The Banquet (Il Convito)

The Third Treatise

CHAPTER I.

In the preceding treatise is described how my second Love took its

rise from the compassionate countenance of a Lady; which Love, finding

my Soul inclined to its ardour, after the manner of fire, was kindled

from a slight spark into a great flame; so that not only during my

waking hours, but during sleep, its light threw many a vision into my

mind. And how great the desire which Love excited to behold this Lady,

it would be impossible either to tell or to make understood. And not

only of her was I thus desirous, but of all those persons who had any

nearness to her, either as acquaintances or as relations. Oh! how many

were the nights, when the eyes of other persons were closed in sleep,

that mine, wide open, gazed fixedly upon the tabernacle of my Love.

And as the rapidly increasing fire must of necessity be seen, it being

impossible for fire to remain hidden, the desire seized me to speak of

the Love that I could no longer restrain within me. And although I

could receive but little help from my own counsel, yet, inasmuch as,

either from the will of Love or from my own promptness, I drew nigh to

it many times, I deliberated, and I saw that, in speaking of Love,

there could be no more beautiful nor more profitable speech than that

which commends the beloved person. And in this deliberation three

reasons assisted me. One of them was self-love, which is the source of

all the rest, as every one sees. For there is no more lawful nor more

courteous way of doing honour to one's self than by doing honour to

one's friend; and, since friendship cannot exist between the unlike,

wherever one sees friendship, likeness is understood; and wherever

likeness is understood, thither runs public praise or blame. And from

this reason two great lessons may be learnt: the one is, never to wish

that any vicious man should seem your friend, for in that case a bad

opinion is formed of him who has made the evil man his friend; the

other is, that no one ought to blame his friend publicly, because, if

you consider well the aforesaid reason, he but points to himself with

his finger in his eye.

The second reason was the desire for the duration of this friendship;

wherefore it is to be known, as the Philosopher says in the ninth book

of the Ethics, in the friendship of persons of unequal position it is

requisite, for the preservation of that friendship, for a certain

proportion to exist between them, which may reduce the dissimilarity

to a similarity, as between the master and the servant. For, although

the servant cannot render the same benefit to the master that is

conferred on him, yet he ought to render the best that he can, with so

much solicitude and freewill that that which is dissimilar in itself

may become similar through the evidence of good-will, which proves the

friendship, confirms and preserves it. Wherefore I, considering myself

lower than that Lady, and perceiving myself benefited by her,

endeavoured to praise her according to my ability. And, if it be not

similar of itself, my prompt freewill proves at least that if I could

I would do more, and thus it makes its friendship similar to that of

this gentle Lady.

The third reason was an argument of prudence; for, as Boethius says,

"It is not sufficient to look only at that which is before the eyes,

that is, at the Present; and, therefore, Prudence, Foresight, is given

to us, which looks beyond to that which may happen." I say that I

thought that for a long time I might be reproached by many with levity

of mind, on hearing that I had turned from my first Love. Wherefore,

to remove this reproach, there was no better argument than to state

who the Lady was who had thus changed me; that, by her manifest

excellence, they might gain some perception of her virtue; and that,

by the comprehension of her most exalted virtue, they might be able to

see that all stability of mind could be in that mutability: and,

therefore, they should not judge me light and unstable. I then began

to praise this Lady, and if not in the most suitable manner, at least

as well as I could at first; and I began to say: "Love, reasoning of

my Lady in my mind." This Song chiefly has three parts. The first is

the whole of the first two stanzas, in which I speak in a preliminary

manner. The second is the whole of the six following stanzas, in which

is described that which is intended, i.e., the praise of that gentle

Lady; the first of which begins: "The Sun sees not in travel round the

earth." The third part is in the last two stanzas, in which,

addressing myself to the Song, I purify it from all doubtful

interpretation. And these three parts remain to be discussed now in

due order.

CHAPTER II.

Turning, then, to the First Part, which was composed as a Proem or

Preface to the Song or Poem, I say that it is fitly divided into three

parts. In the first place, it alludes to the ineffable condition of

this theme; secondly, it describes my insufficiency to speak of it in

a perfect manner; and this second part begins: "If I would tell of her

what thus I hear." Finally, I excuse myself for my insufficiency, for

which they ought not to lay blame to my charge; and I commence this

part when I say: "If my Song fail."

I begin, then: "Love, reasoning of my Lady in my mind," where in the

first place it is to be seen who this speaker is, and what this place

is in which I say that he is speaking. Love, taking him in his true

sense, and considering him subtly, is no other than the spiritual

union of the Soul with the beloved object; into which union, of its

own nature, the Soul hastens sooner or later, according as it is free

or impeded. And the reason for that natural disposition may be this:

each substantial form proceeds from its First Cause, which is God, as

is written in the book of Causes; and they receive not diversity from

that First Cause, which is the most simple, but from the secondary

causes, and from the material into which it descends. Wherefore, in

the same book it is written, when treating of the infusion of the

Divine Goodness: "The bounties and good gifts make diverse things,

through the concurrence of that which receives them." Wherefore, since

each effect retains somewhat of the nature of its cause, as Alfarabio

says when he affirms that that which has been the first cause of a

round body has in some way an essentially round form, so each form in

some way has the essence of the Divine Nature in itself; not that the

Divine Nature can be divided and communicated to these, but

participated in by these, almost in the same way that the other stars

participate in the nature of the Sun. And the nobler the form, the

more does it retain of that Divine Nature.

Wherefore the human Soul, which is the noblest form of all those which

are generated under Heaven, receives more from the Divine Nature than

any other. And since it is most natural to wish to be in God, for as

in the book quoted above one reads, the first thing is to exist, and

before that there is nothing, the human Soul desires to exist

naturally with all possible desire. And since its existence depends

upon God, and is preserved by Him, it naturally desires and longs to

be united to God, and so add strength to its own being. And since, in

the goodness of Human Nature, Reason gives us proof of the Divine, it

follows that, naturally, the Human Soul is united therewith by the

path of the spirit so much the sooner, and so much the more firmly, in

proportion as those good qualities appear more perfect; which

appearance of perfection is achieved according as the power of the

Soul to produce a good impression is strong and clear, or is

trammelled and obscure. And this union is that which we call Love,

whereby it is possible to know that which is within the Soul, by

looking at those whom it loves in the world without. This Love, which

is the union of my Soul with that gentle Lady in whom so much of the

Divine Light was revealed to me, is that speaker of whom I speak;

since from him continuous thoughts were born, whilst gazing at and

considering the wondrous power of this Lady who was spiritually made

one with my Soul.

The place in which I say that he thus speaks is the Mind. But in

saying that it is the Mind, one does not attach more meaning to this

than before; and therefore it is to be seen what this Mind properly

signifies. I say, then, that the Philosopher, in the second book on

the Soul, when speaking of its powers, says that the Soul principally

has three powers, which are, to Live, to Feel, and to Reason: and he

says also to Move, but it is possible to make this one with feeling,

since every Soul moves that feels, either with all the senses or with

one alone; for the power to move is conjoined with feeling. And

according to that which he says, it is most evident that these powers

are so entwined that the one is a foundation of the other; and that

which is the foundation can of itself be divided; but the other, which

is built upon it, cannot be apart from its foundation. Therefore, the

Vegetative power, whereby one lives, is the foundation upon which one

feels, that is, sees, hears, tastes, smells, and touches; and this

vegetative power of itself can be the Soul, vegetative, as we see in

all the plants. The Sensitive cannot exist without that. We find

nothing that feels, and does not live. And this Sensitive power is the

foundation of the Intellectual, that is, of the Reason; so that, in

animate mortals, the Reasoning power is not found without the

Sensitive. But the Sensitive is found without Reason, as in the

beasts, and in the birds, and in the fishes, and in any brute animal,

as we see. And that Soul which contains all these powers is the most

perfect of all. And the Human Soul possessing the nobility of the

highest power, which is Reason, participates in the Divine Nature,

after the manner of an eternal Intelligence: for the Soul is ennobled

and denuded of matter by that Sovereign Power in proportion as the

Divine Light of Truth shines into it, as into an Angel; and Man is

therefore called by the Philosophers the Divine Animal.

In this most noble part of the Soul are many virtues, as the

Philosopher says, especially in the third chapter of the Soul, where

he says that there is in it a virtue which is called Scientific, and

one which is called Ratiocinative, or rather deliberative; and with

this there are certain virtues, as Aristotle says in that same place,

such as the Inventive and the Judging. And all these most noble

virtues, and the others which are in that excellent power, are

designated by that one word, which we sought to understand, that is,

Mind. Wherefore it is evident that by Mind is meant the highest,

noblest part of a man's Soul.

And it is seen to be so, for only of man and of the Divine substances

is this Mind predicated, as can plainly be seen in Boethius, who first

predicates it of men, where he says to Philosophy: "Thou, and God who

placed thee in the mind of men;" then he predicates it of God, when he

says: "Thou dost produce everything from the Divine Model, Thou most

beautiful One, bearing the beautiful World in Thy mind." Neither was

it ever predicated of brute animals; nay, of many men who appear

defective in the most perfect part, it does not seem that it ought to

be, or that it could be, predicated; and therefore such as these are

termed in the Latin Tongue _amenti_ and _dementi_, that is,

without mind. Hence one can now perceive that it is Mind which is the

perfect and most precious part of the Soul in which is God.

And that is the place where I say that Love discourses to me of my

Lady.

CHAPTER III.

Not without cause do I say that this Love was at work in my mind; but

it is said reasonably, in order to explain what this Love is, by the

place in which it works. Wherefore, it is to be known that each thing,

as is said above, for the reason shown above, has its especial Love,

as the simple bodies have Love, innate, each in its proper place.

Therefore the Earth always descends to the centre, the fire to the

circumference above near the Heaven of the Moon, and always ascends

towards that. The bodies first composed, such as are the minerals,

have love for the place where their generation is ordained, and in

which they increase, and from which they have vigour and power.

