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Dante's Got It Bad!
aka: la vita nuova (new life)

based on Dante Gabriel Rossetti's translation
modernized by Sasha Newborn

Vita Nuova print edition

Introduction

AS A YOUNG POET, Dante Alighieri was at the center of a new attitude sweeping through Italy and southern France. Poets and artists were awakening. Dante’s putative subject is Beatrice/Love—but La Vita Nuova is really an exercise in poetry by a young artist trying his wings: Dante sets the emotional scene for a poem, then he writes the poem, then he explains the poem’s structure, part by part. I have known poets to explain their poems beforehand so well that the poem itself was almost unnecessary. Dante himself later became uncomfortable with this work of youth, but he did not disown it.

Little is known of Dante’s own childhood or adolescence, but by the age of eighteen, he was already writing philosophical love poetry. His acknowledged mentors were Guido Guinicelli of Bologna, whom he mentions in his Commedia, Guido Cavalcanti, his friend fifteen years older than himself, and Brunetto Latini, one of the leaders of Florentine politics. Dante was intimate with the painter Giotto, the musician Casella, and he early interested himself in public service.

Dante discusses in another place his choice of language—Latin was universal but lacked the nuances and emotionality that he was interested in. Provençal had the sophistication and concepts, but was not immediately accessible to his audience. No, he would write poetry as the people around him actually spoke; he would, with his friends, legitimize the fluid poetic romance language we know as Italian. In fact, the works of Dante are still used as a standard for cultured Italian language; in much the same way, the Elizabethan writers in England regularized and popularized the London dialect to create modern English. Thus a national literature was born among Dante and his friends, to become a cornerstone of modern European culture.

Dante’s treatment of love deserves special comment. Kenneth Clark says that courtly love, the chivalrous code of a man’s submission to an unapproachable woman ‘‘was entirely unknown to antiquity … this would have seemed to the Romans or to the Vikings not only absurd but unbelievable.’’ Where did such an idea come from? Dante’s ideal of love appears to owe no more than a patina of holiness to mariolatry, worship of the mother of Jesus. The short answer is Provence; Dante knew the Provençal poets Arnaut Daniel, Bertran de Born, Giraut de Bornelh, Folquet of Marseilles and the Italian troubadour Sordello well enough to include them in his Commedia. These were only a few of the four hundred known troubadours, who spread the ideal of courtly love. The most remarkable fact about the new forms and themes of this Provençal poetry is that they owed little or nothing to Latin poetry.

Dante’s Vita Nuova is presented intact. The marginalia are Dante’s own comments on his poems, making this one of the most introspective pieces of literature ever written.

Where possible, Rossetti’s language has been shorn of Victorianisms and Pre-Rafaelite anachronisms that jar on the modern sensibility, and sexist language has been humanized where practicable. Occasionally these changes conflict with strict rhyme or rhythm; since poets nowadays do not hold rhyme in high regard, I have opted for sense in most instances.

 Although it may seem to feminists today that idealization of the woman as a figure of romantic love is retrograde, this conception was a giant step forward in human development at the time. Though no female poets are represented in this grouping, the poems make it clear that women were neither helpless nor servile in Florentine society. Most of these poets are also remarkably free from religious cant, relying on human means to solve human problems.

Dante's own margin notes appear in red boxes

The New Life

Dante’s poems and exposition of Love

IN THAT PART of the book of my memory before which is little that can be read, there is a rubric, saying, Incipit Vita Nova. 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.

Nine times already since my birth had the heaven of light returned to the self-same point almost, as concerns its own revolution, when first the glorious Lady of my mind was made manifest to my eyes; even she who was called Beatrice by many who knew not wherefore. She had already been in this life for so long as that, within her time, the starry heaven had moved toward 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 color, 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 has 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. At that moment the animate spirit, which dwells in the lofty chamber where all the senses carry their perceptions, was filled with wonder, and speaking more especially unto the spirits of the eyes, said these words: Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra. At that moment the natural spirit, which dwells there where our nourishment is administered, began to weep, and in weeping said these words: Heu miser! quia frequenter impeditus ero deinceps!

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.’’ 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.

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 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 my ears, I came into such sweetness that I parted thence as one intoxicated. And betaking me to the loneliness of my 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 for me: for there appeared to be in my room a mist of the color of fire, within 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. In his arms it seemed to me that a person was sleeping, covered only with a blood-colored 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. 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.

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 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:

     

---

This sonnet is divided into two parts. In the first part I give greeting, and ask an answer.

To every heart which the sweet pain does move,

A ciascun'alma presa, e gentil core,

and unto which these words may now be brought

nel cui cospetto ven lo dir presente,

for true interpretation and kind thought,

in ciò che mi rescrivan suo parvente

be greeting in our Lord’s name, which is Love.

salute in lor segnor, cioè Amore.

Of those long hours wherein the stars, above,

Già eran quasi che atterzate l'ore

wake and keep watch, the third was almost nought,

del tempo che onne stella n'è lucente,

when Love was shown me with such terrors fraught

quando m'apparve Amor subitamente

as may not carelessly be spoken of.

cui essenza membrar mi dà orrore.

The second part commences here. In the second I signify what thing has to be answered to.

He seemed like one who is full of joy, and had

Allegro mi sembrava Amor tenendo

my heart within his hand, and on his arm

meo core in mano, e ne le braccia avea

my lady, with a mantle round her, slept;

madonna involta in un drappo dormendo.

whom (having wakened her) soon he made

Poi la svegliava, e d'esto core ardendo

to eat that heart; she ate, as fearing harm.

lei paventosa umilmente pascea:

Then he went out; and as he went, he wept.

appresso gir lo ne vedea piangendo.

     

---

To this sonnet I received many answers, conveying many different opinions; of which one was sent by him whom I now call the first among my friends, and it began thus, ‘‘Unto my thinking you beheld all worth.’’ 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 anyone, though it be now evident to the least skillful.

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; and I was in a place where my eyes could behold their beatitude: and between her and me, in a direct line, there sat another lady of a pleasant favor; 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 has 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 diverse rhymes in her honor; whereof I shall here write only as much as concerned 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 the many other women’s names, and especially with hers whom I spoke of. And to this end I put together the names of sixty of the most beautiful ladies in that city where God had placed my 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.

Now it so chanced with her by whose means I had thus long time concealed my desire, that it was advantageous for her to leave the city I speak of, and to journey afar: wherefore I, being sorely perplexed at the loss of so excellent a defense, 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 thereof; the which I will write here, because it has certain words in it whereof my lady was the immediate cause, as will be plain to him that understands. And the sonnet was this:—

---

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 este dolor sicut dolor meus, and to pray them to stay and hear me. The second part begins here:

All you that pass along Love’s trodden way,

O voi, che per la via d'Amor passate,

Pause you awhile and say

attendete e guardate


If there be any grief like unto mine:

s'elli è dolore alcun, quanto 'l mio, grave;


I pray you that you hearken a short space

e prego sol ch'audir mi sofferiate,

Patiently, if my case

e poi imaginate


Be not a piteous marvel and a sign.

s'io son d'ogni tormento ostale e chiave.


Love (never, truly, for my worthless part,

Amor, non giù per mia poca bontate,


But of his own great heart),

ma per sua nobiltate,


Vouchsafed to me a life so calm and sweet

mi pose in vita sì dolce e soave,

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.

That oft I heard folk question as I went

ch'io mi sentia dir dietro spesse fiate:

What such great gladness meant:—

"Deo, per qual dignitate


They spoke of it behind me in the street.

così leggiadro questi lo core have?"


But now that fearless bearing is all gone

Or ho perduta tutta mia baldanza,


Which with Love’s hoarded wealth was given me;

che si movea d'amoroso tesoro;

Till I am grown to be

ond'io pover dimoro,

So poor that I have dread to think thereon.

in guisa che di dir mi ven dottanza.


And thus it is that I, being like as one

Sì che volendo far come coloro


Who is ashamed and hides his poverty.

che per vergogna celan lor mancanza,


Without seem full of glee,

di fuor mostro allegranza,


And let my heart within travail and moan.

e dentro dallo core struggo e ploro.

---

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 recompense for having seen her somewhile with my lady; which thing I spoke of in the latter end of the verses that I write in this matter, as he will discern who understands.

And I wrote two sonnets, which are these:

---

I

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.

Weep, Lovers, since Love’s very self does weep,

Piangete, amanti, poi che piange Amore,

and since the cause for weeping is so great;

udendo qual cagion lui fa plorare

when now so many dames, of such estate

Amor sente a Pietà donne chiamare,

in worth, show with their eyes a grief so deep.

mostrando amaro duol per li occhi fore,

In the second, I relate this reason.

For Death the churl has laid his leaden sleep

perchè villana Morte in gentil core

upon a damsel who was fair of late,

ha miso il suo crudele adoperare,

defacing all our earth should celebrate—

guastando ciò che al mondo è da laudare

yea all save virtue, which the soul does keep.

in gentil donna sovra de l'onore.

In the third, I speak of honor done by Love to this Lady.

Now hearken how much Love did honor her.

Audite quanto Amor le fece orranza,

I myself saw him in his proper form

ch'io 'l vidi lamentare in forma vera

bending above the motionless sweet dead,

sovra la morta imagine avenente;

and often gazing into Heaven; for there

e riguardava ver lo ciel sovente,

the soul now sits which when her life was warm

ove l'alma gentil giù locata era,

dwelled with the joyful beauty that is fled.

che donna fu di sì gaia sembianza.

---

II

This poem is divided into four parts. In the first I address Death by certain proper names of hers.

Death, always cruel, Pity’s foe in chief,

Morte villana, di pietà nemica,

mother who brought forth grief,

di dolor madre antica,

merciless judgement and without appeal!

giudicio incontastabile gravoso,

Since you alone have made my heart to feel

poi che hai data matera al cor doglioso,

this sadness and affliction,

ond'io vado pensoso,

my tongue upbraids you without relief.

di te blasmar la lingua s'affatica.

In the second, speaking to her, I tell the reason why I am moved to denounce her.

And now (for I must rid your name of remorse)

E s'io di grazia ti voi far mendica,

compels me to speak the truth

convenesi ch'eo dica

touching your cruelty and wickedness:

lo tuo fallar d'onni torto tortoso,

not that they be not known: but nevertheless

non però ch'a la gente sia nascoso,

I would give hate more stress

ma per farne cruccioso

with them that feed on love in very truth.

chi d'amor per innanzi si notrica.

In the third, I rail against her.

Out of this world you have driven courtesy,

Dal secolo hai partita cortesia

and virtue, dearly prized in womanhood;

e ciò ch'è in donna da pregiar vertute:

and out of youth’s gay mood

in gaia gioventute

the lovely lightness is quite gone through you.

distrutta hai l'amorosa leggiadria.

In the fourth, I turn to speak to a person undefined, although defined in my own conception.

Whom now I mourn, no one shall learn from me

Più non voi discovrir qual donna sia

save by the measure of these praises given.

che per le propietà sue canosciute.

Whoso deserves not Heaven

Chi non merta salute

may never hope to have her company.

non speri mai d'aver sua compagnia.

---

Some days after the death of this lady, I had occasion to leave the city I speak of, and to go where she lived 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; except 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 your surety; for the matter of whose return, I know that it may not be. Wherefore I have taken that heart which I made you leave with her, and do bear it unto another lady, who, as she was, shall be your surety’’; (and when he named her I knew her well). ‘‘And of these words I have spoken if you should speak any again, let it be in such sort as that none shall perceive thereby that your love was feigned for her, which you 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:

---

This sonnet has three parts. In the first part, I tell how I met love, and of his aspect.

A day gone by, as I rode sullenly

Cavalcando l'altr'ier per un cammino,

Upon a certain path that liked me not,

pensoso de l'andar che mi sgradia,

I met Love midway while the air was hot,

trovai Amore in mezzo de la via

Clothed lightly as a wayfarer might be.

in abito leggier di peregrino.

And for the cheer he showed, he seemed to me

Ne la sembianza mi parea meschino,

As one who had lost lordship he had got;

come avesse perduta segnoria;

Advancing towards me full of sorrowful thought,

e sospirando pensoso venia,

Bowing his forehead so that none should see

per non veder la gente, a capo chino.

In the second, I tell what he said to me, although not in full, through the fear I had of discovering my secret.

Then as I went, he called me by my name,

Quando mi vide, mi chiamò per nome,

Saying: ‘‘I journey since the morn was dim

e disse: "Io vegno di lontana parte,

There where I made your heart to be: which now

ov'era lo tuo cor per mio volere;

I needs must bear unto another dame.’’

e recolo a servir novo piacere".

Wherewith so much passed into me of him

Allora presi di lui sì gran parte,

In the third, I say how he disappeared.’

That he was gone, and I discerned not how.

ch'elli disparve, e non m'accorsi come.

---

On my return, I set myself to seek out that lady whom my master had named to me while I journeyed sighing. And because I would be brief, I will now narrate that in a short while I made her my surety, in such sort that the matter was spoken of by many in terms scarcely courteous; through which I had oftenwhiles many troublesome hours. And by this it happened (to wit: by this false and evil rumour which seemed to misfame me of vice) that she who was the destroyer of all evil and the queen of all good, coming where I was, denied me her most sweet salutation, in which alone was my blessedness.’

And here it is fitting for me to depart a little from this present matter, that it may be rightly understood of what surprassing virtue her salutation was to me. To which end I say that when she appeared in any place, it seemed to me, by the hope of her excellent salutation, that there was no man my enemy any longer; and such warmth of charity came upon me that most certainly in that moment I would have pardoned whosoever had done me an injury; and if one should then have questioned me concerning any matter, I could only have said unto him ‘‘Love,’’ with a countenance clothed in humbleness. And what time she made ready to salute me, the spirit of Love, destroying all other perceptions, thrust forth the feeble spirits of my eyes, saying ‘‘Do homage unto your mistress,’’ and putting itself in their place to obey: so that he who would, might then have beheld Love, beholding the lids of my eyes shake. And when this most gentle lady gave her salutation, Love, so far from being a medium beclouding mine intolerable beatitude, then bred in me such an overpowering sweetness that my body, being all subjected thereto, remained many times helpless and passive. Whereby it is made manifest that in her salutation alone was there any beatitude for me, which then very often went beyond my endurance.’

