Dante’s Vita Nuova, New Edition: A Translation and an Essay

by Dante Alighieri

  once it is brought to life by my dying face,

  whose yearning eyes beg death to take me now.

  Ciò che m’incontra, ne la mente more,

  quand’i’ vegno a veder voi, bella gioia.

  E quand’io vi son presso, i’ sento Amore

  che dice: “Fuggi, se ’l perir t’è noia.”

  Lo viso mostra lo color del core,

  che, tramortendo, ovunque pò s’appoia,

  e per la ebrietà del gran tremore

  le pietre par che gridin: “Moia, moia”

  Peccato face chi allora mi vide,

  se l’alma sbigottita non conforta,

  sol dimostrando che di me li doglia,

  per la pietà, che l’ vostro gabbo ancide,

  la qual si cria ne la vista morta

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

  This sonnet is divided into two parts. In the first I explain why I do not keep myself from seeking this lady’s company; in the second I tell what happens to me when I go near her, and this part begins: When I come close. This second part can be further divided into five sections, according to five different themes. In the first I tell what Love, counseled by reason, says to me whenever I am near her; in the second I describe the condition of my heart by reference to my face; in the third I tell how all assurance grows faint in me; in the fourth I say that he sins who does not show pity, which might be of some comfort to me; in the last part I tell why others should have pity, namely, because of the piteous look which fills my eyes. But this piteous look is wasted; it is never really seen by anyone, all because of the mockery of this lady who causes others, who perhaps might have noticed this piteousness, to do as she does. The second part begins: My blanching face; the third: and as I tremble; the fourth: He sins; the fifth: for pity’s sake.

  XVI

  Soon after completing this sonnet I was moved by a desire to write more poetry, in which I would mention four more things concerning my condition which, it seemed to me, I had not yet made clear. The first of these is that many times I suffered when my memory excited my imagination to re-evoke the transformations that Love worked in me. The second is that Love, frequently and without warning, attacked me so violently that no part of me remained alive except one thought that spoke of this lady. The third is that when this battle of Love raged within me so, I would go, pale and haggard, to look upon this lady, believing that the sight of her would defend me in this battle, forgetting what happened to me whenever I approached such graciousness. The fourth is that not only did the sight of her not defend me: it ultimately annihilated the little life I had left. And so I wrote this sonnet which begins: Time and again.

  Time and again the thought comes to my mind

  of the dark condition Love imparts to me;

  then the pity of it strikes me, and I ask:

  “Could ever anyone have felt the same?”

  For Love’s attack is so precipitous

  that life itself all but abandons me:

  nothing survives except one lonely spirit,

  allowed to live because it speaks of you.

  With hope of help to come I gather courage,

  and deathly languid, drained of all defenses,

  I come to you expecting to be healed;

  and if I raise my eyes to look at you,

  within my heart a tremor starts to spread,

  driving out life, stopping my pulses’ beat.

  Spesse fiate vegnonmi a la mente

  le oscure qualità ch’Amor mi dona,

  e venmene pietà, sì che sovente

  io dico: “Lasso!, avviene elli a persona?”

  ch’Amor m’assale subitanamente,

  sì che la vita quasi m’abbandona:

  campami un spirto vivo solamente,

  e que’ riman perché di voi ragiona.

  Poscia mi sforzo, ché mi voglio atare;

  e così smorto, d’onne valor voto,

  vegno a vedervi, credendo guerire;

  e se io levo li occhi per guardare,

  nel cor mi si comincia uno tremoto,

  che fa de’ polsi l’anima partire.

  This sonnet is divided into four parts according to the four things it treats, and since these are explained above, I concern myself only with indicating the parts by their beginnings; accordingly, the second part begins: For Love’s attack; the third: With hope of help; the fourth: and if I raise.

  XVII

  After I had written these three sonnets addressed to this lady, in which little concerning my condition was left unsaid, believing I should be silent and say no more about this even at the cost of never again writing to her, since it seemed to me that I had talked about myself enough, I felt forced to find a new theme, one nobler than the last. Because I think the occasion for my new theme is a story pleasant to hear, I shall tell it, and as briefly as possible.

