lies, some fifteen miles to the south.
[3] Towns, southeast of Assisi, oppressed by their rulers.
[4] So the name Assisi was sometimes spelled, and here with a play on
ascesi (I have risen).
[5] As the sun at the vernal equinox, the sacred season of the Creation
and the Resurrection, rises in the due east or orient, represented in
the geographical system of the time by the Ganges, so the place where
this new Sun of righteousness arose should be called Orient.
[6] Devoting himself to poverty against his father's will.
[7] Before the Bishop of Assisi, and “in presence of his father,” he
renounced his worldly possessions.
[8] Christ.
[9] St. Francis was born in 1182.
[10] To procure suitors for her,
[11] When Caesar knocked at the door of Amyclas his voice caused no
alarm, because Poverty made the fisherman secure.—Lucan, Pharsalia, V.
515 ff.
[12] In the hearts of those who behold them.
[13] The followers of Francis imitated him in going barefoot.
[14] The cord for their only girdle.
[15] Perhaps, because his father was neither noble nor famous.
[16] In or about 1210 Pope Innocent III. approved the Rule of St.
Francis.
[17] “The head of the fold:” a term of the Greek Church, designating
the head of one or more monasteries.
[18] In 1223, Honorius III. confirmed the sanction of the Order.
[19] Probably the Sultan of Egypt, at the time of the Fifth Crusade, in
1219.
[20] To the harvest of good grain in Italy.
[21] Mount Alvernia.
[22] The Stigmata.
[23] St. Francis died in 1226.
“Think now of what sort was he,[1] who was a worthy colleague to keep
the bark of Peter on the deep sea to its right aim; and this was our
Patriarch:[2] wherefore thou canst see that whoever follows him as he
commands loads good merchandise. But his flock has become so greedy of
strange food that. it cannot but be scattered over diverse meadows; and
as his sheep, remote and vagabond, go farther from him, the emptier of
milk they return to the fold. Truly there are some of them who fear the
harm, and keep close to the shepherd; but they are so few that little
cloth suffices for their cowls. Now if my words are not obscure, if thy
hearing has been attentive, if thou recallest to mind that which I have
said, thy wish will be content in part, because thou wilt see the plant
wherefrom they are hewn,[3] and thou wilt see how the wearer of the
thong reasons—'Where well one fattens if one does not stray.'
[1] How holy he must have been.
[2] St. Dominic.
[3] The plant of which the words are splinters or chips; in other
terms, “thou wilt understand the whole ground of my assertion, and thou
wilt see what a Dominican, wearer of the leather thong of the Order,
means, when he says that the flock of Dominic fatten, if they stray not
from the road on which he leads them.”
CANTO XII.
Second circle of the spirits of wise religious men, doctors of the
Church and teachers.—St. Bonaventura narrates the life of St. Dominic,
and tells the names of those who form the circle with him.
Soon as the blessed flame uttered the last word of its speech the holy
mill-stone[1] began to rotate, and had not wholly turned in its
gyration before another enclosed it with a circle, and matched motion
with motion, song with song; song which in those sweet pipes so
surpasses our Muses, our Sirens, as a primal splendor that which it
reflects.[2] As two bows parallel and of like colors are turned across
a thin cloud when Juno gives the order to her handmaid[3] (the outer
one born of that within, after the manner of the speech of that
wandering one[4] whom love consumed, as the sun does vapors), and make
the people here presageful, because of the covenant which God
established with Noah concerning the world, that it is nevermore to be
flooded; so the two garlands of those sempiternal roses turned around
us, and so the outer responded to the inner. After the dance and the
other great festivity, alike of the singing and of the flaming, light
with light joyous and courteous, had become quiet together at an
instant and with one will (just as the eyes which must needs together
close and open to the pleasure that moves them), from the heart of one
of the new lights a voice proceeded, which made me seem as the needle
to the star in turning me to its place and it began,[5] “The love which
makes me beautiful draws me to speak of the other leader by whom[6] so
well has been spoken here of mine. It is fit that where one is the
other be led in, so that as they served in war with one another,
together likewise may their glory shine.
[1] The garland of spirits encircling Beatrice and Dante.
[2] As an original ray is brighter than one reflected.
[3] Iris.
[4] Echo.
[5] It is St. Bonaventura, the biographer of St. Francis, who speaks.
He became General of the Order in 1256, and died in 1276.
[6] By whom, through one of his brethren.
“The army of Christ, which it had cost so dear to arm afresh,[1] was
moving slow, mistrustful, and scattered, behind the standard,[2] when
the Emperor who forever reigns provided for the soldiery that was in
peril, through grace alone, not because it was worthy, and, as has been
said, succored his Bride with two champions, by whose deed, by whose
word, the people gone astray were rallied.
[1] The elect, who had lost grace through Adam's sin, were armed afresh
by the costly sacirifice of the Son of God.
[2] The Cross.
“In that region where the sweet west wind rises to open the new leaves
wherewith Europe is seen to reclothe herself, not very far from the
beating of the waves behind which, over their long course, the sun
sometimes bides himself to all men, sits the fortunate Callaroga, under
the protection of the great shield on which the Lion is subject and
subjugates.[1] Therein was born the amorous lover of the Christian
faith, the holy athlete, benignant to his own, and to his enemies
harsh.[2] And when it was created, his mind was so replete with living
virtue, that in his mother it made her a prophetess.[3] After the
espousals between him and the faith were completed at the sacred font,
where they dowered each other with mutual safety, the lady who gave the
assent for him saw in a dream the marvellous fruit which was to proceed
from him and from his heirs;[4] and in order that he might be spoken of
as he was,[5] a spirit went forth from here[6] to name him with the
possessive of Him whose he wholly was. Dominic[7] he was called; and I
speak of him as of the husbandman whom Christ elected to his garden to
assist him. Truly he seemed the messenger and familiar of Christ; for
the first love that was manifest in him was for the first counsel that
Christ gave.[8] Oftentimes was he found by his nurse upon the ground
silent and awake, as though he said, 'I am come for this.' O father of
him truly Felix! Omother of him truly Joan, if this, being interpreted,
means as is said![9]
[1] The shield of Castile, on which two lions and two castles are
quartered, one lion below and one above.
[2] St. Dominic, born in 1170.
[3] His mother dreamed that she gave birth to a dog, black and white in
color, with a lighted torch in its mouth, which set the world on fire;
symbols of the black and white robe of the Order, and of the flaming
zeal of its brethren. Hence arose a play of words on their name, Domini
cani, “the dogs of the Lord.”
[4] The godmother of Dominic saw in dream a star on the forehead and
another on the back of the head of the child, signifying the light that
should stream from him over East and West.
[5] That his name might express his nature.
[6] From heaven.
[7] Dominicus, the possessive of Dominus, “Belonging to the Lord.”
[8] “Sell that thou hast and give to the poor.”—Matthew, xix. 21.
[9] Felix, signifying “happy,” and Joanna, “full of grace.”
“Not for the world,[1] for which men now toil, following him of Ostia
and Thaddeus,[2] but for the love of the true manna, be became in short
time a great teacher, such that he set himself to go about the
vineyard, which quickly fades if the vinedresser is bad; and of the
Seat[3] which was formerly more benign unto the righteous poor (not
through itself but through him who sits there and degenerates[4]), he
asked not to dispense or two or three for six,[5] not the fortune of
the first vacancy, non decimas, quae sunt pauperum Dei,[6] but leave to
fight against the errant world for that seed[7] of which four and
twenty plants are girding thee. Then with doctrine and with will,
together with the apostolic office,[8] he went forth like a torrent
which a lofty vein pours out, and on the heretical stocks his onset
smote with most vigor there where the resistance was the greatest. From
him proceeded thereafter divers streams wherewith the catholic garden
is watered, so that its bushes stand more living.
[1] The goods of this world.
[2] Henry of Susa, cardinal of Ostia, who wrote a much studied
commentary on the Decretals, and Thaddeus of Bologna, who, says
Giovanni Villani, “was the greatest physician in Christendom.” The
thought is the same as that at the beginning of Canto XI, where Dante
speaks of “one following the Laws, and one the Aphorisms.”
[3] The Papal chair.
[4] The grammatical construction is imperfect; the meaning is that the
change in the temper of the see of Rome is due not to the fault of the
Church itself, but to that of the Pope.
[5] Not for license to compound for unjust acquisitions by de. voting a
part of them to pious uses.
[6] “Not the tithes which belong to God's poor.”
[7] The true faith; “the seed is the word of God.”—Luke, viii. 11.
[8] The authority conferred on him by Innocent III.
If such was one wheel of the chariot on which the Holy Church defended
itself and vanquished in the field its civil strife,[1] surely the
excellence of the other should be very plain to thee, concerning which
Thomas before my coming was so courteous. But the track which the
highest part of its circumference made is derelict;[2] So that the
mould is where the crust was.[3] His household, which set forth
straight with their feet upon his footprints, are so turned round that
they set the forward foot on that behind;[4] and soon the quality of
the barvest of this bad culture shall be seen, when the tare will
complain that the chest is taken from it.[5] Yet I say, he who should
search our volume leaf by leaf might still find a page where he would
read, 'I am that which I am wont:' but it will not be from Casale nor
from Acquasparta,[6] whence such come unto the Written Rule that one
flies from it, and the other contracts it.
[1] The heresies within its own borders.
[2] The track made by St. Francis is deserted.
[3] The change of metaphor is sudden; good wine makes a crust, bad wine
mould in the cask.
[4] They go in an opposite direction from that followed by the saint.
