Aristotle's works, as
well as a good knowledge of astronomy.

44. The sense for truth. The Italian is H senso di vero,
i,e,, that sense by which the reality of things, as distinct
from their appearances, is apprehended. See II. 14 :
24, note,

48. The Dominicans and Franciscans were the great
teachers of the time.

60. It was still the tradition that love was the only
proper subject of vernacular poetry. Compare Vita
Nuova, § 25. And though Dante himself in the De
Vulgari Eloquentia, which was in hand contemporaneously
with the Convivio (see Appendix, p. 422 ff.), would extend
the field to war and virtue (II. 2), yet he says that it had
not been appropriated to the latter subject by any Italian ;
and in his own Odes (which he describes as dealing with
both love and virtue, I. i : 104) he is always careful to
bring what he has to say, or the occasion for saying it,
into some kind of connection with love.

66, 67. His readers did understand him to have been
moved by love of a mortal woman. But as he has never
till now made the experiment of telling them anything
else the passage (if text and rendering are correct) seems
singularly inconclusive.

H

114 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER XIV

[To understand the allegorical meaning of the ' third
heaven ' we must note that the heavens in general
signify the sciences, in virtue of three points of
resemblance ; and the seven planetary heavens
severally represent the seven liberal arts of the
Trivium and the Quadrivium, in virtue of two
correspondences in each case ; so that the third
heaven means rhetoric]

Heaven To see what is meant by the third heaven we
. ^"" must first consider what I mean by the word
'heaven' taken by itself; and then it will be
clear how and why this third heaven was to our
purpose. I say that by heaven I mean science,
and by the heavens the sciences, because of
three points of similarity which the heavens
have with the sciences, especially in connection
with their order and their number, wherein they
seem to [_io2 agree, as will be seen when we
treat of the word 'third.'

The first point of similarity is that the one
and the other revolves round a something that
it does not move. For each moving heaven
revolves upon its own centre, which is not moved
by the motion of that heaven ; and in like manner
each science moves around its own subject,
but does not move it, because no science de-
monstrates its own [203 subject but presupposes
it.

The second point of similarity is the illumin-
ating power of the one and of the other. For
each heaven illuminates visible things, and in
like manner each science illuminates intelligible
things.

XIV. THE SECOND TREATISE 115

And the third point of similarity is that they in- The
fuse perfection into things that are duly disposed, heavens
Of which infusion, so far as the first perfection, ff;-.^^™
to wit substantial generation, is concerned, all
philosophers agree that the heavens are C303
the cause ; although they lay it down in different
ways, some attributing it to the movers, as
Plato, Avicenna and Algazel ; some to the stars
themselves (especially in the case of human
souls) as Socrates and Plato and Dionysius
the Academician ; and some to celestial virtue
which is in the natural heat of the seed, as
Aristotle and the other Peripatetics. And in
like manner the sciences are the cause in us of
the infusion of the second perfection, (^403 by
the habit of which we can speculate concerning
the truth, which is our distinguishing perfection,
as saith the Philosopher in the sixth of the
Ethics, when he says that truth is the good
of the intellect. Because of these, together
with many other points of similarity, science
may be called heaven.

We are now to examine why the third heaven
is mentioned ; whereto we must needs consider
a comparison that holds [50] between the order
of the heavens and that of the sciences. As
was narrated above, then, the seven heavens
that are first with respect to us are those of the
planets ; next come two moving heavens above
them ; and one above them all, which is quiet.
To the seven first correspond the seven sciences
of the Trivium and of the Quadrivium, to wit
grammar, dialectic, rhetoric, arithmetic, music,
geometry and astrology. To the eighth, to wit
the starry sphere, [603 answers natural science

ii6 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Grammar which is called physics, and first science which

and dia- is called metaphysics. To the ninth sphere

''^ answers moral science ; and to the quiet heaven

answers divine science, which is called theology.

And the reason that all this is so must be briefly

inspected.

I say that the heaven of the moon is like
grammar, as being comparable to it. For if
the moon be rightly [70] examined two special
things are perceived in her which are not per-
ceived in the other stars ; the one is the shadow
upon her which is nought else than the rarity of
her substance, whereon the rays of the sun may
not be stayed and thrown back, as from her
other parts ; the other is the variation of her
luminosity, which now shines from the one side
and now from the other, according as the sun
looks upon her. And these two properties
grammar [So'] possesses ; for because of its
infinity the rays of reason cannot be arrested,
especially in the direction of words ; and it
shines now on this side, now on that, in so far
as certain words, certain declensions, certain
constructions are now in use which were not
of old, and many once were which shall be
again ; as Horace says in the beginning of his
Poesy, when he says: < Many words shall be
born again, which have now fallen,' and the rest.
[^90] And the heaven of Mercury may be
compared to dialectic in virtue of two special
properties ; for Mercury is the smallest star of
heaven ; for the magnitude of his diameter is not
more than two hundred and thirty-two miles,
as Alfraganus states it, saying that it is one
twenty-eighth part of the diameter of the earth,

XIV. THE SECOND TREATISE 117

which is six thousand five hundred miles. The Rhetoric
other special property is that its orbit is more and arith-
veiled by the rays [lOo] of the sun than that ™®"'^
of any other star. And these two properties
belong to dialectic ; for dialectic is smaller in
its body than any other science ; for it is com-
pletely constructed and terminated in so much
of text as is contained in the Old Art and in
the Nenv ; and its orbit is more veiled than that
of any other science, inasmuch as it proceeds
with more sophisticated arguments and more
disputable than any other.

[iioj And the heaven of Venus may be
compared to rhetoric because of two special
properties : the one is the brightness of her aspect,
which is sweeter to look upon than any other
star, the other is her appearing now at morn and
now at even. And these two properties char-
acterise rhetoric ; for rhetoric is the sweetest of
all the other sciences, since this is what it chiefly
aims at. It appears at morn when the rhetorician
speaks [^120] before the face of his hearer, it
appears at even, that is from behind, when the
rhetorician discourses through writing, from the
distant side.

And the heaven of the sun may be compared
to arithmetic because of two special properties ;
the one is that all the other stars are informed
by his light; the other that the eye may
not look on him. And these two properties
are seen in arithmetic, for by its light all the
sciences are lightened; for [^1303 all their
subjects are considered under some numerical
aspect, and in the consideration of them there
is always a numerical process. As in natural

ii8 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Music science, mobile matter is the subject, wiiich
mobile matter has in itself the principle of con-
tinuity, and this has in itself the principle of
infinite number. And as for the speculations of
natural science they are chiefly concerned with
the principles of natural things, which are three,
to wit material, [[1403 privation and form ; in
which we see that there is not only number
collectively, but there is also number in each
one severally, if we consider subtly. Where-
fore Pythagoras, as Aristotle says in the first of
the \_Meta~\physics, laid down ' even ' and ' odd '
as the principles of natural things, considering
all things to be number. The second property
of the sun is also seen in number, with which
arithmetic is concerned, for [150]] the eye of
the intellect may not look upon it ; because
number, considered in itself, is infinite, and such
we may not understand.

And the heaven of Mars may be compared to
music, by two properties ; the one is the special
beauty of its relation to the others ; for if we
count the revolving heavens, whether we begin
from the lowest or the highest this same heaven
of Mars is the fifth ; and so it is half way [^1603
between every pair, that is to say, the two first,
the two second, the two third, the two fourth.
The second is that this same Mars drieth and
burneth things, because his heat is like to the
heat of fire ; and this is why he appeareth en-
kindled in colour, sometimes more and some-
times less, according to the thickness and rarity
of the vapours which follow him ; which vapours
often blaze up of themselves, as is established in
the first of the ^^70] Meteorics. And there-

XIV. THE SECOND TREATISE 119

fore Albumassar says that the kindling of these Geometry
vapours signifies the death of kings and the trans-
mutation of kingdoms, because they are effects
of the lordship of Mars. And therefore Seneca
says that at the death of the Emperor Augustus
he saw aloft a globe of fire. And in Florence,
at the beginning of its ruin, was seen in the air,
in the figure of a cross, a great quantity of these
vapours that follow the QiSo] star of Mars.
And these two properties are found in music,
which all consists in relations, as we perceive
in harmonised words and in tunes ; wherefrom
the resulting harmony is the sweeter in propor-
tion as the relation is more beauteous ; which
relation is the chiefest beauty in that science,
because this is what it chiefly aims at. More-
over, music so draweth to itself the spirits of
men (which are in principle as though vapours of
the heart) that [ 1 90] they well-nigh cease from
all operation ; so united is the soul when it hears
it, and so does the virtue of all of them, as it
were, run to the spirit of sense which receiveth
the sound.

And the heaven of Jove may be compared
to geometry for two special properties ; the one
is that it moveth between two heavens repugnant
to its own fair temperance, to wit that of Mars
and that of Saturn, Wherefore Ptolemy saith,
in the book I have cited, that Jove Q200]] is a
star of temperate composition betwixt the cold of
Saturn and the heat of Mars. The other is that
he shows white among the stars, as though of
silver. And these things characterise the
science of geometry. Geometry moves be-
tween two things repugnant to itself, to wit the

I20 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Astrology point and the circle (and I use ' circle ' in the
larger sense of everything round, whether body
or surface) ; for according to Euclid [210]
the point is its beginning, and according to what
he says the circle is its most perfect figure,
which must therefore needs have the nature of
an end. So that geometry moves between the
point and the circle as between its beginning
and its end. And these two are repugnant to
its certainty ; for the point, because of its indi-
visibility, cannot be measured, and the circle,
because of its curve, is impossible to square per-
fectly, and therefore is impossible to measure
[220]] exactly. And, moreover, geometry is
supremely white, in so far as it is without taint of
error, and is most certain both in itself and in
its handmaid which is called perspective.

And the heaven of Saturn has two properties
by which it may be compared to astrology ; the
one is the slowness of its movement through the
twelve signs ; for its orbit needs the [^2303
time of twenty-nine years and more, according
to the writings of astrologers ; the other is that
it is exalted above all the other planets. These
two properties characterise astrology, for in com-
pleting its circle, that is to say in learning it, a
most long space of time revolves, both because
of its demonstrations, which are more than those
of any other of the above-named sciences, and
because of the observation which is needed
rightly to judge in it. And further, it is more
exalted than all the rest, because [2403, as
Aristotle says in the beginning Of the Soul, a
science is exalted in nobility by the nobleness of
its subject-matter and by its certainty. And

XIV. THE SECOND TREATISE 121

this, more than any of the above-mentioned, No flaw
is noble and exalted by the nobility and exalta- in *s-
tion of its subject-matter, which concerns the "O^OSJ
movement of heaven ; and it is exalted and
ennobled by its certainty, which is without any
flaw, being that it cometh from the most perfect
and regular principle. And if any [250] sup-
pose that there be a flaw in it, it is not on its
side, but, as Ptolemy says, it is because of our
negligence, and thereto should it be imputed.

This chapter is full of curious and interesting matter,
but it would be vain to attempt to find any real penetra-
tion or wisdom in its fantastic analogies. We may sym-
pathise with the idea that there is a hierachy of the
sciences, and further with the idea that ' all things are
double one against another,* so that the intellectual and
physical worlds must be in some kind of correspondence
with each other ; but beyond this we shall find only
ingenuity at best in the correspondences insisted upon.

24. Intelligible is used by Dante in contrast to sensible.
Sensible things can be perceived by the senses, intelligible
things by the intellect only. Thus the phrase non-
intelligible things comes to mean things of which (since
they are not accessible to the intellect alone) sense can
take cognisance. Compare III. 12: 44-59. The relation
of the sensible to the intelligible is illustrated in a passage
of great beauty in Augustine's Soliloquies (I. 9), where,
in speaking of mathematics, he compares the sense im-
pressions on which the conception of a line or a sphere
is founded to a ship which carries us up to a country
we wish to visit, but cannot take us into it ; for it is no
more possible really to understand mathematics as long
as we adhere to the sense impressions than it would be
to sail in a ship upon the dry land, but we cannot get to
them except by the aid of sense impressions.

26. Perfection. The Latin perfectio is a translation ot
Aristotle's technical term ivT^ix^ia., the ' being-at-its-
goal-ness' of a thing. For instance, if an organised
body is capable of life, then it has received its enteiechy

122 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

as soon as it lives ; and yet life itself is a series of
capacities, and these capacities have not received their
entelechies until they have realised or actualised them-
selves. Hence the definition of the ' soul,' or 'life,' as
the ' first entelechy of a natural organic body.' It will
be seen that form and entelechy are closely related con-
ceptions, the difference being that the form is the
essential quality, or group of qualities, and the entelechy
is the possession or realisation of them. In the present
passage Dante regards the existence of man (as a ' sub-
stance ' or independent being) as his first entelechy, and
the specifically human possession of knowledge as his
second entelechy. Compare I. 13 : 16-44.

32. Plato (427-347 B.C.), Avicenna (978-1037 a.d.)
was the most celebrated of the Eastern, or old,
school of Arabic philosophers. He wrote Aristotelian
treatises after the fashion subsequently followed by
Albertus Magnus. That is to say, he did not com-
ment upon the text of Aristotle's works, but paraphrased
it and incorporated it in treatises of his own, with identi-
cal titles. Algazel (1059-1111 a.d.), though a student
of philosophy, was the representative of a theological
reaction against it. He wrote a Refutation of the Philoso-
phers, which Averroes subsequently combated in his
turn in the Refutation of the Refutation.

34. Socrates (468-399 B.C.). Toynbee thinks that by
' Dionysius the Academician ' Dante means Dionysius
the Areopagite (^^cts, xvii, 34). He was the supposed
author of treatises on angel-lore and kindred matters,
whose authority Dante followed in the Paradiso. The
real date of these works is a matter of dispute, but is
certainly not earlier than the fourth century.

36. Compare IV. 21 : 1-48.

43 f. Good of the intellect. Compare /«/£f«o. III. 18.

73-76. See Dante's recantation of this explantion of
the shadows on the moon in Paradiso, II. 49-105. As to
the analogy with grammar, Dante appears to mean that
whereas you can give rules of grammar (or language)
you can seldom give reasons for its ultimate phenomena,
especially the composition of its vocabulary, so that its
foundations baffle reason.

83-89. Compare I. 5 : 50-52, note.

105-106. The Old Art consisted of Porphyry's Intro-

XIV. THE SECOND TREATISE 123

ductioTiy Aristotle's Categories and De Interpretationc,
both translated by Boethius, and (subsequently) Gilbert
de la Porree's Sex Principia, The Ne^v Art consisted of
the rest of Aristotle's Organon. Porphyry, third century
A.D., Gilbert de la Porree, 1070-1154 a.d.

108. Disputable. Italian prohabili. Compare IV.
18:8 (and 19 : 10), note.

125. It was the general opinion that the stars were
illuminated by the sun. Compare III. 12 : ^^ ff.,Paradiso,
XX. 6, Ode XI. 117, and many other passages.

135. The difference between discontinuous quantity,
i.e., number, and continuous quantity, i.e., magnitude,
was perfectly well understood by Aristotle and the
mediaeval scholars, who had a very firm grasp of the
conception of incommensurability, and, by implication, of
limits. In this passage Dante insists on continuous
magnitudes being capable of infinite subdivision, and
therefore, when treated numerically, implying the prin-
ciple of infinite number.

140. All material (whether first matter, or the ele-
ments of things prepared by nature or by art) has certain
capacities or potentialities. The state of existence in
which such material has not actually received the de-
velopment of which it is capable is pri-vation. The
realised potentialities which make a thing this or that,
not in potentiality but in actuality, are its fiorm, Dante
rightly defines physics, as understood in his day, to be
concerned with these three conceptions. Pri-vatioti, it
will be seen, can only exist in a subject capable of receiv-
ing the form with respect to which the privation is said to
exist. There is no privation of life in a stone, or of
speech in a brute beast. Subject and material are there-
fore allied conceptions.

It does not at first strike us as natural to call the
essential characteristics of a thing its form. But it is
the form of a statue or a chest (not its material) that
makes it what it is ; and if we said we believed that
the elements were all different yirwi of one substance, we
should be calling their differentiating characteristics
their forms. Thus to the scholastic philosophy the form
of a plant [i.e., what made it a plant and not something
else) was ' the life of nutrition and reproduction, without
the life of sense,' and so forth.

i^ THE CONVIVIO Ch.

142. Number, that is ratio, relation or measurement.
144. On the vexed question of the Pythagorean con-
ception of numbers as entities we cannot enter here.
170. Albumassar, an Arabic astronomer (805-885

A.D.).

191. Compare Purgatorio, IV. 1-12,

199. Ptolemy (second century a.d.). Dante has re-
ferred to him in II. 3 ; 36, but has not quoted any
special work. It seems doubtful how far he was ac-
quainted with him at first hand.

2i8. Compare Paradiso, XXXIII. 133-135.

CHAPTER XV

[Again, the starry heaven represents physics and
metaphysics, in virtue of three correspondences
with each. The primum mobile corresponds to
ethics. And the peace of the unmoved empyrean
corresponds to theology,]

Physics After the comparisons made concerning the
and raeta- seven first heavens, we are to proceed (as more
physics jjjgjj Qjj(,g declared) to the others, which are
three. I say that the starry heaven may be
compared to physics because of three properties,
and to metaphysics because of three others ;
for it displays to us two visible objects, to wit
the multitude of stars and the milky way,
which is that white circle which the vulgar call
[103 Saint Jacob's Way; and it reveals one
of its poles to us and conceals the other from
us ; and it reveals one only motion to us, from
east to west, and the other, which it makes
from west to east, it well-nigh conceals from
us. Wherefore in due order we are to consider
first its comparison with physics and then with
metaphysics.

XV. THE SECOND TREATISE 125

I say that the starry heaven reveals a mul- The stars
titude of stars to us, for according to the
observation of the sages of Egypt [20] they
reckon, inclusive of the extremist star which
appears to them in the south, a thousand and
twenty-two separate stars ; and it is of them
that I am speaking. And herein it hath the
greatest resemblance to physics, if we subtly
consider these three numbers, to wit two,
twenty, and a thousand ; for by two we under-
stand local movement, which is of necessity
from one point to another. And by twenty
is signified movement by modification ; [[30J
for since, after ten, we can only proceed by
modifying ten itself, by means of the other nine
and of itself (the most elegant modification it
receives being its own modification by itself),
and since the first which it receives is twenty,
it is fitting that the said movement should be
signified by this number. And by a thousand
is signified the movement of growth ; for this
* thousand ' is the highest number that has a
name of its own, and there can [^403 be no
further growth save by multiplying it. And
physics manifests these three movements only,
as is proved in the fifth of the fundamental
treatise about it.

And because of the milky way this heaven
hath great likeness to metaphysics. Wherefore
we are to know that concerning this milky
way philosophers have held divers opinions.
For the Pythagoreans said that once upon a
time the sun strayed in his course, and passing
through other [50]] portions not suited to his
heat scorched the place along which he passed ;

19$ THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The and this appearance of scorching was left there.
milky And I believe that they were moved thereto by
''^^y the fable of Phaeton, which Ovid tells in the
beginning of the second of the Metamorphoses.
Others (of whom were Anaxagoras and Demo-
critus) said that it was caused by the light of
the sun reflected in this part. And these
opinions they support by arguments to prove
them. What [60^ Aristotle may have said on
this point cannot be rightly known, because his
opinion does not appear the same in one trans-
lation as in the other. And I suppose there
must have been a mistake made by the trans-
lators ; for in the new he seems to say that it is
a congregation of vapours beneath the stars of
that region, which ever draw them up ; and
this doth not seem to set forth a true cause. In
the old he says that the milky way is nought
else than a multitude [70] of fixed stars, in
that region, so small that from here below we
may not distinguish them, though they produce
the appearance of that glow which we call the
milky way ; f and it may be that the heaven
in that region is denser, and therefore arrests
and throws back the light f ; and this opinion
seems to be shared with Aristotle by Avicenna
and Ptolemy. Wherefore, inasmuch as the
milky way is an effect of those stars which we
may [_^o~] not see, save that we are aware of
these things by their effect, and metaphysics
treats of the primal existences, which in like
manner we may not understand save by their
effects, it is manifest that the starry heaven hath
great similitude to metaphysics.

Further, the pole that we see signifies the

XV. THE SECOND TREATISE 127

things of sense, of which, taken in their full The two
compass, physics treats ; [90^ and the pole niove-
that we see not signifies things that are im- J^ f
material and are not sensible, whereof meta- sphere
physics treats ; and therefore the said heaven
hath great similitude to the one science and to
the other. Further, by its two movements it
signifies these two sciences ; for by the move-
ment wherewith it revolveth day by day, and
maketh a fresh return from point to point, it
signifieth the corruptible things of nature, which
day by l^ioo] day complete their course, and
their material changeth from form to form ; and
of these physics treats. And by the almost
insensible movement which it makes from east
to west, at the rate of a degree in a hundred
years, it signifieth the incorruptible things which
had of God a created beginning and shall have
no end ; and of these metaphysics treats. And
this is why I say that this movement signifieth
them, because the circulation in question had a
beginning [^11 oj and shall have no end; for
the end of a circulation is returning to one
identical point, and this heaven shall never
return to such with reference to this movement.
For since the beginning of the world it has
revolved little more than one-sixth part ; and
we are already in the final age of the world, and
are verily awaiting the consummation of the
celestial movement. And so it is manifest that
the starry heaven, because of many properties,
may be compared to physics and to [120]]
metaphysics.

The crystalline heaven, which has been
counted above as the primum mobile, has very

128 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Ethics manifest comparison with moral philosophy ;
because, as Thomas, on the second of the Ethics
says, it disposes us rightly for the other
sciences. For, as says the Philosopher in the
fifth of the Ethics, legal justice regulates the
sciences with a view to [1303 learning, and
commands them to be learnt and taught that
they be not forsaken ; and so doth the said
heaven regulate with its movement the daily
revolution of all the others, whereby every
day they all receive from above the virtue of
all their parts. For if the revolution of this
heaven did not thus regulate the same, little of
their virtue would come down here, and little
sight of them. Wherefore suppose it were
possible for this (3140] ninth heaven not to
move, in any given place on earth a third part
of the heaven would never yet have been seen ;
and Saturn would be fourteen years and a half
concealed from any given place on the earth ;
and Jove would be concealed for six years ; and
Mars about a year ; and the sun one hundred
and eighty-two days and fourteen hours (I say
' days ' to signify the length of time which so
many days measure) ; and Venus and Mercury
would be concealed and revealed about [150]
like the sun ; and the moon for fourteen days
and a half would be hidden from all folk.

Of a truth there would be no generation here
below, nor life of animal nor plant ; night would
not be, nor day, nor week, nor month, nor
year ; but all the universe would be disordered,
and the movement of the other heavens would
be in vain. And, not otherwise, were moral
philosophy to cease, the other sciences would

XV. THE SECOND TREATISE 129

be hidden [1603 a certain space, and there Theology
would be no generation, nor life, nor felicity ;
and in vain would the other sciences have
been written down and discovered of old.
Whereby it is right clear that this heaven may
be compared to moral philosophy.

Further, the empyrean heaven in virtue of its
peace is like the divine science, which is full of
all peace, which suffereth not any strife of
opinions or of sophistical arguments, because
of the most excellent certainty of its [^1703
subject-matter, which is God. And of it saith
he himself unto his disciples : ' My peace I give
unto you, my peace I leave with you,' giving
and leaving them his teaching, which is this
science whereof I speak.

Of her saith Solomon : ' Sixty are the queens
and eighty are the concubines, and of the young
maidens there is no number ; one is my dove
and my perfect one.' All the sciences he calls
queens and paramours and [ 1 80] handmaidens,
and this he calls dove because it is without taint
of strife, and this he calls perfect because it
makes us see the truth perfectly, wherein our
soul is quieted.

And so, this comparison of the heavens and
the sciences being expounded, we may perceive
that by the third heaven I mean rhetoric, which
resembles the third heaven as appears above.

25. The idea that numbers represent cosmic principles
is a characteristic conception of mediaeval arithmetic,
perhaps ultimately derived from the Pythagoreans. In
detail there was much room for diversity and fluctuation.

27-43. Aristotle regarded all change as movement ;
local transference, internal modification (alteratio) and
I

130 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

growth being its three forms {PAytics, V. i.). [Dante
gives the reference as nel quinto del prima suo libra, /.«.,' in
the fifth book of its ('it' being ' physics ') first (funda-
mental) treatise,' This has been understood as 'the fifth
chapter of the first book of the Physics^ and has been
regarded as a false reference.] Dante regards any mental
or spiritual change as a ' spiritual movement ' (Purgatorio,
XVIII. 32).

64-68, The Neiv translation was the one made direct
from the Greek for the use of Thomas Aquinas, the Old
was an earlier translation, made from the Arabic and
used by Albertus Magnus. Dante correctly reports the
purport of the two translations of this passage, but is
mistaken in his inference that the New is a less
correct translation of Aristotle's words. The earlier
translator had evidently attempted to improve on Aris-
totle from his own better information.

73-76. The words I have placed between daggers
seem to disturb the context.

82. By 'primal existences' Dante perhaps means
first matter, and the angels (who are pure 'form').
Neither of these is accessible to the senses.

114 and 140 fF. It appears that Dante supposed the
world to have existed, roughly speaking, six thousand
years in his day. For so the proper motion of the stars
would have passed through 60°, or one-sixth of the total
revolution. (The current estimates would have made it
nearer seven thousand.) Selecting a spot of earth in the
most favourable position, that is on the equator, half the
heaven would have been visible at the creation, and one-
sixth more would have come into view since, making
altogether two-thirds. The other third would never
have appeared to it.

127-132. The reference appears to be inexact, but it
is perfectly true that Aristotle insisted on the necessity
of state provision for education.

138. Dante here supposes the diurnal rotation of the
earth to be arrested. Compare the similar passage in
Paradise, X. 13-21, where he traces the consequences of
the proper motions of the other revolving spheres being
reduced to direct opposition to the daily motion.

147 f. There would be no ' day,' so the word can only
be used a-s an expression for a certain space of time.

XVr. THE SECOND TREATISE 131

CHAPTER XVI

[From all which it follows that the movers of the
third heaven are the rhetoricians. And all the
details explain themselves. When the light of
philosophy breaks upon us it smites us with love,
at first troubled and beset with difficulties but
then clear and triumphant ; so that we quit, with
whatever regret, all other loves for this, and in
their death find higher life, seeing into the
heart of wondrous things. And thus the author
declares that his second Love was no other than
the Wisdom of God.]

In virtue of the similitudes now expounded it The
may be seen who are those movers whom I rhetor-
address, which move this heaven ; such as '^^^^^^
Boethius and TuUy, who with the sweetness of a.
their discourse set me upon the way of love, as
related above, (that is to say, devotion to this most
gentle lady Philosophy), with the rays of their
star, which is the scripture that concerns her ;
for, in [ 1 03 every science, scripture is a star, full
charged with light, which showeth forth that
science. And when this is understood we may
see the true meaning of the first verse of the ode
before us by means of the fictitious and literal
exposition. And by means of this same exposi- //.
tion we may adequately understand the second
verse up to the place where it says :

He makes me ga%e upon a lady^

where you are to know that this \jzo~\ lady is a.
Philosophy ; who in truth is a lady full of sweet-
ness, adorned with honour, wondrous in wisdom,
glorious in freedom, as in the third treatise, where

132 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The her nobleness will be dealt with, shall be made
demon- manifest,
^of ohSo^ And in the place where it says :

" ^ Who ivould behold salvation heedjully

let him look upon this lady^s eyes,

the eyes of this lady are her demonstrations,
the which, when turned upon the eyes of the
intellect, enamour that soul which is [^30]
free in its conditions. Oh most sweet and un-
utterable looks, of a sudden ravishing the
human mind, which appear in the demonstrations
in the eyes of Philosophy, when she discourses
to her lovers ! Verily in you is the salvation
whereby whoso looketh on you is blessed, and
saved from the death of ignorance and of vice.
Where it says :

If he fear not the anguish of sighings ;

there must be understood, if he fear [403 not
the toil of study, and the strife of perplexities
which rise in manifold fashion from the be-
ginning of the glances of this lady, and then as
her light continueth fall away like morning
clouds from the face of the sun ; and the in-
tellect that hath become her familiar remains
free and full of certainty, even as is the air
purged and lightened by the mid-day rays.
^, The third verse likewise may be understood
by the literal exposition up to where it says

. [50]

the soul wails.

Here we must give good heed to a certain moral
which may be noted in these words ; namely,

XVI. THE SECOND TREATISE 133

that a man ought not, because of a greater The
friend, to forget the services received from the fascina-
lesser ; but if it really behoves him to follow ~^^
the one and leave the other, when he follows the
better the other is not to be abandoned without
some fitting lamentation ; wherein he giveth
cause to the one he followeth of all the greater
love.

Then when it saith ' of my eyes ' it means [|6o]
nought else save that mighty was the hour when
the first demonstration of this lady entered into
the eyes of my intellect, which was the most
immediate cause of this enamourment. And
where it saith ' my peers ' souls are meant that
are free from wretched and vile delights, and
from the ways of the vulgar, endowed with
intellect and memory. And then it saith ' slays,'
and then saith ' am slain,' which seems counter
to [^703 what was said above of this lady's
saving power. And therefore be it known that
here one of the sides is speaking, and there the
other, which two contend diversely, according
as was expounded above. Wherefore it is no
marvel if the one says yea, and the other nay, if
it be rightly noted which is declining and which
ascending. Then in the fourth verse, where it
says * a little spirit of love,' it means a thought
which springs from my study. Wherefore be
it []8o] known that by love in this allegory is
always meant that very study which is the appli-
cation of the mind enamoured of a thing to that
thing itself. Then when it saith :

Thou shah see adornment of such lofty miracles^

it declares that through her shall be per-

134 THE CONVIVIO Ch. XVI.

Philo- ceived the adornments of the miracles ; and
sophy the jt says true, for the adornment of marvels is
^ love ^^^ perception of the causes of them, which
is what she demonstrates, as the Philo-
sopher appears to feel in the beginning of the
[go] Metaphysics, when he says that by per-
ceiving these adornments men begin to be
enamoured of this lady. And of this word, to
wit marvel, there will be fuller discourse in the
following treatise. All the rest of this ode
which follows is adequately explained by the other
exposition. And so, at the close of this second
treatise, I declare and affirm that the lady of whom
I [lOo] was enamoured after my first love was
the most fair and noble daughter of the Emperor
of the universe, to whom Pythagoras gave the
name of Philosophy. And here ends the second
treatise, which is served as the first course.

28. Compare III. 15 : 12-18.

56. Compare Furgator'io, XXX. 49 ff. , j
61. Compare III. 15 : 12-18 (as above).

94. See III. 7: 155-183 and XIV. 127-141. '^

98-103. Mr Gardner regards Paradho VIII. 34-37?
as a virtual recantation of this assertion and an admission

that the ode was originally a true love poem. ^j

■ifi

THE THIRD TREATISE

ODE II

Amor, die nella mente mi ragiona. ' "

Love that discourses to me in my mind yearningly of

my lady moveth many a time such things with nie

anent her that my intellect loses its way concerning

them.

His discourse soundeth so sweetly that the soul that

heareth him and feeleth cryeth : ' Oh, me that I have

not power to tell that which I hear about my lady.' [8]

And verily it behoveth me first to drop,

Would I treat of that which I hear of her, all that

my intellect apprehendeth not : and of that which it

understandeth great part, because I should not know

to tell it. Wherefore if defect shall mark niy

rhymes, which shall enter upon her praises, for

this let our feeble intellect be blamed, and our speech

which hath not power to tell again all that love

speaketh.- ■ j j [18]

lUii ..1 •:!£; c-j\ ., ;.'.. ii ij.-'. i.t /'•>\\'':v:\ \-- '. t^a;

■ liie sun" seefh not^ Wfib circlet^ ^u{! the worldv a,

thing so gentle as in that hour when he shineth «ir

the place where sojourneth the lady of whom love con-i

straineth me to speak. ^ . ,^, j .. ,, ^^f,.,. ,/ [22]

Every supernal intellect gazes upon Ker, " and such
folk as are here enamoured still find her in their

thoughts when love maketh them feel of his peace. [26]

Her being is to him ^ho gives it her so pleasin|f ''■'•'_ '

That he ever poureth his power into her, beyond;

what our nature asketh. Iler pure soul, which

135

136 THE CONVIVIO

receiveth from him this salvation, maketh it show

forth in that which she doth guide ; for her beauties

are things clear to view, and the eyes of those in whom

she shineth send messages thereof to the heart filled
with longings which gather air and turn to sighs. [36]

III

On her descendeth the divine power as it doth upon

an angel who beholdeth it, and whatsoever gentle lady

not believeth this, let her go with her and mark well

her gestures.

Where she speaks there cometh down a spirit from

heaven who gives us faith that the lofty worth which

9he possesses transcends all that consorts with our

nature. [44]

, ;The sweet gestures which she shows to others

Go calling upon love, each vying with the other, in

that voice which maketh him to hear. Of her it may

be said : Gentle is that hi lady which in her is

found ; and beauteous is so much only as is like to

^r^^,;,!,, And affirm we may that to look on her gives
helpi t. ft toaccept that which seems a miracle; where-

by our faith is aided ; therefore from eternity such

was she ordained. , [54]

Things are revealed in her aspect which show us of

the joys of Paradise, I mean in her eyes and in her

sweet smile, which love assigneth there as to their

proper place. {58]

They transcend our intellect, as the sun's ray the

feeble vision : and because I may not gaze fixedly upon

them, needs must I content me with scant speech of

thetp. , [62]

'"~ Her beauty rains down flamelets of fire,' "

Made living by a gentle spirit, which is the

creator of every good thought : and they shatter

like thunder the inborn vices that make folk

vile ; wherefore whatsoever lady heareth her

THE THIRD TREATISE 137

beauty blamed for not seeming tranquil and

humble, let her gaze on her who is the pattern of

humility. It is she who humbleth each perverse

one : of her was he thinking who set the universe

in motion. [72]

Tornata

Ode ! it seemeth that thy speech is counter to the

utterance of a little sister whom thou hast ; for this lady

whom thou makest to be humble, she calleth cruel and

disdainful. [76]

Thou knowest that the heaven is ever shining and

clear, and as concerns itself is disturbed never ; but

our eyes, for many a cause, call the star clouded, time

and time again, [80]

IS '"! Li; ' ■ ' ■

. So when she calleth her orgulous.

She considereth her not according to the truth, but

only according as to her she appeared ; for the soul was

in terror, aye and is in such terror yet, that it seemeth to

me a dire thing whensoever I look where she perceiveth

me. Thus plead thy excuse if thou have need ; and,

when thou canst, present thyself to her, and say : ' My

lady, if it be acceptable to thee, I will discourse of thee

on every side.' [90]

^li

Of

o

138 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER I

[Of the occasion of this ode in praise of the author's
second love. How, though bewildered by excess
of love, he yet had the wit, or instinct, to recog-
nise three reasons for speaking in his lady's
praise. Of the three main divisions of the ode.]

Love of As hath been told in the preceding treatise, my
philo- second love took its beginning from the com-
" ^ passionate semblanceof a lady. Which love after-
ward, finding my life disposed for its ardour,
kindled, after the fashion of fire, from a little
flame to a great ; so that, not only when I woke
but when I slept, into my head was light from her
guided; and [^lo^ how great was the yearning
which love gave me to see her could neither be
uttered nor comprehended. And not only of her
was I thus desirous, but of all those persons who
were in any ways connected with her, whether by
intimacy or by any tie of kinship. Oh how
many nights there were wherein the eyes of
others were resting, closed in sleep, and mine
were fixedly [20] gazing on the abiding-place
of my love ! And since the redoubled con-
flagration must needs reveal itself outwardly
(because it cannot possibly remain concealed)
a wish came upon me to speak of love, which I
was utterly unable to restrain. And though I
might have but little command over my own
counsel, yet I so far approached it from time to
time, either by the will of love or by my own
eagerness, that I comprehended and perceived
that, in speaking of love, there was no more fair
nor [303 profitable discourse than that which
commended the loved person.

I. THE THIRD TREATISE 139

And this deliberation was inspired by three Reasons
reasons ; of which the first was the proper love ^o'" . .
of myself, which is the beginning of all the rest ; £^^0!"^
even as everyone perceives that there is no more sophy
legitimate nor more gracious method of a man j jj jjj_
doing honour to himself than by honouring his .
friend. For, [^40] inasmuch as friendship may
not be between unlikes, wheresoever friendship
is perceived likeness is understood to be ; and
wheresoever likeness is understood to be praise
and blame run common. And from this argu-
ment two great lessons may be learnt ; the one
is, not to be willing that any vicious one should
show himself to be our friend, because therein
an evil opinion of him to whom he shows him-
self friendly is conceived ; and the other is that
[^503 no one should blame his friend publicly,
because — if the preceding reason be rightly
considered — he is thereby thrusting a finger into
his own eye.

The second reason was the desire to perpetuate ii-
this friendship. Wherefore you are to know
that, as saith the Philosopher in the ninth of the
Ethics, in the friendship of folk of unlike con-
dition there must be, in order to preserve it, a
certain proportion between [60] them, which
shall in a way reduce the unlikeness to likeness ;
as in the case of a master and servant. For
although the servant cannot render a like benefit
to his master when he receives a benefit from
him, he must nevertheless render such as he
best can, with so much zeal and openness that
that which is unlike in itself shall be made like
by the manifestation of goodwill, which reveals
and confirms and preserves the friendship, {jo}

I40 THE CONVIVIO : Ch.

Against Wherefore I, reflecting upon my inferiority to
^^ l^'f^'^s this lady, and seeing myself benefited by her,
°chMp-ed [resolved] to commend her according to my
love power ; if the which be not like in itself [to her s] ,
at least my zealous will shows that, if I could do
more, more would I do ; and so it likens itself
to that of this gentle lady.
iii. The third reason was a motive prompted by
forethought ; for as says Boethius : * It doth not
suffice to look only upon that which is [So]
before the eyes, to wit the present ; and there-
fore forethought is given to us, which looks
beyond, even to that which may come to pass.'
I mean that I reflected that by many who come
after me I might perchance be reproved for
lightness of mind when they heard that I had
changed from my first love. Wherefore, to
remove this blame, there was no better means
than to tell of the quality of the lady who had
changed me. For by the manifestation of her
excellence [90] consideration of her power
might accrue ; and when her supreme power was
understood it might be thought that no stability
of mind could resist being changed by her ; and
so I might not be deemed light or unstable. I
undertook, therefore, to speak this lady's praise,
and, if not in fashion as were fitting, at least
so far forth as I might ; and I began to say :

Love, that discourses to me in my mind.

I. II. III. [1003 This ode has three chief parts. The
first is all the first verse, wherein the discourse
is by way of proem. The second is all the three
following verses, wherein is treated that which
it is the purport of the ode to utter ; to wit, the

II. THE THIRD TREATISE 141

praise of this gentle one. And the first of these Order
begins ; of the

discourse

The sun seeth not., nvho circleth all the ivorld.

The third part is the fifth and last verse, wherein,
directing my words to the ode, I purge her
[iioj of a certain difficulty. And of these
three parts we are to discourse in order.

29-32. It was not the first time Dante had had to
learn this. See Vita l^uo-va, §§ 18, 19.
36. Compare Purgatorio, XVII. 106-III.
62 fF. Compare Epistle to Can Grande, 11. 58-76.

CHAPTER II

[(I.) Of the threefold division of this first section, treat-
ing [a) of the ineffable theme, {b) of the author's
insufficiency, and (c) of the excuses for the same.
But first of (i.) love. How the soul, being of
divine origin, shares the divine will to be, and so
seeks to strengthen its existence by communion
with the supreme Existence ; and therefore, again,
desires to penetrate to the divine essence of the
things of nature, where it holds such communion
with God ; which desire is no other than the love
of wisdom, in proportion to their possession of
which the nobility of human souls may be judged.
And also of (ii.) the mind, which is the most con-
summate and divine factor of human life. ]

Addressing myself then to the first part, which The
was ordained as proem of this ode, I say that proem
we must divide it into three parts. For first, I.
the ineffable quality of the theme is touched
upon J secondly, my insufficiency to deal per-

143 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of love fectly with it is set forth ; and this second part
a, d, c. begins :

And verily it behoveth me first to drop.

Finally [[loj I excuse myself for my insuffici-
ency, for which no fault should be found with
nie ; and this I begin when I say :

Wherefore.^ \f defect shall mark my rhymes.

I say then :

Love that discourses to me in my mind,

where, in the first place, we are to consider who
i. ii. this is who discourses, and what that place is
wherein I assert that he makes discourse.
!• Love, truly taken and subtly considered, is
nought else than a spiritual [_2o] union of the
soul and of the loved thing ; to which union the
soul, in virtue of its own nature, runs swift or
slow according as it is free or impeded. And
the reason of this natural property may be that
every substantial form proceeds from its own first
cause, which is God, as is written in the Book
of Causes ; and they derive their diversities not
from it, for it is most simple, but from the
secondary C30] causes or from the material
upon which it descends ; wherefore, in that same
book, in treating of the infusion of the divine
goodness it is written : * And make the excel-
lences and the gifts diverse, in virtue of the
co-operation of the thing which receives.'
Wherefore, inasmuch as every effect retains
something of the nature of its cause (as Alpe-
tragius says when he affirms that what is caused
by a circular body has, in a certain fashion, a

II. THE THIRD TREATISE 143

circular existence), [40]] every form possesses, in Of the
a fashion, the existence of the divine nature ; soul's
not that the divine nature is divided and com- likeness
municated to them ; but it is participated by
them, something after the mode wherein the sun
is by participation in the other stars. And the
more noble the form is the more does it retain of
this nature. Wherefore the human soul, which
is the noblest form of all those that are gener-
ated beneath the heaven, receives more of the
divine [50] nature than any other. And since
it is most germane to the nature of God to will
to be (because, as we read in the aforesaid book,
' being comes first of all, and before that there is
nought '), the human soul naturally desires, with
the whole force of its longing, to be. And be-
cause its being depends on God, and by him is
preserved, it naturally desires and wills to be
united to God, in order to fortify its own being.
And because it is in the excellences [[603 of
nature that the divine principle reveals itself, it
comes to pass that the human soul naturally
unites herself with them in spiritual fashion, the
more swiftly and the more mightily in proportion
as they appear more perfect. And they so appear
in proportion as the soul's power of recognition
is clear or obstructed. And this union it is
which we call love, whereby the inner quality of
the soul may be recognised by examining out-
wardly the things which [yoj it loves. This
love, to wit the union of my soul with this
gentle lady, in whom full much of the divine
light was revealed to me, is he who discourses,
and of whom I speak ; because from him unbroken
thoughts had birth, by gazing and pondering upon

144 . THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of the the worth of this lady, who was spiritually made
mind one thing with my soul.

ii- The place wherein I say that he discoursed
is the mind, but to say that it is the [8oJ mind
gives us no more understanding of it than before ;
and therefore we are to examine what this word
mind properly signifies. I say then that the
Philosopher in the second Of the Soul, when
analysing its powers, says that the soul has in
the main three powers, to wit, life, sense and
reason ; and he also mentions motion, but this
may be united with sense, for every soul that
has sense (either with all the senses or some one
of them only), C90] has motion also; so that
motion is a power inseparable from sense. And,
as he says, it is quite plain that these powers are
so related to each other that one is the founda-
tion of the other. And that which is the
foundation may exist by itself apart ; but the
other, which is founded upon it, may not exist
apart from it. Wherefore the vegetative power,
whereby things live, is the foundation upon
which rests the sensitive life, to wit [[looj,
sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch ; and this
vegetative power may constitute a soul in itself,
as we see in all the plants. The sensitive power
cannot exist without this ; there is nothing that
feels, without being alive. And this sensitive
power is the foundation of the intellectual power,
to wit the reason ; and therefore, amongst mortal
things that have life, the rational power without
the sensitive is not to be found ; but the sensi-
tive power is to be found [^iioj without the
other, as we see in the beasts and in the birds and
in the fishes and in every brute animal. And that

II. THE THIRD TREATISE 145

soul which embraces all these powers is the most Of the
perfect of all the rest. And the human soul, faculties
which is associated with the nobility of the of the
highest power, to wit reason, participates in the ™"^
divine nature after the fashion of an eternal in-
telligence ; because the soul is so ennobled, and
stripped of material, in this sovran power
[120], that the divine light shines in it as in an
angel ; and therefore man has been called by the
philosophers the ' divine animal,' In this most
noble part of the soul exist many faculties, as
says the Philosopher, especially in the sixth of
the Ethics., where he says that there is a capacity in
it which is called the scientific, and another which
is called the ratiocinative or counselling ; and
together with this are certain faculties, as Aris-
totle says in n^3"^D ^'^'^ same place, such as the
inventive faculty and the judicial. And all these
most noble faculties, and the rest that abide in
this excellent power, are called collectively by
this name, as to the meaning of which we were
inquiring, to wit 'mind.' Whereby it is mani-
fest that by mind we understand this highest
and most noble part of the soul.

And that this is the meaning is seen from the
fact [^1403 that it is only of man and of the
divine substances that this ' mind ' is predicated ;
as may be plainly seen from Boethius, who first
predicates it of men, when he says to Philosophy :
* Thou, and God who placed thee in the minds
of men ' ; and afterwards predicates it of God
when he says to God : < Thou dost produce all
things after a supernal pattern, oh thou most
beauteous, bearing the beauteous world in thy
mind.' Nor ever was it predicated of a brute

146 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of animal; [150] nay, rather are there many men
mindless ^vho seem lacking in this most perfect part, of
™®° whom it seems that we neither should nor can
predicate it ; and therefore such are called in
grammar amenti and dementi, that is ' without
mind.' So now we can see what is that
mind, which is the culmination and the
most precious part of the soul, which is deity.
And this is the place wherein I declare that love
discourseth to me of my lady.

22-23. Compare Parad'no, I. 103 fF., especially 139-

25. Subitantidl form, i.e., the form in virtue of which
any being, or ' substance,* is what it is.

27 ff. They deri-ve, i.e., the substantial forms. The
work De Causis (translated from the Arabic towards the
end of the twelfth century) is supposed to be based on a
work of the Neoplatonic philosopher, Proclus (410-485
A.D.), and to have been drawn up in the ninth century.
It is a work of speculative theology of a metaphysical and
pantheistic turn. Its terminology is not identical with
that of the Schoolmen, and, except when directly quoting
it, Dante translates its ideas into the more familiar language
of the schools ; and he doubtless read into it a much closer
agreement with the theology of the thirteenth century
than it really displays. The passage quoted in lines
33-34 runs : ' Et di'venlficantur honitatei et dona ex concursu
recipientit' — 'And the excellences and gifts are varied by
the co-operation of the receiver.' It is noteworthy that
Dante took the passive di-versificantur as a deponent,
hence the awkwardness of the phrase, there being no
subject to the verb make,

37, Alpetragius. An Arabic astronomer of the twelfth
century.

56-64. Compare Par(jifw, XXVI. 64-66, and II. 1:36,
note,

102. Soul. The word anima as used by Dante and the
Schoolmen cannot be adequately translated. It represents
Aristotle's ^f/irxv, which means life, that is to say, the
whole goup of vital phenomena which characterise any

II. THE THIRD TREATISE 147

living being. A plant, being alive, has life of a certain
limited range ; and a man has life of a wider range,
manifesting a greater variety of vital phenomena. But
neither in plant, animal nor man does Aristotle regard the
■^vxri as an entity, capable of existing apart from the
living thing. It is in connection with the vovs, Latin,
intellectus, Italian intelletto or mettte (which is indeed, in
some sort, fused with the human tpvx^), that the ques-
tion of immortality and separate existence arises. But in
their doctrine of the human anima the Schoolmen were
far from being pure Aristotelians ; for the Platonic
doctrine of the soul, as a distinct and separable entity,
harmonised far better than the teaching of Aristotle with
Christian conceptions. This doctrine they endeavoured
to read into Aristotle, and therefore the word anima some-
times means merely life and sometimes soul. If we trans-
late it soul, and so make Dante speak of a plant having
a soul, though of a lower order than that of man, the
impression produced is quite erroneous, for there was no
such animistic conception as this phrase suggests to us, in
the minds of the Schoolmen. If, on the other hand, we
translate it life, it is inadequate whenever the reference is
to the immaterial and immortal part in man, which can
only be indicated by the 'soul.'

107. Mortal things that hanie life. The angels (who
are * things that have life,' but are not ♦ mortal ') have
the rational power without the power of sense. See II.
7, II fF.

125. The manuscripts say 'the sixth Of the Soul^
whereas there are but three books of the De Anima, and
nothing accurately corresponding to Dante's references
can be found in any of them. Dr. Moore has pointed
out that the contrast between the scientjfica and the
ragionati-va and the identification of the ragionati'va and
consigliativa are to be found in the sixth book of the
Ethics, Inventi-va does not appear to be an Aristotelian
term at all, but it is used by Thomas Aquinas to mean
the power which ascertains the facts on which judgment
is to be based, and therefore it is a proper contrast to the
judicativa. I cannot find that Aquinas uses the term in
his commentary on this book of the Ethics, but the sub-
ject-matter of that book is the intellectual virtues, the
function of which is to ascertain what is that ' right pro-

148 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

portion ' wherein virtue consists ; and elsewhere Aquinas
frequently says that one of them, viz., prudence, is /«-
•venti-va medii in ■vlrtutibus moralihus. I am therefore
inclined to think that Dante has the sixth book of the
Ethics, and its subject-matter, in his mind. Dr. Moore
and other editors prefer to read 'the third book Of the
Soul.'

153. In grammar, i.e., in Latin.

157, Deity, in the sense of divineness. The mind
is the part of the soul or life which constitutes its
divineness.

CHAPTER III

[(iii.) Of the kinds and degrees of love and of the
supreme love of truth and virtue. Then {a) of
the unulterableness of this supreme love, because
(a) it bewilders the intellect and {^) it baffles
the tongue.]

Of Not without cause do I say that this love plies
specific hig operation ' in my mind ' ; but this is said with
^ reason, to give to understand what manner of
iii. love this is, by telling of the place wherein it
operates. Wherefore be it known that every-
thing, as said above, and for the reason above set
forth, hath its specific love, as, for example, the
simple bodies have a love which has an innate
affinity to [lO^ their proper place ; and that is
why earth ever drops to the centre ; but the love
of fire is for the upper circumference, under the
heaven of the moon, and therefore it ever riseth
thereto.

Primary compound bodies, like the minerals,
have a love for the place where their generation
is ordained ; and therein they grow, and thence
draw vigour and power. Whence we see the

and men

III. THE THIRD TREATISE 149

magnet ever receive power from the direction of Plants,
its [20] generation. ^™*^

Plants, which are the primary living things,
have a more manifest love for certain places,
according as their composition requires ; and
therefore we see certain plants almost always
gather along watercourses, and certain on the
ridges of mountains, and certain on slopes and
at the foot of hills, the which, if we transplant
them, either die altogether or live as if in gloom,
like things parted [[303 from the place dear to
them.

As for the brute animals, not only have they a
more manifest love for their place, but we see
that they love one another.

Men have their proper love for perfect and
comely things. And because man (though his
whole form be one sole substance) has in himself,
by his nobility, something of the nature of each
of these things, he may have all these [[403 loves,
and has them all indeed. For in virtue of the
nature of the simple body, which predominates
in the subject, he naturally loves to descend ; and
therefore when he moves his body upward it is
more toilsome. By the second nature, of a com-
plex body, he loves the place and further the
time of his generation, and therefore everyone is
naturally of more efficient body at the place
where he was generated, and at the time
of his generation, [^503 than at any other.
Wherefore we read in the stories of Hercules,
and in Great Ovid, and in Lucan, and in other
poets, that, when he was fighting with the giant
called Antaeus, whenever the giant failed and his
body was stretched upon the earth, whether of

flSO Ho THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Man's his own will or by the might of Hercules, force
complex j^nd vigour rose up again in him, renovated by
the earth, wherein and wherefrom he had been
generated. Perceiving which, [603 Hercules,
at the last, grasping him and lifting him from the
earth, held him so long, and suffered him not to
reunite himself with the earth, that with over-
mastery he conquered and slew him. And this
battle was in Africa according to the testimony
of the scriptures. And by the third nature, to
wit that of plants, man hath love for certain
food, not in so far as it affects the sense but in
so far as it is nutritious ; [[70] and such food
maketh the working of this nature most perfect ;
and other food does not so, but makes it im-
perfect. And therefore we see that some certain
food shall make men fair of face and stout of
limb, and of a lively colour ; and certain other
shall work the contrary of this. And in virtue
of the fourth nature, that of animals, to wit the
sensitive, man hath another love whereby he
loveth according to sensible appearance, like to
a beast ; and this is the love [^80]] in man which
most needeth a ruler, because of its overmaster-
ing operation, especially in the delight of taste
and touch. And by the fifth and last nature,
that is to say the truly human or, rather say, the
angelic, to wit the rational, man hath love to
truth and to virtue ; and from this love springeth
the true and perfect friendship, drawn from
nobility, whereof the Philosopher speaks in the
[^903 eighth of the Ethics, when he treats of
friendship.

Wherefore, inasmuch as this nature is called
mind, as shown above, I declared that love dis-

III. THE THIRD TREATISE 151

coursed * in my mind ' to give to understand that The
this love was that which is native to this most ineffable
noble nature, to wit the love of truth and of *"®"^^
virtue, and to exclude every false opinion con-
cerning me, whereby my love might have been
suspected to be love [looj for delight of sense.
And then I say ' yearningly ' to give to under-
stand its continuity and its fervour. And I say a.
that he often moveth things which make my
intellect lose its way ; and I speak truth : because a.
my thoughts, when discoursing of her, often
strove to bring things to an issue about her
which I might not comprehend ; and I was all
astray, so that outwardly I appeared as though
distraught, like to a man who looks with his
sight along a straight line, Qiio^ and first
clearly sees the things nighest to him ; then, as
he goes on, sees them less clearly ; then further
on is at a loss concerning them ; then going on
even to the furthest of all, his sight is unfocussed
and he sees nought.

And this is the one source of the unutterable-
ness of that which I have taken as my theme.
And then, in sequence, I tell of the other, when
I say : ' His discourse,' and the rest. And I /3.
say that my thoughts (which are the discourse
of love) have such sweet sound [^120] that my
soul (that is my affection) burns to be able to
relate this with the tongue. And because I
may not tell it, I say that the soul laments y jusj^
thereat, saying : 'J Y'" .•,

Ob me ! that I have not poiver.

And this is the other source of unutterableness,
namely that the tongue cannot completely follow

152 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Hearingf that which the intellect perceives. And I
and say :

Metrv ^^'^ ^^"^ ^^^^ heareth him andfeeleth^

' heareth ' as touching the words ; and * feeleth '
as touching the sweetness of the sound.

5-8. The reference is presumably to I. i : 4-7.

37. That is to say, man is a single being (substance),
and therefore has but one form, although he combines in
himself the faculties of all the lower beings. Compare
the somewhat analogous passage in Purgatorio, XXV. 52-
75 ; and also Purgatorio^ IV. 1-12, where Dante maintains
the doctrine of a single soul, manifesting various groups
of vital phenomena.

41,42. The 'simple body' or element in question is
earth. But we seem to want ' in his body ' for ' in the
subject. '

51. Great O-vid, i.e., The Metamorfhoscs.

CHAPTER IV

[_{b) Of the poet's insufficiency in (a) intellect and
(yS) eloquence, which rests (r) on the correspond-
ing insufficiency of the faculties of (a) thought and
(j3) speech. Of a certain objection to the author's
apology. And of the cause of the insufficiencies
he alleges.]

The Having discoursed of the twofold unutterable-
authors Qess of this subject-matter, it is fitting to proceed
ciencv ^° ^^^' °^ ^^ °^° insufficiency. I say then that
my insufficiency hath a twofold origin even as
■ the loftiness of that lady hath a twofold trans-
cendency, after the fashion expounded.
a. For, through poverty of intellect, needs must
I [10] drop much of that which is true con-

IV. THE THIRD TREATISE 153

cerning her, and which rays in some sort into and its
my mind, which, like a transparent body, re- excuse
ceives without arresting it. And this I say in
this following clause :

jind verily it behoveth me first to drop.

Then when I say :

And of that which it understandethy

I assert that not only am I insufficient for that
which my intellect cannot support, but even for
that which I understand, because my [20]
tongue hath not such eloquence as to be able to
utter the discourse which is held of her in my ^.
thought. Whereby it is to be seen that, in pro-
portion to the truth, that which I shall say will
be but little, and the outcome of this is greatly
to her praise if rightly considered, and that is
the main purpose. And that discourse, which
at every point has its hand on the main purpose,
may well be said to come from the workshop of
the rhetorician.

