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Chapter Text

The glory of God is everywhere. It permeates the universe and moves the world. However, it shines more evidently in some places than others, and I was in the heaven that receives most of his light. 

There, I beheld sights that no mortal can describe, much less remember fully, for when we attempt to do so, our intellects sink into an abyss, and our memories fail us. Such is the ineffability of God.

And with that, I offer up a prayer to Apollo. God of prophecy, of poetry, of music, let me be imbued with your excellence for this final task! Let my work be worthy of a laurel crown, which you hold so highly in love. 

It is known that Parnassus has two peaks, one for the Muses, and one is for you, but now I require the assistance of both. Apollo, lend my very breath the same power and skill that you used when you competed against Marsyas the satyr. 

God of the sun, help me to capture even the barest shadow of this blessed realm. Seldom does laurel grace the brows of rulers and poets alike, so I hope that you will be happy enough with my offering to grant me one, and if this is to end in failure, then I hope that the sparks of my works will ignite a greater fire in the future. 

The sun, that lantern of the world, was setting once again. Normally, it rises and sets with subtle change, but today it marked the beginning of Spring. Day and night were equal lengths on this day. 

Beatrice turned so that she might see the sun, and looked directly into its light. Her eyes were as unblinking as an eagle’s. 

Mimicking her action, I did the same thing. More, it seemed, was simply possible in Eden. Although I could not look for long, I caught a glimpse of sparks all around the sun, like the ones that appear when molten iron is poured, showers upon showers of bristling gold.

Then, the brightness flared and grew. It was as if God had added another sun to the heavens, and another day added to the day.

I averted my eyes from the sun and looked at Beatrice instead, who stoically kept watch. As I looked at her, some change occurred within me, like how Glaucus changed when he ate the herb that turned him into a sea-god. It was like I was becoming something more. Was I a soul in a body? Was I just my soul? I cannot elaborate further. Let Glaucus serve as a suitable simile until you, hopefully, encounter the feeling yourself. 

The sun seemed to kindle the sky, its expanse greater than any lake gorged on rainwater or tributaries. There was great, deep music that reverberated through the air. The sound of it shook me to my roots. What is this? I wondered. Where does the music come from?

“Your imagination has led you to a false conclusion,” Beatrice said before I could open my mouth. For a split second, I thought that Virgil was here; he would have said something similar. “You believe that you are still in the Garden of Eden. Let me tell you that you are not. You have risen through the Sphere of Air, and you are now rising through the Sphere of Fire, at a speed that is faster than lightning.” 

As far as answers could go, this one was delightful. Beatrice smiled at me as I looked about in newfound wonder. And then, I immediately had another question. “Wait, how am I rising?”

 She sighed in pity, and gave me the same look that is given to a child who has fallen ill. “All things have order, Dante. That order was created by God. Each being has a different port in the sea of existence, and each of them is driven by an impulse to get there. That impulse, that will, is what gives light to the moon, and what binds the earth together so it does not scatter. 

“Beings who have an ability to think and to love are given wills that tend to strive for the heavens, and our arrows are aimed at that place of gladness. However, as a piece of art may not always communicate the artist’s intent, people will stray from their paths because they have the power to do so. As lightning descends from a cloud, so do those who follow ways of error fall to the ground.

“The hearts of sinners are weighed down by their deeds, and they are tethered to the earth, as far from God as they can be. Willing souls are accepted into Purgatory, which is nearer to God. That mountain welcomes willing souls into Heaven, which is the closest one can be to what is truly divine. Know that in the end, all things are drawn to their proper places, in their proper distances from God. 

“You should not be surprised that you are rising. Your soul has been cleansed, and now rising is as natural to you as water flows from a mountain. In fact, you should only be surprised if, after all your effort, you did not rise.”

With that, Beatrice turned her gaze skywards.

Chapter Text

Reader, you who follow the journey of my ship into deeper waters—turn back to the shore. Do not attempt to follow me. Do not attempt to sail the same seas that I sail, for it is a very easy thing for you to lose sight of my vessel, and for you to be led astray; the waves that I venture on have never been ventured before by mortals.

Now, I pray more for myself. Athena, goddess of wisdom, fill my sails with wind, and let there be smooth sailing! Apollo, god of the sun, guide me to my destination! Muses, masters of the arts, show me the Bears in the sky! Let me be able to take words to page what is truthful and what is beautiful. 

And actually, now that I think about it, I take back what I said earlier. If you are also one who hungers for the bread of the angels, the knowledge of God…then you may follow. Keep your course in line with mine, and follow me out to the salty waters! Just know that you will be amazed by what you will learn. You will be more amazed than even the Argonauts, watching Jason till land with fire-breathing bulls and sow it with dragon’s teeth.

We were rising faster than can be seen by a person standing on the ground. Beatrice was looking up, and I was looking at Beatrice, so it came as a surprise when, as fast as a fired arrow, we reached a wonderful place.

Beatrice turned to me, smiling as much as she was beautiful. “Think of God and thank him, for he has brought us to the heaven of the moon.”

I looked all around, wide-eyed, and saw that we were enveloped in a brilliant white. It shone like diamonds that had been struck by the sun, stainless, and it was so dense that it seemed solid. I waved an arm around. To my wonder, I found that the blankness quietly parted around it, like shifting fog, and yet it still pressed around me with a definitive presence. I could imagine how the fog curled around our forms to form a great, milky pearl. 

So, somehow, the moon had let us into its interior, as easily as water accepts beams of light into itself and does not waver. But how was this possible? If I still had my body with me, and I wasn’t even sure about that, then surely a solid being so effortlessly incorporated into another solid is already a marvel. My curiosity was further piqued; if solids can share the same space together, then what about Jesus, who is both fully divine and fully human? Is he in a similar situation? 

“With the most sincerity that I can muster,” I answered Beatrice, “I thank God for allowing me to leave the mortal world and have the opportunity to learn here. But please, tell me, why are there dark spots on the moon? I have heard that it is because of Cain and the bundle of thorns that he carries on his back,” I shrugged, “but I know that he is suffering in Hell and therefore cannot be here.”

Beatrice smiled, clearly amused. “Human judgment often falls into error when what is being discussed cannot be experienced. In fact, even when the senses are involved, you should not be struck with amazement when reason has short wings. However,” she looked at me with twinkling eyes, “do tell me what you think of this question.”

“I think that maybe the moon has dark spots because of different densities?" I offered, “If the dark spots were made of a different, denser, darker material than the rest of the moon, then it would reflect less light.”

“That is one explanation,” she admitted. “There are some who would argue that your theory, however, embraces the principle of sameness in the universe. As in, if density alone dictated the shade of a celestial body, then they would say that there would be no substantial difference between one star to the next in the sphere of fixed stars, which you will see eventually. 

“They would argue that this sameness, this singular essence, would be against the principle of God’s creation, which is to make fundamentally different things.” She sighed. “They would say that your ‘moon’ would have sections of dense and less dense, like lean and fat slices of meat, or alternating like pages of a book. They would attempt to prove you wrong by saying that the sun during a solar eclipse would shine through the areas of the moon that are less dense. Dante, ignore those people. They do not know what they are saying, and science in the future will prove them utterly wrong.

“However, I would like to make some corrections to your beliefs. You believe that the light of the moon comes from both the reflected light of the sun and its own radiance. In actuality, only the former applies. If you have any doubt, then conduct a simple experiment. Take three mirrors, and place them in equal intervals, farther and farther away from you. Face the mirrors. Then, light a candle in front of you. You will see the light from the candle in all three mirrors, and even though it will vary in size, it will not vary in brightness. Of course, over a sizable distance this will change, but with a candle like the sun and a mirror like the moon, it is enough.

“You also believe that the moon is a smooth sphere. Know that it is definitely not. The moon has mountains and craters like earth, and there is yet more to learn about it. 

“Like how the sunshine strips the snow of its coldness, I hope that your mind has been left without doubt.”

I nodded, satisfied with her answer.

“Now, let me inform you of the order of Heaven, so you can expect what is to come,” Beatrice declared, listing them out on her fingers. “There are ten layers in total, called spheres, or heavens. There are souls residing in each one of them. The layer we are currently in is called the heaven of the moon, and above that is Mercury, then Venus, then the Sun, then Mars, then Jupiter, then Saturn, then the fixed stars, then the Primum Mobile, and then at last, the Mystic Empyrean. That reminds me. Do not be surprised, Dante, when the heliocentric worldview is turned upside-down.”

“What?” 

“It is not yours to worry about,” she reassured me. 

“Okay.” I thought for a moment, floating in the serene, glowing moon-pool. It felt awfully nice. I could just swim around here forever. “Wait, Beatrice, what do you think of the dark spots on the moon?”

“Very well. I will provide you with my answer.” Beatrice cleared her throat, and began. “Recall that God’s glory is everywhere, and it shows itself more in some places than others. Starting from the highest of the heavens, this is shown again and again. 

“Some of the constellations of the eighth sphere are bright, and some are dim. The planets that follow as the heavens descend are similarly designed, down to our very moon, which has both dark spots and a lighter surface. After all, God created everything. The motion of these holy planets are given by him, and with his deep mind he leaves his mark on all of his creations.

“You, too, are marked. God’s infinite goodness and intelligence is reflected in every human, despite us being finite beings, and it is the doing of that person which determines how God’s glory is shown through them. That is the difference between lights. That is the thing that makes this world so dark, and at the same time, so bright.” 

Chapter Text

Beatrice was like the light of the sun; she had warmed me with the truth, and like sunshine, that truth was so lovely and gentle. I raised my head to thank my lady, but then I saw something, something so startling that I forgot entirely to thank her.

Like reflections that are seen through clean glasses, or on the surface of shallow, nearly crystalline water, there were many faces looking at me. Those faces were indistinct; the overall effect was of looking at a pearl being displayed on pearly white skin. Those faint faces looked like they were eager to speak.

Narcissus believed that his reflection was real, when, in reality, it was only himself there at the pond. I made the opposite mistake. 

Believing that the faces were reflections, I hastily turned around to see who they might be, but I was met with only the soothing light that Beatrice emanated, along with her beautiful smile. 

The corners of her eyes wrinkled in amusement. “Do not be surprised that I smile at your mistake, Dante, for mistake it is, because you reason like a child. You believed that what you saw was false, even though your eyes were telling otherwise.  That was how your mind made you look back into the emptiness. 

“But the evidence is right in front of you. Look. There really are souls there. Those heavenly souls were placed here because of their unfulfilled vows. Speak and listen to them, and do trust what they say. Within this truthful light, they cannot mislead you.”

I looked at the souls once again, and I spotted one who seemed the most anxious to talk to me. I addressed her first, saying, “Spirit who is born to goodness, you who enjoys eternal life and the sweetness that cannot be known until one has experienced it, please tell me who you were.”

She answered me immediately, her eyes smiling. “Our goodwill will never lock its gates to one who has made such a just request. We are souls who are filled with love, love like the very Love that fills our Creator.”

“In the living world, I was a nun. If you were to think back carefully, you would recognize me, even though I am more beautiful than I was on earth.” 

Without waiting for me to collect my thoughts, she revealed, “I am Piccarda. With me are other blessed souls, and we are placed in the slowest-moving sphere of the moon, but that is no reason for complaint. We are happy here.” A dreamy look took over Piccarda’s face. “Our only desire is to serve God. Our delight is to conform to his order. All of us are here because of neglected vows. In that way, I suppose we were imperfect.”

“You look different,” I remarked. “Your face is glowing, and,” I looked carefully at her, “something about the light does make you look more beautiful than before. And so, apologies for the time that it took for me to recognize that it was you.” 

“Dear poet, you are excused,” Piccarda said warmly. 

I drifted a little nearer to the souls. “But please tell me, even though you’re already happy here, do you not want to be even closer to God? After all, you are in the lowest, slowest sphere.”

Piccarda shared a smile with her friends like they had a hilarious inside joke going on. Then, she turned to face me again, and with the same overwhelming joy that one feels when they have fallen in love for the first time, she declared, “Love appeases our will, so that we only want what we were given by God, and we have no interest in higher delights.” 

“If we were to long for a heaven that is above our reach, that sentiment wouldn’t align with the plan of God, would it?” She laughed. The other souls tittered along with Piccarda. “No, no. That would invite discord into Heaven. That would be against our very purpose as perfected souls.”

“To exist in Love is a necessity here,” Piccarda explained, “and if you were to think about the nature of love, you will understand why. Love is want, and in this blessed life, we keep to God’s want, so our will and God’s are the same. That is the only way to avoid conflict. We in the Kingdom of Heaven are separated by spheres and varying heights, yes, but all of this kingdom wishes for one thing, and that is to please our King. By following his will, we find our peace.” There were solemn nods from the rest of the saved souls. “We are all happy and perfectly content. Every soul in Paradise experiences this same happiness.”

It was then that it was clear to me; every place in the heavens is in Paradise, even if the glory of God had not deigned to distribute itself equally. 

But like when we taste one delicious dish and still yearn for another, perhaps dessert, I was still curious about Piccarda’s story, the web that her answering shuttle had not yet reached.

“What exactly was the vow that you failed to keep?” I asked her. 

“Saint Clare, she who has led a perfect life and stands in high merit, she who wore a nun’s dress and veil, she who woke and slept with the love of God, inspired me to follow in her footsteps when I was young. I secluded myself from the rest of my world, as is the norm for her order, and prepared to dedicate my entire life to it.”

“However,” here Piccarda’s voice grew sad. “My time in the order did not last. I remember it clearly. My brother, Corso. He had with him many men, men who were more used to malice than love. They took me away from my sisters. Corso forced me to marry, just so he could acquire a political alliance.” 

I winced. How messed up could this family be? Three siblings, each destined for a different place; Piccarda to Heaven, Forese to Purgatory, and Corso definitely to Hell. 

“The soul to the right of me understands what I have said,” Piccarda introduced her friend. “She was a sister, and her sacred veil was also taken from her. But even though she was forced to break her vows, in her heart, the veil was never loosened. This is the Empress Constance.”

And I thought this couldn’t get worse. Empress Constance’s son, Frederick the Second, is burning in hell with the heretics. Her grandson, Manfred, is in Ante-Purgatory. Thankfully, my face didn’t betray me. 

Everything said and explained, Piccarda began to sing. Her friends joined in, and they sang “Ave Maria.”

“Hail, Mary, 

“Full of grace,

“The Lord is with you.

“Blessed are you

“And blessed

“Is the fruit of your womb. 

“Holy Mary, 

“Mother of God,

“Pray for us 

“Sinners

“Now and in 

“The hour of our death.

“Hail, Mary!”

With that, Piccarda gradually vanished, like how the outline of something dropped into water darkens until it seems nothing was ever there in the first place. 

Then, I looked at Beatrice. 

She was so bright that I could not look directly at her. That made asking questions rather difficult. 

Chapter Text

I had two burning questions. They were like two equally enticing dishes, and I was the person before them who would starve to death in indecision if he was allowed to make a choice. I was like a lamb, standing motionlessly between two ravenous wolves. I was like a dog, somehow finding itself between two delicious does. How was I meant to choose?

And so, the two questions stewed in my head, and I kept my peace. 

However, my expression gave me away more surely than if I were to start talking. 

Beatrice caught on, and she did what Daniel did for King Nebuchadnezzar, when he interpreted the king’s dream. She said to me: “I see that you desire to ask two questions, and how your desire has tangled itself so that you cannot speak. Your two questions are thus,” she listed them aloud, as if she was pulling the words from my head. “One, ‘If my will remains good, why should others forcing me to act against my will cause my reward to be lesser?’”

“Two, ‘Where do saved souls go after death? Was Plato right?’”

“These questions are equally important to you, so I will answer the second question first, for it has the most potential for damage if it is not addressed. 

“The truth is this. Neither the seraph that is closest to God, nor Moses, Samuel, nor John—either one—nor even Mary, take their place in any other Heaven than the one that you have just seen. Each and every saved soul in Heaven goes to the Mystic Empyrean, the place where God resides, along with his order of angels. All of us are given the same eternal bliss.

“Those souls showed themselves to you here, on the moon, not because this is the sphere that they reside in, but because their place in the Mystic Empyrean is the lowest. As we continue, souls will appear on various planets, which will signify the degree of their blessedness.”

Beatrice paused, sounding fond and also slightly weary, “I arranged this with God so that you would learn more from this experience. After all, knowledge must be gathered through the senses before the mind can ponder it.”

“It wasn't too big of a favor, was it?” I asked nervously.

“It was not,” Beatrice responded, “God has done similar things before, and he is willing to do it again. Think of the Bible, which speaks of the feet and hands of God, even though he is immaterial and has no feet or hands. Think of how the Archangels Gabriel and Michael are depicted by the church as beings with human features, when they are also immaterial. How would that be possible, unless God had made adjustments before to make what is divine a little easier to understand?

“In his Timaeus , Plato says that souls return to the star from which they originate; as in, before their lives on Earth, souls live on their own stars and planets, and when they are ready, acquire material forms to live on Earth. He also states that when souls pass away, they return to their home star, like salmon returning to the rivers from which they spawned.

“Plato’s myth is incorrect, as the soul is created by God after its body has been given, and does not exist before that happens. If his myth were to be taken another way, perhaps what he means is that the planets and stars have some control over human life, which is also incorrect.” She sighed. “The Romans went to the trouble of naming the planets Jupiter, Mercury, and Mars, and yet all it did was lead the world astray.”

“So, to plainly answer your second question, Dante, every soul that is Heaven-bound goes to the Mystic Empyrean. I simply requested that they show themselves to you by order of merit.” Beatrice deliberated for a moment. “And in the end, Plato was correct on one count; a soul retains its memories, its being, even after death.”

“Now, your first question. ‘If my will remains good, why should others forcing me to act against my will cause my reward to be lesser?’”

“To mortal eyes, our justice seems unjust.” Beatrice looked steadily at me. “There are reasons for every decision that Heaven makes. I will explain.

“Your doubt comes from a misunderstanding of will. There are two kinds, one called absolute will, and the other called conditioned will. Conditioned will can give in to the face of violence or suffering, but absolute will, if it exists, is never spent. It is like a fire that always desires to rise, even if there are a thousand attempts to put it out. 

“For example, Piccarda and Constance. They were forcibly taken from their convents, which is not something that could be blamed on them. However, once they were captured, they did not try to flee. Their wills became conditioned, and that was what broke their vows. Had they attempted to return to their faith, had their wills been as whole as that of Lawrence or Mucius, they might have yet been regarded in higher favor by God.”

“But if they ran, they could have been killed,” I said to Beatrice. 

She smiled at me. “That is what is required of a perfect will. It is very difficult, and that is why we seldom receive souls who have their absolute wills intact. 

“Saint Lawrence was one of those souls. He was told to give up the treasures of the church by the prefect of Rome, but he refused. Lawrence gathered a group of the poor that the church distributed alms to, and declared them the treasures of the church. He was grilled alive. 

“Gaius Mucius was sent to assassinate King Porsena of the Etruscans. When he failed, he was told to reveal information about the Roman’s defenses or be executed. Hearing this, Mucius put his right hand in the fire, showing that he was not going to betray his country, and ever since then, he has been known as Scaevola , ‘left-handed’.

“Oh, but now—”  Beatrice noted, “Now I see that there is another struggle within your mind. You are wondering if what I said contradicted what Piccarda said. She said that in her heart, Empress Constance still wore the veil. Is that a sign of her will, still alive and intact? Only partly.

“She went along with what her captors wanted, in fear of something worse down the line. Alcmeon, the son of Amphiaraus, knew this. When Amphiaraus’ wife, Eriphyle, betrayed Amphiaraus and caused him to go off to war, he told Alcmeon to avenge him. Alcmeon faced a dilemma: either kill his own mother, or disobey his father. He decided to kill his mother, more afraid of failing his responsibility as a son. 

“Empress Constance chose the lesser of two evils, like Alcmeon did, and broke her vows. Her conditioned will decided that being married was preferable to possibly being killed. When Piccarda spoke of the veil that she still wears in her heart, then, she was speaking of her absolute will, while I speak of her conditioned will, which was flawed.”

“Beloved lady of the first to Love,” I said to her, “your words are warm and flood me with truth, like a fountain, and no matter how deep my thankfulness is, it can never match your grace. I see now. Minds cannot be satisfied until all questions have been asked and all questions have been answered, and surely this is possible, because you are here! I see how our doubts are like blossoms, growing from the root of truth, spurring us from peak to higher peak.

“Now, I have another question. Is it possible for broken vows to be mended with good deeds?”

Beatrice looked at me then, and her eyes were sparkling with divine light, too bright to bear. My angel detection reflexes kicked in. I looked away, thinking that I was surely going to faint. 

Chapter Text

“If I seem to burn brighter than what is possible on earth, you do not need to wonder as to why,” Beatrice said kindly to me. “I grow brighter because of the joy I feel as we are closer and closer to God. Indeed, now I see that within your mind shines the eternal light, which sparked Love since the very beginning. Every lesser thing that attempts to win your love will reveal glimpses of this light, even though they will all fall woefully short of the original.”