[5] That it is taken from the chest in the granary to be burned.
[6] Frate Ubertino of Casale, the leader of a party of zealots among
the Franciscans, enforced the Rule of the Order with excessive
strictness; Matteo, of Acquasparta, general of the Franciscans in 1257,
relaxed it.
“I am the life of Bonaventura of Bagnoregio, who in great offices
always set sinister[1] care behind me. Illuminato and Augustin are
here, who were among the first barefoot poor that in the cord made
themselves friends to God. Hugh of St. Victor[2] is here with them, and
Peter Mangiadore, and Peter of Spain,[3] who down below shines in
twelve books; Nathan the prophet, and the Metropolitan Chrysostom,[4]
and Anselm,[5] and that Donatus[6] who deigned to set his hand to the
first art; Raban[7] is here, and at my side shines the Calabrian abbot
Joachim,[8] endowed with prophetic spirit.
[1] Sinister, that is, temporal.
[2] Hugh (1097-1141), a noted schoolman, of the famous monastery of St.
Victor at Paris.
[3] Peter Mangiador, or Comestor, “the Eater,” so called as being a
devourer of books. He himself wrote books famous in their time. He was
chancellor of the University at Paris, and died in 1198. The Summae
logicales of Peter of Spain, in twelve books, was long held in high
repute. He was made Cardinal Bishop of Tusculum in 1273, and was
elected Pope in 1276, taking the name of John XXI. He was killed in
May, 1277, by the fall of the ceiling of the chamber in which he was
sleeping in the Papal palace at Viterbo. He is the only Pope of recent
times whom Dante meets in Paradise.
[4] The famous doctor of the Church, patriarch of Constantinople.
[5] Born about 1033 at Aosta in Piedmont, consecrated Arch. bishop of
Canterbury in 1093, died 1109; magnus et subtilis doctor in theologia.”
[6] The compiler of the treatise on grammar (the first of the seven
arts of the Trivium. and the Quadrivium), which was in use throughout
the Middle Ages.
[7] Rabanus Maurus, Archbishop of Mainz, in the ninth century; a great
scholar and teacher, “cui similem suo tempore non habuit Ecelesia.”
[8] Joachim, Abbot of Flora, whose mystic prophecies had great vogue.
“The flaming courtesy of Brother Thomas, and his discreet discourse,
moved me to celebrate[1] so great a paladin; and with me moved this
company.”
[1] Literally, “to envy;” hence, perhaps, “to admire,” “to praise,” “to
celebrate;” but the meaning is doubtful.
CANTO XIII.
St. Thomas Aquinas speaks again, and explains the relation of the
wisdom of Solomon to that of Adam and of Christ, and declares the
vanity of human judgment.
Let him imagine,[1] who desires to understand well that which I now saw
(and let him retain the image like a firm rock, while I am speaking),
fifteen stars which in different regions vivify the heaven with
brightness so great that it overcomes all thickness of the air; let him
imagine that Wain[2] for which the bosom of our heaven suffices both
night and day, so that in the turning of its pole it disappears not;
let him imagine the mouth of that horn[3] which begins at the point of
the axle on which the primal wheel goes round,—to have made of
themselves two signs in the heavens, like that which the daughter of
Minos made, when she felt the frost of death,[4] and one to have its
rays within the other, and both to revolve in such manner that one
should go first and the other after; and he will have as it were the
shadow of the true constellation, and of the double dance, which was
circling the point where I was; because it is as much beyond our wont
as the motion of the heaven which outspeeds all the rest is swifter
than the movement of the Chiana.[5] There was sung riot Bacchus, not
Paean, but three Persons in a divine nature, and it and the human in
one Person. The singing and the revolving completed each its measure,
and those holy lights gave attention to us, making themselves happy
from care to care.[6]
[1] To form an idea of the brightness of the two circles of spirits,
let the reader imagine fifteen of the brightest separate stars, joined
with the seven stars of the Great Bear, and with the two brightest of
the Lesser Bear, to form two constellations like Ariadne's Crown, and
to revolve one within the other, one following the movement of the
other.
[2] Charles's Wain, the Great Bear, which never sets.
[3] The Lesser Bear may be imagined as having the shape of a horn, of
which the small end is near the pole of the heavens around which the
Primum Mobile revolves.
[4] When Ariadne died of grief because of her desertion by Theseus, her
garland was changed into the constellation known as Ariadne's Crown.
[5] The Chiana is one of the most sluggish of the streams of Tuscany.
[6] Rejoicing in the change from dance and song to tranquillity for the
sake of giving satisfaction to Dante.
Then the light in which the marvellous life of the poor man of God had
been narrated to me broke the silence among those concordant deities,
and said, “Since one straw is threshed, since its seed is now garnered,
sweet love invites me to beat out the other. Thou believest that in the
breast, wherefrom the rib was drawn to form the beautiful cheek whose
taste costs dear to all the world, and in that which, pierced. by the
lance, both after and before made such satisfaction that it overcomes
the balance of all sin, whatever of light it is allowed to human nature
to have was all infused. by that Power which made one and the other;
and therefore thou wonderest at that which I said above, when I told
that the good which in the fifth light is inclosed had no second. Now
open thine eyes to that which I answer to thee, and thou wilt see thy
belief and my speech become in the truth as the centre in a circle.
“That which dies not and that which can die are naught but the splendor
of that idea which in His love our Lord God brings to birth;[1] for
that living Light which so proceeds from its Lucent Source that It is
not disunited from It, nor from the Love which with them is intrined,
through Its own bounty collects Its radiance, as it were mirrored, in
nine subsistences, Itself eternally remaining one. Thence It descends
to the ultimate potentialities, downward from act to act, becoming such
that finally It makes naught save brief contingencies: and these
contingencies I understand. to be the generated things which the
heavens in their motion produce with seed and without.[2] The wax of
these, and that which moulds it, are not of one mode, and therefore
under the ideal stamp it shines now more now less;[3] whence it comes
to pass that one same plant in respect to species bears better or worse
fruit, and that ye are born with diverse dispositions. If the wax were
exactly worked,[4] and the heavens were supreme in their power, the
whole light of the seal would be apparent. But nature always gives it
defective,[5] working like the artist who has the practice of his art
and a hand that trembles. Nevertheless if the fervent Love disposes and
imprints the clear Light of the primal Power, complete perfection is
acquired here.[6] Thus of old the earth was made worthy of the complete
perfection of the living being;[7] thus was the Virgin made
impregnate;[8] so that I commend thy opinion that human nature never
was, nor will be, what it was in those two persons.
[1] The creation of things eternal and things temporal alike is the
splendid manifestation of the idea which the triune God, in His love,
generated. The living light in the Son, emanating from its lucent
source in the Father, in union with the love of the Holy Spirit, the
three remaining always one, pours out its radiance through the nine
orders of the Angelic Hierarchy, who distribute it by means of the
Heavens of which they axe the Intelligences.
[2] Through the various movements and conjunctions of the Heavens, the
creative light descends to the lowest elements, producing all the
varieties of contingent things.
[3] The material of contingent or temporal things, and the influences
which shape them, are of various sort, so that the splendor of the
Divine idea is visible in them in different degree.
[4] If the material were always fit to receive the impression.
[5] Nature, the second Cause, never transmits the whole of the Creative
light.
[6] If, however, the first Cause acts directly,—the fervent Love
imprinting the clear Light of the primal Power,—there can be no
imperfection in the created thing; it answers to the Divine idea.
[7] Thus, by the immediate operation of the Creator, the earth of which
Adam was formed was made the perfect material for the f ormation of the
creature with a living soul.
[8] In like manner, by the direct act of the Creator.
“Now, if I should not proceed further, 'Then how was this man without
peer?' would thy words begin. But, in order that that which is not
apparent may clearly appear, consider who he was, and the occasion
which moved him to request, when it was said to him, 'Ask.' I have not
so spoken that thou canst not clearly see that he was a king, who asked
for wisdom, in order that he might be a worthy king; not to know the
number of the motors here on high, or if necesse with a contingent ever
made necesse;[1] non si est dare primum motum esse,[2] or if in the
semicircle a triangle can be made so that it should not have one right
angle.[3] Wherefore if thou notest this and what I said, a kingly
prudence is that peerless seeing, on which the arrow of ray intention
strikes.[4] And if thou directest clear eyes to the 'has arisen' thou
wilt see it has respect only to kings, who are many, and the good are
few. With this distinction[5] take thou my saying, and thus it can
stand with that which thou believest of the first father, and of our
Delight.[6] And let this be ever as lead to thy feet, to make thee move
slow as a weary man, both to the YES and to the NO which thou seest
not; for he is very low among the fools who affirms or denies without
distinction, alike in the one and in the other case: because it
happens, that oftentimes the current opinion bends in false direction,
and then the inclination binds the understanding. Far more than vainly
does he leave the bank, since he returns not such as be sets out, who
fishes for the truth, and has not the art;[7] and of this are manifest
proofs to the world Parmenides, Melissus, Bryson,[8] and many others
who went on and knew not whither. So did Sabellius, and Arius,[9] and
those fools who were as swords unto the Scriptures in making their
straight faces crooked. Let not the people still be too secure in
judgment, like him who reckons up the blades in the field ere they are
ripe. For I have seen the briar first show itself stiff and wild all
winter long, then bear the rose upon its top. And I have seen a bark
ere now ran straight and swift across the sea through all its course,
to perish at last at entrance of the harbor. Let not dame Bertha and
master Martin, seeing one rob, and another make offering, believe to
see them within the Divine counsel:[10] for the one may rise and the
other may fall.”