[^30] Then where it says :

Wherefore if defect shall mark my rhymes,

I excuse myself for my fault, for which, when c.
folk see that my words are beneath her dignity,
I ought not to be blamed. And I say that if
there be defect in my rhymes, that is to say, in
my words, which are ordained to treat of her, the
blame must fall upon the weakness of intellect
and the scant power of our speech, which is a, /3.
vanquished by the thought, so that [403 it may
scarce follow it, especially where the thought
springs from love, because there the soul exer-
cises herself more profoundly than elsewhere.

tS4 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

For It might be said, * Thou art excusing and at
what men the same time accusing thyself,' for it is a con-
b^ d ^''^tio" o^ blame and not a purgation from it, in
so far as the blame is thrown upon the intellect
and upon speech, which are mine, so that if the
same be good I ought to be praised therefore
to the extent of the goodness, and [50] if
defective to be blamed. To this it may be
answered briefly that I do not accuse myself,
but do genuinely excuse myself. And hereto
be it known that, according to the Philosopher
in the third of the Ethics, man deserves praise or
blame only for those things which it is in his
power to do or not to do, but in those things
wherein he has no power he deserves neither
praise nor blame, inasmuch as both are to be
rendered [|6oJ to some other, albeit the things
themselves be part of the very man. Wherefore
we should not blame a man because of a body
deformed from his birth, because it was not in
his power to make himself beautiful, but we are
to blame the faulty disposition of the material
whereof he was made, which was the source of
the failure of nature. And in like manner we
should not praise a man for any beauty of body
which he may have [70] from his birth, for he
was not the maker thereof; but we ought to
praise the artificer, to wit human nature, which
produces such great beauty in its material when
it is not impeded by it. And therefore the
priest well answered the emperor who laughed
and scoffed at his deformity of body : * God is
the Lord ; he made us, and not we ourselves ' ;
and these are the words of the prophet in a verse
of the Psalter, written as they stand [%o~]

IV. THE THIRD TREATISE 155

in the priest's answer, without addition or sub- Of thingfs

traction. And therefore let the ill-conditioned unimagin-

wretches look to it who make it all their study

to deck out their person (which should be treated

with all dignity), for this is nought else than

to ornament the work of another and neglect

one's own.

Returning then to the purpose, I affirm that o.
our intellect, by defect of that power whence it
draws whatsoever it contemplates (which is an
organic power, to wit the fantasy), may £go']
not rise to certain things, because the fantasy
may not aid it, for it hath not wherewithal.
Such are the substances sejunct from matter,
which, even though a certain consideration of
them be possible, we may not understand nor com-
prehend perfectly. And for this man is not
to blame, for he was not the maker of this de-
ficiency ; nay, rather is it the work of universal
nature, that is, of God, who willed that we
should lack such [loo^ light in this life ; and
why he did this it were presumptuous to argue.
So that if my consideration transported me into
a region where fantasy failed the intellect, I am
not to blame for not being able to understand.
Further, a limit is fixed for our intelligence in /3.
each one of its operations, not by us but by
universal nature ; and therefore be it known that
the limits of intelligence are wider in C^io^
thought than in speech, and wider in speech than
in signals. Therefore, if our thought surpasses
speech, not only in matters which attain not to
perfect understanding but also in those which
only just attain to it, we are not to blame for
this ; because it is not we who make it so. And

156 i? THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of the thus I show that my excuse is a genuine one
limits of ^hen I say :
intellect

For this let our feeble intellect be blamed and

our [|l2o3 speech ivhich hath not power to

tell again all that love telleth.

For the goodwill should be right clearly seen,
and this is what we ought to consider in the
matter of human deserts. This, then, is how
we are to understand the first chief section of
this ode which is in hand,

58-61. Compare Purgatorio, XVIII. 59-72. Also
Paradiso, IV. 58-60.

87-89. Fantasia is the power of combining the scattered
data of the senses into a connected image, and is shared
by the animals. It is an * organic power' ; that is to say,
it has an organ in the brain, whereas the ' intellect ' has no
physical organ. The fantasia and other organic powers
furnish material upon which the purely spiritual ' intellect '
works. Compare Parj-a/or/o, XXV. 61-66, and Paradiso,
IV. 40-42. Aristotle makes a striking remark in
proof of the immaterial character of the 'intellect,' He
says that whereas the senses, when overwhelmed by excess
of the thing that they perceive (light, sound, etc.), are
rendered incapable of receiving small impressions, the
intellect is rendered keener in the perception of minute
truths by the perception of great ones.

V. THE THIRD TREATISE 157

CHAPTER V

[(II.) Of the threefold division of the second section
in praise of (a) the lady's whole self, {b) her soul
in especial, and (f) her body in especial. But
first of the stability of the earth, notwithstand-
ing that certain have questioned it, and of the
circling of the sun, in its causes and as affecting
the several portions of the earth.]

Now that the discussion of the first section has The
revealed its meaning, we are duly to proceed to lady's
the second. Whereof, for its better inspection, threefold
three divisions should be made according as it is ^
embraced in three verses. For in the first I II.
commend this lady in her entirety and without
distinction, alike in soul and in body ; in the a, b, c.
second I come down to the special {_io~\ praise
of the soul, and in the third to the special praise
of the body. The first division begins :

The sun seeth not, ivho circleth all the world;

the second begins :

On her descendeth the divine power;

the third begins :

Things are revealed in her aspect;

and these divisions are to be discussed in order.
I say then : a.

The sun seeth not, who circleth all the world,

wherein, for perfect understanding, [_2o] we
must know how the world is circled by the
sun.

In the first place, I say that by 'the world' I

IS8 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of the do not here understand the whole body of the

earth's universe, but only this region of sea and land,

^^^^' according to the common speech, which uses

60 to call it ; just as one says ' such an one has

seen all the world,' meaning the region of sea

and land.

Pythagoras and his followers declared [303
that this world was one of the stars, and that
there was another, of like fashion, opposite to
it ; and this they called Antichthon. And he
said that they were both on one sphere which
turned from east to west, and that it was in
virtue of this revolution that the sun circled
round us and was now visible and now invisible.
And he said that fire was betwixt these two ;
laying it down that it was a nobler substance
than water and than earth, and [I403 laying it
down that the centre was the noblest amongst
the places of the four simple bodies. And
therefore he said that fire, when it seemed to
rise, was really descending to its own centre.

Afterwards Plato adopted another opinion,
and wrote, in a book of his which is called
Timteus, that the earth, with the sea, was really
the centre of the whole, but that its whole globe
turned round on its centre, following the primal
[^50] movement of heaven, but very slowly,
because of its gross material, and because of its
extreme distance from that primal movement.

These opinions are refuted as false in the
second Of Heaven and Earth by that glorious
philosopher to whom nature opened her secrets
more than to any other ; and by him it is there
shown that this world, to wit the earth, stands
for ever stable and fixed in herself. And the

V. THE THIRD TREATISE 159

proofs, which Aristotle enunciates to crush [603 or rest
these others and to establish the truth, it is not
my purpose here to relate ; because it is enough
for those whom I am addressing to be assured
on his great authority that this earth is fixed,
and revolves not, and that it, together with the
ocean, is the centre of the heaven.

This heaven revolves round this centre, as
we perceive, without break ; in the revolution
of which there must needs be two fixed poles,
and a [[703 circle, equally distant from them
both, which revolves most rapidly. Of these
two poles the one, that is to say this northern
one, is apparent to almost all the land which is
uncovered ; the other, to wit the southern one,
is concealed from almost all the uncovered land.
The circle which is perceived midway between
them is that path of the heaven under which the
sun revolves when he goes in company with the
Ram or with the Scales.

[]8o3 Wherefore be it known that if a stone
should fall from this our pole, it would fall,
away yonder, into the ocean, right upon the
hump of the sea, at the spot where, if there
were a man, he would always have the star
right above his head. And I suppose that from
Rome to this spot, measuring straight to the
north, there would be a space of some two
thousand six hundred miles, or a little more or
less. Let us imagine, then, for our better
understanding, that there be a city [^903 on
that spot which I have named, and that it be
called Maria.

I say further, that if a stone should fall from
that other pole, that is the southern one, it

i6o THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Poles and would fall upon that hump of the Ocean-sea
equator which is exactly opposite to Maria on this ball ;
and I suppose that from Rome to the place where
that second stone would fall, measuring straight
to the south, would be a space of six thousand
five hundred miles, a little [^loo] more or less.
And here let us imagine another city and let
it be called Lucia, and the space, in whatever
direction we draw the cord, would be ten
thousand two hundred miles between the one
and the other, just half the circumference of
this ball, so that citizens of Maria would have
their feet opposed to the feet of those of Lucia.
Let us further imagine a circle upon this ball
which at every point should be [iioj the same
distance from Maria as from Lucia. I suppose
that this circle (as I understand by the teachings
of the astrologers, and by that of Albert of
Germany in his book Of the Nature of Places
and of the Properties of the Elements, and also by
the testimony of Lucan in his ninth book)
would divide this uncovered land from the
Ocean, down there towards the south,
almost along the whole extremity of the first
climate, [120] where are, amongst other nations,
the Garamanti, who are almost always naked ;
to whom Cato came with the people of Rome,
fleeing the lordship of Cassar.

When we have marked these three places
upon this ball it is easy to perceive how ' the
sun circleth ' it. I say, then, that the heaven
of the sun revolves from west to east, not
directly counter to the diurnal movement (that
is the movement of day and night), but obliquely
[^130] against it. So that its mid circle, which

V. THE THIRD TREATISE i6i

lies symmetrically between its poles, whereon The sun's
is the body of the sun, cuts the circle of the spiral
two first poles at two opposite points, to wity --*-*^'*'^ --
at the beginning of the Ram and at the begin-?
ning of the Scales ; and it departs from it along
two arcs, one toward the north and the other
toward the south. And the summits of these
arcs depart equally from the first circle, on
either side, by twenty- [[140] three degrees and
a point more ; and one summit is the beginning
of the Crab and the other is the beginning of
Capricorn. Wherefore, at the beginning of the
Ram, when the sun travels beneath the mid
circle of the first poles, Maria must needs see
him circling the world around, down upon the
earth, or the ocean, like a mill-stone, from
which not more than half his body should
appear ; and she would see him continually
rising after the manner of the screw of a C^S^D
press, until he had completed ninety -one re-
volutions and a little more. When these re-
volutions are completed his elevation at Maria
is about as much as it is for us at mid-tierce,
when the day and night are equal. And if a.
man were standing erect ia Maria, with his face
ever turned to the sun, he would see it ever
moving toward his right hand. Then, follow-
ing the same path, he seems to descend for
another ninety-one circlings and a little more
until ^1603 he is circling around, down upon
the earth or the sea, not displaying his whole
bulk ; and then he passes out of sight and
Lucia begins to see him, and perceives him
mounting and descending around her with as
many circles as Maria does. And if a man

i62 THE CONVIVIO Cifi

The mill- were standing erect at Lucia and ever turning
stone and his face toward the sun, he would see him
the wheel ploying toward his left hand. Whereby it may
be perceived that these places have one day in
the year, (^170^ six months long, and a night
of equal time ; and when the one has day the
other has night.

Again it follows that the circle upon this ball
where, as already stated, the Garamanti are,
must see the sun circling right above it, not
after the fashion of a millstone but of a wheel,
not more than half of which can be seen in any
region, when the sun is travelling under the
Ram. And then it perceives him departing
from itself and working towards [180] Maria
ninety-one days and a little more, and returning
towards itself for as many days ; and then, when
he has come back, he travels beneath the Scales,
and again departs and approaches Lucia ninety-
one days and a little more, and returns during
as many. And this locality, which girds the
whole ball, always has the day equal to the night,
whichever side of it the sun is travelling ; and
it has twice in the year a most fierce summer of
heat, and two little winters. It follows further
that C^9oD ^h^ '^^ spaces intermediate between^^
the two imagined cities and the mid-circle must
see the sun in varied fashion according as they
are remote or nigh to these places, as may now,
by what has been said, be perceived by whosoever
hath a noble intellect, to which it is well to
leave a little effort. Wherefore it may now
be seen that, by divine provision, the world is
so ordained that when the sphere of the sun has
revolved and returned to Q2003 any point, this

THE THIRD TREATISE

1^3

ball, on which we are placed, has received in Lift up
its every region an equal time of light and of yow eyes
darkness. Oh, unutterable wisdom that didst
tbus ordain, how poor is our raind to comprehend
thee ; and ye for whose behoof and delight I
am writing, in what blindness do ye live, not
lifting up your eyes to these things but keeping
them fixed upon the mire of your folly !

29-52. Without going into the historical question of
the views of Pythagoras, we can easily see what Dante-

SUN

1.11

0 E

ANlTICHTHdN

\

ANTICHTHON ^/'^^

'.'0 |flC •:.'

JV2^

ANTICHTHCW

W

a:>9j

(^ ;ri:-. ,i .(tin •! A^j-.' .1! -.-,

^

^

ri at IV
/!ii :itio3 orlw ei HqcB' earth
^EAKI'W"' i ■ ''^"^ t'" ■> ^^'^^ ■■■■nijiftr i-siqianiib
^^^^ -f.Miir.yom e vi rfl ti;9 ad) '*o ir-.jtn'ivofri .t c^

o iri.oq Dif • ":< •■ oj iF.nriVoiq j. icoil qsJc sv'tr./ " .'nit

understood them to have been. We must note in 'the
first place that it is the daily (not the annual) apparent
motion of the sun that is explained by a daily revolution
of the earth round him ; and in the second place that
the supposed revolution of the earth is from east to west,
i.e., in the same direction as the apparent motion of the
sun. Antichthon, or the counter-earth, is a hypothetical
second body, introduced for the sake of symmetry, which
is always exactly opposite to the earth on the other side
of the sun. The first position marked in the figure
shows the sun rising to the centre of the inhabited

^ THE CONVIVIO Ch.

hemisphere of the earth, and setting to the corresponding
spot on Antichthon. The second position shows the
sun some hours above the horizon on earth and some
hours below it on Antichthon, and the third positron
shows midday on earth and midnight on Antichthon.'
Observe that both earth and Antichthon are uniformly
nioying counter-clockwise on the paper; and that if
you suppose the earth to be stationary, and make the,
sun move counter-clockwise round it, you will get the
apparent motion of the sun. I.e., the supposed motion of
the earth is identical in direction with the apparent
naotion of the sun, not counter to it; in other words it
is from east to west.

45-52. Note again that the opinion assigned to Plato
is not that the earth revolves from west to east, counter
to the apparent motion of the stars, but that she shares
in the universal movement from east to west, though,
owing to her grossness, she moves so slowly that all the
heavenly bodies sweep round past her, as she responds
more sluggishly than any of them to the primal move-
ment. It will be seen from these considerations how
superficial is the criticism which supposes the opinions
here attacked by Dante to coincide with those of modern
astronomy. Nevertheless it is evidence of complete
emancipation from the tyranny of sense impressions to be
able to speculate, however crudely, on the possibility of
celestial phenomena owing their origin to movements of
the earth ; and philosophers who could inquire on general
principles whether such and such a phenomenon was due
to a movement of the earth or a movement of the sun, or
whether the earth revolved on her axis, had already taken
the decisive step from a provincial to a cosmic point of
view. ^ .,.,

84. Tie s^^ar 'ohyiovsly means the pole star, though
there does riot seem to be any other instance of such
a uae.

91-101. It does not appear what special mystic mean-
ing, if any, Dante had in his niind in naming these
supposed cities at the north and south poles Maria and
Lucia; but it is interesting to note the direct association
of St. Lucy with the Virgin Mary in Dante's deliverance,
as recorded in the Comedy, See Infernoy.ll, 94-102, and
Purgatorio, IX. 52-57.

V. THE THIRD TREATISE 165

113. Albert of Germafiy, generally known as Albertus
Magnus. He was teacher of Thomas Aquinas (122,7-
1274 A.D.), whom he survived, dying in 1280 a.d.

119. There was a difference of usage amongst
mediaeval geographers as to the cltmata. Alfraganus,
Dante's usual authority in such matters, makes the first
' climate ' begin at a latitude of 20J degrees, but others
made it begin at the equator ; and in this passage Dante
seems to follow them, and to mean that land extends
as far south as the equator, but no further, and that it
is almost exactly bounded by the ocean along the whole
equatorial line.

122. The people of Rome, The Italian popolo is here
almost equivalent to * republican government.'

133. The circle of the two first poles, i.e., the celestial
equator, equi-distant from the two poles.

142-269. There is a little dffficulty in the imagery
here, though the whole meaning is perfectly plain. The
images of the horizontal motion of a millstone and the
vertical motion of a wheel must refer not to the body
of the sun but to his whole circulation. He circles with
the horizontal movement of a millstone when seen from
the north or south pole, and with the vertical motion of
a wheel when seen from the equator. In the first case
ohly half the body of the sun is seen, in the second
case only half the wheel. In line 147 I read dalla quale
for dell'a quale.

144. Beneath,hec2Mie the equator, on the starry Sphere,
is an immense height above him. ;r

154. The highest elevation of the sun, as seen' from. ^ ■
the south pole, would be about 23^ degrees; and as the' _ '
sun moves through 15 degrees in an hour and at t^^-.^n-jm
equinox rises nearly vertically ,in the early hours, by,^^,, t , .
middle-tierce (half-past seven) he would be nearly 22^^^"
degrees above the horizon. The measure is not intended
to be exact.

167. Tovards his left hand. Itzlian . dallo iraccio
sinistra. ■ There is a curious ambiguity in the
preposition da when used of direction. It may
mean either from or to. Here it means to. A man
standing \n Maria wo\AA see the sun move clockwise,
towards his right; one standing in Lar/a would see him
moving counter-clockwise, towards his left. It is

i66 : THE CONVIVIO Ch.

interesting to note that Aristotle who holds that move-
ment naturally starts from the right, regards the facts
here insisted on as a proof that the south pole is really
th6 top of the eairth, and that it is a local prejudice of
ours, contradicting the truth, to think that we are
standing right way up and the antipodes wrong way.
Perhaps this is why Dante places the earthly Paradise
(and therefore Purgatory) in the southern hemisphere,
and lays such stress on the direction in which the sun
was moving there.

aTsr! .;i ^i '\:>\ li.Mr.U sriT '•ni5\ >

.mMe:H->AP^TiE«oVX ■■

^a) The general pfafee' of his'ladjTfa^ al)oiv^;^tI ^S?.

.' ly t)f temporal and equal hours. Of the general

praise of his lady (/S) in herself, who is the

prototype in the mind of . God of perfect

humanity, and as such is gazed on by the angels

"^ , who produce the human form. On earth the

1 ^j' desire for her. is never sated, seeing that none

^ ,. may here reach perfection, God of his free

hr~ grS'Ce gives to her in excess of tlie due of even

perfect humanity, and her soul, so gifted, shining

through her body, wakes holy longings in them on

whom she shines.]

The In the preceding chiapter it has beeoi shown in

author ^hat way. the sun circles ; so that we may now

mends P^^'^^^'i ^^ explain the meaning of the division

his lady which we are considering. I say then that in

this first division I begin to commend this lady

°- by comparing her with other things. And I

say that the sun, circling the world, sees not

anything so noble as her; [^lo] wherefore it

follows that she, according to these words, is

the most noble of all the things that the sun

shines upon. And I say : : . ■,'' - )

In thai /jour, and ^hie r^'s'i'. " '

offices

VI. THE THIRD TREATISE 167

Wherefore be it known that * hour ' is under- Hours

stood in two ways by the astronomers, one by ^■^^

making twenty-four hours of the day and night,

to wit twelve of the day and twelve of the

night, whether the day be long or short. And

these hours are short or long in the day or

in the night according as day or night [|2oJ

waxes or wanes. And these hours the church

uses when she says primes, tierce, sext and

nones, and these are called the temporal

hours. The other is to make day and night

twenty-four hours, of which the day one while

has fifteen hours and the night nine, and another

while the night sixteen and the day eight,

according as day or night waxes or wanes ; and

these are called equal hours. And ever at the

equinox these, and those which C30]] are called

temporal, are one and the same thing ; because

the day being equal to tbe nigjbt it must needs

so be. 'oq J£;h ^d obfira boj;

tu- Then when I say : 0*''; ni sh--^' iserigi^

»l3il -,^i ,. ,/' ,<rij :•! ., d^fw

jbvery supernal tnfeiiect gazes upon oer, ,

I commend her without reference to aught else, P-
and I say that the Intelligences of heaven marvel
at her, and that noble folk down here below
think of her when they have most of that which
is their delight. And here be it known that
every C403 supernal intellect, according as it is
written in the book Of Causes, hath knowledge of
that which is above itself, and of that which is
below itself. It hath knowledge, then, of God,
as its cause ; it hath knowledge, then, of that
which is beneath it as its effect. And because
God is the most universal cause of all things, by

^iS THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Angels having knowledge of him they liave knowledge
and the of all things according to the measure of intelli-
lorm ot ggjj(,g_ Wherefore all the Intelligences have
knowledge of the [^^oj human form in so far as
it is regulated by intention in the divine mind.
But the motor Intelligences have highest know-
ledge of it, because they are the most especial
causes of it and of every general form. And
they know it as perfectly as can possibly be, even
as their rule and example. And if the iiuman
form itself, when copied and individuated, is not
perfect, the defect is not of the example [|6o]
but of the material, which is individual. Where-
fore when I 8ajr:r;!E nasj ;

Every supernal iniellect gazes upon her ^

'Lwould say nought else save that she is made
as she is, even as the intentional example of the
human essence, which is in the divine mind ;
and made by that power which exists in
highest degree in those angelic minds which,
with the heavens, fashion these things here
below.

And in confirmation of this I go on and
i £70^1 say :o

' ' AH4 sinch folk as are here enamoured^ and

^thfeTe^,"\"'.'^- ■■™. -\'?'^\

!.■! f: ■. < r< •: fr • ■ M ; .; '

where you are to know that each thing most
chiefly desires its own perfection, wherein its
every longing is stilled, and it is for its sake
that any other thing is desired. And it is this
longing which always makes every delight seem
defective to us ; for no delight in this life is
so great as to be able to take away the thirst

VI. THE THIRD TREATISE 169

from our soul, so that the longing spoken of The
shall [80] not remain in our thought. And '^isdom
since this lady is in very truth that perfection, I ° '^^
affirm of the folk that here below receive the
greatest delight, that when they are most at
peace she still abides in their thoughts. Where-
by. I assert that she is as perfect as the human
^eence can supremely be.
01 Then when I say :

Her being is to him <who gives it to her so pleasin^y

I show that not only [_go~\ is this lady the most
perfect in the human generation, but more than
most perfect, in so far as she receives of the
divine excellence beyond the due of humanity.
Whence we may reasonably believe that as every
master loves his best work more than the rest,
so God loves the best human person more than
all the rest. And since his generosity is not
confined by the necessity of any [[100] limit,
his love hath not regard to the due of him
who receiveth it, but surpasses it in the gift and
benefaction of power and of grace. Whence I
say here that God himself, who gives her
being, for love of her perfection, infuses of his
excellence into her beyond the limits of the due
of our nature.

Then when I say :

Her pure soul;,

I prove what has been said by the [no^ testi-
mony of sense ; where you are to know that, as
saith the Philosopher in the second Of the Soul,
the soul is the actualising of the body ; and if it
is its actualising it is its cause ; and (because,

lyo THE CONVIVIO Crf.

Soul and as is written in the book 0/ Causes already cited,
body every cause infuses into its effect some of the
'^'^'"' excellence which it receives from its own cause)
it infuses and renders to its body something of
the excellence of its cause, which is God.
Wherefore, inasmuch as wondrous things are
perceived in her under ^^203 the bodily aspect,
so as to make everyone who looks on her long
to behold them, it is manifest that her form, to
wit her sou], which guides the body as its
'pfoper cause, miraculously receives the gracious
^excellence of God. And so do I prove, by
this her appearance, that beyond the due of our
nature (which in her is most perfect as has been
said above) this lady has been endowed and
(^130] ennobled by God. And this is all the
literal meaning, of:the first division of the second
main sectionv.TJ'; nr.muii ie^a ad.} so /of boO oe

53-55. Here, if I understand him, Dante represents the
angels as taking part in the creation of the human soul,
which is quite contrary to his mature doctrine as repre-
sented in the Comedy. Compare Purgatcrio, XXV. 70-75 ;
Paradisoyl. 73-75, and especially Paradiso^Yll. 139-144.
63-6S. The text, as it stands, seems (to me) obscure
and hardly translatable.

'" 64. Intentional. That is''iexi8tfn^'ih tfi'e divirfe ji^iiid, as
'^he intention of the Deity.' ' • "'^'' '■ ' "' •

80-85. There appears to be some uncertainty in Dante's
treatment of this passage of his ode. In III. 13 : 21 fF. he
expounds it (doubtless in harmony with the original inten-
tion) as meaning that it is just when men experience the
peace of love that they are most enamoured of philosophy ;
but here, taking advantage of the ambiguity of the word
ancorOf he seems to expound it as meaning that, even
when most at peace, souls have still an unsatisfied long-
ing for wisdom. So that, in the one case he represents
their yearning towards wisdom as being there in con-
sequence of their peace, and in the other in spite of it.

VI. THE THIRD TREATISE 171

88-107. Throughout this whole section of the com-
mentary there appears to be a certain inconsistency of
treatment. The lady of Dante's love is primarily the
divine wisdom, secondarily the wisdom of angels an<l of
men, and derivatively the concrete knowledge (sciences)
which form the body or content of human wisdom. So
far there is a satisfactory unity of conception ; but the
personification of Philosophy in the ode necessitates the
treatment of her as an ideal human personality, of perfect
grace and beauty, which brings us onto quite another
plane ; and, further, the reaction of these two conceptions
upon each other produces a third, namely that of the,_, ■>'— rCi
divine prototype of humanity as existing in the divm'e J;^ ,'' . ^. ,
mind, the Platonic idea of man, or the divine intentiobj, J; '
with respect to man. Thus the subject-matter of the'"""
ode becomes a wavering conception which is sometimes.'-
focussed as the Second Person of the Trinity (compare IJI. ^ j,
14 : 63 fF., 15 : 182-184), sometimes as one of the vary-
ing degrees of abstract wisdom, sometimes as concrete
knowledge, sortietimes as ideal humanity, and sometimes
as an ideal and perfect human being. The student of
the Comedy will note the much firmer and more consist-
ent handling of the several aspects in the conception of
Beatrice (towards which Dante is here feeling his way,
though in the person of her supposed rival) ; and he will
further notice the perfect harmony with which the corre-
sponding aspects of the conception of Virgil are united in
the presentation of his personality. ^

112. The soul is the actualising of the body. Compare
II. 14 : z6, note, and III. 11 : 54, note. The body is
only potentially a human body unless animated by a
human soul, or life, which actualises its potentialities.
J 124. The soul is the form of man, his body, is '^Ijlt
j^which she guides.' .;j. ..1

-» 'j6 lost J

V'-
no ei rfsfdw ifiwe sdl ')o lA^ti arfj etas aW '.nog

172 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

chapter!'

[(6) Of the praise of his lady's Soul, (a>in itself and
(j3) in its working upon others, (a) Of degrees
of illumination, and of the supreme illumination
of his lady. Ho\^' the same may be discerned.
(/3) How her excellence may (i.) teach nobleness
to other ladies, and may (ii.) confirm the faith

vjiijo^f all such as doubt.]

Praise of After commending this lady generally, with
his lady's reference both to the soul and to the body, I go
^°^^ on to commend her specially with reference to the
d. soul. And first I commend her according as
a, /3. her excellence is great in herself; then I com-
mend her according as her excellence is great
upon others and useful to the world. And this
second division begins where I say :

Of her it may be said.

o.j.i X^o] I say, then, first :

-;'. >5 "^ 'QfiHgr-descifndeth the divine fioiver.

Where be it known that the divine excellence
descends upon all things, and otherwise they
could not exist ; but although this goodness
springs from the most simple principle, it is
diversely received, in greater or smaller measure,
by the things that receive it. Wherefore it is
written in the book Of Causes : ' The primal ex-
cellence makes its excellences flow upon things
with one flowing ' ; [^203 but each thing re-
ceives of this flowing according to the fashion of
its power and of its being, and of this we may
have an example patent to the senses from the
sun. We see the light of the sun, which is one.

VII. THE THIRD TREATISE 173

derived from a single source, diversely received Of lumin-
by the several bodies ; as Albertus says in that osity
book he has made On the in^^Z/fr^, that certain
substances, because they have large measure of the
clearness of the transparent niingled in their com-
position, so soon as the sun [^30] sees them become
So luminous that their aspect consists in the multi-
plication of the light in them, and they cast a
great splendour from themselves upon other sub-
stances ; as are gold and certain stones. Certain
there are which, because they are altogether dia-
phanous, not only receive the light, but without
impeding it render it again, coloured with their
colour, to other things. And certain there are
so supreme in the purity of their [^403 transpar-
ency as to become so radiant that they vanquish'
the temper of the eye, and cannot be looked on
without trouble of the sight ; as are mirrors.
Certain others are so completely without trans-
parency that they receive but little of the light ;
as is earth. In like manner the excellence of
God is received after one fashion by the sejunct
substances, to wit the angels, which are without
grossness of material, as though diaphanous, in
virtue of the purity of their [50] form ; and
after another fashion by the human soul, which,
although on one side it is free from material on
another side is impeded (like a man who is im-
mersed in the water all except his head, of
whom it cannot be said that he is all in the
water or all out of it) ; and after another fashion
by animals whose soul is entirely embraced in
material, but I speak of it in the measure to
which it is ennobled ; and after another fashion
by the minerals ; and by the earth, [60] other-

174 '-■ THE C0NVIVI03HT Ck.

-n, No wise than by the other elements; because it is
gaps in tije most material, and therefore the most remote
" and most out of proportion to the prime, most
simple, and most noble power, which -aloDe is
intellectual, to wit, God. , cir.v -idl 'io «« jniK'''
And though here it is the general degrees
that are laid down, nevertheless individual
degrees may also be laid down, inasmuch as, of
human souls, one receiveth otherwise than
another. And because in the [70] intellectual
order of the universe the ascent and descent is
by almost continuous steps, from the lowest form
to the highest and from the highest to the lowest
(as we see is the case in the sensible order), and
between the angelic nature, which is an intel-
lectual thing, and the human soul there is no
intermediate step, but the one is, as it were, con-
tinuous with the other in the order of steps ; and
between the human soul and the most perfect
soul of the brute animals there is [^SoJ also no
intermediary, and we see many men so vile and
of such base condition as scarce to seem other
than beasts ; in like manner we are to lay it
down, and firmly to believe, that there be some
so noble and of so lofty condition as to be scarce
other than angels ; otherwise the human species
would not be continued in either direction, which
may not be. Such as these Aristotle, in the sixth
of the Ethics, calls [90] divine, and such I assert
this lady to be ; so that the divine virtue de-
scends upon her, after the fashion wherein it
descends upon an angel.
Then when I say :

^«k/ tuhatsqever gentle lady not believeth thit, .

uin

VII. THE THIRD TREATISE 175

I prove it by the experience which may be had Of speech
of her in those doings which are proper to the
rational soul, wherein the divine light most freely
rays ; that is to say, in speech and in expression,
which we are wont to call [looj gestures and
bearing.

Whence you are to know that man alone
amongst the animals speaks and has gestures and
expression which we call rational, because he alone
has reason in him. And if anyone should say
in contradiction that certain birds talk, as seems
to be the case with some, especially the magpie
and the parrot, and that certain beasts have
expression or gestures, as the ape and some
others seem to have, 1 answer Qi 10] that it is not
true that they speak, nor that they have gestures,
because they have no reason, from which these
things must needs proceed ; nor have thfey the
principle of these things within them, nor do they
understand what it is ; nor do they purpose to
signify anything by them, but they merely repro-
duce what they see and hear. Wherefore, even
as the image of bodies is reproduced by certain
shining things (for instance, a mirror), [1203
and the corporeal image that the mirror displays
is not real, so the semblance of reason, namely
the expression and the speech which the bftitef
beast reproduces ot displays, is liot reaL ' -■

w<I say that • • '-••^' .-ianuldmaa •>( ; m ^

It Whatsoever, gmtle Iq4y. not beUeveth

what I assert, is to ' '■ -• • • ■•

Go iv'tth her and mark welt her gettdru^ ■■-.

I^'say not ' whatsoever man,' because the 6X-

176 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Profitable perience may be gained in more comely fashion
to eternal by woman than by man. And I tell that [i 30]
® which will be perceived concerning her, in her
company, by telling the effect of her speech
and the effect of her bearing. For her speech,
by its loftiness and by its sweetness, begets in the
mind of him who hears it a thought of love
(which I call a celestial spirit, because its origin
is from above, and from above cometh her teach-
ing, as hath been told already), from which said
thought proceeds the firm belief that she is [140J
a miraculous lady of power. And her gestures,
by their sweetness and their harmony, make
love wake and come to consciousness, wherever
his potentiality has been sown by a sound nature.
Which natural sowing comes about as is set forth
in the following treatise,
t And when I say, m

'^- ^'Ofifei^iie^mavie said,. and the rest, "

01 '^o'lif.j /■.if!i .^T; .(! ■ • : *• ' ' "'J

I purpose to narrate how the excellence and power

of her soul is good and profitable to others ; and,

i. first, how.it is profitable to other £150^ ladies'-^

say»ig: .; ;c - . '. '■ ;; ; : ' 's

G^ntleifihat in lady tvhich in her isfound^^^.

where I render a manifest example to women,
gazing upon which they may, by following it,
ii. make a gentle semblance. Secondly, I tell how
she is profitable to all folk, saying that her aspect
aideth our faith, which is profitable more than all
other things to the human race, as that whereby
we escape from |[i6o3 eternal death and acquire
eternal life. And it helps our faith because,
inasmuch as the chiefest foundation of our faith

VII. THE THIRD TREATISE 177

is the miracles wrought by him who was crucified Aids to
(which same created our reason and willed that faith
it should be inferior to his power), and wrought
afterwards in his name by his saints, and inas-
much as many are so stubborn as to doubt of
these same miracles, with some certain shade of
doubt, who may not believe [^1703 any miracle
unless they have experience of the same ; and
inasmuch as this lady is a thing visibly miraculous,
whereof the eyes of men may take daily experi-
ence, and which may assure us of the possibility of
the others, it is manifest that this lady, with her
wondrous aspect, 'aideth our faith.' And there-
fore finally I say that * from eternity ' — that is
to say, eternally — she was ordained in the mind
of God in testimony of the [^180] faith to those osiriT
who live in these times. And this ends the' ^'^' f
second division of the second chief section
according to its literal meaning. --

50. Angels are pure form. Compare Paradito,XXiX:
22-36.

51 fF. Compare Purgatorio, XVIII. 49 f., and note.

58. But I speak ofit, etc., i.e., but I speak in each case
of the degree (whatever it may be) in which the nobility
of these creatures enables them to receive of the divine
excellences spoken of in line 46.

69-88. Compare IV. 19: 52-56.

104-124. Compare De Vulgari Eloquentia, I. 2 : 43-65.

137-138. Presumably the reference is to the declaration
in Ode I. 13 and in II. 7 : 88-100, that the spirit who
discoursed of Dante's second love came upon the rays of
the star.

145. See IV. 21 : 1-48.

178 THE CONVIVIQ.aT Ch.

CHAPTER VIII

[{c) Of the body as the instrument of the soul. Of
the foretaste of heavenly bliss that may be drawn
from looking upon the bodily semblance of his
lady, and especially in her eyes and in her smile,
wherein her soul as it were flits and flashes, and
the adornments of which are placed there by
special act of love in obedience to his universal
principle of guiding all things to the place
where they belong. The author excuses himself
for his scant speech of what (i.) transcends and
(ii.) bewilders his intellect ; and since we may not
treat of such things in themselves he discourses
somewhat of their marvellous effect, transforming
vice to virtue, as was purposed by God himself.]

Three Amongst the effects of the divine wisdom man
natures is the most marvellous, seeing how the divine
in man pQ^gf has united three natures in one form, and
how subtly his body must be harmonised for
such a form, having organs for almost all its
powers. Wherefore, because of the complex
harmony amongst so many organs which is
required to make them perfectly answer to one
another, few of all the great number C^*^] ^^
men are perfect. And if this creature be so
marvellous, verily we must fear to treat of the
conditions of the same, not only in words but
even in thought, according to those words of
Ecclesiasticus : * The wisdom of God, preceding
all things, who hath searched out ? ' and those
others where it saith : ' Seek not out things that
are too high for thee, and search not out things
too hard for thee, but whatsoever things God
hath commanded, think thereupon ; and in his
further [20]] works be not curious,' that is

VIII. THE THIRD TREATISE 179

anxious. I, then, who in this third section Praise of
purpose to speak of certain conditions of such a his lady's
being (in so far as in her body, by reason of the P^'^^o'*
excellence of her soul, sensible beauty appeareth)
timorously, and with no hardihood, purpose to
begin to untie so great a knot, if not entirely yet
at least in some measure.

I say, then, that after revealing the meaning c.
of this section, wherein [303 this lady is com-
mended under the aspect of her soul, we are to
proceed, and are to consider how I commend
her under the aspect of the body, when I say :

Things are revealed In her aspect.

And I say that in her aspect things appear
which reveal of the pleasures (amongst the rest)
of Paradise. The most noble thing, and that
which is written down as the goal of all others,
is to be satisfied, and this is being blessed ; and
\_4fO'} this pleasure is verily (although in another
way) in her aspect ; for, by gazing upon her,
folk are satisfied (so sweetly doth her beauty
feed the eyes of those who look upon her), but
in another fashion than by the satisfaction of
Paradise, which is unbroken ; for this may not
come to any.

And since some might ask where this wondrous
pleasure [50] appears in her, I distinguish in
her person two parts wherein human pleasure
and displeasure are most apparent. Wherefore
you are to know that in whatsoever part the
soul doth most of her office, this she most
fixedly purposes to adorn, and worketh most
subtly upon it. Whence we see that in the
face of man, wherein she doth more of her office

i8o THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Eyes and than in any other external part, she designeth so
smile subtly [|6o3 that, by reason of her refining
there to the utmost capacity of her material, no
one face is like to any other ; because the dis-
tinguishing potentiality of the matter, which is,
in a way, unlike in every individual, is here
reduced to actuality. And inasmuch as the soul
operates in the face chiefly in two places, because
in these two places the three natures of the soul
have some kind of jurisdiction, to wit in the
eyes and in the mouth, it chiefly [70] adorns
these, and there sets its whole purpose of beauti-
fying, if it may. And in these two places I
a, p. say that these pleasures appear, saying :

,,/.', In her eyes and in her siueet smile.

Which two places by a beautiful simile may be
called the balconies of the lady who dwelleth in
the edifice of the body, to wit the soul, because
here, albeit in a measure veiled, she doth many
times reveal herself,
a. [80] She revealeth herself in the eyes so
manifestly that her present emotion may be
recognised by whoso closely looketh there.
Wherefore, since there are six emotions proper
to the human soul, whereof the Philosopher
makes mention in his Rhetoric, to wit, grace,
jealousy, pity, envy, love and shame, by none
of these may the soul be impassioned without the
semblance thereof appearing at the window of
the eyes, unless it be [_<^o~\ shut within by great
exertion of power. Whence ere now certain
have plucked out their eyes lest their inward
shame should outwardly appear, as Statius the
poet tells of the Theban CEdipus when he says

VIII. THE THIRD TREATISE i8i

that 'with eternal night he solved his convicted Of seemly
shame.' laughter

It is revealed in the mouth, like a colour /3.
behind glass. And what is laughter save a
coruscation of the delight of the soul, that is to
say, a light appearing outwardly [looj according
as it exists within ? And therefore it is fitting
that a man, in order to show his soul moderate
in merriment, should laugh in moderation, with a
dignified severity, and with slight movement of
his features ; so that the lady who is then
revealed, as said above, may appear modest and
not dissolute. Wherefore the book 0/" /^^ Fo«r
Cardinal Virtues bids us observe this : * Let
thy laughter be without cachinnation,' that is
to say, without clucking like [|iio3 a hen. Ah !
wondrous laughter of my lady, whereof I speak,
which is never perceived save by the eye !

And I say that love conveys these things
to her there as to their proper place. And
here love may be considered in two ways.
Firstly the special love of the soul for these
places ; and secondly the universal love which
disposes things to love and to be loved, and
which ordains the soul [120] to adorn these
parts.

Then when I say :

They transcend our intellect,

I plead my excuse for seeming to utter but
little (when I dwell upon it) of so great
excellence of beauty ; and I affirm that I say so
little of it for two reasons. The one is that the
things which appear in her aspect * transcend
our intellect,' to wit the intellect of man ; and I

i82 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The tell the manner of this transcending, which is
_ baffled after the fashion wherein C1303 the sun
transcends feeble vision, not only that wherein
he transcends the sound and strong. The
other is that the said intellect may not fixedly
gaze on it, because the mind becomes intoxicated
there, so that straightway after gazing it goes
astray in all its activities. :

Then when I say : i

i^ . b

f, . Her beauty rains doivn Jlamelets of fire ^ ^

I have recourse to treating of its effect, since it
is impossible to treat completely of itself.
Wherefore you are to know that all r^40l]
those things that overcome our intellect, so that
it cannot see what they are, are most suitably
treated in their effects. Whence, treating thus of
God, and of his sejunct substances, and of first
matter, we may have a certain knowledge. And
therefore I say that

Her beauty rains doiun Jlamelets ofjire^

to wit the ardour of love and of charity, eni»
souled by a gentle spirit, that is to say the
ardour informed by a gentle [^1503 spirit, to wit
right appetite, by the which and from the
which springs the beginning of good thoughts.
And it not only makes this but it unmakes
and destroys its opposite, to wit the innate vices
which are chief foes to good thoughts.

And here we are to know that there are
certain of the vices in a man whereto he is
naturally disposed, as, for instance, some men in
virtue of a choleric complexion are disposed to

VIII. THE THIRD TREATISE 183

anger; and H^^^D ^"^^ vices are in-born or Of inborn
co-natural. Others are vices of hiabit for which '^}^^^
not complexion but habit is to blame; for''^ "
instance intemperance, especially in wine. And
these vices are to be escaped and overcome by
good habit, whereby a man so becomes virtuous
that his moderation needs no effort, as saith the
Philosopher in the second of the Ethics. But
there is this difference [170]] between co-natural
passions and those of habit, that those of habit
disappear entirely on the strength of good habit,
because their source, to wit the bad habit, is
destroyed by its opposite ; but the co-natural
ones, the source of which is in the nature of him
who experiences the passion, though they may
be much lightened by good habit, never entirely
disappear so far as their first movement is con-
cerned, but do completely CiSo] disappear so
far as their enduring is concerned ; because habit
is not an equipoise to the nature wherein is
their source. And therefore that man deserves
more praise who, though of bad natural dis-
position, corrects and rules himself contrary to
the impulse of his nature, than he who being
good by natural disposition retains himself in
good conduct or recovers the way when he has
lost it ; just as it is worthy of more praise to
manage an intractable horse than another which
is not vicious. I say then that [^190] these
flamelets which rain from her beauty, as has
been said, shatter the innate, that is the co-
natural vices, to give to understand that her
beauty has power to make a new nature in those
who gaze upon it, which is a miraculous thing.
And this confirms what is said above in the

I84 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

God- next preceding chapter when I say that she

given is the supporter of our faith,
example pj^^jjy ^j^^^ j ^^^ .

Whatsoever [_zoo~\ lady heareth ker beauty;

under colour of an admonition I draw a con-
clusion as to the end whereto so great beauty was
made. And I say that whatever lady hears her
beauty blamed for defect is to gaze upon this most
perfect example ; wherein it is to be understood
that this said example was made not only to
improve the good but also to make a good thing
out of an evil one.
And it adds in fine :

Of her ivas he thinking 'who set the universe
in motion,

that is God, to give to [210] understand that
nature produced such an effect by divine deter-
mination. And thus ends all the second main
section of this ode.

""■3,4. Three natures in one form. I.e., three groups of
vital phenomena (the vegetative, the animal, and the
rational), in one soul. The rational soul (which is the
'form' of man) draws into itself all the other vital
functions. See Purgatorio, XXV. 70-75.

39. On the conception of satisfaction as distinct from
satiety, see the Paradise generally, and especially XXIV.
1-3 and XXXI. 17, with the argument. The passage
that follows, up to line 47, is somewhat blurred, since
Dante wishes on the one hand to insist on the superlative
quality of the joy of union with Philosophy, and on the
other hand to guard against appearing to maintain that
consummate bliss is attainable on earth. Compare IV.
22 : 205, note.

62. The matter out of which one human body" is
made coincides in most of its capacities or potentialities
with that out of which another is made : but it has

IX. THE THIRD TREATISE 185

certain special capacities of its own, and in fashioning
the face nature avails herself of these to the uttermost.

68. In the eyes and mouth the ordinary nutritive
processes of the body at large are operative as elsewhere ;
they are also sense organs of sight and taste ; and, further,
they are organs of expression of the intellectual and
spiritual life, and consequently all the three divisions of
life — vegetative, animal and rational — work upon them.

90. Compare Par^tffor/o, XXI. 103-111.

94-95. Thebait, I. 47, Menerat aeterna damnatum nocte
pudorem, = '' He had hidden away his shame, sentenced to
eternal night.' Once again Dante has mistranslated.

108. The book on the Four Cardinal Virtues, generally
attributed to Seneca in the middle ages (compare De
MonarcAia,ll. 5 : 24), was composed by the Spanish bishop,
Martinus Dumensis, in the sixth century (Toynbee).

1 1 5- 1 20. With this distinction between universal and
special love compare the distinction between universal and
particular nature in I. 7 : 53-58, text and tiole.

137 ff. I take suo and lei to refer to he/ta,

150. RigAt appetite. Compare IV. 22 : 31 fF.

181. Dr. Moore would strike out the noti of the MSS.,
but this, I think, would give a looser sense.
* 185. Compare Purgatorio, XVI. 73-81.
lAi ■

CHAPTER IX

[(III.) The author, defending his ode from the seeming
contradiction of a certain ballad of his, states that
seeming contradiction, explains it, and exhorts
his ode how to act. (a) Of the accusations of
^,, scorn that the ballad makes against this lady.
(b) Of delusive appearances and of forms of speech
, ' based thereon. The explanation, by an analogy,

of the accusation of the ballad.]
■jii.? -: >■■•

The arrangement of the present treatise requires An
(now that two parts of this ode have first been explana-
explained according to my intention) that we
proceed to the third, wherein I intend to clear

i86 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The sister the ode of an accusation that might have told
ballad against her. It is this, that before I came to
III. compose this ode, thinking that this lady [[loj
had become somewhat stern and haughty towards
me, I made a little ballad wherein I called this
lady proud and pitiless, which appears contrary
to what is said of her here above. And there-
fore I turn to the ode, and under colour of
teaching her how she must excuse herself,
I excuse her. And this is a figure (when
inanimate things are addressed) which is called
by the rhetoricians prosopopceia, and [20] the
poets very frequently employ it.

l.-.iK !SH.

' •:•; lOde it seemeth that thy speech is counter,
and the rest.

Now the better to give the meaning of this to be
understood I must divide it into three sections,
for in the first is set forth the thing which
a, b, c. needs excusing ; then the excuse is proceeded
with when I say :

Thou hnonvest that the heaven;

finally I address the ode as a person instructed
as to what is to be done, when I say :

Thus [^303 plead thy excuse if thou have need.

a. So I say first : ' Thou ode, who dost speak of
this lady with so much praise, it seems that thou
art contrary to a sister of thine.' I say 'sister '
by similitude, for as a woman begotten by the
same begetter is called sister, so may a man
call a work that is done by the same doer a
sister ; for our doing [^40] is in a kind of way
begetting. And I say why she seems counter

IX. THE THIRD TREATISE 187

to the other, saying : ' Thou makest her humble Common
and the other made her proud,' that is to say, sensibles
haughty and disdainful, which is the same thing.

Having set forth this accusation I go on to b.
the excuse, by means of an analogous instance,
wherein sometimes the truth is at discord with
the appearance, and, under sundry aspects, may
be differently spoken of. I say: - :

Thou knoivest that the heaven is ever shining
and clear y

that is to say, it never loses its brightness ; but
for [503 certain reasons it is sometimes per-
missible to speak of it as being darkened. Where
be it known that the proper objects of sight are
colour and light, as Aristotle has it in the second
Of the Soul and in the book Of Sense and its
Object. It is true that other things are visible,
but they are not the proper objects of sight,
because some other sense perceives them, so that
they cannot be called proper to sight, nor proper
to touch ; and such are shape, \_()0'] size,
number, movement, rest, which we call 'sen-
sibles,' and which we perceive with more than
one sense. But colour and light are properly
visible, because we apprehend them by sight
alone, that is to say, with no other sense.
These visible things, both proper and common,
in so far as they are visible, pass into the eye,
(I do not mean the things themselves, but their
forms) through the diaphanous medium [703
(not in reality but in intention), much as in trans-
parent glass. And in the water which is in the
pupil of the eye this passage which the visible
form makes through the medium is completed,

i8S THE CONVIVIO - Ch*

Of vision because this water is bounded, something like a
mirror, which is glass with lead behind it ; so
it cannot pass any further on, but is arrested
there after the fashion of a smitten ball. So
that the form (which does not appear nor [803
shine in the transparent medium) is arrested ;
and this is why an image is seen on leaded
glass but not on other. From this pupil the
visual spirit, which extends continuously from
it to the front part of the brain (where the
sensitive power exists as in its fontal principle)
instantaneously, without any interval of time,
makes a representation of it ; and thus we see.
Wherefore, in order that its vision may be true,
that is to say such as the visible thing is in
itself, C903 the medium through which the
form comes to the eye must be colourless, and
so must the water of the pupil be ; otherwise
the visible form would be tainted with the colour
of the medium and with that of the pupil. And
therefore they who desire to give some particular
colour to the things in a mirror, interpose of that
colour between the glass and the lead, so that
the glass is embraced by it. It is true that
fioo3 Plato and other philosophers declared
that our seeing was not due to the visible coming
into our eye, but to the visual power going out to
the visible. And this opinion is refuted as false
by the Philosopher in that Of Sense and its Object.
Now that we have thus examined the mode
of vision it is easy to perceive that although the
star is always equally clear and shining and
experiences no mutation [^iio] save that of
local movement, as is proved in that of Heaven
and Earth, there may be many causes why it

IX. THE THIRD TREATISE 189

seems not clear and not shining, since it may so Appear-

appear because of the medium which is con- ^nce and

tinually changing. This medium changes from ''^^"'J

abundance to paucity of light, as at the presence

or absence of the sun ; and in his presence the

medium, which is diaphanous, is so full of light

that it overcomes the star and so seems to

be [1203 brighter than it. This medium

also changes from subtle to gross, and from dry

to moist, by reason of the vapours of earth

which are continually rising. Which medium,

by these changes, changes the image of the star

which comes through it, its grossness affecting it

in dimness, and its moisture or dryness affecting

it in colour.

And it may also appear so by reason of the visual
organ, that is the eye, which [1303 by reason of
weakness or exhaustion may acquire a certain colour
or a certain feebleness, as it often happens that
the tunic of the pupil becoming violently blood-
shot because of some disorder caused by illness,
almost everything looks red, and therefore the
star seems coloured thereby. And, when the
sight is enfeebled, a certain dispersion of the
spirit takes place in it, so that things no longer
seem knit together, but sprawling, Q1403 much
as letters of our writing do on damp paper.
And this is why many, when they have a mind
to read, remove the writing to a distance from
their eyes that the image may enter the more
lightly and subtly ; and thereby the letter
remains more distinct in their sight. And so
the star too may seem blurred. And I ex-
perienced this in that same year wherein this
ode was born; for C^S^H greatly taxing my

I90 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Restora- sight in eagerness of reading, I so weakened the
tion of visual spirits that all the stars appeared to me
vision J.Q jjg shadowed by a kind of halo. And by
long repose in dark and cool places, and cooling
the body of the eye in clear water, I knit
together again the disintegrated power, so as to
return to my former good condition of sight.
And thus we see that there are many causes
(for the reasons noted) why the star may appear
other than it really is.

11 ft". The 'little sister' here referred to is obviously
the ballad, Voi che safete ragionar d' amove, of which a
translation is here subjoined :

Ye who have knowledge to discourse of love, hear-

ken to my piteous ballad, which tells of a disdainful

lady, who by her worth hath reft away my

heart. [4]

So doth she scorn whoever looketh on her, she

maketh him bow down his eyes in terror ; for

round her own there ever whirleth a picture of

all cruelty : but within they bear the sweet

image, which makes a gentle soul cry out for

mercy ; of such virtuous power that whenso she is

seen, she draweth sighs from out of the heart of

folk. [12]

It seems as though she said : ' Nought humble will I
be toward anyone who gazeth in my eyes ; for

I bear within that gentle lord, who hath made me

feel of his darts.'* And verily I believe that thus

she guardeth them to look herself upon them when

it pleaseth her : in fashion as right-minded lady

doth (when she is gazed on) through her will for

honour, f [20]

I have no hope that ever of her pity she should

deign to gaze a little on another : so cruel a lady

* She has felt the flame of love herself; and, knowing that
she is not invincible, stands upon her guard and will not
surrender at a word.

t That is to say, 'for honour's sake a right-minded lady,
when gazed upon, guards her looks.'

IX. THE THIRD TREATISE 191

is she in her beauty she who feeleth love within

her eyes. But let her hide and guard him as

she will, that I may never see so great salva-

tion, yet power shall my longings have against

the scorn that love doth wreak upon me. [28]

The poem is one of philosophic love. Compare
Matthew Arnold's Urania :

I too have suffered ; yet I know
She is not cold, though she seems so.
She is not cold, she is not light ;
But our ignoble souls lack might.

She smiles and smiles, and will not sigh,
While we for hopeless passion die ;
Yet she could love, those eyes declare.
Were but men nobler than they are.
.,. Etc.

*j 45 ff. lukerein sometimes, etc. The Italian is a little
difficult : nel quale alcuna -volt a la -verita si discorda daW
apparen'za^ ed altra per di-verso rispetto si pub trattare. If
it will bear the meaning I have given it, 'the truth may
differ from the appearance, and may therefore, under one
aspect or another, justify a representation at variance
with the appearance,' the sense seems fairly satisfactory.

61. Moore would read, sensihili comuni=^ common
sensibles.' See IV. 8 : 49, note.

69. Form is not here used in its technical philosophical
sense, but stands simply for 'shape' or 'appearance.'
The technical word for the idolon, image, or material
counterpart, of an object of sense, which passes into the
mind, is inten-x.ione (compare intemzionalmente in the next
line), which is expressly to be distinguished from the
forma or ' essence ' of the thing. Compare Purgatorio,
XVIII. 22, 23, note.

74. Is completed, that is to say it completes its course
' in the water,' because it does not extend beyond it, being
arrested at its limit.

loi. The visible, i.e., colour, not of course the material
' thing seen ' itself.

119 f. e pero pare piu lucent e. So the MSS. Dr.
Moore inserts a non. The sense would then be : ' And
therefore it [the star] no longer seems to shine.' This
is certainly more natural.

192 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER X

[How the intensity of the author's passion, when he
wrote the ballad, concealed the truth of his
lady's disposition from him and made him judge
after her semblance. Of a certain point to be
discussed hereafter, (c) The author instructs
his ode ; and thereby instructs his reader in
discretion and tact in the matter of conveying
instruction, reproof, and laudation.]

Of per- Quitting this digression, which was necessary
turbing for the apprehension of the truth, I return to the
passion j^atter in hand, and declare that as sometimes
' our eyes call,' that is judge, ' the star ' other
than its real state is, so this little ballad considered
this lady according to the appearance (discordant
with the truth) that sprang from the infirmity of
my mind which was impassioned [^lo^ by ex-
cessive longing. And this I make clear when I
say : * For the soul was in such terror, that
methought dire ' that which I saw in her
presence; where be it known that the more closely
the agent is united with the patient, so much the
stronger is the passion, as may be understood by
the opinion of the Philosopher in that 0/
Generation. Wherefore the nearer the desired
thing approaches to him who desires it, the
greater is the desire ; and l2o] the more the
soul is impassioned the more does it concentrate
itself upon the appetitive part, and the more does
it retreat from reason : so that, in such state, a
person does not judge as a man, but pretty
nearly as some other animal, according to appear-
ance only, not according to truth. And this is
why the semblance, which in truth was august,

X. THE THIRD TREATISE 193

seemed to me ' disdainful and cruel ' ; and it was Eyes not
in accordance with this judgment of sense that ^° ^®
this little ballad spoke. And hereby it is given ^^*^*P®
sufficiently to be understood that this [^303 ode
considers this lady according to the truth,
because of its discord with that other.
And not without reason do I say ;

Where she perce'tveth me,

and not ' where I perceive her.' But herein I
would give to understand the great power that
her eyes had over me, for even as though I had
been diaphanous, their ray passed through me on
every side. And here natural and supernatural
reasons might be [^403 assigned, but let it suffice
here to have said so much ; elsewhere I shall
discourse of it on more fitting occasion.

Then when I say : c.

Thus plead thy excuse if thou have needy

I enjoin upon the ode how to excuse itself (by
the reasons assigned) , where there is need, to wit
where any is in difficulty because of this contra-
diction ; which is no other than to say that if
any is in difficulty as concerns the contradiction
between this ode and that little ballad he is to
consider the reason [^50] which has been told.
And this figure in rhetoric is worthy of much
praise, and moreover is necessary ; I mean when
words are addressed to one person and intended
for another ; for admonition is ever laudable and
necessary, yet it is not always suitable in every
one's mouth. Wherefore when a child is aware
of a father's vice, and when a servant is conscious
of a master's vice, and when a friend [jSo] knows

N

194 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of ad- that his friend's shame would be increased or his
monition honour depressed were he to admonish him, or

and ot jj^jjQ^g ti^at his friend is not patient but irritable
under admonition, this figure is most beautiful
and most profitable, and it may be called dis-
guising. And it resembles the action of the
skilful warrior who attacks the fortress on one
side to withdraw the defence from the other, for
then the intention of the succour goes not to the
\jo'] same quarter as the battle.

