Chapter 5

Thou think’st the truth; because the small and great Of this existence look into the mirror Wherein, before thou think’st, thy thought thou showest.

But that the sacred love, in which I watch With sight perpetual, and which makes me thirst With sweet desire, may better be fulfilled,

Now let thy voice secure and frank and glad Proclaim the wishes, the desire proclaim, To which my answer is decreed already.”

To Beatrice I turned me, and she heard Before I spake, and smiled to me a sign, That made the wings of my desire increase;

Then in this wise began I: “Love and knowledge, When on you dawned the first Equality, Of the same weight for each of you became;

For in the Sun, which lighted you and burned With heat and radiance, they so equal are, That all similitudes are insufficient.

But among mortals will and argument, For reason that to you is manifest, Diversely feathered in their pinions are.

Whence I, who mortal am, feel in myself This inequality; so give not thanks, Save in my heart, for this paternal welcome.

Truly do I entreat thee, living topaz! Set in this precious jewel as a gem, That thou wilt satisfy me with thy name.”

“O leaf of mine, in whom I pleasure took E’en while awaiting, I was thine own root!” Such a beginning he in answer made me.

Then said to me: “That one from whom is named Thy race, and who a hundred years and more Has circled round the mount on the first cornice,

A son of mine and thy great-grandsire was; Well it behoves thee that the long fatigue Thou shouldst for him make shorter with thy works.

Florence, within the ancient boundary From which she taketh still her tierce and nones, Abode in quiet, temperate and chaste.

No golden chain she had, nor coronal, Nor ladies shod with sandal shoon, nor girdle That caught the eye more than the person did.

Not yet the daughter at her birth struck fear Into the father, for the time and dower Did not o’errun this side or that the measure.

No houses had she void of families, Not yet had thither come Sardanapalus To show what in a chamber can be done;

Not yet surpassed had Montemalo been By your Uccellatojo, which surpassed Shall in its downfall be as in its rise.

Bellincion Berti saw I go begirt With leather and with bone, and from the mirror His dame depart without a painted face;

And him of Nerli saw, and him of Vecchio, Contented with their simple suits of buff And with the spindle and the flax their dames.

O fortunate women! and each one was certain Of her own burial-place, and none as yet For sake of France was in her bed deserted.

One o’er the cradle kept her studious watch, And in her lullaby the language used That first delights the fathers and the mothers;

Another, drawing tresses from her distaff, Told o’er among her family the tales Of Trojans and of Fesole and Rome.

As great a marvel then would have been held A Lapo Salterello, a Cianghella, As Cincinnatus or Cornelia now.

To such a quiet, such a beautiful Life of the citizen, to such a safe Community, and to so sweet an inn,

Did Mary give me, with loud cries invoked, And in your ancient Baptistery at once Christian and Cacciaguida I became.

Moronto was my brother, and Eliseo; From Val di Pado came to me my wife, And from that place thy surname was derived.

I followed afterward the Emperor Conrad, And he begirt me of his chivalry, So much I pleased him with my noble deeds.

I followed in his train against that law’s Iniquity, whose people doth usurp Your just possession, through your Pastor’s fault.

There by that execrable race was I Released from bonds of the fallacious world, The love of which defileth many souls,

And came from martyrdom unto this peace.”

Paradiso: Canto XVI

O thou our poor nobility of blood, If thou dost make the people glory in thee Down here where our affection languishes,

A marvellous thing it ne’er will be to me; For there where appetite is not perverted, I say in Heaven, of thee I made a boast!

Truly thou art a cloak that quickly shortens, So that unless we piece thee day by day Time goeth round about thee with his shears!

With ‘You,’ which Rome was first to tolerate, (Wherein her family less perseveres,) Yet once again my words beginning made;

Whence Beatrice, who stood somewhat apart, Smiling, appeared like unto her who coughed At the first failing writ of Guenever.

And I began: “You are my ancestor, You give to me all hardihood to speak, You lift me so that I am more than I.