And now, resuming my discourse, I will go on to relate that when, for the first time, this beatitude was denied me, I became possessed with such grief that, parting myself from others, I went into a lonely place to bathe the ground with most bitter tears: and when, by this heat of weeping, I was somewhat relieved, I betook myself to my chamber, where I could lament unheard. And there, having prayed to the Lady of all Mercies, and having said also, ‘‘O Love, aid you your servant,’’ I went suddenly asleep, like a beaten sobbing child. And in my sleep, towards the middle of it, I seemed to see in the room, seated at my side, a youth in very white raiment, who kept his eyes fixed on me in deep thought. And when he had gazed some time, I thought that he sighed and called me to me in these words: Fili mi, tempus est ut praetermittantur simulata nostra. And thereupon I seemed to know him; for the voice was the same wherewith he had spoken at other times in my sleep. Then looking at him, I perceived that he was weeping piteously, and that he seemed to be waiting for me to speak. Wherefore, taking heart, I began thus: ‘‘Why weep you Master of all honor?’’ And he made answer to me: Ego tanquam centrum circuli, cui similis modo se habent circumferentiae partes: tu autem non sic. And thinking upon his words, they seemed to me obscure; so that again compelling myself unto speech, I asked of him: ‘‘What thing is this, Master, that you have spoken thus darkly?’’ To the which he made answer in the vulgar tongue: ‘‘Demand no more than may be useful to you.’’

Whereupon I began to discourse with him concerning her salutation which she had denied me; and when I had questioned him of the cause, he said these words: ‘‘Our Beatrice has heard from certain persons, that the lady whom I named to you while you journeyed full of sighs is sorely disquieted by your solicitations: and therefore this most gracious creature, who is the enemy of all disquiet, being fearful of such disquiet, refused to salute you. For the which reason (albeit, in very sooth, your secret must needs have become known to hear by familiar observation) it is my will that you compose certain things in rhyme, in the which you shall set forth how strong a mastership I have obtained over you, through her; and how you were hers even from your childhood. Also do you call upon him that knows these things to bear witness to them, bidding him to speak with her thereof; the which I, who am he, will do willingly. And thus she shall be made to know your desire; knowing which, she shall know likewise that they were deceived who spoke of you to hear. And so write these things, that they shall seem rather to be spoken by a third person; and not directly by you to her, which is scarce fitting. After which, send them, not without me, where she may chance to hear them; but have them fitted with a pleasant music, into which I will pass whensoever it needs.’’ With this speech he was away, and my sleep was broken up.

Whereupon, remembering me, I knew that I had beheld this vision during the ninth hour of the day; and I resolved that I would made a ditty, before I left my chamber, according to the words my master had spoken. And this is the ditty that I made:

---

Song, ’tis my will that you do seek out Love,

Ballata, i' vo' che tu ritrovi Amore,

and go with him where my dear lady is;

e con lui vade a madonna davante,

that so my cause, the which your harmonies

sì che la scusa mia, la qual tu cante,

do plead, his better speech may clearly prove.

ragioni poi con lei lo mio segnore.

You go, my Song, in such a courteous kind,

Tu vai, ballata, sì cortesemente,

that even companionless

che sanza compagnia

This ditty is divided into three parts. In the first, I tell it whither to go, and I encourage it, that it may go the more confidently, and I tell it whose company to join if it would go with confidence and without any danger.

you may rely on yourself anywhere.

dovresti avere in tutte parti ardire;

And yet, if you would get you a safe mind,

ma se tu vuoli andar sicuramente,

first unto Love address

retrova l'Amor pria,

your steps; whose aid, perhaps, ’twere ill to spare,

chè forse non è bon sanza lui gire;

seeing that she to whom you make your prayer

però che quella che ti dee audire,

is, as I think, ill-minded unto me,

sì com'io credo, è ver di me adirata:

and that if Love do not companion you

se tu di lui non fossi accompagnata,

You’ll have perchance small cheer to tell me of.

leggeramente ti faria disnore.

With a sweet accent, when you come to her,

Con dolze sono, quando se' con lui,

begin you in these words,

comincia este parole,

first having craved a gracious audience:

appresso che averai chesta pietate:

‘‘He who has sent me as his messenger,

"Madonna, quelli che mi manda a vui,

Lady, thus much records,

quando vi piaccia, vole,

if you but suffer him, in his defense.

sed elli ha scusa, che la m'intendiate.

Love, who comes with me, by your influence

Amore è qui, che per vostra bieltate

Can make this man do as it likes him:

lo face, come vol, vista cangiare:

Wherefore, if this fault is or does but seem

dunque perché li fece altra guardare

do you conceive: for his heart cannot move.’’

pensatel voi, da che non mutò 'l core".

In the second, I say that which it becomes the ditty to set forth.

Say to her also: ‘‘Lady, his poor heart

Dille: "Madonna, lo suo core è stato

is so confirmed in faith

con sì fermata fede,

that all its thoughts are but of serving you:

che 'n voi servir l'ha 'mpronto onne pensero:

’Twas early yours, and could not swerve apart.’’

tosto fu vostro, e mai non s'è smagato".

Then, if she wavers,

Sed ella non ti crede,

bid her ask Love, who knows if these things be.

dì che domandi Amor, che sa lo vero:

And in the end, beg of her modestly

ed a la fine falle umil preghero,

to pardon so much boldness: saying too:—

lo perdonare se le fosse a noia,

the thing shall come to pass, as does promise.’’

che mi comandi per messo ch'eo moia,

In the third, I give it leave to start when it pleases, recommending its course to the arms of Fortune. Some might contradict me, and say that they understand not whom I address in the second person, seeing that the ditty is merely the very words I am speaking. And therefore I say that this doubt I intend to solve and clear up in this little book itself, at a more difficult passage, and then let him understand who now doubts, or would now contradict as aforesaid.

Then pray you of the Master of all remorse,

e vedrassi ubidir ben servidore.

before you leave her there,

E dì a colui ch'è d'ogni pietà chiave,

that he befriend my cause and plead it well.

avante che sdonnei,

‘‘In acknowledging my sweet rhymes and my truth’’

che le saprò contar mia ragion bona:

(entreat him) ‘‘stay with her;

"Per grazia de la mia nota soave

let not the hope of your poor servant fail;

reman tu qui con lei, e del tuo servo ciò che vuoi ragiona;

and if with her your pleading should prevail,

e s'ella pel tuo prego li perdona,

let her look on him and give peace to him.’’

fa che li annunzi un bel sembiante pace".

Gentle my Song, if good to you it seem,

Gentil ballata mia, quando ti piace,

Do this: so worship shall be yours and love.

movi in quel punto che tu n'aggie onore.

After this vision I have recorded, and having written those words which Love had dictated to me, I began to be harassed with many and diverse thoughts, by each of which I was sorely tempted; and in especial, there were four among them that left me no rest. The first was this: ‘‘Certainly the lordship of Love is good; seeing that it diverts the mind from all mean things.’’ The second was this: ‘‘Certainly the lordship of Love is evil; seeing that the more homage his servants pay to him, the more grievous and painful are the torments wherewith he torments them.’’ The third was this: ‘‘The name of Love is so sweet in the hearing that it would not seem possible for its effects to be other than sweet; seeing that the name must needs be like unto the thing named: as it is written: Nonina sunt consequentia rerum. And the fourth was this: ‘‘The lady whom Love hath chosen out to govern thee is not as other ladies, whose hearts are easily moved.’’

And by each one of these thoughts I was so sorely assailed that I was like unto him who doubts which path to take, and wishing to go, goes not. And if I thought myself to seek out some point at the which all these paths might be found to meet, I discerned but one way, and that irked me: to wit, to call upon Pity, and to commend myself unto her. And it was then that, feeling a desire to write somewhat thereof in rhyme, I wrote this sonnet:

---

This sonnet may be divided into four parts. In the first, I say and propound that all my thoughts are concerning Love.

All my thoughts always speak to me of love,

Tutti li miei pensier parlan d'Amore;

yet have between themselves such difference

e hanno in loro sì gran varietate,

that while one bids me bow with mind and sense,

ch'altro mi fa voler sua potestate,

In the second, I say that they are diverse, and I relate their diversity.

a second says, ‘‘Go to: look you above’’;

altro folle ragiona il suo valore,

the third one, hoping, yields me joy enough;

altro sperando m'aporta dolzore,

and with the last come tears, I scarce know whence:

altro pianger mi fa spesse fiate;

In the third, I say wherein they all seem to agree.

all of them craving pity in sore suspense,

e sol s'accordano in cherer pietate,

trembling with fears that the heart knows of.

tremando di paura, che è nel core

In the fourth, I say that, wishing to speak of Love, I know not from which of these thoughts to take my argument; and that if I would take it from all, I shall have to call upon mine enemy, my Lady Pity. ‘‘Lady,’’ I say, as in a scornful mode of speech.

And thus, being all unsure which path to take,

Ond'io non so da qual matera prenda;

wishing to speak I know not what to say,

e vorrei dire, e non so ch'io mi dica:

and lose myself in amorous wanderings:

così mi trovo in amorosa erranza.

until (my peace with all of them to make),

E se con tutti voi far accordanza,

unto my enemy I needs must pray,

convenemi chiamar la mia nemica,

my Lady Pity, for the help she brings.

madonna la Pietà, che mi difenda.

---

After this battling with many thoughts, it chanced on a day that my most gracious lady was with a gathering of ladies in a certain place; to which I was conducted by a friend of mine; he thinking to do me a great pleasure by showing me the beauty of so many women. Then I, hardly knowing whereunto he conducted me, but trusting in him (who yet was leading his friend to the last verge of life), made question: ‘‘To what end are we come among these ladies?’’ and he answered: ‘‘To the end that they may be worthily served.’’ And they were assembled around a gentlewoman who was given in marriage on that day; the custom of the city being that these should bear her company when she sat down for the first time at table in the house of her husband. Therefore I, as was my friend’s pleasure, resolved to stay with him and do honor to those ladies.

But as soon as I had thus resolved, I began to feel a faintness and a throbbing at my left side, which soon took possession of my whole body. Whereupon I remember that I covertly leaned my back unto a painting that ran around the walls of that house; and being fearful lest my trembling should be discerned of them, I lifted my eyes to look on those ladies, and then first perceived among them the excellent Beatrice. And when I perceived her, all my senses were overpowered by the great lordship that Love obtained, finding himself so near unto that most gracious being, until nothing but the spirits of sight remained to me; and even these remained driven out of their own instruments, because Love entered in that honored place of theirs, that so he might the better behold her. And although I was other than at first, I grieved for the spirits so expelled, which kept up a sore lament, saying: ‘‘If he had not in this wise thrust us forth, we also should behold the marvel of this lady.’’ By this, many of her friends, having discerned my confusion, began to wonder; and together with herself, kept whispering of me and mocking me. Whereupon my friend, who knew not what to conceive, took me by the hands, and drawing me forth from among them, required to know what ailed me. Then, having first held me at quiet for a space until my perceptions were coming back to me, I made answer to my friend: ‘‘Of a surety I have now set my feet on that point of life, beyond which one must not pass who would return.’’

Afterwards, leaving him, I went back to the room where I had wept before; and again weeping and ashamed, said: ‘‘If this lady but knew of my condition, I do not think that she would thus mock at me; nay, I am sure that she must needs feel some pity.’’ And in my weeping I thought to write certain words, in which, speaking to her, I should signify the occasion of my disfigurement, telling her also how I knew that she had no knowledge thereof; which, if it were known, I was certain must move others to pity. And then, because I hoped that perchance it might come into her hearing, I wrote this sonnet:

---

This sonnet I divided not into parts, because a division is only made to open the meaning of the thing divided: and this, as it is sufficiently manifest through the reasons given, has no need of division. True it is that, amid the words whereby is shown the occasion of this sonnet, dubious words are to be found; namely, when I say that Love fills all my spirits, but that the visual remain in life only outside of their own instruments. And this difficulty it is impossible for any to solve who is not in equal guise liege unto Love; and, to those who are so, that is manifest which would clear up the dubious words. And therefore it were not well for me to expound this difficulty, inasmuch as my speaking would be either fruitless or else superfluous.

Even as the others mock, you mock me;

Con l'altre donne mia vista gabbate,

not dreaming, noble lady, whence it is

e non pensate, donna, onde si mova

that I am taken with strange semblances,

ch'io vi rassembri sì figura nova

seeing your face which is so fair to see:

quando riguardo la vostra beltate.

for else, compassion would not suffer you

Se lo saveste, non poria Pietate

to grieve my heart with such harsh scoffs as these

tener più contra me l'usata prova,

Lo! Love, when you are present, sits at ease,

ché Amor, quando sì presso a voi mi trova,

and bears his mastership so mightily

prende baldanza e tanta securtate,

that all my troubled senses he thrusts out,

che fere tra' miei spiriti paurosi,

sorely tormenting some, and slaying some,

e quale ancide, e qual pinge di fore,

till none but he is left and has free range

sì che solo remane a veder vui:

to gaze on you. This makes my face to change

ond'io mi cangio in figura d'altrui,

into another’s; while I stand all dumb,

ma non sì ch'io non senta bene allore

and hear my senses clamor in their rout.

li guai de li scacciati tormentosi.