And I enjoin upon her also, to ask leave from
this lady to speak of her. Where it may be
understood that a man should not presume to
praise another without rightly considering whether
such is the pleasure of the person praised ; for
many a time he who thinks he is praising is in
truth blaming, either through the fault of himself,
who speaks the praise, or of him who hears it.
Whence there is need of [803 much discretion
herein, which discretion is a kind of asking leave,
after the fashion wherein I bid this ode ask it.
And so ends all the literal meaning of this
treatise ; wherefore the arrangement of the work
demands that, following up the truth, we pro-
ceed to the allegorical exposition.

13-25. On agent AnA patient. See II. 10 : 67 ft', note,
and on the concentration of the whole soul upon one
power, or one set of powers, compare Purgatorio, IV. I- 12.

41, As the portion of the work in which this promise
was to be redeemed was never written, we are left to our
own resources in elaborating the idea. Probably Oeie VI.
14, 15, in the seventh treatise (see IV. 26 : 67), would
have been the text : or possibly Ode VII. 21-24.

XI. THE THIRD TREATISE 195

CHAPTER XI

[Of the allegorical interpretation of the ode. And
first of philosophy or love of wisdom. Of false
and true friendship and love. Of the soul and
body of love. Of the secondary sense in which
the sciences are called philosophy.]

According as the order requires, returning again Of de-
to the beginning, I declare that this lady is that finitions
lady of the intellect which is called philosophy.
But inasmuch as praises naturally produce a
longing to know the person praised, and since
knowing a thing means understanding what it is,
considered in itself and in all its causes (as saith
the Philosopher in the beginning of the £10']
Physics), and inasmuch as the name does not
expound this (although this is what it signifies,
as the Philosopher says in the fourth of the
Metaphysics, where it is asserted that the defini-
tion is that conception which the name signifies)
it is fitting at this point, before proceeding further
in her praises, to show and to declare what it is
that is called philosophy, that is to say, what this
name signifies. And afterwards, when she her-
self has been explained, the present allegory will
be more effectively treated. And first [20] I
will tell who first gave this name, and then I
will proceed to its meaning.

I say then, that of old, in Italy, almost at the
beginning of the foundation of Rome, which (as
Paulus Orosius writes) was six hundred and
fifty years, or a little more or less, before the
Saviour came, about in the time of Numa
Pompilius, second King of the Romans, there
lived a most noble philosopher who was called >

196 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of philo [30] Pythagoras. And that this was the time
sophy when he lived Titus Livius seems incidentally
to indicate in the first part of his volume. And
before him the followers after knowledge were
not called philosophers but sages, as were those
seven most ancient sages whose fame folk
still preserve, the first of whom was Solon,
the second Chilo, the third Periander, the fourth
Thales, the [40] fifth Cleobulus, the sixth
Bias, the seventh Pittacus. This Pythagoras,
when asked whether he regarded himself as a
sage, refused to appropriate the word to him-
self, and said that he was not a wise man,
but a lover of wisdom. And hence it after-
wards came about that everyone who was de-
voted to wisdom was called a ' lover of wisdom,'
that is a philosopher, for in Greek philos is as
much as amator in Latin, and hence we say
philos for lover and sophia [[50]] for luisdom ;
wherefore philos and sophia are as much as to say
' lover of wisdom ' ; wherefore it may be noted
that it is a name not of arrogance but of
humility. Hence is derived the word for the
proper act of such an one, philosophy ; as from

* friend ' is derived a word for the proper act of
such, friendship. Whence may be seen, by con-
sidering the significance of the first and the
second word, that ' philosophy ' is no other than

* friendship to wisdom ' [^603 or to knowledge ;
whence in a certain sense everyone may be called
a philosopher, in virtue of the natural love which
begets in everyone the longing to know. But
since the essential passions are common to all
we do not speak of them under a word which
singles out some particular participant in the

XI. THE THIRD TREATISE 197

essential thing. Thus we do not call John Of true
Martin's friend when we simply mean to in- friendship
dicate the natural friendship whereby we are all
friends [70] to all, but the friendship which
has been generated over and above that which is
natural, and which is proper and distinct in
individual persons. Thus no man is called a
philosopher in virtue of the common love.

Aristotle proposes, in the eighth of the Ethics,
to call him a friend whose friendship is not
hidden from the person loved, and to whom the
person loved is also friendly, so that the good-
will is on both sides ; and this must be in virtue
of profit [803, or of delight, or of worthiness.
And thus, in order that a man may be called a
philosopher, there must be the love of wisdom
which creates goodwill on the one side, and
there must be the zeal and eagerness which
begets goodwill on the other side also, so that
intimacy and the manifestation of goodwill spring
up between them. Wherefore a man cannot be
called a philosopher without both love and zeal,
for both the one and the other must be present ;
and inasmuch as \j)o'] friendship contracted for
delight or for profit is not real but only in-
cidental friendship, as the Ethics shows, so
philosophy for delight or for profit is not real
but only incidental philosophy. Wherefore we
are not to call any man a real philosopher who
is friendly with wisdom in some direction be-
cause of some certain delight ; as are many who
delight in composing odes, giving their zeal
thereto, and who delight in the zealous study of
[]ioo] rhetoric and music, but who flee and
desert the other sciences, all of which are ,

198 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The true members of wisdom. We are not to call him a
philo- real philosopher who is a friend of wisdom for
sopher profit, as are lawyers, physicians, and almost all
the members of the religious orders, who do not
study in order to know, but in order to get
money or office ; and if anyone would give
them that which it is their purpose to acquire
they would linger over their study no longer.
And as C^io] amongst the different kinds of
friendship that which is for the sake of profit is
least to be called friendship, so these, such as I
speak of, have less share in the name of philo-
sopher than any other folk. Wherefore, just as
friendship contracted in virtue of worthiness is
real and perfect and abiding, so is that philo-
sophy real and perfect which is generated by
worthiness alone, with no other respect, and by
the excellence of the soul that feels this friend-
ship, in virtue of right appetite and right reason.
[^120]] So that here we may say that, just as
there is real friendship between men when each
one loves the other in entirety, so the real
philosopher loves every part of wisdom, and
wisdom every part of the philosopher, so as to
draw him entirely to herself and allow him to
dissipate no thought of his upon other things.
Wherefore wisdom herself says in the Proverbs
of Solomon : ' I love those that love me.' And
as real C^3°II friendship, abstracted from the
mind and considered only in itself, has as its
subject the knowledge of the well-doing and
has for form the attraction thereto, so philo-
sophy considered in itself, apart from the soul,
has as its subject understanding, and as its form
an almost divine love of the thing understood.

XI. THE THIRD TREATISE 199

And as virtue is the efficient cause of real Of con-
friendship, so truth is the efficient cause of^c'^P'a*
philosophy. And as the goal Q1403 of true "
friendship is the excellent delight which pro-
ceeds from intercourse according to what is
proper to humanity, that is according to reason
(as Aristotle seems to think in the ninth of the
Ethics) y so the goal of philosophy is that most
excellent delight which suffers no interruption
nor defect, to wit the true blessedness which is
gained by the contemplation of the truth. And
thus it may be perceived who this my [[1503
lady now is, in all her causes and in her con-
stituent principle, and why she is called philo-
sophy, and who is the true philosopher and who
the philosopher incidentally.

But since sometimes, in a certain fervour of
mind, the source or goal of action and passion
is called by the name of the action or passion
itself — as Virgil does in the second of the jEneid,
when he calls ^neas, ' O light' (^160] (which
was an act), * O hope of the Trojans ' (which
is a passion), though he was neither a light
nor a hope, but was the source whence came to
them the light of counsel, and was the object in
whom reposed all the hope of their deliverance ;
and as Statius says in the fifth of the Thebais
when Hypsipyle says to Archemoros : * O thou
comfort of my estate, and my lost fatherland, O
glory of my service ' ; and as we constantly
[170] say, pointing to a friend, < see my friend-
ship,' and as a father says to his child ' my love '
— by long wont, the sciences upon which philo-
sophy plants her sight most fervently are called
by her name, such as natural science, moral

20O THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of the science, and metaphysic science ; which last is
sciences called philosophy, because on her most neces-
sarily and most fervently does she plant her
vision. Whence may be seen how C^^oD the
sciences are called philosophy in a secondary
sense.

Now that we have perceived how the primary
is the real philosophy in her essence (which is
the lady of whom I am speaking), and how her
noble name is communicated by wont and use to
the sciences, I shall proceed with her praises.

' ,24-27. Orosiusy a contemporary and friend of Augus-
tine's, flourished at the beginning of the fifth century.
His Uni-versal History, written to disarm the Pagan con-
tention that Christianity had ruined the Roman empire,
was the general text-book of history in the middle ages.
Toynbee thinks that Dante derived this date of about
650 B.C. for the founding of Rome (generally put at
753 B.C.) from a passage in which Orosius says that
nearly 700 years passed between Tullus Hostilius and
Augustus.

43. Wtse man. Italian sayiente, the word I have trans-
lated ' sage ' elsewhere in this passage.

54. Act, the Italian atto, in its strictly philosophical
sense, corresponding to the Latin actus, is contrasted
with potenzia. If I can thinU., I have the 'potentiality'
of thought. If I am thinking, I have the * act ' of
thought, or thought 'in act.' Thus the word is allied to
form and entelechy. See II. 14 ; 26, note. The word, as
a technical term of philosophy, is much used by Dante
in the Comedy, but little in the Convi-vio. Here it means
pretty much 'activity* or 'manifestation.'

66. Where we use a word to distinguish a special
relation, we must be supposed not to be using it in the
sense in which it designates a universal relation.

67. ' John ' aijd ' Martin ' as in I. 8 : 94 fF.

91. Friends/tip may enter incidentally into a relation
which we contracted for our own advantage or pleasure;
but as long as its continuance depends upon these things
the relation is not essentially one of friendship.

XI. THE THIRD TREATISE 201

102 ff. The same sentiment is expressed in I. 9 : 22 fF.
and elsewhere.

118. The soul that feels this friendship. So I understand
the Italian arnica. The absolute worthiness of the soul
loved wakes affection in the loving soul, in virtue of the
Tightness of its (the latter' s) appetite and reason. That
is to say, love rises from the worthiness of the beloved
and the excellence of the lover.

130-136. Abstracted from the mind. Friendship and
philosophy are really ' accidents,' that is to say, experi-
ences of intelligent beings (compare I. 5 : 2, 3, note), not
things that exist on their own account (compare Vita
Nucma, § 25) ; but if we abstract them from the mind,
in which they really exist, personify them, and treat them
as self-existent 'substances,' then we may consider, in the
case of friendship, that the knowledge of our friend's
goodness is the underlying subject or material, upon which
our admiration is stamped as xXzform ; and, in the case of
philosophy, that the underlying subject is our knowledge,
and the form stamped on it our love of the thing known.
Compare II. 14 : 140, note.

150. Aristotle (see lines 10 ff. of this chapter) defines
scientific knowledge as the knowledge of a thing in its
essence or principle and in its causes. We have now
seen what is the efficient cause of philosophy, viz., the
love that produces it, and what is its final cause, viz., the
'excellent delight' which it secures (line 140, to be dis-
tinguished from the inferior delight of line 90), and as
we also know its material (science), and its form (love of
that science), we have an adequate scientific knowledge
of it. Compare IV. 20 : 94-106, note.

160. Act, see note on line 54, above,

170. I have given the passage as it stands, although
our language has not the usage to which it refers. Our
'acquaintance,' however, furnishes a parallel.

1 8 1 ff. Ho'w the primary, etc. I.e., how love of wisdom
is philosophy in the primary and real sense of the word,
and the object of that love is philosophy in a Secondary
and derived sense.

202 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER XII

[(/.) Of the poet's study to win his way to intimacy
with philosophy, which study is typified by love.
(//.) Of God, all-enlightening and all-seeing,
typified by the sun ; (a.^ and in what sort God
looketh upon and seeth philosophy.]

Study In the first chapter of this treatise the cause
that woos which moved me to compose this ode has been
so fully explained that there is no occasion to
discourse further of it, because it may easily be
■^' reduced to the exposition which has already been
given. And, therefore, according to the divi-
sions made, I will run through the literal
meaning in quest of the other, translating the
literal sense where necessary,
[^loj I say :

Love that discourses to me in my mind.
By ' love ' I mean the study which I devoted to
acquiring the love of this lady. Where be it
known that * study ' may here be considered in
two ways. There is one kind of study which
brings a man to the habit of the art or the
science, and there is another study which works
in the habit when acquired, and plies it ; and this
first it is that I here call love, which formed
\_zo~\ in my mind continuous, new, and most
lofty ponderings on this lady, who has been in-
dicated above ; for this is the wont of study
which is devoted to acquiring a friendship,
because in the first place it ponders on the great
significance of this friendship, while longing for
the same. This is that study and that affection
which is wont to precede the generating of

XII. THE THIRD TREATISE 203

friendship amongst men, when love is already and study
born on the one side, and he who already loves that
longs and [^303 strives that it may spring up on ^"J^y^
the other side. For, as said above, philo-
sophy is there when the soul and wisdom have
become friends, so that each is entirely Ibved by
the other, as in the fashion stated above. Nor
is there need of further discourse by way of the
present exposition concerning this first verse,
which was discoursed of as proem in the literal
exposition ; inasmuch as the understanding may
very easily turn, by means [40^ of its first
significance, to this its second.

Wherefore we are to proceed to the second //.
verse which begins the treatise, in which I say :

The sun seeth not^ who circleth all the world.

Here you are to know that just as it is suitable
to treat of an object of sense by means of a thing
which is not an object of sense, so it is suitable
to treat of an object of the intellect by means of
a thing which is not an object of the intellect.
And so, since in the literal exposition the dis-
course opened [[50] with the corporeal sun, ac-
cessible to sense, we are now to discourse of the
spiritual sun, accessible to the intellect, that is
God. No object of sense in all the universe is
more worthy to be made the symbol of God than
the sun, which enlightens, with the light of sense,
itself first, and then all the celestial and elemental
bodies ; and in like manner God illuminates
first himself with intellectual light and then the
celestial and other creatures accessible to the in-
tellect. The sun quickens all things (^603 with
his heat, and if he destroys certain things thereby

204 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The that is not of the intention of the cause, but is an
spiritual incidental effect ; and in like manner God
^"" quickens all things in goodness, and if any of
them be evil, it is not of the divine intention but
must needs be in some way incidental to the pro-
gress of the effect intended. For if God made
both the good and the bad angels he did not
make them both by intention, but only the good
ones; then the wickedness of the bad ones
followed, [^703 beside the intention, yet not so
beside the intention but that God foreknew their
wickedness. But so great an affection had he to
produce spiritual creatures that the foreknow-
ledge of some who must needs come to an ill
end should not nor could not hinder God
from this producing ; for nature would not be to
praise if, well knowing that the blossoms of a
tree must perish in some certain part, she were
not to produce [80]] blossoms thereon, and
because of the barren were to abstain from pro-
a. ducing the fertile ones. I say then that God,
who understandeth all (for his circling is his
understanding), sees not so noble a thing as he
sees when he looks upon the place where is this
philosophy ; for albeit God, looking upon him-
self, sees all things at once, yet inasmuch as the
distinction between things exists in him, after the
fashion wherein the effect exists in the cause, he
sees them [90] distinct from one another. He
sees this most noble of all things absolutely,
then, inasmuch as he sees her most perfectly in
himself and in his essence. For if we call to
mind what has been said above, philosophy is a
loving exercise of wisdom, and this exists
supremely in God, since in him is the highest

XII. THE THIRD TREATISE 205

wisdom and the highest love and the highest The
actuality, which may not be elsewhere save in daughter
so far as it proceeds from him. The divine ^
[^1003 philosophy then is of the divine essence,
because in hira nought may be added to his
essence ; and she is most noble because the
divine essence is most noble ; and she is in him
in perfect and true fashion, as though in eternal
wedlock. In other intelligences she exists in a
lesser way, as though a mistress, of whom no
lover has complete enjoyment, but must satisfy
his longing by gazing on her. Wherefore it
may be [^iio] said, that God sees not, that is
to say understands not, anything so noble as her ;
and I say ' anything ' inasmuch as he sees and dis-
tinguishes the other things, as said above, since
he sees himself as the cause of them all. Oh
most noble and most excellent heart which is
enamoured of the spouse of the Emperor of
heaven, and not only spouse, but sister and most
beloved daughter.

47. Not an object of intellect. That is to say ' an object
of sense.' The Italian is coil di cosa tntelligibile per cosa
non intelligihile trattare si conviene. On which see II. 14 :
24, note.

59. Accessible to the intellect. Italian intelligibili, i.e., the
creatures of which we can form a conception, but of
which we can have no perception by the senses.

68. That is to say, the existence of the guilty angels
was not a part of what moved God to creation.

206 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER XIII

[Of wisdom in the angels that fell not. And in
men, such as are men indeed ; though even in
them discontinuously, and only when they are
in the act of philosophising. Yet, even so, such
men, though many a time they have but the
habit of wisdom, and that imperfectly, are to
be called her familiars, because of their love of
her which doth ever exalt them, and is as it were
the soul of all virtuous actions ; through which,
as through its outward manifestations, it appeals
to such as have not yet known it.]

Intelli- Now that we have seen it subtly declared at the

gences, beginning of her praises that primarily con-

and in sidered she exists in the divine substance, we

exile are to go on and to consider how I declare that

secondarily she exists in created intelligences.

I say then :

Every supernal intellect gazes upon her,

where we are to know that I say * supernal,'
bringing them into relation with God, who has
been spoken [lo] of above ; and hereby are
excluded the intelligences that are in exile from
the supernal fatherland, for they cannot philoso-
phise because love is utterly quenched in them ;
and to philosophise, as already said, there is
need of love. Wherefore we perceive that the
infernal intelligences are bereft of the aspect of
this most beauteous one ; and inasmuch as she is
the blessedness of the intellect, to be deprived
of her is most bitter and full of all \_iol^ sadness.
Then when I say :

ylnd such folk as are here enamoured.

XIII. THE THIRD TREATISE 207

I descend to explain how she also comes, in a Intelli-
secondary sense, into the human intelligence ; gences,
and with this human philosophy I then proceed ^g
in the treatise, commending her. I say, then, human
that the folk who are enamoured here, to
wit in this life, perceive her in their thoughts,
not always, but when love makes them feel of
Q303 his peace. Wherein three things are to
be observed which are touched upon in this
passage. The first is when it says :

Such folk as here are enamoured,

whereby a distinction seems to be made in the
human race ; and it must of necessity be made,
for, as is clearly apparent, and as will be ex-
pressly explained in the next following treatise,
an immense proportion of mankind lives more
after sense than after [403 reason. And those
who live after sense cannot possibly be en-
amoured of her, for they cannot have any
apprehensioD of her. The second is where it
says :

When love tnaketh them feel, and the rest,

where it seems that a distinction of time is
made; and this too [}% necessary, because],
albeit the sejunct intelligences gaze con-
tinuously upon this lady, the human intel-
ligence may not do this, because human [_$o~\
nature requires many things besides speculation
(whereby the intellect and reason are fed) to
sustain it. Wherefore our wisdom is sometimes
only in habit and not in act. And this is not
so with the other intelligences whom the in-
tellectual nature by itself completes. Wherefore

2o8 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The when our soul is not in the act of speculation

habit it cannot be truly said to be in company with

exercise Philosophy [^603 except in so far as it has the

of philo- liabit thereof, and the potentiality of waking it ;

sophy and therefore she is sometimes with the folk

who are enamoured here, and sometimes is

not with them. The third is when it tells

the hour when those folk are with her, that is

when

Love maketh them feel of his teace,

which signifies no other than when man is in
actual [70] speculation ; for study does not
make, aught of the peace of this lady felt, save
in the act of speculation. And thus we see
how this lady is primarily of God, and second-
arily of the other sejunct intelligences by way
of continuous contemplation, and afterwards of
the human intelligence by way of discontinuous
contemplation.

But the man who has her as his lady is always
to be called a philosopher, although he is not
always engaged in the distinguishing act of
philosophy, because folk are [_^o~\ chiefly to be
named according to habit. Wherefore we call
a man virtuous even when he is not doing a
deed of virtue, because he has the virtuous habit,
and we call a man eloquent even when he is not
speaking, because of the habit of eloquence,
that is to say, of speaking well. And con-
cerning this philosophy, in so far as she is
partaken by the human intelligence, the follow-
ing commendations are to show how great a
part of her goodness is conceded \j)0~\ to human
nature. So I say next :

XIII. THE THIRD TREATISE 209

Her being so pleases hhn nvho gave it hery Perfect in

from whom she flows as from her primal fectness
source, which doth ever attract the capacity of
our nature and make it beautiful and virtuous.
Whence, although certain attain to the habit of
her, yet none so attain that it can be strictly
called the habit, because the first study, namely
that whereby the habit is [^looj begotten, can
never perfectly acquire her. And herein is
perceived her distinctive praise that whether
perfect or imperfect she never forfeits the name
of perfection. And because she is thus out of
measure, it says that the soul of philosophy

Maketh it show forth in that which she doth
guide,

that is to say that God ever sets of his light in
her ; where we must call to mind how it was
said above that love is the form of philosophy,
and therefore [no] here it is called her soul;
which love is manifested in the exercise of
wisdom, which exercise brings with it wondrous
beauties, to wit content in every temporal state,
and scorn of all those things which others make
their lords. Whereby it happens that the
wretched others who behold this, pondering upon
their defect, when the longing for perfection
comes upon them, fall into labour of sighs ; and
this is what is meant [^i2oJ by

The eyes of those in whom she shines send

messages thereof to the heart, Jilled with long-
ings, ivhich gather air and turn to sighs.

37. See IV. 11; :

117 fF.

38. See IV. 15 :

: 97 fF.

0

2IO THE CONV-IVIO Ch.

54. For habii and act, see I. I : 15, and III. n : 54,
notes.

55-57. On the angelic intellect, see II. 5 : 76, jj,note.

65 ft'. Compare III. 6 : 80-85, text and note.

95. TVhence, that is to say : Because she comes from
God, and it is God that draws us to himself in her, we
can never, here on earth, perfectly attain to the ' habit '
of wisdom, much less persevere without break in the
exercise of that habit.

CHAPTER XIV

[{l?) How love is the soul of philosophy ; and how the
divine love descends directly upon the angelic and
the human mind, and indirectly upon all else ;
and of the distinction between fontal, radiated
and reflected light. How that which the eternal
loves is eternal, and how the love of wisdom is
conformed to this same fashion of loving eternal
things and despising the things that are temporal.
How the soul may be tempered by contemplation
of her, and how by unriddling many wonders even
to our minds she may lead us to believe that all
things have their reason in the mind of God. ]

Love, the As in the literal exposition, after the general
soul of praises, we descend to the special, first on the
sonhv ^^'^^ °^ ^^^ so\x\, then on the side of the body,
L so now the text purposes, after the general com-
' mendations, to descend to the special ones.
Wherefore, as was said above, philosophy here
on earth has for her subject-matter wisdom, and
for her form love, and for the combination of the
one [_io~\ and the other the exercise of specula-
tion. Wherefore in this verse, which begins as
follows:

On her descendeth the divine po'wer^

XIV. THE THIRD TREATISE 211

I purpose to commend love, which is a part of Light,

philosophy. Where be it known that for virtue fontaland

to descend from one nature into another is * ^ '

nought else than to reduce the latter to her own

likeness ; just as we manifestly see that in natural

agents, when their virtue descends upon things

that receive it, they draw [20J them to be so

far like themselves as it is possible for them to

come to be. Whence we see that the sun, when

his ray descends down here, reduces things to the

similitude of light in so far as by their dispositions

they have the capacity for receiving light from

his power. Thus I say that God reduces this

love to his own similitude, in the degree wherein

it is possible for it to liken itself to him.

And the quality of this creating anew is set
forth [30] in saying :

^s it doth upon an angel who heholdeth it,

where we are further to know that the prime
agent — to wit God — stamps his power upon
some things after the manner of a direct ray, and
upon others after the manner of a reflected
splendour ; for upon the intelligences the divine
light rays without medium, upon other things it
is reflected by those intelligences which are first
enlightened. But since we have here made men-
tion of /ighl and of splendour^ for the sake of com-
plete understanding, [40^ I will explain the
difFerence between these words, according to the
opinion of Avicenna. I say that it is the custom
of the philosophers to call the luminous principle
/ig^t, in so far as it exists in the source from
which it springs, and to call it a ray in so far as
it exists in the medium (between its source and

212 THE CONVIVIO . Ch.

Love of the first body whereby it is arrested), and to call
wisdom it splendour in so far as it is thrown back upon
^^^^ some other part which it illuminates. I say,
then, that the divine virtue, draws this \j)0~\
love to its own likeness without any inter-
mediary. And this may be manifested chiefly
herein, that as the divine love is eternal under
every aspect, so, of necessity, it behoves its
object to be eternal, so that the things which it
loves must needs be eternal. And it is after
this same fashion that this love makes us love,
because wisdom, whereupon this love strikes, is
eternal. Wherefore it is written of her, ' From
the beginning, before the ages, was I created,
and in the \^o~\ ages which are to come I shall
not fail.' And in the Proverbs of Solomon
wisdom herself says, ' I was ordained from ever-
lasting.' And in the beginning of the Gospel of
John her eternity may be clearly noted ; and
hence it arises that where this love grows all
other loves are darkened and almost quenched,
inasmuch as its eternal object conquers and over-
comes all other objects out of all proportion. And
this \_']0~\ the most excellent philosophers openly
revealed in their actions, whereby we know that
they gave no heed to any other thing save
wisdom. Thus Democritus, taking no heed of
his own person, cut neither beard nor hair nor
nails. Plato, caring not for temporal goods, took
no heed to his royal dignity, for he was the son
of a king. Aristotle, caring for no [So^ other
friend, entered into contention with his best friend
save her — to wit with the above-named Plato.
And why do we speak of these, since we find
others who despised their very lives for these

XIV. THE THIRD TREATISE 213

thoughts, such as Zeno, Socrates, Seneca, and Celestial
many others. And so it is manifest that the thoughts
divine virtue, in angelic fashion, descends upon
men in this love ; and to furnish experience of
this, the text in sequence [_go] cries out :

j^nd whatsoever gentle lady not believeth
this, let her go with her and mark ivell,

and the rest.

By * gentle lady * is understood a soul noble
in intellect and free in the exercise of its
own proper power, which is reason. Where-
fore other souls cannot be called ladies, but
handmaids, because they exist not for their
own sake but for that of another, and the philo-
sopher says, in the second of the Metaphysics,
that that thing is free which is there for its own
sake and not for that of [^.looj another'.'
It says :

Let her go with her and mark ivell her gestures,

that is to say, Let her go in company with this
love, and look upon that which she shall find
within him ; of whicii it treats in some part,

Where she speaketh there comet h down,

that is to say, where philosophy is in act a
* celestial thought ' comes down, which argues
that she is a more than human activity. It
says * from heaven,' to give to understand that
not [no] only she, but the thoughts which are
her friends, are removed from base and earthly
things.

Then, in sequence, it says how she confirms

214 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Philo- and kindles love, wheresoever she displays her-

sophy and self, with the ' sweetness of her gestures,' to wit

all her comely and tender semblance, free from

all excess. And, in sequence, the more to

persuade folk to be of her company, it says :

Gentle is that in [^I20]] lady ivhich in her is
fpundf and beauteous is so much only as is

like to her. jg

further, it adds : '\

'-' '■ y^nd affirm we may that to look on her givei
help), ' '-'

where be it known that the power to look upon
this lady was granted to us in such ample measure,
not only in order that we might see the counten-
ance which she reveals to us, but that we may
long to acquire the things which she keeps con-
cealed. Whence even as by her means much is
perceived in its reason and in its sequence which
without [130] her appears a marvel, so by her
means it becomes credible that every miracle may
have its reason for a loftier intellect, and conse-
quently may take place. Whence our excellent
faith hath its origin, from which cometh the
hope of that for which we long and which we
foresee, and from this is born the activity of
charity ; by which three virtues we rise to
philosophise in that celestial Athens where the
Stoics and Peripatetics and Epicureans, by the
art of the I3140]] eternal truth, harmoniously
unite in one will.

9, 10. When the mind is engaged, not in acquiring
wisdom but in the loving exercise of the wisdom or
knowledge acquired, you have the true speculation or con-

XIV. THE THIRD TREATISE 215

templation, the enjoying as distinct from the winning
of my lady Philosophy.

42. The received text is e di chiamare il Cielo lume,
etc., but cielo can hardly be right, for the subject under
discussion is light in general, and in II. 7 : 88-100
Dante expressly precludes the idea that the heaven, as
such, is a source of light. I think it is probable that
we should read luce, though it is difficult to say how the
false reading can have arisen out of it. Thomas Aquinas,
in his commentary on Peter Lombard's Sentences, Book II.,
Distinction 1 3, Article 3, enters into the subject of light at
considerable length, frequently citing Avicenna. He dis-
tinguishes between lux, lumen, radius and splendor. Lux
is the light at its source ; lumen is the general luminosity
of the diaphanous medium through which light travels;
radius is the direct line of the passage of light from its
source to the object it strikes, and splendor is the reflected
ray. In his commentary on the DeAnima, Book II., Lec-
ture XIV., he returns to the subject more briefly, and
says ; —

' Ipsa igitur participatio -vel effectus lucis in diaphano,
vacatur lumen. Et si Jit secundum rectam lineam ad corpus
lucidum, vacatur radius. Si autem causetur ex re-uerhera-
tiane radii ad corpus lucidum, -vacatur splendor.^ It will be
noted that in our passage, according to the received text,
Dante uses lume in the sense which Aquinas (presumably
in agreement with Avicenna) gives to luce, whereas in
the passage already referred to in the second treatise, he
follows Aquinas in calling light at its source luce, but
makes lume conform to his definition oi radius. It seems
as though Dante had not clearly grasped the doctrine of
lumen according to Aquinas (and Avicenna) and so allows
the word now to invade the territory of luce, and now that
of raggio. On the whole idea compare Paradiso, XXIX.
13-18 ; XXX. 97, notes.

49. Without an intermediary. That is to say, the divine
power descends direct upon her as it does upon an angel.
It is not merely reflected. I do not think mezzo means
' medium ' here.

55-57. I understand the passage to mean that the
divine love makes its object eternal and therefore loves
eternal things, and since the love which is breathed into
us from on high makes us love wisdom, who is eternal, it

2i6 THE CONVIVIO ^ Ch.

makes our love conform to the divine love in loving
eternal things. But the received text seems a little
strained, both in syntax and in point of logical cohesion.

76. Plato was supposed to be descended from Codrus,
the last king of Athens. Apparently some mediaeval
legend, founded on this tradition, represented him as the
heir to a throne.

79. The reference is to the well-known passage (Ethics,
I. 6: i) in which Aristotle expresses the pain it gives
him to dissent from Plato, though without mentioning
him by name.

CHAPTER XV

[(^) The body of philosophy is wisdom or knowledge,

in the demonstrations and persuasions of which,

(her eyes and her smile), joys as of heaven

' ■ are revealed and the perfection of human nature

*"'^ realised. Of the insufficiency of language to

"^ speak, save by negation, of these things ;

" and how the desire for knowledge, as well on

earth as in heaven, is measured by the innate

possibility of the same. Of the secondary delight

of virtuous activity, and of its effect upon such as

witness its manifestations. Of wisdom as the

source of all created things, and of the misery of

such as reject her. And (///.) of the travail

that we must endure when we seek wisdom and

have not yet learned her demonstrations nor felt

her persuasions.]

Wisdom In the preceding chapter this glorious lady is
the body commended according to one of her component
sonh " P^'"'-^' ^^ "^^^ love. Now, in this chapter, wherein
- I purpose to expound that verse which begins :

Things are revealed in her aspect,

it behoves to treat in commendation of her other

XV. THE THIRD TREATISE 217

part, to wit, wisdom. Tlie text says, then, that Demon-

in her countenance [loj appear things strations

and per-
•wh'tch shotv us of the joys of Paradise, suasions

and it specifies the place of this appearance, to
wit, in her eyes and in her smile. And here it
is right to know that the eyes of wisdom are her
demonstrations, whereby the truth is seen most
certainly, and her smile is her persuasions,
whereby the inner light of wisdom is revealed
behind a certain veil ; and in these two is felt
that loftiest joy of blessedness [[20J which is
the supreme good in Paradise. This pleasure
may not be in ought else here below save in
looking upon these eyes and this smile.' ' And
the reason is this, that because everything by
nature desires its own perfection, it may not
without it be satisfied, which is being blessed ;
for however much it should have other things,
without this it would still be left in a state of
longing, in which it may not be with [30]
blessedness ; inasmuch as blessedness is a
perfect thing, and longing is a defective thing,
for no one longs for what he has, but for what he
has not, which is a manifest deficiency. And
in this look alone is acquired human perfection,
that is the perfection of reason, whereon, as on
its chiefest factor, all of our essence depends ;
and all our other activities, feeling, nutrition,
and all the rest [40] exist for it alone, and it
exists for itself and not for others. Therefore,
if this be perfect so is that, to such a point that
man, as man, sees his every longing at its goal,
and so is blessed. And therefore it says in the
book of Wisdoniy 'unhappy is he who setteth at

2i8 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Things naught wisdom and teaching,' which is the

known privation of being happy. It follows that by

'^ seen ^^^ habit of wisdom both being happy and

being satisfied are attained, according to the

[^503 teaching of the Philosopher. Wherefore

we perceive that in her aspect there appear * of

the things of Paradise,' and so we read in the

book of Wisdom already cited, in speaking of

her, * she is the brightness of the eternal light,

the spotless mirror of the majesty of God.'

Then when it says :

They transcend our intellect ^

I plead my excuse, saying that I can speak but
little of these things, because of their transcend-
ency. Where be it known that in [60] a
certain sense these things dazzle our intellect,
inasmuch as they affirm certain things to be
which our intellect may not look upon, to wit
God, and eternity, and first matter ; which are
seen with the utmost certainty, and believed to
be with absolute faith, and yet we can only
understand what they are by process of negation.
In this way we may approach to the knowledge
of them, but no otherwise. But here certain
\j]0~\ may encounter a great difficulty as to how
wisdom can make a man blessed when she
cannot perfectly reveal certain things to him ;
inasmuch as man's natural longing is to know,
and without fulfilling his longing he may not be
blessed. Hereto the clear answer may be given
that the natural longing in every case is measured
by the possibilities of the thing longed for ;
otherwise it would [So^ contradict itself,
which is impossible ;, and nature would have

XV. THE THIRD TREATISE 219

created it in vain, whicii is also impossible. It The
would contradict itself, for in longing for its measure
perfection it would long for its imperfection, in- 0"0"S'"g
asmuch as it would long to be ever longing,
and never to fulfil its longing. And this is the
error into which the accursed miser falls, per-
ceiving not that he desires himself ever to be
desiring, as he pursues [90^ the sum which it
is impossible to reach. Also nature would have
created it in vain, because it would not have
been ordained to any end. And therefore human
longing is measured in this life by that degree
of knowledge which it is here possible to
possess ; and that point is never transgressed
except by misapprehension, which is beside the
intention of nature. And in like manner is it
measured in the angelic nature, and limited in
quantity to that knowledge which each one's
[1003 nature can apprehend. And this is why
the saints envy not one another, because each
one attains the goal of his longing, which longing
is commensurate with the nature of his excel-
lence. Whence, since it is impossible to our
nature to know, concerning God, and to declare,
concerning certain things, what they are, we
have no natural longing to know this, and thus
the difficulty is £110]] removed.
Then when I say :,

Her beauty rains donvn Jlamelets ofjire,

I descend to another pleasure of Paradise, to wit
the felicity (secondary to this primal felicity),
which proceeds from her beauty. Where be it
known that morality is the beauty of philosophy,
for just as the beauty of the body results from

220 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Beauty of the members, in proportion as tliey are duly
soul ordered, so the beauty of wisdom, [120] which,
as said above, is the body of philosophy, results
from the order of the moral virtues, which enable
her to give pleasure that may be perceived by
the senses. And therefore I say that her beauty,
to wit, morality,

rains donun Jlamelets of fire,,

that is to say right appetite, which is begotten
by the pleasure of moral teaching;' which
appetite actually removes us from even those
vices which are natural to us, to say nothing of
the others. And hence springs that felicity
which Aristotle defines in the (^130] first of
the Ethics, saying that it is ' activity in accordance
with virtue, in a perfect life.'
And when it says :

Wherefore, whatsoever lady heareth her beauty,

it proceeds with her praise. I cry out to folk
to follow her, telling them what are her bene-
factions ; namely, that by following her everyone
becomes good. Wherefore it says ' whatsoever
lady ' (that is, ' whatsoever soul ') perceives that
her beauty is blamed, because it seems not such
as it should seem, let her look upon this example.
[1403 Where be it known that the beauty of
a soul is its ways, especially the virtues, which
are sometimes made less beautiful and less
pleasing by vanity or by pride, as we shall be
able to see in the last treatise. And therefore
I say that to escape this we are to look upon
her ; to wit under that aspect wherein she is an
example of humility, that is in the part of her

XV. THE THIRD TREATISE 221

which is called moral philosophy. And I add In the
that by gazing upon her, I mean [^xjo] wisdom, begin-
in that part, every vicious man will become "*"? ^**
upright and good. And therefore I say :

// is she who humlleth each perverse one,

that is, gently bends back whosoever hath been
warped from the due order.

Finally, in supreme praise of wisdom I say
that she is mother of all origins whatever, saying
that with her God began the universe, and
specifically the movement of the heaven which
generates [160^ all things, and from which
every movement takes its beginning and its
starting, saying, —

Of her ivas he thinking ivho set the universe
in motion,

that is to say, that she existed in the divine
thought, which is intellect itself, when he made
the universe ; whence it follows that she made it;
wherefore, in the passage in Proverbs, Solomon
says, in the person of wisdom: *When God
prepared the heavens I was there, when he
walled the abysses with a fixed [[lyoj law
and with a fixed circuit, when he established
the heaven above and suspended the fountains of
water, when he fixed the limit for the sea and
set a decree upon the waters that they might
not pass their boundaries, when he laid down the
foundations of the earth, I too was with him,
ordering all things, and took my delight daily.'

Oh worse than dead, who flee from her
friendship! Open your eyes and fi8o] see
that, before ye were, she loved you, preparing

222 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Wisdom and ordering your progress ; and, after ye were
seeketh made, to direct you aright she came to you in

children y°"^ ^^'^ likeness. And if ye may not all
come to look upon her herself, do honour to her
in her friends, and follow their commandments,
as who proclaim to you the will of this eternal
empress. Close not your ears to Solomon who
[^190]] bids you thereto when he says that 'the
way of the righteous is as a shining light that
goes on and increases until the day of blessed-
ness,' following after them, gazing upon their
doings, which should be a light to you on the
path of this most brief life. And here may be
ended the real meaning of this present ode.
///• But the final verse, which appears as a tornata,
may be very easily brought down [200J to this
exposition by means of the literal one, save in
so far as it says that, in that other poem, I call
this lady * cruel and disdainful.' Where be it
known that at the beginning this philosophy
appeared * cruel ' to me, on the side of her
body, that is wisdom ; for she smiled not upon
me, inasmuch as I did not apprehend her per-
suasions ; and ' scornful ' because she turned not
her eyes to me, that is to say, I could not
perceive her demonstrations. And the [210]
fault of all this was on my side ; whereby, and
by what has been said in the literal meaning,
the allegory ot the tornata is manifest ; so that
it is time, in order to go further on, to make an
end of this treatise.

14-18. Compare II. 16 ; 28.

42. T/iis . . . that. If our reason is perfect, then
our whole essenre is perfect. I insert a cpnima after
fuella.

XV. THE THIRD TREATISE 223

64. Seen, that is with the mind's eye. I do not follow
Dr. Moore in inserting a non.

69-87. This passage, so profoundly characteristic of
mediaeval thought, declares that the passionate longing to
ascertain things hidden from us depends upon the belief
that they are not really inaccessible to us. All that the
disciplined intellect desires to know on earth is essentially
knowable on earth, and what it desires to know in
heaven is knowable in heaven. Compare Paradise, IV.
124-129, where the attainment of truth in which the in-
tellect can rest is asserted to be possible, together with III.
64 fF., where Piccarda renounces the idea that she and her
companions wish to see more than they do, and XXI.
79 ff., where Peter Damiani rapturously contemplates,
without desiring to comprehend, the unfathomable
mysteries of Deity. Other passages might be added.
The conception often held in modern times, that the real
intellectual life is to be found in looking for truth, not in
finding and enjoying her, is in marked contrast with these
conceptions ; but many have held (with Comte) that as
soon as any limits of knowledge are recognised as absolute
the human mind ceases to struggle against them. This
would bring us, to some extent, to Dante's position here.
On the attempt to distinguish in principle between the
thirst for knowledge and the thirst for wealth compare
IV. 12 : III — 13 : 52.

90. Compare Ode XIV. 69 fF.

127. See III. 8 : 156 ff.

144. Ode XIV., Doglia mi reca nel core ardire (referred to
in the note on line 90 above) was to have been the text of
the last book. Compare I. 8 : 131 and IV. 12 ; 210, «o/«,
with lines 1 14-122 of the ode. There are several passages
in the ode that might have given occasion to the promised
disquisition, for instance the second stanza, or lines 132-
136; but I think 138-147 is the passage on which it
would most probably have rested.

THE FOURTH TREATISE

ODE III

Contra gli erranti.
[Le dolci rime d'amor, chHo so/ta.]

The sweet rhymes of love which I was wont to search

out in my thoughts, needs must I abandon ; not that I

have no hope of a return to them.

But because the scornful and haughty gestures which

in my lady have appeared, have closed the way to

me of wonted speech [8]

And because meseems 'tis time for waiting,
Down will I lay my tender style, which I have held in

treating of love, and I will tell of the worth where-

by a man is truly gentle, with harsh and subtle

rhyme refuting the judgment false and base of

such as would have it that of gentlehood the principle

is wealth. And, at the outset, I call upon that

Lord who dwelleth in my lady's eyes, so that

of herself she is enamoured. [20]

A certain one held empire who would have gentle-
hood, according as he deemed, to be the ancient
possession of wealth, with gracious manners.

And some other was there of lighter wisdom, who
recast such saying, and stripped it of its latter

phrase, methinks because he had it not. [28]

After him go all they

Who make folk gentle because of race which has

long abode in great wealth : and so inured is

such false thought amongst us, that folk call that

man a gentleman, who can aver: 'I was grandson

or son of such an one of worth,' though he himself be

224

THE FOURTH TREATISE 225

nought. But basest doth he seem, to whoso looks on

truth, who hath been shown the way and thereafter errs

therefrom ; and he hits nigh to who should be a corpse

yet walk the earth. [40]

III

He who defines : ' Man is a living trunk,' in the first

place, speaks that which is not true, and further, utters

the falsehood in defective guise ; but haply sees no

more.

In like fashion did he who held empire err in de-

finition, for in the first place he lays down the false,

and on the other hand proceeds defectively ; [48]

For riches can not (as is held)

Either give gentlehood or take away, since in

their nature they are base. Further, who paints a

figure, unless himself can be it, can not set it

down : nor is an upright tower made to lean

by a river that flows far away. That they be base

and imperfect is apparent, for how much soever

gathered, they can give no quiet, but multiply

care ; wherefore the mind that is upright and

true is not dismayed by their dispersion. [60]

IV

Nor will they have it that a base man can become
gentle, nor that from a base father can descend a

family that ever can be held as gentle : this is avowed

by them.

Wherefore their argument appears to halt, inasmuch

as it lays down that time is requisite to gentle-

hood, defining it thereby. [68]

Further it followeth from what I have above set down,

That we be all gentle or else simple, or that man had

not an origin : but this I grant not, neither do

they, if they be Christians.

Wherefore to sound intellects 'tis manifest that

what they say is vain, and thus do I refute the same

as false, and therefrom dissociate me. And now

I would declare how I regard it, what is gentlehood

and whence it comes ; and I will tell the tokens that a

gentleman retains. [80]

p

286 THE CONVIVIO

V

I affirm that every virtue in principle cometh

from one root, I mean virtue that maketh man

blessed in his doing.

This is (according as the Ethics say), ' a selective

habit, which abideth solely in the mean'; such

are the words set down. [88]

I affirm that nobility in its constituent essence

Ever implies the goodness of its seat as baseness

ever implies ill ; and virtue in like fashion always

carries the import of good ; wherefore in one same im-

plication the two agree, being to one effect. There-

fore the one needs must derive from the other or both

from the same third. But if one signifies all that the other

signifies, and more as well, the derivation will rather be

from it. And let this which I have now declared be

presupposed. [loo]

VI

Gentlehood is wherever there is virtue, but not virtue

where she is ; even as the heaven is wherever is the

star, but not conversely.

And we in women and in youthful age perceive this

saving thing, in so far as they are deemed alive to

shame, which is diverse from virtue. [io8]

Therefore shall be evolved (like perse from black) '

Each several virtue out of her, or their generic kind, as

I have laid it down above. Wherefore let no one vaunt

himself and say : ' I belong to her by race ' ; for

they are well-nigh gods who have such grace, apart

from all the guilty ; for God alone presents it to the

soul which he sees within its person take perfect

stand ; even as to some the seed of blessedness draws

nigh, despatched by God into the well-placed soul.

[120]

VII

The soul whom this excellence adorns, holds it not

concealed ; for, from the first when she weds the

body, she shews it forth till death.

THE FOURTH TREATISE 227

Obedient, sweet and alive to shame, is she

in the first age; and adorns her person with

beauty with well according parts. [128]

In manhood she is temperate and brave,

Full of love and courteous praises, and delights only

in deeds of loyalty. And in old age is prudent

and just and hath a name for openhandedness, re-

joicing in herself to hear and to discourse of others' ex-

cellence. Then in the fourth term of life to God

is re-espoused, contemplating the end that she awaits,

and blesses the past seasons. See now how many be
they deceived ! [140]

Tomata

Against the erring ones take thou thy way, my
ode, and when thou shalt be in the region

where our lady is, keep not thy business hid from

her : thou may'st securely say to her : * I go

discoursing of a friend of thine.' [146]

common

228 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER I

[Of the author's love of philosophy and hatred of all
that is counter to her. Of a pernicious error as
to the nature of true nobility. How the author,
being brought to a stand in his speculative studies
by a certain problem, and still desiring to serve
his lady, turned his mind to the refutation of
this error whereby men's hearts are estranged
from her.]

How Love, according to the unanimous opinion of
friends the sages who have discoursed of it, and as we
love m ggg ijy continuous experience, is that which
brings together and unites the lover to the
person loved. Wherefore Pythagoras says,
* In friendship many are made one.' And in-
asmuch as when things are united they naturally
communicate their qualities to each other, in-
somuch that sometimes the one is [lo^ com-
pletely transformed to the nature of the other,
it comes to pass that the emotions of the loved
person enter into the loving person, so that the
love of the one is communicated to the other,
and in like manner hatred and longing and
every other passion. So that the friends of
the one are loved by the other, and the enemies
hated ; wherefore in the Greek proverb it says :
'AH things should be common between friends.'
So when I became the friend of this lady, men-
tioned above in the [203 real exposition, I
began to love and to hate in accordance with
her love and hatred. I began, therefore, to
love those who follow the truth, and to hate
those who follow error and falsity, even as does
she.

I. THE FOURTH TREATISE 229

But inasmuch as everything is lovable in Error
itself, and nought is to be hated save for the f}°^^
evil superinduced upon it, it is reasonable and
right to hate not things, but their badness, and
to strive to sever it from them [^303. And if
any other is intent upon this, ray most excellent
lady is most intent ; I mean upon severing from
things the badness which is the cause of their
being hated ; for in her is all reason, and in
her, as in its fountain, is the right. I, following
her in deed as in emotion, to the best of my
power, abominated and disprized the errors ot
men, to the infamy or blame not of the erring
ones, but of the errors ; blaming which I [40]
thought to make them displeasing, and when they
had become displeasing, to separate them from
those who for their sake were hated by me.

Amongst which errors there was one that I
chiefly reprehended, which, inasmuch as it is
not only hurtful and perilous to those who are
involved in it, but even to the rest who repre-
hend it, I set about severing from them and
condemning. This is the error concerning
human excellence, in so far as it is sown by
nature in us, which ought to be called nobility ;
which error, by [50] evil habit and lack of
intellect, was so entrenched that the opinion of
almost everyone had thereby been falsified ; and
from false opinion sprang false judgments, and
from false judgments sprang unjust reverence
and vilipending, whereby the good were held in
base contempt, and the bad honoured and ex-
alted. Which thing was the worst confusion
in the world, as he may see who subtly con-
sidereth what may C^oJ follow therefrom. And

*30 fHE CONVIViO Ch.

Aproblem inasmuch as this my lady a little estranged her
concern- tender looks from me (especially in those parts
matter wherein I considered and searched out whether
the prime matter of the elements was under-
stood by God), therefore I abstained for a season
from frequenting her countenance, and, as
though sojourning away from her presence, I
set about contemplating in thought the defect
of men with respect to the aforesaid error.
And to [I703 avoid idleness, which is the
chief enemy of this lady, and to quench that
error which robs her of so many friends, I
purposed to cry aloud to the folk, who were
going on the wrong path, in order that they
might direct themselves on the right way ; and
I began an ode, the opening of which I said :

The siveet rhymes of love 'which I ivas zoonty

wherein it is my purpose to bring back folk to
the right way concerning the proper [Bo]
knowledge of real nobility, as may be seen by
making acquaintance with its text, on the ex-
pounding of which I am now intent. And
inasmuch as in this ode I am intent on so
needful a succour, it was not well to speak
under any figure, but it behoved me to provide
this medicine by the quick way, in order that
health, the corruption of which was hurrying to
so foul a death, might be quickly restored.
There will be no need, then \j)0~\, to disclose
any allegory in expounding it, but only to ex-
plain the sense according to the letter. By my
lady I still understand the same, of whom was
the discourse in the preceding ode, to wit, that
most virtuous light, philosophy, whose rays

I. THE FOURTH TREATISE 231

make the flowers bud, and bear as fruit that Nobility
true nobility of man, concerning which the ode
before us purposes to speak in full.

20. The real exposition. Compare II. 13 : 3.

46. I take this to mean that even those who are least
affected by this false opinion suffer from the general
confusion of judgment and moral chaos which it brings
about.

62-65. -^ misunderstanding of this passage has had
portentous consequences on the reading of Dante's mental
history. See Appendix, pp. 428-430. The word intesa
is ambiguous; it certainly cannot mean 'created,' but
it may mean either ' intended' or 'understood.' If it
means ' intended,' the question that perplexed Dante
was whether the existence of first matter was part of
the divine intention, in the sense of being one of the
things that moved God to the creation, or whether it was
merely incidentally involved in the creation, without being
itself desired on its own account. Compare III. 12 :
68 ff. If, as is more probable, it means 'understood,'
the question is a subtle one, which may well have per-
plexed the student. We understand a thing when we
know its causes and its essential nature. Now, an indi-
vidual cannot be defined. If I make two desks, indis-
tinguishable in form, out of two indistinguishable pieces
of oak, my understanding of the nature, etc., of the two
must be identical ; they are distinguished only by what
the scholastic writers call their ' numerically distinct '
material. Thus the Jcrm is the ' intelligible principle,'
and the material \i the 'individuating principle.' Now
when we go back to the prima materia, which has no
characteristics or form whatever, but is the potentiality
of everything and the actuality of nothing, it lacks the
very principle of intelligibility. In what sense, then,
if any, can God be said to understand it ? It is as if we
should ask whether God could weigh or measure a pure
spirit that has neither weight nor dimensions. It is a
purely metaphysical (or perhaps only verbal) point.

In whichever way we are to understand /«/eM, then, no
question of doctrine is involved. Moreover, if in this
passage, Dante were really referring to the question (in
dispute between Avcrroes and the Christian Aristotelians)

232 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

whether yirj? matter was created by God or was eternal
there would still be no implication in the phrase he uses
that he regarded it as an open question. For any investi-
gation (or even thesis, compare IV. 29 : 13-36) is called
a ' question ' by the Schoolmen ; and the headings of the
chapters are usually given us in the form of questions.
Thus this very matter is discussed by Thomas Aquinas
{Summa 1^ qu, 44, art. 11) under the form Utrum materia
prima iit creata a Deo — * Whether first matter was created
by God.' In pondering on this question Aquinas had no
doubt as to the answer (which had been given by the
Church), and no more need Dante have had, had he
found his ponderings on this ' question' so bewildering as
to oblige him to turn away for a time to other subjects
in order to recover intellectual tone. We have seen,
however, that the ' question ' which actually was perplex-
ing him (whatever it may have been) was not this.

CHAPTER II

[Of the division of the ode into (I.) proem and (II.)
treatise; and of the threefold division of the
proem, (a) Of his lady's sternness, (b) Of the
observations of times and seasons ; and of the
author's present purpose. Of the meaning of
' rhyme. ' Of a seeming discrepancy between the
proem and the treatise, {c) Of the author's in-
vocation of truth, and of the self-contemplation
of philosophy.]

Proem At the beginning of the exposition we have

and undertaken, the better to give to understand the

treatise meaning of the ode before us, it behoves us first

I. II. to divide it into two parts ; for in the first part

the proem is spoken, in the second the treatise

follows. And the second part begins at the

beginning of the second verse, where it says :

II. THE FOURTH TREATISE 233

A certain one held empire luho would have Of his
gentlehood. lady's

scorn
[_iO~] The first part again may be comprised I-
in three members. The first contains the reason a, b, c.
why I depart from my accustomed speech ; in
the second I say what it is my intention to treat
of; in the third I ask aid of that which may
most aid me, namely the truth. The second
member begins :

And because meseems 'tis time for waiting.

The third begins :

And at the outset I call upon that Lord.

\_^o~\ I say, then, that it behoves me to drop a.
the sweet rhymes of love which my thoughts
were wont to search out ; and I assign the
cause, when I say that it is not because I
purpose to make no more rhymes of love, but
because unwonted looks have appeared in my
lady which have bereft me of matter for speaking
of love at the present. Where, be it known,
the gestures of this lady are not here called
[303 scornful and haughty save according to
appearance ; even as in the tenth chapter of the
preceding treatise may be seen how on
another occasion I declare that the appearance
was discordant from the reality ; and how this
may be (that one same thing may be sweet and
may appear bitter, or be clear and appear ob-
scure) can there be sufficiently perceived.

Next when I say :

And because meseems 'tis time /or waiting,
I tell, as already observed, [40] whereof I 3.

234 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of times purpose to treat. And here we are not to pass
^^^ dryshod over what is implied in ' time for
^^^^'^^ waiting ' (since that is the chief cause of my
procedure), but are to consider how reasonable
it is to await the right season in all our doings,
and especially in our speech. Time, as Aristotle
says in the fourth of the Physics, is ' the enumera-
tion of movement in respect to before and after.'
It is the enumeration \_^o~\ of the movement of
the heavens, which disposes things here below
diversely to receive the several informing powers ;
for the earth is one way disposed in the
beginning of spring to receive into herself the
power that informs grasses and flowers, and
in another way in winter ; and one season is
otherwise disposed than another, with regard to
receiving the seed. And in like manner our
mind, in so far as it is based upon the composition
of our body, {jSo~\ which must needs follow the
circulation of the heavens, is one way disposed
at one time, and another at another. Wherefore
words, which are like the seed of activities, must
be very discreetly retained and let go, both in
order that they may be well received and brought
to fruit, and in order that on their own side they
fail not by sterility. And therefore forethought
as to time must be taken, both for him who
speaks and for him who is to \^']o~\ hear : for if
the speaker be disposed amiss his words are
often hurtful : and if the hearer be disposed
amiss words which are good are ill received.
And therefore Solomon says in Ecclesiastcs :
' There is a time to speak and there is a time to
be silent.' Wherefore I, feeling the disposition
to discourse of love disturbed within me, for

II. THE FOURTH TREATISE 235

the reason which has been told in the preceding Of rhyme
chapter, thought fit to wait on time, which
brings [^8oJ with it the goal of every longing,
and comes of itself, as though with a gift, to
those who grudge not to wait. Wherefore says
St. James the Apostle in his Epistle in the fifth
chapter : ' Behold the husbandman waiteth for
the precious fruit of the earth, patiently enduring
until he receive the early and later.' For well-
nigh all our troubles, if we come to look at their
origins rightly, proceed \j)0~\ in a way from not
knowing how to handle time.

