Part 8
Now, Son, dilates and now distends itself The virtue from the generator’s heart, Where nature is intent on all the members.
But how from animal it man becomes Thou dost not see as yet; this is a point Which made a wiser man than thou once err
So far, that in his doctrine separate He made the soul from possible intellect, For he no organ saw by this assumed.
Open thy breast unto the truth that’s coming, And know that, just as soon as in the foetus The articulation of the brain is perfect,
The primal Motor turns to it well pleased At so great art of nature, and inspires A spirit new with virtue all replete,
Which what it finds there active doth attract Into its substance, and becomes one soul, Which lives, and feels, and on itself revolves.
And that thou less may wonder at my word, Behold the sun’s heat, which becometh wine, Joined to the juice that from the vine distils.
Whenever Lachesis has no more thread, It separates from the flesh, and virtually Bears with itself the human and divine;
The other faculties are voiceless all; The memory, the intelligence, and the will In action far more vigorous than before.
Without a pause it falleth of itself In marvellous way on one shore or the other; There of its roads it first is cognizant.
Soon as the place there circumscribeth it, The virtue informative rays round about, As, and as much as, in the living members.
And even as the air, when full of rain, By alien rays that are therein reflected, With divers colours shows itself adorned,
So there the neighbouring air doth shape itself Into that form which doth impress upon it Virtually the soul that has stood still.
And then in manner of the little flame, Which followeth the fire where’er it shifts, After the spirit followeth its new form.
Since afterwards it takes from this its semblance, It is called shade; and thence it organizes Thereafter every sense, even to the sight.
Thence is it that we speak, and thence we laugh; Thence is it that we form the tears and sighs, That on the mountain thou mayhap hast heard.
According as impress us our desires And other affections, so the shade is shaped, And this is cause of what thou wonderest at.”
And now unto the last of all the circles Had we arrived, and to the right hand turned, And were attentive to another care.
There the embankment shoots forth flames of fire, And upward doth the cornice breathe a blast That drives them back, and from itself sequesters.
Hence we must needs go on the open side, And one by one; and I did fear the fire On this side, and on that the falling down.
My Leader said: “Along this place one ought To keep upon the eyes a tightened rein, Seeing that one so easily might err.”
“Summae Deus clementiae,” in the bosom Of the great burning chanted then I heard, Which made me no less eager to turn round;
And spirits saw I walking through the flame; Wherefore I looked, to my own steps and theirs Apportioning my sight from time to time.
After the close which to that hymn is made, Aloud they shouted, “Virum non cognosco;” Then recommenced the hymn with voices low.
This also ended, cried they: “To the wood Diana ran, and drove forth Helice Therefrom, who had of Venus felt the poison.”
Then to their song returned they; then the wives They shouted, and the husbands who were chaste. As virtue and the marriage vow imposes.
And I believe that them this mode suffices, For all the time the fire is burning them; With such care is it needful, and such food,
That the last wound of all should be closed up.
Purgatorio: Canto XXVI
While on the brink thus one before the other We went upon our way, oft the good Master Said: “Take thou heed! suffice it that I warn thee.”
On the right shoulder smote me now the sun, That, raying out, already the whole west Changed from its azure aspect into white.
And with my shadow did I make the flame Appear more red; and even to such a sign Shades saw I many, as they went, give heed.
This was the cause that gave them a beginning To speak of me; and to themselves began they To say: “That seems not a factitious body!”
Then towards me, as far as they could come, Came certain of them, always with regard Not to step forth where they would not be burned.
“O thou who goest, not from being slower But reverent perhaps, behind the others, Answer me, who in thirst and fire am burning.
Nor to me only is thine answer needful; For all of these have greater thirst for it Than for cold water Ethiop or Indian.
Tell us how is it that thou makest thyself A wall unto the sun, as if thou hadst not Entered as yet into the net of death.”
Thus one of them addressed me, and I straight Should have revealed myself, were I not bent On other novelty that then appeared.
For through the middle of the burning road There came a people face to face with these, Which held me in suspense with gazing at them.
There see I hastening upon either side Each of the shades, and kissing one another Without a pause, content with brief salute.
Thus in the middle of their brown battalions Muzzle to muzzle one ant meets another Perchance to spy their journey or their fortune.
No sooner is the friendly greeting ended, Or ever the first footstep passes onward, Each one endeavours to outcry the other;
The new-come people: “Sodom and Gomorrah!” The rest: “Into the cow Pasiphae enters, So that the bull unto her lust may run!”
Then as the cranes, that to Riphaean mountains Might fly in part, and part towards the sands, These of the frost, those of the sun avoidant,
One folk is going, and the other coming, And weeping they return to their first songs, And to the cry that most befitteth them;
And close to me approached, even as before, The very same who had entreated me, Attent to listen in their countenance.
