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 arid 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 I? solace 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 consm’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! Till 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: “l 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

0f 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

,k 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, hut 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 mountain? knewest 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.

NOTES TO PURGATORY

CANTO I

Verse 1. O’er better waves.] Berni, Orl. Inn. L 2. c. i.

Per correr maggior acqua alza le vele,

O debil navicella del mio ingegno.

v. 11. Birds of chattering note.] For the fable of the daughters of

Pierus, who challenged the muses to sing, and were by them changed into

magpies, see Ovid, Met. 1. v. fab. 5.

v. 19. Planet.] Venus.

v. 20. Made all the orient laugh.] Hence Chaucer, Knight’s Tale: And

all the orisont laugheth of the sight.

It is sometimes read “orient.”

v. 24. Four stars.] Symbolical of the four cardinal virtues, Prudence

Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance. See Canto XXXI v. 105.

v. 30. The wain.] Charles’s wain, or Bootes.

v. 31. An old man.] Cato.

v. 92. Venerable plumes.] The same metaphor has occurred in Hell Canto

XX. v. 41:

—the plumes, That mark’d the better sex.

It is used by Ford in the Lady’s Trial, a. 4. s. 2.

Now the down

Of softness is exchang’d for plumes of age.

v. 58. The farthest gloom.] L’ultima sera. Ariosto, Oroando Furioso c.

xxxiv st. 59: Che non hen visto ancor l’ultima sera.

And Filicaja, c. ix. Al Sonno.

L’ultima sera.

v. 79. Marcia.]

Da fredera prisci

Illibata tori: da tantum nomen inane

Connubil: liceat tumulo scripsisse, Catonis

Martia

Lucan, Phars. 1. ii. 344.

v. 110. I spy’d the trembling of the ocean stream.] Connubil il

tremolar della marina.

Trissino, in the Sofonisba.]

E resta in tremolar l’onda marina

And Fortiguerra, Rleelardetto, c. ix. st. 17. —visto il tremolar della

marine.

v. 135. another.] From Virg, Aen. 1. vi. 143. Primo avulso non deficit

alter

CANTO II

v. 1. Now had the sun.] Dante was now antipodal to Jerusalem, so that

while the sun was setting with respect to that place which he supposes

to be the middle of the inhabited earth, to him it was rising.

v. 6. The scales.] The constellation Libra.

v. 35. Winnowing the air.] Trattando l’acre con l’eterne penne.

80 Filicaja, canz. viii. st. 11. Ma trattar l’acre coll’ eterne plume

v. 45. In exitu.] “When Israel came out of Egypt.” Ps. cxiv.

v. 75. Thrice my hands.]

Ter conatus ibi eollo dare brachia eircum,

Ter frustra eomprensa manus effugit imago,

Par levibus ventis voluerique simillima sommo.

Virg. Aen. ii. 794.

Compare Homer, Od. xl. 205.

v. 88. My Casella.] A Florentine, celebrated for his skill in music,

“in whose company,” says Landine, “Dante often recreated his spirits

wearied by severe studies.” See Dr. Burney’s History of Music, vol. ii.

c. iv. p. 322. Milton has a fine allusion to this meeting in his sonnet

to Henry Lawes.

v. 90. Hath so much time been lost.] Casella had been dead some years

but was only just arrived.

v. 91. He.] The eonducting angel.

v. 94. These three months past.] Since the time of the Jubilee, during

which all spirits not condemned to eternal punishment, were supposed to

pass over to Purgatory as soon as they pleased.

v. 96. The shore.] Ostia.

v. 170. “Love that discourses in my thoughts.”] “Amor che nella mente

mi ragiona.” The first verse of a eanzone or song in the Convito of

Dante, which he again cites in his Treatise de Vulg. Eloq. 1. ii. c.

vi.

