Canto XX
¶ARGUMENT . — Among those of the fifth cornice, Hugh Capet records illustrious examples of voluntary poverty and of bounty; then tells who himself is, and speaks of his descendants on the French throne; and, lastly, adds some noted instances of avarice. When he has ended, the mountain shakes, and all the spirits sing "Glory to
¶God." I Onward I moved: he also onward moved, LL 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.Who led me, coasting still, wherever placeAlong the rock was vacant; as a manWalks near the battlements on narrow wall.For those on the other part, who drop by dropWring out their all-infecting malady,Too closely press the verge. Accurst be thou,Inveterate wolf! I 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 attributeAll change in mortal state, when is the dayOf his appearing, 2 for whom fate reservesTo chase her hence? With wary steps and slowWe pass'd; and I attentive to the shades,Whom piteously I heard lament and wail;And, 'midst the wailing, one before us heardCry out "O blessed Virgin!" as a dameIn the sharp pangs of childbed; and "How poorThou wast," it added, "witness that low roofWhere thou didst lay thy sacred burden down.O good Fabricius! thou didst virtue chooseWith poverty, before great wealth with vice."The words so pleased me, that desire to knowThe spirit, from whose lip they seem'd to come,Did draw me onward. Yet it spake the giftOf Nicholas,' which on the maidens he
Bounteous bestow'd, to save their youthful primeUnblemish'd. "Spirit! who dost speak of deedsSo worthy, tell me who thou wast," I said,"And why thou dost with single voice renewMemorial of such praise. That boon vouchsafedHaply shall meet reward; if I returnTo finish the short pilgrimage of life,Still speeding to its close on resdess wing.""I," answer'd he, "will tell thee; not for help,Which thence I look for; but that in thyselfGrace so exceeding shines, before thy timeOf mortal dissolution. I was root 4Of that ill plant, whose shade such poison shedsO'er all the Christian land, that seldom thenceGood fruit is gather'd. Vengeance soon should come,Had Ghent and Douay, Lille and Bruges power; 5And vengeance I of Heaven's great Judge implore.Hugh Capet was I hight: from me descendThe Philips and the Louis, of whom FranceNewly is govern'd: born of one, who pliedThe slaughterer's trade 8 at Paris. When the raceOf ancient kings had vanish'd (all save one 7Wrapt up in sable weeds) within my gripeI found the reins of empire, and such powersOf new acquirement, with full store of friends,That soon the widow'd circlet of the crownWas girt upon the temples of my son, 8He, from whose bones the anointed race begins.
Till the great dower of Provence 9 had removedThe stains, that yet obscured our lowly blood,Its sway indeed was narrow; but howe'erIt wrought no evil: there, with force and lies,Began its rapine: after, for amends,Poitou it seized, Navarre and Gascony.To Italy came Charles; and for amends,Young Conradine, 10 an innocent victim, slew;And sent the angelic teacher" back to Heaven,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, 13 and thatHe carries with so home a thrust, as rivesThe bowels of poor Florence. No increaseOf territory hence, but sin and shameShall be his guerdon; and so much the moreAs he more lightly deems of such foul wrong.I see the other u (who a prisoner late
¶* "The great dower of Provence." lineage of the Lords of Aquino, who had Louis IX and his brother Charles of rebelled against the king, and doubting Anjou married two of the four daughters lest he should be made cardinal; whence of Raymond Berenger, Count of Provence. the Church of God received great damSee Paradise, c. vi. 135. age. He died at the abbey of Fossanova,
¶1 0 "Young Conradine." Charles of in Campagna." G. Villani, lib. ix.
¶Anjou put Conradino to death in 1268, 1 2 "Another Charles." Charles of Valois, and became King of Naples. brother of Philip IV, was sent by Pope
¶" "The angelic teacher." Thomas Boniface VIII to settle the disturbed state Aquinas. He was reported to have been of Florence. In consequence of the measpoisoned by a physician, who wished to ures he adopted for that purpose, our ingratiate himself with Charles of Anjou. Poet and his friends were condemned to "In the year 1323, at the end of July, by exile and death.
¶the said Pope John and by his cardinals, u " with that lance."
¶was canonized at Avignon, Thomas If I remember right, in one of the old Aquinas, of the order of Saint Dominic, romances, Judas is represented tilting with a master in divinity and philosophy. A our Saviour.
¶man most excellent in all science, and " " The other." Charles, King of who expounded the sense of Scripture Naples, the eldest son of Charles of Anjou, better than anyone since the time of having, contrary to the directions of his Augustin. He lived in the time of father, engaged with Ruggieri de Lauria, Charles I, King of Sicily; and going to the admiral of Peter of Arragon, was the council at Lyons, it is said that he made prisoner, and carried into Sicily, was killed by a physician of the said June, 1284. He afterward, in consideraking, who put poison for him into some tion of a large sum of money, married sweetmeats, thinking to ingratiate himself his daughter to Azzo VIII, Marquis of with King Charles, because he was of the Ferrara.
p. 228¶Had stept on shore) exposing to the martHis daughter, whom he bargains for, as doThe Corsairs for their slaves. O avarice!What canst thou more, who hast subdued our bloodSo wholly to thyself, they feel no careOf their own flesh? To hide with direr guiltPast ill and future, lo! the flower-de-luce 15Enters Alagna; in his Vicar ChristHimself a captive, and his mockeryActed again. Lo! to his holy lipThe vinegar and gall once more applied;And he 'twixt living robbers doom'd to bleed.Lo! the new Pilate, of whose crueltySuch violence cannot fill the measure up,With no decree to sanction, pushes onInto the temple 18 his yet eager sails."O sovran Master! when shall I rejoiceTo see the vengeance, which Thy wrath, well-pleased,In secret silence broods?—While daylight lasts,So long what thou didst hear of her, sole spouseOf the Great Spirit, and on which thou turn'dstTo me for comment, is the general themeOf all our prayers; but, when it darkens, thenA different strain we utter; then recordPygmalion, whom his gluttonous thirst of goldMade traitor, robber, parricide: the woesOf Midas, which his greedy wish ensued,Mark'd for derision to all future times:And the fond Achan, 17 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
¶" "The flowcr-dc-luce." Boniface VIII annalist in the next chapter. Thus, says was seized at Alagna in Campagna, by Landino, was verified the prophecy of the order of Philip IV, in the year 1303, Cclestine respecting him, that he should and soon after died of grief. G. Villani, enter on the popedom like a fox, reign lib. viii. cap. lxiii. " As it pleased God, like a lion, and die like a dog.
