Dante and the Dynamics of Textual Exchange: Authorship, Manuscript Culture, and the Making of the 'Vita Nova' 9780823270255

Citation preview

D a n t e a n d t h e Dy n a m i c s o f T e x t u a l E xc h a n g e

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DA N T E ’ S WOR L D: H I S TOR IC I Z I NG L I T E R A RY C U LT U R E S OF T H E DU E A N D T R E C E N TO Teodolinda Barolini, series editor Series Board: Maria Luisa Ardizzone Albert Russell Ascoli H. Wayne Storey Jan M. Ziolkowski This series publishes innovative and original work of a historicist bent on cultural and literary figures and intellectual currents of thirteenthand fourteenth-century Italy. “Dante’s World” embraces work on all aspects of the literary cultures thriving on the Italian peninsula in the two centuries straddled by Dante’s life. The series treats authors from Giacomo da Lentini and Guido Cavalcanti to Boccaccio and Petrarca. Books in the series consider theological, social, historical, economic, and philological topics and explore gender, rhetoric, and material culture. Although this series extends well beyond Dante, at its methodological core is an attempt to reverse the essentialism that has been an abiding feature of Dante exegesis. Against that tradition, “Dante’s World” brings together a body of critical readings that are historically engaged and hermeneutically complex. Jan M. Ziolkowski, ed., Dante and Islam Jelena Todorović, Dante and the Dynamics of Textual Exchange: Authorship, Manuscript Culture, and the Making of the Vita Nova

SERL

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Dante and the Dynamics of Textual Exchange A u t h o r s h i p, M a n u s c r i p t C u l t u r e , a n d t h e M a k i n g o f t h e v ita nova

Jel ena Todorov ić

TPAU

❁

TPORN

Fordham University Press  New York  2016

this book is made possible by a collaborative grant from the andrew w. mellon foundation.

Copyright © 2016 Fordham University Press All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher. Fordham University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate. Fordham University Press also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that appears in print may not be available in electronic books. Visit us online at www.fordhampress.com. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Todorović, Jelena, author. Title: Dante and the dynamics of textual exchange : authorship, manuscript culture, and the making of the ‘Vita Nova’ / Jelena Todorović. Description: New York : Fordham University Press, 2016. | Series: Dante’s World: Historicizing Literary Cultures of the Due and Trecento | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2015034489 | ISBN 9780823270231 (hardback) Subjects: LCSH: Dante Alighieri, 1265–1321. Vita nuova | Dante Alighieri, 1265–1321—Criticism, Textual. | Literature and society—Italy—History—To 1500. | Manuscripts, Medieval—Italy—History—To 1500. | Italy— Civilization—1268–1559. | BISAC: LITERARY CRITICISM / Medieval. Classification: LCC PQ4310.V4 T63 2016 | DDC 851/.1—dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015034489 Printed in the United States of America 18 17 16

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First edition

Contents

Introduction: Dante and the Medieval Theory of Authorship  1 1.  Quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio: De Consolatione Philosophiae and Its Role in the Making of the Vita Nova  18 2.  Dante the Scribe and Dante the Commentator I: The Medieval Latin Book and the Vita Nova  67 3.  Dante the Scribe and Dante the Commentator II: The Old Occitan Poetry Collections and the Vita Nova  102 4.  Dante the Compiler: Redefining Italian Vernacular Literary and Scribal Matrices in the Vita Nova  135 Epilogue  163 Notes  169 Bibliography  207 Index  225 Acknowledgments  235

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Introduction: Dante and the Medieval Theory of Authorship CIC

T

 he Vita Nova is a work at once different from other early Italian literary texts yet beholden to numerous multilingual and cultural traditions upon which much of the early Italian tradition drew for its themes and structures. For the first time a poet writing in vernacular Italian, that ideal literary language—optima loquela—of the De Vulgari Eloquentia (II i 8), combines prose and verse in the structured whole of the prosimetrum which he calls materially a libello, and which is considered the first “author’s book” in Italian literature. From a work most probably intended for a small audience of Dante’s fellow poets, the “fedeli d’amore” (a close circle of poets which was a sort of re-creation of “court” in an urban setting and in all probability the libello’s first audience), to a widely disseminated and one of the most important minor works of Italian literature, the Vita Nova went through seven centuries of changes at the hands of copyists, editors, and readers, only to reach us accompanied by numerous (and difficult) textual and structural questions.1 The choice of the prosimetrum represented something of an unusual if not innovative and bold decision for the young poet. Poems that had originally circulated in manuscripts within an independent tradition (Domenico De Robertis’s “tradizione estravagante”) were now incorporated into a longer work, intended for a restricted circulation upon its composition and compilation.2 And while the Vita Nova imposed different forms of influence on later works in the Italian vernacular, among them even Petrarca’s Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta, its particular material choice of alternating poetry and prose was not imitated. The problem of Dante’s choice of the prosimetrum, borne out in years of transcriptional and editorial variation, has been acknowledged

2  Introduction

in recent years but has not been explored to the degree which would allow us to understand more fully what influences stood behind Dante’s early education, especially his literary, scribal, and philosophical formation, ultimately leading him as a young poet and intellectual to this preference for such an unorthodox genre. The problem is compounded by the lack of manuscripts in Dante’s own hand and by insufficient information on the intellectual background of his early years (he compiled the Vita Nova sometime between 1290 and 1293, at about the age of thirty). Thus I shall identify and analyze different literary and cultural traditions that served as suggestive models—rather than as inflexible molds—to the young poet in the composition and compilation of this early work. By weaving textual, creative, and material (those which pertain to book production) elements, Dante ultimately puts into question the very understanding of the role of the author in medieval book culture, both Latin and vernacular. Therefore, in addressing the question of Dante’s models (classical and medieval Latin, Old Occitan, and Italian literatures and their manuscript traditions) I also seek to outline and define the role of the author in the Vita Nova. Working at the intersection of textual, material, and cultural elements, I am guided by an analysis of the dynamics between a text and its material support within a broader framework of intercultural exchange, which suggests an increased fluidity between cultures in the Mediterranean. At the center of my attention is the fundamental role the material (book) culture played in the literature of the Middle Ages, and especially in the transmission of poetry in this period without clear lines between cultures, when the information flow was much more dynamic than we might imagine today. This study requires full awareness of the importance of the cultural traditions from which manuscripts transmitting poetry come. I shed light, therefore, on the relationship between different geographic zones’ interaction and dependence mirrored in the mechanisms of cultural exchange embodied in the process of book circulation. Availability of both classical and vernacular texts circulating in his Florence, coupled with his inventiveness, encouraged Dante to, as we say today, think outside the box and experiment with different literary and scribal genres. Collecting his own poems in a book was in itself—as Gustav Gröber, D’Arco Silvio Avalle, and others have shown—an unusual act in Dante’s day, when editors and scribes tended to collect poetry in song-

Introduction  3

books. Moreover, in mixing poetic and narrative genres, the Vita Nova challenged songbooks’ common ordering of poems according to the genre typical of the late thirteenth and the early fourteenth century. In addition, Dante’s narrative innovation fuses three different types of prose. One is biographical narrative, which describes the supposed circumstances that led him to compose the poems and whose origins can be traced to the Old Occitan razos; the others are derived from Latin book culture: one modeled on the accessus ad auctores and the other on the divisio textus, both used for glossing the texts of the auctores— authors, mostly from antiquity, whose texts were worthy of being read and commented on. Like a medieval glossator, already a position of “authority,” Dante guides his reader through each of his poems as if they were canonical texts. As far as the question of the Vita Nova’s audience is concerned, the book itself, especially the parts in which Dante openly reflects on writing for his first friend or addresses his poems to his fellow poets, seems to suggest that it indeed was not meant to be disseminated outside of the coterie of poets around Dante. Furthermore, the fact that we have no proof that the Vita Nova even circulated before 1308 supports a thesis that its intended audience can be identified as this small circle of poets, with the “fedeli d’amore” who understand Dante’s poetry, the “cor’ gentili” and “alm[e] pres[e].” Dante produced the Vita Nova neither as a poetic collection nor as a circulating “book” as we think of it today. He weaves poetry and prose to narrate both the story of the life and death of his symbolic love interest—Beatrice—and the parallel development of his own poetry, which depended on the often misunderstood guidance of her spiritual significance. The Vita Nova is a series of thirty-one poems, many of which had already circulated independently, incorporated into a book by Dante himself and linked by prose at a later date. For example, the first poem, A ciascun’alma presa, was composed an entire decade before Dante decided to incorporate it into the Vita Nova and to explain on this occasion, in prose, the events he claims to have preceded its composition. Thirteen poems from Dante’s youth have attested independent circulation in the years prior to the Vita Nova’s compilation. The Vita Nova was thus conceived as a commentary on poems that were already in existence, as an exercise in self-hermeneutics that at times reads like a manual for writing poetry (as in paragraph 16 [XXV] and in the divisiones, for example). Dante leads the reader into thinking—

4  Introduction

and believing!—that what she or he is reading is an autobiographical narrative. And the reader does not have the means to know whether it is the right thing to believe him. The reader has to trust him. In fact, the reader does not even suspect that there is any reason not to trust him. But, as Teodolinda Barolini has shown in her edition of Dante’s Rime, the poet often bends his poems in order to have them fit the narrative of the Vita Nova.3 In the case of the thirteen poems whose pre– Vita Nova circulation is certain, it is possible to underscore the modifications that their texts underwent at the time of the compilation of the libello. This is a significant moment in the “fortuna” of the poems, which from independent, self-sufficient texts now become microtexts in the whole of the Vita Nova, to which the poet adapts them (sometimes with textual revisions) and into whose value system and nuances he fits them. Perhaps the most illustrative example of Dante’s adapting the poems and their meaning to the narrative of the libello is his insistence on referring to the “lady” (madonna) from his early poems as Beatrice in the narrative. Thus he conditions the reader to read the poem with Beatrice in mind, and identify her with the original “madonna” of the poem, who was likely not Beatrice when the poem was originally composed. Such an erroneous interpretation is possible thanks to the final form of the Vita Nova, in which the poems are introduced by the prose that claims to account for the events that stand behind them. The prose thus materially precedes the poems, further complicating the libello’s structure by creating an illusion that the poems were composed after the prose because they materially follow it on a charta of transcription, in a process that Barolini defines as inversion of the actual chronology of the libello’s compilation.4 But, as we know, poetry was composed in the decade preceding the libello’s compilation (and we have manuscript evidence in the case of thirteen poems), while prose is posterior and its composition is synchronous with the libello’s compilation. In other words, and it cannot be stressed enough, while in the Vita Nova it might seem that the prose is composed before the poetry because it introduces the poems, the real process of the compilation of the Vita Nova is quite the opposite: the prose is conceived a posteriori, sometimes at a distance of an entire decade, as the poetry’s commentary. As a direct consequence of Dante’s authorial attitude, and mostly as a consequence of his opting for the genre of the prosimetrum, stands

Introduction  5

the problem of the textual transmission and reception of the Vita Nova: from the first extant copies to Boccaccio’s two extant autographs of the work to the first printed edition to the modern-day editions, which have predetermined our reception of the text.5 Thus, given its editorial stance in interpretive history, this book also has broader implications: it poses the problem of the study of the Vita Nova in Dante’s opus as a literary work that began with one set of textual intentions that was changed numerous times over the course of centuries, with the intervention of scribes and editors, resulting in a text that met the needs of current readers and fit their interpretive visions of Dante and his literary production rather than reflected the original work. As early as the mid-fourteenth century, with Boccaccio’s questioning assessment of the Vita Nova as too juvenile (troppo puerile), there begins a long and troubled editorial history of the Vita Nova. Boccaccio describes Dante’s libello as a youthful, immature work to justify marginalizing from Dante’s text one type of prose, namely, the divisiones (scholastic prose in which Dante divides the poems into analytical units and gives detailed instructions to the copyists). While extant manuscripts from the first half of the fourteenth century employ similar (although not identical) scribal models for the transcription of the libello, Boccaccio shifts this tradition and moves the divisiones to the margins of his two copies of the Vita Nova: MSS Toledo, Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Zelada 104.6; and subsequently in its copy, the Vatican Library’s Chigi L. V. 176.6 As he claims in the editorial note Many will be amazed (Maraviglierannosi molti), transcribed in the margins of both of his copies of the libello, he does so because according to him the divisiones are not “text” but gloss (piu·tosto chiosa appaiono dovere esser che testo)—and therefore they must not be mixed with the rest of the text. Dante would have agreed with him, claims Boccaccio, because in his old age the Florentine poet was greatly ashamed about having glossed his creative text. So Boccaccio exclaims at the end of his note: Therefore, being unable to amend this in other [copies], I wanted to satisfy the desire of the author in these [copies] that I have transcribed.7

Boccaccio’s name and authority played an important role in the subsequent circulation of the Vita Nova, both in manuscript and in print cultures, starting with the editio princeps published by Sermantelli

6  Introduction

Press in 1576, which contributed significantly to the perpetuation of Boccaccio’s model by not printing the divisiones at all. The second printed edition, published in 1723 and prepared for the Tartini imprint by Anton Maria Biscioni, used a manuscript that did not belong to the Boccaccio tradition, identified by Michele Barbi as Marciano Italiano IX, 26. By Biscioni’s own admission, this was the only copy he had seen that contained the divisiones as an integral part of the text. He edited it as such, noting in the postscript that the divisiones are Dante’s legitimate work. Biscioni’s editorial decision, however, convinced few editors and readers. Editors of some of the most important publications of the Vita Nova in subsequent centuries opted to marginalize the divisiones; other editors included Dante’s prose glosses in the main body of the text but still printed them in cursive and often in red ink. This brief review of the early editorial history of the Vita Nova poses the question, is the Vita Nova juvenile and immature, as Boccaccio first suggested, perhaps paraphrasing Dante himself and as many editors seemed subsequently to accept? Is the prosimetrum a choice of an inexperienced poet? Or is it a well-calculated strategy aimed at advancing the already established position of the young poet among his fellow poets, to further establish himself as a modern auctor by challenging the common approach to literary strategies and practices in vernacular? The answer, as I show, is found in examination of the ways in which Dante redefines the medieval theory of authorship, playing in one text the four roles usually separated in the Middle Ages: he is at the same time the author, the commentator/glossator, the editor/compiler, and the scribe. While so far critics have mostly identified different sources of the Vita Nova in order to understand the traditions Dante drew upon, I propose to further examine not only the ways in which Dante appropriates them, but how he adapts and, in doing so, transforms them. For this purpose I do not trace his sources for the sake of tracing them but in order to reveal his understanding of the role of the author, which is already profound and complex. Beyond the question of “what” Dante the author of the Vita Nova does, this book concentrates first and foremost on “how” and “why,” proposing a fresh reading of the libello as the watershed text in Italian literature of the origins, which represents the end of an epoch that, with this very book, sets the foundation for the Trecento. More important, through his complex interpretation of the role of the author, Dante in the Vita Nova redefines the under-

Introduction  7

standing of author and authorship in the Middle Ages: a careful reading of the libello unveils multiple layers of diverse authorial roles that represent a shift with respect to tradition(s), both Latin and vernacular, both textual and material. Last, in diversifying and complicating the role of the author, Dante completes a successful cultural experiment: he weaves elements from many different cultures (from classical and medieval Latin to Old Occitan and Old French to Italian; from literary to social to political to philosophical to theological to the material) in a complex apparatus that allows him to shape his work in a unique way, developing a fiercely innovative construct. This study therefore seeks to answer the questions, What is an author? How are his roles defined? How does Dante understand his role as an author in this period? In no other author’s text from this period are authorial roles more diverse and differentiated than in the Vita Nova. H. Wayne Storey has already answered how Petrarca the scribe and Petrarca the compiler shaped the partial autograph of the Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta, MS Vatican Latino 3195, which transmits what today is the final version of this collection of poems.8 I am here undertaking an analogous task with respect to the previous compilation of the Vita Nova. In answering these questions with respect to the Vita Nova’s compilation and to its complexly layered authorial “I,” I base my analysis on the understanding of authorship that medieval theoreticians shared. I concur with Barolini’s invitation to unlearn what we “know” about medieval texts, to shed infinite layers of received knowledge and look at these works with a fresh eye and in their own context.9 Such a stance is not only welcome but also, indeed, necessary in our study especially of authors who instigated curiosity and attracted the attention of readers and critics for centuries. I found useful Alastair Minnis’s call for (re)turning to the Middle Ages in order to look for an appropriate theoretical framework for a study of medieval texts that will not be anachronistic and as such will be able to offer us a valid insight into the creative process of a medieval author.10 A closer reading of the Vita Nova and its manuscript copies, combined with an examination of literary aspects with the study of material transmission of the text, allows us to draw conclusions beyond those evident from a simple reading of the work in its critically edited form. In our interpretation of medieval texts and authorship it is of paramount importance to take into account all of the elements of medieval literary production, in which text composition was tightly

8  Introduction

connected with its material nature (e.g., the layout of the text on a charta of transcription in a manuscript, the relationship between different types of text such as literary work and gloss, paratextual apparatus that was crucial in manuscript production, such as the color of ink or punctuation or letter size). Interpretations of the Vita Nova that are based on modern editions alone frequently lead us astray; their lacunae indicate that this kind of material approach to the text is necessary. Even modern philological studies still impose divisions on the Vita Nova as if they were Dante’s own structuring of the text. However, it is fundamental to remember that many of these textual sections were artificially introduced in the nineteenth century; they are the product of our print culture and of a new critical approach to the text. Modern literary theory does not offer sufficient tools to help us determine precise components of the figure of the author in medieval texts. Applying to the Vita Nova the widely accepted notions of Gianfranco Contini and many other critics, of Dante the poet and Dante the person in the Commedia, will only take us so far. What about the Dante of different kinds of prose? We can try to further dissect Dante the author of the Vita Nova accepting an additional distinction offered by Paul Renucci, who splits up the poetic “I” of the Commedia into three parts: “Dante-autore,” “Dante-personaggio,” and “Dante-persona” (present both in “Dante-autore” and “Dante-personaggio” and evident in the situations when he meets figures from his past such as Beatrice, Brunetto, and Forese). These three components are represented as three triangles with one common base—Dante— and with three different vertices each corresponding to three different facets of the poetic “I.”11 But this will still not bring us close enough to understanding the figure of the author of the Vita Nova. A firm point of reference for my analysis is thus a concept theorized in the so-called medieval theory of authorship, most famously attested in St. Bonaventure’s definition of the efficient cause (causa efficiens) or author of Peter Lombard’s Libri Sententiarum: Four are the ways of making a book. Because someone writes another man’s words, adding and changing nothing; and he is merely called a scribe [scriptor]. Someone writes other man’s words, and adds [words], but not of his own; and he is called compiler [compilator]. Someone writes other man’s words as well as his own, but other man’s words constitue the principal part [of the text], whereas his own words are annexed and serve to add distinctness [to

Introduction  9

the text]; and he is called commentator [commentator], not author [auctor]. Someone writes his own and other man’s words, but his own words constitute the principal part of the text, whereas other man’s [words] are annexed as a confirmation; and this person should be called author [auctor].12

The lowest on the authorial ladder, therefore, are the scribes, scriptores, who copy the works of others and, “changing nothing,” contribute nothing to the text. Then come the compilers, compilatores, who put together texts written by others and “adding, but not of their own,” do not contribute to the text’s form or meaning. Commentators, commentatores, add their own explanation of texts but do not interfere with their structure. The most privileged of all, the authors, auctores, compose their own work while at the same time taking advantage of those predecessors to whose works they turn for wisdom and support of their claims (ad confirmationem). The present study is primarily concerned with the specifics of these various authorial roles that are materialized in different manifestations of the authorial “I,” and with their role in and importance for Dante’s opting for the prosimetrum. Let us now look at these four roles in the process of the making of the Vita Nova. First, as a poet, Dante is author—auctor—of the poems. The authorial “I” of the prose, on the other hand, is multifaceted: it has a narrative-exegetic component of Dante the commentator/glossator of his own poems and his own authorial actions (in which Dante recounts the events which he claims appear under the “major paragraphs” of the book of his memory). Then he is present as compiler of his own poems from the moment he informs the reader that he is going to transcribe only chosen, major paragraphs from the book of his memory, as well as in certain instances in the narrative when, for example, he tells us of poems that he composed but is choosing not to include in the libello. Finally, Dante is present as scribe, who surfaces in the text of the Vita Nova in three different contexts, first as a part of the narrative “I” at the opening of the work, where he announces his authorial intentions to transcribe a volume which he calls libello and which will contain “major paragraphs” of the book of his memory. Second, the scribal “I” speaks to the copyist of his work in the divisions of the poems, giving instructions about the genre of those poems, which should help the scribes in the process of planning their chartae as well as in determining the layout of the

10  Introduction

text on a charta of transcription. Dante the scribe also speaks through the verb scrivere, which appears fourteen times in the prose of the libello and always refers to the act of writing, copying (opposed to “dire [per rima],” which refers to composing poetry). Once, in the first sonnet, he uses the verb riscrivere to signify a reply he expects from the poets to whom he now writes to ask a clarification of his dream-vision. In this case, too, he remains in the material context, because they, the famous poets, are expected to reply in writing, as was the case in the tradition of debate poems at this time. In stratifying his authorial “I” in such a way within one text, Dante adapts and transforms vernacular as well as Latin sources, borrowing heavily from a wide array of communicative matrices—cultural, textual, and scribal—but modifying and redefining all his sources so that they can serve his purpose. We can say about the Vita Nova what Maria Simonelli remarked about the Convivio: that it is simply impossible to establish with certainty the work’s exact sources.13 This claim is corroborated by the fact that we do not have Dante’s autographs or any explicit authorial admissions in his other texts regarding his youth. Nor do we have solid evidence of, for example, the precise circulation of Occitan texts in Tuscany before Dante’s exile, in the years of the Vita Nova’s composition and compilation. Nevertheless, some features that Dante’s work shares with the Old Occitan razos are too striking to be neglected or denied. His narrative prose, his self-exegesis, presupposes a highly conscious inclusion of some aspects of Old Occitan poetry collections produced in Italy, such as a constant reflection on the process of producing poetry. Yet whereas in the Old Occitan collections the author of the prose and the compiler are not the same as the author of the poems, in the Vita Nova Dante assumes both roles. In addition, in insisting on the fact that the current volume contains only his partial poetic production, Dante insists on the notion of compilatio, which in itself recalls one of the modes of book production, which, given its nature as a combination of parts from different texts, necessarily involves the physical medium of parchment and the action of writing down the newly conceived text. A scholastic approach to text analysis transpires throughout the Vita Nova’s divisiones. The poet’s use of the framing device involving several types of prose also indicates that he was highly aware of the problem of the Vita Nova’s materiality and of the instability of poetry in manuscript culture: if they are not protected by a more

Introduction  11

robust structure, provided in this case by the prose, poems could get scattered, copied out of order or partially. The text of the Vita Nova thus reflects a rich scribal culture behind its composition and recurring references to manuscript transcription and text circulation. By examining such acts of writing and composition, this study encompasses how important “visual poetics” was in the transmission of poetry; in other words, extant poetry collections inform us of the importance within each poetic genre of the visual approach and of scribal techniques that are linked to the book’s structure.14 Without precise prose instructions containing the genre of each poem, the scribe could err in his choice of layout. But Dante supplies constant instructions to the copyist of his text, stating the genre of each poem, for example. So the scribe copying the Vita Nova will have all the necessary information about the material structure of the text he has in front of him, from the author of the text himself, who repeatedly provides the transcriptional format of each poem (sonnet, canzone, ballata). As every genre was represented on a page of transcription in a different way, Dante’s providing of the type of poem that follows is crucial in assuring a proper choice of mise-en-page. His use of scribal register suggests, finally, that while composing the prose and ultimately compiling the libello, the poet was bearing in mind that his poetfriends might eventually make or have others make their own copy of the work. Dante inextricably weaves into the structure of the Vita Nova elements pertaining to book production and circulation as early as the opening paragraph, through the use of the metaphor of the book. While its sources could be identified with classical and scriptural contexts, the increased activity of book production and transmission in the culture of the Italian city-state in the thirteenth century plays an extremely important role as well, as I show. The Vita Nova itself begins with the metaphor of the physical writing—transcription—of the book, where Dante informs us that in the present volume, which he calls a little book (libello), he is transcribing (asemplare) major paragraphs (maggiori paragrafi) from the book of (his) memory (libro della [sua] memoria). My approach to the Vita Nova does not attempt to give an exhaustive interpretation of all its nuances and sources, for such a task would be impossible. This book rather looks at the text from the material point of view, reflecting on book culture and the transmission of texts

12  Introduction

and the role and place of book production in the compilation of Dante’s little book. One of the aspects of the Vita Nova that warrants such an approach is Dante’s own use of the verb “to write” (scrivere), which reveals his attention to book production and to the significant scribal dynamic inherent in the libello’s structure and consequently in its reception and transmission, even within the small circle of friends that represented the audience Dante most likely had in mind when compiling the libello. When Dante refers to the act of the past poetic composition he normally uses the verb “to say, to compose poetry” (dire). On the other hand, when he uses the verb scrivere, he refers to the very act of writing down his verses or prose. The employment of this verb explicitly shows Dante as a scribe, sitting at his desk, pen and ink over parchment, literally writing down his book. Every epoch of editors, readers, scribes, and publishers brought with it its own cultural understanding, which we need to acknowledge and separate out in our reading, interpretation, and scholarly work on the Vita Nova. The present study is thus motivated by the rarely acknowledged fact that every edition of every work bears a strong imprint of the culture in which it is produced, which has a powerful impact on the text’s interpretation and transmission from one generation to the next. It is important to define the elements of each cultural moment and evaluate that influence on the text in order to better understand the work as well as its cultural background. Accordingly, citations from the Vita Nova in this volume are taken from Gorni’s 1996 edition, but the references to Barbi’s 1907 [1932] edition are provided immediately after. I agree with Barbi that a modern edition has to acknowledge the textual division even though the author, in this case Dante, in all probability did not do so. Gorni’s thorough examination also of paratextual apparatus in the earliest extant manuscripts of the Vita Nova helps in this respect, and for that reason I follow his edition. This does not belittle Barbi’s magisterial edition but rather points to the significance of referencing the most authoritative copies of the text—those that came down to us from the times of the text’s earliest attested circulation (in the case of the Vita Nova recentiores sunt deteriores) and that, as Gorni has shown, mostly agree in their approach, justifying the division of the Vita Nova into thirty-one paragraphs. My decision to use the Latin title Vita Nova instead of the vernacular Vita Nuova, however, is not motivated by Gorni’s edition. It seemed appropriate to adopt the Latin version that Dante himself uses in the

Introduction  13

text of the proem, citing the title of his book of memory (Incipit Vita Nova). Although ultimately it is a vernacular text, and I believe that Dante would have referred to it in vernacular—Vita Nuova—as he does in the Convivio, which is a vernacular text as well, I follow the “original” title in its form customary to the period in which it was written. In other words, I am trying to be as faithful to the text as possible: the book of memory from the beginning of Vita Nova, this book Dante refers to that is written in some codex, is almost certainly bound to have a Latin rubric that would read “Incipit Vita Nova.” But the manuscript tradition is divided in using the Latin and the vernacular in the rubrics. Even Boccaccio himself uses Latin in MS Toledo 104.6 and vernacular in Chigi L. V. 176 and accordingly refers to the libello as “Vita Nova” in the former and “Vita Nuova” in the latter. While it would be far-fetched to think that Dante would have given a Latin title to this vernacular text (if he ever used a title as we do), I have chosen to simply follow the convention of the time mirrored in the Latin rubric from the proem of the libello. Too often we have considered the Vita Nova in light of Dante’s later works, and especially the Commedia. As it is crucial that we understand Dante’s opus as a whole, this study acknowledges the importance of an inquiry into Dante’s early poetry as evidence of the poet’s mastery of weaving the dynamic informational systems of countless sources from diverse cultures into his works, which culminated in the Commedia. However, I mainly propose that we should look at the Vita Nova from the point of view of its own times and Dante’s own milieu, within contemporary culture. In other words, the Vita Nova must be seen as the sum and the culmination of the poet’s current knowledge; the result of his youthful learning endeavors, not as the “work too juvenile” (opera troppo puerile) that Boccaccio too easily dismissed. We must see the Dante of the Vita Nova in his moment, as author and innovator in the context of vernacular literature in the 1290s, rather than look back to Dante the author of the Commedia in his youth. The Vita Nova’s path from a youthful work, a product of Dante’s fervid and passionate age, according to his own admission in the Convivio I.i.16, to the most important minor work in Italian literature, as it is often described, is comprised of many individual episodes which all reflect different cultural settings and approaches to the text. Dante’s approach to the cultures and traditions prior to his own is marked by

14  Introduction

his use and adaptation of both scribal and literary genres and techniques. While some of the influences on his work can be identified from the poet’s own statements in the text of the Vita Nova, as well as in his later works, the impact of some of these sources on Dante’s text has been exaggerated. The most outstanding example of an overemphasized model for the prosimetrum of the Vita Nova, too often referred to as its source par excellence, is Boethius’s De Consolatione Philosophiae. Yet, as I show in the first chapter, divergences evident from a careful reading of the two texts outweigh the similarities between their structures and their authors. Although Dante himself tells us in the abovementioned passage of the Convivio that the Consolatio was the first book he read after learning about Beatrice’s death (the pivotal moment in the narrative of the Vita Nova), it certainly has little to do with the literary genre of Dante’s work. From the basic concept of the two texts to the relationship between poetry and prose to structural and textual elements, all reveal that the differences between them are far deeper than the elements they have in common. While the theme of death drives them both, Boethius’s future death prompts his work while Beatrice’s past death prompts Dante’s. Boethius’s Consolatio is usually defined as a Menippean satire because of its form of mixed prose and verse and because of its content. Although it is considered to have descended from a rich tradition that began with Menippeus, “the Consolatio is a dialogue, and with a bitter and mordant end; it belongs to our genre [Menippean satire] because of its content, for it stands in the late classical Menippean tradition of dramatizations of the search for a secure location of human experience within the confines of philosophical abstraction.”15 Mikhail Bakhtin has defined the Menippean satire as the genre in which “ultimate philosophical positions are put to the test.”16 Indeed, Boethius does put to the test the ultimate question of human existence and of what he perceives as injustice. Crucially, while Boethius focuses on philosophy, Dante delves into the question of poetry in the Vita Nova. Boethius’s text, however, played a crucial role in devising the pivotal moment in the poetics of the Vita Nova, and in conceiving the libello as a consolation of poetry. Therefore, an interpretation of the libello as a poetic consolation is appropriate: if classical authors wrote consolations and Boethius wrote a consolation of philosophy, Dante most certainly wrote a consolation of poetry.

Introduction  15

The second chapter centers on the medieval Latin genres, and chief among them the introduction to the canonical authors, accessus ad auctores. This chapter shows how Dante reverses the medieval theory of authorship by writing the commentary to his own works while he compiles the Vita Nova from already existing poetry and newly written prose, creating in the process, through the use of contemporary techniques of book production (compilatio, ordinatio, etc.), his own accessus to himself. The third chapter, which has benefited the most from my research at the Vatican Apostolic Library and the Laurentian Library in Florence, examines the Old Occitan practice, beginning in the thirteenth century, of enhancing and explaining poetry in manuscripts by the inclusion of short lives (vidas) and brief prose exegeses (razos). This tradition spread from northern Italy (where most of the extant manuscripts containing the vidas and the razos were either produced or copied), while its presence in Tuscany can be hypothesized. Through a close reading of the Vita Nova and examination of some exemplary Old Occitan poetry collections, I show that this thesis is well grounded in the literary as well as manuscript and cultural traditions. Manuscripts such as Vatican Latino 3207 of the Vatican Apostolic Library (H in the Old Occitan tradition) and Pluteo 41.42 of the Laurentian Library in Florence (P) hold a central place in this corpus.17 These poetry collections, which contain extensive prose compositions, can be connected to Tuscany and Florence in the last decade of the thirteenth century, and I argue that they, and specifically the razos they transmit, exert a primary influence on Dante’s choice of the alternating poetry and prose for the Vita Nova. The fourth chapter analyzes Italian vernacular traditions. If we were to look for a vernacular work which could have served as a model for the Vita Nova’s literary genre, we would find it in Brunetto’s Rettorica. Its disposition of original text and gloss is similar to that which Dante employs in the explication of his poems. However, as is the case with the medieval Latin accessus ad auctores and consequently with the Old Occitan razos (vernacular counterparts of the accessus), the pattern of exegesis is exactly the same in all of them and very much different from that of the Vita Nova: the original texts are accompanied by prose explanations which facilitate their understanding but which are composed by a person different from the original text’s author. Thus in the case of Rettorica, Brunetto offers an exposition of Cicero’s text. In the

16  Introduction

accessus tradition it is a medieval commentator who analyzes an older work, and in the Old Occitan tradition we most likely have two authors (Uc de Saint Circ and Miquel de la Tor) who compose the vidas and razos that accompany troubadours’ poetry. The text of the Vita Nova invites us to consider as likely models traditions such as that of debate poems (tenzoni) and epistles used in the circulation and transmission of poetry. I show how Dante’s inspiration to combine verse and prose came also from these modes of poetic transmission on a much larger scale. The first poem of the Vita Nova, recycled from an old debate poem, is only the first to testify to the crucial influence that material support pertaining to book culture played in the history, circulation, and very conception and creation of literature. The debate poems are usually transcribed alongside one another, a tradition adhered to by the editor of the Vita Nova’s first edition in 1576, when he included one of the replies to the libello’s first poem. In printing a poem written by Dante’s friend Guido Cavalcanti, to whom the Vita Nova is dedicated, he interferes with the book’s structure and exemplifies how certain practices coming from the centuries-long manuscript tradition are present even in the world of print. In accepting all these different traditions while at the same time transforming them and creating a new vernacular genre in Italian literature, Dante also delineates what critics refer to as autobiography. But the Vita Nova is much more than an autobiography, more than a vida. Dante’s insistent weaving of the textual, the creative, and the material, all of them separate but inseparable components of literary production in the Middle Ages, and his constant reflections on the poetic process make the libello above all a book on poetry that has at its center the question of textuality. In spite of the original contexts of many of the poems in the Vita Nova in tenzoni and literary exchanges, Dante does not include the poems of others; he includes only his own poems, many of which are already in circulation. Still in grief for Beatrice’s death in 1292 (duranti ancora le lacrime), he tells us of his decision to narrate what he claims to be the history of his love for her, at the same time discussing the value and concept of poetry inexorably linked, as we see in Oltre la spera che più larga gira, to Beatrice’s still inscrutable meaning. In the process of recounting the events stored under major paragraphs of the book of his memory, Dante assumes and manipulates the roles of scribe, compiler/anthologist, commentator/glossator, and, of course, author of his own poems and prose.

Introduction  17

Barolini concludes in her edition of Dante’s poems that Dante’s early poetry expresses the essence of an intense poetic adventure and that it reminds us that Dante’s signature is his essential and never quenched experimentalism.18 It is exactly from this point of view that the fierce experimentalism of the Vita Nova must be read and interpreted, in its context of Florence in the last decade of the thirteenth century within which Dante is writing a treatise on poetry for his fellow poets and elevating in the process his own poetry to the heights reserved for the auctores, be it ancient or modern. Not only does Dante write in vernacular, but he applies to it interpretive techniques typical for Latin texts from a wide array of disciplines. While the Vita Nova’s “autobiographical” content served generations that tried to understand Dante’s life and his later production, its value first and foremost lies in its complex structure which reveals exceptional and audacious experimentalism that elevated vernacular authors to summits they had never known before. The ultimate question for Dante in the Vita Nova, finally, is therefore that of poetry. It is poetry that helps him alleviate the pain caused by Beatrice’s death; it is poetry that offers consolation. The libello was not composed according to any of the traditional genres circulating at the time but combines many of those in new and unique ways. It is a product of the culture in which manuscripts containing poetry circulated, preserving poetry written recently as well as that which had a long oral tradition. Details that come from Latin traditions are present because of Dante’s erudition, but ultimately, as I show, he modeled his first book according to the familiar vernacular tradition of Old Occitan Liederbücher, turning upside down the role of the author. And when his authorial skills based on and informed by these traditions are not satisfactory anymore, he decides to stop writing until he has advanced them to a level that will be worthy of his Muse and of his own expectations about what an author should be. So the Vita Nova closes with a powerful image of an insufficiently accomplished author of poetry who expresses his determination to perfect his artistic ability so that he will be able to return to writing once again.

chapter I

Quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio: De Consolatione Philosophiae and Its Role in the Making of the Vita Nova

Boethius and De Consolatione Philosophiae Any study of the Vita Nova should start with Severinus Boethius—man of letters, philosopher, mathematician, astronomer, and statesman—who lived in the Ostrogoth-dominated Italian peninsula in the fifth and the sixth centuries (480–524/6 C.E.).1 Although his family came from and had strong ties with the Roman tradition and culture, they might have adopted Christianity and lived in accordance with this relatively new religion. Boethius lost his father at an early age, after which he spent the most formative years of his life under the protection of his uncle Symacchus, consul and one of the most prominent public figures in Rome at the time. Boethius therefore had access to the best education, which is evident from his early life when he wrote about his plans to comment on and translate all the works by Aristotle and Plato and his wish to reconcile their philosophies. Although this project was never realized, the two philosophers’ teachings left important marks on Boethius’s ideas and, through his vast influence, on all of Europe up to the Renaissance. His social status and education contributed to his great professional success. He rapidly moved up the career ranks, and earned one of the highest positions in Theodoric’s court, serving as Master of the King’s Offices (Magister officiorum). As was not uncommon, Boethius was soon implicated in a conspiracy and accused of treason. The accusations, based on allegedly false testimonies and forged letters, were deemed solid, and he was convicted. After being imprisoned, possibly in Pavia, he was executed. Boethius, who had dedicated his life to public service and to making sure that the public institutions were functioning, ended as a victim, a kind of scapegoat of the same system. Ironically, the final verdict about Boethius’s destiny came from the Senate, the institution in which he most believed.

Quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio  19

Boethius’s most important and most influential work, De Consolatione Philosophiae, was written in the final months of his life, in prison. Of all the works he wrote, this is the text which was most read by generations of poets, writers, philosophers, politicians, historians, and statesmen, for an entire millennium. This work of moral philosophy contains a summa of his life experience in which the author looks back at the past years while, with the help of the personified figure Philosophy, he deconstructed common conceptions and perceptions of life based on the material and the ephemeral. Now, in prison, left only with his thoughts, Boethius wonders whether the constant pursuit of fame and earthly possessions and pleasures makes one’s life more satisfying, precious, and meaningful. The answer, at which the two interlocutors slowly and painfully arrive, is negative. The only thing that matters is spiritual happiness, which can be achieved through God who is identified as the supreme good. Unlike earthly riches and success, which are acquired through and depend on uncontrollable circumstances, spiritual peace and ultimate earthly happiness are reached through self-reflection and through God, and cannot be taken away by some outside force. This core idea of the Consolatio, as discussed below, is the key concept in which Dante found inspiration for his change of heart and poetics in his Vita Nova: when Dante decides, halfway through the course of the Vita Nova, to turn to his poetry and the newly found praise style “che non [gli] pote venire meno” (VN 10, XVIII), he undoubtedly has in mind the core teachings of Boethius. I argue in this chapter that it is precisely Boethian logic that drives Dante’s poetic conversion in the libello, when he decides to change course completely and look for meaning and satisfaction within himself and poetry instead of depending on the outside good that is Beatrice’s salutation.

The Consolatio in Medieval Literary and Manuscript Traditions It would be an understatement to say that Boethius’s Consolatio was widely read in the Middle Ages. It was a “best seller” in Latin as well as in translation in different European vernaculars. Moreover, it appeared not only in translation but also with vernacular commentaries, in glossed versions, rewritings, and newly written fictions inspired by the whole work or by some of its parts. These texts appeared in a wide array

20  Quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio

of languages: from German and Catalan to Greek and French to Old Occitan, Old English, and Italian.2 Among the most successful vernacular editions was Jean de Meun’s French version and Livres du Boece, a version in Old Occitan.3 In a reverse process, one author, Pierre de Paris, translates a French commentary into Latin. However, vernacular renderings, even translations, rarely reflected the Consolatio’s prose and verse structure: they were rather prose texts. Such constant and consistent turning away from the text’s original structure indicates a certain discomfort and lack of experience with the prosimetrum, which at the time was not a standardized literary or scribal genre in the vernacular. But what was universal about the Consolatio was its unique philosophical appeal and the possibility, often abused by authors, editors, and translators, to adapt it to the Christian context.4 At the same time, as the scholars reached the heights of knowledge toward which they were striving, and acquired Greek (for them the Consolatio was a sort of a bridge to this ancient culture), ironically they abandoned Boethius and turned to the original sources.5 On the Italian peninsula, as well as in the rest of Europe, Boethius’s masterpiece was widely read and studied. The bulk of manuscript evidence we have shows that it usually reached its readers on its own, as the only text bound within a manuscript’s covers. Such a circulation decreases our ability to understand to the fullest extent its readership and primary uses. Those few miscellanies that survived reveal that the association of the Consolatio to other texts in codices was anything but fixed. Troncarelli singles out two types of manuscript collections: religious and secular.6 The former suggest a theological interpretation of the text, while the latter suggest, as Troncarelli points out, a sort of “discours de la méthode,” like De Arithmetica or De Musica. In some codices the Consolatio was associated with moral authors, such as Persius, Seneca, Prudentius, and Juvenal. In the High Middle Ages Boethius’s text appeared alongside early Christian authors like Sedulius, Arator, Avitus, and Juvencus. Boethius was the poet-philosopher who helped his readers understand the relationship between microcosm and macrocosm, between the individual and the universal. His “cogitatio mentis,” interpreted as his Christian faith, influenced a wide understanding of the Consolatio in a Christian key.7 Finally, the Consolatio appeared in miscellanies containing such moralizing texts as Lucan’s Pharsalia or Cicero’s De Amicitia. The text or some of its parts were visually represented on the page of transcription in various ways: extant manuscripts show variations

Quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio  21

ranging from the introduction of blank lines in order to mark the beginning and the end of a poem to triangular shapes formed by transcribing the last verse in the middle of the charta while the rest of the poem is transcribed in two columns.8 These scribal tactics give greater prominence to poetry and perhaps encourage its individual, independent tradition. Pomaro points out in her analysis of the Florentine codices of the Consolatio that even though we have forty extant manuscripts from Florence, it is hard to establish within the limits of scientific analysis a common treatment, or a “type” as she calls it, of the treatment of the prose and poetry.9 Poems, as manuscript tradition of the Consolatio teaches us, had a strong independent circulation in collections containing hymns and psalms, and were often even set to music, “as though they were liturgical rhythms, a psaltery.”10 Prose portions of the Consolatio, on the other hand, did not have a circulation of their own. The manuscript tradition attests to an independent circulation of nearly half of the Vita Nova’s poems, which were transmitted independently prior to the compilation of the libello. Since poetry is more susceptible to independent circulation because of its synthetic and aesthetic characteristics, even after the compilation of the libello the poems were often extracted from the whole of the Vita Nova and copied and circulated separately, but in the same order and in the same form as they appear in Dante’s first book. My focus here is primarily on the situation in Florence in an attempt to understand the readership and the circulation of the Consolatio in and around Dante’s times in his native city. Understanding the ways in which the Consolatio was received, interpreted, and used in the context that surrounded the composition of the Vita Nova will help us identify more precisely the degree to which it participated in the making of the libello. It will help us understand that Dante’s reading of the Consolatio could not influence his choice of the prosimetrum for a text that is so profoundly different from its often-suggested model. It did not have any bearing on the choice of genre, as it is informed by vernacular traditions that are discussed in the following chapters. Rather, I show how the young Dante already looked for more profound messages in this great text, found them, and applied them. In the following pages I argue that the Consolatio, indeed, informed Dante’s understanding of the world that is woven in the Vita Nova’s content and its poetics, which paved the way for the Italian Trecento.

22  Quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio

In my analysis I am relying on the most useful tool we have to investigate the circulation of the Consolatio, namely, the detailed study of the manuscript tradition of Boethius’s work in Florence, by Gabriella Pomaro and Robert Black, who indicate that the Consolatio was read primarily as a grammar book: “more than two thirds of Florentine manuscripts contain no philosophical, ethical or theological commentary.”11 The Consolatio was used in the academic curriculum as a sort of a transition text, as a bridge between minor and major authors, though not as a philosophical but as a grammar text. This status is corroborated by the glosses found in these copies of the Consolatio that consist prevalently of simple paraphrase or explication and were mostly written in vernacular, whereas “major authors would have been glossed in Latin.”12 Since the Consolatio “travels” on its own in Italy—it rarely appears in miscellanies—it is difficult to have a more precise idea about the wider contexts in which it was read and interpreted. On the other hand, we can say with certainty that the manuscript evidence suggests that it was rarely used as a schoolbook in Italy before the thirteenth century. Five manuscripts traceable to Florence can be dated to the end of the twelfth century, while another five can be dated to the thirteenth or to the period between the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth century. Perhaps for this reason, Black concludes, Dante refers to the Consolatio in his Convivio as “that book of Boethius, not known to many” (quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio) (CV II.xii.2). Since the text of the Consolatio appears in these (however few) manuscripts as a grammar text, Dante would be referring here to the fact that there was little understanding of the Latin work’s philosophical merits. This conclusion complements that of Minnis, who interprets Dante’s claim as an indication of poor recognition of the work’s real value as a source of consolation.13 These explanations suggest that the Consolatio was used primarily as a grammar book, whose role was limited to the explanation of the structures of the Latin language. However, if Dante’s claim from the Convivio were to be taken in this manner, then his words should be understood as implying that he indeed read the Consolatio as a consolatory philosophical work when preparing and composing the Convivio. My analysis in this chapter shows how already in the Vita Nova Dante understood well Boethius’s teaching and the depths of meaning of the Consolatio.

Quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio  23

The Consolatio and the Vita Nova Pr e l i m i n a r y Ob s e r vat ions

On the one hand, the Consolatio’s manuscript tradition features copies in Latin with Latin or vernacular glosses and commentaries. On the other hand, there is an ample tradition of translations and rewritings in the European vernaculars. These paraphrases and other renditions of the Consolatio in vernacular form achieved widespread success.14 It is quite possible, therefore, that Dante had a chance to read it in some form, be it Latin or vernacular. However, whether he read Boethius’s text at all at this time is a much debated question in the criticism of the Vita Nova. Dante’s own admission that the Consolatio was the first book he read after Beatrice’s death certainly contributes to the view that this text was the primary source for the prosimetrum of the libello. Nevertheless, some critics, such as Michelangelo Picone, have denied such an influence on the basis of divergences in key aspects of the two texts (Boethius is at the end of his life, whereas Dante is at the beginning of his; Boethius rejects poetry at the very opening of his work, while the Vita Nova revolves around it, etc.).15 I argue that neither of these formal elements of the Consolatio, including its genre, had a significant role in the creative process that resulted in the Vita Nova. Consolatio’s role was substantial rather than formal. Many other medieval Latin works are often suggested as crucial influences on the “form of the book” of the Vita Nova, and especially of its literary genre: all of the proposed texts have in common the form of the prosimetrum—alternating verse and prose.16 While other titles change, no edition of the Vita Nova fails to include and almost always suggests as the principal influence on Dante, “quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio.” But if we look more deeply into the two texts, the circumstances of their composition, themes, and protagonists, we are obliged to reconsider this statement, which has long been taken as axiomatic. Is Boethius’s masterpiece to be understood as the primary source for Dante’s choice of the prosimetrum, or are Dante’s models to be sought elsewhere? I argue against the clichéd view that the Consolatio is the source of Dante’s use of the genre of the prosimetrum but nonetheless in favor of the great importance of the Consolatio for the composition of the Vita Nova. This chapter explores the relationship between the Consolatio and the Vita Nova not only from the point of view of their material structures

24  Quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio

but also from the point of view of their content, especially in terms of the philosophical teachings of Boethius and their reflection in Dante’s text. My claim is that the Consolatio did not influence Dante in the choice of the literary genre but that it enormously influenced the Vita Nova in its philosophical premises, which draw on the Consolatio’s principal philosophical thread and its narrative of the transformation of the philosopher, as discussed below. My focus is, first, on Boethius’s transformation throughout his work as he realizes some philosophical truths that change his initial pessimistic and elegiac state of mind, and, second, on the way in which this transformation of a philosophical nature is understood by Dante and how it is woven into the Vita Nova’s poetics. T h e Rol e of t h e Au t hor

Both the Consolatio and the Vita Nova open with images of their authors as scribes. At the very beginning of his work, in the first poem, Boethius describes himself as a copyist of what the Muses of poetry dictate to him: The Muses who inspire me [lit., “dictate my writings”] are bloodstained. (DCP I, meter 1)17

The author thus reduces himself to a scribe with a passive role, whose loss of literary direction here reflects the loss of his moral compass.18 Moreover, in the prose section that follows, he remembers the moment that preceded Philosophy’s appearance: These were the silent reflections which I nursed in my heart. My dutiful pen was putting the last touches to my tearful lament, when a lady seemed to position herself above my head. (DCP I, prose 1)19

Again, in prose, he repeats the image of himself writing down the words inspired and dictated by the Muses. The space left by the silence in his prison cell can only be filled by writing, by the words that he still receives from poetic Muses who are his only comfort and consolation before Philosophy takes over the healing process. We remember that Dante opens the Vita Nova with the metaphor of the book. He introduces the concept of the book of memory, a more comprehensive work, from which he chooses to transcribe only the most important paragraphs. In that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life’. Under that heading I find written the words that it is

Quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio  25

my intention to copy into this little book: and if not all, at least their essence. (VN 1; I)20

Dante, too, presents himself as a scribe copying parts from the book of his memory, composed of many paragraphs introduced by rubrics. The words are written (scripte) in this book, and the poet-scribe will now not only copy (asemplare) a selection of them (non tutte), but will also provide their meaning (la loro sententia) for his reader. The material container of these transcribed paragraphs is defined as a little book (libello) and is overtly juxtaposed to the concept of the book of his memory (libro della mia memoria) in the first paragraph of the work. Moreover, constant reflections not only on the process of composing poetry, but on the process of literally writing it down, recur throughout the libello’s prose in the image of the author as active maker of the work in progress and that of the author as a scribe writing down his poems. The poet even deems it necessary to familiarize his reader with the way in which poetic exchanges functioned as part of the tradition of the debate poems (tenzoni) when he retells not only the occasion for writing the sonnet A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core but also describes the process of sending it to other poets and asking for their reply in the form of a sonnet. Thinking to myself about what had appeared to me, I decided to make it known to many who were famous poets of the time: and as it was a fact that I had already gained for myself to some extent the art of speaking words in rhyme, I decided to shape a sonetto, in which I would greet all those faithful to Amor: and begging them to interpret my vision, I wrote for them what I had seen in my sleep. And then I began this sonetto, that which begins: A ciascun´alma presa e gentil core. (VN 1, III; emphasis mine)21

This passage, which follows the narration of the first vision of the book, contains the first of many reflections on the practical side of composing poetry. Even before Dante proceeds to transcribing the poem and dividing it, he reflects on the moment in which the idea of pouring the vision into a poem came about in the poet’s head, how he sat down with his parchment, pen, and ink (he does not fail to inform his reader that he is a rather seasoned poet because he had already had experience with writing poetry), and how he decided that he should consult his fellow poets about the meaning of his vision. The reader of the libello— a famous poet, addressee of the sonnet as well—is given an opportu-

26  Quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio

nity to gain close insight into the process of the composition of this poem and to understand how the experience of Dante the lover becomes a poem by Dante the poet. In the end, like many times later in the text, the poet recalls the last step: the act of physically writing down the poem (scrivere), which concludes the inventive process.22 The libello thus offers a constant reminder that writing poetry is not only a process happening in the poet’s mind, but it is also a physical task of transcribing poems and reflecting upon them once they are put on parchment. The Vita Nova, as we also remember, closes with a metaliterary passage in which the author promises himself to perfect his writing skills in order to be able to write about Beatrice even more eloquently and with more expertise: After writing this sonetto a miraculous vision appeared to me, in which I saw things which made me decide to write nothing more of this blessed one until such time as I could treat of her more worthily. And to achieve this I study as much as I can, as she truly knows. So that, if it pleases Him by whom all things live, that my life lasts a few years, I hope to write of her what has never been written of any woman. (VN 31, XLII)23

Dante’s first book, therefore, concludes with a thought about literary creation and consequently of book production, perpetuating this process and extending the idea to the future work which is awaiting composition. Boethius’s depiction of himself as a scribe of his sorrowful life story that the Muses dictate in the form of an elegy changes over the course of the work, and by Book IV he becomes “a reader of moral fable,” while he makes of Philosophy an auctor whose text should be read and interpreted rather than discussed.24 Although during the dialogue Philosophy has him arrive at some answers and solutions, she is the one in charge and the leading participant who never loses control of the conversation. The prisoner passes from the dominion of elegiac poetic Muses to that of Philosophy, learning along the way not only the answers to his current state but also deep philosophical truths that accompany and generate such answers. Dante presents himself from the very beginning as an author who knows exactly what task he is proposing for himself. On the one hand, he does appear to be a scribe copying certain paragraphs from the book of his memory, but, on the other, he also proposes to include an

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additional element in this little book he is set to compile: he will explain to his reader what those poems mean (la loro sententia) and thus expand his role from that of a scribe to that of an author who will present new content for the present volume. T h e m at ic Di s c r e pa nc i e s

A common understanding of the Consolatio as a moral tractate is also confirmed by Dante’s reference to Boethius in the Commedia, which implies that at this advanced stage in the Florentine poet’s life the Latin poet represents “not a Neoplatonic philosopher . . . but a master of life.”25 Dante will encounter Boethius in his Commedia, in Paradiso, where Boethius is identified by Thomas Aquinas: The blessed soul who makes the world’s deceit most plain to all who hear him carefully. (Par. X, 125–26)26

However, this is Dante of the Commedia, exiled and definitely certain, especially by the time of the writing of the Paradiso, that he will never be able to return to Florence. At this time Boethius for Dante indeed is the master of life, but he had also long been his master of philosophy. Apart from Dante the man looking for guidance in the difficult period of his life, in Paradiso we find ourselves before Dante the theologian, Dante the profound connoisseur of Boethius. The overt admiration Dante has for Boethius begins much earlier, in the unfinished Convivio, when he perceived the certainty of exile and the similarities of his own calamities to those of the great philosopher from the past. This treatise begins with a specific mention of Boethius and his work, which indicates a clear source of inspiration. To return to the main topic, however, I say that (as touched on above) speaking about oneself is allowed in cases of necessity, and among the several cases of necessity two are very evident. One is when great infamy or danger cannot be avoided except by talking about oneself; then it is permissible, for the reason that to take the less evil of two paths is almost the same as taking a good one. This necessity moved Boethius to speak of himself, so that under the pretext of consolation he might defend himself against the perpetual infamy of his exile, by showing it to be unjust, since no other apologist came forward. (CV I.ii.12–13)27

The exile is present here, at the opening of the Convivio, and Dante is fully aware of his situation. He understands that he has to defend him-

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self from the accusations made against him, and he fully identifies with Boethius, who himself was in a sort of exile—imprisoned and removed from the public life that was an indispensable part of his existence. Under such dire circumstances, Boethius attempts to heal his soul with a philosophical “rationalization” of his state of mind and of his state of life with the help of the figure of Philosophy. But, as he compiles the Vita Nova, Dante does not give any explicit indications of how he understands Boethius’s text. Indeed, he never mentions it. We learn only in the Convivio that he had read the Consolatio after Beatrice’s death. But we have to take into consideration that the Consolatio was widely read in schools at the time and that, apart from this context, Dante was probably exposed to Boethius’s text while studying under Brunetto Latini. When we add Dante’s own confession from the Convivio, our understanding of Boethius’s role in the making of the Vita Nova changes significantly, as does our interpretation of the pivotal moment in the poetics of the libello, that of the transition from the poet’s seeking true happiness in Beatrice’s salutation to the invention of a new style, the “stilo de la loda:” the poet decides halfway through the book to replace the old prize (Beatrice’s salutation and the happiness it brings to him) with an abstract concept of the praise of the lady, thus transforming the external source of happiness into an internal one. One of the most striking discrepancies between the Consolatio and the Vita Nova is thematic: while in Boethius the author himself is facing his own death, which lies in the future, in Dante’s work the defining moment is the death of his beloved. The moment of death thus lies in the past. Boethius writes here and now, explaining the process he has just gone through. His story, set in a prison cell, has two protagonists: the prisoner and personified Philosophy, who represent different aspects of the author himself. The two interlocutors discuss and debate the state of being of the prisoner, of the person saying “I,” while in fact the only protagonist is Boethius: Philosophy is a product of fiction; she is invented by him as a sort of alter ego. The author-protagonist describes the thought process which should lead to the liberation of his mind, to finding a consolation in the natural and the only possible order of things. He has lost control over the events in his life, both personal and public. He feels betrayed by his friends but also by the goddess Fortune. At one moment in his life he had it all; he was in the highest circles of the empire, at the Olympian heights of his career as a statesman, while now he is in a tiny prison cell, far away from everyone