[1] If from two premises, one necessary and one contingent, a necessary
conclusion is to be deduced.
[2] “If a prime motion is to be assumed,” that is, a motion not the
effect of another.
[3] He did not ask through idle curiosity to know the number of the
Angels; nor for the solution of a logical puzzle, nor for that of a
question in metaphysics, or of a problem in geometry.
[4] If thou understandest this comment on my former words, to see so
much no second has arisen,” my meaning will be clear that his vision
was unmatched in respect to the wisdom which it behoves a king to
possess.
[5] Thus distinguishing, it is apparent that Solomon is not brought
into comparison, in respect to perfection of wisdom, with Adam or with
Christ.
[6] Christ.
[7] Because he returns not only empty-handed, but with his mind
perverted.
[8] Heathen philosophers who went astray in seeking for the truth.
[9] Sabellius denied the Trinity, Arius denied the Consubstantiality of
the word.
[10] To understand the mystery of predestination.
CANTO XIV.
At the prayer of Beatrice, Solomon tells of the glorified body of the
blessed after the Last Judgment.—Ascent to the Heaven of Mars.—Souls of
the Soldiery of Christ in the form of a Cross with the figure of Christ
thereon.—Hymn of the Spirits.
From the centre to the rim, and so from the rim to the centre, the
water in a round vessel moves, according as it is struck from without
or within. This which I say fell suddenly into my mind when the
glorious life of Thomas became silent, because of the similitude which
was born of his speech and that of Beatrice, whom after him it pleased
thus to begin,[1] “This man has need, and he tells it not to you,
neither with his voice nor as yet in thought, of going to the root of
another truth. Tell him if the light wherewith your substance blossoms
will remain with you eternally even as it is now; and if it remain,
tell how, after you shall be again made visible, it will be possible
that it hurt not your sight.”[2]
[1] St. Thomas had spoken from his place in the ring which formed a
circle around Beatrice and Dante; Beatrice now was speaking from the
centre where she stood.
[2] The souls of the blessed are hidden in the light which emanates
from them; after the resurrection of the body they will become visible,
but then how will the bodily eyes endure such brightness?
As, when urged and drawn by greater pleasure, those who are dancing in
a ring with one accord lift their voice and gladden their motions, so,
at that prompt and devout petition, the holy circles showed new joy in
their turning and in their marvellous melody. Whoso laments because man
dies here in order to live thereabove, has not seen here the
refreshment of the eternal rain.
That One and Two and Three which ever lives, and ever reigns in Three
and Two and One, uncircumscribed, and circumscribing everything, was
thrice sung by each of those spirits with such a melody that for every
merit it would be a just reward. And I heard in the divinest light of
the small circle a modest voice,[1] perhaps such as was that of the
Angel to Mary, make answer, “As long as the festival of Paradise shall
be, so long will our love radiate around us such a garment. Its
brightness follows our ardor, the ardor our vision, and that is great
in proportion as it receives of grace above its own worth. When the
glorious and sanctified flesh shall be put on us again, our persons
will be more pleasing through being all complete; wherefore whatever of
gratuitous light the Supreme Good gives us will be increased,—light
which enables us to see him; so that our vision needs must increase,
our ardor increase which by that is kindled, our radiance increase
which comes from this. But even as a coal which gives forth flame, and
by a vivid glow surpasses it, so that it defends its own aspect,[2]
thus this effulgence, which already encircles us, will be vanquished in
appearance by the flesh which all this while the earth covers. Nor will
so great a light be able to fatigue us, for the organs of the body will
be strong for everything which shall have power to delight us.” So
sudden and ready both one and the other choir seemed to me in saying
“Amen,” that truly they showed desire for their dead bodies, perhaps
not only for themselves, but also for their mothers, for their fathers,
and for the others who were dear before they became sempiternal flames.
[1] Probably that of Solomon, who in the tenth Canto is said to be “the
light which is the most beautiful among us.”
[2] The coal is seen glowing through the flame.
And lo! round about, of a uniform brightness, arose a lustre, outside
that which was there, like an horizon which is growing bright. And even
as at rise of early evening new appearances begin in the heavens, so
that the sight seems and seems not true, it seemed to me that there I
began to see new subsistences, and a circle forming outside the other
two circumferences. O true sparkling of the Holy Spirit, how sudden and
glowing it became to mine eyes, which, vanquished, endured it not! But
Beatrice showed herself to me so beautiful and smiling that she must be
left among those sights which have not followed my memory.
Thence my eyes regained power to raise themselves again, and I saw
myself alone with my Lady transferred to higher salvation.[1]
That I was more uplifted I perceived clearly by the fiery smile of the
star, which seemed to me ruddier than its wont. With all my heart and
with that speech which is one in all men,[2] I made to God a holocaust
such as was befitting to the new grace; and the ardor of the sacrifice
was not yet exhausted in my breast when I knew that offering had been
accepted and propitious; for with such great glow and such great
ruddiness splendors appeared to me within two rays, that I said, “O
Helios,[3] who dost so array them!”
[1] To a higher grade of blessedness, that of the Fifth Heaven.
[2] The unuttered voice of the soul.
[3] Whether Dante forms this word from the Hebrew Eli (my God), or
adopts the Greek {Greek here} (sun), is uncertain.
Even as, marked out by less and greater lights, the Galaxy so whitens
between the poles of the world that it indeed makes the wise to
doubt,[1] thus, constellated in the depth of Mars, those rays made the
venerable sign which joinings of quadrants in a circle make. Here my
memory overcomes my genius, for that Cross was flashing forth Christ,
so that I know not to find worthy comparison. But be who takes his
cross and follows Christ will yet excuse me for that which I omit, when
in that brightness he beholds Christ gleaming.
[1] “Concerning the GaJaxy philosophers have held different
opinions.”—Convito, 115.
From horn to horn[1] and between the top and the base lights were
moving, brightly scintillating as they met together and in their
passing by. Thus here[2] are seen, straight and athwart, swift and
slow, changing appearance, the atoms of bodies, long and short, moving
through the sunbeam, wherewith sometimes the shade is striped which
people contrive with skill and art for their protection. And as a viol
or harp, strung in harmony of many strings, makes a sweet tinkling to
one by whom the tune is not caught, thus from the lights which there
appeared to me a melody was gathered through the Cross, which rapt me
without understanding of the hymn. Truly was I aware that it was of
holy praise, because there came to me “Arise and conquer!” as unto one
who understands not, and yet bears. I was so enamoured therewith that
until then had not been anything which had fettered me with such sweet
bonds. Perchance my word appears too daring, in setting lower the
pleasure from the beautiful eyes, gazing into which my desire has
repose. But he who considers that the living seals[3] of every beauty
have more effect the higher they are, and that I there had not turned
round to those eyes, can excuse me for that whereof I accuse myself in
order to excuse myself, and see that I speak truth; for the holy
pleasure is not here excluded, because it becomes the purer as it
mounts.
[1] From arm to arm of the cross.
[2] On earth.
[3] The Heavens, which are “the seal of mortal wax” (Canto VIII.),
increase in power as they are respectively nearer the Empyrean, so that
the joy in each, as it is higher up, is greater than in the heavens
below. To this time Dante had felt no joy equal to that afforded him by
this song. But a still greater joy awaited him in the eyes of Beatrice,
to which, since he entered the Fifth Heaven, he had not turned, but
which there, as elsewhere, were to afford the supreme delight.
CANTO XV.
Dante is welcomed by his ancestor, Cacciaguida.—Cacciaguida tells of
his family, and of the simple life of Florence in the old days.
A benign will, wherein the love which righteously inspires always
manifests itself, as cupidity does in the evil will, imposed silence on
that sweet lyre, and quieted the holy strings which the right hand of
heaven slackens and draws tight. How unto just petitions shall those
substances be deaf, who, in order to give me wish to pray unto them,
were concordant in silence? Well is it that be endlessly should grieve
who, for the love of thing which endures not eternally, despoils him of
that love.
As, through the tranquil and pure evening skies, a sudden fire shoots
from time to time, moving the eyes which were at rest, and seems to be
a star which changes place, except that from the region where it is
kindled nothing is lost, and it lasts short while, so, from the arm
which extends on the right, to the foot of that Cross, ran a star of
the constellation which is resplendent there. Nor from its ribbon did
the gem depart, but through the radial strip it ran along and seemed
like fire behind alabaster. Thus did the pious shade of Anchises
advance (if our greatest Muse merits belief), when in Elysium he
perceived. his son.[1]
[1] “And he (Anchises), when he saw Aeneas advancing to meet him over
the grass, stretched forth both hands eagerly, and the tears poured
down his cheeks, and he cried out, 'Art thou come at length?”—Aeneid,
vi. 684-7.
“O sanguis meus! o superinfusa gratia Dei! sicut tibi, cui bis unquam
coeli janua reclusa?”[1] Thus that light; whereat I gave heed to it;
then I turned my sight to my Lady, and on this side and that I was
wonderstruck; for within her eyes was glowing such a smile, that with
my own I thought to touch the depth of my grace and of my Paradise.
[1] “O blood of mine! O grace of God poured from above! To whom, as to
thee, was ever the gate of Heaven twice opened?”
