her. Finally, he says: "On the last of these days, it happened that this
most admirable lady appeared before me, clad in shining white, between
two ladies older than herself; and as she passed along, she turned her
eyes toward that spot where I stood in all timidity, and then, through
her great courtesy, which now has its reward in the eternal world, she
saluted me with such virtue that I knew all the depth of bliss." But
never did Dante come to know her well, though she was ever in his
thoughts, and though he must have watched for her presence in the
street. Once she went upon a journey, and he was sore distraught until
she came back into his existence; once he was taken to a company of
young people, where he was so affected by sudden and unexpected sight of
her that he grew pale and trembled, and showed such signs of mortal
illness that his friend grew much alarmed and led him quickly away. The
cause of his confusion was not apparent to all the company; but the
ladies mocked him, to his great dismay, and even Beatrice was tempted to
a smile, not understanding all, yet feeling some annoyance that she
should be the occasion for such strange demeanor on his part. Later,
when her father dies, Dante grieves for her, waits at the corner to pick
up fragments of conversation from those who have just come from
consoling her, and, in truth, makes such a spectacle of himself, that
these ladies passing say: "Why should he feel such grief, when he has
not seen her?" He constantly feels the moral force of her influence, and
recounts in the following lines--from the Norton translation--her noble
influence on others:

"...for when she goes her way
Love casts a blight upon all caitiff hearts,
So that their every thought doth freeze and perish.
And who can bear to stay on her to look,
Will noble thing become or else will die.
And when one finds that he may worthy be
To look on her, he doth his virtue prove."

Before we are through with Dante's little book, we seem to feel that
Beatrice must have lived, that she was flesh and blood as we are, and
that she really graced the fair city on the Arno in her time, as the
poet would have us believe. She is pictured in company with other
ladies, upon the street, in social gatherings at the homes of her
friends, in church at her devotions, in tears and laughter, and ever is
she pictured with such love and tenderness that she will remain, as
Professor Norton says,