The Divine Comedy by Dante Part 5

CANTO XVI

O slight respect of man's n.o.bility!

I never shall account it marvelous, That our infirm affection here below Thou mov'st to boasting, when I could not choose, E'en in that region of unwarp'd desire, In heav'n itself, but make my vaunt in thee!

Yet cloak thou art soon shorten'd, for that time, Unless thou be eked out from day to day, Goes round thee with his shears. Resuming then With greeting such, as Rome, was first to bear, But since hath disaccustom'd I began; And Beatrice, that a little s.p.a.ce Was sever'd, smil'd reminding me of her, Whose cough embolden'd (as the story holds) To first offence the doubting Guenever.

"You are my sire," said I, "you give me heart Freely to speak my thought: above myself You raise me. Through so many streams with joy My soul is fill'd, that gladness wells from it; So that it bears the mighty tide, and bursts not Say then, my honour'd stem! what ancestors Where those you sprang from, and what years were mark'd In your first childhood? Tell me of the fold, That hath Saint John for guardian, what was then Its state, and who in it were highest seated?"

As embers, at the breathing of the wind, Their flame enliven, so that light I saw s.h.i.+ne at my blandishments; and, as it grew More fair to look on, so with voice more sweet, Yet not in this our modern phrase, forthwith It answer'd: "From the day, when it was said 'Hail Virgin!' to the throes, by which my mother, Who now is sainted, lighten'd her of me Whom she was heavy with, this fire had come, Five hundred fifty times and thrice, its beams To reilumine underneath the foot Of its own lion. They, of whom I sprang, And I, had there our birth-place, where the last Part.i.tion of our city first is reach'd By him, that runs her annual game. Thus much Suffice of my forefathers: who they were, And whence they hither came, more honourable It is to pa.s.s in silence than to tell.

All those, who in that time were there from Mars Until the Baptist, fit to carry arms, Were but the fifth of them this day alive.

But then the citizen's blood, that now is mix'd From Campi and Certaldo and Fighine, Ran purely through the last mechanic's veins.

O how much better were it, that these people Were neighbours to you, and that at Galluzzo And at Trespiano, ye should have your bound'ry, Than to have them within, and bear the stench Of Aguglione's hind, and Signa's, him, That hath his eye already keen for bart'ring!

Had not the people, which of all the world Degenerates most, been stepdame unto Caesar, But, as a mother, gracious to her son; Such one, as hath become a Florentine, And trades and traffics, had been turn'd adrift To Simifonte, where his grandsire ply'd The beggar's craft. The Conti were possess'd Of Montemurlo still: the Cerchi still Were in Acone's parish; nor had haply From Valdigrieve past the Buondelmonte.

The city's malady hath ever source In the confusion of its persons, as The body's, in variety of food: And the blind bull falls with a steeper plunge, Than the blind lamb; and oftentimes one sword Doth more and better execution, Than five. Mark Luni, Urbisaglia mark, How they are gone, and after them how go Chiusi and Sinigaglia; and 't will seem No longer new or strange to thee to hear, That families fail, when cities have their end.

All things, that appertain t' ye, like yourselves, Are mortal: but mortality in some Ye mark not, they endure so long, and you Pa.s.s by so suddenly. And as the moon Doth, by the rolling of her heav'nly sphere, Hide and reveal the strand unceasingly; So fortune deals with Florence. Hence admire not At what of them I tell thee, whose renown Time covers, the first Florentines. I saw The Ughi, Catilini and Filippi, The Alberichi, Greci and Ormanni, Now in their wane, ill.u.s.trious citizens: And great as ancient, of Sannella him, With him of Arca saw, and Soldanieri And Ardinghi, and Bostichi. At the p.o.o.p, That now is laden with new felony, So c.u.mb'rous it may speedily sink the bark, The Ravignani sat, of whom is sprung The County Guido, and whoso hath since His t.i.tle from the fam'd Bellincione ta'en.

Fair governance was yet an art well priz'd By him of Pressa: Galigaio show'd The gilded hilt and pommel, in his house.

The column, cloth'd with verrey, still was seen Unshaken: the Sacchetti still were great, Giouchi, Sifanti, Galli and Barucci, With them who blush to hear the bushel nam'd.

Of the Calfucci still the branchy trunk Was in its strength: and to the curule chairs Sizii and Arigucci yet were drawn.

