Speaking to me, Virgilius of such words As these made use; and never were there guerdons That could in pleasantness compare with these.
Such longing upon longing came upon me To be above, that at each step thereafter For flight I felt in me the pinions growing.
When underneath us was the stairway all Run o’er, and we were on the highest step, Virgilius fastened upon me his eyes,
And said: “The temporal fire and the eternal, Son, thou hast seen, and to a place art come Where of myself no farther I discern.
By intellect and art I here have brought thee; Take thine own pleasure for thy guide henceforth; Beyond the steep ways and the narrow art thou.
Behold the sun, that shines upon thy forehead; Behold the grass, the flowerets, and the shrubs Which of itself alone this land produces.
Until rejoicing come the beauteous eyes Which weeping caused me to come unto thee, Thou canst sit down, and thou canst walk among them.
Expect no more or word or sign from me; Free and upright and sound is thy free-will, And error were it not to do its bidding;
Thee o’er thyself I therefore crown and mitre!”
Purgatorio: Canto XXVIII
Eager already to search in and round
The heavenly forest, dense and living-green, Which tempered to the eyes the new-born day,
Withouten more delay I left the bank, Taking the level country slowly, slowly Over the soil that everywhere breathes fragrance.
A softly-breathing air, that no mutation Had in itself, upon the forehead smote me No heavier blow than of a gentle wind,
Whereat the branches, lightly tremulous, Did all of them bow downward toward that side Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;
Yet not from their upright direction swayed, So that the little birds upon their tops Should leave the practice of each art of theirs;
But with full ravishment the hours of prime, Singing, received they in the midst of leaves, That ever bore a burden to their rhymes,
Such as from branch to branch goes gathering on Through the pine forest on the shore of Chiassi, When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco.
Already my slow steps had carried me
Into the ancient wood so far, that I Could not perceive where I had entered it.
And lo! my further course a stream cut off, Which tow’rd the left hand with its little waves Bent down the grass that on its margin sprang.
All waters that on earth most limpid are Would seem to have within themselves some mixture Compared with that which nothing doth conceal,
Although it moves on with a brown, brown current Under the shade perpetual, that never
Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.
With feet I stayed, and with mine eyes I passed Beyond the rivulet, to look upon
The great variety of the fresh may.
And there appeared to me (even as appears Suddenly something that doth turn aside Through very wonder every other thought)
A lady all alone, who went along
Singing and culling floweret after floweret, With which her pathway was all painted over.
“Ah, beauteous lady, who in rays of love Dost warm thyself, if I may trust to looks, Which the heart’s witnesses are wont to be,
May the desire come unto thee to draw Near to this river’s bank,” I said to her, “So much that I might hear what thou art singing.
Thou makest me remember where and what Proserpina that moment was when lost
Her mother her, and she herself the Spring.”
As turns herself, with feet together pressed And to the ground, a lady who is dancing, And hardly puts one foot before the other,
On the vermilion and the yellow flowerets She turned towards me, not in other wise Than maiden who her modest eyes casts down;
And my entreaties made to be content, So near approaching, that the dulcet sound Came unto me together with its meaning
As soon as she was where the grasses are. Bathed by the waters of the beauteous river, To lift her eyes she granted me the boon.
I do not think there shone so great a light Under the lids of Venus, when transfixed By her own son, beyond his usual custom!
Erect upon the other bank she smiled, Bearing full many colours in her hands, Which that high land produces without seed.
Apart three paces did the river make us; But Hellespont, where Xerxes passed across, (A curb still to all human arrogance,)
More hatred from Leander did not suffer For rolling between Sestos and Abydos,
Than that from me, because it oped not then.
“Ye are new-comers; and because I smile,” Began she, “peradventure, in this place Elect to human nature for its nest,
Some apprehension keeps you marvelling; But the psalm ‘Delectasti’ giveth light Which has the power to uncloud your intellect.
And thou who foremost art, and didst entreat me, Speak, if thou wouldst hear more; for I came ready To all thy questionings, as far as needful.”
“The water,” said I, “and the forest’s sound, Are combating within me my new faith
In something which I heard opposed to this.”
Whence she: “I will relate how from its cause Proceedeth that which maketh thee to wonder, And purge away the cloud that smites upon thee.
The Good Supreme, sole in itself delighting, Created man good, and this goodly place Gave him as hansel of eternal peace.
By his default short while he sojourned here; By his default to weeping and to toil
He changed his innocent laughter and sweet play.
That the disturbance which below is made By exhalations of the land and water,
(Which far as may be follow after heat,)
Might not upon mankind wage any war,
This mount ascended tow’rds the heaven so high, And is exempt, from there where it is locked.
Now since the universal atmosphere
Turns in a circuit with the primal motion Unless the circle is broken on some side,
Upon this height, that all is disengaged In living ether, doth this motion strike And make the forest sound, for it is dense;
And so much power the stricken plant possesses That with its virtue it impregns the air, And this, revolving, scatters it around;
And yonder earth, according as ’tis worthy In self or in its clime, conceives and bears Of divers qualities the divers trees;
It should not seem a marvel then on earth, This being heard, whenever any plant
Without seed manifest there taketh root.
And thou must know, this holy table-land In which thou art is full of every seed, And fruit has in it never gathered there.
The water which thou seest springs not from vein Restored by vapour that the cold condenses, Like to a stream that gains or loses breath;
But issues from a fountain safe and certain, Which by the will of God as much regains As it discharges, open on two sides.
Upon this side with virtue it descends, Which takes away all memory of sin;
On that, of every good deed done restores it.
Here Lethe, as upon the other side
Eunoe, it is called; and worketh not If first on either side it be not tasted.
This every other savour doth transcend; And notwithstanding slaked so far may be Thy thirst, that I reveal to thee no more,
I’ll give thee a corollary still in grace, Nor think my speech will be to thee less dear If it spread out beyond my promise to thee.
Those who in ancient times have feigned in song The Age of Gold and its felicity,
Dreamed of this place perhaps upon Parnassus.
Here was the human race in innocence; Here evermore was Spring, and every fruit; This is the nectar of which each one speaks.”
Then backward did I turn me wholly round Unto my Poets, and saw that with a smile They had been listening to these closing words;
Then to the beautiful lady turned mine eyes.
Purgatorio: Canto XXIX
Singing like unto an enamoured lady
She, with the ending of her words, continued: “Beati quorum tecta sunt peccata.”
And even as Nymphs, that wandered all alone Among the sylvan shadows, sedulous
One to avoid and one to see the sun,
She then against the stream moved onward, going Along the bank, and I abreast of her,
Her little steps with little steps attending.
