Chapter 92

"Ravenna, March 20. 1820.

"Last post I sent you 'The Vision of Dante,'--four first Cantos. Enclosed you will find, _line for line_, in _third rhyme_ (_terza rima_), of which your British blackguard reader as yet understands nothing, Fanny of Rimini. You know that she was born here, and married, and slain, from Gary, Boyd, and such people. I have done it into _cramp_ English, line for line, and rhyme for rhyme, to try the possibility. You had best append it to the poems already sent by last three posts. I shall not allow you to play the tricks you did last year, with the prose you _post_-scribed to Mazeppa, which I sent to you _not_ to be published, if not in a periodical paper,--and there you tacked it, without a word of explanation. If this is published, publish it _with the original_, and _together_ with the _Pulci_ translation, _or_ the _Dante imitation_. I suppose you have both by now, and the _Juan_ long before.

"FRANCESCA OF RIMINI.

"_Translation from the Inferno of Dante, Canto 5th._

"'The land where I was born sits by the seas, Upon that shore to which the Po descends, With all his followers, in search of peace. Love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends, Seized him for the fair person which was ta'en From me, and me even yet the mode offends. Love, who to none beloved to love again Remits, seized me with wish to please, so strong, That, as thou seest, yet, yet it doth remain. Love to one death conducted us along, But Caina waits for him our life who ended:' These were the accents utter'd by her tongue,-- Since first I listen'd to these souls offended, I bow'd my visage and so kept it till--

{_then_} 'What think'st thou?' said the bard; { when } I unbended, And recommenced: 'Alas! unto such ill How many sweet thoughts, what strong ecstasies Led these their evil fortune to fulfil!' And then I turn'd unto their side my eyes, And said, 'Francesca, thy sad destinies Have made me sorrow till the tears arise. But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs, By what and how thy Love to Passion rose, So as his dim desires to recognise?' Then she to me: 'The greatest of all woes {_recall to mind_} Is to { remind us of } our happy days {_this_} In misery, and { that } thy teacher knows.

But if to learn our passion's first root preys Upon thy spirit with such sympathy, { _relate_ } I will {do[70] even} as he who weeps and says.-- We read one day for pastime, seated nigh, Of Lancilot, how Love enchain'd him too. We were alone, quite unsuspiciously, But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue All o'er discolour'd by that reading were; { _overthrew_ } But one point only wholly {us o'erthrew;} { _desired_ } When we read the {long-sighed-for} smile of her, {_a fervent_} To be thus kiss'd by such { devoted } lover, He who from me can be divided ne'er Kiss'd my mouth, trembling in the act all over. Accursed was the book and he who wrote! That day no further leaf we did uncover.-- While thus one Spirit told us of their lot, The other wept, so that with pity's thralls I swoon'd as if by death I had been smote, And fell down even as a dead body falls.'"

[Footnote 70: "In some of the editions, it is, 'diro,' in others 'faro;'--an essential difference between 'saying' and 'doing,' which I know not how to decide. Ask Foscolo. The d----d editions drive me mad."]

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