Art. II. Osservazioni Intorno alia Questione sopra la Oeiginalita del Poema di Dante. Di F. Cancellieiu. Roma, 181*. Observations concerning the Question of the Originality of the Poem of Dante. By F. Cancellieiu. The limits of a late Number precluded us from entering, as fully as we would have wished, into the subject of Dante. We resume it the more willingly, from our having {' list received a work, published two or three years ago in Italy, >ut almost unknown in England, having for its object to ascertain, whether this great poet was an inventor, or an imitator only. The continental antiquaries and scholars have eagerly laiil hold of a manuscript, said to have been discovered about the beginning of the present century, and affording evidence, according to some persons, that he had borrowed from others the whole plan and conception of his wonderful work. The question, indeed, is of ancient date; and, long before such value hud been set upon this manuscript, was so perplexed and prolonged, as now to call for definitive elucidation. We trust we shall place our readers in a condition to decide it for themselves. An extract, or rather a short abstract of an old Vision, written in Latin, appeared in a pamphlet published at Rome in 1801, with an insinuation, that the primitive model of Dante'* poem had at length been discovered. Some reader of new publications transmitted the intelligence of this discovery to a German journalist, who received it as of the utmost importance; and from him, a writer in a French paper, (the Publicists of July 1809), transcribed, embellished, and diffused it over all Europe, through the medium of his universal language. Having nothing to do with politics, every body received it upon the faith of the author of the pamphlet, by whom alone the old manuscript had been read; and it was immediately settled, among the wits and critics of the day, that Dante was but the versifier of the ideas of others. Mr Cancellieri, a professed black-letter scholar, and animated, no doubt, with a laudable zeal for religion as well as literature, published the Vision entire in 1814, on the return of his Holiness to Rome. He accompanies it with an Italian translation, the whole comprising some sixty pages, preceded by twice that number of pages of his own remarks. In this ample dissertation, the question, however, is merely glanced at;—and all that its readers cau make out with certainty is, that the learned author had selected this curious subject chiefly to astonish the world by his multifarious erudition, in a book which might have been not inaptly entitled—' Dc rebus omnibus, et de quibusdam aliis.' It must be acknowledged^ however, that, amidst the unbounded variety of his citations, we meet with some tilings which it is agreeable to know; but they have so little to do widi Dante, mat we are really but little beholden to him on the present occasion; and have been obliged to refer to many other authorities, in order to disentangle ourselves from the perplexities into ■which lie had brought us. Mr Cancellieri apprises us that there existed two famous liberies, both monks of Monte-Cassino;—but bethought it immaterial to add, that the first was one of the few monks to whom the civilization of the world is not without obligations—he having, in the midst of the barbarism of the J 1th century, written treatises upon logic, astronomy, and music. * His works probably contributed more to form the mind of Dante, than the Visions of the other to form die plan of his poem. The latter Alberic was born about the year 1100, soon after the death of the former. When in his 9th year, he fell sick, and remained in a lethargy for nine days. Whilst in this state, a dove appeared to him, and catching him by the hair lifted him up to the presence of Saint Peter, who, with two angels, conducted the child across Purgatory, and, mounting thence from planet to planet, transported him into Paradise, there to contemplate the glory of the blessed. His vision restored him to perfect health;—the miraculous cure was published to the world ;—the monks received the child at Monte-Cassino;—and, .because he repeated his vision tolerably well, and was of a rich family, they devoted him to Saint Benedict, before he hat! reached his 10th year. He lived from that time in constant penitence, tasting neither flesh or wine, and never wearing shoes; and the monastery had thus the glory of possessing a living saint, who, by his virtue, confirmed the belief that he had seen Purgatory and Paradise. They took care to have the vision of Alberic reduced to writing, first by one of their own lettered brethren, and, some years after, by Alberic himself, assisted by the pen of Peter the Deacon, of whom there are yet remaining some historical pieces [graphic][merged small] which occasionally throw light upon die darkness of diat age. We subjoin what he says of Alberic" in his own words, f If there existed but diis one vision before the time of Dante, th re might be some ground for presuming, that it suggested to him the idea of his poem. But the truth is, that such visions abounded from the very earliest ages of Christianity. Saint Cyprian had visions,—-Saint Perpetua had visions,—and both, with many others, were declared divine bv Saint Augustine. The revelations of each turned upon the doctrine which each thought the best for establishing the faith. Accordingly, the creed written for the church over which he presided, by Saint Gre Sory Thaurnaturgus, was dictated to him in a vision by Saint ohn die Evangelist. But the zeal of the early bishops was soon replaced by the interested views of their successors. About die I Oth century, the great object was, to establish die doctrine of Purgatory, in which the period of expiation was shortened in favour of souls, in proportion to the alms given by their heirs to die Church. The monk Alberic describes Purgatory with minuteness, and sees Hell only at a distance. All those visions, having the same object, resembled each other; and whoever will take the trouble to examine the legends of the saints, and archives of the monasteries, will find hundreds, of the same epoch, and the same tenor. It may be said, that Dante either profited by all, or by none; but, if there be any one to which he can be supposed to be indebted more than anodier, it is the vision of an English monk, not named by any one that we know, though told circumstantially by Mathew Paris. * The English