September 14 The Harvard Classics, fifteen minutes a day
Dante and St. Peter
Dante, having journeyed through Hell and Purgatory, comes at last to St. Peter on his throne. St. Peter calls for the aid of St. James and St. John before passing final judgment on Dante’s righteousness.
- Dante died Sept. 14, 1321.
From the 1930 Reading Guide
Divine Comedy
Dante Alighieri
CANTO XXIV
ARGUMENT.—St. Peter examines Dante touching Faith, and is contented with his answers.
“O YE! in chosen fellowship advancedTo the great supper of the blessed Lamb,Whereon who feeds hath every wish fulfill’d;If to this man through God’s grace be vouchsafedForetaste of that, which from your table falls,Or ever death his fated term prescribe;Be ye not heedless of his urgent will:But may some influence of your sacred dewsSprinkle him. Of the fount ye alway drink,Whence flows what most he craves.” Beatrice spake;And the rejoicing spirits, like to spheresOn firm-set poles revolving, trail’d a blazeOf comet splendour: and as wheels, that windTheir circles in the horologe, so workThe stated rounds, that to the observant eyeThe first seems still, and as it flew, the last;E’en thus their carols weaving variously,They, by the measure paced, or swift, or slow,Made me to rate the riches of their joy.From that, which I did note in beauty mostExcelling, saw I issue forth a flameSo bright, as none was left more goodly there.Round Beatrice thrice it wheel’d about,With so divine a song, that fancy’s earRecords it not; and the pen passeth on,And leaves a blank: for that our mortal speech,Nor e’en the inward shaping of the brain,Hath colours fine enough to trace such folds.“O saintly sister mine! thy prayer devoutIs with so vehement affection urged,Thou dost unbind me from that beauteous sphere.”Such were the accents towards my lady breathedFrom that blest ardour, soon as it was stay’d;To whom she thus: “O everlasting lightOf him, within whose mighty grasp our LordDid leave the keys, which of this wondrous blissHe bare below! tent this man as thou wilt,With lighter probe or deep, touching the faith,By the which thou didst on the billows walk.If he in love, in hope, and in belief,Be steadfast, is not hid from thee: for thouHast there thy ken, where all things are beheldIn liveliest portraiture. But since true faithHas peopled this fair realm with citizens;Meet is, that to exalt its glory more,Thou, in his audience, shouldst thereof discourse.”Like to the bachelor, who arms himself,And speaks not, till the master have proposedThe question, to approve, and not to end it;So I, in silence, arm’d me, while she spake,Summoning up each argument to aid;As was behoveful for such questioner,And such profession: “As good Christian ought,Declare thee, what is faith?” Whereat I raisedMy forehead to the light, whence this had breathed;Then turn’d to Beatrice; and in her looksApproval met, that from their inmost fountI should unlock the waters. “May the grace,That giveth me the captain of the ChurchFor confessor,” said I, “vouchsafe to meApt utterance for my thoughts;” then added: “Sire!E’en as set down by the unerring styleOf thy dear brother, who with thee conspiredTo bring Rome in unto the way of life,Faith of things hoped is substance, and the proofOf things not seen; and herein doth consistMethinks its essence.”—“Rightly hast thou deem’d,”Was answer’d; “if thou well discern, why firstHe hath defined it substance, and then proof.”“The deep things,” I replied, “which here I scanDistinctly, are below from mortal eyeSo hidden, they have in belief aloneTheir being; on which credence, hope sublimeIs built: and, therefore substance, it intends.And inasmuch as we must needs inferFrom such belief our reasoning, all respectTo other view excluded; hence of proofThe intention is derived.” Forthwith I heard:“If thus, whate’er by learning men attain,Were understood; the sophist would want roomTo exercise his wit.” So breathed the flameOf love; then added: “Current is the coinThou utter’st, both in weight and in alloy.But tell me, if thou hast it in thy purse.”“Even so glittering and so round,” said I,“I not a whit misdoubt of its assay.”Next issued from the deep-imbosom’d splendour:“Say, whence the costly jewel, on the whichIs founded every virtue, came to thee.”“The flood,” I answer’d, “from the Spirit of GodRain’d down upon the ancient bond and new,1—Here is the reasoning that convinceth meSo feelingly, each argument besideSeems blunt and forceless in comparison.”Then heard I: “Wherefore boldest thou that each,The elder proposition and the new,Which so persuade thee, are the voice of Heaven?”