The New Life

Dante's first book, written in his late twenties, after the death of Beatrice Portinari in 1290. It is a prosimetrum*: a sequence of thirty-one poems — sonnets, canzoni and ballate — set in a prose narrative that tells how each came to be written, followed by a short analysis of each poem's parts. It is usually divided into forty-two short chapters; at about fifteen thousand words it is a single episode here. The analyses are left out, and the poems are given in prose, made fresh from the Italian; Dante's first person is kept. The* Vita Nuova is the seed of the Divine Comedy*, which it promises in its last lines.*

In that part of the book of my memory before which little could be read, there is a heading which says: Incipit vita nova — "Here begins the new life." Under this heading I find written the words which it is my intention to copy into this little book; and if not all of them, at least their meaning.

Nine times already since my birth the heaven of light had returned to the same point in its turning, when there first appeared before my eyes the glorious lady of my mind, who was called Beatrice by many who did not know what to call her. She had been in this life so long that the starry heaven had moved towards the east one twelfth part of a degree; so that she appeared to me at about the beginning of her ninth year, and I saw her at about the end of my ninth. She appeared dressed in a most noble colour, a modest and becoming crimson, girded and adorned in the manner that befitted her very young age.

At that moment, I say truly, the spirit of life, which dwells in the most secret chamber of the heart, began to tremble so strongly that it was horribly felt in the least pulses of my body; and trembling it said these words: "Behold a god stronger than I, who coming shall rule over me." From that time on, Love ruled over my soul, which was so early wedded to him; and many times he commanded me to seek to see this youngest of the angels; so that in my boyhood I often went in search of her, and I saw her of such noble and praiseworthy bearing that the words of the poet Homer might truly be said of her: "She seemed the daughter not of a mortal man, but of God."

Dante and Beatrice were both children at this first meeting; what he describes is the awakening of a lifelong, reverent devotion, which he will later understand as a love leading him towards God. The number nine recurs throughout the book: Beatrice, Dante says, was herself "a nine," a miracle whose root is the Trinity.

When so many days had passed that exactly nine years were completed since that first appearance of this most gentle lady, on the last of those days it happened that this wonderful lady appeared to me dressed in purest white, between two gentle ladies who were older than she; and passing along a street, she turned her eyes towards that place where I stood in great fear; and with her ineffable courtesy, which is now rewarded in the life eternal, she greeted me, so graciously that it seemed to me then that I saw all the bounds of blessedness. The hour of her most sweet greeting was certainly the ninth hour of that day. And because it was the first time that her words had come to my ears, I took such sweetness that, as one intoxicated, I left the people and went to the solitude of my own room, and began to think of her.

And thinking of her, a sweet sleep came over me, in which a marvellous vision appeared. In my room I seemed to see a cloud the colour of fire, and in it a lordly figure, frightening to look on, yet full of joy, who said many things of which I understood only a few, and among them: "I am your lord." In his arms I seemed to see a figure sleeping, wrapped lightly in a crimson cloth; and looking at her very intently, I knew that it was the lady of the greeting. In one of his hands he held something that was all on fire, and he seemed to say to me: "Behold your heart." And after a little while he woke her who slept, and made her eat of the thing that burned in his hand, which she ate fearfully. Then his joy turned into most bitter weeping; and weeping, he gathered up this lady in his arms, and seemed to go away with her towards heaven.

I woke in such anguish that my sleep was broken. And I decided to write a sonnet about it, addressed to all the poets of the time — "To every captive soul and gentle heart" — asking them to interpret my vision. Many answered with different opinions; among them was one whom I call the first of my friends, Guido Cavalcanti; and this was, as it were, the beginning of our friendship. The true meaning of that vision was then seen by no one; but now it is plain to the simplest.

The vision has been read as a prophecy of Beatrice's death.

From that vision onwards my natural spirit began to be hindered in its working, because my soul was wholly given to thinking of this most gentle one; so that I became in a short time so frail and weak that many friends were worried by my look; and many, full of envy, tried to learn from me what I wished to hide from everyone. I told them it was Love who had brought me to this. And when they asked me, "For whom has Love so destroyed you?" I looked at them smiling, and said nothing.

One day it happened that this most gentle lady was sitting in a church, where praises of the Queen of Glory were sung; and I was in a place from which I could see my bliss. Between her and me, in a straight line, sat a gentle lady of very pleasing aspect, who looked at me often, wondering at my gaze, which seemed to end on her. And many people noticed her looking, and said: "See how that lady is destroying this man." And I was glad, for I thought: my secret has not been told today, but rather hidden by my looks. And at once I decided to make this gentle lady a screen for the truth; and so well did I make the pretence, in a few poems and in my behaviour, that most of those who spoke of me believed they knew my secret.