Then, gladsome to hear and to see, the spirit joined to his beginning
things which I understood not, he spoke so profoundly. Nor did he hide
himself to me by choice, but by necessity, for his conception was set
above the mark of mortals. And when the bow of his ardent affection was
so relaxed that his speech descended towards the mark of our
understanding, the first thing that was understood by me was, “Blessed
be Thou, Trinal, and One who in my offspring art so courteous.” And he
went on, “Grateful and long hunger, derived from reading in the great
vouime where white or dark is never changed,[1] thou hast relieved, my
son, within this light in which I speak to thee, thanks to Her who
clothed thee with plumes for the lofty flight. Thou believest that thy
thought flows to me from that which is first; even as from the unit, if
that be known, ray out the five and six. And therefore who I am, and
why I appear to thee more joyous than any other in this glad crowd,
thou askest me not. Thou believest the truth; for the less and the
great of this life gaze upon the mirror in which, before thou thinkest,
thou dost display thy thought. But in order that the sacred Love, in
which I watch with perpetual sight, and which makes me thirst with
sweet desire, may be fulfilled the better, let thy voice, secure, bold,
and glad, utter the wish, utter the desire, to which my answer is
already decreed.”
[1] In the mind of God, in which there is no change.
I turned me to Beatrice, and she heard before I spoke, and smiled to me
a sign which made the wings to my desire grow: and I began thus: “When
the first Equality appeared to you, the affection and the intelligence
became of one weight for each of you; because the Sun which illumined
and warmed you is of such equality in its heat and in its light that
all similitudes are defective. But will and discourse in mortals, for
the reason which is manifest to you, are diversely feathered in their
wings.[1] Wherefore I, who am mortal, feel myself in this
inequality,[2] and therefore I give not thanks, save with my heart, for
thy paternal welcome. Truly I beseech thee, living topaz that dost
ingem this precious jewel, that thou make me content with thy name?” “O
leaf of mine, in whom, while only awaiting, I took pleasure, I was thy
root.” Such a beginning he, answering, made to me. Then he said to me:
“He from whom thy family is named,[3] and who for a hundred years and
more has circled the mountain on the first ledge, was my son and was
thy great-grandsire. Truly it behoves that thou shorten for him his
long fatigue with thy works. Florence, within the ancient circle
wherefrom she still takes both tierce and nones,[4] was abiding in
sober and modest peace. She had not necklace nor coronal, nor dames
with ornamented shoes, nor girdle which was more to be looked at than
the person. Not yet did the daughter at her birth cause fear to the
father, for the time and dowry did not evade measure on this side and
that.[5] She had not houses void of families;[6] Sardanapalus had not
yet arrived[7] there to show what can be done in a chamber. Not yet by
your Uccellatoio was Montemalo surpassed, which, as it has been
surpassed in its rise, shall be so in its fall.[8] I saw Bellineoin
Berti[9] go girt with leather and bone,[10] and his dame come from her
mirror without a painted face. And I saw them of the Nerli, and them of
the Vecchio,[11] contented with the uncovered skin,[12] and their dames
with the spindle and the distaff. O fortunate women! Every one was sure
of her burial place;[13] and as yet no one was deserted in her bed for
France.[14] One over the cradle kept her careful watch, and,
comforting, she used the idiom which first amuses fathers and mothers.
Another, drawing the tresses from her distaff, told tales to her
household of the Trojans, and of Fiesole, and of Rome.[15] A
Cianghella,[16] a Lapo Salterello would then have been held as great a
marvel as Cincinnatus or Cornelia would be now.
[1] But will and the discourse of reason, corresponding to affection
and intelligence, are unequal in mortals, owing to their imperfection.
[2] Which makes it impossible for me to give full expression to my
gratitude and affection.
[3] Alighiero, from whom, it would appear from his station in
Purgatory, Dante inherited the sin of pride, as well as his name.
[4] The bell of the church called the Badia, or Abbey, which stood
within the old walls of Florence, rang daily the hours for worship, and
measured the time for the Florentines. Tierce is the first division of
the canonical hours of the day, from six to nine; nones, the third,
from twelve to three.
[5] They were not married so young as now, nor were such great dowries
required for them.
[6] Palaces too large for their occupants, built for ostentation.
[7] The luxury and effeminacy of Sardanapalus were proverbial.
[8] Not yet was the view from Montemalo, or Monte Mario, of Rome in its
splendor surpassed by that of Florence from the height of Uccellatoio;
and the fall of Florence shall be greater even than that of Rome.
[9] Bellincion Berti was “an honorable citizen of Florence,” says
Giovanni Villani; “a noble soldier,” adds Benvenuto da Imola. He was
father of the “good Gualdrada.” See Hell, XVI.
[10] With a plain leathern belt fastened with a clasp of bone.
[11] Two ancient and honored families.
[12] Clothed in garments of plain dressed skin not covered with cloth.
[13] Not fearing to die in exile.
[14] Left by her husband seeking fortune in France, or other for. eign
lands.
[15] These old tales may be read in the first book of Villani's
Chronicle.
[16] “Mulier arrogantissima et intolerabilis . . . multum lubrice
vixit,” says Benvenuto da Imola, who describes Lapo Salterello as
temerarius et pravus civis, vir litigiosus et linguosus.”
“To such a tranquil, to such a beautiful life of citizens, to such a
trusty citizenship, to such a sweet inn, Mary, called on with loud
cries,[1] gave me; and in your ancient Baptistery I became at once a
Christian and Cacciaguida. Moronto was my brother, and Eliseo; my dame
came to me from the valley of the Po, and thence was thy surname.
Afterward I followed the emperor Conrad.[2] and he belted me of his
soldiery,[3] so much by good deeds did I come into his favor. Following
him I went against the iniquity of that law[4] whose people usurp your
right,[5] though fault of the shepherd. There by that base folk was I
released from the deceitful world, the love of which pollutes many
souls, and I came from martyrdom to this peace.”
[1] The Virgin, called on in the pains of childbirth.
[2] Conrad III. of Suabia. In 1143 he joined in the second Crusade.
[3] Made me a belted knight.
[4] The law of Mahomet.
[5] The Holy Land, by right belonging to the Christians.
CANTO XVI.
The boast of blood.—Cacciaguida continues his discourse concerning the
old and the new Florence.
O thou small nobleness of our blood! If thou makest folk glory in thee
down here, where our affection languishes, it will nevermore be a
marvel to me; for there, where appetite is not perverted, I mean in
Heaven, I myself gloried in thee. Truly art thou a cloak which quickly
shortens, so that, if day by day it be not pieced, Time goeth round
about it with his shears.
With the YOU,[1] which Rome first tolerated, in which her family least
perseveres,[2] my words began again. Whereat Beatrice, who was a little
withdrawn,[3] smiling, seemed like her[4] who coughed at the first
fault that is written of Guenever. I began, “You are my father, you
give me all confidence to speak; you lift me so that I am more than I.
Through so many streams is my mind filled with gladness that it makes
of itself a joy, in that it can bear this and not burst.[5] Tell me
then, beloved first source of me, who were your ancestors, and what
were the years that were numbered in your boyhood. Tell me of the
sheepfold of St. John,[6] how large it was then, and who were the
people within it worthy of the highest seats.”
[1] The plural pronoun, used as a mark of respect. This usage was
introduced in the later Roman Empire.
[2] The Romans no longer show respect to those worthy of it.
[3] Beatrice stands a little aside, theology having no part in this
colloquy. She smiles, not reproachfully, at Dante's vainglory.
[4] The Dame de Malehault, who coughed at seeing the first kiss given
by Lancelot to Guenever. The incident is not told in any of the printed
versions of the Romance of Lancelot, but it has been found by Mr. Paget
Toynbee in several of the manuscripts.
[5] Rejoices that it has capacity to endure such great joy.
[6] Florence, whose patron saint was St. John the Baptist.
As a coal quickens to flame at the blowing of the winds, so I saw that
light become resplendent at my blandishments, and as it became more
beautiful to my eyes, so with voice more dulcet and soft, but not with
this modern speech, it said to me, “From that clay on which Ave was
said, unto the birth in which my mother, who. now is sainted, was
lightened of me with whom she was burdened, this fire had come to its
Lion[1] five hundred, fifty, and thirty times to reinflame itself
beneath his paw.[2] My ancestors and I were born in the place where the
last ward is first found by him who runs in your annual game.[3] Let it
suffice to hear this of my elders. Who they were, and whence they came
thither, it is more becoming to leave untold than to recount.
[1]—Mars
As he glow'd like a ruddy shield on the Lion's breast.—Maud, part III.
The Lion is the sign Leo in the Zodiac, appropriate to Mars by supposed
conformity of disposition.
[2] Five hundred and eighty revolutions of Mars are accomplished in a
little more than ten hundred and ninety years.
[3] The place designated was the boundary of the division of the city
called that of “the Gate of St. Peter,” where the Corso passes by the
Mercato Vecchio or Old Market. The races were run along the Corso on
the 24th June, the festival of St. John the Baptist.
“All those able to bear arms who at that time were there, between Mars
and the Baptist,[1] were the fifth of them who are living. But the
citizenship, which is now mixed with Campi and with Certaldo and with
Figghine,[2] was to be seen pure in the lowest artisan. Oh, how much
better it would be that those folk of whom I speak were neighbors, and
to have your confine at Galluzzo and at Trespiano,[3] than to have them
within, and to endure the stench of the churl of Aguglione,[4] and of
him of Signa, who already has his eye sharp for barratry!
[1] Between the Ponte Vecchio, at the head of which stood the statue of
Mars, and the Baptistery,—two points marking the circuit of the ancient
walls.
[2] Small towns not far from Florence, from which, as from many others,
there had been emigration to the thriving city, to the harm of its own
people.