So many rivulets with gladness fill My mind, that of itself it makes a joy Because it can endure this and not burst.

Then tell me, my beloved root ancestral, Who were your ancestors, and what the years That in your boyhood chronicled themselves?

Tell me about the sheepfold of Saint John, How large it was, and who the people were Within it worthy of the highest seats.”

As at the blowing of the winds a coal Quickens to flame, so I beheld that light Become resplendent at my blandishments.

And as unto mine eyes it grew more fair, With voice more sweet and tender, but not in This modern dialect, it said to me:

“From uttering of the ‘Ave,’ till the birth In which my mother, who is now a saint, Of me was lightened who had been her burden,

Unto its Lion had this fire returned Five hundred fifty times and thirty more, To reinflame itself beneath his paw.

My ancestors and I our birthplace had Where first is found the last ward of the city By him who runneth in your annual game.

Suffice it of my elders to hear this; But who they were, and whence they thither came, Silence is more considerate than speech.

All those who at that time were there between Mars and the Baptist, fit for bearing arms, Were a fifth part of those who now are living;

But the community, that now is mixed With Campi and Certaldo and Figghine, Pure in the lowest artisan was seen.

O how much better ’twere to have as neighbours The folk of whom I speak, and at Galluzzo And at Trespiano have your boundary,

Than have them in the town, and bear the stench Of Aguglione’s churl, and him of Signa Who has sharp eyes for trickery already.

Had not the folk, which most of all the world Degenerates, been a step-dame unto Caesar, But as a mother to her son benignant,

Some who turn Florentines, and trade and discount, Would have gone back again to Simifonte There where their grandsires went about as beggars.

At Montemurlo still would be the Counts, The Cerchi in the parish of Acone, Perhaps in Valdigrieve the Buondelmonti.

Ever the intermingling of the people Has been the source of malady in cities, As in the body food it surfeits on;

And a blind bull more headlong plunges down Than a blind lamb; and very often cuts Better and more a single sword than five.

If Luni thou regard, and Urbisaglia, How they have passed away, and how are passing Chiusi and Sinigaglia after them,

To hear how races waste themselves away, Will seem to thee no novel thing nor hard, Seeing that even cities have an end.

All things of yours have their mortality, Even as yourselves; but it is hidden in some That a long while endure, and lives are short;

And as the turning of the lunar heaven Covers and bares the shores without a pause, In the like manner fortune does with Florence.

Therefore should not appear a marvellous thing What I shall say of the great Florentines Of whom the fame is hidden in the Past.

I saw the Ughi, saw the Catellini, Filippi, Greci, Ormanni, and Alberichi, Even in their fall illustrious citizens;

And saw, as mighty as they ancient were, With him of La Sannella him of Arca, And Soldanier, Ardinghi, and Bostichi.

Near to the gate that is at present laden With a new felony of so much weight That soon it shall be jetsam from the bark,

The Ravignani were, from whom descended The County Guido, and whoe’er the name Of the great Bellincione since hath taken.

He of La Pressa knew the art of ruling Already, and already Galigajo Had hilt and pommel gilded in his house.

Mighty already was the Column Vair, Sacchetti, Giuochi, Fifant, and Barucci, And Galli, and they who for the bushel blush.

The stock from which were the Calfucci born Was great already, and already chosen To curule chairs the Sizii and Arrigucci.

O how beheld I those who are undone By their own pride! and how the Balls of Gold Florence enflowered in all their mighty deeds!

So likewise did the ancestors of those Who evermore, when vacant is your church, Fatten by staying in consistory.

The insolent race, that like a dragon follows Whoever flees, and unto him that shows His teeth or purse is gentle as a lamb,

Already rising was, but from low people; So that it pleased not Ubertin Donato That his wife’s father should make him their kin.

Already had Caponsacco to the Market From Fesole descended, and already Giuda and Infangato were good burghers.

