THE

HEROIC ENTHUSIASTS

(_GLI EROICI FURORI_)

An Ethical poem

BY GIORDANO BRUNO

PART THE FIRST

TRANSLATED BY

L. WILLIAMS

_WITH AN INTRODUCTION, COMPILED CHIEFLY FROM DAVID LEVI'SGIORDANO BRUNO O LA RELIGIONE DEL PENSIERO_

LONDONGEORGE REDWAYYORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN1887

PREFACE. 

When this Translation was begun, more than two years ago, for my ownpleasure, in leisure hours, I had no knowledge of the difficulty Ishould find in the work, nor any thought of ever having it printed; butas "Gli Eroici Furori" of Giordano Bruno has never appeared in English, I decided to publish that portion of it which I have finished. 

I wish to thank those friends who have so kindly looked over my workfrom time to time, and given me their help in the choice of words andphrases. I must, moreover, confess that I am keenly alive to theshortcomings and defects of this Translation. 

I have used the word "Enthusiasts" in the title, rather than"Enthusiasms, " because it seemed to me more appropriate. 

L. W. 

FOLKSTONE, _September 1887_. 

ERRATA

Page 3, line 10, _for_ "also mother" _read_ "also my mother. "Page 47, line 9, _for_ "poisons" _read_ "poison. "

INTRODUCTION. 

Nola, a city founded by the Chalcidian Greeks, at a short distance fromNaples and from Vesuvius, was the birth-place of Giordano Bruno. It isdescribed by David Levi as a city which from ancient times had alwaysbeen consecrated to science and letters. From the time of the Romans tothat of the Barbarians and of the Middle Ages, Nola was conspicuous forculture and refinement, and its inhabitants were in all times remarkablefor their courteous manners, for valour, and for keenness of perception. They were, moreover, distinguished by their love for and study ofphilosophy; so that this city was ever a favourite dwelling-place forthe choice spirits of the Renaissance. It may also be asserted that Nolawas the only city of Magna Græcia which, in spite of the persecutions ofPagan emperors and Christian princes and clergy, always preserved thephilosophical traditions of the Pythagoreans, and never was the sacredfire on the altar of Vesta suffered to become entirely extinct. Such wasthe intellectual and moral atmosphere in which Bruno passed hischildhood. His paternal home was situated at the foot of Mount Cicada, celebrated for its fruitful soil. From early youth his pleasure was topass the night out on the mountain, now watching the stars, nowcontemplating the arid, desolate sides of Vesuvius. He tells how, inrecalling those days--the only peaceful ones of his life--he used tothink, as he looked up at the infinite expanse of heaven and theconfines of the horizon, with the towering volcano, that this must bethe ultimate end of the earth, and it appeared as if neither tree norgrass refreshed the dreary space which stretched out to the foot of thebare smoky mountain. When, grown older, he came nearer to it, and sawthe mountain so different from what it had appeared, and the interveningspace that, seen from afar, had looked so bare and sterile, all coveredwith fruit-trees and enriched with vineyards, he began to see howillusory the judgment of the senses may be; and the first doubt wasplanted in his young soul as he perceived that, while the mind may graspNature in her grandeur and majesty, the work of the sage must be toexamine her in detail, and penetrate to the cause of things. When heappeared before the tribunal of the Holy Office at Venice, being askedto declare who and what he was, he said: "My name is Giordano, of thefamily of Bruno, of the city of Nola, twelve miles from Naples. Therewas I born and brought up. My profession has been and is that ofletters, and of all the sciences. My father's name was Giovanni, and mymother was Francesca Savolini; and my father was a soldier. He is dead, and also mother. I am forty-four years old, having been born in 1548. "He always regarded Nola with patriotic pride, and he received his firstinstruction in his father's house and in the public schools. Of a saddisposition, and gifted with a most lively imagination, he was from hisearliest years given to meditation and to poetry. The early years ofBruno's life were times of agitation and misfortune, and not propitiousto study. The Neapolitan provinces were disturbed by constantearthquakes, and devastated by pestilence and famine. The Turks fought, and ravaged the country, and made slaves of the inhabitants; theneighbouring provinces were still more harassed by hordes of bandits andoutlaws, who invested Calabria, led by a terrible chief called Marcone. The Inquisition stood prepared to light its fires and slaughter theheretic. The Waldensians, who had lately been driven out of Piedmont, and had sought a shelter in the Calabrian territory, were hunted downand given over to the executioner. 

The convent was the only refuge from violence, and Bruno, either fromreligious enthusiasm, or in order to be able to devote himself to study, became a friar at the age of fifteen. There, in the quiet cloister ofthe convent of St. Dominic at Naples, his mind was nourished and hisintellect developed; the cloistral and monkish education failed toenslave his thought, and he emerged from this tutelage the boldest andleast fettered of philosophers. Everything about this church and thisconvent, famous as having been the abode of Thomas Aquinas, wascalculated to fire the enthusiasm of Bruno's soul; the leisure andquiet, far from inducing habits of indolence, or the sterile practicesof asceticism, were stimulants to austere study, and to the fervour ofmystical speculations. Here he passed nearly thirteen years of earlymanhood, until his intellect strengthened by study he began to long forindependence of thought, and becoming, as he said himself, solicitousabout the food of the soul and the culture of the mind, he found itirksome to go through automatically the daily vulgar routine of theconvent; the pure flame of an elevated religious feeling being kindledin his soul, he tried to evade the vain exercises of the monks, thepuerile gymnastics, and the adoration of so-called relics. His characterwas frank and open, and he was unable to hide his convictions; he putsome of his doubts before his companions, and these hastened to referthem to the superiors; and thus was material found to institute a causeagainst him. It became known, that he had praised the methods used bythe Arians or Unitarians in expounding their doctrines, adding that theyrefer all things to the ultimate cause, which is the Father: this, withother heretical propositions, being brought to the notice of the HolyOffice, Bruno found himself in the position of being first observed andthen threatened. He was warned of the danger that hung over him by somefriends, and decided to quit Naples. He fled from the convent, and tookthe road to Rome, and was there received in the monastery of theMinerva. A few days after his arrival in Rome he learned thatinstructions for his arrest had been forwarded from Naples; he tarriednot, but got away secretly, throwing aside the monk's habiliments by theway. He wandered for some days about the Roman Campagna, his destitutecondition proving a safeguard against the bands of brigands thatinfested those lands, until arriving near Civita Vecchia, he was takenon board a Genoese vessel, and carried to the Ligurian port, where hehoped to find a refuge from his enemies; but the city of Geneva wasdevastated by pestilence and civil war, and after a sojourn of a fewdays he pursued once more the road of exile. Seeking for a place whereinhe might settle for a short time and hide from his pursuers, he stayedhis steps at Noli, situated at a short distance from Savona, on theRiviera: this town, nestled in a little bay surrounded by high hillscrowned by feudal castles and towers, was only accessible on the shoreside, and offered a grateful retreat to our philosopher. At Noli, Brunoobtained permission of the magistracy to teach grammar to children, andthus secured the means of subsistence by the small remuneration hereceived; but this modest employment did not occupy him sufficiently, and he gathered round him a few gentlemen of the district, to whom hetaught the science of the Sphere. Bruno also wrote a book upon theSphere, which was lost. He expounded the system of Copernicus, andtalked to his pupils with enthusiasm about the movement of the earth andof the plurality of worlds. 

As in that same Liguria Columbus first divined another hemisphereoutside the Pillars of Hercules, so Bruno discovered to those astonishedminds the myriads of worlds which fill the immensity of space. Columbuswas derided and banished by his fellow-citizens, and the fate of ourphilosopher was similar to his. In the humble schoolmaster who taughtgrammar to the children, the bishop, the clergy, and the nobles, wholistened eagerly to his lectures on the Sphere, began to suspect theheretic and the innovator. After five months it behoved him to leaveNoli; he took the road to Savona, crossed the Apennines, and arrived atTurin. In Turin at that time reigned the great Duke Emanuele Filiberto, a man of strong character--one of those men who know how to found adynasty and to fix the destiny of a people; at that time, when Centraland Southern Italy were languishing under home and foreign tyranny, helaid the foundations of the future Italy. 

He was warrior, artist, mechanic, and scholar. Intrepid on the field ofbattle, he would retire from deeds of arms to the silence of his study, and cause the works of Aristotle to be read to him; he spoke all theEuropean languages; he worked at artillery, at models of fortresses, andat the smith's craft; he brought together around him, from all sides ofItaly, artisans and scientists to promote industry, commerce, andscience; he gathered together in Piedmont the most excellent compositorsof Italy, and sanctioned a printer's company. 

Bruno, attracted to Turin by the favour that was shown to letters andphilosophy, hoped to get occupation as press reader; but it wasprecisely at that time that the Duke, instigated by France, wascombating, with every kind of weapon, the Waldensian and Huguenotheresies, and had invited the Jesuits to Turin, offering them asubstantial subsidy; so that on Bruno's arrival he found the place hehad hoped for, as teacher in the university, occupied by his enemies, and he therefore moved on with little delay, and embarked for Venice. 

Berti, in his Life of Bruno, remarks that when the latter sought refugein Turin, Torquato Tasso, also driven by adverse fortune, arrived in thesame place, and he notes the affinity between them--both so great, bothsubject to every species of misfortune and persecution in life, anddestined to immortal honours after their death: the light of geniusburned in them both, the fire of enthusiasm flamed in each alike, and onthe forehead of each one was set the sign of sorrow and of pain. 

Both Bruno and Tasso entered the cloister as boys: the one joined theDominicans, the other the Jesuits; and in the souls of both might bediscerned the impress of the Order to which they belonged. Both wentforth from their native place longing to find a broader field of actionand greater scope for their intellectual powers. The one left Naplescarrying in his heart the Pagan and Christian traditions of the nobleenterprises and the saintly heroism of Olympus and of Calvary, of Homerand the Fathers, of Plato and St. Ignatius; the other was filled withthe philosophical thought of the primitive Italian and Pythagoreanepochs, fecundated by his own conceptions and by the new age;philosopher and apostle of an idea, Bruno consecrated his life to thedevelopment of it in his writings and to the propagation of hisprinciples in Europe by the fire of enthusiasm. The one surprised theworld with the melody of his songs; being, as Dante says, the "dolcesirena che i marinari in mezzo al mare smaga, " he lulled the anguishthat lacerated Italy, and gilded the chains which bound her; the othertried to shake her; to recall her to life with the vigour of thought, with the force of reason, with the sacrifice of himself. The songs ofTasso were heard and sung from one end of Italy to the other, and thepoet dwelt in palaces and received the caress and smile of princes;while Bruno, discoursing in the name of reason and of science, wasrejected, persecuted, and scourged, and only after three centuries ofingratitude, of calumny, and of forgetfulness, does his country showsigns of appreciating him and of doing justice to his memory. In Tassothe poet predominates over the philosopher, in Bruno the philosopherpredominates over and eclipses the poet. The first sacrifices thought toform; the second is careful only of the idea. Again, both are full of aconception of the Divine, but the God that the dying Tasso confessed isa god that is expected and comes not; while the god that Bruno proclaimshe already finds within himself. Tasso dies in his bed in the cloister, uneasy as on a bed of thorns; Bruno, amidst the flames, stands out as ona pedestal, and dies serene and calm. We must now follow our fugitive toVenice. 

At the time Giordano Bruno arrived in Venice that city was the mostimportant typographical centre of Europe; the commerce in books extendedthrough the Levant, Germany, and France, and the philosopher hoped thathere he might find some means of subsistence. The plague at that timewas devastating Venice, and in less than one year had claimed forty-twothousand victims; but Bruno felt no fear, and he took a lodging in thatpart of Venice called the Frezzeria, and was soon busy preparing for thepress a work called "Segni del Tempo, " hoping that the sale of it wouldbring a little money for daily needs. This work was lost, as were allthose which he published in Italy, and which it was to the interest ofRome to destroy. Disappointed at not finding work to do in Venice, henext went to Padua, which was the intellectual centre of Europe, asVenice was the centre of printing and publishing; the most celebratedprofessors of that epoch were to be found in the University of Padua, but at the time of Bruno's sojourn there, Padua, like Venice, wasravaged by the plague; the university was closed, and the printing-housewas not in operation. He remained there only a few days, lodging withsome monks of the Order of St. Dominic, who, he relates, "persuaded meto wear the dress again, even though I would not profess the religion itimplied, because they said it would aid me in my wayfaring to be thusattired; and so I got a white cloth robe, and I put on the hood which Ihad preserved when I left Rome. " Thus habited he wandered for severalmonths about the cities of Venetia and Lombardy; and although hecontrived for a time to evade his persecutors, he finally decided toleave Italy, as it was repugnant to his disposition to live in forceddissimulation, and he felt that he could do no good either for himselfor for his country, which was then overrun with Spaniards and scourgedby petty tyrants; and with the lower orders sunk in ignorance, and theupper classes illiterate, uncultivated, and corrupt, the mission ofGiordano Bruno was impossible. "Altiora Peto" was Bruno's motto, and torealize it he had gone forth with the pilgrim's staff in his hand, sometimes covered with the cowl of the monk, at others wearing thesimple habit of a schoolmaster, or, again, clothed with the doublet ofthe mechanic: he had found no resting-place--nowhere to lay his head, noone who could understand him, but always many ready to denounce him. Heturned his back at last on his country, crossed the Alps on foot, anddirected his steps towards Switzerland. He visited the universities indifferent towns of Switzerland, France, and Germany, and wherever hewent he left behind him traces of his visit in some hurried writings. The only work of the Nolan, written in Italy, which has survived is "IlCandelajo, " which was published in Paris. Levi, in his Life of Bruno, passes in review his various works; but it will suffice here toreproduce what he says of the "Eroici Furori, " the first part of whichI have translated, and to note his remarks upon the style of Bruno, which presents many difficulties to the translator on account of itsformlessness. Goethe says of Bruno's writings: "Zu allgemeinerBetrachtung und Erhebung der Geistes eigneten sich die Schriften desJordanus Brunous von Nola; aber freilich das gediegene Gold and Silberaus der Masse jener zo ungleich begabten Erzgänge auszuscheiden undunter den Hammer zu bringen erfordert fast mehr als menschliche Kräftevermögen. "

I believe that no translation of Giordano Bruno's works has ever beenbrought out in English, or, at any rate, no translation of the "EroiciFurori, " and therefore I have had no help from previous renderings. Ihave, for the most part, followed the text as closely as possible, especially in the sonnets, which are frequently rendered line for line. Form is lacking in the original, and would, owing to the unusual andoften fantastic clothing of the ideas, be difficult to apply in thetranslation. He seems to have written down his grand ideas hurriedly, and, as Levi says, probably intended to retouch the work beforeprinting. 

Following the order of Levi's Life of Bruno, we next find the fugitiveat Geneva. He was hardly thirty-one years old when he quitted hiscountry and crossed the Alps, and his first stopping-place was Chambery, where he was received in a convent of the Order of Predicatori; heproposed going on to Lyons, but being told by an Italian priest, whom hemet there, that he was not likely to find countenance or support, eitherin the place he was in or in any other place, however far he mighttravel, he changed his course and made for Geneva. 

The name of Giordano Bruno was not unknown to the Italian colony who hadfled from papal persecution to this stronghold of religious reform. Hewent to lodge at an inn, and soon received visits from the Marchese diVico Napoletano, Pietro Martire Vermigli, and other refugees, whowelcomed him with affection, inquiring whether he intended to embracethe religion of Calvin, to which Bruno replied that he did not intend tomake profession of that religion, as he did not know of what kind itwas, and he only desired to live in Geneva in freedom. He was thenadvised to doff the Dominican habit, which he still wore; this he wasquite willing to do, only he had no money to buy other clothing, and wasforced to have some made of the cloth of his monkish robes, and his newfriends presented him with a sword and a hat; they also procured somework for him in correcting press errors. 

The term of Bruno's sojourn in Geneva seems doubtful, and the precisenature of his employment when there is also uncertain; but hisindependent spirit brought him into dispute with the rigid Calvinists ofthat city, who preached and exacted a blind faith, absolute andcompulsory. Bruno could not accept any of the existing positivereligions; he professed the cult of philosophy and science, nor was hischaracter of that mould that would have enabled him to hide hisprinciples. It was made known to him that he must either adopt Calvinismor leave Geneva: he declined the former, and had no choice as to thelatter; poor he had entered Geneva, and poor he left it, and now turnedhis steps towards France. 

He reached Lyons, which was also at that time a city of refuge againstreligious persecutions, and he addressed himself to his compatriots, begging for work from the publishers, Aldo and Grifi; but not succeedingin gaining enough to enable him to subsist, after a few days he left, and went on his way to Toulouse, where there was a famous university;and having made acquaintance with several men of intellect, Bruno wasinvited to lecture on the Sphere, which he did, with various othersubjects, for six months, when the chair of Philosophy becoming vacant, he took the degree of Doctor, and competed for it; and he continued fortwo years in that place, teaching the philosophy of Aristotle and ofothers. He took for the text of his lectures the treatise of Aristotle, "De Anima, " and this gave him the opportunity of introducing anddiscussing the deepest questions--upon the Origin and Destiny ofHumanity; The Soul, is it Matter or Spirit? Potentiality or Reality?Individual or Universal? Mortal or Eternal? Is Man alone gifted withSoul, or are all beings equally so? Bruno's system was in his mindcomplete and mature; he taught that everything in Nature has a soul, oneuniversal mind, penetrates and moves all things; the world itself is a_sacrum animal_. Nothing is lost, but all transmutes and becomes. Thisvast field afforded him scope for teaching his doctrines upon the world, on the movement of the earth, and on the universal soul. The novelty andboldness of his opinions roused the animosity of the clergy against him, and after living two years and six months at Toulouse, he felt it wiseto retire, and leaving the capital of the Languedoc, he set his facetowards Paris. 

The two books--the fruit of his lectures--which he published inToulouse, "De Anima" and "De Clavis Magis, " were lost. 

The title of Doctor, or as he said himself, "Maestro delle Arti, " whichBruno had obtained at Toulouse, gave him the faculty of teachingpublicly in Paris, and he says: "I went to Paris, where I set myself toread a most unusual lecture, in order to make myself known and toattract attention. " He gave thirty lectures on the thirty Divineattributes, dividing and distributing them according to the method ofSt. Thomas Aquinas: these lectures excited much attention amongst thescholars of the Sorbonne, who went in crowds to hear him; and heintroduced, as usual, his own ideas while apparently teaching thedoctrines of St. Thomas. His extraordinary memory and his eloquencecaused great astonishment; and the fame of Bruno reached the ears ofKing Henry III. , who sent for him to the Court, and being filled withadmiration of his learning, he offered him a substantial subsidy. 

During his stay at Paris, although he was much at Court, he spent manyhours in his study, writing the works that he afterwards published. 

Philosophical questions were discussed at the Sorbonne with muchfreedom: Bruno showed himself no partisan of either the Platonic or thePeripatetic school; he was not exclusive either in philosophy or inreligion; he did not favour the Huguenot faction more than the Catholicleague; and precisely by reason of this independent attitude, which kepthim free of the shackles of the sects, did he obtain the faculty oflecturing at the Sorbonne. Nor can we ascribe this aloofness toreligious indifference, but to the fact that he sought for higher thingsand longed for nobler ones. The humiliating spectacle which the positivereligions, both Catholic and Reformed, presented at that time--thehatreds, the civil wars, the assassinations which they instigated--haddisgusted men of noble mould, and had turned them against theseso-called religions; so that in Naples, in Tuscany, in Venice, inSwitzerland, France, and England, there were to be found societies ofphilosophers, of free-thinkers, and politicians, who repudiated everypositive religion and professed a pure Theism. 

In the "Spaccio della Bestia Trionfante" he declares that he cannot allyhimself either to the Catholic or the Lutheran Church, because heprofesses a more pure and complete faith than these--to wit, the love ofhumanity and the love of wisdom; and Mocenigo, the disciple whoultimately betrayed and sold him to the Holy Office, declares in hisdeposition that Bruno sought to make himself the author of a newreligion under the name of "Philosophy. " He was not a man to conceal hisideas, and in the fervour of his improvisation he no doubt revealed whathe was; some tumult resulted from this free speaking of Bruno's, and hewas forced to discontinue his lectures at the Sorbonne. 

Towards the end of the year 1583 the King became enthralled by religiousenthusiasm, and nothing was talked of in Paris but the conversion ofKing Henry. This fact changed the aspect of affairs as far as Bruno wasconcerned; he judged it prudent to leave Paris, and he travelled toEngland. 

