The Vision of Dante Alighiere or Hell, Purgatory and Paradise

To the design of art, through sluggishness

  Of unreplying matter, so this course

  Is sometimes quitted by the creature, who

  Hath power, directed thus, to bend elsewhere;

  As from a cloud the fire is seen to fall,

  From its original impulse warp'd, to earth,

  By vicious fondness. Thou no more admire

  Thy soaring, (if I rightly deem,) than lapse

  Of torrent downwards from a mountain's height.

  There would in thee for wonder be more cause,

  If, free of hind'rance, thou hadst fix'd thyself

  Below, like fire unmoving on the earth."

  So said, she turn'd toward the heav'n her face.

  CANTO II

  All ye, who in small bark have following sail'd,

  Eager to listen, on the advent'rous track

  Of my proud keel, that singing cuts its way,

  Backward return with speed, and your own shores

  Revisit, nor put out to open sea,

  Where losing me, perchance ye may remain

  Bewilder'd in deep maze. The way I pass

  Ne'er yet was run: Minerva breathes the gale,

  Apollo guides me, and another Nine

  To my rapt sight the arctic beams reveal.

  Ye other few, who have outstretch'd the neck.

  Timely for food of angels, on which here

  They live, yet never know satiety,

  Through the deep brine ye fearless may put out

  Your vessel, marking, well the furrow broad

  Before you in the wave, that on both sides

  Equal returns. Those, glorious, who pass'd o'er

  To Colchos, wonder'd not as ye will do,

  When they saw Jason following the plough.

  The increate perpetual thirst, that draws

  Toward the realm of God's own form, bore us

  Swift almost as the heaven ye behold.

  Beatrice upward gaz'd, and I on her,

  And in such space as on the notch a dart

  Is plac'd, then loosen'd flies, I saw myself

  Arriv'd, where wond'rous thing engag'd my sight.

  Whence she, to whom no work of mine was hid,

  Turning to me, with aspect glad as fair,

  Bespake me: "Gratefully direct thy mind

  To God, through whom to this first star we come."

  Me seem'd as if a cloud had cover'd us,

  Translucent, solid, firm, and polish'd bright,

  Like adamant, which the sun's beam had smit

  Within itself the ever-during pearl

  Receiv'd us, as the wave a ray of light

  Receives, and rests unbroken. If I then

  Was of corporeal frame, and it transcend

  Our weaker thought, how one dimension thus

  Another could endure, which needs must be

  If body enter body, how much more

  Must the desire inflame us to behold

  That essence, which discovers by what means

  God and our nature join'd! There will be seen

  That which we hold through faith, not shown by proof,

  But in itself intelligibly plain,

  E'en as the truth that man at first believes.

  I answered: "Lady! I with thoughts devout,

  Such as I best can frame, give thanks to Him,

  Who hath remov'd me from the mortal world.

  But tell, I pray thee, whence the gloomy spots

  Upon this body, which below on earth

  Give rise to talk of Cain in fabling quaint?"

  She somewhat smil'd, then spake: "If mortals err

  In their opinion, when the key of sense

  Unlocks not, surely wonder's weapon keen

  Ought not to pierce thee; since thou find'st, the wings

  Of reason to pursue the senses' flight

  Are short. But what thy own thought is, declare."

  Then I: "What various here above appears,

  Is caus'd, I deem, by bodies dense or rare."

  She then resum'd: "Thou certainly wilt see

  In falsehood thy belief o'erwhelm'd, if well

  Thou listen to the arguments, which I

  Shall bring to face it. The eighth sphere displays

  Numberless lights, the which in kind and size

  May be remark'd of different aspects;

  If rare or dense of that were cause alone,

  One single virtue then would be in all,

  Alike distributed, or more, or less.

  Different virtues needs must be the fruits

  Of formal principles, and these, save one,

  Will by thy reasoning be destroy'd. Beside,

  If rarity were of that dusk the cause,

  Which thou inquirest, either in some part

  That planet must throughout be void, nor fed

  With its own matter; or, as bodies share

  Their fat and leanness, in like manner this

  Must in its volume change the leaves. The first,

  If it were true, had through the sun's eclipse

  Been manifested, by transparency

  Of light, as through aught rare beside effus'd.

