XXIII.
A few days after this it fell out that a grievous infirmity came upon me in a certain part of my body, from which I suffered for many days most bitter pain, which brought me to such weakness that I was forced to lie as one who cannot move. I say that on the ninth day, feeling almost intolerable pain, a thought came to me which was of my lady. And when I had thought somewhat of her, I returned in thought to my enfeebled life, and seeing how slight was its duration, even were it sound, I began lamenting within myself at such wretchedness. Wherefore, sighing deeply, I said within myself: “It must needs be that the most gentle Beatrice shall at some time die.”
And thereupon a strong bewilderment so overcame me, that I closed my eyes, and began to be distracted like a person in a frenzy, and to imagine in this wise: that, at the beginning of the wandering which my fancy made, certain faces of ladies with hair dishevelled appeared to me, and they said to me: “Thou too shalt die.” And after these ladies, there appeared to me certain strange faces, and horrible to behold, which said to me: “Thou art dead.”
Thus my fancy beginning to wander, I was brought to such a pass that I knew not where I was; and it seemed to me that I saw ladies with hair dishevelled go by, weeping, marvellously sad; and it seemed to me that I saw the sun grow dark, so that the stars showed themselves of such a color as to make me deem they wept; and it seemed to me that the birds as they flew fell dead, and that there were very great earthquakes. And in this fantasy, marvelling and much afraid, I imagined that a certain friend came to me to say: “Dost thou then not know? thine admirable lady is departed from this world.” Then I began to weep very piteously; and wept not only in my imagination, but wept with my eyes, bathing them with real tears.
I imagined that I looked toward heaven, and it seemed to me that I saw a multitude of angels, who were returning upwards, and had before them a little cloud of exceeding whiteness; and it seemed to me that these angels sang gloriously, and the words of their song it seemed to me were these: “Osanna in excelsis!” — and aught else meseemed not to hear. Then it seemed to me that the heart wherein was so much love said to me: “True is it that our lady lies dead.” And forthwith it seemed to me that I went to behold the body in which that most noble and blessed soul had dwelt. And so strong was the erring fancy, that it showed to me this lady dead; and it seemed to me that ladies had covered her head with a white veil, and it seemed to me that her face had such an aspect of humility that it seemed to say: “Now do I behold the beginning of peace.”
In this imagination there came to me such humility through seeing her, that I called upon Death, and said: “Most sweet Death, come unto me, and be not discourteous to me; for thou oughtest to be gentle, in such place hast thou been. Come then unto me, who greatly desire thee; and thou seest it, for I already wear thy color.” And when I had seen all the mournful ministries completed which are wont to be rendered to the bodies of the dead, it seemed to me that I returned to my chamber; and here it seemed to me that I looked toward heaven, and so strong was my imagination that, weeping, I began to say with my real voice: “O most beautiful soul, how blessed is he who sees thee!” And as I said these words, with a grievous sob of weeping, and called upon Death to come to me, a young and gentle lady, who was at the side of my bed, believing that my weeping and my words were lamentation on account of the pain of my infirmity, with great fear began to weep. Wherefore other ladies who were in the chamber became aware that I was weeping, through the tears they saw her shed; wherefore making her, who was connected with me in the nearest kingship, depart from me, they drew towards me to wake me, believing that I had been dreaming, and said to me: “Sleep no more, nor be discomforted.” And as they thus spoke to me, the strong fantasy ended at the moment when I was about to say: “O Beatrice, blessed be thou!” And I had already said, “O Beatrice,” when, arousing myself, I opened my eyes and saw that I had been deluded. And although I had uttered this name, my voice was so broken by sobs that those ladies had not been able to understand me. And notwithstanding I was sore ashamed, nevertheless, by some admonition of Love, I turned me to them. And when they saw me, they began to say: “He seems far gone:” and to say each to other: “Let us try to comfort him.” Thereupon they said many words to comfort me; and then they asked me of what I had been afraid. Wherefore I, being somewhat comforted, and having recognized the falsity of my imagining, replied to them, “I will tell you what has ailed me.” Then, beginning at the beginning, I told them even to the end that which I had seen, keeping silent the name of this most gentle lady.