Wherefore, we see the loadstone always receive power from the place of

its generation. Each of the plants which are first animated, that is,

first animated with a vegetative soul has most evident love for a

particular place, according as its nature may require; and therefore

we see certain plants almost always grow by the side of the streams,

and certain others upon the mountain tops, and certain others grow by

the sea-shore, or at the foot of hills, which, if they are

transplanted, either die entirely or live a sad life, as it were, like

a being separated from his friend. The brute beasts have a most

evident love, not only for places, but we see also their love towards

each other. Men have their own love for things perfect and excellent;

and since Man, although his Soul is one substance alone, because of

his nobility, partakes of the nature of each of these things, he can

possess all these affections, and he does possess them all. By his

part in the nature of the simple body, as earth, naturally it tends

downwards; therefore, when he moves his body upwards, he becomes more

weary.

Because of the second nature, of the mixed body, it loves the place of

its generation, and even the time; and therefore each one naturally is

of more power in his own place and in his own time than in any other.

Wherefore, one reads in the History of Hercules, and in the greater

Ovid, and in Lucan, and in other Poets, that when fighting with the

Giant who was named Ant**, every time that the Giant was weary, and

laid his body down on the earth at full length, either by the will or

strength of Hercules, new strength and vigour then surged up in him,

drawn wholly from the Earth, in which and from which he was produced;

Hercules, perceiving this, at last seized him, and having compressed

and raised him above the Earth, he held him so tightly, without

allowing him to touch the Earth again, that he conquered Ant** by

excess of strength, and killed him. According to the testimony of the

books, this battle took place in Africa.

And because of the third nature, that is, of the plants, Man has a

love for a certain food, not inasmuch as it affects the senses, but in

so much as it is nutritious; and that particular food does the work of

that most perfect Nature, while certain other food, dissimilar, acts

but imperfectly. And therefore we see that certain food will make men

handsome, and strong-limbed, and very brightly coloured, and certain

other food will do the opposite of this.

And by the fourth nature, of the animals, that is, the sensitive, Man

has the other love, by which he loves according to the sensible

appearance, like the beasts; and this love in Man especially has need

of control, because of its excessive operation in the delights given,

especially through sight and touch.

And because of the fifth and last nature, which is the true Human

Nature, and, to use a better phrase, the Angelic, namely, the

Rational, Man has by it the Love of Truth and Virtue; and from this

Love is born true and perfect friendship from the honest intercourse

of which the Philosopher speaks in the eighth book of the Ethics, when

he treats of Friendship.

Wherefore, since this nature is termed Mind, as is proved above, I

spoke of Love as discoursing in my Mind in order to explain that this

Love was the Friendship which is born of that most noble nature, that

is, of Truth and Virtue, and to exclude each false opinion, by which

my Love might be suspected to spring from pleasure of the Senses.

I then say, "With constant pleasure," to make people understand its

continuance and its fervour. And I say that it often whispers "Things

over which the intellect may stray." And I speak truth, because my

thoughts, when reasoning of her, often sought to draw conclusions of

her, which I could not comprehend, and I was alarmed, so that I seemed

almost like one dazed, even as he who, looking with the eye along a

direct line, sees first the nearest things clearly; then, proceeding,

it sees them less clearly; then, further on, doubtfully; then,

proceeding an immense way, the sight is divided from the object, and

sees nothing. And this is one unspeakable thing of that which I have

taken for a theme; and consequently I relate the other when I say:

His words make music of so sweet a kind

That the Soul hears and feels, and cries, Ah, me,

That I want power to tell what thus I see!

And because I know not how to tell it, I say that my soul laments,

saying, "Ah, me, that I want power." And this is the other unspeakable

thing, that the tongue is not a complete and perfect follower of all

that the intellect sees. And I say, "That the Soul hears and feels;"

hearing, as to the words, and feeling, as to the sweetness of the

sound.

CHAPTER IV.

Now that the two ineffable parts of this matter have been discussed,

we must proceed to discuss words that describe my insufficiency.

I say, then, that my insufficiency arises from a double cause, even as

in a twofold manner the exalted nature of my Lady surpasses all, in

the way which has been told. For I am compelled, by the poverty of my

intellect, to omit much of the truth concerning her which shone into

my mind like rays of light, but which my mind receives like a

transparent body, unable to gather up the ends thereof and reflect

them back. And this I express in that following part: "First, all that

Reason cannot make its own I needs must leave." Then, when I say, "And

of what can be known," I say that not even to that which I do

understand am I sufficient, because my tongue is not so eloquent that

it could tell that which is discoursed in my thoughts concerning her.

It may be seen, therefore, that, with respect to the Truth, it is very

little that I shall say; and this redounds to her great praise, if

well considered, in that which was the main intention. And it is

possible to say that this form of speech came indeed from the workshop

of Rhetoric, which on every side lays its hand upon the main

intention. Then, when it says, "If my Song fail," I excuse myself for

my fault, which ought not, then, to be blamed when others see that my

words are far below the dignity of this Lady. And I say that, if the

defect is in my rhymes, that is, in my words, which are appointed to

discourse of her, for this are to be blamed the weakness of the

intellect and the abruptness of our speech: "blame wit and words,"

which are overpowered by the thought, so that they cannot follow it

entirely, especially there where the thought is born of love, because

there the Soul searches more deeply than elsewhere. It would be quite

possible for any one to say: Thou dost excuse and accuse thyself all

in one breath, which is a reason for blame, not for escape from blame,

inasmuch as the blame, which is mine, is cast on the intellect and on

the speech; for, if it be good, I ought to be praised for it in so

much as it is so; and if it be defective, I ought to be blamed. To

this it is possible to reply, briefly, that I do not accuse myself,

but that I excuse myself in truth. And therefore it is to be known,

according to the opinion of the Philosopher in the third book of the

Ethics, that man is worthy of praise or of blame only in those things

which it is in his power to do or not to do; but in those things over

which he has no power he deserves neither blame nor praise, since

either the praise or blame is to be attributed to some other, although

the things may be parts of the man himself. Therefore, we ought not to

blame the man because his body, from his birth, may be ugly, since it

was not in his power to make it beautiful; but our blame should fall

on the evil disposition of the matter whereof he is made, whose source

was a defect of Nature. And even so we ought not to praise the man for

the beauty of form which he may have from his birth, for he was not

the maker of it; but we ought to praise the artificer, that is, Human

Nature, who shapes her material into so much beauty when she is not

impeded. And therefore the priest said well to the Emperor who laughed

and scoffed at the ugliness of his body: "The Lord, He is God: It is

He that hath made us, and not we ourselves;" and these are the words

of the Prophet in a verse of the Psalms, written neither more nor less

than according to the reply of the Priest.

And therefore let the wicked evil-born ones perceive that, if they put

their chief care in the adornment of their persons, it must be with

all modesty; for to do that is no other than to adorn the work of

another, that is, Nature, and to abandon their own proper work.

Returning, then, to the proposition, I say that our intellect, through

defect of the power through which it sees organic power, that is, the

imagination, is not able to ascend to certain things, because the

imagination cannot help it and has not the wherewithal, such as are

the substances apart from matter, which (if we can have any knowledge

of them) we cannot fully comprehend.

And the man is not to blame for this, because he was not the maker of

this defect; nay, Universal Nature did this, which is God, who wills

that in this life we be without this light. And because He was the

cause, it would be presumptuous to argue concerning it. So that if my

earnest thought transported me into a place where my imagination

failed my intellect, I was not to blame if I could not possibly

understand.

Again, a bound is set to our understanding in each operation thereof;

but not by us, but by Universal Nature; and therefore it is to be

known that the bounds of the understanding are wider in thought than

in speech, and wider in speech than in signs. Hence, if our thought,

not only that which fails in a perfect intellect, but also that which

in a perfect intellect attains its end, is the conqueror of speech, we

are not to blame, because we are not the makers of it. And therefore I

prove that I do truthfully excuse myself when I say: "Blame wit and

words, whose force Fails to tell all that I hear Love discourse;" for,

sufficiently clear ought to appear the good-will, which alone we

should regard in respect to merits that are human.

And thus is now explained the first principal part of this Song which

flows from my hand.

CHAPTER V.

Discourse on the first part of the Song has now made its meaning open

and clear, and it is needful to proceed to the second; for the clearer

perception of which, three divisions are desirable, according as it is

contained in three sections. For in the first part I praise that Lady

entirely and generally, as in the Soul so in the body; in the second

part I descend to especial commendation of the Soul; and in the third,

to especial praise of the body. The first part begins: "The Sun sees

not in travel round the earth;" the second begins: "Her Maker saw that

she was good;" the third begins: "Rain from her beauty little flames

of fire," and these parts or divisions in due order are to be

discussed.

