CANTO XXXIII.

Prayer to the Virgin.—The Beatific Vision.—The Ultimate Salvation.

PARADISE

CANTO I.

Proem.—Invocation.—Beatrice and Dante ascend to the Sphere of

Fire.—Beatrice explains the cause of their ascent.

The glory of Him who moves everything penetrates through the universe,

and shines in one part more and in another less. In the heaven that

receives most of its light I have been, and have seen things which he

who descends from thereabove neither knows how nor is able to recount;

because, drawing near to its own desire,[1] our understanding enters so

deep, that the memory cannot follow. Truly whatever of the Holy Realm I

could treasure up in my mind shall now be the theme of my song.

[1] The innate desire of the soul is to attain the vision of God.

O good Apollo, for this last labor make me such a vessel of thy power

as thou demandest for the gift of the loved laurel.[1] Thus far one

summit of Parnassus has been enough for me, but now with both[2] I need

to enter the remaining, arena. Enter into my breast, and breathe thou

in such wise as when thou drewest Marsyas from out the sheath of his

limbs. O divine Power, if thou lend thyself to me so that I may make

manifest the image of the Blessed Realm imprinted within my head, thou

shalt see me come to thy chosen tree, and crown myself then with those

leaves of which the theme and thou will make me worthy. So rarely,

Father, are they gathered for triumph or of Caesar or of poet (fault

and shame of the human wills), that the Peneian leaf[3] should bring

forth joy unto the joyous Delphic deity, whenever it makes any one to

long for it. Great flame follows a little spark: perhaps after me

prayer shall be made with better voices, whereto Cyrrha[4] may respond.

[1] So inspire me in this labor that I may deserve the gift of the

laurel.

[2] The Muses were fabled to dwell on one peak of Parnassus, Apollo on

the other. At the opening of the preceding parts of his poem Dante has

invoked the Muses only.

[3] Daphne, who was changed to the laurel, was the daughter of Peneus.

[4] Cyrrha, a city sacred to Apollo, not far from the foot of

Parnassus, and here used for the name of the god himself.

The lamp of the world rises to mortals through different passages, but

from that which joins four circles with three crosses it issues with

better course and conjoined with a better star, and it tempers and

seals the mundane wax more after its own fashion[1] Almost such a

passage had made morning there and evening here;[2] and there all that

hemisphere was white, and the other part black, when I saw Beatrice

turned upon the left side, and looking into the sun: never did eagle so

fix himself upon it. And even as a second ray is wont to issue from the

first, and mount upward again, like a pilgrim who wishes to return;

thus of her action, infused through the eyes into my imagination, mine

was made, and I fixed my eyes upon the sun beyond our use. Much is

allowed there which here is not allowed to our faculties, thanks to the

place made for the human race as its proper, abode.[3] Not long did I

endure it, nor so little that I did not see it sparkling round about,

like iron that issues boiling from the fire. And on a sudden,[4] day

seemed to be added to day, as if He who is able had adorned the heaven

with another sun.

[1] In the spring the sun rises from a point on the horizon, where the

four great circles, namely, the horizon, the zodiac, theequator, and

the equinoctial colure, meet, and, cutting each other, form three

crosses. The sun is in the sign of Aries, “a better star,” because the

influence of this constellation was supposed to be benignant, and under

it the earth reclothes itself. It was the season assigned to the

Creation, and to the Annunciation.

[2] There, in the Earthly Paradise; here, on earth. It is the morning

of Thursday, April 123. The hours from the mid-day preceding to this

dawn are undescribed.

[3] The Earthly Paradise, made for man in his original excellence.

[4] So rapid was his ascent to the sphere of fire, drawn upward by the

eyes of Beatrice.

Beatrice was standing with her eyes wholly fixed on the eternal wheels,

and on her I fixed my eyes from thereabove removed. Looking at her I

inwardly became such as Glaucus[1] became on tasting of the herb which

made him consort in the sea of the other gods. Transhumanizing cannot

be signified in words; therefore let the example[2] suffice for him to

whom grace reserves experience. If I was only what of me thou didst the

last create,[3] O Love that governest the heavens, Thou knowest, who

with Thy light didst lift me. When the revolution which Thou, being

desired, makest eternal,[4] made me attent unto itself with the harmony

which Thou attunest and modulatest, so much of the heaven then seemed

to me enkindled by the flame of the sun, that rain or river never made

so broad a lake.

[1] A fisherman changed to a sea-god. The story is in Ovid

(Metamorphoses, xiii.).

[2] Just cited, of Glauens.

[3] In the twenty-fifth Canto of Purgatory, Dante has said that when

the articulation of the brain is perfect God breathes into it a new

spirit, the living soul; and he means here that, like St. Paul caught

up into Paradise, he cannot tell “whether in the body or Out of the

body.” (2 Corinthians, xii. 3).

[4] The desire to be united with God is the source of the eternal

revolution of the heavens. “The Empyrean . . . is the cause of the most

swift motion of the Primum Mobile. because of the most ardent desire of

every part of the latter to be conjoined with every part of that most

divine quiet heaven.”—Convito, 14.

The novelty of the sound and the great light kindled in me a desire

concerning their cause, never before felt with such acuteness.

Whereupon she, who saw me as I see myself, to quiet my perturbed mind

opened her mouth, ere I mine to ask, and began, “Thou thyself makest

thyself dull with false imagining, so that thou seest not what thou

wouldst see, if thou hadst shaken it off. Thou art not on earth, as

thou believest; but lightning, flying from its proper site, never ran

as thou who thereunto[1] returnest.”

[1] To thine own proper site,—Heaven, the true home of the soul.

If I was divested of my first doubt by these brief little smiled- out

words, within a new one was I the more enmeshed. And I said, “Already I

rested content concerning a great wonder; but now I wonder how I can

transcend these light bodies.” Whereupon she, after a pitying sigh,

directed her eyes toward me, with that look which a mother turns on her

delirious son, and she began, “All things whatsoever have order among

themselves; and this is the form which makes the universe like to God.

Here[1] the high creatures[2] see the imprint of the eternal Goodness,

which is the end for which the aforesaid rule is made. In the order of

which I speak, all natures are arranged, by diverse lots, more or less

near to their source;[3] wherefore they are moved to diverse ports

through the great sea of being, and each one with an instinct given to

it which may bear it on. This bears the fire upward toward the moon;

this is the motive force in mortal hearts; this binds together and

unites the earth. Nor does this bow shoot forth.[4] Only the created

things which are outside intelligence, but also those which have

understanding and love. The Providence that adjusts all this, with its

own light makes forever quiet the heaven[5] within which that revolves

which hath the greatest speed. And thither now, as to a site decreed,

the virtue of that cord bears us on which directs to a joyful mark

whatever it shoots. True is it, that as the form often accords not to

the intention of the art, because the material is deaf to respond, so

the creature sometimes deviates from this course; for it has power,

though thus impelled, to incline in another direction (even as the fire

of a cloud may be seen to fall[6]), if the first impetus, bent aside by

false pleasure, turn it earthwards. Thou shouldst not, if I deem

aright, wonder more at thy ascent, than at a stream if from a high

mountain it descends to the base. A marvel it would be in thee, if,

deprived of hindrance, thou hadst sat below, even as quiet in living

fire on earth would be.”

[1] In this order of the universe.

[2] The created beings endowed with souls,—angels and men.

[3] The source of their being, God.

[4] This instinct directs to their proper end animate as well as

inanimate things, as the bow shoots the arrow to its mark.

[5] The Empyrean, within which the Primum Mobile, the first moving

heaven, revolves.

[6] Contrary to its true nature.

Thereon she turned again toward heaven her face.

CANTO II.

Proem.—Ascent to the Moon.—The cause of Spots on the Moon.—Influence of

the Heavens.

O ye, who are in a little bark, desirous to listen, following behind my

craft which singing passes on, turn to see again Your shores; put not

out upon the deep; for haply losing me, ye would remain astray. The

water that I sail was never crossed. Minerva inspires, and Apollo

guides me, and nine Muses point out to me the Bears.

Ye other few, who have lifted tip your necks be. times to the bread of

the Angels, oil which one here subsists, but never becomes sated of it,

ye may well put forth your vessel over the salt deep, keeping my wake

before you on the water which turns smooth again. Those glorious ones

who passed over to Colchos wondered not as ye shall do, when they saw

Jason become a ploughman.

The concreate and perpetual thirst for the deiform realm was bearing us

on swift almost as ye see the heavens. Beatrice was looking upward, and

I upon her, and perhaps in such time as a quarrel[1] rests, and flies,

and from the notch is unlocked,[2] I saw myself arrived where a

wonderful thing drew my sight to itself; and therefore she, from whom

the working of my mind could not be hid, turned toward me, glad as

beautiful. “Uplift thy grateful mind to God,” she said to me, “who with

the first star[3] has conjoined us.”

[1] The bolt for a cross-bow.

[2] The inverse order indicates the instantaneousness of the act.

[3] The moon.

It seemed to me that a cloud had covered us, lucid, dense, solid, and

polished, like a diamond which the sun had struck. Within itself the

eternal pearl had received us, even as water receives a ray of light,

remaining unbroken. If I was body (and here[1] it is not conceivable

how one dimension brooked another, which needs must be if body enter

body) the desire ought the more to kindle us to see that Essence, in

which is seen how our nature and God were united. There will be seen

that which we hold by faith, not demonstrated, but it will be known of

itself like the first truth which man believes.[2]

[1] On earth, by mortal faculties.

[2] Not demonstrated by argument, but known by direct cognition, like

the intuitive perception of first principles, per se notu.

I replied, “My Lady, devoutly to the utmost that I can, do I thank him

who from the mortal world has removed me. But tell me what are the

dusky marks of this body, which there below on earth make people fable

about Cain?”[1]

[1] Fancying the dark spaces on the surface of the moon to represent

Cain carrying a thorn-bush for the fire of his sacrifice.