I say that since it seems well to wait, I will
lay down, that is to say I will let be, ' my tender
style,' that is the tender fashion I have observed
in discoursing of love, and I declare that

/ ivill tell of the ivorth

whereby man is truly * gentle.' And whereas
' worth ' may be understood in sundry ways,
here * worth ' is taken as a capacity of nature, or
an excellence given by her, as will be seen
below. And I [looj promise to treat of this
matter with subtle and harsh rhyme. For we
are to know that rhyme can be understood in
two ways, that is to say a larger and a narrower.
In the narrow sense it means that harmony
which it is the custom to make in the last
syllable and the last but one. In the larger
sense it means that whole way of discourse
which, in regulated numbers and time, falls into
rhymed consonance. And it is so that it is to
be taken and [[iio] understood in this proem.
And therefore it says ' harsh ' in so far as it
refers to the sound of the composition, which to

236 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

True suit so weighty a subject should not be smooth ;
and false and it says ' subtle ' with reference to the mean-
juagment jj^g ^^ ^^^ words, which proceed by subtle argu-
ment and disputation.
And I add :

Refuting the judgment false and base,

where there is a further promise to refute the
judgment of folk filled with error : * false,' that
is remote from truth ; and ' base,' [120^ that is
established and confirmed by baseness of mind.
And heed must be given to this, that in this
proem the promise is first to treat of the true and
then to refute the false ; and in the treatise the
opposite is done ; for first the false is refuted,
and then the true is handled ; which seems not
to correspond to the promise. And therefore be
it known that though both the one and the
other be intended, the chief intention is to treat
of the true ; and to refute [130] the false is so
far intended as it conduces to making the truth
more plainly appear. And here the promise to
treat of the truth comes first, as the main intent,
which brings to the mind of the hearers the
longing to hear ; in the treatise the false is first
refuted in order that when wrong opinions have
been dis-ipated the truth may be more freely
received. And this method was observed by
the master of human reason, Aristotle, who
always first [^140] fought with the opponents of
the truth, and then, when they had been con-
victed, demonstrated the truth.
<:• Finally, when I say :

And at the outset I call upon that Lord,

II. THE FOURTH TREATISE 237

I summon truth to be with me, which is that Philo-
Lord who dwelleth in the eyes, to wit, in the sophy
demonstrations, of philosophy. And verily the ^ "^^a'
truth is Lord, for when espoused thereto the
mind is Lat/y, and otherwise she is a servant,
without all liberty.
[[150]] And it says:

So that of herself she is enamoured,

because philosophy, which, as was said in the
preceding treatise, is * the loving exercise of
wisdom,' contemplates herself when the beauty
of her eyes is revealed to herself. And what
else is this but to say that the philosophising soul
not only contemplates the truth, but also con-
templates its own contemplation and the beauty
thereof, []i6oJ turning upon itself and enamour-
ing itself of itself by reason of the beauty of its
direct contemplation ? And thus ends what the
text of the present treatise brings, by way of
proem, in three members.

47-52. In the Piysics, Aristotle discusses the con-
ceptions of time, space and mo-vemefit, showing that the
definition of any one of them involves our already having
a conception of some other. Time is the enumeration, or
succession, of movement, and the succession of the heavenly
movements is the basis of all measurements of time.
Compare Paradise, XXVII. 109-120.

67. A word spoken out of season may be inherently
sterile, whatever goodwill the hearer may have.

87. That is, the earlier and the later fruit, or crops.

152. See III. 12 : 94, 95. Compare 14: 6-10.

238 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER III

[(II.) Ofthethreefold division of the substantive portion
of the ode. {a) False opinions as to nobility. (3)
The true doctrine, (c) The tornata. (a) And first
(o) the statement, and then (j8) the refutation of the
false opinions, (a) The distinction between (i. ) the
false opinion of the Emperor Frederick, and (ii.)
the more worthless variation upon it by others.
Digression on the seeming support that these
opinions derive from the authority of Aristotle,
and from the imperial majesty. And first of this
latter.

Of subtle Having inspected the meaning of the proem,

divisions {}^g treatise is to follow ; and the better to show

it forth it behoves to divide it into its chief

II. parts, which are three : for in the first nobility

a, b, c. is treated according to the opinions of others ; in

the second it is treated according to the true

opinion ; in the third the speech is directed to

the ode, by way of a certain adorning of what

has been said. \j-0~\ The second part begins :

/ affirm that every virtue in principle.

The third begins :

Against the erring ones take thou thy ivay,
my ode.

And after these general sections other divi-
sions must needs be made, rightly to apprehend
the meaning which is to be set forth. And let
none marvel if we proceed by means of many
divisions ; inasmuch as it is a great and lofty work
that is now under our hands, and little investi-
gated by authors ; nor let them marvel [^2oJ that
the treatise whereon I am now entering must

III. THE FOURTH TREATISE 239

needs be long and subtle, to unravel the text per- Frederick
fectly according to the meaning which it bears. ofSwabia

I say then that this first part is now to be a.
divided into two : for in the first are laid down a, ^.
the opinions of others ; in the second they are
refuted ; and this second part begins :

He ivho defines : ' Man is a living trunk.'

Q30] Again, what is still left as the first part a.
has two members : the first is the definition of i. ii.
the opinion of the Emperor ; the second is the
variation on his opinion by the vulgar herd,
which is bare of all reason. This second
member begins :

yind some other 'was there of lighter wisdom.

I say then : i-

y/ certain one held empire^

that is to say, such an one exercised the imperial
office. And here be it known that Frederick
of Swabia, the last emperor of the Romans
[^403 (1 say the last up to the present time,
notwithstanding that Rudolf and Adolf and
Albert have been elected since his death and that
of his descendants), when asked what gentle-
hood was, answered that it was * ancient wealth
and gracious manners.' And I say that ii.

Some other was there of lighter wisdom j

who, weighing and turning about this definition
on every side, cut oiF the last clause, to wit, the
' gracious manners,' and clung to the first [^50],
to wit, the * ancient wealth.' And as the text
seems to conjecture, it was haply because he

240 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Supports himself had not fair manners, that, not wishing
of the to lose the name of gentlehood, he defined it

ooinions according as it made for him, to wit the pos-
session of ' ancient wealth.' And I declare
that this opinion is that of almost every one,
saying that after him went all those who hold
one gentle because he springs from a race that
has long been rich ; inasmuch as almost all bark
out this.

[603 These two opinions, although the one, as
has been said, is utterly to be neglected, seem to
have two weighty reasons to support them. The
first is the Philosopher's declaration that what is
the opinion of the majority cannot be absolutely
false ; the second is the most excellent authority
of the imperial majesty. And that the power
of the truth which confutes all authority may be
the better seen, I purpose to expound how sup-
porting and weighty is each [_Jo'] one of these
reasons.

And in the first place, we can have no know-
ledge concerning the imperial authority, unless
its roots be found. And these we must expressly
handle in a special chapter.

(i) is not taken up till p. 309. See analytical note at
the end of this treatise.

28. (j3) is taken up parenthetically on p. 259, and
regularly on p. 276.

38. Frederick the Second, 1194-1250 a.d. King of
Sicily and Naples from 1197, and Emperor from 1212.
The best accounts of him for the purpose of the student
of Dante will be found in the pages ofVillani. (^Selec-
tions from the Chronicles of Villani. Selfe & Wicksteed.
Constable).

64. There are several passages in Aristotle which
Dante may have had in his mind, but probably he was
thinking of Ethics, VII. xiv. : 5 ! Fama autem non omnino

IV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 241

pcrdltur quam populi ntulti famant, which is really a quo-
tation (from Hesiod), though there was nothing in the
translation to enable Dante to recognise it as such. It is
extremely strange that Dante has overlooked the fact that
the very portion of Frederick's definition which he
criticises is directly taken from Aristotle himself. ('For
nobility is ancient wealth and virtue,' Pol, IV. viii. : 9.)
This fact destroys the whole of his elaborate evasion of
the charge of recalcitrance against due authority, and
would throw him back on his nobler principle of the
victorious truth, above all authority. Compare IV. 3 :
43-45 ; 9 : 167-173 ; 10 : 9-12, 54-65 ; see Appendix,
p. 427.

CHAPTER IV

[Of the need of a supreme head to regulate human
affairs. That the Roman empire was established
to meet this need ; two great proofs of which
shall be shown in the next chapter.]

The root foundation of the imperial majesty is Of human
in truth the necessity of human civility ; which civihty
is ordained for a certain end, to wit the life of
felicity ; to the which no man is sufficient to
attain by himself without the aid of any, inas-
much as man hath need of many things which
no one is able to provide alone.

Wherefore the Philosopher saith that man is
by nature a \_io~\ social animal. And as an in-
dividual man requires the companionship of home
and household for his completeness, so likewise a
household requires a district for its completeness,
since otherwise it would suffer many defects which
would be a hindrance to felicity. And since a
district cannot satisfy itself in everything, needs
must there be a city for its satisfaction. And
Q

242 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The evil further the city requires for its arts and for its
of wars (Jefence Q203 to have mutual relations and
brotherhood with the neighbouring cities ;
wherefore the kingdom was instituted. And
inasmuch as the human mind rests not in the
limited possession of land, but ever, as we see
by experience, desires to acquire more territory,
needs must discords and wars arise betwixt
kingdom and kingdom. Which things are the
tribulations of cities, and through the cities of
districts, and through the districts of households,
and [[303 through the households of man ;
and thus is felicity impeded. Wherefore to
abolish these wars and their causes needs must
all the earth and whatsoever is given to the
generations of men for a possession be a mon-
archy, that is one single princedom having one
prince ; who, possessing all things and not being
able to desire more, shall keep the kings con-
tented within the boundaries of their kingdoms,
so that there shall be peace between them, in
[^40] which peace the cities may have rest, and
in this rest the districts may love one another,
and in this love the households may receive
whatsoever they need, and when they have
received this, man may live in felicity, which
is that whereto man was born.

And upon these arguments the words of the
Philosopher may be brought to bear, which he
utters in the Politics, that when divers things
are ordained for one end, one of them must be
the ruler or guide, and all the rest must be ruled
or [50] guided by it. Even as we see in a ship
that the divers offices and divers ends of it are
ordained to one single end, to wit the making

IV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 243

of the desired port by a prosperous voyage ; Unity of
wherein, like as each officer regulates his proper command
function to its proper end, there is one who
considers all these ends and regulates them with
a view to the final end ; and he is the ship-
master, whose voice all are bound to obey.
And we see the same [[60]] thing in religious
orders, and in armies, and in all things which are
ordained, as aforesaid, to some end. Whereby
it may be manifestly seen that for the perfection
of the universal religious order of the human
race it behoves that there should be one, as
shipmaster, who, considering the diverse con-
ditions of the world, and ordaining the diverse
and necessary offices, should have the universal
and indisputable office of commanding the whole.
And this office [^703 is called by pre-eminence
empire, without any qualification, because it is
the command of all the other commands. And
hence he who is appointed to this office is called
emperor because he is the commander who issues
all the commands. And what he says is law
to all, and he ought to be obeyed by all, and
every other command draws its strength and
authority from his. And thus it is manifest
that the imperial [80]] majesty and authority is
the loftiest in the fellowship of man.

But some might cavil and say that although
the office of empire be necessary for the world
yet it follows not that reason requires the
authority of the roman prince is to be supreme
(which is the point we have to make) ; but that
the Roman power was acquired not by reason
nor by decree of universal consent, but by (^903
force, which seems to be the contrary of reason.

244 THE CONVIVIO Cm,

Authority To this we may answer readily that the election
of Rome gf ^his supreme officer must needs proceed, in
the first instance, from the counsel which maketh
provision for all, to wit from God ; since the
election would else not have been equal for all ;
since, before the above-said officer, there was no
one giving his mind to the general good. And
because there never was, nor shall ever be, a
nature more sweet in the exercise of lordship,
more firm [1003 in its maintenance, nor more
subtle in acquiring it than the nature of the
Latin folk, (as may be seen by experience), and
especially that of the hallowed people in whom
the high Trojan blood was infused, God chose
that people for such office. So we see that
since it might not be attained without the greatest
virtue, nor exercised without the greatest and
most humane [iioj benignity, this was the
people who was best disposed to it. Wherefore
at the beginning the Roman people got it not
by force, but by the divine providence which
transcends all reason. And herein doth Virgil
agree, in the first of the JEneid^ where, speaking
in the person of God, he says : ' To them (to
wit, to the Romans) I assign no limit of things
nor of time. To them have I given empire
without end.' Force then n^^oj was not the
moving cause, as the caviller supposed, but was
the instrumental cause, even as the blows of the
hammer are the cause of the knife, whereas the
mind of the smith is the efficient and moving
cause. And thus not force but reason, and
moreover divine reason, was the beginning of
the Rome empire. And that this is so may be
seen by two most manifest reasons, which show

IV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 245

that this city was imperial, and had [[1303 divinely
special birth and special progress from God. conferred
But inasmuch as this may not be handled in
the present chapter without excess of length,
and long chapters are the foes of memory, 1
will make a further digression of another chapter
to set forth the arguments indicated above. Nor
will this be without profit and much delight.

On the relation of this and the following chapter to
the De Monarc/iia, see Appendix, p. 425.

3. Human ci-vility, i.e., man's existence as a citizen.
Compare ParaJiso, VIII. 115 f. An elementary society
might be based on difference of sex and age only, but not
a ci-vility.

36. Pf^Ao, possessing all things, etc. This argument
is developed at greater length in the De MonarcAia, I.
11: 38 ff. It is borrowed from Aristotle. He does
not use it in the Politics, but treating of government
incidentally in the EtAics (VIII. xii. (x.), 2), he says :
' For he only is a king who is an autocrat and who has
command of all things desired ; and such an one, being
in need of nothing, would not seek his own advantage,
but that of his subjects.'

64. Universal religious order. See Appendix, p. 426.

70. Empire. Lutin, imperium=' command.'

97. Until the Emperor was established, there was no
one who aimed impartially at the good of humanity at
large ; and therefore until there was an emperor there
was no one qualified to elect an emperor. From this
vicious circle there was no escape except by divine
appointment.

246 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER V

[(a) The divine origin of the Roman empire manifested
chiefly (i.) in the coincidence of time between the
birth of David, the founder of the family whence
Mary sprang, and the coming to Italy of yEneas,
the founder of the Roman empire, and (ii.) the
coincidence between the birth of Christ and the
perfection of the Roman empire under Augustus.
And. (b) the divine growth of the Roman empire
manifested (i. ) by the divine virtue of her citizens,
and (ii. ) by the divine miracles and favours that
protected her. ]

Heaven It is no marvel if the divine providence, which
and earth utterly surpasses angelic and human perception,
proceeds many times by ways hidden to us ; in-
[a. asmuch as even human operations many times
conceal their purport from men themselves. But
it is matter for great marvel if ever the working
out of the eternal counsel proceeds so manifestly
that [lo] our reason discerns it.

Wherefore, at the beginning of this chapter, I
may speak with the mouth of Solomon, who
saith in his Proverbs^ in the person of wisdom :
' Hearken ! for I am to speak of great things.'
[i. When the immeasurable divine goodness willed
to reconform to itself the human creature
(which was parted from God by the sin of the
disobedience of the first man, [20~\ and thereby
deformed), it was appointed in the most lofty
and united divine consistory of the Trinity that
the Son of God should descend to earth to effect
this harmony. And inasmuch as at his coming
into the world it was meet that not only heaven
but earth should be in its best disposition, — and

V. THE FOURTH TREATISE 247

the best disposition of earth is v/hen it is a Founding
monarchy, that is to say, when it is all subject to o^ Troy
one prince, as aforesaid, [30] — therefore that ^~^|\,
people and that city who were destined to bring jj^g
this about, (to wit the glorious Rome), were or-
dained by the divine providence. And because
the abode wherein the celestial king must enter
ought to be most clean and pure there was like-
wise ordained a most holy family from the which
after many merits should be born a woman
supremely good amongst all the rest, who should
be the treasure house of the Son of God. And
this family is [^403 that of David. And the
triumph and honour of the human race, Mary to
wit, was born from it. Wherefore it is written
in Isaiah ' a rod shall spring out of the root of
Jesse and a flower shall spring up from his root.'
And Jesse was the father of the above- said
David. And it was all at the same point of
time wherein David was born and Rome was
born, that is to say -£neas came into Italy from
Troy, which was the origin of the most noble
city of Rome, [50] as testify the scriptures.
Whereby the divine election of the Roman
empire is manifest enough ; to wit by the birth
of the holy city being at the same time as the
root of the family of Mary. And incidentally
we may note that since the heaven itself began
to roll it ne'er was in better disposition than at
the time when he who made it and who rules it
came down below ; as even now by virtue of
their [60] arts the mathematicians may retrace.
Nor was the world ever so perfectly disposed, U.]
nor shall be again, as then when it was guided
by the voice of one sole prince and commander

248 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Universal of the Roman people, as Luke the evangelist
peace beareth witness. And therefore there was uni-
versal peace which never was before nor shall be,
and the ship of the human fellowship was speed-
ing straight to the due port in tranquil voyage.
Oh ineffable and C70J incomprehensible wisdom
of God, which against thy coming into Syria
didst make so great preparation beforehand in
heaven above and here in Italy ; and oh most
foolish and vilest brutes, pasturing in the sem-
blance of men, who presume to discourse against
our faith, and with your spinning and delving
would fain know what God hath ordained with
so great wisdom ! Cursed be ye, and your pre-
sumption, and whoso believeth on you !
[b. C^^II And, as hath been said before at the
end of the preceding chapter, not only had she a
[i. special birth from God but special progress ; for
briefly beginning from Romulus, who was her first
father, until her most perfect age, that is to say
the time of the aforesaid emperor, she advanced
not by human but by divine activities. For if
we consider the seven kings who first [903
governed her, Romulus, Numa, TuUus, Ancus
and the Tarquin kings, who were like the
guardians and protectors of her childhood, we
may find from the scriptures of the Roman
histories, and especially from Titus Livius, that
they were all of diverse nature according to the
needs of the period of time which was proceeding
in their day. Then if we consider her more
advanced youth, when she was emancipated from
the guardianship of royalty by Brutus, the first
[[looj consul, even until Caesar, the first supreme
prince, we shall find that she was uplifted not by

V. THE FOURTH TREATISE 249

human but by divine citizens, into whom was Divine
inspired not human but divine love, in their love citizens of
of her. And this could not nor might not be, *^o™c
save for some special end, purposed by God in
so great an infusion of heaven. And who shall
say that it was without divine inspiration that
Fabricius refused an almost infinite quantity of
gold because he would not [no] abandon bis
fatherland ; that Curius, whom the Samnites
tried to corrupt, refused a huge mass of gold for
love of his fatherland, saying that the Roman
citizens desired to possess not gold but the
possessors of the gold ; that Mutius burnt his
own hand because he had missed the blow
whereby he had thought to deliver Rome ?
Who shall say of Torquatus, who judged his
own son to death for [120] love of the public
good, that he endured this without divine help ?
And the above-said Brutus, in like manner ?
Who shall say it of the Decii and of the Drusi,
who laid down their life for their country ? And
of the captive Regulus, sent from Carthage to
Rome to exchange the captive Carthaginians
against himself and the other captive Romans,
who shall say that when the legation had with-
drawn, the advice he gave, for love of Rome,
against himself, was prompted only by human
nature? [1303 Who shall say of Quintus
Cincinnatus, who was appointed dictator and
taken from the plough, and after his term of
office laid it down of his own accord, and went
back to his ploughing ; who shall say of Camillus,
banished and cast into exile, that he came to
free Rome from her foes, and when he had freed ,

her withdrew of his own will into exile so as not

250 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Divine to offend the authority of the senate, without
protection divine instigation? [140] O most hallowed
of Rome bogQj^ of Cato, who shall presume to speak of
thee ? Verily none can speak of thee more
worthily than by keeping silence, and following
the example of Jerome, who in his proem to the
Bible, where he comes to tell of Paul, says that
it were better to hold one's peace than to come
short in speech. Of a surety it must be manifest,
when we remember the life of these and of the
other divine citizens, that not without some light
of the divine goodness, superadded to the ex-
cellence of their own nature, [150] such marvels
[ii. were done. And it must be manifest that these
most excellent ones were instruments wherewith
the divine providence proceeded in the Roman
empire, wherein many a time the arm of God
was seen to be present. And did not God set
his own hand to the battle in which the Albans
fought with the Romans, at the beginning, for
the headship of rule, when one only Roman held
in his hands the [1603 freedom of Rome:
Did not God interpose with his own hand when
the Franks had taken all Rome and were seizing
the capitol by stealth at night, and only the voice
of a goose gave notice of it ! Did not God
interpose with his own hand when in the war of
Hannibal so many citizens had perished that
three bushels of rings were carried off to Africa,
and the Romans were ready to abandon their
land had not that blessed [1703 Scipio, young
as he was, undertaken his expedition into Africa
for the deliverance of Rome ? And did not
God interpose with his own hand when a recent
citizen, of small estate, TuUy to wit, defended

VI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 251

the liberty of Rome against so great a citizen as Rever-
was Catiline ? Yea, verily. Wherefore we ®**ce for
need demand no more in order to see that a **°'"®
special birth and special progress, thought out
and ordained by God, was that of the holy city.
[|i8o3 And verily I am of firm opinion that
the stones that are fixed in her walls are worthy
of reverence, and the soil where she sits more
worthy than man can preach or prove.

91. Probably the right reading is // re Tarquinii, not /;'
tre Tarquinii, following ^neid, VI. 8i8. In either case
Dante must have intended to include Servius Tullus as a
Tarquin (Toynbee).

170. Scipione g'wvane. This cannot be rendered
' Scipio the younger,' for the reference is to the elder
Scipio Africanus, who was thirty at the time here referred
to. Compare Paradiso, VI. 52, 53.

CHAPTER VI

[Of authority, and to whom it pertains. Of the
authority of one artificer over another, and of
Aristotle as the supreme artificer, who, contem-
plating the supreme goal of hfe, hath authority
over all the rest. Of the union and divorce of
philosophy and temporal power.]

Above, in the third chapter of this treatise, pro- Authority
raise was given to discourse of the loftiness of
the imperial authority and of the philosophic.
And therefore, having discussed of the imperial
authority, my digression must further proceed to
the inspection of that of the philosopher, accord-
ing to the promise made. And our first busi-
ness here is to see what * authority ' means,
because there Qio^ is more need of knowing it ,

here than in the discourse concerning the

252 THE CONVIVIO Ch

Of poetic imperial authority, which by reason of its
authors majesty does not seem to be questioned.

Be it known, then, that ' authority ' is nought
else than the act of an author. This word (to
wit auctor, without the third letter c) may spring
from two principles ; the one is that of a verb,
dropped very much out of use in Latin, which
signifies [20] as much as ' binding words to-
gether,' to wit auieo. And whoso regards it
well, in its first form, will clearly perceive that
it shows its own meaning, for it is made of
nought save the bonds of words, that is to
say of the five vowels alone, which are the soul
and juncture of every word ; and it is composed
of them in lithe manner, to figure the image
of the tie. For beginning with a it turns
thence to u, and then goes straight by / to ^,
whence it goes back and [30] returns to 0,
so that truly they image forth this figure,

which is the figure of a tie. And in as far as
• author ' is derived and descends from this verb,
it is understood only of poets, who have bound
their words with the art of music : and with this
significance we are not at present concerned.

The other principle whence * author ' descends,
according to the testimony of Uguccione in the
[[403 beginning of his Derivations^ is a Greek

VI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 253

word which is called ' autentin,' which is as Of Aris-
much as to say in Latin, ' worthy of faith and totle's
of obedience.' Thus ' author,' so derived, is *"'"0"'y
understood of every person worthy of being
believed and obeyed. And hence comes that
word of which we are treating, namely, ' author-
ity ' ; whereby we may see that * authority ' is
as much as ' utterance worthy of faith and of
obedience.'

[50] It is manifest that Aristotle is most
worthy of faith and of obedience. And that
his words are the supreme and most lofty
authority may be thus proved : Amongst the
workers and artificers of divers arts and opera-
tions which are ordained for one linal operation
or art, the artificer or operator of that final art
should be mainly obeyed and trusted by all, as he
who alone considers the ultimate goal of all the
other goals. Wherefore the sword-maker f 6oj
and the rein and saddle-maker and the shield-
maker should trust the cavalier, and so should
all those trades which are ordained for the art of
chivalry. And inasmuch as all human activities
demand one goal, to wit the goal of human life,
whereto man is ordained as man, the master
and artificer who explains and considers this
should be mainly obeyed and trusted ; and this
is Aristotle : therefore [70] he is most worthy
of iaith and of obedience. And to perceive
how Aristotle is the master and leader of the
human reason, inasmuch as he is intent upon
its conclusive activity, it behoves us to know
that this our goal, which each one naturally
desires, was sought for in very ancient times
by the sages. And inasmuch as they who desire

254 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of the this goal are so numerous, and the appetites differ

goal of in almost every single case, though [So'] there

be one universal goal, yet was it right hard to

discern it, as that wherein every human appetite

would find direct repose.

There were then certain very ancient philo-
sophers, of whom the first and chief was Zeno,
whose view and belief was that the goal of this
human life is solely rigid integrity ; that is to
say rigidly to pursue truth and justice, without
respect to aught ; to show no grief, to show
Il9°3 gladness at nothing, to have no sense of
any emotion. And this is how they defined
this integrity, * That which, apart from utility
and apart from result, is, for its own sake, to be
praised by reason.' And they and their sect
were called Stoics, and of them was that glorious
Cato of whom I dared not to speak above.

There were other philosophers whose view
and belief was different from theirs ; and of these
the first and chief was a philosopher who was
[^looj called Epicurus ; who, seeing that every
animal as soon as it is born, and as though
directed by nature to the due goal shuns pain
and seeks pleasure, said that this our goal was
voluptuary ( I do not say ' voluntary ' but write
it with a />), that is to say, delight without pain.
And moreover, between delight and pain he
placed no middle term, saying that * voluptuous '
was no other than ' without pain ' ; as Tully
seems to recount in the [ 1 1 o^ first of the Goal
of Good. And of these, who are called Epi-
cureans after Epicurus, was Torquatus, the noble
Roman, descended from the blood of the glorious
Torquatus of whom I made mention above.

VI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 255

There were others — and they took their rise The aca-
from Socrates, and then from his successor demicians
Plato — who, looking more subtly, and seeing f",j ■'"^s-
and perceiving that in our activities we might
and did err by excess and [120] by defect,
said that activity without excess and without
defect, according to the standard of the mean
selected by our choice, which is virtue, was that
goal whereof we are at present discoursing.
And they called it ' virtuous activity.' These
were called the Academicians (of whom were
Plato and his nephew Speusippus), so called
because of the place where Plato studied, to wit
the Academy ; and they did not take their name
from Socrates because [^1303 in his philosophy
nothing was affirmed.

But Aristotle, whose surname was Stagirites,
and Xenocrates the Chalcedonian, his com-
panion, by means of the almost divine intellect
which nature had imparted to Aristotle, coming
to knowledge of this goal pretty much by the
method of Socrates and the Academicians, put
the finishing touches on moral philosophy and
brought it to perfection, especially Aristotle.
And because Aristotle set the fashion of dis-
coursing [^1403 while walking backwards and
forwards they were called (I mean he and his
companions) ' Peripatetics,' which is as much
as to say • they who walk about.' And because
the perfection of this moral science was brought
to its limit by Ajistotle the name of the Acade-
micians was quenched, and all they who learnt
from this sect were called Peripatetics ; and
these yet hold sway over the world every-
where in teaching, and their doctrine may in a

256 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Philo- way be called the [ 1 503 Catholic opinion ;
sophic whereby it may be seen that Aristotle is he
imoerial ^^^'^ directs and conducts folk to this goal ; and
authority ^^^^ '^^ what we wished to show.

Wherefore, to sum up, my main contention is
now obvious, namely, that the authority of the
supreme philosopher, with whom we are now
concerned, is in full and complete vigour. And
it is not opposed to the imperial authority, but
the latter without the former is perilous and the
former without the latter [[i6oj has a kind of
weakness, not in itself but because of the dis-
orderliness of men, so that when the one is
bound up with the other they are most profitable
and full of all vigour. And therefore it is
written in that of Wisdom, ' Love the light of
wisdom all ye who are before the peoples,'
which is to say, ' Let the philosophical authority
unite with imperial, for good and perfect rule.'
Oh wretched ye who at the present rule ! (and
oh most wretched [170] ye who are ruled !)
for no philosophic authority unites with your
government, neither by your proper study nor
by the counsel of others, so that that word of
Ecclesiastes applies to all, 'Woe to thee, O
land, whose king is a child, and whose princes
rise up early to feast ' ; and to no land may what
follows be addressed, * Blessed is the land whose
king is noble and whose princes eat in due
season for necessity and not for luxury.' \^i %o~\
Give heed who be at your sides, ye enemies of
Godjwhohave grasped the rods of thegovernments
of Italy. It is to you, Charles and Frederick,
kings, and to you others, chiefs and tyrants,
that I am speaking. Behold who sit by your

VI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 257

side to give counsel, and count how many times The goal
in the day this goal of human life is pointed out o( life
to you by your counsellors. Better were it for
you to fly low like a swallow than like the
kite to make the loftiest wheeling over [[190J
vilest things.

20 fF. Dante's authority for this extraordinary (and
non-existent) verb is the Uguccione (died 1210 a.d.),
mentioned a little further down in this chapter. He
■was the author of a work entitled Magnae Deri'vationes,
which Dante uses very freely (Toynbee). In speaking
of this verb Uguccione calls it defecti-vum, or defective,
which Dante appears to have understood as ' lapsed ' or
'obsolescent.' By its 'first form' I suppose him to
mean the first person singular present indicative active.
In line 31 the manuscripts simply give the vowels in
their ordinary succession — a, e, i, o, u. I have inserted
the tie as described by Dante.

49. Utterance Italian, atto, a word which has a wide
range of meaning. Here I take it to mean ' expression '
or 'utterance.' Compare IV. 25 : 20, note.

60. It is one of Aristotle's principles that the ultimate
judge of anything is the person who is to use it. The
man who is to live in a house, not the architect, is the
judge of a good house. The man who is to live in a
state, not the man who is to govern it, is the judge of
good government.

104. Fo/a/'Wf = ' pleasure.' Some little wrenching
has been necessary to retain the relation between -volup-
tade and -uoluntade in the translation.

147. The Christian Aristotelians, such as Albertus and
Thomas, were commonly spoken of as Peripatetics in
Dante's day.

182. Charles is Charles II. of Naples, known as Carlo
Zoppo. Born 1243, succeeded to the throne 1285, died
May 6th 1309. He is frequently mentioned by Dante,
almost always with contempt. Compare Paradiso, IX.
1-6, note. Frederick is Frederick II. of Sicily, reigned
1296-1337 A.D., born 1272 A.D., son of Peter the Third
of Aragon and of Constance, daughter of Manfred (to be
carefully di8ting:uished from his great grandfather, the
R

258 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Emperor Frederick II., son of another Constance, who
was also king of Sicily and Naples). On Dante's
mentions of him see Paradiso, XIX. 130-132, noz-f. A
comparison of the De Vulgari Eloquentia, I. 12 : 35-40 is
instructive. There the same two kings are spoken of
with scorn, and are coupled with John, Marquis of
Montferrat (in power 1292-1305), and Azzo of Ferrara
(in power 1293-Jan. 31st, 1308). On the bearing of this
passage on the date of the Coni/i-vio see Appendix, p. 423.

CHAPTER VII

[(j3) The protest, out of due order, against the opinion
of the multitude, and how he whom they call
noble is oftentimes basest of all.]

The Since we have seen how the imperial and the
opinion of philosophical authority, which seemed to support
tne vulgar ^.j^^ opinions before us, are to be reverenced, we
are now to return to the direct path of our con-
templated progress. I say, then, that this last
opinion of the vulgar has become so inured that
without inspection of any argument everyone is
called gentle who is son or grandson [[10 j of any
worthy man, although he himself be of nought.
And this is where it says :

j4nd so inured is such false thought

amongst us, that folk call that man a

gentleman, 'who can aver : ' / luas grand-

son or son of such an one of ivorth,' though he

himself be nought.

Wherefore be it noted that it is most perilous
neglect to suffer a false opinion to gain footing ;
for just as grass multiplies in an uncultivated

VII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 259

field and mounts up [^203 and overwhelms the Im-

ears of corn, so that when one looks from a dis- patience

tance the corn may not be seen, and the fruit is protest

finally lost, so false opinion in the mind, if not

chastised and corrected, grows and multiplies so

that the ear of reason, to wit the right opinion,

is concealed and, as it were, buried and lost. Oh

how great a thing have I undertaken in this ode,

desiring now to cleanse so weedy a field as this

[^303 of the common opinion, so long neglected

of this tillage. Verily I purpose not to cleanse

it throughout, but only in those parts where the

ears of reason are not utterly suppressed ; that is

to say, I purpose to set right those in whom some

glimmering of reason still survives, in virtue of

their favoured nature : for of the rest no more

heed is to be taken than of brute beasts ; because

it seems to me no less a miracle [40] to bring

a man back to reason when it has been utterly

quenched, than to bring back to life him who

has been four days in the tomb.

When the evil state of this opinion of the /3.
people has been related, the ode, clean out of the
order of the refutation, incontinently smites it as
a hideous thing, crying : 1=

But basest doth he seem to whoso looks on truth,

to give to understand its intolerable pernicious-
ness, asserting that such as say so lie {_^o~\ to
the very uttermost ; for he is not only base
(that is ungentle) but the very basest, who
is descended from good forebears but is himself
bad. And I give an illustration from a way
that has been pointed out ; concerning which
(to make it clear) I must put a question and

26o THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The answer it, as follows : There is a plain, with
snow- certain fields and footways — with hedges, ditches,
covered bQu](iei-Sj logs, and well-nigh every kind of
obstruction, save on its narrow [603 footways —
and it has snowed so that the snow covers up
everything, and gives it the same aspect all
over, so that no trace of any path is to be seen.
A man comes from one side of the plain and
desires to go to a house that is on the other
side, and by his own ingenuity, that is, by his
perception and the excellence of his wit, guided
by himself alone, he goes by the direct path to
the place he purposes, leaving the footprints of
his steps behind him. [_']0'2 After him comes
another and wishes to go to the same house, and
needs only to follow the footprints already left ;
and by his own fault that path which the other
had contrived to find for himself, without guid-
ance, this man loses, although he has guidance,
and he twists about amongst the thorns and the
ruins, and reaches not the quarter where he
should go. Which of these should be called
worthy ? I answer : he who went before.
And what should this second one be called i I
answer : [80] most base. Wherefore is he not
called ' not worthy,' that is base ? I answer :
because he should be called ' not worthy,' that is
base, who having no guidance should not journey
rightly ; but because this man had guidance his
error and his fault cannot be exceeded, and
therefore he is to be called, not base but basest.
And thus he who is ennobled in race, by his
father or by some forebear, and perseveres not
therein, is not only [90] base, but basest,
and worthy of all scorn and vituperation,

VIT. THE FOURTH TREATISE 261

more than any other churl. And that men How the
should be on their guard against this lowest base- degener-
ness, Solomon, in the twenty-second chapter of f; ^ ^ ^^
the Proverbs, bids him who has had a worthy dead
forebear : ' Pass not the ancient boundaries
which thy fathers set up,' and earlier, in the
fourth chapter of the said book, he declares :
* The path of the just,' that is of the worthy,
' goeth forward [^loo]] as a shining light, and
that of the wicked is darkened, and they know
not whither they plunge.' And finally, when it
says :

And he hits nigh to tuho should be a corpse
yet walk the earth,

I say, to his further disgrace, that such a basest
one is dead, though he seem alive. And here
be it known that a bad man may rightly be
called dead, and especially he who departs from
the true path of his worthy forebear. And this
may be demonstrated fix ©3 thus: as Aristotle
says in the second Of the Soul, life is the being
of the thing that is alive, and since life is after
many fashions (as in plants to vegetate, in
animals to vegetate and feel, in men to vegetate,
feel, move, and reason or understand), and things
should be named from their most noble part, it is
clear that life in animals (I mean brute animals)
is feeling, and life in man is [1203 exercising
the reason. Therefore, if his life is the being of
man, renouncing the exercise of reason is renounc-
ing his existence, and so it is being dead. And
does not he renounce the exercise of reason who
gives himself no account of the goal of his life ?
And does not he renounce the exercise of his

262 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The beast reason who gives himself no account of the
lives but path he ought to take ? Assuredly he does,
i^d^^ and this is most manifest in him who has the
footprints before him and regards them not ;
and therefore Solomon [^130] says in the fifth
chapter of the Proverbs : ' He shall die, because
he had no discipline ; and in the multitude of
his foolishness shall he be deceived' ; that is to
say : He is dead who does not become a dis-
ciple, and who follows not the master. And
such an one is most base. And of him some
may say : * How is he dead and yet walks ? '
I answer that the man is dead, but the beast
survives. For, as says the Philosopher in the
second Of the Soul, [^1403 the powers of the
soul are graded, as the figure of the quadrangle
is of higher grade than the triangle and the
pentagon of higher grade than the quadrangle,
thus the sensitive is of higher grade than the
vegetative, and the intellectual of higher grade
than the sensitive ; and so, just as if you with-
draw the last side of a pentagon you have a
quadrangle left, but no longer a pentagon, so if
you withdraw the last power of the soul, that
is the reason, the man is no longer left, but
[[150]] something with a sensitive soul only;
that is, a brute animal. And this is the mean-
ing of the second verse of the ode we have in
hand, wherein are laid down the opinions of
others.

44 fF. Clean out of the order, etc. The formal refutation
does not begin till chapter x,

III fF. That is to say 'to be alive' is the first 'per-
fection ' or * entelechy ' of an orgariised being which is a
fit subject of life. Compare II. 14 : 26, note.

vni. THE FOURTH TREATISE 263
CHAPTER VIII

[How the authority of Aristotle does not in truth
support the popular error. And under what
conditions a man may withhold his assent from
an emperor's saying without irreverence towards
the imperial majesty.]

The fairest branch that rises from the root of Ofdiscri-
reason is discrimination ; for, as Thomas says "imating
in prologue to the Ethics, ' to know the relation ^^^^^^^^^
of one thing to another is the proper act of
reason,' and this is discrimination. One of the
fairest and sweetest fruits of this branch is the
reverence which the lesser owes to the greater.
Wherefore Tully, in the first [10]] Of Offices,
speaking of the beauty which glows in integrity,
says that reverence is part of it ; and as this
reverence is a beautifying of integrity, so its
opposite is a befouling and demeaning of the
same, the which opposite may be called irrever-
ence, or mutiny in our vernacular ; and therefore
Tully himself, in the same place, says : * Care-
lessness to know what others think of him is
the mark not only [20] of an arrogant but of
a profligate man ; which is no other than to say
that arrogance and profligacy consists in being
without knowledge of oneself, which is the
foundation of the standard of every kind of
reverence. Wherefore I, desiring to observe all
reverence of speech, both to the prince and to the
philosopher, while removing what is pernicious
from the mind of certain, in order thereafter to
let in upon it the light of truth, before proceed-
ing to refute the opinions before us, [^303 shall
make it clear that in refuting them I do not

264 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of the argue with irreverence either towards the imperial
judg- majesty or towards the Philosopher. For were
ments of j ^^ show myself lacking in reverence in any
other part of all this book, it were not so foul a
blot as if I were to do it in this treatise, wherein
treating of nobility I am bound to show myself
[a, b. noble and not churlish. And first I will show
that I do not presume against the authority of
the Philosopher, and then [_^o'] I will show that
I do not presume against the imperial majesty.
[a. I declare, then, that when the Philosopher
says, * That which the majority think cannot be
absolutely false,' he does not mean to speak of
outward or sensuous judgment, but of inward or
rational ; for a sensuous judgment in accordance
with the majority would often be most false,
especially in the case of the objects common to
more senses than one, C503 wherein the sense
is often deceived. Thus we know that to the
majority the sun appears to be a foot in
diameter, which is most false, for according to
the research and discovery which human reason,
with its attendant arts, has made, the diameter
of the body of the sun is five times as great as
that of the earth and half a time over. And
since the diameter of the earth is [603 six
thousand five hundred miles, the diameter of
the sun, which seems to sensuous judgment to
measure a foot, is thirty-five thousand seven
hundred and fifty miles. And hereby it is
evident that Aristotle did not mean sensuous
judgment, and therefore, if I aim only at refuting
this sensuous judgment, I am not going counter
to the purport of the Philosopher, and therefore
neither do I offend against the reverence due to

VIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 265

him. [70] And that it is the sensuous judg- Of
ment which I purpose to refute is manifest, for reverence
they who so judge, judge only by what they ^^grgnce
perceive of the things which fortune can give
and take away ; for when they see alliances and
distinguished marriages and stupendous buildings
and great possessions and mighty lordships, they
suppose them to be the causes of nobleness,
nay, they suppose them to be nobleness itself.
Whereas if tiiey [80] judged by rational appear-
ances they would say the opposite, namely, that
nobleness is the cause of these things, as will be
seen below in this treatise.

And even as I speak not counter to the b.]
reverence of the Philosopher in refuting this (as
is plain to see), so I speak not counter to the
reverence of the empire ; and I purpose to show
why. But since we are arguing in the face of
the adversary, the [I903 orator must take great
heed in his speech lest the adversary draw
matter therefrom to obscure the truth. I who
am speaking in this treatise in the presence of so
many adversaries cannot speak briefly. Where-
fore, if my digressions are long, let no one marvel.
I say, then, that to show that I am not irreverent to
the majesty of the empire we must first consider
what reverence is. I say that [1003 reverence
is no other than * the profession of due submission
by patent sign ' ; and perceiving this, we must
distinguish between the irreverent and the non-
reverent. ' Irreverent ' implies privation, non-
reverent implies negation. So irreverence is
'withholding due submission by patent sign';
non-reverence is the not avowing of submission
which is not due. A man may repudiate a

266 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of ir- thing in two ways. One kind of repudiation
reverence [^iio] clashes with the truth, when due pro-
ana un- fgggjQu ig withheld, and this is properly discon-
reverence . . r r j ^

fessing ; in the other way a man may repudiate

without coming into collision with the truth,
when he will not confess that which is not ; and
this is properly denying ; as for instance, for a
man to repudiate the assertion that he is alto-
gether mortal is to deny it in the proper sense
of the word. Wherefore if I deny reverence to
the empire I am not [^120] irreverent, but I am
non-reverent, for it is not contrary to reverence,
inasmuch as it does not clash with it ; even as
' not being alive ' does not clash with ' life,' but
* being dead ' clashes with it, for it is the priva-
tion of it ; whence ' being dead ' is one thing, and
' not being alive ' is another, for ' not being alive '
pertains to stones. And because death implies
privation, which cannot be save in a subject of
the habit in question, and stones are not subjects
of life, therefore they should not be called
[[130] 'dead' but < not alive.' In like manner
I, who in this case owe no reverence to the
empire, am not irreverent in renouncing it, but
am non-reverent, which is not mutiny nor a
thing of blame. Nay, reverence (if reverence
it could be called) would be mutiny, for it
would result in greater and more real irreverence,
that is to say irreverence towards nature and
towards truth, as will [140] be seen below.
Against this error, that master of the philo-
sophers, Aristotle, guarded himself in the
beginning of the Ethics when he says : ' If we
have two friends, and one of them is the truth,
we must comply with the truth.' But verily,

VIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 267

since I have admitted that I am non-reverent, Of undue
which is denying reverence, to wit denying by submis-
patent signs submission that is not due, we must ^**"*
investigate how this act of mine is denying and
not disconfessing ; that is to say, [^1503 how in
this case I am not duly subject to the imperial
majesty. And since the argument must needs
be lengthy, I purpose to demonstrate it in a
chapter of its own next following.

The reader's ' noble intellect ' will not complain of
being allowed to draw its own conclusions as to the value
of Dante's attempt to show that the popular opinion he is
here attacking is not really a judgment at all, whether
good or bad, but a sense impression.

49. Common to more senses, etc. The Italian is sensibili
comuni. * Common sense ' and ' common sensibles ' are
both of them Aristotelian phrases adopted by the School-
men ; but they do not correspond to each other, and this
has naturally caused some confusion. First, as to
' common sense.' That a thing is sweet you learn from
the sense of taste ; that it is yellow you learn from the
sense of vision. Now the difference between sweetness
and yellowness is a sense difference, yet neither the sense
of vision nor the sense of taste can give you any account
of this distinction, for neither of them can take cognisance
of both the impressions to be distinguished. There must
therefore be a general or ' common ' sense which can
distinguish between the impressions of the several special
senses.

But again there are sense objects of which more than
one sense (specifically sight and touch) can take cog-
nisance. They are enumerated by Dante in III. 9 :
59 ff., and these are what are known as the 'common
sensibles.' It is a cardinal doctrine of Aristotle's that
the senses cannot be deceived in their proper perceptions,
but that both sight and touch may err in judging of
objects of perception common to them both. Compare
Purgatorio, XXIX. 47. The 'common sensibles,' then,
are not the ' objects of the common sense,' but the
* objects common to more senses than one.'

268 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

55. The arts attendant on astronomy are perspective,
arithmetic and geometry. See II. 3 : 54 ff.

79-83. Dante does not in any direct way return to
this subject in the sequel of this treatise. But see I. 10 :
48 ff.

1 04. Privation can only be said of the abaence of some-
thing which would have been suitably present. Compare
II. 14 : 140, note.

128. A subject of the habit, that is to say, a thing
naturally capable of acquiring the habit. See II. 14: 140,
note (as above), and for habit, I. i : 15, note.

CHAPTER IX

[The emperor's control is limited to actions that con-
cern human civility. Now there are actions
which we can make what we like, and there are
truths and properties of nature which we cannot
alter. Moreover, of our actions there are some
in which we can control nature with certainty
and make her our servant, and others in which
we must wait upon her ; and in these latter there
can be no such authoritative rule as in the former.
Yet again there are specially delusive cases in
which some branch of activity appears to come
under an authority which does not really cover
it. And all this applies to the imperial art as to
others. The emperor has full authority over those
actions pertaining to human civility in which we
have complete control over nature ; he has less com-
plete authority over those in which we have to wait
on nature ; and he has no authority at all (though
confusions may arise on the subject) where some-
thing that seems to come within his province is
really not a question of action at all, but of truth.
And where the emperor has no authority there is
no irreverence in not submitting to him.]

Submis- To see how in this case, that is in refuting or

^"'"' ^"^ confirming the emperor's opinion, I am not bound

an un ue ^.^ submission to him, the argument conducted

IX. THE FOURTH TREATISE 269

above in the fourth chapter of this treatise, con- Limits of
cerning the imperial office, must be called to authority
mind ; to wit, that the imperial authority was
invented for the perfection of human life, and
that it is [lo] by right the regulator and ruler
of all our doings, because, so far as our doings
stretch, so far the imperial majesty has jurisdic-
tion, and beyond these boundaries it does not
extend. But like as every art and office of man
is confined to certain limits by the imperial office,
so is this empire itself bounded by God within
certain limits ; nor need we marvel at this, for
we see that the office and the art of [20]] nature
is bounded in all its activities. For if we would
take the universal nature of the whole, it has
jurisdiction so far as the whole universe — I mean
the heaven and the earth — extends ; and this is
up to a certain fixed boundary, as is proved in
the third of the Physics and in the first Of
Heaven and Earth. Therefore the jurisdiction
of universal nature is bounded by certain limits,
and by consequence so is the [30^ particular.
Moreover, he doth bound her who is bounded
by nought, to wit the prime excellence, which is
God, who alone with infinite capaciousness com-
prehends infinitude.

And to perceive the limits of our operations,
be it known that those only are operations of
ours which are subject to the reason and to the
will ; for albeit there are digestive operations in
us, these are not human, but natural. And be it
known [40] that our reason is related to four
kinds of operations, to be considered separately ;
for there are operations which it only considers
and does not perform, nor can it accomplish any

270 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Things of them ; for instance, things natural and super-
subject to natural, and mathematics ; and operations which it
*" ^ considers and accomplishes by its own act, which
are called rational, as are the arts of speech ; and
operations which it [50]] considers and accom-
plishes in material external to itself, as are the
mechanical arts. And all these operations,
though their consideration is subject to our will,
are not subject to our will in themselves, for how-
ever much we might wish that heavy things
should rise upward by nature, they would not be
able so to rise ; and however much we might wish
a syllogism with false premises to be a con-
clusive demonstration of the truth, it would not
[603 be one ; and however much we might
wish a house to sit as firmly when overhanging as
when straight, it would not ; because we are not,
properly speaking, makers of these operations,
but their discoverers. It was another that
ordained them, and a greater maker who made
them. There are also operations which our
reason considers as they exist in the act of will,
such as attacking and succouring, standing ground
or fleeing in battle, abiding chaste or wantoning ;
[70] and these are entirely subject to our will,
and therefore we are considered good or bad
on their account, because they are properly ours
in their entirety ; for, so far as our will can
have its way, so far do operations that are really
ours extend. And inasmuch as some equity is
to be observed, and some iniquity to be avoided,
in all these voluntary operations, and this equity
may be missed for two reasons — either lack of
knowing what it [80]] is or lack of will to pur-
sue it — therefore was written reason invented,

IX. THE FOURTH TREATISE 271

both to point it out and to enforce it. Where- Authority
fore Augustine says : ' If it (equity) were known o^ .
to men, and when known were observed, there *"*"cers
would be no need of written reason.' And
therefore it is written in the beginning of the
Old Digest : ' Written reason is the art of good
and of equity.' It is to write, to demonstrate,
and to enforce this equity that the [[90] official
is appointed of whom we are discoursing, to wit
the emperor ; and to him we are subject to the
extent of those operations, properly our own, of
which we have spoken, and no further. For
this reason, in every art and in every trade the
artificers and disciples are, and ought to be,
subject to the chief and the master thereof in
the respective trades and arts, outside of which
the subjection is annulled, because the chieftaincy
[1003 is annulled. Wherefore we may in some
sort say of the emperor, if we wish to figure his
office by an image, that he is the rider of the
human will. And how that horse courses over
the plain without the rider is manifest enough,
and especially in the wretched Italy which, with-
out any mediator at all, has been abandoned to
her own direction.

And be it observed that the more special
[iioj a thing is to any art or discipline, the
more complete is the subjection therein ; for if
the cause be enhanced, so is the effect. Whence
we are to know that there be some things so
purely matter of art that nature is their instru-
ment, such as rowing with the oar where the art
makes an instrument of impulsion, which is a
natural movement ; or as in threshing . . .
leaven, where the art makes an instrument of

272 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

and its heat, which is [120]] a natural quality. And it
limits is herein, most of all, that subjection is due to the
chief and master of the art. And there are
things wherein the art is an instrument of nature,
and these are arts in a lesser degree ; and in
them the artificers are less subject to their chief,
as in committing seed to the earth, wherein heed
must be given to the will of nature ; as in issuing
from a port, wherein heed must be given to the
natural disposition of the [130] weather. And
therefore we see that in these things there often
arises contention amongst the artificers, and the
superior asks counsel of the inferior. There are
other things which are not part of an art, but
seem to have some relation to it, and as to this
mistakes are often made. And in these things
the learners are not subject to the artificer or
master, nor are they bound to trust him, so far as
the art goes. Thus fishing seems to have [1403
some connection with navigation, and knowledge
of the virtues of herbs with agriculture, yet they
have no common discipline, inasmuch as fishing
comes under the art of venery and under its
command, and the knowledge of the virtues of
herbs under medicine or under some more general
discipline.

In like manner, all these points which we
have discussed with reference to the other arts
may be ^^50^ noted with reference to the
imperial art ; for there are regulations in it
which are pure arts, such as are the laws con-
cerning matrimony, concerning slaves, concern-
ing warfare, concerning the successors to titles ;
and as to these we are entirely subject to the
emperor without any doubt or hesitation. There

IX. THE FOURTH TREATISE 273

are other laws which have, as it were, to follow Authority
the lead of nature, such as constituting a man of o^ empire
sufficient age for managing his own affairs, and r^Jg*
herein we are not completely subject. C160J
There are many others which seem to have
some relation to the imperial art ; and herein
those were and are deceived who believe that in
such matters an imperial pronouncement carries
authority. For instance, as to ' manhood,' we
are not to accept any imperial judgment on the
ground of its being the emperor's. So let us
render to God that which is God's. And
accordingly we are not to trust nor accept the
emperor Nero, who said that fiyo^ manhood
was beauty and strength of body, but him who
should say that manhood is the apex of the
natural life, and that would be the philosopher.
It is therefore evident that defining * gentlehood '
is not a part of the emperor's art, and if it is not
a part of his art, then in treating of it we are
not subject to him, and if we are not subject we
are not bound to reverence him therein, and this is
exactly what we were in search of. Wherefore
we may now with full freedom C^^'-'D ^^'^ '*i^^
full courage of mind smite upon the breasts of
the depraved opinions that are current on the
earth, in order that the true opinion by this my
victory may hold the field of the mind of those
for whom it gives vigour to this light.

39. I understand Dante's general position to be as
follows : (i.) When we observe, for instance, the heavenly
bodies we simply note doings in which we can take no
part; (ii.)when we note the laws of thought, as in logic,
we note doings which are our own, but which nevertheless
are not subjects of volition, for we can no more interfere
S

274 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

with the laws of the syllogism than we can with the laws
of planetary movement, and when once we perceive them
we cannot think otherwise than in accordance with
them ; (iii.) when we consider the nature and behaviour
of material things, we have to ascertain facts with which
we cannot interfere and which we cannot mod if)', but
upon which we can so act as to secure certain desired re-
sults ; but (iv.) there are yet other cases concerned with
our own conduct in which we ourselves have control of
the result in its inmost and essential nature. This last
group may in one sense be contrasted with the other
three ; but from some points of view the first two groups
may be contrasted with last two, which last two have
many analogies with each other. Reverting then, for
illustration, to the third group, Dante maintains that
(i°) when the knowledge of our instruments and material is
complete, so that we can exactly predict the consequences
of our action, we can, within certain limits, make the
result what we choose, and we must therefore implicitly
obey the directions of the man who is ultimately respons-
ible for the result, because he knows exactly what the
effect of his orders will be, and he alone knows the whole
case and is in responsible charge of it. But (2°) where the
conduct of our material and instruments is uncertain, it
is possible that the person in charge of the result may direct
us to do something which will produce the contrary of
what he intends, and here authority is less effective and
may be regarded as less complete. And further, (3°) there
are cases in which the person in charge may have no
knowledge at all of the thing with respect to which he
gives orders, because it is only in appearance or incidentally
that it comes within the province to which his knowledge
extends. Now analogous distinctions hold in the case of
that imperial authority which refers to our purely voluntary
actions. (1°) In some cases we can make the result what
we choose, and the man in supreme charge, contemplat-
ing the supreme goal, must be implicitly obeyed, because
he knows the exact force of his injunctions, (2°) There
are cases in which status is not a matter of definition
and legal implication merely, but must adapt itself to
facts that cannot be precisely formulated or predicted, and
(3°) there are cases which evade the legislator altogether,
though he may not see it.

X. THE FOURTH TREATISE 275

The positive value of this laborious chapter is indeed
open to question, but its apparent logical confusions
and intricacies yield to a patient study.

47. By its own act. That is to say, by actualising
itself. By the arts of speech, to judge by the illustration
given lower dov^'n, logic is primarily intended.

66. In the act of tvill, i.e., they consist in the actualis-
ing of will power, as those spoken of in line 47 consist in
the actualising of thought power.

81. Written reason. That is to say, the Roman Law.

103. Compare Purgatorio, VI. 88-102.

1 18. The received text reads without a break : ' Siccome
net trehhiare ilformento, che V arte fa suo strumento del caldo,'
and the phrase seems to have given the editors and commen-
tators (who take formento in the meaning of ' wheat ') no
trouble. But surely heat is not the instrument of threshing
wheat ! Aristotle and his disciples enumerate four kinds
of local movement : pushing, pulling, carrying and twist-
ing (fulsio, tractio, -vectio and i/^^r/g-o), ultimately reducible
to the first two. It would be possible (with a little good-
will) to bring the action of the flail under tractio (which
rules the working of the joints of the body) or -vertigo ;
and then, if, as I i\xi'^tct,formento means not wheat, but
leaven or ferment, the whole passage might originally
have read: 'As in thrashing grain, where art makes its
instrument of traction [or torsion], which is also a natural
movement ; or as in making bread rise, with leaven,
where art makes its instrument of heat, which is a
natural quality.' If (as seems hardly probable, however)
formento was used in both senses, as grain and as ferment,
the dropping out of the passage between the two occur-
rences of the word would be explained.

135. The question as to what is the proper authority
concerned in any operation is precisely where human
judgment is most likely to go wrong.

147. Some more general discipline, such, I suppose, as
botany. The Italian expression is a little curious, />«
nobile dottrina .

173. But note that it is, as a matter of fact, Aristotle's
own definition that Dante is going to combat. See IV.
3 : 64, note.

276 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER X

[(/3) The refutation, in due course, of the emperor's
opinion, which is false in so far as it coincides with
that of the vulgar in alleging ancient wealth, and
inadequate so far as it alleges gracious manners as
a cause of nobility. The falsity has two roots, in
that neither (i.) riches, nor (ii.) time, can, as al-
leged, produce nobleness. Under (i.) we have
(l°) a general criticism of the emperor's definition,
and then (2°) the special demonstration that
wealth, being base, cannot make nobility nor
unmake, because baseness has no point of contact
• with nobility and so can in no way affect it.]

False de- Now that the opinions of others concerning

fimtions nobility have been laid down, and it has been

proved that I am free to refute them, I shall

come to the discussion of that part of the ode

/3. which contains this refutation ; and it begins, as

said above :

He -who defines : ' Man is a living trunk.'

And 80, be it known that the opinion of the
emperor (although he set it down defectively)
did in one phrase, to wit where he said Qioj
* gracious manners,' really hit some part of the
ways of nobleness, and therefore there is no
thought of refuting it there. It is the other
phrase, which is absolutely foreign to the nature
of nobleness, that there is thought of refuting ;
for it seems to indicate two things when it
speaks of ancient wealth, to wit, time and riches,
which are utterly foreign to nobility, as I have
already said, and as I shall prove below. And
i. ii. therefore the refutation falls into two parts.
First, riches [2,0^ are rejected and then time

X. THE FOURTH TREATISE 277

is rejected as causes of nobleness. The second Irrele-
part begins : vance of

riches and
Nor ivill they have it that a base man can time
become gentle.

