The Vision of Dante Alighiere or Hell, Purgatory and Paradise

At each new minist'ring. Then silence brake,

  Amid th' accordant sons of Deity,

  That luminary, in which the wondrous life

  Of the meek man of God was told to me;

  And thus it spake: "One ear o' th' harvest thresh'd,

  And its grain safely stor'd, sweet charity

  Invites me with the other to like toil.

  "Thou know'st, that in the bosom, whence the rib

  Was ta'en to fashion that fair cheek, whose taste

  All the world pays for, and in that, which pierc'd

  By the keen lance, both after and before

  Such satisfaction offer'd, as outweighs

  Each evil in the scale, whate'er of light

  To human nature is allow'd, must all

  Have by his virtue been infus'd, who form'd

  Both one and other: and thou thence admir'st

  In that I told thee, of beatitudes

  A second, there is none, to his enclos'd

  In the fifth radiance. Open now thine eyes

  To what I answer thee; and thou shalt see

  Thy deeming and my saying meet in truth,

  As centre in the round. That which dies not,

  And that which can die, are but each the beam

  Of that idea, which our Soverign Sire

  Engendereth loving; for that lively light,

  Which passeth from his brightness; not disjoin'd

  From him, nor from his love triune with them,

  Doth, through his bounty, congregate itself,

  Mirror'd, as 't were in new existences,

  Itself unalterable and ever one.

  "Descending hence unto the lowest powers,

  Its energy so sinks, at last it makes

  But brief contingencies: for so I name

  Things generated, which the heav'nly orbs

  Moving, with seed or without seed, produce.

  Their wax, and that which molds it, differ much:

  And thence with lustre, more or less, it shows

  Th' ideal stamp impress: so that one tree

  According to his kind, hath better fruit,

  And worse: and, at your birth, ye, mortal men,

  Are in your talents various. Were the wax

  Molded with nice exactness, and the heav'n

  In its disposing influence supreme,

  The lustre of the seal should be complete:

  But nature renders it imperfect ever,

  Resembling thus the artist in her work,

  Whose faultering hand is faithless to his skill.

  Howe'er, if love itself dispose, and mark

  The primal virtue, kindling with bright view,

  There all perfection is vouchsafed; and such

  The clay was made, accomplish'd with each gift,

  That life can teem with; such the burden fill'd

  The virgin's bosom: so that I commend

  Thy judgment, that the human nature ne'er

  Was or can be, such as in them it was.

  "Did I advance no further than this point,

  'How then had he no peer?' thou might'st reply.

  But, that what now appears not, may appear

  Right plainly, ponder, who he was, and what

  (When he was bidden 'Ask' ), the motive sway'd

  To his requesting. I have spoken thus,

  That thou mayst see, he was a king, who ask'd

  For wisdom, to the end he might be king

  Sufficient: not the number to search out

  Of the celestial movers; or to know,

  If necessary with contingent e'er

  Have made necessity; or whether that

  Be granted, that first motion is; or if

  Of the mid circle can, by art, be made

  Triangle with each corner, blunt or sharp.

  "Whence, noting that, which I have said, and this,

  Thou kingly prudence and that ken mayst learn,

  At which the dart of my intention aims.

  And, marking clearly, that I told thee, 'Risen,'

  Thou shalt discern it only hath respect

  To kings, of whom are many, and the good

  Are rare. With this distinction take my words;

  And they may well consist with that which thou

  Of the first human father dost believe,

  And of our well-beloved. And let this

  Henceforth be led unto thy feet, to make

  Thee slow in motion, as a weary man,

  Both to the 'yea' and to the 'nay' thou seest not.

  For he among the fools is down full low,

  Whose affirmation, or denial, is

  Without distinction, in each case alike

  Since it befalls, that in most instances

  Current opinion leads to false: and then

  Affection bends the judgment to her ply.

  "Much more than vainly doth he loose from shore,

  Since he returns not such as he set forth,

  Who fishes for the truth and wanteth skill.

  And open proofs of this unto the world

  Have been afforded in Parmenides,

  Melissus, Bryso, and the crowd beside,

  Who journey'd on, and knew not whither: so did

  Sabellius, Arius, and the other fools,

  Who, like to scymitars, reflected back

  The scripture-image, by distortion marr'd.

