(6) And she to me: "There is no greater sorrow Than to be mindful of the happy time In misery, and that thy Teacher knows. But, if to recognise the earliest root Of love in us thou hast so great desire, I will do even as he who weeps and speaks. One day we reading were for our delight Of Launcelot, how Love did him enthral. Alone we were and without any fear. Full many a time our eyes together drew That reading, and drove the colour from our faces; But one point only was it that o'ercame us. When as we read of the much-longed-for smile Being by such a noble lover kissed, This one, who ne'er from me shall be divided, Kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating. Galeotto was the book and he who wrote it. That day no farther did we read therein." And all the while one spirit uttered this, The other one did weep so, that, for pity, I swooned away as if I had been dying, And fell, even as a dead body falls.

(1) Perchance six thousand miles remote from us Is glowing the sixth hour, and now this world Inclines its shadow almost to a level, When the mid-heaven begins to make itself So deep to us, that here and there a star Ceases to shine so far down as this depth, And as advances bright exceedingly The handmaid of the sun, the heaven is closed Light after light to the most beautiful; Not otherwise the Triumph, which for ever Plays round about the point that vanquished me, Seeming enclosed by what itself encloses, Little by little from my vision faded; Whereat to turn mine eyes on Beatrice My seeing nothing and my love constrained me. If what has hitherto been said of her Were all concluded in a single praise, Scant would it be to serve the present turn. Not only does the beauty I beheld Transcend ourselves, but truly I believe Its Maker only may enjoy it all. Vanquished do I confess me by this passage More than by problem of his theme was ever O'ercome the comic or the tragic poet;

(5) Sitteth the city, wherein I was born, Upon the sea-shore where the Po descends To rest in peace with all his retinue. Love, that on gentle heart doth swiftly seize, Seized this man for the person beautiful That was ta'en from me, and still the mode offends me. Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving, Seized me with pleasure of this man so strongly, That, as thou seest, it doth not yet desert me; Love has conducted us unto one death; Caina waiteth him who quenched our life!" These words were borne along from them to us. As soon as I had heard those souls tormented, I bowed my face, and so long held it down Until the Poet said to me: "What thinkest?" When I made answer, I began: "Alas! How many pleasant thoughts, how much desire, Conducted these unto the dolorous pass!" Then unto them I turned me, and I spake, And I began: "Thine agonies, Francesca, Sad and compassionate to weeping make me. But tell me, at the time of those sweet sighs, By what and in what manner Love conceded, That you should know your dubious desires?"

(6) Herein doth living Justice sweeten so Affection in us, that for evermore It cannot warp to any iniquity. Voices diverse make up sweet melodies; So in this life of ours the seats diverse Render sweet harmony among these spheres; And in the compass of this present pearl Shineth the sheen of Romeo, of whom The grand and beauteous work was ill rewarded. But the Provencals who against him wrought, They have not laughed, and therefore ill goes he Who makes his hurt of the good deeds of others. Four daughters, and each one of them a queen, Had Raymond Berenger, and this for him Did Romeo, a poor man and a pilgrim; And then malicious words incited him To summon to a reckoning this just man, Who rendered to him seven and five for ten. Then he departed poor and stricken in years, And if the world could know the heart he had, In begging bit by bit his livelihood, Though much it laud him, it would laud him more."

(4) I do not think her mother loves me more, Since she has laid aside her wimple white, Which she, unhappy, needs must wish again. Through her full easily is comprehended How long in woman lasts the fire of love, If eye or touch do not relight it often. So fair a hatchment will not make for her The Viper marshalling the Milanese A-field, as would have made Gallura's Cock." In this wise spake he, with the stamp impressed Upon his aspect of that righteous zeal Which measurably burneth in the heart. My greedy eyes still wandered up to heaven, Still to that point where slowest are the stars, Even as a wheel the nearest to its axle. And my Conductor: "Son, what dost thou gaze at Up there?" And I to him: "At those three torches With which this hither pole is all on fire." And he to me: "The four resplendent stars Thou sawest this morning are down yonder low, And these have mounted up to where those were." As he was speaking, to himself Sordello Drew him, and said, "Lo there our Adversary!" And pointed with his finger to look thither.

