The divine comedy

by Dante Alighieri

Again mine eyes were fix’d on Beatrice,
And with mine eyes my soul, that in her looks
Found all contentment. Yet no smile she wore
And, “Did I smile,” quoth she, “thou wouldst be straight
Like Semele when into ashes turn’d:
For, mounting these eternal palace-stairs,
My beauty, which the loftier it climbs,
As thou hast noted, still doth kindle more,
So shines, that, were no temp’ring interpos’d,
Thy mortal puissance would from its rays
Shrink, as the leaf doth from the thunderbolt.
Into the seventh splendour are we wafted,
That underneath the burning lion’s breast
Beams, in this hour, commingled with his might,
Thy mind be with thine eyes: and in them mirror’d
The shape, which in this mirror shall be shown.”
Whoso can deem, how fondly I had fed
My sight upon her blissful countenance,
May know, when to new thoughts I chang’d, what joy
To do the bidding of my heav’nly guide:
In equal balance poising either weight.
Within the crystal, which records the name,
(As its remoter circle girds the world)
Of that lov’d monarch, in whose happy reign
No ill had power to harm, I saw rear’d up,
In colour like to sun-illumin’d gold.

A ladder, which my ken pursued in vain,
So lofty was the summit; down whose steps
I saw the splendours in such multitude
Descending, ev’ry light in heav’n, methought,
Was shed thence. As the rooks, at dawn of day
Bestirring them to dry their feathers chill,
Some speed their way a-field, and homeward some,
Returning, cross their flight, while some abide
And wheel around their airy lodge; so seem’d
That glitterance, wafted on alternate wing,
As upon certain stair it met, and clash’d
Its shining. And one ling’ring near us, wax’d
So bright, that in my thought: said: “The love,
Which this betokens me, admits no doubt.”
Unwillingly from question I refrain,
To her, by whom my silence and my speech
Are order’d, looking for a sign: whence she,
Who in the sight of Him, that seeth all,
Saw wherefore I was silent, prompted me
T’ indulge the fervent wish; and I began:
“I am not worthy, of my own desert,
That thou shouldst answer me; but for her sake,
Who hath vouchsaf’d my asking, spirit blest!
That in thy joy art shrouded! say the cause,
Which bringeth thee so near: and wherefore, say,
Doth the sweet symphony of Paradise
Keep silence here, pervading with such sounds
Of rapt devotion ev’ry lower sphere?”
“Mortal art thou in hearing as in sight;”
Was the reply: “and what forbade the smile
Of Beatrice interrupts our song.
Only to yield thee gladness of my voice,
And of the light that vests me, I thus far
Descend these hallow’d steps: not that more love
Invites me; for lo! there aloft, as much
Or more of love is witness’d in those flames:
But such my lot by charity assign’d,
That makes us ready servants, as thou seest,
To execute the counsel of the Highest.
“That in this court,” said I, “O sacred lamp!
Love no compulsion needs, but follows free
Th’ eternal Providence, I well discern:
This harder find to deem, why of thy peers
Thou only to this office wert foredoom’d.”
I had not ended, when, like rapid mill,
Upon its centre whirl’d the light; and then
The love, that did inhabit there, replied:
“Splendour eternal, piercing through these folds,
Its virtue to my vision knits, and thus
Supported, lifts me so above myself,
That on the sov’ran essence, which it wells from,
I have the power to gaze: and hence the joy,
Wherewith I sparkle, equaling with my blaze
The keenness of my sight. But not the soul,
That is in heav’n most lustrous, nor the seraph
That hath his eyes most fix’d on God, shall solve
What thou hast ask’d: for in th’ abyss it lies
Of th’ everlasting statute sunk so low,
That no created ken may fathom it.
And, to the mortal world when thou return’st,
Be this reported; that none henceforth dare
Direct his footsteps to so dread a bourn.