  "Let not the people be too swift to judge,

  As one who reckons on the blades in field,

  Or ere the crop be ripe. For I have seen

  The thorn frown rudely all the winter long

  And after bear the rose upon its top;

  And bark, that all the way across the sea

  Ran straight and speedy, perish at the last,

  E'en in the haven's mouth seeing one steal,

  Another brine, his offering to the priest,

  Let not Dame Birtha and Sir Martin thence

  Into heav'n's counsels deem that they can pry:

  For one of these may rise, the other fall."

  CANTO XIV

  From centre to the circle, and so back

  From circle to the centre, water moves

  In the round chalice, even as the blow

  Impels it, inwardly, or from without.

  Such was the image glanc'd into my mind,

  As the great spirit of Aquinum ceas'd;

  And Beatrice after him her words

  Resum'd alternate: "Need there is (tho' yet

  He tells it to you not in words, nor e'en

  In thought) that he should fathom to its depth

  Another mystery. Tell him, if the light,

  Wherewith your substance blooms, shall stay with you

  Eternally, as now: and, if it doth,

  How, when ye shall regain your visible forms,

  The sight may without harm endure the change,

  That also tell." As those, who in a ring

  Tread the light measure, in their fitful mirth

  Raise loud the voice, and spring with gladder bound;

  Thus, at the hearing of that pious suit,

  The saintly circles in their tourneying

  And wond'rous note attested new delight.

  Whoso laments, that we must doff this garb

  Of frail mortality, thenceforth to live

  Immortally above, he hath not seen

  The sweet refreshing, of that heav'nly shower.

  Him, who lives ever, and for ever reigns

  In mystic union of the Three in One,

  Unbounded, bounding all, each spirit thrice

  Sang, with such melody, as but to hear

  For highest merit were an ample meed.

  And from the lesser orb the goodliest light,

  With gentle voice and mild, such as perhaps

  The angel's once to Mary, thus replied:

  "Long as the joy of Paradise shall last,

  Our love shall shine around tha
t raiment, bright,

  As fervent; fervent, as in vision blest;

  And that as far in blessedness exceeding,

  As it hath grave beyond its virtue great.

  Our shape, regarmented with glorious weeds

  Of saintly flesh, must, being thus entire,

  Show yet more gracious. Therefore shall increase,

  Whate'er of light, gratuitous, imparts

  The Supreme Good; light, ministering aid,

  The better disclose his glory: whence

  The vision needs increasing, much increase

  The fervour, which it kindles; and that too

  The ray, that comes from it. But as the greed

  Which gives out flame, yet it its whiteness shines

  More lively than that, and so preserves

  Its proper semblance; thus this circling sphere

  Of splendour, shall to view less radiant seem,

  Than shall our fleshly robe, which yonder earth

  Now covers. Nor will such excess of light

  O'erpower us, in corporeal organs made

  Firm, and susceptible of all delight."

  So ready and so cordial an "Amen,"

  Followed from either choir, as plainly spoke

  Desire of their dead bodies; yet perchance

  Not for themselves, but for their kindred dear,

  Mothers and sires, and those whom best they lov'd,

  Ere they were made imperishable flame.

  And lo! forthwith there rose up round about

  A lustre over that already there,

  Of equal clearness, like the brightening up

  Of the horizon. As at an evening hour

  Of twilight, new appearances through heav'n

  Peer with faint glimmer, doubtfully descried;

  So there new substances, methought began

  To rise in view; and round the other twain

  Enwheeling, sweep their ampler circuit wide.

  O gentle glitter of eternal beam!

  With what a such whiteness did it flow,

  O'erpowering vision in me! But so fair,

  So passing lovely, Beatrice show'd,

  Mind cannot follow it, nor words express

  Her infinite sweetness. Thence mine eyes regain'd

  Power to look up, and I beheld myself,

  Sole with my lady, to more lofty bliss

  Translated: for the star, with warmer smile

  Impurpled, well denoted our ascent.

  With all the heart, and with that tongue which speaks

  The same in all, an holocaust I made

  To God, befitting the new grace vouchsaf'd.

  And from my bosom had not yet upsteam'd

  The fuming of that incense, when I knew

  The rite accepted. With such mighty sheen

  And mantling crimson, in two listed rays

  The splendours shot before me, that I cried,

  "God of Sabaoth! that does prank them thus!"