(5) Florence, within the ancient boundary From which she taketh still her tierce and nones, Abode in quiet, temperate and chaste. No golden chain she had, nor coronal, Nor ladies shod with sandal shoon, nor girdle That caught the eye more than the person did. Not yet the daughter at her birth struck fear Into the father, for the time and dower Did not o'errun this side or that the measure. No houses had she void of families, Not yet had thither come Sardanapalus To show what in a chamber can be done; Not yet surpassed had Montemalo been By your Uccellatojo, which surpassed Shall in its downfall be as in its rise. Bellincion Berti saw I go begirt With leather and with bone, and from the mirror His dame depart without a painted face; And him of Nerli saw, and him of Vecchio, Contented with their simple suits of buff And with the spindle and the flax their dames. O fortunate women! and each one was certain Of her own burial-place, and none as yet For sake of France was in her bed deserted.

(3) That thou mayst free thee from this apprehension, I'll tell thee why I came, and what I heard At the first moment when I grieved for thee. Among those was I who are in suspense, And a fair, saintly Lady called to me In such wise, I besought her to command me. Her eyes where shining brighter than the Star; And she began to say, gentle and low, With voice angelical, in her own language: 'O spirit courteous of Mantua, Of whom the fame still in the world endures, And shall endure, long-lasting as the world; A friend of mine, and not the friend of fortune, Upon the desert slope is so impeded Upon his way, that he has turned through terror, And may, I fear, already be so lost, That I too late have risen to his succour, From that which I have heard of him in Heaven. Bestir thee now, and with thy speech ornate, And with what needful is for his release, Assist him so, that I may be consoled. Beatrice am I, who do bid thee go; I come from there, where I would fain return; Love moved me, which compelleth me to speak.

(3) Faces I saw of charity persuasive, Embellished by His light and their own smile, And attitudes adorned with every grace. The general form of Paradise already My glance had comprehended as a whole, In no part hitherto remaining fixed, And round I turned me with rekindled wish My Lady to interrogate of things Concerning which my mind was in suspense. One thing I meant, another answered me; I thought I should see Beatrice, and saw An Old Man habited like the glorious people. O'erflowing was he in his eyes and cheeks With joy benign, in attitude of pity As to a tender father is becoming. And "She, where is she?" instantly I said; Whence he: "To put an end to thy desire, Me Beatrice hath sent from mine own place. And if thou lookest up to the third round Of the first rank, again shalt thou behold her Upon the throne her merits have assigned her." Without reply I lifted up mine eyes, And saw her, as she made herself a crown Reflecting from herself the eternal rays.

(1) Whene'er is broken up the game of Zara, He who has lost remains behind despondent, The throws repeating, and in sadness learns; The people with the other all depart; One goes in front, and one behind doth pluck him, And at his side one brings himself to mind; He pauses not, and this and that one hears; They crowd no more to whom his hand he stretches, And from the throng he thus defends himself. Even such was I in that dense multitude, Turning to them this way and that my face, And, promising, I freed myself therefrom. There was the Aretine, who from the arms Untamed of Ghin di Tacco had his death, And he who fleeing from pursuit was drowned. There was imploring with his hands outstretched Frederick Novello, and that one of Pisa Who made the good Marzucco seem so strong. I saw Count Orso; and the soul divided By hatred and by envy from its body, As it declared, and not for crime committed, Pierre de la Brosse I say; and here provide While still on earth the Lady of Brabant, So that for this she be of no worse flock!

(605) which he represents some pitiful hero who is drawling out his sorrows in a long oration, or weeping, and smiting his breast—the best of us, you know, delight in giving way to sympathy, and are in raptures at the excellence of the poet who stirs our feelings most. Yes, of course I know. But when any sorrow of our own happens to us, then you may observe that we pride ourselves on the opposite quality—we would fain be quiet and patient; this is the manly part, and the other which delighted us in the recitation is now deemed to be the part of a woman. Very true, he said. Now can we be right in praising and admiring another who is doing that which any one of us would abominate and be ashamed of in his own person? No, he said, that is certainly not reasonable. Nay, I said, quite reasonable from one point of view. What point of view? If you consider, I said, that when in misfortune we feel a natural hunger and desire to relieve our sorrow by weeping and lamentation, and that this feeling which is kept under control in our own calamities is satisfied and delighted by the poets;—the better nature in each of us, not having been sufficiently trained by reason or habit, allows the sympathetic

