"La fiera moglie, più ch' altro, mi nuoce,"
"More than aught else, my furious wife annoys me,"—
has often been quoted as referring, with indirect bitterness, to his own miserable union with a firebrand of a woman: yet, in no passage throughout the whole of his long poem, does Dante cast the slightest shade upon her character; though, with the frankness of honest censure or undisguised resentment, he spares nobody else, friend or foe, in the distribution of what he deemed impartial justice. One thing is exceedingly in favour of his own amiable and affectionate nature, in the nearest connections of life: whenever he mentions children in his similes (and he mentions them often), it is always with exquisite delicacy or endearing playfulness; while, in the tenderest tones, he descants on their beauty, their innocence, their sports, and their sufferings. Mothers, too, are among the loveliest objects which he presents in those sweet interludes of real life which he delights to bring in, and does so with consummate address, to relieve the horrors of the infernal pit, the wearying pains of purgatory, and the insufferable glories of Paradise. Concerning Dante's wife it may therefore be fairly presumed, that she was less of either termagant or tormentor than has been generally imagined by his over-zealous editors. The petulance of Boccaccio and the gravity of Aretino (two of his earliest biographers) on this subject are ludicrously contrasted. The former affects to be quite shocked at the idea of the sublime and contemplative poet being forced to lead the dull household life of other men, and submit to certain petty annoyances of daily occurrence.—On these he expatiates most pathetically, as things which might have been, though he fairly acknowledges that he does not know that any of them were, the causes of long unhappiness and final separation between the parties. Aretino, on the other hand, in sober sadness (without any reference to the ill qualities of either), justifies Dante for condescending to be married, on the ground that many illustrious philosophers, including Socrates, the greatest of all, were husbands and fathers, and held offices of state, in perfect compatibility with their intellectual pursuits!
It should not be overlooked, in mitigation of her occasional asperities, that, Madonna Gemma being the near kinswoman of Corso Donati, Dante's most formidable and inveterate rival in the party feuds of Florence, some drops of the gall of political rancour may have been infused into the matrimonial cup. The poet's known and avowed passion for Beatrice, living and dead, was alone sufficient to afflict a high-minded woman with the rankling consciousness that she had not all her husband's heart. It is, moreover, no small proof of her submission to his will and pleasure, that their only daughter bore the name of his first—last—only love, if we are to believe all the protestations of his verse. Be these things as they may, it must be concluded that he was coupled with a most unpoetical yoke-mate; and she with a lord and master not easy to be ruled by her or any body else. It has been loosely stated that "the poet, not possessing the patience of Socrates, separated himself from his wife, with such vehement expressions of dislike that he never afterwards allowed her to sit down in his presence." When this happened—if it ever so happened—does not appear; nothing further seems certain, except that she did not follow her husband into exile: but Boccaccio himself acknowledges, that after that event, having secured (not without difficulty) a small portion of his effects from confiscation as her dower, she preserved herself and their little children from the wretchedness of absolute poverty, by such expedients of industry and economy as she had never before been accustomed to practise.
It has been already intimated, that, though in all the logomachies of the schools Dante was an eager and skilful disputant, yet he was left behind by none of his contemporaries in those personal accomplishments which became his station. In the mean while he cultivated with constitutional ardour and diligence those higher qualifications, which, in the sequel, enabled him to serve his country as a citizen, a soldier, and a magistrate, under circumstances that called forth all his talents, valour, firmness, wisdom, and discretion; though, judging from the issue, the latter failed him oftener than the former. Eloquent, brave, and resolute he always was; but not always wise and discreet. This, indeed, might be presumed; for in the pursuit of distinction,—instead of attaching himself to the selfish and mercenary professions which oftenest lead to wealth, power, and family aggrandisement,—he preferred those generous studies which most exalt, enrich, and adorn the mind, but yet, while they gratify the taste of their votary, rather advance him in moral and intellectual eminence than to temporal and substantial prosperity. These, therefore, were exercises calculated to awaken and display the energies and resources of a temper formed to conceive, attempt, and achieve great things, so far—and perhaps so far only—as depended on his individual exertions. In the solitary case wherein he had official authority to direct difficult public affairs he failed so irrecoverably, that, during the residue of his life, he was more a sufferer than an actor in the troubles of those hideous times.