  As leads the galaxy from pole to pole,

  Distinguish'd into greater lights and less,

  Its pathway, which the wisest fail to spell;

  So thickly studded, in the depth of Mars,

  Those rays describ'd the venerable sign,

  That quadrants in the round conjoining frame.

  Here memory mocks the toil of genius. Christ

  Beam'd on that cross; and pattern fails me now.

  But whoso takes his cross, and follows Christ

  Will pardon me for that I leave untold,

  When in the flecker'd dawning he shall spy

  The glitterance of Christ. From horn to horn,

  And 'tween the summit and the base did move

  Lights, scintillating, as they met and pass'd.

  Thus oft are seen, with ever-changeful glance,

  Straight or athwart, now rapid and now slow,

  The atomies of bodies, long or short,

  To move along the sunbeam, whose slant line

  Checkers the shadow, interpos'd by art

  Against the noontide heat. And as the chime

  Of minstrel music, dulcimer, and help

  With many strings, a pleasant dining makes

  To him, who heareth not distinct the note;

  So from the lights, which there appear'd to me,

  Gather'd along the cross a melody,

  That, indistinctly heard, with ravishment

  Possess'd me. Yet I mark'd it was a hymn

  Of lofty praises; for there came to me

  "Arise and conquer," as to one who hears

  And comprehends not. Me such ecstasy

  O'ercame, that never till that hour was thing

  That held me in so sweet imprisonment.

  Perhaps my saying over bold appears,

  Accounting less the pleasure of those eyes,

  Whereon to look fulfilleth all desire.

  But he, who is aware those living seals

  Of every beauty work with quicker force,

  The higher they are ris'n; and that there

  I had not turn'd me to them; he may well

  Excuse me that, whereof in my excuse

  I do accuse me, and may own my truth;

  That holy pleasure here not yet reveal'd,

  Which grows in transport as we mount aloof.

  CANTO XV

  True love, that ever shows itself as clear

  In kindness, as loose appetite in wrong,

  Silenced that lyre harmonious, and still'd

  The sacred chords, that are by heav'n's right hand

  Unwound and tighten'd, flow to righteous prayers

  Should they not hearken, who, to give me will

  For praying, in accordance thus were mute?

  He hath in sooth good cause for endless grief,

  Who, for the love of thing that lasteth not,

  Despoils himself forever of that love.

  As oft along the still and pure serene,

  At nightfall, glides a sudden trail of fire,

  Attracting with involuntary heed

  The eye to follow it, erewhile at rest,

  And seems some star that shifted place in heav'n,

  Only that, whence it kindles, none is lost,

  And it is soon extinct; thus from the horn,

  That on the dexter of the cross extends,

  Down to its foot, one luminary ran

  From mid the cluster shone there; yet no gem

  Dropp'd from its foil; and through the beamy list

  Like flame in alabaster, glow'd its course.

  So forward stretch'd him (if of credence aught

  Our greater muse may claim) the pious ghost

  Of old Anchises, in the' Elysian bower,

  When he perceiv'd his son. "O thou, my blood!

  O most exceeding grace divine! to whom,

  As now to thee, hath twice the heav'nly gate

  Been e'er unclos'd?" so spake the light; whence I

  Turn'd me toward him; then unto my dame

  My sight directed, and on either side

  Amazement waited me; for in her eyes

  Was lighted such a smile, I thought that mine

  Had div'd unto the bottom of my grace

  And of my bliss in Paradise. Forthwith

  To hearing and to sight grateful alike,

  The spirit to his proem added things

  I understood not, so profound he spake;

  Yet not of choice but through necessity

  Mysterious; for his high conception scar'd

  Beyond the mark of mortals. When the flight

  Of holy transport had so spent its rage,

  That nearer to the level of our thought

  The speech descended, the first sounds I heard

  Were, "Best he thou, Triunal Deity!

  That hast such favour in my seed vouchsaf'd!"

  Then follow'd: "No unpleasant thirst, tho' long,

  Which took me reading i
n the sacred book,

  Whose leaves or white or dusky never change,

  Thou hast allay'd, my son, within this light,

  From whence my voice thou hear'st; more thanks to her.

  Who for such lofty mounting has with plumes

  Begirt thee. Thou dost deem thy thoughts to me

  From him transmitted, who is first of all,

  E'en as all numbers ray from unity;

  And therefore dost not ask me who I am,

  Or why to thee more joyous I appear,

  Than any other in this gladsome throng.

