Now I proceed to tell under all caution what happened to our Dante,
sitting there alone in the shady angle of that sunny place, after we had
left him to go to the Signory. For, indeed, I did not see it, although I
heard it from his lips, that had the gift, even then, to make the
strangest things seem as real as, say, the door of a house. The tale was
so told, in such twists of thought and turns of phrase, that it might,
if you chose, be taken as an allegory or the vision of a dream; but, for
my own part, I prefer to believe that it came about just as I shall set
it down, for the world is merrier for a spice of the marvellous in its
composition, and, for myself, I could believe anything of that same
painted image.
It seems, then, that when Dante was left alone he turned to his book
again, and set himself very resolutely to reading of the loves of
Lancelot and Guinevere, in the hope, most like, to still that stirring
of the spirit occasioned by our talk. And when the fall of our footsteps
and the babble of our voices could be heard no more, he confessed that
at first he felt grateful for the silence and the peace. But of a sudden
it appeared to him that the silence was greater than there was any need
or reason for it to be, that it seemed to him as if all Florence held
its breath in the suspense of a great hush which lapped the world in its
embrace--such a hush as might perchance occur before the coming of Doom.
Then, after an interval that seemed too age-long to be endured, out of
the very core of the silence Dante heard a voice calling to him that he
had never heard before, and that spoke to him with such a sweet
imperiousness that he was as physically and spiritually bound to obey
and attend as ever Moses was on the holy hill. And the commanding voice
cried to him, "Dante, behold a deity stronger than thou, who comes to
govern thee."
Then it seemed to Dante that at the sound of that voice his
consciousness returned to him, and, looking up from his book, he called
aloud, "Who speaks to me?" And as he spoke he saw, or thought he
saw--but I give it to you as he gave it to me--to his amazement, how the
painted image of the beautiful youth that stood above the fountain
seemed slowly to quicken into being, and how all the gaudy colors and
gilding of the figure seemed to soften to the exquisite and tender hues
of a life that was more marvellous than life. The hair of the youth was
radiantly sunny, his cheeks flamed and paled with a divine white and
red, his perfect limbs and perfect body seemed moulded with such
exquisite rounded flesh as the immortal gods assumed long ago when they
deigned to descend from Olympus or appear in Cytherea, and speak to men
and love them. And the pagan boy that stood above the plashing fountain
lifted a hand toward Dante and parted his lips and spoke, and this was
what he said: "The God Love speaks to you, Dante, and to none but you.
Lift up your heart, for soon your happiness shall be made manifest unto
you."
At this Dante, though, as he told me thereafter, he felt no fear, was
full of a great astonishment, and he strove to speak and could not for
an instant, and at last he cried out, "Must I believe you?" For it
seemed to him as if the image uttered the very voice of truth, but that
he, listening, rebelled against it.
Then the beautiful, breathing boy, that had been the beautiful, silent
image, stretched out a hand to him in command, and said, "You that
denied me must now believe me, for henceforth I shall govern your soul."
At these words Dante crossed himself, for all this seemed strange work
for commonplace Florence in full day, and he tried to repeat a prayer,
but wonderfully could remember none, and only his ears buzzed with the
words of all the love-songs he had ever heard, and he entreated, "Leave
me in peace." And as he spoke he stretched out his hands in supplication
to the quickened image.
Now it is to be said that it seemed to Dante as if a kind of pale flame
appeared to blaze all about the living image, and to spread from him in
fine and delicate rays till it seemed to play on Dante's body and burn
through the armor of the flesh and lurk about his naked heart. And the
agony of that burning was beyond words, yet there was a kind of joy in
it that was beyond thought.
And the God that was Love cried out again: "You pray in vain for peace
who shall ever be peaceless from this time forth. For the unavoidable
hour is at hand when you shall know my power. Farewell awhile." As the
figure spoke those last words it seemed slowly to stiffen into stone
again, and the beautiful, vital coloring faded away, and the pale,
leaping flames vanished, and Dante found himself sitting and staring at
the painted image above the lisping water that he had looked at unmoved
a thousand times, as he passed it going to and fro on his way through
the city.
Dante rubbed his forehead and wondered. "I have been dreaming," he
murmured, "and the love-tale in the book colored my thoughts."