Be it known that to reject ' riches ' is to
refute not only that part of the emperor's
opinion that indicates riches, but the whole of
the opinion of the vulgar herd, which was based i.
on riches alone. The first part is divided into 1°, 2°.
two, [^303 for in the first it is asserted generally
that the emperor was wrong in his definition of
nobility ; in the second is shown the reason why ;
and this second part begins :

For riches can not (as is held).

I say then 1°.

He who dejines : ' Man is a living trunky

firstly speaks not the truth (that is to say, speaks
false) in so far as he says * trunk,* and then not
the whole thing (that is to say, speaks it de-
fectively), in so far as he says \_^o'] ' living ' and
does not say ' rational,' which differentiates man
from beasts. Then I say that in like manner
did he who ' held empire ' err in his definition ;
and I say not < emperor,' but ' who held empire,*
to indicate that, as said above, deciding this
question is beside the imperial office. Then I
say that he erred in like manner, because he laid
down a false subject of nobility, namely, ' ancient
{_$o~\ wealth,' and then proceeded to a defective
form (or differentiating principle), to wit 'gracious
manners,' which do not comprehend the whole
formal principle of nobleness, but a very small

278 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Art in part of it, as will be shown below. And we are
defining not to overlook (though the text says nought
about it) that in this matter messer the emperor
not only erred in the phrases of his definition,
but also in his mode of defining (although
fame proclaims him to have been a great [^60]
logician and clerk), for the definition of nobleness
would be more suitably drawn from its effects
than from its sources, inasmuch as it appears
itself to have the character of a source, which
cannot be made known by the things that precede
it but by the things that follow from it. Then
2°. when I say :

For riches can not (as is held).,

i. a. I show that they cannot cause nobleness, because
they are base ; and 1 show that they cannot
take it away, because they are completely severed
from nobleness. [70] And 1 show that they
are base by one very great and manifest defect
that they have ; and this I do when I say :

That they he base is apparent, and the rest.

Finally I conclude, by virtue of what is said
above, that the upright mind is not changed by
their translation, which proves what was said
above, viz., that they are severed from nobleness,
because the effects of union do not follow. And
here be it known that, as the Philosopher has it,
[803 whatever things produce anything the latter
must needs first exist perfectly in the being of
the others. Wherefore he says in the seventh of
the Metaphysics : ' When one thing is generated
by another, it is generated by it in virtue of ex-
isting in its being.' Further we are to know

X. THE FOURTH TREATISE 279

that everything which is destroyed is destroyed The effect
because of some preceding change, and anything must
which is affected must needs be some way con- f^ *" _
nected with that change, [^90] as the Philosopher
has it in the seventh of the Physics and in the
first Of Generation. These things laid down, I
thus proceed and say that riches cannot (as folk
suppose) confer nobility ; and to show their still
further remoteness from it, I add that they cannot
take it away from him who has it. ' They i.
cannot give it,' inasmuch as they are naturally
base, and by reason that baseness is contrary to
nobility. And here baseness means [^loo^
degenerateness, which is opposed to nobleness,
inasmuch as one contrary does not nor cannot
produce the other, for the reason above stated,
and all this is briefly appended to the text in the
words :

Further, tvho paints a Jigure^ unless

himself can be it, can not set it dotun.

Wherefore no painter could set down any figure
unless he had first in intention become such as
the figure is to be. Further, [no] they can- it.
not < take it away,' because they are remote from
nobleness ; and, for the reason stated above,
whatsoever modifies or destroys anything must
needs be connected with it ; and therefore it
adds :

Nor is an upright tower made to lean

by a river that flows far away,

which means to utter naught else than a parallel
to what was said before, namely, that riches
cannot take away nobleness, speaking as though

28o THE CONVIVIO Ch,

Riches this nobleness were an upright tower ni2oJ and
remote ^g though riches were a river flowing far away

6. Man is really a 'natural organised body ' endowed
with 'rational life.' To define him as a 'trunk'
endowed with ' life ' is wrong as to the trunk and imper-
fect as to the life.

1 8. As I shall prove belcnv. By implication in the
definition of nobility. See chapters xvi. fF.

20 (ii.) is taken up on p. 298.

29. The first part (dealing with riches, (i.) in our nota-
tion) K di'vided into tivo, the first of which (1°) deals
with lines 41-48 of the ode; but since these lines refer
not only to wealth (i.) but also to time (ii.), and even to
'gracious manners,' some confusion is caused by treating
them as a subsection of (i.).

60-65. Compare Purgatorio, XVIII. 52-54. Also
IV. 16: 103 ff. text and note. Observe that Aristotle
(who likewise has the reputation of being a great logician
and clerk) defines nobleness on the same — according to
Dante erroneous — principle. See IV. 3 : 64, note.

CHAPTER XI

[That riches are (i.) base and (ii.) out of connection with
nobility appears from their manifold imperfection
(not in themselves as products of nature, but as
private possessions) manifested in (1°) their accru-
ing without equity, whether («'.) by pure chance,
or by {it.) chance supported by law, or by {Hi.)
honest or dishonest scheming backed by chance.]

Baseness It now remains only to prove how riches are

of riches base, and how they are disconnected and remote

from nobleness ; and this is proved in two

clauses of the text, to which attention must

now be given ; and then when they have been

XI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 281

expounded what I have said will be evident, to How
wit that riches are base and remote from noble- Proved
ness, and thereby the arguments against riches '• "•]
urged above will be perfectly [lo] established.
I say then : ^-l

That they be base and imperfect is apparent.

And to prove that which it is my purpose to
express, be it known that the baseness of a
thing flows from its imperfection and its noble-
ness from its perfection, wherefore the more
perfect a thing is the nobler is it in its nature,
and the more imperfect the baser. And so if
riches are imperfect it is clear [20'] that they
are base. And that they are imperfect the text
briefly proves when it says :

For hoto much soever gathered, they

can give no quiet, but multiply care.

Wherein is manifest not only their imperfection,

but also that their condition is most imperfect,

and therefore that they are most base. And to

this Lucan testifies when he says, addressing

them : ' Without resistance did the laws perish ;

but ye riches, [30J the basest part of things,

stirred battle.' Briefly, their imperfection may 1°, 2°, 3°,]

be seen clearly in three things : first, in their

undiscerning advent ; secondly, in their perilous

growth ; thirdly, in their hurtful possession. And

before I prove this, a difliiculty that seems to

rise must be explained ; for inasmuch as gold

and gems have perfect \_\o~\ form and act in their

own being, it seems untrue to say that they are

imperfect. And therefore, be it known, that they

themselves, in themselves considered, are perfect

282 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

By their things — not riches, however, but gold and gems,
advent But so far as they are designed for the possession
of man they are riches, and in this sense they
are full of imperfection ; for there is no incon-
sistency in one and the same thing under different
aspects being both perfect and [_$o'] imperfect.
[i°. I say that their imperfection may be noted
firstly in the want of discernment in their advent,
wherein no distributive justice shines, but absolute
iniquity almost always; which iniquity is the
proper effect of imperfection. For if we consider
the ways in which they come, all may be gathered

[t. it. iii. into three fashions ; for either they came by pure
[66^ fortune, as when without intention or hope
they come by some unsought discovery ; or they
come by fortune supported by Reason, as by
testaments or by mutual succession ; or they
come by fortune aiding reason, as in lawful or
unlawful gains. By lawful I mean the earnings
of art or trade or service ; by unlawful I mean
theft or [703 plunder. And in each of these
three modes that iniquity of which I speak may
[i. be observed ; for hidden wealth which is dis-
covered or rediscovered oftener presents itself
to the bad than to the good ; and this is so
obvious that it needs no proof. Indeed, I have
seen the place on the ribs of a mountain in
Tuscany, called Falterona, where the basest
churl of the whole country side discovered, as
he was digging, more than a [So] bushel of
santelenas of finest silver, which had been waiting
for him maybe a thousand years or more. And
it was because he noted this want of equity that
Aristotle declared that ' the more subject a man
is to understanding the less subject he is to

XI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 283

fortune.' And I affirm that inheritance by will in every
or by succession oftener comes to the bad than sort
to the good ; and of this I will not bring any "•
evidence, but let each man turn his [_go'] eyes
round his own neighbourhood and he will per-
ceive — that of which I speak not, so as to
cast no smirch on any. Would that it were
God's pleasure that what the Provencal desired
should come to pass, that ' whoso is not heir of
the excellence should lose the inheritance of
the possessions.' And I affirm that gain is m.]
precisely that which comes oftener to the bad
than to the good ; for illegitimate gains never
come to the good at all, because they reject them.
What good man []ioo]] will ever seek gain by
force or by fraud ? It were impossible ; for by
the very choice of the unlawful undertaking he
would cease to be good. And lawful gains
rarely come to the good, because, since much
anxious care is needful thereto, and the anxious
care of the good man is directed to weightier
matters, rarely does the good man give sufficient
attention thereto. Wherefore it is clear that in
every way j^iio^ the advent of these riches is
iniquitous, and therefore our Lord called them
iniquitous when he said, ' Make to yourselves
friends of the money of iniquity,' inviting and
encouraging men to liberality in benefactions
which are the begetters of friends. And how
fair an exchange does he make who gives of
these most imperfect things in order to have and
to gain perfect things, such as are the hearts of
worthy men! And this market is open [120]
every day. Verily this merchandise is unlike
others, for when the thought is to purchase one

284 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The true man by the benefaction, thousands are purchased
market by it. And who has not Alexander in his
heart even yet for his royal benefactions ? Who
has not the good King of Castile in his heart,
or Saladin, or the good Marquess of Monferrato,
or the good Count of Toulouse, or Bertram de
Born, or Galleazzo of Montefeltro, when
mention [130^ is made of their donations?
Truly not only those who would gladly do the
like, but they who would sooner die than do it,
love their memory.

24. Tiao clauses of the text, namely lines 56-60 of the
ode.

55. Iniquity, The proper translation would be inequity,
but it seems necessary to adopt iniquity to lead up to the
concluding passage.

63, i?£aio« = law.

64. By testament or by mutual succession. The Italian is
per testamenti 0 per tnutua sucessione. The meaning is ob-
viously * by will or by intestate succession.' Compare
line 87 of this chapter, where the Italian is /; retaggi
legati e caduti. But mutua successio does not appear to be
a term of Roman law. It is tempting to suggest muta,
which would explain itself, though it is not a recognised
term of law.

86. Toynbee, in a note on this passage, shows (amongst
other things) that the proper pronounciation is santelena,
not santelena. The name seems to have been applied to
the Byzantine coins, and then to coins in general.

94 f. Compare Par^aforio, VII, 115-120.

122. Toynbee has conclusively identified the King of
Castile as Alfonso VIII., the son-in-law of our Henry
II. (reigned 1158-1214 a.d.) ; the Count of Toulouse as
Raymond V. (in power 1148-1194 a.d.); and the Count
of Montferrat as Boniface II. (in power 1 192-1207 a.d.).
As to the others, there never has been any doubt. Galeazzo
of Montefeltro was a cousin of the more celebrated Guide
(compare IV. 28 : 61, and Inferno, XXVII.), and was a
man of note in his day. For Bertram de Born, see In-
ferno, XXVIII. and De Vulgari Eloquentia, II. 2 : 79-85.

XII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 285

CHAPTER XII

[The baseness of riches further demonstrated by (2°)
the insidious danger involved in their deceitful
promises, and the craving that comes with their
growth. A digression on the difference between
the pernicious progress of him who goes astray
in pursuit of wealth and the successive illusions by
which he who is on the true path (no less than he
who is on the wrong) ever supposes himself to be
close upon the goal.]

As has been said, the imperfection of riches Peril of
may be observed not only in their undiscerning riches
advent, but pre-eminently in their perilous
growth ; and therefore the text makes mention 2°.]
only of that wherein the defect may be most
eagerly perceived, saying of them that ' how
much soever gathered ' they not only give no
rest but create more thirst, so as to make folk
still more [loj defective and imperfect. And
here be it known that defective things may harbour
their defects in such fashion that they appear not at
first sight, the imperfection hiding under a pretext
of perfection ; or they may so harbour them as
completely to reveal them, so that the imper-
fection is recognised openly on the surface. And
those things which at first conceal their defects
[^20] are the most dangerous ; because, in many
cases, we cannot be on our guard against them,
as we see in the instance of a traitor who in
appearance shows himself a friend, so that he
begets in us a confidence in him, and beneath the
pretext of friendship he hides the defect of
enmity. And it is in this fashion that riches are
dangerously imperfect in their growth ; for, sub-

286 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Insatiate mitting certain things to us which they promise,
greed tj^gy actually bring the contrary. The [[303 false
traitoresses ever promise to make him who gathers
them full of satisfaction when they have been
amassed up to a certain sum ; and with this
promise they lead the human will to the vice of
avarice. And this is why Boethius in that of
Consolation calls them perilous, saying : ' Ah me,
who was he who first dug out the weights of
hidden gold, and the stones that sought to hide
themselves, those precious perils ? ' The false
traitresses [^40] promise (if it be well considered)
to remove every thirst and every want and to bring
satiety and sufficiency ; for this is what they do at
first to every man, confidently fixing this promise
at a certain measure of their growth ; and then,
when they are amassed to that point, in place of
satiety and of refreshment, they give and produce
the thirst of a feverish bosom and not to be
endured ; and in the place of sufficiency they
offer a new limit, that is f 503 to say, a greater
quantity to long for ; and together with it fear
and great concern for what has already been
acquired so that verily they ' give no quiet,' but
' multiply care,' which, without them, was not
there before. And therefore says Tully, in that
of the Paradox denouncing riches : ' As to
their money, and their splendid mansions, and
their wealth, and their lordship, and the delights
by which [60J they are chiefly attracted, never
in truth have I ranked them amongst things
good or desirable ; inasmuch as I saw for a
certainty that in the abundance of these things
men longed most for the very things wherein they
abounded. For never is the thirst of cupidity

XII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 287

filled nor sated. And not only are they tortured Misery
by the longing to increase their possessions, but°^^.^.
they are also tortured by fear [703 of losing *'*^^ ^ "
them.' And all these words are Tully's, and
so they stand in that book which has been
mentioned. And for further witness to this im-
perfection behold Boethius declaring in that of
Consolation : ' Though the goddess of riches
should bestow as much as the sand rolled by the
wind-tossed sea, or as many as the stars that shine,
the human race will not cease to wail.' And
since it is fitting to gather yet more evidence to
bring this to [_So'] proof, let us pass by all that
Solomon and his father cried out against them,
all that Seneca, especially in writing to Lucilius,
all that Horace, all that Juvenal, and briefly all
that every writer, every poet, and all that the
truthful divine scripture cries out against these
false harlots, full of all defects ; and that our
faith may be drawn from our own eyes, let
us give heed to the life of them who chase
[[90] them, and see in what security they live
when they have gathered of them, how content
they are, how reposeful ! And what else, day
by day, imperils and slays cities, countries and
single persons so much as the new amassing of
wealth by anyone ? Which amassing reveals
new longings, the goal of which may not be
reached without wrong to someone. And what
else is the one and the other Reason, I mean
the canonical and the civil, intended to cure so
much as to make defence against the greed
which grows as riches are amassed ? Verily the
one [1003 and the other Reason manifests it
sufficiently if we read their beginnings — I mean

288 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Love of the beginnings of their scripture. Oh how mani-
all good fest, nay, rather how most manifest, is it that in
their growth they are utterly imperfect, since
nought save imperfection can spring from them
when they are gathered []i lo] together ! And
this it is that the text affirms.

But here by way of difficulty arises a question
which we must not omit to ask and to answer.
Some caviller against the truth might say that if
riches are imperfect and therefore base because,
as they are acquired, the longing for them in-
creases, by like reason knowledge should be
imperfect and base, since in the acquiring of it
the longing for it doth ever increase; [1203
wherefore Seneca says : ' Had I one foot in
the grave I should wish to learn.' But it is not
true that knowledge is made base by imper-
fection. Therefore, by the destruction of the
consequent, the increase of longing does not pro-
duce baseness in knowledge. That knowledge
is perfect is manifest from the Philosopher in the
sixth of the Ethics, who says that ♦ knowledge is
a perfect account of things which are certain.'
To this question a brief answer must be (^1303
given, but first we must see whether in the
acquisition of knowledge the longing for it does
so* expand as is asserted in the question, and
whether it is for a reason for which I assert that
not only in the acquisition of knowledge and of
wealth, but in every acquisition, human desire
dilates, though in diffisrent ways ; which reason
is this, that the supreme longing of everything,
and that first given to it by nature, [140^ is to
return to its first principle. And inasmuch as
God is the first principle of our souls, and hath

XII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 289

made them like to himself, even as it is written, ever

'Let us make man in our image and after our growing

likeness,' the soul itself most chiefly longs to

return to him. And like a pilgrim who is

travelling on a road where he hath never been

before, who believes that every house which he

sees from afar is the hostel, and finding that it is

not directs his [^150] belief to another, and so

from house to house until he comes to the hostel ;

even so our soul, so soon as it enters upon the

new and never-yet-made journey of life, directs

its eyes to the goal of its supreme good, and

therefore whatever it sees that appears to have

some good in it, it thinks to be it. And because

its knowledge is at first imperfect, through having

no experience or instruction, little goods appear

great to it; |3i6o3 and therefore it begins first

from them in its longing. And so we see little

children intensely longing for an apple, and then

going on further, longing for a little bird, and

then further on longing for fine clothes, and then

a horse, and then a mistress, and then wealth,

but not much, then much and then enormous.

And this comes to pass because in none of these

things does he find that for which he is ever

searching, but believes he will find it further on.

[^170] Wherefore we may perceive that one

desirable thing stands in front of the other before

the eyes of our soul, something after the fashion

of a pyramid, wherein the smallest part first

covers all the rest, and is as it were the apex of

the supreme object of longing, which is God, as

it were the base of all the rest. Wherefore, the

further we proceed from the apex towards the

base, the greater do objects of our longing

T

290 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The true appear ; and this is why [i8o] in the process
P**^ *"*^ of acquisition the longings of men become more
® ^ ^® capacious one after the other.

But in truth we may lose this way in error,
just as we may lose the paths of earth ; for even
as from one city to another there must needs be
a best and straightest way, and another which
ever recedes therefrom, to wit the one which
goes in the opposite direction, and many others,
some departing less from it and some approach-
ing it less : so in human life are divers paths, of
which [^190] one is the truest and another the
falsest, and certain less false and certain less true.
And even as we see that the path which goeth
straightest to the city fulfiUeth the longing and
giveth rest after the toil, and that which goeth
the contrary way never accomplisheth it, and
may never give rest, so it cometh to pass in our
life that he who taketh the right path reacheth
the goal and hath rest, but he who goeth astray
never reacheth it, but with great toil of [aooj
his mind ever gazeth before him with greedy
eyes. Wherefore, although this discourse doth
not fully answer the question raised above, yet
doth it at least clear the way for the answer, for it
maketh us perceive that every longing of ours
dilateth not after one same fashion ; but since
this chapter is somewhat protracted the answer
to the question must be given in a new chapter,
wherein will be ended the whole disputation
which [[2103 it is our present purpose to make
against riches.

42. This is ivhat they do. I.e., this promise they actually
make at the outset. It does not mean that, for a time,
they keep their promise.

XIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 291

55. In the title of Cicero's work Paradcxa i^ a plural,
but Dante seems to have read it as a singular.

83. The manuscripts read Lucillus ; but the name of
Seneca's correspondent was Lucilius, and the mistake is
much more likely to be due to the copyist than to Dante.

124 f. In such a proposition as ' If A is B then C is
D,' ' A is B' is tailed the antecedent and ' C is D ' the
consequent. If you can disprove the consequent the
antecedent falls, and if you can prove the antecedent the
consequent follows ; but not vice "versa.

133 I.e., We are to inquire whether it is a fact; and,
if it be a fact, whether it comes under a more general
principle which applies to everything, and consequently
furnishes no parallel to the special principle which applies
specifically to wealth.

140. See Paradiso, I. 103-141. .

156. Compare Purgatorio, XVI. 85-93.

169 Compare Par^<z/or/o, XIX. 103-114.

210. Our present purpose. The whole of this outburst
against wealth is merely incidental. The express treat-
ment of the subject was to have come in the last treatise
in connection with the great ode, * Doglia ml reca nello
core ardire' Compare I. 8 ; 131.

b

CHAPTER XIII

[Of the successive conquests and satisfactions in the
pursuit of knowledge contrasted with the per-
petual defeat and thirst in pursuit of wealth.
How the complete satisfaction of the thirst for
knowledge, within the limits prescribed by
nature, is not impossible. Then (3°) of the hurt-
fulness of clinging to the possession of wealth,
(?.) because it makes men miserably anxious and
the objects of hatred, and (it.) because it kills the
excellence of liberality. The conclusion that
wealth being base cannot give or take away
nobility.}

In answer to the question I affirm that the Dilation
desire of knowledge cannot be properly said to ?^<^
increase although, as has been declared, it dilates ^"crease

292 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Know- in a certain fashion. For that which properly
ledge and speaking increases is always one ; the desire for
wealth knowledge is not always one, but is many ; and
when one ends another succeeds ; so that,
properly speaking, its dilating is not an [^loj
increasing but a succession of great things to
small. For if I desire to know the elements of
natural things, the moment I know them this
desire is completed and ended ; and if I then
desire to know what each of these elements is
and how it exists, this is another new desire.
Nor by the access of this am I bereft of the
perfection to which the other led me ; [^20]
and this dilating is not the cause of imperfection
but of greater perfection. But that of riches is
properly an increasing, for it is always one only,
so that here we can detect no succession of
goals reached and perfections realised. And if
the adversary should say that as the desire to
know the elements of natural things is one and
the desire [^303 to know what they are is
another, so the desire for a hundred marks is
one and the desire for a thousand another, I
answer that it is not true ; for a hundred is part
of a thousand and is related to it as part of a
line to the whole line along which we proceed
by one sole motion, and there is no succession
there, nor perfected motion in any part. But to
know l^which arej the elements of natural things
and to know what each of them (^403 is, are not
parts one of the other, but are related as different
lines along which you cannot proceed by one
motion, but when the motion of one is complete
the motion of the other succeeds. And thus it
appears that knowledge is not (as laid down in

XIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 293

the question) to be considered imperfect because Goal
of the desire for knowledge, as riches are be- , ^'^°^'.
cause of the desire for them ; for in the desire „n^tain-
for knowledge desires are successively accora- able
plished and [^5oJ brought to perfection, and in
the desire for riches it is not so ; so that the
question is solved and does not hold.

It is true that the opponent may still cavil and
say that although many desires are satisfied in
the acquisition of knowledge yet we never
accomplish the ultimate one, which is some-
thing like the imperfection of a desire which,
remaining one and the same, never comes to an
end. Here again we answer that this counter
assertion is not []6oJ true, namely, that the
ultimate desire is never accomplished, for our
natural desires, as shown above in the third
treatise, go down to a certain limit ; and the
desire of knowledge is a natural one, so that a
certain limit satisfies it ; although few, because
of the ill path they take, complete the journey.
And he who understands the Commentator, in
the third Of the Soul^ understands this from him ;
and therefore Aristotle QyoJ in the tenth of the
Ethics^ speaking against the poet Simonides,
says : * That man should draw himself to divine
things the most he may ' ; wherein he shows
that our power contemplates a certain limit.
And in the first of the Ethics he says : * That the
disciplined man requires to know the certainty of
things in the degree wherein their nature admits
of certainty.' Wherein he shows that not only
should a limit be contemplated on the side of the
man who desires knowledge, but on the [_^o~\
side of the desired object of knowledge ; and

294 '^d\ THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The that is why Paul says that ' We are not to
positive know more than is fitting to know, but to know
riches ^" measure.' So that in whatever way the
desire for knowledge is taken, whether in general
or in particular, it reaches perfection ; and there-
fore perfect knowledge has a noble perfection ;
and its perfection is not lost by the desire for it
as in the case of accursed riches.
[3°, And how these be hurtful in their \_go~\
possession we are now briefly to show, for this
is the third note of their imperfection. Their
\i. it. possession may be seen to be hurtful by two
reasons ; the one that it is the cause of evil, the
other that it is the privation of good. It is the
cause of evil because by mere watchfulness it
\i. makes the possessor fearful and hateful. How
great is the terror of him who knows that he
has wealth about him, as he journeys and as he
stays, not only waking but C^oo] sleeping, lest
he lose not only his possessions but his life for
his possessions' sake ! Well do the wretched
merchants know it who traverse the world,
whom the very leaves which the wind tosses
make to tremble when they are carrying their
riches with them ; and when they are without
them, full of security, they shorten their way by
song and discourse. And therefore the sage
says : * Tf the wayfarer had entered on his journey
empty he would sing in the face of the C^ i°3
robbers.' And this is what Lucan means to say
in the fifth book when he commends poverty
for its security, saying : ♦ Oh secure ease of the
poor life, oh ye narrow homes and huts, oh
wealth of the gods not yet understood! To
what temples and to what fortifications could

XIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 295

this ever chance, not to know any tumult of fear and the
when the hand of Caesar knocks ? ' And this negative
Lucan says when he tells how Caesar ^1203
came by night to the hut of the fisherman
Amyclas, to cross the Adriatic Sea. And
what hatred is that which everyone bears to
the possessor of wealth, whether through envy
or through desire to seize the possessions !
Verily it is so great that, many times counter
to the tenderness he owes, the son schemes the
father's death. And of this the Latins have
most great and manifest examples both in the
region of the Po [130] and in the region of the
Tiber. And therefore Boethius in the second
of his Consolation says : * Verily avarice makes
men hated.'

Also their possession is the negation of good, »V.]
for, when they are possessed, liberality is not
practised, which is a virtue, and virtue is a
perfect good and makes men illustrious and
loved ; which may not be achieved by possess-
ing wealth, but by relinquishing the posses-
sion of it. Wherefore Boethius in the same
book says : (^140] ' Money is only good when,
transferred to others by the practice of liberality,
it is no longer possessed.'

Wherefore the baseness of riches is manifest
enough by reason of all their characteristics, and
so a man of right appetite and of true knowledge
never loves them ; and not loving them does not
unite himself to them, but ever wishes them to be
far removed from him, save as they be ordained
to some necessary service. And this is ^5^3
reasonable because the perfect can never unite
with the imperfect. And so we see that the

296 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Their- curved line can never unite with the straight,

remote- and if there be any union, it is not of line with

ness from y^^^^ ^^^^ ^^ p^jj^^. ^^^.j^ point. And therefore it

follows that the mind which is upright, to wit
in appetite, and true, to wit in knowledge, is
jaot undone by losing them, as the text lays
down at the end of this section. And Ci6o[]
by this effect the text purposes to prove that
they are a running stream remote from the
upright tower of reason, or of nobleness, and
thereby that these riches cannot take away
nobleness from him who has it. And this is
the method of disputing and refuting pursued
in the present ode against riches.

I fF. The gist of Dante's argument is that though our
thirst for knowledge increases as our horizon increases,
yet it experiences a succession of satisfactions, not a
sequence of thwarting disappointments; whereas the
pursuit of wealth never leads to satisfaction at all.
Compare ParadhoyW , 124 fF. and many other passages.

12. If I want to know whether there is only one
element (say fire) or many, then when I know that
earth, water, fire and air are all elements, and that there
are no more, I have got that piece of knowledge. And
if I now go on to inquire what earth is, that is another
thing. It is the difference between desiring to know
' which are the elements ' and desiring to know ' what
the elements are.'

25. The syntax is (to me at least) perplexing ; but I
think I have given the sense.

63. See III. 15 : 69-110.

68. The Commentator. That is Averroes (1126-
1198 A.D.). Compare Inferno, IV. 144; Purgatorio,
XXV. 61-66, etc. He was the last of the great Arabic
commentators and was regarded (in Europe at least) as
the chief ornament of the younger or Western school,
as Avicenna (see II. 14 : 32, note) was of the older or
Eastern school of Arabic Aristotelians. Averroes, like
Thomas Aquinas in the succeeding century, composed

XIV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 297

his Aristotelian treatises in the form of regular commen-
taries on the text of Aristotle's works. In the third
book of his commentary on the De y^nima, in one of
the great excursuses in which he develops his views, he
maintains (amongst other things) that the intellect in
man is capable of being so far assimilated to God that it,
in a sense, knows (and indeed itself is) all existence ; that
this involves a certain continuity of the concrete intellect
of the individual man with the abstract and eternal intel-
lect ; and that this continuity is to be realised by a study
of the speculative sciences, from which, if they follow
their true course, it will naturally flow, whereas if they
take a wrong course such continuity will never be reached.

72. In Ethics, X. vii : 8, Aristotle protests against
all suadentes humana sapere hominem and mortalia mortaUm ;
and himself urges man to make himself in quantum con-
tingit immortalem, and omnia facer e ad ■vi'vere secundum
optimum eorum quae in ipso. Dante may have learned that
Simonides was aimed at from the comments of Aquinas,
here and elsewhere ; or possibly direct from Metaphysics,
I. ii : 12, where Simonides is named and is said to base
his contention on the supposed jealousy of the gods.

108. The sage, in this case, is Juvenal (^Sat. X. 22).
Dante habitually calls poets sages, as in the celebrated
passage in the Vita Nuo-va, Sonnet X. line 2 (§ 20 : 14.)

160. By this effect. I.e., by observing that their effect
on the noble mind is nil.

CHAPTER XIV

[(ii.) How they who say that the lapse of time is
requisite to create nobility, themselves (1°) add the
condition that neither a churl nor a churl's son
can become noble, which destroys their own con-
tention ; and how four absurdities would follow
should they seek to remove this contradiction. ]

The error of others having been refuted in that Irrele-
part wherein it rests upon wealth ... in that vance of
part wherein it asserted time to be a cause of ^°^®

298 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Churl and nobleness, saying ' of ancient wealth ' ; and this
gentle refutation is conducted in that part which begins :

ii. Nor will they have it that a base man can

become gentle.

1°, 2°. And first this is refuted by an argument of the
very ones who are in [^loj this error; then,
for their greater confusion, this argument of
theirs is itself also refuted, and this is done
when it says :

Further i it follonueth from ivhat I have
above set dotvn.

Finally, the conclusion is reached that their
error is manifest, and therefore it is time to turn
to the truth, and this is done where it says :

Wherefore to sound intellects, and the rest.

i°- I say then :

Nor ivill they have it that a base man can
become gentle,

and here be it known that \_'2-o~\ it is the
opinion of the erring ones that a man once a
churl may never be called gentle ; and a man
who is son of a churl, in like manner may
never be called gentle. And this shatters their
own doctrine when they imply that time is
required for nobleness, by inserting that word
' ancient ' ; for it is impossible in the process
of time to come to the moment that begets
nobleness, according to this their argument (that
has been rehearsed), [30] which precludes a
: churl from being ever able to become gentle for

ought that he may do or by any accident, and

XIV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 299

precludes the passage from a churl father to a The
gentle son ; for if the son of a churl is only a transition
churl, then his son again is only the son of a
churl, and therefore his son too is a churl ; and
so we shall never at all be able to find the point
at which nobility begins by process of time.
And if the adversary, bent on [403 making
some defence, should say that nobility begins
at the point of time when the base state of the
ancestors is forgotten, I say that that is counter
to them themselves ; for of sheer necessity there
would at that point be a transition from churlish-
ness to gentleness, either of the same man from
one into the other, or between father and son,
which is contrary to what they lay down.

And if the adversary were stubbornly to
defend his case by saying that they admit [50^
that this change can take place when the base
estate of the ancestors has fallen into oblivion,
although the text takes no heed of this, it is
right that the gloss should answer it. And
therefore I answer thus, that from that conten-
tion of theirs follow four extreme absurdities, i. U. Hi. iv.
so that the argument cannot be good.

The first is that the better human nature i.
became the [60]] harder and the slower would
the generating of gentleness be, which is the
greatest absurdity, inasmuch as a thing is the
more mindful in proportion as it is better, and is
a greater cause of good; and nobleness is counted
amongst things that are good. And that this
would be so is thus proved : If gentleness or
nobleness (by which I mean one and the same
thing) were generated by oblivion, nobleness
would be the sooner generated in proportion as

300 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Absurd men were more [[70] forgetful, for thereby all
results forgetfulness would come the quicker. There-
fore the more forgetful men were the sooner
would men become noble ; and counterwise, the
better memory they had the more slowly would
they be ennobled.
ii- The second is that this distinction between
noble and base could not be made with respect
to anything except men, which is highly absurd,
inasmuch as [^8oJ we recognise in every kind of
thing the features of nobleness or baseness, so
that we often speak of a noble horse and a base
one, and a noble falcon and a base one, and a
noble pearl and a base one. And that this
distinction could not be made is thus proved :
If oblivion of base ancestors is the cause of
nobleness, then in cases where there has never
been any baseness of ancestors there cannot be
any oblivion of them [90] (inasmuch as oblivion
is the perishing of memory), so that in these
aforesaid animals other than man, and plants
and minerals, baseness and loftiness cannot be
traced, since their nature holds them to one
only and equal state, and in their generation
there can be no nobleness and so neither any
baseness ; inasmuch as these two are to be
regarded as habit and privation, which are
possibilities of one identical subject, and there-
fore in these things there can be j^iooj no
distinction between one and the other. And if
the adversary should choose to say that in other
things nobleness means the excellence of the
thing, but in men it means that the memory of
their base condition has perished, one would
wish to answer not with words but with a

XIV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 301

dagger to such a stupidity as it would be to of a
assign excellence as the cause of nobleness in desperate
other things, and oblivion as its principle in the ^?°^®°"
case of Clio] rnen.

The third is that the thing generated would "V.
often come before the thing generating, which
is utterly impossible ; and this may be shown
as follows : Let us suppose that Gherardo da
Cammino had been the grandson of the basest
churl that ever drank of the Sile or the Cagnano,
and that oblivion of his grandfather had not yet
come about ; who should dare to say that
Gherardo da Cammino would have been a base
[^1203 man? And who would not agree with
me and say that he was noble ? Of a surety
no one, howsoever presumptuous he might be ;
for noble he was, and so will his memory be for
ever. And if oblivion of his base ancestor had
not come about (as is urged in the objection),
and he had been great in nobility, and his noble-
ness had been thus openly perceived, as openly
perceived it is, it would have existed in him
before that which generated it had come about.
And this C1303 is supremely impossible.

The fourth is that a man should be held ^^*
noble when dead who was not noble when alive,
than which there can be no greater absurdity ;
and that this would follow is shown thus :
Let us suppose that in the age of Dardanus the
memory of his base ancestors survived, and let
us suppose that in the age of Laomedon this
memory had perished and oblivion had taken
its place. According to the opinion we are
attacking, [^140] Laomedon was gentle and
Dardanus was a churl when they were alive.

302 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

A We, to whom the the memory of their ancestors
dilemma (I mean beyond Dardanus) has not come down,
are we to say that Dardanus was a churl when
he was alive and is noble now that he is dead ?
And the report that Dardanus was the son of
Jove is nothing counter to this, for it is a fable
to which, in a philosophical discussion, we
should give no heed. And, at any rate, if the
adversary [150]] should choose to take his
stand on the fable, verily, that which the fable
veils destroys all his arguments. And thus it
is manifest that the argument which laid down
oblivion as the cause of nobleness is false and
erroneous.

7. (ii.) See p, 276.

62, 70, 72. I think a careful study of the passage can
leave little doubt that Dante means by memorata ' having
a good memory,' and by smemoratt 'having bad memories.'
It would of course be more natural, on the face of it, to
translate the words respectively 'held in memory' and
'forgotten.'

97. Neither nobility nor baseness has any meaning,
except as applied to a subject capable of the habit or dis-
position in question, and therefore capable of the ' priva-
tion ' of it. Compare II. 14: \\o^note.

107. Compare II. 9 : 56, note.

114. Gherardo. See Purgatorio,'K.y^I. i2^,And note. His
death took place in 1306 (Toyn bee), see Appendix, p. 421.

151. The insinuation is that if we are to lay stress on
the legend we should conclude that Dardanus was base
born and his parentage unknown. Compare Paradiso,
VIII. 131 f.

XV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 303

,; CHAPTER XV

[But (2°) this contention of theirs is itself absurd. For
it would imply either (*.)that there is no distinc-
tion between noble and churl, or («.) that men

" have not all a common origin. And both of

*!■ these are false. Wherefore the opinions of the
emperor and of the common herd are alike
refuted, save to such whose minds suffer from
some one of three great sicknesses of soul, or are

^^ distraught by some defect or derangement of
body reacting upon the mind.]

When the ode has disproved, on their own Re-
teaching, that time is demanded for nobleness, futation
it straightway goes on to confound their afore- ^J.^*".
said teaching itself, so that no rust may be left
by their false arguments upon the mind which is
disposed to the truth ; and this it does when it 2°.
says :

Further it follonveth from what 7 have
above set doivn.

\_\o~\ And here be it known that if a man
cannot become gentle from a churl, and neither
can a gentle son be born from a base father (as
was laid down above in their opinion), one of
two absurdities must follow : the one is that i. it.
there is no nobleness ; the other is that there
have always been a multiplicity of men in the
world, so that the human race is not descended
from one single man. And this can be demon-
strated. If nobleness is not {jzo"] begotten i.
anew (and it has been said above repeatedly that
their opinion involves this, because it allows not
its derivation from a base man to himself, nor

304 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The from a base father to his son), a man is always
origin such as he is born ; and he is born such as his
father ; and so this transmission of one single
condition has come down from the first parent ;
wherefore such as was the first generator, to wit,
Adam, such must the whole human generation
needs be, for [30]] from him to the moderns there
is no room to find any change according to this
argument. Wherefore, if Adam himself was
noble, we are all noble, and if he was base, we
are all base, which is no other than to take
away the distinction between these conditions,
and so to take away the conditions themselves.
And this is what the words

T/?at 'we be all gentle or else simple

declare must follow from what has gone before.
». And if this be not true, then of sheer necessity
some folk must be reckoned [40J noble and some
reckoned base; and since the change from baseness
to nobleness is ruled out, it follows that the human
race is descended from divers origins, that is to
say from one noble origin and from one base ;
and this is what the ode declares when it says :

Or that man had not an origin,

that is to say one sole origin (for it does not say
* origins ^^ ; and this is most false according to
the Philosopher, according to our faith which
may not []5oJ lie, according to the religion and
ancient belief of the Gentiles ; for although
the Philosopher does not lay down the succes-
sion from one first man, yet he will have it that
there is one only essence in all men, the which
divers origins could not produce. And Plato

XV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 305

has it that all men depend on one only ' idea ' and Its unity
not on several, which is giving one sole origin to
them. And without doubt Aristotle would
laugh aloud if he heard folk making two [60]
species of the human race, like that of horses
and of asses ; for (with apologies to Aristotle)
those who so think might at anyrate be con-
sidered the asses. That, judged by our faith
(which is to be preserved absolutely), it would
be most false, is clear from Solomon, who, when
he makes a distinction between all mankind and
the brute animals, calls all the former sons of
Adam ; and this he does when he says : ' Who
knows whether the spirits of the sons [^yo]] of
Adam go up and those of the beasts go down ? '
And that it was false according to the Gentiles,
behold the witness of Ovid in the first of his
Metamorphoses^ where he treats of the constitu-
tion of the world, according to the pagan belief,
or that of the Gentiles, saying : * Man was born
(he does not say men) ; man was born ; whether
the artificer of things made him of divine seed,
or whether the new-made earth, but [80] lately
darted from the noble ether, retained the seeds
of the kindred heaven which, mingled with the
water of the stream, the son of lapetus (that is
Prometheus) composed in the likeness of the
gods who govern all.' Where he manifestly
lays it down that the first man was only one ;
and therefore the ode says :

But tk'ts I grant not;

that is that man had not an origin. And the
ode adds :

Neither do they if they [90] be Christians.

3o6 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Sound It says * Christians ' and not ' Philosophers ' or

intellects < Gentiles,' though their opinions too are against

them ; because the Christian doctrine is of

greater vigour and crushes all cavil, thanks to

the supreme light of heaven which illuminates it.

Then when I say :

Wherefore to sound intellects 'its manifest

that nvhat they say is vain,

I draw the conclusion Lhat their error is con-
founded ; [lOo] and I say that it is time for
eyes to be opened to the truth. And this I tell
when I say :

And now I ivould declare how I regard it.

I affirm, then, that it is plain to ' sound intellects '
by what has been said, that these utterances of
theirs are vain, that is to say without the marrow
of truth. And I say ' sound ' not without cause.
Wherefore be it known that our intellect may
be spoken of as sound or sick ; and I mean by
' intellect' the noble part of our \\ lO^ soul which
may be indicated by the common term * mind.'
Sound it may be called when not impeded in its
activity by ill either of mind or of body ; which
activity consists in knowing what things are, as
Aristotle says in the third Of the Soul,

For, as to sickness of soul, I have perceived
three terrible maladies in the mind of man. One
is caused by boastfulness of [^1203 nature, for
many are so presumptuous that they suppose
themselves to know everything ; and therefore
they affirm uncertain things as certain ; the
which vice Tully chiefly denounces in the first
of the Offices, and Thomas in his Against the

XV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 307

Gentiles, where he says : * Many are so pre- and sick
sumptuous in character as to believe they can
measure all things with their intellect, considering
everything true that approves itself to them, and
everything false [1303 which does not.' And
hence it is that they never come at learning,
believing that they are learned enough of them-
selves ; they never ask questions, they never
listen, but desire that questions should be asked
of them, and before the question is well out they
give a wrong answer. And of these Solomon
says in the Proverbs: 'Hast thou seen a man
swift to answer ? From him folly rather than
correction is to be looked for.' The second is
caused by [^1403 abjectness of nature, for there
are many so obstinate in their abasement that
they cannot believe that anything can be known
either by themselves or by any other ; and such
never search or argue for themselves, nor care at
all what any other says. And against them
Aristotle discourses in the first of the Ethics,
saying * That they are incompetent students of
moral philosophy.' Ever like beasts do such
[^1503 live in grossness, without hope of any
instruction. The third is caused by frivolity of
nature, for there are many of such frivolous
fancy that they dash about whenever they argue,
reaching their conclusion before they have
formed their syllogism, and flying from this
conclusion to another, and fancying all the time
that they are arguing most subtly. And they
start from no axioms and never really see any
one thing truly in their imagination. And of
[^1603 them the Philosopher says that we should
take no heed nor have aught to do with them,

308 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Souls saying in the first of the Physics that with him

sick ^ho denies the axioms it is not meet to dis-

th '^h^H P"^^* ^'^'^ amongst such are many unlettered

who would not know their ABC, and would

fain discuss geometry, astrology and physics.

And by reason of sickness or defect of body
the mind may be unsound, [^lyoj sometimes by
defect of some principle from birth, as in the
case of idiots ; sometimes by disturbance of the
brain, as in the case of maniacs. And it is this
malady of mind that the law contemplates when
the Infortiatum says : ' In him who makes a
testament, soundness of mind, not of body, is
required at the time in which the testament is
made.' Wherefore it is to those intellects which
are not sick [i8o] by malady of mind or body,
but are free and unencumbered and sound with
reference to the light of truth, that I say it is
manifest that the opinion just spoken of is vain
and without worth.

Then it adds that I thus pronounce them
false and vain and thus refute them ; and this it
does when it says :

u4nd thus do I refute the same as false.

And afterwards I say that we are to proceed to
demonstrate the truth, and I say that we are to
demonstrate this, to wit what gentlehood [190^
is, and how a man in whom it exists may be
recognised ; and I say this here :

And noiv 1 would declare how I regard it.

117-183. With this whole passage compare I. 11.
175. 'The Digestum Vetus extends from the beginning

XVI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 309

to the end of Lib. XXIV. tit. ii., the Infartiatum thence
to the end of Lib. XXXVIII, tit. iii., the rest of the
Pandects being the Dlgestum No-vum^ (Rashdall). The
derivation of the term Infortiatum is not known.

CHAPTER XVI

[(b) Proceeding now to the positive part of his task
the author promises (a) to show us the nature of
nobleness, and (/3) to enumerate its tokens ; and
under (a) he will (i.) clear the ground by (l°)
examining the use and derivation of the word
' noble,' and by (2°) determining the method by
which we must seek to define it, and then (ii.)
will attempt the definition itself.]

* The king shall rejoice in God, and all those Rejoicing
who swear by him shall be praised, because the ^^ "^
mouth is shut of those who speak unjust things.' ^^
These words I may verily here set forth, be-
cause every true king ought supremely to love
the truth. Wherefore it is written in the book
of fVisdom : * Love the light of wisdom, ye who
are before the [^lo] peoples' ; and the light of
wisdom is truth itself. I say, then, that every
king shall rejoice because that most false and
pernicious opinion of mischievous and erring
men, which they have hitherto unrighteously
spoken concerning nobleness, has been refuted.

It is fitting to proceed to treat of the truth d.
according to the division made above in the
third chapter of the present treatise. This
second part, then, which []2o3 begins :

/ affirm that every virtue in principle^

purposes to determine about nobleness itself

3IO THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Noble- according to the truth. And this part is divided

ness IS into two ; for in the first the intention is to show

perlecuon ^j^^j. (.jjjg nobleness is, and in the second how he

"' "■ in whom it resides may be recognised. And

this second part begins :

The soul tvh'ich this excellence adorns.

a. The first part has again two parts, for in the
i, ii. first certain things are investigated which Q30]]
are necessary for the comprehension of the
definition of nobleness. In the second the
definition itself is sought ; and this second part
begins :

Gentlehood is <wherever there is virtue.

j. To penetrate completely into the treatment
1°, 2?. we must first perceive two things : The one,
- what is understood by this word nobleness,
simply considered without qualification ; the
other is, by what road we are to travel to find
1°. the above-named definition. I say, then, [^40]]
that if we would have regard to the common
custom of speech, this word * nobleness ' means
the perfection in each thing of its proper nature.
Wherefore it is not only predicated of man, but
of all other things as well ; for a man calls a
stone noble, a plant noble, a horse noble, a falcon
noble, whenever it appears perfect in its own
nature. And therefore Solomon says in Ecclesi-
astes : ' Blessed [[503 the land whose king is
noble,' which is to say no other than ' whose
king is perfect according to the perfection of
mind and of body.' And this he clearly
shows by what he says before, when he says :
' Woe unto thee, O land, whose king is a child,'

XVI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 311

that is to say, not a perfect man ; and a man is Deriva-
not a child simply in virtue of age, but in virtue ^°^ o*
of disorderly ways and defect of life, as the ® ^°^
Philosopher instructs us in the first of the Ethics.
It is true that \(>o\ there are foolish ones who
believe that by this word * noble ' is meant
' named and known by many,' and they say that
it comes from a verb which means * to know,'
to wit nosco. And this is most false ; for if
this were so, those things which were most
named and known in their kind would be
noblest in their kind ; and so the obelisk of St.
Peter would be the most noble stone in the
world ; and [yoj Asdente the cobbler of
Parma would be nobler than any of his fellow-
citizens ; and Alboino della Scala would be more
noble than Guido da Castello of Reggio ;
whereas every one of these things is most false.
And therefore it is most false that noble comes
from knowing ; but it comes from not vile,
wherefore 'noble' is as much as * not vile.'
This perfection is what the Philosopher himself
means in the seventh of the Physics when he
says : * Everything is most [Soj perfect when
it touches and reaches its own proper virtue ;
and it is then most perfect according to its
nature. Wherefore the circle may be called
perfect when it is really a circle ; ' that is to
say, when it attains to its own proper virtue,
then it exists in its full nature, and then it may
be called a noble circle. And this is when
there is a point in it which is equally distant
from the circumference. That circle [90] which
has the figure of an egg loses its virtue and is not
noble ; nor is that which has the figure of an

312 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Mode of almost full moon, because its nature is not perfect
definition [^ it. And so it may be plainly seen that in
general this word, to wit * nobleness,' expresses
in all things the perfection of their nature. And
this is the first thing we were in search of, the
better to enter into the treatment of the section
2°. which we are about to expound. Secondly,
[lOo] we were to see how we are to travel in
order to discover the definition of human noble-
ness, which is the scope of the present process.
I say, then, that inasmuch as in those things
which are of one species, as are all men, we
cannot define their best perfection by essential
principles, we must define and know it by the
effects they manifest ; and so we read in the
Gospel of [i lo] St. Matthew when Christ says :
* Beware of false prophets ; by their fruits ye
shall know them.' So the straight path leads
us to look for this definition (which we are search-
ing for) by way of the fruits ; which are moral
and intellectual virtues whereof this our nobleness
is the seed, as shall be fully shown in the defini-
tion thereof. And these are the two things
which it behoved us to perceive before [120]
proceeding to the rest, as said above in this
chapter.

16. (/^)See p. 238.

68. Brought from Egypt in the reign of Caligula, and
placed in the Circus of Nero ; on the foundations of which
the old St. Peter's was built, under Constantine. The
obelisk was removed to the neighbouring site it now
occupies in 1586 by Sixtus V. (Murray.)

69. On the fate of Asdente, no longer famous, see
Inferno, XX, 118-120. Alboino della Scala, the brother
of Dante's subsequent friend and patron, Can Grande,
was lord of Verona from 1 304 to 1 3 1 1 . Dante may have

XVII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 313

met him and conceived his contempt for him in the court
of his brother Bartolomeo. Compare Paradiso, XVII.
70-72. Guido da Castello is coupled with Gherardo da
Cammino in Purgatorio, XVI. 124-126.

76. I have generally translated -vile ' base,' but here
the play upon the word (such as it is) requires ' vile.'

106. An essential principle, that makes a thing what
it is, being common to all things of the same kind, cannot
serve to define the distinguishing excellences of the better
individualsof that kind. Compare IV. 10 : 54-65, where
a somewhat different reason for defining by effects is
given.

108. The effects which 'they,' the indiyiduaU,
manifest.

CHAPTER XVII

[(ii.) Approaching his definition, the author (1°), by
way of preliminary discussion, insists (t.) that all
virtues have one common principle — that of being
the mean between two opposing vices ; and («.)
that the present definition and investigation are
limited to the moral virtues, which concern the
active life ; reason being shewn why the intel-
lectual virtues and the contemplative life are not
considered here.]

Now when these two things are understood which The root
it seemed advantageous to understand before pro- 0^ virtues
ceeding with the text, we are to go on to ex- "•
pound the text itself. It says, then, and begins : i°» 2°-

I affirm that every "Virtue in principle comet h

from one root^ I mean virtue that maketh

man blessed in his doing ;

and it adds :

This is (according as the Ethics say) a

selective habity

314 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The [lo] setting forth the whole definition of moral

moral virtue according as it is defined in the second of

the Ethics by the Philosopher ; and the chief stress

' • of this is on two things : the one is that every

/. It. virtue comes from one principle ; the other is

that this ' every virtue ' means the moral virtues

which are our subject ; and this is manifest when

it says :

That is {according as the Ethics say).

Where be it known that our most proper fruits
are the moral [^20^ virtues, because in every
direction they are in our power. And they have
been distinguished and enumerated diversely by
divers philosophers, but inasmuch as wherever
the divine opinion of Aristotle has opened its
mouth, methinks that every other's opinion may
be dropped, purposing to declare what they are
I will briefly pass through them in discourse
according to his opinion. These are the eleven
virtues named by the said philosopher.

[]3oJ The first is called courage, which is
weapon and rein to control rashness and timidity
in things which bring destruction to our life.

The second is temperance, which is rule and
rein to our gluttony and our excessive abstinence
in things which preserve our life.

The third is liberality, which is the moderator
of our giving and of our [40] taking of temporal
things.

The fourth is munificence, which is the
moderator of great expenditures, making the
same and arresting them at a certain limit.

The fifth is consciousness of greatness,

XVII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 315

which is moderator and acquirer of great honours Virtues
and fame, and vices

The sixth is proper pride, which moderates
and regulates us as to the honours of this world.

[50] Tlie seventh is serenity, which moderates
our wrath and our excessive patience in the face
of external evils.

The eighth is affability, which makes us
pleasant in company.

The ninth is called frankness, which moderates
us in speech from vaunting ourselves beyond
what we are, or depreciating ourselves beyond
what we are.

The tenth is called eutrapelia, which [60]
moderates us in sports, causing us to ply them in
due measure.

The eleventh is justice, which disposes us to
love and to do righteousness in all things.

And each of these virtues has two collateral
foes, namely vices, the one in excess and the
other in defect. And they themselves are the
means between them ; and they all spring from
one principle, to wit from the habit of our right
[^703 selection. Wherefore it may be said
generally of all of them that they are an
'elective habit consisting in the mean.' And
these are they which make a man blessed or
happy in their operation, as saith the Philosopher
in the first of the Ethics, when he defines felicity,
saying that ' felicity is action in accordance with
virtue in a perfect life.' It is true that prudence,
or sense, is set down by many as a moral virtue ;
but Aristotle [SoJ enumerates her amongst the
intellectual virtues, although she is the guide of
the moral virtues and shows the way whereby

3i6 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The they are combined, and without her they may
active life not be.

^^ , But, be it known, in this life we may have

plative '-^° felicities, according to the two diverse paths,
the good and the best, which lead us thereto ;
the one is the active life, and the other the con-
templative. Which [90J latter (although by
the active life we arrive, as was said, at a good
felicity) leads us to the best felicity and blessed-
ness, as the Philosopher proves in the tenth of
the Ethics, And Christ affirms it with his
mouth in the Gospel of Luke, speaking to
Martha, and answering her : ' Martha, Martha,
thou art anxious and dost trouble thyself about
many things ; verily one only thing is needful ; '
that is to say, the thing which thou art doing.
And he [100] adds: 'Mary hath chosen the
best part, which shall not be taken from her.'
And Mary, as is written before these words of
the Gospel, sitting at the feet of Christ, showed
no concern for the ministry of the house, but
hearkened only to the words of the Saviour.
For if we would expound this morally, our Lord
meant therein to show that the contemplative
life was the best, although the active [no] life
was good. This is manifest to whoso will apply
his mind to the Gospel words. But some might
say, arguing against me : Inasmuch as the felicity
of the contemplative life is more excellent than
that of the active, and the one and the other may
be and is the fruit and end of nobility, why not
proceed rather by way of the intellectual than by
way of the moral virtues ? To this it may be
answered briefly that [i30] in every discipline
heed should be given to the capacity of the

XVII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 317

learner, and he should be led by that path which The
is easiest to him. Wherefore, inasmuch as the n^oral
moral virtues seem to be and are more common ^^ "^^
and better known and more sought after than the
other virtues, and more closely knit with outward
manifestation, it was expedient and suitable to
proceed by this path rather than by the other ;
for we should arrive equally well at a knowledge
of bees by investigating the product of [130^
wax as the product of honey, though the one
and the other proceed from them.

The division 1°, 2°, is implied at the openine; of Chapter
XIX.

20. In e-very direction. Compare IV. 9 : 65-75.

41-47. Magnifcen'sa ( = ' munificence,') is liberality on a
large scale. Magnanimita (Compare I. 11 : 126-144) is
a sense of superiority in a man who really is superior.
Amati'va li'onore is the desire for adequate success, honour
and recognition on the part of a man who has not, and
does not think he has, marked greatness. Thus the rela-
tion of magnanimita to amativa d'onore is identical with
that of magnificen%a to liberalita.

59. Eutrapelia is ease and pleasantness in social inter-
course and conversation. Thomas Aquinas gives an
amusing description of the man who is always swooping,
like a rapacious bird, on every remark, to make it the
pretext for a pun, or the like. This is one of the vicious
extremes. Haughty or morose aloofness is the other.

83. Combined. /.«., the proportions in which the oppos-
ing qualities, either of which in excess is a vice, are to be
combined in order to produce virtue.

99. Dr Moore has shown that Augustine, like Dante,
regarded Martha as receiving the qualified praise, rather
than the rebuke, of Jesus. But the very curious inter-
pretation of the 'one thing needful' as referring to her
and not to Mary seems to be peculiar to Dante.

129. Though honey, which is what we think oi par
excellence as the product of the bees, yet there is no reason
why we should not investigate them through the product

3i8 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

of wax (which, by the way, was of far higher importance
in the middle ages than it is now) should it be more con-
venient to do so; and so we may investigate nobleness
by means of the moral virtues, although the intellectual,
which are more excellent, also proceed from it. See the
first note on Chapter XXII. of this treatise.

CHAPTER XVIII

[Having spoken of the moral virtues the author pro-
ceeds (iii.) to show that they have the character-
istic of being praiseworthy in common with
nobleness, which indicates some connection
between the two ; and, nobleness being the more
comprehensive term, it seems reasonable to sup-
pose (though it is not yet proved) that the moral
virtues are derived from nobleness, rather than
they and it from some common source.]

