t we
may strive after something nobler than mere present pleasure and
profit--is it right that into such holy places, destined but for an
abstract perfection, there should be placed a mere half-unknown, vaguely
seen woman? In short, is not this "Vita Nuova" a mere false ideal, one
of those works of art which, because they are beautiful, get worshipped
as holy?

This question is a grave one, and worthy to make us pause. The world is
full of instances of the fatal waste of feelings misapplied: of human
affections, human sympathy and compassion, so terribly necessary to
man, wasted in various religious systems, upon Christ and God: of
religious aspirations, contemplation, worship, and absorption, necessary
to the improvement of the soul, wasted in various artistic or poetic
crazes upon mere pleasant works, or pleasant fancies, of man;
wastefulness of emotions, wastefulness of time, which constitute
two-thirds of mankind's history and explain the vast amount of evil in
past and present. The present question therefore becomes, is not this
"Vita Nuova" merely another instance of this lamentable carrying off of
precious feelings in channels where they result no longer in
fertilization, but in corruption? The Middle Ages, especially, in its
religion, its philosophy, nay, in that very love of which I am writing,
are one succession of such acts of wastefulness. This question has come
to me many a time, and has left me in much doubt and trouble. But on
reflection I am prepared to answer that such doubts as these may safely
be cast behind us, and that we may trust that instinct which, whenever
we lay down the "Vita Nuova," tells us that to have felt and loved this
book is one of those spiritual gains in our life which, come what may,
can never be lost entirely.

The "Vita Nuova" represents the most exceptional of exceptional moral
and intellectual conditions. Dante's love for Beatrice is, in great
measure, to be regarded as an extraordinary and exquisite work of art,
produced not by the volition of man, but by the accidental combination
of circumstances. It is no more suited to ordinary life than would a
golden and ivory goddess of Phidias be suited to be the wife of a mortal
man. But it may not therefore be useless; nay, it may be of the highest
utility. It may serve that high utilitarian mission of all art, to
correct the real by the ideal, to mould the thing as it is in the
semblance of the thing as it should be. Herein, let i