(3) Then, moved and mingled with the other lights, The soul that had addressed me showed how great An artist 'twas among the heavenly singers. To my right side I turned myself around, My duty to behold in Beatrice Either by words or gesture signified; And so translucent I beheld her eyes, So full of pleasure, that her countenance Surpassed its other and its latest wont. And as, by feeling greater delectation, A man in doing good from day to day Becomes aware his virtue is increasing, So I became aware that my gyration With heaven together had increased its arc, That miracle beholding more adorned. And such as is the change, in little lapse Of time, in a pale woman, when her face Is from the load of bashfulness unladen, Such was it in mine eyes, when I had turned, Caused by the whiteness of the temperate star, The sixth, which to itself had gathered me. Within that Jovial torch did I behold The sparkling of the love which was therein Delineate our language to mine eyes.

(3) In her body she became a whore and gave herself to everyone, seeing each one she hugged as a husband. After she let herself be taken by lecherous, unfaithful adulterers, she sighed deeply and repented. But even when she turned her face from the adulterers, she ran to others, and they compelled her to live with them and make love with them on their beds as if they were her masters. Then, out of shame, she no longer dared leave them, while they double-crossed her, pretending to be faithful, true husbands, as if they respected her. After all these acts, they took off, abandoning her.

(1) Even as a bird, 'mid the beloved leaves, Quiet upon the nest of her sweet brood Throughout the night, that hideth all things from us, Who, that she may behold their longed-for looks And find the food wherewith to nourish them, In which, to her, grave labours grateful are, Anticipates the time on open spray And with an ardent longing waits the sun, Gazing intent as soon as breaks the dawn: Even thus my Lady standing was, erect And vigilant, turned round towards the zone Underneath which the sun displays less haste; So that beholding her distraught and wistful, Such I became as he is who desiring For something yearns, and hoping is appeased. But brief the space from one When to the other; Of my awaiting, say I, and the seeing The welkin grow resplendent more and more. And Beatrice exclaimed: "Behold the hosts Of Christ's triumphal march, and all the fruit Harvested by the rolling of these spheres!" It seemed to me her face was all aflame; And eyes she had so full of ecstasy That I must needs pass on without describing.

(4) She became a poor desolate widow, helpless. In her affliction she had no food. From them she had gathered nothing but the defilements when they coupled with her. Her offspring from the adulterers are mute, blind, and sickly. They are disturbed. But when her father who is above looked down on her and saw her sighing, suffering and in disgrace, and repenting of her prostitution, then she began to call on him for help with all her heart, saying, "Save me, my father. Look, I will report to you, for I left my house and fled from my woman's quarters. Restore me to yourself."

(1) Rejoice, O Florence, since thou art so great, That over sea and land thou beatest thy wings, And throughout Hell thy name is spread abroad! Among the thieves five citizens of thine Like these I found, whence shame comes unto me, And thou thereby to no great honour risest. But if when morn is near our dreams are true, Feel shalt thou in a little time from now What Prato, if none other, craves for thee. And if it now were, it were not too soon; Would that it were, seeing it needs must be, For 'twill aggrieve me more the more I age. We went our way, and up along the stairs The bourns had made us to descend before, Remounted my Conductor and drew me. And following the solitary path Among the rocks and ridges of the crag, The foot without the hand sped not at all. Then sorrowed I, and sorrow now again, When I direct my mind to what I saw, And more my genius curb than I am wont, That it may run not unless virtue guide it; So that if some good star, or better thing, Have given me good, I may myself not grudge it.

