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 A DRAMA 
 

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DANTE 
 
 A DRAMA 
 
 J. F. X. 0'< 
 
 BY J. F. X. O'CONOR, S. J., 
 
 Professor of Dante and Philosophy in St. Joseph's College, Philadelphia. 
 
 Author of " Reading and the Mind," " Cuneiform Inscriptions," 
 
 " Sacred Scenes and Mysteries," " Facts About Bookworms," etc. 
 
 Copyright 1904 
 
TJ-ft I QU ■ 1 OF 
 CONCaRkSS, 
 
 ONfc Cof»Y HfcOEIVED 
 
 Ana* t 1904 
 
 „ Oo*»YmGHT eNTRY 
 
 OUASS C XXa No. 
 
 S -LI S 
 COPY A. 
 
 .0 Pf'^ 3 
 
 ■&£*& 
 
PREFACE 
 
 T^HE play was written to show in some little measure the 
 nobility of the character of the great Catholic Poet 
 and immortal Florentine, Dante. 
 
 This is the noble Dante whom scholars and 
 students and poets have known and loved ; the high 
 minded, intellectual and spiritual being who lays bare the 
 sins of Hell, and the purification of Purgatory, and reflects 
 the teaching of St. Thomas in his sublime portrayal of 
 Paradise. How truly the great soul of Dante puts to scorn 
 1 ' the wishes of some little minds ' ' to drag his greatness 
 down ! 
 
 The play was written in collaboration with the Dante 
 class, and if it but give a nobler idea of Dante its work will 
 have been done. 
 
 The Author 
 
DANTE 
 Prom a bronze bust at Naples. 
 
"DANTE" 
 
 O, Noble Florentine, of undying fame, 
 
 Who gavest unto thy city, and, as well 
 
 To Beatrice, thy love, and who through Hell 
 
 And Purgatory and Heaven thy name 
 
 Did'st bear, and who e'er held it bitter shame 
 
 That Florence should the tale of scorn e'er tell 
 
 How she had cast thee forth. All hearts rebel 
 
 That greatness, sorrow, love, should bear such blame. 
 
 O, gentle poet, great and true, 'tis meet 
 
 That we in distant ages far, should come 
 
 To lay our humble tribute at thy feet, 
 
 And beg that thou would'st look with kindly eyes 
 
 Upon our efforts, made to fitly greet 
 
 Thee ! O Dante ! Poet of Life and Paradise ! 
 
DANTE. 
 
 All people have ever been eager to sound the praise of a great 
 man, be he poet, statesman, or warrior. But it is the poet particu- 
 larly that claims the love and admiration, not of his own countrymen 
 merely, but even of the world. Homer and Virgil are names 
 famous for centuries in civilized lands and their glory shall never 
 grow dim. Dante is the poet of the Christian world ; nay, more, 
 of the human race. 
 
 That some men of genius should despise or underrate him is 
 not wonderful, when we consider the poet and his work. Dante 
 has been styled the "Moralist." He speaks to the heart and that to 
 direct it in its duty according to the natural law and the Church's 
 guidance. But for professed admirers of the poet to so distort him 
 as to make him beneath the ordinary moral standard seems a 
 paradox. This appears to be the case in a play presented in this 
 country and abroad some months ago. Ostensibly, the moral 
 character of Dante was to be depicted. It was so offensively done, 
 and at the same time so wrongly done, as to drive the piece from 
 the stage and not add lustre to a great actor's reputation. 
 
 A native of the city next to Rome, in the whole world, famous 
 for art, learning and its high grade of culture, Dante had all the 
 advantages of the moral influence of environment upon character 
 and genius. Besides this, if we consider natural disposition and 
 talent and great assiduity, we can imagine what progress he must 
 have made in the liberal arts. 
 
 Moreover, unlike most men of speculative tendencies, he passed 
 his whole life in the most active pursuits in domestic and state 
 affairs and hence had a very wide intercourse with men and knew 
 them thoroughly. Splendidly trained in the broadening and yet 
 subtile success of philosophy and theology, together with an ardent 
 temperament, a vast knowledge, unlimited experience and all the 
 other advantages mentioned above, he was well fitted to teach his 
 fellow men. Though the simplest of his fellows can read him with 
 profit, the acutest and most learned cannot fully fathom him. 
 
 Add to his originality, his wonderful exposition of the whole 
 history and destiny of mankind and that not only in the most poetic 
 manner but also in the most scientific and orthodox way, we have 
 a poet truly surpassing even the laurel-crowned bards of yore. 
 
 It has been said that no one has ever yet fully known Dante. 
 If this is so, after six centuries of study, the man's genius is certainly 
 marvelous. Dante was of a noble and proud spirit and it was owing 
 to these qualities in his character that he had to suffer so much 
 
from his political enemies. Though a great student, he was more- 
 over extremely active in politics and, according to all the reliable 
 records of the time, he was eminent also in oratory, a fact that 
 accounts for his being sent on so many embassies of importance. 
 
 Though at one time an ardent party man, his exile seems to 
 have made him cosmopolitan in his desire of benefiting mankind. 
 Ever eager to espouse the cause of the oppressed, laboring through- 
 out his life for the good of his fellow beings, and powerful in his 
 aid and defense, he was, ever during his life, no less praised for 
 his philanthropy than for his genius. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Dante Alighieri was born in May, 1265, and died on the night 
 of the 13th of September, 132 1, at the age of fifty -six years. 
 
 He first saw Beatrice at the home of her father when each was 
 about the age of nine, and though she died in 1290, sixteen years 
 later, his love for her, idealized, lived through his poems, and 
 breathes forth the most exquisitively pure affection and devotion 
 that has ever been expressed by a human mind. 
 
 GUELPH AND GHIBELLINE. 
 
 Dante took an active part in public life, and with the Guelphs 
 fought against the Ghibellines. The Guelphs were the defenders of 
 Italian independence and municipal liberties — the Ghibellines were 
 champions of feudal rights and the old suzerainty of the Holy Empire. 
 
 In 1300 Dante was for a short time one of the Priori of 
 the Republic, the ruling powers of Florence. Two powers had 
 been formed, the Neri — the nobles, and the Bianchi — the plebeians. 
 
 His sympathy for the Bianchi won him the enmity of the Neri. 
 The Neri obtained control of Florence after their return from 
 banishment and exiled Dante in 1302. After many wanderings he 
 reached Ravenna, where, as the guest of Guido Novello da Polenta, 
 he died in 1321. His family traditions and his own inclinations 
 seemed to attach him to the Guelphs, says Ozanam, and, when dis- 
 appointed hope left him no other resource, if he seemed to pass 
 into the camp of the Ghibellines, it was because he thought there 
 to find that very cause of liberty to aid which he had fought 
 against them. The names of Guelph and Ghibelline had several 
 times changed meaning in the course of intestine struggles. Dante 
 said of both, " 'Tis hard to see which sins the most." 
 
 DANTE'S WRITINGS. 
 Dante was contemporary of Guido Cavalcanti, Cino da Pistoia, 
 Jacopo de Todi, Dante da Mojano, men filled with a poetic spirit, 
 and of the musician Casella, and the painter Giotto. 
 
In Dante's genius were united "intellect to perceive, imagina- 
 tion to idealize and will to execute." 
 
 Dante's works include, beside the Divina Commedia, the Rime, 
 the Vita Nuova, De Monarchia, De Vulgari Eloquentia, the Convito 
 or Banquet. 
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 
 
 The Divina Commedia was moulded on the customs of the 
 period, and examples taken from the whole of past poetry. "The 
 whole work," says Jacopo di Dante, his son, " is divided into three 
 parts, of which the first is named Hell, the second Purgatory, the 
 third and last, Paradise." The first treats of vice, the second of the 
 transition of vice to virtue, and the third of men made perfect. 
 
 The greatness of the soul of Dante will find an answering echo 
 in every human heart. As to the character of the poem, Dante says 
 in a letter to Can Grande della Scala : "The sense of this work 
 is not simple but, on the contrary, one may say manifold .... 
 The first is called literal, the second allegorical or moral 
 The subject then of the whole work, taken literally, is the condition 
 of souls after death, simply considered, for within and around 
 this the whole action of the work turns. But if the work be taken 
 allegorically, the subject is man, how by actions of merit or 
 demerit, through freedom of the will, he justly deserves reward or 
 punishment." 
 
 Taking the first Canto of the Inferno as a prelude, each part, 
 Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso, consists of thirty-three Cantos 
 — ninety-nine in all. 
 
 The divisions are described by Dante in the eleventh Canto. 
 
 The divisions of sins in Dante's Hell have been a subject of 
 much controversy. The primary division is based upon Aristotle : 
 
 1. Incontinence. II. Brutishness or Bestiality. III. Malice or 
 Vice. The Nine Circles of Hell would be after the Trimmers : 
 i. The Heathen or Unbaptised. 2. Carnal Sinners. 3. Gluttonous. 
 4. Avaricious. 5. The Angry. 6. Heretics. 7. Violent. 8. Hyp- 
 ocrites. 9. Traitors. 
 
 The violent are sub-divided, into violent against: 1. Neighbor. 
 
 2. Self. 3. God. 
 
 The Simple Malice is divided into: 1. Seducers. 2. Flatterers. 
 
 3. Simonists. 4. Diviners. 5. Peculators. 6. Hypocrites. 7. Thieves. 
 8. Evil Counsellors. 9. Sowers of Dissension. 10. Forgers. 
 
 Treacherous Malice against: 1. Kin. 2. Country. 3. Hospi- 
 tality. 4. Benefactors. 
 
11 The Divina Commedia " is a visionary pilgrimage through the 
 three kingdoms of the other world, from the dwelling of Lucifer 
 to the throne of God, and theology is at the root of all that the 
 poet encounters in his journey, whether by fear, sorrow or joy. 
 Philosophy, astronomy, politics, history, ancient mythology and 
 mediaeval legend are all interwoven in his many-colored web. 
 One chief and fascinating element of interest in the poem is, 
 indeed, that it presents to us, idealized, the whole culture of the 
 mediaeval Christian world, when it had attained its perfection and 
 its epoch was to close. And it was theology again which gave 
 order and unity to this varied wealth and material ; and Dante but 
 speaks the truth when he calls his work ' ' The sacred poem that hath 
 made both Heaven and earth co-partners in its toil." (Par. xxv, i.) 
 
 Contemporary witness to the theological merit of the poem is 
 furnished in the first line of Dante's epitaph, which declares him 
 4 ' master of dogmatic lore. ' ' In 1350, within thirty years of his death, 
 his picture was exposed in the church of St. Stephen's, near the 
 Ponte Vecchio, at Florence, and honored with semi-religious 
 reverence, and his poem was expounded there and in other churches. 
 The Vatican itself accords him rank as a theologian. 
 
 In Raphael's "Disputa" the most thoughtful of all his crea- 
 tions, amongst Popes, Cardinals, religious, fathers and doctors of 
 the church, by the altar, where reposes the Most Holy, stands 
 Dante with his laurel wreath. 
 
 In truth he anticipated the most pregnant developments of 
 Christian doctrine, mastered its subtlest distinctions, and treated its 
 hardest problems with almost faultless accuracy. Were all the 
 libraries in the world destroyed, and the Holy Scriptures with 
 them, the whole Catholic system of doctrine and morals might be 
 almost reconstructed out of the " Divina Commedia." 
 
 "At Ravenna, in 1857, Pius IX. placed a wreath on his tomb 
 as a witness to his Catholic loyalty and faith." Preface to Hettin- 
 ger's Divina Commedia. 
 
 Hettinger — Dante's Divina Commedia, pp. 233, 234. 
 
 In politics, philosophy and theology, Dante is essentially 
 Catholic and orthodox, and yet is claimed as an advocate of 
 scepticism and revolution. The poet was not a saint, but an erring 
 and fallible man ; pride and hate were, as he himself says, his two 
 chief faults, and Dr. Hettinger has no wish to paint him aught but 
 what he is. By his exile he was embittered against the French 
 party in Italy, and especially against Boniface VIII., under whose 
 authority the French at that time preferred to act. 
 
 Hettinger says "if reliable authorities be consulted we think 
 
 .L& 
 
that it would be found that Dante has assailed with calumnies some 
 of the Church's most holy rulers, and has met with singular leniency 
 in return. . . . We think the Holy See's treatment of the poet 
 is that of a wise and generous parent who will not allow the storm 
 of passion in an erring child to influence her recognition and 
 approval of his truer and better nature. . . . And thus the Divina 
 Commedia, notwithstanding these serious blots, remains sub- 
 stantially a magnificent exposition of the Catholic faith. It has been 
 studied and extolled by theologians and Popes." 
 
 DANTE'S CHARACTER. 
 
 Boccacio relates that "after he had humbly and devoutly 
 received all the last holy sacraments according to the rites of the 
 Church, and had made his peace with God, he gave back his 
 weary soul to his Creator on the 14th of September, being the 
 feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, to the great grief of 
 Guido and the people of Ravenna. 
 
