CANTO IX

After solution of my doubt, thy Charles, O fair Clemenza, of the treachery spake That must befall his seed: but, "Tell it not,"

Said he, "and let the destin'd years come round."

Nor may I tell thee more, save that the meed Of sorrow well-deserv'd shall quit your wrongs.

And now the visage of that saintly light Was to the sun, that fills it, turn'd again, As to the good, whose plenitude of bliss Sufficeth all. O ye misguided souls!

Infatuate, who from such a good estrange Your hearts, and bend your gaze on vanity, Alas for you!--And lo! toward me, next, Another of those splendent forms approach'd, That, by its outward bright'ning, testified The will it had to pleasure me. The eyes Of Beatrice, resting, as before, Firmly upon me, manifested forth Approval of my wish. "And O," I cried, "Blest spirit! quickly be my will perform'd; And prove thou to me, that my inmost thoughts I can reflect on thee." Thereat the light, That yet was new to me, from the recess, Where it before was singing, thus began, As one who joys in kindness: "In that part Of the deprav'd Italian land, which lies Between Rialto, and the fountain-springs Of Brenta and of Piava, there doth rise, But to no lofty eminence, a hill, From whence erewhile a firebrand did descend, That sorely sheet the region. From one root I and it sprang; my name on earth Cunizza: And here I glitter, for that by its light This star o'ercame me. Yet I naught repine, Nor grudge myself the cause of this my lot, Which haply vulgar hearts can scarce conceive.

"This jewel, that is next me in our heaven, l.u.s.trous and costly, great renown hath left, And not to perish, ere these hundred years Five times absolve their round. Consider thou, If to excel be worthy man's endeavour, When such life may attend the first. Yet they Care not for this, the crowd that now are girt By Adice and Tagliamento, still Impenitent, tho' scourg'd. The hour is near, When for their stubbornness at Padua's marsh The water shall be chang'd, that laves Vicena And where Cagnano meets with Sile, one Lords it, and bears his head aloft, for whom The web is now a-warping. Feltro too Shall sorrow for its G.o.dless shepherd's fault, Of so deep stain, that never, for the like, Was Malta's bar unclos'd. Too large should be The skillet, that would hold Ferrara's blood, And wearied he, who ounce by ounce would weight it, The which this priest, in show of party-zeal, Courteous will give; nor will the gift ill suit The country's custom. We descry above, Mirrors, ye call them thrones, from which to us Reflected shine the judgments of our G.o.d: Whence these our sayings we avouch for good."

She ended, and appear'd on other thoughts Intent, re-ent'ring on the wheel she late Had left. That other joyance meanwhile wax'd A thing to marvel at, in splendour glowing, Like choicest ruby stricken by the sun, For, in that upper clime, effulgence comes Of gladness, as here laughter: and below, As the mind saddens, murkier grows the shade.

"G.o.d seeth all: and in him is thy sight,"

Said I, "blest Spirit! Therefore will of his Cannot to thee be dark. Why then delays Thy voice to satisfy my wish untold, That voice which joins the inexpressive song, Pastime of heav'n, the which those ardours sing, That cowl them with six shadowing wings outspread?

I would not wait thy asking, wert thou known To me, as thoroughly I to thee am known."

He forthwith answ'ring, thus his words began: "The valley' of waters, widest next to that Which doth the earth engarland, shapes its course, Between discordant sh.o.r.es, against the sun Inward so far, it makes meridian there, Where was before th' horizon. Of that vale Dwelt I upon the sh.o.r.e, 'twixt Ebro's stream And Macra's, that divides with pa.s.sage brief Genoan bounds from Tuscan. East and west Are nearly one to Begga and my land, Whose haven erst was with its own blood warm.