CANTO III

v. 9. How doth a little failing wound thee sore.] (Ch’era al cor

picciol fallo amaro morso. Tasso, G. L. c. x. st. 59.

v. 11. Haste, that mars all decency of act. Aristotle in his Physiog

iii. reekons it among the “the signs of an impudent man,” that he is

“quick in his motions.” Compare Sophoeles, Electra, 878.

v. 26. To Naples.] Virgil died at Brundusium, from whence his body is

said to have been removed to Naples.

v. 38. Desiring fruitlessly.] See H. Canto IV, 39.

v. 49. ’Twixt Lerice and Turbia.] At that time the two extremities of

the Genoese republic, the former on the east, the latter on the west. A

very ingenious writer has had occasion, for a different purpose, to

mention one of these places as remarkably secluded by its mountainous

situation “On an eminence among the mountains, between the two little

cities, Nice and Manoca, is the village of Torbia, a name formed from

the Greek [GREEK HERE] Mitford on the Harmony of Language, sect. x. p.

351. 2d edit.

v. 78. As sheep.] The imitative nature of these animals supplies our

Poet with another comparison in his Convito Opere, t. i. p 34. Ediz.

Ven. 1793.

v. 110. Manfredi. King of Naples and Sicily, and the natural son of

Frederick II. He was lively end agreeable in his manners, and delighted

in poetry, music, and dancing. But he was luxurious and ambitious. Void

of religion, and in his philosophy an Epicurean. See G. Villani l. vi.

c. xlvii. and Mr. Matthias’s Tiraboschi, v. I. p. 38. He fell in the

battle with Charles of Anjou in 1265, alluded to in Canto XXVIII, of

Hell, v. 13, “Dying, excommunicated, King Charles did allow of his

being buried in sacred ground, but he was interred near the bridge of

Benevento, and on his grave there was cast a stone by every one of the

army whence there was formed a great mound of stones. But some ave

said, that afterwards, by command of the Pope. the Bishop of Cosenza

took up his body and sent it out of the kingdom, because it was the

land of the church, and that it was buried by the river Verde, on the

borders of the kingdom and of Carapagna. this, however, we do not

affirm.” G. Villani, Hist. l. vii. c. 9.

v. 111. Costanza.] See Paradise Canto III. v. 121.

v. 112. My fair daughter.] Costanza, the daughter of Manfredi, and wife

of Peter III. King of Arragon, by whom she was mother to Frederick,

King of Sicily and James, King of Arragon With the latter of these she

was at Rome 1296. See G. Villani, 1. viii. c. 18. and notes to Canto

VII.

v. 122. Clement.] Pope Clement IV.

v. 127. The stream of Verde.] A river near Ascoli, that falls into he

Toronto. The “xtinguished lights “ formed part of the ceremony t the

interment of one excommunicated.

v. 130. Hope.] Mentre che la speranza ha fior del verde. Tasso, G. L.

c. xix. st. 53. —infin che verde e fior di speme.

CANTO IV

v. 1. When.] It must be owned the beginning of this Canto is somewhat

obscure. Bellutello refers, for an elucidation of it, to the reasoning

of Statius in the twenty-fifth canto. Perhaps some illustration may be

derived from the following, passage in South’s Sermons, in which I have

ventured to supply the words between crotchets that seemed to be

wanting to complete the sense. Now whether these three, judgement

memory, and invention, are three distinct things, both in being

distinguished from one another, and likewise from the substance of the

soul itself, considered without any such faculties, (or whether the

soul be one individual substance) but only receiving these several

denominations rom the several respects arising from the several actions

exerted immediately by itself upon several objects, or several

qualities of the same object, I say whether of these it is, is not easy

to decide, and it is well that it is not necessary Aquinas, and most

with him, affirm the former, and Scotus with his followers the latter.”

Vol. iv. Serm. 1.

v. 23. Sanleo.] A fortress on the summit of Montefeltro.

v. 24. Noli.] In the Genoese territory, between Finale and Savona.

v. 25. Bismantua.] A steep mountain in the territory of Reggio.

v. 55. From the left.] Vellutello observes an imitation of Lucan in

this passage:

Ignotum vobis, Arabes, venistis in orbem,

Umbras mirati nemornm non ire sinistras.