monk> like the Italian, gives no description of Hell, but, like Dante, describes his Purgatory as a mount;—the passage from Purgatory to Paradise, a vast garden, intersected by delightful woods, as in our poet: Both had their visions in die holy week;—both allot the same punishments to the same intiunous crimes, with some other points of resemblance, which diose who are curious may find in Mathew Paris. The vision related by that historian, suffices to give an idea of I Tanta usque in hodiernum abstincntia, tunta morum gravitate pollet, ut pcenas peccatorum perspexisse, et pertimuisse, et glorium unctorum vidissc nemo quis dubitet: Non enim carnem, non adipein, non vinutn, ab illo tempore usque nunc, Deo annuente, assumpsit; calciamento nullo penitus tempore utitur; et sic, in tanta cordis, ac corporis contritione, et humilitate usque nunc in hodiernum, in hoe Casinensi ccenobio perseverat, ut multa ilium quae alios laterent val metuenda, vel desideranda vidisse, etiamsi lingua taceret, vna lo|ueretur. (De Viris illustr. Casin.) * Hist. Ang. ad aji. J196. 5 all the others; and proves, indeed, that there existed, at that time, a systematic style for working, in this way, upon popular credulity. The English monk also had his vision immediately after a long and dangerous malady, and in a state of lethargy and inanition, which lasted nine days, also followed by a miraculous owe. It is sufficiently probable, that Dante had read the history of Mnthew Paris, the historian having died before the birth of the poet; and still more probable, that he hat! read the vision of Alberic. The resemblance which we have pointed out between the visions of the two monks, and the infinity of other visions of the same kind, show that there was then established, in the popular belief, a sort of Visionary mythology, which Dante adopted in the same manner as the mythology of Polytheism had been adopted by Homer. Besides, the discovery of the manuscript of the Vision of Alberic, about which so much noise has been made for the last eighteen years, really took place about a century ago. It is mentioned, but without much stress, by Mazzuchclli, Pelli, and Tiraboschi. * Mr Bottari was the first who confronted it with the poem of Dante, in the year 1753; rind the vanity which turns the heads of so many erudite persons, when they make discoveries to their own infinite surprise, made him imagine he had discovered, in Dante, diverse close imitations of the manuscript. The following is one of his great instances. Dante calls the Devil 'the great worm,' (Inferno, Cant. 31.), and therefore he must have copied from Alberic, who saw 'a great worm that devoured souls.' Monsignor Bottari was a prelate; the author of the pamphlet is a Benedictine abbot; Mr Cancellieri is a good Catholic, and all three are antiquarians. How has it escaped them, that the Devil is called 'the serpent' in the Scriptures, and that ' worm' was constantly used for ' serpent' by the old Italian writers? Shakespeare indeed uses it in the same sense, in ' Anthony and Cleopatra;' and Johnson, in his note upon the passage, adduces a variety of other instances, in which the term was so employed. Another alleged imitation is, that in Purgatory an eagle grasps Dante with his tidon, and raises him on high, in tho same manner as Alberic had been caught by the hair, and lifted up by a dove.—Here, too, three pious persons have forgotten their Bible. In the two chapters of Daniel, retained in the Vulgate, Habakkuk is thus caught and lifted up. by an angel; and die prophet Ezekiel says, chap. viii. v. 3. * And he put forth the form ot an hand, and took me by a lock * of mine head, and the spirit lifted me up between the earth and » Mazzuch. Scritt. It. vol. 1. peg. 290 Pelli Memor. pag. 122*— Tirab. Storia, &«. vol. 3. b, 4. 6 'the heaven, and brought me in the visions of God.' It is certain that ingenuity and erudition will discover resemblances in things the most different from each other. In the passage of Sterne, which is so beautiful, so originuJ, and so well known, of the recording angel washing out the oath with a tear, we doubt aot that Doctor rerriar would have detected a plagiarism from Alberic, had that ingenious person seen the 18th section of die manuscript. We give an abstract of the passage, for the use of ahe Doctor's next edition. 'A demon holds a book, in which are ■* written the sins of a particular man : and an angel drops on it, from 4 a phial, a tear which the sinner had shed in doing a good action; 'and his sins arc washed out.' It is possible that Dante may have taken some ideas here and there from the Visions which abounded in his age. There are involuntary plagiarisms, which no writer can wholly avoid; —for much oi what we think and express is but a new combination of what we have read and heard. But reminiscences in great geniuses are sparks that produce a mighty flame; and if Dante, like the monks, employed the machinery of visions, the result only proves, that much of a great writer's originality may consist in attaining his sublime objects by the same means which others had employed for mere trifling. He conceived and executed the project of creating the Language and die Poetry of a nation—of exposing all the political wounds of his country— of teaching the Church and the States of Italy, that the imprudence of the Popes, and the civil wars of the cities, and the consequent introduction of foreign arms, must lead to the eternal slavery and disgrace of the Italians. He raised himself to a. place among the reformers of morals, the avengers of crimes, and the asserters of orthodoxy in religion; and he called to his aid Heaven itself, with all its terrors and all its hopes, in what was denominated by himself 'the Sacred work, that made Both Heaven and Earth copartners in his toil.' Ilpoema sacro Al qual ha posto mano e Cielo e Terra.' Parad. Cant. 25. To explain how he executed his vast design, it appears to r» indispensable diat we should give a slight sketch of the political and religious state of Italy at the period when he wrote. Robertson has described Europe, in the middle ages, as pco Eled with slaves attached to the soil, who had no consolation ut their Religion: And this indeed was, for many centuries, die great instrument of good and of evil even in temporal concerns. The feudal lords were restrained only by die fear of Heaven,— and the monarch had no army but such as that military aristocracy supplied: The