She smiled somewhat, and then she said, “If the opinion of mortals errs

where the key of sense unlocks not, surely the shafts of wonder ought

not now to pierce thee, since thou seest that the reason following the

senses has short wings. But tell me what thou thyself thinkest of it.”

And I, “That which here above appears to us diverse, I believe is

caused by rare and dense bodies.” And she, “Surely enough thou shalt

see that thy belief is submerged in error, if then listenest well to

the argument that I shall make against it. The eighth sphere[1]

displays to you many lights, which may be noted of different aspects in

quality and quantity. If rare and dense effected all this,[2] one

single virtue, more or less or equally distributed, would be in all.

Different virtues must needs be fruits of formal principles;[3] and by

thy reckoning, these, all but one, would be destroyed. Further, if

rarity were the cause of that darkness of which you ask, either this

planet would be thus deficient of its matter through and through, or

else as a body distributes the fat and the loan, so this would

interchange the leaves in its volume. If the first were the case, it

would be manifest in the eclipses of the sun, by the shining through of

the light, as when it is poured out upon any other rare body. This is

not so; therefore we must look at the other, and if it happen that I

quash this other, thy opinion will be falsified. If it be that this

rare passes not through,[4] there needs must be a limit, beyond which

its contrary allows it not to pass further; and thence the ray from

another body is poured back, just as color returns through a glass

which hides lead behind itself. Now thou wilt say that the ray shows

itself dimmer there than in the other parts, by being there reflected

from further back. From this objection experiment, which is wont to be

the fountain to the streams of your arts, may deliver thee, if ever

thou try it. Thou shalt take three mirrors, and set two of them at an

equal distance from thee, and let the other, further removed, meet

thine eyes between the first two. Turning toward them, cause a light to

be placed behind thy back, which may illumine the three mirrors, and

return to thee thrown back front all. Although the more distant image

reach thee not so great in quantity, thou wilt then see how it cannot

but be of equal brightness.

[1] The heaven of the fixed stars.

[2] If all this difference were caused merely by difference in rarity

and density.

[3] The stars exert various influences; hence their differences, from

which the variety of their influence proceeds, must be caused by

different formal principles or intrinsic causes.

[4] Extends not through the whole substance of the moon.

“Now, as beneath the blows of the warm rays that which lies under the

snow remains bare both of the former color[1] and the cold, thee, thus

remaining in thy intellect, will I inform with light so living that it

shall tremble in its aspect to thee.[2]

[1] The color of the snow.

[2[My argument has removed the error which covered thy mind, and nov I

will tell thee the true cause of the variety in the surface of the

moon.

“Within the heaven of the divine peace revolves a body, in whose virtue

lies the being of all that it contains.[1] The following heaven[2]

which has so many sights, distributes that being through divers

essences[3] from it distinct, and by it contained. The other spheres,

by various differences, dispose the distinctions which they have within

themselves unto their ends and their seeds.[4] These organs of the

world thus proceed, as thou now seest, from grade to grade; for they

receivefrom above, and operate below. Observe me well, how I advance

through this place to the truth which thou desirest, so that hereafter

thou mayest know to keep the ford alone. The motion and the virtue of

the holy spheres must needs be inspired by blessed motors, as the work

of the hammer by the smith. And the heaven, which so many lights make

beautiful, takes its image from the deep Mind which revolves it, and

makes thereof a seal. And as the soul within your dust is diffused

through different members, and conformed to divers potencies, so the

Intelligence[5] displays its own goodness multiplied through the stars,

itself circling upon its own unity. Divers virtue makes divers alloy

with the precious body that it quickens, in which, even as life in you,

it is bound. Because of the glad nature whence, it flows, the virtue

mingled through the body shines,[6] as gladness through the living

pupil. From this,[7] comes whatso seems different between light and

light, not from dense and rare; this is the formal principle which

produces, conformed unto its goodness, the dark and the bright.”

[1] Within the motionless sphere of the Empyrean revolves that of the

Primum Mobile, from whose virtue, communicated to it from the Empyrean,

all the inferior spheres contained within it derive their special mode

of being.

[2] The heaven of the Fixed Stars.

[3] Through the planets, called essences because each has a specific

mode of being.

[4] “The rays of the heavens are the way by which their virtue descends

to the things below.”—Convito, ii. 7.

[5] Which moves the heavens.

[6] The brightness of the stars comes from the joy which radiates

through them.

[7] From the divers virtue making divers alloy.

CANTO III.

The Heaven of the Moon.—Spirits whose vows had been broken.—Piccarda

Donati.—The Empress Constance.

That sun which first had heated my breast with love, proving and

refuting, had uncovered to me the sweet aspect of fair truth; and I, in

order to confess myself corrected and assured so far as was needful,

raised my head more erect to speak. But a vision appeared which held me

to itself so close in order to be seen, that of my confession I

remembered not.

As through transparent and polished glasses, or through clear and

tranquil waters, not so deep that their bed be lost, the lineaments of

our faces return so feebly that a pearl on a white brow comes not less

readily to our eyes, so I saw many faces eager to speak; wherefore I

ran into the error contrary to that which kindled love between the man

and the fountain.[1] Suddenly, even as I became aware of them,

supposing them mirrored semblances, I turned my eyes to see of whom

they were; and I saw nothing; and I turned them forward again, straight

into the light of the sweet guide who, smiling, was glowing in her holy

eyes. “Wonder not because I smile,” she said to me, “at thy puerile

thought, since thy foot trusts itself not yet upon the truth, but turns

thee, as it is wont, to emptiness. True substances are these which thou

seest, here relegated through failure in their vows. Therefore speak

with them, and hear, and believe; for the veracious light which

satisfies them allows them not to turn their feet from itself.”

[1] Narcissus conceived the image to be a true face; Dante takes the

real faces to be mirrored semblances.

And I directed me to the shade that seemed most eager to speak, and I

began, even like a man whom too strong wish confuses, “O well-created

spirit, who in the rays of life eternal tastest the sweetness, which

untasted never is understood, it will be gracious to me, if thou

contentest me with thy name, and with your destiny.” Whereon she

promptly, and with smiling eyes, “Our charity locks not its door to a

just wish, more than that which wills that all its court be like

itself. I was in the world a virgin sister,[1] and if thy mind well

regards, my being more beautiful will not conceal me from thee; but

thou wilt recognize that I am Piccarda,[2] who, placed here with these

other blessed Ones, am blessed in the slowest sphere. Our affections,

which are inflamed only in the pleasure of the Holy Spirit, rejoice in

being formed according to His order;[3] and this allotment, which

appears so low, is forsooth given to us, because our vows were

neglected or void in some part.” Whereon I to her, In your marvellous

aspects there shines I know not what divine which transmutes you from

our first conceptions; therefore I was not swift in remembering; but

now that which you say to me assists me, so that refiguring is plainer

to me. But tell me, ye who are happy here, do ye desire a highher

place, in order to see more, or to make yourselves more friends?” With

those other shades she first smiled a little; then answered me so glad,

that she seemed to burn in the first fire of love, “Brother, virtue of

charity[4] quiets our will, and makes us wish only for that which we

have, and for aught else makes us not thirsty. Should we desire to be

higher up, our desires would be discordant with the will of Him who

assigns us to this place, which thou wilt see is not possible in these

circles, if to be in charity is here necesse,[5] and if its nature thou

dost well consider. Nay, it is essential to this blessed existence to

hold ourselves within the divine will, whereby our very wills are made

one. So that as we are, from stage to stage throughout this realm, to

all the realm is pleasing, as to the King who inwills us with His will.

And His will is our peace; it is that sea whereunto is moving all that

which It creates and which nature makes.”

[1] A nun, of the order of St. Clare.

[2] The sister of Corso Donati and of Forese: see Purgatory, Canto

XXIII. It may not be without intention that the first blessed spirit

whom Dante sees in Paradise is a relative of his own wife, Gemma dei

Donati.

[3] Rejoice in whatever grade of bliss is assigned to thern in that

order of the universe which is the form that makes it like unto God.

[4] Charity here means love, the love of God.

[5] Of necessity; the Latin word being used for the rhyme's sake.

“Mansionem Deus haber non potest ubi charitas non est” B. Alberti

Magni, De adhoerendo Deo, c. xii.

Clear was it then to me, how everywhere in Heaven is Paradise, although

the grace of the Supreme Good rains not there in one measure.

But even as it happen, if one food sates, and for another the appetite

still remains, that this is asked for, and that declined with thanks;

so did I, with gesture and with speech, to learn from her, what was the

web whereof she did not draw the shuttle to the head.[1] “Perfect life

and high merit in-heaven a lady higher up,” she said to me, “according

to whose rule, in your world below, there are who vest and veil

themselves, so that till death they may wake and sleep with that Spouse

who accepts every vow which love conforms unto His pleasure. A young

girl, I fled from the world to follow her, and in her garb I shut

myself, and pledged me to the pathway of her order. Afterward men, more

used to ill than good, dragged me forth from the sweet cloister;[2] and

God knows what then my life became. And this other splendor, which

shows itself to thee at my right side, and which glows with all the

light of our sphere, that which I say of me understands of herself.[3]

A sister was she; and in like manner from her head the shadow of the

sacred veils was taken. But after she too was returned unto the world

against her liking and against good usage, from the veil of the heart

she was never unbound.[4] This is the light of the great Constance,[5]

who from the second wind of Swabia produced the third and the last

power.”

[1] To learn from her what was the vow which she did not fulfil.

[2] According to the old commentators, her brother Corso forced

Piccarda by violence to leave the convent, in order to make a marriage

which he desired for her.

[3] Her experience was similar to that of Piccarda.

[4] She remained a nun at heart.

[5] Constance, daughter of the king of Sicily, Roger 1.; married, in

1186, to the Emperor, Henry VI., the son of Frederick Barbarossa, and

father of Frederick II, who died in 1250, the last Emperor of his line.

