Part 16

Never descended with so swift a motion Fire from a heavy cloud, when it is raining From out the region which is most remote,

As I beheld the bird of Jove descend Down through the tree, rending away the bark, As well as blossoms and the foliage new,

And he with all his might the chariot smote, Whereat it reeled, like vessel in a tempest Tossed by the waves, now starboard and now larboard.

Thereafter saw I leap into the body Of the triumphal vehicle a Fox, That seemed unfed with any wholesome food.

But for his hideous sins upbraiding him, My Lady put him to as swift a flight As such a fleshless skeleton could bear.

Then by the way that it before had come, Into the chariot’s chest I saw the Eagle Descend, and leave it feathered with his plumes.

And such as issues from a heart that mourns, A voice from Heaven there issued, and it said: “My little bark, how badly art thou freighted!”

Methought, then, that the earth did yawn between Both wheels, and I saw rise from it a Dragon, Who through the chariot upward fixed his tail,

And as a wasp that draweth back its sting, Drawing unto himself his tail malign, Drew out the floor, and went his way rejoicing.

That which remained behind, even as with grass A fertile region, with the feathers, offered Perhaps with pure intention and benign,

Reclothed itself, and with them were reclothed The pole and both the wheels so speedily, A sigh doth longer keep the lips apart.

Transfigured thus the holy edifice Thrust forward heads upon the parts of it, Three on the pole and one at either corner.

The first were horned like oxen; but the four Had but a single horn upon the forehead; A monster such had never yet been seen!

Firm as a rock upon a mountain high, Seated upon it, there appeared to me A shameless whore, with eyes swift glancing round,

And, as if not to have her taken from him, Upright beside her I beheld a giant; And ever and anon they kissed each other.

But because she her wanton, roving eye Turned upon me, her angry paramour Did scourge her from her head unto her feet.

Then full of jealousy, and fierce with wrath, He loosed the monster, and across the forest Dragged it so far, he made of that alone

A shield unto the whore and the strange beast.

Purgatorio: Canto XXXIII

“Deus venerunt gentes,” alternating Now three, now four, melodious psalmody The maidens in the midst of tears began;

And Beatrice, compassionate and sighing, Listened to them with such a countenance, That scarce more changed was Mary at the cross.

But when the other virgins place had given For her to speak, uprisen to her feet With colour as of fire, she made response:

“‘Modicum, et non videbitis me; Et iterum,’ my sisters predilect, ‘Modicum, et vos videbitis me.’”

Then all the seven in front of her she placed; And after her, by beckoning only, moved Me and the lady and the sage who stayed.

So she moved onward; and I do not think That her tenth step was placed upon the ground, When with her eyes upon mine eyes she smote,

And with a tranquil aspect, “Come more quickly,” To me she said, “that, if I speak with thee, To listen to me thou mayst be well placed.”

As soon as I was with her as I should be, She said to me: “Why, brother, dost thou not Venture to question now, in coming with me?”

As unto those who are too reverential, Speaking in presence of superiors, Who drag no living utterance to their teeth,

It me befell, that without perfect sound Began I: “My necessity, Madonna, You know, and that which thereunto is good.”

And she to me: “Of fear and bashfulness Henceforward I will have thee strip thyself, So that thou speak no more as one who dreams.

Know that the vessel which the serpent broke Was, and is not; but let him who is guilty Think that God’s vengeance does not fear a sop.

Without an heir shall not for ever be The Eagle that left his plumes upon the car, Whence it became a monster, then a prey;

For verily I see, and hence narrate it, The stars already near to bring the time, From every hindrance safe, and every bar,

Within which a Five-hundred, Ten, and Five, One sent from God, shall slay the thievish woman And that same giant who is sinning with her.

And peradventure my dark utterance, Like Themis and the Sphinx, may less persuade thee, Since, in their mode, it clouds the intellect;

But soon the facts shall be the Naiades Who shall this difficult enigma solve, Without destruction of the flocks and harvests.