 "Thus died Dante. Measured by man's standard he was 
 unfortunate from his youth upwards. He lost his first love ; his 
 services to his country were ill requited; he himself, accused of 
 fraud and imposture, was condemned to be burnt ; an exile, poor 
 and friendless, he wandered in foreign lands. But he was never 
 untrue to himself ; he never lost faith in his ideal, nor was false to 
 his principles ; nor did he ever cease to love and to labor for his 
 country, for science, for freedom and religion. Guido Novello 
 himself pronounced the funeral oration at Ravenna. The portrait 
 of himself, which he has drawn in his works, reveals two dark 
 shadows— pride and anger. But he atones for these faults by his 
 humble self-accusation. 
 
 "The poet rises from hatred of sin to penance, to the love of 
 God and happiness in him." 
 
 DANTE LITERATURE. 
 
 Dante's place in literature may be surmised from the Dante 
 collections. In the United States the Dante Collection of Cornell 
 has 7000 volumes, that of Pennsylvania University 2,500 ; Harvard, 
 2,267. 
 
 JJ. 
 
STUDIES IN DANTE. 
 
 Dante's Divina Commedia — Hettinger. 
 Dante and Catholic Philosophy — Ozanam. 
 Dante — Dr. Edward Moore. 
 Dante in America — Theodore W. Koch. 
 Translations — Charles Eliot Norton. 
 
 Dr. J. A. Carlyle, in the Temple Classics — Carey, Long- 
 fellow, A. J. Butler, Dean Plumptre. 
 
 Dante, His Times and His Work— A. /. Butler. 
 
 Dante — E. G. Gardner. 
 
 Dante Alighieri — Paget Toynbee. 
 
 Companion to Dante — Scartazzini. 
 
 Aids to the Study of Dante — Dinsmore. 
 
 Essay — Macaulay. 
 
 Essay— James Russell Lowell. 
 
 Essay— Thomas Carlyle. 
 
 Essay — Dean Church. 
 
 CARDINAL MANNING ON DANTE. 
 
 Cardinal Manning says of Dante that he is "the greatest of 
 poets who, by every title of genius and by the intensity of his 
 whole heart and soul, is the master-poet of the Catholic faith." 
 Excepting Ozanam' s beautiful Dante et la Philosophie Christienne 
 (translated by John A. Mooney) —for I can hardly refer to Rosetti's 
 edition— I know of no Catholic who has in our time made a 
 translation or a comment on Dante. It has fallen to non-Catholic 
 hands to honor his name. Perhaps it may be because of certain 
 burning words against the human and secular scandals in the 
 mediaeval world. Bellarmine has long ago cleared away those 
 aspersions from the Catholic loyalty of Dante. 
 
 There are three books which always seem to me to form a 
 triad of Dogma, of Poetry and of Devotion — the Summa of St. 
 Thomas, the Divina Commedia and the Paradisus Animae. 
 
 The poem unites the book of Dogma and the book of Devo- 
 tion, and is in itself both Dogma and Devotion clothed in conceptions 
 of intensity and of beauty which have never been surpassed or 
 equalled. 
 
 It was said of St. Thomas : Post summam Thomae nihil 
 restat nisi lumen glorias. It may be said of Dante : Post Dantis 
 paradisum nihil restat nisi visio Dei.— Letter of Cardinal Manning 
 to H. S. Bowden. 
 
THE PLAY. 
 
 In the writing of the " DANTE " care has been taken to alter 
 no fact of history, and to portray those events which actually 
 happened, as closely as possible. The v£ry words of Dante have 
 been used, almost invariably, and the text of Dr. John Carlyle, in 
 the Temple Classics preferably, although the translations of Charles 
 Eliot Norton, Carey and Longfellow, have been drawn upon as well 
 as many of the authors who have written of Dante — Hettinger, 
 Ozanam, Durand, Dinsmore and early as well as later writers. The 
 " DANTE " is intended as a stage drama, and it aimed at portray- 
 ing the chief events of Dante's life and of the Inferno. The 
 Purgatorio and Paradiso lend themselves to spectacular effect, and 
 the reading of them completes essentially the first Cantos. Their 
 very subtlety and sublimity place them beyond dramatic art 
 except in a rare combination of circumstances. 
 
 If the "DANTE" helps to a nobler idea of the great 
 Florentine it will have done its work. 
 
 The play of " DANTE " is given by the students of St. Joseph's 
 College, Philadelphia, on the Second and Fourth of May. Last 
 year they gave the only non-professional presentation of "Every- 
 man" with marked success. The Latin Play (given previously) 
 of the "Two Captives" attracted the attention of scholars not 
 only of the vicinity but of the United States. 
 
 The " DANTE " of the Students of St. Joseph's College, while 
 not sensational, will give at least some idea of the nobility of the 
 great Dante, and chiefly in the very words of the illustrious Poet. 
 No character or event is portrayed that is not substantially 
 historical, and the incidents include the important events and 
 thoughts of Dante's life and poem. To present Dante perfectly is 
 an ideal, and would require a Dante ; to impersonate the character 
 no other could do it as a Dante could. But at least it is hoped to 
 give a more worthy portrayal of him than recent presentations have 
 given, and the effort will be to give the best possible, of the high- 
 minded, sad-storied, nobly-gifted Florentine. 
 
THE STORY OF THE PLAY. 
 
 DANTE' S friends meet on the Plaza of Florence, discussing the 
 approaching political crisis. Dante enters at the same time 
 as Beatrice with the May-time dancers. He is the one chosen 
 to deliver the city as head of the Priori. His enemy, Corso Donati, 
 plots his downfall and banishment. In the conflict between the 
 Neri and Bianchi, Dante appeals to the Florentines and both fac- 
 tions are banished, which foments the anger of Corso Donati 
 against Dante. On return of the banished Neri, Dante's embassy 
 to Rome is foiled by the triumphant Corso, who procures Dante's 
 banishment from Florence, but is himself slain. The decree of 
 banishment is passed against Dante, who, after various wander- 
 ings, retires to Ravenna. In the meantime, he beholds in his 
 visions Beatrice, Virgil, Cerberus, the Shades in the Circles of 
 the Inferno, the Malebranche, Ugolino, the Hypocrites, Usurers, 
 Traitors and the shades in the Purgatorio and Paradiso. 
 
 While at Ravenna, Dante is invited to return to Florence on 
 humiliating conditions, which he scorns. After lamenting the past 
 glory of Florence, and proclaiming his love for Beatrice, the great 
 Poet departs for Paradise. Pier Giardino recounts the discovery 
 of the lost Cantos of the Commedia, through an apparition of 
 Dante to his son, Jacopo Dante, and the scene closes with the 
 obsequies of the Immortal Dante by Guido da Polenta at Ravenna. 
 
-^•^i^i^simzss^E ii&i ^i:^ 
 
 *Z7?-r:™TZ-r:r:-r:rz~r. .,";>t, ="v-t. rw^:\ 
 
 Bargello Portrait Painted by Giotto, 
 Marini " Restoration " 
 
SYNOPSIS OF SCENES. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — Plaza of Florence. 
 
 SCENE II. — Council Chamber of the Priori, Florence. 
 
 SCENE III. — Palace of Cardinal, Rome. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. —Dark Wood— Beatrice and Virgil. 
 SCENE II. —Dark Wood — Virgil and Dante. 
 SCENE III. — Gate of Hell — Visions of the Inferno. 
 
 i. The Door of Hell. 
 
 2. Charon and the Shades. 
 
 3. Cerberus and the Furies. 
 
 4. The Classic Poets. 
 
 5. Francesca. 
 
 6. Ugolino. 
 
 7. The Malebranche. 
 
 8. The Hypocrites. 
 
 9. The Traitors. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. —Palace of Guido da Polenta at Ravenna. 
 SCENE II. —Room in Palace of Ravenna— Death of Dante. 
 SCENE III.— Palace Hall— Obsequies of Dante. 
 
 Scenes painted by W. C. Fetters. Costumes— C. Fisher. 
 
 PROGRAMME OF MUSIC. 
 
 MARCH— "The Imperial" Anthony 
 
 OVERTURE-" Poet and Peasant" Suppe 
 
 PATROL— " Arrival of the Geeks" Moret 
 
 INTERMEZZO-" O Blarney" , Helf 
 
 SELECTION— " Popular Sounds" Von TUzer 
 
 VALSE CONCERT— " Wedding of the Winds" HoM 
 
 MARCH— " Navajo " Alstyne 
 
 SELECTION— " Prince of Pilsen" Luders 
 
 NOVELETTE— " Graces and Laces" Bratton 
 
 GAVOTTE— " Little Beauty " Bendix 
 
 EXIT MARCH— "The Social Whirl" Foots 
 
 Tg 
 
CAST OF CHARACTERS : 
 
 Thomas F. Healy 
 Leo A. Gowen 
 
 DANTE Conrad 0. Williamson 
 
 CAN GRANDE ] f Eugene A. Martin 
 
 CINO DI PISTOIA L. . „ Joseph I. Rowan 
 
 GIOTTO i Friends ot . Eugene Heine 
 
 CASELLA f Dante 1 
 
 GUIDO CAVALCANTI VaUte I 
 
 LAPO GIANNI j L Steph. J. McTague 
 
 CORSO DONATI \ Enemies of f Robert A. Kilduffe 
 
 ROSSE DELLA TORSO J Dante \ William K. Camblos 
 
 VINCENZA Arthur E. McCarron 
 
 GIOVANNI James A. Dilkes 
 
 ALTOVITI » The Priori jr James I. Daly 
 
 ALBERTI J ine ^ non \ Francis J. McDermott 
 
 COURT MESSENGER Edwin J. Saunders 
 
 FIRST GUARD Joseph V. Somers 
 
 OFFICER John I. McMahon 
 
 PAGE J. Spencer Lucas 
 
 PIETRO , Joseph A. Dougherty 
 
 JACOPO Theodore J. Town 
 
 GUIDO DA POLENTA Joseph A. Fortescue 
 
 PIER GIARDINO Frank Hardart, Jr. 
 
 THE VISIONS. 
 
 Spirits. 
 
 BEATRICE Augustine S. Hardart 
 
 VIRGIL Joseph A. Dolan 
 
 CERBERUS Henry G. Steinhagen 
 
 (Thomas J. Minnick 
 THE FURIES ■{ Lawrence V. Flick 
 
 ( Edward Scanlon 
 
 CHARON Louis J. Frank 
 
 HOMER Francis McNicol 
 
 HORACE James M. Lucas 
 
 OVID James T. Harrity 
 
 LUCAN James F. Ryan 
 
 STATIUS Anthony Stedem 
 
 The Circles of the Inferno. 
 
 THE TRIMMERS Maurice Byrne 
 
 FRANCESCA Francis X. Doyle 
 
 THE AVARICIOUS John J. McMenamin 
 
 THE ANGRY AND SULLEN Thomas F. Healy 
 
 UGOLINO William A. Hayes 
 
 THE MALEBRANCHE Eugene Martin 
 
 THE HYPOCRITES Frank Hardart, Jr. 
 
 THE TRAITORS Wm. A. Hayes 
 
 MALEBRANCHE— Leo Gowen, J. Lucas, William J. Devine, William 
 Bonniwell, Bernard McGroarty, John Gallagher, William McCloskey, John 
 J. McAninley. 
 
 NERI— Thomas J. Minnick, Francis J. McDermott, John McDonald, 
 Maurice Byrne, Francis Hogan, James Ryan, J. Hart Toland. 
 
 BIANCHI— F. X. Doyle, Anthony Stedem, Francis X. Daily, James 
 Byrne, James Dougherty, Thomas Holten, Francis Hayes. 
 
 FLORENTINES— Senators, Soldiers, Citizens, Counsellors. 
 
 DANCERS — Francis A. Downes, Daniel Stedem, Thomas Lawler, 
 Charles M. Town, Francis X. Talbot, Paul F. Parsons, Louis Artman, 
 Theodore J. Town, Robert A. Parsons, W. Hayden McFadden, Joseph A. 
 Dougherty, Joseph J. Magee. 
 
 Stage Manager: Jerome Eagle Town. 
 
PATRONS 
 
 His Excellency, Monsignor Diomede Falconio, D. D. 
 Apostolic Delegate 
 
 His Eminence, James Cardinal Gibbons 
 
 His Grace, The Most Reverend Archbishop Ryan, D. D., LL. D. 
 
 His Grace, The Most Reverend John M. Farley, D. D. 
 
 Right Reverend Edmond F. Prendergast, D. D. 
 
 Right Reverend John J. Monaghan, D. D. 
 
 PATRONESSES 
 
 Mrs. John Marie Campbell 
 
 Mrs. Bernard F. McFillen 
 
 Miss M. Brady 
 
 Mrs. William V. McGrath, Jr. 
 
 Miss Sue Teresa Costello 
 
 Mrs. John McGlinn 
 
 Mrs. T. M. Daly 
 
 Mrs. Frank McManus, Jr. 
 