Who knew my name were wont to call me Folco: And I did bear impression of this heav'n, That now bears mine: for not with fiercer flame Glow'd Belus' daughter, injuring alike Sichaeus and Creusa, than did I, Long as it suited the unripen'd down That fledg'd my cheek: nor she of Rhodope, That was beguiled of Demophoon; Nor Jove's son, when the charms of Iole Were shrin'd within his heart. And yet there hides No sorrowful repentance here, but mirth, Not for the fault (that doth not come to mind), But for the virtue, whose o'erruling sway And providence have wrought thus quaintly. Here The skill is look'd into, that fashioneth With such effectual working, and the good Discern'd, accruing to this upper world From that below. But fully to content Thy wishes, all that in this sphere have birth, Demands my further parle. Inquire thou wouldst, Who of this light is denizen, that here Beside me sparkles, as the sun-beam doth On the clear wave. Know then, the soul of Rahab Is in that gladsome harbour, to our tribe United, and the foremost rank a.s.sign'd.

He to that heav'n, at which the shadow ends Of your sublunar world, was taken up, First, in Christ's triumph, of all souls redeem'd: For well behoov'd, that, in some part of heav'n, She should remain a trophy, to declare The mighty contest won with either palm; For that she favour'd first the high exploit Of Joshua on the holy land, whereof The Pope recks little now. Thy city, plant Of him, that on his Maker turn'd the back, And of whose envying so much woe hath sprung, Engenders and expands the cursed flower, That hath made wander both the sheep and lambs, Turning the shepherd to a wolf. For this, The gospel and great teachers laid aside, The decretals, as their stuft margins show, Are the sole study. Pope and Cardinals, Intent on these, ne'er journey but in thought To Nazareth, where Gabriel op'd his wings.

Yet it may chance, erelong, the Vatican, And other most selected parts of Rome, That were the grave of Peter's soldiery, Shall be deliver'd from the adult'rous bond."

CANTO X

Looking into his first-born with the love, Which breathes from both eternal, the first Might Ineffable, whence eye or mind Can roam, hath in such order all dispos'd, As none may see and fail to enjoy. Raise, then, O reader! to the lofty wheels, with me, Thy ken directed to the point, whereat One motion strikes on th' other. There begin Thy wonder of the mighty Architect, Who loves his work so inwardly, his eye Doth ever watch it. See, how thence oblique Brancheth the circle, where the planets roll To pour their wished influence on the world; Whose path not bending thus, in heav'n above Much virtue would be lost, and here on earth, All power well nigh extinct: or, from direct Were its departure distant more or less, I' th' universal order, great defect Must, both in heav'n and here beneath, ensue.

Now rest thee, reader! on thy bench, and muse Antic.i.p.ative of the feast to come; So shall delight make thee not feel thy toil.

Lo! I have set before thee, for thyself Feed now: the matter I indite, henceforth Demands entire my thought. Join'd with the part, Which late we told of, the great minister Of nature, that upon the world imprints The virtue of the heaven, and doles out Time for us with his beam, went circling on Along the spires, where each hour sooner comes; And I was with him, weetless of ascent, As one, who till arriv'd, weets not his coming.

For Beatrice, she who pa.s.seth on So suddenly from good to better, time Counts not the act, oh then how great must needs Have been her brightness! What she was i' th' sun (Where I had enter'd), not through change of hue, But light transparent--did I summon up Genius, art, practice--I might not so speak, It should be e'er imagin'd: yet believ'd It may be, and the sight be justly crav'd.

And if our fantasy fail of such height, What marvel, since no eye above the sun Hath ever travel'd? Such are they dwell here, Fourth family of the Omnipotent Sire, Who of his spirit and of his offspring shows; And holds them still enraptur'd with the view.

And thus to me Beatrice: "Thank, oh thank, The Sun of angels, him, who by his grace To this perceptible hath lifted thee."

Never was heart in such devotion bound, And with complacency so absolute Dispos'd to render up itself to G.o.d, As mine was at those words: and so entire The love for Him, that held me, it eclips'd Beatrice in oblivion. Naught displeas'd Was she, but smil'd thereat so joyously, That of her laughing eyes the radiance brake And scatter'd my collected mind abroad.