---

A while after this strange disfigurement, I became possessed with a strong conception which left me but very seldom, and then to return quickly. And it was this: ‘‘Seeing that you come into such scorn by the companionship of this lady, wherefore seek you to behold her? If she should ask you this thing, what answer could you make unto her? yes, even though you were master of all your faculties, and in no way hindered from answering.’’ Unto which, another very humble thought said in reply: ‘‘If I were master of all my faculties, and in no way hindered from answering, I would tell her that no sooner do I image to myself her marvelous beauty than I am possessed with the desire to behold her, which is of so great strength that it kills and destroys in my memory all those things which might oppose it; and it is therefore that the great anguish I have endured thereby is yet not enough to restrain me from seeking to behold her.’’ And then, because of these thoughts, I resolved to write somewhat, wherein, having pleaded mine excuse, I should tell her of what I felt in her presence. Whereupon I wrote this sonnet:

---

This sonnet is divided into two parts. In the first, I tell the cause why I abstain not from coming to this lady.

The thoughts are broken in my memory,

Ciò che m'incontra ne la mente, more,

you lovely Joy, whenever I see your face;

quand'i' vegno a veder voi, bella gioia;

when you are near me, Love fills up the space,

e quand'io vi son presso, i' sento Amore

In the second, I tell what befalls me through coming to her. And also this second part divides into five distinct statements. For, in the first, I say what Love, counseled by Reason, tells me when I am near the Lady. In the second, I set forth the state of my heart by the example of the face.

often repeating, ‘‘If death irk you, fly.’’

che dice: "Fuggi, se 'l perir t'è noia".

My face shows my heart’s color, verily,

Lo viso mostra lo color del core,

which, fainting, seeks for any leaning-place;

che, tramortendo, ovunque po' s'appoia;

till, in the drunken terror of disgrace,

e per la ebrietà del gran tremore

In the third, I say how all ground of trust fails me.

the very stones seem to be shrieking, ‘‘Die!’’

le pietre par che gridin: "Moia, moia".

In the fourth, I say that he sins who shows not pity of me, which would give me some comfort. In the last, I say why people should take pity; namely, for the piteous look which comes into mine eyes; which piteous look is destroyed, that is, appears not unto others, through the jeering of this lady, who draws to the like action those who peradventure would see this piteous.

It were a grievous sin, if one should not

Peccato face chi allora mi vide,

strive then to comfort my bewildered mind

se l'alma sbigottita non conforta,

(though merely with a simple pitying)

sol dimostrando che di me li doglia,

for the great anguish which your scorn has wrought

per la pietà, che 'l vostro gabbo ancide,

The second part begins here, ‘‘My face shows’’; the third, ‘‘Till, in the drunken terror’’; the fourth, ‘‘It were a grievous sin’’; the fifth, ‘‘For the great anguish.’’

in the dead sight of the eyes grown nearly blind,

la qual si cria ne la vista morta

which look for death as for a blessed thing.

de li occhi, c'hanno di lor morte voglia.

---

Thereafter, this sonnet bred in me desire to write down in verse four other things touching my condition, which things it seemed to me that I had not yet made manifest. The first among these was the grief that possessed me very often, remembering the strangeness which Love wrought in me; the second was, how Love many times assailed me so suddenly and with such strength that I had no other life remaining except a thought which spoke of my lady; the third was, how when Love did battle with me in this wise, I would rise up all colorless, if so I might see my lady, conceiving that the sight of her would defend me against the assault of Love, and altogether forgetting that which her presence brought unto me; and the fourth was, how, when I saw her, the sight not only defended me not, but took away the little life that remained to me. And I said these four things in a sonnet, which is this:

---

This sonnet is divided into four parts, four things being therein narrated; and as these are set forth above, I only proceed to distinguish the parts by their beginnings. Wherefore I say that the second part begins, ‘‘Love smites me’’; the third, ‘‘And then if I’’; the fourth ‘‘No sooner do I lift.’’

At whiles (yea oftentimes) I muse over

Spesse fiate vegnonmi a la mente

the quality of anguish that is mine

le oscure qualità ch'Amor mi dona,

 through Love: then pity makes my voice to pine,

e venneme pietà, sì che sovente

saying, ‘‘Is any else thus, anywhere?’’

io dico: "Lasso! avvien elli a persona?";

Love smites me, whose strength is ill to bear;

ch'Amor m'assale subitanamente,

so that of all my life is left no sign

sì che la vita quasi m'abbandona:

except one thought; and that, because ’tis yours,

campami uno spirto vivo solamente,

leaves not the body but abides there.

e que' riman, perchè di voi ragiona.

And then if I, whom other aid forsook,

Poscia mi sforzo, chè mi voglio atare;

would aid myself, and innocent of art

e così smorto, d'onne valor voto,

would gladly have sight of you as a last hope,

vegno a vedervi, credendo guerire:

no sooner do I lift my eyes to look

e se io levo li occhi per guardare,

than the blood seems as shaken from my heart,

nel cor mi si comincia uno tremoto,

and all my pulses beat at once and stop.

che fa de' polsi l'anima partire.

---

 After I had written these three last sonnets, wherein I spoke unto my lady, telling her almost the whole of my condition, it seemed to me that I should be silent, having said enough concerning myself. But albeit I spoke not to her again, yet it seemed right for me afterward to write of another matter, more noble than the foregoing. And for that the occasion of what I then wrote may be found pleasant in the hearing, I will relate it as briefly as I may.

Through the sore change in my aspect, the secret of my heart was now understood of many. Which thing being thus, there came a day when certain ladies to whom it was well known (they having been with me at diverse times in my trouble) were met together for the pleasure of gentle company. And as I was going that way by chance (but I think rather by the will of fortune), I heard one of them call unto me, and she that called was a lady of very sweet speech. And when I had come close up with them, and perceived that they had not among them my excellent lady, I was reassured; and saluted them, asking of their pleasure. The ladies were many; diverse of whom were laughing one to another, while diverse gazed at me as though I should speak anon. But when I still spoke not, one of them, who before had been talking with another, addressed me by my name, saying, ‘‘To what end love you this lady, seeing that you can not support her presence? Now tell us this thing, that we may know it: for certainly the end of such a love must be worthy of knowledge.’’ And when she had spoken these words, not she only, but all they that were with her, began to observe me, waiting for my reply. Whereupon I said unto them: ‘‘Ladies, the end and aim of my Love was but the salutation of that lady of whom I conceive that you are speaking; wherein alone I found that beatitude which is the goal of desire. And now that it has pleased her to deny me this, Love, my Master, of his great goodness has 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 you that you will tell us wherein abides this your beatitude.’’ And answering, I said but thus much: ‘‘In those words that do praise my lady.’’ To which she rejoined: ‘‘If your speech were true, those words that you did write concerning your 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 has 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, I thought that to speak of her was 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 spoke 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 spoke 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:

---

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.’’

Ladies that have intelligence in love,

Donne ch'avete intelletto d'amore,

of my own lady I would speak with you;

i' vo' con voi de la mia donna dire,

not that I hope to count her praises through,

non perch'io creda sua laude finire,

but telling what I may, to ease my mind.

ma ragionar per isfogar la mente.

And I declare that when I speak thereof

Io dico che pensando il suo valore,

Love sheds such perfect sweetness over me

Amor sì dolce mi si fa sentire,

that if my courage failed not, certainly

che s'io allora non perdessi ardire,

to him my listeners must be all resigned.

farei parlando innamorar la gente:

Wherefore I will not speak in such large kind

E io non vo' parlar sì altamente,

that my own speech should foil me, which were base;

ch'io divenisse per temenza vile;

but only will discourse of her high grace

ma tratterò del suo stato gentile

in these poor words, the best that I can find,

a respetto di lei leggeramente,

With you alone, dear dames and damozels:

donne e donzelle amorose, con vui,

’Twere ill to speak thereof with any else.

ché non è cosa da parlarne altrui.

---

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.

An Angel, of hus blessed knowledge, says

Angelo clama in divino intelletto

to God: ‘‘Lord, in the world that You have made,

e dice: "Sire, nel mondo si vede

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.

a miracle in action is displayed

maraviglia ne l'atto che procede

by reason of a soul whose splendors fare

d'un'anima che 'nfin quassù risplende".

even hither: and since Heaven requires

Lo cielo, che non have altro difetto

nought saving her, for her it prays You,

che d'aver lei, al suo segnor la chiede,

Your Saints crying aloud continually,’’

e ciascun santo ne grida merzede.

In the third, I say what it is I purpose to speak so as not to be impeded by faintheartedness.

yet Pity still defends our earthly share

Sola Pietà nostra parte difende,

in that sweet soul; God answering thus the prayer:

ché parla Dio, che di madonna intende:

In the fourth, repeating to whom I purpose speaking, I tell the reason why I speak to them.

‘‘My well-beloved, suffer that in peace

"Diletti miei, or sofferite in pace

your hope remain, while so My pleasure is,

che vostra spene sia quanto me piace

---

Then 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.

there where one dwells who dreads the loss of her:

là ov' è alcun che perder lei s'attende,

and who in Hell unto the doomed shall say,

e che dirà ne lo inferno: "O malnati,

‘‘I have looked on that for which God’s chosen pray."

io vidi la speranza de' beati".

My lady is desired in the high Heaven:

Madonna è disiata in sommo cielo:

wherefore, it now behoves me to tell,

or voi di sua virtù farvi savere.

saying: Let any maid that would be well

Dico, qual vuol gentil donna parere

esteemed keep with her: for as she goes by,

vada con lei, ché quando va per via,

into foul hearts a deathly chill is driven

gitta nei cor villani Amore un gelo,

by Love, that makes ill thought to perish there:

per che onne lor pensero agghiaccia e pere;

while any who endured to gaze on her

e qual soffrisse di starla a vedere

must either be ennobled, or else die.

diverria nobil cosa, o si morria;

In the second, I tell what is understood of her on earth.

When one deserving to be raised so high

E quando trova alcun che degno sia

is found, ’tis then her power attains its proof,

di veder lei, quei prova sua vertute,

making his heart strong for his soul’s behoof

chè li avvien ciò che li dona salute,

with the full strength of meek humility

e sì l'umilia ch'ogni offesa oblia.

Also this virtue owns she, by God’s will:

Ancor l'ha Dio per maggior grazia dato

who speaks with her can never come to ill.

che non pò mal finir chi l'ha parlato.

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. 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.

Love says concerning her: ‘‘How chances it

Dice di lei Amor: "Cosa mortale

that flesh, which is of dust, should be thus pure?

come esser pò sì adorna e sì pura?"

Then, gazing always, he makes oath: ‘‘Foresure,

Poi la reguarda, e fra se stesso giura

this is a creature of God till now unknown.’’

che Dio ne 'ntenda di far cosa nova.

She has that paleness of the pearl that’s fit

Color di perle ha quasi in forma, quale

in a fair woman, so much and not more:

convene a donna aver, non for misura;

she is as high as Nature’s skill can soar:

ella è quanto de ben pò far natura;

beauty is tried by her comparison.

per esemplo di lei bieltà si prova.

---

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.

 Whatever her sweet eyes are turned upon,

De li occhi suoi, come ch'ella li mova,

spirits of love do issue thence in flame,

escono spirti d'amore inflammati,

which through their eyes who then may look on them

che feron li occhi a qual che allor la guati,

pierce to the heart’s deep chamber everyone.

e passan sì che 'l cor ciascun retrova:

And in her smile Love’s image you may see;

voi le vedete Amor pinto nel viso,

whence none can gaze upon her steadfastly.

là 've non pote alcun mirarla fiso.

---

Then, 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 surely, I fear I have communicated its sense to too many by these present divisions, if it so happened that many should hear it.

Dear Song, I know you will hold gentle speech

Canzone, io so che tu girai parlando

with many ladies, when I send you forth:

a donne assai, quand'io t'avrò avanzata.

wherefore (being mindful that you had your birth

Or t'ammonisco, perch'io t'ho allevata

from Love, and are a modest, simple child),

per figliuola d'Amor giovane e piana,

whomso you meet, say you this to each:

che là ove giugni tu dichi pregando:

‘‘Give me good speed! To her I wend along

"Insegnatemi gir, ch'io son mandata

in whose much strength my weakness is made strong.’’

a quella di cui laude so' adornata".

And if, in the end, you would not be beguiled

E se non vuoli andar sì come vana,

of all your labor, seek not the defiled

non restare ove sia gente villana;

and common sort; but rather choose to be

ingegnati, se puoi, d'esser palese

where man and woman dwell in courtesy

solo con donne o con omo cortese,

So to the road you shall be reconciled,

che ti merranno là per via tostana.

and find the lady, and with the lady, Love.

Tu troverai Amor con esso lei;

Commend you me to each, as does behove.

raccomandami a lui come tu dei.

---

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 which I should treat of this argument. And the sonnet that I then made is this:

---

This sonnet is divided into two parts. In the first, I speak of him according to his power.

Love and the gentle heart are one same thing,

Amore e 'l cor gentil sono una cosa,

even as the wise man in his ditty says:

sì come il saggio in suo dittare pone,

each, of itself, would be such life in death

e così esser l'un sanza l'altro osa

as rational soul bereft of reasoning.

com'alma razional sanza ragione.

In the second, I speak of him according as his power translates itself into act. The first is divided into two. In the first, I saw 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, when how it so translates itself in a woman: here, ‘‘And women feel.’’

’Tis Nature makes them when she loves: a king

Falli natura quand'è amorosa,

Love is, whose palace where he sojourns

Amor per sire e 'l cor per sua magione,

 is called the Heart; there draws he quiet breath

dentro la qual dormendo si riposa

at first, with brief or longer slumbering.

tal volta poca e tal lunga stagione.