I say then: "The Sun sees not in travel round the earth;" where it is

to be known, in order to have perfect understanding thereof, how the

Earth is circled round by the Sun. In the first place, I say that by

the Earth I do not here mean the whole body of the Universe, but only

that part of the sea and land, following the common speech, which is

thus wont to designate it, whereupon some one exclaims, "This man has

seen all the World," meaning "this part of the sea and land." This

World Pythagoras and his followers asserted to be one of the stars,

and they also said that there was another opposite to it, similar to

it: and they called that one Antictona; and he said that both were in

one sphere which revolved from East to West, and by this revolution

the Sun was circled round us, and now he was seen, and now he was not

seen. And he said that the fire was in the centre of these,

considering the fire to be a more noble body than the water and than

the Earth, and giving the noblest centre to the four simple bodies; he

said that the fire, when it appeared to ascend, according to strict

truth descended to the centre. Then Plato was of another opinion, and

he wrote in a book of his, which he called Tim**, that the Earth with

the sea was indeed the centre of all, but that its whole sphere

revolved round its centre, following the first movement of the

Heavens, but much slower on account of its gross material, and because

of the immense distance from that first moved. These opinions are

confuted in the second chapter, Of Heaven and the World, by that

glorious Philosopher, to whom Nature opened her secrets most freely;

and by him it is therein proved that this World, the Earth, is of

itself stable and fixed to all eternity. And his reasons, which

Aristotle states in order to break those other opinions and to affirm

the truth, it is not my intention here to narrate; therefore, let it

be enough for those to whom I speak, to know, upon his great

authority, that this Earth is fixed, and does not revolve, and that

it, with the sea, is the centre of the Heavens. These Heavens revolve

round this centre continuously, even as we see; in which revolution

there must of necessity be two fixed Poles, and a circle equally

distant from these round which all especially revolves. Of these two

Poles, the one is visible to almost all the discovered Earth, that is,

the Northern Pole; the other is hidden from almost all the discovered

Earth, that is, the Southern Pole. The circle spread from them is that

part of Heaven under which the Sun revolves when it is in Aries and

Libra. Wherefore, it is to be known that if a stone could fall from

this Pole of ours, it would fall there beyond into the sea precisely

upon that surface of the sea, where, if a man could be, he would

always have the Sun above the middle of his head; and I believe that

from Rome to that place, going in a straight line to the North, the

distance may be almost two thousand seven hundred miles, or a little

more or less. Imagining, then, in order to understand better what I

say, that there is in that place a city, and that its name may be

Maria, I say again that if from the other Pole, that is, the Southern,

a stone could fall, that it would fall upon that part of the ocean

which is precisely on this ball opposite to Maria; and I believe that

from Rome to where this second stone would fall, going in a direct

line to the South, the distance may be seven thousand five hundred

miles, a little more or less. And here let us imagine another city,

which may have the name of Lucia; and the distance, from whatever part

one draws the line, is ten thousand two hundred miles between the one

and the other, that is, half the circumference of this ball, so that

the citizens of Maria hold the soles of the feet opposite the soles of

the feet of the citizens of Lucia. Let us imagine also a circle upon

this ball which is in every part equi-distant from Maria as from

Lucia. I believe that this circle, according to what I understand by

the assertions of the Astrologers, and by that of Albertus Magnus in

his book On the Nature of Places and on the Properties of the

Elements, and also by the testimony of Lucan in his ninth book, would

divide this Earth uncovered by the sea in the Meridian, almost through

all the extreme end of the first climate, where there are amongst the

other people the Garamanti, who are almost always naked; to whom came

Cato with the people of Rome when flying from the dominion of C***.

Having marked out these three places upon this ball, one can easily

see how the Sun circles round it.

I say, then, that the Heaven of the Sun revolves from West to East,

not directly against the diurnal movement, that is, of the day and

night, but obliquely against that, so that its mid-circle, which is

equally between its Poles, in which is the body of the Sun, cuts into

two opposite parts the circle of the two first Poles, in the beginning

of Aries and in the beginning of Libra; and it is divided by two arcs

from it, one towards the North and one towards the South; the points

of these two said arcs are equi-distant from the first circle in every

part by twenty-three degrees and one point more, and the one point is

the tropic of Cancer, and the other is the tropic of Capricorn;

therefore it must be that Maria in the sign of Aries can see, when the

Sun sinks below the mid-circle of the first Poles, this Sun to revolve

round the Earth below, or rather the sea, like a millstone, of which

only one half of its body appears, and can see this come rising up

after the manner of the screw of a vine-press, so much so that it

completes ninety-one rotations, or a little more. When these rotations

are completed, its ascension is to Maria almost as much in proportion

as it ascends to us in the half-third, that is, of the equal day and

night; and if a man could stand in Maria, with his face always turned

to the Sun, he would see that Sun pass by on the right. Then by the

same way it seems to descend another ninety-one rotations, or a little

more, so much so that it circles round below the Earth, or rather sea,

not showing the whole of itself; and then it is hidden, and Lucia

begins to see it, which, the same as Maria, then sees it to ascend and

to descend around itself with the same number of rotations. And if a

man could stand in Lucia, with his face always turned towards the Sun,

he would see it pass to the left. Therefore, it is possible to see

that these places have in the year one day of six months' duration,

and one night of the same length of time; and when one has the day the

other has the night.

It must be also that the circle where the Garamanti are, as has been

said above, upon this ball, can see the Sun revolve precisely above

them, not after the fashion of a mill-stone, but of a wheel, which

cannot in any part be seen except the centre, when it goes under

Aries. And then it is seen to depart from its place immediately above

and go towards Maria ninety-one days, or a little more, and by so many

to return to its position; and then, when it has turned back, it goes

before Libra, and even so departs and goes towards Lucia ninety-one

days, or a little more, and in so many returns to its position. And

this place always has the day equal with the night, either on this

side or on that, as the Sun goes, and twice a year it has the summer

of intense heat, and two little winters. It must also be that the two

distances, which are midway from the two imaginary Cities and the

mid-circle, see the Sun variously, according as they are remote from,

and near to, these places.

Now, by what has been said, this can be seen by him who has good

understanding, to which it is well to give a little fatigue. He can

now perceive that, by the Divine Providence, the World is so ordained

that the sphere of the Sun, being revolved and turned round to one

point, this ball whereon we are in every part receives an equal share

of light and darkness. Oh, ineffable Wisdom, Thou which didst thus

ordain! Oh, how poor and feeble is our mind when seeking to comprehend

Thee! And you, O men, for whose benefit and pleasure I write, in what

fearful blindness do you live if you never raise your eyes upwards to

these things, but keep them fixed in the mud of your foolishness.

CHAPTER VI.

In the preceding chapter is shown after what manner the Sun travels

round the Earth; so that now one can proceed to demonstrate the

meaning of the part to which this thought belongs. I say, then, that

in that first part I begin to praise that Lady by comparison with

other things. And I say that the Sun, circling round the Earth, sees

nothing so gentle as that Lady; wherefore it follows that she is,

according to the letter, the most gentle of all things that the sun

shines upon. And it says: "Till the hour;" wherefore it is to be known

that "hour" is understood in two ways by the Astrologers. The one is,

that of the day and of the night they make twenty-four hours--twelve

of the day, twelve of the night, however long or short the day may be.

And these hours are short and long in the day and night according as

the day and night increase and diminish. And these hours the Church

uses when it says, Prima, Tertia, Sexta, and Nona--first, third,

sixth, and ninth; and these are termed hours temporal. The other mode

is, that, making of the day and of the night twenty-four hours, the

day sometimes has fifteen hours and the night nine; and sometimes the

night has sixteen and the day eight, according as the day and night

increase and diminish; and they term these hours equal at the

Equinox, and those that are termed temporal are always the same,

because, the day being equal to the night, it must happen thus.

Then when I say, "All Minds of Heaven wonder at her worth," I praise

her, not having respect to any other thing. And I say that the

Intelligences of Heaven behold her, and that the people here below

think of that gentle Lady when they have more of that peace which

delights them. And here it is to be known that each Mind or Intellect

in Heaven above, according to that which is written in the book Of

Causes, knows that which is above itself and that which is below

itself; therefore it knows God as its Cause; therefore it knows that

which is below itself as its effect.

And since God is the most universal cause of everything, to know Him

is to know all, according to the degree of the Intelligence; wherefore

all the Intelligences know the human form in as far as it is by

intention fixed or determined in the Divine Mind. The moving

Intelligences especially know it; since they are the most especial

causes of it, and of every kind of form; and they know the most

perfect, as far as they can know it, as their rule and pattern.

And if this human form, copied and individualized, is not perfect, it

is not the fault of the said copy or image, but of the matter from

which the individual is formed. Therefore when I say, "All Minds in

Heaven wonder at her worth," I wish to express no other than that she

is thus made, even as the express image of the human form in the

Divine Mind. And each Mind there above beholds her by virtue of that

quality which exists especially in those angelic Minds which build up

and shape, with Heaven, things that exist below. And to confirm this,

I subjoin when I say, "Mortals, enamoured, find her in their thought

When Love his peace into their minds has brought," where it is to be

known that each thing especially desires its perfection, and in that

its every desire finds peace and calm, and for that peace each thing

is desired.

And this is that desire which always makes every pleasure appear

incomplete, for there is no joy or pleasure so great in this life that

it can quench the thirst in our Soul, for always the desire for that

perfection remains in the Mind. And since this Lady is truly that

perfection, I say that people here below receive great delight when

they have most peace; for she abides then in their thoughts. For this

Lady, I say, is perfect in as high a degree as it is possible for

Human Nature to be.

Then when I say, "Her Maker saw that she was good," I prove that not

only this Lady is the most perfect in the human race, but more than

the most perfect, inasmuch as she receives from the Divine Goodness

more than human dues. Wherefore one can reasonably believe that as

each Master loves most his best work far more than the other work, so

God loves the good human being far above the rest. And forasmuch as

His Bounty is of necessity not restricted by any limit, His love has

no regard to the amount due to him who receives, but it overflows in

gifts, and in the blessings of power and grace. Wherefore I say here,

that this God, who gave life or being to this Lady, through love or

charity for her perfection pours into her of His Bounty beyond the

limits of the amount due to our nature.

Then when I say, "On her pure soul," I prove this that has been said

with reasonable testimony, which gives us to know that, as the

Philosopher says in the second chapter, On the Soul, the Soul is the

act of the Body; and if it be its act, it is its Cause; and as it is

written in the book before, quoted, On Causes, each Cause infuses into

its effect some of the goodness which it receives from its own Cause,

which is "God." Wherefore, since in her are seen wonderful things, so

much so on the part of the body that they make each beholder desirous

to see those things, it is evident that her form, which is her Soul,

guides it as its proper Cause and receives miraculously the gracious

goodness of God.

And thus is proved, by that appearance, which exceeds the due

appointment of our nature, which in her is most perfect, as has been

said above, that this Lady is by God endowed with good gifts and made

a noble thing. And this is the whole Literal meaning of the first

section of the second principal part.

CHAPTER VII.

Having commended this Lady generally, both according to the Soul and

according to the Body, I proceed to praise her specially according to

the Soul.

