The Vision of Dante Alighiere or Hell, Purgatory and Paradise

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 y-clept:

  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 n
ow

  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

  T
he 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