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diff --git a/1006-0.txt b/1006-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d1cd0ce --- /dev/null +++ b/1006-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5272 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1006 *** + +PURGATORY + +FROM THE DIVINE COMEDY + +BY +Dante Alighieri + +Translated by +THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. + + + + +Contents + + CANTO I. + CANTO II. + CANTO III. + CANTO IV. + CANTO V. + CANTO VI. + CANTO VII. + CANTO VIII. + CANTO IX. + CANTO X. + CANTO XI. + CANTO XII. + CANTO XIII. + CANTO XIV. + CANTO XV. + CANTO XVI. + CANTO XVII. + CANTO XVIII. + CANTO XIX. + CANTO XX. + CANTO XXI. + CANTO XXII. + CANTO XXIII. + CANTO XXIV. + CANTO XXV. + CANTO XXVI. + CANTO XXVII. + CANTO XXVIII. + CANTO XXIX. + CANTO XXX. + CANTO XXXI. + CANTO XXXII. + CANTO XXXIII. + + + + +PURGATORY + + + + +CANTO I + + +O’er better waves to speed her rapid course +The light bark of my genius lifts the sail, +Well pleas’d to leave so cruel sea behind; +And of that second region will I sing, +In which the human spirit from sinful blot +Is purg’d, and for ascent to Heaven prepares. + +Here, O ye hallow’d Nine! for in your train +I follow, here the deadened strain revive; +Nor let Calliope refuse to sound +A somewhat higher song, of that loud tone, +Which when the wretched birds of chattering note +Had heard, they of forgiveness lost all hope. + +Sweet hue of eastern sapphire, that was spread +O’er the serene aspect of the pure air, +High up as the first circle, to mine eyes +Unwonted joy renew’d, soon as I ’scap’d +Forth from the atmosphere of deadly gloom, +That had mine eyes and bosom fill’d with grief. +The radiant planet, that to love invites, +Made all the orient laugh, and veil’d beneath +The Pisces’ light, that in his escort came. + +To the right hand I turn’d, and fix’d my mind +On the other pole attentive, where I saw +Four stars ne’er seen before save by the ken +Of our first parents. Heaven of their rays +Seem’d joyous. O thou northern site, bereft +Indeed, and widow’d, since of these depriv’d! + +As from this view I had desisted, straight +Turning a little tow’rds the other pole, +There from whence now the wain had disappear’d, +I saw an old man standing by my side +Alone, so worthy of rev’rence in his look, +That ne’er from son to father more was ow’d. +Low down his beard and mix’d with hoary white +Descended, like his locks, which parting fell +Upon his breast in double fold. The beams +Of those four luminaries on his face +So brightly shone, and with such radiance clear +Deck’d it, that I beheld him as the sun. + +“Say who are ye, that stemming the blind stream, +Forth from th’ eternal prison-house have fled?” +He spoke and moved those venerable plumes. +“Who hath conducted, or with lantern sure +Lights you emerging from the depth of night, +That makes the infernal valley ever black? +Are the firm statutes of the dread abyss +Broken, or in high heaven new laws ordain’d, +That thus, condemn’d, ye to my caves approach?” + +My guide, then laying hold on me, by words +And intimations given with hand and head, +Made my bent knees and eye submissive pay +Due reverence; then thus to him replied. + +“Not of myself I come; a Dame from heaven +Descending, had besought me in my charge +To bring. But since thy will implies, that more +Our true condition I unfold at large, +Mine is not to deny thee thy request. +This mortal ne’er hath seen the farthest gloom. +But erring by his folly had approach’d +So near, that little space was left to turn. +Then, as before I told, I was dispatch’d +To work his rescue, and no way remain’d +Save this which I have ta’en. I have display’d +Before him all the regions of the bad; +And purpose now those spirits to display, +That under thy command are purg’d from sin. +How I have brought him would be long to say. +From high descends the virtue, by whose aid +I to thy sight and hearing him have led. +Now may our coming please thee. In the search +Of liberty he journeys: that how dear +They know, who for her sake have life refus’d. +Thou knowest, to whom death for her was sweet +In Utica, where thou didst leave those weeds, +That in the last great day will shine so bright. +For us the’ eternal edicts are unmov’d: +He breathes, and I am free of Minos’ power, +Abiding in that circle where the eyes +Of thy chaste Marcia beam, who still in look +Prays thee, O hallow’d spirit! to own her shine. +Then by her love we’ implore thee, let us pass +Through thy sev’n regions; for which best thanks +I for thy favour will to her return, +If mention there below thou not disdain.” + +“Marcia so pleasing in my sight was found,” +He then to him rejoin’d, “while I was there, +That all she ask’d me I was fain to grant. +Now that beyond the’ accursed stream she dwells, +She may no longer move me, by that law, +Which was ordain’d me, when I issued thence. +Not so, if Dame from heaven, as thou sayst, +Moves and directs thee; then no flattery needs. +Enough for me that in her name thou ask. +Go therefore now: and with a slender reed +See that thou duly gird him, and his face +Lave, till all sordid stain thou wipe from thence. +For not with eye, by any cloud obscur’d, +Would it be seemly before him to come, +Who stands the foremost minister in heaven. +This islet all around, there far beneath, +Where the wave beats it, on the oozy bed +Produces store of reeds. No other plant, +Cover’d with leaves, or harden’d in its stalk, +There lives, not bending to the water’s sway. +After, this way return not; but the sun +Will show you, that now rises, where to take +The mountain in its easiest ascent.” + +He disappear’d; and I myself uprais’d +Speechless, and to my guide retiring close, +Toward him turn’d mine eyes. He thus began; +“My son! observant thou my steps pursue. +We must retreat to rearward, for that way +The champain to its low extreme declines.” + +The dawn had chas’d the matin hour of prime, +Which deaf before it, so that from afar +I spy’d the trembling of the ocean stream. + +We travers’d the deserted plain, as one +Who, wander’d from his track, thinks every step +Trodden in vain till he regain the path. + +When we had come, where yet the tender dew +Strove with the sun, and in a place, where fresh +The wind breath’d o’er it, while it slowly dried; +Both hands extended on the watery grass +My master plac’d, in graceful act and kind. +Whence I of his intent before appriz’d, +Stretch’d out to him my cheeks suffus’d with tears. +There to my visage he anew restor’d +That hue, which the dun shades of hell conceal’d. + +Then on the solitary shore arriv’d, +That never sailing on its waters saw +Man, that could after measure back his course, +He girt me in such manner as had pleas’d +Him who instructed, and O, strange to tell! +As he selected every humble plant, +Wherever one was pluck’d, another there +Resembling, straightway in its place arose. + + + + +CANTO II + + +Now had the sun to that horizon reach’d, +That covers, with the most exalted point +Of its meridian circle, Salem’s walls, +And night, that opposite to him her orb +Sounds, from the stream of Ganges issued forth, +Holding the scales, that from her hands are dropp’d +When she reigns highest: so that where I was, +Aurora’s white and vermeil-tinctur’d cheek +To orange turn’d as she in age increas’d. + +Meanwhile we linger’d by the water’s brink, +Like men, who, musing on their road, in thought +Journey, while motionless the body rests. +When lo! as near upon the hour of dawn, +Through the thick vapours Mars with fiery beam +Glares down in west, over the ocean floor; +So seem’d, what once again I hope to view, +A light so swiftly coming through the sea, +No winged course might equal its career. +From which when for a space I had withdrawn +Thine eyes, to make inquiry of my guide, +Again I look’d and saw it grown in size +And brightness: thou on either side appear’d +Something, but what I knew not of bright hue, +And by degrees from underneath it came +Another. My preceptor silent yet +Stood, while the brightness, that we first discern’d, +Open’d the form of wings: then when he knew +The pilot, cried aloud, “Down, down; bend low +Thy knees; behold God’s angel: fold thy hands: +Now shalt thou see true Ministers indeed. + +“Lo how all human means he sets at naught! +So that nor oar he needs, nor other sail +Except his wings, between such distant shores. +Lo how straight up to heaven he holds them rear’d, +Winnowing the air with those eternal plumes, +That not like mortal hairs fall off or change!” + +As more and more toward us came, more bright +Appear’d the bird of God, nor could the eye +Endure his splendor near: I mine bent down. +He drove ashore in a small bark so swift +And light, that in its course no wave it drank. +The heav’nly steersman at the prow was seen, +Visibly written blessed in his looks. + +Within a hundred spirits and more there sat. +“In Exitu Israel de Aegypto;” +All with one voice together sang, with what +In the remainder of that hymn is writ. +Then soon as with the sign of holy cross +He bless’d them, they at once leap’d out on land, +The swiftly as he came return’d. The crew, +There left, appear’d astounded with the place, +Gazing around as one who sees new sights. + +From every side the sun darted his beams, +And with his arrowy radiance from mid heav’n +Had chas’d the Capricorn, when that strange tribe +Lifting their eyes towards us: “If ye know, +Declare what path will Lead us to the mount.” + +Them Virgil answer’d. “Ye suppose perchance +Us well acquainted with this place: but here, +We, as yourselves, are strangers. Not long erst +We came, before you but a little space, +By other road so rough and hard, that now +The’ ascent will seem to us as play.” The spirits, +Who from my breathing had perceiv’d I liv’d, +Grew pale with wonder. As the multitude +Flock round a herald, sent with olive branch, +To hear what news he brings, and in their haste +Tread one another down, e’en so at sight +Of me those happy spirits were fix’d, each one +Forgetful of its errand, to depart, +Where cleans’d from sin, it might be made all fair. + +Then one I saw darting before the rest +With such fond ardour to embrace me, I +To do the like was mov’d. O shadows vain +Except in outward semblance! thrice my hands +I clasp’d behind it, they as oft return’d +Empty into my breast again. Surprise +I needs must think was painted in my looks, +For that the shadow smil’d and backward drew. +To follow it I hasten’d, but with voice +Of sweetness it enjoin’d me to desist. +Then who it was I knew, and pray’d of it, +To talk with me, it would a little pause. +It answered: “Thee as in my mortal frame +I lov’d, so loos’d forth it I love thee still, +And therefore pause; but why walkest thou here?” + +“Not without purpose once more to return, +Thou find’st me, my Casella, where I am +Journeying this way;” I said, “but how of thee +Hath so much time been lost?” He answer’d straight: +“No outrage hath been done to me, if he +Who when and whom he chooses takes, me oft +This passage hath denied, since of just will +His will he makes. These three months past indeed, +He, whose chose to enter, with free leave +Hath taken; whence I wand’ring by the shore +Where Tyber’s wave grows salt, of him gain’d kind +Admittance, at that river’s mouth, tow’rd which +His wings are pointed, for there always throng +All such as not to Archeron descend.” + +Then I: “If new laws have not quite destroy’d +Memory and use of that sweet song of love, +That while all my cares had power to ’swage; +Please thee with it a little to console +My spirit, that incumber’d with its frame, +Travelling so far, of pain is overcome.” + +“Love that discourses in my thoughts.” He then +Began in such soft accents, that within +The sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guide +And all who came with him, so well were pleas’d, +That seem’d naught else might in their thoughts have room. + +Fast fix’d in mute attention to his notes +We stood, when lo! that old man venerable +Exclaiming, “How is this, ye tardy spirits? +What negligence detains you loit’ring here? +Run to the mountain to cast off those scales, +That from your eyes the sight of God conceal.” + +As a wild flock of pigeons, to their food +Collected, blade or tares, without their pride +Accustom’d, and in still and quiet sort, +If aught alarm them, suddenly desert +Their meal, assail’d by more important care; +So I that new-come troop beheld, the song +Deserting, hasten to the mountain’s side, +As one who goes yet where he tends knows not. + +Nor with less hurried step did we depart. + + + + +CANTO III + + +Them sudden flight had scatter’d over the plain, +Turn’d tow’rds the mountain, whither reason’s voice +Drives us; I to my faithful company +Adhering, left it not. For how of him +Depriv’d, might I have sped, or who beside +Would o’er the mountainous tract have led my steps +He with the bitter pang of self-remorse +Seem’d smitten. O clear conscience and upright +How doth a little fling wound thee sore! + +Soon as his feet desisted (slack’ning pace), +From haste, that mars all decency of act, +My mind, that in itself before was wrapt, +Its thoughts expanded, as with joy restor’d: +And full against the steep ascent I set +My face, where highest to heav’n its top o’erflows. + +The sun, that flar’d behind, with ruddy beam +Before my form was broken; for in me +His rays resistance met. I turn’d aside +With fear of being left, when I beheld +Only before myself the ground obscur’d. +When thus my solace, turning him around, +Bespake me kindly: “Why distrustest thou? +Believ’st not I am with thee, thy sure guide? +It now is evening there, where buried lies +The body, in which I cast a shade, remov’d +To Naples from Brundusium’s wall. Nor thou +Marvel, if before me no shadow fall, +More than that in the sky element +One ray obstructs not other. To endure +Torments of heat and cold extreme, like frames +That virtue hath dispos’d, which how it works +Wills not to us should be reveal’d. Insane +Who hopes, our reason may that space explore, +Which holds three persons in one substance knit. +Seek not the wherefore, race of human kind; +Could ye have seen the whole, no need had been +For Mary to bring forth. Moreover ye +Have seen such men desiring fruitlessly; +To whose desires repose would have been giv’n, +That now but serve them for eternal grief. +I speak of Plato, and the Stagyrite, +And others many more.” And then he bent +Downwards his forehead, and in troubled mood +Broke off his speech. Meanwhile we had arriv’d +Far as the mountain’s foot, and there the rock +Found of so steep ascent, that nimblest steps +To climb it had been vain. The most remote +Most wild untrodden path, in all the tract +’Twixt Lerice and Turbia were to this +A ladder easy’ and open of access. + +“Who knows on which hand now the steep declines?” +My master said and paus’d, “so that he may +Ascend, who journeys without aid of wine?” +And while with looks directed to the ground +The meaning of the pathway he explor’d, +And I gaz’d upward round the stony height, +Of spirits, that toward us mov’d their steps, +Yet moving seem’d not, they so slow approach’d. + +I thus my guide address’d: “Upraise thine eyes, +Lo that way some, of whom thou may’st obtain +Counsel, if of thyself thou find’st it not!” + +Straightway he look’d, and with free speech replied: +“Let us tend thither: they but softly come. +And thou be firm in hope, my son belov’d.” + +Now was that people distant far in space +A thousand paces behind ours, as much +As at a throw the nervous arm could fling, +When all drew backward on the messy crags +Of the steep bank, and firmly stood unmov’d +As one who walks in doubt might stand to look. + +“O spirits perfect! O already chosen!” +Virgil to them began, “by that blest peace, +Which, as I deem, is for you all prepar’d, +Instruct us where the mountain low declines, +So that attempt to mount it be not vain. +For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves.” + +As sheep, that step from forth their fold, by one, +Or pairs, or three at once; meanwhile the rest +Stand fearfully, bending the eye and nose +To ground, and what the foremost does, that do +The others, gath’ring round her, if she stops, +Simple and quiet, nor the cause discern; +So saw I moving to advance the first, +Who of that fortunate crew were at the head, +Of modest mien and graceful in their gait. +When they before me had beheld the light +From my right side fall broken on the ground, +So that the shadow reach’d the cave, they stopp’d +And somewhat back retir’d: the same did all, +Who follow’d, though unweeting of the cause. + +“Unask’d of you, yet freely I confess, +This is a human body which ye see. +That the sun’s light is broken on the ground, +Marvel not: but believe, that not without +Virtue deriv’d from Heaven, we to climb +Over this wall aspire.” So them bespake +My master; and that virtuous tribe rejoin’d; +“Turn, and before you there the entrance lies,” +Making a signal to us with bent hands. + +Then of them one began. “Whoe’er thou art, +Who journey’st thus this way, thy visage turn, +Think if me elsewhere thou hast ever seen.” + +I tow’rds him turn’d, and with fix’d eye beheld. +Comely, and fair, and gentle of aspect, +He seem’d, but on one brow a gash was mark’d. + +When humbly I disclaim’d to have beheld +Him ever: “Now behold!” he said, and show’d +High on his breast a wound: then smiling spake. + +“I am Manfredi, grandson to the Queen +Costanza: whence I pray thee, when return’d, +To my fair daughter go, the parent glad +Of Aragonia and Sicilia’s pride; +And of the truth inform her, if of me +Aught else be told. When by two mortal blows +My frame was shatter’d, I betook myself +Weeping to him, who of free will forgives. +My sins were horrible; but so wide arms +Hath goodness infinite, that it receives +All who turn to it. Had this text divine +Been of Cosenza’s shepherd better scann’d, +Who then by Clement on my hunt was set, +Yet at the bridge’s head my bones had lain, +Near Benevento, by the heavy mole +Protected; but the rain now drenches them, +And the wind drives, out of the kingdom’s bounds, +Far as the stream of Verde, where, with lights +Extinguish’d, he remov’d them from their bed. +Yet by their curse we are not so destroy’d, +But that the eternal love may turn, while hope +Retains her verdant blossoms. True it is, +That such one as in contumacy dies +Against the holy church, though he repent, +Must wander thirty-fold for all the time +In his presumption past; if such decree +Be not by prayers of good men shorter made +Look therefore if thou canst advance my bliss; +Revealing to my good Costanza, how +Thou hast beheld me, and beside the terms +Laid on me of that interdict; for here +By means of those below much profit comes.” + + + + +CANTO IV + + +When by sensations of delight or pain, +That any of our faculties hath seiz’d, +Entire the soul collects herself, it seems +She is intent upon that power alone, +And thus the error is disprov’d which holds +The soul not singly lighted in the breast. +And therefore when as aught is heard or seen, +That firmly keeps the soul toward it turn’d, +Time passes, and a man perceives it not. +For that, whereby he hearken, is one power, +Another that, which the whole spirit hash; +This is as it were bound, while that is free. + +This found I true by proof, hearing that spirit +And wond’ring; for full fifty steps aloft +The sun had measur’d unobserv’d of me, +When we arriv’d where all with one accord +The spirits shouted, “Here is what ye ask.” + +A larger aperture ofttimes is stopp’d +With forked stake of thorn by villager, +When the ripe grape imbrowns, than was the path, +By which my guide, and I behind him close, +Ascended solitary, when that troop +Departing left us. On Sanleo’s road +Who journeys, or to Noli low descends, +Or mounts Bismantua’s height, must use his feet; +But here a man had need to fly, I mean +With the swift wing and plumes of high desire, +Conducted by his aid, who gave me hope, +And with light furnish’d to direct my way. + +We through the broken rock ascended, close +Pent on each side, while underneath the ground +Ask’d help of hands and feet. When we arriv’d +Near on the highest ridge of the steep bank, +Where the plain level open’d I exclaim’d, +“O master! say which way can we proceed?” + +He answer’d, “Let no step of thine recede. +Behind me gain the mountain, till to us +Some practis’d guide appear.” That eminence +Was lofty that no eye might reach its point, +And the side proudly rising, more than line +From the mid quadrant to the centre drawn. +I wearied thus began: “Parent belov’d! +Turn, and behold how I remain alone, +If thou stay not.”—“My son!” He straight reply’d, +“Thus far put forth thy strength;” and to a track +Pointed, that, on this side projecting, round +Circles the hill. His words so spurr’d me on, +That I behind him clamb’ring, forc’d myself, +Till my feet press’d the circuit plain beneath. +There both together seated, turn’d we round +To eastward, whence was our ascent: and oft +Many beside have with delight look’d back. + +First on the nether shores I turn’d my eyes, +Then rais’d them to the sun, and wond’ring mark’d +That from the left it smote us. Soon perceiv’d +That Poet sage now at the car of light +Amaz’d I stood, where ’twixt us and the north +Its course it enter’d. Whence he thus to me: +“Were Leda’s offspring now in company +Of that broad mirror, that high up and low +Imparts his light beneath, thou might’st behold +The ruddy zodiac nearer to the bears +Wheel, if its ancient course it not forsook. +How that may be if thou would’st think; within +Pond’ring, imagine Sion with this mount +Plac’d on the earth, so that to both be one +Horizon, and two hemispheres apart, +Where lies the path that Phaeton ill knew +To guide his erring chariot: thou wilt see +How of necessity by this on one +He passes, while by that on the’ other side, +If with clear view shine intellect attend.” + +“Of truth, kind teacher!” I exclaim’d, “so clear +Aught saw I never, as I now discern +Where seem’d my ken to fail, that the mid orb +Of the supernal motion (which in terms +Of art is called the Equator, and remains +Ever between the sun and winter) for the cause +Thou hast assign’d, from hence toward the north +Departs, when those who in the Hebrew land +Inhabit, see it tow’rds the warmer part. +But if it please thee, I would gladly know, +How far we have to journey: for the hill +Mounts higher, than this sight of mine can mount.” + +He thus to me: “Such is this steep ascent, +That it is ever difficult at first, +But, more a man proceeds, less evil grows. +When pleasant it shall seem to thee, so much +That upward going shall be easy to thee. +As in a vessel to go down the tide, +Then of this path thou wilt have reach’d the end. +There hope to rest thee from thy toil. No more +I answer, and thus far for certain know.” +As he his words had spoken, near to us +A voice there sounded: “Yet ye first perchance +May to repose you by constraint be led.” +At sound thereof each turn’d, and on the left +A huge stone we beheld, of which nor I +Nor he before was ware. Thither we drew, +find there were some, who in the shady place +Behind the rock were standing, as a man +Thru’ idleness might stand. Among them one, +Who seem’d to me much wearied, sat him down, +And with his arms did fold his knees about, +Holding his face between them downward bent. + +“Sweet Sir!” I cry’d, “behold that man, who shows +Himself more idle, than if laziness +Were sister to him.” Straight he turn’d to us, +And, o’er the thigh lifting his face, observ’d, +Then in these accents spake: “Up then, proceed +Thou valiant one.” Straight who it was I knew; +Nor could the pain I felt (for want of breath +Still somewhat urg’d me) hinder my approach. +And when I came to him, he scarce his head +Uplifted, saying “Well hast thou discern’d, +How from the left the sun his chariot leads.” + +His lazy acts and broken words my lips +To laughter somewhat mov’d; when I began: +“Belacqua, now for thee I grieve no more. +But tell, why thou art seated upright there? +Waitest thou escort to conduct thee hence? +Or blame I only shine accustom’d ways?” +Then he: “My brother, of what use to mount, +When to my suffering would not let me pass +The bird of God, who at the portal sits? +Behooves so long that heav’n first bear me round +Without its limits, as in life it bore, +Because I to the end repentant Sighs +Delay’d, if prayer do not aid me first, +That riseth up from heart which lives in grace. +What other kind avails, not heard in heaven?” + +Before me now the Poet up the mount +Ascending, cried: “Haste thee, for see the sun +Has touch’d the point meridian, and the night +Now covers with her foot Marocco’s shore.” + + + + +CANTO V + + +Now had I left those spirits, and pursued +The steps of my Conductor, when beheld +Pointing the finger at me one exclaim’d: +“See how it seems as if the light not shone +From the left hand of him beneath, and he, +As living, seems to be led on.” Mine eyes +I at that sound reverting, saw them gaze +Through wonder first at me, and then at me +And the light broken underneath, by turns. +“Why are thy thoughts thus riveted?” my guide +Exclaim’d, “that thou hast slack’d thy pace? or how +Imports it thee, what thing is whisper’d here? +Come after me, and to their babblings leave +The crowd. Be as a tower, that, firmly set, +Shakes not its top for any blast that blows! +He, in whose bosom thought on thought shoots out, +Still of his aim is wide, in that the one +Sicklies and wastes to nought the other’s strength.” + +What other could I answer save “I come?” +I said it, somewhat with that colour ting’d +Which ofttimes pardon meriteth for man. + +Meanwhile traverse along the hill there came, +A little way before us, some who sang +The “Miserere” in responsive Strains. +When they perceiv’d that through my body I +Gave way not for the rays to pass, their song +Straight to a long and hoarse exclaim they