¶the heart of Boniface being petrified with 1 8 It is uncertain whether our Poet grief, through the injury he had sustained, alludes still to the event mentioned in when he came to Rome, he fell into a the preceding note, or to the destruction strange malady, for he gnawed himself of the order of the Templars in 1310, as one frantic, and in this state expired." but the latter appears more probable.
¶His character is strongly drawn by the " "Achan." Joshua vii.
p. 229¶Spurn'd Heliodorus." All the mountain roundRings with the infamy of Thracia's king,"Who slew his Phrygian charge: and last a shoutAscends: 'Declare, O Crassus! 20 for thou know'st,The flavour of thy gold.' The voice of eachNow high, now low, as each his impulse prompts,Is led through many a pitch, acute or grave.Therefore, not singly, I erewhile rehearsedThat blessedness we tell of in the day:But near me, none, beside, his accent raised."From him we now had parted, and essay'dWith utmost efforts to surmount the way;When I did feel, as nodding to its fall,The mountain tremble; whence an icy chillSeized on me, as on one to death convey'd.So shook not Delos, when Latona thereCouch'd to bring forth the twin-born eyes of Heaven.Forthwith from every side a shout aroseSo vehement, that suddenly my guideDrew near, and cried: "Doubt not, while I conduct thee.""Glory!" all shouted (such the sounds mine earGather'd from those, who near me swell'd the sounds),"Glory in the highest be to God." We stoodImmovably suspended, like to those,The shepherds, who first heard in Bethlehem's fieldThat song: till ceased the trembling, and the songWas ended: then our hallow'd path resumed,Eying the prostrate shadows, who renew'dTheir custom'd mourning. Never in my breastDid ignorance so struggle with desireOf knowledge, if my memory do not err,As in that moment; nor through haste dared ITo question, nor myself could aught discern.So on I fared, in thoughtfulness and dread.
¶" "Heliodorus." "For there appeared " "Thracia's king." Polymnestor, the unto them an horse, with a terrible rider murderer of Polydorus. Hell, Canto xxx. upon him, and adorned with a very fair 19.
¶covering, and he ran fiercely and smote 2 0 "Crassus." Marcus Crassus, who fell at Heliodorus with his fore feet." 2 miserably in the Parthian war.
¶Maccabees iii. 25.
Canto XXI
¶ARC U MEN T . — The two Poets are overtaken by the spirit of Statius, who, being cleansed, is on his way to Paradise, and who explains the cause of the mountain shaking, and of the hymn; his joy at beholding Virgil.
¶HE natural thirst, ne'er quench'd but from the well1TWhereof the woman of Samaria craved,Excited; haste, along the cumber'd path,After my guide, impell'd; and pity movedMy bosom for the 'vengeful doom though just.When lo! even as Luke2 relates, that ChristAppear'd unto the two upon their way,New-risen from His vaulted grave; to usA 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!" thenSudden 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 meTo everlasting banishment exiles.""How!" he exclaim'd, nor from his speed meanwhileDesisting; "If that ye be spirits whom GodVouchsafes not room above; who up the heightHas been thus far your guide?" To whom the bard:"If thou observe the tokens,' which this man,Traced by the finger of the Angel, bears;'Tis plain that in the kingdom of the justHe needs must share. But sithence she,3 whose wheelSpins day and night, for him not yet had drawnThat yarn, which on the fatal distaff piled,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[231]Her ken: whence I, from forth the ample gulfOf Hell, was ta'en, to lead him, and will leadFar as my lore avails. But, if thou know,Instruct us for what cause, the mount erewhileThus shook, and trembled: wherefore all at onceSeem'd shouting, even from his wave-wash'd foot."That questioning so tallied with my wish,The thirst did feel abatement of its edgeE'en from expectance. He forthwith replied:"In its devotion, nought irregularThis mount can witness, or by punctual ruleUnsanction'd; here from every change exempt,Other than that, which Heaven in itselfDoth of itself receive, no influenceCan reach us. Tempest none, shower, hail, or snow,Hoar frost, or dewy moistness, higher fallsThan that brief scale of threefold steps: thick clouds,Nor scudding rack, are ever seen: swift glanceNe'er lightens; nor Thaumantian Iris gleams,That yonder often shifts on each side Heaven.Vapour adust doth never mount aboveThe highest of the trinal stairs, whereonPeter'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: thenTrembles, when any spirit feels itselfSo purified, that it may rise, or moveFor rising; and such loud acclaim ensues.Purification, by the will alone,Is proved, that free to change societySeizes the soul rejoicing in her will.Desire of bliss is present from the first;But strong propension hinders, to that wishBy the just ordinance of Heaven opposed;Propension now as eager to fulfillThe allotted torment, as erewhile to sin.And I, who in this punishment had lainFive hundred years and more, but now have feltFree wish for happier clime. Therefore thou fclt'st[232]The mountain tremble; and the spirits devoutHeard'st, over all his limits, utter praiseTo that liege Lord, whom I entreat their joyTo hasten." Thus he spake: and, since the draughtIs grateful ever as the thirst is keen,No words may speak my fullness of content."Now," said the instructor sage, "I see the netThat takes ye here; and how the toils are loosed;Why rocks the mountain, and why ye rejoice.Vouchsafe, that from thy lips I next may learnWho on the earth thou wast; and wherefore here,So many an age, wert prostrate."—"In that time,When the good Titus, 5 with Heaven's King to help,Avenged those piteous gashes, whence the bloodBy Judas sold did issue; with the name*Most lasting and most honor'd, there, was IAbundantly renown'd," the shade replied,"Not yet with faith endued. So passing sweetMy vocal spirit; from Tolosa, RomeTo herself drew me, where I meritedA myrtle garland to inwreathe my brow.Statius they name me still. Of Thebes I sang,And next of great Achilles; but i' the wayFell with the second burden. Of my flameThose sparkles were the seeds, which I derivedFrom the bright fountain of celestial fireThat feeds unnumber'd lamps; the song I meanWhich sounds /Eneas' wanderings: that the breastI hung at; that the nurse, from whom my veinsDrank inspiration: whose authorityWas ever sacred with me. To have livedCoeval with the Mantuan, I would bideThe revolution of another sunBeyond my stated years in banishment."The Mantuan, when he heard him, turn'd to me;And holding silence,by his countenanceEnjoin'd me silence: but the power, which wills,
p. 232¶••"When the good Titus." When it salem, should avenge the death of our was so ordered by the divine Providence Saviour on the Jews,
¶that Titus, by the destruction of Jeru- ' "The name." The name of Poet.