And first I praise her Soul for its goodness, that is great in itself;

then I commend it for a goodness that is great in others, and useful

to the World. And that second part begins when I say, firstly, "On her

fair frame Virtue Divine descends;" where it is to be known that the

Divine Goodness descends into all things, and otherwise they could not

exist; but, although this goodness springs from the First Cause, it is

received diversely, according to the more or less of virtue in the

recipients. Wherefore it is written in the book Of Causes: "The First

Goodness sends His good gifts forth upon things in one stream. Verily

each thing receives from this stream according to the manner of its

virtue and its being." And we can have a sensible, living example of

this in the Sun. We see the light of the Sun, which is one thing,

derived from one fountain, to be variously received by material

substances; as Albertus Magnus says in his book On the Intellect, that

certain bodies, through having mixed in themselves an excess of

transparent brightness, so soon as the Sun sees them they become so

bright that, by the multiplication of light within them, their aspect

is hardly discernible, and from themselves they render back to others

great splendour or brilliancy, such as is gold and any gem. Sure I am

that by being entirely transparent, not only do they receive the

light, but that they do not intercept it; nay, they pass it on, like

stained glass, coloured with their own colour, to other things. And

there are certain other bodies so overpowering in the purity of the

transparency that they become so radiant as to overpower the

adjustments of the eye, and you cannot look at them without fatigue of

sight; such as are the mirrors. Certain others are so free from

transparency, that but little light can they receive; as is the Earth.

Thus the Goodness of God is received in sundrywise by the sundry

substances, that is, in one way by the Angels, who are without

grossness of matter, as if transparent through their purity of form;

and otherwise by the human Soul, which although on one side it may be

free from matter, on another side it is impeded: even as the man who

is all in the water but his head, of whom one cannot say that he is

entirely in the water, or entirely out of it. Again otherwise it is

received by the animals, whose soul is wholly comprised in matter; but

I say that the soul of animals receives of the Goodness of God in

proportion as it is ennobled. Again otherwise is it received by the

minerals; and otherwise by the Earth, than by the others, because the

Earth is most material, and therefore most remote, and most out of all

proportion to the First most simple and most high Cause, which is

alone Intellectual, that is to say, God.

And although here below there may be placed general degrees of

excellence, nevertheless, singular degrees of excellence may also be

placed; that is to say, that amongst human Souls one Soul may receive

more bountifully than another. And since in the intellectual order of

the Universe one ascends and descends by degrees almost continuous

from the lowest form to the highest, and from the highest to the

lowest, as we see in the visible order of things; and between the

Angelic Nature, which is intellectual, and the Human Soul there may be

no step, but the one rise to the other as it were continuously through

the height of the degrees; and from the Human Soul and the most

perfect soul of the brute animals, again, there may not be any break

in the descent. For as we see many men so vile and of such low

condition that it seems almost that it can be no other than bestial,

so it is to be asserted and firmly believed that there may be some men

so noble and of a condition so exalted that it can be no other than

that of the Angel. Otherwise the human species could not be continued

on every side, which cannot be. Such as these Aristotle calls, in the

seventh book of the Ethics, Divine; and such a one I say that this

Lady is, so that the Divine Virtue, after the manner that it descends

into the Angel, descends into her.

Then when I say, "Fair one who doubt," I prove this by the experience

that it is possible to have of it in those operations which are proper

to the rational Soul, wherein the Divine Light shines forth more

quickly, that is, in the speech and in the actions, which are wont to

be termed conduct and deportment. Wherefore it is to be known that

only man amongst the animals speaks, and has conduct and acts which

are called rational, because he alone has Reason in himself. And if

any one might wish to say, in contradiction, that a certain bird can

speak, as appears true, especially of the magpie and of the parrot;

and that some beast performs acts, or rather things, by rule, as

appears in the ape and in some other; I reply that it is not true that

they speak, nor that they have rules, because they have not Reason,

from which these things must proceed; neither is there in them the

principle of these operations; neither do they know what that is;

neither do they understand that by those acts something is intended;

but that only which they see and hear they represent, even as the

image of somebody may be reflected in a glass. Wherefore, as in the

mirror the corporal image which the mirror shows is not true, so the

image of Reason, in the acts and the speech which the brute soul

represents, or rather shows, is not true. I say that what gentle Lady

soever doubts should "go with her, mark the grace In all her acts." I

do not say man, because one can derive experience more modestly from

the woman than from the man; and I say she will find that "Downward

from Heaven bends An angel when she speaks." For her speech, because

of its exalted character and because of its sweetness, kindles in the

mind of him who hears it a thought of Love, which I call a celestial

Spirit; since from Heaven is the source and from Heaven the intention

thereof, as has been already narrated. From which thought I pass to a

firm opinion that this Lady is of miraculous power, that there is "A

power in her by none of us possessed." Her actions, by their suavity

and by their moderation, "Rival in calls to Love that Love must hear."

They cause Love to awaken and again to hear whenever he is sown by the

power of bountiful Nature. Which natural seed acts as in the next

treatise is shown.

Then when I say, "Fair in all like her, fairest she'll appear Who is

most like her," I intend to narrate how the goodness and the power of

her soul are good and useful to others; and, firstly, how useful it is

to other women, saying that she is "Fair in all like her," where I

present a clear or bright example to the women, from gazing at which

they can make their beauty seem gentle in following the same.

Secondly, I relate how useful she is to all people, saying that her

aspect assists our faith, which is more useful to the whole Human Race

than all other things beside; for it is that by which we escape from

Eternal Death and acquire Eternal Life; and she assists our Faith, for

the first foundation of our Faith is on the miracles performed by Him

who was crucified, who created our Reason, and willed that it should

be less than His power. He performed these miracles, then, in His own

name for His saints; and many men are so obstinate that they are in

doubt of those miracles if there be the least mist or cloud around

them; and they cannot believe any miracle unless they have visible

experience of the same; and this Lady is a thing visibly miraculous,

of which the eyes of men daily can have experience, and which can make

the other miracles appear possible to us. Wherefore it is manifest

that this Lady, with her marvellous aspect, assists our Faith. And,

therefore, finally I say:

We, content to call

Her face a Miracle, have Faith made sure:

For that God made her ever to endure.

And thus ends the second section of the second principal part of the

Song according to its Literal meaning.

CHAPTER VIII.

Amongst the Works of Divine Wisdom, Man is the most wonderful,

considering how in one form the Divine Power joined three natures; and

in such a form how subtly harmonized his body must be. It is organized

for all his distinct powers; wherefore, because of the great concord

there must be, among so many organs, to secure their perfect response

to each other, in all the multitude of men but few are perfect. And if

this Creature is so wonderful, certainly it is a dread thing to

discourse of his conditions, not only in words, but even in thought.

So that to this apply those words of Ecclesiastes: "I beheld all the

Work of God, that a Man cannot find out the Work that is done under

the Sun." And those other words there, where he says: "Let not thine

heart be hasty to utter anything before God: for God is in Heaven, and

thou upon Earth: therefore let thy words be few." I, then, who in this

third section intend to speak of a certain condition of such a

creature, inasmuch as, through the goodness of the Soul, visible

beauty appears in his body, I begin timorously uncertain, intending,

if not fully, at least partially, to untie such a knot as this. I say,

then, that since the meaning of that section is clear, wherein this

Lady is praised on the part of the Soul, we are now to proceed and to

see how it is when I say: "Her aspect shows delights of Paradise." I

praise her on the part of the body, and I say that in her aspect

bright gleams appear which show us pleasant things, and amongst others

those of Paradise.

The most noble state of all, and that which is the crown of every

good, is to be at peace within one's self; and this is to be happy.

And this content is truly (although in another manner) in her aspect;

so that, by looking at her, the people find peace, so sweetly does her

Beauty feed the eyes of the beholders; but in another way, for the

Peace that is perpetual in Paradise is not attainable by any man.

And since some one might ask where this wonderful content appears in

this Lady, I distinguish in her person two parts, in which human

pleasure and displeasure most appear. Wherefore it is to be known that

in whatever part the Soul most fulfils its office, it strives most

earnestly to adorn that part, and there it does its work most subtly.

Wherefore we see that in the Face of Man, where it fulfils its office

more than in any other outward part, it works so subtly that, by

making itself subtle therein as much as its material permits, it

causes that no face is like another, because its utmost power over

matter, which is dissimilar in almost all, is there brought into

action; and because in the face the Soul works especially in two

places, as if in those two places all the three Natures of the Soul

had jurisdiction, that is, in the Eyes and in the Mouth, these it

chiefly adorns, and there it spends its care to make all beautiful if

it can. And in these two places I say that those pleasures of content

appear, saying: "Seen in her eyes and in her smiling face;" the which

two places, by means of a beautiful comparison, may be designated the

balconies of the woman who dwells in the house of the body, she being

the Soul; because there, although veiled, as it were, the Soul often

shows itself. The Soul shows itself so evidently in the eyes that it

is possible to know its present passion if you look attentively.

Six passions are proper to the human Soul of which the Philosopher

makes mention in his Rhetoric, namely, Grace, Zeal, Mercy, Envy, Love,

and Shame; and with whichever of these the Soul is impassioned, there

comes into the window of the Eyes the semblance of it, unless it be

repressed within, and shut from view by great power of will. Wherefore

some one formerly plucked out his eyes that an inward shame should not

appear without, as Statius the Poet says of the Theban Oedipus when he

says that with eternal night he loosed his damn* shame.

It reveals itself in the Mouth, like colour behind glass as it were.

And what is a smile or a laugh except a coruscation of the Soul's

delight, a light shot outwardly from that which shines within? And

therefore it is right for a man to reveal his Soul by a well-tempered

cheerfulness, smiling moderately with a due restraint, and with slight

movement of the limbs; so that the Lady, that is, the Soul, which

then, as has been said, shows herself, may appear modest, and not

dissolute. Therefore the book on the Four Cardinal Virtues commands us

thus: "Let thy smile be without loud laughter, that is, without

cackling like a hen."

