The New Life (La Vita Nuova)
that he served in the war then waged by Florence upon Pisa, and was
present at the surrender of Caprona. He says, using the reminiscence to
give life to a description, in his great way:—
“I’ve seen the troops out of Caprona go
On terms, affrighted thus, when on the spot
They found themselves with foemen compass’d so.”
(CAYLEY’S _Translation_.)
A word should be said here of the title of Dante’s autobiography.
The adjective _Nuovo_, _nuova_, or _Novello_, _novella_, literally
_New_, is often used by Dante and other early writers in the sense of
_young_. This has induced some editors of the _Vita Nuova_ to explain
the title as meaning _Early Life_. I should be glad on some accounts
to adopt this supposition, as everything is a gain which increases
clearness to the modern reader; but on consideration I think the more
mystical interpretation of the words, as _New Life_ (in reference to
that revulsion of his being which Dante so minutely describes as having
occurred simultaneously with his first sight of Beatrice), appears
the primary one, and therefore the most necessary to be given in a
translation. The probability may be that both were meant, but this I
cannot convey.[3]
[3] I must hazard here (to relieve the first page of my translation
from a long note) a suggestion as to the meaning of the most
puzzling passage in the whole _Vita Nuova_,—that sentence
just at the outset which says, “La gloriosa donna della mia
mente, la quale fù chiamata da molti Beatrice, i quali non
sapeano che si chiamare.” On this passage all the commentators
seem helpless, turning it about and sometimes adopting
alterations not to be found in any ancient manuscript of the
work. The words mean literally, “The glorious lady of my
mind who was called Beatrice by many who knew not how she
was called.” This presents the obvious difficulty that the
lady’s name really _was_ Beatrice, and that Dante throughout
uses that name himself. In the text of my version I have
adopted, as a rendering, the one of the various compromises
which seemed to give the most beauty to the meaning. But
it occurs to me that a less irrational escape out of the
difficulty than any I have seen suggested may possibly be
found by linking this passage with the close of the sonnet
at page 104 of the _Vita Nuova_, beginning, “I felt a spirit
of love begin to stir,” in the last line of which sonnet
Love is made to assert that the name of Beatrice is _Love_.
Dante appears to have dwelt on this fancy with some pleasure,
from what is said in an earlier sonnet (page 39) about “Love
in his proper form” (by which Beatrice seems to be meant)
bending over a dead lady. And it is in connection with the
sonnet where the name of Beatrice is said to be Love, that
Dante, as if to show us that the Love he speaks of is only
his own emotion, enters into an argument as to Love being
merely an accident in substance,—in other words, “Amore e il
cor gentil son una cosa.” This conjecture may be pronounced
extravagant; but the _Vita Nuova_, when examined, proves so
full of intricate and fantastic analogies, even in the mere
arrangement of its parts, (much more than appears on any but
the closest scrutiny,) that it seems admissible to suggest
even a whimsical solution of a difficulty which remains
unconquered. Or to have recourse to the much more welcome
means of solution afforded by simple inherent beauty: may not
the meaning be merely that any person looking on so noble
and lovely a creation, without knowledge of her name, must
have spontaneously called her Beatrice,—_i.e._, the giver
of blessing? This would be analogous by antithesis to the
translation I have adopted in my text.
DANTE ALIGHIERI
THE NEW LIFE.
(LA VITA NUOVA.)
In that part of the book of my memory before the which is little that
can be read, there is a rubric, saying, _Incipit Vita Nova_.[4] Under
such rubric I find written many things; and among them the words which
I purpose to copy into this little book; if not all of them, at the
least their substance.
[4] “Here beginneth the new life.”
Nine times already since my birth had the heaven of light returned to
the selfsame point almost, as concerns its own revolution, when first
the glorious Lady of my mind was made manifest to mine eyes; even she
who was called Beatrice by many who knew not wherefore.[5] She had
already been in this life for so long as that, within her time, the
starry heaven had moved towards the Eastern quarter one of the twelve
parts of a degree; so that she appeared to me at the beginning of her
ninth year almost, and I saw her almost at the end of my ninth year.
Her dress, on that day, was of a most noble colour, a subdued and
goodly crimson, girdled and adorned in such sort as best suited with
her very tender age. At that moment, I say most truly that the spirit
of life, which hath its dwelling in the secretest chamber of the heart,
began to tremble so violently that the least pulses of my body shook
therewith; and in trembling it said these words: _Ecce deus fortior
me, qui veniens dominabitur mihi._[6] At that moment the animate
spirit, which dwelleth in the lofty chamber whither all the senses
carry their perceptions, was filled with wonder, and speaking more
especially unto the spirits of the eyes, said these words: _Apparuit
jam beatitudo vestra._[7] At that moment the natural spirit, which
dwelleth there where our nourishment is administered, began to weep,
and in weeping said these words: _Heu miser! quia frequenter impeditus
ero deinceps._[8]
[5] In reference to the meaning of the name, “She who confers
blessing.” We learn from Boccaccio that this first meeting
took place at a May Feast, given in the year 1274 by Folco
Portinari, father of Beatrice, who ranked among the principal
citizens of Florence: to which feast Dante accompanied his
father, Alighiero Alighieri.
