# Paradise Canto  3

*Exported from [Holy-Writings.com](https://www.holy-writings.com/) on 2026-06-20 — 1 clipping.*

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> 
> Canto III
> 
> Argument
> 
>      In the moon Dante meets with Piccarda, the sister of Forese, who tells
> him that this planet is allotted to those, who, after having made profession
> of chastity and a religious life, had been compelled to violate their vows;
> and she then points out to him the spirit of the Empress Costanza.
> 
> That sun,[1] which erst with love my bosom warmed,
> Had of fair truth unveil'd the sweet aspect,
> By proof of right, and of the false reproof;
> And I, to own myself convinced and free
> Of doubt, as much as needed, raised my head
> Erect for speech. But soon a sight appear'd,
> Which, so intent to mark it, held me fix'd
> That of confession I no longer thought.
> 
> [1: "That sun." Beatrice.]
> 
> As through translucent and smooth glass, or wave
> Clear and unmoved, and flowing not so deep
> As that its bed is dark, the shape returns
> So faint of our impictured lineaments,
> That, on white forehead set, a pearl as strong
> Comes to the eye; such saw I many a face,
> All stretch'd to speak; from whence I straight conceived,
> Delusion[2] opposite to that, which raised,
> Between the man and fountain, amorous flame.
> 
> [2: "Delusion." "An error the contrary to that of Narcissus; because
> he mistook a shadow for a substance; I, a substance for a shadow."]
> 
> Sudden, as I perceived them, deeming these
> Reflected semblances, to see of whom
> They were, I turn'd mine eyes, and nothing saw;
> Then turn'd them back, directed on the light
> Of my sweet guide, who, smiling, shot forth beams
> From her celestial eyes. "Wonder not thou,"
> 
> She cried, "at this my smiling, when I see
> Thy childish judgment; since not yet on truth
> It rests the foot, but, as it still is wont,
> Makes thee fall back in unsound vacancy.
> True substances are these, which thou behold'st,
> Hither through failure of their vow exiled.
> But speak thou with them; listen, and believe,
> That the true light, which fills them with desire,
> Permits not from its beams their feet to stray."
> 
> Straight to the shadow, which for converse seem'd
> Most earnest, I address'd me; and began
> As one by over - eagerness perplex'd:
> "O spirit, born of joy! who in the rays
> Of life eternal, of that sweetness know'st
> The flavour, which, not tasted, passes far
> All apprehension; me it well would please,
> If thou wouldst tell me of thy name, and this
> Your station here." Whence she with kindness prompt
> And eyes glist'ring with smiles: "Our charity,
> To any wish by justice introduced,
> Bars not the door; no more than She above,
> Who would have all her court be like herself.
> I was a virgin sister in the earth;
> And if thy mind observe me well, this form,
> With such addition graced of loveliness,
> Will not conceal me long; but thou wilt know
> Piccarda,[3] in the tardiest sphere thus placed,
> Here 'mid these other blessed also blest.
> Our hearts, whose high affections burn alone
> With pleasure from the Holy Spirit conceived,
> Admitted to His order, dwell in joy.
> And this condition, which appears so low,
> Is for this cause assign'd us, that our vows
> Were, in some part, neglected and made void."
> 
> [3: "Piccarda." The sister of Corso Donati, and of Forese, whom we
> have seen in the Purgatory, Canto xxiv. Petrarch has been supposed to allude
> to this lady in his "Triumph of Chastity," v. 160, etc.]
> 
> Whence I to her replied: "Something divine
> Beams in your countenances wondrous fair;
> From former knowledge quite transmitting you.
> 
> Therefore to recollect was I so slow.
> But what thou say'st hath to my memory
> Given now such aid, that to retrace your forms
> Is easier. Yet inform me, ye, who here
> Are happy; long ye for a higher place,
> More to behold, and more in love to dwell?"