[3] It would have been better to keep these people at a distance, as
neighbors, and to have narrow bounds for the territory of the city.
[4] The churl of Aguglione was, according to Benvenuto da Imola, a
lawyer named Baldo, “qui fuit magnus canis.” He became one of the
priors of Florence in 1311. He of Signa is supposed to have been one
Bonifazio, who, says Buti, “sold his favors and offices.”
“If the people which most degenerates in the world[1] had not been as a
stepdame unto Caesar, but like a mother benignant to her son, there is
one now a Florentine[2] who changes money and traffics, who would have
returned to Simifonti, there where his grandsire used to go begging.
Montemurlo would still belong to its Counts, the Cerchi would be in the
parish of Acone, and perhaps the Buondelmonti in Valdigreve.[3] The
confusion of persons has always been the beginning of the harm of the
city, as in the body the food which is added.[4] And a blind bull falls
more headlong than the blind lamb; and oftentimes one sword cuts more
and better than five. If thou regardest Luni and Urbisaglia,[5] how
they have gone, and how Chiusi and Sinigaglia are going their way after
them, to hear how families are undone will not appear to thee a strange
thing or a bard, since cities have their term.[6] Your things all have
their death even as ye; but it is concealed in some that last long,
while lives are short. And as the revolution of the heaven of the Moon
covers and uncovers the shores without a pause, so fortune does with
Florence. Wherefore what I shall tell of the high Florentines, whose
fame is hidden by time, should not appear to thee a marvellous thing. I
saw the Ughi, and I saw the Catellini, Filippi, Greci, Ormanni, and
Alberichi, even in their decline, illustrious citizens; and I saw, as
great as they were old, with those of the Sannella, those of the Area,
and Soldanieri, and Ardinghi, and Bostiebi.[7] Over the gate which at
present is laden with new felony[8] of such weight that soon there will
be jettison from the bark,[9] were the Ravignani, from whom the Count
Guido is descended,[10] and whosoever since has taken the name of the
high Bellincione. He of the Pressa knew already bow one needs to rule,
and Galigaio already had in his house the gilded hilt and pummel.[11]
Great were already the column of the Vair,[12] the Sacchetti, Giuochi,
Fifanti, and Barucci, and Galli, and they who blush for the bushel.[13]
The stock from which the Calfucci sprang was already great, and already
the Sizii. and Arrigucci had been drawn to curule chairs.[14] Oh how
great did I see those who have been undone by their pride![15] and the
balls of gold[16] made Florence flourish with all their great deeds. So
did the fathers of those who always,when your church is vacant, become
fat, staying in consistory.[17] The overweening race which is as a
dragon behind him who flies, and to him who shows tooth or purse is
gentle as a lamb,[18] already was coming up, but from small folk, so
that it pleased not Ubertin Donato that his father-in-law should
afterwards make him their relation.[19] Already had Caponsacco
descended into the market place down from Fiesole, and already was
Giuda a good citizen, and Infangato.[20] I will tell a thing incredible
and true: into the little circle one entered by a gate which was named
for those of the Pear.[21] Every one who bears the beautiful ensign of
the great baron[22] whose name and whose praise the feast of Thomas
revives, from him had knighthood and privilege; although to-day he who
binds it with a border unites himself with the populace.[23] Already
there were Gualterotti and Importuni; and Borgo[24] would now be more
quiet, if they had gone hung for new neighbors. The house of which was
born your weeping,[25] through its just indignation which has slain
you, and put an end to your glad living, was honored, both itself and
its consorts. O Buondelmonte, how ill didst thou flee its nuptials
through the persuasions of another! [26] Many would be glad who now are
sorrowful, if God had conceded thee to the Ema[27] the first time that
thou camest to the city. But it behoved that Florence in her last peace
should offer a victim to that broken stone which guards the bridge.[28]
[1] If the clergy had not quarrelled with the Emperor, bringing about
factions and disturbances in the world.
[2] “I have not discovered who this is,” says Buti.
[3] The Conti Guidi had been compelled to sell to the Florentines their
stronghold of Montemurlo, because they could not defend it from the
Pistoians. The Cerchi and the Buondelmonti had been forced by the
Florentine Commune to give up their fortresses and to take up their
abode in the city, where they became powerful, and where the bitterness
of intestine discord and party strife had been greatly enhanced by
their quarrels.
[4] Food added to that already in process of digestion.
[5] Cities once great, now fallen.
[6] Cities longer-lived than families.
[7] All once great families, but now extinct, or fallen.
[8] Above the gate of St. Peter rose the walls of the abode of the
Cerchi, the head of the White faction.
[9] The casting overboard was the driving out of the leaders of the
Whites in 1302.
[10] The Count Guido married Gualdrada, the daughter of Bellincione
Berti.
[11] Symbols of knighthood; the use of gold in their accoutrements
being reserved for knights.
[12] The family of the Pigli, whose scatcheon was, in heraldic terms,
gules, a pale, vair; in other words, a red shield divided
longitudinally by a stripe of the heraldic representation of the fur
called vair.
[13] The Chiaramontesi, one of whom in the old days, being the officer
in charge of the sale of salt for the Commune, had cheated both the
Commune and the people by using a false measure. See Purgatory, Canto
XII.
[14] To high civic office.
[15] The Uberti, the great family of which Farinata was the most
renowned member.
[16] The Lamberti, who bore golden balls on their shields.
[17] The Visdomini, patrons of the Bishopric of Florence, who, after
the death of a bishop, by deferring the appointment of his successor
grew fat on the episcopal revenues.
[18] The Adimari. Benvenuto da Imola reports that one Boccacino
Adimari, after Dante's banishment, got possession of his property, and
always afterward was his bitter enemy.
[19] Ubertin Donato married a daughter of Bellincion Berti, and was
displeased that her sister should afterwards be given to one of the
Adimari.
[20] There seems to be a touch of humor in these three names of “Head
in bag,” “Judas,” and “Bemired.”
[21] The Peruzzi, who bore the pear as a charge upon their scutcheon.
The incredible thing may have been that the people were so simple and
free from jealousy as to allow a public gate to bear the name of a
private family. The “little circle” was the circle of the old walls.
[22] Hugh, imperial vicar of Tuscany in the time of Otho II. and Otho
III. He died on St. Thomas's Day, December 21st, 1006, and was buried
in the Badia, the foundation of which is ascribed to him; there his
monument is still to be seen, and there of old, on the anniversary of
his death, a discourse in his praise was delivered. Several families,
whose heads were knighted by him, adopted his arms, with some
distinctive addlition. His scutcheon was paly of four, argent and
gules.
[23] Giano della Bella, the great leader of the Florentine commonalty
in the latter years of the 13th century. He bore the arms of Hugh with
a border of gold.
[24] The Borgo Sant' Apostolo, the quarter of the city in which these
families lived, would have been more tranquil if the Buondelmonti had
not come to take up their abode in it.
[25] The Amidei, who were the source of much of the misery of Florence,
through their long and bitter feud with the Buondelmonti, by which the
whole city was divided.
[26] The quarrel between the Amidei and the Buondelmonti arose from the
slighting by Buondelmonto dei Buondelmonti of a daughter of the former
house, to whom he was betrothed, for a daughter of the Donati, induced
thereto by her mother. This was in 1215.
[27] The Ema, a little stream that has to be crossed in coming from
Montebuono, the home of the Buondelmonti, to Florence.
[28] That victim was Buondelmonte himself, slain by the outraged
Amidei, at the foot of the mutilated statue of Mars, which stood at the
end of the Ponte Vecchio.
“With these families, and with others with them, I saw Florence in such
repose that she had no occasion why she should weep. With these
families I saw her people so glorious and so just, that the lily was
never set reversed upon the staff, nor had it been made blood-red by
division.”[1]
[1] The banner of Florence had never fallen into the hands of her
enemies, to be reversed by them in scoff. Of old it had borne a white
lily in a red field, but in 1250, when the Ghibellines were expelled,
the Guelphs adopted a red lily in a white field, and this became the
ensign of the Commune.
CANTO XVII.
Dante questions Cacciaguida as to his fortunes.—Cacciaguida replies,
foretelling the exile of Dante, and the renown of his Poem.
As he who still makes fathers chary toward their sons[1] came to
Clymene, to ascertain concerning that which he had heard against
himself; such was I, and such was I perceived to be both by Beatrice,
and by the holy lamp which first for my sake had changed its station.
Whereon my Lady said to me, “Send forth the flame of thy desire so that
it may issue sealed well by the internal stamp; not in order that our
knowledge may increase through thy speech, but that thou accustom
thyself to tell thy thirst, so that one may give thee drink.”
[1] Phaethon, son of Clymene by Apollo, having been told that Apollo
was not his father, went to his mother to ascertain the truth.
“O dear plant of me, who so upliftest thyself that, even as earthly
minds see that two obtuse angles are not contained in a triangle, so
thou, gazing upon the point to which all times are present, seest
contingent things, ere in themselves they are; while I was conjoined
with Virgil up over the mountain which cures the souls, and while
descending in the world of the dead, grave words were said to me of my
future life; although I feel myself truly four-square against the blows
of chance. Wherefore my wish would be content by hearing what sort of
fortune is drawing near me; for arrow foreseen comes more slack.” Thus
said I unto that same light which before had spoken to me, and as
Beatrice willed was my wish confessed.