Then saw I a bright band, in liveliness Surpa.s.sing, who themselves did make the crown, And us their centre: yet more sweet in voice, Than in their visage beaming. Cinctur'd thus, Sometime Latona's daughter we behold, When the impregnate air retains the thread, That weaves her zone. In the celestial court, Whence I return, are many jewels found, So dear and beautiful, they cannot brook Transporting from that realm: and of these lights Such was the song. Who doth not prune his wing To soar up thither, let him look from thence For tidings from the dumb. When, singing thus, Those burning suns that circled round us thrice, As nearest stars around the fixed pole, Then seem'd they like to ladies, from the dance Not ceasing, but suspense, in silent pause, List'ning, till they have caught the strain anew: Suspended so they stood: and, from within, Thus heard I one, who spake: "Since with its beam The grace, whence true love lighteth first his flame, That after doth increase by loving, shines So multiplied in thee, it leads thee up Along this ladder, down whose hallow'd steps None e'er descend, and mount them not again, Who from his phial should refuse thee wine To slake thy thirst, no less constrained were, Than water flowing not unto the sea.

Thou fain wouldst hear, what plants are these, that bloom In the bright garland, which, admiring, girds This fair dame round, who strengthens thee for heav'n.

I then was of the lambs, that Dominic Leads, for his saintly flock, along the way, Where well they thrive, not sworn with vanity.

He, nearest on my right hand, brother was, And master to me: Albert of Cologne Is this: and of Aquinum, Thomas I.

If thou of all the rest wouldst be a.s.sur'd, Let thine eye, waiting on the words I speak, In circuit journey round the blessed wreath.

That next resplendence issues from the smile Of Gratian, who to either forum lent Such help, as favour wins in Paradise.

The other, nearest, who adorns our quire, Was Peter, he that with the widow gave To holy church his treasure. The fifth light, Goodliest of all, is by such love inspired, That all your world craves tidings of its doom: Within, there is the lofty light, endow'd With sapience so profound, if truth be truth, That with a ken of such wide amplitude No second hath arisen. Next behold That taper's radiance, to whose view was shown, Clearliest, the nature and the ministry Angelical, while yet in flesh it dwelt.

In the other little light serenely smiles That pleader for the Christian temples, he Who did provide Augustin of his lore.

Now, if thy mind's eye pa.s.s from light to light, Upon my praises following, of the eighth Thy thirst is next. The saintly soul, that shows The world's deceitfulness, to all who hear him, Is, with the sight of all the good, that is, Blest there. The limbs, whence it was driven, lie Down in Cieldauro, and from martyrdom And exile came it here. Lo! further on, Where flames the arduous Spirit of Isidore, Of Bede, and Richard, more than man, erewhile, In deep discernment. Lastly this, from whom Thy look on me reverteth, was the beam Of one, whose spirit, on high musings bent, Rebuk'd the ling'ring tardiness of death.

It is the eternal light of Sigebert, Who 'scap'd not envy, when of truth he argued, Reading in the straw-litter'd street." Forthwith, As clock, that calleth up the spouse of G.o.d To win her bridegroom's love at matin's hour, Each part of other fitly drawn and urg'd, Sends out a tinkling sound, of note so sweet, Affection springs in well-disposed breast; Thus saw I move the glorious wheel, thus heard Voice answ'ring voice, so musical and soft, It can be known but where day endless shines.

CANTO XI

O fond anxiety of mortal men!

How vain and inconclusive arguments Are those, which make thee beat thy wings below For statues one, and one for aphorisms Was hunting; this the priesthood follow'd, that By force or sophistry aspir'd to rule; To rob another, and another sought By civil business wealth; one moiling lay Tangled in net of sensual delight, And one to witless indolence resign'd; What time from all these empty things escap'd, With Beatrice, I thus gloriously Was rais'd aloft, and made the guest of heav'n.

They of the circle to that point, each one.

Where erst it was, had turn'd; and steady glow'd, As candle in his socket. Then within The l.u.s.tre, that erewhile bespake me, smiling With merer gladness, heard I thus begin:

"E'en as his beam illumes me, so I look Into the eternal light, and clearly mark Thy thoughts, from whence they rise. Thou art in doubt, And wouldst, that I should bolt my words afresh In such plain open phrase, as may be smooth To thy perception, where I told thee late That 'well they thrive;' and that 'no second such Hath risen,' which no small distinction needs.