chang’d; +And two of them, in guise of messengers, +Ran on to meet us, and inquiring ask’d: +“Of your condition we would gladly learn.” + +To them my guide. “Ye may return, and bear +Tidings to them who sent you, that his frame +Is real flesh. If, as I deem, to view +His shade they paus’d, enough is answer’d them. +Him let them honour, they may prize him well.” + +Ne’er saw I fiery vapours with such speed +Cut through the serene air at fall of night, +Nor August’s clouds athwart the setting sun, +That upward these did not in shorter space +Return; and, there arriving, with the rest +Wheel back on us, as with loose rein a troop. + +“Many,” exclaim’d the bard, “are these, who throng +Around us: to petition thee they come. +Go therefore on, and listen as thou go’st.” + +“O spirit! who go’st on to blessedness +With the same limbs, that clad thee at thy birth.” +Shouting they came, “a little rest thy step. +Look if thou any one amongst our tribe +Hast e’er beheld, that tidings of him there +Thou mayst report. Ah, wherefore go’st thou on? +Ah wherefore tarriest thou not? We all +By violence died, and to our latest hour +Were sinners, but then warn’d by light from heav’n, +So that, repenting and forgiving, we +Did issue out of life at peace with God, +Who with desire to see him fills our heart.” + +Then I: “The visages of all I scan +Yet none of ye remember. But if aught, +That I can do, may please you, gentle spirits! +Speak; and I will perform it, by that peace, +Which on the steps of guide so excellent +Following from world to world intent I seek.” + +In answer he began: “None here distrusts +Thy kindness, though not promis’d with an oath; +So as the will fail not for want of power. +Whence I, who sole before the others speak, +Entreat thee, if thou ever see that land, +Which lies between Romagna and the realm +Of Charles, that of thy courtesy thou pray +Those who inhabit Fano, that for me +Their adorations duly be put up, +By which I may purge off my grievous sins. +From thence I came. But the deep passages, +Whence issued out the blood wherein I dwelt, +Upon my bosom in Antenor’s land +Were made, where to be more secure I thought. +The author of the deed was Este’s prince, +Who, more than right could warrant, with his wrath +Pursued me. Had I towards Mira fled, +When overta’en at Oriaco, still +Might I have breath’d. But to the marsh I sped, +And in the mire and rushes tangled there +Fell, and beheld my life-blood float the plain.” + +Then said another: “Ah! so may the wish, +That takes thee o’er the mountain, be fulfill’d, +As thou shalt graciously give aid to mine. +Of Montefeltro I; Buonconte I: +Giovanna nor none else have care for me, +Sorrowing with these I therefore go.” I thus: +“From Campaldino’s field what force or chance +Drew thee, that ne’er thy sepulture was known?” + +“Oh!” answer’d he, “at Casentino’s foot +A stream there courseth, nam’d Archiano, sprung +In Apennine above the Hermit’s seat. +E’en where its name is cancel’d, there came I, +Pierc’d in the heart, fleeing away on foot, +And bloodying the plain. Here sight and speech +Fail’d me, and finishing with Mary’s name +I fell, and tenantless my flesh remain’d. +I will report the truth; which thou again +Tell to the living. Me God’s angel took, +Whilst he of hell exclaim’d: “O thou from heav’n! +Say wherefore hast thou robb’d me? Thou of him +Th’ eternal portion bear’st with thee away +For one poor tear that he deprives me of. +But of the other, other rule I make.” + +“Thou knowest how in the atmosphere collects +That vapour dank, returning into water, +Soon as it mounts where cold condenses it. +That evil will, which in his intellect +Still follows evil, came, and rais’d the wind +And smoky mist, by virtue of the power +Given by his nature. Thence the valley, soon +As day was spent, he cover’d o’er with cloud +From Pratomagno to the mountain range, +And stretch’d the sky above, so that the air +Impregnate chang’d to water. Fell the rain, +And to the fosses came all that the land +Contain’d not; and, as mightiest streams are wont, +To the great river with such headlong sweep +Rush’d, that nought stay’d its course. My stiffen’d frame +Laid at his mouth the fell Archiano found, +And dash’d it into Arno, from my breast +Loos’ning the cross, that of myself I made +When overcome with pain. He hurl’d me on, +Along the banks and bottom of his course; +Then in his muddy spoils encircling wrapt.” + +“Ah! when thou to the world shalt be return’d, +And rested after thy long road,” so spake +Next the third spirit; “then remember me. +I once was Pia. Sienna gave me life, +Maremma took it from me. That he knows, +Who me with jewell’d ring had first espous’d.” + + + + +CANTO VI + + +When from their game of dice men separate, +He, who hath lost, remains in sadness fix’d, +Revolving in his mind, what luckless throws +He cast: but meanwhile all the company +Go with the other; one before him runs, +And one behind his mantle twitches, one +Fast by his side bids him remember him. +He stops not; and each one, to whom his hand +Is stretch’d, well knows he bids him stand aside; +And thus he from the press defends himself. +E’en such was I in that close-crowding throng; +And turning so my face around to all, +And promising, I ’scap’d from it with pains. + +Here of Arezzo him I saw, who fell +By Ghino’s cruel arm; and him beside, +Who in his chase was swallow’d by the stream. +Here Frederic Novello, with his hand +Stretch’d forth, entreated; and of Pisa he, +Who put the good Marzuco to such proof +Of constancy. Count Orso I beheld; +And from its frame a soul dismiss’d for spite +And envy, as it said, but for no crime: +I speak of Peter de la Brosse; and here, +While she yet lives, that Lady of Brabant +Let her beware; lest for so false a deed +She herd with worse than these. When I was freed +From all those spirits, who pray’d for others’ prayers +To hasten on their state of blessedness; +Straight I began: “O thou, my luminary! +It seems expressly in thy text denied, +That heaven’s supreme decree can never bend +To supplication; yet with this design +Do these entreat. Can then their hope be vain, +Or is thy saying not to me reveal’d?” + +He thus to me: “Both what I write is plain, +And these deceiv’d not in their hope, if well +Thy mind consider, that the sacred height +Of judgment doth not stoop, because love’s flame +In a short moment all fulfils, which he +Who sojourns here, in right should satisfy. +Besides, when I this point concluded thus, +By praying no defect could be supplied; +Because the pray’r had none access to God. +Yet in this deep suspicion rest thou not +Contented unless she assure thee so, +Who betwixt truth and mind infuses light. +I know not if thou take me right; I mean +Beatrice. Her thou shalt behold above, +Upon this mountain’s crown, fair seat of joy.” + +Then I: “Sir! let us mend our speed; for now +I tire not as before; and lo! the hill +Stretches its shadow far.” He answer’d thus: +“Our progress with this day shall be as much +As we may now dispatch; but otherwise +Than thou supposest is the truth. For there +Thou canst not be, ere thou once more behold +Him back returning, who behind the steep +Is now so hidden, that as erst his beam +Thou dost not break. But lo! a spirit there +Stands solitary, and toward us looks: +It will instruct us in the speediest way.” + +We soon approach’d it. O thou Lombard spirit! +How didst thou stand, in high abstracted mood, +Scarce moving with slow dignity thine eyes! +It spoke not aught, but let us onward pass, +Eyeing us as a lion on his watch. +But Virgil with entreaty mild advanc’d, +Requesting it to show the best ascent. +It answer to his question none return’d, +But of our country and our kind of life +Demanded. When my courteous guide began, +“Mantua,” the solitary shadow quick +Rose towards us from the place in which it stood, +And cry’d, “Mantuan! I am thy countryman +Sordello.” Each the other then embrac’d. + +Ah slavish Italy! thou inn of grief, +Vessel without a pilot in loud storm, +Lady no longer of fair provinces, +But brothel-house impure! this gentle spirit, +Ev’n from the Pleasant sound of his dear land +Was prompt to greet a fellow citizen +With such glad cheer; while now thy living ones +In thee abide not without war; and one +Malicious gnaws another, ay of those +Whom the same wall and the same moat contains, +Seek, wretched one! around thy sea-coasts wide; +Then homeward to thy bosom turn, and mark +If any part of the sweet peace enjoy. +What boots it, that thy reins Justinian’s hand +Befitted, if thy saddle be unpress’d? +Nought doth he now but aggravate thy shame. +Ah people! thou obedient still shouldst live, +And in the saddle let thy Caesar sit, +If well thou marked’st that which God commands. + +Look how that beast to felness hath relaps’d +From having lost correction of the spur, +Since to the bridle thou hast set thine hand, +O German Albert! who abandon’st her, +That is grown savage and unmanageable, +When thou should’st clasp her flanks with forked heels. +Just judgment from the stars fall on thy blood! +And be it strange and manifest to all! +Such as may strike thy successor with dread! +For that thy sire and thou have suffer’d thus, +Through greediness of yonder realms detain’d, +The garden of the empire to run waste. +Come see the Capulets and Montagues, +The Philippeschi and Monaldi! man +Who car’st for nought! those sunk in grief, and these +With dire suspicion rack’d. Come, cruel one! +Come and behold the’ oppression of the nobles, +And mark their injuries: and thou mayst see. +What safety Santafiore can supply. +Come and behold thy Rome, who calls on thee, +Desolate widow! day and night with moans: +“My Caesar, why dost thou desert my side?” +Come and behold what love among thy people: +And if no pity touches thee for us, +Come and blush for thine own report. For me, +If it be lawful, O Almighty Power, +Who wast in earth for our sakes crucified! +Are thy just eyes turn’d elsewhere? or is this +A preparation in the wond’rous depth +Of thy sage counsel made, for some good end, +Entirely from our reach of thought cut off? +So are the’ Italian cities all o’erthrong’d +With tyrants, and a great Marcellus made +Of every petty factious villager. + +My Florence! thou mayst well remain unmov’d +At this digression, which affects not thee: +Thanks to thy people, who so wisely speed. +Many have justice in their heart, that long +Waiteth for counsel to direct the bow, +Or ere it dart unto its aim: but shine +Have it on their lip’s edge. Many refuse +To bear the common burdens: readier thine +Answer uneall’d, and cry, “Behold I stoop!” + +Make thyself glad, for thou hast reason now, +Thou wealthy! thou at peace! thou wisdom-fraught! +Facts best witness if I speak the truth. +Athens and Lacedaemon, who of old +Enacted laws, for civil arts renown’d, +Made little progress in improving life +Tow’rds thee, who usest such nice subtlety, +That to the middle of November scarce +Reaches the thread thou in October weav’st. +How many times, within thy memory, +Customs, and laws, and coins, and offices +Have been by thee renew’d, and people chang’d! + +If thou remember’st well and can’st see clear, +Thou wilt perceive thyself like a sick wretch, +Who finds no rest upon her down, but oft +Shifting her side, short respite seeks from pain. + + + + +CANTO VII + + +After their courteous greetings joyfully +Sev’n times exchang’d, Sordello backward drew +Exclaiming, “Who are ye?” “Before this mount +By spirits worthy of ascent to God +Was sought, my bones had by Octavius’ care +Been buried. I am Virgil, for no sin +Depriv’d of heav’n, except for lack of faith.” + +So answer’d him in few my gentle guide. + +As one, who aught before him suddenly +Beholding, whence his wonder riseth, cries +“It is yet is not,” wav’ring in belief; +Such he appear’d; then downward bent his eyes, +And drawing near with reverential step, +Caught him, where of mean estate might clasp +His lord. “Glory of Latium!” he exclaim’d, +“In whom our tongue its utmost power display’d! +Boast of my honor’d birth-place! what desert +Of mine, what favour rather undeserv’d, +Shows thee to me? If I to hear that voice +Am worthy, say if from below thou com’st +And from what cloister’s pale?”—“Through every orb +Of that sad region,” he reply’d, “thus far +Am I arriv’d, by heav’nly influence led +And with such aid I come. There is a place +There underneath, not made by torments sad, +But by dun shades alone; where mourning’s voice +Sounds not of anguish sharp, but breathes in sighs. + +“There I with little innocents abide, +Who by death’s fangs were bitten, ere exempt +From human taint. There I with those abide, +Who the three holy virtues put not on, +But understood the rest, and without blame +Follow’d them all. But if thou know’st and canst, +Direct us, how we soonest may arrive, +Where Purgatory its true beginning takes.” + +He answer’d thus: “We have no certain place +Assign’d us: upwards I may go or round, +Far as I can, I join thee for thy guide. +But thou beholdest now how day declines: +And upwards to proceed by night, our power +Excels: therefore it may be well to choose +A place of pleasant sojourn. To the right +Some spirits sit apart retir’d. If thou +Consentest, I to these will lead thy steps: +And thou wilt know them, not without delight.” + +“How chances this?” was answer’d; “who so wish’d +To ascend by night, would he be thence debarr’d +By other, or through his own weakness fail?” + +The good Sordello then, along the ground +Trailing his finger, spoke: “Only this line +Thou shalt not overpass, soon as the sun +Hath disappear’d; not that aught else impedes +Thy going upwards, save the shades of night. +These with the wont of power perplex the will. +With them thou haply mightst return beneath, +Or to and fro around the mountain’s side +Wander, while day is in the horizon shut.” + +My master straight, as wond’ring at his speech, +Exclaim’d: “Then lead us quickly, where thou sayst, +That, while we stay, we may enjoy delight.” + +A little space we were remov’d from thence, +When I perceiv’d the mountain hollow’d out. +Ev’n as large valleys hollow’d out on earth, + +“That way,” the’ escorting spirit cried, “we go, +Where in a bosom the high bank recedes: +And thou await renewal of the day.” + +Betwixt the steep and plain a crooked path +Led us traverse into the ridge’s side, +Where more than half the sloping edge expires. +Refulgent gold, and silver thrice refin’d, +And scarlet grain and ceruse, Indian wood +Of lucid dye serene, fresh emeralds +But newly broken, by the herbs and flowers +Plac’d in that fair recess, in color all +Had been surpass’d, as great surpasses less. +Nor nature only there lavish’d her hues, +But of the sweetness of a thousand smells +A rare and undistinguish’d fragrance made. + +“Salve Regina,” on the grass and flowers +Here chanting I beheld those spirits sit +Who not beyond the valley could be seen. + +“Before the west’ring sun sink to his bed,” +Began the Mantuan, who our steps had turn’d, + +“’Mid those desires not that I lead ye on. +For from this eminence ye shall discern +Better the acts and visages of all, +Than in the nether vale among them mix’d. +He, who sits high above the rest, and seems +To have neglected that he should have done, +And to the others’ song moves not his lip, +The Emperor Rodolph call, who might have heal’d +The wounds whereof fair Italy hath died, +So that by others she revives but slowly, +He, who with kindly visage comforts him, +Sway’d in that country, where the water springs, +That Moldaw’s river to the Elbe, and Elbe +Rolls to the ocean: Ottocar his name: +Who in his swaddling clothes was of more worth +Than Winceslaus his son, a bearded man, +Pamper’d with rank luxuriousness and ease. +And that one with the nose depress, who close +In counsel seems with him of gentle look, +Flying expir’d, with’ring the lily’s flower. +Look there how he doth knock against his breast! +The other ye behold, who for his cheek +Makes of one hand a couch, with frequent sighs. +They are the father and the father-in-law +Of Gallia’s bane: his vicious life they know +And foul; thence comes the grief that rends them thus. + +“He, so robust of limb, who measure keeps +In song, with him of feature prominent, +With ev’ry virtue bore his girdle brac’d. +And if that stripling who behinds him sits, +King after him had liv’d, his virtue then +From vessel to like vessel had been pour’d; +Which may not of the other heirs be said. +By James and Frederick his realms are held; +Neither the better heritage obtains. +Rarely into the branches of the tree +Doth human worth mount up; and so ordains +He who bestows it, that as his free gift +It may be call’d. To Charles my words apply +No less than to his brother in the song; +Which Pouille and Provence now with grief confess. +So much that plant degenerates from its seed, +As more than Beatrice and Margaret +Costanza still boasts of her valorous spouse. + +“Behold the king of simple life and plain, +Harry of England, sitting there alone: +He through his branches better issue spreads. + +“That one, who on the ground beneath the rest +Sits lowest, yet his gaze directs aloft, +Us William, that brave Marquis, for whose cause +The deed of Alexandria and his war +Makes Conferrat and Canavese weep.” + + + + +CANTO VIII + + +Now was the hour that wakens fond desire +In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart, +Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell, +And pilgrim newly on his road with love +Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far, +That seems to mourn for the expiring day: +When I, no longer taking heed to hear +Began, with wonder, from those spirits to mark +One risen from its seat, which with its hand +Audience implor’d. Both palms it join’d and rais’d, +Fixing its steadfast gaze towards the east, +As telling God, “I care for naught beside.” + +“Te Lucis Ante,” so devoutly then +Came from its lip, and in so soft a strain, +That all my sense in ravishment was lost. +And the rest after, softly and devout, +Follow’d through all the hymn, with upward gaze +Directed to the bright supernal wheels. + +Here, reader! for the truth makes thine eyes keen: +For of so subtle texture is this veil, +That thou with ease mayst pass it through unmark’d. + +I saw that gentle band silently next +Look up, as if in expectation held, +Pale and in lowly guise; and from on high +I saw forth issuing descend beneath +Two angels with two flame-illumin’d swords, +Broken and mutilated at their points. +Green as the tender leaves but newly born, +Their vesture was, the which by wings as green +Beaten, they drew behind them, fann’d in air. +A little over us one took his stand, +The other lighted on the’ Opposing hill, +So that the troop were in the midst contain’d. + +Well I descried the whiteness on their heads; +But in their visages the dazzled eye +Was lost, as faculty that by too much +Is overpower’d. “From Mary’s bosom both +Are come,” exclaim’d Sordello, “as a guard +Over the vale, ganst him, who hither tends, +The serpent.” Whence, not knowing by which path +He came, I turn’d me round, and closely press’d, +All frozen, to my leader’s trusted side. + +Sordello paus’d not: “To the valley now +(For it is time) let us descend; and hold +Converse with those great shadows: haply much +Their sight may please ye.” Only three steps down +Methinks I measur’d, ere I was beneath, +And noted one who look’d as with desire +To know me. Time was now that air arrow dim; +Yet not so dim, that ’twixt his eyes and mine +It clear’d not up what was conceal’d before. +Mutually tow’rds each other we advanc’d. +Nino, thou courteous judge! what joy I felt, +When I perceiv’d thou wert not with the bad! + +No salutation kind on either part +Was left unsaid. He then inquir’d: “How long +Since thou arrived’st at the mountain’s foot, +Over the distant waves?”—“O!” answer’d I, +“Through the sad seats of woe this morn I came, +And still in my first life, thus journeying on, +The other strive to gain.” Soon as they heard +My words, he and Sordello backward drew, +As suddenly amaz’d. To Virgil one, +The other to a spirit turn’d, who near +Was seated, crying: “Conrad! up with speed: +Come, see what of his grace high God hath will’d.” +Then turning round to me: “By that rare mark +Of honour which thou ow’st to him, who hides +So deeply his first cause, it hath no ford, +When thou shalt be beyond the vast of waves. +Tell my Giovanna, that for me she call +There, where reply to innocence is made. +Her mother, I believe, loves me no more; +Since she has chang’d the white and wimpled folds, +Which she is doom’d once more with grief to wish. +By her it easily may be perceiv’d, +How long in women lasts the flame of love, +If sight and touch do not relume it oft. +For her so fair a burial will not make +The viper which calls Milan to the field, +As had been made by shrill Gallura’s bird.” + +He spoke, and in his visage took the stamp +Of that right seal, which with due temperature +Glows in the bosom. My insatiate eyes +Meanwhile to heav’n had travel’d, even there +Where the bright stars are slowest, as a wheel +Nearest the axle; when my guide inquir’d: +“What there aloft, my son, has caught thy gaze?” + +I answer’d: “The three torches, with which here +The pole is all on fire.” He then to me: +“The four resplendent stars, thou saw’st this morn +Are there beneath, and these ris’n in their stead.” + +While yet he spoke. Sordello to himself +Drew him, and cry’d: “Lo there our enemy!” +And with his hand pointed that way to look. + +Along the side, where barrier none arose +Around the little vale, a serpent lay, +Such haply as gave Eve the bitter food. +Between the grass and flowers, the evil snake +Came on, reverting oft his lifted head; +And, as a beast that smoothes its polish’d coat, +Licking his hack. I saw not, nor can tell, +How those celestial falcons from their seat +Mov’d, but in motion each one well descried, +Hearing the air cut by their verdant plumes. +The serpent fled; and to their stations back +The angels up return’d with equal flight. + +The Spirit (who to Nino, when he call’d, +Had come), from viewing me with fixed ken, +Through all that conflict, loosen’d not his sight. + +“So may the lamp, which leads thee up on high, +Find, in thy destin’d lot, of wax so much, +As may suffice thee to the enamel’s height.” +It thus began: “If any certain news +Of Valdimagra and the neighbour part +Thou know’st, tell me, who once was mighty there +They call’d me Conrad Malaspina, not +That old one, but from him I sprang. The love +I bore my people is now here refin’d.” + +“In your dominions,” I answer’d, “ne’er was I. +But through all Europe where do those men dwell, +To whom their glory is not manifest? +The fame, that honours your illustrious house, +Proclaims the nobles and proclaims the land; +So that he knows it who was never there. +I swear to you, so may my upward route +Prosper! your honour’d nation not impairs +The value of her coffer and her sword. +Nature and use give her such privilege, +That while the world is twisted from his course +By a bad head, she only walks aright, +And has the evil way in scorn.” He then: +“Now pass thee on: sev’n times the tired sun +Revisits not the couch, which with four feet +The forked Aries covers, ere that kind +Opinion shall be nail’d into thy brain +With stronger nails than other’s speech can drive, +If the sure course of judgment be not stay’d.” + + + + +CANTO IX + + +Now the fair consort of Tithonus old, +Arisen from her mate’s beloved arms, +Look’d palely o’er the eastern cliff: her brow, +Lucent with jewels, glitter’d, set in sign +Of that chill animal, who with his train +Smites fearful nations: and where then we were, +Two steps of her ascent the night had past, +And now the third was closing up its wing, +When I, who had so much of Adam with me, +Sank down upon the grass, o’ercome with sleep, +There where all five were seated. In that hour, +When near the dawn the swallow her sad lay, +Rememb’ring haply ancient grief, renews, +And with our minds more wand’rers from the flesh, +And less by thought restrain’d are, as ’twere, full +Of holy divination in their dreams, +Then in a vision did I seem to view +A golden-feather’d eagle in the sky, +With open wings, and hov’ring for descent, +And I was in that place, methought, from whence +Young Ganymede, from his associates ’reft, +Was snatch’d aloft to the high consistory. +“Perhaps,” thought I within me, “here alone +He strikes his quarry, and elsewhere disdains +To pounce upon the prey.” Therewith, it seem’d, +A little wheeling in his airy tour +Terrible as the lightning rush’d he down, +And snatch’d me upward even to the fire. + +There both, I thought, the eagle and myself +Did burn; and so intense th’ imagin’d flames, +That needs my sleep was broken off. As erst +Achilles shook himself, and round him roll’d +His waken’d eyeballs wond’ring where he was, +Whenas his mother had from Chiron fled +To Scyros, with him sleeping in her arms; +E’en thus I shook me, soon as from my face +The slumber parted, turning deadly pale, +Like one ice-struck with dread. Solo at my side +My comfort stood: and the bright sun was now +More than two hours aloft: and to the sea +My looks were turn’d. “Fear not,” my master cried, +“Assur’d we are at happy point. Thy strength +Shrink not, but rise dilated. Thou art come +To Purgatory now. Lo! there the cliff +That circling bounds it! Lo! the entrance there, +Where it doth seem disparted! re the dawn +Usher’d the daylight, when thy wearied soul +Slept in thee, o’er the flowery vale beneath +A lady came, and thus bespake me: “I +Am Lucia. Suffer me to take this man, +Who slumbers. Easier so his way shall speed.” +Sordello and the other gentle shapes +Tarrying, she bare thee up: and, as day shone, +This summit reach’d: and I pursued her steps. +Here did she place thee. First her lovely eyes +That open entrance show’d me; then at once +She vanish’d with thy sleep. Like one, whose doubts +Are chas’d by certainty, and terror turn’d +To comfort on discovery of the truth, +Such was the change in me: and as my guide +Beheld me fearless, up along the cliff +He mov’d, and I behind him, towards the height. + +Reader! thou markest how my theme doth rise, +Nor wonder therefore, if more artfully +I prop the structure! nearer now we drew, +Arriv’d’ whence in that part, where first a breach +As of a wall appear’d, I could descry +A portal, and three steps beneath, that led +For inlet there, of different colour each, +And one who watch’d, but spake not yet a word. +As more and more mine eye did stretch its view, +I mark’d him seated on the highest step, +In visage such, as past my power to bear. + +Grasp’d in his hand a naked sword, glanc’d back +The rays so toward me, that I oft in vain +My sight directed. “Speak from whence ye stand:” +He cried: “What would ye? Where is your escort? +Take heed your coming upward harm ye not.” + +“A heavenly dame, not skilless of these things,” +Replied the’ instructor, “told us, even now, +“Pass that way: here the gate is.”