“You wish to know,” she stated, “if a vow which was made to God, once broken, can be repaired with good deeds.”

And so, Beatrice began this canto, and no one interrupted her as she gave her holy reasoning to my question.

“The greatest gift that God gave to humans, Dante, is free will. It is the gift that is the most similar to him and his goodness. It is the gift that he prizes the most. Only beings with intellect received, and do receive, this gift. Thus, you may deduce from that how valuable vows truly are. 

“When a person pledges something to God, and both parties consent to its terms, a vow is formed. A vow is not necessarily valid if God does not approve of it, for example, vows that result in sin are not accepted by him. 

“That person, in making the pact, gives up some of their free will. Once given, that greatest of gifts—for there is nothing that can be offered as compensation to it—is returned to the ownership of God, and cannot be taken back. Taking it back would be like thieving; that person’s will would no longer rightfully belong to them. 

“The answer to your question is that there is no true atonement for a broken vow. The existence of the broken vow will always be there, as there is no higher prize than free will, although the presence of good deeds can cast a different light on a soul.

“However, the church also grants dispensations for vows, which seems to contradict what I have just said. To understand in full, you will have to remain at this table for a while longer. The food that you have taken was rough; you require more elaboration, if you are to digest it. Open your mind to my words, and hold them tightly. One who hears knowledge, but allows its content to slip, learns nothing,” Beatrice instructed firmly.

“There are two parts to a vow: the thing that is promised, and the act of making the vow itself. The making of a vow can never be annulled until it brings about what it has promised; that is what I have spoken to you about. 

“The Jews made a vow to God that they would sacrifice to him, and it was necessary for them to keep that vow; however, the nature of that sacrifice could change. There could be wheat sacrificed one time, and barley the next. 

“People cannot simply decide to substitute something in a vow by their own decision. Any substitution needs to be approved by the church; recall Saint Peter’s two keys, which represent the consent of both mortal and divine. This is one of the few situations where a dispensation can be in order. 

“In addition, the substitution in question needs to be greater in value than its predecessor, around a ratio of six to four. 

“Thus, care needs to be taken with vows that concern the highest levels of sacrifice, for what can outweigh a lifetime of faithful service, or love that does not diminish in all your living years? 

“Let mortals never take a vow in jest, and avoid the rash example of Jephthah. When he fought the Ammonites, the King of Israel swore to God that if he won, he would sacrifice the first thing that he saw walking out of his palace. That ‘thing’ was his daughter, and Jephthah sacrificed his own blood in cold blood. He should have admitted to God that he was wrong, and his vow would be disproved with no consequence. But alas, he did not. 

“You can find the same stupidity in the Greek hero, Agamemnon. He vowed to sacrifice the loveliest creature that was born within one year of his promise, and that creature was his daughter, Iphigenia. He did not sacrifice her then, but later, when Agamemnon offended Artemis, the goddess of the moon halted the winds, so that he and his soldiers could not go to Troy. In return for the winds back, she demanded Iphigenia as a sacrifice. And so, Agamemnon sacrificed his daughter. Only then was his fleet able to sail. 

“Christians, proceed with greater gravity. Be certain of your devotion before making a vow, and certainly do not behave like a feather in the wind. Do not think that a few drops of holy water can wash away the stink of a broken promise! Salvation does not always come from making vows. There are the Old and New Testaments, as well as the church. You need nothing else to guide you. 

“In the case that you have made a vow, and there is an offer to remove you of your vows, behave like people, not sheep gone mad! Do not be the young, foolish lamb that leaves the nourishment of its mother’s milk, and accidentally harms itself.”

With that, Beatrice looked up once more, and we left the moon, rising to the next sphere. She was silent, and she was radiant; that made my mind slow with its questions. 

The next sphere contained the planet Mercury. As my lady ascended nearer to it, she grew brighter, with such joy that the very planet reflected her glory. 

Like how fish look curiously at any approaching person in ponds that are frequented by visitors, more than a thousand souls converged upon us, and murmured: “There is another who will increase our love.”

Each soul glowed, lit from the inside with the same sublime love. 

It would be really funny right if I stopped writing right now, and you, my reader, were left without the satisfaction of knowing what happened next. What degree of misery would you be in, if I simply did not relay what I saw? 

Congratulations! You have just experienced the longing that I felt in that instant. I just as desperately needed to hear what those souls had to say. 

“You there, one who is born into gladness, for whom God has allowed a sight of the thrones of eternal triumph before the usual time,” one of the saved souls said to me, “the light that shines within us is the same Light that spreads through all of Heaven. Ask us anything you please.”

“Speak, and speak confidently,” Beatrice urged me on.

“You glow so brightly, but I do not know who you are, or why your rank is on a planet that is so often concealed by the rays of the sun,” I said as I turned to face him. 

That saved soul then shone even brighter, clearly pleased. In doing so, he concealed himself; thus concealed, he began to speak. 

Chapter Text

“The Empire moves with the Eagle,” the saved soul said, “and for many years, that Eagle had followed the course of Heaven, journeying from east to west like the Sun does. Aeneas, prince of Troy, followed that course to Italy, where he wed Lavinia and lit the sparks of what would become the Roman Empire. 

“Constantine reversed that direction and took the Eagle away from Rome, going east to Constantinople. For two hundred years and more, that bird of God remained near Troy. 

“It was in that time, when the Eagle’s wings spread to cover the world from land to land, that I was tasked with ruling. I was an emperor, and my name is Justinian. Through the primal Love that I felt and do feel, I weeded the legal system of senseless laws. You may have heard of it before; they are named after me now.

“But before I could accomplish what I set out to do,” Emperor Justinian continued, “my beliefs needed to be corrected. I believed that Christ has only one nature; the divine. In that erroneous belief I was content, and it is a blessing that Pope Agapetus intervened with his words of truth. He revealed to me that Christ has double natures; he is both fully human and fully divine. 

“When two statements contradict in the world of the living, only one truth wins out from the two. That is what I firmly believed, and what you surely do. However, now I see that Agapetus was right, and I believe in his faith as much as I once believed that there is only one victor in a contradictory statement. 

“And so, my path and the path of the church converged, as is meant to be. God inspired my task, and I ruled in a way as to please him. 

“I entrusted Belisarius to be my general and let him fight the Empire’s wars, so I was able to rest from the battlefield. Pope Agapetus handled the spiritual questions and kept the church running smoothly. By delegating to others tasks that they were best suited for, I would be able to do what I was best suited for: reforming Roman law, so that my people would benefit from it. 

“The answer to your first question ends here, and yet I will dare to continue,” Justinian paused, “so that you may see how mistaken the souls on earth currently are; it is utterly confounding how there are Ghibellines who take the imperial standard to be their own, and Guelphs who oppose the imperial standard, yet none of them support the ideals of the Empire. 

“In the beginning, courage was what made the Eagle worthy of reverence, and it was the virtue which bolstered Aeneas when he avenged the death of Pallas, so that in the future he may gain a kingdom which would prosper into so much more. 

“You know that for three hundred years and more, the Eagle lived in Alba Longa, until representatives from Alba and Rome duelled. 

“This was very early in the history of the Empire, and back then the Romans were known as the Horatii, while the Albans were known as Curiatii. The Horatii and the Curiatii wanted to war with each other, of course, but they both knew that carnage between their two kingdoms would leave them incredibly vulnerable. Instead, they settled on a duel, so that the least amount of blood could be spilled. 

“On that day, the people of Rome and Alba gathered to watch three Horatii brothers and three Curiatii brothers fight to the death. The fight started very badly for the Romans; two of the Horatii were slain by the Curiatii, and that left only Publius, the sole Roman who stood against three foes. 

“Publius decided to run. He ran as quickly as he could, and the Curiatii gave chase, which gradually separated the brothers. With the Curiatii thus separated, Publius turned and killed every last one of them. That was how the Eagle went to Rome. 

“You know later on how seven kings ruled Rome, and how they conquered their neighbors. You know how they stole the Sabine women to take them as wives. You know how Tarquin, the son of Tarquin the Proud, raped Lucretia, which was the last straw for the crumbling monarchy. You know how his brother rose up in rebellion to overthrow the king, and in its place, institute a republic. 

“You know what happened when the Eagle was carried by courageous Romans, and defeated Brennus, the leader of Gaul, along with Pyrrhus, the King of Epirus. Through this conquest, the generals Torquatus and Quintius, and the families of Decii and Fabii won much glory. 

“The standard of the Empire brought low the pride of the Carthaginian general Hannibal, and when he ventured across the Alps, he was defeated again by the standard. 

“When Catiline, former praetor , wanted to take the consulship by force, his plot was revealed to the orator Cicero. Catiline hid himself on Fiesole, a hill just outside of Florence. He was cornered and killed. The standard might have seemed the harshest to you there. 

“Then, when Heaven wished to bring the entire world Heaven’s way, Caesar took up that standard. What he did was seen by the Var and the Rhine, the Isere, Saone, even the Seine themselves, as well as by the valley-floors that fed into the Rhone. When Caesar crossed the Rubicon, it was a flight that no writing could describe.

“The standard advanced with its legions into Spain, to Durazzo, and struck Pharsalus so that even the Nile could feel its hurt; there it was that Pompey was defeated, and Caesar was the ruler of the entire Empire. The standard was there once again in Egypt, where Ptolemy slew Pompey.

“With the death of Caesar, Brutus and Cassius were thrown into the deepest pits of Hell, for attempting to betray God’s plan for the Roman Empire. Because of the standard, when Octavian became emperor, his opponents were destroyed. There was the defeat of Mark Antony at Modena, and the defeat of his brother at Perugia. 

“Because of the standard, Cleopatra weeps. She fled with her lover, Mark Antony, away from Octavian’s fleet at the Battle of Actium, and in despair she allowed the bite of a snake to take her life. 

“And with the bearer of the standard came peace, such peace that it would be known for ages, the Pax Romana . The doors to Janus’ temple, which were opened in times of war, were closed for many years. 

“But all that I have spoken of the standard, what it has done and what it has yet to do, pales in comparison to what it did under Tiberius’ hand. The son of God was crucified then, and although the sin of Adam was atoned for, there was new and horrible sin that humanity had wrought upon themselves by the taking of his life. The vengeance that this demanded was the destruction of Jerusalem. 

“I will tell you of events from a more recent age. Five hundred years ago, Charlemagne defended the church from the deposed king of the Lombards, Desiderius. Now that you have heard all of this history, you may judge the people now and judge how much wrong they have done. 

“For some oppose the emblem of the golden lilies, and others claim that emblem for their own; the fight between Ghibelline and Guelph never ends. It is difficult to see which party is the worse, because their goals are deceptive, and it is not what they claim they pursue that they pursue. The Empire needs a government that can work together, not tear itself apart. 

“Living soul,” Justinian gestured at the thousands of other souls, “on this little planet are people who did great things. We did what was right and what was good, but our true intention behind those actions was to gain fame. That is the answer to your second question. We strived beyond everything else to be known in life, and Mercury is often hidden by the radiance of the sun, making it a little-known visitor in the sky. The irony, isn’t it wonderful?

“But, part of our joy is measuring our reward and our merit, and seeing that it is all as it should be. We see that we are where we deserve to be. We are happy, and we are in Paradise,” Justinian declared. “You should know that, in Heaven, many voices join together to sing sweet music. We sing and help produce the melody that permeates the spheres. 

“Here in Mercury is Romeo di Villanova,” the Roman Emperor pointed at one of the many glowing souls, “one whose good acts were met with little recompense. He worked for a count named Raymond Berenger, and he made sure that each one of the count’s daughters married into royalty. Others envied his success, so he was exiled, and Romeo spent the rest of his days begging for crusts. If the world knew about what was in his heart as he begged, they would praise him more than they do so now.”

Chapter Text

“Hosanna, holy God of hosts, whose brightness illuminates these realms’ blessed fires,” Justinian sang, wheeling around in the throes of his own music. His friends joined him, and they spun like fragments of fires around him, disappearing without a trace. 

I was greatly confused. 

In my head I screamed, Tell her! Tell her! She can satisfy all of your thirst for answers. And yet I did not speak, because she was still so awe-inspiring that even hearing a syllable of her name would make me bow my head, so that it would seem that I was asleep.

But Beatrice put an end to that soon enough. She smiled at me, and I might have sighed. Her smile was so bright that even a man being burnt alive would feel joy at seeing it. 

“According to my judgment, which never errs,” Beatrice said then, and her voice sounded like soft music, “you have another question. You wish to know how just vengeance can be justly punished, and I shall free your mind quickly from this doubt. 

“When Adam ate from the Tree of Knowledge, he damned himself and all of his descendants, and humans were driven from Eden. Because of this mistake, humankind remained in the abyss of sin for centuries, sick and without cure. This all changed when God consented for his son to go to the living world. His son’s divine nature joined the nature of mortals, an act that demonstrated God’s eternal and glorious Love. 

“However, human nature had sinned. It had been sundered from all connection with God, and it had been banished from Eden. When that faulty nature was joined with the divinity of Jesus, the crucifixion fell with just punishment, for all of humanity was punished with him. 

“But at the same time, there was never more wrong that was committed, for all that was divine was also punished. When the crucifixion occurred, both God and the Jews were pleased with that one death; the very earth trembled from that death, and the heavens opened for it.

“The crucifixion was just; it was utterly unjust. The punishment that God had for humankind was paid, but a new, horrible sin sprung from the killing of the Son of God, which was justly avenged with the destruction of Jerusalem. By the end of that whole ordeal, there was no debt that we held to God, except those of our own volition. That is how just vengeance can deserve a just punishment.”

“But now, I see that you have a new question, so much so that your thoughts have tied themselves up into a vexing knot,” Beatrice noted. “You think, ‘I understand what you have said, but why did God wish for us to gain our salvation in this precise way?’

“The answer to this matter is buried away from those whose eyes are not open to Love. Nonetheless, there have been so many attempts to seek it out, and yet so little understanding. I will tell you why. 

“God is perfect. His goodness has banished envy from itself and sparkles in eternal beauties. The beings that he creates directly all bear a mark from his seal of goodness, which leaves an imprint that never alters. Those creations are eternal, and they have free will, unshackled by any law or influence.

“The more a person aligns with that goodness, the more God is pleased; the glory that he put into his creations is best seen when the creation is most like him. A human has all these gifts, but should they sin, then that Light dims. Their free will would lessen and become more susceptible to temptation. 

“That person cannot regain their dignity unless they fill the void that sin left in them. They must pay a price,” Beatrice said to me. “But how can justice be achieved when a soul has so deviated from its origins, and left from the path to Paradise? Either God has to pardon that soul himself, and that is his Mercy, or the soul needs to offer their payment to God in full. That is his Justice. 

“Now, listen closely to my reasoning. Humans, within the bounds of their limits, cannot atone for their sins. There is no recompense that is so deep and humble that it could possibly match the heights of disobedience that Man has already climbed. 

“Thus, God helped us to redeem ourselves. He could have relied on only Mercy, or only Justice, but because a deed performed by the sinner themself sings so much sweeter than any freely given mercy, God decided to use both methods to bring souls back on the course to Heaven. 

“From the first day to the last night, there can be no other action that will be as lofty or magnificent as God’s decision; for he showed greater generosity when he allowed humanity to receive Justice through his son, and he forgave us with his Mercy. 

“To fulfill all of your questions, I will go back to explain one more point, so that you may see it as plainly as I do. You think, ‘Water, fire, air, and earth all perish and erode away. They endure so briefly, but if they were created by God, then those things should never have been subject to such briefness.’

“The angels that are in this kingdom now, they were created by God, and they are eternal. The elements that you think of, however, are acted upon by laws of nature, and those are indirect. The matter that composed them was created, just like the stars, which were given the power to have form, like how the holy lights draw from every flora and fauna their forms, but your life was breathed into you by the Greatest Good, and it is eternal. Just remember how your flesh was fashioned from the union of Adam and Eve to know that you will be resurrected on the Day of Judgment.”

Chapter Text

The ancient world thought that Aphrodite dwelled in the third sphere that wheels its way around Earth, and that it was from there she sent down rays of her frenzied love. They believed that her love struck people blind and left them without rational thought. 

In their terror, people offered sacrifices to her, so that she would not do that. In fact, their honor of Aphrodite was such that they also worshiped her mother, Dione, along with her son, Eros. They told stories of how Eros once took the shape of Ascanius, Aeneas’ son, and how the sight of him infected Dido with love for Aeneas. 

They gave one particular planet the goddess’s name, a planet that circles closely around the sun, as if it were being courted by it. 

I did not notice the difference in altitude, but I was certain that I was in Venus, because I looked at Beatrice and saw that she was even more beautiful than before.

Like how a spark can be seen in fire, like how two voices hold a duet and one changes their note, I saw souls in the radiance of Venus. Some hurried towards us faster, some were slower, but they all moved as quickly as fit for them, I think. Either way, those souls still glided through the air like lightning, souls who just left the eternal dance at the level of Seraphim to talk to me.

And then a “Hosanna” was sung from their front ranks with such sweetness that I would never be without the desire to hear it again. 

One of the souls drew closer to us, and said: “We are all ready to serve you. This one circle, one circling, and one desire are ours, you who wrote, ‘Oh, you whose intelligence moves the third heaven.’ Our love is complete, and we will be here for a while, so that we may share with you the gift of joy.”

I turned to look at my lady, and she gave her consent for me to speak with them with a dip of her head. Thus reassured, I looked at that light who promised me so much, and asked gently, “Tell me, who are you?”

That soul suddenly grew brighter and larger at the joy that he must have been experiencing, adding it to his growing joy. He replied, “The world held me only briefly, but if I had stayed just a while longer, many evils that trouble people today would not exist. My happiness, which takes the form of rays, hides me from you, like how a silkworm covers itself in its own silk. 

“We were friends before, and you loved me for good cause, because if I had remained below, then I would have shown you the depths of my friendship instead of just the early shoots. 

“The lands by the Rhone, after it had mixed with the Sorgue, would have waited for me as its lord. Along with that land of Provence, so would the Kingdoms of Naples have waited. I already wore the Hungarian crown upon my brow, and if not for the ill rule of my family, the Sicilians would not have called out: ‘Die, die!’ to the house of Anjou, and the crown would not have passed to the house of Aragon.”

He sighed, “Oh, if my brother could see what harm will result from his rule, he would flee from Catalonia. He should not, and his subordinates should not care to load into their coffers more than what they already have.”

This was Charles Martel, a prince. 

“I believe that you can see where all good begins and ends, and so you probably already know this, but friend, I am so happy to know that you are blessed!” I said to him, “You bring to me much joy; now I will dare to ask you a question and expect a response that will clear the doubt in me. Tell me, how can a good person raise a bad child, like how harsh fruit can derive from gentle seeds?”

“If I can show one truth to you,” Charles said, “you will see the truth of the stars to your back. There are people who believe that God set fate in the heavens, and that lives were influenced by their positions, but the world is not so. The course of a life is not set in stone, and the natures of people are not prescribed, but there needs to be variation. God wanted variation in humans because he knew that there was no singular way to achieve perfection. 

“People are different, through their upbringing and choices of free will, and in their differences they are perfect. Not the same, sometimes freakishly different, but perfect. God wanted this, and he knew that this perfection should take many guises. He also wanted people to find that perfection within others; he wanted them to live harmoniously together in a society. Would you have this be any clearer?”

“No,” I agreed, “God cannot fail.”

“Tell me, would people be better off if there was no social order?” Charles asked me. 

“Of course not, and I don’t need any proof,” I said.

“Could there be a proper society without people with different duties, and different abilities?” he asked again, and answered his own question. “Of course not, like Aristotle said. Each kind of ability is needed to make a society function properly.

“So, one is born a Solon, another a Xerxes, and one a Melchizedek, and one a Daedalus. Nature does not view people differently by their family name, and it plies its craft of talent-giving to anyone available to accept. That is how ordinary parents can raise extraordinary children, and how people of the same family can be so different from each other. 

“Take Esau and Jacob, the twins; Esau was a hunter in the fields, and Jacob spent his hours in the tents. Look at Romulus, whose father was not any important person, and how he is still called the son of Ares! 

“One last thing, Dante. People should find and do the things that they are suited for. If a person is pressured since birth to become something that they are not, it will simply not work; the meaning of God is for that person to be different in a way, and for them to do what they were made for. 

“But alas, warriors are made to be priests, and priests are made to be kings, and so the path is forever astray.”

Chapter Text

After I had been enlightened by Charles, whom Clemence of Hapsburg so dearly loved, he instructed me to not say anything about what he had divulged: “Be silent, and let the years revolve.” 

And so, as I am bound by this promise, I can only say to Clemence that proper vengeance will be dished out to those who wrong her and her kin. 

