Stories Pictures Tell. Book 7

by Flora L. Carpenter

This meeting had such an effect upon Dante that he declared he felt as if he had reached the “furthest limit of blessedness.” Hurrying to his room, he spent hours in thinking of Beatrice;—finally he fell asleep and dreamed of her. As soon as he awoke, he commenced a sonnet, which he addressed, not to her, but to his fellow-poets. It was not until later that he ventured to address his verses to Beatrice, usually speaking of her as “my lady.”

After each meeting or new thought of Beatrice, Dante wrote his poems, until at last he put them all into a book which he called “Vita Nuova,” meaning “new life.” He declared that from the time of his first meeting with Beatrice he had begun a new life, and this book would contain the record of it. Here he tells all his inmost thoughts and feelings, for in those days it was the fashion for poets to tell of their loves.

So we hear how Dante spent his days and nights thinking of the lovely Beatrice, until his health began to fail and his friends questioned, even taunted him, as to the cause. He did not wish them to know who it was that so affected him, and was wondering how to keep his secret when an accident showed him the way. As he sat in church looking across to where his beloved Beatrice sat unconscious of his presence, his glance was returned by a lady sitting half way between. She thought his glances were for her. She looked around several times, and other people, noticing her, soon decided she must be the lady Dante loved. Dante then decided to use her as a screen, and though he continued to write his verses to Beatrice, he did so in such a way that all believed they were directed to the screen lady.

This did very well for several years, until the screen lady moved to another city. Then Dante chose another screen lady, but she got him into trouble. False rumors spread rapidly and soon the gentle Beatrice heard them. So one day, when she passed Dante on the street, she did not give him the customary greeting. He was nearly heartbroken, for this greeting was all the recompense he had ever had or hoped to have for his love. He tells how much it meant to him, how kindly it made him feel toward even his enemies, and that it was the inspiration and hope of his life.

A friend took him to a wedding feast at which Beatrice was one of the guests. At the sight of her he grew faint and was obliged to return home. As he passed a group of women, they stopped him and inquired what kind of a love his was that made him numb and speechless in the mere presence of the loved one. He told them that until the day when Beatrice refused it, the end and aim of his love had been “her salutation”; but now his desire had changed to something that could not fail him: His happiness now lay “in the words which praise my lady.”

Is it any wonder then that one so gentle and beautiful as Beatrice, and to whom the attention of all Florence was directed by the adoration of so beloved a poet as Dante, should become a kind of goddess or queen in that city? Dante tells us that people came to the corners of the streets to see her pass. Her companions, too, were honored for her sake, and it seemed as if Beatrice herself was “the only creature in Florence unaware of her own perfections.” It gave him the most exquisite pleasure to think that he had helped bring this about.

At the death of Beatrice’s father, Dante’s grief was almost as deep as for his own father, and he remained near the house in the vain hope that he might comfort his lady in some way. Shortly after this, Dante became very ill, and as he thought of death, he realized that some day his beloved Beatrice must die. The thought drove him into a frenzy of despair; and when at last he fell asleep, it was only to dream of her approaching death. This dream proved to be a true omen, for only once more was Dante permitted to see his Beatrice; then one day as he was composing a sonnet to her, the news of her death was brought to him. He was prostrated with grief, and it was some time before he could write again.

Dante was then twenty-seven years old, and left, as he said, “to ruminate on death, and envy whomsoever dies.” To console himself he read religious philosophy, and from thinking of Beatrice as a saint upon earth, he began to think of her in heaven in company with saints and angels. And so almost before he knew it he had started to write his masterpiece, “The Divine Comedy.” In this, Beatrice, still the object of his adoration, leads him from circle to circle in Paradise, and for the first time we hear her speak.

It is strange how very little is known of Beatrice from other sources. Beyond the fact of her birth and parentage little is given. Many authorities state she was the wife of Simone de’ Bardi, but as many vigorously deny this. Dante does not mention her marriage, and indeed gives us quite the opposite impression.

Dante has represented his Beatrice as so perfect, so absolutely without fault in every way, that many have questioned whether she was a real woman or an ideal. Perhaps the doubt as to her reality started when people began to ask more about her and her interest in Dante. Living in Florence, she must have known of his devotion, yet we have no way of knowing whether she knew or not. And then we are permitted to see Beatrice only at a distance, and usually surrounded by her bodyguard of gentle ladies. We know how she affected other people, the beauty and sweetness of her presence, yet we are never brought close enough to see even the hint of an imperfection of any kind. And the poet himself does not address his poems directly to her, but “to other poetic souls who will understand.”