“The works, that follow’d, evidence their truth,”I answer’d: “Nature did not make for theseThe iron hot, or on her anvil mould them.”“Who voucheth to thee of the works themselves,”Was the reply, “that they in very deedAre that they purport? None hath sworn so to thee.”“That all the world,” said I, “should have been turn’dTo Christian, and no miracle been wrought,Would in itself be such a miracle,The rest were not an hundredth part so great.E’en thou went’st forth in poverty and hungerTo set the goodly plant, that, from the vineIt once was, now is grown unsightly bramble.”That ended, through the high celestial courtResounded all the spheres, “Praise we one God!”In song of most unearthly melody.And when that Worthy2 thus, from branch to branch,Examining, had led me, that we nowApproach’d the topmost bough; he straight resumed:“The grace, that holds sweet dalliance with thy soulSo far discreetly hath thy lips unclosed;That, whatsoe’er has past them, I commend.Behoves thee to express, what thou believest,The next; and, whereon, thy belief hath grown.”“O saintly sire and spirit!” I began,“Who seest that, which thou didst so believe,As to outstrip feet younger than thine own,Toward the sepulchre; thy will is here,That I the tenour of my creed unfold;And thou, the cause of it, hast likewise ask’d.And I reply: I in one God believe;One sole eternal Godhead, of whose loveAll Heaven is moved, Himself unmoved the while.Nor demonstration physical alone,Or more intelligential and abstruse,Persuades me to this faith: but from that truthIt Cometh to me rather, which is shedThrough Moses; the rapt Prophets; and the Psalms;The Gospel; and what ye yourselves did write,When ye were gifted of the Holy Ghost.In three eternal Persons I believe;Essence threefold and one; mysterious leagueOf union absolute, which, many a time,The word of gospel lore upon my mindImprints: and from this germ, this firstling sparkThe lively flame dilates; and, like Heaven’s star,Doth glitter in me.” As the master hears,Well pleased, and then enfoldeth in his armsThe servant, who hath joyful tidings brought,And having told the errand keeps his peace;Thus benediction uttering with song,Soon as my peace I held, compass’d me thriceThe apostolic radiance, whose behestHad oped my lips: so well their answer pleased.
CANTO XXV
ARGUMENT.—St. James questions our Poet concerning Hope. Next St. John appears; and, on perceiving that Dante looks intently on him, informs him that he, St. John, had left his body resolved into earth, upon the earth, and that Christ and the Virgin alone had come with their bodies into Heaven.
IF e’er the sacred poem, that hath madeBoth Heaven and earth copartners in its toil,And with lean abstinence, through many a year,Faded my brow, be destined to prevailOver the cruelty, which bars me forthOf the fair sheep-fold,3 where, a sleeping lamb,The wolves set on and fain had worried me;With other voice, and fleece of other grain,I shall forthwith return; and, standing upAt my baptismal font, shall claim the wreathDue to the poet’s temples: for I thereFirst enter’d on the faith, which maketh soulsAcceptable to God: and, for its sake,4Peter had then circled my forehead thus.Next from the squadron, whence had issued forthThe first fruit of Christ’s vicars on the earth,Toward us moved a light, at view whereofMy Lady, full of gladness, spake to me:“Lo! lo! behold the peer of mickle might,That makes Galicia throng’d with visitants.”5As when the ring-dove by his mate alights;In circles, each about the other wheels,And, murmuring, coos his fondness; thus saw IOne, of the other6 great and glorious prince,With kindly greeting, hail’d; extolling, both,Their heavenly banqueting: but when an endWas to their gratulation, silent, each,Before me sat they down, so burning bright,I could not look upon them. Smiling then,Beatrice spake: “O life in glory shrined!Who7 didst the largess of our kingly courtSet down with faithful pen, let now thy voice,Of hope the praises, in this height resound.For well thou know’st, who figurest it as oft,As Jesus, to ye three, more brightly shone.”