> 
> She with those other spirits gently smiled;
> Then answer'd with such gladness, that she seem'd
> With love's first flame to glow: "Brother! our will
> Is, in composure, settled by the power
> Of charity, who makes us will alone
> What we possess, and naught beyond desire:
> If we should wish to be exalted more,
> Then must our wishes jar with the high will
> Of Him, who sets us here; which in these orbs
> Thou wilt confess not possible, if here
> To be in charity must needs befall,
> And if her nature well thou contemplate.
> Rather it is inherent in this state
> Of blessedness, to keep ourselves within
> The Divine Will, by which our wills with His
> Are one. So that as we, from step to step,
> Are placed throughout this kingdom, pleases all,
> Even as our King, who in us plants His will;
> And in His will is our tranquillity:
> It is the mighty ocean, whither tends
> Whatever it creates and Nature makes."
> 
> Then saw I clearly how each spot in Heaven
> Is Paradise, though with like gracious dew
> The supreme virtue shower not over all.
> 
> But as it chances, if one sort of food
> Hath satiated, and of another still
> The appetite remains, that this is ask'd,
> And thanks for that return'd; e'en so did I,
> In word and motion, bent from her to learn
> What web it was,[4] through which she had not drawn
> The shuttle to its point. She thus began:
> "Exalted worth and perfectness of life
> 
> [4: "What vow of religious life it was that she had been hindered
> from completing, had been compelled to break."]
> 
> The Lady[5] higher up inshrine in Heaven,
> By whose pure laws upon your nether earth
> The robe and veil they wear; to that intent,
> That e'en till death they may keep watch, or sleep,
> With their great Bridegroom, who accepts each vow,
> Which to His gracious pleasure love conforms.
> I from the world, to follow her, when young
> Escaped; and, in her vesture mantling me,
> Made promise of the way her sect enjoins.
> Thereafter men, for ill than good more apt,
> Forth snatch'd me from the pleasant cloister's pale.
> God knows[6] how, after that, my life was framed.
> This other splendid shape, which thou behold'st
> At my right side, burning with all the light
> Of this our orb, what of myself I tell
> May to herself apply. From her, like me
> A sister, with like violence were torn
> The saintly folds, that shaded her fair brows.
> E'en when she to the world again was brought
> In spite of her own will and better wont,
> Yet not for that the bosom's inward veil
> Did she renounce. This is the luminary
> Of mighty Constance,[7] who from that loud blast,
> Which blew the second[8] over Suabia's realm,
> That power produced, which was the third and last."
> 
> [5: St. Clare, the foundress of the order called after her. She was
> born at Assisi, in 1193, and died in 1253.]
> 
> [6: Rodolfo da Tossignano, Hist. Seraph. Relig., relates the
> following legend of Piccarda: "Her brother Corso, inflamed with rage against
> his virgin sister, having joined with him Farinata, an infamous assassin, and
> twelve other abandoned ruffians, entered the monastery by a ladder, and
> carried away his sister forcibly to his own house; and then tearing off her
> religious habit, compelled her to go in a secular garment to her nuptials.
> Before the spouse of Christ came together with her new husband, she knelt down
> before a crucifix and recommended her virginity to Christ. Soon after her
> whole body was smitten with leprosy; in a few days, through the divine
> disposal, she passed with a palm of virginity to the Lord.]
> 
> [7: Daughter of Ruggieri, King of Sicily, who being taken by force
> out of a monastery was married to the Emperor Henry VI and by him was mother
> of Frederick II. She was fifty years old or more at the time, and "because it
> was not credited that she could have a child at that age, she was delivered in
> a pavilion, and it was given out that any lady, who pleased, was at liberty to
> see her."]
> 
> [8: Henry VI, son of Frederick I, was the second emperor of the house
> of Suabia; and his son Frederick II "the third and last."]
> 
> She ceased from further talk, and then began
> 
> "Ave Maria" singing; and with that song
> Vanish'd, as heavy substance through deep wave.
> 
> Mine eye, that, far as it was capable,
> Pursued her, when in dimness she was lost,
> Turn'd to the mark where greater want impell'd
> And bent on Beatrice all its gaze.
> But she, as lightning, beam'd upon my looks;
> So that the sight sustain'd it not at first.
> Whence I to question her became less prompt.
>
> — *Paradise Canto  3*