Now, though all this vision, or whatever you may please to call it,
seemed brief enough, it took longer than the telling, for Messer Dante
told me that the next thing he knew was that he heard my voice calling
to him. Wherefore, the most will probably say that Messer Dante had
fallen asleep in the heat of the day and dreamed a dream, but I do not
think so. Now, Guido and I and Monna Vittoria had gone on our ways to
the Signory, thinking to witness the crowning of the lady Beatrice of
the Portinari, but we had not travelled very far when we heard the noise
of many people mixed with the sound of music, and we knew that the
procession was coming our way and that the ceremony at the Signory was
over and done with. Then it seemed a shame to me that my friend should
lose all the pleasure, and I said I would go back for him, and Messer
Guido came with me because Monna Vittoria had found other friends and
stayed in speech with them. And when Guido and I came back to the place
where we had left Dante, I found him, as I say, seated upon the stone
seat. His closed book lay by his side, and he was staring straight
before him, as a man that is newly awakened from a trance. But I, taking
little notice of his state at the moment, ran toward him and clapped him
on the shoulder, calling to him: "They are moving this way!" I cried.
"Come and see!"
But Dante did not seem to hear me, and sat gazing at that painted image
that was such an old friend of mine and his, as if he had never seen it
before. But presently, partly by persuasion, and partly by pushing and
urging, we got him to turn from the statue and accompany us a little
ways till we came to a stand in the neighborhood of the Palace of the
Portinari, toward which the procession of the May-day was making its
way.
The open space of the Piazza of the Santa Felicita was now pretty well
filled with the curious and the seekers for amusement, and all the air
was full of sweet noises, and all the smiling faces shone in the warm
sunlight. And Guido and I, piloting our Dante, pushed our way to the
inner circle of the loiterers, and paused there, waiting for the coming
of the merrymakers. And even as we paused the folk that we expected came
upon us. They were a gallant company of youths and maidens, dressed all
in their best and brightest, and there were excellent musicians with
them that made the most noble of cheerful music, and the comely girls
scattered flowers on the cobbles, and the comely youths laughed and
shouted, and in the midst of the throng a dozen of the strongest lads
were tugging at a chariot that carried a gilded throne, and on that
throne was seated Madonna Beatrice of the Portinari. She was dressed in
a robe of crimson silk, and she carried red roses in her hand, and I
think that all who looked upon her held her as the loveliest maid in all
Florence. I know that, for my part, I frankly admitted to myself that
none of the girls that I was in love with at that time could hold a
candle to her. Yet I knew for my sins that I could never be in love
with Madonna Beatrice of the Portinari. Standing by her side was a big,
thick-set, fierce-looking man, with a shag of black hair and a black
beard like a spade, whom I knew well enough and whom all there knew well
enough to be Messer Simone dei Bardi, the man of whom Guido and I had
talked that morning. There was a great crowd behind the chariot, Reds
and many Yellows, seemingly at peace that day, friends of Guido, and
followers of Simone, and revellers of many kinds and townsfolk of many
classes. I could see that Monna Vittoria was in the thick of the crowd
that followed the Car of Triumph, and presently she made her way beneath
the shelter of the arcade, and stood there hard by one of the pillars,
watching the lady Beatrice on her throne and Simone dei Bardi keeping so
close beside her. And Simone, as I believe, had no knowledge of
Vittoria's presence.
Now, when that brave company came into the place where we stood, Dante,
that had stood by our sides listlessly enough, turned away from us as
suddenly and sharply as if he had received an order. So he turned, and,
turning, he saw in full view the face of the lady Beatrice as she sat on
her car of triumph; and, at the sight of her, he gave a great cry, and
then stood silent and stiff as if spellbound.
Guido, delighted by the girl's beauty, cried to him, not looking at him,
"Is she not fair?"
But I saw what strange case our Dante was in, and pulled at Guide's
sleeve and jerked his attention to my friend, saying, "Our Dante stands
at gaze as if he were sun-dazzled."
Guido turned to Messer Dante and saw the rapture in his face, and,
seeing, questioned him. "Is she not fair?" he asked, and his glance
travelled again to where the May-queen sat.
And Dante answered him, speaking very slowly, as a man might speak in
some sweet sleep when he dreamed a dear dream, "She is the loveliest
woman in the world." He paused for a moment, and then added, in a lower
tone, "She is the child I worshipped."
Now, I could plainly read amazement and doubt on Messer Guido's face
when he heard Dante speak thus strangely, and he caught at his arm and
shook it a little gently, as one would do that wishes to wake a sleeping
man. "You are dreaming, for sure," he said.
But Dante only answered him very quietly, still keeping his rapturous
face fixed on the girl as she and her company came nearer. "She is the
lady of my dreams."
