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Divine Comedy

<h2>Paradiso: Canto XII</h2> Soon as the blessed flame had taken up The final word to give it utterance, Began the holy millstone to revolve, And in its gyre had not turned wholly round, Before another in a ring enclosed it, And motion joined to motion, song to song; Song that as greatly doth transcend our Muses, Our Sirens, in those dulcet clarions, As primal splendour that which is reflected. And as are spanned athwart a tender cloud Two rainbows parallel and like in colour, When Juno to her handmaid gives command, (The one without born of the one within, Like to the speaking of that vagrant one Whom love consumed as doth the sun the vapours,) And make the people here, through covenant God set with Noah, presageful of the world That shall no more be covered with a flood, In such wise of those sempiternal roses The garlands twain encompassed us about, And thus the outer to the inner answered. After the dance, and other grand rejoicings, Both of the singing, and the flaming forth Effulgence with effulgence blithe and tender, Together, at once, with one accord had stopped, (Even as the eyes, that, as volition moves them, Must needs together shut and lift themselves,) Out of the heart of one of the new lights There came a voice, that needle to the star Made me appear in turning thitherward. And it began: “The love that makes me fair Draws me to speak about the other leader, By whom so well is spoken here of mine. ’Tis right, where one is, to bring in the other, That, as they were united in their warfare, Together likewise may their glory shine. The soldiery of Christ, which it had cost So dear to arm again, behind the standard Moved slow and doubtful and in numbers few, When the Emperor who reigneth evermore Provided for the host that was in peril, Through grace alone and not that it was worthy; And, as was said, he to his Bride brought succour With champions twain, at whose deed, at whose word The straggling people were together drawn. Within that region where the sweet west wind Rises to open the new leaves, wherewith Europe is seen to clothe herself afresh, Not far off from the beating of the waves, Behind which in his long career the sun Sometimes conceals himself from every man, Is situate the fortunate Calahorra, Under protection of the mighty shield In which the Lion subject is and sovereign. Therein was born the amorous paramour Of Christian Faith, the athlete consecrate, Kind to his own and cruel to his foes; And when it was created was his mind Replete with such a living energy, That in his mother her it made prophetic. As soon as the espousals were complete Between him and the Faith at holy font, Where they with mutual safety dowered each other, The woman, who for him had given assent, Saw in a dream the admirable fruit That issue would from him and from his heirs; And that he might be construed as he was, A spirit from this place went forth to name him With His possessive whose he wholly was. Dominic was he called; and him I speak of Even as of the husbandman whom Christ Elected to his garden to assist him. Envoy and servant sooth he seemed of Christ, For the first love made manifest in him Was the first counsel that was given by Christ. Silent and wakeful many a time was he Discovered by his nurse upon the ground, As if he would have said, ‘For this I came.’ O thou his father, Felix verily! O thou his mother, verily Joanna, If this, interpreted, means as is said! Not for the world which people toil for now In following Ostiense and Taddeo, But through his longing after the true manna, He in short time became so great a teacher, That he began to go about the vineyard, Which fadeth soon, if faithless be the dresser; And of the See, (that once was more benignant Unto the righteous poor, not through itself, But him who sits there and degenerates,) Not to dispense or two or three for six, Not any fortune of first vacancy, ‘Non decimas quae sunt pauperum Dei,’ He asked for, but against the errant world Permission to do battle for the seed, Of which these four and twenty plants surround thee. Then with the doctrine and the will together, With office apostolical he moved, Like torrent which some lofty vein out-presses; And in among the shoots heretical His impetus with greater fury smote, Wherever the resistance was the greatest. Of him were made thereafter divers runnels, Whereby the garden catholic is watered, So that more living its plantations stand. If such the one wheel of the Biga was, In which the Holy Church itself defended And in the field its civic battle won, Truly full manifest should be to thee The excellence of the other, unto whom Thomas so courteous was before my coming. But still the orbit, which the highest part Of its circumference made, is derelict, So that the mould is where was once the crust. His family, that had straight forward moved With feet upon his footprints, are turned round So that they set the point upon the heel. And soon aware they will be of the harvest Of this bad husbandry, when shall the tares Complain the granary is taken from them. Yet say I, he who searcheth leaf by leaf Our volume through, would still some page discover Where he could read, ‘I am as I am wont.’ ’Twill not be from Casal nor Acquasparta, From whence come such unto the written word That one avoids it, and the other narrows. Bonaventura of Bagnoregio’s life Am I, who always in great offices Postponed considerations sinister. Here are Illuminato and Agostino, Who of the first barefooted beggars were That with the cord the friends of God became. Hugh of Saint Victor is among them here, And Peter Mangiador, and Peter of Spain, Who down below in volumes twelve is shining; Nathan the seer, and metropolitan Chrysostom, and Anselmus, and Donatus Who deigned to lay his hand to the first art; Here is Rabanus, and beside me here Shines the Calabrian Abbot Joachim, He with the spirit of prophecy endowed. To celebrate so great a paladin Have moved me the impassioned courtesy And the discreet discourses of Friar Thomas, And with me they have moved this company.” <h2>Paradiso: Canto XIII</h2> Let him imagine, who would well conceive What now I saw, and let him while I speak Retain the image as a steadfast rock, The fifteen stars, that in their divers regions The sky enliven with a light so great That it transcends all clusters of the air; Let him the Wain imagine unto which Our vault of heaven sufficeth night and day, So that in turning of its pole it fails not; Let him the mouth imagine of the horn That in the point beginneth of the axis Round about which the primal wheel revolves,— To have fashioned of themselves two signs in heaven, Like unto that which Minos’ daughter made, The moment when she felt the frost of death; And one to have its rays within the other, And both to whirl themselves in such a manner That one should forward go, the other backward; And he will have some shadowing forth of that True constellation and the double dance That circled round the point at which I was; Because it is as much beyond our wont, As swifter than the motion of the Chiana Moveth the heaven that all the rest outspeeds. There sang they neither Bacchus, nor Apollo, But in the divine nature Persons three, And in one person the divine and human. The singing and the dance fulfilled their measure, And unto us those holy lights gave need, Growing in happiness from care to care. Then broke the silence of those saints concordant The light in which the admirable life Of God’s own mendicant was told to me, And said: “Now that