canon law was the only instrument by which justice could oppose force; and that instrument was wielded only by the clergy. This last circumstance was the chief foundation of the great ascendency of the Popes. A strong yearning after justice and law instigated the people of Italy to become free; and the circumstances of the times w.»re such, that for their freedom thev were indebted to the Church. Robertson, however, as well as many others, copying after Mich iave'.li, has erroneously ascribed die misfortunes of the succeeding generations to the authority usurped over princes by Gregory VII. The ill effects of that usurpation were hot sensibly felt in Italy until a much later period; and the truUi is that Italian liberty and civilization were greatly promoted by it in die first instance; and advanced by rapid strides, from the age of Gregory to that of Dante, a period of 200 years. The acts of that ambitious Pontiff, however, prolific as they were of important consequences to his country, require undoubtedly to be kept in view by all who would understand its history. The daring schemes which he conceived and executed in a few years, and in his old age, may be said to have been accomplished by the use of die single word—Excommunication. By this talisman, he compelled the sovereigns of his day to acknowledge, that all die lands in their dominions allotted for the support of the clergy, belonged in property to the Pope;—and pur England was die first that made the concession: Two Italians at that time successively enjoyed the see of Canterbury for nearly forty years. * By this notable device, the Church at ohce acquired a very large portion of all the cultivated lands of Europe: for the monks had very generally employed themselves in clearing and cultivating the soil—received large donations from potentates and kings—and had thus become wealthy an dpow ciful proprietors. By this act of annexation, however, they became the immediate subjects of the Pope; and a great portionof die riches of Europe began, in consequence, to flow in upoft Italy. The next, of Gregory's gigantic measures was, if possible, still more bold and important—and this was the absolute prohibition of marriage to all the orders of the priesthood. He had here to struggle with the inclinations of the clergy themselves, and of the Italian clergy in particular. But when the difficulty was once overcome, the advantage gained was prodigious—to the order itself—to the Popedom—and to the country which was its seat. The great brotherhood of die Catholic clergy, receiving their subsistence directly from the Church— exempted from secular jurisdiction, and now loosened from all '* Lanfranc and St Anselm, from 1070 to 1109. the ties of natural affection—must have fell themselves but feebly attached to their respective countries, and looked almost exclusively, as they taught their fellow citizens to look, to Rome as the place which was to give law to the world. *S The last grand project of Gregory was that of the Crusades, f which, though he did not live long enough to curry into execution, he left to his successor already matured and digested. Then it was that kings became subalterns in command, fighting with their subjects in Asia during half a century, under orders issued from Rome; and Rome and Italy became, of course, the centre of influence and authority. All these advantages, however, would have been of but little value, without freedom; and of this, also, the sovereign Pontiff happened to be the first dispenser :—for Gregory, in his first experiment of excommunication, released the Italians from their oath of fealty to the Emperor, who had previously governed them as vassals. It is under these circumstances that we behold, immediately after the death of this Pope, and even in his lifetime, the cities of Italy suddenly improving in population, wealth and power— palaces of independent magistrates rising to view where there were before but hamlets and slaves—and republics starting forth as if out of nothing. The holy war had delivered Europe in general from the slavery of the soil; every man who took up arms lor the crusade became free; and the labourer in Italy began to till the earth on his own account. The military aristocracies and monarchies being employed with their armed forces in distant expeditions, had no longer the same oppressive preponderance at home. The maritime preparations for the crusades were undertaken by the cities of Italy—danger nerved the courage of every class—and navigation, by opening the exportation of manufactures, increased industry, wealth and knowledge. Florence, for example, supplied all nations with her woollen cloths; and Milan furnished all the arms used by the crusaders, and the princes of Europe. The latter city, at that period of her liberty, had a population triple what it is at the present day. It was said the country was depopulated to supply the manufactures in the towns. But how could so many millions have been subsisted without agriculture? It was then that Italy crowded every port with her gallics, and every market with her merchandise. The wealth thus resulting from commerce, served to divide and distribute the property oftlie land, and to multiply the number of those interested in maintaining the laws and independence of their country. The enormous inequality of f This appears by two of his own letters. See Collect, of Labfeeu*. Vol. XXX. NO. 60. Y fortunes disappeared, and the weight of the capitalists was opposed to the ascendency of the ancient nobles. It was then that the people of Pisa became masters of the Balearic, and discovered the Canary islands— that Genoa was fortified with strong walls in the space of two months—that Milan, and other towns of Lombardy, having seen their children massacred, their hoas:j and churches burned, their habitations rased—and, having been reduced to live two years unsheltered in the fields,—resumed their arms, routed Frederick Barbarossa, who returned with a formidable force, and compelled him to sign the peace of Constance, acknowledging their independence. During all this time,, it is true that most of those States were engaged in civil wars: But they had arms in their hands: and when the common enemy appeared, they knew how to join in defending their common liberties. The Italians hnving thrown oil'the foreign yoke, gave their aid to the Popes, who were constantly occupied in conflicts with the Emperors; and the Church had