—“And may she +Befriending prosper your ascent,” resum’d +The courteous keeper of the gate: “Come then +Before our steps.” We straightway thither came. + +The lowest stair was marble white so smooth +And polish’d, that therein my mirror’d form +Distinct I saw. The next of hue more dark +Than sablest grain, a rough and singed block, +Crack’d lengthwise and across. The third, that lay +Massy above, seem’d porphyry, that flam’d +Red as the life-blood spouting from a vein. +On this God’s angel either foot sustain’d, +Upon the threshold seated, which appear’d +A rock of diamond. Up the trinal steps +My leader cheerily drew me. “Ask,” said he, + +“With humble heart, that he unbar the bolt.” + +Piously at his holy feet devolv’d +I cast me, praying him for pity’s sake +That he would open to me: but first fell +Thrice on my bosom prostrate. Seven times +The letter, that denotes the inward stain, +He on my forehead with the blunted point +Of his drawn sword inscrib’d. And “Look,” he cried, +“When enter’d, that thou wash these scars away.” + +Ashes, or earth ta’en dry out of the ground, +Were of one colour with the robe he wore. +From underneath that vestment forth he drew +Two keys of metal twain: the one was gold, +Its fellow silver. With the pallid first, +And next the burnish’d, he so ply’d the gate, +As to content me well. “Whenever one +Faileth of these, that in the keyhole straight +It turn not, to this alley then expect +Access in vain.” Such were the words he spake. +“One is more precious: but the other needs +Skill and sagacity, large share of each, +Ere its good task to disengage the knot +Be worthily perform’d. From Peter these +I hold, of him instructed, that I err +Rather in opening than in keeping fast; +So but the suppliant at my feet implore.” + +Then of that hallow’d gate he thrust the door, +Exclaiming, “Enter, but this warning hear: +He forth again departs who looks behind.” + +As in the hinges of that sacred ward +The swivels turn’d, sonorous metal strong, +Harsh was the grating; nor so surlily +Roar’d the Tarpeian, when by force bereft +Of good Metellus, thenceforth from his loss +To leanness doom’d. Attentively I turn’d, +List’ning the thunder, that first issued forth; +And “We praise thee, O God,” methought I heard +In accents blended with sweet melody. +The strains came o’er mine ear, e’en as the sound +Of choral voices, that in solemn chant +With organ mingle, and, now high and clear, +Come swelling, now float indistinct away. + + + + +CANTO X + + +When we had passed the threshold of the gate +(Which the soul’s ill affection doth disuse, +Making the crooked seem the straighter path), +I heard its closing sound. Had mine eyes turn’d, +For that offence what plea might have avail’d? + +We mounted up the riven rock, that wound +On either side alternate, as the wave +Flies and advances. “Here some little art +Behooves us,” said my leader, “that our steps +Observe the varying flexure of the path.” + +Thus we so slowly sped, that with cleft orb +The moon once more o’erhangs her wat’ry couch, +Ere we that strait have threaded. But when free +We came and open, where the mount above +One solid mass retires, I spent, with toil, +And both, uncertain of the way, we stood, +Upon a plain more lonesome, than the roads +That traverse desert wilds. From whence the brink +Borders upon vacuity, to foot +Of the steep bank, that rises still, the space +Had measur’d thrice the stature of a man: +And, distant as mine eye could wing its flight, +To leftward now and now to right dispatch’d, +That cornice equal in extent appear’d. + +Not yet our feet had on that summit mov’d, +When I discover’d that the bank around, +Whose proud uprising all ascent denied, +Was marble white, and so exactly wrought +With quaintest sculpture, that not there alone +Had Polycletus, but e’en nature’s self +Been sham’d. The angel who came down to earth +With tidings of the peace so many years +Wept for in vain, that op’d the heavenly gates +From their long interdict, before us seem’d, +In a sweet act, so sculptur’d to the life, +He look’d no silent image. One had sworn +He had said, “Hail!” for she was imag’d there, +By whom the key did open to God’s love, +And in her act as sensibly impress +That word, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord,” +As figure seal’d on wax. “Fix not thy mind +On one place only,” said the guide belov’d, +Who had me near him on that part where lies +The heart of man. My sight forthwith I turn’d +And mark’d, behind the virgin mother’s form, +Upon that side, where he, that mov’d me, stood, +Another story graven on the rock. + +I passed athwart the bard, and drew me near, +That it might stand more aptly for my view. +There in the self-same marble were engrav’d +The cart and kine, drawing the sacred ark, +That from unbidden office awes mankind. +Before it came much people; and the whole +Parted in seven quires. One sense cried, “Nay,” +Another, “Yes, they sing.” Like doubt arose +Betwixt the eye and smell, from the curl’d fume +Of incense breathing up the well-wrought toil. +Preceding the blest vessel, onward came +With light dance leaping, girt in humble guise, +Sweet Israel’s harper: in that hap he seem’d +Less and yet more than kingly. Opposite, +At a great palace, from the lattice forth +Look’d Michol, like a lady full of scorn +And sorrow. To behold the tablet next, +Which at the hack of Michol whitely shone, +I mov’d me. There was storied on the rock +The’ exalted glory of the Roman prince, +Whose mighty worth mov’d Gregory to earn +His mighty conquest, Trajan th’ Emperor. +A widow at his bridle stood, attir’d +In tears and mourning. Round about them troop’d +Full throng of knights, and overhead in gold +The eagles floated, struggling with the wind. + +The wretch appear’d amid all these to say: +“Grant vengeance, sire! for, woe beshrew this heart +My son is murder’d.” He replying seem’d; + +“Wait now till I return.” And she, as one +Made hasty by her grief; “O sire, if thou +Dost not return?”—“Where I am, who then is, +May right thee.”—“What to thee is other’s good, +If thou neglect thy own?”—“Now comfort thee,” +At length he answers. “It beseemeth well +My duty be perform’d, ere I move hence: +So justice wills; and pity bids me stay.” + +He, whose ken nothing new surveys, produc’d +That visible speaking, new to us and strange +The like not found on earth. Fondly I gaz’d +Upon those patterns of meek humbleness, +Shapes yet more precious for their artist’s sake, +When “Lo,” the poet whisper’d, “where this way +(But slack their pace), a multitude advance. +These to the lofty steps shall guide us on.” + +Mine eyes, though bent on view of novel sights +Their lov’d allurement, were not slow to turn. + +Reader! would not that amaz’d thou miss +Of thy good purpose, hearing how just God +Decrees our debts be cancel’d. Ponder not +The form of suff’ring. Think on what succeeds, +Think that at worst beyond the mighty doom +It cannot pass. “Instructor,” I began, +“What I see hither tending, bears no trace +Of human semblance, nor of aught beside +That my foil’d sight can guess.” He answering thus: +“So courb’d to earth, beneath their heavy teems +Of torment stoop they, that mine eye at first +Struggled as thine. But look intently thither, +An disentangle with thy lab’ring view, +What underneath those stones approacheth: now, +E’en now, mayst thou discern the pangs of each.” + +Christians and proud! poor and wretched ones! +That feeble in the mind’s eye, lean your trust +Upon unstaid perverseness! now ye not +That we are worms, yet made at last to form +The winged insect, imp’d with angel plumes +That to heaven’s justice unobstructed soars? +Why buoy ye up aloft your unfleg’d souls? +Abortive then and shapeless ye remain, +Like the untimely embryon of a worm! + +As, to support incumbent floor or roof, +For corbel is a figure sometimes seen, +That crumples up its knees unto its breast, +With the feign’d posture stirring ruth unfeign’d +In the beholder’s fancy; so I saw +These fashion’d, when I noted well their guise. + +Each, as his back was laden, came indeed +Or more or less contract; but it appear’d +As he, who show’d most patience in his look, +Wailing exclaim’d: “I can endure no more.” + + + + +CANTO XI + + +“O thou Almighty Father, who dost make +The heavens thy dwelling, not in bounds confin’d, +But that with love intenser there thou view’st +Thy primal effluence, hallow’d be thy name: +Join each created being to extol +Thy might, for worthy humblest thanks and praise +Is thy blest Spirit. May thy kingdom’s peace +Come unto us; for we, unless it come, +With all our striving thither tend in vain. +As of their will the angels unto thee +Tender meet sacrifice, circling thy throne +With loud hosannas, so of theirs be done +By saintly men on earth. Grant us this day +Our daily manna, without which he roams +Through this rough desert retrograde, who most +Toils to advance his steps. As we to each +Pardon the evil done us, pardon thou +Benign, and of our merit take no count. +’Gainst the old adversary prove thou not +Our virtue easily subdu’d; but free +From his incitements and defeat his wiles. +This last petition, dearest Lord! is made +Not for ourselves, since that were needless now, +But for their sakes who after us remain.” + +Thus for themselves and us good speed imploring, +Those spirits went beneath a weight like that +We sometimes feel in dreams, all, sore beset, +But with unequal anguish, wearied all, +Round the first circuit, purging as they go, +The world’s gross darkness off: In our behalf +If there vows still be offer’d, what can here +For them be vow’d and done by such, whose wills +Have root of goodness in them? Well beseems +That we should help them wash away the stains +They carried hence, that so made pure and light, +They may spring upward to the starry spheres. + +“Ah! so may mercy-temper’d justice rid +Your burdens speedily, that ye have power +To stretch your wing, which e’en to your desire +Shall lift you, as ye show us on which hand +Toward the ladder leads the shortest way. +And if there be more passages than one, +Instruct us of that easiest to ascend; +For this man who comes with me, and bears yet +The charge of fleshly raiment Adam left him, +Despite his better will but slowly mounts.” +From whom the answer came unto these words, +Which my guide spake, appear’d not; but ’twas said: + +“Along the bank to rightward come with us, +And ye shall find a pass that mocks not toil +Of living man to climb: and were it not +That I am hinder’d by the rock, wherewith +This arrogant neck is tam’d, whence needs I stoop +My visage to the ground, him, who yet lives, +Whose name thou speak’st not him I fain would view. +To mark if e’er I knew himnd to crave +His pity for the fardel that I bear. +I was of Latiun, of a Tuscan horn +A mighty one: Aldobranlesco’s name +My sire’s, I know not if ye e’er have heard. +My old blood and forefathers’ gallant deeds +Made me so haughty, that I clean forgot +The common mother, and to such excess, +Wax’d in my scorn of all men, that I fell, +Fell therefore; by what fate Sienna’s sons, +Each child in Campagnatico, can tell. +I am Omberto; not me only pride +Hath injur’d, but my kindred all involv’d +In mischief with her. Here my lot ordains +Under this weight to groan, till I appease +God’s angry justice, since I did it not +Amongst the living, here amongst the dead.” + +List’ning I bent my visage down: and one +(Not he who spake) twisted beneath the weight +That urg’d him, saw me, knew me straight, and call’d, +Holding his eyes With difficulty fix’d +Intent upon me, stooping as I went +Companion of their way. “O!” I exclaim’d, + +“Art thou not Oderigi, art not thou +Agobbio’s glory, glory of that art +Which they of Paris call the limmer’s skill?” + +“Brother!” said he, “with tints that gayer smile, +Bolognian Franco’s pencil lines the leaves. +His all the honour now; mine borrow’d light. +In truth I had not been thus courteous to him, +The whilst I liv’d, through eagerness of zeal +For that pre-eminence my heart was bent on. +Here of such pride the forfeiture is paid. +Nor were I even here; if, able still +To sin, I had not turn’d me unto God. +O powers of man! how vain your glory, nipp’d +E’en in its height of verdure, if an age +Less bright succeed not! imbue thought +To lord it over painting’s field; and now +The cry is Giotto’s, and his name eclips’d. +Thus hath one Guido from the other snatch’d +The letter’d prize: and he perhaps is born, +Who shall drive either from their nest. The noise +Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind, +That blows from divers points, and shifts its name +Shifting the point it blows from. Shalt thou more +Live in the mouths of mankind, if thy flesh +Part shrivel’d from thee, than if thou hadst died, +Before the coral and the pap were left, +Or ere some thousand years have passed? and that +Is, to eternity compar’d, a space, +Briefer than is the twinkling of an eye +To the heaven’s slowest orb. He there who treads +So leisurely before me, far and wide +Through Tuscany resounded once; and now +Is in Sienna scarce with whispers nam’d: +There was he sov’reign, when destruction caught +The madd’ning rage of Florence, in that day +Proud as she now is loathsome. Your renown +Is as the herb, whose hue doth come and go, +And his might withers it, by whom it sprang +Crude from the lap of earth.” I thus to him: +“True are thy sayings: to my heart they breathe +The kindly spirit of meekness, and allay +What tumours rankle there. But who is he +Of whom thou spak’st but now?”—“This,” he replied, +“Is Provenzano. He is here, because +He reach’d, with grasp presumptuous, at the sway +Of all Sienna. Thus he still hath gone, +Thus goeth never-resting, since he died. +Such is th’ acquittance render’d back of him, +Who, beyond measure, dar’d on earth.” I then: +“If soul that to the verge of life delays +Repentance, linger in that lower space, +Nor hither mount, unless good prayers befriend, +How chanc’d admittance was vouchsaf’d to him?” + +“When at his glory’s topmost height,” said he, +“Respect of dignity all cast aside, +Freely He fix’d him on Sienna’s plain, +A suitor to redeem his suff’ring friend, +Who languish’d in the prison-house of Charles, +Nor for his sake refus’d through every vein +To tremble. More I will not say; and dark, +I know, my words are, but thy neighbours soon +Shall help thee to a comment on the text. +This is the work, that from these limits freed him.” + + + + +CANTO XII + + +With equal pace as oxen in the yoke, +I with that laden spirit journey’d on +Long as the mild instructor suffer’d me; +But when he bade me quit him, and proceed +(For “here,” said he, “behooves with sail and oars +Each man, as best he may, push on his bark”), +Upright, as one dispos’d for speed, I rais’d +My body, still in thought submissive bow’d. + +I now my leader’s track not loth pursued; +And each had shown how light we far’d along +When thus he warn’d me: “Bend thine eyesight down: +For thou to ease the way shall find it good +To ruminate the bed beneath thy feet.” + +As in memorial of the buried, drawn +Upon earth-level tombs, the sculptur’d form +Of what was once, appears (at sight whereof +Tears often stream forth by remembrance wak’d, +Whose sacred stings the piteous only feel), +So saw I there, but with more curious skill +Of portraiture o’erwrought, whate’er of space +From forth the mountain stretches. On one part +Him I beheld, above all creatures erst +Created noblest, light’ning fall from heaven: +On th’ other side with bolt celestial pierc’d +Briareus: cumb’ring earth he lay through dint +Of mortal ice-stroke. The Thymbraean god +With Mars, I saw, and Pallas, round their sire, +Arm’d still, and gazing on the giant’s limbs +Strewn o’er th’ ethereal field. Nimrod I saw: +At foot of the stupendous work he stood, +As if bewilder’d, looking on the crowd +Leagued in his proud attempt on Sennaar’s plain. + +O Niobe! in what a trance of woe +Thee I beheld, upon that highway drawn, +Sev’n sons on either side thee slain! Saul! +How ghastly didst thou look! on thine own sword +Expiring in Gilboa, from that hour +Ne’er visited with rain from heav’n or dew! + +O fond Arachne! thee I also saw +Half spider now in anguish crawling up +Th’ unfinish’d web thou weaved’st to thy bane! + +O Rehoboam! here thy shape doth seem +Louring no more defiance! but fear-smote +With none to chase him in his chariot whirl’d. + +Was shown beside upon the solid floor +How dear Alcmaeon forc’d his mother rate +That ornament in evil hour receiv’d: +How in the temple on Sennacherib fell +His sons, and how a corpse they left him there. +Was shown the scath and cruel mangling made +By Tomyris on Cyrus, when she cried: +“Blood thou didst thirst for, take thy fill of blood!” +Was shown how routed in the battle fled +Th’ Assyrians, Holofernes slain, and e’en +The relics of the carnage. Troy I mark’d +In ashes and in caverns. Oh! how fall’n, +How abject, Ilion, was thy semblance there! + +What master of the pencil or the style +Had trac’d the shades and lines, that might have made +The subtlest workman wonder? Dead the dead, +The living seem’d alive; with clearer view +His eye beheld not who beheld the truth, +Than mine what I did tread on, while I went +Low bending. Now swell out; and with stiff necks +Pass on, ye sons of Eve! veil not your looks, +Lest they descry the evil of your path! + +I noted not (so busied was my thought) +How much we now had circled of the mount, +And of his course yet more the sun had spent, +When he, who with still wakeful caution went, +Admonish’d: “Raise thou up thy head: for know +Time is not now for slow suspense. Behold +That way an angel hasting towards us! Lo! +Where duly the sixth handmaid doth return +From service on the day. Wear thou in look +And gesture seemly grace of reverent awe, +That gladly he may forward us aloft. +Consider that this day ne’er dawns again.” + +Time’s loss he had so often warn’d me ’gainst, +I could not miss the scope at which he aim’d. + +The goodly shape approach’d us, snowy white +In vesture, and with visage casting streams +Of tremulous lustre like the matin star. +His arms he open’d, then his wings; and spake: +“Onward: the steps, behold! are near; and now +Th’ ascent is without difficulty gain’d.” + +A scanty few are they, who when they hear +Such tidings, hasten. O ye race of men +Though born to soar, why suffer ye a wind +So slight to baffle ye? He led us on +Where the rock parted; here against my front +Did beat his wings, then promis’d I should fare +In safety on my way. As to ascend +That steep, upon whose brow the chapel stands +(O’er Rubaconte, looking lordly down +On the well-guided city,) up the right +Th’ impetuous rise is broken by the steps +Carv’d in that old and simple age, when still +The registry and label rested safe; +Thus is th’ acclivity reliev’d, which here +Precipitous from the other circuit falls: +But on each hand the tall cliff presses close. + +As ent’ring there we turn’d, voices, in strain +Ineffable, sang: “Blessed are the poor +In spirit.” Ah how far unlike to these +The straits of hell; here songs to usher us, +There shrieks of woe! We climb the holy stairs: +And lighter to myself by far I seem’d +Than on the plain before, whence thus I spake: +“Say, master, of what heavy thing have I +Been lighten’d, that scarce aught the sense of toil +Affects me journeying?” He in few replied: +“When sin’s broad characters, that yet remain +Upon thy temples, though well nigh effac’d, +Shall be, as one is, all clean razed out, +Then shall thy feet by heartiness of will +Be so o’ercome, they not alone shall feel +No sense of labour, but delight much more +Shall wait them urg’d along their upward way.” + +Then like to one, upon whose head is plac’d +Somewhat he deems not of but from the becks +Of others as they pass him by; his hand +Lends therefore help to’ assure him, searches, finds, +And well performs such office as the eye +Wants power to execute: so stretching forth +The fingers of my right hand, did I find +Six only of the letters, which his sword +Who bare the keys had trac’d upon my brow. +The leader, as he mark’d mine action, smil’d. + + + + +CANTO XIII + + +We reach’d the summit of the scale, and stood +Upon the second buttress of that mount +Which healeth him who climbs. A cornice there, +Like to the former, girdles round the hill; +Save that its arch with sweep less ample bends. + +Shadow nor image there is seen; all smooth +The rampart and the path, reflecting nought +But the rock’s sullen hue. “If here we wait +For some to question,” said the bard, “I fear +Our choice may haply meet too long delay.” + +Then fixedly upon the sun his eyes +He fastn’d, made his right the central point +From whence to move, and turn’d the left aside. +“O pleasant light, my confidence and hope, +Conduct us thou,” he cried, “on this new way, +Where now I venture, leading to the bourn +We seek. The universal world to thee +Owes warmth and lustre. If no other cause +Forbid, thy beams should ever be our guide.” + +Far, as is measur’d for a mile on earth, +In brief space had we journey’d; such prompt will +Impell’d; and towards us flying, now were heard +Spirits invisible, who courteously +Unto love’s table bade the welcome guest. +The voice, that firstlew by, call’d forth aloud, +“They have no wine;” so on behind us past, +Those sounds reiterating, nor yet lost +In the faint distance, when another came +Crying, “I am Orestes,” and alike +Wing’d its fleet way. “Oh father!” I exclaim’d, +“What tongues are these?” and as I question’d, lo! +A third exclaiming, “Love ye those have wrong’d you.” + +“This circuit,” said my teacher, “knots the scourge +For envy, and the cords are therefore drawn +By charity’s correcting hand. The curb +Is of a harsher sound, as thou shalt hear +(If I deem rightly), ere thou reach the pass, +Where pardon sets them free. But fix thine eyes +Intently through the air, and thou shalt see +A multitude before thee seated, each +Along the shelving grot.” Then more than erst +I op’d my eyes, before me view’d, and saw +Shadows with garments dark as was the rock; +And when we pass’d a little forth, I heard +A crying, “Blessed Mary! pray for us, +Michael and Peter! all ye saintly host!” + +I do not think there walks on earth this day +Man so remorseless, that he hath not yearn’d +With pity at the sight that next I saw. +Mine eyes a load of sorrow teemed, when now +I stood so near them, that their semblances +Came clearly to my view. Of sackcloth vile +Their cov’ring seem’d; and on his shoulder one +Did stay another, leaning, and all lean’d +Against the cliff. E’en thus the blind and poor, +Near the confessionals, to crave an alms, +Stand, each his head upon his fellow’s sunk, + +So most to stir compassion, not by sound +Of words alone, but that, which moves not less, +The sight of mis’ry. And as never beam +Of noonday visiteth the eyeless man, +E’en so was heav’n a niggard unto these +Of his fair light; for, through the orbs of all, +A thread of wire, impiercing, knits them up, +As for the taming of a haggard hawk. + +It were a wrong, methought, to pass and look +On others, yet myself the while unseen. +To my sage counsel therefore did I turn. +He knew the meaning of the mute appeal, +Nor waited for my questioning, but said: +“Speak; and be brief, be subtle in thy words.” + +On that part of the cornice, whence no rim +Engarlands its steep fall, did Virgil come; +On the’ other side me were the spirits, their cheeks +Bathing devout with penitential tears, +That through the dread impalement forc’d a way. + +I turn’d me to them, and “O shades!” said I, + +“Assur’d that to your eyes unveil’d shall shine +The lofty light, sole object of your wish, +So may heaven’s grace clear whatsoe’er of foam +Floats turbid on the conscience, that thenceforth +The stream of mind roll limpid from its source, +As ye declare (for so shall ye impart +A boon I dearly prize) if any soul +Of Latium dwell among ye; and perchance +That soul may profit, if I learn so much.” + +“My brother, we are each one citizens +Of one true city. Any thou wouldst say, +Who lived a stranger in Italia’s land.” + +So heard I answering, as appeal’d, a voice +That onward came some space from whence I stood. + +A spirit I noted, in whose look was mark’d +Expectance. Ask ye how? The chin was rais’d +As in one reft of sight. “Spirit,” said I, +“Who for thy rise are tutoring (if thou be +That which didst answer to me,) or by place +Or name, disclose thyself, that I may know thee.” + +“I was,” it answer’d, “of Sienna: here +I cleanse away with these the evil life, +Soliciting with tears that He, who is, +Vouchsafe him to us. Though Sapia nam’d +In sapience I excell’d not, gladder far +Of others’ hurt, than of the good befell me. +That thou mayst own I now deceive thee not, +Hear, if my folly were not as I speak it. +When now my years slop’d waning down the arch, +It so bechanc’d, my fellow citizens +Near Colle met their enemies in the field, +And I pray’d God to grant what He had will’d. +There were they vanquish’d, and betook themselves +Unto the bitter passages of flight. +I mark’d the hunt, and waxing out of bounds +In gladness, lifted up my shameless brow, +And like the merlin cheated by a gleam, +Cried, “It is over. Heav’n! fear thee not.” +Upon my verge of life I wish’d for peace +With God; nor repentance had supplied +What I did lack of duty, were it not +The hermit Piero, touch’d with charity, +In his devout orisons thought on me. +“But who art thou that question’st of our state, +Who go’st to my belief, with lids unclos’d, +And breathest in thy talk?”