p. 233¶Bears not supreme control: laughter and tearsFollow so closely on the passion prompts them,They wait not for the motions of the willIn natures most sincere. I did but smile,As one who winks; and thereupon the shadeBroke off, and peer'd into mine eyes, where bestOur looks interpret. "So to good eventMayst thou conduct such great emprise," he cried,"Say, why across thy visage beam'd, but now,The lightning of a smile." On either partNow am I straiten'd; one conjures me speak,The other to silence binds me: whence a sighI 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 roomFor yet more wonder. He, who guides my kenOn high, he is that Mantuan, led by whomThou didst presume of men and gods to sing.If other cause thou deem'dst for which I smiled,Leave it as not the true one: and believeThose words, thou spakest of him, indeed the cause."Now down he bent to 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 provedThe 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
¶ARGUMENT . — Dante , Virgil, and Statius mount to the sixth cornice, where the sin of gluttony is cleansed, the two Latin Poets discoursing by the way. Turning to the right, they find a tree hung with sweet-smelling fruit, and watered by a shower that issues from the rock. Voices are heard to proceed from among the leaves, recording examples of temperance.
¶NOW we had left the Angel, who had turn'dTo the sixth circle our ascending step;One gash from off my forehead razed; whilethey,Whose wishes tend to justice, shouted forth,"Blessed!"1 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 upwards the swift-footed shades;When Virgil thus began: "Let its pure flameFrom virtue flow, and love can never failTo warm another's bosom, so the lightShine manifestly forth. Hence, from that hour,When, 'mongst us in the purlieus of the deep,Came down the spirit of Aquinum's bard.Who told of thine affection, my good willHath been for thee of quality as strongAs 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 looseThe rein with a friend's licence, as a friendForgive me, and speak now as with a friend:How chanced it covetous desire could findPlace in that bosom, 'midst such ample storeOf wisdom, as thy zeal had treasured there?"First somewhat moved to laughter by his words,Statius replied: "Each syllable of thineIs a dear pledge of love. Things oft appear,That minister false matter to our doubts,When their true causes are removed from sight.Thy question doth assure me, thou believestI was on earth a covetous man; perhaps[235]Because thou found'st me in that circle placed.Know then I was too wide of avarice:And e'en for that excess, thousands of moonsHave wax'd and waned upon my sufferings.And were it not that I with heedful careNoted, where thou exclaim'st, as if in ire,With human nature, 'Why, thou cursed thirstOf gold! dost not with juster measure guideThe appetite of mortals?' I had metThe fierce encounter of the voluble rock.Then was 1 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 graveShall with shorn locks 2 arise, who living, ay,And at life's last extreme, of this offence,Through ignorance, did not repent! And know,The fault, which lies direct from any sinIn level opposition, here, with that,Wastes its green rankness on one common heap.Therefore, if I have been with those, who wailTheir avarice, to cleanse me; through reverseOf their transgression, such hath been my lot."To whom the sovran of the pastoral song:"While thou didst sing that cruel warfare wagedBy the twin sorrow of Jocasta's womb 5From thy discourse with Clio there, it seemsAs faith had not been thine; without the which,Good deeds suffice not. And if so, what sunRose on thee, or what candle pierced the dark,That thou didst after see to hoise the sail,And follow where the fisherman had led?"He answering thus: "By thee conducted first,I enter'd the Parnassian grots, and quaff'dOf the clear spring: illumined first by thee,Open'd mine eyes to God. Thou didst, as oneWho, journeying through the darkness, bears a lightBehind, that profits not himself, but makes[236]His followers wise, when thou cxclaimed'st, 'Lo!A renovated world, Justice return'd,Times of primeval innocence restored,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 linesWith livelier colouring. Soon o'er all the world,By messengers from Heaven, the true beliefTeem'd now prolific; and that word of thine,Accordant, to the new instructors chimed.Induced by which agreement, I was wontResort to them; and soon their sanctitySo won upon me, that, Domitian's ragePursuing them, I mix'd my tears with theirs;And, while on earth I stay'd, still succor'd them;And their most righteous customs made me scornAll sects besides. Before I led the Greeks,In tuneful fiction, to the streams of Thebes,I was baptized; but secredy, through fear,Remain'd a Christian, and conform'd long timeTo Pagan rites. Four centuries and more,I, for that lukewarmness, was fain to paceRound the fourth circle. Thou then, who hast raisedThe 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,Czcilius, Plautus, Varro: if condemn'dThey 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 5 of darkness. There, oft-times,We of that mount hold converse, on whose topFor aye our nurses live. We have the bardOf Pella, 6 and the Teian, 7 Agatho,Simonides, and many a Grecian elseIngarlanded with laurel. Of thy train,[237]Antigone is there, Deiphile,Argia, and as sorrowful as erstIsmene, and who show'd Langia's wave: 8Deidamia with her sisters there,And blind Tiresias' daughter, 9 and the brideSea-born of Peleus." 1 0 Either poet nowWas silent; and no longer by the ascentOr the steep walls obstructed, round them castInquiring eyes. Four handmaids of the dayHad finish'd now their office, and the fifthWas at the chariot-beam, directing stillIts flamy point aloof; when thus my guide:"Methinks, it well behoves us to the brinkBend the right shoulder, circuiting the mount,As we have ever used." So custom thereWas usher to the road; the which we choseLess doubtful, as that worthy shade" complied.They on before me went: I sole pursued,Listening their speech, that to my thoughts convey'dMysterious lessons of sweet poesy.But soon they ceased; for midway of the roadA 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 closed our path, a liquid crystal fellFrom the steep rock, and through the sprays aboveStream'd showering. With associate step the bardsDrew near the plant; and, from amidst the leaves,A voice was heard: "Ye shall be chary of me;"And after added: "Mary took more thoughtFor joy and honour of the nuptial feast,Than for herself, who answers now for you.[238]The women of old Rome were satisfiedWith water for their beverage. Daniel 12 fedOn pulse, and wisdom gain'd. The primal ageWas beautiful as gold: and hunger thenMade acorns tasteful; thirst, each rivuletRun nectar. Honey and locusts were the food,Whereon the Baptist in the wildernessFed, and that eminence of glory reach'dAnd greatness, which the Evangelist records."
Canto XXIII
¶ARGUMENT . — They are overtaken by the spirit of Forese, who had been a friend of our Poet's on earth, and who now inveighs bitterly against the immodest dress of their countrywomen at Florence.