Thus she spoke to me, and then began singing “Ave Maria,” and Singing

vanished, like a heavy thing through deep water. My sight, that

followed her so far as was possible, after it lost her turned to the

mark of greater desire, and wholly rendered itself to Beatrice; but she

so flashed upon my gaze that at first the sight endured it not: and

this made me more slow in questioning.

CANTO IV.

Doubts of Dante, respecting the justice of Heaven and the abode of the

blessed, solved by Beatrice.—Question of Dante as to the possibility of

reparation for broken vows.

Between two viands, distant and attractive in like measure, a free man

would die of hunger, before he would bring one of them to his teeth.

Thus a lamb would stand between two ravenings of fierce wolves, fearing

equally; thus would stand a dog between two does. Hence if, urged by my

doubts in like measure, I was silent, I blame not myself; nor, since it

was necessary, do I commend.

I was silent, but my desire was depicted on my face, and the

questioning with that far more fervent than by distinct speech.

Beatrice did what Daniel did, delivering Nebuchadnezzar from anger,

which had made him unjustly cruel, and said, “I see clearly how one and

the other desire draws thee, so that thy care so binds itself that it

breathes not forth. Thou reasonest, 'If the good will endure, by what

reckoning doth the violence of others lessen for me the measure of

desert?' Further, it gives thee occasion for doubt, that the souls

appear to return to the stars, in accordance with the opinion of

Plato.[1] These are the questions that thrust equally upon thy wish;

and therefore I will treat first of that which hath the most venom.[2]

[1] Plato, in his Timaeus (41, 42), says that the creator of the

universe assigned each soul to a star, whence they were to be sown in

the vessels of time. “ He who lived well during his appointed time was

to return to the star which was his habitation, and there he would have

a blessed and suitable existence.” Dante's doubt has arisen from the

words of Piccarda, which implied that her station was in the sphere of

the Moon.

[2] The conception that the souls after death had their abode in the

stars would be a definite heresy, and hence far more dangerous than a

question concerning the justice of Heaven, for such a question might be

consistent with entire faith in that justice.

“Of the Seraphim he who is most in God, Moses, Samuel, and whichever

John thou wilt take, I say, and even Mary, have not their seats in

another heaven than those spirits who just now appeared to thee, nor

have they more or fewer years for their existence; but all make

beautiful the first circle, and have sweet life in different measure,

through feeling more or less the eternal breath.[1] They showed

themselves here, not because this sphere is allotted to them, but to

afford sign of the celestial condition which is least exalted. To speak

thus is befitting to your mind, since only by objects of the sense doth

it apprehend that which it then makes worthy of the understanding. For

this reason the Scripture condescends to your capacity, and attributes

feet and hands to God, while meaning otherwise; and Holy Church

represents to you with human aspect Gabriel and Michael and the other

who made Tobias whole again.[2] That which Timaeus, reasons of the

souls is not like this which is seen here, since it seems that he

thinks as he says. He says that the soul returns to its own star,

believing it to have been severed thence, when nature gave it as the

form.[3] And perchance his opinion is of other guise than his words

sound, and may be of a meaning not to be derided. If he means that the

honor of their influence and the blame returns to these wheels, perhaps

his bow hits on some truth. This principle, ill understood, formerly

turned awry almost the whole world, so that it ran astray in naming

Jove, Mercury, and Mars.[4]

[1] The abode of all the blessed is the Empyrean,—the first circle,

counting from above; but there are degrees in blessedness, each spirit

enjoying according to its capacity; no one is conscious of any lack.

[2] The archangel Raphael.

[3] The intellectual soul is united with the body as its substantial

form. That by means of which anything performs its functions (operatur)

is its form. The soul is that by which the body lives, and hence is its

form.—Summa Theol., I. lxxvi. 1, 6, 7.

[4] The belief in the influence of the stars led men to assign to them

divine powers, and to name their gods after them.

The other dubitation which disturbs thee has less venom, for its malice

could not lead thee from me elsewhere. That our justice seems unjust in

the eyes of mortals is argument of faith,[1] and not of heretical

iniquity. But in order that your perception may surely penetrate unto

this truth, I will make thee content, as thou desirest. Though there be

violence when he who suffers nowise consents to him who compels, these

souls were not by reason of that excused; for will, unless it wills, is

not quenched,[2] but does as nature does in fire, though violence a

thousand times may wrest it. Wherefore if it bend much or little, it

follows the force; and thus these did, having power to return to the

holy place. If their will had been entire, such as held Lawrence on the

gridiron, and made Mucius severe unto his hand, it would have urged

them back, so soon as they were loosed, along the road on which they

had been dragged; but will so firm is too rare. And by these words, if

thou hast gathered them up as thou shouldst, is the argument quashed

that would have given thee annoy yet many times.

[1] Mortals would not trouble themselves concerning the justice of God,

unless they had faith in it. These perplexities are then arguments or

proofs of faith; as St. Thomas Aquinas says, “The merit of faith

consists in believing what one does not see.” But in this case, as

Beatrice goes on to show, mere human intelligence if Sufficient to see

that the injustice is only apparent.

[2] Violence has no power over the will; the original will may,

however, by act of will, be changed.

“But now another path runs traverse before thine eyes, such that by

thyself thou wouldst not issue forth therefrom ere thou wert weary. I

have put it in thy mind for certain, that a soul in bliss cannot lie,

since it is always near to the Primal Truth; and then thou hast heard

from Piccarda that Constance retained affection for the veil; so that

she seems in this to contradict me. Often ere now, brother, has it

happened that, in order to escape peril, that which it was not meet to

do has been done against one's liking; even as Alcmaeon (who thereto

entreated by his father, slew his own mother), not to lose piety,

pitiless became. On this point, I wish thee to think that the violence

is mingled with the will, and they so act that the offences cannot be

excused. Absolute will consents not to the wrong; but the will in so

far consents thereto, as it fears, if it draw back, to fall into

greater trouble. Therefore when Piccarda says that, she means it of the

absolute will; and I of the other so that we both speak truth alike.”

Such was the current of the holy stream which issued from the fount

whence every truth flows forth; and such it set at rest one and the

other desire.

“O beloved of the First Lover, O divine one,” said I then, “whose

speech inundates me, and warms me so that more and more it quickens me,

my affection is not so profound that it can suffice to render to you

grace for grace, but may He who sees and can, respond for this. I

clearly see that our intellect is never satisfied unless the Truth

illume it, outside of which no truth extends. In that it reposes, as a

wild beast in his lair, soon as it has reached it: and it can reach it;

otherwise every desire would be in vain. Because of this,[1] the doubt,

in likeness of a shoot, springs up at the foot of the truth; and it is

nature which urges us to the summit from height to height. This[2]

invites me, this gives me assurance, Lady, with reverence to ask you of

another truth which is obscure to me. I wish to know if man can make

satisfaction to you[3] for defective vows with other goods, so that in

your scales they may not be light?” looked at we with such divine eyes,

full of the sparks of love, that my power, vanquished, turned its back,

and almost I lost myself with eyes cast down.

[1] Of this constant desire for truth.

[2] This natural impulse.

[3] To you, that is, to the court of Heaven.

CANTO V.

The sanctity of vows, and the seriousness with which they are to be

made or changed.—Ascent to the Heaven of Mercury.—The shade of

Justinian.

“If I flame upon thee in the heat of love, beyond the fashion that on

earth is seen, go that I vanquish the valor of thine eyes, marvel not,

for it proceeds from perfect vision,[1] which according as it

apprehends, so moves its feet to the apprehended good. I see clearly

how already shines in thy intellect the eternal light, which, being

seen, alone ever enkindles love. And if any other thing seduce your

love, it is naught but some vestige of that, illrecognized, which

therein shines through. Thou wishest to know if for a defective vow so

much can be rendered with other service as may secure the soul from

suit.”

[1] From the brightness of my eyes illuminated by the divine light.

Thus Beatrice began this canto, and even as one who breaks not off his

speech, she thus continued her holy discourse. “The greatest gift which

God in His largess bestowed in creating, and the most conformed unto

His goodness and that which He esteems the most, was the freedom of the

will, with which all the creatures of intelligence, and they alone,

were and are endowed. Now will appear to thee, if from this thou

reasonest, the high worth of the vow, if it be such that God consent

when thou consentest;[1] for, in closing the compact between God and

man, sacrifice is made of this treasure, which is such as I say, and it

is made by its own act. What then can be rendered in compensation? If

thou thinkest to make good use of that which thou hast offered, with

illgotten gain thou wouldst do good work.[2]

[1] If the vow be valid through its acceptance by God.

[2] The intent to put what had been vowed to another (though good) use,

affords no excuse for breaking a vow.

“Thou art now assured of the greater point; but since Holy Church in

this gives dispensation, which seems contrary to the truth which I have

disclosed to thee, it behoves thee still to sit a little at table,

because the tough food which thou hast taken requires still some aid

for thy digestion. Open thy mind to that which I reveal to thee, and

enclose it therewithin; for to have heard without retaining doth not

make knowledge.

“Two things combine in the essence of this sacrifice; the one is that

of which it consists, the other is the covenant. This last is never

cancelled if it be not kept; and concerning this has my preceding

speech been so precise. On this account it was necessary for the

Hebrews still to make offering, although some part of the offering

might be changed, as thou shouldst know.[1] The other, which as the

matter[2] is known to thee, may truly be such that one errs not if for

some other matter it be changed. But let not any one shift the load

upon his shoulder at his own will, without the turning both of the

white and of the yellow key.[3] And let him deem every permutation

foolish, if the thing laid down be not included in the thing taken up,

as four in six.[4] Therefore whatever thing is, through its own worth,

of such great weight that it can draw down every balance, cannot be

made good with other spending.

[1] See Leviticus, xxvii., in respect to commutation allowed.

[2] That is, as the subject matter of the vow, the thing of which

sacrifice is made.