The principal works published by Bruno during his stay in Paris are "IlCandelajo" and "Umbrae Idearum. " The former, says Levi, is a work ofcriticism and of demolition; in this comedy he sets in groups theprincipal types of hypocrisy, stupidity, and rascality, and exhibitingthem in their true colours, he lashes them with ridicule. In the "UmbraeIdearum" he initiates the work of reconstruction, giving colour to histhought and sketching his idea. The philosophy of Bruno is based uponthat of Pythagoras, whose system penetrates the social and intellectualhistory of Italy, both ancient and modern. The method of Pythagoras isnot confined, as most philosophies are, to pure metaphysicalspeculations, but connects these with scientific observations and socialpractice. Bruno having resuscitated these doctrines, stamps them with awider scope, giving them a more positive direction; and he may withpropriety be called the second Pythagoras. The primal idea ofPythagoras, which Bruno worked out to a more distinct development isthis: numbers are the beginning of things; in other words numbers arethe cause of the existence of material things; they are not final, butare always changing position and attributes; they are variable andrelative. Beyond and above this mutability there must be the Immutable, the All, the One. 

The Infinite must be one, as one is the absolute number; in the originalOne is contained all the numbers; in the One is contained all theelements of the Universe. 

This abstract doctrine required to be elucidated and fixed. From ahypothesis to concentrate and reduce it to a reality was the great workof Bruno. 

One is the perfect number; it is the primitive monad. As from the Oneproceeds the infinite series of numbers which again withdraw and areresolved into the One; so from Substance, which is one, proceed themyriads of worlds; from the worlds proceed myriads of living creatures;and from the union of one with the diverse is generated the Universe. Hence the progression from ascent to descent, from spirit to that whichwe call matter; from the cause to the origin, and the process ofmetaphysics, which, from the finite world of sense rises to theintelligent, passing through the intermediate numbers of infinitesubstance to active being and cosmic reason. 

From the absolute One, the sun of the sensible and intellectual world, millions of stars and suns are produced or developed. Each sun is thecentre of as many worlds which are distributed in as many distinctseries in an infinite number of concentric centres and systems. Eachsystem is attracted, repelled, and moved by an infinite, internalpassion, or attraction; each turns round its own centre, and moves in aspiral towards the centre of the whole, towards which centre they alltend with infinite passional ardour. For in this centre resides the sunof suns, the unity of unities, the temple, the altar of the universe, the sacred fire of Vesta, the vital principle of the universe. 

That which occurs in the world of stars is reflected in the telluricworld; everything has its centre, towards which it is attracted withfervour. All is thought, passion, and aspiration. 

From this unity, which governs variety, from this movement of everyworld around its sun, of every sun around its centre sun--the sun ofsuns--which informs all with the rays of the spirit, with the light ofthought--is generated that perfect harmony of colours, sounds, forms, which strike the sight and captivate and enthrall the intellect. Thatwhich in the heavens is harmony becomes, in the individual, morality, and in companies of human beings, law. That which is light in thespheres becomes intelligence and science in the world of the spirit andin humanity. We must study this harmony that rules the celestial worldsin order to deduce the laws which should govern civil bodies. 

In the science of numbers dwells harmony, and therefore it behoves us toidentify ourselves with this harmony, because from it is derived theharmonic law which draws men together into companies. Through therevolution of the worlds through space around their suns, from theirorder, their constancy and their measure, the mind comprehends theprogress and conditions of men, and their duties towards each other. TheBible, the sacred book of man, is in the heavens; there does man findwritten the word of God. 

Human souls are lights, distinct from the universal soul, which isdiffused over all and penetrates everything. A purifying process guidesthem from one existence to another, from one form to another, from oneworld to another. The life of man is more than an experience or trial;it is an effort, a struggle to reproduce and represent upon earth someof that goodness, beauty, and truth which are diffused over the universeand constitute its harmony. 

Long, slow, and full of opposition is this educational process of thesoul. As the terraqueous globe becomes formed, changed, and perfected, little by little, through the cataclysms and convulsions which, by meansof fire, flood, earthquake, and irruptions, transform the earth, so itis with humanity. Through struggle is man educated, fortified, andraised. 

In the midst of social cataclysms and revolutions humanity has oneguiding star, a beacon which shows its light above the storms andtempests, a mystical thread running through the labyrinth ofhistory--namely, the religion of philosophy and of thought. The vulgarcreeds would not, and have not dared to reveal the Truth in its purityand essence. They covered it with veils with allegories, with myths andmysteries, which they called sacred; they enshrouded thought with adouble veil, and called it Revelation. Humanity, deceived by aseductive form, adored the veil, but did not lift itself up to the ideabehind it; it saw the shadow, not the light. 

But we must return to our wandering hero. 

Bruno was about thirty-six years old when he left Paris and went toEngland. He was invited to visit the University of Oxford, and openedhis lectures there with two subjects which, apparently diverse, are inreality intimately connected with each other--namely, on the QuadrupleSphere and on the Immortality of the Soul. Speaking of the immortalityof the soul, he maintained that nothing in the universe is lost, everything changes and is transformed; therefore, soul and body, spiritand matter, are equally immortal. The body dissolves, and istransformed; the soul transmigrates, and, drawing round itself atom toatom, it reconstructs for itself a new body. The spirit that animatesand moves all things is one; everything differentiates according to thedifferent forms and bodies in which it operates. Hence, of animatethings some are inferior by reason of the meanness of the organ in whichthey operate; others are superior through the richness of the same. Thuswe see that Bruno anticipates the doctrine, proclaimed later by Goetheand by Darwin, of the transformation of species and of the organic unityof the animal world; and this alternation from segregation toaggregation, which we call death and life, is no other than mutation ofform. 

After having criticised and scourged the religions of chimera, ofignorance, and hypocrisy, in "Lo Spaccio della Bestia Trionfante" and in"L'Asino Cillenico, " the author, in "Gli Eroici Furori, " lays down thebasis for the religion of thought and of science. In place of theso-called Christian perfections (resignation, devotion, and ignorance), Bruno would put intelligence and the progress of the intellect in theworld of physics, metaphysics, and morals; the true aim beingillumination, the true morality the practice of justice, the trueredemption the liberation of the soul from error, its elevation andunion with God upon the wings of thought. This idea is developed in thework in question, which is dedicated to Sir Philip Sidney. Aftertreating of the infinite universe, and contemplating the innumerableworlds in other works, he comes, in "Gli Eroici Furori, " to theconsideration of virtue in the individual, and demonstrates the potencyof the human faculties. After the Cosmos, the Microcosm; after theinfinitely great, the infinitely small. The body is in the soul, thesoul is in the mind, the mind is in God. The life of the soul is thetrue life of the man. Of all his various faculties, that which rulesall, that which exalts our nature, is Thought. By means of it we rise tothe contemplation of the universe, and becoming in our turn creators, weraise the edifice of science; through the intellect the affectionsbecome purified, the will becomes strengthened. True liberty isacquired, and will and action becoming one through thought, we becomeheroes. 

This education of the soul, or rather this elevation and glory ofthought, which draws with it the will and the affections, not by meansof blind faith or supernatural grace, not through an irrational andmystical impulse, but by the strength of a reformed intellect and by apalpable and well-considered enthusiasm, which science and thecontemplation of Nature alone can give, this is the keynote of the poem. It is composed of two parts, each of which is divided into fivedialogues: the first part, which may be called psychological, shows, bymeans of various figures and symbols drawn from Nature, how the divinelight is always present to us, is inherent in man; it presents itself tothe senses and to the comprehension: man constantly rejects and ignoresit; sometimes the soul strives to rise up to it, and the poet describesthe struggle with the opposing affections which are involved in thiseffort, and shows how at last the man of intelligence overcomes thesecontending powers and fatal impulses which conflict within us, and byvirtue of harmony and the fusion of the opposites the intellect becomesone with the affections, and man realizes the good and rises to theknowledge of the true. All conflicting desires being at last united, they become fixed upon one object, one great intent--the love of theDivine, which is the highest truth and the highest good. In "Gli EroiciFurori" we see Bruno as a man, as a philosopher, and as a believer: herehe reveals himself as the hero of thought. Even as Christ was the heroof faith, and sacrificed himself for it, so Bruno declares himself readyto sacrifice himself for science. It is also a literary, aphilosophical, and a religious work; form, however, is sacrificed to theidea--so absorbed is the author in the idea that he often ignores formaltogether. An exile wandering from place to place, he wrote hurriedlyand seldom or ever had he the opportunity of revising what he hadwritten down. His mind in the impulsiveness of its improvisation waslike the volcano of his native soil, which, rent by subterraneanflames, sends forth from its vortices of fire, at the same time smoke, ashes, turbid floods, stones, and lava. He contemplates the soul, andseeks to understand its language; he is a physiologist and a naturalist, merged in the mystic and the enlightened devotee. 

Bruno might have made a fixed home for himself in England, as so many ofhis compatriots had done, and have continued to enjoy the society ofsuch men as Sir Philip Sydney, Fulke Greville, and, perchance, also ofShakespeare himself, who was in London about that time; but hisself-imposed mission allowed him no rest; he must go forth, and carryhis doctrines to the world, and forget the pleasures of friendship andthe ties of comfort in the larger love of humanity; his work was toawaken souls out of their lethargy, to inspire them with the love of thehighest good and of truth; to teach that God is to be found in the studyof Nature, that the laws of the visible world will explain those of theinvisible, the union of science and humanity with Nature and with God. 

Bruno returned to Paris in 1585, being at that time tutor in the familyof Mauvissier, who had been recalled from England by his Sovereign. During Bruno's second sojourn in Paris efforts were made by Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador, and others, to induce him to return to hisallegiance to the Church, and to be reconciled to the Pope; but Brunodeclined these overtures, and soon after left Paris for Germany, wherehe arrived on foot, his only burden being a few books. 

He visited Marburg and Wurtemburg, remaining in the latter place twoyears, earning his bread by teaching. 

Prague and Frankfort were next visited; ever the same courage andboldness characterised his teaching, and ever the same scanty welcomewas accorded to it, although in every city and university crowds of theintelligent listened to his lectures; but the Church never lost sight ofBruno, he was always under surveillance, and few dared to showthemselves openly his friends. Absorbed in his studies and intent uponhis work, writing with feverish haste, he observed nothing of theinvisible net which his enemies kept spread about him, and while hisslanderers were busy in doing him injury he was occupied in teaching themnemonic art, and explaining his system of philosophy to the youngLutherans who attended his lectures; in settling the basis of a new andrational religion, and in writing Latin verses; using ever greaterdiligence with his work, almost as if he felt that the time was drawingnear in which he would be no longer at liberty to work and teach. 

It was during the early part of the pontificate of Gregory XIV. ThatBruno received letters from Mocenigo in Venice, urging him to return toItaly, and to go and stay with him in Venice, and instruct him in thesecrets of science. Bruno was beginning to tire of this perpetuallywandering life, and after several letters from Mocenigo, full of fineprofessions of friendship and protection, Bruno, longing to see hiscountry again, turned his face towards Venice. 

In those days men of superior intellect were often considered to bemagicians or sorcerers; Mocenigo, after enticing Bruno to Venice, insisted upon his teaching him "the secret of memory and other thingsthat he knew. "

The philosopher with untiring patience tried to instil into this dullhead the principles of logic, the elements of mathematics, and therudiments of the mnemonic art; but the pupil hated study, and had nofaculty of thought; yet he insisted that Bruno should make scienceclearly known to him! But this was probably only to initiate a quarrelwith Bruno, whom he intended afterwards to betray, and deliver into thehands of the Church. 

The Holy Office would have laid hands on Bruno immediately on hisarrival in Italy, but being assured by Mocenigo that he could notescape, they left him a certain liberty, so that he might more surelycompromise himself, while his enemies were busy collecting evidenceagainst him. When at last his eyes became opened to what was going onabout him, and he could no longer ignore the peril of his position, itwas too late; Bruno could not get away, and was told by Mocenigo that ifhe stayed not by his own will and pleasure, he would be compelled toremain where he was. Bruno, however, made his preparations fordeparture, and sent his things on to Frankfort, intending to leave thenext day himself; but in the morning, while he was still in bed, Mocenigo entered the chamber, pretending that he wished to speak withhim; then calling his servant Bartolo and five or six gondoliers, whowaited without, they forced Bruno to rise, and conducted him to agarret, and locked him in. There he passed the first day of thatimprisonment which was to last for eight years. The next day he wentover the lagoon in a gondola, in the company of his jailors, who tookhim to the prison of the Holy Office, and left him there. Levi devotesmany pages to the accusations brought against Giordano Bruno by theInquisitors, and the depositions and denunciations made against him byhis enemies. The Court was opened without delay, and most of theprovinces of Italy were represented by their delegates in the early partof the trial; Bruno himself, being interrogated, gave an account indetail of his life, of his wanderings, of his occupations and works:serene and dignified before this terrible tribunal, he expounded hisdoctrine, its principles, and logical consequences. He spoke of theuniverse, of the infinite worlds in infinite space, of the divinity inall things, of the unity of all things, the dependence andinter-dependence of all things, and of the existence of God in all. After nine months' imprisonment in Venice, towards the end of January1593, Bruno, in chains, was conveyed from the Bridge of Sighs throughthe lagoons to Ancona, where he remained incarcerated until the prisonof the Roman Inquisition received him. If we look upon "Gli EroiciFurori" as a prophetical poem, we see that his sufferings in theloneliness of his prison and in the torture-chamber of the Inquisitionpassed by anticipation before his mind in the book written when he wasfree and a wanderer in strange lands. 

 "By what condition, nature, or fell chance, In living death, dead life I live?"

he writes eight years and more before he ever breathed the stifling airof a dungeon; and again:

 "The soul nor yields nor bends to these rough blows, But bears, exulting, this long martyrdom, And makes a harmony of these sharp pangs. "

Further details of the trial of Giordano Bruno are to be found in Levi'sbook. It is well known how he received the sentence of death passed uponhim, saying: "You, O judges! feel perchance more terror in pronouncingthis judgment than I do in hearing it. " The day fixed for the burning, which was to take place in the Campo dei Fiori, was the 17th February inthe year 1600. Rome was full of pilgrims from all parts, come tocelebrate the jubilee of Pope Clement VIII. Bruno was hardly fifty yearsold at this time; his face was thin and pale, with dark, fiery eyes; theforehead luminous with thought, his body frail and bearing the signs oftorture; his hands in chains, his feet bare, he walked with slow stepsin the early morning towards the funeral pile. Brightly shone the sun, and the flames leapt upwards and mingled with his ardent rays; Brunostood in the midst with his arms crossed, his head raised, his eyesopen; when all was consumed, a monk took a handful of the ashes andscattered them in the wind. A month later, the Bishop of Sidoniapresented himself at the Treasury of the Pope, and demanded two scudi inpayment for having degraded Fra Giordano the heretic. 

 "L'incendio è tal, ch'io m'ardo e non mi sfaccio. "

 EROICI FURORI. 

THE

HEROIC ENTHUSIASTS. 

=First Dialogue. =

TANSILLO, CICADA. 

TANS. The enthusiasms most suitable to be first brought forward andconsidered are those that I now place before you in the order that seemsto me most fitting. 

CIC. Begin, then, to read. 

TANSILLO. 

1. 

 Ye Muses, that so oft I have repulsed, That, now importuned, haste to cure my pain, And to console me in my woes With verses, rhymes, and exaltation Such as to others ye did never show, Who yet do vaunt themselves of laurel and of myrtle Be near me now, my anchor and my port, Lest I for sport should towards some others turn. 

 O Mount! O Goddesses! O Fountain! Where and with whom I dwell, converse and nourish me, Where peacefully I ponder and grow fair; I rise, I live: heart, spirit, brows adorn; Death, cypresses, and hells You change to life, to laurels, and eternal stars!

It is to be supposed that he oftimes and for divers reasons had repulsedthe Muses; first, because he could not be idle as a priest of the Musesshould be, for idleness cannot exist there, where the ministers andservants of envy, ignorance, and malignity are to be combated. Moreover, he could not force himself to the study of philosophies, which thoughthey be not the most mature, yet ought, as kindred of the Muses, toprecede them. Besides which, being drawn on one side by the tragicMelpomene, with more matter than spirit, and on the other side by thecomic Thalia, with more spirit than matter, it came to pass that, oscillating between the two, he remained neutral and inactive, ratherthan operative. Finally, the dictum of the censors, who, restraining himfrom that which was high and worthy, and towards which he was naturallyinclined, sought to enslave his genius, and from being free in virtuethey would have rendered him contemptible under a most vile and stupidhypocrisy. At last, in the great whirl of annoyances by which he wassurrounded, it happened that, not having wherewith to console him, helistened to those who are said to intoxicate him with such exaltation, verses, and rhymes, as they had never demonstrated to others; becausethis work shines more by its originality than by its conventionality. 

CIC. Say, what do you mean by those who vaunt themselves of myrtle andlaurel?

TANS. Those may and do boast of the myrtle who sing of love: if theybear themselves nobly, they may wear a crown of that plant consecratedto Venus, of which they know the potency. Those may boast of the laurelwho sing worthily of things pertaining to heroes, substituting heroicsouls for speculative and moral philosophy, and praising them andsetting as mirrors and exemplars for political and civil actions. 

CIC. There are then many species of poets and crowns?

TANS. Not only as many as there are Muses, but a great many more; foralthough genius is to be met with, yet certain modes and species ofhuman ingenuity cannot be thus classified. 

CIC. There are certain schoolmen who barely allow Homer to be a poet, and set down Virgil, Ovid, Martial, Hesiod, Lucretius, and many othersas versifiers, judging them by the rules of poetry of Aristotle. 

TANS. Know for certain, my brother, that such as these are beasts. Theydo not consider that those rules serve principally as a frame for theHomeric poetry, and for other similar to it, and they set up one as agreat poet, high as Homer, and disallow those of other vein, and art, and enthusiasm, who in their various kinds are equal, similar, orgreater. 

CIC. So that Homer was not a poet who depended upon rules, but was thecause of the rules which serve for those who are more apt at imitationthan invention, and they have been used by him who, being no poet, yetknew how to take the rules of Homeric poetry into service, so as tobecome, not a poet or a Homer, but one who apes the Muse of others?

TANS. Thou dost well conclude that poetry is not born in rules, or onlyslightly and accidentally so; the rules are derived from the poetry, andthere are as many kinds and sorts of true rules as there are kinds andsorts of true poets. 

CIC. How then are the true poets to be known?

TANS. By the singing of their verses; in that singing they give delight, or they edify, or they edify and delight together. 

CIC. To whom then are the rules of Aristotle useful?

TANS. To him who, unlike Homer, Hesiod, Orpheus, and others, could notsing without the rules of Aristotle, and who, having no Muse of his own, would coquette with that of Homer. 

CIC. Then they are wrong, those stupid pedants of our days, who excludefrom the number of poets those who do not use words and metaphorsconformable to, or whose principles are not in union with, those ofHomer and Virgil; or because they do not observe the custom ofinvocation, or because they weave one history or tale with another, orbecause they finish the song with an epilogue on what has been said anda prelude on what is to be said, and many other kinds of criticism andcensure, from whence it seems they would imply that they themselves, ifthe fancy took them, could be the true poets; and yet in fact they areno other than worms, that know not how to do anything well, but are bornonly to gnaw and befoul the studies and labours of others; and not beingable to attain celebrity by their own virtue and ingenuity, seek to putthemselves in the front, by hook or by crook, through the defects anderrors of others. 

TANS. Now, to return from this long digression, I say that there are asmany sorts of poets as there are human sentiments and ideas; and tothese it is possible to adapt garlands, not only of every species ofplant, but also of other kinds of material. So the crowns of poets aremade not only of myrtle and of laurel, but of vine leaves for thewhite-wine verses, and of ivy for the bacchanals; of olive for sacrificeand laws; of poplar, of elm, and of corn for agriculture; of cypress forfunerals, and innumerable others for other occasions; and, if it pleaseyou, also of that material signified by a good fellow when he exclaimed:

 O Friar Leek! O Poetaster! That in Milan didst buckle on thy wreath Composed of salad, sausage, and the pepper-caster. 

CIC. Now surely he of divers moods, which he exhibits in various ways, may cover himself with the branches of different plants, and may holddiscourse worthily with the Muses, for they are his aura or comforter, his anchor or support, and his harbour, to which he retires in times oflabour, of agitation, and storm. Hence he cries: "O mountain ofParnassus, where I abide! Muses, with whom I converse! Fountain ofHelicon, where I am nourished. Mountain, that affordest me a quietdwelling-place! Muses, that inspire me with profound doctrines. Fountain, that cleanses me! Mountain, on whose ascent my heart uprises!Muses, that in discourse revive my spirit. Well, whose arbours cool mybrows! Change my death into life, my cypress to laurels, and my hellsinto heavens: that is, give me immortality, make me poet, render meillustrious!"

TANS. Well; because to those whom Heaven favours the greatest evils turnto greatest good, for needs or necessities bring forth labours andstudies, and these most often bring the glory of immortal splendour. 