¶ON the green leaf mine eyes were fix'd, like hisWho throws away his days in idle chaseOf the diminutive birds, when thus I heardThe more than father warn me: "Son! our timeAsks thriftier using. Linger not: away!"Thereat my face and steps at once I turn'dToward the sages, by whose converse cheer'dI journey'd on, and felt no toil: and lo!A sound of weeping, and a song: "My lips,1O Lord!" and these so mingled, it gave birthTo pleasure and to pain. "O Sire beloved!Say what is this I hear." Thus I inquired."Spirits," said he, "who, as they go, perchance,Their debt of duty pay." As on their roadThe thoughtful pilgrims, overtaking someNot known unto them, turn to them, and look,But stay not; thus, approaching from behindWith speedier motion, eyed us, as they pass'd,A crowd of spirits, silent and devout.[239]The eyes of each were dark and hollow; paleTheir visage, and so lean withal, the bonesStood staring through the skin. I do not thinkThus dry and meagre Erisichthon show'd,When pinch'd by sharp-set famine to the quick."Lo!" to myself I mused, "the race, who lostJerusalem, when Mary with dire beakPrey'd on her child." The sockets seem'd as rings,From which the gems were dropt. Who reads the name1Of man upon his forehead, there the MHad traced most plainly. Who would deem, that scentOf water and an apple could have provedPowerful to generate such pining want,Not knowing how it wrought? While now I stood,Wondering what thus could waste them, (for the causeOf their gaunt hollowness and scaly rindAppear'd not,) lo! a spirit turn'd his eyesIn their deep-sunken cells, and fasten'd themOn me, then cried with vehemence aloud:"What grace is this vouchsafed me?" By his looksI ne'er had recognized him: but the voiceBrought to my knowledge what his cheer conceal'd.Remembrance of his alter'd lineamentsWas kindled from that spark; and I agnizedThe visage of Forese. 3 "Ah! respectThis wan and leprous-wither'd skin," thus heSuppliant implored, "this macerated flesh.Speak to me truly of thyself. And whoAre 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 deadI once bewail'd, disposes me not lessFor weeping, when I see it thus transform'd.Say then, by Heaven, what blasts ye thus? The whilstI wonder, ask not speech from me: unaptIs he to speak, whom other will employs."
p. 239¶' The temples, nose, and forehead arc xxiv. and Paradise, Canto iii. Cionacci is supposed to represent this letter [of the referred to by Lombardi, in order to show Latin word ( H ) O M O — man ) , and the that Forese was also the brother of Corso eyes the two O's. Donati, our author's political enemy.
p. 240¶He thus: "The water and the plant, we pass'd,With power are gifted, by the eternal willInfused; the which so pines me. Every spirit,Whose song bewails his gluttony indulgedToo grossly, here in hunger and in thirstIs 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 I? solace rather: for that will,To the tree, leads us, by which Christ was ledTo call on Eh, joyful, when he paidOur ransom from his vein." I answering thus:"Forese! from that day, in which the worldFor better life thou changedst, not five yearsHave circled. If the power of sinning moreWere first concluded in thee, ere thou knew'stThat kindly grief which re-espouses usTo God, how hither art thou come so soon ?I thought to find thee lower,1 there, where timeIs recompense for time." He straight replied:"To drink up the sweet wormwood of afflictionI have been brought thus early, by the tearsStream'd down my Nella's2 cheeks. Her prayers devout,Her sighs have drawn me from the coast, where oftExpectance lingers; and have set me freeFrom the other circles. In the sight of GodSo much the dearer is my widow prized,She whom I loved so fondly, as she ranksMore singly eminent for virtuous deeds.The tract, most barbarous of Sardinia's isle,3Hath 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 comeStands full within my view, to which this hourShall not be counted of an ancient date,[241]When from the pulpit shall be loudly warn'dThe unblushing dames of Florence, lest they bareUnkerchief'd bosoms to the common gaze.What savage women hath the world e'er seen,What Saracens,1 for whom there needed scourgeOf spiritual or other discipline,To force them walk with covering on their limbs?But did they see, the shameless ones, what HeavenWafts on swift wing toward them while I speak,Their mouths were oped for howling: they shall tasteOf sorrow (unless foresight cheat me here),Or e'er the cheek of him be clothed 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 mindWhat we were once together, even yetRemembrance of those days may grieve thee sore.That I forsook that life, was due to himWho there precedes me, some few evenings past,When she was round, who shines with sister lampTo his that glisters yonder," and I show'dThe sun. " 'Tis he, who through profoundest nightOf the true dead has brought me, with this fleshAs true, that follows. From that gloom the aidOf his sure comfort drew me on to climb,And, climbing, wind along this mountain-steep,Which rectifies in you whate'er the worldMade crooked and depraved. I have his word,That he will bear me company as farAs till I come where Beatrice dwells:But there must leave me. Virgil is that spirit,Who thus hath promised," and I pointed to him;"The other is that shade, for whom so lateYour realm, as he arose, exulting, shookThrough every pendent cliff and rocky bound."
Canto XXIV
¶ARGUMENT . — Forese points out several others by name who are here, like himself, purifying themselves from the vice of gluttony; and amongst the rest, Buonaggiunta of Lucca, with whom our Poet converses. Forese then predicts the violent end of Dante's political enemy, Corso Donati; and, when he has quitted them, the Poet, in company with Statius and Virgil, arrives at another tree, from whence issue voices that record ancient examples of gluttony; and proceeding forward, they are directed by an Angel which way to ascend to the next cornice of the mountain.