I’ll tell a thing incredible, but true; One entered the small circuit by a gate Which from the Della Pera took its name!

Each one that bears the beautiful escutcheon Of the great baron whose renown and name The festival of Thomas keepeth fresh,

Knighthood and privilege from him received; Though with the populace unites himself To-day the man who binds it with a border.

Already were Gualterotti and Importuni; And still more quiet would the Borgo be If with new neighbours it remained unfed.

The house from which is born your lamentation, Through just disdain that death among you brought And put an end unto your joyous life,

Was honoured in itself and its companions. O Buondelmonte, how in evil hour Thou fled’st the bridal at another’s promptings!

Many would be rejoicing who are sad, If God had thee surrendered to the Ema The first time that thou camest to the city.

But it behoved the mutilated stone Which guards the bridge, that Florence should provide A victim in her latest hour of peace.

With all these families, and others with them, Florence beheld I in so great repose, That no occasion had she whence to weep;

With all these families beheld so just And glorious her people, that the lily Never upon the spear was placed reversed,

Nor by division was vermilion made.”

Paradiso: Canto XVII

As came to Clymene, to be made certain Of that which he had heard against himself, He who makes fathers chary still to children,

Even such was I, and such was I perceived By Beatrice and by the holy light That first on my account had changed its place.

Therefore my Lady said to me: “Send forth The flame of thy desire, so that it issue Imprinted well with the internal stamp;

Not that our knowledge may be greater made By speech of thine, but to accustom thee To tell thy thirst, that we may give thee drink.”

“O my beloved tree, (that so dost lift thee, That even as minds terrestrial perceive No triangle containeth two obtuse,

So thou beholdest the contingent things Ere in themselves they are, fixing thine eyes Upon the point in which all times are present,)

While I was with Virgilius conjoined Upon the mountain that the souls doth heal, And when descending into the dead world,

Were spoken to me of my future life Some grievous words; although I feel myself In sooth foursquare against the blows of chance.

On this account my wish would be content To hear what fortune is approaching me, Because foreseen an arrow comes more slowly.”

Thus did I say unto that selfsame light That unto me had spoken before; and even As Beatrice willed was my own will confessed.

Not in vague phrase, in which the foolish folk Ensnared themselves of old, ere yet was slain The Lamb of God who taketh sins away,

But with clear words and unambiguous Language responded that paternal love, Hid and revealed by its own proper smile:

“Contingency, that outside of the volume Of your materiality extends not, Is all depicted in the eternal aspect.

Necessity however thence it takes not, Except as from the eye, in which ’tis mirrored, A ship that with the current down descends.

From thence, e’en as there cometh to the ear Sweet harmony from an organ, comes in sight To me the time that is preparing for thee.

As forth from Athens went Hippolytus, By reason of his step-dame false and cruel, So thou from Florence must perforce depart.

Already this is willed, and this is sought for; And soon it shall be done by him who thinks it, Where every day the Christ is bought and sold.

The blame shall follow the offended party In outcry as is usual; but the vengeance Shall witness to the truth that doth dispense it.

Thou shalt abandon everything beloved Most tenderly, and this the arrow is Which first the bow of banishment shoots forth.

Thou shalt have proof how savoureth of salt The bread of others, and how hard a road The going down and up another’s stairs.

And that which most shall weigh upon thy shoulders Will be the bad and foolish company With which into this valley thou shalt fall;

For all ingrate, all mad and impious Will they become against thee; but soon after They, and not thou, shall have the forehead scarlet.

Of their bestiality their own proceedings Shall furnish proof; so ’twill be well for thee A party to have made thee by thyself.

Thine earliest refuge and thine earliest inn Shall be the mighty Lombard’s courtesy, Who on the Ladder bears the holy bird,

Who such benign regard shall have for thee That ’twixt you twain, in doing and in asking, That shall be first which is with others last.

With him shalt thou see one who at his birth Has by this star of strength been so impressed, That notable shall his achievements be.