Charles Martel now turned to face the sun, shining with holy light. 

The sun fills people with Goodness; ah, you people, so often seduced by what is wrong and wicked, that you twist your hearts away from this Good!

Another soul drifted over to speak to me, and she glowed brighter in the process, as if showing her willingness to help. Beatrice looked at me and nodded, so that I was able to open my mouth and query. 

“Blessed spirit, I trust that you already know what I am going to ask,” I said to the approaching soul, “so please, can you quickly give me my answer?”

She laughed, flaring brightly for a second, and spoke: “In the March of Treviso, between Rialto and the springs, there is a hill that is not of the greatest height, and its name was Romano. On that hill of Romano, my mother dreamt of a torch before she gave birth to my brother, Ezzelino; and it was fitting, for when he was grown, he descended upon the land and left behind injury and flames. 

“Cunizza was my name. I shine here because this planet conquered me in life with its radiance. I had many lovers! I fell in love quickly—” she made a clicking sound, “—just like that, but I pardon myself for my actions, and I do not grieve for what is already done. Here in Paradise, everyone is forgiven by God, and everyone learns to forgive themselves.”

“You know Sordello, right?” I asked Cunizza.

She sounded unfazed at the mention of her lover. “Oh, him? Last I checked, he was still in Ante-Purgatory.”

Oh, okay. “Never mind…”

“Right!” Cunizza gestured at another gleaming light next to her. “This soul next to me enjoyed much fame in his life, and even now his fame will remain for five hundred years, almost like a second life. 

“And yet, the people who live between the Adige and Tagliamento do not pause to consider this, and nor do they repent, not even when there is war. Allow me to prophecy for you.”

Her light blazed solemnly. 

“Because they neglect their duties, the Paduans will stain the rivers red outside Vincenza. Where the Sile and Cagnano flow together, there is an arrogant one who is lord. He does not know that the net which will catch him is already set. The shepherd of Feltro will commit such a godless act that none quite as filthy as him will be held behind bars. The Ferrarese blood that he will spill would fill a vast vat, and he will weigh it ounce by ounce to show that he is loyal to his Guelph party; such gifts shall become the wretched custom in that land.” 

Cunizza, thus finished, declared: “This may seem harsh to you now, but high above, the Thrones shine God’s judgment upon us, and so we see that it is right to say such things.” 

That was when Cunizza fell silent, and she rejoined the dance of the other souls. 

The soul who had been praised by her remained. He suddenly shone a deep red, the same as a ruby. 

Up high, joy takes form in light, in mortal lands, in smiles, and deep below, shades only grow darker from their sadness. 

“God can see all,” I said to him, “and you can see what he sees, so nothing can hide itself from you. Your voice has made the heavens glad, as surely as the singing of six-winged Seraphim do. So why, then, have you not used it to satisfy my longing? If I were you, and you were me, you would not have to give me your request before I answered it.”

“There is a valley that is so wide and so deep that the oceans spill into it to make a sea,” he began, “and that sea is so boundless that if you were to stand on one edge, you would not be able to see the opposite side through the horizon. I lived on the shoreline of that sea, between the Ebro and the Magra, somewhere you may know as France.

“Specifically, I lived in Marseilles, a city that once warmed its harbors with its own blood. The men who knew me called me Folquet, and as this sphere receives my imprint, I was equally affected by it when I was alive.

“Even Dido, who ended up wronging both Sychaeus and Creusa, did not burn with the same lust that I did. There was none other who burned as I; nor did Phyllis, nor did Deianira.

“But we do not need to repent here,” Folquet said to me, “for we have repented long before. Here one smiles, not because of the sins that were committed, for we no longer remember that. Here we smile for the Power who has forgiven us. We contemplate his Love, and we observe the good that has been created by him. 

“So that your longings can be satisfied before you leave this sphere, I must talk a little while longer. I see that you wish to know who it is beside me right now, the light here who shines like crystal-clear waters on a sunny day. 

“Know that this light is Rahab, and she was the very first soul to rise out of Limbo when Hell was harrowed. She aided with the first conquest Joshua made of the Holy Land, the Holy Land which the Pope thinks so little of nowadays, and it is rightfully so that she is now of the highest rank in our order.”

Rahab’s flame burned brighter in happiness, and she quietly listened to the rest of his speech. 

Here Folquet’s voice grew sterner. “Your city, living one, was raised from the ground by the first to rebel against our Maker. Florence produces and distributes that damned flower on golden coins, which makes sheep and lambs of her people, and makes the priests and popes, from the shepherds that they should be, into wolves. Those who study Gospel ignore this; although they make notes in the margins, they only study the Bible to make money. The popes and cardinals are fixated on that same wealth, and their thoughts are never turned to Nazareth, where Gabriel spread his wings to announce to Mary her holy news. 

“But there is still hope. The hills of Vatican and noble parts of Rome, where the blood of martyrs have been shed, will yet be freed of this filth. This I promise to you, living one.” 

Chapter Text

With the same Love that he and his Son breathes, God made everything that wheels through this world, and any observance of the world would not be complete without tasting that Love. 

Reader, lift your eyes with me to see the wheels of the Sun and Earth, which expand from their equators. See how they intersect at a slanted degree.

 If they were not slanted, the radiance of the Sun would be wasted, and life would certainly struggle as there would be no seasons. And, if the Sun remained only above or below the equator of Earth for all of their eternal cycles, then the harmony of Earth would be disrupted as each hemisphere became more and more extreme in its own climate. Thus, the course of planets were calculated and set where they are with purpose by the Creator, balanced perfectly to support his creations. 

Reader, do not yet leave your seat, and stay here awhile to think about this; hopefully this will derive much delight for you before you decide to stop reading and go to sleep. 

The Sun is the greatest ruler of nature, the light that shares its life-giving radiance with the earth, and the light by which our time is measured. She was currently turning through her cycles, appearing earlier and earlier by every passing day. 

I had made it to the Sun, although the ascent happened so quickly and naturally that I was no more aware of it than one can be aware of a random thought barging into their mind. Beatrice was my guide from the good to the better, making our ascent as swift as it was.

How radiant must the souls of the Sun be, that I discerned them from not the hue of their flame, but their brightness! The souls of the Sun were, unbelievably, brighter than the Sun herself. There were twelve of them, and they all shone like none other. I could call upon all the genius, art, and refined skill at my disposal, but my description here cannot bring to imagination a splendor that does those souls justice. I can only hope that you too will yearn to see this sight, for it is no wonder that imagination fails us; no mortal has ever seen a light brighter than the Sun’s.

The Heaven of the Sun, aside from being blinding and generally unfriendly to my eyes, positively breathed Love. I could feel it in the air, permeating every shining surface.

“Give thanks to God, he who is the angel’s Sun, he who has lifted you to the Sun with his grace,” Beatrice commanded me. 

I would dare to say that no mortal heart had ever thrown itself to the worship of God, or yielded its gratefulness to him, as quickly as mine did in that instant. I clasped my hands together and gushed my thanks out to God, thanking him for letting me see the literal Sun, of all things that he could have granted me. I wasn’t quite sure if he would be able to hear, and for a long while my thoughts were so focused on giving thanks to God that Beatrice was forgotten. 

At that realization, I turned to look at Beatrice, and saw that she was not displeased. In fact, her eyes were glowing with happiness as she smiled. 

I let out a sigh of relief. 

That was when I started paying attention to the saved souls around me and Beatrice. They surrounded us like the living jewels of a crown, like the ghostly halo that can sometimes be seen on the brow of Leto’s daughter, wrapped around the Moon.

In the court of Heaven, there are many precious treasures that are not to be taken. One of these gems was the song that those saved souls sang, and I recall that their voices were more beautiful than their light. Those twelve miniature suns had floated three times around us when they stopped singing, and they seemed to me like women at a party, who wait a few moments to catch the rhythm of the next song before they start dancing again. 

“The source of all grace, and beginning of Love, has shown favor to you and buoyed you up here with that Love. You have ascended the stairs to Paradise, and there are none who descend from here without one day ascending again,” One of the saved souls declared to me. “Therefore, we will help you with all that we can. If there are any of us who refuse to quench your thirst with the wine of answer, that would be as unnatural as a body of water refusing to flow to the ocean.”

“You wish to know our identities, we who circle the lady beside you like flowers in a garland,” he continued, “so know that I was a friar. Saint Dominic led me along the right path, a path that can feed well if one takes the care not to stray from it. I am Thomas Aquinas.” 

“If you wish to know who the others are,” Thomas Aquinas gestured, “then as I speak, follow with your eyes. “The soul on my right was both my teacher and brother, Albert of Cologne, the great Universal Doctor.”

“The next flame, if we are to continue down this wreath, is Gratian. He is the one who is smiling. He served two courts of law exceptionally well, and Paradise welcomed him with gladness. 

“The next in our choir is Peter, the bishop of Paris. Like the poor widow, he offered all he had to the church. 

“The fifth light, and the fairest light among us, is filled with such Love that the world hungers for it. He is the lofty mind that worked with such wisdom that no one who entered Heaven since has compared; he is Solomon. 

“Beside him, you can see the one who beheld most deeply what angels were and what they did, Dionysus the Areopagite. 

“Within the little light next to him, there smiles the defender of the Christian age, Paulus Orosius, whose words were used by Saint Augustine. 

“Now, if you are to follow the direction of my words from light to light, you must have already seen the eighth soul in your curiosity. In that light is one who beheld the Greatest Good, and rejoices despite the evil that has befell him during life. Boethius was martyred and exiled before coming to rest in this peace.

“Beyond is the spirit of Isidore of Seville, who wrote an influential encyclopedia. There is Bede the Venerable, the father of English history, and Richard of Saint Victor.

“This final light is a soul who saw the approach of death and deemed it too slow. He is Siger of Brabant, and the truths that he preached in the Streets of Straw earned him envy.”

Like how a clock turns, so did the twelve souls float around, and as they turned, they sang, voice layered upon voice to create the sweetest harmonies, harmonies that cannot be known unless one is already in this place of sweetness.

Chapter Text

O senseless mortals, how deceiving is the logic that leads you on as you fly, luring you close to the earth; that faulty logic which promises joys, but does not last! Do you not see that its fixation has drawn you farther from Paradise? 

Under this logic, one studies law, and the other studies medicine; one sets their sight on priesthood, and yet another seeks to rule, not caring for the use of violence or fraud in their pursuit. One becomes a thief, one becomes a politician, one is lost in the delights of the flesh, one is lazy and chooses not to do anything. 

It is a blessing that I have been delivered from such things, and was now in Heaven, greeted so warmly and accompanied by none other than Beatrice. As for you, my dear reader…you kind of have to find the right way by yourself. But I do hope that I helped you, somewhat. What would be the point of writing this down if it did not? 

The saved souls had ceased to dance, and returned to the same places when they began, like twelve vigilant candles in a chandelier. 

Before he started speaking again, Saint Thomas Aquinas smiled, glowing bright and pure, “Even as I grow bright within God’s rays, I can look into his mind and see your thoughts. I see that you are in doubt; you want a clear explanation for your questions, using easily understandable language, and limited to just enough words to not be too much of a hassle, while also not being too cryptic. With some patience, you will be granted this. 

“You are perplexed about two points. The first of which, when I said that Saint Dominic led me along the path that rewards those who follow it, and the second, when I said that there has never been one so wise as Solomon to rise into Heaven. 

“I will discuss the first point, and I must begin my explanation with Providence. God’s Providence rules this world with such wisdom that its depths cannot be understood by any living person; their minds fail upon encountering its fathoms. 

“And so, when the Bride of Christ, which is the church, wanted to go to her bridegroom, Providence made sure that they were to be wed with fidelity and Love.

“On the Bride’s behalf, God sent two princes to be her guides. Their task was to reform her. The first prince could be likened to one of the Seraphim, as he preached for people to embrace the Love of God by repenting for their sins. The second prince could very well be one of the Cherubim. He was wise, and he took the time to understand the words of God. 

“I will spend my time speaking of only one of the two,” Thomas Aquinas declared, “as praising one is the same as praising both. After all, the two princes worked towards the same goal: reforming the church.”

He was either about to talk about Saint Dominic, or Saint Francis. I had my bets on Saint Dominic.

“The first prince was born on a hillside. Therefore, let the world address the site not as Assisi, but as Orient, because it was the day of his birth that a sun rose into the world. Saint Francis—”

Dang it.

“—was passionate about the welfare of the lady that none willingly unlocked their doors for, much like how no one unlocks their doors for death. He helped her, even if it meant making his father angry, and the day came that he wed her. With each day spent in their marriage, he loved her more and more.

“That lady had been widowed once. Her first husband was one who graced this mortal realm eleven hundred years before Francis did, and only when that sun rose did she have another suitor. For eleven hundred years she was alone. 

“It did not help her chances when she was standing serenely beside Amyclas, who was lying in a bed of seaweed, when the man who would make the earth tremble—Caesar—addressed him. That lady suffered with Christ on the cross, even when Mary weeped below, and no one fell in love with her for her courage. 

“I hope that you do know of the lady I speak of, and know that the woman Saint Francis married was Lady Poverty, whose first husband was Jesus. Their marriage was happy and fruitful. Husband and wife lived in harmony, and their love inspired others to follow in their footsteps. Bernard was one of their followers, and even as he ran to them barefooted, he thought himself too slow. Giles and Sylvester followed as well, joining the brotherhood and family of the Franciscans. 

“Francis went his holy way with his wife and family. They wore the humble cord as a belt. He did not feel ashamed that his father was Pietro Bernardone, who scorned him and thought his marriage an ill-chosen one. But rather, like a king, Saint Francis appeared before Pope Innocent the Third and presented his order, upon which he was given its first seal. 

“His is a story that is better sung in the choirs of the Mystic Empyrean, but I will certainly try. After many of the poor began to follow him, the Franciscan order was officially approved before Pope Honorarius the Third. 

“He sought martyrdom in Egypt by attempting to persuade the sultan to change his ways. Miraculously, he was not put to death; instead, he was treated well by the sultan, who thought him a good man. However, because his advice was not heeded, Francis returned to the Italian fields, and there he received the wounds of Christ, the final seal which marked his life as one led with goodness. He carried them for two years before his death. 

“When God, who destined Francis to this goodness, was satisfied to draw him up into Paradise, Francis told his brothers to love Lady Poverty as he had loved her. That is the story of the first prince. 

“Now, consider the second prince. Saint Dominic, kept the church on course even when there were high seas all around. That was what our saint was like, and his true followers aided that same ship, seeing the value of its cargo.” Saint Thomas Aquinas burned a little dimmer. “As of now, that is not the case. Now, his flock is known for being greedy. His friars are like sheep that venture farther and farther from him to new nourishment, and when they return they yield less and less milk. Of course, there are still those who remain close to our shepherd, but to cowl them would take very little wool.  

“If my words were not too dim or distant, if you have paid attention, if you can remember what I have just said,” he smiled, “then you will have understood the answer to your first question.”

Chapter Text

No sooner did Thomas Aquinas stop speaking did the millstone that is the blessed souls begin to turn. Their revolution was not complete, however, when yet another twelve  souls joined them, motion matching with motion, song with song. They sang a song that was so sweet, it even surpassed those of the Muses or the sirens. 

Concentric rainbows appear in thin clouds when Hera calls for her handmaid, Iris, and the outer rainbow echoes the inner, bringing to mind the promise that God made to Noah, or twin garlands of everlasting roses. Like that rainbow of hope, so did the souls of the Sun circle us. The two groups carried on their dance as if they had rehearsed this for years; then their festival of song and flame fell still in a singular moment, like how the eyes can open and close at a moment’s notice. 

In the fresh silence, one of the newcomers opened his mouth to speak, and I turned to him like a needle towards magnetic north. 

“The love that makes me shine wishes for me to speak of the other reformer, because of whom my order was praised,” he began. “When one is brought up, the other should accompany, so that they are introduced side by side; after all, it was side by side that they fought.”

Oh, that’s exactly the opposite of what Thomas Aquinas said. I snuck a glance at him and saw that he was smiling. 

The new soul continued, “When the two arrived in the world, the soldiers of Christ were slow and uncertain, despite the fact that Jesus had spilled his blood for them, and few followed their flag. God, who always helps his ranks when they are in danger, sent the two princes to aid the Bride of Christ. They were champions who would reinvigorate the believers and with their preaching, bring new life.

“In the country of Spain, Saint Dominic was born. He was born within the walls of Caleruega in Old Castile, which bore the quartered coat of arms where the lion is both the sovereign and the subject; on one side, the lion is placed above a castle, and on the other side, the castle hovers over the lion. 

“Saint Dominic was a loving vassal of God, one kind to his own and harsh to his enemies. When his mind was created in the womb, it was so powerful that his mother received a vision in her dreams. She dreamt that she would give birth to a dog  splotched with black and white, which carried a torch in its mouth. That is where the Dominicans get their name, for Domini canes stands for ‘the hounds of the Lord’, and since then Saint Dominic’s followers have taken details from the dream as symbols of their order.

“Then, like Saint Francis, Saint Dominic also married. He married Lady Faith when he was baptized, and they pledged to each other mutual salvation as their dowry. His godmother, who answered for him during his wedding, dreamt that Dominic had a star upon his forehead. The star was a sign that he would guide many to the greatest good.

 “His name, even, echoes what he is. ‘Dominic’ means ‘belonging to the Lord’, and he was one who was moved to earth in order to be completely in the possession of God. He is one who was hand-picked by Christ to aid him in his garden.

“Saint Dominic was an exceptional messenger and servant of Christ, even from a young age. The very first interest he showed was in the counsel given by Jesus: ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit’. His nurse would find him sleeping on the ground, silent and content, as if to say, ‘It is for this that I have come.’

“His father was named Felix, which means ‘happy’, and his mother was named Giovanna, which means ‘grace of God’, good names considering that Saint Dominic lived in a world which studied not for what is eternal, but for titles like Doctor. It is in this environment that Saint Dominic became a great teacher, keeping watch over the vineyard for any withering. 

“And from the Pope’s seat, which has once been kinder to the poor, but is now inhabited by one who is unworthy of his title, Saint Dominic asked for something. He did not ask for the right to take two or three coins from the six that the church had, nor he did not want a benefice, nor tithes from the people, but he pleaded for permission to right the erring world, to serve the seed that flourished into the twenty-four you now see around you.

“When he was given this power, Saint Dominic threw himself into his work with both learning and zeal, unstoppable as a torrent of water hurled from the high mountains, striking where the heretics were the thickest. From the waters of his labors there sprung streams that have fed the church, so that its saplings may grow greener. 

“If such was this wheel on the chariot of the church, then surely you now see the splendor of the other wheel as well, who Thomas Aquinas had just praised so graciously before I showed up.”

The soul sighed. “Living one, I shall need to sour the mood with truth. The Franciscan order has aged like bad wine; where there should be crust in the barrel, there is now mold. The followers of Saint Francis used to follow him, but now their footsteps turn back. We are soon to see, at harvest time, that the grain will be gathered and the tare will be thrown out, out from Paradise! 

“I must admit, if you were to comb through our order like leafing through a heavy volume, you may yet find one who reads: ‘I am as I always was’, but those faithful are rare nowadays, and surely they are not to be found from either Acquasparta or Casale, where our rules are either too lax or too strict.”

“Know that I am Bonaventure, and I always put spiritual concerns first. Next to me are Illuminato and Augustine, some of the first to wear the cord and become friends of God. 

“Hugh of Saint Victor is here, as well as Peter of Spain, who glows with fame on the earth below with his twelve books. There is also Peter Mangiador, eater of books. 

“Here is Nathan the prophet, the Saints Anselm and Chrysostom, along with Donatus, who studied the art that was grammar. 

“The archbishop Rabanus is also here, and at my side shines Calabrian Abbot Joachim, who has the gift of prophecy. Thomas Aquinas—” Bonaventure looked at his colleague, “—has spoken of Saint Francis with love, and so I have responded in kind. It is with his love that we were summoned here.”

Chapter Text

To imagine what I see now, and retain that image like a steadfast rock atop the sand, visualize the fifteen brightest stars, which spill into the night sky around them with such radiance that the air’s opacity is ignored. Imagine the seven stars of Charle’s Wain, otherwise known as the Big Dipper, which can always be seen at night. Then, imagine the two stars that form the mouth of the Little Dipper, and all together, hold in your mind those twenty-four stars. 

Arrange them so that they form two circles around me and Beatrice, much like the constellation of the Northern Crown, which was given to Ariadne as her wedding gift. Those two crowns have corresponding radii, revolving so that one crown turns clockwise, the other turns counterclockwise, and every star set in its cool metal is a radiant soul. Through all this mental labor, you should have an inkling, a shadow of what their dance truly looked like. And a shadow it will remain for the living, as that sight outstrips people’s ability to understand like how the Primum Mobile far outstrips in speed the sluggish Chiana River. 

