The New Life (La Vita Nuova)
for my reply. Whereupon I said thus unto them:—”Ladies, the end and
aim of my Love was but the salutation of that lady of whom I conceive
that ye are speaking; wherein alone I found that beatitude which is
the goal of desire. And now that it hath pleased her to deny me this,
Love, my Master, of his great goodness, hath placed all my beatitude
there where my hope will not fail me.” Then those ladies began to talk
closely together; and as I have seen snow fall among the rain, so was
their talk mingled with sighs. But after a little, that lady who had
been the first to address me, addressed me again in these words: “We
pray thee that thou wilt tell us wherein abideth this thy beatitude.”
And answering, I said but thus much: “In those words that do praise my
lady.” To the which she rejoined: “If thy speech were true, those words
that thou didst write concerning thy condition would have been written
with another intent.”
Then I, being almost put to shame because of her answer, went out
from among them; and as I walked, I said within myself: “Seeing that
there is so much beatitude in those words which do praise my lady,
wherefore hath my speech of her been different?” And then I resolved
that thenceforward I would choose for the theme of my writings only the
praise of this most gracious being. But when I had thought exceedingly,
it seemed to me that I had taken to myself a theme which was much
too lofty, so that I dared not begin; and I remained during several
days in the desire of speaking, and the fear of beginning. After
which it happened, as I passed one day along a path which lay beside
a stream of very clear water, that there came upon me a great desire
to say somewhat in rhyme: but when I began thinking how I should say
it, methought that to speak of her were unseemly, unless I spoke to
other ladies in the second person; which is to say, not to _any_ other
ladies, but only to such as are so called because they are gentle, let
alone for mere womanhood. Whereupon I declare that my tongue spake as
though by its own impulse, and said, “Ladies that have intelligence in
love.” These words I laid up in my mind with great gladness, conceiving
to take them as my commencement. Wherefore, having returned to the city
I spake of, and considered thereof during certain days, I began a poem
with this beginning, constructed in the mode which will be seen below
in its division. The poem begins here:—
Ladies that have intelligence in love,
Of mine own lady I would speak with you;
Not that I hope to count her praises through,
But telling what I may, to ease my mind.
And I declare that when I speak thereof,
Love sheds such perfect sweetness over me
That if my courage failed not, certainly
To him my listeners must be all resign’d.
Wherefore I will not speak in such large kind
That mine own speech should foil me, which were base;
But only will discourse of her high grace
In these poor words, the best that I can find,
With you alone, dear dames and damozels:
’Twere ill to speak thereof with any else.
An Angel, of his blessed knowledge, saith
To God: “Lord, in the world that Thou hast made,
A miracle in action is display’d,
By reason of a soul whose splendours fare
Even hither: and since Heaven requireth
Nought saving her, for her it prayeth Thee,
Thy Saints crying aloud continually.”
Yet Pity still defends our earthly share
In that sweet soul; God answering thus the prayer:
“My well-belovèd, suffer that in peace
Your hope remain, while so My pleasure is,
There where one dwells who dreads the loss of her:
And who in Hell unto the doomed shall say,
‘I have looked on that for which God’s chosen pray.’”
My lady is desired in the high Heaven:
_Wherefore_, it now behoveth me to tell,
Saying: Let any maid that would be well
Esteemed keep with her: for as she goes by,
Into foul hearts a deathly chill is driven
By Love, that makes ill thought to perish there:
While any who endures to gaze on her
Must either be ennobled, or else die.
When one deserving to be raised so high
Is found, ’tis then her power attains its proof,
Making his heart strong for his soul’s behoof
With the full strength of meek humility.
Also this virtue owns she, by God’s will:
Who speaks with her can never come to ill.
Love saith concerning her: “How chanceth it
That flesh, which is of dust, should be thus pure?”
Then, gazing always, he makes oath: “Forsure,
This is a creature of God till now unknown.”
She hath that paleness of the pearl that’s fit
In a fair woman, so much and not more;
She is as high as Nature’s skill can soar;
Beauty is tried by her comparison.
Whatever her sweet eyes are turned upon,
Spirits of love do issue thence in flame,
Which through their eyes who then may look on them
Pierce to the heart’s deep chamber every one.
And in her smile Love’s image you may see;
Whence none can gaze upon her steadfastly.
Dear Song, I know thou wilt hold gentle speech
With many ladies, when I send thee forth:
Wherefore (being mindful that thou hadst thy birth
From Love, and art a modest, simple child),
Whomso thou meetest, say thou this to each:
“Give me good speed! To her I wend along
In whose much strength my weakness is made strong.”
And if, i’ the end, thou wouldst not be beguiled
Of all thy labour, seek not the defiled
And common sort; but rather choose to be
Where man and woman dwell in courtesy.
So to the road thou shalt be reconciled,
And find the lady, and with the lady, Love.