Between her steps and mine were not a hundred, When equally the margins gave a turn,
In such a way, that to the East I faced.
Nor even thus our way continued far
Before the lady wholly turned herself Unto me, saying, “Brother, look and listen!”
And lo! a sudden lustre ran across
On every side athwart the spacious forest, Such that it made me doubt if it were lightning.
But since the lightning ceases as it comes, And that continuing brightened more and more, Within my thought I said, “What thing is this?”
And a delicious melody there ran
Along the luminous air, whence holy zeal Made me rebuke the hardihood of Eve;
For there where earth and heaven obedient were, The woman only, and but just created,
Could not endure to stay ‘neath any veil;
Underneath which had she devoutly stayed, I sooner should have tasted those delights Ineffable, and for a longer time.
While ‘mid such manifold first-fruits I walked Of the eternal pleasure all enrapt,
And still solicitous of more delights,
In front of us like an enkindled fire Became the air beneath the verdant boughs, And the sweet sound as singing now was heard.
O Virgins sacrosanct! if ever hunger, Vigils, or cold for you I have endured, The occasion spurs me their reward to claim!
Now Helicon must needs pour forth for me, And with her choir Urania must assist me, To put in verse things difficult to think.
A little farther on, seven trees of gold In semblance the long space still intervening Between ourselves and them did counterfeit;
But when I had approached so near to them The common object, which the sense deceives, Lost not by distance any of its marks,
The faculty that lends discourse to reason Did apprehend that they were candlesticks, And in the voices of the song “Hosanna!”
Above them flamed the harness beautiful, Far brighter than the moon in the serene Of midnight, at the middle of her month.
I turned me round, with admiration filled, To good Virgilius, and he answered me
With visage no less full of wonderment.
Then back I turned my face to those high things, Which moved themselves towards us so sedately, They had been distanced by new-wedded brides.
The lady chid me: “Why dost thou burn only So with affection for the living lights, And dost not look at what comes after them?”
Then saw I people, as behind their leaders, Coming behind them, garmented in white, And such a whiteness never was on earth.
The water on my left flank was resplendent, And back to me reflected my left side,
E’en as a mirror, if I looked therein.
When I upon my margin had such post
That nothing but the stream divided us, Better to see I gave my steps repose;
And I beheld the flamelets onward go, Leaving behind themselves the air depicted, And they of trailing pennons had the semblance,
So that it overhead remained distinct With sevenfold lists, all of them of the colours Whence the sun’s bow is made, and Delia’s girdle.
These standards to the rearward longer were Than was my sight; and, as it seemed to me, Ten paces were the outermost apart.
Under so fair a heaven as I describe
The four and twenty Elders, two by two, Came on incoronate with flower-de-luce.
They all of them were singing: “Blessed thou Among the daughters of Adam art, and blessed For evermore shall be thy loveliness.”
After the flowers and other tender grasses In front of me upon the other margin
Were disencumbered of that race elect,
Even as in heaven star followeth after star, There came close after them four animals, Incoronate each one with verdant leaf.
Plumed with six wings was every one of them, The plumage full of eyes; the eyes of Argus If they were living would be such as these.
Reader! to trace their forms no more I waste My rhymes; for other spendings press me so, That I in this cannot be prodigal.
But read Ezekiel, who depicteth them
As he beheld them from the region cold Coming with cloud, with whirlwind, and with fire;
And such as thou shalt find them in his pages, Such were they here; saving that in their plumage John is with me, and differeth from him.
The interval between these four contained A chariot triumphal on two wheels,
Which by a Griffin’s neck came drawn along;
And upward he extended both his wings Between the middle list and three and three, So that he injured none by cleaving it.
So high they rose that they were lost to sight; His limbs were gold, so far as he was bird, And white the others with vermilion mingled.
Not only Rome with no such splendid car E’er gladdened Africanus, or Augustus,
But poor to it that of the Sun would be,–
That of the Sun, which swerving was burnt up At the importunate orison of Earth,
When Jove was so mysteriously just.
Three maidens at the right wheel in a circle Came onward dancing; one so very red
That in the fire she hardly had been noted.
The second was as if her flesh and bones Had all been fashioned out of emerald;
The third appeared as snow but newly fallen.
And now they seemed conducted by the white, Now by the red, and from the song of her The others took their step, or slow or swift.
Upon the left hand four made holiday
Vested in purple, following the measure Of one of them with three eyes m her head.
In rear of all the group here treated of Two old men I beheld, unlike in habit,
But like in gait, each dignified and grave.
One showed himself as one of the disciples Of that supreme Hippocrates, whom nature Made for the animals she holds most dear;
Contrary care the other manifested,
With sword so shining and so sharp, it caused Terror to me on this side of the river.
Thereafter four I saw of humble aspect, And behind all an aged man alone
Walking in sleep with countenance acute.
And like the foremost company these seven Were habited; yet of the flower-de-luce No garland round about the head they wore,
But of the rose, and other flowers vermilion; At little distance would the sight have sworn That all were in a flame above their brows.
And when the car was opposite to me
Thunder was heard; and all that folk august Seemed to have further progress interdicted,
There with the vanward ensigns standing still.
Purgatorio: Canto XXX
When the Septentrion of the highest heaven (Which never either setting knew or rising, Nor veil of other cloud than that of sin,
And which made every one therein aware Of his own duty, as the lower makes
Whoever turns the helm to come to port)
Motionless halted, the veracious people, That came at first between it and the Griffin, Turned themselves to the car, as to their peace.
And one of them, as if by Heaven commissioned, Singing, “Veni, sponsa, de Libano”
Shouted three times, and all the others after.
Even as the Blessed at the final summons Shall rise up quickened each one from his cavern, Uplifting light the reinvested flesh,
So upon that celestial chariot
A hundred rose ‘ad vocem tanti senis,’ Ministers and messengers of life eternal.
They all were saying, “Benedictus qui venis,” And, scattering flowers above and round about, “Manibus o date lilia plenis.”
Ere now have I beheld, as day began,
The eastern hemisphere all tinged with rose, And the other heaven with fair serene adorned;
And the sun’s face, uprising, overshadowed So that by tempering influence of vapours For a long interval the eye sustained it;
Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers Which from those hands angelical ascended, And downward fell again inside and out,
Over her snow-white veil with olive cinct Appeared a lady under a green mantle,
Vested in colour of the living flame.
And my own spirit, that already now
So long a time had been, that in her presence Trembling with awe it had not stood abashed,
Without more knowledge having by mine eyes, Through occult virtue that from her proceeded Of ancient love the mighty influence felt.