As the souls danced, they sang once again. They did not sing hymns to Dionysus, nor did they offer paeans to Apollo, but they sang of the three natures of God and the dual natures of Jesus, who was both human and divine. When they had finished with their praise, those holy lights turned their attention back to us.

The silence of the saved souls was broken by the same Thomas Aquinas who had spoken so fondly of Saint Francis. 

“One of your questions has been threshed, and the grain that it has yielded has already been stored in the granary. Allow me to thresh the second stalk, which was, I believe, confusion over my statement that Solomon was the wisest man to have ever arisen.

“You know that Adam was the first human being, that he was raised from the dust by God, and it was from him that God took the rib that became Eve. Any and all light that they could have been infused with was given them by their Creator. That same light was also given to his Son, who was crucified and injured with a lance, and thereby paid the price for all past, present, and future sins of humankind. Knowing that God’s light shone the brightest in those three, you wondered why I spoke of Solomon as the one to rise with the most wisdom. 

“Follow my reply closely, and you will see; truth is in both my words and your belief, and they do not contradict. Everything that does not die, and does die, is only the reflected light from the ineffable Idea that God created. The living light that pours forth from its Source never truly leaves it, nor does it ever leave from the love of God, because the act of creation is ongoing and eternal, and through its own goodness the entire world is enveloped in nine heavens, like mirrors reflecting one and the same Light. 

“From there, that Light trickles down until it reaches the end of creation that is not governed directly by God, but by the natural laws which he created. Those indirect creations are subject to the laws of Nature as soon as they are born, and as such they will inevitably die, like the leaves withering and falling every autumn, or bodies disappearing into the soil. 

“The wax that makes such things and what shapes the wax is not unchangeable; that is how it can be that in the same species, some trees bear better fruit than others, and how people are born with different traits. Nature is variable. She passes on that light to her creations disproportionately. 

“If that wax was prepared by a steady hand, however, Heaven’s power at its height, then the brightness of the result would show, as if to be completely translucent. Those creations, directly overseen and made by God, are eternal. That is how the human soul can ascend to Heaven after their earthly bodies have died. 

“When the Holy Spirit, the Father, and the Son act in unison, a being is granted perfection. In that way, the earth was once able to accept perfect living souls, and thus was the Virgin Mary given a child. So, I do agree with you, that human nature will never be the same as those who were perfected by God himself. 

“If I said no more past this point,” Thomas Aquinas continued, smiling, “then you may say: ‘Well, then, how is it possible that Solomon had matchless wisdom?’ So that the obscure can be made more plain, consider who exactly he was, and what he asked for from God.

“It was as a king that Solomon asked for wisdom to rule well. He did not ask to know the number of angels, he did not ask whether or not a contingent premise combined with absolute law can yield an absolute conclusion. Solomon did not ask if there was a First Mover who started all motion, or if, within a semicircle, one could inscribe a non-right triangle with the diameter as its base. He asked specifically for the wisdom that would allow him to serve his people, and he received it. Without a doubt he is the greatest in that field, even more so because there are few kings, and even fewer who were good. 

“And, if you were to turn your eyes to the word ‘arisen’, in my statement that none have ever arisen with the same wisdom as Solomon, you will see that this logically only applies to ordinary people. The two ancestors of humanity and Jesus did not arise from organic processes; life was breathed directly into them by God. Take my distinction on this matter, and see that it follows what you first thought. 

“Now, let this serve to weigh down your steps, so that you may move as slowly as a weary man when you have to choose between what is true or false, and you are not certain of the answer. Know that, whether they should affirm or negate the truthfulness of a statement, the person who decides immediately is among the most obtuse of souls. Opinions can careen to the wrong side quickly, and one’s own affection for their opinions can bind themselves, restraining their mind from accessing what is true. By being quick with conclusions, people leave the shore far worse off than the complete beginner, who fishes only for the truth but lacks the skill. No, these hasty people will be left without as wide a sea, and without as deep the waters. 

“Of this, Parmenides, Melissus, and Bryson are clear proofs to the world. Parmenides believed that the moon was the source of all things, Melissus believed that motion did not exist, and Bryson attempted to square the circle. There are also Sabellius and Arius, who misinterpreted Scripture. 

“So, then, let people not be too swift with their judgment, and let them not count ears of corn before the harvest, for I have seen that brier which remains full of thorns through the winter, to bloom into roses afterwards, for I have seen a ship sail with favorable winds all across the sea, to finally collapse in its harbor. Let people not think that they share the knowledge of God when it comes to the fates of sinners or saints; for the saint may yet fall, and the sinner may yet rise.”

Chapter Text

Water ripples from the rim to the center, and from the center to the rim in a round vessel when it is struck in the right places. That was brought into my mind because the twenty-four souls seemed like the rim of the bowl, and Beatrice and I were the center. Once Thomas Aquinas had finished with his explanation, the ripples reversed direction, because Beatrice, like that holy light, could anticipate what I was about to say before I could say it.

“He has not said it clearly yet, not with his speech or his thoughts, but this man wishes to reach the roots of yet another truth,” Beatrice announced to the twenty-four souls. “Tell him whether the light that blossoms from your soul stays with you eternally, and if so, on Judgment Day, how spirits reunited with their bodies will not be harmed from gazing upon such radiance.” 

Like how dancers who are filled with happiness lift their voices or dance with greater exuberance, when those twenty-four souls heard my request, they glowed brighter and threw themselves into joyous dance and song. Whoever weeps because they are afraid of dying only weep because they have never seen these blessed showers. 

They sang of the Three, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, not enclosed by the world but enclosing all. Their praise was repeated thrice, and their singing could be sufficient reward for any merit.

When they fell silent, the brightest light from the circle of Thomas Aquinas began to speak in a modest voice: “Living one, I am Solomon, and I will try my best to answer your question. For as long as Paradise lasts, Love will serve as our shining garment. Our brightness comes from how much love we have and are capable of experiencing. When our flesh will be reunited with us, and we emerge sanctified, we will be all the more pleasing to God with our completeness.

“Therefore, on Judgment Day, the light that the Highest Good grants to us will be enhanced, and our vision of God will improve from it; so will our Love grow from that perfected vision, and so will our brightness grow from our Love. 

“Yet, even as coal births flame, and outshines it within the fire, so will the brightness that envelops us be surpassed by the brightness of our reborn bodies, which the earth still lays claims to. We will not tire from witnessing such radiance, as all of the body’s organs shall be strengthened in the pursuit of everything that can bring delight.”

Both choirs were quick to say “Amen” to his words, and I could see in the speed of their response how they longed for their dead bodies, maybe not for themselves, but also for their mothers, fathers, and other people they held dear before they became eternal flames. 

And, look! Beyond where the two circles of lights already encircled us, there seemed to be yet another group of souls who were converging around the outermost ring, like the luster of a brightening horizon. The sight could have been both real or unreal, but all I knew was that my eyes could not handle it.

Beatrice looked at me and smiled; from her loveliness I was able to see things again, and the full glory of those souls was lost to the sands of my memory. 

Looking up, I saw that we were now in a higher heaven, alone with my lady. Within my heart and in the language that is shared to all, I gave my thanks to God for allowing me to see this new grace. Though my thanks was not yet complete, I knew that it had been accepted when two rays of light appeared before me, blazing with scarlet flame, and they were so bright that I cried: “O Helios, you who adorn them thus!”

In the depths of Mars, the rays were arranged in the shape of a cross, specifically the Greek cross, which had arms of equal length. Here what I can remember defeats that which is within my ability to describe; I could see Christ on that cross, and his burning was such that I cannot articulate it. If you ever arise to Heaven and see this same Cross for yourself, you would forgive me for being so sparse with my words.

That Cross was made with thousands of souls. They moved from side to side and from summit to base, like fishes swimming in the current, their scales glittering like gems. 

And like how specks of light, differing in speed and size and shape, mingle about in the sunbeam that the lowered shades accidentally let in, so did those souls move about, and just as the harp or viol, which produce sweet harmony with their chords, yet do not offer distinctness to their notes, so did those souls sing. Their song, which they sang with many different voices, suggested a melody to me, but I could not identify what hymn it was. 

I knew the song involved praise, because I caught the words “rise” and “conquer”, but I was one who hears, yet cannot seize the sense. Even if I could not understand, I remained entranced by their music, because before then I had never been bound with such gentle bonds. It was like the song itself was reaching out and hugging me, so that all the air around us was an embrace. 

My words may seem presumptuous to you, because it seems that I have deemed the lovely eyes of my lady a lesser thing, but if you were to note that her gaze gains force the higher we ascend, and that I had not yet turned to them in Mars, then you can excuse me, just like how I accuse myself here and take the opening to forgive a moment later—Beatrice’s beauty becomes greater the higher we reach. 

Chapter Text

Selflessness will always see with it the breath of righteous love, love that grows as it is shared, the opposite of this generous will is coupled with greed, which brings joy only to the one who takes. 

Those souls on that cross had that generous love in abundance, as they imposed a silence over their sweet music, quieted their consecrated chords, so that I may speak to them; if not, how will I fare, as the man who grieves and leaves behind such love, to seek things that do not last? 

Like how a meteor shoots across the tranquil night sky—a fire that seems like a runaway star, except from the place where it began its dash nothing is lost, and it is short-lived—a soul moved away from the right arm of the cross, but did not leave that constellation of souls. Instead, he moved across the arm and down to the base of the cross to get as close to me as he could, looking like a flame veiled with pure alabaster. With the same speed did the shade of Anchises reach out to his son, Aeneas, when they were reunited in Elysium. 

“O blood of mine, O grace of God, has there ever been one as you, for whom the gates of Paradise have twice opened?” he cried. 

I stared at him, then looked at my lady, and was stupefied, for with the blessed smile that showed itself in her eyes, I felt that I had reached the height of joy. 

The spirit who arrived started to speak. He spoke of things so deep and so convoluted that I could not understand. He did not deliberately choose to be confusing; there are things in this world that require confusing language to explain, else they could not be explained at all. Plus, he was in the Kingdom where minds could reach farther than they could than when they were tethered to the earth below. 

When he let sympathy stay his full wisdom, and his speech dropped to a level that I could comprehend, these were the first words I understood: “Blessed are you, God, Three Persons in One, who shows so much favor to my descendant!”

He’s one of my ancestors? 

The light around him flared up to become almost unbearably bright. “I have awaited your arrival ever since I read from the Book of Fate, in which both black and white are never changed. I am so very happy that you are finally here!” 

He turned to Beatrice and said reverently, “And I will also have to thank you, lady, who has gone through so much to bring my blood here. The Almighty knows how much trouble this boy has caused you.” 

“It was nothing,” Beatrice said back, smiling. 

“And I will have to give you my utmost gratitude for that nothing,” he faced me again. “You believe that I can see into the mind of God, and that your thoughts funnel from His mind to mine. That is why you do not ask who I am or why I seem to rejoice more than the other souls to meet you.

“By the way, you are correct. All souls in this realm gaze into that Mirror where, before one says it aloud, their thoughts are already apparent. But for the love that I keep for you, please do let me hear your voice. That would be very nice.”

I turned to look at Beatrice. Before I could say anything she smiled, which was all I needed.

I faced him and began, “As soon as you ascended, both your intellect and your love were balanced, so that there was nothing you loved that you could not fully extol in language or song, because God is the Sun that brings light and heat as well as Equality, whereas in mortals this is not the case. My words compared to what I truly feel must seem to you wings that are feathered disparately. I, as a mortal, feel this inequality, and so it is only with my heart that I can offer thanks for your paternal greeting. And yes, I do beseech you—please let me know your name.”

The soul looked fondly at me. “It is so wonderful that our family has a poet. Oh, little branch that I have waited for many a year, I am your root. The man who gave you your family name, Alighieri, has circled the first ledge of Purgatory for a century and more; he was my son.”

My eyes widened at the knowledge to my extreme detriment, because my great-great-grandfather was shining like crazy. 

“You know, great-great-grandson, you really should give prayers to him, so that his long toil may be shortened,” he said thoughtfully, “also, I wish to speak of Florence.”

Oh, no. I cringed and braced for what was to come. 

“Back in my day, Florence drew in the sober and chaste in her ancient ring of walls, and everything was peaceful. There was none of that necklaces, tiaras, embroidered gowns nonsense going on with the women,” he declared, gesticulating with an emphatic hand. “All of the ladies wore outfits that did not draw the eye more than they themselves did. Back in my day, fathers did not go bankrupt because of their daughter’s dowries, and the girls were married at the right times. There were no families that did not have children, and Sardanapalus, that whore-like King of Assyria, did not yet teach people how to behave in the bedroom. Not yet did Florence surpass Rome.”

He looked sadly at me, and shook his head. “The Florence of your days, little branch, will surpass Rome in its rise as well as its fall.”

“Wait, what?”

My ancestor continued as if he didn’t hear anything, “Back in my day, the nobleman Bellincione Berti wore a simple belt of leather that was clasped with bone, and his wife didn’t paint her face in her mirrors. I saw Nerli and Vecchio, content with their suits of unlined skins, and their wives working at the spindles. Oh, the wives were all certain of their burial place in Florence, and none of them were left alone in bed, for their husbands had not gone to France to make money. 

“One woman might soothe her child with baby-talk in the cradle, and another might tell her family stories as she works at the spinning wheel, tales of the Trojans, Rome, Fiesole. 

“In my day, the poems of Lap Salterello, or the words of the sluttish Cianghella would have shocked the people, just as how the deeds of Cincinnatus and Cornelia would leave the people of today in disbelief. They would not understand Cincinnatus, who led troops to protect Rome, then relinquished his power to go back to being a farmer, or the stories of goodness that Cornelia left behind.”

He paused for a moment. “Enough about this melancholy matter. You wished to know about me. Know that my mother gave birth to me in Florence, and I was christened Cacciaguida. I had two brothers, Moronto and Elisio, and my wife came from the valley of the Po, from whence she brought your family name. In my later years, I served the Emperor Conrad, and I fought in the Second Crusade. There, on the battlefield, I was cut down by our foes, and having died a martyr, arose to this peace.”

Chapter Text

In the living world, sentiments are weak and prone to fall into error, so if I see the people below taking pride in their noble lineage, I should not be amazed—because even up in the Paradise where desires cannot go awry, I too felt that pride. My ancestor was an honorable man, and I was delighted in the knowledge that I was related to him; yet as surely as my blood matches with his, I knew that I was not him. 

If the nobility of one’s character is a cloak, then by all means, it wears out quickly. The only way to preserve this frail fabric is to patch it up, and the only way to sew those patches is to practice goodness like you would practice stitches, to go through every detail of life while holding a careful needle, for if you do not, time has its own set of shears that cuts away at this cloak, and that tailor does not pause for anyone. 

I began my response to Cacciaguida with the word “voi”, which was more in use before than today as a term of respect, and at its utterance Beatrice smiled like the woman who had guessed at what was between Guinevere and Lancelot. “You are my ancestor, and you have given me the confidence to speak, and to be more than what I am. So many streams of happiness fill my mind now that I must be grateful I can hold them all and not burst! Please, founder of my family, tell me who your ancestors were and what kinds of things happened back then. Tell me of the Florence you remember, because I dearly wish to know more; how many people were there? Who was in power?”

Like how a coal will sprout into flames when winds breathe past, I saw Cacciaguida brighten in joy, and before my eyes he seemed to be a soul transformed. His features became more pleasant to behold, and his voice grew gentler, sweeter, like a harp that was well cared for. 

And so, he began: “From the day that ‘Ave’ was said to Mary, to the day that my mother gave birth to me, this red planet has revolved in its orbit five hundred and eighty times, thirty of which were spent under the paw of Leo.” He smiled. “I know you can’t calculate that right now, so I will say that I was born in the year 1091. My ancestors and I were born just along the path that the runners for the annual races would take, and that is all you will need to know about them. Of their names, and from where they came—I will keep my silence on those topics. 

“Those who were capable of bearing arms, between the statue of Mars and the baptistery of Saint John, were about one-fifth of what their numbers are like now. But, the citizens—who are now mixed with the Campi, the Certaldo, the Figline—were all Florentines down to the humble artisan. It would be better if Florence remained between Galuzzo and Trespiano, instead of expanding so much,” he grumbled. “That way, the stench of Baldo d’Aguglione the salt-stealer, or Fazio of Signa the swindler, need not be inhaled by the citizens. 

“If the officials of the church had not seen the Emperor with eyes of a cruel stepmother, and instead had treated him like a mother to her son, then the newly established Florentine trader would have stayed in Semifonte, where his fathers begged for scraps, the Counts would still be the lords of Montemurlo, the family of Cerchi would still be in the Acone’s parish, and likewise, perhaps even the Buondelmenti family would remain in Valdigreve; but they are not. This Florence has suffered much, for what? The squabbling of the authorities, when they are the very people meant to solve disputes in the first place? 

“The Florence I knew did not expand needlessly, but now she is under the pressure of too many people, like how eating too much food is not good for digestion. She is like the blind bull rather than the blind lamb, not knowing where she is being directed, but being led to her doom with many voices instead of few. Do those people not see that sometimes, a single blade can slay foes faster than five? 

“Consider the cities of Luni and Urbisaglia, and how they went to ruin, as well as Sinigaglia and Chuisi, which follow behind. Think about how families can be undone, and you will find that there is nothing strange about cities meeting their end too. You, along with all the things that you possess, only possess one fate and that fate is death. It is simply that for some, death comes slower, so there is the illusion to those whose lives are short that they are immortal. 

“As the moon conceals and reveals itself through countless cycles, so does Fortune show her capricious tendencies in Florence. Therefore, it is not something to wonder when I tell you about the noble families of Florence when I was alive, and you do not recognize any of their names. 

“I remember the Ughi, the Catellini, Filippi, Greci, Ormanni, and Alberichi. I also saw the dell’Arca, the Sannella, and Ardinghi, Soldanieri, and Bostichi. Nearby the Gate of Porta Dan Piero there lived the family of Ravignani, who gave birth to Count Guido and the good Bellincione. The della Pressa knew how to rule, and the house of Galigaio was gallant. There were also the houses of Giuochi, Galli, Barucci, Fifanti, and Sachetti. The Donati family, who are powerful now, sprung from the Calfucci. I remember the Sizzi and Arrigucci being in high offices. 

“Oh, how great were the families that I saw, before pride laid them low! One such family was the one that bore gold and blue on its coat of arms, the Lamberti, whose descendants now grow fat off the vacancies that bishops leave in their palaces, for solely the purpose of sitting around in their consistories, not to guide the people who come to them. 

“In my day, there was a family that Ubertin Donato was loath to see his wife’s sister married to. That same family has now grown into a dragon that chases those who flee from it, and to whoever shows them their purse, loses their teeth and becomes lambs. 

“The Caponsacchi had already come down from Fiesole into the markets of Florence, and Giuda and Infangato were already citizens of note. The della Perra—now that was a great family!—had the inner city gate named after it. Is that not incredible?

“There were five families who bore the arms of the great baron, whose memory is now celebrated at the feast of Saint Thomas, and they received knighthood from him; although now there is one by the name of Giano della Bella who left his fellow nobles and sided with the populace. Because of that, he was banished. 

“I remember the Gualterotti and the Importuni, both great houses of Florence.” Here Cacciaguida sighed. “Oh, if only the Buondelmenti did not arrive. Without them, it would still be tranquil there. Buondelmonte de' Buondelmonti’s union with the house of Amidei was, as you know, ignored in favor of a woman from the house of Donati. That is where your sorrows began,” Cacciaguida said sadly, looking at me. “With the murder of Buondelmente by the forsaken bride’s family, years of peace and gladness ended in Florence, and I wished that it had not happened! It would have been so much better if, when Buondelmente first approached the city, he fell in the Ema and drowned; so much better for the sake of Florence, that poor bride,” he shook his head, “you.”

“But Florence, in her last moments of peace, was fated to offer up his body at the foot of Mars, who stands at the bridge as a statue.

“In the Florence that I lived in, there was no cause to weep, and the families were just. There was never an occasion where Florence’s lily was turned upside-down on a conqueror’s spear, to be dragged over the battlefield. I never saw the white lily backed with red, or the red lily backed with white; it makes no difference. The Guelphs and Ghibellines stain Florence with blood and in the fighting there is no telling them apart.”

Chapter Text

Phaёthon was raised without knowledge of his divine heritage. When he heard the rumors that he was the son of Helios, he went to his mother Clymene for assurance, and ever since he took the reins of the sun chariot, fathers have been wary of the requests that their young make of them. But that isn’t the parallel that I want to draw.

As bewildered as Phaёthon was and as much as he wished to know the truth, such was I before Beatrice and my ancestor Cacciaguida, and such did I appear to them. 

So, Beatrice turned to me and said: “The questions that burn within you—let them out. Show us their flames and your mark upon them; not that we need to know what you will reveal, but so that you may learn to voice your thirst, and be all the more satisfied when it is quenched by the water we pour.”

