Authors: Dante
STARRY SPHERE
‘O company of the elect chosen to feast
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at the great supper of the blessèd Lamb,
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who feeds you so that your desire is ever satisfied,
‘since by God’s grace this man enjoys a foretaste
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of whatsoever falls beneath your table,
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before death sets a limit to his time,
‘heed his immeasurable craving and with dewdrops
from that fountain where you drink forever,
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refresh him at the very source of all his thoughts.’
Thus Beatrice. And those joyful spirits
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transformed themselves to rings around fixed poles,
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circling, like blazing comets, in their brightness.
And as wheels in the movements of a clock
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turn in such a way that, to an observer,
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the innermost seems standing still, the outermost to fly,
just so those dancers in their circling,
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moving to a different measure, fast or slow,
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let me gauge their wealth of gladness.
From the dancer I made out to be most precious
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I saw come forth a flame so full of joy
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that not one there produced a greater brightness.
Three times it circled Beatrice,
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its song so filled with heavenly delight
‘O my holy sister, who pray to us
with such devotion, by the ardor of your love
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you draw me forth from that fair circle.’
Once the blessèd fire had come to rest,
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for my lady it breathed forth these words,
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just as here I’ve set them down.
And she: ‘O everlasting light of that great man
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with whom our Lord did leave the keys,
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which He brought down from this astounding joy,
‘test this man as you see fit on points,
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both minor and essential, about the faith
‘Whether his love is just, and just his hope and faith,
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is not concealed from you because your sight
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can reach the place where all things are revealed.
‘But since this realm elects its citizens
by measure of true faith, it surely is his lot
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to speak of it, that he may praise its glory.’
Just as the bachelor arms himself and does not speak
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while the master is setting forth the question—
so I armed myself with all my arguments
while she was speaking, readying myself
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for such an examiner and such professing.
‘Speak up, good Christian, and make your declaration.
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What is faith?’ At that I lifted up my brow
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to the light from which this breathed,
and then I faced Beatrice, who quickly signaled,
with a glance, that I should now pour forth
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the waters welling from the source within me.
‘May the grace that allows me to make confession
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to the great centurion,’ I began,
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‘grant clear expression to my thoughts.’
And I continued: ‘As the truthful pen,
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father, of your dear brother wrote it,
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he who, with you, set Rome upon the path to truth,
‘faith is the substance of things hoped for,
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the evidence of things that are not seen.
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And this I take to be its quiddity.’
Then I heard: ‘You reason rightly if you understand
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why he placed it, first, among the substances,
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only then to set it down as evidence.’
And I: ‘The profound mysteries
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that here so richly manifest themselves to me,
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to our eyes below are so concealed
‘that they exist there through belief alone,
on which is based our hope to rise above.
‘It is from this belief that we must argue,
when there is nothing else we can examine.
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And it therefore has the name of evidence.’
Then I heard: ‘If all that is acquired below
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from doctrine taught were this well learned,
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there would be left no room for sophistry.’
This breathed forth from that kindled love.
And it continued: ‘Now this coin’s alloy
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and weight are well examined,
‘but tell me if you have it in your purse.’
And I: ‘I do indeed, so bright and round
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that of its coinage I am not in doubt.’
Then came forth from the depth of the light
refulgent there: ‘This precious gem
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upon which all the virtues rest,
‘what was its origin and how did you obtain it?’
And I: ‘The abundant rain of the Holy Ghost,
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poured out onto the parchments old and new,
‘is the syllogism that has proven it to me
with such great force that any other demonstration,
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compared with it, would seem completely pointless.’
Then I heard: ‘The premises, both old and new,
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that you find so convincing in their truth,
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why do you take them for the word of God?’
And I: ‘The proof that revealed the truth to me
are the works that followed, for which nature
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neither makes iron red with heat nor smites an anvil.’