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and forgotten by all. Whether we understand the cell to be in an isolated tower or a house in a distant place, Boethius’s condition is one of an individual who is trying to come to terms with a series of unfortunate events in his life that are leading to his death.28 The consolation he is seeking consists of finding answers. Boethius is a philosopher, a statesman driven, in his view, by the noblest intentions, which proved not to be the right path to take. He is questioning himself and the world around him in order to understand where he went wrong. Philosophy guides him carefully through this process, and together they arrive at conclusions which in themselves represent a much-needed resolution. Dante, on the other hand, deals with the death of Beatrice, which at the moment of the composition of the little book lies in the past. It is not until halfway through the text that her death is announced as a fact through a biblical quotation: “Quomodo sedet sola civitas plena populo” (VN 19, XXVIII). As Teodolinda Barolini has argued, Dante transplants the Augustinian idea of the death of a friend from the Confessiones into the new concept of the death of the beloved (the pivotal moment in the narrative of the Vita Nova) that becomes a new topos of the vernacular setting of the courtly tradition.29 Boethius’s text marks the end of his life, whereas Dante’s is a love story which claims to record events from the poet’s early life. The poet gathers poems written in the past, adapts them to the new form of the book, and comments on them a posteriori in the prose sections which in the material structure of the book function as a gloss on the poems. Recollections of important moments, “major paragraphs” (maggiori paragrafi) from the book of memory, provide detailed rationales of those earlier events and the way our poet claims to have lived them. V i s ion

The poetic quality of the Consolation which most influenced later medieval poetry, however, was not the skillful handling of the prosimetrum form nor the excellence of the individual poems but the author’s use of the fictional vision as a frame for philosophical speculation and moral persuasion.30

Boethius’s text, as is well known, is written in the form of a vision: at the beginning, to the disappointed and broken prisoner, after he has uttered verses in which he remembers how he used to write cheerful

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songs, appears a figure of a woman who, as he will soon come to understand, is none other than Philosophy herself. She has come to his rescue, but first she has to take care of the Muses of poetry, whom she defines as “meretrices” (there is no space for elegiac poetry in this sick man’s cell!). If he wishes to understand his condition and to be healed from it, he has to first get rid of the self-pitying attitude reflected in his elegiac opening verses and turn his look inward, to his soul, for a search of the real roots of his problems. The entire process, thus, starts with a vision and takes place in a vision. The Vita Nova, on the other hand, is a detailed account based on poems that retell events from Dante’s life. While the plot itself is not a vision but rather an account of events from the poet’s past, in the course of events we encounter several visions of different kinds: dream visions, apocalyptic visions, regular visions.31 As a matter of fact, the Vita Nova opens with a vision in which Beatrice, held in Amor’s arms, eats Dante’s burning heart, yet another moment of contact with Boethius.32 This vision is at the center of the sonnet A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core, which is one of the earliest poems Dante wrote to be included in the Vita Nova. In the prose section accompanying this sonnet, Dante explains that soon after the vision, which he had not understood at first, he wrote this poem and sent it to “molti famosi trovatori” (many famous poets) of his time, asking them to decipher the vision and help him understand its meaning. It was not until much later that it was clear to everyone, even the simplest of folk, as Dante informs us. Ph i l o s oph y a n d P oe t r y

Boethius uses a philosophical path to consolation: although his text belongs to the Roman tradition of the genre of the consolation, “addressed to those facing circumstances, such as bereavement, old age, death or exile, which distressed them,” his is ultimately a consolation of philosophy.33 Marenbon also notices that “its form, in which the author consoles a representation of himself, through a fictional figure, is unprecedented.”34 Indeed, Boethius has Philosophy dissect his condition into tiny symptoms and concerns that she then treats one by one in a fictional setting, which implies that the patient and the doctor are two different entities, Boethius and Philosophy, whereas they are both products of the form of the book. The Consolatio, however, is not a purely philosophical work as its title might seem to imply. It might seem as such on the surface, but below “there runs a continuous stream

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of reflection on literature and on its relationship to philosophy.”35 Both philosophy and poetry have their own, albeit different, Muses. The Muses of elegiac poetry, as we find out in the first poem of the work, are wounded, bloodstained (lacerae): in other words, the prisoner admits that this kind of poetry does not heal anymore, that it is in crisis, and soon Boethius the author will have to bring into the picture a more complex and potent medicine: philosophy. But he does not—as is often interpreted—repudiate poetry in general. Boethius, as he will soon explain, holds that the meretricious Muses choke the good harvest of reason with the thorns of passion. In other words, he is comparing two different kinds of poetry: licit, and therefore positive and helpful, and illicit, and, as such, negative and detrimental to one’s wellbeing. And as soon as she has stepped on the scene of the Consolatio, Philosophy will take great care to prove that her Muses are far superior to those of poetry in the matters of reason. Right after Boethius describes her appearance, he captures her reaction to the elegiac verses that came from his mouth at the opening of the work. Her eyes lit on the Muses of poetry, who were standing by my couch, furnishing words to articulate my grief. For a moment she showed irritation; she frowned, and fire flashed from her eyes. ‘Who’, she asked, ‘has allowed these harlots of the stage to approach this sick man? Not only do they afford no remedies to relieve his pains, but their succulent poisons intensify them. These ladies with their thorns of emotions choke the life from the fruitful harvest of reason. They do not expel the disease from men’s minds, but merely inure them to its presence. If you Muses were up to your usual game of seducing some non-initiate by your blandishments, I should find it less objectionable, for my own work would not suffer. But this man must not be seduced, for he has been nurtured on the learning of the Eleatics and of the Academy. Off with you, you Sirens! Your charms entice men to their destruction. Leave him to be tended and healed with the help of the Muses that attend me.’ (DCP I, pr. 1)36

After such a rebuke, the Muses of poetry are shamed into leaving the prisoner’s chamber, and Philosophy remains alone with the prisoner, intent on starting the healing process right after she has pronounced, in the second poem of the first book, a lament over his sorry state of mind and being, over his falling out of the realm of philosophic reasoning reflected in his elegy that opened the work. Poetry, however, can serve as a milder remedy, as Philosophy states in prose five of Book

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I: verse can be used to prepare the patient for stronger, rational philosophical remedies. Indeed, in the first half of the Consolatio, poetry is allowed to have a healing power, albeit very limited. After O qui perpetua, however, as the disease is being cured and the prisoner reaches a stabler state of mind, poetry’s role becomes less important, to the point of assuming a subsidiary role and becoming “a mere refrigerium, a refreshment to restore the mind between bouts of strenuous dialectic.”37 After all, the Consolatio is “grounded in a philosophical formal method and directed toward vital truth.”38 Few events from the author’s life are provided in Boethius’s text. We read only about the most important moments from his career which are crucial for understanding the current situation in which he finds himself. In the Vita Nova Dante narrates the key events of the story of his love for Beatrice. We learn about their encounters, the death of Beatrice’s father, Dante’s dreams and visions, his travels, Beatrice’s jealousy, and so on. Dante is telling a story he feels compelled to tell for the sake both of making it known to his fellow poets, who are the only ones who can understand his pain caused by his beloved’s death, and of easing his mind, as he will admit in the canzone Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore. Furthermore, as will become apparent in canzoni Donna pietosa and Gli occhi dolenti, the poet-lover also seeks ways to console himself. The help will come to him, as we shall see, from poetry. Dante’s libello is a narrative of the most important events surrounding his youthful love, with regular pauses to reflect upon poetry. The entire work is based on a collection of already written and circulating poems that are now being transcribed in a presumptive chronological order and connected with the prose. One of the more explicit connections between the two works that should be considered here is the expression “regina de le virtudi” (VN 5, X) that Dante uses to describe Beatrice and that can be traced back to Boethius’s characterization of Philosophy as “omnium magistra virtutum” (DCP I, pr. 3). Although Dante’s “regina” does not reflect precisely “magistra,” Boethius’s expression clearly represents a precedent and a conceptual source for Dante’s “donna di virtù” in Inferno II, 76.39 The context and use of this expression in the Inferno, on the other hand, point directly to the Consolatio, with the Convivio as an intermediary source.40 One important link between Boethius and Dante, of prime importance for the context of the Vita Nova, has been identified in Bono Giamboni’s Il libro dei vizi e delle virtudi, where he calls phi-

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losophy “maestra delle virtudi,” in a setting identical to that of Boethius’s, where a solitary prisoner’s cell is identified as a place not dignified enough for the presence of Philosophy, and similar to the context of the Inferno II, where Virgil will characterize Limbo as a setting not worthy of Beatrice’s presence. Moreover, Benvenuto da Imola glosses “o donna di vertù” as “Beatrice, blessed science, you who teach all virtues, both divine and moral” (Beatrix, beata scientia, quale doces omnem virtutem et divinam et moralem), thus understanding Beatrice as embodiment of all virtues in a context chronologically closer to Dante’s. We can therefore surmise that as early as the years of the Vita Nova’s compilation Dante was intent on painting Beatrice as having traces of Philosophy—Boethius’s Philosophy. Beatrice is already a figure who in the course of the Vita Nova resembles less and less other ladies who inspired his fellow poets, and as Dante distances himself from them, and especially from his “primo amico,” Guido Cavalcanti, she starts to show salvific qualities that will only become greater as the libello progresses, and, on the macrolevel of Dante’s magnum opus, the Commedia, she will eventually come to symbolize theology. T h e Rol e of P oe t r y

Before more detailed considerations about the role of poetry and prose in the Consolatio and in the Vita Nova, it should be beneficial to return briefly to the process of the compilation of the libello. Let the reader be reminded that it is composed of poems many of which had circulated in the decade preceding their incorporation into the Vita Nova (1292–94) and of prose commentary written at the time of the compilation of the little book. Whereas the chronology of the narrative of the Vita Nova preserves the sequence of events Dante narrates, the chronology of the compilation of the Vita Nova is a reverse process. In other words, the libello’s text runs chronologically through paragraphs that begin with an explanation of the background of the composition of each poem in the narrative prose, followed by the poem, which is then divided in the divisio which concludes paragraphs. In reality, the process involved first the composition of the poems, which circulated as independent texts, only to be included in the libello and accompanied by the prose (both narrative and the divisiones) written at the time of the compilation of the Vita Nova. However, it was often the case that Dante’s poems are found separately in manuscripts. Even the first printed edition of Dante’s Rime, published in 1527, contains the poems from the Vita Nova only, without the prose.41

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Richard Green suggests in the introduction to his translation of the Consolatio that “Boethius seems to concur in the medieval estimate of poetry as one of the lower arts ancillary to dialectic when he alludes to the use of verse as rest and refreshment.”42 In the Consolatio, elegiac poetry is discarded by Philosophy at the very beginning as being pernicious to the healing process of the patient-prisoner. Muses of poetry are banished from the prisoner’s cell, and Philosophy and her Muses take their place. The entire work is built upon a thorough and systematic philosophical debate between the prisoner and Philosophy. However, as many critics—starting with Giovanni Boccaccio—have pointed out, Boethius’s intention is not to discard poetry at large but to draw a line between productive inspiration (here reflected in Philosophy and her Muses) and deceptive, unproductive inspiration (represented by the Muses of elegiac poetry that dictate the prisoner’s opening poem). Boccaccio finishes his discussion of the criticism of poetry and poets in the literal exposition of Inferno I, 73 (Virgil’s “poeta fui”) with no other author but Boethius and his treatment of the Muses of poetry at the opening of the Consolatio. This part, often misinterpreted according to Boccaccio, needs clarification. He starts by saying that those who use Philosophy’s condemnation of poetic Muses at the opening of the Consolatio to criticize poetry and poets simply do not understand the meaning of such Philosophy’s action. What then will be said by these men who so presumptuously seek to tread on the name of poets? In my opinion, they certainly cannot rightly condemn poets if for no other reason than that you cannot make money writing poetry. I believe that this point reveals the aspect of poetry that has so irritated them: they and poets simply do not share the same ambitions. What remains of their armour (the aforementioned phrase of Plato) is by now mostly ruined; only one piece must still be destroyed. The critics argue that Lady Philosophy chased the Muses of Poetry away from Boethius as if they were lowly prostitutes whose comforts led those who listened not to ill health but to death itself. That poorly understood text, however, tricks those who cite it in their arguments against poets.43

After this brief introduction to the argument he will be making in relation to the Consolatio, Boccaccio gets to the point: it is not questionable that philosophy is indispensable in life’s lessons and in living a righteous life. Therefore, it is quite natural that at the opening of the

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Consolatio Boethius would need sound philosophical considerations more than anything else, especially more than his verses afflicted by his elegiac state of mind that were contrary to the much-needed care. It is indubitably true that Lady Philosophy is the venerable teacher of all types of science and of every honourable thing. As Boethius lay there in his sickbed, troubled and afflicted by the exile that was wrongly imposed upon him, he impatiently shooed away from himself all knowledge of truth instead of judiciously considering those remedies that are more suitable to eliminating the anxieties caused by life’s disasters. Indeed, instead of writing things that would liberate him, he sought to write things that demonstrated how miserable he was and, consequently, inspired compassion in others. This task seemed so effortless to him (although he failed to see he was thus sullying philosophic truth, whose task is to cure—not soothe—one who suffers), that he could have kept up his sweet, self-indulgent flattery until finally leading himself into total bewilderment.44

At this point Boccaccio deems it necessary to unfold the meaning of Philosophy’s rebuttal of poetic Muses defined as “meretricule scenice,” which is, in fact, a rebuttal of the use of elegy—only a tool in the hands of poets. It is poets who choose which style to use and how to use it, and therefore the Muses are not to blame but those who misuse them for various reasons. Because such a style, which seeks to profit from flattering and pandering to sick minds, belongs to the abovementioned comic poets, Lady Philosophy calls these muses ‘meretricule scenice’ (‘theatrical tarts’). So she uses these words not because she thinks they are really prostitutes, but to vituperate the intelligence of whoever uses them for disgraceful ends. Very clearly, it is not the fault of blacksmith’s hammer if its master uses it to make a knife with which a man is killed rather than a plough that could be used to prepare the land for receiving the seeds of the crops that afterwards will nourish us. That the Muses are here the instrument that works according to the intelligence of the writer, and are not working of their own accord, is plainly shown by Lady Philosophy in her above-mentioned statement: ‘Be gone from here, sweet sirens of death, and leave this sick man to be cured by my Muses,’ that is, leave him to the morality and integrity of my style, in which I will show him through my Muses the truth that he does not yet know since he is suffering and distressed. In these words one sees that the Muses of Lady

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Philosophy are no different than those of vile comic poets and elegiac self-soothers. The difference lies, rather, in the nature of the writer who makes use of these instruments. It is not, then, the vile desires of these Muses (whom Lady Philosophy calls ‘meretricule’) that are denigrated, but writers who put them to work for disgraceful purposes.45

Boccaccio thus dismantles a common argument that Boethius in his Consolatio dismisses poetic Muses altogether and promotes philosophy at poetry’s expense, an argument that persisted through centuries. Perhaps this kind of a widely spread misinterpretation of Boethius’s intentions described by Boccaccio further contributed to the Consolatio’s reception that was on Dante’s mind when in his Convivio he declared the Consolatio as “quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio.” In the Vita Nova, poetry, without reservations and limitations, comes first: it is the basis for the libello. Dante adds prose in order to conserve the order of the poems, and to consequently assure a proper chronology of the events and to bend the poems to the purposes of the libello. While in Boethius poems often reaffirm his claims made in the prose, in Dante it is the prose that always explains, reconfirms, and interprets the poems a posteriori. Moreover, the function of poetry changes in the Consolatio throughout the book: in the first part, which ends with prose nine of the third Book, poetry is part of a “larger dialogue [with] rational argumentation,” only to be “relegated to the role of a moralizing chorus” in the second half of the Consolatio, which starts with the pivotal poem O qui perpetua.46 In the Vita Nova the question of poetry is central, and Dante never rejects the poetic Muses. On the contrary, when he changes poetics and decides that Beatrice’s salutation and its effects on him are not at the center of his attention and his poems anymore, which will center rather on “those words that praise my lady” (quelle parole che lodano la donna mia), that is, his praise of her, Dante consciously reaffirms the central role to poetry and its effects in his work. The importance of the theorization of the poetic process, at the center of the Vita Nova, is confirmed not only by Dante’s decision to change his focus from himself and the importance of the lady’s salutation for the poet-lover with poetry and poetic values but also by the poet’s constant reflections on his poems, be it in the narrative prose or in the divisiones. Particularly important for this argument is paragraph 16 (XXV), which is a theoretical reflection on poetry and the history of poetic ideas. In it Dante provides the names of his models from the classical world, and, moreover, he traces the origins of vernacular poetry to the

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Occitan troubadours, whose values of courtly love he himself followed and wove into his early poems. Paragraph 16 is a precursor of the De Vulgari Eloquentia in that it is a (brief) treatise on poetry (classical and vernacular), its history, and its auctores who influenced our poet’s literary production. This theoretical parenthesis differs from the other prose passages of the Vita Nova in its nature and purpose: it does not refer strictly to any of the poems or events from the poet’s life and could be viewed as the aspect that speaks in favor of the interpretation of the Vita Nova as a poetic anthology which turns in these pages into a sort of a defense of poetry. Paragraph 16 is a short overview of literary history with a life of its own among the autobiographical accounts of Dante’s youthful love. While in the rest of the text Dante is more concerned with explaining what inspired him to write specific poems, at the center of this episode from the Vita Nova are “certain poets in the Latin language” (certi poete in lingua latina), Dante’s auctores from the classical period, and their treatment and use of personification. This serves as a starting point in apology not only of Dante’s criticized choice to personify Amor but also and more extensively of writing poetry in vernacular. The principal focus of the Vita Nova is indeed vernacular poetry and the process of creating it. Dante provides his reader with insight into every step of the crafting of every poem, through the narration of events that motivated him to write and through the structural analyses of the poems which he presents in schematic scholastic prose, the divisiones. His reader receives these detailed explanations in the text itself. Even before undertaking the task of writing the De Vulgari Eloquentia, this specific paragraph of the Vita Nova gives him an opportunity to overtly justify the need for vernacular literature and to fortify and authorize its existence with the help of some examples taken from the classical world. When Dante states that “to speak in rhyme in the common tongue is much the same as to speak in Latin verse” (dire per rima in volgare tanto è quanto dire per versi in latino) (VN 16, XXV), he thus defends the validity of poetry in the vernacular by pointing out its naturalness. By putting vernacular poets at the same level of discourse of the auctores of antiquity, Dante establishes an unprecedented dignity of vernacular poetry. Poets who wrote in the “lingua d’oco” and the “lingua di sì” are treated in the same context as Virgil, Homer, Horace, Lucan, and Ovid. For the first time in the history of Italian vernacular litera-

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ture we read its apology written in its own language. This view will later be shared in Latin, the language of the learned, to whom Dante addressed his plea for literature in vernacular. But in this youthful work, a decade before the De Vulgari Eloquentia, Dante already starts to level the field of apology for the literature(s) in vernacular language(s). His idea of the history and development of the literature in vernacular still does not appear clear and sufficiently complete at this point, but it is significant that the poet of the Vita Nova is concerned with the process of writing poetry in the language of the people.47 Therefore, the short theoretical digression in paragraph 16 should be viewed as the beginning of the linguistic and literary theory that a more mature Dante will lay out in his Latin treatise a decade later. The Dante of the Vita Nova is a poet primarily focused on the inventive process, which he describes scholastically in minute detail in the libello’s text. Dante’s vulgares eloquentes have not yet made their way into an anthology, but this first step represents an embryo of the idea which will culminate in the De Vulgari Eloquentia. The significance of this section (16, XXV) is compounded by its position within the libello: it occupies the central part of the Vita Nova, preceded by seventeen and followed by fourteen poems. If we turn to the division of the text, paragraph 16 falls in the very center of the libello (preceded by fifteen and followed by as many paragraphs). We are reminded that the division of the Vita Nova into thirty-one paragraphs was first introduced in 1995 by Guglielmo Gorni, who based this decision on the results of his analysis of the early manuscript copies of the libello,48 which all seem unanimously to indicate textual division that can be translated into thirty-one paragraphs by means of a diverse system of paragraph signs, initials, and use of other accepted text division markers that contemporary scribes employed. Following this treatment of the Vita Nova in its first documented tradition, Gorni applied the same division to the text in his edition published in 1996. Whereas Michele Barbi, the first modern editor of the Vita Nova, divided the text into forty-two paragraphs to ease access to and referencing of the text, Gorni drew his conclusions from the manuscript tradition.49 My interpretation of paragraph 16 (XXV) as the central episode in the Vita Nova, concerned only with poetry, argues in favor of Gorni’s division since it places it physically at the work’s center. We also remember that Purgatory XVII, which is at the center of the Commedia, treats of its key concept: love. Paragraph 16 of the Vita Nova

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shows Dante practicing from early on in his writings this structural placement of fundamental ideas, which will culminate in the central canto of the Commedia. As I intend to show below, this treatment of poetry speaks in favor of the characterization of the Vita Nova as a work of consolation: the consolation, however, not of philosophy, but of poetry. Thus traces of the Consolatio in the Vita Nova may be seen in Boethius’s influence on the pivotal moment of articulation of the libello’s poetics. Indeed, in the first part of the Vita Nova—preceding the change in poetics—some parallels can be drawn between the Consolatio and the libello. For example, as in the Consolatio (and especially in the case of the first poem), poetry is born of a crisis situation, of the author’s unease, his lethargy, disappointment. Dante at the beginning of the libello has a dream vision, interrupted by a moment of deep distress felt under the influence of the events he saw (Beatrice eating his burning heart from Amor’s hand). After waiting for a little while his joy was all turned to bitter grief: and, so grieving, he gathered that lady in his arms, and it seemed to me that he ascended with her towards heaven: from which I experienced such anguish that my light sleep could not endure it, and so was broken, and was dispersed. (VN 1, III)50

The poem thus follows a personal experience with which at first the poet does not know how to deal, but after waking up, he finds only one way to deal with the feelings rising from his subconscious: he decides to write a poem, A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core. This is the only proper way of treating such a situation that brings him distress and whose meaning is still obscure to him. So he proceeds by translating the experience into rhymes and asking his fellow poets to help him understand it. Thinking to myself about what had appeared to me, I decided to make it known to many who were famous poets of the time: and as it was a fact that I had already gained for myself to some extent the art of speaking words in rhyme, I decided to shape a sonetto, in which I would greet all those faithful to Amor: and begging them to interpret my vision, I wrote for them what I had seen in my sleep. (VN 1, III)51

In the same way that Boethius seeks a cure in Philosophy, Dante is looking for help through poetry: an art that, as he admits in the above passage, he has mastered and therefore feels secure in practicing. And

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who better to interpret his dream but the famous poets who, like him, are versed in matters both of love and of poetry? Translation into poetry is the only possible outcome of such an existential experience, and this episode signals the future events transcribed in the libello. In the third paragraph, where Dante recounts his participation in the wake for a young woman close to Beatrice, he is overwhelmed by tears and, still crying, decides again to compose not one but indeed two poems that describe the phenomenology of death and its consequences. Yet again, after Beatrice decides to stop granting him her salutation, Dante tells us that he suffers more than ever before. Now, returning to the subject, I say that after my blessedness was denied me, I met with such sadness that leaving the crowd I went to a lonely place to bathe the ground with bitter tears. And when this weeping had relieved me a little I shut myself in my room where I could grieve without being heard: and there, begging pity of the lady of courtesy, and saying: ‘Love, help your faithful one’, I fell asleep weeping like a beaten child. (VN 5, XII) 52

This situation of pain brings another vision of Amor, who gives the poet detailed instructions on how to write a poem, a ballata, in which he would explain to the lady, identified in the prose as Beatrice, why he needed the screen lady and how he was indeed writing his poetry to her, Beatrice, and not to someone else. Again, the situation in which the protagonist feels pain and anguish is resolved in a dream and ultimately in a poem. Poetry has the power to absorb and refine his feelings, and to communicate them to his audience in the best possible way, presumably to the already invoked “fedeli d’amore.” Dante’s final—and central—poetic crisis before he introduces the style of praise of Beatrice is found in the sonnet Tutti li miei pensier’ parlan d’Amore, which describes a debate that supposedly takes place within the poet, between the poetic voices of courtly love, of Guittone, of Guido Guinizzelli, and of Guido Cavalcanti. The poet is defenseless before these thoughts that impede his sleep and disorient him. Perhaps trying to make sense of them, he decides to “write rhymed words” (scrivere parole rimate) and to create a poem that is a sort of a tenzone of thoughts within a sonnet. In this instance as well Dante the poet uses easily recognizable elements from past and present authors, his masters and his friends, and weaves them in his poetry and in the prose accompanying it. But the extra step Dante takes sets the scene for a poetic

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justification for abandoning their way of composing verse. After he has drawn experience(s) from them, he will soon resolve the crisis caused by these different thoughts by inventing a new poetics: the style of praise. Dante’s tears will serve as an introduction to the following poem, Con l’altre donne mia vista gabbate, which describes an episode that serves as a sort of a wake-up call to the poet-lover, who remains hurt after Beatrice and other ladies mock his appearance. I say that many of those ladies aware of my transfiguration, then began to wonder, and then speak mockingly of me with this most gentle one. (VN 7, XIV)53

His described reaction will be even stronger than those he has had before. And parting from him I returned to my chamber of tears: in which, weeping and shame-faced, I said to myself: ‘If my lady knew of my condition, I do not believe she would mock my person, in fact I believe she would inwardly feel much pity.’ And whilst in this state of weeping, I decided to speak words in which, speaking to her, I would explain the cause of my transfiguration, and say that I well knew that it was not known, and that, if it were known I believed that pity would be stirred in others: and I decided to speak desiring that it might come by chance to her ears. And then I wrote this sonetto, which begins: ‘Con l’altre donne’. (VN 7, XIV) 54

The battle of thoughts continues in the following paragraph, culminating with the sonnet Cio che m’ incontra, nella mente muore, while the poet-lover’s suffering and pain in this part of the Vita Nova— before the introduction of the style of praise of Beatrice—culminate in the ninth paragraph crowned by the sonnet Spesse fiate vegnonmi alla mente, where the poet retells four more things about his state of mind. The first of these is that many times I was troubled, when my memory stirred my fancy to imagine what Love was doing to me. The second is that Love often attacked me so savagely that nothing was left alive in me except thoughts that spoke of my lady: the third is that when the war of Love battled in me like this I was moved all pale as I was to see this lady, believing that sight of her would defend me in this war, forgetting what happened to me when I approached

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such gentleness. The fourth is how that sight of her not only failed to defend me but finally discomforted what little life I had. (VN 9, XVI) 55

This time the desire to write comes as well from the need to resolve the unease stemming from Amor’s influence on the poet-lover, from the fact that this part of the Vita Nova represents a final break with Guido Cavalcanti after the last three paragraphs where Guido’s presence was obvious. In those paragraphs Dante the poet was building on his poetics while at the same time surpassing it, leaving the old behind to create something unequivocally his. Now he will create the final break in the tenth paragraph, with the canzone Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore. In this paragraph the poet decides not to seek Beatrice’s salutation but to aim at restoring his happiness through poetry and changing his poetics and adopting the style of praise of the lady, transforming the negative conception of love into a transforming love that leads the poet to God through the angelic figure of the lady. Poetry written for Beatrice stops here. From “communication poetry” (poesia-comunicazione) to the future “celebration poetry” (poesia-celebrazione) Dante arrives in nine paragraphs, using the number ten again as a marker of the most significant passage in the libello to signal the transition from Beatrice as a lady to Beatrice as poetry itself. When we study Boethius’s influence on the young poet, we should focus on this philosophical and poetic change in the Vita Nova, as I discuss in the following section. b e at i t u d o , f e l i c i t a s ,

and

b e at i t u d i n e

In the opening of Book I of the Convivio Dante states that knowledge is the most natural desire of mankind, and the ultimate perfection of the soul in which our true happiness resides. As the Philosopher says at the beginning of the First Philosophy, all men by nature desire to know. The reason for this can be and is that each thing, impelled by a force provided by its own nature, inclines towards its own perfection. Since knowledge is the ultimate perfection of our soul, in which resides our ultimate happiness, we are all therefore by nature subject to a desire for it. (CV I.i.1)56

At the very beginning of the Convivio Dante thus poses the question of ultimate happiness (ultima felicitade), which is at the heart of the Consolatio as well. If there is a work by Dante undoubtedly influenced by

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Boethius, it is this philosophical text, written an entire decade after the Vita Nova. At the heart of the Convivio is Dante’s newly found love for philosophy, where allegorized Philosophy represents knowledge. Although there are obvious differences between Boethius’s and Dante’s Philosophy (in Dante she never speaks, and her allegory is not developed like Boethius’s, for example), the two works are explicitly guided by the philosophical thread that represents the essence of the texts, their origin, and their final destination. When Dante in the Vita Nova wishes to explain the reason for writing poetry, he informs us that he does so in order to give vent to his troubled mind—“per isfogar la mente”—which is saddened by Beatrice’s sudden death. At first he does not use the concept of consolation, rather that of easing his pain. In other words, he attempts to console himself without looking for philosophical justification for the events of his life that led to his current situation. He is seemingly not overtly seeking a cure for his state of being. He just needs to weep, to share his experience, and what better way for a man of letters than to pour his deepest emotions into words, to copy the most important paragraphs from the book of his memory on parchment leaves and send it out to his fellow poets, to his friends who will understand the torments of an enamored soul that has just lost its “gloriosa donna della . . . mente”? He does not yet deal with philosophy, but the pivotal moment of the libello cannot be fully comprehended without taking into consideration Boethius’s Consolatio. Which brings us to the pivotal moment in the poetics of the Vita Nova, for which the following question posed to Boethius by Philosophy shall serve as a proper segue: So why, mortal men, do you pursue happiness outside yourselves, when it lies within? (DCP II, pr. 4)57

This question opens the process of consolation in the Consolatio. What is true happiness, where does it reside, and why do we, humans, often mistake it for superficial and transitory things? Philosophy’s task is to show Boethius where he errs in crying over lost privileges and current wretchedness, which are nothing more than grim setbacks. Philosophy points out: So what is crystal-clear is how wretched is the happiness which mortal possessions bring, for those content with life do not possess it for ever, and it does not satisfy in its entirety those who live in distress. (DCP II, pr. 4)58

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Philosophy here starts to develop her argument, which should help Boethius realize that he has not lost anything and that even the place in which he finds himself, the prison, is not that bad at all. This very locality, which you label your place of banishment, is the hearth and home of people who dwell here, so nothing is wretched unless you account it so, and conversely, the lot of all who bear it with tranquility is blessed. (DCP II, pr. 4)59

She sums up her view of the prisoner’s current condition by stating that anything that depends on Fortune cannot be considered happiness, nor should the loss of it pose any reason for desperation. I shall briefly outline for you the hinge on which the greatest happiness turns. Is there anything more precious to you than yourself? Nothing, you will reply. Well then, as long as you are in command of yourself you will possess what you would never wish to lose, and what Fortune can never withdraw from you. So that you may acknowledge that true happiness cannot reside in this realm of chance, you must grasp this argument: if happiness is the highest good of a rational nature, and if what can be taken from you in any way cannot be the highest (for what cannot be taken away ranks higher that what can), it is obvious that the fluidity of Fortune cannot hope to win happiness. (DCP II, pr. 4)60

Philosophy then continues to develop her argument point by point, to apply, as she promised at the beginning, bitter medicines in order to cure the prisoner’s illness. Having stated that one must look for happiness in oneself, and not in external things and life circumstances, she then rebukes Boethius’s remark that he never sought material wellness and that the only thing he was interested in was “the opportunity for public service so that virtue would not languish in silence” (DCP II, pr. 7). Philosophy answers by having the prisoner reflect upon what he has just said, for fame earned through political functions “is seen to be not just trifling but wholly non-existent” in the great universal scheme of things (DCP II, pr. 7). In the third book of the Consolatio, Philosophy tackles the fundamental question of true happiness, of which, she claims, the prisoner dreams, but his mind “cannot focus on it because of the shadowy figures obtruding on [his] sight” (DCP III, pr. 1). What is true happiness then? It is “the state of perfection achieved by the concentration of all goods

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within it,” claims Philosophy (DCP III, pr. 2). It is the state toward which all humans strive, because it is only natural and human to wish for oneself perfect happiness. And different people try to attain it through different means and in different ways, making mistakes along the way, because they seek it in the wrong places: they think that happiness consists in material things, in earthly possessions, in transitory concepts— all of them defined by Philosophy as “false goods” (DCP III, pr. 2). Plenty are these false goods, aimed at providing pleasure or power. Based on Philosophy’s previous teachings, we now know that all these are not only temporary, but, more important, outside of our control. We can strive to obtain them, fight to keep them, but we are most likely going to lose them. And even if we do not lose them, there is always a reasonable risk that it might happen one day, so instead of enjoying them, people live in fear that they will eventually lose them. Boethius himself acknowledges that he “cannot recall ever feeling free from one worry or another” (DCP III, pr. 3). Wealth, Philosophy points out, “cannot free [him] from want” (DCP III, pr. 3), and Boethius cannot but agree with this statement. In the final blow to the prisoner’s misconceptions of happiness, Philosophy concludes that engaging in a search for any component of worldly happiness will only bring more misery. Thus it is beyond doubt that these paths to happiness turn out to be byways, and cannot guide a man to the goal that they promise.61 Indeed, I shall point very briefly to the ills in which they are enmeshed. What, then, is your choice? Will you seek to amass money? In that case you will rob its owner. Or would you like to be a luminary? You will go on your knees before the one who confers positions, and in your longing to excel all others in status, you will demean yourself by abject begging. Or is it power for which you long? Then you will be exposed to the plotting of your subjects, and dangers will overhang you. Or would glory be your aim? Then you are beset by every sort of hardship, and you lose all peace of mind. Or would you opt for a life of pleasure? But who would not scorn and spurn one who was a slave to that most tawdry and frail of things, the body? (DCP III, pr. 8)62

Philosophy is firm and clear in claiming that there is no point in looking for what we perceive as happiness in things that depend on any kind of external force. In addition, no one has ever found a way of obtaining “riches” and “fame” and “status” and “pleasures” without being frowned

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upon by those around him, masters and servants alike. In disqualifying these “paths of happiness,” Philosophy settles the question of false happiness, erroneously perceived by humans as true happiness. She then embarks on defining true happiness, which is an answer much more easily accessible, according to Philosophy, than the prisoner might think: “what in nature is simple and undivided is split by human error, which diverts it from the true and perfect towards the false and imperfect” (DCP III, m. 9). The turning point in the course of the argument of the Consolatio is the poem O qui perpetua (DCP III, m. 9), which reflects the newly reached agreement between Boethius and Philosophy that the two must “recognize the source from which [Boethius] can seek the true happiness” (DCP III, pr. 9). That source, as the prisoner points out, is “the father of all things” (DCP III, pr. 9). Regarding Philosophy’s proposition to Boethius that “the region in which the perfection of happiness is set” (DCP III, pr. 10), Marenbon points out: Philosophy observes that just as it is true to say that ‘The good is happiness’, it is also true that ‘The greatest sufficiency is happiness’, ‘The greatest power is happiness’, and so on, for respect, fame, and pleasure. Does this mean that good, sufficiency, respect, fame, and pleasure constitute happiness as parts of an integral whole? No, because they are all the same and so, if they were parts of happiness, then a whole would have just one part, which—she says—is impossible. Rather, sufficiency, respect, fame, and pleasure are all sought because it really or apparently has good in it, and ‘since, therefore, all things are sought for the sake of the good, what is desired by everyone is not those things but the good itself.’ (CIII.10.41 [134–35]).63

Philosophy, “after having shown that perfect good is in God, . . . then adds that ‘we have decided that perfect good is true happiness (vera beatitudo)’ (CIII.10.10 [36–37]).”64 As early as the second book, Philosophy is careful when using the terms felicitas and beatitudo. She thus allows at the beginning of the argument that worldly goods and concepts, such as riches and good fortune in general, can bring some sort of satisfaction and fulfillment. However, she does not forget to point out that these are only seemingly positive and that the shallow effects they have and that she defines as blessings, or mere felicity—felicitas— should not be mistaken for true happiness—beatitudo. But you should not count yourself as wretched—or have you forgotten the number and extent of your blessings? (DCP II, pr. 3)65

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True happiness, on the other hand, is as follows: If the enjoyment of human affairs brings any measure of content (beatitudo), can the recollection of that day be blotted out by the weight of oppressive ills, however great? (DCP II, pr. 3)66

Furthermore, when the prisoner exclaims in sorrow that the “unhappiest aspect of misfortune is to have known happiness” (in omni aduersitate fortunae infelicissimum est genus infortunii fuisse felicem), Philosophy chides him for having mistaken “felicitas” for true happiness once again. ‘But your suffering’, she rejoined, ‘is the penalty for your mistaken belief; you cannot rightly blame the course of events for that. If indeed the hollow claim to unsubstantial happiness is important in your eyes, you must reflect with me on the numerous and extensive blessings which you enjoy.’ (DCP II, pr. 4)67

At the opening of Book III, Philosophy promises that the curative medicines are going to be “bitter on the tongue, but sweet when swallowed” (ut degustata quidem mordeant, interius autem recepta dulcescant) (DCP III, pr. 1), and that with the help of them she will, finally, demonstrate what true happiness is (uera beatitudo). As she will soon explain, true happiness is the state of perfection; it is “the good which once attained ensures that no one can aspire to anything further” (id autem est bonum quo quis adepto nihil ulterius desiderare queat) (DCP III, pr. 2). Philosophy continues to explain this concept. All mortals, as I have said, strive to attain it by different paths; for this longing for the true good is naturally implanted in human minds, but error diverts them off course towards false goods. (DCP III, pr. 2)68

This pivotal moment of realization and the prisoner’s ultimate acceptance of the fact that he had directed his attention toward false goods, instead of looking inside himself and finding peace through self-sufficiency, is reflected in the pivotal moment in the poetics of Dante’s Vita Nova. Boethius the prisoner has Philosophy to illuminate a path for him; Dante has Boethius and his text to serve as inspiration and guide on his youthful journey in search of a style. Dante’s path is that of ideal poetics, from courtly love to the Stilnovist conception of love and beyond. Boethius’s ethical doctrine, the realization of his shortsighted-

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ness in allowing material things to dictate his way of life, inspires Dante to rationally devise a new strategy which will translate into a totally new poetics. In other words, Boethius’s redefinition of sufficiency as self-sufficiency and admonition that attachment to material and transitory things and concepts is equal to imprisonment resonates in Dante’s Vita Nova as the poet’s progression toward a stabler order of things in which he is not dependent but free on the path toward the true good consisting of a new style, a new way of life for the poet-lover. Dante’s seeking Beatrice’s salutation shows all the symptoms of Boethius the prisoner: anxiety, despair, even lethargy. Both men are at first victims of Fortune, dependent on her fleeting will that can be defeated only with the use of their rational minds. In the instance of the first canzone of the libello, the poet’s existential situation is mirrored in a moment of crisis in his poetry writing. That is to say that the crisis in the inventive process, as well as in the libello as a whole, stems from the young poet’s presumed love story. The moment in which the prisoner and the lover realize that the only true way toward true happiness is overcoming their dependence on earthly things clearly shows Boethius’s influence on the young poet: in the pivotal moment of the change of poetics, announced in the canzone-manifesto Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore, Dante decides to stop looking for “beatitudine” and “salute” in Beatrice’s salutation, which up to this point was the ultimate reward for him, and to turn to the new style of writing poetry, through the words of praise of Beatrice (quelle parole che lodano la donna mia). The turn in the poetics and in the narration of the Vita Nova with which Dante breaks with the past thus occurs in the moment when Dante transcribes the first canzone into the libello’s fabric. In the prose section in which he explains the circumstances surrounding the composition of the canzone Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore Dante recalls: When I had written these three sonetti, in which I spoke to that lady, since they told almost everything about my state, I believed I should be silent and say no more, since it seemed to me I had explained sufficiently about myself, although, silent from then on in speaking to her, I was compelled to adopt new material, nobler than before. (VN 10, XVII)69

As the poet defines his past poetry, it consisted of “sonnets . . . narrators of almost everything about my state” (sonetti . . . narratori di tutto

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quasi lo mio stato). In other words, his past poems simply described his state of mind and were thus focused on him, the subject, the sufferer. Now he embarks on a different type of poetic journey: that of “adopt[ing] new material, nobler than before” (ripigliare materia nuova e più nobile che la passata). Gorni notes that this materia will be more noble than the past one because “it does not concern the subject and his state of mind, but the ‘most gentle one’” (non riguarda il soggetto e il suo stato, bensì proprio la ‘gentilissima’).70 This transition from narration to praise is precisely the moment of crucial change in his state of mind translated into new poetics. As he explains to the ladies who wish to hear his answer to the question, “What is the point of your love for your lady, since you cannot endure her presence?” (A che fine ami tu questa tua donna, poi che tu non puoi sostenere la sua presenza?): ‘My ladies, the point of my love was once that lady’s greeting, she whom perhaps you know, and in that rested the blessedness, which was the point of all my desires. But since she was pleased to deny it me, my lord Love, in his mercy, has set all my blessedness in that which I cannot lose.’ (VN 10, XVIII)71

To the puzzled ladies, who ask him to specify where exactly “all [his] blessedness” (tutta la [sua] beatitudine) lies, Dante replies: ‘In those words that praise my lady.’ (VN 10, XVIII)72

As he admits, her salutation used to carry beatitudine, but now the poet-lover realizes that “tutta la [sua] beatitudine” is in the words, in his poetry, that no one can take away from him and that cannot betray him. It has become a new reality in the poet’s conscience and a “new definition of a state of the subject which no longer consists in the salutation” (nuova definizione di uno stato del soggetto che non consiste più nel saluto).73 I argue that it is this aspect that we can understand as Boethius’s crucial influence on the young Dante: from the focus on the external (for Dante, Beatrice’s salutation as a concretized compensation, a guiderdone; for Boethius, his social and political status and acknowledgment by his peers), the poet now turns to the internal, which cannot be taken away from him. Dante’s former beatitudine that depended on Beatrice’s salutation could thus be equated to Boethius’s felicitas: it is only superficial, transient, and insufficient in that it can be taken away at any moment. Beatrice’s salutation is only perceived by Dante as good

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and happiness. The poet will explain once again in the divisio of this canzone that “my lady’s greeting . . . was the end of my desires, while I could receive it” (il saluto di questa donna . . . fue fine delli miei desiderii mentre che io lo potei ricevere) (VN 10, XIX). The last part of this statement is key to understanding Dante’s connection to Boethius: he becomes aware at a certain point that Beatrice’s salutation is fleeting, that she can deny it to him at any moment and for any reason she deems plausible. He has to realize that true happiness is much more than that. So he decides never to depend again on anything that might as well have been decided by the goddess Fortune, and proceeds by taking control himself. He thus assures true happiness through poetry inspired by Beatrice, through his “stilo de la loda,” which is a conceptual calque of Boethius’s “true good” and “true happiness,” with the help of “l’anima santa che ‘l mondo fallace / fa manifesto a chi di lei ben ode” from Paradiso X. When translated to the realm of literary history and poetics, Dante here finally abandons the postulates of centuries-long courtly literature, with its various manifestations in the Italian tradition, and establishes himself as an innovator who introduces a new concept in poetry: the style of praise, or “stilo de la loda,” which will not only bring him inner peace but also remove his poetry from that of his predecessors and friends, especially that of Guido Cavalcanti. This new style is inaugurated in the canzone Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore, “dictated not by the desire to possess, but by the desire to praise.”74 After narrative sonnets that show the clear presence of Guido Cavalcanti, and after looking for happiness in Beatrice’s salutation, Dante now reexamines himself, his goals, and his past works. He exits this crisis by formulating a new subject matter for his poetry, namely, the praise of Beatrice. The lady and her salutation are certainly not to be identified literally with material wealth (money, property, social and political status), which represent Boethius’s curse. But she, and her salutation and its significance for Dante, can be understood as the external element which the poet cannot control. The lady’s salutation functions as a guiderdone—the reward for the poet from the lady, which is a constant presence in courtly literature. Dante now finds a way to bypass this convention by establishing a new system and a new poetics with help from Boethius’s philosophy, which has as one of its basic postulates the claim that Fortune’s consistency lies in her inconsistency, or as Philosophy claims:

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My opinion in fact is that adverse Fortune benefits people more than good, for whereas when good Fortune seems to fawn on us, she invariably deceives us with the appearance of happiness, adverse Fortune is always truthful, and shows by her mutability that she is inconstant. The first deceives, the second instructs. (DCP II, pr. 8)75

Instructed by this argument from the Consolatio, Dante understands that in the same fashion Beatrice’s salutation is uncertain and that he needs to act and change his fortune by interiorizing the guiderdone, which up to that moment is exteriorized and lies in Beatrice’s saluto. As a result he creates the new style of praise of Beatrice as something that belongs solely to Dante and something that does not depend on anyone else but him, his emotions and his skill in writing poetry. Thus the focus is not her greeting but the poetry which he will produce. Praise of Beatrice in his poems cannot fail him. He can perfect it, he can take it with him, and it will always be his. This change of heart translated in the change of poetics is modeled after the ultimate happiness Philosophy was defining for Boethius in his Consolatio. Just as in Book II, meter 4, Philosophy urges Boethius: “Above all, don’t forget / To build your house on rock deep-set” (Humili domum memento / certus figere saxo), so Dante realizes that, rather than build his house on the shifting foundation of greetings offered by others, he should build his happiness on the “rock” that lies under his own control: the poetry (of praise). A volume of the Memoriali bolognesi from 1292 confirms that the canzone Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore had an independent tradition before being included in the libello, and therefore this change could be an indicator that Dante read Boethius in his early formative years (with Brunetto, perhaps?) when he was still exploring new ways of poetic expression. Dante employs the same strategy as Boethius, and in an extremely subtle way, without even alluding to his source. If this is indeed Boethius’s influence, as I have argued, then this confirms that both principal models from Convivio I, Augustine and Boethius, are, indeed, present on Dante’s desk and in his works as early as his youthful years. The ways in which Dante incorporates them in the courtly tradition which he reshapes for the generations to come speak to a great maturity of the young poet who, as Barolini has argued, already experiments heavily with concepts that will be perfected in the Commedia.76

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While in the Consolatio the composition of poetry and prose, as well as the events they narrate, belong to the same temporal dimension—they were written at the same time of the composition of the work—in the Vita Nova, on the other hand, the prose is composed after the poems.77 Boethius’s Consolatio “secures . . . from the very first moment in a rigorous literary scheme his intention to compare autobiography with moral reasoning and poetry with prose, both when the former elements determine the latter, and when it is the latter that function as rhetorical and stylistic incentives in the general framework of the vision.”78 In Boethius, therefore, the chronological relationship between prose and poetry can be defined as synchronous, while in Dante’s libello it is diachronic: Dante composes the prose at a later date, after most of the poetry has already been written and has had an independent circulation. Boethius composes his work all in one piece, while Dante comes back to his “old” poetry and builds the libello around it. This is the major difference on the formal level between the two works, and one of crucial importance for any claim for or against Boethius’s influence on the form of the book of the Vita Nova. Moreover, Dante writes poetic, subtle prose, “through which those phantasms that were the only dominion of poetry were passing.”79 “Poetry and prose become representatives of two different types of wisdom, the emotional and the rational.”80 Poetry’s roles in the Consolatio are different and many. [Poetry is used] to illustrate points made in the prose sections with the more vivid images of poetry (e.g., the metra of Book II); sometimes it is reserved for purposes less appropriately treated in prose, namely, prayer (e.g., metrum 5 of Book I & metrum 9 of Book III); sometimes it serves to refresh Boethius the character between strenuous dialectical workouts (e.g., metrum 6 of Book IV). Finally, the effect of the verse sections in the Consolatio is analogous in many ways to that of the similes in the Iliad. In both works the respective devices interject aspects of reality not to be encountered in the stark settings of the main action.81

Verse is also at times designed to reinforce prose statements. When used as prayer, it expresses the change of heart from the prose, “enabling one to accept the remedium which verse can convey.”82 In this context it should be said that poetry in the Consolatio is used when the prose

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fails to express the depth and complexity of concepts: “poetic images can sometimes show what is beyond the power of prose statements to express.”83 It should be remembered that the Consolatio takes place in the suffocating and grim atmosphere of Boethius’s prison cell, far removed from any elements constituting daily life. Although the prose recounting this experience has to reflect the setting of the prison cell, the poetry is not necessarily immersed in it. And indeed it is not; it represents an escape from the reality of prison and exile. Winds and stars, ocean and sky, sun and moon, night, dawn and day, recur in the poems over and over. They can be evoked for a likeness—their harmonies and disturbances can mirror what takes place in the human realm or the realm of the mind; but they can also be evoked for an unlikeness: elementally, all is a harmonious dance, with even the disturbances following a pattern of changes; only the human realm shows unpredictable discord and strife.84

Philosophy, from the very beginning dismissive of elegiac poetry, announces at the end of prose 5 in Book I that at the present time poetry will serve as a lighter cure for the ill protagonist. Given his serious illness and weak state of mind, he is not able to accept anything more weighty than simple poetry. He will thus be prepared for more direct and more painful philosophical remedies later on in the healing process. This welter of disturbed emotions weighs heavily upon you; grief, anger, and melancholy are tearing you apart. So in your present state of mind, you are not as yet fit to face stronger remedies. For the moment, then, I shall apply gentler ones, so that the hard swellings where the emotions have gathered may soften under a more caressing touch, and may become ready to bear the application of more painful treatment. (DCP I, pr. 5)85

As Curley notices in his commentary on this passage from Book I, “verse, which by its nature more directly addresses the passions, must be applied before Boethius can rise to higher levels of discourse.”86 It also “functions as a ‘pharmakon’, that is as a potent substance of mysterious, almost magical, properties, which can either cure or kill.”87 Poetry’s significance increases after Philosophy’s statement in Book I, prose 5, and will achieve its peak in the famous verse 9 of Book III, O, qui perpetua, which is the best example of Boethius’s use of poetry to

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express complex concepts that could not otherwise be expressed. After that, and especially with the last meter of the third book, its value begins to decrease and its role becomes less significant. On the path to truth, philosophy trumps poetry, which will continue to be present but in a somewhat diminished capacity. The final announcement of the change in poetry’s place in the Consolatio and on the way to the patient’s healing, although this attitude has been clear from the first meter of Book I and Philosophy’s subsequent lesson on the Muses, is expressed in the last meter of Book III, where “according to Boethius, although verse can to a certain extent further the soul’s quest for truth, nonetheless, as one approaches the great mysteries, it is found to be inadequate,” and its role can be defined further on as subsidiary.88 From the first to the last books of the Consolatio, therefore, “Boethius transform[s] his song from elegiac lament, by way of philosophical remedium and refrigerium, into an intellectually sophisticated expression of the human condition.”89 From the formal standpoint, Book I begins and ends with verse passages. Books II, III, IV open with prose but close with poetry. Only Book V begins and ends with prose. Curley interprets the fact that the final book of the Consolatio is framed by prose passages as the final proof that poetry loses its position and significance.90 The last prose of the text, in which the author discusses divine providence and free will, is, according to Curley, a final instance in which poetry and its value in this context is defeated by philosophical prose: “At the limits of human vision a poetic philosophy, that is, a philosophic prose of the most rigorous rationality, which has nonetheless appropriated the rhythms and some of the suggestiveness of verse, takes over from conventional verse.”91 Moreover, in Boethius’s cell, where the entire Consolatio takes place, poetry serves as a sort of “window” which recalls different settings extraneous to the enclosed and limited space of the prison cell. Marenbon has also noted in his Boethius that “the Consolatio’s argument is carried forward by the prose sections alone. Apart from the initial scene-setting poem, none of the other verse passages contains material essential either to the dramatic progress of the narrative of Boethius’s cure or to the flow of reasoning. The poems repeat or, more rarely, even qualify or add to the arguments advanced in the prose, but they do not (with one exception) ever supply a premise missing in the prose or derive from premises stated in prose a conclusion not given in a prose section. Indeed, only fourteen of the poems—which I shall call

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the dramatic poems—are part of the dramatic action of the dialogue in any explicit way.”92 In the Vita Nova the process is the opposite: prose is in the service of poetry, or at the very least that is what Dante wants his reader to believe. The poet, in fact, uses prose to manipulate his poems that are now being made part of what Dante wants to represent as (hi)story of his love. Prose explicates the reasons for composing the poems, narrates events which led to their composition, dissects and analyzes them in order to make their content more clear and understandable to the readers. Needless to say, it is a highly subjective interpretation of the poet who is giving a new life [sic!] to the poems and therefore needs them to fit into the newly composed narrative. In doing so, Dante often revises poetry’s contents and draws them into what Barolini has identified as the “gravitational pull” of the prose. Perhaps the most blatant example of this revision is identification of the lady, madonna, from his poems as Beatrice in the prose.93 In the Consolatio, poetry is often a (re)confirmation of previous prose considerations. In other words, it illustrates statements made in the prose sections. In the Vita Nova, on the other hand, it is prose that does service to the poetry. Moreover, in the Consolatio poetry almost exclusively comes from the mouth of Philosophy, while in the Vita Nova Dante is the only inventor of verse, both fictional and real. Dante the poet collects his own poems and accompanies them by prose, which he writes in order to elucidate the sententia—the meaning—of his poetry. Moreover, he complicates his work’s structure by adding yet another type of prose: the divisiones. Whereas the narrative prose serves for storytelling and occasional theoretical episodes, the divisiones come from a scholastic context and serve to divide the text into meaningful units and simplify the process of exegesis.94 It has been suggested by Dronke that the Consolatio was “the text that acted as intellectual midwife for the young Dante, helping him to move from the brief trivial razos of Uc de San Circ’s kind to a work of the scale and ambitions of the Vita Nuova.”95 Dronke also suggests that the divisiones are written “as if Dante were not a lover but an industrious Dominican in Santa Maria Novella, articulating a text of Aristotle’s.”96 This statement, by negating the literary value of the divisiones, strikes the right chord: Dante of the divisiones, and more amply, Dante of the prose, is indeed first Dante the poet and only then Dante the suffering lover. Dante of the divisiones is a poet preoccupied with

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the destiny of his lyrics: such self-exegesis allows him to inform his reader about the intended message of the poems, and also to make sure that lyrics are not subjected to a wrongful interpretation and that his reader will learn from the poet himself the intended message of the verses he is reading. As I have shown above, this interpretation of Dante of the divisiones is also compounded by paragraph 16 (XXV), for example, in which the poet openly meditates on literary history. Prose itself, written a posteriori, is a product of Dante the poet’s deliberate and overt treatment of vernacular poetry precisely as if it were a text of Aristotle. This should not come as a surprise to a reader of the Vita Nova, especially to one who bears in mind the context of the circulation of poetry in Dante’s times, evident from the book’s very opening and narrative prose recounting the birth of the first sonnet of the collection, whose eventual product was a tenzone. “The more perfect the artist,” T. S. Eliot wrote, “the more completely separate in him will be the man who suffers and the mind which creates; the more perfectly will the mind digest and transmute the passions which are its material.”97 Indeed, even though very young and still far away from the maturity of the Commedia, Dante proves that he is capable of distancing himself from his suffering and from the poetry that expresses his state of mind, and that he can delve into an exegesis of his poems on one level in order to “ease his pain” but on another, and more important level, in order to leave for posterity the sententia of his youthful works. Dronke also points out that “the poems always remain very deliberately detached from the surrounding prose: prose that creates both the effect of immediacy, by supplying a background of purported inner biography, and the effect of distance, by supplying rhetorical exegesis.”98 Furthermore, he notices that “Dante wants both to distance and to bridge the distance: the poems are, and are not, he,” and that, therefore, “this is what gives [his] poetic ‘I’ a certain objectivity and exemplary force that the empirical ‘I’ alone cannot have.”99 One thing Dronke takes out of the equation, however, is the consideration of the chronology of the compilation of the Vita Nova and its nature as a collection, an anthology of poems whose exegesis removed in time the prose represents. Poetry belongs to the past, in every sense of that word: it was written in the past and refers to past events. Prose, on the other hand, has a more complicated genesis: while written in the present, it recalls events from the poet’s memory that surrounded the composition of

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those poems, some of them written a decade before he returns to them and selects them for inclusion in the libello. Prose written at such a distance in time is bound to be detached to a certain degree and is reflective of the poet’s recollection of those events at the time he composes the prose. Moreover, while he recalls from his memory episodes lived by Dante the lover, the prose is primarily written by Dante the poet and Dante the exegete; this is clear from the first paragraph of the book. Prose is a conscious and calculated reflection by the poet concentrated on the details from his past years but perhaps even more so concerned with the process of the writing of poetry. In a sense the Vita Nova can be defined as a “manual” for writing poetry in that it returns over and over again to the inventive process, from the narrative prose to the prose of the divisiones, from paragraph 16 (XXV) to the sonnet Era venuta ne la mente mia and Dante’s archaeological approach to writing poetry, and so on. Dante might have defined the Vita Nova as youthful and immature, which at the time of this statement seemed less serious and certainly less philosophical than the Convivio, but the Vita Nova set the precedent in the Italian tradition as the first author’s collection of poetry framed by prose. He advances the concept of poetry collections, and especially those that came to the Italian peninsula from the other side of the Alps, and creates a book that served as the primary source for such a work as Petrarch’s Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta, which in its turn will influence centuries of writing poetry. But Dante decides, taught by the example of Guittone’s little book consisting only of poetry, and other similar Liederbücher, which in the process of transmission were deprived of their presumed original form and ordering of the poems, to employ the technique of framing his poetry by the prose. This usage would give another dimension to the prose: other than exegetic, it becomes a unique framing device which should prevent the poetry from being scattered in the process of diffusion and secure the poems’ fixed place in the macrotext of the Vita Nova.100 However, we know today that it was not always the case during the libello’s circulation and that often the poems were extracted from the text and copied separately in the manuscripts, frequently in the very same codices that contained the entire text of the Vita Nova. The first printed edition of Dante’s poetry, the 1527 Giuntina, prints these poems in their form of the Vita Nova but outside of the libello’s structure. In other words, they were extracted from the text of the Vita

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Nova and printed independently, in an unaltered form. Although Dante’s intention to preserve the ordering of the poems and consequently the unity of the libello did have some success, and many of its copies have been conserved, it did not guarantee absolute compliance with his instructions regarding the poetic order or the transmission of the entire work. The Vita Nova opens and closes with prose passages, which, along with the rest of the prose in the collection, serve as a sort of a framework for the poetry. The prose provides a description of the setting in which and from which the poetry is generated. At the beginning the poet tells his reader why he is pursuing such a task of transcribing some of the major paragraphs from his book of memory. As the reader soon understands, each one of them stands for one particular episode purportedly from his life and is expressed through a (re)collection of some of his poems and the events that inspired them. At the end of the Vita Nova we read in the prose that the poet does not think that his poetic skills are sufficient anymore for singing of Beatrice and proposes himself the task of learning more, presumably about philosophy, in order to be able to do her justice in his writings. And while neither the beginning nor the end of the Vita Nova speaks of the importance of poetry, every part in between these two passages aims at discussing, in theory and in practice, the act of composing verse: from the first impression which sparks the emotions and awakens the poet to the finished poem which he now transcribes a posteriori in his poetic collection. At the core of the Vita Nova is the question of the poetic process. While the poems represent the result, the end point of the “major paragraphs,” Dante claims to be retelling in the prose those “major paragraphs” more analytically while at the same time explaining how those poems came into being. Moreover, paragraph 16 (XXV) is an overt theoretical meditation and reflection on the theme of poetry, from the great masters of the past to Dante himself and his “primo amico” Guido and their contemporaries. The intrusion of the poet in the text, where he is not primarily concerned with recounting his life’s events that generate his lyrics but rather delves directly and explicitly into theory (albeit triggered, in all probability, by a particular criticism he incurred), is the most blatant moment in the Vita Nova, where the narration is interrupted and paused by a theoretical “paragraph.” This is probably the most convincing and the most important moment in the composition of the Vita Nova, because the poet decides conscientiously

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to do this in order to reflect on what it means to write poetry and what the implications of it are. The process of composing/compiling the Vita Nova starts when Dante begins noting down in poetic form different occasions from his life, long before the actual organization of the little book. Ultimately, years later, Dante writes the prose, which treats the events from the past and explains the poems in retrospect. The circle of the poet’s youthful life is thus closed, revealed to his reader, but first of all to the poet himself: his testimony is materialized in the form of the libello, in which he pursues his need to give vent to his pain and to find some sort of consolation. The prose is “supreme adaptation, a post factum exercise with respect to the poetry, a refined literary measure which serves to concretize the ‘moment of reality’ with respect to the ‘moment of imagination.’”101 The prose is “born around poetry, for poetry, ‘in harmony with it’” and still it can be defined as “prose-prose, with its own functionality and characteristics, conscious of them, if the ‘justifying’ intention to which it responds can be determined, through a linguistic analysis, all the way to the syntactic structure.”102 Therefore, the prose does not, as the text might suggest, function as the structure which facilitates the development of the poems. On the contrary: it represents the exegesis of these poems, detailing the poet’s state of mind and the motivations which he claims stand behind the poetry. Although prose is, in consequence, “capable of accompanying and illuminating poetry,”103 we should still be reminded that the crucial role of prose is serving Dante’s purpose of shedding new light on his youth in a process that is heavily centered on the meaning of poetry and, consequently, of the poetic process. The Dante of the poems is a lyric poet of sentiment; he is a “fedele d’amore” who “quando / Amor [gli] spira, not[a], e a quel modo / ch’e’ ditta dentro [va] significando” (Purg. XXIV, 52–54). On the other hand, the Dante of the prose of the Vita Nova is a conscious writer who rationally defines the meanings of those poems and, in them, of poetry itself, which he then reveals to his fellow poets and to his reading public in general. But why prose? For what reason does Dante decide to include in the Vita Nova prose passages, some of which are of an extremely technical, scholastic nature? First, the poet feels the need to explain his poetry and the events which stand behind it. Rarely in the course of the Vita Nova does the prose speak of topics other than those related to the poems and to the poet’s personal story. The main task of

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prose is to explain to the reader which events the poet claims preceded and were crucial in the process of composing the poems. The prose also informs the reader of the genre of the poems. It gives instructions on how to copy the text, presumably for the scribe-friend.104 Ultimately, through all these operations, the prose of the Vita Nova serves to illuminate poetic process. It is a contemplation on the making of poetry. consol ar e

and

consol a zione

v er sus

isfogar l a mente

Dante is silent about Consolatio in the Vita Nova. In it he does not mention Boethius or his text, but, as we are informed in the Convivio, he supposedly read the work after Beatrice’s death. This exposure to the Consolatio would have happened, therefore, before the compilation of the Vita Nova, and the Consolatio could consequently have influenced, according to a consensus among critics, chiefly the poet’s choice of the prosimetrum. I, however, argue in this section Consolatio’s role in devising the Vita Nova as the consolation of poetry. The word consolare occurs in the libello in contexts that are far different from Boethian allegorical-philosophical considerations but are still closely connected with the teachings of the Latin master. While the literary genre of the consolatio was commonly used before Boethius, his Consolatio departs from the traditional setting in that it is a philosophical consolation. However, this approach and its literary form are fundamentally different from those of the Vita Nova. In Boethius the consolation is a philosophical concept aimed at arriving at some fundamental truths that would contrast and, ideally, diminish—if not cancel—the unjust accusations. Boethius is in the midst of an existential crisis; he is looking for answers about the meaning of life, about the place and the role of fortune in our lives, about life in exile, in the prison cell, away from everyone and everything dear to him. On the other hand, Dante is dealing with a crisis caused by Beatrice’s death, and is looking for a way to overcome it. The concept of consolation in the Vita Nova belongs to three dimensions: on the most elementary level it involves the poet-lover’s attempt at self-consolation by venting his pain (“isfogar la mente,” “disfogare la trestizia”). Next is the social context of consoling/comforting the poet-lover usually by sympathetic women.105 The third and final concept found in the Vita Nova is the original elaboration of consolation that Dante devises and that pertains to the private, personal sphere that will ultimately lead to the sphere of poetics.

