_Interlocutors:_
CESARINO. MARICONDO.
1.
CES. It is said that the best and most excellent things are in the world
when the whole universe responds from every part, perfectly, to those
things; and this it is said takes place as the planets arrive at Aries,
being when that one of the eighth sphere again reaches the upper
invisible firmament, where is also the other Zodiac; and low and evil
things prevail when the opposite disposition and order supervene, and
thus through the power of change comes the continual mutation of like
and unlike, from one opposite to another. The revolution then of the
great year of the world is that space of time in which, through the most
diverse customs and effects, and by the most opposite and contrary
means, it returns to the same again. As we see in particular years such
as that of the sun, where the beginning of an opposite tendency is the
end of one year, and the end of this is the beginning of that. Therefore
now that we have been in the dregs of the sciences, which have brought
forth the dregs of opinions, which are the cause of the dregs of customs
and of works, we may certainly expect to return to the better condition.
MARICONDO. Know, my brother, that this succession and order of things is
most true and most certain; but as regards ourselves in all ordinary
conditions whatever, the present afflicts more than the past, nor can
these two together console, but only the future, which is always in hope
and expectation as you may see designated in this figure which is taken
from the ancient Egyptians, who made a certain statue which is a bust,
upon which they placed three heads, one of a wolf which looks behind,
one of a lion with the face turned half round, and the third of a dog
who looks straight before him; to signify that things of the past
afflict by means of thoughts, but not so much as things of the present
which actually torment, while the future ever promises something better;
therefore behold the wolf that howls, the lion that roars and the dog
that barks (applause).
CES. What means that legend that is written above?
MAR. See, that above the wolf is Lam, above the lion Modo, above the dog
Praeterea, which are words signifying the three parts of time.
CES. Now read the tablet.
MAR. I will do so.
41.
A wolf, a lion, and a dog appear
At dawn, at midday, and dark night.
That which I spent, retain and for myself procure,
So much was given, is given, and may be given;
For that which I did, I do, and have to do.
In the past, in the present and in the future,
I do repent, torment myself and re-assure,
For the loss, in suffering and in expectation.
With sour, with bitter and with sweet
Experience, the fruits, and hope,
Threatens, afflict, and comforts me.
The age I lived, do live and am to live,
Affrights me, shakes me and upholds
In absence, presence and in prospect.
Much, too much and sufficient
Of the past, of now, and of to come,
Put me in fear, in anguish and in hope.
CES. This is precisely the humour of a furious lover, though the same
may be said of nearly all mortals who are seriously affected in any way.
We cannot say that this accords with all conditions in a general way,
but only with those mortals who were, and who are, wretched. So that to
him who sought a kingdom and obtained it, belongs the fear of losing the
same; and to one who has laboured to secure the fruits of love, such as
the special grace of the beloved, belongs the tooth of jealousy and
suspicion. Thus, too, with the states of the world; when we find
ourselves in darkness and in adversity we may surely prophecy light and
prosperity, and when we are in a state of happiness and discipline,
doubtless we have to expect the advent of ignorance and distress. As in
the case of Hermes Trismegistus, who, seeing Egypt in all the splendour
of the sciences and of occultism, so that he considered that men were
consorting with gods and spirits and were in consequence most pious, he
made that prophetic lament to Asclepios, saying that the darkness of new
religions and cults must follow, and that of the then present things
nothing would remain but idle tales and matter for condemnation. So the
Hebrews, when they were slaves in Egypt, and banished to the deserts,
were comforted by their prophets with the hope of liberty and the
re-acquisition of their country; when they were in authority and
tranquillity they were menaced with dispersion and captivity. And as in
these days there is no evil nor injury to which we are not subject, so
there is no good nor honour that we may not promise ourselves. Thus does
it happen to all the other generations and states, the which, if they
endure and be not destroyed entirely by the force of vicissitude, it is
inevitable that from evil they come to good, from good to evil, from low
estate to high, from high to low, out of obscurity into splendour, out
of splendour into obscurity, for this is the natural order of things;
outside of which order, if another should be found which destroys or
corrects it, I should believe it and not dispute it, for I reason with
none other than a natural spirit.
MAR. We know that you are not a theologian but a philosopher, and that
you treat of philosophy and not of theology.
CES. It is so. But let us see what follows.
II.
CES. I see a smoking thurible, supported by an arm, and the legend which
says: "Illius aram," and then the following:--
42.
Now who shall say the breath of my desire
Of high and holy worship is demeaned
If decked in divers forms ornate she come
Through vows I offer to the shrine of Fame?
And if another work should call, and lead me on,
Who would aver that more it might beseem
If that, of Heaven so loved and eulogized,
Should hold me not in its captivity.
Leave, oh leave me, every other wish,
Cease, fretting thoughts, and give me peace;
Why draw me forth from looking at the sun,
From looking at the sun that I so love.
You ask in pity, wherefore lookest thou
On that, on which to look is thy undoing?
Wherefore so captivated by that light?
And I will say, because to me this pain
Is dearer than all other pleasures are.
MAR. In reference to this I told you that although one should be
attached to corporeal and external beauty yet he may honourably and
worthily be so attached; provided that, through this material beauty,
which is a glittering ray of spiritual form and action, of which it is
the trace and shadow, he comes to raise himself to the consideration and
worship of divine beauty, light and majesty; so that, from these visible
things his heart becomes exalted towards those things which are more
excellent in themselves and grateful to the purified soul, in so far as
they are removed from matter and sense. Ah me! he will say, if beauty so
shadowy, so dim, so fugitive, painted on the surface of bodily matter
pleases me so much, and moves my affections so much, and stamps upon my
spirit I know not what of reverence for majesty, captivates me, softly
binds me, and draws me, so that I find nothing that comes within the
senses that satisfies me so much,--how will it be with the
substantially, originally, primitively beautiful? How will it be with my
soul, the divine intellect, and the law of nature? It is right, then,
that the contemplation of this vestige of light lead me, through the
purification of my soul, to the imitation, and to conformity and
participation in that which is more worthy and higher, into which I am
transformed and unto which I unite myself: for I am certain that
nature, which has placed this beauty before my eyes and has gifted me
with an interior sense, through which I am able to infer a deeper and
incomparably greater beauty, wills that I be promoted to the altitude
and eminence of more excellent kinds. Nor do I believe that my true
divinity, as she shows herself to me in symbols and vestiges, will scorn
me if in symbols and vestiges I honour her and sacrifice to her; as my
heart and affections are always so ordered as to look higher. For who
may he be, that can honour in essence and real substance, if in such
manner he cannot understand it?
