The Banquet (Il Convito)

The Fourth Treatise

CHAPTER I.

Love, according to the unanimous opinion of the wise men who discourse

of him, and as by experience we see continually, is that which brings

together and unites the lover with the beloved; wherefore Pythagoras

says, "In friendship many become one."

And the things which are united naturally communicate their qualities

to each other, insomuch that sometimes it happens that one is wholly

changed into the nature of the other, the result being that the

passions of the beloved person enter into the person of the lover, so

that the love of the one is communicated to the other, and so likewise

hatred, desire, and every other passion; wherefore the friends of the

one are beloved by the other, and the enemies hated; and so in the

Greek proverb it is said: "With friends all things ought to be in

common."

Wherefore I, having made a friend of this Lady, mentioned above in the

truthful exposition, began to love and to hate according to her love

and her hatred. I then began to love the followers of Truth, and to

hate the followers of Error and Falsehood, even as she does. But since

each thing is to be loved for itself and none are to be hated except

for excess of evil, it is reasonable and upright to hate not the

things, but the evil in the things, and to endeavour to distinguish

between these. And if any person has this intention, my most excellent

Lady understands especially how to distinguish the evil in anything,

which is the cause of hate; since in her is all Reason, and in her is

the fountain-head of all uprightness.

I, following her as much as I could in her work as in her love,

abominated and despised the errors of the people with infamy or

reproach, not cast on those lost in error, but on the errors

themselves; by blaming which, I thought to create displeasure and to

separate the displeased ones from those faults in them which were

hated by me. Amongst which errors one especially I reproved, which,

because it is hurtful and dangerous not only to those who remain in

it, but also to others who reprove it, I separate it from them and

condemn.

This is the error concerning Human Goodness, which, inasmuch as it is

sown in us by Nature, ought to be termed Nobility; which error was so

strongly entrenched by evil custom and by weak intellect that the

opinion of almost all people was falsified or deceived by it; and from

the false opinion sprang false judgments, and from false judgments

sprang unjust reverence and unjust contempt; wherefore the good were

held in vile disdain, and the evil were honoured and exalted. This was

the worst confusion in the world; even as he can see who looks subtly

at that which may result from it. And though it seemed that this my

Lady had somewhat changed her sweet countenance towards me, especially

where I gazed and sought to discover whether the first Matter of the

Elements was created by God, for which reason I strengthened myself to

frequent her presence a little, as if remaining there with her assent,

I began to consider in my mind the fault of man concerning the said

error. And to shun sloth, which is an especial enemy of this Lady, and

to describe or state this error very clearly, this error which robs

her of so many friends, I proposed to cry aloud to the people who are

walking in the path of evil, in order that they might direct their

steps to the right road; and I began a Song, in the beginning of which

I said, "Soft rhymes of love I used to find," wherein I intend to lead

the people back into the right path, the path of right knowledge

concerning true Nobility, as by the knowledge of its text, to the

explanation of which I now turn my attention, any one will be able to

perceive.

And since the intention of this Song is directed to a remedy so

requisite, it was not well to speak under any figure of speech; but it

was needful to prepare this medicine speedily, that speedy might be

the restoration to health, which, being so corrupted, hastened to a

hideous death. It will not, then, be requisite in the exposition of

this Song to unveil any allegory, but simply to discuss its meaning

according to the letter. By my Lady I always mean her who is spoken of

in the preceding Song, that is to say, that Light of supreme virtue,

Philosophy, whose rays cause the flowers of true Nobility to blossom

forth in mankind and to bear fruit in the sons of men; concerning

which true Nobility the proposed Song fully intends to treat.

CHAPTER II.

In the beginning of the explanation now undertaken, in order to render

the meaning of the proposed Song more clear and distinct, it is

requisite to divide that first part into two parts, for in the first

part one speaks in the manner of a Proem or Preface; in the second,

the subject under discussion is continued; and the second part begins

in the commencement of the stanza, where it says:

One raised to Empire held,

As far as he could see,

Descent of wealth, and generous ways,

To make Nobility.

The first part, again, can be comprehended in three divisions or

members. In the first it states why I depart from my usual mode of

speech; in the second, I say of what it is my intention to discourse;

in the third, I call upon that Helper who most can aid me to establish

Truth. The second member, clause, or division begins: "And since time

suits me now." The third begins: "First calling on that Lord." I say

then that I was compelled to abandon the soft rhymes of Love which I

was accustomed to search for in my thoughts, and I assign the reason

or cause; wherefore I say that it is not because I have given up all

intention of making rhymes of Love, but because new aspects have

appeared in my Lady which have deprived me of material for present

speech of Love. Where it is to be known that it does not here say that

the gestures of this Lady are disdainful and angry according to

appearance only, as may be seen in the tenth chapter of the preceding

treatise; for at another time I say that the appearance is contrary to

the Truth; and how this can be, how one self-same thing can be sweet

and appear bitter, or rather be clear and appear obscure, may there be

seen clearly enough.

Afterwards when I say, "And since time suits," I say, even as has been

said, what that is whereof I intend to discourse. And that which it

says in the words "time suits" is not here to be passed over with a

dry foot, because there is a most powerful reason for my action; but

it is to be seen how reasonably time must wait on all our acts, and

especially on speech.

Time, according to what Aristotle says in the fourth chapter of

Physics, is the number of movement, first, second, and onwards; and

the number of the celestial movement, which prepares the things here

below to receive in various ways any informing power. For the Earth is

prepared in one way in the beginning of Spring to receive into itself

the informing power of the herbs and flowers, and the Winter

otherwise; and in one manner is one season prepared to receive the

seed, differing from another. And even so our Mind, inasmuch as it is

founded upon the temper of the body, which has to follow the

revolution of the Heaven, at one time is disposed in one way, at

another time in another way; wherefore words, which are, as it were,

the seeds of actions, ought very discreetly to be withheld or uttered;

they should be spoken with such sound judgment that they may be well

received, and good fruit follow from them; not withheld or spent so

sparingly that barrenness is the result of their defective utterance.

And therefore a suitable time should be chosen, both for him who

speaks and for him who must hear: for if the speaker is badly

prepared, very often his words are injurious or hurtful; and if the

hearer is ill-disposed, those words which are good are ill received.

And therefore Solomon says in Ecclesiastes: "There is a time to speak,

and a time to be silent." Wherefore I, feeling within myself that my

disposition to speak of Love was disturbed, for the cause which has

been mentioned in the preceding chapter, it seemed to me that the time

might suit me now, time which bears with it the fulfilment of every

desire, and appears in the guise of a generous giver to those who

grudge not to await him patiently. Wherefore St. James says in his

Epistle, in the fifth chapter: "Behold, the husbandman waiteth for the

precious fruit of the Earth, and hath long patience for it, until he

receive the early and the latter rain." For all our sorrows, or cares,

or vexations, if we inquire diligently into their origin, proceed, as

it were, from not knowing the use of time. I say, "since the time

suits," I will leave my pen alone, that is to say, the sweet or gentle

style I used when I sang of Love; and I say that I will speak of that

worth whereby a man is truly noble.

And as it is possible to understand worth in many ways, here I intend

to assume worth to be a power of Nature, or rather a goodness bestowed

by her, as will be seen in what follows; and I promise to discourse on

this subject with a "rhyme subtle and severe."

Wherefore it is requisite to know that rhyme may be considered in a

double sense, that is to say, in a wide and in a narrow sense. In the

narrow sense, it is understood as that concordance which in the last

and in the penultimate syllable it is usual to make. In the wide

sense, it is understood for all that language which, with numbers and

regulated time, falls into rhymed consonance; and thus it is desired

that it should be taken and understood in this Proem. And therefore it

says "severe," with reference to the sound of the style, which to such

a subject must not be sweet and pleasing; and it says "subtle," with

regard to the meaning of the words, which proceed with subtle argument

and disputation.

And I subjoin: "hold false and vile The judgment;" where again it is

promised to confute the judgment of the people full of error: false,

that is, removed from the Truth; and vile, that is to say, affirmed

and fortified by vileness of mind. And it is to be observed that in

this Proem I promise, firstly, to treat of the Truth, and then to

confute the False; and in the treatise the opposite is done, for, in

the first place, I confute the False, and then treat of the Truth,

which does not appear rightly according to the promise. And therefore

it is to be known that, although the intention is to speak of both,

the principal intention is to handle the Truth; and the intention is

to reprove the False or Untrue, in so far as by so doing I make the

Truth appear more excellent.

And here, in the first place, the promise is to speak of the Truth

according to the chief intention, which creates in the minds of the

hearers a desire to hear; for in the first treatise I reprove the

False of Untrue in order that, the false opinions being chased away,

the Truth may be received more freely. And this method was adopted by

the master of human argument, Aristotle, who always in the first place

fought with the adversaries of Truth, and then, having vanquished

them, revealed or demonstrated Truth itself.

Finally, when I say, "First calling on that Lord," I appeal to Truth

to be with me, Truth being that Lord who dwells in the eyes of

Philosophy, that is to say, in her demonstrations. And indeed Truth is

that Lord; for the Soul espoused to Truth is the bride of Truth, and

otherwise it is a slave or servant deprived of all liberty.

And it says, "my Lady learnt Herself to love and prize," because this

Philosophy, which has been said in the preceding treatise to be a

loving use of Wisdom, beholds herself when the beauty of her eyes

appears to her. And what else is there to be said, except that the

Philosophic Soul not only contemplates this Truth, but again

contemplates her own contemplation and the beauty of that, again

revolving upon herself, and being enamoured with herself on account of

the beauty of her first glance?

And thus ends this which, as a Proem or Preface in three divisions,

heads the present treatise.

CHAPTER III.

Having seen the meaning of the Proem, we must now follow the treatise,

and, to demonstrate it clearly, it must be divided into its chief

parts, which are three.

In the first, one treats of Nobility according to the opinion of other

men; in the second, one treats of it according to the true opinion; in

the third, one addresses speech to the Song by way of ornament to that

which has been said. The second part begins: "I say that from one root

Each Virtue firstly springs." The third begins: "How many are

deceived! My Song, Against the strayers." And after these general

parts, it will be right to make other divisions, in order to make the

meaning of the demonstration clear. Therefore, let no one marvel if it

proceed with many divisions, since a great and high work is now on my

hands, and one that is but little entered upon by authors; the

treatise must be long and subtle into which the reader now enters with

me, if I am to unfold perfectly the text according to the meaning

which it bears.

I say, then, that this first part is now divided into two: for in the

first, the opinions of others are placed; in the second, those

opinions are confuted; and this second part begins: "Whoever shall

define The man a living tree." Again, the first part which remains has

two clauses: the first is the variation of the opinion of the Emperor;

the second is the variation of the opinion of the Common People, which

is naked or void of all reason; and this second clause or division

begins: "Another, lightly wise." I say then, "One raised to Empire,"

that is to say, such an one made use of the Imperial Office. Where it

is to be known that Frederick of Suabia, the last Emperor of the

Romans (I say last with respect to the present time, notwithstanding

that Rudolf, and Adolphus, and Albert were elected after his death and

from his descendants), being asked what Nobility might be, replied

that "it was ancient wealth, and good manners."

And I say that there was another of less wisdom, who, pondering and

revolving this definition in every part, removed the last particle,

that is, the good manners, and held to the first, that is, to the

ancient riches. And as he seems to have doubted the text, perhaps

through not having good manners, and not wishing to lose the title of

Nobility, he defined it according to that which made himself noble,

namely, possession of ancient wealth.

And I say that this opinion is that of almost all, saying that after

it go all the people who make those men noble who have a long

pedigree, and who have been rich through many generations; since in

this cry do almost all men bark.

These two opinions (although one, as has been said, is of no

consequence whatever) seem to have two very grave arguments in support

of them. The first is, that the Philosopher says that whatever appears

true to the greatest number cannot be entirely false. The second is,

the authority of the definition by an Emperor. And that one may the

better see the power of the Truth, which conquers all other authority,

I intend to argue with the one reason as with the other, to which it

is a strong helper and powerful aid.

And, firstly, one cannot understand Imperial authority until the roots

of it are found. It is our intention to treat or discourse of them in

an especial chapter.

CHAPTER IV.

The radical foundation of Imperial Majesty, according to the Truth, is

the necessity of Human Civilization, which is ordained to one end,

that is, to a Happy Life. Nothing is of itself sufficient to attain

this without some external help, since man has need of many things

which one person alone is unable to obtain. And therefore the

Philosopher says that man is naturally a companionable animal. And as

a man requires for his sufficient comfort the domestic companionship

of a family, so a house requires for its sufficient comfort a

neighbourhood; otherwise there would be many wants to endure which

would be an obstacle to happiness. And since a neighbourhood cannot

satisfy all requirements, there must for the satisfaction of men be

the City. Again, the City requires for its Arts and Manufactures to

have an environment, as also for its defence, and to have brotherly

intercourse with the circumjacent or adjacent Cities, and thence the

Kingdom.

But since the human mind in restricted possession of the Earth finds

no peace, but always desires to acquire Glory, as we see by

experience, discords and wars must arise between realm and realm.

These are the tribulation of Cities; and through the Cities, of the

neighbourhoods; and through the neighbourhoods, of the houses; and

through the houses, of men; and thus is the happiness of man prevented

or obstructed. Wherefore, in order to prevent these wars, and to

remove the causes of them through all the Earth, so far as it is given

to the Human Race to possess it, there must of necessity be Monarchy,

that is to say, one sole principality; and there must be one Prince,

who, possessing all, and not being able to desire more, holds the

Kings content within the limits of the kingdoms, so that peace may be

between them, wherein the Cities may repose, and in this rest the

neighbouring hamlets may dwell together in mutual love; in this love

the houses obtain all they need, which, being obtained, men can live

happily, which is that end for which man was born. And to these

reasons might be applied the words of the Philosopher, for he says, in

the book On Politics, that when many things are ordained to one end,

one of those must be the ruling power, and all the others must be

governed by that. Even as we see in a ship that the different offices

and the different means to different ends in that ship are ordained to

one end alone, that is to say, to reach the desired port by a safe

voyage, where as each officer orders his own work to the proper end,

even so there is one who considers all these ends, and ordains those

to the final one; and this is the Pilot, whose voice all must obey.

We see this also in the religious bodies and in the military bodies,

in all those things which are ordained to one end, as has been said.

Wherefore it can plainly be seen that to attain the perfection of the

Universal Union of the Human Race there must be one Pilot, as it were,

who, considering the different conditions of the World, and ordaining

the different and needful offices, may hold or possess over the whole

the universal and incontestable office of Command. And this office is

well designated Empire, without any addition, because it is of all

other governments the government; and so he who is appointed to this

office is designated Emperor, because of all Governors he is the

Governor, and what he says is Law to all, and ought by all to be

obeyed; and every other government derives vigour and authority from

the government of this man. And thus it is evident that the Imperial

Majesty and Authority is the most exalted in the Human Family.

No doubt it would be possible for some one to cavil, saying, that

although the office of Empire may be required in the World, that does

not make the authority of the Roman Prince rationally supreme, which

it is the intention of the treatise to prove; since the Roman Power

was acquired, not by Reason nor by decree of Universal Election, but

by Force, which seems to be opposed to Reason. To this one can easily

reply, that the election of this Supreme Official must primarily

proceed from that Council which foresees all things, that is, God;

otherwise the election would not have been of equal benefit for all

the people, since, before the pre-ordained Official, there was none

who had the good of all at heart.

And since a gentler nature in ruling, and a stronger in maintaining,

and a more subtle in acquiring never was and never will be than that

of the Latin People, as one can see by experience, and especially that

of the Holy People, in whom was blended the noble Trojan blood; to

that office it was elected by God. Wherefore, since, to obtain it, not

without very great power could it be approached, and to employ it a

most exalted and most humane benignity was required, this was the

people which was most fitly prepared for it. Hence not by Force was it

assumed in the first place by the Roman People but by Divine

Ordinance, which is above all Reason. And Virgil is in harmony with

this in the first book of the ****, when he says, speaking in the

person of God: "On these [that is, on the Romans] I impose no limits

to their possessions, nor to their duration; to them I have given

boundless Empire." Force, then, was not the moving cause, as he

believed who was cavilling; but there was an instrumental cause even

as the blows of the hammer are the cause of the knife, and the soul of

the workman is the moving and the efficient cause; and thus, not

force, but a cause, even a Divine Cause, has been the origin of the

Roman Empire.

And that this is so it is possible to see by two most evident reasons,

which prove that City to be the Empress, and to have from God an

especial birth, and to have from God an especial success. But since in

this chapter without too great length it would not be possible to

discuss this subject, and long chapters are the enemies of Memory, I

will again make a digression in another chapter in order to prove the

reasons here alluded to, which are not without and may give great

pleasure.

CHAPTER V.

It is no cause for wonder if the Divine Providence, which surpasses

beyond measure all angelic and human foresight, often appears to us to

proceed mysteriously, since many times human actions conceal their

motives from men. But there is great cause for wonder when the

execution of the Eternal Counsel proceeds so evidently that our reason

can discern it. And therefore in the beginning of this chapter I can

speak with the mouth of Solomon, who, in the person of Wisdom, says in

his Proverbs: "Hear, for I will speak of excellent things!"

The Divine Goodness unmeasureable, desiring to conform again to Itself

the Human Creature, which, through the sin of the prevarication of the

first Man, was separated from God and deformed thereby, it was

decided, in that most exalted and most united Divine Consistory of the

Trinity, that the Son of God should descend to the Earth to accomplish

this union. And since at His advent into the world, not only Heaven,

but Earth, must be in the best disposition; and the best disposition

of the Earth is when it is a Monarchy, that is to say, all subject to

one Prince, as has been said above, by Divine Providence it was

ordained what people and what city should fulfil this, and that people

was the Roman nation, and that city was glorious Rome. And since the

Inn also wherein the Heavenly King must enter must of necessity be

most cleanly and most pure, there was ordained a most Holy Race, from

which, after many excellent or just ancestors, there should be born a

Woman more perfect than all others, who should be the abode of the Son

of God. And this race was the Race of David, from which was born the

glory and honour of the Human Race, that is to say, Mary. And

therefore it is written in Isaiah: "A virgin shall be born of the stem

of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots." And Jesse was the

father of the aforesaid David. And it happened at one period of time

that when David was born, Rome was born, that is to say, **** then

came from Troy to Italy, which was the origin of the most noble Roman

City, even as the written word bears witness. Evident enough,

therefore, is the Divine election of the Roman Empire by the birth of

the Holy City, which was contemporaneous with the root of the race

from which Mary sprang.

And incidentally it is to be mentioned that, since this Heaven began

to revolve, it never was in a better disposition than when He

descended from on high, He who had made it and who is its Ruler, even

as again by virtue of their arts the Mathematicians may be able to

discover. The World never was nor ever will be so perfectly prepared

as then, when it was governed by the voice of one man alone, Prince

and Commander of the Roman people, even as Luke the Evangelist bears

witness. And therefore there was Universal Peace, which never was

again nor ever will be, for the Ship of the Human Family rightly by a

sweet pathway was hastening to its rightful haven. Oh, ineffable and

incomprehensible Wisdom of God, which in Heaven above didst prepare,

so long beforehand, for Thy advent into Syria and here in Italy at the

same time! And oh, most foolish and vile beasts who pasture in the

guise of men--you who presume to speak against our Faith, and profess

to know, as ye spin and dig, what God has ordained with so much

forethought--curses be on you and your presumption, and on him who

believes in you!

And, as has been said above, at the end of the preceding chapter, the

Roman People had from God not only an especial birth, but an especial

success; for, briefly, from Romulus, who was the first father of Rome,

even to its most perfect era, that is, to the time of its predicted

Emperor, its success was achieved not only by human, but by Divine

means. For if we consider the Seven Kings who first governed

it--Romulus, Numa, Tullus, Ancus Martius, Servius Tullius, and the

Tarquins, who were, as it were, the nurses and tutors of its

Childhood--we shall be able to find, by the written word of Roman

History, especially by Titus Livius, those to have been of different

natures, according to the opportunity of the advancing tract of time.