“O dear root,” I said to Cacciaguida, “you rise so high that you can see into the mind of God. Just like how mortals can see clearly that there cannot be two obtuse angles in a triangle, you can see every moment that could ever happen.”

I took a deep breath to steady myself. “When I was still with Virgil, both on the slopes of the mountain that heals and in the bowels of the dead world, I heard some…vague and ominous predictions about my future.

“I must say, after hearing so many dire prophecies, I feel as firmly planted as a cube against anything that Fortune might throw in my direction, but I need to know what exactly it is she is throwing,” I paused, “and I would be greatly appreciative if you would tell me. After all, the arrow that one sees coming is dulled in force.” 

 Prophecies given before the killing of Lamb of God were mazes of words that ensnared fools in its twists and turns, but Cacciaguida responded with clear and straightforward language, all the while wearing a smile of paternal love. 

As he smiled he answered, "Contingency, which does not extend beyond the boundaries of this world, is all seen by God. He sees everything that has, is, and could be, but this does not imply that people’s actions are predetermined; God merely knows of every possible outcome, and does not intervene to shift you on your course; when a ship moves across the waves, it is not powered by the eye that is fixed on it, but rather by how her sail is positioned to catch the wind. 

“From the Vision that I have access to, just as how an ear receives gentle music from an organ, I see what time has prepared for you.” 

Cacciaguida grew grave, and he declared, “As Hippolytus was forced to leave his Athens from the accusations of his cruel stepmother, even though he was innocent, so too must you depart from your Florence.”

What? 

What?

I must have been very dazed, because he said gently, “This fate is already willed, sought for, and soon to be accomplished by a Pope, who—every day—plans how Christ is bought and sold. Do not be overwhelmed with grief, as this has been willed, and what is willed, you cannot change. 

“The blame, as usual, will be reaped by the injured party, instead of the ones who sowed its seeds. If it is of any comfort, know that in due time, vengeance will bear witness to the truth that wields it.”

I kept listening, even though the words passed through me. 

“You will leave everything that you have loved so tenderly, and this is only the first arrow that the bow of exile has to shoot. You will learn how bitter bread not from Florence tastes, for there will be too much salt, and you will know the quiet pain of ascending and descending stairs that do not belong to you.

“What will be the hardest for you to bear, however, will be the scheming and mutterings of the senseless company you keep, who will share your fall. They will turn against you, and they will be mad and profane. But soon after this, it will not be you, but them, who are revealed with brows of scarlet. Of their reckless acts, the consequences will serve as proof. 

“The two parties war without reason, and their warring is wasteful and mindless; do not be tempted to join the battle just for the victory of the moment. And so, little branch, know that your honor will be best kept as a party of one.

“Your first refuge and inn will be granted by the great Lombard, Bartolomeo della Scala, he whose coat of arms is adorned with the eagle and the ladder. His care for you will be such that, where asking and then giving is the norm with others, the latter will come before the former in his house. 

“Beside him, you will see his younger brother, Cangrande della Scala. Since birth he has received the blessing of Mars, and he will do remarkable things. People do not yet notice him, because right now he is only a boy of nine years, but before Pope Clement tricks Emperor Henry, some sparks will have brought light to him and his virtues, as one who is unafraid of toil and uncaring of silver. His generosity will be so widely known that even his enemies would not fail to acknowledge it. When you meet him, look and trust that he could do these things, as his gifts will bring great change—with him, beggars will be raised up and the rich will be brought low.” My ancestor brought his voice low. “Now, I will tell you more of Cangrande della Scala, but you must promise that you will carry it in your mind, and that you will not write or speak of what you hear.”

I nodded and listened to what he had to say. When he was finished with that, he added, “Descendent of mine, what I have foretold is what shall befall you. You have heard the snares that lie in your path, and yet I will not have you envy your neighbors, for your life will be brighter and reach beyond the punishments that they will suffer from their treachery.”

With his silence, Cacciaguida showed that he was done speaking, and I was able to weave what I had learned into my web of knowledge. 

I was still doubtful. I needed more reassurance from this soul who sees all, and who cares about me.

“I see how time is hurrying towards me to deal a blow, which would be most agonizing if one was not prepared beforehand. Then, let me be armed with foresight,” I said. 

I was silent for a while. 

“If my dearest place will be taken from me, perhaps I should stay the sting of my words so that I will not lose the rest. From below in that bitter underworld, and on the mountain from which I was drawn upwards by my lady’s fair eyes, and even so on planet from planet, I have learned much. If I were to retell what I have heard, then for many the taste will be too harsh to the tongue. Yet, if I were simply a fair-weather friend of truth, I fear that I would not be remembered by those who will call this present the ancient past.” 

Cacciaguida smiled, and his smile dazzled like a golden mirror in the sun. He replied, “People who have dark consciences, either from theirs or another’s guilt, will indeed find your writings harsh. But nevertheless, set all falsehoods aside, the major and the negligible alike. Let everything you have seen be spoken for, and let those listeners scratch at their own itch, if it comes to it. For, as the saying goes, the best medicine is bitter. At the first taste, your words will hurt. In the end, they will be digested and become nourishment. Your outcry will be the rough wind that crashes against the loftiest peaks, and that is no little cause for claiming honor. 

“Therefore, within these spheres, on the ledges of the mountain, and the circles of the pit, you were shown the people of note, and it is with their names that you must write, because the mind of one who hears your words will not believe you if the examples given were hidden, or the arguments too dim.”

Chapter Text

By now, Cacciaguida was happy that I was going to write down what I saw, and in that silence I started reeling in earnest. 

I will be exiled from Florence. I will be exiled. The word itself is unreal, it is foreign, it flies with wings made from dreams. What? How could I leave everything that I had ever known, how is that possible? 

Well, at least I won’t die in battle. Or get punished for my writing. Or—Oh, how does any of that compare to the awful knowing of what will happen, yet only being able to watch as it all goes down? No! I can’t do this. I can’t leave my city!

“Shift the direction of your thoughts,” Beatrice said softly, her voice like the loveliest of melodies. “Remember, you are in Paradise right now. We are close to God, who makes light every burden and unjust hurt.”

I turned to face her, and I will have to leave untold the love that I saw in her eyes; I do not trust my words to bring justice to the sight. Such love cannot be recalled in the living world—much less experienced—without the help of the divine. 

This, however, is what I can tell. Her eyes took their light from the Eternal Loveliness that illuminates the heavens. As I gazed at my lady, I wanted nothing else than to float there and look forever. 

“Do not act as if my eyes are the only things in Heaven,” Beatrice said, smiling, and with her smile she conquered my will. “Turn around, and listen to your ancestor.”

 As on Earth, when sentiments are so strong that they take hold of the soul and betray it by showing on the face, so did that holy fire seem eager to speak more to me when I turned back around. 

“Think of Heaven as a tree,” Cacciaguida began. “It is a tree that has its crown in the Mystic Empyrean, and grows down from its crowns to form the spheres with its evergreen leaves and branches that never stop bearing fruit, down to this fifth sphere. Here are blessed souls, who, in their time down below, garnered such fame that they could be the subjects of poems, and the poem thus enriched. 

“Look at the cross, along its horizontal arm. As I name souls, they will shine briefly as they race across its length, there and gone like lightning crackling in a storm cloud.

“There is Joshua, the successor of Moses in their journey to the Holy Land, conqueror of Canaan and Jericho.”

As Joshua was named, I saw a soul suddenly glow white-hot and tear through the arm of the cross, then disappear among the other splendors.

“There is Judas Maccabeus, who led battles against the invading Syrians, and who restored the Temple of Jerusalem.”

At this name, another light whirled across, looking like the spinning top that a child plays with. Even from here, I could tell that happiness was the whip that made him turn. 

“There is Emperor Charlemagne, the restorer of the Western Roman Empire, as well as Roland, his nephew, who fought against the Muslims and was the bearer of the horn.”

And so, a pair of souls flashed brightly as they flew. I tracked their course like how a falconer tracks the falcon’s flight. 

“There is William of Orange, the advisor of Charlemagne. He won much glory in battle. Renouard is the light accompanying him. There is Duke Godfrey, a leader of the First Crusade and the first king of Jerusalem, along with Robert Guiscard, adventurer.”

With those final flashes of light, Cacciaguida left me to take his place in the cross. Once he had returned and mingled with the other souls, they all began to sing, and I turned to the right to see if Beatrice had any instructions for me on what to do, but instead I witnessed such purity in her eyes, such beauty, that she was yet the most beautiful that she had been. I thought that there is no way that she can surpass herself, but each and every time, Beatrice is like the butterfly that goes through metamorphosis, and sheds her previous appearance for a more radiant one. 

As a person who does good deeds and realizes that they have grown happier, so did I become aware that my orbit around Earth was faster, at a different arc—because Beatrice had moved closer to God. I recalled how the bashful blush of a woman leaves her face, and so did I notice that the reddish hue of Beatrice’s cheek, reflected by Mars, faded to the pale white of Jupiter.  

In that sixth heaven, I beheld souls who formed words in the sky. 

Like ducks that waddle onto shore as a group, as if celebrating the good meal they just had, will form shapes with the way they are positioned, so did those saintly lights arrange themselves into the shape of letters. I saw a D, an I, and then a L. 

Their work was diligent and steady—in their flight to their respective locations, the souls sang, and when everyone was situated into one glowing letter, they halted and floated midair in silence. Then, when they seemed satisfied with their achievement, they broke off to form the next letter, singing as they did so. 

O divine Muses, you who grant glory and long life to works, and by extension to cities and kingdoms, give me your light so that I may remember these signs. May your power appear in these brief lines!

The message that they formed was composed of thirty-five letters, eighteen vowels and seventeen consonants. It was “DILIGITE IUSTITIAM QUI IUDICATUS TERRAM ”, or, “love justice, you who judge the earth”. 

When they had finished with their labor, the souls stopped in the shape of M, which was golden against the silverness of Jupiter. 

Other souls began to flock over. They settled into that letter’s apex, so that it soon resembled one of its kind written in the Gothic style. The song was carried on with them, singing about, I think, the Good that draws them to Itself. 

Then, like how a burning log is struck and sparks fly out in coughing droves, that M suddenly dissolved as the lights that made it up surged forth in thousands of individual pinpricks. The second group that arrived last stayed behind.

Some climbed higher, and some flew low; the end result was a striking image of an eagle’s head and neck. God needs no guide as he paints, he guides himself; he also guides the bird as it builds its nest, and here he guides the souls in their movements.

The second group, after some pause, followed their peers to complete the eagle. 

Even though I was told against it, I wanted to believe that Jupiter had the powers anyway. O gentle planet, with you and your priceless gems, it is made plain to me how much justice you have engendered on Earth! I pray to God, who in which your motion and virtue originates, that he will see the places where smoke rises to diffuse your rays of justice. I pray that he will feel wrath, so that once again his anger will fall righteously on those who buy and sell in the temple, forgetting that the walls which surround them were built from miracles and martyrs! O Soldiers of Heaven, who I see now, do pray for those who have lost their ways! 

Once, people waged war with swords. Now war is fought by ones who would excommunicate others and deny from them the bread that the Father would not deny to anyone. 

And you, those who excommunicate only to rescind later, remember that Peter and Paul died to save the vineyard that you now spoil, and that they are alive in this Kingdom. You may say that your heart was set in the ways of John the Baptist, but we all know that his image is also on the face of the florin, and it is thus that you know not of the Fisherman or Paul!

Chapter Text

The souls before me, happy in their blessedness, had already coalesced into the shape of a gigantic eagle with its wings spread fully. Each soul was a ruby embedded in its feathers, in the sense that their light was like the sun’s rays reflecting off the facets of the gemstone and beaming into my eyes.

Reader, what I must tell now has never been spoken of, written down, much less conceived by imagination—for the beak of the eagle moved then in speech, and it used “I” and “mine”, while “we” or “ours” could have convinced just as easily.

And the eagle began, “As I was both just and merciful on Earth, I was raised here to the glory that cannot be surpassed. The memory I left there was such that even the evil praise me, although they do not follow my example.”

Thus from the gatherings of embers a single warmth is felt, and so from that eagle’s mouth the chorus of loves solidified into a great, reverberating sound. 

I was awestruck, but I had to continue the conversation, so I said: “O everlasting flowers of eternal gladness, who emit the many fragrances that appear to me as one, do deliver me from that fast that I have held for so long. I know that although God’s Justice shows itself better in another sphere, you still retain the vision that allows you to see it without its veil. As such, you also know how deeply I crave my answer, and you know without a doubt what has caused this hungering within me.”

When the hood is removed from the head of a falcon, it looks about and flaps its wings in its eagerness to fly. So did this bird of prey do the same, despite it being not of flesh and bone, but woven from praises and song. 

A brief verse of music was warbled by the eagle, and it spoke, “God was the one who made this world and marked its boundaries as he set a compass upon the depths; within this world he placed many things clear and obscured. And yet, he could not give his creations all his Power, as it is impossible to imbue a limited vessel with infinite goodness. 

“Lucifer was the highest of creatures, and in that knowledge he was prideful, but he could not see with perfect clarity the Light that made him, like the moth that throws itself onto the flames yet does not understand its consuming heat. If he had been patient and waited for God to grant him the grace to know, he would have never rebelled, but alas, Lucifer fell unripe. 

“If a being such as Lucifer could fall, any lesser being, then, is all-the-more meager of a container for endless Good. Because of this, your vision and the vision of all mortals cannot see further than what God manifests, and therefore, living souls can only see into Eternal Justice as far as eyes can see into the depths of the sea; for though the shallows are visible, the true seafloor is hidden.

“God, who shines unobstructed from Heaven, is the one truth. All else is darkness, or shadows of the flesh, or the poison that derives from that. There. The hiding place of Justice has been revealed to you, where it has hidden whilst you bombarded it with a volley of questions.

“And now, I shall say aloud what you have thought and wished an answer to.” 

The eagle shuffled its wings and spoke. “A person is born along the banks of the Indus River; there is no one there to speak, teach, or write of Christ. And, as far as human reason can see, over the course of their life what they seek and what they do is good—no sin taints them. That person dies, unbaptized and without faith. They are denied Paradise. 

“What justice condemns them to such a fate? Where is the sin that they have committed? Is the crime of not knowing enough to condemn a soul? 

“This and everything else you ask, living one. Now,” the eagle turned its head to look squarely at me, and boomed, “tell me. Who are you to sit on the bench that is a thousand miles away, and pass judgment on what is beyond your comprehension! Who are you to question the doings of God, when your vision covers the length of a palm and is so woefully incomplete?”

The eagle’s words shook the very planet. I hurriedly shook my head and looked down, partly in shame, and the other part in fear. 

“Truly,” the eagle continued, the bevel of its speech no less sharp, “only if there was no Scripture to guide you would I allow such doubt. O earthly animals, and your obtuse minds! The Will of God never strays from the Supreme Good, and everything just is in accordance with that Will, not the other way around. Good which has been created by mortal hands may yet draw the attention of God, but it is from God that all Good shines.”

After a mother stork has fed her children, she circles above the nest, and the fledglings look up at her; so did that eagle move its wings to leave, the movement spurred by many wills. I craned my neck to see it circle around us, singing. 

When it had finished singing, it said: “As it is with God’s judgment, my songs are past understanding to you mortals.”

Wow. I winced. Didn’t have to rub it in like that. 

The eagle landed and was still. It recommenced, “No one without belief in Christ has ever risen to this kingdom, either before or after He was crucified. There are many now who cry ‘Christ! Christ!’ who will be farther from Him on the Day of Judgment than the person who does not ever hear His name. On that day, the pagans will cast aside those ‘Christians’ who had access to the keys to Heaven, but did not even bother to use them. In their suffering, the latter will seem poor, and the former will seem rich.

“What shall the pagan Persians say when they have read the Book of Judgment, which records the misdeeds of your kings? There one will see the name of Albert the First, who sets the pen hovering just above the page, so that when he makes a desert out of Prague’s kingdom the pen will leap to inscribe the evils he has done.

“In that book, they will see the misery that Philip the Fair brought to France, who tampered with the value of coins to fund his campaigns. They will see how he falls from his horse when a wild boar spooks it. 

“The fighting between the Scots and the English will be recorded there, as their leader’s arrogance drives them to do so. This will be done at the cost of their people’s lives.

“The luxurious and debaucherous life of the Spaniard Ferdinand will be seen, along with Wenceslaus of Bohemia, who never knew valor and never wanted to know it.

“That book will show the Cripple of Jerusalem, Charles the Second. His good deeds will be marked with the Roman I, and his evils marked with the Roman M. 

“They will see the avarice of Frederick the Second, who ruled the island of fire that is Sicily, on which Anchises ended his life. To recite the entirety of his deeds, the writing used will have to be miniscule and packed, to note so much pettiness in so little space.

“All will also see the filth that was Frederick’s brother and uncle, who dishonored both their nation and their crowns. 

“The kings of Portugal and of Norway will be seen, along with the king of Rascia.” 

The eagle said cryptically, “Hungary has a good ruler right now, and will be happy as long as that does not change. Navarre is happy now, and will be happy as long as her mountains serve as armor around her. 

“If Navarre needs any proof, all she needs to do is look to Nicosia and Famagosta, where the people lament and rage against the beast who calls himself a ruler, racing to outstrip the others on the race to wickedness!”

Chapter Text

When the Sun, who graces the world with light, leaves the skies so that there is no trace of her to be found, stars appear to take her place. The stars burn with their own lights, much like that of the Sun. 

I remembered this when the eagle ceased to speak, for although its blessed beak fell silent, the splendors that made up the eagle shone in their own differing beauties. Those souls sang, and as they sang their lights swelled and ebbed like the tides. 

I cannot recall what it is they sang of; all I know is that the music was sweet. O gentle love that wears a smile as its cloak, how clear was your image in the melodies of those flames, whose thoughts were fixed only on what is holy! 

Those precious jewels—who are embedded in the sixth heaven—ended their angelic song in silence. Actually, not total silence. I was picking up on the faint murmuring of moving water, like how a stream in the mountains first reveals itself through its sound before its sight. 

That sound moved steadily up the body of the eagle, reaching its neck. As music takes form in the lute’s neck or in the vents of a bagpipe with simply the rush of air, so did that noise float through its neck as though it was hollow, and rise to the beak to be spewed out as words. I took what it said to heart.

“Look at my eye,” the eagle commanded, “the organ that, in mortal eagles, can bear the Sun’s force.” It moved closer to me and angled its head so that I could see. “I ask you to do this, because the souls that make up my eye are the six who hold the highest rank among us.”

I did as it asked and looked intently at its eye. 

“The one who gleams in the center of my eye, an area otherwise known as the pupil, was the singer of the Holy Spirit. He is David, both king and poet. He bore the Ark of the Covenant from town to town, and now in Heaven he knows the merit of his poems.”

David shone brightly for a moment, and then the eagle shifted to move its eyebrow—well, technically, birds don’t have eyebrows, but this is really the best way to put it without using “supraorbital ridge”—into a better view. 

“There are five flames that form my brow,” the eagle introduced. “The one closest to my beak is Trajan, the one who comforted the widow and exacted revenge for her son. Now he knows the price that one pays for not following Christ, both by the experience of this Paradise and its opposite.”

Wait. Trajan has been in Hell?

“The next soul is Hezekiah, king of Judah. He was on his deathbed, dying of sickness, when he shed tears in true penitence. God heard his prayer and granted him fifteen more years to live. Now he knows that what God plans does not change, although worthy prayer can make what would have happened today happen tomorrow.”

Hezekiah got fifteen more years to live? Because of a prayer?

“The third soul is Constantine, emperor of the Roman Empire. Despite his good intentions behind moving the capital, he spawned evil fruit; the Popes saw his absence in certain parts of the Empire as an opportunity to seize power. Now he knows that the world has been ruined by his actions, and endures knowing that he is the only one who does not suffer from his own doing. 

“William the Good is next. He was the king of Naples and Sicily, and the land that he once ruled now laments his death, for they will now have to bear the rule of Charles and Frederick. Now he has learned how Heaven loves the just ruler.

“And finally,” the eagle said gleefully, “let me ask you this. Who, in that world below, would ever think that the last light in my brow to be the Trojan Ripheus?”

What? 

“He fought with Aeneas, and he was cut down by the invading Greeks. Now he has learned much about God’s grace, grace which the living world cannot understand, even though his sight of it is not perfect.”

What? What? What?

Larks sing before the break of dawn, and fall quiet after their performance as if satisfied with the music they have created for the day. Such did that eagle seem to me; it sang, and then rested. 

My doubt could have been seen as easily as any colorful surface behind clear glass. It could not wait, the question was eating away at me. 

With urgency that weighed like stones, the words were pushed from my mouth: “How is this possible?”

At that, I saw the lights before me flash in varying hues as if they were eager to answer my question. They settled back into their standard gold when the eagle shifted. 

