istened that he was dealing with somewhat whose
matter he had never seen before. And as he read each stanza, with its
laudation of some lovely lady that was one of the living graces and
glories of our city, those that spelled the cryptic riddle of its
meaning clapped their hands for pleasure and turned their eyes to where
the lady thus bepraised stood and smiled at her, and she, delighted,
would bridle and fidget with her fan and seek to maintain herself as if
she did not care one whit for what in reality she prized very highly. So
the river of sweet words ran on, sweetly voiced, and flowing in its
appointed course with a golden felicity of thought and phrase.

Very soon the roll of parchment in Dante's right hand was larger by much
than the roll of parchment in Dante's left, and it was plain indeed to
all present that the reading and the poem were coming to an end. It was
also plain to all present that the utterance of the poet was growing
more agitated, and his manner more embarrassed and anxious, and it was
manifest to me, who watched him keenly, that he was trembling like a
cypress in a light wind. As he came to the last verse it seemed as if
some irresistible compulsion compelled him to turn his head in the
direction where Madonna Beatrice stood apart with her women and her
leech. As he did so the parchment fell from his suddenly parted fingers
and lay in two rolls at his feet. But, as if he were unaware of what had
happened, Dante went on with his recitation of the poem. I could see
very clearly that the madness of love was wholly upon him, the madness
that makes a man lose all heed of what he does and be conscious of
naught save the presence of the beloved. He stood there rigid, as one
possessed, with his face turned in the direction where the lady Beatrice
stood amid her women, and his hands, newly liberated from the control of
the parchment that lay at his feet, were clasped together in a tight
embrace. And when I turned my gaze from him to her whose beauty he so
passionately regarded, I was aware that she too was under the spell of
his words, and was conscious of the adoration in his eyes. Truly that
boy and that girl, as they stood there in the clean springtide of their
youth and comeliness, seemed to me to be a pair very properly and
lovingly made by Heaven one for the other. "Here," said I to myself, "if
there be any truth in Messer Plato's theory of affinities, here is a
living proof of the Grecian whimsy.