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Consolation in a strictly Boethian sense will thus not come into play until Dante has studied and understood the Consolatio on a deeper, philosophical level. A look into Dante’s use of the words from the semantic field of consolare and contexts that surround them reveal a concept of consolation that will culminate in the Convivio, where we learn that besides Augustine Boethius was the main inspiration for this treatise (CV I.ii.12–13). Clearly, Dante’s use of the term consolation in the Convivio represents the poet’s identification with the great philosopher from the past.106 They both were writing their treatises in difficult moments in their lives after they were exiled from homeland, expelled from any kind of political activity that used to fulfill their public lives, after Fortune had turned her back on them. In such times one cannot but attempt to find consolation in one’s own words, thoughts, and writings, which can be left to posterity so that some day one’s name could be cleared. Consolation, therefore, lies in the process of thinking, of uncovering layers of truth and immortalizing that same truth in words. The theme of exile is implicit from the very first time Boethius’s name is mentioned and explicit in Dante’s lament over his unjust expulsion from Florence. The Latin text, through the philosophical dimension, is supposed to offer the Florentine poet the consolation that the Consolatio offered Boethius. Although Dante will talk openly about his personal tragedy and the political and historical circumstances of his exile only in the Commedia, constant and explicit mentions of Boethius and the Consolatio at the opening of the Convivio lead the reader to understand this text as Dante’s way of dealing with his situation at the beginning of exile. After all, the Convivio was written after Dante refuses to pay the fine and return to Florence, and after he was condemned to death by fire. It was obvious to the Dante of the Convivio that his chances of return to Florence were slim. Exile is a fact of life, rendered explicit as early as CV I.iii.3–6. Lament over this injustice culminates with a comparison in which Dante equates himself to a “ship without sail or rudder, brought to diferent ports, inlets, and shores by the dry wind that painful poverty blows” (legno sanza vela e sanza governo, portato a diversi porti e foci e liti dal vento secco che vapora la dolorosa povertade) (CV I.iii.5). The Florentine poet decides to write the Convivio after reflecting upon Boethius’s life circumstances, which he feels are identical to his own after exile (CV I.ii.13). It should not surprise us, then, that half of the occurrences of the noun consolazione in the Convivio refer directly to the Consolatio.107

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Furthermore, the verb consolare is used in the second book, in the canzone Voi che ’ntendendo il terzo ciel movete: L’anima piange, sì ancor len dole, e dice: “Oh lassa a me, come si fugge questo pietoso che m’ha consolata! (vv. 31–33) [The soul cries out, for this still grieves her, And so she says: “Alas, how he is fled, The compassionate one who once consoled me.”]

In this instance, and in the prose exegesis of the canzone, the verb consolare, as the poet himself glosses in prose, points to the consolation that the thought of Beatrice had given to the saddened soul. From specific citations from Boethius in the first book of his treatise, Dante arrives here at a more mundane idea of consolation: that which is present in his early poems, such as Donna pietosa e di novella etate (discussed below). However, in the first canzone of the Convivio this concept is elevated to a metaphysical level: the consolation is not offered to the saddened poet-lover by the ladies in a social setting but involves concepts that are products of the poet’s imaginary. As Barolini noted, this sort of consolation cannot be regarded to be of Boethian origins.108 Voi che ’ntendendo il terzo ciel movete, it should be noted, was written in the period preceding the composition of the Convivio and therefore precedes Dante’s decision to write a work of defense based on philosophy and inspired by Boethius. As Barolini has observed, Dante the poet in the Purgatorio contributes to the view that the canzoni of the Convivio were written as love poems when he attributes to the canzone Amor che ne la mente mi ragiona in the episode of Casella quality of dolcezza—reserved for love poems.109 But the idea of writing a book of “consolation,” or better yet of defense that is the Convivio, is born out of Dante’s direct experience with the Consolatio in his more mature years. Bruna Cordati Martinelli notes that the noun consolazione is characteristic only of the prose sections of the Convivio, whereas the verb consolare can be found in the Vita Nova, as well as in the Convivio, the Commedia, and even the Fiore.110 However, despite the absence of the noun consolazione from Dante’s works written before the Convivio, Boethius’s Consolatio, along with its key concepts, is omnipresent not only in Dante’s early poetry, but it is embedded in the very substance of the Vita Nova.111

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The concept of finding comfort/consolation in the Vita Nova is threefold. The first degree, that involving simply alleviation of trouble or loss, is expressed through a formula of isfogare, disfogare (“to give vent,” “to pour out [one’s sorrow]”). The most notable and illustrative example of this notion can be found in the canzone Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore, where the poet-lover announces in the first stanza the reason for writing this poem. Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore, i’ vo’ con voi de la mia donna dire, non perch’io creda sua laude finire, ma ragionar per isfogar la mente. [Ladies who have intellect of love, I wish to speak to you about my lady, not that I think I can exhaust her praise, but rather to alleviate my mind.]

Four other cases of disfogare appear in the course of the libello, and all in prose. The poet-lover attempts to relieve his anguish (“disfogare angoscia”) by sighing (VN 4, IX), and to relieve his sadness (“disfogare la [sua] trestizia”) by saying words full of pain (VN 20, XXXI) and by crying (VN 25, XXXVI), but none of these efforts proves successful. Relief and consolation have to come from another place. A more advanced level, which brings us closer to the concept of consolation proper, evident in the first occurrence of the verb consolare in the Vita Nova, is attested in the episode centered on the canzone Donna pietosa e di novella etate. It is construed in the spirit of the traditional, social consolation, where the ladies who surround Dante in the moment in which he wakes up from a nightmare about Beatrice’s death say to one another in the prose section, “Procuriamo di confortarlo” (Let us look into consoling him) (VN 14, XXIII). In the poem Dante has them exclaim, “Deh, consoliam costui” (let us console this man) (VN 14, XXIII). The process of consolation that they suggest is far removed from that of Boethius’s work. Nevertheless, the verb consolare certainly bears a Boethian stamp. In wanting to give him some comfort (“dargli qualche sollievo” [Gorni]), the ladies offer to do what the works of the genre of the consolatio were supposed to: ease the mind of their addressees. The apotheosis of the concept of consolation in the Vita Nova is achieved in the first poem following the official announcement of Bea-

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trice’s death, Gli occhi dolenti. Here, too, the poet-lover proposes to vent his pain (“sfogar lo dolore,” v. 4) through speaking (parlar) because his eyes have been defeated. However, speaking about her virtues and about her death will not suffice: his soul is still devoid of any consolation (“d’ogne consolar l’anima spoglia,” v. 40). But then, in the final verse of the fourth stanza, Dante reveals a new attempt at consolation: self-consolation, consolation by the dead beloved through her invocation, taking place in the poet’s imaginary. Poscia piangendo, sol nel mio lamento chiamo Beatrice e dico: “Or se’ tu morta?”; e mentre ch’io la chiamo, me conforta. [Then weeping, all alone in my lament, I call to Beatrice: “Are you now dead?” And while I call on her she comforts me.]

Beatrice, now dead, is still able to console him: a mere thought of her and her name pronounced are sufficient to console the poet-lover in grief. Development of this conception of consolation is in its genesis parallel to the development of the praise style: both are products of the creative, imaginative, intimate process in search for new ways of expression. Although this canzone-lament for the death of Beatrice is bound to remain disconsolate (disconsolata) in the end, the poem itself is remarkable in its quest for consolatio, found despite everything.112 A curious case of modification of the meaning of consolatio from the poetry to the prose of the Vita Nova accompanies the sonnet Gentil pensiero che parla di voi. Dante is surprised at the thought of Donna Gentile, supposed to console him. The sight of that lady created such a strange state in me that I often thought of her as a person who pleased me too much: and I thought of her like this: ‘That is a gentle lady, beautiful, young and wise, and perhaps she appears by Love’s will, so that my life can be at rest.’ And often I thought more lovingly, until my heart consented to it, that is to my reasoning. And when I had consented, I reflected on it, as if moved by reason, and said to myself: ‘God, what thought is this, that tries to console me in this vile way and hardly lets me think of anything else?’ (VN 27, XXXVIII)113

The attempt of consolation came “in così vile modo”—in a low, improper way—not worthy of Beatrice. The word consolare again

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denotes an act of soothing the poet’s grief, which fails in this case because it is not coming in the proper form. Dante purposefully implies a solution that bears a negative prefix (vile), opposed to the desirable noble way (vile vs. gentile). This prose section does not simply repeat the term consolare from the second quatrain of the sonnet that is analyzed here, but it revises the meaning of the poem in order to qualify Donna Gentile in a negative sense, thus reaffirming Beatrice’s status as bearer of consolation, even when dead. As Barolini has pointed out, prose changes the poet’s position with regard to the consolation offered by Donna Gentile, presenting a value opposite to the one from the poem.114 L’anima dice al cor: ‘Chi è costui, che vene a consolar la nostra mente, ed è la sua virtù tanto possente, ch’altro penser non lascia star con noi?’ [The soul says to the heart: “Who is this, who comes to console our mind, and is his power so great, that other thoughts cannot stay with us?”]

The term consolar is again used with the same meaning as before but in a different context informed by the circumstances in which Dante writes the prose commentary. Donna Gentile cannot offer consolation; she cannot be allowed to interfere with the process only Beatrice can accomplish. The Vita Nova, Dante’s libello that tells the story of the inception of his love for Beatrice, deals with questions from the past, whose sense the poet-lover is trying to grasp after the death of the beloved. Yet it is more than a look back into the past. It is, first and foremost, an interpretive process during which Dante actually meditates on poetry, on its making, and history. Dante’s search for a relief from pain, or better yet, of consolation, is parallel to the creation of the account of literary history. In this process, as I have shown, Boethius’s ideas played a defining role. They helped Dante devise some key concepts that not only helped him mature but also shaped Italian—and European—literary traditions for centuries to come. Through Boethius Dante became aware of the insignificance of transitory things and, instead, concentrated on concepts that penetrate his very existence. These realizations then helped shape the shift in his poetics that migrated from

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the concentration on the external (Beatrice’s salutation) to the internal (the style of praise of the lady). The Consolatio further helped Dante realize the importance of looking for and finding consolation not in the words and sympathy that came from ladies who have intellect of love, nor from those offered by Donna Gentile. Only consolation that comes from and through Beatrice, even though she is dead, can offer relief and comfort to the poet-lover. This is only possible in poetry, where he can imagine calling her while at the same time it is his very words, his very invocation of Beatrice, that comforts him. Concentration of words from semantic fields of “consolare” and “confortare” in Boethian acception in the latter part of the Vita Nova, that in morte of Beatrice, speak to a masterful reworking of the concept of consolatio, this time in a new setting, paired with the new intellectual climate intrinsic to the vernacular literary tradition of the late Duecento. This kind of consolation, as embodied in the most profound way in the canzone Gli occhi dolenti, is based only on the poet’s mastery to elevate it to the new levels: after Cicero and other classical authors who wrote consolations and Boethius who wrote a consolation of philosophy, Dante wrote a consolation of poetry.

chapter 2

Dante the Scribe and Dante the Commentator I: The Medieval Latin Book and the Vita Nova

Medieval School Curriculum The Dante of the Vita Nova is a young vernacular poet who selects some of his poems for collection in a volume, which he will complete with the prose sections that serve as a connecting tissue between the poems and steer the narrative of the whole work. He reveals in paragraph 16 (XXV) not only that he is familiar with the major classical authors but also that he is capable of defending himself from attacks on his poetics, and therefore on his authorship as well, by claiming the same privilege—the poetic usus—these authors enjoyed. Moreover, we know that he must have undergone a certain type of schooling, although it is not certain what his formation would have been like. His knowledge of the classical authors becomes more evident and more easily identifiable in the Commedia, whereas at the time of the composition of the libello the situation is more difficult. We do have a clue of his classical interests in paragraph 16 (XXV) of the Vita Nova, where he briefly discusses five antique authors. He will mention the same authors as a group later in the Commedia, in the noble castle in Limbo, where—in a way similar to this paragraph of the libello—Dante will be the “sixth among such intellect” (sesto tra cotanto senno) (Inf. IV, 102). The young Dante, the poet of love, and the mature Dante, the poet of God, find themselves in the same situation: in the company of the greatest poets the world had ever known. His admiration for their works and his esteem for their authority are established in his youthful work—a product of the years of poetic apprenticeship as well as of education he received in his early years.1 Furthermore, the moment in which he penetrates the true meaning of their texts and their authorial

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intentions through the use of personification may be traced to his early academic formation, perhaps to the time he spent with Brunetto Latini, who brought to Florence new teachings from France, where he would have had at his disposal manuscript anthologies containing texts by various classical authors. Upon his return to Florence, Brunetto would have spread his knowledge of the classics and would have certainly introduced the young Dante to many of them.2 And since “the moderns were not revolutionists” but “were firmly grounded in the classics and desirous in their various ways to continue the great tradition,” 3 Dante took those valuable lessons with him and wove them into his works as early as the Vita Nova. Although for a long time, starting with Louis Paetow’s study, scholars agreed that in the Middle Ages the study of the classics had stagnated, if not regressed, extant anthologies from the period between the ninth and thirteenth centuries confirm that this was not the case.4 After Paetow, Charles Haskins and Henry Taylor also argued that new tendencies in the schools and universities, especially the rise of logic and the ars dictaminis, suppressed the authors of antiquity in the curriculum.5 However, starting with Rand’s response to these claims, scholars began to look more carefully into the manuscript evidence, library catalogs, and other available sources, from which a new picture emerged: contrary to previous claims, the classical authors were not only present in the school curriculum, but they dominated it. Every subsequent medieval anthology of the recommended authors progressively expanded the list. Even though some of them preferred to restrict the list only, or at the very least mainly, to Christian authors, many others preserved the classical tradition and labored to make the pagans accessible to teachers and students.6 Tracing with absolute certainty which authors were read at which point in time and in which part of Europe is a rather difficult task, because information available in library catalogs and other materials that might help us identify these aspects are scarce.7 However, some authors reappear in different times and in different contexts. Thus we can identify commonly studied authors over longer time spans and connect them relatively well with certain academic environments. Martin Irvine and David Thomson suggest that an “‘ideal’ form” of the basic curriculum from the ninth to the twelfth century consisted of the following beginning texts: Disticha Catonis, Avianus’s Fabulae, Theodulus’s Ecloga, Bede’s De die Iudicii, Prosper’s Epigramata, and Ilias Latina. 8 These basic works were

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followed by the “corpus of Latin biblical epic poetry:” Juvencus’s Evangelia, Sedulius’s Carmen paschale, Arator’s De Actibus Apostolarum, Avitus’s Carmen de Spiritualis Historiae Gestis, and Prudentius’s Psychomachia. Then followed “a group of literary riddles,” which consisted of Symphosius’s Aenigmata, Adhelm’s Aenigmata, and Boniface’s Aenigmata, followed by Boethius’s De Consolatione Philosophiae, and by “the main hexameter and epic poems: Virgil’s Eclogues, Georgics, and Aeneid, Lucan’s De Bello Civili, and Statius’s Thebaid and Achilleid.” The list concludes with the satires of Juvenal and Persius. Authors and works from this list can be found in one of the most useful tools for a study of twelfth-century curricula, Conrad of Hirsau’s Dialogus super Auctores. In the form of a dialogue between a master and a student, Conrad explains how the auctores should be properly approached. Moreover, a student’s question reveals that indeed the authors were divided into two groups: minor (whose texts were used for a simple teaching of the Latin language) and major (whose works were discussed in more detail and with a focus on the texts themselves). His protagonists treat twenty-one authors: Donatus, Cato (the didactic poet), Aesop, Avianus, Sedulius, Juvencus, Prosper, Theodulus, Arator, Prudentius, Cicero, Sallust, Boethius, Lucan, Horace, Ovid, Juvenal, Homer, Persius, Statius, and Virgil. In addition to these authors whom he formally discusses, he mentions Ennius, Plautus, Terence, Livy, Lucilius, Quintilian, Priscian, Jerome, Eusebius, Augustine, Martianus Capella, Gregory the Great, and Cassiodorus.9 Curtius offers an analysis of Conrad’s list which illustrates a careful balance between pagan and Christian authors. Nos. 1–4 constitute a class by themselves—beginners’ reading. Nos. 5–10 are the Christian poets. There follow three prose writers, one of whom is the Christian Boethius, then the pagan poets, except that Terence is replaced by Ovid. If we subtract the four elementary authors from the list of twenty-one, there remain seventeen: six Christian and eight pagan poets, one Christian and two pagan prose writers. The effort to establish a balance between Christians and Pagans is evident. It is a deliberate plan of study: from the best of the pagan and Christian canons a medieval school canon is formed.10

This canon, based on both Christian and pagan auctores, served as a basis for the composition of the future school curricula. Thus, for example, E. K. Rand identified in a manuscript from the late thir-

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teenth century found in Tours a list of authors that was not unique to this particular case. In fact, his research shows that this list can be found in connection with other learned men from thirteenth-century elementary-level schoolbooks. The authors he lists are Cato, Theodulus, Avianus, Statius, Claudian, Maximianus, Pamphilus, Ysopus, and Tobias. The more advanced level would have covered, besides the repeated study of Statius and Claudian, the Anti-Claudian by Alan of Lille, Juvenal, Lucan, Persius, Petronius, all the works by Horace and Virgil, Boethius’s Consolatio and Pseudo-Boethius’s De Disciplina Scholarium, Macrobius, Plato’s In Tymeo, Bernard Sylvester, Martianus Capella, and Martial.11 Despite their learning and seemingly satisfactory access to the classics, compilers and commentators, men of letters, were aware that the works of classical literature at their disposal were a rather limited selection and that they were missing at least part of the literary production from the times of their auctores. What you asked me earlier, about how much and when which author wrote, I cannot tell you with certainty, especially because many of them wrote many works that have not reached our place and times. But it will not be difficult to follow the paths of the others and lead you, as if to the threshold, to the principal aspects of the authors that you are asking about.12

Conrad’s admission confirms that the texts of the auctores were transmitted depending on the “availability, preference and individual and geographical emphasis.”13 However, the core canon manages to persist, and is then expanded according to the particular context of its compiler(s). In her study of the thirteenth-century classroom in Italy, Helene Wieruszowski argues that since in the thirteenth century the scope and broadness of education changed, “classical studies must therefore be traced on the byways rather than the highways of academic instruction.”14 She concludes that at the core of the studium poeticum the same authors are found repeatedly: Virgil, Ovid, and Horace, and occasionally Lucan or Statius.15 This is the same canon of Latin authors Dante cites in the theoretical-historical paragraph 16 (XXV) of the Vita Nova, where he implicitly compares himself and his authorial decisions to these same authors. And his continued admiration for them well into his mature years is attested by the honor he bestows on them in the noble castle of Limbo in his Commedia. As

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Wieruszowski points out, this canon, as well as works by Juvenal, Terence, and Persius, is attested at least two generations before Dante. Along with other classical authors read and discussed more deeply during the thirteenth century on the Italian peninsula, the study of these classics “continued the old and prepared the new humanism.”16 In light of the evidence offered by extant manuscripts and library catalogs, Paetow’s idea that Dante was one of the rare exceptions to the rule that in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries the study of Latin literature was not in decline but virtually nonexistent can thus be put at rest. Dante himself in paragraph 16 (XXV) of the Vita Nova offers his reader an insight into at least a part of his education: the part that played a significant role in his formation and the part that he regarded as worthy of being cited and used as authority not only in the Vita Nova but in the Commedia as well. Their sententiae cited in defense of his own poetics should serve as the ultimate proof of his mastery in all things poetic. By doing so, in this paragraph—a theoretical intermission in the midst of his recounting of his purportedly personal story in retrospect—Dante delineates a literary history of both Latin and vernacular. In his survey of the prominent authors and their use of personification, Dante weaves a personal apology as well. They function together, and represent inseparable parts of one argument. However, in taking the time and space to reflect on poetry and then to remember his auctores, the poet introduces an important novelty with respect to the tradition. A conclusion from Edwin A. Quain will help us understand Dante’s intentions better: “The writers of antiquity, both pagan and Christian, were in the medieval schools known as auctores, writers who possessed an auctoritas to which respect and admiration were due. The ‘canon’ of auctores rigorously excluded contemporary writers who were merely lectores.”17 In paragraph 16 (XXV) Dante no longer aligns himself with his contemporaries, with whom he used to exchange verse on love or on personal relations, as he did with Guido Cavalcanti, Forese Donati, Dante da Maiano, and Terino da Castelfiorentino, for example. He does not partake here in friendly conversations and exchanges with his fellow poets. Although he is addressing his words that end this paragraph to Guido, Dante distances himself from the circle of the “fedeli d’amore” by aligning himself closer to the auctores. Already in the Vita Nova, in this theoretical intermezzo, Dante of youthful love poetry that permeated Florentine literary circles is slowly fading away, making way for Dante of the Convivio and furthermore for Dante of the Commedia. The announcement at the end of

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the libello, that he will not write anymore of Beatrice before his skills have matured, does not come abruptly at all. On the contrary, Dante is paving the way for that moment from the very beginning of the libello, where he applies to a vernacular work of poetry based on an ideal of love a treatment that until that moment was reserved for the texts of the auctores. At the opening of paragraph 16 (XXV) Dante addresses a contestation he claims to have received after composing and circulating the poem from the preceding paragraph, Io mi senti’ svegliar dentro allo core. The objectors did not agree with the representation of Amor as a person. In order to defend his treatment of Amor, he first explains the nature of the god of love. It might be that a person might object, one worthy of raising an objection . . . that I speak of Love as though it were a thing in itself, and not only an intelligent subject, but a bodily substance: which, demonstrably, is false: since Love is not in itself a substance, but an accident of substance. (VN 16, XXV)18

Love is not, as his “first friend” Guido might argue, a substance but an accident of substance: therefore, he can legitimately be assigned faculties of laughing, speaking, and motion. In order to justify this stance, Dante refers to the classical poets, authorities par excellence to whom not even Guido can object. What will appear to be a brief survey of the most salient examples of personification found in the works of the five authors of antiquity—Virgil, Lucan, Horace, Homer, and Ovid—will function as a brief history of literature as well; to these classical authors Dante then adds those in vernacular, starting with the troubadours. The poet’s reflections on the history of poetry, both Latin and vernacular, are thus triggered. First, he makes a clear distinction between writing in Latin and writing in vernacular. To explain this matter so far as is meet for the present occasion, it must first be understood that formerly there were no rhymers of Love in the vulgar tongue, but certain poets in the Latin tongue were rhymers of Love; among us, I mean, although perchance among other people it happened, and still happens that, as in Greece, not the vulgar, but the lettered poets treated of these things. And no great number of years have passed since these poets in the vulgar tongue first appeared; for to write in rhyme in the vulgar is, after a manner, the same thing as to write in verse in Latin. (VN 16, XXV)19

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Prior to the vernacular poets, Dante says, it was the classical authors who treated love. These poets, infers the Florentine, sang in the Latin language, in verse. He juxtaposes, on the one hand, the writing of poetry in Latin, in verse that depended on meter, and, on the other hand, typical vernacular poetry dependent on rhyme. Although the two modes of writing are distinct from one another, Dante establishes a continuity between the ancients and the moderns through the theme of love and through the presence of the same rhetorical devices. And it is this continuity that he will offer as justification for the criticized choice to personify Amor. Moreover, by creating such a strong link between vernacular poets and himself—a modern—and the classical authors, Dante openly argues that his literary production should enjoy the same privileges enjoyed by the ancient masters. Dante’s aligning himself with the ancient authors is striking, because he is not only a young author but a modern as well, and moderns, no matter how good they may be, could hardly be taken as true auctores. On the contrary, “to be old was to be good; the best writers were the most ancient.”20 This attitude, however, starts to change in the mid-thirteenth century, when modern authors use academic commentaries as a precedent not only for commentaries written on the works of their contemporaries but for self-commentary as well.21 The Vita Nova thus represents an important stage in the development of the new sensibilities among the moderns. This paragraph of the libello, furthermore, represents a clear precursor to Inf. IV, where he will, again, be in the company of “cotanto senno,” only this time he will walk with them as an equal, his presence being more explicit in its physicality, no matter how humbled he might claim to be feeling in that moment. Dante’s historical-critical views in paragraph 16 (XXV) thus offer an insight into his understanding of vernacular literature, which will later be further developed and reconfirmed not only in the De Vulgari Eloquentia, but in the Commedia. He goes on to explain that vernacular poets had only been composing poetry for 150 years prior to the composition of the Vita Nova, the poets in Latin were those truly concerned with the theme of love.22 To explain this matter so far as is meet for the present occasion, it must first be understood that formerly there were no rhymers of Love in the vulgar tongue, but certain poets in the Latin tongue were rhymers of Love; among us, I mean, although perchance among

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other people it happened, and still happens that, as in Greece, not the vulgar, but the lettered poets treated of these things. And no great number of years have passed since these poets in the vulgar tongue first appeared; for to write in rhyme in the vulgar is, after a manner, the same thing as to write in verse in Latin. And the proof that it is but a short time is, that, if we undertake to search in the tongue of the oco, and in the tongue of the sì, we do not find anything written more than a hundred and fifty years before the present time. And the reason why some illiterate persons acquired the fame of skill in writing verse is, that they were, so to speak, the first who wrote in the tongue of the sì. And the first who began to write as a poet in the vulgar tongue was moved to do so because he wished to make his words intelligible to a lady who could not easily understand Latin verses. And this is against those who rhyme on any other them than Love, since this mode of speech was from the beginning invented in order to speak of Love. (VN 16, XXV)23

In this part of the argument, Dante arrives at the beginnings of vernacular literature, tied to the poets’ need to speak to women. These first vernacular authors in Italian are defined as grossi (inferior), and the only thing they could be credited with is their chronological primacy. Dante will continue to shape and elaborate on this motif, advanced again in the De Vulgari Eloquentia and in the Commedia. In the Latin treatise he will have already separated Cino da Pistoia and himself as the highest examples of poetic mastery, whereas in the Commedia Dante alone will be ahead of all the other vernacular poets. So did one Guido, from the other, wrest the glory of our tongue and he perhaps is born who will chase both out of the nest. (Purg. XI, 97–99)24

Dante is the one who will stand on this side of the “nodo”—the difficulty that other poets such as Bonagiunta da Lucca, Giacomo da Lentini, and Guittone d’Arezzo had when it came to composing love poetry, according to Bonagiunta’s pronouncement in Purg. XXIV. And Bonagiunta will cite precisely Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore, the turning point not only in the Vita Nova but also in Dante’s poetics at large, as the turning point in the history of the verse of love in the Italian vernacular. Because, as the Dante of paragraph 16 (XXV) will admit in a strong anti-Guittonian polemic, verse and rhyme are only

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appropriate to be used when one sings of love. This statement is inferred from the conclusion of the above citation, where he opposes the love poets to those who “rhyme on other matters than love.” The reader is to recognize most certainly Guittone in this allusion but also other poets who, like Guittone, used poetry to moralize or sing of arms or politics.25 This part of paragraph 16 (XXV), which treats of compatibility of themes and genres, does not reflect Dante’s later stance in the De Vulgari Eloquentia, where he indeed expands this category and comes to allow treatment of arms and moral virtue besides love in poetry. Ultimately, in the Commedia he goes even further, when he himself employs vernacular rhyme to treat of theology and God. This progression as seen a posteriori seems logical, and even though his initial views expressed in the Vita Nova might not seem completely elaborated, they represent a significant step in the history of Dante’s ideas. The libello should be cherished as a priceless source of information useful not only to trace the development of Dante’s thought in light of the Commedia, but to witness in its own right Dante’s preparation and maturity as a literary critic and as an author—auctor—very early on. Dante’s view on the exordium of the troubadour poetry, which he fixes in Peire d’Alvernh’s generation, remains unchanged, and in the De Vulgari Eloquentia he will repeat the claim that Peire’s poems were indeed the first examples of poetry not only in Old Occitan, but in the vernacular languages generally. The second part, the language of oc, argues in its own favour that eloquent writers in the vernacular first composed poems in this sweeter and more perfect language: they include Peire d’Alvernha and other ancient masters. (DVE I, x, 2)26

Finally, in the closing section of his argument, he quotes five of his supreme auctores, all of whom will appear once again in the Inferno: Virgil, Lucan, Horace, Homer, and Ovid. Dante uses examples from their works in order to justify his decision to personify Amor, for which he is receiving criticism (VN 16 [XXV]). As noted in chapter 1 above, in the thirteenth century Ovid was one of the most widely read Latin authors in the circles not only of the vernacular love poets, but in schools and universities in grammar lessons. In other words, every thirteenth-century student most probably studied Ovid’s texts as a mandatory part of their curriculum. The other authors from this list are not exceptions to this rule either, as has been shown above. Their

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texts, including Homerus latinus, also made up a significant part of the school curriculum in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries and, accompanied in manuscripts by the accessus ad auctores, were copied and circulated extensively throughout troubadour culture as well.

Mi propuosi di dicere alquante parole: Accessus ad auctores In the late Middle Ages, in the school setting where classical authors were used in the Latin language and literature instruction—grammatica—the need arose to explain and interpret these texts in order to clarify their structure, genre, style, purpose. This practice started first in the classroom, in the form of lectures given by masters who would introduce an author, his work’s contents and purpose, and the discipline to which it belonged and provide similar general information. The master would then continue to expound the work little by little. When written and circulated, this introduction became an inseparable part of the works of the auctores that would eventually assume the role of the prologue.27 Although it had different names in different disciplines, the term accessus ad auctores fossilized over time, and today we use it to refer to any form of medieval introduction to the ancient authors. The accessus, which was authored initially by medieval teachers orally and then progressed to the written form of commentary, not only accompanied the texts of classical authors, but from the late eleventh century even gained their own independence in codices.28 Through this process they became, by the twelfth century, an intrinsic part of the Latin book. The accessus, of course, did not exist only in the literary field. As Quain observed, literature was only one of the many fields in which primary texts were accompanied by the accessus.29 In fact, the genre of the accessus spread from the field of law, in which Boethius exerted a key influence on the new way of presenting texts. He, in his turn, was influenced by the Greek world of philosophy, being “the only Latin student of philosophy who certainly had direct contact with Greek thought,” and whose importance for the diffusion and the establishment of the accessus in the West “can hardly be overestimated,” for he “was probably the direct instrument of accessus’ entrance into the field of law.”30 Over time the accessus gained more importance and steadily became an independent genre, as evinced by three anthologies of accessus that have reached us, compiled in the late twelfth and early thirteenth century.31

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The role of literary accessus was determined by the need for classical texts in the teaching of Latin, which served to build the basis on which the study of the Bible would be added. So the final point of arrival in this process was the study of theology, which was “the sum of all sciences” that “reigned at the apex of the system.”32 The study of the auctores served the purpose of teaching the Latin language, which would then be used in the study of the Bible and theology. Authors of the accessus wrote new ones by building on the foundations laid by previous commentators, thus accumulating and expanding knowledge to what would become theories of literature that, on the one hand, determine a work’s reception and, on the other, play a significant role in the composition of new literary texts.33 Moreover, ancient texts, written by pagans and reflecting a moral system rather different from the Christian one, had to be made more palatable for Christian students to use. The (re)interpretation of those texts that were considered not to be in line with the Christian morals was made part of the accessus ad auctores, often in the section in which the author’s intentions were discussed. Teachers and exegetes felt the need to “correct” the meaning of those texts and assigned to them a moral dimension that they did not necessarily have. We have a situation, therefore, in which classical texts are present in the school curriculum, while, in order to make that possible, the authors were often interpreted falsely and wrongly. Ovid and his works suffered the most in this process (indiscriminately, from the Ars Amatoria and the Remedia Amoris to the Heroides and the epistles), but at the same time, by adapting his works to the tenets of Christian pedagogy, interpreters were making sure that his works would remain in circulation.34 The question of intention (intentio) was typically one of the four to seven aspects the author of the accessus addressed about the work he is introducing. However, not one uniform formula existed, and we can identify three commonly used forms of accessus: Boethian, Aristotelian, and that which emerged in the late eleventh century in Bernard of Utrecht’s Commentum in Theodulum and Conrad of Hirsau’s Dialogus super Auctores. While the thirteenth century saw a decline in the production of new accessus, the ones already in circulation were used at a steady rate well into the fifteenth century, and they were certainly part of regular studies and the reading lists of humanists such as Coluccio Salutati, Sozomeno, and Gasparino Barzizza.35

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In his In Isagogem Porphyrii (I, c. 1) Boethius indicates six questions that teachers and professors should ask and answer when commenting on a text: 1. Operis intentio—the intention of the work; 2. Utilitas—the usefulness of the work; 3. Ordo—the order of the work; 4. Auctor operis—the author of the work; 5. Inscriptio—the title of the work; 6. Ad quam partem philosophiae opus supponitur—to which part of philosophy the work belongs.36 This scheme will give way to the Aristotelian prologue, which, on the other hand, consisted of the following variations: 1. Causa efficiens—the author of the text; 2. Causa materialis—the literary sources; 3. Causa formalis—the formal cause which consisted of two parts: forma tractandi, the method of treatment, and forma tractatus, the organization of the work; 4. Causa finalis—the final cause or the usefulness of the work. The last type, which started dominating soon after it first appeared, comprised information on the following: 1. Titulus (inscriptio, nomen) libri—the title of the work; 2. Nomen auctoris—the name of the author (this part was sometimes elaborated into a vita auctoris—the life of the author); 3. Intentio auctoris (scribentis)—the intention of the author (writer); 4. Materia libri—the subject matter of the book; 5. Ordo libri—the order of the book; 6. Utilitas—the usefulness; 7. Cui parti philosophiae supponitur—to which part of philosophy it belongs.37 The commentaries of Servius survived in numerous manuscripts, perhaps because in the ninth and the tenth centuries they were the most frequently used type of commentary for literary texts.38 By the twelfth century, however, their direct use was in steep decline, but they continued to be quoted and used indirectly by many a commentator. Servius

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begins his commentary to Virgil by singling out several categories that we have just seen listed. In explaining the auctores, the following must be considered: the life of the poet, the title of the work, the quality of the work, the intention of the author, the number of books, the order of books, exposition.39

In the Middle Ages poetry tended to be considered part of grammar; works of literature were taught in philosophy as a part of ethics.40 These texts were read in schools and universities as part of the official curriculum in the liberal arts, and Dante would have certainly encountered the authors he lists in paragraph 16 (XXV) of the Vita Nova as early as the second phase of his education—where the students read poets and philosophers. The first phase included “rudimentary instruction and the reading of the Psalter,” while the third phase consisted of theoretical and practical instruction in ars dictaminis and rhetoric.41 Like intellectuals from the generations preceding Dante’s, such as Brunetto Latini, Guittone d’Arezzo, and Iacopone da Todi, who “all read Latin authors in their grammar school days and were influenced by them to a larger or lesser degree,” our Florentine poet as well must have read authors like Cicero, Seneca, and Pliny during his early grammar education. Rolandino of Padua, who taught at the Studium at Padua in 1229–30, was the first to document a standard list of three authors, Ovid, Virgil, and Horace, with the occasional addition of Lucan and/ or Statius, of which consisted the so-called studium poeticum, or simply poetae, in the thirteenth-century Italy. This canon, concludes Wieruszowski, must have reached Florence and must have been established by Dante’s school years.42 Along with the canon came the inseparable part of the study of grammar—the accessus that accompanied the texts of these authors. So when Dante talks about the litterati poete, we are to understand that along with their works he also read and studied the complementary accessus, which were an inseparable part of the instruction and of the grammar school curriculum. As early as the initial part of the Vita Nova, defined by scholars as a proem (proemio, according to De Robertis)43 and then “introduction, better than proem of the little work” (esordio, meglio che proemio dell’operetta, according to Gorni),44 Dante weaves elements from the accessus in his libello. I argue that this introductory sentence, which cannot be considered one of the paragraphs because it is the author’s

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introduction, a prologue, written by the work’s author/commentator/ compiler/scribe, and referred to the present time and not to his past, should be read as a form of accessus to the entire Vita Nova. This sentence clarifies the author’s present intentions and does not constitute part of the “biographical” prose. In this metaliterary passage Dante speaks of the process of textuality and writing and reflects on the selection of topics he will treat in this libello. He thus announces, first of all, that the present book will treat his, the author’s, life—more precisely, the parts of his life that are written in the book of his memory under the rubric Incipit Vita Nova. Immediately afterward he informs the reader what the work’s subject will be, specifying that he will make public the sense of these words. In that part of the book of my memory before which little could be read, there is a rubric which says: Incipit vita nova [The new life begins]. Under which rubric I find written the words that it is my intention to copy in this little book, and if not all, at least their meaning. (VN 1, I)45

This opening paragraph of the libello, therefore, contains several types of information: 1. The work’s author—Dante, implied though a possessive adjective mia (memoria); 2. the title of the work—Incipit Vita Nova; 3. the intention of the author—to transcribe only certain parts of the book of his memory; 4. the subject of the work—the words written under the rubric of the poet’s memory; 5. the usefulness of the work—to explain the meaning of the words from the book of his memory; 6. the genre of the entire work: from the material point of view, it is a libello—a small book, which contains the “major paragraphs,” a selection of the more comprehensive libro—book of his memory. Different parts of the traditional, Latin accessus are found here in the proem-accessus of the Vita Nova. However, the last category in a traditional accessus would be the answer to the question cui parti philosophiae supponitur (to which part of philosophy the work belongs) or something of that nature. Dante’s work composed and transmitted in the vernacular context, however, does not belong to any part of phi-

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losophy as would a Latin text in the university curriculum. The Vita Nova—a text based on vernacular poems commented on in vernacular prose—was not part of the Latin world but rather belongs to the new, experimental literary production. Therefore, instead of speculating on how to qualify his work in the realm of philosophy, Dante changes the form and elaborates on the nature of his text. He specifies the twofold nature of his work: first, it is a libello, a little book that contains the words copied by the poet from the book of [his] memory; second is the metaphorical book of the poet’s memory, which becomes a materially little, short book, and which we can imagine as composed of a couple of quires bound together, containing the transcribed paragraphs from a bigger and more comprehensive book of memory.46 In this last part of the proem to the Vita Nova, Dante introduces a new element that reverses the traditional tendency to classify each work as philosophy. He situates his book in the sphere of vernacular book production by classifying it as a material product—libello, in opposition to the metaphorical and philosophical libro. Whereas the authors of the accessus were looking to describe and define the fundamental characteristics of the texts they were expounding as well as to present biographical information on the authors whose texts they introduced, one of the key purposes of the accessus was to bring pagan authors and their works in line with Christian morality. This meant that they had to find a solid purpose in the Latin works, and often (especially in the case of Ovid) they found moral teachings in the lines they expounded. For example, the common understanding, or, at the very least, the commonly offered interpretation of Ovid’s intention for writing his poems, was that of “commending moral love, curbing illicit love, and condemning lewd love.”47 Commentators of Ovid’s works were hardly interested in biographical elements as they concentrated on finding morals seeded deeply in his texts. This operation was necessary to justify the purpose of his poetry, because poetry should be the bearer of appropriate moral teachings.48 Dante, on the other hand, did not have to find a moral meaning. Rather, Dante the lover and Dante the poet have different reasons for composing the Vita Nova. First and foremost, as we learn later in the text, Dante the lover needs to ease his mind while dealing with his beloved’s death, and therefore he decides to write the supposed story of their love. Dante the compiler then selects certain emblematic poems that illustrate the most important events (maggiori paragrafi) of this

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love, and Dante the exegete composes prose to connect them. In the proem he informs the reader that he is going to transcribe the meaning (sententia) of the words written in his memory, referring thus to what he wants the reader to believe to be their true, deeper meaning. This term as well was used in the accessus, where explaining the sententia usually followed the literal exposition of a work. But why would Dante wish to elaborate on his poems? Why was he not satisfied with the usual way of collecting one’s poetry in series of sonnets or canzoni, or in groups of poems divided by the genre? Most of the poems from the Vita Nova had already had an independent life (we have proof that at least thirteen of them had circulated on their own before they were woven into the fabric of the Vita Nova). First, Dante the exegete wanted to preserve the order of the selected poems and offer a logical and presumably chronological picture of his love for Beatrice, from their first encounter to her death to his resolution not to write about her before he has acquired sufficient skills.49 Second, he probably wished to clarify the circumstances of different episodes that inspired his poetry, a process that we know involved altering and bending of the sententia of the poems. In doing so, he also corrects the identity of the lady (madonna) from his early poems, where madonna could have been any woman, but in the Vita Nova Dante has her become Beatrice through a skillful manipulation of the reader through the prose interpretations. If we take the poet’s words at face value, we will then accept his admission from paragraph 16 (XXV) that his poetic choices—specifically, personification of Amor—were criticized by some who read his poetry and that he felt the need to defend himself in the prose paragraph discussed above. By the same token, although he does not explicitly make any claims to that effect, we should understand the prose and the whole of the Vita Nova as a defense of his intentions and a clarification of the circumstances that surrounded the composition of the poems. Consequently, and third, such a structure gave the poet an extraordinary vehicle to reflect on poetry: because the narrated background to the composition of the poems not only contains seemingly factual information but also penetrates deeply in the process of writing poetry, both from the technical point of view (pertaining to literally transcribing words on parchment leaves) and from the inventive standpoint. Thus, instead of delving into philosophy and understanding its parts, the last piece of information Dante the author offers is the proem modeled according to the Latin

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accessus that provides the frame for the entire work. He translates this process into the context of vernacular poetry which is now being legitimized more than ever before and elevated to heights it had never known. No one before Dante had expounded his own work, let alone vernacular poems, in such a way. A precedent can be found in the troubadour poetry collections, but in that case (as in the case of the accessus) the exegete is not the author of the poetry himself but a commentator pondering over poetry decades, and in some cases a century, after the poems had been composed.50 Whereas Dante opens the libello reflecting on the physical act of text copying, he concludes the book with a different focus: in the last passage he reveals his deliberation to stop writing about Beatrice until he is able to do so more skillfully. So the narrative of the Vita Nova is thus framed with two explicit reflections on the art of the book making: at the opening of the work the poet is more intent on the material aspects of book production (rubrica, parole scripte, asemplare, libello, libro, sententia). At the end of the Vita Nova, however, his preoccupations change. After this sonnet, a wonderful vision appeared to me, in which I saw things which made me resolve to speak no more of this blessed one, until I could more worthily treat of her. And to attain to this, I study to the utmost of my power, as she truly knows. So that, if it shall please Him through whom all things live, that my life be prolonged for some years, I hope to say of her what was never said of any woman. And then may it please Him who is the lord of Grace, that my soul may go to behold the glory of its lady, namely, of that blessed Beatrice, who in glory looks upon the face of Him qui est per omnia sæcula benedictus [who is blessed forever]. (VN 31, XLII)51

Now, in the conclusion of the libello, the poet is concerned more than anything else with poetic skills, with that essential capacity to reconcile content and form that is already part of the Italian tradition and that will become one of the focal points of the De Vulgari Eloquentia. The Dante of the Vita Nova is not only the lover writing to ease his mind and console himself, but even more so an author concerned with the fundamentals of writing poetry—both on the creative and material levels. Between these two framing passages, Dante the poet is constantly concerned with the process of writing. Genre, purpose, and other types

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of information about every poem in the Vita Nova are provided at the end of their respective ragioni, at different points in the text.52 Each of the narrative ragioni concludes with a sentence in which the poet provides information that was usually provided by the accessus ad auctores. Thus we are informed that the first poem of the collection, A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core, is a sonnet and that it was written (in the sense of “composed”) in order to gain a clarification, an explanation of the true meaning—verace iuditio—of Dante’s first vision in which Beatrice eats his heart. And thinking about what had appeared to me, I proposed to make it heard by many who were famous poets of the time: and as I had already gained for myself to some extent the art of speaking words in rhyme, I proposed to compose a sonnet, in which I would greet all those faithful to Love; and begging them to interpret my vision, I wrote to them what I had seen in my dream. And then I began this sonnet, which begins To every captive soul. (VN 1, III)53

This passage provides the answers to the following questions: 1. the title—the incipit—of the work—A ciascun’alma presa; 2. the intention of the author—to write a sonnet and to send it to his fellow poets; 3. the subject of the work—a salutation to the fellow poets and a description of events that the poet-lover claims happened in his dream; 4. the usefulness of the work—to receive an explanation of his dream; 5. the genre of the poem—a sonnet. Of course, the text implies who its author is—the person saying “I.”54 The poet employs the same operation in the case of other poems as well. Indeed, the accessus is present at every step. It accompanies almost every ragione of every poem of the Vita Nova. Before the transcription of the sonnet O voi che per la via d’Amor passate and after the narrative explanation of the putative events behind this poem, the author describes particulars of the poem: the subject matter of the sonnet (his sadness for the departed screen lady), the intention (to keep the appearance of his pretended love for the first screen lady while at the same time actually singing of Beatrice), the usefulness of the sonnet (to keep having everyone believe that he is indeed in love with the

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screen lady), the genre of the poem (sonnet), and, of course, the author of the work—implied through the first-person singular of the verbs used. And, thinking that, if I did not speak somewhat grievingly of her departure, people would sooner become acquainted with my secret, I resolved to make some lament for it in a sonnet, which I will transcribe because my lady was the immediate occasion of certain words which are in the sonnet, as is evident to whoever understands it; and then I devised this sonnet, which begins Oh, ye, who turn your steps. (VN 2, VII)55

The next section, written around two sonnets, Piangete, amanti, poi che piange Amore and Morte villana, di pietà nemica, specifies the supposed circumstances of the composition of these sonnets: the subject of the poems (the death of the woman whom he had seen in Beatrice’s company), the intention (to write some words about the tragedy of death), the usefulness of the sonnet (implied in the poet’s words is the need to write a planh, a lament, for the death of the young woman—a suitable thing to do for such an occasion, according to the courtly tradition), the genre of the poems (sonnet). Then, remembering that formerly I had seen her in company with that most gentle one, I could not restrain some tears; nay, weeping, I resolved to say some words about her death, in guerdon for that I had seen her sometimes with my lady. And thereon I touched somewhat in the last part of the words that I said of her, as plainly appears to him who understands them. And I devised then these two sonnets; the first of which begins, Lovers, lament; the second, Discourteous death. (VN 3, VIII)56

The following sonnet, Cavalcando l’altrier per un camino, is not introduced with any type of information that is not already part of the preceding ragione. So Dante simply claims: The next day I began this sonnet, which begins As I the other day rode.57

The poet returns to the previous usus of providing more information right after, where he informs his reader that he is about to transcribe a poem, Ballata, i’ vo’ che tu ritrovi Amore (title/incipit), in which he (the author) will describe that which Amor told him (subject). And before I went out from that chamber I resolved to make a ballad in which I would execute that which my Lord had laid upon me, and I made this ballad, which begins Ballad, I send thee. (VN 5, XII)58

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The poem Tutti li miei pensier’ parlan d’Amore is not accompanied by an elaboration of any of its aspects, save for the intention, the author, and the genre of the poem. And while I abode in this condition, the will came to me to write some rhymed words thereon, and I devised then this sonnet, which begins All of my thoughts. (VN 6, XIII)59

In the following section is transcribed the poem Con l’altre donne mia vista gabbate (title/incipit). Dante the author claims to suffer after supposedly being mocked by the ladies with Beatrice present. Afterward, all by himself, crying and in shame, he decides to write a sonnet (genre) in which he will explain (intention) the change in his appearance in front of the ladies (subject) so that, should she hear these verses, Beatrice might understand the change he underwent (usefulness). And being in this grief, I resolved to say some words in which, speaking to her, I would explain the cause of my transfigurement, and would say that I know well that it is not known, and that, were it known, I believe that it would move others to pity; and I resolved to say them, desiring that peradventure they might come to her hearing. And then I devised this sonnet, which begins With other ladies. (VN 7, XIV)60

Next, Dante copies the sonnet (genre) Ciò che m’ incontra, nella mente more (title/incipit), in which he excuses himself (intention) for reprehensible thoughts (subject) at the same time explaining what happened to him near her (usefulness). Wherefore, moved by such thoughts, I resolved to say certain words, in which, excusing myself to her from blame on this account, I would also set down what befell me in her presence; and I devised this sonnet, which begins: That which opposeth. (VN 8, XV)61

The poem Spesse fïate vegnonmi alla mente has the accessus with the most detailed subject. The poet continues the narration from the previous paragraph and now explains four additional aspects of his condition (subject, which is narrated in detail). He is moved by a will (intention) to treat of the still unexplained aspects of his person (the intended usefulness here is the explanation, the making public of the things that until this moment are known only to him). After I had devised this sonnet, a wish moved me to say also some words in which I would tell four things further in regard to my state,

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which it seemed to me had not yet been made manifest by me. The first of which is, that ofttimes I grieved when my memory excited my fancy to imagine what Love did to me; the second is, that ofttimes Love assailed me on a sudden with such force that naught remained alive in me save a thought which spoke of my lady; the third is, that, when this onset of Love thus attacked me, I went, almost quite without color, to look on this lady, believing that the sight of her would be my defence from this attack, forgetting that which befell me in approaching gentleness so great; the fourth is, how this sight not only defended me not, but finally discomfited my little remaining life. And therefore I devised this sonnet, which begins The dark condition. (VN 9, XVI)62

In the accessus to the first canzone in the collection, Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore, Dante does not provide much information, but the preceding ragione is already detailed, and it explains various aspects of the poem. The accessus itself reveals the poem’s genre (canzone) and its incipit, referring the reader to the accompanying divisio that will explain the text in more detail. Wherefore then, having returned to the above-mentioned city, after some days of thought I began a canzone with this beginning, arranged in the mode which will be seen below in its division. The canzone begins: Ladies that have. (VN 10, XIX)63

Before copying the sonnet Amore e ‘ l cor gentil sono una cosa (title/ incipit), the poet announces that the friend must be served (usefulness) and proposes to continue talking of (intention) love (subject) in the following sonnet (genre). Wherefore I, thinking that after such a treatise it were beautiful to treat somewhat of Love, and thinking that my friend was to be served, resolved to speak words in which I would treat of Love, and then I devised this sonnet, which begins Love is but one thing. (VN 11, XX)64

Dante connects the following poem, Negli occhi porta la mia donna Amore, to the same context as the previous sonnet, which erases the need for a new ragione. So he introduces this new poem only by the accessus. The intention of the author is to write a new poem whose subject is to show how his lady awakens love, and whose usefulness is her praise.