How mighty them I saw, whom since their pride Hath undone! and in all her goodly deeds Florence was by the bullets of bright gold O'erflourish'd. Such the sires of those, who now, As surely as your church is vacant, flock Into her consistory, and at leisure There stall them and grow fat. The o'erweening brood, That plays the dragon after him that flees, But unto such, as turn and show the tooth, Ay or the purse, is gentle as a lamb, Was on its rise, but yet so slight esteem'd, That Ubertino of Donati grudg'd His father-in-law should yoke him to its tribe.

Already Caponsacco had descended Into the mart from Fesole: and Giuda And Infangato were good citizens.

A thing incredible I tell, tho' true: The gateway, named from those of Pera, led Into the narrow circuit of your walls.

Each one, who bears the sightly quarterings Of the great Baron (he whose name and worth The festival of Thomas still revives) His knighthood and his privilege retain'd; Albeit one, who borders them With gold, This day is mingled with the common herd.

In Borgo yet the Gualterotti dwelt, And Importuni: well for its repose Had it still lack'd of newer neighbourhood.

The house, from whence your tears have had their spring, Through the just anger that hath murder'd ye And put a period to your gladsome days, Was honour'd, it, and those consorted with it.

O Buondelmonte! what ill counseling Prevail'd on thee to break the plighted bond Many, who now are weeping, would rejoice, Had G.o.d to Ema giv'n thee, the first time Thou near our city cam'st. But so was doom'd: On that maim'd stone set up to guard the bridge, At thy last peace, the victim, Florence! fell.

With these and others like to them, I saw Florence in such a.s.sur'd tranquility, She had no cause at which to grieve: with these Saw her so glorious and so just, that ne'er The lily from the lance had hung reverse, Or through division been with vermeil dyed."

CANTO XVII

Such as the youth, who came to Clymene To certify himself of that reproach, Which had been fasten'd on him, (he whose end Still makes the fathers chary to their sons), E'en such was I; nor un.o.bserv'd was such Of Beatrice, and that saintly lamp, Who had erewhile for me his station mov'd; When thus by lady: "Give thy wish free vent, That it may issue, bearing true report Of the mind's impress; not that aught thy words May to our knowledge add, but to the end, That thou mayst use thyself to own thy thirst And men may mingle for thee when they hear."

"O plant! from whence I spring! rever'd and lov'd!

Who soar'st so high a pitch, thou seest as clear, As earthly thought determines two obtuse In one triangle not contain'd, so clear Dost see contingencies, ere in themselves Existent, looking at the point whereto All times are present, I, the whilst I scal'd With Virgil the soul purifying mount, And visited the nether world of woe, Touching my future destiny have heard Words grievous, though I feel me on all sides Well squar'd to fortune's blows. Therefore my will Were satisfied to know the lot awaits me, The arrow, seen beforehand, slacks its flight."

So said I to the brightness, which erewhile To me had spoken, and my will declar'd, As Beatrice will'd, explicitly.

Nor with oracular response obscure, Such, as or ere the Lamb of G.o.d was slain, Beguil'd the credulous nations; but, in terms Precise and unambiguous lore, replied The spirit of paternal love, enshrin'd, Yet in his smile apparent; and thus spake: "Contingency, unfolded not to view Upon the tablet of your mortal mold, Is all depictur'd in the' eternal sight; But hence deriveth not necessity, More then the tall s.h.i.+p, hurried down the flood, Doth from the vision, that reflects the scene.

From thence, as to the ear sweet harmony From organ comes, so comes before mine eye The time prepar'd for thee. Such as driv'n out From Athens, by his cruel stepdame's wiles, Hippolytus departed, such must thou Depart from Florence. This they wish, and this Contrive, and will ere long effectuate, there, Where gainful merchandize is made of Christ, Throughout the livelong day. The common cry, Will, as 't is ever wont, affix the blame Unto the party injur'd: but the truth Shall, in the vengeance it dispenseth, find A faithful witness. Thou shall leave each thing Belov'd most dearly: this is the first shaft Shot from the bow of exile. Thou shalt prove How salt the savour is of other's bread, How hard the pa.s.sage to descend and climb By other's stairs, But that shall gall thee most Will be the worthless and vile company, With whom thou must be thrown into these straits.

For all ungrateful, impious all and mad, Shall turn 'gainst thee: but in a little while Theirs and not thine shall be the crimson'd brow Their course shall so evince their brutishness T' have ta'en thy stand apart shall well become thee.

"First refuge thou must find, first place of rest, In the great Lombard's courtesy, who bears Upon the ladder perch'd the sacred bird.