Now I, that was glancing in much bewilderment from Dante, where he stood
at gaze so radiant, to the fair girl on her gilded car, saw, or thought
I saw, all of a sudden, a look in the girl's eyes that betokened more
knowledge of Dante than merely the knowledge that a man stood in the
roadway and stared at her beauty. So I whispered to Guido in his ear,
"See, she seems to note him, and, as I think, with recognition."
Now, even as I said this, the little company that carried the Queen of
Beauty came to a halt some yards from the gate of the gray palace, and
Messer Simone dei Bardi, quitting the side of her chariot, advanced
toward the Palace of the Portinari to give the formal summons that the
Queen of May demanded admittance, all of which was part and parcel of
the ceremonial of the pretty sport. At the same instant Dante, quitting
Guido's side, advanced a little nearer to the girl, who did not descend
from her chair, but sat still in her chariot as if waiting for his
coming, and the little crowd of juvenals about her fluttered aside
before his resolute advance, and I thought even then how strong his
young face looked, and how purposeful, for all his youth, that grim nose
of his and the steady eyes above it, in contrast with the pink-and-white
prettiness of the many slim lads that were the Queen of Beauty's
satellites.
And Dante raised his voice and called to the girl as a friend calls to a
friend: "Give me a rose for my rose, madonna! Give me a rose for my
rose!"
Now the girl, as she sat, had in her lap a great quantity of roses
exceedingly red and large, and she took up one of these in answer to the
call and cast it through the air to Dante, who caught it as it fell,
and, catching it, lifted it to his lips with his eyes fixed on the girl.
Then, whether because of his action or the eagerness of his gaze above
the crimson petals I know not, but Madonna Beatrice flushed a little,
and she gathered the rest of her roses into her arms and rose from her
chair, and descended from her chariot and mounted the steps of the great
house, whose doors had now opened to Simone's summons. Messer Folco of
the Portinari stood smiling on his threshold, but Messer Simone, by his
side, was not smiling, for he had seen that pretty business of the given
rose, and I could note that its prettiness pleased him little. I think
he would have stepped down then and there and eased his spleen, but
Messer Folco, as his way was ever, wished to improve the occasion by
making a speech.
"Friends and neighbors," he began, in his ample, affable voice,
"Florentines all, in my daughter's name, and for my own sake, I thank
you." Thereat there came a little cheer from the crowd, and then Folco
turned toward his daughter, plainly very proud of her, but still
flagrantly paternal and pompous.
"Come, child," he said, solemnly. "Come, you have been queen for a day,
but your reign is over, and you are no more now than honest goodman
Folco's daughter. Get you within." Then Madonna Beatrice she paused for
a moment with two of her girl friends by her side and looked down upon
her company very graciously and sweetly, and wished them farewell. Then
the door of the palace opened and swallowed her up with her two
companions, and when she had gone it seemed to us watching as if the
sunshine had gone with her, though the street was still flooded with its
light.
Then Messer Folco spoke again to the multitude, saying that there would
be simple cheer and sport provided in his gardens that lay in the
meadow-land on the other side of Arno for such as chose to go so far, at
which his hearers cheered again, and made all speed to take him at his
word and hurry away over the bridge. Thereafter Messer Folco turned to
Messer Simone, as if inviting him to enter.
But Messer Simone shook his head. "Later, Messer Folco," I heard him
say, "later; I have some busy hours before me." Then Messer Folco,
acquiescing, entered his great house, and its great doors closed behind
him, and those that were conveying the car wheeled it about and pulled
it away, returning on the road by which they had come, and by this time
most of the revellers had departed over bridge.
Guido and I, that were not tempted to travel so far as Messer Folco's
river gardens, turning to our companion, noted that Dante was standing
entranced with his eyes fixed upon his rose, and I heard him murmur to
himself, "O wonderful world, that can boast of so wonderful a woman!"
Now, when I say that all of Madonna Beatrice's escort had gone from
there, I mean that the gay youths and maidens had departed, but Messer
Simone dei Bardi had remained behind, leaning against the wall of the
house with his arms folded and an evil smile on his face.
Messer Simone's own followers, seeing him, lingered, waiting upon his
pleasure, and though most of the May-day merrymakers had disappeared,
there were not a few idlers and passers-by.
There were a certain number of Messer Guido's friends there, too, that
had joined him in the procession, and that now lingered in the hope to
bear him with them to some merriment more to their liking than Messer
Folco's transpontine hospitality. So that the open place was far from
empty for all its bigness.
V