Not with ambiguous terms in which the foolish folk erst were
entangled,[1] ere yet the Lamb of God which taketh away sins had been
slain, but with clear words and with distinct speech that paternal
love, hid and apparent by his own proper smile, made answer:
“Contingency, which extends not outside the volume of your matter, is
all depicted in the eternal aspect. Therefrom, however, it takes not
necessity, more than from the eye in which it is mirrored does a ship
which descends with the downward current. Thence, even as sweet harmony
comes to the ear from an organ, comes to my sight the time that is
preparing for thee. As Hippolytus departed from Athens, by reason of
his pitiless and perfidious stepmother, so out from Florence thou must
needs depart. This is willed, this is already sought for, and soon it
shall be brought to pass, by him I who designs it there where every day
Christ is bought and sold. The blame will follow the injured party, in
outcry, as it is wont; but the vengeance will be testimony to the truth
which dispenses it. Thou shalt leave everything beloved most dearly;
and this is the arrow which the bow of exile first shoots. Thou shalt
prove how the bread of others savors of salt, and how the descending
and the mounting of another's stairs is a hard path. And that which
will heaviest weigh upon thy shoulders will be the evil and foolish
company[2] with which into this valley thou shalt fall; which all
ungrateful, all senseless, and impious will turn against thee; but
short while after, it, not thou, shall have the forehead red therefor.
Of its bestiality, its own procedure will give the proof; so that it
will be seemly for thee to have made thyself a party by thyself.
[1] Not with riddles such as the oracles gave out before they fell
silent at the coming of Christ.
[2] Boniface VIII.
[3] The other Florentine exiles of the party of the Whites.
“Thy first refuge and first inn shall be the courtesy of the great
Lombard,[1] who upon the ladder bears the holy bird, who will turn such
benign regard on thee that, in doing and in asking, between you two,
that will be first, which between others is the slowest. With him shalt
thou see one,[2] who was so impressed, at his birth, by this strong
star, that his deeds will be notable. Not yet are the people aware of
him, because of his young age; for only nine years have these wheels
revolved around him. But ere the Gascon cheat the lofty Henry[3] some
sparkles of his virtue shall appear, in caring not for silver nor for
toils. His magnificences shall hereafter be so known, that his enemies
shall not be able to keep their tongues mute about them. Await thou for
him, and for his benefits; by him shall many people be transformed,
rich and mendicant changing condition. And thou shalt bear hence
written of him in thy mind, but thou shalt not tell it;” and he said
things incredible to those who shall be present. Then he added, “Son,
these are the glosses on what was said to thee; behold the ambushes
which are bidden behind few revolutions. Yet would I not that thou bate
thy neighbors, because thy life hath a future far beyond the punishment
of their perfidies.”
[[1] Bartolommeo della Scala, lord of Verona, whose armorial bearings
were the imperial eagle upon a ladder (scala).
[2] Can Grande della Scala, the youngest brother of Bartolommeo, and
finally his successor as lord of Verona.
[3] Before Pope Clement V., under whom the Papal seat was established
at Avignon, shall deceive the Emperor, Henry VIL, by professions of
support, while secretly promoting opposition to his expedition to Italy
in 1310.
When by its silence that holy soul showed it had finished putting the
woof into that web which I had given it warped, I began, as he who, in
doubt, longs for counsel from a person who sees, and uprightly wills,
and loves: “I see well, my Father, how the time spurs on toward me to
give me such a blow as is heaviest to him who most deserts himself;
wherefore it is good that I arm me with foresight, so that if the place
most dear be taken from me, I should not lose the others by my songs.
Down through the world of endless bitterness, and over the mountain
from whose fair summit the eyes of my Lady have lifted me, and
afterward through the heavens from light to light, I have learned that
which, if I repeat it, shall be to many a savor keenly sour; and if I
am a timid friend to the truth I fear to lose life among those who will
call this time the olden.” The light, in which my treasure which I had
found there was smiling, first became flashing as a mirror of gold in
the sunbeam; then it replied, “A conscience dark, either with its own
or with another's shame, will indeed feel thy speech as harsh; but
nevertheless, all falsehood laid aside, make thy whole vision manifest,
and let the scratching be even where the itch is; for if at the first
taste thy voice shall be molestful, afterwards, when it shall be
digested, it will leave vital nourishment. This cry of thine shall do
as the wind, which heaviest strikes the loftiest summits; and that will
be no little argument of honor. Therefore to thee have been shown
within these wheels, upon the mountain, and in the woeful valley, only
the souls which are known of fame. For the mind of him who bears rests
not, nor confirms its faith, through an example which has its root
unknown and hidden, nor by other argument which is not apparent.”
CANTO XVIII.
The Spirits in the Cross of Mars.—Ascent to the Heaven of
Jupiter.—Words shaped in light upon the planet by the
Spirits.—Denunciation of the avarice of the Popes.
Now was that blessed mirror enjoying alone its own word,[1] and I was
tasting mine, tempering the bitter with the sweet. and that Lady who to
God was leading me said, “Change thy thought; think that I am near to
Him who lifts the burden of every wrong.” I turned me round at the
loving sound of my Comfort, and what love I then saw in the holy eyes,
I here leave it; not only because I distrust my own speech, but because
of the memory which cannot return so far above itself, unless another
guide it. Thus much of that moment can I recount, that, again beholding
her, my affection was free from every other desire.
[1] Its own thoughts in contemplation.
While the eternal pleasure, which was raying directly upon Beatrice,
from her fair face was contenting me with its second aspect,[1]
vanquishing me with the light of a smile, she said to me, “Turn thee,
and listen, for not only in my eyes is Paradise.”
[1] Its aspect reflected from the eyes of Beatrice.
As sometimes here one sees the affection in the countenance, if it be
so great that by it the whole soul is occupied, so in the flaming of
the holy effulgence to which I turned me, I recognized the will in it
still to speak somewhat with me. It began, “In this fifth threshold of
the tree, which lives from its top, and always bears fruit, and never
loses leaf, are blessed spirits, who below, before they came to heaven,
were of great renown, so that every Muse would be rich with them.
Therefore gaze upon the arms of the Cross; he, whom I shall name, will
there do that which within a cloud its own swift fire does.” At the
naming of Joshua, even as he did it, I saw a light drawn over the
Cross; nor was the word noted by me before the act. And at the name of
the lofty Maccabeus[1] I saw another move revolving, and gladness was
the whip of the top. Thus for Charlemagne and for Roland my attentive
gaze followed two of them, as the eye follows its falcon as be flies.
Afterward William, and Renouard,[2] and the duke Godfrey,[3] and Robert
Guiscard[4] drew my sight over that Cross. Then, moving, and mingling
among the other lights, the soul which had spoken with me showed me how
great an artist it was among the singers of heaven.
[1] Judas Maccabeus, who “ was renowned to the utmost part of the
earth.” See I Maccabees, ii-ix.
[2] Two heroes of romance, paladins of Charlemagne.
[3] Godfrey of Bouillon, the leader of the first crusade.
[4] The founder of the Norman kingdom of Naples.
I turned me round to my right side to see my duty signified in Beatrice
either by speech or by act, and I saw her eyes so clear, so joyous,
that her semblance surpassed her other and her latest wont. And even
as, through feeling more delight in doing good, a man from day to day
becomes aware that his virtue is advancing, so I became aware that my
circling round together with the heaven had increased its are, seeing
that miracle more adorned. And such as is the change, in brief passage
of time, in a pale lady, when her countenance is unlading the load of
bashfulness, such was there in my eyes, when I had turned, because of
the whiteness of the temperate sixth star which had received, me within
itself.[1] I saw, within that torch of Jove, the sparkling of the love
which was there shape out our speech to my eyes. And as birds, risen
from the river-bank, as if rejoicing together over their food, make of
themselves a troop now round, now of some other shape, so within the
lights[2] holy creatures were singing as they flew, and made of
themselves now D, now I, now L, in their proper shapes.[3] First,
singing, they moved to their melody, then becoming one of these
characters, they stopped a little, and were silent.
[1] The change is from the red light of Mars to the white light of
Jupiter, a planet called by astrologers the “temperate” star, as lying
between the heat of Mars and the coldness of Saturn.
[2] The sparkles of the love which was there.
[3] The first letters of Diligite, as shortly appears.
O divine Pegasea,[1] who makest the wits of men glorious, and renderest
them long-lived, as they, through thee, the cities and the kingdoms,
illume me with thyself that I may set in relief their shapes, as I have
conceived them I let thy power appear in these brief verses!
[1] An appellation appropriate to any one of the Muses (whose fountain
Hippocrene sprang at the stamp of Pegasus); here probably applied to
Urania, already once invoked by the poet (Purgatory, XXIX.).
They showed themselves then in five times seven vowels and consonants;
and I noted the parts as they seemed spoken to me. Diligite justitiam
were first verb and noun of all the picture; qui judicatis terram[1]
were the last. Then in the M of the fifth word they remained arranged,
so that Jove seemed silver patterned there with gold. And I saw other
lights descending where the top of the M was, and become quiet there,
singing, I believe, the Good which moves them to itself. Then, as on
the striking of burnt logs rise innumerable sparks, wherefrom the
foolish are wont to draw auguries, there seemed to rise again thence
more than a thousand lights, and mount, one much and one little,
according as the Sun which kindles them allotted them; and, each having
become quiet in its place, I saw the head and the neck of an eagle
represented by that patterned fire. He who paints there, has none who
may guide Him, but Himself guides, and by Him is inspired that virtue
which is form for the nests.[2] The rest of the blessed spirits, which
at first seemed content to be enlilied[3] on the M, with a slight
motion followed out the imprint.
[1] “Love righteousness, ye that be judges of the earth.”—Wisdom of
Solomon, i. 1.