Italy, it must be observed, was still distracted with strife, in every form that strife could assume, between the factions of the Guelfs and Ghibellines;—the former, adherents of the pope; the latter, of the emperor of Germany. These factions not only arrayed state against state, but frequently divided people of the same province, the same city, and the same family against one another, in the most violent and implacable hostility,—hostility, violent in proportion as it was irrational, and implacable in proportion as it was unnatural; being, in every instance, and on both sides, contrary to the interests of their respective communities. Lombardy, especially since the Cisalpine conquests of Charlemagne, had never ceased to be a snare to his successors. The popes, who at first had affected spiritual dominion only, after the grant of territorial possessions, by that deed of Constantine to Silvester, which, having disappeared from earth, may be found, according to the veritable testimony of Ariosto, in the moon, the receptacle of all lost things[7], gradually aspired to secular power. But all their ambition and influence failed, in the end, to spread their secular sovereignty beyond those provinces adjacent to Rome, which they yet retain by courtesy of the catholic potentates of Europe.
At the time of Dante's birth, the Guelf or papal party had recently recovered their ascendancy at Florence, after having been expatriated for several years, in consequence of their disastrous overthrow at the battle of Monte Aperto. The poet was therefore educated in Guelfic principles, and adhered to them till his banishment, when the perfidious interference of the pope with the independence of his native city, and the atrocious hostility of its citizens against himself and his friends, compelled him to take part with the imperialists.
The first public character in which we find the patriotic poet distinguishing himself was that of a soldier. In one of the petty wars that were perpetually occurring between the little irascible republics in the north of Italy, the Florentines gained a decisive victory over their neighbours of Arezzo (who had harboured the Ghibelline refugees), at the battle of Campaldino, A. D. 1289. On this occasion, Dante, who served among the cavalry, was not only exposed to imminent peril at the commencement of the action, when that body was partially routed by the impetuosity of the enemy's charge, but when the squadron had rallied again on reaching the lines of infantry, and thence returned to the attack, he fought in the first rank, and displayed such extraordinary valour, as to claim a proud share in the glory of that day. To this conflict, and the particular service in which he had been engaged, he seems to allude in Canto XXII. of the Inferno. Having mentioned the signal given by Barbariccia (serjeant of a file of demons, appointed to escort Dante and Virgil over a certain dangerous pass on their journey,)—a signal too absurd to be repeated here, either in English or Italian, he says:—
"I have seen cavalry upon their march,
Hush to the combat, rally on the field,
And sometimes seek for safety in retreat:
I have seen jousts and tournaments array'd;
Seen clouds of skirmishers sweep through your fields,
Ye Aretines! and spoilers, lay them waste;
Drum, cymbal, trumpet, beacon from tower-top,
And other strange or native things their signals;
But never, at the blast of instrument
So barbarous have witness'd horse or foot,
Or ship, by star or landmark, put in motion:
—With those ten demons thus we took our way;
Fell company! but, as the proverb saith,
At church with saints, with gluttons in the tavern."[8]
In the following year Dante was again in the field, at the siege of Caprona. To this he alludes in Canto XXI. of the Inferno, where, under convoy of the aforementioned fiends, he compares his fears lest they should break truce with him and his companion, to the apprehensions of the garrison of that fortress when they marched out on condition of being permitted to depart unmolested with their arms and property; but were so terrified, on seeing the multitude and the rage of their enemies, who cried, "Stop them! stop them! kill them! kill them!" as they passed along, that they submitted to be sent in irons, as prisoners, to Lucca, for safeguard.