Then beauty seen in virtuous womankind

Bieltate appare in saggia donna pui,

will make the eyes desire, and through  the heart

che piace a gli occhi sì, che dentro al core

send the desiring of the eyes again;

nasce un disio de la cosa piacente;

where often it abides so long enshrined

e tanto dura talora in costui,

that Love at length out of his sleep will start.

che fa svegliar lo spirito d'Amore.

And women feel the same for worthy men.

E simil face in donna omo valente.

---

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 marvelously create it. To which end I wrote another sonnet; and it is this:

---

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; and, in the third, I say this same as to that most noble feature, her mouth. And between these two sections in a little section, which asks, as it were, help for the previous section and the subsequent. The third begins here: ‘‘Humbleness.’’ The first is divided into three; for, in the first, I say how she with power makes noble that which she looks upon; and this is as much as to say that she brings Love, in power, thither where he is not. In the second, I say how she brings Love, in act, into the hearts of all those whom she sees. In the third, I tell what she afterwards, with virtue, operates upon their hearts. The second begins, ‘‘Upon her path’’; the third, ‘‘He whom she greeteth.’’ Then, when I say ‘‘O women, help,’’ I intimate to whom it is my intention to speak, calling on women to help me to honor her. Then, when I say, ‘‘Humbleness,’’ I say that same which is said in the first part, regarding two acts of her mouth, one whereof is her most sweet speech, and the other her marvelous smile. Only, I say not of this last how it operates upon the hearts of others, because memory cannot retain this smile, nor its operation.

My lady carries love within her eyes;

Negli occhi porta la mia donna Amore,

all that she looks on is made pleasanter;

per che si fa gentil ciò ch'ella mira;

upon her path men turn to gaze at her;

ov'ella passa, ogn'om ver lei si gira,

he whom she greets feels his heart to rise,

e cui saluta fa tremar lo core,

and droops his troubled visage, full of sighs,

sì che, bassando il viso, tutto smore,

and of his evil heart is then aware:

e d'ogni suo difetto allor sospira:

hate loves, and pride becomes a worshipper.

fugge dinanzi a lei superbia ed ira.

O women, help to praise her in somewise.

Aiutatemi, donne, farle onore.

Humbleness, and the hope that hopeth well,

Ogne dolcezza, ogne pensero umile

by speech of hers into the mind are brought,

nasce nel core a chi parlar la sente,

and who beholds is blessed oftenwhiles.

ond'è laudato chi prima la vide.

The look she has when she a little smiles

Quel ch'ella par quando un poco sorride,

cannot be said, nor holden in the thought;

non si pò dicer né tenere a mente,

’Tis such a new and gracious miracle.

sè è novo miracolo e gentile.

---

Not many days after this (it being the will of the most High God, who also from Himself put not away death), the father of wonderful Beatrice, going out of this life, passed certainly into glory. Thereby it happened, as of very sooth it might not be otherwise, that this lady was made full of the bitterness of grief: seeing that such a parting is very grievous unto those friends who are left, and that no other friendship is like to that between a good parent and a good child; and furthermore considering that this lady was good in the supreme degree, and her father (as by many it has been truly averred) of exceeding goodness. And because it is the usage of that city that men meet with men in such a grief, and women with women, certain ladies of her companionship gathered themselves unto Beatrice, where she kept alone in her weeping: and as they passed in and out, I could hear them speak concerning her, how she wept. At length two of them went by me, who said: ‘‘Certainly she grieves in such sort that one might die for pity, beholding her.’’ Then, feeling the tears upon my face, I put up my hands to hide them: and had it not been that I hoped to hear more concerning her (seeing that where I sat, her friends passed continually in and out), I should assuredly have gone thence to be alone, when I felt the tears come. But as I still sat in that place, certain ladies again passed near me, who were saying among themselves: ‘‘Which of us shall be joyful any more, who have listened to this lady in her piteous sorrow?’’ And there were others who said as they went by me: ‘‘He that sits here could not weep more if he had beheld her as we have beheld her’’; and again: ‘‘He is so altered that he seems not as himself.’’ And still as the ladies passed to and from, I could hear them speak after this fashion of her and of me.

Wherefore afterwards, having considered and perceiving that there was herein matter for poesy, I resolved that I would write certain rhymes in which should be contained all that those ladies had said. And because I would willingly have spoken to them if it had not been for discreetness, I made in my rhymes as though I had spoken and they had answered me. And thereof I wrote two sonnets; in the first of which I addressed them as I would fain have done; and in the second related their answer, using the speech that I had heard from them, as though it had been spoken unto myself. And the sonnets are these:

---

I  

This sonnet is divided into two parts. In the first, I call and ask these ladies whether they come from her, telling them that I think they do, because they return the nobler. In the second, I pray them to tell me of her.

You that thus wear a modest countenance

Voi, che portate la sembianza umile,

with lids weighed down by the heart’s heaviness,

con li occhi bassi mostrando dolore,

 whence come you, that among you every face

onde venite che 'l vostro colore

appears the same, for its pale troubled glance?

par divenuto de pietà simile?

Have you beheld my lady’s face, perchance,

Vedeste voi nostra donna gentile

bowed with the grief that Love makes full of grace?

bagnar nel viso suo di pianto Amore?

Say now, ‘‘This thing is thus’’; as my heart says,

Ditelmi, donne, che 'l mi dice il core,

marking your grace and sorrowful advance.

perch'io vi veggio andar sanz'atto vile.

And if indeed you come from where she sighs

E se venite da tanta pietate,

and mourns, may it please you (for his heart’s relief)

piacciavi di restar qui meco alquanto,

to tell how it fares with her unto him

e qual che sia di lei no 'l mi celate.

who knows that you have wept, seeing your eyes,

Io veggio li occhi vostri c'hanno pianto,

and is so grieved with looking on your grief

e veggiovi tornar sì sfigurate,

that his heart trembles and his sight grows dim?

che 'l cor mi triema di vederne tanto.

II 

This sonnet has four parts, as the ladies in whose person I reply had four forms of answer. And, because these are sufficiently shown above, I stay not to explain the purport of the parts, and therefore I only discriminate them.

Can you indeed be he that still would sing

Se' tu colui, c'hai trattato sovente

of our dear lady unto none but us?

di nostra donna, sol parlando a nui?

For though your voice confirms that it is thus,

Tu risomigli a la voce ben lui,

your visage might another witness bring.

ma la figura ne par d'altra gente.

The second begins here,

And wherefore is your grief so sore a thing

E perché piangi tu sì coralmente,

that grieving you make others dolorous?

che fai di te pietà venire altrui?

Have you too seen her weep, that you from us

Vedestù pianger lei, che tu non pui

can not conceal your inward sorrowing?

punto celar la dolorosa mente?

the third here,

Nay, leave our woe to us: let us alone

Lascia pianger a noi e triste andare

’twere sin if one should strive to soothe our woe,

(e fa peccato chi mai ne conforta),

for in her weeping we have heard her speak:

che nel suo pianto l'udimmo parlare.

the fourth.

also her look’s so full of her heart’s moan

Ell'ha nel viso la pietà si scorta,

that they who should behold her, looking so,

che qual l'avesse voluta mirare

must fall aswoon, feeling all life grow weak.

sarebbe innanzi lei piangendo morta.

---

A few days after this, my body became afflicted with a painful infirmity, whereby I suffered bitter anguish for many days, which at last brought me unto such weakness that I could no longer move. And I remember that on the ninth day, being overcome with intolerable pain, a thought came into my mind concerning my lady: but when it had a little nourished this thought, my mind returned to its brooking over mine enfeebled body. And then perceiving how frail a thing life is, even though health keep with it, the matter seemed to me so pitiful that I could not choose but weep; and weeping I said within myself: ‘‘Certainly it must some time come to pass that the very gentle Beatrice will die.’’ Then, feeling bewildered, I closed mine eyes; and my brain began to be in travail as the brain of one frantic, and to have such imaginations as here follow.

And at first, it seemed to me that I saw certain faces of women with their hair loosened, which called out to me, ‘‘You shall surely die’’; after which, other terrible and unknown appearances said unto me, ‘‘You are dead.’’ At length, as my fantasy held on in its wanderings, I came to be I knew not where, and to behold a throng of dishevelled ladies wonderfully sad, who kept going hither and thither weeping. Then the sun went out, so that the stars showed themselves, and they were of such a color that I knew they must be weeping: and it seemed to me that the birds fell dead out of the sky, and that there were great earthquakes. With that, while I wondered in my trance, and was filled with grievous fear, I conceived that a certain friend came unto me and said: ‘‘Have you not heard? She that was your excellent lady has been taken out of life.’’ Then I began to weep very piteously; and not only in my imagination, but with my eyes, which were wet with tears. And I seemed to look towards Heaven, and to behold a multitude of angels who were returning upwards, having before them an exceedingly white cloud: and these angels were singing together gloriously, and the words of their song were these: ‘‘Osanna in excelis’’; and there was no more that I heard. Then my heart that was so full of love said unto me: ‘‘It is true that our lady lies dead’’; and it seemed to me that I went to look upon the body wherein that blessed and most noble spirit had had its abiding-place. And so strong was this idle imagining, that it made me to behold my lady in death, whose head certain ladies seemed to be covering with a white veil; and who was so humble of her aspect that it was as though she had said, ‘‘I have attained to look on the beginning of peace.’’ And therewithal I came unto such humility by the sight of her, that I cried out upon Death, saying: ‘‘Now come unto me, and be not bitter against me any longer: surely there where you have been, you have learned gentleness. Wherefore come now unto me who do greatly desire you: see you not that I wear your color already? And when I had seen all those offices performed that are fitting to be done unto the dead, it seemed to me that I went back unto my own chamber, and looked up towards Heaven. And so strong was my phantasy that I wept again in very truth, and said with my true voice: ‘‘O excellent soul! how blessed is he that now looks upon you!’’

And as I said these words, with a painful anguish of sobbing and another prayer unto Death, a young and gentle lady, who had been standing beside me where I lay, conceiving that I wept and cried out because of the pain of my infirmity, was taken with trembling and began to shed tears. Whereby other ladies, who were about the room, becoming aware of my discomfort by reason of the moan that she made (who indeed was of my very near kindred), led her away from where I was, and then set themselves to awaken me, thinking that I dreamed, and saying: ‘‘Sleep no longer, and be not disquieted.’’

Then, by their words, this strong imagination was brought suddenly to an end, at the moment that I was about to say ‘‘O Beatrice! peace be with you.’’ And already I had said, "O Beatrice!’’ when being aroused, I opened my eyes, and knew that it had been a deception. But albeit I had indeed uttered her name, yet my voice was so broken with sobs, that it was not understood by these ladies; so that in spite of the sore shame that I felt, I turned towards them by Love’s counseling. And when they beheld me, they began to say, ‘‘He seems as one dead,’’ and to whisper among themselves, ‘‘Let us strive if we may not comfort him.’’ Whereupon they spoke to me many soothing words, and questioned me moreover touching the cause of my fear. Then I, being somewhat reassured, and having perceived that it was a mere fantasy, said unto them, ‘‘This thing it was that made me afraid’’; and told them of all that I had seen, from the beginning even unto the end, but without once speaking the name of my lady. Also, after I had recovered from my sickness, I bethought me to write these things in rhyme; deeming it a lovely thing to be known. Whereof I wrote this poem:

---

This poem has two parts. In the first, speaking to a person undefined, I tell how I was aroused from a vain fantasy by certain ladies, and how I promised them to tell what it was. The first part divides into two. In the first, I tell that which certain ladies, and which one singly, did and said because of my fantasy, before I had returned into my right senses. In the second, I tell what these ladies said to me after I had left off this wandering.

A very pitiful lady, very young,

Donna pietosa, e di novella etate,

exceeding rich in human sympathies,

adorna assai di gentilezze umane,

stood by, what time I clamored upon Death

che era là 'v'io chiamava spesso Morte,

and at the wild words wandering on my tongue

veggendo li occhi miei pien di pietate,

and at the piteous look within mine eyes

e ascoltando le parole vane,

she was affrighted, that sobs choked her breath.

si mosse con paura a pianger forte;

So by her weeping where I lay beneath,

E altre donne, che si fuoro accorte

some other gentle ladies came to know

di me per quella che meco piangia,

my state, and made her go:

fecer lei partir via,

afterward, bending themselves over me,

e appressarsi per farmi sentire.

one said, ‘‘Awaken thee!’’

Qual dicea: "Non dormire",

And one, ‘‘What thing your sleep disquiets?’’

e qual dicea: "Perché sì ti sconforte?"

With that, my soul woke up from its eclipse,

Allor lassai la nova fantasia,

the while my lady’s name rose to my lips:

chiamando il nome de la donna mia.

but uttered in a voice so sob-broken,

Era la voce mia sì dolorosa

so feeble with the agony of tears

e rotta sì da l'angoscia del pianto,

that I alone might hear it in my heart;

ch'io solo intesi il nome nel mio core;

and though that look was on my visage then

e con tutta la vista vergognosa

which hu who is ashamed so plainly wears,

ch'era nel viso mio giunta cotanto,

Love made that I through shame held not apart,

mi fece verso lor volgere Amore.

but gazed upon them. And my hue was such

Elli era tale a veder mio colore,

that they looked at each other and thought of death;

che facea ragionar di morte altrui:

saying under their breath

"Deh, consoliam costui,"

most tenderly, ‘‘O let us comfort him:’’

pregava l'una l'altra umilemente;

then unto me: ‘‘What a dream

e dicevan sovente:

was thine, that it has shaken you so much?’’

"Che vedestù, che tu non hai valore?"

And when I was a little comforted,

E quando un poco confortato fui,

‘‘This, ladies, was the dream I dreamt,’’ I said.

io dissi: "Donne, dicerollo a vui.

---

In the second part, when I say, ‘‘I was a-thinking,’’ I say how I told them this my imagination; and concerning this I have two parts. In the first, I tell, in order, this imagination.