If we consider, then, its Adolescence, when it was emancipated from

the regal tutorship by Brutus, the first Consul, even to C***, its

first supreme Prince, we shall find it exalted, not with human, but

with Divine citizens, into whom, not human, but Divine love was

inspired in loving Rome; and this neither could be nor ought to be,

except for an especial end intended by God through such infusion of a

heavenly spirit. And who will say that there was no Divine inspiration

in Fabricius when he rejected an almost infinite amount of gold

because he was unwilling to abandon his country? or in Curius, whom

the Samnites attempted to corrupt, who said, when refusing a very

large quantity of gold for love of his country, that the Roman

citizens did not desire to possess gold, but the possessors of the

gold? Who will say there was no Divine inspiration in Mutius burning

his own hand because it had failed in the blow wherewith he had

thought to deliver Rome? Who will say of Torquatus, who sentenced his

own son to death from love to the Public Good, that he could have

endured this without a Divine Helper? Who will say this of the Brutus

before mentioned? Who will say it of the Decii and of the Drusi, who

laid down their lives for their country? Who will say of the captive

Regulus of Carthage, sent to Rome to exchange the Carthaginian

prisoners for Roman prisoners of war, who, after having explained the

object of his embassy, gave counsel against himself; through pure love

to Rome, that he was moved to do this by the impulse of Human Nature

alone? Who will say it of Quinctius Cincinnatus, who, taken from the

plough and made dictator, after the time of office had expired,

spontaneously refusing its continuance, followed his plough again? Who

will say of Camillus, banished and chased into exile, who, having come

to deliver Rome from her enemies, and having accomplished her

liberation, spontaneously returned into exile in order not to offend

against the authority of the Senate, that he was without Divine

inspiration? O, most sacred heart of Cato, who shall presume to speak

of thee? Truly, to speak freely of thee is not possible; it were

better to be silent and to follow Jerome, when, in the Preface of the

Bible where he alludes to Paul, he says that it were better to be

silent than say little. Certainly it must be evident, remembering the

lives of these men and of the other Divine citizens, that such wonders

could not have been without some light of the Divine Goodness, added

to their own goodness of nature. And it must be evident that these

most excellent men were instruments with which Divine Providence

worked in the building up of the Roman Empire, wherein many times the

arm of God appeared to be present. And did not God put His own hand to

the battle wherein the Albans fought with the Romans in the beginning

for the chief dominion, when one Roman alone held in his hands the

liberty of Rome? And did not God interfere with His own hands when the

Franks, having taken all Rome, attacked by stealth the Capitol by

night, and the voice alone of a goose caused this to be known? And did

not God interfere with His own hands when, in the war with Hannibal,

having lost so many citizens that three bushels of rings were carried

into Africa, the Romans wished to abandon the land, if the blessed

Scipio the younger had not undertaken his expedition into Africa for

the recovery of freedom? And did not God interfere with His own hands

when a new citizen of humble station, Tullius, defended, against such

a citizen as Catiline, the Roman liberty? Yes, surely. Wherefore one

should not need to inquire further to see that an especial birth and

an especial success were in the Mind of God decreed to that holy City.

And certainly I am of a firm opinion that the stones which remain in

her walls are worthy of reverence; and it is asserted and proved that

the ground whereon she stands is worthy beyond all other that is

occupied by man.

CHAPTER VI.

Above, in the third chapter of this treatise, a promise was made to

discourse of the supremacy of the Imperial Authority and of the

Philosophic Authority. And since the Imperial Authority has been

discussed, my digression must now proceed further in order to consider

that of the Philosopher, according to the promise made.

And here we must first see what is the meaning of this word; since

here there is a greater necessity to understand it than there was

above in the argument on the Imperial Authority, which, on account of

its Majesty, does not seem to be doubted. It is then to be known that

Authority is no other than the act of the Author.

This word, that is to say, Auctore, without this third letter,

_c_, can be derived from two roots. One is from a verb, whose use

in grammar is much abandoned, which signifies to bind or to tie words

together, that is, A U I E O; and whoso looks well at it in its first

vowel or syllable will clearly perceive that it demonstrates it

itself, for it is constituted solely of a tie of words, that is, of

five vowels alone, which are the soul and bond of every word, and

composed of them in a twisted way, to figure the image of a ligature;

for beginning with the A, then it twists round into the U, and comes

straight through the I into the E, then it revolves and turns round

into the O: so that truly this figure represents A, E, I, O, U, which

is the figure or form of a tie; and how much _Autore_ (Author)

derives its origin from this word, one learns from the poets alone,

who have bound their words together with the art of harmony; but on

this signification we do not at present dwell. The other root from

which the word "Autore" (Author) is derived, as Uguccione testifies in

the beginning of his Derivations, is a Greek word, "Autentim," which

in Latin means "worthy of faith and obedience." And thus "Autore"

(Author), derived from this, is taken for any person worthy to be

believed and obeyed; and thence comes this word, of which one treats

at the present moment, that is to say, Authority. Wherefore one can

see that Authority is equivalent to an act worthy of faith and

obedience.

[Here is a small break in the original, containing some such words

as--Worthy, nay, most worthy, of obedience and of faith is Aristotle:]

hence it is evident that his words are a supreme and chief Authority.

That Aristotle is most worthy of faith and obedience, one can thus

prove. Amongst workmen and artificers of different Arts and

Manufactures, which are all directed to one final work of Art, or to

one building, the Artificer or Designer of that work must be

completely believed in, and implicitly obeyed by all, as the man who

alone beholds the ultimate end of all the other ends. Hence the

sword-cutler must believe in the knight, so must the bridle-maker and

saddle-maker and the shield-maker, and all those trades which are

appointed to the profession of knighthood. And since all human actions

require an aim, which is that of human life, to which man is appointed

inasmuch as he is man, the master and artificer who considers that aim

and demonstrates it ought especially to be believed in and obeyed; and

he is Aristotle; wherefore he is most worthy of faith and obedience.

And in order to see how Aristotle is the master and leader of Human

Reason in so far as it aims at its final operation, it is requisite to

know that this our aim of life, which each one naturally desires, in

most ancient times was searched for by the Wise Men; and since those

who desire this end are so numerous, and their desires are as it were

all singularly different, although they exist in us universally, it

was nevertheless very difficult to discern that end whereon rightly

each human appetite or desire might repose.

There were then many ancient philosophers, the first and the chief of

whom was Zeno, who saw and believed this end of human life to be

solely a rigid honesty, that is to say, rigid without regard to any

one in following Truth and Justice, to show no sorrow, to show no joy,

to have no sense of any passion whatever. And they defined thus this

honest uprightness, as that which, without bearing fruit, is to be

praised for reason of itself. And these men and their sect were called

Stoics; and that glorious Cato was one of them, of whom in the

previous chapter I had not courage enough to speak.

Other philosophers there were who saw and believed otherwise; and of

these the first and chief was a philosopher, who was named Epicurus,

who, seeing that each animal as soon as it is born is as it were

directed by Nature to its right end, which shuns pain and seeks for

pleasure, said that this end or aim of ours was enjoyment. I do not

say greedy enjoyment, voluntade, but I write it with a _p_,

voluptate, that is, delight or pleasure free from pain; and therefore

between pleasure and pain no mean was placed. He said that pleasure

was no other than no pain; as Tullius seems to say in the first

chapter De Finibus. And of these, who from Epicurus are named

Epicureans, was Torquatus, a noble Roman, descended from the blood of

the glorious Torquatus mention of whom I made above. There were

others, and they had their rise from Socrates, and then from his

successor, Plato, who, looking more subtly, and seeing that in our

actions it was possible to sin, and that one sinned in too much and in

too little, said that our action, without excess and without defect,

measured to the due mean of our own choice, is virtue, and virtue is

the aim of man; and they called it action with virtue. And these were

called Academicians, as was Plato and Speusippus, his nephew; they

were thus called from the place where Plato taught, that is, the

Academy; neither from Socrates did they take or assume any word,

because in his Philosophy nothing was affirmed. Truly Aristotle, who

had his surname from Stagira, and Xenocrates of Chalcedon, his

companion, through the genius, almost Divine, which Nature had put

into Aristotle, knowing this end by means of the Socratic method, with

the Academic file, as it were, reduced Moral Philosophy to perfection,

and especially Aristotle. And since Aristotle began to reason while

walking hither and thither, they were called, he, I say, and his

companions, Peripatetics, which means the same as walkers about. And

since the perfection of this Morality by Aristotle was attained, the

name of Academician became extinct, and all those who attached

themselves to this sect are called Peripatetics, and these people hold

the doctrine of the government of the World through all its parts: and

it may be termed a catholic opinion, as it were. Wherefore it is

possible to see that Aristotle was the Indicator and the Leader of the

people to this mark. And this is what I wished to prove.

Wherefore, collecting all together, the principal intention is

manifest, that is to say, that the authority of him whom we understand

to be the supreme Philosopher is full of complete vigour, and in no

way repugnant to Imperial Authority. But the Imperial without the

Philosopher is dangerous; and this without that is weak, not of

itself, but through the disorder of the people: but when one is united

with the other they are together most useful and full of all vigour;

and therefore it is written in that Book of Wisdom: "Love the Light of

Wisdom, all you who are before the people," that is to say, unite

Philosophic Authority with the Imperial, in order to rule well and

perfectly. O, you miserable ones, who rule at the present time! and O,

most miserable ones, you who are ruled! For no Philosophic Authority

is united with your governments, neither through suitable study nor by

counsel; so that to all it is possible to repeat those words from

Ecclesiastes: "Woe to thee, O land, when thy King is a child, and thy

Princes eat in the morning;" and to no land is it possible to say that

which follows: "Blessed art thou, O land, when thy King is the son of

nobles, and thy Princes eat in due season, for strength and not for

drunkenness."

Ye enemies of God, look to your flanks, ye who have seized the

sceptres of the kingdoms of Italy. And I say to you, Charles, and to

you, Frederick, Kings, and to you, ye other Princes and Tyrants, see

who sits by the side of you in council, and count how many times a day

this aim of human life is indicated to you by your councillors. Better

would it be for you, like swallows, to fly low down than, like kites,

to make lofty circles over carrion.

CHAPTER VII.

Since it is seen how much the Imperial Authority and the Philosophic

are to be revered, which must support the opinions propounded, it is

now for us to return into the straight path to the intended goal. I

say, then, that this last opinion of the Common People has continued

so long that without other cause, without inquiry into any reason,

every man is termed Noble who may be the son or nephew of any brave

man, although he himself is nothing. And this is what the Song says:

And so long among us

This falsehood has had sway,

That men call him a Nobleman,

Though worthless, who can say,

I nephew am, or son,

Of one worth such a sum.

Wherefore it is to be observed that it is most dangerous negligence to

allow this evil opinion to take root; for even as weeds multiply in

the uncultivated field, and surmount and cover the ear of the corn, so

that, looking at it from a distance, the wheat appears not, and

finally the corn is lost; so the evil opinion in the mind, neither

chastised nor corrected, increases and multiplies, so that the ear of

Reason, that is, the true opinion, is concealed and buried as it were,

and so it is lost. O, how great is my undertaking in this Song, for I

wish now to weed the field so full of wild and woody plants as is this

field of the common opinion so long bereft of tillage! Certainly I do

not intend to cleanse all, but only those parts where the ears of

Reason are not entirely overcome; that is, I intend to lift up again

those in whom some little light of Reason still lives through the

goodness of their nature; the others need only as much care as the

brute beasts: wherefore it seems to me that it would not be a less

miracle to lead back to Reason him in whom it is entirely extinct than

to bring back to Life him who has been four days in the grave.

Then the evil quality of this popular opinion is narrated suddenly, as

if it were a horrible thing; it strikes at that, springing forth from

the order of the confutation, saying, "But he who sees the Truth will

know How vile he has become," in order to make people understand its

intolerable wickedness, saying, that those men lie especially, for not

only is the man vile, that is, not Noble, who, although descended from

good people, is himself wicked, but also he is most vile; and I quote

the example of the right path being indicated, where, to prove this,

it is fit for me to propound a question, and to reply to that question

in this way.

There is a plain with certain paths, a field with hedges, with

ditches, with rocks, with tanglewood, with all kinds of obstacles;

with the exception of its two straight paths. And it has snowed so

much that the snow covers everything, and presents one smooth

appearance on every side, so that no trace of any path is to be seen.

Here comes a man from one part of the country, and he wishes to go to

a house which is on the other side; and by his industry, that is,

through prudent foresight and through the goodness of genius, guided

solely by himself, he goes through the right path whither he meant to

go, leaving the prints of his footsteps behind him. Another comes

after this man, and he wishes to go to that mansion, and to him it is

only needful to follow the footprints left there; but through his own

fault this man strays from the path, which the first man without a

guide has known how to keep; this man, though it is pointed out to

him, loses his way through the brambles and the rocks, and he goes not

to the place whither he is bound.

Which of these men ought to be termed excellent, brave, or worthy? I

reply: He who went first. How would you designate that other man? I

reply: "As most vile." Why is he not called unworthy or cowardly, that

is to say, vile? I reply: Because unworthy, that is, vile, he should

be called who, having no guide, might have failed to walk

straightforward; but since this man had a guide, his error and his

fault can rise higher; and therefore he is to be called, not vile, but

most vile. And likewise he who, by his father or by some elder of his

race is ennobled, and does not continue in a noble course, not only is

he vile, but he is most vile, and deserving of as much contempt and

infamy as any other villain, if not of more. And because a man may

preserve himself from this vile baseness, Solomon lays this command on

him who has had a brave and excellent ancestor, in the twenty-second

chapter of Proverbs: "Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy

fathers have set," And previously he says, in the fourth chapter of

the said book: "The path of the Just," that is, of the worthy men, "is

as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day;

the way of the wicked is as darkness, and they know not at what they

stumble."

Finally, when it says, "And though he walks upon the earth Is counted

with the dead," to his greater disgrace I say that this most

worthless man is dead, seeming still alive. Where it is to be known

that the wicked man may be truly said to be dead, and especially he

who goes astray from the path trodden by his good ancestor. And this

it is possible to prove thus: as Aristotle says in the second book On

the Soul, to live is to be with the living; and since there are many

ways of living--as in the plants to vegetate; in the animals to

vegetate and to feel and to move; in men to vegetate, to feel, to

move, and to reason, or rather to understand; and since things ought

to be denominated by the noblest part, it is evident that in animals

to live is to feel--in the brute animals, I say; in man, to live is to

use reason. Wherefore, if to live is the life or existence of man, and

if thus to depart from the use of Reason, which is his life, is to

depart from life or existence, even thus is that man dead.

And does he not depart from the use of Reason who does not reason or

think concerning the aim of his life? And does he not depart from the

use of Reason who does not reason or think concerning the path which

he ought to take? Certainly he does so depart; and this is evident

especially in him who has the footprints before him, and looks not at

them; and therefore Solomon says in the fifth chapter of Proverbs: "He

shall die without instruction; and in the greatness of his folly he

shall go astray," that is to say, he is dead who becomes a disciple,

and who does not follow his master; and such an one is most vile.

And of him it would be possible for some one to say: How is he dead

and yet he walks? I reply, that as a man he is dead, but as a beast he

has remained alive; for as the Philosopher says in the second book On

the Soul, the powers of the Soul stand upon itself, as the figure of

the quadrangle stands upon the triangle, and the pentagon stands upon

the quadrangle; so the sensitive stands upon the vegetative, and the

intellectual stands upon the sensitive. Wherefore, as, by removing the

last side of the pentagon, the quadrangle remains, so by removing the

last power of the Soul, that is, Reason, the man no longer remains,

but a thing with a sensitive soul only, that is, the brute animal.

And this is the meaning or intention of the second part of the devised

Song, in which are placed the opinions of others.

CHAPTER VIII.

The most beautiful branch which grows up from the root of Reason is

Discretion. For as St. Thomas says thereupon in the prologue to the

book of Ethics, to know the order of one thing to another is the

proper act of Reason; and this is Discretion. One of the most

beautiful and sweetest fruits of this branch is the reverence which

the lesser owes to the greater. Wherefore Tullius, in the first

chapter of the Offices, when speaking of the beauty which shines forth

in Uprightness, says that reverence is part of that beauty; and thus

as this reverence is the beauty of Uprightness, so its opposite is

baseness and want of uprightness; which opposite quality it is

possible to term irreverence, or rather as impudent boldness, in our

Vulgar Tongue.

And therefore this Tullius in the same place says: "To treat with

contemptuous indifference that which others think of one, not only is

the act of an arrogant, but also of a dissolute person," which means

no other except that arrogance and dissolute conduct show want of

self-knowledge, which is the beginning of the capacity for all

reverence. Wherefore I, desiring (and bearing meanwhile all reverence

both to the Prince and to the Philosopher) to remove the infirmity

from the minds of some men, in order afterwards to build up thereupon

the light of truth, before I proceed to confute the opinions

propounded, will show how, whilst confuting those opinions, I argue

with irreverence neither against the Imperial Majesty nor against the

Philosopher. For if in any part of this entire book I should appear

irreverent, it would not be so bad as in this treatise; in which,

whilst treating of Nobility, I ought to appear Noble, and not vile.

And firstly I will prove that I do not presume against the authority

of the Philosopher; then I will prove that I do not presume against

Imperial Majesty.

I say, then, that when the Philosopher says, "that which appears to

the most is impossible to be entirely false," I do not mean to speak

of the external appearance, that is, the sensual, but of that which

appears within, the rational; since the sensual appearance, according

to most people, is many times most false, especially in the common

things appreciable by the senses, wherein the sense is often deceived.

Thus we know that to most people the Sun appears of the width of a

foot in diameter; and this is most false, for, according to the

inquiry and the discovery which human reason has made with its skill,

the diameter of the body of the Sun is five times as much as that of

the Earth and also one-half time more, since the Earth in its diameter

is six thousand five hundred miles, the diameter of the Sun, which to

the sense of sight presents the appearance of the width of one foot,

is thirty-five thousand seven hundred and fifty miles. Wherefore it is

evident that Aristotle did not understand or judge it by the

appearance which it presents to the sense of sight. And therefore, if

I intend only to oppose false trust in appearance according to the

senses, that is not done against the intention of the Philosopher, and

therefore I do not offend against the reverence which is due to him.

And that I intend to confute the appearance according to the sense is

manifest; for those people who judge thus, judge only by what they

feel or think of those things which fortune can give and take away.

For, because they see great alliances made and high marriages to take

place, and the wonderful palaces, the large possessions, great

lordships, they believe that all those things are the causes of

Nobility--nay, they believe them to be Nobility itself. For if they

could judge with any appearance of reason, they would say the

contrary, that is, that Nobility is the cause of these things, as will

be seen in the sequel of this treatise. And even as it may be seen

that I speak not against the reverence due to the Philosopher whilst

confuting this error, so I speak not against the reverence due to the

Empire; and the reason I intend to show. But when he reasons or argues

before the adversary, the Rhetorician ought to use much caution in his

speech, in order that the adversary may not derive thence material

wherewith to disturb the Truth. I, who speak in this treatise in the

presence of so many adversaries, cannot speak briefly; wherefore, if

my digressions should be long, let no one marvel.

