The Portable Dante (87 page)

At this point it may be that someone worthy of having every doubt cleared up could be puzzled at my speaking of Love as if it were a thing
in itself,
⁵⁷
as if it were not only an intellectual substance, but also a bodily substance. This is patently false, for Love does not exist in itself as a substance, but is an accident in a substance. And that I speak of Love as if it possessed a body, further still, as if it were a human being, is shown by three things I say about it. I say that I saw it coming; and since “to come” implies locomotion, and since, according to the Philosopher,
⁵⁸
only a body may move from place to place by its own power, it is obvious that I assume Love to be a body. I also say that it laughed and even that it spoke—acts that would seem characteristic of a human being, especially that of laughing; and so it is clear that I assume love to be human. To clarify this matter suitably for my purpose, I shall begin by saying that, formerly, there were no love poets
⁵⁹
writing in the vernacular, the only love poets were those writing in Latin: among us (and this probably happened in other nations as it still happens in the case of Greece) it was not vernacular poets but learned poets who wrote about love. It is only recently that the first poets appeared who wrote in the vernacular; I call them “poets” for to compose rhymed verse in the vernacular is more or less the same as to compose poetry in Latin using classical meters.
⁶⁰

And proof that it is but a short time since these poets first appeared is the fact that if we look into the Provençal and the Italian literatures,
⁶¹
we shall not find any poems written more than a hundred and fifty years ago. The reason why a few ungifted poets acquired the fame of knowing how to compose is that they were the first who wrote poetry in the
Italian language. The first poet to begin writing in the vernacular was moved to do so by a desire to make his words understandable to ladies who found Latin verses difficult to comprehend. And this is an argument against those who compose in the vernacular on a subject other than love,
⁶²
since composition in the vernacular was from the beginning intended for treating of love.

Since, in Latin, greater license is conceded to the poet than to the prose writer, and since these Italian writers are simply poets writing in the vernacular, we can conclude that it is fitting and reasonable that greater license be granted them than to other writers in the vernacular; therefore, if any image or coloring of words is conceded to the Latin poet, it should be conceded to the Italian poet. So, if we find that the Latin poets addressed inanimate objects in their writings, as if these objects had sense and reason, or made them address each other, and that they did this not only with real things but also with unreal things (that is: they have said, concerning things that do not exist, that they speak, and they have said that many an accident in substance speaks as if it were a substance and human), then it is fitting that the vernacular poet do the same—not, of course, without some reason, but with a motive that later can be explained in prose. That the Latin poets have written in the way I have just described can be seen in the case of Virgil, who says that Juno, a goddess hostile to the Trojans, spoke to Aeolus, god of the winds, in the first book of the
Aeneid: Eole, nanque tibi,
⁶³
and that this god answered her:
THUS, O regina, quid optes explorare labor; michi iussa capessere fas
est.
⁶⁴
This same poet has an inanimate thing speak to animate beings in the third book of the
Aeneid: Dardanide duri.
⁶⁵
In Lucan the animate being speaks to the inanimate object:
Multum, Roma, tamen debes civilibus armis.
⁶⁶
In Horace a man speaks to his own inspiration as if to another person, and not only are the
words those of Horace but he gives them as if quoting from the good Homer, in this passage of his
Poetics: Dic michi, Musa, virum.
⁶⁷
In Ovid, Love speaks as if it were a human being, in the beginning of the book called
The Remedy of Love: Bella michi, video, bella parantur, ait.
⁶⁸

From what has been said above, anyone who experiences difficulties in certain parts of this, my little book, can find a solution for them. So that some ungifted person may not be encouraged by my words to go too far, let me add that just as the Latin poets did not write in the way they did without a reason, so vernacular poets should not write in the same way without having some reason for writing as they do. For, if any one should dress his poem in images and rhetorical coloring and then, being asked to strip his poem of such dress in order to reveal its true meaning,
⁶⁹
would not be able to do so—this would be a veritable cause for shame. And my best friend and I are well acquainted with some who compose so clumsily.

This most gracious lady of whom I have spoken in the preceding poems came into such widespread favor that, when she walked down the street, people ran to see her. This made me wonderfully happy. And when she passed by someone, such modesty filled his heart that he did not dare to raise his eyes or to return her greeting (many people, who have experienced this, could testify to it if anyone should not believe me). Crowned and clothed with humility, she would go her way, taking no glory from what she heard and saw. Many would say after she had passed: “This is no woman, this is one of the most beautiful angels of Heaven. ” And others would say: “She is a miracle! Blessed be the Lord
who can work so wondrously. ” Let me say that she showed such decorum and was possessed of such charming qualities that those who looked at her experienced a pure and sweet delight, such that they were unable to describe it; and there was no one who could look at her without immediately sighing. These and still more marvelous things were the result of her powers. Thinking about this, and wishing to take up again the theme of her praise, I decided to write something which would describe her magnificent and beneficent efficacy, so that not only those who could see her with their own eyes, but others, as well, might know of her whatever can be said in words. And so I wrote this sonnet which begins:
Such sweet decorum.
⁷⁰

This sonnet is so easy to understand from what has preceded that it has no need of divisions. And so, leaving it aside, let me say that my lady
⁷¹
came into such high favor that not only she was honored and praised, but also many other ladies were honored and praised because of her. Having observed this and wishing to make it evident to those who had not seen it, I decided to compose something else in which this would be brought out. I then wrote this next sonnet, which begins:
He
sees an affluence,
telling how her virtuous power affected other ladies, as appears in the divisions.