thus an interest in favouring independence and democracy. But, by degrees, she became tired of using the arms of the Italian States as her defence, though the safest ami mo.st natural for her to employ; and, having contributed towards the librrtv of Italy, thought she had the right to invade it. Excommunications had then been hurled against friends and enemies, till they began to be less formidable; and the Popes adopted the policy of introducing foreign conquerors, and sharing their conquests. It was then that they and the kings of France became constant and close allies. In the lifetime of Dante, a French prince, aided by the Pope, came for the first time into Italv, usurping the states of old dynasties in the name of the I Jolv See—promising liberty, and preaching concord to republics, but in tact dividing still more, in order to enslave them. The Gitcl/t professed themselves supporters of the Church, and the Ghibelini of the Empire, but without much caring for the one or the other. The true question between theni was, whether the wealthy citizens or the people should govern the state; and, in the continual danger of foreign invasion, the popular part? found its interest in attaching itself to the Church and to Fiance against Germany, whilst the higher classes were more interested in joining the Emperors against the Popes and the French. From the political conduct of Dante when a magistrate, it is evident that he condemned the madness of both panics; tor he sent the leaders of both into banishment. But it is also clear that he was more afraid of France than of Germany, and not over fond of democracy. The true reason ot his exile was his refusal to receive a prince of France sent by Boniface VIII., under Uie.pietext of pacifying their dissensions. After his exile, he openly embraced the Ghibeline party, and composed a Latin trentise, Dc Monorchia, to prove that all the misfortunes of Italy sprang from the false doctrine, that the Popes had a right to interfere m temporal concerns. France having, at the time, contrived that the Popes should reside at Avignon, for the purposes of more absolute control, and Frenchmen having been successively raised to the Holy See, as being more devoted to French interests, our poet addressed a letter to the Cardinals from his exile, recommending strongly that they should elect an Italian Pope. * It was- with those views, and under those circumstances, in so far as politics were concerned, that he wrote his poem. But, notwithstanding the corruption and senseless ambition of the Church, and its consequent unpopularity, Religion still maintained its primitive influence, The first crusade raised almost all Europe in arms, by an opinion, suddenly diffused, that the end of the world and the general judgment were at hand, and that tho holy war was the sole expiation of sins. These enterprises had been abandoned during the lifetime of our poet; but the dread of the end of the world continued to agitate Christendom for eighty years after his death. Leonardo Aretino, a historian known for the extent of his knowledge, and the share he had in the affairs of Italy and Europe, was ;ui eyewitness of an event which took place in 140Q. We shall give his account, translated verbatim, 'In the midst of the alarms and troubles of the wars, either begun or impending between the States of Italy, an extraordinary occurrence took place. All the inhabitants of each state dressed themselves in white. This multitude went forth with extreme devotion. They passed to the neighbouring states, humbly craving peace and mercy. Their journey lasted usually ten days; and their food during this time was bread and water. None were seen in the towns that were not dressed in white. The people went without danger into an enemy's country, whither, a few days before, they would not have dared to approach. No one ever thought of betraying another, and strangers were never insulted. It was a universal truce tacitly understood between all enemies. This lasted for about two months; but its origin is not clear. It was confidently affirmed to have come down from the Alps into Lombard v. whence.it spread with astonishing rapidity over all Italy. The inhabitants of Lucca were the first who came in a body to Florence. Their presence suddenly excited an ardent devotion, to such a degree that even those who, at the corarnencerornt, treated this enthusiasm with contempt, were the first to change their dress and join the procession, as if they were suddenly * Giovanni Villani, B. 9, chap. \"\, impelled by a heavenly inspiration. The people of Florence divided themselves into four parties; two of which, consisting of a countless multitude of men, women and children, went to Arezzo. The remaining two took other directions, and, wherever they came, the inhabitants dressed themselves in white, and followed their example. During the two months that this devotion lasted, war was never thought of; but, no sooner had it passed away, than the people resumed their arms, and the previous state of agitation was renewed.' Arct. Hist. F/or.b. 12. c. 1. Such, in that age, was the force of religion; and Dante, therefore, naturally employed its terrors as the most effective means of touching the passions of his cotemporaries. But religion, in Italy especially, was overgrown with heresies and schisms, which often produced the most sanguinary conflicts. Saint Francis founded his order about the beginning of the 13th century; and preached the faith, according to the doctrines of the Church of Rome, in opposition to the sects which the Italian chronicles of that age call Valdesi, Albigesi, Cattari and Paterini, but more commonly by the latter name. These four sects were all in the main Manicncans. At the same time, St Dominick arrived from Spain, carrying fire and sword wherever his opinions were disputed. It was he who founded the Inquisition; and was himself the first magister sacri palati, an office always held at Rome, even in our own time, by a Dominican, who examines new books, and decides upon their publication. Before the institution of those two orders, the monks were almost all of the different rules of St Benedict, reformed by St Bernard and other abbots. But, being occupied in tilling the land, or in perusing manuscripts of antient anthers—in fine, never going beyond their convents, unless to become the ministers of kingdoms, where they sometimes exercised kingly power,—their wealtli, education, and