Cause The preceding chapter brings us to define how

and effect every moral virtue rises out of one principle,

that is to say a right and habitual selection ;

and that is what the present text implies up to

that part which begins:

I affirm that nobility in its constituent essence.

iii. In this part, then, we proceed, by way of prob-
able inference, to learn that every virtue named
above, taken severally [[loj or generally, pro-
ceeds from nobility, as effect from cause. And
this is supported by a philosophical proposition
which declares that when two things are found
to agree in anything they must both be re-
duced to some third thing, or one of them
reduced to the other, as effect to cause ; be-
cause one characteristic, primarily and essentially
possessed, can only pertain to one thing, and if

XVIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 319

these two were not both the effect of some third, Virtue
[203 nor one the effect of the other, then both derived
of them would possess this characteristic primarily °^
and essentially, which is impossible. It says,
then, that nobility and virtue (such as we are
discussing, namely moral virtue) agree in this,
that the one and the other implies praise in him
of whom it is asserted, and this when it says :

Wherefore in one same implication the ttvo

agree, being to one effect ;

that is to say, the ascription of them to anyone
implies praise of him and the belief that he is
prized.

And then it draws the conclusion, on the
strength [[30]] of the above-noted proposition,
and says that the one must needs proceed from
the other, or both from a third ; and adds that
it is rather to be presumed that one comes from
the other than that both come from a third, if it
appears that the one implies as much as the other,
and more yet ; and this is what this line affirms :

But if one signifies all that the other signifies,

where you are to know that at this point the
argument does not proceed by necessary demon-
stration (as though we should [403 say : ' If it
is cold that begets water, and if we see the
clouds,' etc.), but expresses a fair and fitting in-
duction ; for if there are in us sundry things
worthy of praise, and if there also is in us the
principle whence praise of us f]ows, it is reason-
able to reduce the former to the latter. And
it is more reasonable to regard that which em-
braces several things as their principle than to

320 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The regard them as its principle. For the stem of the
prepara- (-ree, which embraces all the other limbs, should
complete CS'^D ^^ called the principle and cause of them,
and not they of it. And thus nobleness, which
comprehends every virtue (as cause comprehends
effect), and many other praiseworthy activities of
ours as well, ought so to be so regarded as that
virtue should be reduced to it, rather than to some
third thing that may be in us.

Finally, it says that what has now been ex-
pressed (to wit that every moral virtue comes
from [^60] one root, and moral virtue as above
declared, agrees in one thing with nobility, so
that the one must be reduced to the other or
both to a third, and that if the one means all
that which the other does and more, the latter
proceeds from the former rather than from some
other third) is all to be presupposed ; that is to
say, is ordered and prepared for what is further
in view. And so ends this verse and this [^703
present section.

8. Dante appears here to use the word probabile in
contradistinction to demonstrati'va.

17. Primarily and essentially, i.e., not incidentally.
The idea is that all things which are praiseworthy
essentially, and not owing to some incidental circum-
stance or condition, must have in them the common
principle (whatever it may be) from which praise springs.

An illustration may explain the distinction between
having a characteristic primarily and secondarily.
'Movement through space' being characteristic of
' body,' nothing which moves through space primarily
can be other than corporeal. Now, the soul or life
becomes incidentally, and in a secondary sense, capable
of being moved through space, by its union with the body,
but it is not therefore corporeal ; for it does not possess
the capacity for movement through space primarily and
essentially.

XIX. THE FOURTH TREATISE 321

40. The text leaves the phrase incomplete. *If it is
cold that begets moisture, and we see clouds in the air,
we know that the air in that region is cold.' The present
argument is not of this conclusive nature.

45. The argument is : Seeing that the principle of
praiseworthiness must be something in ourselves, and
seeing that there are a variety of praiseworthy things in
us, we must obviously attempt to discover that principle
and to bring all its manifestations under it. Now in
making this attempt we shall be more likely to succeed
if we take the more comprehensively praiseworthy mani-
festations as our basis than if we take the less compre-
hensively praiseworthy ones.

CHAPTER XIX

[The author now proceeds (2°) directly to his task of
examining nobleness, and (t.) converts what was
previously ( 1°, nt. ) only a probable inference into a
certainty, by showing more precisely that moral
virtue invariably implies nobleness, but nobleness
does not invariably imply moral virtue.]

Now that in the preceding section three certain Further
things have been decided, which were necessary division
in order to learn how we might define this
excellent thing of which we are speaking, it
behoves us to proceed to the following section, 2°.
which begins :

Gentlehood Is wherever there is virtue.

And this must be reduced to two sections. In ^- if-
the first a certain thing is proved which was
touched upon, but left [lO^ unproved, before.
In the second the conclusion is reached, and
that definition which we are seeking is found.
And this second part begins :

X

322 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Fuller Therefore shall be evolved {like perse from

V^ooi black).

i. To make the first section evident we are to
recall what was said above, that if nobleness has
a larger scope and extent than virtue, virtue will
rather proceed from it. Which thing, to wit
that nobility [20] has a wider extent, is proved
in this section ; and it gives an illustration from
the heaven, saying that wherever virtue is there
is nobleness. And here be it known that (ac-
cording as is written in Reason and is held as the
rule of Reason) those things which are obvious
in themselves have no need of proof; and
nothing is more obvious than that there is noble-
ness where there is virtue. And it is a matter
of common observation that everything after its
own nature can be [[30]] called noble. It says
then:

Even as the heaven is wherever is the star,

but this is not true conversely (viz., that wherever
the heaven is there the star is also), just so
there is nobleness wherever there is virtue, but
not virtue wherever there is nobleness. And
this with a fair and congruous illustration ; for
in truth it is a heaven in which many and divers
stars shine ; the intellectual and the moral virtues
shine in it ; good dispositions [40] given by
nature shine in it, to wit tenderness and religion,
and the praiseworthy emotions, to wit shame
and compassion, and many others. There shine
in it the excellencies of the body, to wit beauty,
strength, and, so to speak, unbroken health ;
and so many are the stars that extend over this

XIX. THE FOURTH TREATISE 323

heaven that verily it is no matter for wonder if of the de-
they make many and divers fruits grow on nvation
human nobleness, so many are their natural ° ^"' "*
characteristics and potentialities, comprised and
united in one [^503 simple substance ; and in
them, as in divers branches, it bears divers fruits.
Nay, in very truth I dare to affirm that human
nobleness considered under the aspect of its many
fruits surpasses that of the angel, although the
angelic be more divine in its unity. Of this our
nobleness, which fructifies in such and in so
many fruits, the psalmist was aware when he
composed that psalm which Q603 begins : ' O
Lord our God, how wonderful is thy name
throughout the earth ! ' where he extols man,
as though marvelling at the divine affection for
the human creature, saying : ' What is man that
thou, God, visitest him ? Thou hast made him
but little less than the angels ; with glory and
with honour hast thou crowned him, and set him
over the works of thy hands.' Verily then it
was a beauteous and congruous [70] comparison
of the heaven to human nobleness !
Then when it says :

^nJ <we in vfomen and In youthful age^

it proves that which I say, showing that noble-
ness extends itself into a region where virtue
does not. And it says that we

Perceive this saving thing

(which refers to nobleness, which is indeed a
truly saving thing) to exist where there is
sensitiveness to shame, that is, fear of dishonour ;
as in women and in young folk, where shame is

324 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

from good and laudable ; which shame [80] is not a
nobleness virtue but a certain estimable emotion. And it
says :

And nve in ivomen and in youthful age,

that is in young people ; because, according as
the Philosopher hath it in the fourth of the
Ethics, * Shame is not laudable nor becoming in
old men nor in studious folk,' because it behoves
them to guard against those things which would
cause them shame. Of young people and of
women not so much of this line of conduct is
required, and therefore in [[903 them the fear
of encountering disgrace through some fault is
laudable, for it comes from nobleness. And
their fear may be regarded as nobleness, just as
impudence is baseness and ignobleness. Where-
fore it is a good and most excellent sign of
nobleness in children and those of unripe age
when shame is painted in their faces after a
fault, for then it is the fruit of true nobleness.

30-32, Compare II. 7 : 95 fF.

36. It, namely nobility.

44-52. Com^zrt Paradiso, 11. 115-117^

50. It is only metaphorically that nobleness is a * sub-
stance' at all. Compare III. 1 1 : 130-136, «o^£. For the
unity of all the stars in heaven, see Paradise, II.
130-138.

55. Compare III. 7: 6911.

58. Observe the conscious intellectual processes as-
sumed, and compare ParaJiso, XX. 40-42.

85. Studious folk. I have so translated uomini studiosi,
(though with much hesitation), because I think Dante
understood it so. In the Latin, however, studiosus is a
translation of iTTieiK'^s, which means ' men of weight and
character.'

94-98. Hence the -veleno of Beatrice's insistence on
Dante's full manhood in Purgatorio, XXXI. 67 fF.

XX. THE FOURTH TREATISE 325

CHAPTER XX

[The author comes (it.) to the long-sought definition-
by-effect itself. We have seen that virtue is a
necessary outcome of nobleness. Therefore, no
man can be ennobled by his family if he have
not personally the godlike grace which indicates
nobleness. It is the gift of God alone to such a
soul as, having a rightly-disposed body to har-
bour it, has taken a perfect stand therein. To
such, nobility is ' the seed of blessedness dropped
by God into a rightly -placed soul,' and this
definition, though implying throughout the
defining effects and not attempting an analysis
(see Chapter X.), yet actually embraces all four
causes of nobleness. ] v/ ».y£ij»iaj;i'

When there follows next : Virtue

Therefore shall be evolved (^as perse from blacli), nobleness

the text proceeds to that definition of nobility ii.
which we are seeking, and whereby we may
perceive what this nobleness of which so many
folk speak erroneously really is. It affirms then,
drawing the conclusion from what has already
been said, that every virtue,

or their generic kind,

namely the ' elective habit consisting in the
[10] mean,' will proceed from this, to wit from
nobleness. And it takes an illustration from
the colours, saying that as perse derives from
black, so does it, namely virtue, derive from
nobleness. Perse is a colour mingled of purple
and of black, but the black predominates, and it
is called after it ; and thus virtue is a thing
combined of nobleness and emotion ; but because

326 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Grace the nobleness predominates over the other, virtue
9°*^' is called after it and is named goodness.
^ C^oJ And so it goes on to argue from what

has been said, that no one, because he can say
* I am of such and such a race,' should believe
that he has nobleness, unless these fruits are in
him. And straightway it gives the reason, say-
ing that those who have this * grace,' to wit this
divine thing, are almost like gods, without taint
of vice. And this gift can be given by none
save God alone, with whom there is no selection
of persons, as the divine [_^o2 scriptures make
manifest. Nor let any deem it too lofty an
utterance when it says :

For they are nvell-nigh gods ;

for, as argued above in the seventh chapter of the
third treatise, just as there are men most base and
bestial, so there are men most noble and divine.
And Aristotle proves this in the seventh of the
Ethics, by the text of the poet Homer. Where-
fore let not him of the Uberti of Florence, nor
him of the Visconti of Milan, say : [40] * Because
I am of such a race I am noble ; ' for the divine
seed falls not upon the race, that is the stock,
but falls upon the several persons ; and, as will be
shown below, the stock does not ennoble the
several persons, but the several persons ennoble
the stock.

Then when it says :

For God alone presents it to the soul,

the discourse turns to the receptive being, that
is the subject, whereon this divine [50] gift

XX. THE FOURTH TREATISE 327

descends — for it is in truth a divine gift — accord ■ Souls in

ing to the word of the apostle : ' Every best darkness

gift and every perfect gift cometh from above,

descending from the Father of lights.' It says

then that God alone gives this grace to the soul

of that man whom he sees perfectly balanced in

his person and ready and disposed to receive

this divine act. For, as the Philosopher says

in the second Of the Soul : ' Things must needs

be [603 in the right disposition for their agents

in order to be acted on by them.' Wherefore

if the soul takes not its perfect ♦ stand,' it is

not so disposed as to receive this blessed and

divine infusion ; just as if a precious stone be

ill-disposed, or imperfect, it cannot receive the

celestial virtue, as said that noble Guido Guini-

zelli in an ode of his which begins : ' To the

gentle heart love repaireth ever.' It is possible,

then, [703 that the soul stands not well in the

person through defect of complexion, and perhaps

through defect of season ; and in such as these this

divine ray never glows. And such, whose soul

is deprived of this light, may say that they are

like valleys turned to the north, or caves beneath

the earth, where the light of the sun never

descends unless thrown back from some other

region whereon it shines.

[80] Finally it draws the conclusion and
declares according to what has been said above
(namely that the virtues are the fruit of noble-
ness, which God implants in the mind that sits
rightly), that there are some (namely, those who
have understanding, which are few), to whom

the teed of blessedness draws nigh.

328 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The And it is evident that human nobleness is nought
definition else than,

the seed of blessedness draws nigh de-

spatched by God into the well-placed soul^

that is, the soul whose body is perfectly disposed
1^903 in every part. For if the virtues are the
fruit of nobleness and if blessedness is the fruition
of sweetness, it is manifest that this nobleness is
the sower of blessedness, as has been said ; and
if well considered, this definition embraces all
the four causes, to wit, material, formal, efficient
and final ; material, inasmuch as it says ' into
the well-placed soul,' which is the material and
subject of nobleness ; formal, inasmuch as it
says that it is [looj 'the seed'; efficient,
inasmuch as it says ' despatched by God into the
soul ' ; final, inasmuch as it says ' of blessedness.'
And thus is defined this excellence of ours,
which descends into us after the fashion of a
supreme and spiritual virtue, as virtue into the
stone from noblest celestial body.

17. I have not ventured to disturb the text, but since
virtue is a habit or disposition, not a passion or emotion,
and since Dante expressly insists (see line 80 of the
previous chapter) that shame, being a passion, is not a
virtue (compare Aristotle's Sunt autem et in passionibus . . .
medietates. Verecundia enim -virtus quidem non est, etc., in
Ethics, II. vii. ; ^4), it would seem that we ought to sub-
stitute some such word as elezione for passione.

Compare with this whole description the passage about
gallantry in Ode xi. 68-105.

19. Goodness, the Italian is bonta, which I have else-
where translated 'excellence.'

37. The passage had impressed Dante in early days.
See Vita Nuo-va, § 2, 51 f.

41-43. Compare Paradiso, VIII. 127-129. As ivill

XXI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 329

be s/ioivn below, viz., at the end of Chapter XXIX, of
this treatise.

62. If the body is not as it should be the soul is not
rightly ' placed ' in it.

71, 72. Consult the following chapter.

90-93. Since blessedness consists in the fruition of
delectable things, and the virtues secure that fruition,
and nobleness produces the virtues, nobleness is the seed
of blessedness.

94 fF. The material cause, say of a ploughshare, is the
iron out of which it is made. Its formal cause is the
shape which makes it a ploughshare and not something
else. Its efficient causes are the fire, the strokes of the
smith, and so forth, which cause it to come into exist-
ence. And its final cause is the end or purpose (viz.,
turning the furrow) the contemplation of which was the
motive for producing it. All four causes of nobility
Dante says are included in the definition. Compare III.
II : 150, text and note.

CHAPTER XXI

[A further examination of the way in which nobility
descends upon man ; (a) as revealed by natural
science ; (b) as revealed by theology. (a) The
impregnating seed differs (1°) in its elemental
composition, (2°) in the generative virtue of the
begetter, and (3°) in the celestial influences that
dominate the critical moment ; (which differences
severally produce corresponding differences (1°) in
the way in which the receptive ovum is physically
prepared to submit to the action of the generative
virtue ; (2°) in the way in which that generative
virtue acts in articulating the foetus ; (3°) in the way
in which the celestial virtue draws into actuality
the potential life-principle contained in the seed).
Then by special divine act (4°) the intellectual
principle, involving the power of abstract thought,
is superinduced. And in measure as all these
processes and conditions are perfect (5°) divine

330 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

excellences are multiplied in the soul. (b)
Theological science enables us to add that these
excellences are the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and
to rehearse them severally. An epilogue on
spiritual appetite and its cultivation.]

Human In order to understand the human excellence
souls which is called nobleness, as the principle of
all good in us, we are to elucidate, in this
special chapter, how this excellence descends
[a, b. into us ; and first in the natural way, and
then in the theological, that is, the divine
[a. and spiritual way. To begin with, we are to
know that man is composed {^lo'] of soul and
of body ; but that which has been declared to re-
semble the seed of the divine virtue pertains to the
soul. It is true that divers reasonings have been
held by philosophers concerning the difference of
our souls ; for Avicenna and Algazel would
have it that they in themselves, and in their
principle, were noble or base. Plato and others
would have it that they proceeded from the
stars and were noble, more or less, according to
the nobleness of the star. [20] Pythagoras
would have it that all were of like nobleness,
and not only the human souls, but together with
the human those of the brute animals and of
the plants, and the forms of the minerals ; and
he said that all the difference was in the bodily
forms. If each were to defend his own opinion,
it might be that truth would be seen to exist in
all of them. But inasmuch as on the surface
they appear somewhat remote from the truth, it
is better not [^303 to proceed by way of them,
but by way of the opinion of Aristotle and of
the Peripatetics. And therefore I say that

XXI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 331

when the human seed falls into its receptacle, Why they
that is, into the matrix, it bears with it the differ
virtue of the generative soul, and the virtue of
heaven, and the virtue of the elements it com-
bines, that is to say, its complexion ; and it
matures and disposes the material for the
formative virtue which the soul of the generator
gave. And the formative virtue prepares (^403
the organs for the celestial virtue which draws
the soul from the potentiality of the seed into
life. And the moment it is produced it receives
from the virtue of the mover of the heaven the
possible intellect, which potentially draws into
itself all the universal forms, according as they
exist in its Producer, but in a lesser degree
in proportion as it is more removed from the
prime Intelligence.

Let no man marvel if I speak in such wise
[^503 as seems hard to understand ; for to me
myself it seems a marvel how such a producing
can be arrived at by argument and perceived by
the intellect ; and it is not a thing to expound
in language — I mean in any language truly
vernacular. Wherefore I would say like the
apostle : 'Oh, height of the wealth of the
wisdom of God, how incomprehensible are thy
judgments, and thy ways past finding out ! '
And because the complexion of the seed may
[603 be more or less good, and the disposition of
the sower may be more or less good, and the dis-
position of the heaven for the effect may be good,
better or best (since it varies by reason of the
constellations which are continually changing),
it comes to pass that from the human seed, and ,

from these virtues, the soul is produced more or

332 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

The seed less pure. And according to its purity there
of felicity descends into it the [70J possible intellectual
virtue, which has been spoken of, and in the
way spoken of. And if it chance that because
of the purity of the receiving soul the intellectual
virtue is well abstracted and absolved from every
corporeal shade, the divine excellence is multi-
plied in it, as in a thing sufficient for its recep-
tion ; and hence there is multiplication of this
intelligence in the soul according as it may
receive it. And this is that ' seed of felicity '
of which at present we are speaking.

[80] And this harmonizes with the opinion
of Tully in that of Old Jge, where, speaking in
the person of Cato, he says : ' Wherefore a
celestial soul descended into us, coming down
from the loftiest of habitations into a place which
is counter to the divine nature and to eternity.'
And in this such soul there exists its own
proper virtue, and the intellectual virtue, and the
divine, to wit, that influence of which we have
just been speaking ; wherefore it is written in
the book Of [[903 Causes : ' Every noble soul
has three activities, to wit the animal, the
intellectual, and the divine.' And there are
some of such opinion as to say that if all the
preceding virtues were to accord in the pro-
duction of a soul in their best disposition, that
so much of the Deity would descend thereon
that it would almost be another incarnate God ;
and this is almost all that can be said by way
of natural science.
[b. C'*-"^] By way of theological science it may
be said that when the supreme Deity, that is
God, sees his creature prepared to receive of

XXI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 333

his benefaction, he commits to it as largely Gifts of
thereof as it is prepared to receive. And the spirit
because these gifts come from ineffable love,
and the divine love is appropriated to the Holy
Spirit, they are thence called gifts of the Holy
Spirit. The which, as Isaiah the Prophet [i loj
distinguishes them, are seven, to wit, wisdom,
understanding, counsel, strength, knowledge,
piety, and fear of God. Oh fair grain, and
fair and marvellous seed ! and oh admirable
and benign sower, who waitest only until human
nature prepare the land for thee to sow ! Oh
blessed they who fittingly cultivate such seed !
And here, be it known, that the first and noble
shoot which sprouts from this seed [^120] to
bear fruit, is mental appetite, which in Greek
is called hormen. And if this be not well
cultivated and kept straight by good habit, little
avails the seed, and better would it be had it
not been sown at all. And therefore St.
Augustine lays it down (and also Aristotle in
the second of the Ethics) that man should
accustom himself to well-doing and to restrain-
ing his passions, in order that this shoot that
has been spoken of may C^S"^] grow strong by
good habit and may be inured in its straightness,
so that it may bear fruit, and from its fruit may
issue the sweetness of human felicity.

17. Compare ParaJiso, IV. 24, note.

25. Bodily forms. * Form ' is not here used in its
philosophical sense, but, as it would be in modern writing,
for ' shape.'

42. It, i.e., the soul.

54. I suppose Dante means ' language which should
really be vernacular,' that is, suited to convey his meaning

334 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

to the unlettered. The mere Italianising of the technical
terms of the schools would not be real vernacular.

86-91. As to the terminology of this passage, which
does not quite agree with what has gone before, consult
note on III. 2 : 27.

95-99. This singularly bold attempt to bring the in-
carnation within the range of natural sequences seems
almost to anticipate certain speculations of modern
theologians. It is strange that (so far as I know) it has
not been fastened on by any of those scholars who have
sought to make Dante, especially when he wrote the
Conw-vio, something of a heretic.

124. Compare Purgatorio, XXX. 109-120.

CHAPTER XXII

[Of the goal of human life and the progress of the soul
towards it. Of love of self in general, and of the
highest or intellectual self in particular. Of the
practical and the speculative intellect and the
blessedness which each may attain. Of the greater
blessedness to be attained by the speculative life.
Of the allegory of the three Marys at the tomb.
Of the imperfect blessedness of earth and the per-
fect blessedness of heaven.]

Of gfiving It is enjoined by the moral philosophers who
good guts jj^yg spoken of benefactions that man ought to
bestow thought and care on making the benefits
he confers as useful as may be to the receiver.
Wherefore I, desiring to be obedient to such
command, purpose to render this my banquet in
every one of its parts as useful as shall be possible
to me. And since []io] it here occurs to me
that there is place for some discourse of the
sweetness of human felicity, I conceive that no
more useful discourse can be made for those who

XXII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 335

know it not; for (as saith the Philosopher in the Mental
first of the Ethics, and Tully in that of the Goal appetite
of Good) he makes ill progress towards the goal
who does not see it. And in like manner he
can advance but ill towards this sweetness who
is not first aware of what it is. Wherefore, inas-
much as it [203 is our final solace, for which
we live and accomplish whatsoever we do, it is
most useful and necessary to perceive this goal in
order to direct the bow of our activity towards
it. And he is chiefly acceptable who points it
out to those who see it not.

Letting be, then, the opinion on this matter
which the philosopher Epicurus had, and that
which Zeno had, I purpose to come at [30]
once to the true opinion of Aristotle and of the
other Peripatetics. As said above, from the
divine excellence sown and infused into us from
the beginning of our generation there springs a
shoot which the Greeks call hormen, that is,
natural appetite of the mind. And as the grains
which, when born, have at first an almost
identical appearance while yet in the blade, and
then, as they go [40J forward, become unlike,
so this natural appetite, which rises from the
divine grace, at first appears not unlike that which
comes just from nature, stripped of aught else,
and (like the blade of divers grains) is almost
identical with it. And this likeness is not con-
fined to men, but extends to men and to beasts
alike. And this appears herein that every
animal, as soon as it is born, whether rational or
brute, [503 loves itself and fears and flees those
things which are counter to it, and hates them.
Then, as things proceed, there begins, as said

336 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Distinc- above, to be unlikeness between them in the pro-
tions in gress of this appetite, for one takes one path and
self-love another another. As saith the apostle : ' Many
run for the prize, but one is he who receives it,'
so these human appetites proceed from their start-
ing-point along divers paths, [60] and one only
path is that which leads us to our peace. And
therefore letting be all the others, our treatise is
to hold after the one that begins aright.

I say, then, that from the beginning it loves
itself, although without discrimination. Then it
comes to distinguish the things which are most
pleasant, and less and more detestable, and
follows and flees in greater and less degree
according as its consciousness distinguishes not
1370]] only in other things which it loves second-
arily, but just in itself which it loves primarily.
And recognising in itself divers parts, it loves
those in itself most which are most noble. And
since the mind is a more noble part of man than
the body, it loves that more ; and thus, loving
itself primarily and other things for its own sake,
and loving the better part of itself better, it is
clear that it loves the mind [^So] better than the
body or aught else ; which mind it ought by
nature to love more than aught else. Wherefore
if the mind always delights in the exercise of the
thing it loves (which is the fruition of love),
exercise in that thing which it loves most is the
most delightful. The exercise of our mind then
is most delightful to us ; and that which is most
delightful to us constitutes our felicity and our
blessedness, [90] beyond which there is no delight,
nor any equal to it, as may be seen by whoso
well considers the preceding argument.

XXII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 337

And let not any say that every appetite is Practical
mental, for here mind is taken only to mean that and spec-
which has respect to the rational part, that is, • f j7^i.
the will and the intellect. So that if anyone
should choose to call the sensitive appetite mind,
his objection would not and could not apply to
the present matter ; for none doubts that the
[100] rational appetite is more noble than the
sensitive and therefore more to be loved ; and
so that is the thing of which we are now
speaking.

It is true that the exercise of our mind is two-
fold, to wit, practical and speculative (practical
is as much as to say operative) ; the one and the
other most delightful, though that of contempla-
tion be more so, as was declared above. The
practical exercise of the mind consists in our-
selves working virtuously, that is, in integrity,
[no] with prudence, with temperance, with
courage, and with justice. The speculative
exercise of the mind consists not in working our-
selves at all, but in considering the works of
God and of nature. And this and that exercise
constitutes, as may be perceived, our blessedness
and our supreme felicity. And this is the sweet-
ness of the above-mentioned seed (as is now
quite evident), whereto many times such seed
attains not, by reason [120] that it is ill culti-
vated and that its shoots go astray. In like
manner, by much correction and cultivation
some portion of the out-growth of this seed may
be so led to a place where it did not originally fall
as to come to this fruit. And this is, as it were,
a kind of engrafting of another nature on a
diverse root. And so there is none who can be

338 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Martha excused ; for if a man hath not this seed from
and Mary his natural [130] root, he may at least have it
by way of engrafting. Would that, in fact, they
were as many who had engrafted it on them-
selves, as are they who have let themselves
straggle away from the good root !

But in truth the one of these exercises is more
full of blessedness than the other, to wit the
speculative, which, without any admixture, is
the exercise of our most noble part, which, by
reason of that fundamental love which has been
spoken of, is chiefly to be loved, to wit [140]
the intellect. And this part cannot in this life
have its perfect exercise, which is to see God
(who is the supreme object of the intellect), save
in so far as the intellect considers him and con-
templates him through his effects. And that we
should supremely demand this blessedness and
not the other (to wit that of the active life),
the Gospel of Mark instructs us, if we would
rightly consider it. Mark says that Mary [150]
Magdalene and James' Mary and Mary Salome
went to find the Saviour at the tomb, and found
him not, but found a man dressed in white, who
said to them : ' Ye seek the Saviour, and I say
unto you that he is not here. Nevertheless,
fear ye not, but go and say to his disciples, and
to Peter, that he will go before them in
Galilee, and there ye shall see him as he said
unto you.' By these three [160] ladies may be
understood the three schools of the active life,
to wit, the Epicureans, the Stoics, and the Peri-
patetics, who go to the tomb, that is, to the
present world, which is the receptacle of cor-
ruptible things, and demand the Saviour, that is,

XXII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 339

blessedness, and find not ; but they find a man Galilee
in white garments, who, according to the testi-
mony of Matthew, and also of the others, was the
angel of God. And therefore Matthew [170]
said : * The angel of God descended from
heaven and came and rolled away the stone and
sat upon it ; and his aspect was as lightning and
his garments were as snow.'

This angel is this nobleness of ours, which
comes from God, as has been said, which speaks
in our reason and declares to each one of these
schools, that is to everyone who goes seeking
blessedness in the active life [ 1 80], that it is not
there ; but go your way and tell the disciples and
Peter, that is those who go seeking it and
those who have gone astray (as Peter did when he
denied him), that he will go before them in
Galilee ; that is to say, that blessedness will go
before them in Galilee, that is, in speculation,
Galilee is as much as to say ' whiteness,' and
whiteness is a colour full of material light more
than any other ; and in like manner contempla-
tion is [190] fuller of spiritual light than aught
else which is here below. And it says : * And
will go before you,' and does not say : ' And
will be with you,' to give to understand that
God is ever in advance of our contemplation ;
nor ever can we here come up with him who is
our supreme blessedness. And it says : * And
there ye will see him, as he said ; ' that is,
' And there ye will have of his sweetness, that
is, of felicity, as has been promised to you here,'
[200] that is to say, as it has been covenanted
for you to have power to obtain. And thus it 1

appears that our blessedness, which is this feli-

340 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Supreme city of which is the discourse, we can first find
blessed- imperfect in the active life, that is, in the
"^^^ activities of the moral virtues, and then per-
fectly, in a way, in the activities of the intel-
lectual. The which two activities are the
quickest and straightest ways to lead us to the
supreme blessedness, which may not here be
had ; [210] as appears by what has been said.

Throughout the whole discussion of the relation of
nobility to virtue, and in his apology at the end of
Chapter XVII. for taking the moral rather than the
intellectual virtues for examination in connection with
nobility, Dante has been conscious of the conception
upon which he directly enters in this chapter. Virtue
refers to conduct, whereas the ultimate objects of desire are
mental experiences. Therefore to understand^ to love and
to rejoice, not to do, must be the ultimate goal of effort.
Virtue, then, can only be a path to the goal, and ethics
can never be final or self-justifying, for they must have
reference to a life of ideal emotional relations, to which
they tend. The life of moral effort must therefore tend
to supersede itself by introducing a life of spontaneous
Tightness and blessedness of affection. This, though
inevitable to the thinker, has often seemed a hard saying
to the teacher of morals and to the practical man. Hence
Dante's desire (end of Chapter XVII.) to deal, as far as
he can, with what is generally understood. Compare
Purgatorio, XVIII. 49-63, together with the argument and
notes (in the 'Temple Classics,' Dante). The whole of the
Paradiso may be regarded as an elaboration of this con-
ception.

I ff. Compare I. 8 : 26 ff.

46. I have no hesitation in adopting the reading negli
uomini in preference to the nelle biade of the Oxford Dante.

82. Mind. The Italian is mente. Elsewhere in this
passage mind represents the Italian animo (to be carefully
distinguished from anima), but the two words animo and
mente appear to be used as synonyms. Whereas in IV. 1 5 :
108 ff. , mente and intelletto are expressly identified ; and it
is in fact the vov% (intelletto) that is under discussion.
Compare III. 2 : 102, note.

XXIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 341

94-102. So also in Purgatorio, XVII. 93, a distinction
is made between the rational love of the animo and natural
love. See note on the passage. If anyone should choose
to call the appetite of the senses animo, and then to attack
the author's statements, it would not really affect his
position, which is based on the relative nobleness of the
animo. Whatever use he or his opponent may choose
to make of words, it is rational appetite, not appetite
of sense, that is under discussion,

107. Compare IV. 17 : H3-115, and II. 5 : 74.

131 ff. My punctuation differs from that of the
editions ; and as this work is passing through the press I
am glad to find that it is confirmed (and anticipated) by
Mr Toynbee.

140 ff. III. 8 : 28-47 3"'^ note on 39. The contrast here
is between seeing God essentially and seeing him in his
effects. Compare Para -//jo, XXXI. 109-111 and note.

187. Dante probably got this (groundless) idea of the
meaning of Galilee from Uguccione (IV. 6 : 20, note^,
who himself took it from Isidore (Toynbee).

205. In spite of Dante's explicit assertions that full
blessedness is not attainable on earth, his praises of his
lady repeatedly draw him into declarations which
almost amount to saying that philosophy can give perfect
happiness on earth. Compare III. 8 (as above).

CHAPTER XXIII

[(/3) Of the manifestations of nobleness (i. ) in general
in every branch of life, and (ii. ) in specific ways
at every period of life. How human life being
caused by heaven conforms to the heavenly arch
in rising and declining. Of its apex, and of its
four divisions, corresponding with the several
combinations of the four principles of hot, cold,
moist, dry. Of the analogous seasons of the
year and periods of the day. ]

Now that the definition of nobility has been Noble-
adequately expounded and cleared, and has been "ess
illustrated in its divisions as far as possible, so

342 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

as mani- that we can understand now what a noble man
fasted ig^ -^e are to proceed to the part of the text
o which begins :

T%e soul whom this excellence adorns ;

wherein are shown the tokens whereby we
may recognise the noble man that has been
spoken [loj of. And this part is divided into
i. ii. two ; the first affirms that this nobleness openly
shines and glows through the whole life of the
noble one ; in the second it is specifically in-
dicated in its several lustres ; and this second
part begins :

Obedient, sweet and alive to shame.

i. Concerning the first part be it known that
this divine seed, of which we have spoken above,
buds forth in our [20] soul instantly, yielding
itself in divers fashions to every power of the
soul, according to their needs. It buds, then,
in the vegetative, in the sensitive and in the
rational, and branches out through the virtues of all
of these, directing them to their perfections, and
therein ever maintaining itself, until, together
with that part of our soul which never dies, it
returns to its most lofty and [^303 glorious
sower, to heaven. And this it says in that first
part which has been spoken of.
ii. Then, when it says :

Obedient, sweet and alive to shame, and the rest,

it sets forth that by which we may recognise

the noble man, by apparent signs, which are

the working of this divine excellence. And

1°, 2°,3°,4°. this part may. be divided into four, according as

XXIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 343

it works diversely in the four ages, to wit, in the
in adolescence, in manhood, in age, [^403 and several
in decrepitude. And the second part begins : ^^^

In manhood temperate and brave ;

the third begins :

^nd in old age ;

the fourth begins :

Then in the fourth term of life.

Such is the meaning of this part in general ;
concerning which it should be known that every
effect, as effect, receives the likeness of its cause
as far as it is possible to retain it. \_^o~\ Where-
fore inasmuch as our life (as said above), and
also that of every creature that lives here below,
is caused by heaven, and heaven displays itself
to all such effects not in its complete circle,
but in part thereof, and thus its motion must
needs be above them, and like an arch, as it
were embracing all lives as it mounts and de-
scends (I say embracing these 'lives' both of
men and of other living things), they must needs
be Q603 in a way likened to the image of an
arch. Returning then to our own life alone,
with which we are at present concerned, I affirm
that it proceeds after the fashion of this arch,
mounting and descending.

And be it known that this upstretching arch
would be equal Qn every case^ if the material
of our seminal complexion did not impede the
rule of human nature. But since the humid
factor (which is the seat \_^o~\ and the nutriment
of the heat which constitutes our life) is less or
more, and is of better quality, and has more

344 THE CONVIVIO d.

Of the duration, in one effect than in another, it comes
apex of to pass that the arch of life of one man is of less
or greater stretch than that of another. Death
is sometimes violent or is hastened by incidental
weakness ; but only that which is commonly
called ' natural ' constitutes the limit whereof
the psalmist says : ' Thou hast placed [[80] a
boundary which may not be passed.' And
inasmuch as the master of our life, Aristotle,
was aware of this arch of which we are speaking,
he seemed to maintain that our life was no
other than a mounting and a descending,
wherefore he says in that wherein he treats of
Touth and Age, that youth is no other than the
growing of life. It is hard to say where the
highest point of this arch is, because of the \j)o']
inequality spoken of above ; but in the majority
I take it to be somewhere between the thirtieth
and the fortieth year. And I believe that in
those of perfect nature it would be in the thirty-
fifth year. And I am moved thereto by this
argument that our Saviour Christ was of perfect
nature, and it was his will to die in the thirty-
fourth year of his age ; for it was not fitting that
the Divinity should thus abide in decrease.
Nor is it to be [looj believed that he would
not abide in this our life up to the apex, inasmuch
as he had been therein in the low estate of
infancy. And this is manifested by the hour of
the day of his death, for he desired to conform
this to his life ; wherefore Luke tells us that it
was about the sixth hour when he died, which
is to say the apex of the day. Wherefore we
may understand by this that about the thirty-fifth
year of Christ was the, apex [1 103 of his age.

XXIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 345

However, it is not specially with reference to Of the
its central point that scriptures divide this arch, fouf ages
but rather, according as the combinations of the
contrary qualities which enter into our composition
are four (to which, I mean to each combination,
one section of our life seems to be appropriated),
they divide it into four parts, which are called
the four ages. The first is adolescence, which
is appropriated to the [^1203 hot and moist; the
second is manhood, which is appropriated to
the hot and dry ; the third is age, which is
appropriated to the cold and dry ; the fourth is
decrepitude, which is appropriated to the cold
and moist, as Albert writes in the fourth of the
Meteorics.

And these parts occur in like manner in the
year, in spring, in summer, in autumn, and in
winter; and also in the day, that is, [130] up
to tierce, and then up to nones (omitting sext
between these two, for an obvious reason), and
then up till vespers, and from vespers onward.
And therefore the Gentiles said that the car of
the sun had four horses, the first was called
Eous, the second Pyroeis, the third ^thon, the
fourth Phlegon (according as Ovid writes in the
second of the Metamorphoses^, with reference to
the parts of the day. And [1403 briefly be it
known that, as said above in the sixth chapter
of the third treatise, the church in distinguishing
between the hours of the day makes use of the
temporal hours, of which there are twelve in
each day, long or short according to the measure
of the sun ; and because the sixth hour, which
is midday, is the most noble of the whole day,
and the most virtuous, she approximates her

346 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Noontide offices thereto from each direction, that is to say
noble before and after, as much as she may. And
therefore the office of the [1503 first part of the
day, that is tierce, is called after its close, and
that of the third part and of the fourth after
their beginnings ; and therefore we speak of
* mid - tierce ' before the bell rings for that
division, and of mid-nones after the bell has
rung for that division ; and in like manner of
mid-vespers. And therefore let every man
know that the right nones ought always to be
rung at the beginning of the seventh hour of the
day; and let this suffice for the present C'^*^]]
digression.

28-30. Compare Purgatorio, XXI. 44 f. ; Paradiso,
XXX. 112-114.

58. Though man as an immortal being is not confined
by the material heavens, yet as long as his soul is united
to his body on earth he is subject to their limitations in
all his organic life. Compare II. 9 : 20 ff.

92 ff. The Florentines began their year on the 25th of
March, reckoning that the incarnation took place at the
moment of the annunciation. Apparently Dante held that
Christ died just on the threshold of the thirty-fifth year
after the annunciation, which would be in the thirty-fourth
year of his life, reckoned from his birth. Inferno, XXI.
113, in combination with this passage, is generally (and I
think rightly) regarded as giving the year 1300 a.d. for the
Vision, but the phraseology of this passage, if the reading
is correct, is too equivocal, and the questions involved are
too complicated, to justify a discussion of the dissentient
opinions here.

95. If we were to push the combination of this passage
with Inferno, I. i, so far as to make it involve an
assertion on Dante's part that he himself was ottimamente
naturato, we should probably not be doing him any injustice.
Compare Purgatorio, XXX. 109 ff.

105. Luke tells us. The passage (Luke xxiii. 44-46)
runs : Erat autem fere hora sexta ; et tenebrae factae sunt

XXIV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 347

in uni-versam terram usque in horam nonam, et ehscuratus est
sol et -velum templi scissum est medium. Et damans "voce
magna Jesus ait: Pater, in manus tuas commend 0 spiritum
meum! et haec dicens expira-vit. Dante seems to have
taken usque in horam nonam as merely defining the
period to which the darkness lasted, and to have taken
all the rest as directly connected with erat autemfere hora
sexta.

130. Compare III. 6 : 12-32. Whatever difficulties
this passage may present with reference to the usages of
the Church, Dante's meaning seems perfectly clear.
tierce lasts from the first hour to the third (/.^., 6 to
9 a.m.), sext from the third to the sixth (9 a.m. to 12
noon), nones from the sixth to the ninth (12 to 3 p.m.),
and vespers from the ninth to the twelfth (3 to 6 p.m.).
But the attraction of midday makes us ring the hours as near
as we can to sext^ and therefore tierce is rung at the end
of the period it covers {i.e., at the end of the third hour,
9 o'clock a.m.), whereas nones and -vespers are rung at the
beginning of the periods they cover (that is, at the end of
the sixth and the end of the ninth hour respectively,
/.«., at 12 noon and 3 p.m.); and accordingly sext is
squeezed out altogether. Dante's own usage accords with
this. Thus in Inferno., XXXIV. 96, mezza terza is half-
past seven a.m., and in Purgatorio, III. 25, -vespero is
3 p.m.

CHAPTER XXIV

[Further of the four ages. And then (1°) of adol-
escence and the four graces that beseem it. And
first (/.) of obedience.]

Returning to our purpose, I say that human Adoles-
life is divided into four ages. The first is called cence
adolescence, that is, the ' increasing ' of life.
The second is called ' manhood,' that is to say,
the age of achievement, which may give per-
fection, and in this sense it is itself called

348 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Manhood perfect, because none can give aught save what

and age he hath. The third is called old age. The

fourth is called decrepitude, [lo] as said above.

As to the first, no one hesitates, but every
sage agrees that it lasts up to the twenty-fifth
year ; and because up to that time our sou! is
chiefly intent on conferring growth and beauty
on the body, whence many and great changes
take place in the person, the rational part cannot
come to perfect discretion ; wherefore Reason
lays down that before this age [20] there are
certain things a man may not do without a
guardian of full age.

As for the second, which is truly the summit
of our life, there is great diversity concerning
the period to be taken ; but passing over what
philosophers and physicians have written about
it, and having recourse to my own argumentation,
I say that in the majority (on whom every
judgment about a natural phenomenon may and
should be based) this age lasts twenty years.
And the argument which gives me this, [30]
is that, if the apex of our arch is at thirty-five,
the age under discussion should have as long a
period of descent as it has of ascent ; and this
rising and descending may be likened to the
sustained height of the arch wherein but slight
bending is to be discerned. We have it, then,
that the prime of life is completed at the forty-
fifth year.

And as adolescence lasts twenty-five years,
mounting up to the prime of [^40] life, so the
descent, that is, age, is a like period, succeeding
to the prime of life ; and so age ends at the
seventieth year.

XXIV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 349

But inasmuch as adolescence (taking it as we Decrepi-
have done above) does not begin at the begin- ^"^^
ning of life, but some eight months after, and
inasmuch as our nature is eager to rise and hangs
back from descending (because the natural [50]
heat is reduced and has small power, and the
humid is thickened, not in quantity but in
quality, and so is less easily evaporated and
consumed) it comes to pass that beyond old
age there remains perhaps to the amount of
ten years of our life, or a little more or a little
less. And this period is called decrepitude.
Whence we have it of Plato — whom (both in
the strength of his own nature, and because of
the [603 physiognomiscope which Socrates cast
for him when first he saw him) we may believe
to have had the most excellent nature — that he
lived eighty-two years, as testifies Tully in that
Of Old Age. And I believe that if Christ had
not been crucified and had lived out the space
which his life had power to cover according to
its nature, he would have been changed at the
eighty-first year from mortal body to eternal.

Truly, as said above, {jo~\ these several ages
may be longer or shorter, according to our
complexion and composition, but however they
may fall, I take it that the proportion laid down
should be observed in them all, that is, we must
make the ages longer or shorter according to
the totality of the whole period of their natural
life. Through all these ages this nobleness of
which we are speaking manifests its effects
diversely [^8oj in the ennobled soul ; and this
is what this part about which I am at present
writing purposes to show. And here, be it

350 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Of virtues known, that our nature, when good and straight,
in season follows a seasonable procedure in us (as we see
the nature of plants doing in them), and there-
fore different ways and different deportment are
suitable at one age rather than at others, wherein
the ennobled soul proceeds in [90] due order,
on one simple path, exercising its acts in their
times and ages according as they are ordained
for its ultimate fruit. And Tully agrees herein
in that Of Old Age. And passing by the
account which Virgil gives under a figure in the
JEneid of this changing progress of the ages, and
passing by what Egidius the Eremite says in
the first part of the Regimen of Princes, and
passing by what [looj Tully says of it in the first
Of Offices, and following only that which reason
1°. may see of herself, I say that this first age is
the gate and path whereby we enter upon a
good life. And this entrance must of necessity
have certain things which nature in her goodness,
failing not in things necessary, giveth us ; even as
we see she giveth leaves to the vine to protect her
fruit, and tendrils [no] wherewith she supports
and binds her weakness so as to sustain the
weight of her fruit.

Nature then, in her goodness, gives to this
i. ii. Hi. iv. age four things needful for entrance into the
city of the right life. The first is obedience,
the second is sweetness, the third sensitiveness
to shame, the fourth is grace of body, as the
«. text says in the first section. You are to know
[120J then that like as he who was never in a
city would not know how to keep the way
without instruction from him who has practised
it, so the adolescent who enters into the

XXIV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 351

wandering wood of this life would not know Of obedi-
how to keep the right path if it were not shown ence
him by his elders. Nor would their indications
avail if he were not obedient to their command-
ments, and therefore obedience was [^130]
necessary for this age. It is true that some
might say : * Then, can he be called obedient
who shall give credence to evil commands, just
as well as he who shall give credence to good
ones ? ' I answer that this would not be
obedience but transgression, for if the king
command one path and the servant command
another, the servant is not to be obeyed for
that would be disobeying the king, and so would
be transgression. And therefore Solomon (^140^
says when he purposes to correct his son (and
this is his first injunction) : 'Hearken, my son,
to the admonition of thy father,' and then at
once he warns him off from the evil counsel
and instruction of others, saying : 'Let not the
sinners have power to allure thee with flatteries
nor with delights, that thou go with them.'
Wherefore, just as, so soon as he is born, the child
cleaves to his mother's breast, in like manner,
as soon as [150] any light of the mind appears
in him, he should turn to the correction of his
father, and his father should teach him ; and let
him see to it that he give him no example of
himself in his works counter to his words of
correction, for we see every son by nature look
more to the prints of the paternal feet than to
others. And therefore the law which provides
for this affirms and commands that the person
of the father should ever [^1603 be regarded as
holy and reverent by his sons. And thus we

352 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

season- see that obedience was necessary in this age.
able in And therefore Solomon writes in the Proverbs
^cei^e ^^^^ * ^^ ^^° humbly and obediently endures
fitting reprehension from the corrector shall be
glorious,' and he says ' shall be ' to give to
understand that he is speaking to the adolescent
who cannot be glorious at his present age. And
if any should cavil, in that this is said of the
father and [170J not of others, I say that all
other obedience should be reduced to the father.
Wherefore the apostle says to the Colossians :
' Children obey your fathers in all things, for
this is the will of God.' And if the father is
not living, this obedience should be reduced to
him who is left as father by the father's last
will ; and if the father die intestate it should
be reduced to him to whom Reason commits his
guidance. C^^'-'Il -^0^ next his masters and
elders should be obeyed, to whom in a certain
sense he seems to have been entrusted by the
father or by him who holds the place of father.
But since the present chapter has been long, on
account of the profitable digressions which it
contains, the other points are to be discussed in
another chapter,

5 f. There is a play upon words in the original.
Gio-ventuie is the age which pub gio-vare. I have some-
times translated gio'ventute ' manhood,' and sometimes
'the prime of life,' or 'prime manhood.' 'Youth'
would almost always be misleading.

9. Senettute is sometimes translated ' old age,' some-
times simply ' age.'

47. The Oxford Dante reads otto anni ; but the manu-
script authority is said to be in favour of otto mesi, which
is certainly the true reading. Dante's argument is as
follows : AH agree that adolescence ends at twenty-five.
At thirty-five the central point of life is reached. Ten

XXIV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 353

years, therefore, from the end of adolescence brings us to
the middle of manhood ; and so ten years more will bring
us to its close. At forty-five we enter old age, which
must last as long as adolescence did, and this will carry
us to seventy, if we reckon adolescence at twenty-five
years, that is to say, if we suppose it to begin at birth.
But ' reckoning so ' (figliandola per lo modo che detto e) we
do not really come to the beginning of life, for we have
not reckoned the pre-natal period ; and (for the reasons
assigned in the text) we must reckon a longer period for
the supplement, after the termination of age, than we did
for the preface before the beginning of adolescence. The
only difficulty that may present itself to the reader is that
the pre-natal period is given as ' about eight months,'
whereas nine might have been expected. But a com-
parison of the notes of Buti and of Benvenuto on Purgatorio,

XXV. 50, will yield us the curious fact that in the opinion
of Dante's age the actual life of the fcetus began just
twenty-four days after conception.

60. The Italian is e per la Jisonomia che di lui prese
Socrare, which is usually understood 'according to the
physiognomy which enamoured Socrates of him ' ; but I
think the translation I have given must be correct. The
art of reading men's characters from a study of their
features was practised in ancient times, and a pseudo-
Aristotelian treatise is extant on the subject. I have not
found any tradition of Socrates exercising the art on Plato,
or any other, but there is a well-known story in which
he himself is the subject of the operation. ' What 1 do
we ru)t read of Socrates, how he was noted down by
Zopyrus, the physiognomist, who professed to read men's
characters and natures from their body, their eyes, their
features, their brows?' Cicero, De Fato, Chapter V,
The result of the inspection, in this case, was anything but
complimentary to its subject.

69. In the preceding chapter, line 65 ff.

84. Seasonaile. The Italian is ragione'volmentey which
will apply to anything that observes due relation or
proportion.

97. Egidius the Eremite. An Augustinian monk

(c. 1245-1316 A.D.), Besides the book here referred to

he wrote, at the command of Boniface VIII., a treatise

supporting the validity of Celestine's abdication (Toynbee).

Z

354 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Compare Inferno, III. 58-60. There is of course no
connection between this Egidius and the early disciple of
Francis mentioned in Paradiso, XI. 83.

146. Pro'verbs, i. 10. Fill mi, si te lacta-verint pec-
catores, ne acquiescas eis. The verb lactare, originally ' to
suckle,' was regularly used in Latin for 'blandishing'
or 'enticing.' The phrase doubtless influenced (as Miss
Hillard suggests) Dante's imagery in the following
passage,

165. Pro-verbs, xv. 31. Auris qua audit increpa-
tiones -vittie, in medio sapientium conimorabitur. There is
nothing about being * glorious ' in the passage ; but Dante
appears to have read conimorabitur =' shM abide' as
commemorabitur = ' shall be commemorated.' He probably
read from a manuscript with contractions, and false 'ex-
pansions ' are a very frequent source of error.

170. That is to say, 'it may be objected that I have
only argued for obedience to the father, which does not
cover the whole ground.' Dante proceeds more sua to
show that it does, by implication, cover the whole
ground.

173. Colossians, iii. 20. Filii obedite parentibus per
omnia : hoc enim placitum est in Domino. It is certainly
worth noting that Dante translates parentibus ' fathers,'
instead of 'parents'; but rather too much has been made
of this. No doubt he honestly understood the text as he
translates it; and did not deliberately substitute ' fathers '
in order to exclude 'mothers.' Compare De Monarchia,
III. 3 : 128 fF., ilia rcverentia fretus, quam pius Jilius debet
patri, quam plus filius matri. And also Paradiso, XXVII.
133-135, as well as such passages as Purgatorio, XXX.
43-45, of which there are many. There is no doubt,
however, that both from the physiological and the
sociological point of view Dante shared the limitations
of his age as to motherhood. Compare, for instance,
the complete ignoring, in chapter xxi. of this treatise, of
the possibility of any differences in the female factor in
generation affecting the constitution of the offspring.

XXV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 355
CHAPTER XXV

[Of the further graces that beseem adolescence, and
(it.) of sweetness, (m.) of abashment, of which
there are three kinds. Of Statius's examples
from the court of Adrastus. {tv.) Of comeliness
of person.

Not only is this well-natured soul obedient in Sweet-
adolescence, but it is also sweet, and this is the ness and
second thing which is necessary in this time of ^^^
life for rightly entering the gate of manhood.
It is necessary because we cannot have perfect "•
life without friends, as Aristotle hath it in the
eighth of the Ethics ; and the greater part of
friendships appear QioJ to be sown in this first
age, because therein man begins to be gracious or
the opposite. The which grace is acquired by
sweet conduct, to wit gentle and courteous
speech, gentle and courteous service and action.
And therefore says Solomon to his youthful
son : * The scorners God scorns, and to the
meek God will give grace.' And elsewhere he
says : ' Remove from thee the evil mouth, and
let Q203 churlish mowings be far from thee.'
Whereby it appeareth that this sweetness is
necessary, as has been said.

And further the emotion of abashment is need- Hi.
ful to this period of life, and therefore in this
period the good and noble nature manifests it as
the text says. And since abashment is the most
obvious token of nobleness in adolescence (for
it is then supremely needful for the right founda-
tion of [30] our life, which is what the noble
nature purposes), we must diligently speak
thereof some little. I say that by abashment I

356 THE CONVIVIO Cn.

season- understand three emotions necessary for the right
able in founding of our life. The first is bemazeraent ;
adoles- ^^^ second is pudicity ; the third is shame ;
• o •o although the common folk perceives not this
' distinction. And all these three are needful to
this period of life, for this reason : This [40]
period needs to be reverent and desirous of
knowledge ; this period needs to be restrained,
so as not to transgress ; this period needs to be
penitent for error, so as not to become hardened
in erring. And all these make up the emotions
mentioned above, which are vulgarly called
abashment.
t°- For bemazement is bewilderment of mind on
seeing or hearing, or in any wise [^50]] per-
ceiving, great and wonderful things ; for in so
far as they appear great, they make him who
perceives them reverent towards them, and in so
far as they appear wonderful they make him who
perceives them desirous to have knowledge of
them. And therefore the ancient kings con-
trived magnificent works of gold and gems and
artful machinations in their mansions, that they
who beheld them should be bemazed and there-
fore reverent, and should make question of the
honourable conditions [603 of the king. And
therefore says Statius, the sweet poet, in the
first of the Story of T/xbes, that when Adrastus,
king of the Argives, saw Polynices clad in a lion's
hide, and saw Tideus covered with the hide of a
wild boar, and minded him of the answer which
Apollo had given concerning his daughters, that
he was bemazed, and therefore the more reverent
and the more desirous to know.
w.° Pudicity is a shrinking of the mind [^703 from

XXV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 357

foul things, with the fear of falling into them ; The
as we see in virgins and in good women and in court of
the adolescent, who are so modest that not only Adrastus
where they are urged or tempted to err, but where
only a bare imagination of venereal pleasure can
find place, are all painted in the face with pale or
with red colour. Wherefore says the above-
named poet in the first book [803 Of Thebes,
just cited, that when Aceste, the nurse of Argia
and of Deiphyle, daughters of king Adrastus,
brought them before the eyes of their august
father, in the presence of two strangers, to wit
Polynices and Tideus, the virgins became pale
and red, and their eyes fled from every other
regard and kept turned only to their father's
face, as though secure. Oh, how many faults
does this pudicity restrain ! How many un-
seemly acts and demands [90] does it put to
silence ! How many unseemly desires does it
rein back ! How many evil temptations does it
not abash — not only in the modest person's self,
but in him who looks thereon ! How many
foul words does it hold back ! For, as Tully
says in the first Of the OJices : * There is no foul
act that it is not foul to mention.' And accord-
ingly a clean and noble man never so speaks
that his words would be unseemly for a woman.
Oh, how n^ooj ill it becomes the man who
goes in search of honour to speak of things
which would be unseemly in the mouth of any
woman !

Shame is fear of disgrace for a fault com- iit^.
mitted. And from this fear springs repentance
for the fault, which has in itself a bitterness
which is a chastisement against repeating the

3S8 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Bodily fault. Wherefore this same poet says in that
graces game passage, that, when Polynices was [no]
questioned by king Adrastus of his origin,
he hesitated before speaking, for shame of the
fault he had committed against his father, and
further for the faults of OEdipus his father, which
seemed to leave their trace in the shame of the
son. And he did not mention his father, but his
ancestors and his land and his mother. And by
all this it well appears that shame is necessary to
this period of life.
«^'- And not only does the noble nature display
fi2o3 obedience, sweetness and abashment in
this age, but it displays beauty and agility of
body, as the text says when it declares :

jind adorns the person.

And this * adorns ' is a verb and not a noun ; I
mean a verb indicative, present tense, and third
person. And here be it known that this effect
also is necessary for the excellence of our life,
for our soul must needs accomplish a great part
of its doings by a [1303 bodily organ; and it
accomplishes them well when the body is well
ordained and disposed in its parts. And when
it is well ordained and disposed, then it is
beauteous as a whole and in its parts ; for the due
order of our members conveys the pleasure of a
certain wondrous harmony ; and their right
disposition, that is their health, throws over
them a colour lovely to behold. And so, to
say that the noble nature beautifies [140] its
body and makes it comely and alert, is to say
not less than that it adjusts it to the perfection
of order. And this, together with the other

XXV. THE FOURTH TREATISE 359

things that have been discoursed of, appears to Full
be needful to adolescence ; and these are the equip-
things which the noble soul, that is the noble ^^iig°
nature, being, as said above, a thing sown by cence
divine providence, designs for it in its first
stage.

20. Pro-verbs, iv. 24. Remo-ve a te os fra-vum, et detra-
hentia labia sint proad a te. The Italian reads e git atti
"villani sieno lungi da te, from which it is obvious that
Dante took detrahentia as intransitive, and instead of
detracting lips understood it to mean lurhhing lips, and so
read it as a prohibition of 'making faces' at people!
Atto is used by Dante for every kind of significant
expression or gesture. The transition from facial ex-
pression to expressive gestures or pose being so much
easier to the Italian than to the northerner, art's is in many
connections a singularly difficult word to translate. I
have often rendered it 'gesture.'