I say, then, that, in order to prove that I am not irreverent to the

Majesty of the Empire, it is requisite, in the first place, to see

what reverence is. I say that reverence is no other than a confession

of due submission by an evident sign; and, having seen this, it

remains to distinguish between them. Irreverent expresses privation,

not reverent expresses negation; and, therefore, irreverence is to

disavow the due submission by a manifest sign. The want of reverence

is to refuse submission as not due. A man can deny or refuse a thing

in a double sense. In one way, the man can deny offending against the

Truth when he abstains from the due confession, and this properly is

to disavow. In another way, the man can deny offending against the

Truth when he does not confess that which is not, and this is proper

negation; even as for the man to deny that he is entirely mortal is to

deny properly speaking. Wherefore, if I deny or refuse reverence due

to the Imperial Authority, I am not irreverent, but I am not reverent;

which is not against reverence, forasmuch as it offends not that

Imperial Authority; even as not to live does not offend Life, but

Death, which is privation of that Life, offends; wherefore, to die is

one thing and not to live is another thing, for not to live is in the

stones. And since Death expresses privation, which cannot be except in

decease of the subject, and the stones are not the subject of Life,

they should not be called dead, but not living. In like manner, I, who

in this case ought not to have reverence to the Imperial Authority, am

not irreverent if I deny or refuse it, but I am not reverent, which is

neither boldness, nor presumption, nor a thing to be blamed. But it

would be presumption to be reverent, if it could be called reverence,

since it would fall into greater and more true irreverence, that is,

into irreverence of Nature and of Truth, as will be seen in the

sequel. Against this error that Master of Philosophers, Aristotle,

guards, in the beginning of the book of Ethics, when he says: "If the

friends are two, and one is the Truth, their one mind is the Truth's."

If I have said that I am not reverent, that is, to deny reverence, or

by a manifest sign to deny or refuse a submission not due. It is to be

seen how this is to deny and not to disavow, that is to say, it

remains to be seen how, in this case, I am not rightfully subject to

the Imperial Majesty. It must be a long argument wherewith I intend to

prove this in the chapter next following.

CHAPTER IX.

To see how in this case, that is, in approving or in not approving the

opinion of the Emperor, I am not held in subjection to him, it is

necessary to recall to mind that which has been argued previously

concerning the Imperial Office, in the fourth chapter of this

treatise, namely, that to promote the perfection of human Life,

Imperial Authority was designed; and that it is the director and ruler

of all our operations, and justly so, for however far our operations

extend themselves, so far the Imperial Majesty has jurisdiction, and

beyond those limits it does not reach. But as each Art and Office of

mankind is restricted by the Imperial Office within certain limits, so

this Imperial Office is confined by God within certain bounds. And it

is not to be wondered at, for the Office and the Arts of Nature in all

her operations we see to be limited. For if we wish to take Universal

Nature, it has jurisdiction as far as the whole World, I say as far as

Heaven and Earth extend; and this within a certain limit, as is proved

by the third chapter of the book on Physics, and by the first chapter,

of Heaven and the World. Then the jurisdiction of Universal Nature is

limited within a certain boundary, and consequently the individual; of

which also He is the Limiter who is limited by nothing, that is, the

First Goodness, that is, God, who alone with infinite capacity

comprehends the Infinite. And, that we may see the limits of our

operations, it is to be known that those alone are our operations

which are subject to Reason and to Will; for, if in us there is the

digestive operation, that is not human, but natural. And it is to be

known that our Reason is ordained to four operations, separately to be

considered; for those are operations which Reason only considers and

does not produce, neither can produce, any one of them, such as are

the Natural facts and the Supernatural and the Mathematics. And those

are operations which it considers and does in its own proper act which

are called rational, such as are the arts of speech. And those are

operations which it considers and does in material beyond itself, such

as are the Mechanical Arts. And all these operations, although the

considering them is subject to our will, they in their essential form

are not subject to our will; for although we might will that heavy

things should mount upwards naturally, they would not be able to

ascend; and although we might will that the syllogism with false

premisses should conclude with demonstration of the Truth, it could

not so conclude; and although we might will that the house should

stand as firmly when leaning forward as when upright, it could not be;

since of those operations we are not properly the factors, we are

their discoverers; Another ordained them and made them, the great

Maker, who alone can Will and Do All--God.

There also are operations which our Reason considers and which lie in

the act of the Will, such as to offend and to rejoice; such as to

stand firm in the battle and to fly from it; such as to be chaste and

to be lewd; these are entirely subject to our will, and therefore we

are called from them good and evil, because such acts are entirely our

own; for so far as our will can obtain power, so far do our operations

extend. And since in all these voluntary operations there is some

equity to preserve and some iniquity to shun--which equity may be lost

through two causes, either through not knowing what it is, or through

not wishing to follow it--the written Reason, the Law, was invented,

both to point it out to us and to command its observance. Wherefore

Augustine says: "If men could know this, that is, Equity, and knowing

it would obey it, the written Reason, the Law, would not be needful."

And therefore it is written in the beginning of the old Digests or

Books of the Civil Law: "The written Reason is the Art of Goodness and

of Equity." To write this, to show forth and to enforce this, is the

business of that Official Post of which one speaks, that of the

Emperor, to whom, as has been said, in so far as our own operations

extend, we are subject, and no farther. For this reason in each Art

and in each trade the artificers and the scholars are and ought to be

subject to the chief and to the master of their trades and Art: beyond

their callings the subjection ceases, because the superiority ceases.

So that it is possible to speak of the Emperor in this manner, if we

will represent his office figuratively, and say that he may be the

rider of the Human Will, of which horse how it goes without its rider

through the field is evident enough, and especially in miserable

Italy, left without any means for its right government. And it is to

be considered that in proportion as a thing is more fit for the

Master's art, so much the greater is the subjection; for the cause

being multiplied, so is the effect multiplied. Wherefore it is to be

known that there are things which are such pure or simple Arts that

Nature is their instrument; even as rowing with an oar, where the Art

makes its instrument by impulsion, which is a natural movement; as in

the threshing of the corn, where the Art makes its instrument, which

is a natural quality. And in this especially a man ought to be subject

to the chief and master of the Art. And there are things in which Art

is the instrument of Nature, and these are lesser Arts; and in these

the artificers are less subject to their chief, as in giving the seed

to the Earth, where one must await the will of Nature; as to sail out

of the harbour or port, where one must await the natural disposition

of the weather; and therefore we often see in these things contention

amongst the artificers, and the greater to ask counsel of the lesser.

And there are other things which are not Arts, but appear to have some

relationship with them; and therefore men are often deceived; and in

these the scholars are not subject to a master, neither are they bound

to believe in him so far as regards the Art. Thus, to fish seems to

have some relationship with navigation; and to know the virtue of the

herb or grass seems to have some relationship with agriculture; for

these Arts have no general rule, since fishing may be below the Art of

hunting, and beneath its command; to know the virtue of the herb may

be below the science of medicine, or rather below its most noble

teaching.

Those things which have been argued concerning the other Arts in like

manner may be seen in the Imperial Art, for there are rules in those

Arts which are pure or simple Arts, as are the laws of marriage, of

servants, of armies, of successors in offices of dignity; and in all

these we may be entirely subject to the Emperor without doubt and

without any suspicion whatever. There are other laws which are the

followers of Nature, such as to constitute a man of sufficient age to

fill some office in the administration; and to such a law as this we

are entirely subject; there are many others which appear to have some

relationship with the Imperial Art; and here he was and is deceived

who believes that the Imperial judgment in this part may be authentic,

as of youth, whose nature is laid down by no Imperial judgment, as it

were, of the Emperor. Render, therefore, unto God that which is God's.

Wherefore it is not to be believed, nor to be allowed, because it was

said by Nero the Emperor that youth is beauty and strength of body;

but credit would be given to the philosopher who should say that youth

is the crown or summit of the natural life. And therefore it is

evident that to define Nobility is not the function of the Art

Imperial; and if it is not in the nature of the Art, when we are

treating of Nobility we are not subject to it; and if we are not

subject, we are not bound to yield reverence therein; and this is the

conclusion we have sought.

Now, therefore, with all freedom, with all liberty of mind, it remains

to strike to the heart the vicious opinions, thereby causing them to

fall to earth, in order that the Truth by means of this my victory may

hold the field in the mind of him for whom it is good that this Light

should shine clear.

CHAPTER X.

Since the opinions of others concerning Nobility have now been brought

forward, and since it has been shown that it is lawful for me to

confute those opinions, I shall now proceed to discourse concerning

that part of the Song which confutes those opinions, beginning, as has

been said above: "Whoever shall define The man a living tree." And

therefore it is to be known that in the opinion of the Emperor,

although it states it defectively in one part, that is, where he spoke

of "generous ways," he alluded to the manners of the Nobility; and

therefore the Song does not intend to reprove that part: the other

part, which is entirely opposed to the nature of Nobility, it does

intend to confute, which cites two things when it says: "Descent of

wealth," "The wealth has long been great," that is, time and riches,

which are entirely apart from Nobility, as has been said, and as will

be shown farther on; and, therefore, in this confutation two divisions

are made: in the first we deny the Nobility of riches, then confute

the idea that time can cause Nobility. The second part begins: "They

will not have the vile Turn noble."

It is to be known that, riches being reproved, not only is the opinion

of the Emperor reproved in that part which alludes to the riches, but

also entirely that opinion of the common people, which was founded

solely upon riches. The first part is divided into two: in the first

it says in a general way that the Emperor was erroneous in his

definition of Nobility; secondly, it shows the reason why or how that

is; and this begins that second part, "For riches make no Nobleman."

I say, then, "Whoever shall define The man a living tree," that,

firstly, he will speak untruth, inasmuch as he says "tree," and "less

than truth," inasmuch as he says "living," and does not say rational,

which is the difference whereby Man is distinguished from the Beast.

Then I say that in this way he was erroneous in his definition, he who

held Imperial Office, not saying Emperor, but "one raised to Empire,"

to indicate, as has been said above, that this question is beyond the

bounds of the Imperial Office. In like manner I say that he errs who

places a false subject under Nobility, that is, "descent of wealth,"

and then proceeds to a defective form, or rather difference, that is,

"generous ways," which do not contain any essential part of Nobility,

but only a small part, as will appear below. And it is not to be

omitted, although the text may be silent, that my Lord the Emperor in

this part did not err in the parts of the definition, but only in the

mode of the definition, although, according to what fame reports of

him, he was a logician and a great scholar; that is to say, the

definition of Nobility can be made more sufficiently by the effects

than by the principles or premisses, since it appears to have the

place of a first principle or premiss, which it is not possible to

notify by first things, but by subsequent things. Then, when I say,

"For riches make not worth," I show how they cannot possibly be the

cause of Nobility, because they are vile. And I prove that they have

not the power to take it away, because they are disjoined so much from

Nobility. And I prove these to be vile by an especial and most evident

defect; and I do this when I say, "How vile and incomplete." Finally,

I conclude, by virtue of that which is said above:

And hence the upright mind,

To its own purpose true,

Stands firm although the flood of wealth

Sweep onward out of view;

which proves that which is said above, that those riches are disunited

from Nobility by not following the effect of union with it. Where it

is to be known that, as the Philosopher expresses it, all the things

which make anything must first exist perfectly within the being of the

thing out of which that other thing is made. Wherefore he says in the

seventh chapter of the Metaphysics: "When one thing is generated from

another, it is generated of that thing by being in that Being."

Again, it is to be known that each thing which becomes corrupt is thus

corrupted by some change or alteration, and each thing which is

changed or altered must be conjoined with the cause of the change,

even as the Philosopher expresses it in the seventh chapter of the

book on Physics and in the first chapter on Generation. These things

being propounded, I proceed thus, and I say that riches, as another

man believed, cannot possibly bestow Nobility, and to prove how great

is the difference between them I say that they are unable to take

Nobility away from him who possesses it. To bestow it they have not

the power, since by nature they are vile, and because of their

vileness they are opposed to Nobility. And here by vileness one means

baseness, through degeneracy, which is directly opposite to Nobility:

for the one opposite thing cannot be the maker of the other, neither

is it possible to be, for the reason given above, which is briefly

added to the text, saying, "No painter gives a form That is not of his

knowing." Wherefore no painter would be able to depict any figure or

form if he could not first design what such figure or form ought to

be.

Again, riches cannot take it away, because they are so far from

Nobility; and, for the reason previously narrated, that which alters

or corrupts anything must be conjoined with that thing, and therefore

it is subjoined: "No tower leans above a stream That far away is

flowing," which means nothing more than to accord with that which has

been previously said, that riches cannot take Nobility away, saying

that Nobility is, as it were, an upright tower and riches a river

flowing swiftly in the distance.

CHAPTER XI.

It now remains only to prove how vile riches are, and how disjoined

and far apart they are from Nobility; and this is proved in two little

parts of the text, to which at present it is requisite to pay

attention, and then, those being explained, what I have said will be

evident, namely, that riches are vile and far apart from Nobility, and

hereby the reasons stated above against riches will be perfectly

proved.

I say then, "How vile and incomplete Wealth is," and to make evident

what I intend to say it is to be known that the vileness or baseness

of each thing is derived from the imperfection of that thing, and

Nobility from its perfection: wherefore in proportion as a thing is

perfect, it is noble in its nature; in proportion as it is imperfect,

it is vile. And therefore, if riches are imperfect, it is evident that

they are vile or base. And that they are imperfect, the text briefly

proves when it says: "However great the heap may be, It brings no

peace, but care;" in which it is evident, not only that they are

imperfect, but most imperfect, and therefore they are most vile; and

Lucan bears witness to this when he says, speaking of those same

riches: "Without strife or contention or opposition, the Laws would

perish, and you, Riches, the basest part of things, you move or are

the cause of Battles." It is possible briefly to see their

imperfection in three things quite clearly: firstly, in the

indiscriminate manner in which they fall to a person's lot; secondly,

in their dangerous increase; thirdly, in their hurtful possession.

And, firstly, that which I demonstrate concerning this is to clear up

a doubt which seems to arise, for, since gold, pearls, and lands, may

have in their essential being perfect form and act, it does not seem

true to say that they are imperfect. And therefore one must

distinguish that inasmuch as by themselves, of them it is considered,

they are perfect things, and they are not riches, but gold and pearls;

but inasmuch as they are appointed to the possession of man they are

riches, and in this way they are full of imperfection; which is not an

unbecoming or impossible thing, considered from different points of

view, to be perfect and imperfect. I say that their imperfection

firstly may be observed in the indiscretion, or unwisdom, or folly, of

their arrival, in which no distributive Justice shines forth, but

complete iniquity almost always; which iniquity is the proper effect

of imperfection. For if the methods or ways by which they come are

considered, all may be gathered together in three methods, or kinds of

ways: for, either they come by simple chance, as when without

intention or hope they come upon some discovery not thought of; or

they come by fortune which is aided by law or right, as by will, or

testament, or succession; or they come by fortune, the helper of the

Law, as by lawful or unlawful provision; lawful, I say, when by art,

or skill, or by trade, or deserved kindness; unlawful, I say, when

either by theft or rapine. And in each one of these three ways, one

sees that inequitable character of which I speak, for more often to

the wicked than to the good the hidden treasures which are discovered

present themselves; and this is so evident, that it has no need of

proof. I saw the place in the side of a hill, or mountain, in Tuscany,

which is called Falterona, where the most vile peasant of all the

country, whilst digging, found more than a bushel of the finest

Sant**** silver, which had awaited him perhaps for more than a

thousand years. And in order to see this iniquity, Aristotle said that

in proportion as the Man is subject to the Intellect, so much the less

is he the slave of Fortune. And I say that oftener to the wicked than

to the good befall legal inheritance and property by succession; and

concerning this I do not wish to bring forward any proof, but let each

one turn his eyes round his own immediate neighbourhood, and he will

see that concerning which I am silent that I may not offend or bring

shame to some one. Would to God that might be which was demanded by

the Man of Provence, namely, that the man who is not the heir of

goodness should lose the inheritance of wealth. And I say that many

times to the wicked more than to the good comes rich provision, for

the unlawful never comes to the good, because they refuse it; and what

good man ever would endeavour to enrich himself by force or fraud?

That would be impossible, for by the mere choice of the enterprise he

would no more be good. And the lawful gains of wealth but rarely fall

to the lot of the good, because, since much anxiety or anxious care is

required therein, and the solicitude of the good is directed to

greater things, the good man is rarely solicitous enough to seek them.

Wherefore it is evident that in each way these riches fall unjustly or

inequitably; and therefore our Lord called them wicked or unrighteous

when He said, "Make to yourselves friends of the Mammon of

unrighteousness," inviting and encouraging men to be liberal with good

gifts, which are the begetters of friends. And what a beautiful

exchange he makes who gives freely of these most imperfect things in

order to have and to acquire perfect things, such as are the hearts of

good and worthy men! This exchange it is possible to make every day.

Certainly this is a new commerce, different from the others, which,

thinking to win one man by generosity, has won thereby thousands and

thousands. Who lives not again in the heart of Alexander because of

his royal beneficence? Who lives not again in the good King of

Castile, or Saladin, or the good Marquis of Monferrat, or the good

Count of Toulouse, or Beltramo dal Bornio, or Galasso da Montefeltro,

when mention is made of their noble acts of courtesy and liberality?

Certainly not only those who would do the same willingly, had they the

power, but those even who would die before they would do it, bear love

to the memory of these good men.

CHAPTER XII.

As has been said, it is possible to see the imperfection of riches not

only in their indiscriminate advent, but also in their dangerous

increase; and that in this we may perceive their defect more clearly,

the text makes mention of it, saying of those riches, "However great

the heap may be It brings no peace, but care;" they create more thirst

and render increase more defective and insufficient. And here it is

requisite to know that defective things may fail in such a way that on

the surface they appear complete, but, under pretext of perfection,

the shortcoming is concealed. But they may have those defects so

entirely revealed that the imperfection is seen openly on the surface.

And those things which do not reveal their defects in the first place

are the most dangerous, since very often it is not possible to be on

guard against them; even as we see in the traitor who, before our

face, shows himself friendly, so that he causes us to have faith in

him, and under pretext of friendship, hides the defect of his

hostility. And in this way riches, in their increase, are dangerously

imperfect, for, submitting to our eyes this that they promise, they

bring just the contrary. The treacherous gains always promise that, if

collected up to a certain amount, they will make the collector full of

every satisfaction; and with this promise they lead the Human Will

into the vice of Avarice. And, for this reason, Boethius calls them,

in his book of Consolations, dangerous, saying, "Oh, alas! who was

that first man who dug up the precious stones that wished to hide

themselves, and who dug out the loads of gold once covered by the

hills, dangerous treasures?"

The treacherous ones promise, if we will but look, to remove every

want, to quench all thirst, to bring satisfaction and sufficiency; and

this they do to every man in the beginning, confirming promise to a

certain point in their increase, and then, as soon as their pile

rises, in place of contentment and refreshment they bring on an

intolerable fever-thirst; and beyond sufficiency, they extend their

limit, create a desire to amass more, and, with this, fear and anxiety

far in excess of the new gain.

Then, truly, they bring no peace, but more care, more trouble, than a

man had in the first place when he was without them. And therefore

Tullius says, in that book on Paradoxes, when execrating riches: "I at

no time firmly believed the money of those men, or magnificent

mansions, or riches, or lordships, or voluptuous joys, with which

especially they are shackled, to be amongst things good or desirable,

since I saw certain men in the abundance of them especially desire

those wherein they abounded; because at no time is the thirst of

cupidity quenched; not only are they tormented by the desire for the

increase of those things which they possess, but also they have

torment in the fear of losing them." And all these are the words of

Tullius, and even thus they stand in that book which has been

mentioned.

And, as a stronger witness to this imperfection, hear Boethius,

speaking in his book of Consolation: "If the Goddess of Riches were to

expand and multiply riches till they were as numerous as the sands

thrown up by the sea when tost by the tempest, or countless as the

stars that shine, still Man would weep."

And because still further testimony is needful to reduce this to a

proof, note how much Solomon and his father David exclaim against

them, how much against them is Seneca, especially when writing to

Lucilius, how much Horace, how much Juvenal, and, briefly, how much

every writer, every poet, and how much Divine Scripture. All Truthful

cries aloud against these false enticers to sin, full of all defect.

Call to mind also, in aid of faith, what your own eyes have seen, what

is the life of those men who follow after riches, how far they live

securely when they have piled them up, what their contentment is, how

peacefully they rest.

What else daily endangers and destroys cities, countries, individual

persons, so much as the fresh heaping up of wealth in the possession

of some man? His accumulation wakens new desires, to the fulfilment of

which it is not possible to attain without injury to some one.