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After I had treated of Love in the above rhyme, the will came to me to speak further in praise of this most gentle lady words by which I would show how this Love is awakened by her, and how she not only awakens him there where he is sleeping, but there where he is not potentially she, marvellously working, makes him come; and I devised then this sonnet, which begins Within her eyes. (VN 12, XXI)65

The next two sonnets, Voi che portate la sembianza umile and Se’ tu colui ch’ ài tractato sovente, are preceded by an accessus, in which the poet-commentator explains that the subject of the first sonnet is the poet-lover demanding the answer, whereas the subject of the second sonnet is the reply he receives. And I made two sonnets; and in the first I question, in the way in which the desire came to me to question; and in the other, I tell their answer, taking that which I heard from them as if they had said it in reply to me. And I began the first, “Ye who a semblance;” the second, “Art thou then he.” (VN 13, XXII)66

In the second canzone in the collection, Donna pietosa e di novella etate, the poet treats what he claims happened to him during his sickness (subject) because it would be an amorous thing to hear (usefulness). Wherefore afterwards, being healed of this infirmity, I resolved to speak concerning that which had befallen me, since it seemed to me that it would be a thing delightful to hear; and so I devised this canzone concerning it, A lady, pitiful, ordered as it is manifest in the abovementioned division. (VN 14, XXIII)67

In the accessus to the sonnet (genre) Io mi senti’ svegliar dentro allo core (title/incipit), Dante proposes to write a poem to his friend (intention) because it should please his friend (usefulness) who still admires his Muse. Wherefore I, then thinking this over, resolved to write of it in rhyme to my first friend, (keeping silent certain words which it seemed should be kept silent,) for I believed that his heart still admired the beauty of this gentle Primavera. And I devised this sonnet, which begins: An amorous spirit. (VN 15, XXIV)68

Wishing to return to the style of praise of Beatrice (intention), Dante claims to have proposed to write the sonnet Tanto gentile e tanto onesta

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pare (title/incipit) about her effect on people around her (subject) so that even those who cannot experience in person her miraculous effect can learn about it (usefulness). Wherefore I, thinking upon this, desiring to resume the style of her praise, resolved to say words in which I would set forth her admirable and excellent influences, to the end that not only those who might actually behold her, but also others, should know of her whatever words could tell. Then I devised this sonnet So gentle. (VN 17, XXVI)69

The interrupted canzone Sì lungiamente m’ à tenuto Amore treats the effects of Beatrice’s virtue on Dante (subject). In this accessus Dante reflects openly on the compatibility of form and content, which is the most detailed remark of this nature in this type of prose. And therefore I resolved to say words in which I would tell how I seemed to myself to be disposed to her influence, and how her virtue wrought in me. And not believing that I could relate this in the brevity of a sonnet, I began then a canzone which begins: So long hath Love. (VN 18, XXVII)70

Following the interrupted canzone, Dante describes the moment in which the poet-lover finds out about Beatrice’s death. In the next section he explains his authorial decision to change the position of the divisiones that from this point on will precede the poems. Consequently, the accessus are now also incorporated into the rest of the prose, forming one prose unit together with the razo and the divisiones. However, the accessus conserve their form and the usual beginning, And therefore. The canzone Gli occhi dolenti per pietà del core is the first one with this changed disposition of prose sequences. Dante writes about Beatrice (subject) while crying because of her death. And therefore I resolved to make a canzone, in which, lamenting, I would discourse of her for whom such grief was wasting my soul; and I began then, “The eyes that grieve.” (VN 20, XXXI)71

In the sonnet Venite a ‘ntender li sospiri miei Dante laments Beatrice’s death (subject), and, in a game of double dissimulation, gives it to his friend (intention) so that it might seem that the sonnet is for him (usefulness).

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Wherefore, after thinking thereupon, I resolved to make a sonnet in which I would somewhat bewail myself, and to give it to this my friend, that it might seem that I had made it for him; and I devised then this sonnet which begins: “To hearken now.” (VN 21, XXXII)72

The next poem, a canzone consisting of two stanzas, Quantunque volte, lasso, mi rimembra, is also dedicated to the same friend, and Dante again employs the dissimulation tactic and pretends to write one stanza for the friend and the other for himself (intention) while in fact writing both the previous sonnet and the canzone about Beatrice (subject) and only for himself. And therefore, before I gave him the above-written sonnet, I composed two stanzas of a canzone, the one really for him, and the other for myself; although both the one and the other may appear to him who does not regard subtilely as if written for one person. But he who looks at them subtilely sees well that different persons speak; in that the one does not call her his lady, and the other does so, as is plainly apparent. This canzone and this sonnet I gave to him, saying that I had made them for him alone. The canzone begins, “As often as,” and has two parts. (VN 22, XXXIII)73

The sonnet with two beginnings, Era venuta nella mente mia, is written for the aforementioned honorable people (intention) on the occasion of the anniversary of Beatrice’s death (subject). And when they had gone away, I returned to my work, namely, that of drawing figures of angels; and, while doing this, a thought came to me of saying words in rhyme, as if for an anniversary poem of her, and of addressing those persons who had come to me. And I devised then this sonnet that begins, “The gentle lady,” the which has two beginnings; and therefore I will divide it according to one and the other. (VN 23, XXXIV)74

Dante continues with the sonnet Videro gli occhi miei quanta pietate, in which he would speak to Donna Gentile (intention) about the things he has just discussed in the ragione (subject). And therefore I resolved to devise a sonnet in which I would speak to her, and would include all that is narrated in this account. And since this account is manifest enough, I will not divide it. And it begins Mine eyes beheld. (VN 24, XXXV)75

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The episode with Donna Gentile continues with the sonnet Color d’amore e di pietà sembianti, written out of the poet’s desire to speak to her (intention). And therefore the will came to me furthermore to say certain words, speaking to her; and I devised this sonnet which begins, “Color of Love.” (VN 25, XXXVI)76

The sonnet L’amaro lagrimar che voi faceste is introduced in more detail: Dante decides to write (intention) a sonnet (genre) and to understand in it his wretched condition (subject), so that the misery caused by the intimate battle within himself does not remain unknown to the others (usefulness). And in order that this battle which I had with myself might not remain known only to the wretched one who experienced it, I resolved to make a sonnet, and to include in it this horrible condition; and I devised this which begins, “The bitter tears.” (VN 26, XXXVII)77

Dante then composes a sonnet titled Gentil pensero che parla di voi, in which he speaks of Donna Gentile (subject) because it was only appropriate to do so because she was on his mind beyond measure (usefulness): And since, in the battle of the thoughts, those had conquered that spoke on her behalf, it seemed to me befitting to address her, and I devised this sonnet which begins, “A gentle thought;” and I said gentle inasmuch as I was speaking to a gentle lady, for otherwise it was most vile. (VN 27, XXXVIII)78

With the sonnet Lasso, per forza di molti sospiri begins the last part of the Vita Nova, in which Beatrice returns in a vision dressed in crimson color, thus presenting a sort of resurrection after the hiatus marked by Donna Gentile. The poem he is transcribing now contains the meaning, the essence, of this ragione (subject). It should set the record straight (usefulness) because the author will show (intention) in this sonnet (genre) that his thoughts and feelings for Donna Gentile are now in the past. Wherefore I, wishing that this wicked desire and vain temptation should be seen to be destroyed, so that the rhymed words which I had before written should give rise to no question, resolved to make

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a sonnet in which I would include the purport of this account. And I said then, “Alas! by force.” (VN 28, XXXIX)79

Dante decides to compose (intention) the sonnet (genre) Deh, peregrini, che pensosi andate, in which he speaks of his intimate thoughts (subject) simulating a conversation with the pilgrims so that the poem might seem more sorrowful (usefulness). Wherefore, they having passed out of my sight, I resolved to make a sonnet in which I would set forth that which I had said to myself; and in order that it might appear more piteous, I resolved to say it as if I had spoken to them, and I devised this sonnet which begins, “O pilgrims.” (VN 29, XL)80

The last sonnet (genre) of the collection, Oltre la spera che più larga gira, narrates (intention) his state of being (subject). And I devised then a sonnet which relates my condition, and I sent it to them accompanied by the preceding sonnet, and by another which begins, “To hearken now.” The sonnet which I made then is, “Beyond the sphere,” etc. This sonnet has five parts. (VN 30, XLI)81

La quale io non scriverò: Ordinatio and Compilatio As shown, almost every ragione in this work provides background information about the subject of each poem, its usefulness, its purpose and genre, conforming to the structure of the accessus ad auctores. Consequently, Dante constructs, piece by piece, a mosaic in the complete picture of the macrotext of the Vita Nova. Every event, every “major paragraph” from the book of the poet’s memory, is recounted with a sort of mythical dimension to it, from the post factum point of view, as the accessus ad auctores (and the vidas and the razos). The poet’s past experience told in the libello is also imbued with a strong personal historical dimension, which reinforces the “autobiographical” component of the text, ultimately establishing the macrotext of the Vita Nova as a unique accessus ad auctorem, or a long vida sprinkled with poems written on different occasions, accompanied by their razos. Both the accessus ad auctores and, consequently, their vernacular counterparts (the vidas and the razos) are products of medieval book culture. They are born out of the necessity to get the readers of classical

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texts and listeners and readers of vernacular poetry acquainted with their authors and the “true” meaning of the texts.82 Especially in the academic setting, where masters explained the auctores to their students, and in this process sought to justify the usefulness of the ancient pagan works in the current Christian setting, they needed a more complex apparatus in order to achieve that goal. While in the monastic culture reading is a spiritual exercise and the text serves as a medium leading to meditation and prayer, in the scholastic setting reading becomes a “process of study which involved a more ratiocinative scrutiny of the text and consultation for reference purposes.”83 So when monastic culture starts being replaced by schools in the twelfth century and the new kind of reader appears with new exigencies, the format of the books follows the new trends that require more information about the texts in general or about some of their parts. Mise-en-page in the books in this period starts to change gradually and to accept new categories of text on the same charta that refers to the copied primary text. The accompanying texts and glosses steadily become an inseparable part of the academic book, they expand in length, and therefore, over time, they occupy more space on the page of transcription. Scholarly apparatus, with the aim of making the consultation, reading, and understanding easier, thus becomes the new norm in the medieval Latin book. By the end of the twelfth century, compilatores of these texts start introducing a materia operis—a sort of a brief introduction that included the topics of each section.84 Rediscovery of Aristotelian logic in the thirteenth century brought new changes to the presentation of the text on a charta of transcription that reflected new approaches and new ways of thinking. The increased interest in details, on the one hand, and in a complete picture of an author’s works, on the other, produced further innovations in book making. The new interest in the organization and procedure within an individual work—the concern to study an argument from beginning to end, which led to the formulation of the concept of ordinatio— also stimulated a desire to see the auctoritates, the individual sententiae, in their full context. There was a return to the originalia, the works of the auctores in toto.85

Along with the ordinatio, as its direct consequence, compilers of thirteenth-century books introduced another new principle, compilatio.

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Thirteenth-century scholars paid close attention to the development of good working tools based on scientific principles. The drive to make inherited material available in a condensed or more convenient form led them to recognize the desirability of imposing a new ordinatio on the material for this purpose. In the thirteenth century this led to the development of the notion of compilatio both as a form of writing and as a means of making material easily accessible. Compilation was not new (it is implicit in the work of Gratian and Peter Lombard); what was new was the amount of thought and industry produced. The transmission of these refinements on to the page led to greater sophistication in the presentation of texts.86

These new approaches to reading and book production in the thirteenth century will be useful to consider in relation to the Vita Nova and its composition and compilation. They will help us to contextualize better Dante’s authorial operations and to shed light on the book culture that surrounded the making of the libello. The Vita Nova consists of thirty-one poems that Dante had already written, of which at least thirteen have attested prior circulation. These thirty-one poems are only a part of Dante’s early poetic production, which consists of dozens of poems, some of which we do not have but are mentioned in the Vita Nova. The most striking example of Dante’s use of the concepts of selectio and compilatio is the case of the sirventes containing the names of the sixty most beautiful women of Florence that Dante claims to have written but decides not to include in the text of the libello. I say that, during the time while this lady was the screen of so great a love as possessed me, the will came to me to record the name of that most gentle one, and to accompany it with many names of ladies, and especially with the name of this gentle lady; and I took the names of sixty of the most beautiful ladies of the city where my lady had been placed by the Most High Lord, and I composed an epistle in the form of a serventese, which I will not transcribe; and of which I would not have made mention, but for the sake of telling this which fell out marvellously in its composition, namely, that in no other place did the name of my lady endure to stand, but as the ninth in number among the names of these ladies. (VN 2, VI; emphasis mine)87

This episode represents a precious window into Dante’s working process, his literary models and tools, that helped shape him as author. After Beatrice’s death, says the poet, he sat and wrote down the story of his love for her. In order to do so, he will have to select certain poems

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that marked the most important events from this period—or, as he defines them in the proem, major paragraphs from the book of his memory. By copying and commenting only on the most important moments, he makes a selection and, consequently, includes in the Vita Nova only those poems that he claims were inspired by those moments but that in reality often come from contexts that do not involve Beatrice but a different, unnamed lady.88 At the same time, Dante also applies a reverse methodology that reconfirms a rigorous selectio: he openly declares his decision not to include a poem that treated of Beatrice (the aforementioned sirventes), thus giving further importance to the selection of poems included in the libello. After the initial selection of the poems, Dante proceeds to order them in presumably chronological order, which he will respect throughout the libello, and which will give a narrative and an “autobiographical” dimension to the newly composed text. Next, Dante composes prose around those poems, which will help him elucidate their meaning— sententia. In doing so, he will not only disclose the meaning behind the poems, but he will also secure future interpretation. Even more, he will establish himself and his texts as worthy of being interpreted. No author of vernacular poetry before him had ever offered an exegesis of his own works. Such a treatment was reserved only for the classical auctores, who had something to teach the moderns. What did the young Dante have to teach his contemporaries? Judging by his constant metaliterary reflections, he must have intended to share with his fellow poets his thoughts on poetry: how it is conceived, how it is produced, how it is part of a wider and longer intellectual context and history. The narrative prose of the Vita Nova, or the ragioni, provides specific information that Dante wants his reader to believe to be historical and authentic, that truly represented the context of his poems to which he returns now, a posteriori, and in some cases even a decade after they were first conceived.89

Questo sonetto si divide in due parti: Divisio textus Once Dante has selected the poems to be included in the Vita Nova, once he has narrated the circumstances that inspired his poems, and announced all the important information about them, he proceeds to transcribe the poems. Then, as soon as he has finished the transcription—sometimes with revisions—he takes one last step: that of “open-

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ing the meaning” of each poem through the so-called divisiones, passages of explanatory prose in which Dante the exegete dissects the poems into analytic units in order to show their precise structure and his authorial operations within each text. Here again we see how the medieval book influenced the Vita Nova. The divisiones derive from some of the most technical aspects of the Latin book, which was often divided into smaller units in order to make its reading and use easier. Vincent of Beauvais, for example, informs the reader in the apologia to his Speculum “that he has divided his work into books and chapters to make it easier for the reader: ‘ut huius operis partes singulae lectori facilius elucescant, ipsum totum opus per libros, et libros per capitula distinguere volui.’”90 This tendency was widespread in the thirteenth century as well, when the techniques for expounding texts advanced steadily. And in this excerpt we find the terminology and an example of the practice that stands behind the introductory words of the Vita Nova: “in that part of the book of my memory before which little could be read” (emphasis mine). Dante refers to the book of his memory, which we are to imagine as a real book here, divided into parts according to the usus of the commentators who are concerned with the accessibility of the text and its easier interpretation. The divisio textus present in the divisiones of the poems of the Vita Nova, however, is more similar to the practice that originated in scriptural exegesis and then spread to the commentaries of nonscriptural texts as well. While from the twelfth century on the commentators were interested in modus agendi—the mode of proceeding—which referred to the deeper meaning of the text that reflected the Holy Spirit rather than the human auctor of scripture, in the thirteenth century the commentators’ attention to the form—forma—which focused on the literal sense of scripture and was produced by the human auctor, increased significantly.91 The forma was twofold: forma tractandi (form of treatment, form as style) was similar to the modus agendi, and forma tractatus (form of the treatise, form as structure) was also called divisio textus or ordinatio partium (ordering of the parts). This latter approach to textual analysis is a sign of shifting attention to realistic, pragmatic affairs.92 Indeed, through the divisio textus the commentator elucidated the intention of the auctor of the text, and that is certainly one of the focal points of Dante’s intentions announced in the proem of the libello. The divisiones in the Vita Nova are, according to Gorni, the price Dante pays to his early scholastic formation, unpalatable for the mod-

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ern reader who tends to see in them exclusively a superfluous, unnecessary tool.93 Although Dante’s approach to the exegesis of the libello might seem too pedantic and overly zealous, I argue that this approach is by no means unworthy of our poet, nor is it an unconscious remnant of his youth apprenticeship. On the contrary, it is an approach of a poet, an author, who is concerned with the legacy of his poetry and of himself as a poet, who blurs the line between authorship and exegesis as they were understood at the time in order to establish the former within the current literary framework. Dante reveals in the Vita Nova traits of the literary historian and theoretician of literature and language found in the De Vulgari Eloquentia, traits of the exegete of his poems of the Convivio, and, especially toward the end of the libello (in the last sonnet and the concluding paragraph), traits of the “theologian” of the Commedia. He defies the “rules of authorship” and redefines the role of the author on a path not explored by any vernacular poet before him. When present, the divisiones of the poems of the Vita Nova range in length from short explanations containing general divisions to long and elaborated analyses of the poems. The divisio of the first sonnet, A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core, belongs to the former, shorter type. This sonnet is divided in two parts, so that in the first part I greet and ask a reply, in the second I indicate what must be replied to. The second part begins with Already were. (VN 1, III)94

Some poems, usually those with the most complex themes, author’s intentions, and structures, are analyzed through highly detailed clarifications containing the most minute specifications about the poems’ division, as shown in the following example from the canzone Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore. This canzone, so that it can be better understood, I will divide in more details than the other things above. And therefore I will first define three parts. The first part is a proem to the words following it; the second is the subject I treat of; the third is almost like a servant to the preceding words. The second begins here An angel sings; the third here: Canzone, I know that. The first part is divided in four. In the first I say to whom I wish to speak about my lady, and why I wish to speak; in the second I say what state I seem to be in when I think of her virtue, and what I would speak of if I did not lose courage; in the third I say how I believe I must speak of her, in order

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not to be held back by cowardice; in the fourth, restating to whom I intend to speak, I say the reason why I speak to them. The second begins here I say; the third here And I would not speak; the fourth: ladies and damsels. Then when I say Angel calls, I begin to treat of this lady. And this part is divided in two. In the first I say that she is known in Heaven; in the second I say that she is known on Earth, here My lady is desired. This second part is divided in two: so that in the first I speak of her regarding the nobility of her spirit, saying something of her active virtues that proceed from her spirit: in the second I speak of her regarding the nobility of her soul, telling certain things about her beauty, here Love says of her. This second part is divided in two: in the first I speak of certain beauties which belong to her whole person; in the second I tell of certain beauties which belong to distinct parts of her person, here From her eyes. This second part is divided in two: for in one I speak of her eyes, which are the beginning of love; in the second I speak of her mouth, which is love’s end. And so that every evil thought may vanish from here, remember you who read here, that it is written above that this lady’s greeting, that which arose from the movement of her mouth, was the end of my desires, while I could receive it. Then when I say Canzone, I know that you, I add a stanza almost as a servant to the others in which I say what I desire of my canzone. And since the last part is easy to understand I will not trouble to divide it further. I say that to understand this canzone further it would be necessary to employ more minute divisioni; but who has insufficient wit to be able to understand it from the divisioni made, it will not displease me if they leave it alone, since I am certainly afraid that I have communicated its meaning to too many by the divisioni that were made, if it comes about that many are able to hear them. (VN 10, XIX)95

As Rita Librandi observed in her analysis of the prose of the Convivio, Dante’s conscientious and deliberate following of the rhythms of scholastic prose is evident above all in his recurrent need to divide his materials into parts, and in further division of these parts into even smaller units.96 In no other place in the Vita Nova is this more evident than in this divisio of Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore. These examples are from the first part of the libello, before the announcement of Beatrice’s death marked by the interrupted canzone Sì lungiamente m’ à tenuto Amore and the passage from the Lamentations of Jeremiah, “Quomodo sedet sola civitas plena populo! facta est quasi vidua domina gentium” (19, XXVIII). The first poem following

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this pivotal moment in the narrative, Gli occhi dolenti per pietà del core, marks a unique moment in the prose of the Vita Nova.97 In the fashion of the accessus, the poet interjects in the narration to inform his reader before transcribing the canzone that he will divide it before copying it, and that he will keep this type of ordering of the parts of his libello from this point on in the text. Because that this canzone seems to remain widowed after its end, I will divide it before writing it; and I will keep this way from here on. (VN 20, XXXI)98

Dante justifies such a revision of the disposition of his text by claiming that this new way will increase the effect of the poem’s loneliness—the poem, like the city (presumably Florence) discussed in the previous paragraph, is now widowed (vedova), it is destitute and without hope after the death of his Muse. This moment in the Vita Nova when Dante decides to implement a change in the exegetical process by transferring the position of the divisiones follows the announcement of Beatrice’s death and is a direct consequence of this event in the narrative of the libello. Hermeneutic, creative, and material aspects here become closer and more dependent upon each other than anywhere else in the libello. Furthermore, Dante’s way of expressing this state of general wretchedness is twofold. On the thematic and poetic levels, Dante writes a pietosa canzone titled Gli occhi dolenti, which describes his most intimate pain. But he does not stop at that: on the formal and material levels, the poet translates this pain into a revision of the disposition of the divisiones within the text, assigning to this strictly material and physical change a deeper meaning that is in line with the saddest moment of his life thus far. This change reinforces the change in the narrative, and plays as important a part as the thematic and poetic aspects of the text. The Dante in this passage is Dante the exegete, who—only for a moment but for an important and striking moment—returns from the pain that can hardly be described, decides that he is going to change the text’s structure, and openly justifies this decision to his reader.99 A long divisio is now placed before the transcription, before the physical act of writing down the canzone, rather than before the poem’s composition.100 The disposition of the text in the Vita Nova can be schematized as follows: I. VN 1 (I): Proem—accessus ad auctorem;

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II. VN 2–18 (III–XXVII): Narrative: ragione—accessus ad auctorem—poem—divisio; III. VN 19–30 (XXVIII–XLI): Narrative: ragione—accessus ad auctorem—divisio—poem; IV. VN 31 (XLII): Conclusion in the form of announcement of a future work.

E se non tutte, almeno la loro sententia In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries texts of the auctores, as well as the Bible, were subjected to division and subordination in order to reveal their authentic meaning (sententia). Dante’s proposition at the opening of the Vita Nova to explain the meaning of his poems is in line with the usus of the medieval commentators who looked for a hidden meaning in the texts of the auctores, and above all in the Bible. Hugh of Saint Victor, discussing the study of the Bible, differentiates between three different levels of interpretation: first, the letter (mostly consisting of grammatical aspects) must be explained in order to then delve into the sensus (superficial, obvious meaning) and finally into the sententia (hidden, deep meaning). Authors and commentators such as Bonaventure, Vincent of Beauvais, Alexander of Hales, and Henry of Ghent, among others, were concerned with the proper ways of finding out and interpreting the sententia of different texts, but mostly of scripture. Vincent of Beauvais, as a true philologist, engaged in the criticism of textual corruptions produced by centuries of transcription and transmission of texts and wondered what the true sententia intended by their original auctores might have been.101 Dante’s own admission of the criticism he had to endure because of personifying Amor in the poem Io mi senti’ svegliar dentro allo core is an indication of possible attacks on his authorial choices, possibly by Guido Cavalcanti. We do not know the true identity of this person, but Dante’s declaration that the person is “worthy of raising an objection” alludes to someone from the circle of his fellow poets who is knowledgeable about poetry and most probably himself a poet since he is raising such a question. This doubt triggers the entire paragraph 16 (XXV), discussed in more detail above, which could not be intended for a general audience who read poetry. Rather, it is aimed at the other poets, with whom Dante exchanges and debates poetry. They are the

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same audience of the accessus of every poem. They are also the audience of the divisiones, which dissect almost every poem, offering an insight into Dante’s poetic workshop. While the sententia, the deeper meaning of his poems, might be addressed to general audiences, the means of achieving it and creating it (the accessus and the divisiones) are intended for other connoisseurs of poetry who are thus permitted a peek into the inventive process itself that will reveal the sententia of the poems. Dante’s constant insistence on these metaliterary observations suggests the Vita Nova is first and foremost a book on the art of composing poetry. Secondary to this aspect is its nature of a sentimental fictitious account of the youthful love for Beatrice and of the events that he claims marked his life prior to the realization that he needed to perfect his literary skills and learn more in order to be able to better honor Beatrice in his writings [sic]. The Vita Nova should be read in its context of Florence on the threshold of the fourteenth century, within which Dante is writing a treatise on poetry for his fellow poets and, while doing this, elevating his own poetry to the heights reserved for the auctores, be it ancient or modern.

chapter 3

Dante the Scribe and Dante the Commentator II: The Old Occitan Poetry Collections and the Vita Nova

The Italian-Occitan Connection: Historical Circumstances While the Occitan troubadours had a close relationship with Spain from the beginning of their tradition, they did not turn to Italy until much later, at the end of the twelfth century. The year 1194 marks the composition of a sirventes by a troubadour of most likely Italian origins, who exhorts the Lombards to wage war against Henry VI and invites them to be united against the Germans.1 This troubadour, the first Italian poet to have composed verse in Old Occitan whose work can be dated with certainty, is identified as Peire de Caravana (or Cavarana). In spite of this late beginning of the Occitan-Italian connection, the history of transmission of troubadour poetry is closely connected with northern Italy, above all with the Veneto region, where an ample diaspora of Occitan poets forms after the beginning of the Albigensian Crusades (1209–21). Forced to flee from the Languedoc, the troubadours arrived first in Piedmont and Lombardy and then in the Veneto and the Marca Trevigiana. At the same time, Italian courts opened themselves to Occitan and French influences. Troubadour poetry circulated in the northern parts of the peninsula as early as the beginning of the thirteenth century, while very soon the Veneto assumed the leading role in the production and dissemination of Old Occitan tradition. The Marca Trevigiana was the single most active center of Occitan tradition in Italy: it attracted Aimeric de Peguilhan and Uc de Saint Circ from Provençe and hosted Sordel from Mantua, the greatest of the Italian troubadours. Northern Italy was also home to the important patrons of the troubadours: the Malaspina, the Este, the Da Romano, the

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Savoia, and the Da Camino families. Marquis Alberto Malaspina of Lunigiana composed verse himself, but none of his poems was conserved. While the troubadours of the courts were professionals and had to count on support from their rich patrons, those who sang in the communal settings were mostly professionals such as judges, notaries, and state dignitaries but also dilettantes. The city of Bologna attracted the first Italian troubadour of whom we have a precise historical account, Rambertino Buvalelli, who died in 1221. Lanfranco Cigala (†1258), Bonifacio Calvo (active in the second half of the thirteenth century), and Percivalle Doria (†1264), among others, were stationed in Genoa. Venice was home to Bartolome Zorzi, whose collection of poetry represents a significant Occitan episode in the Venetian culture.

In lingua d’oco: Old Occitan Tradition in Tuscany and Florence This transplanted and newly generated culture was quickly transmitted from Uc’s adopted home in the Veneto to Tuscany, preceding or during the time of Dante’s early intellectual formation. According to Corrado Bologna, Tuscany, and more precisely Florence, was linked through merchant business with Bologna, whose students and professors were constantly traveling to the University of Padua, in the Veneto, in the first half of the thirteenth century. This was the suggested path that would have brought Old Occitan literature and culture from the north to Dante’s Florence. However, the university setting, which was a religious environment, can hardly be connected with the literary production in vernacular, dominating in mercantile circles. Guido Favati, on the other hand, hypothesizes that merchants traveling directly from Tuscany to the Veneto facilitated literary exchange between the two regions: during these travels a manuscript containing poetry of the Dolce Stil Nuovo would have been brought to the Veneto, where it would have generated a rich tradition. By the same token, while Dante was still very young, certainly before the compilation of the Vita Nova, a manuscript containing Occitan verse would have been brought back to Tuscany. D’Arco Silvio Avalle confronts Salvatore Santangelo’s suggestion that during his assumed stay in Bologna, from 1304 to 1306, Dante would have consulted the Old Occitan manuscript Laurentian Pluteo

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41.42 (P in the Old Occitan manuscript tradition) and advances this hypothesis by proposing that the manuscript in question is closely connected with the so-called third tradition, which can be traced in central Italy and to which Laurentian Pluteo 41.42 belongs. While this particular manuscript is dated to 1310, and bears its compiler’s signature “Petrus Berzoli de Eugubio,” we cannot exclude the possibility that Dante might have seen a similar manuscript in all probability affiliated with this codex. However, we can only view this as a hypothesis and admit that we do not possess any concrete material evidence we can rely on with absolute certainty. But we can draw conclusions from Dante’s own work: the Vita Nova’s text reveals significant Old Occitan presences which are too striking to be neglected. The absence of solid historical support for this thesis must not discourage us from such claims; instead, we need to look at the libello’s text and listen to what it is telling us: its prose bears noteworthy characteristics of the Old Occitan vidas and the razos, as well as of the material composition of the manuscripts containing the troubadour verse compiled in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth century, as discussed below. Another literary episode from late thirteenth-century Tuscany, where the Italian and Occitan traditions, according to Bologna, were widely disseminated, is the sonnet Valenz senher, rei dels Aragones by Paolo Lanfranchi, transmitted only by the Laurentian Pluteo 41.42 (suggested by Salvatore Santangelo as Dante’s possible source of Occitan works): Valenz senher, rei dels Aragones a qi prez es honors tut iorn enansa, remembre vus, senher, del Rei franzes qe vus venc a vezer e laiset Fransa  ab dos sos fillz es ab aqel d’Artes; hanc no fes colp d’espaza ni de lansa e mainz baros menet de lur paes: jorn de lur vida sai n’auran menbransa.  Nostre senhier faccia a vus compagna per qe en ren no vus qal[la] duptar; tals quida hom qe perda qe gazaingna.  Seigner es de la terra e de la mar, per qe lo rei engles e sel d’Espangna ne varran mais, si.ls vorres aiudar.

Dante the Scribe and Dante the Commentator II  105 [Valiant Lord, king of the Aragonese to whom honor grows every day closer, remember, Lord, the French king that has come to find you and has left France with his two sons and that one of Artois; but they have not dealt a blow with sword or lance and many barons have left their country: but a day will come when they will have some to remember. Our Lord make yourself a company in order that you might fear nothing; that one who would appear to lose might win. Lord of the land and the sea, as whom the king of England and that of Spain are not worth as much, if you wish to help them.]

This sonnet represents an extraordinary literary and cultural episode that reveals the relationship between different traditions in Tuscany: “it is a sonnet, an exquisitely Sicilian genre; it is in the Occitan language; it is, most important, a work of a person from Tuscany.”2 Bertoni dated this poem to 1284, a year prior to the death of Peter III of Aragon, to whom it was dedicated. As was often suggested, this poem is not at all noteworthy for the poet’s artistic achievements.3 Nonetheless, it represents valuable evidence and a solid indication of a strong Occitan presence in Florence where Dante was studying and experimenting with diverse literary and possibly scribal forms. Lanfranchi’s sonnet is described by Corrado Bologna as “a little masterpiece of history of the tradition, and it condenses in its position within P a double movement of flow-reflow which existed in Tuscany in the thirteenth century from north to south and then again from south to north.”4 This strong relationship between Occitan and Italian literatures in Florence is also corroborated by the opening poem in the Vatican Latino 3793, Madonna dir vo voglio, by Giacomo da Lentini.5 The extent to which Italian and Occitan traditions were overlapping in central Italy generally is further witnessed by Old Occitan MS c (closely related to the Laurentian Pluteo 41.42, as well as MSS S and U, with which it forms a family traceable to central Italy, according to Avalle), produced in Tuscany in the fourteenth century and containing, besides the troubadour texts, such an important poet as Dante da Maiano. The presence in the same manuscript also of Percivalle Doria, who was from Genova and wrote both in Old Occitan and Sicilian, is the ulti-

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mate verification of an extremely strong connection of the three traditions in thirteenth- and fourteenth-century Italy. Both the accessus ad auctores, on the one hand, and the vidas and the razos, on the other, were devised for a supporting role: they were used to facilitate circulation, transmission, and above all to impose a certain interpretation of texts. With time, however, their function becomes more central, and from short and concise, their structure develops into more ample units. The quantity of information, as well as level of its elaboration, is expanded gradually in the vidas and the razos, up to the point when they gain certain independence and assume a broader literary and historic dimension. At this phase, in the early fourteenth century, they already start to appear in manuscripts in separate sections, which contain only these pieces of exegetic prose. Toward the end of the thirteenth century and at the beginning of the fourteenth, as witnessed by the MSS Vatican Latino 3207 (H in the Old Occitan manuscript tradition) and Laurentian Pluteo 41.42, these prose sections are developed even further, almost into proto-novelle. Vidas and razos played a critical role in the process of adapting the troubadour culture to the newly found situation in Italy. Authors of the vidas, identified as Uc de Saint Circ and Miquel de la Tor, write their own accessus to various authors, applying to vernacular poets this genre previously reserved exclusively for the auctores and for scripture. As Meneghetti notes, we understand from the troubadours’ vidas that there is a general tendency to find among them men of letters, clerics, who come from well-to-do families. Biographies of both Uc de Saint Circ and Miquel de la Tor tell us that they were indeed men of letters, and therefore certainly familiar with the arts of the trivium, which gave them tools necessary for understanding and consequently employing the genre of the accessus to the vernacular authors: “this familiarity of the two biographers with the ars grammatica cannot but bear witness in favor of their knowledge, and consequently also of their capacity to use in a concrete way the formula of the accessus.”6 This kind of education allowed the two biographers access to scholastic texts, and Latin literature in general, which probably induced them to apply to the Occitan authors the same sort of exegesis they found, for example, in the case of Ovid’s texts, which were accompanied by the introductory interpretation in the form of accessus. In this manner vernacular texts received the same kind of treatment and attention as classical

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authors and received a new dimension of what Meneghetti defined as external referentiality.7 Some scholars, like Elizabeth Poe, express their doubts about the possible relationship between the accessus and the vidas and razos by claiming that although the two genres share a common function of introduction to literary texts, it would be nevertheless difficult to substantiate the relationship between the two and establish a direct connection.8 Poe argues that the Occitan texts draw from the saints’ lives and the fabliau plots, while Corrado Bologna suggests that the possibility that the Occitan texts were based on the accessus should at the very least be promoted to the level of hypothesis.9 Along the same lines, Meneghetti conducts a detailed comparison in her seminal book, Il pubblico dei trovatori. In order to establish if and to what degree this vernacular genre textually relates to the Latin, she proposes to examine the vidas and the razos, taken together as one single text, and the literary accessus of the medieval tradition, which were also works of imagination, allowing their authors significant liberty in interpretation. Meneghetti’s findings are based on the corpus examined that contains chiefly Ovid’s works, which always appear in monolithic blocks within manuscripts, between texts by other indispensable auctores. Ovid in particular was very close to the newly formed system of values and themes that lies behind the origins and development of Occitan literature. Moreover, both Uc de Saint Circ and Miquel de la Tor had attended the school of Montpellier, and Miquel de la Tor even had the scholastic title maistre. Hence the conclusion that the two authors drew inspiration from the texts they were reading appears plausible. As it is plausible to assert that after reading these Latin interpretations of classical authors they felt the need to introduce the vernacular authors in the same manner—first, because they saw intrinsic qualities in vernacular poetry, and, second, because the new contexts in which the Occitan poetry was being read required an intermediary that would bring the poems’ original context closer and eventually reconcile the two contexts through prose.10 As established in chapter 2, and as indicated by Meneghetti, every accessus contains the following information, with some variations: 1) About the life and the author; 2) about the title of the work—the title, following the medieval usage, often coincided with the incipit or it derived from the work’s subject; 3) about the subject of the

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work; 4) about the literary genre to which the work belongs (forma tractatus); 5) about the purpose of the work; 6) about the lesson which the reader can learn from it (utilitas).11

A series of formulas that distinguish the genre of vidas (si fo de ‘was from,’ enamoret se de ‘fell in love with,’ fetz maintas bonas cansos ‘composed many good songs,’ e lai el definet ‘and there he died’) conveyed a variety of information: the troubadour’s name, his place of origin, his father’s name and social status, the name of his lady, the type and quality of poetry that he composed, the place of and perhaps the reason for his death.12 Meneghetti’s precisely aimed analysis of the vidas and razos confirms the following development: five out of the above-mentioned six parts of the accessus are present in the vernacular texts: (a) Author; (b) form (genre); (c) subject; (d) purpose; (e) title.13

The sixth part, identified as the “generating motive,” indeed was present in the medieval Latin texts, in this case corresponding to the razo. Meneghetti concludes, therefore, that about 90 percent of the troubadour biographies are based on the form of the accessus.14 Every vida, no matter how short and concise, begins with the name and the geographic origins of the troubadour in question and contains with almost no exception the information about the poetic genre composed by the poet. Biographical data often accumulate much more than in the accessus, adopting the leading role in the narrative. While biographies of minor authors, some of which are only a couple of sentences long, show certain inconsistencies with the six-step scheme, those pertaining to the major troubadours follow this structure in detail. Despite the absence of a universal scheme which would be present in every biography, the results of Meneghetti’s assessment undoubtedly confirm that the principal model for the vidas and razos was provided by the Latin genre of the accessus, embraced by Uc de Saint Circ and Miquel de la Tor in their exegesis of the authors of the new vernacular tradition.

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Uc de Saint Circ and Circulation of Old Occitan Manuscripts in Italy V e n e t o - S ic i ly-T us c a n y: C u lt u r a l C on t ac t s a n d L i t e r a r y E xc h a ng e s

Florentine MS Vatican Latino 3793 sheds light on access to the Occitan lyric at the Sicilian court. The opening of this collection represents a remarkable moment in the transmission of vernacular poetry in Italy and contributes importantly to my argument in this study. Madonna dir vo voglio by Giacomo da Lentini, founder of the Sicilian poetry “school,” is copied on c.1r of the Vatican Latino 3793 codex as the first poem of the collection. This poem is significant on several levels: it opens a comprehensive poetry collection of Italian vernacular verse, made in Florence and copied by predominantly one, Florentine hand; it was composed by the most prominent and influential Sicilian poet, who essentially executes a poetic translation of A vos, midontç, voill rettrair’en cantan, by an Occitan troubadour, Folquet de Marselha. The three traditions—Occitan, Sicilian, and Tuscan—are thus represented in only one poetic composition, which is granted the honor of launching this highly important anthology, both for its compiler (who organizes the collection so as to have it culminate with Monte Andrea and Chiaro Davanzati, the most important Florentine poets for the codex’s compiler at the time) and for us. This certainly did not happen by chance: many social, political, and cultural factors led to this remarkable moment in Florentine culture. The opening of the Vatican Latino 3793 speaks volumes about literary tendencies in Florence at the end of the Duecento (and the beginning of the Trecento): conclusions drawn from c.1r can certainly help us decipher Dante’s innovative opting for the combination of prose and verse in the Vita Nova. Roncaglia argues that Giacomo did not merely translate Folquet’s poem, but that he adapted it semantically and decoded it culturally. This complex work would have been impossible to realize without having seen the poem in writing, as opposed to having it heard from a jongleur. Of course, this assumption suggests a material presence of Occitan verse in the Sicilian court, concludes Roncaglia, and adds: The first appearance in Italy of a collection of Occitan poems is connected to the milieu of the Da Romanos’ Veneto, to the work carried out systematically by Uc de Saint-Circ (who was not active

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there before 1219). Well then: Ezzelino da Romano, who, as podestà of Verona, had stopped the Germans of Henry from their decent through the valley of Adige, had passed to the imperial party, and had gained power over Verona only in 1232, with the direct help of Frederick. If, as it is logical to guess, an Old Occitan codex passed from Ezzelino’s seigniory of the Veneto, to Frederick’s imperial court, it could not have happened before that year. It is also indicative that a little while after that, the Donat proensal was dedicated to Giacomo di Enrico da Morra, imperial podestà in Treviso in 1234.15

Bologna indicates that the mobile court of Frederick II might have had contact with other courts cherishing Occitan poetry, and in trying to reconstruct the possible relationship between the Sicilians and the troubadours, connects them using the name of Uc de Saint Circ, on the one hand, and scribal and editorial activity of the scriptoria in northern Italy, on the other. According to the scholar, a court from the Veneto—perhaps that of the Da Romanos where Uc was working and where Old Occitan texts were edited and copied—would have been in touch with Frederick II’s court in its procession along the Apennines.16 vidas

and

r a zos

Manuscripts of Old Occitan verse were carefully planned and executed books. According to recoverable data, more than half of extant codices were produced in Italy, while the most important tradition, defined by Avalle as ε, “depends with certainty on an exemplar from the Veneto.”17 The manuscript from which ε derived is identified as Dª, the first section of the Estense codex D (Modena, Estense α.R.4.4, dated to 1254). This so-called courtly anthology is also known as Liber domini Alberici and represents the oldest collection of Occitan works produced in Italy. The first section of the manuscript bears an inscription: “These are the beginnings of the songs of the book which belonged to master Albericus and the names of the authors of these songs.”18 Albericus, whose name the codex bears and who probably commissioned the collection, is identified as Alberico, marquis of Treviso from 1239 to 1260 and brother of Ezzelino Da Romano. Only in the Veneto, under the protection of the Da Romano family, do the Occitan songbooks assume the form in which we today know a large number of them: vidas, the troubadour biographies, were added to these collections by Uc de Saint Circ, “a man of letters mediocre as artist, and not recommendable as a person (he did not, it seems,

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have any scruples even about lending money on usury)”19 who fled to Italy from Quercy in Provençe to become “protagonist of the Occitan culture in Treviso and in all Veneto,”20 “doctor provincialium transplanted in the Trevisano . . . , literary historian, . . . , biographer, . . . educator of courtly audiences revolving around the Da Romanos, . . . administrant of valid examples as paradigms of the real.”21 He was present at the court of the Da Romanos where his literary activity can be determined between 1210 and 1255. In 1257 the ecclesiastical authorities accused him of usury and heresy and declared him guilty of these accusations. Uc’s vida informs us that he traveled to Gascony, Catalonia, Aragon, Spain, Provençe, Lombardy, and, finally, the Marca Trevigiana. And he stayed for a long time in Gascony, poor, at times on foot, at times riding a horse . . . and he stayed for a long time . . . in Poitiers and in its parts, then in Catalonia and in Aragon and in Spain. . . . [A]nd then in Provence, as all barons, then in Lombardy and in the Marca Trevigiana.22

Panvini argued that the validity of this information can be trusted, as Uc himself was in all certainty the author: the information contained in his vida and in the razos accompanying his poems is not offered anywhere but in these prose sections, which leads to a conclusion that they could not have originated from anyone else but Uc himself.23 During his numerous travels across southern and western Europe, Uc was collecting books and texts, thus building the corpus for what would later become the organized book containing vidas and razos. Uc’s contribution to the transmission and reception of Occitan poetry is exceptional, and his work can be characterized as “a systematically performed philological activity.”24 His passionate effort to compose these prose texts to accompany poetry was inspired by his desire to present more closely not only the poetry of the troubadours but also their (and his own) culture, its language and tradition. The vidas and the razos, hence, are products of a fervent promoter of Occitan civilization in its whole, aiming to give a broader background of the cultural system that was embroidered in those poems. From the margins of oral performance and the margins of manuscripts, these prose texts came to form an independent tradition of their own. At the same time the vidas and razos mark a key point in transmission and reception not only of Uc de Saint Circ’s work but also of the

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scribal strategies necessary for the transmission of “ancient” and then “recent” editions of poetry and prose in Occitan compiled in Italy. Lucia Lazzerini expresses caution regarding the claims that Uc is the only author of the vidas. Uc’s authorship is certain for his own vida, for that of Bernart de Ventadorn (in which Uc himself states that he is responsible for the text), and for the razos of Savaric de Mauleòn’s poems. She adds that he is almost without doubt the author of the vidas of Raimbaut d’Aurenga, Guilhem IX, Sordel, and Guilhem Figueira.25 The debate about authorship of the vidas and the razos has been long, and apart from two names that can be found in the manuscripts, those of Miquel de la Tor and Uc de Saint Circ, there is not much that we can say with absolute certainty about the process of the progress of their initial circulation. The debates regarding circulation of manuscripts containing the vidas and razos have not yet reached a common ground for a definite solution.26 Gustav Gröber hypothesized that the vidas and some of the razos were present in the archetype and were expanded and finished only later by Uc and Miquel, while Salvatore Santangelo claimed that the collection of vidas and razos was already complete in the archetype (put together by Uc). According to Guido Favati the two different collections existed containing vidas and razos separately. Bruno Panvini confirmed Santangelo’s claim that Uc was indeed the author of the archetype of h², expanding it to Uc’s authorship of an older manuscript, n², containing Uc’s vida, and composed of course by Uc himself. Therefore, Panvini claimed that Uc de Saint Circ would have been the author of the manuscript at the beginning of the tradition that Santangelo reconstructed and advanced further this assertion by expanding Uc’s authorship to the majority of the troubadour biographies.27 According to Meneghetti, in the absence of concrete evidence we can promote to the level of working hypothesis the claim that Uc probably wrote, or at least supervised, the composition of all the pre-1257 vidas.28 Therefore, the original audience for the new literary genres (the vidas and razos) was to be found at Italian courts, starting with that of the Da Romanos which produced the new tradition.29 After all these claims and different positions on this matter, Gianfranco Folena’s conclusion that “the question of paternity of the vidas and the razos is and will remain probably forever sub iudice”30 seems not only plausible but also the only one we can make with certainty.

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From the literary point of view, the vidas and razos were formed together with other literary texts “by means of an insertion of prose which forms a connective tissue between the poems.”31 Avalle argues that the origins of the vidas and razos should be sought in the tradition of public oral performance of poetry along with the music, certainly before the “divorce” of music and verse, when minstrels preceded the performance of poetry by an exposition on the poem’s content accompanied by the life of the author. Public performance of troubadour poems was generally preceded (but this usage seems to have originated in a somewhat later period) by a short speech with which the author or a minstrel informed the audience about the content of the poem and about the motives which determined its composition (razos). When the recital was dedicated only to one poet, biographical information was provided, which contained the information about the region of origin, social conditions, the most noteworthy episodes from his life, and love adventures; everything was determined by an overall assessment both from the literary and musical point of view (vidas).32

The vidas and razos, therefore, would seem to be a later product of Occitan literary tradition, a “by-product” of poetry, whose origins are closely connected to the crisis generated by the change of the cultural setting, after the Albigensian Crusades and the relocation of the poets to Italy, into the diaspora. Furthermore, this change is contingent upon social and political shifts that compound the relationship between the ruling class and art. Within the troubadour culture, to pass from the lyric to the narrative, from the canso to the vida or to the razo, one needs to await . . . a change in the ideological support which sustains the literary activity, or better, the crisis of the initial relationship of accident between the court ideology, which can be defined as an ideology of low nobility in the second feudal age—welcomed or criticized by different poets—and the products of art.33

Moreover, the “reality” that emerges from the prose in Old Occitan collections is fleeting, as it is derived from the poetry and its subjective contents. Prose, as well as poetry, is then deeply subjective, creating a sort of illusion of reality that surrounds a text while claiming to be interpreting it. While the information provided in prose is mostly extracted from the poetic text itself, it is marked by a certain ideologi-

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cal value, added by the biographer in the process of exegesis. He passes the contents of poems through the filter of current cultural codex, before including them in biographies, which then reach the listener/ reader in a ready-to-use and culturally acceptable form. In this manner he blends the culture of the poem with the principles of the new setting, presumably the court of the Da Romanos. The vidas and razos were elaborated over time, and in MSS Vatican Latino 3207, dated to the late thirteenth century, and Laurentian Pluteo 41.42, dated to 1310, we find them in a more advanced form. The change happens also in the material structure of the manuscripts. The Vatican Latino 3207 is structured like other thirteenth-century manuscripts: the prose texts introduce the troubadours through the vidas, and the background of their poem(s) through the razos.34 On the other hand, the prose texts in Laurentian Pluteo 41.42 are grouped in one section, on cc. 39–52, thus following a structure that will become dominant in fourteenth-century manuscripts. Grouping the vidas and razos in separate sections in later collections reveals a general tendency to assign them the function of an embryonic historical-literary design.35 Furthermore, both in Laurentian Pluteo 41.42 and in Vatican Latino 3207 the vidas and razos are textually more elaborate, up to the point of becoming a prototype of novelle in the latter. The compilers of both these manuscripts go one step further in the editorial intervention, and instead of quoting a verse or two in the vidas and razos, for the sake of linking them to the poem they refer to, they incorporate entire coblas into the narrative. Thus the newly formed text consisting of a vida or a razo and an integrated cobla becomes an independent structure—a mini-prosimetrum—which functions as a complete, selfcontained composition. Consequently, the editor/compiler does not need the rest of the poem anymore, which leads to its complete omission from the manuscript.36 This tendency toward narrative is also pointed out by Favati, who defines the editorial choice of Laurentian Pluteo 41.42 as “la linea Decameron,” and contrasts it to the original inclination to brevity of authors of the narrative texts. In the beginning they express only the substance of the story, while over time they progressively opt to dramatize the scene, even at the expense of the economy of the narrative.37 Thus, over time, the vidas and razos undergo a substantial transformation: from short supportive texts, or glosses, to already well established literary compositions in the mid-thirteenth century to highly devel-

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oped literary works capable of functioning as independent texts in independent manuscript sections at the turn of the fourteenth century.