Note thou; and even as by me are uttered These words, so teach them unto those who live That life which is a running unto death;

And bear in mind, whene’er thou writest them, Not to conceal what thou hast seen the plant, That twice already has been pillaged here.

Whoever pillages or shatters it, With blasphemy of deed offendeth God, Who made it holy for his use alone.

For biting that, in pain and in desire Five thousand years and more the first-born soul Craved Him, who punished in himself the bite.

Thy genius slumbers, if it deem it not For special reason so pre-eminent In height, and so inverted in its summit.

And if thy vain imaginings had not been Water of Elsa round about thy mind, And Pyramus to the mulberry, their pleasure,

Thou by so many circumstances only The justice of the interdict of God Morally in the tree wouldst recognize.

But since I see thee in thine intellect Converted into stone and stained with sin, So that the light of my discourse doth daze thee,

I will too, if not written, at least painted, Thou bear it back within thee, for the reason That cinct with palm the pilgrim’s staff is borne.”

And I: “As by a signet is the wax Which does not change the figure stamped upon it, My brain is now imprinted by yourself.

But wherefore so beyond my power of sight Soars your desirable discourse, that aye The more I strive, so much the more I lose it?”

“That thou mayst recognize,” she said, “the school Which thou hast followed, and mayst see how far Its doctrine follows after my discourse,

And mayst behold your path from the divine Distant as far as separated is From earth the heaven that highest hastens on.”

Whence her I answered: “I do not remember That ever I estranged myself from you, Nor have I conscience of it that reproves me.”

“And if thou art not able to remember,” Smiling she answered, “recollect thee now That thou this very day hast drunk of Lethe;

And if from smoke a fire may be inferred, Such an oblivion clearly demonstrates Some error in thy will elsewhere intent.

Truly from this time forward shall my words Be naked, so far as it is befitting To lay them open unto thy rude gaze.”

And more coruscant and with slower steps The sun was holding the meridian circle, Which, with the point of view, shifts here and there

When halted (as he cometh to a halt, Who goes before a squadron as its escort, If something new he find upon his way)

The ladies seven at a dark shadow’s edge, Such as, beneath green leaves and branches black, The Alp upon its frigid border wears.

In front of them the Tigris and Euphrates Methought I saw forth issue from one fountain, And slowly part, like friends, from one another.

“O light, O glory of the human race! What stream is this which here unfolds itself From out one source, and from itself withdraws?”

For such a prayer, ’twas said unto me, “Pray Matilda that she tell thee;” and here answered, As one does who doth free himself from blame,

The beautiful lady: “This and other things Were told to him by me; and sure I am The water of Lethe has not hid them from him.”

And Beatrice: “Perhaps a greater care, Which oftentimes our memory takes away, Has made the vision of his mind obscure.

But Eunoe behold, that yonder rises; Lead him to it, and, as thou art accustomed, Revive again the half-dead virtue in him.”

Like gentle soul, that maketh no excuse, But makes its own will of another’s will As soon as by a sign it is disclosed,

Even so, when she had taken hold of me, The beautiful lady moved, and unto Statius Said, in her womanly manner, “Come with him.”

If, Reader, I possessed a longer space For writing it, I yet would sing in part Of the sweet draught that ne’er would satiate me;

But inasmuch as full are all the leaves Made ready for this second canticle, The curb of art no farther lets me go.

From the most holy water I returned Regenerate, in the manner of new trees That are renewed with a new foliage,

Pure and disposed to mount unto the stars.

PARADISO

Paradiso: Canto I

The glory of Him who moveth everything Doth penetrate the universe, and shine In one part more and in another less.

Within that heaven which most his light receives Was I, and things beheld which to repeat Nor knows, nor can, who from above descends;

Because in drawing near to its desire Our intellect ingulphs itself so far, That after it the memory cannot go.

Truly whatever of the holy realm I had the power to treasure in my mind Shall now become the subject of my song.

O good Apollo, for this last emprise Make of me such a vessel of thy power As giving the beloved laurel asks!