‘‘I was a-thinking how life fails with us

Mentr'io pensava la mia frale vita,

suddenly after such a little while;

e vedea 'l suo durar com'è leggero,

when Love sobbed in my heart, which is his home.

piansemi Amor nel core, ove dimora;

Whereby my spirit waxed so dolorous

per che l'anima mia fu sì smarrita,

that in myself I said, with sick recoil:

che sospirando dicea nel pensero:

‘‘Yea, to my lady too this Death must come.’’

—Ben converrà che la mia donna mora!—

And therewithal such a bewilderment

Io presi tanto smarrimento allora,

possessed me, that I shut mine eyes for peace;

ch'io chiusi li occhi vilmente gravati,

and in my brain did cease

e furon sì smagati

order of thought, and every healthful thing.

li spirti miei, che ciascun giva errando;

Afterwards, wandering

e poscia imaginando,

amid a swarm of doubts that came and went,

di conoscenza e di veritì fora,

some certain women’s faces hurried by

visi di donne m'apparver crucciati,

and shrieked to me, ‘‘You too shall die, shall die!’’

che mi dicean pur: —Morra'ti, morra'ti—

Then saw I many broken hinted sights

Poi vidi cose dubitose molte,

 in the uncertain state I stepped into.

nel vano imaginare ov'io entrai;

Meseemed to be I know not in what place,

ed esser mi parea non so in qual loco,

where ladies through the streets, like mournful lights,

e veder donne andar per via disciolte,

ran with loose hair, and eyes that frightened you,

qual lagrimando, e qual traendo guai,

by their own terror, and a pale amaze:

che di tristizia saettavan foco.

the while, little by little, as I thought,

Poi mi parve vedere a poco a poco

the sun ceased, and the stars began to gather,

turbar lo sole ed apparir la stella,

and each wept at the other;

e pianger elli ed ella;

and the birds dropped in mid-flight out of the sky;

cader li augelli volando per l'are,

and earth shook suddenly;

e la terra tremare;

And I was aware of one, hoarse and tired out,

ed omo apparve scolorito e fioco,

who asked of me: ‘‘Have you not heard it said?…

dicendomi: —Che fai? Non sai novella?

Your lady, she that was so fair, is dead.’’

morta è la donna tua, ch'era sì bella—.

---

‘‘Then lifting up mine eyes, as the tears came,

Levava li occhi miei bagnati in pianti,

In the second, saying at what time they called me, I covertly thank them.

I saw the Angels, like a rain of manna,

e vedea (che parean pioggia di manna)

in a long flight flying back Heavenward;

li angeli che tornavan suso in cielo,

having a little cloud in front of them,

ed una nuvoletta avean davanti,

after which they went and said, ‘‘Hosanna’’;

dopo la qual gridavan tutti: Osanna;

and if they had said more, you should have heard.

e s'altro avesser detto, a voi dire'lo.

Then Love said, ‘‘Now shall all things be made clear:

Allor diceva Amor:— Più nol ti celo;

come and behold our lady where she lies.’’

vieni a veder nostra donna che giace.—

These ’wildering fantasies

Lo imaginar fallace

then carried me to see my lady dead.

mi condusse a veder madonna morta;

Even as I there was led,

e quand'io l'avea scorta,

 her ladies with a veil were covering her;

vedea che donne la covrian d'un velo;

and with her was such a very humbleness

ed avea seco umilità verace,

that she appeared to say, ‘‘I am at peace.’’

che parea che dicesse: —Io sono in pace.—

And I became so humble in my grief,

Io divenia nel dolor sì umile,

seeing in her such deep humility,

veggendo in lei tanta umiltà formata,

that I said: ‘‘Death, I hold you passing good

ch'io dicea: —Morte, assai dolce ti tegno;

henceforth, and a most gentle sweet relief,

tu dei omai esser cosa gentile,

since my dear love has chosen to dwell with thee:

poi che tu se' ne la mia donna stata,

pity, not hate, is yours, well understood.

e dei aver pietate e non disdegno.

Lo! I do so desire to see your face

Vedi che sì desideroso vegno

that I am like as one who nears the tomb;

d'esser de' tuoi, ch'io ti somiglio in fede.

my soul entreats thee, Come.’’

Vieni, ché 'l cor te chiede.—

Then I departed, having made my moan;

Poi mi partia, consumato ogne duolo;

and when I was alone

e quand'io era solo,

 I said, and cast my eyes to the High Place:

dicea, guardando verso l'alto regno:

‘‘Blessed is hu, fair soul, who meets your glance!’’

&mdashBeato, anima bella, chi te vede!&mdash

… Just then you woke me, of your complaisaunce.’’

Voi mi chiamaste allor, vostra merzede."

---

After this empty imagining, it happened on a day, as I sat thoughtful, that I was taken with such a strong trembling at the heart, that it could not have been otherwise in the presence of my lady. Whereupon I perceived that there was an appearance of Love beside me, and I seemed to see him coming from my lady; and he said, not aloud but within my heart: ‘‘Now take heed that you bless the day when I entered into you; for it is fitting that you should do so.’’ And with that my heart was so full of gladness, that I could hardly believe it to be of very truth my own heart and not another.

A short while after these words which my heart spoke to me with the tongue of Love, I saw coming towards me a certain lady who was very famous for her beauty, and of whom that friend whom I have already called the first among my friends had long been enamoured. This lady’s name was Joan; but because of her comeliness (or at least it was so imagined) she was called of many Primavera (Spring), and went by that name among them. Then looking again, I perceived that the most noble Beatrice followed after her. And when both these ladies had passed by me, it seemed to me that Love spoke again in my heart, saying: ‘‘She that came first was called Spring, only because of that which was to happen on this day. And it was I myself who caused this name to be given her; seeing that as the Spring comes first in the year, so should she come first on this day, when Beatrice was to show herself after the vision of her servant. And even if you go about to consider her right name, it is also as one should say, ‘‘She shall come first’’: inasmuch as her name, Joan, is taken from that John who went before the True Light, saying Ego vox clamantis in deserto: Parate viam Domini [I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness: ‘‘Prepare you the way of the Lord.’’] And also it seemed to me that he added other words, to wit: ‘‘He who should inquire delicately touching this matter, could not but call Beatrice by my own name, which is to say, Love; beholding her so like unto me.’’

Then I, having thought of this, imagined to write it with rhymes and send it unto my chief friend; but setting aside certain words which seemed proper to be set aside, because I believed that his heart still regarded the beauty of her that was called Spring. And I wrote this sonnet:

---

This sonnet has many parts: whereof the first tells how I felt awakened within my heart the accustomed tremor, and how it seemed that Love appeared to me joyful from afar.

I felt a spirit of love begin to stir

Io mi senti' svegliar dentro a lo core

within my heart, long time unfelt till then;

un spirito amoroso che dormia:

The second says how it appeared to me that Love spoke within my heart, and what was his aspect.

and saw Love coming towards me fair and fain

e poi vidi venir da lungi Amore

(that I scarce knew him for his joyful cheer),

allegro sì, che appena il conoscia,

saying, ‘‘Be now indeed my worshipper!’’

dicendo: "Or pensa pur di farmi onore";

And in his speech he laughed and laughed again.

e ciascuna parola sua ridia.

Then, while it was his pleasure to remain,

E poco stando meco il mio segnore,

I chanced to look the way he had drawn near,

guardando in quella parte onde venia,

The third tells how, after he had in such wise been with me a space, I saw and heard certain things. The third part divides into two. In the first, I say what I saw. In the second, I say what I heard; and it begins here. >

and saw the Ladies Joan and Beatrice

io vidi monna Vanna e monna Bice

approach me, this the other following,

venir inver lo loco là ov'io era,

 one and a second marvel instantly.

l'una appresso de l'altra maraviglia;

And even as now my memory speaks this,

e sì come la mente mi ridice,

Love spoke it then: ‘‘The first is christened Spring;

Amor mi disse: ´Quell'è Primavera,

the second Love, she is so like to me.’’

e quell'ha nome Amor, sì mi somiglia".

---

It might be here objected unto me, (and even by one worthy of controversy) that I have spoken of Love as though it were a thing outward and visible: not only a spiritual essence, but as a bodily substance also. The which thing, in absolute truth, is a fallacy; Love not being of itself a substance, but an accident of substance. Yet that I speak of Love as though it were a thing tangible and even human, appears by three things which I say thereof. And firstly, I say that I perceived Love coming towards me; whereby, seeing that to come bespeaks locomotion, and seeing also how philosophy teaches us that none but a corporeal substance has locomotion, it seems that I speak of Love as of a corporeal substance. And secondly, I say that Love smiled: and thirdly, that Love spoke; faculties (and especially the risible faculty) which appear proper unto humans: whereby it further seems that I speak of Love as of human. Now that this matter may be explained, (as is fitting) it must first be remembered that anciently they who wrote poems of Love wrote not in the vulgar tongue, but rather certain poets in the Latin tongue. I mean, among us, although perchance the same may have been among others, and although likewise, as among the Greeks, they were not writers of spoken language, but men of letters treated of these things. And indeed it is not a great number of years since poetry began to be made in the vulgar tongue; the writing of rhymes in spoken language corresponding to the writing in meter of Latin verse, by a certain analogy. And I say that it is but a little while, because if we examine the language of oco and the language of si, we shall not find in those tongues any written thing of an earlier date than the last hundred and fifty years. Also the reason why certain of a very mean sort obtained at the first some fame as poets is, that before then no one has written verses in the language of si: and of these, the first was moved to the writing of such verses by the wish to make himself understood of a certain lady, unto whom Latin poetry was difficult. This thing is against such as rhyme concerning other matters than love; that mode of speech having been first used for the expression of love alone.

Wherefore, seeing that poets have a license allowed them that is not allowed unto the writers of prose, and seeing also that they who write in rhyme are simply poets in the vulgar tongue, it becomes fitting and reasonable that a larger license should be given to these than to other modern writers; and that any metaphor or rhetorical similitude which is permitted unto poets, should also be counted not unseemly in the rhymers of the vulgar tongue. This, if we perceive that the former have caused inanimate things to speak as though they had sense and reason, and to discourse one with another; yea, and not only actual things, but such also as have no real existence (seeing that they have made things which are not, to speak; and oftentimes written of those which are merely accidents as though they were substances and things human); it should therefore be permitted to the latter to do the like; which is to say, not inconsiderately, but with such sufficient motive as may afterwards be set forth in prose.

That the Latin poets have done thus, appears through Virgil, where he says that Juno (to wit, a goddess hostile to the Trojans) spoke unto Aeolus, master of the Winds; as it is written in the first book of the Aeneid, Aeole, namque tibi, &c.; and that this master of the Winds made reply: Tuus, o regino, quid optes—Explorare labor, mihi jussa capessere fas est. And through the same poet, the inanimate thing speaks unto the animate, in the third book of the Aeneid, where it is written: Dardanidoe duri, &c. With Lucan, the animate thing speaks to the inanimate; as thus: Multun, Roma, tamen debes civilibus armis. In Horace, one is made to speak to hus own intelligence as unto another person; (and not only has Horace done this, but herein he follows the excellent Homer) as thus in his Poetics; Dic mihi, Musa, virum, &c. Through Ovid, Love speaks as a human creature, in the beginning of his discourse De Remediis Amoris: as thus: Bella mihi, video, bello parantur, ait. By which ensamples this thing shall be made manifest unto such as may be offended at any part of this my book. And lest some of the common sort should be moved to jeering hereat, I will here add, that neither did these ancient poets speak thus without consideration, nor should they who are makers of rhyme in our day write after the same fashion, having no reason in what they write; for it were a shameful thing if one should rhyme under the semblance of metaphor or rhetorical similitude, and afterwards, being questioned thereof, should be unable to rid his words of such semblance, unto their right understanding. Of whom (to wit, of such as rhyme thus foolishly), myself and the first among my friends do know many.

 But returning to the matter of my discourse. This excellent lady of whom I spoke in what has gone before, came at last into such favor with all people, that when she passed anywhere folk ran to behold her; which thing was a deep joy to me: and when she drew near unto any, so much truth and simpleness entered into hus heart, that hu dared neither to lift hus eyes nor to return her salutation: and unto this, many who have felt it can bear witness. She went along crowned and clothed with humility, showing no whit of pride in all that she heard and saw: and when she had gone by, it was said of many, ‘‘This is not a woman, but one of the beautiful angels of Heaven’’; and there were some that said: ‘‘This is surely a miracle; blessed be the Lord, who has power to work thus marvellously.’’ I say, of very sooth, that she showed herself so gentle and so full of all perfection, that she bred in those who looked upon her a soothing quiet beyond any speech; neither could any look upon her without sighing immediately. These things, and things yet more wonderful, were brought to pass through her miraculous virtue. Wherefore I, considering thereof and wishing to resume the endless tale of her praises, resolved to write somewhat wherein I might dweell on her surpassing influence; to the end that not only they who had beheld her, but others also, might know as much concerning her as words could give to the understanding. And it was then that I wrote this sonnet:

---

This sonnet is so easy to understand, from what is afore narrated, that it needs no division.

My lady looks so gentle and so pure

Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare

when yielding salutation by the way

la donna mia, quand'ella altrui saluta,

that the tongue trembles and has nought to say,

ch'ogne lingua deven tremando muta,

and the eyes, which likely would see, may not endure.

e li occhi no l'ardiscon di guardare.

And still, amid the praise she hears secure,

Ella si va, sentendosi laudare,

she walks with humbleness for her array;

benignamente d'umiltà vestuta;

seeming a creature sent from Heaven to stay

e par che sia una cosa venuta

on earth, and show a miracle made sure.

da cielo in terra a miracol mostrare.