one straw is trodden out Now that its seed is garnered up already, Sweet love invites me to thresh out the other. Into that bosom, thou believest, whence Was drawn the rib to form the beauteous cheek Whose taste to all the world is costing dear, And into that which, by the lance transfixed, Before and since, such satisfaction made That it weighs down the balance of all sin, Whate’er of light it has to human nature Been lawful to possess was all infused By the same power that both of them created; And hence at what I said above dost wonder, When I narrated that no second had The good which in the fifth light is enclosed. Now ope thine eyes to what I answer thee, And thou shalt see thy creed and my discourse Fit in the truth as centre in a circle. That which can die, and that which dieth not, Are nothing but the splendour of the idea Which by his love our Lord brings into being; Because that living Light, which from its fount Effulgent flows, so that it disunites not From Him nor from the Love in them intrined, Through its own goodness reunites its rays In nine subsistences, as in a mirror, Itself eternally remaining One. Thence it descends to the last potencies, Downward from act to act becoming such That only brief contingencies it makes; And these contingencies I hold to be Things generated, which the heaven produces By its own motion, with seed and without. Neither their wax, nor that which tempers it, Remains immutable, and hence beneath The ideal signet more and less shines through; Therefore it happens, that the selfsame tree After its kind bears worse and better fruit, And ye are born with characters diverse. If in perfection tempered were the wax, And were the heaven in its supremest virtue, The brilliance of the seal would all appear; But nature gives it evermore deficient, In the like manner working as the artist, Who has the skill of art and hand that trembles. If then the fervent Love, the Vision clear, Of primal Virtue do dispose and seal, Perfection absolute is there acquired. Thus was of old the earth created worthy Of all and every animal perfection; And thus the Virgin was impregnate made; So that thine own opinion I commend, That human nature never yet has been, Nor will be, what it was in those two persons. Now if no farther forth I should proceed, ‘Then in what way was he without a peer?’ Would be the first beginning of thy words. But, that may well appear what now appears not, Think who he was, and what occasion moved him To make request, when it was told him, ‘Ask.’ I’ve not so spoken that thou canst not see Clearly he was a king who asked for wisdom, That he might be sufficiently a king; ’Twas not to know the number in which are The motors here above, or if ‘necesse’ With a contingent e’er ‘necesse’ make, ‘Non si est dare primum motum esse,’ Or if in semicircle can be made Triangle so that it have no right angle. Whence, if thou notest this and what I said, A regal prudence is that peerless seeing In which the shaft of my intention strikes. And if on ‘rose’ thou turnest thy clear eyes, Thou’lt see that it has reference alone To kings who’re many, and the good are rare. With this distinction take thou what I said, And thus it can consist with thy belief Of the first father and of our Delight. And lead shall this be always to thy feet, To make thee, like a weary man, move slowly Both to the Yes and No thou seest not; For very low among the fools is he Who affirms without distinction, or denies, As well in one as in the other case; Because it happens that full often bends Current opinion in the false direction, And then the feelings bind the intellect. Far more than uselessly he leaves the shore, (Since he returneth not the same he went,) Who fishes for the truth, and has no skill; And in the world proofs manifest thereof Parmenides, Melissus, Brissus are, And many who went on and knew not whither; Thus did Sabellius, Arius, and those fools Who have been even as swords unto the Scriptures In rendering distorted their straight faces. Nor yet shall people be too confident In judging, even as he is who doth count The corn in field or ever it be ripe. For I have seen all winter long the thorn First show itself intractable and fierce, And after bear the rose upon its top; And I have seen a ship direct and swift Run o’er the sea throughout its course entire, To perish at the harbour’s mouth at last. Let not Dame Bertha nor Ser Martin think, Seeing one steal, another offering make, To see them in the arbitrament divine; For one may rise, and fall the other may.” <h2>Paradiso: Canto XIV</h2> From centre unto rim, from rim to centre, In a round vase the water moves itself, As from without ’tis struck or from within. Into my mind upon a sudden dropped What I am saying, at the moment when Silent became the glorious life of Thomas, Because of the resemblance that was born Of his discourse and that of Beatrice, Whom, after him, it pleased thus to begin: “This man has need (and does not tell you so, Nor with the voice, nor even in his thought) Of going to the root of one truth more. Declare unto him if the light wherewith Blossoms your substance shall remain with you Eternally the same that it is now; And if it do remain, say in what manner, After ye are again made visible, It can be that it injure not your sight.” As by a greater gladness urged and drawn They who are dancing in a ring sometimes Uplift their voices and their motions quicken; So, at that orison devout and prompt, The holy circles a new joy displayed In their revolving and their wondrous song. Whoso lamenteth him that here we die That we may live above, has never there Seen the refreshment of the eternal rain. The One and Two and Three who ever liveth, And reigneth ever in Three and Two and One, Not circumscribed and all things circumscribing, Three several times was chanted by each one Among those spirits, with such melody That for all merit it were just reward; And, in the lustre most divine of all The lesser ring, I heard a modest voice, Such as perhaps the Angel’s was to Mary, Answer: “As long as the festivity Of Paradise shall be, so long our love Shall radiate round about us such a vesture. Its brightness is proportioned to the ardour, The ardour to the vision; and the vision Equals what grace it has above its worth. When, glorious and sanctified, our flesh Is reassumed, then shall our persons be More pleasing by their being all complete; For will increase whate’er bestows on us Of light gratuitous the Good Supreme, Light which enables us to look on Him; Therefore the vision must perforce increase, Increase the ardour which from that is kindled, Increase the radiance which from this proceeds. But even as a coal that sends forth flame, And by its vivid whiteness overpowers it So that its own appearance it maintains, Thus the effulgence that surrounds us now Shall be o’erpowered in aspect by the flesh, Which still to-day the earth doth cover up; Nor can so great a splendour weary us, For strong will be the organs of the body To everything which hath the power to please us.” So sudden and alert appeared to me Both one and the other choir to say Amen, That well they showed desire for their dead bodies; Nor sole for them perhaps, but for the mothers, The fathers, and the rest who had been dear Or ever they became eternal flames. And lo! all round about of equal brightness Arose a lustre over what was there, Like an horizon that is clearing up. And as at rise of early eve begin Along the welkin new appearances, So that the sight seems real and unreal, It seemed to me that new subsistences Began