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Dante Alighieri (1265–1321). The Divine Comedy.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Paradise

Canto III ARGUMENT.—In the moon Dante meets with Piccarda, the sister of Forese, who tells him that this planet is allotted to those, who, after having made profession of chastity and a religious life, had been compelled to violate their vows; and she then points out to him the spirit of the Empress Costanza.

THAT sun, which erst with love my bosom warmed,

Had of fair truth unveil’d the sweet aspect,

By proof of right, and of the false reproof;

And I, to own myself convinced and free

Of doubt, as much as needed, raised my head

Erect for speech. But soon a sight appear’d,

Which, so intent to mark it, held me fix’d

That of confession I no longer thought.

As through translucent and smooth glass, or wave

Clear and unmoved, and flowing not so deep

As that its bed is dark, the shape returns

So faint of our impictured lineaments,

That, on white forehead set, a pearl as strong

Comes to the eye; such saw I many a face,

All stretch’d to speak; from whence I straight conceived,

Delusion opposite to that, which raised,

Between the man and fountain, amorous flame.

Sudden, as I perceived them, deeming these

Reflected semblances, to see of whom

They were, I turn’d mine eyes, and nothing saw;

Then turn’d them back, directed on the light

Of my sweet guide, who, smiling, shot forth beams

From her celestial eyes. “Wonder not thou,”

She cried, “at this my smiling, when I see

Thy childish judgment; since not yet on truth

It rests the foot, but, as it still is wont,

Makes thee fall back in unsound vacancy.

True substances are these, which thou behold’st,

Hither through failure of their vow exiled.

But speak thou with them; listen, and believe,

That the true light, which fills them with desire,

Permits not from its beams their feet to stray.”

Straight to the shadow, which for converse seem’d

Most earnest, I address’d me; and began

As one by over-eagerness perplex’d:

“O spirit, born of joy! who in the rays

Of life eternal, of that sweetness know’st

The flavour, which, not tasted, passes far

All apprehension; me it well would please,

If thou wouldst tell me of thy name, and this

Your station here.” Whence she with kindness prompt

And eyes glist’ring with smiles: “Our charity,

To any wish by justice introduced,

Bars not the door; no more than She above,

Who would have all her court be like herself.

I was a virgin sister in the earth;

And if thy mind observe me well, this form,

With such addition graced of loveliness,

Will not conceal me long; but thou wilt know

Piccarda, in the tardiest sphere thus placed,

Here ’mid these other blessed also blest.

Our hearts, whose high affections burn alone

With pleasure from the Holy Spirit conceived,

Admitted to His order, dwell in joy.

And this condition, which appears so low,

Is for this cause assign’d us, that our vows

Were, in some part, neglected and made void.”

Whence I to her replied: “Something divine

Beams in your countenances wondrous fair;

From former knowledge quite transmitting you.

Therefore to recollect was I so slow.

But what thou say’st hath to my memory

Given now such aid, that to retrace your forms

Is easier. Yet inform me, ye, who here

Are happy; long ye for a higher place,

More to behold, and more in love to dwell?”

She with those other spirits gently smiled;

Then answer’d with such gladness, that she seem’d

With love’s first flame to glow: “Brother! our will

Is, in composure, settled by the power

Of charity, who makes us will alone

What we possess, and naught beyond desire:

If we should wish to be exalted more,

Then must our wishes jar with the high will

Of Him, who sets us here; which in these orbs

Thou wilt confess not possible, if here

To be in charity must needs befall,

And if her nature well thou contemplate.

Rather it is inherent in this state

Of blessedness, to keep ourselves within

The Divine Will, by which our wills with His

Are one. So that as we, from step to step,

Are placed throughout this kingdom, pleases all,

Even as our King, who in us plants His will;

And in His will is our tranquillity:

It is the mighty ocean, whither tends

Whatever it creates and Nature makes.”

Then saw I clearly how each spot in Heaven

Is Paradise, though with like gracious dew

The supreme virtue shower not over all.

But as it chances, if one sort of food

Hath satiated, and of another still

The appetite remains, that this is ask’d,

And thanks for that return’d; e’en so did I,

In word and motion, bent from her to learn

What web it was, through which she had not drawn

The shuttle to its point. She thus began:

“Exalted worth and perfectness of life

The Lady higher up inshrine in Heaven,

By whose pure laws upon your nether earth

The robe and veil they wear; to that intent,

That e’en till death they may keep watch, or sleep,

With their great Bridegroom, who accepts each vow,

Which to His gracious pleasure love conforms.

I from the world, to follow her, when young

Escaped; and, in her vesture mantling me,

Made promise of the way her sect enjoins.

Thereafter men, for ill than good more apt,

Forth snatch’d me from the pleasant cloister’s pale.

God knows how, after that, my life was framed.

This other splendid shape, which thou behold’st

At my right side, burning with all the light

Of this our orb, what of myself I tell

May to herself apply. From her, like me

A sister, with like violence were torn

The saintly folds, that shaded her fair brows.

E’en when she to the world again was brought

In spite of her own will and better wont,

Yet not for that the bosom’s inward veil

Did she renounce. This is the luminary

Of mighty Constance, who from that loud blast,

Which blew the second over Suabia’s realm,

That power produced, which was the third and last.”

She ceased from further talk, and then began

“Ave Maria” singing; and with that song

Vanish’d, as heavy substance through deep wave.

Mine eye, that, far as it was capable,

Pursued her, when in dimness she was lost,

Turn’d to the mark where greater want impell’d

And bent on Beatrice all its gaze.

But she, as lightning, beam’d upon my looks;

So that the sight sustain’d it not at first.

Whence I to question her became less prompt.