because my eyes would be in debt to me,
owing much more than they could hope to pay
by weeping so profusely for my lady
that, mourning her, my heart might be relieved.
And sighs of mine shall ceaselessly be heard
calling upon my lady (who is gone
to dwell where worth like hers is merited),
or breathing their contempt for this our life,
as if they were the mournful soul itself
abandoned by its hope of happiness.
Venite a intender li sospiri miei,
oi cor gentili, ché pietà ’l disia:
li quai disconsolati vanno via,
e s’e’ non fosser, di dolor morrei,
però che li occhi mi sarebber rei,
molte fiate più ch’io non vorria,
lasso, di pianger sì la donna mia,
che sfogasser lo cor, piangendo lei.
Voi udirete lor chiamar sovente
la mia donna gentil, che si n’è gita
al secol degno de la sua vertute;
e dispregiar talora questa vita
in persona de l’anima dolente
abbandonata de la sua salute.
XXXIII
After I had composed this sonnet, I realized, thinking more about the person to whom I intended to give it as an expression of his own feelings, that the poem might seem a poor and empty favor for anyone so closely related to my lady now in glory. So, before giving him the sonnet included above, I wrote two stanzas of a canzone, one of them truly in behalf of my friend and the other for myself, although to an unobservant reader they would both appear to speak for the same person. Anyone who examines them closely, however, sees clearly that different persons are speaking, since one does not call her his lady while the other does, as the reader may see for himself. I gave him this canzone and the sonnet included above, telling him that it was all written for him alone.
This canzone begins: Each time, and it has two parts. In one of them, in the first stanza, it is this good friend of mine and close relative of hers who laments; in the second I myself lament, that is, in the other stanza which begins: Then there is blended. And so it is clear that two people are lamenting in this canzone, one of whom grieves as a brother, the other as Love’s servant.
Each time the painful thought comes to my mind
that I shall nevermore
behold the lady I will always mourn,
my grieving memory summons up such grief
swelling within my heart,
that I must say: “Why linger here, my soul?
The torments you will be subjected to
in this life which already you detest,
weigh heavily upon my fearful mind.”
Then calling upon Death,
as I would call on lovely, soothing Peace,
I say with yearning love: “Please come to me.”
And I am jealous of whoever dies.
Then there is blended out of all my sighs
a chorus of beseeching,
begging continuously for Death to come.
All my desires have centered on this wish
since that day when my lady
was taken from me by Death’s cruelty.
This is because the beauty of her grace,
withdrawing from the sight of men forever,
became transformed to beauty of the soul,
diffusing through the heavens
a light of love that greets the angels there,
moving their subtle, lofty intellects
to marvel at this miracle of grace.
Quantunque volte, lasso, mi rimembra
ch’io non debbo già mai
veder la donna ond’io vo sì dolente,
tanto dolore intorno ’l cor m’assembra
la dolorosa mente,
ch’io dico: “Anima mia, ché non ten vai?
chè li tormenti che tu porterai
nel secol, che t’è già tanto noioso,
mi fan pensoso di paura forte.”
Ond’io chiamo la Morte,
come soave e dolce mio riposo;
e dico “Vieni a me” con tanto amore,
che sono astioso di chiunque more.
E’ si raccoglie ne li miei sospiri
un sono di pietate,
che va chiamando Morte tuttavia:
a lei si volser tutti i miei disiri,
quando la donna mia
fu giunta da la sua crudelitate;
perché ’l piacere de la sua bieltate,
partendo sé da la nostra veduta,
divenne spiritai bellezza grande,
che per lo cielo spande
luce d’amor, che li angeli saluta,
e lo intelletto loro alto, sottile
face maravigliar, sì v’è gentile.
XXXIV
On the day which completed a year since that lady had become a citizen of the Eternal Life, I was sitting in a place where, thinking of her, I was drawing an angel on some panels. And while I was drawing, I looked up and saw around me some men to whom all consideration was due. They were watching what I was doing and, as I was then told, they had already been there some time before I became aware of their presence. When I saw them, I stood up and, greeting them, I said: “Someone was with me just now; that is why I was so deep in thought.” After they left, I returned to my work of drawing figures of angels and, while I was doing this, the idea came to me to write some poetry, in the nature of an anniversary poem, and to address it to those men who had just been with me. And so I wrote this sonnet which begins: Into my mind, and which has two beginnings; for this reason I divide it first according to the one, and then according to the other.
Now, according to the first beginning, this sonnet has three parts. In the first I say that this lady was already in my memory; in the second I tell what Love, therefore, did to me; in the third I speak of the effects of Love. The second begins: Love, who perceived, the third: Lamenting. This last part divides into two: in the first I say that all my sighs came forth speaking; in the second I state that some spoke different words from the others. The second begins: but those. According to the other beginning this sonnet divides in the same way, except that in the first part I tell when it was that this lady came into my memory, while in the first beginning I do not.
