And he will marry — do not knit your brow, for his heart has not forgotten, and love is not marriage. Did he knit his brow the day you married, though scorpions crawled through every part of his body?

He will make Beatrice immortal; he will immortalize those smiles and that love; he will say of her what no poet has said of any woman... But wait some years, for he feels his own inadequacy — feels that whatever he says of you falls short of what you deserve. Wait: the era of the "Paradiso" is not far off.

He will plunge into the depths of the Inferno, wander the reaches of Purgatory, and climb into the fathomless heights of Paradise, making his way toward you...

How pure you are, Beatrice: you were beauty, and you became good-ness — did he, one wonders, notice any difference? You went down to Virgil and set him to guide Dante through the circles of Hell; and when he reached Purgatory you dawned upon him through the rosy dusk in a cloud of sweet flowers, clothed in love the color of flame, wrapped in hope of green, veiled in faith of white, olive boughs crowning you with wisdom...

Does he still need Paradise, now that he has seen her? How cruel she is — at the very hour of meeting she begins to rebuke him? He has committed sins, yes, and looked at other women, and her visits every night did not restrain him — he confesses it, and weeps, and begs forgiveness in remorse; will she not take pity on him? He is not to blame, when she veiled her beauty from him — from what spring, then, was the impulse to righteousness to flow? Here he stands, silent, humbled; he beholds her beauty and cannot take it in, for that would require the strength of a god; and he remains, as he has spent all his days, in dreams. How shall he describe her? If only he could. Let him contemplate her, then: it is enough for him to taste what is in her, and no need to describe it... And you lead him from place to place through Purgatory and Paradise, and expound to him the mysteries of the Kingdom — do you suppose, Beatrice, that he grasps what you are saying? At what are you

gazing? You look at this apostle and at that, and you tremble when you behold the Virgin Lady... but he — he looks at none but you, and gazes at none but you...

What have you done, Beatrice? Why did you forsake him the moment after coming to his aid? You sent him a saint to guide him — what has he to do with saints? It is you he wants, you... And he looks upward, and sees you upon your ethereal throne, the symbols in which you had veiled yourself now melted away, and there you are as he saw you first and always — a woman, a woman...

Listen to him: he sends up

his supplications, lavish and burning, imploring your succor: take back Bernard, whom you set in your place, and return. And you answer him, Beatrice — you answer him with a smile, and he is satisfied, and falls silent. And he goes on looking: you might yet grant another; but he remembers your warning to him: keep away from my smiles, for one day they may strike you down — did not the splendor of Zeus strike down Semele?

And he walks through Paradise, bareheaded... And people wonder why Dante never described the beauty of what is in Paradise?!