—“Mine eyes,” said I, +“May yet be here ta’en from me; but not long; +For they have not offended grievously +With envious glances. But the woe beneath +Urges my soul with more exceeding dread. +That nether load already weighs me down.” + +She thus: “Who then amongst us here aloft +Hath brought thee, if thou weenest to return?” + +“He,” answer’d I, “who standeth mute beside me. +I live: of me ask therefore, chosen spirit, +If thou desire I yonder yet should move +For thee my mortal feet.”—“Oh!” she replied, +“This is so strange a thing, it is great sign +That God doth love thee. Therefore with thy prayer +Sometime assist me: and by that I crave, +Which most thou covetest, that if thy feet +E’er tread on Tuscan soil, thou save my fame +Amongst my kindred. Them shalt thou behold +With that vain multitude, who set their hope +On Telamone’s haven, there to fail +Confounded, more shall when the fancied stream +They sought of Dian call’d: but they who lead +Their navies, more than ruin’d hopes shall mourn.” + + + + +CANTO XIV + + +“Say who is he around our mountain winds, +Or ever death has prun’d his wing for flight, +That opes his eyes and covers them at will?” + +“I know not who he is, but know thus much +He comes not singly. Do thou ask of him, +For thou art nearer to him, and take heed +Accost him gently, so that he may speak.” + +Thus on the right two Spirits bending each +Toward the other, talk’d of me, then both +Addressing me, their faces backward lean’d, +And thus the one began: “O soul, who yet +Pent in the body, tendest towards the sky! +For charity, we pray thee’ comfort us, +Recounting whence thou com’st, and who thou art: +For thou dost make us at the favour shown thee +Marvel, as at a thing that ne’er hath been.” + +“There stretches through the midst of Tuscany,” +I straight began: “a brooklet, whose well-head +Springs up in Falterona, with his race +Not satisfied, when he some hundred miles +Hath measur’d. From his banks bring, I this frame. +To tell you who I am were words misspent: +For yet my name scarce sounds on rumour’s lip.” + +“If well I do incorp’rate with my thought +The meaning of thy speech,” said he, who first +Addrest me, “thou dost speak of Arno’s wave.” + +To whom the other: “Why hath he conceal’d +The title of that river, as a man +Doth of some horrible thing?” The spirit, who +Thereof was question’d, did acquit him thus: +“I know not: but ’tis fitting well the name +Should perish of that vale; for from the source +Where teems so plenteously the Alpine steep +Maim’d of Pelorus, (that doth scarcely pass +Beyond that limit,) even to the point +Whereunto ocean is restor’d, what heaven +Drains from th’ exhaustless store for all earth’s streams, +Throughout the space is virtue worried down, +As ’twere a snake, by all, for mortal foe, +Or through disastrous influence on the place, +Or else distortion of misguided wills, +That custom goads to evil: whence in those, +The dwellers in that miserable vale, +Nature is so transform’d, it seems as they +Had shar’d of Circe’s feeding. ’Midst brute swine, +Worthier of acorns than of other food +Created for man’s use, he shapeth first +His obscure way; then, sloping onward, finds +Curs, snarlers more in spite than power, from whom +He turns with scorn aside: still journeying down, +By how much more the curst and luckless foss +Swells out to largeness, e’en so much it finds +Dogs turning into wolves. Descending still +Through yet more hollow eddies, next he meets +A race of foxes, so replete with craft, +They do not fear that skill can master it. +Nor will I cease because my words are heard +By other ears than thine. It shall be well +For this man, if he keep in memory +What from no erring Spirit I reveal. +Lo! behold thy grandson, that becomes +A hunter of those wolves, upon the shore +Of the fierce stream, and cows them all with dread: +Their flesh yet living sets he up to sale, +Then like an aged beast to slaughter dooms. +Many of life he reaves, himself of worth +And goodly estimation. Smear’d with gore +Mark how he issues from the rueful wood, +Leaving such havoc, that in thousand years +It spreads not to prime lustihood again.” + +As one, who tidings hears of woe to come, +Changes his looks perturb’d, from whate’er part +The peril grasp him, so beheld I change +That spirit, who had turn’d to listen, struck +With sadness, soon as he had caught the word. + +His visage and the other’s speech did raise Desire in me to know the +names of both, whereof with meek entreaty I inquir’d. + +The shade, who late addrest me, thus resum’d: +“Thy wish imports that I vouchsafe to do +For thy sake what thou wilt not do for mine. +But since God’s will is that so largely shine +His grace in thee, I will be liberal too. +Guido of Duca know then that I am. +Envy so parch’d my blood, that had I seen +A fellow man made joyous, thou hadst mark’d +A livid paleness overspread my cheek. +Such harvest reap I of the seed I sow’d. +O man, why place thy heart where there doth need +Exclusion of participants in good? +This is Rinieri’s spirit, this the boast +And honour of the house of Calboli, +Where of his worth no heritage remains. +Nor his the only blood, that hath been stript +(’twixt Po, the mount, the Reno, and the shore,) +Of all that truth or fancy asks for bliss; +But in those limits such a growth has sprung +Of rank and venom’d roots, as long would mock +Slow culture’s toil. Where is good Liziohere +Manardi, Traversalo, and Carpigna? +O bastard slips of old Romagna’s line! +When in Bologna the low artisan, +And in Faenza yon Bernardin sprouts, +A gentle cyon from ignoble stem. +Wonder not, Tuscan, if thou see me weep, +When I recall to mind those once lov’d names, +Guido of Prata, and of Azzo him +That dwelt with you; Tignoso and his troop, +With Traversaro’s house and Anastagio’s, +(Each race disherited) and beside these, +The ladies and the knights, the toils and ease, +That witch’d us into love and courtesy; +Where now such malice reigns in recreant hearts. +O Brettinoro! wherefore tarriest still, +Since forth of thee thy family hath gone, +And many, hating evil, join’d their steps? +Well doeth he, that bids his lineage cease, +Bagnacavallo; Castracaro ill, +And Conio worse, who care to propagate +A race of Counties from such blood as theirs. +Well shall ye also do, Pagani, then +When from amongst you tries your demon child. +Not so, howe’er, that henceforth there remain +True proof of what ye were. O Hugolin! +Thou sprung of Fantolini’s line! thy name +Is safe, since none is look’d for after thee +To cloud its lustre, warping from thy stock. +But, Tuscan, go thy ways; for now I take +Far more delight in weeping than in words. +Such pity for your sakes hath wrung my heart.” + +We knew those gentle spirits at parting heard +Our steps. Their silence therefore of our way +Assur’d us. Soon as we had quitted them, +Advancing onward, lo! a voice that seem’d +Like vollied light’ning, when it rives the air, +Met us, and shouted, “Whosoever finds +Will slay me,” then fled from us, as the bolt +Lanc’d sudden from a downward-rushing cloud. +When it had giv’n short truce unto our hearing, +Behold the other with a crash as loud +As the quick-following thunder: “Mark in me +Aglauros turn’d to rock.” I at the sound +Retreating drew more closely to my guide. + +Now in mute stillness rested all the air: +And thus he spake: “There was the galling bit. +But your old enemy so baits his hook, +He drags you eager to him. Hence nor curb +Avails you, nor reclaiming call. Heav’n calls +And round about you wheeling courts your gaze +With everlasting beauties. Yet your eye +Turns with fond doting still upon the earth. +Therefore He smites you who discerneth all.” + + + + +CANTO XV + + +As much as ’twixt the third hour’s close and dawn, +Appeareth of heav’n’s sphere, that ever whirls +As restless as an infant in his play, +So much appear’d remaining to the sun +Of his slope journey towards the western goal. + +Evening was there, and here the noon of night; +and full upon our forehead smote the beams. +For round the mountain, circling, so our path +Had led us, that toward the sun-set now +Direct we journey’d: when I felt a weight +Of more exceeding splendour, than before, +Press on my front. The cause unknown, amaze +Possess’d me, and both hands against my brow +Lifting, I interpos’d them, as a screen, +That of its gorgeous superflux of light +Clipp’d the diminish’d orb. As when the ray, +Striking On water or the surface clear +Of mirror, leaps unto the opposite part, +Ascending at a glance, e’en as it fell, +(And so much differs from the stone, that falls +Through equal space, as practice skill hath shown); +Thus with refracted light before me seemed +The ground there smitten; whence in sudden haste +My sight recoil’d. “What is this, sire belov’d! +’Gainst which I strive to shield the sight in vain?” +Cried I, “and which towards us moving seems?” + +“Marvel not, if the family of heav’n,” +He answer’d, “yet with dazzling radiance dim +Thy sense it is a messenger who comes, +Inviting man’s ascent. Such sights ere long, +Not grievous, shall impart to thee delight, +As thy perception is by nature wrought +Up to their pitch.” The blessed angel, soon +As we had reach’d him, hail’d us with glad voice: +“Here enter on a ladder far less steep +Than ye have yet encounter’d.” We forthwith +Ascending, heard behind us chanted sweet, +“Blessed the merciful,” and “happy thou! +That conquer’st.” Lonely each, my guide and I +Pursued our upward way; and as we went, +Some profit from his words I hop’d to win, +And thus of him inquiring, fram’d my speech: + +“What meant Romagna’s spirit, when he spake +Of bliss exclusive with no partner shar’d?” + +He straight replied: “No wonder, since he knows, +What sorrow waits on his own worst defect, +If he chide others, that they less may mourn. +Because ye point your wishes at a mark, +Where, by communion of possessors, part +Is lessen’d, envy bloweth up the sighs of men. +No fear of that might touch ye, if the love +Of higher sphere exalted your desire. +For there, by how much more they call it ours, +So much propriety of each in good +Increases more, and heighten’d charity +Wraps that fair cloister in a brighter flame.” + +“Now lack I satisfaction more,” said I, +“Than if thou hadst been silent at the first, +And doubt more gathers on my lab’ring thought. +How can it chance, that good distributed, +The many, that possess it, makes more rich, +Than if ’twere shar’d by few?” He answering thus: +“Thy mind, reverting still to things of earth, +Strikes darkness from true light. The highest good +Unlimited, ineffable, doth so speed +To love, as beam to lucid body darts, +Giving as much of ardour as it finds. +The sempiternal effluence streams abroad +Spreading, wherever charity extends. +So that the more aspirants to that bliss +Are multiplied, more good is there to love, +And more is lov’d; as mirrors, that reflect, +Each unto other, propagated light. +If these my words avail not to allay +Thy thirsting, Beatrice thou shalt see, +Who of this want, and of all else thou hast, +Shall rid thee to the full. Provide but thou +That from thy temples may be soon eras’d, +E’en as the two already, those five scars, +That when they pain thee worst, then kindliest heal,” + +“Thou,” I had said, “content’st me,” when I saw +The other round was gain’d, and wond’ring eyes +Did keep me mute. There suddenly I seem’d +By an ecstatic vision wrapt away; +And in a temple saw, methought, a crowd +Of many persons; and at th’ entrance stood +A dame, whose sweet demeanour did express +A mother’s love, who said, “Child! why hast thou +Dealt with us thus? Behold thy sire and I +Sorrowing have sought thee;” and so held her peace, +And straight the vision fled. A female next +Appear’d before me, down whose visage cours’d +Those waters, that grief forces out from one +By deep resentment stung, who seem’d to say: +“If thou, Pisistratus, be lord indeed +Over this city, nam’d with such debate +Of adverse gods, and whence each science sparkles, +Avenge thee of those arms, whose bold embrace +Hath clasp’d our daughter; “and to fuel, meseem’d, +Benign and meek, with visage undisturb’d, +Her sovran spake: “How shall we those requite, +Who wish us evil, if we thus condemn +The man that loves us?” After that I saw +A multitude, in fury burning, slay +With stones a stripling youth, and shout amain +“Destroy, destroy:” and him I saw, who bow’d +Heavy with death unto the ground, yet made +His eyes, unfolded upward, gates to heav’n, + +Praying forgiveness of th’ Almighty Sire, +Amidst that cruel conflict, on his foes, +With looks, that With compassion to their aim. + +Soon as my spirit, from her airy flight +Returning, sought again the things, whose truth +Depends not on her shaping, I observ’d +How she had rov’d to no unreal scenes + +Meanwhile the leader, who might see I mov’d, +As one, who struggles to shake off his sleep, +Exclaim’d: “What ails thee, that thou canst not hold +Thy footing firm, but more than half a league +Hast travel’d with clos’d eyes and tott’ring gait, +Like to a man by wine or sleep o’ercharg’d?” + +“Beloved father! so thou deign,” said I, +“To listen, I will tell thee what appear’d +Before me, when so fail’d my sinking steps.” + +He thus: “Not if thy Countenance were mask’d +With hundred vizards, could a thought of thine +How small soe’er, elude me. What thou saw’st +Was shown, that freely thou mightst ope thy heart +To the waters of peace, that flow diffus’d +From their eternal fountain. I not ask’d, +What ails theeor such cause as he doth, who +Looks only with that eye which sees no more, +When spiritless the body lies; but ask’d, +To give fresh vigour to thy foot. Such goads +The slow and loit’ring need; that they be found +Not wanting, when their hour of watch returns.” + +So on we journey’d through the evening sky +Gazing intent, far onward, as our eyes +With level view could stretch against the bright +Vespertine ray: and lo! by slow degrees +Gath’ring, a fog made tow’rds us, dark as night. +There was no room for ’scaping; and that mist +Bereft us, both of sight and the pure air. + + + + +CANTO XVI + + +Hell’s dunnest gloom, or night unlustrous, dark, +Of every planes ’reft, and pall’d in clouds, +Did never spread before the sight a veil +In thickness like that fog, nor to the sense +So palpable and gross. Ent’ring its shade, +Mine eye endured not with unclosed lids; +Which marking, near me drew the faithful guide, +Offering me his shoulder for a stay. + +As the blind man behind his leader walks, +Lest he should err, or stumble unawares +On what might harm him, or perhaps destroy, +I journey’d through that bitter air and foul, +Still list’ning to my escort’s warning voice, +“Look that from me thou part not.” Straight I heard +Voices, and each one seem’d to pray for peace, +And for compassion, to the Lamb of God +That taketh sins away. Their prelude still +Was “Agnus Dei,” and through all the choir, +One voice, one measure ran, that perfect seem’d +The concord of their song. “Are these I hear +Spirits, O master?” I exclaim’d; and he: +“Thou aim’st aright: these loose the bonds of wrath.” + +“Now who art thou, that through our smoke dost cleave? +And speak’st of us, as thou thyself e’en yet +Dividest time by calends?” So one voice +Bespake me; whence my master said: “Reply; +And ask, if upward hence the passage lead.” + +“O being! who dost make thee pure, to stand +Beautiful once more in thy Maker’s sight! +Along with me: and thou shalt hear and wonder.” +Thus I, whereto the spirit answering spake: + +“Long as ’tis lawful for me, shall my steps +Follow on thine; and since the cloudy smoke +Forbids the seeing, hearing in its stead +Shall keep us join’d.” I then forthwith began +“Yet in my mortal swathing, I ascend +To higher regions, and am hither come +Through the fearful agony of hell. +And, if so largely God hath doled his grace, +That, clean beside all modern precedent, +He wills me to behold his kingly state, +From me conceal not who thou wast, ere death +Had loos’d thee; but instruct me: and instruct +If rightly to the pass I tend; thy words +The way directing as a safe escort.” + +“I was of Lombardy, and Marco call’d: +Not inexperienc’d of the world, that worth +I still affected, from which all have turn’d +The nerveless bow aside. Thy course tends right +Unto the summit:” and, replying thus, +He added, “I beseech thee pray for me, +When thou shalt come aloft.” And I to him: +“Accept my faith for pledge I will perform +What thou requirest. Yet one doubt remains, +That wrings me sorely, if I solve it not, +Singly before it urg’d me, doubled now +By thine opinion, when I couple that +With one elsewhere declar’d, each strength’ning other. +The world indeed is even so forlorn +Of all good as thou speak’st it and so swarms +With every evil. Yet, beseech thee, point +The cause out to me, that myself may see, +And unto others show it: for in heaven +One places it, and one on earth below.” + +Then heaving forth a deep and audible sigh, +“Brother!” he thus began, “the world is blind; +And thou in truth com’st from it. Ye, who live, +Do so each cause refer to heav’n above, +E’en as its motion of necessity +Drew with it all that moves. If this were so, +Free choice in you were none; nor justice would +There should be joy for virtue, woe for ill. +Your movements have their primal bent from heaven; +Not all; yet said I all; what then ensues? +Light have ye still to follow evil or good, +And of the will free power, which, if it stand +Firm and unwearied in Heav’n’s first assay, +Conquers at last, so it be cherish’d well, +Triumphant over all. To mightier force, +To better nature subject, ye abide +Free, not constrain’d by that, which forms in you +The reasoning mind uninfluenc’d of the stars. +If then the present race of mankind err, +Seek in yourselves the cause, and find it there. +Herein thou shalt confess me no false spy. + +“Forth from his plastic hand, who charm’d beholds +Her image ere she yet exist, the soul +Comes like a babe, that wantons sportively +Weeping and laughing in its wayward moods, +As artless and as ignorant of aught, +Save that her Maker being one who dwells +With gladness ever, willingly she turns +To whate’er yields her joy. Of some slight good +The flavour soon she tastes; and, snar’d by that, +With fondness she pursues it, if no guide +Recall, no rein direct her wand’ring course. +Hence it behov’d, the law should be a curb; +A sovereign hence behov’d, whose piercing view +Might mark at least the fortress and main tower +Of the true city. Laws indeed there are: +But who is he observes them? None; not he, +Who goes before, the shepherd of the flock, +Who chews the cud but doth not cleave the hoof. +Therefore the multitude, who see their guide +Strike at the very good they covet most, +Feed there and look no further. Thus the cause +Is not corrupted nature in yourselves, +But ill-conducting, that hath turn’d the world +To evil. Rome, that turn’d it unto good, +Was wont to boast two suns, whose several beams +Cast light on either way, the world’s and God’s. +One since hath quench’d the other; and the sword +Is grafted on the crook; and so conjoin’d +Each must perforce decline to worse, unaw’d +By fear of other. If thou doubt me, mark +The blade: each herb is judg’d of by its seed. +That land, through which Adice and the Po +Their waters roll, was once the residence +Of courtesy and velour, ere the day, +That frown’d on Frederick; now secure may pass +Those limits, whosoe’er hath left, for shame, +To talk with good men, or come near their haunts. +Three aged ones are still found there, in whom +The old time chides the new: these deem it long +Ere God restore them to a better world: +The good Gherardo, of Palazzo he +Conrad, and Guido of Castello, nam’d +In Gallic phrase more fitly the plain Lombard. +On this at last conclude. The church of Rome, +Mixing two governments that ill assort, +Hath miss’d her footing, fall’n into the mire, +And there herself and burden much defil’d.” + +“O Marco!” I replied, shine arguments +Convince me: and the cause I now discern +Why of the heritage no portion came +To Levi’s offspring. But resolve me this +Who that Gherardo is, that as thou sayst +Is left a sample of the perish’d race, +And for rebuke to this untoward age?” + +“Either thy words,” said he, “deceive; or else +Are meant to try me; that thou, speaking Tuscan, +Appear’st not to have heard of good Gherado; +The sole addition that, by which I know him; +Unless I borrow’d from his daughter Gaia +Another name to grace him. God be with you. +I bear you company no more. Behold +The dawn with white ray glimm’ring through the mist. +I must away—the angel comes—ere he +Appear.” He said, and would not hear me more. + + + + +CANTO XVII + + +Call to remembrance, reader, if thou e’er +Hast, on a mountain top, been ta’en by cloud, +Through which thou saw’st no better, than the mole +Doth through opacous membrane; then, whene’er +The wat’ry vapours dense began to melt +Into thin air, how faintly the sun’s sphere +Seem’d wading through them; so thy nimble thought +May image, how at first I re-beheld +The sun, that bedward now his couch o’erhung. + +Thus with my leader’s feet still equaling pace +From forth that cloud I came, when now expir’d +The parting beams from off the nether shores. + +O quick and forgetive power! that sometimes dost +So rob us of ourselves, we take no mark +Though round about us thousand trumpets clang! +What moves thee, if the senses stir not? Light +Kindled in heav’n, spontaneous, self-inform’d, +Or likelier gliding down with swift illapse +By will divine. Portray’d before me came +The traces of her dire impiety, +Whose form was chang’d into the bird, that most +Delights itself in song: and here my mind +Was inwardly so wrapt, it gave no place +To aught that ask’d admittance from without. + +Next shower’d into my fantasy a shape +As of one crucified, whose visage spake +Fell rancour, malice deep, wherein he died; +And round him Ahasuerus the great king, +Esther his bride, and Mordecai the just, +Blameless in word and deed. As of itself +That unsubstantial coinage of the brain +Burst, like a bubble, Which the water fails +That fed it; in my vision straight uprose +A damsel weeping loud, and cried, “O queen! +O mother! wherefore has intemperate ire +Driv’n thee to loath thy being? Not to lose +Lavinia, desp’rate thou hast slain thyself. +Now hast thou lost me. I am she, whose tears +Mourn, ere I fall, a mother’s timeless end.” + +E’en as a sleep breaks off, if suddenly +New radiance strike upon the closed lids, +The broken slumber quivering ere it dies; +Thus from before me sunk that imagery +Vanishing, soon as on my face there struck +The light, outshining far our earthly beam. +As round I turn’d me to survey what place +I had arriv’d at, “Here ye mount,” exclaim’d +A voice, that other purpose left me none, +Save will so eager to behold who spake, +I could not choose but gaze. As ’fore the sun, +That weighs our vision down, and veils his form +In light transcendent, thus my virtue fail’d +Unequal. “This is Spirit from above, +Who marshals us our upward way, unsought; +And in his own light shrouds him. As a man +Doth for himself, so now is done for us. +For whoso waits imploring, yet sees need +Of his prompt aidance, sets himself prepar’d +For blunt denial, ere the suit be made. +Refuse we not to lend a ready foot +At such inviting: haste we to ascend, +Before it darken: for we may not then, +Till morn again return.” So spake my guide; +And to one ladder both address’d our steps; +And the first stair approaching, I perceiv’d +Near me as ’twere the waving of a wing, +That fann’d my face and whisper’d: “Blessed they +The peacemakers: they know not evil wrath.” + +Now to such height above our heads were rais’d +The last beams, follow’d close by hooded night, +That many a star on all sides through the gloom +Shone out. “Why partest from me, O my strength?” +So with myself I commun’d; for I felt +My o’ertoil’d sinews slacken. We had reach’d +The summit, and were fix’d like to a bark +Arriv’d at land. And waiting a short space, +If aught should meet mine ear in that new round, +Then to my guide I turn’d, and said: “Lov’d sire! +Declare what guilt is on this circle purg’d. +If our feet rest, no need thy speech should pause.” + +He thus to me: “The love of good, whate’er +Wanted of just proportion, here fulfils. +Here plies afresh the oar, that loiter’d ill. +But that thou mayst yet clearlier understand, +Give ear unto my words, and thou shalt cull +Some fruit may please thee well, from this delay. + +“Creator, nor created being, ne’er, +My son,” he thus began, “was without love, +Or natural, or the free spirit’s growth. +Thou hast not that to learn. The natural still +Is without error; but the other swerves, +If on ill object bent, or through excess +Of vigour, or defect. While e’er it seeks +The primal blessings, or with measure due +Th’ inferior, no delight, that flows from it, +Partakes of ill. But let it warp to evil, +Or with more ardour than behooves, or less. +Pursue the good, the thing created then +Works ’gainst its Maker. Hence thou must infer +That love is germin of each virtue in ye, +And of each act no less, that merits pain. +Now since it may not be, but love intend +The welfare mainly of the thing it loves, +All from self-hatred are secure; and since +No being can be thought t’ exist apart +And independent of the