 Mrs. Devereux 
 
 Mrs. N. P. McNab 
 
 Mrs. James Dolan 
 
 Mrs. John K. Moore 
 
 Mrs. F. F. Drueding 
 
 Mrs. Edward de V. Morrell 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence F. Flick 
 
 Mrs. James Nassau 
 
 Miss Agnes Fox 
 
 Mrs. D. J. O'Conor 
 
 Mrs. Felix Hanlon 
 
 Mrs. J. G. O'Keefe 
 
 Mrs. James T. Harrity 
 
 Mrs. Paul J. Parsons 
 
 Mrs. Wm. F. Harrity 
 
 Mrs. Thomas Gedney Patten 
 
 Mrs. Rebecca Haverstick 
 
 Miss Katharine Raleigh 
 
 Miss Amelia P. Henkels 
 
 Miss Anna Reilly 
 
 Mrs. Francis X. Jones 
 
 Mrs. James Robb 
 
 Mrs. Jules Junker 
 
 Mrs. M. F. Smith 
 
 Mrs. Christopher Kelly 
 
 Mrs. Catharine Steele 
 
 Mrs. Susan Kerrigan 
 
 Mrs. Charles M. Town 
 
 Miss Mary Lawless 
 
 Mrs. Herman G. Vetterlein 
 
 Mrs. C. E. Labatut 
 
 Mrs. Katherine E. Wade 
 
 Miss Anna Logue 
 
 Mrs. Philip J. Walsh 
 
 Mrs. J. E. Lonergan 
 
 Miss May G. Warren 
 
 J-2, 
 
Apostolic Delegation, 
 Washington, 
 
 April 13, 1904. 
 Reverend J. F. X. O 1 Conor, S. J., 
 
 Reverend and Dear Father :— " His Excellency, the Apostolic Delegate, 
 most willingly accedes to your request that he give his name as Patron of 
 " Dante," and feels highly honored in doing so." 
 
 Most faithfully yours in Xt., 
 
 Francis Makchetti. 
 
 Baltimore, April 11, 1904. 
 My Dear Fr. O'Conor :— 
 
 I cheerfully consent to be a Patron of the new play you have in view, to 
 be presented by the students of St. Joseph's College. 
 I hope they will do justice to the noble theme. 
 
 Faithfully yours in Xt., 
 J. Cardinal Gibbons. 
 
 Dear Fr. O Conor : — 
 
 I shall be most happy to act as Patron of " Dante," and also to see the 
 play, if you kindly let me know when it shall be performed. 
 
 Yours faithfully in Xt., 
 
 P. J. Ryan. 
 Cathedral, April 12, 1904. 
 
 18 
 
ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Plaza of Florence. 
 
 {Citizens passing and re-passing — they stop to talk, then 
 separate. Enter Can Grande and Cino di Pistoia from 
 either side of the stage}) 
 
 Can Grande. — Hail friend ! Why wearest thou so dark a mask of 
 trouble ? Or does thy visage mirror all the woes of Florence ? 
 
 Cino. — Ah ! Good Can Grande ! 
 
 Can Grande. — Why not say M Good morrow" ? 
 
 Cino. — Good morrow? Here? In Florence? At this time? 
 When men read portents in each other's eyes? And every 
 artless cloak hides clasped hand on hilt ? And every lip is 
 shaped to mouth its ' ' Guelph or Ghibelline. ' ' Good morrow 
 here ! Nay ! at such a time the word but comes amiss. 
 For what the morrow brings we know not — nay, nor dare to 
 guess. It comes and shows us what we fear to see ; and 
 when it goes, its bloody, dying rays are matched upon our 
 streets. 
 
 Can Grande. — Upon my word, an evil prophet thou, that speakest 
 but to prophesy our doom. Thy every word doth call forth 
 gibbering shades of ruin, dread and drear. I ' faith, thou 
 croakest but ill omens. I prithee, friend, be cheerful an' 
 thou can' st. We are not come so near to ruin yet. 
 
 Cino. — No evil prophet I, but speaker of the truth. But thou, 
 Grande, livest but in thy books, and lookest on our city with 
 unseeing eyes. Thy pleasant home no scream of Guelph nor 
 shouted cry of Ghibelline doth desecrate. Thou hearest 
 but a whisper of the truth. 
 
 For us without, the very air is rampant with contending 
 strife. And every morn brings but the fear that ere the sun 
 
has set, the streets of Florence will run full crimson with the 
 life blood of her sons. 
 
 But, an' thou thinkest I speak with ill advisement, see 
 Giotto comes. Of him ask question. Hear thou from him, 
 if now I told thee aught but truth. 
 
 {Enter Giotto.) 
 
 Can Grande. — Friend Giotto, greeting. Can'st thou not bear less 
 evil tidings than Ser Cino, who tells me that we Florentines 
 are doomed. That Florence rent by ill dissension is, and 
 every dawn but nears the crisis. 
 
 Giotto. — V faith, 'tis as he has said. But through the rifted 
 curtain of our fate there gleams a ray of hope. For Provi- 
 dence with ever watchful eye upon our city, o' er guarding, 
 for every danger sends a fitting help and so in humble guise 
 our saviour comes. A man of learning and withal of action. 
 God's own is he, oft swept wi' heaven's inspiring breath. 
 Pure, whole-souled, a man to whom his conscience is his 
 king. No thought of petty strife, ignobling brawl e'er 
 enters in his heart. With love as for a mother, loves he 
 Florence, deplores her wounds and, as I think, her saviour 
 will he prove. 
 
 Can Grande. — Of whom speaks he, friend? 
 
 Cino. — Of a man whose intellect, far -piercing through the common 
 subtleties, untrammeled by its earthen fetters, roams afar 
 within the realms of genius. 
 
 Giotto. — Aye, of one whose mind, not clinging to one thing, 
 enfolds within its knowledge all the arts. In music lives his 
 soul, and sculptured art, and even my poor skill with brush 
 and canvas holds his eye. Grasp thou of whom we speak ? 
 
 Can Grande. — Nay, on my faith, I cannot hazard guess. For such 
 a man as this, if earth holds such, were fit to gather reverence 
 of us all. 
 
Cino. — Well said ! He lives indeed — lives here within the city I 
 Aye, and some there are who, like the curs they follow,, 
 snarl at him, and hate him for his genius and himself. Thou 
 knowest him. Think man, bestir thy wits ! 
 
 Giotto. — Aye, and oft-times hast thou gazed upon my portrait of 
 him in the Bargello chapel. 
 
 Can Grande. — Why friends — it cannot be— yet must be / ' Tis 
 
 All.— Dante ! 
 
 Brunetto. I pray he comes this day; for in the light of this new 
 wisdom will I find new dignity in him, new grace and cause 
 to love. 
 
 (A noise without as of a crowd approaching. ) 
 
 Cino.— Stand back, good friends. Here come the May-time 
 dancers. 
 
 {Enter dancers.) 
 
 Casella. — Can Grande, is it not a marvel how gifted is our Dante ? 
 Not only in painting hath he wondrous art, but in music, 
 in which we spend many sweet hours. 
 
 Can Grande. — In poetry, as well, does he revel with Virgil, Horace 
 and Ovid. Taken by the sweetness of knowing the truth 
 of things concealed in Heaven, and finding no other pleasure 
 dearer to him in life, he left all other worldly care, and 
 watching in his studies acquired the science which adorns 
 and explains his verses. 
 
 Giotto. — And I remember how upon the tablet he drew an angel. 
 Guido. — Hast heard him speak of Beatrice? 
 
 Lapo. — Yea ! has he not longed for me and thee to be wafted 
 by enchantment over the sea wherever we may list, shielded 
 from fortune and evil times, and bid the enchanter bring 
 Monna Vanna and Monna Bice and that other lady into the 
 barque, where we shall discourse and be forever happy. 
 
 {Enter Dante.) 
 
 nullum ■ IIIWIIIIIIIIHI1IH1M1WI1MIM11 
 
All.— Hail ! Dante ! Hail ! 
 
 Dante. — Good friends, good morrow. I thank you for your greet- 
 ing. Ah, Ser Cino, Can Grande, Giotto, glad am I to find 
 my friends thus soon. 
 
 Giotto. — How goes the world, Ser Dante? 
 
 Dante. — As ever, and that is as thou well knowest, Ser Giotto. 
 My world, good Cino, holds few friends and many enemies. I 
 pray you, hath the Lady Beatrice passed this way ? 
 
 Giotto. — Nay, Dante. An' 'twere so, thy heart would tell ere 
 we had breath to breathe her name. 
 
 Dante. — Aye, so it would. I mind me of that day when first I 
 saw her. Clad she was in raiment most becoming, and her 
 beauty, stamped that morn upon my brain, hath never left 
 me since, nor the chaste love it first awaked. 
 
 Guido. — Tell me, Dante, when first thou sawest thy Beatrice. 
 
 Dante. — Ah, me ! a day in life it was, when first my eyes rested 
 upon her, who is all beauty and all loveliness of life and 
 holiness of heart. 'Twas on a May day, such as this, and 
 I was at her father's house, Folco Portinari. 
 
 Guido. — A mere child was she in years. 
 
 Dante. — Already nine times after my birth the heaven of light 
 had returned, as it were to the same point, when there 
 appeared the glorious lady of my mind, who was by many 
 called Beatrice, who knew not what to call her. 
 
 Lapo. — Thou wert then much older, as it seems. 
 
 Dante. — Nay, indeed, she appeared to me at the beginning of 
 her ninth year, and I saw her about the end of my ninth. 
 Her dress, a subdued and goodly crimson, girdled and 
 adorned as but suited her tender age. At that moment 
 I saw most truly the spirit of life which has its dwelling in 
 the secretest chamber of my heart. 
 
 £&« 
 
Guido. — And often since hast thou seen her? 
 
 Dante. — Not so, but she liveth ever in my heart and mind. 
 
 Lapo. — Lo, there she comes, radiant with beauty. 
 
 {Enter Beatrice and ladies and walks slowly across 
 rear of stage. ) 
 Giotto {aside to Can Grande. ) — See, comes the Lady Beatrice. 
 
 Can Grande. — But thou sawest her not sooner than our Dante's 
 
 heart told him of her coming. 
 {Dante starts at seeing her and gazes intently till she disappears.) 
 
 Dante. — Ah, Can Grande, I had hoped that she would grace this 
 festive day, but dull it seemed and sorry 'till the lustre of 
 her presence shed a golden 
 
 Can Grande. — Ah, Dante, I pray you flatter not. Such words do 
 ill beseem such as you. Leave that to others. From 
 you but words of wisdom e'er should fall, to take seed in 
 the listening ears of all, outblossom, and e'en should prove 
 the calming peace of Florence. 
 
 Dante. — Ah, Can Grande, how thy words do burn my brain. My 
 life to her I dedicate, to make it what she will to have it be. 
 ( Chorus dances out. ) 
 
 Guido. — Of late have any lines been added to the earlier verse ? 
 
 Dante. — It was given me to behold a wonderful vision, wherein 
 I saw things which determined me that I would say nothing 
 further of this blessed one until such time as I could dis- 
 course more worthily concerning her. And to this end 
 I labor all I can, as she in truth knoweth. If it be His 
 pleasure through whom is the life of all things to continue 
 my life a few years, it is my hope to write of her what hath 
 not before been written of any woman. After which it 
 may deem good to the master of life to call my spirit 
 to behold the glory of its lady, who gazes on the glorious 
 countenance of Him who is forever blessed. 
 {Exit Dante and Guido. R. I.) 
 
(Enter Corso Donati and Rosse delta Torso. R. III.) 
 
 Corso. — The Bianchi have heard of our meeting in the church and 
 are planning to defeat us. 
 
 Rosse. — Aye, and they will appeal to the Podesta and Dante will 
 lend ears to them against the Neri. 
 
 Corso. — Dante ! How I hate that name ; and the man — I hate 
 him for the honor he seems to steal from the heart of 
 Florence, and I hate the man for he scorned me this morn 
 upon the Plaza. 
 
 Rosse. — Be we then swift to send our embassy to Boniface, that 
 Charles of Valois may come anon and win peace for Florence. 
 
 Corso. — Yea ! must we outwit the keen minded Dante, and should 
 he think to send envoys to Rome, there must we be before, 
 and fill the Papal ear with fear of Dante' s power in the fairest 
 city of Florence. Yea ! we shall plan and scheme and plot 
 and play until we bring his ruin, for whilst he rules, no hope 
 remains for me to fill ambition's dreams. 
 
 Rosse. — I'm with thee, Corso, should a strife occur of Neri and 
 Bianchi here. 
 
 Corso. — Before a hand be raised to check we'll do our work in 
 Rome. 
 
 (Curtain. ) 
 
ACT I. 
 
 Scene II. — Council Chamber of the Priori. 
 
 {Dante and his colleagues seated at a table}) 
 
 Dante. — My friends, methinks we shall have weighty work to do 
 to-day. Ah ! so soon. 
 
 {Enter Messe?iger. L. I.) 
 
 Messenger. — My lords, a party of nobles craves admittance to the 
 Council. 
 
