The foregoing passage, like many others in the “Vita Nuova,” is full of the intense and exaggerated expressions of passionate feeling.  But this feeling is recorded with a frank simplicity which carries conviction of the sincerity of emotion.  It may be laughed at, but it cannot be doubted.  It is possible, though hardly probable, that the scene took place at the wedding festival of Beatrice herself.  She was married sometime previous to 1287, and unless a reference to this event be found here, no notice of it is taken by Dante in what he has written concerning her.  That the fact of her marriage changed in no degree the feeling with which Dante regarded her is plain.  His love was of no low quality, to be altered by earthly circumstance.  It was a love of the soul.  No change or separation that left the being untouched could part him from it.  To the marriage of true souls there was no impediment, and he would admit none, in her being the wife of another.  The qualities which she possessed as a maiden belonged to her no less as a wife.

It was in the same year, probably, as that in which the “Vita Nuova” was composed and published, that Dante himself was married to Gemma Donati.  There are stories that their married life was unhappy.  But these stories have not the weight of even contemporary gossip.  Possibly they arose from the fact of the long separation between Dante and his wife during his exile.  Boccaccio insinuates more than he asserts, and he concludes a vague declamation about the miseries of married life with the words, “Truly I do not affirm that these things happened to Dante, for I do not know.”  Dante keeps utter silence in his works,—­certainly giving no reason to suppose that domestic trials were added to his other burdens.  One thing is known which deserves remembrance,—­that, when, after some years, a daughter was born to him, the name which she received was Beatrice.

In the next few pages of the “Vita Nuova” Dante describes various thoughts which came to his mind concerning his appearance when in presence of his lady; but, passing over these, we come to a passage which we give in full, as containing a delightful picture from Florence in its old time, and many sentences of sweet and characteristic feeling.

“Many persons had now learned from my looks the secret of my heart.  And it happened that certain ladies, who well knew my heart, each of them having witnessed many of my discomfitures, had assembled together, taking pleasure in each other’s company.  And I, by chance passing near them, was addressed by one of these gentle ladies.  She who called to me was very graceful in her speech, so that when I reached them, and saw well that my most gentle lady was not with them, reassuring myself, I saluted them, and asked what might be their pleasure.  The ladies were many, and some of them were laughing together, and others looked at me, waiting for what I might say, while others spoke among themselves, and one