The eagle’s eye had grown brighter, and it said: “I can see that you believe the things I have said, but do not understand why they happened. And so, even though you believe, the truth remains hidden. You are like one who recognizes a concept by name, but does not know its meaning unless someone wiser explains.”

“The Kingdom of Heaven suffers from violence, yes,” the eagle laughed, “but not from swords nor arrows. Heaven is defeated with love and hope, and defeat is a good thing here, unlike how it is in the earthly realm. God wills it thus so that his mercy can be won. 

“You were amazed at the appearance of Trajan and Ripheus, and you do not understand how they can be here. It may serve to mention now that they did not die as pagans, as you believe, but as Christians.” The eagle continued, sounding amused, “Trajan had faith in the feet of Jesus that had suffered from his crucifixion, and years before in the Trojan War, Ripheus had faith in his feet that were yet to suffer.”

They died Christians? How?

“When Trajan died and was sent down to Limbo, Pope Gregory prayed on behalf of his soul so fervently that God resurrected him and gave him another chance at life. Trajan returned to his flesh and believed in God with such fires of love that when he died for the second time, he was deemed worthy to join the choirs of Heaven.

“Ripheus, on the other hand, was a well so deep and full with love for justice that no one has ever managed to plumb that love dry. His love was such that God granted him a vision of humanity’s redemption, and he became a Christian. He believed. In his belief he hated those who continued with the pagan ways and spoke out against them. 

“Although he lived a thousand years before baptism, he, in a sense, was baptized by the three virtues, whom you saw by the chariot’s wheel. Faith, Hope, and Love carried out the ceremony, for the love that he had paid to them.”

The eagle sighed, and said, “O predestination, how far off you must seem to those who cannot see the Primal Cause in its entirety! God knew who was saved and who was doomed from the very beginning.” 

This can’t be. 

“Mortal, do hold your judgment, for even though we see God, not even us saved souls in Paradise know who he has chosen. This incomplete knowledge we treat as a sweetness, for if we do not know what will happen, then we can act with our free will to serve God, and we delight in the fact that whatever God wills, we will do.”

From that image that God drew, I received sweet medicine, and I saw my ignorance plainly. 

But…I thought that the best medicine was bitter.

As a lutanist accompanies a singer, one with trembling strings, and the other with a pure voice, so did those two pagan souls dance to the eagle’s words, their lights flickering like eyes that wink knowingly, happy and in Paradise.

Chapter Text

I turned my gaze back towards Beatrice, and by looking at her every thought receded from my mind, the sea bottom laid bare so that all the bones whispered her name. Maybe she would smile at me?

She did not smile. 

I was devastated. Did I do something wrong? 

“Were I to smile,” she explained quickly, “you would be incinerated, like when Semele asked to see the true form of Zeus. You must remember that my loveliness grows as we get closer to God, so even as we ascend I become more radiant. If I did not hold myself in check, my untempered beauty would kill you; your mortal vessel would react like a tree being struck by a lightning bolt.”

Oh. I relaxed, because this meant she wasn’t mad at me. 

“We are now in the seventh sphere of Heaven, which is now positioned beneath the great lion,” Beatrice continued, “Look up, and let your mind follow your vision, so that your eyes become mirrors for the lights that the mirrors here reflect!”

I was still looking at her, and my eyes delighted in her beauty. Reader, if you understand how stunningly beautiful my lady is even when she is not smiling, then you might also understand how I perceived it as the greater joy to comply with her command. I did dearly wish that I could keep looking, but to be able to do what she said was an honor that I could not resist, even if it meant turning my mind to things lesser than her. 

We were within a planet draped with the blue of crystals, which bears the name of Saturn, the god who ruled the world during the Golden Age. I saw a ladder, which rose up so high that I could not see the end of it. That ladder was a bright gold, as of gold left in the sunlight. 

There were countless souls descending this ladder, so many that I thought all of Heaven’s stars had poured out in this glorious, fiery flood. 

Crows stir at the break of dawn and fly to find other crows. With the exercise, they warm their feathers and dispel the chill that the night leaves behind. When they have done this, some fly off and never return, some fly back to the point where they started the day, and yet others had not left from that point in the first place, as they were wheeling around it the whole time.

But, what is important is that for a moment all the crows are in the same tree, the same clearing. That was what I was reminded of when all the splendors halted their step on a certain rung of the ladder, and they were one throng of radiance. 

The flame who was closest to us flared brightly. 

I took care to formulate coherent sentences in my head, all the while staring somewhere in the distance so it wouldn’t be awkward. I see the love that you are clearly showing to me, but my lady, who tells me when I should speak and when I should be silent, has not yet given me permission to talk to you. So, even though I do really want to ask you what you want to say, I will not. 

Beatrice sees into the Mind of God, the grandest mirror that reflects knowledge of all things there is to know of. In that mirror, the reason for my silence was not at all difficult for her to discern. 

“Do satisfy your burning longing,” she said to me, and I felt that she would have smiled if the very sight did not turn mortals into piles of ash. 

I turned to that soul. “I am not worthy of a reply to my questions, but please reply anyways, for Beatrice is the one who gave me permission to ask. You, blessed soul, please let me know why you have drawn so close, and tell me why this sphere is silent, when the rest of Heaven resounds with song.”

“Your hearing is just as mortal as your sight,” the soul replied. “Lady Beatrice has had to withhold the true might of her beauty, and for the same reason we do not sing. Our music would make you drop dead, or worse, drive you mad. As for your first question, know that when I descended from that staircase I only wished to greet you. I am not here because my love is the greatest—above me are souls who burn brighter than I—but because Providence has assigned to me this task, and we accept with eagerness tasks from God.”

“O sacred lamp,” I said to him, a little abashed, “I see how, within this court of saved souls, it is of free will that love is given to fulfill divine Providence. But this is difficult for me to grasp; why are you alone, out of all the souls who make up your ranks, the one who was predestined to this?”

 I had yet to reach the final word of my question when that light spun swiftly in place. “God’s love showers on me, and its power joins with my sight, lifting me so far above myself that I can see the High Source from which that power derives.” That soul gleamed in satisfaction. “From this Source comes the joy that I am aflame with, and the clearness of my light matches the clearness of my vision.” 

“But even the most enlightened Seraph, with their eye most set on God, cannot answer what you have just asked. Your answer is hidden so deeply in the abyss of God’s mind that its access is cut off from every being that he has ever created. 

“When you return to the mortal world, tell them this, so that people may stop treading towards that reachless goal: minds in Heaven are clear, and they are clouded with smoke on Earth. Think, then. If minds in Heaven cannot see the answer that you desire, then what hope do mortals have?”

His words had so utterly destroyed any hope of me getting an answer that I withdrew from that particular battlefield, and instead asked humbly who he was. 

“Not far from your homeland, there is a place called the monastery of Fonte Avellana, which once devoted itself to the worship of God,” he explained. “There, I served God. I ate food that had only been seasoned with olive oil, and I could bear with ease the heat or the frost, happy to contemplate the divine in quiet. That place used to produce many souls who would later go to Heaven, like fertile harvest, but now it is barren, and the punishment of the heavens will soon reveal this.

“There I was called Peter Damian, but on the Adriatic shore I was known as Peter the Sinner. I was on little life when I was dragged by the Pope to take the hat of the cardinals, a garment that seems to pass only from bad to worse people. 

“Once upon a time there were Saint Peters and Pauls, who walked barefoot and took their food where they could find it. But now, the pastors are so plump that they need a person to prop them up on one side, another person to prop them up on the other side, a person in front, and finally a person in the back to make sure that their prodigious backsides don’t slide off the saddle. Their cloaks cover their steeds, so that there are really two beasts under one skin. O God, you tolerate so much!”

Peter’s words had summoned many other souls, who spun as they walked down, and each revolution made them fairer. They joined Peter on his rung, stopped, then raised a cry so loud and so deep that there is no apt description for it. I could not even hear what it was they said—any meaning was lost within their sorrowful thunder.

Chapter Text

The shout of the souls made me instantly get closer to Beatrice, like how a little child scurries to their mother when they are scared. And like a mother, who is quick to reassure her son with her soothing voice, she said, “Do you still not understand that you are in Heaven, how holy these heights are, or how righteous zeal is behind every action taken here? Now that you have experienced how jarring a cry from us is, think about what would have happened if we were to sing or smile at you.”

I nodded and breathed in a less-shuddered breath. 

“And if,” she continued, “you were to understand the prayer concealed in their cry, by now you would have known that God will wreak vengeance upon the unworthy, and that you will be able to witness this vengeance before your death.

“To the wronged, it may seem that it comes too slow, and to the guilty it may seem that it comes too quick, but the sword falls from Heaven with neither haste nor delay; it will arrive at exactly the right time. 

“Turn your sight towards the other souls now,” Beatrice instructed. “If you are to do this, you will find many people of note.” 

I did as she wished, and saw a hundred lights looking expectantly at me, like a hundred little suns. Such proximity did not dim them; their glory was shared as each of them grew lovelier from another’s light. 

I stood like one who represses the spur of their desire, because I feared offending anyone more than I wanted to ask. And so the question was gutted on the ground. 

The largest and the most radiant among those pearls ventured towards me, like he could give me the information I wanted. 

“Were you to see, as we see, the charity that glows within us,” he said to me, “you would not have hesitated to voice your question. But to avoid any waste of time on your journey, I will answer what I saw in your thoughts when you halted yourself.

“On Monte Cassino there were once pagans who were deluded and awry. I am the one who was the first to carry the name of Him to that peak, who brought truth onto this earth. Grace shone on me, and I was able to also rescue several of the nearby towns from the mistaken worship that had so seduced the world. I am Saint Benedict.

“The other flames who are with me are all contemplatives, people who were kindled by that Love which brings blessed flowers and blessed fruit.” Saint Benedict paused. “Here by my side is Macarius, one of the Desert Fathers who spread the monk’s way of living in Egypt. Here is also Romuald, who fled into the arms of God when he witnessed his family turn on each other in violence; his monasteries are many. They are my brethren, who stayed their steps within the walls of the cloister and kept their hearts steadfast.”

“The affection that you show in speaking to me,” I responded, “and the kindness that I see in your flames, has given me so much confidence. You are like the Sun, who gives its warmth to the rose so that it may bloom to its full majesty. Therefore, I have the courage to raise the prayer; father, can you let me see your unveiled face?”

“Brother, your desire will be fulfilled in the highest spot of Heaven,” he promised, “as shall the longings of the other souls and my own. There in the Mystic Empyrean each desire is perfect, ripe, and intact. In that final sphere, all wishes are granted, and all longings are sated.

“The Mystic Empyrean does not revolve around a pole, nor does it exist in space; that place follows the law of God and God alone. Our ladder,” Benedict pointed behind him, “stretches up to there, and that is why you cannot see where it ends. Jacob was the one who dreamed that such a ladder existed, and that the angels ascended and descended between the two realms with it.”

His voice grew disgruntled. “But now, no one would even lift their feet to climb this ladder, and my Regula Monachrum—Rule for Monks—is left to waste the paper it was written on. What once were abbey walls are now robber’s dens, and what once were cowls are now sacks filled with rotten flour. 

“Even usury is a sin not weighed as heavily in God’s eyes as the greed that makes monk’s hearts go insane!” he cried. “For everything that the church keeps should be for the taking of any who need it, not for relatives or concubines. The flesh of mortals is supple and yields so easily…on Earth, a good beginning does not necessarily mean that the sapling lives to become a mature oak. So it is with monks, and before my eyes that tree is plagued with sickness. 

“Peter began with neither gold nor silver. I began with prayer and fasting. When Francis formed his order, he did it humbly. If you note where it started, and where it strayed, you will see how quickly white went to gray. 

“Yet, the divine intervention needed to save the church will not be the greatest there has ever been. After all, God once made the Jordan flow backwards, and he willed the sea to part for Joshua.”

Saint Benedict drew back to the others, who stood tightly together, so that when the whirlwind came it swept all of them up the ladder to the Mystic Empyrean. 

With a simple flick of her hand, Beatrice swept me up the ladder with her. We traveled at unthinkable speed; never was there any motion as quick in the living world, for Paradise was not governed by laws of nature. Faster than a finger can poke into the flames and immediately jump out of it, we were floating in another sphere. 

I recognized where we were instantly. 

O stars of glory, the constellation that steeped me in my talent, whatever the worth of it is! I have heard that the Sun was with you on that day. She hid behind you when I tasted the Tuscan air for the first time. It fills me with joy to know that you, out of every other star in the night sky, are the lights that I see now! To you, my soul sighs in devotion, so that I may complete this trial that demands my every strength. 

Gemini!

“We are not yet in the Mystic Empyrean. You are so close to the final blessedness,” Beatrice said to me, “that you ought to have a clear vision. Thus, before you go farther, look downward. See the world arrayed beneath your feet, so that your heart may present itself with all the joy it can to the triumphant souls.”

I looked down, and I saw through the seven spheres that we have traveled through, and I saw Earth, a scrawny globe. Compared to the heavens, that place seemed so lacking that I smiled.

I saw the moon, radiant without any dark sides, and I could steadily look at the Sun. Circling around her, I saw Mercury and Venus. Jupiter was between both his father and his son, Saturn and Mars, and I saw clearly how they changed their positions. And so all seven heavens showed themselves to me, in their vast size, their speed, their distance. That threshing floor which we struggle savagely on was all revealed to me, in its hills and valleys and oceans and cities. 

I turned and looked at Beatrice again.

Chapter Text

Picture a mother bird, who sits next to the nest of her hatchlings, which she built among beloved branches. The night is old, and the sleeping forms of the baby birds are difficult to make out, but she is awake and watchful. She moves along her branch—looking out—and waits for dawn to arrive, so that she may find food to feed them with. The task is grueling, and the babies are ravenous, but the mother bird will do it anyway because she loves them. 

So did my lady stand with the same alertness as that mother bird, staring at the part in the sky where the Sun is not given to her usual speed—the zenith. On her face was a wistful look of longing, like she was waiting for something. I looked up and I hoped along with Beatrice for whatever was going to arrive.

But I did not have to wait long; the time between the beginning of my wait and the brightening of the heavens was brief. 

“There,” Beatrice declared, “you can see Christ’s triumphant host, and all the fruits that were harvested by him!”

It was like her face was lit with flame, how suddenly her features gained the excitement that came with dancing fire, and there was so much joy gathered within her eyes that I will have to leave the sight undescribed. 

When the skies are clear the Moon smiles, surrounded by her nymphs, and together they decorate the night. 

Like that but during the day, I saw a Sun above a thousand lamps, so bright that all the lamps were dim compared to him, like how our own Sun surpasses the stars in her glory. That Sun was so dazzling that I could not look at him, though I was quite used to that already, so I responded by averting my eyes. 

Beatrice, my sweet and dear lady, said to me: “The Power that overwhelms your senses is none other than Jesus Christ, who no one can shield themselves from. He is the wisdom and omnipotence who opened up the roads between Heaven and Earth, which had been desired by humankind so dearly.” 

Lightning parts from its cloud when there is no longer space for its energy to reside, and it lashes across the air like a freshly unreined beast, descending against its nature to the earth. 

So did my mind, when it was confronted with the sight of Christ, expand. It was an uncomfortable sensation, to say the least; my head felt like it was exploding, and there was a sound echoing around with swift, clean snaps. I clutched my head with my hands. It hurt so much. But the crackling just grew louder and louder, like peals of thunder on a summer afternoon, like defiant roots digging through soil, like the pummeling of rain on rooftops, like the hatching of an egg and being forced to feel the pain of its shell.

It was over. My mind felt different, but I could not tell you how. 

“Open your eyes, and look at me,” Beatrice said softly. “What you have just witnessed made you strong enough to bear the power of my smile.”

I opened my eyes and saw Beatrice smiling. 

It was like being woken up from a dream. I may have forgotten the details of her smile, and try in vain to recall what those things were, but I will never forget the graciousness of her offer. 

As for what kind of dream it was, I will try my best to elaborate. If every line of art or prose inspired by the Muse of Songs and her sisters flew to my aid right then, the combined efforts of those silver tongues would not amount to even a thousandth of her smile. In the face of her beauty, any description falls before it reaches those unreachable heights. 

Therefore, in my poem about Paradise, I will have to skip over this part due to necessity. I have a weighty theme to carry, and the shoulders that it rests on are very much mortal; do not blame me overly if, under my burden, I tremble. This is not a voyage for a tiny boat, it is a treacherous sea that my vessel now cleaves across, and the journey is not for a captain who would think first of saving themselves. 

“Why do you stare at me so intently,” Beatrice admonished, “as to deny yourself the sight of this fair garden, blossoming before us under Christ’s rays? Look! There is the Rose, the Mother Mary, who gave birth to the Word of God made into flesh. There are the apostles, who are like lilies; with their fragrance they led people along that righteous way.”

With her urging, I dared to look at Christ and once again took on the battle of my weak brows, determined to not let my eyes fixate on what is below. 

Reader, have you ever stood in a meadow—the kind that isn’t populated by anyone except for wildflowers—and watched as the Sun decides to peek out from behind her blanket of clouds? Have you felt surprised at how covered in shadow everything was before, when, in that careless movement, her light falls like a clear stream from the broken clouds and spills onto the flowers in a colorful cacophony? 

That’s what it looked like when I saw those troops of splendor, flowers glowing with the Love that rained from above, but the source of that Light had now gone. I felt a rush of gratitude and muttered quick thanks to Jesus, who could only have ascended back to the Mystic Empyrean. Thank you, O kindly Power, for sparing my eyes the glorious sight that they could not have weathered! 

That was when I heard the name of that fair flower, Mary, who I pray to every morning and evening, and I witnessed the light of the living star who reigns in Heaven like she reigns on Earth. 

An angel, burning like a torch, descended through the air and began wheeling about the Virgin’s head like a crown. Whatever melody that sounds sweetest on Earth, the song that plucks the most heartstrings, would seem like the brutal ripping of stormclouds by lightning compared to the angel’s music; he was the holy lyre in the garland of the Sapphire who makes all the heavens into pure blue gems with her Love. 

“I am the angel Gabriel,” he sang, “and I wheel around the Joy who delivered from her womb the dwelling place of all our desire. So shall I circle, Lady of Heaven, until you follow your Son to that final sphere, which will become ever more divine with your presence.”

So did that circulating song conclude, and all the other souls sang the name of Mary. 

The cloak of that supreme sphere which encompasses all the spheres of Heaven was above us. There, the breath of God is the most burning it could be, without getting to the very Source of his breath. It lies between the Fixed Stars and the Mystic Empyrean, and it is called the Primum Mobile, or the Crystalline Sphere, named after crystal for the fact that there is no heavenly body that exists within its boundaries. 

However, the inner shores of the Primum Mobile were a great distance from us. When Mary and Gabriel began to rise, I soon could not see them as my eyes did not possess the power to track them that far.

After an infant has been nursed, and, with their pudgy arms outstretched, looks at mom with all the love that can fit in their little eyes, so did all the souls left behind in this sphere stretch their flames skywards, and the deep love they shared for Mary was made plain for me. 

They began singing “Regina Caeli ” with such tenderness that I have never forgotten it. 

“Queen of heaven, rejoice, alleluia.

“The Son you merited to bear, alleluia,

“Has risen as he said, alleluia.

“Pray to God for us, alleluia.”

O, the abundance that those coffers now overflow with, after their lives of faithfully sowing on the earth below! Here they live, delighting in the treasure that they have earned with bitter tears. Here, under the Son of God and Mary, there are councils of both the ancient and the new, and standing with them is Saint Peter, the keeper of the keys of glory!

Chapter Text

“O fellowship selected to feast at the Lamb’s banquet, where He feeds you as to fulfill every possible need, hear what I have to say now,” Beatrice said to what remained of the holy congregation. “By the grace of God, this man has been given the foretaste of the crumbs that fall from your table before death appoints for him his time. Therefore, consider his immense thirst, having tasted of the pleasures but having not taken his fill; you who drink from the fount of eternal Truth, I ask that you quench him somewhat.”

And so, those delighted souls started spinning in place. They burst into fresh flames as they spun, looking like comets with their fiery tails. Additionally, some souls spun faster than the others, and some spun slower, like the innards of a clock; the innermost wheel can seem to be motionless compared with the restless turning of the outermost wheel. In their brightness and the speed of their dance, those dancers gave away to me the bliss that they were experiencing. 

From the group that I saw who were greatest in their love, there came forth a flame that none rivaled in his happiness; that flame whirled three times around Beatrice, singing a song so divine that my mind could not hold its shape. Therefore my pen will have to skip over this part. No feat of imagination, or combination of words, would be able to replicate the beautiful shading used on that piece of art.  

“O holy sister, who implores us with such sincerity,” he declared, stopping his revolutions. “With your warm affection, you have released me from my axis of rotation. What is the knowledge that you see fit for this mortal?”