 Dante. — Show them hither. 
 
 {Enter the Bianchi, fully armed. L. I. go to Rt. Fro?it.) 
 
 Dante. — What now, good friends? 
 
 Guido Cavalcanti. — My lords, we do come here to protest. The 
 party of the Neri, having assembled together in secret 
 in the Church of Sante Croce, dispatched thence a mes- 
 senger to our Holy Father, requesting him to send hither 
 Charles, Duke of Valois, to preserve order in our city. 
 Against such act do we protest, knowing full well they 
 secretly desire our banishment. My lords, we ask for justice. 
 
 Dante. — And that ye shall have to the full extent. 
 
 {Enter Messenger. L. /) 
 
 Messenger. — My lords, some nobles without beg speech with thee. 
 
 Dante. — Admit them. 
 
 {Enter the Neri, also armed. L. I.) 
 
 Corso Donati. — My noble lords, much have we been shocked at 
 seeing the honorable Bianchi equipped with armor fully, and 
 so we have come to ask the council by whose authority have 
 they armed themselves. 
 
 Guido Cal. — My very dear friend, if mine eyes deceive me not, 
 thou art not guiltless of the trappings of war. 
 
 Corso. — 'Tis well, my friend, to meet force with force. 
 
 J21. 
 
Guido. — Aye ! 'tis well, also, to betake thyself to the hidden sanc- 
 tuary of a Church, there to hold thy secret meeting that 
 could not bear the light of day. 
 
 Chorus of Neri. — An insult {all draw swords) — avenge it by 
 our Lady ! — to arms ! 
 
 Dante. — Gentlemen, before the Council? 
 
 Chorus. — Aye ! before Heaven. 
 
 {In single combat Cor so kills Guido. ) 
 
 {Enter the Florentines, who overcome the combatants, and order is 
 
 restored. ) 
 
 Dante {to the Priori). — My lords, ye have witnessed the disastrous 
 quarrel just now taken place. The sacred chamber of the 
 Council has been desecrated. To me it seems the offence is 
 worthy of exile. What say you, my lords ? 
 
 Altoviti. — 'Tis as you have said ; let them be exiled. 
 
 Alberti. — Aye ! my lord, the leaders should be exiled. 
 
 Dante. — Then let the degree of banishment be published at once. 
 
 Podesta. — We hereby banish from the City of Florence of the 
 party of the Neri, Corso Donati, Rosse della Torso, Geri 
 Spini, Giachonotto di Pazzi to Castello della Pievi. Of the 
 Bianchi, Gentile de Cerchi, Torrigiano de Cerchi, Baldinaccio 
 Aldiniari, to Serrazana {reading the names of combatants.) 
 
 Alberti. Methinks it would be well to send to Our Holy 
 Father an ambassador to press him to exert his mighty 
 influence to secure peace in Florence. Think ye not it 
 would be well ? 
 
 Altoviti. — As thou hast said, and seems it well to me that Dante 
 and Lapo Gianni should start for Rome at once. 
 
 Dante. — Florence is my mistress. Her slightest wish is my com- 
 mand. And so at her bidding, I shall go to Rome. 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
ACT I. 
 
 Scene III. — Courtyard of the Cardinal's Palace 
 at Rome — Guards at Entrance on Left. 
 
 {Enter Rosse delta Torso, Corso Donati and Train.) 
 
 Corso. — So there thou hast it ; we must win ; for Florence won, 
 means death to all accursed Ghibellines. 
 
 Rosse. — Aye, willingly. A curse upon them all, say I. 
 
 Corso. — But, Rosse, think not that while we linger here, they'll 
 carry on their schemes in Florence easily ? 
 
 Rosse. — 'Twas what I feared, indeed. We linger here and yet 
 there may be danger rising. What thinkest thou of Florence ? 
 
 Corso. — Florence? {laughs) Nay! nay! good friend Rosse, 
 Florence, with all her nest of Ghibellines, is trembling in 
 the hollow of our hand. 
 
 Rosse. — I see not how ; it seems not so to me. 
 
 Corso. — Come, sit thee here and listen. This is how. Charles, 
 Duke of Valois, is in Florence now — our chief — strong — 
 leagued with us, to crush the Ghibellines. In numbers we 
 hold Florence easily. 
 
 Rosse. — But thinkest thou that the Ghibellines are still ? Have 
 they not leaders ? Aye, and foremost of them is he whom 
 we fear most. Thou knowest of whom I speak. 
 
 Corso. — Aye, Dante — my curse be on him, for he thwarts my 
 every move. But see, we have him — clipped of wings, the 
 falcon soon will fall and watch thou well and thou shalt see 
 a fall most wondrous great. 
 
 Rosse. — Of Dante speakest thou ? 
 
 _zz_ 
 
Corso. — Aye, of him. We have him now. He comes to Rome — 
 has been here these last days, to plead the Ghibelline cause. 
 But gold, bright shiny gold, my hands have spread and so 
 he gains not his end. And e'en if he does reach the 
 Cardinal, 'twere worse than useless to his cause. 
 
 Rosse. — But Dante ? Thou would' st not kill ? 
 
 Corso. — Nay, nay, not I. For I would save him for a living death, 
 a mockery of life, a very living hell. With the Priori we 
 may do as we will. And ere not long thou' It see the fall 
 I spoke of. 
 
 {Enter Dante and friends. He makes for the Palace 
 entrance, but the guards cross halberds . ) 
 
 First Guard.— Thou can'st not see the Cardinal now, my Lord. 
 
 Dante. — So 'tis ever. I but idle here. There's something here, 
 I know not what, that holds me back from audience. Three 
 days thus have I tried and ' tis ever the same. Yet what 
 other course to take ? 
 
 Cino Pistoia. — Despair not, noble Dante. Thou wilt yet save 
 Florence. 
 
 Corso {advancing). — Good morrow. {Dante ignores him). I 
 pray thou art not sudden stricken silent. Good morrow 
 {louder). 
 
 Dante. — Good morrow. A greeting from such as thou were like 
 a curse. 
 
 Corso. — So, so, still friendly as when last we met. 
 
 Dante. — 'Twas of thy own conceiving. Mock me not. 
 
 Corso.— What, I mock the noble Dante? Nay, not I. I bow 
 before the poet. Noble genius, take mine homage. Savior 
 of Florence ! {Retires laughing. ) 
 
 28 
 
Cino. — An evil man. Heaven help us if Guelphs o'ercome us 
 with Corso Donati as chief. ( They converse. ) 
 
 (Enter Page.) 
 
 Page. — Audience for Corso Donati. 
 
 Corso. — Most willing I. Wait here (to his train). Good Rosse, 
 wait me here. (Enters Palace. ) 
 
 (Enter Messenger.) 
 First Guard. — No entrance here. 
 
 Messenger. — I bring a message here from Florence. See, it 
 bears the Prion's seal. (He enters.) 
 
 Dante.— Look, Cino, a messenger from Florence. 
 
 Rosse (aside). — Ah, methinks the fall were here. 
 
 (Enter officer of Cardinal' s household.) 
 
 Officer. — Ser Dante, come not here again. No audience the 
 Cardinal has for you to-day, nor in the future. 
 
 Dante. — What? Why what is this? I come accredited from 
 Florence here to Rome. 
 
 Officer. — I bear the Cardinal's words. 
 
 Cino. — Ah, so lies the land, indeed? Our aim is but the good of 
 Florence 'gainst the plotter's part. 
 
 Officer. — Silence, and take thee hence, for here no longer mayest 
 thou stay. 
 
 (Messenger seeking Dante. ) 
 
 Messenger. — Is there, perchance, among you one Dante Alighieri ? 
 
 Dante (advancing). — Aye ! there is. 
 
 Messenger. — I bear this message from the Priori. In token 
 thereof, see the seal. 
 
 7Q 
 
Dante {taking the message). — My thanks. Good Guido, give 
 him gold, I pray. 
 
 {Re-enter Cor so. ) 
 
 Corso {aside to Rosse). — Ah ! Watch now. 
 
 {Dante breaks seal and reads. ) 
 
 Dante. — O God, what sin of mine is this Thou dost avenge? O 
 friends, mark ye what act of violence the Neri plot. 'Tis 
 not enough to rob me of my lands ; they banish me; O God, 
 Thy help I pray. Now Justice, break Thy scales ! 
 
 Cino. — Come, Dante ! Up and return to Florence ; face thy foes 
 and discomfit them with truth ! 
 
 Dante. — Return? And I am banished ! Dost know the meaning 
 of that same word — banished ? To live forever out of sight 
 and sound of all we love ; to bear a felon's curse ; to tread 
 all paths but that which leads to home ; to live and die 
 unloved, misjudged. 
 
 Cino {reading paper). — Banished for the public good. 
 
 All. — What ! Dante ! 
 
 Dante. — Me banished? No, though my bones may lie in exile's 
 grave. Dear country, worthy of triumphal fame, mother of 
 high-souled sons, my heart doth fill with grief and shame 
 hearing what traitorous ones do in thee. Thou didst reign 
 happy in the fair past days. Drive out that baleful evil in 
 thee, and put away the sons who have made thy flowers all 
 foul and frail. Turn to her, good citizens and true, and 
 pray that she renew a nobler life. Florence is part of me 
 and I of her, and linked is our fame or shame. 
 
 Corso. — The links do gape a bit apart. 
 
 Cino. — Thou howling cur ! Get thee hence and rest in rottenness. 
 Leave me7i alone ! 'Tis like thee thus to gibe the fallen ! 
 
Corso. — Good morrow, noble Dante. {Laughs.} Fare thee well, 
 savior of Florence ! ( Corso laughs. ) 
 
 Dante. — Banished ! A felon ! No ! Though banished, still I'm 
 Dante ; still poet ; still have life 
 
 His Friends. — And friends ! 
 
 {Exit with two of his friends. ,) 
 
 Corso {as they go). — I must hie me forth and haste my way to 
 home — to Florence. {Calling) Hast a message? Come, 
 Rosse. ( They laugh. ) 
 
 {Advance Giovanni da Polenta and Vincenzo Verli, two of 
 Dante* s train. They block the way. ) 
 
 Vincenza. — Nay, stop awhile, I beg. I have somewhat to say. 
 
 Corso. — Good friend, say on. {Piously) May Heaven bless thy 
 words. But I, alas, must on my way. 
 
 Vincenza. — I prithee stop awhile. I would not that I should 
 use violence. 
 
 Corso. — Violence? Speak not so to thy betters, fellow ! 
 
 Rosse. — Shall I run him through? 
 
 Cino. — Corso, but a short while since thou wert pleased to make 
 but a sorry joke of noble Dante. 
 
 Corso. — Aye, that did I, and with good spirit. And now I'll 
 joke with thee. 
 {Strikes him across the face. ) 
 
 Cino. — Nay, good friend. The wittiest part is yet to come. 
 {Throwing his glove in Corso 1 s face). 
 
 Corso. — Now, by the rood 
 
 Cino — Fight, Villain ! {Cino and Corso fight ; Corso is killed.) 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
ACT I. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 {Dante alone. Two Florentine boys run in on tip-toe, stop, 
 look at Dante ; look, listen; then say: "Shi") 
 
 Both, — Sh ! {Look to back, right, left.) 
 
 Pietro {pointing to Dante, whispering.) — Dante! 
 
 Jacopo {shakes his head — looks.) — Yes. 
 
 Pietro. — They say he sees visions. 
 
 Jacopo {puckers mouth.) — Oo, oh ! Visions ! What's visions? 
 
 Pietro. — Ghosts. 
 
 Jacopo. — Live ghosts ? 
 
 Pietro. — Live ghosts ! ( Contemptuously. ) There' s no live ghosts ; 
 the' re all dead. 
 
 Jacopo {looks scared.) — Dead ghosts ! And Dante sees 'em? 
 
 Pietro. — Ye ep. He sees 'em. {Slowly shaking his head.) 
 
 Jacopo. — -Are you afraid of ghosts ? 
 
 Pietro. — No, I'm not afraid ! {ooh ! shivers, jumps, looks around, 
 shakes.) I'm not afraid a . . f . . raid .... 
 
 Jacopo. — Who said he saw 'em ? 
 
 Pietro. — My father told my mother. 
 
 Jacopo. — Oh ! that's different, if it was yer mother told yer 
 father ; women's always seein' visions or ghosts — or some- 
 thin' . What sort o' ghosts did he see ? 
 
 Pietro. — Shades. 
 
 Jacopo. — Shades? Lampshades? Window shades ? 
 
 Pietro. — No shades. {Shudders. ) That' s what mother told me . 
 
 Jacopo. — Where did he see 'em? In the woods? 
 
 Pietro. — Naw ! In Hell. 
 
 Jacopo. — In where? 
 
 Pietro.— Hell ! 
 
Pietro. — Oh! Oo ! {Looking at Dante.) It makes the cold 
 shivers run up and down my back — just like when you're 
 goin' to bed in the dark — an' you think you hear some- 
 thin' — and you can't see anything — and you don't know 
 where you are — and you — you think there's shades—or 
 something — and you feel so scared — you want to scream — 
 and you — you're just too scared to scream — and you can 
 hear your own breath puffing like an adder. Did y'ever feel 
 like that — scared to death ? 
 