there to be seen, and make a circle Outside the other two circumferences. O very sparkling of the Holy Spirit, How sudden and incandescent it became Unto mine eyes, that vanquished bore it not! But Beatrice so beautiful and smiling Appeared to me, that with the other sights That followed not my memory I must leave her. Then to uplift themselves mine eyes resumed The power, and I beheld myself translated To higher salvation with my Lady only. Well was I ware that I was more uplifted By the enkindled smiling of the star, That seemed to me more ruddy than its wont. With all my heart, and in that dialect Which is the same in all, such holocaust To God I made as the new grace beseemed; And not yet from my bosom was exhausted The ardour of sacrifice, before I knew This offering was accepted and auspicious; For with so great a lustre and so red Splendours appeared to me in twofold rays, I said: “O Helios who dost so adorn them!” Even as distinct with less and greater lights Glimmers between the two poles of the world The Galaxy that maketh wise men doubt, Thus constellated in the depths of Mars, Those rays described the venerable sign That quadrants joining in a circle make. Here doth my memory overcome my genius; For on that cross as levin gleamed forth Christ, So that I cannot find ensample worthy; But he who takes his cross and follows Christ Again will pardon me what I omit, Seeing in that aurora lighten Christ. From horn to horn, and ’twixt the top and base, Lights were in motion, brightly scintillating As they together met and passed each other; Thus level and aslant and swift and slow We here behold, renewing still the sight, The particles of bodies long and short, Across the sunbeam move, wherewith is listed Sometimes the shade, which for their own defence People with cunning and with art contrive. And as a lute and harp, accordant strung With many strings, a dulcet tinkling make To him by whom the notes are not distinguished, So from the lights that there to me appeared Upgathered through the cross a melody, Which rapt me, not distinguishing the hymn. Well was I ware it was of lofty laud, Because there came to me, “Arise and conquer!” As unto him who hears and comprehends not. So much enamoured I became therewith, That until then there was not anything That e’er had fettered me with such sweet bonds. Perhaps my word appears somewhat too bold, Postponing the delight of those fair eyes, Into which gazing my desire has rest; But who bethinks him that the living seals Of every beauty grow in power ascending, And that I there had not turned round to those, Can me excuse, if I myself accuse To excuse myself, and see that I speak truly: For here the holy joy is not disclosed, Because ascending it becomes more pure. <h2>Paradiso: Canto XV</h2> A will benign, in which reveals itself Ever the love that righteously inspires, As in the iniquitous, cupidity, Silence imposed upon that dulcet lyre, And quieted the consecrated chords, That Heaven’s right hand doth tighten and relax. How unto just entreaties shall be deaf Those substances, which, to give me desire Of praying them, with one accord grew silent? ’Tis well that without end he should lament, Who for the love of thing that doth not last Eternally despoils him of that love! As through the pure and tranquil evening air There shoots from time to time a sudden fire, Moving the eyes that steadfast were before, And seems to be a star that changeth place, Except that in the part where it is kindled Nothing is missed, and this endureth little; So from the horn that to the right extends Unto that cross’s foot there ran a star Out of the constellation shining there; Nor was the gem dissevered from its ribbon, But down the radiant fillet ran along, So that fire seemed it behind alabaster. Thus piteous did Anchises’ shade reach forward, If any faith our greatest Muse deserve, When in Elysium he his son perceived. “O sanguis meus, O superinfusa Gratia Dei, sicut tibi, cui Bis unquam Coeli janua reclusa?” Thus that effulgence; whence I gave it heed; Then round unto my Lady turned my sight, And on this side and that was stupefied; For in her eyes was burning such a smile That with mine own methought I touched the bottom Both of my grace and of my Paradise! Then, pleasant to the hearing and the sight, The spirit joined to its beginning things I understood not, so profound it spake; Nor did it hide itself from me by choice, But by necessity; for its conception Above the mark of mortals set itself. And when the bow of burning sympathy Was so far slackened, that its speech descended Towards the mark of our intelligence, The first thing that was understood by me Was “Benedight be Thou, O Trine and One, Who hast unto my seed so courteous been!” And it continued: “Hunger long and grateful, Drawn from the reading of the mighty volume Wherein is never changed the white nor dark, Thou hast appeased, my son, within this light In which I speak to thee, by grace of her Who to this lofty flight with plumage clothed thee. Thou thinkest that to me thy thought doth pass From Him who is the first, as from the unit, If that be known, ray out the five and six; And therefore who I am thou askest not, And why I seem more joyous unto thee Than any other of this gladsome crowd. Thou think’st the truth; because the small and great Of this existence look into the mirror Wherein, before thou think’st, thy thought thou showest. But that the sacred love, in which I watch With sight perpetual, and which makes me thirst With sweet desire, may better be fulfilled, Now let thy voice secure and frank and glad Proclaim the wishes, the desire proclaim, To which my answer is decreed already.” To Beatrice I turned me, and she heard Before I spake, and smiled to me a sign, That made the wings of my desire increase; Then in this wise began I: “Love and knowledge, When on you dawned the first Equality, Of the same weight for each of you became; For in the Sun, which lighted you and burned With heat and radiance, they so equal are, That all similitudes are insufficient. But among mortals will and argument, For reason that to you is manifest, Diversely feathered in their pinions are. Whence I, who mortal am, feel in myself This inequality; so give not thanks, Save in my heart, for this paternal welcome. Truly do I entreat thee, living topaz! Set in this precious jewel as a gem, That thou wilt satisfy me with thy name.” “O leaf of mine, in whom I pleasure took E’en while awaiting, I was thine own root!” Such a beginning he in answer made me. Then said to me: “That one from whom is named Thy race, and who a hundred years and more Has circled round the mount on the first cornice, A son of mine and thy great-grandsire was; Well it behoves thee that the long fatigue Thou shouldst for him make shorter with thy works. Florence, within the ancient boundary From which she taketh still her tierce and nones, Abode in quiet, temperate and chaste. No golden chain she had, nor coronal, Nor ladies shod with sandal shoon, nor girdle That caught the eye more than the person did. Not yet the daughter at her birth struck fear Into the father, for the time and dower Did not o’errun this side or that the measure. No houses had she void of families, Not yet had thither come Sardanapalus To show what in a chamber can be done; Not yet surpassed had Montemalo been By your Uccellatojo, which surpassed Shall in its downfall be as in its rise. Bellincion Berti saw I go begirt With leather and with bone, and from the mirror His dame depart without a painted face; And him of Nerli saw, and him of Vecchio, Contented