Commend thou me to each, as doth behove.
_This poem, that it may be better understood, I will divide more
subtly than the others preceding; and therefore I will make three
parts of it. The first part is a proem to the words following. The
second is the matter treated of. The third is, as it were, a handmaid
to the preceding words. The second begins here, “An Angel;” the third
here, “Dear Song, I know.” The first part is divided into four. In
the first, I say to whom I mean to speak of my lady, and wherefore I
will so speak. In the second, I say what she appears to myself to be
when I reflect upon her excellence, and what I would utter if I lost
not courage. In the third, I say what it is I purpose to speak so as
not to be impeded by faintheartedness. In the fourth, repeating to
whom I purpose speaking, I tell the reason why I speak to them. The
second begins here, “And I declare;” the third here, “Wherefore I will
not speak;” the fourth here, “With you alone.” Then, when I say “An
Angel,” I begin treating of this lady: and this part is divided into
two. In the first, I tell what is understood of her in heaven. In the
second, I tell what is understood of her on earth: here, “My lady is
desired.” This second part is divided into two; for, in the first, I
speak of her as regards the nobleness of her soul, relating some of
her virtues proceeding from her soul; in the second, I speak of her
as regards the nobleness of her body, narrating some of her beauties:
here, “Love saith concerning her.” This second part is divided into
two, for, in the first, I speak of certain beauties which belong to
the whole person; in the second, I speak of certain beauties which
belong to a distinct part of the person: here, “Whatever her sweet
eyes.” This second part is divided into two; for, in the one, I speak
of the eyes, which are the beginning of love; in the second, I speak
of the mouth, which is the end of love. And that every vicious thought
may be discarded herefrom, let the reader remember that it is above
written that the greeting of this lady, which was an act of her mouth,
was the goal of my desires, while I could receive it. Then, when I say,
“Dear Song, I know,” I add a stanza as it were handmaid to the others,
wherein I say what I desire from this my poem. And because this last
part is easy to understand, I trouble not myself with more divisions.
I say, indeed, that the further to open the meaning of this poem, more
minute divisions ought to be used; but nevertheless he who is not of
wit enough to understand it by these which have been already made is
welcome to leave it alone; for certes, I fear I have communicated its
sense to too many by these present divisions, if it so happened that
many should hear it._
When this song was a little gone abroad, a certain one of my friends,
hearing the same, was pleased to question me, that I should tell him
what thing love is; it may be, conceiving from the words thus heard
a hope of me beyond my desert. Wherefore I, thinking that after such
discourse it were well to say somewhat of the nature of Love, and also
in accordance with my friend’s desire, proposed to myself to write
certain words in the which I should treat of this argument. And the
sonnet that I then made is this:—
Love and the gentle heart are one same thing,
Even as the wise man[20] in his ditty saith:
Each, of itself, would be such life in death
As rational soul bereft of reasoning.
’Tis Nature makes them when she loves: a king
Love is, whose palace where he sojourneth
Is called the Heart; there draws he quiet breath
At first, with brief or longer slumbering.
Then beauty seen in virtuous womankind
Will make the eyes desire, and through the heart
Send the desiring of the eyes again;
Where often it abides so long enshrin’d
That Love at length out of his sleep will start.
And women feel the same for worthy men.
[20] Guido Guinicelli, in the canzone which begins, “Within the
gentle heart Love shelters him.”
_This sonnet is divided into two parts. In the first, I speak of him
according to his power. In the second, I speak of him according as
his power translates itself into act. The second part begins here,
“Then beauty seen.” The first is divided into two. In the first, I
say in what subject this power exists. In the second, I say how this
subject and this power are produced together, and how the one regards
the other, as form does matter. The second begins here, “’Tis Nature.”
Afterwards when I say, “Then beauty seen in virtuous womankind,” I
say how this power translates itself into act; and, first, how it
so translates itself in a man, then how it so translates itself in a
woman: here, “And women feel.”_
Having treated of love in the foregoing, it appeared to me that I
should also say something in praise of my lady, wherein it might be
set forth how love manifested itself when produced by her; and how not
only she could awaken it where it slept, but where it was not she could
marvellously create it. To the which end I wrote another sonnet; and it
is this:—
My lady carries love within her eyes;
All that she looks on is made pleasanter;
Upon her path men turn to gaze at her;
He whom she greeteth feels his heart to rise,
And droops his troubled visage, full of sighs,
And of his evil heart is then aware:
Hate loves, and pride becomes a worshipper.
O women, help to praise her in somewise.
Humbleness, and the hope that hopeth well,
By speech of hers into the mind are brought,
And who beholds is blessèd oftenwhiles.
The look she hath when she a little smiles
Cannot be said, nor holden in the thought;
’Tis such a new and gracious miracle.
_This sonnet has three sections. In the first, I say how this lady
brings this power into action by those most noble features, her eyes;