University of Virginia Library

APPENDIX TO PART I

I
Forese Donati

I
Dante Alighieri to Forese Donati

He taunts Forese, by the nickname of Bicci

O Bicci, pretty son of who knows whom
Unless thy mother Lady Tessa tell,—
Thy gullet is already crammed too well,
Yet others' food thou needs must now consume.
Lo! he that wears a purse makes ample room
When thou goest by in any public place,
Saying, “This fellow with the branded face
Is thief apparent from his mother's womb.”
And I know one who's fain to keep his bed
Lest thou shouldst filch it, at whose birth he stood
Like Joseph when the world its Christmas saw.
Of Bicci and his brothers it is said
That with the heat of misbegotten blood
Among their wives they are nice brothers-in-law.

II
Forese Donati to Dante Alighieri

He taunts Dante ironically for not avenging Geri Alighieri

Right well I know thou'rt Alighieri's son;
Nay, that revenge alone might warrant it,
Which thou didst take, so clever and complete,
For thy great-uncle who awhile agone
Paid scores in full. Why, if thou hadst hewn one
In bits for it, 'twere early still for peace!
But then thy head's so heaped with things like these
That they would weigh two sumpter-horses down.
Thou hast taught us a fair fashion, sooth to say,—
That whoso lays a stick well to thy back,
Thy comrade and thy brother he shall be.
As for their names who've shown thee this good play,
I'll tell thee, so thou'lt tell me all the lack
Thou hast of help, that I may stand by thee.

III
Dante Alighieri to Forese Donati

He taunts him concerning his Wife

To hear the unlucky wife of Bicci cough,
(Bicci,—Forese as he's called, you know,—)
You'd fancy she had wintered, sure enough,
Where icebergs rear themselves in constant snow:
And Lord! if in mid-August it is so,
How in the frozen months must she come off?
To wear her socks abed avails not,—no,
Nor quilting from Cortona, warm and tough.
Her cough, her cold, and all her other ills,
Do not afflict her through the rheum of age,
But through some want within her nest, poor spouse!
This grief, with other griefs, her mother feels,
Who says, “Without much trouble, I'll engage,
She might have married in Count Guido's house!”

IV
Forese Donati to Dante Alighieri

He taunts him concerning the unavenged Spirit of Geri Alighieri

The other night I had a dreadful cough
Because I'd got no bed-clothes over me;
And so, when the day broke, I hurried off
To seek some gain whatever it might be.
And such luck as I had I tell you of.
For lo! no jewels hidden in a tree
I find, nor buried gold, nor suchlike stuff,
But Alighieri among the graves I see,
Bound by some spell, I know not at whose 'hest,—
At Solomon's, or what sage's who shall say?
Therefore I crossed myself towards the east;
And he cried out: “For Dante's love I pray
Thou loose me!” But I knew not in the least
How this were done, so turned and went my way.

III
Giovanni Boccaccio

I
To one who had censured his public Exposition of Dante

If Dante mourns, there wheresoe'er he be,
That such high fancies of a soul so proud
Should be laid open to the vulgar crowd,
(As, touching my Discourse, I'm told by thee,)
This were my grievous pain; and certainly
My proper blame should not be disavow'd;
Though thereof somewhat, I declare aloud
Were due to others, not alone to me.
False hopes, true poverty, and therewithal
The blinded judgment of a host of friends,
And their entreaties, made that I did thus.
But of all this there is no gain at all
Unto the thankless souls with whose base ends
Nothing agrees that's great or generous.

II
Inscription for a portrait of Dante

Dante Alighieri, a dark oracle
Of wisdom and of art, I am; whose mind
Has to my country such great gifts assign'd
That men account my powers a miracle.
My lofty fancy passed as low as Hell,
As high as Heaven, secure and unconfin'd;
And in my noble book doth every kind
Of earthly lore and heavenly doctrine dwell.
Renownèd Florence was my mother,—nay,
Stepmother unto me her piteous son,
Through sin of cursed slander's tongue and tooth.
Ravenna sheltered me so cast away;
My body is with her,—my soul with One
For whom no envy can make dim the truth.

III
To Dante in Paradise, after Fiammetta's death

Dante, if thou within the sphere of Love,
As I believe, remain'st contemplating
Beautiful Beatrice, whom thou didst sing
Erewhile, and so wast drawn to her above;—
Unless from false life true life thee remove
So far that Love's forgotten, let me bring
One prayer before thee: for an easy thing
This were, to thee whom I do ask it of.
I know that where all joy doth most abound
In the Third Heaven, my own Fiammetta sees
The grief which I have borne since she is dead.
O pray her (if mine image be not drown'd
In Lethe) that her prayers may never cease
Until I reach her and am comforted.

IV
Of Fiammetta singing

Love steered my course, while yet the sun rode high,
On Scylla's waters to a myrtle-grove:
The heaven was still and the sea did not move;
Yet now and then a little breeze went by
Stirring the tops of trees against the sky:
And then I heard a song as glad as love,
So sweet that never yet the like thereof
Was heard in any mortal company.
“A nymph, a goddess, or an angel sings
Unto herself, within this chosen place,
Of ancient loves;” so said I at that sound.
And there my lady, 'mid the shadowings
Of myrtle-trees, 'mid flowers and grassy space,
Singing I saw, with others who sat round.

V
Of his last sight of Fiammetta

Round her red garland and her golden hair
I saw a fire about Fiammetta's head;
Thence to a little cloud I watched it fade,
Than silver or than gold more brightly fair;
And like a pearl that a gold ring doth bear,
Even so an angel sat therein, who sped
Alone and glorious throughout heaven, array'd
In sapphires and in gold that lit the air.
Then I rejoiced as hoping happy things,
Who rather should have then discerned how God
Had haste to make my lady all His own,
Even as it came to pass. And with these stings
Of sorrow, and with life's most weary load
I dwell, who fain would be where she is gone.

VI
Of three Girls and of their Talk

By a clear well, within a little field
Full of green grass and flowers of every hue,
Sat three young girls, relating (as I knew)
Their loves. And each had twined a bough to shield
Her lovely face; and the green leaves did yield
The golden hair their shadow; while the two
Sweet colours mingled, both blown lightly through
With a soft wind for ever stirred and still'd.
After a little while one of them said,
(I heard her,) “Think! If, ere the next hour struck,
Each of our lovers should come here to-day,
Think you that we should fly or feel afraid?”
To whom the others answered, “From such luck
A girl would be a fool to run away.”