  XVIII

  Because of my appearance many people had learned the secret of my heart, and certain ladies who had seen me swoon at one time or another, and who knew my heart very well, happened to be gathered together one day, enjoying each other’s company, when I, as if guided by fortune, passed near them and heard one of these gentlewomen call to me. The lady who addressed me had a very lively way of speaking, and so, when I had come up to them and saw that my most gracious lady was not with them, gaining confidence, I greeted them and asked what I could do to please them. There were many ladies present: several were laughing together; others were looking at me as if waiting for me to say something; there were others talking among themselves—one of whom, turning her eyes toward me and calling me by name, said: “Why do you love this lady of yours, if you are unable to endure the sight of her? Tell us, for surely the goal of such a love must be strange indeed.” After she had said these words, not only she but all the others showed by their expression that they were waiting for my answer. I said: “Ladies, the goal of my love once consisted in receiving the greeting of this lady to whom you are, perhaps, referring, and in this greeting rested the bliss which was the goal of all my desires. But since it pleased her to deny it to me, my lord, Love, through his grace, has placed all my bliss in something that cannot fail me.” With this the ladies began to speak among themselves and, just as sometimes the rain can be seen falling mingled with beautiful flakes of snow, so did I seem to hear their words issuing forth mingled with sighs. After they had spoken to each other for awhile, the one who had first addressed me spoke to me again, saying: “We beg you to tell us where this bliss of yours now rests.” And I answered her: “In those words that praise my lady.” And the one who had asked me the question said: “If you are telling us the truth, then those words you addressed to her describing your condition must have been written with some other intention.” Then I, shamed by her words, departed from these ladies, saying to myself: “Since there is so much bliss in words that praise my lady, why have I ever written in any other way?” Therefore, I resolved that from then on I would always choose as the theme of my poetry whatever would be in praise of this most gracious one. Then, reflecting more on this, it seemed to me that I had undertaken a theme too lofty for myself, so that I did not dare to begin writing, and I remained for several days with the desire to write and the fear of beginning.

  XIX

  Then it happened that while walking down a path along which ran a very clear stream, I suddenly felt a great desire to write a poem, and I began to think how I would go about it. It seemed to me that to speak of my lady would not be becoming unless I were to address my words to ladies, and not just to any ladies, but only to those who are worthy, not merely to women. Then, I must tell you, my tongue, as if moved of its own accord, spoke and said: Ladies who have intelligence of love. With great delight I decided to keep these words in mind and to use them as the beginning of my poem. Later, after returning to the aforementioned city and reflecting for several days, I began writing a canzone, using this beginning, and I constructed it in a way that will appear below in its divis
ions. The canzone begins: Ladies who have.

  Ladies who have intelligence of love,

  I wish to speak to you about my lady,

  not thinking to complete her litany,

  but to talk in order to relieve my heart.

  I tell you, when I think of her perfection,

  Love lets me feel the sweetness of his presence,

  and if at that point I could still feel bold,

  my words could make all mankind fall in love.

  I do not want to choose a tone too lofty,

  for fear that such ambition make me timid;

  instead I shall discuss her graciousness,

  defectively, to measure by her merit,

  with you, ladies and maidens whom Love knows,

  for such a theme is only fit for you.

  The mind of God receives an angel’s prayer:

  “My Lord, there appears to be upon your earth

  a living miracle, proceeding from

  a radiant soul whose light reaches us here.”

  Heaven, that lacks its full perfection only

  in lacking her, pleads for her to the Lord,

  and every saint is begging for this favor.

  Compassion for His creatures still remains,

  for God, who knows they are speaking of my lady,

  says: “Chosen ones, now suffer happily

  that she, your hope, live her appointed time

  for the sake of one down there who fears her loss,

  and who shall say unto the damned in Hell:

  ‘I have beheld the hope of Heaven’s blest.’ ”

  My lady is desired in highest Heaven.

  Now let me tell you something of her power.

  A lady who aspires to graciousness

  should seek her company, for where she goes

  Love drives a killing frost into vile hearts

  that freezes and destroys what they are thinking;

  should such a one insist on looking at her,

  he is changed to something noble or he dies.

  And if she finds one worthy to behold her,

  that man will feel her power for salvation

  when she accords to him her salutation,

  which humbles him till he forgets all wrongs.

  God has graced her with an even greater gift:

  whoever speaks with her shall speak with Him.

  Love says of her: “How can a mortal body

  achieve such beauty and such purity?”

  He looks again and swears it must be true:

  God does have something new in mind for earth.

  Her color is the pallor of the pearl,

  a paleness perfect for a gracious lady;

  she is the best that Nature can achieve

  and by her mold all beauty tests itself;

  her eyes, wherever she may choose to look,

  send forth their spirits radiant with love

  to strike the eyes of anyone they meet,

  and penetrate until they find the heart.

  You will see Love depicted on her face,

  there where no one dares hold his gaze too long.

  My song, I know that you will go and speak

  to many ladies when I bid you leave,

  and since I brought you up as Love’s true child,

  ingenuous and plain, let me advise you

  to beg of anybody you may meet:

  “Please help me find my way; I have been sent

  to the lady with whose praise I am adorned.”

  And so that you may not have gone in vain,

  do not waste time with any vulgar people;

  do what you can to show your meaning only

  to ladies, or to men who may be worthy;

  they will direct you by the quickest path.

  You will find Love and with him find our lady.

  Speak well of me to Love, it is your duty.

  Donne ch’avete intelletto d’amore,

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

  non perch’io creda sua laude finire,

  ma ragionar per isfogar la mente,

  lo dico che pensando il suo valore,

  Amor sì dolce mi si fa sentire,

  che s’io allora non perdessi ardire,

  farei parlando innamorar la gente.