24 ff. It is impossible to find four words for -vergogna,
stupore, pudore, and verecundia, which shall be at once
familiar and precise. The translator can only ask in-
dulgence of his readers. Happily Dante makes his
meaning perfectly clear in each case by his definitions and
examples. Modesty might be a better word than
' pudicity ' as the translation oi pudore, but I was unwill-
ing to narrow ' modesty ' to one particular form of its
manifestation. Against both • modesty ' and * pudicity ' it
may be rightly objected that they stand for a ' disposition '
and not a 'passion' or 'emotion.' Compare II. 11 :
41-47.

66. TAe answer, etc. The oracle had declared that
they were to marry a lion and a boar.

125. Compare I. 7 : 44-50, note.

36o THE CONVIVIO Ch.

CHAPTER XXVI

[Of the graces that beseem (2°) manhood, to wit,
(i.) temperance, (u.) courage, (ni.) love, (t'v.)
courtesy, and {v.) loyalty; and of Virgil's ex-
ample of ^neas.]

For self- Now that we have discoursed upon the first

perfection section of this part, which shows whereby we

may recognise the noble man by outward tokens,

we are to proceed to the second section thereof,

which begins :

In manhood temperate and brave.

30^ It says, then, that as the noble nature in
adolescence shows itself to be obedient, sweet,
and alive to shame, giving adornment to \_io~\
the person, so, in the prime of life, it is tem-
perate, and brave, and loving, and courteous, and
loyal, which five things appear and are necessary
i. a. Hi. to our perfection in so far as has respect to our-
tv. V. selves. And concerning this we are to know
that everything which the noble nature prepares
in the first period of life is provided and ordained
by the foresight of universal nature, which
ordains particular nature to her perfection. [^20^
This perfection of ours may be considered in
two ways : it may be considered as having
respect to ourselves, and this perfection should
be reached in the prime of our life, which is its
apex ; or it may be considered as having respect
to others. And since it is necessary first to be
perfect and then to communicate perfection to
others, this second perfection must needs be had
after that age, to wit in old age, [30] as will
be said below.

XXVI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 361

Here, then, must be called to mind the dis- we need
course contained above in the twenty-second temper-
chapter of this treatise, concerning the appetite ^^*-®'
which is born in us from our beginning. This
appetite never doth aught else save pursue and
flee ; and whensoever it pursues the right thing
in the right degree and flees the right thing
[40] in the right degree, man is within the
boundaries of his perfection. But this appetite
must needs be ridden by reason. For just as a
horse let loose, however noble he may be by
nature, does not conduct himself aright by him-
self without a good rider, so this * appetite,'
which is known as irritable and appetitive, how-
ever noble it may be, must needs obey reason,
which [50] guides it with rein and with spurs,
like a good horseman. The rein it uses when
appetite is in pursuit (and this rein is called
temperance, which shows the limit up to which the
pursuit is to be carried) ; the spur it uses when
appetite is fleeing to make it return to the place
whence it seeks to flee (and this spur is called
courage, or consciousness of greatness, which
virtue shows us where to make a stand and fight).
And thus restrained, []6o3 Virgil, our greatest
poet, shows ^neas to have been, in that part of
the JEmid where this period of life is repre-
sented, which part embraces the fourth, the fifth,
and the sixth books of the Mneid, And how i.
great a restraint was that, when having received
from Dido so much solace, as will be discoursed
of below in the seventh treatise, and experiencing
such delight with her, he departed to follow a
path honourable and praiseworthy and fruitful,
as [jo] is written in the fourth of the Mneid.

362 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

courage, How great spurring was that when the same
kindness, ^neas hardened himself to enter alone with the
cour esy gy^jj jjj|.q jjgj] ^^^j search for the soul of his
■ father Anchises, in the face of so many perils, as
is shown in the sixth of the aforesaid story !
Whereby it appears how in manhood it behoves
us for our perfection to be temperate and brave.
And this is what goodness of nature accom-
plishes and shows forth, as the [So] text
expressly says.
Hi. Moreover, it is needful to this period of life,
for its perfection, to be loving ; because it be-
hoves it to look back and fore, as being itself in
the meridian circle. It behoves it to love its
elders, from whom it has received being and
sustenance and instruction, so that it may not
seem ungrateful. It behoves it to love its
juniors, so that, loving them, it may give them
[903 of its benefits, by whom then in its lessening
prosperity it may itself be sustained and honoured.
And this love the above-named poet shows that
jEneas had in the above-mentioned fifth book,
when he left the aged Trojans in Sicily, com-
mending them to Acestes, and released them
from their toils ; and when in that place he
instructed Ascanius, his son, with the other
young people, in tournament. Whereby it
appears that love [lOo] is necessary to this
period, as the text says.
iv. Further, it is needful to this period of life to
be courteous, for although it becomes every age
to be of courteous ways, yet to this age, above
all, it is needful to practise them, since, on the
other hand, age cannot so do, because of its
gravity and the severity which is demanded of

XXVI. THE FOURTH TREATISE 363

it ; and so still more in decrepitude. And this and
courtesy [i loj that most lofty poet shows ^neas ^°^f-^^J'
to have had in the above said sixth book, where ^n^g
he says that iEneas, king as he was, to honour
the corpse of the dead Misenus (who had been
Hector's trumpeter, and had afterwards com-
mended himself to him), girt himself and took
the axe to help to hew the wood for the fire
which was to burn the dead body, as was their
custom. Wherefore it is clear that this quality is
required in manhood: and therefore (^I20j the
noble soul displays it in this age, as was said.

Further, it is needful to this period of life to be v.
loyal. Loyalty is the following out and putting
into action of that which the laws dictate ; and
this is especially fitting for one in the prime of
life ; for the adolescent, as has been said, because
of his minority, deserves pardon on easy terms ;
the senior ought to be just, in virtue of his wider
experience, and should follow the laws only
[130] in so far as his own right judgment and
the law are one and the same thing ; and he
should follow his own just mind, as it were,
without any law ; which the man in his prime
cannot do. And let it suffice that he observes
the law and delights in observing it, just as the
above said poet in the above said fifth book
declares that ^neas did when he instituted
the games in Sicily, on the anniversary of his
father's death ; for he loyally [140^ gave to each
one of the victors what he promised for the
victory, as was their ancient usage, which was
their law. Wherefore it is manifest that to this
period of life loyalty, courtesy, love, courage and
temperance are needful, as says the text which

364 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

in man- we are now discussing ; and therefore the noble
hood goul reveals them all.

40. Compare Purgatorio, XVII. 97-99.

45, Compare Purgatorio, VI. 88-99.

47. /rr/to^/^, in the physiological sense of 'answering
to a stimulus.'

57, Consciousness of greatness, i.e.,, magnanimita. Com-
pare IV. 17 : 44, note. The man who is worthy of great
things, and knows it, will rightly ' take his stand ' at a
point where it would not be sublime but ridiculous or
flippant for an ordinary man to do so. Compare the
quotation from Cicero in De Monorchia, II. 5 : 159-170.

67. We gather, then, that the seventh treatise would
have dealt with the ode, Cost nel mio parlar 'voglio esser
aspro ; in the thirty-sixth line of which Dido is named,
the only instance of the occurrence of a personal name in
any undoubtedly authentic ode of Dante's. We may
perhaps find a clue in this passage to the method in which
Dante meant to approach his task of allegorising this
terrible ode. The allegorising of the Mneid, as we may
see from this passage, involved the degradation of Dido
into the symbol of the seductive and effeminating passions,
to desert which was virtue. She was the prototype of the
Alcinas, the Armidas and the Duessas of the later litera-
ture. Few heroines indeed have been so deeply wronged !

123. The Italian lealtd does not lend itself any more
easily to this forced etymological interpretation than does
our ' loyalty.'

143. Dante, in agreement with modern scholarship,
regards custom as the primitive form of law.

XXVII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 365

CHAPTER XXVII

[(3") Of the graces that beseem age, to wit (/'.) pru-
dence, (ti.) justice, (m. ) generosity, and (I'v.)
affability ; and of Ovid's example of ^acus.]

We have sufficiently inspected and considered To be a
the section of the text which sets forth the blessmg
probity which the noble soul furnishes to man- ° ° ^^^
hood, wherefore it seems right to turn to the
third part which begins : 3°.

j^nd in old age,

wherein the text purposes to show those things

which the noble nature reveals and must have

in the third period, [loj to wit old age.

And it says that the noble soul in age is

prudent, is just, is open-handed, and rejoices to

tell of the goodness and excellence of others,

and to hear of it ; that is to say is affable ; i. ii. in. iv.

and truly these four virtues are most fitting to

this age.

And to perceive this be it known that as
Tully says in that Of Old Age : * Our life has
a fixed course and a simple path, \j.o~\ that of
our right nature ; and in every part of our life
place is given for certain things.' Wherefore,
just as that is given to adolescence (as said
above), whereby we may come to perfection
and maturity, so too is given to manhood that
perfection and that maturity themselves, so that
the sweetness of its fruit may be profitable to
itself and to others ; for, as Aristotle says,
' man is a civic animal,' [^30] wherefore he is
required not only to be useful to himself but

366 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

we need also to others. And so we read of Cato
prudence, that he did not think of himself as born for
himself, but for his country and for all the
world. Wherefore, after our own proper per-
fection, which is acquired in manhood, that
perfection should also come which enlightens
not only ourselves but others, and man should
open out like a rose that can no longer keep
closed, and should spread abroad the perfume
which has been generated [40] within ; and this
should come about in that third period of life
with which we are dealing. It is fitting, then,
I. to be prudent, that is wise ; and to be so
demands a good memory of things formerly
seen, and good knowledge of things present, and
good foresight of things to come. And, as the
Philosopher says in the sixth of the Ethics, ' it
is impossible for a man to be wise unless he is
good,' and therefore a man is not to be called
wise who proceeds by stratagems [_$o~\ and
deceits, but he is to be called astute ; for as no
one would call a man who had skill to strike the
point of a knife into the pupil of the eye wise, so
neither is he to be called wise who hath skill
to do some evil thing, doing the which he
ever injureth himself ere he injures another. If
it be rightly considered, from prudence come
good counsels which lead the man himself and
others to a right goal of human affairs [60]] and
doings. And this is that gift which Solomon,
when he saw himself set to govern the people,
required of God, as is written in the third book of
Kings. And a prudent man such as this waiteth
not till someone saith to him : ' Give me
counsel ' ; but himself foreseeing, without being

XXVII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 367

requested he giveth him counsel, like to the rose justice,
which not only giveth its perfume to him who
Cometh to it that he may have it, but also
to everyone who [70] passeth it by. Here
some physician or legist might say : ' Then am I
to carry my counsel and to give it even to those
that ask it not, and pluck no fruit of my art ? I
answer as our Lord saith : ' I receive freely if it
hath been freely given.' I say, then, sir legist,
that those counsels which have not respect to
thy art, and which proceed only from that good
wit which God gave [80] thee (and this is the
prudence whereof we are now discoursing), thou
shouldest not sell to the children of him who
gave it thee. Those which have respect to the
art which thou hast purchased, these thou mayest
sell, yet not so but that it is fitting from time to
time to pay tithes and give to God, that is to those
poor who have nought left save the divine grace.

It behoves this period of life also to be just, so it.
that its judgments and its [90]] authority may be
a light and a law to others. And because this
singular virtue, to wit justice, was seen by the
ancient philosophers to be revealed perfectly in
this period of life, they committed the guidance
of the city to those who had reached this age ; and
therefore the college of the rulers was called the
Senate. Oh, my wretched, wretched country !
What pity for thee constrains me whensoever I
read, whensoever I write, of aught that hath
respect to civil [loo^ government ! But since
justice will be dealt with in the last treatise but
one of this volume, let it suffice at present to
have touched this little upon it.

It is also meet for this period of life to be m.

368 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

liberality generous ; because a thing is most in season
when it most satisfies the due of its nature ; nor
can the due of generosity ever be so satisfied as
at this period of life. For if we would rightly
consider [^iio]] how Aristotle proceeds in the
fourth of the Ethics, and Tully in that Of
Offices, generosity must be in such time and
place that the generous man injure not either
himself or others ! Which thing may not be
without prudence and without justice, which to
have in perfection by the natural way before
this age is impossible. Ah ye ill-starred and
ill-born, who disinherit widows and wards, who
snatch from the most helpless, [^120]] who rob
and seize the rights of others, and therefrom
prepare feasts, make gifts of horses and arms, robes
and money, wear gorgeous apparel, build mar-
vellous edifices, and believe yourselves to be
doing generously ! And what else is this than
to take the cloth from the altar and cover
therewith the robber and his table ? No other-
wise ye tyrants should your presents be scoffed
at than the robber who should invite his guests
to his house [[130] and should set upon the
table the napkin he had stolen from the altar
with the ecclesiastical signs yet on it, and
should suppose that no one would perceive
it. Hearken ye stubborn ones to what Tully
saith against you in the book Of Offices :
' Verily there be many who, desiring to be
conspicuous and famous, take from these to give
to those, thinking to be held in esteem if they
make folk wealthy by what means soever. But
this [1403 is so counter to what ought to be
that nought is more.'

.IV.

XXVII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 369

Further, it becomes this period of life to be and affa-
affable, that is, to love to speak of good and to bility,
hear of it, because it is well to speak good ^
on those occasions when it will be hearkened to. ^
And this period of life carries a shade of
authority, whereby it seems that men hearken
more to it than to any earlier age. And it
seems that it ought to have more beautiful and
fair [^1503 news because of its long experience
of life. Wherefore Tully says in that Of Old
Age, in the person of the ancient Cato : ' Upon
me has grown both the desire and the enjoy-
ment of conversation beyond what was my
wont.'

And that all these four things are fitting
to this period of life, Ovid instructs us in the
seventh of the Metamorphoses, in the story
where he tells how Cephalus of Athens came to
King ^acus for help in the war [^160] that
Athens was waging with Crete. He shows
that the old -/Eacus was prudent, when, having
lost by pestilence, through corruption of the air,
almost all his people, he wisely had recourse to
God, and asked from him the restoration of his
dead people ; and by his wit, which held him to
patience and made him turn to God, his people
were restored to him greater than before. He
shows that he was just when he says that he
made partition [lyoj to his new people and
divided his desolated land. He shows that he
was generous when he said to Cephalus, after
his request for aid : * O Athens, ask not help
from me, but take it ; and consider not the
forces which this island holds, and all this state
of my possessions, yours doubtfully. We lack

2A

370 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

in old not power, nay, we have superfluity, and the foe
*S^ is mighty ; and the time for giving is right
prosperous and []i8o3 without excuse.' Ah,
how many things are to note in this answer !
But for one with a good understanding it is
enough that it be set down here, just as Ovid sets
it down. He shows that he was affable when
he carefully tells and rehearses to Cephalus in a
long discourse the story of the plague of his
people and the restoration of them. Wherefore
it is manifest enough that four things are suit-
able to this age ; because the noble nature
manifests them in it, [190]) as the text says.
And that the example which has been spoken of
may be the more memorable, he says of King
^acus that he was the father of Telamon, ot
Peleus and of Phocus, of which Telamon
sprang Ajax, and of Peleus, Achilles.

75. Matthew^ x. 8. Gratis accepisris, gratis date.
'Freely ye have received, freely give.' It is difficult to
see why Dante changed the form of words. If the read-
ing is correct, he must mean, * I ought to receive for
nothing, from you, what it cost you nothing to get ' ; but
the editors very reasonably suspect the text.

10 1. The fourteenth treatise, the last but one, was to
have dealt with justice (compare I. 12 : 86-88), and was
algo to have contained a discourse on the subject of
Allegory (II. i : 34-36). This combination identifies the
beautiful Ode XIII., Tre define intorno al cor mi son •venute,
as its text with absolute certainty.

173 ff. The passage is from Ovid's Metamorphoses, VII.
507-511. Dante's text differs in several minor points
from ours, but in the last line he must either have studied
a very corrupt manuscript or have made serious errors in
expanding the contractions. It is difficult to reconstruct
any line which will scan and will at the same time
explain his translation.

XXVIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 371

CHAPTER XXVIII

[Of what beseems the (4°) age of decrepitude, viz.,
{i. ) to return to God as to a haven, and {it. ) to
look back upon all the past seasons of life and
bless them for what they have brought. Of
Lucan's allegory of Marcia and Cato.]

After the section now discoursed upon, we are We
to proceed to the last, that is to the one which should
begins : return to

-ri ■ I r 1 /•!•/■ Go^ with

/ ben tn the Jour th term of Itje ; blessings

whereby the text purposes to manifest that which
the noble soul doth in her last age, to wit 4°-
decrepitude. And it says that she does two »• '"'.
things ; the one that she returns to God, as to
that port whence she departed when she came
to enter upon the [10] sea of this life; the
other is that she blesseth the voyage that she
hath made, because it hath been straight and
good and without the bitterness of tempest.
And here be it known that, as Tully says in
that Of Old Jge, • natural death is as it were our t.
port and rest from our long voyage.' And even
as the good sailor, when he draws near to the
port, lowers his sails, and gently with mild
impulse enters into it, so [203 ought we to
lower the sails of our worldly activities and
turn to God with all our purpose and heart ; so
that we may come to that port with all sweet-
ness and with all peace. And herein we have -
a noteworthy instruction in gentleness from our
own nature, for at such an age death is not pain
nor any bitterness ; but as a ripe apple, lightly
and without violence, drops from its branch.

372 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

in de- so [30] our soul without pain parts from the
crepitude, body wherein it has been. Whence Aristotle
in that Of Touth and Age says that ' the death
that takes place in old age hath no sadness.'
And as to him who cometh from a long journey,
ere he enter the gate of his city, the citizens
thereof come forth to meet him ; so come, and
so should come, to meet the noble soul those
citizens of the eternal life. And this [403
they bring about by their good deeds and
contemplations ; for when the soul has already
been surrendered to God and abstracted from
the affairs and thoughts of the world, it seems
to see those whom it believes to be with God.
Hearken what Tully says in the person of the
ancient Cato : ' I uplift myself in the utmost
yearning to see your fathers whom I loved ;
and not only them, but also those of whom I
have heard speak.' The noble soul then sur-
renders herself to God in this period, [50] and
awaits the end of this life with great longing,
and seems to herself to be leaving an hostel and
• returning to her own house, seems to be coming
back from a journey and returning to her own
city, seems to be coming from the sea and
returning to the port. Oh, wretched and vile,
who with hoisted sails rush into this port, and
where ye ought to rest shatter yourselves in the
fall strength of the wind and lose yourselves in
the very place to which ye have made so long a
voyage ! Verily the knight Lancelot [60] would
not enter there with hoisted sails ; nor our most
noble Latin, Guido of Montefeltro. In truth,
these noble ones lowered the sails of the activities
of the world j for in their advanced age they gave

XXVIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 373

themselves to religious orders, putting aside as did
every mundane delight and activity. And no
one can excuse himself by the tie of marriage
which holds him in advanced age ; for not only
they turn to a religious order who liken them-
selves in garment and in life to St. Benedict and
to St. Augustine, and to St. [^70] Francis and
to St. Dominic, but to a good and true religious
order may they also turn who abide in matri-
mony, for God would have nought of us in
religion save the heart. And therefore St.
Paul says to the Romans : * Not he is a Jew
who is so outwardly ; nor is that circumcision
which is manifested in the flesh ; but he is a
Jew who is so in secret, and circumcision of the
heart, in spirit, not in [[So] letter, is circum-
cision ; the praise whereof is not from men but
from God.'

And further, the noble soul at this age blesses it.
the times past, and well may she bless them ;
because turning back her memory through them
she is mindful of her righteous doings, without
which she could not come to the port whereto
she is drawing nigh, with so great wealth nor
with so great gain. And she doth as the good
merchant [90] when, as he draweth nigh to
the port, he examineth how he hath prospered,
and saith : « Had I not passed by such a way,
this treasure I should not have ; nor should I
have wherewith to rejoice in my city to which
I am drawing nigh ' ; and therefore he blesseth
the way that he hath made.

And that these two things are suitable for this
period of life, that great poet Lucan figures forth
to us in the second of his Pharsalia, [[lOo]

374 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Marcia when he says that Marcia returned to Cato and
begged him and prayed that he would take her
back again. By which Marcia is understood
the noble soul. And we may thus convert the
figure to the truth : Marcia was a virgin, and
in that state she signifies adolescence ; then she
came to Cato, and in that state she signifies
manhood ; then she produced sons, by which
are signified those virtues which are declared
above to be fitting in the prime of life ; and she de-
parted from [[i 103 Cato and married Hortensius,
whereby it is signified that the prime of life
departs and old age comes. She bore sons also
to him, whereby are signified the virtues which are
declared above to be fitting in old age. Hor-
tensius died, whereby is signified the end of old
age ; and Marcia having become a widow (by
which widowhood is signified decrepitude),
returned at the beginning of her widowhood to
Cato, whereby is signified that the [120] noble
soul at the beginning of decrepitude returns to
God. And what earthly man was more worthy
to signify God than Cato ? Verily none.

And what says Marcia to Cato ? ' Whilst
blood was in me,' that is prime manhood,
' whilst the maternal power was in me,' that is
to say age, for she is in truth the mother of
those other virtues, as has been said above. * I,'
says Marcia, ' did and accomplished [130] all
thy commands,' that is to say that the soul
abode with constancy in the civic activities.
She says: 'I took two, husbands,' that is, 'I
have been fruitful in two ages.' * Now,' says
Marcia, 'that my womb is wearied and I am
exhausted for bearing offspring, to thee I return.

XXVIII. THE FOURTH TREATISE 375

no longer being such as may be given to another to Cato
spouse,' that is to say, that the noble soul,
knowing that she has no longer any womb for
fruit, that is to say when her members feel that
they have come to feeble C140J state, returns
to God who hath no need of the corporeal
members. And Marcia says : ' Grant me the
treaties of the ancient couch ; give me the name
only of marriage,' which is to say that the noble
soul saith to God : ' Now give me repose, O
my Lord.' She saith : ' Grant me at least that
in this so much life as remaineth I may be called
thine.' And Marcia saith : ' Two reasons move
me to say this : the one is that it may be said
after me [^1503 that I died as Cato's wife; the
other is that it may be said after me that thou
didst not expel me, but didst give me in marriage
of good heart.' By these two reasons the noble
soul is moved, and desireth to depart from this
life as the spouse of God, and desireth to show
that God was gracious to his creature. Oh
wretched and ill-born who prefer to depart
from this life under the title of Horiensius
rather than of Cato, with whose name C160J
it is well to end that which it behoves us to
discourse concerning the tokens of nobility,
because in him nobility itself shows all its tokens
in every age.

64. The Italian religione means a religious order.
Compare the current expression, *a religious,' meaning
a member of a religious order.

151-153. The whole passage paraphrased here occurs
in Lucan's Pharsalia, II. 338-345. Cato, in accordance
with the facility of divorce that characterised Roman law
and manners, had conceded his wife .Marcia to his friend

376 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

Hortensius. After the latter's death Marcia asked Cato
to take her back, that she might die as Cato's wife.

Nee dubium longo quaeratur in aeuo ■"

Mutarim primas expuha an tradita taedas.

She would not have posterity discuss whether it was for
some fault of hers, rather than out of friendship to Hor-
tensius, that Cato had given her in marriage to the latter.

CHAPTER XXIX

[At the close of his exposition the author deals with
two points that may rise: — (i.) May not the
descendant of a noble family, though himself
base, yet serve as a useful memorial of his an-
cestry? Which question is answered in the
negative. And (ii.) in what secondary sense may
a family, which, not being an individual, cannot
have a soul nor virtue, yet be called noble ?]

Two Now that the text has been expounded, as also
questions those tokens which appear in the noble man in
every age whereby he may be recognised, and
without which he may not be, any more than the
sun can be without light, or fire without heat,
the text at the end of all that has been related
about nobleness cries out against the people,
and saith : ' O, ye who have hearkened to me,

See noiv how many be thus \_'i-0~] deceived,^

to wit, these who believe themselves to be noble
because they are of famous and ancient genera-
tions and descended from excellent fathers,
though they have no nobleness in themselves,
[i. ii. And here rise two questions, whereto at the end
of this treatise it is well to give heed.

XXIX. THE FOURTH TREATISE 377

Sir Manfred da Vico, who has now the titles De-
of prastor and prefect, might say : ' Whatsoever generate
I may be, I call to men's minds and represent o^spr"!?
my ancestors, who by [20] their nobleness earned
the office of the prefecture, earned to set their
hands to the crowning of the empire, earned
the reception of the rose from the Roman pastor.
Therefore I ought to receive honour and rever-
ence from the people.' And this is the one
question.

The other is that he of San Nazzaro of Pavia,
and he of the Piscicelli of Naples might say :
* If nobleness were that which hath been said, to
wit a divine seed graciously placed in the human
[^30] soul, and if no progeny or race hath a soul,
as is manifest, no progeny or race could be
called noble ; and this is counter to the opinion
of those who say that our families are the most
noble in their cities.'

To the first question Juvefnal answers in the i.]
eighth Satire, when he begins as it were to
exclaim : 'What avail these [40]] honours which
remain from them of old, if he who would fain
mantle him therein liveth ill ? if he who dis-
courses of his ancestors and sets forth their great
and marvellous deeds, is intent on wretched and
vile doings ? And yet ' (says the same satirist),
who will call him noble because of his good
family, who is himself unworthy of his good
family ? This is no other than to call a dwarf
a giant.' C5°D Then afterwards he says to
such an one : ' Between thee and a statue, made
in memory of thy ancestor, there is nought to
choose, save that its head is marble and thine is
alive.' But herein (speaking with submission)

378 THE CONVIVIO Ch.

of worthy I agree not with the poet, for the statue of
forebears marble or of wood or of metal, left as a
memorial of some worthy man, difFereth much
in its effect from his unworthy descendant.
Because the statue [|6o3 ever confirms the good
opinion in those who have heard the fair fame
of him whose the statue is, and begets it in
others ; whereas the worthless son or grandson
does just the reverse ; for he weakens the opinion
of those who have heard good of his ancestry ;
for a thought will come to them and say : ' It
may not be that all which is said of this man's
ancestors is true, since we see such a plant [^yoj
of their sowing.' Wherefore he should receive
not honour but dishonour who beareth ill-witness
of the good. And therefore Tully saith that
* the son of the worthy man should strive to bear
good witness to his father.' Wherefore, in my
judgment, even as he who defames a worthy
man deserves to be shunned by folk, and not
hearkened to, so the vile man, descended from
worthy ancestors, deserves to be [^So] expelled
by all. And the good man should shut his eyes
so as not to look upon this reproach which
reproaches the goodness that remains only in
memory. And let this suffice for the present
for the first question which was mooted,
[ii. To the second question may be answered that
a family in itself hath not a soul ; and yet it is
true that it is called noble, and, in a certain sense,
so it is. Wherefore be it known that every [^90]]
whole is composed of its parts ; and there are
some wholes which have one simple essence
together with their parts ; as in one man there is
one essence of the whole and of each of its

XXIX. THE FOURTH TREATISE 379

parts ; and what is said to exist in the part is Noble
said in the same sense to exist in the whole, families
There are other wholes which have not a
common essence with their parts, like a heap of
grain ; the essence of such is secondary, result-
ing from many grains which [^100^ have true and
primary essence in themselves. And the qualities
of the parts are said to exist in such a whole, in
the same secondary sense in which it has an
essence. Wherefore a heap is called white
because the grains whereof the heap is composed
are white. In truth this whiteness is rather in
the grains, primarily, and comes out as the result
in the whole heap secondarily ; and thus in a
secondary sense it may be called white. And
it is in this sense that a family or a [[iio^ race
can be called noble. Wherefore be it known
that as the white grains must preponderate to
make a white heap, so to make a noble race the
noble persons must preponderate in it. I say pre-
ponderate, that is, exceed in number, so that
their goodness by its fame may overshadow and
conceal the contrary which is in it. And just
as from a white heap of grain you might remove
the wheat grain by grain, and grain by grain
[]i2o]] substitute red millet till the whole heap
at last would change its colour, so out of a noble
race the good might die one by one, and worth-
less be born into it until it should change its
name, and should not deserve to be called noble
but base. And let this suffice as answer to the
second question.

14. Compare IV. i: 62-65, '""'^•

23. The'rose. Leo IX. (1049-1054 a.d.) introduced
the custom of blessing a (golden) rose on Palm Sunday

38o THE CONVIVIO Ch.

and sending it as a mark of favour to some city, church,
or distinguished personage (Didron).

89 f. There are wholes which have an independent
existence, such as the body. If I have a pain in my
hand I have a pain in my body, and the hand is not
properly a hand, and cannot perform the functions of
such, unless it is part of the body. But there are other
wholes which are mere aggregates, and have no existence
of their own except in a secondary sense.

CHAPTER XXX

[(f) The tornata. And how nobleness is beloved of
philosophy.]

The As is set forth above in the third chapter of this
tornata treatise, this ode has three chief parts ; where-
fore, since two of them have been discoursed
upon, whereof the first begins in the aforesaid
chapter and the second in the sixteenth (so that
the first is completed in thirteen and the second
in fourteen chapters, not counting the proem of
the treatise on the ode, which is comprised in
[]io] two chapters), we are now in this thirtieth
c, and last chapter to discuss briefly the third chief
division, which was composed as the tornata of
this ode, for a kind of adornment, and which
begins :

Against the erring ones take thou thy ivay^
my ode.

And here, to begin with, be it known that every
good workman on the completion of his work
should ennoble and beautify it as much as he may,
that it may leave {20] his hands the more noted

XXX. THE FOURTH TREATISE 381

and the more precious. And this it is my purpose Noble-
to do in this section, not that I am a good work- oess the
man, but that I aspire after being such. I say then : *"®°"

Against the erring ones., and the rest.

This * Against the erring ones,' etc., is a whole
section, and it is the name of this ode, chosen
after the example of the good brother Thomas
of Aquino, who gave the name Against the [[30]]
Gentiles to a book of his which he made to the
confusion of all those who depart from our faith.
I say then ' take thou thy way ' as though I
should say : ' thou art now complete, and it is
time no longer to stand still, but to go, for thy
emprise is great.'

^nd <when thou shalt be in the region

where our lady is,

tell her thy business. Where, be it noted, that
(as saith our Lord) pearls must not be cast before
swine, because it does them no good and is
loss C403 to the pearls ; and (as saith the poet,
^sop in the first Fable) a grain of corn is more
profit to a cock than a pearl, and therefore he
leaves the one and picks up the other. And,
considering this, I caution and command the
ode to reveal its business where this lady, to wit
philosophy, shall be found. And there shall
this most noble lady be found where her treasure-
house is to be found, to wit the soul [50] wherein
she harbours. And this philosophy not only
harbours in the sages, but also, as was shown
above in another treatise, wherever the love of
her harbours. And to such I tell my ode to
reveal its business, because to them its teaching

382 THE CONVIVIO Ch. XXX.

ofphilo-will be profitable, and by them it will be re-
sophy ceived.

And I say to it : Declare to this lady :

I go discoursing of a friend of thine .

Truly [60] nobility is a friend of hers, for so
much doth the one love the other that noble-
ness ever demands her, and philosophy turns not
her most sweet regards in any other direction.
Oh how great and beauteous adornment is this
which at the end of this ode is given to her,
calling her the friend of her whose true abode is
in the most secret place of the divine mind !

40. This story is given in the Fahulae Aesop'iae of
Phaedrus, III. xii.

52 f. In another treatise. See III. 1 1, especially lines
41-44 and 122-124.

ANALYTICAL NOTE

3«3

ANALYTICAL NOTE

No device can make it easy to follow the
intricate system of divisions and sub-divisions,
broken by digressions, which characterises the
Convivio. But it is hoped that the marginal
letters and numbers introduced into this edition
may make it possible.

Perhaps greater consistency might have been
observed in these marginalia, but the editor
hopes that the inconsistencies may have facili-
tated some degree of simplification.

Chapter I. is introductory, and has its own The First
(quite simple) system of divisions and cross Treatise
divisions.

/ internal

Hindrances are '

' bodily defects

(to be pitied)

moral defects

(to be condemned)

' pressure of domestic and
public duties
(genuine and to be pitied)

lack of opportunity of
study

(a pretext, and to be con-
demned)

The invitation to the banquet would be ex-
tended in vain to those suffering (whether by
their own fault or not) from internal defect ;
but is given to all those (whether free from

external •

384 THE CONVIVIO

blame or not) whom external necessity or
contracted sloth has kept from the feast of
reason.

In Chapters II. -XIII. (i. ii. . . .) are sub-
ordinate to (a, ^ • . •)> these to {a^b . . .)>
and these to (I., II.).

The main division is into (I.) the apology for
the contents of the work, beginning on p. 9,
and (II,) the apology for the language in which
it is written, p. 22.

The subdivisions offer no difficulty, but it may
be noted that, under (II.), the divisions (3) on
zealous generosity, p. 36, and {c) on the author's
love of his native language, p. 44, run in two
parallel sections each, indicated by <5 1,(^2, and
c \,cz, each with its subsections.

If the reader likes to work out the whole of
this system In tabular form (after the fashion
of the analysis of Chapter I. above), he will
find that it throws much light on Dante's
ways of working and thinking, and will give
him a very clear idea of the articulation of the
whole of the Convivio.

The The divisions of Chapter I. explain them-
Second selves. The marginal figures and letters do not
Treatise conform to the system followed in the rest of
the treatise.

In Chapters 1 1.- XII., dealing with the literal
interpretation of the ode, small Roman numerals
(i., ii. . . .) are subordinate to Greek letters
(a, 13 . . .), Greek letters to Italics {a,b.. .),
and Italics to large Roman numerals (I.,

11;...).

The main division is into (I.) the invoca-

ANALYTICAL NOTE 385

tion, beginning on p. 69 ; (II.), the conflict, p,
93, and (III.), the tornata, p. 108.

The invocation (I.) embraces (i) the treat-
ment of the heavens, p. 70, and (a) the treat-
ment of the movers of the heavens, p. 77 ; (i)
preceding (a), and each having subdivisions.

The conflict (II.) deals with (a) the conflict-
ing parties, p. 93, namely (a), the soul, p. 94,
and (/3) the new spirit of love, p. 95 ; and (i)
the conflicting pleas, p. 96, namely (a) the soul's
plea, p. 1 01, and (13) the spirit's plea, p. 104.

In Chapters XIII.-XVI., dealing with the
allegorical interpretation, (/., //.) correspond to
(I., II.), and (a, b) to {a, b). The division is
not much elaborated. (/,) begins on p. no,
and (//.) on p. 131.

The system is the same as that of the second The
treatise. ^^^^.

After a short introduction (i., ii., iii.) we have '"^*"^
the main division into (I.) proem, p. 141, (II.)
praise of my lady philosophy, p. 157, and
(III.) exj lanation of a seeming contradiction,

P- 185-

Each of these divisions is subdivided {a,
b . . .), but in (I.), before we come to (a),
p. 151, we have to consider (i.) love, p. 142,
(ii.) the mind, p. 144, and (iii.) degrees of love,
p. 148.

The reader is to note, therefore, that on the
margins of this treatise (i., ii., iii.) twice appear
in a prefatory or parenthetical capacity, and not
as subordinate to (ct, /?.. .).

The allegorical treatment follows the literal.
(/.) begins on p. 202 and (//.) on p. 203.

2B

386 THE CONVIVIO

The In this treatise (/'°., M°. . . .) are subordinate to

Fourth (/.^i/. , , .),these to (i°, 2° . , .), these to (i.,

irea se jj^ ^ ^ .), these, as in the second and third treatises,

to (a, /3 . . ,), these to {a, b . , .), and these to

The main division is into (I.) the proem,
p. 233, and (II.) the treatise, p. 238.

But certain portions of the work (pp. 241-257,
263-273, 280-296, 330-340, 376-379), being
parenthetical or supplementary or running parallel
to the main scheme, have been treated apart, on
systems that explain themselves, the marginal
indices being clamped in a bracket ([).

The proem need not be further analysed here.
The treatise (II.) is divided into (a) the ex-
amination of false opinions, p. 239 ; {b) the
elaboration of the true opinion, p. 309; and (c)
p; the tornata, p. 380.

{a) falls into (a) the statement, p. 239, and
((8) the refutation, p. 276 ; (irregularly antici-
pated, for reasons given, on p. 259).

(a) needs no further analysis.

(/3) the refutation falls into the treatment
(i.) of riches, p. 277, and (ii.) of
time, p. 298 ; (ii.) is not further
divided, but (i.) falls into successive
divisions and subdivisions that explain
themselves.

(b), p. 309, the elaboration of the true
theory, falls into the treatment (a) of the
nature, p. 310, and (j8) of the manifestations,
p. 342, of nobleness. Of these —

(a) resolves itself into (i.) preliminary

ANALYTICAL NOTE 387

inquiries (1°, 2°), p. 310, and (ii.),
the definition itself, p. 313. But
ttiis (ii.) again falls into (1°) certain
reflections on the virtues (/'., it., Hi.),
p. 314, and (2°) the direct examina-
tion of nobleness (/., ii.), p. 321.
(/3) The manifestations of nobleness, p.
342, are treated as (i.) general,
p. 342, and (ii.) specific to the
several ages, p. 342, which latter
treatment is subdivided, under four
heads (1°, 2°, 3°, 4°), into special
graces (/., ii. . . .), and, in one
case, p. 356, into varieties 1°.,
ii°. . . .).

(c) needs no special analysis.

By expanding this note after the models on
p. 383, and pp. 443, 444, the reader can present
to his eye the whole material of the fourth
treatise, apart from parentheses, in tabular form.

388 THE CONVIVIO Ode

A line for line translation of the eleven odes, on
which we assume (see p. 7) that the eleven unwritten
books of the Cotfvivio would have commented, here
follows. It is accompanied by a few short notes ; but
they are no more than hints, and the student will be left
very much to his own resources in studying these often
difficult poems. An adequate commentary would be
beyond the scope of this work.

The punctuation is simplified as far as possible, in
order to make the commas, when introduced, helpful
as a grammatical commentary.

My friend Mr. Edmund Gardner has, with great
generosity, supplied me with a number of MS. readings
which I have adopted (often silently) in preference to
those of the printed texts. I can only hope that students
who observe them will feel a quickened interest in Mr.
Gardner's long-projected edition of the Canzoni, with
translation and commentary, which, it is to be hoped,
will not be much longer delayed.

ODE IV

[? Text of the projected fifth treatise.]
Amor che mtiovi tua virtu dal cielo.

Love who dost launch thy power from the heaven, as

doth the sun his splendour, for there his worth is appre-

hended most where his ray most nobility encounters ;

And as he puts to flight darkness and chill, so,

lofty Sire, dost thou drive baseness from the heart of

men, nor can wrath make long stand against thee :

[8]

From thee must every blessing needs arise
For which the whole world travaileth : without thee

IV. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 389

perishes all potency in us of doing well ; ^ e'en as

a painting in a darksome place, which may not mani-

fest itself nor give delight of colour nor of art. [15]

II
Upon my heart thy light doth ever strike as on a

star the ray,* since when my soul became the hand-

maiden of thy power at the first :

Whence hath its life a longing that leadeth me with

its persuasive speech to gaze again upon each beauteous

thing with more delight in measure as 'tis winsome.*

[23]
By power of this my gaze, into my mind

A damsel has entered who has captured me ; and in

flame has kindled me as water by its clearness kindles

flame : * because, when she approached, those rays of

thine wherewith thou dost make me glow all

rose up in her eyes. [30]

Even as in her being she is beauteous, and noble in

her features* and amorous, so does imagination, rest-

ing not, adorn her in the mind wherein I bear her :

Not that it^ is subtle in itself as for a thing so

lofty, butfrom thy might it hath it that it dares be-

yond the power nature hath proffered us. [38]

Her beauty is thy worth's accreditor,

In that effect may be estimated upon a worthy sub-

ject, in fashion as the sun is fire's ensign though

giving not nor reaving from it povfer, but making it,

in lofty region, reveal more saving force in its effect.'

. .•^. :-: ••V. [45]

1 All good is but a latent potency, till evoked by love, and therefore
without love it perishes.

2 The sun's ray, from which all stars derive their light.

3 The heart smitten with love loves all lovely things in the propor-
tion of their love-worthiness.

•* When a glass sphere, filled with water, is used as a burning
glass.

5 Italian, a^//= features, facial expression, attitude, bearing or gestures.

6 The mind.

7 The sun does not create the power of fire, but reveals it. So this
raaid the power of love.

390 HQO T<THE CONVIVIO ^ Ode

IV

Then, Sire, of such gentle nature that this

nobility, which cometh down to us, and all other

excellence taketh its source from thy loftiness ;

Have regard unto my life, how hard it is, and take

pity on it ; for thy burning, by her beauty, mak-

eth me have at heart excess of anguish. [53]

Love, of thy sweetness, make her feel

The great yearning that I have to behold her : nor

suffer not that she, by glory of her strength,' lead nie

to death ; for not yet is she aware how she doth

please, nor how mightily I love her, nor how she

bears my peace within her eyes. [60]

V

Great honour shall it be to thee if thou aid me, and

rich gift to me, in measure as I know full well, who

find me at such point where I may not defend my

life;

For my spirits ^ are assailed by such an one that I

deem not, save I have succour through thy

will, that they can keep their stand and perish not.

[68]
And thy potency, moreover, shall be felt

By this fair lady, who is worthy of it ; for it

seems as it were fitting to give to her great store of

every good, as unto one born into the world to

hold lordship over the mind of all who look upon

her. [75]

ODE V

[? Text of the projected sixth treatise.]

lo sento si d'amor la gran possanza.

I
So do I feel the mighty power of love that I may

not endure long to support it ; which is grievous to

me

.3

. 1 Glory of her sh-ength. Italian, giovanezza.

2 I.e., my vital powers.

3 Because if it kills him he will no longer be able to serve his
lady.

V. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 391

For so does his might keep growing and mine I feel

to fail so, that hour by hour I am enfeebled from my

wont. [6]

I say not that love works more than I desire, ..A

For if he wrought all that my will demands such

power as nature gave me would support it not, in that it

is finite : and this it is whence I pluck sorrow, that

power will not keep faith with purpose, but if from

goodwill springs reward, I demand it, for furtherance

of life, of those eyes whose beauteous splen-

dour brings comfort whensoe'er I taste of pain. [16]

The rays of these beauteous eyes enter into mine

enamoured ones, and bring the sweet whenas I taste

the bitter :

And they know the way, even as such who erst have

traversed it ; and they know, the spot where they left

love. [22]

• /.
When through my eyes they led him in. , '^-^

Wherefore when they turn on me they do mercy, and

to her whose I am they purchase loss when they hide

themselves from me, who so love her that only to serve

her do I hold myself dear : and my musings, compact

merely of love, as to their goal hie them to her

service : wherefore to perform the same I long so

greatly that did I believe I might accomplish it by

fleeing her it were an easy thing to do ; but I know

that I should die thereby. [32]

III

'Tis very love indeed that hath captured me iand

mightily indeed he grips me since I would do^ t^at

which I say for him. .• i. 'r

For no love is of such weight as is that which or

death makes a man taste for good service of another :

[38]
And in such will was I confirmed
So soon as the great longing which I feel was born,

by virtue of the pleasure which gathers from all good

392 THE CONVIVIO Odf

in the fair countenance. A servant am I, and when I

bethink me whose, and what she is, I am utterly

content ; for a man may serve well against good

pleasure ; ^ and if unripeness bereaves me of grace, I

look to the time which shall grasp more reason ; if but

my life shall hold her own so long. [48]

IV R :

When I muse upon a noble longing,' bbrii' ■* of

that great longing which I bear, that draws all my

powers to well-doing,

Meseems that I am overpayed with grace ; and in

like manner more than wrongly meseems I bear the

name of servant ; [54]

So, before her eyes, of pleasure

Is serving made, thanks to a not-my ^ goodness. Yet

since I hold me close knit to truth needs must such

longing count as service ; because if I make haste to

be of worth I ponder not so much on what concerns

myself as her, who hath me in her power ; for I

so do in order that her cause may be more prized ; * and

I am wholly hers ; so do I esteem myself because love

hath made me worthy of so great honour. [64]

V

Other than love could not have made me such as to

be, worthily, aught that pertains to her, the unen-

amoured,

Who takes her stand as a lady whom concerns not the

amorous mind that without her may not pass an hour.

[70]
Not yet so many times have I beheld her

But that new beauty I may find in her ; whence love

makes grow his greatness in me in measure as new

joy is added. Wherefore it comes about that so long

do I abide in one state, and so long doth love lime

1 I.e., against the good pleasure of her whom he serves.
■- The desire himself to become more worthy.
3 A goodness not mine, but hers, my lady's.

* My very desire to be more worthy is itself a service rendered to
her, since it is only for her credit that I cherish it.

V. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 393

me with one torment and with one sweetness, as

lasts that season that so often goads me which endures

from when I lose the sight of her until the time when

it be won again.* [80]

Tomata

My beauteous ode, if thou be like to me, thou wilt

not be scornful so much as cometh ^ to thy excellence :

Wherefore I pray thee that thou ply thy wit, my

sweet amorous one, in culling mode and way that shall

become thee. [86]

Should cavalier invite thee or arrest,

E'er thou yield thyself to his pleasure see if thou

canst make him of thy sect ; and if it may not be,

straightway abandon him, for the good keeps chamber

ever with the good. But it chances that one often

throws himself into a company whence he has nought

save smirch of evil fame that men proclaim of

him. With the guilty sojourn not by wit nor art ; for

never was it wisdom yet to hold their side. [96]

[Alternative tomato]

[Ode ! to the three least vicious of our city thou

shalt take thy way e'er thou go otherwhither : salute

the two : and see to it that thou try the third, to draw

him first out of ill company. Tell him the good joins

not in conflict with the good rather than win emprise

against the wicked : tell him that he is mad who

fleeth not, for fear of shame, from madness ; for

he feareth who hath terror of the evil ; therefore

fleeing the one healeth the other. ^]

1 Then he sees new beauties, and his state (both torment and rapture)

is changed for another.

2 The lofty meaning of this ode might naturally bring it the pride of
conscious superiority ; but the humble poet urges it not to presume
thereon, but carefully to choose its company.

3 No man fears shame unless, by shameful conduct, he subjects him-
self to the terror of it. Thus, if we once defy the wickedness of our
evil associates, we shall find that their taunts have lost their power to
shame us. The specific allusions of this tornata have never been
deciphered.

394 ^<JO i THE CONVIVIO Odi

ODE VI

[Text of the projected seventh treatise.]
Cost nel luio parlar voglio esser aspro.

I

As harsh in my discourse would I fain be as in her

bearing is that beauteous stone whom, every hour,

petrify more hardness and more cruel nature :

And she clothes her person in an adamant such that

for it, or for that she arrests her, there issues not from

quiver arrow that can ever catch her naked. ^ [8]

But she slays ; and it avails not for a man to case him

Nor to flee from the mortal blows ; for as had

they wings they light on folk and shatter every

armour : wherefore, to protect me from her, I have nor

wit nor power. [13]

II

I find no shield she may not shatter for me nor place

to hide me from her vision ; but as the flower on the

spray so does she hold the summit of my mind.

She seems as much to heed my misery as a craft

does a sea that uplifts no wave : the weight that sinks

me is such as no rhyme may hold in poise. [21]

Oh agonising and unpitying file,

That dumbly scrap'st away my life, how is it that

thou shrinkest not from gnawing thus my heart, coat

within coat, as I from telling folk ^^^9 he is that gives

thee power thereto ? .:,:,/.srV [26]

III

For my heart more trembles when I think of her, in

such region that folk may thither direct their eyes, for

fear that through should shine my thought externally

so as to be discovered,

Than I do at death, who every sense already crunches

with the teeth of love : which as I muse scorches so

their "^ powers that their working slackens. [34]

1 No arrow can ever find an unprotected place ; because she is cased
in proof, and because she never passively awaits attack or offers herself
as a mark.

2 The powers of the senses.

VI. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 395

He has smitten nie to earth and stands over me

With that same sword wherewith he slaughtered
Dido, Love to whom I cry and call for grace

and humbly pray, and he seems set to refuse all grace.

[39]

IV

He, ever and anon, uplifts his hand and defies this

my weak life, in his perversity ; and, outstretched and

overthrown, he pins me to the earth, exhausted past a

quiver.

Then rise up shrieks within my mind, and the

blood all scattered through the veins flees running

towards the heart that summons it, and I lie bleached

of it. [47]

He smites me under the left side

So rudely that the pain re-echoes through my
heart ; then do I cry : ' Should he uplift one

other time, death \vill have closed me in e'er down his

blow descends.' [52]

So might I see him to the centre cleave the cruel

one's heart who quarters mine ! Then were no longer

black to me the death to which I hasten through her

beauty.

For she smites as hard in sun as shade this mur-

derous assassin and robber. Oh me, that she howls

not for me as I for her in the hot caldron. [60]

For swiftly would I cry : * I succour thee,'

And eagerly would do it, e'en as one who upon

those fair locks that love has crisped and goldened to

consume me would set my hand and then would sate

myself. [65]

VI

Had I seized the fair locks that have become my

scourge and lash, laying hold of them e'er

tierce with them would I pass vesper and evening

bells :

And would be nor pitiful nor courteous, but were

rather as the bear taking his sport. And if love

^3^ Saao ^ THE CONVIVIO Ode

scourges me therewith ^ I would take more than thou-

sand vengeance. [73]

Still on those eyes whence issue forth the sparks

Which set on flame the heart I carry slain close

would I gaze and fixedly to avenge me for that he^

makes me flee : and then would I render her peace

with love. [78]

Toniata

Ode, take thy way straight to that lady who hath

smitten me and slain, and who robs from me that for

which most I thirst, and with an arrow drive thou at

her heart ; for fair honour is acquired in accomplishing

revenge.^

ODE VII

[? Text of the projected eighth treatise.]
Al poco giorno ed al gran cerchio d^ombra.*

I

To the short day and the great sweep of shadow * have

I come, ah me, and to the whitening of the hills when

colour vanishes from the grass. And my longing

changes not, for that, its green * so is it barbed in the

hard stone that speaks and hears as though it were a

woman. [6]

II

And in like fashion ' does this wondrous woman stand

chill like snow beneath the shadow ; for no more

moves her than a stone the sweet season that warms

the hills and brings them back from white to

green in that it covers them with flowers and grass. [12]

1 See line 67, but the reading is doubtful. 2 Love.

3 And since she has scorned Love, the quarrel is his.

* This poem is a Sestina. The lines of each verse end in omhra.
colli, erba, verde, pietra, donna; and as to order the endings in each
stanza are successively those of lines 5, i, s, 2, 4, 3 of the preceding
stanza. Pietra is used for 'rock,' 'stone' and 'gem,' and erba for
' grass ' and ' medicinal herb.' But the renderings ' stone ' and ' grass '
have been preserved throughout, and the reader will perhaps make
shift to accept them.

5 Midwinter. 6 Loses not its vigour.

7 She is no more melted by spring than the poet is chilled by winter,
hence she is nuova, i.e., unlike other women, 'wondrous.'

VII. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 397

When on her liead she bears a wreath of grass she

banishes from our mind each other woman, for the

waving gold is mingled with the green so beauteous

that love comes there to sojourn in the shadow, who

hath riveted me between the little hills more fast by

far than calcined stone. [18]

Her beauty has more virtue than a stone, and her

stroke may not be healed by grass for I have fled o'er

plains and hills that I might escape from such like

woman ; and against her light might not give me

shadow mountain nor ever wall nor leaf of green. [24]

Erst have I seen her clad in green in such guise

she would have planted in a stone the love I bear even

to her very shadow ; wherefore I have wooed her in

a beauteous field of grass, enamoured as was ever

woman,^ and girt^ around with loftiest hills. [30]

But of a truth the rivers would return to the hills or

e'er this log, sap-full and green, would catch a flame

(after the wont of fair woman) from me, who would

endure to sleep on stone all of my life, and go pastur-

ing on grass, only to look where her garments cast a

shadow. [36]

When the hills cast the blackest shadow, under the

beauteous green the youthful woman makes it

vanish like a stone hidden by grass. [39]

1 The gTas.s was love-laden, and the promptings of love issued from
it as from a beauteous woman.

2 Agreeing with 'field,' not 'grass,'

398 THE CONVIVIO Ode

ODE VIII

[? Text of the projected ninth treatise.]
Amor, tu vedi ben che questa donna?-

I
Love, thou perceivest that this lady heeds not thy

power at any season, which of the other fair ones is

wont to make itself the mistress. And when she per-

ceived that she was my mistress, by thy ray that on my

face shines, of all cruelty she made herself the mis-

tress ; so that it seems not she has the heart of

woman, but of whatever beast has of love greatest

chill. For through the warm season and through the

chill she shows me the semblance of a woman who

should be made of beauteous stone by hand of such as

should best carve in stone. [12]

II
And I who am unshaken more than rock in obeying

thee, for the beauty of a woman, bear concealed the

stroke of the stone with which thou didst smite upon

me, as on a stone that had offended thee long

season, in such guise as to reach my heart, where I

am stone. And never was discovered any stone, or

by virtue of the sun or by his light which had so

much of virtue or of light as to have power to aid me

against that stone so that it should not lead me with

its chill to where I shall be dead with chill. [24]

III
Sire, thou knowest that by freezing chill the water

turns to crystal rock there under the north, where is

the great chill ; and the air ever into the element of

chill 2 there so converts itself that water is mis-

tress in that region, by reason of the chill. So be-

1 This composition, which is a modification of the Sestina, is built
upon the five endings rfo»«a, tempo, Ittce, freddo, pietra. Uniformity
of rendering would involve too ^eat violence to the usages of our
language, as well as much obscurity. Donna is rendered by ' lady '
'woman' and 'mistress'; tempo by 'season' 'life' and 'time'; luce
(which is generally a noun, but sometimes a verb) by 'shines' 'light '
' eye ' ' sight ' ; freddo always by ' chill ' ; pietra by ' stone ' and ' rock '

2 Water.

VIII. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 399

fore the semblance chill freezes my blood ever in every

season : and that thought which most shortens my

life is all converted into moisture chill, which

issues then through the midst of the eye by which there

entered the dispiteous light. [36]

IV

In her is gathered all beauty's light ; and in like

fashion all cruelty's chill runs to her heart, whither

pierces not thy light. Wherefore in my eyes so beau-

teous does she shine, when I look on her, that

I see her in the rock or wheresoever else I turn

my sight. From her eyes there comes to me

the sweet light that makes me heedless of each

other woman. Ah would that she were a more pite-

ous lady towards me, who seek, in darkness and

in light, only for serving her the place and sea-

son, nor for aught else desire to live long season. [48]

Wherefore, O power who art earlier than time, ear-

lier than motion or than sense-felt light, take pity upon

me who have such evil season. Enter now into her

heart, for in truth 'tis season, so that by thee there pass

forth from her the chill, which suffers me not, like

others, to have my season : for if there overtake me

thy strong season^ in this such state, that noble

rock will see me lying in a narrow stone ^ never

to raise me till has come the season* when I shall

see if ever was fair lady in the world like unto this

bitter lady. [60]

Tornata

Ode, I bear in my mind a lady such that, for all she

be to me of stone, she gives me hardihood where me-

seems every man is chill ; so that I dare to make for

this chill * the new thing that through thy form gives

light which never was conceived in any season.

1 Spring. _ 2 A sarcophagus.

3 The resurrection, when all beauty maybe seen and compared.

^ In celebration of the chill lady.

4Q9 cisJ. THE CONVIVIO Ode

ODE IX

fioir.7. [? Text of the projected tenth treatise.]
ats/ll rf:>i /o son venute al ptinto della rota.

I HAVE come to the point of the wheel where the

horizon when the sun declines yields up the twinned

heaven ; ^

And the star of love is severed from us by the shin-

ing ray that enforks her so athwart as to become her

veil : [6j

And that planet that strengthens the cold

Displays himself to us full on the great circle ^ where-

from each of the seven ^ casts shortest shadow. And

yet discharges not one single thought of love wherewith

I am laden my mind/ which is harder than a

stone in holding firm the image of stone. [13]

II

Rising from the sand of Ethiopia an alien wind dis-

turbs the air by reason of the sun's sphere that is now

burning it,''

And passes the ocean, whence it leads us store of

such cloud that if another baffle it not this hemisphere

it all closes up and seals, [19]

And then resolves, and falls in white flakes

Of chill snow and of grievous shower, whence

the air is saddened all and weeps. And love who

his nets draws back on high for the beating

wind abandons not me ; so beauteous is the

lady, this cruel one, who is given me for my lady. [26]

III
Fled is every bird that foUoweth the heat from that

region of Europe that loses not the seven chill stars

ever ; *

1 The sign of the Twins rises atsunset. It is midwinter.

2 The meridian. 3 Planets.
* ' My mind ' is the subject of ' discharges.'

5 It bein^ midsummer there, in the southern hemisphere.

6 The regions to which the Great Bear never sets.

IX. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 401

And the rest have set a truce upon their voices, no

more to sound them till the green season, unless

it be by cause of wailing ;

And all animals that are wanton

In their nature, are discharged from love, because

the chill deadens their spirit. And mine beareth the

more of love ; for my sweet musings are not reft from

me, nor are not given me, by revolving season, but

a lady gives them me of but short season. ° [39]

Passed their limit have the leaves that the virtue of the

Ram drew forth to adorn the world, and dead is all the

grass.