Ah, the sweet wonder of my Lady's smile, which is never seen but in

the eyes!

And I say of these delights seen in her eyes and smile: "Love brought

them there as to his dwelling place;" where it is possible to consider

Love in a twofold form. First, the Love of the Soul, peculiar or

proper to these places; secondly, universal Love, which inclines

things to love and to be loved, which ordains the Soul to rule these

parts.

Then, when I say, "They dazzle Reason," I excuse myself for this, that

it appears of such exceeding beauty that I can tell but little, owing

to its overpowering force; and I say that I can say but little

concerning it for two reasons. The one is, that those things which

appear in her aspect overpower our intellect; and I tell how this

conquest is made: that "They dazzle Reason, as sunbeams our eyes,"

when the Sun overpowers our feeble sight, if not also the healthy and

the strong. The other is, that the man cannot look fixedly at it,

because the Soul becomes inebriate therein; so that incontinently,

after gazing thereat, it fails in all its operations.

Then, when I say, "Rain from her beauty little flames of fire," I

recur to discourse of its effect, since to discourse entirely of it is

not possible. Wherefore it is to be known that all those things which

subdue our intellect, so that it is unable to see what they are, are

most suitably to be discussed in their effects; wherefore of God, and

of His separate substances, and of the first matter we can thus have

some knowledge. And therefore I say that the beauty of that Lady rains

little flames of fire, meaning the ardour of Love and of Charity,

"Made living with a spirit," that is, Love informed by a gentle

spirit, which is direct desire, through which and from which "to

create Good thoughts;" and it not only does this, but it crushes and

destroys its opposite, the innate vices which are especially the foes

of all good thoughts.

And here it is to be known that there are certain vices in the Man to

which he is naturally disposed; as certain men of a choleric

complexion are disposed to anger: and such vices as these are innate,

that is, natural. Others are the vices of habit, for which not the

complexion, but habit, or custom, is to blame; such as intemperance,

and especially intemperance in wine. But these vices are subdued and

put to flight by good habits, and the man is made virtuous thereby

without finding fatigue in his moderation, as the Philosopher says in

the second book of the Ethics. Truly there is this difference between

the natural passions and the habitual, that through use of good morals

the habitual entirely vanish, because their origin, the evil habit, is

destroyed by its opposite; but the natural, the source of which is in

the complexion of the passionate man, although they may be made much

lighter by good morals, yet they do not entirely disappear as far as

regards the first cause, but they almost wholly disappear in act,

because custom is not equal to nature, which is the source of such a

passion. And therefore the man is more praiseworthy who guides himself

and rules himself when he is of an evil disposition by nature, in

opposition to natural impulse, than he who, being gifted with a good

disposition by nature, carries himself naturally well; as it is more

praiseworthy to control a bad horse than one that is not troublesome.

I say, then, that those little flames which rain down from her beauty

destroy the innate, or the natural, vices, to make men understand that

her beauty has power to renew Nature in those who behold it, which is

a miraculous thing. And this confirms that which is observed above in

the other chapter when I say that she is the helper of our Faith.

Finally, when I say, "Lady, who may desire Escape from blame," I

infer, under pretext of admonishing another, the end for which so much

beauty was made. And I say that what lady believes her beauty to be

open to blame through some defect, let her look on this most perfect

example; where it is understood that it is designed not only to

improve and raise the good, but also to convert evil to good. And,

finally, it is subjoined that she is "God's thought," that is, from

the Mind of God. And this to make men understand that, by design of

the Creator, Nature is made to produce such an effect.

And thus ends the whole of the second chief part of the Song.

CHAPTER IX.

The order of the present treatise requires, after these two parts of

the Song have been discussed, according to my intention, that we now

proceed to the third, in which I intend to purify the Song from a

reproof which might be unfavourable to it.

And it is this, that before I composed it, this Lady seeming to me to

be somewhat fierce and haughty against me, I made a little ballad, in

which I called her proud and angry, which appears to be contrary to

that which is here reasoned; and therefore I turn to the Song, and,

under colour of teaching it how it is proper that it should excuse

itself, I make an excuse for that which came before. And this, when

one addresses inanimate things, is a figure which is called by

rhetoricians, Prosopopoeia, and the Poets often use it. "My Song, it

seems you speak this to oppose," The intention of which address, to

make it more easy of understanding, it behoves me to divide into three

sections: first, one affirms wherefore excuse is necessary; then, one

proceeds with the excuse, when I say, "Though Heaven, you know;"

finally, I speak to the Song as to a person well skilled in that which

it is right to do when I say, "Be such excuse allowed."

I say, then, in the first place: "My Song, it seems you speak this to

oppose The saying of a sister Song of mine." For the sake of

similitude, I say sister; for as that woman is called a sister who is

born of the same father, so may a man call that work a sister which is

wrought by the same worker; for our work is in some degree a thing

begotten. And I say why it seems opposed or contrary to that sister

Song, saying: "This lovely Lady whom you count divine, Your sister

called disdainful and morose." This accusation being affirmed, I

proceed to the excuse, by quoting an example, wherein the Truth is

quite opposite to the appearance of Truth, and it is quite possible to

take the false semblance of Truth for Truth itself, regarding Truth

itself as Falsehood. I say: "Though Heaven, you know, is ever high and

pure, Men's eyes may fail, and find a star obscure;" where it is shown

that it is the property of colour and light to be visible, as

Aristotle affirms in the second book Of the Soul and in the book on

Sense and Sensation. Other things, indeed, are visible, but it is not

their property to be so, nor to be tangible, as in form, height,

number, motion, and rest, which are said to be subject to the Common

Sense, and which we comprehend by union of many senses; but of colour

and light it is the property to be visible, because with the sight

only we comprehend them. These visible things, both those of which it

is the property and those subject to the Common Sense, inasmuch as

they are visible, come within the eye; I do not say the things, but

their form; through the transparent medium, not really, but by

intention, as it were through transparent glass. And in the humour

which is in the pupil of the eye this current which makes the form

visible is completed, because that humour is closed behind like a

mirror which has its glass backed with lead; so that it cannot pass

farther on, but strikes there, after the manner of a ball, and stops;

so that the form which does not appear in the transparent medium,

having reached the disc behind, shines brightly thereon; and this is

the reason why the image appears only in the glass which has lead at

the back.

From this pupil the visual spirit, which is continued from it to the

part of the Brain, the anterior, where the sensitive power is,

suddenly, without loss of time, depicts it as in the clear spring of a

fountain; and thus we see. Wherefore, in order that its vision be

truthful, that is, such as the visible thing is in itself, the medium

through which the form comes to the eye must be without any colour,

and so also the humour of the pupil; otherwise the visible form would

be stained of the colour of the medium and of that of the pupil. And

this is the reason why they who wish to make things appear of a

certain colour in a mirror interpose that colour between the glass and

the lead, the glass being pressed over it.

Plato and other Philosophers said, indeed, that our sight was not

because the visible came into the eye, but because the visual virtue

went out to the visible form. And this opinion is confuted by the

Philosopher in that book of his on Sense and Sensation. Having thus

considered this law of vision, one can easily perceive how, although

the star is always in one way bright, clear, and resplendent, and

receives no change whatever except that of local movement, as is

proved in that book on Heaven and the World, yet from many causes it

may appear dim and obscure; since it may appear thus on account of the

medium, the atmosphere, that changes continually. This medium changes

from light to darkness, according to the presence or absence of the

Sun; and during the presence of the Sun the medium, which is

transparent, is so full of light that it overpowers the star, and

therefore it no longer appears brilliant. This medium also changes

from rare to dense, from dry to moist, because of the vapours of the

Earth which rise continually. The medium, thus changed, changes by its

density the image of the star, which passes through it, makes it

appear dim, and by its moisture or dryness changes it in colour. In

like manner it may thus appear through the visual organ, that is, the

eye, which on account of some infirmity, or because of fatigue, is

changed into some degree of dimness or into some degree of weakness.

So it happens very often, owing to the membrane of the pupil becoming

suffused with blood, on account of some corruption produced by

weakness, that things all appear of a red colour; and therefore the

star appears so coloured. And owing to the sight being weakened, there

results in it some dispersion of the spirit, so that things do not

appear united, but scattered, almost in the same way as our writing

does on a wet piece of paper. And this is the reason why many persons,

when they wish to read, remove the paper to some distance from the

eyes, in order that the image thereof may come within the eye more

easily and more subtly, and thereby the lettering is left impressed on

the sight more distinctly and connectedly. For like reason the star

also may appear blurred; and I had experience of this in the same year

in which this Song was born, for, by trying the eyes very much in the

labour of reading, the visual spirits were so weakened that the stars

all appeared to me to be blurred by some white mist: and by means of

long repose in shady and cool places, and by cooling the ball of the

eye with spring water, I re-united the scattered powers, which I

restored to their former good condition.

And thus, for the reasons mentioned above, there are many visible

causes why the star can appear to us different to what it really is.

CHAPTER X.

Leaving this digression, which has been needful for seeing the Truth,

I return to the proposition, and I say that, as our eyes call, that

is, judge, the star other than it really is as to its true condition,

so this little ballad judged this Lady according to appearance, other

than the Truth, through infirmity of the Soul, which was impassioned

with too much desire. And this I make evident when I say that "fear

possessed her soul." For this which I saw in her presence appeared

fierce or proud to me. Where it is to be known that in proportion as

the agent is more closely united to the patient, so much the more

powerful is the passion, as may be understood from the opinion of the

Philosopher in his book On Generation. Wherefore in proportion as the

desired thing draws nigh to the person who desires it, so much the

greater is the desire; and the Soul, more impassioned, unites itself

more closely to the carnal part, and abandons reason more and more; so

that the individual no longer judges like a man, but almost like some

other animal, even according to appearance, not discerning the Truth.

And this is the reason why the countenance, modest according to the

truth, appears disdainful and proud in her.