“O eternal light to whom our Lord bequeathed the keys to eternal gladness,” Beatrice responded, “he is at the point where he needs neither lessons nor lectures, but requires a test.”

“Do test this man in faith, the same faith that enabled you to walk on water. Ask him questions both light and grave, as you please. It is not hidden from you that he loves well, hopes well, and has faith, through the Place that displays everything. But because this kingdom gains its citizens with true Faith,” she decided, “it should fall to him to praise Faith, so that he may glorify it.”

On that day of reckoning, the student arms themselves with arguments and does not speak, not until the master poses a question, when it becomes their duty to respond. They are supposed to discuss the point put forth, not settle it. If their responses are deemed satisfactory, they get their bachelor’s and are permitted to further their studies. I was like that hopeful student; even as Beatrice was speaking, I was collecting every nugget of knowledge I had on faith, so that I might stand a chance before this questioner and his questioning. I wanted to pass!

And, like all tests, the first question arrived when I was still not quite ready. 

“Good Christian, tell me,” Saint Peter breathed, “what is faith?”

At the question I raised my head to steadily look at the administrator of my exam, and then I turned to Beatrice, whose glance told me to answer as best I could. 

I moved my gaze back to Saint Peter. 

I said a quiet prayer, the same kind as the one echoed in the minds of every single person who has ever had to take a test. “O Grace that allows me to be tested by the Great Centurion, do also let my thoughts flow true!”

Then, I answered, “Father, I will quote the words written by the truthful pen of your brother Paul, who, with you, set Rome on the righteous road: ‘Faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen—that is its quiddity’. This is also my opinion.”

“You understand correctly, if,” he responded, adding the extra twist like tests are wont to do, “it is also clear to you how faith is taken as substance first, and evidence second.”

“The deep things that I witness here are hidden from the sights of those below,” I argued, “and so the only sense they can exist in there is the sense of faith, on which every high hope resides. Thus, faith is a substance, in that it is the foundation of hope. 

“We reason from this faith, and with it we deduce truths that we could not otherwise uncover, as faith is the basis that cannot be questioned. It is the axiom that spawns all theorems, and with the validity of its theorems there is evidence for our faith.”

Saint Peter sighed, and wiped a tear from his face. “If only all the souls below understood faith as well as you. Then, the faulty arguments of sophists would not be possible.”

“Now,” he continued, “we have already gone over the alloy and weight of the coin of faith, so answer me this: do you have it in your purse?”

“Of course. I carry it with me wherever I go, and that coin is so bright and round that there could be no possibility of doubt,” I answered him.

Saint Peter’s light gleamed. “It seems that you hold it precious, as you should, as Faith is the pillar on which the other virtues are supported. Tell me then, what is the origin of this fair gem?”

“The abundant nourishment that fell from the Holy Spirit rained down onto both the Old and New Testaments, and that by itself is proof enough to make all other proof seem shallow.”

“What was the term again?” Saint Peter laughed to himself. “Yes. I remember. I shall play the devil’s advocate.” He stared at me. “And why are the Old and New Testaments so conclusive, that you would take them as the word of the divine?”

“They are proof to me because they document miracles. With Nature there is no such thing; she cannot heat the iron or beat the anvil that makes such miracles, so the only way the miraculous could have happened is by divine intervention. That is the basis of my belief.”

“Say, who can assure you that those works are real?” Saint Peter sounded amused. “The miracles that you speak of—they must be proved to support your stance, but there is no way to prove them.”

Easy. I could just ask you, I thought silently. You were there.

“If much of the world converted to Christianity without the performance of miracles,” I said instead, “that would be a vastly greater miracle than what is claimed to have happened in the Testaments. The existence of a miracle such as that would serve as solid proof for the existence of God, even though we are talking about a hypothetical world where the miracles of God did not take place. Therefore, the miracles written in those sacred texts must have happened, by proof of contradiction. I recall that you yourself went into the field when you were poor and hungry, and there you sowed the seed of faith. It was once a flourishing vine, but now it is covered in thorns!”

With my answer given, the high and holy court sang “Te Deum Laudamus”, and the call of “One God we praise!” resounded through the spheres.  

The one who examined me, that baron leading me from branch to branch, was now nearing the last leaves. 

Saint Peter spoke again, “That Grace, which lovingly directs your mind, has led you here thus far, and I approve of all that you have said. But, I have one last request. Declare what it is you believe, and where you received your belief from.”

“O holy father, you who outraced the younger John to the tomb of Jesus, and whose belief is now fulfilled in Heaven,” I began for a final time, “you want me to declare the form of my belief, as well as its source. I believe in the one God, who is sole and eternal. He is the Unmoved Mover who moves all the heavens with his Love and the love for Him. For this belief I not only have truths physical and metaphysical, science or philosophical, but I also have the truth that rains from Moses and his Five Books, from the prophets, the Psalms, from the Gospels, and from the letters that were given to you by the Holy Ghost.

“I believe in the three Eternal Persons, and I believe them to be of one Essence, so that they are single and threefold at the same time; the Gospel told me of this, and it is the origin, the spark that has since then grown into a vivid flame. It is like a star in Heaven, and it shines in me.”

Saint Peter laughed in unfiltered joy, flying at once into the air. He wheeled around me three times, blessings and music escaping from his mouth. Such was his happiness at hearing my answers.  

Chapter Text

If it could happen, if this divine poem that I write—in which the hands of both Heaven and the earth have played, this work that I have gone lean through long years for—could ever overcome that cruel brood of wolves, who exile me from that fair sheepfold I once slumbered in as a lamb! If only my words could flood the land to rid it of its brambles, and with a different voice and different fleece, I return not as criminal or enemy, but as poet!

And as poet, I shall stand before the fount of my baptism and take for myself the laurel crown, for it is there that I entered that faith which makes souls welcome to God, the same faith that made Saint Peter circle my brow thrice. 

From that band of Christ’s first-fruits, the ones he left behind to be his vicars, a light moved towards us. 

Beatrice announced to me happily, “Look, look! It is said that his body was left to float away on a ship, but was then guided by an angel to land. There he was buried, and there his tomb stands. He who approaches is the baron for whom Galicia is sought after in pilgrimage, Saint James.”

When a dove settles next to its mate, the couple will indulge in their love by circling and gently cooing to each other, and so did I see those two great and glorious princes exchange greetings. Then, they sang their praises to the banquet that nourishes eternally on high. 

After the pleasantries were done, Beatrice and Saint James stopped before me quietly, and both were so aflame with light that my vision was defeated. 

Beatrice smiled, and addressed Saint James, “Illustrious soul, you wrote of the generosity of this lofty realm, and you know deeply the matters of hope and benevolence. Thus, let your knowledge of Hope echo again at this height, for among the three whom Jesus picked to rise above the rest—John, Peter, and you—you were always the figure of that virtue.”

Another test? 

“Lift your head up,” Saint James said softly to me, “and be assured. Whatever comes from the mortal world has to ripen in our radiance, not burned, stunted, nor harmed.” 

At his comforting words, I raised my eyes to meet those mountains, whose greatness had once weighed them down. 

“Our Emperor, out of his grace,” Saint James began, “has willed it so that before your death, you may face his nobles in his innermost halls. He does this, so that when you see our court in its truth, you may strengthen yourself and others with hope, that force which spurs the love of goodness in that world below. 

“For the sakes that belong to you and the mortals you shall write for, tell me,” his light fluttered, “what is hope? How does it blossom in your mind, and from what source did it come to you?”

My compassionate guide, who led my feathered wings here to Paradise, stepped in for me. 

“James, really,” Beatrice shook her head lightly, “there is no need to ask how well the flower of Hope blossoms within him. A question like that only begs for an answer of pride. However, I will still see to it that all your queries are fulfilled.”

My lady said to Saint James, her words ringing, “There is no child of the Church Militant, those believers who still live on Earth, with more hope than this man, which you can see in the mind of the Sun whose rays reach all our ranks. It is because of this that his pilgrimage from Egypt to our Jerusalem was granted, so that he may have vision of it, before he is finished with the wearisome war of life.

“The other two questions, which were not asked for the purpose of providing you with answers, but so that he may please you in his response, I leave to him,” Beatrice glanced at me. “For he will not find that they are difficult, nor will he find cause for arrogance. As you have asked, let him reply, and may God’s grace help him in his task.”

Like a student answering his teacher on a subject that he had studied for and was willing to discuss, so that his proficiency may be revealed, I responded, “Hope is the certain expectation of the future glory in Paradise, a result of God’s grace and the merit we have earned. This truth came to me from the lights of many stars, but the first to instill it in my heart was David, the highest singer of God. 

“‘May those,’ David sings, ‘who know your Name, put hope in you’. And who would not know it, if they possessed the same faith that I have? Just as he inspired me, so did you teach me of hope in your Epistle, so that I am full and rain again your rain onto other souls.”

While I was speaking, the light that held Saint James gave several brilliant flashes, like how lightning cracks suddenly against stormy skies. 

“The love,” he said, pleased, “I still hold for that virtue which was mine—until I received the palm of martyrdom and departure from that battlefield below—wills it so that I speak more to you, mortal who takes such joy in Hope. I would welcome words that tell of what Hope promised you.”

I replied, “The new and ancient Scriptures define the goal of Hope for the souls who befriend God; for me, that goal is what is promised to us by Hope, and what Hope promised, like Isaiah said, is that the chosen will one day wear the double garments of body and soul, and their land will be the sweet land of the blessed. Your brother, Saint John, writes of the white robes in Heaven with words more direct, and has made Isaiah’s revelation clear.”

As soon as I had finished speaking, the Psalm rang throughout Heaven from the lights who floated above me, spreading from one voice to another. “May those who know your Name put hope in you!”

One of those lights brightened, so bright that, if the Crab had a star like it, the month that it remains in the sky would have all days and no nights. And as how a young maiden would join the dance to honor the new bride, that splendor speedily went to James and Peter, who were already dancing in a circle to music that best suited their love. 

As they danced, Beatrice watched them, like a bride who is silent and motionless. 

After sufficient time had passed, she mentioned, “This new soul is he who laid upon the breast of our Pelican, and he was asked by that same Pelican, who was on the Cross, to that task of caring for Mary—he is Saint John.”

My lady spoke thus, and even though she was talking to me, her gaze was not to be diverted from what it was fixed on. 

Like someone who looks at a solar eclipse and in the process, blind themselves, so did I try to look at that latest flame. Ow. My eyes.

“Why do you daze yourself to see something that is not here?” John exclaimed. “My body is not with me in Heaven, as the rumors say, but back on Earth where earth covers it, and it shall be there until the number of souls here reaches God’s tally. Only two souls have ever ascended with their flesh attached, and you shall carry these words back to your world.”

When he began to speak, his circle paused in their dance, and so, too, had their song ceased—that beautiful mingling of their threefold breath. It reminded me of how the oars of rowers stopped in unison when the whistle was blown to signal for danger, or simply for rest.

Oh, and I was very disturbed, when I turned to look at Beatrice and found that I could not see at all, even though I was so close to her and in Paradise!

Chapter Text

I was busy being worried about the fact that I was blind, but then the bright flame who had blinded me in the first place spoke, and I chose to be attentive to what he said.

“Until your sight is recovered,” Saint John advised, “let conversation serve as recompense. Do tell me, what is your heart set on?”

After a slight pause, he added, “And do not worry. Your vision, although overwhelmed, is not dead. The lady who leads you through Heaven has the same power in her gaze as the power that guided the hands of Ananias, which he used to restore Saul’s sight.”

“May my lady cure my eyes as it pleases her,” I gushed. “I don’t care if solace comes sooner or later; the greatest purpose that my eyes have ever served was as the gates that opened when she walked through, and brought with her the fire with which I always burn.”

Beatrice may have stifled a noise, but I do not remember now. 

“As for your question, Saint John,” I continued, “my heart is set on the Greatest Good, who provides your court with contentment. I love the Good that is Alpha and Omega of all writings, which Love has read to me in voices loud and low.”

It was that same soul, who had reassured me after my dazzlement, that made me elaborate further. “You certainly must sift with a finer sieve,” John breathed, “tell me in more words more precise, the whos, whats, and whys of directing your bow to aim at such a subject.”

“My love came from philosophy, as well as the authority that descends from this realm,” I answered, “so that it placed its seal upon my heart.

“Goodness, as long as it is understood, engenders love, and when there is more goodness, there comes greater love. Thus, the mind of anyone who can discern this truth should also be moved to love that Essence, that Supreme Goodness, more than any other love that they hold dear—for any good that lies outside of that Light is but its reflected radiance.

“This truth was made plain to me by Aristotle, who demonstrated that the first love that eternal beings held was for their Maker. So, too, did the omnipotent Author state this, when he speaks to Moses of Himself: ‘I will make all my goodness pass before you’. You reveal this yourself when you begin your Evangel, which, more than any other proclamation, educates the earth on the mysteries of Heaven.”

“Through human reasoning, and through the authorities that agree with it,” Saint John said, “you conclude that your highest love is given to God. But, tell me if there are even more cords that draw you towards Him; voice aloud the many teeth of Love that hold you fast.”

The intent of that Eagle of Christ was not hidden to me, and I was aware of the words he was most eager to hear. 

“My love, indeed, comes from all those things that bite and deliver that sweet ache which turns souls to God. I was bitten more than once; there was the creation of the world, and now my very existence. There was the blood Jesus shed so that I might live, there are the hopes carried by all the faithful, as well as the hope that burns within me—all these, and those that I have spoken of before, they are what saved me from the sea of false love and set me on the soft shore, where Love is true and eternal,” I cried. “I love every leaf in this garden of the Eternal Gardener, for the goodness that He has given to each and every one!” 

Immediately, sweet music resounded through the heavens, and Beatrice chanted with the others: “Holy, holy, holy!”

When one is startled from sleep with a sharp intrusion of light, their eyesight will race to meet that brightness, which travels from layer to layer in the eye. And in that span of time which stretches like wet cloth between wakefulness and sleep, that unfortunate person will not understand what is going on until their judgment catches up. 

Just like that blunt force of clarity, Beatrice chased those cloudy particles away from my vision with the splendor of her own gaze, which surely shone for a thousand miles and more. 

I blinked. My eyesight was even better than before. 

“Why is there a fourth light?” I asked, confused. There was another soul, where I did not expect him, standing with Peter, James, and John. 

“Within those rays,” my lady explained, “is housed a soul who looks with love at our Maker; he is Adam, the first human soul ever created by God.”

Like a tree that is ravaged with winds, which bends its branches to Nature, then springs back up, so did I double over in shock. I almost fell over as well, but by the time Beatrice was done speaking I had recovered. Then, I was inflamed with an incredible desire to talk to him. 

And talk I did: “O fruit who was brought forward already ripe, O ancient father, to whom every woman is a daughter and daughter-in-law, with all the devoutness that I can muster, I beseech you to speak with me. You can see the questions that I ask, and to hear your answer sooner, I do not say them aloud.”

An animal may quiver when it needs to make its feelings apparent, and so did that primal soul tremble with joy in his light at the prospect of answering my questions. 

“Even though you do not declare your wish outright,” Adam said to me, “I can perceive it better than you can perceive the things that you treat as absolute; for I can see it in the Mirror that reflects everything perfectly, but cannot be itself captured as such in any other mirror.”

“You wish to hear how long it has been since I was in that garden, where this Lady prepared a stair for you to climb up here.” Adam listed, “You want to know how long that garden pleased my eyes, and the true reason for God’s anger, and what language I spoke and used then.”

“Son, I will say that the cause of my long exile did not lie in the tasting of the tree,” he said carefully, “but more so in the boundaries broken with the crime. For four thousand, three hundred and two turns of the Sun, I remained in the place where your Lady found Virgil and sent him to you. I remember how I longed for Heaven when I was there.

“During my time on Earth, I saw the Sun return to the same place among the stars nine hundred and thirty times, and now I have been in Paradise for the last one thousand, two hundred and sixty-six years.

“The tongue that I spoke in was extinct before the construction of the Tower of Babel, for never has anything created with human reason been everlasting. Like the course of the heavens, so does the nature of mortals change. The fact that we speak at all is our own nature, but as for how we speak, and in what way—Nature leaves it up to us. 

“Before I descended to Hell and its torments, the Highest Good—who clothes me in boundless joy—was called I. Later, he was called El, and this is how it is. The ways of mortals are like leaves on a branch; when one grows, another dies away. 

“You should know one last thing. On that peak which stretches farthest from the sea, my life was raised, pure and untainted. That lasted from the first hour of the first morning, all the way until the Sun shifted to fall.”

Chapter Text

“Glory be to the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost!” all of the voices of Paradise began, singing so sweetly that my attention was snagged like a fish to a hook. The entire universe seemed to be smiling at me, and I was intoxicated by its sights and sounds. Everything was aglow and aflame, bright and glorious, ever expanding; the music of the heavens took me by my mouth and kissed me drunk, with that wine of happiness indescribable. O joy! O gladness that words can never speak! O perfect life of love and peace! O riches, so complete that there can be no want! 

Before me stood those four torches, and Saint Peter, the one to arrive first, blazed with greater radiance. It was like watching Jupiter and Mars switch plumage, if they were magnificent birds; his light’s pale, calm white descended swiftly into a fiery red. 

That Providence, which provides to each their proper station and times, had the holy choirs on every side fall silent.  

“Do not be amazed at my change of hue,” Saint Peter said gravely to me, “for as I speak, it will happen to all the souls.”

“There is one who walks upon the earth called Boniface, who wrongfully usurps my place, my place, my place,” he blazed with anger, “so that before the eyes of the Son of God, his seat is in reality vacant. He has made the grounds where I rest—that beautiful Rome—into a sewer of stinking blood, of stench. His deeds are so foul that even the Perverse One, in his miserable reaches of ice, can find appeasement down below!”

Then, I saw all the heavens around me become the same shade that is painted over the clouds in the morning and in the skies at night. And just as a woman who is righteous and honorable will blush at the news of some other’s failing, so did Beatrice also become tinged with righteous anger. I think that when Christ suffered on earth, Heaven darkened like it did that day.  

Saint Peter continued his speech, and I was surprised to hear a different voice coming from his mouth, so altered from what it was before with rage: “The Bride of Christ was not nurtured with the blood of my martyrdom, nor with the blood that came from Linus and Cletus, so that she may be employed as a tool to gain riches. No, it was for this eternal life of joy, for the goodness that sings through these spheres, that Sixtus and Pius, along with Urban and Calixtus, suffered and lost their lives. 

“When Christ comes on Judgment Day, he will divide humankind into two flocks, the sheep who placed their faith in him, and the goats who did not.” Saint Peter flared, “But we never wanted Christ’s people to be separated, so that only a portion of them will join the sheep on his right, and the rest are all lumped in among his left! We never wanted to see the keys that God bequeathed to me upon a banner, used solely for the purpose of waging war upon fellow Christians. And I never wanted to place my own image onto the papal seal, with which fraudulent privileges are bought and sold!”

“When I think of these offenses, I find myself furious and crimson with anger,” he lamented, “from here on high, one can clearly see the ravenous wolves down below, disguised in shepherd’s clothing. O wrath of God, why do you still slumber? Why not strike them down right here and now? The Gascon, Clement the Fifth, and John, the Twelfth of Cahors, are making ready to drink our blood. O good beginning, how twisted and wretched is this new depth that you fall to!”

Saint Peter took a deep breath and continued, in a calmer voice, “Providence, which once saved the glory of the world for Rome with the victory of Scipio, will aid us again. I see into the Mind of God, and can conceive that much. You, my son, who will yet return to the living realm from your mortal weight, speak of what I said here, and do not hide anything that I did not hide.”

When the horns of that heavenly goat, Capricorn, meets the Sun, flakes of ice and snow descend from our skies; so did I witness a similar sight when those triumphant souls returned to the Mystic Empyrean, their many lights flaking up through the ether like reversed snowfall. I followed them with my eyes until I could no longer.

Seeing that I was done gawking upwards, my lady instructed, “Look down, and see how far you have revolved.”

I did as she said and saw that, from the last time I had looked down, the view of Earth had shifted. I could see beyond Cadiz and the course that Odysseus took on his mad journey, and to the east, I could almost glimpse the shoreline of that island Crete, where Europa was carried to as a sweet burden. I would have seen more of our threshing floor but for the movement of the Sun beneath us. 

My mind then went immediately to the thought of my lady, which it is dallying with all the time. I was burning up to look at her again. 

If Nature and Art fashioned their own bait, with the means of human flesh and canvases, to draw the eyes as surely as it draws the mind, all their lures would seem like nothing beside the godly beauty that shone upon me when I turned to look at Beatrice, who was smiling. 

With simply her warm gaze, she imbued me with power, flinging me from Gemini—that lovely nest of Leda—and into the swiftest of the heavens. 

All the regions of the Primum Mobile are equal in loftiness and vitality, so I could not tell where my lady selected our entrance. But she saw my desire, and her smile grew so glad that within it seemed to be the joy of God himself. 