And what else does the Law, both Canonical and Civil, intend to

rectify except cupidity or avarice, which grows with its heaps of

riches, and which the Law seeks to resist or prevent. Truly, the

Canonical and the Civil Law make it sufficiently clear, if the first

sections of their written word are read. How evident it is, nay, I say

it is most evident, that these riches are, in their increase, entirely

imperfect; when, being amassed, naught else but imperfection can

possibly spring forth from them. And this is what the text says.

But here arises a doubtful question, which is not to be passed over

without being put and answered. Some calumniator of the Truth might be

able to say that if, by increasing desire in their acquisition, riches

are imperfect and therefore vile, for this reason science or knowledge

is imperfect and vile, in the acquisition of which the desire steadily

increases, wherefore Seneca says, "If I should have one foot in the

grave, I should still wish to learn."

But it is not true that knowledge is vile through imperfection. By

distinction of the consequences, increase of desire is not in

knowledge the cause of vileness. That it is perfect is evident, for

the Philosopher, in the sixth book of the Ethics, says that science or

knowledge is the perfect reason of certain things. To this question

one has to reply briefly; but in the first place it is to be seen

whether in the acquisition of Knowledge the desire for it is enlarged

in the way suggested by the question, and whether the argument be

rational. Wherefore I say that not only in the acquisition of

knowledge and riches, but in each and every acquisition, human desire

expands, although in different ways; and the reason is this: that the

supreme desire of each thing bestowed by Nature in the first place is

to return to its first source. And since God is the First Cause of our

Souls, and the Maker of them after His Own Image, as it is written,

"Let us make Man in Our Image, after Our likeness," the Soul

especially desires to return to that First Cause. As a pilgrim, who

goes along a path where he never journeyed before, may believe every

house that he sees in the distance to be his inn, and, not finding it

to be so, may direct his belief to the next, and so travel on from

house to house until he reach the inn, even so our Soul, as soon as it

enters the untrodden path of this life, directs its eyes to its

supreme good, the sum of its day's travel to good; and therefore

whatever thing it sees which seems to have in itself some goodness, it

thinks to be the supreme good. And because its knowledge at first is

imperfect, owing to want of experience and want of instruction, good

things that are but little appear great to it; and therefore in the

first place it begins to desire those. So we see little children

desire above all things an apple; and then, growing older, they desire

a little bird; and then, being older, desire a beautiful garment; and

then a horse, and then a wife, and then moderate wealth, and then

greater wealth, and then still more. And this happens because in none

of these things that is found for which search is made, and as we live

on we seek further. Wherefore it is possible to see that one desirable

thing stands under the other in the eyes of our Soul in a way almost

pyramidal, for the least first covers the whole, and is as it were the

point of the desirable good, which is God, at the basis of all; so

that the farther it proceeds from the point towards the basis, so much

the greater do the desirable good things appear; and this is the

reason why, by acquisition, human desires become broader the one after

the other.

But, thus this pathway is lost through error, even as in the roads of

the earth; for as from one city to another there is of necessity an

excellent direct road, and often another which branches from that, the

branch road goes into another part, and of many others some do not go

all the way, and some go farther round; so in Human Life there are

different roads, of which one is the truest, and another the most

misleading, and some are less right, and some less wrong. And as we

see that the straightest road to the city satisfies desire and gives

rest after toil, and that which goes in the opposite direction never

satisfies and never can give rest, so it happens in our Life. The man

who follows the right path attains his end, and gains his rest. The

man who follows the wrong path never attains it, but with much fatigue

of mind and greedy eyes looks always before him.

Wherefore, although this argument does not entirely reply to the

question asked above, at least it opens the way to the reply, which

causes us to see that each desire of ours does not proceed in its

expansion in one way alone. But because this chapter is somewhat

prolonged, we will reply in a new chapter to the question, wherein may

be ended the whole disputation which it is our intention to make

against riches.

CHAPTER XIII.

In reply to the question, I say that it is not possible to affirm

properly that the desire for knowledge does increase, although, as has

been said, it does expand in a certain way. For that which properly

increases is always one; the desire for knowledge is not always one,

but is many; and one desire fulfilled, another comes; so that,

properly speaking, its expansion is not its increase, but it is

advance of a succession of smaller things into great things. For if I

desire to know the principles of natural things, as soon as I know

these, that desire is satisfied and there is an end of it. If I then

desire to know the why and the wherefore of each one of these

principles, this is a new desire altogether. Nor by the advent of that

new desire am I deprived of the perfection to which the other might

lead me. Such an expansion as that is not the cause of imperfection,

but of new perfection. That expansion of riches, however, is properly

increased which is always one, so that no succession is seen therein,

and therefore no end and no perfection.

And if the adversary would say, that if the desire to know the first

principles of natural things is one thing, and the desire to know what

they are is another, so is the desire for a hundred marks one thing,

and the desire for a thousand marks is another, I reply that it is not

true; for the hundred is part of the thousand and is related to it, as

part of a line to the whole of the line along which one proceeds by

one impulse alone; and there is no succession there, nor completion of

motion in any part. But to know what the principles of natural things

are is not the same as to know what each one of them is; the one is

not part of the other, and they are related to each other as diverging

lines along which one does not proceed by one impulse, but the

completed movement of the one succeeds the completed movement of the

other. And thus it appears that, because of the desire for knowledge,

knowledge is not to be called imperfect in the same way as riches are

to be called imperfect, on account of the desire for them, as the

question put it; for in the desire for knowledge the desires terminate

successively with the attainment of their aims; and in the desire for

riches, NO; so that the question is solved.

Again, the adversary may calumniate, saying that, although many

desires are fulfilled in the acquisition of knowledge, the last is

never attained, which is the imperfection of that one desire, which

does not gain its end; and that will be both one and imperfect.

Again one here replies that it is not a truth which is brought forward

in opposition, that is, that the last desire is never attained; for

our natural desires, as is proved in the third treatise of this book,

are all tending to a certain end; and the desire for knowledge is

natural, so that this desire compasses a certain end, although but

few, since they walk in the wrong path, accomplish the day's journey.

And he who understands the Commentator in the third chapter, On the

Soul, learns this of him; and therefore Aristotle says, in the tenth

chapter of the Ethics, against Simonides the Poet, that man ought to

draw near to Divine things as much as is possible; wherein he shows

that our power tends towards a certain end. And in the first book of

the Ethics he says that the disciplined Mind demands certainty in its

knowledge of things in proportion as their nature received certainty,

in which he proves that not only on the side of the man desiring

knowledge, but on the side of the desired object of knowledge,

attention ought to be given; and therefore St. Paul says: "Not much

knowledge, but right knowledge in moderation." So that in whatever way

the desire for knowledge is considered, either generally or

particularly, it comes to perfection.

And since knowledge is a noble perfection, and through the desire for

it its perfection is not lost, as is the case with the accursed

riches, we must note briefly how injurious they are when possessed,

and this is the third notice of their imperfection. It is possible to

see that the possession of them is injurious for two reasons: one,

that it is the cause of evil; the other, that it is the privation of

good. It is the cause of evil, which makes the timid possessor

wakeful, watchful, and suspicious or hateful.

How great is the fear of that man who knows he carries wealth about

him, when walking abroad, when dwelling at home, when not only wakeful

or watching, but when sleeping, not only the fear that he may lose his

property, but fear for his life because he possesses these riches!

Well do the miserable merchants know, who travel through the World,

that the leaves which the wind stirs on the trees cause them to

tremble when they are bearing their wealth with them; and when they

are without it, full of confidence they go singing and talking, and

thus make their journey shorter! Therefore the Wise Man says: "If the

traveller enters on his road empty, he can sing in the presence of

thieves." And this Lucan desires to express in the fifth book, when he

praises the safety of poverty: "O, the safe and secure liberty of the

poor Life! O, narrow dwelling-places and thrift! O, not again deem

riches to be of the Gods! In what temples and within what palace walls

could this be, that is to have no fear, in some tumult or other, of

striking the hand of C***?"

And Lucan says this when he depicts how C*** came by night to the

little house of the fisher Amyclas to cross the Adriatic Sea. And how

great is the hatred that each man bears to the possessor of riches,

either through envy, or from the desire to take possession of his

wealth! So true it is, that often and often, contrary to due filial

piety, the son meditates the death of the father; and most great and

most evident experience of this the Italians can have, both on the

banks of the Po and on the banks of the Tiber. And therefore Boethius

in the second chapter of his Consolations says: "Certainly Avarice

makes men hateful."

Nay, their possession is privation of good, for, possessing those

riches, a man does not give freely with generosity, which is a virtue,

which is a perfect good, and which makes men magnificent and beloved;

which does not lie in possession of those riches, but in ceasing to

possess them. Wherefore Boethius in the same book says: "Then money is

good when, bartered for other things, by the use of generosity one no

longer possesses it." Wherefore the baseness of riches is sufficiently

proved by all these remarks of his; and therefore the man with an

upright desire and true knowledge never loves them; and, not loving

them, he does not unite himself to them, but always desires them to be

far from himself, except inasmuch as they are appointed to some

necessary service; and it is a reasonable thing, since the perfect

cannot be united with the imperfect. So we see that the curved line

never joins the straight line, and if there be any conjunction, it is

not of line to line, but of point to point. And thus it follows that

the Mind which is upright in desire, and truthful in knowledge, is not

disheartened at the loss of wealth: as the text asserts at the end of

that part. And by this the text intends to prove that riches are as a

river flowing in the distance past the upright tower of Reason, or

rather of Nobility; and that these riches cannot take Nobility away

from him who has it. And in this manner in the present Song it is

argued against riches.

CHAPTER XIV.

Having confuted the error of other men in that part wherein it was

advanced in support of riches, it remains now to confute it in that

part where Time is said to be a cause of Nobility, saying, "Descent of

wealth;" and this reproof or confutation is made in that part which

begins: "They will not have the vile Turn noble." And in the first

place one confutes this by means of an argument taken from those men

themselves who err in this way; then, to their greater confusion, this

their argument is also destroyed; and it does this when it says, "It

follows then from this." Finally it concludes, their error being

evident, and it being therefore time to attend to the Truth; and it

does this when it says, "Sound intellect reproves."

I say, then, "They will not have the vile Turn noble." Where it is to

be known that the opinion of these erroneous persons is, that a man

who is a peasant in the first place can never possibly be called a

Nobleman; and the man who is the son of a peasant in like manner can

never be Noble; and this breaks or destroys their own argument when

they say that Time is requisite to Nobility, adding that word

"descent." For it is impossible by process of Time to come to the

generation of Nobility in this way of theirs, which declares it to be

impossible for the humble peasant to become Noble by any work that he

may do, or through any accident; and declares the mutation of a

peasant father into a Noble son to be impossible. For if the son of

the peasant is also a peasant, and his son again is also a peasant,

and so always, it will never be possible to discover the place where

Nobility can begin to be established by process of Time.

And if the adversary, wishing to defend himself, should say that

Nobility will begin at that period of Time when the low estate of the

ancestors will be forgotten, I reply that this goes against

themselves, for even of necessity there will be a transmutation of

peasant into Noble, from one man into another, or from father to son,

which is against that which they propound.

And if the adversary should defend himself pertinaciously, saying that

indeed they do desire that it should be possible for this

transmutation to take place when the low estate of the ancestors

passes into oblivion, although the text takes no notice of this, it is

right that the Commentary should reply to it. And therefore I reply

thus: that from this which they say there follow four very great

difficulties, so that it cannot possibly be a good argument. One is,

that in proportion as Human Nature might become better, the slower

would be the generation of Nobility, which is a very great

inconvenience; since in proportion as a thing is honoured for its

excellence, so much the more is it the cause of goodness; and Nobility

is reckoned amongst the good. What this means is shown thus: If

Nobility, which I understand as a good thing, should be generated by

oblivion, Nobility would be generated in proportion to the speediness

with which men might be forgotten, for so much the sooner would

oblivion descend upon all. Hence, in proportion as men might be

forgotten, so much the sooner would they be Noble; and, on the

contrary, in proportion to the length of time during which they were

held in remembrance, so much the longer it would be before they could

be ennobled.

The second difficulty is, that in nothing apart from men would it be

possible to make this distinction, that is to say, Noble or Vile,

which is very inconvenient; since, in each species of things we see

the image of Nobility or of Baseness, wherefore we often call one

horse noble and one vile; and one falcon noble and one vile; and one

pearl noble and one vile. And that it would not be possible to make

this distinction is thus proved; if the oblivion of the humble

ancestors is the cause of Nobility, or rather the baseness of the

ancestors never was, it is not possible for oblivion of them to be,

since oblivion is a destruction of remembrance, and in those other

animals, and in plants, and in minerals, lowness and loftiness are not

observed, since in one they are natural or innate and in an equal

state, and Nobility cannot possibly be in their generation, and

likewise neither can vileness nor baseness; since one regards the one

and the other as habit and privation, which are possible to occur in

the same subject; and therefore in them it would not be possible for a

distinction to exist between the one and the other.

And if the adversary should wish to say, that in other things Nobility

is represented by the goodness of the thing, but in a man it is

understood because there is no remembrance of his humble or base

condition, one would wish to reply not with words, but with the sword,

to such b********y as it would be to give to other things goodness as

a cause for Nobility, and to found the Nobility of men upon

forgetfulness or oblivion as a first cause.

The third difficulty is, that often the person or thing generated

would come before the generator, which is quite impossible; and it is

possible to prove this thus: Let us suppose that Gherardo da Cammino

might have been the grandson of the most vile peasant who ever drank

of the Sile or of the Cagnano, and that oblivion had not yet overtaken

his grandfather; who will be bold enough to say that Gherardo da

Cammino was a vile man? and who will not agree with me in saying that

he was Noble? Certainly no one, however presumptuous he may wish to

be, for he was so, and his memory will always be treasured. If

oblivion had not yet overtaken his ancestor, as is proposed in

opposition, so that he might be great through Nobility, and the

Nobility in him might be seen so clearly, even as one does see it,

then it would have been first in him before the founder of his

Nobility could have existed; and this is impossible in the extreme.

The fourth difficulty is, that such a man, the supposed grandfather,

would have been held Noble after he was dead who was not Noble whilst

alive; and a more inconvenient thing could not be. One proves it thus:

Let us suppose that in the age of Dardanus there might be a

remembrance of his low ancestors, and let us suppose that in the age

of Laomedon this memory might have passed away, and that oblivion had

overtaken it. According to the adverse opinion, Laomedon was Noble and

Dardanus was vile, each in his lifetime. We, to whom the remembrance

of the ancestors of Dardanus has not come, shall we say that Dardanus

living was vile, and dead a Noble? And is not this contrary to the

legend which says that Dardanus was the son of Jupiter (for such is

the fable, which one ought not to regard whilst disputing

philosophically); and yet if the adversary might wish to find support

in the fable, certainly that which the fable veils destroys his

arguments. And thus it is proved that the argument, which asserted

that oblivion is the cause of Nobility, is false.

CHAPTER XV.

Since, by their own argument, the Song has confuted them, and proved

that Time is not requisite to Nobility, it proceeds immediately to

confound their premisses, since of their false arguments no rust

remains in the mind which is disposed towards Truth; and this it does

when it says, "It follows then from this." Where it is to be known

that if it is not possible for a peasant to become a Noble, or for a

Noble son to be born of a humble father, as is advanced in their

opinion, of two difficulties one must follow.

The first is, that there can be no Nobility; the other is, that the

World may have been always full of men, so that from one alone the

Human Race cannot be descended; and this it is possible to prove.

If Nobility is not generated afresh, and it has been stated many times

that such is the basis of their opinion, the peasant man not being

able to beget it in himself, or the humble father to pass it on to his

son, the man always is the same as he was born; and such as the father

was born, so is the son born; and so this process from one condition

onwards is reached even by the first parent; for such as was the first

father, that is, Adam, so must the whole Human Race be, because from

him to the modern nations it will not be possible to find, according

to that argument, any change whatever. Then, if Adam himself was

Noble, we are all Noble; if he was vile, we are all vile or base;

which is no other than to remove the distinction between these

conditions, and thus it is to remove the conditions.

And the Song states this, which follows from what is advanced, saying,

"That all are high or base." And if this is not so, then any nation is

to be called Noble, and any is to be called vile, of necessity.

Transmutation from vileness into Nobility being thus taken away, the

Human Race must be descended from different ancestors, that is, some

from Nobles and some from vile persons, and so the Song says, "Or that

in Time there never was Beginning to our race," that is to say, one

beginning; it does not say beginnings. And this is most false

according to the Philosopher, according to our Faith, which cannot

lie, according to the Law and ancient belief of the Gentiles. For

although the Philosopher does not assert the succession from one first

man, yet he would have one essential being to be in all men, which

cannot possibly have different origins. And Plato would have that all

men depend upon one idea alone, and not on more or many, which is to

give them only one beginning. And undoubtedly Aristotle would laugh

very loudly if he heard of two species to be made out of the Human

Race, as of horses and asses; and (may Aristotle forgive me) one might

call those men asses who think in this way. For according to our Faith

(which is to be preserved in its entirety) it is most false, as

Solomon makes evident where he draws a distinction between men and the

brute animals, for he calls men "all the sons of Adam," and this he

does when he says: "Who knows if the spirits of the sons of Adam mount

upwards, and if those of the beasts go downwards?" And that it is

false according to the Gentiles, let the testimony of Ovid in the

first chapter of his Metamorphoses prove, where he treats of the

constitution of the World according to the Pagan belief, or rather

belief of the Gentiles, saying: "Man is born "--he did not say "Men;"

he said, "Man is born," or rather, "that the Artificer of all things

made him from Divine seed, or that the new earth, but lately parted

from the noble ether, retained seeds of the kindred Heaven, which,

mingled with the water of the river, formed the son of Japhet into an

image of the Gods, who govern all." Where evidently he asserts the

first man to have been one alone; and therefore the Song says, "But

that I cannot hold," that is, to the opinion that man had not one

beginning; and the Song subjoins, "Nor yet if Christians they." And it

says Christians, not Philosophers, or rather Gentiles, whose opinion

also is adverse, because the Christian opinion is of greater force,

and is the destroyer of all calumny, thanks to the supreme light of

Heaven, which illuminates it.

Then when I say, "Sound intellect reproves their words As false, and

turns away," I conclude this error to be confuted, and I say that it

is time to open the eyes to the Truth; and this is expressed when I

say, "And now I seek to tell, As it appears to me." It is now evident

to sound minds that the words of those men are vain, that is, without

a crumb or particle of Truth; and I say sound not without cause. Our

intellect may be said to be sound or unsound. And I say intellect for

the noble part of our Soul, which it is possible to designate by the

common word "Mind." It may be called sound or healthy, when it is not

obstructed in its action by sickness of mind or body, which is to know

what things are, as Aristotle expresses it in the third chapter on the

Soul.

For, owing to the sickness of the Soul, I have seen three horrible

infirmities in the minds of men.

One is caused by natural vanity, for many men are so presumptuous that

they believe they know everything, and, owing to this, they assert

things to be facts which are not facts. Tullius especially execrates

this vice in the first chapter of the Offices, and St. Thomas in his

book against the Gentiles, saying: "There are many men, so

presumptuous in their conceit, who believe that they can compass all

things with their intellect, deeming all that appears to them to be

true, and count as false that which does not appear to them." Hence it

arises that they never attain to any knowledge; believing themselves

to be sufficiently learned, they never inquire, they never listen;

they desire to be inquired of, and when a question is put, bad enough

is their reply. Of those men Solomon speaks in Proverbs: "Seest thou a

man that is hasty in his words? there is more hope of a fool than of

him."

Another infirmity of mind is caused by natural weakness or smallness,

for many men are so vilely obstinate or stubborn that they cannot

believe that it is possible either for them or for others to know

things; and such men as these never of themselves seek knowledge, nor

ever reason; for what other men say, they care not at all. And against

these men Aristotle speaks in the first book of the Ethics, declaring

those men to be insufficient or unsatisfactory hearers of Moral

Philosophy. Those men always live, like beasts, a life of grossness,

the despair of all learning.