“Lift up thy head; and be thou strong in trust:For that, which hither from the mortal worldArriveth, must be ripen’d in our beam.”Such cheering accents from the second flame8Assured me; and mine eyes I lifted up9Unto the mountains, that had bow’d them lateWith over-heavy burden. “Sith our LiegeWills of His grace, that thou, or e’er thy death,In the most secret council with His lordsShouldst be confronted, so that having view’dThe glories of our court, thou mayest therewithThyself, and all who hear, invigorateWith hope, that leads to blissful end; declare,What is that hope? how it doth flourish in thee?And whence thou hadst it?” Thus, proceeding still,The second light: and she, whose gentle loveMy soaring pennons in that lofty flightEscorted, thus preventing me, rejoin’d:“Among her sons, not one more full of hope,Hath the Church Militant: so ’tis of himRecorded in the Sun, whose liberal orbEnlightened all our tribe: and ere his termOf warfare, hence permitted he is come,From Egypt to Jerusalem,10 to see.The other points, both which11 thou hast inquired,Not for more knowledge, but that he may tellHow dear thou hold’st the virtue; these to himLeave I: for he may answer thee with ease,And without boasting, so God give him grace.”Like to the scholar, practised in his task,Who, willing to give proof of diligence,Seconds his teacher gladly; “Hope,” said I,“Is of the joy to come a sure expectance,The effect of grace divine and merit preceding.This light from many a star, visits my heart;But flow’d to me, the first, from him who sangThe songs of the Supreme; himself supremeAmong his tuneful brethren. ‘Let all hopeIn thee,’ so spake his anthem, ‘who have knownThy name;’ and, with my faith, who knows not that?From thee, the next, distilling from his spring,In thine epistle, fell on me the dropsSo plenteously, that I on others showerThe influence of their dew.” Whileas I spake,A lamping, as of quick and volley’d lightning,Within the bosom of that mighty sheen12Play’d tremulous; then forth these accents breathed:“Love for the virtue, which attended meE’en to the palm, and issuing from the field,Glows vigorous yet within me; and inspiresTo ask of thee, whom also it delights,What promise thou from hope, in chief, dost win.”“Both scriptures, new and ancient,” I replied,“Propose the mark (which even now I view)For souls beloved of God. Isaias13 saith,‘That, in their own land, each one must be cladIn two-fold vesture;’ and their proper landIs this delicious life. In terms more full,And clearer far, thy brother14 hath set forthThis revelation to us, where he tellsOf the white raiment destined to the saints.”And, as the words were ending, from above,“They hope in Thee!” first heard we cried: wheretoAnswer’d the carols all. Amidst them next,A light of so clear amplitude emerged,That winter’s month were but a single day,Were such a crystal in the Cancer’s sign.Like as a virgin riseth up, and goes,And enters on the mazes of the dance;Though gay, yet innocent of worse intent,Than to do fitting honour to the bride:So I beheld the new effulgence comeUnto the other two, who in a ringWheel’d, as became their rapture. In the dance,And in the song, it mingled. And the dameHeld on them fix’d her looks; e’en as the spouse,Silent, and moveless. “This15 is he, who layUpon the bosom of our Pelican:This he, into whose keeping, from the Cross,The mighty charge was given.” Thus she spake:Yet therefore naught the more removed her sightFrom marking them: or e’er her words began,Or when they closed. As he, who looks intent,And strives with searching ken, how he may seeThe sun in his eclipse, and, through desireOf seeing, loseth power of sight; so I16Peer’d on that last resplendence, while I heard:“Why dazzlest thou thine eyes in seeking that,Which here abides not? Earth my body is,In earth; and shall be, with the rest, so long,As till our number equal the decreeOf the Most High. The two17 that have ascended,In this our blessed cloister, shine aloneWith the two garments. So report below.”As when, for ease of labour, or to shunSuspected peril, at a whistle’s breath,The oars, erewhile dash’d frequent in the wave,All rest: the flamy circle at that voiceSo rested; and the mingling sound was still,Which from the trinal band, soft-breathing, rose.I turn’d, but ah! how trembled in my thought,When, looking at my side again to seeBeatrice, I descried her not; although,Not distant, on the happy coast she stood.
Canto XXVI begins on page 395 and runs on past the assigned pages; the reading stops at the end of Canto XXV on that page.
Volume 20, pages 387–395 · See the scanned page on archive.org
This is the reading for September 14 in Fifteen Minutes a Day: The Reading Guide (1930 edition), page 74. There the assignment reads “Vol. 20, pp. 387–395.” Read it in the guide.