[6] “Here is a deity stronger than I; who, coming, shall rule over
me.”
[7] “Your beatitude hath now been made manifest unto you.”
[8] “Woe is me! for that often I shall be disturbed from this time
forth!”
I say that, from that time forward, Love quite governed my soul; which
was immediately espoused to him, and with so safe and undisputed a
lordship (by virtue of strong imagination) that I had nothing left
for it but to do all his bidding continually. He oftentimes commanded
me to seek if I might see this youngest of the Angels: wherefore I in
my boyhood often went in search of her, and found her so noble and
praiseworthy that certainly of her might have been said those words
of the poet Homer, “She seemed not to be the daughter of a mortal man,
but of God.”[9] And albeit her image, that was with me always, was an
exultation of Love to subdue me, it was yet of so perfect a quality
that it never allowed me to be overruled by Love without the faithful
counsel of reason, whensoever such counsel was useful to be heard.
But seeing that were I to dwell overmuch on the passions and doings of
such early youth, my words might be counted something fabulous, I will
therefore put them aside; and passing many things that may be conceived
by the pattern of these, I will come to such as are writ in my memory
with a better distinctness.
[9]
Οὐδὲ ἐῴκει
Ἀνδρός γε θνητοῦ παῖς ἔμμεναι, ἀλλὰ θεοῖο.
(_Iliad_, xxiv. 258.)
After the lapse of so many days that nine years exactly were completed
since the above-written appearance of this most gracious being, on the
last of those days it happened that the same wonderful lady appeared
to me dressed all in pure white, between two gentle ladies elder
than she. And passing through a street, she turned her eyes thither
where I stood sorely abashed: and by her unspeakable courtesy, which
is now guerdoned in the Great Cycle, she saluted me with so virtuous
a bearing that I seemed then and there to behold the very limits of
blessedness. The hour of her most sweet salutation was exactly the
ninth of that day; and because it was the first time that any words
from her reached mine ears, I came into such sweetness that I parted
thence as one intoxicated. And betaking me to the loneliness of mine
own room, I fell to thinking of this most courteous lady, thinking
of whom I was overtaken by a pleasant slumber, wherein a marvellous
vision was presented to me: for there appeared to be in my room a mist
of the colour of fire, within the which I discerned the figure of a
lord of terrible aspect to such as should gaze upon him, but who seemed
therewithal to rejoice inwardly that it was a marvel to see. Speaking
he said many things, among the which I could understand but few; and
of these, this: _Ego dominus tuus._[10] In his arms it seemed to me
that a person was sleeping, covered only with a blood-coloured cloth;
upon whom looking very attentively, I knew that it was the lady of the
salutation who had deigned the day before to salute me. And he who held
her held also in his hand a thing that was burning in flames; and he
said to me, _Vide cor tuum_.[11] But when he had remained with me a
little while, I thought that he set himself to awaken her that slept;
after the which he made her to eat that thing which flamed in his hand;
and she ate as one fearing. Then, having waited again a space, all his
joy was turned into most bitter weeping; and as he wept he gathered
the lady into his arms, and it seemed to me that he went with her
up towards heaven: whereby such a great anguish came upon me that my
light slumber could not endure through it, but was suddenly broken. And
immediately having considered, I knew that the hour wherein this vision
had been made manifest to me was the fourth hour (which is to say, the
first of the nine last hours) of the night.
[10] “I am thy master.”
[11] “Behold thy heart.”
Then, musing on what I had seen, I proposed to relate the same to many
poets who were famous in that day: and for that I had myself in some
sort the art of discoursing with rhyme, I resolved on making a sonnet,
in the which, having saluted all such as are subject unto Love, and
entreated them to expound my vision, I should write unto them those
things which I had seen in my sleep. And the sonnet I made was this:—
To every heart which the sweet pain doth move,
And unto which these words may now be brought
For true interpretation and kind thought,
Be greeting in our Lord’s name, which is Love.
Of those long hours wherein the stars, above,
Wake and keep watch, the third was almost nought,
When Love was shown me with such terrors fraught
As may not carelessly be spoken of.
He seemed like one who is full of joy, and had
My heart within his hand, and on his arm
My lady, with a mantle round her, slept;
Whom (having wakened her) anon he made
To eat that heart; she ate, as fearing harm.
Then he went out; and as he went, he wept.
_This sonnet is divided into two parts. In the first part I give
greeting, and ask an answer; in the second, I signify what thing has to
be answered to. The second part commences here: “Of those long hours.”_
To this sonnet I received many answers, conveying many different
opinions; of the which one was sent by him whom I now call the first
among my friends, and it began thus, “Unto my thinking thou beheld’st