As soon as on my vision smote the power Sublime, that had already pierced me through Ere from my boyhood I had yet come forth,
To the left hand I turned with that reliance With which the little child runs to his mother, When he has fear, or when he is afflicted,
To say unto Virgilius: “Not a drachm
Of blood remains in me, that does not tremble; I know the traces of the ancient flame.”
But us Virgilius of himself deprived
Had left, Virgilius, sweetest of all fathers, Virgilius, to whom I for safety gave me:
Nor whatsoever lost the ancient mother Availed my cheeks now purified from dew, That weeping they should not again be darkened.
“Dante, because Virgilius has departed Do not weep yet, do not weep yet awhile; For by another sword thou need’st must weep.”
E’en as an admiral, who on poop and prow Comes to behold the people that are working In other ships, and cheers them to well-doing,
Upon the left hand border of the car, When at the sound I turned of my own name, Which of necessity is here recorded,
I saw the Lady, who erewhile appeared Veiled underneath the angelic festival, Direct her eyes to me across the river.
Although the veil, that from her head descended, Encircled with the foliage of Minerva,
Did not permit her to appear distinctly,
In attitude still royally majestic
Continued she, like unto one who speaks, And keeps his warmest utterance in reserve:
“Look at me well; in sooth I’m Beatrice! How didst thou deign to come unto the Mountain? Didst thou not know that man is happy here?”
Mine eyes fell downward into the clear fountain, But, seeing myself therein, I sought the grass, So great a shame did weigh my forehead down.
As to the son the mother seems superb, So she appeared to me; for somewhat bitter Tasteth the savour of severe compassion.
Silent became she, and the Angels sang Suddenly, “In te, Domine, speravi:”
But beyond ‘pedes meos’ did not pass.
Even as the snow among the living rafters Upon the back of Italy congeals,
Blown on and drifted by Sclavonian winds,
And then, dissolving, trickles through itself Whene’er the land that loses shadow breathes, So that it seems a fire that melts a taper;
E’en thus was I without a tear or sigh, Before the song of those who sing for ever After the music of the eternal spheres.
But when I heard in their sweet melodies Compassion for me, more than had they said, “O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus upbraid him?”
The ice, that was about my heart congealed, To air and water changed, and in my anguish Through mouth and eyes came gushing from my breast.
She, on the right-hand border of the car Still firmly standing, to those holy beings Thus her discourse directed afterwards:
“Ye keep your watch in the eternal day, So that nor night nor sleep can steal from you One step the ages make upon their path;
Therefore my answer is with greater care, That he may hear me who is weeping yonder, So that the sin and dole be of one measure.
Not only by the work of those great wheels, That destine every seed unto some end,
According as the stars are in conjunction,
But by the largess of celestial graces, Which have such lofty vapours for their rain That near to them our sight approaches not,
Such had this man become in his new life Potentially, that every righteous habit Would have made admirable proof in him;
But so much more malignant and more savage Becomes the land untilled and with bad seed, The more good earthly vigour it possesses.
Some time did I sustain him with my look; Revealing unto him my youthful eyes,
I led him with me turned in the right way.
As soon as ever of my second age
I was upon the threshold and changed life, Himself from me he took and gave to others.
When from the flesh to spirit I ascended, And beauty and virtue were in me increased, I was to him less dear and less delightful;
And into ways untrue he turned his steps, Pursuing the false images of good,
That never any promises fulfil;
Nor prayer for inspiration me availed, By means of which in dreams and otherwise I called him back, so little did he heed them.
So low he fell, that all appliances
For his salvation were already short, Save showing him the people of perdition.
For this I visited the gates of death, And unto him, who so far up has led him, My intercessions were with weeping borne.
God’s lofty fiat would be violated,
If Lethe should be passed, and if such viands Should tasted be, withouten any scot
Of penitence, that gushes forth in tears.”
Purgatorio: Canto XXXI
“O thou who art beyond the sacred river,” Turning to me the point of her discourse, That edgewise even had seemed to me so keen,
She recommenced, continuing without pause, “Say, say if this be true; to such a charge, Thy own confession needs must be conjoined.”
My faculties were in so great confusion, That the voice moved, but sooner was extinct Than by its organs it was set at large.
Awhile she waited; then she said: “What thinkest? Answer me; for the mournful memories
In thee not yet are by the waters injured.”
Confusion and dismay together mingled Forced such a Yes! from out my mouth, that sight Was needful to the understanding of it.
Even as a cross-bow breaks, when ’tis discharged Too tensely drawn the bowstring and the bow, And with less force the arrow hits the mark,
So I gave way beneath that heavy burden, Outpouring in a torrent tears and sighs, And the voice flagged upon its passage forth.
Whence she to me: “In those desires of mine Which led thee to the loving of that good, Beyond which there is nothing to aspire to,
What trenches lying traverse or what chains Didst thou discover, that of passing onward Thou shouldst have thus despoiled thee of the hope?
And what allurements or what vantages Upon the forehead of the others showed, That thou shouldst turn thy footsteps unto them?”
After the heaving of a bitter sigh,
Hardly had I the voice to make response, And with fatigue my lips did fashion it.
Weeping I said: “The things that present were With their false pleasure turned aside my steps, Soon as your countenance concealed itself.”
And she: “Shouldst thou be silent, or deny What thou confessest, not less manifest Would be thy fault, by such a Judge ’tis known.
But when from one’s own cheeks comes bursting forth The accusal of the sin, in our tribunal Against the edge the wheel doth turn itself.
But still, that thou mayst feel a greater shame For thy transgression, and another time Hearing the Sirens thou mayst be more strong,
Cast down the seed of weeping and attend; So shalt thou hear, how in an opposite way My buried flesh should have directed thee.
Never to thee presented art or nature Pleasure so great as the fair limbs wherein I was enclosed, which scattered are in earth.
And if the highest pleasure thus did fail thee By reason of my death, what mortal thing Should then have drawn thee into its desire?
Thou oughtest verily at the first shaft Of things fallacious to have risen up
To follow me, who was no longer such.
Thou oughtest not to have stooped thy pinions downward To wait for further blows, or little girl, Or other vanity of such brief use.
The callow birdlet waits for two or three, But to the eyes of those already fledged, In vain the net is spread or shaft is shot.”
Even as children silent in their shame Stand listening with their eyes upon the ground, And conscious of their fault, and penitent;
So was I standing; and she said: “If thou In hearing sufferest pain, lift up thy beard And thou shalt feel a greater pain in seeing.”
With less resistance is a robust holm Uprooted, either by a native wind
Or else by that from regions of Iarbas,
Than I upraised at her command my chin; And when she by the beard the face demanded, Well I perceived the venom of her meaning.