The mind, that here is radiant, on the earth
Is wrapt in mist. Look then if she may do,
Below, what passeth her ability,
When she is ta’en to heav’n.” By words like these
Admonish’d, I the question urg’d no more;
And of the spirit humbly sued alone
T’ instruct me of its state. “’Twixt either shore
Of Italy, nor distant from thy land,
A stony ridge ariseth, in such sort,
The thunder doth not lift his voice so high,
They call it Catria: at whose foot a cell
Is sacred to the lonely Eremite,
For worship set apart and holy rites.”
A third time thus it spake; then added: “There
So firmly to God’s service I adher’d,
That with no costlier viands than the juice
Of olives, easily I pass’d the heats
Of summer and the winter frosts, content
In heav’n-ward musings. Rich were the returns
And fertile, which that cloister once was us’d
To render to these heavens: now ’t is fall’n
Into a waste so empty, that ere long
Detection must lay bare its vanity
Pietro Damiano there was I yclept:
Pietro the sinner, when before I dwelt
Beside the Adriatic, in the house
Of our blest Lady. Near upon my close
Of mortal life, through much importuning
I was constrain’d to wear the hat that still
From bad to worse it shifted.—Cephas came;
He came, who was the Holy Spirit’s vessel,
Barefoot and lean, eating their bread, as chanc’d,
At the first table. Modern Shepherd’s need
Those who on either hand may prop and lead them,
So burly are they grown: and from behind
Others to hoist them. Down the palfrey’s sides
Spread their broad mantles, so as both the beasts
Are cover’d with one skin. O patience! thou
That lookst on this and doth endure so long.”
I at those accents saw the splendours down
From step to step alight, and wheel, and wax,
Each circuiting, more beautiful. Round this
They came, and stay’d them; uttered them a shout
So loud, it hath no likeness here: nor I
Wist what it spake, so deaf’ning was the thunder.”

CANTO XXII

Astounded, to the guardian of my steps
I turn’d me, like the chill, who always runs
Thither for succour, where he trusteth most,
And she was like the mother, who her son
Beholding pale and breathless, with her voice
Soothes him, and he is cheer’d; for thus she spake,
Soothing me: “Know’st not thou, thou art in heav’n?
And know’st not thou, whatever is in heav’n,
Is holy, and that nothing there is done
But is done zealously and well? Deem now,
What change in thee the song, and what my smile
had wrought, since thus the shout had pow’r to move thee.
In which couldst thou have understood their prayers,
The vengeance were already known to thee,
Which thou must witness ere thy mortal hour,
The sword of heav’n is not in haste to smite,
Nor yet doth linger, save unto his seeming,
Who in desire or fear doth look for it.
But elsewhere now l bid thee turn thy view;
So shalt thou many a famous spirit behold.”
Mine eyes directing, as she will’d, I saw
A hundred little spheres, that fairer grew
By interchange of splendour. I remain’d,
As one, who fearful of o’er-much presuming,
Abates in him the keenness of desire,
Nor dares to question, when amid those pearls,
One largest and most lustrous onward drew,
That it might yield contentment to my wish;
And from within it these the sounds I heard.
“If thou, like me, beheldst the charity
That burns amongst us, what thy mind conceives,
Were utter’d. But that, ere the lofty bound
Thou reach, expectance may not weary thee,
I will make answer even to the thought,
Which thou hast such respect of. In old days,
That mountain, at whose side Cassino rests,
Was on its height frequented by a race
Deceived and ill dispos’d: and I it was,
Who thither carried first the name of Him,
Who brought the soul-subliming truth to man.
And such a speeding grace shone over me,
That from their impious worship I reclaim’d
The dwellers round about, who with the world
Were in delusion lost. These other flames,
The spirits of men contemplative, were all
Enliven’d by that warmth, whose kindly force
Gives birth to flowers and fruits of holiness.
Here is Macarius; Romoaldo here:
And here my brethren, who their steps refrain’d
Within the cloisters, and held firm their heart.”
I answ’ring, thus; “Thy gentle words and kind,
And this the cheerful semblance, I behold
Not unobservant, beaming in ye all,
Have rais’d assurance in me, wakening it
Full-blossom’d in my bosom, as a rose
Before the sun, when the consummate flower
Has spread to utmost amplitude. Of thee
Therefore entreat I, father! to declare
If I may gain such favour, as to gaze
Upon thine image, by no covering veil’d.”