[2] The words are obscure; they may mean that a virtue, or instinct,
similar to that which teaches the bird to build its nest, directed the
shaping of these letters.
[3] Ingigliare, a word invented by Dante, and used only by him. The
meaning is that these spirits seemed first to form a lily on the M.
O sweet star, how great gems and how many showed to me that our justice
is the effect of that heaven which thou ingemmest! Wherefore I pray the
Mind, in which thy motion and thy virtue have their source, that It
regard whence issues the smoke which spoils thy radiance, so that now a
second time It may be wroth at the buying and selling within the temple
which was walled with signs and martyrdoms. O soldiery of the Heaven on
which I gaze, pray ye for those who are on earth all gone astray after
the bad example! Of old it was the wont to make war with swords, but
now it is made by taking, now here now there, the bread which the
piteous Father locks up from none.
But thou that writest only in order to cancel,[1] bethink thee that
Peter and Paul, who died for the vineyard which thou art laying waste,
are still alive. Thou mayest indeed say, “I have my desire set so on
him who willed to live alone, and for a dance was dragged to
martyrdom[2] that I know not the Fisherman nor Paul.”
[1] The Pope, who writes censures, excommunications, and the like, only
that he may be paid to cancel thorn.
[2] The image of St. John Baptist was on the florin, which was the
chief object of desire of the Pope.
CANTO XIX.
The voice of the Eagle.—It speaks of the mysteries of Divine justice;
of the necessity of Faith for salvation; of the sins of certain kings.
The beautiful image, which in its sweet fruition was making joyful the
interwoven souls, appeared before me with outspread wings. Each soul
appeared a little ruby on which a ray of the sun glowed so enkindled
that it reflected him into My eyes. And that which it now behoves me to
describe, no voice ever reported, nor ink wrote, nor was it ever
conceived by the fancy; for I saw, and also heard the beak speaking,
and uttering with the voice both I and MY, when in conception it was WE
and OUR.[1]
[1] An image of the concordant will of the Just, and of the unity of
Justice under the Empire.
And it began, “Through being just and pious am I here exalted to that
glory which lets not itself be conquered by desire; and on earth I left
my memory such that the evil people there commend it, but continue not
its story.” Thus a single heat makes itself felt from many embers, even
as from many loves a single sound issued from that image. Wherefore I
thereon, “O perpetual flowers of the eternal gladness, which make all
your odors seem to me as only one, deliver me, by your breath, from the
great fast which has held me long in hunger, not finding for it any
food on earth. Well I know that if the Divine Justice makes any realm
in heaven its mirror, yours does not apprehend it through a veil.[1] Ye
know how intently I address myself to listen; ye know what is that
doubt[2] which is so old a fast to me.”
[1] Here, if anywhere, the Divine Justice is reflected.
[2] Concerning the Divine justice.
As a falcon which, issuing from his hood, moves his head, and claps his
wings, showing desire, and making himself fine; so I saw this ensign,
which was woven of praise of the Divine Grace, become, with songs such
as he knows who thereabove rejoices. Then it began, “He who turned the
compasses at the verge of the world, and distributed within it so much
occult and manifest, could not so imprint His Power on all the universe
that His Word should not remain in infinite excess.[1] And this makes
certain that the first proud one, who was the top of every creature,
through not awaiting light, fell immature.[2] And hence it appears,
that every lesser nature is a scant receptacle for that Good which has
no end and measures Itself by Itself. Wherefore our vision, which needs
must be some ray of the Mind with which all things are full, cannot in
its own nature be so potent that it may not discern its origin to be
far beyond that which is apparent to it.[3] Therefore the sight which
your world receives[4] penetrates into the eternal justice as the eye
into the sea; which, though from the shore it can see the bottom, on
the ocean sees it not, and nevertheless it is there, but the depth
conceals it. There is no light but that which comes from the serene
which is never clouded; nay, there is darkness, either shadow of the
flesh, or its poison.[5] The hiding place is now open enough to thee,
which concealed from thee the living Justice concerning which thou
madest such frequent question;[6] for thou saidest,—'A man is born on
the bank of the Indus, and no one is there who may speak of Christ, nor
who may read, nor who may write; and all his wishes and acts are good
so far as human reason sees, without sin in life or in speech. He dies
unbaptized, and without faith: where is this Justice which condemns
him? where is his sin if he does not believe?' Now who art thou, that
wouldst sit upon a bench to judge a thousand miles away with the short
vision of a single span? Assuredly, for him who subtilizes with me,[7]
if the Scripture were not above you, there would be occasion for
doubting to a marvel. Oh earthly animals! oh gross minds![8]
[1] The Word, that is, the thought or wisdom of God, infinitely exceeds
the expression of it in the creation.
[2] Lucifer fell through pride, fancying himself, though a created
being, equal to his Creator. Had he awaited the full light of Divine
grace, he would have recognized his own inferiority.
[3] Our vision is not powerful enough to reach the source from which it
proceeds.
[4] It is the gift of God.
[5] There is no light but that which proceeds from God, the light of
Revelation. Lacking this, man is in the darkness of ignorance, which is
in the shadow of the flesh, or of sin, which is its poison.
[6] The hiding place is the depth of the Divine decrees, which man
cannot penetrate, but the justice of which in his self- confidence he
undertakes to question.
[7] With me, the symbol of justice.
[8] The Scriptures teach you that “the judgments of God are
unsearchable, and His ways past finding out;” why, foolish, do ye
disregard them?
“The primal Will, which of Itself is good, never is moved from Itself,
which is the Supreme Good. So much is just as is accordant to It; no
created good draws It to itself, but It, raying forth, is the cause of
that good.”
As above her nest the stork circles, after she has fed her brood, and
as he who has been fed looks up at her, such became (and I so raised my
brows) the blessed image, which moved its wings urged by so many
counsels. Wheeling it sang, and said, “As are my notes to thee who
understandest them not, so is the eternal judgment to you mortals.”
After those shining flames of the Holy Spirit became quiet, still in
the sign which made the Romans reverend to the world, it began again,
“To this kingdom no one ever ascended, who had not believed in Christ
either before or after he was nailed to the tree. But behold, many cry
Christ, Christ, who, at the Judgment, shall be far less near to him,
than such an one who knew not Christ; and the Ethiop will condemn such
Christians when the two companies shall be divided, the one forever
rich, and the other poor. What will the Persians be able to say to your
kings, when they shall see that volume open in which are written all
their dispraises?[1] There among the deeds of Albert shall be seen that
which will soon set the pen in motion, by which the kingdom of Prague
shall be made desert.[2] There shall be seen the woe which he who shall
die by the blow of a wild boar is bringing upon the Seine by falsifying
the coin.[3] There shall be seen the pride that quickens thirst, which
makes the Scot and the Englishman mad, so that neither can keep within
his own bounds.[4] The luxury shall be seen, and the effeminate living
of him of Spain, and of him of Bohemia, who never knew valor, nor
wished it.[5] The goodness of the Cripple of Jerusalem shall be seen
marked with a I, while an M shall mark the contrary.[6] The avarice and
the cowardice shall be seen of him[7] who guards the island of the
fire, where Anchises ended his long life; and, to give to understand
how little worth he is, the writing for him shall be in contracted
letters which shall note much in small space. And to every one shall be
apparent the foul deeds of his uncle and of his brother[8] who have
dishonored so famous a nation and two crowns. And he of Portugal,[9]
and he of Norway[10] shall be known there; and he of Rascia,[11] who,
to his harm, has seen the coin of Venice. O happy Hungary, if she allow
herself no longer to be maltreated! and happy Navarre, if she would arm
herself with the mountains which bind her round![12] And every one must
believe that now, for earnest of this, Nicosia and Famagosta are
lamenting and complaining because of their beast which departs not from
the flank of the others.[13]
[1] The Persians, who know not Christ, will rebuke the sins of kings
professedly Christians, when the book of life shall be opened at the
last Judgment.
[2] The devastation of Bohemia in 1303, by Albert of Austria (the
“German Albert” of the sixth canto of Purgatory), will soon set in
motion the pen of the recording angel.
[3] After his terrible defeat at Courtray in 1302, Philip the Fair, to
provide himself with means, debased. the coin of the realm. He died in
1314 from the effects of a fall from his horse, oven thrown by a wild
boar in the forest of Fontainebleau.
[4] The wars of Edward I. and Edward II. with the Scotch under Wallace
and Bruce were carried on with little intermission during the first
twenty years of the fourteenth century.
[5] By “him of Spain,” Ferdinand IV. of Castile (1295-1312) seems to be
intended; and by “him of Bohemia,” Wenceslaus IV., “whom luxury and
idleness feed.” (Purgatory, Canto VII.).
[6] The virtues of the lame Charles II. of Apulia, titular king of
Jerusalem, shall be marked with one, but his vices with a thousand.
[7] Frederick of Aragon, King of Sicily, too worthless to have his
deeds written out in full. Dante's scorn of Frederick was enhanced by
his desertion of the Ghibellines after the death of Henry VII.
[8] James, King of Majorca and Minorca, and James, King of Aragon.
[9] Denis, King of Portugal, 1279-1325.
[10] Perhaps Hakon Haleggr (Longlegs), 1299-1319.
[11] Rascia, so called from a Slavonic tribe, which occupied a region
south of the Danube, embracing a part of the modern Servia and Bosnia.
The kingdom was established in 1170. One of its kings, Stephen Ouros,
who died in 1307, imitated the coin of Venice with a debased coinage.