“This universe holds its center still, and spins from the successive spheres above it,” she explained, “spinning faster and faster until the Primum Mobile is reached. This place is the starting point. There is no ‘where’ for this sphere, other than the Mind of God, from which springs both the Love that fuels its turning, and the motion that the Primum Mobile, in turn, gives to the rest of the spheres. Even as this heaven envelops them all, so do light and love enclose it, light and love that only God understands. 

“Its motion is not measured by the standards of another, but it serves as measurement for the world, just as surely as how five times two equals ten. And now, I hope you understand how time has its roots in this sphere, so that its leaves appear in everything else.”

My question thus answered, Beatrice began murmuring, “O greed, you who cause mortals to sink in your depths, so that none have the strength to lift their eyes above your waves! The first blossoms of human will are beautiful, but gorging on endless rain will turn plums into rotten, empty skins; for such things as innocence and trust are only to be found in children, and even then they are lost quickly, before a full beard can cloak their cheeks. 

“For as long as they still lisp, a child will fast, but now they will gorge themselves on any day, regardless of whether it is holy. For as long as they lisp a child will love and obey their mother, but once they speak with clarity, they will long to see her buried! What was pure before may be so quickly blemished.

“But do not be amazed by what I say, for on Earth there is no one to guide the people, and without a shepherd, it is no wonder that humankind wanders astray. 

“Well before a thousand years have passed, when January is marked to fall outside of winter, on account of a lagging calendar, these spheres shall roar loudly,” Beatrice prophesied. “The long awaited-for Storm will turn the sterns to where the prows are now, so that the fleet finally runs straight, and with it the true fruit will follow the flowers.”

Chapter Text

After my lady, who imparadises my mind, had finished spouting the truth against the miserable life of mortals, my attention was stolen by something like…seeing a candle in the mirror. The candle in question is behind the person using the mirror, and is reflected in double lights, so even before the thought has registered or their eyes have fully settled on that strange glare, that person swivels around to see if the glass tells the truth. 

Then, they realize that their instincts had been true—that there is in fact a candle behind them—their reality and thought in perfect accord, like that of voice and instrument. 

And as far as I can remember, so did I react like that person before their mirror, whisked as abruptly as it was exhilarating to the sight of those lovely eyes, my beautiful mirror, of which Love made the noose that holds me tight. I saw reflected in their depths what appears to anyone who looks deeply into them. 

Then, I also saw a singular point of light, so sharp in its brightness that its rays hacked and needled at the eyes, but so tiny that if the smallest star was set beside it, from Earth the star would seem like the Moon compared to that point. 

Around it a ring of fire wheeled, and the ring was perhaps as close to that point of light as the halo seems to be close around that gentle ruler of the night, when her crown is made from misty vapors. That ring of fire wheeled so swiftly that it outstripped even the Primum Mobile, the swiftest sphere that encapsulates the world. 

Outside that fiery ring was a second ring, the second was followed by a third, third by a fourth, fourth by a fifth, fifth by a sixth, and sixth by a seventh. The seventh ring was so vast that the rainbow of Iris—the messenger of the Gods—would fit within its circumference. And beyond that were the eighth and ninth rings, which were wider still. With greater distance from that Point, so did those rings spin slower and slower. The smallest rings burned with the purest flame, and I think it is because of the closeness they shared with the truth of that Point. 

My lady saw at once my perplexed expression and explained: “On that Point depends the heavens and the whole of nature. Look at the ring that spins closest to it, and know that its motion is so swift because it is Love that spurs it on.”

“If the universe was ordered like this Point and its nine rings,” I said back to her, “I would be content with what you have put before me. But, in this world of sense, it seems to me the other way around; what one can see is that the spheres become ever more divine the more they are distanced from the center that is the Earth. 

“Thus, if my longing is indeed to be satisfied in this glorious and angelic temple—of which only love and light serve as boundaries—then I still need to hear how reality and its model does not match. By myself, I think my wits would be depleted in vain.”

“If your fingers attempt to untie this knot, then fall away, reddened and defeated, it is not cause to wonder,” Beatrice replied. “For in truth, no one has tried, and in the lack of effort this cord can only remain tight, still pulled taut! If you wish to be satisfied, then listen carefully to what I have to tell you.

“In this material realm, the size of a sphere—whether it is wide or narrow—depends on the amount of virtue that flows throughout its parts. More virtue yields more blessedness, and more blessedness requires a larger vessel to hold it all, assuming that its body is fully receptive,” my lady swept her hand to indicate the Primum Mobile around us, “for instance, this is the most virtuous heaven the physical world has to offer.”

“This Crystalline Sphere, which sweeps along with it the rest of the spheres, matches with the smallest ring of flame that you see before you. Those nine rings are the orders of the angels, and they circle that Point which represents God. As such, the closest ring, regardless of its size, turns with the same intense Love that the Primum Mobile must keep pace with. 

“Thus, if you were to adjust your measure to be by power, and not by size,” she concluded, “you will see that those rings, which are composed of angelic Intelligences, are in marvelous agreement with what is before you, so that larger corresponds with greater, and smaller with lesser.”

When Boreas happens to blow from a gentler cheek, and breathes winds into his hemisphere that are not the usual biting gales, the air grows clearer and the skies lift higher. Just as how the north winds open up that sight of Heaven in all its glory, the truth was visible like that kingdom in the clouds after my lady supplied me with her clear response. The truth in what she said was like a star that gleams brightly at night. But then I realized something. 

Those rings are made of angels?!

I looked closely at the nine rings that danced before me. As soon as Beatrice had finished speaking, they sparkled brightly with joy, looking like the sparks that shower from molten iron when it is poured. 

The creator of chess had once put forth a request to the king, asking that the singular grain he received would double in amount for every square, from the first square of the chessboard to the sixty-fourth. Even his final sum of grain would not compare to the masses of lights that pulsed in those rings. 

I heard “Hosanna” being sung, from choir to choir, to that Point which was God. The angels sung their praises for what held them to their orders and will forever hold them there. 

Beatrice saw how confused I was, and said: “Each sphere is associated with a different order of angels. In this model of the universe, where the rings closest to God are the smallest, the first ring is the Seraphim, and the second ring is the Cherubim. They spin so swiftly because they are tied to that Great Light with bonds of Love, and they crave to be as much like that Point as possible, which is an endeavor that goes as far as their knowledge of the divine stretches. 

“The other loves that circle around them are the Thrones, and together those three terminate the first Triad. Know that they delight to the degree that their vision reveals to them, whether more or less, for they derive their happiness from that Truth in which all intellects find rest. 

“From this, you can see that blessedness depends on the act of seeing,” Beatrice elaborated, “not upon the act of love; for how can one be expected to love something that they know not of? Only when the essence of God has been clearly seen may one choose to love Him. Now, as for how deeply those angels understand God—that lies in their own merit, which is produced by grace and their own will to better themselves. Grace, will, merit—those are the steps that lead up and up.  

“The second Triad is like flowers that blossom in endless springtime, untouched by the frost that the constellation of the Ram brings. They sing ‘Hosanna’ in perpetuity, with threefold melody and three ranks of bliss. Within this Triad there are at first the Dominions, then the Virtues, and the Powers. 

“The Principalities and the Archangels dance in the third Triad, and lastly, there are the playful Angels. All of these orders gaze upward, their eyes fixed on God, and they pour below them the power that they are endowed with.

“Dionysus the Areopagite longed to contemplate these Orders himself, and he named and distinguished them like I did,” Beatrice continued. “However, Saint Gregory dissented. When he arrived here, he realized his mistakes and smiled. 

“When mortals speak secret truth, you do not need to wonder how, for it was disclosed to him by Saint Paul, who witnessed this and much more about these spheres.”

Chapter Text

Think about Leto’s twins, the Sun and the Moon, when they take opposite sides of the sky, one under Aries and the other under the Scales of Libra. Think of that instant when they are in balance at the slippery verge between either hemisphere, and how that balance is held for so brief a time. For that same little pause, Beatrice allowed silence to fall, a smile upon her lips as she gazed intently at the Point that had so overwhelmed me. 

Then she began again: “I will tell—not ask—what you wish to hear now, for I have seen your questions in that Source that is the center of all whens and wheres.”

“‘Why would God bother with creating the world in the first place?’” my lady stated calmly, reading the thoughts in my head. 

“Well, he certainly did not do so to acquire greater goodness. God is already the Greatest Good there can be, and to try and become greater than what is infinite is impossible; he created the world so that his splendor may be shared with his creations, and so that it may be reflected back to him, declaring ‘I am’ in all the glory there can be. 

“In his eternity outside of space and time, the Eternal Love gave life to new loves. Nor did he lie there, doing nothing, before that act of love; for there was no concept as before or after until God moved across the waters. Then, along with the angels, there emerged matter and spirit, either in their pure states or the intermingling of the two. Pure matter settled and became the earth, and the coupling of matter and spirit formed the heavens. 

“Like three arrows shot simultaneously on a bow with three strings, so did pure spirit, pure matter, and their mixtures—the angels, earth, and Heaven—come into flawless being. And as how a shaft of sunlight strikes amber, at once reflecting its light from every side of the crystal, seemingly no time between its arrival and its lighting, those three creations came into existence at the same time. 

“The substances he created were given order and pattern, so that at the summit of the world there were the angels, ones created with pure act, the lowest is the earth, matter made with pure potential, and betwixt those opposing heights there are the heavens, so mixed with potentiality that it can never be unbound. 

“Saint Jerome has written differently from what I say, that the creation of the angels occurred centuries before the creation of anything else, but know that the truth I speak is documented by the scribes of the Holy Ghost; truth that, if you were to look carefully, can be found on many pages. 

“Even without the evidence that Scripture presents, simple logic can conclude that the angels could not have been idle for centuries—they are the movers of the heavens, and without any Heaven to speak of, those loves would have wasted away in boredom. 

“Now you know where and when and how the angels were created,” declared Beatrice, “and with this, three flames of desire have been quenched for you. But there is no harm in speaking more, and yet more nourishment I shall provide. 

“In that world that was still fresh from the breath of life, one could not have counted from one to twenty when the rebellious angels Fell. The rest remained, and with joy, took their office in the Mystic Empyrean, so that they never cease their wheeling in their rings of fire. 

“The Fall had its roots in the pride of that Lucifer, most lovely of all the angels, whom you saw held under the world’s weight. Driven by his accursed pride—he, along with his followers—plunged into eternal darkness. 

“Those whom you see in Heaven, now,” my lady said pleasantly, “were aware of their own limits and were modest, knowing that their intelligence was bestowed upon them by our gracious Lord and his Goodness. Because of this, they were rewarded. 

“God gave them the light of glory. That higher light revealed to them His essence, and along with their own merit, strengthened their vision so that they could see deeper and farther than ever before. And thus were their wills perfected. 

“I would not have you doubt this,” Beatrice said smilingly, “but have you know that yes, there is merit in accepting grace, and that merit is measured by the degree one is willing to do so. 

“The brightest light here is God, which blinds the eyes of angels, so that there is nothing more preferable than gazing with love into that Source which had made them. With Goodness forever in their sight, the angels cannot sin, as surely as a moth cannot tear itself away from the flame. 

“If you have listened and understood my words thus far, you may contemplate and glean much about these matters without my aid. 

“But on Earth, in many schools, they teach and spread a notion that is false. It is taught in the mortal realm that the nature of angels to understand, to recollect, and to will. I will continue to speak, so that this mistake may be corrected, and so you may see the truth that vague teachings hide behind their words. 

“From that joyous instant when the angels first beheld the face of God, which sees all, they have never since taken their sight from Him. As such, they have no use for memory, because their thoughts are not interrupted by some new object that a living person might lose their attention to. 

“But still, there are those below who dream while they are awake, and by that I mean their lives are lost in what is false. They preach that the angels need memories, either in genuine belief or in the two-faced knowledge that they are telling lies, for which the latter is worthy of greater shame. You mortals love to show off your wits as you philosophize, and in that vanity you lose the one true path!

“Yet even love of the show is suffered with less disdain here,” Beatrice said with contempt, “than those who make perversions of the Holy Scripture. Those below do not care of the blood that was shed and paid to sow the holy texts in the world, nor do they see how pleasing one is to God’s eyes if they humbly hold those texts close to their heart. Preachers strive for attention, and for that purpose they make their own fanciful inventions. They speak not a word of the Gospel. In its place, they proclaim falsehoods that have no basis in truth.

“There is one who says that, during the Passion of Christ, the Moon turned backwards in her course to cover the Sun and caused an eclipse. That preacher lies! The Sun hid her own rays, for not only did the Jews by the crucifix see that false eclipse, but also the Spaniards, the Indians, and far more. The amount of fables being shouted from pulpits over the duration of a year outnumber even the Lapi and Bindi in Florence, so the poor sheep return from their pastures still hungry, as they had been fed on the wind; but their ignorance of the right teachings cannot be excused.  

“Christ did not say to his disciples: ‘Go, and preach idle stories to the world.’ No, he gave them the teachings that were true. And the truth did sound from their lips as they preached, so that as they fought to kindle faith, the Gospel served as shield and lance. 

“But now men go to preach with jokes and jests, and as long as their audience laughs, their cowls puff out with pride. If only the people would see the bird that makes its nest in that cowl, that dark bird of Lucifer, they would see the lying pardoners they have placed their trust in—pardons with which the world becomes more and more gullible, so that they accept as fact every promise and do not ask for proof. 

“And so, Saint Antony fattens his pigs by letting them roam on public grounds, and others more piggish still fatten themselves by repaying their supporters with pardons, worthless pieces of paper that have nothing other than the word ‘forgiveness’ scribbled onto it.”

“But I have digressed enough,” Beatrice said coolly, “turn your eyes back to the path, for our time is short. We were speaking about the angels. 

“The number of the angels is so great that there has never been a mortal thought or word that represented a sum like it. And if you were to look to the Book of Daniel, you would see that while he mentions thousands upon thousands, he does not give an exact value. 

“The First Light reaches the angels in as many ways as there are angels, so that each angel joins with God’s light in an unique manner. You need not wonder why that happens if you are to recall that the act of seeing must arrive before the act of loving; each angel has their own understanding of God, and as such they burn with differing intensities, and are illuminated with different lights. 

“By now you see the height, the breadth, of Eternal Goodness. You see how it divides itself to shine in every mirror that is an angel, and how all the light is reflected back to its Source, which is always and forever One in Itself.”

Chapter Text

Perhaps somewhere six thousand miles from us, it is that hour of noon, so that here the world’s shadows are still laid on level ground because the dawn has not yet touched it. The heavens begin to change, so that some of the dimmer stars melt into the growing light of the sky, no longer to be seen from the earth. And as Dawn, that handmaid of the Sun, makes her way to her post, the stars of heaven shut off one by one, leaving the loveliest ones to wink out last. 

In that same way, so did the wheels of Triumph that play eternally around that Point—a Point that seems to enclose in Itself what it is enclosed in—fade from my vision. The farthest ring of fire extinguished with a gentle hiss, and the second farthest, and soon the brightest, smallest ring went out. 

When there was nothing left, I turned and looked at Beatrice in love. If what has already been said of her were to be collected and distilled within a single praise, it would be too scant compared to what I needed right then to describe her beauty. The loveliness I saw that day surpassed the measure of mortals; indeed, my lady was so radiant that I think only the Maker of her beauty could have enjoyed it fully. 

I confess that at this challenge I am vanquished! Oh, I am defeated! It is impossible to describe Beatrice, and at the thought of writing this passage I find myself overcome with more stillness than what takes hold of poets—both of styles comic and tragic—when they run facefirst into a problem in their theme. For, like the Sun that can stain fragile eyes with barely a whisper, so does the mere memory of her smile leave me without my wits. 

From that day when I first saw her, until this very moment, my songs in her praise have never seen the need to be cut short, nor was there beauty that my words could not capture, but now I cannot chase any longer. Beatrice’s loveliness had passed beyond where I could go, and like every artist who has reached their limit, I must not follow. And so I leave the task to a herald whose skill in poetry is greater than mine, for my trumpets have to bring this arduous theme to its close. 

Beatrice, in all her indescribable beauty, began: “We have left the largest sphere of matter, and reached the heaven of pure light, the Mystic Empyrean. This heaven is lit with the light of pure intellect, which is filled with nothing else but love; that love contains what is truly good, and that goodness yields its force to ecstasy beyond all sweetness.

“Here you will see the twin hosts of Heaven, its ranks composed of the Angels and the saints, and see the latter wearing the same appearance that you will see them clothed in on Judgment Day.”

As abrupt and as consuming as lightning, which lounges about in the clouds and strikes so close as to flood eyes before one can blink, such was the living light that enveloped me. I was surrounded by it, and I could not see a thing other than its radiance. 

Everything was so bright. I thought I would get my skin scraped raw with that glittering, sparkling light, get eaten up and become part of its rays.

“The Love that calms this heaven has ever welcomed those who have come into its presence with such a greeting,” Beatrice said soothingly, “as to make the candle ready for its flame.”

No sooner had those words found their way to me did I become aware that my senses were lifting beyond what was bestowed upon me; my vision in particular was suddenly clear and steady, and for that time there was no light, however pure or bright, that could deny my sight of it. 

I saw a river of light—a river that flowed with brilliant sparks. Its currents seemed to be fashioned from lightning bolts taken from the sky, or maybe from the piercing rays of the noonday Sun, which were melted down and given a course to run along. It was like that wild energy still longed to be returned to where it came, so it leapt and surged along its banks, which were spilling over with an abundance of flowers, blossoming in deep springtime.

A full shower of sparks was issued by that stream, which landed among the flowers, making them look like great rubies set in gold. Then, as if they were intoxicated with the fragrance of those flowers, those gems slid back into their river, and as they plunged down, they caused yet other sparks to bound up. 

“Once again, your desire to understand what you are seeing is inflaming your mind,” Beatrice said happily. “Know that the more this desire grows, the more it pleases me. But, before you may quench your thirst, you must first drink of these waters. Behold them with your eyes, and let the sight satisfy you.” The Sun of my eyes continued, “This river, the gems of light, the laughter of the flowers—these are only shadows of their true nature; not that they are imperfect in any way. The deficiency lies in you, and your sight, which is not yet sublime.”

 No infant that wakes up after a long nap and turns immediately to his mother’s milk would have reacted faster than I hurried to that stream. I stooped to gaze fully into its waters, so that I might make the mirrors that were my sight more polished. 

But as soon as the eaves of my eyelids drank in that sight, it changed; the river no longer ran in a straight line, but coiled thoughtfully into a round lake. Then, just like revelers at a masquerade, when they take off their masks and assume a whole other identity than they had sported before, so was everything transformed. 

Before me, the flowers and the sparks changed in greater celebration, so that they revealed themselves to be the two courts of Heaven. All along, the flowers were saints, and the sparks were Angels. 

O splendor of God, through which I was given the power to see the triumph of Heaven, give me now the power to set to words what I saw!

There is a Light on high that makes the Creator apparent to the beings whose only peace lies in seeing Him. As this Light expands, it takes on the shape of a circle, so vast in its circumference that if it were used as the Sun’s belt, it would be too loose. All that one can see of it derives from a singular point at the summit of the Primum Mobile, sphere of spheres, where a singular ray of Light is reflected from its Source to move and give life to the heavens. 

And as a hill is reflected in the waters at its base, to enjoy seeing itself graced with trees and flowers and grasses, so did I see a thousand tiers of the blessed, who had won their places high above, reflect the Light they encircled back at me in thousands of lights, like thousands of mirrors. 

“Welcome,” Beatrice laughed gently, “to the White Rose of saved souls.”

If the lowest ranks were already so glorious, then it must be blinding at the upper reaches of this Rose! And yet, such immense breadth and height did not confound my vision, and I took in the sight of joy in all of its quantities and qualities, those ranks of saved souls that bloomed forth in blessedness, as petals upon petals of pure white. There, near or far did not matter, for where God governs directly there is no such need for things like the laws of Nature. 

Beatrice drew me into that golden center of the eternal Rose, which emits its fragrance and praise upon that Sun of endless spring, and even though I wished desperately to speak, I remained silent. 

“Behold,” she declared, “how great this council of white robes is! Behold the vastness of our city! And behold, how seats among us are now so full, that there is little room left! 

“The seat that your eyes are fixed on right now has a crown over it. Know that it is reserved for one noble Henry, who will sit there before you have joined this eternal wedding feast. He will attempt to show Italy the righteous way when she is unready. The blind greediness will have cast a spell on her, and like a child that is hungry, yet drives away their wet nurse in stupidity, all of Italy will rather starve from lies. 

“And when Henry comes to sit at his seat, Pope Clement will openly act as if he is in agreement with him, and then undermine Henry behind his back. But God will not suffer the likes such as Clement in his holy office; he shall be cast down there, into the holes of the Simonists, and he shall push Boniface deeper underground!”