Paradiso
Ascent to the Third Heaven, Venus: Lovers. Charles Martel. Discourse on diverse Natures. The world used
The ancients in their error believed
that beautiful Venus poured down
her maddening love from the third sphere,
turning in its celestial dance.
So the old nations honored her
with sacrifices and prayers,
and worshipped Dione as her mother,
Cupid as her son—
the one who sat in Dido's lap.
From her they named the star
that courts the sun,
sometimes following, sometimes leading.
I didn't notice our ascent,
but knew we'd arrived
when I saw my Lady grow more beautiful.
As a spark glows within flame,
as one voice sounds within another
when one holds steady and one wavers,
so within that light I saw other lamps
moving in circles at different speeds,
each according to the depth of their vision.
Never did winds descend from winter clouds—
visible or invisible—so swiftly
that they wouldn't seem sluggish and delayed
to anyone who had seen those divine lights
rushing toward us, breaking from the dance
first begun among the high Seraphim.
From those leading the way
came "Hosanna!" so beautiful
I've longed to hear it ever since.
Then one approached us closer
and spoke alone: "We are all ready
to serve your pleasure, that you might joy in us.
We turn with the celestial Princes
in one circle, one motion, one thirst—
those you once called in the world below:
'You who move the third heaven with intelligence.'
We are so full of love that to please you
a moment's rest will be no less sweet."
After my eyes turned reverently
to my Lady, and she made them
content and certain of themselves,
they returned to the light that promised so much,
and I said, with deep affection:
"Tell me, who are you?"
How I watched it expand
with new joy added to its joys
the moment I had spoken!
Changed this way, it said to me:
"The world possessed me briefly below;
had it been longer, much evil
that will be would never have been.
My happiness keeps me hidden from you,
radiating around me and concealing me
like a creature wrapped in its own silk.
You loved me greatly, and with good reason—
had I remained below, I would have shown you
more than just the leaves of my love.
That left bank that bathes itself
in the Rhone where it mingles with the Sorgue
awaited me as its rightful lord,
and that horn of Italy crowned
with Bari, Gaeta, and Catona,
where the Tronto and Verde pour into the sea.
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VENUS—CHARLES MARTEL
“more than just the leaves of my love. / That left bank that bathes itself / in the Rhone where it mingles with the Sorgue”
Already on my brow flashed the crown
of that land watered by the Danube
after it leaves the German borders.
And beautiful Sicily, darkened
between Pachino and Peloro
on the gulf that suffers most from the east wind,
would still await its rightful kings—
not through mythic Typhoeus but through sulfur born—
descended through me from Charles and Rudolf,
if evil rule that always embitters
subject peoples had not moved
Palermo to cry 'Death! Death!'
If my brother could foresee this,
he would flee Catalonia's greedy poverty
before it troubles him further.
Someone must provide—through him or another—
that no more cargo be loaded
on his already heavy bark.
His nature, descended from generous to grasping,
would need soldiers who don't care
about hoarding treasure in chests."
"Because I believe the lofty joy
your words pour into me, my Lord,
is seen by you as I see it
there where every good begins and ends,
it becomes more precious to me.
And I treasure this too—
that you discern it by gazing upon God.
You have made me glad;
now clarify for me,
since your speech has stirred me to doubt:
How can bitter fruit come from sweet seed?"
This I asked him, and he replied:
"If I can show you one truth,
you'll face what you're asking about
as you now turn your back to it.
The Good that turns and satisfies
all the realm you're ascending
makes its providence a power
within these vast celestial bodies.
Not only are individual natures foreseen
in the mind that is perfect in itself,
but they together with their preservation.
Whatever this bow shoots forth
falls destined to a foreseen end,
like an arrow aimed at its target.
If this were not so, the heaven you walk through
would create its effects in such a way
that they would be chaos, not art.
This cannot be, unless the Intelligences
that move these stars are flawed,
and flawed too the First who made them perfect.
Do you want this truth made clearer?"
And I: "No, for I see it's impossible
that nature would fail in what is necessary."
Then he continued: "Tell me, would it be worse
for people on earth if they were not citizens?"
"Yes," I replied, "and I need no proof."
"And can they be citizens if below
they don't live differently in different roles?
No—if your master writes truly for you."
With such reasoning he reached this point,
then concluded: "Therefore the roots
of your effects must be diverse.
So one is born Solon, another Xerxes,
another Melchizedek, and another
the one who flew through air and lost his son.
Revolving Nature, which is like a seal
on mortal wax, practices her art well
but doesn't distinguish one dwelling from another.
This is why Esau differs in nature
from Jacob, and Quirinus comes
from a father so base he's credited to Mars.
Generated nature would always make
its offspring like their parents
if divine Providence didn't override it.
Now what was behind you is before you.
But so you know I take pleasure in you,
let me wrap you in this corollary:
Always, when nature finds fortune
discordant with it, like any seed
out of its proper region, it thrives poorly.
If the world below would fix its attention
on the foundation nature lays
and follow that, it would have good people.
But you twist toward religion
the one born to wear a sword,
and make a king of one meant for sermons.
Therefore your steps wander from the path."