The third infirmity of mind is caused by the levity of nature; for

many men are of such light fancy that in all their arguments they go

astray, and even when they make a syllogism and have concluded, from

that conclusion they fly off into another, and it seems to them most

subtle argument. They start not from any true beginning, and truly

they see nothing true in their imagination. Of those men the

Philosopher says that it is not right to trouble about them, or to

have business with them, saying, in the first book of Physics, that

against him who denies the first postulate it is not right to dispute.

And of such men as these are many idiots, who may not know their A B

C, and who would wish to dispute in Geometry, in Astrology, and in the

Science of Physics.

Also through sickness or defect of body, it is possible for the Mind

to be unsound or sick; even as through some primal defect at birth, as

with those who are born fools, or through alteration in the brain, as

with the madmen. And of this mental infirmity the Law speaks when it

says: "In him who makes a Will or Testament, at the time when he makes

the Will or Testament, health of mind, not health of body, is

required."

But to those intellects which from sickness of mind or body are not

infirm, but are free, diligent, and whole in the light of Truth, I say

it must be evident that the opinion of the people, which has been

stated above, is vain, that is, without any value whatever, worthless.

Afterwards the Song subjoins that I thus judge them to be false and

vain; and this it does when it says, "Sound intellect reproves their

words As false, and turns away." And afterwards I say that it is time

to demonstrate or prove the Truth; and I say that it is now right to

state what kind of thing true Nobility is, and how it is possible to

know the man in whom it exists; and I speak of this where I say:

And now I seek to tell

As it appears to me,

What is, whence comes, what signs attest

A true Nobility.

CHAPTER XVI.

"The King shall rejoice in God, and all those shall be praised who

swear by him, for closed is the mouth of those who speak wicked

things." These words I can here propound in all truth; because each

true King ought especially to love the Truth. Wherefore it is written

in the Book of Wisdom, "Love the Light of Wisdom, you, who stand

before, the people," and the Light of Wisdom is this same Truth. I

say, then, every King shall rejoice that the most false and most

injurious opinion of the wicked and deceitful men who have up to this

time spoken iniquitously of Nobility is confuted.

It is now requisite to proceed to the discussion of the Truth

according to the division made above, in the third chapter of the

present treatise. This second part, then, which begins, "I say that

from one root Each Virtue firstly springs," intends to describe this

Nobility according to the Truth, and this part is divided into two:

for in the first the intention is to prove what this Nobility is; and

in the second how it is possible to recognize him in whom it dwells,

and this second part begins, "Such virtue shows its good." The first

part, again, has two parts; for in the first certain things are sought

for which are needful in order to perceive the definition of Nobility;

in the second, one looks for its definition, and this second part

begins, "Where virtue is, there is A Nobleman."

That we may enter perfectly into the treatise, two things are to be

considered in the first place. The one is, what is meant by this word

Nobility, taken alone, in its simple meaning; the other is, in what

path it is needful to walk in order to search out the before-named

definition. I say, then, that, if we will pay attention to the common

use of speech, by this word Nobility is understood the perfection of

its own nature in each thing; wherefore it is predicated not only of

the man, but also of all things; for the man calls a stone noble, a

plant or tree noble, a horse noble, a falcon noble, whatever is seen

to be perfect in its nature. And therefore Solomon says in

Ecclesiastes, "Blessed is the land whose King is Noble;" which is no

other than saying, whose King is perfect according to the perfection

of the mind and body; and he thus makes this evident by that which he

says previously, when he writes, "Woe unto the land whose King is a

child." For that is not a perfect man, and a man is a child, if not by

age, yet by his disordered manners and by the evil or defect of his

life, as the Philosopher teaches in the first book of the Ethics.

There are some foolish people who believe that by this word Noble is

meant that which is to be named and known by many men; and they say

that it comes from a verb which stands for _to know_, that is,

_nosco_. But this is most false, for, if this could be, those

things which were most named and best known in their species would in

their species be the most noble. Thus the obelisk of St. Peter would

be the most noble stone in the world; and Asdente, the shoemaker of

Parma, would be more Noble than any one of his fellow-citizens; and

Albuino della Scala would be more Noble than Guido da Castello di

Reggio. Each one of those things is most false, and therefore it is

most false that _nobile_ (noble) can come from _cognoscere_,

to know. It comes from _non vile_ (not vile); wherefore

_nobile_ (noble) is as it were _non vile_ (not vile).

This perfection the Philosopher means in the seventh chapter of

Physics, when he says: "Each thing is especially perfect when it

touches and joins its own proper or relative virtue; and then it is

especially perfect according to its nature. It is, then, possible to

call the circle perfect when it is truly a circle, that is, when it is

joined with its own proper or relative virtue, it is then complete in

its nature, and it may then be called a noble circle." This is when

there is a point in it which is equally distant from the

circumference. That circle which has the figure of an egg loses its

virtue and it is not Noble, nor that circle which has the form of an

almost full moon, because in that its nature is not perfect. And thus

evidently it is possible to see that commonly, or in a general sense,

this word Nobility, expresses in all things perfection of their

nature, and this is that for which one seeks primarily in order to

enter more clearly into the discussion of that part which it is

intended to explain.

Secondly, it remains to be seen how one must proceed in order to find

the definition of Human Nobility to which the present argument leads.

I say, then, that since in those things which are of one species, as

are all men, it is not possible by essential first principles to

define their highest perfection, it is necessary to know and to define

that by their effects. Therefore one reads in the Gospel of St.

Matthew, when Christ speaks, "Beware of false prophets: by their

fruits ye shall know them." And in a direct way the definition we seek

is to be seen by the fruits, which are the moral and intellectual

virtues of which this Nobility is the seed, as in its definition will

be fully evident.

And these are those two things we must see before one can proceed to

the others, as is said in the previous part of this chapter.

CHAPTER XVII.

Since those two things which it seemed needful to understand before

the text could be proceeded with have been seen and understood, it now

remains to proceed with the text and to explain it, and the text then

begins:

I say that from one root

Each Virtue firstly springs,

Virtue, I mean, that Happiness

To man, by action, brings

And I subjoin:

This, as the Ethics teach,

Is habit of right choice;

placing the whole definition of the Moral Virtues as it is defined by

the Philosopher in the second book of Ethics, in which two things

principally are understood. One is, that each Virtue comes from one

first principle or original cause; the other is, that by "Each Virtue"

I mean the Moral Virtues, and this is evident from the words, "This,

as the Ethics teach"

Hence it is to be known that our most right and proper fruits are the

Moral Virtues, since on every side they are in our power; and these

are differently distinguished and enumerated by different

philosophers. But it seems to me right to omit the opinion of other

men in that part where the divine opinion of Aristotle is stated by

word of mouth, and therefore, wishing to describe what those Moral

Virtues are, I will pass on, briefly discoursing of them according to

his opinion.

There are eleven Virtues named by the said Philosopher. The first is

called Courage, which is sword and bridle to moderate our boldness and

timidity in things which are the ruin of our life. The second is

Temperance, which is the law and bridle of our gluttony and of our

undue abstinence in those things requisite for the preservation of our

life. The third is Liberality, which is the moderator of our giving

and of our receiving things temporal. The fourth is Magnificence,

which is the moderator of great expenditures, making and supporting

those within certain limits. The fifth is Magnanimity, which is the

moderator and acquirer of great honours and fame. The sixth is the

Love of Honour, which is the moderator and regulator to us of the

honours of this World. The seventh is Mildness, which moderates our

anger and our excessive or undue patience against our external

misfortunes. The eighth is Affability, which makes us live on good

terms with other men. The ninth is called Truth, which makes us

moderate in boasting ourselves over and above what we are, and in

depreciating ourselves below what we are in our speech. The tenth is

called Eutrapelia, pleasantness of intercourse, which makes us

moderate in joys or pleasures, causing us to use them in due measure.

The eleventh is Justice, which teaches us to love and to act with

uprightness in all things.

And each of these Virtues has two collateral enemies, that is to say,

vices; one in excess and one in defect. And these Moral Virtues are

the centres or middle stations between them, and those Virtues all

spring from one root or principle, that is to say, from the habit of

our own good choice. Wherefore, in a general sense, it is possible to

say of all, that they are a habit of choice standing firm in due

moderation; and these are those which make a man happy in their active

operation, as the Philosopher says in the first book of the Ethics

when he defines Happiness, saying that Happiness is virtuous action in

a perfect life.

By many, Prudence, that is, good, judgment or wisdom, is well asserted

to be a Moral Virtue. But Aristotle numbers that amongst the

Intellectual Virtues, although it is the guide of the moral, and

points out the way by which they are formed, and without it they could

not be. Verily, it is to be known that we can have in this life two

happinesses or felicities by following two different roads, both good

and excellent, which lead us to them: the one is the Active Life and

the other is the Contemplative Life, which (although by the Active

Life one may attain, as has been said, to a good state of Happiness)

leads us to supreme Happiness, even as the Philosopher proves in the

tenth book of the Ethics; and Christ affirms it with His own Lips in

the Gospel of Luke, speaking to Martha, when replying to her: "Martha,

Martha, thou art anxious and troubled about many things: verily, one

thing alone is needful," meaning, that which thou hast in hand; and He

adds: "Mary has chosen the better part, which shall not be taken away

from her." And Mary, according to that which is previously written in

the Gospel, sitting at the feet of Christ, showed no care for the

service of the house, but listened only to the words of the Saviour.

For if we will explain this in the moral sense, our Lord wished to

show thereby that the Contemplative Life was supremely good, although

the Active Life might be good; this is evident to him who will give

his mind to the words of the Gospel.

It would be possible, however, for any one to say, in argument against

me: Since the happiness of the Contemplative Life is more excellent

than that of the Active Life, and both may be, and are, the fruit and

end of Nobility, why not rather have proceeded in the argument along

the line of the Intellectual Virtues than of the Moral? To this it is

possible to reply briefly, that in all instruction it is desirable to

have regard to the capability of the learner, and to lead him by that

path which is easiest to him. Wherefore, since the Moral Virtues

appear to be, and are, more general and more required than the others,

and are more seen in outward appearances, it was more convenient and

more useful to proceed along that path than by the other; for thus

indeed we shall attain to the knowledge of the bees by arguing of

profit from the wax, as well as by arguing of profit from the honey,

for both the one and the other proceed from them.

CHAPTER XVIII.

In the preceding chapter has been determined how each Moral Virtue

comes from one root, or first principle, that is, a good habit of

choice; and the present text bears upon that, until the part which

begins: "Nobility by right." In this part, then, it proceeds, by a way

that is allowable, to teach that each Virtue mentioned above, taken

singly, or otherwise generally, proceeds from Nobility as an effect

from its cause, and it is founded upon a philosophical proposition,

which says that, when two things are found to meet in one, both these

things must be reduced to a third, or one to the other, as an effect

to a cause: because one thing having stood first and of itself, it

cannot exist except it be from one; and if those two could not be both

the effect of a third, or else one the effect of the other, each would

have had a separate first cause, which is impossible. It says, then,

that

Such virtue shows its good

To others' intellect,

For when two things agree in one,

Producing one effect,

One must from other come,

Or each one from a third,

If each be as each, and more, then one

From the other is inferred.

Where it is to be known that here one does not proceed by an evident

demonstration; as it would be to say that the cold is the generative

principle of water, when we see the clouds; but certainly by a

beautiful and suitable induction. For if there are many laudable

things in us, and one is the principle or first cause of them all,

reason requires each to be reduced to that first cause, which

comprehends more things; and this ought more reasonably to be called

the principle of those things than that which comprehends in itself

less of their principle. For as the trunk of a tree, which contains or

encloses all the other branches, ought to be called the first

beginning and cause of those branches, and not those branches the

cause of the trunk, so Nobility, which comprehends each and every

Virtue (as the cause contains the effect) and many other actions or

operations of ours which are praiseworthy, it ought to be held for

such; that the Virtue may be reduced to it, rather than to the other

third which is in us. Finally it says that the position taken (namely,

that each Moral Virtue comes from one root, and that such Virtue and

Nobility unite in one thing, as is stated above, and that therefore it

is requisite to reduce the one to the other, or both to a third; and

that if the one contains the value of the other and more, from that it

proceeds rather than from the other third) may be considered as a rule

established and set forth, as was before intended.

And thus ends this passage and this present part.

CHAPTER XIX.

Since in the preceding part are discussed three certain definite

things which were necessary to be seen before we define, if possible,

this good thing of which we speak, it is right to proceed to the

following part, which begins: "Where Virtue is, there is A Nobleman."

And it is desirable to reduce this into two parts. In the first a

certain thing is proved, which before has been touched upon and left

unproved; in the second, concluding, the definition sought is found;

and this second part begins; "Comes virtue from what's noble, as From

black comes violet."

In evidence of the first part, it is to be recalled to mind that it

says previously that, if Nobility is worth more and extends farther

than Virtue, Virtue rather will proceed from it, which this part now

proves, namely, that Nobility extends farther, and produces a copy of

Heaven, saying that wherever there is Virtue there is Nobility. And

here it is to be known that (as it is written in the Books of the Law,

and is held as a Rule of the Law) in those things which of themselves

are evident there is no need of proof; and nothing is more evident

than that Nobility exists wherever there is Virtue, and each thing,

commonly speaking, that we see perfect according to its nature is

worthy to be called Noble. It says then: "So likewise that is Heaven

Wherein a star is hung, But Heaven may be starless." So there is

Nobility wherever there is Virtue, and not Virtue wherever there is

Nobility. And with a beautiful and suitable example; for truly it is a

Heaven in which many and various stars shine. In this Nobility there

shine the Moral and the Intellectual Virtues: there shine in it the

good dispositions bestowed by nature, piety, and religion; the

praiseworthy passions, as Modesty and Mercy and many others; there

shine in it the good gifts of the body, that is to say, beauty,

strength, and almost perpetual health; and so many are the stars which

stud its Heaven that certainly it is not to be wondered at if they

produce many and divers effects in Human Nobility; such are the

natures and the powers of those stars, assembled and contained within

one simple substance, through the medium of which stars, as through

different branches, it bears fruit in various ways. Certainly, with

all earnestness, I make bold to say that Human Nobility, so far as

many of its fruits are considered, excels that of the Angel, although

the Angelic may be more Divine in its unity.

Of this Nobility of ours, which fructifies into such fruits and so

numerous, the Psalmist had perception when he composed that Psalm

which begins: "O Lord our God, how admirable is Thy Name through all

the Earth!" where he praises man, as if wondering at the Divine

affection for this Human Creature, saying: "What is man, that Thou,

God, dost visit him? Thou hast made him a little lower than the

Angels; Thou hast crowned him with glory and honour, and placed him

over the works of Thy hands." Then, truly, it was a beautiful and

suitable comparison to compare Heaven with Human Nobility.

Then, when the Song says, "In women and the young A modesty is seen,

Not virtue, noble yet," it proves that Nobility extends into parts

where Virtue is not; and it says, "noble yet," alluding to Nobility as

indeed a true safeguard, being where there is shame or modesty, that

is to say, fear of dishonour, as it is in maidens and youths, where

shame or modesty is good and praiseworthy; which shame or modesty is

not virtue, but a certain good passion. And it says, "In women and the

young," that is to say, in youths; because, as the Philosopher

expresses it in the fourth book of the Ethics, shame, bashfulness,

modesty, is not praiseworthy nor good in the old nor in men of

studious habits, because to them it is fit that they beware of those

things which would lead them to shame. In youths and maidens such

caution is not so much required, and therefore in them the fear of

receiving dishonour through some fault is praiseworthy. It springs

from Nobility, and it is possible to account their timid bashfulness

to be Nobility. Baseness and ignoble ways produce impudence: wherefore

it is a good and excellent sign of Nobility in children and persons of

tender years when, after some fault, their shame is painted in their

face, which blush of shame is then the fruit of true Nobility.

CHAPTER XX.

When it proceeds to say, "Comes virtue from what's noble, as From

black comes violet," the text advances to the desired definition of

Nobility, by which one may see what this Nobility is of which so many

people speak erroneously. It says then, drawing a conclusion from that

which has been said before, that each Virtue, or rather its generator,

that is to say, the habit of right choice, which stands firm in due

moderation, will spring forth from this, that is, Nobility. And it

gives an example in the colours, saying, as from the black the violet,

so this Virtue springs from Nobility. The violet is a mixed colour of

purple and black, but the black prevails, and the colour is named from

it. And thus the Virtue is a mixed thing of Nobility and Passion; but,

because Nobility prevails, the Virtue takes its name from it, and is

called Goodness. Then afterwards it argues, by that which has been

said, that no man ought to say boastfully, "I am of such and such a

race or family;" nor ought he to believe that he is of this Nobility

unless the fruits of it are in him. And immediately it renders a

reason, saying that those who have this Grace, that is to say, this

Divine thing, are almost Gods as it were, without spot of vice, and no

one has the power to bestow this except God alone, with whom there is

no respect of persons, even as Divine Scripture makes manifest. And it

does not appear too extravagant when it says, "They are as Gods," for

as it is argued previously in the seventh chapter of the third

treatise, even as there are men most vile and bestial so are men most

Noble and Divine. And this Aristotle proves in the seventh chapter of

Ethics by the text of Homer the poet; therefore, let not those men who

are of the Uberti of Florence, nor those of the Visconti of Milan,

say, "Because I am of such a family or race, I am Noble," for the

Divine seed falls not into a race of men, that is, into a family; but

it falls into individual persons, and, as will be proved below, the

family does not make individual persons Noble, but the individual

persons make the family Noble.

Then when it says, "God only gives it to the Soul," the argument is of

the susceptive, that is, of the subject whereon this Divine gift

descends, which is indeed a Divine gift, according to the word of the

Apostle: "Every good gift and every perfect gift comes from above,

proceeding from the Father of Light." It says then that God alone

imparts this Grace to the Soul that He sees pure, within the Soul of

that man whom He sees to be perfectly prepared and fit to receive in

his own proper person this Divine action; for, according as the

Philosopher says in the second chapter Of the Soul, things must be

prepared for their agents and qualified to receive their acts;

wherefore if the Soul is imperfectly prepared, it is not qualified to

receive this blessed and Divine infusion, even as a precious stone, if

it is badly cut or prepared, wherever it is imperfect, cannot receive

the celestial virtue; even as that noble Guido Guinizzelli said, in a

Song of his which begins: "To gentle hearts Love ever will repair." It

is possible for the Soul to be unqualified through some defect of

temper, or perhaps through some sinister circumstances of the time in

which the person lives, and into a Soul so unhappy as this the Divine

radiance never shines. And it may be said of such men as these, whose

Souls are deprived of this Light, that they are as deep valleys turned

towards the North, or rather subterranean caves wherein the light of

the Sun never enters unless it be reflected from another part which

has caught its rays.

Finally, it deduces, from that which has been previously said, that

the Virtues are the fruit of Nobility, and that God places that

Nobility in the Soul which has a good foundation. For to some, that

is, to those who have intellect, who are but few, it is evident that

human Nobility is no other than the seed of Happiness

That seed of Happiness

Falls in the hearts of few,

Planted by God within the Souls

Spread to receive His dew;

that is to say, whose body is in every part perfectly prepared,

ordered, or qualified.

For if the Virtues are the fruit of Nobility, and Happiness is

pleasure or sweetness acquired through or by them, it is evident that

this Nobility is the seed of Happiness, as has been said. And if one

considers well, this definition comprehends all the four arguments,

that is to say, the material, the formal, the efficient, and the

final: material, inasmuch as it says, "to the Soul spread to receive,"

which is the material and subject of Nobility; formal, inasmuch as it

says, "That seed;" efficient, inasmuch as it says, "Planted by God

within the Soul;" final, inasmuch as it says, "of Happiness," Heaven's

blessing. And thus is defined this our good gift, which descends into

us in like manner from the Supreme and Spiritual Power, as virtue into

a precious stone from a most noble celestial body.