And as my countenance was lifted up,
Mine eye perceived those creatures beautiful Had rested from the strewing of the flowers;
And, still but little reassured, mine eyes Saw Beatrice turned round towards the monster, That is one person only in two natures.
Beneath her veil, beyond the margent green, She seemed to me far more her ancient self To excel, than others here, when she was here.
So pricked me then the thorn of penitence, That of all other things the one which turned me Most to its love became the most my foe.
Such self-conviction stung me at the heart O’erpowered I fell, and what I then became She knoweth who had furnished me the cause.
Then, when the heart restored my outward sense, The lady I had found alone, above me
I saw, and she was saying, “Hold me, hold me.”
Up to my throat she in the stream had drawn me, And, dragging me behind her, she was moving Upon the water lightly as a shuttle.
When I was near unto the blessed shore, “Asperges me,” I heard so sweetly sung, Remember it I cannot, much less write it.
The beautiful lady opened wide her arms, Embraced my head, and plunged me underneath, Where I was forced to swallow of the water.
Then forth she drew me, and all dripping brought Into the dance of the four beautiful,
And each one with her arm did cover me.
‘We here are Nymphs, and in the Heaven are stars; Ere Beatrice descended to the world,
We as her handmaids were appointed her.
We’ll lead thee to her eyes; but for the pleasant Light that within them is, shall sharpen thine The three beyond, who more profoundly look.’
Thus singing they began; and afterwards Unto the Griffin’s breast they led me with them, Where Beatrice was standing, turned towards us.
“See that thou dost not spare thine eyes,” they said; “Before the emeralds have we stationed thee, Whence Love aforetime drew for thee his weapons.”
A thousand longings, hotter than the flame, Fastened mine eyes upon those eyes relucent, That still upon the Griffin steadfast stayed.
As in a glass the sun, not otherwise
Within them was the twofold monster shining, Now with the one, now with the other nature.
Think, Reader, if within myself I marvelled, When I beheld the thing itself stand still, And in its image it transformed itself.
While with amazement filled and jubilant, My soul was tasting of the food, that while It satisfies us makes us hunger for it,
Themselves revealing of the highest rank In bearing, did the other three advance, Singing to their angelic saraband.
“Turn, Beatrice, O turn thy holy eyes,” Such was their song, “unto thy faithful one, Who has to see thee ta’en so many steps.
In grace do us the grace that thou unveil Thy face to him, so that he may discern The second beauty which thou dost conceal.”
O splendour of the living light eternal! Who underneath the shadow of Parnassus
Has grown so pale, or drunk so at its cistern,
He would not seem to have his mind encumbered Striving to paint thee as thou didst appear, Where the harmonious heaven o’ershadowed thee,
When in the open air thou didst unveil?
Purgatorio: Canto XXXII
So steadfast and attentive were mine eyes In satisfying their decennial thirst,
That all my other senses were extinct,
And upon this side and on that they had Walls of indifference, so the holy smile Drew them unto itself with the old net
When forcibly my sight was turned away Towards my left hand by those goddesses, Because I heard from them a “Too intently!”
And that condition of the sight which is In eyes but lately smitten by the sun
Bereft me of my vision some short while;
But to the less when sight re-shaped itself, I say the less in reference to the greater Splendour from which perforce I had withdrawn,
I saw upon its right wing wheeled about The glorious host returning with the sun And with the sevenfold flames upon their faces.
As underneath its shields, to save itself, A squadron turns, and with its banner wheels, Before the whole thereof can change its front,
That soldiery of the celestial kingdom Which marched in the advance had wholly passed us Before the chariot had turned its pole.
Then to the wheels the maidens turned themselves, And the Griffin moved his burden benedight, But so that not a feather of him fluttered.
The lady fair who drew me through the ford Followed with Statius and myself the wheel Which made its orbit with the lesser arc.
So passing through the lofty forest, vacant By fault of her who in the serpent trusted, Angelic music made our steps keep time.
Perchance as great a space had in three flights An arrow loosened from the string o’erpassed, As we had moved when Beatrice descended.
I heard them murmur altogether, “Adam!” Then circled they about a tree despoiled Of blooms and other leafage on each bough.
Its tresses, which so much the more dilate As higher they ascend, had been by Indians Among their forests marvelled at for height.
“Blessed art thou, O Griffin, who dost not Pluck with thy beak these branches sweet to taste, Since appetite by this was turned to evil.”
After this fashion round the tree robust The others shouted; and the twofold creature: “Thus is preserved the seed of all the just.”
And turning to the pole which he had dragged, He drew it close beneath the widowed bough, And what was of it unto it left bound.
In the same manner as our trees (when downward Falls the great light, with that together mingled Which after the celestial Lasca shines)
Begin to swell, and then renew themselves, Each one with its own colour, ere the Sun Harness his steeds beneath another star:
Less than of rose and more than violet A hue disclosing, was renewed the tree
That had erewhile its boughs so desolate.
I never heard, nor here below is sung, The hymn which afterward that people sang, Nor did I bear the melody throughout.
Had I the power to paint how fell asleep Those eyes compassionless, of Syrinx hearing, Those eyes to which more watching cost so dear,
Even as a painter who from model paints I would portray how I was lulled asleep; He may, who well can picture drowsihood.
Therefore I pass to what time I awoke, And say a splendour rent from me the veil Of slumber, and a calling: “Rise, what dost thou?”
As to behold the apple-tree in blossom Which makes the Angels greedy for its fruit, And keeps perpetual bridals in the Heaven,
Peter and John and James conducted were, And, overcome, recovered at the word
By which still greater slumbers have been broken,
And saw their school diminished by the loss Not only of Elias, but of Moses,
And the apparel of their Master changed;
So I revived, and saw that piteous one Above me standing, who had been conductress Aforetime of my steps beside the river,
And all in doubt I said, “Where’s Beatrice?” And she: “Behold her seated underneath
The leafage new, upon the root of it.
Behold the company that circles her;
The rest behind the Griffin are ascending With more melodious song, and more profound.”
And if her speech were more diffuse I know not, Because already in my sight was she
Who from the hearing of aught else had shut me.
Alone she sat upon the very earth,
Left there as guardian of the chariot Which I had seen the biform monster fasten.
Encircling her, a cloister made themselves The seven Nymphs, with those lights in their hands Which are secure from Aquilon and Auster.
“Short while shalt thou be here a forester, And thou shalt be with me for evermore
A citizen of that Rome where Christ is Roman.
Therefore, for that world’s good which liveth ill, Fix on the car thine eyes, and what thou seest, Having returned to earth, take heed thou write.”
Thus Beatrice; and I, who at the feet Of her commandments all devoted was,
My mind and eyes directed where she willed.
