CANTO IVBetween two kinds of food, both equallyRemote and tempting, first a man might dieOf hunger, ere he one could freely choose.E’en so would stand a lamb between the mawOf 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 praiseI to myself impute, by equal doubtsHeld in suspense, since of necessityIt happen’d. Silent was I, yet desireWas painted in my looks; and thus I spakeMy wish more earnestly than language could.As Daniel, when the haughty king he freedFrom ire, that spurr’d him on to deeds unjustAnd 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 itselfBound up and stifled, nor breathes freely forth.Thou arguest; if the good intent remain;What reason that another’s violenceShould 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 willUrge equally; and therefore I the firstOf 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 allMake the first circle beauteous, diverselyPartaking of sweet life, as more or lessAfflation of eternal bliss pervades them.Here were they shown thee, not that fate assignsThis for their sphere, but for a sign to theeOf that celestial furthest from the height.Thus needs, that ye may apprehend, we speak:Since from things sensible alone ye learnThat, which digested rightly after turnsTo intellectual. For no other causeThe scripture, condescending graciouslyTo your perception, hands and feet to GodAttributes, nor so means: and holy churchDoth represent with human countenanceGabriel, and Michael, and him who madeTobias whole. Unlike what here thou seest,The judgment of Timaeus, who affirmsEach 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 isE’en what his words declare: or else to shunDerision, haply thus he hath disguis’dHis true opinion. If his meaning be,That to the influencing of these orbs revertThe 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 bringsNo peril of removing thee from me.“That, to the eye of man, our justice seemsUnjust, is argument for faith, and notFor heretic declension. To the endThis truth may stand more clearly in your view,I will content thee even to thy wish“If violence be, when that which suffers, noughtConsents to that which forceth, not for thisThese spirits stood exculpate. For the will,That will not, still survives unquench’d, and dothAs nature doth in fire, tho’ violenceWrest it a thousand times; for, if it yieldOr more or less, so far it follows force.And thus did these, whom they had power to seekThe hallow’d place again. In them, had willBeen perfect, such as once upon the barsHeld Laurence firm, or wrought in ScaevolaTo his own hand remorseless, to the path,Whence they were drawn, their steps had hasten’d back,When liberty return’d: but in too fewResolve so steadfast dwells. And by these wordsIf duly weigh’d, that argument is void,Which oft might have perplex’d thee still. But nowAnother question thwarts thee, which to solveMight try thy patience without better aid.I have, no doubt, instill’d into thy mind,That blessed spirit may not lie; since nearThe source of primal truth it dwells for aye:And thou might’st after of Piccarda learnThat Constance held affection to the veil;So that she seems to contradict me here.Not seldom, brother, it hath chanc’d for menTo do what they had gladly left undone,Yet to shun peril they have done amiss:E’en as Alcmaeon, at his father’s suitSlew his own mother, so made pitilessNot to lose pity. On this point bethink thee,That force and will are blended in such wiseAs not to make the’ offence excusable.Absolute will agrees not to the wrong,That inasmuch as there is fear of woeFrom non-compliance, it agrees. Of willThus absolute Piccarda spake, and IOf th’ other; so that both have truly said.”Such was the flow of that pure rill, that well’dFrom forth the fountain of all truth; and suchThe rest, that to my wond’ring thoughts l found.“O thou of primal love the prime delight!Goddess! “I straight reply’d, “whose lively wordsStill shed new heat and vigour through my soul!Affection fails me to requite thy graceWith equal sum of gratitude: be hisTo recompense, who sees and can reward thee.Well I discern, that by that truth aloneEnlighten’d, beyond which no truth may roam,Our mind can satisfy her thirst to know:Therein she resteth, e’en as in his lairThe wild beast, soon as she hath reach’d that bound,And she hath power to reach it; else desireWere given to no end. And thence doth doubtSpring, like a shoot, around the stock of truth;And it is nature which from height to heightOn to the summit prompts us. This invites,This doth assure me, lady, rev’rentlyTo ask thee of other truth, that yetIs dark to me. I fain would know, if manBy other works well done may so supplyThe failure of his vows, that in your scaleThey lack not weight.” I spake; and on me straightBeatrice look’d with eyes that shot forth sparksOf love celestial in such copious stream,That, virtue sinking in me overpower’d,I turn’d, and downward bent confus’d my sight.