with their simple suits of buff And with the spindle and the flax their dames. O fortunate women! and each one was certain Of her own burial-place, and none as yet For sake of France was in her bed deserted. One o’er the cradle kept her studious watch, And in her lullaby the language used That first delights the fathers and the mothers; Another, drawing tresses from her distaff, Told o’er among her family the tales Of Trojans and of Fesole and Rome. As great a marvel then would have been held A Lapo Salterello, a Cianghella, As Cincinnatus or Cornelia now. To such a quiet, such a beautiful Life of the citizen, to such a safe Community, and to so sweet an inn, Did Mary give me, with loud cries invoked, And in your ancient Baptistery at once Christian and Cacciaguida I became. Moronto was my brother, and Eliseo; From Val di Pado came to me my wife, And from that place thy surname was derived. I followed afterward the Emperor Conrad, And he begirt me of his chivalry, So much I pleased him with my noble deeds. I followed in his train against that law’s Iniquity, whose people doth usurp Your just possession, through your Pastor’s fault. There by that execrable race was I Released from bonds of the fallacious world, The love of which defileth many souls, And came from martyrdom unto this peace.” <h2>Paradiso: Canto XVI</h2> O thou our poor nobility of blood, If thou dost make the people glory in thee Down here where our affection languishes, A marvellous thing it ne’er will be to me; For there where appetite is not perverted, I say in Heaven, of thee I made a boast! Truly thou art a cloak that quickly shortens, So that unless we piece thee day by day Time goeth round about thee with his shears! With ‘You,’ which Rome was first to tolerate, (Wherein her family less perseveres,) Yet once again my words beginning made; Whence Beatrice, who stood somewhat apart, Smiling, appeared like unto her who coughed At the first failing writ of Guenever. And I began: “You are my ancestor, You give to me all hardihood to speak, You lift me so that I am more than I. So many rivulets with gladness fill My mind, that of itself it makes a joy Because it can endure this and not burst. Then tell me, my beloved root ancestral, Who were your ancestors, and what the years That in your boyhood chronicled themselves? Tell me about the sheepfold of Saint John, How large it was, and who the people were Within it worthy of the highest seats.” As at the blowing of the winds a coal Quickens to flame, so I beheld that light Become resplendent at my blandishments. And as unto mine eyes it grew more fair, With voice more sweet and tender, but not in This modern dialect, it said to me: “From uttering of the ‘Ave,’ till the birth In which my mother, who is now a saint, Of me was lightened who had been her burden, Unto its Lion had this fire returned Five hundred fifty times and thirty more, To reinflame itself beneath his paw. My ancestors and I our birthplace had Where first is found the last ward of the city By him who runneth in your annual game. Suffice it of my elders to hear this; But who they were, and whence they thither came, Silence is more considerate than speech. All those who at that time were there between Mars and the Baptist, fit for bearing arms, Were a fifth part of those who now are living; But the community, that now is mixed With Campi and Certaldo and Figghine, Pure in the lowest artisan was seen. O how much better ’twere to have as neighbours The folk of whom I speak, and at Galluzzo And at Trespiano have your boundary, Than have them in the town, and bear the stench Of Aguglione’s churl, and him of Signa Who has sharp eyes for trickery already. Had not the folk, which most of all the world Degenerates, been a step-dame unto Caesar, But as a mother to her son benignant, Some who turn Florentines, and trade and discount, Would have gone back again to Simifonte There where their grandsires went about as beggars. At Montemurlo still would be the Counts, The Cerchi in the parish of Acone, Perhaps in Valdigrieve the Buondelmonti. Ever the intermingling of the people Has been the source of malady in cities, As in the body food it surfeits on; And a blind bull more headlong plunges down Than a blind lamb; and very often cuts Better and more a single sword than five. If Luni thou regard, and Urbisaglia, How they have passed away, and how are passing Chiusi and Sinigaglia after them, To hear how races waste themselves away, Will seem to thee no novel thing nor hard, Seeing that even cities have an end. All things of yours have their mortality, Even as yourselves; but it is hidden in some That a long while endure, and lives are short; And as the turning of the lunar heaven Covers and bares the shores without a pause, In the like manner fortune does with Florence. Therefore should not appear a marvellous thing What I shall say of the great Florentines Of whom the fame is hidden in the Past. I saw the Ughi, saw the Catellini, Filippi, Greci, Ormanni, and Alberichi, Even in their fall illustrious citizens; And saw, as mighty as they ancient were, With him of La Sannella him of Arca, And Soldanier, Ardinghi, and Bostichi. Near to the gate that is at present laden With a new felony of so much weight That soon it shall be jetsam from the bark, The Ravignani were, from whom descended The County Guido, and whoe’er the name Of the great Bellincione since hath taken. He of La Pressa knew the art of ruling Already, and already Galigajo Had hilt and pommel gilded in his house. Mighty already was the Column Vair, Sacchetti, Giuochi, Fifant, and Barucci, And Galli, and they who for the bushel blush. The stock from which were the Calfucci born Was great already, and already chosen To curule chairs the Sizii and Arrigucci. O how beheld I those who are undone By their own pride! and how the Balls of Gold Florence enflowered in all their mighty deeds! So likewise did the ancestors of those Who evermore, when vacant is your church, Fatten by staying in consistory. The insolent race, that like a dragon follows Whoever flees, and unto him that shows His teeth or purse is gentle as a lamb, Already rising was, but from low people; So that it pleased not Ubertin Donato That his wife’s father should make him their kin. Already had Caponsacco to the Market From Fesole descended, and already Giuda and Infangato were good burghers. I’ll tell a thing incredible, but true; One entered the small circuit by a gate Which from the Della Pera took its name! Each one that bears the beautiful escutcheon Of the great baron whose renown and name The festival of Thomas keepeth fresh, Knighthood and privilege from him received; Though with the populace unites himself To-day the man who binds it with a border. Already were Gualterotti and Importuni; And still more quiet would the Borgo be If with new neighbours it remained unfed. The house from which is born your lamentation, Through just disdain that death among you brought And put an end unto your joyous life, Was honoured in itself and its companions. O Buondelmonte, how in evil hour Thou fled’st the bridal at another’s promptings! Many would be rejoicing who are sad, If God had thee surrendered to the Ema The first time that thou camest to the city. But it behoved the mutilated stone Which guards the bridge, that Florence should provide A victim in her latest hour of peace. With all these families, and others with them, Florence beheld I in so great repose, That no occasion had she whence to weep; With all these families beheld so just And glorious her people, that the lily Never