Dante Alighieri (20 page)

    
On 26 June the bones were enclosed in a double coffin of walnut and lead, and then solemnly consigned once more to the original sarcophagus, in which they had first been laid at the time of the poet's death, and there they now rest, safe in the custody of the faithful citizens of Ravenna, who have been true to their charge for nearly 600 years.
¹⁴

PORTRAIT OF DANTE

From Codex 1040 in the Riccardi Library at Florence

 

    
¹
Vita di Dante
, ed. Macri-Leone, § 7, pp. 35-42.

    
²
The text is printed by Del Lungo in
Dell
'
Esilio di Dante
, pp. 170-5.

    
³
See Del Lungo,
op
.
cit
. pp. 176-7.

    
⁴
See Del Lungo,
op
.
cit
. pp. 178-9.

    
⁵
The text is printed by Del Lungo,
op
,
cit
. pp. 183-8.

    
⁶
See Corrado Ricci,
L
'
Ultimo Rifugio di Dante
, p. 339.

    
⁷
See Ricci,
op
.
cit
. p. 346.

    
⁸
See Ricci,
op
.
cit
. p. 347.

    
⁹
The correspondence is printed by Del Lungo,
op
.
cit
. pp. 195-200.

    
¹⁰
“Dante's bones revisited anew on 3 June, 1677.”

    
¹¹
“Dante's bones, placed here by me, Friar Antonio Santi, on 18 October 1677.” (see Ricci,
op. cit
. pp. 348-9).

    
¹²
It is evident from this account that the contents of the sarcophagus had not been disturbed since it was opened, three hundred and fifty years before, by the envoys of the Medicean Academy, who found that Dante's remains had been removed. See above, p. 113.

    
¹³
Dante at Ravenna
, by C. M. Phillimore, whose work is more or less of a compilation from
L
'
Ultimo Rifugio di Dante Alighieri
(Milano, 1891) by Corrado Ricci. From the latter is derived for the most part the information given above as to the fate of Dante's remains.

    
¹⁴
A cast of the skeleton as it lay in state, and the wooden coffin in which the remains were placed in 1677, and in which they were discovered in 1865, are preserved in the Biblioteca Nazionale at Ravenna.

    
Boccaccio's account of Dante's person and character—His love of fame—His failings—Account of him by his contemporary, Giovanni Villani.

I
N
his
Life of Dante
Boccaccio gives the following description of Dante's person and character, which was derived no doubt in part from the recollections of those who had been personally acquainted with the poet at Ravenna. Boccaccio paid several visits to Ravenna, the first of which took place in 1346, just five-and-twenty years after Dante's death, when there can have been little difficulty in collecting information from contemporaries of Dante who had frequented his society, chief among whom was Piero di Giardino, who, as we have already seen, conversed with Dante on his deathbed.
¹

    
“Our poet,” says Boccaccio, “was of middle height, and after he had reached mature years he walked with somewhat of a stoop; his gait was grave and sedate; and he was ever clothed in most seemly garments, his dress being suited to the ripeness of his years. His face was long, his nose aquiline, his eyes rather large than small, his jaws heavy, with the under lip projecting beyond the upper. His complexion was dark, and his hair and beard
thick, black, and crisp; and his countenance always sad and thoughtful. Whence it happened one day in Verona (the fame of his writings having by that time been spread abroad everywhere, and especially of that part of his
Commedia
to which he gave the title of Hell, and he himself being known by sight to many men and women), that as he passed before a doorway where several women were sitting, one of them said to the others in a low voice, but not so low but that she was plainly heard by him and by those with him, ‘Do you see the man who goes down to Hell, and returns at his pleasure, and brings back news of those who are below?' To which one of the others answered in all simplicity: ‘Indeed, what you say must be true; don't you see how his beard is crisped and his colour darkened by the heat and smoke down below?' Dante, hearing these words behind him, and perceiving that they were spoken by the women in perfect good faith, was not ill pleased that they should have such an opinion of him, and smiling a little passed on his way.

    
“In his manners, whether in public or in private, he was wonderfully composed and restrained, and in all his ways he was more courteous and civil than any one else. In food and drink he was very moderate, both in partaking of them at the regular hours, and in never indulging to excess; nor did he ever particularly care for one thing more than for another. He commended delicate dishes, but for the most part lived on plain fare; condemning in no measured terms those who study much to have choice dainties, and to have them prepared with all possible care,—declaring that such people do not eat in order to live, but live in order to eat.

    
“No man was more wakeful than he, whether in his studies or in anything which gave him anxious thought, to such an extent that many a time his household and his
wife used to be vexed at it, until, growing accustomed to his ways, they came to take no notice of it. He rarely spoke, save when spoken to, and that with deliberation and in tones suited to the subject of his discourse. Nevertheless, when occasion demanded, he was most eloquent and fluent, with an excellent and ready delivery.

    
“In his youth he took the greatest pleasure in music and singing, and was on friendly and familiar terms with all the best singers and musicians of the time. And his love for music led him to compose many things, which he had set by them to pleasing and masterly accompaniments. How ardently he was devoted to love has already been shown; and it is firmly believed by all that it was this love which moved his genius to composition in the vulgar tongue, at first in the way of imitation; afterwards through his desire to express his emotions in more permanent shape, and for the sake of renown, he assiduously practised himself therein, and not only surpassed all his contemporaries, but also so illustrated and beautified the language that he made many then, and will make many others hereafter, eager to become skilled in their own tongue.