¶OUR journey was not slacken'd by our talk,Nor yet our talk by journeying. Still we spake,And urged our travel stoutly, like a shipWhen the wind sits astern. The shadowy forms,That seem'd things dead and dead again, drew inAt their deep-delved orbs rare wonder of me,Perceiving I had life; and I my wordsContinued, and thus spake: "He journeys upPerhaps more tardily than else he would,For others' sake. But tell me, if thou know'st,Where is Piccarda? Tell me, if I seeAny of mark, among this multitudeWho eye me thus."—"My sister (she for whom,'Twixt beautiful and good, I cannot sayWhich name was fitter) wears e'en now her crown,And triumphs in Olympus." Saying this,He added: "Since spare diet hath so wornOur semblance out, 'tis lawful here to nameEach one. This," and his finger then he raised,"Is Buonaggiunta, 1—Buonaggiunta, heOf Lucca: and that face beyond him, piercedUnto a leaner fineness than the rest,Had keeping of the Church; he was of Tours,1And purges by wan abstinence awayBolsena's eels and cups of muscadel."He show'd me many others, one by one:And all, as they were named, seem'd well content;For no dark gesture I discern'd in any.I saw, through hunger, Ubaldino2 grind[243]His teeth on emptiness; and Boniface,1That waved the crozier o'er a numerous flock.I saw the Marquis, who had time erewhileTo swill at Forli with less drought; yet so,Was one ne'er sated. I howe'er, like himThat, gazing 'midst a crowd, singles out one,So singled him of Lucca; for methoughtWas 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 fainSpeak with me. Let me hear thee. Mutual wishTo converse prompts, which let us both indulge."He, answering, straight began: "Woman is born,Whose brow no wimple shades yet, that shall makeMy city please thee, blame it as they may.Go then with this forewarning. If aught falseMy whisper too implied, the event shall tell.But say, if of a truth I see the manOf that new lay the inventor, which beginsWith '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 hindrance, which once heldThe notary, with Guittone and myself,Short of that new and sweeter style I hear,Is now disclosed: I see how ye your plumesStretch, as the 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 birds, 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[244]Their visage, faster fled, nimble alikeThrough leanness and desire. And as a man,Tired 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 crewProceed, 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 arrived:Sithence the place,1 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 heelsOf an infuriate beast. Toward the vale,Where guilt hath no redemption, on its speeds,Each step increasing swiftness on the last;Until a blow it strikes, that leaveth himA corse most vilely shatter'd. No long spaceThose wheels have yet to roll," (therewith his eyesLook'd up to Heaven,) "ere thou shalt plainly seeThat which my words may not more plainly tell.I quit thee: time is precious here: I loseToo much, thus measuring my pace with thine."As from a troop of well-rank'd chivalry,One knight, more enterprising than the rest,Pricks forth at gallop, eager to displayHis prowess in the first encounter proved;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.[245]When he beyond us had so fled, mine eyesNo nearer reach'd him, than my thoughts his words,The branches of another fruit, thick hung,And blooming fresh, appear'd. E'en as our stepsTurn'd thither; not far off, it rose to view.Beneath it were a multitude, that raisedTheir hands, and shouted forth I know not whatUnto 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 wishAbove them holds aloft, and hides it not.At length, as undeceived, they went their way:And we approach the tree, whom vows and tearsSue 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'enThis plant." Such sounds from midst the thickets cameWhence I, with either bard, close to the sideThat rose, pass'd forth beyond. "Remember," nextWe heard, "those unblest creatures of the clouds, 7How they their twyfold bosoms, overgorged,Opposed in fight to Theseus: call to mindThe Hebrews, how, effeminate, they stoop'dTo ease their thirst; whence Gideon's ranks were thinn'd,As he to Midian 8 march'd adown the hills."Thus near one border coasting, still we heardThe sins of gluttony, with woe erewhileReguerdon'd. Then along the lonely path,Once more at large, full thousand paces onWe travel'd, each contemplative and mute."Why pensive journey so ye three alone?"Thus suddenly a voice exclaim'd: whereatI shook, as doth a scared and paltry beast;Then raised my head, to look from whence it came.Was ne'er, in furnace, glass, or metal, seenSo bright and glowing red, as was the shapeI now beheld. "If ye desire to mount,"He cried; "here must ye turn. This way he goes,[246]Who goes in quest of peace." His countenanceHad dazzled me; and to my guides I facedBackward, like one who walks as sound directs.As when, to harbinger the dawn, springs upOn freshen'd wing the air of May, and breathesOf fragrance, all impregn'd with herb and flowers;E'en such a wind I felt upon my frontBlow gently, and the moving of a wingPerceived, that, moving, shed ambrosial smell;And then a voice: "Blessed are they, whom graceDoth so illume, that appetite in themExhaleth no inordinate desire,Still hungering as the rule of temperance wills."
Canto XXV
¶ARGUMENT . — Virgil and Statius resolve some doubts that have arisen in the mind of Dante from what he had just seen. They all arrive on the seventh and last cornice, where the sin of incontinence is purged in fire; and the spirits of those suffering therein are heard to record illustrious instances of chastity.
¶IT was an hour, when he who climbs, had needTo walk uncrippled: for the sun1 had nowTo 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 needImpel; so enter'd we upon our way,One before other; for, but singly, noneThat steep and narrow scale admits to climb.E'en as the young stork lifteth up his wingThrough wish to fly, yet ventures not to quitThe nest, and drops it; so in me desireOf questioning my guide arose, and fell,Arriving even to the act that marksA man prepared for speech. Him all our hasteRestrain'd not; but thus spake the sire beloved:"Fear not to speed the shaft, that on thy lip[247]Stands trembling for its flight." Encouraged 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 1 with the wasting brandWasted alike, by equal fires consumed;This would not trouble thee: and hadst thou thought,How in the mirror 3 your reflected formWith mimic motion vibrates; what now seemsHard, had appear'd no harder than the pulpOf summer-fruit mature. But that thy willIn certainty may find its full repose,Lo Statius here! on him I call, and prayThat he would now be healer of thy wound.""If, in thy presence, I unfold to himThe secrets of Heaven's vengeance, let me pleadThine own injunction to exculpate me."So Statius answer'd, and forthwith began:"Attend my words, O son, and in thy mindReceive them; so shall they be light to clearThe doubt thou offer'st. Blood, concocted well,Which by the thirsty veins is ne'er imbibed,And rests as food superfluous, to be ta'enFrom the replenish'd table, in the heartDerives effectual virtue, that informsThe several human limbs, as being thatWhich passes through the veins itself to make them.Yet more concocted it descends, where shameForbids to mention: and from thence distilsIn natural vessel on another's blood.There each unite together; one disposedTo endure, to act the other, through that powerDerived from whence it came; and being met,It 'gins to work, coagulating first;Then vivifies what its own substance made[248]Consist. With animation now indued,The active virtue (differing from a plantNo further, than that this is on the way,And at its limit that) continues yetTo operate, that now it moves, and feels,As sea-sponge clinging to the rock: and thereAssumes the organic powers its seed convcy'd.This is the moment, son! at which the virtue,That from the generating heart proceeds,Is pliant and expansive; for each limbIs in the heart by forgetful nature plann'd.How babe of animal becomes, remainsFor thy considering. At this point, more wise,Than thou, has err'd, making the soul disjoin'dFrom passive intellect, because he sawNo organ for the latter's use assign'd."Open thy bosom to the truth that comes.Know, soon as in the embryo, to the brainArticulation is complete, then turnsThe primal Mover with a smile of joyOn such great work of nature; and imbreathesNew spirit replete with virtue, that what hereActive 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 may'st 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,1 the soulTakes with her both the human and divine,Memory, intelligence, and will, in actFar keener than before; the other powersInactive all and mute. No pause allow'd,In wondrous sort self-moving, to one strandOf those, where the departed roam, she falls:Here learns her destined path. Soon as the placeReceives her, round the plastic virtue beams,Distinct as in the living limbs before:And as the air, when saturate with showers,[249]The casual beam refracting, decks itselfWith many a hue; so here the ambient airWeareth that form, which influence of the soulImprints on it: and like the flame, that whereThe 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, indued:Hence speech is ours, hence laughter, tears, and sighs,Which thou mayst oft have witness'd on the mount.The obedient shadow fails not to presentWhatever 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 careAwaits us. Here the rocky precipiceHurls forth redundant flames; and from the rimA blast up-blown, with forcible rebuffDriveth them back, sequester'd from its bound.Behoved us, one by one, along the side,That border'd on the void, to pass; and IFear'd on one hand the fire, on the other fear'dHeadlong to fall: when thus the 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!" 5 heard I sung, and feltNo less desire to turn. And when I sawSpirits along the flame proceeding, IBetween their footsteps and mine own was fainTo share by turns my view. At the hymn's closeThey 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 stungWith Cytherea's poison"; then return'dUnto their song; then many a pair extoll'd,
p. 249¶• "Summsr Deus dementi*." The be- the modern it is " sum m z parens clemenginning of the hymn sung on the Sabbath tiar."