 J acopo. — Yes — and — I — feel — kind — o' scared now. 
 
 Pietro. — And mother said he saw visions and shades in Purgatory 
 and in Paradise. 
 
 Jacopo. — Well, how on earth did he get back? 
 
 Pietro. — You mean — how did he get back on earth? 
 
 Jacopo. — Well, how did he get back? 
 
 Pietro. — Guess he was scared back ; 'cause you can't get back 
 
 out of Hell, and you, and you don't want to get back out 
 
 of Heaven. 
 
 Jacopo. — Let's go ; I'm scared, but don't run. Dont let's r-u-n. 
 
 Pietro. — Say, I'm gettin' scared; feel kind o' creepy — near 
 that {Points to Dante.) 
 
 Jacopo. — No, don't let's run. Oh ! Oh ! ( Walk slowly, trot, then 
 run with frightened, smothered scream. ) 
 
 {Dante rises. Monologue. ) 
 
 Dante. — When my soul seems to go forth from body, and my 
 eyes meet the things of the world beyond — scenes beyond 
 the ken of mortal mind — thoughts sublime beyond human 
 utterance — vast and wide as creation — ranging from the 
 depths of the abyss up to the throne of the Most High — 
 and then I come back to this world — it palls upon me — 
 for here is sin — vice — misery — the littleness of the souls 
 of men — the emptiness of human dreams — the bitter dis- 
 appointment of the ideals — but there is God's unfailing 
 justice — there God's all sinless sanctity — there the beauty 
 and glory of the face of God. 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — Dark Wood. 
 
 ( Virgil alone — walks across stage ; and back. Beatrice appears 
 to him — Dark stage — Spot light suddenly on Beatrice — 
 She calls Virgil?) 
 
 Beatrice. — Virgil ! Poet of Mantua ! Hearken unto me. 
 
 Virgil. — O lady, fair and blessed, why callest thou me? 
 
 Beatrice. — O courteous Mantuan spirit, whose fame still lasts in 
 the world, and will last as long as time, my friend is so 
 impeded in his way upon the desert shore, that he has turned 
 back for terror, and I fear that he may already be so far 
 astray that I have come too late for his relief. 
 
 Virgil. — I pray you to command me. 
 
 Beatrice. — Go now, and with thy ornate speech and with what is 
 necessary for his escape, help him so that I may be consoled 
 thereby. 
 
 Virgil. — Pray, fair lady, tell me who thou art who thus commandest 
 me and whence thou comest ? 
 
 Beatrice. — I am Beatrice, and I come from a place of bliss, 
 whither I desire to return. 
 
 Virgil. — Then tell me why thou hast left that place of bliss? 
 
 Beatrice. — Love moved me, that makes me speak, and when I 
 shall be before my Lord, I oft will praise thee to Him. 
 
 u 
 
Virgil. — O lady of virtue, through whom alone mankind excels 
 all that is contained within the Heaven which has the smallest 
 circle, so grateful to me is thy command that my obeying, 
 were it done already, seems tardy ; it needs not that thou 
 more explain to me thy wish. But tell me the cause why 
 thou forebearest not to descend into this center here below, 
 from the spacious place to which thou dost long to return ? 
 
 Beatrice. — Since thou desirest to know thus far, I will tell thee, 
 briefly, why I fear not to come within this place. Those 
 things alone are to be feared that have the power of hurting, 
 the others not, which are not fearful. 
 
 Virgil. — Do not then these miseries touch thee and the flames 
 burn thee ? 
 
 Beatrice. — No, for I am made such by God in His grace. 
 
 Virgil. — Blessed spirit, was this thy whole reason? 
 
 Beatrice. — No, she who is the noblest Lady in Heaven sent Lucia, 
 enemy of all cruelty, to me, and she advised me to help him 
 who loved me so, that for me he left the vulgar crowd. 
 
 Virgil. — My noble lady, thou hast spoken well, and at once thy 
 bidding I shall do. 
 
 Beatrice. — Mayest thou succeed, by grace of God. 
 
 {Dark stage — Beatrice disappears suddenly.) 
 
 35 
 
ACT II. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 (Enter Dante from the side — walks near to Virgil^) 
 
 Dante. — Have pity on me, whate'er thou be, whether shade or 
 veritable man. 
 
 Virgil. — Not man, a man I once was. 
 
 Dante. — Who wert thou? 
 
 Virgil. — Virgil I am, or rather Virgil I was. 
 
 Dante. — O glory and light of other poets ! May the long zeal 
 avail me, and the great love that made me search thy 
 volumes. Thou art my master and my author ; thou alone 
 art he from whom I took the good style that hath done me 
 honor. 
 
 Virgil. — But thou ; why returnest thou to such disquiet ? Why 
 ascendest not the delectable mountain which is the beginning 
 and cause of all gladness ? 
 
 Dante. — O ! Virgil, when I commenced to mount the steep, a 
 Leopard, light and very nimble and covered with spotted 
 hair, impeded my way ; then a Lion seemed coming upon 
 me with head erect and furious with hunger, so that the air 
 seemed to have fear thereat ; and after him a She-Wolf, that 
 looked full of all cravings in her leanness, brought such 
 heaviness upon me with the terror of her aspect, that I lost 
 the hope of ascending. 
 
 Virgil. — Thou must take another road, for the beast, because of 
 which thou criest, lets not men pass her way, but so entangles 
 that she slays them. 
 
 Dante. — But, O ! poet,' how am I to know this other road ? 
 
 36 
 
Virgil. — Follow me and I will be thy guide, and lead thee hence 
 through an eternal place, where thou shalt hear the hopeless 
 shrieks, shalt see the ancient spirits in pain, so that each 
 calls for a second death. 
 
 Dante. — Poet ! I beseech thee by that God Whom thou knowest 
 not — that I may escape this ill and worse — lead me where 
 thou now hast said, so that I may see the Gate and those 
 whom sorrow makes so sad. 
 
 {Exit Virgil and Dante, as though about to go around 
 the hill — Virgil first, and Dante following after. ) 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
 AOm 
 
ACT II. 
 
 Scene III.— The Visions. 
 
 {Dante and Virgil before the Gate of Hell.) 
 
 Dante. — {Looking at the inscription; gesture of terror ; pauses; 
 turns to Virgil ; speaks. ) 
 Master, what are these words of colour obscure that I see 
 written above the Gate ? 
 
 ' ' Leave all hope, ye that enter, 
 Through me is the way into the doleful city, 
 Through me the way into the eternal pain, 
 Through me the way among the people lost, 
 And eternal I endure— leave all hope ye that enter." 
 
 Their meaning is hard. 
 Virgil — Here must all distrust be left ; all cowardice must here 
 be dead. We are come to the place where I told thee 'we 
 should see the wretched people who have lost the good of 
 intellect. 
 
 {Dark stage ; flashes of light ; dim figures moving ; 
 
 rushing of fire ; sighs ; plaints ; deep waitings. Strange 
 
 tongues; horrible outcries ; words of pain; tones of anger; 
 
 voices deep and hoarse ; sounds of hands. Dante listens 
 
 with signs of horror and repeats. ) 
 
 VISION —THE TRIMMERS. 
 
 Dante. — Master, what is this that I hear? And who are these 
 that are so overcome with pain ? I hear sighs, plaints and 
 deep wailings sounding through the starless air ; it makes 
 me sadly weep ; strange tongues ; horrible outcries ; words 
 of pain ; tones of anger ; voices deep and hoarse ; and 
 sounds of hands amongst them. 
 
 Virgil. — These dreary souls are those Trimmers living without 
 blame or praise, for themselves ; Heaven chased them forth 
 to keep its beauty ; and Hell receives them not, for the 
 wicked would have some glory over them. 
 
 Dante. — What makes them lament so bitterly? 
 
 *8 
 
Virgil. — They have no hope of death ; their blind life is so mean 
 they envy every other lot ; Mercy and justice disdain them. 
 Let us not speak more of them. They pass, but look thou 
 again. Lo ! the old man, white with ancient hair, shouting 
 out to yon depraved spirits. 
 
 ( Charon in his barque appears. ) 
 
 Charon. — I come to lead souls to the other shore, into the eternal 
 darkness, into fire and into ice. But thou who art there alive, 
 depart from those who are dead. A lighter boat must carry 
 thee. 
 
 Virgil ( To Charon. ) — Charon, vex not thyself : thus it is willed 
 there, where what is willed can be done ; and ask no more. 
 
 Virgil ( 72? Da?ite. ) — My son, those who die under God's wrath all 
 assemble here from every country. They are prompt to pass 
 the river. Divine justice spurs them so that fear becomes 
 desire ; by this way no good spirit ever passes. 
 
 Dante. — The very thought of my terror bathes me now with sweat. 
 
 Virgil. — Let us behold these who dwelt in this blind world. 
 
 Dante. — How shall I stay when thou art filled with fear, who art 
 my strength in doubt. 
 
 Virgil. — Their anguish doth paint on my face pity, which thou 
 takest for fear. 
 
 VISION.— THE PAGAN POETS. 
 
 Dante. — Ah ! Virgil, what sighs are these that tremble in the air? 
 
 Virgil. — They, Dante, do arise from the ineffable desire of them 
 who sinn'd not in the times of Pagandom, and who, being 
 unbaptized, see not the glory of the Godhead. And I, 
 Dante, am of them. 
 
 Dante. — But who? 
 
 Virgil. — They come. 
 
 {A number of the Shades here pass before Dante and 
 Virgil. ) 
 
First Shade. — Honour the great Poet ! 
 Second Shade. — Who was, who is, who will be ! 
 Third Shade. — His shade returns that was departed. 
 
 Virgil. — Mark him with sword in hand. The lord of all, that is 
 Homer; and him, upon whose lips there seems to hang a 
 jest. He is Horace ; after whom comes Ovid ; and last is 
 Lucan. 
 
 Dante. — I know you all, and in my knowledge honour you ; 
 masters of my study have you been. But am I worthy you ? 
 
 First Shade. — Thou art of us. 
 
 Second Shade. — A Poet. 
 
 Third Shade. — The Sixth. 
 
 Dante. — Your pupil, my masters. 
 
 {Shades vanish.) 
 
 Dante. — {To Virgil) Gone are the lords of highest song, that 
 eagle-like soars high above the rest. But w r ho are these 
 approaching silent and majestic ? 
 
 {Number of Shades enter. ) 
 
 Virgil. — Heroes of elder days, men who lived so that the world 
 knew of their living ; Hector ; Caesar armed with falcon 
 eyes ; Brutus who expelled the Tarquin ; and there, alone, 
 apart, the Saladin. 
 
 Dante. — And these? 
 
 Virgil. — Knowest him not, the master of those who know and 
 with him Socrates and Plato. A glory to be treasured in 
 the heart it is, even to have seen them. 
 
 Dante. — Ah, yes ! I see also Tully and Seneca, the moralist, 
 Euclid, and near him Averrhoes, who made the great 
 comment. 
 
 Chorus of Shades. — Welcome, Dante, and Farewell. 
 
 ( They vanish, ) 
 
Dante. — Ah, what a constellation of great minds was this? But, 
 like a galaxy that shines in blackest night, its rays are 
 swallowed up in darkness. 
 
 Virgil. — For all eternity. 
 
 Dante. — Eternity that endeth not forever. 
 
 {Cerberus appears, stands and growls.) 
 
 Dante. — O thou fierce and strange monster, with three throats 
 and dog-like in thy barking, thine eyes are red, thy beard 
 greasy and black — thy hands possessed of claws, with which 
 thou clutchest and dost flay and piecemeal rend the spirits ; 
 wilt thou destroy us like them ? O pacify him, noble Sage, 
 ere he devour us. ( Virgil takes some earth and casts it 
 into his gullet. Cerberus disappears and Ciacco comes upon 
 the scene. ) 
 
 VISION.— CARNAL SINNERS. 
 Dante. — Who are ye that are swept by the hellish storm that 
 whirls and smites you ? Master, who are those people whom 
 the black air lashes ? 
 
 The Sensual. — We are the Carnal Sinners doomed to this 
 torment, and who subjected reason to lust — and as their 
 wings bear along the starlings — so that blast leads us 
 hither and thither, up and down, with no hope even of 
 less pain. 
 
 Dante. — Poet, willingly would I speak with those two that go 
 swiftly on together and seem borne in the wind. 
 
 Virgil. — Those are Paolo and Francesca. 
 
 Francesca. — O living creature, gracious and benign ! that goest 
 through the black air, visiting us who stained the earth with 
 blood, if the King of the Universe were our friend, we 
 would pray him for thy peace, seeing that thou hast pity of 
 our perverse misfortune. Love led us to one death ; Caina 
 waits for him who quenched our life. 
 