CIC. For to die in one age makes us live in all the rest. Go on. 

TANS. Then follows:

2. 

 In form and place like to Parnassus is my heart, And up unto this mount for safety I ascend; My Muses are my thoughts, and they present to me At every hour new beauties counted out. The frequent tears that from my eyes do pour, These make my fount of Helicon. By such a mount, such nymphs, such floods, As Heaven did please, was I a poet born. No king of any kingdom, No favouring hand of emperor, No highest priest nor great pastor, Has given to me such graces, honours, privileges, As are those laurel leaves with which O'ershadowed are my heart, my thoughts, my tears. 

Here he declares his mountain to be the exalted affection of his heart, his Muses he calls the beauties and attributes of the object of hisaffections, and the fountain is his tears. In that mountain affection iskindled; through those beauties enthusiasm is conceived, and by thosetears the enthusiastic affection is demonstrated; and he esteems himselfnot less grandly crowned by his heart, his thoughts, and his tears thanothers are by the hand of kings, emperors, and popes. 

CIC. Explain to me what he means by his heart being in form likeParnassus. 

TANS. Because the human heart has two summits, which terminate in onebase or root; and, spiritually, from one affection of the heart proceedtwo opposites, love and hate; and the mountain of Parnassus has twosummits and one base. 

CIC. On to the next!

3. 

 The captain calls his warriors to arms, And at the trumpet's sound they all Under one sign and standard come. But yet for some in vain the call is heard, Heedless and unprepared, they mind it not. One foe he kills, and the insane unborn, He banishes from out the camp in scorn. And thus the soul, when foiled her high designs, Would have all those opponents dead or gone; One object only I regard, One face alone my mind does fill, One beauty keeps me fixed and still; One arrow pierced my heart, and one The fire with which alone I burn, And towards one paradise I turn. 

This captain is the human will, which dwells in the depths of the soulwith the small helm of reason to govern and guide the interior powersagainst the wave of natural impulses. He, with the sound of thetrumpet--that is, by fixed resolve--calls all the warriors or invokesall the powers; called warriors because they are in continual strife andopposition; and their affections, which are all contrary thoughts, sometowards one and some towards the other side inclining, and he tries tobring them all under one flag--one settled end and aim. Some are calledin vain to put in a ready appearance, and are chiefly those whichproceed from the lower instincts, and which obey the reason either notat all, or very little; and forcing himself to prevent their actions andcondemn those which cannot be prevented, he shows himself as one whowould kill those and banish these, now by the scourge of scorn, now bythe sword of anger. One only is the object of his regards, and on thishe is intently fixed; one prospect delights and fills his imagination, one beauty pleases, and he rests in that, because the operation of theintelligence is not a work of movement but of quiet; from thence alonehe derives that barb which, killing him, constitutes the consummation ofperfection. He burns with one fire alone; that is, one affectionconsumes him. 

CIC. Why is love symbolized by fire?

TANS. For many reasons, but at present let this one suffice thee: thatas love converts the thing loved into the lover, so amongst the elementsfire is active and potent to convert all the others, simple andcomposite, into itself. 

CIC. Go on. 

TANS. He knows one paradise--that is, one consummation, because paradisecommonly signifies the end; which is again distinguished from that whichis absolute in truth and essence from that which is so in appearance andshadow or form. Of the first there can only be one, as there can be onlyone ultimate and one primal good. Of the second the modes are infinite. 

4. 

 Love, Fate, Love's object, and cold Jealousy, Delight me, and torment, content me, and afflict. The insensate boy, the blind and sinister, The loftiest beauty, and my death alone Show to me paradise, and take away, Present me with all good, and steal it from me, So that the heart, the mind, the spirit, and the soul, Have joy, pain, cold, and weight in their control. Who will deliver me from war? Who give to me the fruit of love in peace? And that which vexes that which pleases me (Opening the gates of heaven and closing them) Who will set far apart To make acceptable my fires and tears?

He shows the reason and origin of passion; and whence it is conceived;and how enthusiasm is born, by ploughing the field of the Muses andscattering the seed of his thoughts and waiting for the fruitfulharvest, discovering in himself the fervour of the affections instead ofin the sun, and in place of the rain is the moisture of his eyes. Hebrings forward four things: Love, Fate, the Object, and Jealousy. Herelove is not a low, ignoble, and unworthy motor, but a noble lord andchief. Fate is none other than the pre-ordained disposition and order ofcasualties to which he is subject by his destiny. The object is thething loved and the correlative of the lover. Jealousy, it is clear, must be the ardour of the lover about the thing loved, of which it bootsnot to speak to him who knows what love is, and which it is vain to tryto explain to others. Love delights, because to him who loves it is apleasure to love; and he who really loves would not cease from loving. This is referred to in the following sonnet:

5. 

 Beloved, sweet, and honourable wound, From fairest dart that love did choose, Lofty, most beauteous and potential zeal, That makes the soul in its own flames find weal! What power or spell of herb or magic art Can tear thee from the centre of my heart, Since he, who with an ever-growing zest, Tormenting most, yet most does make me blest? How can I of this weight unburdened be, If pain the cure, and joy the sore give me? Sweet is my pain: to this world new and rare. Eyes! ye are the bow and torches of my lord! Double the flames and arrows in my breast, For languishing is sweet and burning best. 

Fate vexes and grieves by undesirable and unfortunate events, or becauseit makes the subject feel unworthy of the object, and out of proportionwith the dignity of the latter, or because a perfect sympathy does notexist, or for other reasons and obstacles that arise. The objectsatisfies the subject, which is nourished by no other, seeks no other, is occupied by no other, and banishes every other thought. Jealousytorments, because although she is the daughter of Love, and is derivedfrom him, and is his companion who always goes with him, and is a signof the same, being understood as a necessary consequence wherever loveis found (as may be observed of whole generations who, from the coldnessof the region and lateness of development, learn little, love less, andof jealousy know nothing), yet, notwithstanding its kinship, association, and signification, jealousy comes to trouble and poisonsall that it finds of beautiful and of good in Love. Therefore I said inanother sonnet:

6. 

 Oh, wicked child of Envy and of Love! That turnest into pain thy father's joys, To evil Argus-eyed, but blind as mole to good. Minister of torment! Jealousy! Fetid harpy! Tisiphone infernal! Who steals and poisons others' good, Under thy cruel breath does languish The sweetest flower of all my hopes. Proud of thyself, unlovely one, Bird of sorrow and harbinger of ill, The heart thou visitest by thousand doors; If entrance unto thee could be denied, The reign of Love would so much fairer be, As would this world were death and hate away. 

To the above is added, that Jealousy not only is sometimes the ruin anddeath of the lover, but often kills Love itself, because Love comes tobe so much under its influence that it is impelled to despise theobject, and in fact becomes alienated from it, especially when itengenders disdain. 

CIC. Explain now the ideas which follow. Why is Love called the"insensate boy"?

TANS. I will tell you. Love is called the insensate boy, not because heis so of himself, but because he brings certain ones into subjection, and dwells in such subjects, since the more intellectual and speculativeone is, the more Love raises the genius and purifies the intellect, rendering it alert, studious, and circumspect, promoting a condition ofvalorous animosity and an emulation of virtues and dignities by thedesire to please and to make itself worthy of the thing loved; others, and they are the largest number, call him mad and foolish, because hedrives them distracted, and hurries them into excesses, by which thespirit, soul, and body become sickly, and inept to consider anddistinguish that which is seemly from that which is distorted; thusrendering them subject to scorn, derision, and reproach. 

CIC. It is commonly said that love makes fools of the old and makes theyoung wise. 

TANS. That drawback does not happen to all the aged, nor that advantageto all the young; the one is true of the weak, and the other of therobust. One thing is certain, that he who loves wisely in youth will inage not go astray. But derision is for those of mature age, into whosehands Love puts the alphabet. 

CIC. Tell me now why Fate is called blind and bad. 

TANS. Again, blind and bad is not said of Destiny itself, because it isof the same order and number and measure as the universe; but as to thesubjects it is said to be blind, for they are blind to fate, she beingso uncertain. So also is Fate said to be evil, because every livingmortal who laments and complains, blames her. As the Apulian poet says:

 How is it, or what means it, Mæcenas, That none on earth contented with that fate appear, Which Reason or Heaven has assigned to them?

In the same way he calls the object the highest beauty, as it is thatalone which has power of attracting him to itself; and thus he holds itmore worthy, more noble, and feels it predominant and superior as hebecomes subject and captive to it. "My death itself, " he says ofJealousy, because as Love has no more close companion than she, so alsohe feels he has no greater enemy; as nothing is more hurtful to ironthan rust, which is produced by it. 

CIC. Now, since you have begun so, continue to show bit by bit thatwhich remains. 

TANS. So will I. He says next of Love: he shows me Paradise, in order toprove that Love himself is not blind, and does not himself render anylovers blind, except through the ignoble characteristics of the subject;even as the birds of night become blind in the sunshine. As for himself, Love brightens, clears, and opens the intellect, permeating all andproducing miraculous effects. 

CIC. Much of this, it seems to me, the Nolano demonstrates in anothersonnet:

7. 

 Love, through whom high truth I do discern, Thou openest the black diamond doors; Through the eyes enters my deity, and through seeing Is born, lives, is nourished, and has eternal reign; Shows forth what heaven holds, earth and hell: Makes present true images of the absent; Gains strength: and drawing with straight aim, Wounds, lays bare and frets the inmost heart. Attend now, thou base hind unto the truth, Bend down the ear to my unerring word; Open, open, if thou canst the eyes, foolish perverted one! Thou understanding little, call'st him child, Because thou swiftly changest, fugitive he seems, Thyself not seeing, call'st him blind. 

Love shows Paradise in order that the highest things may be heard, understood, and accomplished; or it makes the things loved, grand--atleast in appearance. He says, Fate takes love away; because, often inspite of the lover, it does not concede, and that which he sees anddesires is distant and adverse to him. Every good he sets before me, hesays of the object, because that which is indicated by the finger ofLove seems to him the only thing, the principal, and the whole. "Stealsit from me, " he says of Jealousy, not simply in order that it may not bepresent to me; removing it from my eyesight, but in order that good maynot be good, but an acute evil; sweet, not sweet, but an agonizedlonging; while the heart--that is, the will, has joy by the great forceof love, whatever may be the result; the mind--that is, the intellectualpart, has pain through the Fear of Fate, which fate does not favour thelover; the spirit--that is, the natural affections, are cold becausethey are snatched from the object which gives joy to the heart, andwhich might give pleasure to the mind; the soul--that is, the sufferingand sensitive soul, is heavy--that is, finds itself oppressed with theheavy burden of jealousy which torments it. To this consideration of hisstate he adds a tearful lament, and says: "Who will deliver me fromwar, and give me peace? or who will separate that which pains andinjures me from that which I so love, and which opens to me the gates ofheaven, so that the fervid flames in my heart may be acceptable, andfortunate the fountains of my tears?" Continuing this proposition, headds:

8. 

 Ah me! oppress some other, spiteful Fate! Jealousy, get thee hence--begone! away! These may suffice to show me all the grace Of changeful Love, and of that noble face. He takes my life, she gives me death, She wings, he burns my heart, He murders it, and she revives the soul: My succour she, my grievous burden he! But what say I of Love? If he and she one subject be, or form, If with one empire and one rule they stamp One sole impression in my heart of hearts, Then are they two, yet one, on which do wait The mirth and melancholy of my state!

Four beginnings and extremes of two opposites he would reduce to twobeginnings and one opposite: he says, then, oppress others--that is, letit suffice thee, O my Fate! that thou hast so much oppressed me; andsince thou canst not exist without exercise of thyself, turn elsewherethy anger. Get thee hence out of the world, thou Jealousy, because oneof those two others which remain can supply your functions and offices;yet, O Fate! thou art none other than my love; and thou, Jealousy, artnot external to the substance of the same. He alone, then, remains todeprive me of life, to burn me, to give me death, and to be to me theburden of my bones; for he delivers me from death--wings, enlivens, andsustains. Then two beginnings and one opposite he reduces to onebeginning and one result, exclaiming: But what do I say of Love? If thispresence, this object, is his empire, and appears none other than theempire of Love, the rule of Love and its own rule; the impression ofLove which appears in the substance of my heart, is then no otherimpression than its own, and therefore after having said "Noble face, "replies "Inconstant Love. "[A]

[A] Vago amore. 

=Second Dialogue. =

TANSILLO. 

Now begins the enthusiast to display the affections and uncover thewounds which are for a sign in his body, and in substance or essence inhis soul, and he says thus:

9. 

 Of Love the standard-bearer I; My hopes are ice, and glowing my desires. At once I tremble, sparkle, freeze, and burn; Am mute, and fill the air with clamorous plaints. Water my eyes distil, sparks from my heart. I live, I die, make merry and lament. Living the waters, the burning never dies, For in my eyes is Thetys, and Vulcan in my heart. Others I love; myself I hate. If I be winged, others are changed to stone; They high as heaven, if I be lowly set. I cease not to pursue, they ever flee away; If I do call, yet none will answer me. The more I search, the more is hid from me. 

In accordance with this, I will continue with that which just before Isaid to thee, that one should not strive so hard to prove that which isso very evident--namely, that there is nothing pure and unalloyed; andsome have said that no mixed thing is a real entity, as alloyed gold isnot real gold, manufactured wine is not real simple wine. Almost allthings are made up of opposites, whence it comes that the success of ouraffections, through the mixture that is in things, can afford nopleasure without some bitterness; and more than this, I will say, thatwere it not for the bitter, there would be no sweet; seeing that it isthrough fatigue that we find pleasure in repose; separation is the causeof our pleasure in union; and, examining generally, we shall ever findthat one opposite is the reason that the other opposite pleases and isdesired. 

CIC. Then there is no delight without the contrary?

TANS. Certainly not; as without the opposite there is no pain; as isshown by that golden Pythagorean poet when he says:

 Hinc metuunt cupiuntque, dolent gaudentque, nec Respiciunt, clausæ tenebris, e carcere cæco. 

This, then, is what the mixture of things causes, and hence it is thatno one is pleased with his own state, except some senseless blockhead, who is so all the more the deeper is the degree of obscure folly inwhich he is sunk; then he has little or no apprehension of pain; heenjoys the actual present without fearing the future; he enjoys thatwhich is and that in which he finds himself, and has neither care norsorrow for what may be; and, in short, has no sense of that oppositionwhich is symbolized by the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. 

CIC. From this we see that ignorance is the mother of sensual felicityand beatitude, and this same is the garden of paradise of the animals;as is made clear in the dialogues of the Kabala of the horse Pegasus;and as says the wise Solomon, "Whoso increases knowledge increasessorrow. "

TANS. Hence it appears that heroic love is a torment, because it doesnot enjoy the present, as does animal love, but is of the future and theabsent; and, on the contrary, it feels ambition, emulation, suspicionand dread. One evening, after supper, a certain neighbour of ours said:"Never was I more jolly than I am now. " John Bruno, father of theNolano, answered him: "Never wert thou more foolish than now. "

CIC. You would imply, then, that he who is sad is wise, and that otherwho is more sad is wiser?

TANS. On the contrary, I mean that there is in these another species offoolishness and a worse. 

CIC. Who, then, is wise, if foolish is he who is content, and foolish hewho is sad?

TANS. He who is neither merry nor sad. 

CIC. Who? He who sleeps? He who is without feeling--who is dead?

TANS. No; but he who is quick, both seeing and hearing, and who, considering evil and good, estimating the one and the other as variable, and consistent in motion, mutation, and vicissitude, in such wise thatthe end of one opposite is the commencement of another, and the extremeof the one is the beginning of the other; whose spirit is neitherdepressed nor elated, but is moderate in inclinations and temperate indesires; to him pleasure is not pleasure, having ever present the end ofit; equally, pain to him is not pain, because by the force of reasoninghe has present the end of that too. So the sage holds all mutable thingsas things that are not, and affirms that they are no other than vanityand nothingness, because time has to eternity the proportion of thepoint to the line. 

CIC. So that we can never hold the proposition of being contented ordiscontented, without holding the proposition of our own foolishness, which we thereby confess; therefore no one who reasons, andconsequently no one who participates, can be wise; in short, all men arefools. 

TANS. I do not intend to infer that; for I will hold of highest wisdomhim who could really say at one time the opposite of what he says atanother--never was I less gay than now; or, never was I less sad than atpresent. 

CIC. How? Do you not make two contrary qualities where there are twoopposite affections? Why, I say, do you take as two virtues, and not asone vice and one virtue, the being less gay and the being less sad?

TANS. Because both the contraries in excess--that is, in so far as theyexceed--are vices, because they pass the line; and the same, in so faras they diminish, come to be virtues, because they are contained withinlimits. 

CIC. How? The being less merry and the being less sad are not one virtueand one vice, but are two virtues?

TANS. On the contrary, I say they are one and the same virtue; becausethe vice is there where the opposite is; the opposite is chiefly therewhere the extreme is; the greatest opposite is the nearest to theextreme; the least or nothing is in the middle, where the oppositesmeet, and are one and identical; as between the coldest and hottest andthe hotter and colder, in the middle point is that which you may callhot and cold, or neither hot nor cold, without contradiction. In thatway whoso is least content and least joyful is in the degree ofindifference, and finds himself in the habitation of temperance, wherethe virtue and condition of a strong soul exist, which bends not to thesouth wind nor to the north. This, then, to return to the point, is howthis enthusiastic hero, who explains himself in the present part, isdifferent from the other baser ones--not as virtue from vice, but as avice which exists in a subject more divine or divinely, from a vicewhich exists in a subject more savage or savagely; so that thedifference is according to the different subjects and modes, and notaccording to the form of vice. 

CIC. I can very well conceive, from what you have said, the condition ofthat heroic enthusiast, who says, "My hopes are ice and my desires areglowing, " because he is not in the temperance of mediocrity, but, in theexcess of contradictions, his soul is discordant, he shivers in hisfrozen hopes and burns in his glowing desires; in his eagerness he isclamorous, and he is mute from fear; his heart burns in its affectionfor others, and for compassion of himself he sheds tears from his eyes;dying in the laughter of others, he is alive in his own lamentations;and like him who no longer belongs to himself, he loves others and hateshimself; because matter, as say the physicists, with that measure withwhich it loves the absent form, hates the present one. And so in theoctave finishes the war which the soul has within itself; and when hesays in the sistina, but if I be winged, others change to stone and thatwhich follows; he shows his passion for the warfare which he wages withexternal contradictions. I remember having read in Jamblichus, where hetreats of the Egyptian mysteries, this sentence: "Impius animamdissidentem habet: unde nec secum ipse convenire potest, neque cumaliis. "

TANS. Now listen to another sonnet, as sequel to what has been said:

10. 

 By what condition, nature, or fell chance, In living death, dead life I live? Love has me dead, alack! and such a death, That death and life together I must lose. Devoid of hope, I reach the gates of hell, And laden with desire arrive at heaven: Thus am I subject to eternal opposites, And, banished both from heaven and from hell, No pause nor rest my torments know, Because between two running wheels I go, Of which one here, the other there compels, And like Ixion I pursue and flee; For to the double discourse do I fit The crosswise lesson of the spur and bit. 

He shows how much he suffers from this dislocation and distraction inhimself; while the affections, leaving the mean and middle way oftemperance, tend towards the one and the other extreme, and so arewafted on high or towards the right, and are also transported downwardsto the left. 

CIC. How is it that, not being really of one or the other extreme, itdoes not come to be in the conditions or terms of virtue?

TANS. It is then in a state of virtue when it keeps to the middle, declining from one to the other opposite; but when it leads towards theextremes, inclining to one or the other of those, it fails so entirelyfrom being virtue, that it is a double vice, which consists in this, that the thing recedes from its nature, the perfection of which consistsin unity, and there where the opposites meet, its composition and virtueexist. This, then, is how he is dead alive, or living dying; whence hesays, "In a living death a dead life I live. " He is not dead, becausehe lives in the object; not alive, because he is dead in himself;deprived of death, because he gives birth to thoughts; deprived of life, because he does not grow or feel in himself. He is now most dejectedthrough meditating on the high intelligence, and the perceivedfeebleness of power; and most elated by the aspiration of heroiclonging, which passes far beyond his limits, and is most exalted by theintellectual appetite; which has not for its fashion or aim to addnumber to number, is most dejected by the violence done to him by thesensual opposite which drags him down towards hell. So that, findinghimself thus ascending and descending, he feels within his soul thegreatest dissension that is possible to be felt, and he remains in astate of confusion through this rebellion of the senses, which urge himthither where reason restrains, and _vice versâ_. This same isthoroughly demonstrated in the following sentences, where the Reason, under the name of "Filenio" asks, and the enthusiast replies under thename of "Shepherd, " who labours in the care of the flocks and herds ofhis thoughts, which he nourishes in the submission to and service of hisnymph, which is the affection of that object to which he is captive. 