Phars. s. 1. iii. 248

v. 69 Thou wilt see.] “If you consider that this mountain of Purgatory

and that of Sion are antipodal to each other, you will perceive that

the sun must rise on opposite sides of the respective eminences.”

v. 119. Belacqua.] Concerning this man, the commentators afford no

information.

CANTO V

v. 14. Be as a tower.] Sta ome torre ferma

Berni, Orl. Inn. 1. 1. c. xvi. st. 48:

In quei due piedi sta fermo il gigante

Com’ una torre in mezzo d’un castello.

And Milton, P. L. b. i. 591.

Stood like a tower.

v. 36. Ne’er saw I fiery vapours.] Imitated by Tasso, G. L, c.

xix t. 62:

Tal suol fendendo liquido sereno

Stella cader della gran madre in seno.

And by Milton, P. L. b. iv. 558:

Swift as a shooting star

In autumn thwarts the night, when vapours fir’d

Impress the air.

v. 67. That land.] The Marca d’Ancona, between Romagna and Apulia, the

kingdom of Charles of Anjou.

v. 76. From thence I came.] Giacopo del Cassero, a citizen of Fano who

having spoken ill of Azzo da Este, Marquis of Ferrara, was by his

orders put to death. Giacopo, was overtaken by the assassins at Oriaco

a place near the Brenta, from whence, if he had fled towards Mira,

higher up on that river, instead of making for the marsh on the sea

shore, he might have escaped.

v. 75. Antenor’s land.] The city of Padua, said to be founded by

Antenor.

v. 87. Of Montefeltro I.] Buonconte (son of Guido da Montefeltro, whom

we have had in the twenty-seventh Canto of Hell) fell in the battle of

Campaldino (1289), fighting on the side of the Aretini.

v. 88. Giovanna.] Either the wife, or kinswoman, of Buonconte.

v. 91. The hermit’s seat.] The hermitage of Camaldoli.

v. 95. Where its name is cancel’d.] That is, between Bibbiena and

Poppi, where the Archiano falls into the Arno.

v. 115. From Pratomagno to the mountain range.] From Pratomagno now

called Prato Vecchio (which divides the Valdarno from Casentino) as far

as to the Apennine.

v. 131. Pia.] She is said to have been a Siennese lady, of the family

of Tolommei, secretly made away with by her husband, Nello della

Pietra, of the same city, in Maremma, where he had some possessions.

CANTO VI

v. 14. Of Arezzo him.] Benincasa of Arezzo, eminent for his skill in

jurisprudence, who, having condemned to death Turrino da Turrita

brother of Ghino di Tacco, for his robberies in Maremma, was murdered

by Ghino, in an apartment of his own house, in the presence of many

witnesses. Ghino was not only suffered to escape in safety, but (as the

commentators inform us) obtained so high a reputation by the liberality

with which he was accustomed to dispense the fruits of his plunder, and

treated those who fell into his hands with so much courtesy, that he

was afterwards invited to Rome, and knighted by Boniface VIII. A story

is told of him by Boccaccio, G. x. N. 2.

v. 15. Him beside.] Ciacco de’ Tariatti of Arezzo. He is said to have

been carried by his horse into the Arno, and there drowned, while he

was in pursuit of certain of his enemies.

v. 17. Frederic Novello.] Son of the Conte Guido da Battifolle, and

slain by one of the family of Bostoli.

v. 18. Of Pisa he.] Farinata de’ Scornigiani of Pisa. His father

Marzuco, who had entered the order of the Frati Minori, so entirely

overcame the feelings of resentment, that he even kissed the hands of

the slayer of his son, and, as he was following the funeral, exhorted

his kinsmen to reconciliation.

v. 20. Count 0rso.] Son of Napoleone da Cerbaia, slain by Alberto da

Mangona, his uncle.

v. 23. Peter de la Brosse.] Secretary of Philip III of France. The

courtiers, envying the high place which he held in the king’s favour,

prevailed on Mary of Brabant to charge him falsely with an attempt upon

her person for which supposed crime he suffered death. So say the

Italian commentators. Henault represents the matter very differently:

“Pierre de la Brosse, formerly barber to St. Louis, afterwards the

favorite of Philip, fearing the too great attachment of the king for

his wife Mary, accuses this princess of having poisoned Louis, eldest

son of Philip, by his first marriage. This calumny is discovered by a

nun of Nivelle in Flanders. La Brosse is hung.” Abrege Chron. t. 275,

&c.

v. 30. In thy text.] He refers to Virgil, Aen. 1, vi. 376.