Never descended with so swift a motion Fire from a heavy cloud, when it is raining From out the region which is most remote,
As I beheld the bird of Jove descend
Down through the tree, rending away the bark, As well as blossoms and the foliage new,
And he with all his might the chariot smote, Whereat it reeled, like vessel in a tempest Tossed by the waves, now starboard and now larboard.
Thereafter saw I leap into the body
Of the triumphal vehicle a Fox,
That seemed unfed with any wholesome food.
But for his hideous sins upbraiding him, My Lady put him to as swift a flight
As such a fleshless skeleton could bear.
Then by the way that it before had come, Into the chariot’s chest I saw the Eagle Descend, and leave it feathered with his plumes.
And such as issues from a heart that mourns, A voice from Heaven there issued, and it said: “My little bark, how badly art thou freighted!”
Methought, then, that the earth did yawn between Both wheels, and I saw rise from it a Dragon, Who through the chariot upward fixed his tail,
And as a wasp that draweth back its sting, Drawing unto himself his tail malign,
Drew out the floor, and went his way rejoicing.
That which remained behind, even as with grass A fertile region, with the feathers, offered Perhaps with pure intention and benign,
Reclothed itself, and with them were reclothed The pole and both the wheels so speedily, A sigh doth longer keep the lips apart.
Transfigured thus the holy edifice
Thrust forward heads upon the parts of it, Three on the pole and one at either corner.
The first were horned like oxen; but the four Had but a single horn upon the forehead; A monster such had never yet been seen!
Firm as a rock upon a mountain high,
Seated upon it, there appeared to me A shameless whore, with eyes swift glancing round,
And, as if not to have her taken from him, Upright beside her I beheld a giant;
And ever and anon they kissed each other.
But because she her wanton, roving eye Turned upon me, her angry paramour
Did scourge her from her head unto her feet.
Then full of jealousy, and fierce with wrath, He loosed the monster, and across the forest Dragged it so far, he made of that alone
A shield unto the whore and the strange beast.
Purgatorio: Canto XXXIII
“Deus venerunt gentes,” alternating
Now three, now four, melodious psalmody The maidens in the midst of tears began;
And Beatrice, compassionate and sighing, Listened to them with such a countenance, That scarce more changed was Mary at the cross.
But when the other virgins place had given For her to speak, uprisen to her feet
With colour as of fire, she made response:
“‘Modicum, et non videbitis me;
Et iterum,’ my sisters predilect,
‘Modicum, et vos videbitis me.'”
Then all the seven in front of her she placed; And after her, by beckoning only, moved Me and the lady and the sage who stayed.
So she moved onward; and I do not think That her tenth step was placed upon the ground, When with her eyes upon mine eyes she smote,
And with a tranquil aspect, “Come more quickly,” To me she said, “that, if I speak with thee, To listen to me thou mayst be well placed.”
As soon as I was with her as I should be, She said to me: “Why, brother, dost thou not Venture to question now, in coming with me?”
As unto those who are too reverential, Speaking in presence of superiors,
Who drag no living utterance to their teeth,
It me befell, that without perfect sound Began I: “My necessity, Madonna,
You know, and that which thereunto is good.”
And she to me: “Of fear and bashfulness Henceforward I will have thee strip thyself, So that thou speak no more as one who dreams.
Know that the vessel which the serpent broke Was, and is not; but let him who is guilty Think that God’s vengeance does not fear a sop.
Without an heir shall not for ever be The Eagle that left his plumes upon the car, Whence it became a monster, then a prey;
For verily I see, and hence narrate it, The stars already near to bring the time, From every hindrance safe, and every bar,
Within which a Five-hundred, Ten, and Five, One sent from God, shall slay the thievish woman And that same giant who is sinning with her.
And peradventure my dark utterance,
Like Themis and the Sphinx, may less persuade thee, Since, in their mode, it clouds the intellect;
But soon the facts shall be the Naiades Who shall this difficult enigma solve,
Without destruction of the flocks and harvests.
Note thou; and even as by me are uttered These words, so teach them unto those who live That life which is a running unto death;
And bear in mind, whene’er thou writest them, Not to conceal what thou hast seen the plant, That twice already has been pillaged here.
Whoever pillages or shatters it,
With blasphemy of deed offendeth God, Who made it holy for his use alone.
For biting that, in pain and in desire Five thousand years and more the first-born soul Craved Him, who punished in himself the bite.
Thy genius slumbers, if it deem it not For special reason so pre-eminent
In height, and so inverted in its summit.
And if thy vain imaginings had not been Water of Elsa round about thy mind,
And Pyramus to the mulberry, their pleasure,
Thou by so many circumstances only
The justice of the interdict of God Morally in the tree wouldst recognize.
But since I see thee in thine intellect Converted into stone and stained with sin, So that the light of my discourse doth daze thee,
I will too, if not written, at least painted, Thou bear it back within thee, for the reason That cinct with palm the pilgrim’s staff is borne.”
And I: “As by a signet is the wax
Which does not change the figure stamped upon it, My brain is now imprinted by yourself.
But wherefore so beyond my power of sight Soars your desirable discourse, that aye The more I strive, so much the more I lose it?”
“That thou mayst recognize,” she said, “the school Which thou hast followed, and mayst see how far Its doctrine follows after my discourse,
And mayst behold your path from the divine Distant as far as separated is
From earth the heaven that highest hastens on.”
Whence her I answered: “I do not remember That ever I estranged myself from you,
Nor have I conscience of it that reproves me.”
“And if thou art not able to remember,” Smiling she answered, “recollect thee now That thou this very day hast drunk of Lethe;
And if from smoke a fire may be inferred, Such an oblivion clearly demonstrates
Some error in thy will elsewhere intent.
Truly from this time forward shall my words Be naked, so far as it is befitting
To lay them open unto thy rude gaze.”
And more coruscant and with slower steps The sun was holding the meridian circle, Which, with the point of view, shifts here and there
When halted (as he cometh to a halt,
Who goes before a squadron as its escort, If something new he find upon his way)
The ladies seven at a dark shadow’s edge, Such as, beneath green leaves and branches black, The Alp upon its frigid border wears.
In front of them the Tigris and Euphrates Methought I saw forth issue from one fountain, And slowly part, like friends, from one another.
“O light, O glory of the human race!
What stream is this which here unfolds itself From out one source, and from itself withdraws?”
For such a prayer, ’twas said unto me, “Pray Matilda that she tell thee;” and here answered, As one does who doth free himself from blame,
The beautiful lady: “This and other things Were told to him by me; and sure I am
The water of Lethe has not hid them from him.”