First beginning
Into my mind had come the gracious image
of the lady for whom Love still sheds tears,
was called by His most lofty Majesty
to the calm realm of Heaven where Mary reigns.
Primo cominciamento
Era venuta ne la mente mia
la gentil donna che per suo valore
fu posta da l’altissimo signore
nel ciel de l’umiltate, ov’è Maria.
Second beginning
Into my mind had come the gracious image
of the lady for whom Love still sheds tears,
just when you were attracted by her virtue
to come and see what I was doing there.
Love, who perceived her presence in my mind,
and was aroused within my ravaged heart,
commanded all my sighs: “Go forth from here!”
And each one started on his grieving way.
Lamenting, they came pouring from my heart,
together in a single voice (that often
brings painful tears to my melancholy eyes);
but those escaping with the greatest pain
were saying: “This day, O intellect sublime,
completes a year since you rose heavenward.”
Secondo cominciamento
Era venuta ne la mente mia
quella donna gentil cui piange Amore
entro ’n quel punto che lo suo valore
vi trasse a riguardar quel ch’eo facia.
Amor, che ne la mente la sentia,
s’era svegliato nel destrutto core,
e dicea a’ sospiri: “
Andate fore”
per che ciascun dolente si partia.
Piangendo uscivan for de lo mio petto
con una voce che sovente mena
la lagrime dogliose a li occhi tristi.
Ma quei che n’uscian for con maggior pena,
venian dicendo: “Oi nobile intelletto,
oggi fa l’anno che nel ciel salisti.”
XXXV
Sometime afterward, when I happened to be in a place which recalled past times, I was in a very pensive mood, and I was moved by such painful thoughts that I must have had a frightening expression of distress on my face. Becoming aware of my terrible condition, I looked around to see if anyone were watching me. And I saw at a window a gracious lady, young and exceedingly beautiful, who was looking down at me so compassionately, to judge from her appearance, that all pity seemed to be concentrated in her. And because whenever an unhappy person sees someone take pity on him, he is all the more easily moved to tears, as if taking pity on himself, so I immediately felt the tears start to come. Fearing that I was revealing all the wretchedness in my life, I turned away from her eyes and left that place. And later I said to myself: “It must surely be true that with that compassionate lady there is present most noble Love.”
And so I decided to write a sonnet which I would address to her and in which I would include everything that has been narrated in this account. And since, because of this account, its meaning is sufficiently clear, I shall not divide it. The sonnet begins: With my own eyes.
With my own eyes I saw how much compassion
there was in the expression of your face,
when you saw how I looked and how I acted
(it is my grief that forces me to this).
Then I became aware that you had seen
into the nature of my darkened life,
and this aroused a fear within my heart
of showing in my eyes my wretched state.
I fled, then, from your presence as I felt
the tears begin to overflow my heart
that was exalted at the sight of you.
Later, within my anguished soul, I said:
“There must dwell with that lady that same Love
that makes me go about like this in tears.”
Videro li occhi miei quanta pietate
era apparita in la vostra figura
quando guardaste li atti e la statura
ch’io faccio per dolor molte fiate.
Allor m’accorsi che voi pensavate
la qualità de la mia vita oscura,
sì che mi giunse ne lo cor paura
di dimostrar con li occhi mia viltate.
E tolsimi dinanzi a voi, sentendo
che si movean le lagrime dal core,
ch’era sommosso da la vostra vista,
Io dicea poscia ne l’anima trista:
“Ben è con quella donna quello Amore
lo qual mi face andar così piangendo.”
XXXVI
After that, it always happened that whenever this lady saw me, her face would become compassionate and turn a pale color almost like that of love, so that many times I was reminded of my most noble lady who always had a similar coloring. And many times when I was unable to vent my sadness by weeping, I used to go to see this compassionate lady whose expression alone was able to bring tears to my eyes. And so the urge came to me to write some other poetry addressed to her, and I composed this sonnet which begins: Color of love. And because of what has just been said, it is clear without analysis.
Color of love, expression of compassion,
have never so miraculously come
to the face of any lady when she gazed
at eyes susceptible of anguished tears,
as they came to your face whenever I
stood in your presence with my grieving face;
and something comes to mind because of you:
a thought that makes me fear my heart will split.
I cannot keep my devastated eyes
from looking ever and again at you
because of the desire they have to weep;
and you intensify their longing so
that they consume themselves in helpless yearning,
for, in your presence, they cannot weep tears.
Color d’amore e di pietà sembianti
non preser mai così mirabilmente
viso di donna, per veder sovente
occhi gentili o dolorosi pianti,
come lo vostro qualora davanti
vedetevi la mia labbia dolente;
sì che per voi mi ven cosa a la mente,
ch’io temo forte non lo cor si schianti.