Desine fata deum flecti sperare precando, 37. The sacred height

Of judgment. Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, a. ii. s. 2.

If he, which is the top of judgment

v. 66. Eyeing us as a lion on his watch.] A guisa di Leon quando si

posa. A line taken by Tasso, G. L. c. x. st. 56.

v. 76. Sordello.] The history of Sordello’s life is wrapt in the

obscurity of romance. That he distinguished himself by his skill in

Provencal poetry is certain. It is probable that he was born towards

the end of the twelfth, and died about the middle of the succeeding

century. Tiraboschi has taken much pains to sift all the notices he

could collect relating to him. Honourable mention of his name is made

by our Poet in the Treatise de Vulg. Eloq. 1. i. c. 15.

v. 76. Thou inn of grief.]

Thou most beauteous inn

Why should hard-favour’d grief be lodg’d in thee?

Shakespeare, Richard II a. 5. s. 1.

v. 89. Justinian’s hand.] “What avails it that Justinian delivered thee

from the Goths, and reformed thy laws, if thou art no longer under the

control of his successors in the empire?”

v. 94. That which God commands.] He alludes to the precept- “Render

unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s.”

v. 98. O German Albert!] The Emperor Albert I. succeeded Adolphus in

1298, and was murdered in 1308. See Par Canto XIX 114 v. 103. Thy

successor.] The successor of Albert was Henry of Luxembourg, by whose

interposition in the affairs of Italy our Poet hoped to have been

reinstated in his native city.

v. 101. Thy sire.] The Emperor Rodolph, too intent on increasing his

power in Germany to give much of his thoughts to Italy, “the garden of

the empire.”

v. 107. Capulets and Montagues.] Our ears are so familiarized to the

names of these rival families in the language of Shakespeare, that I

have used them instead of the “Montecchi” and “Cappelletti.”

v. 108. Philippeschi and Monaldi.] Two other rival families in Orvieto.

v. 113. What safety, Santafiore can supply.] A place between Pisa and

Sienna. What he alludes to is so doubtful, that it is not certain

whether we should not read “come si cura”—” How Santafiore is

governed.” Perhaps the event related in the note to v. 58, Canto XI.

may be pointed at.

v. 127. Marcellus.]

Un Marcel diventa

Ogni villan che parteggiando viene.

Repeated by Alamanni in his Coltivazione, 1. i.

v. 51. I sick wretch.] Imitated by the Cardinal de Polignac in his

Anti-Lucretius, 1. i. 1052.

Ceu lectum peragrat membris languentibus aeger

In latus alterne faevum dextrumque recumbens

Nec javat: inde oculos tollit resupinus in altum:

Nusquam inventa quies; semper quaesita: quod illi

Primum in deliciis fuerat, mox torquet et angit:

Nec morburm sanat, nec fallit taedia morbi.

CANTO VII

v. 14. Where one of mean estate might clasp his lord.] Ariosto Orl. F.

c. xxiv. st. 19

E l’abbracciaro, ove il maggior s’abbraccia

Col capo nudo e col ginocchio chino.

v. 31. The three holy virtues.] Faith, Hope and Charity.

v. 32. The red.] Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance.

v. 72. Fresh emeralds.]

Under foot the violet,

Crocus, and hyacinth with rich inlay

Broider’d the ground, more colour’d than with stone

Of costliest emblem.