¶at matins, as in the ancient breviaries; in * Luke, i. 34.
p. 250¶Who lived in virtue chastely and the bandsOf wedded love. Nor from that task, I ween,Surcease they; whilesoe'er the scorching fireEnclasps them. Of such skill appliance needs,To medicine the wound that healeth last.
Canto XXVI
¶ARGUMENT . — The spirits wonder at seeing the shadow cast by the body of Dante on the flame as he passes it. This moves one of them to address him. It proves to be Guido Guinicelli. the Italian poet, who points out to him the spirit of Arnault Daniel, the Provencal, with whom he also speaks.
¶WHILE singly thus along the rim we walk'd,Oft the good master warn'd me: "Look thouAvail it that I caution thee." The sun [well.Now all the western clime irradiate changedFrom azure tinct to white; and, as I pass'd,My passing shadow made the umber'd flameBurn ruddier. At so strange a sight I mark'dThat 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 tow'rd me, careful not to overpassThe burning pale. "O thou! who followestThe others, haply not more slow than they,But moved by reverence; answer me, who burnIn thirst and fire: nor I alone, but theseAll for thine answer do more thirst, than dothIndian or .rEthiop for the cooling stream.Tell us, how is it that thou makest thyselfA wall against the sun, as thou not yetInto the inextricable toils of deathHadst enter'd?" Thus spake one; and I had straightDeclared me, if attention had not turn'dTo new appearance. Meeting these, there came,Midway the burning path, a crowd, on whomEarnestly gazing, from each part I viewThe shadows all press forward, severallyEach snatch a hasty kiss, and then away.[251]E'en so the emmets, 'mid their dusky troops,Peer closely one at other, to spy outTheir mutual road perchance, and how they thrive.That friendly greeting parted, ere despatchOf the first onward step, from either tribeLoud clamour rises: those, who newly come,Shout "Sodom and Gomorrah!" these, "The cowPasiphae enter'd, that the beast she woo'dMight rush unto her luxury." Then as cranes,That part toward the Riphaean mountains fly,Part toward the Lybic sands, these to avoidThe ice, and those the sun; so hasteth offOne crowd, advances the other; and resumeTheir first song, weeping, and their several shout.Again drew near my side the very same,Who had erewhile besought me; and their looksMark'd eagerness to listen. I, who twiceTheir 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, fedWith blood, and sinew-strung. That I no moreMay live in blindness, hence I tend aloft.There is a Dame on high, who wins for usThis grace, by which my mortal through your realmI bear. But may your utmost wish soon meetSuch full fruition, that the orb of heaven,Fullest of love, and of most ample space,Receive you; as ye tell (upon my pageHenceforth to stand recorded) who ye are;And what this multitude, that at your backsHave pass'd behind us." As one, mountain-bred,Rugged and clownish, if some city's wallsHe chance to enter, round him stares agape,Confounded and struck dumb; e'en such appear'dEach spirit. But when rid of that amaze,(Not long the inmate of a noble heart,)He, who before had question'd, thus resumed:"O blessed! who, for death preparing, takestExperience of our limits, in thy bark;[252]Their crime, who not with us proceed, was thatFor which, as he did triumph, Cscsar heardThe shout of 'queen,' to taunt him. Hence their cryOf 'Sodom,' as they parted; to rebukeThemselves, 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 disgraceRecord the name of her, by whom the beastIn bestial tire was acted. Now our deedsThou know'st, and how we sinn'd. If thou by nameWouldst haply know us, time permits not nowTo tell so much, nor can I. Of myselfLearn 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 gazedFrom sad Lycurgus1 rescued; such my joy(Save that I more repress'd it) when I heardFrom his own lips the name of him pronounced,Who was a father to me, and to thoseMy betters, who have ever used the sweetAnd pleasant rhymes of love. So naught I heard,Nor spake; but long time thoughtfully I went,Gazing on him; and, only for the fire,Approached not nearer. When my eyes were fedBy looking on him; with such solemn pledge,As forces credence, I devoted meUnto his service wholly. In replyHe thus bespake me: "What from thee I hearIs graved so deeply on my mind, the wavesOf Lethe shall not wash it off, nor makeA whit less lively. But as now thy oathHas seal'd the truth, declare what cause impels[253]That love, which both thy looks and speech bewray.""Those dulcet lays," I answer'd; "which, as longAs of our tongue the beauty does not fade,Shall make us love the very ink that traced them.""Brother!" he cried, and pointed at the shadeBefore him, "there is one, whose mother speechDoth owe to him a fairer ornament.He 2 in love ditties, and the tales of prose,Without a rival stands; and lets the foolsTalk on, who think the songster of Limoges'O'ertops him. Rumour and the popular voiceThey look to, more than truth; and so confirmOpinion, ere by art or reason taught.Thus many of the elder time cried upGuittone, giving him the prize, till truthBy strength of numbers vanquish'd. If thou ownSo ample privilege, as to have gain'dFree entrance to the cloister, whereof ChristIs Abbot of the college; say to himOne paternoster for me, far as needsFor dwellers in this world, where power to sinNo longer tempts us." Haply to make wayFor one that follow'd next, when that was said,He vanish'd through the fire, as through the waveA fish, that glances diving to the deep.I, to the spirit he had shown me, drewA little onward, and besought his name,For which my heart, I said, kept gracious room.He frankly thus began: "Thy courtesy 4So wins on me, I have nor power nor willTo hide me. I am Arnault; and with songs,Sorely waymenting for my folly past,Thorough this ford of fire I wade, and seeThe day, I hope for, smiling in my view.I pray ye by the worth that guides ye up
p. 253¶•Dante and Petrarch place Arnault appears to have been in favor with the Daniel first among Provencal poets. monarchs of Castile, Leon, Navarre, and
¶' Giraud de Borneil, of Sideuil, a castle Arragon.