 41 
 
Dante. — Francesca, thy torments make me weep with grief and 
 pity. Hearing thee speak, and seeing the other weep so 
 bitterly, maketh my heart faint with pity, as if I myself were 
 dying. {They disappear.) They have departed. But 
 who art thou? 
 
 Ciacco. — I am called Ciacco. For the baneful crime of gluttony 
 I languish in the rain. {Bends his head and is quiet. ) 
 
 Virgil. — He wakes no more until the Angel's trumpet sounds. 
 
 {Furies appear. ) 
 
 Virgil. — Three hellish furies, these, stained with blood — who 
 have the limbs and attitude of women — and are girt with 
 greenest hydras. For hair they have little serpents and 
 cerastes, wherewith the horrid temples are bound. This is 
 Megaera on the left hand. She that weeps upon the right 
 is Alecto. Tersiphone is in the middle. ( They smite their 
 breasts with their claws, crying loudly \ " Let Medusa come 
 that we may change him into stone. ' ' ) 
 
 Virgil. — ( To Dante) Turn thee backwards, and keep thy eyes 
 closed, for if the Gorgon show herself, and thou shouldst 
 see her, there would be no returning up again. ( Virgil 
 turns Dante around a?id holds his hands over Dante's eyes. 
 Virgil then releases Dante and cries) (i They have gone." 
 
 Dante. — My master ! Now show me what these other people are. 
 
 The Avaricious. — Avaricious are we, condemned to pain here, 
 for avarice. 
 
 Virgil. — See now those souls, whom anger overcame. 
 
 The Angry. — Sullen and angry were we, in the sweet air that is 
 gladdened by the sun. Now live we sullen here in the 
 black mire. 
 
 The Hypocrites. — O Tuscan, that art come to the college of 
 the sad hypocrites, disdain not to tell us who thou art. 
 
 42 
 
Dante. — On Arno's beauteous river, in the great city I was born 
 and grew. What punishment is on ye that glitters so ? 
 
 The Hypocrites. — Our mantles are made of lead so thick that 
 the weight there causes their scales to creak. 
 
 Virgil. — These are the traitors, among them Bocca. 
 
 Dante. — Now, accursed traitor. I do not want thee to speak. 
 To thy shame I will bear tidings of thee. 
 
 Bocca. — Thou cans' t say. I saw him of Duera — where sinners 
 stand fixed in the ice. 
 
 Dante. — Ah ! justice Divine ! who shall tell in few words the 
 many fresh pains and travails that I see, and why does guilt 
 of ours thus waste us. Behold creatures strange and sad. 
 
 (Scene Ends.) 
 
 VISION.— UGOLINO AND RUGGHIERI. 
 
 ( Ugolino is gnawing a skull, and as Dante addresses hint, 
 he raises his mouth, and wipes it upon the hair of the head 
 he had laid waste behind. ) 
 
 Dante. — Who then art thou, O wretched one that feastest so 
 hideously ? 
 
 Ugolino. — Thou wiliest that I renew desperate grief, which wrings 
 my heart, even at the very thought before I tell thereof. 
 But, if my words are to be a seed, that may bear fruit of 
 infamy to the traitor whom I gnaw, thou shalt see me speak, 
 and weep at the same time. 
 
 Dante — Alas ! even now do I weep for very horror. 
 
 Ugolino. — I know not who thou mayest be, nor by what mode 
 thou hast come down here ; but, when I hear thee, in truth 
 thou seemest to me a Florentine. 
 
 Dante. — Yea — and of all Florentines the sad one. 
 
 43 
 
Ugolino. — Thou hast to know that I was Count Ugolino, and this 
 the Archbishop Rugghieri ; now I will tell thee why I am 
 such a neighbor to him. That by the effects of his ill 
 devices I, confiding in him, was taken, and thereafter put to 
 death, it is not necessary to say. But that which thou canst 
 not have learnt, that is, how cruel was my death, thou shalt 
 hear, and know if he has offended me. A narrow hole 
 within the tower, which from me has the title of Famine, 
 and in which others yet must be shut up, had through its 
 opening already shown me several moons, when I slept the 
 evil sleep that rent for me the curtain of the future. 
 
 Dante. — Sad, indeed, thy fate. 
 
 Ugolino. — (This man seemed to me lord and master chasing the wolf 
 and his whelps. * * * And after short course, the father and 
 his sons seemed to me weary ; and methought I saw their 
 flanks torn by the sharp teeth. ) When I awoke before the 
 dawn, I heard my sons, who were with me weeping in their 
 sleep, asking for bread. Thou art right cruel, if thou dost 
 not grieve already at the thought of what my heart fore- 
 boded ; and if thou weepest not, at what art thou used to 
 weep? They were now awake, and the hour approaching 
 at which our food used to be brought in, and each was 
 anxious from his dream, and below I heard the outlet of the 
 horrible tower locked up, whereat I looked into the faces of 
 my sons, without uttering a word. I did not weep, so 
 strong grew I within ; they wept ; and my little Anselm 
 said: "Thou lookest so, father, what ails thee?" But I 
 shed no tear, nor answered all that day, nor the next night, 
 till another sun came forth upon the world. When a small 
 ray was sent into the doleful prison, and I discerned in their 
 four faces the aspect of my own, I bit on both my hands 
 for grief ; and they thinking that I did it from desire of 
 eating, of a sudden rose up and said, ' ' father, it will give us 
 much less pain, if thou wilt eat of us ; thou didst put upon 
 us this miserable flesh, and do thou strip it off !' ' Then I 
 
 44 
 
calmed myself in order not to make them more unhappy ; 
 that day and the next we all were mute, ah ! hard earth ! 
 why didst thou not open ? When we had come to the 
 fourth day, Gaddo threw himself stretched out at my feet, 
 saying, " My father ! why don't you help me ?" There he 
 died : and even as thou see'st me, saw I the three fall one 
 by one, between the fifth day and the sixth, whence I betook 
 me, already blind to groping over each, and for two days 
 called them after they were dead ; then, fasting had more 
 power than grief. 
 
 Dante — Ah, Pisa ! Scandal to the people of the beauteous land 
 
 where " Si" is heard If Count Ugolino had the 
 
 fame of having betrayed thee of thy castles, thou oughtest 
 not to have put his sons into such torture. 
 
 (End of Scene.) 
 
 VISION OF THE MALEBRANCHE. 
 
 ( Virgil and Dante stand gazing into a boiling pit, when 
 suddenly Virgil draws Dante back, and as he looks up, 
 startled, a black demon comes running up the cliff, driving 
 before him a terrified sinner. ) 
 
 Barbariccia. — Ye Malebranche of our bridge ! lo ! one of Santa 
 Zita's Elders, thrust him under while I return for others. 
 
 First Malebranche. — Come, wretch, jump in here, and unless 
 thou wishest to make trial of our drags, come not out above 
 the pitch. 
 
 Sinner. — Mercy, mercy, strike me not. 
 
 Second Malebranche. — Covered, thou must dance thee here. 
 
 Virgil {to Dante.) — That it may not be seen that thou art here, 
 cower down behind a crag. 
 
 Dante. — I'll do as thou biddest. 
 
 45 
 
Virgil. — Be none of ye outrageous ! Before ye touch me, come 
 one of you forth to hear me. 
 
 Barbariccia. — Let Malecoda go. 
 
 Virgil. — Malecoda, I have come here with will Divine and fate 
 propitious. Let us pass on, for 'tis willed in Heaven that I 
 show another this savage way. 
 
 Malecoda. — Strike him not. 
 
 Virgil {to Dante.) — O thou that sittest cowering, securely now 
 return to me. 
 
 Third Malebranche. — Shall I touch him? 
 
 First Malebranche. — See that thou nick him sharply. 
 
 Malecoda. — Quiet, quiet, there. 
 
 Virgil. — May we now proceed? 
 
 Malecoda. — Shortly, I shall send some of my men to keep thee 
 on the way, for they will not be treacherous. 
 
 Dante (to Virgil. ) — Master what is this that I see ? Ah ! 
 without escort let us go on, for dost thou not see how they 
 grind their teeth, and with their brows threaten mischief 
 to us? 
 
 Virgil. — Do not be afraid ; for it is at the boiled wretches that 
 they do so. 
 
 ( The Malebranche quarrel among themselves. ) 
 
 Second Malebranche.— Oh, Rubicante, see thou plant thy 
 clutches on him and flay him. 
 
 Dante. — Master, learn if thou canst, who is that piteous wight 
 fallen into the hands of his enemies. 
 
 Virgil. — Whence comest thou here? 
 
 Ciampolo. — I was born in the kingdom of Navarre, and because I 
 bartered justice for gold do I now reckon for it in this heat. 
 
 46 
 
Barbariccia. — Ask on, stranger, if thou wouldst know more from 
 him, but stand off whilst I shall pierce him. 
 
 Virgil. — O unhappy man of Navarre, dost thou know any of thy 
 fellows in this torment? 
 
 Ciampolo. — Just now I parted with a neighbor; would I still were 
 covered with him, for I should not fear claw nor hook. 
 
 Barbariccia. — Drive that wretch below. After him imps, and 
 woe to you if Malecoda shall hear of your neglect. ( To 
 Virgil} Here do thou go this way; I shall hurry opposite 
 and try to find him. 
 
 Dante. — ( To Virgil) These demons will surely be sore vexed at 
 this mockery put upon them. Master, hurry, I dread', the 
 Malebranche ; they are already after us, I so imagine them 
 that I hear them now. 
 
 Virgil. — Before they come again, we shall descend into the other 
 chasm, and escape the imagined chase. {Dante and Virgil 
 ascend just in time to escape the Malebranche. They rush in 
 and make fierce gestures at Dante and Virgil as they recede. ) 
 
 Dante. — Great Master, lead on — for I would see the brightness 
 follow upon this gloom, and ere I see a gleam of Paradise 
 shall I return to earth awhile. 
 
 Virgil. — Then, follow me — as I ascend the hill. 
 
 Dante. — I follow. And e'en now distinguish through a round 
 opening the beauteous things which Heaven bears, and soon 
 we'll issue out, again to see the stars. 
 
 {Exit slowly Virgil and Dante.) 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
 Al 
 
ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 {Dante in deep meditation in his chamber ; when Guido da 
 Polenta and Lapo, two of his bosom friends, enter to 
 congratulate him on his recall to Florence^) 
 
 Guido. — Did we not tell thee, many a time and oft, that thou 
 wouldst be entreated to return to thy native city ? And so, 
 did we not truly forecast the event ? 
 
 Lapo. — Good friend, I fear me, thou talkest to the empty air, for 
 if 'tis true that there a man is where his thoughts are, our 
 noble Signor is not at Ravenna. 
 
 Guido. — Then he is in the triumphal procession wending his way 
 into Florence. 
 
 Dante. — Aye, where he is clothed in sack-cloth instead of gold ; 
 where he treads the naked stones lest he should shame a 
 steed, and is acclaimed by the jeers of his enemies. 
 
 Lapo. — I told thee his fancy wandered. And yet it is a common 
 thing for poets, else how concoct their airy scenes. 
 
 Guido. — Poet or none, it is uncommon to grieve when joyful 
 tidings are announced. 
 
 Dante. — Not when the joy belongs to thy foe. 
 
 Lapo. — Why doth sadness so sit upon thy heart, that thou dost 
 seem to take no joy in life. 
 
 Dante. — To me have been spoken those words of bitterness 
 1 ' Thou shalt relinquish everything of thee, beloved most 
 dearly; ' ' and thou shalt prove how salt a savor hath the bread 
 of others, and how hard a path to climb and to descend the 
 stranger's stairs. 
 
 Lapo. — Wilt thou then not return to thy beloved Florence? 
 
 48 
 
Dante. — How grateful to you am I, that you have at heart my 
 restoration to my country. 1 am bound to you more grate- 
 fully in as much as an exile rarely finds a friend. I must by 
 my answer, disappoint the wishes of some little minds. 
 
 Lapo — What then is thy resolve ? 
 
 Dante. — As by a decree, I am allowed to return to Florence, if I 
 pay a certain sum of money and submit to the humiliation 
 of asking and receiving absolution. Is such an invitation 
 then, thus to return to his country, glorious to Dante Alighieri 
 after suffering in exile almost fifteen years. This is not the way 
 that shall lead me back to my country. I will return with 
 hasty steps, if you, or any other, can open to me a way that 
 shall not derogate from the fame and honor of Dante. But, 
 if in no such way Florence can be entered, then Florence I 
 shall never enter. 
 
 Guido. — Truly hast thou suffered bitter anguish. 
 
 Dante. — Ah, would it had pleased the dispenser of all things that 
 this excuse had never been needed. For it pleased the 
 citizens of the fairest and most renowned daughter of 
 Rome — Florence — to cast me out of her most sweet bosom, 
 where I was born and bred and passed half of the life of man, 
 and in which, with her good leave, I still desire with all my 
 heart to repose my weary spirit, and finish the days allotted 
 me. And so I have wandered in almost every place to which 
 our language extends, too often unjustly imputed to the 
 sufferer's fault. Truly I have been a vessel without sail and 
 without rudder, driven about upon different ports and shores 
 by the dry wind that springs out of dolorous poverty ; and 
 hence have I appeared vile in the eyes of many who, perhaps, 
 by better repute had conceived of me a different impression, 
 and in whose sight not only has my person become thus 
 debased, but an unworthy opinion created of everything 
 which I did or which I had to do. 
 