He shall behold thee with such kind regard, That 'twixt ye two, the contrary to that Which falls 'twixt other men, the granting shall Forerun the asking. With him shalt thou see That mortal, who was at his birth impress So strongly from this star, that of his deeds The nations shall take note. His unripe age Yet holds him from observance; for these wheels Only nine years have compa.s.s him about.

But, ere the Gascon practice on great Harry, Sparkles of virtue shall shoot forth in him, In equal scorn of labours and of gold.

His bounty shall be spread abroad so widely, As not to let the tongues e'en of his foes Be idle in its praise. Look thou to him And his beneficence: for he shall cause Reversal of their lot to many people, Rich men and beggars interchanging fortunes.

And thou shalt bear this written in thy soul Of him, but tell it not;" and things he told Incredible to those who witness them; Then added: "So interpret thou, my son, What hath been told thee.--Lo! the ambushment That a few circling seasons hide for thee!

Yet envy not thy neighbours: time extends Thy span beyond their treason's chastis.e.m.e.nt."

Soon, as the saintly spirit, by his silence, Had shown the web, which I had streteh'd for him Upon the warp, was woven, I began, As one, who in perplexity desires Counsel of other, wise, benign and friendly: "My father! well I mark how time spurs on Toward me, ready to inflict the blow, Which falls most heavily on him, who most Abandoned himself. Therefore 't is good I should forecast, that driven from the place Most dear to me, I may not lose myself All others by my song. Down through the world Of infinite mourning, and along the mount From whose fair height my lady's eyes did lift me, And after through this heav'n from light to light, Have I learnt that, which if I tell again, It may with many woefully disrelish; And, if I am a timid friend to truth, I fear my life may perish among those, To whom these days shall be of ancient date."

The brightness, where enclos'd the treasure smil'd, Which I had found there, first shone glisteningly, Like to a golden mirror in the sun; Next answer'd: "Conscience, dimm'd or by its own Or other's shame, will feel thy saying sharp.

Thou, notwithstanding, all deceit remov'd, See the whole vision be made manifest.

And let them wince who have their withers wrung.

What though, when tasted first, thy voice shall prove Unwelcome, on digestion it will turn To vital nourishment. The cry thou raisest, Shall, as the wind doth, smite the proudest summits; Which is of honour no light argument, For this there only have been shown to thee, Throughout these orbs, the mountain, and the deep, Spirits, whom fame hath note of. For the mind Of him, who hears, is loth to acquiesce And fix its faith, unless the instance brought Be palpable, and proof apparent urge."

CANTO XVIII

CANTO XVIII

Now in his word, sole, ruminating, joy'd That blessed spirit; and I fed on mine, Tempting the sweet with bitter: she meanwhile, Who led me unto G.o.d, admonish'd: "Muse On other thoughts: bethink thee, that near Him I dwell, who recompenseth every wrong."

At the sweet sounds of comfort straight I turn'd; And, in the saintly eyes what love was seen, I leave in silence here: nor through distrust Of my words only, but that to such bliss The mind remounts not without aid. Thus much Yet may I speak; that, as I gaz'd on her, Affection found no room for other wish.

While the everlasting pleasure, that did full On Beatrice s.h.i.+ne, with second view From her fair countenance my gladden'd soul Contented; vanquis.h.i.+ng me with a beam Of her soft smile, she spake: "Turn thee, and list.

These eyes are not thy only Paradise."

As here we sometimes in the looks may see Th' affection mark'd, when that its sway hath ta'en The spirit wholly; thus the hallow'd light, To whom I turn'd, flas.h.i.+ng, bewray'd its will To talk yet further with me, and began: "On this fifth lodgment of the tree, whose life Is from its top, whose fruit is ever fair And leaf unwith'ring, blessed spirits abide, That were below, ere they arriv'd in heav'n, So mighty in renown, as every muse Might grace her triumph with them. On the horns Look therefore of the cross: he, whom I name, Shall there enact, as doth in summer cloud Its nimble fire." Along the cross I saw, At the repeated name of Joshua, A splendour gliding; nor, the word was said, Ere it was done: then, at the naming saw Of the great Maccabee, another move With whirling speed; and gladness was the scourge Unto that top. The next for Charlemagne And for the peer Orlando, two my gaze Pursued, intently, as the eye pursues A falcon flying. Last, along the cross, William, and Renard, and Duke G.o.dfrey drew My ken, and Robert Guiscard. And the soul, Who spake with me among the other lights Did move away, and mix; and with the choir Of heav'nly songsters prov'd his tuneful skill.