He sees an affluence of joy ideal

who sees my lady, in the midst of other ladies; those ladies who accompany her are moved to thank God for this sweet gift of His grace. Her beauty has the power of such magic, it never rouses other ladies’ envy, instead, it makes them want to be like her: clothed in love and faith and graciousness.

The sight of her creates humility;

and not only is she splendid in her beauty, but every lady near her shares her praise. So gracious is her every act in essence that there is no one can recall her to his mind and not sigh in an ecstasy of love.

This sonnet has three parts. In the first I tell in whose company this lady seemed most admirable; in the second I tell how desirable it was to be in her company; in the third I speak of those things which she miraculously brought about in others. The second part begins:
those ladies who;
the third:
Her beauty.
This last part divides into three. In the first part I tell what she brought about in ladies, that was known only to them; in the second I tell what she did for them as seen by others; in the third I say that she miraculously affected not only ladies but all persons, and not only while they were in her presence but also when they recalled her to mind. The second begins:
The sight of her;
the third:
Her every act.

After this I began one day thinking over what I had said about my lady in these last two sonnets and, realizing that I had not said anything about the effect she had on me at the present time, it seemed to me that I had spoken insufficiently. And so I decided to write a poem telling how I seemed to be disposed to her influence, and how her miraculous power worked in me; and believing I would not be able to describe this

within the limits of a sonnet, I immediately started to write a
canzone
⁷²
which begins:
So long a time.

Quomodo sedet sola civitas plena populo! facta est quasi vidua domina gentium
!
⁷³
I was still engaged in composing this
canzone,
in fact I had completed only the stanza written above, when the God of Justice called this most gracious one to glory under the banner of that blessèd Queen, the Virgin Mary, whose name was always uttered with the greatest reverence by the blessed Beatrice. And even though the reader might expect me to say something now about her departure from us, it is not my intention to do so here for three reasons. The first is that such a discussion does not fit into the plan of this little book, if we consider the preface which precedes it; the second is that, even if this had been my intention, the language at my command would not yet suffice to deal
with the theme as it deserves; the third is that even supposing that the first two reasons did not exist, it still would not be proper for me to treat the theme since this would entail praising myself—which is the most reprehensible thing one can do. Therefore, I leave this subject to some other commentator.

But since the number nine has appeared many times in what I have already written (which clearly could not happen without a reason), and since in her departure this number seemed to play an important part, it is fitting that I say something here concerning this, inasmuch as it seems to fit in with my plan. And so I shall first speak of the part it played in her departure, and then I shall give some reasons why this number was so close to her.

Let me begin by saying that if one counts in the Arabian way,
⁷⁴
her most noble soul departed this life during the first hour of the ninth day of the month, and if one counts the way they do in Syria, she departed in the ninth month of the year, the first month there being Tixryn the First,
⁷⁵
which for us is October. And, according to our own way of reckoning, she departed in that year of our Christian era (that is in the year of Our Lord) in which the perfect number had been completed nine times
⁷⁶
in that century in which she had been placed in this world: she was a Christian of the Thirteenth Century. One reason why this number was in such harmony with her might be this: since, according to Ptolemy and according to Christian truth, there are nine heavens that move, and
since, according to widespread astrological opinion, these heavens
⁷⁷
affect the earth below according to the relations they have to one another, this number was in harmony with her to make it understood that at her birth all nine of the moving heavens were in perfect relationship
⁷⁸
to one another. But this is just one reason. If anyone thinks more subtly and according to infallible truth, it will be clear that this number was she herself—that is, by analogy. What I mean to say is this: the number three is the root of nine for, without any other number, multiplied by itself, it gives nine: it is quite clear that three times three is nine. Therefore, if three is the sole factor of nine, and the sole factor of miracles is three, that is, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, who are Three in One, then this lady was accompanied by the number nine so that it might be understood that she was a nine, or a miracle, whose root, namely that of the miracle, is the miraculous Trinity itself. Perhaps someone more subtle than I could find a still more subtle explanation, but this is the one which I see and which pleases me the most.

After she had departed from this world, the aforementioned city
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was left as if a widow, stripped of all dignity, and I, still weeping in this barren city, wrote to the princes of the land describing its condition, taking my opening words from the prophet Jeremiah where he says:
Quomodo sedet sola civitas.
⁸⁰
And I mention this quotation now so that everyone will understand why I cited these words earlier: it was to serve as a heading for the new material that follows. And if someone should wish to reproach me for not including the rest of the letter, my excuse is this: since it was my intention from the beginning to write in the