11. 

FILENIO. Shepherd!

SHEPHERD. What wilt thou?

F. What doest thou?

S. I suffer. 

F. Wherefore?

S. Because neither life has me for his own, nor death. 

F. Who's to blame?

S. Love. 

F. That rascal?

S. That rascal. 

F. Where is he?

S. He holds me tight in my heart's core. 

F. What does he?

S. Wounds me. 

F. Who?

S. Me. 

F. Thee?

S. Yes. 

F. With what?

S. With the eyes, the gates of heaven and of hell. 

F. Dost hope?

S. I hope. 

F. For pity?

S. For pity. 

F. From whom?

S. From him who racks me night and day. 

F. Has he any?

S. I know not. 

F. Thou art a fool. 

S. How if such folly be pleasing to my soul?

F. Does he promise?

S. No. 

F. Does he deny?

S. Not at all. 

F. Is he silent?

S. Yes, for so much purity (_onestà_) robs me of my boldness. 

F. Thou ravest. 

S. How so?

F. In vain efforts. 

S. His scorn more than my torments do I fear. 

Here he says that he craves for love, and he complains of it, yet notbecause he loves--seeing that to no true lover can love be displeasing;but because he loves unhappily, whilst those beams which are the rays ofthose lights, and which themselves, according as they are perverse andantagonistic, or really kind and gracious, become the gates which leadtowards heaven or towards hell. In this way he is kept in hope of futureand uncertain mercy, but actually in a state of present and certaintorment, and although he sees his folly quite clearly, nevertheless hedoes not care to correct himself in it, or even to feel displeased withit, but rather does he feel satisfied with it, as he shows when he says:

 Never let me of Love complain, For Love alone can ease my pain. 

Here is shown another species of enthusiasm born from the light ofreason, which excites fear and suppresses the aforesaid reason in ordernot to commit any action which might vex or irritate the thing loved. He says, then, that hope rests in the future, without anything beingpromised or denied; therefore, he is silent and asks nothing, for fearof offending purity (_l'onestade_). He does not venture to explainhimself and make a proposition, lest he be rejected with repugnance oraccepted with reserve; for he thinks the evil that there might be in theone would be over-balanced by the good in the other. He shows himself, then, ready to suffer for ever his own torment, rather than to open thedoor to an opportunity through which the thing loved might be perturbedand saddened. 

CIC. Herein he proves that his love is truly heroic; because he proposesto himself as the chief aim, not corporeal beauty, but rather the graceof the spirit, and the inclination of the affections in which, ratherthan in the beauty of the body, that love that has in it the divine, iseternal. 

TANS. Thou knowest that, as the Platonic ideas are divided into threespecies, of which one tends to the contemplative or speculative life, one to active morality, and the third to the idle and voluptuous, so arethere three species of love, of which one raises itself from thecontemplation of bodily form to the consideration of the spiritual anddivine; the other only continues in the delight of seeing andconversing; the third from seeing proceeds to precipitate into theconcupiscence of touch. Of these three modes others are composed, according as the first may be coupled with the second or the third, oras all the three modes may combine together, of which one and all may bedivided into others, according to the affections of the enthusiast, asthese tend more towards the spiritual object, or more towards thecorporeal, or equally towards the one and the other. Hence it comes, that of those who find themselves in this warfare, and are entangled inthe meshes of love, some aim at enjoying, and they are incited to pluckthe apple from the tree of corporeal beauty, without which acquisition, or at least the hope of it, they hold vain and worthy only of derisionevery amorous care; and in such-wise run all those who are of abarbarous nature, who neither do nor can seek to exalt themselves byloving worthy things, and aspiring to illustrious things, and higherstill to things divine, by suitable studies and exercises, to whichnothing can more richly and easily supply the wings than heroic love;others put before themselves the fruit of delight, which they take inthe aspect of the beauty and grace of the spirit, which glitters andshines in the beauty of the body, and certain of these, although theylove the body and greatly desire to be united to it, bewailing itsabsence and being afflicted by separation, at the same time fear, lestpresuming in this they may be deprived of that affability, conversation, friendship, and sympathy which are most precious to them; because toattempt this there cannot be more guarantee of success than there isrisk of forfeiting that favour, which appears before the eyes of thoughtas a thing so glorious and worthy. 

CIC. It is a worthy thing, oh Tansillo! for its many virtues andperfections, and it behoves human genius to seek, accept, nourish, andpreserve a love like that; but one should take great care not to bowdown or become enslaved to an object unworthy and base, lest we becomesharers of the baseness and unworthiness of the same: appositely theFerrarese poet says

 Who sets his foot upon the amorous snare, Lest he besmear his wings, let him beware. 

TANS. To say the truth, that object, which beyond the beauty of the bodyhas no other splendour, is not worthy of being loved otherwise than tomake the race; and it seems to me the work of a pig or a horse totorment one's self about it, and as to myself, never was I morefascinated by such things than I am now fascinated by some statue orpicture to which I am indifferent. It would then be a great dishonour toa generous soul, if, of a foul, vile, loose, and ignoble nature, although hid under an excellent symbol, it should be said: "I fear hisscorn more than my torment. "

=Third Dialogue. =

TANSILLO. 

There are several varieties of enthusiasts, which may all be reduced totwo kinds. While some only display blindness, stupidity, and irrationalimpetuosity, which tend towards savage madness, others by divineabstraction become in reality superior to ordinary men. And these againare of two kinds, for some having become the habitation of gods ordivine spirits, speak and perform wonderful things, without themselvesunderstanding the reason. Many such have been uncultured and ignorantpersons, into whom, being void of spirit and sense of their own, as intoan empty chamber, the divine spirit and sense intrude, as it would haveless power to show itself in those who are full of their own reason andsense. This divine spirit often desires that the world should know forcertain, that those do not speak from their own knowledge andexperience, but speak and act through some superior intelligence; forsuch, the mass of men vouchsafe more admiration and faith, while others, being skilful in contemplation and possessing innately a clearintellectual spirit, have an internal stimulus and natural fervour, excited by the love of the divine, of justice, of truth, of glory, andby the fire of desire and the breath of intention, sharpen their senses, and in the sulphur of the cogitative faculty, these kindle the rationallight, with which they see more than ordinarily; and they come in theend to speak and act, not as vessels and instruments, but as chiefartificers and experts. 

CIC. Of these two which dost thou esteem higher?

TANS. The first have more dignity, power, and efficacy withinthemselves, because they have the divinity; the second _are_ themselvesworthy, potential, and efficacious, and _are_ divine. The first areworthy, as is the ass which carries the sacraments; the second are as asacred thing. In the first is contemplated and seen in effect thedivinity, and that is beheld, adored, and obeyed; in the second iscontemplated and seen the excellency of humanity itself. But now to thequestion. These enthusiasms of which we speak, and which we seeexemplified in these sentences, are not oblivion, but a memory; theyare not neglect of one's self, but love and desire of the beautiful andgood, by means of which we are able to make ourselves perfect, bytransforming and assimilating ourselves to it. It is not aprecipitation, under the laws of a tyrannous fate, into the noose ofanimal affections, but a rational impetus, which follows theintellectual apprehension of the beautiful and the good, which knowswhom it wishes to obey and to please, so that, by its nobility andlight, it kindles and invests itself with qualities and conditionsthrough which it appears illustrious and worthy. He (the enthusiast)becomes a god by intellectual contact with the divine object, and he hasno thought for other than divine things, and shows himself insensibleand impassive towards those things which are commonly felt, and aboutwhich others are mostly tormented; he fears nothing, and for love of thedivine he despises other pleasures and gives no thought to this life. Itis not a fury of black bile which sends him drifting outside ofjudgment, reason, and acts of prudence, and tossed by the discordanttempest, like those who, having violated certain laws of the divineAdrastia, are condemned to be scourged by the Furies, in order that theymay be excited by a dissonance as corporeal through seditions, destructions, and plagues, as it is spiritual, through the forfeiture ofharmony between the perceptive and enjoying powers; but it is aglowkindled by the intellectual sun in the soul, and a divine impetus whichlends it wings, with which, drawing nearer and nearer to theintellectual sun, and ridding itself of the rust of human cares, itbecomes a gold tried and pure, has the perception of divine and internalharmony, and its thoughts and acts accord with the symmetry of the law, innate in all things. Not, as drunk from the cups of Circe, does he godashing and stumbling, now in this and then in that ditch, now againstthis or that rock, or like a shifting Proteus, changing now to this, nowto the other aspect, never finding place, fashion, or ground to stay andsettle in; but, without spoiling the harmony, conquers and overcomes thehorrid monsters, and however much he may swerve, he easily returns tohimself[B] by means of those inward instincts that, like the nine Muses, dance and sing round the splendours of the universal Apollo, and undertangible images and material things, he comes to comprehend divine lawsand counsels. It is true that sometimes, having love for his trustyescort, who is double, and because sometimes through occasionalimpediments he finds himself defrauded of his strength, then, as oneinsane and furious, he squanders away the love of that which he cannotcomprehend; whence, confused by the obscurity of the divinity, hesometimes abandons the work, and then again returns, to force himselfwith his will thither, where he cannot arrive with the intellect. It istrue also that he commonly wanders, and transports himself, now intoone, now into another form of the double Eros; therefore, the principallesson that Love gives to him is, that he contemplate the divine beautyin shadow, when he cannot do so in the mirror, and, like the suitors ofPenelope, he entertain himself with the maids when he is not permittedto converse with the mistress. Now, in conclusion, you can comprehend, from what has been said, what is this enthusiast whose picture is putforth, when it is said:

12. 

 If towards the shining light the butterfly, Winging his way knows not the burning flame, And if the thirsty stag, unmindful of the dart, Runs fainting to the brook, Or unicorn, unto the chaste breast running, Ignores the snare that is for him prepared, I, in the light, the fount, the bosom of my love Behold the flames, the arrows, and the chains. If it be sweet in plaintiveness to droop, Why does that lofty splendour dazzle me? Wherefore the sacred arrow sweetly wound? Why in this knot is my desire involved? And why to me eternal irksomeness Flames to my heart, darts to my breast and snares unto my soul?

[B] Facilmente ritorna al sesso. 

Here he shows his love not to be like that of the butterfly, of thestag, and of the unicorn, who would flee away if they had knowledge ofthe fire, of the arrow, and of the snares, and who have no other sensethan that of pleasure; but he is moved by a most sensible and only tooevident passion, which forces him to love that fire more than anycoolness; more that wound than any wholeness; more those fetters thanany liberty. For this evil is not absolutely evil, but, throughcomparison with good (according to opinion), it is deceptive, like thesauce that old Saturn gets when he devours his own sons; for this evilabsolutely in the eye of the Eternal, is comprehended either for good, or for guide which conduces to it, since this fire is the ardent desireof divine things, this arrow is the impression of the ray of the beautyof supernal light, these snares are the species of truth which unite ourmind to the primal verity, and the species of good which unite and jointo the primal and highest good. To that meaning I approached when Isaid:

13. 

 With such a fire and such a noble noose, Beauty enkindles me, and pureness binds, So that in flames and servitude I take delight, Liberty takes flight and dreads the ice. Such is the heat, that though I burn yet am I not destroyed, The tie is such, the world with me gives praise. Fear cannot freeze, nor pain unshackle me; For soothing is the ardour, sweet the smart. So high the light that burns me I discern, And of so rich a thread the noose contrived That, thought being born, the longing dies. And since, within my heart shines such pure flames, And so supreme a tie compels my will, Let my shade serve, and let my ashes burn. 

All the loves, if they be heroic and not purely animal, or what iscalled natural, and slaves to generation, as instruments of nature in acertain way, have for object the divinity, tend towards divine beauty, which first is communicated to souls and shines in them, and from them, or rather through them, it is communicated to bodies; whence it is thatwell-ordered affection loves the body or corporeal beauty, insomuch asit is an indication of beauty of spirit. Thus that which causes theattraction of love to the body is a certain spirituality which we see init, and which is called beauty, and which does not consist in major orminor dimensions, nor in determined colours or forms, but in harmony andconsonance of members and colours. This shows an affinity between thespirit and the most acute and penetrative senses; whence it follows thatsuch become more easily and intensely enamoured, and also more easilyand intensely disgusted, which might be through a change of the deformedspirit, which in some gesture and expressed intention reveals itself insuch wise that this deformity extends from the soul to the body, andmakes it appear no longer beautiful as before. The beauty, then, of thebody has power to kindle, but not to bind, and the lover, unless aidedby the graces of the spirit, such as purity, gratitude, courtesy, circumspection, is unable to escape. Therefore, said I, beautiful isthat fire which burns me, and noble that tie which binds. 

CIC. I do not believe it is always like that, Tansillo; because, sometimes, notwithstanding that we discover the spirit to be vicious, weremain heated and entangled; so that, although reason perceives the eviland unworthiness of such a love, it yet has not power to alienate thedisordered appetite. In this disposition, I believe, was the Nolano whenhe said:

14. 

 Woe's me! my fury forces me To union with the bad within, And makes it seem a love supreme and good. Wearied, my soul cares nought That I opposing counsels entertain, And with the savage tyrant Nourished with want, And made to put myself in exile, More than with liberty contented am. I spread my sails to the wind, To draw me forth from this detested bliss, And to reclaim me from the cloying hurt. 

TANS. This occurs when spirits are vicious and tinged as with the samehue; since, through conformity, love is excited, enkindled, andconfirmed. Thus the vicious easily concur in acts of the same vice; andI will not refrain from repeating that which I know by experience, foralthough I may have discovered in a soul vices very much abominated byme--as, for instance, filthy avarice, base greediness for money, ingratitude for favours and courtesies received, or a love of quite vilepersons, of which this last most displeases, because it takes away thehope from the lover, that by becoming or making himself more worthy hemay become more acceptable--in spite of all this, it is true that I didburn for corporeal beauty. But how? I loved against my will; for, wereit not so, I should have been more saddened than cheered by troubles andmisfortunes. 

CIC. It is a very proper and nice distinction that is made betweenloving and liking. 

TANS. Truly; because we like many--that is, we desire that they be wiseand just; but we love them not because they are unjust and ignorant;many we love because they are beautiful, but we do not like them, because they do not deserve it; and amongst other things of which thelover deems the loved one undeserving, the first is, being loved; andyet, although he cannot abstain from loving, nevertheless he regrets it, and shows his regret like him who said, "Woe is me! who am compelled bypassion to coalesce with evil. " In the opposite mood was he, eitherthrough some corporeal object in similitude or through a divine subjectin reality, when he said:

15. 

 Although to many pains thou dost subject me, Yet do I thank thee, love, and owe thee much, That thou my breast dost cleave with noble wound, And then dost take my heart and master it. Thus true it is, that I, on earth, adore A living object, image most beautiful of God. Let him who will think that my fate is bad That kills in hope and quickens in desire. My pasture is the high emprise, And though the end desired be not attained, And though my soul in many thoughts is spent, Enough that she enkindle noble fire, Enough that she has lifted me on high, And from the ignoble crowd has severed me. 

Here his love is entirely heroic and divine, and as such, I wish it tobe understood; although he says that through it he is subject to manypangs, every lover who is separated from the thing loved (to which beingjoined by affection he would also wish to be actually), being in anguishand pain, he torments himself, not forsooth because he loves, since hefeels his love is engaged most worthily and most nobly, but because hefeels deprived of that fruition which he would obtain if he arrived atthat end to which he tends. He suffers, not from the desire whichanimates him, but from the difficulty in the cultivation of it which sotortures him. Others esteem him unhappy through this appearance of anevil destiny, as being condemned to these pangs, for he will never ceasefrom acknowledging the obligation he is under to love, nor cease fromrendering thanks to him because he has presented before the eyes of hismind such an intelligible conception through which, in this earthlylife, shut in this prison of the flesh, wrapped in these nerves andsupported by these bones, it is permitted to him to contemplate thedivinity in a more suitable manner than if other conceptions andsimilitudes than these had offered themselves. 

CIC. The divine and living object, then, of which he speaks, is thehighest intelligible conception that he has been able to form to himselfof the divinity, and is not some corporeal beauty which might overshadowhis thought and appear superficially to the senses. 

TANS. Even so; because no tangible thing nor conception of such canraise itself to so much dignity. 

CIC. Why, then, does he mention that conception as the object, if, asappears to me, the true object is the divinity itself?

TANS. The divinity is the final object, the ultimate and most perfect, but not in this state, where we cannot see God except as in a shadow ora mirror, and therefore He cannot be the object except in somesimilitude, but not in such as may be extracted or acquired fromcorporeal beauty and excellence, by virtue of the senses, but such asmay be formed in the mind, by virtue of the intellect. In which state, finding himself, he comes to lose the love and affection for every otherthing senseful as well as intellectual, because this, conjoined to thatlight, itself also becomes light, and in consequence becomes a god:because it contracts the divinity into itself, it being in God throughthe intention with which it penetrates into the divinity so far as itcan, and God being in it, so that after penetrating, it comes toconceive, and so far as it can, receive and comprehend the divinity inits conception. Now in such conceptions and similitudes the humanintellect of this lower world nourishes itself, till such time as itwill be lawful to behold with purer eye the beauty of the divinity. Ashappens to him, who, absorbed in the contemplation of some elaboratearchitectural work, goes on examining one thing after another in it, enchanted and feeding in a wonder of delight; but if it should happenthat he sees the lord of all those pictures, who is of a beautyincomparably greater, leaving all care and thought of them, he is turnedintently to the examination of him. Here, then, is the differencebetween that state where we see divine beauty in intelligibleconceptions apart from the effects, labours, works, shadows, andsimilitudes of it, and that other state in which it is lawful to beholdit in real presence. He says: "My pasture is the high emprise, " becauseas the Pythagoreans remark, "The soul moves and turns round God, as thebody round the soul. "

CIC. Then the body is not the habitation of the soul?

TANS. No; because the soul is not in the body locally, but as intrinsicform and extrinsic framer, as that which forms the limbs indicates theinternal and external composition. The body, then, is in the soul, thesoul in the mind, the mind either is God or is in God, as Plotinus said. As in its essence it is in God who is its life, similarly through theintellectual operation, and the will consequent upon such operation, itagrees with its bright and beatific object. Fitly, therefore, thisrapture of heroic enthusiasm feeds on such "high emprise. " For theobject is infinite, and in action most simple, and our intellectualpower cannot apprehend the infinite except in speech or in a certainmanner of speech, so to say in a certain potential or relativeinference, as one who proposes to himself the infinity, so that he mayconstitute for himself a finality where no finality is. 

CIC. Fitly so, because the ultimate ought not to have an end seeingthat it is ultimate. For it is infinite in intention, in perfection, inessence, and in any other manner whatsoever of being final. 

TANS. Thou sayest truly. Now in this life, that food is such thatexcites more than it can appease, as that divine poet shows when hesays: "My soul is wearied, longing for the living God, " and in anotherplace; "Attenuati sunt oculi mei suspicientes in excelsa. " Therefore hesays, "And though the end desired be not attained, And that my soul inmany thoughts is spent, Enough that she enkindle noble fire:" meaning tosay that the soul comforts itself, and receives all the glory which itis able in that state to receive, and that it is a participator in thatultimate enthusiasm of man, in so far as he is a man in this presentcondition, as we see him. 

CIC. It appears to me that the Peripatetics, as explained by Averroes, mean this, when they say that the highest felicity of man consists inperfection through the speculative sciences. 

TANS. It is true, and they say well; because we, in this state, cannotdesire nor obtain greater perfection than that in which we are, when ourintellect, by means of some noble and intelligible conception, unitesitself either to the substance of things hoped for, as those say, or tothe divine mind, as it is the fashion to say of the Platonists. For thepresent, I will leave reasoning about the soul, or man in another stateor mode of being than he can find himself or believe himself to be in. 

CIC. But what perfection or satisfaction can man find in that knowledgewhich is not perfect?

TANS. It will never be perfect, so far as understanding the highestobject is concerned; but in so far as our intellect can understand it. Let it suffice that in this and other states there be present to him thedivine beauty so far as the horizon of his vision extends. 

CIC. But all men cannot arrive at that, which one or two may reach. 

TANS. Let it suffice that all "run well, " and that each does his utmost, for the heroic nature is content and shows its dignity rather infalling, or in failing worthily in the high undertaking, in which itshows the dignity of its spirit, than in succeeding to perfection inlower and less noble things. 

CIC. Truly a dignified and heroic death is better than a mean, lowtriumph. 

TANS. On that theme I made this sonnet:

16. 