[3] Without the turning of the keys of St. Peter, that is, without

clerical dispensation; the key of gold signifying authority, that of

silver, knowledge. Cf. Purgatory, Canto IX.

[4] The matter substituted must exceed in worth that of the original

vow, but not necessarily in a definite proportion.

“Let not mortals take a vow in jest; be faithful, and not squint-eyed

in doing this, as Jephthah was in his first. offering;[1] to whom it

better behoved to say, 'I have done ill,' than, by keeping his vow, to

do worse. And thou mayest find the great leader of the Greeks in like

manner foolish; wherefore Iphigenia wept for her fair face, and made

weep for her both the simple and the wise, who heard speak of such like

observance. Be, ye Christians, more grave in moving; be not like a

feather on every wind, and think not that every water can wash you. Ye

have the Old and the New Testament, and the Shepherd of the Church, who

guides you; let this suffice you for your salvation. If evil

covetousness cry aught else to you, be ye men, and not silly sheep, so

that the Jew among you may not laugh at you. Act not like the lamb,

that leaves the milk of his mother, and, simple and wanton, at its own

pleasure combats with itself.”

[1] See Judges, xi.

Thus Beatrice to me, even as I write; then all desireful turned herself

again to that region where the world is most alive.[1] Her silence, and

her transmuted countenance imposed silence on my eager mind, which

already had new questions in advance. And even as an arrow, that hits

the mark before the bowstring is quiet, so we ran into the second

realm.[2] Here I saw my lady so joyous as she entered into the light of

that heaven, that thereby the planet became more lucent. And if the

star war, changed and smiled, what did I become, who even by my nature

am transmutable in every wise!

[1] Looking upward, toward the Empyrean.

[2] The Heaven of Mercury, where blessed spirits who have been active

in the pursuit of honor and fame show themselves.

As in a fishpond, which is tranquil and pure, the fish draw to that

which comes from without in such manner that they deem. it their food,

so indeed I saw more than a thousand splendors drawing toward. us, and

in each one was heard,—“Lo, one who shall increase our loves!”[1] And

as each came to us, the shade was seen full of joy in the bright

effulgence that issued from it.

[1] By giving us occasion to manifest our love.

Think, Reader, if that which is here begun should not proceed, how thou

wouldst have distressful want of knowing more; and by thyself thou wilt

see how desirous I was to hear from these of their conditions, as they

became manifest to mine eyes. “O well-born,[1] to whom Grace concedes

to see the thrones of the eternal triumph ere the warfare is

abandoned,[2] with the light which spreads through the whole heaven we

are enkindled, and therefore if thou desirest to make thyself clear

concerning us, at thine own pleasure sate thyself.” Thus was said to me

by one of those pious spirits; and by Beatrice, “Speak, speak securely,

and trust even as to gods.” “I see clearly, how thou dost nest thyself

in thine ownlight, and that by thine eyes thou drawest it, because they

sparkle when thou smilest; but I know not who thou art, nor why thou

hast, O worthy soul, thy station in the sphere which is veiled to

mortals by another's rays.”[3] This I said, addressed unto the light

which first had spoken to me; whereon it became more lucent far than it

had been. Even as the sun, which, when the heat has consumed the

tempering of dense vapors, conceals itself by excess of light, so,

through greater joy, the holy shape bid itself from me within its own

radiance, and thus close enclosed, it answered me in the fashion that

the following canto sings.

[1] That is, born to good, to attain blessedness.

[2] Ere thy life on earth, as a member of the Church Militant, is

ended.

[3] Mercury is veiled by the Sun.

CANTO VI.

Justinian tells of his own life.—The story of the Roman Eagle.—Spirits

in the planet Mercury.—Romeo.

After Constantine turned the Eagle counter to the course of the heavens

which it had followed behind the ancient who took to wife Lavinia,[1] a

hundred and a hundred years and more[2] the bird of God held itself on

the verge of Europe, near to the Mountains[3] from which it first came

forth, and there governed the world beneath the shadow of the sacred

wings, from hand to hand, and thus changing, unto mine own arrived.

Caesar I was,[4] and am Justinian, who, through will of the primal Love

which I feel, drew out from among the laws what was superfluous and

vain.[5] And before I was intent on this work, I believed one nature to

be in Christ, not more,[6] and with such faith was content. But the

blessed Agapetus, who was the supreme pastor, directed me to the pure

faith with his words. I believed him; and that which was in his faith I

now see clearly, even as thou seest every contradiction to be both

false and true.[7] Soon as with the Church I moved my feet, it pleased

God, through grace, to inspire me with the high labor, and I gave

myself wholly to it. And I entrusted my armies to my Belisarius, to

whom the right hand of Heaven was so joined that it was a sign that I

should take repose.

[1] Constantine, transferring the seat of Empire from Rome to

Byzantium, carried the Eagle from West to East, counter to the course

along which Aeneas had borne it when he went from Troy to found the

Roman Empire.

[2] From A. D. 324, when the transfer was begun, to 527, when Justinian

became Emperor.

[3] Of the Troad, opposite Byzantium.

[4] On earth Emperor, but in Heaven earthly dignities exist no longer.

[5] The allusion is to Justinian's codification of the Roman Law.

[6] The divine nature only. Dante here follows Brunetto Latini (Li

Tresor, I. ii. 87) in an historical error.

[7] Of the two terms of a contradictory proposition one is true, the

other false.

“Now here to the first question my answer comes to the stop; but its

nature constrains me to add a sequel to it, in order that thou mayst

see with how much reason[1] move against the ensign sacrosanct, both he

who appropriates it to himself,[2] and he who opposes himself to it.[3]

See how great virtue has made it worthy of reverence,” and he began

from the hour when Pallas[4] died to give it a kingdom. “Thou knowest

it made in Alba its abode for three hundred years and move, till at the

end the three fought with the three[4] for its sake still. And thou

knowest what it did, from the wrong of the Sabine women clown to the

sorrow of Lucretia, in seven kings, conquering the neighboring peoples

round about. Thou knowest what it did when borne by the illustrious

Romans against Brennus, against Pyrrhus, and against the other chiefs

and allies; whereby Torquatus, and Quinctius who was named from his

neglected locks, the Decii and the Fabii acquired the fame which

willingly I embalm. It struck to earth the pride of the Arabs, who,

following Hannibal, passed the Alpine rocks from which thou, Po,

glidest. Beneath it, in their youth, Scipio and Pompey triumphed, and

to that hill beneath which thou wast born, it seemed bitter.[5] Then,

near the time when all Heaven willed to bring the world to its own

serene mood, Caesar by the will of Rome took it: and what it did from

the Var even to the Rhine, the Isere beheld, and the Saone, and the

Seine beheld, and every valley whence the Rhone is filled. What

afterward it did when it came forth from Ravenna, and leaped the

Rubicon, was of such flight that neither tongue nor pen could follow

it. Toward Spain it wheeled its troop; then toward Dyrrachium, and

smote Pharsalia so that to the warm Nile the pain was felt. It saw

again Antandros and Simois, whence it set forth, and there where Hector

lies; and ill for Ptolemy then it shook itself. Thence it swooped

flashing down on Juba; then wheeled again unto your west, where it

heard the Pompeian trumpet. Of what it did with the next

standard-bearer,[7] Bruttis and Cassius are barking in Hell; and it

made Modena and Perugia woful. Still does the sad Cleopatra weep

therefor, who, fleeing before it, took from the asp sudden and black

death. With him it ran far as the Red Sea shore; with him it set the

world in peace so great that on Janus his temple was locked up. But

what the ensign which makes me speak had done before, and after was to

do, through the mortal realm that is subject to it, becomes in

appearance little and obscure, if in the hand of the third Caesar[8] it

be looked at with clear eye, and with pure affection. For the living

Justice which inspires me granted to it, in the hand of him of whom I

speak, the glory of doing vengeance for Its own ire[9]—now marvel here

at that which I unfold to thee,—then with Titus it ran to do vengeance

for the avenging of the ancient sin.[2] And when the Lombard tooth bit

the Holy Church, under its wings Charlemagne, conquering, succored her.

[1] Ironical. The meaning is, “how wrongly.”

[2] The Ghibelline.

[3] The Guelph.

[4] Son of Evander, King of Latium, sent by his father to aid Aeneas.

His death in battle against Turnus led to that of Turnus himself, and

to the possession of the Latian kingdom by Aeneas.

[5] The Horatii and Curiatii.

[6] According to popular tradition Fiesole was destroyed by the Romans

after the defeat of Catiline.

[7] Augustus.

[8] Tiberius.

[9] It was under the authority of Rome that Christ was crucified,

whereby the sin of Adam. was avenged.

[10] Vengeance was taken on the Jews, because although the death of

Christ was divinely ordained, their crime in it was none the less.

“Now canst thou judge of such as those whom I accused above, and of

their crimes, which are the cause of all your ills. To the public

ensign one opposes the yellow lilies,[1] and the other appropriates it

to a party, so that it is hard to see which is most at fault. Let the

Ghibellines practice, let them practice their art under another ensign,

for he ever follows it ill who parts justice and it. And let not this

new Charles[2] strike it down with his Guelphs, but let him fear its

talons, which from a loftier lion have stripped the fell. Often ere now

the sons have wept for the sin of the father; and let him not believe

that for his lilies Goa win change His arms.

[1] The fleur-de-lys of France.

[2] Charles II., King of Apulia, son of Charles of Anjou.

“This little star is furnished with good spirits who have been active

in order that honor and fame may follow them. And when the desires thus

straying mount here, it must needs be that the rays of the true love

mount upward less living.[1] But in the commeasuring of our wages with

our desert is part of our joy, because we see them neither less nor

greater. Hereby the living Justice so sweetens the affection in us,

that it can never be bent aside to any wrong. Diverse voices make sweet

notes; thus in our life diverse benches[2] render sweet harmony among

these wheels.

