sudden
it appeared to him that the silence was greater than there was any need
or reason for it to be, that it seemed to him as if all Florence held
its breath in the suspense of a great hush which lapped the world in its
embrace--such a hush as might perchance occur before the coming of Doom.
Then, after an interval that seemed too age-long to be endured, out of
the very core of the silence Dante heard a voice calling to him that he
had never heard before, and that spoke to him with such a sweet
imperiousness that he was as physically and spiritually bound to obey
and attend as ever Moses was on the holy hill. And the commanding voice
cried to him, "Dante, behold a deity stronger than thou, who comes to
govern thee."

Then it seemed to Dante that at the sound of that voice his
consciousness returned to him, and, looking up from his book, he called
aloud, "Who speaks to me?" And as he spoke he saw, or thought he
saw--but I give it to you as he gave it to me--to his amazement, how the
painted image of the beautiful youth that stood above the fountain
seemed slowly to quicken into being, and how all the gaudy colors and
gilding of the figure seemed to soften to the exquisite and tender hues
of a life that was more marvellous than life. The hair of the youth was
radiantly sunny, his cheeks flamed and paled with a divine white and
red, his perfect limbs and perfect body seemed moulded with such
exquisite rounded flesh as the immortal gods assumed long ago when they
deigned to descend from Olympus or appear in Cytherea, and speak to men
and love them. And the pagan boy that stood above the plashing fountain
lifted a hand toward Dante and parted his lips and spoke, and this was
what he said: "The God Love speaks to you, Dante, and to none but you.
Lift up your heart, for soon your happiness shall be made manifest unto
you."

At this Dante, though, as he told me thereafter, he felt no fear, was
full of a great astonishment, and he strove to speak and could not for
an instant, and at last he cried out, "Must I believe you?" For it
seemed to him as if the image uttered the very voice of truth, but that
he, listening, rebelled against it.

Then the beautiful, breathing boy, that had been the beautiful, silent
image, stretched out a hand to him in command, and said, "You that
denied me must now believe me, for henceforth I shall govern your soul."

At these words Dante crossed himself, for all this seemed strange work
for co