And Beatrice: “Perhaps a greater care, Which oftentimes our memory takes away, Has made the vision of his mind obscure.
But Eunoe behold, that yonder rises;
Lead him to it, and, as thou art accustomed, Revive again the half-dead virtue in him.”
Like gentle soul, that maketh no excuse, But makes its own will of another’s will As soon as by a sign it is disclosed,
Even so, when she had taken hold of me, The beautiful lady moved, and unto Statius Said, in her womanly manner, “Come with him.”
If, Reader, I possessed a longer space For writing it, I yet would sing in part Of the sweet draught that ne’er would satiate me;
But inasmuch as full are all the leaves Made ready for this second canticle,
The curb of art no farther lets me go.
From the most holy water I returned
Regenerate, in the manner of new trees That are renewed with a new foliage,
Pure and disposed to mount unto the stars.
The Divine Comedy
translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (e-text courtesy ILT’s Digital Dante Project)
Paradiso: Canto I
The glory of Him who moveth everything Doth penetrate the universe, and shine
In one part more and in another less.
Within that heaven which most his light receives Was I, and things beheld which to repeat Nor knows, nor can, who from above descends;
Because in drawing near to its desire Our intellect ingulphs itself so far,
That after it the memory cannot go.
Truly whatever of the holy realm
I had the power to treasure in my mind Shall now become the subject of my song.
O good Apollo, for this last emprise
Make of me such a vessel of thy power As giving the beloved laurel asks!
One summit of Parnassus hitherto
Has been enough for me, but now with both I needs must enter the arena left.
Enter into my bosom, thou, and breathe As at the time when Marsyas thou didst draw Out of the scabbard of those limbs of his.
O power divine, lend’st thou thyself to me So that the shadow of the blessed realm Stamped in my brain I can make manifest,
Thou’lt see me come unto thy darling tree, And crown myself thereafter with those leaves Of which the theme and thou shall make me worthy.
So seldom, Father, do we gather them
For triumph or of Caesar or of Poet, (The fault and shame of human inclinations,)
That the Peneian foliage should bring forth Joy to the joyous Delphic deity,
When any one it makes to thirst for it.
A little spark is followed by great flame; Perchance with better voices after me
Shall prayer be made that Cyrrha may respond!
To mortal men by passages diverse
Uprises the world’s lamp; but by that one Which circles four uniteth with three crosses,
With better course and with a better star Conjoined it issues, and the mundane wax Tempers and stamps more after its own fashion.
Almost that passage had made morning there And evening here, and there was wholly white That hemisphere, and black the other part,
When Beatrice towards the left-hand side I saw turned round, and gazing at the sun; Never did eagle fasten so upon it!
And even as a second ray is wont
To issue from the first and reascend, Like to a pilgrim who would fain return,
Thus of her action, through the eyes infused In my imagination, mine I made,
And sunward fixed mine eyes beyond our wont.
There much is lawful which is here unlawful Unto our powers, by virtue of the place Made for the human species as its own.
Not long I bore it, nor so little while But I beheld it sparkle round about
Like iron that comes molten from the fire;
And suddenly it seemed that day to day Was added, as if He who has the power
Had with another sun the heaven adorned.
With eyes upon the everlasting wheels Stood Beatrice all intent, and I, on her Fixing my vision from above removed,
Such at her aspect inwardly became
As Glaucus, tasting of the herb that made him Peer of the other gods beneath the sea.
To represent transhumanise in words
Impossible were; the example, then, suffice Him for whom Grace the experience reserves.
If I was merely what of me thou newly Createdst, Love who governest the heaven, Thou knowest, who didst lift me with thy light!
When now the wheel, which thou dost make eternal Desiring thee, made me attentive to it
By harmony thou dost modulate and measure,
Then seemed to me so much of heaven enkindled By the sun’s flame, that neither rain nor river E’er made a lake so widely spread abroad.
The newness of the sound and the great light Kindled in me a longing for their cause, Never before with such acuteness felt;
Whence she, who saw me as I saw myself, To quiet in me my perturbed mind,
Opened her mouth, ere I did mine to ask,
And she began: “Thou makest thyself so dull With false imagining, that thou seest not What thou wouldst see if thou hadst shaken it off.
Thou art not upon earth, as thou believest; But lightning, fleeing its appropriate site, Ne’er ran as thou, who thitherward returnest.”
If of my former doubt I was divested
By these brief little words more smiled than spoken, I in a new one was the more ensnared;
And said: “Already did I rest content From great amazement; but am now amazed In what way I transcend these bodies light.”
Whereupon she, after a pitying sigh,
Her eyes directed tow’rds me with that look A mother casts on a delirious child;
And she began: “All things whate’er they be Have order among themselves, and this is form, That makes the universe resemble God.
Here do the higher creatures see the footprints Of the Eternal Power, which is the end
Whereto is made the law already mentioned.
In the order that I speak of are inclined All natures, by their destinies diverse, More or less near unto their origin;
Hence they move onward unto ports diverse O’er the great sea of being; and each one With instinct given it which bears it on.
This bears away the fire towards the moon; This is in mortal hearts the motive power This binds together and unites the earth.
Nor only the created things that are
Without intelligence this bow shoots forth, But those that have both intellect and love.
The Providence that regulates all this Makes with its light the heaven forever quiet, Wherein that turns which has the greatest haste.
And thither now, as to a site decreed, Bears us away the virtue of that cord
Which aims its arrows at a joyous mark.
True is it, that as oftentimes the form Accords not with the intention of the art, Because in answering is matter deaf,
So likewise from this course doth deviate Sometimes the creature, who the power possesses, Though thus impelled, to swerve some other way,
(In the same wise as one may see the fire Fall from a cloud,) if the first impetus Earthward is wrested by some false delight.
Thou shouldst not wonder more, if well I judge, At thine ascent, than at a rivulet
From some high mount descending to the lowland.
Marvel it would be in thee, if deprived Of hindrance, thou wert seated down below, As if on earth the living fire were quiet.”
Thereat she heavenward turned again her face.
Paradiso: Canto II
O Ye, who in some pretty little boat, Eager to listen, have been following
Behind my ship, that singing sails along,
Turn back to look again upon your shores; Do not put out to sea, lest peradventure, In losing me, you might yourselves be lost.
The sea I sail has never yet been passed; Minerva breathes, and pilots me Apollo, And Muses nine point out to me the Bears.
Ye other few who have the neck uplifted Betimes to th’ bread of Angels upon which One liveth here and grows not sated by it,
Well may you launch upon the deep salt-sea Your vessel, keeping still my wake before you Upon the water that grows smooth again.