  But this is not. Therefore remains to see

  The other cause: and if the other fall,

  Erroneous so must prove what seem'd to thee.

  If not from side to side this rarity

  Pass through, there needs must be a limit, whence

  Its contrary no further lets it pass.

  And hence the beam, that from without proceeds,

  Must be pour'd back, as colour comes, through glass

  Reflected, which behind it lead conceals.

  Now wilt thou say, that there of murkier hue

  Than in the other part the ray is shown,

  By being thence refracted farther back.

  From this perplexity will free thee soon

  Experience, if thereof thou trial make,

  The fountain whence your arts derive their streame.

  Three mirrors shalt thou take, and two remove

  From thee alike, and more remote the third.

  Betwixt the former pair, shall meet thine eyes;

  Then turn'd toward them, cause behind thy back

  A light to stand, that on the three shall shine,

  And thus reflected come to thee from all.

  Though that beheld most distant do not stretch

  A space so ample, yet in brightness thou

  Will own it equaling the rest. But now,

  As under snow the ground, if the warm ray

  Smites it, remains dismantled of the hue

  And cold, that cover'd it before, so thee,

  Dismantled in thy mind, I will inform

  With light so lively, that the tremulous beam

  Shall quiver where it falls. Within the heaven,

  Where peace divine inhabits, circles round

  A body, in whose virtue dies the being

  Of all that it contains. The following heaven,

  That hath so many lights, this being divides,

  Through different essences, from it distinct,

  And yet contain'd within it. The other orbs

  Their separate distinctions variously

  Dispose, for their own seed and produce apt.

  Thus do these organs of the world proceed,

  As thou beholdest now, from step to step,

  Their influences from above deriving,

  And thence transmitting downwards. Mark me well,

  How through this passage to the truth I ford,

  The truth thou lov'st, that thou henceforth alone,

  May'st know to keep the shallows, safe, untold.

  "The virtue and motion of the sacred orbs,

  As mallet by the workman's hand, must needs

  By blessed movers be inspir'd. This heaven,

  Made beauteous by so many luminaries,

&nbs
p; From the deep spirit, that moves its circling sphere,

  Its image takes an impress as a seal:

  And as the soul, that dwells within your dust,

  Through members different, yet together form'd,

  In different pow'rs resolves itself; e'en so

  The intellectual efficacy unfolds

  Its goodness multiplied throughout the stars;

  On its own unity revolving still.

  Different virtue compact different

  Makes with the precious body it enlivens,

  With which it knits, as life in you is knit.

  From its original nature full of joy,

  The virtue mingled through the body shines,

  As joy through pupil of the living eye.

  From hence proceeds, that which from light to light

  Seems different, and not from dense or rare.

  This is the formal cause, that generates

  Proportion'd to its power, the dusk or clear."

  CANTO III

  That sun, which erst with love my bosom warm'd

  Had of fair truth unveil'd the sweet aspect,

  By proof of right, and of the false reproof;

  And I, to own myself convinc'd and free

  Of doubt, as much as needed, rais'd my head

  Erect for speech. But soon a sight appear'd,

  Which, so intent to mark it, held me fix'd,

  That of confession I no longer thought.

  As through translucent and smooth glass, or wave

  Clear and unmov'd, and flowing not so deep

  As that its bed is dark, the shape returns

  So faint of our impictur'd lineaments,

  That on white forehead set a pearl as strong

  Comes to the eye: such saw I many a face,

  All stretch'd to speak, from whence I straight conceiv'd

  Delusion opposite to that, which rais'd

  Between the man and fountain, amorous flame.

  Sudden, as I perceiv'd them, deeming these

  Reflected semblances to see of whom

  They were, I turn'd mine eyes, and nothing saw;

  Then turn'd them back, directed on the light

  Of my sweet guide, who smiling shot forth beams

  From her celestial eyes. "Wonder not thou,"

  She cry'd, "at this my smiling, when I see

  Thy childish judgment; since not yet on truth

  It rests the foot, but, as it still is wont,

  Makes thee fall back in unsound vacancy.

  True substances are these, which thou behold'st,

  Hither through failure of their vow exil'd.

  But speak thou with them; listen, and believe,

  That the true light, which fills them with desire,

  Permits not from its beams their feet to stray."