It is in and through Symbols that man, consciously or
unconsciously, lives, works, and has his being. For is not a Symbol
ever, to him who has eyes for it, some dimmer or clearer
revelation, of the Godlike?--("Sartor Resartus.")
CES. Right well do you demonstrate how, to men of heroic spirit, all
things turn to good and how they are able to turn captivity into greater
liberty, and the being vanquished into an occasion for greater victory.
Well dost thou know that the love of corporeal beauty to those who are
well disposed, not only does not keep them back from higher enterprises,
but rather does it lend wings to arrive at these, when the necessity for
love is converted into a study of the virtuous, through which the lover
is forced into those conditions in which he is worthy of the thing loved
and perchance of even a still higher, better and more beautiful thing;
so that he comes to be either contented to have gained that which he
desires, or so satisfied with its own beauty, that he can despise that
of others, which comes to be, by him, vanquished and overcome, so that
he either remains tranquil, or else he aspires to things more excellent
and grand. And so will the heroic spirit ever go on trying until it
becomes raised to the desire of divine beauty itself, without
similitude, figure, symbol, or kind, if it be possible, and what is more
one knows that he will reach that height.
MAR. You see, Cesarino, how this enthusiast is justified in his anger
against those who reproach him with being in captivity to a low beauty,
to which he dedicates his vows, and attributes these forms, so that he
is deaf to those voices which call him to nobler enterprises: for these
low things are derived from those, and are dependent upon them, so that
through these you may gain access to those, according to their own
degrees. These, if they be not God, are things divine, are living images
of Him, in the which, if He sees Himself adored, He is not offended.
For we have a charge from the supernal spirit which says: Adorate
sgabellum pedum eius. And in another place a divine messenger says:
Adorabimus ubi steterunt pedes eius.
CES. God, the divine beauty, and splendour shines and _is_ in all
things; and therefore it does not appear to me an error to admire Him in
all things, according to the way in which we have communion with them.
Error it would surely be if we should give to another the honour due to
Him alone. But what means the enthusiast when he says, "Leave, leave me,
every other wish"?
MAR. That he banishes every thought presented to him by different
objects, which have not the power to move him and which would rob him of
the sight of the sun which comes to him through that window more than
through others.
CES. Why, importuned by thoughts, does he continually gaze at that
splendour which destroys him, and yet does not satisfy him, as it
torments him ever so fiercely?
MAR. Because all our consolations in this state of controversy are not
without their discouragements, however vast those consolations may be.
Just as the fear of a king for the loss of his kingdom, is greater than
that of a mendicant who is in peril of losing ten farthings; and more
important is the care of a prince over a republic, than that of a rustic
over a herd of swine; as perchance the pleasures and delights of the one
are greater than the pleasures and delights of the other. Therefore the
loving and aspiring higher, brings with it greater glory and majesty,
with more care, thought, and pain: I mean in this state, where the one
opposite is always joined to the other, finding the greatest contrariety
always in the same genus, and consequently about the same subject,
although the opposites cannot be together. And thus proportionally in
the love of the supernal Eros, as the Epicurean poet declares of vulgar
and animal desire when he says:--
Fluctuat incertis erroribus ardor amantum,
Nec constat, quid primum oculis, manibusque fruantur:
Quod petiere, premunt arte, faciuntque dolorem
Corporis, et dentes inlidunt saepe labellis,
Osculaque adfigunt, quia non est pura voluptas,
Et stimuli subsunt, qui instigant laedere id ipsum,
Quodcunque est, rabies, unde illa haec germina surgunt.
Sed leviter poenas frangit Venus inter amorem,
Blandaque refraenat morsus admixta voluptas;
Namque in eo spes est, unde est ardoris origo,
Restingui quoque posse ab eodem corpore flammam.
Behold, then, with what condiments the skill and art of nature works,
so that one is wasted with the pleasure of that which destroys him, is
happy in the midst of torment, and tormented in the midst of all the
satisfactions. For nothing is produced absolutely from a homoeogeneous
(pacifico) principle, but all from opposite principles, through the
victory and dominion of one part of the opposites, and there is no
pleasure of generation on one side without the pain of corruption on the
other: and where these things which are generated and corrupted are
joined together and as it were compose the same subject, the feeling of
delight and of sadness are found together; so that it comes to be called
more easily delight than sadness, if it happens that this predominates,
and solicits the senses with greater force.
III.
CES. Now let us take into consideration the following image which is
that of a phoenix, which burns in the sun, and the smoke from which
almost obscures the brightness of that by which it is set on fire, and
here is the motto which says: Neque simile, nec par mar.
43.
MAR.:
This phoenix set on fire by the bright sun,
Which slowly, slowly to extinction goes,
The while she, girt with splendour burning lies;
Yields to her star antagonistic fief
Through that which towards the sky to Heaven ascends.
Black smoke, and sombre fog of murky hue
Concealing thus his radiance from our eyes,
And veiling that which makes her burn and shine.
And so my soul, illumined and inflamed
By radiance divine, would fain display
The brightness of her own effulgent thought;
The lofty concept of her song sends forth.
In words which do but hide the glorious light,
While I dissolve and melt and am destroyed.
Ah me! this lowering cloud, this smoky fire of words
Abases that which it would elevate.
CES. This fellow then says that as this phoenix set on fire by the sun
and accustomed to light and flame comes to send upwards that smoke which
obscures him who has rendered her so luminous, so he, the inflamed and
illuminated enthusiast, through that which he does in praise of such an
illustrious subject which has warmed his heart and which shines in his
thought, comes rather to conceal it than to render it light for light,
sending forth that smoke the effect of the flame, in which the
substance of himself is resolved.