Tutto ciò che narrato è in questa ragione: The Role of the Razos in the Making of the Vita Nova We cannot exclude the possibility that Dante had seen similar manuscripts circulating in Tuscany, perhaps a close relative of the Laurentian Pluteo 41.42, singled out by Santangelo and Avalle as Dante’s possible Old Occitan source. As in MS Vat. Lat. 3207, its concluding prose section (cc. 39–52) employs a similar combination of prose and verse: the coblas are copied within the text of their razos. The material choices of the editors/scribes of these collections, those of incorporation of the lyric texts in the prose, tend to create a situation in which these logical units become self-contained.38 Consequently, this often leads to the omission of the rest of the poems in these collections, since the cobla has by this time achieved a unique level of textual independence and now forms an autonomous text together with its razo—a true prosimetrum.39 Old Occitan prose texts that accompany poems in the songbooks represent the first instance in the vernacular traditions where a contemporary vernacular text is analyzed with the same attention that until then was dedicated to the auctores, both classical and biblical.40 Uc de Saint Circ and Miquel de la Tor set a historic precedent in text criticism by choosing to honor vernacular poetry in the same way in which the Bible and philosophical and literary texts of the classical auctores, and similar Latin works by medieval auctores, were approached. Here and now, in the Languedoc and northern Italy of the thirteenth century, a new tradition is established—one that will open the path for the expansion of vernacular literature into areas other than poetry. Not only is “the formal juxtaposition of commentary and lyric . . . an innovation that reveals a revolutionary attitude towards the truth value and referentiality of verse and prose,”41 but it functions on a much larger scale as a defining moment in codification of vernacular literature as authoritative and worthy of scholarly attention. In addition, the authors of the vidas and razos employ the same strategy as medieval commentators who turn to the accessus in order to bring texts closer to their contemporary mentality and understanding of the world: in the ver-

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nacular context, too, the need to establish an official version of these poems moves this entire exegetic undertaking. However, we are still in a context in which the author(s) of poetry, on the one hand, and the author(s) of prose, the compiler(s), and the commentator(s), on the other, are different entities. The vidas and razos are conceived a posteriori by commentators different from authors of the poems, as we have seen, as “facilitators” of the contextualization of the lyric. Dante of the Vita Nova will take this concept to a whole new level. As Santagata has remarked, “Dante is not only the only poet to have applied to poems in Italian that way of presentation, which, as far as we know, had been limited to Old Occitan lyric, but he is the only one to have gone beyond the forms of the ‘novellistic’ type that could have developed from the razos in order to push, in an unprecedented way, towards a coherent book.”42 But the most important aspect of Dante’s innovative approach that must be spelled out loud and clear lies in his transformation of the role of the author in the Vita Nova: from two separate authors in the Old Occitan tradition, we arrive at one author who comments on his own poems. The principal thematic motif of the first sonnet of the libello, A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core, and of the prose related to it, as well as the combination of poetry and prose that Dante employs, where the prose clarifies the poems, suggests an important influence of the Old Occitan lyric tradition—both its themes and its material structure in the later manuscript tradition. The anthologies of Old Occitan verse, which represent the major vehicles of transmission of troubadour poetry in the second half of the thirteenth century, allow the retrieval of the Old Occitan texts from the late twelfth century in the new cultural setting whose access to poetry shifts from public performance to private reading.43 The relationship between the interpretive razos and their accompanying lyrics and subsequent medieval editions suggests a strong dependence of the razos on poetry, and “it can be reasonably suggested that even the Vita Nuova could not have been composed without them.”44 Indeed, the Vita Nova proposes to be an exegetic text,45 and the only available example of this specific form its author had were the Occitan prose texts. However, in accepting the razos as a valid influence and source for the young Dante, Santagata has argued that what concerns Dante the most in the Vita Nova is the truthfulness and credibility (verosimiglianza e credibilità) of his prose, whereas this would not have been important for the authors of the razos, who often

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abandon themselves to fantasy and imagination.46 However, as Barolini has shown, Dante often manipulates his poems in order to adapt them to the new context surrounding the compilation of the libello.47 While he wishes his reader to believe that events recounted in prose truthfully narrate the events sung in the poems, he rarely fails to bend the poems to the narrative of the libello. In some cases he even changes the wording of his poems, giving them new dimensions and new depths. Furthermore, as Picone notices, the Vita Nova is a “systematic and typologic commentary of the ‘Vita Dantis,’” in which the scholar sees elements of biblical exegesis as well as those related to the interpretation of the auctores and the troubadours.48 While all these contexts are present in the Vita Nova on the compositional as well as on the thematic level, and biblical codes are present in Dante’s early poetry (including the sonnet O voi che per la via d’Amor passate, which circulated before its incorporation in the Vita Nova), it is clear from the very opening of the libello that what interests Dante the most in his little book is poetry. This is confirmed by the Vita Nova’s closing as well, where he addresses his poor poetic skills, admitting that he is no longer worthy of Beatrice’s glory. His belief in poetry from the beginning, his eagerness to expound his poems and provide his fellow poets with the insight into poetic process that stands behind his poems, subsides at the closing of the libello. Let us consider the very last prose section of the Vita Nova: After this sonnet, a wonderful vision appeared to me, in which I saw things which made me resolve to speak no more of this blessed one, until I could more worthily treat of her. And to attain to this, I study to the utmost of my power, as she truly knows. So that, if it shall please Him through whom all things live, that my life be prolonged for some years, I hope to say of her what was never said of any woman. And then may it please Him who is the lord of Grace, that my soul may go to behold the glory of its lady, namely, of that blessed Beatrice, who in glory looks upon the face of Him qui est per omnia sæcula benedictus (who is blessed forever). (VN 31, XLII)49

Under the guise of treating of Beatrice, Dante is actually reflecting, one last time in his libello, on his authorship and on the art of poetry: he will not write about Beatrice before he is able to do so skillfully. And if we take into consideration the fact that the word dire stands for the

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syntagm dire in versi, poetare, it will be clear that the focus that he proposed at the beginning of the little book—that of accompanying the transcription of the major paragraphs from the book of his memory with their exegesis, their sententia—is still at the center of his attention. But here he finally realizes that his poetic genius has its limits, and that the narrative has to stop. The “Vita Dantis” that is found between these two cardinal points and that is parallel to, if not dependent on, poetry is in function of the poetry itself. There would not have existed the “Vita Dantis” in the Vita Nova had it not been for poetry, had it not been for the invention of the author’s chansonnier that is the Vita Nova. But that the Vita Nova is not a simple canzoniere d’autore is witnessed more than once by its very text, beginning with the proem— the accessus—in which the poet announces his intention to at the very least explain the sententia (meaning) of the words from the book of his memory. Right here, at the opening of the text, amid the vocabulary and imagery that recalls book production in his day and age (libro, leggere, rubrica, parole scripte, asemplare, libello), he opts to use a technical term from philosophical discourse of his time, sententia, usually used in the context of Bible exegesis, where it implied a deeper, hidden meaning, opposed to littera (literal meaning), or in interpretation of the auctores, whose words and works were marked by complex or improper connotations. If he is not able to transcribe all the words, at least he will provide the reader with their meaning, their authentic interpretation that comes from the author himself. Dante sets out to explain his poems, and with them his life, and he will do so in the spirit of learned commentaries that provided their audiences with the interpretation of the core qualities of the commented texts—or, more precisely, with what the authors of these commentaries wanted to set as the acceptable truth.50 Moreover, Dante strengthens his approach to vernacular poetry in the theoretical considerations in paragraph 16 (XXV) that, among other things, led him to further consider implications of poetry and the importance of hermeneutics. Therefore, if we see that the poets have spoken of inanimate things as if they had sense and reason, and have made them speak together, and not only real things, but also things not real (that is, that they have said of things which have no existence that they speak, and have often

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made contingent things speak as if they were substances and human beings), it is fitting that the writer in rhyme should do the like, not, indeed, without some reason, but with a reason which it may be possible afterwards to explain in prose. (VN 16, XXV; emphasis mine)51

A vernacular poet, therefore, can do what the auctores did: he can have animate as well as inanimate objects speak, thus applying in their text the same rhetorical devices that were available to the poete, to the classical authors. But certain limitations should apply; namely, vernacular poets should be able to “explain in prose” (aprire per prosa) the process behind such an action. Dante’s word choice as well as the context of this claim refer the reader directly to the Old Occitan razo tradition, both through his choice of the word ragione and through a brief explanation of its function—to explain in prose that which stands behind the verse, its sense, and its role.52 He uses the word ragione (account, razo) throughout the Vita Nova, and always in strategic places, in his metaliterary observations about what he has just written and what to expect. In all these instances Dante recalls explicitly the Occitan razos, thus overtly linking his own authorial actions to that vernacular tradition of exegesis. Furthermore, most of the prose sections of the Vita Nova contain detailed accounts about presumably autobiographical circumstances that surround the conception of every poem.53 Thus paragraph 2 (III.14–VII) informs us of the replies Dante received from the famosi trovatori, introduces the first of his friends, Guido Cavalcanti, and the screen lady (donna-schermo), now thought by many to be the lady of his heart. The second sonnet, O voi che per la via d’Amor passate, is dedicated to the poet’s grief for the departure of the screen lady. However, at the same time it bears an indirect connection with Beatrice, which is the sole reason the poet decides to transcribe this sonnet in the libello. Once again we encounter the device of selectio, which is present in the Vita Nova from its opening, when Dante informs us that he will transcribe only the “maggiori paragrafi” from the book of his memory. The poet thus informs the reader earlier in the text that although he composed certain poems for the screen lady, he will not include them in the Vita Nova unless they in some way treat of Beatrice. And to better allow others to believe it, I created for her certain little things in verse, which it is not my intention to write down here, unless they mainly treat of that most graceful Beatrice. (VN 2, V)54

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The sonnet Con l’altre donne mia vista gabbate, contained in paragraph 7 (XIV), is the poetic expression of the poet’s public humiliation in front of Beatrice, who was attending a wedding with other ladies. Paragraphs 8 (XV) and 9 (XVI) report self-critical internal reflections, similar to those of paragraph 6. These two chapters culminate in the sonnet Ciò che m’ incontra, nella mente more (where the word gabbo, the scoffing of the ladies, returns once again), the former, and Spesse fïate vegnonmi alla mente, the latter. Paragraphs 3 (VIII) and 13 (XXII) retell the deaths of Beatrice’s young friend and Beatrice’s father, respectively. These paragraphs contain two sonnets each: Piangete, amanti, poi che piange Amore and Morte villana, di Pietà nemica belong to the third chapter, while Voi che portate la sembianza umile and Se’ tu colui ch’ ài tractato sovente belong to the thirteenth. Some paragraphs contain Dante’s visions that he claims inspired the composition of certain poems. Soon after the screen lady leaves the city, Dante travels to the territory close to where she now lives: in the nearness of this pretended affection, Love appears to the poet, in a vision, and triggers the composition of the sonnet Cavalcando l’altrier per un camino. In paragraph 14 (XXIII), after the episode of the death of Beatrice’s father, the ailing poet, conscious of the brevity of life (to which he realizes that the lady of his heart is also subjected), has a vision of Beatrice’s death, followed by the canzone Donna pietosa e di novella etate. Beatrice herself, and especially her salutation and its effect on the people, is at the center of several paragraphs. In paragraph 5 (X–XII) the reader learns about the other screen lady, because of whom “quella gentilissima” Beatrice now denies her salutation, “nello quale stava tutta la [sua] beatitudine,” to the poet-lover. This is the occasion for the examination of the influence of Beatrice’s salutation and consequently of the lack thereof, which culminates in another vision of Amor, who sheds light on these events, assuring the poet that Beatrice is well aware of his fidelity. But he should translate this fidelity into verse, which leads to the composition of the poem Ballata, i’ vo’ che tu ritrovi Amore. In this poem Dante excuses himself with Beatrice indirectly, speaking to the ballata. The first canzone in the collection, Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore, is transcribed in the libello after a long reflection on the new subject of poetry, announced in the first sentence of paragraph 10 (XVII–XIX).

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After I had written these three sonnets, in which I spoke to that lady, since they told almost everything about my state, I believed I should be silent and say no more, since it seemed to me I had explained sufficiently about myself, although, silent from then on in speaking to her, I was compelled to adopt new subject, nobler than before.55 (VN 10, XIX)

The reason for this new subject matter and for the canzone is that they are “pleasant to hear:” they will treat of Beatrice. The canzone is addressed to the “donne . . . che sono gentili e che non sono pure femine;” the poet speaks to the ladies who understand love, who have “intellecto d’amore.” The theme of the nobility of the heart as devised by Guido Guinizzelli and accepted by many a poet of Dante’s day is continued in the following poem, the sonnet Amore e ‘ l cor gentil sono una cosa, preceded, in paragraph 11 (XX), by Dante’s account that this poem was written in response to “alcuno amico,” who asked for the poet’s explanation of “che è Amore” from the previous poem, and modeled as a response to Guido’s Al cor gentil rempaira sempre Amore. Paragraph 6 (XIII) calls attention to the poetic and philosophic considerations on the effects of Amor, in a “battaglia di diversi pensieri,” and closes with the sonnet Tutti li miei pensier’ parlan d’Amore. Indirectly, the use of the expression “la battaglia delli diversi pensieri” recalls Guido Cavalcanti and his concern with the psychology of love. Dante thus weaves another literary source into his little book, underpinning in this way his interest in the meaning and the use of poetry, most notably evident in paragraph 16 (XXV), which contains in a detailed metaliterary reflection a long digression in which the central idea is to delineate continuity between the Latin and vernacular authors, because “dire per rima in volgare è quanto dire per versi in latino.” This paragraph does not contain any poems, as it is of purely theoretical concern for the poet who entwines in this chapter many of the previous literary experiences, in the apology of his choice to personify Amor in the previous paragraph.56 M S S Vat ic a n L at i no 32 0 7 a n d L au r e n t i a n Pl u t e o 41. 4 2

MSS Vatican Latino 3207 and Laurentian Pluteo 41.42 offer numerous cases of fusion of prose and verse that function as independent narrative units. In the former, very often these units consist of alternating prose and verse, where one unit consists of multiple switches from

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prose to poetry and vice versa. In the latter, this relationship stabilizes and prose takes over, incorporating not more than a couple of coblas in a unit but most frequently only one. The greatest shift, evident in paratextual apparatus, concerns the color of ink used for poetry and for prose, which regulates the dynamics of a charta of transcription. Normally rubrics in manuscripts from Old Occitan and Italian traditions are transcribed in red ink, while black ink is reserved for the literary work being copied. MS Vatican Latino 3207 follows this tradition, thus staying within the scribal norms. Pluteo 41.42 (fig. 1) departs significantly from the standard ink use: in its final section prose is in black and poetry in red ink. Its scribe, Petrus Berzoli de Eugubio, reverses the roles on his chartae: prose becomes main text, while poetry serves only to illustrate a point and indicate a poem to be sought elsewhere because the reader will only find sporadic coblas included in the narrative. Prose thus seems to gain importance over time, which is especially important to note in this still poetic tradition: the first half of this codex transmits poetry (copied in black ink) only to get to prose on cc. 39r and following. The most common way of introducing coblas is a simple statement: So he composed this canso, which says. [Don el fetz aq(e)sta chanson qe dis.]57

A cobla in red then follows. The scribe makes a difference in the miseen-page as well when he copies poetry one verse per line of transcription and prose continuously, in prose style, carrying words over from the previous line if necessary. An overwhelming majority of other prose texts in this codex use this formula (in cases where not a canso, but only a cobla survived or was originally composed, the author of the prose announces explicitly that a cobla was written and will now be transcribed). The division between poetry and prose is rather strict, but every prose section is entwined with the lyric in a similar manner in this prosimetrum, which is evident even without reading in its materiality of alternating prose style and verse mise-en-page, and, more important and more obviously, in alternating red and black ink. In MS Vat. Lat. 3207, prose-verse units are transcribed in alternating red and black ink: red for prose and black for poetry. From the point of view of the norms of paratextual apparatus, this dynamic between prose and poetry would seem quite ordinary: red rubrics,

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Figure 1.  Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Ms. Plut. 41.42, c. 39r. (Printed with permission of MiBACT). (Any further reproduction in any form is prohibited.)

black text. However, one look at many of the chartae containing poetry and prose will confirm that prose often prevails, especially toward the end of the codex. In other words, chartae in this manuscript are often predominantly red, sprinkled with the black ink of poetry here and there. A good example can be found on c. 53 r, where we read the razo written around the debate poem between Maria de Ventadorn and Gui

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d’Uisel. The razo, in red ink, which begins by stating, “You have certainly heard” (Ben aves auzit), seems to imply the existence of a vida, which is not present in this codex. It continues by summarizing Maria de Ventadorn’s noble virtues and her greatness in every sense. It then introduces the figure of the troubadour Gui d’Uisel through the citation of his poem, which laments the loss of his lady: If you separate me, evil lady, from you. The razo further explains the circumstances that led to the poetic exchange between Maria de Ventadorn and Gui d’Uisel, introducing the lyrics by claiming, “And on this subject my lady Maria challenged him to a tenso, and said thus: ‘Gui d’Uisel, I’m quite concerned,’” thus citing the first verse of her first cobla. The scribe continues by reporting in a rubric her name, Madompna Maria de Ventadorn, proceeding to transcription of poetry immediately thereafter. When the first cobla of the debate has been copied, the scribe reports, “Gui d’Uisel responds,” and goes on to copy Gui’s cobla. From that point on, the Vatican collection reports only the name of the author of the subsequent cobla in a simple rubric in red: Maria de Ventadorn responds or Gui d’Uissel responds. [Red ink] You have certainly heard about my lady Maria de Ventadorn how she was the most esteemed lady who ever lived in Limousin and the one who did the most good and who most refrained from evil. And her good sense always helped her and folly never made her act foolishly. And God honored her with a beautiful attractive body without artifice. Lord Gui d’Uisel had lost his lady, as you have heard in his song which says: [black ink] “If you separate me, evil lady, from you, etc.” [red] So he lived in great grief and in great sadness. And he had not sung or composed in a long time, and all the good ladies from that region were very grieved about it, and Lady Maria more than all others, because Lord Gui d’Uisel praised her in all his songs. And the Count of La Marche, who was called Uc lo Brun, was her knight, and she had given him as much honor and love as a lady can give a knight. And one day he was courting her, and there arose a dispute between them: the Count of La Marche said that every true lover, since his lady gives him her love and takes him as her knight and friend, so long as he is loyal and true to her, must have as much suzerainty and authority over her as she has over him. And Lady Maria argued that the friend should not have suzerainty or authority over her. Lord Gui d’Uisel was in the court of Lady Maria and she, to make him return to songs of joy, composed a couplet in which she asked him if it was suitable for the

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friend to have as much suzerainty over the lady as she had over him. And on this subject my lady Maria challenged him to a tenso, and said thus: [black] “Gui d’Uissel, I’m quite concerned.” [Red] My Lady Maria de Ventadorn: [black]: “Gui D’Uisels, I’m quite concerned . . . ” [Red]: Gui d’Uisels replies: [black]: “Lady Maria, tensos . . . ”[Red]: My Lady Maria: [Black] “Gui, the lover, by prayer, ought to ask . . . ” [(Red ink) Ben avetz auzit d(e) ma dompna Maria de Ventadorn co(m) ella fo la plus preziada dompna qe anc fos en Lemozin (et) aqella q(e) plus fetz de be e plus se gardet de mal. E totas vetz l aiudet sos senz, e follors no ill fetz far follia. Et onret la Deus de bel plazen cors avinen ses maestria. En Guis d’Uisels si avia p(er)duda sa dompna, si co(m) vos avetz ausi en la soa canson qe dis: (Black ink) “Si ben partetz mala dompna de vos. (etcetera).” (Red) Don el vivia en gran dolor (et) en gran tristessa. Et avia lonc tems qel no avia chantat ni trobat. Don totas las bonas dompnas d aqella encontrada n eron fort dolentas. E ma dompna Maria plus qe totas per so q En Guis d’Uisels la lauzava en totas las cansos. El coms de la Mar[]cha, los qals era apellatz N Ucs lo Brus si era sos cavalliers et ella l avia fait tant d onor e d amo(r) com dompna pot far a cavalie(r). Et un dia el dompneiava com ella e si agon una tenson entre lor. Qe l coms de la Ma[r]cha dizia qe totz fis amaire pois qe sa dompna li dona s amor ni l pren p(er) cavalier ni per amic, tant com el es leials ni fis vas ella, deu aver aitan de seignoria en ella e de comandamen com ella de lui. E madompna Maria defendia qe l amic no devia aver en ella seignoria ni comendamen. En Guis d’Uisels si era en la cort de ma dompna Maria. Et ella per far lo tornar en cansos (et) en solatz si fetz una cobla en la cal li mandet si se covenia qe l amics ages aitant de seignoria en la soa dompna com la dompna en lui. E d aqesta rason madompna Maria si l escomes de tenson, e dis enaissi: (Black) Gui d’Uisel be m pesa de vos. (Red) Mado(m)pna Maria d(e) Ve(n) tador(n): (Black) Gui d’Uisels be m pesa de vos. (Red): Gui d’Uisels r(espondet): (black): Dompna na Maria tensos. (Red): Madompna Maria: (Black) Gui tot so don es cobeitos.]58

MS Vatican Latino 3207 (fig. 2) contains numerous examples of this kind: prose in red and poetry in black alternate and in some cases even begin on a new line of transcription. A combination of different paratextual elements (ink, space, illuminations) indicates a high awareness of the importance of the presentation of prose and verse in different ways, but their combination on one charta of transcription is crucial in

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Figure 2.  Vatican Apostolic Library, MS Vatican Latino 3207, c. 53 r. (Printed with permission of the Vatican Apostolic Library). (All rights reserved.)

narrating a story the scribe/compiler/commentator has set to tell. Prose and verse belong to the same context, but their creation belongs to different moments. Prose is most likely extrapolated from poetry and anecdotes, but together in this final product of the two-step creative process they form a whole, a prosimetric unit that on the thematic level tells a story of how Maria de Ventadorn managed to trick Gui d’Uisel

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into composing poetry again, and on a metaliterary level gives insight into the poetic process: what triggers it and how it develops. As is evident from this brief example, poetry is embedded in prose and vice versa. Without prose, poetry would consist of scattered coblas, given out of context. Prose contextualizes them (through information based on the lyric and, perhaps, on hearsay). Without poetry, prose would be a simple novella. Together they function as an independent literary text, which marks a new era of poetry transmission that Dante will take to a whole new level in the Vita Nova. aqu e sta s d o a s c ob l a s p ort e n lor r a i s o n s

These t wo

cobl as

c on t a i n t h e i r

/

r a zos

The libello’s text offers internal evidence that Dante might well have had access to codices in any number of forms that contained Occitan vidas and razos. As I have already noted, the scribal language is very explicit at the beginning of the Vita Nova, and Dante will continue to use technical scribal terms throughout the text. In paragraphs 24 (XXXV), 25 (XXXVI), 26 (XXXVII), 28 (XXXIX), and 29 (XL), we encounter the word ragione, referring to the poet’s explanation of the background of the sonnets Videro gli occhi miei quanta pietate, Color d’amore e di pietà sembianti, L’amaro lagrimar che voi faceste and Deh, peregrini, che pensosi andate: And therefore I proposed to tell a sonnet in which I would speak to her, and include in it everything that I have told in this reason. And because it is very evident from this reason, I shall not divide it. (VN 24, XXXV)59 And therefore I wished to also tell words speaking to her, and I told this sonnet, which begins Color of love; and it is evident without divisions, for its preceding reason. (25, XXXVI)60 It could well have more divisions, but they would be in vain, because it is evident from the preceding reason. (26, XXXVII)61

Furthermore, as noted in chapter 2, Dante borrows from the medieval commentary tradition the usus of dissecting texts into smaller units, for the sake of a better explanation and more complete understanding, known as divisio textus. He refers to this part of the libello’s prose as divisioni, whose purpose is to help his reader penetrate into the poems’

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structure. However, not all the poems in the Vita Nova are accompanied by the divisiones: six sonnets are transcribed and commented on in the narrative prose but are deprived of a proper divisio textus. The first of these poems is the sonnet Con l’altre donne mia vista gabbate, which, instead of being followed by a divisio, is followed by this explanation: This sonnet I do not divide into parts, because the division is made only for the sake of disclosing the meaning of the thing divided; therefore, since, through what has been said of its occasion, it has been made sufficiently plain, there is no need of division. It is true that among the words whereby the occasion of this sonnet is set forth, certain ambiguous words are found; namely, when I say that Love slays all my spirits, and only those of vision remain alive, and even they outside of their instruments. And this ambiguity it were impossible to solve to one who is not in like degree the liegeman of Love; and to such as are so, that is already plain which would solve these ambiguous words; and therefore it is not well for me to explain this ambiguousness, since my speech would be vain or superfluous. (VN 7, XIV)62

In this first instance of an omitted divisio, as in other similar cases, as Steven Botterill has noted, Dante shows that he (like, most probably, his contemporaries and above all his intended audience) “takes the presence of divisione for granted, and sees only its absence as an anomaly in need of justification,” at the same time making a point about the important role of divisiones in text exegesis but, on the other hand, implying that this exposition does not necessarily need to be made through divisiones but that the narrative (corresponding to the razos) also participates in achieving this task.63 However, in this first instance of a missing divisio, Dante obviously feels the need to explain further that, after all, the narrative ragioni are not always sufficient to “open the meaning” of a poem. Indeed, in this very case, there are certain concepts that could require further explanation, but since those members of the audience who should understand them will understand them, that will suffice. Only the “fedeli d’amore,” who are already familiar with his trobar clus and are themselves participants in it, are the ones who must and are able to fully penetrate this poem’s sententia. But this first case of an omitted divisio is indicative on yet another level: whereas it does confirm important roles of both the narrative

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(razos) and the divisiones, it opens the question of similar yet different roles of these two types of text. In other words, while the ragioni serve to present a supposed background of a poem’s composition, to contextualize it and make it possible for the reader to get closer to its subject matter, in many cases they are not sufficient in themselves to serve the reader completely. That is where the space for the divisiones opens up and where they take over the process of exegesis. The ragioni and the divisiones are not mutually exclusive, and each has a specific role in the explication de texte. In fact, they are complementary to one another, and only in extraordinary circumstances (like those of the six sonnets lacking divisiones) will the narrative suffice. It is precisely these moments in the text that need to be pointed out to the reader as an oddity, as a singular phenomenon out of the course of the ordinary. The sonnet Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare is followed by this explanation: This sonnet is so easy of understanding, through that which has been told, that it has no need of any division. (VN 17, XXVI)64

The sonnet Videro gli occhi miei is preceded by the following text: And since this account is manifest enough, I will not divide it. (VN 24, XXXV)65

Color d’amore e di pietà sembianti, like these sonnets, does not need a division either: [This sonnet] is plain without division, through the preceding account. (VN 25, XXXVI)66

Furthermore, in the last two cases of absent divisioni in the libello, where Dante refuses either to divide the poem entirely or to proceed to more minute divisions, justifying his choice by the clarity of the prose expositions preceding the poems, Dante stops altogether to explain anything further. Thus the sonnet Lasso, per forza ti tanti sospiri, is accompanied by the following statement: This sonnet I do not divide, because its reason expresses it clearly. (VN 28, XXXIX)67

In the case of the sonnet Deh, peregrini che pensosi andate, Dante offers the same explanation for omitting the divisio:

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This sonnet I do not divide, because its reason expresses it clearly. (VN 29, XL)68

Although Dante refers his reader to the narrative text of the previous account, and not to the text of the poem itself, his decision indubitably echoes a rubric in the Occitan MS Vatican Latino 3207, where on c. 46v two coblas by the trobairitz Azalais de Porcairagues are accompanied by the text “these two coblas contain their razos” (aquestas doas coblas porten lor raisons). The entire rubric consists of this simple information: everything you need to know about these two stanzas, you will find in the poetry itself. Favati argued that these words are the scribe’s or the compiler’s commentary on the lack of information in the real text of the razo in the exemplar, which he—the complier/scribe— then decides not to include in his collection.69 Elizabeth Poe, on the other hand, dismisses the possibility that the word raisons here refers to the razos as literary genre and reconstructs through an analysis of the expression portar razo the meaning that according to her is intended by the compiler/scribe of MS Vatican Latino 3207: “The razo, in the sense of theme, of these two coblas will be made explicit in due course. The verses, being self-explanatory, require no external commentary,” and the word razo retains its basic meaning, that of “theme,” of “the inherent logic, or thematic continuity, of a literary composition.”70 But this does not necessarily mean that the word raisons should be interpreted in one way or another. It certainly contains both connotations, which can be observed in its extensive use in Occitan texts and manuscripts. First, the text of the rubric should be considered a razo, especially since the paratextual apparatus (its position, the color of the ink, its relationship to other prose texts in MS Vatican Latino 3207) indicates on every level that the scribe/compiler did not have a different intention for this short rubric than to have it function as a proper razo: the text “[a]questas doas coblas porten lor raisons,” copied in red ink (like the rest of the razos in the codex), on a separate line of transcription, clearly has the function of a razo as an introductory prose composition that introduces a poem or in this case the two coblas. As in the chartae preceding and following c. 46r, this text is meant to function as a support of poetry, and it fulfills this role: although it does not give us details surrounding the coblas’ composition, it indicates to the reader that she or he will find all the information necessary in the very text of the stanzas copied below. Second, as Poe concludes taking razo to

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mean theme, “the verses, being self-explanatory, require no external commentary,” because they illustrate quite clearly their own themes. In MS Vatican Latino 3207 the text missing is that of the razo, as the rubric states explicitly. In the Vita Nova, as Dante clearly articulates, he opts not to provide a divisio, which has a different function in the libello’s text, complementary to that of the razos. But the idea behind the two claims is in essence the same: prose explanations will not be provided because other parts of the text—cobla in MS Vatican Latino 3207 and razo in the libello—serve the reader well in his pursuit of understanding the text. Further explanations, as Dante teaches his reader in the instance of the sonnet Con l’altre donne, would be redundant and would not serve his reader well: by simplifying his text’s meaning any further, he would in a way be betraying the codes of his poetic trade and giving away precious secrets of the art of composing poetry. Be that as it may, the details of the underlying reasons of the compiler/scribe of MS Vatican Latino 3207, on the one hand, and those of Dante the author/compiler of the Vita Nova, on the other, may be diverging, but the outcome of their choices is the same: the text will speak for itself.

Vide cor tuum! The Eaten Heart The first sonnet, A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core, as well as the prose accompanying it, features the motif of the eaten heart, which originates from the vida and razos related to the troubadour Guilhem de Cabestanh. The razo of the poem Lo dous cossire is the only one datable to the pre-1283 period, when Dante composed the sonnet A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core, and when he could not have had access to other romance sources.71 The motif in the troubadour’s vida and razos originates from Provençe, as suggested by their early appearance in the manuscripts Vatican Latino 5232 (also referred to as MS A in Old Occitan tradition) and Paris, Bibliothèque National, fr. 1592 (B). By the time Guilhem’s vida reaches the Veneto, its text undergoes significant changes. The important aspect for Dante’s libello is the recounting of the episode of Guilhem’s love for Soremonda, wife of his master. Guilhem of Cabestaing loved a lady and for his love he sang of her and made his cansos. And he loved the lady, who was young and merry and kind and beautiful, more than anything in this world.72

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The final episode, in which the husband, Raimons de Castel Rossilhon, kills Guilhem and, driven by jealousy extracts his heart, appears in this version in the following, extremely schematic form: And one day, Raimon of Castel Rossillon found Guilhem de Cabestang passing by and killed him; and he had his heart extracted from his body and he had his head cut off.73

Yet, according to Bruno Panvini, the later version of the MS Laurentian Pluteo 41.42, from the beginning of the fourteenth century, is a “later remake, which very much lengthened and altered the original version.”74 The following is the scene in the castle, where the two protagonists are the husband and the wife. She eats her lover’s heart, without knowing what it is, only to find out the secret upon eating it. After the sad banquet, the lady decides to take her own life, jumping from the highest tower in the castle. And when the lady ate it, Raimon de Castel Rossillon said to her: ‘Do you know what you have eaten?’ And she said: ‘No, except that it was very good and tasty.’ And he told her that it was Sir Guilhem de Cabestaing’s heart that she had eaten; and, in order to have her believe him better, he had the head brought before her. And when the lady saw and heard that, she lost her sight and hearing. And when she came back to her senses, she said: ‘My lord, you have given me to eat so well, that I will never eat anything else.75

In the Vita Nova, this motif first appears in the prose part of the text, where Dante recounts the vision which he also includes in the first sonnet. And thinking of her, a sweet slumber overcame me, in which a marvellous vision appeared to me; for methought I saw in my chamber a cloud of the color of fire, within which I discerned a shape of a Lord of aspect fearful to whoso might look upon him; and he seemed to me so joyful within himself that a marvellous thing it was; and in his words he said many things which I understood not, save a few, among which I understood these: Ego Dominus tuus [I am thy Lord]. In his arms meseemed to see a person sleeping, naked, save that she seemed to me to be wrapped lightly in a crimson cloth; whom I, regarding very intently, recognized as the lady of the salutation, who had the day before deigned to salute me. And in one of his hands it seemed to me that he held a thing which was all on fire; and it seemed to me that he said to me these words: Vide cor

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tuum [Behold thy heart]. And when he had remained awhile, it seemed to me that he awoke her that slept; and he so far prevailed upon her with his craft as to make her eat that thing which was burning in his hand; and she ate it timidly. After this, it was but a short while before his joy turned into the most bitter lament; and as he wept he gathered up this lady in his arms, and with her it seemed to me that he went away toward heaven. Whereat I felt such great anguish, that my weak slumber could not endure it, but was broken, and I awoke. (VN 1, III)76

The difference between the troubadour’s vida and Dante’s text can be observed on different levels. First, from the point of view of material composition: Guilhem’s vida, as well as all the other vidas in the Old Occitan tradition, is written after the composition of the poem, by another person, presumably by Uc de Saint-Circ. It was further elaborated, as we have seen, in the later manuscripts, and always by another scribe or editor. Dante’s prose reasoning is added at a later date as well, thus complying with the a posteriori rule of the composition of the exegetical prose passages in the Old Occitan tradition. On the other hand, the poet himself is responsible for its writing and inclusion in the libello’s macrotext. In the case of the first sonnet, which is at the same time the oldest poem in the collection, he writes the ragione for composing it, and consequently explains the dream almost ten years after the poem’s composition. In explaining what induced him to write the sonnet A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core, Dante reveals and reconfirms the central motif of the eaten heart, whose meaning, he announces in prose, he is eager to discover. In order to find its symbolic connotation, he needs help from his fellow poets, to whom he sends the poem. Both in the prose and in the sonnet the reader can follow a transformation of the image from the Occitan tradition: from mutual feelings in Guilhem’s vida, where the lady is also taken by her feelings for the beloved, to Dante’s profound love for Beatrice, who does not return the poet’s affection. While in the vida “the banquet of the eaten heart is a symbol of the continuation of love (of the same liturgical model), but it is also the reason for woman’s death, who does not want to add other food to her lover’s heart,” in the Vita Nova “this narrative scheme is . . . turned around, and the symbolic meal, propitiated by Amor himself, with a humility very much different from the cruel arrogance of the jealous [husband], relegated to the sphere of dreams, serves to seal the falling in love of the two

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young people (to which Beatrice seems to be reluctant), the union of hearts, and, consequently, the transformation of the gentle lover into the poet.”77 Moreover, from the formal standpoint, the Occitan text is a vida. In the Vita Nova, however, the motif of the eaten heart is incorporated into a razo, which is a small part of the poet’s work that has multiple elements of a vida, and which serves to introduce the first sonnet of the anthology, at the same time providing the description of the mystical vision which leads to the poet’s complete subjugation by Amor and, by extension, by Beatrice herself, subjugation announced in ominous words Amor pronounces upon his first appearance: “I am your lord” (Ego dominus tuus).

chapter 4

Dante the Compiler: Redefining Italian Vernacular Literary and Scribal Matrices in the Vita Nova

“Libri titulus est: ‘Incipit Comedia Dantis Alagherii, florentini natione, non moribus’” With these words Dante Alagheri presents himself and his Commedia in the epistle in which he dedicates the Paradiso to Cangrande della Scala, defining himself as “florentin(us) natione, non moribus.” By the time both the Commedia and this letter are written, Dante is already in exile, far away from Florence. Nevertheless, the importance of Florence and its intellectual circles for Dante’s formation at all levels is crucial. In the last two decades of the thirteenth century Florence was a city deeply divided between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines and then, after the final victory over their adversaries, among Guelph factions themselves. But at the time Dante was compiling the Vita Nova, his political engagement was not as defined as it was in the late 1290s and at the beginning of the 1300s, when he was exiled from his city because of his political activity. Tuscany was imbued with both classical and medieval Latin auctores and, as early as the mid-thirteenth century, with Occitan literary and scribal presences, whose strong influences we find in the Vita Nova. If we understand a poetry anthology as a collection that codifies general tendencies of the cultural environment where it is produced, the case of the Vatican Latino 3793 codex speaks volumes about the cultural and literary situation in Florence in the second half of the Duecento, and especially toward its end. This codex represents the most comprehensive lyric anthology of the first century of Italian poetry, which sums up thirteenth-century Florentine literary taste. It shows the extent to which the three vernacular traditions—Occitan,

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Sicilian, and Tuscan—intersected in Florence prior to its compilation, in the time when Dante was undergoing his intellectual formation and composing poetry that was later included in the Vita Nova and finally compiled in the libello. Dante gives an explicit insight into his understanding of literary tradition, both classical and vernacular, in his reflections on the history of literature (paragraph 16 [XXV]). It should be noted that unlike the classical poets, who will be named explicitly, as their works will be, vernacular poets are treated in a different manner. The troubadours, those vulgares eloquentes, are never identified by name in the Vita Nova, as they will be in the De Vulgari Eloquentia. But their literary activity is specified, and the exordium of this tradition is dated to the midtwelfth century and the generation of Peire d’Alvernh. For Dante it is important to link the vernacular literary production with the classics and trace a clear line of continuity between the two contexts. However, he does not treat of the Italian tradition in this way. Italian authors are not called into question, save for Guido, who is most likely the objector, and Dante himself—the only poet in the lingua del sì in the company of the auctores. How should we read this decision not to include examples from his contemporaries and not to mention by name his circle of the “fedeli d’amore”? The answer, once again, can be reached with the help of his later works, namely, the already cited De Vulgari Eloquentia and Purg. XI and XXIV. In the Latin treatise he obviously singles out works by Cino da Pistoia and his own texts as models for composing poetry. In Purgatory Dante implies his literary supremacy over the other vernacular poets, whose poetry and skills he has already surpassed. After all, he is “sixth among such intellect” (sesto tra cotanto senno) in the group of the classical auctores in Limbo. Although he introduces himself to Bonagiunta in Purg. XXIV as “un che, quando / Amor mi spira, noto, e a quell modo / ch’e’ ditta dentro vo significando,” which would suggest that he is one of the many who compose verse in the same way, as will Bonagiunta’s later reflections on “vostre penne” as opposed to “nostre” (those of Bonagiunta, Giacomo da Lentini, and Guittone d’Arezzo), in Purg. XI Dante explicitly distances himself from the two fellow poets Guido Cavalcanti and Guido Guinizzelli. It is as if earlier in Purgatory, in line with the vice of pride punished on the first terrace, Dante had already thought of resolving the matter of primacy in literary circles by declaring himself the leader among them, past and present. He attempts, and successfully so, as

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early as in the Vita Nova to set himself apart from the current tendencies, both literary and material. The center of the Vita Nova’s poetics is represented by one moment in which the poet decides not to treat of himself and the effects of Beatrice’s salutation anymore but to introduce (not only in his own ouvre but in the current literary trends as well) a new shift: from this moment on, he will concentrate on his praise for her. The two elements of the Vita Nova—poetic, reflected in the change of the subject matter; and material, pertaining to mixing literary genres and introduction of prose—identify Dante as a true innovator who elevates himself, a vernacular author, to a position enjoyed at that time only by classical authors and authors writing in Latin. In order to accomplish the task he sets for himself, that of subverting the accepted practices of his own day and age, Dante turns to the common literary and scribal matrices. What were the Italian vernacular literary and scribal traditions at play in Tuscany in the second half of the thirteenth century, when Italian vernacular literature was being shaped into an independent tradition, based on the combined impact of classical and medieval Latin literary and philosophical traditions and French and Occitan influences? The Vita Nova was a product of the interaction of these contexts, of already flourishing Italian vernacular literature and of the historical development of Florence and Tuscany toward the end of the thirteenth century, when it was being composed and compiled. What literary presences in Florence toward the end of the first century of Italian literature could have influenced the young Dante to opt for the prosimetrum for his libello? This chapter investigates a wide range of Italian literary and scribal forms and genres (whose presence is evident in the Vita Nova) circulating in Tuscany and Florence in the second half of the thirteenth century. Establishing these premises is essential for a more thorough understanding of the material structure of the Vita Nova, as well as the complicated authorial intervention by the young Dante.

The Problem of the Sources In her consideration of the possible literary and philosophical influences on Dante’s Convivio, Simonelli concludes that the question remains open, despite fundamental contributions to the topic by pivotal figures in literary criticism.1 She also reiterates that we do not have

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the means to answer this difficult question, though many have tried.2 Indeed, Dante’s list of readings in his early, formative years, is still an open question, not yet answered with confidence. Determining it with absolute certainty goes beyond our ability. The study of Dante’s sources at this early stage of his career has usually gone in one direction: they were deduced from his works, and often scholars saw what they wanted to see, thus “embrac[ing] one hypothesis to defend by all possible means and arguments, unconsciously reading too much into the text in the heat of the defense.”3 The question of sources becomes even more complicated in relation to the text of the Vita Nova. While the Convivio was written later in the poet’s life, after his exile, the Vita Nova dates to his Florentine years—the period for which we have less information regarding Dante’s life and his literary and philosophical formation. We have to admit that this poses significant limits to the research of the Vita Nova’s sources and that our findings must rely to a great degree on the text itself. At the same time we must commit to an approach that will take into account verifiable information that the text itself has to offer, without imposing a certain reading. I do not aim to give final answers, as such a claim would be counterproductive. My intent here is to analyze Dante’s material culture and his choice of the prosimetrum for the text of the Vita Nova through a redefinition of the role of the author. I look into the traditions present in late thirteenth-century Florence and in Dante’s libello and the ways in which Dante uses and transforms these traditions, reinventing himself as a vernacular auctor. One of the questions that remain to be fully addressed, as Michelangelo Picone suggests, is, why prose, why the prosimetrum? Why did Dante decide not to use the form of a traditional vernacular songbook, which contains only poems? What were the sources from which he drew his inspiration and his idea for alternating prose and poetry? As I have shown in chapter 1, Boethius’s Consolatio falls short of being able to provide a source par excellence for the libello’s form of the book. Vernacular poetry collections in their own right cannot provide a suitable source, because the Vita Nova is not a mere anthology of poems already in existence at the time of the compilation of the libello. It introduces prose, in which the poet, among other things, claims to be clarifying the situations that lie behind the verses of his poems in order to make their content more transparent to, perhaps, his fellow poets. The same strategy of accounting for a poem in an epistle, be it a part of

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a tenzone or simply sent to a poet-friend, is employed here. In the overall structure of the libello prose sections are mostly conceived with this exegetic component. This exegetic component also characterizes, as discussed in chapter 3, the Old Occitan razos, while the Vita Nova in its entirety bears all the attributes of a vida (even the word vita in Dante’s title alludes to his Occitan source). The combination of all these factors and the poet’s employment of both literary and scribal genres circulating in Florence in the 1290s contributed to the complex structure of the Vita Nova. Because Dante incorporates the sum of his knowledge in the composition and consequently the compilation of the libello, this structure reflects many different traditions, even at this early point in the poet’s life. In the Vita Nova we can read the influences which not only defined Dante’s work but also helped shape Italian literature as well as the figure of the vernacular auctor. The Vita Nova is invaluable for studying the development of early Italian literature and its background but at the same time represents a watershed in early Italian literature: while it was preceded by poetic production in a language and a culture still being formed, defined, and codified, it will be followed by the monumental works of the subsequent century. By the same token, the Vita Nova provides unprecedented information about a vernacular author’s scriptorium and his creative process.

Brunetto’s Rettorica In the introduction to his 1980 edition of the Vita Nova, De Robertis defines as primary influences on the “forma del libro” of Dante’s youthful work certain medieval Latin works such as De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii by Martianus Capella, De Consolatione Philosophiae by Boethius (“quello non conosciuto da molti libro di Boezio” [CV II.xii.2], according to Dante, the first book he read after Beatrice’s death), De Planctu Naturae by Alan of Lille, and De mundi universitate by Bernard Silvestris. The trait these works have in common is the form of the prosimetrum—a combination of verse and prose. Nevertheless, while in these prosimetra poetry and prose belong to the same temporal dimension, in the Vita Nova the prose is for the most part later than the poems: the posteriority of the prose, however, refers only to the act of its composition.4 The poems were written generally in the years preceding the compilation of the libello, while the prose is con-

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ceived as their comment, written at a later date when putting together the Vita Nova, but it narrates the events which Dante claims surrounded the composition of the poems: while the act of writing the prose is posterior, the events it recounts are simultaneous with the occasions that led to the writing of the poetry. From this standpoint the Vita Nova bears greater similarity to Brunetto’s Rettorica, which Dante had known and learned from and which in its structure is the most similar to the Vita Nova.5 In the Rettorica, although written entirely in prose, the author’s comment (lettera sottile) accompanies and clarifies Cicero’s text (lettera grossa). The commentator (sponitore) thus assumes the role of the author alongside Cicero, in a process that dedicates equal attention to the commentary and the text.6 Brunetto’s Rettorica can thus be understood as a model close to Dante’s “commentary” that contributed a dimension of distance and that of a posteriori judgment.7 Although the Rettorica does not offer a precise model for combining poetry and prose, Brunetto’s general preoccupation coincides with Dante’s: the meaning of the text not only from the technical and formal points of view but also from the historical and aesthetic.

Scrissi a·lloro ciò che io avea nel mio sonno veduto: Scribal Influences From the very opening of the Vita Nova, in the accessus, Dante weaves a heavy scribal register into his indirect address to the reader: Dante, the scribe at his task, outlines his intention to transcribe (asemplare) in a little book (libello) the words he finds under major paragraphs (maggiori paragrafi) in the book of his memory (libro della mia memoria): In that part of the book of my memory before which little could be read, there is a rubric which says: Incipit vita nova [The new life begins]. Under which rubric I find written the words that it is my intention to copy in this little book, and if not all, at least their meaning. (VN 1, I)8

Some scholars claim that Dante’s role of scribe and commentator, of assempratore and chiosatore, is secondary in the libello and can appear too technical to a modern reader.9 But the strong presence of the scribal inventory in the libello’s text is a strong indicator that Dante is very aware of the problem of the materiality of the Vita Nova and conse-

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quently of the difficulties the combination of poetry and prose coexisting on one charta of transcription might cause to the scribes confronting this new textual structure.10 This undoubtedly qualifies his authorialscribal presence in the libello as at least as important as his role of poet, for he will not stop at this use of the technical terms with which he constantly brings attention to the book production in its most minute details. Dante’s awareness of the importance of the material container of his work should be put in the wider context of the Italian literature of that epoch. Poets were taking into consideration the material structure of their works as early as the second half of the thirteenth century: “After recent studies in material philology, it would be difficult to hold that the poets from the second half of the Duecento did not think about the forms of material dissemination of their production.”11 Brunetto in the Rettorica, a valid and important source for the material composition of Dante’s little book, also uses explicitly technical terms in the gloss to Cicero’s work, thus confirming his awareness of the scientific nature of his own text and its exegetic purpose.12 In the Vita Nova’s text “Dante the copyist seems to be guiding someone he knows is another copyist of his work, instructing him how to transcribe the libello.”13 Aside from the initial use of the terms parole scripte, rubrica, asemplare, libro della memoria, and libello, the poet continuously uses a very precise, scholastic language in the so-called divisiones—prose passages in which he explains the poems’ partition into units of thought rather than passages physically limited by the length of the stanza. These “copy instructions . . . constitute . . . a reliable means of suturing the transitions between prose and poetry while guaranteeing the order and the inclusion of the correct poems.”14 By providing clear instructions on the ordering of the poems and by giving precise information about their genre, Dante shows that he is conscious of the problem of transcribing poetry and of the importance of planning the layout on the charta of transcription. Thus he tries to avoid any confusion in the process of copying the libello and dedicates an important place in his prose to explaining the technical side not only of his poems but also, and even more, the poetics behind them and the art of making poetry.15 As discussed in chapter 2, Dante changes the position of the divisiones at the canzone Gli occhi dolenti per pietà del core, when he informs his reader that he will divide this poem before transcribing it and that he will keep doing so in the remainder of the Vita Nova: “because this

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canzone seems to be widowed after it ends, I will divide it before writing it; and I will keep on in this way from here on” (VN 20, XXXI).16 This passage functions on two additional levels: first, “it clearly reverses the scribal formula established in the preceding paragraphs of the Vita Nova and fixes this change as permanent throughout the rest of the libello;” and second, “the instruction also intersects the interpretative plane of the Vita Nova, reinforcing the ‘loneliness’ of the poem at the completion of its reading since there will be no commentary to follow.”17 The scribe will consequently have all the necessary information about the material structure of the text he has in front of himself, from the author of the text: “from this repeated instruction alone the compiler would have been able to plan the manuscript’s ruling and layout, and the copyist would always have been able to check that he was about to copy the correct poem in the correct transcriptional format (sonnet/ ballata/canzone).”18 Dante’s use of the scribal register in the Vita Nova suggests, therefore, that while composing the prose and ultimately compiling the libello, he was bearing in mind the idea that it would be distributed to his friends-readers-copyists, who would then make their own copies of the text. The Vita Nova was, in all probability, conceived to be sent to the “fedeli d’amore,” the circle of Dante’s close poetfriends. Giorgio Petrocchi has argued that when the libello was being written it was meant to be distributed to a wide audience, which it would educate in all things poetic much better than the aristocratic songbooks that were circulating at the time in Florence and Bologna.19 On the other hand, De Robertis characterized the Vita Nova as the complete opposite: a hermetic text whose audience would have been an elite that changed from poem to poem.20 But the internal structure of the Vita Nova, and especially the composition and the materially precise language of the divisiones, indicates that while compiling the little book Dante had in mind this last category—an elite, a societas amicorum, consisting of a very limited circle of poets who would be able to understand the poetics of his work and who might have wanted to make their own copies of the libello. In the introduction to the “maravigliosa visione” and to the first sonnet, the poet admits that the poem was sent to many “famosi trovatori” but that this fact lies in the past.21 Now the libello is destined to be read and presumably copied by those who are able to grasp the meaning of his words, led by the “first of [his] friends,” Guido Cavalcanti.

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Another indicator that the final compilation, the material libello, was intended to be distributed within this restricted circle of friends is contained in the above-mentioned divisio of the canzone Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore. I say that to understand this canzone further it would be necessary to employ more minute divisions; but who has insufficient wit to be able to understand it from the divisions made, it will not displease me if they leave it alone, since I am certainly afraid that I have communicated its meaning to too many by the divisions that were made, if it comes about that many are able to hear them. (VN 10, XIX)22

In this part the poet reveals his decision not to proceed any further to more detailed divisions, since he has already exposed more of the poem’s meaning than he was supposed to. He adds that if there is still someone who is not able to reach the true meaning of the canzone, he should let go of it. Hence Dante’s confession to Guido leads to a conclusion that the canzone, which once circulated independently and was revealed to many, is now included in this “private publication” intended for those who will understand: “Dante’s instructions on the layout and transcription of the libello would have been intended for the private, non-professional copyist-friend who simply wanted to make a personal copy.”23 Furthermore, Dante’s use of the verb scrivere in this case reveals his attention to a significant scribal dynamic and its role in the libello’s structure and consequently its reception and transmission, even within the small circle of his friends. This tendency is confirmed, as we have seen, from the very opening of the libello and will be continued throughout the Vita Nova when Dante the scribe resurfaces. In the prose the verb scrivere appears sixteen times, and once in the poetry, in the sonnet A ciascun’alma presa: To every captive soul and gentle heart    Unto whose sight may come the present word,    That they thereof to me their thoughts impart,    Be greeting in Love’s name, who is their Lord. [A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core nel cui cospecto ven lo dir presente, in ciò che mi riscriva ‘n suo parvente, salute in lor segnor, cioè Amore.]

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Riscrivere here obviously refers to the reply that the poet requests from his fellow poets, but woven in it is the aspect of material transmission of poetry, discussed in the section below dedicated to debate poems (tenzoni). Of the sixteen occurrences of scrivere in the prose, the first is in the accessus to the first sonnet: Praying them to give an interpretation of my vision, would write to them that which I had seen in my slumber. And I began then this sonnet, which begins ‘To every captive soul.’ (VN 1, I)24

Gorni annotates riscrivere in his edition as a hapax in Dante and provides an example from Guido’s poem Se vedi Amore. Clearly this would not have been an uncommon way to refer to poetry writing and exchange that stresses physical transmission of poetry as an inseparable part of its production and consumption. Dante continues in the next phrase to say that after deciding to write to other poets, he began (cominciai), which, too, signifies the same action: that of transcribing, writing down the words of the poem on parchment he would then send out. In the remaining occurrences, scrivere always refers to the act of writing, in contrast to fare, dire, comporre, all of which refer to the act of composing poetry. In the razo of the second sonnet, O voi che per la via d’Amor passate, Dante’s choice of verbs related to the composition of poetry reveals several elements of this multifaceted process. With this lady I dissembled for some months and years; and in order to establish in others a firmer credence, I wrote for her certain trifles in rhyme, which it is not my intention to transcribe here, save in so far as they might serve to treat of that most gentle Beatrice; and therefore I will leave them all, save that I will write something of them which seems to be praise of her. I say that, during the time while this lady was the screen of so great a love as possessed me, the will came to me to record the name of that most gentle one, and to accompany it with many names of ladies, and especially with the name of this gentle lady; and I took the names of sixty of the most beautiful ladies of the city where my lady had been placed by the Most High Lord, and I composed an epistle in the form of a serventese, which I will not transcribe; . . . And, thinking that, if I did not speak somewhat grievingly of her departure, people would sooner become acquainted with my secret, I resolved to make some lament for it in a sonnet, which I will transcribe because my lady was the immediate occasion of certain words which are in the sonnet, as is

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evident to whoever understands it; and then I devised this sonnet ‘which begins O, ye who.’ (VN 2, VII; emphasis mine)25

This razo is arguably the most illustrative example of the presence of the five manifestations of Dante defined in the introduction to this volume. Dante “personaggio” is the ever present character in the libello, and we see him as the protagonist of this event (as he is the protagonist of all the other events in the libello). Then we meet Dante the compiler, who overtly and in detail defines the criteria of inclusion and exclusion of poems in the Vita Nova: he chooses only those lyrics that are pertinent to the story he wishes to tell, and, as author of poetry and of the libello as a whole, he has every right to exert his authority to its fullest and therefore complete his role of compiler without obstacles. What is more, apart from being the author and the compiler of poetry, he emerges here as the scribe in the verb scrivere, which he uses in all the four instances in the sense of “writing down.” Side by side with it are the other verbs, such as comporre, parlare, fare, and dire, all referring to the inventive poetic process of devising the poems and clearly in opposition to the mechanical process of transcription. Furthermore, this entire passage is written by Dante the commentator, who informs his reader(s) of the circumstances he claims resulted in the following sonnet. Dante “persona” is omnipresent in the events surrounding the screen lady and Beatrice—events that, presumably, did happen and inspired Dante the author to write [sic] the sonnet. A similar occurrence of Dante scriptor and compilator at work is found in the paragraph following the announcement of Beatrice’s death. After the most gentle lady had departed from this world, all the above-mentioned city remained as if a widow, despoiled of every dignity, wherefore I, still weeping in this desolate city, wrote to the chief personages of the land somewhat of its condition, taking that beginning of Jeremiah the prophet, Quomodo sedet sola civitas! [How doth the city sit solitary!] And this I tell in order that others may not wonder why I have cited it above, as if for an entrance to the new theme that comes after. And if any one should choose to blame me because I do not write here the words which follow those cited, my excuse is, that from the first it was my design to write nothing except in the vulgar tongue; wherefore, since the words which follow those which have been cited are all Latin, it would be contrary to my

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design if I should write them; and I know that he, my first friend, for whom I write this, had a similar understanding, namely, that I should write to him only in the vulgar tongue. (VN 19, XXX)26

The concepts of selectio and compilatio are here again explicitly explained, along with their function and the author’s reasons. First, Dante the compiler tells us here that in this book he includes only his writings in vernacular, and therefore he will not transcribe his Latin text. Poetry, as he remarked in paragraph 16 (XXV), is to be written in vernacular, and is only to treat of love themes. Not only is the text that begins with the quotation from the Lamentations of Jeremiah in Latin, but its subject matter is not amorous so it has no place in the libello. His friend, to whom he is writing this, would agree as well. There are two instances of writing in this passage: first, that of the “original” text in Latin written to the “principi della terra” and only present here in the citation “Quomodo sedet sola;” and second, the transcription of these specific words and of the present passage in the libello. Rich in reflections on the mechanisms of selecting materials for the book and then copying them on the parchment of the libello, this passage offers insight into Dante’s scriptorium and his approach to creating by inclusion and exclusion. After transcribing the sonnet Con l’altre donne mia vista gabbate, Dante the commentator includes a divisio in which he refers to Dante the scribe who has just literally written a razo. It is true that among the words whereby the occasion of this sonnet is set forth, certain ambiguous words are written; namely, when I say that Love slays all my spirits, and only those of vision remain alive, and even they outside of their instruments. (VN 7, XIV; emphasis mine, as is the adaptation of the translation: Norton translates si scrivono as found.)27

In the following instance Dante the scribe is at play again: he decides to write and send out the words that Dante the poet/author has just decided to compose (to say). And when they had gone away, I returned to my work, namely, that of drawing figures of angels; and, while doing this, a thought came to me of saying words in rhyme, as if for an anniversary poem of her, and of writing to those persons who had come to me. And I devised then this sonnet that begins, “The gentle lady.” (VN 23, XXXIV;

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emphasis mine, as is the adaptation of the translation: Norton translates scrivere as addressing)28

Uses of the verb scrivere analyzed so far undoubtedly pertain to the scribal sphere, because Dante clearly opposes different stages of poetic production that, on the one hand, pertain to the creative process, and, on the other, to the physical, material circulation and transmission of poetry. This consistency and Dante’s insistent meditation upon the materiality of his poetry authorize an identical interpretation of the remaining two examples in which he employs the verb scrivere. And while I abode in this condition, the will came to me to write some rhymed words thereon, and I devised then this sonnet, which begins: ‘All my thoughts.’ (VN 6, XIII)29 Wherefore I, then thinking this over, resolved to write of it in rhyme to my first friend, (keeping silent certain words which it seemed should be kept silent,) for I believed that his heart still admired the beauty of this gentle Primavera. And I devised this sonnet, ‘which begins An amorous spirit in my heart.’ (VN 15, XXIV)30

Liber and Libellus What did the term book designate for a poet in the thirteenth century? Furthermore, what is the reason for the medieval use of liber and libellus, and what do these words stand for? We have examples of both these terms as early as Ovid’s Amores, which had wide circulation in the Middle Ages and influenced both troubadour and Italian vernacular poetry. In the Epigram of the Poet Himself, closing the first verse, we find the word libellus. Qui modo Nasonis fueramus quinque libelli, tres sumus; hoc illi praetulit auctor opus. ut iam nulla tibi nos sit legisse voluptas, at levior demptis poena duobus erit.31

Libellus in this context designates each one of the five books, while the Amores, the entire work, are referred to as an opus.32 The first verse of the Remedia Amoris certainly leaves no doubt about its meaning: “Legerat huius Amor titulum nomenque libelli.”33 In other instances

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the meaning of neither liber nor libellus is discernible from the text, thus leading us to surmise that Ovid uses the two notions interchangeably.34 At the beginning of all five books of the Tristia, both liber and libellus are present in the opening lines.35 The poet uses paruus liber at the beginning of the first book, to designate a “little book,” while in the rest of the opening verses he alternates both terms, without an apparent distinction. In vernacular literature of the Middle Ages, the term book (libre) appears in connection with Guiraut Riquier: libre in this case designates the troubadour’s collection of poems, assembled most likely by a poet’s admirer but nevertheless informing the reader of codices C and R that it was “written in his own hand” (escrig per la sua man). Along with Guiraut’s libre, the most convincing examples of an author’s book in the sense of a collection of poems can be found in the Liederbuch of Cerverí de Girona (1259–85), transmitted by MS Sg, and in the exemplar of Peire Vidal (dated to 1201–2). Another example comes from the Sicilian poet Giacomino Pugliese: in his canzone Donna, di voi mi lamento, the lady refers to a certain “book of Giacomino” (libro di Giacomino) (v. 70), which stands for his “poetic work” and not merely for an “individual songbook.”36 Monte Andrea da Firenze and Terino da Castelfiorentino debate exchanging sonnets, when Terino asks of Monte that he send “[his] book through this messenger” (libro [suo] per questo messo, v. 14). Storey observes that libro in this case stands not for “a libellus, a quaternion, not even the chartae but contents of a book.”37 Monte replies, “I will not send you the book, because someone else has it, and [there is] no messenger [to send it]” (non ti mando libro, c’ à (a)ltri ch’io né messo), which leads Storey to conclude that the poet was also missing a copy of his own book that he did not have a way of regaining.38 Guiraut Riquier’s libre and Monte’s libro, concludes Storey, do not designate the same kind of a book.39 Guiraut’s libre belongs to the category of poetry collections organized by author or by literary genre, while extant material evidence does not support such a hypothesis in Monte’s case. This is the tradition that arrived in Italy from Provençe, together with the codices containing anthologies of the troubadours’ works. Gröber classified these collections into several categories. In one of these we find the model fundamental for the conception of the Vita Nova: Liederbücher, or collections containing poems by one author, most frequently in chronological order and compiled by the author himself or by his admirers. Bologna defines these first collections,

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which according to him were first put together at the end of the twelfth century, as private collections that authors themselves put together for personal and perhaps public use.40 But the first extant witnesses of this kind were composed somewhat later. They are the songbook of Peire Vidal (1174–1206), and the libre of Guiraut Riquier (1254–92). Riquier’s libre, according to Lazzerini, is an extraordinary episode in the history of poetry, which set a firm precedent for Petrarch’s songbook, the Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta. Anglade, who singled it out as the oldest author’s Liederbuch, fits his findings into Gröber’s chronology and accepts without question his hypothesis that the oldest Liederbuch can be dated to no earlier than the mid-thirteenth century.41 Avalle corrects this hypothesis, discussing the case of the collection of Peire Vidal’s sixteen canzoni transcribed in chronological order. According to Avalle, this is so far the first documented case of an author’s Liederbuch in the Old Occitan tradition, dated to the period 1201–2. Peire himself was supposedly the editor of this collection; as Avalle points out, it is hard to accept the possibility that a copyist would have been able to reproduce the exact chronology of such a vast poetic repertoir. He further stresses that it must have been the poet himself who collected his poetry into the songbook.42 Oscillations in the use of the terms liber and libellus do not stop with the end of the Middle Ages. Even the humanists, who are known for strict codifications, have doubts about the precise meaning of liber in works by classical authors and themselves often use these two notions incoherently. Lorenzo Valla was the first to write about this problem systematically in his Elegantiae. He reaches the conclusion that liber is used in the singular to denote a concrete, material book while further pointing out that using the term liber or volumen would be inapropriate for a work consisting of more than one book.43 This conclusion testifies, observes Rizzo, to Valla’s own understanding and use of liber or volumen, which in singular form can denote a work consisting of more than one book.44 Libello, on the other hand, was used for short works or in some instances for a small book (un ‘codicetto’), while Angelo Poliziano uses libello to indicate a poem.45 In the Vita Nova, Dante introduces in the proem both libello and libro. Libro appears only twice more in the Vita Nova, both times in paragraph 16 (XXV), where Dante qualifies Ovid’s Remedia Amoris as a libro and then reports the title of that work, which, of course, contains the word libro.