 Since I have spread my wings to my desire, 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. Not the sad fate of Daedalus's son Does warn me to turn downwards, But ever higher will I rise. Well do I see, I shall fall dead to earth; But what life is there can compare with this my death? Out on the air my heart's voice do I hear: "Whither dost thou carry me, thou fearless one? Turn back. Such over-boldness rarely grief escapes. " "Fear not the utmost ruin then, " I said, "Cleave confident the clouds and die content, That heaven has destined thee to such illustrious death. "

CIC. I understand when you say: "Enough that thou hast lifted me onhigh;" but not: "And from the ignoble crowd hast severed me;" unless itmeans his having come out from the Platonic groove on account of thestupid and low condition of the crowd; for those that find profit inthis contemplation cannot be numerous. 

TANS. Thou understandest well; but thou mayst also understand, by the"ignoble crowd, " the body, and sensual cognition, from which he mustarise and free himself who would unite with a nature of a contrarykind. 

CIC. The Platonists say there are two kinds of knots which link the soulto the body. One is a certain vivifying action which from the souldescends into the body, like a ray; the other is a certain vitalquality, which is produced from that action in the body. Now this activeand most noble number, which is the soul, in what way do you understandthat it may be severed from the ignoble number, which is the body?

TANS. Certainly it was not understood according to any of these modes, but according to that mode whereby those powers which are notcomprehended and imprisoned in the womb of matter, sometimes as ifinebriated and stupefied, find that they also are occupied in theformation of matter and in the vivification of the body; then, as ifawakened and brought to themselves, recognizing its principle andgenius, they turn towards superior things and force themselves on theintelligible world as to their native abode, and from thence, throughtheir conversion to inferior things, they are thrust into the fate andconditions of generation. These two impulses are symbolized in the twokinds of metamorphosis expressed in the following:

17. 

 That god who shakes the sounding thunder, Asteria as a furtive eagle saw; Mnemosyne as shepherd; Danae gold; Alcmene as a fish; Antiope a goat; Cadmus and his sister a white bull; Leda as swan, and Dolida as dragon; And through the lofty object I become, From subject viler still, a god. A horse was Saturn; And in a calf and dolphin Neptune dwelt; Ibis and shepherd Mercury became; Bacchus a grape; Apollo was a crow; And I by help of love, From an inferior thing, do change me to a god. 

In Nature is one revolution and one circle, by means of which, for theperfection and help of others, superior things lower themselves tothings inferior, and, by their own excellence and felicity, inferiorthings raise themselves to superior ones. Therefore the Pythagoreans andPlatonists say it is given to the soul that at certain times, not onlyby spontaneous will, which turns it towards the comprehension of Nature, but also by the necessity of an internal law, written and registered bythe destined decree, they seek their own justly determined fate; andthey also say that souls, not so much by determination of their own willas through a certain order, by which they become inclined towardsmatter, decline as rebels from divinity; wherefore, not by freeintention, but by a certain occult consequence, they fall. And this isthe inclination that they have to generation, as towards a minor good. Minor, I say, in so far as it appertains to that particular nature; notin so far as it appertains to the universal nature, where nothinghappens without the highest aim, and which disposes of all thingsaccording to justice. In which generation finding themselves once morethrough the changes which permutably succeed, they return again to thesuperior forms. 

CIC. So that they mean, that souls are impelled by the necessity offate, and have no proper counsel which guides them at all. 

TANS. Necessity, fate, nature, counsel, will, those things, justly andrightfully ordained, all agree in one. Besides which, as Plotinusrelates, some believe that certain souls can escape from their own evil, if knowing the danger, they seek refuge in the mind before the corporealhabit is confirmed; because the mind raises to things sublime, as theimagination lowers to inferior things. The mind always understands one, as the imagination is one in movement and in diversity; the mind alwaysunderstands one, as the imagination is always inventing for itselfvarious images. In the midst is the rational faculty, which is amixture of all, like that in which the one agrees with the many, sameness with variety, movement with fixedness, the inferior with thesuperior. Now these transmutations and conversions are symbolized in thewheel of metamorphosis, where man sits on the upper part, a beast liesat the bottom, a half-man, half-beast descends from the left, and ahalf-beast, half-man ascends from the right. This transmutation is shownwhere Jove, according to the diversity of the affections and thebehaviour of those towards inferior things, invests himself with diversfigures, entering into the form of beasts; and so also the other godstransmigrate into base and alien forms. And, on the contrary, throughthe knowledge of their own nobility, they re-take their own divine form;as the passionate hero, raising himself through conceived kinds ofdivine beauty and goodness, with the wings of the intellect and rationalwill, rises to the divinity, leaving the form of the lower subject. Andtherefore he said, "I become from subject viler still, a god. From aninferior thing do change me to a god. "

=Fourth Dialogue. =

TANSILLO. 

Thus is described the discourse of heroic love, in all which tends toits own object, which is the highest good; and heroic intellect, whichdevotes itself to the study of its own object, which is the primalverity, or absolute truth. Now the first discourse holds the sum of thisand the intention, the order of which is described in five othersfollowing:

18. 

 To the woods, the mastiffs and the greyhounds young Actæon leads, When destiny directs him into the doubtful and neglected way, Upon the track of savage beasts in forests wild. And here, between the waters, he sees a bust and face more beautiful than e'er was seen By mortal or divine, of scarlet, alabaster, and fine gold; He sees, and the great hunter straight becomes that which he hunts. The stag, that towards still thicker shades now goes with lighter steps, His own great dogs swiftly devour. So I extend my thoughts to higher prey, and these Now turning on me give me death with cruel savage bite. 

Actæon signifies the intellect, intent on the pursuit of divine wisdomand the comprehension of divine beauty. He lets loose the mastiffs andthe greyhounds, of whom the latter are more swift and the former morestrong, because the operation of the intellect precedes that of thewill; but this is more vigorous and effectual than that; seeing that, tothe human intellect, divine goodness and beauty are more loveable thancomprehensible, and love it is that moves and urges the intellect, andprecedes it as a lantern. The woods, uncultivated and solitary places, visited and penetrated by few, and where there are few traces of men. The youth of little skill and practice, as of one of short life and ofwavering enthusiasm. In the doubtful road of uncertain and distortedreason--a disposition assigned to the character of Pythagoras--where yousee the most thorny, uncultivated, and deserted to be the right anddifficult path, where he lets loose the greyhounds and the mastiffs uponthe track of savage beasts, that is, the intelligible kinds of idealconceptions, which are occult, followed by few, visited but rarely, andwhich do not disclose themselves to all those who seek them. Here, amongst the waters, --that is, in the mirror of similitude, in thoseworks where shines the brightness of divine goodness and splendour, which works are symbolized by the waters superior and inferior, whichare above and below the firmament, he sees the most beautiful bust andface--that is, external power and operation, which it is possible tosee, by the habit and act of contemplation and the application of mortalor divine mind, of man or any god. 

CIC. I do not believe that he makes a comparison, nor puts as the samekind the divine and the human mode of comprehending, which are verydiverse, but as to the subject they are the same. 

TANS. So it is. He says "of red and alabaster and gold, " because thatwhich in bodily beauty is red, white, and fair, in divinity signifiesthe scarlet of divine vigorous power, the gold of divine wisdom, thealabaster of divine beauty, through the contemplation of which thePythagoreans, Chaldeans, Platonists, and others, strive in the best waythat they can to elevate themselves. "The great hunter saw, " heunderstood as much as was possible, and became the hunted. He went outfor prey, and this hunter became himself the prey, by the operation ofthe intellect converting the things learned into itself. 

CIC. I understand. He forms intelligible conceptions in his own way andproportions them to his capacity, so that they are received according tothe manner of the recipient. 

TANS. And does he hunt through the operation of the will, by the act ofwhich he converts himself into the object?

CIC. As I understand: because love transforms and converts into thething loved. 

TANS. Well dost thou know that the intellect learns thingsintelligibly--_i. E. _, in its own way, and the will pursues thingsnaturally, that is, according to the reason that is in themselves. SoActæon with those thoughts--those dogs--which hunted outside themselvesfor goodness, wisdom, and beauty, thus came into the presence of thesame, and ravished out of himself by so much splendour, he became theprey, saw himself converted into that for which he was seeking, andperceived, that of his dogs or thoughts, he himself came to be thelonged-for prey; for having absorbed the divinity into himself it wasnot necessary to search outside himself for it. 

CIC. For this reason it is said "the kingdom of Heaven is in us;"divinity dwells within through the reformed intellect and will. 

TANS. It is so. See then, Actæon hunted by his own dogs--pursued by hisown thoughts--runs and directs these novel paces, invigorated so as toproceed divinely and "more easily, " that is, with greater facility andwith refreshed vigour "towards the denser places, " to the deserts andthe region of things incomprehensible. From being such as he first was, a common ordinary man, he becomes rare and heroic, his habits and ideasare strange, and he leads an unusual life. Here his great dogs "give himdeath, " and thus ends his life according to the mad, sensual, blind, andfantastic world, and he begins to live intellectually; he lives the lifeof the gods, fed on ambrosia and drunk with nectar. 

Next we see under the form of another similitude the manner in which hearms himself to obtain the object. He says:

19. 

 My solitary bird! away unto that region Which overshadows and which occupies my thought, Go swiftly, and there nestle; there every Need of thine be strengthened, There all thy industry and art be spent! There be thou born again, and there on high, Gather and train up thy wandering fledglings Since adverse fate has drawn away the bars With which she ever sought to block thy way. Go! I desire for thee a nobler dwelling-place, And thou shalt have for guide a god, Who is called blind by him who nothing sees. Go! and ever be by thee revered, Each deity of that wide sphere, And come not back to me till thou art mine. 

The progress symbolized above by the hunter who excites his dogs, ishere illustrated by a winged heart, which is sent out of the cage, inwhich it lived idle and quiet, to make its nest on high and bring up itsfledglings, its thoughts, the time being come in which those impedimentsare removed, which were caused, externally, in a thousand differentways, and internally by natural feebleness. He dismisses his heart thento make more magnificent surroundings, urging him to the highestpropositions and intentions, now that those powers of the soul are morefully fledged, which Plato signifies by the two wings, and he commitshim to the guidance of that god, who, by the unseeing crowd, isconsidered insane and blind, that is Love, who, by the mercy and favourof heaven, has power to transform him into that nature towards which heaspires, or into that state from which, a pilgrim, he is banished. Whence he says, "Come not back to me till thou art mine, " and notunworthily may I say with that other--

 Thou has left me, oh, my heart, And thou, light of my eyes, art no more with me. 

Here he describes the death of the soul, which by the Kabbalists iscalled the death by kisses, symbolized in the Song of Solomon, where thefriend says:

 Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, For, when he wounds me, I suffer with a cruel love. 

By others it is called sleep; the Psalmist says:

 It shall be, that I give sleep unto mine eyes, And mine eyelids shall slumber, And I shall have in him peaceful repose. 

The soul then is said to be faint, because it is dead in itself, andalive in the object:

20. 

 Give heed, enthusiasts, unto the heart! For mine condemns me to a life apart, Bound by unmerciful and cruel ties, He dwells with joy, there where he faints and dies. At every hour I call him back by thoughts: A rebel he, like gerfalcon insane, He feels no more the hand that did restrain, And is gone forth not to return again. Thou beauteous beast that dost in punishment Knit up the soul, spirit and heart content'st With pricks, with lightnings, and with chains! From looks, from accents, and from usages, Which faint and burn and keep thee bound, Where shall he that heals, that cools, and loosens thee be found?

Here the soul, sorrowful, not from real discontent, but on account ofpains which she suffers, directs the discourse to those who are affectedby passions similar to her own: as if she had not of her own free willand of her own desire dismissed her heart, which goes running whither itcannot arrive, stretches out to that which it cannot reach, and tries toenfold that which it cannot comprehend, and with this, because he vainlyseparates from her, ever more and more goes on aspiring towards theinfinite. 

CIC. Whence comes it, oh Tansillo, that the soul in such progressiondelights in its own torments? Whence comes that spur which urges it everbeyond that which it possesses?

TANS. From this, which I will tell thee now. The intellect beingdeveloped to the comprehension of a certain definite and specific form, and the will to a love commensurate with such comprehension; theintellect does not stop there, but by its own light it is prompted tothink of this: that it contains within itself the germ of everythingintelligible and desirable, until it comes to comprehend with theintellect the depth of the fountain of ideas, the ocean of every truthand goodness. So that it happens, that whatever conception is presentedto the mind, and becomes understood by it, from that which is sopresented and comprehended it judges, that above it, is other greaterand greater, and finds itself ever in a certain way discoursing andmoving with it. Because it sees that all which it possesses is only alimited thing, and therefore cannot be sufficient of itself, nor good ofitself, nor beautiful of itself; because it is not the universal nor theabsolute entity; but contracted into being this nature, this species, this form, represented to the intellect and present to the soul. Thenfrom the beautiful that is understood, and consequently limited, andtherefore beautiful through participation, it progresses towards thatwhich is really beautiful, which has no margin, nor any boundaries. 

CIC. This progression appears to me useless. 

TANS. Not so. For it is not natural nor suitable that the infinite berestricted, nor give itself definitely, for it would not then beinfinite. To be infinite, it must be infinitely pursued with that formof pursuit which is not incited physically, but metaphysically, and isnot from imperfect to perfect, but goes circulating through the gradesof perfection to arrive at that infinite centre which is not form, andis not formed. 

CIC. I should like to know how, by circumambulating, one is to arrive atthe centre?

TANS. I cannot know that. 

CIC. Why do you say it?

TANS. I can say it, and leave it to you to consider. 

CIC. If you do not mean that he who pursues the infinite is like him whotalks about the circumference when he is seeking for the centre, I donot know what you mean. 

TANS. Quite the contrary. 

CIC. Now if you will not explain yourself, I cannot understand you; buttell me, prythee, what he means by saying the heart is bound by cruel, spiteful bonds. 

TANS. He speaks in similitude or metaphor; as you would say, cruel wasone who did not allow a full enjoyment, and who lives more in the desirethan in possession, and who, partially possessing, is not content, butdesires, faints, and dies. 

CIC. What are those thoughts that call him back from the nobleenterprise?

TANS. The sensual and natural affections, which regard the government ofthe body. 

CIC. What have they to do with it, that in no way can either help orfavour it?

TANS. They have not to do with it, but with the soul, which, being soabsorbed in one work or study, becomes remiss and careless in others. 

CIC. Why does he call him insane?

TANS. Because he surpasses in knowledge. 

CIC. It is usual to call insane those who know nothing. 

TANS. On the contrary. Those are called insane who know not in theordinary way, or who rise above the ordinary from having more intellect. 

CIC. I perceive that thou sayest truly. Now tell me what are the pricks, the lightnings, and the chains?

TANS. Pricks are those experiences that stimulate and awaken theaffection, to make it on the alert; lightnings are the rays of thepresent beauty, which enlighten those who watch and wait for them;chains are those effects and circumstances which keep fixed the eyes ofattention and unite together the object and the powers. 

CIC. What are the looks, the accents, and the customs?

TANS. Looks are the means by which the object is made present to us;accents are the means through which we are inspired and informed;customs are the circumstances which are most pleasant and agreeable tous. So that the heart that gently suffers, patiently burns andconstantly perseveres in the work, fears that its hurt will heal, itsfire be extinguished, and its bands be loosened. 

CIC. Now relate that which follows. 

TANS. :

21. 

 Lofty, profound, and stirring thoughts of mine, Ye long to sever the maternal ties Of the afflicted soul, and like to proud And able bowmen, draw at the mark, Which is the germ of all your high conceits. In those steep paths where cruel beasts may be, Let not heaven leave ye! Remember to return, and summon back The heart that tarries with the wild wood nymph; Arm ye with love, Warm with the flame of domesticity, And with strong repression guard thy sight, That strangers keep thee not companioned with my heart; At least bring news of that, Which unto him is such delight and joy. 

Here he describes the natural solicitude of the attentive soul on thesubject, of its inclination towards generation, which it has contractedwith matter. She dispatches the armed thoughts, which, solicited andurged by disagreement with the inferior nature, are sent to recall theheart. The soul instructs them how they should conduct themselves, sothat, being allured and attracted by the object, they do not becomeinduced to remain, they also, captive and companions of the heart. Shesays, then, they are to arm themselves with love, with that love that isfired by the domestic flame; that is, the friend of generation, to whomthey are bound, and in whose jurisdiction, ministry, and warfare theyfind themselves. Anon she orders them to repress their eyesight and toclose their eyes, so that they may not behold other beauty or goodnessthan that which is present, friend and mother; and concludes at lastwith this, that if no other reason will cause them to return, theyshould at least do so, to give account of the discourse and of the stateof the heart. 

CIC. Before you proceed further, I would understand from you what isthat which the soul means when she tells the thoughts to repress thesight vigorously. 

TANS. I will tell thee. All love proceeds from seeing: intelligent love, from seeing intelligently; sensuous love, from seeing sensuously. Nowthis seeing has two meanings: either it means the visual power, that isthe sight, which is the intellect, or truly the sense; or it means theact of that power, that is, that application which the eye or theintellect makes to the material or intellectual object. When thethoughts are counselled to repress the sight, it is not the first, butthe second, mode that is meant, because that is the father of thesubsequent affection of the sensuous or intellectual desire. 

CIC. This is what I wished to hear from you. Now, if the act of thevisual power is the cause of the evil or good which proceed from seeing, whence comes it that in things divine we have more love than knowledge?

TANS. We desire to see, because in some way we perceive the value ofseeing. We are aware that, through the act of seeing, beautiful thingsoffer themselves to us; and therefore we desire beautiful things. 

CIC. We desire the beautiful and the good; but seeing is not beautifulnor good; rather is it the touchstone or light by which we see, not onlythe beautiful and good, but also the evil and bad. Therefore it seems tome that seeing may be equally beautiful or good, as the thing seen maybe white or black. If, then, the sight, which is an act, is notbeautiful nor good, how can it fall into desire?

TANS. If not for itself, yet certainly for some other reason, it isdesired, seeing that there can be no apprehension of that other withoutit. 

CIC. What wilt thou say, if that other is not within the knowledge ofthe senses nor of the intellect? How, I say, can that be desired whichis not seen, if there is no knowledge whatever of it--if towards itneither the intellect nor the sense has exercised any act whatever; but, on the contrary, it is even dubious whether it be intellectual orsensuous, whether a thing corporeal or incorporeal, whether it be one ortwo or more, or of one fashion or of another?

TANS. I answer, that in the sense and the intellect there is one desireand one impulse to the sensuous in general; because the intellect willhear the whole truth, so that it may learn all that is beautiful or goodintelligently; the power of the senses will inform itself of all that issensuous, so that it may know all that is good and beautiful in theworld of the senses. Hence it follows that not less do we desire to seethings unknown and unseen than those known and seen. And from this itdoes not follow that the desire does not proceed from cognition, andthat we desire something that is not known; but I say that it is certainand sure that we do not desire unknown things. Because, if they beoccult as to particulars, they are not occult as to generals; as in theentire visual power is found the whole of the visible appositely, and inthe intellect all the intelligible. Therefore, as the inclination to theact lies in its appropriateness, the result is that both these powersincline towards the universal action, as to a thing naturallycomprehended as good. The soul, then, did not speak to the deaf or theblind when she counselled her thoughts to repress the sight, which, although it may not be the immediate cause of the will, is yet theprimal and principal cause. 

CIC. What do you mean by this last saying?

TANS. I mean that it is not the figure or the conception, sensibly orintelligently represented, which of itself moves us; because while onestands beholding the figure manifested to the eyes, he does not yetarrive at loving; but from that instant that the soul conceives withinitself that figure, not visible, but thinkable; no longer dividual, butindividual; no longer classed among things in general, but among thingsgood and beautiful; then immediately love is born. Now this is theseeing, from which the soul desires to divert the eyes of her thoughts. Here the sight usually moves the affection to a greater love than thelove of that which is seen; for, as I have just said, it alwaysconsiders, through the universal knowledge that it holds of thebeautiful and the good, that, besides the degrees of known conceptionsof goodness and beauty, there are others and yet others _ad infinitum_. 

CIC. How is it that after we become informed of that conception of thebeautiful which is begotten in the soul, we yet desire to satisfy theexterior vision?

TANS. From this, that the soul would ever love that which it loves, andever see that which it sees. Therefore she wills that, the conceptionwhich has been produced in her through seeing, should not becomeweakened, enervated and lost; but would ever see more and more, and thatwhich becomes obscure in the interior affection, should be frequentlybrightened by the exterior aspect, which as it is the principle ofbeing, must also be the principle of conservation. This resultsproportionately in the act of understanding and of considering, for asthe sight has reference to visible things, so has the intellect tointelligible things. I believe now that you understand to what end andin what manner the soul tends, when she says "repress the sight. "

CIC. I understand very well. Now continue to unfold what happens tothese thoughts. 

TANS. Now follows the disagreement between the mother and the aforesaidchildren, who having, contrary to her orders, opened their eyes, and, having fixed them on the splendour of the object, they remained incompany with the heart. 

22. 

