DANTE ALIGHIERI 1265-1321. BEATRICE. ALL that is known of Beatrice may be summed up in a few words. She was the daughter of Folco Portinari, a wealthy citizen of Florence, in which city she was born in 1266. Dante saw her for the first time in 1274, at a banquet in her father's house. It was a May-day festival, and she appeared in a blood-red dress. They were mere children, both being in their ninth year, still they were old enough to love: at least Dante was, for at the sight of Beatrice he was seized with a sudden passion for her. At the end of nine years they met again. She was walking in the street at the time, between two ladies, and was clothed in white. Dante trembled at her approach, and would have shrank away, but she saw him, and he was rooted to the ground. She saluted him graciously, and he was in the seventh heaven of love. The next time that he saw her was at church. She sat at a distance from him, on a line with another lady, who intercepted his loving looks. He was accused of loving this lady, and for the sake of Beatrice, whose rank seems to have been superior to his own, he favored the mistake, and pretended to be enamoured of her. He wrote a poem on sixty of the loveliest women in the city, and do what he would to the contrary, the name of Beatrice always came the ninth in the list. She made a journey to a distant part of the country, and during her absence he feigned to be in love with another, which offended her so when she heard of it, that she would not salute him on her return. The next thing we learn is that she is married. The date of her marriage is not given, but it must have been before the 15th of January, 1287, for on that day her father drew up a will, in which she and her husband, Simone dei Bardi, were mentioned. The death of her father two years later, and her excessive grief on that occasion, closed the book of her life. She died on the 9th of June, 1290. This is a meagre account certainly, but it is all that Dante's commentators, for five hundred years, have been able to wring from the Past, and much of this would, doubtless, have escaped them but for Dante himself, so stormy were the times in which he lived. A few years after her death he collected the poems that he had written upon her, and published them with a biographical and critical commentary. This work, which he called "THE NEW LIFE" (Vita Nuova), was followed by another called "THE BANQUET ' (Convito), and at length by the celebrated "Divina Commedia," in both of which she is introduced, or rather her name is, for the Beatrice of the "Divina Commedia” and “THE BANQUET" is an embodiment of Philosophy and Religion, and not the Beatrice Portinari, whom Dante loved in his youth, and remembered with fondness in his age. The following extracts are from "THE NEW LIFE." The version used is that of Lyell. (London, 1845.) To every captive soul and gentle heart, Into whose sight the present song shall come, Which show in brightest lustre every star, Young, tender, noble maiden, since you see That Love, with your consent, has made me yours, O let me not expire without reward. O Love! dear lord, haply thou disbelievest And, lady, every pain would be removed If hope were realized, and I were blest A corse you soon will see me at your feet. O Love! since while I gazed, you struck this heart In pity, lord, afford it some relief, So that the sorrowing spirit may revive. And hearken to my voice, how weak it is Yet if it be your pleasure, gentle lady, That by this grief my heart should waste away, Tell me, kind ladies, have you seen, of late, That they would seem to threaten me with death: And with humility make known to her That my life bears for her the weight of death: And if in mercy she will comfort me, And ease the mind deep laden with my griefs, All thoughts that meet within my mind expire, And through the intoxication of great fear, Which is apparent in the deadly hue Of these sad eyes, that fain would close in death. Many the times that to my memory comes The cheerless state imposed on me by Love; And o'er me comes such sadness, then, that oft I say, Alas, was ever fate like mine! For Love assaulteth me so suddenly, That life itself almost abandons me; One spirit alone escapes alive, and that Is left, fair lady, for it speaks of you. At length I make an effort for relief, And so, all pale and destitute of power, A trembling at my heart begins, so dread, So noble and so modest doth appear My lady when she any one salutes, That every tongue becomes in trembling mute, Robed in humility she hears her praise, And passes on with calm benignity; Appearing not a thing of earth, but come From heaven, to show mankind a miracle. So pleasing is the sight of her, that he Who gazes feels a sweetness reach the heart That must be proved or cannot be conceived. And from her countenance there seems to flow A spirit full of mildness and of love, He the perfection sees of every grace, Who doth my lady among ladies see. Her beauty, too, has virtue so benign, That it excites no envy in another, But a resolve to walk like her, arrayed In gentleness, fidelity, and love. Her look on all things sheds humility, And makes her not alone delight the eye, But everything through her receiveth honor. And she so perfect is in all her acts, That no one can recall her to the mind A lady, piteous, and of tender age, Richly adorned with human gentleness, And then approached, to rouse me by their voice. And one said, Sleep no more! Another said, Why thus discomfort thee? And broken so by anguish and by tears, |