Wherefore afterwards, being healed of this infirmity, I resolved to speak concerning that which had befallen me, since it seemed to me that it would be a thing delightful to hear; and so I devised this canzone concerning it: —
A lady, pitiful, and young in years,
Adorned full well with human gentilesse,
Who present was where oft I called on Death,
Seeing my eyes to be filled up of woe,
And hearing the vain words that fell from me,
Was by her fear impelled to weep aloud;
And other ladies who were thus made ware
Of me, through her who with me there was weeping,
Made her go away,
While they drew near to cause me to awake.
One said: “No longer sleep;”
And one: “Why art thou so discomforted?”
Thereon the novel fantasy I left
In giving utterance to my lady’s name.
So mournful was my voice, and broken so
By anguish and by tears, that I alone
The name within my heart did understand.
And thereon, with the look of utter shame,
Which had gained full possession of my face,
Love did compel me unto them to turn.
And such my color was to look upon,
As made these others to discourse of death.
”Ah! let us comfort him,”
One lady to the other humbly prayed;
And oftentimes they said:
”What hast thou seen that thou no strength hast
left?”
And when a little I was comforted,
”Ladies,” I said, “I will tell it to you.
While I was thinking of my fragile life,
And saw how slight continuance it hath,
Love wept within my heart, where he abides;
Whereby, indeed, my soul was so dismayed,
That then I, sighing, said within my thought:
’Sure it must be my lady too shall die.’
Then into such bewilderment I fell,
I closed my eyes that basely were weighed down;
And consternated so
My spirits were, that each went straying off.
And then imagining,
Bereft of consciousness alike and truth,
Ladies with looks of wrath appeared to me,
Who said to me: ‘Thou too shalt die, shalt die.’
Then saw I many fearful things within
The false imagining wherein I lay;
Meseemed to be I know not in what place,
And to see ladies pass dishevelled by,
Some weeping and some uttering laments,
So that the fire of sadness they shot forth.
Then, as it seemed, I by degrees beheld
The sun grow dark, and then the star appear,
And he and she to weep;
The birds in their mid-flight through air fell down,
And the earth seemed to shake;
And I beheld a man pale-faced and hoarse,
Who said: ‘What ails thee? Knowst thou not the
news?
Dead is thy lady, she that was so fair.’
I raised my eyes which with my tears were bathed,
And saw what seemed to be a rain of manna, —
The Angels, who to heaven were returning,
And had in front of them a little cloud,
Following which, they all ‘Hosanna!’ sang;
Had they said more, to you I would it tell.
And then Love said: ‘No more I hide from thee;
Come thou to see our lady where she lies.’
The false imagining
Conducted me to see my lady dead;
And, as I looked, I saw
That ladies with a veil were covering her;
And she had a humility so true,
It seemed as if she said, ‘I am in peace.’
So humble in my sorrow I became
Seeing in her such humbleness displayed,
That I said: ‘Death, thee very sweet I hold;
Thou oughtest now to be a gentle thing,
Since thou within my lady hast abode,
And thou shouldst pity have, and not disdain.
Behold! I am so eager among thine
To be, that I resemble thee in truth.
Come! my heart calleth thee.’
Then I departed, the sad rites complete;
And when I was alone,
Looking unto the realm on high, I said,
’Blessëd is he who sees thee, beauteous soul!’
Ye called me thereupon, thanks be to you.”
This canzone has two parts. In the first, I tell, speaking to an undefined person, how I was roused from a vain fantasy by certain ladies, and how I promised them to tell it. In the second, I tell how I told it to them. The second begins here: “While I was thinking.” The first part is divided into two; in the first, I tell that which certain ladies, and that which one alone, said and did on account of my fantasy, before I had returned to true consciousness; in the second, I tell that which these ladies said to me after I left this frenzy, and this part begins here: “So mournful was my voice.” Then when I say, “While I was thinking,” I tell how I told them this my imagination, and of this I make two parts. In the first, I tell this imagination in its order; in the second, telling at what point they called me, I thank them at the close; and this part begins here: “Ye called me.”