 Cruel sons are ye to me, me whom ye left Still farther to exasperate my pain; And ever without cease ye weary me, Taking away from me my every hope! Why should the sense remain? oh, grasping heavens! Wherefore these broken ruined powers, if not To make me subject and exemplar Of such heavy martyrdom, such lengthened pain? Leave, dear sons, my winged fire enchained, And let me, some of you once more behold, Come back to me from those retaining claws! Oh, weariness! not one returns To bring a late refreshment to my pains. 

Behold me, miserable one, deprived of heart, abandoned of thoughts, leftby hope, I, who had fixed my all in them. Nothing is left to me but thesense of my poverty, my unhappiness and misery; why does not this tooleave me? Why does not death succour me, now that I am deprived of life?To what use do I possess these natural powers if I be deprived of theuse of them? How can I alone nourish myself with intelligibleconceptions as with intellectual bread, if the substance of this breadbe composed of this contingency. How can I linger in the intimacy ofthese friendly and dear members which I have woven round me, adjustingthem with the symmetry of the elementary conditions, if my thoughts andall my affections abandon me, intent upon the care of the bread that isimmaterial and divine? Up, up; oh my flying thoughts; up, oh my rebelheart; let live the sense of things that are felt, and the understandingof things intelligible, come to the succour of the body with matter andcorporeal subject, and let the understanding delight in its own objects, to the end that this composition of the body may be realized, that thismachine dissolve not, in which, by means of the spirit, the soul isunited to the body. Why, unhappy as I am (more through domesticcircumstances than through external violence), am I doomed to see thishorrible divorce between my parts and members? Why does the intellecttrouble itself to give laws to the sense and yet deprive it of its food?and this, on the other hand, resists; desiring to live according to itsown decrees, and not according to the decree of others; for these andnot those are able to maintain and bless it, therefore it ought toattend to its own comfort and life, and not to that of others. There isno harmony and concord where there is only one, where one individualabsorbs the whole being, but where there is order and analogy in thingsdiverse; where each thing serves its own nature. Therefore let the sensefeed according to the law of things that can be felt, the flesh beobedient to the law of the spirit, the reason to its own law. Let themnot be confounded nor mixed. Enough that one neither mar nor prejudicethe law of the other, since it is not just that the sense outrage thelaw of reason. And verily it is a shameful thing that one shouldtyrannize over the other, particularly where the intellect is a pilgrimand strange, and the sense is more domesticated and at home. I am forcedby you, my thoughts, to remain at home in charge of the house, whileothers may wander wherever they will. This is a law of Nature, andtherefore a law of the author and originator of Nature. Sin on then, nowthat all of you, seduced by the charm of the intellect, leave the otherpart of me to the peril of death. How have you gotten this melancholyand perverse humour, which breaks the certain and natural laws of thetrue life, and which is in your own hands, for one, uncertain, and whichhas no existence except in shadow, beyond the limits of fantasticthought? Seems it to you a natural thing that they should live divinelyand not as animals and humanly, they being not gods, but men andanimals? It is a law of fate and Nature that everything should adaptitself to the condition of its own being, wherefore then, while youfollow after the niggard nectar of the gods, do you lose that which ispresent and is your own, and trouble yourself about the vain hopes ofothers? Ought not Nature to refuse to give you the other good, if thatwhich she at present offers to you, you stupidly despise?

 Heaven the second gift denies, To him who does the first despise. 

With these and similar reasons the soul, taking part with the weakest, seeks to recall the thoughts to the care of the body. And these, although late, come and show themselves, but not in that form in whichthey departed, but only to declare their rebellion, and force her tofollow. And the sorrowing one thus laments:

23. 

 Ah, dogs of Actæon, ah, proud ingrates! Whom to the abode of my divinity I sent; Without hope do ye return to me; And, coming to the mother's side, ye bring Back unto me a too unhappy boon; Ye mangle me, and will that I live not. Leave me, life, that I may mount up to my sun, A double streamlet, mad, without my fount! When shall this ponderous mass of me dissolve? When shall it be, that, taking myself hence, And swiftly rising to the heights above, Together with my heart I may abide, And with my thoughts I may be deified?

The Platonists say that the soul, as to its superior part, alwaysconsists in the intellect, in which it has more of understanding than ofsoul, seeing that it is called soul only in so far as it vivifies thebody and sustains it. So here, the same essence which nourishes andmaintains the thoughts on high, together with the exalted heart, isinduced by the inferior part to afflict itself, and recall them asrebels. 

CIC. So that they are not two contrary existences, but one, subject totwo contradictory terms?

TANS. So it is, precisely. As the ray of the sun which touches theearth, and is joined to obscure and to inferior things, which itbrightens, vivifies, and kindles, and is then joined to the element offire--that is, to the star, whence it proceeds, and has its beginning, and is diffused, and in which it has its own and originalsubsistence--so the soul, which is in the horizon of Nature, iscorporeal and incorporeal, and contains that with which it rises tosuperior things and declines to things inferior. And this, you mayperceive, does not happen by reason and order of local motion, butsolely through the impulse of one and of another power or faculty. Aswhen the sense rises to the imagination, the imagination to the reason, the reason to the intellect, the intellect to the mind, then the wholesoul is converted into God, and inhabits the intelligible world; whence, on the other hand, she descends in an inverse manner to the world offeeling, through the intellect, reason, imagination, sense, vegetation. 

CIC. It is true that I have heard that the soul, in order to put itselfin the ultimate degree of divine things, descends into the mortal body, and from this goes up again to the divine degrees, which are threedegrees of intelligence. For there are others in which the intellectualsurpasses the animal, which are said to be the celestial intelligences;and others in which the animal surpasses the intellectual, which are thehuman intelligences; others there are, of which those things are equal, as those of demons or heroes. 

TANS. The mind then cannot desire except that which is near, close, known, and familiar. The pig cannot desire to be a man, nor wish forthose things that are suitable to the human appetite. He likes betterto turn about in mud than in a bed of linen, he would prefer a sow tothe most beautiful of women, because the affection follows the reason ofthe species. And amongst men the same thing is seen, according as someresemble one species of brute beast and some another: these havingsomething of the quadruped, and those of birds, and, may be, someaffinity, which I will not explain, but through which those have beenknown who are affected by certain sorts of beasts. Now, it is lawful forthe mind which finds itself oppressed by the material conjunction of thesoul, to raise itself to the contemplation of another state, to whichthe soul may arrive, comparing the two, and so through the futuredespise the present. If a beast had a sense of the difference whichexists between his own condition and that of man, and the meanness ofhis own state with the nobility of the human state, which he would deemit not impossible to be able to reach, he would love death, which wouldopen to him that road, more than that life which keeps him in thepresent state of being. When the soul complains, saying, "Ah! dogs ofActæon!" she is represented as a thing which appears only in theinferior powers, and against which the mind rebels for having taken awaythe heart with it; that is to say, the entire affections, with all thearmy of the thoughts. So that, having a knowledge of the present state, and being ignorant of every other, and not believing that others existabout which she can have any knowledge, she complains of her thoughts, which, tardily turning towards her, come rather to draw her up than tomake themselves accepted by her. And through the distraction which sheendures on account of the ordinary love of the material and of thingsintelligible, she feels herself lacerated and mangled, so that at lastshe is forced to yield to the more vigorous impulse. And if, by virtueof contemplation, she rises or is caught up above the horizon of thenatural affections, whence with purer eye she learns the differencebetween the one life and the other, then, vanquished by the loftythoughts, and, as if dead to the body, she aspires to that which iselevated, and, although alive in the body, she vegetates there as ifdead, being present as an animating principle and absent in operativeactivity; not because she does not act while the body is alive, but thatthe actions of this mass are intermittent, weak, and, as it were, purposeless. 

CIC. Thus a certain theologian, who was said to be transported to thethird heaven and enchanted with the view of it, said that what hedesired was the dissolution of his body. 

TANS. So; first complaining of the heart and quarrelling with thethoughts, she now desires to rise on high with them, and exhibits herregret for the connection and familiarity contracted with corporealmatter, and says: "Leave me life (corporeal), and do not impede myprogress upwards to my native home, to my sun. Leave me now, for nolonger do my eyes weep tears; neither because I cannot succour them (thethoughts), nor because I cannot remain divided from my happiness. Leaveme, for it is not fit nor possible that these two streams should runwithout their source, that is, without the heart. I will not, I say, make two rivers of tears here below, while my heart, which is the sourceof such rivers, is flown away on high with its nymphs, which are mythoughts. " Thus, little by little, from dislike and regret, she proceedsto the hatred of inferior things, which she partly shows, saying, "Whenshall this ponderous mass of me dissolve?" and that which follows. 

CIC. This I understand right well, and also that which you would inferabout the principal intention; that is to say, that these are thedegrees of the loves, of the affections, and of the enthusiasms, according to the degrees of greater and lesser light, of cognition, andof intelligence. 

TANS. Thou understandest rightly. From this thou oughtest to learn thatdoctrine taken from the Pythagoreans and Platonists, which is, that thesoul makes the two progressions of ascent and descent, by the care thatit has of itself and of matter; being moved by its own proper love ofgood, and being urged by the providence of fate. 

CIC. But, prythee, tell me briefly what you mean about the soul of theworld, if she can neither ascend nor descend?

TANS. If you ask of the world, according to the commonsignification--that is, in so far as it signifies what is called theuniverse--I say that, being infinite, it has no dimension or measure, isimmobile, inanimate, and without form, notwithstanding it is the placeof infinite moving worlds and is infinite space, in which are so manylarge animals that are called stars. If you ask according to thesignification held by the true philosophers--that is, in so far as itsignifies every globe, every star, such as this earth, the body of thesun, moon, and others--I say that such soul does not ascend nor descend, but turns in a circle. Thus, being compounded of superior and inferiorpowers, with the superior it turns round the divinity, and with theinferior, towards the mass of the worlds, which is by it vivified andmaintained between the tropics of generation and the corruption ofliving things in those worlds, serving its own life eternally; becausethe act of the divine providence, always preserves it with divine heatand light, with the same order and measure, in the ordinary andself-same being. 

CIC. I have now heard enough upon this subject. 

TANS. It happens then that individual souls come to be influenceddifferently as to their habits and inclinations, according to thediverse degrees of ascension and descension, and come to display variouskinds and orders of enthusiasms, of loves, and of senses, not only inthe scale of Nature according to the orders of diverse lives which thesoul takes up in different bodies, as is expressly declared by thePythagoreans, Saduchimi and others, and by implication, Plato, and thosewho dive more profoundly into it, but still more in the scale of humanaffections, which has as many degrees as the scale of Nature; for man, in all his powers, displays every species of being. 

CIC. Therefore from the affections one may know souls, whether they aregoing up or down, or whether they are from above or from below, whetherthey are going on towards becoming beasts or towards divine beings, according to the specific being as the Pythagoreans understood it; oraccording to the similitude of the affections only, as is commonlybelieved, the human soul not being able, (so long as it is truly human)to become soul of a brute, as Plotinus and other Platonists well said, on account of the quality of its beginning. 

TANS. Now to come to the proposition: From animal enthusiasm, this soul, as described, is promoted to heroic enthusiasm, saying, "When shall itbe that I rise up to the height of the object, there to dwell in companywith my heart and with my fledglings[C] and his?" This same propositionhe continues when he says:

24. 

 Destiny, when, shall I that mountain mount, Which, blissful to the high gates bringing, bring, Where those rare beauties I shall counting, count, When _he_ my pain with comfort comforting, Who my disjointed members joined, And leaves my dying powers not dead? My spirit's rival more than rivalled is If, far from sin, it unassailed may sail, If thither tending, it may waiting, wait, And up with that high object rising, rise, And if my good alone, alone I take, For which I sure remove of each defect effect, And so at last may come to enjoy with joy, As he who all foretells can tell. 

[C] Pulcini. 

O Destiny! O Fate! O divine immutable Providence! when shall it be thatI shall climb that mount--that is, that I may arrive at such altitude ofmind, as transporting me shall bring me into those outer and innercourts where I may behold and count those rare beauties? When shall itbe, that he will effectually comfort my pain, loosening me from thetightened bonds of those cares in which I find myself, he, who formedand united my members, which before were disunited and disjoined: thatis Love; he who has joined together these corporeal parts, which were asfar divided as one opposite is divided from another; so that theseintellectual powers which, through his action he has extinguished, should not be left quite dead, but be again re-animated and made toaspire on high? When, I say, will he fully comfort me, and give mypowers free and speedy flight, by which means my substance may go andnestle there, where, by my efforts, I may make amends and correct mydefects, and where (if I arrive) my spirit will be made effectual orprevail over my rival, because there, no excess will oppose, noopposition overcome, no error assail? Oh! if by force he may arrivethere, at that height which he is waiting to reach, he will remain onhigh, at the elevation of his object, and he will take that good thatcannot be comprehended by any other than one, that is, by himself, seeing that every other has it in the measure of his own capacity, andthis one alone has it in all its fulness. Then will happiness come to mein that manner which he says, "who all foretells"; that is, at thatelevation in which the saying all and the doing all is the same thing;in that manner that he says and does who all foretells, that is, who issufficient for all things and primary, and whose word and pre-ordainingis the true doing and beginning. This is how, in the scale of thingssuperior and inferior, the affection of Love proceeds, as the intellector sentiment proceeds from these intelligible or knowable objects, tothose, or from those to these. 

CIC. Thus the greater number of sages believe that Nature delights inthis changeful circulation which is seen in the whirling of her wheel. 

=Fifth Dialogue. =

I. 

CIC. Now show me how I may be able for myself to consider the conditionsof these enthusiasts, through that which appears in the order of thewarfare here described. 

TANS. Behold how they carry the ensign of their affections or fortunes. Let us leave the consideration of their names and habits; enough that westand upon the meaning of the undertaking and the intelligibility of thewriting, alike that which is put for the form of the body of the figure, as well as that which is mostly put as an elucidation of theundertaking. 

CIC. Thus will we do. Here then is the first, who carries a shielddivided into four colours, and in the crest is depicted a flame underthe head of bronze, from the holes in which, issue in great force asmoky wind, and about it is written: "At regna senserunt tria. "

TANS. For the explanation of this I would say: that the fire there isthat which heats the globe, inside of it is the water, and it happensthat this humid element, being rarefied and attenuated by virtue of theheat, and thus resolved into vapour, it requires much greater space tocontain it, therefore if it does not find easy exit, it goes on withextreme force, noise, and destruction to break the vessel; but if itfinds space and easy exit, so that it can evaporate, it goes out withless violence, little by little, and, according as the water is resolvedinto vapour, it is dissipated in puffs into the air. Here is signifiedthe heart of the enthusiast where, by a cleverly planned allurementbeing caught by the amorous flame, it happens that some of the vitalsubstance sparkles with fire, while some in the form of tearful criesrends the bosom, and some other by the expulsion of gusty sighs agitatesthe air. Therefore he says: "At regna senserunt tria. " Now this "at"supposes a difference, or diversity, or opposite; as one might almostsay there exists something which might have the same sense, but has itnot, which is very well explained in the following rhymes:

25. 

 From these twin lights of me--a little earth-- My wonted tears stream freely to the sea. The greedy air receives from out my breast No niggard part of all that breast contains; And from my heart the lightnings are unlocked That rise to heaven, and yet diminish not. Thus pay I to the air, the sea, the fire, The tribute of my sighs, my tears, my zeal. The sea, the air, the fire, accept a part of me, But my divinity no favour shows. Unkind she turns away. Near her My tears find no response; My voice she will not hear, Nor pitifully will she turn to note my zeal. 

Here the subject matter signified by "earth" is the substance of theenthusiast, which is poured from the twin lights--that is, from theeyes--in copious tears that flow to the sea; he sends forth from hisbreast into the wide air sighs in a great multitude, and the lightningsfrom his heart, not like a little spark or a weak flame, which, coolingitself in the air, smokes, and transmigrates into other beings; but, potent and vigorous--rather acquiring from others than losing of itsown--it joins its congenial sphere. 

CIC. I understand it all. To the next. 

II. 

TANS. Close by is portrayed one who has on his shield a crest, alsodivided into four colours. There is a sun whose rays extend to the backof the earth, and there is a legend which says: "Idem semper ubiquetotum. "

CIC. I perceive that the interpretation of it will be difficult. 

TANS. The more excellent the meaning the less obvious is it, and youwill see that it is unequalled, unique, and not strained. You are toconsider that the sun, although with regard to the various regions ofthe earth he is for each one different as to time, place, and degree, yet in respect of the whole globe as such, he always and in every placeaccomplishes everything, for in whatever part of the ecliptic he is tobe found, he makes winter, summer, autumn, and spring, and makes thewhole globe of the earth to receive within itself the aforesaid fourseasons; for never is it hot at one side unless it is cold on the other;when it is to us very hot in the tropic of Cancer it is very cold in thetropic of Capricorn; so that for the same reason it is winter in thatpart when it is summer in this, and to those who are in the middle, itis temperate according to the aspect, vernal or autumnal. So the earthalways feels the rains, the winds, the heat, the cold; nor would it bedamp here if it were not dry in another part, and the sun would not warmit on this side if it had not already left off warming it on the other. 

CIC. Even before you have finished, I understand what you would say. Youmean that as the sun gives all the impressions to the earth, and thisreceives them whole and entire, so the Object of the enthusiast, withits active splendour, makes him the passive subject of tears, which arethe waters, of ardours, which are the fires, and of sighs, which arecertain vapours, which partake of both, which leave the fire, and go tothe waters, or leave the waters and go to the fire. 

TANS. This is well explained below. 

26. 

 When as the sun towards Capricorn declines, Then do the rains enrich the streams, As towards the line he goes, or thence returns, More felt is each Æolian messenger, Warming the more with every lengthening day What time towards burning Cancer he remounts. And equal to this heat, this cold, this zeal Are these my tears, my sighs, the ardour that I feel. My constant sighs, my never waning flames Are only equal to my tears. My floods and flames howe'er intense they be, Are never more so than my sighs; I burn with fervid heat, And, firmly fixed, I ever sigh and weep. 

CIC. This does not so much declare the meaning of the coat of arms, asthe preceding discourse did, but it rather supplements or accompaniesthat discourse. 

TANS. Say, rather, that the figure is latent in the first part, and thelegend is well explained in the second; as both the one and the otherare very properly signified in the type of the sun and of the earth. 

CIC. Pass on to the third. 

III. 

TANS. The third bears on his shield a naked child, stretched upon thegreen turf, who rests his head upon his arm, with his eyes turnedtowards the sky to certain edifices, towers, gardens, and orchards, which are above the clouds, and there is a castle of which the materialis fire, and in the middle is the sign inscribed: "Mutuo fulcimur. "

CIC. What does that mean?

TANS. It means that enthusiast, signified by the naked child as simple, pure, and exposed to all the accidents of Nature and of fortune, who atthe same time by the force of thought, constructs castles in the air, and amongst other things a tower, of which the architect is Love, thematerial is the amorous fire, and the builder is himself, who says:"Mutuo fulcimur"--that is, I build and uphold you there with mythought, and you uphold me here with hope; you would not be in existencewere it not for the imagination and the thought with which I form anduphold you, and I should not be alive were it not for the refreshmentand comfort that I receive through your means. 

CIC. It is true that there is no fancy so vain and so chimerical thatmay not be a more real and true medicine for an enthusiastic heart thanany herb, mineral, oil, or other sort of thing that Nature produces. 

TANS. Magicians can do more by means of faith than physicians by thetruth; and in the worst diseases the patients benefit more by believingthis or that which the former say, than in understanding that which thelatter do. Now let the rhymes be read. 

27. 

 Above the clouds in that high place, When oft with dreaming I am fired, For comfort and refreshment of my soul An airy castle from my fires I build, And if my adverse fate incline awhile, And without scorn or ire will understand This lofty grace for which I die, Oh happy then my pains, happy my death. The ardour of those flames she does not feel, Nor is she hindered by those snares With which, oh boy! thou'rt wont to enslave And lead into captivity both men and gods; By pity's hand alone, oh Love, By showing all my woe, thou shalt prevail. 

CIC. He shows that which feeds his fancy and bathes his spirit; yet, inasmuch as he is without courage to explain himself and make known hissufferings, although he is so deeply subjected to that anguish, if itshould happen that his hard, uncompromising fate should bend a little(as, in the end, fate must soothe him, by showing itself without scornor anger for the high object), he would consider no happiness so great, no life so blessed, as in such a case would be his happiness in hiswoes, and his blessedness in his death. 

TANS. And with this he comes to declare to Love that the means by whichhe will gain access to that breast, is not in the ordinary way by thearms with which he usually captivates men and gods, but only by causingthe fiery heart and his troubled spirit, to be laid bare, to obtainsight of which it is necessary that compassion open the way, andintroduce him to that secret chamber. 

IV. 