She is so pleasant in the eyes of men

Mostrasi sì piacente a chi la mira,

that through the sight the inmost heart does gain

che dà per li occhi una dolcezza al core,

 a sweetness which needs proof to know it by:

che 'ntender no la può chi non la prova:

and from between her lips there seems to move

e par che de la sua labbia si mova

a soothing essence that is full of love

un spirito soave pien d'amore,

saying forever to the spirit, ‘‘Sigh!’’

che va dicendo a l'anima: "Sospira!"

---

I say also that this excellent lady came into such favor with all people, that not only she herself was honored and commended, but through her companionship, honor and commendation came unto others. Wherefore I, perceiving this, and wishing that it should also be made manifest to those that beheld it not, wrote the sonnet here following; wherein is signified the power which her virtue had upon other ladies:

---

This sonnet has three parts. In the first, I say in what company this lady appeared most wondrous.

For certain he has seen all perfectness

Vede perfettamente ogne salute

who among other ladies has seen mine:

chi la mia donna tra le donne vede;

they that go with her humbly should combine

quelle che vanno con lei son tenute

to thank their God for such peculiar grace.

di bella grazia a Dio render merzede.

In the second, I say how gracious was her society.

So perfect is the beauty of her face

E sua bieltate è di tanta vertute,

that it begets in no ways any sign

che nulla invidia a l'altre ne procede,

of envy, but draws round her a clear line

anzi le face andar seco vestute

of love, and blessed faith, and gentleness.

di gentilezza d'amore e di fede.

In the third, I tell of the things which she, with power, worked upon others. This last part divides into three. In the first, I tell what she operated upon women, that is, by their own faculties. In the second, I tell what she operated in them through others. In the third, I say how she not only operated in women, but in all people; and not only while herself present, but, by memory of her, operated wondrously.

Merely the sight of her makes all things bow:

La vista sua fa ogne cosa umile;

not she herself alone is holier

e non fa sola sé parer piacente,

than all; but hers, through her, are raised above.

ma ciascuna per lei riceve onore.

From all her acts such lovely graces flow

Ed è ne li atti suoi tanto gentile,

that truly one may never think of her

che nessun la si può recare a mente,

without a passion of exceeding love.

che non sospiri in dolcezza d'amore.

---

Thereafter on a day, I began to consider that which I had said of my lady: to wit, in these two sonnets aforegone: and becoming aware that I had not spoken of her immediate effect on me at that especial time, it seemed to me that I had spoken defectively. Whereupon I resolved to write somewhat of the manner wherein I was then subject to her influence, and of what her influence then was. And conceiving that I should not be able to say these things in the small compass of a sonnet, I began therefore a poem with this beginning:

---

Love has so long possessed me for his own

Sì lungiamente m'ha tenuto Amore

And made his lordship so familiar

e costumato a la sua segnoria,

That he, who at first irked me, is now grown

che sì com'elli m'era forte in pria,

Unto my heart as its best secrets are.

così mi sta soave ora nel core.

And thus, when he in such sore wise doth mar

Però quando mi tolle sì 'l valore

My life that all its strength seems gone from it,

che li spiriti par che fuggan via,

Mine inmost being then feels thoroughly quit

allor sente la frale anima mia

Of anguish, and all evil keeps afar.

tanta dolcezza, che 'l viso ne smore,

Love also gathers to such power in me

poi prende Amore in me tanta vertute,

That my sighs speak, each one a grievous thing,

che fa li miei sospiri gir parlando,

Always soliciting

ed escon for chiamando

My lady’s salutation piteously.

la donna mia, per darmi più salute.

Whenever she beholds me, it is so,

Questo m'avene ovunque ella mi vede,

Who is more sweet than any words can show.…

e sì è cosa umil, che nol si crede.…

*      *      *

Quomodo sedet sola civitas plena populo! facta est quasi vidua domina gentium!

I was still occupied with this poem (having composed thereof only the above written stanza), when the Lord God of justice called my most gracious lady unto Himself, that she might be glorious under the banner of that blessed Queen Mary, whose name had always a deep reverence in the words of holy Beatrice. And because haply it might be found good that I should say somewhat concerning her departure, I will herein declare what are the reasons which made that I shall not do so.

 And the reasons are three. The first is such matter belongs not of right to the present argument; if one consider the opening of this little book. The second is, that even though the present argument required it, my pen does not suffice to write in a fit manner of this thing. And the third is, that were it both possible and absolute necessity, it would still be unseemly for me to speak thereof, seeing that thereby it must require me to speak also my own praises: a thing that in whosoever does it is worthy of blame. For which reasons, I will leave this matter to be treated of by some other than myself.

Nevertheless, as the number nine, which number has often had mention in what has gone before (and not, as it might appear, without reason), seems also to have borne a part in the manner of her death: it is therefore right that I should say somewhat thereof. And for this cause, having first said what was the part it bore herein, I will afterwards point out a reason which made that this number was so closely allied unto my lady.

 I say, then, that according to the division of time in Italy her most noble spirit departed from among us in the first hour of the ninth day of the month; and according to the division of time in Syria, in the ninth month of the year: seeing that Tismim, which with us is October, is there the first month. Also she was taken from among us in that year of our reckoning (to wit, of the years of our Lord) in which the perfect number was nine times multiplied within that century wherein she was born to this world: which is to say, the thirteenth century of Christians.

And touching the reason why this number was so closely allied unto her, it may perhaps be this. According to Ptolemy (and also to the Christian verity), the revolving heavens are nine; and according to the common opinion among astrologers, these nine heavens together have influence over the earth. Wherefore it would appear that this number was thus allied unto her for the purpose of signifying that, at her birth, all these nine heavens were at perfect unity with each other as to their influence. This is one reason that may be brought: but more narrowly considering, and according to the infallible truth, this number was her own self: that is to say, by similitude. As thus. The number three is the root of the number nine; seeing that without the interposition of any other number, being multiplied merely by itself, it produces nine, as we manifestly perceive that three times three are nine. Thus, three being of itself the efficient of nine, and the Great Efficient of Miracles being of Himself Three Persons (to wit: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit), which being Three, are also One:—this lady was accompanied by the number nine to the end that men might clearly perceive her to be a nine, that is, a miracle, whose only root is the Holy Trinity. It may be that a more subtle person would find for this thing a reason of greater subtlety: but such is the reason that I find, and that likes me best.

After this most gracious creature had gone out from among us, the whole city came to be as it were widowed and despoiled of all dignity. Then I, left mourning in this desolate city, wrote unto the principal persons thereof, in an epistle, concerning its condition; taking for my commencement those words of Jeremias: Quomodo deset sola civitas! &c. And I make mention of this, that none may marvel wherefore I set down these words before, in beginning to treat of her death. Also if any should blame me, in that I do not transcribe that epistle whereof I have spoken, I will make it my excuse that I began this little book with the intent that it should be written altogether in the vulgar tongue; wherefore, seeing that the epistle I speak of is in Latin, it belongs not to my understanding: more especially as I know that my chief friend, for whom I write this book, wished also that the whole of it should be in the vulgar tongue.

When my eyes had wept for some while, until they were so weary with weeping that I could no longer through them give ease to my sorrow, I thought that a few mournful words might stand me instead of tears. And therefore I proposed to make a poem, that weeping I might speak therein of her for whom so much sorrow had destroyed my spirit; and I then began ‘‘The eyes that weep.’’

---

This poor little poem has three parts. The first is a prelude. In the second, I speak of her. In the third, I speak pitifully to the poem. The first divides into three. In the first, I say what moves me to speak.

The eyes that weep for pity of the heart

Li occhi dolenti per pietà del core

have wept so long that their grief languishes,

hanno di lagrimar sofferta pena,

and they have no more tears with which to weep:

sì che per vinti son remasi omai.

and now, if I would ease me of a part

Ora, s'i' voglio sfogar lo dolore,

of what, little by little, leads to death,

che a poco a poco a la morte mi mena,

it must be done by speech, or not at all.

In the second, I say to whom I mean to speak.

convenemi parlar traendo guai.

And because often, thinking, I recall

E perchè me ricorda ch'io parlai

how it was pleasant, before she went afar,

de la mia donna, mentre che vivia,

to talk of her with you, kind damsels,

donne gentili, volontier con vui,

I talk with no one else,

non voi parlare altrui,

but only with such hearts as women’s are.

se non a cor gentil che in donna sia;

In the third, I say of whom I mean to speak.

And I will say—still sobbing as speech fails—

e dicerò di lei piangendo, pui

that she has gone to Heaven suddenly,

che si n'è gita in ciel subitamente,

and has left Love below, to mourn with me.

e ha lasciato Amor meco dolente.

---

Beatrice is gone up into high Heaven,

Ita n'è Beatrice in l'alto cielo,

the kingdom where the angels are at peace;

nel reame ove li angeli hanno pace,

and lives with them: and to her friends is dead.

e sta con loro, e voi, donne, ha lassate:

not by the frost of winter was she driven

no la ci tolse qualità di gelo

away, like others; nor by summer-heats;

nè di calore, come l'altre face,

but through a perfect gentleness, instead.

ma solo fue sua gran benignitate;

For from the lamp of her meek lowlihead

chè luce de la sua umilitate

such an exceeding glory went up hence

passò li cieli con tanta vertute,

that it woke wonder in the Eternal Sire,

che fé maravigliar l'etterno sire,

until a sweet desire

sì che dolce disire

entered Hum for that lovely excellence,

lo giunse di chiamar tanta salute;

so that Hu bade her to Humself aspire;

e fella di qua giù a sé venire,

counting this weary and most evil place

perché vedea ch'esta vita noiosa

unworthy of a thing so full of grace.

non era degna di sì gentil cosa.

---

Then, when I say, ‘‘Beatrice is gone up,’’ I speak of her; and concerning this I have two parts. First, I tell the cause why she was taken away from us:

Wonderfully out of the beautiful form

Partissi de la sua bella persona,

soared her clear spirit, waxing glad  the while;

piena di grazia, l'anima gentile,

and is in its first home, there where it is.

ed èssi gloriosa in loco degno.

Who speaks thereof, and feels not the tears warm

Chi no la piange, quando ne ragiona,

upon hus face, must have become so vile

core ha di pietra sì malvagio e vile,

as to be dead to all sweet sympathies.

ch'entrar no 'i puote spirito benegno.

Out upon hum! an abject wretch like this

Non è di cor villan sì alto ingegno,

may not imagine anything of her—

che possa imaginar di lei alquanto,

hu needs no bitter tears for hus relief.

e però no li ven di pianger doglia;

In the second, I say who it is that does weep her.

But sighing comes, and grief,

ma ven trestizia e voglia

and the desire to find no comforter

di sospirare e di morir di pianto,

(save only Death, who makes all sorrow brief),

e d'onne consolar l'anima spoglia,

to hum who for a while turns in hus thought

chi vede nel pensero alcuna volta

How she has been among us, and is not.

quale ella fue, e com'ella n'è tolta.

---

afterwards, I say how one weeps her parting. This part divides into three. In the first, I say who it is that weeps her not.

With sighs my bosom always labors

Dannomi angoscia li sospiri forte,

in thinking, as I do continually,

quando 'l pensero ne la mente grave

of her for whom my heart now breaks apace;

mi reca quella che m'ha 'l cor diviso;

and very often when I think of death,

e spesse fiate pensando a la morte,

such a great inward longing comes to me

venemene un disio tanto soave,

that it will change the color of my face;

che mi tramuta lo color nel viso.

and, if the idea settles in its place

E quando 'l maginar mi ven ben fiso,

all my limbs shake as with an ague-fit:

giugnemi tanta pena d'ogne parte,

till, starting up in wild bewilderment,

ch'io mi riscuoto per dolor ch'i' sento;

 I do become so shent

e sì fatto divento,

that I go forth, lest folk misdoubt of it.

che da le genti vergogna mi parte.

 Afterward, calling with a sore lament

Poscia piangendo, sol nel mio lamento

on Beatrice, I ask, ‘‘Can you be dead?’’

chiamo Beatrice, e dico: —Or se' tu morta?—;

and calling on her, I am comforted.

e mentre ch'io la chiamo, me conforta.

---

In the third, I speak of my condition.

Grief with its tears, and anguish with its sighs,

Pianger di doglia e sospirar d'angoscia

come to me now whenever I am alone;

mi strugge 'l core ovunque sol mi trovo,

so that I think the sight of me gives pain.

sì che ne 'ncrescerebbe a chi m'audesse:

And what my life has been, that living dies,

e quale è stata la mia vita, poscia

 since for my lady the New Birth’s begun,

che la mia donna and nel secol novo,

 I have not any language to explain.

lingua non è che dicer lo sapesse.

And so, dear ladies, though my heart were fain,

E però, donne mie, pur ch'io volesse,

I scarce could tell indeed how I am thus.

non vi saprei io dir ben quel ch'io sono,

All joy is with my bitter life at war;

sì mi fa travagliar l'acerba vita;

yea, I am fallen so far

la quale è sì 'nvilita,

that all men seem to say, ‘‘Go out from us,’’

che ogn'om par che mi dica: —Io t'abbandono—,

eyeing my cold white lips, how dead they are.

veggendo la mia labbia tramortita.

But she, though I be bowed unto the dust,

Ma qual ch'io sia, la mia donna il si vede,

watches me; and will guerdon me, I trust.

ed io ne spero ancor da lei merzede.

Then, when I say, ‘‘Weep, pitiful Song of mine,’’ I speak to this my song, telling it what ladies go to, and stay with.

Weep, pitiful Song of mine, upon your way,

Pietosa mia canzone, or va piangendo,

to the dames going and the damozels

e ritruova le donne e le donzelle,

for whom and for none else

a cui le tue sorelle

your sisters have made music many a day.

erano usate di portar letizia;

You, that are very sad and not as they

e tu, che se' figliuola di trestizia,

go dwell you with them as a mourner dwells.

vatten disconsolata a star con elle.