first, a bar +Of equal force restrains from hating that. + +“Grant the distinction just; and it remains +The’ evil must be another’s, which is lov’d. +Three ways such love is gender’d in your clay. +There is who hopes (his neighbour’s worth deprest,) +Preeminence himself, and coverts hence +For his own greatness that another fall. +There is who so much fears the loss of power, +Fame, favour, glory (should his fellow mount +Above him), and so sickens at the thought, +He loves their opposite: and there is he, +Whom wrong or insult seems to gall and shame +That he doth thirst for vengeance, and such needs +Must doat on other’s evil. Here beneath +This threefold love is mourn’d. Of th’ other sort +Be now instructed, that which follows good +But with disorder’d and irregular course. + +“All indistinctly apprehend a bliss +On which the soul may rest, the hearts of all +Yearn after it, and to that wished bourn +All therefore strive to tend. If ye behold +Or seek it with a love remiss and lax, +This cornice after just repenting lays +Its penal torment on ye. Other good +There is, where man finds not his happiness: +It is not true fruition, not that blest +Essence, of every good the branch and root. +The love too lavishly bestow’d on this, +Along three circles over us, is mourn’d. +Account of that division tripartite +Expect not, fitter for thine own research.” + + + + +CANTO XVIII + + +The teacher ended, and his high discourse +Concluding, earnest in my looks inquir’d +If I appear’d content; and I, whom still +Unsated thirst to hear him urg’d, was mute, +Mute outwardly, yet inwardly I said: +“Perchance my too much questioning offends” +But he, true father, mark’d the secret wish +By diffidence restrain’d, and speaking, gave +Me boldness thus to speak: ‘Master, my Sight +Gathers so lively virtue from thy beams, +That all, thy words convey, distinct is seen. +Wherefore I pray thee, father, whom this heart +Holds dearest! thou wouldst deign by proof t’ unfold +That love, from which as from their source thou bring’st +All good deeds and their opposite.’” He then: +“To what I now disclose be thy clear ken +Directed, and thou plainly shalt behold +How much those blind have err’d, who make themselves +The guides of men. The soul, created apt +To love, moves versatile which way soe’er +Aught pleasing prompts her, soon as she is wak’d +By pleasure into act. Of substance true +Your apprehension forms its counterfeit, +And in you the ideal shape presenting +Attracts the soul’s regard. If she, thus drawn, +incline toward it, love is that inclining, +And a new nature knit by pleasure in ye. +Then as the fire points up, and mounting seeks +His birth-place and his lasting seat, e’en thus +Enters the captive soul into desire, +Which is a spiritual motion, that ne’er rests +Before enjoyment of the thing it loves. +Enough to show thee, how the truth from those +Is hidden, who aver all love a thing +Praise-worthy in itself: although perhaps +Its substance seem still good. Yet if the wax +Be good, it follows not th’ impression must.” +“What love is,” I return’d, “thy words, O guide! +And my own docile mind, reveal. Yet thence +New doubts have sprung. For from without if love +Be offer’d to us, and the spirit knows +No other footing, tend she right or wrong, +Is no desert of hers.” He answering thus: +“What reason here discovers I have power +To show thee: that which lies beyond, expect +From Beatrice, faith not reason’s task. +Spirit, substantial form, with matter join’d +Not in confusion mix’d, hath in itself +Specific virtue of that union born, +Which is not felt except it work, nor prov’d +But through effect, as vegetable life +By the green leaf. From whence his intellect +Deduced its primal notices of things, +Man therefore knows not, or his appetites +Their first affections; such in you, as zeal +In bees to gather honey; at the first, +Volition, meriting nor blame nor praise. +But o’er each lower faculty supreme, +That as she list are summon’d to her bar, +Ye have that virtue in you, whose just voice +Uttereth counsel, and whose word should keep +The threshold of assent. Here is the source, +Whence cause of merit in you is deriv’d, +E’en as the affections good or ill she takes, +Or severs, winnow’d as the chaff. Those men +Who reas’ning went to depth profoundest, mark’d +That innate freedom, and were thence induc’d +To leave their moral teaching to the world. +Grant then, that from necessity arise +All love that glows within you; to dismiss +Or harbour it, the pow’r is in yourselves. +Remember, Beatrice, in her style, +Denominates free choice by eminence +The noble virtue, if in talk with thee +She touch upon that theme.” The moon, well nigh +To midnight hour belated, made the stars +Appear to wink and fade; and her broad disk +Seem’d like a crag on fire, as up the vault +That course she journey’d, which the sun then warms, +When they of Rome behold him at his set. +Betwixt Sardinia and the Corsic isle. +And now the weight, that hung upon my thought, +Was lighten’d by the aid of that clear spirit, +Who raiseth Andes above Mantua’s name. +I therefore, when my questions had obtain’d +Solution plain and ample, stood as one +Musing in dreary slumber; but not long +Slumber’d; for suddenly a multitude, + +The steep already turning, from behind, +Rush’d on. With fury and like random rout, +As echoing on their shores at midnight heard +Ismenus and Asopus, for his Thebes +If Bacchus’ help were needed; so came these +Tumultuous, curving each his rapid step, +By eagerness impell’d of holy love. + +Soon they o’ertook us; with such swiftness mov’d +The mighty crowd. Two spirits at their head +Cried weeping; “Blessed Mary sought with haste +The hilly region. Caesar to subdue +Ilerda, darted in Marseilles his sting, +And flew to Spain.”—“Oh tarry not: away;” +The others shouted; “let not time be lost +Through slackness of affection. Hearty zeal +To serve reanimates celestial grace.” + +“O ye, in whom intenser fervency +Haply supplies, where lukewarm erst ye fail’d, +Slow or neglectful, to absolve your part +Of good and virtuous, this man, who yet lives, +(Credit my tale, though strange) desires t’ ascend, +So morning rise to light us. Therefore say +Which hand leads nearest to the rifted rock?” + +So spake my guide, to whom a shade return’d: +“Come after us, and thou shalt find the cleft. +We may not linger: such resistless will +Speeds our unwearied course. Vouchsafe us then +Thy pardon, if our duty seem to thee +Discourteous rudeness. In Verona I +Was abbot of San Zeno, when the hand +Of Barbarossa grasp’d Imperial sway, +That name, ne’er utter’d without tears in Milan. +And there is he, hath one foot in his grave, +Who for that monastery ere long shall weep, +Ruing his power misus’d: for that his son, +Of body ill compact, and worse in mind, +And born in evil, he hath set in place +Of its true pastor.” Whether more he spake, +Or here was mute, I know not: he had sped +E’en now so far beyond us. Yet thus much +I heard, and in rememb’rance treasur’d it. + +He then, who never fail’d me at my need, +Cried, “Hither turn. Lo! two with sharp remorse +Chiding their sin!” In rear of all the troop +These shouted: “First they died, to whom the sea +Open’d, or ever Jordan saw his heirs: +And they, who with Aeneas to the end +Endur’d not suffering, for their portion chose +Life without glory.” Soon as they had fled +Past reach of sight, new thought within me rose +By others follow’d fast, and each unlike +Its fellow: till led on from thought to thought, +And pleasur’d with the fleeting train, mine eye +Was clos’d, and meditation chang’d to dream. + + + + +CANTO XIX + + +It was the hour, when of diurnal heat +No reliques chafe the cold beams of the moon, +O’erpower’d by earth, or planetary sway +Of Saturn; and the geomancer sees +His Greater Fortune up the east ascend, +Where gray dawn checkers first the shadowy cone; +When ’fore me in my dream a woman’s shape +There came, with lips that stammer’d, eyes aslant, +Distorted feet, hands maim’d, and colour pale. + +I look’d upon her; and as sunshine cheers +Limbs numb’d by nightly cold, e’en thus my look +Unloos’d her tongue, next in brief space her form +Decrepit rais’d erect, and faded face +With love’s own hue illum’d. Recov’ring speech +She forthwith warbling such a strain began, +That I, how loth soe’er, could scarce have held +Attention from the song. “I,” thus she sang, +“I am the Siren, she, whom mariners +On the wide sea are wilder’d when they hear: +Such fulness of delight the list’ner feels. +I from his course Ulysses by my lay +Enchanted drew. Whoe’er frequents me once +Parts seldom; so I charm him, and his heart +Contented knows no void.” Or ere her mouth +Was clos’d, to shame her at her side appear’d +A dame of semblance holy. With stern voice +She utter’d; “Say, O Virgil, who is this?” +Which hearing, he approach’d, with eyes still bent +Toward that goodly presence: th’ other seiz’d her, +And, her robes tearing, open’d her before, +And show’d the belly to me, whence a smell, +Exhaling loathsome, wak’d me. Round I turn’d +Mine eyes, and thus the teacher: “At the least +Three times my voice hath call’d thee. Rise, begone. +Let us the opening find where thou mayst pass.” + +I straightway rose. Now day, pour’d down from high, +Fill’d all the circuits of the sacred mount; +And, as we journey’d, on our shoulder smote +The early ray. I follow’d, stooping low +My forehead, as a man, o’ercharg’d with thought, +Who bends him to the likeness of an arch, +That midway spans the flood; when thus I heard, +“Come, enter here,” in tone so soft and mild, +As never met the ear on mortal strand. + +With swan-like wings dispread and pointing up, +Who thus had spoken marshal’d us along, +Where each side of the solid masonry +The sloping, walls retir’d; then mov’d his plumes, +And fanning us, affirm’d that those, who mourn, +Are blessed, for that comfort shall be theirs. + +“What aileth thee, that still thou look’st to earth?” +Began my leader; while th’ angelic shape +A little over us his station took. + +“New vision,” I replied, “hath rais’d in me +Surmisings strange and anxious doubts, whereon +My soul intent allows no other thought +Or room or entrance.”—“Hast thou seen,” said he, +“That old enchantress, her, whose wiles alone +The spirits o’er us weep for? Hast thou seen +How man may free him of her bonds? Enough. +Let thy heels spurn the earth, and thy rais’d ken +Fix on the lure, which heav’n’s eternal King +Whirls in the rolling spheres.” As on his feet +The falcon first looks down, then to the sky +Turns, and forth stretches eager for the food, +That woos him thither; so the call I heard, +So onward, far as the dividing rock +Gave way, I journey’d, till the plain was reach’d. + +On the fifth circle when I stood at large, +A race appear’d before me, on the ground +All downward lying prone and weeping sore. +“My soul hath cleaved to the dust,” I heard +With sighs so deep, they well nigh choak’d the words. +“O ye elect of God, whose penal woes +Both hope and justice mitigate, direct +Tow’rds the steep rising our uncertain way.” + +“If ye approach secure from this our doom, +Prostration—and would urge your course with speed, +See that ye still to rightward keep the brink.” + +So them the bard besought; and such the words, +Beyond us some short space, in answer came. + +I noted what remain’d yet hidden from them: +Thence to my liege’s eyes mine eyes I bent, +And he, forthwith interpreting their suit, +Beckon’d his glad assent. Free then to act, +As pleas’d me, I drew near, and took my stand +O`er that shade, whose words I late had mark’d. +And, “Spirit!” I said, “in whom repentant tears +Mature that blessed hour, when thou with God +Shalt find acceptance, for a while suspend +For me that mightier care. Say who thou wast, +Why thus ye grovel on your bellies prone, +And if in aught ye wish my service there, +Whence living I am come.” He answering spake +“The cause why Heav’n our back toward his cope +Reverses, shalt thou know: but me know first +The successor of Peter, and the name +And title of my lineage from that stream, +That’ twixt Chiaveri and Siestri draws +His limpid waters through the lowly glen. +A month and little more by proof I learnt, +With what a weight that robe of sov’reignty +Upon his shoulder rests, who from the mire +Would guard it: that each other fardel seems +But feathers in the balance. Late, alas! +Was my conversion: but when I became +Rome’s pastor, I discern’d at once the dream +And cozenage of life, saw that the heart +Rested not there, and yet no prouder height +Lur’d on the climber: wherefore, of that life +No more enamour’d, in my bosom love +Of purer being kindled. For till then +I was a soul in misery, alienate +From God, and covetous of all earthly things; +Now, as thou seest, here punish’d for my doting. +Such cleansing from the taint of avarice +Do spirits converted need. This mount inflicts +No direr penalty. E’en as our eyes +Fasten’d below, nor e’er to loftier clime +Were lifted, thus hath justice level’d us +Here on the earth. As avarice quench’d our love +Of good, without which is no working, thus +Here justice holds us prison’d, hand and foot +Chain’d down and bound, while heaven’s just Lord shall please. +So long to tarry motionless outstretch’d.” + +My knees I stoop’d, and would have spoke; but he, +Ere my beginning, by his ear perceiv’d +I did him reverence; and “What cause,” said he, +“Hath bow’d thee thus!”—“Compunction,” I rejoin’d. +“And inward awe of your high dignity.” + +“Up,” he exclaim’d, “brother! upon thy feet +Arise: err not: thy fellow servant I, +(Thine and all others’) of one Sovran Power. +If thou hast ever mark’d those holy sounds +Of gospel truth, ‘nor shall be given ill marriage,’ +Thou mayst discern the reasons of my speech. +Go thy ways now; and linger here no more. +Thy tarrying is a let unto the tears, +With which I hasten that whereof thou spak’st. +I have on earth a kinswoman; her name +Alagia, worthy in herself, so ill +Example of our house corrupt her not: +And she is all remaineth of me there.” + + + + +CANTO XX + + +Ill strives the will, ’gainst will more wise that strives +His pleasure therefore to mine own preferr’d, +I drew the sponge yet thirsty from the wave. + +Onward I mov’d: he also onward mov’d, +Who led me, coasting still, wherever place +Along the rock was vacant, as a man +Walks near the battlements on narrow wall. +For those on th’ other part, who drop by drop +Wring out their all-infecting malady, +Too closely press the verge. Accurst be thou! +Inveterate wolf! whose gorge ingluts more prey, +Than every beast beside, yet is not fill’d! +So bottomless thy maw!—Ye spheres of heaven! +To whom there are, as seems, who attribute +All change in mortal state, when is the day +Of his appearing, for whom fate reserves +To chase her hence?—With wary steps and slow +We pass’d; and I attentive to the shades, +Whom piteously I heard lament and wail; + +And, ’midst the wailing, one before us heard +Cry out “O blessed Virgin!” as a dame +In the sharp pangs of childbed; and “How poor +Thou wast,” it added, “witness that low roof +Where thou didst lay thy sacred burden down. +O good Fabricius! thou didst virtue choose +With poverty, before great wealth with vice.” + +The words so pleas’d me, that desire to know +The spirit, from whose lip they seem’d to come, +Did draw me onward. Yet it spake the gift +Of Nicholas, which on the maidens he +Bounteous bestow’d, to save their youthful prime +Unblemish’d. “Spirit! who dost speak of deeds +So worthy, tell me who thou was,” I said, +“And why thou dost with single voice renew +Memorial of such praise. That boon vouchsaf’d +Haply shall meet reward; if I return +To finish the Short pilgrimage of life, +Still speeding to its close on restless wing.” + +“I,” answer’d he, “will tell thee, not for hell, +Which thence I look for; but that in thyself +Grace so exceeding shines, before thy time +Of mortal dissolution. I was root +Of that ill plant, whose shade such poison sheds +O’er all the Christian land, that seldom thence +Good fruit is gather’d. Vengeance soon should come, +Had Ghent and Douay, Lille and Bruges power; +And vengeance I of heav’n’s great Judge implore. +Hugh Capet was I high: from me descend +The Philips and the Louis, of whom France +Newly is govern’d; born of one, who ply’d +The slaughterer’s trade at Paris. When the race +Of ancient kings had vanish’d (all save one +Wrapt up in sable weeds) within my gripe +I found the reins of empire, and such powers +Of new acquirement, with full store of friends, +That soon the widow’d circlet of the crown +Was girt upon the temples of my son, +He, from whose bones th’ anointed race begins. +Till the great dower of Provence had remov’d +The stains, that yet obscur’d our lowly blood, +Its sway indeed was narrow, but howe’er +It wrought no evil: there, with force and lies, +Began its rapine; after, for amends, +Poitou it seiz’d, Navarre and Gascony. +To Italy came Charles, and for amends +Young Conradine an innocent victim slew, +And sent th’ angelic teacher back to heav’n, +Still for amends. I see the time at hand, +That forth from France invites another Charles +To make himself and kindred better known. +Unarm’d he issues, saving with that lance, +Which the arch-traitor tilted with; and that +He carries with so home a thrust, as rives +The bowels of poor Florence. No increase +Of territory hence, but sin and shame +Shall be his guerdon, and so much the more +As he more lightly deems of such foul wrong. +I see the other, who a prisoner late +Had steps on shore, exposing to the mart +His daughter, whom he bargains for, as do +The Corsairs for their slaves. O avarice! +What canst thou more, who hast subdued our blood +So wholly to thyself, they feel no care +Of their own flesh? To hide with direr guilt +Past ill and future, lo! the flower-de-luce +Enters Alagna! in his Vicar Christ +Himself a captive, and his mockery +Acted again! Lo! to his holy lip +The vinegar and gall once more applied! +And he ’twixt living robbers doom’d to bleed! +Lo! the new Pilate, of whose cruelty +Such violence cannot fill the measure up, +With no degree to sanction, pushes on +Into the temple his yet eager sails! + +“O sovran Master! when shall I rejoice +To see the vengeance, which thy wrath well-pleas’d +In secret silence broods?—While daylight lasts, +So long what thou didst hear of her, sole spouse +Of the Great Spirit, and on which thou turn’dst +To me for comment, is the general theme +Of all our prayers: but when it darkens, then +A different strain we utter, then record +Pygmalion, whom his gluttonous thirst of gold +Made traitor, robber, parricide: the woes +Of Midas, which his greedy wish ensued, +Mark’d for derision to all future times: +And the fond Achan, how he stole the prey, +That yet he seems by Joshua’s ire pursued. +Sapphira with her husband next, we blame; +And praise the forefeet, that with furious ramp +Spurn’d Heliodorus. All the mountain round +Rings with the infamy of Thracia’s king, +Who slew his Phrygian charge: and last a shout +Ascends: “Declare, O Crassus! for thou know’st, +The flavour of thy gold.” The voice of each +Now high now low, as each his impulse prompts, +Is led through many a pitch, acute or grave. +Therefore, not singly, I erewhile rehears’d +That blessedness we tell of in the day: +But near me none beside his accent rais’d.” + +From him we now had parted, and essay’d +With utmost efforts to surmount the way, +When I did feel, as nodding to its fall, +The mountain tremble; whence an icy chill +Seiz’d on me, as on one to death convey’d. +So shook not Delos, when Latona there +Couch’d to bring forth the twin-born eyes of heaven. + +Forthwith from every side a shout arose +So vehement, that suddenly my guide +Drew near, and cried: “Doubt not, while I conduct thee.” +“Glory!” all shouted (such the sounds mine ear +Gather’d from those, who near me swell’d the sounds) +“Glory in the highest be to God.” We stood +Immovably suspended, like to those, +The shepherds, who first heard in Bethlehem’s field +That song: till ceas’d the trembling, and the song +Was ended: then our hallow’d path resum’d, +Eying the prostrate shadows, who renew’d +Their custom’d mourning. Never in my breast +Did ignorance so struggle with desire +Of knowledge, if my memory do not err, +As in that moment; nor through haste dar’d I +To question, nor myself could aught discern, +So on I far’d in thoughtfulness and dread. + + + + +CANTO XXI + + +The natural thirst, ne’er quench’d but from the well, +Whereof the woman of Samaria crav’d, +Excited: haste along the cumber’d path, +After my guide, impell’d; and pity mov’d +My bosom for the ’vengeful deed, though just. +When lo! even as Luke relates, that Christ +Appear’d unto the two upon their way, +New-risen from his vaulted grave; to us +A shade appear’d, and after us approach’d, +Contemplating the crowd beneath its feet. +We were not ware of it; so first it spake, +Saying, “God give you peace, my brethren!” then +Sudden we turn’d: and Virgil such salute, +As fitted that kind greeting, gave, and cried: +“Peace in the blessed council be thy lot +Awarded by that righteous court, which me +To everlasting banishment exiles!” + +“How!” he exclaim’d, nor from his speed meanwhile +Desisting, “If that ye be spirits, whom God +Vouchsafes not room above, who up the height +Has been thus far your guide?” To whom the bard: +“If thou observe the tokens, which this man +Trac’d by the finger of the angel bears, +’Tis plain that in the kingdom of the just +He needs must share. But sithence she, whose wheel +Spins day and night, for him not yet had drawn +That yarn, which, on the fatal distaff pil’d, +Clotho apportions to each wight that breathes, +His soul, that sister is to mine and thine, +Not of herself could mount, for not like ours +Her ken: whence I, from forth the ample gulf +Of hell was ta’en, to lead him, and will lead +Far as my lore avails. But, if thou know, +Instruct us for what cause, the mount erewhile +Thus shook and trembled: wherefore all at once +Seem’d shouting, even from his wave-wash’d foot.” + +That questioning so tallied with my wish, +The thirst did feel abatement of its edge +E’en from expectance. He forthwith replied, +“In its devotion nought irregular +This mount can witness, or by punctual rule +Unsanction’d; here from every change exempt. +Other than that, which heaven in itself +Doth of itself receive, no influence +Can reach us. Tempest none, shower, hail or snow, +Hoar frost or dewy moistness, higher falls +Than that brief scale of threefold steps: thick clouds +Nor scudding rack are ever seen: swift glance +Ne’er lightens, nor Thaumantian Iris gleams, +That yonder often shift on each side heav’n. +Vapour adust doth never mount above +The highest of the trinal stairs, whereon +Peter’s vicegerent stands. Lower perchance, +With various motion rock’d, trembles the soil: +But here, through wind in earth’s deep hollow pent, +I know not how, yet never trembled: then +Trembles, when any spirit feels itself +So purified, that it may rise, or move +For rising, and such loud acclaim ensues. +Purification by the will alone +Is prov’d, that free to change society +Seizes the soul rejoicing in her will. +Desire of bliss is present from the first; +But strong propension hinders, to that wish +By the just ordinance of heav’n oppos’d; +Propension now as eager to fulfil +Th’ allotted torment, as erewhile to sin. +And I who in this punishment had lain +Five hundred years and more, but now have felt +Free wish for happier clime. Therefore thou felt’st +The mountain tremble, and the spirits devout +Heard’st, over all his limits, utter praise +To that liege Lord, whom I entreat their joy +To hasten.” Thus he spake: and since the draught +Is grateful ever as the thirst is keen, +No words may speak my fullness of content. + +“Now,” said the instructor sage, “I see the net +That takes ye here, and how the toils are loos’d, +Why rocks the mountain and why ye rejoice. +Vouchsafe, that from thy lips I next may learn, +Who on the earth thou wast, and wherefore here +So many an age wert prostrate.”