¶in Limoges. He was a Troubadour, much * Arnault is here made to speak in his admired and caressed in his day, and own tongue, the Provencal.
p. 254¶Unto the summit of the scale, in timeRemember ye my sufferings." With such wordsHe disappear'd in the refining flame.
Canto Xxvh
¶ARGUMENT . — An Angel sends them forward through the fire to the last ascent, which leads to the terrestrial Paradise, situated on the summit of the mountain. They have not proceeded many steps on their way upward, when the fall of night hinders them from going further; and our Poet, who has lain down with Virgil and Statius to rest, beholds in a dream two females, figuring the active and contemplative life. With the return of morning, they reach the height; and here Virgil gives Dante full liberty to use his own pleasure and judgment in the choice of his way, till he shall meet with Beatrice.
¶NOW was the sun 1 so station'd, as when firstHis early radiance quivers on the heights,Where stream'd his Maker's blood; while LibrahangsAbove Hesperian Ebro; and new fires,Meridian, flash on Ganges' yellow tide.So day was sinking, when the Angel of GodAppear'd before us. Joy was in his mien.Forth of the flame he stood upon the brink;And with a voice, whose lively clearness farSurpass'd our human, "Blessed 2 are the pureIn 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 listAttentive to the song ye hear from thence."I, when I heard his saying, was as oneLaid in the grave. My hands together clasp'd,And upward stretching, on the fire I look'd;And busy fancy conjured up the formsErewhile beheld alive consumed in flames.The escorting spirits turn'd with gentle looksToward me; and the Mantuan spake: "My son,Here torment thou mayst feel, but canst not death.Remember thee, remember thee, if ISafe e'en on Geryon brought thee; now I comeMore near to God, wilt thou not trust me now?
¶' " The sun." At Jerusalem it was dawn, in Spain midnight, and in India noonday, in Purgatorr sunset. * "Blessed."—Matt. v. 8.
p. 255¶Of this be sure; though in its womb that flameA thousand years contain'd thee, from thy headNo hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth,Approach; and with thy hand thy vesture's hemStretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief.Lay now all fear, oh! lay all fear aside.Turn hither, and come onward undismay'd."I still, though conscience urged, no step advanced.When still he saw me fix'd and obstinate.Somewhat disturb'd he cried: "Mark now, my son,From Beatrice thou art by this wallDivided." As at Thisbe's name the eyeOf Pyramus was open'd, (when life ebb'dFast from his veins), and took one parting glance,While vermeil dyed the mulberry; thus I turn'dTo my sage guide, relenting, when I heardThe name that springs forever in my breast.He shook his forehead; and, "How long," he said,"Linger we now?" then smiled, as one would smileUpon a child that eyes the fruit and yields.Into the fire before me then he walk'd;And Statius, who erewhile no little spaceHad parted us, he pray'd to come behind.I would have cast me into molten glassTo cool me, when I enter'd; so intenseRaged the conflagrant mass. The sire beloved,To comfort me, as he proceeded, stillOf Beatrice talk'd. "Her eyes," saith he,"E'en now I seem to view." From the other sideA voice, that sang, did guide us; and the voiceFollowing, with heedful ear, we issued forth,There where the path led upward. "Come," 3 we heard,"Come, blessed of my Father." Such the sounds,That hail'd us from within a light, which shoneSo radiant, I could not endure the view."The sun," it added, "hastes: and evening comes.Delay not: ere the western sky is hungWith blackness, strive ye for the pass." Our wayUpright within the rock arose, and facedSuch part of heaven, that from before my steps
¶'"Come."—Matt. xxv. 34.[256]The beams were shrouded of the sinking sun.Nor many stairs were overpast, when nowBy fading of the shadow we perceivedThe sun behind us couch'd; and ere one faceOf darkness o'er its measureless expanseInvolved the horizon, and the night her lotHeld individual, each of us had madeA stair his pallet; not that will, but power,Had fail'd us, by the nature of that mountForbidden further travel. As the goats,That late have skipt and wanton'd rapidlyUpon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta'enTheir supper on the herb, now silent lieAnd ruminate beneath the umbrage brown,While noon-day rages; and the goatherd leansUpon his staff, and leaning watches them:And as the swain, that lodges out all nightIn quiet by his flock, lest beast of preyDisperse 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 lustre shining forthWith more than wonted glory. As I lay,Gazing on them, and in that fit of musingSleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oftTidings of future hap. About the hour,As I believe, when Venus from the eastFirst lighten'd on the mountain, she whose orbSeems 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 anonBending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang:"Know ye, whoever of my name would ask,That I am Leah:1 for my brow to weave[257]A garland, these fair hands unwearied ply.To please me at the crystal mirror, hereI deck me. But my sister Rachel, sheBefore her glass abides the livelong day,Her radiant eyes beholding, charm'd no less,Than I with this delightful task. Her joyIn contemplation, as in labour mine."And now as glimmering dawn appear'd, that breaksMore welcome to the pilgrim still, as heSojourns less distant on his homeward way,Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fledMy slumber; whence I rose, and saw my guideAlready risen. "That delicious fruit,Which through so many a branch the zealous careOf mortals roams in quest of, shall this dayAppease thy hunger." Such the words I heardFrom Virgil's lip; and never greeting heard,So pleasant as the sounds. Within me straightDesire so grew upon desire to mount,Thenceforward at each step I felt the wingsIncreasing for my flight. When we had runO'er all the ladder to its topmost round,As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fix'dHis eyes, and thus he spake: "Both fires, my son,The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen;And art arrived, where of itself my kenNo further reaches. I, with skill and art,Thus far have drawn thee. Now thy pleasure takeFor guide. Thou hast o'ercome the steeper way,O'ercome the straiter. Lo! the sun, that dartsHis beam upon my forehead: lo! the herb,The arborets and flowers, which of itselfThis land pours forth profuse. Till those bright eyes1With gladness come, which, weeping, made me hasteTo succour thee, thou mayst or seat thee down,Or wander where thou wilt. Expect no moreSanction of warning voice or sign from me,Free of thy own arbitrement to chuse,Discreet, judicious. To distrust thy sense[258]Were henceforth error. I invest thee thenWith crown and mitre, sovereign o'er thyself."