---

After I had written this poem, I received the visit of a friend whom I counted as second unto me in the degrees of friendship, and who, moreover, had been united by the nearest kindred to that most gracious creature. And when we had a little spoken together, he began to solicit me that I would write somewhat in memory of a lady who had died; and he disguised his speech, so as to seem to be speaking of another who was but lately dead: wherefore I, perceiving that his speech was of none other than that blessed one herself, told him that it should be done as he required. Then afterwards, having thought thereof, I imagined to give vent in a sonnet to some part of my hidden lamentations; but in such sort that it might seem to be spoken by this friend of mine, to whom I was to give it. And the sonnet says thus: ‘‘Stay now with me,’’ etc.

---

This sonnet has two parts. In the first, I call the Faithful of Love to hear me.

Stay now with me, and listen to my sighs,

Venite a 'ntender li sospiri miei,

you piteous hearts, as pity bids you do.

oi cor gentili, ché pietà 'l disia:

Mark how they force their way out and press through:

li quai disconsolati vanno via,

if they be once pent up, the whole life dies.

e s'e' non fosser, di dolor morrei;

In the second, I relate my miserable condition.

Seeing that now indeed my weary eyes

però che gli occhi mi sarebber rei,

oftener refuse than I can tell to you

molte fiate più ch'io non vorria,

 (even though my endless grief is ever new),

lasso! di pianger sì la donna mia,

to weep and let the smothered anguish rise.

che sfogasser lo cor, piangendo lei.

Also in sighing you shall hear me call

Voi udirete lor chiamar sovente

on her whose blessed presence does enrich

la mia donna gentil, che si n'è gita

the only home that well befitted her:

al secol degno de la sua vertute;

And you shall hear a bitter scorn of all

e dispregiar talora questa vita

sent from the inmost of my spirit in speech

in persona de l'anima dolente

that mourns its joy and its joy’s minister.

abbandonata de la sua salute.

---

 But when I had written this sonnet, bethinking me who he was to whom I was to give it, that it might appear to be his speech, it seemed to me that this was a poor and barren gift for one of her so near kindred. Wherefore, before giving him this sonnet, I wrote two stanzas of a poem: the first being written in very truth as though it were spoken by him, but the other being my own speech, albeit, unto one who should not look closely, they would both seem to be said by the same person. Nevertheless, looking closely, one must perceive that it is not so, inasmuch as one does not call this most gracious creature his lady, and the other does, as is manifestly apparent. And I gave the poem and the sonnet to my friend, saying that I had made them only for him.

---

The poem begins, ‘‘Whatever while,’’ and has two parts. In the first, that is, in the first stanza, this my dear friend, her kinsman, laments.

Whatever while the thought comes over me

Quantunque volte, lasso!, mi rimembra

that I may not again

ch'io non debbo giammai

behold that lady whom I mourn for now,

veder la donna ond'io vo sì dolente,

about my heart my mind brings constantly

tanto dolore intorno 'l cor m'assembra

so much of extreme pain

la dolorosa mente,

that I say, Soul of mine, why stay you?

ch'io dico: - Anima mia, ché non ten vai?

Truly the anguish, soul, that we must bow

ché li tormenti che tu porterai

beneath, until we win out of this life,

nel secol, che t'è giù tanto noio,

gives me full oft a fear that trembles:

mi fan pensoso di paura forte -.

so that I call on Death

Ond'io chiamo la Morte,

even as on Sleep one calls after strife,

come soave e dolce mio riposo;

saying, Come unto me. Life shows grim

e dico: - Vieni a me - con tanto amore,

and bare; and if one dies, I envy hum.

che sono astioso di chiunque more.

In the second, I lament. And thus it appears that in this poem two persons lament, of whom one laments as a brother, the other as a servant.

Forever, among all my sighs which burn,

E si raccoglie ne li miei sospiri

there is a piteous speech

un sono di pietate,

that clamors upon death continually:

che va chiamando Morte tuttavia:

yea, unto him does my whole spirit turn

a lei si volser tutti i miei disiri,

 since first his hand did reach

quando la donna mia

my lady’s life with most foul cruelty.

fu giunta da la sua crudelitate;

But from the height of woman’s fairness, she,

perché 'l piacere de la sua bieltate,

going up from us with the joy we had,

partendo sé da la nostra veduta,

grew perfectly and spiritually fair;

divenne spirital bellezza grande,

 that so she spreads even there

che per lo cielo spande

a light of Love which makes the Angels glad,

luce d'amor, che li angeli saluta

and even unto their subtle minds can bring

e lo intelletto loro alto, sottile

a certain awe of profound marvelling.

face maravigliar, sì v'è gentile.

---

On that day which fulfilled the year since my lady had been made of the citizens of eternal life, remembering me of her as I sat alone, I took myself to draw the resemblance of an angel upon certain tablets. And while I did thus, chancing to turn my head, I perceived that some were standing beside me to whom I should have given courteous welcome, and that they were observing what I did: also I learned afterwards that they had been there a while before I perceived them. Perceiving whom, I arose for salutation, and said: ‘‘Another was with me.’’

Afterwards, when they had left me, I set myself again to my occupation, that is, to the drawing figures of angels: in doing which, I conceived to write of this matter in rhyme, as for her anniversary, and to address my rhymes unto those who had just left me. It was then that I wrote the sonnet which says ‘‘That lady’’: and as this sonnet has two commencements, it seems wise to divide it with both of them here.

---

I

I say that, according to the first commencement, this sonnet has three parts. In the first, I say that this lady was then in my memory. In the second, I tell what Love therefore did with me. In the third, I speak of the effects of Love. This part divides into two. In the other, I say how some spoke certain words different from the others.

That lady of all gentle memories

Era venuta ne la mente mia

had lighted on my soul—whose new  abode

la gentil donna che per suo valore

lies now, as it was well ordained of God,

fu posta da l'altissimo Signore

among the poor in heart, where Mary is.

nel ciel de l'umiltate, ov'è Maria.

Love, knowing that dear image to be his,

Amor che ne la mente la sentia,

woke up within the sick heart sorrow-bowed,

s'era svegliato nel destrutto core,

unto the sights which are its weary load

e diceva a' sospiri: "Andate fore";

saying, ‘‘Go forth.’’ And they went forth, I wis;

per che ciascun dolente si partia.

forth went they from my breast that throbbed and ached;

Piangendo uscivan for de lo mio petto

with such a pang as oftentimes will bathe

con una voce che sovente mena

my eyes with tears when I am left alone.

le lagrime dogliose a li occhi tristi.

And still those sighs which drew the heaviest breath

Ma quei che n'uscian for con maggior pena,

came whispering thus: ‘‘O noble intellect!

venian dicendo: "Oi nobile intelletto,

 It is a year today that you are gone!’’

oggi fa l'anno che nel ciel salisti".

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SECOND COMMENCEMENT

The second begins here. In this same manner is it divided with the other beginning, save that, in the first part, I tell when this lady had thus come into my mind, and this I say not in the other.

That lady of all gentle memories

Era venuta ne la mente mia

had lighted on my soul—for whose sake flowed

quella donna gentil cui piange Amore.

the tears of Love; in whom the power abode

Entro 'n quel punto che lo suo valore

which led you to observe while I did this.

vi trasse a riguardar quel ch'eo facia.

(Love, knowing that dear image to be his, &c.)

(Amor che ne la mente la sentia, &c.)

Then, having sat for some space sorely in thought because of the time that was now past, I was so filled with dolorous imaginings that it became outwardly manifest in my altered countenance. Whereupon, feeling this and being in dread lest any should have seen me, I lifted my eyes to look; and then perceived a young and very beautiful lady, who was gazing upon me from a window with a gaze full of pity so that the very sum of pity appeared gathered together in her. And seeing that unhappy persons, when they beget compassion in others, are then most moved unto weeping, as though they also felt pity for themselves, it came to pass that my eyes began to be inclined unto tears. Wherefore, becoming fearful lest I should make manifest my abject condition, I rose up, and went where I could not be seen of that lady; saying afterwards within myself: ‘‘Certainly with her also must abide most noble Love.’’ And with that, I resolved upon writing a sonnet, wherein, speaking unto her, I should say all that I have just said. And as this sonnet is very evident, I will not divide it:

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My eyes beheld the blessed pity spring

Videro li occhi miei quanta pietate

into your countenance immediately

era apparita in la vostra figura,

a while agone, when you beheld in me

quando guardaste li atti e la statura

the sickness only hidden grief can bring;

ch'io faccio per dolor molte fiate.

and then I knew you were considering

Allor m'accorsi che voi pensavate

how abject and forlorn my life must be;

la qualità de la mia vita oscura,

and I became afraid that you should see

sì che mi giunse ne lo cor paura

my weeping, and account it a base thing.

di dimostrar con li occhi mia viltate.

Therefore I went out from you: feeling how

E tolsimi dinanzi a voi, sentendo

the tears were straightway loosened at my heart

che si movean le lagrime dal core,

beneath your eyes’ compassionate control.

ch'era sommosso da la vostra vista.

And afterwards I said within my soul:

Io dicea poscia ne l'anima trista:

‘‘Lo! with this lady dwells the counterpart

"Ben è con quella donna quello Amore

of the same Love who holds me weeping now.’’

lo qual mi face andar così piangendo".

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 It happened after this that whensoever I was seen of this lady, she became pale and of a piteous countenance, as though it had been with love; whereby she remembered me many times of my own most noble lady, who was wont to be of a like paleness. And I know that often, when I could not weep nor in any way give ease unto my anguish, I went to look upon this lady, who seemed to bring the tears into my eyes by the mere sight of her. Of which thing I bethought me to speak unto her in rhyme, and then made this sonnet:

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Love’s pallor and the semblance of deep ruth

Color d'amore e di pietà sembianti

were never yet shown forth so perfectly

non preser mai così mirabilmente

 in any lady’s face, chancing to see

viso di donna, per veder sovente

grief’s miserable countenance uncouth,

occhi gentili o dolorosi pianti,

as in yours, lady, they have sprung to soothe,

come lo vostro, qualora davanti

when in my anguish you have looked on me;

vedetevi la mia labbia dolente;

until sometimes it seems as if, through you,

sì che per voi mi ven cosa a la mente,

my heart might almost wander from its truth.

ch'io temo forte no lo cor si schianti.

Yet so it is, I cannot hold my eyes

Eo non posso tener li occhi distrutti

from gazing very often upon yours

che non reguardin voi spesse fiate,

in the sore hope to shed those tears they keep;

per desiderio di pianger ch'elli hanno:

and at such time, you make the pent tears rise

e voi crescete sì lor volontate,

even to the brim, till the eyes waste and pine;

che de la voglia si consuman tutti;

yet cannot they, while you are present, weep.

ma lagrimar dinanzi a voi non sanno.

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At length, by the constant sight of this lady, my eyes began to be gladdened overmuch with her company; through which thing many times I had much unrest, and rebuked myself as a base person: also, many times I cursed the unsteadfastness of my eyes, and said to them inwardly: ‘‘Was not your grievous condition of weeping wont one while to make others weep? And will ye now forget this thing because a lady looks upon you? who so looks merely in compassion of the grief you then showed for your own blessed lady. But whatso you can, do you, accursed eyes! many a time will I make you remember it! for never, till death dry you up, should you make an end of your weeping.’’ And when I had spoken thus unto my eyes, I was taken again with extreme and grievous sighing. And to the end that this inward strife which I had undergone might not be hidden from all saving the miserable wretch who endured it, I proposed to write a sonnet, and to comprehend in it this horrible condition. And I wrote this which begins, ‘‘The very bitter weeping.’’

---

‘‘The very bitter weeping that you made

"L'amaro lagrimar che voi faceste,

so long a time together, eyes of mine,

oi occhi miei, così lunga stagione,

The sonnet has two parts. In the first, I speak to my eyes, as my heart spoke within myself.

was wont to make the tears of pity shine

facea lagrimar l'altre persone

in other eyes full oft, as I have said.

de la pietate, come voi vedeste.

But now this thing were scarce remembered

Ora mi par che voi l'obliereste,

In the second, I remove a difficulty, showing who it is that speaks thus. It well might receive other divisions also; but this would be useless, since it is manifest by the preceding exposition.

 if I, on my part, foully would combine

s'io fosse dal mio lato sì fellone

with you, and not recall each ancient sign

ch'i' non ven disturbasse ogne cagione,

of grief, and her for whom your tears were shed.

membrandovi colei cui voi piangeste.

It is your fickleness that does betray

La vostra vanità mi fa pensare,

my mind to fears and makes me tremble thus

e spaventami sì, ch'io temo forte

what while a lady greets me with her eyes.

del viso d'una donna che vi mira.

except by death, we must not any way

Voi non dovreste mai, se non per morte,

forget our lady who is gone from us.’’

la vostra donna, ch'è morta, obliare".

So far does my heart utter, and then sighs.

Così dice 'l meo core, e poi sospira.

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 The sight of this lady brought me into so unwonted a condition that I often thought of her as of one too dear unto me; and I began to consider her thus: ‘‘This lady is young, beautiful, gentle, and wise: perchance it was Love himself who set her in my path, that so my life might find peace.’’ And there were times when I thought yet more fondly, until my heart consented unto its reasoning. But when it had so consented, my thought would often turn round upon me, as moved by reason, and cause me to say within myself: ‘‘What hope is this which would console me after so base a fashion, and which has taken the place of all other imagining?’’ Also there was another voice within me, that said: ‘‘And will you, having suffered so much tribulation through Love, not escape while yet you may from so much bitterness? You must surely know that this thought carries with it the desire of Love, and drew its life from the gentle eyes of that lady who vouchsafed you so much pity.’’