even pride, rendered them unfit for the business of running from place to place, and employing hypocrisy, impudence and cruelty, in the service of the topes. St Bernard, by his eloquence and rare talents, exercised great influence over kings and pontiffs. He succeeded in firing Europe to undertake the crusade; but, to give durability to the opinions he produced, there was still wanting the pertinacity and roguery of the mendicant friars, to exhibit to the people spectacles of humility and privation, and of auto-da-fe. They had their convents in towns, and spread themselves over the country; whilst the Benedictines were living like great feudal lords in their castles. Hence, the Italians carefully make the distinction of Monaci and Frati. The former were always more or less useful to agriculture—remarkable for the luxury in which they lived—receiving amongst them only persons of condition. for the most part—and each congregation having a sort of monarchical constitution, of which the abbot was absolute chief. The constitution of the Frati was, on the other hand, at all times more or less democratic. They have always been meddling with affairs of state, and family affairs— [graphic] 'Scire volunt secrcla domus alque inde timeri.' The Jesuits, who have been lately re-established, are also mendicant Frati. Notwithstanding their great wealth, they observed the form, in order to preserve the right of begging, by sending out their conversi (lay-brothers) with sacks, three or four times a year, to beg for their convents. Having been established three centuries later than the others, they took advantage of this, to give refinement to the arts, and to avoid the faults of those who preceded them. Muthcw Paris, who was nearly cotemporary widi Saint Francis and Saint Dominick, has given pictures of their new flocks, which might be taken for an abstract of all that has been written from the days of Pascal to the present, concerning the Jesuits. 'The people,' says he, * called them hypocrites and successors of Antichrist, pseudo-preachers, flatterers and counsellors of kings and princes, despisers and supplanters of bishops, violators of royal marriage-beds, prevaricators of confessions, who, wandering over unknown provinces, minister to the audacity of sin.' (ad an. 1256, p. 939, Edit. 1640.) It is inconceivable what an ascendency was exercised by the Dominicans and Franciscans in the time of our poet over the passions of individuals, the opinions of the people, and the powers of the State. The Franciscan, Fra Giovanni di Vicenza, possessed unbounded authority in Lombardy, changing the laws, leading towns and provinces in his train; instigating the civil animosities of that unhappy people in obedience to the fatal policy of the Popes; and, when harangues and intrigues failecf, making himself obcyed by auto-da-fe. By a document published not long since by Mr Marini, it appears that auto-da-fe were multiplied by the Dominicans, even beyond the wishes and orders of the Court of Home. It is a brief of Pope Benedict the XL, dated the 11th of March 1304, and addressed to the Inquisitors of Padua, ordering them to reverse their iniquitous sentences, and to go on with their trade of preaching and burning, in such a manner, that the outcries of the people should no longer reach his ears. Benedict the XI. was himself a Dominican; and perhaps wished, like many other sovereigns, to profit by the injustice of his agents, without appearing to be a party. At the very time that these friars were setting the example of the most infamous \iccs, they appear also to have originated the most sacrilegious heresies. The Mendicants not only continncd to cry up their innumerable antiquated visions, but invented rev. ones still more absurd, which they continued to have revealed, sworn to, and believed. The University of Paris was for several years agitated, Europe scandalized, and the Vatican occupied without knowing how to extricate itself, with a long trial of the Dominicans for a singular attempt, aided by a Franciscan fanatick, to substitute the prophetic visions of the Abbe Joachim, with some supplements of their own, for the New Testament. Matliew Paris, either from not being exactly informed of what was passing abroad, or not daring to state all he knew, speaks of this circumstance only in general terms. 'They preached,' says he, 'commented, and taught Certain novelties, which, as far as they were known, were considered mere ravings, and reduced those into a book, which they were pleased to style *' the Everlasting Gospel;" with certain other things, of which it would not be wise to say too much.' (Hist. Aug. ad an. 1257.) But lie has snid quite enough to confirm the discoveries subsequently made by writers of every communion, respecting this extraordinary tact, and to make known in what state Dante found the religion of Europe. The Inquisitors, in the mean time, were by no means remiss in burning astrologers, and persons accused of practising the art of magic, though it sometimes happened that an astrologer triumphed over them. Of two cotemporaries of Dante, one, Cecco d'Ascoli, was burned by order of the Dominican Inquisition at Florence; * and the other, Pietro d'Abano, who was reputed to be confederate with devils, and openly professed astrology, upon being accused at Paris, retorted the charge of heresy upon the Dominicans—summoned them to appear—convicted them of heresy by forty-five special arguments—procured their expulsion ryid exclusion from Paris for a considerable period—and was himself pronounced innocent by the Pope at Rome, f The people, however, believed in the power of this magician. It is mentioned in the chronicles of that age, and still repeated in the villages of Padua, that Pietro had seven spirits at his command; and that when he was going to be hanged, he substituted an ass in his place. The fact is, that notwithstanding his canonical absolution, Pietro had admitted in his writings the influence of the stars upon human actions, and denied absolutely the existence of demons. | * Gio. Villani, B. 10. Chap. 39. f Michael Savonarola, ad an. 1292, 1299.