One summit of Parnassus hitherto Has been enough for me, but now with both I needs must enter the arena left.

Enter into my bosom, thou, and breathe As at the time when Marsyas thou didst draw Out of the scabbard of those limbs of his.

O power divine, lend’st thou thyself to me So that the shadow of the blessed realm Stamped in my brain I can make manifest,

Thou’lt see me come unto thy darling tree, And crown myself thereafter with those leaves Of which the theme and thou shall make me worthy.

So seldom, Father, do we gather them For triumph or of Caesar or of Poet, (The fault and shame of human inclinations,)

That the Peneian foliage should bring forth Joy to the joyous Delphic deity, When any one it makes to thirst for it.

A little spark is followed by great flame; Perchance with better voices after me Shall prayer be made that Cyrrha may respond!

To mortal men by passages diverse Uprises the world’s lamp; but by that one Which circles four uniteth with three crosses,

With better course and with a better star Conjoined it issues, and the mundane wax Tempers and stamps more after its own fashion.

Almost that passage had made morning there And evening here, and there was wholly white That hemisphere, and black the other part,

When Beatrice towards the left-hand side I saw turned round, and gazing at the sun; Never did eagle fasten so upon it!

And even as a second ray is wont To issue from the first and reascend, Like to a pilgrim who would fain return,

Thus of her action, through the eyes infused In my imagination, mine I made, And sunward fixed mine eyes beyond our wont.

There much is lawful which is here unlawful Unto our powers, by virtue of the place Made for the human species as its own.

Not long I bore it, nor so little while But I beheld it sparkle round about Like iron that comes molten from the fire;

And suddenly it seemed that day to day Was added, as if He who has the power Had with another sun the heaven adorned.

With eyes upon the everlasting wheels Stood Beatrice all intent, and I, on her Fixing my vision from above removed,

Such at her aspect inwardly became As Glaucus, tasting of the herb that made him Peer of the other gods beneath the sea.

To represent transhumanise in words Impossible were; the example, then, suffice Him for whom Grace the experience reserves.

If I was merely what of me thou newly Createdst, Love who governest the heaven, Thou knowest, who didst lift me with thy light!

When now the wheel, which thou dost make eternal Desiring thee, made me attentive to it By harmony thou dost modulate and measure,

Then seemed to me so much of heaven enkindled By the sun’s flame, that neither rain nor river E’er made a lake so widely spread abroad.

The newness of the sound and the great light Kindled in me a longing for their cause, Never before with such acuteness felt;

Whence she, who saw me as I saw myself, To quiet in me my perturbed mind, Opened her mouth, ere I did mine to ask,

And she began: “Thou makest thyself so dull With false imagining, that thou seest not What thou wouldst see if thou hadst shaken it off.

Thou art not upon earth, as thou believest; But lightning, fleeing its appropriate site, Ne’er ran as thou, who thitherward returnest.”

If of my former doubt I was divested By these brief little words more smiled than spoken, I in a new one was the more ensnared;

And said: “Already did I rest content From great amazement; but am now amazed In what way I transcend these bodies light.”

Whereupon she, after a pitying sigh, Her eyes directed tow’rds me with that look A mother casts on a delirious child;

And she began: “All things whate’er they be Have order among themselves, and this is form, That makes the universe resemble God.

Here do the higher creatures see the footprints Of the Eternal Power, which is the end Whereto is made the law already mentioned.

In the order that I speak of are inclined All natures, by their destinies diverse, More or less near unto their origin;

Hence they move onward unto ports diverse O’er the great sea of being; and each one With instinct given it which bears it on.

This bears away the fire towards the moon; This is in mortal hearts the motive power This binds together and unites the earth.

Nor only the created things that are Without intelligence this bow shoots forth, But those that have both intellect and love.

The Providence that regulates all this Makes with its light the heaven forever quiet, Wherein that turns which has the greatest haste.

And thither now, as to a site decreed, Bears us away the virtue of that cord Which aims its arrows at a joyous mark.