Guido. — We pray thee, dearest friend and master, tell to us thy 
 wrong, and we shall avenge it. But is it not true that thou 
 hast been summoned to re-enter thine own dear City ? 
 
 Dante. — Yes, summoned truly, even as they would ask a criminal 
 to ascend a scaffold. 
 
 Lapo. — It cannot be that they would dare seek thy life. 
 
 Dante. — Life ! they seek that which is dearer to anyone who 
 claims the name of man. Wrongly did they banish me ; 
 maliciously did they belie me even in exile ; now, deeply, 
 would they degrade me. ' ' Upon condition ' ' they say ! 
 ' ' that you perform a fitting atonement for past wrongs, you 
 may enter the city" and then they dare to tell me that 
 I must enter as a penitent. I who am wronged must atone ! 
 I who lived only that the city might prosper ! And then 
 they say that in their clemency ! Oh ! bitter wrong ! they 
 pardon me. May I be justly held the meanest, the most 
 unworthy of mortals ere I even entertain the thought. 
 
 Guido. — Now, good, dear friend do not boil thy blood o'er every 
 flame that leapeth up in thee. Let us talk of thy dear one, 
 whom thou wouldst have to honor thee even though the 
 world despised. 
 
 Dante. — Ah ! it was she who, just as you entered, engaged all my 
 thoughts. But nevermore shall I behold her on this sphere. 
 Far indeed be it from me to lament my wrongs when such a 
 flower is plucked from the thorny garden, even though 
 beyond all compare more fair than others. 
 
 Lapo. — Oft hast thou wished that thou, Guido and I were taken 
 by some enchanter's spell over every sea, with Vanna, 
 Beatrice and my love, to keep us eternal company. 
 
 Dante. — A thing of mortal birth, and yet so beautiful and pure, 
 that God meant in her to work a wonder new. Her love 
 was that of pearl of priceless worth ; from her fair eyes, 
 spirits passed forth inflamed with Love's sweet blaze ; in 
 her, as in a type, was beauty true. 
 
Guido. — And I remember how the whole city with her did mourn 
 her father, not for himself, but because of her. Her face all 
 bathed in gentleness, melted the hearts of even the hardest. 
 
 Dante. — Methought then, that if Death were to smite this gentle 
 lady fair, Love might say ' ' Lo ! I have lost my dearest, 
 fairest, best." 
 
 Guido. — Into that high Heaven hath Beatrice passed, where the 
 angels find their peace. 
 
 Dante. — Yes, for the clear light of her humility passed into Heaven 
 with such exceeding power that the Eternal Sire wondered 
 that such a flower had bloomed so long on earth, and 
 wondering, bade her move up higher to a place full worthy 
 of a thing so fair. 
 
 Lapo. — I thought I had parted evermore, with themes of love. 
 
 Guido. — So had I, but none could have so strong within me stirred 
 good thoughts to rise, as our noble friend's greatest grace. 
 
 Dante. — Into high Heaven hath Beatrice passed, that kingdom 
 where the angels find their peace, and she dwells with them. 
 It was not spell of cold that killed at last, nor that of heat, 
 but her own great and sweet benignity. The clear light of 
 her humility caused the Eternal a sweet desire to call away 
 so bright a flower, for he saw this troublous life was all 
 unworthy of a thing so fair. When in my saddened mind I 
 bring back her form whose beauty pierced my heart — then 
 comes a longing fraught with sweetness, and such pain that I 
 shudder as I feel my misery. And so transformed am 
 I that my lot is cast apart from men. Then, weeping in my 
 lament, I cry on Beatrice, saying ' ' Art thou dead ?' ' And 
 as I call, I by her am comforted. Ah me, as often as I call 
 to mind that I shall nevermore see the fair Lady whom 
 I wait and weep, so great an inward grief my heart doth 
 find, that I say, ' ' Soul why dost thou not depart. ' ' So 
 I bid death come near and say ' ' O come to me ' ' so lovingly 
 that I am envious of whoe'er doth die. 
 
 .51 
 
Guido. — Come, gentle Dante, be not ever sad, but think of 
 brighter things than this sad song of sorrow, 
 
 Dante.— Nay, no other light can bring brightness into my life 
 save the brightness of the land beyond. 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
ACT III. 
 
 Scene II. — Palace of Ravenna. 
 
 {Guido enters with Can Grande, relates the death of Dante — 
 his appearance — and the refusal of Ravenna to give up 
 his body to Florence.) 
 
 Guido. — The great Dante is no more. His soul has gone to follow 
 his Beatrice and take his place with her before the throne 
 of God. 
 
 Can Grande. — And how came the end, was it in much pain? 
 
 Guido. — As he himself said of Beatrice — it was not the cold that 
 killed him — nor yet the heat, but his own great heart was 
 broken by the sorrows of life, and he went to take his place 
 among those blessed Spirits he had seen in moments of his 
 vision. 
 
 Can Grande. — As I remember him — so fair and strong he 
 looked — yet in those years there must have come a change. 
 
 Guido. — His face in death is worthy of the living Dante. 
 
 Can Grande. — Indeed must it mirror one who had led a life 
 apart from the world in which he dwelt, and had been led 
 by love and faith along hard, painful and solitary ways to 
 behold the high triumph of the true kingdom. 
 
 Guido. — In death the face is one of the most pathetic upon which 
 human eyes have ever looked — it shows the conflict between 
 the strong nature of the man and the hard dealings of 
 fortune, between the idea of his life and its practical experi- 
 ence. The look is grave and stern almost to grimness — 
 a scornful lift to the brow, contracted as from painful 
 thoughts — and yet therein hidden, but not lost, are the 
 marks of tenderness, refinement, self-mastery, which gives 
 to him, dead, an ineffable dignity and melancholy. There 
 
is no weakness nor failure there. It is the image of the 
 strong fortress of a strong soul, ' ' buttressed on conscience 
 and impregnable will. ' ' It was battered by blows of enemies 
 without and within, and bore the dints of many a siege — 
 but has stood firm and unshaken against all attacks, until the 
 warfare was at an end. 
 
 (E?iter Pier Giardino.') 
 
 Can Grande. — Lo ! where Giardino comes. 
 
 Guido. — Welcome, Ser Giardino. What news from the Arch- 
 bishop ? 
 
 Giardino. — Florence claims the body of Dante to do him high 
 honor as the noblest of her sons. 
 
 Guido and Can Grande. — Florence ! 
 
 Guido. — Nay. She shall not have him. Alive she cast him forth 
 an exile — now dead, she seeks to do him honor. It shall 
 not be. His own words forbid it, for he said "If no one 
 can open to me a way that shall not derogate from the honor 
 of Dante — then Florence I shall never enter." And enter 
 Florence dead — he shall not, since when living he was not 
 so in honor deemed worthy. 
 
 Can Grande and Giardino. — No — no — never shall he leave 
 Ravenna. 
 
 Giardino. — But I have wondrous news to tell. 
 
 Guido. — Pray tell it Giardino. 
 
 Giardino — This very day before dawn, did Jacopo di Dante, the 
 great poet's son, come to my house. 
 
 Can Grande — Jacopo di Dante ! 
 
 Giardino. — Jacopo. He told me that this very night his father, 
 Dante, had appeared to him, clothed in the whitest garments, 
 and his face resplendent with an extraordinary light. 
 
 54 
 
Guido. — Most wonderful ! And did the vision speak? 
 
 Giardino. — Yea, verily ; Jacopo asked him if he lived, and Dante 
 replied, ' ' Yea, but in the true life, not our life. ' ' 
 
 Can Grande. — What further said he? 
 
 Giardino. — Jacopo asked if he had completed his work before 
 passing into the true life, and where was that part missing 
 which none had been able to find. 
 
 Guido. — Did the Spirit answer? For of his great poem we have 
 failed to find thirteen of the cantos. ' 
 
 Giardino. — Dante seemed to answer "Yes, I have finished it " , 
 and, taking Jacopo by the hand, led him to his sleeping 
 chamber and, touching one of the walls, said ' ' What you 
 have sought for so much, « here." At these words Dante 
 and Sleep fled from Jacopo, and he could not rest till he 
 came to tell me what he had seen. 
 
 Can Grande. — And what further has been done? 
 
 Giardino. — We went at once to the wall of his chamber, and 
 there where Jacopo remembered, and among the other 
 writings, found there the thirteen missing cantos of the 
 Commcedia : 
 
 Guido. — How wonderful and mysterious are the ways of life ; and 
 the ways of death, how still more wonderful and mysterious. 
 The great work of that sublime intellect shall not then 
 remain incomplete, and yet we sorrow over him ; for though 
 his great thoughts shall live after him, the brain that did 
 conceive and give them life lies yonder, thoughtless and still 
 in death. Come, beloved Grande and most dear Pier 
 Giardino, and prepare to show honor to our beloved dead. 
 His memory shall live — not Florence, but Ravenna shall 
 give him worthy obsequies. 
 
 {Exit Guido, Grande a?id Pier Giardino.) 
 (Curtain) Lof 
 
 55 
 
 n 
 
ACT III. 
 Scene III.— Hall of Palace of Guido Polenta. 
 
 {Make ready for the Obseqtcies. Enter Funeral Cortege. 
 Soldiers in armor. Mourners — servants. Music, 
 Eulogy by Guido da Polenta?) 
 
 All you that stand here sad, well may you weep for the 
 noble Dante, whose soul is now, after its purification from 
 its lightest sins, resting on the bosom of its God — face to 
 face with that Eternal Beauty of which so oft he sang. — 
 Never was there man more gifted — never mind more fully 
 stored with wisdom of this earth and with wisdom Divine — 
 for the eye of his intellect seemed to pierce the barriers of 
 life into the regions of the unknown world. A heart pure 
 and strong, that reflected the sinless beauty of his peerless 
 Beatrice, and noble and true in its love of right and scorn 
 of wickedness. In far distant future ages men will speak of 
 him — read his verse — follow him in his sad journey through 
 the realms of Hell, watch him climb the hills of Purgatorio, 
 behold him soaring on the wings of thought into Paradise. 
 The immortal Dante ! 
 
 Of virtue he had so much 
 
 That the body at death merited the crown poetical, 
 
 And the soul went onward to a better life. 
 
 Oh gentle spirit, oh true Dante, 
 
 Veritably in the flesh beholding 
 
 That glory, whither hath now gone forth 
 
 Thy holy soul this day departed 
 
 From the misery of this wandering throng. 
 
 To thee whom, mindful of the faith and thy great virtue, 
 
 I firmly hold to be at the foot of true Omnipotence, 
 
 Do I commend myself. 
 
 Here on this day Ravenna has thy body, and 
 
 The Almighty Father thy soul. 
 
 {Funeral Procession, Music.) 
 
 (Curtain. ) 
 
 56 
 
NOTANDA 
 
 Page 10 — Dante not only anticipated .... developments of 
 Catholic teaching, but to an extraordinary degree 
 reflected the teachings of St. Thomas. The student 
 is referred to Ozanam's " Dante and Catholic Philos- 
 ophy," where this fact is fully and beautifully 
 developed. 
 
 Page 7 — Read " equipped with an ardent temperament." 
 
 Page 9 — Read "The circle, of those acting from" Simple Malice, 
 is divided, etc. 
 
 The word "Trimmers" is taken not in the ordinary 
 sense, but as signifying those who did neither evil nor 
 good. " Mercy and Justice disdain them." 
 
 Page 31 — " by the rodd " read " by my word." 
 
 Page 33 — " kind of scared " read " pretty well frightened now." 
 
 Indebtedness is acknowledged to the translations of Dr. 
 J. Carlyle, Charles Eliot Norton, Carey and Longfellow, and for 
 several passages of the poem of H. Durand, the translations by 
 Dean Plumptre, as well as to that of Hettinger's Divina Commedia, 
 by H. S. Rowden, of the Oratory. 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 READING AND THE MIND, 
 
 McVey, Philadelphia. 
 
 SACRED SCENES AND MYSTERIES, 
 
 Longmans, Green & Co., New York. 
 
 RHETORIC AND ORATORY, 
 
 D. C. Heath & Co., New York. 
 
 FACTS ABOUT BOOKWORMS, 
 
 Francis A. Harper, New York. 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ST. IGNATIUS, 
 
 Benziger Bros., New York. 
 
 LIFE OF ST. ALOYSIUS, 
 
 Benziger Bros., New York. 
 
 CUNEIFORM INSCRIPTIONS, 
 
 Woodstock College, Maryland. 
 
 CHRIST, THE MAN GOD, 
 
 B. Herder & Company, St. Louis. 
 
-DANTE." 
 
 By Rev. J. F. X. O'Conor, S. J. 
 
 PRESS COMMENTS. 
 