I, who their inclination twice had seen, Began: “O souls secure in the possession, Whene’er it may be, of a state of peace,
Neither unripe nor ripened have remained My members upon earth, but here are with me With their own blood and their articulations.
I go up here to be no longer blind; A Lady is above, who wins this grace, Whereby the mortal through your world I bring.
But as your greatest longing satisfied May soon become, so that the Heaven may house you Which full of love is, and most amply spreads,
Tell me, that I again in books may write it, Who are you, and what is that multitude Which goes upon its way behind your backs?”
Not otherwise with wonder is bewildered The mountaineer, and staring round is dumb, When rough and rustic to the town he goes,
Than every shade became in its appearance; But when they of their stupor were disburdened, Which in high hearts is quickly quieted,
“Blessed be thou, who of our border-lands,” He recommenced who first had questioned us, “Experience freightest for a better life.
The folk that comes not with us have offended In that for which once Caesar, triumphing, Heard himself called in contumely, ‘Queen.’
Therefore they separate, exclaiming, ‘Sodom!’ Themselves reproving, even as thou hast heard, And add unto their burning by their shame.
Our own transgression was hermaphrodite; But because we observed not human law, Following like unto beasts our appetite,
In our opprobrium by us is read, When we part company, the name of her Who bestialized herself in bestial wood.
Now knowest thou our acts, and what our crime was; Wouldst thou perchance by name know who we are, There is not time to tell, nor could I do it.
Thy wish to know me shall in sooth be granted; I’m Guido Guinicelli, and now purge me, Having repented ere the hour extreme.”
The same that in the sadness of Lycurgus Two sons became, their mother re-beholding, Such I became, but rise not to such height,
The moment I heard name himself the father Of me and of my betters, who had ever Practised the sweet and gracious rhymes of love;
And without speech and hearing thoughtfully For a long time I went, beholding him, Nor for the fire did I approach him nearer.
When I was fed with looking, utterly Myself I offered ready for his service, With affirmation that compels belief.
And he to me: “Thou leavest footprints such In me, from what I hear, and so distinct, Lethe cannot efface them, nor make dim.
But if thy words just now the truth have sworn, Tell me what is the cause why thou displayest In word and look that dear thou holdest me?”
And I to him: “Those dulcet lays of yours Which, long as shall endure our modern fashion, Shall make for ever dear their very ink!”
“O brother,” said he, “he whom I point out,” And here he pointed at a spirit in front, “Was of the mother tongue a better smith.
Verses of love and proses of romance, He mastered all; and let the idiots talk, Who think the Lemosin surpasses him.
To clamour more than truth they turn their faces, And in this way establish their opinion, Ere art or reason has by them been heard.
Thus many ancients with Guittone did, From cry to cry still giving him applause, Until the truth has conquered with most persons.
Now, if thou hast such ample privilege ’Tis granted thee to go unto the cloister Wherein is Christ the abbot of the college,
To him repeat for me a Paternoster, So far as needful to us of this world, Where power of sinning is no longer ours.”
Then, to give place perchance to one behind, Whom he had near, he vanished in the fire As fish in water going to the bottom.
I moved a little tow’rds him pointed out, And said that to his name my own desire An honourable place was making ready.
He of his own free will began to say: ‘Tan m’ abellis vostre cortes deman, Que jeu nom’ puesc ni vueill a vos cobrire;
Jeu sui Arnaut, que plor e vai chantan; Consiros vei la passada folor, E vei jauzen lo jorn qu’ esper denan.
Ara vus prec per aquella valor, Que vus condus al som de la scalina, Sovenga vus a temprar ma dolor.’*
Then hid him in the fire that purifies them.
* So pleases me your courteous demand, I cannot and I will not hide me from you. I am Arnaut, who weep and singing go; Contrite I see the folly of the past, And joyous see the hoped-for day before me. Therefore do I implore you, by that power Which guides you to the summit of the stairs, Be mindful to assuage my suffering!
Purgatorio: Canto XXVII
As when he vibrates forth his earliest rays, In regions where his Maker shed his blood, (The Ebro falling under lofty Libra,
And waters in the Ganges burnt with noon,) So stood the Sun; hence was the day departing, When the glad Angel of God appeared to us.
Outside the flame he stood upon the verge, And chanted forth, “Beati mundo corde,” In voice by far more living than our own.
Then: “No one farther goes, souls sanctified, If first the fire bite not; within it enter, And be not deaf unto the song beyond.”
When we were close beside him thus he said; Wherefore e’en such became I, when I heard him, As he is who is put into the grave.
Upon my clasped hands I straightened me, Scanning the fire, and vividly recalling The human bodies I had once seen burned.
