Part 44

Now the sun was full up, and movement began in the village. Casement windows opened, crazy doors were unbarred, and people came forth shivering--chilled, as yet, by the new sweet air. Then began the rarely lightened toil of the day among the village population. Some to the fountain; some to the fields; men and women here to dig and delve; men and women there to see to the poor live stock, and lead the bony cows out to such pasture as could be found by the roadside. In the church and at the Cross a kneeling figure or two; attendant on the latter prayers, the led cow, trying for a breakfast among the weeds at its foot.

The chateau awoke later, as became its quality, but awoke gradually and surely. First, the lonely boar-spears and knives of the chase had been reddened as of old; then had gleamed trenchant in the morning sunshine; now doors and windows were thrown open, horses in their stables looked round over their shoulders at the light and freshness pouring in at doorways, leaves sparkled and rustled at iron-grated windows, dogs pulled hard at their chains and reared, impatient to be loosed.

All these trivial incidents belonged to the routine of life and the return of morning. Surely not so the ringing of the great bell of the chateau, nor the running up and down the stairs, nor the hurried figures on the terrace, nor the booting and tramping here and there and everywhere, nor the quick saddling of horses and riding away?

What winds conveyed this hurry to the grizzled mender of roads, already at work on the hill-top beyond the village, with his day's dinner (not much to carry) lying in a bundle that it was worth no crow's while to peck at, on a heap of stones? Had the birds, carrying some grains of it to a distance, dropped one over him as they sow chance seeds? Whether or no, the mender of roads ran, on the sultry morning, as if for his life, down the hill, knee-high in dust, and never stopped till he got to the fountain.

All the people of the village were at the fountain, standing about in their depressed manner, and whispering low, but showing no other emotions than grim curiosity and surprise. The led cows, hastily brought in and tethered to anything that would hold them, were looking stupidly on, or lying down chewing the cud of nothing particularly repaying their trouble, which they had picked up in their interrupted saunter. Some of the people of the chateau, and some of those of the posting-house, and all the taxing authorities, were armed more or less, and were crowded on the other side of the little street in a purposeless way that was highly fraught with nothing. Already the mender of roads had penetrated into the midst of a group of fifty particular friends, and was smiting himself in the breast with his blue cap. What did all this portend, and what portended the swift hoisting-up of Monsieur Gabelle behind a servant on horse-back, and the conveying away of the said Gabelle (double-laden though the horse was), at a gallop, like a new version of the German ballad of Leonora?

It portended that there was one stone face too many, up at the chateau.

The Gorgon had surveyed the building again in the night, and had added the one stone face wanting; the stone face for which it had waited through about two hundred years.

It lay back on the pillow of Monsieur the Marquis. It was like a fine mask, suddenly started, made angry, and petrified. Driven home into the heart of the stone figure attached to it, was a knife. Round its hilt was a frill of paper, on which was scrawled:--

"_Drive him fast to his tomb. This, from_ JACQUES."

THE IVY GREEN

Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy Green, That creepeth o'er ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim: And the moldering dust that years have made Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, And a stanch old heart has he. How closely he twineth, how tight he clings, To his friend the huge Oak-Tree! And slyly he traileth along the ground, And his leaves he gently waves, As he joyously hugs and crawleth round The rich mold of dead men's graves. Creeping where grim death has been, A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Whole ages have fled and their works decayed, And nations have scattered been; But the stout old Ivy shall never fade, From its hale and hearty green. The brave old plant in its lonely days Shall fatten upon the past: For the stateliest building man can raise Is the Ivy's food at last. Creeping on, where time has been, A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] In the 'Paradiso' (canto xv.) he introduces his great-great-grandfather Cacciaguida, who tells of himself that he followed the Emperor Conrad to fight against the Mohammedans, was made a knight by him, and was slain in the war.

[2] From the letter already referred to, cited by Lionardo Bruni.