[1] The desire for fame interferes with, though it may not wholly

prevent, the true love of God.

[2] The different grades of the blessed.

“And within the present pearl shines the light of Romeo, whose great

and beautiful work was ill rewarded. But the Provencals who wrought

against him are not smiling; and forsooth he goes an ill road who makes

harm for himself of another's good deed.[1] Four daughters, and each a

queen, had Raymond Berenger, and Romeo, a humble person and a pilgrim,

did this[2] for him. And then crooked words moved him to demand a

reckoning of this just man, who rendered to him seven and five for ten.

Then he departed, poor and old, and if the world but knew the heart he

had, while begging his livelihood bit by bit, much as it lauds him it

would laud him more.”

[1] According to Giovanni Villani (vi. 90), one Romeo, a pilgrim, came

to the court of Raymond Berenger IV., Count of Provence (who died, in

1245), and winning the count's favor, served him with such wisdom and

fidelity that by his means his master's revenues were greatly

increased, and his four daughters married to four kings,—Margaret, to

Louis IX. of France, St. Louis; Eleanor, to Henry III. of England;

Sanzia, to Richard, Earl of Cornwall (brother of Henry III.), elected

King of the Romans; and Beatrice, to Charles of Anjou (brother of Louis

IX.), King of Apulia and Sicily. The Provencal nobles, jealous of

Romeo, procured his dismissal, and he departed, with his mule and his

pilgrim's staff and scrip, and was never seen more.

[2] The making each a queen.

CANTO VII.

Discourse of Beatrice.—The Fall of Man.—The scheme of his Redemption.

“Osanna sanctus Deus Sabaoth, superillustrans claritate tua felices

ignes horum malacoth!”[1]—thus, turning to its own melody, this

substance,[2] upon which a double light is twinned,[3] was seen by me

to sing. And it and the others moved with their dance, and like

swiftest sparks veiled themselves to me with sudden distance. I was in

doubt, and was saying to myself, “Tell her, tell her,” I was saying,

“tell her, my Lady, who slakes my thirst with her sweet distillings;”

but that reverence which lords it altogether over me, only by BE and by

ICE,[4] bowed me again like one who drowses. Little did Beatrice endure

me thus, and she began, irradiating me with a smile such as would make

a man in the fire happy, “According to my infallible advisement, how a

just vengeance could be justly avenged has set thee thinking. But I

will quickly loose thy mind: and do thou listen, for my words will make

thee a present of a great doctrine.

[1] “Hosanna! Holy God of Sabaoth, beaming with thy brightness upon the

blessed fires of these realms.”

[2] Substance, as a scholastic term, signifies a being subsisting by

itself with a quality of its own. “Substantiae nomen significat

essentiam cui competit sic esse, id est per se esse; quod tamen esse

non est ipsa ejus essentia.”—Summa Theol. I. iii. 5.

[3] The double light of Emperor and compiler of the Laws.

[4] Only by the sound of her name.

“By not enduring for his own good a curb upon the power which wills,

that man who was not born,—damning himself, damned all his offspring;

wherefore the human race lay sick below for many centuries, in great

error, till it pleased the Word of God to descend where He, by the sole

act of His eternal love, united with Himself in person the nature which

had. removed itself from its Maker.

“Now direct thy sight to the discourse which follows. This nature,

united with its Maker, became sincere and good, as it had been created;

but by itself it had been banished from Paradise, because it turned

aside from the way of truth and from its own life. The punishment

therefore which the cross afforded, if it be measured by the nature

assumed, none ever so justly stung; and, likewise, none was ever of

such great wrong, regarding the Person who suffered, with whom this

nature was united. Therefore from one act issued things diverse; for

unto God and unto the Jews one death was pleasing: by it earth trembled

and the heavens were opened. No more henceforth ought it to seem

perplexing to thee, when it is said that a just vengeance was afterward

avenged by a just court,

“But I see now thy mind tied up, from thought to thought, within a knot

the loosing of which is awaited with great desire, Thou sayest, 'I

discern clearly that which I bear; but it is occult to we why God

should will only this mode for our redemption.' This decree, brother,

stands buried to the eyes of every one whose wit is not full grown in

the flame of love. Truly, inasmuch as on this mark there is much

gazing, and little is discerned, I will tell why such mode was most

worthy. The Divine Goodness, which from Itself spurns all rancor,

burning in Itself so sparkles that It displays the eternal beauties.

That which distils immediately[1] from It, thereafter has no end, for

when It seals, Its imprint is not removed. That which from It

immediately rains down is wholly free, because it is not subject unto

the power of the new things.[2] It is the most conformed to It, and

therefore pleases It the most; for the Holy Ardor which irradiates

every thing is most living in what is most resemblance to Itself. With

all these things[3] the human creature is advantaged, and if one fail,

he needs must fall from his nobility. Sin alone is that which

disfranchises him, and makes him unlike the Supreme Good, so that by

Its light he is little illumined. And to his dignity he never returns,

unless, where sin makes void, he fill up for evil pleasures with just

penalties. Your nature, when it sinned totally in its seed,[4] was

removed from these dignities, even as from Paradise; nor could they be

recovered, if thou considerest full subtly, by any way, without passing

by one of these fords:—either that God alone by His courtesy should

forgive, or that man by himself should make satisfaction for his folly.

Fix now thine eye within the abyss of the eternal counsel, fixed as

closely on my speech as thou art able. Man within his own limits could

never make satisfaction, through not being able to descend so far with

humility in subsequent obedience, as disobeying he intended to ascend;

and this is the reason why man was excluded from power to make

satisfaction by himself. Therefore it behoved God by His own paths[5]

to restore man to his entire life, I mean by one, or else by both. But

because the work of the workman is so much the more pleasing, the more

it represents of the goodness of the heart whence it issues, the Divine

Goodness which imprints the world was content to proceed by all Its

paths to lift you up again; nor between the last night and the first

day has there been or will there be so lofty and so magnificent a

procedure either by one or by the other; for God was more liberal in

giving Himself to make man sufficient to lift himself up again, than if

only of Himself He had pardoned him. And all the other modes were

scanty in respect to justice, if the Son of God had not humbled himself

to become incarnate.

[1] Without the intervention of a second cause.

[2] That is, of the heavens, new as compared with the First Cause.

[3] That is, with immediate creation, with immortality, with free will,

with likeness to God, and the love of God for it.

[4] Adam.

[5] “All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth.”—Psalm xxv. 10.

Truth may be here interpreted, according to St. Thomas Aquinas, as

justice.

“Now to fill completely every desire of thine, I return to a certain

place to clear it up, in order that thou mayest see there even, as I

do. Thou sayest, 'I see the water, I see the fire, the air; and the

earth, and all their mixtures come to corruption, and endure short

while, and yet these things were created;' so that, if what I have said

has been true, they ought to be secure against corruption. The Angels,

brother, and the sincere[1] country in which thou art, may be called

created, even as they are, in their entire being; but the elements

which thou hast named, and those things which are made of them, are

informed by a created power.[2] The matter of which they consist was

created; the informing power in these stars which go round about them

was created. The ray and the motion of the holy lights draw out from

its potential elements[3] the soul of every brute and of the plants;

but the Supreme Benignity inspires your life without intermediary, and

enamors it of Itself so that ever after it desires It. And hence[4]

thou canst argue further your resurrection, if thou refleetest bow the

human flesh was made when the first parents were both made.”

[1] Sincere is here used in the sense of incorruptible, or perhaps

unspoiled,—the quality of the Heavens as contrasted with the Earth.

[2] The elements axe informed, that is, receive their specific being

not immediately from Goa, but mediately through the informing

Intelligences.

[3] Literally, “from the potentiate mingling,” that is, from the matter

endowed with the potentiality of becoming informed by the vegetative

and the sensitive soul.

[4] From the principle that what proceeds immediately from Goa is

immortal.

CANTO VIII.

Ascent to the Heaven of Venus.—Spirits of Lovers, Source of the order

and the varieties in mortal things.

The world in its peril[1] was wont to believe that the beautiful

Cypriote[2] revolving in the third epicycle rayed out mad love;

wherefore the ancient people in their ancient error not only unto her

did honor with sacrifice and with votive cry, but they honored Dione[3]

also and Cupid, the one as her mother, the other as her son, and they

said that he had sat in Dido's lap[4] And from her, from whom I take my

beginning, they took the name of the star which the sun wooes, now at

her back now at her front.[5] I was not aware of the ascent to it; but

of being in it, my Lady, whom I saw become more beautiful, gave me full

assurance.

[1] In heathen times.

[2] Venus, so called from her birth in Cyprus.

[3] Dione, daughter of Oceanus and Thetis, mother of Venus.

[4] Under the form of Ascanius, as Virgil tells in the first book of

the Aeneid.

[5] According as it is morning or evening star.

And even as in a flame a spark is seen, and as voice from voice is

distinguished when one is steady and the other goes and returns, I saw

in that light other lamps moving in a circle more and less rapidly, in

the measure, I believe, of their inward vision. From a cold cloud winds

never descended, or visible or not, go swift, that they would not seem

impeded and slow to him who had seen these divine lights coming to us,

leaving the circling begun first among the high Seraphim. And within

those who appeared most in front was sounding HOSANNA, so that never

since have I been without desire of hearing it again. Then one came

nearer to us, and alone began, “We all are ready to thy pleasure, that

thou mayest joy in us. With one circle, with one circling, and with one

thirst,[1] we revolve with the celestial Princes,[2] to whom thou in

the world once said: 'Ye who intelligent move the third heaven;' and we

are so full of love that, to please thee, a little quiet will not be

less sweet to us.”

[1] One circle in space, one circling in eternity, one thirst for the

vision of God.

[2] The third in ascending order of the hierarchy of the Angels,

corresponding with the heaven of Venus.