  Straight to the shadow which for converse seem'd

  Most earnest, I addressed me, and began,

  As one by over-eagerness perplex'd:

  "O spirit, born for joy! who in the rays

  Of life eternal, of that sweetness know'st

  The flavour, which, not tasted, passes far

  All apprehension, me it well would please,

  If thou wouldst tell me of thy name, and this

  Your station here." Whence she, with kindness prompt,

  And eyes glist'ning with smiles: "Our charity,

  To any wish by justice introduc'd,

  Bars not the door, no more than she above,

  Who would have all her court be like herself.

  I was a virgin sister in the earth;

  And if thy mind observe me well, this form,

  With such addition grac'd of loveliness,

  Will not conceal me long, but thou wilt know

  Piccarda, in the tardiest sphere thus plac'd,

  Here 'mid these other blessed also blest.

  Our hearts, whose high affections burn alone

  With pleasure, from the Holy Spirit conceiv'd,

  Admitted to his order dwell in joy.

  And this condition, which appears so low,

  Is for this cause assign'd us, that our vows

  Were in some part neglected and made void."

  Whence I to her replied: "Something divine

  Beams in your countenance, wond'rous fair,

  From former knowledge quite transmuting you.

  Therefore to recollect was I so slow.

  But what thou sayst hath to my memory

  Given now such aid, that to retrace your forms

  Is easier. Yet inform me, ye, who here

  Are happy, long ye for a higher place

  More to behold, and more in love to dwell?"

  She with those other spirits gently smil'd,

  Then answer'd with such gladness, that she seem'd

  With love's first flame to glow: "Brother! our will

  Is in composure settled by the power

  Of charity, who makes us will alone

  What we possess, and nought beyond desire;

  If we should wish to be exalted more,

  Then must our wishes jar with the high will

  Of him, who sets us here, which in these orbs

  Thou wilt confess not possible, if here

  To be in charity must needs befall,

  And if her nature well thou contemplate.

  Rather it is inherent in this state

  Of blessedness, to keep ourselves within

  The divine will, by which our wills with his

  Are one. So that as we from step to step

  Are plac'd throughout this kingdom, pleases all,

  E'en as our King, who in us plants his will;

  And in his will is our tranquillity;

  It is the mighty ocean, whither tends

  Whatever it creates and nature makes."

  Then saw I clearly how each spot in heav'n

  Is Paradise, though with like gracious dew

  The supreme virtue show'r not over all.

  But as it chances, if one sort of food

  Hath satiated, and of another still

  The appetite remains, that this is ask'd,

  And thanks for that return'd; e'en so did I

  In word and motion, bent from her to learn

  What web it was, through which she had not drawn

  The shuttle to its point. She thus began:

  "Exalted worth and perfectness of life

  The Lady higher up enshrine in heaven,

  By whose pure laws upon your nether earth

  The robe and veil they wear, to that intent,

  That e'en till death they may keep watch or sleep

  With their great bridegroom, who accepts each vow,

  Which to his gracious pleasure love conforms.

  from the world, to follow her, when young

  Escap'd; and, in her vesture mantling me,

  Made promise of the way her sect enjoins.

  Thereafter men, for ill than good more apt,

  Forth snatch'd me from the pleasant cloister's pale.

  God knows how after that my life was fram'd.

  This other splendid shape, which thou beholdst

  At my right side, burning with all the light

  Of this our orb, what of myself I tell

  May to herself apply. From her, like me

  A sister, with like violence were torn

  The saintly folds, that shaded her fair brows.

  E'en when she to the world again was brought

  In spite of her own will and better wont,

  Yet not for that the bosom's inward veil

  Did she renounce. This is the luminary

  Of mighty Constance, who from that loud blast,

  Which blew the second over Suabia's realm,

  That power produc'd, which was the third and last."

  She ceas'd from further talk, and then began

  "Ave Maria" singing, and with that song

  Vanish'
d, as heavy substance through deep wave.

  Mine eye, that far as it was capable,

  Pursued her, when in dimness she was lost,

  Turn'd to the mark where greater want impell'd,

  And bent on Beatrice all its gaze.

