Dante Alighieri Has A Good Word For Everyone

On occasion of the Dantedì (a special day dedicated to the “father of the Italian language”) on March 25, I wish to share one of his best passages as an involontary stand-up comedian. As you’ll see, our good old Dante has a good word for everybody!

De Vulgari Eloquentia, Dante Alighieri, transl. by Steven Botterill, Cambridge University Press, 1996, Chs. XI-XIV [I have made a few edits, especially to the translation of the dialect samples].

Amid the cacophony of the many varieties of Italian speech, let us hunt for the most respectable and illustrious vernacular that exists in Italy [...]

Accordingly, since the Romans believe that they should always receive preferential treatment, I shall begin […] with them; and I do so by declaring that they should not be taken into account in any didactic work about effective use of the vernacular. For what the Romans speak is not so much a vernacular as a vile jargon, the ugliest of all the languages spoken in Italy; and this should come as no surprise, for they also stand out among all Italians for the ugliness of their manners and their outward appearance. They say things like 'Messure, quinto dici?' [Suhr, whaddaya say?]

After these let us prune away the inhabitants of the Marches of Ancona, who say 'Chignamente state siate' [be ye as ye be]; and along with them we throw out the people of Spoleto. Nor should I fail to mention that a number of poems have been composed in derision of these three peoples; I have seen one of these, constructed in perfect accordance with the rules, written by a Florentine of the name of Castra. It began like this: ‘Una fermana scopai da Cascioli, cita cita se'n gìa'n grande aina’. [I bamped into a woman from Fermo near Cascioli; she gaed briskly away, in great haaste]

After these let us root out the Milanese, the people of Bergamo, and their neighbours; I recall that somebody has written a derisive song about them too: ‘Enter l'ora del vesper, ciò fu del mes d'ochiover’. [Aroon' the hour o' vesper, it was in the month o' Octover]

After these let us pass through our sieve the people of Aquileia and Istria, who belch forth 'Ces fas-to?' [Wha's thoo up to?] with a brutal intonation. And along with theirs I reject all languages spoken in the mountains and the countryside, by people like those of Casentino and Fratta, whose pronounced accent is always at such odds with that of city-dwellers. As for the Sardinians, who are not Italian but may be associated with Italians for our purposes, out they must go, because they alone seem to lack a vernacular of their own, instead imitating gramatica as apes do humans: for they say 'domus nova' [new domus] and 'dominus meus' [mine dominus].

[…] let us [now] turn our attention to the language of Sicily, since the Sicilian vernacular seems to hold itself in higher regard than any other, first because all poetry written by Italians is called 'Sicilian', and then because we do indeed find that many learned natives of that island have written serious poetry [...] [However,] if by Sicilian vernacular we mean what is spoken by the average inhabitants of the island [...] then this is far from worthy of the honour of heading the list, because it cannot be pronounced without a certain drawl, as in this case: ‘Tragemi d'este focora se t'este a bolontate’. [Dramme oot o' this fiir, if you would be so gekiind] [...]

The people of Apulia, to continue, whether through their own native crudity or through the proximity of their neighbours (the Romans and the people of the Marches), use many gross barbarisms: they say ‘Bòlzera che chiangesse lo quatraro’. [I woolt like the yooth to crii] [...]

After this, we come to the Tuscans, who, rendered senseless by some aberration of their own, seem to lay claim to the honour of possessing the illustrious vernacular. [...] Now, since the Tuscans are the most notorious victims of this mental intoxication, it seems both appropriate and useful to examine the vernaculars of the cities of Tuscany one by one, and thus to burst the bubble of their pride. When the Florentines speak, they say things like: 'Manichiamo, introcque che noi non facciamo altro' [Let us eet'n, sith there's nothing else to do]. The Pisans: 'Bene andonno li fatti de Fiorensa per Pisa' [The business at Florence wend'n well for Pisa]. The people of Lucca: 'Fo voto a Dio ke ingrassarra eie lo comuno de Lucca' [I swaair to God, the ceety of Lucca will be really inna pink]. The Sienese: 'Onche renegata avess'io Siena. Chée chesto?' [Ifolly I'd left Siena for good! Whazz this?]. The people of Arezzo: 'Vuo' tu venire ovelle?' [D' ya want to go hiwaair?].

I have no intention of dealing with Perugia, Orvieto, Viterbo, or Città di Castello, because of their inhabitants' affinity with the Romans and the people of Spoleto. [...]

If there is anyone who thinks that what I have just said about the Tuscans could not be applied to the Genoese, let him consider only that if, through forgetfulness, the people of Genoa lost the use of the letter z, they would either have to fall silent for ever or invent a new language for themselves. For z forms the greater part of their vernacular, and it is, of course, a letter that cannot be pronounced without considerable harshness.

[…] [As for] the language of Romagna, […] I say that in this part of Italy are found two vernaculars which stand in direct opposition to each other because of certain contradictory features. One of them is so womanish, because of the softness of its vocabulary and pronunciation, that a man who speaks it, even if in a suitably virile manner, still ends up being mistaken for a woman. This is spoken by everybody in Romagna, especially the people of Forlì, whose city, despite being near the edge of the region, none the less seems to be the focal point of the whole province: they say 'deuscì' [Goddjessh!] when they wish to say 'yes'; and to seduce someone they say 'oclo meo' [Eye o' mine] and 'corada mea' [Heart o' mine]. […] There is also another vernacular, as I said, so hirsute and shaggy in its vocabulary and accent that, because of its brutal harshness, it not only destroys the femininity of any woman who speaks it, but, reader, would make you think her a man.

This is the speech of all those who say 'magarà' [Mewish], such as the citizens of Brescia, Verona and Vicenza; and the Paduans also speak like this, when they cruelly cut short all the participles ending in tus and the nouns in tas, saying 'mercò' [trad'd] and 'bontè' [goodn's]. Along with these I will mention the people of Treviso, who, like those of Brescia and their neighbours, abbreviate their words by pronouncing consonantal u as f, saying 'nof' for 'nove' [nine] and 'vif' for 'vivo' [alive]. This I denounce as the height of barbarism.

Nor can the Venetians be considered worthy of the honour due to the vernacular for which we are searching; and if any of them, transfixed by error, be tempted to take pride in his speech, let him remember if he ever said ‘Per le plaghe di Dio tu no verras’. [By God's woonds, thou wonn' com's]