After my eyes had offered themselves reverently to my Lady, and she had

of herself made them contented and assured, they turned again to the

light which had promised so much; and, “Tell who ye are,” was my

utterance, stamped with great affection. And how much greater alike in

quantity and quality did I see it become, through the new gladness

which was added to its gladnesses when I spoke! Become thus, it said to

me,[1] “The world had me below short while; and had it been longer much

evil had not been which will be. My joy which rays around me, and hides

me like a creature swathed in its own silk, holds me concealed from

thee. Much didst thou love me, and thou hadst good reason; for had I

stayed below I had showed thee of my love far more than the leaves.

That left bank which is bathed by the Rhone, after it has mingled with

the Sorgue, awaited me in due time for its lord;[2] and that born of

Ansonia[3] which is towned with Bari, with Gaeta, and with Catona,[4]

whence the Tronto and the Verde disgorge into the sea. Already was

shining on my brow the crown of that land which the Danube waters after

it abandons its German banks;[5] and the fair Trinacria[6] (which is

darkened, not by Typhoeus but by nascent sulphur, on the gulf between

Pachynus and Pelorus which receives greatest annoy from Eurus[7]) would

be still awaiting its kings descended through me from Charles and

Rudolph,[8] if evil rule, which always embitters the subject people,

had not moved Palermo to shout, 'Die! Die!'[9] And if my brother had

taken note of this,[10] he would already put to flight the greedy

poverty of Catalonia, in order that it might not do him harm: for truly

there is need for him or for some other to look to it, so that on his

laden bark more load be not put. His own nature, which descended

niggardly from a liberal one, would have need of such a soldiery as

should not care to put into a chest.”[11]

[1] It is Charles Martel, son of Charles II. of Naples, who speaks. He

was born about 1270, and in 1294 he was at Florence for more than

twenty days, and at this time may have become acquainted with Dante.

Great honor was done him by the Florentines, and he showed great love

to them, so that he won favor from everybody, says Villani. He died in

1295.

[2] Charles of Anjou, grandfather of Charles Martel, had received this

part of Provence as dowry of his wife Beatrice, the youngest daughter

of Raymond Berenger.

[3] A name for Italy, used only by the poets.

[4] Bari on the Adriatic, Gaeta on the Mediterranean, and Catons at the

too of Italy, together with the two rivers named, give roughly the

boundaries of the Kingdom of Naples.

[5] The mother of Charles Martel was sister of Ladislaus IV., King of

Hungary. He died without offspring, and Charles II. claimed the kingdom

by right of his wife.

[6] Sicily; the gulf darkened by sulphurous fumes is the Bay of

Calabria, which lies exposed to Eurus, that is, to winds from the

south-east.

[7] The sea between Cape Pachynus, the extreme southeastern point of

the island, and Cape Pelorus, the extreme northeastern, lies exposed to

the violence of Eurus or the East wind. Clouds of smoke from Etna

sometimes darken it. The eruptions of Etna were ascribed by Ovid

(Metam. v., 346-353) to the struggles of Typhoeus, one of the

rebellious Giants. Ovid's verses suggested this description.

[8] From his father, Charles H., or his grandfather, Charles of Anjou,

and from the Emperor Rudolph of Hapsburg, who was the father of

Clemence, Charles Martel's wife.

[9] By the insurrection which began at Palermo in 1282,—the famous

Sicilian Vespers,—the French were driven from the island.

[10] This brother was Robert, the third son of Charles II. He had been

kept as a hostage in Catalonia from 1288 to 1295, and when he became

King of Naples in 1309 he introduced into his service many Catalonian

officials. The words of Charles Martel are prophetic of the evils

wrought by their greed.

[11] Officials who would not, by oppression of the subjects, seek their

private gain.

“Because I believe that the deep joy which thy speech, my lord, infuses

in me is seen by thee there where every good ends and begins[1] even as

I see it in myself, it is the more grateful to me; and this also I hold

dear, that thou discernest it, gazing upon God.[2] Thou hast made me

glad; and in like wise do thou make clear to me (since in speaking thou

bast moved me to doubt) how bitter can issue from sweet seed.” This I

to him; and he to me, “If I am able to show to thee a truth, thou wilt

hold thy face to that which thou askest, as thou dost hold thy back.

The Good which turns and contents all the realm which thou ascendest,

makes its providence to be a power in these great bodies.[3] And not

the natures only are foreseen in the Mind which by itself is perfect,

but they together with their salvation.[4] For whatsoever this bow

shoots falls disposed to its foreseen end, even as a thing directed to

its aim. Were this not so, the heavens through which thou journeyest

would produce their effects in such wise that they would not be works

of art but ruins; and that cannot be, if the Intelligences which move

these stars are not defective, and defective also the prime

Intelligence which has not made them perfect.[5] Dost thou wish that

this truth be made still clearer to thee?” And I, “No, truly; because I

see it to be impossible that Nature should weary in that which is

needful.”[6] Whereupon he again, “Now say, would it be worse for man on

earth if he were not a citizen?”[7] “Yes,” answered I, “and here I ask

not the reason.”[8] “And can he be so, unless he live there below in

divers manner through divers offices?[9] No; if your master[10] writes

well of this.” So he went on deducing far as here; then he concluded,

“Hence it behoves that the roots of your works must be diverse.[11]

Wherefore one is born Solon, and another Xerxes, another Melchisedech,

and another he who, flying through the air, lost his son. The revolving

nature, which is the seal of the mortal wax, performs its art well, but

does not distinguish one inn from another.[12] Hence it happens that

Esau differs in seed from Jacob, and Quirinus comes from so mean a

father that he is ascribed to Mars. The generated nature would always

make its path like its progenitors, if the divine foresight did not

conquer. Now that which was behind thee is before thee, but that thou

mayest know that I have joy in thee, I wish that thou cloak thee with a

corollary.[13] Nature, if she find fortune discordant with herself,

like every other seed out of its region, always makes bad result. And

if the world down there would fix attention on the foundation which

nature lays, following that, it would have its people good. But ye

wrest to religion one who shall be born to gird on the sword, and ye

make a king of one who is for preaching; wherefore your track is out of

the road.”

[1] Is seen in the mind of God.

[2] My own joy is the dearer in that thou seest that it is more

grateful to me because known by thee.

[3] The providence of God is fulfilled through the influences of the

Heavens acting upon the natures subject to them.

[4] That is, together with the good ends for which they are created and

ordained.

[5] Defect in the subordinate Intelligences would imply defect in God,

which is impossible.

[6] It is impossible that the order of nature should fail, that order

being the design of God in creation.

[7] That is, united with other men in society.

[8] Because man is by nature a social animal, and cannot attain his

true end except as a member of a community.

[9] Society cannot exist without diversity in the functions of its

members.

[10] Aristotle, “the master of human reason, who treats of this in many

places, for instance in his Ethics, i. 7, where he speaks of man as “by

nature social,” so that his end is accomplished only in society.

[11] Human dispositions, the roots of human works, must be diverse in

order to produce diverse effects.

[12] The spheres pour down their various influences without

discrimination in the choice of the individual upon whom they fall.

Hence sons may differ in their dispositions from their fathers.

[13] This additional statement completes the instruction, as a cloak

completes the clothing of a body.

CANTO IX.

The Heaven of Venus.—Conversation of Dante with Cunizza da Romano,—With

Folco of Marseilles.—Rahab.—Avarice of the Papal Court.

After thy Charles, O beautiful Clemence,[1] had enlightened me, he told

to me of the treasons which his seed must suffer. But he said, “Be

silent, and let the years revolve:” so that I can tell nothing, save

that just lament shall follow on your wrongs.[2]

[1] The widow of Charles Martel.

[2] Those who have done the wrong shall justly lament therefor.

And now the life of that holy light had turned again unto the Sun which

fills it, as that Good which suffices for every thing. Ah, souls

deceived, and creatures impious, who from such Good turn away your

hearts, directing your foreheads unto vanity!

And lo! another of those splendors made towards me, and in brightening

outwardly was signifying its will to please me. The eyes of Beatrice,

which were fixed upon me, as before, made me assured of dear assent to

my desire. “I pray thee give swift quittance to my wish, blessed

spirit,” I said, “and afford me proof that what think I can reflect on

thee.”[1] Whereon the light which was still new[2] to me, from out its

depth, wherein erst it was singing, proceeded, as one whom doing good

delights, “In that part[3] of the wicked Italian land, which lies

between Rialto and the founts of the Brenta and the Piave, rises a

hill,[4] and mounts not very high, whence a torch descended which made

a great assault upon that district. From one root both I and it were

born; Cunizza was I called; and I am refulgent here because the light

of this star overcame me. But gladly do I pardon to myself the cause of

my lot, and it gives me no annoy;[5] which perhaps would seem difficult

to your vulgar. Of this resplendent and dear jewel of our kingdom,[6]

who is nearest to me, great fame has remained, and ere it die away this

hundredth year shall yet come round five times. See if man ought to

make himself excellent, so that the first may leave another life! And

this the present crowd, which the Tagliameuto and the Adige shut in,[7]

considers not; nor yet by being scourged doth it repent. But it will

soon come to pass that at the marsh Padua will discolor the water which

bathes Vicenza, because her people are stubborn against duty.[8] And

where the Sile and the Cagnano unite, one lords it, and goes with his

head high, for catching whom the web is already spun.[9] Feltro will

yet weep the crime of its impious shepherd, which will be so shameful,

that, for a like, none ever entered Malta.[10] Too large would be the

vat which would hold the Ferrarese blood, and weary he who should weigh

it, ounce by ounce, which this courteous priest will give to show

himself a partisan;[11] and such gifts will be conformed to the living

of the country. Above are mirrors, ye call them Thrones,[12] wherefrom

God shines on us in his judgments, so that these words seem good to

us.”[13] Here she was silent, and had to me the semblance of being

turned elsewhither by the wheel in which she set herself as she was

before.[14]

[1] That thou, gazing on the mind of God, seest therein my thoughts.