Between two kinds of food, both equallyRemote and tempting, first a man might dieOf hunger, ere he one could freely choose.E’en so would stand a lamb between the mawOf 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 praiseI to myself impute, by equal doubtsHeld in suspense, since of necessityIt happen’d. Silent was I, yet desireWas painted in my looks; and thus I spakeMy wish more earnestly than language could.
As Daniel, when the haughty king he freedFrom ire, that spurr’d him on to deeds unjustAnd 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 itselfBound up and stifled, nor breathes freely forth.Thou arguest; if the good intent remain;What reason that another’s violenceShould 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 willUrge equally; and therefore I the firstOf 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 allMake the first circle beauteous, diverselyPartaking of sweet life, as more or lessAfflation of eternal bliss pervades them.Here were they shown thee, not that fate assignsThis for their sphere, but for a sign to theeOf that celestial furthest from the height.Thus needs, that ye may apprehend, we speak:Since from things sensible alone ye learnThat, which digested rightly after turnsTo intellectual. For no other causeThe scripture, condescending graciouslyTo your perception, hands and feet to GodAttributes, nor so means: and holy churchDoth represent with human countenanceGabriel, and Michael, and him who madeTobias whole. Unlike what here thou seest,The judgment of Timaeus, who affirmsEach 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 isE’en what his words declare: or else to shunDerision, haply thus he hath disguis’dHis true opinion. If his meaning be,That to the influencing of these orbs revertThe 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 bringsNo peril of removing thee from me.
“That, to the eye of man, our justice seemsUnjust, is argument for faith, and notFor heretic declension. To the endThis truth may stand more clearly in your view,I will content thee even to thy wish
“If violence be, when that which suffers, noughtConsents to that which forceth, not for thisThese spirits stood exculpate. For the will,That will not, still survives unquench’d, and dothAs nature doth in fire, tho’ violenceWrest it a thousand times; for, if it yieldOr more or less, so far it follows force.And thus did these, whom they had power to seekThe hallow’d place again. In them, had willBeen perfect, such as once upon the barsHeld Laurence firm, or wrought in ScaevolaTo his own hand remorseless, to the path,Whence they were drawn, their steps had hasten’d back,When liberty return’d: but in too fewResolve so steadfast dwells. And by these wordsIf duly weigh’d, that argument is void,Which oft might have perplex’d thee still. But nowAnother question thwarts thee, which to solveMight try thy patience without better aid.I have, no doubt, instill’d into thy mind,That blessed spirit may not lie; since nearThe source of primal truth it dwells for aye:And thou might’st after of Piccarda learnThat Constance held affection to the veil;So that she seems to contradict me here.Not seldom, brother, it hath chanc’d for menTo do what they had gladly left undone,Yet to shun peril they have done amiss:E’en as Alcmaeon, at his father’s suitSlew his own mother, so made pitilessNot to lose pity. On this point bethink thee,That force and will are blended in such wiseAs not to make the’ offence excusable.Absolute will agrees not to the wrong,That inasmuch as there is fear of woeFrom non-compliance, it agrees. Of willThus absolute Piccarda spake, and IOf th’ other; so that both have truly said.”
Such was the flow of that pure rill, that well’dFrom forth the fountain of all truth; and suchThe rest, that to my wond’ring thoughts l found.
“O thou of primal love the prime delight!Goddess! “I straight reply’d, “whose lively wordsStill shed new heat and vigour through my soul!Affection fails me to requite thy graceWith equal sum of gratitude: be hisTo recompense, who sees and can reward thee.Well I discern, that by that truth aloneEnlighten’d, beyond which no truth may roam,Our mind can satisfy her thirst to know:Therein she resteth, e’en as in his lairThe wild beast, soon as she hath reach’d that bound,And she hath power to reach it; else desireWere given to no end. And thence doth doubtSpring, like a shoot, around the stock of truth;And it is nature which from height to heightOn to the summit prompts us. This invites,This doth assure me, lady, rev’rentlyTo ask thee of other truth, that yetIs dark to me. I fain would know, if manBy other works well done may so supplyThe failure of his vows, that in your scaleThey lack not weight.” I spake; and on me straightBeatrice look’d with eyes that shot forth sparksOf love celestial in such copious stream,That, virtue sinking in me overpower’d,I turn’d, and downward bent confus’d my sight.