CIC. What is the meaning of that butterfly which flutters round theflame, and almost burns itself? and what means that legend, "Hostis nonhostis?"

TANS. The meaning of the butterfly is not difficult, which, seduced bythe fascinations of splendour, goes innocently and amicably to meet itsdeath in the devouring flames. Thus, "hostis" stands written for theeffect of the fire; "non hostis" for the inclination of the fly. "Hostis, " the fly passively; "non hostis, " actively. "Hostis, " theflame, through its ardour; "non hostis, " through its splendour. 

CIC. Now what is that which is written on the tablet?

TANS. :

28. 

 Be it far from me to make complaint of love, Love, without whom I will not happy be, And though through him these weary toils I bear. Yet what is given my will shall not reject. Be clear the sky or dark, burning or cold, To that one phoenix e'er the same I'll be, No fate nor destiny can e'er untie That knot which death unable is to loose; To heart, to spirit, and to soul, No pleasure is, no liberty, no life, No smile, no rapture, no delight, So sweet, so grateful, so divine, As these hard bonds, this death of mine, To which by fate, by will, by nature I incline. 

Here, in the figure, he shows the resemblance between the enthusiastand the butterfly attracted towards the light; in the sonnet, however, he demonstrates rather difference and dissimilarity; as it is commonlybelieved, that if the butterfly foresaw its destruction, it would flyfrom the light more eagerly than it now pursues it, and would considerit an evil to lose its life through being absorbed into that hostilefire. But to him (the enthusiast) it is no less pleasing to perish inthe flames of amorous ardour than to be drawn to the contemplation ofthe beauty of that rare splendour, under which, by natural inclination, by voluntary election, and by disposition of fate, he labours, serves, and dies more gaily, more resolutely, and more courageously than underwhatsoever other pleasure which may offer itself to the heart, libertywhich may be conceded to the spirit, and life which may be discovered inthe soul. 

CIC. Tell me why he says, "ever the same I'll be?"

TANS. Because it seems suitable to bring forward a reason for hisconstancy, seeing that the sage does not change with the moon, althoughthe fool does so. Thus he is unique, as the phoenix is unique. 

V. 

CIC. But what signifies that branch of palm, around which is the legend, "Cæsar adest?"

TANS. Without further talk, all may be understood by that which iswritten on the tablet:

29. 

 Unconquered victor of Pharsalia, Though all thy warriors be well-nigh spent, At sight of thee they rise once more; Their strength returns, they conquer their proud foes; So does my love--that equals love of heaven-- Become a living presence through my thoughts; Thoughts that my haughty soul had killed with scorn, Love brings again stronger than love himself; Thy presence is enough, oh memory! These to reanimate in all their strength, And with imperious sov'reignty they rule And govern each opposing force. May I be happy in this governance And with these bonds, and may that light ne'er cease. 

There are times when the inferior powers of the soul--like a vigorousand hostile army, which finds itself in its own country practised, expert, and ready--revolt against the foreign adversary, who comes downfrom the height of the intelligence to curb the people of the valley andof the boggy plains, where, through the baneful presence of the enemiesand of such obstacles as deep ditches, advancing they lose themselves, and would be entirely lost, if there were not a certain conversiontowards the splendour of intellectual things through the act ofcontemplation, by means of which they are converted from inferiordegrees to superior ones. 

CIC. What degrees are these?

TANS. The degrees of contemplation are like the degrees of light, whichexist not at all in the darkness, slightly in shade, more in colours, according to their orders, from one opposite which is black to the otherwhich is white; but more fully do they exist in the splendour diffusedover pure transparent bodies, as in a looking-glass and in the moon, andstill more brightly in the rays diffused by the sun, but principally andmost brilliantly in the sun itself. Now the perceptive and theaffectional powers are ordered in this way; the next following alwayshas affinity for the next preceding, and by means of conversion to thatwhich elevates it, it becomes fortified against the inferior, whichlowers it; as the reason, through its conversion to the intellect, isnot seduced or vanquished by knowledge or comprehension or by passionateaffection, but rather, according to the law of the intellect, it isbrought to govern and correct the same. It comes to this, therefore, that when the rational appetite strives against sensual concupiscence, if, by the act of conversion, the intellectual light is presented tothe eyes, it causes the above appetite to take up again the lost virtue, and giving fresh strength to the nerves, it alarms and puts to rout theenemy. 

CIC. In what manner do you mean that such a conversion takes place?

TANS. With three preparatives, which are noted by the contemplativePlotinus in the book of "Intellectual Beauty;" and, of these, the firstis by proposing to conform himself to a divine pattern, diverting thesight from things which stand between him and his own perfection, andwhich are common to those things which are equal and inferior. Thesecond is by applying himself, with full intention and attention, tosuperior things. The third is by bringing into captivity to God thewhole will and affection: for from this it comes to pass that, withoutdoubt, the divinity will influence him; who is everywhere present, andready to come to the aid of whosoever turns to Him through the act ofthe intelligence, and who unreservedly presents himself with theaffection of the will. 

CIC. It is not then corporeal beauty which can allure such an one?

TANS. No, certes; because in that there is no true nor constant beauty, and for this reason it cannot evoke true nor constant love. That beauty, which is seen in bodies is accidental and transitory, and is like thosewhich are absorbed, changed, and spoiled by the changing of the subject, which very often, from being beautiful, becomes ugly, without any changetaking place in the soul. The reason then comprehends the truest beauty, through conversion, to that which makes the beauty of the body, andforms it in loveliness--it is the soul which has thus built and designedit. Now does the intellect rise still higher, and learns that the soulis incomparably more beautiful than any beauty that may be in bodies;but yet it cannot persuade itself that it is beautiful of itself andprimarily, for if it be so, what is the cause of that difference whichexists in the quality of souls, by which some are wise, amiable, andbeautiful, others stupid, odious, and ugly. We must then raise ourselvesto that superior intellect which is beautiful in itself and good initself. This is that sole supreme captain who alone, placed before theeyes of the militant thoughts, enlivens, encourages, strengthens them, and renders them victorious above the scorn of every other beauty andthe repudiation of every other good whatsoever. This is the presencewhich causes every difficulty to be overcome and all opposition to besubdued. 

CIC. I understand it all; but what is the meaning of, "May I be happy inthis governance and with these bonds, and may that light not cease?"

TANS. He means, and he proves, that every sort of love, the greater itsdominion and the surer its hold, the more tight are the bonds, and themore firm the yoke, and the more ardent the flames that are felt, ascompared with the ordinary princes and tyrants, who adopt a greaterrigour wherever they see they have less hold. 

CIC. Go on. 

VI. 

TANS. Here we see described the idea of a flying phoenix, towards whichis turned a boy who is burning in the midst of flames; and there is thelegend, "Fata obstant. " But in order better to understand it, let usread the tablet:

30. 

 Sole bird of the sun, thou wandering phoenix! That measurest thy days as does the world With lofty summits of Arabia Felix. Thou art the same thou wast, but I what I was not: I through the fire of love, unhappy die; But thee the sun with his warm rays revives; Thou burn'st in one, and I, in every place; Eros my fire, while thine Apollo gives. Predestined is the term of thy long life; Short span is mine, And menaced by a thousand ills. Nor do I know how I have lived, nor how shall live, Me does blind fate conduct; But thou wilt come again, again behold thy light. 

From the meaning of these lines, you will see that in the figure isdrawn the comparison between the fate of the phoenix and that of theenthusiast; and the legend, "Fata obstant, " does not signify that thefates are adverse either to the boy, or to the phoenix, or to both; butthat the fatal decrees for each are not the same, but are diverse andopposite. The phoenix is that which it was, because the same matter, bymeans of the fire, renews itself, and becomes again the body of thephoenix, and the same spirit and soul come to inhabit it. The enthusiastis that which he was not, because the subject, which is a man, was firstof some other species, according to innumerable differentiations. Sothat what the phoenix was, is known, and what it will be, is known; butthis subject cannot return, except through many and uncertain means, toinvest the same or a similar natural form. Then the phoenix, through thesun's presence, changes death into life, and that other, by thepresence of love, transmutes life into death. The one kindles his fireon the aromatic altar, the other finds it ever present with him andcarries it wherever he goes. The one again, has certain conditions of along life; but the other, through the infinite differences of time andinnumerable circumstances, has the mutable conditions of a short life. The one kindles with certainty, the other with doubt as to whether hewill see the sun again. 

CIC. What do you think that this means?

TANS. It means the difference that exists between the lower intellectcalled the intellect of power, either possible or passive, which isuncertain, multifarious, and multiform, and the higher intellect, which, perhaps, is like that which is said by the Peripatetics to be the lowestof the intelligences, and which exerts an immediate influence over allthe individuals of the human species, and is called the active andacting intellect. This special human intelligence which influences allindividuals is like the moon, which partakes of no other species butthat one alone which always renews itself by the transmutation caused init by the sun, which is the primal and universal intelligence; but thehuman intellect, both individual and collective, turns as do the eyestowards innumerable and most diverse objects; whence, according to theinfinite degrees which exist, it takes on all the natural forms. Henceit is that this particular intellect may be as enthusiastic, vague, anduncertain, as that universal one is quiet, fixed, and certain, whetheras regards the desire or the comprehension. Now therefore, as you mayvery well perceive for yourself, it means that the nature of thecomprehension of sense and its varied appetite, is vague, inconstant, and uncertain, and the conception and definite appetite of theintelligence is firm and stable. This is the difference between sensuallove, which has no stability nor discretion as to its object, andintellectual love, which aims only at one, sure and fixed, towards whichit turns, through which it is illuminated in its conception, by which, being kindled in its affections, it becomes inflamed and brightened, andis maintained in unity and identity of condition. 

VII. 

CIC. But what is the meaning of that figure of the sun, with a circleinside and another outside, with the legend "Circuit. "

TANS. The meaning of this I am certain I should never have understood ifI had not heard it from the designer of it himself. Now you must knowthat "Circuit" has reference to the movement the sun makes round thecircle which is drawn inside and outside, in order to signify that themovement both makes and is made; and hence, as a consequence, the sun isto be found in every part of those circles; so that, if he moves and ismoved, and is over the whole circumference of the circle equally, thenyou find in him both movement and rest. 

CIC. This I understood in the dialogues on the infinite universe and theinnumerable worlds, where it is declared that the divine wisdom isextremely mobile, as Solomon said, and also that the same is moststable, as all those declare who know. Now go on and make me understandthe proposition. 

TANS. It means that [D]his sun is not like this one, which is commonlybelieved to go round the earth with the daily movement in twenty-fourhours, and with the planetary movement in twelve months, and by which hecauses the four seasons of the year to be felt, according as he is foundto be in the four cardinal points of the zodiac; but he is such an one, that, being the ethereal eternity itself, and consequently an entire andcomplete totality, he contains the winter, the spring, the summer, theautumn, together with the day and the night, for he is all and for all, in all points and places. 

[D] Il suo sole. 

CIC. Now apply that which you have said to the figure. 

TANS. It being impossible here to design the entire sun in every pointof the circle, two circles are delineated; one which contains the sun tosignify that the movement is made through him, the other which iscontained by the sun to show that he is moved by it. 

CIC. But this explanation is not very clear and appropriate. 

TANS. Suffice it that it is the clearest and most appropriate that hewas able to make. If you can make a better one, you shall havepermission to remove this one and put it in its place, for this has onlybeen put in, so that the soul should not be without a body. 

CIC. What do you say about that "Circuit?"

TANS. That legend contains all the meaning of the thing in so far as itcan be explained, for it means that he turns and is turned, that is tosay movement present and accomplished. 

CIC. Excellent! And therefore those circles which so ill explain thecircumstance of movement and rest, we can say are placed there tosignify the circulation only. Thus am I satisfied with the subject andwith the form of the heroic device. Now read the lines. 

TANS. :

31. 

 Mild are thy rays, oh, Sol! from Taurus sent, And from the Lion thy beams mature and burn, And when thy light from pungent Scorpion darts Transcendent is the ardour of thy flames. From fierce Deucalion all is struck with cold, Stiffened the lakes and locked the running streams. With spring, with summer, autumn, and with winter, I warm, I kindle, burn and blaze for ever. So ardent my desire, The object so supreme for which I burn; Glowing and unencumbered I behold, And make my lightnings flash unto the stars. No moment can I count in all the year To change the[E] inexorable cross I bear. 

Here observe that the four seasons of the year are signified, not byfour movable signs, which are Aries, Cancer, Libra, and Capricorn, butby the four which are called fixed--namely, Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, andAquarius, to signify the condition, fervour, and perfection of thoseseasons. Note further, that in virtue of those apostrophes, which are inthe eighth line, you can read: I warm, kindle, burn, blaze; or, be thouwarmed, kindled, burning, blazing; or, let him warm, kindle, burn, blaze. 

[E] Sordi affanni. 

You have farther to consider that these are not four synonyms, but fourdifferent terms, which signify so many degrees of the effects of thefire, which first warms, secondly kindles, thirdly burns, and fourthlyblazes or inflames that which it has warmed, kindled, and burnt. Andthus are denoted in the enthusiast, desire, attention, study, affection, in which he never for a moment feels any change. 

CIC. Why does he put them under the title of a cross?

TANS. Because the object, which is the divine light, is, in this life, more felt as a painful longing than in quiet fruition, because our mindis towards that, as the eyes of night birds to the sun. 

CIC. Proceed; for from what you have said I understand all. 

VIII. 

TANS. On the next crest there is painted a full moon and the legend:"Talis mihi semper ut astro, " which means that to the star--that is, tothe sun--she is ever such as she here shows herself, full and clear inthe entire circumference of the circle, which, in order that you maybetter understand, I will let you hear that which is written on thetablet. 

32. 

 Oh, changeful moon, inconstant moon! With horns now full, now void, thou wanderest. Mounting, thy sphere now white now dark appears. The mountains and the valleys of the north thou brightenest, And turning by thy dust-encumbered steps, Thou lightest in the south the Lybian heights. My moon for my continual pain. Is constant ever, ever full. So is my star, Which ever from me takes and nothing gives, For ever burns and ever shines, Cruel always yet always beautiful. This noble light of mine Torments me still and still delights me. 

It seems to me, that it means that his particular intelligence is to theuniversal intelligence ever the same--that is to say, the one is everilluminated by the other, over the whole hemisphere; notwithstandingthat to the inferior powers, and according to the influence of hisactions, it appears now dark, and now more and less clear. Or perhaps itmeans that his speculative intellect, which is ever invariable in itsaction, is always turned and affected towards the human intelligencesignified by the moon. Because, as this is said to be the lowest of allthe stars, and is nearest to us, so the illuminating intelligence of allof us in this state is the last in order of the other intelligences, asAverroes and the more subtle Peripatetics say. That intelligence, in sofar as it is not in any act, goes down before, or sets to the potentialintellect, or as if so to say, it emerged from the bottom of the occulthemisphere, and showed itself now void, now full, according as it givesmore or less light of intelligence. Now its sphere is dark, now light, because sometimes it shows itself as a shadow, a semblance, and avestige, and sometimes more and more openly: now it declines towards thesouth, now it mounts towards the north--that is, now it removes fartherand farther away, and now it approaches nearer and nearer. But theintellect, active with its continual grief--seeing that it is notthrough its human condition and nature that it finds itself so wretched, so opposed, courted, solicited, distracted, and, as it were, torn by theinferior powers--sees its object stable, fixed and constant, and everfull, and in the same splendour of beauty. Thus it ever takes away, inso far as it does not concede, and ever gives, in so far as it concedes. It ever burns in the affection in so far as it shines in thoughts, andis always cruel in withdrawing itself through that which withdrawsitself; as it is always beautiful in communication with, that to whichit presents itself. Always does it torment when it is divided from himby difference of locality, as always it delights him being joined to itby affection. 

CIC. Now apply your intelligence to the legend. 

TANS. He says then, "talis mihi semper;" that is, because of thecontinual application of my intellect, my memory, and my will, because Iwill remember, understand and desire no other; she is ever the same tome, and in so far as I can understand her, she is entirely present, andis not separated from me by any distraction of my thoughts, nor does shebecome darkened to me through any want of attention, for there is nothought that can divert me from that light nor any necessity of naturewhich forces me to a less constant attention; "talis mihi semper" on herside, because she is invariable in substance, in virtue, in beauty, andin effect, towards those things that are constant and invariable towardsher. She says further, "ut astro, " because in respect of the sun, theilluminator of her, she is ever equally luminous, seeing that she isever turned equally towards him, and he at the same time diffuses hisrays equally. As, physically, this moon that we see with the eyes, although towards the earth she appears now dark, now shining, now more, now less illuminated and illuminating, yet is she ever equallyirradiated by the sun, because she always reflects his rays over atleast the whole of her hemisphere. So also is the hemisphere of thisearth ever equally irradiated, although from the watery surfaces shefrom time to time sends her splendours unequally to the moon, --whichlike innumerable other stars we consider as another earth--in the samemanner, she also sends hers to the earth, on account of the periodicalchanges which both experience in finding themselves now the one, now theother, nearer to the sun. 

CIC. How can this intelligence be signified by the moon which lights upthe hemisphere?

TANS. All the intelligences are signified by the moon, in so far as theyare sharers in act and in power, in so far as they have the lightmaterially and by participation, receiving it from another; I say that, as not being lights of themselves, nor by their own nature, but byreflection from the sun, which is the first intelligence, which is pureand absolute light, as it is also pure and absolute action. 

CIC. All those things, then, that are dependent, and are not the firstact and cause, are they composed of light and shade, of matter andform, of power and action?

TANS. It is so. Furthermore this soul of ours, in all its substance, issignified by the moon which shines through the hemisphere of thesuperior powers, by which it is turned towards the light of theintelligible world, and is dark through the inferior powers, by which itis occupied with material things. 

IX. 

CIC. It seems to me that what has just been said has some connection andanalogy with the impression that I see on the next shield, where standsa gnarled and rugged oak, against which the wind is raging, and it iscircumscribed by the legend, "ut robori robur, " and here is the tablet, which says:

33. 

 Old oak, that spread'st thy branches to the air, And firmly in the earth dost fix thy roots; No shifting of the land, no mighty elements, Which Heaven from the stormy north unlocks; Nor whatso'er the gruesome winter sends, Can tear thee from the spot where thou art chained. Thou art the veritable portrait of my faith, Which, fixed, remains 'gainst every casual chance. Ever the self-same ground dost thou Grasp, cultivate and comprehend; and stretch Thy grateful roots unto the generous breast. Upon one only object I Have fixed my spirit, sense, and intellect. 

TANS. The legend is clear, by which the enthusiast boasts of having thestrength and vigour of the oak, and as before said of being ever thesame in respect to the one only phoenix, and in the next preceding one, conforming himself to that moon which ever shines so brightly and is sobeautiful, and also in that he does not resemble this antichthon betweenour earth and the sun in so far as it changes to our eyes, but in thatit ever receives within itself an equal amount of the solar splendour, and through this remains constant and firm against the rough winds andtempests of winter, through the stability that he has in his star, inwhich he is planted by affection and intention, as the roots of the oaktwist and weave themselves into the veins of the earth. 

CIC. I hold it better worth living in quiet and without vexation than tobe forced to endure so much. 

TANS. That is a maxim of the Epicureans which, being well understood, would not be considered so unworthy as the ignorant hold it to be, seeing that it does not detract from what I have called virtue, nordoes it impair the perfection of firmness, but it rather adds to thatperfection as it is understood by the vulgar, for Epicurus does not holdthat, a true and complete strength and firmness which feels and bearsinconveniences, but that which bears them and feels them not. He doesnot consider him perfect in divine heroic love, who feels the spur, thecheck, or remorse or trouble about other love; but him who has nofeeling of other affections; so that being fixed in one pleasure, thereis no displeasure that has any power to jostle him or dislodge him fromhis place. And this it is to touch the highest blessedness of thisstate, to have rapture and no sense of pain. 

CIC. The ignorant do not believe in this meaning of Epicurus. 

TANS. Because they neither read his own books, nor those that report hismaxims without invidiousness, but there are those who read the course ofhis life and the conditions of his death, where with these words hedictated the beginning of his testament: "Being in the last, and at thesame time, the happiest day of our life, we have ordained this with ahealthy, tranquil mind at rest; for whatever acute sorrow may torment usfrom one side, that torment is entirely annulled by the pleasure of ourown inventions and the consideration of our end. " And it is manifestthat he no longer felt more pleasure than sorrow in eating, drinking, repose, and in generating, but in not feeling hunger, nor thirst, norfatigue, nor sensuality. From this may be understood what is accordingto us the perfection of firmness; not in this, that the tree neitherbends nor breaks, nor is rent, but in that it does not so much as stir, and its prototype keeps spirit, sense, and intellect, fixed there, wherethe shock of the tempest is not felt. 

