The Divine Comedy by Dante Part 12

Then I: "If new laws have not quite destroy'd Memory and use of that sweet song of love, That while all my cares had power to 'swage; Please thee with it a little to console My spirit, that inc.u.mber'd with its frame, Travelling so far, of pain is overcome."

"Love that discourses in my thoughts." He then Began in such soft accents, that within The sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guide And all who came with him, so well were pleas'd, That seem'd naught else might in their thoughts have room.

Fast fix'd in mute attention to his notes We stood, when lo! that old man venerable Exclaiming, "How is this, ye tardy spirits?

What negligence detains you loit'ring here?

Run to the mountain to cast off those scales, That from your eyes the sight of G.o.d conceal."

As a wild flock of pigeons, to their food Collected, blade or tares, without their pride Accustom'd, and in still and quiet sort, If aught alarm them, suddenly desert Their meal, a.s.sail'd by more important care; So I that new-come troop beheld, the song Deserting, hasten to the mountain's side, As one who goes yet where he tends knows not.

Nor with less hurried step did we depart.

CANTO III

Them sudden flight had scatter'd over the plain, Turn'd tow'rds the mountain, whither reason's voice Drives us; I to my faithful company Adhering, left it not. For how of him Depriv'd, might I have sped, or who beside Would o'er the mountainous tract have led my steps He with the bitter pang of self-remorse Seem'd smitten. O clear conscience and upright How doth a little fling wound thee sore!

Soon as his feet desisted (slack'ning pace), From haste, that mars all decency of act, My mind, that in itself before was wrapt, Its thoughts expanded, as with joy restor'd: And full against the steep ascent I set My face, where highest to heav'n its top o'erflows.

The sun, that flar'd behind, with ruddy beam Before my form was broken; for in me His rays resistance met. I turn'd aside With fear of being left, when I beheld Only before myself the ground obscur'd.

When thus my solace, turning him around, Bespake me kindly: "Why distrustest thou?

Believ'st not I am with thee, thy sure guide?

It now is evening there, where buried lies The body, in which I cast a shade, remov'd To Naples from Brundusium's wall. Nor thou Marvel, if before me no shadow fall, More than that in the sky element One ray obstructs not other. To endure Torments of heat and cold extreme, like frames That virtue hath dispos'd, which how it works Wills not to us should be reveal'd. Insane Who hopes, our reason may that s.p.a.ce explore, Which holds three persons in one substance knit.

Seek not the wherefore, race of human kind; Could ye have seen the whole, no need had been For Mary to bring forth. Moreover ye Have seen such men desiring fruitlessly; To whose desires repose would have been giv'n, That now but serve them for eternal grief.

I speak of Plato, and the Stagyrite, And others many more." And then he bent Downwards his forehead, and in troubled mood Broke off his speech. Meanwhile we had arriv'd Far as the mountain's foot, and there the rock Found of so steep ascent, that nimblest steps To climb it had been vain. The most remote Most wild untrodden path, in all the tract 'Twixt Lerice and Turbia were to this A ladder easy' and open of access.

"Who knows on which hand now the steep declines?"

My master said and paus'd, "so that he may Ascend, who journeys without aid of wine?"

And while with looks directed to the ground The meaning of the pathway he explor'd, And I gaz'd upward round the stony height, Of spirits, that toward us mov'd their steps, Yet moving seem'd not, they so slow approach'd.

I thus my guide address'd: "Upraise thine eyes, Lo that way some, of whom thou may'st obtain Counsel, if of thyself thou find'st it not!"

Straightway he look'd, and with free speech replied: "Let us tend thither: they but softly come.

And thou be firm in hope, my son belov'd."

Now was that people distant far in s.p.a.ce A thousand paces behind ours, as much As at a throw the nervous arm could fling, When all drew backward on the messy crags Of the steep bank, and firmly stood unmov'd As one who walks in doubt might stand to look.

"O spirits perfect! O already chosen!"

Virgil to them began, "by that blest peace, Which, as I deem, is for you all prepar'd, Instruct us where the mountain low declines, So that attempt to mount it be not vain.

For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves."

As sheep, that step from forth their fold, by one, Or pairs, or three at once; meanwhile the rest Stand fearfully, bending the eye and nose To ground, and what the foremost does, that do The others, gath'ring round her, if she stops, Simple and quiet, nor the cause discern; So saw I moving to advance the first, Who of that fortunate crew were at the head, Of modest mien and graceful in their gait.

When they before me had beheld the light From my right side fall broken on the ground, So that the shadow reach'd the cave, they stopp'd And somewhat back retir'd: the same did all, Who follow'd, though unweeting of the cause.

"Unask'd of you, yet freely I confess, This is a human body which ye see.

That the sun's light is broken on the ground, Marvel not: but believe, that not without Virtue deriv'd from Heaven, we to climb Over this wall aspire." So them bespake My master; and that virtuous tribe rejoin'd; "Turn, and before you there the entrance lies,"

Making a signal to us with bent hands.

Then of them one began. "Whoe'er thou art, Who journey'st thus this way, thy visage turn, Think if me elsewhere thou hast ever seen."

I tow'rds him turn'd, and with fix'd eye beheld.

Comely, and fair, and gentle of aspect, He seem'd, but on one brow a gash was mark'd.

When humbly I disclaim'd to have beheld Him ever: "Now behold!" he said, and show'd High on his breast a wound: then smiling spake.

"I am Manfredi, grandson to the Queen Costanza: whence I pray thee, when return'd, To my fair daughter go, the parent glad Of Aragonia and Sicilia's pride; And of the truth inform her, if of me Aught else be told. When by two mortal blows My frame was shatter'd, I betook myself Weeping to him, who of free will forgives.