Those glorious ones who unto Colchos passed Were not so wonder-struck as you shall be, When Jason they beheld a ploughman made!
The con-created and perpetual thirst
For the realm deiform did bear us on, As swift almost as ye the heavens behold.
Upward gazed Beatrice, and I at her;
And in such space perchance as strikes a bolt And flies, and from the notch unlocks itself,
Arrived I saw me where a wondrous thing Drew to itself my sight; and therefore she From whom no care of mine could be concealed,
Towards me turning, blithe as beautiful, Said unto me: “Fix gratefully thy mind
On God, who unto the first star has brought us.”
It seemed to me a cloud encompassed us, Luminous, dense, consolidate and bright As adamant on which the sun is striking.
Into itself did the eternal pearl
Receive us, even as water doth receive A ray of light, remaining still unbroken.
If I was body, (and we here conceive not How one dimension tolerates another,
Which needs must be if body enter body,)
More the desire should be enkindled in us That essence to behold, wherein is seen How God and our own nature were united.
There will be seen what we receive by faith, Not demonstrated, but self-evident
In guise of the first truth that man believes.
I made reply: “Madonna, as devoutly
As most I can do I give thanks to Him Who has removed me from the mortal world.
But tell me what the dusky spots may be Upon this body, which below on earth
Make people tell that fabulous tale of Cain?”
Somewhat she smiled; and then, “If the opinion Of mortals be erroneous,” she said,
“Where’er the key of sense doth not unlock,
Certes, the shafts of wonder should not pierce thee Now, forasmuch as, following the senses, Thou seest that the reason has short wings.
But tell me what thou think’st of it thyself.” And I: “What seems to us up here diverse, Is caused, I think, by bodies rare and dense.”
And she: “Right truly shalt thou see immersed In error thy belief, if well thou hearest The argument that I shall make against it.
Lights many the eighth sphere displays to you Which in their quality and quantity
May noted be of aspects different.
If this were caused by rare and dense alone, One only virtue would there be in all
Or more or less diffused, or equally.
Virtues diverse must be perforce the fruits Of formal principles; and these, save one, Of course would by thy reasoning be destroyed.
Besides, if rarity were of this dimness The cause thou askest, either through and through This planet thus attenuate were of matter,
Or else, as in a body is apportioned
The fat and lean, so in like manner this Would in its volume interchange the leaves.
Were it the former, in the sun’s eclipse It would be manifest by the shining through Of light, as through aught tenuous interfused.
This is not so; hence we must scan the other, And if it chance the other I demolish,
Then falsified will thy opinion be.
But if this rarity go not through and through, There needs must be a limit, beyond which Its contrary prevents the further passing,
And thence the foreign radiance is reflected, Even as a colour cometh back from glass, The which behind itself concealeth lead.
Now thou wilt say the sunbeam shows itself More dimly there than in the other parts, By being there reflected farther back.
From this reply experiment will free thee If e’er thou try it, which is wont to be The fountain to the rivers of your arts.
Three mirrors shalt thou take, and two remove Alike from thee, the other more remote
Between the former two shall meet thine eyes.
Turned towards these, cause that behind thy back Be placed a light, illuming the three mirrors And coming back to thee by all reflected.
Though in its quantity be not so ample The image most remote, there shalt thou see How it perforce is equally resplendent.
Now, as beneath the touches of warm rays Naked the subject of the snow remains
Both of its former colour and its cold,
Thee thus remaining in thy intellect, Will I inform with such a living light, That it shall tremble in its aspect to thee.
Within the heaven of the divine repose Revolves a body, in whose virtue lies
The being of whatever it contains.
The following heaven, that has so many eyes, Divides this being by essences diverse, Distinguished from it, and by it contained.
The other spheres, by various differences, All the distinctions which they have within them Dispose unto their ends and their effects.
Thus do these organs of the world proceed, As thou perceivest now, from grade to grade; Since from above they take, and act beneath.
Observe me well, how through this place I come Unto the truth thou wishest, that hereafter Thou mayst alone know how to keep the ford
The power and motion of the holy spheres, As from the artisan the hammer’s craft, Forth from the blessed motors must proceed.
The heaven, which lights so manifold make fair, From the Intelligence profound, which turns it, The image takes, and makes of it a seal.
And even as the soul within your dust Through members different and accommodated To faculties diverse expands itself,
So likewise this Intelligence diffuses Its virtue multiplied among the stars.
Itself revolving on its unity.
Virtue diverse doth a diverse alloyage Make with the precious body that it quickens, In which, as life in you, it is combined.
From the glad nature whence it is derived, The mingled virtue through the body shines, Even as gladness through the living pupil.
From this proceeds whate’er from light to light Appeareth different, not from dense and rare: This is the formal principle that produces,
According to its goodness, dark and bright.”
Paradiso: Canto III
That Sun, which erst with love my bosom warmed, Of beauteous truth had unto me discovered, By proving and reproving, the sweet aspect.
And, that I might confess myself convinced And confident, so far as was befitting, I lifted more erect my head to speak.
But there appeared a vision, which withdrew me So close to it, in order to be seen,
That my confession I remembered not.
Such as through polished and transparent glass, Or waters crystalline and undisturbed,
But not so deep as that their bed be lost,
Come back again the outlines of our faces So feeble, that a pearl on forehead white Comes not less speedily unto our eyes;
Such saw I many faces prompt to speak, So that I ran in error opposite
To that which kindled love ‘twixt man and fountain.
As soon as I became aware of them,
Esteeming them as mirrored semblances, To see of whom they were, mine eyes I turned,
And nothing saw, and once more turned them forward Direct into the light of my sweet Guide, Who smiling kindled in her holy eyes.
“Marvel thou not,” she said to me, “because I smile at this thy puerile conceit,
Since on the truth it trusts not yet its foot,
But turns thee, as ’tis wont, on emptiness. True substances are these which thou beholdest, Here relegate for breaking of some vow.
Therefore speak with them, listen and believe; For the true light, which giveth peace to them, Permits them not to turn from it their feet.”
And I unto the shade that seemed most wishful To speak directed me, and I began,
As one whom too great eagerness bewilders:
“O well-created spirit, who in the rays Of life eternal dost the sweetness taste Which being untasted ne’er is comprehended,
Grateful ’twill be to me, if thou content me Both with thy name and with your destiny.” Whereat she promptly and with laughing eyes:
“Our charity doth never shut the doors Against a just desire, except as one
Who wills that all her court be like herself.
I was a virgin sister in the world;
And if thy mind doth contemplate me well, The being more fair will not conceal me from thee,
But thou shalt recognise I am Piccarda, Who, stationed here among these other blessed, Myself am blessed in the slowest sphere.