—Petri Abani conciliator, differentia 10. J This curious observation was first made by Pico of Mirandola. See De remm Prccnotationc, sect. 5. * The philosophy of Epicurus had made some progress among the higher orders in the age of Dante; Guido Cavalcauti, his intimate friend, was pointed out by the people for his Meditations against the Existence of God. Thus were the grossest abuses of superstition and fanaticism mingled with heretical license, uncertainty of opinion, popular credulity and atheism; and, nevertheless, Religion was still the great centre around which all the passions and interests of mankind revolved. In this singular condition of society, Boniface, in the last year of the 13th century, proclaimed a plenary indulgence to all who should make a pilgrimage to Rome. All Christendom was accordingly attracted towards the holy city; and, during several weeks, 200,000 foreigners were calculated to succeed each other daily || at its gates. To give all possible solemnity and effect to the lessons he proposed to inculcate, Dante fixed the epoch of his Vision of Divine Justice, in the holy week of that year, when all Europe thus went forth to obtain the remission of sins. We have thus endeavoured to fill up some of the laatrue in , the work of Mr Cancellieri; and trust we have, at the same time, negatived many of the trite and visionary conjectures that have been hazarded upon the sources whence our poet might have derived the idea of his work. * There arc, however, some recent authors, whose writings are deservedly popular, of whose opinions it may be right to say something. Denina has gone the length of supposing, that Dante borrowed his plan from a masquerade which took place during a public festival at Florence, in which devils and damned souls were represented as characters. This strange drama was exhibited on a bridge over the Arno, which, being made of wood, gave way during the show, and closed the scene most tragically.—Now, it appears from Villain, that Dante had left Florence two years before; and, previously to his departure, had composed the seven first cantos of his poem, which were saved by his wife when his house was pillaged and destroyed by the faction that persecuted him. The manuscript," by Uoccacio's account, was sent to him in his exile, in 1302; and the masquerade of ' the Damned Souls ' was represented in 1304. The truth, therefore, is probably the very reverse of Denina's conjecture,—that the idea of the show was suggested to the people of Florence by || Maratori, Annali, ad an. 1300. * Romance of Guerino—Saint Patrick's pit—The Juggler tvho goes to Hell—The dream of Hell—The road to Hell—and three Tales of the 12th and 13th centuries, to be found in the old French Fabliaux. the beginning of their fellow-citizen's poem. Tiraboschi and Mr Sismondi, indeed, are both of this opinion; and we may add, that, even in 1295, Dante, in his little work, entitled 'La Vita Nuova,' gives distinct hints of the design of his great poem. Our pcct was the pupil of Brunette Latiui, who, in a sort of poem, entitled the Tesoretto, suppose* himself guided by Ovid through the mazes of a forest, in search of the oracles of nature and philosophy; and from this model it is confidently, asserted, that the pupil loses himself in a forest, and takes Virgil for his guide. That Mr Corniani should dilate upon this fine discovery, is very natural—for, of all the historians of Italian literature, he is the most quackish and the most inept. Rut it is lamentable that it should be repeated with even more confidence by Mr Guiguenc. He is ' astonished, that no Iuilian before Mr Corniani suspected this to be the origin of Dante's poem;'—and we are astonished, in our turn, that Mr Gingueiie should not know this suspicion to be as old as the year 1400. It may be collected, indeed, from the biographical account of Dante, by Philip Villani, nephew to the illustrious historian of that name; and was advanced more boldly by others a few years after, and at a longer interval. * Federigo Ubaldini says, in the preface to his edition of the Tesoretto in 1C12—' Aver Dante imitato il Tesoretto di Brunetto Latini.' Mr Gingucne too, we may say, has been much too favourable in his judgment of the Tesoretto, which is really a very mean and scarcely intelligible performance. Though written six hundred years ago, we suspect there are but few persons who have read it in all that time. Would it be credited, that Count Mazzuchelli, and Father Quadrio, the two Italian writers who have most carefully explored the old authors, had but an imperfect knowledge of the Tesoretto, even while they were busy disputing about it? Both writers, misled by the resemblance of name, mention it as an abridgment of the Tcsoro, which is in fact die great work of Brunetto Latini, but has nothing whatever, either in conception or matter, in common with the Tesoretto. The Tesoro, besides, is written in French, and in prose. Monsignor Fontanini, who is occasionally bewildered by his admiration of what is old, calls die Tesoretto—' Poesia cristiana, nobile e morale.' Its orthodoxy we do not dispute: But, for nobleness, we can see nothing but the reverse. And, as to its morality, it consists entirely in a string of maxims, or rather proverbs, without imagery, sentiment, or a single spark f Vide Lor. Menus, vita del Traversari, page 153. [graphic] of animation. It is moreover disfigured by grammatical inaccuracies, vulgarisms of phrase, and a great number of words, so obscure, as not to be found even in the dictionary of la Crusca. That Academy, which was certainly disposed to do full justice to the efforts of the early Florentine writers, and was instituted for the purpose of examining them with more care, has characterized the Tcsoretto in three words—' Poesia a loggia di frottola '—(poetry in the trivial ballad style.) Alter all this, we should scarcely have expected to meet with a passage like the following in so learned and correct an author as Mr Hallam. 