Part 19

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.”

Paradiso: Canto XIV

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.

Paradiso: Canto XV

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.”

Paradiso: Canto XVI

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.”

Paradiso: Canto XVII

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.

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