CANTO II. holding such affliction?', asked one: 'indeed it is enough to make one die with pity', replied her companion. On this, he too burst into tears, covering his face with his hands to hide them: and his desire to betake himself to some secluded spot, where he could let them flow without impropriety, conflicted with that of remaining where he was, in order to have momentary news of her. There he continued: but, unable to prevent his emotion from being observed, he at last caught whispers of which he himself was the subject: - 'poor young lad! how changed! he no longer appears the same person'. In fact he was on the eve of a severe illness caused by distress of mind. During the worst paroxysm of the fever on the ninth day, (a number strangely connected with his joys and sorrows) while reflecting on the extreme fragility of human life, the thought for the first time came across him that even the sweet Beatrice must one day die di necessità conviene che anche la gentilissima alcuna volta si muoja. This threw his frame into new disorder, and he fell into a terrifying delirium; the earth appearing to shake, the sun to be discoloured and the stars to shed tears; while a crowd of haggard women seemed yelling 'thou shalt die! thou art already dead!' Then he thought one of his friends approached and said low and mournfully-'hast thou not heard it? thine admirable lady is no more!' He instantly broke forth into an agony of tears, (real CANTO 11. tears and not imaginary like that which caused them) and, gazing on high, he fancied he beheld a multitude of angels returning up towards heaven, preceded by a thin, milkwhite cloud and singing hosanna to God. Then did his conscious heart tell him (his heart ever full of so much love-ov'è tanto amore) 'alas! it is but too certain, our lady is dead'. Hereupon the scene shifted; and he seemed to be visiting her corse; when so potent became that delirious, erroneous phantasy, la erronea fantasia that he thought he saw damsels covering it with a white veil, and, drawing near, he recognized its wonted air of humility on its face, which moreover appeared to assure him that its soul was already ascended to eternal peace. His voice then raised itself, and sobbing bitterly he ejaculated repeated invocations to Death and Beatrice so that his nurse-tenders, attributing his cries to the violence of distemper, began to cry also from their apprehension that he was expiring. Returning to his senses, he was grievously ashamed― mi vergognai molto: but, when asked what it was had frightened him, he took courage flattering himself the secret of his heart had not been divulged; and that, though his words had been overheard, they were not understood. He recovered and there is recorded one more interview between him and his lady, in presence of the wife of his dear Guido Cavalcanti. On the subject of Beatrice's marriage, he is completely silent; and CANTO II. from some of his expressions it has even been attempted to prove she died a maid. But Boccaccio's testimony to the contrary is absolute; and to dispute it were very bold. He may, it is true, occasionally add a little colouring to his sketches; but when he states a thing as simple matter of fact, I cannot imagine how any one can be arrogant enough to dispute it, unless he can produce convincing proof of the impossibility of its being true. So far from that being the case at present, his assertion is confirmed by other contemporary witnesses. We must therefore believe that she was a wife, at least a short while before her death; and pardon her unfortunate admirer for saying nothing about it. The ravings of his fever were ominous and preceded her demise by only about four or five months at most. This took place' (he says, with the all-punctilious minuteness of a spiritstricken mourner) 'at seven o'clock on the morning of the ninth of June; which month'(adds he with the superstition often generated by profound melancholy) 'is the ninth of the twelve, according to the mode of reckoning in Syria: so that it is clear that this heavenly number, nine, had always a favourable influence on her destiny; and now in the end it conveyed her to Paradise'. It was in the year 1290, writes Boccaccio; and the same is implied in Purgatory, Canto xxxii; but the way of registering it in the Vita Nuova is studied, in order to introduce another sorrowful and indeed fan CANTO H. tastic, though Ciceronian instance of the influential nine: 'it was in that year of the thirteenth century when the perfect number was completed nine times'. The perfect number is 10, as Macrobius informs us(1); hence 10x9=90, and 90+1200=1290. She had then just entered her twenty-fifth year. To dwell on our poet's distress were nearly superfluous. Indeed the chief production in which he revealed it is no longer extant, or at least not known to be so: it was in latin, 'addressed to the Princes of the land', and opening with the lamentation of Jeremiah, — « How doth the city sit solitary! how is she become as a widow (2)! » — a strain of elegy well adapted to the subject, because, as he avers, the lovely saint was wept sadly not by him alone, but by every Florentine-lacrimando nella disolata città. Suffice it to say, his sorrow was of the severest and most durable in nature upon the anniversary of her decease we find him singing her dirge in accents broken with grief 'Oh! noble-minded creature, it is now a year since thou didst mount to heaven' O nobile intelletto! Oggi fa l'anno, che nel Ciel salisti; and, bursting into tears continually as if his eyes were made for no other purpose, these at last acquired a purple rim such as is sometimes pro (1) Decas perfectissimus numerus est. Com. in Som. Scip. l. 1. cap. 6. (2) Lamentations I. 1. CANTO 11. duced by violent pain per lo lungo continuare del pianto dintorno a loro si facea un colore purpureo, lo quale suole apparire per alcuno martire. This continual weeping, indeed, almost degenerated into an incurable malady: twenty years had elapsed, when a mere thought of her could still produce a magical effect, making him thrill with the potent consciousness of former love (1); and scarcely once, during full thirty years that he survived her, was he ever known to smile. She's gone! our Beatrice is gone To heaven amid the angel-kind; She lives in that high realm of bliss |