Not yet the people are aware of him Through his young age, since only nine years yet Around about him have these wheels revolved.

But ere the Gascon cheat the noble Henry, Some sparkles of his virtue shall appear In caring not for silver nor for toil.

So recognized shall his magnificence Become hereafter, that his enemies Will not have power to keep mute tongues about it.

On him rely, and on his benefits; By him shall many people be transformed, Changing condition rich and mendicant;

And written in thy mind thou hence shalt bear Of him, but shalt not say it”—and things said he Incredible to those who shall be present.

Then added: “Son, these are the commentaries On what was said to thee; behold the snares That are concealed behind few revolutions;

Yet would I not thy neighbours thou shouldst envy, Because thy life into the future reaches Beyond the punishment of their perfidies.”

When by its silence showed that sainted soul That it had finished putting in the woof Into that web which I had given it warped,

Began I, even as he who yearneth after, Being in doubt, some counsel from a person Who seeth, and uprightly wills, and loves:

“Well see I, father mine, how spurreth on The time towards me such a blow to deal me As heaviest is to him who most gives way.

Therefore with foresight it is well I arm me, That, if the dearest place be taken from me, I may not lose the others by my songs.

Down through the world of infinite bitterness, And o’er the mountain, from whose beauteous summit The eyes of my own Lady lifted me,

And afterward through heaven from light to light, I have learned that which, if I tell again, Will be a savour of strong herbs to many.

And if I am a timid friend to truth, I fear lest I may lose my life with those Who will hereafter call this time the olden.”

The light in which was smiling my own treasure Which there I had discovered, flashed at first As in the sunshine doth a golden mirror;

Then made reply: “A conscience overcast Or with its own or with another’s shame, Will taste forsooth the tartness of thy word;

But ne’ertheless, all falsehood laid aside, Make manifest thy vision utterly, And let them scratch wherever is the itch;

For if thine utterance shall offensive be At the first taste, a vital nutriment ’Twill leave thereafter, when it is digested.

This cry of thine shall do as doth the wind, Which smiteth most the most exalted summits, And that is no slight argument of honour.

Therefore are shown to thee within these wheels, Upon the mount and in the dolorous valley, Only the souls that unto fame are known;

Because the spirit of the hearer rests not, Nor doth confirm its faith by an example Which has the root of it unknown and hidden,

Or other reason that is not apparent.”

Paradiso: Canto XVIII

Now was alone rejoicing in its word That soul beatified, and I was tasting My own, the bitter tempering with the sweet,

And the Lady who to God was leading me Said: “Change thy thought; consider that I am Near unto Him who every wrong disburdens.”

Unto the loving accents of my comfort I turned me round, and then what love I saw Within those holy eyes I here relinquish;

Not only that my language I distrust, But that my mind cannot return so far Above itself, unless another guide it.

Thus much upon that point can I repeat, That, her again beholding, my affection From every other longing was released.

While the eternal pleasure, which direct Rayed upon Beatrice, from her fair face Contented me with its reflected aspect,

Conquering me with the radiance of a smile, She said to me, “Turn thee about and listen; Not in mine eyes alone is Paradise.”

Even as sometimes here do we behold The affection in the look, if it be such That all the soul is wrapt away by it,

So, by the flaming of the effulgence holy To which I turned, I recognized therein The wish of speaking to me somewhat farther.

And it began: “In this fifth resting-place Upon the tree that liveth by its summit, And aye bears fruit, and never loses leaf,

Are blessed spirits that below, ere yet They came to Heaven, were of such great renown That every Muse therewith would affluent be.

Therefore look thou upon the cross’s horns; He whom I now shall name will there enact What doth within a cloud its own swift fire.”

I saw athwart the Cross a splendour drawn By naming Joshua, (even as he did it,) Nor noted I the word before the deed;

And at the name of the great Maccabee I saw another move itself revolving, And gladness was the whip unto that top.

