The New Life (La Vita Nuova)
all worth.”[12] And indeed, it was when he learned that I was he who
had sent those rhymes to him, that our friendship commenced. But the
true meaning of that vision was not then perceived by any one, though
it be now evident to the least skilful.
[12] The friend of whom Dante here speaks was Guido Cavalcanti.
From that night forth, the natural functions of my body began to be
vexed and impeded, for I was given up wholly to thinking of this most
gracious creature: whereby in short space I became so weak and so
reduced that it was irksome to many of my friends to look upon me;
while others, being moved by spite, went about to discover what it
was my wish should be concealed. Wherefore I (perceiving the drift of
their unkindly questions), by Love’s will, who directed me according
to the counsels of reason, told them how it was Love himself who had
thus dealt with me: and I said so, because the thing was so plainly to
be discerned in my countenance that there was no longer any means of
concealing it. But when they went on to ask, “And by whose help hath
Love done this?” I looked in their faces smiling, and spake no word in
return.
Now it fell on a day, that this most gracious creature was sitting
where words were to be heard of the Queen of Glory;[13] and I was in
a place whence mine eyes could behold their beatitude: and betwixt
her and me, in a direct line, there sat another lady of a pleasant
favour; who looked round at me many times, marvelling at my continued
gaze which seemed to have _her_ for its object. And many perceived
that she thus looked; so that departing thence, I heard it whispered
after me, “Look you to what a pass _such a lady_ hath brought him;”
and in saying this they named her who had been midway between the most
gentle Beatrice and mine eyes. Therefore I was reassured, and knew
that for that day my secret had not become manifest. Then immediately
it came into my mind that I might make use of this lady as a screen to
the truth: and so well did I play my part that the most of those who
had hitherto watched and wondered at me, now imagined they had found
me out. By her means I kept my secret concealed till some years were
gone over; and for my better security, I even made divers rhymes in
her honour; whereof I shall here write only as much as concerneth the
most gentle Beatrice, which is but a very little. Moreover, about the
same time while this lady was a screen for so much love on my part, I
took the resolution to set down the name of this most gracious creature
accompanied with many other women’s names, and especially with hers
whom I spake of. And to this end I put together the names of sixty
of the most beautiful ladies in that city where God had placed mine
own lady; and these names I introduced in an epistle in the form of a
_sirvent_, which it is not my intention to transcribe here. Neither
should I have said anything of this matter, did I not wish to take
note of a certain strange thing, to wit: that having written the list,
I found my lady’s name would not stand otherwise than ninth in order
among the names of these ladies.
[13] _i.e._, in a church.
Now it so chanced with her by whose means I had thus long time
concealed my desire, that it behoved her to leave the city I speak of,
and to journey afar: wherefore I, being sorely perplexed at the loss
of so excellent a defence, had more trouble than even I could before
have supposed. And thinking that if I spoke not somewhat mournfully
of her departure, my former counterfeiting would be the more quickly
perceived, I determined that I would make a grievous sonnet[14]
thereof; the which I will write here, because it hath certain words
in it whereof my lady was the immediate cause, as will be plain to him
that understands.
[14] It will be observed that this poem is not what we now call a
sonnet. Its structure, however, is analogous to that of the
sonnet, being two sextetts followed by two quatrains, instead
of two quatrains followed by two triplets. Dante applies the
term sonnet to both these forms of composition, and to no
other.
And the sonnet was this:—
All ye that pass along Love’s trodden way,
Pause ye awhile and say
If there be any grief like unto mine:
I pray you that you hearken a short space
Patiently, if my case
Be not a piteous marvel and a sign.
Love (never, certes, for my worthless part,
But of his own great heart,)
Vouchsafed to me a life so calm and sweet
That oft I heard folk question as I went
What such great gladness meant:—
They spoke of it behind me in the street.
But now that fearless bearing is all gone
Which with Love’s hoarded wealth was given me;
Till I am grown to be
So poor that I have dread to think thereon.
And thus it is that I, being like as one
Who is ashamed and hides his poverty,
Without seem full of glee,
And let my heart within travail and moan.
_This poem has two principal parts; for, in the first, I mean to call
the Faithful of Love in those words of Jeremias the Prophet_, “O vos
omnes qui transitis per viam, attendite et videte si est dolor sicut
dolor meus,” _and to pray them to stay and hear me. In the second I
tell where Love had placed me, with a meaning other than that which
the last part of the poem shows, and I say what I have lost. The second
part begins here, “Love, (never, certes).”_
A certain while after the departure of that lady, it pleased the Master
of the Angels to call into His glory a damsel, young and of a gentle
presence, who had been very lovely in the city I speak of: and I saw
her body lying without its soul among many ladies, who held a pitiful
weeping. Whereupon, remembering that I had seen her in the company of
excellent Beatrice, I could not hinder myself from a few tears; and
weeping, I conceived to say somewhat of her death, in guerdon of having
seen her somewhile with my lady; which thing I spake of in the latter
end of the verses that I writ in this matter, as he will discern who
understands. And I wrote two sonnets, which are these:—
I.
