XXXIX.
The sight of this lady brought me into so strange a condition, that many a time I thought of her as of a person who had pleased me exceeding much. And I thought of her thus: “This is a gentle, beautiful, young, and discreet lady, and she has appeared perchance through the will of Love, in order that my life may find repose.” And oftentimes I thought more lovingly, so that my heart consented thereto, that is, unto its reasoning. And when it had thus consented, I took thought again, as if moved by the reason, and I said to myself; “Ah! what thought is this which in so vile a way seeks to console me, and scarcely leaves me any other thought?” Then another thought rose up and said: “Now that thou hast been in so great tribulation, why dost thou not wish to withdraw thyself from such bitterness? Thou seest that this is an inspiration which brings the desires of Love before us, and proceeds from a place no less gentle than the eyes of the lady who has shown herself so compassionate unto thee.” Wherefore I, having thus ofttimes been at strife within me, wished anew to say some words thereof; and since, in the battle of the thoughts, those had conquered that spoke on her behalf, it seemed to me befitting to address her, and I devised this sonnet which begins, “A gentle thought;” and I said gentle inasmuch as I was speaking to a gentle lady, for otherwise it was most vile.
In this sonnet I make two parts of myself, according as my thoughts had twofold division. The one part I call heart, that is, the appetite; the other, soul, that is, the reason; and I tell how one speaks to the other. And that it is fitting to call the appetite the heart, and the reason the soul, is sufficiently plain to those to whom it pleases me that this should be disclosed. It is true that in the preceding sonnet I take the part of the heart against the eyes, and that seems contrary to what I say in the present; and therefore I say that also there I mean by the heart the appetite, since my desire still to remember me of my most gentle lady was greater than to see this one, although I had had truly some appetite therefor, but it seemed slight; wherefore it appears that the one saying is not contrary to the other.
This sonnet has three parts: in the first, I begin with saying to this lady how my desire turns wholly toward her; in the second, I say how the soul, that is, the reason, speaks to the heart, that is, to the appetite; in the third, I say how this replies. The second begins here: “Who then is this?” the third, here: “O saddened soul!”
A gentle thought that of you holds discourse
Cometh now frequently with me to dwell,
And with such sweetness it of Love doth tell,
My heart to yield unto him it doth force.
“Who then is this,” the soul saith to the heart,
”Who cometh to bring comfort to our mind,
And who hath virtue of so potent kind,
That other thoughts he maketh to depart?”
“O saddened soul,” the heart to her replies,
”This is a little spirit fresh from Love,
And to my presence his desires he brings.
His very life and all his influence move
From out of the compassionating eyes
Of her who sorroweth for our sufferings.’