CIC. Do you then think it is a thing to be desired, to bear shocks inorder to prove that you are strong?

TANS. You say "to bear;" and this is a part of firmness, but it is notthe whole of that virtue, which consists in bearing strongly, as I say, or in not feeling, as Epicurus said. Now this loss of feeling is causedby being entirely absorbed in the cultivation of virtue, or of real goodand felicity, in such wise that Regulus did not feel the chest, Lucretiathe dagger, Socrates the poison, Anaxagoras the mortar, Scævola thefire, Cocles the abyss, and other worthies felt not those things whichwould torment and fill with terror the vulgar crowd. 

CIC. Now pass on. 

X. 

TANS. Look at this other who bears the device of an anvil and a hammer, round which is the legend "ab Aetna!" But here Vulcan is introduced:

34. 

 Not now to my Sicilian mount I turn, Where thou dost forge the thunderbolts of Jove, Here, rugged Vulcan will I stay; Here, where a prouder giant moves, Who burns and rages against Heaven in vain, Soliciting new cares and divers trials. Here is a better smith and Mongibello[F] A better anvil, better forge and hammer; For here behold a bosom full of sighs, Which blows the furnace and the fire revives. The soul nor yields nor bends to these rough blows, But bears exulting this long martyrdom, And makes a harmony from these sharp pangs. 

[F] Mount Etna. 

Here are shown the pains and troubles which beset love, principally loveof a low kind, which is no other than the forge of Vulcan, that smithwho makes the bolts of Jove which torment offending souls. Forill-ordered love has in itself the beginning of its own pain, seeingthat there is a God near us, in us, and with us. There is in us acertain sacred mind and intelligence, which supplies an affection of itsown, which has its own avenger, which, through remorse for certainshortcomings, flagellates the transgressing spirit as with a hammer. Itnotes our actions and our affections, and as it is treated by us, so arewe treated by it. In every lover I say there is this smith Vulcan, andas there is no man that has not a god within him, so there is no loverthat has not a god within him, and no lover within whom this god is not. Most certainly there is a god in every man, but what god it is in eachone is not so easy to know. And even though we should examine anddistinguish, yet do I believe that none other than Love could declareit, he being the one who pulls the oars, and fills the sails, andmodifies this compound, so that it comes to be well or ill affected. Isay well or ill affected as to that which it puts in execution throughthe moral actions and through contemplation; for the rest, all loversare apt to experience some difficulties, things being as they are, soentangled; there being no good whatever, either of conception or of theaffections, which is not joined to or stands in opposition to evil, asthere is no truth which is not joined or opposed to what is false, sothere is no love without fear, ardour, jealousy, rancour, and otherpassions, which proceed from their opposites, and which disturb us, asthe other opposite causes satisfaction. Thus the soul striving torecover its natural beauty seeks to purify itself, to heal itself, andto reform itself, and to this end it uses fire, because, being likegold, mixed with earth and crude, with a certain rigour it tries toliberate itself from defilement, and this result is obtained when theintellect, the real smith of Jove, puts itself to the work and causes anactive exercise of the intellectual powers. 

CIC. It seems to me that this is referred to in the "Banquet" of Plato, where it says that Love has inherited from his mother, Poverty, thatdried-up, thin, pale, bare-footed, and submissive condition without ahome, without anything, and through these is signified the torture ofthe soul that is torn with contrary affections. 

TANS. So it is; because the spirit, full of this enthusiasm, becomesabsorbed in profound thoughts, stricken with urgent cares, kindled withfervent desires, excited by frequent crises: whence the soul, findingitself in suspense, becomes less diligent and active in the governmentof the body through the acts of the vegetative power; thus the bodybecomes lean, ill-nourished, attenuated, poor in blood, and rich inmelancholy humours, and these, if they do not administer to thedisciplined soul, or to a clear and lucid spirit, may lead to insanity, folly, and brutal fury, or at least to a certain disregard of self, anda contempt of its own being, which is symbolized by Plato in the barefeet. Love becomes subjected and flies suddenly down to earth when it isattached to low things, but flies high when it is fixed upon more worthyenterprises. In conclusion, whatever love it may be, it is everafflicted and tormented in such a way that it cannot fail to supplymaterial for the forge of Vulcan; because the soul, being a divinething, and by nature, not a servant but the mistress of corporealmatter, she becomes troubled in that she voluntarily serves the bodywherein she finds nothing to satisfy her, and albeit, fixed in the thingloved, yet now and then she becomes agitated, and fluctuates amidst thewaves of hope, fear, doubt, ardour, conscience, remorse, determination, repentance, and other scourges, which are the bellows, the coals, theforge, the hammer, the pincers, and other instruments which are found inthe workshop of the sordid grimy consort of Venus. 

CIC. Enough has been said upon this subject. Let us see what follows. 

XI. 

TANS. Here is a golden apple, rich with various kinds of preciousenamel, and there is a legend about it which says, "Pulchriori detur. "

CIC. The allusion to the fact of the three goddesses who submittedthemselves to the judgment of Paris is very common. But read the lineswhich more specifically disclose the meaning of the present enthusiast. 

TANS. :

35. 

 Venus, the goddess of the third heaven (Mother of the archer blind, who conquers all), She whose father is the head of Zeus, And Juno, most majestic wife of Jove, These call the Trojan shepherd to be judge, And to the fairest give the ruddy sphere. Compared with Venus, Pallas, and the Queen of Heaven, My perfect goddess bears away the palm. The Cyprian queen may boast her royal limbs, Minerva charm with her transcendent wit, And Juno with a majesty supreme; But she who holds my heart all these excels In wisdom, majesty, and loveliness. 

Here he makes a comparison between his object (or ideal) which comprisesall circumstances, all conditions, and all kinds of beauty, in onesubject, and others which exhibit each only one, and that throughvarious hypotheses, as with corporeal beauty, all the conditions ofwhich Apelles could not find in one, but in many virgins. Now here, where there are three kinds of the beautiful, although it seems that allof these exist in each of the three goddesses--Venus not being foundwanting in wisdom and majesty, Juno not lacking loveliness and wisdom, and Pallas being full of majesty and beauty, in each case it is a factthat one quality exceeds the others, so that it comes to be held asdistinctive of the one, and the other as incidental to all, seeing thatof those three gifts, one predominates in each and proclaims hersovereign over the others. And the cause of this difference lies in thefact of possessing these qualities, not primarily and in their essence, but by participation and derivation; as in all things which aredependent, their perfection depends upon the degrees of major and minorand more and less. But in the simplicity of the divine essence, allexists in totality, and not according to any measure, and thereforewisdom is not greater than beauty and majesty, and goodness is notgreater than strength: not only are till the attributes equal, they areone and the same thing. As in the sphere all the dimensions are not onlyequal, the length being equal to the depth and breadth, but are alsoidentical, seeing that what in a sphere is called deep, may also becalled long and wide. Likewise is it, as to height in divine wisdom, which is the same as the depth of power and the breadth of goodness. Allthese perfections are equal, because they are infinite. Of necessity, one is according to the sum of the other, seeing that where things arefinite it may result in this, that it is more wise than beautiful orgood, more good and beautiful than wise, more wise and good thanpowerful, and more powerful than good or wise. But where there isinfinite wisdom there cannot be other than infinite power, otherwisethere would be no infinite knowledge. Where there is infinite goodnessthere must be infinite wisdom, otherwise there would be no infinitegoodness. Where there is infinite power there must be infinite goodnessand wisdom, because there is the being able to know and the knowing tobe able. Now, observe how the object of this enthusiast, who is, as itwere, inebriated with the drink of the gods, is incomparably higherthan others which are different. I mean to say that the divine essencecomprehends in the very highest degree perfection of all kinds, so thataccording to the degree in which this particular form may haveparticipated, he can understand all, do all, and be such an attachedfriend to one that he may come to feel contempt and indifference towardsevery other beauty. Therefore to her should be consecrated the sphericalapple as to her who seems to be all in all; not to Venus, who isbeautiful but is surpassed in wisdom by Minerva, and by Juno in majesty;not to Pallas than whom Venus is more beautiful, and the other moremagnificent; not to Juno, who is not the goddess of intelligence or oflove. 

CIC. Truly, as are the degrees of Nature and of the essences, so inproportion are the degrees of the intelligible orders and the glories ofthe amorous affections and enthusiasms. 

XII. 

CIC. The following bears a head with four faces, which blow towards thefour corners of the heavens, and are four winds in one subject; abovethese stand two stars, and in the centre the legend "Novae ortaeaeoliae. " I would like to know what that signifies. 

TANS. I think that the meaning of this device is consequent upon thatwhich precedes it, for, as there the object is declared to be infinitebeauty, so here is proposed what may be called a similar aspiration, study, affection, and desire. I believe that these winds are set tosignify sighs; but this we shall see when we come to read the lines:

36. 

 Sons of the Titan Astræus and Aurora, Who trouble heaven, earth, and the wide sea, Leave now this stormy war of elements, And fight anon with the high gods. No more in my Æolian caves ye dwell, No more does my restraining power compel; But caught are ye and closed within that breast, With moans and sobs and bitter sighs opprest. Turbulent brothers of the stars, Companions of the tempests of the seas, Those lights are all that may avail Peace to restore; murderous yet innocent; Which, open or concealed, Will bless with calm, or curse with pride. 

Evidently, here, Æolus is introduced as speaking to the winds, which hedeclares are no longer tempered by him in the Æolian caverns, but by twostars in the breast of this enthusiast. Here, the two stars do not meanthe two eyes which are in the forehead, but the two appreciable kinds ofdivine beauty and goodness, of that infinite splendour, which soinfluences intellectual and rational desire, that it brings him to acondition of infinite aspiration, according to the way and the degreewith which he comes to comprehend that glorious light. For love, whileit is finite, contented, and fixed in a certain measure, is not in theform of the species of divine beauty, but as it goes on with ever higheraspirations, it may be said to verge towards the infinite. 

CIC.. How is breathing made to mean aspiring? What relation has desirewith the winds?

TANS. Whosoever in this present condition aspires, also sighs, and thesame breathes; and therefore the vehemence of the aspiration is noted bythe hieroglyph of strong breathing. 

CIC. But there is a difference between sighing and breathing. 

TANS. Therefore it is not put as if one stood for the other, or as beingidentical, but as being similar. 

CIC. Go on then with our proposition. 

TANS. The infinite aspiration then, indicated by the sighs andsymbolized by the winds, is not under the dominion of Æolus in the Æoliccaverns, but of the aforementioned two lights, which are not onlyblameless, but benevolent in killing the enthusiast, inasmuch as theycause him to die to every other thing, except the absorbing affection;at the same time, they, being closed and concealed, render him unquiet, and being open, they will tranquillize him, because at this time, whenthe eyes of the human mind in this body are covered with a nebulousveil, the soul, through such studies, becomes troubled and harassed, andhe being thus torn and goaded, will attain only that amount of quiet aswill satisfy the condition of his nature. 

CIC.. How can our finite intellect follow after the infinite ideal?

TANS. Through the infinite potency it possesses. 

CIC. This would be useless, if ever it came into effect. 

TANS. It would be useless, if it had to do with a finite action, whereinfinite potency would be wanting, but not with the infinite actionwhere infinite potency is positive perfection. 

CIC. If the human intellect is finite in nature and in act, how can ithave an infinite potency?

TANS. Because it is eternal, and in this ever has delight, so that itenjoys happiness without end or measure; and because, as it is finitein itself, so it may be infinite in the object. 

CIC. What difference is there between the infinity of the object and theinfinity of the potentiality?

TANS. This is finitely infinite, and that infinitely infinite. But toreturn to ourselves. The legend there says: "Novæ Liparææ æoliæ, "because it seems as if we are to believe that all the winds which are inthe abysmal caverns of Æolus were converted into sighs, if we includethose which proceed from the affection, which aspires continually to thehighest good and to the infinite beauty. 

XIII. 

CIC. Here we see the signification of that burning light around which iswritten: "Ad vitam, non ad horam. "

TANS. Persistence in such a love and ardent desire of true goodness, bywhich in this temporal state the enthusiast is consumed. This, I think, is shown in the following tablet:

37. [Transcribers Note: Original source said 34]

 [G]What time the day removes the orient vault, The rustic peasant leaves his humble home, And when the sun with fiercer tangent strikes, Fatigued and parched, he sits him in the shade; Then plods again with hard, laborious toil, Until black night the hemisphere enshrouds. And then he rests. But I must ever chafe At morning, noon-day, evening, and at night. These fiery rays Which stream from those two arches of my sun, Ne'er fade from the horizon of my soul. So wills my fate; But blazing every hour From their meridian they burn the afflicted heart. 

[G] Quando il sen d'oriente il giorno sgombra. 

CIC. This tablet expresses with greater truth than perspicacity thesense of the figure. 

TANS.. It is not necessary for me to make any effort to point out to youthe appropriateness, as it only requires a little attentiveconsideration. The rays of the sun are the ways in which the divinebeauty and goodness manifest themselves to us; and they are fierybecause they cannot be comprehended by the intellect without at the sametime kindling the affections. The two arches of the sun are the twokinds of revelation, that scholastic theologians call early and late, whence our illuminating intelligence, as an airy medium, deduces thatspecies, either in virtue, which it contemplates in itself, or inefficacy, which it beholds in its effects. The horizon of the soul, inthis place, is that part of the superior potentialities where thevigorous impulse of the affection comes to aid the lively comprehensionof the intellect, being signified by the heart, which, burning at allhours, torments itself; because all those fruits of love that we cangather in this state are not so sweet that they have not united withthem a certain affliction, which proceeds from the fear of imperfectfruition: as especially occurs in the fruits of natural affection, thecondition of which I cannot do better than explain in the words of theEpicurean poet:

 Ex hominis vera facie, pulchroque colore Nil datur in corpus præter simulacra fruendum Tenuia, quæ vento spes captat sæpe misella. Ut bibere in somnis sitiens cum quærit, et humor Non datur, ardorem in membris qui stinguere possit, Sed laticum simulacra petit, frustraque laborat, In medioque sitit torrenti flumine potans: Sic in amore Venus simulacris ludit amantis, Nec satiare queunt spectando corpora coram, Nec manibus quicquam teneris abradere membris Possunt, errantes incerti corpore toto. Denique cum membris conlatis flore fruuntur Ætatis, dum jam præsagit gaudia corpus, Atque in eo est Venus, ut muliebria conserat arva, Adfigunt avide corpus, iunguntque salivas Oris, et inspirant pressantes dentibus ora, Necquiquam, quoniam nihil inde abradere possunt, Nec penetrare, et abire in corpus corpore toto. 

In the same way, he judges as to the kind of taste that we can have ofdivine things, which, while we force ourselves to penetrate, and unitewith them, we find that we have more pain in the desire than pleasurein the realization. And this may have been the reason why that wiseHebrew said that he who increases knowledge increases pain; becausefrom, the greater comprehension grows the greater desire. And this isfollowed by greater vexation and grief for the deprivation of the thingdesired. So the Epicurean, who led a most tranquil life, saidopportunely:

 Sed fugitare decet simulacra, et pabula amoris Abstergere sibi, atque alio convertere mentem, Nec servare sibi curam certumque dolorem: Ulcus enim virescit, et inveterascit alendo, Inque dies gliscit furor, atque ærumna gravescit. Nec Veneris fructu caret is, qui vitat amorem, Sed potius, quæ sunt, sine poena, commoda sumit. 

CIC. What is meant by the meridian of the heart?

TANS. That part or region of the will which is highest and most exalted, and where it becomes most strongly, clearly, and effectually kindled. Hemeans that such affection is not as in its beginning, where it stirs, nor as at the end, where it reposes, but as in the middle, where itbecomes fervid. 

XIV. 

CIC. But what means that glowing arrow, which has flames in place of ahard point, around which is encircled a noose with the legend: "Amorinstat ut instans"? Say, what does it mean?

TANS. It seems to me to mean that love never leaves him, and at the sametime eternally afflicts him. 

CIC. I see the noose, the arrow, and the fire. I understand that whichis written: "Amor instat"; but that which follows I cannotunderstand--that is, that love as an instant, or persisting, persists;which has the same poverty of idea as if one said: "This undertaking hehas feigned as a feint; he bears it as he bears it, understands it as heunderstands it, values it as he values it, and esteems it as he whoesteems it. "

TANS. It is easy for him to decide and condemn who does not evenconsider. That "instans" is not an adjective from the verb "instare, "but it is a noun substantive used for the instant of time. 

CIC. Now, what is the meaning of the phrase "love endures as aninstant?"

TANS.. What does Aristotle mean in his book on Time, when he says thateternity is an instant, and that all time is no more than an instant?

CIC. How can this be, seeing that there is no time so short that itcannot be divided into seconds? Perhaps he would say that in one instantthere is the Flood, the Trojan war, and we who exist now; I should liketo know how this instant is divided into so many centuries and years, and whether, by the same rule, we might not say that the line is apoint?

TANS. If time be one, but in different temporal subjects, so the instantis one in different and all parts of time. As I am the same I was, am, and shall be; so I myself am always the same in the house, in thetemple, in the field, and wheresoever I am. 

CIC. Why do you wish to make out that the instant is the whole of time?

TANS. Because if it were not an instant, it would not be time; thereforetime in essence and substance is no other than an instant, and let thissuffice, if you understand it, because I do not intend to perorate uponthe entire physics; so that you must understand that he means to saythat the whole of love is no less present than the whole of time;because this "instans" does not mean a moment of time. 

CIC. This meaning must be specified in some way, if we do not wish tosee the motto invalidated by equivocation, by which we are free tosuppose that he meant to say that his love was but for an instant--thatis, for an atom of time, and of nothing more, or that he means that itis as you interpret it, everlasting. 

TANS. Surely, if these two contrary meanings were implied, the legendwould be nonsense. But it is not so, if you consider well, for it cannotbe that in one instant, which is an atom or point, love persists orendures; therefore one must of necessity understand the instant inanother signification. And for the sake of getting out of the mesh, readthe stanza:

38. 

 One time scatters and one gathers; One builds, one breaks; one weeps, one laughs; One time to sadness, one to gaiety inclines; One labours and one rests; one stands, one sits; One proffers and one takes away; One stays and one removes; one animates, one kills. In all the years, the months, the days, the hours, Love waits on me, strikes, binds, and burns. To me continual dissolution, Continual weeping holds me and destroys. All times to me are full of woe; All things time takes from me, And gives me naught, not even death. 

CIC. I understand the meaning quite perfectly, and confess that allthings agree very well. It is time to proceed to the next. 

XV. 

TANS. Here behold a serpent languishing in the snow, where a labourerhas thrown it, and a naked child burning in the midst of the fire, withcertain other details and circumstances, with the legend which says:"Idem, itidem non idem. " This seems more like an enigma than anythingelse, and I do not feel sure that I can explain it at all; yet I dobelieve that it means that the same fate vexes, and the same tormentsboth the one and the other--that is, immeasurably, without mercy andunto death, by means of various instruments or contrary principles, showing itself the same whether cold or hot. But this, it seems to me, requires longer and special consideration. 

CIC. Some other time. Read the lines:

39. 

 Limp snake, that writhest in the snow, Twisting and turning here and there To find some ease from the tormenting cold, If the congealing ice could know thy pain, Or had the sense to feel thy smart, And thou couldst find a voice for thy complaint, I do believe thy argument would make it pitiful. I with eternal fire am scourged, am burnt, and bitten, And in the iciness of my divinity find no deliverance, No pity does she feel, nor can she know, alas! The rigorous ardour of my flames. 

40. 

 Serpent, thou fain wouldst flee, but canst not; Try for thy hiding-place, it is no more; Recall thy strength, 'tis spent; Wait for the sun, behind thick fog he hides; Cry mercy of the hind, he fears thy tooth. Fortune invoke, she hears thee not, the jade! Nor flight, nor place, nor star, nor man, nor fate Can bring to thee deliverance from death. Thou dost become congealed. Melting am I. I like thy rigours, thee my ardour pleases; Help have I none for thee, and thou hast none for me. Clear is our evil fate--all hope resign. 

CIC. Let us go, and by the way we will seek to untie this knot--ifpossible. 

TANS. So be it. 

PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. LONDON AND EDINBURGH THE APOLOGYOF THE NOLAN

TO THE MOST VIRTUOUS AND LOVELY LADIES. 

 O lovely, graceful nymphs of England! Not in repugnance nor in scorn Our spirit holds you, Nor would our pen abase you More than it must--to call you feminine! Exemption I am sure you would not claim, Being subject to the common influence; Shining on earth as do the stars in heaven. Your sov'reign beauty, ladies, our austerity Cannot depreciate, nor would do so, For we have not in view a superhuman kind, Such poison, [H] therefore, far from you be set, For here we see the one, the great Diana, Who is to you as sun amongst the stars. Wit, words, learning and art, And whatsoe'er is mine of scribbling faculty, I humbly place before you. 

[H] Arsenico.