upon the spear was placed reversed, Nor by division was vermilion made.” <h2>Paradiso: Canto XVII</h2> As came to Clymene, to be made certain Of that which he had heard against himself, He who makes fathers chary still to children, Even such was I, and such was I perceived By Beatrice and by the holy light That first on my account had changed its place. Therefore my Lady said to me: “Send forth The flame of thy desire, so that it issue Imprinted well with the internal stamp; Not that our knowledge may be greater made By speech of thine, but to accustom thee To tell thy thirst, that we may give thee drink.” “O my beloved tree, (that so dost lift thee, That even as minds terrestrial perceive No triangle containeth two obtuse, So thou beholdest the contingent things Ere in themselves they are, fixing thine eyes Upon the point in which all times are present,) While I was with Virgilius conjoined Upon the mountain that the souls doth heal, And when descending into the dead world, Were spoken to me of my future life Some grievous words; although I feel myself In sooth foursquare against the blows of chance. On this account my wish would be content To hear what fortune is approaching me, Because foreseen an arrow comes more slowly.” Thus did I say unto that selfsame light That unto me had spoken before; and even As Beatrice willed was my own will confessed. Not in vague phrase, in which the foolish folk Ensnared themselves of old, ere yet was slain The Lamb of God who taketh sins away, But with clear words and unambiguous Language responded that paternal love, Hid and revealed by its own proper smile: “Contingency, that outside of the volume Of your materiality extends not, Is all depicted in the eternal aspect. Necessity however thence it takes not, Except as from the eye, in which ’tis mirrored, A ship that with the current down descends. From thence, e’en as there cometh to the ear Sweet harmony from an organ, comes in sight To me the time that is preparing for thee. As forth from Athens went Hippolytus, By reason of his step-dame false and cruel, So thou from Florence must perforce depart. Already this is willed, and this is sought for; And soon it shall be done by him who thinks it, Where every day the Christ is bought and sold. The blame shall follow the offended party In outcry as is usual; but the vengeance Shall witness to the truth that doth dispense it. Thou shalt abandon everything beloved Most tenderly, and this the arrow is Which first the bow of banishment shoots forth. Thou shalt have proof how savoureth of salt The bread of others, and how hard a road The going down and up another’s stairs. And that which most shall weigh upon thy shoulders Will be the bad and foolish company With which into this valley thou shalt fall; For all ingrate, all mad and impious Will they become against thee; but soon after They, and not thou, shall have the forehead scarlet. Of their bestiality their own proceedings Shall furnish proof; so ’twill be well for thee A party to have made thee by thyself. Thine earliest refuge and thine earliest inn Shall be the mighty Lombard’s courtesy, Who on the Ladder bears the holy bird, Who such benign regard shall have for thee That ’twixt you twain, in doing and in asking, That shall be first which is with others last. With him shalt thou see one who at his birth Has by this star of strength been so impressed, That notable shall his achievements be. Not yet the people are aware of him Through his young age, since only nine years yet Around about him have these wheels revolved. But ere the Gascon cheat the noble Henry, Some sparkles of his virtue shall appear In caring not for silver nor for toil. So recognized shall his magnificence Become hereafter, that his enemies Will not have power to keep mute tongues about it. On him rely, and on his benefits; By him shall many people be transformed, Changing condition rich and mendicant; And written in thy mind thou hence shalt bear Of him, but shalt not say it”—and things said he Incredible to those who shall be present. Then added: “Son, these are the commentaries On what was said to thee; behold the snares That are concealed behind few revolutions; Yet would I not thy neighbours thou shouldst envy, Because thy life into the future reaches Beyond the punishment of their perfidies.” When by its silence showed that sainted soul That it had finished putting in the woof Into that web which I had given it warped, Began I, even as he who yearneth after, Being in doubt, some counsel from a person Who seeth, and uprightly wills, and loves: “Well see I, father mine, how spurreth on The time towards me such a blow to deal me As heaviest is to him who most gives way. Therefore with foresight it is well I arm me, That, if the dearest place be taken from me, I may not lose the others by my songs. Down through the world of infinite bitterness, And o’er the mountain, from whose beauteous summit The eyes of my own Lady lifted me, And afterward through heaven from light to light, I have learned that which, if I tell again, Will be a savour of strong herbs to many. And if I am a timid friend to truth, I fear lest I may lose my life with those Who will hereafter call this time the olden.” The light in which was smiling my own treasure Which there I had discovered, flashed at first As in the sunshine doth a golden mirror; Then made reply: “A conscience overcast Or with its own or with another’s shame, Will taste forsooth the tartness of thy word; But ne’ertheless, all falsehood laid aside, Make manifest thy vision utterly, And let them scratch wherever is the itch; For if thine utterance shall offensive be At the first taste, a vital nutriment ’Twill leave thereafter, when it is digested. This cry of thine shall do as doth the wind, Which smiteth most the most exalted summits, And that is no slight argument of honour. Therefore are shown to thee within these wheels, Upon the mount and in the dolorous valley, Only the souls that unto fame are known; Because the spirit of the hearer rests not, Nor doth confirm its faith by an example Which has the root of it unknown and hidden, Or other reason that is not apparent.” <h2>Paradiso: Canto XVIII</h2> Now was alone rejoicing in its word That soul beatified, and I was tasting My own, the bitter tempering with the sweet, And the Lady who to God was leading me Said: “Change thy thought; consider that I am Near unto Him who every wrong disburdens.” Unto the loving accents of my comfort I turned me round, and then what love I saw Within those holy eyes I here relinquish; Not only that my language I distrust, But that my mind cannot return so far Above itself, unless another guide it. Thus much upon that point can I repeat, That, her again beholding, my affection From every other longing was released. While the eternal pleasure, which direct Rayed upon Beatrice, from her fair face Contented me with its reflected aspect, Conquering me with the radiance of a smile, She said to me, “Turn thee about and listen; Not in mine eyes alone is Paradise.” Even as sometimes here do we behold The affection in the look, if it be such That all the soul is wrapt away by it, So, by the flaming of the effulgence holy To which I turned, I recognized therein The wish of speaking to me somewhat farther. And it began: “In this fifth resting-place Upon the tree that liveth by its summit, And aye bears fruit, and never loses leaf, Are blessed spirits that below, ere yet They came to Heaven, were of such great renown That every Muse therewith would affluent be. Therefore look thou upon the cross’s horns; He