Milton, P. L. b. iv. 793

Compare Ariosto, Orl. F. c. xxxiv. st. 49.

v. 79. Salve Regina.] The beginning of a prayer to the Virgin. It is

sufficient here to observe, that in similar instances I shall either

preserve the original Latin words or translate them, as it may seem

best to suit the purpose of the verse.

v. 91. The Emperor Rodolph.] See the last Canto, v. 104. He died in

1291.

v. 95. That country.] Bohemia.

v. 97. Ottocar.] King of Bohemia, was killed in the battle of

Marchfield, fought with Rodolph, August 26, 1278. Winceslaus II. His

son,who succeeded him in the kingdom of Bohemia. died in 1305. He is

again taxed with luxury in the Paradise Canto XIX. 123.

v. 101. That one with the nose deprest. ] Philip III of France, who

died in 1285, at Perpignan, in his retreat from Arragon.

v. 102. Him of gentle look.] Henry of Naverre, father of Jane married

to Philip IV of France, whom Dante calls “mal di Francia” -“Gallia’s

bane.”

v. 110. He so robust of limb.] Peter III called the Great, King of

Arragon, who died in 1285, leaving four sons, Alonzo, James, Frederick

and Peter. The two former succeeded him in the kingdom of Arragon, and

Frederick in that of Sicily. See G. Villani, 1. vii. c. 102. and

Mariana, I. xiv. c. 9. He is enumerated among the Provencal poets by

Millot, Hist. Litt. Des Troubadours, t. iii. p. 150.

v. 111. Him of feature prominent.] “Dal maschio naso”-with the

masculine nose.” Charles I. King of Naples, Count of Anjou, and brother

of St. Lonis. He died in 1284. The annalist of Florence remarks, that

“there had been no sovereign of the house of France, since the time of

Charlemagne, by whom Charles was surpassed either in military renown,

and prowess, or in the loftiness of his understanding.” G. Villani, 1.

vii. c. 94. We shall, however, find many of his actions severely

reprobated in the twentieth Canto.

v. 113. That stripling.] Either (as the old commentators suppose)

Alonzo III King of Arragon, the eldest son of Peter III who died in

1291, at the age of 27, or, according to Venturi, Peter the youngest

son. The former was a young prince of virtue sufficient to have

justified the eulogium and the hopes of Dante.

See Mariana, 1. xiv. c. 14.

v. 119. Rarely.]

Full well can the wise poet of Florence

That hight Dante, speaken in this sentence

Lo! in such manner rime is Dantes tale.

Full selde upriseth by his branches smale

Prowesse of man for God of his goodnesse

Woll that we claim of him our gentlenesse:

For of our elders may we nothing claime

But temporal thing, that men may hurt and maime.

Chaucer, Wife of Bathe’s Tale.

Compare Homer, Od. b. ii. v. 276; Pindar, Nem. xi. 48 and

Euripides, Electra, 369.

v. 122. To Charles.] “Al Nasuto.” -“Charles II King of Naples, is no

less inferior to his father Charles I. than James and Frederick to

theirs, Peter III.”

v. 127. Costanza.] Widow of Peter III She has been already mentioned in

the third Canto, v. 112. By Beatrice and Margaret are probably meant

two of the daughters of Raymond Berenger, Count of Provence; the former

married to St. Louis of France, the latter to his brother Charles of

Anjou. See Paradise, Canto Vl. 135. Dante therefore considers Peter as

the most illustrious of the three monarchs.

v. 129. Harry of England.] Henry III.

v. 130. Better issue.] Edward l. of whose glory our Poet was perhaps a

witness, in his visit to England.

v. 133. William, that brave Marquis.] William, Marquis of Monferrat,

was treacherously seized by his own subjects, at Alessandria, in

Lombardy, A.D. 1290, and ended his life in prison. See G. Villani, 1.

vii. c. 135. A war ensued between the people of Alessandria and those

of Monferrat and the Canavese.

CANTO VIII

v. 6. That seems to mourn for the expiring day.] The curfew tolls the

knell of parting day. Gray’s Elegy.

v. 13. Te Lucis Ante.] The beginning of one of the evening hymns.

v. 36. As faculty.]

My earthly by his heav’nly overpower’d

* * * *

As with an object, that excels the sense,

Dazzled and spent.