MAR. I, without weighing and comparing the studies of that fellow,
repeat what I said to you the other day, that praise is one of the
greatest oblations that human affection can offer to an object. And
leaving on one side the proposition of the Divine, tell me, who would
have known of Achilles, Ulysses, and all the other Greek and Trojan
chiefs? Who would have heard of all those great soldiers, the wise and
the heroes of the earth, if they had not been placed amongst the stars
and deified by the oblation of praise which has lighted the fire on the
altar of the heart of illustrious poets and other singers, so that
usually, the sacrificant, the victim and the sanctified deity, all
mounted to the skies, through the hand and the vow of a worthy and
lawful priest?
CES. Well sayest thou "of a worthy and lawful priest," for the world is
at present full of apostate ones, the which, as they are for the most
part unworthy themselves, sing the praises of other unworthy ones, so
that, asini asinos fricant. But Providence wills that these, instead of
rising to the sky, should go together to the shades of Orcus, so that
naught is the glory of him who extols and of him who is extolled; for
the one has woven a statue of straw, or carved the trunk of a tree, or
cast a piece of chalk, and the other, the idol of shame and infamy,
knows not that there is no need to wait for the keen tooth of the age
and the scythe of Saturn in order to be put down, for through those
self-same praises he gets buried alive then and there, while he is being
praised, saluted, hailed, and presented. Just as it happened in a
contrary way, so that much-praised Moecenatus, who, if he had had no
other glory than a soul inclined to protect and favour the Muses, for
this alone merited, that the genius of so many illustrious poets should
do him homage, and place him in the number of the most famous heroes who
have trod this earth. His own studies and his own brightness made him
prominent and grand, and not the being born of a royal race, and not the
being grand secretary and councillor of Augustus. That, I say, which
made him illustrious was the having made himself worthy to fulfil the
promise of that poet who says:--
Fortunati ambo, si quid mea carmina possunt,
Nulla dies nunquam memori vos eximet aevo,
Dum domus Aeneae Capitoli immobile saxum
Accolet, imperiumque pater romanus habebit.
MAR. I remember what Seneca says in certain letters where he refers to
the words of Epicurus to a friend, which are these: "If the love of
glory is dear to thy breast, these letters of mine will make thee more
famous and known than all those other things which thou honourest, by
which thou art honoured, and of which thou mayest boast. The same might
Homer have said if Achilles or Ulysses had presented themselves before
him, or Eneas and his offspring before Virgil; as that moral philosopher
well said; Domenea is more known through the letters of Epicurus, than
all the magicians, satraps and royalties upon whom depended his title of
Domenea and the memory of whom was lost in the depths of oblivion.
Atticus does not survive because he was the son-in-law of Agrippa and
ancestor of Tiberius, but through the epistles of Tully; Drusus, the
ancestor of Caesar, would not be found amongst the number of great names
if Cicero had not inserted it. Many, many years may pass over our heads,
and in all that time not many geniuses will keep their heads raised.
Now to return to the question of this enthusiast, who, seeing a phoenix
set on fire by the sun, calls to mind his own cares, and laments that
like the phoenix he sends, in exchange for the light and heat received,
a sluggish smoke from the holocaust of his melted substance. Wherefore
not only can we never discourse about things divine, but we cannot even
think of them without detracting from, rather than adding to the glory
of them; so that the best thing to be done with regard to them is, that
man, in the presence of other men, should rather praise himself for his
earnestness and courage, than give praise to anything, as complete and
perfected action; seeing that no such thing can be expected where there
is progress towards the infinite, where unity and infinity are the same
thing and cannot be followed by the other number, because there is no
unity from another unity, nor is there number from another number and
unity, because they are not the same absolute and infinite. Therefore
was it well said by a theologian that as the fountain of light far
exceeds not only our intellects, but also the divine, it is decorous
that one should not discourse with words, but that with silence alone it
should be magnified.
CES. Not, verily, with such silence as that of the brutes who are in the
likeness and image of men, but of those whose silence is more exalted
than all the cries and noise and screams of those who may be heard.
IV.
MAR. Let us go on and see what the rest means.
CES. Say, if you have seen and considered it, what is the meaning of
this fire in the form of a heart with four wings, two of which have eyes
and the whole is girt with luminous rays and has round about it this
question: Nitimur incassum?
MAR. I remember well, that it signifies the state of the mind, heart and
spirit and eyes of the enthusiast, but read the sonnet!
44.
Splendour divine, to which this mind aspires,
The intellect alone cannot unveil.
The heart, which those high thoughts would animate,
Makes not itself their lord; nor spirit, which
Should cease from pleasure for a space,
Can ever from those heights withdraw.
The eyes which should be closed at night in sleep,
Awake remain, open, and full of tears.
Ah me, my lights! where are the zeal and art
With which to tranquillize the afflicted sense?
Tell me my soul; what time and in what place
Shall I thy deep transcendent woe assuage?
And thou my heart, what solace can I bring
As compensation to thy heavy pain?
When, oh unquiet and perturbed mind,
Wilt thou the soul for debt and dole receive
With heart, with spirit and the sorrowing eyes?
The mind which aspires to the divine splendour flees from the society of
the crowd and retires from the multitude of subjects, as much as from
the community of studies, opinions and sentences; seeing that the peril
of contracting vices and illusions is greater, according to the number
of persons with whom one is allied. In the public shows, said the moral
philosopher, by means of pleasure, vices are more easily engendered. If
one aspires to the supreme splendour, let him retire as much as he can,
from union and support, into himself (Di sorte che non sia simile a
molti, per che son molti; e non sia nemico di molti per che son
dissimili), so that he be not like unto many, because they are many; and
be not adverse to many, because they are dissimilar; if it be possible,
let him retain the one and the other; otherwise he will incline to that
which seems to him best. Let him associate either with those whom he can
make better or with those through whom he may be made better, through
brightness which he may impart to those or that he may receive from
them. Let him be content with one ideal rather than with the inept
multitude. Nor will he hold that he has gained little, when he has
become such an one who is wise unto himself, remembering what Democritus
says: Unus mihi pro populo est, et populus pro uno; and what Epicurus
said to a companion of his studies, writing to him: "Haec tibi, non
multis! Satis enim magnum alter alteri theatrum sumus."
The mind, then, which aspires high, leaves, for the first thing, caring
about the crowd, considering that that divine light despises striving
and is only to be found where there is intelligence, and yet not every
intelligence, but that which is amongst the few, the chief, the first
among the first, the principal one.