True is it, that as oftentimes the form Accords not with the intention of the art, Because in answering is matter deaf,

So likewise from this course doth deviate Sometimes the creature, who the power possesses, Though thus impelled, to swerve some other way,

(In the same wise as one may see the fire Fall from a cloud,) if the first impetus Earthward is wrested by some false delight.

Thou shouldst not wonder more, if well I judge, At thine ascent, than at a rivulet From some high mount descending to the lowland.

Marvel it would be in thee, if deprived Of hindrance, thou wert seated down below, As if on earth the living fire were quiet.”

Thereat she heavenward turned again her face.

Paradiso: Canto II

O Ye, who in some pretty little boat, Eager to listen, have been following Behind my ship, that singing sails along,

Turn back to look again upon your shores; Do not put out to sea, lest peradventure, In losing me, you might yourselves be lost.

The sea I sail has never yet been passed; Minerva breathes, and pilots me Apollo, And Muses nine point out to me the Bears.

Ye other few who have the neck uplifted Betimes to th’ bread of Angels upon which One liveth here and grows not sated by it,

Well may you launch upon the deep salt-sea Your vessel, keeping still my wake before you Upon the water that grows smooth again.

Those glorious ones who unto Colchos passed Were not so wonder-struck as you shall be, When Jason they beheld a ploughman made!

The con-created and perpetual thirst For the realm deiform did bear us on, As swift almost as ye the heavens behold.

Upward gazed Beatrice, and I at her; And in such space perchance as strikes a bolt And flies, and from the notch unlocks itself,

Arrived I saw me where a wondrous thing Drew to itself my sight; and therefore she From whom no care of mine could be concealed,

Towards me turning, blithe as beautiful, Said unto me: “Fix gratefully thy mind On God, who unto the first star has brought us.”

It seemed to me a cloud encompassed us, Luminous, dense, consolidate and bright As adamant on which the sun is striking.

Into itself did the eternal pearl Receive us, even as water doth receive A ray of light, remaining still unbroken.

If I was body, (and we here conceive not How one dimension tolerates another, Which needs must be if body enter body,)

More the desire should be enkindled in us That essence to behold, wherein is seen How God and our own nature were united.

There will be seen what we receive by faith, Not demonstrated, but self-evident In guise of the first truth that man believes.

I made reply: “Madonna, as devoutly As most I can do I give thanks to Him Who has removed me from the mortal world.

But tell me what the dusky spots may be Upon this body, which below on earth Make people tell that fabulous tale of Cain?”

Somewhat she smiled; and then, “If the opinion Of mortals be erroneous,” she said, “Where’er the key of sense doth not unlock,

Certes, the shafts of wonder should not pierce thee Now, forasmuch as, following the senses, Thou seest that the reason has short wings.

But tell me what thou think’st of it thyself.” And I: “What seems to us up here diverse, Is caused, I think, by bodies rare and dense.”

And she: “Right truly shalt thou see immersed In error thy belief, if well thou hearest The argument that I shall make against it.

Lights many the eighth sphere displays to you Which in their quality and quantity May noted be of aspects different.

If this were caused by rare and dense alone, One only virtue would there be in all Or more or less diffused, or equally.

Virtues diverse must be perforce the fruits Of formal principles; and these, save one, Of course would by thy reasoning be destroyed.

Besides, if rarity were of this dimness The cause thou askest, either through and through This planet thus attenuate were of matter,

Or else, as in a body is apportioned The fat and lean, so in like manner this Would in its volume interchange the leaves.

Were it the former, in the sun’s eclipse It would be manifest by the shining through Of light, as through aught tenuous interfused.

This is not so; hence we must scan the other, And if it chance the other I demolish, Then falsified will thy opinion be.

But if this rarity go not through and through, There needs must be a limit, beyond which Its contrary prevents the further passing,

And thence the foreign radiance is reflected, Even as a colour cometh back from glass, The which behind itself concealeth lead.