Milton, P. L. b. viii. 457.

v. 53. Nino, thou courteous judge.] Nino di Gallura de’ Visconti nephew

to Count Ugolino de’ Gherardeschi, and betrayed by him. See Notes to

Hell Canto XXXIII.

v. 65. Conrad.] Currado Malaspina.

v. 71 My Giovanna.] The daughter of Nino, and wife of Riccardo da

Cammino of Trevigi.

v. 73. Her mother.] Beatrice, marchioness of Este wife of Nino, and

after his death married to Galeazzo de’ Visconti of Milan.

v. 74. The white and wimpled folds.] The weeds of widowhood.

v. 80. The viper.] The arms of Galeazzo and the ensign of the Milanese.

v. 81. Shrill Gallura’s bird.] The cock was the ensign of Gallura,

Nino’s province in Sardinia. Hell, Canto XXII. 80. and Notes.

v. 115. Valdimagra.] See Hell, Canto XXIV. 144. and Notes.

v. 133. Sev’n times the tired sun.] “The sun shall not enter into the

constellation of Aries seven times more, before thou shalt have still

better cause for the good opinion thou expresses” of Valdimagra, in the

kind reception thou shalt there meet with.” Dante was hospitably

received by the Marchese Marcello Malaspina, during his banishment.

A.D. 1307.

CANTO IX

v. 1. Now the fair consort of Tithonus old.]

La concubina di Titone antico.

So Tassoni, Secchia Rapita, c. viii. st. 15.

La puttanella del canuto amante.

v. 5. Of that chill animal.] The scorpion.

v. 14. Our minds.] Compare Hell, Canto XXVI. 7.

v. 18. A golden-feathered eagle. ] Chaucer, in the house of Fame at the

conclusion of the first book and beginning of the second, represents

himself carried up by the “grim pawes” of a golden eagle. Much of his

description is closely imitated from Dante.

v. 50. Lucia.] The enIightening, grace of heaven Hell, Canto II. 97.

v. 85. The lowest stair.] By the white step is meant the distinctness

with which the conscience of the penitent reflects his offences, by the

burnt and cracked one, his contrition on, their account; and by that of

porphyry, the fervour with which he resolves on the future pursuit of

piety and virtue. Hence, no doubt, Milton describing “the gate of

heaven,” P. L. b. iii. 516.

Each stair mysteriously was meant.

v. 100. Seven times.] Seven P’s, to denote the seven sins (Peccata) of

which he was to be cleansed in his passage through purgatory.

v. 115. One is more precious.] The golden key denotes the divine

authority by which the priest absolves the sinners the silver expresses

the learning and judgment requisite for the due discharge of that

office.

v. 127. Harsh was the grating.]

On a sudden open fly

With impetuous recoil and jarring, sound

Th’ infernal doors, and on their hinges grate

Harsh thunder

Milton, P. L. b. ii 882

v. 128. The Turpeian.]

Protinus, abducto patuerunt temple Metello.

Tunc rupes Tarpeia sonat: magnoque reclusas

Testatur stridore fores: tune conditus imo

Eruitur tempo multis intactus ab annnis

Romani census populi, &c.

Lucan. Ph. 1. iii. 157.

CANTO X

v. 6. That Wound.] Venturi justly observes, that the Padre d’Aquino has

misrepresented the sense of this passage in his translation.

—dabat ascensum tendentibus ultra Scissa tremensque silex, tenuique

erratica motu.

The verb “muover” is used in the same signification in the

Inferno, Canto XVIII. 21.

Cosi da imo della roccia scogli

Moven.

—from the rock’s low base Thus flinty paths advanc’d.

In neither place is actual motion intended to be expressed.

v. 52. That from unbidden. office awes mankind.] Seo 2 Sam. G.

v 58. Preceding.] Ibid. 14, &c.

v. 68. Gregory.] St. Gregory’s prayers are said to have delivered

Trajan from hell. See Paradise, Canto XX. 40.