  E io non vo’ parlar sì altamente,

  ch’io divenisse per temenza vile;

  ma tratterò del suo stato gentile

  a respetto di lei leggeramente,

  donne e donzelle amorose, con vui,

  ché non è cosa da parlarne altrui.

  Angelo clama in divino intelletto

  e dice: “Sire, nel mondo si vede

  maraviglia ne l’atto che procede

  d’un’anima che ’nfin qua su risplende.”

  Lo cielo, che non have altro difetto

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

  e ciascun santo ne grida merzede.

  Sola Pietà nostra parte difende,

  che parla Dio, che di madonna intende:

  “Diletti miei, or sofferite in pace

  che vostra spene sia quanto me piace

  là ’v’è alcun che perder lei s’attende,

  e che dirà ne lo inferno: ‘O mal nati,

  io vidi la speranza de’ beati’ ”

  Madonna è disiata in sommo cielo:

  or voi di sua virtù farvi savere.

  Dico, qual vuol gentil donna parere

  vada con lei, che quando va per via,

  gitta nei cor villani Amore un gelo,

  per che onne lor penserò agghiaccia e pere;

  e qual soffrisse di starla a vedere

  diverria nobil cosa, o si morria.

  E quando trova alcun che degno sia

  di veder lei, quei prova sua vertute,

  ché li avvien, ciò che li dona, in salute,

  e sì l’umilia, ch’ogni offesa oblia.

  Ancor l’ha Dio per maggior grazia dato

  che non pò mal finir chi Pha parlato.

  Dice di lei Amor: “Cosa mortale

  come esser pò sì adorna e sì pura?”

  Poi la reguarda, e fra se stesso giura

  che Dio ne ’ntenda di far cosa nova.

  Color di perle ha quasi, in forma quale

  convene a donna aver, non for misura;

  ella è quanto de ben pò far natura;

  per essemplo di lei bieltà si prova.

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

  escono spirti d’amore infiammati,

  che feron li occhi a qual che allor la guati,

  e passan sì che’ l cor ciascun retrova:

  voi le vedete Amor pinto nel viso,

  là ’ve non potè alcun mirarla fiso.

  Canzone, io so che tu girai parlando

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

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

  per figliuola d’Amor giovane e piana,

  che là ’ve giugni tu diche pregando:

  “Insegnatemi gir, ch’io son mandata

  a quella di cui laude so’ adornata

  E se non vuoli andar sì come vana,

  non restare ove sia gente villana:

  ingegnati, se puoi, d’esser palese

  solo con donne o con omo cortese,

  che ti merranno là per via tostana.

  Tu troverai Amor con esso lei;

  reccomandami a lui come tu dei.

  In order that this canzone may be better understood I shall divide it more carefully than the previous poems. I first divide it into three parts: the first part is an introduction to the words that follow; the second continues the theme treated; the third is, as it were, a servant to the words that precede it. The second part begins: The mind of God, the third: My song, I know. Now the first part falls into four subdivisions. In the first I tell to whom I wish to write; in the second I tell about the condition in which I find myself whenever I think of her perfection, and how I would write if
I did not lose courage; in the third I mention the way in which I intend to write about her in order not to be intimidated; in the fourth, referring again to those to whom I mean to write, I give the reason why I have chosen them. The second begins: I tell you; the third: I do not want; the fourth: with you, ladies.

  Then, when I say: The mind of God, I begin to talk about my lady, and this part falls into two subdivisions. In the first I tell how she is thought of in Heaven; in the second I tell how she is thought of on earth: My lady is desired. This second part, in turn, is divided into two. In the first I describe the nobility of her soul, telling about the effective powers that proceed from it; in the second I describe the nobility of her body, telling about some of its beautiful qualities: Love says of her. The second part is in turn divided into two. In the first I speak of certain beautiful qualities involving particular parts of her body: her eyes, wherever. This is again divided in two. First I speak of her eyes, which are the initiators of love; then I speak of her mouth, which is the supreme desire of my love. So that here and now any perverse thought may be dispelled, let him who reads this remember what has been previously said about this lady’s greeting, which was an action of her mouth, and which was the goal of all my desires so long as I was allowed to receive it.

  Then when I say, My song, I know that you, I am adding a stanza as a sort of handmaiden to the others. In this stanza I tell what I want my song to do; because this last part is easy to understand, I do not bother to divide it further. Certainly, to make the meaning of this canzone still clearer, I should have to make the divisions even more minute; however, if anyone is not intelligent enough to understand it from the divisions already made, I would not mind in the least if he would simply leave my poem alone. As it is, I am afraid I may have shared its meaning with too many readers because of these divisions I have already made—if it should happen that many would bother to read them.

  XX

  After this canzone had become rather well known, one of my friends who had heard it was moved to ask me to write about the nature of Love, having perhaps, from reading my poem, acquired more confidence in me than I deserved. So, thinking that after my treatment of the previous theme it would be good to treat the theme of Love and, feeling that I owed this to my friend, I decided to compose a poem dealing with Love. And I wrote this sonnet, which begins: Love and the gracious heart.