—“In that time, +When the good Titus, with Heav’n’s King to help, +Aveng’d those piteous gashes, whence the blood +By Judas sold did issue, with the name +Most lasting and most honour’d there was I +Abundantly renown’d,” the shade reply’d, +“Not yet with faith endued. So passing sweet +My vocal Spirit, from Tolosa, Rome +To herself drew me, where I merited +A myrtle garland to inwreathe my brow. +Statius they name me still. Of Thebes I sang, +And next of great Achilles: but i’ th’ way +Fell with the second burthen. Of my flame +Those sparkles were the seeds, which I deriv’d +From the bright fountain of celestial fire +That feeds unnumber’d lamps, the song I mean +Which sounds Aeneas’ wand’rings: that the breast +I hung at, that the nurse, from whom my veins +Drank inspiration: whose authority +Was ever sacred with me. To have liv’d +Coeval with the Mantuan, I would bide +The revolution of another sun +Beyond my stated years in banishment.” + +The Mantuan, when he heard him, turn’d to me, +And holding silence: by his countenance +Enjoin’d me silence but the power which wills, +Bears not supreme control: laughter and tears +Follow so closely on the passion prompts them, +They wait not for the motions of the will +In natures most sincere. I did but smile, +As one who winks; and thereupon the shade +Broke off, and peer’d into mine eyes, where best +Our looks interpret. “So to good event +Mayst thou conduct such great emprize,” he cried, +“Say, why across thy visage beam’d, but now, +The lightning of a smile!” On either part +Now am I straiten’d; one conjures me speak, +Th’ other to silence binds me: whence a sigh +I utter, and the sigh is heard. “Speak on;” +The teacher cried; “and do not fear to speak, +But tell him what so earnestly he asks.” +Whereon I thus: “Perchance, O ancient spirit! +Thou marvel’st at my smiling. There is room +For yet more wonder. He who guides my ken +On high, he is that Mantuan, led by whom +Thou didst presume of men and gods to sing. +If other cause thou deem’dst for which I smil’d, +Leave it as not the true one; and believe +Those words, thou spak’st of him, indeed the cause.” + +Now down he bent t’ embrace my teacher’s feet; +But he forbade him: “Brother! do it not: +Thou art a shadow, and behold’st a shade.” +He rising answer’d thus: “Now hast thou prov’d +The force and ardour of the love I bear thee, +When I forget we are but things of air, +And as a substance treat an empty shade.” + + + + +CANTO XXII + + +Now we had left the angel, who had turn’d +To the sixth circle our ascending step, +One gash from off my forehead raz’d: while they, +Whose wishes tend to justice, shouted forth: +“Blessed!” and ended with, “I thirst:” and I, +More nimble than along the other straits, +So journey’d, that, without the sense of toil, +I follow’d upward the swift-footed shades; +When Virgil thus began: “Let its pure flame +From virtue flow, and love can never fail +To warm another’s bosom’ so the light +Shine manifestly forth. Hence from that hour, +When ’mongst us in the purlieus of the deep, +Came down the spirit of Aquinum’s hard, +Who told of thine affection, my good will +Hath been for thee of quality as strong +As ever link’d itself to one not seen. +Therefore these stairs will now seem short to me. +But tell me: and if too secure I loose +The rein with a friend’s license, as a friend +Forgive me, and speak now as with a friend: +How chanc’d it covetous desire could find +Place in that bosom, ’midst such ample store +Of wisdom, as thy zeal had treasur’d there?” + +First somewhat mov’d to laughter by his words, +Statius replied: “Each syllable of thine +Is a dear pledge of love. Things oft appear +That minister false matters to our doubts, +When their true causes are remov’d from sight. +Thy question doth assure me, thou believ’st +I was on earth a covetous man, perhaps +Because thou found’st me in that circle plac’d. +Know then I was too wide of avarice: +And e’en for that excess, thousands of moons +Have wax’d and wan’d upon my sufferings. +And were it not that I with heedful care +Noted where thou exclaim’st as if in ire +With human nature, ‘Why, thou cursed thirst +Of gold! dost not with juster measure guide +The appetite of mortals?’ I had met +The fierce encounter of the voluble rock. +Then was I ware that with too ample wing +The hands may haste to lavishment, and turn’d, +As from my other evil, so from this +In penitence. How many from their grave +Shall with shorn locks arise, who living, aye +And at life’s last extreme, of this offence, +Through ignorance, did not repent. And know, +The fault which lies direct from any sin +In level opposition, here With that +Wastes its green rankness on one common heap. +Therefore if I have been with those, who wail +Their avarice, to cleanse me, through reverse +Of their transgression, such hath been my lot.” + +To whom the sovran of the pastoral song: +“While thou didst sing that cruel warfare wag’d +By the twin sorrow of Jocasta’s womb, +From thy discourse with Clio there, it seems +As faith had not been shine: without the which +Good deeds suffice not. And if so, what sun +Rose on thee, or what candle pierc’d the dark +That thou didst after see to hoist the sail, +And follow, where the fisherman had led?” + +He answering thus: “By thee conducted first, +I enter’d the Parnassian grots, and quaff’d +Of the clear spring; illumin’d first by thee +Open’d mine eyes to God. Thou didst, as one, +Who, journeying through the darkness, hears a light +Behind, that profits not himself, but makes +His followers wise, when thou exclaimedst, ‘Lo! +A renovated world! Justice return’d! +Times of primeval innocence restor’d! +And a new race descended from above!’ +Poet and Christian both to thee I owed. +That thou mayst mark more clearly what I trace, +My hand shall stretch forth to inform the lines +With livelier colouring. Soon o’er all the world, +By messengers from heav’n, the true belief +Teem’d now prolific, and that word of thine +Accordant, to the new instructors chim’d. +Induc’d by which agreement, I was wont +Resort to them; and soon their sanctity +So won upon me, that, Domitian’s rage +Pursuing them, I mix’d my tears with theirs, +And, while on earth I stay’d, still succour’d them; +And their most righteous customs made me scorn +All sects besides. Before I led the Greeks +In tuneful fiction, to the streams of Thebes, +I was baptiz’d; but secretly, through fear, +Remain’d a Christian, and conform’d long time +To Pagan rites. Five centuries and more, +T for that lukewarmness was fain to pace +Round the fourth circle. Thou then, who hast rais’d +The covering, which did hide such blessing from me, +Whilst much of this ascent is yet to climb, +Say, if thou know, where our old Terence bides, +Caecilius, Plautus, Varro: if condemn’d +They dwell, and in what province of the deep.” +“These,” said my guide, “with Persius and myself, +And others many more, are with that Greek, +Of mortals, the most cherish’d by the Nine, +In the first ward of darkness. There ofttimes +We of that mount hold converse, on whose top +For aye our nurses live. We have the bard +Of Pella, and the Teian, Agatho, +Simonides, and many a Grecian else +Ingarlanded with laurel. Of thy train +Antigone is there, Deiphile, +Argia, and as sorrowful as erst +Ismene, and who show’d Langia’s wave: +Deidamia with her sisters there, +And blind Tiresias’ daughter, and the bride +Sea-born of Peleus.” Either poet now +Was silent, and no longer by th’ ascent +Or the steep walls obstructed, round them cast +Inquiring eyes. Four handmaids of the day +Had finish’d now their office, and the fifth +Was at the chariot-beam, directing still +Its balmy point aloof, when thus my guide: +“Methinks, it well behooves us to the brink +Bend the right shoulder’ circuiting the mount, +As we have ever us’d.” So custom there +Was usher to the road, the which we chose +Less doubtful, as that worthy shade complied. + +They on before me went; I sole pursued, +List’ning their speech, that to my thoughts convey’d +Mysterious lessons of sweet poesy. +But soon they ceas’d; for midway of the road +A tree we found, with goodly fruitage hung, +And pleasant to the smell: and as a fir +Upward from bough to bough less ample spreads, +So downward this less ample spread, that none. +Methinks, aloft may climb. Upon the side, +That clos’d our path, a liquid crystal fell +From the steep rock, and through the sprays above +Stream’d showering. With associate step the bards +Drew near the plant; and from amidst the leaves +A voice was heard: “Ye shall be chary of me;” +And after added: “Mary took more thought +For joy and honour of the nuptial feast, +Than for herself who answers now for you. +The women of old Rome were satisfied +With water for their beverage. Daniel fed +On pulse, and wisdom gain’d. The primal age +Was beautiful as gold; and hunger then +Made acorns tasteful, thirst each rivulet +Run nectar. Honey and locusts were the food, +Whereon the Baptist in the wilderness +Fed, and that eminence of glory reach’d +And greatness, which the’ Evangelist records.” + + + + +CANTO XXIII + + +On the green leaf mine eyes were fix’d, like his +Who throws away his days in idle chase +Of the diminutive, when thus I heard +The more than father warn me: “Son! our time +Asks thriftier using. Linger not: away.” + +Thereat my face and steps at once I turn’d +Toward the sages, by whose converse cheer’d +I journey’d on, and felt no toil: and lo! +A sound of weeping and a song: “My lips, +O Lord!” and these so mingled, it gave birth +To pleasure and to pain. “O Sire, belov’d! +Say what is this I hear?” Thus I inquir’d. + +“Spirits,” said he, “who as they go, perchance, +Their debt of duty pay.” As on their road +The thoughtful pilgrims, overtaking some +Not known unto them, turn to them, and look, +But stay not; thus, approaching from behind +With speedier motion, eyed us, as they pass’d, +A crowd of spirits, silent and devout. +The eyes of each were dark and hollow: pale +Their visage, and so lean withal, the bones +Stood staring thro’ the skin. I do not think +Thus dry and meagre Erisicthon show’d, +When pinc’ed by sharp-set famine to the quick. + +“Lo!” to myself I mus’d, “the race, who lost +Jerusalem, when Mary with dire beak +Prey’d on her child.” The sockets seem’d as rings, +From which the gems were drops. Who reads the name +Of man upon his forehead, there the M +Had trac’d most plainly. Who would deem, that scent +Of water and an apple, could have prov’d +Powerful to generate such pining want, +Not knowing how it wrought? While now I stood +Wond’ring what thus could waste them (for the cause +Of their gaunt hollowness and scaly rind +Appear’d not) lo! a spirit turn’d his eyes +In their deep-sunken cell, and fasten’d then +On me, then cried with vehemence aloud: +“What grace is this vouchsaf’d me?” By his looks +I ne’er had recogniz’d him: but the voice +Brought to my knowledge what his cheer conceal’d. +Remembrance of his alter’d lineaments +Was kindled from that spark; and I agniz’d +The visage of Forese. “Ah! respect +This wan and leprous wither’d skin,” thus he +Suppliant implor’d, “this macerated flesh. +Speak to me truly of thyself. And who +Are those twain spirits, that escort thee there? +Be it not said thou Scorn’st to talk with me.” + +“That face of thine,” I answer’d him, “which dead +I once bewail’d, disposes me not less +For weeping, when I see It thus transform’d. +Say then, by Heav’n, what blasts ye thus? The whilst +I wonder, ask not Speech from me: unapt +Is he to speak, whom other will employs.” + +He thus: “The water and tee plant we pass’d, +Virtue possesses, by th’ eternal will +Infus’d, the which so pines me. Every spirit, +Whose song bewails his gluttony indulg’d +Too grossly, here in hunger and in thirst +Is purified. The odour, which the fruit, +And spray, that showers upon the verdure, breathe, +Inflames us with desire to feed and drink. +Nor once alone encompassing our route +We come to add fresh fuel to the pain: +Pain, said Iolace rather: for that will +To the tree leads us, by which Christ was led +To call Elias, joyful when he paid +Our ransom from his vein.” I answering thus: +“Forese! from that day, in which the world +For better life thou changedst, not five years +Have circled. If the power of sinning more +Were first concluded in thee, ere thou knew’st +That kindly grief, which re-espouses us +To God, how hither art thou come so soon? +I thought to find thee lower, there, where time +Is recompense for time.” He straight replied: +“To drink up the sweet wormwood of affliction +I have been brought thus early by the tears +Stream’d down my Nella’s cheeks. Her prayers devout, +Her sighs have drawn me from the coast, where oft +Expectance lingers, and have set me free +From th’ other circles. In the sight of God +So much the dearer is my widow priz’d, +She whom I lov’d so fondly, as she ranks +More singly eminent for virtuous deeds. +The tract most barb’rous of Sardinia’s isle, +Hath dames more chaste and modester by far +Than that wherein I left her. O sweet brother! +What wouldst thou have me say? A time to come +Stands full within my view, to which this hour +Shall not be counted of an ancient date, +When from the pulpit shall be loudly warn’d +Th’ unblushing dames of Florence, lest they bare +Unkerchief’d bosoms to the common gaze. +What savage women hath the world e’er seen, +What Saracens, for whom there needed scourge +Of spiritual or other discipline, +To force them walk with cov’ring on their limbs! +But did they see, the shameless ones, that Heav’n +Wafts on swift wing toward them, while I speak, +Their mouths were op’d for howling: they shall taste +Of Borrow (unless foresight cheat me here) +Or ere the cheek of him be cloth’d with down +Who is now rock’d with lullaby asleep. +Ah! now, my brother, hide thyself no more, +Thou seest how not I alone but all +Gaze, where thou veil’st the intercepted sun.” + +Whence I replied: “If thou recall to mind +What we were once together, even yet +Remembrance of those days may grieve thee sore. +That I forsook that life, was due to him +Who there precedes me, some few evenings past, +When she was round, who shines with sister lamp +To his, that glisters yonder,” and I show’d +The sun. “Tis he, who through profoundest night +Of he true dead has brought me, with this flesh +As true, that follows. From that gloom the aid +Of his sure comfort drew me on to climb, +And climbing wind along this mountain-steep, +Which rectifies in you whate’er the world +Made crooked and deprav’d I have his word, +That he will bear me company as far +As till I come where Beatrice dwells: +But there must leave me. Virgil is that spirit, +Who thus hath promis’d,” and I pointed to him; +“The other is that shade, for whom so late +Your realm, as he arose, exulting shook +Through every pendent cliff and rocky bound.” + + + + +CANTO XXIV + + +Our journey was not slacken’d by our talk, +Nor yet our talk by journeying. Still we spake, +And urg’d our travel stoutly, like a ship +When the wind sits astern. The shadowy forms, + +That seem’d things dead and dead again, drew in +At their deep-delved orbs rare wonder of me, +Perceiving I had life; and I my words +Continued, and thus spake; “He journeys up +Perhaps more tardily then else he would, +For others’ sake. But tell me, if thou know’st, +Where is Piccarda? Tell me, if I see +Any of mark, among this multitude, +Who eye me thus.”—“My sister (she for whom, +’Twixt beautiful and good I cannot say +Which name was fitter ) wears e’en now her crown, +And triumphs in Olympus.” Saying this, +He added: “Since spare diet hath so worn +Our semblance out, ’tis lawful here to name +Each one. This,” and his finger then he rais’d, +“Is Buonaggiuna,—Buonaggiuna, he +Of Lucca: and that face beyond him, pierc’d +Unto a leaner fineness than the rest, +Had keeping of the church: he was of Tours, +And purges by wan abstinence away +Bolsena’s eels and cups of muscadel.” + +He show’d me many others, one by one, +And all, as they were nam’d, seem’d well content; +For no dark gesture I discern’d in any. +I saw through hunger Ubaldino grind +His teeth on emptiness; and Boniface, +That wav’d the crozier o’er a num’rous flock. +I saw the Marquis, who tad time erewhile +To swill at Forli with less drought, yet so +Was one ne’er sated. I howe’er, like him, +That gazing ’midst a crowd, singles out one, +So singled him of Lucca; for methought +Was none amongst them took such note of me. +Somewhat I heard him whisper of Gentucca: +The sound was indistinct, and murmur’d there, +Where justice, that so strips them, fix’d her sting. + +“Spirit!” said I, “it seems as thou wouldst fain +Speak with me. Let me hear thee. Mutual wish +To converse prompts, which let us both indulge.” + +He, answ’ring, straight began: “Woman is born, +Whose brow no wimple shades yet, that shall make +My city please thee, blame it as they may. +Go then with this forewarning. If aught false +My whisper too implied, th’ event shall tell +But say, if of a truth I see the man +Of that new lay th’ inventor, which begins +With ‘Ladies, ye that con the lore of love’.” + +To whom I thus: “Count of me but as one +Who am the scribe of love; that, when he breathes, +Take up my pen, and, as he dictates, write.” + +“Brother!” said he, “the hind’rance which once held +The notary with Guittone and myself, +Short of that new and sweeter style I hear, +Is now disclos’d. I see how ye your plumes +Stretch, as th’ inditer guides them; which, no question, +Ours did not. He that seeks a grace beyond, +Sees not the distance parts one style from other.” +And, as contented, here he held his peace. + +Like as the bird, that winter near the Nile, +In squared regiment direct their course, +Then stretch themselves in file for speedier flight; +Thus all the tribe of spirits, as they turn’d +Their visage, faster deaf, nimble alike +Through leanness and desire. And as a man, +Tir’d With the motion of a trotting steed, +Slacks pace, and stays behind his company, +Till his o’erbreathed lungs keep temperate time; +E’en so Forese let that holy crew +Proceed, behind them lingering at my side, +And saying: “When shall I again behold thee?” + +“How long my life may last,” said I, “I know not; +This know, how soon soever I return, +My wishes will before me have arriv’d. +Sithence the place, where I am set to live, +Is, day by day, more scoop’d of all its good, +And dismal ruin seems to threaten it.” + +“Go now,” he cried: “lo! he, whose guilt is most, +Passes before my vision, dragg’d at heels +Of an infuriate beast. Toward the vale, +Where guilt hath no redemption, on it speeds, +Each step increasing swiftness on the last; +Until a blow it strikes, that leaveth him +A corse most vilely shatter’d. No long space +Those wheels have yet to roll” (therewith his eyes +Look’d up to heav’n) “ere thou shalt plainly see +That which my words may not more plainly tell. +I quit thee: time is precious here: I lose +Too much, thus measuring my pace with shine.” + +As from a troop of well-rank’d chivalry +One knight, more enterprising than the rest, +Pricks forth at gallop, eager to display +His prowess in the first encounter prov’d +So parted he from us with lengthen’d strides, +And left me on the way with those twain spirits, +Who were such mighty marshals of the world. + +When he beyond us had so fled mine eyes +No nearer reach’d him, than my thought his words, +The branches of another fruit, thick hung, +And blooming fresh, appear’d. E’en as our steps +Turn’d thither, not far off it rose to view. +Beneath it were a multitude, that rais’d +Their hands, and shouted forth I know not What +Unto the boughs; like greedy and fond brats, +That beg, and answer none obtain from him, +Of whom they beg; but more to draw them on, +He at arm’s length the object of their wish +Above them holds aloft, and hides it not. + +At length, as undeceiv’d they went their way: +And we approach the tree, who vows and tears +Sue to in vain, the mighty tree. “Pass on, +And come not near. Stands higher up the wood, +Whereof Eve tasted, and from it was ta’en +this plant.” Such sounds from midst the thickets came. +Whence I, with either bard, close to the side +That rose, pass’d forth beyond. “Remember,” next +We heard, “those noblest creatures of the clouds, +How they their twofold bosoms overgorg’d +Oppos’d in fight to Theseus: call to mind +The Hebrews, how effeminate they stoop’d +To ease their thirst; whence Gideon’s ranks were thinn’d, +As he to Midian march’d adown the hills.” + +Thus near one border coasting, still we heard +The sins of gluttony, with woe erewhile +Reguerdon’d. Then along the lonely path, +Once more at large, full thousand paces on +We travel’d, each contemplative and mute. + +“Why pensive journey thus ye three alone?” +Thus suddenly a voice exclaim’d: whereat +I shook, as doth a scar’d and paltry beast; +Then rais’d my head to look from whence it came. + +Was ne’er, in furnace, glass, or metal seen +So bright and glowing red, as was the shape +I now beheld. “If ye desire to mount,” +He cried, “here must ye turn. This way he goes, +Who goes in quest of peace.” His countenance +Had dazzled me; and to my guides I fac’d +Backward, like one who walks, as sound directs. + +As when, to harbinger the dawn, springs up +On freshen’d wing the air of May, and breathes +Of fragrance, all impregn’d with herb and flowers, +E’en such a wind I felt upon my front +Blow gently, and the moving of a wing +Perceiv’d, that moving shed ambrosial smell; +And then a voice: “Blessed are they, whom grace +Doth so illume, that appetite in them +Exhaleth no inordinate desire, +Still hung’ring as the rule of temperance wills.” + + + + +CANTO XXV + + +It was an hour, when he who climbs, had need +To walk uncrippled: for the sun had now +To Taurus the meridian circle left, +And to the Scorpion left the night. As one +That makes no pause, but presses on his road, +Whate’er betide him, if some urgent need +Impel: so enter’d we upon our way, +One before other; for, but singly, none +That steep and narrow scale admits to climb. + +E’en as the young stork lifteth up his wing +Through wish to fly, yet ventures not to quit +The nest, and drops it; so in me desire +Of questioning my guide arose, and fell, +Arriving even to the act, that marks +A man prepar’d for speech. Him all our haste +Restrain’d not, but thus spake the sire belov’d: +Fear not to speed the shaft, that on thy lip +Stands trembling for its flight. Encourag’d thus +I straight began: “How there can leanness come, +Where is no want of nourishment to feed?” + +“If thou,” he answer’d, “hadst remember’d thee, +How Meleager with the wasting brand +Wasted alike, by equal fires consum’d, +This would not trouble thee: and hadst thou thought, +How in the mirror your reflected form +With mimic motion vibrates, what now seems +Hard, had appear’d no harder than the pulp +Of summer fruit mature. But that thy will +In certainty may find its full repose, +Lo Statius here! on him I call, and pray +That he would now be healer of thy wound.” + +“If in thy presence I unfold to him +The secrets of heaven’s vengeance, let me plead +Thine own injunction, to exculpate me.” +So Statius answer’d, and forthwith began: +“Attend my words, O son, and in thy mind +Receive them: so shall they be light to clear +The doubt thou offer’st. Blood, concocted well, +Which by the thirsty veins is ne’er imbib’d, +And rests as food superfluous, to be ta’en +From the replenish’d table, in the heart +Derives effectual virtue, that informs +The several human limbs, as being that, +Which passes through the veins itself to make them. +Yet more concocted it descends, where shame +Forbids to mention: and from thence distils +In natural vessel on another’s blood. +Then each unite together, one dispos’d +T’ endure, to act the other, through meet frame +Of its recipient mould: that being reach’d, +It ’gins to work, coagulating first; +Then vivifies what its own substance caus’d +To bear. With animation now indued, +The active virtue (differing from a plant +No further, than that this is on the way +And at its limit that) continues yet +To operate, that now it moves, and feels, +As sea sponge clinging to the rock: and there +Assumes th’ organic powers its seed convey’d. +This is the period, son! at which the virtue, +That from the generating heart proceeds, +Is pliant and expansive; for each limb +Is in the heart by forgeful nature plann’d. +How babe of animal becomes, remains +For thy consid’ring. At this point, more wise, +Than thou hast err’d, making the soul disjoin’d +From passive intellect, because he saw +No organ for the latter’s use assign’d. + +“Open thy bosom to the truth that comes. +Know soon as in the embryo, to the brain, +Articulation is complete, then turns +The primal Mover with a smile of joy +On such great work of nature, and imbreathes +New spirit replete with virtue, that what here +Active it finds, to its own substance draws, +And forms an individual soul, that lives, +And feels, and bends reflective on itself. +And that thou less mayst marvel at the word, +Mark the sun’s heat, how that to wine doth change, +Mix’d with the moisture filter’d through the vine. + +“When Lachesis hath spun the thread, the soul +Takes with her both the human and divine, +Memory, intelligence, and will, in act +Far keener than before, the other powers +Inactive all and mute. No pause allow’d, +In wond’rous sort self-moving, to one strand +Of those, where the departed roam, she falls, +Here learns her destin’d path. Soon as the place +Receives her, round the plastic virtue beams, +Distinct as in the living limbs before: +And as the air, when saturate with showers, +The casual beam refracting, decks itself +With many a hue; so here the ambient air +Weareth that form, which influence of the soul +Imprints on it; and like the flame, that where +The fire moves, thither follows, so henceforth +The new form on the spirit follows still: +Hence hath it semblance, and is shadow call’d, +With each sense even to the sight endued: +Hence speech is ours, hence laughter, tears, and sighs +Which thou mayst oft have witness’d on the mount +Th’ obedient shadow fails not to present +Whatever varying passion moves within us. +And this the cause of what thou marvel’st at.” + +Now the last flexure of our way we reach’d, +And to the right hand turning, other care +Awaits us. Here the rocky precipice +Hurls forth redundant flames, and from the rim +A blast upblown, with forcible rebuff +Driveth them back, sequester’d from its bound. + +Behoov’d us, one by one, along the side, +That border’d on the void, to pass; and I +Fear’d on one hand the fire, on th’ other fear’d +Headlong to fall: when thus th’ instructor warn’d: +“Strict rein must in this place direct the eyes. +A little swerving and the way is lost.” + +Then from the bosom of the burning mass, +“O God of mercy!” heard I sung; and felt +No less desire to turn. And when I saw +Spirits along the flame proceeding, I +Between their footsteps and mine own was fain +To share by turns my view. At the hymn’s close +They shouted loud, “I do not know a man;” +Then in low voice again took up the strain, +Which once more ended, “To the wood,” they cried, +“Ran Dian, and drave forth Callisto, stung +With Cytherea’s poison:” then return’d +Unto their song; then marry a pair extoll’d, +Who liv’d in virtue chastely, and the bands +Of wedded love. Nor from that task, I ween, +Surcease they; whilesoe’er the scorching fire +Enclasps them. Of such skill appliance needs +To medicine the wound, that healeth last. + + + + +CANTO XXVI + + +While singly thus along the rim we walk’d, +Oft the good master warn’d me: “Look thou well. +Avail it that I caution thee.” The sun +Now all the western clime irradiate chang’d +From azure tinct to white; and, as I pass’d, +My passing shadow made the umber’d flame +Burn ruddier. At so strange a sight I mark’d +That many a spirit marvel’d on his way. + +This bred occasion first