And that little ballad spoke, according to that judgment, as sensual

and irrational at once. And herein it is sufficiently understood that

this Song judges this Lady according to Truth, by the disagreement

which it has with that other Song of harmony between it and that

ballad. And not without reason I say, "When I come near to her

glance," and not when she comes within mine. But in this I wish to

express the great power which her eyes had over me; for, as if I had

been transparent, through every part their light shone through me. And

here it would be possible to assign reasons natural and supernatural,

but let it suffice here to have said as much as I have; elsewhere I

will discourse of it more suitably. Then when I say, "Be such excuse

allowed," I impose on the Song instruction how, by the assigned

reasons, it may excuse itself there where that is needful, namely,

where there may be any suspicion of this opposition; for there is no

more to say, except that whoever may feel doubtful as to the matter

wherein this Song differs from the other, let him look at the reason

which has been here stated. And such a figure as this is quite

laudable in Rhetoric, and even necessary when the words are to one

person and the intention is to another; because it is always

praiseworthy to admonish and necessary also; but it is not always

suitable in the mouth of every one. Wherefore, when the son is aware

of the vice of the father, and when the subject is aware of the vice

of the lord, and when the friend knows that the shame of his friend

would be increased to him by admonition from him, when he knows that

it would detract from his honour, or when he knows that his friend

would not be patient, but enraged at the admonition, this figure is

most beautiful and most useful. You may term it dissimulation; it is

similar to the work of that wise warrior who attacked the castle on

one side in order to draw off the defence from the other, for the

attack and the design of the commander are not aimed at one and the

same part.

Also, I lay a command on this Song, that it ask permission of this

Lady to speak of her; whereby one may infer that a man ought not to be

presumptuous in praising another, ought not to take it for granted in

his own mind that it is pleasing to the person praised, because often,

when some one believes he is bestowing praise, it is taken as blame,

either through defect of the speaker or through defect of him who

hears. Wherefore it is requisite to have much discretion in this

matter; which discretion is tantamount to asking permission, in the

way in which I say that this Song or Poem should ask for it.

And thus ends the whole Literal meaning of this treatise; wherefore

the order of the work now requires the Allegorical exposition,

following the Truth, to be proceeded with.

CHAPTER XI.

Returning now, as the order requires, to the beginning of the Song, I

say that this Lady is that Lady of the Intellect who is called

Philosophy. But naturally praise excites a desire to know the person

praised; and to know the thing may be to know what it is considered to

be in itself, and in all that pertains to it, as the Philosopher says

in the beginning of the book On Physics; and the name may reveal this

when it bears some meaning, as he says in the fourth chapter of the

Metaphysics, where it is said that the definition is that reason which

the name signifies. Here, therefore, it is necessary, before

proceeding farther with her praises, to prove and to say what this is

that is called Philosophy, what this name signifies; and when this has

been demonstrated, the present Allegory will be more efficaciously

discussed. And first of all I will state who first gave this name;

then I shall proceed to its signification.

I say, then, that anciently in Italy, almost from the beginning of the

foundation of Rome, which was seven hundred and fifty years, a little

more or less, before the advent of the Saviour, according as Paul

Orosius writes, about the time of Numa Pompilius, second king of the

Romans, there lived a most noble Philosopher, who was named

Pythagoras. And that he might be living about that time appears from

something to which Titus Livius alludes incidentally in the first part

of his History. And before him they were called the followers of

Science, not Philosophers but Wise Men such as were those Seven most

ancient Wise Men, who still live in popular fame. The first of them

had the name of Solon, the second Chilon, the third Periander, the

fourth Talus, the fifth Cleobulus, the sixth Bias, the seventh

Pittacus. Pythagoras, being asked if he were considered to be a Wise

Man, rejected this name, and stated himself to be not a Wise Man, but

a Lover of Wisdom. And from this circumstance it subsequently arose

that any man studious to acquire knowledge, was called a Lover of

Wisdom, that is, a Philosopher; for inasmuch as "Philo" in Greek is

equivalent to "Love" and "sophia" is equivalent to Wisdom, therefore,

"Philo and sophia" mean the same as Love of Wisdom. Wherefore it is

possible to see that those two words make that name Philosopher, which

is as much as to say Lover of Wisdom. Therefore it may be observed

that it is not a term of arrogance, but of humility.

From this sprang naturally the word philosophy, as from the word

friend springs naturally the word friendship. Wherefore it is possible

to see, considering the signification of the first and second word,

that philosophy is no other than friendship to wisdom, or rather to

knowledge; wherefore to a certain degree it is possible to call every

man a philosopher, according to the natural love which generates a

desire for knowledge in each individual.

But since the natural passions are common to all men, we do not

specify those passions by some distinctive word, applied to some

individual who shares our common nature, as when we say, John is the

friend of Martin, we do not mean to signify merely the natural love

which all men bear to all men, but we mean the friendship founded upon

the natural love which is distinct and peculiar to certain

individuals. Thus we do not term any one a philosopher because of the

love common to us all. It is the intention or meaning of Aristotle, in

the eighth book of the Ethics, that that man may be called a friend

whose friendship is not concealed from the person beloved, and to whom

also the beloved person is a friend, so that the attachment is mutual;

and this must be so either for mutual benefit, or for pleasure, or for

credit's sake. And thus, in order that a man may be a philosopher, it

must be love to Wisdom which makes one of the sides friendly; it must

be study and care which make the other side also friendly, so that

familiarity and manifestation of benevolence may spring up between

them; because without love and without study one cannot be called a

philosopher, but there must be both the one and the other.

And as friendship for the sake of pleasure given or for profit is not

true friendship, but accidental, as the Ethics demonstrate, so

philosophy for delight or profit is not true philosophy, but

accidental. Wherefore one ought not to call him a true philosopher who

for some pleasure or other may be a friend of Wisdom in some degree;

even as there are many who take delight in repeating songs and in

studying the same, and who delight in studying Rhetoric and Music, and

who avoid and abandon the other Sciences, which are all members of

Wisdom's body. One ought not to call him a true philosopher who is the

friend of Wisdom for the sake of profit; such as are the Lawyers,

Doctors, and almost all the Religious Men, who do not study for the

sake of knowledge, but to acquire money or dignity; and if any one

would give them that which they seek to acquire, they would not

continue to study. And as amongst the various kinds of friendship,

that which is for profit may be called the meanest friendship, so such

men as these have less share in the name of Philosopher than any other

people.

Wherefore as the friendship conceived through honest affection is true

and perfect and perpetual, so is that philosophy true and perfect

which is generated by upright desire for knowledge, without regard to

aught else, and by the goodness of the friendly soul; which is as much

as to say, by right appetite and right reason. And it is possible to

say here that as true friendship amongst men is, that each love each

entirely, so the true Philosopher loves each part of Wisdom, and

Wisdom each part of the Philosopher, so as to draw him wholly to

herself, and to allow no thought of his to stray away to other things.

Wherefore Wisdom herself says in the Proverbs of Solomon, "I love

those who love me." And as true friendship of the mind, considered in

itself alone, has for its subject the knowledge of good effects, and

for its form the desire for the same, even so Philosophy considered in

itself alone, apart from the Soul, has understanding for its subject,

and for its form an almost divine love to intellect.

And as the efficient cause of true friendship is Virtue, so the

efficient cause of Philosophy is Truth. And as the end of true

friendship is true affection, which proceeds from the intercourse

proper to Humanity, that is, according to the dictates of Reason, as

Aristotle seems to think in the ninth book of the Ethics, so the end

of Philosophy is that most excellent affection which suffers no

intermission or defect, that is, the true happiness which is acquired

by the contemplation of Truth.

And thus it is now possible to see who this my Lady is, in all her

causes and in her whole reason, and why she is called Philosophy; and

who is a true Philosopher, and who is one by accident.

But in some fervour or heat of mind the one and the other end of the

acts and of the passions are called by the word for the act itself or

the passion; as Virgil does in the second book of the ****, where he

calls Hector, "Oh, light" (which was the act) "and hope" (which is the

passion) "of the Trojans:" for he was neither the light nor the hope,

but he was the end whence came to them their light in council, and he

was the end in which was reposed their hope of safety; as Statius

writes in the fifth book of the Thebaid, when Hypsipyle says to

Archemorus, "Oh, consolation of things and of the lost country! oh,

honour of my servitude!" even as we say daily, showing the friend,

"See my friendship;" and the father says to the son, "My love;" and so

it is that, through long custom, the Sciences, in which most fervently

Philosophy finds the end to which she looks, are called by her name,

such as the Natural Science, the Moral Science, and the Metaphysical

Science, which last, because most necessarily she looks to her end in

that chiefly and most fervently, is called the First Philosophy.

Now, therefore, since it has been seen what the true Philosophy is in

its essence; which is that Lady of whom I speak; how her noble name

through custom is communicated to the Sciences, and the first science

is called the First Philosophy, I may proceed further with her praise.

CHAPTER XII.

In the first chapter of this treatise the reason which moved me to

this Song is so fully discussed that it is no longer necessary to

discuss it further, for one can easily enough recall to mind what has

been said in this exposition: and therefore, following the divisions

made for the Literal meaning, I shall run through the Song, turning

back to the sense of the letter where it may be needful. I say, "Love,

reasoning of my Lady in my mind." By Love I mean the labour and pains

I took to acquire the love of this Lady. If one wishes to know what

labour, it can be here considered in two ways. There is one study

which leads the man to the daily use of Art and Science; there is

another study which he will employ in the acquired use. The first is

that which I call Love, which fills my mind continually with new and

most exalted ideas of this Lady: even as the anxious pains which one

takes to acquire a friendship are wont to do; for, when desiring that

friendship, a man is wont to take anxious thought concerning it. This

is that study and that affection which usually precedes in men the

begetting of the friendship, when already on one side Love is born,

and desires and strives that it may be on the other; for, as is said

above, Philosophy is born when the Soul and Wisdom have become

friends, so that the one is loved by the other.