Towards me turned themselves my good Conductors, And unto me Virgilius said: “My son, Here may indeed be torment, but not death.
Remember thee, remember! and if I On Geryon have safely guided thee, What shall I do now I am nearer God?
Believe for certain, shouldst thou stand a full Millennium in the bosom of this flame, It could not make thee bald a single hair.
And if perchance thou think that I deceive thee, Draw near to it, and put it to the proof With thine own hands upon thy garment’s hem.
Now lay aside, now lay aside all fear, Turn hitherward, and onward come securely;” And I still motionless, and ’gainst my conscience!
Seeing me stand still motionless and stubborn, Somewhat disturbed he said: “Now look thou, Son, ’Twixt Beatrice and thee there is this wall.”
As at the name of Thisbe oped his lids The dying Pyramus, and gazed upon her, What time the mulberry became vermilion,
Even thus, my obduracy being softened, I turned to my wise Guide, hearing the name That in my memory evermore is welling.
Whereat he wagged his head, and said: “How now? Shall we stay on this side?” then smiled as one Does at a child who’s vanquished by an apple.
Then into the fire in front of me he entered, Beseeching Statius to come after me, Who a long way before divided us.
When I was in it, into molten glass I would have cast me to refresh myself, So without measure was the burning there!
And my sweet Father, to encourage me, Discoursing still of Beatrice went on, Saying: “Her eyes I seem to see already!”
A voice, that on the other side was singing, Directed us, and we, attent alone On that, came forth where the ascent began.
“Venite, benedicti Patris mei,” Sounded within a splendour, which was there Such it o’ercame me, and I could not look.
“The sun departs,” it added, “and night cometh; Tarry ye not, but onward urge your steps, So long as yet the west becomes not dark.”
Straight forward through the rock the path ascended In such a way that I cut off the rays Before me of the sun, that now was low.
And of few stairs we yet had made assay, Ere by the vanished shadow the sun’s setting Behind us we perceived, I and my Sages.
And ere in all its parts immeasurable The horizon of one aspect had become, And Night her boundless dispensation held,
Each of us of a stair had made his bed; Because the nature of the mount took from us The power of climbing, more than the delight.
Even as in ruminating passive grow The goats, who have been swift and venturesome Upon the mountain-tops ere they were fed,
Hushed in the shadow, while the sun is hot, Watched by the herdsman, who upon his staff Is leaning, and in leaning tendeth them;
And as the shepherd, lodging out of doors, Passes the night beside his quiet flock, Watching that no wild beast may scatter it,
Such at that hour were we, all three of us, I like the goat, and like the herdsmen they, Begirt on this side and on that by rocks.
Little could there be seen of things without; But through that little I beheld the stars More luminous and larger than their wont.
Thus ruminating, and beholding these, Sleep seized upon me,—sleep, that oftentimes Before a deed is done has tidings of it.
It was the hour, I think, when from the East First on the mountain Citherea beamed, Who with the fire of love seems always burning;
Youthful and beautiful in dreams methought I saw a lady walking in a meadow, Gathering flowers; and singing she was saying:
“Know whosoever may my name demand That I am Leah, and go moving round My beauteous hands to make myself a garland.
To please me at the mirror, here I deck me, But never does my sister Rachel leave Her looking-glass, and sitteth all day long.
To see her beauteous eyes as eager is she, As I am to adorn me with my hands; Her, seeing, and me, doing satisfies.”
And now before the antelucan splendours That unto pilgrims the more grateful rise, As, home-returning, less remote they lodge,
The darkness fled away on every side, And slumber with it; whereupon I rose, Seeing already the great Masters risen.
“That apple sweet, which through so many branches The care of mortals goeth in pursuit of, To-day shall put in peace thy hungerings.”
Speaking to me, Virgilius of such words As these made use; and never were there guerdons That could in pleasantness compare with these.
Such longing upon longing came upon me To be above, that at each step thereafter For flight I felt in me the pinions growing.
When underneath us was the stairway all Run o’er, and we were on the highest step, Virgilius fastened upon me his eyes,
And said: “The temporal fire and the eternal, Son, thou hast seen, and to a place art come Where of myself no farther I discern.
By intellect and art I here have brought thee; Take thine own pleasure for thy guide henceforth; Beyond the steep ways and the narrow art thou.
Behold the sun, that shines upon thy forehead; Behold the grass, the flowerets, and the shrubs Which of itself alone this land produces.
Until rejoicing come the beauteous eyes Which weeping caused me to come unto thee, Thou canst sit down, and thou canst walk among them.
Expect no more or word or sign from me; Free and upright and sound is thy free-will, And error were it not to do its bidding;
Thee o’er thyself I therefore crown and mitre!”