CHAPTER XXI.

That we may have more perfect knowledge of Human Goodness, as it is

the original cause in us of all good that can be called Nobility, it

is requisite to explain clearly in this especial chapter how this

Goodness descends into us.

In the first place, it comes by the Natural way, and then by the

Theological way, that is to say, the Divine and Spiritual. In the

first place, it is to be known that man is composed of Soul and body;

but that Goodness or Nobility is of the Soul, as has been said, and is

after the manner of seed from the Divine Virtue. By different

philosophers it has been differently argued concerning the difference

in our Souls; for Avicenna and Algazel were of opinion that Souls of

themselves and from their beginning were Noble or Base. Plato and some

others were of opinion that they proceeded by the stars, and were

Noble more or less according to the nobility of the star. Pythagoras

was of opinion that all were of one nobility, not only human Souls,

but with human Souls those of the brute animals and of the trees and

the forms of minerals; and he said that all the difference in the

bodies is form. If each one were to defend his opinion, it might be

that Truth would be seen to be in all. But since on the surface they

seem somewhat distant from the Truth, one must not proceed according

to those opinions, but according to the opinion of Aristotle and of

the Peripatetics. And therefore I say that when the human seed falls

into its receptacle, that is, into the matrix, it bears with it the

virtue or power of the generative Soul, and the virtue or power of

Heaven, and the virtue or power of the aliments united or bound

together, that is the involution or complex nature of the seed. It

matures and prepares the material for the formative power or virtue

which the generating Soul bestows; and the formative power or virtue

prepares the organs for the celestial virtue or power, which produces,

from the power of the seed, the Soul in life; which, as soon as

produced, receives from the power of the Mover of the Heaven the

passive intellect or mind, which potentially brings together in itself

all the universal forms according as they are in its producer, and so

much the less in proportion as it is farther removed from the first

Intelligence.

Let no one marvel if I speak what seems difficult to understand; for

to myself it seems a miracle how it is possible even to arrive at a

conclusion concerning it, and to perceive it with the intellect. It is

not a thing to reveal in language, especially the language of the

Vulgar Tongue; wherefore I will say, even as did the Apostle: "Oh,

great is the depth of the riches of Wisdom of God: how incomprehensible

are Thy judgments, and Thy ways past finding out!" And since the

complex nature of the seed may be better and less good, and the

disposition of the receiver of the seed may be better and less good,

and the disposition of the dominant Heaven to this effect may be good

and better and best, which varies in the constellations, which are

continually transformed; it befalls that from the human seed and from

these virtues or powers the Soul is produced more or less pure; and

according to its purity there descends into it the virtue or power of

the possible or passive intellect, as it is called, and as it has been

spoken of. And if it happen that through the purity of the receptive

Soul the intellectual power is indeed separate and absolute, free from

all corporeal shadow, the Divine Goodness multiplies in it, as in a

thing sufficient to receive that good gift; and then it multiplies in

the Soul of this intelligent being, according as it can receive it;

and this is that seed of Happiness of which we speak at present. And

this is in harmony with the opinion of Tullius in that book on Old Age

when, speaking personally of Cato, he says: "For this reason a

celestial spirit descended into us from the highest habitation, having

come into a place which is adverse to the Divine Nature and to

Eternity." And in such a Soul as this there is its own individual

power, and the intellectual power, and the Divine power; that is to

say, that influence which has been mentioned. Therefore it is written

in the book On Causes: "Each Noble Soul has three operations, that is

to say, the animal, the intellectual, and the Divine." And there are

some men who hold such opinions that they say, if all the preceding

powers were to unite in the production of a Soul in their best

disposition, arrangement, order, that into that Soul would descend so

much of the Deity that it would be as it were another God Incarnate;

and this is almost all that it is possible to say concerning the

Natural way.

By the Theological way it is possible to say that, when the Supreme

Deity, that is, God, sees His creature prepared to receive His good

gift, so freely He imparts it to His creature in proportion as it is

prepared or qualified to receive it. And because these gifts proceed

from ineffable Love, and the Divine Love is appropriate to the Holy

Spirit, therefore it is that they are called the gifts of the Holy

Spirit, which, even as the Prophet Isaiah distinguishes them, are

seven, namely, Wisdom, Intelligence, Counsel, Courage, Knowledge,

Pity, and the Fear of God. O, good green blades, and good and

wonderful the seed!

And O, admirable and benign Sower of the seed, who dost only wait for

human nature to prepare the ground for Thee wherein to sow! O, blessed

are those who till the land to fit it to receive such seed!

Here it is to be known that the first noble shoot which germinates

from this seed that it may be fruitful, is the desire or appetite of

the mind, which in Greek is called "hormen;" and if this is not well

cultivated and held upright by good habits, the seed is of little

worth, and it would be better if it had not been sown.

And therefore St. Augustine urges, and Aristotle also in the second

book of Ethics, that man should accustom himself to do good, and to

bridle in his passions, in order that this shoot which has been

mentioned may grow strong through good habits, and be confirmed in its

uprightness, so that it may fructify, and from its fruit may issue the

sweetness of Human Happiness.

CHAPTER XXII.

It is the commandment of the Moral Philosophers that, of the good

gifts whereof they have spoken, Man ought to put his thought and his

anxious care into the effort to make them as useful as possible to the

receiver. Wherefore I, wishing to be obedient to such a mandate,

intend to render this my BANQUET [Convito] as useful as possible in

each one of its parts. And because in this part it occurs to me to be

able to reason somewhat concerning the sweetness of Human Happiness, I

consider that there could not be a more useful discourse, especially

to those who know it not; for as the Philosopher says in the first

book of Ethics, and Tullius in that book Of the Ends of Good and Evil,

he shoots badly at the mark who sees it not. Even thus a man can but

ill advance towards this sweet joy who does not begin with a

perception of it. Wherefore, since it is our final rest for which we

live and labour as we can, most useful and most necessary it is to see

this mark in order to aim at it the bow of this our work. And it is

most essential to make it inviting to those who do not see the mark

when simply pointed out. Leaving alone, then, the opinion which

Epicurus the philosopher had concerning it, and that which Zeno

likewise had, I intend to come summarily to the true opinion of

Aristotle and of the other Peripatetics. As it is said above, of the

Divine Goodness sown and infused in us, from the original cause of our

production, there springs up a shoot, which the Greeks term "hormen,"

that is to say, the natural appetite of the soul.

And as it is with the blades of corn which, when they first shoot

forth, have in the beginning one similar appearance, being in the

grass-like stage, and then, by process of time, they become unlike, so

this Natural appetite, which springs from the Divine Grace, in the

beginning appears as it were not unlike that which comes nakedly from

Nature; but with it, even as the herbage born of various grains of

corn, it has the same appearance, as it were: and not only in the

blades of corn, but in men and in beasts there is the same similitude.

And it appears that every animal, as soon as it is born, both rational

and brute beast, loves itself, and fears and flies from those things

which are adverse to it, and hates them, then proceeding as has been

said. And there begins a difference between them in the progress of

this Natural appetite, for the one keeps to one road, and the other to

another; even as the Apostle says: "Many run to the goal, but there is

but one who reaches it." Even thus these Human appetites from the

beginning run through different paths, and there is one path alone

which leads us to our peace; and therefore, leaving all the others

alone, it is for the treatise to follow the course of that one who

begins well.

I say, then, that from the beginning a man loves himself, although

indistinctly; then comes the distinguishing of those things which to

him are more or less; to be more or less loved or hated; and he

follows after and flies from either more or less according as the

right habit distinguishes, not only in the other things which he loves

in a secondary manner, for he even distinguishes in himself which

thing he loves principally; and perceiving in himself divers parts,

those which are the noblest in him he loves most. But, since the

noblest part of man is the Mind, he loves that more than the Body; and

thus, loving himself principally, and through himself other things,

and of himself loving the better part most, it is evident that he

loves the Mind more than the Body or any other thing; and the Mind it

is that, naturally, more than any other thing he ought to love.

Then, if the Mind always delights in the use of the beloved thing,

which is the fruit of love, the use of that thing which is especially

beloved is especially delightful: the use of our Mind is especially

delightful to us, and that which is especially delightful to us

becomes our Happiness and our Beatitude, beyond which there is no

greater delight or pleasure, nor any equal to it, as may be seen by

him who looks well at the preceding argument.

And no one ought to say that every appetite is Mind; for here one

understands Mind solely as that which belongs to the Rational part,

that is, the Will and the Intellect; so that if any one should wish to

call Mind the appetite of the Senses, here it has no place, nor can it

have any abiding; for no one doubts that the Rational appetite is more

noble than the Sensual, and therefore more to be loved; and so is this

of which we are now speaking.

The use of our Mind is double, that is to say, Practical and

Speculative (it is Practical insomuch as it has the power of acting);

both the one and the other are delightful in their use, but that of

Contemplation is the most pleasing, as has been said above. The use of

the Practical is to act in or through us virtuously, that is to say,

honestly or uprightly, with Prudence, with Temperance, with Courage,

and with Justice. The use of the Speculative is not to work or act

through us, but to consider the works of God and of Nature. This and

the other form our Beatitude and Supreme Happiness, which is the

sweetness of the before-mentioned seed, as now clearly appears. To

this often such seed does not attain, through being ill cultivated, or

through its tender growing shoots being perverted. In like manner it

is quite possible, by much correction and cultivation of him into whom

this seed does not fall primarily, to induce it by the process of

steady endeavour after goodness, so that it may attain to the power of

bearing this fruit. And it is, as it were, a method of grafting the

nature of another upon a different stock.

No man, therefore, can hold himself excused; for if from his natural

root the man does not produce sweet fruit, it is possible for him to

have it by the process of grafting; and in fact there would be as many

who should be grafted as those are who, sprung from a good root, allow

themselves to grow degenerate.

Of the two ways of goodness, one is more full of bliss than the other,

as is the Speculative, which is the use of our noblest part without

any alloy, and which, for the root, Love, as has been said, is

especially to be loved as the intellect. And in this life it is not

possible to have the use of this part perfectly, which is to see God,

who is the Supreme Being to be comprehended by the Mind, except

inasmuch as the intellect considers Him and beholds Him through His

effects, His Works. And that we may seek this Beatitude as the

supreme, and not the other, that is, that of the Active Life, the

Gospel of St. Mark teaches us, if we will look at it well.

Mark says that Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Mary

Salome went to find the Saviour in the Tomb, and they found Him not,

but they found a youth clothed in white, who said to them: "You seek

the Saviour, and I tell you that He is not here; and therefore be not

affrighted, but go and tell His disciples and Peter that He goeth

before you into Galilee; and there ye shall see Him, as He said unto

you." By these three women may be understood the three sects of the

Active Life, that is to say, the Epicureans, the Stoics, and the

Peripatetics, who go to the Tomb, that is to say, to the present

World, which is the receptacle of corruptible things, and seek for the

Saviour, that is, Beatitude, and they find it not; but they find a

youth in white garments, who, according to the testimony of Matthew,

and also of the other Evangelists, was an Angel of God. And therefore

Matthew said: "The Angel of the Lord descended from Heaven, and came

and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it. His

countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow." The

Angel is this Nobility of ours which comes from God, as it has been

said, of which our argument speaks, and says to each one of these

sects, that is, to whoever seeks perfect Happiness in the Active Life,

that it is not here; but go and tell the disciples and Peter, that is,

tell those who seek for it and those who are gone astray like Peter,

who had denied Him, that He will go before them into Galilee; meaning

that the Beatitude or Happiness will go before us into Galilee, that

is, into Contemplation; Galilee is as much as to say, Whiteness.

Whiteness is a colour full of material light, more so than any other;

and thus, Contemplation is more full of Spiritual light than any other

thing which is below.

And it says, "He will go before you," but it does not say, "He will be

with you," to make us understand that in our contemplation God always

goes before. Nor is it ever possible to us to attain to Him here, to

Him, our Supreme Bliss. And it says, "There shall ye see Him, as He

said unto you;" that is to say, there you will receive of His

Sweetness, that is, of the Happiness as it is promised to you here, as

it is established that you may receive it.

And thus it appears that our Beatitude, this Happiness of which we

speak, first we are able to find imperfect in the Active Life, that

is, in the operations of the Moral Virtues, and then almost perfect in

the operations of the Intellectual Virtues; which two operations are

speedy and most direct ways to lead to the Supreme Bliss, which it is

not possible to have here below, even as appears by that which has

been said.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Since the definition of Nobility is sufficiently demonstrated, and

since in all its parts it has been made as explicit as possible, so

that we can now see who is the Nobleman, it seems right to proceed to

the part of the text which begins, "Souls whom this Grace adorns," in

whom appear the signs by which it is possible to know the Noble Man.

This part is divided into two. In the first it affirms that this

Nobility is resplendent, and that it shines forth manifestly during

the whole life of the Noble Man; in the second it appears specifically

in its glory, and this second part begins, "In Childhood they obey."

With regard to the first part, it is to be known that this Divine

seed, which has been previously spoken of, germinates immediately in

our Soul, combining with and changing its form with each form of the

Soul, according to the exigency of that power. It germinates, then, as

the Vegetative, as the Sensitive, and as the Rational, and it branches

out through the virtues or powers of all of them, guiding all those to

their perfection, and sustaining itself in them always, even to the

point when, with that part of our Soul which never dies, it returns to

the highest and the most glorious Sower of the seed in Heaven; and it

expresses this in that first part which has been mentioned. Then when

it says, "In Childhood they obey, Are gentle, modest," it shows how we

can recognize the Noble Man by the apparent signs, which are the

Divine operation of this goodness. And this part is divided into four,

as it is made to represent four different ages, such as Adolescence,

Youth, Old Age, and Extreme Old Age. The second part begins, "Are

temperate in Youth;" the third begins, "Are prudent in their Age;" the

fourth begins, "The fourth part of their life." Herein is contained

the purpose of this part in general, with regard to which it is

desirable to know that each effect, inasmuch as it is an effect,

receives the likeness of its cause in proportion as it is capable of

retaining it.

Wherefore, since our life, as has been said, and also the life of

every living creature here below, is caused by Heaven, Heaven is

revealed in all such effects as these, not, indeed, with the complete

circle, but with part of it, in them. Thus its movement must be not

only with them, but beyond them, and as one arch of life retains (and

I say retains, not only of men, but also of other living creatures)

almost all the lives, ascending and descending, they must be, as it

were, similar in appearance to the form of the arch. Returning, then,

to our course of life which at present we are seeking to understand, I

say that it proceeds after the manner of this arch, ascending and

descending. And it is to be known that the ascent of this arch should

be equal to its descent, if the material of the seed from which we

spring, so complex in its nature, did not impede the law of Human

Nature. But since the humid root is of better quality more or less,

and stronger to endure in one effect more than in another, being

subject to the nutriment of the heat, which is our life, it happens

that the arch of the life of one man is of less or of greater extent

than that of another, life being shortened by a violent death or by

some accidental injury; but that which is called natural by the people

is that span of which it is said by the Psalmist, "Thou settest up a

boundary which it is not possible to pass." And since the Master among

those here living, Aristotle, had perception of this arch of which we

now speak, and seems to be of opinion that our life should be no other

than one ascent and one descent, therefore he says, in that chapter

where he treats of Youth and of Old Age, that Youth is no other than

an increase of life. Where the top of this arch may be, it is

difficult to know, on account of the inequality which has been spoken

of above, but for the most part I believe between the thirtieth and

the fortieth year, and I believe that in the perfectly natural man it

is at the thirty-fifth year. And this reason has weight with me: that

our Saviour Jesus Christ was a perfect natural man, who chose to die

in the thirty-fourth year of His age; for it was not suitable for the

Deity to have place in the descending segment; neither is it to be

believed that He would not wish to dwell in this life of ours even to

the summit of it, since He had been in the lower part even from

childhood. And the hour of the day of His death makes this evident,

for He willed that to conform with His life; wherefore Luke says that

it was about the sixth hour when He died, that is to say, the height

or supreme point of the day; wherefore it is possible to comprehend by

that, as it were, that at the thirty-fifth year of Christ was the

height or supreme point of His age. Truly this arch is not half

distinguished in the Scriptures, but if we follow the four connecting

links of the differing qualities which are in our composition, to each

one of which appears to be appropriated one part of our age, it is

divided into four parts, and they are called the four ages. The first

is Adolescence, which is appropriated to the hot and moist; the second

is Youth, which is appropriated to the hot and dry; the third is Old

Age, which is appropriated to the cold and dry; the fourth is Extreme

Old Age, which is appropriated to the cold and moist, as Albertus

Magnus writes in the fourth chapter of the Metaura. And these parts or

divisions are made in a similar manner in the year--in Spring, in

Summer, in Autumn, and in Winter. And it is the same in the day even

to the third hour, and then even to the ninth, leaving the sixth in

the middle of this part, or division, for the reason which is

understood, and then even to vespers, and from vespers onwards. And

therefore the Gentiles said that the chariot of the Sun had four

horses; they called the first Eoo, the second Piroi, the third Eton,

the fourth Phlegon, even as Ovid writes in the second book of the

Metamorphoses concerning the parts or divisions of the day.

And, briefly, it is to be known that, as it has been said above in the

sixth chapter of the third treatise, the Church makes use of the hours

temporal in the division of the day, which hours are twelve in each

day, long or short according to the amount of sunlight; and because

the sixth hour, that is, the midday, is the most noble of the whole

day, and has in it the most virtue, the Offices of the Church are

approximated thereto in each side, that is, from the prime, and thence

onwards as much as possible; and therefore the Office of prime, that

is, the tertius, is said at the end of that part, and that of the

third part and of the fourth is said at the beginning; and therefore,

before the clock strikes in a division of the day, it is termed

half-third or mid-tertius; or mid-nones, when in that division the

clock has struck, and thus mid-vespers.

And, therefore, let each one know that the right and lawful nones

ought always to strike or sound at the beginning of the seventh hour

of the day, and let this suffice to the present digression.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Returning to the proposition, I say that Human Life is divided into

four ages or stages. The first is called Adolescence, that is, the

growth or increase of life; the second is called Youth, that is, the

age which can give perfection, and for this reason one understands

this Youth to be perfect, because no man can give except of that which

he has; the third is called Old Age; the fourth is called Senility,

Extreme Old Age, as has been said above.

Of the first no one doubts, but each wise man agrees that it lasts

even to the twenty-fifth year; and up to that time our Soul waits for

the increase and the embellishment of the body. While there are many

and very great changes in the person, the rational part cannot possess

perfectly the power of discretion; wherefore, the Civil Law wills

that, previous to that age, a man cannot do certain things without a

guardian of perfect age.

Of the second, which is the height of our life, the time is variously

taken by many. But leaving that which philosophers and medical men

write concerning it, and returning to the proper argument, we may say

that, in most men in whom one can and ought to be guided by natural

judgment, that age lasts for twenty years. And the reason which leads

me to this conclusion is, that the height or supreme point of our arc

or bow is in the thirty-fifth year; just so much as this age has of

ascent, so much it ought to have of descent; and this ascent passes

into descent, as it were, at the point, the centre, where one would

hold the bow in the hand, at which place a slight flexion may be

discerned. We are of opinion, then, that Youth is completed in the

forty-fifth year.

And as Adolescence is in the twenty-five years which proceed mounting

upwards to Youth: so the descent, that is, Old Age, is an equal amount

of time which succeeds to Youth; and thus Old Age terminates in the

seventieth year.

But because Adolescence does not begin at the beginning of

life--taking it in the way which has been said--but about eight months

from birth; and because our life strives to ascend, and curbs itself

in the descent; because the natural heat is lessened and can do

little, and the moist humour is increased, not in quantity, but in

quality, so that it is less able to evaporate and be consumed; it

happens that beyond Old Age there remains of our life an amount,

perhaps, of about ten years, a little more or a little less; and this

time of life is termed Extreme Old Age, or Senility. Wherefore we know

of Plato (of whom one may well say that he was a son of Nature, both

because of his perfection and because of his countenance, which caused

Socrates to love him when first he saw him), that he lived eighty and

one years, according to the testimony of Tullius in that book On Old

Age. And I believe that if Christ had not been crucified, and if He

might have lived the length of time which His life according to nature

could have passed over, at eighty and one years He would have been

transformed from the mortal body into the eternal.