[2] Still unknown by name.

[3] The March of Treviso, lying between Venice (Rialto) and the Alps.

[4] The hill on which stood the little stronghold of Romano, the

birthplace of the tyrant Azzolino, or Ezzolino, whom Dante had seen in

Hell (Canto XII.) punished for his cruel misdeeds, in the river of

boiling blood. Cunizza was his sister.

[5] The sin which has limited the capacity of bliss, the sin which has

determined the low grade in Paradise of Cunizza, is forgiven and

forgotten, and she, like Piccarda, wishes only for that blessedness

which she has.

[6] Folco, or Foulquet, of Marseilles, once a famous singer of songs of

love, then a bishop. He died in 1213.

[7] The people of the region where Cunizza lived.

[8] The Paduan Guelphs, resisting the Emperor, to whom they owed duty,

were defeated more than once, near Vicenza, by Can Grande, during the

years in which Dante was writing his poem.

[9] The Sile and the Cagnano unite at Treviso, whose lord, Ricciardo da

Camino, was assassinated in 1312.

[10] An act of treachery on the part of the Bishop and Lord of Feltro,

Alessandro Novello, in delivering up Ghibelline exiles from Ferrara, of

whom thirty were beheaded; a treason so vile that in the tower called

Malta, where ecclesiastics who committed capital crimes were

imprisoned, no such crime as his was ever punished.

[11] That is, of the Guelphs, by whom the designation of The Party was

appropriated.

[12] The Thrones were, according to St. Gregory, that order of Angels

through whom God executes his judgments.

[13] Because we see reflected from the Thrones the judgment of God

above to fall on the guilty.

[14] See Canto VIII., near the beginning.

The next joy, which was already known to me as an illustrious thing,[1]

became to my sight like a fine ruby whereon the sun should strike.

Through joy effulgence is gained there on high, even as a smile here;

but below[2] the shade darkens outwardly, as the mind is sad.

[1] By the words of Cunizza.

[2] In Hell.

“God sees everything, and thy vision, blessed spirit, is in Him,” said

I, “so that no wish can steal itself away from thee. Thy voice, then,

that ever charms the heavens, with the song of those pious fires which

make a cowl for themselves with their six wings,[1] why does it not

satisfy my desires? Surely I should not wait for thy request if I

in-theed myself, as thou thyself in-meest.”[2] “The greatest deep in

which the water spreads,”[3] began then his words, “except of that sea

which garlands the earth, between its discordant shores stretches so

far counter to the sun, that it makes a meridian where first it was

wont to make the horizon.[4] I was a dweller on the shore of that deep,

between the Ebro and the Magra,[5] which, for a short way, divides the

Genoese from the Tuscan. With almost the same sunset and the same

sunrise sit Buggea and the city whence I was, which once made its

harbor warm with its own blood.[6] That people to whom my name was

known called me Folco, and this heaven is imprinted by me, as I was by

it. For the daughter of Belus,[7] harmful alike to Sichaeus and Creusa,

burned not more than I, so long as it befitted my hair;[8] nor she of

Rhodopea who was deluded by Demophoon;[9] nor Alcides when he had

enclosed Iole in his heart.[10] Yet one repents not here, but smiles,

not for the fault which returns not to the memory, but for the power

which ordained and foresaw. Here one gazes upon the art which adorns so

great a work, and the good is discerned whereby the world above turns

that below.

[1] The Seraphim, who with their wings cover their faces. See Isaiah,

vi. 2.

[2] If I saw thee inwardly as thou seest me. Dante invents the words he

uses here, and they are no less unfamiliar in Italian than in English.

[3] The Mediterranean.

[4] According to the geography of the time the Mediterranean stretched

from east to west ninety degrees of longitude.

[5] Between the Ebro in Spain and the Magra in Italy lies Marseilles,

under almost the same meridian as Buggea (now Bougie) on the African

coast.

[6] When the fleet of Caesar defeated that of Pompey with its

contingent of vessels and soldiers of Marseilles, B. C. 49.

[7] Dido.

[8] Till my hair grew thin and gray.

[9] Phyllis, daughter of the king of Thrace, who hung herself when

deserted by Demophoon, the son of Theseus.

[10] The excess of the love of Hercules for Iole led to his death.

“But in order that thou mayst bear away satisfied all thy wishes which

have been born in this sphere, it behoves me to proceed still further.

Thou wouldst know who is in this light, which beside me here so

sparkles, as a sunbeam on clear water. Now know that therewithin

Rahab[1] is at rest, and being joined with our order it is sealed by

her in the supreme degree. By this heaven in which the shadow that your

world makes comes to a point[2] she was taken up before any other soul

at the triumph of Christ. It was well befitting to leave her in some

heaven, as a palm of the high victory which was won with the two

hands,[3] because she aided the first glory of Joshua within the Holy

Land, which little touches the memory of the Pope.

[1] “By faith the harlot Rabab perished not with them that believed

not.”—Hebrews, xi. 31. See Joshua, ii. 1-21; vi. 17; James, ii. 25.

[2] The conical shadow of the earth ended, according to Ptolemy, at the

heaven of Venus. Philalethes suggests that there may be here an

allegorical meaning, the shadow of the earth being shown in feebleness

of will, worldly ambition, and inordinate love, which have allotted the

souls who appear in these first heavens to the lowest grades in

Paradise.

[3] Nailed to the cross. The glory of Joshua was the winning of the

Holy Land for the inheritance of the children of Israel.

“Thy city, which is plant of him who first turned his back on his

Maker, and whose envy[1] has been so bewept, produces and scatters the

accursed flower[2] which has led astray the sheep and the lambs,

because it has made a wolf of the shepherd. For this the Gospel and the

great Doctors are deserted, and there is study only of the

Decretals,[3] as is apparent by their margins. On this the Pope and the

Cardinals are intent; their thoughts go not to Nazareth, there where

Gabriel spread his wings. But the Vatican, and the other elect parts of

Rome, which have been the burial place for the soldiery that followed

Peter, shall soon be free from this adultery.”[4]

[1] “Through envy of the devil came death into the world.”—Wisdom of

Solomon, ii. 24.

[2] The lily on its florin.

[3] The books of the Ecclesiastical Law.

[4] By the removal in 1305 of the Papal Court to Avignon.

CANTO X.

Ascent to the Sun.—Spirits of the wise, and the learned in

theology.—St. Thomas Aquinas.—He names to Dante those who surround him.

Looking upon His Son with the Love which the one and the other

eternally breathe forth, the Primal and Ineffable Power made everything

which revolves through the mind or through space with such order that

he who contemplates it cannot be without taste of Him.[1] Lift then thy

sight, Reader, with me to the lofty wheels, straight to that region

where the one motion strikes on the other;[2] and there begin to gaze

with delight on the art of that Master who within Himself so loves it

that His eye never departs from it. See how from that point the oblique

circle which bears the planets[3] branches off, to satisfy the world

which calls on them;[4] and if their road had not been bent, much

virtue in the heavens would be in vain, and well-nigh every potency

dead here below.[5] And if from the straight line its departure had

been more or less distant, much of the order of the world, both below

and above, would be defective. Now do thou remain, Reader, upon thy

bench,[6] following in thought that which is fore. tasted, if thou

wouldst be glad far sooner than weary. I have set before thee;

henceforth feed thee by thyself, for that theme whereof I have been

made scribe wrests all my care unto itself.

[1] All things, as well the spiritual and invisible objects of the

intelligence as the corporal and visible objects of sense, were made by

God the Father, operating through the Son, with the love of the Holy

Spirit, and made in such order that he who contemplates the creation

beholds the partial image of the Creator.

[2] At the equinox, the season of Dante's journey, the sun in Aries is

at the intersection of the ecliptic and the equator of the celestial

sphere, and his apparent motion in his annual revolution cuts the

apparent diurnal motion of the fixed stars, which is performed in

circles parallel to the equator.

[3] The ecliptic.

[4] Which invokes their influence.

[5] Because on the obliquity of their path depends the variety of their

influence.

[6] As a scholar.

The greatest minister of nature, which imprints the world with the

power of the heavens, and with its light measures the time for us, in

conjunction with that region called to mind above, was circling through

the spirals in which from day to day he earlier presents himself.[1]

And I was with him; but of the ascent I was not aware, otherwise than

as a man is aware, before his first thought, of its coming. Beatrice is

she who thus conducts from good to better so swiftly that her act

extends not through time.

[1] In that spiral course in which, according to the Ptolemaic system,

the sun passes from the equator to the tropic of Cancer, rising earlier

every day.

How lucent of itself must that have been which, within the sun where I

entered, was appareiit not by color but by light! Though I should call

on genius, art, and use, I could not tell it so that it could ever be

imagined; but it may be believed, and sight of it longed for. And if

our fancies are low for such loftiness, it is no marvel, for beyond the

sun was never eye could go. Such[1] was here the fourth family of the

High Father, who always satisfies it, showing how He breathes forth,

and how He begets.[2] And Beatrice began, “Thank, thank thou the Sun of

the Angels, who to this visible one has raised thee by His grace.”

Heart of mortal was never so disposed to devotion, and so ready, with

its own entire pleasure, to give itself to God, as I became at those

words; and all my love was so set on Him that Beatrice was eclipsed in

oblivion. It displeased her not; but she so smiled thereat that the

splendor of her smiling eyes divided upon many things my singly intent

mind.

[1] So lucent, brighter than the sun.

[2] Showing himself in the Holy Spirit and in the Son.

I saw many living and surpassing effulgences make a centre of us, and

make a crown of themselves, more sweet in voice than shining in aspect.

Thus girt we sometimes see the daughter of Latona, when the air is

pregnant so that it holds the thread which makes the girdle.[1] In the

court of Heaven, wherefrom I return, are found many jewels so precious

and beautiful that they cannot be brought from the kingdom, and of

these was the song of those lights. Who wings not himself so that he

may fly up thither, let him await the tidings thence from the dumb.