(2) Then reigned within my lofty fantasy One crucified, disdainful and ferocious In countenance, and even thus was dying. Around him were the great Ahasuerus, Esther his wife, and the just Mordecai, Who was in word and action so entire. And even as this image burst asunder Of its own self, in fashion of a bubble In which the water it was made of fails, There rose up in my vision a young maiden Bitterly weeping, and she said: "O queen, Why hast thou wished in anger to be naught? Thou'st slain thyself, Lavinia not to lose; Now hast thou lost me; I am she who mourns, Mother, at thine ere at another's ruin." As sleep is broken, when upon a sudden New light strikes in upon the eyelids closed, And broken quivers ere it dieth wholly, So this imagining of mine fell down As soon as the effulgence smote my face, Greater by far than what is in our wont. I turned me round to see where I might be, When said a voice, "Here is the passage up;" Which from all other purposes removed me,

(1) The amorous Nightingale first came forward almost beside himself with passion. He poured emotion into each of the thousand notes of his song; and in each was to be found a world of secrets. When he sang of these mysteries the birds became silent. 'The secrets of love are known to me,' he said. 'All night I repeat my songs of love. Is there no unhappy David to whom I can sing the yearning psalms of love? The flute's sweet wailing is because of me, and the lamenting of the lute. I create a tumult among the roses as well as in the hearts of lovers. Always I teach new mysteries, at each instant I repeat new songs of sadness. When love overpowers my soul my singing is as the sighing sea. Who hears me forsakes his reason, though he be among the wise. If I am parted from my dear Rose I am desolate, I cease my singing and tell my secrets to none. Mv secrets are not known to everyone; only to the Rose are they known with certainty. So deep in love am I with the Rose that I do not even think of my own existence; but only of the Rose and

the coral of her petals. The journey to the Simurgh is beyond my strength; the love of the Rose is enough for the Nightingale. It is for me that she flowers with her hundred petals; what more then can I wish! The Rose which blooms today is full of longing, and for me smiles joyously. When she shows her face under the veil I know that it is for me. How then can the Nightingale remain a single night deprived of the love of this enchantress?'

(607) the vain talk of fools,’ and ‘the mob of sages circumventing Zeus,’ and the ‘subtle thinkers who are beggars after all’; and there are innumerable other signs of ancient enmity between them. Notwithstanding this, let us assure our sweet friend and the sister arts of imitation, that if she will only prove her title to exist in a well-ordered State we shall be delighted to receive her—we are very conscious of her charms; but we may not on that account betray the truth. I dare say, Glaucon, that you are as much charmed by her as I am, especially when she appears in Homer? Yes, indeed, I am greatly charmed. Shall I propose, then, that she be allowed to return from exile, but upon this condition only—that she make a defence of herself in lyrical or some other metre? Certainly. And we may further grant to those of her defenders who are lovers of poetry and yet not poets the permission to speak in prose on her behalf: let them show not only that she is pleasant but also useful to States and to human life, and we will listen in a kindly spirit; for if this can be proved we shall surely be the gainers—I mean, if there is a use in poetry as well as a delight? Certainly, he said, we shall be the gainers. If her defence fails, then, my dear friend, like other persons who are enamoured of something, but put a restraint upon themselves when they think their desires are opposed to their interests, so too must we after the manner of lovers give her up, though not without a struggle. We too are inspired by that love of poetry which the education

(3) Such in this place was the fourth family Of the high Father, who forever sates it, Showing how he breathes forth and how begets. And Beatrice began: "Give thanks, give thanks Unto the Sun of Angels, who to this Sensible one has raised thee by his grace!" Never was heart of mortal so disposed To worship, nor to give itself to God With all its gratitude was it so ready, As at those words did I myself become; And all my love was so absorbed in Him, That in oblivion Beatrice was eclipsed. Nor this displeased her; but she smiled at it So that the splendour of her laughing eyes My single mind on many things divided. Lights many saw I, vivid and triumphant, Make us a centre and themselves a circle, More sweet in voice than luminous in aspect. Thus girt about the daughter of Latona We sometimes see, when pregnant is the air, So that it holds the thread which makes her zone. Within the court of Heaven, whence I return, Are many jewels found, so fair and precious They cannot be transported from the realm;

(2) A king, whose empire stretched to the far horizons, had a daughter as beautiful as the moon. Before her loveliness even the fairies were abashed. Her dimpled chin resembled the well of Joseph, and the locks of her hair wounded a hundred hearts. Her eyebrows were twin bows, and when she loosed their arrows the space between sang her praise. Her eyes, languorous as the narcissus, threw thorns of her eyelashes in the path of the wise. Her face was as the sun when he took the moon's virginity. The Angel Gabriel could not tear his eyes from the pearls and rubies of her mouth. A smile of her

lips dried up the water of life in the beholder, who yet begged alms from these same lips. Whoever glanced at her chin fell headlong into a spring of bubbling water.