“Brother!” he thus rejoin’d, “in the last sphere
Expect completion of thy lofty aim,
For there on each desire completion waits,
And there on mine: where every aim is found
Perfect, entire, and for fulfillment ripe.
There all things are as they have ever been:
For space is none to bound, nor pole divides,
Our ladder reaches even to that clime,
And so at giddy distance mocks thy view.
Thither the Patriarch Jacob saw it stretch
Its topmost round, when it appear’d to him
With angels laden. But to mount it now
None lifts his foot from earth: and hence my rule
Is left a profitless stain upon the leaves;
The walls, for abbey rear’d, turned into dens,
The cowls to sacks choak’d up with musty meal.
Foul usury doth not more lift itself
Against God’s pleasure, than that fruit which makes
The hearts of monks so wanton: for whate’er
Is in the church’s keeping, all pertains.
To such, as sue for heav’n’s sweet sake, and not
To those who in respect of kindred claim,
Or on more vile allowance. Mortal flesh
Is grown so dainty, good beginnings last not
From the oak’s birth, unto the acorn’s setting.
His convent Peter founded without gold
Or silver; I with pray’rs and fasting mine;
And Francis his in meek humility.
And if thou note the point, whence each proceeds,
Then look what it hath err’d to, thou shalt find
The white grown murky. Jordan was turn’d back;
And a less wonder, then the refluent sea,
May at God’s pleasure work amendment here.”
So saying, to his assembly back he drew:
And they together cluster’d into one,
Then all roll’d upward like an eddying wind.
The sweet dame beckon’d me to follow them:
And, by that influence only, so prevail’d
Over my nature, that no natural motion,
Ascending or descending here below,
Had, as I mounted, with my pennon vied.
So, reader, as my hope is to return
Unto the holy triumph, for the which
I ofttimes wail my sins, and smite my breast,
Thou hadst been longer drawing out and thrusting
Thy finger in the fire, than I was, ere
The sign, that followeth Taurus, I beheld,
And enter’d its precinct. O glorious stars!
O light impregnate with exceeding virtue!
To whom whate’er of genius lifteth me
Above the vulgar, grateful I refer;
With ye the parent of all mortal life
Arose and set, when I did first inhale
The Tuscan air; and afterward, when grace
Vouchsaf’d me entrance to the lofty wheel
That in its orb impels ye, fate decreed
My passage at your clime. To you my soul
Devoutly sighs, for virtue even now
To meet the hard emprize that draws me on.
“Thou art so near the sum of blessedness,”
Said Beatrice, “that behooves thy ken
Be vigilant and clear. And, to this end,
Or even thou advance thee further, hence
Look downward, and contemplate, what a world
Already stretched under our feet there lies:
So as thy heart may, in its blithest mood,
Present itself to the triumphal throng,
Which through the’ etherial concave comes rejoicing.”
I straight obey’d; and with mine eye return’d
Through all the seven spheres, and saw this globe
So pitiful of semblance, that perforce
It moved my smiles: and him in truth I hold
For wisest, who esteems it least: whose thoughts
Elsewhere are fix’d, him worthiest call and best.
I saw the daughter of Latona shine
Without the shadow, whereof late I deem’d
That dense and rare were cause. Here I sustain’d
The visage, Hyperion! of thy sun;
And mark’d, how near him with their circle, round
Move Maia and Dione; here discern’d
Jove’s tempering ’twixt his sire and son; and hence
Their changes and their various aspects
Distinctly scann’d. Nor might I not descry
Of all the seven, how bulky each, how swift;
Nor of their several distances not learn.
This petty area (o’er the which we stride
So fiercely), as along the eternal twins
I wound my way, appear’d before me all,
Forth from the havens stretch’d unto the hills.
Then to the beauteous eyes mine eyes return’d.