'The source from which Dante derived the scheme 'and general idea of his poem, has been a subject of inquiry in 'Italy. To his original mind, one might have thought the sixth 'Mneid would have sufficed. But it happens, in fact, that he took 'his plan, with more direct imitation than we should expect, from 4 the Tesoretto of his master in philosophical studies, Brunette La'tini. This is proved by Mr Ginguene, B. 2. p. 8.' Even the authority is hastily quoted for this hasty opinion: for though it is true, that, in the place cited by Mr Hallam, and elsewhere, the French critic has made the assertion here imputed to him, it is very remarkable, that, in the succeeding volume,, this certainty is reduced to probability. Mr Ginguene there says only, 'that Dante gave grandeur and poetic colouring to the ideas of his master, Brunetto,—if indeed he borrotced any from him,- and similar ideas tsere not dictated to him by the nature of his subject.' (Vol. II. p. 27). And at last this great discovery dwindles into a mere possibility; for Mr Ginguene, in giving some ex. litis, (ad cod. i. 1. cod. de Rejttdic. ivc.) The celebrity of the episode of Francesca, and the little light hitherto thrown upon it h.js engaged us in a discussion, the unavoidable length of winch is an additional proof that a commentary upon Dante, which should be useful in a historical and poetical view, stiil remains to be executed. We hasten now to the close of these desultory observations. But few literary men are aujuuinted with his lyric compositions; :md his prose is $ Hell, Cant. 29. scarcely ever mentioned. Tlie elegant treatise written by him, to prove that in a nation, divided by soman} dialects as Italy, it must be impossible to adapt the dialect of Florence exclusively, was the principal cause of the little value set by the academy of La Crusca and its adherents upon the prose of our poet. For La Crusca always maintained that the language should not be called Italian, or even Tuscan, but Fiorentine. Nevertheless, the literary language of Italy, though founded upon the Tuscan, is a distinct language, created by the commonwealth of authors, never spoken, but always written; as Dante had seen and foreseen. His own prose is a fine model of forcible and simple style, harmonious without studied cadences, and elegant without the affected graces of Boccacio and his imitators. We venture upon a short specimen, extracted from the Convito, upon the subject to which we have alluded. 'Siccome non si può bene manifestare la bellezza d'una donna, quando li adornamenti dell' azziniare e delle vestimento ìa fanno più annumerare che essa medesima. Onde chi vuole bene giudicare d'una donna, guardi quella, qua/ido solo sua naturale bellezza si sta con iei, da tutto accidentale adornamento discompagnata; Sicome sarà questo volgare; nel quale si vedrà l'agevolezza delie sue sillabe, le proprietà delle sue condizioni, e le orazioni che di lui si fanno :—le quali chi bene guarderà, vedrà essere piene di dolcissima e d'amabilissima bellezza. 'A perpetuale infamia e depressione degli malvagi uomini d'Italia che commendano lo volgare altrui e il loro proprio dispregiano, dico, che la loro inosra viene di cinque abo.nWvoii cagioni. La prima, è cecità di discrezione. La seconda, maliziata scusatone. Laterza, cupidità di vanagloria. La quarta, argomento d'invidia. La quinta e l'ultima, viltà d'animo, ciò è pusillanimità. E ciascuna di queste reità ha si gran setta che pochi son qu Ili che sieno da essi liberi. Della prinasi può cosi ragionare. Siccome ia parte sensitiva dell' anima ha i suoi occhi co' quali apprende la differenza delie cose in quanto elle sono di fuori colorate, così la parte razionale ha ii suo occhio, col quale apprende ia differenza delie cose in quanto sono ad alcun fine ordinate, e questa è la discrezione. E Sìccorr coiui che è cu co degli occhi sensibili va sempre secondo che gli altri, coti colui che è cieco del lume della discrezione, sempre va nel suo giudizio secondo il grido o diritto o falso. Onde qualunque ora lo guidatore è cieco, conviene che esso e quello anche cieco che a lui s'appoggia vengano a mal fine. Però è scritto eh' il cieco al cieco farà guida e cosi elideranno amendue nella tossa. Questa guida è stata lungamente contro a nostro volgare per le ragioni che di sotto si ragioneranno. Appresso dì questa i ciechi sopra notati, che sono quasi infiniti, con la mano in su la spalla a questi mentitori sono caduti nella fossa della falsa opinione, della quale uscire non sanno. Dell' abito di questa luce discretiva massimamente le popolari persone sono orbate, perù che occupate dal prin2 cipio della loro vita ad alcuno mestiere, dirizzano si l'animo loro a quella persona della necessità che ad altro non intendono. £ però che l'abito di virtù, sì morale come intellettuale, subitamente avere non si può, ma conviene che per usanza s'acquisti, e olii la loro usanza pongono in alcuna arte, e a discernere l'altre cose non curano, impossibile è a loro discrezione avere. Perchè incontra che motte volte gridano viva la lor morte e muoja la lor vita, pur che alcuno cominci. E questo è pericolosissimo diletto nella loro cecità. Onde Boezio giudica lo popolare gloria vana perche la veda senza discrezione. Questi sono da chiamare pecore e non uomini. Che se una pecora si gettasse da una ripa di mille passi, tutte le altre l'anderebkono dietro. E se una pecora per alcuna cagione al passare d'una strada salta, tutte l'altre saltano, eziandio nulla veggendo di saltare. E io ne vidi già molte in un pozzo saltare per una che dentro vi saltò, forse credendo saltare un muro, non ostante ch'il pastore piangendo e gridando con le braccia e col petto dinanzi si parava. La seconda setta contro ni nostro volgare si fa per una maliziata scusa. Molti sono che amano più d'essere tenuti maestri, che d'essere; e per fuggire lo contrario ciò è di non essere tenuti, sempre danne colpa alla materia dell'arte apparecchiata, ovvero allo strumento. Siccome il mal fabro biasima il ferro appresentato a lui; e lo mal Cetarista biasima la cetra ;—ere dendo dar la colpa del mal coltello e del mal suonare al ferro e alla eetra, e levarla a sé. Cosi sono alquanti, e non pochi, che vogliono che l'uomo gli tenga dicitori, e per scusarsi del non dire, o dal dire male, accusano e incolpano la materia, ciò è lo volgare proprio, e commendano l'altro, lo quale non è loro richiesto di fabricare. E chi vuole vedere come questo ferro si dee biasimare, guardi che opere ne tanno gli buoni e perfetti artefici e conoscerà la maliziata scusa di costoro che biasimando lui si credono scusare. Contro questi cotali grida Marco Tullio nel principio d'un suo itbro che si chiama libro «lei fine de'beni. Però che al suo tempo biasimavano lo latino romano, e commendavano la grammatica Greca. E così dico per somiglianti cagioni che questi fanno vile lo parlare Italico ; e prezioso quello de' Provenza,' &c. &c. The lyric poetry of Italy was not indeed invented or perfected, though greatly improved, by Dante. It is mentioned by himself in his prose works, that 'lyric composition had been in'troduced above a century before, by Sicilian poets, into Italy;' i'rom which time it was gradually cultivated, down to Guido Cavalcanti, who produced