"The providence, that governeth the world, In depth of counsel by created ken Unfathomable, to the end that she, Who with loud cries was 'spous'd in precious blood, Might keep her footing towards her well-belov'd, Safe in herself and constant unto him, Hath two ordain'd, who should on either hand In chief escort her: one seraphic all In fervency; for wisdom upon earth, The other splendour of cherubic light.

I but of one will tell: he tells of both, Who one commendeth which of them so'er Be taken: for their deeds were to one end.

"Between Tupino, and the wave, that falls From blest Ubaldo's chosen hill, there hangs Rich slope of mountain high, whence heat and cold Are wafted through Perugia's eastern gate: And Norcera with Gualdo, in its rear Mourn for their heavy yoke. Upon that side, Where it doth break its steepness most, arose A sun upon the world, as duly this From Ganges doth: therefore let none, who speak Of that place, say Ascesi; for its name Were lamely so deliver'd; but the East, To call things rightly, be it henceforth styl'd.

He was not yet much distant from his rising, When his good influence 'gan to bless the earth.

A dame to whom none openeth pleasure's gate More than to death, was, 'gainst his father's will, His stripling choice: and he did make her his, Before the Spiritual court, by nuptial bonds, And in his father's sight: from day to day, Then lov'd her more devoutly. She, bereav'd Of her first husband, slighted and obscure, Thousand and hundred years and more, remain'd Without a single suitor, till he came.

Nor aught avail'd, that, with Amyclas, she Was found unmov'd at rumour of his voice, Who shook the world: nor aught her constant boldness Whereby with Christ she mounted on the cross, When Mary stay'd beneath. But not to deal Thus closely with thee longer, take at large The rovers' t.i.tles--Poverty and Francis.

Their concord and glad looks, wonder and love, And sweet regard gave birth to holy thoughts, So much, that venerable Bernard first Did bare his feet, and, in pursuit of peace So heavenly, ran, yet deem'd his footing slow.

O hidden riches! O prolific good!

Egidius bares him next, and next Sylvester, And follow both the bridegroom; so the bride Can please them. Thenceforth goes he on his way, The father and the master, with his spouse, And with that family, whom now the cord Girt humbly: nor did abjectness of heart Weigh down his eyelids, for that he was son Of Pietro Bernardone, and by men In wond'rous sort despis'd. But royally His hard intention he to Innocent Set forth, and from him first receiv'd the seal On his religion. Then, when numerous flock'd The tribe of lowly ones, that trac'd HIS steps, Whose marvellous life deservedly were sung In heights empyreal, through Honorius' hand A second crown, to deck their Guardian's virtues, Was by the eternal Spirit inwreath'd: and when He had, through thirst of martyrdom, stood up In the proud Soldan's presence, and there preach'd Christ and his followers; but found the race Unripen'd for conversion: back once more He hasted (not to intermit his toil), And reap'd Ausonian lands. On the hard rock, 'Twixt Arno and the Tyber, he from Christ Took the last Signet, which his limbs two years Did carry. Then the season come, that he, Who to such good had destin'd him, was pleas'd T' advance him to the meed, which he had earn'd By his self-humbling, to his brotherhood, As their just heritage, he gave in charge His dearest lady, and enjoin'd their love And faith to her: and, from her bosom, will'd His goodly spirit should move forth, returning To its appointed kingdom, nor would have His body laid upon another bier.

"Think now of one, who were a fit colleague, To keep the bark of Peter in deep sea Helm'd to right point; and such our Patriarch was.

Therefore who follow him, as he enjoins, Thou mayst be certain, take good lading in.

But hunger of new viands tempts his flock, So that they needs into strange pastures wide Must spread them: and the more remote from him The stragglers wander, so much mole they come Home to the sheep-fold, dest.i.tute of milk.

There are of them, in truth, who fear their harm, And to the shepherd cleave; but these so few, A little stuff may furnish out their cloaks.

"Now, if my words be clear, if thou have ta'en Good heed, if that, which I have told, recall To mind, thy wish may be in part fulfill'd: For thou wilt see the point from whence they split, Nor miss of the reproof, which that implies, 'That well they thrive not sworn with vanity."'