Eo non posso tener li occhi distrutti
che non reguardin voi spesse fiate,
per desiderio di pianger ch’elli hanno:
e voi crescete sì lor volontate,
che de la voglia si consuman tutti,
ma lagritnar dinanzi a voi non sanno.
XXXVII
The sight of this lady had now brought me to the point that my eyes began to enjoy the sight of her too much; I often became angry at myself because of it, and I felt I was very contemptible. So, many times I would curse the wantonness of my eyes, and in my thoughts I would say to them: “You used to make anyone weep who saw your sad state, and now it seems you want to forget about all that because of this lady who gazes at you, who gazes at you only because of her grief for the glorious lady whom you used to mourn. Do whatever you will, but I shall remind you of her many times, damned eyes, for never, before death comes, should your tears have ceased.” And after I had said this to myself, addressing my eyes, I was overcome by sighs, deep and anguished. I felt that this conflict which I was having with myself should not remain known solely to the wretch that experienced it, so I decided to compose a sonnet describing this terrible condition.
I wrote the sonnet which begins: The bitter tears. It has two parts: in the first I tell my eyes what my heart was saying to me; in the second I prevent any confusion by explaining who is speaking this way, and this part begins: This is what my heart. The sonnet could very well be analyzed further, but this would be superfluous, as the preceding account makes its meaning quite clear.
“The bitter tears that you once used to shed,
you, my eyes, and for so long a time,
have made the tears of other persons flow
for pity’s sake, as you yourselves have seen.
And now it seems to me you would forget,
if I were so disloyal for my part
as to give you any chance, by not forever
reminding you of her whom once you mourned.
I think about your infidelity,
and I am frightened; I have come to dread
the lady’s face that often looks at you.
Until death kills your sight, never should you
forget your gracious lady who is dead.”
This is what my heart says—and then it sighs.
“L’amaro lagrimar che voi faceste,
oi occhi miei, così lunga stagione,
facea lagrimar l’altre persone
de la pietate, come voi vedeste.
Ora mi par che voi l’obliereste,
s’io fosse dal mio lato sì fellone,
ch’i’ non ven disturbasse ogne cagione,
membrandovi colei cui voi piangeste.
La vostra vanità mi fa pensare,
e spaventami sì, ch’io temo forte
del viso d’una donna che vi mira.
Voi non dovreste mai, se non per morte,
la vostra donna, ch’è morta, obliare”
Cosi dice ’l meo core, e poi sospira.
XXXVIII
When, once again, I returned to see this lady, the sight of her had such a strange effect on me that often I thought of her as someone I liked too much. I thought of her in this way: “This is a gracious, beautiful, young, and discreet lady, and perhaps through the will of Love she has appeared in order that my life may
find peace.” Often I thought in still more loving terms, so much so that the heart consented to it, that is to the loving feeling. And when I had consented to this, I reconsidered, as if moved by reason, and I said to myself: “God, what kind of thought is this that tries to console me so basely and scarcely allows me to think about anything else?” Then another thought arose and said to me: “Since you have endured so many tribulations, why do you not try to escape further bitter suffering? You see that this is an inspiration of Love, which brings amorous desires into our presence, and it proceeds from so gracious a source as the eyes of the lady who has shown us so much compassion.” Finally, having battled like this within myself many times, I wished to write more poetry about it, and since in the battle of the thoughts those won which spoke in the lady’s favor, it seemed right that I address myself to her. And I wrote this sonnet which begins: A thought, gracious; and I say “gracious” in so far as it involved a gracious lady, for in all other respects it was most base.
In this sonnet I divide myself into two parts according to the way my thoughts were divided. One part I call heart, that is desire; the other, soul, that is reason; and I tell what one says to the other. That it is justifiable to call desire heart and reason soul is certainly clear to those persons that I wish my procedure to be clear to. It is true that in the preceding sonnet I take the part of the heart against the eyes, and this seems contrary to what I say in this sonnet. So let me state that in the preceding sonnet, too, the heart stands for desire, since my greatest desire was still that of remembering my most gracious lady rather than of gazing at this one—even though I did have some desire for her then; but it seemed slight. And so it is evident that the one interpretation is not contrary to the other.
This sonnet has three parts. In the first I tell this lady how my desire turns completely toward her; in the second I tell how the soul, that is reason, speaks to the heart, that is desire; in the third I tell how the heart replies. The second part begins: The soul says, the third: The heart replies.
A thought, gracious because it speaks of you,
comes frequently to dwell awhile with me,
and so melodiously speaks of love,
it talks the heart into surrendering.
The soul says to the heart: “Who is this one
that comes with consolation for our mind,
Dante’s Vita Nuova, New Edition: A Translation and an Essay Page 8