to speak of me, +“He seems,” said they, “no insubstantial frame:” +Then to obtain what certainty they might, +Stretch’d towards me, careful not to overpass +The burning pale. “O thou, who followest +The others, haply not more slow than they, +But mov’d by rev’rence, answer me, who burn +In thirst and fire: nor I alone, but these +All for thine answer do more thirst, than doth +Indian or Aethiop for the cooling stream. +Tell us, how is it that thou mak’st thyself +A wall against the sun, as thou not yet +Into th’ inextricable toils of death +Hadst enter’d?” Thus spake one, and I had straight +Declar’d me, if attention had not turn’d +To new appearance. Meeting these, there came, +Midway the burning path, a crowd, on whom +Earnestly gazing, from each part I view +The shadows all press forward, sev’rally +Each snatch a hasty kiss, and then away. +E’en so the emmets, ’mid their dusky troops, +Peer closely one at other, to spy out +Their mutual road perchance, and how they thrive. + +That friendly greeting parted, ere dispatch +Of the first onward step, from either tribe +Loud clamour rises: those, who newly come, +Shout “Sodom and Gomorrah!” these, “The cow +Pasiphae enter’d, that the beast she woo’d +Might rush unto her luxury.” Then as cranes, +That part towards the Riphaean mountains fly, +Part towards the Lybic sands, these to avoid +The ice, and those the sun; so hasteth off +One crowd, advances th’ other; and resume +Their first song weeping, and their several shout. + +Again drew near my side the very same, +Who had erewhile besought me, and their looks +Mark’d eagerness to listen. I, who twice +Their will had noted, spake: “O spirits secure, +Whene’er the time may be, of peaceful end! +My limbs, nor crude, nor in mature old age, +Have I left yonder: here they bear me, fed +With blood, and sinew-strung. That I no more +May live in blindness, hence I tend aloft. +There is a dame on high, who wind for us +This grace, by which my mortal through your realm +I bear. But may your utmost wish soon meet +Such full fruition, that the orb of heaven, +Fullest of love, and of most ample space, +Receive you, as ye tell (upon my page +Henceforth to stand recorded) who ye are, +And what this multitude, that at your backs +Have past behind us.” As one, mountain-bred, +Rugged and clownish, if some city’s walls +He chance to enter, round him stares agape, +Confounded and struck dumb; e’en such appear’d +Each spirit. But when rid of that amaze, +(Not long the inmate of a noble heart) +He, who before had question’d, thus resum’d: +“O blessed, who, for death preparing, tak’st +Experience of our limits, in thy bark! +Their crime, who not with us proceed, was that, +For which, as he did triumph, Caesar heard +The snout of ‘queen,’ to taunt him. Hence their cry +Of ‘Sodom,’ as they parted, to rebuke +Themselves, and aid the burning by their shame. +Our sinning was Hermaphrodite: but we, +Because the law of human kind we broke, +Following like beasts our vile concupiscence, +Hence parting from them, to our own disgrace +Record the name of her, by whom the beast +In bestial tire was acted. Now our deeds +Thou know’st, and how we sinn’d. If thou by name +Wouldst haply know us, time permits not now +To tell so much, nor can I. Of myself +Learn what thou wishest. Guinicelli I, +Who having truly sorrow’d ere my last, +Already cleanse me.” With such pious joy, +As the two sons upon their mother gaz’d +From sad Lycurgus rescu’d, such my joy +(Save that I more represt it) when I heard +From his own lips the name of him pronounc’d, +Who was a father to me, and to those +My betters, who have ever us’d the sweet +And pleasant rhymes of love. So nought I heard +Nor spake, but long time thoughtfully I went, +Gazing on him; and, only for the fire, +Approach’d not nearer. When my eyes were fed +By looking on him, with such solemn pledge, +As forces credence, I devoted me +Unto his service wholly. In reply +He thus bespake me: “What from thee I hear +Is grav’d so deeply on my mind, the waves +Of Lethe shall not wash it off, nor make +A whit less lively. But as now thy oath +Has seal’d the truth, declare what cause impels +That love, which both thy looks and speech bewray.” + +“Those dulcet lays,” I answer’d, “which, as long +As of our tongue the beauty does not fade, +Shall make us love the very ink that trac’d them.” + +“Brother!” he cried, and pointed at a shade +Before him, “there is one, whose mother speech +Doth owe to him a fairer ornament. +He in love ditties and the tales of prose +Without a rival stands, and lets the fools +Talk on, who think the songster of Limoges +O’ertops him. Rumour and the popular voice +They look to more than truth, and so confirm +Opinion, ere by art or reason taught. +Thus many of the elder time cried up +Guittone, giving him the prize, till truth +By strength of numbers vanquish’d. If thou own +So ample privilege, as to have gain’d +Free entrance to the cloister, whereof Christ +Is Abbot of the college, say to him +One paternoster for me, far as needs +For dwellers in this world, where power to sin +No longer tempts us.” Haply to make way +For one, that follow’d next, when that was said, +He vanish’d through the fire, as through the wave +A fish, that glances diving to the deep. + +I, to the spirit he had shown me, drew +A little onward, and besought his name, +For which my heart, I said, kept gracious room. +He frankly thus began: “Thy courtesy +So wins on me, I have nor power nor will +To hide me. I am Arnault; and with songs, +Sorely lamenting for my folly past, +Thorough this ford of fire I wade, and see +The day, I hope for, smiling in my view. +I pray ye by the worth that guides ye up +Unto the summit of the scale, in time +Remember ye my suff’rings.” With such words +He disappear’d in the refining flame. + + + + +CANTO XXVII + + +Now was the sun so station’d, as when first +His early radiance quivers on the heights, +Where stream’d his Maker’s blood, while Libra hangs +Above Hesperian Ebro, and new fires +Meridian flash on Ganges’ yellow tide. + +So day was sinking, when the’ angel of God +Appear’d before us. Joy was in his mien. +Forth of the flame he stood upon the brink, +And with a voice, whose lively clearness far +Surpass’d our human, “Blessed are the pure +In heart,” he Sang: then near him as we came, +“Go ye not further, holy spirits!” he cried, +“Ere the fire pierce you: enter in; and list +Attentive to the song ye hear from thence.” + +I, when I heard his saying, was as one +Laid in the grave. My hands together clasp’d, +And upward stretching, on the fire I look’d, +And busy fancy conjur’d up the forms +Erewhile beheld alive consum’d in flames. + +Th’ escorting spirits turn’d with gentle looks +Toward me, and the Mantuan spake: “My son, +Here torment thou mayst feel, but canst not death. +Remember thee, remember thee, if I +Safe e’en on Geryon brought thee: now I come +More near to God, wilt thou not trust me now? +Of this be sure: though in its womb that flame +A thousand years contain’d thee, from thy head +No hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth, +Approach, and with thy hands thy vesture’s hem +Stretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief. +Lay now all fear, O lay all fear aside. +Turn hither, and come onward undismay’d.” +I still, though conscience urg’d’ no step advanc’d. + +When still he saw me fix’d and obstinate, +Somewhat disturb’d he cried: “Mark now, my son, +From Beatrice thou art by this wall +Divided.” As at Thisbe’s name the eye +Of Pyramus was open’d (when life ebb’d +Fast from his veins), and took one parting glance, +While vermeil dyed the mulberry; thus I turn’d +To my sage guide, relenting, when I heard +The name, that springs forever in my breast. + +He shook his forehead; and, “How long,” he said, +“Linger we now?” then smil’d, as one would smile +Upon a child, that eyes the fruit and yields. +Into the fire before me then he walk’d; +And Statius, who erewhile no little space +Had parted us, he pray’d to come behind. + +I would have cast me into molten glass +To cool me, when I enter’d; so intense +Rag’d the conflagrant mass. The sire belov’d, +To comfort me, as he proceeded, still +Of Beatrice talk’d. “Her eyes,” saith he, +“E’en now I seem to view.” From the other side +A voice, that sang, did guide us, and the voice +Following, with heedful ear, we issued forth, +There where the path led upward. “Come,” we heard, +“Come, blessed of my Father.” Such the sounds, +That hail’d us from within a light, which shone +So radiant, I could not endure the view. +“The sun,” it added, “hastes: and evening comes. +Delay not: ere the western sky is hung +With blackness, strive ye for the pass.” Our way +Upright within the rock arose, and fac’d +Such part of heav’n, that from before my steps +The beams were shrouded of the sinking sun. + +Nor many stairs were overpass, when now +By fading of the shadow we perceiv’d +The sun behind us couch’d: and ere one face +Of darkness o’er its measureless expanse +Involv’d th’ horizon, and the night her lot +Held individual, each of us had made +A stair his pallet: not that will, but power, +Had fail’d us, by the nature of that mount +Forbidden further travel. As the goats, +That late have skipp’d and wanton’d rapidly +Upon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta’en +Their supper on the herb, now silent lie +And ruminate beneath the umbrage brown, +While noonday rages; and the goatherd leans +Upon his staff, and leaning watches them: +And as the swain, that lodges out all night +In quiet by his flock, lest beast of prey +Disperse them; even so all three abode, +I as a goat and as the shepherds they, +Close pent on either side by shelving rock. + +A little glimpse of sky was seen above; +Yet by that little I beheld the stars +In magnitude and rustle shining forth +With more than wonted glory. As I lay, +Gazing on them, and in that fit of musing, +Sleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oft +Tidings of future hap. About the hour, +As I believe, when Venus from the east +First lighten’d on the mountain, she whose orb +Seems always glowing with the fire of love, +A lady young and beautiful, I dream’d, +Was passing o’er a lea; and, as she came, +Methought I saw her ever and anon +Bending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang: +“Know ye, whoever of my name would ask, +That I am Leah: for my brow to weave +A garland, these fair hands unwearied ply. +To please me at the crystal mirror, here +I deck me. But my sister Rachel, she +Before her glass abides the livelong day, +Her radiant eyes beholding, charm’d no less, +Than I with this delightful task. Her joy +In contemplation, as in labour mine.” + +And now as glimm’ring dawn appear’d, that breaks +More welcome to the pilgrim still, as he +Sojourns less distant on his homeward way, +Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fled +My slumber; whence I rose and saw my guide +Already risen. “That delicious fruit, +Which through so many a branch the zealous care +Of mortals roams in quest of, shall this day +Appease thy hunger.” Such the words I heard +From Virgil’s lip; and never greeting heard +So pleasant as the sounds. Within me straight +Desire so grew upon desire to mount, +Thenceforward at each step I felt the wings +Increasing for my flight. When we had run +O’er all the ladder to its topmost round, +As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fix’d +His eyes, and thus he spake: “Both fires, my son, +The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen, +And art arriv’d, where of itself my ken +No further reaches. I with skill and art +Thus far have drawn thee. Now thy pleasure take +For guide. Thou hast o’ercome the steeper way, +O’ercome the straighter. Lo! the sun, that darts +His beam upon thy forehead! lo! the herb, +The arboreta and flowers, which of itself +This land pours forth profuse! Will those bright eyes +With gladness come, which, weeping, made me haste +To succour thee, thou mayst or seat thee down, +Or wander where thou wilt. Expect no more +Sanction of warning voice or sign from me, +Free of thy own arbitrement to choose, +Discreet, judicious. To distrust thy sense +Were henceforth error. I invest thee then +With crown and mitre, sovereign o’er thyself.” + + + + +CANTO XXVIII + + +Through that celestial forest, whose thick shade +With lively greenness the new-springing day +Attemper’d, eager now to roam, and search +Its limits round, forthwith I left the bank, +Along the champain leisurely my way +Pursuing, o’er the ground, that on all sides +Delicious odour breath’d. A pleasant air, +That intermitted never, never veer’d, +Smote on my temples, gently, as a wind +Of softest influence: at which the sprays, +Obedient all, lean’d trembling to that part +Where first the holy mountain casts his shade, +Yet were not so disorder’d, but that still +Upon their top the feather’d quiristers +Applied their wonted art, and with full joy +Welcom’d those hours of prime, and warbled shrill +Amid the leaves, that to their jocund lays +inept tenor; even as from branch to branch, +Along the piney forests on the shore +Of Chiassi, rolls the gath’ring melody, +When Eolus hath from his cavern loos’d +The dripping south. Already had my steps, +Though slow, so far into that ancient wood +Transported me, I could not ken the place +Where I had enter’d, when behold! my path +Was bounded by a rill, which to the left +With little rippling waters bent the grass, +That issued from its brink. On earth no wave +How clean soe’er, that would not seem to have +Some mixture in itself, compar’d with this, +Transpicuous, clear; yet darkly on it roll’d, +Darkly beneath perpetual gloom, which ne’er +Admits or sun or moon light there to shine. + +My feet advanc’d not; but my wond’ring eyes +Pass’d onward, o’er the streamlet, to survey +The tender May-bloom, flush’d through many a hue, +In prodigal variety: and there, +As object, rising suddenly to view, +That from our bosom every thought beside +With the rare marvel chases, I beheld +A lady all alone, who, singing, went, +And culling flower from flower, wherewith her way +Was all o’er painted. “Lady beautiful! +Thou, who (if looks, that use to speak the heart, +Are worthy of our trust), with love’s own beam +Dost warm thee,” thus to her my speech I fram’d: +“Ah! please thee hither towards the streamlet bend +Thy steps so near, that I may list thy song. +Beholding thee and this fair place, methinks, +I call to mind where wander’d and how look’d +Proserpine, in that season, when her child +The mother lost, and she the bloomy spring.” + +As when a lady, turning in the dance, +Doth foot it featly, and advances scarce +One step before the other to the ground; +Over the yellow and vermilion flowers +Thus turn’d she at my suit, most maiden-like, +Valing her sober eyes, and came so near, +That I distinctly caught the dulcet sound. +Arriving where the limped waters now +Lav’d the green sward, her eyes she deign’d to raise, +That shot such splendour on me, as I ween +Ne’er glanced from Cytherea’s, when her son +Had sped his keenest weapon to her heart. +Upon the opposite bank she stood and smil’d +through her graceful fingers shifted still +The intermingling dyes, which without seed +That lofty land unbosoms. By the stream +Three paces only were we sunder’d: yet +The Hellespont, where Xerxes pass’d it o’er, +(A curb for ever to the pride of man) +Was by Leander not more hateful held +For floating, with inhospitable wave +’Twixt Sestus and Abydos, than by me +That flood, because it gave no passage thence. + +“Strangers ye come, and haply in this place, +That cradled human nature in its birth, +Wond’ring, ye not without suspicion view +My smiles: but that sweet strain of psalmody, +‘Thou, Lord! hast made me glad,’ will give ye light, +Which may uncloud your minds. And thou, who stand’st +The foremost, and didst make thy suit to me, +Say if aught else thou wish to hear: for I +Came prompt to answer every doubt of thine.” + +She spake; and I replied: “I know not how +To reconcile this wave and rustling sound +Of forest leaves, with what I late have heard +Of opposite report.” She answering thus: +“I will unfold the cause, whence that proceeds, +Which makes thee wonder; and so purge the cloud +That hath enwraps thee. The First Good, whose joy +Is only in himself, created man +For happiness, and gave this goodly place, +His pledge and earnest of eternal peace. +Favour’d thus highly, through his own defect +He fell, and here made short sojourn; he fell, +And, for the bitterness of sorrow, chang’d +Laughter unblam’d and ever-new delight. +That vapours none, exhal’d from earth beneath, +Or from the waters (which, wherever heat +Attracts them, follow), might ascend thus far +To vex man’s peaceful state, this mountain rose +So high toward the heav’n, nor fears the rage +Of elements contending, from that part +Exempted, where the gate his limit bars. +Because the circumambient air throughout +With its first impulse circles still, unless +Aught interpose to cheek or thwart its course; +Upon the summit, which on every side +To visitation of th’ impassive air +Is open, doth that motion strike, and makes +Beneath its sway th’ umbrageous wood resound: +And in the shaken plant such power resides, +That it impregnates with its efficacy +The voyaging breeze, upon whose subtle plume +That wafted flies abroad; and th’ other land +Receiving (as ’tis worthy in itself, +Or in the clime, that warms it), doth conceive, +And from its womb produces many a tree +Of various virtue. This when thou hast heard, +The marvel ceases, if in yonder earth +Some plant without apparent seed be found +To fix its fibrous stem. And further learn, +That with prolific foison of all seeds, +This holy plain is fill’d, and in itself +Bears fruit that ne’er was pluck’d on other soil. + +“The water, thou behold’st, springs not from vein, +As stream, that intermittently repairs +And spends his pulse of life, but issues forth +From fountain, solid, undecaying, sure; +And by the will omnific, full supply +Feeds whatsoe’er On either side it pours; +On this devolv’d with power to take away +Remembrance of offence, on that to bring +Remembrance back of every good deed done. +From whence its name of Lethe on this part; +On th’ other Eunoe: both of which must first +Be tasted ere it work; the last exceeding +All flavours else. Albeit thy thirst may now +Be well contented, if I here break off, +No more revealing: yet a corollary +I freely give beside: nor deem my words +Less grateful to thee, if they somewhat pass +The stretch of promise. They, whose verse of yore +The golden age recorded and its bliss, +On the Parnassian mountain, of this place +Perhaps had dream’d. Here was man guiltless, here +Perpetual spring and every fruit, and this +The far-fam’d nectar.” Turning to the bards, +When she had ceas’d, I noted in their looks +A smile at her conclusion; then my face +Again directed to the lovely dame. + + + + +CANTO XXIX + + +Singing, as if enamour’d, she resum’d +And clos’d the song, with “Blessed they whose sins +Are cover’d.” Like the wood-nymphs then, that tripp’d +Singly across the sylvan shadows, one +Eager to view and one to ’scape the sun, +So mov’d she on, against the current, up +The verdant rivage. I, her mincing step +Observing, with as tardy step pursued. + +Between us not an hundred paces trod, +The bank, on each side bending equally, +Gave me to face the orient. Nor our way +Far onward brought us, when to me at once +She turn’d, and cried: “My brother! look and hearken.” +And lo! a sudden lustre ran across +Through the great forest on all parts, so bright +I doubted whether lightning were abroad; +But that expiring ever in the spleen, +That doth unfold it, and this during still +And waxing still in splendor, made me question +What it might be: and a sweet melody +Ran through the luminous air. Then did I chide +With warrantable zeal the hardihood +Of our first parent, for that there were earth +Stood in obedience to the heav’ns, she only, +Woman, the creature of an hour, endur’d not +Restraint of any veil: which had she borne +Devoutly, joys, ineffable as these, +Had from the first, and long time since, been mine. + +While through that wilderness of primy sweets +That never fade, suspense I walk’d, and yet +Expectant of beatitude more high, +Before us, like a blazing fire, the air +Under the green boughs glow’d; and, for a song, +Distinct the sound of melody was heard. + +O ye thrice holy virgins! for your sakes +If e’er I suffer’d hunger, cold and watching, +Occasion calls on me to crave your bounty. +Now through my breast let Helicon his stream +Pour copious; and Urania with her choir +Arise to aid me: while the verse unfolds +Things that do almost mock the grasp of thought. + +Onward a space, what seem’d seven trees of gold, +The intervening distance to mine eye +Falsely presented; but when I was come +So near them, that no lineament was lost +Of those, with which a doubtful object, seen +Remotely, plays on the misdeeming sense, +Then did the faculty, that ministers +Discourse to reason, these for tapers of gold +Distinguish, and it th’ singing trace the sound +“Hosanna.” Above, their beauteous garniture +Flam’d with more ample lustre, than the moon +Through cloudless sky at midnight in her full. + +I turn’d me full of wonder to my guide; +And he did answer with a countenance +Charg’d with no less amazement: whence my view +Reverted to those lofty things, which came +So slowly moving towards us, that the bride +Would have outstript them on her bridal day. + +The lady called aloud: “Why thus yet burns +Affection in thee for these living, lights, +And dost not look on that which follows them?” + +I straightway mark’d a tribe behind them walk, +As if attendant on their leaders, cloth’d +With raiment of such whiteness, as on earth +Was never. On my left, the wat’ry gleam +Borrow’d, and gave me back, when there I look’d. +As in a mirror, my left side portray’d. + +When I had chosen on the river’s edge +Such station, that the distance of the stream +Alone did separate me; there I stay’d +My steps for clearer prospect, and beheld +The flames go onward, leaving, as they went, +The air behind them painted as with trail +Of liveliest pencils! so distinct were mark’d +All those sev’n listed colours, whence the sun +Maketh his bow, and Cynthia her zone. +These streaming gonfalons did flow beyond +My vision; and ten paces, as I guess, +Parted the outermost. Beneath a sky +So beautiful, came foul and-twenty elders, +By two and two, with flower-de-luces crown’d. + +All sang one song: “Blessed be thou among +The daughters of Adam! and thy loveliness +Blessed for ever!” After that the flowers, +And the fresh herblets, on the opposite brink, +Were free from that elected race; as light +In heav’n doth second light, came after them +Four animals, each crown’d with verdurous leaf. +With six wings each was plum’d, the plumage full +Of eyes, and th’ eyes of Argus would be such, +Were they endued with life. Reader, more rhymes +Will not waste in shadowing forth their form: +For other need no straitens, that in this +I may not give my bounty room. But read +Ezekiel; for he paints them, from the north +How he beheld them come by Chebar’s flood, +In whirlwind, cloud and fire; and even such +As thou shalt find them character’d by him, +Here were they; save as to the pennons; there, +From him departing, John accords with me. + +The space, surrounded by the four, enclos’d +A car triumphal: on two wheels it came +Drawn at a Gryphon’s neck; and he above +Stretch’d either wing uplifted, ’tween the midst +And the three listed hues, on each side three; +So that the wings did cleave or injure none; +And out of sight they rose. The members, far +As he was bird, were golden; white the rest +With vermeil intervein’d. So beautiful +A car in Rome ne’er grac’d Augustus pomp, +Or Africanus’: e’en the sun’s itself +Were poor to this, that chariot of the sun +Erroneous, which in blazing ruin fell +At Tellus’ pray’r devout, by the just doom +Mysterious of all-seeing Jove. Three nymphs +at the right wheel, came circling in smooth dance; +The one so ruddy, that her form had scarce +Been known within a furnace of clear flame: +The next did look, as if the flesh and bones +Were emerald: snow new-fallen seem’d the third. + +Now seem’d the white to lead, the ruddy now; +And from her song who led, the others took +Their treasure, swift or slow. At th’ other wheel, +A band quaternion, each in purple clad, +Advanc’d with festal step, as of them one +The rest conducted, one, upon whose front +Three eyes were seen. In rear of all this group, +Two old men I beheld, dissimilar +In raiment, but in port and gesture like, +Solid and mainly grave; of whom the one +Did show himself some favour’d counsellor +Of the great Coan, him, whom nature made +To serve the costliest creature of her tribe. +His fellow mark’d an opposite intent, +Bearing a sword, whose glitterance and keen edge, +E’en as I view’d it with the flood between, +Appall’d me. Next four others I beheld, +Of humble seeming: and, behind them all, +One single old man, sleeping, as he came, +With a shrewd visage. And these seven, each +Like the first troop were habited, but wore +No braid of lilies on their temples wreath’d. +Rather with roses and each vermeil flower, +A sight, but little distant, might have sworn, +That they were all on fire above their brow. + +Whenas the car was o’er against me, straight. +Was heard a thund’ring, at whose voice it seem’d +The chosen multitude were stay’d; for there, +With the first ensigns, made they solemn halt. + + + + +CANTO XXX + + +Soon as the polar light, which never knows +Setting nor rising, nor the shadowy veil +Of other cloud than sin, fair ornament +Of the first heav’n, to duty each one there +Safely convoying, as that lower doth +The steersman to his port, stood firmly fix’d; +Forthwith the saintly tribe, who in the van +Between the Gryphon and its radiance came, +Did turn them to the car, as to their rest: +And one, as if