Now thou wilt say the sunbeam shows itself More dimly there than in the other parts, By being there reflected farther back.

From this reply experiment will free thee If e’er thou try it, which is wont to be The fountain to the rivers of your arts.

Three mirrors shalt thou take, and two remove Alike from thee, the other more remote Between the former two shall meet thine eyes.

Turned towards these, cause that behind thy back Be placed a light, illuming the three mirrors And coming back to thee by all reflected.

Though in its quantity be not so ample The image most remote, there shalt thou see How it perforce is equally resplendent.

Now, as beneath the touches of warm rays Naked the subject of the snow remains Both of its former colour and its cold,

Thee thus remaining in thy intellect, Will I inform with such a living light, That it shall tremble in its aspect to thee.

Within the heaven of the divine repose Revolves a body, in whose virtue lies The being of whatever it contains.

The following heaven, that has so many eyes, Divides this being by essences diverse, Distinguished from it, and by it contained.

The other spheres, by various differences, All the distinctions which they have within them Dispose unto their ends and their effects.

Thus do these organs of the world proceed, As thou perceivest now, from grade to grade; Since from above they take, and act beneath.

Observe me well, how through this place I come Unto the truth thou wishest, that hereafter Thou mayst alone know how to keep the ford

The power and motion of the holy spheres, As from the artisan the hammer’s craft, Forth from the blessed motors must proceed.

The heaven, which lights so manifold make fair, From the Intelligence profound, which turns it, The image takes, and makes of it a seal.

And even as the soul within your dust Through members different and accommodated To faculties diverse expands itself,

So likewise this Intelligence diffuses Its virtue multiplied among the stars. Itself revolving on its unity.

Virtue diverse doth a diverse alloyage Make with the precious body that it quickens, In which, as life in you, it is combined.

From the glad nature whence it is derived, The mingled virtue through the body shines, Even as gladness through the living pupil.

From this proceeds whate’er from light to light Appeareth different, not from dense and rare: This is the formal principle that produces,

According to its goodness, dark and bright.”

Paradiso: Canto III

That Sun, which erst with love my bosom warmed, Of beauteous truth had unto me discovered, By proving and reproving, the sweet aspect.

And, that I might confess myself convinced And confident, so far as was befitting, I lifted more erect my head to speak.

But there appeared a vision, which withdrew me So close to it, in order to be seen, That my confession I remembered not.

Such as through polished and transparent glass, Or waters crystalline and undisturbed, But not so deep as that their bed be lost,

Come back again the outlines of our faces So feeble, that a pearl on forehead white Comes not less speedily unto our eyes;

Such saw I many faces prompt to speak, So that I ran in error opposite To that which kindled love ’twixt man and fountain.

As soon as I became aware of them, Esteeming them as mirrored semblances, To see of whom they were, mine eyes I turned,

And nothing saw, and once more turned them forward Direct into the light of my sweet Guide, Who smiling kindled in her holy eyes.

“Marvel thou not,” she said to me, “because I smile at this thy puerile conceit, Since on the truth it trusts not yet its foot,

But turns thee, as ’tis wont, on emptiness. True substances are these which thou beholdest, Here relegate for breaking of some vow.

Therefore speak with them, listen and believe; For the true light, which giveth peace to them, Permits them not to turn from it their feet.”

And I unto the shade that seemed most wishful To speak directed me, and I began, As one whom too great eagerness bewilders:

“O well-created spirit, who in the rays Of life eternal dost the sweetness taste Which being untasted ne’er is comprehended,

Grateful ’twill be to me, if thou content me Both with thy name and with your destiny.” Whereat she promptly and with laughing eyes:

“Our charity doth never shut the doors Against a just desire, except as one Who wills that all her court be like herself.

I was a virgin sister in the world; And if thy mind doth contemplate me well, The being more fair will not conceal me from thee,

But thou shalt recognise I am Piccarda, Who, stationed here among these other blessed, Myself am blessed in the slowest sphere.