  The truth is as thou deem'st; for in this hue

  Both less and greater in that mirror look,

  In which thy thoughts, or ere thou think'st, are shown.

  But, that the love, which keeps me wakeful ever,

  Urging with sacred thirst of sweet desire,

  May be contended fully, let thy voice,

  Fearless, and frank and jocund, utter forth

  Thy will distinctly, utter forth the wish,

  Whereto my ready answer stands decreed."

  I turn'd me to Beatrice; and she heard

  Ere I had spoken, smiling, an assent,

  That to my will gave wings; and I began

  "To each among your tribe, what time ye kenn'd

  The nature, in whom naught unequal dwells,

  Wisdom and love were in one measure dealt;

  For that they are so equal in the sun,

  From whence ye drew your radiance and your heat,

  As makes all likeness scant. But will and means,

  In mortals, for the cause ye well discern,

  With unlike wings are fledge. A mortal I

  Experience inequality like this,

  And therefore give no thanks, but in the heart,

  For thy paternal greeting. This howe'er

  I pray thee, living topaz! that ingemm'st

  This precious jewel, let me hear thy name."

  "I am thy root, O leaf! whom to expect

  Even, hath pleas'd me: "thus the prompt reply

  Prefacing, next it added; "he, of whom

  Thy kindred appellation comes, and who,

  These hundred years and more, on its first ledge

  Hath circuited the mountain, was my son

  And thy great grandsire. Well befits, his long

  Endurance should he shorten'd by thy deeds.

  "Florence, within her ancient limit-mark,

  Which calls her still to matin prayers and noon,

  Was chaste and sober, and abode in peace.

  She had no armlets and no head-tires then,

  No purfled dames, no zone, that caught the eye

  More than the person did. Time was not yet,

  When at his daughter's birth the sire grew pale.

  For fear the age and dowry should exceed

  On each side just proportion. House was none

  Void of its family; nor yet had come

  Hardanapalus, to exhibit feats

  Of chamber prowess. Montemalo yet

  O'er our suburban turret rose; as much

  To be surpass in fall, as in its rising.

  I saw Bellincione Berti walk abroad

  In leathern girdle and a clasp of bone;

  And, with no artful colouring on her cheeks,

  His lady leave the glass. The sons I saw

  Of Nerli and of Vecchio well content

  With unrob'd jerkin; and their good dames handling

  The spindle and the flax; O happy they!

  Each sure of burial in her native land,

  And none left desolate a-bed for France!

  One wak'd to tend the cradle, hushing it

  With sounds that lull'd the parent's infancy:

  Another, with her maidens, drawing off

  The tresses from the distaff, lectur'd them

  Old tales of Troy and Fesole and Rome.

  A Salterello and Cianghella we

  Had held as strange a marvel, as ye would

  A Cincinnatus or Cornelia now.

  "In such compos'd and seemly fellowship,

  Such faithful and such fair equality,

  In so sweet household, Mary at my birth

  Bestow'd me, call'd on with loud cries; and there

  In your old baptistery, I was made

  Christian at once and Cacciaguida; as were

  My brethren, Eliseo and Moronto.

  "From Valdipado came to me my spouse,

  And hence thy surname grew. I follow'd then

  The Emperor Conrad; and his knighthood he

  Did gird on me; in such good part he took

  My valiant service. After him I went

  To testify against that evil law,

  Whose people, by the shepherd's fault, possess

  Your right, usurping. There, by that foul crew

  Was I releas'd from the deceitful world,

  Whose base affection many a spirit soils,

  And from the martyrdom came to this peace."

  CANTO XVI

  O slight respect of man's nobility!

  I never shall account it marvelous,

  That our infirm affection here below

  Thou mov'st to boasting, when I could not choose,

  E'en in that region of unwarp'd desire,

  In heav'n itself, but make my vaunt in thee!

  Yet cloak thou art soon shorten'd, for that time,

  Unless thou be eked out from day to day,

  Goes round thee with his shears. Resuming then

  With greeting such, as Rome, was first to bear,

  But since hath disaccustom'd I began;

  And Beatrice, that a little space

  Was sever'd, smil'd reminding me of her,

  Whose cough embolden'd (as the story holds)

  To first offence the doubting Guenever.

  "You are my sire," said I, "you give me heart

  Freely to speak my thought: above myself