Purgatorio: Canto XXVIII
Eager already to search in and round The heavenly forest, dense and living-green, Which tempered to the eyes the new-born day,
Withouten more delay I left the bank, Taking the level country slowly, slowly Over the soil that everywhere breathes fragrance.
A softly-breathing air, that no mutation Had in itself, upon the forehead smote me No heavier blow than of a gentle wind,
Whereat the branches, lightly tremulous, Did all of them bow downward toward that side Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;
Yet not from their upright direction swayed, So that the little birds upon their tops Should leave the practice of each art of theirs;
But with full ravishment the hours of prime, Singing, received they in the midst of leaves, That ever bore a burden to their rhymes,
Such as from branch to branch goes gathering on Through the pine forest on the shore of Chiassi, When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco.
Already my slow steps had carried me Into the ancient wood so far, that I Could not perceive where I had entered it.
And lo! my further course a stream cut off, Which tow’rd the left hand with its little waves Bent down the grass that on its margin sprang.
All waters that on earth most limpid are Would seem to have within themselves some mixture Compared with that which nothing doth conceal,
Although it moves on with a brown, brown current Under the shade perpetual, that never Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.
With feet I stayed, and with mine eyes I passed Beyond the rivulet, to look upon The great variety of the fresh may.
And there appeared to me (even as appears Suddenly something that doth turn aside Through very wonder every other thought)
A lady all alone, who went along Singing and culling floweret after floweret, With which her pathway was all painted over.
“Ah, beauteous lady, who in rays of love Dost warm thyself, if I may trust to looks, Which the heart’s witnesses are wont to be,
May the desire come unto thee to draw Near to this river’s bank,” I said to her, “So much that I might hear what thou art singing.
Thou makest me remember where and what Proserpina that moment was when lost Her mother her, and she herself the Spring.”
As turns herself, with feet together pressed And to the ground, a lady who is dancing, And hardly puts one foot before the other,
On the vermilion and the yellow flowerets She turned towards me, not in other wise Than maiden who her modest eyes casts down;
And my entreaties made to be content, So near approaching, that the dulcet sound Came unto me together with its meaning
As soon as she was where the grasses are. Bathed by the waters of the beauteous river, To lift her eyes she granted me the boon.
I do not think there shone so great a light Under the lids of Venus, when transfixed By her own son, beyond his usual custom!
Erect upon the other bank she smiled, Bearing full many colours in her hands, Which that high land produces without seed.
Apart three paces did the river make us; But Hellespont, where Xerxes passed across, (A curb still to all human arrogance,)
More hatred from Leander did not suffer For rolling between Sestos and Abydos, Than that from me, because it oped not then.
“Ye are new-comers; and because I smile,” Began she, “peradventure, in this place Elect to human nature for its nest,
Some apprehension keeps you marvelling; But the psalm ‘Delectasti’ giveth light Which has the power to uncloud your intellect.
And thou who foremost art, and didst entreat me, Speak, if thou wouldst hear more; for I came ready To all thy questionings, as far as needful.”
“The water,” said I, “and the forest’s sound, Are combating within me my new faith In something which I heard opposed to this.”
Whence she: “I will relate how from its cause Proceedeth that which maketh thee to wonder, And purge away the cloud that smites upon thee.
The Good Supreme, sole in itself delighting, Created man good, and this goodly place Gave him as hansel of eternal peace.
By his default short while he sojourned here; By his default to weeping and to toil He changed his innocent laughter and sweet play.
That the disturbance which below is made By exhalations of the land and water, (Which far as may be follow after heat,)
Might not upon mankind wage any war, This mount ascended tow’rds the heaven so high, And is exempt, from there where it is locked.
Now since the universal atmosphere Turns in a circuit with the primal motion Unless the circle is broken on some side,
Upon this height, that all is disengaged In living ether, doth this motion strike And make the forest sound, for it is dense;
And so much power the stricken plant possesses That with its virtue it impregns the air, And this, revolving, scatters it around;
And yonder earth, according as ’tis worthy In self or in its clime, conceives and bears Of divers qualities the divers trees;
It should not seem a marvel then on earth, This being heard, whenever any plant Without seed manifest there taketh root.
And thou must know, this holy table-land In which thou art is full of every seed, And fruit has in it never gathered there.
The water which thou seest springs not from vein Restored by vapour that the cold condenses, Like to a stream that gains or loses breath;
But issues from a fountain safe and certain, Which by the will of God as much regains As it discharges, open on two sides.
Upon this side with virtue it descends, Which takes away all memory of sin; On that, of every good deed done restores it.
Here Lethe, as upon the other side Eunoe, it is called; and worketh not If first on either side it be not tasted.