[1] When the air is so full of vapor that it forms a halo.

After those burning suns, thus singing, had circled three times round

about us, like stars near fixed poles, they seemed to me as ladies not

loosed from a dance, but who stop silent, listening till they have

caught the new notes. And within one I heard begin, “Since the ray of

grace, whereby true love is kindled, and which thereafter grows

multiplied in loving, so shines on thee that it conducts thee upward by

that stair upon which, without reascending, no one descends, he who

should deny to thee the wine of his flask for thy thirst, would not be

more at liberty than water which descends not to the sea.[1] Thou

wishest to know with what plants this garland is enflowered, which,

round about her, gazes with delight upon the, beautiful Lady who

strengthens thee for heaven. I was of the lambs of the holy flock[2]

which Dominic leads along the way where one fattens well if he stray

not.[3] This one who is nearest to me on the right was my brother and

master; and he was Albert of Cologne,[4] and I Thomas of Aquino. If

thus of all the rest thou wishest to be informed, come, following my

speech, with thy sight circling around upon the blessed chaplet. That

next flaming issues from the smile of Gratian, who so assisted one

court and the other that it pleases in Paradise.[5] The next, who at

his side adorns our choir, was that Peter who, like the poor woman,

offered his treasure to Holy Church.[6] The fifth light, which is most

beautiful among us,[7] breathes from such love, that all the world

there below is greedy to know tidings of it.[8] Within it is the lofty

mind, wherein wisdom so profound was put, that, if the truth is true,

to see so much no second has arisen.[9] At his side thou seest the

light of that candle, which, below in the flesh, saw most inwardly the

angelic nature, and its ministry.[10] In the next little light smiles

that advocate of the Christian times, with whose discourse Augustine

provided himself.[11] Now if thou leadest the eye of the mind,

following my praises, from light to light, thou remainest already

thirsting for the eighth. Therewithin, through seeing every good, the

holy soul rejoices which makes the deceit of the world manifest to

whoso hears him well.[12] The body whence it was hunted out lies below

in Cieldauro,[13] and from martyrdom and from exile it came unto this

peace. Beyond thou seest flaming the burning breath of Isidore, of

Bede, and of Richard who in contemplation was more than man.[14] The

one from whom thy look returns to me is the light of a spirit to whom

in grave thoughts death seemed to come slow. It is the eternal light of

Sigier,[15] who reading in the Street of Straw syllogized truths which

were hated.”

[1] He would be restrained against his nature, as water prevented from

flowing down to the sea.

[2] Of the Order of St. Dominic.

[3] Where one acquires spiritual good, if he be not distracted by the

allurement of worldly things.

[4] The learned Doctor, Albertus Magnus.

[5] Gratian was an Italian Benedictine monk, who lived in the 12th

century, and compiled the famous work known as the Decretum Gratiani,

composed of texts of Scripture, of the Canons of the Church, of

Decretals of the Popes, and of extracts from the Fathers, designed to

show the agreement of the civil and ecclesiastical law,—a work pleasing

in Paradise because promoting concord between the two authorities.

[6] Peter Lombard, a theologian of the 12th century, known as Magister

Sententiarum, from his compilation of extracts relating to the

doctrines of the Church, under the title of Sententiarum Libri IV. In

the proem to his work he says that he desired, “like the poor widow, to

cast something from his penury into the treasury of the Lord.”

[7] Solomon.

[8] It was matter of debate whether Solomon was among the blessed or

the damned.

[9] “Lo, I have given thee a wise and an understanding heart; so that

there was none like thee before thee, neither after thee shall any

arise like unto thee.”—1 Kings, iii. 12.

[10] Dionysius the Areopagite, the disciple of St. Paul (Acts, xvii.

34), to whom was falsely ascribed a book of great repute, written in

the fourth century, “ On the Celestial Hierarchy.”

[11] Paulus Orosius, who wrote his History against the Pagans, at the

request of St. Augustine, to defend Christianity from the charge

brought against it by the Gentiles of being the source of the

calamities which had befallen the Roman world. His work might be

regarded as a supplement to St. Augustine's De Civitate Dei.

[12] Boethins, statesman and philosopher. whose work, De Consolatione

Philosophiae, was one of the books held in highest esteem by Dante.

[13] Boethius, who was put to death in Pavia, in 524, was buried in the

church of S. Pietro in Ciel d' Oro—St. Peter's of the Golden Ceiling.

[14] Isidore, bishop of Seville, died 636; the Venerable Bede, died

735; Richard, prior of the Monastery of St. Victor, at Paris, a mystic

of the 12th century; all eminent theologians.

[15] Sigier of Brabant, who lectured, applying logic to questions in

theology, at Paris, in the 13th century, in the Rue du Fouarre.

Then, as a horologe which calls us at the hour when the Bride of God[1]

rises to sing matins to her Bridegroom that he may love her, in which

the one part draws and urges the other, sounding ting! ting! with such

sweet note that the well-disposed spirit swells with love, so saw I the

glorious wheel move, and render voice to voice in concord and in

sweetness which cannot be known save there where joy becomes eternal.

[1] The Church.

CANTO XI.

The Vanity of worldly desires,—St. Thomas Aquinas undertakes to solve

two doubts perplexing Dante.—He narrates the life of St. Francis of

Assisi.

O insensate care of mortals, how defective are those syllogisms which

make thee downward beat thy wings! One was going after the Laws, and

one after the Aphorisms,[1] and one following the priesthood, and one

to reign by force or by sophisms, and one to rob, and one to civic

business; one, involved in pleasure of the flesh, was wearying himself,

and one was giving himself to idleness, when I, loosed from all these

things, with Beatrice, was thus gloriously received on high in Heaven.

[1] The Aphorisms of Hippocrates, meaning here, the study of medicine.

When each[1] had returned unto that point of the circle at which it was

at first, it stayed, as a candle in a candlestick. And within that

light which first had spoken to me I heard, as smiling it began, making

itself more clear, “Even as I am resplendent with its radiance, so,

looking into the Eternal Light, I apprehend whence thou drawest the

occasion of thy thoughts. Thou art perplexed, and hast the wish that my

speech be bolted again in language so open and so plain that it may be

level to thy sense, where just now I said, 'where well one fattens,'

and there where I said, 'the second has not been born;' and here is

need that one distinguish well.

[1] Each of the lights which had encircled. Beatrice and Dante.

“The Providence which governs the world with that counsel, in which

every created vision is vanquished ere it reach the depth, in order

that the bride[1] of Him, who with loud cries espoused her with His

blessed blood, might go toward her beloved, secure in herself and also

more faithful to Him, ordained two princes in her favor, who on this

side and that should be to her for guides. The one was all seraphic in

ardor,[2] the other, through wisdom, was a splendor of cherubic

light[3] on earth. Of the one I will speak, because both are spoken of

in praising one, whichever be taken, for unto one end were their works.

[1] The Church.

[2] St. Francis of Assisi

[3] St. Dominic.

“Between the Tupino and the water[1] which descends from the hill

chosen by the blessed Ubaldo, hangs the fertile slope of a high

mountain, wherefrom Perugia at Porta Sole[2] feeleth cold and heat,

while behind it Nocera and Gualdo weep because of their heavy yoke.[3]

On that slope, where it most breaks its steepness, rose a Sun upon the

world, as this one sometimes does from the Ganges. Therefore let him

who talks of that place not say Ascesi,[4] for he would speak short,

but Orient,[5] if be would speak properly. He was not yet very far from

his rising when he began to make the earth feel some comfort from his

great virtue. For, still a youth, he ran to strife[6] with his father

for a lady such as unto whom, even as unto death, no one unlocks the

gate of pleasure; and before his spiritual court et coram patre[7] to

her he had himself united; thereafter from day to day he loved her more

ardently. She, deprived of her first husband,[8] for one thousand and

one hundred years and more, despised and obscure, had stood without

wooing till he came;[9] nor had it availed[10] to hear, that he, who

caused fear to all the world, found her at the sound of his voice

secure with Amyclas;[11] nor had it availed to have been constant and

bold, so that where Mary remained below, she wept with Christ upon the

cross. But that I may not proceed too obscurely, take henceforth in my

diffuse speech Francis and Poverty for these lovers. Their concord and

their glad semblances made love, and wonder, and sweet regard to be the

cause of holy thoughts;[12] so that the venerable Bernard first bared

his feet,[13] and ran following such great peace, and, running, it

seemed to him that he was slow. Oh unknown riches! oh fertile good!

Egidius bares his feet and Sylvester bares his feet, following the

bridegroom; so pleasing is the bride. Then that father and that master

goes on his way with his lady, and with that family which the humble

cord was now girding.[14] Nor did baseness of heart weigh down his brow

at being son of Pietro Bernardone,[15] nor at appearing marvellously

despised; but royally he opened his bard intention to Innocent, and

received from bim the first seal for his Order.[16] After the poor

people had increased behind him, whose marvellous life would be better

sung in glory of the heavens, the holy purpose of this

archimandrite[17] was adorned with a second crown by the Eternal

Spirit, through Honorius.[18] And when, through thirst for martyrdom,

he had preached Christ and the rest who followed him in the proud

presence of the Sultan,[19] and because he found the people too unripe

for conversion, and in order not to stay in vain, had returned to the

fruit of the Italian grass,[20] on the rude rock,[21] between the Tiber

and the Arno, he took from Christ the last seal,[22] which his limbs

bore for two years. When it pleased Him, who had allotted him to such

great good, to draw him up to the reward which he had gained in making

himself abject, he commended his most dear lady to his brethren as to

rightful heirs, and commanded them to love her faithfully; and from her

lap, his illustrious soul willed to depart, returning to its realm, and

for his body he willed no other bier.[23]

[1] The Chiassi, which flows from the hill chosen for his hermitage by

St. Ubaldo.