Chapter 8

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.

This every other savour doth transcend; And notwithstanding slaked so far may be Thy thirst, that I reveal to thee no more,

I’ll give thee a corollary still in grace, Nor think my speech will be to thee less dear If it spread out beyond my promise to thee.

Those who in ancient times have feigned in song The Age of Gold and its felicity, Dreamed of this place perhaps upon Parnassus.

Here was the human race in innocence; Here evermore was Spring, and every fruit; This is the nectar of which each one speaks.”

Then backward did I turn me wholly round Unto my Poets, and saw that with a smile They had been listening to these closing words;

Then to the beautiful lady turned mine eyes.

Purgatorio: Canto XXIX

Singing like unto an enamoured lady She, with the ending of her words, continued: “Beati quorum tecta sunt peccata.”

And even as Nymphs, that wandered all alone Among the sylvan shadows, sedulous One to avoid and one to see the sun,

She then against the stream moved onward, going Along the bank, and I abreast of her, Her little steps with little steps attending.

Between her steps and mine were not a hundred, When equally the margins gave a turn, In such a way, that to the East I faced.

Nor even thus our way continued far Before the lady wholly turned herself Unto me, saying, “Brother, look and listen!”

And lo! a sudden lustre ran across On every side athwart the spacious forest, Such that it made me doubt if it were lightning.

But since the lightning ceases as it comes, And that continuing brightened more and more, Within my thought I said, “What thing is this?”

And a delicious melody there ran Along the luminous air, whence holy zeal Made me rebuke the hardihood of Eve;

For there where earth and heaven obedient were, The woman only, and but just created, Could not endure to stay ’neath any veil;

Underneath which had she devoutly stayed, I sooner should have tasted those delights Ineffable, and for a longer time.

While ’mid such manifold first-fruits I walked Of the eternal pleasure all enrapt, And still solicitous of more delights,

In front of us like an enkindled fire Became the air beneath the verdant boughs, And the sweet sound as singing now was heard.

O Virgins sacrosanct! if ever hunger, Vigils, or cold for you I have endured, The occasion spurs me their reward to claim!

Now Helicon must needs pour forth for me, And with her choir Urania must assist me, To put in verse things difficult to think.

A little farther on, seven trees of gold In semblance the long space still intervening Between ourselves and them did counterfeit;

But when I had approached so near to them The common object, which the sense deceives, Lost not by distance any of its marks,

The faculty that lends discourse to reason Did apprehend that they were candlesticks, And in the voices of the song “Hosanna!”

Above them flamed the harness beautiful, Far brighter than the moon in the serene Of midnight, at the middle of her month.

I turned me round, with admiration filled, To good Virgilius, and he answered me With visage no less full of wonderment.

Then back I turned my face to those high things, Which moved themselves towards us so sedately, They had been distanced by new-wedded brides.

The lady chid me: “Why dost thou burn only So with affection for the living lights, And dost not look at what comes after them?”

Then saw I people, as behind their leaders, Coming behind them, garmented in white, And such a whiteness never was on earth.

The water on my left flank was resplendent, And back to me reflected my left side, E’en as a mirror, if I looked therein.

When I upon my margin had such post That nothing but the stream divided us, Better to see I gave my steps repose;

And I beheld the flamelets onward go, Leaving behind themselves the air depicted, And they of trailing pennons had the semblance,

So that it overhead remained distinct With sevenfold lists, all of them of the colours Whence the sun’s bow is made, and Delia’s girdle.

These standards to the rearward longer were Than was my sight; and, as it seemed to me, Ten paces were the outermost apart.

Under so fair a heaven as I describe The four and twenty Elders, two by two, Came on incoronate with flower-de-luce.

They all of them were singing: “Blessed thou Among the daughters of Adam art, and blessed For evermore shall be thy loveliness.”

After the flowers and other tender grasses In front of me upon the other margin Were disencumbered of that race elect,

Even as in heaven star followeth after star, There came close after them four animals, Incoronate each one with verdant leaf.

Plumed with six wings was every one of them, The plumage full of eyes; the eyes of Argus If they were living would be such as these.

Reader! to trace their forms no more I waste My rhymes; for other spendings press me so, That I in this cannot be prodigal.

But read Ezekiel, who depicteth them As he beheld them from the region cold Coming with cloud, with whirlwind, and with fire;

And such as thou shalt find them in his pages, Such were they here; saving that in their plumage John is with me, and differeth from him.

The interval between these four contained A chariot triumphal on two wheels, Which by a Griffin’s neck came drawn along;

And upward he extended both his wings Between the middle list and three and three, So that he injured none by cleaving it.

So high they rose that they were lost to sight; His limbs were gold, so far as he was bird, And white the others with vermilion mingled.

Not only Rome with no such splendid car E’er gladdened Africanus, or Augustus, But poor to it that of the Sun would be,—

That of the Sun, which swerving was burnt up At the importunate orison of Earth, When Jove was so mysteriously just.

Three maidens at the right wheel in a circle Came onward dancing; one so very red That in the fire she hardly had been noted.

The second was as if her flesh and bones Had all been fashioned out of emerald; The third appeared as snow but newly fallen.