Weep, Lovers, sith Love’s very self doth weep,
And sith the cause for weeping is so great;
When now so many dames, of such estate
In worth, show with their eyes a grief so deep:
For Death the churl has laid his leaden sleep
Upon a damsel who was fair of late,
Defacing all our earth should celebrate,—
Yea all save virtue, which the soul doth keep.
Now hearken how much Love did honour her.
I myself saw him in his proper form
Bending above the motionless sweet dead,
And often gazing into Heaven; for there
The soul now sits which when her life was warm
Dwelt with the joyful beauty that is fled.
_This first sonnet is divided into three parts. In the first, I call
and beseech the Faithful of Love to weep; and I say that their Lord
weeps, and that they, hearing the reason why he weeps, shall be more
minded to listen to me. In the second, I relate this reason. In the
third, I speak of honour done by Love to this Lady. The second part
begins here, “When now so many dames;” the third here, “Now hearken.”_
II.
Death, alway cruel, Pity’s foe in chief,
Mother who brought forth grief,
Merciless judgment and without appeal!
Since thou alone hast made my heart to feel
This sadness and unweal,
My tongue upbraideth thee without relief.
And now (for I must rid thy name of ruth)
Behoves me speak the truth
Touching thy cruelty and wickedness:
Not that they be not known; but ne’ertheless
I would give hate more stress
With them that feed on love in very sooth.
Out of this world thou hast driven courtesy,
And virtue, dearly prized in womanhood;
And out of youth’s gay mood
The lovely lightness is quite gone through thee.
Whom now I mourn, no man shall learn from me
Save by the measure of these praises given.
Whoso deserves not Heaven
May never hope to have her company.[15]
[15] The commentators assert that the last two lines here do not
allude to the dead lady, but to Beatrice. This would make
the poem very clumsy in construction; yet there must be some
covert allusion to Beatrice, as Dante himself intimates. The
only form in which I can trace it consists in the implied
assertion that such person as _had_ enjoyed the dead lady’s
society was worthy of heaven, and that person was Beatrice.
Or indeed the allusion to Beatrice might be in the first poem,
where he says that Love “_in forma vera_” (that is, Beatrice),
mourned over the corpse: as he afterwards says of Beatrice,
“_Quella ha nome Amor_.” Most probably _both_ allusions are
intended.
_This poem is divided into four parts. In the first I address Death by
certain proper names of hers. In the second, speaking to her, I tell
the reason why I am moved to denounce her. In the third, I rail against
her. In the fourth, I turn to speak to a person undefined, although
defined in my own conception. The second part commences here, “Since
thou alone;” the third here, “And now (for I must);” the fourth here,
“Whoso deserves not.”_
Some days after the death of this lady, I had occasion to leave
the city I speak of, and to go thitherwards where she abode who had
formerly been my protection; albeit the end of my journey reached
not altogether so far. And notwithstanding that I was visibly in the
company of many, the journey was so irksome that I had scarcely sighing
enough to ease my heart’s heaviness; seeing that as I went, I left
my beatitude behind me. Wherefore it came to pass that he who ruled
me by virtue of my most gentle lady was made visible to my mind, in
the light habit of a traveller, coarsely fashioned. He appeared to me
troubled, and looked always on the ground; saving only that sometimes
his eyes were turned towards a river which was clear and rapid, and
which flowed along the path I was taking. And then I thought that Love
called me and said to me these words: “I come from that lady who was
so long thy surety; for the matter of whose return, I know that it may
not be. Wherefore I have taken that heart which I made thee leave with
her, and do bear it unto another lady, who, as she was, shall be thy
surety;” (and when he named her I knew her well). “And of these words
I have spoken, if thou shouldst speak any again, let it be in such
sort as that none shall perceive thereby that thy love was feigned for
her, which thou must now feign for another.” And when he had spoken
thus, all my imagining was gone suddenly, for it seemed to me that Love
became a part of myself: so that, changed as it were in mine aspect, I
rode on full of thought the whole of that day, and with heavy sighing.
And the day being over, I wrote this sonnet:—
A day agone, as I rode sullenly
Upon a certain path that liked me not,
I met Love midway while the air was hot,
Clothed lightly as a wayfarer might be.
And for the cheer he showed, he seemed to me
As one who hath lost lordship he had got;
Advancing tow’rds me full of sorrowful thought,
Bowing his forehead so that none should see.
Then as I went, he called me by my name,
Saying: “I journey since the morn was dim
Thence where I made thy heart to be: which now
I needs must bear unto another dame.”
Wherewith so much passed into me of him
That he was gone, and I discerned not how.
_This sonnet has three parts. In the first part, I tell how I met Love,
and of his aspect. In the second, I tell what he said to me, although