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In Ovid, Love speaks as if he were a human person, at the beginning of the book whose title is Book Remedy for Love, here: Bella mihi, video, bella parantur, ait [Wars against me, I see, wars are preparing, he says]. (VN 16, XXV)46

After the proem, Dante uses the word libello three more times. And therefore I say that I intend to solve and clear up this doubt in this little book, even in a more difficult passage; and then he who may here be in doubt, or who may choose to object after that fashion, will understand. (VN 5, XII)47 And by this the matter may now be clear to any one who is perplexed in any part of this my little book. (VN 16, XXV)48 The first is, that it is no part of the present design, if we consider the proem which precedes this little book. (VN 19, XXIX)49

As in the proem, Dante continues to refer to the present work as “this little book,” never failing to qualify its immediacy through the use of the demonstrative pronoun. The most obvious distinction between libro and libello, in the way in which they are contraposed here, concerns their very nature: the libro is obviously the metaphorical book of the poet’s memory, which can be identified with a more comprehensive unit containing all the moments from the poet’s past life. In this sense it can also be construed as a Liederbuch comprising all the poet’s poems or all the love poems that he has written up to this moment. The libello, on the other hand, stands for a material unit that collects only the selected poems from that Liederbuch. Libro stands for the whole book, whereas libello is a simple quire, or two, containing selected parts of the said libro. To the libro’s immateriality is opposed libello’s materiality. To the libro’s comprehensiveness is opposed libello’s principle of selection. In codicological terms, the libro is a codex, whereas the libello is simply a fascicle, or a combination of a couple of fascicles, perhaps a booklet, a self-contained unit.50 Identifying the Vita Nova in codicological terms, as a material booklet containing a collection of poems (and, in this case, accompanied by the prose sections), is justified by what we know about the composition of medieval manuscripts. Numerous examples exist of codices composed of autonomous fasci-

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cles, each dedicated to one poet, to one work, to one specific genre, and so on. In the Italian poetry tradition this method of book (in the sense of a codex) organization is most evident in the MS Vatican Latino 3793, organized by genre, with an obvious hierarchy of authors within each genre section whose contents are well defined in advance. The codicological organization of this codex, executed very carefully by its compiler, reflects and follows its contents.51 This kind of material composition of codices allowed for easy circulation of their independent parts, or for easy assembling of two or more independent fascicles, which can then be bound together to form one codex. This milieu in which the Vita Nova was conceived and elaborated warrants an analysis of the libello that would take into consideration the context of the book production that Dante so deeply weaves into his text’s structure.

Anthologies of Italian Vernacular Verse at the End of the Thirteenth Century The end of the thirteenth century and the beginning of the fourteenth mark a pivotal moment for the conservation and transmission of early Italian lyric: in a span of merely a couple of decades three extant songbooks containing works of both major and minor Italian vernacular poets were produced: MS Banco Rari 217 of the National Library in Florence (ex Palatino 418), copied by a Pistoian hand at the end of the thirteenth century; the Laurentian MS Rediano 9, held at the Laurentian Library in Florence and transcribed prevalently by a Pisan hand, also toward the end of the thirteenth century; and finally, the MS Vatican Latino 3793, a product of Florence from the beginning of the fourteenth century, held at the Vatican Apostolic Library. Banco Rari 217 gravitates around Guittone d’Arezzo as a central figure, representing an homage to this pre-Stilnovist poet, and was most probably, like Rediano 9, put together by an erudite copyist. Folena describes this fair copy as “the first extensive and organic individual songbook.” This collection consists of three sections: Guittone’s letters, canzoni, and sonnets. At the end of each of these sections poems by the Sicilian and Sicilian-Tuscan poets were added at a later time, by a later, probably Florentine hand.52 The Vatican Latino 3793 is the most monumental of the three manuscripts, often connected to Dante’s circles, although it should not

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be identified with the manuscript the poet used when composing the De Vulgari Eloquentia.53 It reflects a different type of culture: it is often defined as “libro-registro,” typical of mercantile cultural settings. If for some reason this codex, defined by Roncaglia as the most impressive anthology of Italian vernacular poetry, had not reached us, we would be ignorant today of perhaps as much as half of the Italian poetry of the thirteenth century.54 These collections have in common a characteristic composition: the ordering of their contents according to literary genre. For example, Vat. Lat. 3793 opens with canzoni that are also, according to Dante of the De Vulgari Eloquentia, the most solemn of all the poetic genres. Whether or not Dante was familiar with this particular anthology, its compiler and the poet clearly shared the same literary tastes and artistic inclinations. The section dedicated to the canzoni is followed by a section composed of sonnets, finally followed by tenzoni. In Redi 9, as we have seen, poetry is preceded by the prose letters, but the hierarchy of poetic genres (first canzoni and only then sonnets) is still respected. Dante the codifier of vernacular eloquence stays faithful to these tendencies that give primacy to the canzone over any other genre. This does not mean, however, that in the Vita Nova he strays from this path. On the contrary. He reinvents vernacular poetic anthology by making a decision to use his poetry to tell a story, and this means that he will need to depart from current conventions and invent a new way of presenting his poems. He stays within the same aesthetics that he later codified in the De Vulgari Eloquentia, not compromising the link between genres and corresponding themes, but intervenes in the very structure of a poetic anthology by reordering the sequence of genres (this aspect of the Vita Nova will be most famously employed in the composition of Petrarca’s Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta). In other words, he mixes sonnets, canzoni, stanzas from canzoni, and ballata. The only ordering he maintains is the chronological one (or at the very least that which he wishes his reader to think of as chronological). Furthermore, Dante the complier who chooses selected poems from his past production is joined here by Dante the commentator who, in commenting on them in prose, creates the appearance of a history. These elements contribute to the reading of the libello no longer as an anthology (although it is an anthology of the poet’s early poetry) but as a commentary, or even a “biography.”

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A questo sonetto fu risposto da molti, e di diverse sententie: Tenzone The first sonnet of the Vita Nova, A ciascun’alma presa, offers an insight into a highly important tenzone tradition, which was already well developed in the Italian literary tradition as well as in other European literatures, both Latin and vernacular. If we look further in the classical and medieval Latin past, we will find the form of fictitious debate, or conflictus. It appeared in the Carolingian epoch, bloomed in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and originated from the classical Latin rhetorical and bucolic traditions.55 In the medieval Latin tradition debates are often represented between different concepts or ideas (Conflictus ovis et lini, from the eleventh century; Dialogus inter corpus et animam, from the second half of the twelfth century; or Iustitia et Misericordia, from the twelfth century), whereas later, beginning in the thirteenth century, people appear as protagonists trying to win the debate in these conflicti (Christianus/Iudeus/Saracenus, date dubious, perhaps the end of the twelfth century).56 François Zufferey observes that these persons are not necessarily concrete, real individuals but that they rather represent social groups. He then provides a thematic division of the Occitan tenços into debates with animals, debates with material objects, debates between different social groups, and interior debates or debates with God.57 The debate poems underwent an evolution from the time of Latin traditions to the Languedoc to late thirteenth- and fourteenth-century Italy. In Occitania, debates were generally called partimen, a term that comprises the categories partimen, tenço, and coblas tensonadas and corresponds to the northern French jeu-partis.58 The term coblas tensonadas was coined in the fourteenth-century treatise Leis d’amors, while in the troubadour corpus the debates most frequently appear under the name of tenços or partimens.59 Discussion about nomenclature of the Occitan debate poems is an open one, since the evidence from the texts themselves and from the manuscript rubrics is somewhat inconsistent with the medieval treatises and modern classification. Dominique Billy summarizes a long and detailed overview of different terms designating debate poems in the medieval Languedoc by claiming:

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The troubadour tenso thus appeared as a genre which transcends poetic forms likely to serve as a framework; there is an exchange, a discussion on any subject, while the term retains its ordinary meaning. That the model of the canso is imposed in this framework is directly linked to the importance of the theme of love and the formal development which concretize it in the lyric of the troubadours. 60

Billy further stresses that these exchanges often involved only individual stanzas or sometimes merely a verse or two—all forms of exchange present also in the Occitan tradition. Not every single poetic composition falls into a precise category or genre, since a strictly codified classification did not exist at the time the poems were being composed. Moreover, critics have introduced different classifications, which are not always in unison: in his summary of the history of the different nomenclatures of the debate poems, Billy thus concludes that labels the critics use for the debate poems have often distorted rather than clarified the true practice among the troubadours.61 After these assertions and after what can be derived from material evidence, Zufferey’s conclusion at the end of his discussion of real and fictitious debates still seems compelling: “in any case, the debate in which I let myself and which ends here, through the ingenuity of advanced hypotheses and uncertainty of results, could be subtitled: ‘greatness and misery of philology.’”62 That the lack of precise standardization existed in the medieval period as well, among editors and scribes of manuscripts, is witness to the fact that they anthologized the fictitious tenços in incoherent ways. In the extraordinarily planned and coherent MS C in the Occitan tradition they appear in the section dedicated to cansos.63 On the other hand, they are copied in the section containing tenços in the Occitan MSS I, A, N, H, T, and f. While in Occitan tradition tenço does not have a metric individuality, and borrows its form from the canso, the Italian tenzone is a well-defined material subgenre, consisting of an exchange of canzoni or sonnets. Despite the existence of this formal precision, only one extant Italian manuscript anthology, the Vatican Latino 3793, has a separate section dedicated to the tenzone. It is generally considered that the troubadours were exchanging single coblas, which were then comprised in one canso, which did not differ from the other cansos in its appearance: it was of the usual length.64 The difference between these debate poems and regular cansos

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is that in all cases these are the words of two persons, so that one speaks first in one cobla and the other one in the other (que tos temps son paraules de dues persones, axi que la un parla primerament en la una cobla e l’altre en l’altra)—as is explained in the Catalan-Occitan MS Ripoll 129, produced in the mid-fourteenth century. The same author informs us that a tenço is similar in number of the coblas to a canso, and it treats of love in the form of questions and answers about things pertaining to love (tenço es semblant en nombre de cobles a la canço, e es de material d’amor per manera de questions e de respostes de coses qui·s pertanguen [a] amor). The form of the Occitan tenço, therefore, is slightly different from that of the Italian tenzone: while in Italian it predominantly represents an exchange of individual sonnets, connected by themes and very often by the rhyme words and the rhyme scheme, in the troubadour tradition it does not differ in its form from a regular canso. As coblas tensonadas, Occitan partimens were designed as real debates, where he who argues more subtly wins.65 In Italy, the tenzoni can be traced to as early as the Sicilian poets, who were using this genre for their philosophical debates about love. These characteristics fall under the same umbrella of open debates, like those between the troubadours or those that we will witness later in guittoniani (the group of poets gathered around the work and influence of Guittone d’Arezzo), where it was important to have a winning argument. With time, this will change: with their circulation in epistles, the form of tenzoni becomes more subtle as they develop into a vehicle of friendly exchange, and through epistles, exactly as Dante’s A ciascun’alma presa: “It is not about . . . a literary genre which, although expressing itself through an unoriginal metric form, is different for its own rhetorical and thematic peculiarities (the dialectic challenge, alternating questions and answers about questions of theoretic importance), but of a particular genre of epistolography: ‘si alicui mittitur aliquis sonetus’ [if someone sends someone else a sonnet].”66 Giunta notes that in the vernacular translation of this passage, aliquis is replaced with amico, because in the new environment a poem and a letter are being sent to a friend: “quando l’omo receve alguno soneto, lo quale gli sia mandato da alguno suo amico.”67 Although generally caution is advised when using any of the terms referring to the debate poems, for the purpose of my study I use the terms tenço and tenzone for the dialogue forms, which, at the end of the thirteenth century, when Dante was compiling the Vita Nova, was an

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already well established and defined genre in Florence. The strongest witness that we have today, which confirms this statement from a material point of view, is the Florentine MS Vatican Latino 3793, with a separate section dedicated to the tenzoni. If the tenzone had not been clearly identified as an independent genre by the culture of the scribe/ editor of this manuscript, it would not be featured in such an explicit and suggestive way. Now one might argue that the other two great poetry collections, dated to a couple of decades earlier, do not have this sort of distinction. They are, however, fair copies and products of a different, courtly setting, from western Tuscany, Pisa, Lucca, and Pistoia. Banco Rari 217 was produced in Pistoia “when in Florence no one was thinking about V [Vatican Latino 3793], by a copyist-philologist, who was, however, unfamiliar with the Florentine taste and sensibility.”68 Redi 9, on the other hand, probably produced in Pisa, comes from a cultural setting which was determined to have been close to Guittone’s circles, belonging to the “frati gaudenti,” a religious order close to the Dominicans, through which the Guelph bourgeoisie expressed publicly its own social needs.69 These two songbooks, antagonists of the recent experience, are characterized by a more traditional approach, as they “direct the traditional exegetic, hermetic, and pro-Occitan outline toward a presumably strong and unorthodox goal of a nostalgic counterpart to the fashions and ideologies ‘brought’ by the winning Florentinism, which seems to prevail in V [Vat. Lat. 3793].”70 Vatican Latino 3793 comes from the Florentine mercantile environment, a decade or two after the 1290s, when Dante compiled his libello in the same city. The Florentine scribe/editor of the Vatican Latino 3793 is far from the social circles of the two above-mentioned collections and from the geographic area in which they were produced. But he has knowledge of the Florentine past, and the accumulated cultural experiences related to it. He integrates these elements when putting together the collection while weaving into its structure the collective unconscious of the traditions at play in his city. Indeed, while the Redi 9 and Banco Rari 217 celebrate Guittone d’Arezzo and preStilnovist poetry, as mentioned above, the central figures in this codex are two Florentine poets, Monte Andrea and Chiaro Davanzati. As this is a unique trait of Vatican Latino 3793, so is the section with the tenzoni: both are proof of the literary tendencies in Florence before Dante’s exile, when he was still breathing the same proverbial air of culture of his city that soon after produced the Vatican codex. Vatican

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Latino 3793 is in this respect the only manuscript in which the technical term tenzone designates a couple of sonnets, thus representing them as a separate genre, consisting of a group of poems. Hence we can conclude that in Dante’s Florence there were no doubts about the definition of the tenzone; it was intended as a debate consisting of sonnets or canzoni between two or more poets, where the first poet would propose a challenge in verse and the other(s) would reply using the same rhyme scheme and/or the same rhyme words. Individual poems of the Vita Nova often had an independent life before the compilation of the libello, a fact that the poet himself confirms at the beginning of the text, in the first sonnet, A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core. After the opening of the libello and the exposition of his intent in the present volume, Dante recounts the first autobiographical episode, “una maravigliosa visione:” the vision he allegedly had after seeing Beatrice for the second time, when “questa mirabile donna” appeared dressed in white, and “per la sua mirabile cortesia” greeted the poet so that it seemed to him “[di] vedere tutti li termini della beatitudine” (VN 1, III). He then composes A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core and sends it to “molti quali erano famosi trovatori in quel tempo” (VN 1, III), whom he asks to clarify this vision. In addition to informing us about the poet’s interlocutors in these circumstances, this poem, along with its prose commentary, offers an insight into the importance of the tenzone tradition. First, we know from the poet’s own testimony that the poem had circulated “at that time” (in quel tempo), probably around ten years before it was incorporated in the Vita Nova, and that it had been shared among many but select poets. However, we do not have information as to exactly how many there were and who they were, but we do have some indications from the libello’s text and from the manuscript tradition. After finishing and dividing the sonnet, Dante informs us: To this sonnet many replied, and of different interpretation: among those who replied was one whom I call the first of my friends, and he wrote then a sonnet, which begins You saw, it seems to me, every virtue. (VN 2, III)71

The poet claims that many “famosi trovatori,” whom he had invited to interpret his vision, replied to this poem. Today we only have three of those replies that survived: Guido’s poem Vedeste, al mio parere, onne valore, whose incipit is quoted in the text of the Vita Nova; Natural-

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mente chere ogni amadore, whose authorship is uncertain between Cino da Pistoia and Terino da Castelfiorentino; and Di ciò che stato sei dimandatore, by Dante da Maiano.72 Not all of these poets, as is suggested by this list, were “fedeli d’amore.” On the contrary, they belong to a wider literary community. Although the poet does not provide the reader with the names of the poets who offered their interpretation of his vision, the evidence we have, both textual and material, allows us to conclude that after the poem was first composed it was sent to vast circles of Florentine poets, “molti trovatori,” in search of the vision’s meaning.73 Not listing the names of these poets indicates that by the time the Vita Nova was being compiled, a decade or so after the first sonnet’s composition, they did not have the same significance for Dante as they did around 1283, when this sonnet was sent out. Or Dante simply wanted to avoid dealing with the fact that not all replies were favorable, such as that by Dante da Maiano. His decision not to include in a work that is so centered on poetic production, such as the Vita Nova, at least vaguely, more details about this exchange and its participants strikes the reader as an odd one. What is more, as is also the case in the De Vulgari Eloquentia, Dante practically annuls the Florentine production of the Duecento by maintaining a firm silence on Monte Andrea and Chiaro Davanzati, the two poets who composed verse following Guittone’s precepts in Florence and with whose poetry the MS Vatican Latino 3793 culminates.74 The presumption that Dante omits many names from the Vita Nova can also be an indicator of the first sonnet’s participation in a common practice from late thirteenth-century Tuscany, where the literary genre of interpretatio somnii was widely present. Under the umbrella of this genre poets would send a poem describing their dreams to other poets and ask for their interpretation. When Dante claims that he sent the poem to “molti trovatori,” this does not necessarily mean that he knew to whom he sent it. From this standpoint, A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core would have been an open text, to which every poet who deemed himself capable would send his reply since the number of participants was not limited.75 Any poem from this tradition is, therefore, sent to an undetermined audience of fellow poets, all of whom are invited to give their opinion and reply. Thus the first sonnet openly points to the importance of the tenzone in the reception and transmission of poetry in the Italian tradition, reflected in the text of the Vita Nova as well. Indeed, in the case

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of A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core, Dante the poet relies heavily on the tenzone tradition and weaves this previously independent poem into the libello’s organism, meant to be distributed to the circle of close friends and “cor’ gentili.” Thus a second life of this sonnet begins with its incorporation into the Vita Nova, now targeting the restricted societas amicorum. Proof of the importance of this group of poets and of its inheritance is the fact that after dividing the poem Dante only quotes Guido’s reply, including his poem’s first verse, Vedesti, al mio parere, omne valore. The other “famosi trovatori” who offered their poems are not as important at this time; the new poetic wave is taking over, while Dante is openly siding with the new “school,” along with his friend Guido, soon to become “il primo delli . . . amici” of our poet, before fading away from Dante’s circles. That only the incipit of Guido’s poem appears in the text of the Vita Nova is not surprising: a book of poems integrates the tenzoni, while a songbook dissolves them.76 This is a common characteristic of songbooks, or chansonniers, where the tenzone is dissolved into two poems, which now become independent, since only one—that written by the author of the collection in question—is important for the new macrotext’s development, and the other one is merely mentioned in the best of circumstances. The general tendency in personal Liederbücher is, therefore, not to include poems by other authors: “only in big collections, even those compiled by the great admirers of a particular poet . . . and in the author’s zibaldoni and notebooks do we find the tendency to register, and not always with great care, different poems of the so-called others.”77 Dante of the Vita Nova includes his poem, its history and division, and only mentions the title of one poem he received in response. On the other hand, in bigger, miscellaneous manuscripts, the original poem, in this case Dante’s, is not included alongside the replies. In the Vatican Latino 3214, for example, Guido’s sonnet Vedesti al mio parere omne valore is accompanied by the rubric added by a later hand: “Guido replies to Dante, To every soul” (risponde Guido a Dante, A ciascun’alma). However, this should be regarded as an exception, since the scribes and editors of these large collections are not always familiar with one or both of the poets or poems, which leads to the omission of attributions in many cases. Giunta summarizes the transition of the tenzoni from their original context of exchange into a personal songbook as quite a regular process in which poems lose their original rubrics and become separated from

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their counterparts, because the only thing that matters in a personal chansonnier is telling its author’s story.78 But in the case of Dante’s libello this use is somewhat challenged. The explanatory rubric is not missing. On the contrary, it becomes a real razo, developed so as to explain in minute detail the reasons and events which led to the composition of the sonnet. At the same time, the poet uses this prose exegesis to contextualize the first poem—the only one in the collection with a true dialogic background. The coherence of the lyric component in the Vita Nova is strenghtened by the prose. Materially, it supplies a prose framework, a kind of linking tissue. Textually, it claims to serve the poems by providing the history of their composition and of the events from the poet-lover’s past. In reality, however, it construes a narrative that the poet elaborates a posteriori and that bends both the poems and the events surrounding them in the process of the creation of the book.

E compuosi una pìstola sotto forma di serventese: Epistles The tenzone tradition calls for another important usus in the transmission of poetry: epistles. Claudio Giunta points out that the tenzone exchange should not have been any different from the exchange of epistles: the poem is delivered either in person by the poet himself or by a messenger.79 The correspondents exchanging poetry, according to Giunta, had to be close to one another, because the courier service was expensive, and art was not vital communication on which money would be spent. Therefore, poets from different parts of Italy would probably meet in a designated place, perhaps midway between their hometowns, and have their poetic dialogue there.80 As Storey argues in his discussion of literary exchange between Dotto Reali and Meo Abbracciavacca, the material dynamics of the tenzone exchange also included prose to accompany it: poetry and prose are complementary units of the tenzone.81 From this standpoint, the tenzone is to be distinguished from epistles in verse, which would be exchanged between poets from a certain distance, although there are known cases of epistolary transmission of tenzoni in the Sicilian tradition as well. Roncaglia suggests that “a significant number of these poems . . . should be considered ‘correspondence poems,’ widespread through epistolary exchanges.”82 According to Giunta, however, this would have been an exception to the rule.

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Drawing a line between a tenzone and an epistle is important for several reasons: first, for the history of the two genres; second, for understanding Dante’s rich literary culture at both the synchronic and diachronic levels; third, for identifying his sources and the way he (re) defines them in the libello. As Barolini noted, Dante’s self-consciousness of his poetic activity and the process that stands behind it is evident as early as his youthful sonnets not included in the Vita Nova: Se Lippo amico and Sonetto, se Meuccio.83 In the former Dante has his poem talk to Lippo; in the latter it is the poet himself who speaks to his poem. Se Lippo amico, besides speaking to Dante’s fellow poet, accompanies a stanza of the canzone Lo meo servente core. In Sonetto, se Meuccio, Dante instructs his poem not only to properly greet its addressee and to accompany sonnets that he is sending but also to announce the arrival of other poems, which will probably follow at another time. Although the context of two poems does not combine poetry and prose, it unequivocably shows the importance of the written word in poetry exchanges. Both poems speak to the inseparability and dependency of the poetic art and the material support that transmits it, and as such they are crucial to the argument being made here. The text of Dante’s libello confirms the presence of epistles in verse in the process of the dissemination of poetry and on Dante’s desk, when he claims that he composed “an epistle in the form of a sirventes” (una pistola sotto forma di sirventese). And I took the names of the sixty most beautiful ladies of the city, in which my lady had been placed by the Highest Lord, and I composed a letter in the form of a sirventes, which I shall not write down; and I would not have mentioned it if it were not to say that, while composing it, a marvelous thing occurred: the name of my lady was not allowed to stand in any other place than that of ninth, among the names of those ladies. (VN 2, VI)84

The poet claims to have composed a letter in the form of a sirventes, but this poem has not reached us. This passage offers, nevertheless, a valuable insight and a firsthand confirmation that epistles were a vehicle of poetry transmission. One of the testimonies is the Laurentian manuscript Rediano 9, which on its charta 32 preserves important evidence of the practice of enclosing a poem in a letter. Dotto Reali di Lucca sends his poem to Meo Abbracciavacca in a letter, in which he asks his interlocutor to show the poem to other brethren and to send him back

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a reply: “I send you this sonnet . . . and you send me a reply of what you hear, and show it to brother Gaddo and Finfo” (mando a te questo sonetto . . . e risponsione mi manda di ciò che senti, e mostralo a frate Gaddo e a Finfo). In his reply, Meo writes, “to brother Gaddo and to Finfo, as you asked of me, I showed it, and I gave them the writing” (a frate Gaddo e a Finfo, come imponesteme, il mostrai e diei scritto).85 The prose in this exchange is conceived, therefore, as a certain interpretive introduction to the poetry, and not merely as a framing device.86 Though Dante’s mention of a letter (una pistola) testifies to the use of verse epistles in poetry exchange, we do not see the use of prose epistles in the text of the Vita Nova. Here, Dante’s prose rather assumes the form of a prologue to a commentary, which is corroborated in the work’s first sentence. The language that Dante uses in the opening of his libello is the precise language of an introduction to a commentary, in which the poet introduces the topic and describes the way in which he is going to treat it, using very precise terms designating the book, its parts, and rubrics and a very clear distinction between the words themselves (parole) and their meaning (la loro sententia). The meaning of those words, therefore, is going to be at the center of the poet’s attention. While autobiographical episodes later in the libello are recounted in the past tense, the first sentence of the Vita Nova glosses the poet’s present intentions, and consequently the entire work, using the present tense (“si trova una rubrica,” “io trovo scripte le parole,” “è mio intendimento d’asemplare”). This sentence, the “Proem” of the Vita Nova, is not only a presentation of the intentions of a scribe (from the point of view of the work’s material structure); it is also the declaration of a commentator, who explains with precision and in the present time what his work’s essence will be (from the point of view of its contents and the way in which they will be considered). The form of the accessus, rather than that of the prose letter, assumes a far more important role in the writing of the libello. It characterizes the opening of the work by its succinct but very precise language in the exposition of Dante’s hermeneutic intentions, which serves as a gloss to the entire work.

Epilogue

B

 oethius’s Consolatio, contrary to what is usually suggested, can hardly be defined as the source par excellence for the libello’s “form of the book” merely on the basis of its material structure. As already noted, there are some formal and thematic parallels between the two works, especially in the pivotal moment of the change of poetics in the Vita Nova. In addition, we have Dante’s own confession from the Convivio that he read Boethius immediately following Beatrice’s death, which would explain the parallels between the initial appearance of Philosophy in the Consolatio and Dante’s evocation of Amor in the paragraph related to the poem Ballata, i’ vo’ che tu ritrovi Amore. Amor appears in “bianchissime vestimenta” by the poet’s bedside, just like Philosophy appears in Boethius’s text.1 However, it would be an exaggeration to claim the Consolatio as the primary material and literary source for the choice of the prosimetrum. First, the Consolatio was written, as far as we know, at one time: prose and lyrics were written simultaneously, at the time the work was drafted. For the Vita Nova, as we know, Dante selects in a sort of an anthology poems that had already circulated independently and comments on them in prose. Second, the two works cultivate two different kinds of prose. In Dante’s libello, aside from the assumed “autobiographical” dimension, the prose also has grammatical and exegetic components, which are not traceable in Boethius, where both poetry and prose often play equal roles in the arguments he is making. Therefore, the sources of the prosimetrum for Dante’s libello should be sought elsewhere. The Latin book context of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries evidently played an important role in the making of the Vita Nova. Dante learned in his school years the art of close reading and interpretation of

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texts, predominantly of scriptural texts and the auctores. Dante of the Vita Nova, as he meditates increasingly on the poetic process, takes an innovative step to apply to his vernacular texts the method reserved until then only for Latin books and scripture and, to some extent, to the Old Occitan troubadours. He accompanies poetry with three different kinds of prose, each with a different function. The first type, modeled after the accessus ad auctores, appears in the proem and contains all the information that is usually found in exegetic texts. The accessus prose also closes the ragioni and introduces the poems. In the first part of the libello, the accessus follows the narrative prose and precedes the poems, whereas in the second part, after Dante decides to copy the divisiones before the poems, the accessus is a sentence between the ragione and the divisio. The divisiones fall into the category of exegetic prose. Here the poet gives further explanation of his critical views, offering insights into his scholarly world and providing his own commentary on his poems and poetics. This information serves one general purpose, that of clarifying the structure of the poems in these short lessons in explication de texte for his restricted audience of those “who understand [him],” which consists most probably (at least around the time in which it was composed) of his fellow poets. Ordinatio, compilatio, and divisio textus were used to make texts more accessible in different ways: on the one hand, to make them more clear and understandable to the reader; on the other, to make the ancient texts written by pagans more acceptable for the contemporary Christian context. Dante adapts them to the new vernacular context in a commentary to his own poems, which, written in vernacular, defies the previous commentary tradition. As Meneghetti thoroughly documented, a clear parallel exists between the role of the medieval accessus ad auctores and that of the Old Occitan vidas and razos. In the troubadour setting a high presence of medieval Latin, and especially Ovid’s texts accompanied by the accessus, encouraged the development and production of vernacular prose compositions that had the same function of facilitating the interpretation and the transmission of poetry. In the manuscripts containing the troubadour verse which were copied and which circulated in Italy, the vidas and the razos grew in volume and reached Tuscany in this form toward the end of the thirteenth century, as witnessed by the Laurentian manuscript Pluteo 41.42. Consequently, elements from both the accessus and the Old Occitan prose forms find their way into

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Dante’s libello. The novelty of these Occitan texts involves an application of Latin commentary genre to vernacular texts, which is very similar to Dante’s authorial operation. However, Dante transforms these traditional genres in the first place, from the formal standpoint, by integrating the prose that he writes in a collection of his own poetry assembled by no other person but the poet himself. This creates a context in which the prose does not have an independent position in the text: on the contrary, it is textually tied to poetry. This relationship is strengthened by the poet’s adding the temporal dimension to the Vita Nova, which becomes a narrative text in which the events unfold presumably chronologically.2 Unlike in the previous Latin and Old Occitan traditions, the prose in the libello has an established, firmer position in relation to the poems and ensures, by its sequence of events, the narrative character of the work. Furthermore, the prose is now a product of the same author of the poetry, who is not moved to comment on his poems by a different cultural setting (like Uc de Saint Circ and Miquel de la Tor), but by a need to ensure an interpretation of his poems that he intended. This would have been especially important in the case of poems that in all probability were not written for Beatrice but that by the prose of the Vita Nova are pulled into the context of the poet-lover’s narrative. On the other hand, a biographical dimension characterizes both the accessus and the vidas. In the vidas the quantity of information expands over time, and they consequently assume the form of minibiographies. I argue that the Vita Nova as a whole functions as a vida: it covers the poet’s life from the age of nine to the present day, that of the compilation of the libello. In recounting seemingly autobiographical episodes related to the poems, the poet not only explains what he wishes the reader to think was their background, but in the overall structure of the little book he provides a fictional youthful autobiography, which stops at the present time. This perceived chronological structure and the close insights into the events, into the poet’s psychological states and intimate feelings, justify the Vita Nova’s reading as the poet’s vida compiled and composed by himself (vidas, as we remember, always have a strong fictional component, thanks to the distance in time between the author’s activity and the vida’s composition). It will contribute to the conception, which starts with Giovanni Boccaccio, that the libello is indeed an autobiography that provides subsequent generations with the information about Dante’s

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life. Thus Dante transforms the medieval Latin and Old Occitan short prose commentaries and gives them a more advanced function and a more elaborated form, within the narrative of the libello. This, however, will not assure inseparability of the prose from poetry: always more susceptible to an independent circulation, poetry will often be reproduced independently, like a songbook without prose. This tradition will be cemented by the editio princeps of Dante’s poems, the 1527 Giuntina, which will print the poems of the Vita Nova in a separate section, in their form from the libello, while the integral text of the prosimetrum will be printed only in 1576 and will be the last of Dante’s works to appear in print form. Perhaps the explanation, or at the very least one aspect of it, can be linked to the nature of the prose of the Vita Nova, which relies so heavily on the Latin and Old Occitan commentary traditions that learned readers (as well as those who were not versed in reading commented-on texts, although for different reasons), starting with Boccaccio, found it rather difficult to accept that an inventive poetic text would be equipped with dry prose commentary. This is valid especially for the divisiones, very possibly thanks to Boccaccio, called upon by many an editor of the libello as a supreme authority in all things Dantean, who could not have been wrong in his understanding them as gloss, chiosa, and not text.3 Commenting on Dante’s exegetic method in the Convivio, Minnis states that “appropriation of hermeneutic idioms and techniques may be identified as a strategy for the translatio of literary auctoritates from Latin into the vernacular.”4 But while Dante perfected this operation in the Convivio, he started much earlier—in the Vita Nova—to apply to his own poetry exegetical methods that will put into question and reform the role of the vernacular author. By commenting on his poetry in the prose passages, by noting down and explaining the sententia of the words written under the rubrics of the book of his memory, in this unique process of self-exegesis, Dante gives to the Vita Nova also a dimension of a widely used medieval genre of autography, defined as “[a] completely personal elaboration of the texts by the authors, for private or even public use.”5 Dante does not collect other authors’ poems but his own, many of which are already in circulation, and, still grieving about Beatrice’s death (duranti ancora le lacrime), decides to tell the (hi)story of his love for her, at the same time discussing the value and concept of poetry and reforming the role of the author. In

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the process of recounting the events stored under “maggiori paragrafi” of his memory, Dante combines the roles of scribe, of collector and compiler of texts, of anthologist and philologist, of glossator and commentator on his own poems and, finally, that of a true vernacular auctor, creating in the process a work that is representative of a unique “forma-libro.”

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Notes

I n t roduc t ion

1.  I shall use the term “fedeli d’amore” to denote a group of poets around Dante, to whom the poet himself refers with this syntagm in the Vita Nova four times. They are addressees of his poems who understand him (che m’ intendano [VN 21, XXXII]) and who can be identified with the noble hearts (cor’ gentili) from the poems. My use of “fedeli d’amore” is therefore a direct replication of Dante’s discourse for the purpose of referring to his fellow poets, and as such will be given in quotation marks. 2.  I will use the term compilation throughout this volume in the sense in which it was used in the Middle Ages, as witnessed by Bonaventure’s commentary on the Libri Sententiarum: to denote an action of selection of certain parts of a work/works and of putting them together to form a meaningful whole that would have a life of its own. It is precisely this that Dante does when he decides to select a certain number of his already written youthful poems and to include them a posteriori in the Vita Nova. By the term composition, I intend the writing (composing) of the prose and the poetry of the Vita Nova. I will thus insist on the distinction between compilation and composition, as they are separate aspects of the making of the Vita Nova. 3.  See Barolini’s analysis of the poems from the Vita Nova in Dante Alighieri, Rime giovanili e della “Vita nuova,” ed. Teodolinda Barolini, with notes by Manuele Gragnolati (Milan: BUR Rizzoli, 2009). 4.  Dante, Rime giovanili e della “Vita nuova,” ed. Barolini, p. 460. 5.  I have written extensively on the significance and implications of Boccaccio’s editorial intervention, as well as his authorial roles in the two codices, in “Nota sulla Vita Nova di Giovanni Boccaccio,” in Boccaccio in America: Proceedings of the 2010 International Boccaccio Conference at the

170  Notes

University of Massachusetts, Amherst, ed. M. Papio and E. Filosa (Ravenna: Longo, 2011); and in “How to Satisfy the Desire of the Author: The Case of Giovanni Boccaccio,” in Medioevo letterario d’Italia (forthcoming). On the state of the Vita Nova’s earliest extant manuscripts and circulation, see my “Who Read the Vita Nova in the First Half of the Fourteenth Century?,” Dante Studies 131 (2013): 197–218. 6.  Cited here is my transcription from Boccaccio’s autograph manuscript Toledo, Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Zelada 104.6. This editorial note was subsequently copied in the margins of Boccaccio’s other autograph copy of the Vita Nova in the Vatican Library’s Chigi L. V. 176, with minor variations, which, however, do not change the reading of the gloss in any way. 7.  “La onde io non potendolo negli altri emendare, in queste che scripto ho n’ ho uoluto sodisfare [al]l’appetito de l’auctore.” 8.  See H. Wayne Storey, Transcription and Visual Poetics (New York: Garland, 1993). 9.  See Teodolinda Barolini’s The Undivine Comedy: Detheologizing Dante (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992); and Dante and the Origins of Italian Literary Culture (New York: Fordham University Press, 2006). 10.  Alastair J. Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship: Scholastic Literary Attitudes in the Later Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010), p. 1. 11.  Paul Renucci, “La rifrazione prismatica dell’io narrante nella Divina commedia,” in Letteratura e critica: Studi in onore di Natalino Sapegno (Rome: Bulzoni, 1977), pp. 5–16, p. 9. 12.  “Quadruplex est modus faciendi librum. Aliquis enim scribit aliena, nihil addendo vel mutando; et iste mere dicitur scriptor. Aliquis scribit aliena, addendo, sed non de suo; et iste compilator dicitur. Aliquis scribit et aliena et sua, sed aliena tamquam principalia, et sua tamquam annexa ad evidentiam; et iste dicitur commentator, non auctor. Aliquis scribit et sua et aliena, sed sua tanquam principalia, aliena tamquam annexa ad confimationem; et talis debet dici auctor.” Taken from S. Bonaventura, Commentaria in quattuor libros sententiarum magistri Petri Lombardi, Tomus I. In primum librum sententiarum, Ad Claras Aquas (Quaracchi), Florentia, 1882, pp. 14–15. I kept my translation literal in order to convey Bonaventure’s text as closely and as precisely as possible. 13.  Maria Simonelli, “Convivio,” in Enciclopedia dantesca, vol. 2 (Rome: Istituto dell’enciclopedia italiana, 1970), pp. 201–3. 14.  The notion of visual poetics, a notion that presupposes employing different mises-en-page for different literary genres in early Italian

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lyric, is thoroughly described in Storey, Transcription and Visual Poetics in the Early Italian Lyric. 15.  Joel C. Relihan, Ancient Menippean Satire (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), p. 187. 16.  Mikhail Bakhtin, Problems of Dostoyevski’s Poetics, ed. and trans. Caryl Emerson (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1973), p. 115. 17.  I am grateful to the staff of both the Vatican and the Laurentian libraries for their help during my several visits to the archives. Whereas the Laurentian codex was eventually made available in digital form through the program of digitalization of the Pluteo collection, the Vatican codex remains available for consultation solely on library premises. 18.  Dante, Rime giovanili e della “Vita nuova,” ed. Barolini. 1.

q u e l l o n o n c o n o s c i u t o d a m o lt i l i b r o d i b o e z i o : d e c o n s o l at i o n e p h i l o s o p h i a e

t h e m a k i ng of t h e

a n d i t s r ol e i n

v i t a n o va

1.  The title of this chapter is taken from Convivio II.xii.2. Quotations from the Convivio are taken from Dante Alighieri, Convivio, ed. Franca Brambilla-Ageno (Florence: Le Lettere, 1995). English translation is quoted from Dante’s Il Convivio (The Banquet), trans. Richard Lansing (New York: Garland, 1990). 2.  We have indications that in eleventh-century Germany and England, for example, the poems from the Consolatio were often set to music: “A complete recital with music would have lasted some five hours, and hence might well have been spread over more than one occasion.” This observation is taken from Peter Dronke, Verse with Prose from Petronius to Dante (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1994), pp. 75–76. 3.  Jean de Meun called for the need to translate the Consolatio into vernacular in vv. 5005–10 of the Roman de la Rose, and followed on this call himself around 1300, when he authored a prose translation in French. 4.  The text was often distorted in the attempts to make it conform to Christian dogma. In some cases, the commentators have to give up after the celebrated meter 9 of Book III, when they finally have to admit that Boethius cannot be adapted completely to Christian teachings. Abbot Bovo of Corvey (ninth century), for example, purged the Consolatio meticulously of all non-Christian ideas which good Christians should stay away from.

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5.  Richard A. Dwyer, Boethian Fictions: Narratives in the Medieval French Versions of the “Consolatio Philosophiae” (Cambridge, MA: Medieval Academy of America, 1976), p. 8. 6.  Fabio Troncarelli, Tradizioni perdute: La “Consolatio philosophiae” nell’alto medioevo (Padua: Antenore, 1981), p. 97. 7.  Fabio Troncarelli, Cogitatio mentis: L’eredità di Boezio nel tardo medioevo (Naples: M. d’Auria, 2005), p. 312. 8.  Troncarelli, Cogitatio mentis, p. 310. 9.  Robert Black and Gabriella Pomaro, La “Consolazione della filosofia” nel Medioevo e nel Rinascimento italiano: Libri di scuola e glosse nei manoscritti fiorentini/Boethius’s “Consolation of Philosophy” in Italian Medieval and Renaissance Education: Schoolbooks and Their Glosses in Florentine Manuscripts (Florence: SISMEL, Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2000). 10.  Troncarelli, Tradizioni perdute, p. 46. 11.  Black and Pomaro, La consolazione della filosofia, p. 23. 12.  Black and Pomaro, La consolazione della filosofia, p. 22. 13.  Alastair J. Minnis, ed., The Medieval Boethius: Studies in the Vernacular Translations of the “Consolatio” (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1987), p. 5, n. 12. 14.  Dwyer, Boethian Fictions, pp. 7–10. 15.  Michelangelo Picone, “La ‘Vita Nova’ come prosimetrum,” in Percorsi della lirica duecentesca: Dai Siciliani alla “Vita Nova” (Florence: Cadmo, 2003). 16.  De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii by Martianus Capella, Consolatio Philosophiae by Boethius, De planctu Naturae by Allan of Lille, and De mundi universitate by Bernard Silvestris. 17.  “Ecce mihi lacerae dictant scribenda Camenae.” The Latin text of the Consolatio as well as the English translation are taken from Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy, with the English translation of “I. T.” (1609), revised by H. F. Stewart. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1953). 18.  Seth Lerer, Boethius and Dialogue: Literary Method in “The Consolation of Philosophy” (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985), p. 94. 19.  “Haec dum mecum tacitus ipse reputarem querimoniamque lacrimabilem stili officio signarem, adsistisse mihi supra uerticem uisa est mulier.” 20.  “In quella parte del libro della mia memoria dinanzi alla quale poco si potrebbe leggere, si trova una rubrica la quale dice Incipit Vita Nova. Sotto la quale rubrica io trovo scripte le parole le quali è mio intendimento d’asemplare in questo libello, e se non tutte, almeno la loro

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sententia.” Quotations from the Vita Nova are from Dante Alighieri, Vita Nova, ed. Guglielmo Gorni (Turin: Einaudi, 1996). Gorni’s paragraph numbers in Arabic numerals are followed by those in Roman numerals from Dante Alighieri, Vita nuova, ed. Michele Barbi (Florence: Bemporad & Figlio, 1932). The English translations are taken from Charles Eliot Norton, The New Life of Dante Alighieri (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1920). I will use the term paragraph to indicate sections of the Vita Nova, as Dante employs this same expression (“maggiori paragrafi”) to indicate different sections of the book of his memory, which correspond to various episodes recounted in the text. The term chapter is rather connected with Michele Barbi’s division into 42 sections of his edition of the Vita Nova (following in the steps of Alessandro Torri’s division of his 1843 edition of the Vita Nova into 43 sections), in order to facilitate citation in scholarly works as well as modern reader’s access to the text. Guglielmo Gorni’s division of the Vita Nova, on the other hand, numbers 31 paragraphs, a number at which he arrived by collating the Vita Nova’s early manuscript tradition from the fourteenth century and studying their paratextual apparatus used to differentiate between different parts of the text. 21.  “Pensando io ciò che m’era apparuto, propuosi di farlo sentire a molti li quali erano famosi trovatori in quel tempo e, con ciò fosse cosa che io avesse già veduto per me medesimo l’arte del dire parole per rima, propuosi di fare un sonetto nel quale io salutasse tutti li fedeli d’Amore e, pregandoli che giudicassero la mia visione, scrissi a loro ciò ch’io avea nel mio sonno veduto. E cominciai allora questo sonetto lo quale comincia A ciascun’alma presa.” 22.  See chapter 4, section “Scrissi a·lloro ciò che io avea nel mio sonno veduto: Scribal Influences.” 23.  “Appresso questo sonetto apparve a me una mirabile visione, ne la quale io vidi cose che mi fecero proporre di non dire più di questa benedetta infino a tanto che io potessi più degnamente trattare di lei. E di venire a ciò io studio quanto posso, sì com’ella sa, veracemente; sì che, se piacere sarà di Colui a cui tutte le cose vivono che la mia vita duri per alquanti anni, io spero di dire di lei quello che mai non fue detto d’alcuna.” 24.  Lerer, Boethius and Dialogue, pp. 166–67. 25.  Troncarelli, Cogitatio mentis, p. 106. 26.  “L’anima santa che ’l mondo fallace / fa manifesto a chi di lei ben ode.” Quotations from the Commedia are taken from Dante Alighieri, La Divina Commedia, 3 vols., ed. Anna Maria Chiavacci Leonardi (Milan: Mondadori, 2011). English translations are from Dante Aligh-

174  Notes

ieri, The Divine Comedy, trans. Allen Mandelbaum (New York: Knopf, 1995). 27.  “Veramente, al principale intendimento tornando, dico [che], come è toccata di sopra, per necessarie cagioni lo parlare di sé è conceduto: ed in tra l’altre necessarie cagioni due sono più manifeste. L’una è quando sanza ragionare di sé grande infamia o pericolo non si può cessare; e allora si concede, per la ragione che delli due rei sentieri prendere lo men reo è quasi prendere un buono. E questa necessitate mosse Boezio di se medesimo a parlare, acciò che sotto pretesto di consolazione escusasse la perpetuale infamia del suo essilio, mostrando quello essere ingiusto, poi che altro escusatore non si levava.” 28.  John Marenbon, in Boethius (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), argues that “there is no good reason to suppose that the circumstances of its composition were other than they were described— those of a man in a condemned cell, with little hope of reprieve” (p. 99). 29.  See Dante Alighieri, Rime giovanili e della “Vita nuova,” ed. Teodolinda Barolini, with notes by Manuele Gragnolati (Milan: BUR Rizzoli, 2009), esp. pp. 423–24. This transposition of the concept of the death of a friend into the newly conceived death of a lover resulted in a new tradition that will find its most notable imitator in Petrarca of the Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta, centered on Laura’s death and its consenquences for the poet-lover. 30.  Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy, trans. with introduction and notes Richard Green (Indianapolis, IN: Bobbs-Merrill, 1962), p. XXI. 31.  Ernesto Livorni, “Dream and Vision in Dante’s Vita nova,” in Accessus ad auctores: Studies in Honor of Christopher Kleinhenz, ed. Fabian Alfie and Andrea Dini (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2011). 32.  See, e.g., Dronke, Verse with Prose, pp. 108–11. 33.  Marenbon, Boethius, p. 97. 34.  Marenbon, Boethius, p. 97. 35.  Thomas F. Curley III, “The Consolation of Philosophy as a Work of Literature,” American Journal of Philology 108, no. 2 (1987): 356. 36.  “Quae ubi poeticas Musas uidit nostro adsistentes toro fletibusque meis uerba dictantes, commota paulisper ac toruis inflammata luminibus: “Quis,” inquit, “has scenicas meretriculas ad hunc aegrum permisit accedere quae dolores eius non modo nullis remediis fouerent, uerum dulcibus insuper alerent uenenis? Hae sunt enim quae infructuosis affectuum spinis uberem fructibus rationis segetem necant hominumque mentes assuefaciunt morbo, non liberant. At si quem profanum, uti uulgo solitum uobis, blanditiae uestrae detraherent, minus

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moleste ferendum putarem; nihil quippe in eo nostrae operae laederentur. Hunc uero Eleaticis atque Academicis studiis innutritum? Sed abite potius Sirenes usque in exitium dulces meisque eum Musis curandum sanadumque relinquite.” 37.  Curley, “The Consolation of Philosophy as a Work of Literature,” p. 362. 38.  Lerer, Boethius and Dialogue, p. 149. 39.  The connection and dependence of the passage from the Inferno on the passage from the Vita Nova has been noted by many scholars, such as Sapegno, Casini, Chiavacci Leonardi, etc. Luca Lombardo offers a longer discussion of Inf. II, 76–93, in his book Boezio in Dante. La “Consolatio philosophiae” nello scrittoio del poeta (Venice: Edizioni Ca’ Foscari, 2013), pp. 256–64. 40.  See Edward Moore, Studies in Dante. Third Series: Miscellaneous Essays (New York: Greenwood Press, 1968), p. 355; and Lombardo, Boezio in Dante, p. 236, n. 355. 41.  For the use of prose as a protective container of poetry, see H. Wayne Storey, “Following Instructions: Remaking Dante’s Vita nova in the Fourteenth Century,” in Medieval Constructions in Gender and Identity: Essays in Honor of Joan M. Ferrante, ed. Teodolinda Barolini (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2005), pp. 117–32. 42.  Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy, trans. Green, p. xx. 43.  “Che adunque diranno questi, li quali così presuntuosamente s’ingegnano di scalpitare il nome poetico? Certo, al giudicio mio, e’ non gli possono giustamente dannare, se non che co’ versi poetici non si guadagnan danari, che credo sia quello che in tanta abominazione gli ha loro messi nel petto, perchè a’ loro disideri non sono conformi. Resta a spezare l’ultima parte delle loro armi, le quali in gran parte deono esser rotte, se a quel si riguarda che alla sentenza di Platone fu risposto di sopra. Essi vogliono che la filosofia abbia cacciate le Muse poetiche da Boezio, sì come femine meretrici e disoneste, e i conforti delle quali conducono chi l’ascolta non a sanità di mente, ma a morte. Ma quel testo, male inteso, fa errare chi reca quel testo in argomento contro a’ poeti.” Italian text is quoted from Giovanni Boccaccio, Esposizioni sopra la “Commedia” di Dante, ed. Paolo Procaccioli, in I commenti danteschi dei secoli XIV, XV e XVI (Rome: Lexis Progetti Editoriali, 1999). The English translation is from Boccaccio’s Expositions on Dante’s Comedy, trans. with introduction and notes Michael Papio (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009), p. 70. 44.  “Egli è senza alcun dubbio vero la filosofia essere venerabile maestra di tutte le scienze e di ciascuna onesta cosa; e in quello luogo,

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dove Boezio giaceva della mente infermo, turbato e commosso dello essilio a gran torto ricevuto, egli, sì come impaziente, avendo per quello cacciata da sè ogni conoscenza del vero, non attendeva colla considerazione a trovare i rimedi oportuni a dover cacciar via le noie che danno gl’infortuni della presente vita; anzi cercava di comporre cose, le quali non liberasson lui, ma il mostrassero afflitto molto, e per conseguente mettessero compassion di lui in altrui. E questa gli pareva sì soave operazione che, senza guardare che egli in ciò faceva ingiuria alla filosofica verità, la cui opera è di sanare, non di lusingare, il passionato, che esso con la dolceza delle lusinghe del potersi dolere insino alla sua estrema confusione avrebbe in tale impresa proceduto.” 45.  “[E], però che questo è essercizio de’ comici di sopra detti, a fine di guadagnare, di lusingare e di compiacere alle inferme menti, chiama la Filosofia queste Muse meretricule scenice, non perchè ella creda le Muse essere meretrici, ma per vituperare con questo vocabolo lo ‘ngegno dell’artefice che nelle disoneste cose le ‘nduce. Assai è manifesto non essere difetto del martello fabrile, se il fabro fa più tosto con esso un coltello, col quale s’uccidono gli uomini, che un bomere, col quale si fende la terra e rendesi abile a ricevere il seme del frutto, del quale noi poscia ci nutrichiamo. E che le Muse sieno qui instrumento adoperante secondo il giudicio dell’artefice, e non secondo il loro, ottimamente il dimostra la Filosofia dicendo in quel medesimo luogo che è di sopra mostrato, quando dice: ‘Partitevi di qui, Serene dolci infino alla morte, e lasciate questo infermo curare alle mie Muse’, cioè alla onestà e alla integrità del mio stilo, nel quale mediante le mie Muse io gli mosterrò la verità, la quale egli al presente non conosce, sì come uomo passionato e afflitto. Nelle quali parole si può comprendere non essere altre Muse, quelle della Filosofia, che quelle de’ comici disonesti e degli elegiaci passionati, ma essere d’altra qualità l’artefice, il quale questo istrumento dee adoperare. Non adunque nel disonesto appetito di queste Muse, le quali chiama la Filosofia «meretricule», sono vituperate le Muse, ma coloro che in disonesto essercizio l’adoperano.” 46.  Lerer, Boethius and Dialogue, p. 125. 47.  It should be noted, however, that Dante’s understanding of the exordium of the literature of the troubadours that he explains in the Vita Nova does not change over time: in the libello he places the first generation of troubadours at 150 years prior to the moment in which he was writing, and in the De Vulgari Eloquentia he defines it as the generation of Peire d’Alvernh. This brings us to the same moment in history, which indicated that Dante’s chronology of the literature in “lingua d’oco” remained unchanged.