whom I now shall name will there enact What doth within a cloud its own swift fire.” I saw athwart the Cross a splendour drawn By naming Joshua, (even as he did it,) Nor noted I the word before the deed; And at the name of the great Maccabee I saw another move itself revolving, And gladness was the whip unto that top. Likewise for Charlemagne and for Orlando, Two of them my regard attentive followed As followeth the eye its falcon flying. William thereafterward, and Renouard, And the Duke Godfrey, did attract my sight Along upon that Cross, and Robert Guiscard. Then, moved and mingled with the other lights, The soul that had addressed me showed how great An artist ’twas among the heavenly singers. To my right side I turned myself around, My duty to behold in Beatrice Either by words or gesture signified; And so translucent I beheld her eyes, So full of pleasure, that her countenance Surpassed its other and its latest wont. And as, by feeling greater delectation, A man in doing good from day to day Becomes aware his virtue is increasing, So I became aware that my gyration With heaven together had increased its arc, That miracle beholding more adorned. And such as is the change, in little lapse Of time, in a pale woman, when her face Is from the load of bashfulness unladen, Such was it in mine eyes, when I had turned, Caused by the whiteness of the temperate star, The sixth, which to itself had gathered me. Within that Jovial torch did I behold The sparkling of the love which was therein Delineate our language to mine eyes. And even as birds uprisen from the shore, As in congratulation o’er their food, Make squadrons of themselves, now round, now long, So from within those lights the holy creatures Sang flying to and fro, and in their figures Made of themselves now D, now I, now L. First singing they to their own music moved; Then one becoming of these characters, A little while they rested and were silent. O divine Pegasea, thou who genius Dost glorious make, and render it long-lived, And this through thee the cities and the kingdoms, Illume me with thyself, that I may bring Their figures out as I have them conceived! Apparent be thy power in these brief verses! Themselves then they displayed in five times seven Vowels and consonants; and I observed The parts as they seemed spoken unto me. ‘Diligite justitiam,’ these were First verb and noun of all that was depicted; ‘Qui judicatis terram’ were the last. Thereafter in the M of the fifth word Remained they so arranged, that Jupiter Seemed to be silver there with gold inlaid. And other lights I saw descend where was The summit of the M, and pause there singing The good, I think, that draws them to itself. Then, as in striking upon burning logs Upward there fly innumerable sparks, Whence fools are wont to look for auguries, More than a thousand lights seemed thence to rise, And to ascend, some more, and others less, Even as the Sun that lights them had allotted; And, each one being quiet in its place, The head and neck beheld I of an eagle Delineated by that inlaid fire. He who there paints has none to be his guide; But Himself guides; and is from Him remembered That virtue which is form unto the nest. The other beatitude, that contented seemed At first to bloom a lily on the M, By a slight motion followed out the imprint. O gentle star! what and how many gems Did demonstrate to me, that all our justice Effect is of that heaven which thou ingemmest! Wherefore I pray the Mind, in which begin Thy motion and thy virtue, to regard Whence comes the smoke that vitiates thy rays; So that a second time it now be wroth With buying and with selling in the temple Whose walls were built with signs and martyrdoms! O soldiery of heaven, whom I contemplate, Implore for those who are upon the earth All gone astray after the bad example! Once ’twas the custom to make war with swords; But now ’tis made by taking here and there The bread the pitying Father shuts from none. Yet thou, who writest but to cancel, think That Peter and that Paul, who for this vineyard Which thou art spoiling died, are still alive! Well canst thou say: “So steadfast my desire Is unto him who willed to live alone, And for a dance was led to martyrdom, That I know not the Fisherman nor Paul.” <h2>Paradiso: Canto XIX</h2> Appeared before me with its wings outspread The beautiful image that in sweet fruition Made jubilant the interwoven souls; Appeared a little ruby each, wherein Ray of the sun was burning so enkindled That each into mine eyes refracted it. And what it now behoves me to retrace Nor voice has e’er reported, nor ink written, Nor was by fantasy e’er comprehended; For speak I saw, and likewise heard, the beak, And utter with its voice both ‘I’ and ‘My,’ When in conception it was ‘We’ and ‘Our.’ And it began: “Being just and merciful Am I exalted here unto that glory Which cannot be exceeded by desire; And upon earth I left my memory Such, that the evil-minded people there Commend it, but continue not the story.” So doth a single heat from many embers Make itself felt, even as from many loves Issued a single sound from out that image. Whence I thereafter: “O perpetual flowers Of the eternal joy, that only one Make me perceive your odours manifold, Exhaling, break within me the great fast Which a long season has in hunger held me, Not finding for it any food on earth. Well do I know, that if in heaven its mirror Justice Divine another realm doth make, Yours apprehends it not through any veil. You know how I attentively address me To listen; and you know what is the doubt That is in me so very old a fast.” Even as a falcon, issuing from his hood, Doth move his head, and with his wings applaud him, Showing desire, and making himself fine, Saw I become that standard, which of lauds Was interwoven of the grace divine, With such songs as he knows who there rejoices. Then it began: “He who a compass turned On the world’s outer verge, and who within it Devised so much occult and manifest, Could not the impress of his power so make On all the universe, as that his Word Should not remain in infinite excess. And this makes certain that the first proud being, Who was the paragon of every creature, By not awaiting light fell immature. And hence appears it, that each minor nature Is scant receptacle unto that good Which has no end, and by itself is measured. In consequence our vision, which perforce Must be some ray of that intelligence With which all things whatever are replete, Cannot in its own nature be so potent, That it shall not its origin discern Far beyond that which is apparent to it. Therefore into the justice sempiternal The power of vision that your world receives, As eye into the ocean, penetrates; Which, though it see the bottom near the shore, Upon the deep perceives it not, and yet ’Tis there, but it is hidden by the depth. There is no light but comes from the serene That never is o’ercast, nay, it is darkness Or shadow of the flesh, or else its poison. Amply to thee is opened now the cavern Which has concealed from thee the living justice Of which thou mad’st such frequent questioning. For saidst thou: ‘Born a man is on the shore Of Indus, and is none who there can speak Of Christ, nor who can read, nor who can write; And all his inclinations and his actions Are good, so far as human reason sees, Without a sin in life or in discourse: He dieth unbaptised and without faith; Where is this justice that condemneth him? Where is his fault, if he do not believe?’ Now who art thou, that on the bench wouldst sit In judgment at a thousand miles away, With the short vision of a single span? Truly to him who with me subtilizes, If so the Scripture were not over you, For doubting there were marvellous occasion. O animals terrene, O stolid minds, The primal will, that in itself is good, Ne’er from itself, the Good Supreme, has moved. So much is just as is accordant with it; No good created draws it to itself, But it, by raying forth, occasions that.” Even as above her nest goes circling round The stork when she has fed her little ones, And he who has been fed looks up at her, So lifted I my brows, and even such Became the blessed image, which its wings Was moving, by so many counsels urged. Circling around it sang, and said: “As are My notes to thee, who dost not comprehend them, Such is the eternal judgment to you mortals.” Those lucent splendours of the Holy Spirit Grew quiet then, but still within the standard That made the Romans reverend to the world. It recommenced: “Unto this kingdom never Ascended one who had not faith in Christ, Before or since he to the tree was nailed. But look thou, many crying are, ‘Christ, Christ!’ Who at the judgment shall be far less near To him than some shall be who knew not Christ. Such Christians shall the Ethiop condemn, When the two companies shall be divided, The one for ever rich, the other poor. What to your kings may not the Persians say, When they that volume opened shall behold In which are written down all their dispraises? There shall be seen, among the deeds of Albert, That which ere long shall set the pen in motion, For which the realm of Prague shall be deserted. There shall be seen the woe that on the Seine He brings by falsifying of the coin, Who by the blow of a wild boar shall die. There shall be seen the pride that causes thirst, Which makes the Scot and Englishman so mad That they within their boundaries cannot rest; Be seen the luxury and effeminate life Of him of Spain, and the Bohemian, Who valour never knew and never wished; Be seen the Cripple of Jerusalem, His goodness represented by an I, While the reverse an M shall represent; Be seen the avarice and poltroonery Of him who guards the Island of the Fire, Wherein Anchises finished his long life; And to declare how pitiful he is Shall be his record in contracted letters Which shall make note of much in little space. And shall appear to each one the foul deeds Of uncle and of brother who a nation So famous have dishonoured, and two crowns. And he of Portugal and he of Norway Shall there be known, and he of Rascia too, Who saw in evil hour the coin of Venice. O happy Hungary, if she let herself Be wronged no farther! and Navarre the happy, If with the hills that gird her she be armed! And each one may believe that now, as hansel Thereof, do Nicosia and Famagosta Lament and rage because of their own beast, Who from the others’ flank departeth not.” <h2>Paradiso: Canto XX</h2> When he who all the world illuminates Out of our hemisphere so far descends That on all sides the daylight is consumed, The heaven, that erst by him alone was kindled, Doth suddenly reveal itself again By many lights, wherein is one resplendent. And came into my mind this act of heaven, When the ensign of the world and of its leaders Had silent in the blessed beak become; Because those living luminaries all, By far more luminous, did songs begin Lapsing and falling from my memory. O gentle Love, that with a smile dost cloak thee, How ardent in those sparks didst thou appear, That had the breath alone of holy thoughts! After the precious and pellucid crystals, With which begemmed the sixth light I beheld, Silence imposed on the angelic bells, I seemed to hear the murmuring of a river That clear descendeth down from rock to rock, Showing the affluence of its mountain-top. And as the sound upon the cithern’s neck Taketh its form, and as upon the vent Of rustic pipe the wind that enters it, Even thus, relieved from the delay of waiting, That murmuring of the eagle mounted up Along its neck, as if it had been hollow. There it became a voice, and issued thence From out its beak, in such a form of words As the heart waited for wherein I wrote them. “The part in me which sees and bears the sun In mortal eagles,” it began to me, “Now fixedly must needs be looked upon; For of the fires of which I make my figure, Those whence the eye doth sparkle in my head Of all their orders the supremest are. He who is shining in the midst as pupil Was once the singer of the Holy Spirit, Who bore the ark from city unto city; Now knoweth he the merit of his song, In so far as effect of his own counsel, By the reward which is commensurate. Of five, that make a circle for my brow, He that approacheth nearest to my beak Did the poor widow for her son console; Now knoweth he how dearly it doth cost Not following Christ, by the experience Of this sweet life and of its opposite. He who comes next in the circumference Of which I speak, upon its highest arc, Did death postpone by penitence sincere; Now knoweth he that the eternal judgment Suffers no change, albeit worthy prayer Maketh below to-morrow of to-day. The next who follows, with the laws and me, Under the good intent that bore bad fruit Became a Greek by ceding to the pastor; Now knoweth he how all the ill deduced From his good action is not harmful to him, Although the world thereby may be destroyed. And he, whom in the downward arc thou seest, Guglielmo was, whom the same land deplores That weepeth Charles and Frederick yet alive; Now knoweth he how heaven enamoured is With a just king; and in the outward show Of his effulgence he reveals it still. Who would believe, down in the errant world, That e’er the Trojan Ripheus in this round Could be the fifth one of the holy lights? Now knoweth he enough of what the world Has not the power to see of grace divine, Although his sight may not discern the bottom.” Like as a lark that in the air expatiates, First singing and then silent with content Of the last sweetness that doth satisfy her, Such seemed to me the image of the imprint Of the eternal pleasure, by whose will Doth everything become the thing it is. And notwithstanding to my doubt I was As glass is to the colour that invests it, To wait the time in silence it endured not, But forth from out my mouth, “What things are these?” Extorted with the force of its own weight; Whereat I saw great joy of coruscation. Thereafterward with eye still more enkindled The blessed standard made to me reply, To keep me not in wonderment suspended: “I see that thou believest in these things Because I say them, but thou seest not how; So that, although believed in, they are hidden. Thou doest as he doth who a thing by name Well apprehendeth, but its quiddity Cannot perceive, unless another show it. ‘Regnum coelorum’ suffereth violence From fervent love, and from that living hope That overcometh the Divine volition; Not in the guise that man o’ercometh man, But conquers it because it will be conquered, And conquered conquers by benignity. The first life of the eyebrow and the fifth Cause thee astonishment, because with them Thou seest the region of the angels painted. They passed not from their bodies, as thou thinkest, Gentiles, but Christians in the steadfast faith Of feet that were to suffer and had suffered. For one from Hell, where no one e’er turns back Unto good will, returned unto his bones, And that of living hope was the reward,— Of living hope, that placed its efficacy In prayers to God made to resuscitate him, So that ’twere possible to move his will. The glorious soul concerning which I speak, Returning to the flesh, where