CES. How do you mean that the mind aspires high? For example, by looking
at the stars? At the empyreal heaven above the ether?
MAR. Certainly not! but by plunging into the depths of the mind, for
which there is no great need to open the eyes to the sky, to raise the
hands, to direct the steps to the temple, nor sing to the ears of
statues in order to be the better heard, but to come into the inner self
believing that, God is near, present and within, more fully than man
himself, being soul of souls, life of lives, essence of essences: for
that which you see above or below, or round about, or however you please
to say it, of the stars, are bodies, are created things, similar to this
globe on which we are, and in which the divinity is present neither more
nor less than he is in this globe of ours or in ourselves. This is how,
then, one must begin to withdraw oneself from the multitude into
oneself. One ought to arrive at such a point to despise and not to
overestimate every labour, so that, the more the desires and the vices
contend with each other inwardly and the vicious enemies dispute
outwardly, so much the more should one breathe and rise, and with
spirit, if possible, surmount this steep hill. Here there is no need for
other arms and shield than the majesty of an unconquered soul and a
tolerant spirit, which maintains the quality and meaning of that life
which proceeds from science and is regulated by the art of considering
attentively things low and high, divine and human, in the which consists
that highest good, and in reference to this, a moral philosopher wrote
to Lucillus that one must not linger between Scylla and Charybdis,
penetrate the wilds of Candavia and the Apennines or lose oneself in the
sandy plains, because the road is as sure and as blythe as Nature
herself could make it. "It is not," says he, "gold and silver that makes
one like God, because these are not treasure to Him; nor vestments, for
God is naked; nor ostentation and fame, for He shows Himself to few, and
perhaps not one knows Him, and certainly many, and more than many, have
a bad opinion of Him. Not all the various conditions of things which we
usually admire, for not those things of which we desire to have copies,
make one rich, but the contempt for those things."
CES. Well. But tell me in what manner will this fellow tranquillize the
senses, assuage the woes of the spirit, compensate the heart and give
its just debts to the mind, so that with this aspiration of his he come
not to say: "Nitimur incassum"?
MAR. He will be present in the body in such wise that the best part of
himself will be absent from it, and will join himself by an indissoluble
sacrament to divine things, in such a way that he will not feel either
love or hatred of things mortal. Considering himself as master, and that
he ought not to be servant and slave to his body, which he would regard
only as the prison which holds his liberty in confinement, the glue
which smears his wings, chains which bind fast his hands, stocks which
fix his feet, veil which hides his view. Let him not be servant,
captive, ensnared, chained, idle, stolid and blind, for the body which
he himself abandons cannot tyrannize over him, so that thus, the spirit
in a certain degree comes before him as the corporeal world, and matter
is subject to the divinity and to nature. Thus will he become strong
against fortune, magnanimous towards injuries, intrepid towards poverty,
disease and persecution.
CES. Well is the heroic enthusiast instructed!
V.
CES. Close by is to be seen that which follows. See the wheel of time,
which moves round its own centre, and there is the legend: "Manens
moveor." What do you mean by that?
MAR. This means that movement is circular where motion concurs with
rest, seeing that in orbicular motion upon its own axis and about its
own centre is understood rest and stability according to right
movement, or, rest of the whole and movement of the parts; and from the
parts which move in a circle is understood two different kinds of
motion, inasmuch as some parts rise to the summit and others from the
summit descend to the base successively; others reach the medium
differences, and others the extremes of high and low. And all this seems
to me suitably expressed in the following:
45.
That which keeps my heart both open and concealed,
Beauty imprints and honesty dispels;
Zeal holds me fast; all other care comes to me
By that same path whence all care to the soul doth come:
Seek I myself from pain to disengage,
Hope sustains me then, whoso scourges, tires;--(altrui rigor mi lassa)
Love doth exalt and reverence abase me
What time I yearn towards the highest good.
High thoughts, holy desires, and mind intent
Upon the labours and the cunning of the heart
Towards the immense divine immortal object,
So do, that I be joined, united, fed,
That I lament no more; that reason, sense, attend,
Discourse and penetrate to other things.
So that the continual movement of one part supposes and carries with it
the movement of the whole, in such a way that the attraction of the
posterior parts is consequent upon the repulsion of the anterior parts;
thus the movement of the superior parts results of necessity from that
of the inferior, and from the raising of one opposite power, follows the
depression of the other opposite. Therefore the heart, which signifies
all the affections generally, comes to be concealed and open, held by
zeal, raised by magnificent thoughts, sustained by hope, weakened by
fear, and in this state and condition will it ever be seen and found.
VI.
CES. That is all well. Let us come to that which follows. I see a ship
floating on the waves; its ropes are attached to the shore and there is
the legend: Fluctuat in portu. Deliberate about the signification of
this, and when you are decided about it, explain.
MAR. Both the legend and the figure have a certain connexion with the
present legend and figure, as may be easily understood, if one considers
it a little. But let us read the sonnet.
46.
If I by gods, by heroes and by men
Be re-assured, so that I not despair,
Nor fear, pain, nor the impediments
Of death of body, joy and happiness,
Yet must I learn to suffer and to feel.
And that I may my pathways clearly see,
Let doubts arise, and dolour, and the woe
Of vanished hopes, of joy and all delight.
But if _he_ should behold, should grant, and should attend
My thoughts, my wishes, and my reasoning,
Who makes them so uncertain, hot, and vague,
Such dear conceits, such acts and speech,
Will not be given nor done to him, who stays
From birth, through life, to death in sheltered home.
Non da, non fa, non ha qualunque stassi
De l'orto, vita e morte a le magioni.
From what we have considered and said in the preceding discourses one is
able to understand these sentiments, especially where it is shown that
the sense of low things is diminished and annulled whenever the superior
powers are strongly intent upon a more elevated and heroic object. The
power of contemplation is so great, as is noted by Jamblichus, that it
happens sometimes, not only that the soul ceases from inferior acts, but
that it leaves the body entirely. The which I will not understand
otherwise than in such various ways as are explained in the book of
thirty seals, wherein are produced so many methods of contraction, of
which some infamously, others heroically operate, that one learns not to
fear death, suffers not pain of body, feels not the hindrances of
pleasures: wherefore the hope, the joy, and the delight of the superior
spirit are of so intense a kind that they extinguish all those passions
which may have their origin in doubt, in pain and all kinds of sadness.
