Paradiso: Canto XVA will benign, in which reveals itselfEver the love that righteously inspires,As in the iniquitous, cupidity,Silence imposed upon that dulcet lyre,And quieted the consecrated chords,That Heaven’s right hand doth tighten and relax.How unto just entreaties shall be deafThose substances, which, to give me desireOf praying them, with one accord grew silent?’Tis well that without end he should lament,Who for the love of thing that doth not lastEternally despoils him of that love!As through the pure and tranquil evening airThere shoots from time to time a sudden fire,Moving the eyes that steadfast were before,And seems to be a star that changeth place,Except that in the part where it is kindledNothing is missed, and this endureth little;So from the horn that to the right extendsUnto that cross’s foot there ran a starOut of the constellation shining there;Nor was the gem dissevered from its ribbon,But down the radiant fillet ran along,So that fire seemed it behind alabaster.Thus piteous did Anchises’ shade reach forward,If any faith our greatest Muse deserve,When in Elysium he his son perceived.“O sanguis meus, O superinfusaGratia Dei, sicut tibi, cuiBis unquam Coeli janua reclusa?”Thus that effulgence; whence I gave it heed;Then round unto my Lady turned my sight,And on this side and that was stupefied;For in her eyes was burning such a smileThat with mine own methought I touched the bottomBoth of my grace and of my Paradise!Then, pleasant to the hearing and the sight,The spirit joined to its beginning thingsI understood not, so profound it spake;Nor did it hide itself from me by choice,But by necessity; for its conceptionAbove the mark of mortals set itself.And when the bow of burning sympathyWas so far slackened, that its speech descendedTowards the mark of our intelligence,The first thing that was understood by meWas “Benedight be Thou, O Trine and One,Who hast unto my seed so courteous been!”And it continued: “Hunger long and grateful,Drawn from the reading of the mighty volumeWherein is never changed the white nor dark,Thou hast appeased, my son, within this lightIn which I speak to thee, by grace of herWho to this lofty flight with plumage clothed thee.Thou thinkest that to me thy thought doth passFrom Him who is the first, as from the unit,If that be known, ray out the five and six;And therefore who I am thou askest not,And why I seem more joyous unto theeThan any other of this gladsome crowd.Thou think’st the truth; because the small and greatOf this existence look into the mirrorWherein, before thou think’st, thy thought thou showest.But that the sacred love, in which I watchWith sight perpetual, and which makes me thirstWith sweet desire, may better be fulfilled,Now let thy voice secure and frank and gladProclaim the wishes, the desire proclaim,To which my answer is decreed already.”To Beatrice I turned me, and she heardBefore 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 burnedWith 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 myselfThis 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 tookE’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 namedThy race, and who a hundred years and moreHas circled round the mount on the first cornice,A son of mine and thy great-grandsire was;Well it behoves thee that the long fatigueThou shouldst for him make shorter with thy works.Florence, within the ancient boundaryFrom 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 girdleThat caught the eye more than the person did.Not yet the daughter at her birth struck fearInto the father, for the time and dowerDid not o’errun this side or that the measure.No houses had she void of families,Not yet had thither come SardanapalusTo show what in a chamber can be done;Not yet surpassed had Montemalo beenBy your Uccellatojo, which surpassedShall in its downfall be as in its rise.Bellincion Berti saw I go begirtWith leather and with bone, and from the mirrorHis dame depart without a painted face;And him of Nerli saw, and him of Vecchio,Contented with their simple suits of buffAnd with the spindle and the flax their dames.O fortunate women! and each one was certainOf her own burial-place, and none as yetFor sake of France was in her bed deserted.One o’er the cradle kept her studious watch,And in her lullaby the language usedThat first delights the fathers and the mothers;Another, drawing tresses from her distaff,Told o’er among her family the talesOf Trojans and of Fesole and Rome.As great a marvel then would have been heldA Lapo Salterello, a Cianghella,As Cincinnatus or Cornelia now.To such a quiet, such a beautifulLife of the citizen, to such a safeCommunity, and to so sweet an inn,Did Mary give me, with loud cries invoked,And in your ancient Baptistery at onceChristian 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’sIniquity, whose people doth usurpYour just possession, through your Pastor’s fault.There by that execrable race was IReleased from bonds of the fallacious world,The love of which defileth many souls,And came from martyrdom unto this peace.”