[12] If she would make the Pyrenees her defence against France, into
the hands of whose kings Navarre fell in 1304.
[13] The lot of these cities in Cyprus, which are now lamenting under
the rule of Henry II. of the Lusignani, a beast who goes along with the
rest, is a pledge in advance of what sort of fate falls to those who do
not defend themselves.
CANTO XX.
The Song of the Just.—Princes who have loved righteousness, in the eye
of the Eagle.—Spirits, once Pagans, in bliss.—Faith and
Salvation.—Predestination.
When he who illumines all the world, descends from our hemisphere so
that the day on every side is spent, the heavens which erst by him
alone are enkindled, suddenly become again conspicuous with many
lights, on which one is shining.[1] And this act of the heavens came to
my mind when the ensign of the world and of its leaders became silent
in its blessed beak; because all those living lights, far more shining,
began songs which lapse and fall from out my memory.
[1] One, that is, the sun, supposed to be the source of the light of
the stars.
O sweet love, that cloakest thee with a smile, how ardent didst thou
appear in those pipes[1] which had the breath alone of holy thoughts!
[1] That is, in those singers.
After the precious and lucent stones, wherewith I saw the sixth
luminary ingemmed, imposed silence on their angelic bells, I seemed to
hear the murmur of a stream which falls pellucid down from rock to
rock, showing the abundance of its mountain source. And as the sound
takes its form at the cithern's neck, and in like manner at the vent of
the bagpipe the air which enters it, thus, without pause of waiting,
that murmur of the Eagle rose up through its neck, as if it were
hollow. There it became voice, and thence it issued through its beak in
form of words, such as the heart whereon I wrote them was awaiting.
“The part in me which in mortal eagles sees and endures the sun,” it
began to me, “must now be fixedly looked upon, because of the fires
whereof I make my shape, those wherewith the eye in my head sparkles
are the highest of all their grades. He who shineth in the middle, as
the pupil, was the, singer of the Holy Spirit, who, bore about the ark
from town to town.[1] Now he knows the merit of his song, so far as it
was the effect of his own counsel,[2] by the recompense which is equal
to it. Of the five which make a circle for the brow, be who is nearest
to my beak consoled the poor widow for her son.[3] Now he knows, by the
experience of this sweet life and of the opposite, how dear it costs
not to follow Christ. And he who follows along the top of the are in
the circumference of which I speak, by true penitence postponed
death.[4] Now he knows that the eternal judgment is not altered, when
worthy prayer there below makes to-morrow's what is of to-day. The next
who follows,[5] under a good intention which bore bad fruit, by ceding
to the Pastor[6] made himself Greek, together with the laws and me. Now
he knows how the ill derived from his good action is not hurtful to
him, although thereby the world may be destroyed. And he whom thou
seest in the down-bent are was William,[7] whom that land deplores
which weeps for Charles and Frederick living.[8] Now he knows how
heaven is enamoured of a just king, and even by the aspect of his
effulgence makes it seen. Who, down in the erring world, would believe
that Rhipeus the Trojan[9] was the fifth in this circle of the holy
lights? Now he knows much of what the world cannot see of the divine
grace, although his sight cannot discern its depth.”
[1] David. See 2 Samuel, vi.
[2] So far as it proceeded from his own free will, open to the
inspiration of grace.
[3] Trajan. See Purgatory, Canto X.
[4] King Hezekiah. See 2 Kings, xx.
[5] The Emperor Constantine.
[6] By his so-called “Donation,” Constantine was believed to have ceded
Rome to the Pope, and by transferring the seat of empire to
Constantinople, he made the laws and the eagle Greek.
[7] William H., son of Robert Guiscard, King of Sicily and Apulia,
called “the Good.”
[8] Charles H. of Apulia, and Frederick of Aragon, King of Sicily.
[9]—Rhipeus,iustissimus unus Qui fuit in Teucris et servantissimus
aequi.—Aeneid, ii, 426-7.
“Rhipeus, the one justest man, and heedfullest of right among the
Trojans.”
Like as a little lark that in the air expatiates first singing, and
then is silent, content with the last sweetness which satisfies her,
such seemed to me the image of the imprint of the Eternal Plea, sure,
according to whose desire everything becomes that which it is.[1] And
though I was there, in respect to my doubt,[2] like glass to the color
which cloaks it; it[3] endured not to await the time in silence, but
with the force of its own weight urged from my mouth, “What things are
these?” whereat I saw great festival of sparkling. Thereupon, with its
eye more enkindled, the blessed ensign answered me , in order not to
keep me in wondering suspense: “I see that thou believest these things
because I say them, but thou seest not how; so that, although believed
in, they are hidden. Thou dost as one who fully apprehends a thing by
name, but cannot see its quiddity unless another explain it. Regnum
coelorum[4] suffers violence from fervent love, and from a living hope
which vanquishes the divine will; not in such wise as man overcomes
man, but vanquishes it, because it wills to be vanquished, and,
vanquished, vanquishes with its own benignity. The first life of the
eyebrow and the fifth make thee marvel, because thou seest the region
of the Angels painted with them. From their bodies they did not issue
Gentiles, as thou believest, but Christians, in firm faith, one in the
Feet that were to suffer, one in the Feet that had suffered.[5] For the
one from Hell, where there is never return to righteous will, came back
to his bones; and that was the reward of living hope; of living hope,
which put its power in prayers made to God to raise him up, so that it
might be possible his will should be moved.[6] The glorious soul,
whereof I speak, returning to the flesh, in which it remained short
while, believed in Him who was able to aid it; and in believing was
kindled to such fire of true love, that at the second death it was
worthy to come to this sport. The other, through grace which distils
from a fount so deep that creature never pushed the eye far as its
primal wave, there below set all his love on righteousness; wherefore
from grace to grace God opened his eye to our future redemption, so
that he believed in it, and thenceforth endured no more the stench of
paganism, and reproved therefor the perverse folk. More than a thousand
years before baptizing,[7] those three ladies whom thou sawest at the
right wheel[8] were to him for baptism. O predestination, how remote is
thy root from the sight of those who see not the entire First Cause!
And ye, mortals, keep yourselves restrained in judging; for we who see
God know not yet all the elect. And unto us such want is sweet, for our
good is perfected in this good, that what God wills we also will.”
[1] So, seemed the image (that is, the eagle), satiated with its bliss,
whether in the speech or the silence imposed upon it by the Eternal
Pleasure, in accordance with which all things fulfil their ends.
[2] How Trajan and Rhipeus could be in Paradise, since none but those
who had believed in Christ were there.
[3] My doubt.
[4] The kingdom of Heaven.”—Matthew, xi. 12.
[5] Rhipeus died before the coming of Christ; Trajan after.
[6] According to the legend, St. Gregory the Great prayed that Trajan,
because of his great worth, might be restored to life long enough for
his will to return to righteousness, and for him to profess his faith
in Christ.
[7] Before the divine institution of the rite of baptism his faith,
hope, and charity served him in lieu thereof.
[8] Of the Chariot of the Church. See Purgatory, Canto XXIX.
Thus, to make my short sight clear, sweet medicine was given to me by
that divine image. And as a good lutanist makes the vibration of the
string accompany a good singer, whereby the song acquires more
pleasantness, so it comes back to my mind that, while it spake, I saw
the two blessed lights moving their flamelets to the words, just as the
winking of the eyes concords.
CANTO XXI.
Ascent to the Heaven of Saturn.—Spirits of those who had given
themselves to devout contemplation.—The Golden Stairway.—St. Peter
Damian.—Predestination.—The luxury of modern Prelates.
Now were my eyes fixed again upon the countenance of my Lady, and my
mind with them, and from every other intent it was withdrawn; and she
was not smiling, but, “If I should smile,” she began to me, “thou
wouldst become such as Semele was when she became ashes; for my beauty,
which along the stairs of the eternal palace is kindled the more, as
thou hast seen, the higher it ascends, is so resplendent that, if it
were not tempered, at its effulgence thy mortal power would be as a
bough shattered by thunder. We are lifted to the seventh splendor which
beneath the breast of the burning Lion now radiates downward mingled
with his strength.[1] Fix thy mind behind thine eyes, and make of them
mirrors for the shape which in this mirror shall be apparent to thee.”
[1] The seventh splendor is Saturn, which was in the sign of the Lion,
whence its rays fell to earth, mingled with the strong influences of
the sign.
He who should know what was the pasture of my sight in her blessed
aspect, when I transferred me to another care, would recognize, by
counterposing one side with the other, how pleasing it was to me to
obey my celestial escort.
Within the crystal which, circling round the world, bears the name of
its shining leader, under whom all wickedness lay dead,[1] I saw, of
the color of gold through which a sunbeam is shining,[2] a stairway
rising up so high that my eye followed it not. I saw, moreover, so many
splendors descending, along the steps, that I thought every light which
appears in heaven was there diffused.
[1] Saturn, in the golden age.
[2] As in a painted window.
And as, according to their natural custom, the rooks, at the beginning
of the day, move about together, in order to warm their cold feathers;
then some go away without return, others wheel round to whence they had
set forth, and others, circling, make a stay; such fashion it seemed to
me was here in that sparkling which came together, so soon as it struck
on a certain step; and that which stopped nearest to us became so
bright that I said in my thought, “I clearly see the love which thou
signifiest to me. But she, from whom I await the how and the when of
speech and of silence, stays still; wherefore I, contrary to desire, do
well that I ask not.” Whereupon she, who saw my silence, in the sight
of Him who sees everything, said to me, “Let loose thy warm desire.”