Neither is it again needful to discuss that first stanza in the

present explanation, which was reasoned out as the Proem in the

Literal exposition; since, from the first argument thereof, it is easy

enough to make out the meaning in this the second one.

We may proceed, then, to the second part, which begins the treatise,

and to that place where I say, "The Sun sees not in travel round the

Earth." Here it is to be known that as, when discoursing of a sensible

thing, one handles it suitably by means of an insensible thing, so of

an intelligible thing, one fitly argues by means of an unintelligible.

In the Literal sense one speaks of the Sun as a substantial and

sensible body; so now it is fit, by image of the Sun, to discourse of

the Spiritual and Unintelligible, that is, God.

There is no visible thing in all the world more worthy to serve as a

type of God than the Sun, which illuminates with visible light itself

first, and then all the celestial and elemental bodies. Thus, God

illuminates Himself first with intellectual light, and then the

celestial and other intelligible beings. The Sun vivifies all things

with his heat, and if anything is destroyed thereby, it is not by the

intention of the cause, but it is an accidental effect: thus God

vivifies all things in His Goodness, and, if any suffer evil, it is

not by the Divine intention, but the effect is accidental. For, if God

made the Angels good and evil, He did not make both by intention, but

He made the good only; there followed afterwards, beyond His

intention, the wickedness of the evil ones; but not so far beyond His

intention that God could not foreknow in Himself their wickedness; but

so great was the loving desire to produce the Spiritual creature that

the foreknowledge that some would come to a bad end neither could nor

should prevent God from continuing the production; as it would not be

to the praise of Nature if, knowing of herself that the flowers of a

tree in a certain part must perish, she should refuse to produce

flowers on that tree, and should abandon the production of

fruit-bearing trees as vain and useless. I say, then, that God, who

encircles and understands all, in His encircling and His understanding

sees nothing so gentle, so noble, as He sees when He shines on this

Philosophy. For, although God Himself, beholding, may see all things

together, inasmuch as the distinction of things is in Him in the same

way as the effect is in the cause, yet He sees those things also apart

and distinct. He sees, then, this Lady the most noble of all

absolutely, inasmuch as most perfectly He sees her in Himself and in

her essence. If what has been said above be recalled to mind,

Philosophy is a loving use of Wisdom; which especially is in God,

because in Him is Supreme Wisdom, and Supreme Love, and Supreme

Action; which cannot be elsewhere except inasmuch as it proceeds from

Him. It is, then, the Divine Philosophy of the Divine Being, since in

Him nothing can be that is not part of His Essence; and it is most

noble, because the Divine Essence is most noble, and it is in Him in a

manner perfect and true, as if by eternal wedlock; it is in the other

Intelligences in a less degree, as if platonic, as if a virgin love

from whom no lover receives full and complete joy, but contents

himself by gazing on the beauty of her countenance. Wherefore it is

possible to say that God sees not, that He does not intently regard,

anything so noble as this Lady; I say anything, inasmuch as He sees

and distinguishes the other things, as has been said, seeing Himself

to be the cause of all. Oh, most noble and most excellent heart, which

is at peace in the bride of the Ruler of Heaven; and not bride only,

but sister, and the daughter beloved above all others.

CHAPTER XIII.

Having seen in the beginning of the praises of this Lady how subtly it

is said that she is of the Divine Substance, as was first to be

considered, we proceed now to consider her as she is in the

Intelligences that proceed thence. "All minds of Heaven wonder at her

worth," where it is to be known that I say, "minds of Heaven," making

that allusion to God which has been mentioned above; and from this one

excludes the Intelligences who are exiled from the eternal country,

who can never study Philosophy, because love in them is entirely

extinct, and for the study of Philosophy, as has been already said,

Love is necessary. One sees, therefore, that the spirits of Hell are

deprived of the sight of this most beautiful Lady; and, since she is

the blessing of the intellect, the deprivation of her is most bitter

and full of every sadness.

Then, when I say, "Mortals, enamoured, find her in their thought," I

descend to show how she also may come into the Human Intelligence in a

secondary degree; with which Human Philosophy I then proceed through

the treatise, praising it. I say, then, that the mortals who "find her

in their thought" in this life do not always find her there, but only

"When Love his peace into their hearts has brought;" wherein there are

to be seen three points which are alluded to in this text.

The first is when one says, "Mortals, enamoured," because it seems to

make a distinction in the human race, and of necessity it must be

made; for, according to what manifestly appears, and which in the

following treatise will be specially reasoned out, the greatest part

of men live more according to the Sense than according to Reason; and

those who live according to the Sense can never be enamoured of this

Lady, since of her they can have no apprehension whatever.

The second point is when it says, "When Love his peace into their

minds has brought," where it appears to make a distinction of time.

And that is necessary; for, although the separate Intelligences gaze

at this Lady continually, the Human Intelligence cannot do so; since

Human Nature, besides that which gives delight to the Intellect and

the Reason, has need of many things requisite for its support which

contemplation cannot furnish forth. Therefore our Wisdom is sometimes

habitual only, and not actual; and this does not happen to the other

Intelligences, which alone are perfect in their intellectual nature.

And so, when our soul is not in the act of contemplation, one cannot

truly say that it is in Philosophy, except inasmuch as it has the

habit of it, and the power of being able to arouse it; sometimes,

therefore, she is with the people who are enamoured of her here below,

and sometimes not.

The third point is, when it speaks of the time when those people are

with her, namely, when Love has brought into their minds his peace;

which means no other than when the man is in the act of contemplation,

since he does not strive to feel the peace of that Lady except in the

act of contemplation.

And thus one sees how this Lady is firstly in the Mind of God,

secondly in the other separate Intelligences through continual

contemplation, and afterwards in the human intellect through

interpreted contemplation. But the man who has her for his Lady is

ever to be termed a Philosopher, notwithstanding that he may not be

always in the final act of Philosophy, for it is usual to name other

men after their habits. Wherefore we call any man virtuous, not merely

when performing virtuous actions, but from having the habit or custom

of virtue. And we call a man eloquent, even when he is not speaking,

from his habit of eloquence, that is, of speaking well.

And of this Philosophy, in which Human Intelligence has part, there

will now be the following encomiums to prove how great a part of her

good gifts is bestowed on Human Nature. I say, then, afterwards:

Her Maker saw that she was good, and poured,

Beyond our Nature, fulness of His Power

On her pure Soul, whence shone this holy dower

Through all her frame.

For the capacity of our Nature is subdued by it, which it makes

beautiful and virtuous. Wherefore, although into the habit of that

Lady one may somewhat come, it is not possible to say that any one who

enters thereinto properly has that habit; since the first study, that

whereby the habit is begotten, cannot perfectly acquire that

philosophy. And here one sees her lowly praise; for, perfect or

imperfect, she never loses the name of perfection. And because of this

her surpassing excellence, it says that the Soul of Philosophy "shone

Through all her frame," that is, that God ever imparts to her of His

Light.

Here we may recall to mind what is said above, that Love is a form of

Philosophy, and therefore here is called her Soul; which Love is

manifest in the use of Wisdom, and such use brings with it a wonderful

beauty, that is to say, contentment under any condition of the time,

and contempt for those things which other men make their masters.

Wherefore it happens that those other unhappy ones who gaze thereon,

and think over their own defects from the desire for perfection, fall

into the weariness of sighs; and this is meant where it says: "That

from the eyes she touches heralds fly Heartward with longings,

heavenward with a sigh."

CHAPTER XIV.

As in the Literal exposition, after the general praises one descends

to the especial, firstly on the part of the Soul, then on the part of

the body, so now the text proceeds after the general encomium to

descend to the especial commendation. As it is said above, Philosophy

here has Wisdom for its material subject and Love for its form, and

the habit of contemplation for the union of the two. Wherefore in this

passage which subsequently begins, "On her fair form Virtue Divine

descends," I mean to praise Love, which is part of Philosophy. Here it

is to be known that for a virtue to descend from one thing into

another there is no other way than to reduce that thing into its own

similitude; as we see evidently in the natural agents, for their

virtue descending into the things that are the patients, they bring

those things into their similitude as far as they are able to attain

it.

We see that the Sun, pouring his rays down on this Earth, reduces the

things thereon to his own similitude of light in proportion as they by

their own disposition are able to receive light of his light. Thus, I

say that God reduces this Love to His own Similitude as much as it is

possible for it to bear likeness to Him. And it alludes to the nature

of the creative act, saying, "As on the Angel that beholds His face."

Where again it is to be known that the first Agent, who is God, paints

His Virtue on some things by means of direct radiance, and on some

things by means of reflected splendour; wherefore into the separate

Intelligences the Divine Light shines without any interposing medium;

into the others it is reflected from those Intelligences which were

first illumined.

But since mention is here made of Light and Splendour, for the more

perfect understanding thereof I will show the difference between those

words, according to the opinion of Avicenna. I say that it is the

custom of Philosophers to speak of Heaven as Light, inasmuch as Light

is there in its primeval Spring, or its first origin. They speak of it

as a ray of Light while it passes through the medium from its source

into the first body in which it has its end; they call it Splendour

where it is reflected back from some part that has received

illumination. I say, then, that the Divine Virtue or Power draws this

Love into Its Own Similitude without any interposing medium.