Canto XXVIII
¶ARGUMENT . — Dante wanders through the forest of the terrestrial Paradise, till he is stopped by a stream, on the other side of which he beholds a fair lady, culling flowers. He speaks to her; and she, in reply, explains to him certain things touching the nature of that place, and tells that the water, which flows between them, is here called Lethe, and in another place has the name of Eunoe.
¶HROUGH that celestial forest, whose thick shadeTWith lively greenness the new-springing dayAttemper'd, eager now to roam, and searchIts limits round, forthwith I left the bank;Along the champain leisurely my wayPursuing, o'er the ground, that on all sidesDelicious odour breathed. A pleasant air,That intermitted never, never veer'd,Smote on my temples, gently, as a windOf softest influence: at which the sprays,Obedient all, lean'd trembling to that part1Where first the holy mountain casts his shade;Yet were not so disorder'd, but that stillUpon their top the feather'd quiristersApplied their wonted art, and with full joyWelcomed those hours of prime, and warbled shrillAmid the leaves, that to their jocund laysKept tenour; even as from branch to branch,Along the piny forests on the shoreOf Chiassi, rolls the gathering melody,When Eolus hath from his cavern loosedThe dripping south. Already had my steps,Though slow, so far into that ancient woodTransported me, I could not ken the placeWhere I had enter'd; when, behold! my pathWas bounded by a rill, which, to the left,With little rippling waters bent the grassThat issued from its brink. On earth no waveHow clean soe'er, that would not seem to have[259]Some mixture in itself, compared with this,Transpicuous clear; yet darkly on it roll'd,Darkly beneath perpetual gloom, which ne'erAdmits or sun or moon-light there to shine.My feet advanced not; but my wondering eyesPass'd onward, o'er the streamlet to surveyThe 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 besideWith the rare marvel chases, I beheldA lady 2 all alone, who, singing, went,And culling flower from flower, wherewith her wayWas all o'er painted. "Lady beautiful!Thou, who (if looks, that use to speak the heart,Art worthy of our trust) with love's own beamDost warm thee," thus to her my speech I framed;"Ah! please thee hither toward the streamlet bendThy 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'dProserpine, in that season, when her childThe mother lost, and she the bloomy spring."As when a lady, turning in the dance,Doth foot it feady, and advances scarceOne step before the other to the ground;Over the yellow and vermilion flowers,Thus turn'd she at my suit, most maiden-likeValing her sober eyes; and came so near,That I distinctly caught the dulcet sound.Arriving where the limpid waters nowLaved the greensward, her eyes she deign'd to raise,That shot such splendour on me, as I weenNe'er glanced from Cytherea's, when her sonHad sped his keenest weapon to her heart.Upon the opposite bank she stood and smiled;As through her graceful fingers shifted still
p. 259¶' Most of the commentators suppose estates called the Patrimony of St. Peter, that this lady, who in the last Canto is and died in 1 1 1 5 . But it seems more called Matilda, is the Countess Matilda, probable that she should be intended for who endowed the Holy See with the an allegorical personage.
p. 260¶The intermingling dyes, which without seedThat lofty land unbosoms. By the streamThree 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 heldFor floating, with inhospitable wave,'Twixt Sestos and Abydos, than by meThat flood, because it gave no passage thence."Strangers ye come; and haply in this place,That cradled human nature in its birth,Wondering, ye not without suspicion viewMy smiles: but that sweet strain of psalmody,'Thou, Lord! hast made me glad,'1 will give ye light,Which may uncloud your minds. And thou, who stand'stThe foremost, and didst make thy suit to me,Say if aught else thou wish to hear: for ICame prompt to answer every doubt of thine."She spake; and I replied: "I know not howTo reconcile this wave, and rustling soundOf forest leaves, with what I late have heardOf opposite report." She answering thus:"I will unfold the cause, whence that proceeds,Which makes thee wonder; and so purge the cloudThat hath enwrapt thee. The First Good, whose joyIs 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 defectHe fell; and here made short sojourn; he fell,And, for the bitterness of sorrow, changedLaughter unblamed and ever-new delight.That vapours none, exhaled from earth beneath,Or from the waters, (which, wherever heatAttracts them, follow), might ascend thus farTo vex man's peaceful state, this mountain roseSo high toward the Heaven, nor fears the rage[261]Of elements contending; from that partExempted, where the gate his limit bars.Because the circumambient air, throughout,With its first impulse circles still, unlessAught interpose to check or thwart its course;Upon the summit, which on every sideTo visitation of the impassive airIs open, doth that motion strike, and makesBeneath its sway the umbrageous wood resound:And in the shaken plant such power resides,That it impregnates with its efficacyThe voyaging breeze, upon whose subtle plumeThat, wafted, flies abroad; and the other land,1Receiving, (as 'tis worthy in itself,Or in the clime, that warms it,) doth conceive;And from its womb produces many a treeOf various virtue. This when thou hast heard,The marvel ceases, if in yonder earthSome plant, without apparent seed, be foundTo fix its fibrous stem. And further learn,That with prolific foison of all seedsThis holy plain is fill'd, and in itselfBears fruit that ne'er was pluck'd on other soil."The water, thou behold'st, springs not from vein,Restored by vapour, that the cold converts;As stream that intermittently repairsAnd spends his pulse of life; but issues forthFrom fountain, solid, undecaying, sure:And, by the Will Omnific, full supplyFeeds whatsoe'er on either side it pours;On this, devolved with power to take awayRemembrance of offence; on that, to bringRemembrance back of every good deed done.From whence its name of Lethe on this part;On the other, Eunoe: both of which must first[262]Be tasted, ere it work; the last exceedingAll flavours else. Albeit thy thirst may nowBe well contented, if I here break off,No more revealing; yet a corollaryI freely give beside: nor deem my wordsLess grateful to thee, if they somewhat passThe stretch of promise. They, whose verse of yoreThe golden age recorded and its bliss,On the Parnassian mountain, of this placePerhaps had dream'd. Here was man guiltless; herePerpetual spring, and every fruit; and thisThe far-famed nectar." Turning to the bards,When she had ceased, I noted in their looksA smile at her conclusion; then my faceAgain directed to the lovely dame.