No branch conceals itself in green save laurel or pine

or fir and such other as preserves its verdure : [45]

And so hard and bitter is the season

That it slays upon the slopes the flowers that have

not power to endure the frost. And the amorous

thorn love, for all that, draws not from out my

heart ; for I am fixed ever to bear it the while

I am in life, although I lived for ever. [52]

The veins pour forth the steaming waters by reason

of the vapours earth holdeth in her womb, who draweth

them up aloft from the abyss ;

Whereby the path that pleased me in fair weather has

now become a river, and will be, whilst the winter's

great assault shall last. [58]

The earth makes one seeming-cemented floor.

And the dead water turns to glass by reason of the

cold that locks it from without. And I from my war-

fare have not, for that, drawn back one step, nor

would draw back ; for if torment be sweet death must

surpass all other sweetness. [65]

1 A youthful lady.
2C

402 ^iCi ►THECONVIVIO Od£

Tornata

My ode, what now will come of me, in the next sweet

season of renewal, when rains love upon the earth from

all the heavens ; if throughout these frosts love is

in me alone and no other where ? That will coine to me

which comes to a man of marble if in the maiden, for

a heart, be marble. [72]

ODE X

[? Text of the projected eleventh treatise.]

E' vi' incresce di vie si durarnente.

I

I HAVE ruth for myself so cruelly that as much suffer-

ing is furnished me by the pity as by the pain :

Ah me ! that dolorously I feel, against my

will, the breath of the last sigh gathering [6]

Within the heart that the beauteous eyes smote

When love opened them with his own hands to lead

me to the season that undoes me. Oh me ! how

gentle, tender and sweet did they lift themselves upon

me when they began the death that is now so

grievous to me, saying : ' Our light brings peace.' [14]

II

' Peace will we give thy heart, to thee delight,' said

to my eyes, time was, those of the beauteous lady ;

But when, of their intelligence, they learned that by

her might my mind was now wholly reft from me, [20]

With love's ensigns they wheeled about,

So that their victorious spectacle was not beheld again

one single time. Whence is left mourning my soul

that looked for solace from them : and now all but

dead doth she^ behold the heart to whom she was

espoused, and must needs depart love-smitten. [28]

' The soul, personified throughout the next two stanzas.

X. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 403

Love-smitten she goes weeping on her way beyond

this life, she the disconsolate, for love expels her.

She departs thence^, so grieving that, e'er she

goes, her maker hearkeneth with pity to her. [34]

She hath gathered herself, midmost the heart,

Together with that life which remains quenched only

at the moment when she wends her way : ^ and there

utters her complaint of love, who from this world ex-

pels her : and many a time embraces the spirits

that still weep, that she loses their company. [42]

The image of this lady sits yet in my mind where

love established her, being her guide :

And it irks her not of the woe which she beholds, nay

rather is she far more beauteous now than e'er before,

and far more joyously she seems to smile : [48]

And lifts her eyes that slay, and cries
Over her ^ who weeps that she must go : ' Get gone,

thou wretch, now get thee forth ! ' And this cry is

caught up by the yearning * which assails me after its

wont albeit the smart is less ; for greatly hath

the power of feeling waned, and draweth nearer to the

end of woes. [56]

The day whereon she came into the world, as stands

recorded in memory's book that wanes,

My infant person sustained a passion never

known such that I remained fulfilled with terror. [62]

1 From life.

2 The soul, having a moment's respite granted by the Creator's pity,
rallies the flickering powers of life, that shall not be finally quenched
till the actual moment of her departure.

3 The soul.

* The lady herself, love, the image of the lady in the poet's mind, and
his own yearning towards her, are successively regarded as the power
that exiles his soul, i.e., that slays him.

404 THE CONVIVIO Ode

For on my every power a curb was set

So suddenly that down I fell to earth by reason of a

light that smote me at the heart. And, if the book errs

not, the main spirit ^ trembled so mightily that

well it seemed as though death was reached in this

world by him. Now he ^ who set this moving has ruth

of it. [70]

VI

Then when appeared to me the great beauty which

so makes me mourn, ye gentle ladies to whom I have

addressed me,

That power that has most nobility ^ gazing upon the

joy perceived right well that its woe was born : [76]

And recognised the longing that had been created
By the intent gaze that she * wrought ; so that she

then said, weeping, to the others : ' ' Here shall arrive,

to hold vicarious sway, the beauteous form of one

whom I have seen, who even now strikes me with

terror, and shall be lady over all of us, so soon

as it be the pleasure of her eyes. ' [84]

Tornata

To you, ye youthful ladies, have I spoken whose

eyes are adorned with beauties and mind vanquished

and bemused by love, that commended to you may

be my rhymes where'er they be. And, before you, I

pardon my death to that beauteous being who

has the blame of it to me-wards, and has never pitied. [92]

ODE XI

[? Text of the projected twelfth treatise.]

Poscia cK amor del tutto m ''ha lasciato.

I
Since love has utterly forsaken me, not at my

will, for never had I been so joyous, but because

1 The vital spirit. 2 Love.

3 The sight. 4 The ' virtue,' viz., sight.

5 The other powers or spirits of the senses, whose chief and leader she
had been.

XI. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 405

he had pity so much upon my heart that he

might not endure to hearken to its wailing,

I will sing, thus disenamoured, against the

sin that has arisen in our midst, of counter-call-

ing such one as is base and irksome by a

name of worth, to wit of gallantry ; which is a thing so

fair [12]

As to make worthy of the mantle

Imperial him in whom it reigns. A veritable sign

it is which shows where virtue sojourns ; where-

fore I am assured that if I well defend it in speech,

even as I conceive it, love will again do me grace of

himself. [19]

There are who by flinging their wealth away think

to assert a place of worth there where the good take

stand who after death make their repair within

the mind of such as have discernment.

But no pleasure may their largesse give the good, be-

cause restraining it had been wisdom, and they had

escaped the loss that is now added to the error of

them, and of the rest who pass false judgment in their

deeming. [31]

Who will not call it fault

To engulf food and give the mind to wantoning and

deck him as for sale impending at the fair of

fools? For the wise prizes not a man after his gar-

ments which are but alien ornaments, but prizes

intellect and noble hearts. [38]

in

And others are there who, by being quick to
smile, of understanding swift would be sup-

posed by such as be deceived seeing them laugh

at aught which the blind intellect not yet perceives.

They speak with words elect go their unpleasing

way content so they be gaped at by the herd : they

are enamoured never of amorous lady : in their

discourse they cleave to mere grimace. [50]

406 THE CONVIVIO Ode

They will not move the foot

To serve a lady after gallant fashion : but as a

robber to his theft so do they pace to pluck their

base delight ; not that, in truth, in women is so
quenched all gallant bearing that they seem

animals bereft of intellect. [57]

Till heaven accord precise with heaven which

gallantry casts from its way^ (as much as I relate of

it, and more), I, who have skill of it thanks to a

gentle one who showed it forth in all her utterance.

Shall not be silent of it ; for villainy it would ap-

pear to me so base that I had joined me to its

enemies.^ Wherefore from this point forth with

rhyme more subtle will I treat of truth about it :

but to whom I know not. [69] (88)

I swear by him

Whose name is love, and who is full of saving, that

without doing virtue none may true praise ac-

quire ; wherefore if that which I am handling ^ be

good, as each declares, it must be virtue, or with

virtue linked. [76] (95)

Not virtue pure and simple is this strayed thing ; for

it is blamed, renounced, where virtue is demanded

most, that is in seemly folk of spiritual

life or garb that holds with study.

Therefore, if it be praised in a cavalier, it must be

mingled, caused by more things than one ; wherefore

this same needs must clothe itself upon one well

another ill ; but virtue, pure and simple, becomes

every man. [88] (69)

1 'Gallantry' is the object of 'casts.' The unpropitious relations of
the heavens make gallantry swerve out of its orbit. I shall not withhold
my testimony till better celestial conditions bring it back.

2 Were I not to protest, my silence would amount to desertion and
treachery.

* I.e., 'gallantry,' my theme.

XI. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 407

A joyance is it that consorts
With love himself: and the completed work, di-

rected by this third,^ is very gallantry. In being it

endures even as the sun, to make whose being are

conjoined the heat and light and his own perfect

fair form. [95] (76)

To the great planet she ^ is all resemblant who, from

the east forward till he conceals himself, with his

fair rays down pours life and power below into

material, according as it is disposed.

Even as she, — scornful of so many folk as bear

human semblance, but not corresponds their fruit unto

their leaves, because of ill which they have prac-

tised,— brings near like blessings to the gentle

heart; [io7]

For she is swift to give life
With fair semblances and new beauteous acts which

every hour she seems to find : and he has virtue for

his model who lays hold on her. O false cavaliers, evil

and guilty, enemies of her who to the pnnce of

stars is likened ! [il4J

That man whom she will have both gives and
takes : and ne'er it irks him : neither the sun to

give light to the stars nor to take from them help

in working his effect : but one and the other ^ draws

delight therein.

Ne'er is he drawn to wrath by words, but such

only does he gather as be good: and what things

he hath to tell are, each and every, fair. For

his own sake is he held dear and by sage ones

desired, [126]

1 Love, which with virtue and joyance (solazzo) under his leadership,
constitutes gallantry. tv„„

2 I.e. , ' gallantry,' hitherto spoken of as it m the translation. 1 here
is no such change of gender in the original.

3 /.v., neither does it irk the sun.
^ The sun and the gallant man.

4o8 THE CONVIVIO Ode

For from the savage rest

He ^ holds or praise or blame of equal worth ; for no
greatness doth he mount up in pride, but where it
chances that it is fitting to display his valour then
he wins praise. They who are living all work counter-
wise. [133]

„,,n^,H ODE XII

fi>\ / |-p 'pgjjj of the projected thirteenth treatise.]
La dispietata mente, che pur mira.

The torturing memory that ever looks back to the

time that has departed from the one side assails my

heart :

And the amorous longing that draws me towards

the sweet country I have left hath on the other side

the might of love. [6]

Nor do I find such strength within

As may long make defence, gentle my lady, save it

come from thee ; wherefore if it behoves thee for

its deliverance e'er to do emprise may it please thee

send thy salutation to be the heartening of its power.

[13]

May it please thee, my lady, not to fail, at this point,

the heart that so loveth thee ; since from thee alone it

looks for succour ;

For good liege lord ne'er draweth rein in succouring

vassal who cries out for him, for not him only he

defends but his own honour. [19]

And verily its ^ pain afflicts me hotlier

When I reflect that thou, my lady, by love's own

hand art painted therewithin : and even for that cause

shouldst also thou hold it far greatlier in care ; , for

1 The gallant man. 2 xhe heart's.

XII. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 409

he from whom all good must needs appear, because of

his own image holdeth us the dearer.' [26]

If thou shouldst speak, O sweet my hope, of setting

a delay on that which I demand, know that I may not

longer wait on it ;

For at the limit of my power I stand : and this thou

shouldst discern, whenas I have set me to explore my

final hope ; [32]

For to bear every load upon his back

A man is bound, up to the mortal weight, e'er he

make trial of his chiefest friend ; for how he shall dis-

cover him to stand he knows not, and if it chance that

he respond amiss to him nought is there that can cost

so dear ; for swiftest and most bitter death he hath

thereby. [39]

IV

And whom I chiefliest love art thou, and who the

greatest gift canst give me, and in whom most my

hope reposes ;

For only to serve thee do I desire life ; and such

things as make for thy honour I demand and will :

ail else being grievous to me. [45]

Thou hast the power to give me what no other may,

For all the yea and nay of me within thy hand hath

love placed ; whereat myself I magnify. The

faith I mete to thee flows from thy tender bear-

ing ; for whoso looks on thee, in verity knows

from without that within there is pity. [52]

Then let thy salutation now be launched and come

into the heart, that waits for it, gentle my lady, e'en as

thou hast heard :

But know that at its entrance it is found strong

barred by that same arrow that love discharged the

day I was made captive ; [58]

I As God loves us because we bear his image, so shouldst thou
love my heart.

410 THE CONVIVIO Ode

Whereby the entrance is disputed to all other

Save to the messengers of love, vcho know to open
it by will of that same power that barred. Where-

fore in my conflict its ^ coming were but hurt to

me came it without escort of messengers of that

liege lord who hath me in his power. [65]

ii'.' Tornata

'"My ode, needs must be brief thy journey ; for thou

knowest that for short space now that may be brought

about for which thou goest, [68]

ODE XIII

[Text of the projected fourteenth treatise.]
Tre donne intorno al cor mi son venule.

Three ladies have gathered round my heart and seat

themselves without, for within sits love who
holds seignory over my life.

So beauteous are they and of such power that the

mighty liege, I mean him who is in my heart, can

scarce man himself to speak of them. [8]

j , Each one seems grieving and dismayed

9fAs one cast out and weary from whom all folk have

fallen and whom nor beauty avails nor wit. Time

was wherein, according to their speech, they were be-

loved : now they are held in wrath and in neglect by

all. These, so lonely, have come as to the house

of a friend ; for they know verily that within is he of

whom I speak. [18]

Much doth the one of them grieve in her words, and

on her hand supports her, like a clipped rose : her

naked arm, column of grief.

Feels the ray ^ falling from her face : the other hand

1 The salutation's. 2 /,^.^ the glancing tear.

XIII. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 411

conceals her tear-drenched locks: ungirt, un-

sandalled, and only in herself seeming a lady. [26]

When first love through her tattered gown

Saw her where it were comely not to say, he, in

pity and in wrath, of her and of her grief made

question : ' Oh food of few,' answered a voice

mingled with sighs, ' our nature sends us here to

thee. I who am saddest am sister to thy mother,

and am Righteousness : poor, as thou seest by my

weeds and cincture.' [36]

if. Ill

"'When she had revealed her and made known, grief

and shame laid hold upon my lord, and he de-

manded who were the other two with her.

And she who was so eager in her tears, soon

as she understood him was kindled into hotter

grief, saying : ' Now, on my eyes' behalf, hast thou

not ruth ? ' [44]

Then she began : ' As thou shouldst know,
From its source springs the Nile, aslender stream : there,
where the great light is shielded from the earth by the

rush-spikes, over the virgin wave did I bring

forth her at my side who with her fair tresses dries her

tears. This my beauteous birth gazing on herself

in the clear fountain brought her forth who . is more

distant.' /.-so..-; j-^^j

IV

His sighs held Love a little back : then with eyes

softened, that before were wild, he greeted the

disconsolate kinswomen ;

And having grasped one and the other dart he cried :

' Uplift your necks : behold the arms which I have

chosen ; rusted ye see them by disuse. [62]

' Generosity and Temperance, and the others bom

' Of our blood, go their way begging ; whereat, if this

be loss, let the eyes weep and the mouth wail of

men, whom it concerns, who have come under the rays

of such a heaven : not we, who are of the eternal

rock, for though we now be thrust at we shall

412 THE CONVIVIO Ode

endure, and folk will come again who shall make this

dart abide in brightness.' [72]

V

And I who mark, in divine discourse, comfort and

dole bestowed upon such lofty exiles, count as

my glory the banishment wreaked on me :

And if judgment and force of destiny will have the

world convert white flowers into dark, falling

amongst the good is yet worthy praise. [80]

But because the fair signal of my eyes '

Is reft by distance from my sight, which has set me

in flame, light should I count that which is heavy on

me.^ But this flame has already so consumed my

bone and flesh that death has put his key unto my

breast ; for which if I had fault many a moon

has the sun revolved since it was quenched if a fault

dies because a man repents. [90]

'■ 1 '. Tomata

Ode, on thy weeds let no man set his hand to look

on that which a fair woman hides ; let the uncovered

parts suffice, the sweet apple to all folk deny for

which each one extends his hand. But if it chance that

ever thou find one a friend of virtue who should pray

thee for it, make thyself of fresh hues, and reveal

to him the flower, that, beauteous without wakes

longing in amorous hearts. [100]

ODE XIV

[Text of the projected fifteenth treatise.]

Doglia mi reca nello core ardire.

I
Grief furnishes my heart with daring for a wish that

is truth's friend ; wherefore, ladies, if I utter words

almost against all mankind marvel not at it,

1 I read niaperd che degli occhi miei bel segno.

2 I.e., all the miseries incidental to exile I should hold light in them-
selves.

The general difficulties of the interpretation of this ode cannot be
dealt with here.

XIV. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 413

But recognise your base desire ; for beauty which love

concedes to you, only for virtue was formed by

his decree of old, against which ye offend. [10]

You I address who are enamoured,

For if to us virtue was given, and to you beauty, and
to him power to make one the two, ye should not love

at all, but hide away whatever beauty hath been

granted you because there is no virtue, which was its

targe. Woe's me ! what do I go about to say ? I

say that fair disdain were with reason praised in

woman severing beauty from herself by her dismissal.

[21]

II

Man has made virtue distant from himself. Man? no !

but the beast that bears man's semblance ; Oh God,
what marvel to choose to decline to slave from
master, or from life to death !

Virtue is still supporting to her doer, him she
obeys, to him acquires honour, ladies, so much that

love stamps him of his chosen household in the

blessed court. [31]

Joyously she issues from the beauteous gates

Of her mistress^ and returns : joyously she goes and

sojourns, joyously she does her great service. Through
the short journey preserves, adorns, increases what

she finds : ^ to death she is so counter that she heeds

him not. Oh, dear handmaid and pure, in heaven

hast thou taken measurement ! ^ Thou alone givest

mastery ; and this is proved by that thou art a posses-

sion always of avail.* [42]

III

Slave not of a master but of a base slave he makes

himself who departs from such a hand-maid.^ See

y

i; 1 I.e., the soul.

' The natural faculties, both of mind and body.
3 I.e., hast fixed the values of things by heavenly standards.
* To possess them is always to be master, never slave, of the
situation.

" Serva, corresponding to the serve translated ' slave ' in the preced-
ing line, but here used, without contempt, of 'virtue.'

4«4 THE CONVIVIO Ode

how great the cost, reckoning one against the other

loss, to him who wanders from her.

This slavish master is so arrogant that the eyes

which make light for the mind are closed for him, so

that he needs must walk at prompting of another who

hath his eye only on folly. [52]

But that my speech may serve you

I will descend from the whole to the detail, and that

in sentences more easy, that it be less hardly under-

stood ; for rarely underneath the veil does a dark

saying reach the understanding ; wherefore is there

need of open speech with you : and this I will for the

behoof of you, and verily not me 5 that ye hold

vile all men and in contempt, for it is likeness that

breeds delight. [63]

IV

Who is a slave like him who followeth a liege in

haste, and knoweth not whither he goeth, along the

dolesome path ; as doth the miser hurrying after

wealth which plays the tyrant over all.

The miser runs, but peace more quickly flees (Oh

blind mind that may not see thy mad desire !) with

the sum he looks to catch up with his gold, that in-

finitely gapes. [72^

Lo, when she ^ has come who levels us^

Tell me what hast thou wrought, blind undone

miser? Answer me, if thou canst give other reply

than nought. A curse upon thy cradle which

lulled so many dreams in vain ! A curse upon thy

wasted bread which is not wasted on the dog ! For

at eve and morn thou hast amassed and clutched with

either hand that which so swiftly draws away from

thee. [84]

V

As without measure it is gathered so without

measure is it hugged. This it is that thrusts many

into slavery : and should any defend himself it is not
save with mighty conflict.

1 Death.

XIV. THE COMPLEMENT OF ODES 415

Death, what art thou doing, dear ^ Fortune, what art
doing, that ye dissipate not that which is not

spent? But, if ye did, to whom to render it? I

know not, since such a circle rings us which compasses

us from above. ^ [94]

It is the blame of reason who doth not correct it.

If she would say : ' I am captive,' ah how sorry a

defence does the master show whom a slave over-

comes ! Here shame is doubled if that to which I

point be well considered. False animals, cruel to your-

selves and others ! For ye see, going naked o'er

hills and marshes, men before whom vice takes to

flight : and ye keep vile mire clad. [105]

VI

Before the miser's face displays herself virtue, who

invites her very foes to peace with polished matter to

entice them to her ; but little it avails, for he ever flees

the bait.

When she has swung it round* with many a cry she

flings the food towards him, so great her cars for
him ; but he spreads not his wings at it : and if

at last he come, when she is gone, it seems to irk him

so [lis]

As though he could not give save so as to make vanish

All praise from benefit. I will have all men hear

me : one by delaying, and one by vain dis-

play, and one by gloomy semblance, turns the

gift into a sale so dear as he knows only who pays such

purchase. Would you hear whether it wounds ? So

dismayed is he who receives that henceforth refusal

seems not bitter to him : so does the miser mutilate

himself and others. [126]

VI

Ladies, in a certain branch have I unveiled to you the

baseness of the folk that gaze upon you, that ye may

1 The MS. authority is conclusively in favour of buona (which must
be understood as an appeal) ; but it is extremely difficult to believe that
so startling and impressive a reading as the currenty^ra can have arisen
by a copyist's error. I abandon it provisionally and with hesitation.

2 The influence of the heavens,
" Like a falcon's lure.

41$ 3d' THE CONVIVIO Ode

hold them in wrath ; but far more yet is that which is

concealed because 'tis foul to tell you.

In each one is a gathering of all vices because the

world's way is that friendship blends : ^ and the love-

some leaf of the root of good draws other good

to it for like only pleases. [13 ]

See how I advance to my conclusion,

For she should not believe, who thinks that she is

fair indeed, that she is loved by such as these. But

if beauty amongst evil things we would enumerate, it

might be believed, calling love the appetite of a

beast. ^ Oh may such woman perish as dis-

sociates her beauty from natural goodness, on such

cause, and believes in love outside of reason's garden.

[147]

1 As like seeks and loves like so vice draws vice.

2 I.e., only if we call a brute appetite love, and rank beauty as an evil
thing can a really beautiful woman be loved by such men.

XV. THE MOUNTAIN ODE 417

Note. — As there is but one well authenticated ode
of Dante's in addition to those in the Vita Nuova
and those of the Conviv'io group, it is here given for
the sake of completeness. It is probably later than
any of the rest, and stands apart from them.

THE MOUNTAIN ODE

Amor, dacchi convien pur cVio mi doglia.

Y^ Love, since I needs must make complaint for folk to

near and show myself bereft of every virtue,

Grant me the skill to wail even as I would, that the

woe which is discharged * may be borne forth on my

words even as I feel it. .j . ,^,^^ ■ [6]

Thou wilt have me die, and I am satisfied,

But who shall pardon me, if I have not skill to
tell that which thou makest me to feel? Who

shall believe that I am now so smitten ? But, if thou

grant me speech in measure with my torment, see to it,

O my liege, that e'er I die she who is guilty may not

hear it through me ; for should she understand that

which I feel within, pity would make less beauteous

her beauteous face. ^ [15]

n itoiR boi.

I may not flee so that she come not within my

fantasy, no more than I may flee the musing that brings

her there.

The mad soul, which plies its wit to its own ill, beau-

teous and injurious as she is depicts hes, ^j^dJorges its

own torture. \ni\\ m ,'' [21]

Then gazes on her, and when right full

Of the great yearning it draws through the eyes, falls

into rage against itself for having made the fire wherein

all dismally it bums. What argument of reason draws

the rein on so great tempest as within me whirls?

1 As from a bow.
2D

4;ii^ THE CONVIVIO T Ode

The anguish, that may not be contained within, breathes

so through the mouth as to articulate and give, to

boot, their merit to the eyes. [30]

The hostile figure that remains, victorious and

cruel, and that lords it o'er the power that wills,

Enamoured of itself bids me to go where, in verity,

is she herself since like to like still rushes. [36]

Well know I that 'tis snow seeking the sun,

But, having no more strength, I do as he who in

another's power goes with his own feet to his place of

death. When I draw nigh meseems that I hear

words which cry : ' Quick ! quick ! if thou wouldst see

him die.' Then I turn to see to whom I may

commend me ; to such pass brought by the eyes that

slay me, with grievous wrong. [45]

And what, so wounded, I become, O Love, thou

knowest to relate, not I, thou who dost stay to look

on lifeless me :

And though the soul thereafter come again to the
heart, nescience and oblivion have been her com-

rades whilst she was away. [51]

When I arise again and look upon the wound

Which undid me when I was struck, I may not so

assure myself but that I tremble all for fear ; and

my discoloured face declares what was the thunder bolt

that leaped upon me ; for though 'twas a sweet smile

that launched it ^ long time thereafter it ^ abides

darkened, in that the spirit cannot trust itself. [60]

Thus hast thou dealt with me, C) Love, amongst the
alps, in that river's vale on whose banks thou

ever hast been strong upon me.

1 The bolt. 2 My face.

XV. THE MOUNTAIN ODE 419

Here living or dead at thy will thou handiest me in

virtue of that fierce light that makes a thunder-crash-

ing path for death. [66]

Woe's me ! no ladies here, nor folk of skill ^

Can I perceive, whom it may irk of my woe. If she

heed it not ne'er do I hope for succour from an-

other : and she, banned from thy court, my

liege, marks not thine arrow's stroke : such mail of

pride hath she forged for her breast, that every shaft

there breaks its point and course, for her armed

heart by nought is bitten. [75]

Tomata

Oh mountain song of mine, thou goest on thy
way, mayhap to see my city Florence who bars

me out from her, void of love and stripped of

pity. If thou enter in, go crying : ' Now no longer

can my maker war upon thee here ; there whence I come

clips him a chain such that should thy cruelty give

way he has no longer freedom to return.'

I Skill in love.

APPENDIX

The date of the Convivio and its relation to the De
Vulgari Eloquentia and the De Monarchia.

Dante contrasts the Convivio, as a work
composed after he had passed the threshold of
'manhood' [gioventute), Vf'ith. the Vita Nuova
as written before he had crossed it (I. i. :
125-127); and he regarded 'manhood' as
lasting from twenty-five to forty-five (IV. 24 :
22-37). But since Beatrice ^died in 1290,
Dante's twenty-fifth year, the Fita Nuova as a
whole cannot have been written in the poet's
• adolescence,' before he entered ' manhood.'
The passage, then, can only indicate that the
range of emotion represented by the poems of
the Vita Nuova belongs to the poet's ' adoles-
cence,' and that with which he desires to connect
the canzoni, or odes, to his early ' manhood.'

As to the prose work itself we have more
precise indications. When the first treatise was
written Dante had long been an exile and had
wandered over almost every region of Italy
(I. 3 : 20-33). This places us at least some
years later than 1302.

The first treatise refers forward to the fourth

(I. I : 123) ; the second treatise presupposes the

first (II. I : 14-16), and refers forward to the

third (II. 16: 23, 94) ; the third refers back

420

APPENDIX 421

to the second (III. i : 1-4) and forward to
the fourth (III. 7 : I45 ; 13 : 37), while both
second and third directly carry forward a part of
the promise and programme of the first (I. i :
127-132. Compare I. 2: 1 14-127). The
fourth treatise three times refers back to the
third (ly. 20: 33; 23: 141; 30: 52). It
departs in one respect from the programme
announced as general in the second treatise
(compare IV. i : 83-92 with II. i : 1 19-124).
At least three of the unwritten treatises were
planned, in more or less detail, when the exist-
ing books were written (see note on p. 7 f.).
Back-references generally specify the chapter,
tore-references never.

Unless definite proof can be brought to the
contrary, therefore, we have a right to suppose
that the four treatises of the Conv'wio were
written in the order in which we have them,
and that the whole scheme of the book, as
projected in fifteen treatises (compare I. i : loi-
105), was already definitely worked out in the
author's mind (though subject to modification in
detail) when he began to write the first treatise.

The indications of date in the fourth treatise
are fairly precise. Rudolf, Adolf and Albert
have successively become emperors since
Frederick II., but the election of Henry VII.
in November 1308 [Uart de verifier les dates)
has not yet taken place (IV. 3 : 38-43) ;
whereas it is implied that Gherardo da Cammino,
who died in March 1 306 (Toynbee), is no longer
living (IV. 14: ri4-i23). If we may infer from
the passage cited above that Albert is already dead
we shall be carried past May i, 1308 (^L'art de

422 APPENDIX

verifier les dates^, and shall have a very precise
date ; but though this seems the natural reading
of the passage it is hardly safe to lay stress on it.
But further, a comparison of IV. 6: i8o fF.
with De Vulgari Eloqucnt'ta, I. I2; 36-39
suggests, though it does not prove, that Azzo of
Este was already dead,^ which would take us
past the beginning of 1308.

Our conclusion then is that the four treatises
of the Convivio were begun a considerable
time (probably several years) after 1302, and
were finished before November 1308, and
that the fourth treatise was begun certainly
after March 1306, and probably after the be-
ginning of 1308.

The idea irresistibly suggests itself that the
election of Henry was at least one of the causes
that diverted Dante's mind from the completion of
the Convivio ; and we shall be disposed to regard
the whole design and execution of the fragment
we possess as belonging essentially to the year
1308 or the immediately preceding years.

The close relation of the Convivio in
general, and of the first treatise in particular,
to the De Fu/gari Eloquentia is obvious. Both
works deal with the Odes ; and in both Dante
regards these compositions with evident pride,
as conferring on him his chief title to literary
fame. In both his thoughts are engaged on the
relations between Latin and the vernaculars,
though his views, or at anyrate the expression
of them, do not completely agree in the two
works. Compare De Vulgari E/oquenfia, I. i :
34-41, with Convivio I. 5 • 45 ^91' •
^ See below p. 423, and note.

APPENDIX 423

In the absence of clear proof to the contrary
we are justified in assuming that these two works
(including the second as well as the first book of
the De f^u/gari Eloquentia^ belong to the same
period of Dante's life, as they certainly move in
the same circle of ideas and interests, and take
the same view of the general scope of verna-
cular poetry. Internal evidence confirms this
impression. In the De Fulgari Eloquentta (I.
12 : 36-39) Frederick II., King of Sicily (not
the Emperor Frederick II.) ; Charles II. of
Naples ; the Marquis John (evidently of Mon-
ferrato) and the Marquis Azzo (evidently ot
Ferrara) are spoken of as though still living.
They died respectively in 1343, May 1309,
January 1305, and January 1308 ^ i^Uart de
•verifier les dates'). On the other hand, Dante
is already in exile (I. 6 : 17-23). This gives
us a range from the beginning of 1302 to the
end of 1304, for the composition of the De
l^ulgari Eloquentta, and when we reflect on the
political agitations that absorbed Dante's thoughts
in the early period of his exile we shall be in-
clined to place the composition of the work in
■1304 rather than earlier.
|- Against this conclusion (which I think we
f must accept) two objections may be urged.
I Villani (IX. 106) and Boccaccio {Vita di
y.Dante) both conjecture that the composition of

* In an analagous passage in the Conviwo (IV. 6 :
180 ff.) Frederick and Charles still figure, whereas John
and Azzo have disappeared. This we have taken (see
p. 422, above) as another indication that the fourth
treatise of the Convi'vio was written after the beginning
of 1308.

424 APPENDIX

the De Fulgari Eloquentia was, or may have
been, interrupted by the poet's death. But as
they speak quite generally, and seem to have no
other data to go on than the fragmentary state of
the work, we need not attach any special
importance to their suggestion. It is noteworthy
that Villani gives the same reason, with greater
confidence, for the unfinished state of the
Coni)ivio ; and this we certainly cannot accept.
Moreover, the passage of Villani itself appears
not to be above suspicion.

A more formidable difficulty is presented by
a passage in the Conviino (I. 5 : 66-69) in
which Dante speaks of a work which *■ I intend to
'write, God granting, on the vernacular speech,'
and in which he promises to deal with a subject
actually handled in the De Vulgari Eloquentia
as we have it (I. 9 : SO-93). To this we can
only say that whereas the passage would cer-
tainly warrant us in assuming the priority of
the first book of the Convivio to the first book of
the De Fulgari Eloquentia, in the absence of
evidence to the contrary, it does not warrant us
in ignoring the clear proof that the first book
of the De Fulgari Eloquentia was written before
the beginning of 1305, and the very strong pre-
sjumption that the Convivio was not completed
till the middle or towards the end of 1308 ; for
if Dante took one work in hand before he had
completed the other (and this he must in any
case have done), and intended to complete the
Convivio before he resumed the De Fulgari
Eloquentia he might well refer to the latter
(even when speaking of the parts already
written) as a future work. But if this seems

APPENDIX 425

straining a point, the reader may suppose that the
Convivio was begun first of the two, without
supposing that it is prior as a whole ; but in that
case he will have difficulty in finding time for
the long wanderings mentioned in I. 3 : 20-33.

The general conclusion seems safe that the
De Fulgari Eloquentia may be dated 1304, and
the Convivio 1308, allowing the possibility in
the former case that the work may have over-
flowed into the immediately following years,
and in the latter case that it may have been
begun in the years immediately preceding.

It remains to examine the relation of the
Convivio to the De Monarchia. There are
two considerations, one of a general and one of
a special nature, which give strong support to
the belief that the De Monarchia is later than
the Convivio.

Both works alike deal with the Roman
empire, and in a general way it might be
maintained with equal show of justice that
Chapters IV. and V. of the fourth treatise of
the Convivio are a popular summary of the
treatment of the empire in Book II. of the
De Monarchia^ or that they are a preliminary
sketch of it. But we note that the specific
relations of Church and State, which form the
real subject of the De Monarchia^ are ignored in
the Convivio. In place of them we find a short
passage on the relations of philosophy to the
office of government (IV. 6: 154-190). Indeed,
though, as we shall see (p. 430), that Dante is
full of recognition of the Church as the organ of
spiritual truth, he does not seem in any way at
all to take count of her as a governing institution.

426 APPENDIX

Even in the beautiful passage (IV. 4: 64) in
which he likens the whole human civility to a
' religious order ' (re/igione) he seems to be think-
ing rather of the ideal philosophical emperor than
of the pope as the 'superior.' Again the doctrine
of revelation is never in any way worked out
in the Convivio. The 'contemplative life' is
looked upon throughout rather from the point of
view of philosophy than of revelation. It is
therefore impossible not to feel that the De
Monarch'ta represents a more developed scheme
and one far more closely connected with that of
the Commedia than we find in the Convhno.
After making all allowances for the differences
of treatment natural in a popular and in a
scholarly work, we have still to admit that if
the Convivio were later than the De Monorchia
it would constitute a bewildering parenthesis be-
tween this latter and the Commedia^ and would
indicate a marked relapse from maturity into
comparative crudity.

To this general argument we may add a
specific one of great weight. In the fourth
treatise of the Convivio Dante criticises at great
length and with unsparing severity that portion
of the Emperor Frederick's definition of nobility
which makes ' ancient wealth ' one of its essential
factors. And he defends himself from the
charge of irreverence towards the empire, in
thus disputing the emperor's definition, by
declaring that it is not part of the imperial
office (but rather, as he implies, a part of the
office of the philosopher) to define nobility. He
also attempts to show that a sentiment of Aris-
totle's which might, quite indirectly, be brought

APPENDIX 427

to the support of the opinion he attacks, does
not really bear the construction put upon it by
his imaginary opponent [Conviv'io, IV. 3 sqq.^
especially 9 : 160-179). Now the fact is that
the incriminated part of Frederick's definition is
really due to no other than Aristotle himself,
who defines nobility as ' ancient wealth and
virtue' {^Politics, IV. viii. 9). Dante, then,
must have seen the utter futility of his attempt
to make out that he is only dealing with the
emperor in his unofficial capacity and with an
indirect and erroneous deduction from Aristotle,
had the passage in Aristotle been in his mind.
It is clear, then, that he did not know it, or had
forgotten it, when he wrote the fourth treatise of
the Convivio. But in the De Monarchia (II.
3 : 15-17), Dante expressly quotes this passage
from Aristotle, and works out his main thesis ab
to the nobility of the Roman people in connection
with it, if not in direct dependence on it. Is it
possible that after that he could so completely
have forgotten it as to be able to write as he has
done in the Convivio ?

We are driven to the conclusion therefore
that internal evidence points strongly to the
priority of the Convivio to the De Monarchia.
With the general difficulties involved in assigning
this (or indeed any other) date to the De Mon-
archia we cannot now deal.

428 APPENDIX

II

On Dante^s ' second love ' and the relation of the
Convivio to the Vita Nuova and the Commedia.

The Convivio is the monument of Dante's
♦second love' (III. i : 2), and we can liave
no difficulty in forming a clear conception of its
object. Dante's ' second love ' was for ivisdom,
that is to say the 'Wisdom of God,' spoken of
in the Proverbs and the Wisdom of Solomon.
The wisdom that Dante loved was * the bright-
ness of the eternal light, the spotless mirror of
the majesty of God' (III. 15: 54, 55. See
Wisdom, VII. 26). Solomon declared of her
that God began all creation in company with
her, and exclaimed in her person : ' When he
prepared the heavens, I was there,' etc. (Con-
vivio, III. 15 : 155 ff. ; Proverbs, VIII. 27
fF.). She is therefore the Logos of the proem
of the Gospel of John (III. 14: 62-64); ^^^
she is expressly identified with the incarnate
Deity. ' Oh worse than dead, who flee from
her friendship ! Open your eyes and see that
before ye were she loved you, preparing and
ordaining your progress ; and after ye were
made she came to you in your likeness, to guide
you aright' (III. 15: 178-184). And again,
' Oh, ineffable and incomprehensible wisdom of
God, which against thy coming into Syria didst
make so great preparation beforehand in heaven
above and here in Italy ' (IV. 5 : 69-72).

Ultimately, then, Dante's second love is for
wisdom as a hypostasis in the Trinity. But
the transition is easy to wisdom as an attribute of

APPENDIX 429

Deity, not identified with Deity itself. Thus
Dante says of her that her ' proper abode is in
the most secret place of the divine mind' (IV,
30 : 66-68), or that she is ' the spouse of
the Emperor of heaven,' and * not only spouse,
but sister and most beloved daughter' (III.
12: 1 1 5-1 18). And the wisdom that thus
exists primarily in the Creator exists in a
secondary way in created intelligences, angelic
and human (III. 13 : 1-26). The love of her
is philosophy, and therefore Dante may say
of his ' second love ' that the lady of his
adoration * was the daughter of God, the
queen of all that is, the most noble and most
beauteous Philosophy ' (II. 13: 71-73). And
finally, since the object of any emotion is often
called by the name of that emotion itself, the
subjects which philosophy (love of wisdom)
studies may themselves bear the name of philo-
sophy, and so the sciences, one and all, are a
part of the object of Dante's love, inasmuch as
they are parts of his lady (III. 11 : 95-102,
154-186). And amongst the sciences the
noblest and surest place is taken by theology,
which * suffers no strife of opinions or of sophis-
tical arguments,' and is therefore likened to
the tranquil empyrean heaven (II. 15: 165-
184).

Such being the lady of Dante's * second love,*
it is clear that she can in no sense be the rival of
theology, and since she supersedes Beatrice in
Dante's affections (II. 16: 50-58, and the
second treatise generally), Beatrice cannot be
taken as the symbol of theology in the scheme
of the Convivio ; nor indeed is there any in-

430 APPENDIX

dication whatever in this work that Beatrice
stands, as yet, for anything but the Florentine
maiden * who lives in heaven with the angels,
and on earth with my soul ' (IL 2 : 6-8).

Nor is there any note of hesitation or doubt in
Dante's devotion to the Church. She is the
' spouse and secretary ' of God (II. 6 : 33), she
is holy Church 'who cannot utter falsehood' (II.
4 : 32). Our minds are incapable of grasping the
highest truths unless aided by revelation (II. 6 :
1-20; III. 7: 161, 162, etc.). TheChristian
faith 'cannot lie' (IV. 15 : 49, 50, etc.), and
has supreme authority, above that of philosophers
and poets (IV. 15 : 90-96, etc.).

It is obvious from these passages, and many
others that might be added to them, that the
Convivio is not in any way the record (as has
been maintained) of a period during which
Dante exalted human reason or secular philo-
sophy to the same level of authority as reve-
lation, or treated theology with disrespect.
What he records in the Convivio is a period in
his life during which his love of study became
his dominating passion, partially eclipsing the
memory of Beatrice. But the wisdom he loved,
so far from leading him away from theology
led him to it, for theology was the most
glorious of the sciences, which constituted the
body of wisdom, as love constituted her soul
(compare III. 11 : 129-136 with the passages
cited above).

Clearly Dante's dominating motive in writing
the Convivio was a passion for the study and the
promulgation of philosophic truth (see I. i,

APPENDIX 431

the concluding passage of chap, xiii., and many
other passages throughout the work) ; but he
tells us very distinctly that he was also moved
by the desire to glorify the Italian language (I.
[O ff.) ; and by the desire to avert from himself
the * infamy of having yielded to so great a
passion ' as the reader of his Odes would suppose
to have had possession of him. And the way
in which he intends to avert this ' infamy ' is by
allegorising all the odes of passion, without dis-
tinction (I. 2 : 120-123 ; II. 16: 98-103 ; III.
I : I sqq.y 77 sqq. ; IV. i : 92-99, etc.). This
intention may have been only incidental to the
real purpose, but it was evidently essential and in-
tegral to the method and scheme of the Convivio.
We have to ask, then, whether we can accept
all the love poems on which Dante comments,
or promises to comment, in the Convivio as
having really been addressed in the first instance
to philosophy. It is clear that we cannot. The
seventh treatise was to be a comment on Ode VI.
(compare IV. 26: 64-67, note ; and further
III. 10: 41, note), and it is impossible for a
moment to believe that this poem relates to
anything but earthly passion. Dante's con-
fession to Forese [Purgatorio, XXIII. 115-
119) and his desire to dissociate himself from
the moral impression produced by his Odes
are a sufficient comment on this poem and
its companions, even if for the moment we
leave aside the evidence of Cantos XXX. and
XXXI. of the Purgatorio, Some of the Con-
vivio cycle of odes commemorated phases of
passion from which the author, in the lofty sense
of his mission, now desired to dissociate himself.

432 APPENDIX

Examining the Odes in detail, we can have little
doubt that VI., VII., VIII. and IX, were poems
of earthly love inspired by a woman of whom
we have no other knowledge; and that II., IV.
and V. are hymns of love genuinely addressed to
philosophy; whereas X. and XII. seem to con-
nect themselves with Beatrice ; and I. irresistibly
carries us to the Lady of the Window of the
Fita Nuova, with whom indeed Dante himself
directly connects it (II. 2 : 1-12).

Now we cannot accept Dante's asseveration
that the Lady of the Window was no other than
philosophy (see the citations above, and especially
II. 16: 98-103), and that the ode Foi che
intendendo il terzo del movete, which stands at the
head of the second treatise, was from the first
allegorical. We might hesitate to disbelieve
his express statement had we not seen
that it is merely incidental to his general purpose
of allegorising all his odes. As it is, this
particular bit of allegorising must stand or
fall with the whole scheme — that is to say, it
must fall with it. But the inconsistencies and
frigidities to which Dante is driven in alle-
gorising this ode are in themselves sufficiently
convincing. In the Fita Nuova the Lady of
the Window first appears to Dante *a certain
space ' after the first anniversary of Beatrice's
death (§36: i), and then tries his constancy
during < certain days' (§40: 13), after which
the memory of Beatrice victoriously reasserts
itself, and the poet, writing after the close of
the whole episode, pronounces the thought of
this lady as * gentle in so far as it discoursed of
a gentle lady, but in other respects most base '

APPENDIX 433

(§ 39- 30"32)-^ Further he declared that
the 'heart' (in Sonnet XXII.) which took
part for the Lady of the Window signifies
'appetite.' In the Convivio the lady (now
identified with my lady philosophy) first appears
to Dante considerably more than three years
after Beatrice's death ^ (II. 2: 1-6), it is
some thirty months after this before he has
sufficiently overcome the first difficulties of study
to feel the full power of his enaraourment (II.
13: 45-52), he does not purpose to speak any
more of Beatrice in this whole work (II. 9 :
53-55), he emphatically warns his reader against
taking 'heart' (in Ode I.) to mean any ' special
part of the soul or body' (II. 7: 21 f.),

^ We still possess the poem in which Dante closed and
sealed this episode of the Lady of the Window. It is
Sonnet XLII, in Moore's edition, and it runs :

Ye words of mine already in the world who had

your birth after that I began to write, anent that

lady in whom I went astray, Te tuho by understand-

ing mo-ve the third hea-ven ;

Go your ways to her, for well ye know her, so

weeping as that she may hear your wailings. Say to

her: ' We are thine ; and so henceforth more than

our number never look to see.'

Abide not with her, for love is not there ; but

wander round in mourning habit after the fashion

of your ancient sisters. *

Whenso ye find a worthy lady fling yourselves

at her feet, in humbleness, and say : ' To thee we

are bounden to do honour.*

2 Lubin in Dante e git Astronomi Italiani, Trieste, 1895,
has proved beyond all possibility of dispute that the period
of Venus referred to must be taken as 583 days and
odd hours. .^.;, ,.

* The poems concerning the lost Beatrice. ' 1 '"'"
2E

434 APPENDIX

and so far from being ashamed of his new
love as ' most base,' he frankly exalts it over
his first love (for Beatrice), and declares
that ' a man ought not, because of a greater
friend, to forget the services received from the
lesser ; but if it really behoves him to follow the
one and to leave the other, when he follows the
better the other is not to be abandoned without
some fitting lamentation.' (II. i6 : 52-57).

In spite of Dante's declaration, then, that he
does not intend the Convivio in any way to
derogate from the Fita Nuova (I. i : 1 14, 1 15),
we must believe that it was only by a tour de
jorce that he could attempt to harmonise the
scheme of the one work with that of the other,
and that we shall be safer in basing our judgment
as to the Lady of the Window and the ode that
concerns her upon the internal evidence of the
Vita Nuova and the ode itself, than upon the
express assertions, avowedly made with a purpose,
of the Convivio.

We have therefore reached the conclusion
that Dante desired to dissociate himself from
the implications of some of his poems, which
implications he regarded as infamous, that he
intended to effect his purpose by treating all his
love poems as allegorical, and that in pursuance
of this purpose he actually explained Ode I. in
a manner inconsistent with the narrative of the
Fita Nuova and with the facts.

But the scheme (alien surely from Dante's
sincerity of character) was never completely
carried out. Henry's election and expedition,
as we have seen reason to believe, interrupted
the progress of the Convivio and gave rise first

APPENDIX 435

to the De Monarch'ia and then to the Political
Letters. After Henry's fall the world had
changed for Dante. His thoughts had been
matured, his whole nature had passed through
the fire, his life thought had deepened from that
of the Convivio to that of the Comed!y.

And if the substance of the Convivlo had
become inadequate its form and scheme had
become impossible. Dante had come to see
that if there is any aspect of our past lives that
is at war with our present lives and aspirations
we must dissociate ourselves from it, not by
allegorising it away, but by purgatorially living
ourselves out of it, and into its opposite, by
confession and by penitence. At the same time
he perceived that philosophy, so far from leading
him away from Beatrice, had been leading him
back to her. It was in sin that he had /
wandered from her, it was in love of wisdom
that he came back to her. My lady philo-
sophy, no longer the rival of Beatrice, was
resolved into Beatrice's emissary, Virgil, and
Beatrice herself; the superseded scheme of
symbolism of the Convivio, was abandoned ; the
poet purged himself from its taint of insincerity ;
and, after his passage through Purgatory, the
supreme confession and the agony of penitence
with which he met his outraged ideal in the
earthly Paradise give us his final comment on the
aberrations he had once thought to explain
away — final save for the light that streams upon
the whole question of sin, repentance and for-
giveness from the Paradiso}

^ The extreme conciseness of treatment which it has
been necessary here to observe may be supplemented by a

436 APPENDIX

III

The Astronomy of the Convivio.

Dante follows the Ptolemaic system of astro-
nomy, a good account of which will be found
in Young's General Astronomy (Ginn & Co.,
1900), § 500 sqq. ; but he only deals with the
simplest elements of the system and avoids all
such points as the eccentricities of the planetary
orbits, corresponding to the ellipttcities of orbits
of modern astronomy.

The difficulty which students find in under-
standing the astronomical passages in Dante is
due to ignorance of astronomy in general, not to
ignorance of the Ptolemaic system, which is
extremely simple, and easy to connect directly
with the observed phenomena of the heavens.
Dante's expositions are of admirable lucidity,
and anyone who has watched the actual doings
of the stars, the sun and moon, and the planets,
will understand them without difficulty. Those
who are only acquainted with representations of
the solar system in books or orreries may find
some difficulty in adjusting their minds to a
system that always keeps in direct touch with
the appearance of the heavens, as really seen

study of Witte's essay on 'Dante's Trilogy' (the classical
exposition of the views I am combatting) and my
Appendix to it, in Essays on Dante, by Karl Witte.
Duckworth & Co., 1898. See also notes on IV. i :
62-65, and Purgatorio, XXXIII. 85-99. ^•"' * brief
statement of the whole case see Gardner's Dante Primer,
pp. 53.64.

APPENDIX 437

from the earth ; but the following hints may be
found useful.^

3}. The starry heaven presents the appearance of
* solid sphere revolving round fixed poles (one
of which is visible to us) from east to west.
This appearance was taken by the ancients as
a fact. Between midnight and midnight, i.e.,
during one diurnal revolution of the sun round
the earth, any given star that has been observed
will be found to have completed something more
than a full revolution, and consequently to be
further west than it was twenty-four hours ago.
That is to say, the stars revolve faster than the
sun, and constantly overtake him in their journey
from east to west. In the course of a year the
whole starry heaven has thus overtaken and
passed the sun, so that the stars are once more
in the same relative positions with respect to
him.

Moreover, the sun rises due east at the spring
equinox, and then till the summer solstice rises
further and further north till he is about 23^°
north of the equator, then a little further south
every day, till at the autumn equinox he is on
the equator and rises due east again, and by
the winter solstice is 23^° south of the equator ;
after which he creeps north again.

It will be seen, then, that in the course of

* If the reader takes any ordinary representation of the
solar system and (ignoring the Asteroids, Neptune and
Uranus) exchanges the places of the sun and the earth (the
moon accompanying the earth), he will get Dante's
conception of the succession of the ' seven planets ' as they
follow each other outward from the fixed earth at the
centre, viz., the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars,
Jupiter, Saturn. Beyond these were the fixed stars.

438 APPENDIX

a year the sun both lags behind the stars till
they have all passed him, and also moves north
and south within a space of 23^^° on each side
of the equator ; that is to say, he works back
through the stars, tracing on the starry heavens
a great circle at an angle of 23!^° with the
equator, and cutting the equator at two points.

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To account for this, the ancients supposed
that inside the sphere of the stars was another
sphere, the axes of which were fixed (not
mechanically, as suggested by the figure) in two
points of the starry sphere 23^° distant from the
poles, and that the sun was fixed on the equator
of this inner sphere.

APPENDIX 439

Now let the reader suppose himself to be
standing somewhere on the surface of the earth,
in the northern hemisphere, at the centre of the
two spheres in the figure. If the outer sphere
revolved, carrying the inner sphere (otherwise
motionless) with it, he would see the sun moving
round once in every twenty- four (sidereal) hours
clockwise. If on the other hand the outer
sphere were to cease revolving and the inner
sphere were to revolve counter-clockwise once
in a year, he would see the sun trace a circle on
the starry sphere, moving back from west to
east at its most northern point 23^° above the
starry equator and at its most southern point
23^° below it. If both of these motions are
going on at once, both effects will follow.
That is to say, the sun will be carried round
every day from east to west with the stars, but
will at the same time lag behind them and also
creep north or south according to the season of
the year. He will, in fact, trace the spiral
which has been described above as the course
he actually appears to take. The resolution of
this spiral into a combination of two circles was
the triumph of ancient astronomy, and it still
holds its place in modern astronomy, the two
circles being now regarded as the motion of the
earth round her own axis and her motion round
the sun.

The motion of the moon is like that of the
sun, only that her ' proper ' orbit from west to
east is completed in a month instead of a year.
A closer inner sphere, therefore, was supposed,
which sympathetically obeyed the motion of the
starry sphere and had its oblique axis fixed (not

.440

APPENDIX

mechanically) in it, but was unaffected by the
motion of the sun's ' proper ' sphere. On its
equator the moon was fixed.

The motion of the planets (other than the
sun and moon, which are also regarded as planets

by the ancients) is more complicated. On the
whole, they travel through the stars, obliquely to
the equator, from west to east, like the sun and
moon, each having its own period of ' proper '
revolution. But they do not travel steadily,
and sometimes they actually travel westward
through the stars for a time. To explain this

APPENDIX 441

the ancients introduced, in the case of these
planets, a third circular motion. The planet
(Venus, for instance) was not supposed to be
fixed (like the sun) on the equator of its proper
sphere, but another smaller sphere, the centre of
which would lie on the equator of that sphere,
was supposed to be thrust into its side, and to
revolve round the centre which the greater sphere
was itself carrying round the earth from west
to east.^ Here the reader's modern conception
of the solar system may help his imagination.
Let him suppose himself to be observing our
moon from the sun, in the centre of the
system. Further, let him suppose the distance
of the moon from the earth to be immensely
increased, and the motion of the earth so
slowed down that the movement of the
moon round the earth is more rapid than that
of the earth round the sun, and lastly let him
suppose the earth to shrink till it becomes a
mere ideal point circling round the sun while
the moon circles round it. He will see that
under these conditions the moon would appear to
take a looped course through the stars, prevail-
ingly from west to east, but occasionally doubling
back from east to west. This is exactly analogous
to the course of a planet as seen from the earth, and
explained in terms of the Ptolemaic mechanism.
The three circles, of the starry sphere, the
planet's proper sphere, and the planet's epicycle
or inserted sphere, correspond to the three circles
of the earth's revolution on her axis, her re-
volution round the sun, and the planet's revolution

' The whole, of course, being carried round by the
daily motion of the whole heavens.

442 APPENDIX

round the sun, as conceived by modern astronomy.
Again, the great triumph of resolving the ex-
tremely complex apparent motion of the planet
into a combination of three circles was won by
the ancients and is still enjoyed by the modern
astronomers.

Finally, Hipparchus^ observed the pheno-
menon now known as the precession of the
equinoxes, and explained by modern astronomy as
due to a slow top-like motion of the earth's axis.
Its effect on the appearance of the heavens is to
make a slow change in the pole of the daily
rotation of the starry heavens. Our pole star
was not always, and will not always be, so near
the pole as it now is. This was explained by
the ancients by supposing that the starry sphere
itself had its poles obliquely fixed (not mechanic-
ally) in a sphere outside itself, on which there
is no heavenly body, just as the poles of the
proper spheres of the planets were fixed in the
starry sphere. It was this outmost sphere to
which the daily rotation of the whole heavens
from east to west was due. The starry sphere
had a slow ' proper ' motion from west to east
(one degree in a hundred years, Dante thought),
which was communicated, like that of the
Primum mobile, or outmost sphere, to all the
inner spheres. The ♦ proper ' motions of the
other spheres were strictly ' proper ' ; that is,
they not only originated in them but were not
communicated by them to any of the lower
spheres within them.

^ Ptolemy long had the credit of it. See Con-vi'vio, II.
3 • 36 sqq-

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EDITORIAL NOTE

In preparing this translation for the Temple
Classics I have generally followed the text of
Dr. Moore's Oxford Dante ; but I have some-
times preferred that of Pederzini's Variorum
edition, (Modena, 1831), or have adopted a
manuscript-reading which it indicates. On
these matters, and on significant changes of
punctuation, I have given such information in
the notes as I thought might be useful in a
popular work, but not in a uniform or systematic
manner. But in the few cases in which I have
ventured upon actual emendations of the MS. text,
on my own authority, I have of course invariably
given notice of them in the notes. Square
brackets in the text indicate insertions.

Both translation and notes are for the most
part based on independent study, but I have
found Pederzini's edition, cited above, of the
highest value in difficult passages. Kannegiesser's
German translation (Leipzig, 1B56) I have
found useful as a check ; but, though it is in
general a singularly careful and scholarly piece of
work, it follows Pederzini in cases of difficulty
so closely as to deprive it of independent value
in passages of doubtful interpretation.

When my translation was completed I com-
pared it throughout with Miss Hillard's {The
Banquet, Kegan Paul, 1889). I have felt
compelled in very many passages to adhere to
a translation at variance with hers, as will be

445

446 EDITORIAL NOTE

obvious to anyone who compares the two
versions ; but the number of passages in which
her translation enabled me to detect and avoid
mistakes in my own can of course be known only
to myself; and I wish to be allowed (if I may
do it without impertinence) to express my thanks
to her, together with my high admiration of the
sustained brilliance of her work from the literary
point of view.

To Mr. Toynbee's Dante Dictionary and
Studies my obligations are extensive. Many of
them are acknowledged in detail.

My debt to Dr. Moore's first series of Studies
will be understood by those, but by those only,
who have attempted some work similar to that
involved in annotating the Convivio. I have
not always agreed with him in my identification
of Dante's references to Aristotle, and I have
often drawn independent conclusions from the
material he has gathered ; but my work (such
as it is) would have been almost impossible,
within the limits of time at my disposal, had I
not been able to take his patient researches as
a starting-point.

To Mr. Edmund Gardner I owe a very
special personal debt indicated in connection
with the translation of the odes.

Philip H. Wicksteed.

List of Scholastic Terms explained In the Notes

Habit

Substance and accident

Universals ....

Cause (final, efficient, etc.) .

Action and passion, agent and patient

Perfection

Form and material

Act and potentiality

Privation .

Soul

Common sense and common sensibles

.

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200

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447

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