All our affections, that alone inflamed Are in the pleasure of the Holy Ghost, Rejoice at being of his order formed;

And this allotment, which appears so low, Therefore is given us, because our vows Have been neglected and in some part void.”

Whence I to her: “In your miraculous aspects There shines I know not what of the divine, Which doth transform you from our first conceptions.

Therefore I was not swift in my remembrance; But what thou tellest me now aids me so, That the refiguring is easier to me.

But tell me, ye who in this place are happy, Are you desirous of a higher place, To see more or to make yourselves more friends?”

First with those other shades she smiled a little; Thereafter answered me so full of gladness, She seemed to burn in the first fire of love:

“Brother, our will is quieted by virtue Of charity, that makes us wish alone For what we have, nor gives us thirst for more.

If to be more exalted we aspired, Discordant would our aspirations be Unto the will of Him who here secludes us;

Which thou shalt see finds no place in these circles, If being in charity is needful here, And if thou lookest well into its nature;

Nay, ’tis essential to this blest existence To keep itself within the will divine, Whereby our very wishes are made one;

So that, as we are station above station Throughout this realm, to all the realm ’tis pleasing, As to the King, who makes his will our will.

And his will is our peace; this is the sea To which is moving onward whatsoever It doth create, and all that nature makes.”

Then it was clear to me how everywhere In heaven is Paradise, although the grace Of good supreme there rain not in one measure.

But as it comes to pass, if one food sates, And for another still remains the longing, We ask for this, and that decline with thanks,

E’en thus did I; with gesture and with word, To learn from her what was the web wherein She did not ply the shuttle to the end.

“A perfect life and merit high in-heaven A lady o’er us,” said she, “by whose rule Down in your world they vest and veil themselves,

That until death they may both watch and sleep Beside that Spouse who every vow accepts Which charity conformeth to his pleasure.

To follow her, in girlhood from the world I fled, and in her habit shut myself, And pledged me to the pathway of her sect.

Then men accustomed unto evil more Than unto good, from the sweet cloister tore me; God knows what afterward my life became.

This other splendour, which to thee reveals Itself on my right side, and is enkindled With all the illumination of our sphere,

What of myself I say applies to her; A nun was she, and likewise from her head Was ta’en the shadow of the sacred wimple.

But when she too was to the world returned Against her wishes and against good usage, Of the heart’s veil she never was divested.

Of great Costanza this is the effulgence, Who from the second wind of Suabia Brought forth the third and latest puissance.”

Thus unto me she spake, and then began “Ave Maria” singing, and in singing Vanished, as through deep water something heavy.

My sight, that followed her as long a time As it was possible, when it had lost her Turned round unto the mark of more desire,

And wholly unto Beatrice reverted; But she such lightnings flashed into mine eyes, That at the first my sight endured it not;

And this in questioning more backward made me.

Paradiso: Canto IV

Between two viands, equally removed And tempting, a free man would die of hunger Ere either he could bring unto his teeth.

So would a lamb between the ravenings Of two fierce wolves stand fearing both alike; And so would stand a dog between two does.

Hence, if I held my peace, myself I blame not, Impelled in equal measure by my doubts, Since it must be so, nor do I commend.

I held my peace; but my desire was painted Upon my face, and questioning with that More fervent far than by articulate speech.

Beatrice did as Daniel had done Relieving Nebuchadnezzar from the wrath Which rendered him unjustly merciless,

And said: “Well see I how attracteth thee One and the other wish, so that thy care Binds itself so that forth it does not breathe.

Thou arguest, if good will be permanent, The violence of others, for what reason Doth it decrease the measure of my merit?

Again for doubting furnish thee occasion Souls seeming to return unto the stars, According to the sentiment of Plato.

These are the questions which upon thy wish Are thrusting equally; and therefore first Will I treat that which hath the most of gall.

He of the Seraphim most absorbed in God, Moses, and Samuel, and whichever John Thou mayst select, I say, and even Mary,

“One work. Many languages. One reading experience.”