Truly, as has been said above, these ages may be longer or shorter

according to our complexion or temper and our constitution or

composition; but, as they are, it seems to me that I observe this

proportion in all men, as has been said, that is to say, that in such

men the ages may be made longer or shorter according to the integrity

of the whole term of the natural life.

Throughout all these ages this Nobility of which we speak manifests

its effects in different ways in the ennobled Soul; and it is that

which this part of the Song, concerning which we write at present,

intends to demonstrate. Where it is to be known that our good and

upright nature makes forward progress in us in the reasoning powers,

as we see the nature of the plants make forward progress; and

therefore it is that different manners and different deportment are to

be held reasonable at one age rather than at another. The ennobled

Soul proceeds in due order along a single path, employing each of its

powers in its time and season, or even as they are all ordained to the

final production of the perfect fruit. And Tullius is in harmony with

this in his book On Old Age. And putting aside the figurative sense

which Virgil holds in the **** concerning this different progress of

the ages, and letting that be which Egidius the hermit mentions in the

first part On the Government of Princes, and letting that be to which

Tullius alludes in his book Of Offices, and following that alone which

Reason can see of herself, I say that this first age is the door and

the path through which and along which we enter into our good life,

And this entrance must of necessity have certain things which the good

Nature, which fails not in things necessary, gives to us; as we see

that she gives to the vine the leaves for the protection of the fruit,

and the little tendrils which enable it to twine round its supports,

and thus bind up its weakness, so that it can sustain the weight of

its fruit. Beneficent Nature gives, then, to this age four things

necessary to the entrance into the City of the Good Life. The first is

Obedience, the second Suavity, the third Modesty, the fourth Beauty of

the Body, even as the Song says in the first section of this part. It

is, then, to be known that like one who has never been in a city, who

would not know how to find his way about the streets without

instruction from one who is accustomed to them, even so the adolescent

who enters into the Wood of Error of this life would not know how to

keep to the good path if it were not pointed out to him by his elders.

Neither would the instruction avail if he were not obedient to their

commands, and therefore at this age obedience is necessary. Here it

might be possible for some one to speak thus: Then, is that man to be

called obedient who shall follow evil guidance as well as he who shall

believe the good? I reply that this would not be obedience, but

transgression. For if the King should issue a command in one way and

the servant give forth the command in another, it would not be right

to obey the servant, for that would be to disobey the King; and thus

it would be transgression. And therefore Solomon says, when he intends

to correct his son, and this is his first commandment: "Listen, my

son, to the instruction of thy father." And then he seeks to remove

him immediately from the counsel and teaching of the wicked man,

saying, "My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not."

Wherefore, as soon as he is born, the son clings to the breast of the

mother; even so soon as some light of the Mind appears in him, he

ought to turn to the correction of the father, and the father to

instruction. And let the father take heed that he himself does not set

him an example in work or action that is contrary to the words of the

correction; for naturally we see each son look more to the footprints

of the paternal feet than to those of other men. And therefore the

Law, which provides for this, says and commands that the life of the

father should appear to his sons always honourable and upright. Thus

it appears that obedience was necessary in this age; and therefore

Solomon writes in the Book of Proverbs, that he who humbly and

obediently sustains his just reproofs from the corrector shall be

glorious. And he says "shall be," to cause men to understand that he

speaks to the adolescent, who cannot be so in his present age. And if

any one should reflect on me because I have said obedience is due to

the father and not to other men, I say that to the father all other

obedience ought to be referred; wherefore the Apostle says to the

Colossians: "Sons, obey your fathers in all things, for such is the

will of God." And if the father be not in this life, the son ought to

refer to that which is said by the father in his last Will as a

father; and if the father die intestate, the son ought to refer to him

to whom the Law commits his authority; and then ought the masters and

elders to be obeyed, for this appears to be a reasonable charge laid

upon the son by the father, or by him who stands in the father's

place.

But because this present chapter has been long, on account of the

useful digressions which it contains, in another chapter other things

shall be discussed.

CHAPTER XXV.

Not only this Soul, naturally good in Adolescence, is obedient, but

also gentle; which is the other thing necessary in this age to make a

good entrance through the portal of Youth.

It is necessary, since we cannot have a perfect life without friends,

as Aristotle expresses it in the eighth book of Ethics; and the seed

of the greater number of friendships seems to be sown in the first age

of life, because in it a man begins to be gracious or the contrary.

Such graciousness is acquired by gentle rules of conduct, as are sweet

and courteous speech, gentle service courteously rendered, and actions

kindly done or performed. And therefore Solomon says to the adolescent

son: "Surely God scorneth the scorners; but He giveth grace unto the

lowly." And elsewhere he says: "Put away from thee a forward mouth,

and perverse lips put far from thee." Wherefore it appears that, as

has been said, this suavity or affability is necessary.

Likewise to this age the passion of modesty is necessary; and

therefore the nature which is good and noble shows it in this age,

even as the Song says. And since modesty is the clearest sign, in

Adolescence, of Nobility, because there it is especially necessary to

the good foundation of our life, at which the noble nature aims, it is

right to speak of it somewhat. By modesty I mean three passions or

strong feelings necessary to the foundation of our good life: the one

is wonder, the next is modesty, the third is shame, although the

common people do not discern this distinction. And all three of these

are necessary to this life, for this reason: at this age it is

requisite to be reverent and desirous for knowledge; at this age it is

necessary or requisite to be self-controlled, so as not to transgress

or pass beyond due bounds; at this age it is necessary to be penitent

for a fault, so as not to grow accustomed to doing wrong. And all

these things the aforesaid passions or strong feelings do, which

vulgarly are called shame; for wonder is an amazement of the mind at

beholding great and wonderful things, at hearing them, or feeling them

in some way or other; for, inasmuch as they appear great, they excite

reverence in him who sees them; inasmuch as they appear wonderful,

they make him who perceives them desirous of knowledge concerning

them. And therefore the ancient Kings in their palaces or habitations

set up magnificent works in gold and in marble and works of art, in

order that those who should see them should become astonished, and

therefore reverent inquirers into the honourable conditions of the

King. Therefore Statius, the sweet Poet, in the first part of the

Theban History, says that, when Adrastus, King of the Argives, saw

Polynices covered with the skin of a lion, and saw Tydeus covered with

the hide of a wild boar, and recalled to mind the reply that Apollo

had given concerning his daughters, he became amazed, and therefore

more reverent and more desirous for knowledge. Modesty is a shrinking,

a drawing-back of the mind from unseemly things, with the fear of

falling into them; even as we see in virgins and in good women, and in

adolescent or young men, who are so modest that not only when they are

tempted to do wrong, and urged to do so, but even when some fancied

joy flashes across the mind, the feeling is depicted in the face,

which either grows pale with fear, or flushes rosy-red. Wherefore the

before-mentioned poet, in the first book of the Thebaid already

quoted, says that when Acesta the nurse of Argia and Deiphile, the

daughters of King Adrastus, led them before the eyes of their holy

father into the presence of the two pilgrims, that is to say,

Polynices and Tydeus, the virgins grew pale and blushed rosy-red, and

their eyes shunned the glance of any other person, and they kept them

fixed on the paternal face alone, as if there were safety. This

modesty--how many errors does it bridle in, or repress? On how many

immodest questions and impure things does it impose silence! How much

dishonest greed does it repress! In the chaste woman, against how many

evil temptations does it rouse mistrust, not only in her, but also in

him who watches over her! How many unseemly words does it restrain!

for, as Tullius says in the first chapter of the Offices: "No action

is unseemly which is not unseemly in the naming." And furthermore, the

Modest and Noble Man never could speak in such a manner that to a

woman his words would not be decent and such as she could hear. Alas,

how great is the evil in every man who seeks for honour, to mention

things which would be deemed evil in the mouth of any woman!

Shame is a fear of dishonour through fault committed, and from this

fear there springs up a penitence for the fault, which has in itself a

bitter sorrow or grief, which is a chastisement and preservative

against future wrong-doing. Wherefore this same poet says, in that

same part, that when Polynices was questioned by King Adrastus

concerning his life, he hesitated at first through shame to speak of

the crime which he had committed against his father, and also for the

sins of Oedipus, his father, which appeared to remain in the shame of

the son; therefore he named not his father, but his ancestors, and his

country, and his mother; and therefore it does indeed appear that

shame is necessary to that age. And the noble nature reveals in this

age, not only obedience, gentleness, affability, and modesty, but it

shows beauty and agility of body, even as the Song expresses: "To

furnish Virtue's person with The graces it may need." Here it is to be

known that this work of beneficent Nature is also necessary to our

good life, for our Soul must work in the greater part of all its

operations with a bodily organ; and then it works well when the body

through all its parts is well proportioned and appointed. And when it

is well proportioned and appointed, then it is beautiful throughout

and in all its parts; for the due ordering or proportion of our limbs

produces a pleasing impression of I know not what of wonderful

harmony; and the good disposition, that is to say, the health of mind

and body, throws over all a colouring sweet to behold. And thus to say

that the noble nature takes heed for the graces of the body, and makes

it fair and harmonious, is tantamount to saying that it prepares it

and renders it fit to attain the perfection ordained for it: and those

other things which have been discussed seem to be requisite to

Adolescence, which the noble Mind, that is to say, the noble Nature,

furnishes forth to it in the first years of life, as growth of the

seed sown therein by the Divine Providence.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Since the first section of this part, which shows how we can recognize

the Noble Man by apparent signs, is reasoned out, it is right to

proceed to the second section, which begins: "Are temperate in Youth,

And resolutely strong."

It says, then, that as the noble Nature in Adolescence or the

Spring-time of Youth appears obedient, gentle, and modest, the

beautifier of its person, so in Youth it is temperate, strong, and

loving, courteous and loyal; which five things appear to be, and are,

necessary to our perfection, inasmuch as we have respect unto

ourselves. And with regard to this it is desirable to know that just

as the noble Nature prepares in the first age, it is prepared and

ordained by the care or foresight of Universal Nature, which ordains

and appoints the particular Nature where-ever existing, to attain its

perfection.

This perfection of ours may be considered in a double sense. It is

possible to consider it as it has respect to ourselves, and we ought

to possess this in our Youth, which is the culminating point of our

life. It is possible to consider it as it has respect to others, and

since in the first place it is necessary to be perfect, and then to

communicate the perfection to others, it is requisite to possess this

secondary perfection after this age, that is to say, in Old Age, as

will be said subsequently. Here, then, it is needful to recall to mind

that which was argued in the twenty-second chapter of this treatise

concerning the appetite or impulse which is born in us. This appetite

or impulse never does aught else but to pursue and to flee, and

whenever it pursues that which is to be pursued, and as far as is

right, and flies from that which is to be fled from, and as much as is

right, then is the man within the limits of his perfection. Truly,

this appetite or natural impulse must have Reason for its rider; for

as a horse at liberty, however noble it may be by nature, by itself

without the good rider does not conduct itself well, even thus this

appetite, however noble it may be, must obey Reason, which guides it

with the bridle and spur, as the good knight uses the bridle when he

hunts. And that bridle is termed Temperance, which marks the limit up

to which it is lawful to pursue; he uses the spur in flight to turn

the horse away from the place from which he would flee away; and this

spur is called Courage, or rather Magnanimity, a Virtue that points

out the place at which it is right to stop, and to resist evil even to

mortal combat. And thus Virgil, our greatest Poet, represents **** as

under the influence of powerful self control in that part of the ************* this age is typified, which part comprehends the fourth and

the fifth and the sixth books of the ****. And what self-restraint

was that when, having received from Dido so much pleasure, as will be

spoken of in the seventh treatise, and enjoying so much delectation

with her, he departed, in order to follow the upright and praiseworthy

path fruitful of good works, even as it is written in the fourth book

of the ****! What impetus was that when **** had the fortitude alone

with Sybilla to enter into Hades, to search for the Soul of his father

Anchises, in the face of so many dangers, as it is shown in the sixth

book of the ****. Wherefore it appears that in our Youth, in order to

be in our perfection, we must be Temperate and Brave. The good

disposition secures this for us, even as the Song expressly states.

Again, at this age it is necessary to its perfection to be Loving;

because at this age it is requisite to look behind and before, as

being midway over the arch. The youth ought to love his elders, from

whom he has received his being, and his nutriment, and his

instruction, so that he may not appear ungrateful. He ought to love

his juniors, since, in loving them, he gives them of his good gifts,

for which in after-years, when the younger friends are prospering, he

may be supported and honoured by them. And the poet named above, in

the fifth book before-mentioned, makes it evident that **** possessed

this loving disposition, when he left the aged Trojans in Sicily,

recommended to Acestes, and set them free from the fatigues of the

voyage; and when he instructed, in the same place, Ascanius his son,

with the other young men, in jousting or in feats of arms; wherefore

it appears that to this age Love is necessary, even as the Song says.

Again, to this age Courtesy is necessary, for, although to every age

it is right or beautiful to be possessed of courteous manners, to this

age it is especially necessary, because, on the contrary, Old Age,

with its gravity and its severity, cannot possess courtesy, if it has

been wanting in this youthful period of life; and with Extreme Old Age

it is the same in a greater degree. And that most noble poet, in the

sixth book before-mentioned, proves that **** possessed this

courtesy, when he says that ****, then King, in order to pay honour

to the dead body of Misenus, who had been the trumpeter of Hector, and

afterwards accompanied ****, made himself ready and took the axe to

assist in cutting the logs for the fire which must burn the dead body,

as was their custom. Wherefore this courtesy does indeed appear to be

necessary to Youth; and therefore the noble Soul reveals it in that

age, as has been said.

Again, it is necessary to this age to be Loyal. Loyalty is to follow

and to put in operation that which the Laws command, and this

especially is necessary in the young man; because the adolescent, as

it has been said, on account of his minority, merits ready pardon; the

old man, on account of greater experience, ought to be just, but not a

follower of the Law except inasmuch as his upright judgment and the

Law are at one as it were; and almost without any Law he ought to be

able to follow the dictates of his own just mind. The young man is not

able to do this, and it is sufficient that he should obey the Law, and

take delight in that obedience; even as the before-said poet says, in

the fifth book previously mentioned, that **** did when he instituted

the games in Sicily on the anniversary of his father's death, for what

he promised for the victories he loyally gave to each victor,

according to their ancient custom, which was their Law.

Wherefore, it is evident that, to this age, Loyalty, Courtesy, Love,

Courage, and Temperance are necessary, even as the Song says, which at

present I have reasoned out; and therefore the noble Soul reveals them

all.

CHAPTER XXVII.

That section which the text puts forward having been reasoned out and

made sufficiently clear, showing the qualities of uprightness which

the noble Soul puts into Youth, we go on to pay attention to the third

part, which begins, "Are prudent in their Age," in which the Song

intends to show those qualities which the noble Nature reveals and

ought to possess in the third age, that is to say, Old Age. And it

says that the noble Soul in Old Age is prudent, is just, is liberal

and cheerful, willing to speak kindly and for the good of others, and

ready to listen for the same reason, that is to say, that it is

affable. And truly these four Virtues are most suitable to this age.

And, in order to perceive this, it is to be known that, as Tullius

says in his book On Old Age, "Our life has a certain course, and one

simple path, that of natural moral goodness; and to each part of our

age there is given a season for certain things." Wherefore, as to

Adolescence is given, as has been said above, that by means of which

it may attain perfection and maturity, so to youth is given perfection

and maturity in order that the sweetness of its perfect fruit may be

profitable to the man himself and to others; for, as Aristotle says,

man is a civil or polite animal, because it is required of him to be

useful, not only to himself, but to others as well. Wherefore one

reads of Cato, that he believed himself to be born not only to

himself, but to his country and to all the world. Then after our own

perfection, which is acquired in Youth, there must follow that which

may give light not only to one's self, but to others as well; and a

man ought to open and broaden like a rose as it were, which can no

longer remain closed, and spread abroad the sweet odour which is bred

within; and this ought to be the case in that third age which we have

now in hand.

Then it must be Prudent, that is to say, Wise. And, in order to be

this, a good memory of the things which have been seen is requisite,

and a good knowledge of present things, and good foresight for things

of the future. And, as the Philosopher says in the sixth book of

Ethics, it is impossible for the man who is not good to be wise; and

therefore he is not to be called a wise man who acts with cunning and

with deception, but he is to be called an astute man. As no one would

call him a wise man who might indeed know how to draw with the point

of a knife in the pupil of the eye, even so he is not to be called a

wise man who knows how to do a bad thing well, in the doing of which

he must always first injure some other person. If we consider well,

good counsel springs from Prudence, which leads or guides a man, and

other men, to a good end in human affairs. And this is that gift which

Solomon, perceiving himself to be placed as ruler over the people,

asked of God, even as it is written in the Third Book of Kings; nor

does the prudent man wait for counsel to be asked of him; but of

himself, foreseeing the need for it, unasked he gives counsel or

advice; like the rose, which not only to him who goes to her for her

sweet odour freely gives it, but also to any one who passes near.

Here it would be possible for any doctor or lawyer to say: Then shall

I carry my counsel or advice, and shall I give it even before it be

asked of me, and shall I not reap fruit from my art or skill? I reply

in the words of our Saviour: "Freely ye have received, freely give." I

say, then, Master Lawyer, that those counsels which have no respect to

thine art, and which proceed alone from that good sense or wisdom

which God gave thee (which is the prudence of which we speak), thou

oughtest not to sell to the sons or children of Him who has given it

to thee. But those counsels which belong to the art which thou hast

purchased, thou mayst sell; but not in such a way but that at any time

the tenth part of them may be fitly set apart and given unto God, that

is, to those unhappy ones to whom the Divine protection is all that is

left.

Likewise at this age it is right to be Just, in order that the

judgments and the authority of the man may be a light and a law to

other men. And because this particular Virtue, that is to say,

Justice, was seen by the ancient philosophers to appear perfect in men

of this age, they entrusted the government of the cities to those men

who had attained that age; and therefore the college of Rectors was

called the Senate. Oh, my unhappy, unhappy country! how my heart is

wrung with pity for thee whenever I read, whenever I write, anything

which may have reference to Civil Government! But since in the last

treatise of this book Justice will be discussed, to the present let

this slight notice of it suffice.

Also at this age a man ought to be liberal, because a thing is then

most suitable when it gives most satisfaction to the due requirements

of its nature: nor to the due requirements of Liberality is it ever

possible to give more satisfaction than at this age. For if we will

look well at the argument of Aristotle in the fourth book of Ethics,

and at that of Tullius in his book Of Offices, Liberality desires to

be seasonable in place and time; so that the liberal man may not

injure himself nor other men; which thing it is not possible to have

without Prudence and without Justice, Virtues that previous to this

age it is impossible to have or possess in perfection in the Natural

way.

Alas! ye base-born ones, born under evil stars, ye who rob the widows

and orphans, who ravish or despoil those who possess least, who steal

from and occupy or usurp the homes of other men, and with that spoil

you furnish forth feasts, women, horses, arms, robes, money; you wear

wonderful garments, you build marvellous palaces; and you believe that

you do deeds of great liberality: and this is no other than to take

the cloth from the altar and to cover therewith the thief and his

table! Not otherwise one ought to laugh, O tyrants, at your bounteous

liberality than at the thief who should lead the invited guests into

his house to his feast, and place upon his table the cloth stolen from

the altar, with the ecclesiastical signs inwoven, and should not

believe that other men might perceive the sacrilege. Hear, O ye

obstinate men, what Tullius says against you in the book Of Offices:

"Certainly there are many, desirous of being great and glorious, who

rob some that they may give to others, believing themselves to be

esteemed good men if they enrich their friends with what the Law

allows. But this is so opposite or contrary to that which ought to be

done, that nothing is more wrong."