My sins were horrible; but so wide arms Hath goodness infinite, that it receives All who turn to it. Had this text divine Been of Cosenza's shepherd better scann'd, Who then by Clement on my hunt was set, Yet at the bridge's head my bones had lain, Near Benevento, by the heavy mole Protected; but the rain now drenches them, And the wind drives, out of the kingdom's bounds, Far as the stream of Verde, where, with lights Extinguish'd, he remov'd them from their bed.

Yet by their curse we are not so destroy'd, But that the eternal love may turn, while hope Retains her verdant blossoms. True it is, That such one as in contumacy dies Against the holy church, though he repent, Must wander thirty-fold for all the time In his presumption past; if such decree Be not by prayers of good men shorter made Look therefore if thou canst advance my bliss; Revealing to my good Costanza, how Thou hast beheld me, and beside the terms Laid on me of that interdict; for here By means of those below much profit comes."

CANTO IV

When by sensations of delight or pain, That any of our faculties hath seiz'd, Entire the soul collects herself, it seems She is intent upon that power alone, And thus the error is disprov'd which holds The soul not singly lighted in the breast.

And therefore when as aught is heard or seen, That firmly keeps the soul toward it turn'd, Time pa.s.ses, and a man perceives it not.

For that, whereby he hearken, is one power, Another that, which the whole spirit hash; This is as it were bound, while that is free.

This found I true by proof, hearing that spirit And wond'ring; for full fifty steps aloft The sun had measur'd un.o.bserv'd of me, When we arriv'd where all with one accord The spirits shouted, "Here is what ye ask."

A larger aperture ofttimes is stopp'd With forked stake of thorn by villager, When the ripe grape imbrowns, than was the path, By which my guide, and I behind him close, Ascended solitary, when that troop Departing left us. On Sanleo's road Who journeys, or to Noli low descends, Or mounts Bismantua's height, must use his feet; But here a man had need to fly, I mean With the swift wing and plumes of high desire, Conducted by his aid, who gave me hope, And with light furnish'd to direct my way.

We through the broken rock ascended, close Pent on each side, while underneath the ground Ask'd help of hands and feet. When we arriv'd Near on the highest ridge of the steep bank, Where the plain level open'd I exclaim'd, "O master! say which way can we proceed?"

He answer'd, "Let no step of thine recede.

Behind me gain the mountain, till to us Some practis'd guide appear." That eminence Was lofty that no eye might reach its point, And the side proudly rising, more than line From the mid quadrant to the centre drawn.

I wearied thus began: "Parent belov'd!

Turn, and behold how I remain alone, If thou stay not."--" My son!" He straight reply'd, "Thus far put forth thy strength;" and to a track Pointed, that, on this side projecting, round Circles the hill. His words so spurr'd me on, That I behind him clamb'ring, forc'd myself, Till my feet press'd the circuit plain beneath.

There both together seated, turn'd we round To eastward, whence was our ascent: and oft Many beside have with delight look'd back.

First on the nether sh.o.r.es I turn'd my eyes, Then rais'd them to the sun, and wond'ring mark'd That from the left it smote us. Soon perceiv'd That Poet sage now at the car of light Amaz'd I stood, where 'twixt us and the north Its course it enter'd. Whence he thus to me: "Were Leda's offspring now in company Of that broad mirror, that high up and low Imparts his light beneath, thou might'st behold The ruddy zodiac nearer to the bears Wheel, if its ancient course it not forsook.

How that may be if thou would'st think; within Pond'ring, imagine Sion with this mount Plac'd on the earth, so that to both be one Horizon, and two hemispheres apart, Where lies the path that Phaeton ill knew To guide his erring chariot: thou wilt see How of necessity by this on one He pa.s.ses, while by that on the' other side, If with clear view s.h.i.+ne intellect attend."

"Of truth, kind teacher!" I exclaim'd, "so clear Aught saw I never, as I now discern Where seem'd my ken to fail, that the mid orb Of the supernal motion (which in terms Of art is called the Equator, and remains Ever between the sun and winter) for the cause Thou hast a.s.sign'd, from hence toward the north Departs, when those who in the Hebrew land Inhabit, see it tow'rds the warmer part.

But if it please thee, I would gladly know, How far we have to journey: for the hill Mounts higher, than this sight of mine can mount."

He thus to me: "Such is this steep ascent, That it is ever difficult at first, But, more a man proceeds, less evil grows.

When pleasant it shall seem to thee, so much That upward going shall be easy to thee.

As in a vessel to go down the tide, Then of this path thou wilt have reach'd the end.

There hope to rest thee from thy toil. No more I answer, and thus far for certain know."

As he his words had spoken, near to us A voice there sounded: "Yet ye first perchance May to repose you by constraint be led."

At sound thereof each turn'd, and on the left A huge stone we beheld, of which nor I Nor he before was ware. Thither we drew, find there were some, who in the shady place Behind the rock were standing, as a man Thru' idleness might stand. Among them one, Who seem'd to me much wearied, sat him down, And with his arms did fold his knees about, Holding his face between them downward bent.

"Sweet Sir!" I cry'd, "behold that man, who shows Himself more idle, than if laziness Were sister to him." Straight he turn'd to us, And, o'er the thigh lifting his face, observ'd, Then in these accents spake: "Up then, proceed Thou valiant one." Straight who it was I knew; Nor could the pain I felt (for want of breath Still somewhat urg'd me) hinder my approach.

And when I came to him, he scarce his head Uplifted, saying "Well hast thou discern'd, How from the left the sun his chariot leads."

His lazy acts and broken words my lips To laughter somewhat mov'd; when I began: "Belacqua, now for thee I grieve no more.

But tell, why thou art seated upright there?