some very fine essays—the finest until those of Dante, who in that kind was, in his turn, surpassed by Petrarca. But still the germs of all that is most enchanting in the strains of Laura's lover, may be found iut the verses which had previously celebrated Beatrice. The following is the opening of the canzone which his friend Casella 60 courteously sang to him in Purgatory. Amor che ndla mente mi region* Delia mia donna si soavemente, Move cose di lei meco sovente Che VinteUetto sow' esse disvia: Lo suo parlar si dolcemente suona, Che Vanima che Pode e che lo sentc Dice; oh me lassa! ch1 io non son possente Di dir quel che odo della donna mia: Perchi il nostra pensier non ha valore Di ritrar tuito cib che dice amore. One of his sonnets begins with these four exquisite lines,—to which nothing equal can be found in Petrarca in his happiest moments. Ne gli occhi porta la mia donna amore Perche sijii gentil do ch'ella mira: Ognun che passa presso lei, sospira ;— E a chi saluta fa tremar lo core! Unwearied reading, and a profound knowledge of the Italian language, and of the rise and progress of Italian civilization, are the essential requisites for illustrating the age, the genius, and the works of Dante. It requires active and persevering industry lo ransack libraries, and peruse manuscripts of the 13th and 14th centuries, not even yet brought to light. We would further recommend, that the age of Dante should be accurately distinguished from that of Boccacio and Petrarca. This distinction has never been observed in the literary history of Italy; and the consequence has been, that notions the most different have been confounded with ench other. It was about the decline of Dante's life that the political constitution of the Italian Republics underwent a total and almost universal change, in consequence of which a new character was suddenly assumed by men, manners, literature, and the church. It may be observed, that Dante, notwithstanding the number of his biographers, has not yet had a historian. Among the Cieces relating to this poet, either unpublished or but little nown, which we have liad occasion to see, is an interesting letter, which we shall subjoin with the same orthography in which it may be read in the Laurentine library at Florence. * About the year 1316, the friends of Dante succeeded in obtaining his restoration to-his country and his possessions, on condition that he should pay a certain sum of money, and, entering church, there avow himself guilty, and ask pardon * Tho*e who wish to see the original, may find it in that library, by the following references. Pluteum 29, Codix S, page l&i. of the Republic. The following was his answer on the occasion, to one of his kinsmen, whom he calls ' Father,' because perhaps he was an ecclesiastic; or, move probably, because he was older than the poet. 'From your letter, which 1 received with 'due respect and affection, I observe how much you have at heart 'my restoration to my country. I am bound to you the more grate'fully, that an exile rarely finds a friend. But, after mature consi • deration, I must, by my answer, disappoint the wishes of some little • minds; and I confide in the judgment to which your impartiality • and prudence will lead you. Your nephew and mine has written 'to me, what indeed had been mentioned by many other friends, • that, by a decree concerning the exiles, I am allowed to return to • Florence, provided I pay a certain sum of money, and submit to • the humiliation of asking and receiving absolution; wherein, my • Father, I see two propositions that are ridiculous and impertinent. • I speak of the impertinence of those who mention such conditions to • me; for, in your letter, dictated by judgment and discretion, there is 'no such thing. Is such an invitation to return to his country glorious • for Dante, after suffering in exile almost fifteen years? Is it thus 'then they would recompense innocence which all the world knows, • and the labour and fatigue of unremitting study? Far from the man • who is familiar with philosophy, be the senseless baseness of a heart • of earth, that could do like a little sciolist, and imitate the infamy • of some others, by offering himself up as It were in. chains. Far 1 from the man who cries aloud for justice, this compromise, bv his • money, with his persecutors. No, my Father, this is not the way • that shall lead me back to my country. But I shall return with • hasty sups, if you or any other can open to me a way that shall • not derogate from the fame and honour of Dante; but if by no such • way Florence can be entered, then Florence I shall never enter. • AVhat! shall I not everywhere enjoy the sight of the sun and stars? • and may I not seek and contemplate, in every corner of the earth • under the canopy of heaven, consoling and delightful .truth, with'out first rendering myself inglorious, nay infamous, to the people • and republic of Florence? Bread, I hope, will not fail me.' f f In licteris vestris et revercntia debita et affectione receptts, quam repatriatio mea cure sit vobis ex aniino. grata uieiite, ac diligenti animaversione conccpi, etenim tanto me districtius obiigastis, quanto ran us exules invenire amicus contingit. ad illani vero significata respondeo: et si non eatenus qualiter forsani pu.sillanimitas appeteret aliquoruin, ut sub examine vestri consilii ante Judicium, affectuose deposco. ecce igitur quod per licteras vestri mei: que nepotis, necnon aliorum quanipluvium amicorum significatum est mihi. per ordinamentum nuper factum Florentie super absolutione bannitorum. ^uod si solvere vellem certam pecunie quautitatem, vcllcmque pad notam oblatinnU et absolvi possem et redire at presens. in quo qui Yet bread often did fail him. Every reader of his works must know by heart the prediction addressed to him by the shade of his ancestor in Paradise. (Farad. Cant. 17.) ' Thou shalt prove how * salt is the taste of the bread of others, and how hard the road * is going up and down the stairs of others.' But there is another passage in which, with designed obscurity, and a strength of expression and feeling which makes the reader tremble, he discovers an exact portrait of himself in a man who, stripping his visage of all shame, and, trembling in his very vitals, places himself in the public way, and stretches out his hand for charity. * It was by such sacrifices he preserved his principles and sustained the magnanimity of his character.