brief its stay, Believed in Him who had the power to aid it; And, in believing, kindled to such fire Of genuine love, that at the second death Worthy it was to come unto this joy. The other one, through grace, that from so deep A fountain wells that never hath the eye Of any creature reached its primal wave, Set all his love below on righteousness; Wherefore from grace to grace did God unclose His eye to our redemption yet to be, Whence he believed therein, and suffered not From that day forth the stench of paganism, And he reproved therefor the folk perverse. Those Maidens three, whom at the right-hand wheel Thou didst behold, were unto him for baptism More than a thousand years before baptizing. O thou predestination, how remote Thy root is from the aspect of all those Who the First Cause do not behold entire! And you, O mortals! hold yourselves restrained In judging; for ourselves, who look on God, We do not know as yet all the elect; And sweet to us is such a deprivation, Because our good in this good is made perfect, That whatsoe’er God wills, we also will.” After this manner by that shape divine, To make clear in me my short-sightedness, Was given to me a pleasant medicine; And as good singer a good lutanist Accompanies with vibrations of the chords, Whereby more pleasantness the song acquires, So, while it spake, do I remember me That I beheld both of those blessed lights, Even as the winking of the eyes concords, Moving unto the words their little flames. <h2>Paradiso: Canto XXI</h2> Already on my Lady’s face mine eyes Again were fastened, and with these my mind, And from all other purpose was withdrawn; And she smiled not; but “If I were to smile,” She unto me began, “thou wouldst become Like Semele, when she was turned to ashes. Because my beauty, that along the stairs Of the eternal palace more enkindles, As thou hast seen, the farther we ascend, If it were tempered not, is so resplendent That all thy mortal power in its effulgence Would seem a leaflet that the thunder crushes. We are uplifted to the seventh splendour, That underneath the burning Lion’s breast Now radiates downward mingled with his power. Fix in direction of thine eyes the mind, And make of them a mirror for the figure That in this mirror shall appear to thee.” He who could know what was the pasturage My sight had in that blessed countenance, When I transferred me to another care, Would recognize how grateful was to me Obedience unto my celestial escort, By counterpoising one side with the other. Within the crystal which, around the world Revolving, bears the name of its dear leader, Under whom every wickedness lay dead, Coloured like gold, on which the sunshine gleams, A stairway I beheld to such a height Uplifted, that mine eye pursued it not. Likewise beheld I down the steps descending So many splendours, that I thought each light That in the heaven appears was there diffused. And as accordant with their natural custom The rooks together at the break of day Bestir themselves to warm their feathers cold; Then some of them fly off without return, Others come back to where they started from, And others, wheeling round, still keep at home; Such fashion it appeared to me was there Within the sparkling that together came, As soon as on a certain step it struck, And that which nearest unto us remained Became so clear, that in my thought I said, “Well I perceive the love thou showest me; But she, from whom I wait the how and when Of speech and silence, standeth still; whence I Against desire do well if I ask not.” She thereupon, who saw my silentness In the sight of Him who seeth everything, Said unto me, “Let loose thy warm desire.” And I began: “No merit of my own Renders me worthy of response from thee; But for her sake who granteth me the asking, Thou blessed life that dost remain concealed In thy beatitude, make known to me The cause which draweth thee so near my side; And tell me why is silent in this wheel The dulcet symphony of Paradise, That through the rest below sounds so devoutly.” “Thou hast thy hearing mortal as thy sight,” It answer made to me; “they sing not here, For the same cause that Beatrice has not smiled. Thus far adown the holy stairway’s steps Have I descended but to give thee welcome With words, and with the light that mantles me; Nor did more love cause me to be more ready, For love as much and more up there is burning, As doth the flaming manifest to thee. But the high charity, that makes us servants Prompt to the counsel which controls the world, Allotteth here, even as thou dost observe.” “I see full well,” said I, “O sacred lamp! How love unfettered in this court sufficeth To follow the eternal Providence; But this is what seems hard for me to see, Wherefore predestinate wast thou alone Unto this office from among thy consorts.” No sooner had I come to the last word, Than of its middle made the light a centre, Whirling itself about like a swift millstone. When answer made the love that was therein: “On me directed is a light divine, Piercing through this in which I am embosomed, Of which the virtue with my sight conjoined Lifts me above myself so far, I see The supreme essence from which this is drawn. Hence comes the joyfulness with which I flame, For to my sight, as far as it is clear, The clearness of the flame I equal make. But that soul in the heaven which is most pure, That seraph which his eye on God most fixes, Could this demand of thine not satisfy; Because so deeply sinks in the abyss Of the eternal statute what thou askest, From all created sight it is cut off. And to the mortal world, when thou returnest, This carry back, that it may not presume Longer tow’rd such a goal to move its feet. The mind, that shineth here, on earth doth smoke; From this observe how can it do below That which it cannot though the heaven assume it?” Such limit did its words prescribe to me, The question I relinquished, and restricted Myself to ask it humbly who it was. “Between two shores of Italy rise cliffs, And not far distant from thy native place, So high, the thunders far below them sound, And form a ridge that Catria is called, ’Neath which is consecrate a hermitage Wont to be dedicate to worship only.” Thus unto me the third speech recommenced, And then, continuing, it said: “Therein Unto God’s service I became so steadfast, That feeding only on the juice of olives Lightly I passed away the heats and frosts, Contented in my thoughts contemplative. That cloister used to render to these heavens Abundantly, and now is empty grown, So that perforce it soon must be revealed. I in that place was Peter Damiano; And Peter the Sinner was I in the house Of Our Lady on the Adriatic shore. Little of mortal life remained to me, When I was called and dragged forth to the hat Which shifteth evermore from bad to worse. Came Cephas, and the mighty Vessel came Of the Holy Spirit, meagre and barefooted, Taking the food of any hostelry. Now some one to support them on each side The modern shepherds need, and some to lead them, So heavy are they, and to hold their trains. They cover up their palfreys with their cloaks, So that two beasts go underneath one skin; O Patience, that dost tolerate so much!” At this voice saw I many little flames From step to step descending and revolving, And every revolution made them fairer. Round about this one came they and stood still, And a cry uttered of so loud a sound, It here could find no parallel, nor I Distinguished it, the thunder so o’ercame me. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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