Likewise for Charlemagne and for Orlando, Two of them my regard attentive followed As followeth the eye its falcon flying.

William thereafterward, and Renouard, And the Duke Godfrey, did attract my sight Along upon that Cross, and Robert Guiscard.

Then, moved and mingled with the other lights, The soul that had addressed me showed how great An artist ’twas among the heavenly singers.

To my right side I turned myself around, My duty to behold in Beatrice Either by words or gesture signified;

And so translucent I beheld her eyes, So full of pleasure, that her countenance Surpassed its other and its latest wont.

And as, by feeling greater delectation, A man in doing good from day to day Becomes aware his virtue is increasing,

So I became aware that my gyration With heaven together had increased its arc, That miracle beholding more adorned.

And such as is the change, in little lapse Of time, in a pale woman, when her face Is from the load of bashfulness unladen,

Such was it in mine eyes, when I had turned, Caused by the whiteness of the temperate star, The sixth, which to itself had gathered me.

Within that Jovial torch did I behold The sparkling of the love which was therein Delineate our language to mine eyes.

And even as birds uprisen from the shore, As in congratulation o’er their food, Make squadrons of themselves, now round, now long,

So from within those lights the holy creatures Sang flying to and fro, and in their figures Made of themselves now D, now I, now L.

First singing they to their own music moved; Then one becoming of these characters, A little while they rested and were silent.

O divine Pegasea, thou who genius Dost glorious make, and render it long-lived, And this through thee the cities and the kingdoms,

Illume me with thyself, that I may bring Their figures out as I have them conceived! Apparent be thy power in these brief verses!

Themselves then they displayed in five times seven Vowels and consonants; and I observed The parts as they seemed spoken unto me.

‘Diligite justitiam,’ these were First verb and noun of all that was depicted; ‘Qui judicatis terram’ were the last.

Thereafter in the M of the fifth word Remained they so arranged, that Jupiter Seemed to be silver there with gold inlaid.

And other lights I saw descend where was The summit of the M, and pause there singing The good, I think, that draws them to itself.

Then, as in striking upon burning logs Upward there fly innumerable sparks, Whence fools are wont to look for auguries,

More than a thousand lights seemed thence to rise, And to ascend, some more, and others less, Even as the Sun that lights them had allotted;

And, each one being quiet in its place, The head and neck beheld I of an eagle Delineated by that inlaid fire.

He who there paints has none to be his guide; But Himself guides; and is from Him remembered That virtue which is form unto the nest.

The other beatitude, that contented seemed At first to bloom a lily on the M, By a slight motion followed out the imprint.

O gentle star! what and how many gems Did demonstrate to me, that all our justice Effect is of that heaven which thou ingemmest!

Wherefore I pray the Mind, in which begin Thy motion and thy virtue, to regard Whence comes the smoke that vitiates thy rays;

So that a second time it now be wroth With buying and with selling in the temple Whose walls were built with signs and martyrdoms!

O soldiery of heaven, whom I contemplate, Implore for those who are upon the earth All gone astray after the bad example!

Once ’twas the custom to make war with swords; But now ’tis made by taking here and there The bread the pitying Father shuts from none.

Yet thou, who writest but to cancel, think That Peter and that Paul, who for this vineyard Which thou art spoiling died, are still alive!

Well canst thou say: “So steadfast my desire Is unto him who willed to live alone, And for a dance was led to martyrdom,

That I know not the Fisherman nor Paul.”

Paradiso: Canto XIX

Appeared before me with its wings outspread The beautiful image that in sweet fruition Made jubilant the interwoven souls;

Appeared a little ruby each, wherein Ray of the sun was burning so enkindled That each into mine eyes refracted it.

And what it now behoves me to retrace Nor voice has e’er reported, nor ink written, Nor was by fantasy e’er comprehended;

For speak I saw, and likewise heard, the beak, And utter with its voice both ‘I’ and ‘My,’ When in conception it was ‘We’ and ‘Our.’