v. 69. Trajan the Emperor. For this story, Landino refers to two

writers, whom he calls “Heunando,” of France, by whom he means Elinand,

a monk and chronicler, in the reign of Philip Augustus, and

“Polycrato,” of England, by whom is meant John of Salisbury, author of

the Polycraticus de Curialium Nugis, in the twelfth century. The

passage in the text I find to be nearly a translation from that work,

1. v. c. 8. The original appears to be in Dio Cassius, where it is told

of the Emperor Hadrian, lib. I xix. [GREEK HERE] When a woman appeared

to him with a suit, as he was on a journey, at first he answered her,

‘I have no leisure,’ but she crying out to him, ‘then reign no longer’

he turned about, and heard her cause.”

v. 119. As to support.] Chillingworth, ch.vi. 54. speaks of “those

crouching anticks, which seem in great buildings to labour under the

weight they bear.” And Lord Shaftesbury has a similar illustration in

his Essay on Wit and Humour, p. 4. s. 3.

CANTO XI

v. 1. 0 thou Mighty Father.] The first four lines are borrowed by

Pulci, Morg. Magg. c. vi. Dante, in his ‘Credo,’ has again versified

the Lord’s prayer.

v. 58. I was of Latinum.] Omberto, the son of Guglielino Aldobrandeseo,

Count of Santafiore, in the territory of Sienna His arrogance provoked

his countrymen to such a pitch of fury against him, that he was

murdered by them at Campagnatico.

v. 79. Oderigi.] The illuminator, or miniature painter, a friend of

Giotto and Dante

v. 83. Bolognian Franco.] Franco of Bologna, who is said to have been a

pupil of Oderigi’s.

v. 93. Cimabue.] Giovanni Cimabue, the restorer of painting, was born

at Florence, of a noble family, in 1240, and died in 1300. The passage

in the text is an illusion to his epitaph:

Credidit ut Cimabos picturae castra tenere,

Sic tenuit vivens: nunc tenet astra poli.

v. 95. The cry is Giotto’s.] In Giotto we have a proof at how early a

period the fine arts were encouraged in Italy. His talents were

discovered by Cimabue, while he was tending sheep for his father in the

neighbourhood of Florence, and he was afterwards patronized by Pope

Benedict XI and Robert King of Naples, and enjoyed the society and

friendship of Dante, whose likeness he has transmitted to posterity. He

died in 1336, at the age of 60.

v. 96. One Guido from the other.] Guido Cavalcanti, the friend of our

Poet, (see Hell, Canto X. 59.) had eclipsed the literary fame of Guido

Guinicelli, of a noble family in Bologna, whom we shall meet with in

the twenty-sixth Canto and of whom frequent mention is made by our Poet

in his Treatise de Vulg. Eloq. Guinicelli died in 1276. Many of

Cavalcanti’s writings, hitherto in MS. are now publishing at Florence”

Esprit des Journaux, Jan. 1813.

v. 97. He perhaps is born.] Some imagine, with much probability, that

Dante here augurs the greatness of his own poetical reputation. Others

have fancied that he prophesies the glory of Petrarch. But Petrarch was

not yet born.

v. 136. suitor.] Provenzano salvani humbled himself so far for the sake

of one of his friends, who was detained in captivity by Charles I of

Sicily, as personally to supplicate the people of Sienna to contribute

the sum required by the king for his ransom:

and this act of self-abasement atoned for his general ambition and

pride.

v. 140. Thy neighbours soon.] “Thou wilt know in the time of thy

banishment, which is near at hand, what it is to solicit favours of

others and ‘tremble through every vein,’ lest they should be refused

thee.”

CANTO XII

v. 26. The Thymbraen god.] Apollo

Si modo, quem perhibes, pater est Thymbraeus Apollo. Virg. Georg. iv.

323.

v. 37. Mars.]

With such a grace,

The giants that attempted to scale heaven

When they lay dead on the Phlegren plain

Mars did appear to Jove.

Beaumont and Fletcher, The Prophetess, a. 2. s. 3.

v. 42. O Rehoboam.] 1 Kings, c. xii. 18.

v. 46. A1cmaeon.] Virg. Aen. l. vi. 445, and Homer, Od. xi. 325.

v. 48. Sennacherib.] 2 Kings, c. xix. 37.

v. 58. What master of the pencil or the style.] —inimitable on earth By

model, or by shading pencil drawn. Milton, P. L. b. iii. 509.