# New Life (Rossetti 1899)/Section 2

All sections in this Wikisource copy are divided arbitrarily to match the accompanying LibriVox recordings. Neither Dante's original Italian text nor the translation by Rossetti is so divided, but rather each proceeds without clear division into sections.
​From that night forth, the natural functions of my ​body began to be vexed and impeded, for I was given up wholly to thinking of this most gracious creature: whereby in short space I became so weak and so reduced that it was irksome to many of my friends to look upon me; while others, being moved by spite, went about to discover what it was my wish should be concealed. Wherefore I (perceiving the drift of their unkindly questions), by Love's will, who directed me according to the counsels of reason, told them how it was Love himself who had thus dealt with me: and I said so, because the thing was so plainly to be discerned in my countenance that there was no longer any means of concealing it. But when they went on to ask, "And by whose help hath Love done this?" I looked in their faces smiling, and spake no word in return.
Now it fell on a day, that this most gracious creature was sitting where words were to be heard ​of the Queen of Glory; and I was in a place whence mine eyes could behold their beatitude: and betwixt her and me, in a direct line, there sat another lady of a pleasant favour; who looked round at me many times, marvelling at my continued gaze which seemed to have her for its object. And many perceived that she thus looked; so that departing thence, I heard it whispered after me, "Look you to what a pass such a lady hath brought him;" and in saying this they named her who had been midway between the most gentle Beatrice and mine eyes. Therefore I was reassured, and knew that for that day my secret had not become manifest. Then immediately it came into my mind that I might make use of this lady as a screen to the truth: and so well did I play my part that the most of those who had hitherto watched and wondered at me, now imagined they had found ​me out. By her means I kept my secret concealed till some years were gone over; and for my better security, I even made divers rhymes in her honour; whereof I shall here write only as much as concerneth the most gentle Beatrice, which is but a very little. Moreover, about the same time while this lady was a screen for so much love on my part, I took the resolution to set down the name of this most gracious creature accompanied with many other women's names, and especially with hers whom I spake of. And to this end I put together the names of sixty of the most beautiful ladies in that city where God had placed mine own lady; and these names I introduced in an epistle in the form of a sirvent, which it is not my intention to transcribe here. Neither should I have said anything of this matter, did I not wish to take note of a certain strange thing, to wit: that having written the list, I found my lady's ​name would not stand otherwise than ninth in order among the names of these ladies.
Now it so chanced with her by whose means I had thus long time concealed my desire, that it behoved her to leave the city I speak of, and to journey afar: wherefore I, being sorely perplexed at the loss of so excellent a defence, had more trouble than even I could before have supposed. And thinking that if I spoke not somewhat mournfully of her departure, my former counterfeiting would be the more quickly perceived, I determined that I would make a grievous sonnet thereof; the which I will write here, because it hath certain words in it whereof my lady was the immediate ​cause, as will be plain to him that understands. And the sonnet was this:—
All ye that pass along Love's trodden way, Pause ye awhile and say If there be any grief like unto mine: I pray you that you hearken a short space Patiently, if my case Be not a piteous marvel and a sign.
Love (never, certes, for my worthless part, But of his own great heart,) Vouchsafed to me a life so calm and sweet That oft I heard folk question as I went What such great gladness meant:— They spoke of it behind me in the street.
But now that fearless bearing is all gone Which with Love's hoarded wealth was given me; Till I am grown to be So poor that I have dread to think thereon.
​And thus it is that I, being like as one Who is ashamed and hides his poverty, Without seem full of glee, And let my heart within travail and moan.
This poem has two principal parts; for, in the first, I mean to call the Faithful of Love in those words of Jeremias the Prophet, "O vos omnes qui transitis per viam, attendite et videte si est dolor sicut dolor meus," and to pray them to stay and hear me. In the second I tell where Love had placed me, with a meaning other than that which the last part of the poem shows, and I say what I have lost. The second part begins here, "Love, (never, certes)."
A certain while after the departure of that lady, it pleased the Master of the Angels to call into His glory a damsel, young and of a gentle presence, who had been very lovely in the city ​I speak of: and I saw her body lying without its soul among many ladies, who held a pitiful weeping. Whereupon, remembering that I had seen her in the company of excellent Beatrice, I could not hinder myself from a few tears; and weeping, I conceived to say somewhat of her death, in guerdon of having seen her somewhile with my lady; which thing I spake of in the latter end of the verses that I writ in this matter, as he will discern who understands. And I wrote two sonnets, which are these:—
I.
Weep, Lovers, sith Love's very self doth weep, And sith the cause for weeping is so great; When now so many dames, of such estate In worth, show with their eyes a grief so deep: For Death the churl has laid his leaden sleep Upon a damsel who was fair of late, ​Defacing all our earth should celebrate,— Yea all save virtue, which the soul doth keep. Now hearken how much Love did honour her. I myself saw him in his proper form Bending above the motionless sweet dead, And often gazing into Heaven; for there The soul now sits which when her life was warm Dwelt with the joyful beauty that is fled.
This first sonnet is divided into three parts. In the first, I call and beseech the Faithful of Love to weep; and I say that their Lord weeps, and that they, hearing the reason why he weeps, shall be more minded to listen to me. In the second, I relate this reason. In the third, I speak of honour done by Love to this Lady. The second part begins here, "When now so many dames;" the third here, "Now hearken."
II.
Death, alway cruel, Pity's foe in chief, Mother who brought forth grief, Merciless judgment and without appeal! Since thou alone hast made my heart to feel This sadness and unweal, My tongue upbraideth thee without relief.
And now (for I must rid thy name of ruth) Behoves me speak the truth Touching thy cruelty and wickedness: Not that they be not known; but ne'ertheless I would give hate more stress With them that feed on love in very sooth.
Out of this world thou hast driven courtesy, And virtue, dearly prized in womanhood; And out of youth's gay mood The lovely lightness is quite gone through thee.
​Whom now I mourn, no man shall learn from me Save by the measure of these praises given. Whoso deserves not Heaven May never hope to have her company.
This poem is divided into four parts. In the first I address Death by certain proper names of hers. In the second, speaking to her, I tell the reason why I am moved to denounce her. In the third, I rail against her. In the fourth, I turn to speak to a person undefined, although defined in my own conception. The second part commences here, "Since thou alone;" the third here, "And now (for I must);" the fourth here, "Whoso deserves not?"
* ↑ i.e., in a church.
* ↑ It will be observed that this poem is not what we now call a sonnet. Its structure, however, is analogous to that of the sonnet, being two sextetts followed by two quatrains, instead of two quatrains followed by two triplets. Dante applies the term sonnet to both these forms of composition, and to no other.
* ↑ The commentators assert that the last two lines here do not allude to the dead lady, but to Beatrice. This would make the poem very clumsy in construction; yet there must be some covert allusion to Beatrice, as Dante himself intimates. The only form in which I can trace it consists in the implied assertion that such person as had enjoyed the dead lady's society was worthy of heaven, and that person was Beatrice. Or indeed the allusion to Beatrice might be in the first poem, where he says that Love "in forma vera" (that is, Beatrice), mourned over the corpse: as he afterwards says of Beatrice, "Quella ha nome Amor." Most probably both allusions are intended.