CANTO XXIII

E’en as the bird, who midst the leafy bower
Has, in her nest, sat darkling through the night,
With her sweet brood, impatient to descry
Their wished looks, and to bring home their food,
In the fond quest unconscious of her toil:
She, of the time prevenient, on the spray,
That overhangs their couch, with wakeful gaze
Expects the sun; nor ever, till the dawn,
Removeth from the east her eager ken;
So stood the dame erect, and bent her glance
Wistfully on that region, where the sun
Abateth most his speed; that, seeing her
Suspense and wand’ring, I became as one,
In whom desire is waken’d, and the hope
Of somewhat new to come fills with delight.
Short space ensued; I was not held, I say,
Long in expectance, when I saw the heav’n
Wax more and more resplendent; and, “Behold,”
Cried Beatrice, “the triumphal hosts
Of Christ, and all the harvest reap’d at length
Of thy ascending up these spheres.” Meseem’d,
That, while she spake her image all did burn,
And in her eyes such fullness was of joy,
And I am fain to pass unconstrued by.
As in the calm full moon, when Trivia smiles,
In peerless beauty, ’mid th’ eternal nympus,
That paint through all its gulfs the blue profound
In bright pre-eminence so saw I there,
O’er million lamps a sun, from whom all drew
Their radiance as from ours the starry train:
And through the living light so lustrous glow’d
The substance, that my ken endur’d it not.
O Beatrice! sweet and precious guide!
Who cheer’d me with her comfortable words!
“Against the virtue, that o’erpow’reth thee,
Avails not to resist. Here is the might,
And here the wisdom, which did open lay
The path, that had been yearned for so long,
Betwixt the heav’n and earth.” Like to the fire,
That, in a cloud imprison’d doth break out
Expansive, so that from its womb enlarg’d,
It falleth against nature to the ground;
Thus in that heav’nly banqueting my soul
Outgrew herself; and, in the transport lost.
Holds now remembrance none of what she was.
“Ope thou thine eyes, and mark me: thou hast seen
Things, that empower thee to sustain my smile.”
I was as one, when a forgotten dream
Doth come across him, and he strives in vain
To shape it in his fantasy again,
Whenas that gracious boon was proffer’d me,
Which never may be cancel’d from the book,
Wherein the past is written. Now were all
Those tongues to sound, that have on sweetest milk
Of Polyhymnia and her sisters fed
And fatten’d, not with all their help to boot,
Unto the thousandth parcel of the truth,
My song might shadow forth that saintly smile,
flow merely in her saintly looks it wrought.
And with such figuring of Paradise
The sacred strain must leap, like one, that meets
A sudden interruption to his road.
But he, who thinks how ponderous the theme,
And that ’t is lain upon a mortal shoulder,
May pardon, if it tremble with the burden.
The track, our ventrous keel must furrow, brooks
No unribb’d pinnace, no self-sparing pilot.
“Why doth my face,” said Beatrice, “thus
Enamour thee, as that thou dost not turn
Unto the beautiful garden, blossoming
Beneath the rays of Christ? Here is the rose,
Wherein the word divine was made incarnate;
And here the lilies, by whose odour known
The way of life was follow’d.” Prompt I heard
Her bidding, and encounter once again
The strife of aching vision. As erewhile,
Through glance of sunlight, stream’d through broken cloud,
Mine eyes a flower-besprinkled mead have seen,
Though veil’d themselves in shade; so saw I there
Legions of splendours, on whom burning rays
Shed lightnings from above, yet saw I not
The fountain whence they flow’d. O gracious virtue!
Thou, whose broad stamp is on them, higher up
Thou didst exalt thy glory to give room
To my o’erlabour’d sight: when at the name
Of that fair flower, whom duly I invoke
Both morn and eve, my soul, with all her might
Collected, on the goodliest ardour fix’d.
And, as the bright dimensions of the star
In heav’n excelling, as once here on earth
Were, in my eyeballs lively portray’d,
Lo! from within the sky a cresset fell,
Circling in fashion of a diadem,
And girt the star, and hov’ring round it wheel’d.