Wherefore I, having striven sorely and very often with myself, bethought me to say somewhat thereof in rhyme. And seeing that in the battle of doubts, the victory most often remained with such as inclined towards the lady of whom I speak, it seemed to me that I should address this sonnet unto her: in the first line whereof, I call that thought which spoke of her a gentle thought, only because it spoke of one who was gentle; being of itself most vile.

In this sonnet I make myself into two, according as my thoughts were divided one from the other. The one part I call Heart, that is, appetite; the other, Soul, that is, reaspon; and I tell what one said to the other. And that it is fitting to call the appetite Heart, and the reason Soul, is manifest enough to them to whom I wish this to be open. True it is that, in the preceding sonnet, I take the part of the Heart against the Eyes; and that appears contrary to what I say in the present; and therefore I say that, there also, by the Heart I mean appetite, because yet greater was my desire to remember my most gentle lady than to see this other, although indeed I had some appetite towards her, but it appeared slight: wherefrom it appears that the one statement is not contrary to the other.

---

This sonnet has three parts. In the first, I begin to say to this lady how my desires turn all toward her.

A gentle thought there is will often start,

Gentil pensero che parla di vui,

within my secret self, to speech of you:

sen vene a dimorar meco sovente,

also of Love it speaks so tenderly

e ragiona d'amor sì dolcemente,

that much in me consents and takes its part.

che face consentir lo core in lui.

In the second, I say how the Soul, that is the reason, speaks to the Heart, that is, to the appetite.

‘‘And what is this,’’ the soul says to the heart,

L'anima dice al cor: "Chi è costui,

‘‘that comes thus to comfort you and me,

che vene a consolar la nostra mente

 and thence where it would dwell, thus potently

ed è la sua vertù tanto possente,

can drive all other thoughts by its strange art?’’

ch'altro penser non lascia star con nui?"

In the third, I say how the latter answers.

And the heart answers: ‘‘Be no more at strife

Ei le risponde: "Oi anima pensosa,

 ’twixt doubt and doubt: this is Love’s messenger

questi è uno spiritel novo d'amore,

and speaks but his words, from him received;

che reca innanzi me li suoi desiri;

and all the strength it owns and all the life

e la sua vita, e tutto 'l suo valore,

it draws from the gentle eyes of her

mosse de li occhi di quella pietosa

who, looking on our grief, has often grieved.’’

che si turbava de' nostri martiri".

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But against this adversary of reason, there rose up in me on a certain day, about the ninth hour, a strong visible fantasy, wherein I seemed to behold the most gracious Beatrice, habited in that crimson raiment which she had worn when I had first beheld her; also she appeared to me of the same tender age as then. Whereupon I fell into a deep thought of her: and my memory ran back, according to the order of time, unto all those matters in which she had borne a part; and my heart began painfully to repent of the desire by which it had basely let itself be possessed during so many days, contrary to the constancy of reason.

 And then, this evil desire being quite gone from me, all my thoughts turned again unto their excellent Beatrice. And I say most truly that from that hour I thought constantly of her with the whole humbled and ashamed heart; which became often manifest in sighs, that had among them the name of that most gracious creature, and how she departed from us. Also it would come to pass very often, through the bitter anguish of some one thought, that I forgot both it, and myself, and where I was. By this increase of sights, my weeping, which before had been somewhat lessened, increased in like manner; so that my eyes seemed to long only for tears and to cherish them, and came at last to be circled about with red as though they had suffered martrydom: neither were they able to look again upon the beauty of any face that might again bring them to shame and evil: from which things it will appear that they were fitly guerdoned for their unsteadfastness. Wherefore I (wishing that my abandonment of all such evil desires and vain temptations should be certified and made manifest, beyond all doubts which might have been suggested by the rhymes aforewritten) proposed to write a sonnet wherein I should express this purport. And I then wrote, ‘‘Woe’s me!’’

 I said, ‘‘Woe’s me!’’ because I was ashamed of the trifling of my eyes. This sonnet I do not divide, since its purport is manifest enough.

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Woe’s me! by dint of all these sighs that come

Lasso! per forza di molti sospiri

forth of my heart, its endless grief to prove,

che nascon de' penser che son nel core,

my eyes are conquered, so that even to move

li occhi son vinti, e non hanno valore

their lids for greeting is grown troublesome.

di riguardar persona che li miri.

They wept so long that now they are grief’s home

E fatti son che paion due disiri

and count their tears all laughter far above;

di lagrimare e di mostrar dolore,

they wept till they are circled now by Love

e spesse volte piangon sì ch'Amore

with a red circle in sign of martyrdom.

li 'ncerchia di corona di martiri.

These musings, and the sighs they bring from me,

Questi penseri, e li sospir ch'eo gitto,

are grown at last so constant and so sore

diventan ne lo cor sì angosciosi,

that love swoons in my spirit with faint breath;

ch'Amor vi tramortisce, sì glien dole;

hearing in those sad sounds continually

però ch'elli hanno in lor, li dolorosi,

the most sweet name that my dead lady bore,

quel dolce nome di madonna scritto,

with many grievous words touching her death.

e de la morte sua molte parole.

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About this time, it happened that a great number of persons undertook a pilgrimage, to the end that they might behold that blessed portraiture bequeathed unto us by our Lord Jesus Christ as the image of His beautiful countenance (upon which countenance my dear lady now looketh continually). And certain among these pilgrims, who seemed very thoughtful, passed by a path which is well-nigh in the midst of the city where my most gracious lady was born, and abode, and at last died.

Then I, beholding them, said within myself: ‘‘These pilgrims seem to be come from very far; and I think they cannot have heard speak of this lady, or know anything concerning her. Their thoughts are not of her, but of other things; it may be, of their friends who are far distant, and whom we, in our turn, know not.’’ And I went on to say: ‘‘I know that if they were of a country near unto us, they would in some wise seem disturbed, passing through this city which is so full of grief.’’ And I said also: ‘‘If I could speak with them a space, I am certain that I should make them weep before they went forth of this city; for those things that they would hear from me must needs beget weeping in any.’’

And when the last of them had gone by me, I bethought me to write a sonnet, showing forth my inward speech; and that it might seem the more pitiful, I made as though I had spoken it indeed unto them. And I wrote this sonnet, which begins: ‘‘You pilgrim-folk.’’ I made use of the word pilgrim for its general signification; for ‘‘pilgrim’’ may be understood in two senses, one general, and one special.

General, so far as any one may be called a pilgrim who leaves the place of hus birth; whereas, more narrowly speaking, hu only is a pilgrim who goes towards or from the House of St. James. For there are three separate denominations proper unto those who undertake journeys to the glory of God. They are called Palmers who go beyond the seas eastward, whence often they bring palm-branches. And Pilgrims, as I have said, are they who journey unto the holy House of Gallicia; seeing that no other apostle was buried so far from his birthplace as was the blessed Saint James. And there is a third sort who are called Romers; in that they go where these whom I have called pilgrims went: which is to say, to Rome.

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This sonnet is not divided, because its own words sufficiently declare it.

You pilgrim-folk, advancing pensively

Deh! peregrini che pensosi andate,

as if in thought of distant things, I pray,

forse di cosa che non v'è presente,

is your own land indeed so far away—

venite voi da sì lontana gente,

as by your aspect it would seem to be—

com'a la vista voi ne dimostrate,

that this our heavy sorrow leaves you free

che non piangete quando voi passate

though passing through the mournful town midway;

per lo suo mezzo la città dolente,

 like unto hu-men that understand today

come quelle persone che neente

nothing at all of her great misery?

par che 'ntendesser la sua gravitate.

Yet if you will but stay, whom I accost,

Se voi restaste per volerlo audire,

and listen to my words a little space,

certo lo cor de' sospiri mi dice

at going you shall mourn with a loud voice.

che lagrimando n'uscireste pui.

It is her Beatrice that she has lost;

Ell'ha perduta la sua beatrice;

of whom the least word spoken holds such grace

e le parole ch'om di lei pò dire

that hu-men weep hearing it, and have no choice.

hanno vertù di far piangere altrui.

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A while after these things, two gentle ladies sent unto me, praying that I would bestow upon them certain of these my rhymes. And I (taking into account their worthiness and consideration), resolved that I would write also a new thing, and send it them together with those others, to the end that their wishes might be honorably fulfilled. Therefore I made a sonnet, which narrates my condition, and which I caused to be conveyed to them, accompanied by the one preceding, and with that other which begins, ‘‘Stay now with me and listen to my sighs.’’ And the new sonnet is, ‘‘Beyond the sphere.’’

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This sonnet comprises five parts. In the first, I tell whither my thought goes, naming the place by the name of one of its effects.

Beyond the sphere which spreads to widest space

Oltre la sfera che più larga gira,

now soars the sigh that my heart sends above;

passa 'l sospiro ch'esce del mio core:

In the second, I say wherefore it goes up, and who makes it go thus.

a new perception born of grieving Love

intelligenza nova, che l'Amore

guides it upward the trodden ways.

piangendo mette in lui, pur su lo tira.

When it has reached unto the end, and stays,

Quand'elli è giunto là dove disira,

In the third, I tell what it saw, namely, a lady honored. And I then call it a ‘‘Pilgrim Spirit,’’ because it goes up spiritually, and like a pilgrim who is out of his known country.

it sees a lady round whom splendors move

vede una donna che riceve onore,

in homage; till, by the great light thereof

e luce sì che per lo suo splendore

In the fourth, I say how the spirit sees her such (that is, in such quality) that I cannot understand her; that is to say my thought rises into the quality of her in a degree that my intellect cannot comprehend, seeing that our intellect is, towards those blessed souls, like our eye weak against the suns; and this the Philosopher says in the Second of the Metaphysics.

abashed, the pilgrim spirit stands at gaze.

lo peregrino spirito la mira.

It sees her such, that when it tells me this

Vedela tal, che quando 'l mi ridice,

which it has seen, I understand it not,

io no lo intendo, sì parla sottile

it has a speech so subtle and so fine.

al cor dolente che lo fa parlare.

In the fifth, ‘‘And yet I know,’’ I say that, although I cannot see there whither my thought carries me—that is, to her admirable essence—I at least understand this, namely, that it is a thought of my lady, because I often hear her name therein. And, at the end of this fifth part, I say, ‘‘Ladies mine,’’ to say that they are ladies to whom I speak. It might be divided yet more nicely, and made yet clearer; but this division may pass, and therefore I stay not to divide it further.

And yet I know its voice within my thought

So io che parla di quella gentile,

often remembered me of Beatrice:

però che spesso ricorda Beatrice,

so that I understand it, ladies mine.

sì ch'io lo 'ntendo ben, donne mie care.

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After writing this sonnet, it was given unto me to behold a very wonderful vision: wherein I saw things which determined me that I would say nothing further of this most blessed one, until such time as I could discourse more worthily concerning her. And to this end I labor all I can: as she well knows. Wherefore if it be Hus pleasure through whom is the life of all things, that my life continue with me a few years, it is my hope that I shall yet write concerning her what has not before been written of any woman. After which, may it seem good unto Hum who is the Master of Grace, that my spirit should go hence to behold the glory of its lady: to wit, of that blessed Beatrice who now gazes continually on Hus countenance qui est per omonia soecula benedictus. Laus Deo.

THE END OF THE NEW LIFE

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DANTE ALIGHIERI: Dante and His Circle is a collection by Dante Gabriel Rossetti of the ambitious youthful Dante (including his Vita Nuova opus about Beatrice, elaborately annotated by Dante), set alongside comparable works by fourteen of his contemporaries (sometimes replying to each other); after the courtly poetry and songs of the troubadours of Southern France, the group around Dante created modern Italian, the first vulgar literary language of Europe. Order a copy of Dante and His Circle here. ISBN 978-0-942208-09-2. $11.95

LAPO GIANNI

Madrigal
What love shall provide for him

Love, I demand to have my lady in fee.

Fine balm let Arno be;
the walls of Florence all of silver reared,
and crystal pavements in the public way.

With castles make me feared,
till every Latin soul have owned my sway.

Be the world peaceful; safe throughout each path;
no neighbor to breed wrath;
the air, summer and winter, temperate.

A thousand dames and damsels richly clad
upon my choice to wait,
singing by day and night to make me glad.

Let me have fruitful gardens of great girth,
filled with the strife of birds,
with water-springs, and beasts that house in the earth.

Let me seem Solomon for lore of words,
Samson for strength, for beauty Absalom.

Knights as my serfs be given;
and as I will, let music go and come;
till at the last you bring me into Heaven.

GUIDO CAVALCANTI

Sonnet to Dante Alighieri
He reports, in a feigned vision,
the successful issue of Lapo Gianni's love

Dante, a sigh that rose from the heart's core
assailed me, while I slumbered, suddenly:
so that I woke on the instant, fearing sore
lest it came there in Love's company:

till, turning, I beheld the servitor
of Lady Lagia: "Help me," so said he,
"O help me, Pity." Though he said no more,
so much of Pity's essence entered me,

that I was aware of Love, those shafts he wields
a-whetting, and preferred the mourner's quest
to him, who straightaway answered on this wise:

"Go tell my servant that the lady yields,
and that I hold her now at his behest:
if he believe not, let him note her eyes."

DANTE ALIGHIERI

Sonnet to Guido Cavalcanti
He imagines a pleasant voyage for Guido, Lapo Gianni,
and himself, with their three ladies

Guido, I wish that Lapo, you, and I,
could be by spells conveyed, as it were now,
upon a bark, with all the winds that blow
across all seas as our good will to haste.
So no mischance nor temper of the sky
should mar our course with spite or cruel slip;
but we, observing old companionship,
to be companions still should long thereby.
And Lady Joan, and Lady Beatrice,
and her the thirtieth on my roll, with us
should our good wizard set, over seas to move
and not to talk of anything but love:
and they three ever to be well at ease,
as we should be, I think if this were thus.

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