The king also had a slave, a youth, so handsome that the sun grew pale and the light of the moon diminished. When he walked in the streets and market-place crowds stopped to gaze at him.

By chance one day the princess saw this slave, and in a moment her heart slipped from her hand. Reason forsook her and love took possession. Her soul, sweet as Shirin, turned bitter. Withdrawing from her companions she mused, and musing and reflecting, began to burn. Then she called her ten young maids of honour. They were excellent musicians and played on the shawms and pipes; their voices wxre those of nightingales, and their singing, which tore the soul, was worthy of David. Gathering them around her she told them about her state, saying that she was ready to sacrifice her name, her honour, and her life for the love of this youth; for when one is deep in love one is good for nothing else. 'But,' she said, 'if I tell him of my love no doubt he will do something rash. If it becomes known that I have been intimate with a slave both he and I will suffer. On the other hand, if he does not possess me, I shall die lamenting behind the curtain of the harem. I have read a hundred books on patience and still I am without it. What can I do! I must find a way to enjoy the love of this slender cypress, so that the desire of my body shall accord with the longing of my soul - and this must be done without his knowing.'

Then the sweet-voiced maids said: 'Do not grieve. Tonight we will bring him here unknown to anyone, and even he will know nothing about it.'

Soon, one of the young girls went in secret to the slave and asked him, as if to play with him, to bring two cups of wine. Into one cup she threw a drug, contriving that he should drink it. He at once fell asleep, so that she was able

to carry out her plan, and the youth of the silver breast remained without news of the two worlds.

When night came the maids of honour went softly to where he lay and put him on a litter and carried him to the princess. Then they sat him on a golden throne and placed a coronet of pearls on his head. At midnight, still a little drugged, he opened his eyes and saw a palace as fair as paradise, and around him were golden seats. The place was lighted by ten great candles perfumed with amber, and sweet aloe wood burned in pans. The maidens began to sing, but in such sweet strains that reason bade farewell to the spirit, and the soul to the body. Then the sun of wine went round to the light of the candles. Bewildered with the joy of his surroundings and dazzled by the beauty of the princess, the youth lost his wits. He was no longer really in this world nor was he in the other. With a heart full of love, and a body possessed with desire, amid these delights he fell into a state of ecstasy. His eyes were fastened on her beauty and his ears to the sound of the reed pipes. His nostrils took in the perfume of amber and the wine in his mouth became like liquid fire. The princess kissed him, and he shed tears of joy while she mingled hers with his. Sometimes she pressed sweet kisses on his mouth, sometimes they were tinged with salt; sometimes she ruffled his long hair, sometimes she lost herself in his eyes. He possessed her; and so they passed the time until the dawn appeared in the East. When morning Zephyr breathed the young slave became sad; but they sent him to sleep again and took him back to his quarters.

When he of the silver breast came to himself, without knowing why, he began to weep. One might say the thing was finished, so what was the good of crying out. He tore his clothes, pulled his hair and put earth on his head. Those about him asked why he was doing this, and what had happened. He said: Ht is impossible to describe what I have

I

seen, no one else can ever see it except in a dream, for what has happened to me can never have happened to anyone before. Never was there a more astonishing mystery.'

Another said: 'Wake up, and tell us at least one of the hundred things that happened.' He replied: 'lam in a tumult because what I have seen has happened to me in another body. While hearing nothing I have heard everything, while seeing nothing I have seen everything.'

Another said: 'Have you lost your wits or have you just been dreaming?' 'Ah,' he said, 'I don't know if I was drunk or sober. What can be more puzzling than something which is neither revealed nor hidden. What I have seen I can never forget, yet I have no idea where it happened. For one whole night I revelled with a beauty who is without equal. Who and what she is I do not know. Only love remains, and that is all. But God knows the truth.'