The Divine Comedy by Dante Part 21

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 pa.s.s'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 pa.s.s'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 encompa.s.sing 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 mult.i.tude, 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, 't is 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, Pa.s.ses 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 s.p.a.ce 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, p.r.i.c.ks 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 mult.i.tude, 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. "Pa.s.s 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, pa.s.s'd forth beyond. "Remember," next We heard, "those n.o.blest 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, gla.s.s, 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 appet.i.te 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 pa.s.ses 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 a.s.sumes 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 pa.s.sive intellect, because he saw No organ for the latter's use a.s.sign'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.