Whatever melody sounds sweetest here,
And draws the spirit most unto itself,
Might seem a rent cloud when it grates the thunder,
Compar’d unto the sounding of that lyre,
Wherewith the goodliest sapphire, that inlays
The floor of heav’n, was crown’d. “Angelic Love,
I am, who thus with hov’ring flight enwheel
The lofty rapture from that womb inspir’d,
Where our desire did dwell: and round thee so,
Lady of Heav’n! will hover; long as thou
Thy Son shalt follow, and diviner joy
Shall from thy presence gild the highest sphere.”
Such close was to the circling melody:
And, as it ended, all the other lights
Took up the strain, and echoed Mary’s name.
The robe, that with its regal folds enwraps
The world, and with the nearer breath of God
Doth burn and quiver, held so far retir’d
Its inner hem and skirting over us,
That yet no glimmer of its majesty
Had stream’d unto me: therefore were mine eyes
Unequal to pursue the crowned flame,
That rose and sought its natal seed of fire;
And like to babe, that stretches forth its arms
For very eagerness towards the breast,
After the milk is taken; so outstretch’d
Their wavy summits all the fervent band,
Through zealous love to Mary: then in view
There halted, and “Regina Coeli” sang
So sweetly, the delight hath left me never.
O what o’erflowing plenty is up-pil’d
In those rich-laden coffers, which below
Sow’d the good seed, whose harvest now they keep.
Here are the treasures tasted, that with tears
Were in the Babylonian exile won,
When gold had fail’d them. Here in synod high
Of ancient council with the new conven’d,
Under the Son of Mary and of God,
Victorious he his mighty triumph holds,
To whom the keys of glory were assign’d.

CANTO XXIV

“O ye! in chosen fellowship advanc’d
To the great supper of the blessed Lamb,
Whereon who feeds hath every wish fulfill’d!
If to this man through God’s grace be vouchsaf’d
Foretaste of that, which from your table falls,
Or ever death his fated term prescribe;
Be ye not heedless of his urgent will;
But may some influence of your sacred dews
Sprinkle him. Of the fount ye alway drink,
Whence flows what most he craves.” Beatrice spake,
And the rejoicing spirits, like to spheres
On firm-set poles revolving, trail’d a blaze
Of comet splendour; and as wheels, that wind
Their circles in the horologe, so work
The stated rounds, that to th’ observant eye
The first seems still, and, as it flew, the last;
E’en thus their carols weaving variously,
They by the measure pac’d, or swift, or slow,
Made me to rate the riches of their joy.
From that, which I did note in beauty most
Excelling, saw I issue forth a flame
So bright, as none was left more goodly there.
Round Beatrice thrice it wheel’d about,
With so divine a song, that fancy’s ear
Records it not; and the pen passeth on
And leaves a blank: for that our mortal speech,
Nor e’en the inward shaping of the brain,
Hath colours fine enough to trace such folds.
“O saintly sister mine! thy prayer devout
Is with so vehement affection urg’d,
Thou dost unbind me from that beauteous sphere.”
Such were the accents towards my lady breath’d
From that blest ardour, soon as it was stay’d:
To whom she thus: “O everlasting light
Of him, within whose mighty grasp our Lord
Did leave the keys, which of this wondrous bliss
He bare below! tent this man, as thou wilt,
With lighter probe or deep, touching the faith,
By the which thou didst on the billows walk.
If he in love, in hope, and in belief,
Be steadfast, is not hid from thee: for thou
Hast there thy ken, where all things are beheld
In liveliest portraiture. But since true faith
Has peopled this fair realm with citizens,
Meet is, that to exalt its glory more,
Thou in his audience shouldst thereof discourse.”
Like to the bachelor, who arms himself,
And speaks not, till the master have propos’d
The question, to approve, and not to end it;
So I, in silence, arm’d me, while she spake,
Summoning up each argument to aid;
As was behooveful for such questioner,
And such profession: “As good Christian ought,
Declare thee, What is faith?” Whereat I rais’d
My forehead to the light, whence this had breath’d,
Then turn’d to Beatrice, and in her looks
Approval met, that from their inmost fount
I should unlock the waters. “May the grace,
That giveth me the captain of the church
For confessor,” said I, “vouchsafe to me
Apt utterance for my thoughts!” then added: “Sire!