    
“He delighted also in solitude, holding himself aloof from other people, in order that his meditations might not be interrupted; and if while he was in company any thought occurred to him which pleased him well, however much he might be questioned about any other matter, he would make no reply to his questioner until he had either made sure of his idea or had rejected it—a thing which happened to him many a time when questions were put to him at table, or by his companions on a journey, or elsewhere.

    
“In his studies he was most diligent, and while he was occupied with them no news that he might chance to hear could take him away from them. And it is related by
certain credible witnesses, with regard to his giving himself up wholly to what pleased him, that on one of the occasions when he was in Siena, he chanced to be at an apothecary's shop, where a book was brought to him which had been previously promised him, this book being one of much reputation among persons of worth, and having never yet been seen by him. As he happened to be unable to take it elsewhere, he leant over on to the bench in front of the apothecary's shop, and there, placing the book before him, began most eagerly to examine it. Soon afterwards, in that same quarter, close to where he was, on the occasion of some general festival a great tournament took place among the noble youths of Siena, accompanied, as is usually the case on such occasions, with a great deal of noise caused by the various instruments and shouts of applause from the bystanders; yet, in spite of all this, and of many other things likely to attract the attention, such as fair ladies dancing, and youths' sports of all kinds, he was never seen to stir from his place, nor so much as to raise his eyes from his book. Indeed, although it was about noon when he took his stand there, it was not until past the hour of vespers when, having examined the book thoroughly and taken a general survey of its contents, he got up to leave it. He afterwards declared to several persons, who asked him how he could refrain from looking on at such a splendid festival as had taken place in his presence, that he had been wholly unaware of it—an answer which made his questioners wonder even more than they had done at first.

    
“Dante, moreover, was of marvellous capacity, with a most retentive memory, and keen intellect, insomuch that when he was in Paris, and in a disputation held in the theological schools, fourteen questions had been propounded
by divers scholars on divers subjects, he without hesitation took them up and went over them in the order in which they had been given, together with the arguments for and against, adduced by the opponents; and then, preserving the same order, he subtly replied to and refuted the arguments on the other side—which thing was regarded as little short of a miracle by those who were present.

    
“He was likewise of the most lofty genius and of subtle invention, as is made manifest by his works, to such as understand, far more clearly than my writing could express. He was very greedy of honour and glory, more so perhaps than beseemed his fame and virtue. Yet, what life is so humble as not to be touched by the sweetness of glory? And it was by reason of this desire, I think, that he loved poetry more than any other pursuit, perceiving that although philosophy surpasses all things else in nobility, yet her excellence can be communicated only to the few, and those who win fame thereby in the world are many; whereas poetry is less abstruse and more pleasing to every one, and poets are exceeding few. Therefore, hoping by her means to attain to the unusual and glorious honour of the laurel crown, he devoted himself wholly to the study and composition of poetry. And of a surety his desire would have been fulfilled had Fortune favoured him so far as to allow him ever to return to Florence, where alone at the font of San Giovanni, he was willing to receive the crown; to the end that in the same place where he had received his first name in baptism, there too he might receive the second by being crowned. But it so came about that although his sufficiency was great, and such that wherever he had chosen he might have received the laurel, yet, in expectation of that return which was destined never to take place, he
would not consent to accept it anywhere else than in Florence; and so he died without the much coveted honour. . . .

    
“Our poet, further, was of a very lofty and scornful disposition, insomuch that when a certain friend of his, in answer to his entreaties to that effect, sought to bring about his return to Florence, which he most ardently longed for above all things else, and could find no other way with those who then had the government of the Republic in their hands, save this one only : that he should be kept in prison for a certain space, and afterwards on some solemn public occasion should be presented, as an act of mercy, in our principal church, being thereby restored to liberty and released from every sentence previously passed upon him—such a thing, in his opinion, being fitting to be practised only in the case of abject and infamous men and of no others, he, notwithstanding his great longing, chose rather to remain in exile than by such means to return to his home.

    
“Likewise Dante thought no little of himself, rating his own worth no less highly, according to the reports of his contemporaries, than was his actual due. Which thing was apparent on one occasion among others to a remarkable degree at the time when he and his party were at the head of affairs in the Republic; for, inasmuch as those who were out of power had, through the mediation of Pope Boniface VIII, invited a brother or relation of Philip, the then King of France, whose name was Charles, to come and set to rights the affairs of our city, all the chiefs of the party with which Dante was allied, met together in council to make provision concerning this matter; and there among other things they resolved to send an embassy to the Pope, who was then at Rome, in order to induce the Pope to oppose the coming of the
said Charles, or to arrange for him to come in agreement with the said party which was in power. And when it came to be debated who should be at the head of the proposed embassy, it was agreed by all that it should be Dante. To which request Dante, after a brief hesitation, said: ‘If I go, who remains? If I remain, who goes?'
²
As though he alone of them all was of any consequence, or gave any consequence to the rest. This saying was understood and taken note of.