  But she as light'ning beam'd upon my looks:

  So that the sight sustain'd it not at first.

  Whence I to question her became less prompt.

  CANTO IV

  Between two kinds of food, both equally

  Remote and tempting, first a man might die

  Of hunger, ere he one could freely choose.

  E'en so would stand a lamb between the maw

  Of two fierce wolves, in dread of both alike:

  E'en so between two deer a dog would stand,

  Wherefore, if I was silent, fault nor praise

  I to myself impute, by equal doubts

  Held in suspense, since of necessity

  It happen'd. Silent was I, yet desire

  Was painted in my looks; and thus I spake

  My wish more earnestly than language could.

  As Daniel, when the haughty king he freed

  From ire, that spurr'd him on to deeds unjust

  And violent; so look'd Beatrice then.

  "Well I discern," she thus her words address'd,

  "How contrary desires each way constrain thee,

  So that thy anxious thought is in itself

  Bound up and stifled, nor breathes freely forth.

  Thou arguest; if the good intent remain;

  What reason that another's violence

  Should stint the measure of my fair desert?

  "Cause too thou findst for doubt, in that it seems,

  That spirits to the stars, as Plato deem'd,

  Return. These are the questions which thy will

  Urge equally; and therefore I the first

  Of that will treat which hath the more of gall.

  Of seraphim he who is most ensky'd,

  Moses and Samuel, and either John,

  Choose which thou wilt, nor even Mary's self,

  Have not in any other heav'n their seats,

  Than have those spirits which so late thou saw'st;

  Nor more or fewer years exist; but all

  Make the first circle beauteous, diversely

  Partaking of sweet life, as more or less

  Afflation of eternal bliss pervades them.

  Here were they shown thee, not that fate assigns

  This for their sphere, but for a sign to thee

  Of that celestial furthest from the height.

  Thus needs, that ye may apprehend, we speak:

  Since from things sensible alone ye learn

  That, which digested rightly after turns

  To intellectual. For no other cause

  The scripture, condescending graciously

  To your perception, hands and feet to God

  Attributes, nor so means: and holy church

  Doth represent with human countenance

  Gabriel, and Michael, and him who made

  Tobias whole. Unlike what here thou seest,

  The judgment of Timaeus, who affirms

  Each soul restor'd to its particular star,

  Believing it to have been taken thence,

  When nature gave it to inform her mold:

  Since to appearance his intention is

  E'en what his words declare: or else to shun

  Derision, haply thus he hath disguis'd

  His true opinion. If his meaning be,

  That to the influencing of these orbs revert

  The honour and the blame in human acts,

  Perchance he doth not wholly miss the truth.

  This principle, not understood aright,

  Erewhile perverted well nigh all the world;

  So that it fell to fabled names of Jove,

  And Mercury, and Mars. That other doubt,

  Which moves thee, is less harmful; for it brings

  No peril of removing thee from me.

  "That, to the eye of man, our justice seems

  Unjust, is argument for faith, and not

  For heretic declension. To the end

  This truth may stand more clearly in your view,

  I will content thee even to thy wish

  "If violence be, when that which suffers, nought

  Consents to that which forceth, not for this

  These spirits stood exculpate. For the will,

  That will not, still survives unquench'd, and doth

  As nature doth in fire, tho' violence

  Wrest it a thousand times; for, if it yield

  Or more or less, so far it follows force.

  And thus did these, whom they had power to seek

  The hallow'd place again. In them, had will

  Been perfect, such as once upon the bars

  Held Laurence firm, or wrought in Scaevola

  To his own hand remorseless, to the path,

  Whence they were drawn, their steps had hasten'd back,

  When liberty return'd: but in too few

  Resolve so steadfast dwells. And by these words

  If duly weigh'd, that argument is void,

  Which oft might have perplex'd thee still. But now

  Another question thwarts thee, which to solve

  Might try thy patience without better aid.

  I have, no doubt, instill'd into thy mind,

  That blessed spirit may not lie; since near

  The source of primal truth it dwells for aye:

  And thou might'st after of Piccarda learn

  That Constance held affection to the veil;

  So that she seems to contradict me here.

  Not seldom, brother, it hath chanc'd for men

  To do what they had gladly left undone,

  Yet to shun peril they have done amiss: