The Earthly Paradise. — Beatrice appears. — Departure of Virgil. — Reproof of Dante by Beatrice.
When the septentrion of the first heaven1 which never setting knew, nor rising, nor veil of other cloud than sin, — and which was making every one there acquainted with his duty, as the lower2 makes whoever turns the helm to come to port, — stopped still, the truthful people3 who had come first between the griffon and it,4 turned to the chariot as to their peace, and one of them, as if sent from heaven, singing, cried thrice, “Veni, sponsa, de Libano,”5 and all the others after.
1 The seven candlesticks, symbols of the sevenfold spirit of the Lord.
2 The lower septentrion, or the seven stars of the Great Bear.
3 The personifications of the truthful books of the Old Testament.
4 The septentrion of candlesticks.
5 “Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse.” — The Song of Solomon, iv. 8.
As time blessed at the last trump will arise swiftly, each from his tomb, singing hallelujah with recovered voice,1 so upon the divine chariot, ad vocem tanti senis,2 rose up a hundred ministers and messengers of life eternal. All were saying, “Benedictus, qui venis,”3 and, scattering flowers above and around, “Manibus o date lilia plenis.”4
1 “And after these things I heard a great voice of much people in Heaven, saying, Alleluia-” — Revelation, xix. 1.
2 “At the voice of so great an elder;” these words are in Latin apparently only for the sake of the rhyme.
3 “Blessed thou that comest.”
4 “Oh, give lilies with full hands;” words from the Aeneid, vi. 884, sung by the angels.
I have seen ere now at the beginning of the day the eastern region all rosy, while the rest of heaven was beautiful with fair clear sky; and the face of the sun rise shaded, so that through the tempering of vapors the eye sustained it a long while. Thus within a cloud of flowers, which from the angelic hands was ascending, and falling down again within and without, a lady, with olive wreath above a white veil, appeared to me, robed with the color of living flame beneath a green mantle.1 And my spirit that now for so long a time had not been broken down, trembling with amazement at her presence, without having more knowledge by the eyes, through occult virtue that proceeded from her, felt the great potency of ancient love.
1 The olive is the symbol of wisdom and of peace the three colors are those of Faith, Charity, and Hope.
Soon as upon my sight the lofty virtue smote, which already had transfixed me ere I was out of boyhood, I turned me to the left with the confidence with which the little child runs to his mother when he is frightened, or when he is troubled, to say to Virgil, “Less than a drachm of blood remains in me that doth not tremble; I recognize the signals of the ancient flame,”1 — but Virgil had left us deprived of himself; Virgil, sweetest Father, Virgil to whom I for my salvation gave me. Nor did all which the ancient mother lost2 avail unto my cheeks, cleansed with dew,3 that they should not turn dark again with tears.
1 “Agnosco veteris vestigia flammae.” — Aeneid, iv. 23.
2 All the beauty of Paradise which Eve lost.
3 See Canto I.
“Dante, though Virgil be gone away, weep not yet, weep not yet, for it behoves thee to weep by another sword.”
Like an admiral who, on poop or on prow, comes to see the people that are serving on the other ships, and encourages them to do well, upon the left border of the chariot, — when I turned me at the sound of my own name, which of necessity is registered here, — I saw the Lady, who had first appeared to me veiled beneath the angelic festival, directing her eyes toward me across the stream although the veil, which descended from her head, circled by the leaf of Minerva, did not allow her to appear distinctly. Royally, still haughty in her mien, she went on, as one who speaks, and keeps back his warmest speech: “Look at me well: I am, indeed, I am, indeed, Beatrice. How hast thou deigned to approach the mountain? Didst thou know that man is happy here?” My eyes fell down into the clear fount; but seeing myself in it I drew them to the grass, such great shame burdened my brow. As to the son the mother seems proud, so she seemed to me; for somewhat bitter tasteth the savor of stern pity. She was silent, and the angels sang of a sudden, “In te, Domine, speravi;” but beyond “pedes meos”1 they did not pass. Even as the snow, among the living rafters upon the back of Italy, is congealed, blown and packed by Sclavonian winds, then melting trickles through itself, if only the land that loses shadow breathe,2 so that it seems a fire that melts the candle: so was I without tears and sighs before the song of those who time their notes after the notes of the eternal circles. But when I heard in their sweet accords their compassion for me, more than if they had said, “Lady, why dost thou so confound him?” the ice that was bound tight around my heart became breath and water, and with anguish poured from my breast through my mouth and eyes.
1 “In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust; let me never be ashamed: deliver me in thy righteousness. Bow down thine ear to me; deliver me speedily: be thou my strong rock, for an house of defence to save me. For thou art my rock and my fortress; therefore for thy name’s sake lead me, and guide me. Pull me out of the net that they have laid privily for me: for thou art my strength. Into thine hand I commit my spirit: thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth. I have hated them that regard lying vanities: but I trust in the Lord. I will be glad and rejoice in thy mercy: for thou hast considered my trouble; thou hast known my soul in adversities. And hast not shut me up into the hand of the enemy: thou hast set my feet in a large room.” — Psalm xxxi. 1-8.
2 If the wind blow from Africa.
She, still standing motionless on the aforesaid side of the chariot, then turned her words to those pious1 beings thus: “Ye watch in the eternal day, so that nor night nor slumber robs from you one step the world may make along its ways; wherefore my reply is with greater care, that he who is weeping yonder may understand me, so that fault and grief may be of one measure. Not only through the working of the great wheels,2 which direct every seed to some end according as the stars are its companions, but through largess of divine graces, which have for their rain vapors so lofty that our sight goes not near thereto, — this man was such in his new life, virtually, that every right habit would have made admirable proof in him. But so much the more malign and more savage becomes the land ill-sown and untilled, as it has more of good terrestrial vigor. Some time did I sustain him with my face; showing my youthful eyes to him I led him with me turned in right direction. So soon as I was upon the threshold of my second age, and had changed life, this one took himself from me, and gave himself to others. When from flesh to spirit I had ascended, and beauty and virtue were increased in me, I was less dear and less pleasing to him; and he turned his steps along a way not true, following false images of good, which pay no promise in full. Nor did it avail me to obtain3 inspirations with which, both in dream and otherwise, I called him back; so little did he heed them. So low he fell that all means for his salvation were already short, save showing him the lost people. For this I visited the gate of the dead, and to him, who has conducted him up hither, my prayers were borne with weeping. The high decree of God would be broken, if Lethe should be passed, and such viands should be tasted without any scot of repentance which may pour forth tears.”
1 Both devout and piteous.
2 The circling heavens.
3 Through the grace of God.