CANTO XII

Soon as its final word the blessed flame Had rais'd for utterance, straight the holy mill Began to wheel, nor yet had once revolv'd, Or ere another, circling, compa.s.s'd it, Motion to motion, song to song, conjoining, Song, that as much our muses doth excel, Our Sirens with their tuneful pipes, as ray Of primal splendour doth its faint reflex.

As when, if Juno bid her handmaid forth, Two arches parallel, and trick'd alike, Span the thin cloud, the outer taking birth From that within (in manner of that voice Whom love did melt away, as sun the mist), And they who gaze, presageful call to mind The compact, made with Noah, of the world No more to be o'erflow'd; about us thus Of sempiternal roses, bending, wreath'd Those garlands twain, and to the innermost E'en thus th' external answered. When the footing, And other great festivity, of song, And radiance, light with light accordant, each Jocund and blythe, had at their pleasure still'd (E'en as the eyes by quick volition mov'd, Are shut and rais'd together), from the heart Of one amongst the new lights mov'd a voice, That made me seem like needle to the star, In turning to its whereabout, and thus Began: "The love, that makes me beautiful, Prompts me to tell of th' other guide, for whom Such good of mine is spoken. Where one is, The other worthily should also be; That as their warfare was alike, alike Should be their glory. Slow, and full of doubt, And with thin ranks, after its banner mov'd The army of Christ (which it so clearly cost To reappoint), when its imperial Head, Who reigneth ever, for the drooping host Did make provision, thorough grace alone, And not through its deserving. As thou heard'st, Two champions to the succour of his spouse He sent, who by their deeds and words might join Again his scatter'd people. In that clime, Where springs the pleasant west-wind to unfold The fresh leaves, with which Europe sees herself New-garmented; nor from those billows far, Beyond whose chiding, after weary course, The sun doth sometimes hide him, safe abides The happy Callaroga, under guard Of the great shield, wherein the lion lies Subjected and supreme. And there was born The loving million of the Christian faith, The hollow'd wrestler, gentle to his own, And to his enemies terrible. So replete His soul with lively virtue, that when first Created, even in the mother's womb, It prophesied. When, at the sacred font, The spousals were complete 'twixt faith and him, Where pledge of mutual safety was exchang'd, The dame, who was his surety, in her sleep Beheld the wondrous fruit, that was from him And from his heirs to issue. And that such He might be construed, as indeed he was, She was inspir'd to name him of his owner, Whose he was wholly, and so call'd him Dominic.

And I speak of him, as the labourer, Whom Christ in his own garden chose to be His help-mate. Messenger he seem'd, and friend Fast-knit to Christ; and the first love he show'd, Was after the first counsel that Christ gave.

Many a time his nurse, at entering found That he had ris'n in silence, and was prostrate, As who should say, "My errand was for this."

O happy father! Felix rightly nam'd!

O favour'd mother! rightly nam'd Joanna!

If that do mean, as men interpret it.

Not for the world's sake, for which now they pore Upon Ostiense and Taddeo's page, But for the real manna, soon he grew Mighty in learning, and did set himself To go about the vineyard, that soon turns To wan and wither'd, if not tended well: And from the see (whose bounty to the just And needy is gone by, not through its fault, But his who fills it basely, he besought, No dispensation for commuted wrong, Nor the first vacant fortune, nor the tenth), That to G.o.d's paupers rightly appertain, But, 'gainst an erring and degenerate world, Licence to fight, in favour of that seed, From which the twice twelve cions gird thee round.

Then, with sage doctrine and good will to help, Forth on his great apostleship he far'd, Like torrent bursting from a lofty vein; And, dashing 'gainst the stocks of heresy, Smote fiercest, where resistance was most stout.

Thence many rivulets have since been turn'd, Over the garden Catholic to lead Their living waters, and have fed its plants.

"If such one wheel of that two-yoked car, Wherein the holy church defended her, And rode triumphant through the civil broil.

Thou canst not doubt its fellow's excellence, Which Thomas, ere my coming, hath declar'd So courteously unto thee. But the track, Which its smooth fellies made, is now deserted: That mouldy mother is where late were lees.