CES. But what is that, of which he requests that it consider those
thoughts which it has rendered so uncertain, fulfil those desires which
it has made so ardent, and listen to those discourses which it has
rendered so vague?
MAR. He means the Object, which he beholds when it makes itself present;
for to see the Divine is to be seen by it, as to see the sun concurs
with the being seen of the sun. Equally, to be heard by the Divine, is
precisely to listen to it, and to be favoured by it, is the same as to
offer to it; for from the one immoveable and the same, proceed thoughts
uncertain and certain, desires ardent and appeased, and reasonings valid
and vain, according as the man worthily or unworthily puts them before
himself, with the intellect, the affections and actions. As that same
pilot may be said to be the cause of the sinking or of the safety of the
ship, according as he is present in it or absent from it; with this
difference, that the pilot through his defectiveness or his efficiency
ruins or saves the ship; but the Divine potency which is all in all does
not proffer or withhold except through assimilation or rejection by
oneself.
VII.
MAR. It seems to me that the following figure is closely connected and
linked with the above; there are two stars in the form of two radiant
eyes, with the legend: Mors et vita.
CES. Read the sonnet!
MAR. I will do so:
47.
Writ by the hand of Love may each behold
Upon my face the story of my woes.
But thou, so that thy pride no curb may know,
And I, unhappy one, eternally might rest,
Thou dost torment, by hiding from my view
Those lovely lights beneath the beauteous lids.
Therefore the troubled sky's no more serene,
Nor hostile baleful shadows fall away.
By thine own beauty, by this love of mine
(So great that e'en with this it may compare),
Render thyself, oh Goddess, unto pity!
Prolong no more this all-unmeasured woe,
Ill-timed reward for such a love as this.
Let not such rigour with such splendour mate
If it import thee that I live!
Open, oh lady, the portals of thine eyes,
And look on me if thou wouldst give me death!
Here, the face upon which the story of his woes appears is the soul; in
so far as it is open to receive those superior gifts, for the which it
has a potential aptitude, without the fulness of perfection and act
which waits for the dew of heaven. Thus was it well said: Anima mea
sicut terra sine aqua tibi; and again: Os meum operui; and again:
Spiritum, quia mandata tua desiderabam. Then "pride which knows no curb"
is said in metaphor and similitude, as God is sometimes said to be
jealous, angry, or that He sleeps, and that signifies the difficulty
with which He grants so much even as to show his shoulders, which is the
making himself known by means of posterior things and effects. So the
lights are covered with the eyelids, the troubled sky of the human mind
does not clear itself by the removal of the metaphors and enigmas.
Besides which, because he does not believe that all which is not, could
not be, he prays the divine light, that by its beauty, which ought not
to be entirely concealed, at least according to the capacity of whoever
beholds it, and by his love, which, perchance, is equal to so much
beauty (equal, he means, of the beauty, in so far as he can comprehend
it) that it surrender itself to pity, that is, that it should do as
those who are compassionate, and who from being capricious and gloomy
become gracious and affable and that it prolong not the evil which
results from that privation, and not allow that its splendour, for which
it is so much desired, should appear greater than that love by means of
which it communicates itself, seeing that in it all the perfections are
not only equal but are also the same. In fine, he begs that it will no
further sadden by privation, for it can kill with the glance of its eyes
and can also with those same give him life.
CES. Does he mean that death of lovers, which comes from intense joy,
called by the Kabalists, mors osculi, which same is eternal life, which
a man may anticipate in this life and enjoy in eternity?
MAR. He does.
VIII.
MAR. It is time to proceed to the consideration of the following design,
similar to those previously brought forward, and with which it has a
certain affinity. There is an eagle, which with two wings cleaves the
sky; but I do not know how much and in what manner it comes to be
retarded by the weight of a stone which is tied to its leg. There is the
legend: Scinditur incertum. It is certain that it signifies the
multitude, number and character (volgo) of the powers of the soul, to
exemplify which, that verse is taken: Scinditur incertum studia in
contraria vulgus. The whole of which character (volgo) in general is
divided into two factions; although subordinate to these, others are not
wanting, of which some appeal to the high intelligence and splendour of
rectitude, while others incite and force in a certain manner to the low,
to the uncleanness of voluptuousness and compliance with natural
desires. Therefore says the sonnet:
48.
I would do well--to me 'tis not allowed.
With me my sun is not, although I be with him,
For being with him, I'm no more with myself:
The farther from myself--the nearer unto him;
The nearer unto him, the farther from myself.
Once to enjoy, doth cost me many tears,
And seeking happiness, I meet with woe.
For that I look aloft, so blind am I.
That I may gain my love, I lose myself.
Through bitter joy, and through sweet pain,
Weighted with lead, I rise towards the sky.
Necessity withholds, goodness conducts me on,
Fate sinks me down, and counsel raises me,
Desire spurs me, fear keeps me in check.
Care kindles and the peril backward draws.
Tell me, what power or what subterfuge
Can give me peace and bring me from this strife,
If one repels, the other draws me on.
The ascension goes on in the soul through the power and appulsion in
the wings, which are the intellect, or intellectual will upon which she
naturally depends and through which she fixes her gaze toward God, as to
the highest good, and primal truth, as to absolute goodness and beauty.
Thus everything has an impetus towards its beginning retrogressively,
and progressively towards its end and perfection, as Empedocles well
said, and from which sentence I think may be inferred that which the
Nolan said in this octave:
The sun must turn and reach his starting-point,
Each wandering light must go towards its source,
That which is earth to earth itself reverts,
The rivers from the sea to sea return,
And thither, whence desires have life and grow
Must they aspire as to revered divinity,
So every thought born of my lady fair
Comes back perforce to her, my goddess dear.