At this age also a man ought to be Affable, to speak for the good of

others, and to listen to such speech willingly, since it is good for a

man to discourse kindly at an age when he is listened to. And this age

also has with it a shadow of authority, for which reason it appears

that the aged man is more likely to be listened to than a person in a

younger period of life. And of most good and beautiful Truths it seems

that a man ought to have knowledge after the long experience of life.

Wherefore Tullius says, in that book On Old Age, in the person of Cato

the elder: "To me is increased the desire and the delight to remain in

conversation longer than I am wont." And that all four of these things

are right and proper to this age, Ovid teaches, in the seventh chapter

of Metamorphoses, in that fable where he writes how Cephalus of Athens

came to **** the King for help in the war which Athens had with the

Cretans. He shows that ****, an old man, was prudent when, having,

through pestilence caused by corruption of the air, lost almost all

his people, he wisely had recourse to God, and besought of Him the

restoration of the dead; and for his wisdom, which in patience

possessed him and caused him to turn to God, his people were restored

to him in greater number than before. He shows that he was just, when

he says that **** was the divider and the distributor of his deserted

land to his new people. He shows that **** was generous or liberal

when he said to Cephalus, after his request for aid: "O Athens! ask me

not to render assistance, but take it yourself; doubt not the strength

of the forces which this island possesses, nor the power of my state

and realm; troops are not wanting to us, nay, we have them in excess

for offence and defence; it is indeed a happy time to give you aid,

and without excuse."

Alas, how many things are to be observed in this reply! but to a good,

intelligent man it is sufficient for it to be placed here, even as

Ovid puts it. He shows that **** was affable when he described, in a

long speech to Cephalus, the history of the pestilence which destroyed

his people, and the restoration of the same, which he tells readily.

It is clear enough, then, that to this age four things are suitable,

because the noble Nature reveals them in it, even as the Song says.

And that the example given may be the more memorable, **** says that

he was the father of Telamon and Peleus and of Phocus, from which

Telamon sprang Ajax and from Peleus Achilles.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Following the section which has been discussed, we have now to proceed

to the last, that is, to that which begins, "The fourth part of their

life Weds them again to God," by which the text intends to show what

the noble Soul does in the last age, that is, in Extreme Old Age, that

is, Senility. And it says that it does two things: the one, that it

returns to God as to that port or haven whence it departed when it

issued forth to enter into the sea of this life; the other is, that it

blesses the voyage which it has made, because it has been upright,

straight, and good, and without the bitterness of storm and tempest.

And here it is to be known that, even as Tullius says in that book On

Old Age, the natural death is, as it were, a port or haven to us after

our long voyage and a place of rest. And the Virtuous Man who dies

thus is like the good mariner; for, as he approaches the port or

haven, he strikes his sails, and gently, with feeble steering, enters

port. Even thus we ought to strike the sails of our worldly affairs,

and turn to God with all our heart and mind, so that one may come into

that haven with all sweetness and all peace.

And in this we have from our own proper nature great instruction in

gentleness, for in such a death as this there is no pain nor

bitterness, but even as a ripe apple easily and without violence

detaches itself from its branch, so our Soul without grief separates

itself from the body wherein it has dwelt.

Aristotle, in his book On Youth and Old Age, says that the death which

overtakes us in old age is without sadness. And as to him who comes

from a long journey, before he enters into the gate of his city, the

citizens thereof go forth to meet him, so do those citizens of the

Eternal Life go forth to meet the noble Soul; and they do thus because

of his good works and acts of contemplation, which were of old

rendered unto God and withdrawn from worldly affairs and thoughts.

Hear what Tullius says in the person of Cato the elder: "It seems to

me that already I see, and I uplift myself in the greatest desire to

see, your fathers, whom I loved, and not only those whom I knew

myself, but also those of whom I have heard spoken." In this age,

then, the noble Soul renders itself unto God, and awaits the end of

this life with much desire; and to itself it seems that it goes out

from the Inn to return home to the Father's mansion; to itself it

seems to have reached the end of a long journey and to have reached

the City; to itself it seems to have crossed the wide sea and returned

into the port. O, miserable men and vile, who run into this port with

sails unfurled; and there where you should find rest, are broken by

the fury of the wind and wrecked in the harbour. Truly the Knight

Lancelot chose not to enter it with sails unfurled, nor our most noble

Italian Guido da Montefeltro. These noble Spirits indeed furled the

sails after the voyage of this World, whose cares were rendered to

Religion in their long old age, when they had laid down each earthly

joy and labour. And it is not possible to excuse any man because of

the bond of matrimony, which may hold him in his old age, from turning

to Religion, even as he who adopts the habit of St. Benedict and St.

Augustine and St. Francis and St. Dominic and the like mode of life,

but also it is possible to turn to a good and true Religion whilst

remaining in the bonds of matrimony, for God asks of us no more than

the religious heart. And therefore St. Paul says to the Romans: "For

he is not a Jew which is one outwardly; neither is that circumcision

which is outward in the flesh. But he is a Jew which is one inwardly;

and circumcision is that of the heart, in the spirit, and not in the

letter; whose praise is not of men, but of God."

And the Noble Soul in this age blesses likewise the time that is past,

and it may well bless it; because when Memory turns back to them, the

Noble Soul remembers her upright deeds, without which it were not

possible for her to come to the port whither she is hastening with

such wealth nor with such gain. And the Noble Soul does like the good

merchant, who, when he draws near to his port, examines his cargo, and

says: "If I had not passed along such a highway as that, I should not

possess this treasure, and I should not have wherewith to rejoice in

my city, to which I am approaching;" and therefore he blesses the

voyage he has made.

And that these two things are suitable to this age that great poet

Lucan represents to us in the second book of his Pharsalia, when he

says that Marcia returned to Cato, and entreated him that he would

take her back in his fourth and Extreme Old Age, by which Marcia the

Noble Soul is meant, and we can thus depict the symbol of it in all

Truth. Marcia was a virgin, and in that state typifies Adolescence;

she then espoused Cato, and in that state typifies Youth; she then

bore sons, by whom are typified the Virtues which are becoming to

young men, as previously described; and she departed from Cato and

espoused Hortensius, by which it is typified that she quitted Youth

and came to Old Age. She bore sons to this man also, by whom are

typified the Virtues which befit Old Age, as previously said.

Hortensius died, by which is typified the end of Old Age, and Marcia,

made a widow, by which widowhood is typified Extreme Old Age, returned

in the early days of her widowhood to Cato, whereby is typified the

Noble Soul turning to God in the beginning of Extreme Old Age. And

what earthly man was more worthy to typify God than Cato? None, of a

certainty. And what does Marcia say to Cato? "Whilst there was blood

in me [that is to say, Youth], whilst the maternal power was in me

[that is, Age, which is indeed the Mother of all other Virtues or

Powers, as has been previously shown or proved], I," says Marcia,

"fulfilled all thy commandments [that is to say, that the Soul stood

firm in obedience to the Civil Laws]." She says: "And I took two

husbands," that is to say, I have been in two fruitful periods of

life. "Now," says Marcia, "that I am weary, and that I am void and

empty, I return to thee, being no longer able to give happiness to the

other husband;" that is to say, that the Noble Soul, knowing well that

it has no longer the power to produce, that is, feeling all its

members to have grown feeble, turns to God, that is, to Him who has no

need of members of the body. And Marcia says, "Give me the ancient

covenanted privileges of the beds; give me the name alone of the

Marriage Tie;" that is to say, the Noble Soul says to God, "O my Lord,

give me now repose and rest;" the Soul says, "Give me at least

whatsoever I may have called Thine in a life so long." And Marcia

says, "Two reasons move or urge me to say this; the one is, that they

may say of me, after I am dead, that I was the wife of Cato; the other

is, that it may be said after me that thou didst not drive me away,

but didst espouse me heartily." By these two causes the Noble Soul is

stirred and desires to depart from this life as the spouse of God, and

wishes to show that God was gracious to the creature that He made. O

unhappy and baseborn men! you who prefer to depart from this life

under the name of Hortensius rather than of Cato!

From Cato's name a grace comes into the close of the discourse which

it was fit to make touching the signs of Nobility; because in him

Nobility reveals them all, through all the ages of his life.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Since the Song has demonstrated those signs which in each age or

period of life appear in the Noble Man, and by which it is possible to

know him, and without which he cannot be, even as the Sun cannot be

without light or the fire without heat, the text cries aloud to the

People in the concluding part of this treatise on Nobility, and it

says: "How many are deceived!" They are deceived who, because they are

of ancient and famous lineage, and because they are descended of

excellent and Noble fathers, believe themselves to be Noble, yet have

in themselves no Nobility. And here arise two questions, to which it

is right to attend at the end of this treatise. It would be possible

for Manfredi da Vico, who but now is called Praetor and Prefect, to

say: "Whatever I may be, I recall to mind and I represent my elders,

who deserved the Office of Prefecture because of their Nobility, and

they merited the honour of investiture at the coronation of the

Emperor, and they merited the honour of receiving the Rose of Gold

from the Roman Pontiff: I ought to receive from the People honour and

reverence." And this is one question. The other is, that it would be

possible for the scions of the families of San Nazzaro di Pavia and of

the Piscitelli of Naples to say: "If Nobility is that which has been

described, that is, that it is Divine seed graciously cast into the

human Soul, and the progeny, or offshoots, have, as is evident, no

Soul, it would not be possible to term any of its progeny or offshoots

Noble; but this is opposed to the opinion of those who assert that our

race is the most Noble in these cities."

To the first question Juvenal replies in the eighth Satire, when he

begins with exclaiming, as it were: "What is the use of all these

honours and of this glory which remain from the past, except that they

serve as a mantle or cloak to him who may wish to cover himself with

them, badly as he may live; except for him who talks of his ancestors,

and points out their great and wonderful works, giving his own mind to

miserable and vile actions?" And this satirical poet asks: "Who will

call that man Noble, because of his good race, who is not worthy of

his race? It is no other than to call the Dwarf a Giant." Then

afterwards he says to such an one as this: "Between thee and the

statue erected in memory of thine ancestor there is no other

dissimilarity except that its head is of marble and thine is alive."

And in this (with reverence I say it) I disagree with the poet, for

the statue of marble or of wood or of metal, which has remained in

memory of some worthy brave man, differs much in effect from the

wicked descendant: because the statue always confirms a good opinion

in those who have heard of the good renown or fame of him whose statue

it is, and it begets good opinion in others. But the wicked son or

nephew does quite the contrary: he weakens the good opinion of those

who have heard of the goodness of his ancestors. For some one says to

himself in his thought: "It cannot possibly be true, all this that has

been said about this man's ancestors, since from their seed one sees

an offshoot such as that." Wherefore he ought to receive not honour,

but dishonour, who bears false or evil witness against the good. And

therefore Tullius says that the son of the brave man ought to strive

to bear good witness to the father. Wherefore, in my judgment, even as

he who defames an excellent man deserves to be shunned by all people

and not listened to, even so the vile man descended from good

ancestors deserves to be banned by all; and the good man ought to

close his eyes in order not to see that infamous man casting infamy

upon the goodness which remains in Memory alone. And let this suffice

at present to the first question that was moved.

To the second question it is possible to reply that a race of itself

has no Soul; and indeed it is true that it is called Noble, but it is

in a certain way. Wherefore it is to be known that every whole is

composed of its parts, and there is a certain whole which has a simple

essence in its parts, as in one man there is one essence in all and in

each individual part; and this which is said to be in the part is said

in the same way to be in the whole. There is another whole which has

not a common essential form or essence with the parts, as a heap of

corn; but there is a secondary essence which results from many grains,

which possess in themselves a true and primary essence. And in such a

whole as this they are said to be the qualities of the parts in a

secondary way; wherefore it is called a white heap, because the grains

whereof the heap is made are white. Truly this white appearance is

more in the grains in the first place, and in the second place it

results in the whole heap, and thus secondarily it is possible to call

it white; and in such a way it is possible to call a race Noble.

Wherefore it is to be known, that as in order to make a white heap the

white grains must be most numerous, so to make a Noble race the Noble

Men must be more numerous than the others, so that their goodness,

with its good fame or renown, may cover the opposite quality which is

within. And as from a white heap of corn it would be possible to pick

up the wheat grain by grain, and substitute, grain by grain, red

maize, till, finally, the whole heap or mass would change colour, so

would it be possible for the good men of the Noble race to die out one

by one, and the wicked ones to spring up therein, who would so change

the name or fame thereof, that it would have to be called, not Noble,

but vile, or base.

And let this be a sufficient answer to the second question.

CHAPTER XXX.

As it has been shown previously in the third chapter of this treatise,

this Song has three principal parts, whereof two have been reasoned or

argued out, the first of which begins in the aforesaid chapter, and

the second in the sixteenth (so that the first through thirteen, and

the second through fourteen chapters, passes on to an end, without

counting the Proem of the treatise on the Song, which is comprised in

two chapters), in this thirtieth and last chapter we must briefly

discuss the third principal part, which was made as a refrain and as a

species of ornament for this Song; and it begins: "My Song, Against

the strayers."

Here it is chiefly to be known that every good workman, at the end of

his work, ought to ennoble and embellish it as much as possible, that

it may leave his hands so much the more precious, and more worthy of

fame. And this I endeavour to do in this part, not as a good workman,

but as the follower of one.

I say, then, "My Song, Against the strayers." "Against the strayers"

is a phrase, as, for example, from the good friar, Thomas of Aquinas,

who, to a book of his, which he wrote to the confusion of all those

who go astray from our Faith, gave the title "Contra Gentili," Against

the Heathen. I say, then, that thou shalt go, which is as much as to

say: "Thou art now perfect, and it is now time, not to stand still,

but to go forward, for thy enterprise is great. And 'when you reach

Our Lady, hide not from her that your end Is labour that would lessen

wrong.'" Where it is to be observed that, as our Lord says, "We ought

not to cast pearls before swine," because it is not to their

advantage, and it is injury to the pearls; and, as Aesop the poet says

in the first fable, a little grain of corn is of far more worth to a

cock than a pearl, and therefore he leaves the pearl and picks up the

grain of corn: reflecting on this, as a caution, I speak and give

command to the Song that it reveal its high office where this Lady,

that is, where Philosophy, will be found. And that most noble Lady

will be found when her dwelling-place is found, that is, the Soul in

which she finds her Inn. And this Philosophy dwells not in wise men

alone, but likewise, as is proved above in another treatise, wherever

the love for her inhabits, she is there. "And to such as these," I say

to the Song, "thou mayst reveal thine office, because to them the

purpose thereof will be useful, and by them its thoughts will be

gathered in."

And I bid it say to this Lady, "I travel ever talking of your Friend."

Nobility is her Friend. For so much does the one love the other, that

Nobility always seeks her, and Philosophy does not turn aside her most

sweet glance to any other.

O, what a great and beautiful ornament is this which is given to her

in the last part of this Song, by giving to her the title of Friend,

the Friend of her whose own abode is in the most secret depths of the

Divine Mind.

* * * * *

NOTE

ON THE DATE OF THE CONVITO

It is natural to suppose that Dante's death at Ravenna in 1321 caused

the Convito, a work of his latter years, to be left unfinished. But

there are arguments that have been especially dwelt upon by writers

who regard the Convito as a work begun before the conception of the

Divine Comedy, and dropped when the Poet's mind became intent upon

that masterpiece.

One argument is that the Divine Comedy is nowhere mentioned or alluded

to in the Convito. But as the place designed for the Convito is midway

between the Vita Nuova, which preceded it, and the Divine Comedy,

which was to follow, references to the poem which was not yet before

the reader would have been a fault in art.

Another argument is drawn from the fourteenth chapter of the Second

Treatise, where (on page 84 in this volume) the shadow in the Moon is

ascribed to "the rarity of its body, in which the rays of the Sun can

find no end wherefrom to strike back again as in the other parts." In

the second canto of the Purgatorio, Beatrice opposes that opinion,

whence it may be inferred that Dante had learnt better, and he speaks

of this again in a later canto (the twenty-second) as a former

opinion. This leads to an inference that the Second Treatise was

written before 1300.

Attention is due also to a passage in the third chapter of the First

Treatise (on pages 16 and 17 in this volume), in which Dante speaks of

his long exile and poverty. The exile and the wanderings of Dante

began after the year 1300. He was befriended by Guido da Polenta in

Ravenna, by Uguccione della Faggiola in Lucca, by Malaspina in the

Lunigiana, by Can Grande della Scala in Verona, by Bosone de'

Raffaelli in Gubbio, by the Patriarch Pagano della Torre in Udine. In

1311, when the Emperor Henry of Luxembourg went to Italy, Dante had

some hope of return, which passed away in 1313 when that Emperor died

in Buonconvento. Dante remained in exile. In 1321 his patron, Guido

Novello da Polenta, sent him on an embassy to Venice, in which he was

unsuccessful. The sea way being blocked, he had to return by land, and

he was struck by the malaria which caused his death by fever on the

14th of September in that year, 1321. This reference to long exile

leads to an inference that the First Treatise was written much later

than 1300.

But, again, there is a passage in the third chapter of the Fourth

Treatise (on page 171 of this volume) that points to an earlier date.

Frederick of Suabia is named as the Emperor who

held,

As far as he could see,

Descent of wealth, and generous ways,

To make Nobility.

Dante calls him "the last Emperor of the Romans," and adds, "I say

last with respect to the present time, notwithstanding that Rudolf,

and Adolphus, and Albert were elected after his death and from his

descendants." This last of the Romans was that famous Frederick II.,

who died in 1250, and of whom Dante said in his Treatise on the

Language of the People: "The illustrious heroes, Frederick Caesar and

his son Manfredi, followed after elegance and scorned what was mean;

so that all the best compositions of the time came out of their Court.

Thus, because their royal throne was in Sicily, all the poems of our

predecessors in the Vulgar Tongue were called Sicilian." Rudolf I. of

Hapsburg, founder of the Imperial House of Austria, was elected

Emperor in 1273, after a time of confusion and nominal rule. He died

in 1291, and, instead of his son Albert, Adolphus of Nassau was next

elected Emperor. But in June 1298 Albert obtained election; Adolphus

was deposed, and was soon afterwards killed in battle with his rival.

Albert was murdered on the 6th of May, 1308, and, after an interregnum

of seven months, he was succeeded by Henry VII. of Luxembourg. Now,

Dante's list does not go on from Albert to Henry. It is assumed,

therefore, that this passage must have been written before the end of

the year 1308.

There is another passage at the close of chapter vi. of the Fourth

Treatise (on page 186 in this volume) that points to a like inference

of date. Dante writes: "Ye enemies of God, look to your flanks, ye who

have seized the sceptres of the kingdoms of Italy. And I say to you,

Charles, and to you, Frederick, Kings, and to you, ye other Princes

and Tyrants, see who sits by the side of you in council." The Charles

and Frederick here addressed were Charles II. of Anjou, King of

Naples, and Frederick of Aragon, King of Sicily; and King Charles died

in the year 1310.

It has been inferred, therefore, that the four treatises of the

Convito were not written consecutively. The Second Treatise may have

been begun some time after the death of Beatrice, in 1290, time being

allowed after 1290 for the completion of the Vita Nuova and a period

of devotion to philosophic studies. That Second Treatise having been

first written, the Treatise on Nobility, the Fourth, may have next

followed; and this may have been written before the end of the year

1298. The Third Treatise may have been written later, and made to

connect the Second and the Fourth. The First Treatise, or General

Introduction, which has in it clear indication of a later date, may

have been written last, when the whole design was brought into shape.

Various reasons have been used for dating this final arrangement of

the plan for an Ethical survey of human knowledge in fifteen

treatises, and the suggested date is the year 1314. The whole work

seems to have been planned. Besides the references to the Fifteenth

Treatise, there is a glance forward to the matter of the Seventh

Treatise in the twenty-sixth chapter of the Fourth.

The question of date is not of great importance, and this may console

us though we know that it can never be settled. Here it is only

touched upon to show the significance of one or two historical

allusions in the book.