E’en as set down by the unerring style
Of thy dear brother, who with thee conspir’d
To bring Rome in unto the way of life,
Faith of things hop’d is substance, and the proof
Of things not seen; and herein doth consist
Methinks its essence,”—“Rightly hast thou deem’d,”
Was answer’d: “if thou well discern, why first
He hath defin’d it, substance, and then proof.”
“The deep things,” I replied, “which here I scan
Distinctly, are below from mortal eye
So hidden, they have in belief alone
Their being, on which credence hope sublime
Is built; and therefore substance it intends.
And inasmuch as we must needs infer
From such belief our reasoning, all respect
To other view excluded, hence of proof
Th’ intention is deriv’d.” Forthwith I heard:
“If thus, whate’er by learning men attain,
Were understood, the sophist would want room
To exercise his wit.” So breath’d the flame
Of love: then added: “Current is the coin
Thou utter’st, both in weight and in alloy.
But tell me, if thou hast it in thy purse.”
“Even so glittering and so round,” said I,
“I not a whit misdoubt of its assay.”
Next issued from the deep imbosom’d splendour:
“Say, whence the costly jewel, on the which
Is founded every virtue, came to thee.”
“The flood,” I answer’d, “from the Spirit of God
Rain’d down upon the ancient bond and new,—
Here is the reas’ning, that convinceth me
So feelingly, each argument beside
Seems blunt and forceless in comparison.”
Then heard I: “Wherefore holdest thou that each,
The elder proposition and the new,
Which so persuade thee, are the voice of heav’n?”
“The works, that follow’d, evidence their truth;”
I answer’d: “Nature did not make for these
The iron hot, or on her anvil mould them.”
“Who voucheth to thee of the works themselves,”
Was the reply, “that they in very deed
Are that they purport? None hath sworn so to thee.”
“That all the world,” said I, “should have been turn’d
To Christian, and no miracle been wrought,
Would in itself be such a miracle,
The rest were not an hundredth part so great.
E’en thou wentst forth in poverty and hunger
To set the goodly plant, that from the vine,
It once was, now is grown unsightly bramble.”
That ended, through the high celestial court
Resounded all the spheres. “Praise we one God!”
In song of most unearthly melody.
And when that Worthy thus, from branch to branch,
Examining, had led me, that we now
Approach’d the topmost bough, he straight resum’d;
“The grace, that holds sweet dalliance with thy soul,
So far discreetly hath thy lips unclos’d
That, whatsoe’er has past them, I commend.
Behooves thee to express, what thou believ’st,
The next, and whereon thy belief hath grown.”
“O saintly sire and spirit!” I began,
“Who seest that, which thou didst so believe,
As to outstrip feet younger than thine own,
Toward the sepulchre? thy will is here,
That I the tenour of my creed unfold;
And thou the cause of it hast likewise ask’d.
And I reply: I in one God believe,
One sole eternal Godhead, of whose love
All heav’n is mov’d, himself unmov’d the while.
Nor demonstration physical alone,
Or more intelligential and abstruse,
Persuades me to this faith; but from that truth
It cometh to me rather, which is shed
Through Moses, the rapt Prophets, and the Psalms.
The Gospel, and that ye yourselves did write,
When ye were gifted of the Holy Ghost.
In three eternal Persons I believe,
Essence threefold and one, mysterious league
Of union absolute, which, many a time,
The word of gospel lore upon my mind
Imprints: and from this germ, this firstling spark,
The lively flame dilates, and like heav’n’s star
Doth glitter in me.” As the master hears,
Well pleas’d, and then enfoldeth in his arms
The servant, who hath joyful tidings brought,
And having told the errand keeps his peace;
Thus benediction uttering with song
Soon as my peace I held, compass’d me thrice
The apostolic radiance, whose behest
Had op’d lips; so well their answer pleas’d.