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48.  Guglielmo Gorni, “’Paragrafi’ e titolo della ‘Vita Nova,’” Studi di filologia italiana 53 (1995): 203–22. 49.  See Dante Alighieri, La vita nuova, ed. Michele Barbi (Milan: U. Hoepli, [1907] 1932), p. CC. 50.  “Apresso ciò poco dimorava che la sua letitia si convertia in amarissimo pianto; e così piangendo si ricogliea questa donna nelle sue braccia, e con essa mi parea che se ne gisse verso lo cielo. Onde io sostenea sì grande angoscia, che lo mio deboletto sonno si ruppe e fui disvegliato.” 51.  “E pensando a·cciò che m’era apparuto, propuosi di farlo sentire a molti li quali erano famosi trovatori in quel tempo: e con ciò fosse cosa che io avesse già veduto per me medesimo l’arte del dire parole per rima, propuosi di fare uno sonetto, nel quale io salutasse tutti li fedeli d’Amore; e pregandogli che giudicassero la mia visione, scrissi a·lloro ciò che io avea nel mio sonno veduto.” 52.  “Ora tornando al proposito dico che poi che la mia beatitudine mi fu negata, mi giunse tanto dolore che, partito me dalle genti, in solinga parte andai a bagnare la terra d’amarissime lagrime. E poi che alquanto mi fue sollenato questo lagrimare, misimi nella mia camera, là ove io potea lamentarmi sanza essere udito; e quivi chiamando misericordia alla donna della cortesia, e dicendo: ‘Amore, aiuta lo tuo fedele!’, m’adormentai come uno pargoletto battuto lagrimando.” 53.  “Io dico che molte di queste donne, accorgendosi della mia transfigurazione, si cominciaro a maravigliare, e ragionando si gabbavano di me con questa gentilissima.” 54.  “E partitomi da·llui, mi ritornai nella camera delle lagrime, nella quale piangendo e vergognandomi fra me stesso dicea: ‘Se questa donna sapesse la mia conditione, io non credo che così gabbasse la mia persona, anzi credo che molta pietà le ne verrebbe.’ E in questo pianto stando propuosi di dire parole, nelle quali parlando a·llei significassi la cagione del mio trasfiguramento, e dicessi che io so bene ch’ella non è saputa, e che se fosse saputa, io credo che pietà ne giugnerebbe altrui; e propuosile di dire disiderando che venissero per aventura nella sua audienza. E allora dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Con l’altre.” 55.  “La prima delle quali si è che molte volte io mi dolea quando la mia memoria movesse la fantasia ad ymaginare quale Amore mi facea. La seconda si è che Amore spesse volte di subito m’assalia sì forte, che in me non rimanea altro di vita se non un pensero che parlava di questa donna. La terza si è che quando questa battaglia d’Amore m’impugnava così, io mi movea quasi discolorito tutto per vedere questa donna, credendo che·mmi difendesse la sua veduta da questa battaglia, dimenticando quello che per apropinquare a tanta gentilezza m’adivenia. La quarta si è

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come cotale veduta non solamente non mi difendea, ma finalmente disconfiggea la mia poca vita.” 56.  “Sì come dice lo Filosofo nel principio della Prima Filosofia, tutti li uomini naturalmente desiderano di sapere. La ragione di che puote essere [ed] è che ciascuna cosa, da providenza di prima natura impinta, è inclinabile alla sua propia perfezione; onde, acciò che la scienza è ultima perfezione della nostra anima, nella quale sta la nostra ultima felicitade, tutti naturalmente al suo desiderio semo subietti.” 57.  “Quid igitur o mortales extra petitis intra uos positam felicitatem?” 58.  “Liquet igitur quam sit mortalium rerum misera beatitudo quae nec apud aequanimos perpetua perdurat necanxios tota delectate.” 59.  “Hic ipse locus quem tu exilium uocas, incolentibus patria est; adeo nihil est miserum nisi cum putes contraque beata sors omnis est aequanimitate tolerantis.” 60.  “Ostendam breuiter tibi summae cardinem felicitates. Estne aliquid tibi te ipso pretiosus? Nihil inquies. Igitur si tui compos fueris, possidebis quod nec tu amittere umquam uelis nec fortuna possit auferre. Atque ut agnoscas in his fortuitis rebus beatitudinem constare non posse, sic collige. Si beatitude est summum naturae bonum ratione degentis nec est summum bonum quod eripi ullo modo potest, quoniam praecellit id quod nequeat auferri, manifestum est quoniam ad beatitudinem percipiendam fortunae instabilitas adspirare non possit.” 61.  The “paths of happiness” which Philosophy has discussed are abundance of riches, tenure of offices, power, glory, and bodily pleasures. 62.  “Nihil igitur dubium est quin hae ad beatitudinem uiae deuia quaedam sint nec perducere quamquam eo ualeant ad quod se perducturas esse promittunt. Quantis uero implicitae malis sint, breuissime monstrabo. Quid enim? Pecuniamne congregare conaberis? Sed eripies habenti. Dignitatibus fulgere uelis? Danti supplicabis et qui praeire ceteros honore cupis, poscendi humilitate uilesces. Potentiamne desideras? Subiectorum insidiis obnoxius periculis subiacebis. Gloriam petas? Sed per aspera quaeque distractus secures esse desistis. Voluptariam uitam degas? Sed quis non spernat atque abiciat uilissimae fragilissimaeque rei corporis seruum?” 63.  Marenbon, Boethius, p. 111. 64.  Marenbon, Boethius, p. 110. 65.  “Verumtamen ne te existimari miserum uelis, an numerum modumque tuae felicitatis oblitus est?” 66.  “Si quis rerum mortalium fructus ullum beatitudinis pondus habet, poteritne illius memoria lucis quantalibet ingruentium malorum mole deleri?”

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67.  “Sed quod tu,” inquit [Philosophia], “falsae opinionis supplicum luas, id rebus iure imputare non possis. Nam sit e hoc inane nomen fortuitae felicitates mouet, quam pluribus maximisque abundes mecum reputes licet.” 68.  “Hunc, ut diximus, diuerso tramite mortales omnes conatur adipisci. Est enim mentibus hominum ueri boni naturaliter inserta cupiditas, sed ad falsa deuius error abducit.” 69.  “Poi che dissi questi tre sonetti nelli quali parlai a questa donna, perÒ che fuoro narratori di tutto quasi lo mio stato credendomi tacere e non dire più, perÒ che mi parea di me assai avere manifestato, avegna che sempre poi tacesse di dire a.llei, a me convene ripigliare materia nuova e più nobile che la passata.” 70.  See note to 10.1, in Dante Alighieri, Vita Nova, ed. Guglielmo Gorni, in Opere, Vol. I, Rime, Vita Nova, De Vulgari Eloquentia (Milan: Mondadori 2011), p. 892. 71.  “Madonne, lo fine del mio amore fu già lo saluto di questa donna, forse di cui voi intendete, e in quello dimorava la beatitudine che era fine di tutti li miei desideri. Ma poi che le piacque di negarlo a me, lo mio signore Amore, la sua mercede, a’ posto tutta la mia beatitudine in quello che non mi puote venire meno. “ 72.  “In quelle parole che lodano la donna mia.” 73.  Gorni, ed., Vita Nova, pp. 88–90. 74.  Dante Alighieri, Rime giovanili e della “Vita nuova,” ed. Barolini, p. 304. 75.  “Etenim plus hominibus reor aduersam quam prosperam prodesse fortunam. Illa enim semper specie felicitates cum uidetur blanda, mentitur; haec semper uera est, cum se instabilem mutatione demonstrat. Illa fallit, haec instruit, illa mendacium specie bonorum mentes fruentium ligat, haec cognitione fragilis felicitatis absoluit.” 76.  For specific examples of Augustinian elements in Dante’s poetry, especially that of the elaboration of the death of the friend into the death of the beloved, see Dante Alighieri, Rime giovanili e della “Vita nuova,” ed. Barolini, pp. 380, 424–25. 77.  In the case of the canzone Donna pietosa De Robertis hypothesized a simultaneous production of poetry and prose. Barolini, on the other hand, offered convincing counterarguments based on the high similarity of poetry and prose. For Barolini’s complete discussion see Dante Alighieri, Rime giovanili e della “Vita nuova,” ed. Barolini, pp. 206–7. 78.  Giorgio Petrocchi, “Il prosimetrum della «Vita nuova»,” in AA. VV., Prosimetrum e spoudogeloion (Genoa: Istituto di filologia classica e medievale, 1982), p. 102.

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79.  Giulio Bertoni, La prosa della “Vita nuova” (Genoa: A. F. Formiggini, 1914), p. 12. 80.  Joel C. Relihan, Ancient Menippean Satire (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), p. 187. 81.  Thomas F. Curley III, “How to Read the Consolation of Philosophy,” Interpretation 14 (1986): 211–63, cited here pp. 244–45. 82.  Curley, “The Consolation of Philosophy as a Work of Literature,” p. 358. 83.  Dronke, Verse with Prose, p. 43. 84.  Dronke, Verse with Prose, p. 43. 85.  “Sed quoniam plurimus tibi affectuum tumultus incubuit diuersumque te dolor, ira, maeror distrahunt, uti nunc mentis es, nondum te ualidiora remedia contingunt. Itaque lenioribus paulisper utemur, ut quae in tumorem perturbationibus influentibus induruerunt, ad acrioris uim medicaminis recipiendam tactu blandiore mollescant.” 86.  Curley, “The Consolation of Philosophy as a Work of Literature,” p. 359. 87.  Dronke, Verse with Prose, p. 42. 88.  Curley, “The Consolation of Philosophy as a Work of Literature,” p. 362. 89.  Curley, “The Consolation of Philosophy as a Work of Literature,” p. 366. About the proposed interpretation of the Vita Nova as an elegiac text, see Stefano Carrai, Dante elegiaco: Una chiave di lettura per la “Vita nova” (Florence: Olschki, 2006), pp. 11–41. 90.  Curley, “The Consolation of Philosophy as a Work of Literature,” p. 362. 91.  Curley, “The Consolation of Philosophy as a Work of Literature,” p. 363. 92.  Marenbon, Boethius, p. 147. 93.  Indeed, in her edition of the Rime, Teodolinda Barolini opts for not referring to the madonna of the poems as Beatrice unless Dante’s poem explicitly calls for it and the name Beatrice appears in the poem taken into consideration. 94.  See chapter 2. 95.  Dronke, Verse with Prose, p. 107. 96.  Dronke, Verse with Prose, p. 111. 97.  T. S. Eliot, “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” in The Sacred Wood: Essays on Poetry and Criticism (London: Methuen & Co., 1920), p. 48. 98.  Dronke, Verse with Prose, p. 111. 99.  Dronke, Verse with Prose, p. 112.

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100.  H. Wayne Storey, “Di libello in libro: problemi materiali nella poetica di Monte Andrea e Dante,” in Da Guido Guinizzelli a Dante: nuove prospettive sulla lirica del Duecento: atti del convegno di studi, Padova-Monselice, 10–12 maggio 2002, ed. Furio Brugnolo and Gianfelice Peron (Padua: Il poligrafo, 2004), p. 282. 101.  Petrocchi, “Il prosimetrum,” p. 110. 102.  Domenico De Robertis, Il libro della “Vita nuova” (Florence: Sansoni, 1970), p. 5. 103.  De Robertis, Il libro, p. 6. 104.  Storey, “Di libello in libro,” p. 282, argues that Dante writes for “an intimate audience, a circle of friends, perhaps a societas amicorum, even more so restricted in 1292–93 than that of the distinguished Guittone.” For a further elaboration of the figure of Dante the scribe, see chapter 4. 105.  Scholars have not reached a consensus on the question of authenticity of Boethius’s story: whether the Consolatio is an autobiographical and sincere response to the grave conditions of life or whether it is a work of elaborate fiction. But in Dante’s case, too, the veracity of the autobiographical dimension has been posed as a problem. 106.  Three out of six occurrences of the noun consolazione in the Convivio (all appear in prose) stand for the title of Boethius’s work; one stands for Cicero’s consolation in Laelius; one is in a citation from Statius’s Thebaid; finally, one is used in exegesis of the first canzone of the treatise, Voi che ’ntendendo il terzo ciel movete. Three appearances of the infinitive consolare are concentrated in II.xii.2 and II.xii.5, in the allegorical exposition of the first canzone, where Boethius’s consolatory operation is invoked explicitly as a model to follow. The participle consolato/a appears three times in connection with the first canzone and twice as qualifier of Boethius’s state in the Consolatio. Twice throughout the Convivio Dante quotes the title of Boethius’s work, “De Consolatione.” 107.  See entry “Consolazione” by Bruna Cordati Martinelli in Enciclopedia Dantesca, vol. 2 (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia italiana, 1972), p. 163. 108.  Teodolinda Barolini, Dante’s Poets: Textuality and Truth in the Comedy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), pp. 36–37. 109.  Barolini, Dante’s Poets, pp. 36–37, n. 28. 110.  See entries “Consolare” and “Consolazione,” in Enciclopedia Dantesca, p. 163. 111.  The concept of consolatio in Dante’s youthful poetry is thoroughly analyzed by Barolini in her edition of Dante’s Rime.

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112.  For a complete discussion of the canzone Gli occhi dolenti and the concept of consolation in relation to the remainder of the poem, see Teodolinda Barolini, Dante’s Lyric Poetry: Poems of Youth and of the “Vita Nuova” (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014), pp. 243–52. 113.  “Ricoverai la vista di questa donna in sì nuova conditione, che molte volte ne pensava sì come di persona che troppo mi piacesse, e pensava di lei così: ‘Questa è una donna gentile, bella, giovane e savia, ed è apparita forse per volontà d’Amore acciò che la mia vita si riposi.’ E molte volte pensava più amorosamente, tanto che lo cuore consentia in lui, cioè nel suo ragionare. E quando io avea consentito ciò, e io mi ripensava sì come dalla Ragione mosso e dicea fra me medesimo: ‘Deh, che pensiero è questo, che in così vile modo vuole consolar me, e non mi lascia quasi altro pensare?’” 114.  See Dante Alighieri, Rime giovanili e della “Vita nuova,” ed. Barolini, p. 494. 2. da n t e t h e s c r i be a n d da n t e t h e c om m e n t at or i: t h e m e di e va l l at i n b o ok a n d t h e v i t a n o va

1.  Charles S. Davis produced a brief but thorough reconstruction of different types of schools and their curricula in Florence in the thirteenth century in his essay, “Education in Dante’s Florence,” Speculum 40, no. 3 (1965): 415–35. 2.  Giovanni Villani in his Chronicle commemorates Brunetto after his death in 1294 by crediting him for commenting on Cicero’s Rhetoric and praises him as a “cominciatore.” For further considerations of Brunetto and his influence on the Florentines and Dante, see chapter 4. 3.  E. K. Rand, “The Classics in the Thirteenth Century,” Speculum 4, no. 3 (1929): 249–69, p. 260. 4.  Louis Paetow wrote the seminal study on the decline of the classics in the Middle Ages, The Arts Course at Medieval Universities with Special Reference to Grammar and Rhetoric, University Studies of the University of Illinois, vol. 3, no. 7 (Urbana-Champaign, 1910). 5.  Charles Haskins, The Renaissance of the Twelfth Century (Cleveland: World Publishing Company, 1955); Henry Taylor, The Medieval Mind (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1962). 6.  Rand, “The Classics,” pp. 257–59. 7.  Although we now have about 350 library inventories from the period between the tenth and thirteenth centuries and although they are fairly representative of different library types, various geographic zones, and the centuries they are from, many of them lack details that would

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allow us to determine beyond doubt their specific origins. For a further discussion of the difficulties in determining a more solid base for a precise study of the classics in the High Middle Ages in Europe, see Birger Munk Olsen, I classici nel canone scolastico altomedievale (Spoleto: Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 1991), pp. 7–13. 8.  Martin Irvine and David Thomson, “Grammatica and Literary Theory,” in The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism, vol. 2, The Middle Ages, ed. Alastair Minnis and Ian Johnson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 38–39. 9.  Leslie G. Whitbread, “Conrad of Hirsau as Literary Critic,” Speculum 47, no. 2 (1972): 234–45, p. 241. 10.  Ernst Robert Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, trans. Willard B. Trask (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1973), pp. 260–61. 11.  Rand, “The Classics,” p. 265. This list, according to Rand, is not original but rather copied from another source, perhaps the scribe’s own curriculum. Rand adds that the list is very similar to those of Everard the German and Hugo of Trimberg, which leads him to conclude that these authors must have been part of an established curriculum. 12.  “Verum quod superius inquisisti, quantum vel quando quis scripsit auctor, de omnibus te certificare non possumus, maxime cum plurimi eorum plurima scripserunt, quae nec ad loca nostra vel tempora pervenerunt. Non autem erit difficile nobis inniti vestigiis aliorum et te quasi ad portae introitum ad principia ducere, quorum noticiam queries auctorum.” Conradi Hirsaugiensis Dialogus super auctores sive Didascalion, ed. Georg Schepss (Wurzburg: A. Stuber, 1889), p. 22. 13.  Vincent Gillespie, “From the Twelfth Century to c. 1450,” in Minnis and Johnson, Cambridge History of Literary Criticism, vol. 2, The Middle Ages, p. 153; see also Birger Munk Olsen, L’atteggiamento medievale di fronte alla cultura classica (Rome: Unione internazionale degli istituti di archeologia storia e storia dell’arte in Roma, 1994), p. 25. 14.  Helene Wieruszowski, “Rhetoric and the Classics in Italian Education of the Thirteenth Century,” Studia Gratiana 11 (1967): 169–207, p. 181. 15.  Wieruszowski, “Rhetoric and the Classics,” p. 186. 16.  Wieruszowski, “Rhetoric and the Classics,” p. 189. 17.  Edwin A. Quain, The Medieval “Accessus ad auctores” (New York: Fordham University Press, [1945] 1986), p. 11. 18.  “Potrebbe qui dubitare persona degna da dichiararle ogni dubitatione . . . di ciò che io dico d’Amore come se fosse una cosa per sé, e non solamente sustantia separata da materia, cioè intelligentia, ma sì come fosse

184  Notes

sustantia corporale: la quale cosa, secondo la verità, è falsa, ché Amore non è per sé sì come sustantia, ma è uno accidente in sustantia.” 19.  “A cotale cosa dichiarare, secondo che è buono a presente, prima è da intendere che anticamente non erano dicitori d’amore in lingua volgare, anzi erano dicitori d’amore certi poete in lingua latina; tra noi, dico—avegna forse che tra altra gente adivenisse (e adivegna ancora, sì come in Grecia)—non volgari, ma literati poete queste cose tractavano. E non è molto numero d’anni passati che apparirono prima questi poete volgari; ché dire per rima in volgare è quanto dire per versi in latino.” 20.  Alastair J. Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship: Scholastic Literary Attitudes in the Later Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010), p. 10. 21.  Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship, p. xxxii. 22.  For the troubadours in the Vita Nova, see chapter 3. 23.  “A cotale cosa dichiarare, secondo che è buono a presente, prima è da intendere che anticamente non erano dicitori d’amore in lingua volgare, anzi erano dicitori d’amore certi poete in lingua latina; tra noi, dico—avegna forse che tra altra gente adivenisse (e adivegna ancora, sì come in Grecia)—non volgari, ma litterati poete queste cose tractavano. E non è molto numero d’anni passati che apparirono prima questi poete volgari; ché dire per rima in volgare tanto è quanto dire per versi in latino, secondo alcuna proportione. E segno che sia piccolo tempo, è che se volemo cercare in lingua d’oco e in quella di sì, noi non troviamo cose dette anzi lo presente tempo per .cl. anni. E la cagione per che alquanti grossi ebbero fama di sapere dire, è che quasi fuoro li primi che dissero in lingua di sì. E lo primo che cominciò a dire sì come poeta volgare si mosse però che volle fare intendere le sue parole a donna, alla quale era malagevole d’intendere li versi latini. E questo è contra coloro che rimano sopra altra matera che amorosa, con ciò sia cosa che cotale modo di parlare fosse dal principio trovato per dire d’amore.” 24.  “Così ha tolto l’uno a l’altro Guido / la gloria de la lingua; e forse è nato / chi l’uno e l’altro caccerà del nido.” 25.  For a more detailed analysis of Dante’s treatment of the vernacular poets in paragraph 16 (XXV), see further below, chapter 4. 26.  “Pro se vero argumentatur alia, scilicet oc, quod vulgares eloquentes in ea primitus poetati sunt tanquam in perfectiori dulciorique loquela, ut puta Petrus de Alvernia et alii antiquiores doctores.” 27.  Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship, p. 14. 28.  Birger Munk Olsen, “Accessus to Classical Poets in the Twelfth Century,” in The Classics in the Medieval Classroom: The Role of the Ancient Texts in the Arts Curriculum as Revealed by Surviving Manuscripts

Notes  185

and Early Printed Books, ed. Juanita Feros Ruys, John O. Ward, and Melanie Heyworth (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 131–44, p. 131. 29.  Quain notes in The Medieval Accessus ad auctores, p. 261, that the “practice of accessus was prominently used by the commentators on medieval grammatica, rhetorica, dialectica, civil and canon law.” Essential bibliography on the accessus also includes R. W. Hunt, “The Introduction to the Artes in the Twelfth Century,” in The History of Grammar in the Middle Ages (Amsterdam: Benjamins, 1980); and R. C. Huygens, Accessus ad auctores, in Collection Latomus, XV (Berchem-Bruxelles, 1954). 30.  Quain, The Medieval Accessus, p. 49. 31.  MS Clm 19475, held in Munich at the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, was copied in the second half of the twelfth century, while MS Clm 19474 from the same library was copied at the very end of the twelfth century. The latest collection of the accessus, MS Palatin Latino 242, held at the Vatican Apostolic Library, was copied between the twelfth and the thirteenth century. On the role of the accessus in the development of the Old Occitan vidas and razos, and of the similar treatment of the latter, see chapter 3. 32.  Fausto Ghisalberti, “Medieval Biographies of Ovid,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtland Institutes 9 (1946): 10–59, 15. 33.  Claudia Villa, “I commenti ai classici fra XII e XV secolo,” in Medieval and Renaissance Scholarship: Proceedings of the Second European Science Foundation Workshop on the Classical Tradition in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, London, the Warburg Institute, 27–28 November 1992, ed. Nicholas Mann and Birger Munk Olsen (Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 19–32. 34.  Ghisalberti, “Medieval Biographies of Ovid,” p. 15. 35.  Villa, “I commenti ai classici,” p. 26. 36.  Nardi, “Accessus e l’epistola a Cangrande,” p. 271. 37.  Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship, pp. 19–24. 38.  Munk Olsen, “Accessus to the Classical Poets,” p. 134. 39.  “In exponendis auctoribus haec consideranda sunt: poetae vita, titulus operis, qualitas carminis, scribentis intentio, numerus librorum, ordo librorum, explanatio.” Text taken from Tufts University’s Perseus Project; available at www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3A text%3A1999.02.0053&redirect=true. Translation mine. 40.  Allen, “Commentary as Criticism,” p. 29. 41.  Wieruszowski, “Rhetoric and the Classics in Italy in the Thirteenth Century,” p. 183. 42.  Wieruszowski, “Rhetoric and the Classics in Italy in the Thirteenth Century,” p. 186.

186  Notes

43.  Dante, Vita Nuova, ed. Domenico de Robertis (Milan: Ricciardi, 1980), p. 27n. 44.  Dante, Vita Nova, ed. Guglielmo Gorni (Turin: Einaudi, 1996), p. 3n. 45.  “In quella parte del libro della mia memoria dinanzi alla quale poco si potrebbe leggere, si trova una rubrica la quale dice Incipit Vita Nova. Sotto la quale rubrica io trovo scripte le parole le quali è mio intendimento d’asemplare in questo libello, e se non tutte, almeno la loro sententia.” 46.  A detailed discussion of the Vita Nova’s materiality, and its appearance as a libellus, is offered in chapter 4. 47.  “Castum amorem commendare, illicitum refrenare et incestum condemnare.” See Ghisalberti, “Medieval Biographies,” pp. 11 ff. 48.  Ghisalberti, “Medieval Biographies,” p. 13. 49.  On the role of prose as a guarantee of the order of the poems, see H. Wayne Storey, “Early Editorial Forms of Dante’s Lyrics,” in Dante for the New Millennium, ed. Teodolinda Barolini and H. Wayne Storey (New York: Fordham University Press, 2003). 50.  For the relationship between the Vita Nova and the Old Occitan tradition, see chapter 3. 51.  “Apresso questo sonetto apparve a me una mirabile visione, nella quale io vidi cose che mi fecero proporre di non dire più di questa benedecta infino a tanto che io potessi più degnamente tractare di lei. E di venire a·cciò io studio quanto posso, sì com’ella sae, veracemente. Sì che, se piacere sarà di Colui a cui tutte le cose vivono, che la mia vita duri per alquanti anni, io spero di dire di lei quello che mai non fue detto d’alcuna. E poi piaccia a colui che è sire della cortesia che la mia anima sen possa gire a vedere la gloria della sua donna, cioè di quella benedecta Beatrice, la quale gloriosamente mira nella faccia di Colui «qui est per omnia secula benedictus».” 52.  For the narrative prose of the ragioni, see chapter 3. 53.  “E pensando a·cciò che m’era apparuto, propuosi di farlo sentire a molti li quali erano famosi trovatori in quel tempo: e con ciò fosse cosa che io avesse già veduto per me medesimo l’arte di dire parole per rima, propuosi di fare uno sonetto, nel quale io salutasse tutti li fedeli d’amore; e pregandoli che giudicassero la mia visione, scrissi a·lloro ciò che io avea nel mio sonno veduto. E cominciai allora questo sonetto, lo quale comincia A ciascun’alma presa.” 54.  For a discussion on the role of the author, see the introduction to this volume. 55.  “E pensando che se della sua partita io non parlassi alquanto dolorosamente, le persone sarebbero accorte più tosto del mio nascond-

Notes  187

ere, propuosi di farne alcuna lamentanza in uno sonetto, lo quale io scriverò, acciò che la mia donna fue immediata cagione di certe parole che nel sonetto sono, sì come appare a chi lo ‘ntende. E allora dissi questo sonetto che comincia O voi che per.” 56.  “Allora ricordandomi che già l’avea veduta fare compagnia a quella gentilissima, non poteo sostenere alquante lagrime; anzi piangendo mi propuosi di dicere alquante parole della sua morte, in guiderdone di ciò che alcuna fiata l’avea veduta colla mia donna. E di ciò toccai alcuna cosa nell’ultima parte delle parole che io ne dissi, sì come appare manifestamente a chi lo ‘ntende. E dissi allora questi due sonetti, li quali comincia lo primo Piangete e il secondo Morte villana.” 57.  “Apresso lo giorno cominciai di ciò questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Cavalcando.” 58.  “E anzi che io uscissi di questa camera, propuosi di fare una ballata, nella quale io seguitassi ciò che lo mio signore m’avea imposto; e feci poi questa ballata che comincia Ballata, i’ vo’.” 59.  “E in questo stato dimorando mi giunse volontà di scrivere parole rimate; e dissine allora questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Tutti li miei.” 60.  “E in questo pianto stando propuosi di dire parole, nelle quali parlando a·llei significassi la cagione del mio trasfiguramento, e dicessi che io so bene ch’ella non è saputa, e che se fosse saputa, io credo che pietà ne giugnerebbe altrui; e propuosile di dire disiderando che venissero per aventura nella sua audienza. E allora dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Con l’altre.” 61.  “Onde io, mosso da cotali pensamenti, propuosi di dire certe parole nelle quali, escusandomi a·llei di cotale riprensione, ponessi anche di quello che mi diviene presso di lei; e dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Ciò che.” 62.  “Apresso ciò che io dissi questo sonetto, mi mosse una volontà di dire anche parole nelle quali dicessi quatro cose ancora sopra lo mio stato, le quali non mi parea che fossero manifestate ancora per me. La prima delle quali si è che molte volte io mi dolea quando la mia memoria movesse la fantasia ad ymaginare quale Amore mi facea. La seconda si è che Amore spesse volte di subito m’assalia sì forte, che in me non rimanea altro di vita se non un pensero che parlava di questa donna. La terza si è che quando questa battaglia d’Amore m’impugnava così, io mi movea quasi discolorito tutto per vedere questa donna, credendo che·mmi difendesse la sua veduta da questa battaglia, dimenticando quello che per apropinquare a tanta gentilezza m’adivenia. La quarta si è come cotale veduta non solamente non mi difendea, ma finalmente

188  Notes

disconfiggea la mia poca vita. E però dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Spesse fiate.” 63.  “Onde poi, ritornato alla sopradecta cittade, pensando alquanti die cominciai una canzone con questo cominciamento, ordinata nel modo che si vedrà di sotto nella sua divisione. La canzone comincia Donne ch’avete.” 64.  “Onde io, pensando che apresso di cotale tractato bello era tractare alquanto d’Amore, e pensando che l’amico era da servire, propuosi di dire parole nelle quali io tractassi d’Amore; e allora dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Amore e ‘ l cor gentile.” 65.  “Poscia che tractai d’Amore nella soprascripta rima, vennemi volontà di volere dire anche, in loda di questa gentilissima, parole per le quali io mostrassi come per lei si sveglia questo Amore; e come non solamente si sveglia là ove dorme, ma là ove non è in potentia, ella, mirabilemente operando, lo fa venire. E allora dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Negli occhi porta la mia.” 66.  “E feci due sonetti: che nel primo domando, in quello modo che voglia mi giunse di dimandare; nell’altro dico la loro risponsione, pigliando ciò ch’io udi’ da·lloro sì come lo mi avessero detto rispondendo. E comincia lo primo Voi che portate la sembianza umile, e l’altro Se’ tu colui ch’ ài tractato sovente.” 67.  “Onde poi sanato di questa infermitade, propuosi di dire parole di questo che m’era adivenuto, però che mi parea che fosse amorosa cosa da udire. E però ne dissi questa canzone Donna pietosa e di novella etate, ordinata sì come manifesta la infrascripta divisione.” 68.  “Onde io poi ripensando propuosi di scrivere per rima allo mio primo amico (tacendomi certe parole, le quali pareano da tacere), credendo io che ancora lo suo cuore mirasse la bieltade di questa Primavera gentile. E dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Io mi senti’ svegliare.” 69.  “Onde io pensando a·cciò, volendo ripigliare lo stilo della sua loda, propuosi di dicere parole nelle quali io dessi ad intendere delle sue mirabili ed excellenti operationi, acciò che non pur coloro che la poteano sensibilemente vedere, ma gli altri sappiano di lei quello che le parole ne possono fare intendere. Allora dissi questo sonetto Tanto gentile.” 70.  “E però propuosi di dire parole nelle quali io dicessi come mi parea essere disposto alla sua operatione, e come operava in me la sua virtute. E non credendo potere ciò narrare in brevitade di sonetto, cominciai allora una canzone, la quale comincia Sì lungiamente.” 71.  “E però propuosi di fare una canzone, nella quale piangendo ragionassi di lei, per cui tanto dolore era facto distruggitore dell’anima mia; e cominciai allora Gli occhi dolenti.”

Notes  189

72.  “Onde poi, pensando a·cciò, propuosi di fare uno sonetto nel quale mi lamentasse alquanto, e di darlo a questo mio amico, acciò che paresse che per lui l’avessi facto; e dissi allora questo sonetto, che comincia Venite a ‘ntendere.” 73.  “E però anzi che io li dessi questo soprascripto sonetto, dissi due stantie d’una canzone, l’una per costui veracemente e l’altra per me, avegna che paia l’una e l’altra per una persona detta, a chi non guarda sottilmente; ma chi sottilmente le mira vede bene che diverse persone parlano, acciò che l’una non chiama sua donna costei, e l’altra sì, come appare manifestamente. Questa canzone e questo soprascripto sonetto li diedi, dicendo io lui che per lui solo facto l’avea. La canzone comincia Quantunque volte e à due parti.” 74.  “Onde, partiti costoro, ritornaimi alla mia opera, cioè del disegnare figure d’angeli; e faccendo ciò, mi venne uno pensiero di dire parole quasi per annovale, e scrivere a costoro li quali erano venuti a me. E dissi allora questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Era venuta; lo quale à due cominciamenti, e però lo dividerò secondo l’uno e secondo l’altro.” 75.  “E però propuosi di dire uno sonetto nel quale io parlassi a·llei, e conchiudesse in esso tutto ciò che narrato è in questa ragione. E però che per questa ragione è assai manifesto, no·llo dividerò. E comincia Videro gli occhi miei.” 76.  “E però mi venne volontà di dire anche parole parlando a·llei, e dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Colore d’amore.” 77.  “E acciò che questa battaglia che io avea meco non rimanesse saputa pur dal misero che la sentia, propuosi di fare uno sonetto e di comprendere in esso questa orribile conditione; e dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia L’amaro lagrimare ed à due parti.” 78.  “E però che la battaglia de’ pensieri vinceano coloro che per lei parlavano, mi parve che si convenisse di parlare a·llei, e dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Gentile pensero; e dico «Gentile» in quanto ragionava di gentil donna, ché peraltro era vilissimo.” 79.  “Onde io, volendo che cotale desiderio malvagio e vana tentatione paresse distructo sì che alcuno dubbio non potessero inducere le rimate parole che io avea dette dinanzi, propuosi di fare uno sonetto nel quale io comprendessi la sententia di questa ragione, e dissi allora Lasso, per forza di molti sospiri.” 80.  “Onde, passati costoro dalla mia veduta, propuosi di fare uno sonetto nello quale io manifestasse ciò che io avea detto fra me medesimo; e acciò che più paresse pietoso, propuosi di dire come se io avessi parlato a·lloro; e dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Deh, peregrini.” 81.  “E dissi allora uno sonetto lo quale narra del mio stato, e manda’lo a·lloro col precedente sonetto acompagnato e con un altro che

190  Notes

comincia Venite a ‘ntendere. Lo sonetto lo quale io feci allora comincia Oltre la spera, lo quale à in sé cinque parti.” 82.  On the dependence of the vidas and razos on the accessus ad auctores, see chapter 3. 83.  M. B. Parkes, “The Influence of the Concepts of Ordinatio and Compilatio on the Development of the Book,” in Medieval Learning and Literature: Essays Presented to Richard William Hunt, ed. J. J. G. Alexander and M. T. Gibson (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976), p. 115. 84.  Parkes, “Ordinatio and Compilatio,” p. 119. 85.  Parkes, “Ordinatio and Compilatio,” p. 123. 86.  Parkes, “Ordinatio and Compilatio,” p. 127. 87.  “Dico che in questo tempo che questa donna era schermo di tanto amore, quanto da la mia parte, sì mi venne una volontade di volere ricordare lo nome di quella gentilissima ed accompagnarlo di molti nomi di donne, e spezialmente del nome di questa gentile donna. E presi li nomi di sessanta le più belle donne de la cittade ove la mia donna fue posta da l’altissimo sire, e compuosi una pistola sotto forma di serventese, la quale io non scriverò: e non n’avrei fatto menzione, se non per dire quello che, componendola, maravigliosamente addivenne, cioè che in alcuno altro numero non sofferse lo nome de la mia donna stare se non in su lo nove, tra li nomi di queste donne.” 88.  Teodolinda Barolini has taken special care in both her Italian and English editions of Dante’s Rime to study those thirteen poems that are available in their pre–Vita Nova forms and compare them to their versions from the Vita Nova. Her analysis shows that the prose of the libello regularly molds and bends their meaning according to the poet’s needs at the moment in which he is writing the libello. 89.  The first sonnet of the collection, A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core, was written a decade before the composition of the Vita Nova. 90.  Parkes, “Ordinatio and Compilatio,” p. 133. 91.  Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship, p. 118. 92.  Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship, p. 145. 93.  Dante, Vita Nova, ed. Gorni, p. 25n. 94.  “Questo sonetto si divide in due parti, che nella prima parte saluto e domando risponsione, nella seconda significo a che si dêe rispondere. La seconda parte comincia quivi Già erano.” 95.  “Questa canzone, acciò che sia meglio intesa, la dividerò più artificiosamente che l’altre cose di sopra. E però prima ne fo tre parti. La prima parte è proemio delle sequenti parole; la seconda è lo intento tractato; la terza è quasi una servitiale delle precedenti parole. La seconda comincia quivi Angelo clama; la terza quivi Canzone, io so che. La prima

Notes  191

parte si divide in quattro. Nella prima dico a cui dicere voglio della mia donna, e perché io voglio dire; nella seconda dico quale mi pare avere a me stesso quando io penso lo suo valore, e come io direi se io non perdessi l’ardimento; nella terza dico come credo dire di lei, acciò che io non sia impedito da viltà; nella quarta, ridicendo anche a cui ne intenda dire, dico la cagione per che dico a·lloro. La seconda comincia quivi Io dico; la terza quivi E io non vo’ parlar; la quarta donne e donzelle. Poscia quando dico Angelo clama, comincio a tractare di questa donna. E dividesi questa parte in due. Nella prima dico che di lei si comprende in cielo; nella seconda dico che di lei si comprende in terra, quivi Madonna è disiata. Questa seconda parte si divide in due: che nella prima dico di lei quanto della parte della nobilità della sua anima, narrando alquante delle sue bellezze, quivi Dice di lei Amore. Questa seconda parte si divide in due: che nella prima dico d’alquante bellezze che sono secondo tutta la persona; nella seconda dico d’alquante bellezze che sono secondo determinata parte della persona, quivi Degli occhi suoi. Questa seconda parte si divide in due: che nell’una dico degli occhi, li quali sono principio d’amore; nella seconda dico della bocca, la quale è fine d’amore. E acciò che quinci si lievi ogni vitioso pensiero, ricordisi chi ci legge che di sopra è scripto che il saluto di questa donna, lo quale era delle operationi della sua bocca, fue fine delli miei desiderii mentre che io lo potei ricevere. Poscia quando dico Canzone, io so che tu, agiungo una stantia quasi come ancella dell’altre, nella quale dico quello che di questa mia canzone desidero. E però che questa ultima parte è lieve a intendere, non mi travaglio di più divisioni. Dico bene che a più aprire lo ‘ntendimento di questa canzone si converrebbe usare di più minute divisioni; ma tuttavia chi non è di tanto ingegno, che per queste che sono facte la possa intendere, a me non dispiace se la mi lascia stare, ché certo io temo d’avere a troppi comunicato lo suo intendimento pur per queste divisioni che facte sono, s’elli avenisse che molti le potessero udire.” 96.  Rita Librandi, “Dante e la lingua della scienza,” Letture classensi 41 (2013): 61–88, 69. 97.  H. Wayne Storey, “Di libello in libro: problemi materiali nella poetica di Monte Andrea e Dante,” in Da Guido Guinizzelli a Dante: Nuove prospettive sulla lirica del Duecento. Atti del convegno di studi, Padova-Monselice, 10–12 maggio 2002, ed. Furio Brugnolo and Gianfelice Peron (Padua: Il poligrafo, 2004), pp. 271–90, p. 283. 98.  “Acciò che questa canzone paia rimanere più vedova dopo lo suo fine, la dividerò prima ch’io la scriva; e cotale modo terrò da qui innanzi.” 99.  Dante’s explanation of the change of the position of the divisiones is no different from the comment made by the scribe of the fifteenth-

192  Notes

century MS Riccardiano 1088, who decides in the midst of copying Petrarca’s Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta, on c. 27r, to change the mise-enpage and make a transition from the horizontal to the vertical two-column transcription layout, with the following justification: “Non mi piace di piu seguire di scriuere nel modo che o tenuto da quinci adietro cioe di passare da l uno colonello a l altro. Ançi intendo di seguire giu p(er) lo cholonello tanto che si copia la canzone o sonetto che sia / e cosi comincio ap(re)sso gentil ma don(n)a i ueggio” (I do not like any more to follow the way [of transcription] that I have kept so far, that is, to pass from one column to the other. On the contrary—I intend to follow from here in one column, whether I transcribe a canzone or a sonnet, and so I begin after Gentil mia donna i veggio). 100.  Storey, “Di libello in libro,” p. 284. 101.  Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship, p. 202. 3. da n t e t h e s c r i be a n d da n t e t h e c om m e n t at or i i: t h e ol d o c c i t a n p oe t r y c ol l e c t ions a n d t h e v i t a n o va

1.  Gianfranco Folena, “Tradizione e cultura trobadorica nelle corti e nelle città venete,” in AA.VV., Storia della cultura veneta, vol. 1 (Vicenza, Neri Pozza, 1976), pp. 453–562, p. 470. 2.  Corrado Bologna, Tradizione e fortuna dei classici italiani (Turin: Einaudi, 1994), p. 43. 3.  See Bologna, Tradizione e fortuna, p. 43; Giulio Bertoni, I trovatori d’Italia (Rome, 1967), p. 118; Christopher Kleinhenz, “Esegesi del sonetto provenzale di Paolo Lanfranchi da Pistoia,” Studi e problemi di critica testuale, 2 (April 1971): 29–39. 4.  Bologna, Tradizione e fortuna, pp. 43–44. 5.  See below, “Veneto-Sicily-Tuscany.” 6.  Maria Luisa Meneghetti, Il pubblico dei trovatori: Ricezione e riuso dei testi lirici cortesi fino al XIV secolo (Modena: Mucchi, 1984), p. 305. 7.  Meneghetti, Il pubblico, p. 305. 8.  Elizabeth Poe, “The Vidas and Razos,” in A Handbook of the Troubadours, ed. F. R. P. Akehurst and Judith M. Davis (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), p. 190. 9.  Bologna, Tradizione e fortuna, p. 65. 10.  See below, “Vidas and Razos.” 11.  “1) della vita e dell’autore; 2) del titolo dell’opera esaminata— titolo spesso fatto coincidere, all’uso medievale, con l’incipit o tratto dal soggetto; 3) del soggetto dell’opera stessa; 4) del genere letterario cui essa appartiene (forma tractatus); 5) dello scopo per il quale è stata composta;

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6) dell’insegnamento che da essa può trarre il fruitore (utilitas).” Meneghetti, Il pubblico, p. 292. 12.  Poe, “The Vidas and Razos,” p. 186. 13.  “a) Autore; (b) forma (genere); (c) soggetto; (d) scopo; (e) titolo.” Meneghetti, Il pubblico, p. 305. 14.  Meneghetti, Il pubblico, p. 307. 15.  “Il primo apparire in Italia d’una raccolta di liriche provenzali è legato all’ambiente Veneto dei Da Romano, all’opera sistematicamente svolta da Uc de Saint Circ (che era attivato là non prima del 1219). Ebbene: Ezzelino da Romano, che ancora nel 1226, quale podestà di Verona, aveva impedito ai tedeschi d’Enrico la discesa per la valle d’Adige, era passato al partito imperiale e s’era, con l’appoggio diretto di Federico, insignorito di Verona, appena nel 1232. Se, come par logico supporre, un codice provenzale è passato dalla signoria veneta d’Ezzelino alla corte imperiale di Federico, ciò non può essere accaduto prima di quell’anno. Ed è anche sintomatico che, poco dopo, il Donat proensal venga dedicato a Giacomo di Enrico da Morra, podestà imperiale a Treviso nel 1234.” Quoted from Aurelio Roncaglia, “Le corti medievali,” in Letteratura italiana, vol. 1, Il letterato e le istituzioni, ed. Alberto Asor Rosa (Turin: Einaudi, 1982), pp. 142–43. 16.  Bologna, Tradizione e fortuna, pp. 62–63. 17.  D’Arco Silvio Avalle, I manoscritti della letteratura in lingua d’oc (Turin: Einaudi, 1993), p. 17. 18.  “Hec sunt inceptiones cantionum de libro qui fuit domini Alberici et nomina repertorum earundem cantionum.” Meneghetti, Il pubblico, p. 249. 19.  Maria Luisa Meneghetti, “Uc de Saint Circ tra filologia e divulgazione,” in Il medioevo nella Marca: Trovatori, giullari, letterati a Treviso nei secoli XIII e XIV. Atti del convegno (Treviso: Edizioni Premio Comisso, 1991), pp. 115–28, p. 115. 20.  Folena, “Tradizione e cultura trobadorica,” p. 518. 21.  Saverio Guida, “Ricerche sull’attività biografica di Uc de Saint Circ a Treviso,” in Il medioevo nella Marca, pp. 91–114, p. 91. 22.  “Et estet lonc temps en Gascoingna paubres, cora a pe, cora a caval . . . Et estet loncs temps . . . en Peitieu et en las soas encontradas, pois en Cataloingna et en Arragon et en Espaigna. . . . e pois en Proenssa, com totz los barons, pois en Lombardia et en la Marcha Trevisana.’’ Quoted from Bruno Panvini, Le biografie provenzali: Valore e attendibilità (Florence: Olschki, 1952), p. 87. 23.  Panvini, Le biografie, p. 90. 24.  Bologna, Tradizione e fortuna, p. 63.

194  Notes

25.  Lucia Lazzerini, Letteratura medievale in lingua d’oc (Modena: Mucchi, 2001), p. 150. 26.  An overview of this debate can be found in Avalle, I manoscritti, p. 110. 27.  Panvini, Le biografie, pp. 14–15. 28.  Meneghetti, Il pubblico, p. 245. 29.  Meneghetti, Il pubblico, p. 250. 30.  Folena, “Tradizione e cultura trobadorica,” p. 455. 31.  Bologna, Tradizione e fortuna, p. 63. 32.  “L’esecuzione in pubblico delle canzoni trobadoriche era generalmente preceduta (ma l’usanza sembra risalire ad epoca relativamente tarda) da un discorsetto con cui l’autore od il giullare informava l’uditorio sul contenuto della lirica e sui motivi che ne avevano determinato la composizione (razos). Quando poi il récital era dedicato ad un solo poeta, se ne fornivano anche notizie biografiche riguardanti in genere la regione di provenienza, le condizioni sociali, gli episodi più salienti della vita e le avventure amorose; il tutto infine era chiuso da un giudizio complessivo sul valore dell’opera tanto dal punto di vista letterario che da quello musicale (vidas).” Avalle, I manoscritti, p. 107. 33.  “Nell’ambito della cultura trobadorica, per passare dal lirico al narrativo, dalla canso alla vida o alla razo, bisognerà attendere . . . un mutamento del supporto ideologico che sorregge l’attività letteraria, o meglio la crisi dell’iniziale rapporto di casualità esistente fra ideologia cortese, definibile, in senso stretto, come l’ideologia della bassa nobiltà nella seconda età feudale—accolta o criticata dai diversi poeti—e i prodotti artistici.” Meneghetti, Il pubblico, p. 240. 34.  The most comprehensive study of MS Vaticano Latino 3207 is offered in Maria Careri, Il canzoniere provenzale H (Vat. Lat. 3207): Struttura, contenuto e fonti (Modena: Mucchi, 1990). 35.  Meneghetti, Il pubblico, p. 296. 36.  Meneghetti reminds that the cobla is the fundamental unit of meaning in the troubadour tradition. Therefore, once the key cobla is included in a manuscript, there is no need for the rest of the poem. The critic also points out two examples from manuscript P: the case of Kalenda Maia by Raimbaut de Vaqueiras, whose first cobla is copied within its razo and the rest of the canso is omitted from the manuscript; the same happens with the canso Lo dous cossire by Guilhem de Cabestanh. Meneghetti, Il pubblico, pp. 282–83. 37.  Favati, Le biografie, p. 82. 38.  I use the term incorporation to designate the operation executed by the scribes/editors of the Occitan collections, where they incorporate

Notes  195

the coblas of the cansos into the razos or the vidas. In the case of the Vita Nova, I speak of integration of prose and poetry, as they were both written by Dante and, in the making of the libello, meant to constitute one single work. 39.  Meneghetti argued in Il pubblico, p. 283, that these collections that dedicate equal attention to text and gloss eventually led to the Vita Nova through privileging the biographical component. 40.  See chapter 2 for more detailed considerations about the auctores and text commentaries in the Middle Ages. 41.  Burgwinkle, “The Chansonniers as Books,” in The Troubadours: An Introduction, ed. Sarah Kay and Simon Gaunt (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 253. 42.  Marco Santagata, L’ io e il mondo: Un’ interpretazione di Dante (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2011), p. 186. 43.  Luciano Rossi, “Il cuore, mistico pasto d’amore: dal «Lai Guirin» al Decameron,” in Studi provenzali e francesi (L’Aquila: Japadre, 1983), pp. 28–128, p. 110. 44.  Rossi, “Il cuore,” p. 110. 45.  Michelangelo Picone, “Vita Nuova fra autobiografia e tipologia,” in Dante e le forme dell’allegoresi (Ravenna: Longo, 1987), p. 62. 46.  Santagata, L’ io e il mondo, p. 187. 47.  On the effect of the “gravitational pull” of prose on the poems, see Barolini’s analysis of the poems from the Vita Nova in her edition of Dante’s Rime. 48.  Picone, “Vita Nuova fra autobiografia e tipologia,” pp. 63–64. 49.  “Apresso questo sonetto apparve a me una mirabile visione, nella quale io vidi cose che mi fecero proporre di non dire più di questa benedecta infino a tanto che io potessi più degnamente tractare di lei. E di venire a·cciò io studio quanto posso, sì com’ella sae, veracemente. Sì che, se piacere sarà di Colui a cui tutte le cose vivono, che la mia vita duri per alquanti anni, io spero di dire di lei quello che mai non fue detto d’alcuna. E poi piaccia a colui che è sire della cortesia che la mia anima sen possa gire a vedere la gloria della sua donna, cioè di quella benedecta Beatrice, la quale gloriosamente mira nella faccia di Colui «qui est per omnia secula benedictus».” 50.  Of course, the vidas and razos are rife with nearly fantastic events, amassed names of people and places that can under no circumstances be derived from the poetry itself. Protagonists of the prose can hardly be identified with the same protagonists from the poems, as in the prose they assume characteristics of heroes from great romances or chivalric stories, they travel the world, they fall in love without measure,

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they kidnap women, advise kings, etc. On the other hand, Dante will amplify the narrative with respect to the poems but will not invent unbelievable circumstances, nor will he become a different person. Dante of the prose is the manipulative author, but he is also the Dante of the poems, who suffers, loves, ponders the art of poetry, etc. 51.  “Dunque, se noi vedemo che li poete ànno parlato alle cose inanimate sì come se avessero senso o ragione, e fattele parlare insieme; e non solamente cose vere, ma cose non vere: cioè che detto ànno, di cose le quali non sono, che parlano, e detto che molti accidenti parlano, sì come se fossero sustantie e uomini, degno è lo dicitore per rima di fare lo simigliante; ma non sanza ragione alcuna, ma con ragione la quale poscia sia possibile d’aprire per prosa.” 52.  Dante uses with the same meaning expressions “aprire la sententia” in paragraph 7 (XIV) and “aprire lo ‘ntendimento” in 10 (XIX). 53.  Some episodes (recounted in paragraphs 16 [XXV], 19 [XXVIII–XXX], and 31 [XLII]) do not contain poems but rather different episodes from the poet’s life or his remarks about the poetic process. Paragraph 16 thus is an intermezzo in the narration that allows the poet to discuss personification as a literary device, contrasting overtly his poetry to that of Guittone and his followers; paragraph 19 represents a longer discussion of Beatrice’s blessedness that follows the moment of the announcement of her death; paragraph 31 describes the event of a miraculous vision the poet had, which is accompanied by the announcement of a halt in his writing about Beatrice until he has acquired sufficient skills that would allow him to honor her properly in his writings. 54.  “E per più fare credente altrui, feci per lei certe cosette per rima, le quali non è mio intendimento di scrivere qui, se non in quanto facesse a tractare di quella gentilissima Beatrice.” 55.  “Poi che dissi questi tre sonetti nelli quali parlai a questa donna, però che fuoro narratori di tutto quasi lo mio stato credendomi tacere e non dire più, però che mi parea di me assai avere manifestato, avegna che sempre poi tacesse di dire a·llei, a me convene ripigliare materia nuova e più nobile che la passata.” Emphasis mine. 56.  A detailed analysis of this paragraph is included in chapter 2. 57.  This specific example is taken from the vida of Gullhem de Cabestaing, copied on cc. 50r–51v. 58.  This semidiplomatic transcription is mine. I have tried to conserve the original version as much as possible by intervening only in a few instances for the sake of clarity. Names of protagonists are capital-

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ized; punctuation is kept to a necessary minimum; contractions, abbreviations, and tilde are expanded in parentheses. The English translation is taken from Songs of the Troubadours and Trouveres: An Anthology of Poems and Melodies, ed. Samuel N. Rosenberg, Margaret Switten, and Gerard Le Vot (New York: Garland, 1998). This volume, however, given its focus on the songs of the troubadours, only reproduces the text of the razo and that of poetry. In other words, it does not include prose rubrics that appear in red in the codex and which introduce each author every time a cobla is transcribed. It does not offer a description of the paratextual apparatus that would help the reader understand the dynamics between poetry and prose, which to a student of the Vita Nova appears crucial. Italics in the English translation indicate my addition that reflects the original text from the manuscript. I have also adapted punctuation of the translation to my transcription. 59.  “E però propuosi di dire uno sonetto nel quale io parlassi a·llei, e conchiudesse in esso tutto ciò che narrato è in questa ragione. E però che per questa ragione è assai manifesto, no·llo dividerò.” 60.  “E però mi venne volontà di dire anche parole parlando a·llei, e dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Colore d’amore; ed è piano senza dividerlo, per la sua precedente ragione.” 61.  “Potrebbe bene ancora ricevere più divisioni, ma sariano indarno, però ch’è manifesto per la precedente ragione.” 62.  “Questo sonetto non divido in parti, però che la divisione non si fa se non per aprire la sententia della cosa divisa; onde con ciò sia cosa che per la sua ragionata cagione assai sia manifesto, non à mestiere di divisione. Vero è che tra le parole ove si manifesta la cagione di questo sonetto si scrivono dubbiose parole, cioè quando dico che Amore uccide tutti li miei spiriti, e li visivi rimangono in vita salvo che fuori delli strumenti loro. E questo dubbio è impossibile a solvere a chi non fosse in simile grado fedele d’Amore; e a coloro che vi sono è manifesto ciò che solverebbe le dubitose parole. E però non è bene a me di dichiarare cotale dubitatione, acciò che lo mio parlare dichiarando sarebbe indarno overo di soperchio.” 63.  Steven Botterill, “’Però che la divisione non si fa se non per aprire la sentenza de la cosa divisa’ (V.N., XIV, 13): The Vita Nuova as a Commentary,” in La gloriosa donna de la mente: A Commentary on the “Vita Nuova,” ed. Vincent Moleta (Florence: Olschki, 1994), p. 74. 64.  “Questo sonetto è sì piano ad intendere per quello che narrato è dinanzi, che non abisogna d’alcuna divisione.” 65.  “E però che per questa ragione è assai manifesto, no·llo dividerò.” 66.  “[Questo sonetto] è piano sanza dividerlo, per la sua precedente ragione.”

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67.  “Questo sonetto non divido, però che assai lo manifesta la sua ragione.” 68.  “Questo sonetto non divido, però che assai lo manifesta la sua ragione.” 69.  Favati, Le biografie, p. 50. 70.  Elizabeth Poe, Compilatio: Lyric Texts and Prose Commentaries in Troubadour Manuscript H (Vat. Lat. 3207) (Lexington, KY: French Forum, 2000), p. 39, n. 10. 71.  Rossi, Il cuore, p. 112. 72.  “Guillems de Cabestaing si amava una dompna per amor e chantava de lieis e·n fazia sas chanssos. E la dompna, qu’era joves e gaia e gentil e bella si·l volia ben mais qe a ren del mon.” 73.  “E quan venc un dia, Raimons de Castel Rossillon trobet passan Guillem de Cabestaing ses gran compaignia e aucis lo; e fetz li traire lo cor del cors e fetz li taillar la testa.” 74.  Panvini, Le biografie, p. 78. 75.  “E qan la dompna l’ac manjat, Raimons de Castel Rossillon li dis: «Sabetz vos so que vos avetz manjat?» Et ella dis: «Non, si non que mout es estada bona vianda e saborida». Et el li dis q’el era lo cors d’En Guillem de Cabestaing so que ella avia manjat; et, a so q’ella l crezes mieils, si fetz aportar la testa denan lieis. E quan la dompna vic so et auzic, ella perdet lo vezer e l’auzir. E quand ella revenc, si dis: «Seigner, ben avetz dat si bon manjar que ja mais non manjarai d’autre».’’ 76.  “E pensando di lei, mi sopragiunse uno soave sonno, nel quale m’apparve una maravigliosa visione. Che mi parea vedere nella mia camera una nebula di colore di fuoco, dentro alla quale io discernea una figura d’uno signore, di pauroso aspecto a chi la guardasse; e pareami con tanta letitia intorno a·ssé, che mirabile cosa era; e nelle sue parole dicea molte cose, le quali io non intendea se non poche, tra le quali io intendea queste: «Ego dominus tuus». Nelle sue braccia mi parea vedere una persona dormire nuda, salvo che involta mi parea in uno drappo sanguigno leggieramente; la quale io riguardando molto intentivamente, conobbi ch’era la donna della salute, la quale m’avea lo giorno dinanzi degnato di salutare. E nell’una delle mani mi parea che questi tenesse una cosa la quale ardesse tutta; e pareami che mi dicesse queste parole: «Vide cor tuum!». E quando elli era stato alquanto, pareami che disvegliasse questa che dormia; e tanto si sforzava per suo ingegno, che facea mangiare questa cosa che in mano li ardea, la quale ella mangiava dubitosamente. Apresso ciò poco dimorava che la sua letitia si convertia in amarissimo pianto; e così piangendo si racogliea questa donna nelle sue braccia, e con essa mi parea che si ne gisse verso lo cielo. Onde io

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sostenea sì grande angoscia, che lo mio deboletto sonno non poteo sostenere, anzi si ruppe e fui disvegliato.” 77.  Rossi, Il cuore, p. 120. 4 . da n t e t h e s c r i be a n d da n t e t h e c om pi l e r : r e de f i n i ng i t a l i a n v e r n ac u l a r l i t e r a r y a n d s c r i b a l m at r ic e s i n t h e v i t a n o va

1.  Maria Simonelli, “Convivio,” in Enciclopedia dantesca, vol. 2 (Rome: Istituto dell’enciclopedia italiana, 1970), pp. 201–3, p. 203. 2.  Simonelli, “Convivio,” p. 201. 3.  In “Convivio,” p. 201, Simonelli goes on to clarify this claim by stating that “many literal corrections of the Convivio, transmitted by the manuscript tradition, have been produced or proposed exclusively with the goal of having Dante’s word coincide with the suggested word of the source.” 4.  The question of the dating of the poems is still open, and is one of the most difficult problems regarding the Vita Nova’s text. We do know that most of the poems were written beforehand and that some of them might have been composed for the libello, but it is still unclear whether their composition is simultaneous with that of the exegetic prose. For the chronology and dating of the compositions, see Dante Alighieri, Rime, ed. Domenico De Robertis (Florence: Le Lettere, 2002). 5.  De Robertis, Il libro della “Vita nuova” (Florence: Sansoni, 1970), p. 209. 6.  De Robertis, Il libro della “Vita nuova,” p. 209. 7.  Dante Alighieri, Vita Nuova, 1980, p. 14. 8.  “In quella parte del libro della mia memoria dinanzi alla quale poco si potrebbe leggere, si trova una rubrica la quale dice Incipit Vita Nova. Sotto la quale rubrica io trovo scripte le parole le quali è mio intendimento d’asemplare in questo libello, e se non tutte, almeno la loro sententia.” 9.  De Robertis, Il libro della “Vita nuova,” p. 12. 10.  H. Wayne Storey, “Di libello in libro: Problemi materiali nella poetica di Monte Andrea e Dante,” in Da Guido Guinizzelli a Dante: Nuove prospettive sulla lirica del Duecento: atti del convegno di studi, Padova-Monselice, 10–12 maggio 2002, ed. Furio Brugnolo and Gianfelice Peron (Padua: Il poligrafo, 2004), p. 272. 11.  Storey, “Di libello in libro,” p. 272. 12.  De Robertis, Il libro della “Vita nuova,” p. 211. For a more detailed analysis of the Rettorica and the Vita Nova from the point of view of the use of these tópoi, see De Robertis, Il libro della “Vita nuova,” 208–22.

