The literary beginnings of the Italian vernacular are traditionally identified at the imperial court of Frederick II in Sicily, where a remarkable group of poets wrote love lyrics and innovated a new form – the sonnet – that would have a lasting impact on European verse. At seigneurial courts across the north of the peninsula, by contrast, the prevalent literary vernacular was Occitan. Recent archival discoveries, such as the Ravenna fragment, have helped to provide a glimpse of the earliest literary production in the north. Even if these fragments witness a beginning that did not develop into a literary tradition, they nonetheless represent valuable evidence of the complexity and texture of the earliest literary expressions in the Italian vernacular. This essay examines some of these fragments or, adopting Armando Petrucci’s term, ‘traces’, and highlights the sharp contrast in material terms that is found in the later Tuscan ‘songbooks’ or canzonieri, which witness almost all of the surviving lyric poetry of the Sicilian School. The essay concludes by looking at how Dante, after the comprehensive analysis of vernacular literature in the De vulgari eloquentia, writes a poem that overtly signals itself as a new vernacular beginning.

In “The Book of Nature,” Rebecca Davis traces the development theological trope of the book of nature in the twelfth-century Neoplatonic allegories of Bernard Silvestris and Alan of Lille as well as in Augustinian theology. After exploring Natura’s role as God’s vicaria dei in the allegories of Alan and Bernard, Davis turns to the book of nature’s role in later medieval vernacular poems like Dante’s Divine Comedy and William Langland’s Piers Plowman. Davis argues that medieval authors utilize the book of nature to call attention to issues of interpretation at points when authors attempt to establish or contest literary authority. The book of nature calls on us to interpret the world just as we interpret texts. The chapter closes with later manifestations of the book of nature in the works of Milton, Wordsworth, Emerson, and Rachel Carson.

The second chapter addresses Dante’s representation of himself as a poet in relation to the civic sphere. In a detailed analysis of the Egloghe, four Latin poems that make up Dante’s correspondence from Ravenna with Bolognese professor and poet Giovanni del Virgilio, the chapter shows how Dante measures himself against a humanist paradigm for the role of the poet in the city. In his rejection of this role, he asserts himself as the poet of exile, who stands without a city. Yet, through the pastoral imaginary, he also figures a space for poetry in the historical world, marginal though it may be. The chapter concludes by applying this reading of Dante’s humanism to the Paradiso. First, in a reading of Paradiso 15–17, it establishes that the human community of which Dante is poet is figured as a utopia somewhere between Cacciaguida’s Florence of the past and an imaginary Florence of the future. Then, in a reading of Paradiso 22–27, it shows how Dante asserts himself as a poet-theologian and poet laureate.

Chapter 2 moves from Dante Alighieri’s contribution to the establishment of the vernacular as a language of knowledge and his critique of contemporary vernacular translation, which offer yet another perspective on the multifaceted process through which vernacular culture appropriated and, in a sense, tamed Aristotle’s authority. The chapter situates Dante’s portrayal of Aristotle within the poet’s broader reflection on language. Taking the appearance of Aristotle in the Divine Comedy as a starting point, I show that Dante’s notion of language cannot be understood without looking at his discussion of the relations between Latin and the vernacular, particularly in the Convivio. From this point of view, Dante’s harsh criticism of Taddeo Alderotti’s Italian translation of the Summa Alexandrinorum invites us to reconsider the failure of the Convivio itself, a project which did not foster the cultural revolution that Dante sought. By exploring the textual transmission of Taddeo’s translation between 1300 and 1500, the final section of the chapter enlightens its relevance to the vernacular reading communities that found forms of cultural and social legitimation in works of this kind.

Chaucer’s two recorded visits to Italy in the decade of the 1370s is the starting point for considering vernacular literature at a point of transition: the middle of the decade is marked by the death of Petrarch and Boccaccio, and the beginning of the Chancellorship of Coluccio Salutati, a key figure in Florence’s incipient humanism. This chapter briefly examines some of the most important Italian influences on the work of Geoffrey Chaucer, namely: Dante Alighieri (1265-1321), and in particular the Comedìa; Giovanni Boccaccio (1313-1375), whose Decameron, Filostrato and Teseida were so important for Troilus and Criseyde, the Knight’s Tale, as well as the Canterbury Tales more generally; and Francesco Petrarca (1304-1374), who is attributed in the Clerk’s Tale as the source for the story of Griselda (his Latin translation of Boccaccio’s story comprises the seventeeth of his letters of old age, the Res seniles), and whose sonnet from the Rerum vulgarium fragmenta is included in Troilus and Criseyde.

Thomas Hoccleve referred to Chaucer as the ‘firste fyndere of our faire langage’. The word fyndere is carefully chosen, as a modified translation of the first ‘canon’ of classical and medieval rhetoric, the ancestor of present-day English invention. Any assessment of Chaucer’s ‘poetic art’ requires us not just to identify the linguistic choices available to him, it also requires us to ask how those choices relate to his broader poetics. Chaucer’s use of ‘pronouns of power’, for example, do not only characterise particular choices from the linguistic resources of London Middle English, they are also a matter of style, a notion for which classical and medieval literary theoreticians had their own terminology, distinguishing high, middle and low styles, widely recognised as having distinct functions relating to social status and roles. It is conceivably as a metrist, however, that Chaucer’s skill as a ‘finder’ is perhaps most subtly demonstrated, as examples from his works show.