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Penguin Classics is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
This selection first published in Penguin Classics 2016
Translation copyright © Robin Kirkpatrick, 2007
The moral right of the author has been asserted
ISBN: 978-0-241-25043-3
Canto III
Canto X
Canto XI
Canto XIV
Canto XVII
Canto XXIII
Canto XXVII
Canto XXX
Canto XXXII
Canto XXXIII
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She – as the sun who first in love shone warm
into my heart – had now, by proof and counterproof,
disclosed to me the lovely face of truth.
And being ready, as was only right,
to own my errors – and new certainties –
I flung my head back, and I meant to speak.
But then, it seemed, a vision came to me
and bound me up so tightly to itself
that these confessions would not come to mind.
Compare: from clear and polished panes of glass,
or else from glinting waters, calm and still
(but not so deep their depths are lost in darkness),
we see reflections that reveal a hint,
though faint, of our own looks, and reach the eye
less strongly than a pearl on some white brow.
So I saw many faces, keen to speak,
and ran now to the opposite mistake
from that which fired the love of man and stream.
No sooner had I noticed – and supposed
that these were seemings in a looking-glass –
I turned my eyes to see who these might be.
I saw there nothing, so returned my glance
straight to the shining-out of my dear guide,
who, smiling at me, blazed in her own look.
‘You baby!’ she said. ‘Don’t worry or wonder,
to see me smile at all these ponderings.
Those feet are not yet steady on the ground of truth.
Your mind, from habit, turns round to a void.
And yet those beings that you see are true,
bound here below for vows they disavowed.
So speak to them. And hear and trust their words.
The light of truth that feeds them with its peace
will never let their feet be turned awry.’
Now turning to the shadow who most yearned,
in love and pure delight, to speak to me,
I said, nearly entranced by eagerness:
‘You spirit, well created in the rays
of this eternity of life, you feel
a sweetness never known, if not by taste.
Let me, then, in your kindness, hear your name,
and tell me what your destiny has been.’
To which – eyes smiling – she at once replied:
‘We, living in God’s love, can no more lock
our doors against true-minded aims of will
than God’s love does, which wills this court like him.
I was a virgin sister in the world.
Search deep in memory. My being now
more beautiful won’t hide me from your eyes.
I am Piccarda – as you’ll know I am –
and blessed among the many who are blessed,
within this slowest moving of the spheres.
The flames of what we feel are lit in us
by pleasure purely in the Holy Spirit,
dancing for happiness in that design.
And though the part allotted us may seem
far down, the reason is that, yes, we did
neglect our vows. These were in some part void.’
‘A wonder shining in the look you have
reveals,’ I said, ‘an I-don’t-know of holiness
that alters you from how you once were seen.
So recognition did not speed to mind.
Yet all you say has helped me understand.
Your image speaks precisely to me now.
But tell me this: you are so happy here,
have you no wish to gain some higher grade,
to see and be as friends to God still more?’
Smiling a moment with the other shades,
she then, in utmost happiness, replied,
blazing, it seemed, in the first fires of love:
‘Dear brother, we in will are brought to rest
by power of caritas that makes us will
no more than what we have, nor thirst for more.
Were our desire to be more highly placed,
all our desires would then be out of tune
with His, who knows and wills where we should be.
Yet discord in these spheres cannot occur –
as you, if you reflect on this, will see –
since charity is a priori here.
In formal terms, our being in beatitude
entails in-holding to the will of God,
our own wills thus made one with the divine.
In us, therefore, there is, throughout this realm,
a placing, rung to rung, delighting all
– our king as well in-willing us in will.
In His volition is the peace we have.
That is the sea to which all being moves,
be it what that creates or Nature blends.’
Now it was clear. I saw that everywhere
in Paradise there’s Heaven, though grace may rain
in varied measure from the Highest Good.
But then, as often happens over food
(though satisfied with one, we crave the next,
reaching for that while still we’re saying ‘thanks’),
so now in word and gesture I betrayed
an eagerness to hear from her what weave
her spool had not yet drawn out to the end.
‘Perfect in life, her merits raised on high,
there is a lady – more in-heavened than we –
all decency – she went back to the world,
she never let the veil fall from her heart.’
Those were her words to me. But then ‘Ave
Maria’ began, singing. And, singing,
she went from sight, as weight sinks deep in water.
My eyes pursued as far as eyesight can,
but, as I lost her, so I turned once more
to target a desire far greater still.
Now all my thoughts were fixed on Beatrice.
But she, as lightning strikes, so stunned my gaze,
my eyes at first could not support the sight,
and this was why my question came so slow.