All our affections, that alone inflamed Are in the pleasure of the Holy Ghost,
Rejoice at being of his order formed;
And this allotment, which appears so low, Therefore is given us, because our vows Have been neglected and in some part void.”
Whence I to her: “In your miraculous aspects There shines I know not what of the divine, Which doth transform you from our first conceptions.
Therefore I was not swift in my remembrance; But what thou tellest me now aids me so, That the refiguring is easier to me.
But tell me, ye who in this place are happy, Are you desirous of a higher place,
To see more or to make yourselves more friends?”
First with those other shades she smiled a little; Thereafter answered me so full of gladness, She seemed to burn in the first fire of love:
“Brother, our will is quieted by virtue Of charity, that makes us wish alone
For what we have, nor gives us thirst for more.
If to be more exalted we aspired,
Discordant would our aspirations be Unto the will of Him who here secludes us;
Which thou shalt see finds no place in these circles, If being in charity is needful here,
And if thou lookest well into its nature;
Nay, ’tis essential to this blest existence To keep itself within the will divine,
Whereby our very wishes are made one;
So that, as we are station above station Throughout this realm, to all the realm ’tis pleasing, As to the King, who makes his will our will.
And his will is our peace; this is the sea To which is moving onward whatsoever
It doth create, and all that nature makes.”
Then it was clear to me how everywhere In heaven is Paradise, although the grace Of good supreme there rain not in one measure.
But as it comes to pass, if one food sates, And for another still remains the longing, We ask for this, and that decline with thanks,
E’en thus did I; with gesture and with word, To learn from her what was the web wherein She did not ply the shuttle to the end.
“A perfect life and merit high in-heaven A lady o’er us,” said she, “by whose rule Down in your world they vest and veil themselves,
That until death they may both watch and sleep Beside that Spouse who every vow accepts Which charity conformeth to his pleasure.
To follow her, in girlhood from the world I fled, and in her habit shut myself,
And pledged me to the pathway of her sect.
Then men accustomed unto evil more
Than unto good, from the sweet cloister tore me; God knows what afterward my life became.
This other splendour, which to thee reveals Itself on my right side, and is enkindled With all the illumination of our sphere,
What of myself I say applies to her;
A nun was she, and likewise from her head Was ta’en the shadow of the sacred wimple.
But when she too was to the world returned Against her wishes and against good usage, Of the heart’s veil she never was divested.
Of great Costanza this is the effulgence, Who from the second wind of Suabia
Brought forth the third and latest puissance.”
Thus unto me she spake, and then began “Ave Maria” singing, and in singing
Vanished, as through deep water something heavy.
My sight, that followed her as long a time As it was possible, when it had lost her Turned round unto the mark of more desire,
And wholly unto Beatrice reverted;
But she such lightnings flashed into mine eyes, That at the first my sight endured it not;
And this in questioning more backward made me.
Paradiso: Canto IV
Between two viands, equally removed
And tempting, a free man would die of hunger Ere either he could bring unto his teeth.
So would a lamb between the ravenings Of two fierce wolves stand fearing both alike; And so would stand a dog between two does.
Hence, if I held my peace, myself I blame not, Impelled in equal measure by my doubts, Since it must be so, nor do I commend.
I held my peace; but my desire was painted Upon my face, and questioning with that More fervent far than by articulate speech.
Beatrice did as Daniel had done
Relieving Nebuchadnezzar from the wrath Which rendered him unjustly merciless,
And said: “Well see I how attracteth thee One and the other wish, so that thy care Binds itself so that forth it does not breathe.
Thou arguest, if good will be permanent, The violence of others, for what reason Doth it decrease the measure of my merit?
Again for doubting furnish thee occasion Souls seeming to return unto the stars, According to the sentiment of Plato.
These are the questions which upon thy wish Are thrusting equally; and therefore first Will I treat that which hath the most of gall.
He of the Seraphim most absorbed in God, Moses, and Samuel, and whichever John
Thou mayst select, I say, and even Mary,
Have not in any other heaven their seats, Than have those spirits that just appeared to thee, Nor of existence more or fewer years;
But all make beautiful the primal circle, And have sweet life in different degrees, By feeling more or less the eternal breath.
They showed themselves here, not because allotted This sphere has been to them, but to give sign Of the celestial which is least exalted.
To speak thus is adapted to your mind, Since only through the sense it apprehendeth What then it worthy makes of intellect.
On this account the Scripture condescends Unto your faculties, and feet and hands To God attributes, and means something else;
And Holy Church under an aspect human Gabriel and Michael represent to you,
And him who made Tobias whole again.
That which Timaeus argues of the soul Doth not resemble that which here is seen, Because it seems that as he speaks he thinks.
He says the soul unto its star returns, Believing it to have been severed thence Whenever nature gave it as a form.
Perhaps his doctrine is of other guise Than the words sound, and possibly may be With meaning that is not to be derided.
If he doth mean that to these wheels return The honour of their influence and the blame, Perhaps his bow doth hit upon some truth.
This principle ill understood once warped The whole world nearly, till it went astray Invoking Jove and Mercury and Mars.
The other doubt which doth disquiet thee Less venom has, for its malevolence
Could never lead thee otherwhere from me.
That as unjust our justice should appear In eyes of mortals, is an argument
Of faith, and not of sin heretical.
But still, that your perception may be able To thoroughly penetrate this verity,
As thou desirest, I will satisfy thee.
If it be violence when he who suffers Co-operates not with him who uses force, These souls were not on that account excused;
For will is never quenched unless it will, But operates as nature doth in fire
If violence a thousand times distort it.
Hence, if it yieldeth more or less, it seconds The force; and these have done so, having power Of turning back unto the holy place.
If their will had been perfect, like to that Which Lawrence fast upon his gridiron held, And Mutius made severe to his own hand,
It would have urged them back along the road Whence they were dragged, as soon as they were free; But such a solid will is all too rare.
And by these words, if thou hast gathered them As thou shouldst do, the argument is refuted That would have still annoyed thee many times.
But now another passage runs across
Before thine eyes, and such that by thyself Thou couldst not thread it ere thou wouldst be weary.
I have for certain put into thy mind
That soul beatified could never lie, For it is near the primal Truth,
And then thou from Piccarda might’st have heard Costanza kept affection for the veil,
So that she seemeth here to contradict me.
Many times, brother, has it come to pass, That, to escape from peril, with reluctance That has been done it was not right to do,
E’en as Alcmaeon (who, being by his father Thereto entreated, his own mother slew) Not to lose pity pitiless became.
At this point I desire thee to remember That force with will commingles, and they cause That the offences cannot be excused.
Will absolute consenteth not to evil;