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13.  Storey, “Di libello in libro,” p. 282. 14.  H. Wayne Storey, “Following Instructions: Remaking Dante’s Vita Nova in the Fourteenth Century,” in Medieval Constructions in Gender and Identity: Essays in Honor of Joan M. Ferrante, ed. Teodolinda Barolini (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2005),” p. 122. 15.  For divisiones as a form derived from the medieval Latin book culture, see chapter 2. 16.  “Acciò che questa canzone paia rimanere più vedova dopo lo suo fine, la dividerò prima ch’io la scriva; e cotale modo terrò da qui innanzi.” 17.  Storey, “Following Instructions,” p. 122. 18.  Storey, “Following Instructions,” p. 122. 19.  Georgio Petrocchi, “Il prosimetrum della Vita nuova,” in AA.VV., Prosimetrum e spoudogeloion (Genoa: Istituto di filologia classica e medievale, 1982), p. 111. 20.  De Robertis, Il libro della “Vita nuova,” p. 9. 21.  Dante’s poem, as we know, was received in various manners. Perhaps the negative reply sent by Dante da Maiano in the sonnet Di ciò che stato sé dimandatore (and, possibly, other responses of that kind that have not reached us) prompted Dante not to acknowledge anyone specifically, except for, of course, Guido Cavalcanti, the dedicatee of the Vita Nova. 22.  “Dico bene che a più aprire lo ‘ntendimento di questa canzone si converrebbe usare di più minute divisioni; ma tuttavia chi non è di tanto ingegno, che per queste che sono facte la possa intendere, a me non dispiace se la mi lascia stare, ché certo io temo d’avere a troppi comunicato lo suo intendimento pur per queste divisioni che facte sono, s’elli avenisse che molti le potessero udire.” 23.  Storey, “Following Instructions,” p. 121. 24.  “[E] pregandoli che giudicassero la mia visione, scrissi a·lloro ciò che io avea nel mio sonno veduto. E cominciai allora questo sonetto, lo quale comincia A ciascun’alma presa.” Emphasis is mine, and completes the translation of Dante’s passage, marking the text that does not exist in Norton’s translation. 25.  “Con questa donna mi celai alquanti anni e mesi. E per più fare credente altrui, feci per lei certe cosette per rima, le quali non è mio intendimento di scrivere qui, se non in quanto facesse a tractare di quella gentilissima Beatrice; e però le lascerò tutte, salvo che alcuna cosa ne scriverò che pare che sia loda di lei. Dico che in questo tempo che questa donna era schermo di tanto amore quanto dalla mia parte, mi venne una

Notes  201

volontà di volere ricordare lo nome di quella gentilissima e acompagnarlo di molti nomi di donne, e spetialmente del nome di questa gentil donna. E presi li nomi di .lx. le più belle donne della cittade ove la mia donna fu posta dall’Altissimo Sire, e compuosi una pìstola sotto forma di serventese, la quale io non scriverò; . . . E pensando che se della sua partita io non parlassi alquanto dolorosamente, le persone sarebbero accorte più tosto del mio nascondere, propuosi di farne alcuna lamentanza in uno sonetto, lo quale io scriverò, acciò che la mia donna fue immediata cagione di certe parole che nel sonetto sono, sì come appare a chi lo ‘ntende. E allora dissi questo sonetto che comincia O voi che per.” 26.  “Poi che fue partita da questo secolo, rimase tutta la sopradecta cittade quasi vedova dispogliata da ogni dignitade. Onde io, ancora lagrimando in questa desolata cittade, scrissi alli principi della terra alquanto della sua conditione, pigliando quello cominciamento di Yeremia profeta Quomodo sedet sola civitas. E questo dico acciò che altri non si maravigli perché io l’abbia allegato di sopra quasi come entrata della nuova materia che apresso viene. E se alcuno volesse me riprendere di ciò ch’io non scrivo qui le parole che seguitano a quelle allegate, escusomene, però che lo ‘ntendimento mio non fue dal principio di scrivere altro che per volgare; onde, con ciò sia cosa che le parole che seguitano a quelle che sono allegate siano tutte latine, sarebbe fuori dello mio intendimento se le scrivessi. E simile intentione so ch’ebbe questo mio primo amico a cui ciò scrivo, cioè che io li scrivessi solamente volgare.” 27.  “Vero è che tra le parole ove si manifesta la cagione di questo sonetto si scrivono dubbiose parole, cioè quando dico che Amore uccide tutti li miei spiriti, e li visivi rimangono in vita salvo che fuori delli strumenti loro.” 28.  “Onde, partiti costoro, ritornaimi alla mia opera, cioè del disegnare figure d’angeli; e faccendo ciò, mi venne uno pensiero di dire parole quasi per annovale, e scrivere a costoro li quali erano venuti a me. E dissi allora questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Era venuta.” 29.  “E in questo stato dimorando mi giunse volontà di scrivere parole rimate; e dissine allora questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Tutti li miei.” 30.  “Onde io poi ripensando propuosi di scrivere per rima allo mio primo amico (tacendomi certe parole, le quali pareano da tacere), credendo io che ancora lo suo cuore mirasse la bieltade di questa Primavera gentile. E dissi questo sonetto, lo quale comincia Io mi senti’ svegliare.” 31.  Ovid, Heroides. Amores, English trans. Grant Showerman (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London, W. Heinemann, 1977), p. 318.

202  Notes

32.  This use is confirmed later in the text, in III. viii: “cum pulchrae dominae nostri placuere libelli, / quo licuit libris, non licet mihi” (vv. 5–6). There liber seems to stand for the category of books in general and libelli once again refers to the single books of the Amores. 33.  The term libellus appears two more times in the text: “Impia si nostros legisset Scylla libellos,” v. 67; “Nuper enim nostros quidam carpsere libellos,” v. 361. 34.  In Amores II. xvii the poet states: “nec nisi tu nostris cantabitur ulla libellis” (v. 33), where libellus could refer to the books of the Amores but could also designate his other opera. 35.  The beginnings of the five books of the Tristia are as follows: “Parue—nec inuideo—sine me, liber, ibis in urbem: ei mihi, quod domino non licet ire tuo!” (Book I) “Quid mihi uobiscum est, infelix cura, libelli, ingenio perii qui miser ipse meo?” (Book II) “Missus in hanc uenio timide liber exulis urbem da placidam fesso, lector amice, manum.” (Book III) “Siqua meis fuerint, ut erunt, vitiosa libellis, excusata suo tempore, lector, habe.” (Book IV) “Hunc quoque de Getico, nostri studiose, libellum litore praemissis quattuor adde meis.” (Book V) 36.  Giuseppina Brunetti, “Il libro di Giacomino e i canzonieri individuali: diffusione delle forme e tradizione della Scuola poetica siciliana,” in Dai Siciliani ai Siculo-toscani: Lingua, metro e stile per la definizione del canone. Atti del Convegno di studi (Lecce, 21–23 aprile 1998) (Lucca, 1999), pp. 61–92, pp. 66–69. 37.  Storey, “Di libello in libro,” p. 275. 38.  Storey, “Di libello in libro,” p. 276. 39.  For a more detailed argumentation and discussion of the tenzone between Monte Andrea and Terino da Castelfiorentino, see Storey, “Di libello in libro,” pp. 272–79. A detailed list of the Liederbücher from the Occitan tradition accompanied by a detailed analysis of different indications in the manuscripts related to their origin and a possible relation to their authors can be found in Walter Meliga, “Le raccolte d’autore nella tradizione trobadorica,” in ‘Liber,’ ‘Fragmenta,’ ‘Libellus’ prima e dopo Petrarca: In ricordo di D’Arco Silvio Avalle. Seminario internazionale di studi, Bergamo, 23–25 ottobre 2003, ed. Francesco lo Monaco, Luca Carlo Rossi, and Niccolò Scaffai (Florence, SISMEL Edizioni del galluzzo, 2006), pp. 81–92, pp. 90–92.

Notes  203

40.  Corrado Bologna, Tradizione e fortuna dei classici italiani (Turin: Einaudi, 1994), p. 54. 41.  Lucia Lazzerini, Letteratura medievale in lingua d’Oc (Modena: Mucchi, 2001), p. 166. 42.  D’Arco Silvio Avalle, I manoscritti della letteratura in lingua d’oc (Turin: Einaudi, 1993), p. 36. 43.  Silvia Rizzo, Il lessico filologico degli umanisti (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1973), p. 5. 44.  Such use is confirmed by the occurrences in works by Francesco Petrarca, Coluccio Salutati, Angelo Poliziano, and other humanist writers. For a detailed study and more evidence, see Rizzo, Il lessico filologico, pp. 3–7. 45.  Rizzo, Il lessico filologico, pp. 8–9. 46.  “Per Ovidio parla Amore, sì come se fosse persona umana, nel principio del libro ch’à nome Libro di Remedio d’Amore quivi «Bella michi, video, bella parantur, ait».” 47.  “E però dico che questo dubbio io lo ‘ntendo solvere e dichiarare in questo libello ancora in parte più dubbiosa; e allora intenda qui chi qui dubita o chi qui volesse opporre in questo modo.” 48.  “E per questo puote essere manifesto a chi dubita in alcuna parte di questo mio libello.” 49.  “La prima è che ciò non è del presente proposito, se volemo guardare nel proemio che precede questo libello.” 50.  Pamela Robinson, “The ‘Booklet’: A Self-Contained Unit in Composite Manuscripts,” Codicologica 3 (1980): 46–69; Ralph Hanna III, “Booklets in Medieval Manuscripts: Further Considerations,” Studies in Bibliography 39 (1986): 100–111. 51.  A detailed description of this codex can be found in Roberto Antonelli, “Canzoniere Vaticano latino 3793,” in Letteratura italiana. Le opere, I: Dalle origini al Cinquecento, ed. Alberto Asor Rosa (Turin, Einaudi, 1992), pp. 27–44. On the use of fascicles in medieval manuscripts, see Marilena Maniaci, Archeologia del manoscritto (Rome: Viella 2002); and Paola Busonero, Maria Antonietta Casagrande Mazzoli, Luciana Devoti, and Ezio Ornato, eds., La fabbrica del codice (Rome: Viella, 1999). 52.  Gianfranco Folena, “Cultura poetica dei primi fiorentini,” Giornale storico della letteratura italiana, 147, no. 457 (1970): 9. 53.  Folena, “Cultura poetica,” p 10. 54.  Aurelia Roncaglia, “Le corti medievali,” in Letteratura italiana, vol. 1, Il letterato e le istituzioni, ed. Alberto Asor Rosa (Turin: Einaudi, 1982), p. 142.

204  Notes

55.  François Zufferey, “Tensons réelles et tensons fictives au sein de la littérature provençale,’’ in Il genere «tenzone» nelle letterature romanze delle Origini, ed. Matteo Pedroni and Antonio Stäuble (Ravenna, Longo 1999), pp. 315–28, p. 321. For a historical and formal analysis of the Latin conflictus, see in the same volume Peter Stotz, “Conflictus: Il contrasto poetico nella letteratura latina medievale.” 56.  Stotz, “Conflictus,” pp. 181–87. 57.  Zufferey, “Tensons réelles et tensons fictives,” pp. 315–28. 58.  Zufferey, “Tensons réelles et tensons fictives,” p. 315. 59.  In her essay “Il sonetto dialogato due-trecentesco: L’intercisio e le sue origini gallo-romanze,” in Pedroni and Stäuble, Il genere «tenzone», Paola Allegretti notes that the cobla achieves independent status, “dignità autosufficiente,” as she puts it, with Bertran Carbonel, at the end of the twelfth century (p. 75). 60.  Dominique Billy, “Pour une réhabilitation de la terminologie des troubadours: tenson, partimen et expressions synonymes,” in Pedroni and Stäuble, Il genere «tenzone», pp. 237–313, p. 295. 61.  Billy, “Pour une réhabilitation,” pp. 295–96. 62.  Zufferey, “Tensons réelles et tensons fictives,” p. 328. 63.  Allegretti, “Il sonetto dialogato due-trecentesco,” p. 91. 64.  For a detailed discussion on the difference in form of Occitan and Italian debate poems, as well as the treatment of the genre in contemporary treatises, see Claudio Giunta, Due saggi sulla tenzone (Rome: Antenore, 2002), pp. 17–18. 65.  Giunta, Due saggi, p. 18 66.  Giunta, Due saggi, p. 18. 67.  Giunta, Due saggi, pp. 18–19 68.  Bologna, La tradizione, p. 86. 69.  Bologna, La tradizione, pp. 93–94. 70.  Bologna, La tradizione, p.102. 71.  “A questo sonetto fu risposto da molti, e di diverse sententie: tra li quali fu risponditore quelli cui io chiamo primo delli miei amici, e disse allora uno sonetto, lo quale comincia Vedesti, al mio parere, omne valore.” 72.  The three extant sonnets written in response to A ciascun’alma presa e gentil core are conserved independently in several lyric collections, preceded by a rubric which often states explicitly that they are replies to Dante’s poem. Giunta does not agree with Salvatore Santangelo’s definition of these poems as “sonetti dispersi” because the missive is contained within the text of Dante’s libello—a fact often claimed by the scribes themselves, who copied these collections (Giunta, Due saggi, p. 40).

Notes  205

73.  In the prose part of the text Dante refers to the composing of the poem as “l’arte di dire parole per rima”—a technical term, once more revealing the strong material background of his ideas and thoughts. In the commentary to the text of the Vita Nova, Gorni suggests that the meaning of this phrase is “ars poetica.” 74.  In the De Vulgari Eloquentia Dante mentions Brunetto Latini from the preceding generation as the only poet who knew the excellence of the vernacular. 75.  Giunta, Due saggi, p. 28. 76.  Giunta, Due saggi, p. 95. 77.  Storey, “Di libello in libro,” p. 278. It should be noted that in the two autograph manuscripts by Francesco Petrarca we find a different use and representation of the tenzone. While in his work copy, known today as Vatican Latino 3196, Petrarca includes both Geri Gianfigliazzi’s sonnet, Messer Francesco chi d’amor sospira, and his own, Geri, quando talor meco s’adira, in the final copy, the Vatican Latino 3195 (on which the poet worked until the end of his life), he includes only his own reply sonnet, deciding to add it at a later date, on an erasure. The latter was conceived as a fair copy, on parchment, and consequently Petrarch included only his poem in the final collection, along with his other poetry. 78.  Giunta, Due saggi, pp. 79–80. 79.  Giunta, Due saggi, p. 19. 80.  Giunta, Due saggi, p. 19. 81.  Storey, “Di libello in libro,” pp. 272–73. 82.  Roncaglia, “Le corti,” p. 144. 83.  Barolini, Rime giovanili, pp. 147–48. 84.  “E presi li nomi di .lx. le più belle donne della cittade ove la mia donna fu posta dall’Altissimo Sire, e compuosi una pìstola sotto la forma di sirventese, la quale io non scriverò; e non n’avrei facto mentione, se non per dire quello che, componendola, maravigliosamente adivenne, cioè che in alcuno altro numero non sofferse lo nome della mia donna stare se non in su lo nnove, tra li nomi di queste donne.” 85.  Storey, “Di libello in libro,” p. 273. 86.  Storey, “Di libello in libro,” p. 273. E pi l o g u e

1.  Full personification of Philosophy in Dante will occur only in the later Convivio. 2.  For the concept of antinarrative of the Vita Nova, see Teodolinda Barolini, “Cominciandomi dal principio infino a la fine (V.N., XXIII,

206  Notes

15): Forging Anti-narrative in the Vita Nuova,” in La gloriosa donna de la mente: A Commentary on the “Vita Nuova,” ed. Vincent Moleta (Florence: Olschki, 1994), pp. 119–40. 3.  On Boccaccio’s editorial work on the Vita Nova and on its implications for the editio princeps of the prosimetrum, see “Nota sulla Vita Nova,” “How to Satisfy the Desire of the Author: Case of Giovanni Boccaccio,” and “Un’operetta del famosissimo Teologo e Poeta, Dante Alighieri: The Vita Nova in Its First Printed Edition.” 4.  Alastair J. Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship: Scholastic Literary Attitudes in the Later Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010), p. xxxiii. 5.  Corrado Bologna, Tradizione e fortuna dei classici italiani (Turin: Einaudi, 1994), p. 54.

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Manuscripts t h e v i t a nova Note: The manuscripts containing the Vita Nova listed here are those from the first half of the fourteenth century, for they conserve the Vita Nova in a pre-Boccaccian form. In other words, they do not marginalize the divisiones and offer a clear distinction between verse and prose. Florence: Biblioteca Laurenziana, Martelli 12 (M). Florence: Biblioteca Laurenziana, Acquisti e Doni 224 (O). Florence: Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Magliabechiano Cl. VI. 143 (S). Florence: Trespiano fragment, Carmelo di S.Maria degli Angeli (Ca). Florence: Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Tordi 339 (Fto). Rome: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Chigi L. VIII. 305 (K). I T A L I A N P OE T R Y C OL L E C T IONS Rome: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vaticano Latino 3793 (A or V). Florence: Biblioteca Laurenziana, Redi 9 (L). Florence: Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Banco Rari 217 [ex Palatino 418] (P). OL D O C C I T A N P OE T R Y C OL L E C T IONS Rome: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican Latino 3207 (H). Florence: Biblioteca Laurenziana, Pluteo 41.42 (P). Modena: Biblioteca Estense e Universitaria, α.R.4.4 [ex IV, 163] (D, Da, Db, Dc, d). Barcelona: Biblioteca de Catalunya, 146 (Sg). Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale, fr. 856 [ex 7226] (C). Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale, fr. 22543 [ex La Vallière 14] (R).

208  Bibliography AC C E S S US A D AUC T OR E S Munich: the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS Clm 19475. Munich: the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS Clm 19474. Rome: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Palatino Latino 242.

Texts/Editions Alighieri, Dante. Sonetti e canzoni di diversi antichi avtori toscani in dieci libri raccolte. Impresso in Firenze per li heredi di Philippo di Giunta nell’anno del Signore M. D. XXVII, A di VI. Del mese di Luglio (1527). Alighieri, Dante. Vita Nvova di Dante Alighieri, con XV Canzoni del medesimo. E la vita di esso Dante scritta da Giovanni Boccaccio. Florence: Stamperia di Bartolomeo Sermantelli, 1576. Alighieri, Dante. La vita nuova di Dante Alighieri, illustrata da note e preceduta da un discorso su Beatrice. Pisa: Libreria Galileo già ff. Nistri, 1884. Alighieri, Dante. La vita nuova. Edited by Michele Barbi. Milan: U. Hoepli, 1907. Alighieri, Dante., Le opere di Dante, testo critico della Società dantesca italiana. Florence: Bemporad, 1921. Alighieri, Dante. La Vita Nuova. Edited by Michele Barbi. Florence: Bemporad & Figlio, 1932. Alighieri, Dante. Rime della “Vita nuova” e della giovinezza. Edited by Michele Barbi and Francesco Maggini. Florence: F. Le Monnier, 1956. Alighieri, Dante. La Vita nuova e le rime. Edited by Mario Pazzaglia. Bologna: Zanichelli, 1965. Alighieri, Dante. Vita Nuova. Edited by Domenico de Robertis. Milan, Naples: Ricciardi, 1980. Alighieri, Dante. Convivio. Edited by Franca Brambilla-Ageno. Florence: Le Lettere, 1995. Alighieri, Dante. Vita nova. Edited by Guglielmo Gorni. Turin: Einaudi, 1996. Alighieri, Dante. Rime. Edited by Domenico De Robertis. 5 vols. Florence: Le Lettere, 2002. Alighieri, Dante. Rime giovanili e della “Vita nuova.” Edited by Teodolinda Barolini, with notes by Manuele Gragnolati. Milan: BUR Rizzoli, 2009. Alighieri, Dante. Dante’s Lyric Poetry: Poems of Youth and of the “Vita Nuova.” Edited by Teodolinda Barolini, with verse translations by Richard Lansing. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014.

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Alighieri, Dante. La Divina Commedia. Edited by Anna Maria Chiavacci Leonardi. 3 vols. Milan: Mondadori, 2011. Alighieri, Dante. Vita Nova. Edited by Guglielmo Gorni. In Opere, Vol. I, Rime, Vita Nova, De vulgari eloquentia. Milan: Mondadori 2011. Boccaccio, Giovanni. Opere minori in volgare. Edited by Mario Marti. Milan: Rizzoli, 1972. Boccaccio, Giovanni. Esposizioni sopra la Commedia di Dante. Edited by Paolo Procaccioli. In I commenti danteschi dei secoli XIV, XV e XVI, Rome: Lexis Progetti Editoriali, 1999. Boethius. Anicii Manlii Severini Boethii in Isagogen Porphyrii commenta. Edited by Georg Schepps and Samuel Brandt. Corpus scriptorum ecclesiasticorum latinorum, 48. Vienna: Tempsky, 1906. Boethivs. De consolatione philosophiae: Opvscvla theologica. Edited by Claudio Moreschini. Munich: K. G. Saur, 2000. Il codice Chigiano L.V. 176, autografo di Giovanni Boccaccio. Edited by Domenico De Robertis. Rome: Archivi Edizioni; Firenze, Fratelli Alinari, 1975. Conrad of Hirsau. Dialogo sugli autori: Corrado di Hirsau. Edited by Roberta Marchionni, Quaderni di AION: Annali dell’Università degli studi di Napoli “L’Orientale,” n.s., 14. Pisa: Serra, 2008. Conradi Hirsaugiensis. Dialogus super auctores sive Didascalion. Edited by Georg Schepss. Wurzburg: A. Stuber, 1889 Opere di Dante Alighieri. Vol. IV. In Venezia, MDCCXXXXI, Presso Giambatista Pasquali, Con Licenza de’ Superiori, e Privilegio (1741). Ovid. Heroides, Amores. Edited by G. P. Goold. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1977. Prose di Dante Alighieri e di Messer Gio Boccacci, in Firenze, MDCCXXIII, per Gio: Gaetano Tartini e Santi Franchi, Con Licenza de’ Superiori, 1723. S. Bonaventura. Commentaria in quattuor libros sententiarum magistri Petri Lombardi, Tomus I. In primum librum sententiarum. Ad Claras Aquas (Quaracchi), Florentia, 1882. Servius. In Vergilii carmina comentarii: Servii Grammatici qui feruntur in Vergilii carmina commentarii. 3 vols. Edited by Georg Thilo and Hermann Hagen. Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1881. Vidal, Peire. Poesie. Edited by D’Arco Silvio Avalle. Milan, Naples: Ricciardi, 1960. Vitae Vergiliane. Edited by Iacobus Brummer. Leipzig: Teubner, 1912.

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Translations Alighieri, Dante. The New Life. Translated by Charles Eliot Norton. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin and Co., 1920. Boccaccio’s Expositions on Dante’s Comedy. Translated with introduction and notes by Michael Papio. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009. Boethius. The Consolation of Philosophy. With English translation of “I. T.” (1609). Rev. H. F. Stewart. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1953. ——— . Consolation of Philosophy. Translated with introduction and notes by Richard Green. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1962. ——— . The Consolation of Philosophy. Translated with introduction and explanatory notes by P. G. Walsh. Oxford: Clarendon, 1999. Dante’s “Il Convivio” (The Banquet). Translated by Richard Lansing. New York: Garland, 1990.

Studies Albesano, Silvia. “Consolatio Philosophiae” volgare: Volgarizzamenti e tradizioni discorsive nel Trecento italiano. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag, 2006. Allegretti, Paola. “Il sonetto dialogato due-trecentesco: L’intercisio e le sue origini gallo-romanze. In Il genere «tenzone» nelle letterature romanze delle Origini, edited by Matteo Pedroni and Antonio Stäuble. Ravenna: Longo 1999. Pp. 73–109. Allen, Judson B. “Commentary as Criticism: Formal Cause, Discursive Form, and the Late Medieval Accessus.” In Acta Conventus Neo-Latini Lovaniensis: Proceedings of the First International Congress of Neo-Latin Studies, Louvain 23–28 August 1971, edited by Joseph IJsewijn and Eckhard Kessler. Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1973. Antonelli, Roberto. Seminario romanzo. Rome: Bulzoni, 1979. ——— . “Canzoniere Vaticano latino 3793.” In Letteratura italiana: Le opere, I: Dalle origini al Cinquecento, edited by Alberto Asor Rosa. Turin: Einaudi, 1992. Pp. 27–44. ——— . “Introduzione.” In I poeti della scuola siciliana. Vol. I: Giacomo da Lentini. Milan: Mondadori, 2008. Ascoli, Albert Russel. Dante and the Making of a Modern Author. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Auerbach, Erich. Literary Language and Its Public in Late Latin Antiquity and in the Middle Ages. New York: Pantheon, 1965.

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Index

accessus ad auctores, 76–92; anthologies of, 76, 185n31; Aristotelian form, 77, 78; Boethius form, 77–78; Christian contextualization of pagan texts through, 77, 81, 92–93; evolution of role, 106–8; forms of, 77–78; information contained in, 78, 107–8; intentio aspect, 77; later form, 77, 78; longevity of, 77; purpose and role of, 76–77; of Servius, 78–79; similarities with razos and vidas, 108, 115–16, 164–65; in Vita Nova, 3, 15–16, 82–92, 101, 118, 140, 162, 164 Adhelm: Aenigmata, 69 Aesop, 69 Aimeric de Peguilhan, 102 Albigensian Crusades, 102, 113 Alexander of Hales, 100 Allan of Lille: Anti-Claudian, 70; De Planctu Naturae, 139 Allegretti, Paola: “Il sonetto dialogato due-trecentesco,” 204n59 Anglade, Joseph, 149 Aquinas, Thomas, 27 Arator, 20, 69; De Actibus Apostolarum, 69 Aristotle, 18; accessus ad auctores form, 77, 78 ars dictaminis, 68 Augustine, Saint, 69; Confessiones, 29 authorship, medieval theory of, 2–4, 6–9; components of, 8–11; Dante’s redefinition of, 6–7, 15, 24–27, 97

Avalle, D’Arco Silvio, 2, 103–4, 105, 110, 113, 115, 149 Avianus, 69, 70; Fabulae, 68 Avitus, 20; Carmen de Spiritualis Historiae Gestis, 69 Azalais de Porcairagues, 130 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 14 Barbi, Michele, 6, 12, 38, 173n20 Barolini, Teodolinda: on Dante’s methods and innovations, 29, 51, 55, 62, 65, 161, 179n77, 180n93; on Dante’s modifications to poems, 4, 117; edition of Dante’s poems, 17, 181n111, 190n88; on medieval texts, 7 Barzizza, Gasparino, 77 Bartolome Zorzi, 103 Beatrice: misidentification with madonna in early poems, 4, 55, 82, 180n93; salutation as topic, 19, 28, 36, 40, 42, 48–51, 66, 120, 137; Vita Nova as story of, 3, 4, 14, 16, 42, 101 Bede: De Die Iudicii, 68 Benvenuto da Imola, 33 Bernard of Utrecht: Commentum in Theodulum, 77 Bernard Sylvester, 70 Bernart de Ventadorn, 112 Bertoni, Giulio, 105 Bertran Carbonel, 204n59

226  Index Berzoli de Eugubio, Petrus, 104, 122 Bible, study and exegesis of, 77, 100, 115, 117, 118 Billy, Dominique, 153–54 Biscioni, Anton Maria, 6 Black, Robert, 22 Boccaccio, Giovanni: autographs of Vita Nova, 5; on Boethius, 34–36; divisiones marginalized by in Vita Nova copy, 5, 166; Vita Nova assessed by, 5, 6, 13, 165–66 Boethius, Severinus: accessus ad auctores form, 77; De Arithmetica, 20; De Consolatione Philosophiae (See below); De Musica, 20; law text presentation, 76; life of, 18–19, 28, 44 Boethius, Severinus, De Consolatione Philosophiae: authenticity questions, 181n105; Boccaccio on, 34–36; Boethius’s impending death as theme, 14, 19, 28–29; Christian contextualization of, 20, 171n4; circumstances of, 18–19, 44; core idea, 19; dual protagonists in, 28; expression “regina de le virtudi,” 32–33; French translation, 171n3; life events in, 32; in medieval literary and manuscript traditions, 19–22, 23; as moral tractate, 27–28; Muses of poetry in, 31–32, 34–36, 53; O qui perpetua, 32, 36, 46, 53–54; as part of basic medieval curriculum, 69; personification of Philosophy in, 19, 26, 28–30, 31–32, 43, 163, 178n61; philosophy and poetry combined in, 30–33, 35–36; poems set to music, 171n2; popularity and influence of, 19–20; as possible model for Vita Nova, 14, 19, 21, 23–66, 138, 139, 163; prosimetrum form, 20, 23, 52–60, 163; on pursuit of happiness, 43–47, 50–51; role of author in, 24–27; role of poetry in, 33–42, 52–54; role of

prose in, 54–55; scribal tactics in editions, 20–21; self-depiction as scribe in, 24–25, 26–27; thematic discrepancies with Vita Nova, 27–29; turning point in, 46; used as grammar book, 22, 28; as vision, 29–30, 39 Bologna, Corrado, 103, 105, 110, 148–49 Bonagiunta da Lucca, 74, 136 Bonaventure, Saint, 8–9, 100, 169n2 Boniface: Aenigmata, 69 Bonifacio Calvo, 103 Bono Giamboni: Il libro dei vizi e delle virtudi, 32–33 Botterill, Steven, 128 Bovo of Corvey, Abbot, 171n4 Brunetto Latini, 79; Dante’s studies with, 28, 51, 68, 205n74; Rettorica, 15–16, 139–40, 141; Villani on, 182n2 Cassiodorus, 69 Cato, 69, 70 causa efficiens, 8–9 Cavalcanti, Guido: Dante’s distancing from in Vita Nova, 33, 42, 50, 71, 100, 119, 136, 159; love poems, 72, 121; referenced in sonnet Tutti li miei, 40, 121; Se vedi Amore, 144; Vedeste, al mio parere, onne valore, 157, 159; as Vita Nova dedicatee, 16, 200n21; as Vita Nova’s intended reader, 142–43 Cerverí de Girona: Liederbuch, 148 charta of transcription, 4, 8, 9–10, 21, 93, 122, 123–25, 130, 141, 148, 161 Chiaro Davanzati, 109, 156, 158 Cicero: Brunetto’s commentary on, 15–16, 140, 141; consolations written by, 66; De Amicitia, 20; Laelius, 181n106; in medieval curriculum, 69, 79 Cino da Pistoia, 74, 136; Naturalmente chere ogni amadore (attributed), 157–58

Index  227 classical authors in medieval Italian canon, 2, 67–76, 147; accessus ad auctores practice, 76–79; auctores designation, 71–72, 73, 136; pagan texts made palatable for Christians, 77, 81, 92–93, 171n4; sententia of auctores, 100–101. See also specific names Claudian, 70 coblas, 114, 115, 122, 124–31, 154–55, 194n36, 197n58, 204n59 coblas tensonadas, 153, 155 Commedia (Dante): author components in, 8, 97; Beatrice as symbolizing theology, 33; Boethius references in, 27; central section of, 38; changing stance on subjects appropriate for rhyme, 75; classical authors mentioned in, 67–68, 73; dedication in, 135; “donna di virtù,” 32; exile discussed in, 61; Inferno, 32–33, 34, 73, 75, 175n39; Paradiso, 27, 50; Purgatorio, 38, 62, 136; vernacular literature justified in, 73, 74; word consolazione used in, 62 commentator, role of, 9, 15–16, 100–101 compilatio device, 10, 15, 93–95, 146, 164 compiler, role of, 8–9 conflictus, 153 Conrad of Hirsau: Dialogus super Auctores, 69–70, 77 Contini, Gianfranco, 8 Convivio (Dante): Amor che ne la mente mi ragiona, 62; Augustine’s influence on, 51, 61; Boethius’s Consolatio as influence on, 14, 22, 27–28, 32, 42–43, 51, 60, 61; concept of consolation in, 61, 181n106; Dante’s exile and, 61; exegetic method in, 166; on knowledge and happiness, 42–45; poems in, 97; prose rhythms in, 98; sources for, 10, 137–38; on Vita Nova, 13; Voi che ‘ntendendo il terzo

ciel movete, 62, 181n106; word consolazione used in, 62 Cordati Martinelli, Bruna, 62 Curley, Thomas F., III, 53, 54 Curtius, 69 Da Camino family, 103 Da Morra, Giacomo di Enrico, 110 Dante Alighieri: admiration for Boethius, 27–28; changes in poetic stance, 74–75; distinction from his contemporaries, 136–37; early education and influences, 2, 13–14, 67–68, 71–76, 79; exile of, 27, 61, 135; “fedeli d’amore” circle of friends, 1, 3, 40, 71–72, 100–101, 128, 136–37, 142–43, 158, 159, 169n1; Giuntina edition of poetry, 57–58, 166; as modern auctor, 6, 73, 138–39, 167; Rime, 4, 33; style evolution, 71–72; understanding of literary tradition, 135–37; vernacular literature justified by, 37–39, 73–76; youthful sonnets excluded from Vita Nova, 161. See also Commedia; Convivio; De Vulgari Eloquentia; Vita Nova Dante da Maiano, 71, 105–6; Di ciò che stato sei dimandatore, 158, 200n21 Da Romano, Alberico, marquis of Treviso, 110 Da Romano, Ezzelino, 110 Da Romano family, 102–3, 109–10, 112 Davis, Charles S., 182n1 della Scala, Cangrande, 135 De Robertis, Domenico, 1, 79, 139, 142–43, 179n77 De Vulgari Eloquentia (Dante), 1, 97, 152; Brunetto named in, 205n74; Italian poets omitted in, 158; paragraph 16 as precursor to, 37, 73, 74, 75; poetc skills as focal point in, 83; troubadours named in, 136, 176n47 Distincha Catonis, 68

228  Index divisiones: Boccaccio’s marginalization of, 5, 166; razos distinguished from, 128–29; in scriptural exegesis, 96; Vita Nova use of, 3, 6, 55–56, 89, 95–100, 101, 127–28, 141–43, 164, 191–92n99 Donati, Forese, 71 Donatus, 69 Doria, Percivalle, 103, 105–6 Dotto Reali, 160, 161–62 Dronke, Peter, 55, 56–57 Eliot, T. S., 56 Ennius, 69 epistles, 16, 160–62 Este family, 102–3 Eusebius, 69 Everard the German, 183n11

Gianfigliazzi, Geri: Messer Francesco chi d’amor sospira, 205n77 Giunta, Claudio, 155, 159–60, 204n72 Gorni, Guglielmo, 12, 38, 49, 79, 96–97, 144, 173n20 Gratian, 94 Green, Richard, 34 Gregory the Great, 69 Gröber, Gustav, 2, 112, 148, 149 Gui d’Uisel, 123–27 Guilhem de Cabestanh, 131–34; Lo dous cossire, 194n36 Guilhem IX, 112 Guinizzelli, Guido, 40, 121, 136 Guiraut Riquier, 148, 149 Guittone d’Arezzo, 40, 57, 74–75, 79, 136, 151, 155, 156 guittoniani, 155

Favati, Guido, 103, 112, 114, 130 “fedeli d’amore” circle of friends, 1, 3, 40, 71–72, 100–101, 128, 136–37, 142–43, 158, 159, 169n1. See also specific names Figueira, Guilhem, 112 Florence: circulation of Boethius’s Consolatio during Dante’s time, 21–22; classical texts in medieval, 2, 67–76; cultural and literary situation in late 1200s, 135–37; Guelph/Ghibelline division, 135; Old Occitan tradition in, 103–8; vernacular Italian texts in medieval, 2, 151–62 Folena, Gianfranco, 112 Folquet de Marselha: A vos, midontç, voill rettrair’en cantan, 109 forma tractandi, 78, 96 forma tractatus, 78, 96 Frederick II, court of, 110

Haskins, Charles, 68 Henry of Ghent, 100 Homer, 69, 72, 75–76; as model for Dante, 37 Horace, 37, 69, 70–71, 72, 75–76, 79 Hugh of Saint Victor, 100 Hugo of Trimberg, 183n11

Giacomo da Lentini, 74, 136; Madonna dir vo voglio, 105–6, 109–10 Giacomino Pugliese: Donna, di voi mi lamento, 148

Lanfranchi, Paolo: Valenz senher, rei dels Aragones, 104–5 Lanfranco Cigala, 103 Lazzerini, Lucia, 112, 149

Iacopone da Todi, 79 Ilias Latina, 68 intercultural exchange, medieval, 2 interpretatio somnii, 158 Irvine, Martin, 68 Italian vernacular verse anthologies, 151–52, 155–57, 159 Jean de Meun, 20, 171n3 Jerome, 69 jeu-partis, 153 Juvenal, 20, 70, 71; satires of, 69 Juvencus, 20, 69; Evangelia, 69

Index  229 Leis d’amores, 153 libellus (libello) as term, 147–51; Dante’s characterization of Vita Nova as, 1, 59, 80–81 liber (libre, libro) as term, 147–51 Librandi, Rita, 98 Liederbücher, 17, 57, 148–49, 159 Livres du Boece, 20 Livy, 69 Lucan, 69, 70–71, 72, 75–76, 79; De Bello Civili, 69; as model for Dante, 37; Pharsalia, 20 Lucilius, 69 Malaspina, Alberto, 103 Malaspina family, 102–3 Marenbon, John, 30, 46, 54; Boethius, 174n28 Maria de Ventadorn, 123–27 Martial, 70 Martianus Capella, 69, 70; De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, 139 materia operis, 93 Maximianus, 70 medieval literary production, 7–8; authorship and, 2–4, 6–9, 15, 97; compilatio, 10; fictitious debate forms (conflictus, tenzone), 16, 153–60; ink colors used, 8, 122–27; instability of poetry in, 10–11; libello, 147, 149–51; liber (libre, libro), 147–51; library inventories, 182–83n7; material nature, 2, 8, 121–27; mise-en-page in, 11, 93, 122, 170–71n14, 192n99; ordinatio and compilatio, 10, 15, 92–95, 164 medieval school curriculum, 67–76; accessus ad auctores in, 76–79, 92–93; auctores in, 71–72, 73, 75–76, 101, 147; grammar in, 22, 28, 75–76; phases of, 79 Meneghetti, Maria Luisa, 106, 112, 164, 194n36; Il pubblico dei trovatori, 107–8, 195n39 Menippeus, 14

Meo Abbracciavacca, 160, 161–62 Microbius, 70 Minnis, Alastair, 7, 22, 166 Miquel de la Tor, 16, 112; honoring of vernacular poetry, 115–16; vidas by, 106, 108 modus agendi, 96 Monte Andrea da Firenze, 109, 148, 156, 158 Occitan texts. See Old Occitan texts Old Occitan texts: authors of, 106; circulation in Tuscany, 10, 135–36; circulation throughout Italy, 102–3; cobla in, 194n36; commentary on, 83; Dante’s mention of in Vita Nova, 36–38, 75; Donat proensal, 110; Liederbücher, 17; MS Bibliothèque National fr. 1592, 131; MS C, 105, 154; MS Estense α.R.4.4, 110; MS Pluteo 41.42 (P), 15, 103–4, 106, 114, 115, 121–22, 132, 164; MS Ripoll 129, 155; MS S, 105; MS U, 105; MS Vatican Latino 3207 (H), 15, 106, 114, 115, 121–27, 126, 130; MS Vatican Latino 3793 and, 105–6, 109–10, 135, 151–52, 154, 156–58; MS Vatican Latino 5232 (A), 131–32; razos, 3, 10, 15–16, 92–93, 104, 110–15, 139, 164–65; tenços, 153–55; term libre in, 148; tradition in Tuscany and Florence, 103–8; vidas, 15–16, 92–93, 110–15, 139, 164–65 ordinatio, 15, 92–94, 96, 164 Ovid, 69, 70–71, 72, 79; Amores, 147–48; Ars Amatoria, 77; Christian adaptation of texts by, 77, 81; epistles, 77; exegesis of texts by, 106–7; Heroides, 77; as model for Dante, 37; Remedia Amoris, 77, 147, 149–50; texts used for grammar lessons, 75–76; Tristia, 148 Paetow, Louis, 68, 71

230  Index Pamphilus, 70 Panvini, Bruno, 111, 112, 132 Parkes, M. B., 94 partimens, 153, 155 Peire d’Alvernh, 75, 136, 176n47 Peire de Caravana, 102 Peire Vidal, 148, 149 Persius, 20, 69, 70, 71; satires of, 69 Peter III of Aragon, 105 Peter Lombard, 94; Libri Sententiarum, 8–9 Petrarca: Geri, quando talor meco s’adira, 205n77; Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta, 1, 7, 57, 149, 152, 174n29, 192n99, 205n77 Petrocchi, Giorgio, 142 Petronius, 70 Picone, Michelangelo, 23, 117, 138 Pierre de Paris, 20 planh, 85 Plato, 18; In Tymeo, 70 Plautus, 69 Pliny, 79 Poe, Elizabeth, 107, 130–31 Poliziano, Angelo, 149 Pomaro, Gabriella, 21, 22 Priscian, 69 prosimetrum: Boethius’s use of, 20, 23, 52–60, 163; as Dante’s choice for Vita Nova, 1–3, 4–5, 6, 23, 137, 138–40, 163–67; in MS Pluteo 41.42, 122, 123 Prosper, 69; Epigramata, 68 Prudentius, 20, 69; Psychomachia, 69 Pseudo-Boethius: De Disciplina Scholarium, 70 Quain, Edwin A., 71, 76 Quintilian, 69 Raimbaut d’Aurenga, 112 Raimbaut de Vaqueiras: Kalenda Maia, 194n36 Rambertino Buvalelli, 103 Rand, E. K., 68, 69–70; “The Classics,” 183n11

razos, 110–15; around debate poem between Maria de Ventadorn and Gui d’Uisel, 123–27; audience for, 112; as byproduct of poetry, 113; composition of, 16; elaborations of, 114–15; evolution of role, 106–8; fantastic events in, 195–96n50; of Lo dous cossire, 131–34; similarities with accessus ad auctores, 108, 115–16, 164–65; Vita Nova influenced by, 3, 10, 15, 16, 55–56, 92–93, 104, 115–31, 139, 160, 164–66 Renucci, Paul, 8 Rolandino of Padua, 79 Roncaglia, Aurelio, 109–10, 152, 160 Sallust, 69 Salutati, Coluccio, 77 Santagata, Marco, 116 Santangelo, Salvatore, 103–4, 112, 115, 204n72 Savaric de Mauleòn, 112 Savoia family, 103 scribe, role of, 8–9, 11–12; Boethius’s self-depiction as, 24–25, 26–27; Dante’s self-depiction as, 6, 9–10, 11–12, 16, 24–25, 140–47; in editions of Boethius, 20–21; in Old Occitan texts, 111–12, 123–27; Vita Nova influenced by, 140–47 Sedulius, 20, 69; Carmen paschale, 69 selectio device, 94–95, 119, 146 Seneca, 20, 79 Sermantelli Press, 5–6 Servius, commentaries of, 78–79 Silvestris, Bernard: De mundi universitate, 139 Simonelli, Maria, 10, 137–38, 199n3 sirventes, 94–95, 102, 161–62 Sordel, 102, 112 Sozomeno, 77 Statius, 70–71, 79; Achilleid, 69; Thebaid, 69, 181n106 Storey, H. Wayne, 7, 148, 160 Symphosius: Aenigmata, 69

Index  231 Tartini Press, 6 Taylor, Henry, 68 tenzoni, 16, 25, 40, 56, 152, 153–60, 205n77 Terence, 69, 71 Terino da Castelfiorentino, 71, 148; Naturalmente chere ogni amadore (attributed), 157–58 Theodoric the Ostrogoth, 18–19 Theodulus, 69, 70; Ecloga, 68 Thomson, David, 68 Tobias, 70 Torri, Alessandro, 173n20 Troncarelli, Fabio, 20 troubadours. See Old Occitan texts Uc de Saint Circ: circulation of Old Occitan manuscripts in Italy and, 109–15; honoring of vernacular poetry, 115–16; in Italy, 102, 109–10; razos by, 55; vida of, 111; vidas added to collections by, 110–15; vidas composed by, 16, 106, 108, 112, 133 usus, 67, 85, 96, 100, 127–28, 160 Valla, Lorenzo: Elegantiae, 149 vidas, 110–15; audience for, 112; biographical information found in, 106; as byproduct of poetry, 113; composition of, 16; elaborations of, 114–15; evolution of role, 106–8; fantastic events in, 195–96n50; formulas, 108; of Guilhem de Cabestanh, 131–34; Old Occitan, 15; similarities with accessus ad auctores, 108, 115–16, 164–65; of Uc de Saint Circ, 16, 106, 108, 111, 112, 133; Vita Nova influenced by, 92–93, 104, 131–34, 139, 164–66 Villani, Giovanni: Chronicle, 182n2 Vincent of Beauvais, 100; Speculum, 96 Virgil, 70–71, 72, 75–76, 79; Aeneid, 69; Eclogues, 69; Georgics, 69; as

model for Dante, 37; Servius’s commentary to, 79 Vita Nova (Dante): accessus ad auctores elements, 3, 15–16, 79–92, 101, 140, 162, 164; Amor personified in, 25, 37, 39–40, 72–75, 82, 85, 100, 120–21, 133–34, 163; audience intended for, 1, 3, 25–26, 40, 100–101, 142–43; as “autobiographical” account, 3–4, 16, 30, 32, 65–66, 92, 101, 152, 165–67, 181n105; Beatrice’s death in, 3, 14, 16–17, 28–29, 43, 63–65, 81–82, 89–90, 94, 98–99, 120, 145–46, 166; Beatrice’s resemblance to Boethius’s Philosophy, 33; Beatrice’s salutation as topic, 19, 28, 36, 40, 42, 48–51, 66, 120, 137; Boccaccio’s assessment of, 5, 6, 13, 165–66; Boethius as influence, 14, 19, 21, 23–66, 138, 139; Boethius’s Consolatio not mentioned in, 60; “book of his memory” concept, 9, 11, 13, 16, 24–26, 29, 43, 58, 80–82, 95, 96, 118–19, 140, 150, 166–67, 173n20; Brunetto’s Rettorica as model for, 15–16, 139–40, 141; Cavalcanti as dedicatee, 16, 200n21; Cavalcanti distanced from in, 33, 42, 50, 119–20, 136, 159; Cavalcanti poem included in first edition, 16; changes to poems in, 4, 36, 117; choice of Latin title, 12–13; chronology of compilation, 33, 52, 56–57, 139–40, 199n4; as consolation of poetry, 14, 32, 39–42, 43, 51, 60–66; Dante as author in, 6, 9, 16, 24–27, 81–82, 167; Dante as commentator/ glossator in, 3, 6, 9, 16, 82, 95–100, 116–17, 140–47, 162, 167; Dante as editor/compiler in, 6, 9, 16, 81–82, 94–95, 145–46, 167; Dante as scribe in, 6, 9–10, 11–12, 16, 140–47, 162, 167; Dante’s reasons for composing,

232  Index 81–82, 166–67; Dante’s roles in, 2–4, 6–7, 9–11, 16; dissemination of, 3; division of text, 38–39; “eaten heart” vision, 30, 39, 84, 131–34; epistles as influence, 16, 160–62; exclusion of others’ work, 16; expression “regina de le virtudi,” 32–33; Florentine cultural and literary situation during composition of, 135–37; framing device as used in, 10–11; genre sequence in, 152; Italian vernacular verse anthologies and, 151–52; Lamentations of Jeremiah quoted in, 98; Latin book context of, 163–64; as libello, 1, 59, 80–81, 146–51; Liederbücher as influence, 17, 57; madonna in, 4, 55, 82, 180n93; as “manual” for writing poetry, 57–60, 82–84, 100–101; models named by Dante, 36–38; narrative innovations in, 1, 2–3, 15–16, 17, 57, 80–81, 95; Old Occitan razos as influence, 3, 10, 15, 16, 55–56, 92–93, 104, 115–31, 139, 160, 164–66; Old Occitan vidas as influence, 92–93, 104, 139, 164–66; pivotal change of poetic course, 19, 28, 36–37, 42–51, 71, 89, 98–99, 137; poems’ later extraction, 21, 166; poems’ previous circulation, 3, 21, 33, 51, 82, 117, 157, 163; poetic forms in, 11, 142, 152, 154, 157; poetry as central to, 3, 25–26, 36–39, 117–18, 165–67; praise style of poetry introduced by, 19, 28, 36, 40–42, 49–51, 64–66, 87–89, 137, 144; proem, 12–13, 79–82, 95, 96, 97, 99, 118, 149–50, 162, 164; prose epistles excluded from, 162; prose styles in, 3, 10, 164; prosimetrum form of, 1–3, 4–5, 6, 23, 137, 138–40, 163–67; ragioni, 84–92, 95, 119, 127–29, 164; role of poetry in, 33–42, 55; role of prose in, 55,

57–60; screen lady in, 40, 84–85, 119, 145; self-consolation of venting (isfogar la mente) in, 60, 63, 64; self-consolation through invocation, 64–65, 66; sententia elucidated in, 55, 56, 82, 100–101, 118, 166; sirventes excluded from, 94–95, 161–62; sources for, 10, 137–39; sympathetic consolation in, 60, 63, 64–65, 66; technical terms used in, 141; temporal view of, 13–14, 139–40; tenzone as influence, 16, 25, 40, 56, 153–60; text disposition, 99–100; thematic discrepancies with Boethius’s Consolatio, 27–29; visions in, 30; word consolare used in, 60–62, 63. See also headings below Vita Nova (Dante), editions: Barbi edition, 12, 38; Gorni edition, 12, 38, 49, 79, 96–97, 144, 173n20; Sermantelli editio princeps, 5–6, 16; Tartini edition, 6; textual transmission and reception, 1, 5–6, 12–13, 16 Vita Nova (Dante), manuscript copies: Marciano Italiano IX, 26, 6; MS Chigi L. V. 176, 5, 13, 170n6; MS Toledo 104.6, 5, 13, 170n6 Vita Nova (Dante), paragraphs: paragraph 1 (opening): accessus ad auctores elements, 79–81, 84, 140, 162; on divisio, 97; information contained in, 11, 40, 56, 80, 83, 140; metaphor of book in, 24–25; vision in, 1, 84, 132–33, 144, 157; paragraph 2, 85, 94–95, 119, 144–45, 157, 161; paragraph 3, 40, 85, 120; paragraph 4, 63; paragraph 5, 32, 40, 85, 120, 150; paragraph 6, 86, 120, 121, 147; paragraph 7, 41, 86, 120, 128, 146, 196n52; paragraph 8, 86, 120; paragraph 9, 41–42, 86–87, 120; paragraph 10, 19, 42, 48–50, 87, 120–21, 143; paragraph 11, 87,

Index  233 121; paragraph 12, 87–88; paragraph 13, 88, 120; paragraph 14, 63, 88, 120; paragraph 15, 88, 147; paragraph 16: classical authors mentioned in, 67, 70–71, 72, 79, 136, 149–50; discussion of poetry in, 3, 36–39, 56, 57, 58–59, 72–74, 82–83, 118–19, 121, 146; Guittone rejected in, 74–75; intended audience, 100–101; Latin writing differentiated from vernacular, 72–76; personification discussed in, 67–68, 71, 72–75, 82, 100, 119, 121, 196n53; as precursor of De Vulgari Eloquentia, 37; significance of, 38–39; vernacular authors discussed in, 136, 176n47; paragraph 17, 89, 129; paragraph 18, 89; paragraph 19, 29, 145–46, 150, 196n53; paragraph 20, 63, 89, 99, 141–42; paragraph 21, 89–90, 169n1; paragraph 22, 90; paragraph 23, 90, 146–47; paragraph 24, 90, 127, 129; paragraph 25, 63, 91, 127, 129; paragraph 26, 91, 127; paragraph 27, 64, 91; paragraph 28, 91–92, 127, 129; paragraph 29, 92, 127, 128–29; paragraph 30, 92; paragraph 31 (closing), 26, 58, 71–72, 83, 117–18, 196n53 Vita Nova (Dante), poems: A ciascun’alma presa—Beatrice eating Dante’s heart in, 30, 39, 84, 131–34; divisio, 97; form of, 16; interpretatio somnii and, 157–59; Old Occitan influences, 116–17, 131–34, 155, 164; previous circulation, 3, 157–59; prose contextualization, 3, 25; replies to, 157–58, 200n21, 204n72; scrivere used in, 143–44; tenzone and, 158–59;—Amore e ‘l cor gentil sono una cosa, 87, 121; Ballata, i’ vo’ che tu ritrovi Amore, 85–86, 120, 163; Cavalcando l’altrier per un camino, 85, 120; Ciò che m’ incontra, nella

mente more, 41, 86, 120; Color d’amore e di pietà sembianti, 91, 127, 129; Con l’altre donne mia vista gabbate, 41, 86, 120, 128–29, 131, 146; Deh, peregrini, che pensosi andate, 92, 127, 129–30; divisiones for, 3, 6, 55–56, 89, 95–100, 101, 127–28, 141–43, 164, 191–92n99; divisiones omitted, 128–31; Donna pietosa e di novella etate, 32, 62, 63, 88, 120, 179n77; Donne ch’avete intellecto d’amore, 32, 42, 48, 50, 51, 63, 74, 87, 97–98, 120–21, 143; Era venuta nella mente mia, 57, 90; Gentil pensero che parla di voi, 64–65, 91; Gli occhi dolenti per pietà del core, 32, 64, 66, 89, 99, 141–42; Io mi senti’ svegliar dentro allo core, 72, 88, 100–101; L’amaro lagrimar che voi faceste, 91, 127; Lasso, per forza di molti sospiri, 91–92, 129; Morte villana, di pietà nemica, 85, 120; Negli occhi porta la mia donna Amore, 87–88; Oltre la spera che più lara gira, 16, 92; O voi che per la via d’Amor passate, 84–85, 117, 119, 144–45; Piangete, amanti, poi che piange Amore, 85, 120; Quantunque volte, lasso, mi rimembra, 90; Se’ tu colui ch’ ài tractato sovente, 88, 120; Sì lungiamente m’ à tenuto Amore, 89, 98; Spesse fiate vegnonmi alla mente, 41–42, 86–87; Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare, 88–89, 129; Tutti li miei pensier’ parlan d’Amore, 40–41, 86; Venite a ‘ntender li sospiri miei, 89–90; Videro gli occhi miei quanta pietate, 90–91, 127, 129; Voi che portate la sembianza umile, 88, 120 Wieruszowski, Helene, 70–71, 79 Ysopus, 70 Zufferey, François, 153, 154

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Acknowledgments

The selfless guidance and singular expertise of H. Wayne Storey, my mentor and my guide, have been invaluable to me until the very last phases of the preparation of this book. I thank him for teaching me everything that I know about philology and for shaping me as a scholar. I am grateful to Teodolinda Barolini not only for including my book in the Dante’s World series but also for sharing her comments and suggestions that strengthened my argument. I would like to thank Christopher Kleinhenz, Douglas Kelly, and Ivy Corfis for reading different versions of chapters of this book and for providing valuable feedback. I thank Tom Lay, my editor at Fordham University Press, for his sharp eye for detail and for his careful guidance through the publication process. My friend and colleague Beatrice Arduini shared her insight and patiently discussed with me the first chapter. Samantha Mattocci kindly made sure that my Latin translations were in order. My work on this book involved several research trips to the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana and to the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, which were supported generously by grants from the Graduate School at the University of Wisconsin–Madison and from the Wisconsin Alumni Research Foundation. A grant from the Center for European Studies at the University of Wisconsin–Madison helped with the acquisition of out-of-print scholarly studies and early editions of the Vita Nova that were essential for my work on this book. I would also like to thank the staff of the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana and of the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana for their kindness and help. I thank my loving parents and my sister for teaching me patience and perseverance. I dedicate this book to my husband, Igor Stanojev, for being endlessly supportive and for graciously bearing with my work all these years.