Already had Caponsacco to the Market
From Fesole descended, and alreadyGiuda and Infangato were good burghers.
I’ll tell a thing incredible, but true;One entered the small circuit by a gateWhich from the Della Pera took its name!
Each one that bears the beautiful escutcheonOf the great baron whose renown and nameThe festival of Thomas keepeth fresh,
Knighthood and privilege from him received;Though with the populace unites himselfTo-day the man who binds it with a border.
Already were Gualterotti and Importuni;And still more quiet would the Borgo beIf with new neighbours it remained unfed.
The house from which is born your lamentation,Through just disdain that death among you broughtAnd put an end unto your joyous life,
Was honoured in itself and its companions.O Buondelmonte, how in evil hourThou fled’st the bridal at another’s promptings!
Many would be rejoicing who are sad,If God had thee surrendered to the EmaThe first time that thou camest to the city.
But it behoved the mutilated stoneWhich guards the bridge, that Florence should provideA victim in her latest hour of peace.
With all these families, and others with them,Florence beheld I in so great repose,That no occasion had she whence to weep;
With all these families beheld so justAnd glorious her people, that the lilyNever upon the spear was placed reversed,
Nor by division was vermilion made.”
Paradiso: Canto XVII
As came to Clymene, to be made certainOf that which he had heard against himself,He who makes fathers chary still to children,
Even such was I, and such was I perceivedBy Beatrice and by the holy lightThat first on my account had changed its place.
Therefore my Lady said to me: “Send forthThe flame of thy desire, so that it issueImprinted well with the internal stamp;
Not that our knowledge may be greater madeBy speech of thine, but to accustom theeTo tell thy thirst, that we may give thee drink.”
“O my beloved tree, (that so dost lift thee,That even as minds terrestrial perceiveNo triangle containeth two obtuse,
So thou beholdest the contingent thingsEre in themselves they are, fixing thine eyesUpon the point in which all times are present,)
While I was with Virgilius conjoinedUpon the mountain that the souls doth heal,And when descending into the dead world,
Were spoken to me of my future lifeSome grievous words; although I feel myselfIn sooth foursquare against the blows of chance.
On this account my wish would be contentTo hear what fortune is approaching me,Because foreseen an arrow comes more slowly.”
Thus did I say unto that selfsame lightThat unto me had spoken before; and evenAs Beatrice willed was my own will confessed.
Not in vague phrase, in which the foolish folkEnsnared themselves of old, ere yet was slainThe Lamb of God who taketh sins away,
But with clear words and unambiguousLanguage responded that paternal love,Hid and revealed by its own proper smile:
“Contingency, that outside of the volumeOf your materiality extends not,Is all depicted in the eternal aspect.
Necessity however thence it takes not,Except as from the eye, in which ’tis mirrored,A ship that with the current down descends.
From thence, e’en as there cometh to the earSweet harmony from an organ, comes in sightTo me the time that is preparing for thee.
As forth from Athens went Hippolytus,By reason of his step-dame false and cruel,So thou from Florence must perforce depart.
Already this is willed, and this is sought for;And soon it shall be done by him who thinks it,Where every day the Christ is bought and sold.
The blame shall follow the offended partyIn outcry as is usual; but the vengeanceShall witness to the truth that doth dispense it.