To Beatrice on my right l bent, Looking for intimation or by word Or act, what next behoov'd; and did descry Such mere effulgence in her eyes, such joy, It past all former wont. And, as by sense Of new delight, the man, who perseveres In good deeds doth perceive from day to day His virtue growing; I e'en thus perceiv'd Of my ascent, together with the heav'n The circuit widen'd, noting the increase Of beauty in that wonder. Like the change In a brief moment on some maiden's cheek, Which from its fairness doth discharge the weight Of pudency, that stain'd it; such in her, And to mine eyes so sudden was the change, Through silvery whiteness of that temperate star, Whose sixth orb now enfolded us. I saw, Within that Jovial cresset, the clear sparks Of love, that reign'd there, fas.h.i.+on to my view Our language. And as birds, from river banks Arisen, now in round, now lengthen'd troop, Array them in their flight, greeting, as seems, Their new-found pastures; so, within the lights, The saintly creatures flying, sang, and made Now D. now I. now L. figur'd I' th' air.

First, singing, to their notes they mov'd, then one Becoming of these signs, a little while Did rest them, and were mute. O nymph divine Of Pegasean race! whose souls, which thou Inspir'st, mak'st glorious and long-liv'd, as they Cities and realms by thee! thou with thyself Inform me; that I may set forth the shapes, As fancy doth present them. Be thy power Display'd in this brief song. The characters, Vocal and consonant, were five-fold seven.

In order each, as they appear'd, I mark'd.

Diligite Just.i.tiam, the first, Both verb and noun all blazon'd; and the extreme Qui judicatis terram. In the M.

Of the fifth word they held their station, Making the star seem silver streak'd with gold.

And on the summit of the M. I saw Descending other lights, that rested there, Singing, methinks, their bliss and primal good.

Then, as at shaking of a lighted brand, Sparkles innumerable on all sides Rise scatter'd, source of augury to th' unwise; Thus more than thousand twinkling l.u.s.tres hence Seem'd reascending, and a higher pitch Some mounting, and some less; e'en as the sun, Which kindleth them, decreed. And when each one Had settled in his place, the head and neck Then saw I of an eagle, lively Grav'd in that streaky fire. Who painteth there, Hath none to guide him; of himself he guides; And every line and texture of the nest Doth own from him the virtue, fas.h.i.+ons it.

The other bright beat.i.tude, that seem'd Erewhile, with lilied crowning, well content To over-canopy the M. mov'd forth, Following gently the impress of the bird.

Sweet star! what glorious and thick-studded gems Declar'd to me our justice on the earth To be the effluence of that heav'n, which thou, Thyself a costly jewel, dost inlay!

Therefore I pray the Sovran Mind, from whom Thy motion and thy virtue are begun, That he would look from whence the fog doth rise, To vitiate thy beam: so that once more He may put forth his hand 'gainst such, as drive Their traffic in that sanctuary, whose walls With miracles and martyrdoms were built.

Ye host of heaven! whose glory I survey!

O beg ye grace for those, that are on earth All after ill example gone astray.

War once had for its instrument the sword: But now 't is made, taking the bread away Which the good Father locks from none. --And thou, That writes but to cancel, think, that they, Who for the vineyard, which thou wastest, died, Peter and Paul live yet, and mark thy doings.

Thou hast good cause to cry, "My heart so cleaves To him, that liv'd in solitude remote, And from the wilds was dragg'd to martyrdom, I wist not of the fisherman nor Paul."

CANTO XIX

Before my sight appear'd, with open wings, The beauteous image, in fruition sweet Gladdening the thronged spirits. Each did seem A little ruby, whereon so intense The sun-beam glow'd that to mine eyes it came In clear refraction. And that, which next Befalls me to portray, voice hath not utter'd, Nor hath ink written, nor in fantasy Was e'er conceiv'd. For I beheld and heard The beak discourse; and, what intention form'd Of many, singly as of one express, Beginning: "For that I was just and piteous, l am exalted to this height of glory, The which no wish exceeds: and there on earth Have I my memory left, e'en by the bad Commended, while they leave its course untrod."

Thus is one heat from many embers felt, As in that image many were the loves, And one the voice, that issued from them all.

Whence I address them: "O perennial flowers Of gladness everlasting! that exhale In single breath your odours manifold!