A will benign, in which reveals itselfEver the love that righteously inspires,As in the iniquitous, cupidity,
Silence imposed upon that dulcet lyre,And quieted the consecrated chords,That Heaven’s right hand doth tighten and relax.
How unto just entreaties shall be deafThose substances, which, to give me desireOf praying them, with one accord grew silent?
’Tis well that without end he should lament,Who for the love of thing that doth not lastEternally despoils him of that love!
As through the pure and tranquil evening airThere shoots from time to time a sudden fire,Moving the eyes that steadfast were before,
And seems to be a star that changeth place,Except that in the part where it is kindledNothing is missed, and this endureth little;
So from the horn that to the right extendsUnto that cross’s foot there ran a starOut of the constellation shining there;
Nor was the gem dissevered from its ribbon,But down the radiant fillet ran along,So that fire seemed it behind alabaster.
Thus piteous did Anchises’ shade reach forward,If any faith our greatest Muse deserve,When in Elysium he his son perceived.
“O sanguis meus, O superinfusaGratia Dei, sicut tibi, cuiBis unquam Coeli janua reclusa?”
Thus that effulgence; whence I gave it heed;Then round unto my Lady turned my sight,And on this side and that was stupefied;
For in her eyes was burning such a smileThat with mine own methought I touched the bottomBoth of my grace and of my Paradise!
Then, pleasant to the hearing and the sight,The spirit joined to its beginning thingsI understood not, so profound it spake;
Nor did it hide itself from me by choice,But by necessity; for its conceptionAbove the mark of mortals set itself.
And when the bow of burning sympathyWas so far slackened, that its speech descendedTowards the mark of our intelligence,
The first thing that was understood by meWas “Benedight be Thou, O Trine and One,Who hast unto my seed so courteous been!”
And it continued: “Hunger long and grateful,Drawn from the reading of the mighty volumeWherein is never changed the white nor dark,
Thou hast appeased, my son, within this lightIn which I speak to thee, by grace of herWho to this lofty flight with plumage clothed thee.
Thou thinkest that to me thy thought doth passFrom Him who is the first, as from the unit,If that be known, ray out the five and six;
And therefore who I am thou askest not,And why I seem more joyous unto theeThan any other of this gladsome crowd.
Thou think’st the truth; because the small and greatOf this existence look into the mirrorWherein, before thou think’st, thy thought thou showest.
But that the sacred love, in which I watchWith sight perpetual, and which makes me thirstWith sweet desire, may better be fulfilled,
Now let thy voice secure and frank and gladProclaim the wishes, the desire proclaim,To which my answer is decreed already.”
To Beatrice I turned me, and she heardBefore 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 burnedWith 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 myselfThis 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 tookE’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 namedThy race, and who a hundred years and moreHas circled round the mount on the first cornice,
A son of mine and thy great-grandsire was;Well it behoves thee that the long fatigueThou shouldst for him make shorter with thy works.
Florence, within the ancient boundaryFrom 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 girdleThat caught the eye more than the person did.
Not yet the daughter at her birth struck fearInto the father, for the time and dowerDid not o’errun this side or that the measure.
No houses had she void of families,Not yet had thither come SardanapalusTo show what in a chamber can be done;
Not yet surpassed had Montemalo beenBy your Uccellatojo, which surpassedShall in its downfall be as in its rise.
Bellincion Berti saw I go begirtWith leather and with bone, and from the mirrorHis dame depart without a painted face;
And him of Nerli saw, and him of Vecchio,Contented with their simple suits of buffAnd with the spindle and the flax their dames.
O fortunate women! and each one was certainOf her own burial-place, and none as yetFor sake of France was in her bed deserted.
One o’er the cradle kept her studious watch,And in her lullaby the language usedThat first delights the fathers and the mothers;
Another, drawing tresses from her distaff,Told o’er among her family the talesOf Trojans and of Fesole and Rome.
As great a marvel then would have been heldA Lapo Salterello, a Cianghella,As Cincinnatus or Cornelia now.
To such a quiet, such a beautifulLife of the citizen, to such a safeCommunity, and to so sweet an inn,
Did Mary give me, with loud cries invoked,And in your ancient Baptistery at onceChristian 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’sIniquity, whose people doth usurpYour just possession, through your Pastor’s fault.
There by that execrable race was IReleased from bonds of the fallacious world,The love of which defileth many souls,
And came from martyrdom unto this peace.”