And it is possible to make this evident, especially in this, that as

the Divine Love is Eternal, so must its object of necessity be

eternal, so that those things are eternal which He loves. And thus it

makes this Love to love, for the Wisdom into which this Love strikes

is eternal. Wherefore it is written of her: "From the beginning,

before Time was created, I am: and in the Time to come I shall not

fail." And in the Proverbs of Solomon this Wisdom says: "I am

established for ever." And in the beginning of the Gospel of John, her

eternity is openly alluded to, as it is possible to observe. And

therefore it results that there, where this Love shines, all the other

Loves become obscure and almost extinct, since its eternal object

subdues and overpowers all other objects in a manner beyond all

comparison; and therefore the most excellent Philosophers in their

actions openly demonstrate it, whereby we know that they have treated

all other things with indifference except Wisdom. Wherefore

Democritus, neglecting all care of his own person, trimmed neither his

beard, nor the hair of his head, nor his nails. Plato, indifferent to

the riches of this world, despised the royal dignity, for he was the

son of a king. Aristotle, caring for no other friend, combated with

his own best friend, even with the above-named Plato, his dearest

friend after Philosophy. And why do we speak of these, when we find

others who, for these thoughts, held their life in contempt, such as

Zeno, Socrates, Seneca, and many more? It is evident, therefore, that

in this Love the Divine Power, after the manner of an Angel, descends

into men; and to give proof of this, the text presently exclaims:

"Fair one who doubt, go with her, mark the grace In all her acts." By

"Fair one" is meant the noble soul of judgment, free in its own power,

which is Reason; hence the other souls cannot be called Ladies, but

handmaids, since they are not for themselves, but for others; and the

Philosopher says, in the first book of Metaphysics, that that thing is

free which is a cause of itself and not for others. It says, "go with

her, mark the grace In all her acts," that is, make thyself the

companion of this Love, and look at that which will be found within

it; and in part it alludes to this, saying, "Downward from Heaven

bends An Angel when she speaks," meaning that where Philosophy is in

action a celestial thought stoops down, in which this being reasons or

discourses beyond the power of Human Nature.

The Song says "from Heaven," to give people to understand that not

only Philosophy, but the thoughts friendly to it, are abstracted from

all low and earthly things. Then afterwards it says how she

strengthens and kindles love wherever she appears with the sweet

persuasions of her actions, which are in all her aspects modest,

gentle, and without any domineering assumption. And subsequently, by

still greater persuasion to induce a desire for her company, it says:

"Fair in all like her, fairest she'll appear Who is most like her."

Again it adds: "We, content to call Her face a Miracle," find help in

it, where it is to be known that the regard of this Lady was freely

ordained to arouse a desire in us for its acquisition, not only in her

countenance, which she reveals to sight, but also in the things which

she keeps hidden. Wherefore as, through her, much of that which is

hidden is seen by means of Reason (and consequently to see by Reason

without her seems a miracle), so, through her, one believes each

miracle in the action of a higher intellectual Power to have reason,

and therefore to be possible. From whence true Faith has its origin,

from which comes the Hope to desire the Future, and from that are born

the works of Charity, by which three Virtues we mount to become

Philosophers in that celestial Athens where Stoics, Peripatetics, and

Epicureans, by the practice of Eternal Truth, concur harmoniously in

one desire.

CHAPTER XV.

In the preceding chapter this glorious Lady is praised according to

one of her component parts, that is, Love. In this chapter I intend to

explain that passage which begins, "Her aspect shows delights of

Paradise," and here it is requisite to discuss and praise her other

part, Wisdom.

The text then says that in the face of this Lady things appear which

show us joys of Paradise; and it distinguishes the place where this

appears, namely, in the eyes and the smile. And here it must be known

that the eyes of Wisdom are her demonstrations, whereby one sees the

Truth most certainly; but her persuasions are in her smile, in which

persuasions the inner Light of Wisdom reveals itself without any veil

or concealment. And in these two is felt that most exalted joy which

is the supreme good in Paradise. This joy cannot be in any other thing

here below, except in gazing into these eyes and upon that smile. And

the reason is this, that since each thing naturally desires its

perfection, without which it cannot be at peace, to have that is to be

blessed. For although it might possess all other things, yet, being

without that, there would remain in it desire, which cannot consist

with perfect happiness, since perfect happiness is a perfect thing,

and desire is a defective thing. For one desires not that which he

has, but that which he has not, and here is a manifest defect. And in

this form solely can human perfection be acquired, as the perfection

of Reason, on which, as on its principal part, our essential being all

depends. All our other actions, as to feel or hear, to take food, and

the rest, are through this one alone; and this is for itself, and not

for others. So that, if that be perfect, it is so perfect that the

man, inasmuch as he is a man, sees each desire fulfilled, and thus he

is happy. And therefore it is said in the Book of Wisdom: "Whoso

casteth away Wisdom and Knowledge is unhappy," that is to say, he

suffers the privation of happiness. From the habit of Wisdom it

follows that a man learns to be happy and content, according to the

opinion of the Philosopher. One sees, then, how in the aspect of this

Lady joys of Paradise appear, and therefore one reads in the Book of

Wisdom quoted above, when speaking of her, "She is a shining whiteness

of the Eternal Light; a Mirror without blemish, of the Majesty of

God." Then when it says, "Things over which the intellect may stray,"

I excuse myself, saying that I can say but little concerning these, on

account of their overpowering influence. Where it is to be known that

in any way these things dazzle our intellect, inasmuch as they affirm

certain things to be, which our intellect is unable to comprehend,

that is, God and Eternity, and the first Matter which most certainly

they do not see, and with all faith they believe to be. And even what

they are we cannot understand; and so, by not denying things, it is

possible to draw near to some knowledge of them, but not otherwise.

Truly here it is possible to have some very strong doubt how it is

that Wisdom can make the man completely happy without being able to

show him certain things perfectly; since the natural desire for

knowledge is in the man, and without fulfilment of the desire he

cannot be fully happy. To this it is possible to reply clearly, that

the natural desire in each thing is in proportion to the possibility

of reaching to the thing desired; otherwise it would pass into

opposition to itself, which is impossible; and Nature would have

worked in vain, which also is impossible.

It would pass into opposition, for, desiring its perfection, it would

desire its imperfection, since he would desire always to desire, and

never fulfil his desire. And into this error the cursed miser falls,

and does not perceive that he desires always to desire, going

backwards to reach to an impossible amount.

Nature also would have worked in vain, since it would not be ordained

to any end; and, in fact, human desire is proportioned in this life to

that knowledge which it is possible to have here. One cannot pass that

point except through error, which is outside the natural intention.

And thus it is proportioned in the Angelic, and it is limited in Human

Nature, and it finds its end in that Wisdom in proportion as the

nature of each can apprehend it.

And this is the reason why the Saints have no envy amongst themselves,

since each one attains the end of his desire, and the desire of each

is in due proportion to the nature of his goodness. Wherefore, since

to know God and certain other things, as Eternity and the first

Matter, is not possible to our Nature, naturally we have no desire for

that knowledge, and hereby is this doubtful question solved.

Then when I say, "Rain from her beauty little flames of fire," I

proceed to another joy of Paradise, that is, from the secondary

felicity, happiness, to this first one, which proceeds from her

beauty, where it is to be known that Morality is the beauty of

Philosophy. For as the beauty of the body is the result of its members

in proportion as they are fitly ordered, so the beauty of Wisdom,

which is the body of Philosophy, as has been said, results from the

order of the Moral Virtues which visibly make that joy. And therefore

I say that her beauty, which is Morality, rains down little flames of

fire, meaning direct desire, which is begotten in the pleasure of the

Moral Doctrine; which desire removes it again from the natural vices,

and not only from the others. And thence springs that happiness which

Aristotle defined in the first book of Ethics, saying, that it is Work

according to Virtue in the Perfect Life.

And when it says, "Fair one, who may desire Escape from blame," it

proceeds in praise of Philosophy. I cry aloud to the people that they

should follow her, telling them of her good gifts, that is to say,

that by following her each one may become good. Therefore it says to

each Soul, that feels its beauty is to blame because it does not

appear what it ought to appear, let her look at this example. Where it

is to be known that the Morals are the beauty of the Soul, that is to

say, the most excellent virtues, which sometimes through vanity or

through pride are made less beautiful or less agreeable, as in the

last treatise it was possible to perceive. And therefore I say that,

in order to shun this, one looks at that Lady, Philosophy, there where

she is the example of Humility, namely, in that part of herself which

is called Moral Philosophy. And I subjoin that by gazing at her (I

say, at Wisdom) in that part, every vicious man will become upright

and good. And therefore I say she has "a spirit to create Good

thoughts, and crush the vices." She turns gently back him who has gone

astray from the right course.

Finally, in highest praise of Wisdom, I say of her that she is the

Mother of every good Principle, saying that she is "God's thought,"

who began the World, and especially the movement of the Heaven by

which all things are generated, and wherein each movement has its

origin, that is to say, that the Divine Thought is Wisdom. She was,

when God made the World; whence it follows that she could make it, and

therefore Solomon said in the Book of Proverbs, in the person of

Wisdom: "When He prepared the Heavens, I was there: when He set a

compass upon the face of the depth; when He established the clouds

above; when He strengthened the fountains of the deep; when He gave to

the sea His decree, that the waters should not pass His commandment;

when He appointed the foundations of the Earth: then I was by Him, as

one brought up with Him, and I was daily His delight, rejoicing always

before Him." O, ye Men, worse than dead, who fly from the friendship

of Wisdom, open your eyes, and see that before you were she was the

Lover of you, preparing and ordaining the process of your being! Since

you were made she came that she might guide you, came to you in your

own likeness; and, if all of you cannot come into her presence, honour

her in her friends, and follow their counsels, as of them who announce

to you the will of this eternal Empress! Close not your ears to

Solomon, who tells you "the path of the Just is as a shining Light,

which goeth forth and increaseth even to the day of salvation." Follow

after them, behold their works, which ought to be to you as a beacon

of light for guidance in the path of this most brief life.

And here we may close the Commentary on the true meaning of the

present Song. The last stanza, which is intended for a refrain, can be

explained easily enough by the Literal exposition, except inasmuch as

it says that I there called this Lady "disdainful and morose." Where

it is to be known that at the beginning this Philosophy appeared to me

on the part of her body, which is Wisdom, morose, for she smiled not

on me, insomuch that as yet I did not understand her persuasions; and

she seemed to me disdainful, for she turned not her glance to me, that

is to say, I could not see her demonstrations. But the defect was

altogether on my side. From this, and from that which is given in the

explanation of the Literal meaning of the Song, the Allegory of the

refrain is evident. It is time, therefore, that we proceed farther,

and this treatise end.