The intellectual power is never at rest, it is never satisfied with any
comprehended truth, but ever proceeds on and on towards that truth which
is not comprehended. So also the will which follows the apprehension, we
see that it is never satisfied with anything finite. In consequence of
this, the essence of the soul is always referred to the source of its
substance and entity. Then as to the natural powers, by means of which
it is turned to the protection and government of matter, to which it
allies itself, and by appulsion benefits and communicates of its
perfection to inferior things, through the likeness which it has to the
Divine, which in its benignity communicates itself or produces
infinitely, _i.e._ imparts existence to the universal infinite and to
the innumerable worlds in it, or, finitely, produces this universe
alone, subject to our eyes and our common reason. Thus then in the one
sole essence of the soul are found these two kinds of powers, and as
they are used for one's own good and for the good of others, it follows
that they are depicted with a pair of wings, by means of which it is
potent towards the object of the primal and immaterial potencies, and
with a heavy stone, through which it is active and efficacious towards
the objects of the secondary and material potencies. Whence it follows
that the entire affection of the enthusiast is bifold, divided,
harassed, and placed in a position to incline itself more easily
downwards than to force itself upwards: seeing that the soul finds
itself in a low and hostile country, and reaches the far-off region of
its more natural home where its powers are the weakest.
CES. Do you think that this difficulty can be overcome?
MAR. Perfectly well; but the beginning is most difficult, and according
as we make more and more fruitful progress in contemplation we arrive at
a greater and greater facility. As happens to whoever flys up high, the
more he rises above the earth the more air he has beneath to uphold him,
and consequently the less he is affected by gravitation; he may even
rise so high that he cannot, without the labour of cleaving the air,
return downwards, although one might imagine it were more easy to cleave
the air downwards towards the earth than to rise on high towards the
stars.
CES. So that with progress of this kind a greater and greater facility
is acquired for mounting on high?
MAR. So it is; therefore well said Tansillo:--
"The more I feel the air beneath my feet
So much the more towards the wind I bend
My swiftest pinions
And spurn the world and up towards Heaven I go."
As every part of bodies and of their elements, the nearer they come to
their natural place, the greater the impetus and force with which they
move, until at last, whether they will or not, they must prevail. That
which we see then in the parts of bodies and in the bodies themselves we
ought also to allow of intellectual things towards their proper
objects, as their proper places, countries, and ends. Whence you may
easily comprehend the entire significance of the figure, the legend, and
the verses.
CES. So much so that whatsoever you might add thereto would appear to me
superfluous.
IX.
CES. Let us see what is here represented by those two radiating arrows
upon a target around which is written: Vicit instans.
MAR. The continual struggle in the soul of the enthusiast, the which, in
consequence of the long familiarity which it had with matter was hard
and incapable of being penetrated by the rays of the splendour of the
Divine intelligence and the species of the Divine goodness; during which
time, he says that the heart was enamelled with diamond, that is, the
affection was hard and not capable of being heated and penetrated, and
it rejected the blows of love which assailed it on innumerable sides.
That is, it did not feel itself wounded by those wounds of eternal life
of which the Psalmist speaks when he says: Vulnerasti cor meum, o
dilecta, vulnerasti cor meum. The which wounds are not from iron or
other material through the vigour and strength of nerves, but are darts
of Diana, or of Phoebus, that is, either from the goddess of the
deserts--of contemplation of truth, that is, from Diana, who is the
order of the second intelligences, which transfer the splendour received
from the first and communicate it to the others, who are deprived of a
more open vision; or else from the principal god Apollo, who with his
own, and not a borrowed splendour, sends his darts, that is, his rays,
so many and from such innumerable points, which are all the species of
things, which are indications of Divine goodness, intelligence, beauty,
and wisdom, according to the various degrees, from the simple
comprehension, to the becoming heroic enthusiasts; because the
adamantine subject does not reflect from its surface the impression of
the light, but, destroyed and overcome by the heat and light, it becomes
in substance luminous--all light--so that it is penetrated within the
affection and conception. This is not immediately, at the beginning of
generation, when the soul comes forth fresh from the intoxication of
Lethe, and drenched with the waves of forgetfulness and confusion, so
that the spirit comes into captivity to the body, and is put into the
condition of growth; but little by little, it goes on digesting, so as
to become fitted for the action of the sensitive faculty, until,
through the rational and discursive faculty, it comes to a purer
intellectual one, so that it can present itself to the mind, without
feeling itself befogged by the exhalations of that humour, which,
through the exercise of contemplation, has been saved from putrefaction
in the stomach and is duly digested. In this state, the present
enthusiast shows himself to have remained thirty years, during which
time he had not reached that purity of conception which would make him a
suitable habitation for the wandering species, which offering themselves
to all, equally, knock, ever at the door of the intelligence. At last,
Love, who in various ways and at different times had assaulted him as it
were in vain--as the light and heat of the sun are said to be useless to
those who are in the opaque depths and bowels of the earth--having
located itself in those sacred lights, that is having shown forth the
Divine Beauty through two intelligible species the which bound his
intellect through the reasoning of Truth and warmed his affections
through the reasoning of Goodness; while the material and sensitive
desires became superseded, which aforetime used, as it were, to triumph,
remaining intact, notwithstanding the excellence of the soul. Because
those lights which made present the illuminating, acting intellect and
sun of intelligence found easy ingress through his eyes; that of Truth
(the intellect of Truth?) through the door of the intellectual faculty;
that of Goodness (intellect of Goodness?) through the door of the
appetitive faculty, to the heart, that is, the substance of the general
affection. This was that double ray, which came as from the hand of an
irate warrior, who showed himself, now, as ready and as bold, as
aforetime he had appeared weak and negligent.
Then, when he first felt warmed and illuminated in his conception, was
that victorious point and moment of which it is said: Vicit instans.
Thus you can understand the sense of the following figure, legend and
sonnet, which says:--
49.
I fought with all my strength, 'gainst Love Divine
When he assailed with blows from every side
This cold, enamelled, adamantine heart,
Whence my desires defeated his intent.
At last, one day, 'twas as the heavens had willed.
Encamped I found him in those holy lights
Which, through mine own alone, of all the rest
An easy entrance to my heart could find.
'Twas then upon me fell that double bolt,
Flung as from hand of irate warrior
Who had for thirty years besieged in vain.
He marked that place and strongly there he held,
Planted the trophy there, and evermore
He holds my fleet wings in restrainment.