commission’d from above, +In holy chant thrice shorted forth aloud: +“Come, spouse, from Libanus!” and all the rest +Took up the song—At the last audit so +The blest shall rise, from forth his cavern each +Uplifting lightly his new-vested flesh, +As, on the sacred litter, at the voice +Authoritative of that elder, sprang +A hundred ministers and messengers +Of life eternal. “Blessed thou! who com’st!” +And, “O,” they cried, “from full hands scatter ye +Unwith’ring lilies;” and, so saying, cast +Flowers over head and round them on all sides. + +I have beheld, ere now, at break of day, +The eastern clime all roseate, and the sky +Oppos’d, one deep and beautiful serene, +And the sun’s face so shaded, and with mists +Attemper’d at lids rising, that the eye +Long while endur’d the sight: thus in a cloud +Of flowers, that from those hands angelic rose, +And down, within and outside of the car, +Fell showering, in white veil with olive wreath’d, +A virgin in my view appear’d, beneath +Green mantle, rob’d in hue of living flame: + +And o’er my Spirit, that in former days +Within her presence had abode so long, +No shudd’ring terror crept. Mine eyes no more +Had knowledge of her; yet there mov’d from her +A hidden virtue, at whose touch awak’d, +The power of ancient love was strong within me. + +No sooner on my vision streaming, smote +The heav’nly influence, which years past, and e’en +In childhood, thrill’d me, than towards Virgil I +Turn’d me to leftward, panting, like a babe, +That flees for refuge to his mother’s breast, +If aught have terrified or work’d him woe: +And would have cried: “There is no dram of blood, +That doth not quiver in me. The old flame +Throws out clear tokens of reviving fire:” +But Virgil had bereav’d us of himself, +Virgil, my best-lov’d father; Virgil, he +To whom I gave me up for safety: nor, +All, our prime mother lost, avail’d to save +My undew’d cheeks from blur of soiling tears. + +“Dante, weep not, that Virgil leaves thee: nay, +Weep thou not yet: behooves thee feel the edge +Of other sword, and thou shalt weep for that.” + +As to the prow or stern, some admiral +Paces the deck, inspiriting his crew, +When ’mid the sail-yards all hands ply aloof; +Thus on the left side of the car I saw, +(Turning me at the sound of mine own name, +Which here I am compell’d to register) +The virgin station’d, who before appeared +Veil’d in that festive shower angelical. + +Towards me, across the stream, she bent her eyes; +Though from her brow the veil descending, bound +With foliage of Minerva, suffer’d not +That I beheld her clearly; then with act +Full royal, still insulting o’er her thrall, +Added, as one, who speaking keepeth back +The bitterest saying, to conclude the speech: +“Observe me well. I am, in sooth, I am +Beatrice. What! and hast thou deign’d at last +Approach the mountainnewest not, O man! +Thy happiness is whole?” Down fell mine eyes +On the clear fount, but there, myself espying, +Recoil’d, and sought the greensward: such a weight +Of shame was on my forehead. With a mien +Of that stern majesty, which doth surround +mother’s presence to her awe-struck child, +She look’d; a flavour of such bitterness +Was mingled in her pity. There her words +Brake off, and suddenly the angels sang: +“In thee, O gracious Lord, my hope hath been:” +But went no farther than, “Thou Lord, hast set +My feet in ample room.” As snow, that lies +Amidst the living rafters on the back +Of Italy congeal’d when drifted high +And closely pil’d by rough Sclavonian blasts, +Breathe but the land whereon no shadow falls, +And straightway melting it distils away, +Like a fire-wasted taper: thus was I, +Without a sigh or tear, or ever these +Did sing, that with the chiming of heav’n’s sphere, +Still in their warbling chime: but when the strain +Of dulcet symphony, express’d for me +Their soft compassion, more than could the words +“Virgin, why so consum’st him?” then the ice, +Congeal’d about my bosom, turn’d itself +To spirit and water, and with anguish forth +Gush’d through the lips and eyelids from the heart. + +Upon the chariot’s right edge still she stood, +Immovable, and thus address’d her words +To those bright semblances with pity touch’d: +“Ye in th’ eternal day your vigils keep, +So that nor night nor slumber, with close stealth, +Conveys from you a single step in all +The goings on of life: thence with more heed +I shape mine answer, for his ear intended, +Who there stands weeping, that the sorrow now +May equal the transgression. Not alone +Through operation of the mighty orbs, +That mark each seed to some predestin’d aim, +As with aspect or fortunate or ill +The constellations meet, but through benign +Largess of heav’nly graces, which rain down +From such a height, as mocks our vision, this man +Was in the freshness of his being, such, +So gifted virtually, that in him +All better habits wond’rously had thriv’d. +The more of kindly strength is in the soil, +So much doth evil seed and lack of culture +Mar it the more, and make it run to wildness. +These looks sometime upheld him; for I show’d +My youthful eyes, and led him by their light +In upright walking. Soon as I had reach’d +The threshold of my second age, and chang’d +My mortal for immortal, then he left me, +And gave himself to others. When from flesh +To spirit I had risen, and increase +Of beauty and of virtue circled me, +I was less dear to him, and valued less. +His steps were turn’d into deceitful ways, +Following false images of good, that make +No promise perfect. Nor avail’d me aught +To sue for inspirations, with the which, +I, both in dreams of night, and otherwise, +Did call him back; of them so little reck’d him, +Such depth he fell, that all device was short +Of his preserving, save that he should view +The children of perdition. To this end +I visited the purlieus of the dead: +And one, who hath conducted him thus high, +Receiv’d my supplications urg’d with weeping. +It were a breaking of God’s high decree, +If Lethe should be past, and such food tasted +Without the cost of some repentant tear.” + + + + +CANTO XXXI + + +“O Thou!” her words she thus without delay +Resuming, turn’d their point on me, to whom +They but with lateral edge seem’d harsh before, +“Say thou, who stand’st beyond the holy stream, +If this be true. A charge so grievous needs +Thine own avowal.” On my faculty +Such strange amazement hung, the voice expir’d +Imperfect, ere its organs gave it birth. + +A little space refraining, then she spake: +“What dost thou muse on? Answer me. The wave +On thy remembrances of evil yet +Hath done no injury.” A mingled sense +Of fear and of confusion, from my lips +Did such a “Yea” produce, as needed help +Of vision to interpret. As when breaks +In act to be discharg’d, a cross-bow bent +Beyond its pitch, both nerve and bow o’erstretch’d, +The flagging weapon feebly hits the mark; +Thus, tears and sighs forth gushing, did I burst +Beneath the heavy load, and thus my voice +Was slacken’d on its way. She straight began: +“When my desire invited thee to love +The good, which sets a bound to our aspirings, +What bar of thwarting foss or linked chain +Did meet thee, that thou so should’st quit the hope +Of further progress, or what bait of ease +Or promise of allurement led thee on +Elsewhere, that thou elsewhere should’st rather wait?” + +A bitter sigh I drew, then scarce found voice +To answer, hardly to these sounds my lips +Gave utterance, wailing: “Thy fair looks withdrawn, +Things present, with deceitful pleasures, turn’d +My steps aside.” She answering spake: “Hadst thou +Been silent, or denied what thou avow’st, +Thou hadst not hid thy sin the more: such eye +Observes it. But whene’er the sinner’s cheek +Breaks forth into the precious-streaming tears +Of self-accusing, in our court the wheel +Of justice doth run counter to the edge. +Howe’er that thou may’st profit by thy shame +For errors past, and that henceforth more strength +May arm thee, when thou hear’st the Siren-voice, +Lay thou aside the motive to this grief, +And lend attentive ear, while I unfold +How opposite a way my buried flesh +Should have impell’d thee. Never didst thou spy +In art or nature aught so passing sweet, +As were the limbs, that in their beauteous frame +Enclos’d me, and are scatter’d now in dust. +If sweetest thing thus fail’d thee with my death, +What, afterward, of mortal should thy wish +Have tempted? When thou first hadst felt the dart +Of perishable things, in my departing +For better realms, thy wing thou should’st have prun’d +To follow me, and never stoop’d again +To ’bide a second blow for a slight girl, +Or other gaud as transient and as vain. +The new and inexperienc’d bird awaits, +Twice it may be, or thrice, the fowler’s aim; +But in the sight of one, whose plumes are full, +In vain the net is spread, the arrow wing’d.” + +I stood, as children silent and asham’d +Stand, list’ning, with their eyes upon the earth, +Acknowledging their fault and self-condemn’d. +And she resum’d: “If, but to hear thus pains thee, +Raise thou thy beard, and lo! what sight shall do!” + +With less reluctance yields a sturdy holm, +Rent from its fibers by a blast, that blows +From off the pole, or from Iarbas’ land, +Than I at her behest my visage rais’d: +And thus the face denoting by the beard, +I mark’d the secret sting her words convey’d. + +No sooner lifted I mine aspect up, +Than downward sunk that vision I beheld +Of goodly creatures vanish; and mine eyes +Yet unassur’d and wavering, bent their light +On Beatrice. Towards the animal, +Who joins two natures in one form, she turn’d, +And, even under shadow of her veil, +And parted by the verdant rill, that flow’d +Between, in loveliness appear’d as much +Her former self surpassing, as on earth +All others she surpass’d. Remorseful goads +Shot sudden through me. Each thing else, the more +Its love had late beguil’d me, now the more +I Was loathsome. On my heart so keenly smote +The bitter consciousness, that on the ground +O’erpower’d I fell: and what my state was then, +She knows who was the cause. When now my strength +Flow’d back, returning outward from the heart, +The lady, whom alone I first had seen, +I found above me. “Loose me not,” she cried: +“Loose not thy hold;” and lo! had dragg’d me high +As to my neck into the stream, while she, +Still as she drew me after, swept along, +Swift as a shuttle, bounding o’er the wave. + +The blessed shore approaching then was heard +So sweetly, “Tu asperges me,” that I +May not remember, much less tell the sound. +The beauteous dame, her arms expanding, clasp’d +My temples, and immerg’d me, where ’twas fit +The wave should drench me: and thence raising up, +Within the fourfold dance of lovely nymphs +Presented me so lav’d, and with their arm +They each did cover me. “Here are we nymphs, +And in the heav’n are stars. Or ever earth +Was visited of Beatrice, we +Appointed for her handmaids, tended on her. +We to her eyes will lead thee; but the light +Of gladness that is in them, well to scan, +Those yonder three, of deeper ken than ours, +Thy sight shall quicken.” Thus began their song; +And then they led me to the Gryphon’s breast, +While, turn’d toward us, Beatrice stood. +“Spare not thy vision. We have stationed thee +Before the emeralds, whence love erewhile +Hath drawn his weapons on thee.” As they spake, +A thousand fervent wishes riveted +Mine eyes upon her beaming eyes, that stood +Still fix’d toward the Gryphon motionless. +As the sun strikes a mirror, even thus +Within those orbs the twofold being, shone, +For ever varying, in one figure now +Reflected, now in other. Reader! muse +How wond’rous in my sight it seem’d to mark +A thing, albeit steadfast in itself, +Yet in its imag’d semblance mutable. + +Full of amaze, and joyous, while my soul +Fed on the viand, whereof still desire +Grows with satiety, the other three +With gesture, that declar’d a loftier line, +Advanc’d: to their own carol on they came +Dancing in festive ring angelical. + +“Turn, Beatrice!” was their song: “O turn +Thy saintly sight on this thy faithful one, +Who to behold thee many a wearisome pace +Hath measur’d. Gracious at our pray’r vouchsafe +Unveil to him thy cheeks: that he may mark +Thy second beauty, now conceal’d.” O splendour! +O sacred light eternal! who is he +So pale with musing in Pierian shades, +Or with that fount so lavishly imbued, +Whose spirit should not fail him in th’ essay +To represent thee such as thou didst seem, +When under cope of the still-chiming heaven +Thou gav’st to open air thy charms reveal’d. + + + + +CANTO XXXII + + +Mine eyes with such an eager coveting, +Were bent to rid them of their ten years’ thirst, +No other sense was waking: and e’en they +Were fenc’d on either side from heed of aught; +So tangled in its custom’d toils that smile +Of saintly brightness drew me to itself, +When forcibly toward the left my sight +The sacred virgins turn’d; for from their lips +I heard the warning sounds: “Too fix’d a gaze!” + +Awhile my vision labor’d; as when late +Upon the’ o’erstrained eyes the sun hath smote: +But soon to lesser object, as the view +Was now recover’d (lesser in respect +To that excess of sensible, whence late +I had perforce been sunder’d) on their right +I mark’d that glorious army wheel, and turn, +Against the sun and sev’nfold lights, their front. +As when, their bucklers for protection rais’d, +A well-rang’d troop, with portly banners curl’d, +Wheel circling, ere the whole can change their ground: +E’en thus the goodly regiment of heav’n +Proceeding, all did pass us, ere the car +Had slop’d his beam. Attendant at the wheels +The damsels turn’d; and on the Gryphon mov’d +The sacred burden, with a pace so smooth, +No feather on him trembled. The fair dame +Who through the wave had drawn me, companied +By Statius and myself, pursued the wheel, +Whose orbit, rolling, mark’d a lesser arch. + +Through the high wood, now void (the more her blame, +Who by the serpent was beguil’d) I past +With step in cadence to the harmony +Angelic. Onward had we mov’d, as far +Perchance as arrow at three several flights +Full wing’d had sped, when from her station down +Descended Beatrice. With one voice +All murmur’d “Adam,” circling next a plant +Despoil’d of flowers and leaf on every bough. +Its tresses, spreading more as more they rose, +Were such, as ’midst their forest wilds for height +The Indians might have gaz’d at. “Blessed thou! +Gryphon, whose beak hath never pluck’d that tree +Pleasant to taste: for hence the appetite +Was warp’d to evil.” Round the stately trunk +Thus shouted forth the rest, to whom return’d +The animal twice-gender’d: “Yea: for so +The generation of the just are sav’d.” +And turning to the chariot-pole, to foot +He drew it of the widow’d branch, and bound +There left unto the stock whereon it grew. + +As when large floods of radiance from above +Stream, with that radiance mingled, which ascends +Next after setting of the scaly sign, +Our plants then burgeon, and each wears anew +His wonted colours, ere the sun have yok’d +Beneath another star his flamy steeds; +Thus putting forth a hue, more faint than rose, +And deeper than the violet, was renew’d +The plant, erewhile in all its branches bare. + +Unearthly was the hymn, which then arose. +I understood it not, nor to the end +Endur’d the harmony. Had I the skill +To pencil forth, how clos’d th’ unpitying eyes +Slumb’ring, when Syrinx warbled, (eyes that paid +So dearly for their watching,) then like painter, +That with a model paints, I might design +The manner of my falling into sleep. +But feign who will the slumber cunningly; +I pass it by to when I wak’d, and tell +How suddenly a flash of splendour rent +The curtain of my sleep, and one cries out: +“Arise, what dost thou?” As the chosen three, +On Tabor’s mount, admitted to behold +The blossoming of that fair tree, whose fruit +Is coveted of angels, and doth make +Perpetual feast in heaven, to themselves +Returning at the word, whence deeper sleeps +Were broken, that they their tribe diminish’d saw, +Both Moses and Elias gone, and chang’d +The stole their master wore: thus to myself +Returning, over me beheld I stand +The piteous one, who cross the stream had brought +My steps. “And where,” all doubting, I exclaim’d, +“Is Beatrice?”—“See her,” she replied, +“Beneath the fresh leaf seated on its root. +Behold th’ associate choir that circles her. +The others, with a melody more sweet +And more profound, journeying to higher realms, +Upon the Gryphon tend.” If there her words +Were clos’d, I know not; but mine eyes had now +Ta’en view of her, by whom all other thoughts +Were barr’d admittance. On the very ground +Alone she sat, as she had there been left +A guard upon the wain, which I beheld +Bound to the twyform beast. The seven nymphs +Did make themselves a cloister round about her, +And in their hands upheld those lights secure +From blast septentrion and the gusty south. + +“A little while thou shalt be forester here: +And citizen shalt be forever with me, +Of that true Rome, wherein Christ dwells a Roman +To profit the misguided world, keep now +Thine eyes upon the car; and what thou seest, +Take heed thou write, returning to that place.” + +Thus Beatrice: at whose feet inclin’d +Devout, at her behest, my thought and eyes, +I, as she bade, directed. Never fire, +With so swift motion, forth a stormy cloud +Leap’d downward from the welkin’s farthest bound, +As I beheld the bird of Jove descending +Pounce on the tree, and, as he rush’d, the rind, +Disparting crush beneath him, buds much more +And leaflets. On the car with all his might +He struck, whence, staggering like a ship, it reel’d, +At random driv’n, to starboard now, o’ercome, +And now to larboard, by the vaulting waves. + +Next springing up into the chariot’s womb +A fox I saw, with hunger seeming pin’d +Of all good food. But, for his ugly sins +The saintly maid rebuking him, away +Scamp’ring he turn’d, fast as his hide-bound corpse +Would bear him. Next, from whence before he came, +I saw the eagle dart into the hull +O’ th’ car, and leave it with his feathers lin’d; +And then a voice, like that which issues forth +From heart with sorrow riv’d, did issue forth +From heav’n, and, “O poor bark of mine!” it cried, +“How badly art thou freighted!” Then, it seem’d, +That the earth open’d between either wheel, +And I beheld a dragon issue thence, +That through the chariot fix’d his forked train; +And like a wasp that draggeth back the sting, +So drawing forth his baleful train, he dragg’d +Part of the bottom forth, and went his way +Exulting. What remain’d, as lively turf +With green herb, so did clothe itself with plumes, +Which haply had with purpose chaste and kind +Been offer’d; and therewith were cloth’d the wheels, +Both one and other, and the beam, so quickly +A sigh were not breath’d sooner. Thus transform’d, +The holy structure, through its several parts, +Did put forth heads, three on the beam, and one +On every side; the first like oxen horn’d, +But with a single horn upon their front +The four. Like monster sight hath never seen. +O’er it methought there sat, secure as rock +On mountain’s lofty top, a shameless whore, +Whose ken rov’d loosely round her. At her side, +As ’twere that none might bear her off, I saw +A giant stand; and ever, and anon +They mingled kisses. But, her lustful eyes +Chancing on me to wander, that fell minion +Scourg’d her from head to foot all o’er; then full +Of jealousy, and fierce with rage, unloos’d +The monster, and dragg’d on, so far across +The forest, that from me its shades alone +Shielded the harlot and the new-form’d brute. + + + + +CANTO XXXIII + + +“The heathen, Lord! are come!” responsive thus, +The trinal now, and now the virgin band +Quaternion, their sweet psalmody began, +Weeping; and Beatrice listen’d, sad +And sighing, to the song’, in such a mood, +That Mary, as she stood beside the cross, +Was scarce more chang’d. But when they gave her place +To speak, then, risen upright on her feet, +She, with a colour glowing bright as fire, +Did answer: “Yet a little while, and ye +Shall see me not; and, my beloved sisters, +Again a little while, and ye shall see me.” + +Before her then she marshall’d all the seven, +And, beck’ning only motion’d me, the dame, +And that remaining sage, to follow her. + +So on she pass’d; and had not set, I ween, +Her tenth step to the ground, when with mine eyes +Her eyes encounter’d; and, with visage mild, +“So mend thy pace,” she cried, “that if my words +Address thee, thou mayst still be aptly plac’d +To hear them.” Soon as duly to her side +I now had hasten’d: “Brother!” she began, +“Why mak’st thou no attempt at questioning, +As thus we walk together?” Like to those +Who, speaking with too reverent an awe +Before their betters, draw not forth the voice +Alive unto their lips, befell me shell +That I in sounds imperfect thus began: +“Lady! what I have need of, that thou know’st, +And what will suit my need.” She answering thus: +“Of fearfulness and shame, I will, that thou +Henceforth do rid thee: that thou speak no more, +As one who dreams. Thus far be taught of me: +The vessel, which thou saw’st the serpent break, +Was and is not: let him, who hath the blame, +Hope not to scare God’s vengeance with a sop. +Without an heir for ever shall not be +That eagle, he, who left the chariot plum’d, +Which monster made it first and next a prey. +Plainly I view, and therefore speak, the stars +E’en now approaching, whose conjunction, free +From all impediment and bar, brings on +A season, in the which, one sent from God, +(Five hundred, five, and ten, do mark him out) +That foul one, and th’ accomplice of her guilt, +The giant, both shall slay. And if perchance +My saying, dark as Themis or as Sphinx, +Fail to persuade thee, (since like them it foils +The intellect with blindness) yet ere long +Events shall be the Naiads, that will solve +This knotty riddle, and no damage light +On flock or field. Take heed; and as these words +By me are utter’d, teach them even so +To those who live that life, which is a race +To death: and when thou writ’st them, keep in mind +Not to conceal how thou hast seen the plant, +That twice hath now been spoil’d. This whoso robs, +This whoso plucks, with blasphemy of deed +Sins against God, who for his use alone +Creating hallow’d it. For taste of this, +In pain and in desire, five thousand years +And upward, the first soul did yearn for him, +Who punish’d in himself the fatal gust. + +“Thy reason slumbers, if it deem this height +And summit thus inverted of the plant, +Without due cause: and were not vainer thoughts, +As Elsa’s numbing waters, to thy soul, +And their fond pleasures had not dyed it dark +As Pyramus the mulberry, thou hadst seen, +In such momentous circumstance alone, +God’s equal justice morally implied +In the forbidden tree. But since I mark thee +In understanding harden’d into stone, +And, to that hardness, spotted too and stain’d, +So that thine eye is dazzled at my word, +I will, that, if not written, yet at least +Painted thou take it in thee, for the cause, +That one brings home his staff inwreath’d with palm.” + +I thus: “As wax by seal, that changeth not +Its impress, now is stamp’d my brain by thee. +But wherefore soars thy wish’d-for speech so high +Beyond my sight, that loses it the more, +The more it strains to reach it?”—“To the end +That thou mayst know,” she answer’d straight, “the school, +That thou hast follow’d; and how far behind, +When following my discourse, its learning halts: +And mayst behold your art, from the divine +As distant, as the disagreement is +’Twixt earth and heaven’s most high and rapturous orb.” + +“I not remember,” I replied, “that e’er +I was estrang’d from thee, nor for such fault +Doth conscience chide me.” Smiling she return’d: +“If thou canst, not remember, call to mind +How lately thou hast drunk of Lethe’s wave; +And, sure as smoke doth indicate a flame, +In that forgetfulness itself conclude +Blame from thy alienated will incurr’d. +From henceforth verily my words shall be +As naked as will suit them to appear +In thy unpractis’d view.” More sparkling now, +And with retarded course the sun possess’d +The circle of mid-day, that varies still +As th’ aspect varies of each several clime, +When, as one, sent in vaward of a troop +For escort, pauses, if perchance he spy +Vestige of somewhat strange and rare: so paus’d +The sev’nfold band, arriving at the verge +Of a dun umbrage hoar, such as is seen, +Beneath green leaves and gloomy branches, oft +To overbrow a bleak and alpine cliff. +And, where they stood, before them, as it seem’d, +Tigris and Euphrates both beheld, +Forth from one fountain issue; and, like friends, +Linger at parting. “O enlight’ning beam! +O glory of our kind! beseech thee say +What water this, which from one source deriv’d +Itself removes to distance from itself?” + +To such entreaty answer thus was made: +“Entreat Matilda, that she teach thee this.” + +And here, as one, who clears himself of blame +Imputed, the fair dame return’d: “Of me +He this and more hath learnt; and I am safe +That Lethe’s water hath not hid it from him.” + +And Beatrice: “Some more pressing care +That oft the memory ’reeves, perchance hath made +His mind’s eye dark. But lo! where Eunoe cows! +Lead thither; and, as thou art wont, revive +His fainting virtue.” As a courteous spirit, +That proffers no excuses, but as soon +As he hath token of another’s will, +Makes it his own; when she had ta’en me, thus +The lovely maiden mov’d her on, and call’d +To Statius with an air most lady-like: +“Come thou with him.” Were further space allow’d, +Then, Reader, might I sing, though but in part, +That beverage, with whose sweetness I had ne’er +Been sated. But, since all the leaves are full, +Appointed for this second strain, mine art +With warning bridle checks me. I return’d +From the most holy wave, regenerate, +If ’en as new plants renew’d with foliage new, +Pure and made apt for mounting to the stars. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1006 *** |