[3] Charles II. of Naples was the cousin of Philip III., the Bold, of France, the father of Charles of Valois; and in 1290 Charles of Valois had married his daughter.

[4] These decrees and the other public documents relating to Dante are to be found in various publications. They have all been collected and edited by Professor George R. Carpenter, in the tenth and eleventh Annual Reports of the Dante Society, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1891, 1892.

[5] This decree was pronounced in a General Council of the Commune by the Vicar of King Robert of Naples, into whose hands the Florentines had given themselves in 1313 for a term of five years,--extended afterwards to eight,--with the hope that by his authority order might be preserved within the city.

[6] Among the letters ascribed to Dante is one, much noted, in reply to a letter from a friend in Florence, in regard to terms of absolution on which he might secure his re-admission to Florence. It is of very doubtful authenticity. It has no external evidence to support it, and the internal evidence of its rhetorical form and sentimental tone is all against it. It belongs in the same class with the famous letter of Fra Ilario, and like that, seems not unlikely to have been an invention of Boccaccio's.

[7] _Literally_, "who by the sweetness of its glory put exile behind our back."

[8] The sun,--a planet according to the Ptolemaic astronomy.

[9] It was a common belief that the spring was the season of the creation.

[10] These three beasts typify the division of sins into those of incontinence, of violence, and of fraud.

[11] Who he was and What should result.

[12] In Limbo, neither in hell nor in heaven.

[13] The heaven of the Moon, the nearest to Earth of the nine concentric Heavens.

[14] The type of illuminating grace.

[15] It was Galahaut who, in the Romance, prevailed on Guinevere to give a kiss to Lancelot.

[16] When it is sunrise at Jerusalem it is midnight in Spain, midday at the Ganges, and sunset in Purgatory.

[17] To be buried alive.

[18] Leah and Rachel are respectively the types of the virtuous active and contemplative life.

[19] As they come nearer home.

[20] In the preceding canto a mystic procession, symbolizing the Old and New Dispensation, has appeared in the Earthly Paradise. At its head were seven candlesticks, symbols of the sevenfold spirit of the Lord; it was followed by personages representing the truthful books of the Old Testament, and these by the chariot of the Church drawn by a griffon, who in his double form, half eagle and half lion, represented Christ in his double nature, human and divine.

[21] The lower septentrion, the seven stars of the Great Bear.

[22] Words from the AEneid (vi. 884), sung by the angels.

[23] The olive is the symbol of wisdom and of peace; the three colors are those of Faith, Charity and Hope.

[24] Words from the AEneid, iv. 23.

[25] All the joy and beauty of Paradise which Eve lost, and which were now surrounding Dante.

[26] When he had entered Purgatory.

[27] The words are from Psalm xxxi., verses 1 to 8.

[28] If the wind blow from Africa.

[29] Both devout and piteous.

[30] Through the influences of the circling heavens.

[31] From divine grace.

[32] In Hell.

[33] Not yet obliterated by the waters of Lethe.

[34] Inspired by me.

[35] Other objects of desire.

[36] Numidia, of which Iarbas was king.

[37] The beard being the sign of manhood, which should be accompanied by wisdom.

[38] The one which by its attractions most diverted me from Beatrice.

[39] A solitary lady whom he had met on first entering the Earthly Paradise, and who had accompanied him thus far.

[40] The first words of the 7th verse of the 51st Psalm: "Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow."

[41] The four cardinal virtues.

[42] The three evangelic virtues.

[43] Now with the divine, now with the human.

[44] Light in its essence; all other light is derived from it.

[45] This union of substance and accident.

[46] So overwhelming was the vision that the memory could not retain it completely even for an instant.

[47] The wish to see the mystery of the union of the two natures, the divine and human in Christ.

[48] That Love which makes sun and stars revolve was giving a concordant revolution to my desire and my will.

[49] The middle aisle of St. Paul's in London was the fashionable walk.