Meanwhile since then with more solemnity of preparation
The anger and the ire of my sweet enemy
Cease not to wound my heart.
Rare moment was that; the end of the beginning and perfection of
victory; rare were those two species which amongst all others found easy
entrance, seeing that they contain in themselves the efficacy and the
virtue of all the others; for what higher and more excellent form can
present itself than that of the beauty, goodness and truth, which are
the source of every other truth, beauty, and goodness? "He marked that
place"--that is, took possession of the affections, noted them, and
impressed upon them his own character; "and strongly there he held;" he
confirmed and established them and sanctified them so that he can never
again lose them; for it is not possible that one should turn to love any
other thing when once he has conceived in his mind the Divine Beauty,
and it is as impossible that he can do other than love it, as it is
impossible that his desires should fall otherwise than towards good, or
species of good. Therefore his inclination is in the highest degree
towards the primal good. So again, the wings, which used to be so fleet
to go downwards with the weight of matter, are kept in restrainment, and
the sweet augers which are the efficacious assaults of the gracious
enemy, who has been for so long time kept back, and excluded, a stranger
and a pilgrim, never cease to wound, soliciting the affections and
awakening thought. But now, the sole and entire possessor and disposer
of the soul, for she neither wills nor wishes to will other, nor is she
pleased, nor will she that any other please her, whence he often says:--
Dolci ire, guerra dolce, dolci dardi,
Dolci mie piaghe, miei dolci dolori!
X.
CES. It would seem that we have nothing more to consider upon this
proposition. Let us see now, how this quiver and bow of Eros display the
sparks around, and the knot of the string, which hangs down with the
legend, which is: Subito, clam.
MAR. Well do I remember having seen it expressed in the sonnet. But let
us read it first.
50.
Eager to find the much desired food,
The eagle towards the sky spreads out his wings
And warns of his approach both bird and beast,
The third flight bringing him upon the prey.
And the fierce lion roaring from his lair
Spreads horror all around and mortal fear;
And all wild beasts, admonished and forewarned,
Fly to the caves and cheat his cruel jaw.
The whale, ere he the dumb Protean herd
Hungry pursues, sends forth his nuncio,
From caves of Thetys spouts his water forth.
Lions and eagles of the earth and sky,
And whales, lords of the seas, come not with treachery,
But the assaults of Love come stealing secretly.
The animal kingdom is divided into three, and is composed of various
elements: the earth, the water, the air, and there are three
species--beasts, fishes, and birds. Into three kinds are the principles
of nature settled and defined, in the air the eagle, on earth the lion,
in the water the whale; of the which, each one, as it displays more
strength and command over the others, makes a show of magnanimous
action, or apparently magnanimous. Therefore it is observed, that the
lion, before he starts on the hunt trumpets forth his roar, which
resounds through the whole forest, like to the poetical description of
the fury-hunter.
At saeva e speculis tempus dea nacta nocendi,
Ardua tecta petit, stabuli et de culmine summo
Pastorale canit signum, cornuque recurvo
Tartaream intendit vocem, qua protinus omne
Contremuit nemus, et silvae intonuere profundae.
The eagle again, before he proceeds to his venery, first rises straight
from the nest in a perpendicular line upwards, and generally speaking at
the third time he swoops from above with greater impetus and swiftness
than if he were flying in a direct line, so that at the time when he is
gaining the greatest velocity of flight, he is able also to speculate
upon his success with the prey, and after three inspections he knows
whether he will succeed or fail.
CES. Can one imagine why, if at the first his prey presents itself
before his eyes, he does not instantly pounce upon it?
MAR. No; unless it be to see whether anything better, or more easily
taken, comes to sight. At the same time I do not believe that this is
always so, but most often it is. But to return. Of the whale it is
manifest that, being such a huge animal, he cannot divide the waters
without making his presence known through the repulsion of the waves,
besides which there are several species of this fish, that when they
move or breathe, spout forth a windy tempest of water. Thus from these
three principal species of animals, the inferior kinds have warning to
enable them to get away, so that they do not conduct themselves as
deceivers and traitors. But Love, who is stronger and greater and who
has supreme dominion in heaven, on earth, and in the seas, and who in
comparison ought perhaps to show greater magnanimity, as he also has
more power, does nothing of the kind, but assaults and wounds suddenly
and swiftly.
Labitur totas furor in medullas,
Igne furtivo populante venas,
Nec habet latum data plaga frontem;
Sed vorat tectas penitas medullas,
Virginum ignoto ferit igne pectus.
As you perceive, the tragic poet calls him a furtive fire, an unknown
flame. Solomon calls it furtive waters. Samuel named it the whisper of a
gentle wind. The which three significations show with what sweetness,
gentleness, and astuteness, in seas, on earth, in sky, does this fellow
come and tyrannize over the whole universe.
CES. There is no vaster empire, no worse tyranny, no better dominion, no
more necessary magistracy, nothing more sweet and dear, no food to be
found more hard and bitter, no deity more violent, no god more pleasing,
no agent more treacherous and false, no author more regal and faithful,
and, in fine, it seems to me that Love is all and does all, of him all
may be said, and all may refer itself to him.
MAR. You say well. Love then, as he who works chiefly through the
sight, which is the most spiritual of all the senses, and which reaches
swiftly the known ends of the earth, and without stretch of time takes
in the whole horizon of the visible, comes to be quick, furtive, sudden
and instantaneous. Besides which, we must remember what the ancients
say, that Love precedes all the other gods, and therefore it is no use
to imagine that Saturn shows him the way except by following him. Now
must we find out, whether Love appears and makes himself known
externally, whether his home is the soul itself, his bed the heart
itself, and whether he consists of the same composition as our own
substance, the same impulse as our own powers. Finally everything
naturally desires the beautiful and the good, and therefore it is
useless to argue and discuss, because the affection informs and confirms
itself, and in one instant desire joins itself to the desirable, as the
sight to the visible.
XI.
CES. Let us see here, what is the meaning of that burning arrow, around
which is the legend: Cui nova plaga loco? Explain what part does this
seek to wound?
MAR. Read the sonnet which says:--
51.
