Canto XV

In ancient times, a benevolent will that reveals

the love inspiring righteous hearts—

just as cupidity corrupts the wicked—

imposed silence on that sweet lyre,

quieting the consecrated strings

that Heaven's right hand tightens and releases.

How can those blessed souls be deaf

to just entreaties, when they fell silent

in unison to kindle my desire for prayer?

It is fitting that he lament without end

who strips himself eternally of divine love

for love of things that do not last.

As through the pure and tranquil evening air

a sudden fire sometimes shoots,

catching eyes that were steady before,

seeming like a star changing place—

except nothing is lost where it ignites,

and it endures only briefly—

so from the horn extending rightward

to the foot of that cross, a star ran

out from the constellation shining there.

The gem was not severed from its ribbon

but glided along the radiant band,

like fire gleaming behind alabaster.

So tenderly did Anchises' shade reach forward—

if our greatest poet deserves any faith—

when he perceived his son in Elysium.

"O blood of mine! O overflowing

grace of God! To whom, like you,

were Heaven's gates ever opened twice?"

So spoke that radiance, and I gave it heed.

Then I turned my sight to my lady

and was amazed on every side,

for such a smile burned in her eyes

that I thought I touched with my own

the very depths of my grace and Paradise.

Then, pleasant to hearing and sight,

the spirit added words to its beginning

that I could not understand, so profound it spoke.

It hid itself from me not by choice

but by necessity, for its conception

set itself above the reach of mortals.

When the bow of burning love

had slackened enough that its speech descended

toward the target of our understanding,

the first thing I grasped was:

"Blessed be You, O Trinity and One,

who have shown such courtesy to my offspring!"

And it continued: "A long and welcome hunger

drawn from reading the great book

where neither white nor black is ever changed—

this you have satisfied, my son, within this light

where I speak to you, by grace of her

who clothed you with feathers for this lofty flight.

You believe your thoughts pass to me

from Him who is the First, as from unity—

if known—the numbers five and six ray out.

Therefore you do not ask who I am

or why I appear more joyful to you

than any other in this happy throng.

You think truly, for both small and great

in this existence gaze into the mirror

where you show your thoughts before thinking them.

But so that sacred love, in which I watch

with perpetual sight and which makes me thirst

with sweet longing, may be better fulfilled,

let your voice ring out confident and glad—

proclaim your wishes, declare your desire,

to which my answer is already ordained."

I turned to Beatrice, and she heard

before I spoke, smiling me a sign

that made the wings of my longing grow.

Then I began: "Love and understanding,

when the first Equality dawned upon you,

became of equal weight for each of you.

In the Sun that lit and warmed you

with heat and radiance, they are so equal

that all comparisons fall short.

But among mortals, will and reasoning—

for reasons manifest to you—

have differently feathered wings.

So I, being mortal, feel within myself

this inequality, and can give thanks

only in my heart for this fatherly welcome.

I truly beg you, living topaz

set like a gem in this precious jewel,

satisfy me with your name."

"O my leaf, in whom I took such pleasure

even while awaiting you—I was your root!"

Such was the beginning of his answer.

Then he said: "The one from whom your lineage

takes its name, who for a hundred years and more

has circled the mountain's first terrace,

was my son and your great-grandfather.

It is fitting that you shorten his long labor

with your good works.

Florence, within her ancient walls

from which she still hears tierce and nones,

lived in peace, temperate and chaste.

She wore no golden chain or crown,

no ladies in jeweled sandals or girdles

more eye-catching than the women wearing them.

A daughter's birth did not yet strike fear

into her father, for neither time nor dowry

exceeded proper measure on either side.

No houses stood empty of families,

nor had debauchery yet arrived

to show what could be done in private chambers.

Your Uccellatoio had not yet surpassed

Montemalo, which shall exceed it

in downfall as it has in rise.

I saw Bellincion Berti walk

girded with leather and bone,

his wife leave her mirror unpainted.

I saw the men of Nerli and Vecchio

content with simple leather clothes,

their wives with spindle and flax.

O fortunate women! Each was certain

of her burial place, none yet abandoned

in her bed for the sake of France.

One kept studious watch over the cradle,

using in her lullabies the language

that first delights fathers and mothers.

Another, drawing thread from her distaff,

told her household the tales

of Trojans, Fiesole, and Rome.

A Lapo Salterello or Cianghella

would have seemed as great a marvel then

as Cincinnatus or Cornelia seem now.

To such quiet, such a beautiful

citizen's life, to such a safe community

and so sweet a dwelling place,

Mary gave me birth, called upon with loud cries.

In your ancient Baptistery

I became both Christian and Cacciaguida.

Moronto was my brother, and Eliseo.

From Val di Pado came my wife,

and from her your surname was derived.

Later I followed Emperor Conrad,

and he made me a knight of his order,

so much did my noble deeds please him.

I rode in his train against the iniquity

of that law whose people usurp

your rightful possession through your Pope's fault.

There I was released by that detestable race

from the bonds of the deceptive world,

whose love defiles so many souls,

and came from martyrdom to this peace."