 Students GiVe "Dante" in O'Conor's Version. 
 
 " Before a large and deeply interested audience the initial produc- 
 tion of the Rev. John F. X. O'Conor's play 'Dante' was given last 
 evening by the students of St. Joseph's College, in the College Hall. 
 Father O'Conor's version, which is designed to offset the impression of 
 the life of the great Catholic poet as portrayed in the Sardou-Moreau 
 drama, gives an adequate idea of the nobility of Dante's life. No char- 
 acter or event is included in the story which is not historical. 1 All of the 
 performers showed .an intelligent conception of the exigencies of their 
 roles, and gave a finished performance."— North American, May 2, 
 
 " 'Dante' is a play written by the Rev. J. Fl X. O'Conor, S. J., pro- 
 fessor of the Dante class in St. Joseph's College. ...... Inspiration to 
 
 create the play was provided Father O'Conor by the liberties taken in 
 the historical, poetical and biographical material, which served Sardou 
 and Moreau in tliejr construction of the dramatized version of the great 
 Catholic poet's life, as recently portrayed by Sir Henry Irving. . . . While 
 
 scholars generally resented the injustice to the character of Dante in the 
 Sardou-Moreau play, Catholics have, perhaps, felt the most keenly the 
 extraordinary inspiration of the French playwrights upon the unimpeach- 
 able character of their hero, poet and statesman. . . . Father O'Conor's 
 
 Dante, while not sensational, is designed by its author to bring out the 
 real character of Dante as a citizen of Florence — in his love for Beatrice— 
 in the visions of the Inferno and during his exile at Ravenna. Father 
 O'Conor's text portrays a noble, high-minded poet, as revealed in his 
 own words in the ' Divina Commedia' and Dante's other writings."— The 
 North American. 
 
 "The Rev. J. F. X. O'Conor's new drama 'Dante 1 was given in the 
 auditorium of St. Joseph's College to-night by the Dramatic Society. . . . 
 
 " His was the exact reverse of Sardou's characterization of Dante as 
 an immoral and profligate man. In fact, the author said that the play 
 was written largely with the object of counteracting the impression made 
 by Sir Henry Irving' s presentation. 
 
 " Father O'Conor's drama aims at portraying the chief events of the 
 poet's career and of the Inferno. 
 
 "His Dante is the pure, reverential, high-minded, nobly-gifted Floren- 
 tine as he appears to the student of his work. The play, which is in 
 three acts, showed artistic merit of a high order, and at its conclusion the 
 author was congratulated by some of the leading literary students of the 
 city."— N. Y. Herald, May 2. 
 
"The True Dante. The scholars of St. Joseph's College presented 
 last evening a drama, 'Dante.' The play was written by Rev. J. F. X. 
 O' Conor, S. J., professor of the Dante class, in collaboration with his 
 pupils, and was intended to vindicate Dante from the slurs cast upon him 
 by the Sardou-Moreau drama, in which Henry Irving recently appeared 
 here. The college play aims at giving some idea of the true Dante. 
 About 150 students took part in the performance, and some effective stage 
 pictures were provided." — The Public Ledger. 
 
 "'Dante,' a play written by Rev. John F. X. O'Conor, S. J., pro- 
 fessor of the Dante class in St. Joseph's College, was witnessed by a 
 large audience last evening in the college auditorium. . . . While not 
 sensational Father O' Conor's interpretation gave an excellent idea of the 
 nobility of character of the great Catholic poet. . . . 
 
 " Every effort had been made by the author to present the gifted 
 Florentine in a more worthy light than has been done in the Sardou- 
 Moreau play, the dramatized version of Dante's life as portrayed by Sir 
 Henry Irving. 
 
 "The costumes, music and stage settings were features of the pro- 
 duction, which reflected credit upon the author, the players and their 
 instructors." — The Philadelphia Press. 
 
 "Dante's production at St. Joseph's College differs from Sardou's. 
 Father O' Conor's new drama 'Dante,' given in the auditorium of St. 
 Joseph's College last night, portrayed the great epic poet in a light 
 with which theatre goers were unfamiliar. It was the exact reverse of 
 Sardou's characterization of Dante as an immoral and profligate man. 
 In fact the author humbly said it was written largely with the object of 
 contradicting the impression made by Sir Henry Irving' s impersonation. 
 
 " Father O' Conor's Dante gives the high-minded, sad-storied, nobly- 
 gifted Florentine as he appears to the student of his works. 
 
 ' ' The play, in three acts, showed artistic merit of a high order. " . . . . 
 The Philadelphia Inquirer. 
 
 Students in Unique Play. 
 "A highly enjoyable rendition of an original play entitled ' Dante' was 
 given last evening by the students of St. Joseph's College. . . . The play 
 was unique in striving to portray the nobility of the character of the illus- 
 trious poet, by dealing particularly with the pathetic side of his career. 
 The play was based strictly upon historical data, and included the 
 important events of Dante's life and poem. The scenery and stage 
 effects were particularly elaborate, all contributing to a highly successful 
 performance." — The Philadelphia Record. 
 
 DANTE. 
 
 Production by St. Joseph's College Students was a Brilliant 
 
 Success. 
 
 The drama of " Dante," written and staged by J. F. X. O'Conor, 
 was a phenomenal success. The performance on Monday night, May 2, 
 for the patronesses was attended by a large and distinguished audience. 
 The second performance, on Wednesday, May 4, was crowded to the 
 doors. The " Dante" of Father O'Conor is classic in tone and of deep 
 interest to the end. It grows upon one from opening to close, with the 
 
exquisite tableau of Beatrice, pointing the way to heaven to Dante in the 
 vision of the holy face of God. In the first act Conrad Williamson as 
 "Dante" and Robert Kilduffe as Corso Donati, scored marked successes. 
 The council scene was full of life and action, and two little Florentines, 
 Theodore Town as Jacopo and Joseph Dougherty as Pietro, telling of the 
 " visions of Dante," carried the audience by storm. The little dancers in 
 their pretty scene also won much favor. In the second act Augustine 
 Hardart as Beatrice in the Inferno and Joseph Dolan as Virgil were 
 finished in their acting and in the interpretation of difficult scenes. The 
 new scenes, designed by the author, the costumes, music and stage 
 settings were features of the production which reflected credit upon the 
 author, the players and their instructors. 
 
 In the third act the pathos of Dante in his exile and thoughts of 
 Beatrice captivated the audience, while Can Grande and Pier Giardino, 
 respectively Eugene Martin and Francis Hardart, made the scene one of 
 great interest. The solemn obsequies of Dante at Ravenna, the funeral 
 march and the eulogy of Guido da Polenta, personated by Joseph 
 Fortescue, made a memorable picture, and the closing tableau reminded 
 one of Cardinal Manning's saying: "Post Dantis paradisum nihil restat 
 nisi visio Dei ;" after the Paradise of Dante nothing remains but the 
 vision of God. 
 
 Notable among the other characters was the sweet sympathy for 
 Dante in his sorrow of Cino di Pistoia, by Joseph Rowan, who was so 
 successful as Everyman ; William Camblos as Rosse Delia Torso, Stephen 
 McTague as Lapo Gianni and Leo Gowan as Guido Cavalcanti. The 
 enthusiasm of the audience was very marked. 
 
 Father O' Conor achieved success in his " Dante," where the 
 Sardou-Moreau presentation by Irving failed. One explanation is that 
 the Sardou-Moreau production was false to Dante, to history and to 
 truth, while Father O' Conor's aim was fidelity to the noble character of 
 Dante as we find him in his own writings, not a saint, but a noble, high- 
 minded, great-souled poet, a loyal Catholic ; not a reprobate, but a great 
 gifted soul, and the greatest of poets worthy of the honor of the human 
 race. Whatever the merits of Father O' Conor's " Dante," it has already 
 been accepted by scholars, Danteists and lovers of Dante as not unworthy 
 of him and a more acceptable representation than the other recent pro- 
 duction. Another performance is looked forward to in the near future. 
 Among the other illustrious patrons of the " Dante," besides the Apos- 
 tolic Delegate, Archbishop Ryan, Archbishop Farley, Bishop Prendergast 
 and Cardinal Gibbons, is Charles Eliot Norton, the great Dante scholar 
 and President of the Dante Society of Boston. — The Standard and Times. 
 
 Walter Littlefield on the Sardou-Moreau "Dante." 
 
 Of the Sardou-Moreau "Dante", the Critic says, Christmas Number, 
 1903: "So far in his play-writing career, M. Sardou has employed two 
 methods in writing his historico-romantic melodramas. He selects either 
 an historical character and invents adventures for it or an historical 
 episode and presents it with fictitious characters. . . . The wealth of things 
 dug up, for the play called ' Dante' is so varied and so vast that, were 
 it not for the title of the piece and the chief actor's profile, it would be 
 difficult to discover the ulterior motive which had inspired the gathering 
 together of so much interesting material. It is most unsatisfactory to 
 speculate on what MM. Sardou and Moreau might have done. 
 
 "The love episode in 'La Vita Nuova' might have been placed upon 
 the stage with much poetic charm .... the political Dante offers another 
 theme ; Dante in exile another ; while the poet's visions of Hell, Purgatory 
 
and Heaven present a series Of wonderful pictures which could be shown 
 forth by modern stage mechanism with tremendous spectacular splendor. 
 On the other hand, a patient attempt to get at the real Dante through a 
 conscientious study of his life and works might ... . have resulted in a 
 dramatis persona who, although placed in an entirely imaginative environ- 
 ment, Would have been a gratifying illusion even to Danteists. - i But 
 MM. Sardoii and Moreau did none of these things. It was Unnecessary. 
 In the rnidst of their. Dante researches they came upon a hitherto ignored 
 or unsuspected episode in the life of, the Florentine beside which the 
 Beatrice affair becomes dull and uninteresting. It concerned the illicit 
 love of the poet for Pia de Tolomei arid the presence pi their illegitimate 
 daughter. No dramatist worthy of the name could have ignored such 
 splendid possibilities. , MM. Sardou and Moreau did not. They took the 
 episode, fashioned it into a scenario, and then began to pile on local color 
 and legendary and historical digression. Much of the color and many of 
 the digressions hardly appeal to the Danteist.at all." .... 
 
 For the transporting the castle of the GualandL from Pisa to the bank 
 of the Arno — in the Francesca episode, the liberty taken iri regard to time — 
 the Malatesta Palace moved to Florence— the manipulation Polenta, Giotto* 
 Elena di' Svezia .... and a grand inquisitor over two centuries before 
 his time, these;, says the' critic " are .equally annoying to the historian and 
 the Danteist.; Before attempting ; to account, for this most extraordinary 
 imposition— for it is nothing, less (namely the main theme of the Sardou 
 play)— it may be well to state a single illuminating;historical fact : L)ante 
 had never met Pia di Tolomei until she introduced hdrself to him in 
 Purgatory, eleven years after her death. The fact that Sardou has her 
 clothed, although possibly not quite in her right mind, at Pisa, four years 
 after her death, would of itself be unimportant in comparison with other 
 painful intrusions, were it not for the role which the distinguished French 
 playwright forces her to play. The relationship established by M. Sardou 
 or M. Moreau, or both, I'between Dante and Pia di Tolomei and their 
 supposed daughter, Gemma, does not only startle Danteists and fill with 
 resentment intelligent Italians, but it has inflicted humiliation on a certain 
 gentle. old lady of Florence who, proud as descendant of the Tolomei, 
 laments as something new and vivid the tragedy which took place on the 
 Maremma marshes." ..... \ 
 
 How did M. Sardou get this idea of Gemma. A translation by 
 M. Brizeux makes gemma, a gem, become Gemma. " But how poor and 
 inadequate a thing seems the imagination, when we ; try to picture the 
 scorn with which the shade of Dante must confront the shade of M. 
 Brizeux in the nether world for such rhonstrous libel." 
 
 This criticism by Mr. Walter Littlefield, in the Christmas Number of 
 the Critic, is a masterpiece of irony and sarcasm, through which we feel 
 the pulsations of suppressed indignation. It is the feeling of all who have 
 any idea of Dante, or knowledge of his works, or love for his character, and 
 voices the indignation that must come from all who have understood the 
 character of the Sardou-Moreau play. Father 0' Conor' s ' 'Dante' ' pictures 
 the poet in Dante's own words, and is the reverse of the idea of the Sardou- 
 Moreau presentation. It gives an idea of Dante in Florence, his banish- 
 ment, the visions of the Inferno, his exile at Ravenna, and of the love; 
 for him of the people of both Florence and Ravenna, and of the eulogy 
 pronounced by Guido da Polenta. Whatever the other merits of the 
 "Dante" of Father O' Conor, it will be accepted as a pleasing contrast 
 by all scholars, Danteists, lovers of Dante, and by those who have read, 
 even superficially, the ' ' Divina Commedia. ' ' The good sense of an Amer- 
 ican audience drove the Sardou-Moreau play off the stage in a remark- 
 ably short time, even though supported by the reputation of Sir Henry 
 Irving. . , 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
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