That all the ears of corn that may be reaped
In burning Apuleia, or sunbrowned Lybia,
With all that they unto the winds entrust,
Or that the rays from the great planet sent,
Should number those sad pains of my glad soul,
Which she from those two burning stars receives
With mournful joy in sweetest agony,
Forbid me Sense and Reason to believe.
What would'st thou more, sweet foe?
What wish is that which moves thee still to hurt,
Since this my heart of but one wound is made?
So that there lies no part that now may be
By thee or others printed, stabbed, or pierced,
Turn thee aside, turn otherwhere thy bow,
For thou dost waste thy powers, oh beauteous god!
In slaying him who lies already dead.
The meaning of all this is metaphorical, like the rest, and may be
understood in the same sense as that. Here the number of darts which
have wounded and do wound the heart, signify the innumerable individuals
and species of things, in which shine the splendour of Divine Beauty,
according to their degrees, and whence the affection for the good, well
proposed and well apprehended warms us. The which through the causes of
potentiality and actuality, of possibility and of effect, crucify and
console, give the sense of sweetness and also make the bitter to be
felt. But where the entire affection is all turned towards God, that is
towards the Idea of Ideas, from the light of intelligible things, the
mind becomes exalted to the super-essential unity, and, all love, all
one, it feels itself no longer solicited by various objects, which
distract it, but is one sole wound, in the which the whole affection
concurs and which comes to be one and the same affection. Then there is
no love or desire of any particular thing, that can urge, nor even
present itself before the will; for there is nothing more straight than
the straight, nothing more beautiful than beauty, nothing better than
goodness, nothing can be found larger than size, nor anything lighter
than that light which with its presence darkens and obliterates all
lights.
CES. To the perfect, if it be perfect, there is nothing that can be
added; therefore the will is not capable of any other desire, when that
which is of the perfect is present with it, highest and best. Therefore
I understand the conclusion where he says to Love, "Turn otherwhere thy
bow," and wherefore should he try to kill him who is already dead, that
is, he, who has no more life nor sense about other things, so that he
cannot be stabbed or pierced or become exposed to other species. And
this lament proceeds from him, who having tasted of the highest unity,
desires to be in all things severed and withdrawn from the multitude.
MAR. You understand quite well.
XII.
CES. Now here is a boy in a boat, which little by little is being
submerged in the tempestuous waves, and he, languid and tired, has
abandoned the oars; around it the legend "Fronti nulla, fides." There is
no doubt that this signifies that he was induced, by the serene aspect
of the waters, to venture on the treacherous sea, which having suddenly
become troubled, the boy, in mortal fear, and in his impotence to still
the tempest, has lost his head, his hope, and the power of his arm. But
let us see the rest:--
52.
Oh, gentle boy, that from the shore didst loose
The baby bark, and to the slender oar
Didst set thy unskilled hand; lured by the sea!
Late hast thou seen the evil of thy plight.
See there the traitor rolls his fatal waves,
The prow of thy frail bark, now sinks, now mounts.
The soul borne down with anxious cares
Prevaileth not against the swollen floods.
Thy oars thou yieldst to thy fierce enemy,
Waiting for death with calm collected thought,
With eyelids closed, lest thou shouldst see him come.
If thee no friendly aid should quickly reach
Thou surely must the full result soon feel,
Of thy inquisitive temerity.
My cruel fate is like unto thine own,
For I too, lured, enticed by Love, must feel,
The rigour keen of this most treacherous one.
In what manner and why Love is a traitor and deceiver we have just seen;
but as I see the following without figure or legend, I believe that it
must have connection with the above. Therefore let us go on and read it.
53.
Methought to leave the shelter of my port,
And from maturer studies rest awhile:
When, looking round me to enjoy my ease,
Sudden I saw those unrelenting fates.
These have inflamed me with so ardent fires.
Vainly I strive some safer shores to reach,
Vainly from pitying hands invoke some aid,
And swift deliverance from my enemies.
Weary and hoarse I yield me, impotent,
And seek no more to elude my destiny,
Or make endeavour to escape my death:
Let every other life to me be null,
And let not the extremest torment fail,
Which my hard fate for me prescribed.
Type of my own deep ills,
Is that which thou for pastime didst entrust
To hostile breast. Oh, careless boy.
Here I would not pretend to understand or determine all that the
enthusiast means. Yet there is well expressed the strange condition of a
soul cast down by the knowledge of the difficulty of the operation, the
amount of the labour, the vastness of the work on one side, and on the
other the ignorance, want of knowledge of the way, weakness of nerves
and peril of death. He has no knowledge suitable to the business, he
does not know where and how to turn, no place of flight or refuge
presents itself; and he sees that, from every side, the waves threaten,
with frightful, fatal impetus. Ignoranti portum, nullus suus ventus est.
Behold him, who has committed himself indeed to fortuitous things, and
has brought upon himself trouble, prison, ruin, and drowning. See how
fortune deludes us, and that which we put carefully into her hands, she
either breaks or lets it fall from her hands, or causes it to be removed
by the violence of another, or suffocates and poisons, or taints with
suspicion, fear, and jealousy to the great hurt and ruin of the
possessor. Fortunae au ulla putatis dona carcere dolis? For strength
which cannot give proof of itself is dissipated; magnanimity, which
cannot prevail, is naught, and vain is study without results; he sees
the effects of the fear of evil, which is worse than evil itself. Peior
est morte timor ipse mortis. He already suffers, through fear, that
which he fears to suffer, terror in the limbs, imbecility in the nerves,
tremors in the body, anxiety of the spirit, and that which has not yet
appeared becomes present to him, and is certainly worse than whatsoever
may happen. What can be more stupid than to be in pain about future
things and absent ones which at present are not felt?
CES. These considerations are on the surface and belong to the external
of the figure. But the proposition of the heroic enthusiast, I think,
deals with the imbecility of human nature (ingegno) which, intent on the
Divine undertaking, finds itself all at once engulphed in the abyss of
incomprehensible excellence, and the sense and the imagination become
confused and absorbed, and not knowing how to pass on, nor to go back,
nor where to turn, vanishes and loses itself as a drop of water vanishes
in the sea, or as a small spirit, becomes attenuated, losing its own
substance in the space and immensity of the atmosphere.
MAR. Well. But let us go towards our chamber and talk as we go, for it
is night.
