Chapter VIII

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 guerdon of having seen her somewhile with my lady; which thing I spake of in the latter end of the verses that I writ in this matter, as he will discern who understands. And I wrote two sonnets, which are these:—

Weep, Lovers, sith Love’s very self doth weep, And sith the cause for weeping is so great; When now so many dames, of such estate In worth, show with their eyes a grief so deep: For Death the churl has laid his leaden sleep Upon a damsel who was fair of late, Defacing all our earth should celebrate,— Yea all save virtue, which the soul doth keep. Now hearken how much Love did honour her. I myself saw him in his proper form Bending above the motionless sweet dead, And often gazing into Heaven; for there The soul now sits which when her life was warm Dwelt with the joyful beauty that is fled.

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. In the second, I relate this reason. In the third, I speak of honour done by Love to this Lady. The second part begins here, “When now so many dames;” the third here, “Now hearken.”

Death, alway cruel, Pity’s foe in chief, Mother who brought forth grief, Merciless judgment and without appeal! Since thou alone hast made my heart to feel This sadness and unweal, My tongue upbraideth thee without relief.

And now (for I must rid thy name of ruth) Behoves me speak the truth Touching thy cruelty and wickedness: Not that they be not known; but ne’ertheless I would give hate more stress With them that feed on love in very sooth.

Out of this world thou hast driven courtesy, And virtue, dearly prized in womanhood; And out of youth’s gay mood The lovely lightness is quite gone through thee.

Whom now I mourn, no man shall learn from me Save by the measure of these praises given. Whoso deserves not Heaven May never hope to have her company.¹

This poem is divided into four parts. In the first I address Death by certain proper names of hers. In the second, speaking to her, I tell the reason why I am moved to denounce her. In the third, I rail against her. In the fourth, I turn to speak to a person undefined, although defined in my own conception. The second part commences here, “Since thou alone;” the third here, “And now (for I must);” the fourth here, “Whoso deserves not.”

Footnotes

1. The commentators assert that the last two lines here do not allude to the dead lady, but to Beatrice. This would make the poem very clumsy in construction; yet there must be some covert allusion to Beatrice, as Dante himself intimates. The only form in which I can trace it consists in the implied assertion that such person as had enjoyed the dead lady’s society was worthy of heaven, and that person was Beatrice. Or indeed the allusion to Beatrice might be in the first poem, where he says that Love “in forma vera” (that is, Beatrice), mourned over the corpse: as he afterwards says of Beatrice, “Quella ha nome Amor.” Most probably both allusions are intended. ↩