The Portable Dante (65 page)

To those who knew it Folquet was my name; this sphere of heaven bears my imprint now as from my day of birth I bore its own.

Dido, Belus’ child, did not burn more, wronging Sichaeus and Creusa, too, than I burned loving till my hair turned grey;

nor she of Rhodope who was betrayed by her Demophoön, nor Hercules when he enclosed lole in his heart.

But we do not repent, we smile instead: not at the sin—this does not come to mind— but at the Power that orders and provides.

From here we gaze upon that art which works with such effective love; we see the Good by which the world below returns above.

But now that I may fully satisfy all of your wishes born within this sphere, let me proceed. It is your wish to know

who this one is within the luminance you see in all its splendor next to me like crystal water struck by rays of light.

Know, then, that there within Rahab has peace, and once joined with our order, she impressed her seal upon it at the highest rank.

To this sphere where the shadow of your earth comes to an end, she was the first to rise among the souls redeemed in Christ’s great triumph.

It was most fitting that she be received and left in one of our spheres as a palm of that great victory won by those two palms,

for it was Rahab who made possible Joshua’s first glory in the Holy Land— which seems to matter little to the Pope.

Your city—which was planted by the one, the first to turn against his Maker’s power, and whose fierce envy brought the world such woe—

creates and circulates the wicked flower that turns the shepherds into ravening wolves and breaks the fold and lets the lambs run wild.

The Gospel and the fathers of the Church lie gathering dust, and Canon Law alone is studied, as the margins testify.

The Pope and Cardinals heed nothing else; their thoughts do not go out to Nazareth where Gabriel once opened wide his wings.

But Vatican and every sacred place in Rome which marked the burial-ground of saints who fought in Peter’s army to the death,

shall soon be free of this adultery. ”

that uncreated, ineffable first One,

has fashioned all that moves in mind and space in such sublime proportions that no one can sec it and not feel His Presence there.

Look up now, Reader, with me to the spheres; look straight to that point of the lofty wheels where the one motion and the other cross,

and there begin to revel in the work of that great Artist who so loves His art, His gaze is fixed on it perpetually.

Consider how the wheel the planets ride branches from there obliquely; this it does to satisfy the earth that calls on them;

for if their track had not been set aslant, then the great powers of Heaven would be vain and Earth’s potentialities stillborn;

and if its deviation from the straight were greater than it is, or less, disorder would come about in both our hemispheres.

Now, Reader, do not leave the table yet, reflect upon what you have only tasted, if you would dine on joy before you tire.

I put the food out; now you feed yourself, because the theme which makes of me its scribe demands all of my concentration now.

The most sublime of Nature’s ministers, which stamps the plan of Heaven on the world and with its light measures the time for us,

now being in conjunction with that place I pointed out, was wheeling through the spirals in which we see it earlier each day;

and I was in the sun, no more aware of my ascent than one can be aware of how a thought will come before it comes.

She it is, Beatrice, guides our climb from good to better instantaneously— her action has no measurement in time.

How brilliant in its essence must have been what shone within the sun, where I had come, not with its color but with light on light!

Even if I called on genius, art, and skill, I could not make this live before your eyes— a man must trust and long to see it there.

If our imagination cannot rise to such a height, no need to be surprised. No eye has known light brighter than the sun’s;

So, there within, shone God’s fourth family whom the High Father keeps in constant bliss showing them how He breathes, how He begets.

Then Beatrice said: “And now give thanks, thanks to the Sun of Angels by whose grace you have ascended to this sun of sense. ”

No mortal heart was ever more disposed to do devotion and to yield itself to God so fully and so readily

than mine was at her words. So totally did I direct all of my love to Him, that Beatrice, eclipsed, had left my mind.

But this did not displease her, and she smiled so that the splendor of her laughing eyes broke my mind’s spell. Again I was aware

of many things: flashes of living light made us a center and themselves a crown— their voices sweeter than their aspect bright:

the way Latona’s daughter sometimes seems, girt by her halo when the pregnant air catches the threads of moonlight in her belt.

In heaven’s court from where I have returned there are some jewels too precious and too rich to be brought back to Earth from out that realm,

and one such gem—the song those splendors sang: who does not grow the wings to fly up there, awaits these tidings from the tongueless here.

When singing, circling, all those blazing suns had wheeled around the two of us three times like stars that circle close to the fixed poles,

they stopped like ladies still in dancing mood, who pause in silence listening to catch the rhythm of the new notes of the dance.

Then from within its light a voice spoke: “Since the ray of grace by which true love is kindled and then grows lovingly the more it loves,

shines forth in you so greatly magnified that it allows you to ascend these stairs which none descends except to mount again—

one could no more deny your thirsty soul wine from his flask than could a moving stream refuse to keep on flowing to the sea.

It is your wish to know what kinds of flowers make up this crown which lovingly surrounds the lovely lady who strengthens you for Heaven.

I was one of the sacred flock of lambs led by Saint Dominic along the road where all may fatten if they do not stray.

This spirit close by, at my right, was brother and master to me: Albert of Cologne he was, and I am Thomas of Aquino.

If you would like to learn about the rest, let your eyes follow where my words shall lead all the way round this blessed wreath of souls.

The next flame is the light of Gratian’s smile, who served so well in the two courts of law that Heaven finds great joy in having him.

The next one who illuminates our choir was that same Peter who, like the poor widow, offered his modest treasure to the Church.

The fifth light, the most beautiful of all, breathes from a love so passionate that men still hunger down on earth to know his fate;